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 University of Illinois Library 
 
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f 
 
 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
J. kave sten ker. S/^f has en^a^ed 
 
 kcrself Karrjl7lcer— and—c^nU ^ 
 noti^ T ciura f 
 
 Pa-ge 573. 
 
 Copyright, Service & Paton, 1897 
 
THE HISTORY.Op ; 
 
 P E N D E N 1sr^1■ 
 
 HIS FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES, HIS FRIENDS 
 AND HIS GREATEST ENEMY 
 
 BY 
 
 W. M. THACKERAY 
 
 WirH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 CHRIS, HAMMOND, 
 
 NEW YORK: G. P. PUTNAM^S SONS 
 LONDON: SERVICE & PATON^ 
 1897 
 
i 
 
TO 
 
 DR. JOHN ELLIOTSON 
 
 My dear Doctor^ 
 
 Thirteen inonths ago, when it seemed likely that this 
 story had come to a close, a kind friend brought you to my bed- 
 side, whence, in all probability, I never should have risen but 
 for your constant watchfulness and skill. I like to recall your 
 great goodness and kindness (as well as many acts of others, 
 showing quite a surprising friendship and sympathy) at that 
 time, when kindness and friendship were most needed and 
 welcome. 
 
 And as you would take no other fee but thanks, let me record 
 them here in behalf of me and mine, and subscribe myself 
 
 Yours most sincerely and gratefully, 
 
 W. M. THACKERAY, 
 
 •5184:9 
 
PREFACE 
 
 If this kind of composition^ of which the two years' product is now laid 
 before the public^ fail in art, as it constantly does and must, it at least 
 has the advantage of a certain truth and honesty, which a work more 
 elaborate might lose. In his constant communication with the reader, 
 the writer is forced into frankness of expression, and to speak out his 
 own mind and feelings as they urge him. Many a slip of the pen and 
 the printer, many a word spoken in haste, he sees and would recall as 
 he looks over his volume. It is a sort of confidential talk between 
 writer and reader, which must often be dull, must often flag. In the 
 course of his volubility, the perpetual speaker must of necessity lay 
 bare his own weaknesses, vanities, peculiarities. And as we judge of 
 a man's character, after long frequenting his society, not by one speech, 
 or by one mood or opinion, or by one day's talk, but by the tenor of his 
 general bearing and conversation ; so of a writer, who delivers himself 
 up to you perforce unreservedly, you say. Is he honest ? Does he tell 
 the truth in the main ? Does he seem actuated by a desire to find out 
 and speak it? Is he a quack, who shams sentiment, or mouths for 
 effect.'* Does he seek popularity by claptraps or other arts.^* I can no 
 more ignore good fortune than any other chance which has befallen 
 me. I have found many thousands more readers than I ever looked for. 
 I have no right to say to these. You shall not find fault with my art, or 
 fall asleep over my pages ; but I ask you to believe that this person 
 writing strives to tell the truth. If there is not that, there is nothing. 
 
 Perhaps the lovers of excitement " may care to know, that this book 
 began with a very precise plan, which was entirely put aside. Ladies 
 and gentlemen, you were to have been treated, and the writer's and the 
 publishers' pocket benefited, by the recital of the most active horrors. 
 What more exciting than a ruffian (with many admirable virtues) in 
 St. Giles's visited constantly by a young lady from Belgravia } What 
 more stirring than the contrasts of society ? the mixture of slang and 
 fashionable language ? the escapes, the battles, the murders ? Nay, up 
 to nine o'clock this very morning, my poor friend. Colonel Altamont, 
 was doomed to execution, and the author only relented when his victim 
 was actually at the window. 
 
 The exciting " plan was laid aside (with a very honourable forbear- 
 ance on the part of the publishers) because, on attempting it, I found 
 that I failed from want of experience of my subject ; and never having 
 been intimate with any convict in my life, and the manners of ruffians 
 
 V 
 
vi 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 and gaol-birds being quite unfamiliar to me, the idea of entering into 
 competition with M. Eugene Sue was abandoned. To describe a real 
 rascal, you must make him so horrible that he would be too hideous to 
 show ; and unless the painter paints him fairly, I hold he has no right 
 to show him at all. 
 
 Even the gentlemen of our age — this is an attempt to describe one 
 of them, no better nor worse than most educated men — even these we 
 cannot show as they are, with the notorious foibles and selfishness of 
 their lives and their education. Since the author of Tom Jones " was 
 buried, no writer of fiction among us has been permitted to depict to 
 his utmost power a Man. We must drape him, and give him a certain 
 conventional simper. Society will not tolerate the Natural in our Art. 
 Many ladies have remonstrated and subscribers left me, because, in the 
 course of the story, I described a young man resisting and affected by 
 temptation. My object was to say, that he had the passions to feel, 
 and the manliness and generosity to overcome them. You will not hear 
 — it is best to know it— what moves in the real world, what passes in 
 society, in the clubs, colleges, mess-rooms, — what is the life and talk of 
 your sons. A little more frankness than is customary has been attempted 
 in this story ; with no bad desire on the writer s part, it is hoped, and 
 with no ill consequence to any reader. If truth is not always pleasant, 
 at any rate truth is best, from whatever chair— from those whence 
 graver writers or thinkers argue, as from that at which the story-teller 
 sits as he concludes his labour, and bids his kind reader farewell. 
 
 Kensington, Nov, 26, 1850. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. SHOWS HOW FIRST LOVE MAY INTERRUPT BREAKFAST . 1 
 
 II. A PEDIGREE AND OTHER FAMILY 3IATTERS . . 4 
 
 III. IN WHICH PENDENNIS APPEARS AS A VERY YOUNG MAN 
 
 INDEED ......... 16 
 
 IV. MRS. HALLER ........ 26 
 
 V. MRS. HALLER AT HOME ...... 32 
 
 VL CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND WAR . . . . 42 
 
 VII. IN WHICH THE MAJOR MAKES HIS APPEARANCE . . 51 
 
 Vin. IN WHICH PEN IS KEPT WAITING AT THE DOOR^ WHILE 
 
 THE READER IS INFORMED WHO LITTLE LAURA WAS 57 
 
 IX. IN WHICH THE MAJOR OPENS THE CAMPAIGN . . 66 
 
 X. FACING THE ENEMY ....... 72 
 
 XI. NEGOTIATION ...... . . 76 
 
 XII. IN WHICH A SHOOTING MATCH IS PROPOSED . . 83 
 
 XIIL A CRISIS ......... 89 
 
 XIV. IN WHICH MISS FOTHERINGAY MAKES A NEW ENGAGEMENT 95 
 
 XV. THE HAPPY VILLAGE . . . . . .101 
 
 XVI. WHICH CONCLUDES THE FIRST PART OF THIS HISTORY 109 
 
 XVIL ALMA MATER . . . . . . . . 122 
 
 XVIII. PENDENNIS OF BONIFACE . . . . . .128 
 
 XIX. rake's progress . . . . . . . 139 
 
 XX. FLIGHT AFTER DEFEAT ...... 144 
 
 XXI. prodigal's RETURN ....... 150 
 
 XXII. NEW FACES ........ 157 
 
 XXIII. A LITTLE INNOCENT ....... l70 
 
 XXIV. CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND JEALOUSY .... 177 
 XXV. A HOUSE FULL OF VISITORS ..... 184 
 
 XXVI. CONTAINS SOME BALL-PRACTISING .... 195 
 
 XXVIL WHICH IS BOTH QUARRELSOME AND SENTIMENTAL . 201 
 
 XXVIH. BABYLON ......... ,,^12 
 
 XXIX. THE KNIGHTS OF THE TEMPLE ..... 221 
 
 XXX. OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCES ..... 228 
 
 XXXI. IN WHICH THE PRINTER's DEVIL COMES TO THE DOOR 237 
 
 XXXII. WHICH IS PASSED IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF LUDGATE 
 
 HILL 247 
 
 XXXIIL IN WHICH THE HISTORY STILL HOVERS ABOUT FLEET 
 
 STREET ........ 255 
 
 XXXIV. A DINNER IN THE ROW ...... 260 
 
 XXXV. THE ^^PALL MALL GAZETTE " ..... 268 
 
 vii 
 
Vlll 
 
 CHAP. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 ^ XXXIX. 
 
 XL. 
 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 DIS- 
 
 LII. 
 LIII. 
 LIV. 
 LV. 
 LVI. 
 LVII. 
 LVIII. 
 LIX. 
 LX. 
 I^JCI. 
 LXII. 
 LXIII. 
 LXIV. 
 
 LXV. 
 LXVI. 
 LXVII. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 LXX. 
 LXXI. 
 LXXII. 
 LXXIII. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 LXXV. 
 
 AND 
 
 HIS 
 
 WHERE PEN APPEARS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 
 IN WHICH THE SYLPH REAPPEARS . 
 IN WHICH COLONEL ALTAMONT APPEARS AND 
 
 APPEARS . . • • ^ • 
 
 RELATES TO MR. HARRY FOKER S AFFAIRS 
 CARRIES THE READER BOTH TO RICHMOND 
 
 GREENWICH . 
 CONTAINS A NOVEL INCIDENT 
 ALSATIA . . . • 
 
 IN WHICH THE COLONEL NARRATES SOME OF 
 
 ADVENTURES 
 A CHAPTER OF CONVERSATIONS 
 MISS AMORY's PARTNERS . 
 MONSEIGNEUR s' AMUSE 
 A VISIT OF POLITENESS . 
 IN shepherd's INN 
 
 IN OR NEAR THE TEMPLE GARDEN 
 THE HAPPY VILLAGE AGAIN 
 WHICH HAD VERY NEARLY BEEN THE LAST OF THE 
 
 STORY 
 A CRITICAL CHAPTER 
 CONVALESCENCE 
 fanny's occupation's GONE 
 
 IN WHICH FANNY ENGAGES A NEW MEDICAL MAN 
 . FOREIGN GROUND 
 
 LXI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 273 
 284 
 
 291 
 298 
 
 FAIROAKS TO LET 
 OLD FRIENDS . 
 EXPLANATIONS 
 CONVERSATIONS 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD 
 WHICH ACCOUNTS PERHAPS FOR CHAPTER 
 PHILLIS AND CORYDON 
 TEMPTATION . . • • • 
 
 IN WHICH PEN BEGINS HIS CANVASS . 
 IN WHICH PEN BEGINS TO DOUBT HIS ELECTION 
 IN WHICH THE MAJOR IS BIDDEN TO STAND AND 
 
 DELIVER ^ ^^^TVTTPv 
 
 IN WHICH THE MAJOR NEITHER YIELDS HIS MONEY 
 
 NOR HIS LIFE . . • • 
 
 IN WHICH PENDENNIS COUNTS HIS EGGS 
 FIAT JUSTITIA . . • • 
 
 IN WHICH THE DECKS BEGIN TO CLEAR 
 MR. AND MRS. SAM HUXTER . 
 
 SHOWS HOW ARTHUR HAD BETTER HAVE TAKEN 
 
 RETURN-TICKET . 
 A CHAPTER OF MATCH-MAKING 
 EXEUNT OMNES 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS 
 
 By CHRIS. HAMMOND 
 
 1 HAVE SEEN HER. SHE HAS ENGAGED HERSELF TO HARRY 
 
 FOKER — AND — AND HOW, LAURA " .... Frontispiece 
 
 fAGE 
 
 ^^IS THERE ANYTHING THE MATTER WITH — MY MOTHER?". . 14 
 
 ^^YOU don't MEAN TO SAY YOU WANT TO marry HER?" . . 51 
 
 SHE PASSED WITHOUT ANY NOD OF RECOGNITION .... 95 
 HE WOULD LEAVE THE GAYEST PARTY TO GO AND SIT WITH A SICK 
 
 FRIEND .......... 143 
 
 LAURA SAID TO HIM_, WITH MANY BLUSHES^ THAT SHE THOUGHT^ AS 
 
 SOME SORT OF REPARATION^ OF PUNISHMENT ON HIMSELF FOR 
 
 HIS FOR HIS IDLENESS_, HE OUGHT TO GO BACK AND GET HIS 
 
 DEGREE .......... 156 
 
 I STOOD AT THE DOOR TO WATCH THE EFFECT OF THIS ENTRY. 
 
 IT WAS BUT ONE CRY OF ADMIRATION l76 
 
 AND ^O SAYING^ MR. WARRINGTON WIPED A GRIDIRON WITH A 
 
 PIECE OF PAPER ......... £20 
 
 YOU MUST COME TO ME_, ARTHUR AND MAJOR COME^ LET ME 
 
 SEE^ ON THE 14tH. IT AIn't ONE OF OUR GRAND DINNERS^ 
 
 blanche/' she said^ looking round at her daughter . 289 
 
 FOKER^ THOUGH HE DID NOT INVITE MISS AMORY_, HAD SOME DE- 
 LICIOUS opportunities of conversation WITH HER DURING 
 THE REPAST^ AND AFTERWARDS ON THE BALCONY . . 314 
 
 ARTHUR SUDDENLY ROSE UP AND CLAIMED MISS AMORY AS HIS 
 PARTNER^FOR THE PRESENT DANCE_, ON WHICH MR. PYNSExNT^ 
 BITING ms LIPS AND SCOWLING YET MORE SAVAGELY_, WITH- 
 DREW ........... 349 
 
 ^* LOR^ SIR — HOW very odd that we should meet you year ! " . 380 
 
 OH, MAYN T I COME AND SEE HIM ; MAYn't I COME AND SEE 
 
 HIM? I 1 LOVE HIM So/* THE LITTLE GIRL SAID . . 400 
 
 FOR EVER AND EVER — AMEN " 447 
 
 ^^LOOK HERE, SIR — LOOK HERE, AT THESE PAWN-TICKETS !" . 472 
 
 I — J don't want your consolation" 510 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 SHOWS HOW FIRST LOVE MAY INTERRUPT BREAKFAST 
 
 One fine morning in the full London season. Major Arthur Pendennis 
 came over from his lodgings, according to his custom, to breakfast at 
 a certain Club in Pall Mall, of which he was a chief ornament. At a 
 quart^f-past ten the Major invariably made his appearance in the best 
 blacked boots in all London, with a checked morning cravat that never 
 was rumpled until dinner-time, a buff waistcoat which bore the crown 
 of his sovereign on the buttons, and linen so spotless that Mr. Brummel 
 himself asked the name of his laundress, and would probably have 
 employed her had not misfortunes compelled that great man to fly the 
 country. Pendennis's coat, his white gloves, his whiskers, his very 
 cane, were perfect of their kind as specimens of the costume of a 
 military man en retraite. At a distance, or seeing his back merely, 
 you would have taken him to be not more than thirty years old ; it was 
 only by a nearer inspection that you saw the factitious nature of his 
 rich brown hair, and that there were a few crows'-feet round about the 
 somewhat faded eyes of his handsome mottled face. His nose was of. 
 the Wellington pattern. His hands and wristbands were beautifully ', 
 long and white. On the latter he wore handsome gold buttons given 
 to him by His Royal Highness the Duke of York, and on the others/ 
 more than one elegant ring, the chief and largest of them being em-l 
 blazoned witli the famous arms of Pendennis. 
 
 He always took possession of the same table in the same corner of 
 the room, from which nobody ever now thought of ousting him. One 
 or two mad wags and wild fellows had, in former days, endeavoured to 
 deprive him of this place ; but there was a quiet dignity in the Major's 
 manner as he took his seat at the next table, and surveyed the inter- 
 lopers, which rendered it impossible for any man to sit and breakfast 
 under his eye ; and that table— by the fire, and yet near the window- 
 became his own. His letters were laid out there in expectation of his 
 arrival, and many was the young fellow about town who looked with 
 wonder at the number of those notes, and at the seals and franks which 
 they bore. If there was any question about etiquette, society, who was 
 married to whom, of what age such and such a duke was, Pendennis 
 was the man to whom every one appealed. Marchionesses used to 
 drive up to the Club, and leave notes for him, or fetch him out. He 
 
 A 
 
2 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 was perfectly affable. The young men liked to walk with him in the 
 Park or down Pal] Mall ; for he touched his hat to everybody^ and 
 every other man he mec was a lord. 
 
 The Major sate down at liis accustomed table then_, and while the 
 waiters went to brine' him his tcast and Ids hot newspaper_, he surveyed 
 his letters through his go]d double eyeglass^ and examined one pretty 
 note after anoither^ and Icid them by in order. There were large 
 solemn dinner cards_, suggestive I'f Ihre^ courses and heavy conversa- 
 tion; there were neat little confidential notes^ conveying female en- 
 treaties; there was a note on thick official paper from the Marquis of 
 Steyne^ telling him to come to Richmond to a little party at the Star 
 and Garter ; and another from the Bishop of Ealing and Mrs. Trail, 
 requesting the honour of Major Pendennis's company at Ealing House,, 
 all of which letters Pendennis read gracefully, and with the more 
 satisfaction, because Glowry, the Scotch surgeon, breakfasting opposite 
 to him, was looking on, and hating him for having so many invitations, 
 which nobody ever sent to Glowry. 
 
 These perused, the Major took out his pocket-book to see on what 
 days he was disengaged, and which of these many hospitable calls he 
 could afford to accept or decline. ^ 
 
 He threw over Cutler, the East India Director, in Baker Street, in 
 order to dine with Lord Steyne and the little French party at Star 
 and Garter — the Bishop he accepted, because, though the dinner was 
 slow, he liked to dine with bishops — and so went through his list and 
 disposed of them according to his fancy or interest. Then he took his 
 breakfast and looked over the paper, the gazette, the births and deaths, 
 and the fashionable intelligence, to see that his name was down among 
 the guests at my Lord So-and-so's fete, and in the intervals of these 
 occupations carried on cheerful conversation with his acquaintances 
 about the room. 
 
 Among the fetters which formed Major Pendennis's budget for that 
 morning there was only one unread, and which lay solitary and apart 
 from all the fashionable London letters, with a country post-mark and 
 a homely seal. The superscription was in a pretty delicate female 
 hand, marked immediate " by the fair writer ; yet the Major had, for 
 reasons of his own, neglected up to the pre^nt moment his humble 
 rural petitioner, who to be surfe could hardly hope to get a hearing 
 among so many grand folks who'attended his levee. The fact was, this 
 was a Ifetter from a female relative of Pendennig, and while the grandees 
 of her brother's acquaintance ]vere received and got their interview, 
 and drove off, as it were, the patient country letter remained for a long 
 time waiting for an audience in the antechamber, under the slop-basin. 
 
 At last it came to be this letter s turn, and the Major broke a seal 
 with ^^Fairoaks" engraved upon,jt, and ^'^Clavering St. Mary's" for a 
 post-mark. It was a double letter, and the Major commenced perusing 
 the envelope before he attacked the inner epistle. 
 
 ^^Is it a letter fromj|nother JookV growled Mr. Glowry inwardly. 
 
 Pendennis would not ibe leaving that to the last, I'm thinking." 
 
 "My dear Major Pendennis," the letter ran, "I beg and implore 
 you to come to me immediately " — very likely, thought Pendennis, and 
 Steyne's dinner to-day — "I am in the greatest grief and perplexity. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 3 
 
 My dearest boy, who has been hitherto everything the fondest mother 
 could wish, is grieving me dreadfully. He has formed — I can hardly 
 write it — a passion, an infatuation," — the Major grinned — ^^for an 
 actress who has been performing here. She is at least twelve years 
 older than Arthur — who will not be eighteen till next February — and 
 the wretched boy insists upon marrying her." 
 
 Hay ! What's making Pendennis swear now ? " — Mr. Glowry asked 
 of himself, for rage and wonder were concentrated in the Major's open 
 mouth, as he read this astounding announcement. 
 
 ^^Do, my dear friend," the grief-stricken lady went on, come to 
 me instantly on the receipt of this ; and, as Arthur's guardian, entreat, 
 command, the wretched child to give up this most deplorable resolution." 
 And, after more entreaties to the above elFect, the writer concluded 
 by signing herself the Major's '^'^ unhappy affectionate sister, Helen 
 Pendennis." 
 
 Fairoaks, Tuesday" — the Major concluded, reading the last words 
 
 of the letter — A d d pretty business at Fairoaks, Tuesday ; now 
 
 let us see what the boy has to say ; " and he took the other letter, 
 which was written in a great floundering boy's hand, and sealed with ■ 
 the large signet of the Pendennises, even larger than the Major's own, 
 and \A;h supplementary wax sputtered all round the seal, in token ov 
 the wirtj^r's tremulousness and agitation. 
 The epistle ran thus : — 
 
 Fairoaks , Monday j Midnight 
 
 " My dear Ui^le, — In informing you of my engagement with Miss Costigan, 
 daughter of J. Chesterfield Costigan, Esq. , of Costiganstown, but, perhaps, better 
 known to you under her professional name of Miss Fotheringay, of the Theatres 
 Royal Drury Lane and Crow Street, and of the Norwich and Welsh Circuit, I am 
 aware that I make an announcement which cannot, according to the present 
 prejudices of society at least, be welcome to my family. My dearest mother, on 
 whom, God knows, I would wish to inflict no needless pain, is deeply moved and 
 grieved, I am sorry to say, by the intelligence which I have this night conveyed 
 to her. I beseech you, my dear Sir, to come down and reason with her and 
 console her. Although obliged by poverty to earn an honourable maintenance by 
 the exercise of her splendid talents, Miss Costigan's family is as ancient and noble 
 as our own. When our ancestor, Ralph Pendennis, landed with Richard II. in 
 Ireland, my Emily's forefathers were kings of that country. I have the informa- 
 tion from Mr. Costigan, who, like yourself, is a military man. 
 
 " It is in vain I have attempted to argue with my dear mother, and prove to 
 her that a young lady of irreproachable character and lineage, endowed with the 
 most splendid gifts of beauty and genius, who devotes herself to the exercise of 
 one of the noblest professions, for the sacred purpose of maintaining her family, 
 is a being whom we should all love and reverence, rather than avoid ; — my poor 
 mother has prejudices which it is impossible for my logic to overcome, and refuses 
 to welcome to her arms one who is disposed to be her most affectionate daughter 
 through life. 
 
 "Although Miss Costigan is some years ^Ider than myself, that circumstance 
 does not operate as a barrier to my affection, and I am sure will not influence its 
 duration. A love like mine. Sir, I feel, is contracted once and for ever. As I 
 never had dreamed of love until I saw her— I feel now that I shall die without 
 ever knowing another passion. It is the fate of my life ; and having loved once, 
 I should despise myself, and be unworthy of my name as a gentleman, if I hesi- 
 tated to abide by my passion : if I did not give all where I felt all, and endow 
 the woman who loves me fondly with my whole heart and my whole fortune. 
 
 *' I press for a speedy marriage with my Emily — for why, in truth, should it 
 
4 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 be delayed ? A delay implies a doubt, which I cast from me as unworthy. It is 
 impossible that my sentiments can change towards Emily — that at any age she 
 can be anything but the sole object of my love. Why, then, wait ? I entreat 
 you, my dear Uncle, to come down and reconcile my dear mother to our union, 
 and I address you as a man of the world, qui mores hominum multorum vidit et 
 urbeSj who will not feel any of the weak scruples and fears which agitate a lady 
 who has scarcely ever left her village. 
 
 Pray, come down to us immediately. I am quite confident that— apart from 
 considerations of fortune — you will admire and approve of my Emily. — Your 
 affectionate nephew, 
 
 "Arthur Pendennis, Jr." 
 
 When the Major had concluded the perusal of this letter, his coun- 
 tenance assumed an expression of such rage and horror that Glowry, 
 the surgeon_, felt in his pocket for his lancet, which he always carried 
 in his card-case, and thought his respected friend was going into a fit. 
 The intelligence was indeed sufficient to agitate Pendennis. The head 
 of the Pendennises going to marry an actress more than ten years his 
 senior, — the headstrong boy about to plunge into matrimony. ^^The 
 mother has spoiled the young rascal,'* groaned the Major inwardly, 
 "with her cursed sentimentality and romantic rubbish. My nephew 
 marry a tragedy queen ! Gracious mercy, people will laugh at me so 
 that I shall not dare show my head ! And he thought with an 
 inexpressible pang that he must give up Lord Steyne's dinner at Rich- 
 mond, and must lose his rest and pass the night in an abominable 
 tight mail-coach, instead of taking pleasure, as he had promised himself, 
 in some of the most agreeable and select society in England. 
 
 He quitted his breakfast-table for the adjoining writing-room, and 
 there ruefully wrote off refusals to the Marquis, the Earl, the Bishop, 
 and all his entertainers ; and he ordered his servant to take places in 
 the mail-coach for that evening, of course charging the sum which he 
 disbursed for the seats to the account of the widow and the young 
 scapegrace of whom he was guardian. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A PEDIGREE AND OTHER FAMILY MATTERS 
 
 Early in the Regency of George the Magnificent, there lived in a 
 small town in the west of England, called Clavering, a gentleman 
 whose name was Pendennis. There were those alive who remembered 
 having seen his name painted on a board, which was surmounted by a 
 gilt pestle and mortar over the door of a very humble little shop in 
 the city of Bath, where Mr. Pendennis exercised the profession of 
 apothecary and surgeon ; and where he not only attended gentlemen 
 in their sick-rooms, and ladies at the most interesting periods of their 
 lives, but would condescend to sell a brown-paper plaster to a farmer s 
 wife across the counter, — or to vend tooth-brushes, hair-powder, and 
 London perfumery. 
 
 And yet that little apothecary who sold a stray customer a penny- 
 worth of salts, or a more fragrant cake of Windsor soap, was a 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 5 
 
 gentleman of good education^ and of as old a family as any in the 
 whole county of Somerset. He had a Cornish pedigree which carried 
 the Pendennises up to the time of the Druids^ — and who knows how 
 much farther hack? They had intermarried with the Normans at a 
 very late period of their family existence^ and they were related to all 
 the great families of Wales and Brittany. Pendennis had had a piece 
 of University education too^ and might have pursued that career with 
 honour^ but in his second year at Oxbridge his father died insolvent^ 
 and poor Pen was obliged to betake himself to the pestle and apron. 
 He always detested the trade,, and it was only necessity^ and the dfFer 
 of his mother s brother^ a London apothecary of low family^ into which 
 Pendennis's father had demeaned himself by marrying^ that forced John 
 Pendennis into so odious a calling. 
 
 He quickly after his apprenticeship parted from the coarse-minded 
 practitioner his relative^ and set up for himself at Bath with his 
 modest medical ensign. He had for some time a hard struggle with 
 poverty ; and it was all he could do to keep the shop in decent repair^ 
 and his bedridden mother in comfort : but Lady Ribstone happening 
 to be passing to the Rooms with an intoxicated Irish chairman who 
 bumped her Ladyship up against Pen's very door-post^ and drove his 
 chair-pole through the handsomest pink-bottle in the surgeon's window, 
 alighted screaming from her vehicle, and was accommodated with a 
 chair in Mr. Pendennis's shop, where she was brought round with 
 cinnamon and sal-volatile. 
 
 Mr. Pendennis's manners were so uncommonly gentlemanlike and 
 soothing, that her Ladyship, the wife of Sir Pepin Ribstone, of Codling- 
 bury, in the county of Somerset, Bart., appointed her preserver, as she 
 called him, apothecary to her person and family, which was very large. 
 Master Ribstone coming home for the Christmas holidays from Eton, 
 over-ate himself and had a fever, in which Mr. Pendennis treated him 
 with the greatest skill and tenderness. In a word, he got the good 
 graces of the Codlingbury family, and from that day began to prosper. 
 The good company of Bath patronised him, and amongst the ladies 
 especially he was beloved and admired. First his humble little shop 
 became a smart one : then he discarded the selling of tooth-brushes 
 and perfumery : then he shut up the shop altogether, and only had 
 a little surgery attended by a genteel young man : then he had a gig 
 with a man to drive him ; and, before her exit from this world, his 
 poor old mother had the happiness of seeing from her bedroom window, 
 to which her chair was rolled, her beloved John step into a close 
 carriage of his own, a one-horse carriage it is true, but with the arms 
 of the family of Pendennis handsomely emblazoned on the panels. 
 
 What would Arthur say now } " she asked, speaking of a younger son 
 of hers — ^'^who never so much as once came to see my dearest Johnny 
 through all the time of his poverty and struggles ! " 
 
 Captain Pendennis is with his regiment in India, mother," Mr. \j 
 Pendennis remarked, and, if you please, I wish you would not call 
 me Johnny before the young man — before Mr. Parkins." 
 
 Presently the day came when she ceased to call her son by any title 
 of endearment or affection ; and his house was very lonely without 
 that kind though querulous voice. He had his night-bell altered and 
 
6 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 placed in the room in which the good old lady had grumbled for many 
 a long year^ and he slept in the great large be*d there. He was upwards 
 of forty years old when these events befell : before the war was over ; 
 before George the Magnificent came to the throne ; before this history, 
 indeed : but what is a gentleman without his pedigree ? Pendennis, 
 by this time, had his handsomely framed and glazed, and hanging up 
 in his drawing-room between the pictures of Codlingbury House in 
 Somersetshire, and St. Boniface's College, Oxbridge, where he had 
 passed the brief and happy days of his early manhood. As for the 
 pedigree, he had taken it out of a trunk, as Sterne's officer called for 
 his sword, now that he was a gentleman and could show it. 
 
 About the time of Mrs. Pendennis's demise, another of her son's 
 patients likewise died at Bath ; that virtuous old woman, old Lady 
 Pontypool, daughter of Reginald, twelfth Earl of Bareacres, and by 
 ^ consequence great-grand-aunt to the present Earl, and widow of John, 
 
 second Lord Pontypool, and likewise of the Reverend Jonas Wales, of 
 the Armageddon Chapel, Clifton. For the last five years of her life 
 her Ladyship had been attended by Miss Helen Thistlewood, a very 
 distant relative of the noble house of Bareacres, before mentioned, and 
 daughter of Lieutenant R. Thistlewood, R.N., killed at the battle of 
 Copenhagen. Under Lady Pontypool's roof Miss Thistlewood found 
 a shelter : the Doctor, who paid his visits to my Lady Pontypool at 
 least twice a day, could not but remark the angelical sweetness and ^ 
 kindness with which the young lady bore her elderly relative's ill- 
 temper ; and it was as they were going in the fourth mourning coach 
 to attend her Ladyship's venerated remains to Bath Abbey, where they 
 now repose, that he looked at her sweet pale face and resolved upon '* 
 putting a certain question to her, the very nature of which made his 
 pulse beat ninety, at least. 
 
 He was older than she by more than twenty years, and at no time the 
 most ardent of men. Perhaps he had had a love affair in early life which 
 he had to strangle— perhaps all early love affairs ought to be strangled 
 or drowned, like so many blind kittens : well, at three-and-forty he was 
 a collected quiet little gentleman in black stockings with a bald head, and 
 a few days after the ceremony he called to see her, and, as he felt her 
 pulse, he kept hold of her hand in his, and asked her where she was 
 going to live now that the Pontypool family had come down upon the 
 property, which was being nailed into boxes*, and packed into hampers, 
 and swaddled up with haybands, and buried in straw, and locked under 
 /three keys in green-baize plate-chests, and carted away under the eyes 
 of poor Miss Helen, — he asked her where she was going to live finally. 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears, and she said she did not know. She had 
 a little money. The old lady had left her a thousand pounds, indeed ; 
 and she would go into a boarding-house or into a school ; in fine, she 
 did not know where. 
 
 Then Pendennis, looking into her pale face, and keeping hold of her 
 cold little hand, asked her if she would come and live with him ? He 
 was old compared to— to so blooming a young lady as Miss Thistlewood 
 (Pendennis was of the grave old complimentary school of gentlemen and 
 apothecaries), but he was of good birth, and, he flattered himself, of 
 good principles and temper. His prospects were good, and daily mend- 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 7 
 
 ing. He was alone in the world, and had need of a kind and constant 
 companion, whom it would be the study of his life to make happy ; in 
 a word, he recited to her a little speech, which he had composed that 
 morning in bed, and rehearsed and perfected in his carriage, as he was 
 coming to wait upon the young lady. 
 
 Perhaps if he had had an early love passage, she too had one day 
 hoped for a different lot than to be wedded to a little gentleman who 
 rapped his teeth and smiled artificially, who was laboriously polite to 
 the butler as he slid upstairs into the drawing-room, and profusely civil 
 to the lady's-maid, who waited at the bedroom door ; for whom her old 
 patroness used to ring as for a servant, and who came with even more 
 eagerness ; perhaps she would have chosen a different man — but she 
 knew, on the other hand, how worthy Pendennis was, how prudent, 
 how honourable ; how good he had been to his mother, and constant 
 in his care of her ; and the upshot of this interview was, that she, blush- 
 ing very much, made Pendennis an extremely low curtsey, and asked 
 leave to — to consider his very kind proposal. 
 
 They were marned in the dull Bath season, which was the height of 
 the season in London. And Pendennis having previously, through 
 a professional friend, M.R.C.S., secured lodgings in Holies Street, 
 Cavendish Square, took his wife thither in a chaise and pair ; conducted 
 her to the theatres, the Parks, and the Chppel Royal ; showed h^r the 
 folks going to a Drawing-room, -^nd, in a word, gave her all the 
 pleasures of the town. He likewise left cards upon Lord Pontypool, 
 ^ upon the Right Honourable tlie Earl of Bareacres, and upon Sir Pepm 
 and Lady Ribstone, his earliest and kindest patrons. Bareacres took 
 no notice of the cards. Pontypool called, admired Mrs. Pendennis, 
 and said Lady Pontypool would come and see her, which her Ladyship 
 did, per proxy of John her footman, who brought her card, and an 
 invitation to a concert five weeks off. Pendennis was back in his little 
 one-horse carriage, dispensing draughts and pills at that time ; but the 
 Ribstones asked him and Mrs. Pendennis to an entertainment, of which 
 Mr. Pendennis talked to the last day of his life. 
 
 The secret ambition of Mr. Pendennis had always been to be a 
 gentleman. It takes much time and careful saving for a provincial 
 doctor, whose gains are not very large, to lay by enough money where- 
 with to purchase a house and land: but besides our friend's own 
 frugality and prudence, fortune aided him considerably in his endeavour, 
 and brought him to the point which he so panted to attain. He laid . 
 out some money very advantageously in the purchase of a house and I 
 small estate close upon the village of Clavering before mentioned. 
 lucky purchase which he had made of shares in a copper-mine added 
 very considerably to his wealth, and he realised with great prudence 
 while this mine was still at its full vogue. Finally, he sold his business, 
 at Bath, to Mr. Parkins, for a handsome sum of ready money, and for 
 an annuity to be paid to him during a certain number of years after 
 he had for ever retired from the handling of the mortar and pestle. 
 
 Arthur Pendennis, his son, was eight years old at the time of this 
 event, so that it is no wonder that the lad, who left Bath and the 
 surgery so young, should forget the existence of such a place almost 
 entirely, and that his father's hands had ever been dirtied by the com- 
 
8 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 pounding of odious pills, or the preparation of filthy plasters. The 
 old man never spoke about the shop himself, never alluded to it; 
 called in the medical practitioner of Clavering to attend his family ; 
 sunk the black breeches and stockings altogether; attended market 
 and sessions, and wore a bottle-green coat and brass buttons, with drab 
 gaiters, just as if he had been an English gentleman all his life. He 
 used to stand at his lodge gate, and see the coaches come in, and bow 
 gravely to the guards and coachmen as they touched their hats and 
 drove by. It was he who founded the Clavering Book Club : and set 
 up the Samaritan Soup and Blanket Society. It was he who brought 
 the mail, which used to run through Cacklefield before, away from 
 that village and through Clavering. At church he was equally active 
 as a vestryman and a worshipper. At market every Thursday, he went 
 from pen to stall ; looked at samples of oats, and munched corn ; felt 
 beasts, punched geese in the breast, and weighed them with a knowing 
 air ; and did business with the farmers at the Clavering Arms, as well 
 as the oldest frequenter of that house of call. It was now his shame, 
 as it formerly was his pride, to be called Doctor, and those who wished 
 to please him always gave him the title of Squire. 
 
 r Heaven krows where they came from, but a whole range of Pendennis 
 |)ortraits presently hung round the Doctor's oak dining-room ; Lelys 
 und \ "n^jykes he vowed all H r portraits to be, and when questioned 
 n> to he History of t':0 oi]ginajs, would vaguely say they were 
 
 ^..^efeturs of his.'' His little boy believr-^ in them to their fullest 
 extent, and Roger Pendennis of A^ri^, . ^rt, Arthur Pendennis of 
 Cre9y, General Pendennis of Blenhen.i i.d Oudenarde, were as real 
 and actual beings for this young gentleman as— whom shall we say.?*— 
 as Robinson Crusoe, or Peter Wilkins, or the Seven Champions of 
 Christendom, whose histories were in his library. 
 
 Pendennis's fortune, which was not above eight hundred pounds a 
 year, did not, with the best economy and management, permit of his 
 living with the great folks of the county ; but he had a decent comfort- 
 able society of the second sort. If they were not the roses, they lived 
 near the roses, as it were, and had a good deal of the odour of genteel 
 life. They had out their plate, and dined each other round in the 
 moonlight nights twice a year, coming a dozen miles to these festivals ; 
 and besides the county, the Pendennises had the society of the town of 
 Clavering, as much as, nay, more than they liked: for Mrs. Pybus was 
 always poking about Helen's conservatories, and intercepting the opera- 
 tion of her soup-tickets and coal-clubs : Captain Glanders (H.P., 50th 
 Dragoon Guards) was for ever swaggering about the Squire's stables 
 and gardens, and endeavouring to enlist him in his quarrels with the 
 Vicar, with the Postmaster, with the Reverend F. Wapshot of Clavering 
 Grammar School, for overflogging his son, Anglesea Glanders,— with 
 all the village, in fine. And Pendennis and his wife often blessed them- 
 selves, that their house of Fairoaks was nearly a mile out of Clavering, 
 01- their premises would never have been free from the prying eyes and 
 prattle of one or other of the male and female inhabitants there. 
 
 Fairoaks lawn comes down to the little river Brawl, and on the other 
 side were the plantations and woods (as much as were left of them) of 
 Clavering Park, Sir Francis Clavering, Bart. The park was let out in 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 9 
 
 pasture and fed down by sheep and cattle when the Pendennises came 
 first to live at Fairoaks. Shutters were up in the house ; a splendid 
 freestone palace^ with great stairs^ statues^ and porticos, whereof you 
 may see a picture in the Beauties of England and Wales." Sir 
 Richard Clavering, Sir Francis's grandfather, had commenced the ruin 
 of the family by the building of this palace : his successor had achieved 
 the ruin by living in it. The present Sir Francis was abroad some- 
 where ; nor could anybody be found rich enough to rent that enormous 
 mansion, through the deserted rooms, mouldy clanking halls, and 
 dismal galleries of which, Arthur Pendennis many a time walked 
 trembling when he was a boy. At sunset, from the lawn of Fairoaks^ 
 there was a pretty sight ; it and the opposite park of Clavering were in 
 the habit of putting on a rich golden tinge, which became them both 
 wonderfully. The upper windows of the great house flamed so as to^ 
 make your eyes wink ; the little river ran ofi' noisily westward, an^ 
 was lost in a sombre wood, behind which the towers of the old abbejr 
 church of Clavering (whereby that town is called Clavering St.^ Mary s 
 to the present day) rose up in purple splendour. Little Arthur s figure 
 and his mother s cast long blue shadows over the grass : and he would 
 repeat in a low voice (for a scene of great natural beauty always moved 
 the boy, who inherited this sensibility from his mother) certain lines 
 beginning, "These are Thy glorious works. Parent of Good; Almighty] 
 Thine this universal frame," greatly to Mrs. Pendennis s delight. Such 
 walks and conversation generally ended in a profusion of filial and 
 maternal embraces : for to love and to pray were the main occupations 
 of this dear woman's life : and I have often heard Pendennis say in his 
 wild way, that he felt that he was sure of going to heaven, for his 
 mother never could be happy there without him. 
 
 As for John Pendennis, as the father of the family, and that sort of 
 thing, everybody had the greatest respect for him : and his orders were/ 
 obeyed like those of the Medes and Persians. His hat was as well 
 brushed, perhaps, as that of any man in this empire. His meals were 
 served at the same minute every day, and woe to those who came late, 
 as little Pen, a disorderly little rascal, sometimes did. Prayers were 
 recited, his letters were read, his business despatched, his stables and 
 garden inspected, his hen-houses and kennel, his barn and pig-sty 
 visited, always at regular hours. After dinner he always had a nap 
 with the Globe newspaper on his knee, and his yellow bandanna hand- 
 kerchief on his face (Major Pendennis sent the yellow handkerchiefs 
 from India, and his brother had helped in the purchase of his majority, 
 so that they were good friends now). And so, as his dinner took place 
 at six o'clock to a minute, and the sunset business alluded to may be 
 supposed to have occurred at about half-past seven, it is probable that 
 he did not much care for the view in front of his lawn windows, or 
 take any share in the poetry and caresses which were taking place 
 there. 
 
 They seldom occurred in his presence. However frisky they were \ 
 before, mother and child were hushed and quiet when Mr. Pendennis j 
 walked into the drawing-room, his newspaper under his arm. • • • 1 
 And here, while little Pen, buried in a great chair, read all the books j 
 of which he could lay hold, the Squire perused his own articles in the 
 
10 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Gardener s Gazette, or took a solemn hand at piquet with Mrs. Pendennis, 
 or an occasional friend from the village. 
 
 Pendennis usually took care that at least one of his grand dinners 
 should take place when his brother^ the Major^ who, on the return 
 of his regiment from India and New South Wales, had sold out and 
 gone upon half-pay, came to pay his biennial visit to Fairoaks. My 
 brother. Major Pendennis," was a constant theme of the retired Doctor's 
 conversation. All the family delighted in my brother the Major. He 
 was the link which bound them to the great world of London, and the 
 fashion. He always brought down the last news of the nobility, and 
 spoke of such with soldierlike respect and decorum. He would say, 
 
 My Lord Bareacres has been good enough to invite me to Bareacres 
 for the pheasant shooting," or, My Lord Steyne is so kind as to wish 
 for my presence at Stillbrook for the Easter holidays ; " and you may 
 be sure the whereabouts of my brother the Major was carefully made 
 known by worthy Mr. Pendennis to his friends at the Clavering Reading- 
 room, at Justice meetings, or at the county town. Their carriages 
 would come from ten miles round to call upon Major Pendennis in his 
 visits to Fairoaks ; the fame of his fashion as a man about town was 
 established throughout the county. There was a talk of his marrying 
 Miss Hunkle, of Lilybank, old Hunkle the attorney's daughter, with at 
 least fifteen hundred a year to her fortune ; but my brother the Major 
 declined. As a bachelor," he said, nobody cares how poor I am. I 
 have the happiness to live with people who are so highly placed in the 
 world, that a few hundreds or thousands a year more or less can make 
 no difference in the estimation in which they are pleased to hold me. 
 Miss Hunkle, though a most respectable lady, is not in possession of 
 either the birth or the manners which would entitle her to be received 
 into the sphere in which I have the honour to move. I shall live and 
 die an old bachelor, John : and your worthy friend. Miss Hunkle, I 
 have no doubt, will find some more worthy object of her affection, than 
 a worn-out old soldier on half-pay." Time showed the correctness of 
 the surmise ; Miss Hunkle married a young French nobleman, and is 
 now at this moment living at Lilybank, under the title of Baroness de 
 Carambole, having been separated from her wild young scapegrace of 
 a Baron very shortly after their union. 
 
 The Major had a sincere liking and regard for his sister-in-law, whom 
 he pronounced, and with perfect truth, to be as fine a lady as any 
 in England. Indeed, Mrs. Pendennis's tranquil beauty, her natural 
 sweetness and kindness, and that simplicity and dignity which a per- 
 fect purity and innocence are sure to bestow upon a handsome woman, 
 rendered her quite worthy of her brother's praises. I think it is not 
 national prejudice which makes me believe that a high-bred English 
 lady is the most complete of all Heaven's subjects in this world. In 
 whom else do you see so much grace, and so much virtue ; so much 
 faith, and so much tenderness ; with such a perfect refinement and 
 chastity? And by high-bred ladies I don't mean duchesses and countesses. 
 Be they ever so high in station, they can be but ladies, and no more. 
 But almost every man who lives in the world has the happiness, let us 
 hope, of counting a few such persons amongst his circle of acquaintance 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 11 
 
 —women in whose angelical natures there is something awful, as well 
 as beautiful, to contemplate ; at whose feet the wildest and fiercest of 
 us must fall down and humble ourselves, in admiration of that adorable 
 purity which never seems to do or to think wrong. 
 
 Arthur Pendennis had the good fortune to have such a mother. 
 During his childhood and youth, the boy thought of her as little less 
 than an angel— a supernatural being, all wisdom, love, and beauty. 
 When her husband drove her into the county town, to the assize balls 
 or concerts, he would step into the assembly with his wife on his arm, 
 and look the great folks in the face, as much as to say, Look at that, 
 my Lord ; can any of you show me a woman like that ? " She enraged 
 some country ladies with three times her money, by a sort of desperate 
 perfection which they found in her. Miss Pybus said she was cold and 
 haughty ; Miss Pierce, that she was too proud for her station ; Mrs. 
 Wapshot, as a doctor of divinity's lady, would have the pas of her, who 
 was only the wife of a medical practitioner. In the meanwhile, this 
 lady moved through the world quite regardless of all the comments 
 that were made in her praise or disfavour. She did not seem to know 
 that she was admired or hated for being so perfect; but carried on 
 calmly through life, saying her prayers, loving her family, helping her 
 neighbours, and doing her duty. 
 
 That even a woman should be faultless, however, is an arrangement 
 not permitted by nature, which assigns to us mental defects, as it 
 awards to us headaches, illnesses, or death : without which the scheme 
 of the world could not be carried on,— nay, some of the best qualities 
 of mankind could not be brought into exercise. As pain produces 
 or elicits fortitude and endurance ; difficulty, perseverance ; poverty, 
 industry and ingenuity ; danger, courage and what not ; so the very 
 virtues, on the other hand, will generate some vices ; and, in fine, Mrs. 
 Pendennis had that vice which Miss Pybus and Miss Pierce discovered 
 in her, namely, that ^ pi-ide ; which did not vest itself so much in her 
 own person, as in that (FTef family. She spoke about Mr. Pendennis 
 (a worthy little gentleman enough, but there are others as good as he) 
 with an awful reverence, as if he had been the Pope of Rome on his 
 throne, and she a cardinal kneeling at his feet, and giving him incense. 
 The Major she held to be a sort of Bayard among Majors : and as for 
 her son Arthur, she worshipped that youth with an ardour which the | 
 young scapegrace accepted almost as coolly as the statue of the Saint in 
 St. Peter's receives the rapturous osculations which the faithful deliver 
 on his toe. 
 
 This unfortunate superstition and idol-worship of this good woman 
 was the cause of a great deal of the misfortune which befell the young 
 gentleman who is the hero of this history, and deserves therefore to be 
 mentioned at the outset of his story. 
 
 Arthur Pendennis s schoolfellows at the Grey Friars School state 
 that, as a boy, he was in no ways remarkable either as a dunce or as a 
 scholar. He never read to improve himself out of school hours, but, 
 on the contrary, devoured all the novels, plays, and poetry, on which 
 he could lay his hands. He never was flogged, but it was a wonder 
 how he escaped the whipping-post. When tie had money he spent it 
 royally in tarts for himself and his friends ; he has been known to 
 
12 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 disburse nine and sixpence out of ten shillings awarded to him in a 
 single day. When he had no funds he went on tick. When he could 
 get no credit he went without^ and was almost as happy. He has been 
 I known to take a thrashing for a crony without saying a word ; but a 
 I blow^ ever so slight^ from a friend, would make him roar. To fighting 
 i- he was averse from his earliest youth, as indeed to physic, the Greek 
 / Grammar, or any other exertion, and would engage in none of them, 
 except at the last extremity. He seldom if ever told lies, and never 
 bullied little boys. Those masters or seniors who were kind to him, he 
 loved with boyish ardour. And though the Doctor, when he did not 
 know his Horace, or could not construe his Greek play, said that that 
 boy Pendennis was a disgrace to the school, a candidate for ruin in this 
 world, and perdition in the next ; a profligate who would most likely 
 bring his venerable father to ruin and his mother to a dishonoured 
 grave, and the like— yet as the Doctor made use of these compliments 
 to most of the boys in the place (which has not turned out an unusual 
 number of felons and pickpockets), little Pen, at first uneasy and 
 terrified by these charges, became gradually accustomed to hear them ; 
 and he has not, in fact, either murdered his parents, or committed any 
 act worthy of transportation or hanging up to the present day. 
 
 There were many of the upper boys, among the Cistercians with 
 whom Pendennis was educated, who assumed all the privileges of men 
 long before they quitted that seminary. Many of them, for example, 
 smoked cigars — and some had already begun the practice of inebriation. 
 One had fought a duel with an Ensign in a marching regiment in 
 consequence of a row at the theatre — another actually kept a buggy 
 and horse at a livery stable in Covent Garden, and might be seen 
 driving any Sunday in Hyde Park with a groom with squared arms 
 and armorial buttons by his side. Many of the seniors were in love, 
 and showed each other in confidence poems addressed to, or letters and 
 locks of hair received from, young ladies— but Pen, a modest and timid 
 youth, rather envied these than imitated them as yet. He had not got 
 ^beyond the theory as yet — the practice of life was all to come. And 
 ^by the way, ye tender mothers and sober fathers of Christian families, 
 a prodigious thing that theory of life is as orally learned at a great 
 public school. Why, if you could hear those boys of fourteen who 
 blush before mothers and sneak off in silence in the presence of their 
 daughters, talking among each other — it would be the woman's turn to 
 blush then. Before he was twelve years old little Pen had heard talk 
 enough to make him quite awfully wise upon certain points — and so. 
 Madam, has your pretty little rosy-cheeked son, who is coming home 
 from school for the ensuing holidays. I don't say that the boy is lost, or 
 that the innocence has left him which he had from " Heaven which is our 
 home," but that the shades of the prison-house are closing very fast over 
 him, and that we are helping as much as possible to corrupt him. 
 
 Well — Pen had just made his public appearance in a coat with a tail, 
 or cauda-virilis, and was looking most anxiously in his little study-glass 
 to see if his whiskers were growing, like those of more fortunate youths 
 his companions ; and, instead of the treble voice with which he used to 
 speak and sing (for his singing voice was a very sweet one, and he used 
 when little to be made to perform Home, sweet Home," My pretty 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 13 
 
 Page/* and a French song or two which his mother had taught hinij^ 
 and other ballads for the delectation of the senior boys)^ had suddenly^, 
 plunged into a deep bass diversified by a squeak, which set master and 
 scholars laughing — he was about sixteen years old^ in a word^ when he 
 was suddenly called away from his academic studies. 
 
 It was at the close of the forenoon school, and Pen had been un- 
 noticed all the previous part of the morning till now, when the Doctor 
 put him on to construe in a Greek play. He did not know a word of 
 it, though little Timmins, his form-fellow, was prompting him with all 
 his might. Pen had made a sad blunder or two — when the awful chief 
 broke out upon him. 
 
 Pendennis, sir," he said, " your idleness is incorrigible and your 
 stupidity beyond example. You are a disgrace to your school, and to 
 your family, and I have no doubt will prove so in after-life to your 
 country. If that vice, sir, which is described to us as the root of all 
 evil, be really what moralists have represented (and I have no doubt of 
 the correctness of their opinion), for what a prodigious quantity of 
 future crime and wickedness are you, unhappy boy, laying the seed ! 
 Miserable trifler ! A boy who construes d e and, instead of d e but, at 
 sixteen years of age, is guilty not merely of folly, and ignorance, and 
 dulness inconceivable, but of crime, of deadly crime, of filial ingratitude, 
 which I tremble to contemplate. A boy, sir, who does not learn his 
 Greek play cheats the parent who spends money for his education. A 
 boy who cheats his parent is not very far from robbing or forging upon 
 his neighbour. A man who forges on his neighbour pays the penalty 
 of his crime at the gallows. And it is not such a one that I pity (for 
 he will be deservedly cut off) ; but his maddened and broken-hearted 
 parents, who are driven to a premature grave by his crimes, or, if they 
 live, drag on a wretched and dishonoured old age. Go on, sir, and I 
 warn you that the very next mistake that you make shall subject you 
 to the punishment of the rod. Who's that laughing? What ill- 
 conditioned boy is there that dares to laugh ? " shouted the Doctor. 
 
 Indeed, while the master was making this oration, there was a general 
 titter behind him in the schoolroom. The orator had his back to the 
 door of this ancient apartment, which was open, and a gentleman who 
 was quite familiar with the place, for both Major Arthur and Mr. John 
 Pendennis had been at the school, was asking the fifth-form boy who 
 sat by the door for Pendennis. The lad grinning pointed to the culprit 
 against whom the Doctor was pouring out the thunders of his just wrath 
 — Major Pendennis could not help laughing. He remembered having 
 stood under that very pillar where Pen the younger now stood, and? 
 having been assaulted by the Doctor's predecessor years and years ago.? 
 The intelligence was " passed round " that it was Pendennis's uncle in| 
 an instant, and a hundred young faces, wondering and giggling, between! 
 terror and laughter, turned now to the new-comer and then to the} 
 awful Doctor. 
 
 The Major asked the fifth-form boy to carry his card up to the Doctor, 
 which the lad did with an arch look. Major Pendennis had written on 
 the card, I must take A. P. home ; his father is very ill. " 
 
 As the Doctor received the card, and stopped his harangue with rather 
 a scared look, the laughter of the boys, half constrained until then. 
 
14 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 burst out in a general shout. Silence ! " roared out the Doctor, 
 stamping with his foot. Pen looked up and saw who was his deliverer ; 
 the Major beckoned to him gravely, and tumbling down his books. Pen 
 went across. 
 
 The Doctor took out his watch. It was two minutes to one. We 
 will take the Juvenal at afternoon school," he said, nodding to the 
 Major, and all the boys understanding the signal gathered up their 
 books and poured out of the hall. 
 
 Young Pen saw by his uncle's face that something had happened at 
 home. Is there anything the matter with — my mother } " he said. 
 He could hardly speak, though, for emotion, and the tears which were 
 ready to start. 
 
 No," said the Major, but your father's very ill. Go and pack 
 your trunk directly ; I have got a post-chaise at the gate. " 
 
 Pen went off quickly to his boarding-house to do as his uncle bade 
 him ; and the Doctor, now left alone in the schoolroom, came out to 
 ^ shake hands with his old schoolfellow. You would not have thought 
 i it was the same man. As Cinderella at a particular hour became, from 
 
 1a blazing and magnificent princess, quite an ordinary little maid in a 
 grey petticoat, so, as the clock struck one, all the thundering majesty 
 and awful wrath of the schoolmaster disappeared. 
 
 There is nothing serious, I hope," said the Doctor. It is a pity 
 to take the boy otherwise. He is a good boy, rather idle and unener- 
 getic, but an honest gentlemanlike little fellow, though I can't get him 
 to construe as I wish. Won't you come in and have some luncheon } 
 My wife will be very happy to see you. " 
 
 But Major Pendennis declined the luncheon. He said his brother 
 was very ill, had had a fit the day before, and it was a great question if 
 they should see him alive. 
 
 There's no other son, is there .f*" said the Doctor. The Major 
 answered ^'^No." 
 
 And there's a good eh — a good eh — property, I believe ? " asked 
 the other in an off-hand way. 
 
 H'm — so so," said the Major. Whereupon this colloquy came to 
 an end. And Arthur Pendennis got into a post-chaise with his uncle, 
 never to come back to school any more. 
 
 As the chaise drove through Clavering, the ostler standing whistling 
 under the archway of the Clavering Arms, winked to the postillion omi- 
 nously, as much as to say all was over. The gardener's wife came and 
 opened the lodge gates, and let the travellers through with a silent 
 shake of the head. All the blinds were down at Fairoaks — the face of 
 the old footman was as blank when he let them in. Arthur's face was 
 white too, with terror more than with grief. Whatever of warmth and 
 love the deceased man might have had, and he adored his wife and 
 loved and admired his son with all his heart, he had shut them up 
 within himself ; nor had the boy been ever able to penetrate that frigid 
 outward barrier. But Arthur had been his father's pride and glory 
 through life, and his name the last which John Pendennis had tried to 
 articulate whilst he lay with his wife's hand clasping his own cold and 
 clammy palm, as the flickering spirit went out into the darkness of 
 death, and life and the world passed away from him. 
 
Copyright^ Service &• Paton, 1897., 
 
PENDENNIS 15 
 
 The little ffirl, whose face had peered for a moment under the blinds 
 as the chaise came up, opened the door from the stairs into the hall 
 and taking Arthur s hand silently as he stooped down to kiss her, led 
 him upstairs to his mother. Old John opened the dining-room for the 
 Major The room was darkened with the blinds down, and surrounded 
 bv all'the ffloomy pictures of the Pendennises. He drank a glass of 
 Wine The bottle had been opened for the Squire four days before. 
 His hat was brushed, and laid on the hall table ; his newspapers, and 
 his letter bag, with John Pendennis, Esquire, Fairoaks, engraved upon 
 the brass plate, were there in waiting. The doctor and the lawyer from 
 Clavering, who had seen the chaise pass through, came up m a gig halt- 
 an-hour after the Major's arrival, and entered by the back door. Ihe 
 former gave a detailed account of the seizure and demise ot Mr. Pen- 
 dennis, enlarged on his virtues and the estimation in which the neigh- 
 bourhood held him; on what a loss he would be to the magistrates 
 bench, the County Hospital, &c. Mrs. Pendennis bore up wonderfully, 
 he said, especially since Master Arthur's arrival The lawyer stayed 
 and dined with Major Pendennis, and they talked business all the 
 evening The Major was his brother s executor, and joint guardian to 
 the boy with Mrs. Pendennis. Everything was left unreservedly to 
 her except in case of a second marriage,— an occasion which might 
 offer itself in the case of so young and handsome a woman, Mr. Tatham 
 gallantly said, when different provisions were enacted by the deceased. 
 The Major would of course take entire superintendence of everything 
 upon this most impressive and melancholy occasion. Aware of this 
 authority, old John, the footman, when he brought Major Pendennis 
 the candle to go to bed, followed afterwards with the plate-basket ; and 
 the next morning brought him the key of the hall clock— the Squire 
 always used to wind it up of a Thursday, John said. Mrs. Pendennis s 
 maid brought him messages from her mistress. She confirmed the 
 doctors report, of the comfort which Master Arthurs arrival had 
 caused to his mother. , , , . ^ r- x a -i 
 
 What passed between that lady and the boy is not of import. A veil 
 should be thrown over those sacred emotions of love and grief. The 
 maternal passion is a sacred mystery to me. What one sees symbolised 
 in the Roman churches in the image of the Virgin Mother with a bosom 
 bleeding with love, I think one may witness (and admire the Almighty 
 bounty for) every day. I saw a Jewish lady, only yesterday, with a 
 child at her knee, and from whose face towards the child there shone 
 a sweetness so angelical, that it seemed to form a sort of glory round 
 both I protest I could have knelt before her too, and adored m her 
 the Divine beneficence in endowing us with the maternal 6'torge, which 
 began with our race and sanctifies the history of mankind. 
 
 As for Arthur Pendennis, after that a^vful shock which the sight of 
 his dead father must have produced on him, and the pity and feeling 
 which such an event no doubt occasioned, I am not sure that m the very 
 moment of the grief, and as he embraced his mother, and tenderly \ 
 consoled her, and promised to love her for ever, there was not spring- \ 
 ing up in his breast a sort of secret triumph and exultation. He was \ 
 the chief now and lord. He was Pendennis ; and all round about him 
 were tis servants and handmaids. You 11 never send me away," little 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 Laura said, tripping by him, and holding his hand. " You won't send 
 me to school, will you, Arthur? " 
 
 cni^'"*!*"""".^'? ^^'^ P?"^** head. No, she shouldn't ro to 
 school As for going himself, that was quite out of the question He 
 had determmed that that part of his life should not beVnewed. In 
 the midst of the general grief, and the corpse still lying above, he had 
 leisure to conclude that he would have it all holidays for the future 
 that he wouldn't get up till he liked, or stand the bullying of th^ 
 
 leso vesZ ThT'f ^^^J^"^^ a hundred of such dayLLs and 
 resolves for the future. How one's thoughts will travel! and how 
 quick y our wishes beget them ! When he with Laura in his hand 
 went into the kitchen on his way to the dog-kennel, the fLl-houses 
 ' -ii.''.^""/ there assembled in S 
 
 siflv Pntti r labouring men and their wivesf and 
 
 Sally Potter who went with the post-bag to CWring, and the bakei's 
 man from Clavering-all there assembled and drinking beer on tLe 
 melancholy occasion-rose up on his entrance and bowed or curtseyed 
 to him. They never used to do so last holidays, he felt at onceTnd 
 with indescribable pleasure. The cook cried out, "O Lord" and 
 
 7t"lTS A "7 ^'-"^ ' " Thomas, the groomr n 
 
 the act of drinking, put down the jug alarmed before hi! master 
 Thomas s master felt the honour keenly. He went through andZked 
 at the pointers As Flora put her nose up to his waistcoat, and Ponto 
 yelling with pleasure, hurtled at his chain, Pen patronised the dS' 
 Z/fl^' l^"" n his most condescending maiS 
 
 And then he went and looked at Laura's hens, and at the pi|s, and 
 Sv"w J: 'l-r*^ 1 the dairy ; perhaps he blushed to think that it wL 
 only last holidays he had m a manner robbed the great apple-tree and 
 been scolded by the dairy-maid for taking cream. ' 
 
 Ihey buned John Pendennis, Esquire, " formerly an eminent medical 
 Eorind 7d subsequently an able ma/strate, a beiroleiU 
 
 n thi/ '-^^ benefactor to many charities and public institutions 
 m this neighbourhood and country," with one of the most handsome 
 funerals that had been since Sir Roger Clavering was buried here the 
 clerk said, in the abbey church of Clavering St. Gary's. A foir marWe 
 slab, from which the above inscription is copied, was erected over the 
 
 Tf arm^ f ' '"'"''f 'i ^""^ '"'^^ the Pendenl coat 
 
 of arms and crest, an eagle looking towards the sun, with the motto 
 
 tl.riT'r""";^*'* P?'^"t day. Doctor Portman alluded to 
 the deceased most handsomely and aifectingly, as "our dear departed 
 friend, in his sermon next Sunday; and Arthur Pendennis reigned 
 
 CHAPTER in 
 
 IN WHICH PENDENNIS APPEARS AS A VERY YOUNG MAN INDEED 
 
 Arthur was about sixteen years old, we have said, when he began to 
 leign ; m person, he had what his friends would call a dumpy, but his 
 mamma styled a neat little figure. His hair was of a healthy brown 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 17 
 
 colour^ which looks like gold in the sunshine^ his face was round^ I'osy^' 
 freckled^ and good-humoured^ his whiskers were decidedly of a reddish 
 hue ; in fact^ without being a beauty^ he had such a frank^ good-natured 
 kind face^ and laughed so merrily at you out of his honest blue eyes^ 
 that no wonder Mrs. Pendennis thought him the pride of the whole 
 country. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen he rose from five 
 feet six to five feet eight inches in height^ at which altitude he paused. 
 But his mother wondered at it. He was three inches taller than his 
 father. Was it possible that any man could grow to be three inches 
 taller than Mr. Pendennis ? 
 
 You may be certain he never went back to school ; the discipline of 
 the establishment did not suit him, and he liked being at home much 
 better. The question of his return was debated, and his uncle was for 
 his going back. The Doctor wrote his opinion that it was most im- 
 portant for Arthur's success in after life that he should know a Greek 
 jlay thoroughly, but Pen adroitly managed to hint to his mother what 
 a'dangerous place Grey Friars was, and what sad wild fellows some of 
 the chaps there were, and the timid soul, taking alarm at once, acceded 
 to his desire to stay at home. 
 
 Then Pen's uncle offered to use his influence with His Royal Highness 
 the Commander-in-Chief, who was pleased to be very kind to him, and 
 proposed to get Pen a commission in the Foot Guards. Pen's heart 
 leaped at this : he had been to hear the band at St. James's play on a 
 Sunday, when he went out to his uncle. He had seen Tom Ricketts, 
 of the fourth form, who used to wear a jacket and trousers so ludicrously 
 tight, that the elder boys could not forbear using him in the quality of 
 a butt or cockshy "—he had seen this very Ricketts arrayed in crimson 
 and gold, with an immense bearskin cap on his head, staggering under 
 the colours of the regiment. Tom had recognised him, and gave 
 him a patronising nod ;— Tom, a little wretch whom he had cut over 
 the back with a hockey-stick last quarter— and there he was* in the 
 centre of the square, rallying round the flag of his country, surrounded 
 by bayonets, cross-belts, and scarlet, the band blowing trumpets and 
 banging cymbals— talking familiarly to immense warriors with tufts 
 to their chins and Waterloo medals. What would not Pen have given 
 to enter such a service } 
 
 But Helen Pendennis, when this point was proposed to her by her 
 son, put on a face full of terror and alarm. She said '^'she did not 
 quarrel with others who thought differently, but that in her opinion a 
 Christian had no right to make the army a profession. Mr. Pendennis 
 never, never would have permitted his son to be a soldier. Finally, 
 she should be very unhappy if he thought of it." Now Pen would 
 have as soon cut off his nose and ears, as deliberately, and of afore- 
 thought malice, made his mother unhappy ; and, as tie was of such a 
 generous disposition that he would give away anything to any one, he 
 instantly made a present of his visionary red coat and epaulettes to 
 his mother. 
 
 She thought him the noblest creature in the world. But Major 
 Pendennis, when the offer of the commission was acknowledged and 
 refused, wrote back a curt and somewhat angry letter to the widow, 
 and thought his nephew was rather a spooney. 
 
18 
 
 PENBENNIS 
 
 He was contented^ however, when he saw the boy^s perform?' ices 
 out hunting at Christmas, when the Major came down as usual to 
 Fairoaks. Pen had a very good mare, and rode her with uncommon 
 pluck and grace. He took his fences with great coolness and judg- 
 ment. He wrote to the chaps at school about his top-boots, and his 
 feats across country. He began to think seriously of a scarlet coat : 
 and his mother must own that she thought it would become him re- 
 markably well ; though, of course, she passed hours of anguish during 
 his absence, and daily expected to see him brought home on a shutter. 
 
 With these amusements, in rather too gi-eat plenty, it must not be 
 assumed that Pen neglected his studies altogether. He had a natural 
 taste for reading every possible kind of book which did jOQt fall into 
 his school course. It was only when they forced his head into the 
 waters of knowledge that he refused to drink. He devoured all the 
 books at home, from Inchbald's Theatre to White's Farriery; he 
 ransacked the neighbouring bookcases. He found at Clavering an old 
 cargo of French novels, which he read with all his might; and he 
 would sit for hours perched up on the topmost bar of Doctor Portman's 
 library steps with a folio on his knees, whether it were Hakluyt's 
 Travels, Hobbes's Leviathan, Augustini Opera, or Chaucer's Poems. 
 He and the vicar were very good friends, and from his Reverence, Pen 
 learned that honest taste for port wine which distinguished him through 
 life. And as for Mrs. Portman, who was not in the least jealous, 
 though her Doctor avowed himself in love with Mrs. Pendennis, whom 
 he pronounced to be by far the finest lady in the country — all her 
 grief was, as she looked up fondly at Pen perched on the book-ladder, 
 that her daughter, Minny, was too old for him — as indeed she was — Miss 
 Mira Portman being at that period only two years younger than Pen's 
 mother, and weighing as much as Pen and Mrs. Pendennis together. 
 
 Are these details insipid .^^ Look back, good friend, at your own 
 youth, and ask how was that.^^ I like to think of a well-nurtured boy, 
 brave and gentle, warm-hearted and loving, and looking the world 
 in the face with kind honest eyes. What bright colours it wore then, 
 and how you enjoyed it ! A man has not many years of such time. He 
 does not know them whilst they are with him. It is only when they are 
 passed long away that he remembers how dear and happy they were. 
 
 Mr. Smirke, Dr. Portman's curate, was engaged, at a liberal salary, 
 to walk or ride over from Clavering and pass several hours daily with 
 the young gentleman. Smirke was a man perfectly faultless at a tea- 
 iable, wore a curl on his fair forehead, and tied his neckcloth with a 
 Cn^]aJicholy grace. He was a decent scholar and mathematician, and 
 taughtTPeh as much as the lad was ever disposed to learn, which was 
 not much. For Pen had soon taken the measure of his tutor, who, 
 when he came riding into the courtyard at Fairoaks on his pony, 
 turned out his toes so absurdly, and left such a gap between his knees 
 and the saddle, that it was impossible for any lad endowed with a 
 sense of humour to respect such an equestrian. He nearly killed 
 Smirke with terror by putting him on his mare, and taking him a ride 
 over a common, where the county foxhounds (then hunted by that 
 staunch old sportsman, Mr. Hardhead, of Dumplingbeare) happened 
 to meet. Mr. Smirke, on Pen's mare, Rebecca (she was named after 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 19 
 
 Pen's favoui'ite heroine^ the daughter of Isaac of York)^ astounded the 
 hounds as much as he disgusted the huntsman^ laming one of the 
 former by persisting in riding amongst the pack^ and receiving a 
 speech from the latter^ more remarkable for energy of language^ than 
 any oration he had ever heard since he left the bargemen on the banks 
 of Isis. 
 
 Smirke and his pupil read the ancient poets together, and rattled 
 through them at a pleasant rate, very different from that steady 
 grubbing pace with which the Cistercians used to go over the classic 
 ground, scenting out each word as they went, and digging up every 
 root in the way. Pen never liked to halt, but made his tutor construe 
 when he was at fault, and thus galloped through the Iliad and the 
 Odyssey, the tragic play-writers, and the charming wicked Aristophanes 
 (whom he vowed to be the greatest poet of all). But he went so fast 
 that, though he certainly galloped through a considerable extent of 
 the ancient country, he clean forgot it in after life, and had only such 
 a vague remembrance of his early classic course as a man has in the 
 House of Commons, let us say, who still keeps up two or three quota- 
 tions ; or a reviewer who, just for decency's sake, hints at a little Greek. 
 
 Besides the ancient poets, you may be sure Pen read the English 
 with great gusto. Smirke sighed and shook his head sadly both about 
 Byron and Moore. But Pen was a sworn fire-worshipper and a Corsair ; 
 he had them by heart, and used to take little Laura into the window 
 and say, Zuleika, I am not thy brother," in tones so tragic, that they 
 caused the solemn little maid to open her great eyes still wider. She 
 sat, until the proper hour for retirement, sewing at Mrs. Pendennis's 
 knee, and listening to Pen reading out to her of nights without com- 
 prehending one word of what he read. 
 
 ^ He read Shakespeare to his mother (which she said she liked, but 
 didn't), and Byron, and Pope, and his favourite Lalla Bookh, which 
 pleased her indifferently. But as for Bishop Heber, and Mr&. Hemans 
 above all, this lady used to melt right away, and be absorbed into her 
 pocket-handkerchief, when Pen read those authors to her in his kind 
 boyish voice. The Christian Year was a book which appeared about 
 that time. The son and the mother whispered it to each other with 
 awe— Faint, very faint, and seldom in after life Pendennis heard that 
 solemn church-music ; but he always loved the remembrance of it, and 
 of the times when it struck on his heart, and he walked over the fields 
 full of hope and void of Jloubt, as the church-bells rang on Sunday 
 morning. 
 
 It was at this period of his existence, that Pen broke out in the 
 Poets' Corner of the County Chronicle, with some verses with which he 
 was perfectly well satisfied. His are the verses signed '^'NEP.," 
 addressed ^^^^To a tear ; " ^^On the Anniversary of the Battle of 
 Waterloo;" *^^To Madame Caradori singing at the Assize Meetings;" i 
 ^ On Saint Bartholomew's Day " (a tremendous denunciation of t 
 Popery, and a solemn warning to the people of England to rally against ^ 
 emancipating the Roman Catholics), &c. &c.— all which masterpieces; 
 poor Mrs. Pendennis kept along with his first socks, the first cutting f 
 of his ban-, higjLattle, and other interesting relics of his infancy. He 
 u^..d to gallop Rebecca over the neighbouring Dumpling Downs, or 
 
20 PENDENNIS 
 
 into the county town^ which^ if you please^ we shall call Chatteris^ 
 spouting his own poems, and filled with quite a J^onic afflatus as 
 
 he thought. , tt i_ 1,4. 
 
 His genius at this time was of a decidedly gloomy cast. He brought 
 ftiis mother a tragedy, at which, though he killed sixteen people before 
 [the second act, Helen laughed so, that he thrust the masterpiece into 
 {the fire in a pet. He projected an epic poem in blank verse, Cortez, 
 or the Conqueror of Mexico, and the Inca's Daughter." He wrote part 
 of Seneca, or the Fatal Bath," and Ariadne in Naxos ; " classical 
 pieces, with choruses and strophes and antistrophes, which sadly 
 puzzled Mrs. Pendennis ; and began a History of the Jesuits," 111 
 which he lashed that Order with tremendous severity. His loyalty did 
 his mother's heart good to witness. He was a staunch, unflinching 
 Church-and-King man in those days ; and at the election, when Sir 
 Giles Beanfield stood on the Blue interest, against Lord Trehawk, Lord 
 Eyrie's son, a Whig and a friend of Popery, Arthur Pendennis, with 
 an immense bow for himself, which his mother made, and with a blue 
 ribbon for Rebecca, rode alongside of the Reverend Doctor Portman, 
 on his grey mare Dowdy, and at the head of the Clavering voters, 
 whom the Doctor brought up to plump for the Protestant Champion. 
 
 On that day Pen made his first speech at the Blue Hotel ; and also, 
 it appears, for the first time in his life— took a little more wine than 
 was good for him. Mercy ! what a scene it was at Fairoaks, when he 
 rode back at ever so much o'clock at night. What moving about of 
 lanterns in the courtyard and stables, though the moon was shmmg 
 out ; what a gathering of servants, as Pen came home, clattering oyer 
 the bridge and up the stable-yard, with half-a-score of the Clavering 
 voters yelling after him the Blue song of the election ! 
 
 He wanted them all to come in and have some wine— some very good 
 Madeira— some capital Madeira— John, go and get some Madeira,— 
 and there is no knowing what the farmers would have done, had not 
 Madam Pendennis made her appearance in a white wrapper, with a 
 candle— and scared those zealous Blues so by the sight of her pale 
 handsome face, that they touched their hats and rode pff. , 
 
 Besides these amusements and occupations in which Mr. Fen in- 
 dulged, there was one which forms the main business and pleasure ot 
 youth, if the poets tell us aright, whom Pen was always studying ; and 
 which, ladies, you have rightly guessed to be that of Love. Pen sighed 
 for it first in secret, and, like the love-sick swain in Ovid, opened his 
 breast and said, Aura, veni." What generous youth is there that has 
 not courted some such windy mistress in his time ? 
 
 Yes Pen began to feel the necessity of a first love— of a consuming 
 passion— of an object on which he could concentrate all those vague 
 floating fancies under which he sweetly suffered—of a young lady to 
 ^hom he could really make verses, and whom he could set up and 
 kdore, in place of those unsubstantial lanthes and Zuleikas to whom he 
 Udressed the outpourings of his gushing muse. - He f^ad his favourite 
 Lems over and over again, he called upon Alma Venus, the delight 
 bf gods and men, he translated Anacreon's odes, and picked out pas- 
 sage's suitable to his complaint from Waller, Dryden, Prior, and the 
 like. Smirke and he were never weary, in their interviews, ot discou'*=- 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 21 
 
 ing about love. The faithless tutor entertained him with sentimental 
 conversations in place of lectures on algebra and Greek ; for Smirke 
 was in love too. Who could help it^ being in daily intercourse with 
 such a woman } Smirke was madly in love (as far as such a mild flame 
 as Mr. Smirke's may be called madness) with Mrs. Pendennis. That 
 honest lady^ sitting down below stairs teaching little Laura to play the 
 piano^ or devising flannel petticoats for the poor round about her, or 
 otherwise busied with the calm routine of her modest and spotless 
 Christian life, was little aware what storms were brewing in two bosoms 
 upstairs in the study — in Pen's as he sate in his shooting-jacket, with 
 his elbows on the green study-table, and his hands clutching his curly : 
 brown hair, Homer under his nose, — and in worthy Mr. Smirke's, with ,-.t^f"^^^'" 
 whom he was reading. Here they would talk about Helen and Andro- 
 mache. Andromache's like my mother," Pen used to avouch ; but 
 I say, Smirke, by Jove I'd cut off" my nose to see Helen;" and he 
 would spout certain favourite lines which the reader will find in their 
 proper place in the third book. He drew portraits of her — they are 
 extant still — with straight noses and enormous eyes, and Arthur 
 Pendennis delineavit et pinxit " gallantly written underneath. 
 
 As for Mr. Smirke, he naturally preferred Andromache. And in 
 consequence he was uncommonly kind to Pen. He gave him his 
 Elzevir Horace, of which the boy was fond, and his little Greek Testa- 
 ment, which his own mamma at Clapham had purchased and presented 
 to him. He bought him a silver pencil-case : and in the matter of 
 learning let him do just as much or as little as ever he pleased. He 
 always seemed to be on the point of unbosoming himself to Pen ; nay, 
 he confessed to the latter that he had a — an attachment, an ardently 
 cherished attachment, about which Pendennis longed to hear, and said. 
 
 Tell us, old chap, is she handsome ? has she got blue eyes or black } " 
 But Doctor Portman's curate, heaving a gentle sigh, cast up his eyes 
 to the ceiling, and begged Pen faintly to change the conversation. 
 Poor Smirke ! He invited Pen to dine at his lodgings over Madame 
 Fribsby's, the milliner's, in Clavering, and once when it was raining, 
 and Mrs. Pendennis, who had driven in her pony-chaise into Clavering 
 with respect to some arrangements, about leaving oft' mourning pro- 
 bably, was prevailed upon to enter the curate's apartments, he sent for 
 pound-cakes instantly. The sofa on which she sate became sacred to \ 
 him from that day : and he kept flowers in the glass which she drank^ 
 from, ever after. 
 
 As Mrs. Pendennis was never tired of hearing the praises of her son, 
 we may be certain that this rogue of a tutor neglected no opportunity 
 of conversing with her upon the subject. It might be a little tedious 
 to him to hear the stories about Pen's generosity, about his bravery in 
 fighting the big naughty boy, about his fun and jokes, about his pro- 
 digious skill in Latin, music, riding, &c. — but what price would he not 
 pay to be in her company.^ and the widow, after these conversations, 
 thought Mr. Smirke a very pleasing and well-informed man. As for 
 her son, she had not settled in her mind, whether he was to be Senior 
 Wrangler and Archbishop of Canterbury, or Double First Class at 
 Oxford and Lord Chancellor. That all England did not possess his peer, 
 was a fact about which there was in her mind no manner of question. 
 
22 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 A simple person,, of inexpensive habits^ she began forthwith to save^ 
 and^ perhaps^ to be a little parsimonious^ in favour of her boy. There 
 were no entertainments^ of course^ at Fairoaks^ during the year of her 
 weeds. Nor^ indeed, did the Doctor's silver dish-covers, of which he 
 was so proud, and which were flourished all over with the arms of the 
 Pendennises, and surmounted with their crest, come out of the plate- 
 chest again for long, long years. The household was diminished, and 
 its expenses curtailed. There was a very blank anchorite repast when 
 Pen dined from home : and he himself headed the remonstrance from 
 the kitchen regarding the deteriorated quality of the Fairoaks beer. 
 She was becoming miserly for Pen. ( I ndeed, who ever accus ed women 
 of Jbeing just? They a re always sacrlFcing ^ tJieiiiselves or somebody 
 for somebo(ly_^s^ i^ake. 
 
 — TlrereTiappened"Wbe no young woman in the small circle of friends 
 who were in the widow's intimacy whom Pendennis could by any possi- 
 bility gratify by endowing her with the inestimable treasure of a heart 
 which he was longing to give away. Some young fellows in this pre- 
 dicament bestow their young affections upon Dolly, the dairymaid, or 
 cast the eyes of tenderness upon Molly, the blacksmith's daughter. 
 Pen thought a Pendennis much too grand a personage to stoop so low. 
 He was too high-minded for a vulgar intrigue, and at the idea of a 
 seduction, had he ever entertained it, his heart would have revolted as 
 from the notion of any act of baseness or dishonour. Miss Mira Portman 
 was too old, too large, and too fond of reading Rollin's Ancient History. 
 The Miss Boardbacks, Admiral Boardback's daughters (of St. Vincent's, 
 or Fourth of June House, as it was called), disgusted Pen with the 
 London airs which they brought into the country. Captain Glanders's 
 (H.P., 50th Dragoon Guards) three girls were in brown-holland pina- 
 fores as yet, with the ends of their hair-plaits tied up in dirty pink 
 ribbon. Not having acquired the art of dancing, the youth avoided 
 > ach chances as he might have had of meeting with the fair sex at the 
 (^hatteris Assemblies ; in fine, he was not in love, because there was 
 ^Aobody at hand to fall in love with. And the young monkey used to 
 I'ide out, day after day, in quest of Dulcinea ; and peep into the pony- 
 chaises and gentlefolks' carriages, as they drove along the broad turn- 
 pike roads, with a heart beating within him, and a secret tremor and 
 hope that she might be in that yellow post-chaise coming swinging up 
 the hill, or one of those three girls in beaver bonnets in the back seat 
 of the double gig, which the fat old gentleman in black was driving, at 
 four miles an hour. The post-chaise contained a snuffy old dowager 
 of seventy, with a fifiaid, her contemporary. The three girls in the 
 beaver bonnets were no handsomer than the turnips that skirted the 
 roadside. Do as he might, and ride wliere he would, the fairy princess 
 whom lie was to rescue and win had not yet appeared to honest Pen. 
 
 Upon these points he did not discourse to his mother. He had a 
 world of his own. What ardent, imaginative soul has not a secret 
 pleasure-place in which it disports.^ Let no clumsy prying or dull 
 meddling of ours try to disturb it in our children. Actaeon was a brute 
 for wanting to push* in where Diana was bathing. Leave him occasion- 
 ally alone, my good madam, if you have a poet for a child. Even your 
 admirable advice may be a bore sometimes. Yonder little child 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 23 
 
 have thoughts too deep even for your great mind^ and fancies so coy 
 and timid that they will not bare themselves when your ladyship sits by. 
 
 Helen Pendennis by the force of sheer love divined a great number 
 of her son's secrets. But she kept these things in her heart (if we may 
 so speak)^ and did not speak of them. Besides^ she had made up her 
 mind that he was to marry little Laura : she would be eighteen when 
 Pen was six-and-twenty ; and had finished his college career ; and had 
 made his grand tour ; and was settled either in London^ astonishing all 
 the metropolis by his learning and eloquence at the bar^ or better still 
 in a sweet country parsonage surrounded with hollyhocks and roses_, 
 close to a delightful romantic ivy-covered churchy from the pulpit of 
 which Pen would utter the most beautiful sermons ever preached. 
 
 While these natural sentiments were waging war and trouble in honest 
 Pen's bosom^ it chanced one day that he rode into Chatteris for the 
 purpose of carrying to the County Chronicle a tremendous and thrilling 
 poem for the next week's paper ; and putting up his horse^ according 
 to custom_, at the stables of the George Hotel there^ he fell in with an 
 old acquaintance. A grand black tandem_, with scarlet wheels, came 
 rattling into the inn-yard, as Pen stood there in converse with the ostler 
 about Rebecca ; and the voice of the driver called out, Hallo, Pen- 
 dennis, is that you } " in a loud patronising manner. Pen had some 
 difficulty in recognising, under the broad-brimmed hat and the vast 
 greatcoats and neckcloths, with which the new-comer was habited, the 
 person and figure of his quondam schoolfellow, Mr. Foker. 
 
 A year's absence had made no small difference in that gentleman. 
 A youth who had been deservedly whipped a few months previously, 
 and who spent his pocket-money on tarts and hardbake, now appeared 
 before Pen in one of those costumes to which the public consent, which 
 I take to be quite as influential in this respect as Johnson's Dictionary, 
 has awarded the title of " Swell." He had a bulldog betweeri his legs, 
 and in his scarlet shawl neckcloth was a pin representing another bull- 
 dog in gold : he wore a fur waistcoat laced over with gold chains ; a 
 green cut-away coat with basket buttons, and a white upper-coat orna- 
 mented with cheese-plate buttons, on each of which was engraved some 
 stirring incident of the road or the chase ; all of which ornaments set 
 off this young fellow's figure to such advantage, that you would hesitate 
 to say which character in life he most resembled, aiid whether he was 
 a boxer en goguette, or a coachman in his gala suit. 
 
 Left that place for good, Pendennis } " Mr. Foker said, descending 
 from his landau and giving Pendennis a finger. 
 
 Yes, this year or more," Pen said. 
 
 Beastly old hole," Mr. Foker remarked. Hate it. Hate the 
 Doctor : hate Towzer, the second master : hate everybody there. Not 
 a fit place for a gentleman. " ^ 
 
 Not at all," said Pen, with an air of the utmost consequence. | 
 By gad, sir, I sometimes dream, now, that the Doctor's walking^ 
 into me," Foker continued (and Pen smiled as he thought that hel 
 himself had likewise fearful dreams of this nature). When I think 
 of the diet there, by gad, sir, I wonder how I stood it. Mangy mutton, 
 brutal beef, pudding on Thursdays and Sundays, and that fit to poison 
 
24 PENDENNIS 
 
 you. Just look at my leader— did you ever see a prettier animal ? Drove 
 oyer from Baymouth. Came the nine mile in two-and-forty minutes. 
 Not bad going, sir.'' . „ , . i , 
 
 Are you stopping at Baymouth, Foker } Pendennis asked. 
 I m coaching there/' said the other, with a nod. 
 What?'* asked Pen, and in a tone of such wonder, that Foker 
 burst out laughing, and said, He was blowed if he^ didn't think Pen 
 was such a flat as not to know what coaching meant." 
 
 I'm come down with a coach from Oxbridge. A tutor, don't you see, 
 old boy ? He's coaching me, and some other men, for the little-go. Me 
 and Spavin have the drag between us. And I thought I'd just tool over, 
 and go to the play. Did you ever see Rowkins do the hornpipe .^^ and 
 Mr. Foker began to perform some steps of that popular dance in the inn- 
 yard, looking round for the sympathy of his groom and the stablemen. 
 
 Pen thought he would like to go to the play too : and could ride home 
 afterwards, as there was a moonlight. , So he accepted Foker's invitation 
 to dinner, and the young men entered the inn together, where Mr. Foker 
 stopped at the bar, and' called upon Miss Rummer, the landlady's fan- 
 daughter, who presided there, to give him a glass of his mixture. 
 
 Pen and his family had been known at the George ever snice they 
 came into the county; and Mr. Pendennis's carriage and horses 
 always put up there when he paid a visit to the county town. The 
 landlady dropped the heir of Fairoaks a very respectful curtsey, and 
 complimented him upon his growth and manly appearance, and asked 
 news of the family at Fairoaks, and of Doctor Portman and the Clavering 
 neople, to all of which questions the young gentleman answered with 
 \ luch affability. But he spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Rummer with that 
 >rt of good nature with which a young Prince fiddresses his father's 
 ouDjects ; never dreaming that those bonnes gem were his equals in life. 
 / Mr. Foker's behaviour was quite different. He inquired for Rummer 
 I and the t-old in his nose, told Mrs. Rummer a riddle, asked Miss 
 Rummer when she would be ready to marry him, and paid his compli- 
 ments to Miss Brett, the other young lady in the bar, all in a minute 
 of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousness which set all these ladies 
 an a giggle ; and he gave a cluck, expressive of great satisfaction, as he 
 'tossed off his mixture, which Miss Rummer prepared and handed to him. 
 
 Have a drop," said he to Pen. Give the young one a glass, R., 
 and score it up to yours truly." i . , i. 
 
 Poor Pen took a glass, find everybody laughed at the tace which he 
 made as he put it down— Gin, bitters, and some other cordial, was the 
 compound with which Mr. Foker was so delighted as to call it by the 
 name of Foker's own. As Pen choked, sputtered, and made taces, 
 the other took occasion to remark to Mr. Rummer that the young 
 fellow was green, very green, but that he would soon form him ; and 
 then they proceeded to order dinner— which Mr. Foker determined 
 should consist of turtle and venison ; cautioning the landlady to be 
 very particular about icing the wine. ^ , x 
 
 Then Messrs. Foker and Pen strolled down the High Street together 
 —the former having a cigar in his mouth, which he had drawn out of 
 a case almost as big as a portmanteau. He went in to replenish it at 
 Mr. Lewis's, and talked to that gentleman for a while, sitting down on 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 25 
 
 the counter : he then looked in at the fruiterer's^ to see the pretty girl 
 there : then they passed the County Chj'onide office_, for which Pen 
 had his packet ready^ in the shape of Lines to Thyrza/' but poor Pen 
 did not like to put the letter into the editor's box while walking in 
 company with such a fine gentleman as Mr. Foker. They met heavy 
 dragoons of the regiment always quartered at Chatteris ; and stopped 
 and talked about the Baymouth balls^ and what a pretty girl was Miss 
 Brown^ and what a dem fine woman Mrs. Jones was. It was in vain 
 that Pen recalled to his own mind how stupid Foker used to be at 
 school — how he could scarcely read^ how he was not cleanly in his 
 person^ and notorious for his blunders and dulness. Mr. Foker was 
 not much more refined now than in his school-days : and yet Pen felt 
 a secret pride in strutting down High Street with a young fellow who 
 owned tandems^ talked to officers^ and ordered turtle and champagne 
 for dinner. He listened^ and with respect too^ to Mr. Foker's accounts 
 of what the men did at the university of which Mr. F. was an ornament^ 
 and encountered a long series of stories about boat-racings bumping_, 
 College grass-plats_, and milk-punch — and began to wish to go up him- 
 self to College to a place where there were such manly pleasures and 
 enjoyments. Farmer Gurnett^ who lives close by Fairoaks_, riding by 
 at this minute and touching his hat to Pen^ the. latter stopped him^ 
 and sent a message to his mother to say that he had met with an old 
 schoolfellow^ and should dine in Chatteris. 
 
 The two young gentlemen continued their walk^ and were passing 
 round the Cathedral Yard^ where they could hear the music of the 
 afternoon service (a music which always exceedingly affected Pen)^ but 
 whither Mr. Foker came for the purpose of inspecting the nursery- 
 maids who frequent the Elms Walk there^ and here they strolled until 
 with a final burst of music the small congregation was played out. 
 
 Old Doctor Portman was one of the few who came from the venerable 
 gate. Spying Pen^ he came and shook him by the hand^ and eyed with 
 wonder Pen's friend^ from whose mouth and cigar clouds of fragrance 
 issued^ which curled round the Doctor's honest face and shovel hat. 
 
 An old schoolfellow of mine^ Mr. Foker/' said Pen. The Doctor 
 said H'm : " and scowled at the cigar. He did not mind a pipe in 
 his study^ but the cigar was an abomination to the worthy gentleman. 
 
 I came up on Bishop's business/' the Doctor said. We'll ride 
 home^ Arthur_, if you like } " 
 
 I — I'm engaged to my friend here_5" Pen answered. 
 
 You had better come home with me/' said the Doctor. 
 
 His mother knows he's out_, sir_," Mr. Foker remarked : don't she^ 
 Pendennis } " 
 
 But that does not prove that he had not better come home with 
 me^" the Doctor growled^ and he walked ofi* with great dignity. 
 
 Old boy don't like the weed^ I suppose/' Foker said. Ha ! who's 
 here } — here's the General^ and Bingley_, the manager. How do^ Cos } 
 How do_, Bingley } " 
 
 How does my worthy and gallant young Foker " said the gentle- 
 man addressed as the General ; and who wore a shabby military cape 
 with a mangy collar^ and a hat cocked very much over one eye. 
 
 Trust you are very well_, my very dear sir/' said the other gentle- 
 
26 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 man^ and that the Theatre Royal will have the honour of your patron- 
 age to-night. We perform ^The Stranger/ in which your humble 
 
 servant will" 
 
 Can't stand you in tights and Hessians^ Bingley/* young Mr. 
 Foker said. On which the General, with the Irish accent^ said^ But 
 I think ye'll like Miss Fotheringay^ in Mrs. Haller^ or me name's not 
 Jack Costigan." 
 
 Pen looked at these individuals with the greatest interest. He had 
 never seen an actor before ; and he saw Doctor Portman's red face look- 
 ing over the Doctor s shoulder^ as he retreated from the Cathedral Yard^ 
 evidently quite dissatisfied with the acquaintances into whose hands 
 Pen had fallen. 
 
 Perhaps it would have been much better for him had he taken the 
 parson's advice and company home. Biitwhichof us knows his fate } 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MRS. HALLER 
 
 Having returned to the George^ Mr. Foker and his guest sate down to 
 a handsome repast in the coffee-room ; where Mr. Rummer brought in 
 the first dish^ and bowed as gravely as if he was waiting upon the Lord 
 Lieutenant of the county. Pen could not but respect Foker's connois- 
 s^urship as he pronounced the champagne to be condemned gooseberry, 
 and winked at the port with one eye. The latter he declared to be of 
 the right sort ; and told the waiters, there was no way of humbugging 
 Mm, All these attendants he knew by their Christian names, and 
 showed a great interest in their families ; and as the London coaches 
 drove upj which in those early days used to set off from the George, 
 Mr. Foker flung the coffee-room window open, and called the guards 
 and coachmen by their Christian names, too, asking about their re- 
 spective families, and imitating with great liveliness and accuracy the 
 tooting of the horns as Jem the ostler whipped the horses' cloths off, 
 and the carriages drove gaily away. 
 
 A bottle of sherry, a bottle of sham, a bottle of port, and a shass 
 caffy, it ain't so bad, hay. Pen ? " Foker said, and pronounced, after all 
 these delicacies and a quantity of nuts and fruit had been despatched, 
 that it was time to ''toddle." *Pen sprang up with very bright eyes, and 
 a flushed face ; and tHey moved off towards the theatre, where they 
 paid their money to the wheezy old lady slumbering in the money- 
 taker's box. ''Mrs. Dropsicum, Bingley's mother-in-law, great in Lady 
 Macbeth," Foker said to his companion. Foker knew her, too. 
 
 They had almost their choice of places in the boxes of the theatre, 
 which was no better filled than country theatres usually are, in spite 
 of the "universal burst of attraction and galvanic thrills of delight" 
 advertised by Bingley in the play-bills. A score or so of people dotted 
 the pit-benches, a few more kept a kicking and whistling in the galleries, 
 and a dozen others, who came in with free admissions, were in the 
 boxes where our young gentlemen sate. Lieutenants Rodgers and 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 27 
 
 ' Podgers^ aiid young Cornet Tidmus^ of the dragoons^ occupied a private 
 box. The performers acted to them^ and these gentlemen seemed to 
 hold conversations with the players when not engaged in the dialogue^ 
 
 I and applauded them by name loudly. 
 
 1 Bingley^ the manager_, who assumed all the chief tragic and comic 
 I parts except when he modestly retreated to make way for the London 
 \ stars_, who came down occasionally to Chatteris^ was great in the char- 
 acter of the Stranger. He was attired in the tight pantaloons and 
 Hessian boots which the stage legend has given to that injured man^ 
 I with a large cloak and beaver, and a hearse-feather in it drooping over 
 I his raddled old face^ and only partially concealing his great buckled 
 brown wig. He had the stage-jewellery on too^ of which he selected 
 1 the largest and most shiny rings for himself, and allowed his little finger 
 ! to quiver out of his cloak with a sham diamond ring covering the first 
 joint of the finger and twiddling in the faces of the pit. Bingley made 
 it a favour to the young men of his company to go on in light comedy 
 parts with that ring. They flattered him by asking its history. The 
 stage has its traditional jewels, as the Crown and all great families have. 
 This had belonged to George Frederick Cooke, who had had it from 
 Mr. Quin, who may have bought it for a shilling. Bingley fancied the 
 world was fascinated with its glitter. 
 
 He was reading out of the stage-book — that wonderful stage-book — 
 which is not bound like any other book in the world, but is rouged 
 and tawdry like the hero or heroine who holds it ; and who holds it as 
 people never do hold books : and points with his finger to a passage, 
 and wags his head ominously at the audience, and then lifts up eyes 
 and finger to the ceiling, professing to derive some intense consolation 
 from the work between which and heaven there is a strong aflfinity. 
 
 As soon as the Stranger saw the young men, he acted at them ; eyeing 
 them solemnly over his gilt volume as he lay on the stage-bank show- 
 ing his hand, his ring, and his Hessians. He calculated the effGCt that 
 every one of these ornaments would produce upon his victims : he was 
 determined to fascinate them, for he knew they had paid their money; 
 and he saw their families coming in from the country and filling the 
 cane chairs in his boxes. 
 
 As he lay on the bank reading, his servant, Francis, made remarks 
 upon his master. 
 
 Again reading,'* said Francis, thus it is, from morn to night. 
 To him nature has no beauty — life no charm. For three years I have 
 never seen him smile" (the gloom of Bingley's face was fearful to 
 witness during these comments of the faithful domestic). Nothing 
 iiverts him. Oh, if he would but attach himself to any living thing, 
 were it an animal — for something man must love." 
 
 [^Erder ToUafi (Goll) from the hut.'] He cries, Oh, how refreshing, 
 ifbiir seven long weeks, to feel these warm sunbeams once again, 
 tlianks, bounteous Heaven, for the joy I taste !" He presses his cap 
 between his hands, looks up and prays. The Stranger eyes him 
 attentively. 
 
 Francis to the Stranger. This old man's share of earthly happiness 
 can be but little. ~'^et mark how grateful he is for his portion of it." 
 Bingley, ^^Beca'.^g\, though old, he is but a child in the leading- 
 
28 PENDENNIS 
 
 string of Hope." (He looks steadily at Foker, who, howeve^-, continues 
 to suck the top of his stick in an unconcerned manner.) 
 Francis. Hope is the nurse of life." 
 Binqley. And her cradle— is the grave." ^ 
 The Stranger uttered this with the moan of a bassoon m agony, and 
 fixed his glance on Pendennis so steadily, that the poor lad was quite 
 put out of countenance. He thought the whole house must be looking 
 at him : and cast his eyes down. As soon as ever he raised them 
 Binffley s were at him again. All through the scene the manager 
 played at him. How relieved the lad was when the scene ended, and 
 Foker, tapping with his cane, cried out " Bravo, Bingley ! , . „ 
 
 " Give him a hand, Pendennis ; you know every chap hkes a hand, 
 Mr. Foker said ; and the good-natured young gentleman, and 1 en- 
 dennis, laughing, and the dragoons in the opposite box, began clapping 
 hands to the best of their power. rr. v.. » 4. a ^.^ 
 
 A chamber in Wintersen Castle closed over Tobias s hut and the 
 Stranger and his boots; and servants appeared busthng about with 
 chairs and tables— That's Hicks and Miss Thackthwaite, whispered 
 Foker. Pretty girl, ain't she, Pendennis But stop— hurray— 
 bravo ! here's the Fotheringay." n ^ 1 . 
 
 The pit thrilled and thumped its umbrellas ; a volley of applause 
 was fired from the gallery : the dragoon officers and Foker clapped 
 their hands furiously : you would have thought the house was full, so 
 loud were their plaudits. The red face and ragged whiskers of Mr. 
 Costigan were seen peering from the side-scene. Pen s eyes opened 
 wide and bright, as Mrs. Haller entered with a downcast look, then 
 rallying at the sound of the applause, swept the house with a grateful 
 fflaAcefand, folding her hands across her breast, sank down m a magni- 
 ficent curtsey. More applause, more umbrellas ; Pen this time, flaming 
 with wine and enthusiasm, clapped hands and sang '' Bravo louder 
 than a51- Mrs. Haller saw him, and everybody else, and old Mr. Bows, 
 the little first fiddler of the orchestra (which was this night increased by 
 a detachment of the band of the dragoons, by the kind permission ol 
 Colonel Swallowtail), looked up from the desk where he was perched, 
 with his crutch beside him, and smiled at the enthusiasm ot the lad. 
 
 Those who have only seen Miss Fotheringay in later days, since her 
 marriage and introduction into London life, have little idea how- 
 beautiful a creature she was at the time when our friend Pen first set 
 eyes on her. She was of the tallest of women, and at her then age ot 
 six-and-twenty— for six-and-twenty she was, though she vows she was 
 only nineteen— in the prime and fulness of her beauty. Her forehead 
 was vast, and her black hair waved over it with a iMtiiral ripple, and 
 was confined in shining and voluminous braids at tue back ot a neck 
 such as you see on the shoulders of the Louvre Venus- -that Jeli^ hl ot 
 ffods and men. Her eyes, when she lifted them up lo gaze on vou, 
 and ere she dropped their purple deep-fringed lids, shone with temlei- 
 ness and mystery unfathomable. Love and Genius seemed to look ou 
 from them and then retire coyly, as if ashamed to hare been seen a 
 the lattice. Who could have had such a commanchng brow but 
 woman of high intellect? She never laughed (ii,i^'ed her teeth werid" 
 not good), but Ji smile of endless tenderness /^.^^ sweetness phiyecJ 
 
PENDENNIS 29 
 
 1 round her beautiful lips^ and in the dimples of her cheeks and her 
 j lovely chin. Her nose defied description in those days. Her ears 
 were like two little pearl shells^ which the earrings she wore (though 
 the handsomest properties in the theatre) only insulted. She was 
 I dressed in long flowing robes of blacky which she managed and swept 
 j to and fro with wonderful grace^ and out of the folds of which you only^: 
 { saw her sandals occasionally ; they were of rather a large size ; but PenJ 
 I thought them as ravishing as the slippers of Cinderella. But it was' 
 q her hand and arm that this magnificent creature most excelled in^ and 
 j somehow you could never see her but through them. They surrounded 
 j her. When she folded them over her bosom in resignation ; when she 
 
 ! dropped them in mute agony^ or raised them in superb command ; 
 when in sportive gaiety her hands fluttered and waved before her^ like 
 — what shall we say.^ — like the snowy doves before the chariot of Venus 
 — it was with these arms and hands that she beckoned^ repelled^ 
 entreated^ embraced her admirers — no single one^ for she was armed 
 with her own virtue^ and with her father's valour^ whose sword would 
 have leapt from its scabbard at any insult ofl'ered to his child — but the 
 ! whole house ; which rose to her^ as the phrase was^ as she curtseyed 
 and bowed_, and charmed it. 
 
 Thus she stood for a minute — complete and beautiful — as Pen stared 
 at her. ^^I say^ Pen^ isn't she a stunner.^" asked Mr. Foker. 
 Hush ! " Pen said. She's speaking." 
 She began her business in a deep sweet voice. Those who know the 
 play of the Stranger " are aware that the remarks made by the various 
 characters are not valuable in themselves^ either for their sound sense^ 
 their novelty of observation^ or their poetic fancy. 
 
 Nobody ever talked so. If we meet idiots in life, as will happen, it 
 is a great mercy that they do not use such absurdly fine words. The 
 Stranger's talk is sham, like the book he reads, and the hair he wears, 
 and the bank he sits on, and the diamond ring he makes iplaf with — 
 but, in the midst of the balderdash, there runs that reality of love, 
 children, and forgiveness of wrong, which will be listened to wherever 
 it is preached, and sets all the world sympathising. 
 
 With what smothered sorrow, with what gushing pathos, Mrs. Haller 
 delivered her part ! At first, when as Count Wintersen's housekeeper, 
 and preparing for his Excellency's arrival, she has to give orders about 
 the beds and furniture, and the dinner, &c., to be got ready, she did 
 so with the calm agony of despair. But when she could get rid of the 
 stupid servants, and give vent to her feelings to the pit and the house, 
 she overflowed to each individual as if he were her particular confidant, 
 and she was crying out her griefs on his shoulder : the little fiddler in 
 the orchestra (whom she did not seem to watch, though he followed 
 her ceaselessly) twitched, twisted, nodded,' pointed about, and when 
 she came to the favourite passage, I have a William, too, if he be 
 still alive— Ah, yes, if he be still alive. His little sisters, too ! Why, 
 Fancy, dost thou rack me so ? Why dost thou image my poor children 
 fainting in sickness, and crying to— to— their mum-um-o^Aer,"— when 
 she- came to this passage little Bows buried his face in his blue cotton 
 handkerchief, after crying out Bravo." 
 
 All the house was afl*ected. Foker, for his part, taking out a large 
 
30 PENDENNIS 
 
 yellow bandanna^ wept piteously. As for Pen^ he was gone too ftir for 
 that. He followed the woman about and about— when she was off the 
 stage^ it and the house were blank ; the lights and the red officei-s 
 reeled wildly before his sight. He watched her at the side-scene— 
 where she stood waiting to come on the stage^ and where her father 
 took off her shawl : when the reconciliation arrived^ and she flung her- 
 self down on Mr. Bingley s shoulders, whilst the children clung to 
 their knees, and the Countess (Mrs. Bingley) and Baron Steinforth 
 (performed with great liveliness and spirit by Garbetts)— while the rest 
 of the characters formed a group round them, Pen's hot eyes only saw 
 Fotheringay, Fotheringay. The curtain fell upon him like a pall. He 
 did not hear a word of what Bingley said, who came forward to announce 
 •the play for the next evening, and who took the tumultuous applause, 
 as usual, for himself Pen was not even distinctly aware that the 
 house was calling for Miss Fotheringay, nor did the manager seem to 
 comprehend that anybody else but himself had caused the success of 
 the play. At last he understood it— stepped back with a grin, and 
 presently appeared with Mrs. Haller on his arm. How beautiful she 
 looked ! Her hair had fallen down, the officers threw her flowers. 
 She clutched them to her heart. She put back her hair, and smiled 
 all round. Her eyes met Pen's. Down went the curtain again : and 
 she was gone. Not one note could he hear of the overture which 
 the brass band of the dragoons blew by kind permission of Colonel 
 Swallowtail. 
 
 ^^She is a crusher, aint she now}*' Mr. Foker asked of his 
 companion. 
 
 Pen did not know exactly what Foker said, and answered vaguely. 
 He could not tell the other what he felt ; he could not have spoken, 
 just then, to any mortal. Besides, Pendennis did not quite know what 
 he felt yet ; it was something overwhelming, maddening, delicious ; a 
 fever of wild joy and undefined longing. 
 
 And now Rowkins and Miss Thackthwaite came on to dance the 
 favourite double hornpipe, and Foker abandoned himself to the delights 
 of this ballet, just as he had to the tears of the tragedy a few minutes 
 before. Pen did not care for it, or indeed think about the dance, 
 except to remember that that woman was acting with her in the 
 scene where she first came in. It was a mist before his eyes. At 
 the end of the dance he looked at his watch and said it was time for 
 
 him to go. A > » 1 -J 
 
 Hang it, stay to see ^ The Bravo of the Battle- Axe, Foker said ; 
 
 Bingley's splendid in it ; he wears red tights, and has to carry Mrs. 
 B. over the Pine-bridge of the Cataract, only she s too heavy. It's 
 great fun, do stop." 
 
 Pen looked at the bill with one lingering fond hope that Miss Fother- 
 ingay's name might be hidden, somewhere, in the list of the actors of 
 the after piece, but there was no such name. Go he must. He had 
 a long ride home. He squeezed Foker's hand. He was choking to 
 speak, but he couldn't. He quitted the theatre and walked frantically 
 about the town, he knew not how long ; then he mounted at the George 
 and rode homewards, and Clavering clock sang out one as he came 
 into the yard at Fairoaks. The lady of the house might have been 
 
PENDENNIS 31 
 
 awake^ but she c ily heard him from the passage outside his room as 
 he dashed into bed and pulled the clothes over his head. 
 
 Pen had not been in the habit of passing wakeful nights^ so he at 
 once fell off into a sound sleep. Even in later days^ and with a great 
 deal of care and other thoughtful matter to keep him awake,, a man 
 from long practice or fatigue or resolution begins by going to sleep as 
 usual ; and gets a nap in advance of Anxiety. But she soon comes up 
 with him and jogs his shoulder^ and says^ Come^ my man^ no more 
 of this laziness^ you must wake up and have a talk with me." Then 
 they fall together in the midnight. Well^ whatever might afterwards 
 happen to him^ poor little Pen was not come to this state yet; he 
 tumbled into a sound sleep — did not wake until an early hour in the 
 mornings when the rooks began to caw from the little wood beyond his 
 bedroom windows ; and — at that very instant and as his eyes started 
 open^ the beloved image was in his mind. My dear boy/' he heard 
 her say^ you were in a sound sleep^ and I would not disturb you : but I 
 have been close by your pillow all this while : and I don't intend that you 
 shall leave me. I am Love ! I bring with me fever and passion ; wild 
 longings maddening desire ; restless craving and seeking. Many a long 
 day ere this I heard you calling out for me ; and behold now I am come." 
 
 Was Pen frightened at the summons } Not he. He did not know 
 what was coming : it was all wild pleasure and delight as yet. And as^ 
 when three years previously^ and on entering the fifth form at the 
 Cistercians^ his father had made him a present of a gold watch which 
 the boy took from Under his pillow and examined on the instant of | 
 waking : for ever rubbing and polishing it up in private and retiring [ 
 into corners to listen to its ticking : so the young man exulted over \ 
 his new delight ; felt in his waistcoat pocket to see that it was safe ; \ 
 wound it up at nights^ and at the very first moment of waking hugged 1 
 it and looked at it. — By the way^ that first watch of Pen's was ashowy^ i 
 ill-manufactured piece ; it never went well from the beginning/and wasf 
 always getting out of order. And after putting it aside into a drawer J 
 and forgetting it for some time^ he swopped it finally away for a more? 
 useful timekeeper. 
 
 Pen felt himself to be ever so many years older since yesterday. 
 There was no mistake about it now. He was as much in love as the 
 best hero in the best romance he ever read. He told John to bring his 
 shaving water with the utmost confidence. He dressed himself in some 
 of his finest clothes that morning : and came splendidly down to break- 
 fast^ patronising his mother and little Laura^ who had been strumming 
 her music lesson for hours before ; and who after he had read the 
 prayers (of which he did not heed one single syllable)^ wondered at his 
 grand appearance^ and asked him to tell her what the play was about } 
 
 Pen laughed and declined to tell Laura what the play was about. 
 In fact it was quite as well that she should not know. Then she asked 
 him why he had got on his fine pin and beautiful new waistcoat .^^ 
 
 Pen blushed, and told his mother that the old schoolfellow with 
 whom he had dined at Chatteris was reading with a tutor at Baymouth^ 
 a very learned man ; and as he was himself to go to college, and as 
 there were several young men pursuing their studies at Baymouth— he 
 
32 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 was anxious to ride over — and — and just see what the course of their 
 reading was. 
 
 Laura made a long face. Helen Pendennis looked hard at her son^ 
 troubled more than ever with the vague doubt and terror which had 
 been haunting her ever since the last night, when Farmer Gurnett 
 brought back the news that Pen would not return home to dinner. 
 Arthur's eyes defied her. She tried to console herself, and drive off 
 her fears. The boy had never told her an untruth. Pen conducted 
 himself during breakfast in a very haughty and supercilious manner ; 
 and, taking leave of the elder and younger lady, was presently heard 
 riding out of the stable-court. He went gently at first, but galloped 
 like a madman as soon as he thought that he was out of hearing. 
 
 Smirke, thinking of his own affairs, and softly riding with his toes 
 out, to give Pen his three hours' reading at Fairoaks, met his pupil, j 
 who shot by him like the wind. Smirke's pony shied, as the other i 
 ihundered past him ; the gentle curate went over his head among the I 
 sitinging-nettles in the hedge. Pen laughed as they met, pointed to- ' 
 wards the Baymouth road, and was gone half-a-mile in that direction 
 before poor Smirke had picked himself up. 
 
 Pen had resolved in his mind that he must see Foker that morning ; 
 he must hear about her ; know about her ; be with somebody who knew \ 
 her ; and honest Smirke, for his part, sitting up among the stinging- \ 
 nettles, as his pony cropped quietly in the hedge, thought dismally to ; 
 himself, ought he to go to Fairoaks now that his pupil was evidently \ 
 gone away for the day } Yes, he thought he might go, too. He might 
 go and ask Mrs. Pendennis when Arthur would be back ; and hear 
 IN^iss Laura her Watts's Catechism. He got up on the little pony — both 
 ^ifevQ used to his slipping off — and advanced upon the house from which 
 jis scholar had just rushed away in a whirlwind. 
 
 Thus love makes fools of all of us, big and little ; and the curate 
 : had tumbled over head and heels in pursuit of it, and Pen had started 
 ^^in ihe. first heat of the mad race. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Mils. HALLEll AT H03IK 
 
 Without slackening his pace Pen galloped on to Baymouth, put the 
 mare up at the inn stiibles, and ran straightway to Mr. Foker's lodgings, 
 of whom he had taken the direction on the previous day. On reaching 
 these apartments, which were over a chemist's shop whose stock of 
 cigars and soda-water went off rapidly by the kind patronage of his 
 young inmates. Pen only found Mr. Spavin, Foker's friend, and part 
 owner of the tandem, wliich the latter had driven into Chatteris, who 
 was smoking, and teaching a little dog, a friend of his, tricks with a 
 bit of biscuit. 
 
 Pen's liealthy red face, fresh from the gallop, compared oddly with 
 the waxy debauclied little features of Foker's chum ; Mr. Spavin re- 
 marked the circumstance. Who's that man?" he thought; '^he 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 33 
 
 looks as fresh as a bean. His hand don't shake of a morning, Td bet 
 five to one." 
 
 Foker had not come home at all. Here was a disappointment ! — Mr. 
 Spavin could not say when his friend would return. Sometimes he 
 stopped a day, sometimes a week. Of what College was Pen } Would 
 he have anything } There was a very fair tap of ale. Mr. Spavin was 
 enabled to know Pendennis's name, on the card which the latter took 
 out and laid down (perhaps Pen in these days was rather proud of having 
 a card) — and so the young men took leave. 
 
 Then Pen went down the rock, and walked about on the sand, biting 
 his nails by the shore of the much-sounding sea. It stretched before 
 him bright and immeasurable. The blue waters came rolling into the 
 bay, foaming and roaring hoarsely ; Pen looked them in the face with 
 blank eyes, hardly regarding them. What a tide there was pouring 
 into the lad's own mind at the time, and what a little power had he to 
 check it ! Pen flung stones into the sea, but it still kept coming on. 
 He was in a rage at not seeing Foker. He wanted to see Foker. He 
 must see Foker. Suppose I go on — on the Chatteris road, just to see 
 if I can meet him," Pen thought. Rebecca was saddled in another 
 half-hour, and galloping on the grass by the Chatteris road. About 
 four miles from Baymouth, the Clavering road branches off, as every- 
 body knows, and the mare naturally was for taking that turn, but, 
 cutting her over the shoulder. Pen passed the turning, and rode on to 
 the turnpike without seeing any sign of the black tandem and red wheels. 
 
 As he was at the turnpike he might as well go on : that was quite 
 clear. So Pen rode to the George, and the ostler told him that Mr. 
 Foker was there sure enough, and that he'd been a makin a tremendous 
 row the night afore, a drinkin and a singin, and wanting to fight Tom 
 the post-boy : which I'm thinking he'd have had the worst of it," the 
 man added with a grin. ^^Have you carried up your master's 'ot water 
 to shave with } " he added, in a very satirical manner, to Mr. Foker's 
 domestic, who here came down the yard bearing his master's" clothes, 
 most beautifully brushed and arranged. Show Mr. Pendennis up to 
 'un." And Pen followed the man at last to the apartment, where, in 
 the midst of an immense bed, Mr. Harry Foker lay reposing. 
 
 The feather bed and bolsters swelled up all round Mr. Foker, so that 
 you could hardly see his little sallow face and red silk nightcap. 
 Hullo !" said Pen. 
 
 Who goes there } brother, quickly tell ! " sang out the voice from 
 the bed. What ! Pendennis again } Is your mamma acquainted with 
 your absence? Did you sup with us last night No — stop — who supped 
 with us last night, Stoopid } " 
 
 There was the three officers, sir, and Mr. Bingley, sir, and Mr. 
 Costigan, sir," the man answered, who received all Mr. Foker's remarks 
 with perfect gravity. 
 
 Ah yes : the cup and merry jest went round. We chanted : and I 
 remember I wanted to fight a post-boy. Did I thrash him, Stoopid } " 
 *^^No, sir. Fight didn't come off, sir," said Stoopid, still with 
 perfect gravity. He was arranging Mr. Foker's dressing-case — a 
 trunk, the gift of a fond mother, without which the young fellow 
 never travelled. It contained a prodigious apparatus in plate ; a 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 silver dish^ a silver mug, silver boxes and bottles for all sorts of 
 essences_, and a choice of razors ready against the time when Mr. 
 Foker's beard should come. 
 
 Do it some other day/' said the young fellow^ yawning and throw- 
 ing up his little lean arms over his head. No, there was no fight ; 
 but there was chanting. Bingley chanted^ I chanted^ the General 
 chanted — Costigan^ I mean. — ^Did you ever hear him sing ' The Little 
 Pig under the Bed/ Pen ? " 
 
 ^^The man we met yesterday.^" said Pen, all in a tremor, ^'^the 
 father of " 
 
 Of the Fotheringay, — the very man. Ain't she a Venus, Pen } " 
 
 Please, sir, Mr. Costigan's in the sittin-room, sir, and says, sir, 
 you asked him to breakfast, sir. Called five times, sir ; but wouldn't 
 wake you on no account; and has been year since eleven o'clock, 
 sir " 
 
 How much is it now } " 
 
 One, sir." 
 
 What would the best of mothers say," cried the little sluggard, 
 if she saw me in bed at this hour } She sent me down here with a 
 grinder. She wants me to cultivate my neglected genius — He, he ! I 
 say. Pen, this isn't quite like seven o'clock school, — is it, old boy ? " — 
 and the young fellow burst out into a boyish laugh of enjoyment. 
 Then he added — Go in and talk to the General whilst I dress* And 
 I say, Pendennis, ask him to sing you ^ The Little Pig under the Bed ; ' 
 it's capital." Pen went off in great perturbation, to meet Mr. Costigan, 
 and Mr. Foker commenced his toilet. 
 
 Of Mr. Foker's two grandfathers, the one from whom he inherited a 
 fortune was a bi-ewer ; the other was an earl, who endowed him with 
 the most doting mother in the world. The Fokers had been at the 
 Cistercian school from father to son ; at which place, our friend, 
 whose name could be seen over the playground wall, on a public-house 
 sign, uA .'er which Foker's Entire " was painted, had been dreadfully 
 bullied on account of his trade, his uncomely countenance, his inapti- 
 tude for learning and cleanliness, his gluttony, and other weak points. 
 But those who know how a susceptible youth, under the tyranny of his 
 schoolfellows, becomes silent and a sneak, may understand how, in a 
 .Very few months after his liberation from bondage, he developed 
 iiimself as he had done ; and became the humorous, the sarcastic, the 
 brilliant Foker, with whom we have made acquaintance. A dunce he 
 always was, it is true ; for learning cannot be acquired by leaving school 
 and entering at college as a fellow-commoner ; but he was now (in his 
 own peculiar manner) as great a dandy as he before had been a slattern, 
 and when he entered his sitting-room to join his two guests, arrived 
 scented and arrayed in fine linen, and perfectly splendid in appearance. 
 
 General, or Captain Costigan — for the latter was the rank which he 
 preferred to assume — was seated in the window with the newspaper 
 held before him at arm's length. The Captain's eyes were somewhat 
 dim ; and he was spelling the paper, with the help of his lips, as well 
 as of those bloodshot eyes of his, as you see gentlemen do to whom 
 reading is a rare and difficult occupation. His hat was cocked very 
 much on one ear ; and as one of his feet lay up in the window seat, tlie 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 35 
 
 observer of such matters might remark^ by the size and shabbiness of 
 the boots which the Captain wore_, that times did not go very well with 
 him. Poverty seems as if it were disposed_, before it takes possession 
 of a man entirely^ to attack his extremities first : the coverings of his 
 head, feet, and hands, are its first prey. All these parts of the 
 Captain's person were particularly rakish and shabby. As soon as he 
 saw Pen he descended from the window seat and saluted the new-comer, 
 first in a military manner, by conveying a couple of his fingers (covered 
 with a broken black glove) to his hat, and then removing that ornament^ 
 altogether. The Captain was inclined to be bald, but he brought aJ 
 quantity of lank iron-grey hair over his pate, and had a couple of wisps 
 of the same falling down on each side of his face. Much whisky had 
 spoiled what complexion Mr. Costigan may have possessed in his youth. 
 His once handsome face had now a copper tinge. He wore a very high 
 stock, scarred and stained in many places ; and a dress-coat tightly 
 buttoned up in those parts where the buttons had not parted company 
 from the garment. 
 
 ^'^The young gentleman to whom I had the honour to be introjuiced 
 yesterday in the Cathedral Yard," said the Captain, with a splendid 
 bow and wave of his hat. ^^1 hope I see you well, sir. I marked ye 
 in the thayater last night during me daughter's perfawrumance ; and 
 missed ye on my return. I did but conduct her home, sir, for Jack 
 Costigan, though poor, is a gentleman ; and when I reintered the 
 house to pay me respects to me joyous young friend, Mr. Foker — ye 
 were gone. We had a jolly night of ut, sir — Mr. Foker, the three 
 gallant young dragoons, and your 'umble servant. Gad, sir, it put me 
 in mind of one of our old nights when I bore Her Majesty's com- 
 mission in the Foighting Hundtherd and Third." And he pulled 
 out an old snufF-box, which he presented with a stately air to his new 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Arthur was a great deal too much flurried to speak. This^ shabby- 
 looking buck was — was her father. I hope. Miss F , Miss Costi- 
 gan is well, sir," Pen said, flushing up. She — she gave me greater 
 pleasure, than — than I — I — I ever enjoyed at a play. I think, sir — I 
 think she's the finest actress in the world," he gasped out. 
 
 Your hand, young man ! for ye speak from your heart," cried the 
 Captain. Thank ye, sir ; an old soldier and a fond father thanks ye. 
 She is the finest actress in the world. I've seen the Siddons, sir, and 
 the O'Nale — ^They were great, but what were they compared to Miss 
 Fotheringay ? I do not wish she should ashume her own name while 
 on the stage. Me family, sir, are proud people ; and the Costigans of 
 Costiganstown think that an honest man, who has borne Her Majesty's 
 colours in the Hundtherd and Third, would demean himself, by per- 
 mitting his daughter to earn her old father'% bread." 
 
 There cannot be a more honourable duty, surely," Pen said. 
 " Honourable ! Bedad, sir, I'd like to see the man who said Jack 
 Costigan would consent to anything dishonourable. I have a heart, 
 sir, though I am poor ; I like a man who has a heart. You have : I 
 read it in your honest face and steady eye. And would you believe 
 it," he added, after a pause, and with a pathetic whisper, that that 
 Bingley, who has made his fortune by me child, gives her but two 
 
36 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 guineas a week : out of which she finds herself in dresses, and which, 
 added to me own small means, makes our all ? " 
 
 Now the Captain's means were so small as to be, it may be said, 
 quite invisible. But nobody knows how the wind is tempered to shorn 
 Irish lambs, and in what marvellous places they find pasture. If Cap- 
 tain Costigan, whom I had the honour to know, would but have told his 
 history, it would have been a great moral story. But he neither would 
 have told it if he could, nor could if he would ; for the Captain was not 
 only unaccustomed to tell the truth, — he was unable even to think it 
 — and fact and fiction reeled together in his muzzy, whiskified brain. 
 
 He began life rather brilliantly with a pair of colours, a fine person 
 and legs, and one of the most beautiful voices in the world. To his 
 latest day he sang, with admirable pathos and humour, those wonderful 
 Irish ballads which are so mirthful and so melancholy : and was always 
 the first himself to cry at their pathos. Poor Cos ! he was at once brave 
 and maudlin, humorous and an idiot ; always good-natured, and some- 
 times almost trustworthy. Up to the last day of his life he would drink 
 with any man, and back any man's bill : and his end was in a spunging- 
 house, where the sheriff's oflftcer, who took him, was fond of him. 
 
 In his brief morning of life, Cos formed the delight of regimental 
 messes, and had the honour of singing his songs, bacchanalian and 
 sentimental, at the tables of the most illustrious generals and com- 
 manders-in-chief, in the course of which period he drank three times 
 as much claret as was good for him, and spent his doubtful patrimony. 
 What became of him subsequently to his retirement from the army, is 
 no affair of ours. I take it, no foreigner understands the life of an 
 Irish gentleman without money, the way in which he manages to keep 
 afloat — the wind-raising conspiracies in which he engages with heroes 
 as unfortunate as himself — the means by which he contrives, during 
 most days of the week, to get his portion of whisky-and-water : all 
 these are mysteries to us inconceivable : but suffice it to say, that 
 through all the storms of life Jack had floated somehow, and the lamp 
 of his nose had never gone out. 
 
 Before he and Pen had had a half-hour's conversation, the Captain 
 managed to extract a couple of sovereigns from the young gentleman 
 for tickets for his daughter's benefit, which was to take place speedily ; 
 and was not a bond fide transaction such as that of the last year, when 
 poor Miss Fotheringay had lost fifteen shillings by her venture ; but 
 was an arrangement with the manager, by which the lady was to have 
 the sale of a certain number of tickets, keeping for herself a large por- 
 tion of the sum for which they were sold. 
 
 Pen had but two pounds in his purse, and he handed them over to 
 the Captain for the tickets ; he would have been afraid to offer more 
 lest he should offend the Latter's delicacy. Costigan scrawled him an 
 order for a box, lightly slipped the sovereigns into his waistcoat, and 
 slapped his hand over the place where they lay. They seemed to warm 
 his old sides. 
 
 Faith, sir," said he, the bullion's scarcer with me than it used to 
 be, as is the case with many a good fellow. I won six hundtherd of 
 'em in a single night, sir, when me kind friend. His Royal Highness the 
 Duke of Kent, was in Gibralther." 
 
PEN NNIS 37 
 
 Then it was good to see the Captain's behaviour at breakfast^ before 
 the devilled turkey and the mutton chops ! His stories poured forth 
 unceasingly^ and his spirits rose as he chatted to the young men. When 
 he got a bit of sunshine^ the old lazzarone basked in it ; he prated about 
 his own affairs and past splendour, and all the lords, generals, and 
 Lord-Lieutenants he had ever known. He described the death of his 
 darling Bessie, the late Mrs. Costigan, and the challenge he had sent 
 to Captain Shanty Clancy, of the Slashers, for looking rude at Miss 
 Fotheringay as she was on her kyar in the Phaynix ; and then he de- 
 scribed how the Captain apologised, gave a dinner at the Kildare Street, 
 where six of them drank twinty-one bottles of claret, &c. He announced 
 that to sit with two such noble and generous young fellows was the 
 happiness and pride of an old soldier's existence ; and having had a 
 second glass of Cura^oa, was so happy that he began to cry. Altogether 
 we should say that the Captain was not a man of much strength of 
 mind, or a very eligible companion for youth ; but there are worse 
 men, holding much better places in life, and more dishonest, who have 
 never committed half so many rogueries as he. They walked out, 
 the .Captain holding an arm of each of his dear young friends, and in a 
 maudlin state of contentment. He winked at one or two tradesmen's 
 shops where, possibly, he owed a bill, as much as to say, See the 
 company I'm in — sure I'll pay you, my boy," — and they parted finally 
 with Mr. Foker at a billiard-room, where the latter had a particular 
 engagement with some gentlemen of Colonel Swallowtail's regiment. 
 
 Pen and the shabby Captain still walked the street together ; the Captain, 
 in his sly way, making inquiries about Mr. Foker's fortune and station 
 in life. Pen told him how Foker's father was a celebrated brewer, and 
 his mother was Lady Agnes Milton, Lord Rosherville's daughter. The 
 Captain broke out into a strain of exaggerated compliment and panegyric 
 about Mr. Foker, whose native aristocracie," he said, could be seen 
 with the twinkling of an oi — and only served to adawrun other qualities 
 which he possessed, a foin intellect and a generous heart." 
 
 Pen walked on, listening to his companion's prate, wondering, amused, 
 and puzzled. It had not as yet entered into the boy's head to disbelieve 
 any statement that was made to him ; and being of a candid nature 
 himself, he took naturally for truth what other people told him. 
 Costigan had never had a better listener, and was highly flattered by 
 the attentiveness and modest bearing of the young man. 
 
 So much pleased was he with the young gentleman, so artless, honest, 
 j and cheerful did Pen seem to be, that the Captain finally made him an 
 I invitation, which he very seldom accorded to young men, and asked 
 1 Pen if he would do him the fevor to enter his humble abode, which 
 I was near at hand, where the Captain would have the honour of inthro- 
 juicing his young friend to his daughter, Mi^s Fotheringay.? 
 
 Pen was so delightfully shocked at this invitation, that he thought 
 he should have dropped from the Captain's arm at first, and trembled 
 lest the other should discover his emotion. He gasped out a few inco- 
 ' herent words, indicative of the high gratification he should have in 
 being presented to the lady for whose — for whose talents he had con- 
 ceived such an admiration — such an extreme admiration ; and followed 
 the Captain, scarcely knowing whither that gentleman led him. He 
 
38 
 
 P. IS 
 
 was going to see her ! He was going to see her ! In her was the centre 
 of the universe. She was the kernel of the world for Pen. Yesterday, 
 before he knew her, seemed a period ever so long ago — a revolution 
 was between him and that time, and a new world about to begin. 
 
 The -Captain conducted his young friend to that quiet little street in 
 Chatteris, called Prior's Lane, which lies close by Dean's Green and 
 the canons' houses, and is overlooked by the enormous towers of the 
 cathedral ; there the Captain dwelt modestly in the first floor of a 
 low-gabled house, on the door of which was the brass plate of Creed, 
 Tailor and Robe-maker." Creed was dead, however. His widow was 
 a pew-opener in the cathedral hard by ; his eldest son was a little scamp 
 of a choir-boy, who played toss-halfpenny, led his little brothers into 
 mischief, and had a voice as sweet as an angel. A couple of the latter 
 were sitting on the door-step, and they jumped up with great alacrity 
 to meet their lodger, and plunged wildly, and rather to Pen's surprise, 
 at the swallow-tails of the Captain's dress-coat ; for the truth is, that 
 the good-natured gentleman, when he was in cash, generally brought 
 home an apple, or a piece of gingerbread, for these children. '^^ Whereby 
 the widdy never pressed me for rint when not convanient," as he re- 
 marked afterwards to Pen, winking knowingly, and laying a finger on 
 his nose. 
 
 As Pen followed his companion up the creaking old stair, his knees 
 trembled under him. He could hardly see when he entered, following 
 the Captain, and stood in the room — in her room. He saw something 
 black before him, and waving as if making a curtsey, and heard, but 
 quite indistinctly, Costigan making a speech over him, in which the 
 Captain, with his usual magniloquence, expressed to me child " his 
 wish to make her known to ^^his dear and admirable young friend, 
 Mr. Awther Pindinnis, a young gentleman of property in the neigh- 
 bourhood, a person of refoined moiiid and emiable manners, a sinsare 
 lover of poethry, and a man possest of a feeling and affectionate heart." 
 
 It is very fine weather," Miss Fotheringay said, in an Irish accent, 
 and with a deep rich melancholy voice. 
 
 Very," said Mr. Pendennis. In this romantic way their conversa- 
 tion began ; and he found himself seated on a chair, and having leisure 
 to look at the young lady. 
 
 She looked still handsomer off the stage than before the lamps. All 
 her attitudes were naturally grand and majestical. If she went and 
 stood up against the mantelpiece her robe draped itself classically round 
 her ; her chin supported itself on her hand, the other lines of her form 
 arranged themselves in full harmonious undulations — she looked like 
 a Muse in contemplation. If she sate down on a cane-bottomed chair, 
 her arm rounded itself over the back of the seat, her hand seemed as 
 if it ought to have a scJptre put into it, the folds of her dress fell 
 naturally round her in order : all her movements were graceful and 
 imperial. In the morning you could see her hair was blue-black, her 
 complexion of dazzling fairness, with the faintest possible blush flicker- 
 ing, as it M^ere, in her cheek. Her eyes were grey, with prodigious 
 long lashes ; and as for her mouth, Mr. Pendennis has given me subse- 
 quently to understand, that it was of a staring red colour, with which the 
 most brilliant geranium, sealing-wax, or Guardsman's coat, could not vie. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 39 
 
 And very warm/' continued this empress and Queen of Sheba. 
 Mr. Pen again assented^ and the conversation rolled on in this 
 manner. She asked Costigan whether he had had a pleasant evening 
 at the George, and he recounted the supper and the tumblers of punch. 
 Then the father asked her how she had been employing the morning. 
 
 Bows came/' said she, '^^at ten, and we studied Ophalia. It's for the 
 twenty-fourth, when I hope, sir, we shall have the honour of seeing ye." 
 
 Indeed, indeed, you will," Mr. Pendennis cried ; wondering that 
 she could say Ophalia," and speak with an Irish inflection of voice 
 naturally, who had not the least Hibernian accent on the stage. 
 
 I've secured 'um for your benefit, dear," said the Captain, tapping 
 his waistcoat pocket, wherein lay Pen's sovereigns, and winking at 
 Pen with one eye, at which the boy blushed. 
 
 Mr. the gentleman's very obleeging," said Mrs. Haller. 
 
 My name is Pendennis," said Pen, blushing. I — I — hope you'll 
 — you'll remember it. " His heart thumped so as he made this audacious 
 declaration, that he almost choked in uttering it. 
 
 Pendennis " — she answered slowly, and looking him full in the eyes, 
 with a glance so straight, so clear, so bright, so killing, with a voice so 
 sweet, so round, so low, that the word and the glance shot Pen through 
 and through, and perfectly transfixed him with pleasure. 
 
 I never knew the name was so pretty before," Pen said. 
 ^^'Tis a very pretty name," Ophelia said. Pentweazle's not a 
 pretty name. Remember, papa, when we were on the Norwich Circuit, 
 young Pentweazle, who used to play second old men, and married 
 Miss Rancy, the columbine ; they're both engaged in London now, at 
 the Queen's, and get five pounds a week. Pentweazle wasn't his real 
 name. 'Twas Judkin gave it him, I don't know why. His name was 
 Harrington ; that is, his real name was Potts ; fawther a clergyman, 
 very respectable. Harrington was in London, and got in debt. Ye 
 remember, he came out in Falkland, to Mrs. Bunce's Julia. "^ 
 
 And a pretty Julia she was," the Captain interposed ; a woman 
 of fifty, and a mother of ten children. 'Tis you who ought to have 
 been Julia, or my name's not Jack Costigan." 
 
 ^^I didn't take the leading business then," Miss Fotheringay said 
 modestly ; I wasn't fit fort till Bows taught me. " 
 
 True for you, my dear," said the Captain ; and bending to Pen- 
 dennis, he added, Rejuiced in circumstances, sir, I was for some time 
 a fencing-master in Dublin ; (there's only three men in the empire 
 could touch me with the foil once, but Jack Costigan's getting old and 
 stiff now, sir,) and my daughter had an engagement at the thayater 
 there ; and 'twas there that my friend, Mr. Bows, gave her lessons, and 
 made her what ye see. What have ye done since Bows went, Emily } " 
 
 Sure, I've made a pie," Emily said, with perfect simplicity. She 
 pronounced it Poy. " 
 
 ^^If ye'll try it at four o'clock, sir, say the word," said Costigan 
 gallantly. That girl, sir, makes the best veal-and-ham pie in England, 
 and I think I can promise ye a glass of punch of the right flavour.'" 
 
 Pen had promised to be home to dinner at six o'clock, but the rascal 
 thought he could accommodate pleasure and duty in this point, and 
 was only too eager to accept this invitation. He looked on with delight 
 
40 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and wonder whilst Ophelia husied herself about the room^ and prepared 
 for the dinner. She arranged the glasses, and laid and smoothed the 
 little cloth_, all which duties she performed with a quiet grace and good 
 humour, which enchanted her guest more and more. The ^*^poy" 
 arrived from the baker s in the hands of one of the little choir-boy's 
 brothers at the proper hour : and at four o'clock. Pen found himself at 
 dinner — actually at dinner with the handsomest woman in all creation 
 — with his first and only love, whom he had adored ever since when ? — 
 ever since yesterday, ever since for ever. He ate a crust of her making, 
 he poured her out a glass of beer, he saw her drink a glass of punch — 
 just one wine-glassful — out of the tumbler which she mixed for her 
 papa. She was perfectly good-natured, and offered to mix one for 
 Pendennis too. It was prodigiously strong ; Pen had never in his life 
 drunk so much spirits-and-water. Was it the punch, or the punch- 
 maker who intoxicated him } 
 
 Pen tried to engage her in conversation about poetry and about her 
 profession. He asked her what she thought of Ophelia's madness, and 
 , whether she was in love with Hamlet or not ? In love with such a 
 ; little ojus wretch as that stunted manager of a Bingley ? " She bristled 
 i with indignation at the thought. Pen explained it was not of her he 
 .spoke, but of Ophelia of the play. Oh, indeed ; if no offence was 
 Weant, none was taken : but as for Bingley, indeed, she did not value 
 
 Kotzebue who was he.^" ^^The author of the play in which she 
 had been performing so admirably. " She did not know that — the man's 
 name at the beginning of the book was Thompson," she said. Pen 
 laughed at her adorable simplicity. He told her of the melancholy fiite 
 of the author of the play, and how Sand had killed him. It was the 
 first time in her life that Miss Costigan had ever heard of Mr. Kotzebue's 
 existence, but she looked as if she was very much interested, and her 
 sympathy sufficed for honest Pen. 
 
 And ill the midst of this simple conversation, the hour and a quarter 
 which poor Pen could afford to allow himself passed away only too 
 quickly ; and he had taken leave, he was gone, and away on his rapid 
 road homewards on the back of Rebecca. She was called upon to show 
 her mettle in the three journeys which she made that day. 
 
 What was that he was talking about, the madness of Hamlet, and 
 the theory of the great German critic on the subject.'*" Emily asked 
 of her father. 
 
 ^^'Deed, then, I don't know, Milly dear," answered the Captain. 
 We'll ask Bows when he comes." 
 
 Anyhow, he's a nice, fair-spoken, pretty young man," the lady 
 said : how many tickets did he take of you ? " 
 
 Faith, then, he took six, and gev me two guineas, Milly," the 
 Captain said. I suppose them young chaps is not too flush of coin. " 
 
 He's full of book-learning," Miss Fotheringay continued. Kotze- 
 bue ! He, he, what a droll name, indeed, now ; and the poor fellow 
 killed by sand, too ! Did ye ever hear such a thing ? I'll ask Bows 
 about it, papa dear. " 
 
 A queer death, sure enough," ejaculated the Captain, aiwLchanged 
 the painful theme. 'Tis an elegant mare the young gentlembri^ides," 
 
 Pen next tried her on Kotzebue. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 41 
 
 Costigan went on to say ; and a grand breakfast^ intirely^ that young 
 Mister Foker gave us." 
 
 He's good for two private boxes^ and at least twenty tickets, I 
 should say/' cried the daughter, a prudent lass, who always kept her 
 fitie eyes on the main chance. 
 
 I'll go bail of that," answered the papa ; and so their conversation 
 continued awhile, until the tumbler of punch was finished ; and their 
 hour of departure soon came, too ; for at half-past six Miss Fotheringay 
 was to appear at the theatre again, whither her father always accom- 
 j panied her ; and stood, as we have seen, in the side-scene, watching her, 
 and drank spirits-and-water in the green room with the company there. 
 
 How beautiful she is ! " thought Pen, cantering homewards. How 
 simple and how tender ! How charming it is to see a woman of her 
 genius busying herself with the humble offices of domestic life, cooking 
 dishes to make her old father comfortable, and brewing him drink ! 
 How rude it was of me to begin to talk about professional matters, and 
 how weir she turned the conversation ! By the way, she talked about 
 ' professional matters herself ; but then with what fun and humour she 
 •told the story of her comrade, Pentweazle, as he was called ! There is no 
 humour like Irish humour. Her father is rather tedious, but thoroughly 
 amiable ; and how fine of him, giving lessons in fencing after he quitted 
 the army, where he was the pet of the Duke of Kent ! Fencing ! I 
 should like to continue my fencing, or I shall forget what Angelo taught 
 me. Uncle Arthur always liked me to fence — he says it is the exercise 
 of a gentleman. Hang it ! I'll take some lessons of Captain Costigan. 
 Go along, Rebecca — up the hill, old lady. Pendennis, Pendennis — 
 how she spoke the word ! Emily, Emily ! how good, how noble, how 
 beautiful, how perfect, she is ! " 
 
 Now the reader, who has had the benefit of overhearing the entire 
 conversation which Pen had with Miss Fotheringay, can judge for him- \ 
 self about the powers of her mind, and may perhaps be disposedJbo think 
 I that she has not said anything astonishingly humorous or intellectual 
 i in the course of the above interview. 
 
 I But what did our Pen care } He saw a pair of bright eyes, and he 
 believed in them — a beautiful image, and he fell down and worshipped 
 it. He supplied the meaning which her words wanted ; and created 
 the divinity which he loved. Was Titajiia_th e first who fel Ljn love 
 wHh^mi^ass^or crazy about a 
 
 ^ toneT^ TTe had "found her ; he had founTwhat hissWTtEIrsted after. 
 He flulig himself into the stream and drank with all his might. Let 
 those who have been thirsty own how delicious that first draught is. 
 As he rode down the avenue towards home — Pen shrieked with laughter 
 as he saw the Reverend Mr. Smirke once more coming demurely away 
 from Fairoaks on his pony. Smirke had dawdled and stayed at the 
 cottages on the way, and then dawdled with Laura over her lessons — 
 and then looked at Mrs. Pendennis's gardens and improvements until 
 he had perfectly bored out that lady : and he had taken his leave at the 
 ^ery last minute without that invitation to dinner which he fondly 
 expected. 
 
 Pen was full of kindness and triumph. *^^What, picked up and 
 sound } " he cried out, laughing. Come along back, old fellow, and 
 
42 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 eat my dinner — I have had mine ; but we will have a bottle of the old 
 wine and drink her healthy Smirke." 
 
 Poor Smirke turned the pony's head round, and jogged along with 
 Arthur. His mother was charmed to see him in such high spirits, and 
 welcomed Mr. Smirke for his sake, when Arthur said he had forced the 
 curate back to dine. He gave a most ludicrous account of the play 
 of the night before, and of the acting of Bingley the manager in his 
 rickety Hessians, and the enormous Mrs. Bingley as the Countess, in 
 rumpled green satin and a Polish cap : he mimicked them, and delighted 
 his mother and little Laura, who clapped her hands with pleasure. 
 And Mrs. Haller } " said Mrs. Pendennis. 
 
 She's a stunner, ma'am," Pen said, laughing, and using the words 
 of his revered friend, Mr. Foker. 
 
 A what, Arthur ? " asked the lady. 
 
 What is a stunner, Arthur.^ " cried Laura, in the same voice. 
 
 So he gave them a queer account of Mr. Foker, and how he used to 
 be called Vats and Grains, and by other contumelious names at school : 
 and how he was now exceedingly rich, and a fellow-commoner at St. 
 Boniface. But gay and communicative as he was, Mr. Pen did not 
 say one syllable about his ride to Chatteris that day, or about the new 
 friends whom he had made there. 
 
 When the two ladies retired. Pen, with flashing eyes, filled up two 
 great bumpers of Madeira, and looking Smirke full in the face said, 
 
 Here's to her ! " 
 
 Here's to her ! " said the curate with a sigh, lifting the glass, and 
 emptying it, so that his face was a little pink when he put it down. 
 
 Pen had even less sleep that night than on the night before. In the 
 morning, and almost before dawn, he went out and saddled that unfor- 
 tunate Rebecca himself, and rode her on the Downs like mad. Again 
 Love had roused him — and said, Awake, Pendennis, I am here." 
 That charming fever — that delicious longing — and fire, and uncer- 
 tainty ; he hugged them to him — he would not have lost them for all 
 the world. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND WAR 
 
 Cicero and Euripides did not occupy Mr. Pen much for some time 
 after this, and honest Mr. Smirke had a very easy time with his pupil. 
 Rebecca was the animal who suffered most in the present state of Pen's 
 mind, for, besides those days when he could publicly announce his 
 intention of going to Chatteris to take a fencing-lesson, and went 
 thither with the knowledge of his mother, whenever he saw three hours 
 clear before him, the young rascal made a rush for the city, and found 
 his way to Prior's Lane. He was as frantic with vexation when Rebecca 
 went lame, as Richard at Bosworth, when his horse was killed under 
 him : and got deeply into the books of the man who kept the hunting 
 stables at Chatteris for the doctoring of his own, and the hire ol 
 another animal. I 
 
\ 
 
 PENDENNIS 43 
 
 i Theii^ and perhaps once in a week^ under pretence of going to read 
 a Greek play with Smirke^ this young reprobate set off so as to be in 
 time for the Competitor down coach, stayed a couple of hours in 
 I Chatteris, and returned on the Rival, which left for London at ten 
 (at night. Once his secret was nearly lost by Smirke's simplicity, of 
 I whom Mrs. Pendennis asked whether they had read a great deal the 
 i night before, or a question to that effect. Smirke was about to tell 
 ithe truth, that he had never seen Mr. Pen at all, when the latter's 
 j boot-heel came grinding down on Mr. Smirke's toe under the table, 
 and warned the curate not to betray him. ' 
 
 They had had conversations on the tender subject, of course. There 
 must be a confidant and depositary somewhere. When informed, under 
 the most solemn vows of secrecy, of Pen's condition of mind, the curate 
 vsaid, with no small tremor, that he hoped it was no unworthy object 
 — no unlawful attachment, which Pen had formed " — for if so, the poor 
 fellow felt it would be his duty to break his vow and inform Pen's 
 mother, and then there would be a quarrel, he felt, with sickening 
 apprehension, and he would never again have a chance of seeing what 
 he most liked in the world. 
 
 Unlawful, unworthy ! " Pen bounced out at the curate's question. 
 
 She is as pure as she is beautiful ; I would give my heart to no other 
 woman. I keep the matter a secret in my family, because — because — 
 there are reasons of a weighty nature which I am not at liberty to dis- 
 close. But any man who breathes a word against her purity insults 
 both her honour and mine, and — and, dammy, I won't stand it." 
 
 Smirke, with a faint laugh, only said, Well, well, don't call me 
 out, Arthur, for you know I can't fight : " but by this compromise the 
 wretched curate was put more than ever into the power of his pupil, 
 and the Greek and mathematics suffered correspondingly. 
 
 If the reverend gentleman had had much discernment, and looked 
 into the Poets' Corner of the County Chronicle, as it arrived^ in the 
 Wednesday's bag, he might have seen, Mrs. Haller," Passion and 
 Genius," Lines to Miss Fotheringay, of the Theatre Royal," appearing 
 every week ; and other verses of the most gloomy, thrilling, and pas- 
 sionate cast. But as these poems were no longer signed NEP by their 
 artful composer, but subscribed EROS ; neither the tutor nor Helen, 
 the good soul, who cut all her son's verses out of the paper, knew that 
 Nep was no other than that flaming Eros, who sang so vehemently the 
 charms of the new actress. 
 
 Who is the lady," at last asked Mrs. Pendennis, whom your 
 rival is always singing in the County Clwonide ? He writes something 
 like you, dear Pen, but yours is much the best. Have you seen Miss 
 Fotheringay.^" 
 
 Pen said yes, he had ; that night he went to see The Stranger," 
 she acted Mrs. Haller. By the way, she was going to have a benefit, 
 and was to appear in Ophelia — suppose we were to go — Shakespeare, 
 you know, mother — we can get horses from the Clavering Arms. Little 
 Laura sprang up with delight, she longed for a play. 
 
 Pen introduced Shakespeare, you know," because the decease?! 
 Pendennis, as became a man of his character, professed an uncommon 
 respect for the bard of Avon, in whose works he safely said there waa 
 
44 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 more poetry than in all Johnson's Poets " put together. And though 
 Mr. Peiidennis did not much read the works in question^ yet he enjoined 
 Pen to peruse them^ and often said what pleasure he should have^ when 
 the boy was of a proper age^ in taking him and mother to see some 
 good plays of the immortal poet. 
 
 The ready tears welled up in the kind mother's eyes as she remem- 
 bered these speeches of the man who was gone. She kissed her son 
 fondly^ and said she would go. Laura jumped for joy. Was Pen 
 happy ? — was he ashamed } As he held his mother to him^ he longed 
 to tell her all, but he kept his counsel. He would see how his mother 
 liked her ; the play should be the thing, and he would try his mother 
 like Hamlet's. 
 
 Helen, in her good humour, asked Mr. Smirke to be of the party. 
 That ecclesiastic had been bred up by a fond parent at Clapham, who 
 had an objection to dramatic entertainments, and he had never yet 
 seen a play. But Shakespeare ! — but to go with Mrs. Pendennis in her 
 carriage, and sit a whole night by her side ! — he could not resist the 
 idea of so much pleasure, and made a feeble speech, in which he spoke 
 of temptation and gratitude, and finally accepted Mrs. Pendennis's most 
 kind olFer. As he spoke he^gave her a look, which made her exceedingly 
 uncomfortable. She had seen that look more than once, of late, pursuing 
 her. He became more positively odious every day in the widow's eyes. 
 
 W e are not going to say a great deal about Pen's courtship of Miss 
 Fotheringay, for the reader has already had a specimen of her conver- 
 sation, much of which need surely not be reported. Pen sate with her 
 hour after hour, and poured forth all his honest boyish soul to her. 
 Everything he knew, or hoped, or felt, or had read, or fancied, he told 
 to her. He never tired of talking and longing. One after another, as 
 his thoughts rose in his hot eager brain, he clothed them in words, and 
 told them to her. Her part of the tete-a-tete was not to talk, but to 
 appear as if she understood what Pen talked, and to look exceedingly 
 handsome and sympathising. The fact is, whilst he was making one 
 of his tirades, the lovely Emily, who could not comprehend a tenth 
 part of his talk, had leisure to think about her own affairs, and would 
 arrange in her own mind how they should dress the cold mutton, or 
 how she would turn the black satin, or make herself out of her scarf a 
 bonnet like Miss Thackthwaite's new one, and so forth. Pen spouted 
 Byron and Moore ; passion and poetry: her business was to throw up 
 her eyes, or fixing them for a moment on his face, to cry, Oh, 'tis 
 beautiful ! Ah, how exquisite ! Repeat those lines again." And off 
 the boy went, and she returned to her own simple thoughts about the 
 turned gown, or the hashed mutton. 
 
 In fact, Pen's passion was not long a secret from the lovely Emily or 
 her father. Upon his second visit, his admiration was quite evident 
 to both of them, and on his departure the old gentleman said to his 
 daughter, as he winked at her over his glass of grog, Faith, Milly 
 darling, I think ye've hooked that chap." 
 
 Pooh, 'tis only a boy, papa dear," Milly remarked. Sure he's 
 but a child. " 
 
 Ye've hooked 'um anyhow," said the Captain, and let me tell 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 46 
 
 ye he's not a bad fish. I asked Tom at the George^ and Flinty the 
 grocer, where his mother dales — fine fortune — drives in her chariot — 
 splendid park and grounds — Fairoaks Park — only son — property all 
 his own at twenty-one — ye might go further and not fare so well. Miss 
 Fotheringay." 
 
 Them boys are mostly talk," said Milly seriously. Ye know at 
 Dublin how ye went on about young Poldoody, and I've a whole desk 
 full of verses he wrote me when he was in Trinity College ; but he 
 went abroad, and his mother married him to an Englishwoman." 
 
 Lord Poldoody was a young nobleman ; and in them it's natural : 
 and ye weren't in the position in which ye are now, Milly dear. But 
 ye mustn't encourage this young chap too much, for, bedad. Jack 
 iCostigan won't have any thrifling with his daughter." 
 
 No more will his daughter, papa, you may be sure of that,'' Milly 
 said. ^^A little sip more of the punch, — sure, 'tis beautiful. Ye 
 needn't be afraid about the young chap — I think I'm old enough to 
 take care of myself. Captain Costigan." 
 
 So Pen used to come day after day, rushing in and galloping away, 
 and growing more wild about the girl with every visit. Sometimes the 
 Captain was present at their meetings ; but having a perfect confidence 
 in his daughter, he was more often inclined to leave the young couple 
 to themselves, and cocked his hat over his eye, and strutted off on 
 some errand when Pen entered. How delightful those interviews were ! 
 The Captain's drawing-room was a low wainscoted room, with a large 
 window looking into the Dean's garden. There Pen sate and talked — 
 and talked to Emily, looking beautiful as she sate at her work, looking 
 beautiful and calm, and the sunshine came streaming in at the great 
 j windows, and lighted up her superb face and form. In the midst of 
 [the conversation, the great bell would begin to boom, and he would 
 j pause smiling, and be silent until the sound of the vast music died^ 
 iaway — or the rooks in the cathedral elms would make a gre^t noise 
 towards sunset — or the sound of the organ and the choristers wouldl I 
 come over the quiet air, and gently hush Pen's talking. V 
 
 By the way, it must be said that Miss Fotheringay, in a plain shawl 
 and a close bonnet and veil, went to church every Sunday of her life, 
 accompanied by her indefatigable father, who gave the responses in 
 ^ very rich and fine brogue, joined in the psalms and chanting, and 
 behaved in the most exemplary manner. 
 
 Little Bows, the house-friend of the family, was exceedingly wroth at 
 the notion of Miss Fotheringay's marriage with a stripling seven or eight 
 years her junior. Bows, who was a cripple, and owned that he was a 
 little more deformed even than Bingley the manager, so that he could 
 not appear on the stage, was a singular wild man of no small talents 
 land humour. Attracted first by Miss Fotheringay's beauty, he began to 
 teach her how to act. He shrieked out in his cracked voice the parts, 
 and his pupil learned them from his lips by rote, and repeated them 
 in her full rich tones. He indicated the attitudes, and set and moved 
 those beautiful arms of hers. Those who remember this grand actress 
 on the stage can recall how she used always precisely the same gestures, 
 looks, and tones ; how she stood on the same plank of the stage in the 
 same position, rolled her eyes at the same instant and to the same 
 
46 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 degree, and wept with precisely the same heartrending pathos and 
 over the same pathetic syllable. And after she had come out trembling 
 with emotion before the audience, and looking so exhausted and tear- 
 ful that you fancied she would faint with sensibility, she would gather 
 up her hair the instant she was behind the curtain, and go home to a 
 mutton chop and a glass of brown stout ; and the harrowing labours 
 of the day over, she went to bed and snored as resolutely and as 
 regularly as a porter. 
 
 Bows then was indignant at the notion that his pupil should throw 
 her chances away in life by bestowing her hand upon a little country 
 squire. As soon as a London manager saw her he prophesied that she 
 would get a London engagement, and a great success. The misfortune 
 was that the London managers had seen her. She had played in London 
 three years before, and had failed from utter stupidity. Since then 
 it was that Bows had taken her in hand and taught her part after part. 
 How he worked and screamed, and twisted, and repeated lines over 
 and over again, and with what indomitable patience and dulness she 
 followed him ! She knew that he made her : and let herself be made. 
 She was not grateful, or ungrateful, or unkind, or ill-humoured. She 
 was only stupid ; and Pen was madly in love with her. 
 
 The post-horses from the Clavering Arms arrived in due time, and 
 carried the party to the theatre at Chatteris, where Pen was gratified 
 in perceiving that a tolerably large audience was assembled. The 
 young gentlemen from Baymouth had a box, in the front of which sate 
 Mr. Foker and his friend Mr. Spavin splendidly attired in the most 
 full-blown evening costume. They saluted Pen in a cordial manner, 
 and examined his party, of which they approved, for little Laura was a 
 pretty little red-cheeked girl with a quantity of shining brown ringlets, 
 and Mrs. Pendennis, dressed in black velvet with the diamond cross 
 which she sported on great occasions, looked uncommonly handsome 
 and majestic. Behind these sate Mr. Arthur, and the gentle Smirke 
 with the curl reposing on his fair forehead, and his white tie in perfect 
 order. He blushed to find himself in such a place — but how happy 
 ■ was he to be there ! He and Mrs. Pendennis brought books of 
 
 Hamlet " with them to follow the tragedy, as is the custom of honest 
 country-folks who go to a play in state. Samuel, coachman, groom, 
 and gardener to Mrs. Pendennis, took his place in the pit, where Mr. 
 Foker's man was also visible. It was dotted with non-commissioned 
 officers of the dragoons, whose band, by kind permission of Colonel 
 Swallowtail, were, as usual, in the orchestra ; and that corpulent and 
 distinguished warrior himself, with his Waterloo medal and a number 
 of his young men, made a handsome show in the boxes. 
 
 Who is that odd-looking j)erson bowing to you, Arthur } " Mrs. 
 Pendennis asked of her son. 
 
 Pen blushed a great deal. His name is Captain Costigan, ma'am," 
 he said — a Peninsular officer. '* In fact it was the Captain in a new 
 shoot of clothes, as he called them, and with a large pair of white kid 
 gloves, one of which he waved to Pendennis, whilst he laid the other 
 sprawling over his heart and coat buttons. Pen did not say any more. 
 And how was Mrs. Pendennis to know that Mr. Costigan was the 
 father of lyiiss Fotheringay } 
 
PENDENNIS 47 
 
 I Mr. Hornbull^ from London, was the Hamlet of the night, Mr. 
 I Bingley modestly contenting himself with the part of Horatio, and 
 1 reserving his chief strength for William in Black-Eyed Susan/' 
 i which was the second piece. 
 
 [ We have nothing to do with the play : except to say, that Ophelia 
 i looked lovely, and performed with admirable wild pathos : laughing, 
 I weeping, gazing wildly, waving her beautiful white arms, and flinging 
 about her snatches of flowers and songs with the most charming mad- 
 i ness. What an opportunity her splendid black hair had of tossing over 
 ' her shoulders ! She made the most charming corpse ever seen ; and 
 1 while Hamlet and Laertes were battling in her grave, she was looking 
 out from the back scenes with some curiosity towards Pen's box, and 
 the family party assembled in it. 
 
 There was but one voice in her praise there. Mrs. Pendennis was in 
 ecstasies with her beauty. Little Laura was bewildered by the piece, 
 and the Ghost, and the play within the play (during which, as Hamlet 
 lay at Ophelia s knee. Pen felt that he would have liked to strangle 
 Mr. Hornbull), but cried out great praises of that beautiful young 
 creature. Pen was charmed with the efi'ect which she produced on his 
 mother— and the clergyman, for his part, was exceedingly enthusiastic. 
 [ When the curtain fell upon that group of slaughtered personages, 
 who are despatched so suddenly at the end of Hamlet," and whose 
 demise astonished poor little Laura not a little, there was an immense 
 shouting and applause from all quarters of the house, the intrepid 
 I Smirke, violently excited, clapped his hands, and cried out Bravo, 
 Bravo ! " as loud as the dragoon officers themselves. These were greatly- 
 moved, — Us sagitaient sur leurs bancs, — to borrow a phrase from our 
 [neighbours. They were led cheering into action by the portly Swal- 
 lowtail, who waved his cap — the non-commissioned officers in the pit, 
 of course, gallantly following their chiefs. There was a roar of bravos 
 rang through the house ; Pen bellowing with the loudest, Fotherin- 
 gay ! Fotheringay ! " Messrs. Spavin and Foker giving the view halloo 
 from their box. Even Mrs. Pendennis began to wave about her 
 pocket-handkerchief, and little Laura danced, laughed, clapped, and 
 looked up at Pen with wonder. 
 
 Hornbull led the heneficiaire forward, amidst bursts of enthusiasm— 
 ind she looked so handsome and radiant, with her hair still over her 
 shoulders, that Pen hardly could contain himself for rapture : and he 
 ieaned over his mother s chair, and shouted, and hurrayed, and waved 
 fiis hat. It was all he could do to keep his secret from Helen and not 
 say, Look ! That's the woman ! Isn't she peerless } I tell you I 
 love her." But he disguised these feelings under an enormous bellow- 
 ng and hurraying. 
 
 As for Miss Fotheringay and her behaviour, the reader is referred to 
 I former page for an account of that. She went through precisely the 
 same business. She surveyed the house all round with glances of 
 gratitude; and trembled, and almost sank with emotion, over her 
 'avourite trap-door. She seized the flowers (Foker discharged a pro- 
 iigious bouquet at her, and even Smirke made a feeble shy with a rose, 
 ind blushed dreadfully when it fell into the pit)— she seized the flowers 
 ind pressed them to her swelling heart— &c. &c.— in a word,^e refer 
 
48 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the reader to page 30. Twinkling in her breast poor old Pen saw a 
 locket which he had bought of Mr. Nathan in High Street with the 
 last shilling he was worth, and a sovereign borrowed from Smirke. 
 
 ^'Black-Eyed Susan" followed, at which sweet story our gentle- 
 hearted friends were exceedingly charmed and affected : and in which' 
 Susan, with a russet gown and a pink ribbon in her cap, looked to the 
 full as lovely as Ophelia. Bingley was great in William. GoU, as the 
 Admiral, looked like the figure-head of a seventy-four ; and Garbetts, 
 as Captain Boldweather, a miscreant who forms a plan for carrying off 
 Black-Eyed Susan, and waving an immense cocked hat, says, Come 
 what may, he will be the ruin of her ' — all these performed their parts 
 with their accustomed talent ; and it was with a sincere regret that all our 
 friends saw the curtain drop down and end that pretty and tender story. 
 
 If Pen had been alone with his mother in the carriage as they went 
 home, he would have told her all that night ; but he sate on the box 
 in the moonshine smoking a cigar by the side of Smirke, who warmed 
 himself with a comforter. Mr. Foker's tandem and lamps whirled by 
 the sober old Clavering posters, as they were a couple of miles on their 
 road home, and Mr. Spavin saluted Mrs. Pendennis's carriage with 
 some considerable variations of Rule Britannia on the key-bugle. 
 
 It happened two days after the above gaieties that the Dean of 
 Chatteris entertained a few select clerical friends at dinner at his 
 Deanery House. That they drank uncommonly good port wine, and 
 abused the Bishop over their dessert, are very likely matters : but with 
 such we have nothing at present to do. Our friend Doctor Portman^ 
 of Clavering, was one of the Dean's guests, and being a gallant man^ 
 and seeing, from his place at the mahogany, the Dean's lady walking uj 
 and down the grass, with her children sporting around her, and hel 
 pink parasol over her lovely head— the Doctor stepped out of the Frencli 
 windows of the dining-room into the lawn, which skirts that apartment; 
 and left the other white neckcloths to gird at my Lord Bishop. Theij 
 the Doctor went up and offered Mrs. Dean his arm, and they sauntered 
 over the ancient velvet lawn, which had been mowed and rolled foj 
 immemorial deans, in that easy, quiet, comfortable manner, in whicl 
 people of middle age and good temper walk after a good dinner, in i 
 calm golden summer evening, when the sun has but just sunk behin« 
 the enormous cathedral towers, and the sickle-shaped moon is growing 
 every instant brighter in the heavens. 
 
 Now at the end of the Dean's garden, there is, as we have stated 
 Mrs. Creed's house, and the windows of the first-floor room were opel 
 to admit the pleasant summer air. A young lady of six-and-twenty 
 whose eyes were perfectly wide open, and a luckless boy of eighteen 
 blind with love and infatuation, were in that chamber together; ii 
 which persons, as we have before seen them in the same place, th» 
 reader will have no difficulty in recognising Mr. Arthur Pendennis an< 
 Miss Costigan. 
 
 The poor boy had taken the plunge. Trembling with passionat 
 emotion, his heart beating and throbbing fiercely, tears rushing fortl 
 in spite of him, his voice almost choking with feeling, poor Pen ha( 
 said those words which he could withhold no more, and flung himsel 
 
NIS 49 
 
 and his whole store of Jove.^^^BB^tiou, and ardour, at the feet 
 of this mature beauty. Is he^fiSBpi^ho has done so ? Have none 
 before or after him staked all theirTrfeasure of life, as a savage does his 
 land and possessions, against a draught of the fair-skins' fire-water, or 
 a couple of bauble eyes ? \ 
 
 ''Does your mother kno4 of this, Arthur?" said Miss Fotheringay 
 slowly. He seized her hand madly, and kissed it a thousand times. 
 She did not withdraw it. Does the old lady know it } " Miss Costigan 
 thought to herself ; well, perhaps she may," and then she remembered 
 what a handsome diamond cross Mrs. Pendennis had on the night of 
 the play, and thought, ''Sure 'twill go in the family.'' 
 
 " Calm yourself, dear Arthur," she said, in her low rich voice, and 
 smiled sweetly and gravely upon him. Then, with her disengaged 
 hand, she put the hair lightly off his throbbing forehead. He was in 
 such a rapture and whirl of happiness, that he could hardly speak. At 
 last he gasped out, " My mother has seen you and admires you beyond 
 measure. She will learn to love you soon : who can do 'otherwise } 
 She will love you because I do. " 
 
 " 'Deed then, I think you do," said Miss Costigan, perhaps with a 
 sort of pity for Pen. 
 
 Think he did.? Of course here Mr. Pen went off into a rhapsody 
 vvhich, as we have perfect command over our own feelings, we have no 
 right to overhear. Let the poor boy fling out his simple heart at the 
 w^oman s feet, and deal gently with him. It is best to love wisely, no 
 ioubt ; but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all. 
 Some of us can't : and are proud of our impotence too. 
 
 At the end of his speech. Pea again kissed the imperial hand with 
 •apture— and I believe it was at this very moment, and while Mrs. 
 Dean and Doctor Portman were engaged in conversation, that young 
 Vlaster Ridley Roset, her son, pulled his mother by the back of her 
 capacious dress and said — 
 
 "I say, ma ! look up there "—and he waggled his innocent head. 
 
 That was, indeed, a view from the Dean's garden such as seldom is 
 »een by Deans— or is written in Chapters. There was poor Pen per- 
 orming a salute upon the rosy fingers of his charmer, who received 
 he embrace with perfect calmness and good-humour. Master Ridley 
 ooked up and grinned, little Miss Rosa looked at her brother, and 
 ►pened the mouth of astonishment. Mrs. Dean's countenance defied 
 xpression, and as for Doctor Portman, when he beheld the scene, and 
 aw his prime favourite and dear pupil Pen, he stood mute with rage 
 nd wonder. ^ 
 
 Mrs. Haller spied the party below at the same moment, and gave a 
 tart and a laugh. " Sure there's somebody in the Dean's garden," 
 he cried out ; and withdrew with perfect calmness, whilst Pen darted 
 way with his face glowing like coals. The garden party had re-entered 
 he house when he ventured to look out again. The sickle moon was 
 lazing bright m the heavens then, the stars were glittering, the bell 
 I the cathedral ^iltaig nine, the Dean's guests (all save one, who had 
 illed tor his horse Dumpling, and ridden off early) were partaking of 
 ;a and buttered cakes in Mrs. Dean's drawing-room— when Pen took 
 iave of Miss Costigan. 
 
50 ^^^^^ 
 
 Pen arrived at home .11 t ^l||HH^wards, and was going to slip 
 off to bed, for the poor la 'all) worn and agitated, and his 
 
 high-strung nerves had bee, '^'"^ lost a maddening pitch—when a 
 summons came to him by Jonix .-^e old footman, whose countenance 
 bore a very ominous look, that his mother must see him below. 
 
 On this he tied on his neckcloth again, and went downstairs to the 
 drawing-room. There sate not only his mother, but her friend, the 
 Reverend Doctor Portman. Helen's face looked very pale by the light 
 of the lamp— the Doctor's was flushed, on the contrary, and quivering 
 with anger and emotion. 
 
 Pen saw at once that there was a crisis, and that there had been a 
 discovery. Now for it," he thought. 
 
 Where have you been, Arthur.? " Helen said, in a trembling voice. 
 How can you look that— that dear lady, and a Christian clergyman 
 in the face, sir.^*" bounced out the Doctor, in spite of Helen s pale, 
 appealing looks. Where has he been? Where his mothers son 
 should have been ashamed to go. For your mother's an angel, sir, an 
 angel. How dare you bring pollution into her house, and make that 
 spotless creature wretched with the thoughts of your crime ? " 
 ^^Sir!" said Pen. 
 Don't deny it, sir," roared the Doctor. ''Dont add lies, sir, to 
 your other infamy. I saw you myself, sir. I saw you from the Dean's 
 
 garden. I saw you kissing the hand of that infernal painted " 
 
 ^^Stop !" Pen said, clapping his fist on the table, till the lamp 
 flickered up and shook ; I am a very young man, but you will please 
 to remember that I am a gentleman— I will hear no abuse of that lady. 
 
 Lady, sir ! " cried the Doctor, thmt a lady— you— you— you stand 
 in your mother's presence and call that — that woman a lady ! " 
 
 In anybody's presence," shouted out Pen. She is worthy of any 
 place. She is as pure as any woman. She is as good as she is beautiful. 
 If any man but you insulted her, I would tell him what I thought; . 
 but as you are my oldest friend, I suppose you have the privilege to| 
 doubt of my honour." . ' 
 
 ^^No, no. Pen, dearest Pen !" cried out Helen in an excess of joy.^ 
 I told, I told you. Doctor, he was not— not what you thought ; 
 and the tender creature coming trembling forward flung herself on| 
 Pen's shoulder. , 
 Pen felt himself a man, and a match for all the Doctors in Doctordom. 
 He was glad this explanation had come. You saw how beautiful she 
 was," he said to his mother, with a soothing, protecting air, like Hamlet 
 with Gertrude in the play. I tell you, dear mother, she is as good. 
 When you know her you will say so. She is of all, except you, the 
 simplest, the kindest, the most affectionate of women. Why should 
 she not be on the stage ?— She maintains her father by her labour. 
 
 Drunken old reprobate," growled the Doctor, but Pen did n^ 
 hear or heed. 
 
 "If you could see, as I have, how orderly her life is, how pure an 
 pious her whole conduct, you would — as I do — yes, as I do " — (with 
 savage look at the Doctor)—'^ spurn the slanderer who dared to do h ^ 
 wrong. Her father was an officer, and distinguished himself in Spaing 
 He was a friend of His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent, and is inti'^ 
 
Copyright, Service &- Paton^ 1897 
 
'IS. 
 
PENDENNIS 5j 
 
 mately known to the Duke of Wellin^on, and some of the first officers 
 of our army He has met my uncle Arthur at Lord Hill's, he t Wnks 
 His own family ,s one of the most ancient and respectable ifhSd 
 Ireland " " " ^""'^ '^^''^^ ^ostfgans we," Wngs Sf 
 
 whptW^' ^""^ bless my soul/' shrieked out the Doctor, hardly knowing 
 
 ifto r'X-/''' "y^"" 
 
 }.«^!f-iP" princely air. "What else, Doctor Portman " 
 
 T?fi ^ f ^"PP''^^ be my desire ? " ' 
 
 of p"n%^fe Doitn'"'' ''^^^"''^ ''""'''^•'•l ^^dden lunge 
 
 "Send for the Major? with all my heart/' said Arthur Prince of 
 
 S.TtnH^^'A'^i^S"'^ ^.Y^' ''^ ^^'^^J^'^' -'th a most superb wave of 
 UH t T,^"*^ the colloquy terminated by the writing of those two 
 letters which were laid on Major Pendeniiis'si eakfast-table i, London 
 at the commencement of Prince Arthur's most veracious history ' 
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 IN WHICH THE MAJOR MAKES HIS APPEARANCE 
 
 Our acquaintance. Major Arthur Pendennis, arrived in due time ■,i 
 Fairoaks, after a dreary night passed in the mail-coach wLi^ a stout 
 
 J. Jf ILL ua 
 
g2 PENDENNIS 
 
 required a little preparation before he cared to be visible^ i'^^i^^or's 
 
 ner Kiiee^ , ^iaa^ . ooin+^nfr >ii<5 ^^^tpr-ln-law. Laura tooK 
 
 as he did on this occasion after, saluting nis sisxer in ictw. 
 
 in earnest conversation with Mr. hmirke. Smirke ouUed him 1 
 
 did not hear Laura's clear voice singing out, until Smuke puuea n 
 
 „y, I am ready for him or aiiy man. Mr. Smuke cast up m» e, 
 
 position that he might not and 
 that the arrangement proposed by Mr. Pen was a jjeiy ieai= 
 
PENDENNIS 53 
 
 prudent one, and that it would be a great comfort to have Emily settled 
 at l-an-oaks Captain Costigan in the yellow room, established for life 
 there, and Pen married at eighteen. 
 
 And it is a fact that in these two days, the boy had almost talked over 
 his mother, too ; had parried all her objections one after another with 
 tf f^^- gooj. sense w hich is often t he perfection of absurdity ; 
 and had brought her almost to acquiesce in the" Belief that " if"" the 
 marriage was doomed in heaven, why doomed it was-that if the vouna- 
 woman was a good person it was all that she for her part had to ask • 
 
 would regard Mr Pen s marriage in a manner very different to that 
 
 ri'T^- ^ f"*^ ""^""^y ^''^"'•'1 ^^y^ in ^hich the widow 
 
 was already disposed to look at questions of this sort. Helen Pendennis 
 was a country-bred woman, and the book of life, as she interpreted"t 
 ^}^^%^ fwT* *° '^"^ ^^^^ ^'•'"h is read in cities. It p eased 
 her (with that dismal pleasure which the idea of sacrificing themselves 
 gives to certain women) to think of the day when she would give up 
 all to Pen, and he should bring his wife home, and she would sufrende? 
 «nd Z'^-^ SO and sit at the side of the table 
 
 and see him happy. What did she want in life, but to see the lad 
 prosper.^ As an empress was certainly not too good for him and 
 would be honoured by becoming Mrs. ^en ; so if he selected humble 
 Esther instead of Queen Vashti, she would be content with his™ 
 ships choice. Never mind how lowly or poor the person m ght be 
 11711""^^^ P'-«'1'S'°^1 honour, Mrs. Pendennis waTf fl ing 
 to bow before her and welcome her, and yield her up the first place 
 But an actress-a mature woman, who had long ceased bluS excen; 
 
 "an mZ;t: '^V-n"^ ""f"' '"^'^ ^^^'^^^ thousands^of e^L 
 ^wfb 1 i^f ^^'y ^'kely, who must have lived 
 
 with light associates, and have heard doubtful conversation- Oh J it was 
 hard that such a one should be chosen, and that the matron should be 
 deposed to give place to such a Sultana. 
 
 All these doubts the widow laid before Pen during the two days 
 which had of necessity to elapse ere the uncle came down ; but he me? 
 
 ^K•^*'^^'^''*.''^PPy^'•^°'^'^«^« ease which a young Seman 
 exhibits at his time of ife, and routed his mother's objection SthMn- 
 finite satisfaction to himself Miss Costigan was a paragon of virtue 
 and delicacy ! she was as sensitive as the most timid maidai ; she wis 
 as pure as the unsul ied snow; she had the finest manners, the m^s? 
 graceful wit and genius, the most charming refinement, and VstnerS 
 appreciation in all matters of taste ; she had the most admirabk temper 
 and devotion to her father, a good old gentleman of higrfamirand 
 fallen fortunes, who had lived, however, with the be^st Sy " J 
 Europe: he was in no hurry, and could afford to wait any time-tS 
 he was one-and-twenty But he felt (and here his face IssZed a 
 awfuland harrowmg solemnity that he was engaged in the one onTy 
 passion of his life, and that DEATH alone could close it. ^ 
 Helen told him, with a sad smile and a shake of the head that 
 people survived these passions, and as for long engagements contracted 
 ,.«tween_yery young men and old women-shl kriw an instance in her 
 own family-Laura's poor father was an instance-how fatal they were 
 
PENDENNIS 
 Mr. Pen, however, 7- ..solved 
 
 Hottentot daughter-in-law. . 
 
 Arthur knew his power over the w,dow, and the yo g J 
 touched whilst he exercised it I." J^''"^ and hi passed 
 
 almost into -^-S^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 one evening with the lovely pie maKei . , 
 
 of his influence over his another; and he spent t^^^^^^^ 
 
 It ... oil that ulBhl, long .fter "'Jf ^K'f *™t„ ' "hrough'tli. 
 
 illnesses, many a night before, the kind soul had so P ^^^^ 
 turned the lock very softly 5^^' ^""^J,^"* '° a her. His papers 
 a moment did not see her. His ^««Jf*''™^lere lying on the hed 
 on his desk were scattered .^"'^^f kfjg of rhymes and all 
 
 round him. He was biting a ^^^"1^ ««Set umphJ into Ophelia's 
 sorts of follies and passions. He Camlet jumping m p^^^.^^^ 
 grave : he was the Stranger taking H^"" J"^^^^^^ De- 
 Mrs. Haller, with the raven ringlets feUl'Jg, "^^"i ^"f Angels. 
 
 creature did her best: and thought with a strang^^ 
 
 •^7h^;S v-^^f verses no ^-bt ^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 did not understand them ; but ow -n ^^^^^^^.^^ 
 
 Sng"." pSyrJo^^^ to this." So Milly locked u| 
 
 'Vhrthifthe Major, being dressed and presentable, presented 
 
PENDENNIS 55 
 
 himself to Mrs. Pendennis, he found in the course of ten minutes' 
 colloquy that the poor widow was not merely distressed at the idea of 
 the marriage contemplated by Pen, but actually more distressed at 
 thnikmg that the boy himself was unhappy about it, and that his 
 uncle and lie should have any violent altercation on the subject. She 
 besought Major Pendennis to be very gentle with Arthur - "He has 
 a very high spirit, and will not brook unkind words," she hinted 
 Doctor Portman spoke to him rather roughly— and I must own 
 unjustly, the other night— for my dearest boy's honour is as high as 
 any mother can desire-but Pen's answer quite frightened me, it was 
 so indignant. Recollect he is a man now ; and be very-very cautious," 
 said the widow, laying a fair long hand on the Major's sleeve 
 
 He took It up, kissed it gallantly, and looked in her alarmed face 
 with wonder, and a scorn which he was too polite to show. " Bon Dieu ' ' 
 thought the old negotiator, "the boy has actually talked the woman 
 ^^^^ ^ "^'^^^ a toy if Master cried for 
 
 It Why are there no such things as lettres-de-cachet—tindi a Bastille 
 for young fellows of family ? " The Major lived in such good company 
 that he might be excused for feeling like an Earl. He kissed the 
 widow s timid hand, pressed it in both his, and laid it down on the table 
 ""^r" own over it, as he smiled and looked her in the face. 
 Confess, said he, "now, that you are thinking how you possiblv 
 can make it up to your conscience to let the boy have his own way " 
 phe blushed, and was moved in the usual manner of females. " I am 
 
 thinking that he is very unhappy— and I am too " 
 
 "To contradict him or to let him have his own wish.?" asked the 
 
 if he'siair' ^^^^^ comfort to his inward self, "I'm d d 
 
 " To think that he should have formed so foolish and cruel and fatal 
 an attachment, the widow said, " which can but end in pain whatever 
 be the issue. ^ , 
 
 " The issue shan't be marriage, my dear sister," the Major said reso- 
 lutely. We re not going to have a Pendennis, the head of the house, 
 marry a strolling mountebank from a booth. No, no, we won't marry 
 into Greenwich Fair, ma am. ' 
 
 "If the match is broken suddenly off," the widow interposed, "I 
 don t know what may be the consequence. I know Arthur's ardent 
 temper the intensity of his affections, the agony of his pleasures and 
 disappointments, and I tremble at this one if it must be. Indeed 
 indeed, it must not come on him too suddenly " ' 
 "My dear madam," the Major said, with an air of the deepest com- 
 miseration, "Ive no doubt Arthur will have to suffer confoundedly 
 before he gets over the little disappointment. But is he, think you 
 the only person who has been so rendered miserable ? " 
 
 No, indeed," said Helen, holding down her eyes. She was thinkins • 
 ot her own case, and was at that moment seventeen again, and most 
 
 Jl T^^^'^S' '^l>'«Pered. her brother-in-law, "have undergone a dis- 
 ? '^'l^ ^]^'- ^ yo"°g woman with fifteen thousand 
 pounds, niece to an Earl— most accomplished creature— a third of her 
 imoney would have run up my promotion in no time, and I should have 
 
gg PENDENNIS 
 
 been a lieutenant-colonel at thirty ; but ^a*"^,^,^:; JaClndU 
 pe„nile.slie«^^ 
 
 where 1 had the honour oi oeiug hanrtened > We returned 
 
 Commander-in-Chief-without her ^hat happen^^^^ 
 
 fe staSd- in^L-X midical profession-an eligible opportun^^^^ 
 ne faixeu 111 remember the name, was daughtei ot an 
 
 said Helen, aie ™„ „,„ism who— who was brought 
 
 deal of unhappiness. -Laura s fat^^^^^^^^ 
 
 up with me"— she added, in a low voice, wa anything 
 
 never wanted medicine certainly, "''/^.^jg^^^^p^n of ^ separation in 
 ""?, I'iw"'"? ,^ 'SI/hE dimly dtapo-d »<>™"1» '•'«'■'«■ 
 
 I don't mind telling you now we are alone . that in the nigne 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 57 
 
 of society, misery, undeviating misery, is the result. Look at Lord 
 Clodworthy come into a room with his wife — why, good Ged, she looks 
 like Clodworthy's mother. What's the case between Lord and Lady 
 Willowbank, whose love-match was notorious ? He has already cut her 
 down twice when she has hanged hersfelf out of jealousy for Mademoiselle 
 de Sainte Cunegonde, the dancer ; and mark my words, good Ged, one 
 day he'll 7iot cut the old woman down. No, my dear madam, you are 
 not in the world, but I am : you are a little romantic and sentimental 
 (you know you are — women with those large beautiful eyes always are) ; 
 you must leave this matter to my experience. Marry this woman ! 
 Marry at eighteen an actress of thirty — bah, bah ! — I would as soon he 
 sent into the kitchen and married the cook." 
 
 I know the evils of premature engagements," sighed out Helen : 
 and as she has made this allusion no less than thrice in the course of 
 the above conversation, and seems to be so oppressed with the notion 
 of long engagements and unequal marriages, and as the circumstance 
 we have to relate will explain what perhaps some persons are anxious 
 to know, namely, who little Laura is, who has appeared more than 
 once before us, it will be as well to clear up these points in another 
 chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER Vni 
 
 IN WHICH PEN IS KEPT WAITING AT THE DOOR, WHILE THE READER 
 IS INFORMED WHO LITTLE LAURA WAS 
 
 Once upon a time, then, there was a young gentleman of Cambridge 
 University who came to pass the long vacation at the village where 
 young Helen Thistlewood was living with her mother, the widow of the 
 lieutenant slain at Copenhagen. This gentleman, whose name- was the 
 Reverend Francis Bell, was nephew to Mrs. Thistlewood, and by con- 
 sequence, own cousin to Miss Helen, so that it was very right that he 
 should take lodgings in his aunt's house, who lived in a very small 
 way; and there he passed the long vacation, reading with three or 
 four pupils who accompanied him to the village. Mr. Bell was fellow 
 of a college, and famous in the University for his learning and skill as 
 a tutor. 
 
 His two kinswomen understood pretty early that the reverend 
 gentleman was engaged to be married, and was only waiting for a 
 college living to enable him to fulfil his engagement. His intended 
 bride was the daughter of another parson, who had acted as Mr. Bell's 
 own private tutor in Bell's early life, and it was whilst under Mr. 
 Coacher's roof, indeed, and when only a boy of seventeen or eighteen 
 years of age, that the impetuous young Bell had flung himself at the 
 feet of Miss Martha Coacher, whom he was helping to pick peas in the 
 garden. On his knees, before those peas and her, he pledged himself 
 to an endless aiFection. 
 
 Miss Coacher was by many years the young fellow's senior : and her 
 own heart had been lacerated by many previous disappointments in the 
 matrimonial line. No less than three pupils of her father had trifled 
 
58 PENDENNIS 
 
 with those vounff affections. The apothecary of the village had despic- 
 Tblv iUted her. The dragoon officer, with whom she had danced so 
 
 ffood-humour ; at the end of his speech she sa d. Law, Bell, i 
 fouare too voung to think of such things;" but intimated that she 
 
 ^Trk^JChS tied up in a piece of blue "bbon conveyed to the 
 happy Bell the result of the Vestal's conference with herself. Thrice 
 betol had she snipt off one of her auburn ringlets and given them 
 'atay The possess^ors were faithless, but the hair had grown again: 
 anflkartha had indeed occasion to say that men were deceivers, when 
 1 she handed over this token of love to the simple boy. T7.„„,i, 
 i Number 6 however, was an exception to former passions-Francis 
 
 BeU wt the most faithful of lovers, ^hen ^i^/X^W^^^^ 
 college and it became necessary to acquaint Mr. Coachei ot the ai 
 angfmUs that had been made, the ^J^t^ZT^ 
 T hadn't the least idea what was going on ; as was indeed very iiaeiy, 
 for he had been taken in three times before in precisely a similar 
 
 colleo; eTsays to old Coacher, and his silver declamation cup to Miss 
 Mavtba In due season he was high among the Wranglers, and a 
 S t'of Ms Collele; and during III ^ time of thes«^ t^c^^^^^^ 
 a constant tender correspondence was kept up 7,^*^ Miss C^^^^^ 
 whose influence, and perhaps with justice, he attributed the successes 
 
 "ty tte^'tfmrhowever, when the Rev. Francis Bell M.A. and 
 Fellow and T^tor of his College, was twenty-six years ot age, it hap- 
 pened that Miss Coacher was thirty-four, nor had her charms, her 
 Lnners or her temper improved since that sunny day m the sprmg- 
 time-oTlife when he found her picking peas in the garden. Having 
 acreved his honours, he relaxed in the ardour of :h.s^^^^>^^-^ 
 judgment and tastes also perhaps becanie cooler. The sunshine ot tn^^^ 
 pea-ffarden faded away from Miss Martha, and poor Bell found himselt 
 ^^L^IT nnfl his hatid pledged to that bond in a thousand lettei-s— to 
 rc^afseTll temie^^^^^^^^ ill-mannered, middle-aged woman 
 
 It was in consequence of one of many altercations (in which Martha s 
 eloouZce shone, and in which therefore she was frequently pleased to 
 fSge), ttt F^^ refused to take his pupils to Beai-leader s Gi^en 
 where Mr. Coacher's living was, and where Bell was m tl.e liabit o* 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 50 
 
 spending the summer ; and he bethought him that he would pass the 
 vacation at his aunt's village^ which he had not seen for many years — 
 not since little Helen was a girl^ and used to sit on his knee. Down 
 then he came and lived with them. Helen was grown a beautiful 
 young woman now. The cousins were nearly four months together, 
 from J une to October. They walked in the summer evenings : they 
 met in the early morn. They read out of the same book when the old 
 lady dozed at night over the candles. What little Helen knew, Frank 
 taught her. She sang to him : she gave her artless heart to him. She 
 was aware of all his story. Had he made any secret ! — had he not shown 
 the picture of the woman to whom he was engaged, and with a blush, 
 — her letters, hard, eager, and cruel .f* — The days went on and on, 
 happier and closer, with more kindness, more confidence, and more 
 pity. At last one morning in October came when Francis went back 
 to college, and the poor girl felt that her tender heart was gone with 
 him. 
 
 Frank too wakened up from the delightful midsummer-dream to the 
 horrible reality of his own pain. He gnashed and tore at the chain 
 which bound him. He was frantic to break it and be free. Should he 
 confess ? — give his savings to the woman to whom he was bound, and 
 beg his release ? — there was time yet — he temporised. No living might 
 fall in for years to come. The cousins went on corresponding sadly 
 and fondly : the betrothed woman, hard, jealous, and dissatisfied, com- 
 plaining bitterly, and with reason, of her Francis's altered tone. 
 
 At last things came to a crisis, and the new attachment was discovered. 
 Francis owned it, cared not to disguise it, rebuked Martha with her 
 violent temper and angry imperiousness, and, worst of all, with her 
 inferiority and her age. 
 
 Her reply was, that if he did not keep his promise she would carry 
 his letters into every court in the kingdom — letters in which his love 
 was pledged to her ten thousand times ; and, after exposing him to the 
 world as the perjurer and traitor he was, she would kill herself. 
 
 Frank had one more interview with Helen, whose mother was dead 
 then, and who was living companion with old Lady Pontypool, — one 
 more interview, where it was resolved that he was to do his duty ; that 
 is, to redeem his vow ; that is, to pay a debt cozened from him by a 
 sharper; that is, to make two honest people miserable. So the two 
 judged their duty to be, and they parted. 
 
 The living fell in only too soon ; but yet Frank Bell was quite a grey 
 and worn-out man when he was inducted into it. Helen wrote him 
 a letter on his marriage, beginning, My dear Cousin," and ending 
 
 always truly yours. " She sent him back the other letters, and the 
 lock of his hair — all but a small piece. She had it in her desk when 
 she was talking to the Major. 
 
 Bell lived for three or four years in his living, at the end of which 
 time, the Chaplainship of Coventry Island falling vacant, Frank 
 applied for it privately, and having procured it, announced the appoint- 
 ment to his wife. She objected, as she did to everything. He told her 
 bitterly that he did not want her to come : so she went. Bell went out 
 in Governor Crawley's time, and was very intimate with that gentleman 
 in his later years. And it was in Coventry Island, years after his own 
 
eo PENDENNIS 
 
 marriage, and five years after he had heard of the birth of Helen's boy, 
 that his own daughter was born. ^ . i j 
 
 She was not the daughter of the first Mrs. Bell, who died of island 
 fever very soon after Helen Pendennis and her husband, to whom Helen 
 had told everything, wrote to inform Bell of the birth of their child. 
 
 I was old, was I ? " said Mrs. Bell the first ; I was old, and her 
 inferior, was I? but I married you, Mr. Bell, and kept you from 
 marrying her ; " and hereupon she died. Bell married a colonial lady, 
 whom he loved fondly. But he was not doomed to prosper in love ; 
 and, this lady dying in child-birth. Bell gave up too : sending his little 
 girl home to 'Helen Pendennis and her husband, with a parting prayer 
 that they would befriend her. , , . , . ^ r 
 
 The little thing came to Fairoaks from Bristol, which is not very tar 
 off, dressed in black, and in company of a soldier s wife, her nurse, at 
 parting from whom she wept bitterly. But she soon dried up her grief 
 under Helen's motherly care. , , , i i j • 
 
 Round her neck she had a locket with hair, which Helen had given, 
 ah how many years ago ! to poor Francis, dead and buried. This child 
 was all that was left of him, and she cherished, as so tender a creature 
 would, the legacy which he had bequeathed to her. The girFs name, 
 as his dying letter stated, was Helen Laura. But John Pendennis, 
 though he accepted the trust, was always rather jealous of the orphan ; 
 and gloomily ordered that she should be called by her own mother s 
 name ; and not by that first one which her father had given her. She 
 was afraid of Mr. Pendennis, to the last moment of his life. And it 
 was only when her husband was gone that Helen dared openly to indulge 
 in the tenderness which she felt for the little girl. ^ 
 
 Thus it was that Laura Bell became Mrs. Pendennis s daughter. 
 Neither her husband, nor that gentleman's brother, the Major, viewed 
 her with very favourable eyes. She reminded the first of circumstances 
 in his wife's life which he was forced to accept, but would have forgotten 
 much more willingly : and as for the second, how could he regard her? 
 She was neither related to his own family of Pendennis nor to any 
 nobleman in this empire, and she had but a couple of thousand pounds 
 for her fortune. n i. i -i 
 
 And now let Mr. Pen come in, who has been waiting all this while. 
 Having strung up his nerves, and prepared himself, without at the 
 door, for the meeting, he came to it, determined to face the awful 
 uncle. He had settled in his mind that the encounter was to be a 
 fierce one, and was resolved on bearing it through with all the courage 
 and dignitv of the famous family which he represented. And he flung 
 open the door and entered with the most severe and warlike expression, 
 armed cap-a-pie as it were, with lance couched and plumes displayed, 
 and glancing at his adversary, as if to say, Come on, I'm ready." 
 The old man of the world, as he surveyed the boy's demeanour, could 
 I hardly help a grin at his admirable pompous simplicity. Major Pen- 
 dennis too had examined his ground ; and finding that the widow was 
 already half won over to the enemy, and having a shrewd notion that 
 threats and tragic exhortations would have no effect upon the boy, who 
 was inclined to be perfectly stubborn and awfully serious, the Major 
 laid aside the authoritative manner at once, and with the most good- 
 
PENDENNI8 ex 
 
 humoured natural smile in the world, held out his hands to Pen, shook 
 ; the lads passive fingers gaily, and said, ^^Well, Pen, my boy, tell us 
 t all about it. 
 
 ; Helen was delighted with the generosity of the Major s good-humour 
 ] On the contrary, it quite took aback and disappointed poor Pen, whose 
 nerves were strung up for a tragedy, and who felt that his grand entreli 
 , was altogether baulked and ludicrous. He blushed and winced witH 
 I mortified vanity and bewilderment. He felt immensely inclined td^ 
 , begin to cry. I— I— I didn't know that you were come till just now," 
 he said ; is— is— town very full I suppose.?'" 
 
 If Pen could hardly gulp his tears down, it was all the Major could 
 . ^^'^ laughter. He turned round and shot a comical glance 
 
 . at Mrs. Pendennis, who too felt that the scene was at once ridiculous 
 and sentimental. And so, having nothing to say, she went up and 
 kissed Mr. Pen ; as he thought of her tenderness and soft obedience to 
 his wishes, it is very possible too the boy was melted. 
 
 What a couple of fools they are ! " thought the old guardian If 
 1 hadii t come down, she would have driven over in state to pay a visit 
 and give her blessing to the young lady's family." 
 
 ^^Come, come," said he, still grinning at the couple, ''let us have 
 as little sentiment as possible, and Pen, my good fellow, tell us the 
 whole story. 
 
 Pen got back at once to his tragic and heroical air. '' The story is 
 sir, said he, as I have written it to you before. I have made the 
 acquaintance of a most beautiful and most virtuous lady : of a hiffh 
 family although in reduced circumstances ; I have found the woman in 
 whom 1 know that the happiness of my life is centred ; I feel that I 
 never, never can think about any woman but her. I am aware of the 
 clilterence of our ages and other difficulties in my way. But my affec- 
 tion was so great that I felt I could surmount all these ;— that we both 
 could : and she has consented to unite her lot with mine, and to accept 
 my heart and my fortune. " ^ 
 How much is that, my boy } " said the Major. '' Has anybody left 
 J^^some money? I don't know that you are worth a shilling in the 
 
 'cc X^^A^^^ ^^at I have is his," cried out Mrs. Pendennis. 
 Cxood heavens, madam hold your tongue 1 " was what the guardian 
 was disposed to say ; but he kept his temper, not without a struggle. 
 
 No doubt, no doubt, he said. You would sacrifice anythini for 
 wWh S^^^T^^^J know's that. But it is, after all then, your fortune 
 which Pen IS offering to the young lady ; and of which he wishes to 
 take possession at eighteen. 
 
 distobX "^'^^ ^'^^ anything," Pen said, looking rather 
 
 Yes, my good fellow, but there is reason in all things. If your 
 mother keeps the house, it is but fair that she should sekct her com- 
 pany. ^ When you give her house over her head, and transfer her 
 banker s account to yourself for the benefit of Miss What-d'-you-call-^em 
 ^s?er1. nnpT^^^^ * you think you should at least have consulted my 
 . ister as one of the principal parties in the transaction.? I am speaking 
 to you, you see, without the least anger or assumption of autSy! 
 
62 i>E>n)ENNIS 
 
 such as the law and vour father s will give me over you for three years 
 to come— hut as one 'man of the world to another,— and I ask you, if 
 vou think that, because you can do what you like with your mother, 
 therefore you have a right to do so ? As you are her dependant, would 
 it not have been more generous to wait before you took this step, and 
 at least to have paid her the courtesy to ask her leave ? " 
 
 Pen held down his head, and began dimly to perceive that the action 
 on which he had prided himself as a most romantic, generous instance 
 of disinterested affection, was perhaps a very selfish and headstrong 
 
 piece of folly. „ . , n j • cci 
 
 ''I did it in a moment of passion," said Pen, floundering ; 1 was 
 not aware what I was going to say or to do " (and in this he spoke with 
 perfect sincerity). ''But now it is said, and I stand to it. JNo ; 1 
 neither can nor will recall it. Vll die rather than do so. And 1—1 
 don't want to burden my mother," he continued. 1 11 work for myself. 
 I'll go on the stage, and act with her. She— she says I should do 
 
 well there." ^» , ti* • • x ^ 
 
 ^'But will she take you on those terms?' the Major interposed. 
 Mind, I do not say that Miss Costigan is not the most disinterested 
 of women : but don t you suppose, now, fairly, that your position as a 
 young gentleman of ancient birth and decent expectations, forms a 
 part of the cause why she finds your addresses welcome ? " 
 
 ril die, I say, rather than forfeit my pledge to her, said 1 en, 
 doubling his fists and turning red. , , . x i. i.i 
 
 ^^Who asks you, my dear friend.^" answered the imperturbable 
 guardian. No gentleman breaks his word, of course, when it has 
 been given freely. But, after all, you can wait. You owe something 
 to your mother, something to your family— something to me as your 
 father's representative." 
 
 Oh, of coarse," Pen said, feeling rather relieved. 
 
 WbII, as you have pledged your word to her, give us another, will 
 you, Arthur ? " 
 
 What is it} " Arthur asked. 
 
 That you will make no private marriage— that you won t be taking 
 a trip to Scotland, you understand ? " ' r ^ . a 
 
 That would be a falsehood. Pen never told his mother a falsehood, 
 Helen said. , ^ . , ... - 
 
 Pen hung down his head again, and his eyes filled with tears ot 
 shame. Had not this whole intrigue been a falsehood to that tender 
 and confiding creature who was ready to give up all for his sake ? He 
 gave his uncle his hand. , .j ^ct -n 
 
 No, sir— on my word of honour, as a gentleman, he said, 1 will 
 never marry without my mother's consent !" and giving Helen a bright 
 parting look of confidence and affection unchangeable, the boy went 
 out of the drawing-room into his own study. ^ 
 
 He's an angel— he's an angel," the mother cried out m one of her 
 
 usual raptures. „ . , i i ^i. • i <( f 
 
 '' He comes of a good stock, ma am, said her brother-in-law— ot 
 a good stock on both sides." The Major was greatly pleased with the 
 result of his diplomacy— so much so, that he once more saluted the 
 tips of Mrs. Pendennis's glove, and dropping the curt, manly, and 
 
PENDENNIS f53 
 
 straightforward tone in which he had conducted the conversation with 
 the lad^ assumed a certain drawl^ which he always adopted when he 
 was most conceited and fine. 
 
 My dear creature/' said he, in that his politest tone, I think it 
 certainly as well that I came down, and I flatter myself that last botte 
 was a successful one. I tell you how I came to think of it. Three years 
 ago my kind friend Lady Ferrybridge sent for me in the greatest state 
 of alarm about her son Gretna, whose affair you remember, and implored 
 me to use my influence with the young gentleman, who was engaged in 
 an affaire de cceur with a Scotch clergyman's daughter. Miss MacToddy. 
 I implored, I entreated gentle measures. But Lord Ferrybridge was 
 furious, and tried the high hand. Gretna was sulky and silent, and 
 his parents thought they had conquered. But what 'was the fact, my 
 dear creature ? The young people had been married for three months 
 before Lord Ferrybridge knew anything about it. And that was why 
 I extracted the promise from Master Pen." 
 
 Arthur would never have done so," Mrs. Pendennis said. 
 He hasn't,— that is one comfort," answered the brother-in-law. 
 Like a wary and patient man of the world, Major Pendennis did not 
 press poor Pen any farther for the moment, but hoped the best from 
 time, and that the young fellow's eyes would be opened before long to 
 see the absurdity of which he was guilty. And having found out 
 how keen the boy's point of honour was, he worked upon that kindly 
 feeling with great skill, discoursing him over their wine after dinner, 
 and pointing out to Pen the necessity of a perfect uprightness and 
 openness in all his dealings, and entreating that his communications 
 with his interesting young friend (as the Major politely called Miss 
 Fotheringay) should be carried on with the knowledge, if not approba- 
 tion, of Mrs. Pendennis. After all. Pen," the Major said, with a 
 convenient frankness that did not displease the boy, whilst it advanced 
 the interests of the negotiator, '^you must bear in mind that you are 
 throwing yourself away. Your mother may submit to your marriage as 
 she would to anything else you desired, if you did but cry long enough 
 for it : but be sure of this, that it can never please her. You take a 
 j young woman off the boards of a country theatre and prefer her, for 
 such is the case, to one of the finest ladies in England. And your 
 mother will submit to your choice, but you can't suppose that she will 
 be happy under it. I have often fancied, entre nous, that my sister 
 had it in her eye to make a marriage between you and that little ward 
 of hers— Flora, Laura— what's her name ? And I always determined to 
 do my small endeavour to prevent any such match, the child has but 
 jtwo thousand pounds, I am given to understand. It is only with the 
 utmost economy and care that my sister can provide for the decent 
 (maintenance of her house, and for your appearance and education as 
 |a gentleman ; and I don't care to own to you that I had other and 
 |much higher views for you. With your name and birth, sir— with 
 lyour talents, which I suppose are respectable, with the friends whom 
 1 have the honour to possess, I could have placed you in an excellent 
 position— a remarkable position for a young man of such exceeding 
 small means, and had hoped to see you, at least, try to restore the 
 honours of our name. Your mother's softness stopped one prospect, or 
 
64 PENDENNIS 
 
 vou miffht have been a general like our gallant ancestor who fought at 
 kamillies and Malplaquet. I had another plan in view : my excellent 
 and kind friend, Lord Bagwig, who is very well disposed towards me, 
 would, I have little doubt, have attached you to his mission at Pumper- 
 nickel, and you might have advanced in the diplomatic service. But, 
 pardon me for recurring to the subject ; how is a man to serve a young 
 gentleman of eighteen, who proposes to marry a lady of thirty, whom 
 he has selected from a booth in a fair?— well, not a fair,— barn, lhat 
 profession at once is closed to you. The public service is closed to 
 you. Society is closed to you. You see, my good friend, to what you 
 bring vourself. You may get on at the bar to be sure, where 1 am 
 ffiven to understand that gentlemen of merit occasionally marry out 
 of their kitchens ; but in no other profession. Or you may come and 
 live down here— down here, mon Dieu ! for ever " (said the Major, 
 with a dreary shrug, as he thought with inexpressible fondness of Pall 
 Mall), where your mother will receive the Mrs. Arthur that is to be, 
 with perfect kindness; where the good people of the county wont 
 visit you; and where, bv Gad, sir, I shall be shy of visiting you 
 myself, for I'm a plain-spoken man, and I own to you that 1 like to 
 live with gentlemen for my companions ; where you will have to live, 
 with rum-and-water drinking gentlemen-farmers, and drag through your 
 life the young husband of an old woman, who, if she doesn t quarrel 
 with vour mother, will at least cost that lady her position m society, 
 and drag her down into that dubious caste into which you must iii- 
 evitablv fall. It is no aifair of mine, my good sir. I am not aiigiy. 
 Your downfall will not hurt me farther than that it will extinguish the 
 hopes I had of seeing mv family once more taking its place m the world. 
 It is only your mother and yourself that will be ruined. And I pity you 
 both from my soul. Pass the claret : it is some I sent to your poor 
 father ; I remember I bought it at poor Lord Levant's sale. But ot 
 course," added the Major, smacking the wine, having engaged yourselt, 
 vou will do what becomes you as a man of honour, however fatal your 
 promise may be. However, promise us on your side, my boy, what 
 I set out by entreating you to grant,— that there shall be nothing 
 clandestine,* that you will pursue your studies, that you will only 
 visit your interesting friend at proper intervals. Do you write to her 
 much?" . „ 
 
 Pen blushed and said, Why, yes, he had written. < * 
 I suppose verses, eh ! as well as prose ? I was a dab at verses myselt. 
 I recollect when I first joined, I used to write verses for the fellows in the 
 regiment ; and did some pretty things in that way. I was talking to my 
 old friend General Hobbler about some lines I dashed off for him in 
 the year 1806, when we were at the Cape, and. Gad, he remembered 
 everv line of them still ; for he'd used 'em so often, the old rogue, 
 and had actually tried 'em on Mrs. Hobbler, sir— who brought him 
 sixty thousand pounds. I suppose you've tried verses, eh Pen ? 
 Pen blushed again, and said, Why, yes, he had written verses. 
 *^^And does the fair one respond in poetry or prose? asked the 
 Major, eyeing his nephew with the queerest expression, as much as to 
 say, (XMoses and Green Spectacles ! what a fool the boy is." 
 
 Pen blushed again. She had written, but not in verse, the young 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 65 
 
 lover owned^ and he gave his breast-pocket the benefit of a squeeze 
 with his left arm^ which the Major remarked^ according to his wont. 
 
 You have got the letters there, I see/' said the old campaigner, 
 nodding at Pen and pointing to his own chest (which was manfully 
 wadded with cotton by Mr. Stultz). You know you have. I would 
 give twopence to see *em." 
 
 Why/' said Pen, twiddling the stalks of the strawberries, I— I," 
 but this sentence was never finished ; for Pen's face was so comical 
 and embarrassed, as the Major watched it, that the elder could contain 
 his gravity no longer, and burst into a fit of laughter, in which chorus 
 Pen himself was obliged to join after a minute : when he broke out 
 fairly into a guffaw. 
 
 It sent them with great good-humour into Mrs. Pendennis's drawing- 
 room. She was pleased to hear them laughing in the hall as they 
 crossed it. 
 
 ^'You sly rascal I" said the Major, putting his arm gaily on Pen's 
 shoulder, and giving a playful push at the boy's breast-pocket. He 
 felt the papers crackling there sure enough. The young fellow was 
 delighted — conceited — triumphant — and in one word, a spooney. 
 
 The pair came to the tea-table in the highest spirits. The Major's 
 politeness was beyond expression. He had never tasted such good tea, 
 and such bread was only to be had in the country. He asked Mrs. 
 Pendennis for one of her charming songs. He then made Pen sing* 
 and was delighted and astonished at the beauty of the boy's voice ; he 
 made his nephew fetch his maps and drawings, and praised them as really 
 remarkable works of talent in a young fellow : he complimented him oni 
 his French pronunciation : he flattered the simple boy as adroitly as ever^ 
 lover flattered a mistress : and when bed-time came, mother and son^ 
 w^ent to their several rooms perfectly enchanted with the kind Major. 1 
 
 When they had reached those apartments, I suppose Helen took to 
 her knees as usual : and Pen read over his letters before going to bed : 
 iust as if he didn't know every word of them by heart already. In 
 ;ruth there were but three of those documents : and to learn their 
 jontents required no great effort of memory. 
 
 In No. 1, Miss Fotheringay presents grateful compliments to Mr. 
 Pendennis, and in her papa's name and her own begs to thank him for 
 lis most beautiful presents. They will always be kept carefully; and 
 ^iss F. and Captain C. will never forget the delightful evening which 
 hey passed on Tuesday last, 
 
 ^ No. 2 said— Dear sir, we shall have a small quiet party of social 
 riends at our humble board, next Tuesday evening, at an early tea, 
 rhen I shall wear the beautiful scarf which, with its accompanying de- 
 ightful verses, I shall ever, ever cherish : and papa bids me say how happy 
 le will be if you will join ''the feast of reason and the flow of soul" in 
 mr festive little party, as I am sure will be your truly grateful 
 
 Emily Fotheringay. 
 
 No. 3 was somewhat more confidential, and showed that matters had 
 proceeded rather far.— You were odious yesterday night, the letter saidr 
 Thy did you not come to the stage-door.?* Papa could not escort me 
 
 E 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 on account of his eye ; he had an accident, and fell down oyer a loose 
 carpet on the stair on Sunday night. 1 saw you looknig at Miss Diggle 
 all night ; and you were so enchanted with Lydia Languish you scarcely 
 once looked at Julia. I could have crushed Bingley, I was so angry. 
 I play Ella Rosenberg on Friday: will you come then? Miss Dw^^ 
 performs. — Ever your ^- ^' 
 
 These three letters Mr. Pen used to read at intervals, during the day 
 and night, and embrace with that delight and fervour which such beau- 
 tiful compositions surely warranted. A thousand times at least he had 
 kissed fondly the musky satin paper, made sacred to him by the hand 
 of Emily Fotheringay. This was all he had in return for his passion 
 and flames, his vows and protests, his rhymes and similes, his wakeful 
 nights and endless thoughts, his fondness, fears, and folly. The young 
 wiseacre had pledged away his all for this : signed his name to endless 
 promissory notes, conferring his heart upon the bearer : bound himselt 
 for life, and got back twopence as an equivalent. For Miss Costigan 
 was a young lady of such perfect good-conduct and self-command, that 
 she never would have thought of giving more, and reserved the trea- 
 sures of her affection until she could transfer them lawtully at church. 
 
 Howbeit, Mr. Pen was content with what tokens of regard he had 
 ffot, and mumbled over his three letters in a rapture of high spirits, 
 and went to sleep delighted with his kind old uncle from London, who 
 must evidently yield to his wishes in time ; and, in a word, m a pre- 
 posterous state of contentment with himself and all the world. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IN WHICH THE MAJOR OPENS THE CAMPAIGN 
 
 Let those who have the blessed privilege of an entree into the most 
 select circles, admit that Major Pendennis was a man of no ordm^y 
 generosity and affection, in the sacrifice which he now made. He 
 gave up London in May,— his newspapers and his mornings— -his after- 
 noons from club to club, his little confidential visits to my ladies, his 
 rides in Rotten Row, his dinners, and his stall at the Opera, his rapid 
 escapades to Fulham or Richmond on Saturdays and Sundays, his bow 
 from my Lord Duke or my Lord Marquis at the great London enter- 
 tainments, and his name in the Morning Post of the succeeding day,— 
 his quieter little festivals, more select, secret, and delightful— all these 
 he resigned to lock himself into a lone little country house, with a 
 simple widow and a greenhorn of a son, a mawkish curate, and a little 
 girl of twelve years of age. 
 
 He made the sacrifice, and it was the greater that few knew the extent 
 of it. His letters came down franked from town, and he showed the 
 invitations to Helen with a sigh. It was beautiful and tragical to see 
 him refuse one party after another— at least to those who could under- 
 stand, as Helen didn't, the melancholy grandeur of his self-denial. 
 Helen did not, or only smiled at the awful pathos with which the Major 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 spoke of the Court Guide in general : but young Pen looked with great 
 respect at the great names upon the superscriptions of his uncle's letters, 
 and listened to the Major's stories about the fashionable world with 
 constant interest and sympathy. 
 
 The elder Pendennis's rich memory was stored with thousands of 
 these delightful tales, and he poured them into Pen's willing ear. He 
 knew the name and pedigree of everybody in the Peerage, and every- 
 body's relations. ''My dear boy," he would say, with a mournful 
 earnestness and veracity, you cannot begin your genealogical studies 
 too early ; I wish to heaven you would read in Debrett every day. Not 
 so much the historical part (for the pedigrees, between ourselves, are 
 many of them very fabulous, and there are few families that can show 
 such a clear descent as our own) as the account of family alliances, and 
 who is related to whom. I have known a man's career in life blasted, 
 by ignorance on this all-important subject. Why, only last month, 
 at dinner at my Lord Hobanob's, a young man, who has lately been 
 received amongst us, young Mr. Suckling (author of a work, I believe), 
 began to speak lightly of Admiral Bowser's conduct for ratting to 
 Ministers, in what I must own is the most audacious manner. But who 
 
 io you think sate next and opposite to this Mr. Suckling } Why why, 
 
 lext to him was Lady Grampound, Bowser's daughter, and opposite to 
 lim was Lord Grampound, Bowser's son-in-law. The infatuated young 
 nan went on cutting his jokes at the Admiral's expense, fancying that 
 ill the world was laughing with him, and I leave you to imagine Lady 
 Sobanob's feelings— Hobanob's !— those of every well-bred man, as the 
 vretched intrus was so exposing himself. He will never dine again in 
 50uth Street. I promise you that. " 
 
 With such discourses the Major entertained his nephew, as he paced 
 he terrace in front of the house for his two hours' constitutional walk, 
 jr as they sate together after dinner over their wine. He grieved that 
 )ir Francis Clavering had not come down to the Park to live in it 
 ince his marriage, and to make a society for the neighbourhood. He 
 nourned that Lord Eyrie was not in the country, that he might take 
 ^en and present him to his Lordship. '' He has daughters," the Major 
 aid. ''Who knows you might have married Lady Emily or Lady 
 Barbara Trehawk ; but all those dreams are over ; my poor fellow, you 
 lust lie on the bed which you have made for yourself" 
 
 These things to hear did young Pendennis seriously incline. They 
 re not so interesting in print as when delivered orally ; but the Major's 
 necdotes of the great George, of the Royal Dukes, of the statesmen, 
 eauties, and fashionable ladies of the day, filled young Pen's soul with 
 3nging and wonder ; and he found the conversations with his guardian, 
 ^hich sadly bored and perplexed poor Mrs. Pendennis, for his own part 
 ever tedious. 
 
 It can't be said that Mr. Pen's new guide, philosopher, and friend, 
 iscoursed him on the most elevated subjects, or treated the subjects 
 'hich he chose in the most elevated manner. But his morality, such 
 s it was, was consistent. It might not, perhaps, tend to a man's pro- 
 ress in another world, but it was pretty well calculated to advance his 
 iterests in this ; and then it must be remembered, that the Major 
 ever for one instant doubted that his views were the only views 
 
68 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 practicable, and that his conduct was perfectly virtuous and respect- 
 able. He was a man of honour, in a word : and had his eyes, what he 
 called open. He took pity on this young greenhorn of a nephew, and 
 wanted to open his eyes too. .1,1.1. 
 
 No man, for instance, went more regularly to church when in the 
 country than the old bachelor. It don't matter so much in town. 
 Pen," he said, for there the women go and the men are not missed. 
 But when a gentleman is sur ses terres, he must give an example to the 
 country people : and if I could turn a tune, I even think I should sing. 
 The Duke of St. David's, whom I have the honour of knowing, always 
 sings in the country, and let me tell you, it has a doosed fine effect 
 from the family pew. And you are somebody down here. As long as 
 the Claverings are away you are the first man in the parish ; or as good 
 as any. You might represent the town if you played your cards well. 
 Your poor dear father would have done so had he lived ; so might you. 
 
 Not if you marry a lady, however amiable, whom the country people 
 
 won't meet— Well, well : it's a painful subject. Let us change it, my 
 boy." But if Major Pendennis changed the subject once he recurred 
 to it a score of times in the day : and the moral of his discourse always 
 was, that Pen was throwing himself away. Now it does not require 
 much coaxing or wheedling to make a simple boy believe that he is a 
 very fine fellow. 
 
 Pen was glad enough, we have said, to listen to his elders talk. 
 The conversation of Captain Costigan became by no means pleasant 
 to him, and the idea of that tipsy old father-in-law haunted him with 
 terror. He couldn't bring that man, unshaven and reeking of punch, 
 to associate with his mother. Even about Emily— he faltered when 
 the pitiless guardian began to question him. ^^Was she accom- 
 plished } " He was obliged to own, no. Was she clever ? " Well, 
 she had a very good average intellect : but he could not absolutely say 
 she was clever. Come, let us see some of her letters." So Pen con- 
 fessed that he had but those three of which we have made mention— 
 and that they were but trivial invitations or answers. 
 
 She is cautious enough," the Major said drily. " She is older than 
 you, my poor boy ; " and then he apologised with the utmost frankness 
 and humility, and flung himself upon Pen's good feelings, begging the 
 lad to excuse a fond old uncle, who had only his family's honour in 
 view— for Arthur was ready to flame up in indignation whenever Miss 
 Costigan's honesty was doubted, and swore that he would never have her 
 name mentioned lightly, and never, never would part from her. 
 
 He repeated this to his uncle and his friends at home, and also, it 
 must be confessed, to Miss Fotheringay and the amiable family at 
 Chatteris, with whom he still continued to spend some portion of his 
 time. Miss Emily was alarmed when she heard of the arrival of Pen's 
 guardian, and rightly conceived that the Major came down with hostile 
 intentions to herself. I suppose ye intend to leave me, now your 
 grand relation has come down from town. He'll carry ye off, and 
 you'll forget your poor Emily, Mr. Arthur ! " 
 
 Forget her ! In her presence, in that of Miss Rouncy, the columbine 
 and Milly's confidential friend of the company, in the presence of the 
 Captain himself Pen swore he never could think of any other woman 
 
PENDENNIS 69 
 
 but his beloved Miss Fotheringay ; and the Captain, looking up at his 
 foils, which were hung as a trophy on the wall of the room where Pen 
 and he used to fence, grimly said, He would not advoise any man to 
 meddle rashly with the affections of his darling child ; and would never 
 believe his gallant young Arthur, whom he treated as his son, whom 
 he called his son, would ever be guilty of conduct so revolting to every 
 idaya of honour and humanitee. " 
 
 / He went up and embraced Pen after speaking. He cried, and wiped his LT /j, J J ' 
 iye with one large dirty hand as he clasped Pen with the other. Arthur/>^"^^'^^ ^' 
 shuddered in that grasp, and thought of his uncle at home. } His father-' 
 in-law looked unusually dirty and shabby : the odour of whisky-and- w 
 water was even more decided than in common. How was he to bring 
 that man and his mother together } He trembled when he thought that 
 he had absolutely written to Costigan (inclosing to him a sovereign, the 
 loan of which the worthy gentleman needed), and saying, that one day he 
 hoped to sign himself his affectionate son, Arthur Pendennis. He was 
 glad to get away from Chatteris that day ; from Miss Rouncy the confi- 
 dante : from the old toping father-in-law ; from the divine Emily herself. 
 
 O Emily, Emily," he cried inwardly, as he rattled homewards on 
 Rebecca, you little know what sacrifices I am making for you ! — for 
 you who are always so cold, so cautious, so mistrustful V* 
 
 Pen never rode over to Chatteris but the Major found out on what 
 errand the boy had been. Faithful to his plan. Major Pendennis gave 
 his nephew no let or hindrance ; but somehow the constant feeling that 
 the senior's eye was upon him, an uneasy shame attendant upon that 
 inevitable confession which the evening's conversation would be sure to 
 elicit in the most natural simple manner, made Pen go less frequently to 
 sigh away his soul at the feet of his charmer than he had been wont to do 
 previous to his uncle's arrival. There was no use trying to deceive him ; 
 there was no pretext of dining with Smirke, or reading Greek plays with 
 Foker ; Pen felt, when he returned from one of his flying visits, that 
 everybody knew whence he came, and appeared quite guilty before his 
 mother and guardian, over their books or their game at piquet. 
 
 Once having walked out half-a-mile, to the Fairoaks Inn, beyond the 
 lodge gates, to be in readiness for the Competitor coach, which changed 
 horses there, to take a run for Chatteris, a man on the roof touched 
 his hat to the young gentleman : it was his uncle's man, Mr. Morgan, 
 who was going on a message for his master, and had been took up at 
 the lodge, as he said. And Mr. Morgan came back by the Rival, too ; 
 so that Pen had the pleasure of that domestic's company both ways. 
 Nothing was said at home. The lad seemed to have every decent 
 liberty ; and yet he felt himself dimly watched and guarded, and that 
 there were eyes upon him even in the presence of his Dulcinea. 
 
 In fact. Pen's suspicions were not unfounded, and his guardian had 
 sent forth to gather all possible information regarding the lad and his 
 interesting young friend. The discreet and ingenious Mr. Morgan, a 
 London confidential valet, whose fidelity could be trusted, had b|en to 
 Chatteris more than once, and made every inquiry regarding th| past 
 history and present habits of the Captain and his 'daughter. He deli- 
 cately cross-examined the waiters, the ostlers, and all the inmates of 
 the bar at the George, and got from them what little they knew 
 
 « 
 
70 PENDENNIS 
 
 respecting the worthy Captain. He was not held in very great regard 
 there, as it appeared. The waiters never saw the colour of his money, 
 and were warned not to furnish the poor gentleman with any liquor 
 for which some other party was not responsible. He swaggered sadly 
 about the coffee-room there, consumed a tooth-pick, and looked over 
 the paper, and if any friend asked him to dinner he stayed. 
 
 From the servants of the officers at the barracks Mr. Morgan found 
 that the Captain had so frequently and outrageously inebriated himselt 
 there, that Colonel Swallowtail had forbidden him the messroom. Ihe 
 indefatigable Morgan then put himself in communication with some ot 
 the inferior actors at the theatre, and pumped them over their cigars 
 and punch, and all agreed that Costigan was poor, shabby, and given 
 to debt and to drink. But there was not a breath upon the reputation 
 of Miss Fotheringay : her father's courage was reported to have dis- 
 played itself on more than one occasion towards persons disposed to 
 treat his daughter with freedom. She never came to the theatre but 
 with her father : in his most inebriated moments, that gentleman kept 
 a watch over her ; finally Mr. Morgan, from his own experience, added 
 that he had been to see her hact, and was uncommon delighted with 
 the performance, besides thinking her a most splendid woman. 
 
 Mrs. Creed, the pew-opener, confirmed these statements to Doctor 
 Portman, who examined her personally. Mrs. Creed had nothing un- 
 favourable to her lodger to divulge. She saw nobody ; only one or 
 two ladies of the theatre. The Captain did intoxicate himself sometmies, 
 and did not always pay his rent regularly, but he did when he had 
 money, or rather Miss Fotheringay did. Since the young gentleman 
 from Clavering had been and took lessons in fencing, one or two more 
 had come from the barracks: Sir Derby Oaks, and his young friend, 
 Mr. Foker, which was often together: and which was always driving 
 over from Baymouth in the tandem. But on the occasions of the 
 lessons. Miss F. was very seldom present, and generally came downstairs 
 to Mrs. Creed's own room. 
 
 The Doctor and the Major consulting together, as they otten did, 
 groaned in spirit over that information. Major Pendennis openly 
 expressed his disappointment ; and, I believe, the divine himself was 
 ill-pleased at not being able to pick a hole in poor Miss Fotheringay s 
 reputation. , 
 
 Even about Pen himself, Mrs. Creed's reports were desperately 
 favourable. Whenever he come," Mrs. Creed said, "'she always 
 have me or one of the children with her. And Mrs. Creed, marm, 
 says she, if you please marm, you'll on no account leave the room when 
 that young gentleman's here. And many's the time I've seen him a 
 lookin' as if he wished I was away, poor young man: and he took to 
 coming in service time, when I wasn't at home, of course : but she 
 always had one of the boys up if her pa wasn't at home, or old Mr. 
 Bows with her a teaching of her her lesson, or one of the young ladies 
 of the theayter. " 7 i • 
 
 It was all true : whatever encouragements might have been given 
 him before he avowed his passion, the prudence of Miss Emily was 
 prodigious after Pen had declared himself: and the poor fellow chafed 
 against her hopeless reserve. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 71 
 
 The Major surveyed the state of things with a sigh. If it were 
 but a temporary liaison,'' the excellent man said^ one could bear it. 
 A young fellow must sow his wild oats, and that sort of thing. But a 
 
 virtuous attachment is the deuce. It comes of the d d romantic 
 
 notions boys get from being brought up by women. " 
 
 " Allow me to say. Major, that you speak a little too like a man of 
 the world/' replied the Doctor. Nothing can be more desirable for 
 Pen than a virtuous attachment for a young lady of his own rank and 
 with a corresponding fortune — this present infatuation, of course, I 
 must deplore as sincerely as you do. If I were his guardian I should 
 command him to give it up.'* 
 
 ^^The very means, I tell you, to make him marry to-morrow. We have 
 got time from him, that is all, and we must do our best with that." 
 
 say. Major," said the Doctor, at the end of the conversation in 
 which the above subject was discussed — I am not, of course, a play- 
 going man — but suppose, I say, we go and see her. " 
 
 The Major laughed — he had been a fortnight at Fairoaks, and, 
 strange to say, had not thought of that. Well," he said, why not } 
 After all, it is not my niece, but Miss Fotheringay the actress, and we 
 have as good a right as any other of the public to see her if we pay our 
 money." So upon a day when it was arranged that Pen was to dine at 
 home, and pass the evening with his mother, the two elderly gentlemen 
 drove over to Chatteris in the Doctor's chaise, and there, like a couple of 
 jolly bachelors, dined at the George Inn, before proceeding to the play. 
 
 Only two other guests were in the room, — an officer of the regiment 
 quartered at Chatteris, and a young gentleman whom the Doctor 
 thought he had somewhere seen. They left them at their meal, how- 
 ever, and hastened to the theatre. It was Hamlet" over again. Shake- 
 speare was Article XL. of stout old Doctor Portman's creed, to which he 
 always made a point of testifying publicly at least once in a year. 
 
 We have described the play before, and how those who saw Miss 
 Fotheringay perform in Ophelia saw precisely the same thing on one 
 night as on another. Both the elderly gentlemen looked at her with 
 extraordinary interest, thinking how very much young Pen was charmed 
 with her. 
 
 ^^Gad," said the Major, between his teeth, as he surveyed her when 
 she was called forward as usual, and swept her curtseys to the scanty 
 audience, the young rascal has not made a bad choice." 
 
 The Doctor applauded her loudly and loyally. Upon my word," 
 said he, she is a very clever actress ; and I must say. Major, she is 
 endowed with very considerable personal attractions." 
 
 So that young officer thinks in the stage-box," Major Pendennis 
 answered, and he pointed out to Doctor Portman's attention the young 
 dragoon of the George coffee-room, who sate in the box in question, 
 and applauded with immense enthusiasm. She looked extremely 
 sweet upon him too, thought the Major : but that's their way — and he 
 shut up his natty opera-glass and pocketed it, as if he wished to see no 
 more that night. Nor did the Doctor, of course, propose to stay for the 
 after-piece, so they rose and left the theatre ; the Doctor returning to Mrs. 
 Poi-tman, who was on a visit at the Deanery, and the Major walking 
 home full of thought towards the George, where he had bespoken a bed. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 FACING THE ENEMY 
 
 Sauntering homewards. Major Pendennis reached the hotel presently, 
 and found Mr. Morgan, his' faithful valet, awaiting him at the door, 
 who stopped his master as he was about to take a candle to go to bed, 
 and said, with his usual air of knowing deference, I think, sir, if you 
 would go into the coffee-room, there's a young gentleman there as you 
 would like to see. " 
 
 What, is Mr. Arthur here ? " the Major said, in great anger. 
 
 ^^No, sir— but his great friend, Mr. Foko/, sir. Lady Hagnes 
 Foker's son is here, sir. He's been asleep in che coffee-room since he 
 took his dinner, and has just rung for his coffee, sir. And I think, 
 p'raps, you might like to git into conversation with him," the valet 
 said, opening the coffee-room door. 
 
 The Major entered; and there indeed was Mr. Foker, the only 
 occupant of the place. He had intended to go to the play too, but 
 sleep had overtaken him after a copious meal, and he had flung up his 
 legs on the bench, and indulged in a nap instead of the dramatic 
 amusement. The Major was meditating how to address the young 
 man, but the latter prevented him that trouble. 
 
 ^^Like to look at the evening paper, sir.?*" said Mr. Foker, who was 
 always communicative and affable ; and he took up the Globe from his 
 table, and offered it iff the new-comer, 
 
 I am very much obliged to you," said the Major, with a grateful 
 bow and smile. If I don't mistake the family likeness,*;! have the 
 pleasure of speaking to Mr. Henry Foker, Lady Agnes Foker's son. 
 I have the happiness to name her Ladyship among my acquaintances — 
 and you bear, sir, a Rosherville face. " 
 
 Hullo ! I beg your pardon," Mr. Foker said, I took you " — he was 
 going to say — ^^I took you for a commercial gent." But he stopped 
 that phrase. To whom have I the pleasure of speaking } " he added. 
 
 To a relative of a friend and schoolfellow of yours — Arthur Pen- 
 dennis, my nephew, who has often spoken to me about you in terms of 
 great regard. I am Major Pendennis, of whom you may have heard 
 him speak. May I take my soda-water at your table } I have had the 
 pleasure of sitting at your grandfather's. " 
 
 ^^Sir, you do me proud," said Mr. Foker, with much courtesy. 
 
 And so you are Arthur Pendennis's uncle, are you } " 
 And guardian," added the Major. 
 
 He's as good a fcjllow as ever stepped, sir," said Mr. Foker. 
 I am glad you think so. " 
 
 And clever, too — I was always a stupid chap, I was — but you see, 
 sir, I know 'em when they are clever, and like 'em of that sort. " 
 
 You show your taste and your modesty, too," said the Major. I 
 have heard Arthur repeatedly speak of you, and he said your talents 
 were very good. " 
 
 I'm not good at the books," Mr. Foker said, wagging his head — 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 73 
 
 never could manage that— Pendennis could— he used to do half the 
 chaps' verses— and yet you are his guardian ; and I hope you will 
 pardon me for saying that I think he's what we call a flat/' the candid 
 young gentleman said. 
 
 The Major found himself on the instant in the midst of a most 
 interesting and confidential conversation. ^^And how is Arthur a 
 flat ? " he asked, with a smile. 
 
 '^You know/' Foker answered, winking at him— he would have 
 winked at the Duke of Wellington with just as little scruple— You 
 know Arthur's a flat, — about women I mean." 
 
 '^He is not the first of us, my dear Mr. Harry," answered the 
 Major. I have heard something of this — but pray tell me more." 
 
 ''Why, sir, you see— it's partly my fault. We went to the play 
 
 one night, and Pen was struck all of a heap with Miss Fotheringay 
 
 Costigan her real name is— an uncommon fine gal she is too ; and the 
 next morning I introduced him to the General, as we call her father— 
 a regular old scamp— and such a boy for the whisky-and-water !— and 
 he's gone on being intimate there. And he's fallen in love with her— 
 and I'm blessed if he hasn't proposed to her," Foker said, slapping his 
 hand on the table, until all the dessert began to jingle. 
 
 ''What ! you know it too.^" asked the Major. 
 
 " Know it ! don't I ? and many more too. We were talking about 
 it at mess, yesterday, and chaflGing Derby Oaks— until he was as mad 
 as a hatter. Know Sir Derby Oaks.^^ We dined together, and we 
 went to the play : we were standing at the door smoking, I remember, 
 when you passed in to dinner. " 
 
 " I remember Sir Thomas Oaks, his father, before he was a Baronet 
 or a Knight; he lived in Cavendish Square, and was Physician to 
 Queen Charlotte." 
 
 "The young one is making the money spin, I can tell you," Mr. 
 Foker said. 
 
 "And is Sir Derby Oaks," the Major said, with great delight and 
 anxiety, " another soupirant ? " 
 
 "Another w;to.?" inquired Mr. Foker. 
 " Another admirer of Miss Fotheringay } " 
 
 " Lord bless you ! we call him Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, 
 and Pen Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. But mind you, nothing 
 wrong ! No, no ! Miss F. is a deal too wide awake for that. Major 
 Pena^.nnis. She plays one off against the other. What you call two 
 strings to her bow." 
 
 " I think you seem tolerably wide awake, too, Mr. Foker," Pendennis 
 said, laughing. 
 
 "Pretty well, thank you, sir— how are you.^^" Foker replied imper- 
 turbably. " I'm not clever, p'raps : but I am rather downy ; and 
 partial friends say I know what's o'clock tolerably well. Can I tell 
 ^ou the time of day in any way } " 
 
 "Upon my word," the Major answered, quite delighted, "I think 
 yoM may be of very great service to me. You are a young man of the 
 ivorld, and with such one likes to deal. And as such I need not inform 
 fou that our family is by no means delighted at this absurd intrigue in 
 hich Arthur is engaged. " 
 
74 PENDENNIS I 
 
 "1 should rather think not/' said Mr. Foker. "Connection not | 
 eligible. Too much beer drunk on the premises. No Irish need 
 apply. That I take to be your meaning." . 
 
 the Major said it was, exactly : and he proceeded to examine his 
 new acqua ntance regarding the amiable family into which his nephew 
 proposed to enter, and soon got from the candid witness a number of , 
 particulars regarding the House of Costigan. 
 
 ^ We must do Mr. loker the justice to say that he spoke most favour- 
 ably of Mr. and Miss Costigan's moral character. 
 he, 1 think the General is fond of the jovial bowl, and if I wanted to 
 be very certain of my money, it isn't in his pocket Id invest it-but 
 he has always kept a watchful eye on his daughter, and neither he nor 
 she will stand anything but what's honourable. P^"! %f t^^t^f 
 her are talked about in the whole company, and I hea,r all about them 
 from a young lady who used to be very intimate with her, and with 
 whose family I sometimes take tea in a fnendly way Miss Rouncy 
 says. Sir Derby Oaks has been hanging about Miss Fothermgay ever 
 since his regiment has been down here ; but Pen has come in and cut 
 him out latlly, which has made the Baronet so mad, that he has been 
 ve^y near on the point of proposing too. Wish he would ; and you d 
 see which of the two Miss Fotheringay would jump at 
 
 « I thought as much," the Major said. " You give me a great deal 
 of pleasure, Mr. Foker. I wish I could have seen you before. 
 
 " Didn't like to put in my oar," replied the other. " Don t speak 
 till I'm asked, when, if there's no objections, I speak pretty freely 
 Heard your man had been hankering about my .^"t-'iidn t 
 know myself what was going on until Miss Fotheringay and Miss 
 Rouncy had the row about the ostrich-feathers, when Miss R. told me 
 
 ^^"^^ss^Rouncy, I gather, was the confidante of the other? " 
 
 "Confidant? I believe you. Why, she's twice as clever a girl as 
 Fotheringay, and literary and that, while Miss Foth. cant do much 
 
 more than read." . « . i 4. „„i,«i- 
 
 " She can write," said the Major, remembering Pen s breast-pocket. 
 
 Foker broke out into a sardonic "He, he! Rouncy writes her letters, 
 he said: "every one of 'em; and since they've quarrelled, she dont 
 know how the deuce to get on. Miss Rouncy is an uncommon pretty 
 hand, whereas the other one makes dreadful work of the writing and 
 spelling when Bows ain't by. Rouncy's been settin' her copies lately— 
 she writes a beautiful hand, Rouncy does." , . i 
 
 "I suppose you know it pretty well," said the Major archly : upon 
 which Mr. Foker winked at him again. t j •4.- 
 
 " I would give a great deal to have a specimen of her handwriting, 
 continued Major Pendennis ; " I daresay you could give me one.^ 
 
 "That would be too bad," Foker replied. " Miss F. s writin ain t 
 so very bad, I daresay; only she got Miss R. to write the first letter,; 
 and has gone on ever since. But you mark my word, that till they arei 
 friends again the letters will stop." 
 
 "I hope they will never be reconciled," the Major said, with 
 great sincerity. " You must feel, my dear sir, as a man of the i 
 world, how fatal to my nephew's prospects in life is this step which he 
 
 il 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 75 
 
 contemplates^ and how eager we all must be to free him from this absurd 
 engagement." 
 
 He has come out uncommon strong," said Mr. Foker ; I have 
 seen his verses ; Rouncy copied 'em. And I said to myself when I saw 
 'em, ^ Catch me writin' verses to a woman, — that's all. ' " 
 
 He has made a fool of himself, as many a good fellow has before 
 him. How can we make him see his folly, and cure it.'^ I am sure 
 you will give us what aid you can in extricating a generous young man 
 from such a pair of schemers as this father and daughter seem to be. 
 Love on the lady's side is out of the question. " 
 
 Love, indeed } " Foker said. If Pen hadn't two thousand a year 
 
 when he came of age " 
 
 If Pen hadn't what?" cried out the Major in astonishment. 
 Two thousand a year : hasn't he got two thousand a year } — the 
 General says he has." 
 
 ^^My dear friend," shrieked out the Major, with an eagerness which 
 this gentleman rarely showed, thank you ! — thank you ! — I begin to 
 see now. — Two thousand a year ! Why, his mother has but five hundred 
 a year in the world. — She is likely to live to eighty, and Arthur has 
 not a shilling but what she can allow him. " 
 What ! he ain't rich then } " Foker asked. 
 ^^Upon my honour he has no more than what I say." 
 
 And you ain't going to leave him anything.'*" 
 The Major had sunk every shilling he could scrape together on an 
 annuity, and of course was going to leave Pen nothing ; but he did not 
 tell Foker this. ^^How much do you think a Major on half-pay can 
 save.'*" he asked. ^^If these people have been looking at him as a 
 fortune, they are utterly mistaken — and — and you have made me the 
 happiest man in the world. " 
 
 Sir to YOU," said Mr. Foker politely, and when they parted for the 
 night they shook hands with the greatest cordiality ; the younger 
 gentleman promising the elder not to leave Chatteris without a further 
 conversation in the morning. And as the Major went up to his room, 
 and Mr. Foker smoked his cigar against the door pillars of the George, 
 Pen, very likely, ten miles off, was lying in bed kissing the letter from 
 his Emily, 
 
 ^ The next morning, before Mr. Foker drove off in his drag, the in- 
 sinuating Major had actually got a letter of Miss Rouncy's in his own 
 pocket-book. Let it be a lesson to women how they write. And in 
 very high spirits Major Pendennis went to call upon Doctor Portman 
 at the Deanery, and told him what happy discoveries he had made on 
 the previous night. As they sate in confidential conversation in the 
 Dean's oak breakfast-parlour they could look across the lawn and see 
 Captain Costigan's window, at which poor Pen had been only too visible 
 some three weeks since. The Doctor was most indignant against 
 Mrs. Creed, the landlady, for her duplicity, in concealing Sir Derby 
 Oaks's constant visits to her lodgers, and threatened to excommuni- 
 Icate her out of the Cathedral. But the wary Major thought that 
 I all things were for the best ; and, having taken counsel with himself 
 overnight, felt himself quite strong enough to go and face Captain 
 iCostigan, 
 
70 PENDENNIS 
 
 I'm going to fight the dragon/' he said, with a laugh, to Doctor 
 Portman. „ 
 
 ^'And I shrive you, sir, ar:d bid good fortune go with you, 
 answered the Doctor. Perhaps he and Mrs. Portman, and Miss Mira, 
 as they sate with their friend, the Dean's lady, in her drawmg-room, 
 looked up more than once at the enemy's window to see if they could 
 perceive any signs of the combat. ^ 
 
 The Major walked round, according to the directions given him, and 
 soon found Mrs. Creed's little door. He passed it, and as he ascended 
 to Captain Costigan's apartment, he could hear a stamping of feet, and 
 a great shouting of Ha, ha ! " within. 
 
 ^^It's Sir Derby Oaks taking his fencing lesson, said the child, 
 who piloted Major Pendennis. ""He takes it Mondays, Wednesdays, 
 
 and Fridays." „ , r. ^i. -xi. 
 
 The Major knocked, and at length a tall gentleman came forth, with 
 a foil and mask in one hand, and a fencing glove on the other. 
 
 Pendennis made him a deferential bow. I believe I have the honour 
 of speaking to Captain Costigan— My name is Major Pendennis. 
 
 The Captain brought his weapon up to the salute, and said, ' Major, 
 the honer is moine ; I'm deloighted to see ye." 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 NEGOTIATION 
 
 The Major and Captain Costigan were old soldiers and accustomed to 
 face the enemy, so we may presume that they retained their presence 
 of mind perfectly : but the rest of the party assembled in Cos's sittmg- 
 room were, perhaps, a little flurried at Pendennis's apparition. Miss 
 Fotheringay's slow heart began to beat no doubt, for her cheek flushed 
 up with a great healthy blush, as Lieutenant Sir Derby Oaks looked at 
 her with a scowl. The little crooked old man in the window-seat, who 
 had been witnessing the fencing-match between the two gentlemen 
 (whose stamping and jumping had been such as to cause him to give 
 up all attempts to continue writing the theatre music, in the copying 
 of which he had been engaged), looked up eagerly towards the new- 
 comer as the Major of the well-blacked boots entered the apartment, 
 distributing the most graceful bows to everybody present. 
 
 Me daughter— me friend, Mr. Bows— me gallant young pupil and 
 friend, I may call 'um. Sir Derby Oaks," said Costigan, splendidly 
 waving his hand, and pointing each of these individuals to the Major s 
 attention. In one moment, Meejor, I'm your humble servant, and to 
 dash into the little adjoining chamber, where he slept, to give a twist to 
 his lank hair with his hair-brush (a wonderful and ancient piece), to tear 
 off his old stock and put on a new one which Emily had constructed for 
 him, and to assume a handsome clean collar, and the new coat which 
 had been ordered upon the occasion of Miss Fotheringay's benefit, was 
 with the still active Costigan the work of a minute. 
 
 After him Sir Derby entered, and presently emerged from the same 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 77 
 
 apartment^ where he also cased himself in his little shell-jacket^ which 
 fitted tightly upon the young officer s big person ; and which he and 
 Miss Fotheringay, and poor Pen too^ perhaps^ admired prodigiously. 
 
 Meanwhile conversation was engaged in between the actress and the 
 new-comer ; and the usual remarks about the weather had been inter- 
 changed before Costigan re-entered in his new shoot/' as he called it. 
 
 ^^I needn t apologoise to ye, Meejor/' he said, in his richest and most 
 courteous manner, ^^for receiving ye in me shirt-sleeves." 
 
 An old soldier can't be better employed than in teaching a young 
 one the use of his sword/' answered the Major gallantly. ^^I re- 
 member in old times hearing that you could use yours pretty well. 
 Captain Costigan." 
 
 ''What, ye ve heard of Jack Costigan, Major ! " said the other, greatly. 
 
 The Major had, indeed ; he had pumped his nephew concerning his 
 new friend, the Irish officer ; and said that he perfectly well recollected 
 meeting Mr. Costigan, and hearing him sing at Sir Richard Strachan's 
 table at Walcheren. 
 
 At this information, and the bland and cordial manner in which it 
 was conveyed. Bows looked up, entirely puzzled. '' But we will talk 
 of these matters another time," the Major continued, perhaps not 
 wishing to commit himself ; it is to Miss Fotheringay that I came to 
 pay my respects to-day : " and he performed another bow for her, so 
 courtly and gracious, that if she had been a duchess he could not have 
 made it more handsome. 
 
 I had heard of your performances from my nephew, madam," the 
 Major said, ^'who raves about you, as I believe you know pretty well. 
 But Arthur is but a boy, and a wild enthusiastic young fellow, whose 
 opinions one must not take au pied de la lettre ; and I confess I was 
 anxious to judge for myself. Permit me to say your performance 
 delighted and astonished me. I have seen our best actresses, and, on 
 my word, I think you surpass them all. You are as majestic as Mrs. 
 Siddons." 
 
 Faith, I always said so," Costigan said, winking at his daughter : 
 ''Major, take a chair." Milly rose at this hint, took an unripped satin 
 garment off the only vacant seat, and brought the latter to Major 
 Pendennis with one of her finest curtseys. 
 
 " You are as pathetic as Miss O'Neill," he continued, bowing and 
 seating himself ; "your snatches of song remind me of Mrs. Jordan in 
 her best time, when we were young men. Captain Costigan ; and your 
 manner reminded me of Mars. Did you ever see the Mars, Miss 
 Fotheringay } " 
 
 "There was two Mahers in Crow Street," remarked Miss Emily: 
 "Fanny was well enough, but Biddy was no great things." 
 
 " Sure, the Major means the God of War, Milly, my dear," interposed 
 the parent. 
 
 " It is not that Mars I meant, though Venus, I suppose, may be 
 pardoned for thinking about him:" the Major replied, with a smile 
 directed in full to Sir Derby Oaks, who now re-entered in his shell- 
 jacket; but the lady did not understand the words of which he made 
 use, nor did the compliment at all pacify Sir Derby, who, probably, did 
 not understand it either, and at any rate received it with great sulkiness 
 
78 PENDENNIS 
 
 and stiffness ; scowling uneasily at Miss Fotheringay, with an expression 
 which seemed to ask, What the deuce does this man here ? ^ 
 
 Major Pendennis was not the least annoyed by the gentleman s ill- 
 humour. On the contrary, it delighted him. So, thought he, a 
 rival is in the field ; " and he offered up vows that Sir Derby might be, 
 not only a rival, but a winner too, in this love-match m which he and 
 Pen were engaged. ^ , ^ . xj. • • 
 
 I fear I interrupted your fencing lesson ; but my stay in Chatteris is 
 very short, and I was anxious to make myself known to my old tellow- 
 campaigner Captain Costigan, and to see a lady nearer who had charmed 
 me so much from the stage. I was not the only man epns last night. 
 Miss Fotheringay (if I must call you so, though your own family name 
 is a very ancient and noble one). There was a reverend friend of mine 
 who went home in raptures with Ophelia ; and I saw Sir Derby Oaks 
 fling a bouquet which no actress ever merited better. I should have 
 brought one myself, had I known what I was going to see. Are not 
 those the very flowers in a glass of water on the mantelpiece yonder.'' 
 
 I am very fond of flowers," said Miss Fotheringay, with a languish- 
 ing ogle at Sir Derby Oaks— but the Baronet still scowled sulkily. 
 
 Sweets to the sweet— isnt that the expression of the play f Major 
 Pendennis asked, bent upon being good-humoured. 
 
 " Ton my life, I don t know. Very likely it is. I am t much ot a 
 literary man,'* answered Sir Derby. 
 
 ^^s it possible?" the Major continued, with an air of surprise. 
 You don't inherit your father's love of letters, then. Sir Derby f He 
 was a remarkably fine scholar, and I had the honour of knowing him 
 very well." i. i 
 
 Indeed," said the other, and gave a sulky wag of his head. 
 He saved my life," continued Pendennis. 
 "Did he now.?'" cried Miss Fotheringay, rolling her eyes first upon 
 the Major with surprise, then towards Sir Derby with gratitude— 
 but the latter was proof against those glances ; and far from appearing 
 to be pleased that the apothecary, his father, should have saved Major 
 Pendennis s life, the young man actually looked as if he wished the 
 event had turned the other way. ^ 1 
 
 "My father, I believe, was a very good doctor, the young gentle- • 
 man said by way of reply. Vm not in that line myself. I wish you 
 good morning, sir. I ve got an appointment — Cos, bye-bye — Miss 
 Fotheringay, good morning." And, in spite of the young lady s im- 
 ploring looks and appealing smiles, the dragoon bowed stiffly out ot 
 the room, and the clatter of his sabre was heard as he strode down the 
 creaking stair ; and the angry tones of his voice as he cursed little lorn 
 Creed, who was disporting in the passage, and whose peg-top Sir Derby 
 kicked away with an oath into the street. 
 
 The Major did not smile in the least, though he had every reason to. 
 be amused. " Monstrous handsome young man that— as fine a looking 
 soldier as ever I saw," he said to Costigan. 
 
 "A credit to the army and to human nature in general, answerea 
 Costigan. " A young man of refoined manners, polite affabilitee, and 
 princely fortune. His table is sumptuous : he s adawr d in the regi- 
 ment : and he rides sixteen stone." 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 79 
 
 ^^A perfect champion/* said the Major^ laughing. ^^I have no 
 doubt all the ladies admire him. " 
 
 "He's very well^ in spite of his weighty now he's young/' said 
 Milly ; "but he's no conversation." 
 
 " He's best on horseback/' Mr. Bows said ; on which Milly replied, 
 that the Baronet had ridden third in the steeplechase on his horse Tare- 
 aways, and the Major began to comprehend that the young lady her- 
 self was not of a particular genius, and to wonder how she should be 
 so stupid and act so well. 
 
 ^ Costigan, with Irish hospitality, of course pressed refreshment upon 
 his guest : and the Major, who was no more hungry than you are after 
 a Lord Mayor's dinner, declared that he should like a biscuit and a glass 
 of wine above all things, as he felt quite faint from long fasting — but 
 he knew that to receive small kindnesses flatters the donors very much, 
 and that people must needs grow well disposed towards you as they 
 give you their hospitality. 
 
 " Some of the old Madara, Milly, love," Costigan said, winking to 
 his child — and that lady, turning to her father a glance of intelligence, 
 went out of the room and down the stair, where she softly summoned 
 her little emissary Master Tommy Creed : and giving him a piece of 
 money, ordered him to go buy a pint of Madara wine at the Grapes, 
 and six-pennyworth of sorted biscuits at the baker's, and to return 
 in a hurry, when he might have two biscuits for himself. 
 
 Whilst Tommy Creed was gone on this errand. Miss Costigan sate 
 below with Mrs. Creed, telling her landlady how Mr. Arthur Pen- 
 dennis's uncle, the Major, was above stairs, a nice, soft-spoken old 
 gentleman ; that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth : and how Sir 
 Derby had gone out of the room in a rage of jealousy, and thinking 
 what must be done to pacify both of them. 
 
 " She keeps the keys of the cellar. Major," said Mr. Costigan, as the 
 girl left the room. 
 
 " Upon my word you have a very beautiful butler," answered Pen- 
 dennis gallantly, "and I don't wonder at the young fellows raving 
 about her. When we were of their age. Captain Costigan, I think 
 plainer women would have done our business." 
 
 " Faith, and ye may say that, sir — and lucky is the man who gets her. 
 Ask me friend Bob Bows here whether Miss Fotheringay's moind is not 
 even shuparior to her person, and whether she does not possess a culti- 
 veated intellect, a refoined understanding, and an emiable disposition?" 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Mr. Bows, rather drily. " Here comes Hebe 
 blushing from the cellar. Don't you think it is time to go to rehearsal. 
 Miss Hebe } You will be fined if you are late " — and he gave the young 
 lady a look, which intimated that they had much better leave the room 
 and the two elders together. 
 
 At this order Miss Hebe took up her bonnet and shawl, looking 
 uncommonly pretty, good-humoured, and smiling : and Bows gathered 
 up his roll of papers, and hobbled across the room for his hat and 
 cane. 
 
 " Must you go ? " said the Major. " Can't you give us a few minutes 
 more. Miss Fotheringay .^^ Before you leave us, permit an old fellow 
 to shake you by the hand, and believe that I am proud to have had the 
 
 I 
 
80 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 honour of making your acquaintance^ and am most sincerely anxious 
 to be your friend/' 
 
 Miss Fotheringay made a low curtsey at the conclusion of this gallant 
 speech^ and the Major followed her retreating steps to the door^ where - 
 he squeezed her hand with the kindest and most paternal pressure. , 
 Bows was puzzled with this exhibition of cordiality The lad's rela- 
 tives can't be really wanting to marry him to her/' he thought — and 
 so they departed. 
 
 ^^Now for it/' thought Major Pendennis ; and as for Mr. Costigan, 
 he profited instantaneously by his daughter's absence to drink up 
 the rest of the wine ; and tossed off one bumper after another of the 
 Madeira from the Grapes, with an eager shaking hand. The Major 
 came up to the table, and took up his glass and drained it with a jovial 
 smack. If it had been Lord Steyne's particular, and not public-house 
 Cape, he could not have appeared to relish it more. 
 
 Capital Madeira, Captain Costigan," he said. Where do you get 
 it } I drink the health of that charming creature in a bumper. Faith, 
 Captain, I don't wonder that the men are wild about her. I never saw 
 such eyes in my life, or such a grand manner. I am sure she is as 
 intellectual as she is beautiful ; and I have no doubt she's as good as 
 she is clever." 
 
 A good girl, sir,— a good girl, sir," said the delighted father ; 
 
 and I pledge a toast to her with all my heart. Shall I send to the — 
 to the cellar for another pint ? It's handy by. No ? Well, indeed, sir, 
 ye may say she is a good girl, and the pride and glory of her father — 
 honest old Jack Costigan. The man who gets her will have a jew'l to a 
 wife, sir ; and I drink his health, sir, and ye know who I mean. Major." 
 
 ^^I am not surprised at young or old falling in love with her," said 
 the Major, and frankly must tell you, that though I was very angry 
 with my poor nephew Arthur, when I heard of the boy's passion — now 
 I have seen the lady I can pardon him any extent of it. By George, 
 I should like to enter for the race myself, if I weren't an old fellow 
 and a poor one. " 
 
 '^And no better man. Major, I'm sure," cried Jack, enraptured. 
 ^^Your friendship, sir, delights me. Your admiration for my girl 
 brings tears to me eyes — tears, sir — manlee tears — and when she leaves 
 me humble home for your own more splendid mansion, I hope she'll 
 keep a place for her poor old father, poor old Jack Costigan." — ^The 
 Captain suited the action to the word, and his bloodshot eyes were 
 suffused with water as he addressed the Major. 
 
 Your sentiments do you honour," the other said. But, Captain 
 Costigan, I can't help smiling at one thing you have just said." 
 
 ^^And what's that, sir?" asked Jack, who was at a too heroic and 
 sentimental pitch to descend from it. 
 
 You were speaking about our splendid mansion — my sister's house, 
 I mean." 
 
 I mane the park and mansion of Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, of 
 Fairoaks Park, whom I hope to see a Mimber of Parliament for his 
 native town of Clavering, when he is of ege to take that responsible 
 stetion," cried the Captain, with much dignity. 
 
 The Major smiled. Fairoaks Park, my dear sir ! " he said. Do 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 81 
 
 you know our history ? We are of excessively ancient family certainly, 
 but I began life with scarce enough money to purchase my commission, 
 and my eldest brother was a country apothecary : who made every 
 shilling he died possessed of out of his pestle and mortar/* 
 
 I have consented to waive that objection, sir," said Costigan majes- 
 tically, *^^in consideration of the known respectability of your family." 
 
 Curse your impudence," thought the Major; but he only smiled 
 and bowed. 
 
 The Costigans, too, have met with misfortunes ; and our house of 
 Castle Costigan is by no manes what it was. I have known very honest 
 men apothecaries, sir, and there's some in Dublin that has had the 
 honour of dining at the Lord Leftenanfs teeble. " 
 
 ^^You are very kind to give us the benefit of your charity," the 
 Major continued : but permit me to say that is not the question. 
 You spoke just now of my little nephew as heir of Fairoaks Park, and 
 I don't know what besides. " 
 
 Funded property, I've no doubt, Meejor, and something handsome 
 eventually from yourself " 
 
 My good sir, I tell you the boy is the son of a country apothecary," 
 cried out Major Pendennis ; ^^and that when he comes of age he 
 won't have a shilling." 
 
 ^^Pooh, Major, you're laughing at me," said Mr. Costigan; ^^me 
 young friend, I make no doubt, is heir to two thousand pounds a year. " 
 
 " Two thousand fiddlesticks ! I beg your pardon, my dear sir ; but 
 has the boy been humbugging you.^ — it is not his habit. Upon my 
 word and honour, as a gentleman and an executor to my brother's will 
 too, he left little more than five hundred a year behind him. " 
 
 ^^And with aconomy, a handsome sum of money too, sir," the 
 Captain answered. Faith, I've known a man drink his clar't, and 
 drive his coach-and-four on five hundred a year and strict aconomy, in 
 Ireland, sir. We'll manage on it, sir — ^trust Jack Costigan for that." 
 
 My dear Captain Costigan — I give you my word that my brother 
 did not leave a shilling to his son Arthur. " 
 
 ^^Are ye joking with me, Meejor Pendennis.'^" cried Jack Costigan. 
 
 Are ye thrifling with the feelings of a father and a gentleman } " 
 I am telling you the honest truth," said Major Pendennis. Every 
 shilling my brother had, he left to his widow ; with a partial reversion, 
 it is true, to the boy. But she is a young woman, and may marry if 
 he offends her — or she may outlive him, for she comes of an uncom- 
 monly long-lived family. And I ask you, as a gentleman and a man 
 of the world, what allowance can my sister, Mrs. Pendennis, make to 
 her son out of five hundred a year, which is all her fortune — that 
 shall enable him to maintain himself and your daughter in the rank 
 befitting such an accomplished young lady } " 
 
 Am I to understand, sir, that the young gentleman, your nephew, 
 and whom I have fosthered and cherished as the son of me bosom, is 
 an imposther who has been thrifling with the affections of me beloved 
 child } " exclaimed the General, with an outbreak of wrath. Have a 
 care, sir, how you thrifle with the honour of John Costigan. If I 
 thought any mortal man meant to do so, be heavens I'd have his blood, 
 sir, — were he old or young." 
 
 F 
 
82 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Mr. Costigan ! cried out the Major. 
 
 Mr. Costigan can protect his own and his daughter s honour^ and 
 will, sir/' said the other. Look at that chest of dthrawers, it contains 
 heaps of letthers that that viper has addressed to that innocent child. 
 There's promises there, sir, enough to fill a bandbox with ; and when 
 I have dragged the scoundthrel before the Courts of Law, and shown 
 up his perjury and his dishonour, I have another remedy in yondther 
 mahogany case, sir, which shall set me right, sir, with any individual 
 — ye mark me words. Major Pendennis — with any individual who has 
 counselled your nephew to insult a soldier and a gentleman. What ? 
 Me daughter to be jilted, and me grey hairs dishonoured by an apothe- 
 cary's son ! By the laws of heaven, sir, I should like to see the man 
 that shall do it." 
 
 I am to understand then that you threaten in the first place to 
 publish the letters of a boy of eighteen to a woman of eight-and-twenty : 
 and afterwards to do me the honour of calling me out ? " the Major said, 
 still with perfect coolness. , / 
 
 ^'^You have described my intentions with perfect accuracy, Meejor 
 Pendennis," answered the Captain, as he pulled his ragged whiskers 
 over his chin. 
 
 ^^Well, well; these shall be the subjects of future arrangements, 
 but before we come to powder and ball, my good sir,— do have the 
 kindness to think with yourself in what earthly way I have injured you } 
 I have told you that my nephew is dependent upon his mother, who 
 has scarcely more than five hundred a year." 
 
 I have my own opinion of the correctness of that assertion," said ; 
 the Captain. ' 
 
 ^^Will you go to my sisters lawyers, Messrs. Tatham here, and 
 satisfy yourself ? " 
 
 I decline to meet those gentlemen," said the Captain, with rather . 
 a disturbed air. If it be as you say, I have been athrociously deceived 
 by some one, and on that person I'll be revenged." 
 
 ^^Is it my nephew.^" cried the Major, starting up and putting on 
 his hat. Did he ever tell you that his property was two thousand a 
 year ? If he did, I'm mistaken in the boy. To tell lies has not been 
 a habit in our family, Mr. Costigan, and I don't think my brother's 
 son has learned it as yet. Try and consider whether you have not 
 deceived yourself ; or adopted extravagant reports from hearsay. As 
 for me, sir, you are at liberty to understand that I am not afraid of all 
 the Costigans in Ireland, and know quite well how to defend myself 
 against any threats from any quarter. I come here as the boy's guardian 
 to protest against a marriage, most absurd and unequal, that cannot 
 but bring poverty and misery with it : and in preventing it I conceive 
 I am quite as much your daughter's friend (who I have no doubt is an 
 honourable young lady) as the friend of my own family, and prevent 
 the marriage I will, sir, by every means in my power. There, I have 
 said my say, sir." 
 
 ^^But I have not said mine. Major Pendennis— and ye shall hear 
 more from me," Mr. Costigan said, with a look of tremendous severity. 
 
 'Sdeath, sir, what do you mean.^" the Major asked, turning round on 
 the threshold of the door, and looking the intrepid Costigan in the face. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 83 
 
 Ye said^ in the course of conversation^ that ye were at the George 
 Hotels I think_," Mr. Costigan said_, in a stately manner. A friend 
 shall wait upon ye there before ye leave town^ sir. " 
 
 ^*^Let him make haste^ Mr. Costigan/' cried out the Major_, almost 
 beside himself with rage. I wish you a good morning_, sir." And 
 Captain Costigan bowed a magnificent bow of defiance to Major Pen- 
 dennis over the landing-place as the latter retreated down the stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN WHICH A SHOOTING MATCH IS PROPOSED \ 
 
 Early mention has been made in this history of Mr. Garbetts, Principal 
 Tragedian^ a promising and athletic young actor, of jovial habits and 
 irregular inclinations, between whom and Mr. Costigan there was a 
 considerable intimacy. They were the chief ornaments of the convivial 
 club held at the Magpie Hotel ; they helped each other in various bill 
 transactions in which they had been engaged, with the mutual loan of 
 each other's valuable signatures. They were friends, in fine ; and Mr. 
 Garbetts was called in by Captain Costigan immediately after Major 
 Pendennis had quitted the house, as a friend proper to be consulted at 
 the actual juncture. He was a large man, with a loud voice and fierce 
 aspect, who had the finest legs of the whole company, and could break 
 I a poker in mere sport across his stalwart arm. 
 
 Run, Tommy," said Mr. Costigan to the little messenger, and 
 fetch Mr. Garbetts from his lodgings over the tripe-shop, ye know, 
 and tell^ 'em to send two glasses of w^hisky-and-water, hot, from the 
 Grapes." So Tommy went his way; and presently Mr. Garbetts and 
 the whisky came. 
 
 Captain Costigan did not disclose to him the whole of the previous 
 events, of which the reader is in possession ; but, with the aid of the 
 spirits-and-water, he composed a letter of a threatening nature to 
 Major Pendennis's address, in which he called upon that gentleman 
 to offer no hindrance to the marriage projected between Mr. Arthur 
 Pendennis and his daughter. Miss Fotheringay, and to fix an early day 
 for its celebration ; or, in any other case, to give him the satisfaction 
 which was usual between gentlemen of honour. And should Major 
 Pendennis be disinclined to this alternative, the Captain hinted, that 
 he would force him to accept it by the use of a horsewhip which he 
 should employ upon the Major s person. The precise terms of this 
 letter we cannot give, for reasons which shall be specified presently ; 
 but it was, no doubt, couched in the Captain's finest style, and sealed 
 elaborately with the great silver seal of the Costigans— the only bit of 
 the family plate which the Captain possessed. 
 
 Garbetts was despatched, then, with this message and letter ; and 
 bidding Heaven bless 'um, the General squeezed his ambassador's hand, 
 and saw him depart. Then he took down his venerable and murderous 
 duelling-pistols, with flint locks, that had done the business of many 
 a pretty fellow in Dublin : and having examined these, and seen that 
 
 1 
 I 
 
84 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 they were in a satisfactory condition^ he brought from the drawer all 
 Pen's letters and poems which he kept there^ and which he always 
 read before he permitted his Emily to enjoy their perusal. 
 
 In a score of minutes Garbetts came back with an anxious and crest- 
 fallen countenance. 
 
 YeVe seen 'um } " the Captain said. 
 
 Why^ yes/' said Garbetts. 
 
 And when is it for ! " asked Costigan, trying the lock of one of 
 the ancient pistols^ and bringing it to a level with his oi — as he called 
 that bloodshot orb. 
 
 When is what for ? " asked Mr. Garbetts. 
 
 The meetings my dear fellow } " 
 ^^You don't mean to say you mean mortal combat, Captain.^" 
 Garbetts said, aghast. | 
 
 What the devil else do I mean, Garbetts I want to shoot that man jj 
 that has trajuiced me honour, or meself dthrop a victim on the sod." ' 
 
 p if I carry challenges," Mr. Garbetts replied. I'm a family 
 
 man, Captain, and will have nothing to do with pistols— take back your 
 letter ; " and, to the surprise and indignation of Captain Costigan, his 
 emissary flung the letter down, with its great sprawling superscription 
 and blotched seal. 
 
 Ye don't mean to say ye saw 'um and didn't give 'um the letter.'* 
 cried out the Captain, in a fury. 
 
 I saw him, but I could not have speech with him. Captain," said 
 Mr. Garbetts. 
 
 And why the devil not ? " asked the other. 
 "There was one there I cared not to meet, nor would you," the 
 tragedian answered, in a sepulchral voice. " The minion Tatham was 
 there. Captain." 
 
 " The cowardly scoundthrel ! " roared Costigan. " He's frightened, 
 and already going to swear the peace against me." 
 
 " I'll have nothing to do with the fighting, mark that," the tragedian 
 doggedly said, "and I wish I'd not seen Tatham neither, nor that 
 bit of " 
 
 " Hold your tongue. Bob Acres. It's my belief ye're no better than 
 a coward," said Captain Costigan, quoting Sir Lucius O'Trigger, which 
 character he had performed with credit, both off and on the stage, and 
 after some more parley between the couple they separated in not very 
 good humour. 
 
 Their colloquy has been here condensed, as the reader knows the 
 main point upon which it turned. But the latter will now see how 
 it is impossible to give a correct account of the letter which the Cap- 
 tain wrote to Major Pendennis, as it was never opened at all by that 
 gentleman. 
 
 When Miss Costigan came home from rehearsal, which she did ui 
 the company of the faithful Mr. Bows, she found her father pacing up | 
 and down their apartment in a great state of agitation, and in the | 
 midst of a powerful odour of spirits-and-water, which, as it appeared, I 
 had not succeeded in pacifying his disordered mind. The Pendennis 
 papers were on the table surrounding the empty goblets and now use- ' 
 less teaspoons, which had served to hold and mix the Captain's liquor i 
 
 i 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 85 
 
 and his friend's. As Emily entered he seized her in his arms, and cried 
 out, Prepare yourself, me child, me blessed child/' in a voice of 
 agony, and with eyes brimful of tears. 
 
 Ye're tipsy again, papa,'' Miss Fotheringay said, pushing back her 
 sire. Ye promised me ye wouldn't take spirits before dinner." 
 
 ^^It's to forget me sorrows, me poor girl, that I've taken just a 
 ! drop," cried the bereaved father — it's to drown me care that I drain 
 I the bowl." 
 
 ^^Your care takes a deal of drowning. Captain dear," said Bows, 
 mimicking his friend's accent; ''what has happened.?^ Has that soft- 
 r spoken gentleman in the wig been vexing you } " 
 
 '' The oily miscreant ! I'll have his blood ! " roared Cos. Miss 
 I Milly, it must be premised, had fled to her room out of his embrace, 
 ! and was taking off her bonnet and shawl there. 
 
 '' I thought he meant mischief He was so uncommon civil," the 
 other said. '' What has he come to say ? " 
 
 '' O Bows ! He has overwhellum'd me," the Captain said. '' There's 
 I a hellish conspiracy on foot against me poor girl ; and it's me opinion 
 that both them Pendennises, nephew and uncle, is two infernal thrators 
 and scoundthrels, who should be conshumed from off the face of the 
 earth." 
 
 ''What is it? What has happened.^" said Mr. Bows, growing 
 rather excited. 
 
 Costigan then told him the Major's statement that the young Pen- 
 dennis had not two thousand, nor two hundred pounds a year ; and 
 ' expressed his fury that he should have permitted such an impostor to 
 coax and wheedle his innocent girl, and that he should have nourished 
 such a viper in his own personal bosom. " I have shaken the reptile 
 from me, however," said Costigan; "and as for his uncle, I'll have 
 such a revenge on that old man, as shall make 'um rue the day he 
 ever insulted a Costigan." 
 
 " What do you mean. General ? " said Bows. 
 
 "I mean to have his life. Bows— his villainous, skulking life, my 
 boy ; " and he rapped upon the battered old pistol-case in an ominous 
 and savage manner. Bows had often heard him appeal to that box of 
 death, with which he proposed to sacrifice his enemies ; but the Captain 
 did not tell him that he had actually written and sent a challenge 
 to Major Pendennis, and Mr. Bows therefore rather disregarded the 
 pistols in the present instance. 
 
 At this juncture Miss Fotheringay returned to the common sitting- 
 room from her private apartment, looking perfectly healthy, happy, and 
 ' unconcerned, a striking and wholesome contrast to her father, who was 
 in a delirious tremor of grief, anger, and other agitation. She brought 
 in a pair of ex-white satin shoes with her, which she proposed to rub as 
 clean as might be with bread-crumb ; intending to go mad with them / 
 upon next Tuesday evening in Ophelia, in which character she was to | 
 reappear on that night. ' 
 
 She looked at the papers on the table ; stopped as if she was going 
 LO ask a question, but thought better of it, and going to the cupboard, 
 selected an eligible piece of bread wherewith she might operate on the 
 satni slippers : and afterwards coming back to the table, seated herself 
 
gg PENDENNIS 
 
 there commodiously with the shoes, and then asked her father, in her 
 honest S brogul, "What have ye got them letthers, and pothry, 
 aZ stuff, of Mafte^ Arthur's out for, pa? Sure ye don't want to be 
 
 '-''^^'^Zefr'^^t^eC.^^n, ''that boy whom I loved as the 
 bov of bosom is only a scoundthrel, and a deceiver, me poor 
 S:" and he looked in the most tragical way at Mr Bows, opposite ; 
 who in his turn, gazed somewhat anxiously at Miss Costigan 
 
 " He ' pooh ! Sure the poor lad's as simple as a schoolboy, she 
 said "All them children write verses and nonsense. 
 
 "He's been acting the part of a viper to this fireside, and a traitor 
 in th" famUee," cried the'^Captain. " I tell ye he's no better than an 
 
 ™R What has the poor fellow done, papa ? " asked Emily. 
 
 " Done ? He has deceived us in the most athrocious manner, IVliss 
 Pmilv's nana said. "He has thrifled with your affections, and out- 
 faced my oln fine feelings. He has represented himself as a man of 
 Srty^ and it turruns%ut that he is no betther than a beggar 
 . HaSt I often told ye he had two thousand a year ? He's a pauper, I 
 ieUve Miss Costigan; a depindent upon the bountee of his mother ; 
 ^goKman, whfmay mar^y again, who's l^^ely to hve fo^^^^^^^^ 
 who has but five hundred a year. How dar he yf^t^^^^^^T*^ 
 a family which has not the means of providing ye? 
 Jroriy deceived and put upon, MiUy, and it's my belief his old ruffian 
 
 "^"xCtit oldl^tl^^^^^^^^^^ been doing, papaP" con^l. 
 
 ""ToiSA^^er^t^Sl^en she was gone, M^jor Pendennis 
 told STn h s double-faced Pall Mall polite manner, that young Arthur 
 had no fortune at all, that the Major had ''^^ed \^'"/C»stja'i) ^ 
 to the lawyers ("Wherein he knew the scoundthrels have a bill of 
 £ine and I can't meet them," the Captain parenthetically remarked) 
 C see the lad's father's will : and finally, that an infernal swindle had 
 teen prad^^^^^^^^ him by the pair and that he was resolved either 
 %n a marriao-e or on the blood of both ot them. 
 
 MiKoked very grave and thoughtful, rubbing the white satin shoe 
 " Surelif h(^s no money, there's no use marrying him, papa, she said 
 
 ''"'^rS the villain say he was a man of prawpertee?" asked 
 
 ^""Se"poor fellow always said he was poor," answered the girl. 
 "'Twas you who would have it he was rich, papa-and made me agree 
 
 ^''"He-sWd have been explicit and told us his income, MiUy," 
 answered the father. " A young fellow who rides a blood mare, and 
 mTes presents of bawls Ind bracelets, is an impostor if he has no ? 
 
 ey ;-and as for his uncle, bedad I'll pull off his wig whenever I , 
 Se 'urn Bows, here, shall take a message to him and tell him so 
 FTtherifs a marriage, or he meets me in the field like a man, or I j 
 fwik 'urn on fte no^' in front of his hotel or in the gravel walks of j 
 Fairoaks Park before all the county, bedad. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 87 
 
 Bedad, you may send somebody else with the message^" said Bows^ 
 laughing. I'm a fiddler^ not a fighting man^ Captain. " 
 
 " Pooh^ you ve no spirit^ sir_," roared the General. 111 be my own 
 second^ if no one will stand by and see me injured. And I'll take my 
 case of pistols and shoot 'um in the coffee-room of the George." 
 
 And so poor Arthur has no money } " sighed out Miss Costigan_, 
 rather plaintively. Poor lad_, he was a good lad^ too : wild and 
 talking nonsense^ with his verses and pothry and that^ but a brave, 
 generous boy, and indeed I liked him — and he liked me too," she 
 added rather softly, and rubbing away at the shoe. ) 
 
 Why don't you marry him if you like him so } " Mr. Bows said, 
 rather savagely. He is not more than ten years younger than you 
 are. His mother may relent, and you might go and live and have 
 enough at Fairoaks Park. Why not go and be a lady } I could go on 
 with the fiddle, and the General live on his half-pay. Why don't you 
 marry him? You know he likes you." 
 
 There's others that likes me as well. Bows, that has no money and 
 that's old enough," Miss Milly said sententiously. 
 
 Yes, d it," said Bows, with a bitter curse — that are old 
 
 enough and poor enough and fools enough for anything." 
 
 There's old fools, and young fools too. You've often said so, you 
 silly man," the imperious beauty said, with a conscious glance at the 
 old gentleman. If Pendennis has not enough money to live upon, it's 
 folly to talk about marrying him : and that's the long and short of it." 
 
 ^^And the boy.^^" said Mr. Bows. ^^By Jove! you throw a man 
 away like an old glove. Miss Costigan. " 
 
 "I don't know what you mean. Bows," said Miss Fotheringay placidly, 
 rubbing the second shoe. If he had had half of the two thousand a 
 year that papa gave him, or the half of that, I would marry him. But 
 what is the good of taking on with a beggar.'* We're poor enough 
 already. There's no use in my going to live with an old lady that's 
 testy and cross, maybe, and would grudge me every morsel of meat. 
 (Sure, it's near dinner-time, and Suky not laid the cloth yet.) And 
 then," added Miss Costigan, quite simply, suppose there was a family.'* 
 — why, papa, we shouldn't be as well off as we are now." 
 
 'Deed then, you would not, Milly dear," answered the father. 
 "And there's an end to all the fine talk about Mrs. Arthur Pen- 
 dennis of Fairoaks Park — the member of Parliament's lady," said Milly, 
 with a laugh. " Pretty carriages and horses we. should have to ride ! 
 — that you were always talking about, papa. But it's always the same. 
 If a man looked at me, you fancied he was going to marry me ; and if 
 he had a good coat, you fancied he was as rich as Crazes." / 
 " As Croesus," said Mr. Bows. 
 
 Well, call 'um what ye like. But it's a fact now that j)apa has 
 married me these eight years a score of times. Wasn't I to be my 
 Lady Poldoody of Oystherstown Castle.'* Then there was the Navy 
 Captain at Portsmouth, and the old surgeon at Norwich, and the 
 Methodist preacher here last year, and who knows how many more } 
 Well, I bet a penny, with all your scheming, I shall die Milly Costigan 
 at last. So poor little Arthur has no money } Stop and take dinner^ 
 Bows : we've a beautiful beefsteak pudding." 
 
88 PENDENNIS 
 
 wonder whether she is on with Sir Derby Oaks/' thought Bows, 
 whose eyes and thoughts were always watching her. ^'The dodges ot 
 women beat all comprehension ; and I am sure she wouldn t let the 
 lad off so easily, if she had not some other scheme on hand. 
 
 It will have been perceived that Miss Fotheringay, though silent 
 in general, and by no means brilliant as a conversationist where poetry, 
 literature, or the fine arts were concerned, could talk freely and with 
 ffood sense, too, in her own family circle. She cannot justly be called 
 I romantic person : nor were her literary acquirements great : she 
 never opened a Shakespeare from the day she left the stage, nor, indeed, 
 understood it during all the time she adorned the boards : but about a 
 puddinff, a piece of needlework, or her own domestic affairs, she was 
 as ffood a judge as could be found ; and not being misled by a strong 
 imagination or a passionate temper, was better enabled to keep her 
 iudffment cool. When, over their dinner, Costigan tried to convince 
 himself and the company that the Majors statements regarding Pen s 
 finances were unworthy of credit, and a mere ruse upon the old hypo- 
 crite's part so as to induce them, on their side, to break off the match, 
 • Miss Milly would not, for a moment, admit the possibility of deceit on 
 the side of the adversary : and pointed out clearly that it was her father 
 who had deceived himself, and not poor little Pen who had tried to 
 take them in. As for that poor lad, she said she pitied him with all 
 her heart. And she ate an exceedingly good dinner ; to the admiration 
 of Mr. Bows, who had a remarkable regard and contempt for this 
 woman, during and after which repast the party devised upon the best 
 means of bringing this love-matter to a close. As for Costigan, his 
 idea of tweaking the Major s nose vanished with his supply of after- 
 dinner whisky-and-water ; and he was submissive to his daughter, and 
 ready for any plan on which she might decide, in order to meet the 
 crisis which she saw was at hand. 
 
 The Captain, who, as long as he had a notion that he was wronged, 
 was eager to face and demolish both Pen and his uncle, perhaps shrank 
 from the idea of meeting the former, and asked What the juice they 
 were to say to the lad if he. remained steady to his engagement, and 
 they broke from theirs ? What .^^ dont you know how to throw a 
 man over?" said Bows; ''ask a woman to tell you; and Miss 
 Fotheringay showed how this feat was to be done simply enough- 
 nothing was more easy.—'' Papa writes to Arthur to know what settle- 
 ments he proposes to make in event of a marriage ; and asks what his 
 means are. Arthur writes back and says what he's got, and you'll find ^ 
 it's as the Major says, I'll go bail. Then papa writes, and says it's not J 
 enough, and the match had best be at an end." a 
 
 " And, of course, you enclose a parting line, in which you say you 
 will always regard him as a brother?" said Mr. Bows, eyeing her in 
 his scornful way. ^ , . tt » 
 
 " Of course, and so I shall," answered Miss Fotheringay. He s a 
 most worthy young man, I'm sure. I'll thank ye hand me the salt. 
 Them filberts is beautiful." 
 
 " And there will be no noses pulled, Cos, my boy? I m sorry you re 
 balked," said Mr. Bows. 
 
 " 'Dad, I suppose not," said Cos, rubbing his own. What 11 ye do 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 89 
 
 about them letters^ and verses^ and pomes, Milly darling ? — Ye must 
 send 'em back." 
 
 Wigsby would give a hundred pound for 'em/' Bows said, with 
 a sneer. 
 
 'Deed, then, he would," said Captain Costigan, who was easily led. 
 
 Papa ! " said Miss Milly. Ye wouldn't be for not sending the 
 poor boy his letters back } Them letters and pomes is mine. They 
 were very long, and full of all sorts of nonsense, and Latin, and things 
 1 couldn't understand the half of ; indeed I've not read 'em all ; but 
 we'll send 'em back to him when the proper time comes. " And going 
 to a drawer. Miss Fotheringay took out from it a number of the County 
 Chronicle and Chatteris Champion, in which Pen had written a copy of 
 flaming verses celebrating her appearance in the character of Imogen, and 
 putting by the leaf upon which the poem appeared (for, like ladies of her 
 profession, she kept the favourable printed notices of her performances), 
 she wrapped up Pen's letters, poems, passions, and fancies, and tied 
 them with a piece of string neatly, as she would a parcel of sugar. ^ 
 Nor was she in the least moved while performing this act. Wha 
 hours the boy had passed over those papers ! What love and longing : 
 whatgenerous faith and manly devotion — whatwatchful nights andlonely 
 fevers might they tell of ! She tied them up like so much grocery, and 
 sate down and made tea afterwards with a perfectly placid and contented 
 heart, while Pen was yearning after her ten miles off, and hugging her 
 image to his soul. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A CRISIS 
 
 Major Pendennis came away from his interview with Captain Costigan 
 in a state of such concentrated fury as rendered him terrible to ap- 
 proach. ^^The impudent bog-trotting scamp," he thought, ^^dare to 
 threaten me! Dare to talk of permitting his damned Costigaiis to 
 marry with the Pendennises ! Send me a challenge ! If the fellow can 
 get anything in the shape of a gentleman to carry it, I have the greatest 
 mind in life not to balk him. — Psha ! what would people say if I were 
 to go out with a tipsy mountebank, about a row with an actress in a 
 barn ! " So when the Major saw Doctor Portman, who asked anxiously 
 regarding the issue of his battle with the dragon, Mr. Pendennis did 
 not care to inform the divine of the General's insolent behaviour, but 
 stated that the affair was a very ugly and disagreeable one, and that 
 it was by no means over yet. 
 
 He enjoined Doctor and Mrs. Portman to say nothing about the busi- 
 ness at Fairoaks ; and then he returned to his hotel, where he vented his 
 wrath upon Mr. Morgan his valet, dammin and cussin upstairs and 
 downstairs," as that gentleman observed to Mr. Foker's man, in whose 
 company he partook of dinner in the servants' room of the George. 
 
 The servant carried the news to his master ; and Mr. Foker having 
 finished his breakfast about this time, it being two o'clock in the after- 
 noon, remembered that he was anxious to know the result of the 
 
90 PENDENNIS 
 
 interview between his two friends, and having inquired the number 
 the Major's sitting-room, went over in his brocade dressing-gown, ai 
 knocked for admission. a.. i 
 
 The Major had some business, as he had stated, respecting a let 
 of the widow's, about which he was desirous of consulting old iV 
 Tatham, the lawyer, who had been his brother's man of business, a 
 who had a branch office at Clavering, where he and his son attend- 
 market and other days, three or four in the week. This gentleman a 
 his client were now in consultation when Mr. Foker showed his granu 
 dressing-gown and embroidered skull-cap at Major Pendennis s door. 
 
 Seeing the Major engaged with papers and red-tape, and an old man 
 with a white head, the modest youth was for drawing back— and said, 
 ^^Oh you're busy— call again another time." But Mr. Pendennis 
 wanted to see him, and begged him, with a smile, to enter : whereupon 
 Mr Foker took off the embroidered tarboosh or fez (it had been worked 
 by the fondest of mothers) and advanced, bowing to the gentlemen and 
 smiling on them graciously. Mr. Tatham had never seen so splendid 
 an apparition before as this brocaded youth, who seated himself m an 
 arm-chair, spreading out his crimson skirts, and looking with exceed- 
 ing kindness and frankness on the other two tenants of the room. 
 ^^You seem to like my dressing-gown, sir," he said to Mr. Tatham. 
 
 A pretty thing, isn't it } Neat, but not in the least gaudy. And how 
 do you do. Major Pendennis, sir, and how does the world treat you? 
 
 There was that in Foker's manner and appearance which would have 
 put an inquisitor into good ^ humour, and it smoothed the wrinkles 
 under Pendennis's head of hair. i i r 
 
 I have had an interview with that Irishman (you may speak betore 
 my friend, Mr. Tatham here, who knows all the affairs of the family), 
 and it has not, I own, been very satisfactory. He won't beheve that 
 my nephew is poor : he says we are both liars : he did me the 
 honour to hint that I was a coward as I took leave. And 1 thought 
 when you knocked at the door, that you might be the gentleman whom 
 I expect with a challenge from Mr. Costigan— that is how the world 
 treats me, Mr. Foker." , .jtv/t 
 
 ^^You don't mean that Irishman, the actress s father.'' cried Mr. 
 Tatham, who was a Dissenter himself, and did not patronise the drama. 
 
 That Irishman, the actress's father— the very man. Have not you 
 heard what a fool my nephew has made of himself about the girl ? — 
 and Major Pendennis had to recount the story of his nephew s loves 
 to the lawyer, Mr. Foker coming in with appropriate comments in his 
 usual familiar language. ^ i , x tv/t 
 
 Tatham was lost in wonder at the narrative. Wliy had not Mrs. 
 Pendennis married a serious man, he thought— Mr. Tatham was a 
 widower— and kept this unfortunate boy from perdition ? As for Miss 
 Costigan, he would say nothing : her profession was sufficient to char- 
 acterise her. Mr. Foker here interposed to say he had known some 
 uncommon good people in the booths, as he called the Temple of the 
 Muses. Well, it might be so, Mr. Tatham hoped so— but the father, 
 Tatham knew personally— a man of the worst character, a wme-bibber 
 and an idler in taverns and billiard-rooms, and a notorious insolvent 
 I can understand the reason. Major," he said, why the fellow would 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 91 
 
 not come to my office to ascertain the truth of the statements which 
 you made him. — We have a writ out against him and another disre- 
 putable fellow^ one of the play-actors^ for a bill given to Mr. Skinner 
 of this city, a most respectable grocer and wine and spirit merchant, 
 and a member of the Society of Friends. This Costigan came crying 
 to Mr. Skinner, — crying in the shop, sir, — and we have not proceeded 
 against him or the other, as neither were worth powder and shot. " 
 
 It was whilst Mr. Tatham was engaged in telling his story that a 
 third knock came to the door, and there entered an athletic gentleman 
 in a shabby braided frock, bearing in his hand a letter with a large 
 blotched red seal. ^'^Can I have the honour of speaking with Major 
 Pendennis in private ? " he began — I have a few words for your ear, 
 sir. I am the bearer of a mission from my friend Captain Costigan," — 
 but here the man with the bass voice paused, faltered, and turned pale 
 — he caught sight of the head and well-remembered face of Mr. Tatham. 
 Hullo, Garbetts, speak up ! " cried Mr. Foker, delighted. 
 Why, bless my soul, it is the other party to the bill said Mr. 
 Tatham. I say, sir ; stop I say." But Garbetts, with a face as blank 
 as Macbeth's when Banquo's ghost appears upon him, gasped some 
 inarticulate words, and fled out of the room. 
 
 The Major's gravity was entirely upset, and he burst out laughing. 
 So did Mr. Foker, who said, "By Jove, it was a good 'un." So did 
 the attorney, although by profession a serious man. 
 
 " I don t think there'll be any fight, Major," young Foker said ; and 
 began mimicking the tragedian. "If there is, the old gentleman — 
 your name Tatham .f* — ^very happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. 
 Tatham — may send the bailiffs to separate the men ; " and Mr. Tatham 
 promised to do so. The Major was by no means soiTy at the ludicrous 
 issue of the quarrel. It seems to me, sir," he said to Mr. Foker, 
 "that you always arrive to put me into good humour." 
 
 Nor was this the only occasion on which Mr. Foker this day was 
 destined to be of service to the Pendennis family. We have said that 
 he had the entree of Captain Costigan's lodgings, and in the course of 
 the afternoon he thought he would pay the General a visit, and hear 
 from his own lips what had occurred in the conversation, in the morning, 
 with Mr. Pendennis. Captain Costigan was not at home. He had 
 received permission, nay, encouragement from his daughter, to go to 
 the convivial club at the Magpie Hotel, where no doubt he was bragging 
 at that moment of his desire to murder a certain rufiian ; for he was 
 not only brave, but he knew it too, and liked to take out his courage, 
 and, as it were, give it an airing in company. 
 
 Costigan then was absent, but Miss Fotheringay was at home washing 
 the teacups, whilst Mr. Bows sate opposite to her. 
 
 " Just done breakfast I see — how do } " said Mr. Foker, popping in 
 his little funny head. 
 
 " Get out, you funny little man," cried Miss Fotheringay. 
 
 "You mean come in," answered the other. — "Here we are !" and 
 entering the room he folded his arms and began twirling his head round 
 and round with immense rapidity like Harlequin in the Pantomime 
 when he first issues from his cocoon or envelope. Miss Fotheringay 
 laughed with all her heart ; a wink of Foker's would set her off laughing. 
 
92 PENDENNIS 
 
 when the bitterest joke Bows ever made could not get a smile from her, 
 or the finest of poor Pen's speeches would only puzzle her. At the end 
 of the harlequinade he sank down on one knee and kissed her hand. 
 
 You're the drollest little man/' she said, and gave him a great 
 good-humoured slap. Pen used to tremble as he kissed her hand. 
 Pen would have died of a slap. i j 
 
 These preliminaries over, the three began to talk ; Mr. Foker amused 
 his companions by recounting to them the scene which he had just 
 witnessed of the discomfiture of Mr. Garbetts, by which they learned, for 
 the first time, how far the General had carried his wrath against Major 
 Pendennis. Foker spoke strongly in favour of the Major's chara<5ter 
 for veracity and honour, and described him as a tip-top swell, moving m 
 the upper circle of society, who would never submit to any deceit — much 
 more to deceive such a charming young woman as Miss Foth. 
 
 He touched delicately upon the delicate marriage question, though 
 he couldn't help showing that he held Pen rather cheap. In fact, he 
 had a perhaps just contempt for Mr. Pen's high-flown sentimentality; 
 his own weakness, as he thought, not lying that way. I knew it 
 wouldn't do. Miss Foth. ," said he, nodding his little head. Y^^^ * 
 do. Didn't like to put my hand into the bag, but knew it couldn t do. 
 He's too young for you : too green : a deal too green : and he turns 
 out to be poor as Job. Can't have him at no price, can she, Mr. Bo ? 
 Indeed he's a nice poor boy," said the Fotheringay rather sadly. 
 Poor little beggar," said Bows, with his hands in his pockets, and 
 stealing up a queer look at Miss Fotheringay. Perhaps he thought 
 and wondered at the way in which women play with men, and coax 
 them and win them and drop them. i . i 
 
 But Mr. Bows had not the least objection to acknowledge that he 
 thought Miss Fotheringay was perfectly right in giving up Mr. Arthur 
 Pendennis, and that in his idea the match was always an absurd one : 
 and Miss Costigan owned that she thought so herself, only she couldn t 
 send away two thousand a year. It all comes of believing papa s silly 
 stories," *she said ; faith, I'll choose for meself another time -—and 
 very likely the large image of Lieutenant Sir Derby Oaks entered into 
 her mind at that instant. 
 
 After praising Major Pendennis, whom Miss Costigan declared to be a 
 proper gentleman entirely, smelling of lavender, and as neat as a pin,— 
 and who was pronounced bv Mr. Bows to be the right sort of fellow, 
 though rather too much of an old buck, Mr. Foker suddenly bethought 
 him to ask the pair to come and meet the Major that very evening at 
 dinner at his apartment at the George. He agreed to dme with me, 
 and I think after the— after the little shindy this morning, m which I 
 must say the General was wrong, it would look kind, you know.— I 
 know the Major fell in love with you, Miss Foth. : he said so. 
 
 So she may be Mrs. Pendennis still," Bows said with a sneer— 
 ^^No thank you, Mr. F.— I've dined." 
 
 Sure, that was at three o'clock," said Miss Costigan, who had an 
 honest appetite, and I can't go without you." • 
 
 We'll have lobster-salad and Champagne," said the little monster, 
 who could not construe a line of Latin, or do a sum beyond the Rule 
 of Three. Now, for lobster-salad and Champagne in an honourable 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 93 
 
 manner^ Miss Costigan would have gone anywhere — and Major Pen- 
 dennis actually found himself at seven o'clock, seated at a dinner-tahle 
 in company with Mr. Bows, a professional fiddler, and Miss Costigan, 
 whose father had wanted to blow his brains out a few hours before. 
 
 To make the happy meeting complete, Mr. Foker, who knew 
 Costigan's haunts, despatched Stoopid to the club at the Magpie, 
 where the General was in the act of singing a pathetic song, and 
 brought him off to supper. To find his daughter and Bows seated 
 at the board was a surprise indeed — Major Pendennis laughed, and 
 cordially held out his hand, which the General Officer grasped, avec 
 effusion as the French say. In fact he was considerably inebriated, 
 and had already been crying over his own song before he joined the 
 little party at the George. He burst into tears more than once during 
 the entertainment, and called the Major his dearest friend. Stoopid 
 and Mr. Foker walked home with him : the Major gallantly giving his 
 arm to Miss Costigan. He was received with great friendliness when 
 he called the next day, when many civilities passed between the 
 gentlemen. On taking leave he expressed his anxious desire to serve 
 Miss Costigan on any occasion in which he could be useful to her, and 
 he shook hands with Mr. Foker most cordially and gratefully, and 
 said that gentleman had done him the very greatest service. 
 
 All right," said Mr. Foker : and they parted with mutual esteem. 
 
 On his return to Fairoaks the next day. Major Pendennis did not 
 say what had happened to him on the previous night, or allude to the 
 company in which he had passed it. But he engaged Mr. Smirke to 
 stop to dinner ; and any person accustomed to watch his manner might 
 have remarked that there was something constrained in his hilarity 
 and talkativeness, and that he was unusually gracious and watchful in 
 his communications with his nephew. He gave Pen an emphatic God- 
 bless-you when the lad went to bed ; and as they were about to part for 
 the night, he seemed as if he were going to say something to Mrs. 
 Pendennis, but he bethought him that if he spoke he might spoil her 
 night's rest, and allowed her to sleep in peace. 
 
 The next morning he was down in the breakfast-room earlier than was 
 his custom, and saluted everybody there with great cordiality. The 
 post used to arrive commonly about the end of this meal. When John, 
 the old servant, entered, and discharged the bag of its letters and papers, 
 the Major looked hard at Pen as the lad got his — Arthur blushed, and 
 put his letter down. He knew the hand, it was that of old Costigan, 
 and he did not care to read it in public. Maj or Pendennis knew the letter, 
 too. He had put it into the post himself in Chatteris the day before. 
 
 He told little Laura to go away, which the child did, having a 
 thorough dislike to him ; and as the door closed on her, he took Mrs. 
 Pendennis's hand, and giving her a look full of meaning, pointed to the 
 letter under the newspaper which Pen was pretepding to read. Will 
 you come into the drawing-room } " he said. ^'^ I want to speak to you. " 
 
 And she followed him, wondering, into the hall. 
 What is it ? " she said nervously. 
 
 ^^The affair is at an end," Major Pendennis said. ^^He has a letter 
 there giving him his dismissal. I dictated it myself yesterday. There 
 are a few lines from the lady, too, bidding him farewell. It is all over." 
 
94 PENDENNIS 
 
 Helen ran back to the dining-room, her brother following. Pen 
 had jumped at his letter the instant they were gone. He was reading 
 it with a stupefied face. It stated what the Major had said, that Mr. 
 Costigan was most gratified for the kindness with which Arthur had 
 treated his daughter, but that he was only now made aware of Mr. 
 Pendennis s pecuniary circumstances. They were such that marriage 
 was at present out of the question, and considering the great disparity 
 in the age of the two, a future union was impossible. Under these 
 circumstances, and with the deepest regret and esteem for him, Mr. 
 Costigan bade Arthur farewell, and suggested that he should cease 
 visiting, for some time at least, at his house. 
 
 A few lines from Miss Costigan were inclosed. She acquiesced in 
 the decision of her papa. She pointed out that she was many years 
 older than Arthur, and that an engagement was not to be thought of. 
 She would always be grateful for his kindness to her, and hoped to 
 keep his friendship. But at present, and until the pain of the separa- 
 tion should be over, she entreated they should not meet. 
 
 Pen read Costigan's letter and its inclosure mechanically, hardly 
 knowing what was before his eyes. He looked up wildly, and saw his 
 mother and uncle regarding him with sad faces. Helen's, indeed, was 
 full of tender maternal anxiety. ^ ^ 
 
 What— what is this.^" Pen said. ''It's some joke. This is not 
 her writing. This is some servant's writing. Who's playing these 
 
 tricks upon me .^^ " r > cc rri, 
 
 ''It comes under her father's envelope,' the Major said. Ihose 
 
 letters you had before were not in her hand : that is hers." 
 How do you know } " said Pen, very fiercely. 
 "I saw her write it," the uncle answered, as the boy started 
 
 up ; and his mother, coming forward, took his hand. He put her 
 
 away. j i. ;> 
 
 " How came you to see her How came you between me and ner 
 What have I ever done to you that you should? Oh, it's not true; 
 it's not true ! "—Pen broke out with a wild execration. ^ " She can t 
 have done it of her own accord. She can't mean it.^ She's pledged to 
 me. Who has told her lies to break her from me " 
 
 " Lies are not told in the family, Arthur," Major Pendennis replied. 
 I told her the truth, which was, that you had no money to mamtani 
 her, for her foolish father had represented you to be rich. And when 
 she knew how poor you were, she withdrew at once, and without any 
 persuasion of mine. She was quite right. She is ten years older than 
 you are. She is perfectly unfitted to be your wife, and knows it. 
 Look at that handwriting, 'and ask yourself, is such a woman fitted to 
 be the companion of your mother " 
 
 ''I will know from herself if it is true," Arthur said, crumpling up 
 the paper. ^ , 
 
 Won't you take my word of honour Her letters were written 
 by a confidante of hers, who writes better than she can— look here. 
 Here's one from the lady to your friend, Mr. Foker. You have seen 
 her with Miss Costigan, as whose amanuensis she acted"— the Major 
 said, with ever so little of a sneer, and laid down a certain billet which 
 Mr. Foker had given to him. 
 
Copyright, Service &■ Paton, 1897. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 95 
 
 It's not that/' said Pen^ burning with shame and rage. I suppose 
 what you say is true^ sir, but I'll hear it from herself. " 
 Arthur ! " appealed his mother. 
 
 I will see her/' said Arthur. I'll ask her to marry me, once 
 more. I will. No one shall prevent me. " 
 
 What, a woman who spells affection with one f .'^ Nonsense, sir. 
 Be a man, and remember that your mother is a lady. She was never 
 made to associate with that tipsy old swindler or his daughter. Be a 
 man and forget her, as she does you. " 
 
 Be a man and comfort your mother, my Arthur," Helen said, going 
 and embracing him : and seeing that the pair were greatly moved. 
 Major Pendennis went out of the room and shut the door upon them, 
 wisely judging that they were best alone. 
 
 He had won a complete victory. He actually had brought away 
 Pen's letters in his portmanteau from Chatteris } having complimented 
 Mr. Costigan, when he returned them, by giving him the little pro- 
 missory note which had disquieted himself and Mr. Garbetts ; and for 
 which the Major settled with Mr. Tatham. 
 
 Pen rushed wildly off to Chatteris that day, but in vain attempted to 
 see Miss Fotheringay, for whom he left a letter, inclosed to her father. 
 The inclosure was returned by Mr. Costigan, who begged that all 
 correspondence might end ; and after one or two further attempts of 
 the lad's, the indignant General desired that their acquaintance might 
 cease. He cut Pen in the street. As Arthur and Foker were pacing 
 the Castle walk, one day, they came upon Emily on her father's arm. 
 She passed without any nod of recognition. Foker felt poor Pen 
 trembling on his arm. 
 
 His uncle wanted him to travel, to quit the country for a while, and 
 his mother urged him, too : for he was growing very ill, and suffered 
 severely. But he refused, and said point-blank he would not go. He 
 would not obey in this instance ; and his mother was too fond, and his 
 uncle too wise to force him. Whenever Miss Fotheringay acted, he 
 rode over to the Chatteris Theatre and saw her. One night there were 
 so few people in the house that the manager returned the money. Pen 
 came home and went to bed at eight o'clock and had a fever. * If this 
 continues, his mother will be going over and fetching the girl, the 
 Major thought, in despair. As for Pen, he thought he should die. We 
 are not going to describe his feelings, or give a dreary journal of his 
 despair and passion. Have not other gentlemen been balked in love^ 
 besides Mr. Pen } Yes, indeed : but few die of the malady. / w- 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN WHICH MISS FOTHERINGAY MAKES A NEW ENGAGEMENT 
 
 Within a short period of the events above narrated, Mr. Manager 
 Bingley was performing his famous character of Rolla, in Pizarro," 
 to a house so exceedingly thin, that it would appear as if the part of 
 
96 PENDENNIS 
 
 Rolla was by no means such a favourite with the people of Chatteris 
 as it was with the accomplished actor himself. Scarce anybody was in 
 the theatre. Poor Pen had the boxes almost all to himself, and sate 
 there lonely, with bloodshot eyes, leaning over the ledge, and gazing 
 haffffardly towards the scene, when Cora came in. When she was not 
 on the stage he saw nothing. Spaniards and Peruvians, processions 
 and battles, priests and virgins of the sun, went in and out, and had 
 their talk, but Arthur took no note of any one of them ; and only saw 
 Cora whom his soul longed after. He said afterwards that he wondered 
 he had not taken a pistol to shoot her, so mad was he with love, and 
 raffe, and despair ; and had it not been for his mother at home, to whom 
 he did not speak about his luckless condition, but whose silent sympathy 
 and watchfulness greatly comforted the simple half-heartbroken fellow, 
 who knows but he might have done something desperate, and have 
 ended his days prematurely in front of Chatteris g^oU There he sate 
 then, miserable, and gazing at her. And she took no more notice ot 
 him than he did of the rest of the house. . 
 
 The Fotheringay was uncommonly handsome, m a white raiment 
 and leopard skin, with a sun upon her breast, and fine tawdry bracelets 
 on her beautiful glancing arms. She spouted to admiration the tew 
 words of her part, and looked it still better. The eyes, which had 
 overthrown Pens soul, rolled and gleamed as lustrous as ever ; but it 
 was not to him that they were directed that night. He did not know 
 to whom, or remark a couple of gentlemen in the box next to him, 
 upon whom Miss Fotheringay's glances were perpetually shining. 
 
 Nor had Pen noticed the extraordinary change which had taken place 
 on the stage a short time after the entry of these two gentlemen into 
 the theatre. There were so few people in the house, that the hrst act 
 of the play languished entirely, and there had been some question ot 
 returning the money, as upon that other unfortunate night when poor 
 Pen had been driven away. The actors were perfectly careless about 
 their parts, and yawned through the dialogue, and talked loud to 
 each other in the intervals. Even Bingley was listless, and Mrs. B. in 
 Elvira spoke under her breath. i , • i,^^ 
 
 How came it that all of a sudden Mrs. Bingley began to raise her 
 voice and bellow like a bull of Bashan ? Whence was it that Bmgley, 
 flinging off his apathy, darted about the stage and yelled like Kean.'' 
 Why did Garbetts and Rowkins and Miss Rouncy try, each of them, 
 the force of their charms or graces, and act and swagger and scowl and 
 spout their very loudest at the two gentlemen m box No. S? 
 
 One was a quiet little man in black, with a grey head and a jolly 
 shrewd face— the other was in all respects a splendid and remarkable 
 individual. He was a tall and portly gentleman with a hooked nose 
 and a profusion of curling brown hair and whiskers ; his coat was 
 covered with the richest frogs, braiding, and velvet. He had under- 
 waistcoats, many splendid rings, jewelled pins and neck-chams. When 
 he took out his yellow pocket-handkerchief with his hand that was 
 cased in white kids, a delightful odour of musk and bergamot was 
 shaken through the house. He was evidently a personage ot rank, ana 
 it was at him that the little Chatteris company was acting. 
 
 He was, in a word, no other than Mr. Dolphin, the great manager 
 
PENDENNIS 97 
 
 w-n. accompanied by his faithful friend and secretary Mr 
 
 WiUmm Mmns ; without whom he never travelled. He had not been 
 ten minutes in the theatre before his august presence there was per- 
 ceived by Bingley and the rest : and they all began to act their best and 
 try to engage his attention. Even Miss Fotheringay's dull heart, which 
 was disturbed at nothing, felt perhaps a flutter, when she came in 
 presence of the famous London impresario. She had not much to do 
 m her part, but to look handsome, and stand in picturesque attitudes 
 encircling her child : and she did this work to admiration. In vain 
 the various actors tried to win the favour of the great stae-e Sultan 
 Pizarro never got a hand from him. Bingley yelled, and Mrs. Binfflev 
 bellowed, and the manager only took snuff out of his great ^old box j 
 It was only m the last scene, when Rolla comes in staggerin/with th/ 
 mfant (Bmg ey is not so strong as he was, and his fourth son Maste'r 
 lalma Bingley is a monstrous large child for his age)— when Rolla 
 comes staggering with the child to Cora, who rushel forward with a 
 shriek and says— O God, there's blood upon him ! "—that the London 
 majaager clapped his hands, and broke out with an enthusiastic bravo 
 
 Ihen having concluded his applause, Mr. Dolphin gave his secretary 
 ^ c^f^r^"^ shoulder, and said, ^^By Jove, Billy, shell do ' " 
 
 Who taught her that dodge said old Billy, who was a sardonic 
 old gentleman-^n remember her at the Olympic, and hang me if she 
 could say Bo to a goose. ^ ^ & 
 
 ccl^j.'^^l ^'** ^^"^^ orchestra who had taught her the 
 
 dodge m question. All the company heard the applause, and, as 
 the curtain went down, came round her and congratulated and hated 
 
 Miss rothermgay. ^ 
 
 Now Mr. Dolphin's appearance in the remote little Chatteris theatre 
 may be accounted for in this manner. In spite of all his exertions, 
 and the perpetual blazes of triumph, coruscations of talent, victories of 
 good old Enghsh comedy, which his play-bills advertised, his theatre 
 (which. If you please, and to injure no present susceptibilities and 
 vested interests, we shall call the Museum Theatre) by no means pros- 
 pered, and the famous impresario found himself on the verge of ruin. 
 1 he great Hubbard had acted legitimate drama for twenty nights, and 
 tailed to remunerate anybody but himself; the celebrated Mr. and Mrs 
 Cawdor had come out in Mr. Rawhead's tragedy, and in their favourite 
 round of pieces, and had not attracted the public. Herr Garbage's 
 lions and tigers had drawn for a little time, until one of the animals 
 had bitten a piece out of the Herr's shoulder, when the Lord Chamber- 
 lam interfered, and put a stop to this species of performance : and the 
 grand Lyrical Drama, though brought out with unexampled splendour 
 and success, with Monsieur Poumons as first tenor, and an enormous 
 orchestra, had almost crushed poor Dolphin in its triumphant progress • 
 so that, great as his genius and resources were, they seemed to be at 
 an end. He was dragging on his season wretchedly with half salaries, 
 small operas feeble old comedies, and his ballet company; and every- 
 body was looking out for the day when he should appear in the Gazette. 
 
 Une of the illustrious patrons of the Museum Theatre, and occupant 
 mpnff.f'r- P^'^«^^^?^«^-box, was a gentleman whose name has b«en 
 mentioned m a previous history; that refined patron of the arts, and 
 
08 PENDENNIS 
 
 enlightened lover of music and the drama, the Most Noble the Marquk 
 of StevTe His Lordship's avocations as a statesman prevented him 
 from attending the playhouse very often, or commg very early But 
 L occfsionauf appeared at the theatre in time for the ballet, and was 
 iraysTecetve'dw'fththe greatest -«P-t by the man^^^^^^^^ 
 he sometimes condescended to receive a visit in his box. " commun 
 cated^ith the stage, and when anything occurred there which parti- 
 cularly pleased him, when a new face made its appearance among the 
 corynK or a fair dancer executed a pas with especial grace or agility, 
 M7%enham Wagg, or some other aide-de-camp ot the noble 
 
 Floridar as Captain Cook), ogling that box as they performed before 
 ft and have often wondered to remark the presence of mmd of 
 
 lame down to earth, curtsied and smiled, especially to those hands, 
 before thev walked up the stage again, panting and happy. 
 
 One night this great Prince surrounded by a few choice friends was 
 in Ms bof at the Museum, and they were making such a noise and 
 CgLr that the pit was scandalised,' and i^fg^^^* T'^^.^f^'^ 
 
 bawling out silence so loudly, that Wagg wondered the Pol^ce d ^ °ot 
 intVrfefe to take the rascals out. Wenham was amusing the party m 
 he box with extracts from a private letter -^^-J^he Jiad^^^^^^^ 
 Major Pendennis, whose absence in the country at 
 season had been remarked, and of course deplored by his friends. 
 "The secret is out," said Mr. Wenham, "there's a woman in the 
 
 ""^" Why, d it, Wenham, he's your age," said the gentleman 
 
 Pou?\eTSies- bien nees, I'amour ne compte pas le nombre des 
 annees " said M^ Wenham, with a gallant air. " For my part, I hope 
 ?o be a Vict m till I die, and to break my heart every year of my ife. 
 The meaning of which sentence was, "My lord, you need not talk. 
 I'm three years younger than you, and twice as well conserve 
 ^ ^' wZ^Z^yln affect me," said the great man, with one ^t^^^^^ 
 oaths "By you do. I like to see a fellow preserving all tl e 
 illusions of youth up to our time of life -and keepmg his heart 
 yoZZ Hang it, sir,-it's a comfort to meet with such a 
 
PEl>n)ENNIS 
 
 99 
 
 generous, candid creature.— Who's that gal in the second row, with 
 blue ribbons, third from the stage— fine gal. Yes, you and I are 
 sentimentalists. Wagg I don't think so much cares— it's the stomach 
 rather more than the heart with you, eh, Wagg, my boy " 
 
 ''1 like everything that's good," said Mr. Wagg generously, " Beauty 
 and Burgundy, Venus and Venison. I don't say that Venus's turtles 
 are to be despised, because they don't cook them at the London Tavern : 
 but— but tell us about old Pendennis, Mr. Wenham," he abruptly con- 
 cluded—for his joke flagged just then, as he saw that his patron was 
 not listening. In fact, Steyne's glasses were up, and he was examining 
 some object on the stage. 
 
 Yes, I've heard that joke about Venus's turtle and the London 
 Tavern before— you begin to fail, my poor' Wagg. If you don't mind 
 I shall be obliged to have a new jester," Lord Steyne said, laying down 
 his glass. Go on, Wenham, about old Pendennis." 
 
 Dear Wenham,— he begins," Mr. Wenham read,— as you have 
 had my character in your hands for the last three weeks, and no doubt 
 have torn me to shreds, according to your custom, I think you can 
 afford to be good-humoured by way of variety, and to do me a service. 
 It is a delicate matter, entre nous, une affaire de cceur. There is a 
 young friend of mine who is gone wild about a certain Miss Fother- 
 ingay, an actress at the theatre here, and I must own to you, as hand- 
 some a woman, and, as it appears to me, as good an actress as ever put 
 on rouge. She does Ophelia, Lady Teazle, Mrs. Haller— that sort of 
 thing. Upon my word, she is as splendid as Georges in her best days, 
 and, as far as I know, utterly superior to anything we have on our 
 scene. I want a London engagement for her. Can't you get your friend 
 Dolphin to come and see her— to engage her— to take her out of this 
 place f A word from a noble friend of ours (you understand) would be / 
 invaluable, and if you could get the Gaunt House interest for me— I / 
 will promise anything 1 can in return for your service— which I shall/ 
 consider one of the greatest that can be done to me. Do, do this now a/ 
 a good fellow, which / always said you were : and in return, command 
 yours truly, A. Pendennis." 
 
 It's a clear case," said Mr. Wenham, having read this letter; ^^old 
 Pendennis is in love." 
 
 And wants to get the woman up to London— evidently," continued 
 Mr. Wagg. 
 
 " I should like to see Pendennis on his knees, with the rheumatism," 
 said Mr. Wenham. 
 
 ''Or accommodating the beloved object with a lock of his hair,'\ 
 said Wagg. \ 
 
 ''Stuff!" said the great man. "He has relations in the country, 
 hasn t he ? He said something about a nephew, whose interest could 
 return a member. It is the nephew's affair, depend on it. The young 
 one is in a scrape. I was myself— when I was in the fifth form at 
 Eton— a market-gardener's daughter— and swore I'd marry her. I 
 was mad about her— poor Polly ! "—Here he made a pause, and perhaps 
 the past rose up to Lord Steyne, and George Gaunt was a boy again 
 not altogether lost— "But I say, she must be a fine woman from 
 
100 PENDENNIS 
 
 Pendennis's account. Have in Dolphin, and let us hear if he knows 
 
 *"?^\hi''wenham sprang out of the box passed the servitor who 
 waited at the door communicating with the stage, and who saluted Mr 
 Wenham with profound respect; and the latter emissary, pushing on 
 and famTliar with the place, had no difficulty in finding out the manager 
 who was employed, as he not unfrequently was, in swearing and cursing 
 the ladies of the corps-de-ballet for not doing their duty. 
 
 The oaths died away on Mr. Dolphin s lips as soon as he fr 
 Wenham : and he drew off the hand which was clenched m the face ot 
 one of the offending coryphees, to grasp that of the new-comer. 
 
 "How do, Mr. Wenham.? How's his Lordship to-night? Looks 
 uncommonly well," said the manager, smiling, as if he had never been 
 out of temper in his life ; and he was only too delighted to follow Lord 
 Stevne's ambassador, and pay his personal respects to that great man. 
 
 The visit to Chatteris was the result of their conversation : and Mr. 
 Dolphin wrote to his Lordship from that place, and did h™self the 
 honour to inform the Marquis of Steyne, that he had seen the lady 
 about whom his Lordship had spoken, that he was as much stmck by 
 her talents as he was by her personal appearance, and that he had 
 made an engagement with Miss Fotheringay, who would soon have the 
 honour of appearing before a London audience, and his noble and 
 enliffhtened patron the Marquis of Steyne. , 
 
 Pin read the announcement of Miss Fotheringa/s engagementm 
 the Chatteris paper, where he had so often praised her charms. Ihe 
 editor made ^ handsome mention of her talent and beauty and 
 prophesied her success in the metropolis Bingley, the managei^ began 
 to advertise "the last night of Miss Fotheringay s engagement Poor 
 Pen and Sir Derby Oaks were very constant at the play : bir Dei by 
 in the stage-box, throwing bouquets and getting glances-Pen in the 
 Smost des^erted boxes, haggard, wretched and lonely Nobody c^ed 
 whether Miss Fotheringay was going or steying except those two-and 
 perhaps one more, which was Mr. Bows of the orchestra. 
 ^ He came out of his place one night, and went into the house to the 
 box where Pen was ; and he held out his hand to him, and asked him 
 to come and walk. They walked down the street together ; and went 
 and sate upon Chatteris bridge in the moonlight, ^nd talked about 
 Her " We may sit on the same bridge," said he : " we have been in 
 the same boat for a long time. You are not the onlv ™an who has 
 made a fool of himself about that woman. And I have less excuse than 
 vou, because I'm older and know her better. She has no more heart 
 than the stone you are leaning on ; and it or you or I might fall into 
 the water, and never come up again, and she wouldn t care. Y es— sne 
 would care for me, because she wants me to teach her : and she won t 
 be able to get on without me, and will be forced to send for me from 
 London. But she wouldn't if she didn't want me. She has no heart 
 and no head, and no sense, and no feelings, and no griefs or cares, 
 whatever. I was going to say no pleasures— but the fact is, she aoes 
 like her dinner, and she is pleased when people admire her. 
 \ " And you do ? " said Pen, interested out of himself, and wondering 
 at the crabbed homely little old man. 
 
 i 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 101 
 
 It's a habit, like taking snuff, or drinking drains^" said the other. 
 
 I've been taking her these five years, and can't do without her. It 
 was I made her. If she doesn't send for me, I shall follow her : but I 
 know she'll send for me. She wants me. Some day she'll marry, and 
 fling me over, as I do the end of this cigar." 
 
 The little flaming spark dropped into the water below, and disappeared ; 
 and Pen, as he rode home that night, actually thought about somebody 
 but himself. »^ — 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE HAPPY ^^ILLAGE 
 
 Until the enemy had retired altogether from before the place. Major 
 Pendennis was resolved to keep his garrison in Fairoaks. He did not 
 appear to watch Pen's behaviour, or to put any restraint on his nephew's 
 actions, but he managed, nevertheless, to keep the lad constantly under 
 his eye or those of his agents, and young Arthur's comings and goings 
 were quite well known to his vigilant guardian. 
 
 ^..^ma ^se there Js Kcarcply nny man who pe^^ ds th^^ mi^ny^jher 
 novel buth^£j>eenjbal^^ somejjme^or jhe other, by fa te,, and 
 
 cijC^st^ce^_by_Mse^^ that 
 woHhy friend recall his own sensations underThe circumstances, and 
 apply them as illustrative of Mr. Pen's anguish. Ah ! what weary 
 nights and sickening fevers ! Ah ! what mad desires dashing up against 
 some rock of obstruction or indifference, and flung back again from the 
 unimpressionable granite 1 If a list could be made this very night in 
 London of the groans, thoughts, imprecations of tossing lovers, what 
 a catalogue it would be I I wonder what a percentage of the male 
 population of the metropolis will be lying awake at two or three o'clock 
 to-morrow morning, counting the hours as they go by, knelling drearily, 
 and rolling from left to right, restless, yearning, and heart-sick } What 
 a pang it is ! I never knew a man die of love, certainly, but I have 
 known a twelve-stone man go down to nine stone five under a dis- 
 appointed passion, so that pretty nearly a quarter of him may be said 
 to have perished : and that is no small portion. He has come back to 
 his old size subsequently — perhaps is bigger than ever: very likely 
 some new affection has closed round his heart and ribs and made them 
 comfortable, and young Pen is a man who will console himself like the 
 rest of us. We say this lest the ladies should be disposed to deplore 
 him prematurely, or be seriously uneasy with regard to his complaint. 
 His mother was ; but what will not a maternal fondness fear or invent.^ 
 Depend on it, my dear creature," Major Pendennis would say gallantly 
 
 ; to her, the boy will recover. As soon as we get her out of the 
 country, we will take him somewhere, and show him a little life. Mean- 
 time make yourself easy about him. [ Half a fellow's pangs at losing a 
 woman result from vanity^ more than affection. To be left by a woman is 
 
 i the deuce and all, to be sure ; but look how easily we leave 'em." 
 
 Mrs. Pendennis did not know. This sort of knowledge had by no 
 means come within the simple lady's scope. Indeed, she did not like 
 
102 PENDENNIS 
 
 the subject or to talk of it: her heart had had its own Uttje P";^t« 
 misadventure, and she had borne up agamst it and cured it: and 
 perhaps she had not much patience with other folks passions, except 
 of course, Arthur's, whose sufferings she made her own, feeling indeed 
 very hke y, in many of the boy's illnesses and pains a great deal more 
 Ihan Pen himself endured. And she watched him through this present 
 grief with a jealous silent sympathy ; although, as we have said, he did 
 not talk to her of his unfortunate condition. 
 
 The Major must be allowed to have had not a ittle merit and for- 
 bearance, ind to have exhibited a highly crediteble degree of family 
 affection. The life at Fairoaks was uncommonly dull to a nrnn who 
 had the entree of half the houses in London, and was in t^e habit ot 
 making his bow in three or four drawing-rooms of a night. A dinner 
 with Doctor Portman or a neighbouring squire now and then ; a drea^ 
 rubber at backgammon with the widow, who did her utmost to amuse 
 him : these were the chief of his pleasures. He used to long for the 
 arrival of the bag with the letters, and he read every word of the 
 evening paper. He doctored himself, too, assiduously,-a course of 
 quUliving would suithim well, he thought, after the London ban^^^^ 
 He dressed himself laboriously every m<>™ing and afternoon . he took 
 regular exercise up and down the terrace walk Thus, with his cane, 
 his toilet, his medicine-chest, his backgammon-box and his newspaper 
 this worthy and worldly philosopher fenced himself against ennui ; and 
 JrL dTd noHmprove Lch shining hour, like the bees by the widow s 
 garden wall. Major Pendennis made one hour after another pass as he 
 could ; and rendered his captivity just tolerable. 
 
 Pen sometimes took the box at backgammon of a night, or would 
 
 listen to his mother's simple music <>f/'i,?>'"«^«\f°'\^*-''|J* '^.Vto 
 very restless and wretched in spite of all: and has been known to 
 be up before the early daylight even, and down at a carp-pond , a 
 Claviring Park, a dreary pool with innumerable whispering rushes and 
 grein alders, where a milkmaid drowned herself in the Baronet s grand- 
 father's time, and her ghost was said to walk still . Pen did not 
 drown himself, as perhaps his mother fancied might be his intention 
 He liked to go'and fish there, and think and think at leisure as the float 
 quivered in the little eddies of the pond and the ^^^^ flapped aboi^t him 
 If he got a bite he was excited enough : and in this way occasionally 
 brought home carps, tenches, and eels, which the Major cooked in the 
 Continental fashion. , . p._ 
 
 By this pond, and under a tree, which was his favourite resort, 1 en 
 composed a number of poems suitable to his circumstances-over which 
 verses he blushed in after days, wondering how he could ever have in- 
 vented such rubbish. And as for the tree, why it is in a hollow of this 
 very tree, where he used to put his tm box of ground-bait, and other 
 fishing commodities, that he afterwards-but we are advancing matters. 
 Suffice it to say, he wrote poems and relieved himself very much. When 
 a man's grief or passion is at this point, it may be loud, but it is not 
 very sevire. When a gentleman is cudgelling his brain to find any 
 Vlrhyme for sorrow, besides borrow and to-morrow, his woes are nearer 
 Hat an end than he thinks for. So were Pen's. He had his hot and 
 " cold fits, his days of suUenness and peevishness, and of blank resignar 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 103 
 
 tion and despondency, and occasional mad paroxysms of rage and 
 long-ing, in which fits Rehecca would be saddled and galloped fiercely 
 about the country, or into Chatteris, her rider gesticulating wildly on 
 her back, and astonishing carters and turnpike-men as he passed, crying 
 out the name of the false one. 
 
 Mr. Foker became a very frequent and welcome visitor at Fairoaks 
 during this period, where his good spirits and oddities always amused 
 the Major and Pendennis, while they astonished the widow and little 
 Laura not a little. His tandem made a great sensation in Clavering 
 market-place ; where he upset a market-stall, and cut Mrs. Pybus's 
 poodle over the shaven quarters, and drank a glass of raspberry bitters 
 at the Clavering Arms. All the society in the little place heard who 
 he was, and looked out his name in their Peerages. He was so young, 
 and their books so old, that his name did not appear in many of their 
 volumes ; and his mamma, now quite an antiquated lady, figured 
 amongst the progeny of the Earl of Rosherville, as Lady Agnes Milton 
 still. But his name, wealth, and honourable lineage were speedily 
 known about Clavering, where you may be sure that poor Pen's 
 little transaction with the Chatteris actress was also pretty freely 
 discussed. 
 
 Looking at the little old town of Clavering St. Mary from the London 
 road as it runs by the lodge at. Fairoaks, and seeing the rapid and 
 shining Brawl winding down from the town and skirting the woods of 
 Clavering Park, and the ancient church tower and peaked roofs of the 
 houses rising up amongst trees and old walls, behind which swells a fair 
 background of sunshiny hills that stretch from Clavering westwards 
 towards the sea — the place appears to be so cheery and comfortable 
 that many a traveller's heart must have yearned towards it from the 
 coach-top, and he must have thought that it was in such a calm friendly 
 nook he would like to shelter at the end of life's struggle. Tom Smith, 
 who used to drive the Alacrity coach, would often point to a tree near 
 the river, from which a fine view of the church and town was com- 
 manded, and inform his companion on the box that Artises come and 
 take hofF the Church from that there tree. — It was a Habby once, 
 sir : " — and indeed a pretty view it is, which I recommend to Mr. 
 Stanfield or Mr. Roberts, for their next tour. 
 
 Like Constantinople seen from the Bosphorus ; like Mrs. Rougemont 
 viewed in her box from the opposite side of the house ; like many an 
 object which we pursue in life, and admire before we have attained it ; 
 Clavering is rather prettier at a distance than it is on a closer acquaint- 
 ance. The town so cheerful of aspect a few furlongs off*, looks very 
 blank and dreary. Except on market days there is nobody in the 
 streets. The clack of a pair of pattens echoes through half the place, 
 and you may hear the creaking of the rusty old ensign at the Clavering 
 Arms, without being disturbed by any other noise. There has not been 
 a ball in the Assembly Rooms since the Clavering volunteers gave one 
 to their Colonel, the old Sir Francis Clavering ; and the stables which 
 once held a great part of that brilliant but defunct regiment are now 
 cheerless and empty, except on Thursdays, when the farmers put up 
 there, and their tilted carts and gigs make a feeble show of liveliness in 
 
104 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the place, or on Petty Sessions, when the magistrates attend in what 
 used to be the old card-room. 
 
 On the south side of the market rises up the church, with its great 
 grey towers, of which the sun illuminates the delicate carving ; deepen- 
 ing the shadows of the huge buttresses, and gilding the glittering 
 windows and flaming vanes. The image of the Patroness of the Church 
 was wrenched out of the porch centuries ago ; such of the statues of 
 saints as were within reach of stones and hammer at that period of 
 pious demolition, are maimed and headless, and of those who were out 
 of fire, only Doctor Portman knows the names and history, for his curate 
 Smirke is not much of an antiquarian, and Mr. Simcoe (husband of the 
 Honourable Mrs. Simcoe), incumbent and architect of the Chapel of 
 Ease in the lower town, thinks them the abomination of desolation. 
 
 The Rectory is a stout, broad-shouldered brick house, of the reign 
 of Anne. It communicates with the church and market by different 
 gates, and stands at the opening of Yew-tree Lane, where the Grammar 
 
 School (Rev. Wapshot) is ; Yew-tree Cottage (Miss Flather) ; the 
 
 butcher's slaughtering-house, ^n old barn or brewhouse of the Abbey 
 times, and the Misses Finucane's establishment for young ladies. The 
 two schools had their pews in the loft on each side of the organ, until 
 the Abbey Church getting rather empty, through the falling-off of the 
 congregation, who were inveigled to the Heresy-shop in the lower 
 town, the Doctor induced the Misses Finucane to bring their pretty 
 little flock downstairs ; and the young ladies bonnets make a tolerable 
 show in the rather vacant aisles. Nobody is in the great pew of the 
 Clavering family, except the statues of defunct baronets and their 
 ladies : there is Sir Poyntz Clavering, Knight and Baronet, kneeling 
 in a square beard opposite his wife in a ruif : a very fat lady, the Dame 
 Rebecca Clavering, in alto-relievo, is borne up to heaven by two little 
 blue-veined angels, who seem to have a severe task— and so forth. 
 How well in after life Pen remembered those effigies, and how often in 
 youth he scanned them as the Doctor was grumbling the sermon from 
 the pulpit, and Smirke's mild head and forehead curl peered over the 
 great prayer-book in the desk ! 
 
 The Fairoaks folks were constant at the old church ; their servants 
 had a pew, so had the Doctor s, so had Wapshot's, and those of the 
 Misses Finucane's establishment, three maids and a very nice-looking 
 young man in a livery. The Wapshot family were numerous and 
 faithful. Glanders and his children regularly came to church : so did 
 one of the apothecaries. Mrs. Pybus went, turn and turn about, to 
 the Low Town church, and to the Abbey : the Charity School and 
 their families of course came : Wapshot's boys made a good cheerful 
 noise, scuflling with their feet as they marched into church and up the 
 organ-loft stair, and blowing their noses a good deal during the service. 
 To be brief, the congregation looked as decent as might be in these 
 bad times. The Abbey Church was furnished with a magnificent screen, 
 and many hatchments and heraldic tombstones. The Doctor spent a 
 great part of his income in beautifying his darling place; he had 
 endowed it with a superb painted window, bought in the Netherlands, 
 and an organ grand enough for a cathedral. 
 
 But in spite of organ and window, in consequence of the latter very 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 105 
 
 i likely, which had come out of a Papistical place of worship and was 
 blazoned all over with idolatry, Clavering New Church prospered 
 j scandalously in the teeth of Orthodoxy ; and many of the Doctor's 
 I congregation deserted to Mr. Simcoe and the honourable woman his 
 wife. Their efforts had thinned the very Ebenezer hard by them, 
 which building before Simcoe's advent used to be so full, that you 
 ! could see the backs of the congregation squeezing out of the arched 
 windows thereof Mr. Simcoe's tracts fluttered into the doors of all 
 the Doctor's cottages, and were taken as greedily as honest Mrs. 
 Portman's soup, with the quality of which the graceless people found 
 fault. With the folks at the Ribbon Factory situated by the weir on 
 the Brawl side, and round which the Low Town had grown. Orthodoxy 
 could make no way at all. Quiet Miss Mira was put out of court by 
 impetuous Mrs. Simcoe and her female aides-de-camp. Ah, it was a 
 hard burthen for the Doctor s lady to bear, to behold her husband's 
 congregation dwindling away ; to give the precedence on the few 
 occasions when they met to a notorious Low Churchman's wife, who 
 was the daughter of an Irish peer ; to know that there was a party in 
 Clavering, their own town of Clavering, on which her Doctor spent a 
 great deal more than his professional income, who held him up to 
 odium because he played a rubber at whist ; and pronounced him to 
 be a heathen because he went to the play. In her grief she besought 
 him to give up the play and the rubber, — indeed they could scarcely 
 get a table now, so dreadful was the outcry against the sport, — but the 
 Doctor declared that he would do what he thought right, and what 
 the great and good George the Third did (whose Chaplain he had 
 been) ; and as for giving up whist because those silly folks cried out 
 against it, he would play dummy to the end of his days with his wife 
 and Mira, rather than yield to their despicable persecutions, 
 h Of the two families, owners of the Factory (which had spoiled the 
 I Brawl as a trout-stream and brought all the mischief into the town), 
 the senior partner, Mr. Rolt, went to Ebenezer; the junior, Mr. 
 Barker, to the New Church. In a word, people quarrelled in this 
 little place a great deal more than neighbours do in London ; and in 
 :the Book Club which the prudent and conciliating Pendennis had set 
 up, and which ought to have been a neutral territory, they bickered 
 so much that nobody scarcely was ever seen in the reading-room, 
 except Smirke, who, though he kept up a faint amity with the Simcoe 
 faction, had still a taste for magazines and light worldly literature ; 
 and old Glanders, whose white head and grizzly moustache might be 
 seen at the window ; and of course, little Mrs. Pybus, who looked at 
 everybody's letters as the Post brought them, (for the Clavering Reading- 
 room, as every one knows, used to be held at Baker's Library, London 
 Street, formerly Hog Lane), and read every advertisement in the paper. 
 
 It may be imagined how great a sensation was created in this amiable 
 little community when the news reached it of Mr. Pen's love-passages 
 at Chatteris. It was carried from house to house, and formed the sub- 
 ject of talk at high-church, low-church, and no-church tables ; it was 
 canvassed by the Misses Finucane and their teachers, and very likely 
 debated by the young ladies in the dormitories, for what we know ; 
 Wapshot's big boys had their version of the story, and eyed Pen curi- 
 
106 PENDENNIS 
 
 ously as he sate in his pew at church, or raised the finger of scorn at 
 him as he passed through Chatteris. They always hated him and called 
 him Lord Pendennis, because he did not wear corduroys as they did, 
 and rode a horse, and gave himself the airs of a buck. 
 
 And, if the truth must be told, it was Mrs. Portman herself who was 
 the chief narrator of the story of Pen's loves. Whatever tales this 
 candid woman heard, she was sure to impart them to her neighbours ; 
 and after she had been put into possession 'of Pens secret by the little 
 scandal at Chatteris, poor Doctor Portman knew that it would next day tt] 
 be about the parish of which he was the Rector. And so indeed it Ij 
 was ; the whole society there had the legend— at the news-room, at the ||) 
 milliner s, at the shoe-shop, and the general warehouse at the corner 
 of the market ; at Mrs. Pybus s, at the Glanders's, at the Honourable 
 Mrs. Simcoe's soiree, at the Factory; nay, through the mill itselt the 
 tale was current in a few hours, and young Arthur Pendennis s madness | 
 was in every mouth. !' 
 
 All Doctor Portman's acquaintances barked out upon him when He - 
 walked the street the next day. The poor divine knew that his Betsy 
 was the author of the rumour, and groaned in spirit. Well, well,— it |- 
 must have come in a day or two, and it was as well that the town should II 
 have the real story. What the Clavering folks thought of Mrs. Pen- H 
 dennis for spoiling her son, and of that precocious young rascal ot an 
 Arthur, for daring to propose to a play-actress, need not be told here. 
 If pride exists amongst any folks in our country, and assuredly we have 
 enough of it, there is no pride more deep-seated than that of twopenny 
 old gentlewomen in small towns. Gracious goodness," the cry was, 
 how infatuated the mother is about that pert and headstrong boy who 
 gives himself the airs of a lord on his blood-horse, and for whom our 
 society is not good enough, and who would marry an odious painted ac- 
 tress oiF a booth, where very likely he wants to rant himself. If dear good 
 Mr. Pendennis had been alive this scandal would never have happened. 
 
 No more it would, very likely, nor should we have been occupied m 
 narrating Pen's history. It was true that he gave himself airs to the 
 Clavering folks. Naturally haughty and frank, their cackle and small 
 talk and small dignities bored him, and he showed a contempt which 
 he could not conceal. The Doctor and the Curate were the only people 
 Pen cared for in the place— even Mrs. Portman shared in the general 
 distrust of him, and of his mother, the widow, who kept herself aloot 
 from the village society, and was sneered at accordingly, because she 
 tried, forsooth, to keep her head up with the great county families, bhe 
 indeed ! Mrs. Barker at the Factory has four times the butcher s meat 
 that goes up to Fairoaks, with all their fine airs. / 
 
 &c. &c. &c. ; let the reader fill up these details according to his 
 liking and experience of village scandal. They will suffice to show how 
 it was that a good woman, occupied solely in doing her duty to her 
 neighbour and her children, and an honest, brave lad, impetuous, and 
 full of good, and wishing well to every mortal alive, found enemies and 
 detractors amongst people to whom they were superior, and to whom 
 they had never done anything like harm. The Clavering curs were 
 yelping all round the house of Fairoaks, and delighted to pull Pen down. 
 Doctor Portman and Smirke were both cautious of informing the 
 
 i 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 107 
 
 >idow of the constant outbreak of calumny which was pursuing poor 
 Pen^ though Glanders^ who was a friend of the house^ kept him au 
 [iourant. It may be imagined what his indignation was : was there any 
 man in the village whom he could call to account? Presently some 
 w^ags began to chalk up Fotheringay for ever ! " and other sarcastic 
 illusions to late transactions, at Fairoaks gate. Another brought a 
 large play-bill from Chatteris, and wafered it there one night. On 
 :>ne occasion Pen, riding through the Low Town, fancied he heard the 
 Factory boys jeer him ; and finally, going through the Doctor's gate 
 nto the churchyard, where some of Wapshot's boys were lounging, the 
 3iggest of them, a young gentleman about twenty years of age, son 
 )f a neighbouring small squire, who lived in the doubtful capacity 
 )f parlour-boarder with Mr. Wapshot, flung himself into a theatrical 
 ittitude near a newly-made grave, and began repeating Hamlet's verses 
 )ver Ophelia, with a hideous leer at Pen. 
 
 The young fellow was so enraged that he rushed at Hobnell Major 
 vith a shriek very much resembling an oath, cut him furiously across 
 :he face with the riding-whip which he carried, flung it away, calling 
 ipon the cowardly villain to defend himself, and in another minute 
 mocked the bewildered young ruffian into the grave which was just 
 vaiting for a difi*erent lodger. 
 
 Then, with his fists clenched, and his face quivering with passion 
 md indignation, he roared out to Mr. Hobnell's gaping companions, to 
 imow if any of the blackguards would come on.} But they held back 
 |dth a growl, and retreated, as Doctor Portman came up to his wicket, 
 md Mr. Hobnell, with his nose and lip bleeding piteously, emerged 
 rom the grave. 
 
 Pen, looking death and defiance at the lads, who retreated towards 
 .heir side of the churchyard, walked back again through the Doctor's 
 vicket, and was interrogated by that gentleman. The young fellow 
 vas so agitated he could scarcely speak. His voice broke into a sob as 
 
 le answered. *^*^The coward insulted me, sir," he said ; and the 
 
 doctor passed over the oath, and respected the emotion of the honest 
 luffering young heart. 
 
 ' Pendennis the elder, who, like a real man of the world, had a proper 
 md constant dread of the opinion of his neighbour, was prodigiously 
 mnoyed by the absurd little tempest which was blowing in Chatteris, 
 md tossing about Master Pen's reputation. Doctor Portman and 
 ^^aptain Glanders had to support the charges of the whole Clavering 
 ociety against the young reprobate, who was looked upon as a monster 
 >f crime. Pen did not say anything about the churchyard scufile at 
 lome ; but went over to Baymouth, and took counsel with his friend 
 Jarry Foker, Esq. , who drove over his drag presently to the Clavering 
 \rms, whence he sent Stoopid with a note to Thomas Hobnell, Esq., at 
 he Rev. J. Wapshot' s, and a civil message to ask when he should wait 
 ipon that gentleman. 
 
 Stoopid brought back word that the note had been opened by Mr. 
 iobnell, and read to half-a-dozen of the big boys, on whom it seemed 
 o make a great impression ; and that after consulting together and 
 aughing, Mr. Hobnell said he would send an answer arter artemoon 
 
108 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 school, which the bell was a ringing : and Mr. Wapshot, he came out 
 in his Master's gownd." Stoopid was learned in academical costume, 
 having attended Mr. Foker at St. Boniface. 
 
 Mr. Foker went out to see the curiosities of Clavering meanwhile ; 
 but not having a taste for architecture, Doctor Portman's line church 
 did not engage his attention much, and he pronounced the tower to be j 
 as mouldy as an old Stilton cheese. He walked down the street and 
 looked at the few shops there ; he saw Captain Glanders at the window ^ 
 of the reading-room, and having taken a good stare at that gentleman, | 
 he wagged his head at him in token of satisfaction ; he inquired the U 
 price of meat at the butcher s with an air of the greatest interest, and X 
 asked when was next killing day ^ " he flattened his little nose against \] 
 Madame Fribsby's window to see if haply there was a pretty workwoman ji 
 in her premises ; but there was no face more comely than the doll's or ' 
 dummy's wearing the French cap in the window, only that of Madame i 
 Fribsby herself, dimly visible in the parlour, reading a novel. That 
 object was not of sufficient interest to keep Mr. Foker very long in con- 
 templation, and so having exhausted the town and the inn stables, ni 
 which there were no cattle, save the single old pair of posters that 
 earned a scanty livelihood by transporting the gentry round about to 
 the county dinners, Mr. Foker was giving himself up to emiui entirely, 
 when a messenger from Mr. Hobnell was at length announced. 
 
 It was no other than Mr. Wapshot himself, who came with an air of . 
 great indignation, and holding Pen's missive in his hand, asked Mr. 
 Foker, How dared he bring such an unchristian message as a challenge ) 
 to a boy of his school 
 
 In fact. Pen had written a note to his adversary of the day before, 
 telling him that if after the chastisement which his insolence richly 
 deserved, he felt inclined to ask the reparation which was usually given 
 amongst gentlemen, Mr. Arthur Pendennis's friend, Mr. Henry Foker, 
 was empowered to make any arrangements for the satisfaction of Mr. I 
 Hobnell. ^ , 
 
 And so he sent you with the answer— did he, sir ? Mr. Foker said, 
 surveying the schoolmaster in his black coat and clerical costume. 
 
 If he had accepted this wicked challenge, I should have flogged 
 him," Mr. Wapshot said, and gave Mr. Foker a glance which seemed 
 to say, and I should like very much to flog you too." 
 
 Uncommon kind of you, sir, I'm sure," said Pens emissary. ^^^I 
 told my principal that I didn't think the other man would fight," he 
 continued with a great air of dignity. He prefers being flogged to 
 fighting, sir, I dare say. May I offer you any refreshment, Mr. — .'' I 
 haven't the advantage of your name." 
 
 ^'My name is Wapshot, sir, and I am Master of the Grammar School 
 of this town, sir," cried the other : and I want no refreshment, sir, I 
 thank you, and have no desire to make your acquaintance, sir." 
 
 I didn't seek yours, sir, I'm sure," replied Mr. Foker. In affairs 
 of this sort, you see, I think it is a pity that the clergy should be called 
 in, but there's no accounting for tastes, sir." 
 
 I think it's a pity that boys should talk about committing murder, 
 sir, as lightly as you do," roared the schoolmaster : and if I had you 
 in my school " 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 109 
 
 I dare say you would teach me better, sir/' Mr. Foker said, with 
 a bow. Thank you, sir. I've finished my education, sir, and ain't 
 a-going back to school, sir— when I do. Til remember your kind offer, 
 sir. John, show this gentleman downstairs — and, of course, as Mr. 
 Hobnell likes being thrashed, we can have no objection, sir, and we 
 shall be very happy to accommodate him, whenever he comes our way. " 
 
 And with this the young fellow bowed the elder gentleman out of the 
 room, and sate down and wrote a note off to Pen, in which he informed 
 the latter that Mr. Hobnell was not disposed to fight, and proposed to 
 put up with the caning which Pen had administered to him. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 WHICH CONCLUDES THE FIRST PART OF THIS HISTORY 
 
 Pen's conduct in this business of course was soon made public, and 
 mgered his friend Doctor Portman not a little ; while it only amused 
 Vlajor Pendennis. As for the good Mrs. Pendennis, she was almost 
 listracted when she heard of the squabble, and of Pen's unchristian 
 )ehaviour. All sorts of wretchedness, discomfort, crime, annoyance, 
 leemed to come out of this transaction in which the luckless boy had 
 engaged : and she longed more than ever to see him out of Chatteris for 
 I while,— anywhere removed from the woman who had brought him 
 nto so much trouble. 
 
 Pen, when remonstrated with by this fond parent, and angrily re- 
 mked by the Doctor for his violence and ferocious intentions, took the 
 natter au grand serieuoo^ with the happy conceit and gravity of youth : 
 aid that he would permit no man to insult him upon this head without 
 indicating his own honour, and appealing, asked whether he could have 
 cted otherwise as a gentleman, than as he did in resenting the outrage 
 'ffered to him, and in offering satisfaction to the person chastised. J* 
 
 Vous allez trop vite, my good sir," said the uncle, rather puzzled, 
 or he had been indoctrinating his nephew with some of his own notions 
 ipon the point of honour— old-world notions savouring of the camp and 
 istol a great deal more than our soberer opinions of the present day— 
 ' between men of the world I don't say ; but between two schoolboys, 
 his sort of thing is ridiculous, my dear boy — perfectly ridiculous." 
 
 It is extremely wicked, and unlike my son," said Mrs. Pendennis, 
 dth tears in her eyes ; and bewildered with the obstinacy of the boy. 
 Pen kissed her, and said with great pomposity, Women, dear 
 lother, don't understand these matters— I put myself into Foker's 
 ands — I had no other course to pursue. " 
 
 Major Pendennis grinned and shrugged his shoulders. The young 
 nes were certainly making great progress, he thought. Mrs. Pen- 
 ennis declared that that Foker was a wicked horrid little wretch, and 
 -as sure that he would lead her dear boy into mischief, if Pen went to 
 lie same College with him. '^1 have a great mind not to let him go 
 t all," she said : and only that she remembered that the lad's father 
 ad always destined him for the College in which he had had his own 
 
110 PENDENNIS 
 
 brief education, very likely the fond mother would have put a veto 
 upon his going to the University. _ , ^ , , , . 
 
 That he was to go, and at the next October term, had been arranged 
 between all the authorities who presided over the lad s welfare, t oker 
 had promised to introduce him to the right set ; and Major Pendennis 
 laid great store upon Pen's introduction into College life and society 
 by this admirable young gentleman. - Mr Foker knows the very best 
 vouiiff men now at the University/' the Major said, ^^and Pen will 
 form acquaintances there who will be of the greatest advantage through 
 life to him The young Marquis of Plinlimmon is there, eldest son 
 of the Duke of St. David's— Lord Magnus Charters is there. Lord 
 Runnymede's son, and a first cousin of Mr. Foker (Lady Runnymede, 
 my dear, was Lady Agatha Milton, you of course remember) ; Lady , 
 Affnes will certainly invite him to Logwood ; and far from being alarmed !• 
 at his intimacy with her son, who is a singular and humorous, but most 
 prudent and amiable young man, to whom, I am sure, we are under 
 every obligation for his admirable conduct in the affair of the l^other- 
 ingay marriage, I look upon it as one of the very luckiest thmgs which 
 could have happened to Pen, that he should have formed an intimacy 
 with this most amusing young gentleman." ^ , at t? v 1.0^ 
 Helen sighed, she supposed the Major knew best. Mr. Foker had 
 been very kind in the wretched business with Miss Costigan, certainly, 
 and she was grateful to him. But she could not feel otherwise than a 
 dim presentiment of evil ; and all these quarrels, and riots, and world- 
 liness scared her about the fate of her boy. 
 
 Doctor Portman was decidedly of opinion that Pen should go to Col- 
 lege He hoped the lad would read, and have a moderate indulgence 
 of the best society too. He was of opinion that Pen would distinguish 
 himself: Smirke spoke very highly of his proficiency: the Doctor 
 himself had heard him construe, and thought he acquitted himselt 
 remarkably well. That he should go out of Chatteris was a great point 
 at any rate ; and Pen, who was distracted from his private grief by the 
 various rows and troubles which had risen round about him, gloomily 
 said ho would obey. . , s.x, n 
 
 There were assizes, races, and the entertainments and the flux ot 
 company consequent upon them, at Chatteris, during a part ot the 
 months of August and September, and Miss Fotheringay still continued 
 to act, and take farewell of the audiences at the Chatteris Theatre 
 during that time. Nobody seemed to be particularly affected by her 
 presence, or her announced departure, except those persons whom we 
 Lve named; nor could the polite county folks, who had houses in 
 London, and very likely admired the Fotheringay prodigiously in the 
 capital, when they had been taught to do so by the Fashion which sel 
 in in her favour, find anything remarkable in the actress performing oir 
 the little Chatteris boards. Many a genius and many a quack, tor thai 
 matter, has met with a similar fate before and since Miss Costigan ^ 
 time. This honest woman meanwhile bore up against the public neglect 
 and any other crosses or vexations which she might have in life, with heU 
 usual equanimity; and ate, drank, acted, slept, with that fegutat) 
 and comfort which belongs to people of her temperament. Wha 
 a deal of grief, care, and other harmful excitement, does a health} 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 111 
 
 dulness and cheerful insensibility avoid ! Nor do I mean to say that 
 Virtue is not Virtue because it is never tempted to go astray ; only that 
 dulness is a much finer gift than we give it credit for beings and that 
 some people are very lucky whom Nature has endowed with a good 
 store of that great anodyne. 
 
 Pen used to go drearily in and out from the play at Chatteris during 
 this season^ and pretty much according to his fancy. His proceed- 
 ings tortured his mother not a little, and her anxiety would have led 
 her often to interfere, had not the Major constantly checked, and at 
 the same time encouraged her ; for the wily man of the world fancied 
 he saw that a favourable turn had occurred in Pen's malady. It was 
 the violent efflux of versification, among other symptoms, which gave 
 Pen's guardian and physician satisfaction. He might be heard spouting 
 verses in the shrubbery walks, or muttering them between his teeth as 
 he sat with the home party of evenings. One day prowling about the 
 house in Pen's absence, the Major found a great book full of verses in 
 the lad's study. They were in English, and in Latin ; quotations from 
 the classic authors were given in the scholastic manner in the foot-notes. 
 He can't be very bad, wisely thought the Pall Mall philosopher : and 
 he made Pen's mother remark (not perhaps without a secret feeling 
 of disappointment, for she loved romance like other soft women) that 
 the young gentleman during the last fortnight came home quite hungry 
 to dinner at night, and also showed a very decent appetite at the 
 breakfast-table in the morning. Gad, I wish I could," said the Major, 
 thinking ruefully of his dinner pills. The boy begins to sleep well, 
 depend upon that." It was cruel, but it was true. 
 
 Having no other soul to confide in, the lad's friendship for the Curate 
 redoubled, or rather, he was never tired of having Smirke for a listener 
 on that one subject. VThat is a lover without a confidant .^^ Pen em- 
 ployed Mr. Smirke, as Corydon does the elm-tree, to cut out his 
 mistress's name upon. He made him echo with the name of the 
 beautiful Amaryllis. When men have left off playing the tune, they 
 do not care much for the pipe : but Pen thought he had a great friend- 
 ship for Smirke, because he could sigh out his loves and griefs into his 
 tutor's ears ; and Smirke had his own reasons for always being ready 
 at the lad's call. 
 
 The poor Curate was naturally very much dismayed at the contem- 
 plated departure of his pupil. When Arthur should go, Smirke's 
 occupation and delight would go too. What pretext could he find for 
 a daily visit to Fairoaks, and that kind word or glance from the lady 
 there, which was as necessary to the Curate as the frugal dinner which 
 Madame Fribsby served him } Arthur gone, he would only be allowed 
 to make visits like any other acquaintance : little Laura could not 
 accommodate him by learning the Catechism more than once a week : 
 he had curled himself like ivy round Fairoaks : he pined at the thought 
 that he must lose his hold of the place. Should he speak his mind and 
 go down on his knees to the widow } He thought over any indications 
 in her behaviour which flattered his hopes. She had praised his sermon 
 three weeks before : she had thanked him exceedingly for his present 
 of a melon, for a small dinner-party which Mrs. Pendennis gave : she 
 said she should always be grateful to him for his kindness to Arthur : 
 
112 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and when he declared that there were no hounds to his love and affection 
 for that dear boy^ she had certainly replied in a romantic manner^ indicat- 
 ing her own strong gratitude and regard to all her son's friends. Should 
 he speak out?— or should he delay? If he spoke and she refused him, 
 it was awful to think that the gate of Fairoaks might be shut upon 
 him for ever— and within that door lay all the world for Mr. Smirke. 
 /I Thus, O friendly readers, we see how every man in the world has his I 
 jown private griefs and business, by which he is more cast down or occu- | 
 Ipied than by the affairs or sorrows of any other person. While Mrs. ;f 
 iPendennis is disquieting herself about losing her son, and that anxious | 
 Ihold she has had of him, as long as he has remained in the mother s 
 inest, whence he is about to take flight into the great world beyond— i 
 Vhile the Major's great soul chafes and frets, inwardly vexed as he 
 hinks what great parties are going on in London, and that he might 
 )e sunning himself in the glances of Dukes and Duchesses, but for 
 I hose cursed affairs which keep him in a wretched little country hole— 
 vhile Pen is tossing between his passion and a more agreeable sensation, 
 knacknowledged yet, but swaying him considerably, namely, his longing 
 to see the world — Mr. Smirke has a private care watching at his bedside, 
 j^nd sitting behind him on his pony ; and is no more satisfied than the 
 'rest of us. How lonely we are in the world ! how selfish and secret, 
 / everybody ! You and your wife have pressed the same pillow for forty 
 ^ years and fancy yourselves united.— Psha, does she cry out when you ' 
 have the gout, or do you lie awake when she has the toothache } Your i 
 artless daughter, seemingly all innocence and devoted to her mamma 
 and her piano-lesson, is thinking of neither, but of the young Lieutenant 
 with whom she danced at the last ball — ^the honest frank boy just re- 
 turned from school is secretly speculating upon the money you will | 
 give him, and the debts he owes the tart-man. The old grandmother j 
 crooning in the corner and bound to another world within a few months, , 
 has some business or cares which are quite private and her own— very | 
 likely she is thinking of fifty years back, and that night when she | 
 made such an impression, and danced a cotillon with the Captain before 
 your father proposed for her ; or, what a silly little over-rated creature ' 
 your wife is, and how absurdly you are infatuated about her — and, as 
 for your wife — O philosophic reader, answer and say, — Do you tell her 
 all ? Ah, sir — a4is tinct univ^ sejra^ka ahmit unHpr jf\ur hat and under 
 mine — all things irTNature ar'e'different to each — ^the woman we look 
 at has not the same features, the dish we eat from has not the same 
 taste to the one and the other — you and I are but a pan* of infinite 
 J isolations, with some fellow-islands a little more or les/ near to iis. 
 Let us return, however, to the solitary Smirke. 
 
 Smirke had one confidant for his passion — that most injudicious 
 woman, Madame Fribsby. How she became Madame Fribsby, nobod} 
 knows : she had left Clavering to go to a milliner s in London as Miss 
 Fribsby— she pretended that she had got the rank in Paris during her 
 residence in that city. But how could the French king, were he ever 
 so much disposed, give her any such title ? We shall not inquire into 
 this mystery, however. Suffice to say, she went away from home .1 
 bouncing young lass ; she returned a rather elderly character, witli a 
 Madonna front and a melancholy countenance — bought the late Mrs. 
 
PENBENNIS 
 
 113 
 
 Harbottle*s business for a song — took her elderly mother to live with 
 her ; was very good to the poor^ was constant at church_, and had the 
 best of characters. But there was no one in all Clavering, not Mrs. 
 Portman herself^ who read so many novels as Madame Fribsby. She 
 had plenty of time for this amusement_, for^ in truths very few people 
 besides the folks at the Rectory and Fairoaks employed her ; and by a 
 perpetual perusal of such works (which were by no means so moral or 
 ediJpying in the days of which we write^ as they are at present)^ she had 
 got to be so absurdly sentimental^ that in her eyes life was nothing but 
 an immense love-match ; and she never could see two people together^ 
 but she fancied they were dying for one another. 
 
 On the day after Mrs. Pendennis's visit to the Curate^ which we have 
 recorded many pages back^ Madame Fribsby settled in her mind that 
 Mr. Smirke must be in love with the widow, and did everything in her 
 power to encourage this passion on both sides. Mrs. Pendennis she 
 very seldom saw, indeed, except in public, and in her pew at church. 
 That lady had very little need of millinery, or made most of her own 
 dresses and caps ; but on the rare occasions when Madame Fribsby 
 received visits from Mrs. Pendennis, or paid her respects at Fairoaks, 
 she never failed to entertain the widow with praises of the Curate, point- 
 ing out what an angelical man he Mas, how gentle, how studious, how 
 lonely ; and she would wonder that no lady would take pity upon him. 
 
 Helen laughed at these sentimental remarks, and wondered that 
 Madame herself did not compassionate her lodger, and console him. 
 Madame Fribsby shook her Madonna front. Mong cure a boco soiiffare" 
 she said, laying her hand on the part she designated as her cure. // 
 est more en Espang, Madame,'' she said with a sigh. She was proud of 
 her intimacy with the French language, and spoke it with more volu- 
 bility than correctness. Mrs. Pendennis did not care to penetrate the 
 secrets of this wounded heart : except to her few intimates she was a 
 reserved, and it may be a very proud woman ; she looked upon her 
 son's tutor merely as an attendant on that young prince, to be treated 
 with respect as a clergyman certainly, but with proper dignity as a 
 dependant on the house of Pendennis. Nor were Madame's constant 
 allusions to the Curate particularly agreeable to her. It required a 
 very ingenious sentimental turn indeed to find out that the widow had 
 a secret regard for Mr. Smirke, to which pernicious error, however, 
 Madame Fribsby persisted in holding. 
 
 Her lodger was very much more willing to talk on this subject with 
 his soft-hearted landlady. Every time after that she praised the Curate 
 to Mrs. Pendennis, she came away from the latter with the notion that 
 the widow herself had been praising him. Eire soul au monde est Men 
 onueeyong/' she would say, glancing up at a print of a French carbineer 
 in a green coat and brass cuirass which decorated her apartment — 
 
 Depend upon it, when Master Pendennis goes to College, his ma will 
 find herself very lonely. She is quite young yet. — You wouldn't 
 suppose her to be five-and-twenty. Monsieur le Cury, song cure est 
 touchy— fong suis sure — Je conny cela biang — Ally, Monsieur Smirke." 
 
 He softly blushed ; he sighed ; he hoped ; he feared ; he doubted ; 
 he sometimes yielded to the delightful idea — his pleasure was to sit in 
 Madame Fribsby's apartment, and talk upon the subject, where, as the 
 
 H 
 
114 tENDENNiS 
 
 ffreater part of the conversation was carried on in French by the millinei% 
 and her old mother was deaf, that retired old individual (who had once 
 been a housekeeper, wife and widow of a butler in the Clavermg family) 
 could understand scarce one syllable of their talk. ^ 
 
 When Major Pendennis announced to his nephews tutor that the 
 vounff fellow would go to College in October, and that Mr. Smirke s valu- 
 able services would no longer be needful to his pupil, for which services 
 the Maior, who spoke as grandly as a lord, professed himself exceedingly 
 ffrateful, and besought Mr. Smirke to command his interest m any way— 
 the Curate felt that the critical moment was come lor him, and was 
 racked and tortured by those severe pangs which the occasion warranted. 
 
 And now that Arthur was going away, Helen's heart was rather 
 softened towards the Curate, from whom, perhaps divining his intentions, 
 she had shrunk hitherto : she bethought her how very polite Mr. Smirke 
 had been ; how he had gone on messages for her ; how he had brought 
 books and copied music ; how he had taught Laura so many things, and 
 ffiven her so many kind presents. Her heart smote her on account ot 
 her ingratitude towards the Curate :— so much so, that one afternoon 
 when he came down from study with Pen, and was hankering about 
 the hall previous to his departure, she went out and shook hands with 
 him with rather a blushing face, and begged him to come into her 
 drawing-room, where she said they now never saw him. And as there 
 was to be rather a good dinner that day, she invited Mr. Smirke to 
 partake of it ; and we may be sure that he was too happy to accept 
 such a delightful summons. a - ^ 
 
 Helen was exceedingly kind and gracious to Mr. Smirke during 
 dinner, redoubling her attentions, perhaps because Major Pendennis 
 was very high and reserved with his nephew's tutor. When Pendennis 
 asked Smirke to drink wine, he addressed him as if he was a sovereign 
 speaking to a petty retainer, in a manner so condescending, that even 
 Pen laughed at it, although quite ready, for his part, to be as conceited 
 as most young men are. ^ n j.x, lyj • i ^ 
 
 But Smirke did not care for the impertinences of the Major so long 
 as he had his hostess's kind behaviour ; and he passed a dehghttul time 
 by her side at table, exerting all his powers of conversation to please 
 her, talking in a manner both clerical and worldly, about the i^ancy 
 Bazaar, and the Great Missionary Meeting, about the last new novel, 
 and the Bishop's excellent sermon— about the fashionable parties m 
 London, an account of which he read in the newspapers— m fine, he 
 neglected no art, by which a College divine who has both sprightly and 
 serious talents, a taste for the genteel, an irreproachable conduct, and 
 a susceptible heart, will try and make himself agreeable to the person 
 on whom he has fixed his affections. 
 
 Major Pendennis came yawning out of the dining-room very soon [ 
 after his sister and little Laura had left the apartment. 
 
 Now Arthur, flushed with a good deal of pride at the privilege ot 
 having the keys of the cellar, and remembering that a very few more 
 dinners would probably take place which he and his dear friend Smirke , 
 could share, had brought up a liberal supply of claret for the company s ^ 
 drinking, and when the elders with little Laura left him, he and the / 
 Curate began to pass the wine very freely. | 
 
 1 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 115 
 
 One bottle speedily yielded up the ghost, another shed more than 
 half its blood, before the two topers had been much more than half-an- 
 hour together — Pen, \^^th a hollow laugh and voice, had drunk off one 
 bumper to the falsehood of women, and had said, sardonically, that 
 wine at any rate was a mistress who never deceived, and was sure to 
 give a man a welcome. 
 
 Smirke gently said that he knew for his part some women who were all 
 truth and tenderness ; and casting up his eyes towards the ceiling, and 
 heaving a sigh as if evoking some being dear and unmentionable, he 
 took up his glass and drained it, and the rosy liquor began to suff use 
 his face. 
 
 Pen trolled over some verses he had been making that morning, in 
 which he informed himself that the woman who had slighted his passion 
 could not be worthy to win it ; that he was awaking from love's mad 
 fever, and, of course, under these circumstances, proceeded to leave 
 her, and to quit a heartless deceiver ; that a name which had one day 
 been famous in the land, might again be heard in it : and, that though 
 he never should be the happy and careless boy he was but a few months 
 since, or his heart be what it had been, ere passion had filled it and 
 grief had well-nigh killed it ; that though to him personally death was 
 as welcome as life, and that he would not hesitate to part with the latter, 
 but for the love of one kind being whose happiness depended on his 
 own, — yet he hoped to show he was a man worthy of his race, and that 
 one day the false one should be brought to know how great was the 
 treasure and noble the heart which she had flung away. 
 
 Pen, we say, who was a very excitable person, rolled out these verses 
 in his rich sweet voice, which trembled with emotion whilst our young 
 poet spoke. He had a trick of blushing when in this excited state, and 
 his large and honest grey eyes also exhibited proofs of a sensibility so 
 genuine, hearty, and manly, that Miss Costigan, if she had a heart, 
 must needs have softened toward him; and very likely she was, as 
 he said, altogether unworthy of the affection which he lavished upon 
 her. 
 
 The sentimental Smirke was caught by the emotion which agitated 
 his young friend. He grasped Pen's hand over the dessert dishes and 
 ivnie-glasses. He said the verses were beautiful : that Pen was a poet, 
 i great poet, and likely by Heaven's permission to run a great career in 
 the world. Go on and prosper, dear Arthur," he cried : the wounds 
 under which at present you suffer are only temporary, and the very 
 ?rief you endure will cleanse and strengthen your heart. I have always 
 prophesied the greatest and brightest things of you, as soon as you have 
 corrected some failings and weaknesses of character which at present 
 Monff to you. But you will get over these, my bov, you will get over 
 these ; and when you are famous and celebrated, as I know you will be, 
 iviU you remember your old tutor and the happy early days of your 
 youth 
 
 Pen swore he would : with another shake of the hand across the 
 glasses and apricots. I shall never forget how kind you have been 
 :o me, Smirke," he said. ''1 don't know what I should have done 
 A'lthout you. You are my best friend." 
 
 Am I really, Arthur ? '' said Smirke, looking through his spectacles ; 
 
116 PENDENNIS 
 
 and his heart began to beat so that he thought Pen must almost hear ' 
 it throbbing. 
 
 ''My best friend, my friend /or ever" Pen said. '*^God bless you, 
 old boy/' and he drank up the last glass of the second bottle of the 
 famous wine which his father had laid in, which his uncle had bought, 
 which Lord Levant had imported, and which now, like a slave indifferent, 
 was ministering pleasure to its present owner, and giving its young 
 master delectation. 
 
 We 11 have another bottle, old boy,'' Pen said ; *^'by Jove we will. 
 Hurray !— claret goes for nothing. My uncle was telling me that he saw 
 Sheridan drink five bottles at Brookes's, besides a bottle of Maraschino. 
 This is some of the finest wine in England, he says. So it is, by Jove. 
 There's nothing like it. Nunc vino pellite curas—cras ingens iterabimus 
 ceq—fill your glass, old Smirke, a hogshead of it won't do you any harm. '' 
 And Mr. Pen began to sing the drinking song out of Der Freischutz. " 
 The dining-room windows were open, and his mother was softly pacnig 
 on the lawn outside, while little Laura was looking at the sunset. The 
 sweet fresh notes of the boy's voice came to the widow. It cheered 
 her kind heart to hear him sing. 
 
 You— you are taking too much wine, Arthur," Mr. Smirke said 
 softly — you are exciting yourself." ^ \ 
 
 '' No," said Pen, '' women give headaches, but this don't. Fill your f 
 glass, old fellow, and let's drink— I say, Smirke, my boy— let's drin^ 
 to her— your her, I mean, not mine, for whom I swear I'll care no morcf 
 —no, not a penny— no, not a fig— no, not a glass of wine. Tell us 
 about the lady, Smirke ; I've often seen you sighing about her." 
 
 ^^Oh!" said Smirke — and his beautiful cambric shirt-front and 
 glistening studs heaved with the emotion which agitated his gentle and 
 suffering bosom. 
 
 Oh— what a sigh ! " Pen cried, growing very hilarious ; fill, my 
 boy, and drink the toast ; you can't refuse a toast, no gentleman refuses 
 a toast. Here's her health, and good luck to you, and may she soon 
 be Mrs. Smirke." 
 
 '' Do you say so?" Smirke said, all of a tremble. "Do you really 
 say so, Arthur , 
 
 '' Say so ; of course I say so. Down with it. Here's Mrs. Smirke s 
 good health : Hip, hip, hurray ! " 
 
 Smirke convulsively gulped down his glass of wine, and Pen waved his 
 over his head, cheering so as to make his mother and Laura wonder on 
 fhe lawn, and his uncle, who was dozing over the paper in the drawing- 
 room, start, and say to himself, "That boy's drinking too much.' 
 Smirke put down the glass. 
 
 " I accept the omen," gasped out the blushing Curate. " Oh, my 
 dear Arthur, you — you know her " 
 
 " What— Mira Portman ? I wish you joy : she's got a dev'lish large 
 waist ; but I wish you joy, old fellow." 
 
 "O Arthur!" groaned the Curate again, and nodded his head, 
 speechless. 
 
 ' " Beg your pardon— sorry I offended you— but she has got a large 
 iwaist, you know— dev'lish large waist," Pen continued— the third bottle 
 Evidently beginning to act upon the young gentleman. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 117 
 
 Ifs not Miss Portman/' the other said, in a voice of agony. 
 
 Is it anybody at Chatteris or at Clapham ? Somebody here ? No 
 — it ain't old Pybus ? it can't be Miss Rolt at the Factory — she's only 
 fourteen. " 
 
 It's somebody rather older than I am. Pen/' the Curate cried, looking 
 up at his friend, and then guiltily casting his eyes down into his plate. 
 
 Pen burst out laughing. ^^t's Madame Fribsby, by Jove, it's 
 Madame Fribsby. Madame Frib, by the immortal gods ! " 
 
 ITie Curate could contain no more. O Pen," he cried, how can 
 you suppose that any of those — of those more than ordinary beings you 
 have named — could have an influence upon this heart, when I have been 
 daily in the habit of contemplating perfection ! I may be insane, I may 
 be madly ambitious, I may be presumptuous — but for two years my 
 heart has been filled by one image, and has known no other idol. 
 Haven't I loved you as a son, Arthur say, hasn't Charles Smirke 
 loved you as a son } " 
 
 Yes, old boy, you've been very good to me," Pen said, whose liking, 
 however, for his tutor was not by any means of the filial kind. 
 
 My means," rushed on Smirke, are at present limited, I own, and 
 my mother is not so liberal as might be desired ; but what she has will 
 be mine at her death. Were she to hear of my marrying a lady of rank 
 and good fortune, my mother would be liberal, I am sure she would be 
 liberal. Whatever I have or subsequently inherit — and it's five hundred 
 a year at the very least — would be settled upon her, and — and — and 
 
 you at my death — that is " 
 
 What the deuce do you meani^ — and what have I to do with your 
 money } " cried out Pen, in a puzzle. 
 
 Arthur, Arthur," exclaimed the other wildly, you say I am your 
 dearest friend— let me be more. Oh, can't you see' that the angelic 
 being I love— the purest, the best of women— is no other than your 
 dear, dear angel of a — mother } " 
 
 My mother ! " cried out Arthur, jumping up and sober in a minute. 
 
 Pooh ! damn it, Smirke, you must be mad — she's seven or eight years 
 older than you are. " 
 
 "Did you find that any objection.?" cried Smirke piteously, and 
 alluding, of course, to the elderly subject of Pen's own passion. 
 
 The lad felt the hint, and blushed quite red. "The cases are not 
 similar, Smirke," he said, " and the allusion might have been spared. 
 A man may forget his own rank and elevate any woman to it; but 
 allow me to say our positions are very different. " 
 
 "How do you mean, dear Arthur.?^" the Curate interposed sadly, 
 cowering as he felt that his sentence was about to be read. 
 
 " Mean } " said Arthur. " I mean what 1 say. My tutor, I say my 
 tutor, has no right to ask a lady of my mother'*s rank of life to marry 
 him. It's a breach of confidence. I say it's a liberty you take, Smirke 
 — it's a liberty. Mean, indeed ! " 
 
 " O Arthur ! " the Curate began to cry with clasped hands, and a 
 scared face, but Arthur gave another stamp with his foot, and began to 
 pull at the bell. " Don't let's have any more of this. We'll have some 
 coffee, if you please," he said with a majestic air; and the old butler 
 entering at the summons, Arthur bade him to serve that refreshment. 
 
118 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 John said he had just carried coffee into the drawing-room, where 
 his uncle was asking for Master Arthur, and the old man gave a glance 
 of wonder at the three empty claret-bottles. Smirke said he thought 
 he'd— he'd rather not go into the drawing-room, on which Arthur 
 hauffhtily said As you please/' and called for Mr. Smirke's horse to 
 be brought round. The poor fellow said he knew the way to the stable 
 and would get his pony himself, and he went into the hall and sadly 
 put on his coat and hat. .n n . j 
 
 Pen followed him out uncovered. Helen was still walkmg up and 
 down the soft lawn as the sun was setting, and the Curate took off 
 his hat and bowed by way of farewell, and passed on to the door 
 leading to the stable court, by which the pair disappeared. Smirke 
 knew the way to the stable, as he said, well enough. He fumbled at 
 the girths of the saddle, which Pen fastened for him, and put on the 
 bridle and led the pony into the yard. The boy was touched by the 
 grief which appeared in the other s face as he mounted. Pen held out 
 his hand, and Smirke wrung it silently. 
 
 I say, Smirke," he said in an agitated voice, forgive me it 1 have 
 said anything harsh— for you have always been very very kind to me. 
 But it can t be, old fellow, it can t be. Be a man. God bless you. 
 
 Smirke nodded his head silently, and rode out of the lodge-gate : and 
 Pen looked after him for a couple of minutes, until he disappeared down 
 the road, and the clatter of the pony's hoofs died away. Helen was 
 still lingering on the lawn, waiting until the boy came back— she put 
 his hair off his forehead and kissed it fondly. She was afraid he had 
 been drinking too much wine. Why had Mr. Smirke gone away with- 
 out any tea? , . . , . cca - ^ 
 
 He looked at her with a kind humour beaming m his eyes ; ^^mirke 
 is unwell," he said with a laugh. For a long while Helen had not seen 
 the boy looking so cheerful. Me put his arm round her waist, and 
 walked her up and down the walk in front of the house. Laura began 
 to drub on the drawing-room window and nod and laugh from it. 
 
 Come along, you two people," cried out Major Pendennis, your 
 coffee is getting quite cold. " . i , . it,* 
 
 When Laura was gone to bed, Pen, who was big with his secret, burst 
 out with it, and described the dismal but ludicrous scene which had 
 occurred. Helen heard of it with many blushes, which became her pale 
 face very well, and a perplexity which Arthur roguishly enjoyed. 
 
 Confound the fellow's impudence," Major Pendennis said as he took 
 his candle ; where will the assurance of these people stop } " Pen and 
 his mother had a long talk that night, full of love, confidence, and 
 laughter, and the boy somehow slept more soundly and woke up more 
 easily than he had done for many months before. 
 
 Before the great Mr. Dolphin quitted Chatteris, he not only made 
 an advantageous engagement with Miss Fotheringay, but he liberally 
 left with her a sum of money to pay off any debts which the little family 
 might have contracted during their stay in the place, and which, mainly 
 through the lady's own economy and management, were not consider- 
 able. The small account with the spirit merchant, which Major Pen- 
 dennis had settled, was the chief of Captain Costigan's debts, and though 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 119 
 
 the Captain at one time talked about repaying every farthing of the 
 money^ it never appears that he executed his menace,, nor did the laws 
 of honour in the least call upon him to accomplish that threat. 
 
 When Miss Costigan had seen all the outstanding bills paid to the 
 uttermost shillings she handed over the balance to her father^ who broke 
 out into hospitalities to all his friends^ gave the little Creeds more apples 
 and gingerbread than he had ever bestowed upon them^ so that the widow 
 Creed ever after held the memory of her lodger in veneration^ and the 
 young ones wept bitterly when he went away ; and in a word managed 
 the money so cleverly that it was entirely expended before many days, 
 and he was compelled to draw upon Mr. Dolphin for a sum to pay for 
 travelling expenses when the time of their departure arrived. 
 
 There was held at an inn in that county town a weekly meeting of 
 a festive, almost a riotous character, of a society of gentlemen who called 
 themselves the Buccaneers. Some of the choice spirits of Chatteris be- 
 longed to this cheerful Club. Graves, the apothecary (than whom a better 
 fellow never put a pipe in his mouth and smoked it). Smart, the talented 
 and humorous portrait-painter of High Street, Croker, an excellent 
 auctioneer, and the uncompromising Hicks, the able Editor for twenty- 
 three years of the County Chronicle and Chatteris Champion, were amongst 
 the crew of the Buccaneers, whom also Bingley, the manager, liked to join 
 of a Saturday evening, whenever he received permission from his lady. 
 
 Costigan had been also an occasional Buccaneer. But a want of 
 punctuality of payments had of late somewhat excluded him from the 
 Society, where he was subject to disagreeable remarks from the landlord, 
 who said that a Buccaneer who didn't pay his shot was utterly unworthy 
 to be a Marine Bandit. But when it became known to the 'Ears, as the 
 Clubbists called themselves familiarly, that Miss Fotheringay had made 
 a splendid engagement, a great revolution of feeling took place in the 
 Club regarding Captain Costigan. Solly, mine host of the Grapes, told 
 the gents in the Buccaneers' room one night how noble the Captain had 
 beayved ; having been round and paid off all his ticks in Chatteris, in- 
 cluding his score of three pound fourteen here — and pronounced that 
 Cos was a good fellar, a gentleman at bottom, and he, Solly, had always 
 said so, and finally worked upon the feelings of the Buccaneers to give 
 the Captain a dinner. 
 
 The banquet took place on the last night of Costigan's stay at Chatteris, 
 and was served in Solly's accustomed manner. As good a plain dinner 
 of old English fare as ever smoked on a table was prepared by Mrs. 
 Solly ; and about eighteen gentlemen sat down to the festive board. 
 Mr. Jubber (the eminent draper of High Street) was in the chair, 
 having the distinguished guest of the Club on his right. The able and 
 consistent Hicks officiated as croupier on the occasion ; most of the 
 
 gentlemen of the Club were present, and H. Foker, Esq., and 
 
 Spavin, Esq., friends of Captain Costigan, were also participators in 
 the entertainment. The cloth having been drawn, the Chairman said, 
 
 Costigan, there is wine, if you like," but the Captain preferring punch, 
 that liquor was voted by acclamation : and Non Nobis " having been 
 sung in admirable style by Messrs. Bingley, Hicks, and BuUby (of the 
 Cathedral choir, than whom a more jovial spirit ne'er tossed off a 
 bumper or emptied a bowl"), the Chairman gave the health of the 
 
120 PENDENNIS 
 
 King ! which was drunk with the loyalty of Chatteris men, and 
 then^ without further circumlocution, proposed their friend " Captain 
 
 ^^Ator^the enthusiastic cheering, which rang through old Chatteris, 
 had subsided, Captain Costigan rose in reply, and made a speech of 
 twenty minutes, in which he was repeatedly overcome by his emotions. 
 
 The gallant Captain said he must be pardoned for incoherence, if his 
 heart was too full to speak. He was quitting a city celebrated for its 
 antiquitee, its hospitalitee, the beautee of its women, the manly fidelitee, 
 fi^enerositee, and jovialitee of its men. (Cheers.) He was going from 
 that ancient and venerable city, of which, while Mimoree held her sayt, 
 he should never think without the fondest emotion, to a methrawpolis 
 where the talents of his daughter were about to have full play, and 
 where he would watch over her like a guardian angel. He should 
 never forget that it was at Chatteris she had acquired the skill which 
 she was about to exercise in another sphere, and in her name and his 
 own. Jack Costigan thanked and blessed them. The gallant officer s 
 speech was received with tremendous cheers. 
 
 Mr. Hicks, croupier, in a brilliant and energetic manner, proposed 
 Miss Fotheringay s health. , ^ n v j 
 
 Captain Costigan returned thanks in a speech full ot teelmg and 
 eloquence. . 
 
 Mr. Jubber proposed the Drama and the Chatteris Iheatre, and Mr. 
 Bingley was about to rise, but was prevented by Captain Costigan, who, 
 as long connected with the Chatteris Theatre, and on behalf of his 
 daughter, thanked the company. He informed them that he had been 
 in garrison at Gibraltar and at Malta, and had been at the taking of 
 Flushing. The Duke of York was a patron of the Drama ; he had 
 the honour of dining with His Royal Highness and the Duke of Kent 
 many times ; and the former had justly been named the friend of the 
 soldier. (Cheers.) ^ . ^i. i 
 
 The Army was then proposed, and Captain Costigan returned thanks. 
 In the course of the night, he sang his well-known songs, *^'The 
 Deserter," ''The Shan Van Voght," ''The Little Pig under the Bed," 
 and " The Vale of Avoca. " The evening was a great triumph for him— 
 it ended. All triumphs and all evenings end. And the next day. 
 Miss Costigan having taken leave of all her friends, having been recon- 
 ciled to Miss Rouncy, to whom she left a necklace and a white satin 
 gown— the next day, he and Miss Costigan had places in the Com- 
 petitor coach rolling by the gates of Fairoaks Lodge— and Pendennis 
 never saw them. 
 
 Tom Smith, the coachman, pointed out Fairoaks to Mr. Costigan, who 
 sate on the box smelling of rum-and-water— and the Captain said it was 
 a poor place— and added," Ye should see Castle Costigan, County Mayo, 
 me boy,"— which Tom said he should like very much to see. 
 
 They were gone, and Pen had never seen them ! He only knew of 
 their departure by its announcement in the county paper the next day : 
 and straight galloped over to Chatteris to h^ar the truth of this news. 
 They were gone indeed. A card of " Lodg'&fgs to krt " was placed in 
 the dear little familiar window. He rushed up into .the room and viewed 
 it over. He sate ever so Jong in th^ old window^sejt looking into the 
 
 4 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 121 
 
 Dean's garden ; whence he and Emily had so often looked out together. 
 He walked^ with a sort of terror^ into her little empty bedroom. It 
 
 reflected her fair face was shining ready for her successor. The curtains 
 lay square folded on the little bed : he flung himself down and buried 
 his head on the vacant pillow. 
 
 Laura had netted a purse into which his mother had put some sove- 
 reigns^ and Pen had found it on his dressing-table that very morning. 
 He gave one to the little servant who had been used to wait upon the 
 Costigans, and another to the children, because they said they were very 
 fond of her. It was but a few months back, yet what years ago it 
 seemed since he had first entered that room ! He felt that it was all 
 done. The very missing her at the coach had something fatal in it. 
 Blank, weary, utterly wretched and lonely the poor lad felt. 
 
 His mother saw She was gone by his look when he came home. He 
 was eager to fly too now, as were other folks round about Chatteris. 
 Poor Smirke wanted to go away from the sight of the siren widow, 
 Foker began to think he had had enough of Baymouth, and that a few 
 supper-parties at Saint Boniface would not be unpleasant. And Major 
 Pendennis longed to be ofl^, and have a little pheasant-shooting at 
 Stillbrook, and get rid of all the annoyances and tracasseries of the 
 village. The widow and Laura nervously set about the preparations 
 for Pen's kit, and filled trunks with his books and linen. Helen 
 wrote cards with the name of Arthur Pendennis, Esq., which were duly 
 nailed on the boxes ; and at which both she and Laura looked with 
 tearful, wistful eyes. It was not until long, long after he was gone, 
 that Pen remembered how constant and tender the aff'ection of these 
 women had been, and how selfish his own conduct was. 
 
 A night soon comes, when the mail, with echoing horn and blazing 
 lamps, stops at the lodge-gate of Fairoaks, and Pen's trunks and his 
 uncle's are placed on the roof of the carriage, into which the pair 
 presently afterwards enter. Helen and Laura are standing by the 
 evergreens of the shrubbery, their figures lighted up by the coach 
 lamps ; the guard cries Ail right ! " in another instant the carriage 
 whirls onward ; the lights disappear, and Helen's heart and prayers go 
 with them. Her sainted benedictions follow the departing boy. He 
 has left the home-nest in which he has been chafing, and whither, after 
 his very first flight, he returned bleeding and wounded ; he is eager to 
 go forth again and try his restless wings. \ 
 How lonely the house looks without him ! The corded trunks and j 
 book-boxes are there in his empty study. Laura asks leave to come | 
 and sleep in Helen's room : and when she has cried herself to sleep 
 there, the mother goes softly into Pen's vacant chamber, and kneels ; 
 down by the bed on which the moon is shining, and there prays for 
 her boy as mothers only know how to plead. He knows that her pure 
 blessings are following him, as he is carried miles away. 
 
 was swept out and prepared 
 
122 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 1 
 
 ALMA MATER 
 
 Every man^ however brief or inglorious may have been his academical 
 career^ must remember with kindness and tenderness the old University 
 comrades and days. The young man's life is just beginning : the boy's 
 leading-strings are cut^ an*d he has all the novel delights and dignities 
 of freedom. He has no idea of cares yet, or of bad health, or of 
 roguery, or poverty, or to-morrow's disappointment. The play has not 
 been acted so often as to make him tired. Though the after-drink, as 
 we mechanically go on repeating it, is stale and bitter, how pure and* j 
 brilliant was that first sparkling draught of pleasure !— How the boy f 
 rushes at the cup, and with what a wild eagerness he drains it ! But |i 
 old epicures who are cut off from the delights of the table, and are I 
 restricted to a poached egg and a glass of water, like to see people with 
 good appetites; and, as the next best thing to being amused at a 
 pantomime one's self is to see one's children enjoy it, I hope there may 
 be no degree of age or experience to which mortal may attain, when 
 he shall become such a glum philosopher, as not to be pleased by the 
 sight of happy youth. Coming back a few weeks since from a brief 
 visit to the old University of Oxbridge, where my friend Mr. Arthur 
 Pendennis passed some period of his life^ I made the journey in the 
 railroad by the side of a young fellow at present a student of Saint 
 Boniface. He had got an eaieat somehow, and was bent on a day's lark 
 in London : he never stopped rattling and talking from the commence- 
 ment of the journey until its close (which was a great deal too soon for 
 me, for I never was tired of listening to the honest young fellow's jokes 
 and cheery laughter) ; and when we arrived at the terminus nothing 
 would satisfy him but a Hansom cab, so that he might get into town 
 the quicker, and plunge into the pleasures awaiting him there. Away 
 the young lad went whirling, with joy lighting up his honest face ; and . 
 as for the reader's humble servant, having but a small carpet-bag, I got ! 
 up on the outside of the omnibus, and sate there very contentedly be- i 
 tween a Jew-pedlar smoking bad cigars, and a gentleman's servant taking 
 care of a poodle-dog, until we got our fated complement of passengers 
 and boxes, when the coachman drove leisurely away. We weren't in a 
 hurry to get to town. Neither one of us was particularly eager about 
 rushing into that near smoking Babylon, or thought of. dining at the 
 Club that night, or dancing at the Casino. Yet a few years more, and 
 my young friend of the railroad will be not a whit more eager. 
 
 There were no railroads made when Arthur Pendennis went to the 
 famous University of Oxbridge ; but he drove thither in a well-appointed 
 coach, filled inside and out with dons, gownsmen, young freshmen 
 about to enter, and their guardians, who were conducting them to the 
 University. A fat old gentleman, in grey stockings, from the City, | 
 who sate by Major Pendennis inside the coach, having his pale-faced 
 son opposite, was frightened beyond measure when he heard that the ! 
 coach had been driven for a couple of stages by young Mr. Foker, of 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 123 
 
 Saint Boniface College^ who was the friend of all men^ including 
 coachmen_, and could drive as well as Tom Hicks himself. Pen sate 
 on the roof, examining coach^ passengers^ and country, with great 
 delight and curiosity. His heart jumped with pleasure as the famous 
 University came in view, and the magnificent prospect of venerable 
 towers and pinnacles, tall elms and shining river, spread before him. 
 
 Pen had passed a few days with his uncle at the Major's lodgings, 
 in Bury Street, before they set out for Oxbridge. Major Pendennis 
 thought that the lad's wardrobe wanted renewal ; and Arthur was by 
 no means averse to any plan which was to bring him new coats and 
 waistcoats. There was no end to the sacrifices which the self-denying 
 uncle made in the youth's behalf. London was awfully lonely. The 
 Pall Mall pavement was deserted ; the very red-jackets had gone out of 
 
 'town. There was scarce a face to be seen in the bow-windows of the 
 clubs. The Major conducted his nephew into one or two of those 
 desert mansions, and wrote down the lad's name on the candidate 
 list of one of them ; and Arthur's pleasure at this compliment on his 
 guardian's part was excessive. He read in the parchment volume his 
 name and titles, as Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, of Fairoaks Lodge, 
 
 shire, and Saint Boniface College, Oxbridge ; proposed by Major 
 
 Pendennis, and seconded by Viscount Colchicum," with a thrill of 
 intense gratification. ^^You will come in for ballot in about three 
 years, by which time you will have taken your degree," the guardian 
 said. Pen longed for the three years to be over, and surveyed the stucco 
 halls, and vast libraries, and drawing-rooms, as already his own property. 
 The Major laughed slyly to see the pompous airs of the simple young 
 fellow, as he strutted out of the building. He and Foker drove down 
 in the latter's cab one day to the Grey Friars, and renewed acquaintance 
 with some of their old comrades there. The boys came crowding up 
 to the cab as it stood by the Grey Friars gates, where they were 
 entering, and admired the chestnut horse, and the tights and livery 
 and gravity of Stoopid, the tiger. The bell for afternoon school rang 
 as they were swaggering about the playground talking to their old 
 cronies. The awful Doctor passed into school with his grammar in his 
 hand. Foker slunk away uneasily at his presence, but Pen went up 
 blushing, and shook the dignitary by the hand. He laughed as he 
 thought that well-remembered Latin Grammar had boxed his ears many 
 a time. He was generous, good-natured, and, in a word, perfectly 
 conceited and satisfied with himself 
 
 Then they drove to the parental brewhouse. Foker's Entire is com- 
 posed in an enormous pile of buildings, not far from the Grey Friars, 
 and the name of that well-known firm is gilded upon innumerable 
 public-house signs, tenanted by its vassals in the neighbourhood : the 
 venerable junior partner and manager did honour to the young lord of 
 
 ; the vats and his friend, and served them with silver flagons of brown 
 stout, so strong, that you would have thought, not only the young 
 men, but the very horse Mr. Harry Foker drove, was affected by the 
 potency of the drink, for he rushed home to the west-end of the town 
 at a rapid pace, which endangered the pie-stalls and the women on the 
 crossings, and brought the cab-steps into collision with the posts at the 
 street corners, and caused Stoopid to swing fearfully on his board behind. 
 
124 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 The Major was quite pleased when Pen was with his young acquaint- 
 ance ; listened to Mr. Foker's artless stories with the greatest interest : 
 gSLve the two boys a fine dinner at a Covent Garden Coffee-House, whence 
 they proceeded to the play; but was above all happy when Mr. and 
 Lady Agnes Foker, who happened to be in London, requested the j| 
 pleasure of Major Pendennis and Mr. Arthur Pendennis's company at i; 
 dinner in GrosVenor Street. Having obtained the entree into Lady 
 Agnes Foker s house/' he said to Pen with an affectionate solemnity 
 which befitted the importance of the occasion, it behoves you, my 
 d-ear boy, to keep it. You must mind and never neglect to call in :i 
 Grosvenor Street when you come to London. I recommend you to ; 
 read up carefully, in Debrett, the alliances and genealogy of the Earls 
 of Rosherville, and if you can, to make some trifling allusions to the 
 family, something historical, neat, and complimentary, and that sort 
 of thing, which you, who have a poetic fancy, can do pretty well. 
 Mr. Foker himself is a worthy man, though not of high extraction or ' 
 indeed much education. He always makes a point of having some i 
 of the feimily porter served round after dinner, which you will on no 
 account refuse, and which I shall drink myself, though all beer dis- | 
 agrees with me confoundedly." And the heroic martyr did actually i 
 sacrifice himself, as he said he would, on the day when the dinner took i 
 place, and old Mr. Foker, at the head of his table, made his usual joke | 
 about Foker's Entire. We should all of us, I am sure, have liked to : 
 see the Major's grin, when the worthy old gentleman made his time- 
 honoured joke. I 
 Lady Agnes, who, wrapped up in Harry, was the fondest of mothers, ' 
 and one of the most good-natured though not the wisest of women, ■ 
 received her son's friend with great cordiality ; and astonished Pen by i 
 accounts of the severe course of studies which her darling boy was | 
 pursuing, and which she feared might injure his dear health. Foker 
 the elder burst into a horse-laugh at some of these speeches, and the 
 heir of the house winked his eye very knowingly at his friend. And 
 Lady Agnes then going through her son's history from the earliest 
 time, and recounting his miraculous sufferings in the measles and 
 whooping-cough, his escape from drowning, the shocking tyrannies ; 
 practised upon him at that horrid school, whither Mr. Foker would i 
 send him because he had been brought up there himself, and she never 
 would forgive that disagreeable Doctor, no, never— Lady Agnes, we say, I 
 having prattled away for an hour incessantly about her son, voted the two 
 Messieurs Pendennis most agreeable men; and when the pheasants came 
 with the second course, which the Major praised as the very finest birds 
 he ever saw, her Ladyship said they came from Logwood (as the Major 
 knew perfectly well),* and hoped that they would both pay her a visit 
 there — at Christmas, or when dear Harry was at home for the vacations. 
 
 God bless you, my dear boy," Pendennis said to Arthur as they 
 were lighting their candles in Bury Street afterwards to go to bed. 
 " You made that little allusion to Agincourt, where one of the Rosher- 
 villes distinguished himself, very neatly and well, although Lady Agnes 
 did not quite understand it : but it was exceedingly well for a beginner 
 — ^though you oughtn't to blush so, by the way — and I beseech you, 
 my dear Arthur, to remember through life, that with an entree — with 1 
 
PENBENNIS 
 
 125 
 
 a good entree, mind — it is just as easy for you to have good society 
 as badj and that it costs a man, when properly introduced, no more 
 trouble or soins to keep a good footing in the best houses in London 
 than to dine with a lawyer in Bedford Square. Mind this when you 
 are at Oxbridge pursuing your studies, and for Heaven's sake be very 
 particular in the acquaintances which you make. The premier pas in 
 life is the most important of all — did you write to your mother to-day ? 
 — No ? — Well, do, before you go, and call and ask Mr. Foker for a 
 frank — they like it. — Good night. God bless you. " 
 
 Pen wrote a droll account of his doings in London, and the play, and 
 the visit to the old Friars, and the brewery, and the party at Mr. Foker's, 
 to his dearest mother, who was saying her prayers at home in the lonely 
 house at Fairoaks, her heart full of love and tenderness unutterable for 
 the boy : and she and Laura read that letter and those which followed, 
 many, many times, and brooded over them as women do. It was the first 
 step in life that Pen was making — ^Ah ! what a dangerous journey it is, 
 And how the bravest may stumble and the strongest fail. Brother way^ 
 farer i may youhave a kind arm to support yours on thepath, andafriendly A 
 hand to succour those who fall beside you ! May truth guide, mercy for- \ 
 give at the end, and love accompany always I Without that lamp how ) 
 blind the traveller would be, and how black and cheerless the journey ! 
 
 So the coach drove up to that ancient and comfortable inn the^ 
 Trencher, which stands in Main Street, Oxbridge, and Pen with delight 
 and eagerness remarked, for the first time, gownsmen going about, chapel- 
 bells clinking (bells in Oxbridge are ringing from morning-tide till even- 
 song), — towers and pinnacles rising calm and stately over the gables and 
 antique house-roofs of the city. Previous communications had taken 
 place between Doctor Portman on Pen's part, and Mr. Buck, Tutor of 
 Boniface, on whose side Pen was entered ; and as soon as Major Pen- 
 dennis had arranged his personal appearance, so that it should make a 
 satisfactory impression upon Pen's tutor, the pair walked down Main 
 Street, and passed the great gate and belfry-tower of Saint George's 
 College, and so came, as they were directed, to Saint Boniface, where 
 again Pen's heart began to beat as they entered at the wicket of the 
 venerable ivy-mantled gate of the College. It is surmounted with an 
 ancient dome almost covered with creepers, and adorned with the effigy 
 of the Saint from whom the House takes its name, and many coats-of- 
 arms of its royal and noble benefactors. 
 
 The porter pointed out a queer old tower at the corner of the quad- 
 rangle, by which Mr. Buck's rooms were approached, and the two gentle- 
 men walked across the square, the main features of which were at once 
 and for ever stamped in Pen's mind — the pretty fountain playing in the 
 centre of the fair grass plats ; the tall chapel windows and buttresses 
 rising to the right ; the hall, with its tapering lantern and oriel window; 
 the lodge, from the doors of which the Master issued awfully in rustling 
 silks ; the lines of the surrounding rooms pleasantly broken by carved 
 chimneys, grey turrets, and quaint gables — all these Mr. Pen's eyes drank 
 in with an eagerness which belongs to first impressions ; and Major Pen- I 
 dennis surveyed with that calmness which belongs to a gentleman who V 
 does not care for the picturesque, and whose eyes have been somewhat \ 
 dimmed by the constant glare of the pavement of Pall Mall. 
 
126 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Saint George's is the great College of the University of Oxbridge^ 
 with its four vast quadrangles^ and its beautiful hall and gardens^ and 
 the Georgians^ as the men are called^ wear gowns of a peculiar cut, and 
 give themselves no small airs of superiority over all other young men. 
 Little Saint Boniface is but a petty hermitage in comparison of the huge 
 consecrated pile alongside of which it lies. But considering its size it 
 has always kept an excellent name in the University. Its ton is very 
 good ; the best families of certain counties have time out of mind sent 
 up their young men to Saint Boniface; the College livings are re- 
 markably good, the fellowships easy ; the Boniface men had had more 
 than their fair share of University honours ; their boat was third upon 
 the river ; their chapel-choir is not inferior to Saint George's itself ; 
 and the Boniface ale the best in Oxbridge. In the comfortable 
 old wainscoted College-Hall, and round about Roubilliac's statue of 
 Saint Boniface (who stands in an attitude of seraphic benediction over 
 the uncommonly good cheer of the fellows' table), there are portraits of 
 many most eminent Bonifacians. There is the learned Doctor Griddle, 
 who suffered in Henry VIII. 's time, and Archbishop Bush who roasted 
 him — there is Lord Chief- Justice Hicks — the Duke of St. David's, K.G., 
 Chancellor of the University and Member of this College — Sprott the 
 poet, of whose fame the College is justly proud — Doctor Blogg, the late 
 Master, and friend of Doctor J ohnson, who visited him at Saint Boni- 
 face — and other lawyers, scholars, and divines, whose portraitures 
 look from the walls, or whose coats-of-arms shine in emerald and 
 ruby, gold and azure, in the tall windows of the refectory. The 
 venerable cook of the College is one of the best artists in Oxbridge, and 
 the wine in the fellows' room has long been famed for its excellence 
 and abundance. 
 
 Into this certainly not the least snugly sheltered arbour amongst 
 the groves of Academe, Pen now found his way, leaning on his uncle's 
 arm, and they speedily reached Mr. Buck's rooms, and were conducted 
 into the apartment of that courteous gentleman. 
 
 He had received previous information from Doctor Portman regard- 
 ing Pen, with respect to whose family, fortune, and personal merits the 
 honest Doctor had spoken with no small enthusiasm. Indeed, Portman 
 had described Arthur to the tutor as a young gentleman of some for- 
 tune and landed estate, of one of the most ancient families in the king- 
 dom, and possessing such a character and genius as were sure, under 
 proper guidance, to make him a credit to the College and the Univer- 
 sity." Under such recommendations, the tutor was, of course, most 
 cordial to the young freshman and his guardian, invited the latter to 
 dine in hall, where he would have the satisfaction of seeing his nephew 
 wear his gown and eat his dinner for the first time, and requested the 
 pair to take wine at his rooms after hall, and in consequence of the 
 highly favourable report he had received of Mr. Arthur Pendennis, 
 said he should be happy to give him the best set of rooms to be had in 
 College — a gentleman-pensioner's set, indeed, which were just luckily 
 vacant. When a College magnate takes the trouble to be polite, there 
 is no man more splendidly courteous. Immersed in their books, and 
 excluded from the world by the gravity of their occupations, these 
 reverend men assume a solemn magnificence of compliment in which 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 127 
 
 they rustle and swell as in their grand robes of state. Those silks and 
 brocades are not put on for all comers or every day. 
 
 When the two gentlemen had taken leave of the tutor in his study, 
 and had returned to Mr. Buck's ante-room, or lecture-room, a very 
 handsome apartment, turkey-carpeted, and hung with excellent prints 
 and richly-framed pictures, they found the tutor's servant already in 
 waiting there, accompanied by a man with a bag full of caps and a 
 number of gowns, from which Pen might select a cap and gown for 
 himself, and the servant, no doubt, would get a commission propor- 
 tionable to the service done by him. Mr. Pen was all in a tremor of 
 pleasure as the bustling tailor tried on a gown, and pronounced that it 
 was an excellent fit ; and then he put the pretty College cap on, in 
 rather a dandified manner, and somewhat on one side, as he had seen 
 Fiddicombe, the youngest master at Grey Friars, wear it. And he 
 inspected the entire costume with a great deal of satisfaction in one of 
 the great gilt mirrors which ornamented Mr. Buck's lecture-room : for 
 some of these College divines are no more above looking-glasses than a 
 lady is, and look to the set of their gowns and caps quite as anxiously 
 as folks do of the lovelier sex. 
 
 Then Davis, the skip or attendant, led the way, keys in hand, across 
 the quadrangle, the Major and Pen following him, the latter blushing 
 and pleased with his new academical habiliments, across the quadrangle 
 to the rooms which were destined for the freshman ; and which were 
 vacated by the retreat of the gentleman-pensioner, Mr. Spicer. The 
 rooms were very comfortable, with large cross beams, high wainscots, 
 and small windows in deep embrasures. Mr. Spicer's furniture was 
 there, and to be sold at a valuation, and Major Pendennis agreed on 
 his nephew's behalf to take the available part of it, laughingly however 
 declining (as, indeed. Pen did for his own part) six sporting prints, 
 and four groups of opera-dancers with gauze draperies, which formed 
 the late occupant's pictorial collection. 
 
 Then they went to hall, where Pen sate down and ate his commons 
 with his brother freshmen, and the Major took his place at the high- 
 table along with the College dignitaries and other fathers or guardians of 
 youth, who had come up with their sons to Oxbridge ; and after hall 
 they went to Mr. Buck's to take wine ; and after wine to chapel, where 
 the Major sate with great gravity in the upper place, having a fine view 
 of the Master in his carved throne or stall under the organ-loft, where 
 that gentleman, the learned Doctor Donne, sate magnificent, with his 
 great prayer-book before him, an image of statuesque piety and rigid de- 
 votion. All the young freshmen behaved with gravity and decorum, but 
 Pen was shocked to see that atrocious little Foker, who came in very late, 
 and half-a-dozen of his comrades in the gentlemen-pensioners' seats, 
 giggling and talking as if they had been in so many stalls at the Opera. 
 
 Pen could hardly sleep at night in his bedroom at the Trencher ; so 
 anxious was he to begin his College life, and to get into his own apart- 
 ments. What did he think about, as he lay tossing and awake ? Was 
 it about his mother at home ; the pious soul whose life was bound up 
 in his? Yes, let us hope he thought of her a little. Was it about 
 Miss Fotheringay, and his eternal passion, which had kept him awake 
 jSo many nights, and created such wretchedness and such longing ? He 
 
128 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 had a trick of blushing, and if you had been in the room, and the 
 candle had not been out, you might have seen the youth's countenance 
 redden more than once, as he broke out into passionate incoherent 
 exclamations regarding that luckless event of his life. His uncle's 
 lessons had not been thrown away upon him ; the mist of passion had 
 passed from his eyes now, and he saw her as she was. To think that 
 he, Pendennis, had been enslaved by such a woman, and then jilted by 
 her ! that he should have stooped so low, to be trampled on in the 
 mire ! that there was a time in his life, and that but a few months 
 back, when he was willing to take Costigan for his father-in-law ! — 
 
 Poor old Smirke ! " Pen presently laughed out— well. Til write 
 and try and console the poor old boy. He won't die of his passion, 
 ha, ha!" The Major, had he been awake, might have heard a score 
 of such ejaculations uttered by Pen as he lay awake and restless through 
 the first night of his residence at Oxbridge. 
 
 It would, perhaps, have been better for a youth, the battle of whose 
 life was going to begin on the morrow, to have passed the eve in a 
 different sort of vigil ; but the world had got hold of Pen in the shape 
 of his selfish old Mentor; and those who have any interest in his 
 character must have perceived ere now that this lad was very weak 
 as well as very impetuous, very vain as well as very frank, and if of a 
 generous disposition, not a little selfish, in the midst of his profuseness, 
 and also rather fickle, as all eager pursuers of self-gratification are. 
 
 The six-months' passion had aged him very considerably. There 
 was an immense gulf between Pen the victim of love, and Pen the 
 innocent boy of eighteen, sighing after it ; and so Arthur Pendennis 
 had all the experience and superiority, besides that command which 
 afterwards conceit and imperiousness of disposition gave him, over the 
 young men with whom he now began to live. 
 
 He and his uncle passed the morning with great satisfaction in making 
 purchases for the better comfort of the apartments which the lad was 
 about to occupy. Mr. Spicer's china and glass were in a dreadfully 
 dismantled condition, his lamps smashed, and his bookcases by no 
 means so spacious as those shelves which would be requisite to receive 
 the contents of the boxes which were lying in the hall at Fairoaks, and 
 which were addressed to Arthur in the hand of poor Helen. 
 
 The boxes arrived in a few days, that his mother had packed with 
 so much care. Pen was touched as he read the superscriptions in the 
 dear well-known hand, and he arranged in their proper places all the 
 books, his old friends, and all the linen and tablecloths which Helen 
 had selected from the family stock, and all the jam-pots which little 
 Laura had bound in straw, and the hundred simple gifts of home. 
 
 CHAPTER XVHI 
 
 PENDENNIS OF BONIFACE 
 
 Our friend Pen was not sorry when his Mentor took leave of the young 
 gentleman on the second day after the arrival of the pair in Oxbridge, 
 and we may be sure that the Major on his part was very glad to have 
 
PENDENNIS 129 
 discharged his duty, and to have the duty over. More than three 
 months of precious t me had that martyr of a Major Sveii up to his 
 nephew-was ever selfish man called upon to makei /eater sacrifice 
 Do you know many men or Majors who would do as much^ A man 
 will lay down his head, or peril his life for his honourTbut let uHe 
 
 oiL ^nT "^^.i^T. -"i^'^? ^^'^ his heart's desire. Very few 
 
 of us can bear that trial. Let us give the Major due credit for hTsVo7 
 duct during the past quarter, and own that he has quite a risht toZ 
 pleased at getting a holiday. Foker and Pen saw him off in S c^ach 
 T^i f/^T^'ir^^ ^^^^ particular orders to the coachman to take 
 care of that gentleman inside. It pleased the elder Pendents to have 
 
 to the' t se" 5f r ^^l^ ^J'" wouldttroduce him 
 
 ind^e^e t C^tn^ 
 
 upon some neighbouring great houses, whereof the familfes were not 
 ' w:li:tt^:t:ttrir^^ ^'^r'"^ and company were to blhaV'* 
 mileir^latK^^^^^^ 
 
 I wish 
 honour 
 
 butnotmen. Wom7n a^e^u„;elfiThVL^t';^;i ^^^^^^ rnTrwrid^l^i/ 
 wish to say of poor Arthur Pendennis that he was worse than his nei^h 
 hours, only that his neighbours are bad for the most part let us h£ 
 the candour to own as much at least. Can you point out ten spotless 
 
 anKS^^^^^^^^ 
 
 before very long time that he had little taste or genius for the pursu nf 
 
 V ly vura?ro™Ln 'wtl-r^ '''''''' that on^e^S 
 
 veiy vulgai young men^ who did not even use straps fn fht^ir^ 
 
 whi^l tLrw"re*'L?^^^^^^ cJarslToes^nrstlT^^^^^ 
 EitS? '^^-^^^-^--ly to the cultivatiL'rOiUKd' 
 
 si.z^ p^itrtttTan^^: orCii^-t^SK'^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 inclination; and only besougtt Wm^nS to ru^n his hei^^^"^^^^^ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 Ihev faveftt After all, private reading, as he began to perceive 
 
 ■■•pTdtd not home until att.r Chrisln,„ . IWe »? «1>« f»°^ ? 
 
 i.^4^r.vo Rnt hp was invited to Loffwood} -Lady Agneb roKers^ wneie 
 
 pan which Laura thought disrespectful, and he left the w^tch ma 
 
 for another and more powerful horse, for ^^'^-^ ^V^he^^^^^^^^ 
 a heavy figure. Mrs. Pendennis gave the boy the money foi the new 
 horse ; and Laura cried when Rebecca was fetched away. 
 
 4 
 
PENDENNIS 131 
 
 Also Pen brought a large box of cigars branded Colorados, Afran- 
 cesados, Telescoptos, Fudson, Oxford Street, or by some such strange 
 titles and began to consume these not only about the stables and 
 greenhouses, where they were very good for Helen's plants, but in his 
 own study,— which practice his mother did not at first approve. But 
 he was at work upon a prize-poem, he said, and could not compose 
 without his cigar, and quoted the late lamented Lord Byron's lines in 
 favour of the custom of smoking. As he was smoking to such good 
 purpose, his mother could not of course refuse permission : in fact 
 the good soul coming into the room one day in the midst of Pen's 
 labours (he was consulting a novel which had recently appeared, for 
 the cultivation of the light literature of his own country as^vell as of 
 thI3 A^"^^ every student)-Helen, we say, coming into 
 
 the room and finding Pen on the sofa at this work, rather than disturb 
 him went for a light-box and his cigar-case to his bedroom, which was 
 adjacent, and actually put the cigar into his mouth, and lighted the 
 
 Hid Y ^^^^^^ \ ^^""S^^^' kissed his^mother's 
 
 hand as it hung fondly over the back of the sofa. " Dear old mother," 
 he said if I were to tell you to burn the house down, I think vou 
 
 fl^- ^""^ ^'■J^ ^'^^^^ ^^""^ M"-- Pen ^as right, and that 
 the foolish woman would have done almost as much for him as he said. 
 
 «t,^!nf!f literature" which this diligent 
 
 student devoured, he brought down boxes of the light literature of the 
 neighbouring country of France : into the leaves of which when Helen 
 dipped, she read such things as caused her to open her eyes with wonder. 
 But Pen showed her that it was not he who made the books, though it 
 was absolutely necessary that he should keep up his French by an ac- 
 quaintance with the most celebrated writers of the day, and that it was 
 as clearly his duty to read the eminent Paul de Kock,-as to study Swift 
 or Mohere. And Mrs. Pendennis yielded with a sigh of pei/lexity. 
 But Miss Laura was warned off the books, both by his anxious mother, 
 mid that rigid moralist Mr. Arthur Pendennis himself, who, however he 
 might be called upon to study every branch of literature in order to form 
 his mind and to perfect his style, would by no means prescribe such a 
 course of reading to a young lady whose business in life was very different. 
 
 1^- "^''Jf ^ t ^i'i'.^i"?^ vacation Mr. Pen drank up the bin of claret 
 which his father had laid m, and of which we have heard the son remark 
 that there was not a headache in a hogshead ; and this wine beiiiff ex- 
 hausted, he wrote for a further supply to " his wine merchants," Messrs. 
 «mney & Latham of Mark Lane, London ; from whom, indeed, old 
 doctor Portman had recommended Pen to get a supply of port and 
 sherry on going to College. "You will have, no doubt, to entertain 
 your young friends at Boniface with wine parties," the honest Rector 
 , had remarked to the lad. " They used to be customary at College in 
 my time, and I would advise you to employ an honest and respectable 
 nouse m London for your small stock of wine, rather than to have re- 
 course to the Oxbridge tradesmen, whose liquor, if I remember rightly, 
 was both deleterious in quality and exorbitant in price." And the 
 Obedient young gentleman took the Doctor's advice, and patronised 
 Messrs Binney & Latham at the Rector's suggestion, 
 ho when he wrote orders for a stock of wine to be sent down to the 
 
jg2 PENDENNIS 
 
 ''Thlli'vZSrCfte only »n of an e.ttl.d country gentleinm, with 
 
 Pen rode well to hounds, appeared in Pi^l^' ^^^^^^^^^'"i^/^^^^^ 
 andnotpai-ticularlyextrav^^^^^^^^ 
 
 yet managed to run up a ^"^^1 f l^ek^^^^ gentleman had 
 
 in a number of other quarters. In fact, this ^"^y |.| 
 almost every taste to a considerable degree. He was vei y lon^ oi o 
 of all sorts J Doctor Portman had taught him to l^^J^'^J^^^^^^^^^ 
 his own taste led him to like beautiful hindings. It ^[f^T^Jf^XeTlers 
 tall copies, and gilding, and marbling and W-d-toolmg, he boo» 
 and binders put upon Pen's bookshelves. He had a very wu 
 
 I 
 
PENDENNIS 133 
 
 matters of art^ and a keen relish for prints of a high school— none of your 
 French Opera dancers^ or tawdry Racing Prints^ such as had delighted 
 the simple eyes of Mr. Spicer, his predecessor— but your Stranges, and 
 Rembrandt etchings, and Wilkies before the letter, with which his apart- 
 ments were furnished presently in the most perfect good taste, as was 
 allowed in the University, where this young fellow got no small reputa- 
 tion. We have mentioned that he exhibited a certain partiality for rings, 
 jewellery, and fine raiment of all sorts ; and it must be owned that Mr.' 
 Pen, during his time at the University, was rather a dressy man, and 
 loved to array himself in splendour. He and his polite fri'ends would 
 dress themselves out with as much care in order to go and dine at each 
 other's rooms, as other folks would who were going to enslave a mistress. 
 They said he used to wear rings over his kid gloves, which he always denies '; 
 but what follies will not youth perpetrate with its own admirable gravity 
 and simplicity.?* That he took perfumed baths is a truth ; and he used to 
 say that he took them after meeting certain men of a very low set in hall. 
 
 In Pen's second year, when Miss Fotheringay made'her chief hit iii 
 London, and scores of prints were published of her. Pen had one of these 
 hung in his bedroom, and confided to the men of his set how awfully 
 how wildly, how madly, how passionately, he had loved that woman.' 
 He showed them in confidence the verses that he had written to her, and 
 his brow would darken, his eyes roll, his chest heave with emotion as he 
 recalled that fatal period of his life, and described the woes and agonies 
 which he had suffered. The verses were copied out, handed about 
 sneered at, admired, passed from coterie to coterie. There are few 
 things which elevate a lad in the estimation of his brother boys, morA 
 than to have a character for a great and romantic passion. Perhaps therd 
 is something noble in it at all times— among very young men, it is con-L 
 sidered heroic— Pen was pronounced a tremendous fellow. They said he 
 had almost committed suicide : that he had fought a duel with a baronet 
 about her. Freshmen pointed him out to each other. As at the pro- 
 menade time at two o'clock he swaggered out of College, surrounded 
 by his cronies, he was famous to behold. He was elaborately attired. 
 He would ogle the ladies who came to lionise the University, and passed 
 before him on the arms of happy gownsmen, and give his opinion upon 
 then- personal charms, or their toilettes, with the gravity of a critic whose 
 experience entitled him to speak with authority. Men used to say that 
 they had been walking with Pendennis, and were as pleased to be seen 
 m his company as some of us would be if we walked with a duke down 
 Pall Mall. He and the Proctor capped each other as they met, as if they 
 were rival powers, and the men hardly knew which was the greater. 
 
 In fact, in the course of his second year, Arthur Pendennis had become 
 one of the men of fashion in the University. It is curious to watch thati 
 tacile admiration, and ^m^le fidelity of youth. They hang round a) 
 leader : and wonder at him, and love him, and imitate him. No gener- 
 ous boy ever lived, I suppose, that has not had some wonderment of ad- 
 miration for another boy ; and Monsieur Pen at Oxbridge had his school, 
 ins faithful band of friends, and his rivals. When the young men heard 
 at the haberdashers shops that Mr. Pendennis of Boniface had just 
 ordered a crimson satin cravat, you would see a couple of dozen crimson 
 satin cravats in Main Street in the course of the week— and Simon, the 
 
134 PENDENNIS 
 
 ieweller, was known to sell no less than two gross of Pendennis' pins, 
 frlm a pattern which the young gentleman had ^elect^V" nrffth. 
 
 Now if any person with an arithmetical turn of mind will take the 
 trouble to calculate what a sum of money it would cost a young man 
 to indulge freely in all the above propensities which we have said Mr 
 Pen posfessed, it will be seen that a young fellow with such libera 
 t^tes and amusements, must needs in the course of two or three years 
 spend or owe a very haMsome sum of money. We have said our friend 
 pLn had not a calculating turn. No one propensity of his was outrage- 
 3y extravagant : and it is certain that Paddington's tailor s account ; 
 Guttlebury's cook's bill for dinners ; Dilley Tandy's bill with Finn, the 
 nrintseller for Raphael-Morghens, and Landseer proofs ; and Wormal s 
 SSs w th Parkton, the great bookseller, for Aldine editions, black- 
 letter folk.s, and richlf illuminated Missals of the XVI. Century ; and 
 Snaffle's or Poker's score with Nile the horse-dealer were^ each and al 
 of them, incomparably greater than any little bills Mr Pen might 
 
 run up with the above-mentioned tradesmen. But Pendennis of Boni- 
 face had the advantage over all these Jou^g gentlemen his friends a^^^^ 
 associates, of a universality of taste : and whereas young Lord Padding 
 ton dfd not care twopence'for the most beautiful P-nt, 7' to look mto 
 any gilt frame that had not a mirror within it ; and Guttlebury did not 
 mind in the least how he was dressed, and had an aversion to horse 
 exercise, nay a terror of it; and Snaffle never read any printed works 
 but the BaJng Calendar or Bell's Life, or cared for any —.'"^nded 
 cept his greasy little scrawl of a bettmg-book :-our catholic-minded 
 young friind occupied himself in every one of the benches of science or 
 pleasure above-mentioned, and distinguished himself tolerably in each^ 
 Hence young Pen got a prodigious reputation in the Univeisity, and 
 was haiU as I sort^of CilhtoS ; and as for the English J-e Pme 
 in competition for which we have seen him busily engaged at J^anoaks, 
 Jones of Jesus carried it that year certainly but the '^"dergradu^^^^^ 
 thought Pen's a much finer poem, and he had his verses printed at his 
 own Expense, and distributed in gilt morocco covers amongst h^ ac- 
 quaintance. I found a copy of it lately in a dusty corner of Mr- Pe"^ 
 bookcases, and have it before me this minute, bound up a collection 
 of old Oxbridge tracts. University statutes, prize PO^""^, 
 and unsuccessful candidates, declamations recited in the (;ollege chapel, 
 speeches delivered at the Union Debating Society, and inscribed by 
 Arthur with his name and College, Pendennis-Boniface ; presented 
 to him by his affectionate friend Thompson or Jackson, the author. 
 How strange the epigraphs look in those half-boyish hands, and what 
 a thrill the sight of the documents gives one after the lapse of a^ few 
 lustres ! How fate, since that time, has removed some, estranged others 
 dealt awfully with all ! Many a hand is cold that wrote those kindly 
 memorials, 4nd that we pressed in the confident and generous grasp ot 
 youthful friendship. What passions our friendships were in those oia 
 days, how artless and void of doubt ! How the arm you were never 
 tired of having linked in yours under the fair College avenues or by 
 the river-side, where it washes Magdalen Gardens, or Christ Churcn 
 Meadows, or winds by Trinity and King's, was withdrawn ot necessity, 
 when you entered presently the world, and each parted to push ana 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 135 
 
 struggle for himself through the great mob on the way through life ! 
 Are we the same men now that wrote those inscriptions — that read 
 those poems? that delivered or heard those essays and speeches so 
 simple,, so pompous^ so ludicrously solemn ; parodied so artlessly from 
 books^ and spoken with smug chubby faces^ and such an admirable aping 
 of wisdom and gravity? Here is the book before me : it is scarcely 
 fifteen years old. Here is Jack moaning with despair and Byronic misan- 
 thropy^ whose career at the University was one of unmixed milk-punch. 
 Here is Tom's daring essay in defence of suicide and of republicanism 
 in general^ apropos of the death of Roland and the Girondins — Tom's^ 
 who wears the starchiest tie in all the diocese^ and would go to Smith- 
 field rather than eat a beefsteak on a Friday in Lent. Here is Bob^ of 
 
 the Circuity who has made a fortune in Railroad Committees^ — 
 
 bellowing out with Tancred and Godfrey^ '^'^ On to the breach^ ye soldiers 
 of the cross. Scale the red wall and swim the choking fosse. Ye daunt- 
 less archers, twang your cross-bows well ; On, bill and battle-axe and 
 mangonel ! Ply battering-ram and hurtling catapult, Jerusalem is ours 
 — id Deus vult.'' After which comes a mellifluous description of the 
 gardens of Sharon and the maids of Salem, and a prophecy that roses 
 shall deck the entire country of Syria, and a speedy reign of peace be 
 established — all in undeniably decasyllabic lines, and the queerest aping 
 of sense and sentiment and poetry. And there are essays and poems 
 along with these grave parodies, and boyish exercises (which are at once 
 frank and false, and so mirthful, yet, somehow, so mournful) by youth- 
 ful hands that shall never write more. Fate has interposed darkly, and 
 the young voices are silent, and the eager brains have ceased to work. 
 This one had genius and a great descent, and seemed to be destined for 
 honours which now are of little worth to him : that had virtue, learning, 
 genius — every faculty and endowment which might secure love, admira- 
 tion, and worldly fame : an obscure and solitary churchyard contains the 
 grave of many fond hopes, and the pathetic stone which bids them fare- 
 well. I saw the sun shining on it in the fall of last year, and heard the 
 sweet village choir raising anthems round about. What boots whether 
 it be Westminster or a little country spire which covers your ashes, or 
 if, a few days sooner or later, the world forgets you ? 
 
 Amidst these friends then, and a host more. Pen passed more than two 
 brilliant and happy years of his life. He had his fill of pleasure and popu- 
 larity. No dinner or supper party was complete without him ; and Pen's 
 jovial wit, and Pen's songs, and dashing courage, and frank and manly 
 bearing, charmed all the undergraduates. Though he became the 
 favourite and leader of young men who were much his superiors in 
 wealth and station, he was much too generous to endeavour to propitiate 
 them by any meanness or cringing on his own part, and would not neg- 
 lect the humblest man of his acquaintance in order to curry favour with 
 the richest young grandee in the University. His name is still remem- 
 bered at the Union Debating Club, as one of the brilliant orators of his 
 day. By the way, from having been an ardent Tory in his freshman's 
 year, his principles took a sudden turn afterwards, and he became a 
 Liberal of the most violent order. He avowed himself a Dantonist, and 
 asserted that Louis the Sixteenth was served right. And as for Charles 
 the First, he vowed that he would chop off that monarch's head with his 
 
136 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 own right hand were he then in the room at the Union Debating Club, 
 and had Cromwell no other executioner for the traitor. He and Lord 
 Magnus Charters, the Marquis of Runnymede's son, before mentioned, ' sj 
 were the most truculent republicans of their day. i 
 
 There are reputations of this sort made quite independent of the col- 
 legiate hierarchy, in the republic of gownsmen. A man may be famous 
 in the Honour lists and entirely unknown to the undergraduates : .who 
 elect kings and chieftains of their own, whom they admire and obey, as 
 negro gangs have private black sovereigns in their own body, to whom 
 they pay an occult obedience, besides that which they publicly profess 
 for their owners and drivers. Among the young ones Pen became famous 
 and popular : not that he did much, but there was a general determina- 
 tion that he could do a great deal if he chose. Ah, if Pendennis of 
 Boniface would but try," the men said, he might do anything." He 
 was backed for the Greek Ode won by Smith of Trinity ; everybody was 
 sure he would have the Latin hexameter prize, which Brown of St. John's, 
 however, carried off, and in this way one University honour after another 
 was lost by him, until, after two or three failures, Mr. Pen ceased to 
 compete. But he got a declamation prize in his own College, and 
 brought home to his mother and Laura at Fairoaks a set of prize-books 
 begilt with the College arms, and so big, well-bound, and magnificent, 
 that these ladies thought there had been no such prize ever given in a 
 college before as this of Pen s, and that he had won the very largest 
 honour which Oxbridge was capable of awarding. 
 
 As vacation after vacation and term after term passed away without 
 the desired news that Pen had sate for any scholarship or won any 
 honour. Doctor Portman grew mightily gloomy in his behaviour towards 
 Arthur, and adopted a sulky grandeur of deportment towards him, which 
 the lad returned^by a similar haughtiness. One vacation he did not call 
 upon the Doctor at all, much to his mother's annoyance, who thought 
 that it was a privilege to enter the Rectory-house at Clavering, and 
 listened to Doctor Portman's antique jokes and stories, though ever so 
 often repeated, with unfailing veneration. I cannot stand the Doctor s 
 patronising air," Pen said. He's too kind to me, a great deal too 
 fatherly. I have seen in the world better men than him, and I am not 
 going to bore myself by listening to his dull old stories." The tacit 
 feud between Pen and the Doctor made the widow nervous, so that she 
 too avoided Portman, and was afraid to go to the Rectory when Arthur 
 was at home. i j v 
 
 One Sunday in the last long vacation, the wretched boy pushed his | 
 rebellious spirit so far as not to go to church, and he was seen at the % 
 gate of the Clavering Arms smoking a cigar, in the face of the congrega- | 
 tion as it issued from St. Mary's. There was an awful sensation ni the ^ 
 village society, Portman prophesied Pen's ruin after that, and groaned j 
 in spirit over the rebellious young prodigal. i 
 / So did Helen tremble in her heart, and little Laura— Laura had grown , 
 / to be a fine young stripling by this time, graceful and fair, clinging round 
 / Helen and worshipping her with a passionate affection. Both of these 
 / women felt that their boy was changed. He was no longer the artless 
 f Pen of old days, so brave, so artless, so impetuous, and tender. His face 
 looked careworn and haggard, his voice had a deeper sound, and tones 
 
/ PENDENNIS 137 
 
 I more sarcastic. Care seemed to be pursuing him ; but he only laughed 
 when his mother questioned him, and parried her anxious queries with 
 some scornful jest. Nor did he spend much of his vacations at home ; 
 ^he went on visits to one great friend or another, and scared the quiet 
 pair at Fairoaks by stories of great houses whither he had been invited, 
 and by talking of lords without their titles. 
 
 Honest Harry Foker, who had been the means of introducing Arthur 
 Pendennis to that set of young men at the University, from whose society 
 and connections Arthur's uncle expected that the lad would get so much 
 benefit ; who had called for Arthur's first song at his first supper-party ; 
 and who had presented him at the Barmecide Club, where none but the 
 very best men of Oxbridge were admitted (it consisted in Pen's time of 
 six noblemen, eight gentlemen-pensioners, and twelve of the most select 
 commoners of the University), soon found himself left far behind by 
 the young freshman in the fashionable world of Oxbridge, and being a 
 generous and worthy fellow, without a spark of envy in his composition, 
 was exceedingly pleased at the success of his young protege, and admired 
 Pen quite as much as any of the other youth did. It was he who followed 
 Pen now, and quoted his sayings ; learned his songs, and retailed them 
 at minor supper-parties, and was never weary of hearing them from the 
 gifted young poet's own mouth — for a good deal of the time which Mr. 
 Pen might have employed much more advantageously in the pursuit of 
 the regular scholastic studies, was given up to the composition of secular 
 ballads, which he sang about at parties according to University wont. 
 
 It had been as well for Arthur if the honest Foker had remained for 
 some time at College, for, with all his vivacity, he was a prudent young 
 man, and often curbed Pen's propensity to extravagance ; but Foker' s 
 collegiate career did not last very long after Arthur's entrance at Boni- 
 face. Repeated differences with the University authorities caused Mr., 
 Foker to quit Oxbridge in an untimely manner. He would persist in 
 attending races on the neighbouring Hungerford Heath, in spite of the 
 inj unctions of his academic superiors. He never could be got to frequent 
 the chapel of the College with that regularity of piety which Alma Mater 
 demands from her children ; tandems, which are abominations in the eyes 
 of the heads and tutors, were Foker's greatest delight, and so reckless 
 was his driving and frequent the accidents and upsets out of his drag, 
 that Pen called taking a drive with him taking the Diversions of 
 Purley ; " finally, having a dinner-party at his rooms to entertain some 
 friends from London, nothing would satisfy Mr. Foker but painting 
 Mr. Buck's door vermilion, in which freak he was caught by the proctor ; 
 and although young Black Strap, the celebrated negro-fighter, who was 
 one of Mr. Foker's distinguished guests, and was holding the can of 
 paint while the young artist operated on the door, knocked down two of 
 the proctor's attendants and performed prodigies of valour, yet these 
 feats rather injured than served Foker, whom the proctor knew very 
 well and who was taken with the brush in his hand, summarily convened, 
 and sent down from the University. 
 
 The tutor wrote a very kind and feeling letter to Lady Agnes on the 
 subject, stating that everybody was fond of the youth ; that he never 
 meant harm to any mortal creature : that he for his own part would have 
 been delighted to pardon the harmless little boyish frolic, had not its 
 
138 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 unhappy publicity rendered it impossible to look the freak over, and 
 breathing the most fervent wishes for the young fellow's welfare— wishes 
 no doubt sincere, for Foker, as we know, came of a noble family on his 
 mother's side, and on the other was heir to a great number of thousand 
 pounds a year. 
 
 It don t matter," said Foker, talking over the matter with I'en,— 
 a little sooner or a little later, what is the odds ? I should have been 
 plucked for my little-go again, I know I should— that Latin I cannot 
 screw into my head, and my mamma s anguish would have broke out next 
 term. The Governor will blow like an old grampus, I know he will,— 
 well, we must stop till he gets his wind again. I shall probably go abroad 
 and improve my mind with foreign travel. Yes, farly voos the ticket. 
 It'ly and that sort of thing. I'll go to Paris, and learn to dance and com- 
 plete my education. But it's not me I'm anxious about. Pen. As long 
 as people drink beer, I don't care,— it's about you I'm doubtful, my boy. 
 You're going too fast, and can't keep up the pace, I tell you. It's not 
 the fifty you owe me— pay it or not when you like,— but it's the every- 
 day pace, and I tell you it will kill you. You're livin' as if there was no 
 end to the money in the stockin' at home. You oughtn't to give dinners, 
 you ought to eat 'em. Fellows are glad to have you. You oughtn t to 
 owe horse bills, you ought to ride other chaps' nags. You know no 
 more about betting than I do about Algebra : the chaps will win your 
 money as sure as you sport it. Hang me if you are not trying at every- 
 thing. I saw you sit down to ecarte last week at Trumpington s, and 
 taking your turn with the bones after Ringwood's supper. They 11 beat 
 you at it. Pen, my boy, even if they play on the square, which I don t 
 say thev don't, nor which I don't say they do, mind. But / won't play 
 with 'em. You're no match for 'em. You ain't up to their weight. 
 It's like little Black Strap standing up to Tom Spring,— the Black's a 
 pretty fighter, but. Law bless you, his arm ain't long enough to touch 
 Tom,— and I tell you, you're going it with fellers beyond your weight. 
 Look here— if you'll promise me never to bet nor touch a box nor a 
 card, I'll let you off the two ponies." 
 
 But Pen laughingly said, ^Hhat though it wasn't convenient to him to 
 pay the two ponies at that moment, he by no means wished to be let off 
 any just debts he owed ; " and he and Foker parted, not without many 
 dark forebodings on the latter's part with regard to his friend, who 
 Harry thought was travelling speedily on the road to ruin. 
 
 ^^One must do at Rome as Rome does," Pen said, in a dandified 
 manner, jingling some sovereigns in his waistcoat pocket. A little 
 quiet play at ecarte can't hurt a man who plays pretty well— I came 
 away fourteen sovereigns richer from Ringwood's supper, and, gad ! I 
 wanted the money."— And he walked off, after having taken leave of 
 poor Foker, who went away without any beat of drum, or offer to drive 
 the coach out of Oxbridge, to superintend a little dinner which he was 
 going to give at his own rooms in Boniface, about which dinners the 
 cook of the College, who had a great respect for Mr. Pendennis, always 
 took especial pains for his young favourite. 
 
i, 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 RAKE-'S PROGRESS 
 
 139 
 
 jSo in Pen's second year Major Pendennis paid a brief visit to his nephew^ 
 md was introduced to several of Pen's University friends — the gentle and 
 oolite Lord Plinlimmon^ the gallant and open-hearted Magnus Charters^ 
 :he sly and witty Harland ; the intrepid Ringwood_, who was called 
 Rupert in the Union Debating Club^ from his opinions and the bravery 
 !)f his blunders ; Broadbent^ styled Barebones Broadbent from the repub- 
 ican nature of his opinions (he was of a dissenting family from Bristol, 
 md a perfect Boanerges of debate) ; and Bloundell-Bloundell, whom Mr. 
 Pen entertained at a dinner whereof his uncle was the chief guest. 
 
 The Major said_, Pen, my boy, your dinner went off d merveiUe ; you 
 lid the honours very nicely — you carved well — I am glad you learned 
 :o carve — it is done on the sideboard now in most good houses, but it 
 is still an important point, and may aid you in middle-life — young Lord 
 |Plinlimmon is a very amiable young man, quite the image of his dear 
 nother (whom I knew as Lady Aquila Brownbill) ; and Lord Magnus's 
 •epublicanism will wear off — it sits prettily enough on a young patrician 
 n early life, though nothing is so loathsome among persons of our rank 
 —Mr. Broadbent seems to have much eloquence and considerable read- 
 ng; your friend Foker is always delightful ; but your acquaintance, Mr. 
 31oundell, struck me as in all respects a most ineligible young man. " 
 
 Bless my soul, sir, Bloundell-Bloundell ! " cried Pen, laughing : 
 ^ why, sir, he's the most popular man of the University. He was in the 
 
 Dragoons before he came up. We elected him of the Barmecides 
 
 he first week he came up — had a special meeting on purpose — he's 
 ►f an excellent family — Suffolk Bloundells, descended from Richard's 
 31ondel, bear a harp in chief — and motto 0 Mong Roy." 
 
 A man may have a very good coat-of-arms, and be a tiger, my boy," 
 he Major said, chipping his egg ; that man is a tiger, mark my word 
 —a low man. I will lay a wager that he left his regiment, which was 
 good one (for a more respectable man than my friend. Lord Martingale, 
 ever sat in a saddle), in bad odour. There is the unmistakable look 
 f slang and bad habits about this Mr. Bloundell. He frequents low 
 ambling-houses and billiard-hells, sir, — he haunts third-rate clubs — 
 know he does. I know by his style. I never was mistaken in my man 
 et. Did you remark the quantity of rings and jewellery he wore.^^ 
 rhat person has Scamp written on his countenance, if any man ever 
 lad. Mark my words and avoid him. Let us turn the conversation, 
 .^he dinner was a leetle too fine, but I don't object to your making a few 
 xtra frais when you receive friends. Of course you don't do it often, 
 nd only those whom it is your interest to feter. The cutlets were ex- 
 ellent, and the souffle uncommonly light and good. The third bottle of 
 hampagne was not necessary ; but you have a good income, and as long 
 s you keep within it, I sliall not quarrel with you, my dear boy." 
 
 Poor Pen ! the worthy uncle little knew how often those dinners took 
 •lace, while the reckless young Amphitryon delighted to show his 
 
140 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 hospitality and skill in gourmandise. There is no art about which boys 
 are more anxious to have an air of knowingness. A taste and know- 
 ledge of wines and cookery appears to them to be the sign of an accom- 
 plished roue and manly gentleman. Pen, in his character of Admirable 
 Crichton, thought it necessary to be a great judge and practitioner of 
 dinners ; we have just said how the College cook respected him, and 
 shall soon have to deplore that that worthy man so blindly trusted our 
 Pen. In the third year of the lad's residence at Oxbridge his staircase 
 was by no means encumbered with dish-covers and desserts and waiters 
 carrying in dishes, and skips opening iced champagne ; crowds of dif- 
 ferent sorts of attendants, with faces sulky or piteous, hung about the 
 outer oak, and assailed the unfortunate lad as he issued out of his den. 
 
 Nor did his guardian s advice take any effect, or induce Mr. Pen to 
 avoid the society of the disreputable Mr. Bloundell. 
 
 The young magnates of the neighbouring great College of St. George's, 
 who regarded Pen, and in whose society he lived, were not taken in by 
 Bloundell's flashy graces, and rakish airs of fashion. Broadbent called 
 him Captain Macheath, and said he would live to be hanged. Foker, 
 during his brief stay at the University with Macheath, with character- 
 istic caution, declined to say anything in the Captain's disfavour, but 
 hinted to Pen that he had better have him for a partner at whist than 
 play against him, and better back him at ecarte than bet on the other 
 side. You see, he plays better than you do. Pen," was the astute 
 young gentleman's remark : ^'^ he plays uncommon well, the Captain 
 does ;— and Pen, I wouldn't take the odds too freely from hini, if I was 
 you. I don't think he's too flush of money, the Captain ain't." But 
 beyond these dark suggestions and generalities, the cautious Poker 
 could not be got to speak. 
 
 Not that his advice would have had more weight with a headstrong 
 young man, than advice commonly has with a lad who is determined 
 on pursuing his own way. Pen's appetite for pleasure was insatiable, 
 and he rushed at it wherever it presented itself, with an eagerness which 
 bespoke his fiery constitution and youthful health. He called taking 
 pleasure seeing life," and quoted well-known maxims from Terence, 
 from Horace, from Shakespeare, to show that one should do all that 
 might become a man. He bade fair to be utterly used up and a roue, 
 in a few years, if he were to continue at the pace at which he was going. 
 
 One night after a supper-party in College, at which Pen and Macheath 
 had been present, and at which a little quiet vingt-et-un had been played, 
 as the men had taken their caps and were going away, after no great 
 losses or winnings on any side, Mr. Bloundell playfully took up a green 
 wine-glass from the supper-table, which had been destined to contain 
 iced cup, but into which he inserted something still more pernicious^ 
 namely a pair of dice, which the gentleman took out of his waistcoat 
 pocket, and put into the glass. Then giving the glass a graceful wave, 
 which showed that his hand was quite experienced in the throwing of 
 dice, he called seven's the main, and whisking the ivory cubes gently* 
 on the table, swept them up lightly again from the cloth, and repeated 
 this process two or three times. The other men looked on, Pen, of 
 course, among the number, who had never used the dice as yet, except 
 to play a humdrum game of backgammon at home. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 141 
 
 Mr. Bloundell^ who had a good voice,, began to troll out the chorus 
 from Robert the Devil/' an opera then in great vogue^ in which chorus 
 many of the men joined^ especially Pen^ who was in very high spirits^ 
 having won a good number of shillings and half-crowns at the vingt-et-un 
 — and presently^ instead of going home^ most of the party were seated 
 round the table playing at dice, the green glass going round from hand 
 to hand, until Pen finally shivered it, after throwing six mains. 
 
 From that night Pen plunged into the delights of the game of hazard, 
 as eagerly as it was his custom to pursue any new pleasure. Dice can 
 be played of mornings as well as after dinner or supper. Bloundell 
 would come into Pen's rooms after breakfast, and it was astonishing 
 how quick the time passed as the bones were rattling. They had little 
 quiet parties with closed doors, and Bloundell devised a box lined with 
 felt, so that the dice should make no noise, and their tell-tale rattle not 
 bring the sharp-eared tutors up to the rooms. Bloundell, Ringwood, 
 and Pen were once very nearly caught by Mr. Buck, who, passing in the 
 Quadrangle, thought he heard the words Two to one on the caster," 
 through Pen's open window ; but when the tutor got into Arthur's 
 rooms he found the lads with three Homers before them, and Pen 
 said he was trying to coach the two other men, and asked Mr. Buck with 
 great gravity what was the present condition of the river Scamander, 
 and whether it was navigable or no } 
 
 Mr. Arthur Pendennis did not win much money in these transactions 
 with Mr. Bloundell, or indeed gain good of any kind except a knowledge 
 of the odds at hazard, which he might have learned out of books. 
 
 One Easter vacation, when Pen had announced to his mother and 
 uncle his intention not to go down, but stay at Oxbridge and read, Mr. 
 Pen was nevertheless induced to take a brief visit to London in company 
 with his friend Mr. Bloundell. They put up at a hotel in Covent Garden, 
 where Bloundell had a tick, as he called it, and took the pleasures of the 
 town very freely after the wont of young University men. Bloundell 
 still belonged to a military club, whither he took Pen to dine once or 
 twice (the young men would drive thither in a cab, trembling lest they 
 should meet Major Pendennis on his beat in Pall Mall), and here Pen 
 was introduced to a number of gallant young fellows with spurs and 
 mustachios, with whom he drank pale-ale of mornings and beat the town 
 of a night. Here he saw a deal of life, indeed : nor in his career about 
 the theatres and singing-houses which these roaring young blades fre- 
 quented, was he very likely to meet his guardian. One night, neverthe- 
 less, they were very near to each other ; a plank only separating Pen, 
 who was in the boxes of the Museum Theatre, from the Major, who was in 
 Lord Steyne'sbox, along with that venerated nobleman. The Fotheringay 
 was in the pride of her glory. She had made a hit : that is, she had 
 drawn very good houses for nearly a year, had starred the provinces with 
 great eclat, had come back to shine in London with somewhat diminished 
 lustre, and now was acting with ever-increasing attraction," &c., 
 
 triumph of the good old British drama," as the playbills avowed, to 
 houses in which there was plenty of room for anybody who wanted to 
 see her. 
 
 It was not the first time Pen had seen her, since that memorable day 
 when the two had parted in Chatteris. In the previous year, when the 
 
142 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 town was making much of her^ and the press lauded her beauty, Pen 
 had found a pretext for coming to London in term-time, and had rushed 
 off to the theatre to see his old flame. He recollected it rather than J 
 renewed it. He remembered how ardently he used to be on the look- > 
 out at Chatteris, when the speech before Ophelia's or Mrs. Haller s 
 entrance on the stage was made by the proper actor. Now, as the actor 
 spoke, he had a sort of feeble thrill : as the house began to thunder with 
 applause, and Ophelia entered with her old bow and sweeping curtsey. 
 Pen felt a slight shock and blushed very much as he looked at her, and 
 could not help thinking that all the house was regarding him. He 
 hardly heard her for the first part of the play : and he thought with 
 such rage of the humiliation to which she had subjected him, that he 
 began to fancy he was jealous and in love with her still. But that 
 illusion did not last very long. He ran round to the stage door of the 
 theatre to see her if possible, but he did not succeed. She passed indeed 
 under his nose with a female companion, but he did not know her, — nor" 
 did she recognise him. The next night he came in late, and stayed very 
 quietly for the after piece, and on the third and last night of his stay in 
 London — why, Taglioni was going to dance at the Opera, — Taglioni ! 
 and there was to be '^'^ Don Giovanni," which he admired of all things in 
 the world : so Mr. Pen went to Don Giovanni " and Taglioni. 
 
 This time the illusion about her was quite gone. She was not less 
 handsome, but she was not the same, somehow. The light was gone 
 out of her eyes which used to flash there, or Pen's no longer were dazzled 
 by it. The rich voice spoke as of old, yet it did not make Pen s bosom 
 thrill as formerly. He thought he could recognise the brogue under- 
 neath : the accents seemed to him coarse and false. It annoyed him 
 to hear the same emphasis on the same words, only uttered a little 
 louder : worse than this, it annoyed him to think that he should ever 
 have mistaken that loud imitation for genius, or melted at those me- 
 chanical sobs and sighs. He felt that it was in another life almost, that 
 it was another man who had so madly loved her. He was ashamed and 
 bitterly humiliated, and very lonely. Ah, poor Pen ! the delusion is 
 better than the truth sometimes, and fine dreams than dismal waking. 
 
 They went and had an uproarious supper that night, and Mr. Pen 
 had a fine headache the next morning, with which he went back to 
 Oxbridge, having spent all his ready money. 
 
 As all this narrative is taken from Pen's own confessions, so that the 
 reader may be assured of the truth of every word of it, and as Pen him- 
 self never had any accurate notion of the manner in which he spent his 
 money, and plunged himself in much deeper pecuniary difficulties, dur- 
 ing his luckless residence at Oxbridge University, it is, of course, im- 
 possible for me to give any accurate account of his involvements, beyond 
 th at general notion of his way of life which we have sketched a few pages 
 back. He does not speak too hardly of the roguery of the University 
 tradesmen, or of those in London whom he honoured with his patronage 
 at the outset of his career. Even Finch, the money-lender to whom 
 Bloundell introduced him, and with whom he had various transactions, 
 in which the young rascal's signature appeared upon stamped paper, 
 treated him, according to Pen's own account, with forbearance, and 
 never mulcted him of more than a hundred per cent. The old College 
 
Copyright, Service &• Paton, 1897, 
 
Of THE 
 
 UNiVERSiTYof IIUNOIS. 
 
PENBENNIS 
 
 143 
 
 cook^ his fervent admirer^ made him a private bill_, offered to send him 
 in dinners up to the very last^ and never would have pressed his account 
 I to his dying day. There was that kindness and frankness about Arthur 
 I Pendennis which won most people who came in contact with him_, and 
 jwhich^ if it rendered him an easy prey to rogues_, got him, perhaps, 
 t more goodwill than he merited from many honest men. It was impos- 
 sible to resist his good nature, or, in his worst moments, not to hope 
 , for his rescue from utter ruin. 
 
 At the time of his full career of University pleasure, he would leave 
 the gayest party to go and sit with a sick friend. He never knew the 
 difference between small and great in the treatment of his acquaintances, 
 however much the unlucky lad's tastes, which were of the sumptuous 
 order, led him to prefer good society ; he was only too ready to share 
 his guinea with a poor friend, and when he got money had an irresistible 
 propensity for paying, which he never could conquer through life. 
 
 In his third year at College, the duns began to gather awfully round 
 about him, and there was a levee at his oak which scandalised the tutors, 
 and would have scared many a stouter heart. With some of these he 
 used to battle, some he would bully (under Mr. Bloundell's directions, 
 who was a master in this art, though he took a degree in no other), and 
 some deprecate. And it is reported of him that little Mary Frodsham, 
 the daughter of a certain poor gilder and frame-maker, whom Mr. Pen 
 had thought lit to employ, and who had made a number of beautiful 
 frames for his fine prints, coming to Pendennis with a piteous tale that 
 her father was ill with ague, and that there was an execution in their 
 house. Pen in an anguish of remorse rushed away, pawned his grand 
 watch and every single article of jewellery except two old gold sleeve-, 
 buttons, which had belonged to his father, and rushed with the proceeds 
 to Frodsham's shop, \^here, with tears in his eyes, and the deepest re- 
 pentance and humility, he asked the poor tradesman's pardon. 
 
 This, young gentlemen, is not told as an instance of Pen's virtue, but 
 rather of his weakness. It would have been much more virtuous to have 
 had no prints at all. He still owed for the baubles which he sold in 
 order to pay Frodsham's bill, and his mother had cruelly to pinch herself 
 in order to discharge the jeweller's account, so that she was in the end 
 the sufferer by the lad's impertinent fancies and follies. We are not 
 presenting Pen to you as a hero or a model, only as a lad, who, in the 
 midst of a thousand vanities and weaknesses, has as yet some generous 
 I impulses, and is not altogether dishonest. 
 
 ' We have said it was to the scandal of Mr. Buck the tutor that Pen's 
 extravagances became known : from the manner in which he entered 
 College, the associates he kept, and the introductions of Doctor Portman 
 and the Major, Buck for a long time thought that his pupil was a man 
 of large property, and wondered rather that he only wore a plain gown. 
 Once on going up to London to the levee with an address from His 
 Majesty's Loyal University of Oxbridge, Buck had seen Major Pendennis 
 at St. James's in conversation with two Knights of the Garter, in the 
 carriage of one of whom the dazzled tutor saw the Major whisked away 
 after the levee. He asked Pen to wine the instant he came back, let 
 him off from chapels and lectures more than ever, and felt perfectly sure 
 that he was a young gentleman of large estate. 
 
144 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Thus^ he was thunderstruck when he heard the truth^ and received 
 a dismal confession from Pen. His University debts were large^ and 
 the tutor had nothing to do^ and of course Pen did not acquaint him, 
 with his London debts. What man ever does tell all when pressed by 
 his friends about his liabilities ? The tutor learned enough to know 
 that Pen was poor, that he had spent a handsome, almost a magnificent 
 allowance, and had raised around him such a fine crop of del3ts, as it 
 would be very hard work for any man to mow down ; for there is no 
 plant that grows so rapidly when once it has taken root. 
 
 Perhaps it was because she was so tender and good, that Pen was 
 terrified lest his mother should know of his sins. I can't bear to 
 break it to her " he said to the tutor in an agony of grief. Oh sir, 
 IVe been a villain to her " — and he repented, and he wished he had the 
 time to come over again, and he asked himself, Why, why did his 
 uncle insist upon the necessity of living with great people, and in how 
 much did all his grand acquaintance profit him ? " 
 
 They were not shy, but Pen thought they were, and slunk from them 
 during his last terms at College. He was as gloomy as a death's-head 
 at parties, which he avoided of his own part, or to which his young 
 friends soon ceased to invite him. Everybody knew that Pendennis 
 was ^^hard up." That man Bloundell, who could pay nobody, and 
 who was obliged to go down after three terms, was his ruin, the men 
 said. His melancholy figure might be seen shirking about the lonely 
 quadrangles in his battered old cap and torn gown, and he who had 
 been the pride of the University but a year before, the man whom all 
 the young ones loved to look at, was now the object of conversation at 
 freshmen's wine parties, and they spoke of him with wonder and awe. 
 
 At last came the Degree Examinations. Many a young man of his 
 year whose hob-nailed shoes Pen had derided, and whose face or coat 
 he had caricatured — many a man whom he had treated with scorn in 
 the lecture-room or crushed with his eloquence in the debating club — 
 many of his own set who had not half his brains, but a little regularity 
 and constancy of occupation, took high places in the honours, or passed 
 with decent credit. And where in the list was Pen the superb. Pen the 
 wit and dandy. Pen the poet and orator? Ah, where was Pen, the 
 widow's darling and sole pride ? Let us hide our heads, and shut up 
 the page. The lists came out ; and a dreadful rumour rushed through 
 the University, that Pendennis of Boniface was plucked. 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 FLIGHT AFTER DEFEAT 
 
 During the latter part of Pen's residence at the University of Oxbridge, 
 his uncle's partiality had greatly increased for the lad. The Major was 
 proud of Arthur, who had high spirits, frank manners, a good person, 
 and high gentlemanlike bearing. It pleased the old London bachelor 
 to see Pen walking with the young patricians of his University, and he 
 (who was never known to entertain his friends, and whose stinginess had 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 145 
 
 passed into a sort of byword among some wags at the Club^ who envied 
 his many engagements^ and did not choose to consider his poverty) was 
 charmed to give his nephew and the young lords snug little dinners at 
 his lodgings^ and to regale them with good claret, and his very best 
 bons mots and stories : some of which would be injured by the repeti- 
 tion, for the Major's manner of telling them was incomparably neat and 
 careful ; and others, whereof the repetition would do good to nobody. 
 He paid his court to their parents through the young men, and to him- 
 self as it were by their company. He made more than one visit to Ox- 
 bridge, where the young fellows were amused by entertaining the old 
 gentleman, and gave parties and breakfasts, and fetes , partly to joke him 
 and partly to do him honour. He plied them with his stories. He 
 made himself juvenile and hilarious in the company of the young lords. 
 He went to hear Pen at a grand debate at the Union, crowed and 
 cheered, and rapped his stick in chorus with the cheers of the men, 
 and was astounded at the boy's eloquence and fire. He thought he 
 had got a young Pitt for a nephew. He had an almost paternal fond- 
 ness for Pen. He wrote to the lad letters with playful advice and the 
 news of the town. He bragged about Arthur at his Clubs, and intro- 
 duced him with pleasure into his conversation ; saying, that. Egad, the 
 young fellows were putting the old ones to the wall ; that the lads who 
 were coming up, young Lord Plinlimmon, a friend of my boy, young 
 Lord Magnus Charters, a chum of my scapegrace, &c., would make a 
 
 freater figure in the world than ever their fathers had done before them, 
 [e asked permission to bring Arthur to a grand Jete at Gaunt House ; 
 saw him with ineffable satisfaction dancing with the sisters of the young 
 noblemen before mentioned ; and gave himself as much trouble to pro- 
 cure cards of invitation for the lad to some good houses, as if he had 
 been a mamma with a daughter to marry, and not an old half-pay officer 
 in a wig. And he boasted everywhere of the boy's great talents, and 
 remarkable oratorical powers ; and of the brilliant degree he was going 
 to take. Lord Runnymede would take him on his embassy, or the Duke 
 would bring him in for one of his boroughs, he wrote over and oyer 
 again to Helen ; who, for her part, was too ready to believe anything 
 that anybody chose to say in favour of her son. 
 
 And all this pride and affection of uncle and mother had been trampled 
 down by Pen s wicked extravagance and idleness ! I don't envy Pen's 
 feelings (as the phrase is), as he thought of what he had done. He had 
 slept, and the tortoise had won the race. He had marred at its outset 
 what might have been a brilliant career. He had dipped ungenerously 
 into a generous mother's purse ; basely and recklessly spilt her little 
 cruse. Oh ! it was a coward hand that could strike and rob a creature 
 so tender. And if Pen felt the wrong which he had done to others, are 
 we to suppose that a young gentleman of his vanity did not feel still 
 more keenly the shame he had brought upon himself.^ Let us be assured 
 that there is no more cruel remorse than that ; and no groans more 
 piteous than those of wounded self-love. Like Joe Miller's friend, the 
 Senior Wrangler, who bowed to the audience from his box at the play, 
 because he and the king happened to enter the theatre at the same time, 
 only with a fatuity by no means so agreeable to himself, poor Arthur 
 Pendennis felt perfectly convinced that all England would remark the 
 
 K 
 
146 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 absence of his name from the examination lists^ and talk about his mis- 
 fortune. His wounded tutor^ his many duns^ the skip and bed-maker 
 who waited upon him^ the undergraduates of his own time and the years 
 below him^ whom he had patronised or scorned — how could he bear to 
 look any of them in the face now ? He rushed to his rooms^ into which 
 he shut himself^ and there he penned a letter to his tutor^ full of thanks^ 
 regards^ remorse^ and despair^ requesting that his name might be taken 
 olF the College books^ and intimating a wish and expectation that death 
 would speedily end the woes of the disgraced Arthur Pendennis. 
 
 Then he slunk out^ scarcely knowing whither he went^ but mechani- 
 cally taking the unfrequented little lanes by the backs of the Colleges, 
 until he cleared the University precincts^ and got down to the banks of 
 the Camisis river^ now deserted, but so often alive with the boat-races, 
 and the crowds of cheering gownsmen ; he wandered on and on, until 
 he found himself at some miles' distance from Oxbridge, or rather was 
 found by some acquaintance, leaving that city. 
 
 As Pen went up a hill, a drizzling January rain beating in his face, 
 and his ragged gown flying behind him — for he had not divested himself 
 of his academical garments since the morning — a postchaise came rattling 
 up the road, on the box of which a servant was seated, whilst within, or 
 rather half out of the carriage window, sate a young gentleman smoking 
 a cigar, and loudly encouraging the post-boy. It was our young ac- 
 quaintance of Baymouth, Mr. Spavin, who had got his degree, and was 
 driving homewards in triumph in his yellow postchaise. He caught 
 a sight of the figure, madly gesticulating as he worked up the hill, and 
 of poor Pen s pale and ghastly face as the chaise whirled by him. 
 
 Wo ! " roared Mr. Spavin to the post-boy, and the horses stopped 
 in their mad career, and the carriage pulled up some fifty yards before 
 Pen. He presently heard his own name shouted, and beheld the upper 
 half of the body of Mr. Spavin thrust out of the side-window of the 
 vehicle, and beckoning Pen vehemently towards it. 
 
 Pen stopped, hesitated — nodded his head fiercely, and pointed onwards 
 as if desirous that the postilion should proceed. He did not speak : but 
 his countenance must have looked very desperate, for young Spavin, 
 having stared at him with an expression of blank alarm, jumped out 
 of the carriage presently, ran towards Pen holding out his hand, and 
 grasping Pen's, said, I say — hullo, old boy, where are you going, and 
 what's the row now ? " 
 
 I'm going where I deserve to go," said Pen, with an imprecation. 
 This ain't the way," said Mr. Spavin, smiling. This is the Fen- 
 bury road. I say. Pen, don't take on because you are plucked. It's 
 nothing when you are used to it. I've been plucked three times, old 
 boy— and after the first time I didn't care. Glad it's over, though. 
 You'll have better luck next time. " 
 
 Pen looked at his early acquaintance, — who had been plucked, who 
 had been rusticated, who had only, after repeated failures, learned to 
 read and write correctly, and who, in spite of all these drawbacks, had 
 attained the honour of a degree. This man has passed," he thought, 
 
 and I have failed ! " It was almost too much for him to bear. 
 
 ^'^ Good-bye, Spavin," said he; I'm very glad you are through.^ 
 Don't let me keep you; I'm in a hurry — I'm going to town to-night." 
 
PENDENNIS 147 
 
 Gammon/' said Mr. Spavin. This ain't the way to town ; this is 
 the Fenbury road, I tell you." 
 
 I was just going to turn back/' Pen said. 
 
 All the coaches are full with the men going down/' Spavin said. 
 Pen winced. You'd not get a place for a ten-pound note. Get into 
 my yellow ; I'll drop you at Mudford, where you have a chance of the 
 Fenbury mail. I'll lend you a hat and coat; I've got lots. Come 
 along : jump in, old boy— go it. Leathers ! "—and in this way Pen found 
 himself in Mr. Spavin's postchaise, and rode with that gentleman as far 
 as the Ram Inn at Mudford, fifteen miles from Oxbridge ; where the 
 Fenbury mail changed horses, and where Pen got a place on to London. 
 
 The next day there was an immense excitement in Boniface College, 
 Oxbridge, where, for some time, a rumour prevailed, to the terror of 
 Pen's tutor and tradesmen, that Pendennis, maddened at losing his 
 degree, had made away with himself— a battered cap, in which his 
 name was almost discernible, together with a seal bearing his crest of 
 an eagle looking at a now extinct sun, had been found three miles on 
 the Fenbury road, near a mill stream ; and for four-and-twenty hours it 
 was supposed that poor Pen had flung himself into the stream, until 
 letters arrived from him bearing the London postmark. 
 
 The mail reached London at the dreary hour of five; and he hastened 
 to the inn at Covent Garden, at which he was accustomed to put up, 
 where the ever-wakeful porter admitted him, and showed him to a bed' 
 Pen looked hard at the man, and wondered whether Boots knew he was 
 plucked } When in bed he could not sleep there. He tossed about 
 until the appearance of the dismal London daylight, when he sprang 
 up desperately, and walked off to his uncle's lodgings in Bury Street ; 
 where the maid, who was scouring the steps, looked up suspiciously at 
 him, as he came with an unshaven face, and yesterday's linen. He 
 thought she knew of his mishap, too. 
 
 ^'Good 'evens ! Mr. Harthur, what 'as 'appened, sir.?*" Mr. Morgan, 
 the valet, asked, who had just arranged the well-brushed clothes and 
 shmy boots at the door of his master's bedroom, and was carrying in 
 his wig to the Major. 
 
 I want to see my uncle," he cried, in a ghastly voice, and flunff 
 himself down on a chair. 
 
 Morgan backed before the pale and desperate-looking young man 
 with terrified and wondering glances, and disappeared into his master's 
 apartment. 
 
 The Major put his head out of the bedroom door, as soon as he had 
 his wig on. 
 
 What.? examination over.?* Senior Wrangler, double First Class, hay.?" 
 said the old gentleman— ^a'll come directly ; " and the head disappeared. 
 
 I hey don t know what has happened," groaned Pen ; what will 
 they say when they know all } " 
 
 Pen had been standing with his back to the window, and to such a 
 dubious light as Bury Street enjoys of a foggy January morning, so that 
 his uncle could not see the expression of the young man's countenance, 
 or the looks of gloom and despair which even Mr. Morgan had remarked. 
 
 But when the Major came out of his dressing-room neat and radiant, 
 and preceded by faint odours from Delcroix's shop, from which emporium 
 
148 PENDENNIS 
 
 Maior Pendennis s wig and his pocket-handkerchief got their perfume, 
 he held out one of his hands to Pen, and was about addressing hnn m his 
 cheery hiffh-toned voice, when he caught sight of the boy s face at length, 
 and dropping his hand, said, ^^Good God ! Pen, what s the matter? 
 
 You'll see it in the papers at breakfast, sn-, Pen said. 
 
 See what?" 
 
 My name isnt there, sir." 
 
 Hanff it, why should it be ? " asked the Major, more perplexed. ^ 
 
 ''I have lost everything, sir," Pen groaned out; my honours 
 ffone ; I m ruined irretrievably ; I can t go back to Oxbridge. 
 
 ^^Lost your honour?" screamed out the Major. Heaven alive ! 
 you don't mean to say you have shown the white feather ? " 
 
 Pen laughed bitterly at the word feather, and repeated it. No, it 
 isn't that, sir. I'm not afraid of being shot ; I wish to God anybody 
 would shoot me. I have not got my degree. I— Fm plucked, sir. 
 
 The Major had heard of plucking, but in a very vague and cursory 
 way, and concluded that it was some ceremony performed corporally 
 upon rebellious University youth. I wonder you can look me m the 
 face after such a disgrace, sir," he said ; I wonder you submitted to 
 it as a gentleman." , . , -4. 
 
 I couldn't help it, sir. I did my classical papers well enough : it 
 was those infernal mathematics, which I have always neglected." 
 Was it— was it done in public, sir ? " the Major said. 
 
 ce What ? " 
 
 The— the plucking ? " asked the guardian, looking Pen anxiously 
 
 in the face. , . i r. • j 
 
 Pen perceived the error under which his guardian was labouring, and 
 in the midst of his misery the blunder caused the poor wretch a famt 
 Ifemile, and served to bring down the conversation from the tragedy-key 
 
 in which Pen had been disposed to carry it on. He explained to his 
 \uncle that he had gone in to pass his examination, and failed. On which 
 Ithe Major said, that though he had expected far better things of his 
 
 nephew, there was no great misfortune in this, and no dishonour as tar 
 
 as he saw, and that Pen must try again. 
 
 Me again at Oxbridge," Pen thought, after such a humihation as 
 
 that ! " He felt that, except he went down to burn the place, he could 
 
 not enter it. ,^,.,1.^1^x1x1. 
 
 But it was when he came to tell his uncle of his debts that the other 
 felt surprise and anger most keenly, and broke out into speeches most 
 severe upon Pen, which the lad bore, as best he might, without flinching. 
 He had determined to make a clean breast, and had formed a full, true, 
 and complete list of all his bills and liabilities at the University, and m 
 London. They consisted of various items, such as— 
 
 London Tailor. Oxbridge do. 
 
 Oxbridge do. Bill for horses. 
 
 Haberdasher, for shirts and gloves. Printseller. 
 
 Jeweller. Books. 
 
 College Cook. Binding. 
 
 Crump, for desserts. Hairdresser and Perfumery. 
 
 Bootmaker. Hotel Bill in London. 
 
 Wine Merchant in London. Sundries. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 149 
 
 All which items the reader may fill in at his pleasure — such accounts 
 have been inspected by the parents of many University youth^ — and it 
 appeared that Mr. Pen's bills in all amounted to about seven hundred 
 pounds ; and^ furthermore^ it was calculated that he had had more 
 than twice that sum of ready money during his stay at Oxbridge. This 
 sum he had spent^ and for it had to show — what ? 
 
 You need not press a man who is down^ sir/' Pen said to his uncle 
 gloomily. I know very well how wicked and idle I have been. My 
 mother won't like to see me dishonoured^ sir^" he continued^ with his 
 voice failing ; and I know she will pay these accounts. But I shall 
 ask her for no more money. " 
 
 As you like^ sir/' the Major said. You are of age^ and my hands 
 are washed of your affairs. But you can't live without money^ and have 
 no means of making it that I see^ though you have a fine talent in spend- 
 ing it^ and it is my belief that you will proceed as you have begun^ and 
 ruin your mother before you are five years older^ — teood morning ; it is 
 time for me to go to breakfast. My engagements won't permit me to 
 see you much during the time that you stay in London. I presume that 
 you will acquaint your mother with the news which you have just 
 conveyed to me." 
 
 And pulling on his hat^ and trembling in his limbs somewhat^ Major 
 Pendennis walked out of his lodgings before his nephew^ and went 
 ruefully off to take his accustomed corner at the Club. He saw the 
 Oxbridge examination lists in the morning papers^ and read over the 
 names^ not understanding the business^ with mournful accuracy. 
 He consulted various old fogies of his acquaintance^ in the course 
 of the day^ at his Clubs ; Wenham^ a Dean^ various civilians ; and^ 
 as it is called^ took their opinion/' showing to some of them the 
 amount of his nephew's debts^ which he had dotted down on the back 
 of a card^ and asking what was to be done^ and whether such debts 
 were not monstrous^ preposterous .^^ What was to be done.^^ — There 
 was nothing for it but to pay. Wenham and the others told the 
 Major of young men who owed twice as much — five times as much — 
 as Arthur, and with no means at all to pay. The consultations, and 
 calculations, and opinions, comforted the Major somewhat. After all, 
 he was not to pay. 
 
 But he thought bitterly of the many plans he had formed to make 
 a man of his nephew, of the sacrifices which he had made, and of the 
 manner in which he was disappointed. And he wrote off" a letter to 
 Doctor Portman, informing him of the direful events which had taken 
 place, and begging the Doctor to break them to Helen. For the orthodox 
 old gentleman preserved the regular routine in all things, and was of 
 opinion that it was more correct to break " a piece of bad news to a 
 person by means of a (possibly maladroit and unfeeling) messenger, than 
 to convey it simply to its destination by a note. So the Major wrote to 
 Doctor Portman, and then went out to dinner, one of the saddest men 
 in any London dining-room that day. 
 
 Pen, too, wrote his letter, and skulked about London streets for the 
 rest of the day, fancying that everybody was looking at him and whisper- 
 ing to his neighbour, That is Pendennis of Boniface, who was plucked 
 yesterday. " His letter to his mother was full of tenderness and remorse ; 
 
150 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 he wept the bitterest tears over it— and the repentance and passion 
 soothed him to some degree. 
 
 He saw a party of roaring young blades from Oxbridge in the coffee- 
 room of his hotels and slunk away from them, and paced the streets. 
 He remembers, he says, the prints which he saw hanging up at Acker- 
 mann's window in the rain, and a book which he read at a stall near the 
 Temple ; at night he went to the pit of the play, and saw Miss Fother- 
 ingay, but he doesn't in the least recollect in what piece. 
 
 On the second day there came a kind letter from his tutor, containing 
 many grave and appropriate remarks upon the event which had befallen 
 him, but strongly urging Pen not to take his name off the University 
 books, and to retrieve a disaster which, everybody knew, was owing to 
 his own carelessness alone, and which he might repair by a month's 
 application. He said he had ordered Pen's skip to pack up some trunks 
 of the young gentleman's wardrobe, which duly arrived with fresh copies 
 of all Pen's bills laid on the top. 
 
 On the third day there arrived a letter from Home ! which Pen read in 
 his bedroom, and the result of which was that he fell down on his knees, 
 with his head in the bed-clothes, and there prayed out his heart, and 
 humbled himself : and having gone downstairs and eaten an immense 
 breakfast, he sallied forth and took his place at the Bull and Mouth, 
 Piccadilly, by the Chatteris coach for that evening. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 PRODIGALS RETURN 
 
 Such a letter as the Major wrote, of course sent Doctor Portman to 
 Fairoaks, and he went off with that alacrity which a good man shows 
 when he has disagreeable news to communicate. He wishes the deed 
 were done, and done quickly. He is sorry, but que wulez-vousj the 
 tooth must be taken out, and he has you into the chair, and it is sur- 
 prising with what courage and vigour of wrist he applies the forceps. 
 Perhaps he would not be quite so active or eager if it were his tooth ; ^ 
 but, in fine, it is your duty to have it out. So the Doctor, having read ^ 
 the epistle out to Mira and Mrs. Portman, with many damnatory com- 
 ments upon the young scapegrace who was going deeper and deeper into . 
 perdition, left those ladies to spread the news through the Clavering • 
 society, which they did with their accustomed accuracy and despatch, 
 and strode over to'Fairoaks to break the intelligence to the widow. 
 
 She had the news already. She had read Pen's letter, and it had 
 relieved her somehow. A gloomy presentiment of evil had been hang- 
 ing over her for many, many months past. She knew the worst now, j 
 and her darling boy was come back to her repentant and tender-hearted. j 
 Did she want more ? All that the Rector could say (and his remarks ; 
 were both dictated by common sense, and made respectable by antiquity) ' 
 could not bring Helen to feel any indignation or particular unhappiness, 
 except that the boy should be unhappy. What was this degree that j 
 
PENBENNIS 
 
 1.^1 
 
 they made such an outcry about, and what good would it do Pen? 
 Why did Doctor Portman and his uncle insist upon sending the boy to 
 a place where there was so much temptation to be risked, and so little 
 good to be won ? Why didn't they leave him at home with his mother ? 
 As for his debts, of course they must be paid ; — his debts ! — wasn't his 
 father s money all his, and hadn't he a right to spend it ? In this way 
 the widow met the virtuous Doctor, and all the arrows of his indignation 
 somehow took no eifect upon her gentle bosom. 
 
 For some time past, an agreeable practice, known since times ever so 
 ancient, by which brothers and sisters are wont to exhibit their affection 
 towards one anothe^, and in which Pen and his little sister Laura had 
 been accustomed to indulge pretty frequently in their childish days, had 
 been given up by the mutual consent of those two individuals. Coming 
 back from College after an absence from home of some months, in place 
 of the simple girl whom he had left behind him, Mr. Arthur found a tall, 
 slim, handsome young lady, to whom he could not somehow proffer the 
 kiss which he had been in the habit of administering previously, and 
 who received him with a gracious curtsey and a proffered hand, and 
 with a great blush which rose up to the cheek, just upon the very spot 
 which young Pen had been used to salute. 
 
 I am not good at descriptions of female beauty ; and, indeed, do not 
 care for it in the least (thinking that goodness and virtue are, of course, \ 
 far more advantageous to a young lady than any mere fleeting charms ) 
 of person and face), and so shall not attempt any particular delineation/^ 
 /of Miss Laura Bell at the age of sixteen years. At that age she had 
 /attained her present altitude of five feet four inches, so that she was 
 called tall and gawky by some, and a Maypole by others, of her own 
 sex, who prefer little women. But if she was a Maypole, she had 
 beautiful roses about her head, and it is a fact that many swains were 
 disposed to dance round her. She was ordinarily pale, with a faint rose 
 tinge in her cheeks ; but they flushed up in a minute when occasion 
 called, and continued so blushing ever so long, the roses remaining after 
 the emotion had passed away which had summoned those pretty flowers 
 into existence. Her eyes have been described as very large from her 
 earliest childhood, and retained that characteristic in later life. Good- 
 natured critics (always females) said that she was in the habit of making 
 play with those eyes, and ogling the gentlemen and ladies in her com- 
 pany ; but the fact is, that Nature had made them so to shine and to 
 look, and they could no more help so looking and shining than one star 
 can help being brighter than another. It was doubtless to mitigate their 
 brightness that Miss Laura's eyes were provided with two pairs of veils 
 in the shape of the longest and finest black eyelashes, so that, when she 
 closed her eyes, the same people who found fault with those orbs said 
 
 ; that she wanted to show her eyelashes off ; and, indeed, I dare say 
 
 I that to see her asleep would have been a pretty sight. 
 
 As for her complexion, that was nearly as brilliant as Lady Mantrap's, 
 and without the powder which her ladyship uses. Her nose must be 
 left to the reader's imagination : if her mouth was rather large (as Miss 
 Piminy avers, who, but for her known appetite, one would think could 
 not swallow anything larger than a button), everybody allowed that her 
 
 I smile was charming, and showed off a set of pearly teeth, whilst her 
 
152 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 voice was so low and sweety that to hear it was like listening to sweet 
 music. Because she is in the habit of wearing very long dresses^ people 
 of course say that her feet are not small : but it may be, that they are 
 of the size becoming her figure, and it does not follow, because Mrs. 
 Pincher is always putting her foot out, that all other ladies should be 
 perpetually bringing theirs on the tapis. In fine, Miss Laura Bell, at 
 the age of sixteen, was a sweet young lady. Many thousands of such 
 are to be found, let us hope, in this country, where there is no lack of 
 goodness, and modesty, and purity, and beauty. 
 
 Now, Miss Laura, since she had learned to think for herself (and in 
 the past two years her mind and her person had both developed them- 
 selves considerably), had only been half pleased with Pen^s general con- 
 duct and bearing. His letters to his mother at home had become of late 
 very rare and short. It was in vain that the fond widow urged how con- 
 stant Arthur's occupations and studies were, and how many his engage- 
 ments. It is better that he should lose a prize," Laura said, than 
 forget his mother : and indeed, mamma, I don't see that he gets many 
 prizes. Why doesn't he come home and stay with you, instead of pass- 
 ing his vacations at his great friends' fine houses } There is nobody 
 there will love him half as much as — as you do." — As /do only, Laura," 
 sighed out Mrs. Pendennis. Laura declared stoutly that she did not love 
 Pen a bit when he did not do his duty to his mother : nor would she be 
 convinced by any of Helen's fond arguments, that the boy must make 
 his way in the world ; that his uncle was most desirous that Pen should 
 cultivate the acquaintance of persons who were likely to befriend him 
 in life ; that men had a thousand ties and calls which women could not 
 understand, and so forth. Perhaps Helen no more believed in these ex- 
 cuses than her adopted daughter did ; but she tried to believe that she be- 
 lieved them, and comforted herself with the maternal infatuation. And 
 that is a point whereon, I suppose, many a gentleman has reflected, that, 
 do what we will, we are pretty sure of the woman's love that once has been 
 ours ; and that that untiring tenderness and forgiveness never fail us. 
 
 Also, there had been that freedom, not to say audacity, in Arthur's 
 latter talk and ways which had shocked and displeased Laui'a. , Not that 
 he ever offended her by rudeness, or addressed to her a word which she 
 ought not to hear, for Mr. Pen was a gentleman, and by nature and edu- 
 cation polite to every woman, high and low ; but he spoke lightly and 
 laxly of women in general ; was less courteous in his actions than in his 
 words — neglectful in sundry ways, and in many of the little offices of 
 life. It offended Miss Laura that he should smoke his horrid pipes in 
 the house ; that he should refuse to go to church with his mother, or on 
 walks or visits with her, and be found yawning over his novel in his 
 dressing-gown when the gentle widow returned from those duties. The 
 hero of Laura's early infancy, about whom she had passed so many many 
 nights talking with Helen (who recited endless stories of the boy's 
 virtues, and love, and bravery, when he was away at school), was a very 
 different person from the young man whom now she knew ; bold and 
 brilliant, sarcastic and defiant, seeming to scorn the simple occupations 
 or pleasures, or even devotions, of the women with whom he lived, and 
 whom he quitted on such light pretexts. 
 
 The Fotheringay affair, too, when Laura came to hear of it (which she 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 153 
 
 did first by some sarcastic allusions of Major Pendeimis when ou a visit 
 to Fairoaks^ and then from their neighbours at Clavering^ who had 
 plenty of information to give her on this head)^ vastly shocked and out- 
 raged Miss Laura. A Pendennis fling himself away on such a woman 
 as that ! Helen's boy galloping away from home day after day^ to fall 
 on his knees to an actress, and drink with her horrid father ! A good 
 son want to bring such a man and such a woman into his house, and set 
 her over his mother ! I would have run away, mamma ; I would, if I 
 had had to walk barefoot through the snow,'' Laura said. 
 
 And you would have left me too, then Helen answered ; on which, 
 of course, Laura withdrew her previous observation, and the two women 
 rushed into each other's embraces with that warmth which belonged 
 to both their natures, and which characterises not a few of their sex. 
 Whence comes all this indignation of Miss Laura about Arthur's passion ? 
 Perhaps she did not know, that, if men throw themselves away upon 
 women, women throw themselves away upon men, too ; and that there 
 is no more accounting for love, than for any other physical liking or 
 antipathy : perhaps she had been misinformed by the Clavering people 
 and old Mrs. Portman, who was vastly bitter against Pen, especially since 
 his impertinent behaviour to the Doctor, and since the wretch had 
 smoked cigars in church-time : perhaps, finally, she was jealous ; but 
 this is a vice in which it is said the ladies very seldom indulge. 
 
 Albeit she was angry with Pen, against his mother she had no such 
 feeling ; but devoted herself to Helen with tl; 'itmost force of her girlish 
 affection — such affection as women, whose hearts are disengaged, are 
 apt to bestow upon a near female friend. It was devotion — it was passion 
 — it was all sorts of fondness and folly ; it was a profusion of caresses, 
 tender epithets, and endearments, such as it does not become sober his- 
 torians with beards to narrate. Do not let us men despise these instincts 
 because we cannot feel them. These women were made for our comfort 
 and delectation, gentlemen — with all the rest of the minor animals. 
 
 But as soon as Miss Laura heard that Pen was unfortunate and un- 
 happy, all her wrath against him straightway vanished, and gave place 
 to the most tender and unreasonable compassion. He was the Pen of 
 old days once more restored to her, the frank and affectionate, the 
 generous and tender-hearted. She at once took side with Helen against 
 Doctor Portman, when he outcried at the enormity of Pen's transgres- 
 sions. Debts } what were his debts ? they were a trifle ; he had been 
 thrown into expensive society by his uncle's order, and of course was 
 obliged to live in the same manner as the young gentlemen whose com- 
 pany he frequented. Disgraced by not getting his degree } the poor boy 
 was ill when he went in for the examinations : he couldn't think of his 
 mathematics and stuff on account of those very debts which oppressed 
 ihim ; very likely some of the odious tutors and masters were jealous of 
 him, and had favourites of their own whom they wanted to put over 
 his head. Other people disliked him and were cruel to him, and were 
 unfair to him, she was very sure. And so, with flushing cheeks and 
 3yes bright with anger, this young creature reasoned ; and she went up 
 md seized Helen's hand, and kissed her in the Doctor's presence, and 
 lier looks braved the Doctor, and seemed to ask how he dared to say a 
 [iv^ord against her darling mother's Pen ? 
 
154 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 When that divine took his leave^ not a little discomfited and amazed | 
 at the pertinacious obstinacy of the women^ Laura repeated her embraces { 
 and arguments with tenfold fervour to Helen^ who felt that there was { 
 a great deal of cogency in most of the latter. There must be some , 
 jealousy against Pen. She felt quite sure that he had offended some of 
 the examiners^ who had taken a mean revenge of him— nothing more , 
 likely. Altogether^ the announcement of the misfortune vexed these ] 
 two ladies very little indeed. Pen, who was plunged in his shame and ^ 
 grief in London, and torn with great remorse for thinking of his mother's ^ 
 sorrow, would have wondered had he seen how easily she bore the cala- | 
 mity. Indeed, calamity is welcome to women if they think it will bring ^ 
 truant affection home again : and if you have reduced your mistress to ^ 
 a crust, depend upon it that she won't repine, and only take a very little | 
 bit of it for herself, provided you will eat the remainder in her company. 
 
 And directly the Doctor was gone, Laura ordered fires to be lighted 
 in Mr. Arthurs rooms, and his bedding to be aired ; and had these 
 preparations completed by the time Helen had finished a most tender 
 and affectionate letter to Pen : when the girl, smiling fondly, took her 
 mamma by the hand, and led her into those apartments where the fires 
 were blazing so cheerfully, and there the two kind creatures sate down 
 on the bed, and talked about Pen ever so long. Laura added a post- 
 script to Helen's letter, in which she called him her dearest Pen, and 
 bade him come home instantly, with two of the handsomest dashes under 
 the word, and be happy with his mother and his affectionate sister Laura. 
 
 In the middle of the night— as these two ladies, after reading their 
 Bibles a great deal during the evening, and after taking just a look into 
 Pen's room as they passed to their own— in the middle of the night, I 
 say, Laura, whose head not unfrequently chose to occupy that pillow 
 which the nightcap of the late Pendennis had been accustomed to press, 
 cried out suddenly, Mamma, are you awake ? " 
 
 Helen stirred, and said, Yes, I'm awake." The truth is, though 
 she had been lying quite still and silent, she had not been asleep one |j 
 instant, but had been looking at the night-lamp in the chimney, and |, 
 had been thinking of Pen for hours and hours. 
 
 Then Miss Laura (who had been acting with similar hypocrisy, and , 
 lying, occupied with her own thoughts, as motionless as Helen s brooch, j 
 with Pen's and Laura's hair in it, on the frilled white pincushion on the , 
 dressing-table) began to tell Mrs. Pendennis of a notable plan which , 
 she had been forming in her busy little brain ; and by which all Pen's I 
 embarrassments would be made to vanish in a moment, and without the 1 
 least trouble to anybody. , \ 
 
 You know, mamma," this young lady said, that I have been living * 
 with you for ten years, during* which time you have never taken any of 
 my money, and have been treating me just as if I was a charity girl. ! 
 Now, this obligation has offended me very much, because I am proud 
 and do not like to be beholden to people. And as, if I had gone to J 
 school— only I wouldn't— it must have cost me at least fifty pounds a jj 
 year, it is clear that I owe you fifty times ten pounds, which I know you 
 have put into the bank at Chatteris for me, and which doesn't belong 
 to me a bit. Now, to-morrow we will go to Chatteris, and see that nice 
 old Mr. Rowdy, with the bald he^d<^ ask him for it,— not for hi^ 
 
j 
 
 ; PENDENNIS 155 
 
 heady but for the five hundred pounds : and I daresay he will lend you 
 two more^ which we will save and pay back ; and we will send the money 
 to Pen^ who can pay all his debts without hurting anybody^ and then 
 we will live happy ever after." 
 
 What Helen replied to this speech need not be repeated^ as the 
 widow's answer was made up of a great number of incoherent ejacu- 
 lations^ embraces^ and other irrelative matter. But the two women 
 slept well after that talk ; and when the night-lamp went out with a 
 splutter, and the sun rose gloriously over the purple hills, and the birds 
 began to sing and pipe cheerfully amid the leafless trees and glistening 
 evergreens on Fairoaks lawn, Helen woke too, and as she looked at the 
 sweet face of the girl sleeping beside her, her lips parted with a smile, 
 blushes on her cheeks, her spotless bosom heaving and falling with 
 gentle undulations, as if happy dreams were sweeping over it — Pen's 
 mother felt happy and grateful beyond all power of words, save such as 
 pious women offer up to the Beneficent Dispenser of love and mercy — 
 in Whose honour a chorus of such praises is constantly rising up all 
 round the world. 
 
 Although it was January and rather cold weather, so sincere was Mr. 
 Pen's remorse, and so determined his plans of economy, that he would 
 not take an inside place in the coach, but sate up behind with his friend 
 the guard, who remembered his former liberality, and lent him plenty 
 of great-coats. Perhaps it was the cold that made his knees tremble as 
 he got down at the lodge gate, or it may be that he was agitated at the 
 notion of seeing the kind creature for whose love he had made so selfish 
 a return. Old John was in waiting to receive his master's baggage, but 
 he appeared in a fustian jacket, and no longer wore his livery of drab 
 and blue. ^^I'se garner and stable-man, and lives in the ladge now," 
 this worthy man remarked, with a grin of welcome to Pen, and some- 
 thing of a blush ; but instantly as Pen turned the corner of the shrubbery 
 land was out of eye-shot of the coach, Helen made her appearance, her 
 face beaming with love and forgiveness — for forgiving is what some 
 women love best of all. 
 
 We may be sure that the widow, having a certain other object in 
 ii^iew, had lost no time in writing off to Pen an account of the noble, 
 i:he magnanimous, the magnificent offer of Laura, filling up her letter 
 with a profusion of benedictions upon both her children. It was probably 
 the knowledge of this money obligation which caused Pen to blush very 
 jnuch when he saw Laura, who was in waiting in the hall, and who this 
 ':ime, and for this time only, broke through the little arrangement 
 if which we have spoken, as having subsisted between her and Arthur 
 nor the last few years ; but the truth is, there has been a great deal too 
 much said about kissing in the present chapter. 
 
 i So the Prodigal came home, and the fatted calf was killed for him, 
 md he was made as happy as two simple women could make him. No 
 illusions were made to the Oxbridge mishap, or questions asked as to his 
 oirther proceedings, for some time. But Pen debated these anxiously 
 ; n his own mind, and up in his own room, where he passed much time 
 n cogitation. 
 
 A few days after he came home, he rode to Chatteris on his horse^ 
 
156 PENDENNIS 
 
 and came back on the top of the coach. He then informed his mother | 
 that he had left the horse to be sold ; and when that operation was i 
 effected, he handed her over the cheque, which she, and possibly Pen |; 
 himself, thought was an act of uncommon virtue and self-denial, but j) 
 which Laura pronounced to be only strict justice. I 
 
 He rarely mentioned the loan which she had made, and which, indeed, ]i 
 had been accepted by the widow with certain modifications ; but once or 
 twice, and with great hesitation and stammering, he alluded to it, and 
 thanked her. It evidently pained his vanity to be beholden to the orphan \ 
 for succour. He was wild to find some means of repaying her. 
 
 He left off drinking wine, and betook himself, but with great modera- , 
 tion, to the refreshment of whisky-and-water. He gave up cigar smok- ' 
 ing ; but it must be confessed that of late years he had liked pipes and | 
 tobacco as well or even better, so that this sacrifice was not a very 
 severe one. 
 
 He fell asleep a great deal after dinner when he joined the ladies m 
 the drawing-room, and was certainly very moody and melancholy. He 
 watched the coaches with great interest, walked in to read the papers at 
 Clavering assiduously, dined with anybody who would ask him (and the 
 widow was glad that he should have any entertainment in their solitary 
 place), and played a good deal at cribbage with Captain Glanders. 
 
 He avoided Doctor Portman, who, in his turn, whenever Pen passed, 
 gave him very severe looks from under his shovel-hat. He went to 
 church with his mother, however, very regularly, and read prayers for 
 her at home to the little household. Always humble, it was greatly 
 diminished now ; a couple of maids did the work of the house at Fairoaks : 
 the silver dish-covers never saw the light at all. John put on his livery 
 to go to church, and assert his dignity on Sundays, but it was only for 
 form's sake. He was gardener and out-door man, vice Upton, resigned. 
 There was but little fire in Fairoaks kitchen, and John and the maids 
 drank their evening beer there by the light of a single candle. All 
 this was Mr. Pen's doing, and the state of things did not increase his 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 For some time Pen said no power on earth could induce him to go 
 back to Oxbridge again, after his failure there ; but one day Laura said 
 to him, with many blushes, that she thought, as some sort of reparation, 
 of punishment on himself for his— for his idleness, he ought to go back 
 and get his degree, if he could fetch it by doing so ; and so back Mr. 
 
 Een went. 
 A plucked man is a dismal being in a University ; belonging to no set 
 P men there, and owned by no one. Pen felt himself plucked indeed 
 uf all the fine feathers which he had won during his brilliant years, and 
 rarely appeared out of his College ; regularly going to morning chapel, 
 and shutting himself up in his rooms of nights, away from the noise and 
 suppers of the undergraduates. There were no duns about his door, 
 they were all paid— scarcely any cards were left there. The men of his 
 year had taken their degrees, and were gone. He went into a second 
 examination, and passed with perfect ease. He was somewhat more 
 easy in his mind when he appeared in his bachelor's gown. 
 
 On his way back from Oxbridge he paid a visit to his uncle in London ; 
 but the old gentleman received him with very cold looks, and would 
 
Copyright, Service &- Paton, 1897 
 
or THE. 
 
PENDENNIS 167 
 
 scarcely give him his forefinger to shake. He called a second time^ but 
 Morgan^ the valet^ said his master was from home. 
 
 Pen came back to Fairoaks^ and to his books and to his idleness^ and 
 loneliness and despair. He commenced several tragedies^ and wrote 
 many copies of verses of a gloomy cast. He formed plans of reading 
 ind broke them. He thought about enlisting — about the Spanish legion 
 —about a profession. He chafed against his captivity^ and cursed the 
 idleness which had caused it. Helen said he was breaking his hearty and 
 was sad to see his prostration. As soon as they could afford it he should 
 ^o abroad — he should go to London — ^he should be freed from the dull 
 society of two poor women. It was dull — very^ certainly. The tender 
 widow's habitual melancholy seemed to deepen into a sadder gloom ; and 
 Laura saw with alarm that the dear friend became every year more 
 languid and weary ^ and that her pale cheek grew more wan. 
 
 CHAPTER XXH 
 
 NEW FACES 
 
 The inmates of Fairoaks were drowsily pursuing this humdrum exist- 
 ence^ while the great house upon the hill^ on the other side of the river 
 Brawl^ was shaking off the slumber in which it had lain during the 
 lives of two generations of masters^ and giving extraordinary signs of 
 renewed liveliness. 
 
 Just about the time of Pen's little mishap^ and when he was so 
 absorbed in the grief occasioned by that calamity as to take no notice 
 of events which befell persons less interesting to himself than Arthur 
 jPendennis^ an announcement appeared in the provincial journals which 
 'caused no small sensation in the county at leasts and in all the towns^ 
 i villages^ halls and mansions^ and parsonages for many miles round 
 IClavering Park. At Clavering Market ; at Cackleby Fair ; at Chatteris 
 Sessions ; on Gooseberry Green^ as the squire's carriage met the vicar s 
 one-horse contrivance^ and the inmates of both vehicles stopped on the 
 road to talk ; at Tinkleton Church gate^ as the bell was tolling in the 
 sunshine^ and the white smocks and scarlet cloaks came trooping over 
 the green common^ to Sunday worship ; in a hundred societies round 
 about — ^the word was^ that Clavering Park was to be inhabited again. 
 
 Some five years before^ the county papers had advertised the marriage 
 at Florence^ at the British Legation^ of Francis Clavering^ Esq._, only 
 son of Sir Francis Clavering^ Bart._, of Clavering Park^ with Jemima 
 Augusta^ daughter of Samuel Snell^ of Calcutta^ Esq.^ and widow of 
 the late J. Amory^ Esq. At that time the legend in the county was 
 that Clavering^ who had been ruined for many a year^ had married a 
 widow from India with some money. Some of the county folks caught 
 a sight of the newly-married pair. The Kickleburys^ travelling in 
 Italy ^ had seen them. Clavering occupied the Poggi Palace at Florence^ 
 gave parties^ and lived comfortably — but could never come to England. 
 Another year — young Peregrine^ of Cackleby^ making a Long Vacation 
 tour^ had fallen in with the Claverings occupying Schloss Schinkenstein, 
 
158 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 on the Mummel See. At Rome^ at Lucca, at Nice, at the baths and 
 gambling-places of the Rhine and Belgium, this worthy couple might 
 occasionally be heard of by the curious, and rumours of them came, as 
 it were by gusts, to Clavering's ancestral place. 
 
 Their last place of abode was Paris, where they appear to have lived 
 in great fashion and splendour after the news of the death of Samuel 
 Snell, Esq., of Calcutta, reached his orphan daughter in Europe. 
 
 Of Sir Francis Clavering's antecedents little can be said that would 
 be advantageous to that respected baronet. The son of an outlaw, 
 living in a dismal old chateau near Bruges, this gentleman had made 
 a feeble attempt to start in life with a commission in a dragoon regi- 
 ment, and had broken down almost at the outset. Transactions at the 
 gambling-table had speedily effected his ruin ; after a couple of years 
 in the army he had been forced to sell out, had passed some time in 
 Her Majesty's prison of the Fleet, and had then shipped over to Ostend 
 to join the gouty exile, his father. And in Belgium, France, and Ger- 
 many, for some years, this decayed and abortive prodigal might be seen 
 lurking about billiard-rooms and watering-places, punting at gambling- 
 houses, dancing at boarding-house balls, and riding steeplechases on 
 other folks' horses. 
 
 It was at a boarding-house at Lausanne, that Francis Clavering made 
 what he called the lucky coup of marrying the widow Amory, very 
 lately returned from Calcutta. His father died soon after, by conse- 
 quence of whose demise his wife became Lady Clavering. The title 
 so delighted Mr. Snell of Calcutta, that he doubled his daughter s 
 allowance ; and, dying himself soon after, left a fortune to her and her 
 children, the amount of which was, if not magnified by rumour, some- 
 thing very splendid indeed. 
 
 Before this time there had been, not rumours unfavourable to 
 Lady Clavering's reputation, but unpleasant impressions regarding her 
 Ladyship. The best English people abroad were shy of making her 
 acquaintance ; her manners were not the most refined ; her origin was 
 lamentably low and doubtful. The retired East Indians, who are to 
 be found in considerable force in most of the continental towns fre- 
 quented by English, spoke with much scorn of the disreputable old 
 lawyer and indigo-smuggler her father, and of Amory, her first husband, 
 who had been mate of the Indiaman in which Miss Snell came out 
 to join her father at Calcutta. Neither father nor daughter was in 
 society at Calcutta, or had ever been heard of at Government House. 
 Old Sir Jasper Rogers, who had been Chief- Justice of Calcutta, had 
 once said to his wife, that he could tell a queer story about Lady 
 Clavering's first husband ; but, greatly to Lady Rogers's disappoint- 
 ment, and that of the young ladies his daughters, the old Judge could 
 never be got to reveal that mystery. 
 
 They were all, however, glad enough to go to Lady Clavering's 
 parties, when her Ladyship took the Hotel Bouilli in the Rue Crenelle 
 at Paris, and blazed out in the polite world there in the winter of 188 — . 
 The Faubourg St. Germain took her up. Viscount Bagwig, our excellent 
 ambassador, paid her marked attention. The princes of the family fre- 
 quented her saloons. The most rigid and noted of the English ladies 
 resident in the French capital acknowledged and countenanced her ; 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 159 
 
 the virtuous Lady Elderbury^ the severe Lady Rockminster^ the vener- 
 lable Countess of Southdown — people^ in a word^ renowned for austerity, 
 land of quite a dazzling moral purity; — so great and beneficent an in- 
 ifluence had the possession of ten (some said twenty) thousand a year 
 ;3xercised upon Lady Clavering's character and reputation. And her 
 i munificence and good-will were unbounded. Anybody (in society) who 
 lad a scheme of charity was sure to find her purse open. The French 
 iiadies of piety got money from her to support their schools and convents : 
 i5he subscribed indifferently for the Armenian patriarch ; for Father 
 Barbarossa, who came to Europe to collect funds for his monastery on 
 Mount Athos ; for the Baptist Mission to Quashyboo, and the Orthodox 
 Settlement in Feefawfoo, the largest and most savage of the Cannibal 
 [slands. And it is on record of her, that, on the same day on which 
 Vladame de Cricri got five napoleons from her in support of the poor 
 3ersecuted Jesuits, who were at that time in very bad odour in France, 
 Lady Budelight put her down in her subscription-list for the Rev. J. 
 Elamshom, who had had a vision which ordered him to convert the Pope 
 )f Rome. And more than this, and for the benefit of the worldly, her 
 Ladyship gave the best dinners, and the grandest balls and suppers, 
 ivhich were known at Paris during that season. 
 
 i And it was during this time, that the good-natured lady must have 
 lirranged matters with her husband's creditors in England, for Sir 
 j^'rancis reappeared in his native country, without fear of arrest ; was 
 j announced in the Morning Post and the county paper, as having taken 
 'ip his residence at Mivart's Hotel : and one day the anxious old house- 
 keeper at Clavering House beheld a carriage and four horses drive up 
 he long avenue and stop before the moss-grown steps in front of the 
 ast melancholy portico. 
 
 Three gentlemen were in the carriage — an open one. On the back 
 jeat was our old acquaintance, Mr. Tatham of Chatteris, whilst in the 
 'daces of honour sat a handsome and portly gentleman enveloped in 
 nustachios, whiskers, fur-collars, and braiding, and by him a pale 
 anguid man, who descended feebly from the carriage, when the little 
 awyer, and the gentleman in fur, had nimbly jumped out of it. 
 
 They walked up the great moss-grown steps to the hall-door, and a 
 oreign attendant, with earrings and a gold-laced cap, pulled strenu- 
 lusly at the great bell-handle at the cracked and sculptured gate, 
 i'he bell was heard clanging loudly through the vast gloomy mansion, 
 teps resounded presently upon the marble pavement of the hall 
 dthin ; and the doors opened, and finally, Mrs. Blenkinsop, the house- 
 eeper, Polly, her aide-de-camp, and Smart, the keeper, appeared 
 owing humbly. 
 
 Smart, the keeper, pulled the wisp of hay-coloured hair which adorned 
 is sunburnt forehead, kicked out his left heel, as if there were a doA 
 iting at his calves, and brought down his head to a bow. Old Mrs.l 
 Jlenkinsop dropped a curtsey. Little Polly, her aide-de-camp, made 
 
 curtsey, and several rapid bows likewise : and Mrs. Blenkinsop, with 
 
 gi-eat deal of emotion, quavered out, '^^ Welcome to Clavering, Sir 
 rancis. It du my poor eyes good to see one of the family once more." 
 
 The speech and the greetings were all addressed to the grand gentle- 
 ,ian in fur and braiding, who wore his hat so magnificently on one side. 
 
160 PENDENNIS 
 
 and twirled his mustachios so royally. But he burst out laughing, and 
 said, You've saddled the wrong horse, old lady— I'm not Sir Francis, 
 Clavering what's come to revisit the halls of my ancestors. Friends and 
 vassals ! behold your rightful lord ! " , . , , i 
 
 And he pointed his hand towards the pale, languid gentleman, who^ 
 said, Don't be an ass, Ned." ^ . . t n x 
 
 ^^Yes, Mrs. Blenkinsop, I'm Sir Francis Clavering; I recollect you 
 quite well. Forget me, I suppose ?— How dy do ? " and he took the old 
 lady's trembling hand ; and nodded in her astonished face, in a not 
 unkind manner. , ^i ^ i. u 
 
 Mrs. Blenkinsop declared upon her conscience that she would have 
 known Sir Francis anywhere ; that he was the very image of Sir Francis 
 his father, and of Sir John who had gone before. 
 
 Oh yes— thanky— of course— very much obliged— and that sort ot 
 thinff," Sir Francis said, looking vacantly about the hall. Dismal old 
 place, ain't it, Ned ? Never saw it but once, when my governor quarrelled 
 with my ffwandfather, in the year twenty-thwee. " , ^ 
 
 Dismal ?— beautiful !— the Castle of Otranto !— the Mysteries of 
 Udolpho by Jove ! " said the individual addressed as Ned. What a 
 fireplace'! You might roast an elephant in it. Splendid carved gallery 'J 
 Ini^o Jones, by Jove ! I'd lay five to two it's Inigo Jones. 
 
 ^^The upper part by Inigo Jones; the lower was altered by the 
 eminent Dutch architect, Vanderputty, in George the First his time, 
 bv Sir Richard, fourth baronet," said the housekeeper. 
 
 Oh indeed," said the Baronet. 'Gad, Ned, you know everything, 
 I know a few things, Frank," Ned answered. I know that s not 
 a Snyders over the mantelpiece— bet you three to one it's a copy. We U 
 restore it, my boy. A lick of varnish and it will come out wondenully 
 sir That old fellow in the red gown, I suppose, is Sir Richard ?" 
 
 Sheriff of the county, and sate in Parliament in the reign of Queer 
 Anne," said the housekeeper, wondering at the stranger's knowledge ; 
 ^Uhat on the right is Theodosia, wife of Harbottle, second baronet, b) 
 Lely, represented in the character of Venus, the Goddess of Beauty,- 
 her son Gregory, the third baronet, by her side, as Cupid, God of Love, 
 with a bow and arrows ; that on the next panel is Sir Rupert, madt 
 a knight banneret by Charles the First, and whose property was con- 
 fuscated by Oliver Cromwell." „ . t, * 
 
 Thank you— needn't go on, Mrs. Blenkinsop, said the Baronet 
 " We'll walk about the place ourselves. Frosch, give me a cigar. Havf^ 
 a cigar, Mr. Tatham ? " ^ . , . i j i 
 
 Little Mr Tatham tried a cigar which Sir Francis s courier handec^ 
 to him, and over which the lawyer spluttered fearfully. Needn't com. jI 
 with us, Mrs. Blenkinsop. What's-his-name— you— Smart— feed th( 
 horses and wash their mouths. Shan't stay long. Come along. Strong 
 —I know the way : I was here in twenty-thwee, at the end of my gwand I 
 father's time." And Sir Francis and Captain Strong, for such was th 
 style and title of Sir Francis's friend, passed out of the hall into th 
 reception rooms, leaving the discomfited Mrs. Blenkinsop to disapi)ea 
 by a side-door which led to her apartments, now the only habitabl 
 rooms in the long-uninhabited mansion. ^ 
 
 It was a placQ so big that no tenant could afford to live in it ; and ^ i 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 161 
 
 Francis and his friend walked through room after room^ admiring their 
 vastness and dreary and deserted grandeur. On the right of the hall 
 door were the saloons and drawing-rooms^ and on the other side the oak 
 room^ the parlour, the grand dining-room_, the library, where Pen had 
 found books in old days. Round three sides of the hall ran a gallery, 
 by which, and corresponding passages, the chief bedrooms were ap- 
 proached, and of which many were of stately proportions and exhibited 
 marks of splendour. On the second storey was a labyrinth of little dis- 
 comfortable garrets, destined for the attendants of the great folks who 
 inhabited the mansion in the days when it was first built : and I do not 
 know any more cheering mark of the increased philanthropy of our 
 own times, than to contrast our domestic architecture with that of our 
 ancestors, and to see how much better servants and poor are cared for 
 at present, than in times when my lord and my lady slept under gold 
 canopies, and their servants lay above them in quarters not so airy or so 
 clean as stables are now. 
 
 Up and down the house the two gentlemen wandered, the owner of the 
 mansion being very silent and resigned about the pleasure of possessing 
 ; it ; whereas the Captain, his friend, examined the premises with so much 
 f interest and eagerness that you would have thought he was the master, 
 1 and the other the indifferent spectator of the place. I see capabilities 
 in it — capabilities in it, sir," cried the Captain. 'Gad, sir, leave it to 
 me, and 111 make it the pride of the country, at a small expense. What 
 a theatre we can have in the library here, the curtains between the 
 columns which divide the room ! What a famous room for a galop ! — it 
 will hold the whole shire. Well hang the morning parlour with the 
 ! tapestry in your second salon in the Rue de Crenelle, and furnish the 
 oak room with the Moyen-age cabinets and the armour. Armour looks 
 I splendid against black oak, and there's a Venice glass in the Quai 
 I Voltaire which will suit that high mantelpiece to an inch, sir. The 
 long saloon, white and crimson, of course ; the drawing-room yellow 
 ; satin : and the little drawing-room light blue, with lace over — hay ? " 
 i '^1 recollect my old governor caning me in that little room," Sir 
 Francis said sententiously ; ^^he always hated me, my old governor." 
 
 Chintz is the dodge, I suppose, for my lady's rooms — the suite in the 
 landing, to the south, the bedroom, the sitting-room, and the dressing- 
 room. We'll throw a conservatory out, over the balcony. Where will 
 you have your rooms } " 
 
 Put mine in the north wing," said the Baronet, with a yawn, and 
 out of the reach of Miss Amory's confounded piano. I can't bear it. 
 She's scweechii^ from morning till night." 
 
 The Captain burst out laughing. He settled the whole further 
 arrangements of the house in the course of their walk through it ; and, 
 the promenade ended, they went into the steward's room, now inhabited 
 by Mrs. Blenkinsop, and where Mr. Tatham was sitting poring over the 
 plan of the estate, and the old housekeeper had prepared a collation in 
 honour of her lord and master. 
 
 Then they inspected the kitchen and stables, about both of which Sir 
 Francis was rather interested, and Captain Strong was for examining the 
 
 gardens ; but the Baronet said, D the gardens,^ and that sort of 
 
 thing ! " and finally he drove away from the house as unconcernedly as 
 
 I L 
 
162 PENDENNIS 
 
 he had entered it; and that night the people of Clavering learned that 
 Sir Francis Clavering had paid a visit to the Park, and was coming to 
 live in the county. 
 
 When this fact came to be known at Chatteris, all the folks in the 
 place were set in commotion : High Church and Low Church, half-pay 
 captains and old maids and dowagers, sporting squireens of the vicinage, 
 farmers, tradesmen, and factory-people— all the population in and round 
 about the little place. The news was brought to Fairoaks, and received 
 by the ladies there, and by Mr. Pen, with some excitement. Mrs. 
 Pybus says there is a very pretty girl in the family, Arthur," Laura said, 
 who was as kind and thoughtful upon this point as women generally are ; 
 
 a Miss Amory, Lady Clavering s daughter by her first marriage. Of 
 course, you will fall in love with her as soon as she arrives." 
 
 Helen cried out, Don't talk nonsense, Laura." Pen laughed, and 
 said, Well, there is the young Sir Francis for you." 
 
 He is but four years old," Miss Laura replied. ^^But I shall con- 
 sole myself with that handsome officer. Sir Francis's friend. He was 
 at church last Sunday, in the Clavering pew, and his mustachios were 
 beautiful." 
 
 Indeed the number of Sir Francis's family (whereof the members have 
 all been mentioned in the above paragraphs) was pretty soon known in the 
 town, and everything else, as nearly as human industry and ingenuity 
 could calculate, regarding his household. The park avenue and grounds 
 were dotted now with town folks of the summer evenings, who made 
 their way up to the great house, peered about the premises, and criticised 
 the improvements which were taking place there. Loads upon loads of \ 
 furniture arrived in numberless vans from Chatteris and London ; and | 
 numerous as the vans were, there was not one but Captain Glanders knew j 
 what it contained, and escorted the baggage up to the Park House. J 
 
 He and Captain Edward Strong had formed an intimate acquaintance I 
 by this time. The younger captain occupied those very lodgings at! 
 Clavering, which the* peaceful Smirke had previously tenanted, and was | 
 deep in the good graces of Madame Fribsby, his landlady ; and of the \ 
 whole town, indeed. The Captain was splendid in person and raiment ; ' 
 fresh-coloured, blue-eyed, black-whiskered, broad-chested, athletic— -a 
 slight tendency to fulness did not take away from the comeliness of his 
 jolly figure — a' braver soldier never presented a broader chest to the 
 enemy. As he strode down Clavering High Street, his hat on one side, 
 his cane clanking on the pavement, or waving round him in the execution 
 of military cuts and soldatesque manoeuvres — his jolly laughter ringing 
 through the otherwise silent street — he was as welcome as sunshine to 
 the place, and a comfort to every inhabitant in it. 
 
 On the first market-day he knew every pretty girl in the market ; he 
 joked with all the women ; had a word with the farmers about their 
 stock, and dined at the Agricultural Ordinary at the Clavering Arms, 
 where he set them all dying with laughter by his fun and jokes. ^^Tu 
 be sure he be a vine feller, tu be sure that he be," was the universal 
 opinion of the gentlemen in top-boots. He shook hands with a score of 
 them, as they rode out of the inn-yard on their old nags, waving his hat 
 to them splendidly as he smoked his cigar in the inn-gate. In the course 
 of the evening he was free of the landlady's bar, knew what rent the 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 163 
 
 landlord paid^ how many acres he farmed^ how much malt he put in his 
 strong beer ; and whether he ever ran in a little brandy unexcised by 
 kings from Baymouth^ or the fishing villages along the coast. 
 
 He had tried to live at the great house first : but it was so dull he 
 couldn't stand it. I am a creature born for society^" he told Captain 
 Glanders. I'm down here to see Clavering's house set in order, for 
 between ourselves, Frank has no energy, sir, no energy ; he's not the 
 chest for it, sir " (and he threw out his own trunk as he spoke) ; but 
 I must have social intercourse. Old Mrs. Blenkinsop goes to bed at 
 seven, and takes Polly with her. There was nobody but me and the 
 Ghost for the first two nights at the great house, and I own it, sir, I like 
 company. Most old soldiers do." 
 
 Glanders asked Strong where he had served } Captain Strong curled 
 his moustache, and said, with a laugh, that the other might almost ask 
 where he had not served. I began, sir, as cadet of Hungarian Uhlans, 
 and when the war of Greek independence broke out, quitted that service 
 in consequence of a quarrel with my governor, and was one of seven who 
 escaped from Missolonghi, and was blown up in one of Botzaris's fire- 
 ships, at the age of seventeen. I'll show you my Cross of the Redeemer, 
 if you'll come over to my lodgings and take a glass of grog with me. 
 Captain, this evening. I've a few of those baubles in my desk. I've 
 the White Eagle of Poland ; Skrzynecki gave it me " (he pronounced 
 Skrzynecki's name with wonderful accuracy and gusto) " upon the field 
 of Ostrolenka. I was a lieutenant of the fourth regiment, sir, and we 
 marched through Diebitsch's lines — bang thro' 'em into Prussia, sir, 
 without firing a shot. Ah, Captain, that was a mismanaged business. 
 I received this wound by the side of the King before Oporto — where he 
 would have pounded the stock-jobbing Pedroites, had Bourmont followed 
 my advice ; and I served in Spain with the King's troops, until the 
 death of my dear friend, Zumalacarreguy, when I saw the game was 
 over, and hung up my toasting-iron. Captain. Alava offered me a 
 regiment ; but I couldn't — damme I couldn't — and now, sir, you know 
 Ned Strong — the Chevalier Strong, they call me abroad — as well as he 
 knows himself." 
 
 In this way almost everybody in Clavering came to know Ned Strong. 
 He told Madame Fribsby, he told the landlord of the George, he told 
 Baker at the reading-rooms, he told Mrs. Glanders and the young ones, 
 at dinner : and finally, he told Mr. Arthur Pendennis, who, yawning 
 into Clavering one day, found the Chevalier Strong in company with 
 Captain Glanders, and who was delighted with his new acquaintance. 
 
 Before many days were over. Captain Strong was as much at home 
 in Helen's drawing-room as he was in Madame Fribsby's first floor ; and 
 made the lonely house very gay with his good humour and ceaseless flow 
 of talk. The two women had never before seen such a man. He had 
 a thousand stories about battles and dangers to interest them — about 
 Greek captives, Polish beauties, and Spanish nuns. He could sing 
 scores of songs, in half-a-dozen languages, and would sit down to the 
 piano and troll them off in a rich manly voice. Both the ladies pro- 
 nounced him to be delightful — and so he was : though, indeed, they 
 had not had much choice of man's society as yet, having seen in the 
 course of their lives but few persons, except old Portman and the Major, 
 
164 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and Mr. Pen^ who was a genius^ to be sure ; but then your geniuses 
 are somewhat flat and moody at home. 
 
 And Captain Strong acquainted his new friends at Fairoaks^ not only 
 with his own biography^ but with the whole history of the family now 
 coming to Clavering. It was he who had made the marriage between 
 his friend Frank and the widow Amory. She wanted rank^ and he 
 wanted money. What match could be more suitable ? He organised 
 it ; he made those two people happy. There was no particular romantic 
 attachment between them ; the widow was not of an age or a person for 
 romance^ and Sir Francis^ if he had his game at billiards and his dinner, 
 cared for little besides. But they were as happy as people could be. 
 Clavering would return to his native place and country, his wife's fortune 
 would pay his encumbrances off, and his son and heir would be one of 
 the first men in the county. 
 
 And Miss Amory ? " Laura asked. Laura was uncommonly curious 
 about Miss Amory. 
 
 Strong laughed. ^^Oh, Miss Amory is a muse — Miss Amory is a 
 mystery — Miss Amory is a femme incomprise." — What is that } " asked 
 simple Mrs. Pendennis — but the Chevalier gave her no answer ; perhaps 
 could not give her one. — ^^Miss Amory paints. Miss Amory writes 
 poems. Miss Amory composes music. Miss Amory rides like Diana 
 Vernon. Miss Amory is a paragon, in a word." 
 hate clever women," said Pen. 
 Thank you," said Laura. For her part she was sure she should 
 be charmed with Miss Amory, and quite longed to have such a friend. 
 And with this she looked Pen full in the face, as if every word the little 
 hypocrite said was Gospel truth. 
 
 Thus an intimacy was arranged and prepared beforehand between the 
 Fairoaks family and their wealthy neighbours at the Park ; and Pen and 
 Laura were to the full as eager for their arrival, as even the most curious 
 of the Clavering folks. A Londoner, who sees fresh faces and yawns at 
 them every day, may smile at the eagerness with which country people 
 expect a visitor. A cockney comes amongst them, and is remembered 
 by his rural entertainers for years after he has left them, and forgotten 
 them, very likely — floated far away from them on the vast London sea. 
 But the islanders remember long after the mariner has sailed away, 
 and can tell you what he said and what he wore, and how he looked 
 and how he laughed. In fine, a new arrival is an event in the country 
 not to be understood by us, who don't, and had rather not, know who 
 lives next door. 
 
 When the painters and upholsterers had done their work in the house, 
 and so beautified it, under Captain Strong's superintendence, that he 
 might well be proud of his taste, that gentleman announced that he 
 should go to London, where the whole family had arrived by this time, 
 and should speedily return to establish them in their renovated mansion. 
 
 Detachments of domestics preceded them. Carriages came down by 
 sea, and were brought over from Baymouth by horses which had pre- 
 viously arrived under the care of grooms and coachmen. One day the 
 Alacrity coach brought down on its roof two large and melancholy 
 men, who were dropped at the Park lodge with their trunks, and who 
 were Messieurs Frederic and James, metropolitan footmen, who had no 
 
PENDENNIS 165 
 
 objection to the country, and brought with them state and other suits 
 of the Clavering uniform. , 
 
 On another day, the mail deposited at the gate a foreign gentleman, 
 adorned with many ringlets and chains. He made a great not at the 
 lodge gate to the keeper's wife (who, being a West country woman, did 
 not understand his English or his Gascon French), because there was 
 no carriage in waiting to drive him to the house, a mile olF, and because 
 he could not walk entire leagues in his fatigued state and varnished 
 boots. This was Monsieur Alcide Mirobolant, formerly Chef of His 
 Highness the Due de Borodino, of His Eminence Cardinal Beccafico, 
 and at present Chef of the bouche of Sir Clavering, Baronet :— Mon- 
 sieur Mirobolant's library, pictures, and piano had arrived previously 
 in charge of the intelligent young Englishman, his aide-de-camp. He 
 was, moreover, aided by a professed female cook, likewise from London, 
 who had inferior females under her orders. 
 
 He did not dine in the steward's room, but took his nutriment m 
 solitude in his own apartments, where a female servant was affected to 
 his private use. It was a grand sight to behold him in his dressing- 
 gown composing a menu. He always sate down and played the piano for 
 some time before. If interrupted, he remonstrated pathetically. Every 
 great artist, he said, had need of solitude to perfectionate his works. 
 
 But we are advancing matters in the fulness of our love and respect 
 for Monsieur Mirobolant, and bringing him prematurely on the stage. 
 
 The Chevalier Strong had a hand in the engagement of all the London 
 domestics, and, indeed, seemed to be the master of the house. There 
 were those among them who said he was the house-steward, only he 
 dined with the family. Howbeit, he knew how to make himself re- 
 spected, and two of by no means the least comfortable rooms of the 
 house were assigned to his particular use. 
 
 He was walking upon the terrace finally upon the eventful day, when, 
 amidst an immense jangling of bells from Clavering Church, where the 
 flag was flying, an open carriage and one of those travelling chariots or 
 family arks, which only English philoprogenitiveness could invent, drove 
 rapidly with foaming horses through the park gates, and up to the steps 
 of the Hall. The two battans of the sculptured door flew open. Two 
 superior officers in black, the large and melancholy gentlemen, now in 
 livery with their hair in powder, the country menials engaged to aid 
 them, were in waiting in the hall, and bowed like tall elms when autumn 
 winds wail in the park. Through this avenue passed Sir Francis Claver- 
 ing with a most unmoved face : Lady Clavering with a pair of bright 
 black eyes, and a good-humoured countenance, which waggled and 
 nodded very graciously : Master Francis Clavering, who was holding 
 ! his mamma's skirt (and who stopped the procession to look at the 
 largest footman, whose appearance seemed to strike the young gentle- 
 1 man), and Miss Blandy, governess to Master Francis, and Miss Amory, 
 \her Ladyship's daughter, giving her arm to Captain Strong. It was 
 summer, but fires of welcome were crackling in the great hall chimney, 
 and in the rooms which the family were to occupy. 
 
 Monsieur Mirobolant had looked at the procession from one of the 
 lime-trees in the avenue. "Elle est la," he said, laying his jewelled 
 hand on his richly-embroidered velvet waistcoat with glass buttons, ' Je 
 
166 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 t'ai vue ; je te benis^ O ma sylphide^ O mon ange ! " and he dived into 
 the thicket^ and made his way back to his furnaces and saucepans. 
 
 The next Sunday the same party which had just made its appearance 
 at Clavering Park^ came and publicly took possession of the ancient pew 
 in the churchy where so many of the Baronet's ancestors had prayed^ 
 and were now kneeling in effigy. There was such a run to see the new 
 folks^ that the Low Church was deserted^ to the disgust of its pastor ; 
 and as the state barouche^ with the greys and coachman in silver wig, 
 and solemn footmen, drew up at the old churchyard gate, there was 
 such a crowd assembled there as had not been seen for many a long day. 
 Captain Strong knew everybody, and saluted for all the company. The 
 country people vowed my lady was not handsome, to be sure, but pro- 
 nounced her to be uncommon fine dressed, as indeed she was — with the 
 finest of shawls, the finest of pelisses, the brilliantest of bonnets and 
 wreaths, and a power of rings, cameos, brooches, chains, bangles, and 
 other nameless gimcracks ; and ribbons of every breadth and colour of 
 the rainbow flaming on her person. Miss Amory appeared meek in dove- 
 colour, like a vestal virgin — while Master Francis was in the costume 
 then prevalent of Rob Roy Macgregor, a celebrated Highland outlaw. 
 The Baronet was not more animated than ordinarily — there was a happy 
 vacuity about him which enabled him to face a dinner, a death, a church, 
 a marriage, with the same indifferent ease. 
 
 A pew for the Clavering servants was filled by these domestics, and 
 the enraptured congregation saw the gentlemen from London with 
 
 vlower on their heeds,'' and the miraculous coachman with his silver 
 wig, take their places in that pew so soon as his horses were put up at 
 the Clavering Arms. 
 
 In the course of the service Master Francis began to make such 
 a yelling in the pew, that Frederic, the tallest of the footmen, was 
 beckoned by his master, and rose and went and carried out Master 
 Francis, who roared and beat him on the head, so that the powder flew 
 Sound about, like clouds of incense. Nor was he pacified until placed 
 Sti the box of the carriage, where he played at horses with John's whip. 
 
 You see the little beggar's never been to church before. Miss Bell," 
 the Baronet drawled out to a young lady who was visiting him : no 
 wonder he should make a row : I don't go in town neither, but I think 
 it's right in the country to give a good example— and that sort of thing." 
 
 Miss Bell laughed and said, The little boy had not given a par- 
 ticularly good example." 
 
 Gad, I don't know," said the Baronet. " It ain't so bad, neither. 
 Whenever he wants a thing, Frank always cwies, and whenever he 
 cwies he gets it." 
 
 Here the child in question began to howl for a dish of sweetmeats on 
 the luncheon table, and making a lunge across the tablecloth, upset a 
 glass of wine over the best waistcoat of one of the guests present, Mr. 
 Arthur Pendennis, who was greatly annoyed at being made to look 
 foolish, and at having his spotless cambric shirt front blotched with wine. 
 
 We do spoil him so," said Lady Clavering to Mrs. Pendennis, fondly 
 gazing at the cherub, whose hands and face were now frothed over with 
 the species of lather which is inserted in the confection called meringim 
 d la creme. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 1C7 
 
 "Gad, I was quite wight/' said the Baronet. " He has cwied^ and 
 he has got it, you see. Go it, Fwank, old boy." 
 
 " Sir Francis is a very judicious parent," Miss Amory whispered. 
 " Don't you think so, Miss Bell } I shan't call you Miss Bell— I shall 
 call you Laura. I admired you so at church. Your robe was not well ' 
 made, nor your bonnet very fresh. But you have such beautiful grey ; 
 eyes, and such a lovely tint." 
 
 " Thank you," said Miss Bell, laughing. 
 
 "Your cousin is handsome, and thinks so. He is uneasy de sa 
 personne. He has not seen the world yet. Has he genius ? Has he 
 suffered ? A lady, a little woman in a rumpled satin and velvet shoes 
 —a Miss Pybus— came here, and said he has suffered. I, too, have 
 suffered,— and you, Laura, has your heart ever been touched ? " 
 
 Laura said " No ! " but perhaps blushed a little at the idea or the 
 question, so that the other said — 
 
 " Ah, Laura ! I see it all. It is the beau cousin. Tell me everything. 
 I already love you as a sister." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Miss Bell, smiling^ " and— and it must 
 be owned that it is a very sudden attachment." 
 
 "All attachments are so. It is electricity— spontaneity. It is in- 
 stantaneous. I knew I should love you from the moment I saw you. 
 Do you not feel it yourself.^ " 
 
 " Not yet/' said Laura ; " but I dare say I shall if I try. 
 Call me by my name, then." 
 
 " But I don't know it," Laura cried out. 
 
 " My name is Blanche— isn't it a pretty name ? Call me by it. ' 
 " Blanche — it is very pretty indeed." 
 
 " And while mamma talks with that kind-looking lady— what rela- 
 tion is she to you ? She must have been pretty once, but is rather 
 pas^ee ; she is not well gantee, but she has a pretty hand— and while 
 mamma talks to her, come with me to my own room, my own, own 
 room. It's a darling room, though that horrid creature. Captain 
 Strong, did arrange it. Are you epris of him ? He says you are, but 
 I know better ; it is the beau cousin. Yes— a de beaux yeux. Je 
 n'aime pas les blonds, ordinairement. Car je suis blonde, moi—je suis 
 Blanche et blonde,''— ^i^^ she looked at her face and made a moue in 
 the glass ; and never stopped for Laura's answer to the questions which 
 she had put. 
 
 Blanche was fair and like a sylph. She had fair hair with green re- 
 flections in it. But she had dark eyebrows. She had long black eye- 
 lashes, which veiled beautiful brown eyes. She had such a slim waist, 
 that it was a wonder to behold ; and such slim little feet, that you 
 would have thought the grass would hardly bend under them. Her 
 lips were of the colour of faint rosebuds, and her voice warbled 
 limpidly over a set of the sweetest little pearly teeth ever seen. She 
 showed them very often, for they were very pretty. She was always 
 smiling, and a smile not only showed her teeth wonderfully, but 
 likewise exhibited two lovely little pink dimples, that nestled in 
 either cheek. 
 
 She showed Laura her drawings^ which the other thought charming. 
 She played her some of her waltzes, with a rapid and brilliant finger. 
 
168 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and Laura was still more charmed. And she then read her some poems^ 
 in French and English^ likewise of her own composition, and which she - 
 kept locked in her own book — her own dear little book ; it was bound 
 in blue velvet, with a gilt lock, and on it was printed in gold the title 
 of ^^Mes Larmes." 
 
 Mes Larmes ! — isn't it a pretty name ? " the young lady continued, 
 who was pleased with everything that she did, and did everything very 
 well. Laura owned that it was. She had never seen anything like it 
 before ; anything so lovely, so accomplished, so fragile and pretty ; 
 warbling so prettily, and tripping about such a pretty room, with such 
 a number of pretty books, pictures, flowers, round about her. The 
 honest and generous country girl forgot even jealousy in her admiration. 
 
 Indeed, Blanche," she said, everything in the room is pretty ; and 
 you are the prettiest of all." The other smiled, looked in the glass, 
 went up and took both of Laura's hands, and kissed them, and sat down 
 to the piano, and shook out a little song. 
 
 The intimacy between the young ladies sprang up like Jack's Bean- 
 stalk to the skies in a single night. The large footmen were perpetually !• 
 walking with little pink notes to Fairoaks ; where there was a pretty 
 housemaid in the kitchen, who might possibly tempt those gentlemen 
 to so humble a place. Miss Amory sent music, or Miss Amory sent a 
 new novel, or a picture from the Journal des Modes, to Laura ; or my 
 lady's compliments arrived with flowers and fruit ; or Miss Amory 
 begged and prayed Miss Bell to come to dinner ; and dear Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis, if she was strong enough ; and Mr. Arthur, if a humdrum party 
 were not too stupid for him ; and would send a pony-carriage for Mrs. 
 Pendennis ; and would take no denial. 
 
 Neither Arthur nor Laura wished to refuse. And Helen, who was, in- 
 deed, somewhat ailing, was glad that the two should have their pleasure : ; 
 and would look at them fondly as they set forth, and ask in her heart ! 
 that she might not be called away until those two beings whom she loved | 
 best in the world should be joined together. As they went out and 
 crossed over the bridge, she remembered summer evenings five-and- \ 
 twenty years ago, when she, too, had bloomed in her brief prime of love | 
 and happiness. It was all over now. The moon was looking from the | 
 purpling sky, and the stars glittering there, just as they used in the 
 early well-remembered evenings. He was lying dead far away, with 
 the billows rolling between them. Good God ! how well she remembered 
 the last look of his face as they parted. It looked out at her through 
 the vista of long years, as sad and as clear as then. 
 
 So Mr. Pen and Miss Laura found the society at Clavering Park an 
 uncommonly agreeable resort of summer evenings. Blanche vowed 
 that she raffoled of Laura ; and, very likely, Mr. Pen was pleased with 
 Blanche. His spirits came back ; he laughed and rattled till Laura 
 wondered to hear him. It was not the same Pen, yawning in a shoot- 
 ing-jacket, in the Fairoaks parlour, who appeared alert and brisk, and 
 smiling, and well dressed, in Lady Clavering's drawing-room. Some- 
 times they had music. Laura had a sweet contralto voice, and sang 
 with Blanche, who had had the best continental instruction, and was 
 charmed to be her friend's mistress. Sometimes Mr. Pen joined in 
 
 1 
 
PENDENNIS 169 
 
 these concerts, or oftener looked sweet upon Miss Blanche as she sang. 
 Sometimes they had glees, when Captain Strong's chest was of vast/ 
 service, and he boomed out in a prodigious bass, of which he was not a 
 little proud. ^„... . i. 
 
 Good fellow. Strong— ain't he. Miss Bell? Sir Francis would say 
 to her. Plays at ecarte with Lady Clavering— plays anything— pitch 
 and toss, pianoforty, cwibbage if you like. How long do you think he's 
 been staying with me } He came for a week with a carpet-bag, and gad, 
 he's been staying thwee years. Good fellow, ain't he } Don't know 
 how he gets a shillin', though, by Jove I don't. Miss Lauwa." 
 
 And yet the Chevalier, if he lost his money to Lady Clavering, always 
 paid it ; and if he lived with his friend for three years, paid for that 
 too— in good humour, in kindness and joviality, in a thousand little 
 services by which he made himself agreeable. What gentleman could 
 want a better friend than a man who was always in spirits, never in the 
 way or out of it, and was ready to execute any commission for his patron, 
 whether it was to sing a song or meet a lawyer, to fight a duel or to 
 carve a capon ? . t» i i 
 
 Although Laura and Pen commonly went to Clavering Park together, 
 yet sometimes Mr. Pen took walks there unattended by her, and about 
 which he did not tell her. He took to fishing the Brawl, which runs 
 through the Park, and passes not very far fi'om the garden wall ; and 
 by the oddest coincidence. Miss Amory would walk out (having been 
 to look at her flowers), and would be quite surprised to see Mr. Pen- 
 dennis fishing. 
 
 I wonder what trout Pen caught while the young lady was looking 
 on? or whether Miss Blanche was the pretty little fish which played 
 round his fly, and which Mr. Pen was endeavouring to hook ? 
 
 As for Miss Blanche, she had a kind heart ; and having, as she 
 owned, herself ^^suifered" a good deal in the course of her brief life 
 and experience — why, she could compassionate other susceptible beings 
 like Pen, who had suffered too. Her love for Laura and that dear Mrs. 
 Pendennis redoubled : if they were not at the Park, she was not easy 
 unless she herself was at Fairoaks. She played with Laura ; she read 
 French and German with Laura ; and Mr. Pen read French and German 
 along with them. He turned sentimental ballads of Schiller and Goethe 
 into English verse for the ladies, and Blanche unlocked Mes Larmes" 
 for him, and imparted to him some of the plaintive outpourings of her 
 own tender Muse. j . i 
 
 It appeared from these poems that the young creature had indeed 
 suffered prodigiously. She was familiar with the idea of suicide. 
 Death she repeatedly longed for. A faded rose inspired her with such 
 grief that you would have thought she must die in pain of it. It was 
 a wonder how a young creature should have suffered so much — should 
 have found the means of getting at such an ocean of despair and pas- 
 sion (as a runaway boy who will get to sea), and having embarked on 
 it, should survive it. What a talent she must have had for weeping to 
 be able to pour out so many of Mes Larmes ! " 
 
 They were not particularly briny. Miss Blanche's tears, that is the 
 truth ; but Pen, who read her verses, thought them very well for a 
 lady— and wrote some verses himself for her. His were very violent 
 
170 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and passionate^ very hot^ sweety and strong ; and he not only wrote \\ 
 verses ; but — oh_, the villain ! oh^ the deceiver ! — he altered and adapted i 
 former poems in his possession^ and which had been composed for a 
 certain Miss Emily Fotheringay^ for the use and to the Christian 
 name of Miss Blanche Amory. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A LITTLE INNOCENT 
 
 Egad^ Strongs" one day the Baronet said^ as the pair were convers- 
 ing after dinner over the billiard-table^ and that great unbosomer 
 of secrets_, a cigar; *^Egad^ Strongs I wish to the doose your wife 
 was dead/' 
 
 ^'^vSo do I. That's a cannon^ by Jove ! But she won't; she'll live 
 for ever — you see if she don't. Why do you wish her off the hooks^ 
 Frank^ my boy ? " asked Captain Strong. 
 
 Because then you might marry Missy. She ain't bad-looking. 
 She'll have ten thousand^ and that's a good bit of money for such a 
 poor old devil as you/' drawled out the other gentleman. ^^And 
 egad^ Strongs I hate her worse and worse every day. I can't stand 
 her^ Strong ; by gad^ I can't. " 
 
 ^^I wouldn't take her at twice the figure/' Captain Strong said, 
 laughing. 1 never saw such a little devil in my life." 
 
 I should like to poison her," said the sententious Baronet ; by 
 Jove I should." 
 
 Why, what has she been at now } " asked his friend. 
 
 Nothing particular," answered Sir Francis ; only her old tricks. 
 That girl has such a knack of making everybody miserable, that, hang 
 me, it's quite surprising. Last night she sent the governess crying 
 away from the dinner-table. Afterwards, as I was passing Frank's 
 room, I heard the poor little beggar howling in the dark, and found his 
 sister had been frightening his soul out of his body, by telling him 
 stories about the ghost that's in the house. At lunch she gave my lady 
 a turn ; and though my wife's a fool, she's a good soul — I'm hanged 
 if she ain't." 
 
 What did Missy do to her? " Strong asked. 
 
 Why, hang me, if she didn't begin talking about the late Amory, 
 my predecessor," the Baronet said, with a grin. She got some pic- 
 ture out of the ^ Keepsake,' and said, she was sure it was like her dear 
 father. She wanted to know where her father's grave was. Hang her 
 father ! Whenever Miss Amory talks about him. Lady Clavering always 
 bursts out crying : and the little devil will talk about him in order to 
 spite her mother. To-day when she began, I got in a confounded rage, 
 said I was her father, and — and that sort of thing, and then, sir, she 
 took a shy at me." 
 
 And what did she say about you, Frank ? " Mr. Strong, still laughing, 
 inquired of his friend and patron. 
 
 Gad, she said I wasn't her father ; that I wasn't fit to comprehend 
 
PENDENNIS 171 
 
 ler • that her father must have been a man of genius, and fine feelings, 
 ,nd that sort of thing ; whereas I had married her mother for money. 
 ' Well, didn t you?" asked Strong. , 
 
 It don't make it any the pleasanter to hear because it s true, don t 
 rou know," Sir Francis Clavering answered. I ain t a literary man 
 md that ; but I ain t such a fool as she makes me out. I don t know 
 low it is, but she always manages to— to put me in the hole, don t you 
 inderstand ? She turns all the house round her in her quiet way, and 
 vith her confounded sentimental airs. I wish she was dead, Ned. 
 
 ^^It was my wife whom you wanted dead just now, Strong said, 
 ilways in perfect good-humour; upon which the Baronet, with his 
 iccustomed candour, said, ^^Well, when people bore my life out, I 
 io wish they were dead, and I wish Missy were down a well with all 
 
 ^Thus it will be seen from the above report of this candid conversation 
 that our accomplished little friend had some peculiarities or defects ot 
 character which rendered her not very popular. She was a young lady 
 bf some genius, exquisite sympathies, and considerable literary attain- 
 ments, living, like many another genius, with relatives who could not 
 !3omprehend her. Neither her mother nor her stepfather were persons 
 bf a literary turn. BeUs Life and the Uacing Calendar were the extent 
 3f the Baronet's reading, and Lady Clavering still wrote like a school- 
 girl of thirteen, and with an extraordinary disregard to grammar and 
 Ipelling. And as Miss Amory felt very keenly that she was not appre- 
 ciated, and that she lived with persons who were not her equals in 
 intellect or conversational power, she lost no opportunity to acquaint 
 her family circle with their inferiority to herself, and not only was a 
 martyr, but took care to let everybody know that she was so. It she 
 suffered, as she said and thought she did, severely, are we to wonder 
 ithat a young creature of such delicate sensibilities should shriek and 
 cry out a good deal? If a poetess may not bemoan her lot, of what 
 earthly use is her lyre? Blanche struck hers only to the saddest ot 
 tunes ; and sang elegies over her dead hopes, dirges over her early 
 frost-nipt buds of affection, as became such a melancholy fate and Muse. 
 
 Her actual distresses, as we have said, had not been up to the present 
 time very considerable : but her griefs lay, like those of most of us, in 
 her own soul— that being sad and habitually dissatisfied, what wonder 
 that she should weep? So Mes Larmes" dribbled out of her eyes 
 any day at command : she could furnish an unlimited supply of tears, 
 and her faculty of shedding them increased by practice. For sentiment 
 is like another complaint mentioned by Horace, as increasing by selt- 
 indulgence (I am sorry to say, ladies, that the complaint m question is 
 called the dropsy), and the more you cry, the more you will be able 
 and desirous to do so. . 
 
 Missy had begun to gusli at a very early age. Lamartme was her 
 favourite bard from the period when she first could feel ; and she had 
 subsequently improved her mind by a sedulous study of novels of the 
 great modern authors of the French language. There was not a romance 
 of Balzac and George Sand which the indefatigable little creature had 
 not devoured by the time she was sixteen : and, however little she 
 sympathised with her relatives at home, she had friends, as she said. 
 
172 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 ill the spirit-world, meaning the tender Indiana, the passionate and 
 poetic Lelia, the amiable Trenmor, that high-souled convict, that angel 
 of the galleys, — the fiery Stenio, — and the other numberless heroes of 
 the French romances. She had been in love with Prince Rodolph and 
 Prince Djalma while she was yet at school, and had settled the divorce 
 question, and the rights of women, with Indiana, before she had left 
 off pinafores. The impetuous little lady played at love with these 
 imaginary worthies, as a little while before she had played at maternity 
 with her doll. Pretty little poetical spirits ! it is curious to watch them 
 with those playthings. To-day the blue-eyed one is the favourite, and 
 the black-eyed one is pushed behind the drawers. To-morrow blue- 
 eyes may take its turn of neglect ; and it may be an odious little wretch 
 with a burnt nose, or torn head of hair, and no eyes at all, that takes the 
 first place in Miss's affection, and is dandled and caressed in her arms. 
 
 As novelists are supposed to know everything, even the secrets of 
 female hearts, which the owners themselves do not perhaps know, we 
 may state that at eleven years of age Mademoiselle Betsi, as Miss Amory 
 was then called, had felt tender emotions towards a young Savoyard 
 organ-grinder at Paris, whom she persisted in believing to be a prince 
 carried off from his parents ; that at twelve an old and hideous drawing- 
 master — (but, ah, what age or personal defects are proof against woman's 
 love ?) had agitated her young heart ; and then, at thirteen, being at 
 Madame de Caramel's boarding-school, in the Champs Elysees, which, 
 as everybody knows, is next door to Monsieur Rogron's (Chevalier of 
 the Legion of Honour) pension for young gentlemen, a correspondence 
 by letter took place between the seduisante Miss Betsi and two young 
 gentlemen of the College of Charlemagne, who were pensioners of the 
 Chevalier Rogron. 
 
 In the above paragraph our young friend has been called by a Chris- 
 tian name different to that under which we were lately presented to 
 her. The fact is, that Miss Amory, called Missy at home, had really 
 at the first been christened Betsy — but assumed the name of Blanche of 
 her own will and fantasy, and crowned herself with it ; and the weapon 
 which the Baronet, her stepfather, held in terror over her, was the 
 threat to call her publicly by her name of Betsy, by which menace he 
 sometimes managed to keep the young rebel in order. 
 
 Blanche had had hosts of dear, dear, darling friends ere now, and 
 had quite a little museum of locks of hair in her treasure-chest, which 
 she had gathered in the course of her sentimental progress. Some dear 
 friends had married ; some had gone to other schools : one beloved 
 sister she had lost from the pension, and found again, O horror ! her 
 darling, her Leocadie, keeping the books in her father's shop, a grocer 
 in the Rue du Bac : in fact, she had met with a number of disappoint- 
 ments, estrangements, disillusionments, as she called them in her pretty 
 French jargon, and had seen and suffered a great deal for so young a 
 woman. But it is the lot of sensibility to suffer, and of confiding tender- 
 ness to be deceived, and she felt that she was only undergoing the penal- 
 ties of genius in these pangs and disappointments of her young career 
 
 Meanwhile, she managed to make the honest lady, her mother, as 
 uncomfortable as circumstances would permit ; and caused her worthy 
 stepfather to wish she was dead. With the exception of Captain Strongs 
 
PENDENNIS 173 
 
 whose invincible good-humour was proof against her sarcasms^ the little 
 lady ruled the whole house with her tongue. If Lady Clavering talked 
 about Sparrowgrass instead of Asparagus, or called an object a hobject, 
 as this unfortunate lady would sometimes do, Missy calmly corrected 
 her, and frightened the good soul, her mother, into errors only the 
 more frequent as she grew more nervous under her daughter s eye. 
 
 It is not to be supposed, considering the'vast interest which the arrival 
 of the family at Clavering Park inspired in the inhabitants of the little 
 town, that Madame Fribsby alone, of all the folks in Clavering, should 
 have remained unmoved and incurious. At the first appearance of the 
 Eaj^k family in church, Madame noted every article of toilette which 
 theladies wore, from their bonnets to their brodequins, and took a 
 survey of the attire of the ladies' maids in the pew allotted to them. 
 We fear that Doctor Portman's sermon, though it was one of his oldest , 
 and most valued compositions, had little effect upon Madame Fribsby ' 
 on that day. In a very few days afterwards, she had managed for her- 
 self an interview with Lady Clavering s confidential attendant, in the 
 housekeeper's room at the Park ; and her cards in French and English, 
 stating that she received the newest fashions from Paris from her corre- 
 spondent Madame Victorine, and that she was in the custom of making 
 court and ball dresses for the nobility and gentry of the shire, were 
 in the possession of Lady Clavering and Miss Amory, and favourably 
 received, as she was happy to hear, by those ladies. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner, Lady Clavering s lady, became soon a great frequenter 
 of Madame Fribsby's drawing-room, and partook of many entertain- 
 ments at the milliner's expense. A meal of green tea, scandal, hot 
 Sally-Lunn cakes, and a little novel-reading, were always at the service 
 of Mrs. Bonner, whenever she was free to pass an evening in the town. 
 And she found much more time for these pleasures than her junior 
 officer. Miss Amory s maid, who seldom could be spared for a holiday, 
 and was worked as hard as any factory girl by that inexorable little 
 Muse, her mistress. , . , , . x w 
 
 And there was another person connected with the Clavering establish- 
 ment, who became a constant guest of our friend, the milliner. This 
 was the chief of the kitchen. Monsieur Mirobolant, with whom Madame 
 Fribsby soon formed an intimacy. 
 
 Not'having been accustomed to the appearance or society of persons 
 of the French nation, the rustic inhabitants of Clavering were not so 
 favourably impressed by Monsieur Alcide's manners and appearance, as 
 that gentleman might have desired that they should be. He walked 
 among them quite unsuspiciously upon the afternoon of a summer 
 day, when his services were not required at the House, in his usual 
 favourite costume, namely, his light-green frock or paletot, his 
 crimson velvet waistcoat with blue glass buttons, his pantalon Ecossais 
 of a very large and decided check pattern, his orange satin neck- 
 cloth, and his jean-boots, with tips of shiny leather,— these, with a 
 gold embroidered cap, and a richly-gilt cane, or other varieties of 
 ornament of a similar tendency, formed his usual holiday costume, 
 in which he flattered himself there was nothing remarkable (unless, 
 indeed, the beauty of his person should attract observation), and in 
 
174 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 which he considered that he exhibited the appearance of a gentleman 
 of good Parisian ton. 
 
 He walked then down the street, grinning and ogling every woman 
 he met with glances, which he meant should kill them outright, and 
 peered over the railings, and in at the windows, where females were, in 
 the tranquil summer evening. But Betsy, Mrs. Pybus's maid, shrank 
 back with a Lor bless us ! " as Alcide ogled her over the laurel bush ; 
 the Misses Baker and their mamma stared with wonder ; and presently 
 a crowd began to follow the interesting foreigner, of ragged urchins and 
 children, who left their dirt-pies in the street to pursue him. 
 
 For some time he thought that admiration was the cause which led 
 these persons in his wake, and walked on, pleased himself that he could 
 so easily confer on others so much harmless pleasure. But the little 
 children and dirt-pie manufacturers were presently succeeded by fol- 
 lowers of a larger growth, and a number of lads and girls from the 
 factory being let loose at this hour, joined the mob, and began laughing, 
 jeering, hooting, and calling opprobrious names at the Frenchman. 
 Some cried out, Frenchy ! Frenchy ! some exclaimed Frogs ! " one 
 asked for a lock of his hair, which was long and in richly-flowing ringlets; 
 and at' length the poor artist began to perceive that he was an object 
 ©f derision rather than of respect to the rude grinning mob. 
 
 It was at this juncture that Madame Fribsby spied the unlucky gentle- 
 man with the train at his heels, and heard the scornful shouts with which 
 they assailed him. She ran out of her room, and across the street to ; 
 the persecuted foreigner ; she held out her hand, and, addressing him 
 in his own language, invited him into her abode ; and when she had 
 housed him fairly within her door, she stood bravely at the threshold 
 before the gibing factory girls and boys, and said they were a pack of 
 cowards to insult a poor man who could not speak their language, and 
 was alone and without protection. The little crowd, with some ironical , 
 cheers and hootings, nevertheless felt the force of Madame Fribsby's , 
 vigorous allocution, and retreated before her; for the old lady was i 
 rather respected in the place, and her oddity and her kindness had 
 made her many friends there. I 
 
 Poor Mirobolant was grateful indeed to hear the language of his j 
 country ever so ill spoken. Frenchmen pardon our faults in their 
 language much more readily than we excuse their bad English ; and 
 will face our blunders throughout a long conversation, without the | 
 least propensity to grin. The rescued artist vowed that Madame i 
 Fribsby was his guardian angel, and that he had not as yet met with , 
 such suavity and politeness among les Anglaises, He was as courteous i 
 and complimentary to her as if it was the fairest and noblest of ladies 
 whom he was addressing : for Alcide Mirobolant paid homage after his 
 fashion to all womankind, and never dreamed of a distinction of rank 
 in the realms of beauty, as his phrase was. 
 
 A cream, flavoured with pine-apple — a mayonnaise of lobster, which 
 he flattered himself was not unworthy of his hand, or of her to whom 
 he had the honour to offer it as an homage, and a box of preser^'ed 
 fruits of Provence, were brought by one of the chef's aides-de-camp, in 
 a basket, the next day to the milliner's, and were accompanied witli a 
 gallant note to the amiable Madame Fribsby. Her kindness," Alcide ' 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 175 
 
 said^ " had made a green place in the desert of his existence^— her suavity 
 ; would ever contrast in memory with the grossierete of the rustic popu- 
 lation^, who were not worthy to possess such a jewel.'* An intimacy of 
 the most confidential nature thus sprang up between the milliner and 
 1 the chief of the kitchen ; but I do not know whether it was with pleasure 
 or mortification that Madame received the declarations of friendship 
 , which the young Alcide proffered to her, for he persisted in calling her, 
 ! La respectable Fribsbi/' La vertueuse Fribsbi/'—^nd in stating that 
 i he should consider her as his mother, while he hoped she would regard 
 him as her son. Ah ! it was not very long ago, Fribsby thought, that 
 words had been addressed to her in that dear French language indicating 
 a different sort of attachment. And she sighed as she looked up at the 
 picture of her Carabineer. For it is surprising how young some people's 
 hearts remain when their heads have need of a front or a little hair-dye, 
 —and, at this moment, Madame Fribsby, as she told young Alcide, felt 
 as romantic as a girl of eighteen. 
 
 When the conversation took this turn — and at their first intimacy 
 Madame Fribsby was rather inclined so to lead it— Alcide always politely 
 i diverged to another subject : it was as his mother that he persisted in 
 considering the good milliner. He would recognise her in no other 
 1 capacity, and with that relationship the gentle lady was forced to con- 
 I tent herself, when she found how deeply the artist's heart was engaged 
 : elsewhere. . . 
 
 ' He was not long before he described to her the subject and origin 
 i of his passion. 
 
 I declared myself to her," said Alcide, laying his hand on his heart, 
 I in a manner which was as novel as I am charmed to think it was 
 agreeable. Where cannot Love penetrate, respectable Madame Fribsbi.^ 
 Cupid is the father of invention !— I inquired of the domestics what were 
 : the plats of which Mademoiselle partook with most pleasure ; and built 
 i up my little battery accordingly. On a day when her parents had gone 
 to dine in the world (and I am grieved to say that a grossier dinner at a 
 restaurant, on the Boulevard, or in the Palais Royal, seemed to form the 
 : delights of these unrefined persons), the charming Miss entertained some 
 comrades of the pension ; and I advised myself to send up a little repast 
 suitable to so delicate young palates. Her lovely name is Blanche. The 
 veil of the maiden is white ; the wreath of roses which she wears is white. 
 I determined that my dinner should be as spotless as the snow. At her 
 accustomed hour, and instead of the rude gigot d I'eau which was ordi- 
 narily served at her too simple table, I sent her up a little potage d la 
 Eeine—d la Reine Blanche I called it,— as white as her own tint— and 
 confectioned with the most fragrant cream and almonds. I then offered 
 up at her shrine a. filet de merlan d V Agnes, and a delicate plat, which I 
 have designated as Eperlan d la Sainte Therese, and of which my charming 
 Miss partook with pleasure. I followed this by two little entrees of sweet- 
 bread and chicken ; and the only brown thing which I permitted myself 
 in the entertainment was a little roast of lamb, which I laid in a meadow 
 of spinaches, surrounded with croustillons, representing sheep, and 
 ornamented with daisies and other savage flowers. After this came my 
 ! second service : a pudding d la Reine Elizabeth (who, Madame Fribsbi 
 I knows, was a maiden princess) ; a dish of opal-coloured plovers' eggs. 
 
176 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 which I called Nid de tourtereauoo a la Roucoule ; placing in the midst 
 of them two of those tender volatiles^ billing each other^ and confectioned 
 with butter ; a basket containing little gateaux of apricots_, which I know, 
 all young ladies adore ; and a jelly of marasquin, bland, insinuating, 
 intoxicating as the glance of beauty. This I designated Amhroisie de 
 Calypso a la Souveraine de mon Cceur. And when the ice was brought in 
 — an ice of plombiere and cherries — how do you think I had shaped them, 
 Madame Fribsbi ? In the form of two hearts united with an arrow, on 
 which I had laid, before it entered, a bridal veil in cut paper, surmounted 
 by a wreath of virginal orange-flowers. I stood at the door to watch the 
 effect of this entry. It was but one cry of admiration. The three young 
 ladies filled their glasses with the sparkling Ay, and carried me in a 
 toast. I heard it — I heard Miss speak of me — 1 heard her say, ^ Tell 
 Monsieur Mirobolant that we thank him — we admire him — we love 
 him ! ' My feet almost failed me as she spoke. 
 
 Since that, can I have any reason to doubt that the young artist 
 has made some progress in the heart of the English Miss } I am modest, 
 but my glass informs me that I am not ill-looking. Other victories 
 have convinced me of the fact." 
 
 Dangerous man ! " cried the milliner. 
 
 The blonde misses of Albion see nothing in the dull inhabitants of 
 their brumous isle which can compare with the ardour and vivacity of 
 the children of the South. We bring our sunshine with us; we are 
 Frenchmen, and accustomed to conquer. Were it not for this affair of 
 the heart, and my determination to marry an Anglaise, do you think I 
 would stop in this island (which is not altogether ungrateful, since I 
 have found here a tender mother in the respectable Madame Fribsbi), 
 in this island, in this family } My genius would use itself in the com- 
 pany of these rustics — the poesy of my art cannot be understood by these 
 carnivorous insularies. No — the men are odious, but the women — the 
 women ! I own, dear Fribsbi, are seducing ! I have vowed to marry 
 one ; and as I cannot go into your markets and purchase, according to 
 the custom of the country, I am resolved to adopt another custom, and 
 fly with one to Gretna Grin. The blonde Miss will go. She is fascinated. 
 Her eyes have told me so. The white dove wants but the signal to fly. " 
 
 Have you any correspondence with her } " asked Fribsby, in amaze- 
 ment, and not knowing whether the young lady or the lover might be 
 labouring under a romantic delusion. 
 
 I correspond with her by means of my art. She partakes of dishes 
 which I make expressly for her. I insinuate to her thus a thousand 
 hints, which, as she is perfectly spiritual, she receives. But I want 
 other intelligences near her." 
 
 There is Pincott, her maid," said Madame Fribsby, who, by apti- 
 tude or education, seemed to have some knowledge of affairs of the 
 heart ; but the great artist's brow darkened at this suggestion. 
 
 ^'^ Madame," he said, there are points upon which a gallant man 
 ought to silence himself ; though, if he break the secret, he may do 
 so with the least impropriety to his best friend — his adopted mother. 
 Know then, that there is a cause why Miss Pincott should be hostile 
 to me — a cause not uncommon with your sex — jealousy." 
 ^'^ Perfidious monster ! " said the confidante. 
 
X stood at Ike door to wcdck th? effect 
 oj- this C«/ry 
 
 Tt uias I) at one cry of adTniration 
 
 Copyright, Service &■ Paton, 1897. 
 
OF THB 
 
 UNIVERSITY of iamo\s. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 177 
 
 Ah, no/' said the artist, with a deep bass voice, and a tragic accent 
 worthy of the Porte St. Martin and his favourite rnelodrames, Not per- 
 fidious, but fatal. Yes, I am a fatal man, Madame Fribsbi. To inspire 
 hopeless passion is my destiny. I cannot help it that women love me. 
 Is it my fault that that young woman deperishes and languishes to the 
 view of the eye, consumed by a flame which I cannot return ? Listen I 
 There are others in this family who are similarly unhappy. The gover- 
 ness of the young Milor has encountered me in my walks, and looked 
 at me in a way which can bear but one interpretation. And Milady 
 herself, who is of mature age, but who has oriental blood, has once or 
 twice addressed compliments to the lonely artist which can admit of no 
 mistake. I avoid the household, I seek solitude, I undergo my destiny. 
 I can marry but one, and am resolved it shall be to a lady of your nation. 
 And, if her fortune is sufficient, I think Miss would be the person who 
 would be most suitable. I wish to ascertain what her means are before 
 I lead her to Gretna Grin." 
 
 Whether Alcide was as irresistible a conqueror as his namesake, or 
 whether he was simply crazy, is a point which must be left to the 
 reader's judgment. But the latter, if he has had the benefit of much 
 French acquaintance, has perhaps met with men amongst them who 
 fancied themselves almost as invincible ; and who, if you credit them, 
 have made equal havoc in the hearts of les Anglaises. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND JEALOUSY 
 
 Our readers have already heard Sir Francis Clavering*s candid opinion 
 of the lady who had given him her fortune and restored him to his 
 native country and home, and it must be owned that the Baronet was 
 not far wrong in his estimate of his wife, and that Lady Clavering was 
 not the wisest or the best educated of women. She had had a couple 
 of years' education in Europe, in a suburb of London, which she per- 
 sisted in calling Ackney to her dying day, whence she had been sum- 
 moned to join her father at Calcutta at the age of fifteen. And it 
 was on her voyage thither, on board the Bamchunder East Indiaman, 
 Captain Bragg, in which ship she had two years previously made her 
 journey to Europe, that she formed the acquaintance of her first hus- 
 band, Mr. Amory, who was third mate of the vessel in question. 
 
 We are not going to enter into the early part of Lady Clavering's 
 history, but Captain Bragg, under whose charge Miss Snell went out to 
 her father, who was one of the Captain's consignees, and part owner of 
 the Ramchundei* and many other vessels, found reason to put the re- 
 bellious rascal of a mate in irons, until they reached the Cape, where 
 the Captain left his officer behind : and finally delivered his ward to 
 her father at Calcutta, after a stormy and perilous voyage, in which the 
 Ramchunder and the cargo and passengers incurred no small danger 
 and damage. 
 
 Some months afterwards Amory made his appearance at Calcutta, 
 
 M 
 
178 
 
 1>ENDENNIS 
 
 having worked his way out before the mast from the Cape — married the 
 rich attorney's daughter in spite of that old speculator— set up as indigo- 
 planter and failed— set up as agent and failed again— set up as editor 
 of the Sunderbmid Pilot and failed again— quarrelling ceaselessly with his . 
 father-in-law and his wife during the; progress of all these mercantile 
 transactions and disasters, and ending his career finally with a crash 
 which compelled him to leave Calcutta and go to New South Wales. 
 It was in the course of these luckless proceedings that Mr. Amory pro- 
 bably made the acquaintance of Sir Jasper Rogers, the respected Judge 
 of the Supreme Court of Calcutta, who has been mentioned before : and, 
 as the truth must out, it was by making an improper use of his father- 
 in-law's name, who could write perfectly well, and had no need of an 
 amanuensis, that fortune finally forsook Mr. Amory and caused him to 
 abandon all further struggles with her. 
 
 Not being in the habit of reading the Calcutta law reports very assidu- 
 ously, the European public did not know of these facts as well as people 
 did in Bengal, and Mrs. Amory and her father, finding her residence in 
 India not a comfortable one, it was agreed that the lady should return 
 to Europe, whither she came with her little daughter Betsy or Blanche, 
 then four years old. They were accompanied by Betsy's nurse, who has 
 been presented to the reader in the last chapter as the confidential maid j 
 of Lady Clavering, Mrs. Bonner : and Captain Bragg took a house for | 
 them in the near neighbourhood of his residence in Pocklington Street 
 
 It was a very hard bitter summer, and the rain it rained every day for 
 some time after Mrs. Amory's arrival. Bragg was very pompous a,nd | 
 disagreeable, perhaps ashamed, perhaps anxious, to get rid of the Indian 
 lady. She believed that all the world in London was talking about her 
 husband's disaster, and that the King and Queen and the Court of 
 Directors were aware of her unlucky history. She had a good allowance 
 from her father ; she had no call to live in England ; and she determined ; 
 to go abroad. Away she went, then, glad to escape the gloomy sur- i 
 veillance of the odious bully. Captain Bragg. People had no objection | 
 to receive her at the continental towns where she stopped, and at the | 
 various boarding-houses, where she royally paid her way. She called I 
 Hackney, Ackney, to be sure (though otherwise she spoke English with 
 a little foreign twang, very curious and not unpleasant) ; she dressed | 
 amazingly ; she was conspicuous for her love of eating and drinking, i 
 and prepared curries and pilaus at every boarding-house which she fre- 
 quented ; but her singularities of language and behaviour only gave a 
 zest to her society, and Mrs. Amory was deservedly popular. She was 
 the most good-natured, jovial, and generous of women. She was up to 
 any party of pleasure by whomsoever proposed. She brought three 
 times more champagne and fowls and ham to the picnics than any one 
 else. She took endless boxes for the play, and tickets for the masked 
 balls, and gave them away to everybody. She paid the boarding-house ! 
 people months beforehand ; she helped poor shabby mustachioed bucks „ 
 and dowagers, whose remittances had not arrived, with constant supplies 
 from her purse ; and in this way she tramped through Europe, and 
 appeared at Brussels, at Paris, at Milan, at Naples, at Rome, as her 
 fancy led her. News of Amory's death reached her at the latter place, 
 where Captain Clavering was then staying, unable to pay his hotel bill, 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 179 
 
 im, indeed,, was his friend^ the Chevalier Strongs and the good-natured 
 widow married the descendant of the ancient house of Clavering — pro- 
 fessing^ indeed^ no particular grief for the scapegrace of a husband 
 whom she had lost ; and thus we have brought her up to the present 
 i time when she was mistress of Clavering Park. 
 
 I Missy followed her mamma in most of her peregrinations^ and so 
 I learned a deal of life. She had a governess for some time ; and after 
 ; her mother^s second marriage^ the benefit of Madame de Caramel's select 
 pension in the Champs Elysees. When the Claverings came to England^ 
 she of course came with them. It was only within a few years^ after 
 the death of her grandfather^ and the birth of her little brother, that she 
 began to understand that her position in life was altered, and that Miss 
 Amory, nobody's daughter, was a very small personage in a house com- 
 pared with Master Francis Clavering, heir to an ancient baronetcy, and 
 a noble estate. But for little Frank, she would have been an heiress, 
 in spite of her father : and though she knew and cared not much about 
 money, of which she never had any stint, and though she was a romantic 
 little Muse, as we have seen, yet she could not reasonably be grateful 
 to the persons who had so contributed to change her condition : nor, 
 indeed, did she understand what the matter really was, until she had 
 made some further progress, and acquired more accurate knowledge 
 in the world. 
 
 But this was clear, that her stepfather was dull and weak : that 
 mamma dropped her H's, and was not refined in manners or appear- 
 ance ; and that little Frank was a spoiled quarrelsome urchin, always 
 having his way, always treading upon her feet, always upsetting his 
 dinner on her dresses, and keeping her out of her inheritance. None 
 of these, as she felt, could comprehend her : and her solitary heart 
 naturally pined for other attachments, and she sought around her where 
 to bestow the precious boon of her unoccupied affection. 
 
 This dear girl, then, from want of sympathy, or other cause, made 
 herself so disagreeable at home, and frightened her mother, and bored 
 her stepfather so much, that they were quite as anxious as she could 
 be that she should settle for herself in life ; and hence Sir Francis 
 Clavering's desire expressed to his friend, in the last chapter, that Mrs. 
 Strong should die, and that he would take Blanche to himself as a 
 second Mrs. Strong. 
 
 But as this could not be, any other person was welcome to win her : 
 and a smart young fellow, well-looking and well-educated, like our 
 friend Arthur Pendennis, was quite free to propose for her if he had a 
 mind, and would have been received with open arms by Lady Clavering 
 as a son-in-law, had he had the courage to come forward as a competitor 
 for Miss Amory's hand. 
 
 Mr. Pen, however, besides other drawbacks, chose to entertain an 
 extreme diffidence about himself. He was ashamed of his late failures, 
 of his idle and nameless condition, of the poverty which he had brought 
 on his mother by his folly, and there was as much of vanity as remorse 
 in his present state of doubt and distrust. How could he ever hope for 
 such a prize as this brilliant Blanche Amory, who lived in a fine park 
 and mansion, and was waited on by a score of grand domestics, whilst 
 a maidservant brought in their meagre meal at Fairoaks, and his mother 
 
180 PENDENNIS 
 
 was obliged to pinch and manage to make both ends meet? Obstacles 
 seemed to him insurmountable^ which would have vanished had he 
 marched manfully upon them : and he preferred despairing, or dallying 
 with his wishes,— or perhaps he had not positively shaped them as yet, 
 —to attempting to win gallantly the object of his desire. Many a young 
 man fails by that species of vanity called shyness, who might, for the 
 asking, have his will. . 
 
 But we do not pretend to say that Pen had, as yet, ascertanied his : 
 or that he was doing much more than thinking about falling in love. 
 Miss Amory was charming and lively. She fascinated and cajoled him 
 by a thousand arts or natural graces or flatteries. But there were 
 lurking reasons and -doubts, besides shyness and vanity, withholding 
 him. In spite of her cleverness, and her protestations, and her fascina- 
 tions. Pen's mother had divined the girl, and did not trust her. Mrs. 
 Pendennis saw Blanche light-minded and frivolous, detected many wants 
 in her which offended the pure and pious-minded lady ; a want of 
 reverence for her parents, and for things more sacred, Helen thought : 
 worldliness and selfishness couched under pretty words and tender ex- 
 pressions. Laura and Pen battled these points strongly at first with the 
 widow— Laura being as yet enthusiastic about her new friend, and Pen 
 not far gone enough in love to attempt any concealment of his feelings. 
 He would laugh at these objections of Helen's, and say, Psha, mother ! 
 you are jealous about Laura— all women are jealous." . , . 
 
 But when, in the course of a month or two, and by watching the pair 
 with that anxiety with which brooding women watch over their sons 
 affections— and in acknowledging which, I have no doubt there is a 
 sexual jealousy on the mother's part, and a secret pang— when Helen saw 
 that the intimacy appeared to make progress, that the two young people 
 were perpetually finding pretexts to meet, and that Miss Blanche was 
 at Fairoaks or Mr. Pen at the Park every day, the poor widow s heart 
 beffan to fail her— her darling project seemed to vanish before her ; and, 
 ffivinfif way to her weakness, she fairly told Pen one day what her views 
 and longings were : that she felt herself breaking, and not long for this 
 world, and that she hoped and prayed before she went, that she might 
 see her two children one. The late events. Pen's life and career and 
 former passion for the actress, had broken the spirit of this tender lady. 
 She felt that he had escaped her, and was in the maternal nest no more ; 
 and she clung with a sickening fondness to Laura, Laura who had been 
 left to her by Francis in heaven. _ xj i, j 
 
 Pen kissed and soothed her in his grand patronising way. Me had 
 seen something of this, he had long thought his mother wanted to make 
 this marriage— did Laura know anything of it} (Not she,— Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis said— not for worlds would she have breathed a word ot it to 
 Laura)—'' Well, well, there was time enough, his mother wouldn t die. 
 Pen said laughingly : ''he wouldn't hear of any such thing, and as for 
 the Muse, she is too grand a lady to think about poor little me— and as 
 for Laura, who knows that she would have me ? She would do anything 
 you told her, to be sure. But am I worthy of her ? " ^ ^ ^ . ^ 
 
 "O Pen you might be," was the widow's reply; not that Mr. I'en 
 ever doubted that he was ; and a feeling of indefinable pleasure and self- 
 complacency came over him as he thought over this proposal, and imaged 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 181 
 
 Laura to himself, as his memory remembered her for years past, always 
 fair and open, kindly and pious, cheerful, tender, and true. He looked 
 at her with brightening eyes as she came in from the garden at the end 
 of this talk, her cheeks rather flushed, her looks frank and smiling— a 
 basket of roses in her hand. , . i. 
 
 She took the finest of them and brought it to Mrs. Pendennis, who was 
 refreshed by the odour and colour of these flowers ; and hung over her 
 fondly and gave it to her. 
 
 And I might have this prize for the asking ! Pen thought, with a thrill 
 of triumph, as he looked at the kindly girl. Why, she is as beautiful and 
 as generous as her roses." The image of the two women remained for ever 
 after in his mind, and he never recalled it but the tears came into his eyes. 
 
 Before very many weeks' intimacy with her new acquaintance, how- 
 ever. Miss Laura was obliged to give in to Helen's opinion, and own that 
 the Muse was selfish, unkind, and inconstant. 
 
 Little Frank, for instance, might be very provoking, and might have 
 deprived Blanche of her mamma s affection, but this was no reason why 
 Blanche should box the child's ears because he upset a glass of water over 
 her drawing, and why she should call him many opprobrious names in 
 the English and French languages ; and the preference accorded to little 
 Frank was certainly no reason why Blanche should give herself imperial 
 airs of command towards the boy's governess, and send that young lady 
 upon messages through the house to bring her book or to fetch her 
 pocket-handkerchief. When a domestic performed an errand for honest 
 Laura, she was always thankful and pleased ; whereas, she could not but 
 perceive that the little Muse had not the slightest scruple in giving her 
 commands to all the world round about her, and in disturbing anybody's 
 ease or comfort, in order to administer to her own. It was Laura's first 
 experience in friendship ; and it pained the kind creature's heart to be 
 obliged to give up as delusions, one by one, those charms and brilliant 
 qualities in which her fancy had dressed her new friend, and to find that 
 the fascinating little fairy was but a mortal, and not a very amiable 
 mortal after all. What generous person is there that has not been so 
 deceived in his time what person, perhaps, that has not so disappointed 
 others in his turn ? 
 
 After the scene with little Frank, in which that refractory son and heir 
 of the house of Clavering had received the compliments in French and 
 English, and the accompanying box on the ear from his sister. Miss 
 Laura, who had plenty of humour, could not help calling to mind some 
 very touching and tender verses which the Muse had read to her out of 
 
 Mes Larmes," and which began, My pretty baby brother, may angels 
 guard thy rest," in which the Muse, after complimenting the baby upon 
 the station in life which it was about to occupy, and contrasting it with 
 her own lonely condition, vowed nevertheless that the angel boy would 
 never enjoy such affection as hers was, or find in the false world before 
 him anything so constant and tender as a sister's heart. It may be," 
 the forlorn one said, it may be, you will slight it, my pretty baby 
 sweet. You will spurn me from your bosom, I'll cling around your feet ! 
 O let me, let me love you ! the* world will prove to you As false as 'tis 
 to others, but Jam ever true." And behold the Muse was boxing the 
 darling brother's ears instead of kneeling at his feet, and giving Miss 
 
182 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Laura her first lesson in the Cynical philosophy^not quite her first^ 
 however_, — something like this selfishness and waywardness^, something 
 like this contrast between practice and poetry^ between grand versified 
 aspirations and every-day life^ she had witnessed at home in the person 
 of our young friend Mr. Pen. 
 
 But then Pen was different. Pen was a man. It seemed natural, 
 somehow, that he should be self-willed and should have his own way. 
 And under his waywardness and selfishness, indeed, there was a kind 
 and generous heart. Oh, it was hard that such a diamond should be 
 changed away against such a false stone as this. In a word, Laura 
 began to be tired of her admired Blanche. She had assayed her and 
 found her not true ; and her former admiration and delight, which she 
 had expressed with her accustomed generous artlessness, gave way to a 
 feeling, which we shall not call contempt, but which was very near it ; 
 and which caused Laura to adopt towards Miss Amory a grave and 
 tranquil tone of superiority, which was at first by no means to the 
 Muse's liking. Nobody likes to be found out, or, having held a high 
 place, to submit to step down. 
 
 The consciousness that this event was impending did not serve to 
 increase Miss Blanche's good humour, and as it made her peevish and 
 dissatisfied with herself, it probably rendered her even less agreeable 
 to the persons round about her. So there arose, one fatal day, a battle- 
 royal between dearest Blanche and dearest Laura, in which the friend- 
 ship between them was all but slain outright. Dearest Blanche had 
 been unusually capricious and wicked on this day. She had been 
 insolent to her mother ; savage with little Frank ; odiously impertinent 
 in her behaviour to the boy's governess ; and intolerably cruel to 
 Pincott, her attendant. Not venturing to attack her friend (for the 
 little tyrant was of a timid feline nature, and only used her claws upon 
 those who were weaker than herself), she maltreated all these, and 
 especially poor Pincott, who was menial, confidante, companion (slave 
 always), according to the caprice of her young mistress. 
 
 This girl, who had been sitting in the room with the young ladies, 
 being driven thence in tears, occasioned by the cruelty of her mistress, 
 and raked with a parting sarcasm as she went sobbing fi*om the door, 
 Laura fairly broke out into a loud and indignant invective — wondered 
 how one so young could forget the deference owing to her elders as 
 well as to her inferiors in station ; and professing so much sensibility 
 of her own, could torture the feelings of others so wantonly. Laura 
 told her friend that her conduct was absolutely wicked, and that she 
 ought to ask pardon of Heaven on her knees for it. And having 
 delivered herself of a hot and voluble speech whereof the delivery 
 astonished the speaker as much almost as her auditor, she ran to her 
 bonnet and shawl, and went home across the park in a great flurry 
 and perturbation, and to the surprise of Mrs. Pendennis, who had not 
 expected her until night. 
 
 Alone with Helen, Laura gave an account of the scene, and gave 
 up her friend henceforth. O mamma," she said, you were right ; 
 Blanche, who seems so soft and so kind, is, as you have said, selfish 
 and cruel. She who is always speaking of her affections can have 
 no heart. No honest girl would afflict a mother so, or torture a 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 183 
 
 dependant ; and— and, I give her up from this day, and I will have no 
 other friend but you." 
 
 On this the two ladies went through the osculatory ceremony which 
 they were in the habit of performing, and Mrs. Pendennis got a great 
 secret comfort from the little quarrel— for Laura's confession seemed 
 to say, " That girl can never be a wife for Pen, for she is light-minded 
 and heartless, and quite unworthy of our noble hero. He will be sure to 
 find out her unworthiness for his own part, and then he will be saved 
 from this flighty creature, and awake out of his delusion." 
 
 But Miss Laura did not tell Mrs. Pendennis, perhaps did not acknow- 
 ledge to herself, what had been the real cause of the day's quarrel. 
 Being in a very wicked mood, and bent upon mischief everywhere, the 
 little wicked Muse of a Blanche had very soon begun her tricks. Her 
 darling Laura had come to pass a long day ; and as they were sitting 
 ill her own room together, had chosen to bring the conversation round 
 to the subject of Mr. Pen. 
 
 I am afraid he is sadly fickle," Miss Blanche observed : Mrs. 
 Pybus, and many more Clavering people, have told us all about the 
 actress. 
 
 I was quite a child when it happened, and I don't know anything 
 about it," Laura answered, blushing very much. 
 
 He used her very ill," Blanche said, wagging her little head. He 
 was false to her. " 
 
 I am sure he was not," Laura cried out ; he acted most gener- 
 ously by her : he wanted to give up everything to marry her. It was 
 
 she that was false to him. He nearly broke his heart about it : he - '^ 
 
 ''I thought you didn't know anything about the story^ dearest?" 
 interposed Miss Blanche. 
 
 Mamma has said so," said Laura. 
 
 Well, he is very clever," continued the other little dear. What 
 a sweet poet he is ! Have you ever read his poems ? " 
 
 Only the ' Fisherman and the Diver,' which he translated for us, 
 and his Prize Poem, which didn't get the prize ; and, indeed, I thought 
 it very pompous and prosy," Laura said, laughing. 
 
 ^^Has he never written you any poems, then, love.^" asked Miss Amory. 
 No, my dear," said Miss Bell. 
 
 Blanche ran up to her friend, kissed her fondly, called her my dearest 
 Laura at least three times, looked her archly in the face, nodded her head, 
 and said, Promise to tell no-o-body, and I will show you something." 
 
 And tripping across the room daintily to a little mother-of-pearl inlaid 
 desk, she opened it with a silver key, and took out two or three papers 
 crumpled and rather stained with green, which she submitted to her 
 friend. Laura took them and read them. They were love-verses sure 
 enough— something about Undine— about a Naiad— about a river. She 
 looked at them for a long time ; but in truth the lines were not very 
 distinct before her eyes. 
 
 " And you have answered them, Blanche ? " she asked, putting them 
 back. ^ 
 
 Oh no ! not for worlds, dearest," the other said : and when her 
 dearest Laura had quite done with the verses, she tripped back, and 
 popped them again into the pretty desk, 
 
184 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Then she went to her piano^ and sang two or three songs of Rossini, 
 whose flourishes of music her flexible little voice could execute to per- 
 fection, and Laura sate by, vaguely listening, as she performed these 
 pieces. What was Miss Bell thinking about the while ? She hardly 
 knew ; but sate there silent as the songs rolled by. After this concert 
 the young ladies were summoned to the room where luncheon was 
 served ; and whither they of course went with their arms round each 
 other's waists. 
 
 And it could not have been jealousy or anger on Laura's part which 
 had made her silent : for, after they had tripped along the corridor and 
 descended the steps, and were about to open the door which leads into 
 the hall, Laura paused, and looking her friend kindly and frankly in 
 the face, kissed her with a sisterly warmth. 
 
 Something occurred after this — Master Frank's manner of eating, 
 probably, or mamma's blunders, or Sir Francis smelling of cigars, which 
 vexed Miss Blanche, and she gave way to that series of naughtinesses 
 whereof we have spoken, and which ended in the above little quarrel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A HOUSE FULL OP VISITORS 
 
 The difference between the girls did not last long. Laura was always 
 too eager to forgive and be forgiven, and as for Miss Blanche, her ; 
 hostilities, never very long or durable, had not been provoked by the 
 above scenes Nobody cares about being accused of wickedness. No 
 vanity is hurt by that sort of charge : Blanche was rather pleased than ' 
 provoked by her friend's indignation, which never would have been 
 raised but for a cause which both knew, though neither spoke of. 
 
 And so Laura, with a sigh, was obliged to confess that the romantic 
 part of her first friendship was at an end, and that the object of it was 
 only worthy of a very ordinary sort of regard. 
 
 As for Blanche, she instantly composed a copy of touching verses, 
 setting forth her desertion and disenchantment. It was only the old 
 story, she wrote, of love meeting with coldness, and fidelity returned 
 by neglect ; and some new neighbours arriving from London about this j 
 time, in whose family there were daughters. Miss Amory had the advan- 
 tage of selecting an eternal friend from one of these young ladies, and ; 
 imparting her sorrows and disappointments to this new sister. The ! 
 tall footmen came but seldom now with notes to the sweet Laura ; the 
 jpony carriage was but rarely despatched to Fairoaks to be at the orders ' 
 of the ladies there. Blanche adopted a sweet look of suffering martyr- 
 dom when Laura came to see her. The other laughed at her friend's 
 sentimental mood, and treated it with a good humour that was by no 
 means respectful. 
 
 But if Miss Blanche found new female friends to console her, the 
 faithful historian is also bound to say, that she discovered some acquaint- 
 ances of the other sex who seemed to give her consolation too. If ever 
 this artless young creature met a young man, and had ten ^minutes' 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 186 
 
 conversation with him in a garden walk, in a drawing-room window, 
 or in the intervals of a waltz, she confided in him, so to speak— made 
 play with her beautiful eyes— spoke in a tone of tender interest, and 
 simple and touching appeal, and left him, to perform the same pretty 
 little drama in behalf of his successor. 
 
 When the Claverings first came down to the Park, there were very 
 few audiences before whom Miss Blanche could perform : hence Pen 
 lijid all the benefits of her glances, and confidences, and the drawing- 
 room window, or the garden walk all to himself. In the town of Claver- 
 ing, it has been isaid, there were actually no young men : in the near 
 surrounding country only a curate or two, or a rustic young squire, 
 with large feet and ill-made clothes. To the dragoons quartered at 
 Chatteris the Baronet made no overtures : it was unluckily his own 
 regiment : he had left it on bad terms with some officers of the corps— 
 an ugly business about a horse bargain— a disputed play account at 
 blind-Hookey— a white feather— who need ask.>— it is not our business 
 to inquire too closely into the bygones of our characters, except in so 
 far as their previous history appertains to the development of this 
 present story. ^ • j xi. 
 
 The autumn, and the end of the Parliamentary Session, and the 
 London season, brought one or two county families down to theii' 
 houses, and filled tolerably the neighbouring little watering-place at 
 Baymouth, and opened our friend Mr. Bingley's Theatre Royal at 
 Chatteris, and collected the usual company at the Assizes and Race- 
 balls there. Up to this time, the old county families had been rather 
 shv of our friends of Clavering Park. The Fogeys of Drummington ; 
 the Squares of Dozley Park ; the Welbores of The Barrow, &c. All 
 sorts of stories were* current among these folks regarding the family 
 at Clavering ;— indeed, nobody ought to say that people in the country 
 have no imagination, who hear them talk about new neighbours. About 
 Sir Francis and his lady, and her birth and parentage, about Miss Amory, 
 about Captain Strong, there had been endless histories which need not 
 be recapitulated ; and the family of the Park had been three months 
 in the county before the great people around began to call. 
 
 But at the end of the season, the Earl of Trehawke, Lord Lieutenant 
 of the County, coming to Eyrie Castle, and the Countess Dowager of 
 Rockminster, whose son was also a magnate of the land, to occupy a 
 mansion on the Marine Parade at Baymouth— these great folks came 
 publicly, immediately, and in state, to call upon the family of Clavering 
 Park ; and the carriages of the county families speedily followed m the 
 track which had been left in the avenue by their lordly wheels. 
 
 It was then that Mirobolant began to have an opportunity of exercis- 
 ing that skill which he possessed, and of forgetting, in the occupations 
 of his heart, the pangs of love. It was then that the large footmen 
 were too much employed at Clavering Park to be able to bring mes- 
 sages, or dally over the cup of small beer with the poor little maids at 
 Fairoaks. It was then that Blanche found other dear friends than 
 Laura, and other places to walk in besides the river-side, where Pen 
 v\'as fishing. He came day after day, and whipped the stream, but the 
 
 fish, fish wouldn't do their duty, nor the Peri appear. And here, 
 though in strict confidence, and with a request that the matter go no 
 
186 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 further^ we may as well allude to a delicate business^ of which previous 
 hint has been given. Mention has been made^ in a former page^ of a 
 certain hollow tree^ at which Pen used to take his station when engaged 
 in his passion for Miss Fotheringay^ and the cavity of which he after- 
 wards used for other purposes than to insert his baits and fishing-cans 
 in. The truth is^ he converted this tree into a post-office. Under a 
 piece of moss and a stone^ he used to put little poems^ or letters equally 
 poetical^ which were addressed to a certain Undine or Naiad who fre- 
 quented the stream^ and which^ once or twice^ were replaced by a receipt 
 in the shape of a flower^ or by a modest little word or two of acknow- 
 ledgment written in a delicate hand^ in French or English^ and on pink 
 scented paper. Certainly^ Miss Amory used to walk by this stream^ 
 as we have seen ; and it is a fact that she used pink scented paper for 
 her correspondence. But after the great folks had invaded Clavering 
 Park^ and the family coach passed out of the lodge-gates^ evening after 
 evening^ on their way to the other great country houses^ nobody came 
 to fetch Pen's letters at the post-office ; the white paper was not ex- 
 changed for the pink^ but lay undisturbed under its stone and its moss^ 
 whilst the tree was reflected into the stream^ and the Brawl went rolling 
 by. There was not much in the letters certainly : in the pink notes 
 scarcely anything — merely a little word or two^ half jocular^ half sym- 
 pathetic^ such as might be written by any young lady. But oh^ you silly 
 Pendennis^ if you wanted this one_, why did you not speak ? Perhaps 
 neither party was in earnest. You were only playing at being in love_, 
 and the sportive little Undine was humouring you at the same play. 
 
 Nevertheless if a man is balked at this game^ he not unfrequently loses 
 his temper ; and when nobody came any more for Pen's poems^ he began 
 to look upon those compositions in a very serious light. He felt almost 
 tragical and romantic again_, as in his first aifair of the heart ; — at any 
 rate he was bent upon having an explanation. One day he went to the 
 Hall^ and there was a roomful of visitors : on another^ Miss Amory was 
 not to be seen ; she was going to a ball that nighty and was lying down 
 to take a little sleep. Pen cursed balls^ and the narrowness of his means^ 
 and the humility of his position in the county that caused him to be 
 passed over by the givers of these entertainments. On a third occasion^ 
 Miss Amory was in the garden^ and he ran thither : she was walking 
 there in state with no less personages than the Bishop and Bishopess of 
 Chatteris and the episcopal family^ who scowled at him^ and drew up 
 in great dignity when he was presented to them^ and they heard his 
 name. The Right Reverend Prelate had heard it before,, and also of 
 the little transaction in the Dean's garden. 
 
 The Bishop says you're a sad young man^" good-natured Lady 
 Clavering whispered to him. What have you been a doing of? 
 Nothink^ I hope^ to vex such a dear Mar as yours ? How is your dear 
 Mar ? Why don't she come and see me } We an't seen her this ever 
 such a time. We're a goin' about a gaddin'^ so that we don't see no 
 neighbours now. Give my love to her and Laurar^ and come all to 
 dinner to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Pendennis was too unwell to come out^ but Laura and Pen came^ 
 and there was a great party^ and Pen only got an opportunity of a hurried 
 word with Miss Amory. You never come to the river now," he said. 
 
PENDENNIS 187 
 
 I can t/' said Blanche, the house is full of people." 
 
 Undine has left the stream/' Mr. Pen went on, choosing to be 
 
 ^^f *She never ought to have gone there/' Miss Amory answered. '' She 
 won t go again. It was very foolish, very wrong : it was only play. 
 Besides, you have other consolations at home," she added, looking him 
 full in the face an instant, and dropping her eyes. 
 
 If he wanted her, why did he not speak then ? She might have said 
 '' Yes " even then. But as she spoke of other consolations at home, he 
 thought of Laura, so affectionate and so pure, and of his mother at home, 
 who had bent her fond heart upon unitinghim with her adopted daughter. 
 
 Blanche ! " he began, in a vexed tone,—'' Miss Amory ! " 
 
 " Laura is looking at us, Mr. Pendennis," the young lady said. 1 
 must go back to the company," and she ran off, leaving Mr. Pendenms 
 to bite his nails in perplexity, and to look out into the moonlight in the 
 
 garden. . . i 
 
 Laura indeed was looking at Pen. She was talking with, or appearing 
 to listen to the talk of, Mr. Pynsent, Lord Rockminster s son, and 
 grandson of the Dowager Lady, who was seated in state in the place of 
 honour, gravely receiving Lady Clavering's had grammar, and patronis- 
 inff the vacuous Sir Francis, whose interest in the county she was desirous 
 to secure. Pynsent and Pen had heen at Oxbridge together, where the 
 latter, during his heyday of good fortune and fashion, had been the 
 superior of the young patrician, and perhaps rather supercilious towards 
 him. They had met for the first time, since they had parted at the 
 University, at the table to-day, and given each other that exceedingly 
 impertinent and amusing demi-nod of recognition which is practised in 
 England only, and only to perfection by University men,— and which 
 seems to say, " Confound you— what do you do here ? " 
 
 I knew that man at Oxbridge," Mr. Pynsent said to Miss Bell— a 
 Mr. Pendennis, I think. " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Bell. 
 
 " He seems rather sweet upon Miss Amory," the gentleman went on. 
 Laura looked at them, and perhaps thought so too, but said nothing. 
 
 " A man of large property in the county, ain't he ? He used to talk 
 about representing it. He used to speak at the Union Whereabouts 
 do his estates lie ? " 
 
 Laura smiled. " His estates lie on the other side of the river, near 
 the lodge gate. He is my cousin, and I live there." 
 
 " Where } " asked Mr. Pynsent, with a laugh. 
 
 " Why, on the other side of the river, at Fairoaks," answered Miss 
 
 Bell. . „ i„ . 1 
 
 " Many pheasants there ? Cover looks rather good, said the simple 
 
 gentleman. i • j 
 
 Laura smiled again. " We have nine hens and a cock, a pig, and an 
 old pointer." 
 
 " Pendennis don't preserve, then ? " continued Mr. Pynsent. 
 
 " You should come and see him," the girl said, laughing, and greatly 
 amused at the notion that her Pen was a great county gentleman, and 
 perhaps had given himself out to be such. 
 
 " Indeed, I quite long to renew our acquaintance," Mr. Pynsent said 
 
188 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 pllantly, and with a look which fairly said, It is you that I would 
 like to come and see " — to which look and speech Miss Laura vouchsafed 
 a smile, and made a little bow. 
 
 Here Blanche came stepping up with her most fascinating smile and 
 ogle, and begged dear Laura to come and take the second in a song. 
 Laura was ready to do anything good-natured, and went to the piano*; 
 by which Mr. Pynsent listened as long as the duet lasted, and until Miss 
 Amory began for herself, when he strode away. 
 
 What a nice, frank, amiable, well-bred girl that is, Wagg," said Mr. 
 Pynsent to a gentleman who had come over with him from Baymouth 
 — " the tall one I mean, with the ringlets and the red lips — monstrous 
 red, ain't they ? *' 
 
 What do you think of the girl of the house ? asked Mr. Wagg. 
 
 I think she's a lean, scraggy humbug," said Mr. Pynsent, with great 
 candour. She drags her shoulders out of her dress : she never lets 
 her eyes alone : and she goes simpering and ogling about like a French 
 waiting-maid." 
 
 Pynsent, be civil,'* cried the other ; somebody can hear." 
 
 Oh, it's Pendennis of Boniface," Mr. Pynsent said. Fine evening, 
 Mr. Pendennis ; we were just talking of your charming cousin." 
 
 Any relation to my old friend. Major Pendennis.^^" asked Mr. Wagg.^ 
 
 His nephew. Had the pleasure of meeting you at Gaunt House," 
 Mr. Pen said, with his very best air — the acquaintance between the 
 gentlemen was made in an instant. 
 
 In the afternoon of the next day, the two gentlemen who were staying 
 at Clavering Park were found by Mr. Pen on his return from a fishing 
 excursion, in which he had no sport, seated in his mother's drawing- 
 room in comfortable conversation with the widow and her ward. Mr. 
 Pynsent, tall and gaunt, with large red whiskers and an imposing tuft 
 to his chin, was striding over a chair in the intimate neighbourhood of 
 Miss Laura. She was amused by his talk, which was simple, straight- 
 forward, rather humorous, and keen, and interspersed with homely ex- 
 pressions of a style which is sometimes called slang. It was the first 
 specimen of a young London dandy that Laura had seen or heard ; for 
 she had been but a chit at the time of Mr. Foker's introduction at Fair- 
 oaks, nor indeed was that ingenuous gentleman much more than a boy, 
 and his refinement was only that of a school and college. 
 
 Mr. Wagg, as he entered the Fairoaks premises with his companion, 
 eyed and noted everything. Old gardener," he said, seeing Mr. John 
 at the lodge — old red livery waistcoat — clothes hanging out to dry on 
 the gooseberry bushes — blue aprons, white ducks — gad, they must be 
 young Pendennis's white ducks — nobody else wears 'em in the family. 
 Rather a shy place for a sucking county member, ay, Pynsent ? " 
 Snug little crib," said Mr. Pynsent, pretty cosy little lawn." 
 Mr. Pendennis at home, old gentleman " Mr. Wagg said to the 
 old domestic. John answered, ^'^ No, Master Pendennis was agone out." 
 
 ^^Are the ladies at home?" asked the younger visitor. Mr. John 
 answered, Yes, they be ; " and as the pair walked over the trim gravel, 
 and by the neat shrubberies, up the steps to the hall door, which old 
 John opened, Mr. Wagg noted everything that he saw ; . the barometer 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 189 
 
 I and the letter-bag, the umbrellas and the ladies' clogs, Pen's hats and 
 ( tartan wrapper, and old John opening the drawing-room door, to intro- 
 j duce the new-comers. Such minutiae attracted Wagg instinctively ; he 
 I seized them in spite of himself. ^ . 
 
 ; Old fellow does all the work," he whispered to Pynsent. Caleb 
 \ Balderstone. Shouldn't wonder if he's the housemaid." The next 
 [ minute the pair were in the presence of the Fairoaks ladies ; in whom 
 i Pynsent could not help recognising two perfectly well-bred ladies, and 
 1 to whom Mr. Wagg made his obeisance, with florid bows, and extra 
 I courtesy, accompanied with an occasional knowing leer at his companion. 
 \ Mr. Pynsent did not choose to acknowledge these signals, except by 
 [i extreme haughtiness towards Mr. Wagg, and particular deference to 
 I the ladies. If there was one thing laughable in Mr. Wagg's eyes, it 
 I was poverty. He had the soul of a butler who had been brought from 
 dhis pantry to make fun in the drawing-room. His jokes were plenty, 
 i Wd his good-nature thoroughly genuine, but he did not seem to under- 
 f stand that a gentleman could wear an old coat, or that a lady could be 
 i respectable unless she had her carriage, or employed a French milliner. 
 
 Charming place, ma'am," said he, bowing to the widow ; noble 
 1 prospect—delightful to us Cockneys, who seldom see anything but Pall 
 ^1 Mall." The widow said, simply, she had never been in London but 
 1^ once in her life — before her son was born. 
 
 Fine village, ma'am, fine village," said Mr. Wagg, and increasing 
 i every day. It'll be quite a large town soon. It's not a bad place to 
 :; live ill for those who can't get the country, and will repay a visit when 
 i you honour it." 
 
 i My brother. Major Pendeunis, has often mentioned your name to 
 i us," the widow said, and we have been— amused by some of your droll 
 books, sir," Helen continued, who never could be brought to like Mr. 
 j Wagg's books, and detested their tone most thoroughly. 
 
 I'' He is my very good friend," Mr. Wagg said, with a low bow, and 
 one of the best known men about town, and where known, ma'am, ap- 
 preciated—I assure you appreciated. He is with our friend Steyne, at 
 Aix-la-Chapelle. Steyne has a touch of the gout, and so, between our- 
 selves, has your brother. I am going to Stillbrook for the pheasant- 
 li shooting, and afterwards to Bareacres, where Pendennis and I shall 
 ^ probably meet ; " and he poured out a flood of fashionable talk, intro- 
 1 ducing the names of a score of peers, and rattling on with breathless 
 |! spirits, whilst the simple widow listened in silent wonder. What a 
 i man ! she thought ; are all the men of fashion in London like this ? I 
 ij am sure Pen will never be like him. 
 
 Mr. Pynsent was in the meanwhile engaged with Miss Laura. He 
 named some of the houses in the neighbourhood whither he was going, 
 and hoped very much that he should see Miss Bell at some of them. 
 He hoped that her aunt would give her a season in London. He said, 
 that in the next Parliament it was probable he should canvass the 
 county, and he hoped to get Pendennis's interest here. He spoke of 
 Pen's triumph as an orator at Oxbridge, and asked was he coming into 
 Parliament too ? He talked on very pleasantly, and greatly to Laura's 
 satisfaction, until Pen himself appeared, and, as has been said, found 
 these gentlemen. 
 
190 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Pen behaved very courteously to the pair^ now that they had found 
 their way into his quarters ; and though he recollected with some twinges 
 a conversation at Oxbridge^ when Pynsent was present^ and in which^ 
 after a great debate at the Union_, and in the midst of considerable ex- 
 citement^ produced by a supper and champagne-cup^ — he had announced 
 his intention of coming in for his native county^ and had absolutely 
 returned thanks in a fine speech as the future member ; yet Mr. Pynsent's 
 manner was so frank and cordial^ that Pen hoped Pynsent might have 
 forgotten his little fanfaronnade^ and any other braggadocio speeches 
 or actions which he might have made. He suited himself to the tone 
 of the visitors then^ and talked about Plinlimmon and Magnus Charters^ 
 and the old set at Oxbridge^ with careless familiarity and high-bred 
 ease^ as if he lived with marquises every day, and a duke was no more 
 to him than a village curate. 
 
 But at this juncture, and it being then six o'clock in the evening, 
 Betsy, the maid, who did not know of the advent of strangers, walked 
 into the room without any preliminary but that of flinging the door wide 
 open before her, and bearing in her arms a tray, containing three teacups, 
 a teapot, and a plate of thick bread-and-butter. All Pen's splendour 
 and magnificence vanished away at this — and he faltered and became 
 quite abashed. What will they think of us ? " he thought : and in- 
 deed, Wagg thrust his tongue in his cheek, thought the tea utterly 
 contemptible, and leered and winked at Pynsent to that effect. 
 
 But to Mr. Pynsent the transaction appeared perfectly simple — there 
 was no reason present to his mind why people should not drink tea at 
 six if they were minded, as well as at any other hour ; and he asked of 
 Mr. Wag^, when they went away, What the devil he was grinning 
 and winking at, and what amused him ? " 
 
 Didn't you see how the cub was ashamed of the thick bread-and- 
 butter } I dare say they're going to have treacle if they are good. I'll 
 take an opportunity of telling old Pendennis when we get back to 
 town," Mr. Wagg chuckled out. 
 
 Don't see the fun," said Mr. Pynsent. 
 
 Never thought you did," growled Wagg between his teeth ; and 
 they walked home rather sulkily. 
 
 Wagg told the story at dinner very smartly, with wonderful accuracy 
 of observation. He described old John, the clothes that were drying, 
 the clogs in the hall, the drawing-room, and its furniture and pictures : 
 
 Old man with a beak and bald head— Pendennis, I bet two to one; 
 sticking-plaster full-length of a youth in a cap and gown — the present 
 Marquis of Fairoaks, of course ; the widow when young in miniature, 
 Mrs. Mee ; she had the gown on when we came, or in a dress made the 
 year after, and the tips cut off the fingers of her gloves which she stitches 
 her son's collars with ; and then the sarving-maid came in with their 
 teas ; so we left the Earl and the Countess to their bread-and-butter. " 
 
 Blanche, near whom he sate as he told this story, and who adored 
 les hommes d'esprity burst out laughing, and called him such an odd 
 droll creature. But Pynsent, who began to be utterly disgusted with 
 him, broke out in a loud voice, and said, I don't know, Mr. Wagg, 
 what sort of ladies you are accustomed to meet in your own family, 
 but by gad, as far as a first acquaintance can show, I never met two 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 191 
 
 better-bred women in my life^ and I hope, ma'am, you'll call upon 
 'em/' he added, addressing Lady Rockmiiister, who was seated at Sir 
 Francis Clavering's right hand. 
 
 Sir Francis turned to the guest on his left, and whispered, That's 
 what I call a sticker for Wagg." And Lady Clavering, giving the 
 young gentleman a delighted tap with her fan, winked her black eyes 
 at him, and said, ^^Mr. Pynsent, you're a good feller." 
 
 After the affair with Blanche, a difference ever so slight, a tone of 
 melancholy, perhaps a little bitter, might be perceived in Laura's con- 
 verse with her cousin. She seemed to weigh him, and find him wanting 
 too ; the widow saw the girl's clear and honest eyes watching the young 
 man at times, and a look of almost scorn pass over her face, as he 
 lounged in the room with the women, or lazily sauntered smoking upon 
 the lawn, or lolled under a tree there over a book, which he was too 
 listless to read. 
 
 What has happened between you } " eager-sighted Helen asked of 
 the girl. ^ Something has happened. Has that wicked little Blanche 
 been making mischief.'^ Tell me, Laura." 
 
 Nothing has happened at all," Laura said. 
 
 Then why do you look at Pen so } " asked his mother quickly. 
 ^^Look at him, dear mother ! " said the girl. We two women are 
 no society for him : we don't interest him ; we are not clever enough 
 for such a genius as Pen. He wastes his life an(i energ'ies away among 
 us, tied to our apron-strings. He interests himself in nothing: he 
 scarcely cares to go beyond the garden-gate. Even Captain Glanders 
 and Captain Strong pall upon him," she added with a bitter laugh ; 
 
 and they are men, you know, and our superiors. He will never be 
 happy while he is here. Why is he not facing the world, and without 
 a profession " 
 
 We have got enough, with great economy," said the widow, her 
 heart beginning to beat violently. Pen has spent nothing for months 
 I'm sure he is very good. I am sure he might be very happy with us." 
 
 Don't agitate yourself so, dear mother," the girl answered. ^^I 
 don't like to see you so. You should not be sad because Pen is unhappy 
 here. All men are so. They must work. They must make themselves 
 names and a place in the world. Look, the two captains have fought 
 and seen battles : that Mr. Pynsent, who came here, and who will be 
 very rich, is in a public office ; he works very hard, he aspires to a 
 name and a reputation. He says Pen was one of the best speakers at 
 Oxbridge, and had as great a character for talent as any of the young 
 gentlemen there. Pen himself laughs at Mr. Wagg's celebrity (and 
 indeed he is a horrid person), and says he is a dunce, and that anybody 
 could write his books." 
 
 I am sure they are odious," interposed the widow. 
 
 Yet he has a reputation. — You see the County Chronicle says, ^ The 
 celebrated Mr. Wagg has been sojourning at Baymouth — let our fashion- 
 ables and eccentrics look out for something from his caustic pen.' If 
 Pen can write better than this gentleman, and speak better than Mr. 
 Pynsent, why doesn't he } Mamma, he can't make speeches to us ; or 
 distinguish himself here. He ought to go away, indeed he ought." 
 
 Dear Laura," said Helen, taking the girl's hand. Is it kind of 
 
192 PENDENNIS 
 
 vou to hurry him so? I have heeu waiting. I have beeu saving up 
 money these many months-to-to pay back your advance to us 
 
 " Hush, mother ! " Laura cried, embracing her friend hastily. It 
 was your money, not mine. Never speak about that again. How 
 
 " HeM SeCsroifthan two hundred pounds at the bank, and 
 that she would be enabled to pay off all Laura's money by the end of 
 
 oTvVit him-let him have the two hundred pounds Let him go 
 to London and be a lawyer : be something, be worthy of his mother- 
 and of n ine, dearest mamma," said the good girl; upon which, and 
 w°th her usual tenderness and emotion, the fond widow declared that 
 Sira was a blessing to her, and the best of girls-and I hope no one 
 in this instance will be disposed to contradict her. 
 "The widow and her daughter had more than one conversati^^^^^^^^^ this 
 subiect • the elder gave way to the superior reason of the honest and 
 SiS^-minded gi?l ; andf indeed, whenever there was a sacrifice to 
 be mfde m her part, this kind lady was only too eager to make it. 
 
 But she took her own way, and did not lose sight of the end she had 
 in view in imparting these new plans to Pen. One day she told him 
 of Ihele projects, and who it wal that had formed them ; how it was 
 Laura who nsisted upon his going to London and studying ; how 
 wa^Laura who would not hear of the-the money arrangements when 
 rcaX back from OxSridge-being settled just then : how t was Laura 
 whom he had to thank, if indeed he thought he ought to go. 
 
 Tthat news Pen's countenance blazed «P,^f Pl^^^^'-wltid 
 hu-Ld his mother to his heart with an ardour that I fear disappointed 
 Vhffond lady ; but she rallied when he «aid, " By heaven ! she is a 
 noble ffirl, and may God Almighty bless her ! O mother ! I have been 
 Tearying myself Lay for months here, longing to work and not 
 knoXlhow. I've been fretting over the thoughts of my shame, and 
 my debts, and my past cursed eltravagance and follies. I've suffered 
 hifernally. My heart has been half-broken-never mmd about that 
 f I can get a chance to redeem the past, and to do my duty to myself and 
 the best mother in the world indeed indeed, I ^''^l^ ^ ^^,^^^^1^,"; 
 vou vet. Heaven bless you ! God bless Laura ! Why isn t she here 
 that f may go and thank her? " Pen went on with 
 phrases • paced up and down the room, drank glasses of water, jumped 
 about h s mother with a thousand embraces-began to laugh-began to 
 i-was happier than she had seen him since he was a boy-since 
 he had tested'^of the fruit of that awful Tree of Life which, from the 
 beghining, has tempted all mankind. 
 
 Laura was not at home. Laura was on a visit to the stately Lady 
 
 of dlys to Baymouth, and did not make the slightest invitation to Mi. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 193 
 
 Arthur Peiidennis. There was to be a ball at Baymouth^ and it was to 
 be Miss Laura's first appearance. The dowager came to fetch her in 
 her carriage, and she went off with a white dress in her box, happy and 
 blushing, like the rose to which Pen compared her. 
 
 This was the night of the ball — a public entertainment at the Baymouth 
 Hotel. By Jove ! " said Pen, ^^I'll ride over — No, I won't ride, but 
 rU go too." His mother was charmed that he should do so ; and, as 
 he was debating about the conveyance in which he should start for Bay- 
 mouth, Captain Strong called opportunely, said he was going himself 
 and that he would put his horse, the Butcher Boy, into the gig, and 
 drive Pen over. 
 
 When the grand company began to fill the house at Clavering Park, 
 the Chevalier Strong seldom intruded himself upon its society, but went 
 elsewhere to seek his relaxation. I've seen plenty of grand dinners 
 in my time," he said, ^'^and dined, by Jove, in a company where there 
 was a king and royal duke at top and bottom, and every man along the 
 table had six stars on his coat ; but dammy. Glanders, this finery don't 
 suit me ; and the English ladies with their confounded buckram airs, 
 and the squires with their politics after dinner, send me to sleep — sink 
 me dead if they don't. I like a place where I can blow my cigar when 
 the cloth is removed, and when I'm thirsty, have my beer in its native 
 pewter." So on a gala day at Clavering Park, the Chevalier would 
 content himself with superintending the arrangements of the table, and 
 drilling the major-domo and servants ; and having looked over the bill 
 of fare with Monsieur Mirobolant, would not care to take the least part 
 in the banquet. Send me up a cutlet and a bottle of claret to my 
 room," this philosopher would say, and from the windows of that apart- 
 ment, which commanded the terrace and avenue, he would survey the 
 company as they arrived in their carriages, or take a peep at the ladies 
 in the hall through an (Bil-de-hoBuf MvYdoh. commanded it from his corridor. 
 And the guests being seated. Strong would cross the park to Captain 
 Glanders's cottage at Clavering, or to pay the landlady a visit at the 
 Clavering Arms, or to drop in upon Madame Fribsby over her novel 
 and tea. Wherever the Chevalier went he was welcome, and whenever 
 he came away a smell of hot brandy-and- water lingered behind him. 
 
 The Butcher Boy — not the worst horse in Sir Francis's stable — was 
 appropriated to Captain Strong's express use ; and the old campaigner 
 saddled him and brought him home at all hours of the day or night, and 
 drove or rode him up and down the country. Where there was a public- 
 house with a good tap of beer — where there was a tenant with a pretty 
 daughter who played on the piano — to Chatteris, to the play, or the 
 barracks — to Baymouth, if any fun was on foot there ; to the rural fairs 
 or races, the Chevalier and his brown horse made their way continually ; 
 and this worthy gentleman lived at free quarters in a friendly country. 
 The Butcher Boy soon took Pen and the Chevalier to Baymouth. The 
 latter was as familiar with the hotel and landlord there as with every 
 other inn round about ; and having been accommodated with a bedroom 
 to dress, they entered the ball-room. The Chevalier was splendid. He 
 wore three little gold crosses in a brochette on the portly breast of his 
 blue coat, and looked like a foreign field-marshal. 
 
 The ball was public, and all sorts of persons were admitted and 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 encouraged to come, young Pynsent having views upon the county, and 
 Lady Rockminster being patroness of the hall. There was a quadrille 
 for the aristocracy at one end, and select benches for the people of 
 fashion. Towards this end the Chevalier did not care to penetrate far 
 (as he said he did not care for the nobs) ; but in the other part of the 
 room he knew everybody — the wine-merchants', innkeepers', trades- 
 men's, solicitors', squire -farmers' daughters, their sires and brothers, 
 and plunged about shaking hands. 
 
 ^' Who is that man with the blue ribbon and the three-pointed star ? 
 asked Pen. A gentleman in black, with ringlets and a tuft, stood 
 gazing fiercely about him, with one hand in the arm-hole of his waist- 
 coat and the other holding his claque. 
 
 By Jupiter, it's Mirobolant ! " cried Strong, bursting out laughing. 
 Bon jour, Chef! — Boyijour, Chevalier!'' 
 
 De la croicc de Juillet, Chevalier ! " said the Chef, laying his hand 
 on his decoration. 
 
 By Jove, here's some more ribbon ! " said Pen, amused. 
 A man with very black hair and whiskers, dyed evidently with the 
 purple of Tyre, with twinkling eyes and white eyelashes, and a thou- 
 sand wrinkles in his face, which was of a strange red colour, with two 
 under-vests, and large gloves and hands, and a profusion of diamonds 
 and jewels in his waistcoat and stock, with coarse feet crunipled into 
 immense shiny boots, and a piece of parti-coloured ribbon in his button- 
 hole, here came up and nodded familiarly to the Chevalier. 
 
 The Chevalier shook hands. My friend Mr. Pendennis," Strong 
 said. Colonel Altamont, of the body-guard of his Highness the 
 Nawaub of Lucknow." That officer bowed to the salute of Pen ; who 
 was now looking out eagerly to see if the person he wanted had entered 
 the room. 
 
 Not yet. But the band began presently performing See the Con- 
 quering Hero comes," and a host of fashionables — Dowager Countess 
 of Rockminster, Mr. Pynsent and Miss Bell, Sir Francis Clavering, 
 Bart, of Clavering Park, Lady Clavering and Miss Amory, Sir Horace 
 
 Fogey, Bart., Lady Fogey, Colonel and Mrs. Higgs, Wagg, Esq. 
 
 (as the county paper afterwards described them), entered the room. 
 
 Pen rushed by Blanche, ran up to Laura, and seized her hand. 
 
 God bless you ! " he said, I want to speak to you— I must speak to 
 you — let me dance with you." — Not for three dances, dear Pen," she 
 said, smiling : and he fell back, biting his nails with vexation, and 
 forgetting to salute Pynsent. 
 
 After Lady Rockminster's party. Lady Clavering's followed in the 
 procession. 
 
 Colonel Altamont eyed it hard, holding a most musky pocket-hand- 
 kerchief up to his face, and bursting with laughter behind it. Who's 
 the gal in green along with 'em, Cap'n ? " he asked of Strong. 
 
 That's Miss Amory, Lady Covering's daughter," replied the 
 Chevalier. 
 
 The Colonel could hardly contain himself for laughing. 
 
 V 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 196 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 CONTAINS SOME BALL-PRACTISING 
 
 Under some calico draperies in the shady embrasure of a window^ 
 Arthur Peridennis chose to assume a very gloomy and frowning counte- 
 nance_, and to watch Miss Bell dance her first quadrille with Mr. Pynsent 
 for a partner. Miss Laura's face was beaming with pleasure and good- 
 nature. The lights and the crowd and music excited her. As she 
 spread out her white robes^ and performed her part of the dance^ 
 smiling and happy^ her brown ringlets flowing back over her fair 
 shoulders from her honest rosy face_, more than one gentleman in the 
 room admired and looked after her ; and Lady Fogey^ who had a house 
 in London^ and gave herself no small airs of fashion when in the country, 
 asked of Lady Rockmiiister who the young person was, mentioned a 
 reigning beauty in London whom, in her Ladyship's opinion, Laura 
 was rather like, and pronounced that she would do." 
 
 Lady Rockminster would have been very much surprised if any 
 proUgee of hers would not do," and wondered at Lady Fogey's impu- 
 dence, in judging upon the point at all. She surveyed Laura with 
 majestic glances through her eye-glass. She was pleased with the girl's 
 artless looks, and gay innocent manner. Her manner is very good," 
 her Ladyship thought. Her arms are rather-red, but that is a defect 
 of her youth. Her ton is far better than that of the little pert Miss 
 Amory, who is dancing opposite to her." 
 
 Miss Blanche was, indeed, the vis-a-vis of Miss Laura, and smiled 
 most killingly upon her dearest friend, and nodded to her, and talked 
 to her, when they met during the quadrille evolutions, and patronised 
 her a great deal. Her shoulders were the whitest in the whole room : 
 and they were never easy in her frock for one single instant : nor were 
 her eyes, which rolled about incessantly : nor was her little figure : — it 
 seemed to say to all the people, Come and look at me — not at that 
 pink, healthy, bouncing country lass. Miss Bell, who scarcely knew 
 how to dance till I taught her. This is the true Parisian manner — this 
 is the prettiest little foot in the room, and the prettiest little chaussure, 
 too. Look at it, Mr. Pynsent. Look at it, Mr. Pendennis, you who are 
 scowling behind the curtain — I know you are longing to dance with me." 
 
 Laura went on dancing, and keeping an attentive eye upon Mr. Pen 
 in the embrasure of the window. He did not quit that retirement 
 during the first quadrille, nor until the second, when the good-natured 
 Lady Clavering beckoned to him to come up to her to the dais or place 
 of honour where the dowagers were, and whither Pen went, blushing 
 and exceedingly awkward, as most conceited young fellows are. He 
 performed a haughty salutation to Lady Rockminster, who hardly ac- 
 knowledged his bow, and then went and paid his respects to the widow 
 of the late Amory, who was splendid in diamonds, velvet, lace, feathers, 
 and all sorts of millinery and goldsmith's ware. 
 
 Young Mr. Fogey, then in the fifth form at Eton, and ardently 
 expecting his beard and his commission in a dragoon regiment, was the 
 
196 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 second partner who was honoured with Miss Bell's hand. He was rapt 
 in admiration of that young lady. He thought he had never seen so 
 charming a creature. I like you much better than the French girl " 
 (for this young gentleman had been dancing with Miss Amory before)^ 
 he candidly said to her. Laura laughed^ and looked more good- 
 humoured than ever ; and in the midst of her laughter caught a sight 
 of Pen^ and continued to laugh as he^ on his side^ continued to look 
 absurdly pompous and sulky. The next dance was a waltz^ and young 
 Fogey thought^ with a sigh^ that he did not know how to waltz^ and 
 vowed he would have a master the next holidays. 
 
 Mr. Pynsent again claimed Miss Bell's hand for this dance ; and Pen 
 beheld her, in a fury, twirling round the room, her waist encircled by 
 the arm of that gentleman. He never used to be angry before when, 
 on summer evenings, the chairs and tables being removed, and the 
 governess called downstairs to play the piano, he and the Chevalier 
 Strong (who was a splendid performer, and could dance a British horn- 
 pipe, a German waltz, or a Spanish fandango, if need were), and the 
 two young ladies, Blanche and Laura, improvised little balls at Clavering 
 Park. Laura enjoyed this dancing so much, and was so animated, that 
 she even animated Mr. Pynsent. Blanche, who could dance beautifully, 
 ^had an unlucky partner. Captain Broadfoot, of the Dragoons, then 
 . 7""*stationed at Chatteris. For Captain Bjcfiadfoot, though devoting him- 
 V' self with great energy to the object in view, could not get round in 
 )^ ^ time : and, not having the least ear for music, was unaware that his 
 
 v"*"^ movements were too slow. 
 \y So, in the waltz as in the quadrille. Miss Blanche saw that her dear 
 
 v/' friend Laura had the honours of the dance, and was by no means pleased 
 
 with the latter's success. After a couple of turns with the heavy dragoon, 
 she pleaded fatigue, and requested to be led back to her place, near her 
 mamma, to whom Pen was talking : and she asked him why he had not 
 asked her to waltz, and had left her to the mercies of that great odious 
 man in spurs and a red coat ? 
 
 I thought spurs and scarlet were the most fascinating objects in the 
 world to young ladies,'' Pen answered. I never should have dared to 
 put my black coat in competition with that splendid red jacket." 
 
 You are very unkind and cruel and sulky and naughty," said Miss 
 Amory, with another shrug of the shoulders. You had better go away. 
 Your cousin is looking at us over Mr. Pynsent's shoulder." 
 Will you waltz with me ? " said Pen. 
 ^^Not this waltz. I can't, having just sent away that great hot Captain 
 JBroadfoot. Look at Mr. Pynsent, did you ever see such a creature ? 
 i.*^ Put I will dance the next waltz with you, and the quadrille too. I am 
 ^^^'^^inised, but I will tell Mr. Poole that I had forgotten my engagement 
 fy^^/^ to you." 
 r ^ iT Wf^^ pn forget very r^a 4ily/ ' Pendennis said. 
 
 ^ But Ihey alwayi'come'back, and are very repentant and sorry for 
 
 ^ ^S£^ what they've done^" Blanche said. See, here comes the Poker, and 
 C — ^^^^ Laura leaning on him. How pretty she looks ! " 
 \ 9 Laura came up, and put out her hand to Pen, to whom Pynsent made 
 ^ •a sort of bow, appearing to be not much more graceful than 
 
 domestic instrument to which Miss Amory compared him. 
 
PENDENNTS 
 
 1^7 
 
 But Laura s face was full of kindness. I am so glad you have come, 
 dear Pen/' she said. I can speak to you now. How is mamma ? The 
 three dances are over, and I am engaged to you for the next. Pen." 
 
 ^^I have just engaged myself to Miss Amory," said Pen ; and Miss 
 Amory nodded her head, and made her usual little curtsey. I don't 
 intend to give him up, dearest Laura," she said. 
 
 ^^Well, then, hell waltz with me, dear Blanche," said the other. 
 
 Wont you. Pen?" 
 
 I promised to waltz with Miss Amory." 
 
 Provoking ! " said Laura, and making a curtsey in her turn, she 
 went and placed herself under the ample wing of Lady Rockminster. 
 
 Pen was delighted with his mischief. The two prettiest girls in the 
 room were quarrelling about him. He flattered himself he had punished 
 Miss Laura. He leaned in a dandified air, with his elbow over the wall, 
 and talked to Blanche : he quizzed unmercifully all the men in the 
 room — the heavy dragoons in their tight jackets — the country dandies 
 in their queer attire — the strange toilettes of the ladies. One seemed 
 to have a bird's nest in her head ; another had six pounds of grapes 
 in her hair, beside her false pearls. It's a coiffure of almonds and 
 raisins," said Pen, ^^and might be served up for dessert." In a word, 
 he was exceedingly satirical and amusing. 
 
 During the quadrille he carried on this kind of conversation with 
 unflinching bitterness and vivacity, and kept Blanche continually 
 laughing, both at his wickedness and jokes, which were good, and also 
 because Laura was again their vis-d-vis, and could see and hear how 
 merry and confidential they were. 
 
 Arthur is charming to-night," she whispered to Laura, across Cornet 
 Perch's shell jacket, as Pen was performing cavalier seul before them, 
 drawling through that figure with a thumb in the pocket of each waist- 
 coat. 
 
 Who 'i " said Laura. 
 
 Arthur," answered Blanche, in French. Oh, it's such a pretty 
 name ! " And now the young ladies went over to Pen's side, and Cornet 
 Perch performed a pas seul in his turn. He had no waistcoat pocket 
 to put his hands into, and they looked large and swollen as they hung 
 before him depending from the tight arms in the jacket. 
 
 During the interval between the quadrille and the succeeding waltz. 
 Pen did not take any notice of Laura, except to ask her whether her 
 partner. Cornet Perch, was an amusing youth, and whether she liked 
 him so well as her other partner, Mr. Pynsent. Having planted which 
 two daggers in Laura's bosom, Mr. Pendennis proceeded to rattle on 
 with Blanche Amory, and to make jokes good or bad, but which were 
 always loud. Laura was at a loss to account for her cousin s sulky be- 
 haviour, and ignorant in what she had offended him ; however, she was 
 not angry in her turn at Pen's splenetic mood, for she was the most 
 good-natured and forgiving of women, and besides, an exhibition of 
 jealousy on a man's part is not always disagreeable to a lady. 
 
 As Pen could not dance with her, she was glad to take up with the 
 active Chevalier Strong, who was a still better performer than Pen ; and 
 being very fond of dancing, as every brisk and innocent young girl 
 should be^ when the waltz music began she set off, and chose to enjoy 
 
198 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 herself with all her heart. Captain Broadfoot on this occasion occupied 
 the floor in conjunction with a lady of proportions scarcely inferior to 
 his own ; Miss Roundle^ a large young woman in a strawberry-ice 
 coloured crape dress^ the daughter of the lady with the grapes in her 
 head^ whose bunches Pen had admired. 
 
 And now taking his time, and with his fair partner Blanche hanging 
 lovingly on the arm which encircled her, Mr. Arthur Pendennis set out 
 upon his waltzing career, and felt^ as he whirled round to the music, 
 that he and Blanche were performing very brilliantly indeed. Very 
 likely he looked to see if Miss Bell thought so too ; but she did not or 
 would not see him, and was always engaged with her partner Captain 
 Strong. But Pen's triumph was not destined to last long : and it was 
 doomed that poor Blanche was to have yet another discomfiture on that 
 unfortunate night. While she and Pen were whirling round as light 
 and brisk as a couple of opera-dancers, honest Captain Broadfoot and 
 the lady round whose large waist he was clinging, were twisting round 
 very leisurely according to their natures, and indeed were in everybody's 
 way. But they were more in Pendennis's way than in anybody's else, 
 for he and Blanche, whilst executing their rapid gyrations, came bolt 
 up against the heavy dragoon and his lady, and with such force that 
 the centre of gravity was lost by all four of the circumvolving bodies ; 
 Captain Broadfoot and Miss Roundle were fairly upset, as was Pen 
 himself, who was less lucky than his partner Miss Amory, who was 
 only thrown upon a bench against a wall. 
 
 But Pendennis came fairly down upon the floor, sprawling in the 
 general ruin with Broadfoot and Miss Roundle. The Captain, though 
 heavy, was good-natured, and was the first to burst out into a loud laugh 
 at his own misfortune, which nobody therefore heeded. But Miss Amory 
 was savage at her mishap ; Miss Roundle placed on her seant^ and look- 
 ing pitifully round, presented an object which very few people could 
 see without laughing ; and Pen was furious when he heard the people 
 giggling about him. He was one of those sarcastic young fellows that 
 did not bear a laugh at his own expense, and of all things in the world 
 feared ridicule most. 
 
 As he got up, Laura and Strong were laughing at him ; everybody 
 was laughing ; Pynsent and his partner were laughing ; and Pen boiled 
 with wrath against the pair, and could have stabbed them both on the 
 spot. He turned away in a fury from them, and began blundering out 
 apologies to Miss Amory. It was the other couple's fault — the woman 
 in pink had done it — Pen hoped Miss Amory was not hurt — would she 
 not have the courage to take another turn ? 
 
 Miss Amory in a pet said she was very much hurt indeed, and she 
 would not take another turn ; and she accepted with great thanks a 
 glass of waier which a cavalier, who wore a blue ribbon and a three- 
 pointed star, rushed to fetch for her when he had seen the deplorable 
 accident. She drank the water, smiled upon the bringer gracefully, 
 and turning her white shoulder at Mr. Pen in the most marked and 
 haughty manner, besought the gentleman with the star to conduct 
 her to her mamma; and she held out her hand in order to take 
 his arm. 
 
 The man with the star trembled with delight at this mark of her 
 
PENDENNIS 199 
 
 favour ; be bowed over ber band, pressed it to bis coat fervidly, and 
 looked round bim witb triumpb. i , , i ^ , 
 
 It was no otber tban tbe bappy Mirobolant wbom Blancbe had selected 
 as an escort. But tbe trutb is, tbat tbe young lady bad never fairly 
 looked in tbe artist's face since be bad been employed m ber mothers 
 family, and bad no idea but it was a foreign nobleman on whose arm 
 she was leaning. As she went off, Pen forgot bis humiliation m his 
 surprise, and cried out, By Jove, it's tbe cook J" 
 
 Tbe instant he had uttered tbe words, be was sorry for having spoken 
 them— for it was Blancbe who bad herself invited Mirobolant to escort 
 her, nor could the artist do otherwise tban comply with a lady's com- 
 mand. Blancbe in ber flutter did not bear what Arthur said ; but Miro- 
 bolant beard bim, and cast a furious glance at bim over his shoulder, 
 which rather amused Mr. Pen. He was in a mischievous and sulky 
 humour ; wanting perhaps to pick a quarrel witb somebody ; but the 
 idea of having insulted a cook, or tbat such an individual should have 
 any feeling of honour at all, did not much enter into tbe mind of this 
 lofty young aristocrat, tbe apothecary's son. 
 
 It had never entered that poor artist's bead, tbat be as a man was not 
 equal to any otber mortal, or that there was anything in bis position so 
 degrading as to prevent bim from giving his arm to a lady who asked 
 for it. He bad seen in tbe fetes in bis own country fine ladies, not 
 certainly demoiselles (but tbe demoiselle Anglaise be knew was a great 
 deal more free tban the spinster in France) join in the dance with Blaise 
 or Pierre ; and be would have taken Blanche up to Lady Clavermg, 
 and possibly have asked ber to dance too, but be beard Pen's exclama- 
 tion, which struck him as if it bad shot bim, and cruelly humiliated 
 and angered bim. She did not know what caused bim to start, and to 
 grind a Gascon oath between his teeth. ^ . . 
 
 But Strong, who was acquainted witb tbe poor fellow s state ot mmd, 
 having bad the interesting information from our friend Madame Fribsby, 
 was luckily in the way when wanted, and saying something rapidly m 
 Spanish, which tbe other understood, tbe Chevalier begged Miss Amory 
 to come and take an ice before she went back to Lady Clavering. 
 Upon which tbe unhappy Mirobolant relinquished the arm which he 
 had held for a minute, and witb a most profound and piteous bow, 
 fell back. Don't you know who it is ? " Strong asked of Miss Amory, 
 as be led ber away. It is tbe chef Mirobolant." 
 
 ^*^How should I know?" asked Blancbe. ''He has a croix ; he 
 is very distingue; be has beautiful eyes." ^ 
 
 " Tbe poor fellow is mad for your heaux yeux, I believe. Strong said. 
 
 He is a very good cook, but he is not quite right in the head. 
 
 ''What did you say to bim in tbe unknown tongue .'^ asked Miss 
 
 Blancbe. , , /. o • » 
 
 " He is a Gascon, and comes from tbe borders of Spam, Strong 
 answered. " I told him he would lose bis place if be walked with 
 vou." 
 
 " Poor Monsieur Mirobolant !" said Blancbe. 
 
 "Did you see the look he gave Pendennis ? "—Strong asked, enjoy- 
 ing tbe idea of tbe mischief—^' I think he would like to run little Pen 
 through with one of bis spits.'* 
 
200 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 " He is an odious^ conceited^ clumsy creature, that Mr. Pen," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 Broadfoot looked as if he would like to kill him too, so did 
 Pynsent," Strong said. ^^What ice will you have — water ice or 
 cream ice ? " 
 
 Water ice. Who is that odd man staring- at m.e — he is decore too/* 
 That is my friend Colonel Altamont, a very queer character, in the 
 service of the Nawaub of Lucknow. Hallo ! what's that noise ? I'll 
 be back in an instant," said the Chevalier, and sprang out of the room 
 to the ball-room, where a scuffle and a noise of high voices was heard. 
 
 The refreshment-room, in which Miss Amory now found herself, was 
 a room set apart for the purposes of supper, which Mr. Rincer, the 
 landlord, had provided for those who chose to partake, at the rate of 
 five shillings per head. Also, refreshments of a superior class were 
 here ready for the ladies and gentlemen of the county families who 
 came to the ball ; but the commoner sort of persons were kept out of 
 the room by a waiter who stood at the portal, and who said that was a 
 select room for Lady Clavering and Lady Rockminster's parties, and ! 
 not to be opened to the public till supper-time, which was not to be 
 until past midnight. Pynsent, who danced with his constituents' 
 daughters, took them and their mammas in for their refreshment there. 
 Strong, who was manager and master of the revels wherever he went, 
 had of course the entree — and the only person who was now occupying 
 the room, was the gentleman with the black wig and the orders in his 
 buttonhole : the officer in the service of his Highness the Nawaub of \ 
 Lucknow. I 
 
 This gentleman had established himself very early in the evening in ! 
 this apartment, where, saying he was confoundedly thirsty, he called 
 for a bottle of champagne. At this order, the waiter instantly supposed 
 that he had to do with a grandee, and the Colonel sate down and began 
 to eat his supper and absorb his drink, and enter affably into conversa- 
 tion with anybody who entered the room. 
 
 Sir Francis Clavering and Mr. Wagg found him there : when they 
 left the ball-room, which they did pretty early — Sir Francis to go and 
 smoke a cigar, and look at the people gathered outside the ball-room 
 on the shore, which he declared was much better fun than to remain 
 within ; Mr. Wagg to hang on to a Baronet's arm, as he was always 
 pleased to do on the arm of the greatest man in the company. Colonel 
 Altamont had stared at these gentlemen in so odd a manner, as they 
 passed through the ^'^Select " room, that Clavering made inquiries of the 
 landlord who he was, and hinted a strong opinion that the officer of 
 the Nawaub's service was drunk. 
 
 Mr. Pynsent, too, had had the honour of a conversation with the 
 servant of the Indian potentate. It was Pynsent's cue to speak to l 
 everybody ; (which he did, to do him justice, in the most gracious 
 manner ;) and he took the gentleman in the black wig for some con- 
 stituent, some merchant captain, or other outlandish man of the place. 
 Mr. Pynsent, then, coming into the refreshment-room with a lady, the 
 wife of a constituent, on his arm, the Colonel asked him if he would 
 try a glass of Sham ? Pynsent took it with great gravity, bowed, tasted 
 the wine, and pronounced it excellent, and with the utmost politeness 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 201 
 
 retreated before Colonel Altamont. This gravity and decorum routed 
 and surprised the Colonel more than any other kind of behaviour 
 probably would : he stared after Pynsent stupidly, and pronounced to 
 the landlord over the counter that he was a rum one. Mr. Rincer 
 blushed, and hardly knew what to say. Mr. Pynsent was a county Earl's 
 grandson, going to set up as a Parliament man. Colonel Altamont, 
 on the other hand, wore orders and diamonds, jingled sovereigns con- 
 stantly in his pocket, and paid his way like a man ; so, not knowing 
 what to say, Mr. Rincer said, Yes, Colonel— yes, ma am, did you say 
 tea.^ Cup a tea for Mrs. Jones, Mrs. R.," and so got off that discus- 
 sion regarding Mr. Pynsent's qualities, into which the Nizam's officer 
 appeared inclined to enter. 
 
 In fact, if the truth must be told, Mr. Altamont, having remained 
 at the buffet almost all night, and employed himself very actively 
 whilst there, had considerably flushed his brain by drinking, and he 
 was still going on drinking when Mr. Strong and Miss Amory entered 
 the room. 
 
 When the Chevalier ran out of the apartment, attracted by the noise 
 in the dancing-room, the Colonel rose from his chair with his little red 
 eyes glowing like coals, and, with rather an unsteady gait, advanced 
 towards Blanche, who was sipping her ige. She was absorbed in ab- 
 sorbing it, for it was very fresh and good ; or she was not curious to 
 know what was going on in the adjoining room, although the waiters 
 were, who ran after Chevalier Strong. So that when she looked up 
 from her glass, she beheld this strange man staring at her out of his 
 little red eyes. \VTio was he.^ It was quite exciting." 
 
 And so you're Betsy Amory," said he, after gazing at her. Betsy 
 Amory, by Jove ! " 
 
 Who— who speaks to me } " said Betsy, alias Blanche. 
 
 But the noise in the ball-room is really becoming so loud, that we 
 must rush back thither, and see what is the cause of the disturbance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 WHICH IS BOTH QUARRELSOME AND SENTIMENTAL 
 
 Civil war was raging, high words passing, people pushing and squeez- 
 ing together in an unseemly manner, round a window in the 'corner of 
 the ball-room, close by the door through which the Chevalier Strong 
 shouldered his way. Through the opened window, the crowd in the 
 street below was sending up sarcastic remarks, such as Pitch into 
 him ! " '^^ Where's the police } " and the like ; and a ring of individuals, 
 among whom Madame Fribsby was conspicuous, was gathered round 
 Monsieur Alcide Mirobolant on the one side ; whilst several gentlemen 
 and ladies surrounded our friend Arthur Pendennis on the other. 
 Strong penetrated into this assembly, elbowing by Madame Fribsby, 
 who was charmed at the Chevalier's appearance, and cried, Save him, 
 save him ! " in frantic and pathetic accents. 
 The cause of the disturbance, it appeared, was the angry little chef 
 
202 PENDENNiS 
 
 of Sir Francis Clavering's culinary establishment. Shortly after Strong 
 had quitted the room^ and whilst Mr. Pen^^ greatly irate at his downfall 
 in the waltz^ which had made him look ridiculous in the eyes of the 
 nation, and by Miss Amory's behaviour to him, which had still further 
 insulted his dignity, was endeavouring to get some coolness of body 
 and temper, by looking out of window towards the sea, which was 
 sparkling in the distance, and murmuring in a wonderful calm — whilst 
 he was really trying to compose himself, and owning to himself, per- 
 haps, that he had acted in a very absurd and peevish manner during 
 the night— he felt a hand upon his shoulder ; and, on looking round, 
 beheld, to his utter surprise and horror, that the hand in question be- 
 longed to Monsieur Mirobolant, whose eyes were glaring out of his pale 
 face and ringlets at Mr. Pen. To be tapped on the shoulder by a French 
 cook was a piece of familiarity which made the blood of the Pendennises 
 to boil up in the veins of their descendant, and he was astounded, almost 
 more than enraged, at such an indignity. 
 
 You speak French } " Mirobolant said in his own language, to Pen. 
 
 What is that to you, pray.?^" said Pen, in English. 
 
 At any rate, you understand it.^'" continued the other, with a bow. 
 
 Yes, sir, " said Pen, with a stamp of his foot ; 1 understand it 
 pretty well." „ 
 
 ^^Vous me comprendrez alors. Monsieur Pendennis, rephed the 
 other, rolling out his r with Gascon force, quand je vous dis que vous 
 etes un lache. Monsieur Pendennis— un lache, entendez-vous " 
 " What.^'* said Pen, starting round on him. 
 
 "You understand the meaning of the word and its consequences 
 among men of honour?" the artist said, putting his hand on his hip, 
 and staring at Pen. 
 
 " The consequences are, that I will fling you out of window, you— 
 impudent scoundrel," bawled out Mr. Pen; and darting upon the 
 Frenchman, he would very likely have put his threat into execution, 
 for the window was at hand, and the artist by no means a match for 
 the young gentleman— had not Gaptain Broadfoot and another heavy 
 officer flung themselves between the combatants, — had not the ladies 
 begun to scream,— had not the fiddles stopped,— had not the crowd of 
 people come running in that direction, — had not Laura, with a face of 
 great alarm, looked over their heads and asked for Heaven's sake what 
 was wrong— had not the opportune Strong made his appearance from 
 the refreshment-room, and found Alcide grinding his teeth and jabber- 
 ing oaths in his Gascon French, and Pen looking uncommonly wicked, 
 although trying to appear as calm as possible, when the ladies and the 
 crowd came up. 
 
 "What has happened? " Strong asked of the chef, in Spanish. 
 
 " I am Chevalier de Juillet," said the other, slapping his breast, 
 
 and he has insulted me." 
 
 " What has he said to you ? " asked Strong. 
 
 " II ma a^^ele—Ouisinier," hissed out the little Frenchman. 
 
 Strong could hardly help laughing. " Come away with me, my poor 
 Chevalier," he said. "We must not quarrel before ladies. Come 
 away ; I will carry your message to Mr. Pendennis. —The poor fellow 
 is not right in his head/' he whispered to one or two people about 
 
 i 
 
PENDENNIS 208 
 
 him-— and others, and anxious Lauras face visible amongst these, 
 gathered round Pen and asked the cause of the disturbance. 
 
 Pen did not know. The man was going to give his arm to a young 
 ladv. on which I said that he was a cook, and the man called me a coward 
 and challenged me to fight. I own I was so surprised and nidignant, 
 that if you gentlemen had not stopped me, I should have thrown him 
 out of window,'* Pen said. . i ^ • 
 
 ^^D him, serve him right, too,— the d impudent foreign 
 
 scoundrel," the gentlemen said. 
 
 I— I m very sorry if I hurt his feelings, though. Pen added : and 
 Laura was glad to hear him say that ; although some of the young 
 bucks said, ^^No, hang the fellow,— hang those impudent foreigners- 
 little thrashing would do them good." 
 
 You will go and shake hands with him before you go to sleep— 
 won't you. Pen? " said Laura, coming up to him. Foreigners may 
 be more susceptible than we are, and have different manners. If you 
 hurt a poor man's feelings, I am sure you would be the first to ask his 
 pardon. Wouldn't you, dear Pen ? " i t_ i 
 
 She looked all forgiveness and gentleness, like an angel, as she spoke, 
 and Pen took both her hands, and looked into her kind face, and said 
 
 indeed he would. , , , i ^ j • 4. 
 
 How fond that girl is of me ! " he thought, as she stood gazing at 
 him. Shall I speak to her now? No— not now. I must have this 
 absurd business with the Frenchman over." 
 
 Laura asked— Wouldn't he stop and dance with her? She was as 
 anxious to keep him in the room as he to quit it. Won t you stop 
 and waltz with me. Pen ? I'm not afraid to waltz with you. 
 
 This was an affectionate but an unlucky speech. Pen saw himselt 
 prostrate on the ground, having tumbled over Miss Roundle and the 
 dragoon, and flung Blanche up against the wall— saw himself on the 
 ground, and all the people laughing at him, Laura and Pynsent 
 
 ^"^^'a^halliiever dance again," he replied, with a dark and determined 
 face. Never. I'm surprised you should ask me." 
 
 Is it because you can't get Blanche for a partner? asked Laura, 
 with a wicked, unlucky captiousness. ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Because I don't wish to make a fool of myself, for other people to 
 laugh at me," Pen answered—'' for you to laugh at me, Laura. I saw 
 you and Pynsent. By Jove ! no man shall laugh at me." 
 
 "Pen, Pen, don't Ke so wicked !" cried out the poor girl, hurt at 
 the morbid perverseness and savage vanity of Pen. He was glaring 
 round in the direction of Mr. Pynsent as if he would have liked to 
 engage that gentleman as he had done the cook. ''Who thinks the 
 worse of you for stumbling in a waltz? If Blanche does, we dont. 
 Why are you so sensitive, and ready to think evil ? " , . , 
 
 Here again, by ill luck, Mr. Pynsent came up to Laura, and said, 
 " I have it in command from Lady Rockminster to ask whether I may 
 take you in to supper ? " 
 
 <( I_I was going in with my cousin," Laura said. 
 Oh— pray, no ! " said Pen. " You are in such good hands that 
 I can't do better than leave you : and I'm going home." 
 
204 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Good nighty Mr. Pendennis/* Pynsent said drily^ to which speech 
 (which in fact meant_, Go to the deuce for an insolent^ jealous^ imper- 
 tinent jackanapes^ whose ears I should like to box ") Mr. Pendennis 
 did not vouchsafe any reply^ except a bow : and^ in spite of Laura's 
 imploring looks^ he left the room. 
 
 How beautifully calm and bright the night outside is ! said Mr. 
 Pynsent ; and what a murmur the sea is making ! It would be 
 pleasanter to be walking on the beach^ than in this hot room.'* 
 
 Very/* said Laura. 
 
 What a strange congregation of people ! ** continued Pynsent. I 
 have had to go up and perform the agreeable to most of them — the 
 attorney's daughters— the apothecary's wife — I scarcely know whom. 
 There was a man in the refreshment-room, who insisted upon treating 
 me to champagne — a seafaring-looking man — extraordinarily dressed, 
 and seeming half tipsy. As a public man, one is bound to conciliate 
 all these people, but it is a hard task — especially when one would so 
 very much like to be elsewhere " — and he blushed rather as he spoke. ' 
 
 I beg your pardon," said Laura — I — I was not listening. Indeed 
 — I was frightened about that quarrel between my cousin and that — 
 that — French person.'* 
 
 ^^Your cousin has been rather unlucky to-night,** Pynsent said. 
 
 There are three or four persons whom he has not succeeded in pleasing 
 — Captain Broadwood — what is his name — the officer — and the young 
 lady in red with whom he danced — and Miss Blanche — and the poor 
 chef— and I don't think he seemed to be particulau'ly pleased with me." 
 
 Didn't he leave me in charge to you?" Laura said, looking up 
 into Mr. Pynsent's face, and dropping her eyes instantly like a guilty 
 little story-telling coquette. 
 
 Indeed, I can forgive him a good deal for that," Pynsent eagerly 
 cried out, and she took his arm, and he led off his little prize in the 
 direction of the supper-room. 
 
 She had no great desire for that repast, though it was served in 
 Rincer*s well-known style, as the county paper said, giving an account 
 of the entertainment afterwards ; indeed, she was very distraite ; and 
 exceedingly pained and unhappy about Pen. Captious and quarrel- 
 some ; jealous and selfish ; fickle and violent and unjust when his 
 anger led him astray ; how could her mother (as indeed Helen had by 
 a thousand words and hints) ask her to give her heart to such a man ? 
 and suppose she were to do so, would it make him happy ? 
 
 But she got some relief at length, when, at the end of half-an-hour 
 — a long half-hour it had seemed to her — a waiter brought her a little 
 note in pencil from Pen, who said, I met Cooky below ready to fight 
 me ; and I asked his pardon. I*m glad I did it. I wanted to speak to 
 you to-night, but will keep what I had to say till you come home. God 
 bless you. Dance away all night with Pynsent, and be very happy. 
 Pen.*' — Laura was very thankful for this letter, and to think that there 
 was goodness and forgiveness still in her mother's boy. 
 
 Pen went downstairs, his heart reproaching him for his absurd 
 behaviour to Laura, whose gentle and imploring looks followed and 
 rebuked him ; and he was scarcely out of the ball-room door before he 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 205 
 
 longed to turn back and ask her pardon. But he remembered that he 
 had left her with that confounded Pynsent. He could not apologise 
 before him. He would compromise and forget his wrath^ and make his 
 peace with the Frenchman. 
 
 The Chevalier was pacing down below in the hall of the inn when 
 Pen descended from the ball-room ; and he came up to Pen, with all 
 sorts of fun and mischief lighting up his jolly face. 
 
 I have got him in the colFee-room/' he said, with a brace of pistols 
 and a candle. Or would you like swords on the beach ? Mirobolant is 
 a dead hand with the foils, and killed four gardes-du-corps with his own 
 point in the barricades of July." 
 
 Confound it ! " said Pen, in a fury. I can't fight a cook. 
 He is a Chevalier of July," replied the other. They present 
 arms to him in his own country. " 
 
 ''And do you ask me. Captain Strong, to go out with a servant? 
 
 Pen asked fiercely. " I'll call a policeman for him ; but — but " 
 
 . '' You'll invite me to hair triggers } " cried Strong, with a laugh. 
 
 Thank you for nothing ; I was but joking. I came to settle quarrels, 
 not to fight them. I have been soothing down Mirobolant ; I have 
 told him that you did not apply the word ' Cook ' to him in an offensive 
 sense : that it was contrary to all the customs of the country that a 
 hired officer of a household, as I called it, should give his arm to the 
 daughter of the house." And then he told Pen the grand secret which 
 he had had from Madame Fribsby, of the violent passion under which 
 the poor artist was labouring. ' i i . 
 
 When Arthur heard this tale, he broke out into a hearty laugh, m 
 which Strong joined, and his rage against the poor cook vanished at 
 once. He had been absurdly jealous himself all the evening, and had 
 longed for a pretext to insult Pynsent. He remembered how jealous 
 he had been of Oaks in his first affair ; he was ready to pardon any- 
 thing to a man under a passion like that : and he went into the coffee- 
 room where Mirobolant was waiting, with an outstretched hand, and 
 made him a speech in French, in which he declared that he was 
 '' Sincerement fache d'avoir use une expression qui avait pu blesser 
 Monsieur Mirobolant, et qu'il donnait sa parole comme un gentilhomme 
 qu'il ne I'avait jamais, jamais— intende," said Pen, who made a shot at a 
 French word for intended," and was secretly much pleased with his 
 own fluency and correctness in speaking that language. 
 
 Bravo,' bravo ! " cried Strong, as much amused with Pen's speech 
 as pleased by his kind manner. '' And the Chevalier Mirobolant of 
 course withdraws, and sincerely regrets, the expression of which he 
 
 made use." i « . j a i -j 
 
 Monsieur Pendennis has disproved my words himself, said Alcide 
 with great politeness : ''he has shown that he is a galant homme." 
 
 And so they shook hands and parted, Arthur in the first place 
 despatching his note to Laura before he and Strong committed them- 
 selves to the Butcher Boy. . , t_ . 
 
 As they drove along. Strong complimented Pen upon his behaviour, 
 as well as upon his skill in French. " You're a good fellow, Pendennis, 
 and you speak French like Chateaubriand, by Jove." 
 
 " I've been accustomed to it from my youth upwards," said Pen ; and 
 
206 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Strong had the grace not to laugh for five minutes, when he exploded 
 into fits of hilarity which Pendennis has never, perhaps, understood up 
 to this day. 
 
 It was daybreak when they got to the Brawl, where they separated. 
 By that time the ball at Baymouth was over too. Madame Fribsby and 
 Mirobolant were on their way home in the Clavering fly ; Laura was in 
 bed with an easy heart and asleep at Lady Rockminster's ; and the 
 Claverings at rest at the inn at Baymouth, where they had quarters for 
 the night. A short time after the disturbance between Pen and the 
 chef, Blanche had come out of the refreshment-room, looking as pale 
 as a lemon-ice. She told her maid, having no other confidante at hand, 
 that she had met with the most romantic adventure — the most singular 
 man — one who had known the author of her being — her persecuted — 
 her unhappy — her heroic — her murdered father ; and she began a sonnet 
 to his manes before she went to sleep. 
 
 So Pen returned to Fairoaks in company wjth his friend the Chevalier, 
 without having uttered a word of the message which he had been so 
 anxious to deliver to Laura at Baymouth. He could wait, however, 
 until her return home, which was to take place on the succeeding day. 
 He was not seriously jealous of the progress made by Mr. Pynsent in 
 her favour ; and he lelt pretty certain that in this, as in any other family 
 arrangement, he had but to ask and have, and Laura, like his mother, 
 could refuse him nothing. 
 
 When Helen's anxious looks inquired of him what had happened at 
 Baymouth, and whether her darling project was fulfilled. Pen, in a gay 
 tone, told of the calamity which had befallen : laughingly said, that no 
 man could think about declarations under such a mishap, and made light 
 of the matter. There will be plenty of time for sentiment, dear mother, 
 when Laura comes back," he said, and he looked in the glass with a 
 killing air, and his mother put his hair off his forehead and kissed him, 
 and 01 course thought, for her part, that no woman could resist him ; 
 and was exceedingly happy that day. 
 
 When he was not with her, Mr. Pen occupied himself in packing books 
 and portmanteaus, burning and arranging papers, cleaning his gun and 
 putting it into its case : in fact, in making dispositions for departure. 
 For though he was ready to marry, this gentleman *was eager to go to 
 London too, rightly considering that at three-and-twenty it was quite 
 time for him to begin upon the serious business of life, and to set about 
 making a fortune as quickly as possible. 
 
 The means to this end he had already shaped out for himself. I 
 shall take chambers," he said, and enter myself at an Inn of Court. 
 With a couple of hundred pounds I shall be able to carry through the 
 first year very well ; after that I have little doubt my pen will support 
 me, as it is doing with several Oxbridge men now in town. I have a 
 tragedy, a comedy, and a novel, all nearly finished, and for which I can't 
 fail to get a price. And so I shall be able to live pretty well, without 
 drawing upon my poor mother, until I have made my way at the Bar. 
 Then, some day I will come back and make her dear soul happy by marry- 
 ing Laura. She is as good and as sweet-tempered a girl as ever lived, 
 besides being really very good-looking, and the engagement will serve 
 
PENDENNIS 207 
 
 to steady me -won't it, Ponto ? " Thus smoking his pipe, and taking 
 to his doff as he sauntered through the gardens and orchards of the httle 
 domain of Fairoaks, this young day-dreamer built castles ni the air for 
 himself : Yes, shell steady me, won't she ? And you 11 miss me when 
 I've gone, won't you, old boy?" he asked of Ponto, who quivered his 
 tail and thrust his brown nose into his master s fist. Ponto licked his 
 hand and shoe, as they all did in that house, and Mr. Pen received their 
 homage as other folks do the flattery which they get. 
 
 Laura came home rather late in the evening of the second day ; and 
 Mr. Pynsent, as ill luck would have it, drove her from Clavermg. Ihe 
 poor ffirl could not refuse his offer, but his appearance brought a dark 
 cloud upon the brow of Arthur Pendennis. Laura saw this, and was 
 pained by it : the eager widow, however, was aware of nothing, and being 
 anxious, doubtless, that the delicate question should be asked at once, 
 was for going to bed very soon after Laura's arrival, and rose tor that 
 purpose to leave the sofa 'where she now generally lay, and where Laura 
 would come and sit and work or read by her. But when Helen rose, 
 Laura said, with a blush and rather an alarmed voice, that she was also 
 very tired and wanted to go to bed : so that the widow was disappointed 
 in her s€heme for that night at least, and Mr. Pen was left another day 
 in suspense regarding his fate. , , , • • 4.1.^ 
 
 His dignity was offended at being thus obliged to remain m the 
 antechamber 'when he wanted an audience. Such a sultan as he could 
 not afford to be kept waiting. However, he went to bed and slept upon 
 his disappointment pretty comfortably, and did not wake until the early 
 morning, when he looked up and saw his mother standing m his room. 
 
 Dear Pen, rouse up," said this lady. Do not be lazy. It is the 
 most beautiful morning in the world. I have not been able to sleep 
 since daybreak; and Laura has been out for an hour. She is in the 
 garden. Everybody ought to be in the garden and out on such a 
 morning as this." x • xi. • 
 
 Pen laughed. He saw what thoughts were uppermost in the simple 
 woman's heart. His good-natured laughter cheered thej^^dow. Uh 
 you profound dissembler," he said, kissing his mother. Oh you arttul 
 creature ! Can nobody escape from your wicked tricks.? and will you 
 make your only son your victim ? " Helen too laughed ; she blushed, 
 she fluttered, and was agitated. She was as happy as she could be— a 
 good, tender, matchmaking woman, the dearest project of whose heart 
 was about to be accomplished. 1 tt i 
 
 So, after exchanging some knowing looks and hasty words, fleien 
 left Arthur ; and this young hero, rising from his bed, proceeded to 
 decorate his beautiful person, and shave his ambrosial chm ; and m halt- 
 an-hour he issued out from his apartment into the garden in quest ot 
 Laura His reflections as he made his toilette were rather dismal. 
 
 I am going to tie myself for life," he thought, to please my mother. 
 Laura is the best of women, and— and she has given me her money. 1 
 wish to Heaven I had not received it; I wish I had not this duty to 
 perform just yet. But as both the women have set their hearts on the 
 match, why I suppose I must satisfy them— and now for it. A man 
 may do worse than make happy two of the best creatures in the world. 
 
208 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 So Pen^ now he was actually come to the point, felt very grave, and 
 by no means elated, and, indeed, thought it was a great sacrifice he was 
 going to perform. 
 
 It was Miss Laura's custom, upon her garden excursions, to wear a 
 sort of uniform, which, though homely, was thought by many people 
 to be not unbecoming. She had a large straw hat, with a streamer of 
 broad ribbon, which was useless probably, but the hat sufficiently pro- 
 tected the owner's pretty face from the sun. Over her accustomed 
 gown she wore a blouse or pinafore, which, being fastened round her 
 little waist by a smart belt, looked extremely well, and her hands were 
 guaranteed from the thorns of her favourite rose-bushes by a pair of 
 gauntlets, which gave this young lady a military and resolute air. 
 
 Somehow she had the very same smile with which she had laughed 
 at him on the night previous, and the recollection of his disaster again 
 offended Pen. But Laura, though she saw him coming down the walk 
 looking so gloomy and full of care, accorded to him a smile of the most 
 perfect and provoking good-humour, and went to meet him, holding 
 one of the gauntlets to him, so that he might shake it if he liked — and 
 Mr. Pen condescended to do so. His face, however, did not lose its 
 tragic expression in consequence of this favour, and he continued to 
 regard her with a dismal and solemn air. 
 
 Excuse my glove," said Laura, with a laugh, pressing Pen's hand 
 kindly with it. We are not angry again, are we. Pen } " 
 
 Why do you laugh at me } " said Pen. You did the other night, 
 and made a fool of me to the people at Baymouth. " 
 
 *^^My dear Arthur, I meant you no wrong," the girl answered. 
 You and Miss Roundle looked so droll as you — as you met with your 
 little accident, that I could not make a tragedy of it. Dear Pen, it 
 wasn't a serious fall. And, besides, it was Miss Roundle who was the 
 most unfortunate. " 
 
 Confound Miss Roundle," bellowed out Pen. 
 
 I'm sure she looked so," said Laura archly. You were up in an 
 instant ; but that poor lady sitting on the ground in her red crape 
 dress, and looking about her with that piteous face — can I ever forget 
 her } " — and Laura began to make a face in imitation of Miss Roundle's 
 under the disaster, but she checked herself repentantly, saying, Well, 
 we must not laugh at her, but I am sure we ought to laugh at you, 
 Pen, if you were angry about such a trifle." 
 
 " You should not laugh at me, Laura," said Pen, with some bitter- 
 ness ; not you, of all people." 
 
 And why not.^^ Are you such a great man.^" asked Laura. 
 
 ^^Ah no, Laura, I'm such a poor one," Pen answered. Haven't 
 you baited me enough already } " 
 
 My dear Pen, and how } " cried Laura. Indeed, indeed, I didn't 
 think to vex you by such a trifle. I thought such a clever man as you i 
 could bear a harmless little joke from his sister," she said, holding her : 
 hand out again. Dear Arthur, if I have hurt you, I beg your pardon. 
 
 It is your kindness that humiliates me more even than your 
 laughter, Laura," Pen said. You are always my superior." 
 
 " What, superior to the great Arthur Pendennis } How can it be 
 possible.''" said Miss Laura, who may have had a little wickedness as 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 209 
 
 well as a great deal of kindness in her composition. You can't mean 
 that any woman is your equal ? " 
 
 "Those who confer henefits should not sneer/* said Pen. "I don't 
 like my benefactor to laugh at me^ Laura ; it makes the obligation very 
 hard to bear. You scorn me because I have taken your money, and I 
 am worthy to be scorned ; but the blow is hard coming from you. " 
 
 " Money ! obligation ! For shame, Pen ! this is ungenerous/' Laura 
 said, flushing red. " May not our mother claim everything that belongs 
 to us } Don't I owe her all my happiness in this world, Arthur } What 
 matters about a few paltry guineas, if we can set her tender heart at 
 rest, and ease her mind regarding you ? I would dig in the fields, I 
 would go out and be a servant — I would die for her. You know I 
 would," said Miss Laura, kindling up ; " and you call this paltry 
 money an obligation } O Pen, it's cruel — it's unworthy of you to take 
 it so I If my brother may not share with me my superfluity, who 
 may } — Mine I tell you it was not mine ; it was all mamma's to do 
 with as she chose, and so is everything I have," said Laura ; "my life 
 is hers." And the enthusiastic girl looked towards the windows of the 
 widow's room, and blessed in her heart the kind creature within. 
 
 Helen was looking, unseen, out of that window towards which Laura's 
 eyes and heart were turned as she spoke, and was watching her two 
 children with the deepest interest and emotion, longing and hoping 
 that the prayer of her life might be fulfilled ; and if Laura had spoken 
 as Helen hoped, who knows what temptations Arthur Pendennis might 
 have been spared, or what diff'erent trials he would have had to undergo } 
 He might have remained at Fairoaks all his days, and died a country 
 gentleman. But would he have escaped then ? Temptation is an 
 obsequious servant that has no objection to the country, and we know 
 tliat it takes up its lodgings in hermitages as well as in cities ; and that 
 in the most remote and inaccessible desert it keeps company with the 
 fugitive solitary. 
 
 " Is your life my mother's," said Pen, beginning to tremble, and 
 speak in a very agitated manner. " You know, Laura, what the great 
 object of hers is } " And he took her hand once more. 
 
 "What, Arthur?" she said, dropping it, and looking at him, at the 
 window again, and then dropping her eyes to the ground, so that they 
 avoided Pen's gaze. She, too, trembled, for she felt that the crisis for 
 which she had been secretly preparing was come. 
 
 " Our mother has one wish above all others in the world, Laura," 
 Pen said, " and I think you know it. I own to you that she has spoken 
 to me of it ; and if you will fulfil it, dear sister, I am ready. I am but 
 very young as yet ; but I have had so iftany pains and disappointments, 
 that I am old and weary. I think I have hardly got a heart to off'er. 
 Before I have almost begun the race in life, I am a tired man. My 
 career has been a failure ; I have been protected by those whom I by 
 right should have protected. I own that your nobleness and gener- 
 osity, dear Laura, shame me, whilst they render me grateful. When 
 I heard from our mother what you had' done for me — that it was you 
 who armed me and bade me go out for one struggle more, I longed to 
 go and throw myself at your feet, and say, ' Laura, will you come and 
 share the contest with me? Your sympathy will cheer me while it 
 
 o 
 
210 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 lasts. I shall have one of the tenderest and most generous creatures 
 under heaven to aid and bear me company.' Will you take me, dear 
 Laura, and make our mother happy ? " . i 
 
 ^^Do you think mamma would be happy if you were otherwise, | 
 Arthur ? " Laura said, in a low sad voice. . , , ' 
 
 And why should I not be," asked Pen eagerly, with so dear a , 
 creature as you by my side ? I have not my first love to give you. I s 
 am a broken man. But indeed I would love you fondly and truly. 1 
 have lost many an illusion and ambition, but I am not without hope 
 still. Talents I know 1 have, wretchedly as I have misapplied them : 
 they may serve me yet : they would, had I a motive for action. Let 
 me go away and think that I am pledged to return to you. Let me go 
 and work, and hope that you will share my success if I gain it. You 
 have given me so much, dear Laura, will you take from me nothing.'^ 
 
 What have you got to give, Arthur } " Laura said, with a grave 
 sadness of tone which made Pen start, and see that his words had com- 
 mitted him. Indeed, his declaration had not been such as he would 
 have made it two days earlier, when, full of hope and gratitude, he 
 had run over to Laura, his liberatress, to thank her for his recovered 
 freedom. Had he been permitted to speak then, he had spoken, and 
 she, perhaps, had listened differently. It would have been a grateful 
 heart asking for hers ; not a weary one offered to her, to take or to 
 leave. Laura was offended with the terms in which Pen offered him- 
 self to her. He had, in fact, said that he had no love, and yet would 
 take no denial. I give myself to you to please my mother," he had 
 said : take me, as she wishes that I should make this sacrifice." The 
 girl's spirit would brook a husband under no such conditions : she was 
 not minded to run forward because Pen chose to hold out the hand- 
 kerchief, and her tone, in reply to Arthur, showed her determination 
 to be independent. 
 
 No, Arthur," she said, our marriage would not make mamma 
 happy, as she fancies ; for it would not content you very long. I, 
 too, have known what her wishes were ; for she is too open to conceal 
 anything she has at heart : and once, perhaps, I thought— but that is 
 over now— that I could have made you— that it might have been as 
 she wished. i 
 You have seen somebody else," said Pen, angry at her tone, and j 
 recalling the incidents of the* past days. , : 
 
 That allusion might have been spared," Laura replied, flmgmg up | 
 her head. " A heart which has worn out love at three-and-twenty, as \ 
 yours has, you say, should have survived jealousy too. I do not con- i 
 descend to say whether I have seen or encouraged any other person. 
 I shall neither admit the charge nor deny it : and beg you also to 
 allude to it no more." t_ x t 
 
 I ask your pardon, Laura, if I have offended you : but it 1 am i 
 jealous, does it not prove that I have a heart? " 
 
 Not for me, Arthur. Perhaps you think you love me now : but 
 it is only for an instant, and because you are foiled. Were there no 
 obstacle, you would feel no ardour to overcome it. No, Arthur, you 
 don't love me. You would weary of me in three months, as— as you i 
 do of most things ; and mamma, seeing you tired of me, would be more - 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 211 
 
 unhappy than at my refusal to be yours. Let us be brother and sister^ 
 Arthur, as heretofore— but no more. You will get over this little dis- 
 appointment. " 
 
 I will try/' said Arthur, in a great indignation. 
 
 Have you not tried before.'^" Laura said, with some anger, for she 
 had been angry with Arthur for a very long time, and was now deter- 
 mined, I suppose, to speak her mind. And the next time, Arthur, 
 when you offer yourself to a woman, do not say as you have done to 
 me, ' I have no heart — I do not love you ; but I am ready to marry 
 you because my mother wishes for the match. ' We require more than 
 this in return for our love — that is, I think so. I have had no experi- 
 ence hitherto, and have not had the — the practice which you supposed 
 me to have, when you spoke but now of my having seen somebody else. 
 Did you tell your first love that you had no heart, Arthur } or your 
 second that you did not love her, but that she might have you if 
 she liked } " 
 
 What — what do you mean.^" asked Arthur, blushing, and still in 
 great wrath. 
 
 ^^I mean Blanche Amory, Arthur Pendennis," Laura said proudly. 
 
 It is but two months since you were sighing at her feet — making 
 poems to her — placing them in hollow trees by the river-side. I 
 knew all. I watched you — that is, she showed them to me. Neither 
 one nor the other was in earnest perhaps ; but it is too soon now, 
 Arthur, to begin a new attachment. Go through the time of your — 
 your widowhood at least, and do not think of marrying until you are 
 out of mourning." — (Here the girl's eyes filled with tears, and she 
 passed her hand across them. ) I am angry and hurt, and I have no 
 right to be so, and I ask your pardon in my turn now, dear Arthur. 
 You had a right to love Blanche. She was a thousand times prettier 
 and more accomplished than — than any girl near us here ; and you 
 could not know that she had no heart ; and so you were right to leave 
 her too. I ought not to rebuke you about Blanche Amory, and because 
 she deceived you. Pardon me. Pen," — and she held the kind hand 
 out to Pen once more. 
 
 ^^We were both jealous," said Pen. ^^Dear Laura, let us both 
 forgive " — and he seized her hand and would have drawn her towards 
 him. He thought that she was relenting, and already assumed the 
 airs of a victor. 
 
 But she shrank back, and her tears passed away ; and she fixed on 
 him a look so melancholy and severe, that the young man in his turn 
 shrank before it. Do not mistake me, Arthur," she said, " it cannot 
 be. You do not know what you ask, and do not be too angry with me 
 for saying that I think you do not deserve it. What do you olFer in 
 exchange to a woman for her love, honour, and obedience ? If ever I 
 say these words, dear Pen, I hope to say them in earnest, and by the 
 blessing of God to keep my vow. But you — what tie binds you ? You 
 do not care about many things which we poor women hold sacred. I 
 do not like to think or ask how far your incredulity leads you. You 
 offer to marry to please our mother, and own that you have no heart 
 to give away. O Arthur, what is it you offer me What a rash com- 
 pact would you enter into so lightly ? A month ago, and you would 
 
212 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 have given yourself to another. I pray you do not trifle with your own 
 or others' hearts so recklessly. Go and work ; go and mend, dear 
 Arthur, for I see your faults, and dare speak of them now : go and get 
 fame, as you say that you can, and I will pray for my brother, and watch 
 our dearest mother at home." 
 
 Is that your final decision, Laura ? " Arthur cried. 
 
 Yes," said Laura, bowing her head ; and once more giving him 
 her hand, she went away. He saw her pass under the creepers of the 
 little porch, and disappear into the house. The curtains of his mother s 
 window fell at the same minute, but he did not mark that, or suspect 
 that Helen had been witnessing the scene. 
 
 Was he pleased, or was he angry at its termination ? He had asked 
 her, and a secret triumph filled his heart to think that he was still free. 
 She had refused him, but did she not love him ? That avowal of 
 jealousy made him still think that her heart was his own, whatever 
 her lips might utter. 
 
 And now we ought, perhaps, to describe another scene which took 
 place at Fairoaks, between the widow and Laura, when the latter had 
 to tell Helen that she had refused Arthur Pendennis. Perhaps it was 
 the hardest task of all which Laura had to go through in this matter : 
 and the one which gave her the most pain. But as we do not like to 
 see a good woman unjust, we shall not say a word more of the quarrel 
 which now befell between Helen and her adopted daughter, or of the 
 bitter tears which the poor girl was made to shed. It was the only 
 difference which she and the widow had ever had as yet, and the more 
 cruel from this cause. Pen left home whilst it was as yet pending — 
 and Helen, who could pardon almost everything, could not pardon an 
 act of justice in Laura. 
 
 CHAFFER XXVIII 
 
 BABYLON 
 
 Our reader must now please to quit the woods and sea-shore of the 
 west, and the gossip of Clavering, and the humdrum life of poor little 
 Fairoaks, and transport himself with Arthur Pendennis, on the Alacrity 
 coach, to London, whither he goes once for all to face the world and to 
 make his fortune. As the coach whirls through the night away from 
 the friendly gates of home, many a plan does the young man cast in 
 his mind of future life and conduct, prudence, and peradventure success 
 and fame. He knows he is a better man than many who have hitherto 
 been ahead of him in the race : his first failure has caused him remorse, 
 and brought with it reflection ; it has not taken away his courage, or, 
 let us add, his good opinion of himself. A hundred eager fancies and 
 busy hopes keep him awake. How much older his mishaps and a year s 
 thought and self-communion have made him, than when, twelve months 
 since, he passed on this road on his way to and from Oxbridge ! His 
 thoughts turn in the night with inexpressible fondness and tenderness 
 towards the fond mother, who blessed him when parting, and who, in 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 213 
 
 spite of all his past faults and follies, trusts him and loves him still. 
 Blessings be on her ! he prays, as he looks up to the stars overhead. 
 O Heaven, give him strength to work, to endure, to be honest, to avoid 
 temptation, to be worthy of the loving soul who loves him so entirely ! 
 Very likely she is awake too, at that moment, and sending up to the 
 same Father purer prayers than his for the welfare of her boy. That 
 woman's love is a talisman by which he holds and hopes to get his safety 
 And Laura's-he would have fain carried her affection with him too, but 
 she has denied it, as he is not worthy of it. He owns as much with shame 
 and remorse ; confesses how much better and loftier her nature is than 
 his own-confesses it, and yet is glad to be free ^^I am not good enough 
 for such a creature," he owns to himself He draws back before her 
 spotless beauty and innocence, as from something that scares him. He 
 feels he is not'iit for such a mate as that ; as many a wild prodigal who 
 has been pious and guiltless in early days keeps away from a church 
 which he used to frequent once— shunning it, but not hostile to it- 
 only feeling that he has no right in that pure place 
 
 With these thoughts to occupy him. Pen did not fall asleep until the 
 nipping dawn of an October morning, and woke considerably refreshed 
 
 when the coach stopped at the old breakfasting place at B -, where 
 
 he had had a score of merry meals on his way to and from school and 
 college many times since he was a boy. As they left that place, the sun 
 broke out brightly, the pace was rapid, the horn blew, the milestones 
 flew by. Pen smoked and joked with guard and fellow-passengers and 
 people along the familiar road ; it grew more busy and animated at 
 every instant ; the last team of greys came out at H—, and the coach 
 drove into London. What young fellow has not felt a thrill as he entered 
 the vast place ? Hundreds of other carriages, crowded with their thou- 
 sands of men, were hastening to the great city. Herexs^niy^a^^ , 
 thought Pen ; here is my battle beginning, in which I must hght and 
 conquer, or fall. I have been a boy and a dawdler as yet. Oh, 1 long, 
 I loffi to show that I can bQ a man. " And from his place on the coach- 
 roof the eager young fellow looked down upon the city, with the soi-t 
 of lonffing desire which young soldiers feel on the eve of a campaign. 
 
 As they came along the road. Pen had formed acquaintance with a 
 cheery fellow-passenger in a shabby cloak, who talked a great deal about 
 men of letters with whom he was very familiar, and who was, m tact, 
 the reporter of a London newspaper, as whose repres^tative he had 
 been to attend a great wrestling-match in the west. This gentleman 
 knew intimately, as it appeared, all the leading men of letters ot his 
 day, and talked about Tom Campbell, and Tom Hood, and Sydney 
 Smith, and this and the other, as if he had been their most intimate 
 friend. As they passed by Brompton, this gentleman pointed out to 
 Pen Mr. Hurtle, the reviewer, walking with his umbrella. P^ craned 
 over the coach to have a long look at the great Hurtle. He was a 
 Boniface man, said Pen. And Mr. Doolan, of the Tom and Jerry news- 
 paper (for such was the gentleman's name and address upon the card 
 which he handed to Pen), said, Faith he was, and he knew him very 
 well " Pen thought it was quite an honour to have seen the great Mr. 
 Hurtle, whose works he admired. He believed fondly, as yet, m authors 
 reviewers, and editors of newspapers. Even Wagg, whose books did 
 
214 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 not appear to him to be masterpieces of human intellect, he yet secretly 
 revered as a successful writer. He mentioned that he had met Wae-ff 
 m the country, and Doolan told him how that famous novelist received 
 three hundther pounds a volume for every one of his novels. Pen be^an 
 to calculate instantly whether he might not make five thousand a year. 
 
 The very first acquaintance of his own whom Arthur met, as the coach 
 pulled up at the Gloster CofFee-House, was his old friend Harry Foker 
 who came prancing down Arlington Street behind an enormous cab- 
 horse. He had white kid gloves and white reins, and nature had by 
 this time decorated him with a considerable tuft on the chin. A very 
 small cab-boy, vice Stoopid retired, swung on behind Foker's vehicle ; 
 knock-kneed and in the tightest leather breeches. Foker looked at the 
 dusty coach, and the smoking horses of the Alacrity, by which he had 
 made journeys in former times.— What, Foker ! cried out Pendennis 
 — Hullo ! Pen, my boy ! " said the other, and he waved his whip by 
 way of amity and salute to Arthur, who was very glad to see his queer 
 friend s kind old face. Mr. Doolan had a great respect for Pen who 
 had an acquaintance in such a grand cab ; and Pen was greatly excited 
 and pleased to be at liberty and in London. He asked Doolan to come 
 and dme with him at the Covent Garden CofFee-House, where he put 
 up ; he called a cab and rattled away thither in the highest spirits. He 
 was glad to see the bustling waiter and polite bowing landlord again ; 
 and asked for the landlady, and missed the old Boots, and would have 
 liked to shake hands with everybody. He had a hundred pounds in 
 his pocket. He dressed himself in his very best ; dined in the coffee- 
 room with a modest pint of sherry (for he was determined to be very 
 economical), and went to the theatre adjoining. 
 
 The lights and the music, the crowd and the gaiety, charmed and 
 exhilarated Pen, as those sights will do young fellows from college and 
 the country, to whom they are tolerably new. He laughed at the jokes ; 
 he applauded the songs, to the delight of some of the dreary old habitues 
 of the boxes, who had ceased long ago to find the least excitement in 
 their place of nightly resort, and were pleased to see any one so fresh 
 and so much amused. At the end of the first piece, he went and strutted 
 about the lobbies of the theatre, as if he was in a resort of the highest 
 fashion. What tired frequenter of the London pave is there that cannot 
 remember having had similar early delusions, and would not call them 
 back again Here was young Foker again, like an ardent votary of 
 pleasure as he was. He was walking with Granby Tiptoff, of the House- 
 hold Brigade, Lord Tiptors brother, and Loi'd Colchicum, Captain 
 l iptofFs uncle, a venerable peer, who had been a man of pleasure since 
 the first French Revolution. Foker rushed upon Pen with eagerness, 
 and insisted that the latter should come into his private box, where a 
 lady with the longest ringlets, and the fairest shoulders, was seated. This 
 was Miss Blenkinsop, the eminent actress of high comedy; and in the 
 back of the box, snoozing in a wig, sate old Blenkinsop, her papa. He 
 was described in the theatrical prints as the veteran Blenkinsop "~ 
 ''the useful Blenkinsop that old favourite of the public, Blenkin- 
 sop : those parts in the drama, which are called the heavy fathers, 
 were usually assigned to this veteran, who, indeed, acted the heavy 
 father in public, as in private life. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 216 
 
 At this time, it being about eleven o'clock, Mrs. Pendennis was gone 
 to bed at Fairoaks, and wondering whether her dearest Arthur was at rest 
 after his journey. At this time Laura, too, was awake. And at this time 
 yesterday night, as the coach rolled over silent commons, where cottage 
 windows twinkled, and by darkling woods under calm starlit skies, Pen 
 was vowing to reform and to resist temptation, and his heart was at home. 
 . . . Meanwhile the farce was going on very successfully, and Mrs. L-eary, 
 in a hussar jacket and braided pantaloons, was enchanting the audience 
 with her archness, her lovely figure, and her delightful balkds. 
 
 Pen, being new to the town, would have liked to listen to Mrs. Leary , 
 but the other people in the box did not care about her song or her panta- 
 loons, and kept up an incessant chattering. Tiptoff knew where her 
 maillots came from. Colchicum saw her when she came out in 14. 
 Miss Blenkinsop said she sang out of all tune, to the pam and astonish- 
 ment of Pen, who thought that she was as beautiful as an angel, and 
 that she sang like a nightingale; and when Hoppus came on as bir 
 Harcourt Featherby, the young man of the piece, gentlemen in 
 the box declared that Hoppus was getting too stale, and TiptofF was tor 
 flinging Miss Blenkinsop's bouquet to him. m i • „„ . 
 
 " Not for the world," cried the daughter of the veteran Blenkinsop , 
 "Lord Colchicum gave it to me." , v j „ ki„=». 
 
 Pen remembered that nobleman's name, and with a bow and a blush 
 said he believed he had to thank Lord Colchicum for haying proposed him 
 at the Polyanthus Club, at the request of his uncle Major Pendennis. 
 
 " What, you're Wigsby's nephew, are you > said the peer. 1 beg 
 your pardon, we always call him Wigsby." Pe'» ^^d to hear his 
 venerable uncle called by such a familiar name. Wj> balloted you in 
 last week, didn't we ? Yes, last Wednesday night. Your uncle wasn t 
 
 there. 
 
 Here was delightful news for Pen ! He professed himself very much 
 obliged indeed to Lord Colchicum, and made him a handsome speech ot 
 thanks, to which the other listened, with his double opera-glass up to 
 his eyes. Pen was fuU of excitement at the idea of being a member ot 
 this polite Club. „ . ■ 
 
 " Don't be always looking at that box, you naughty creature, cried 
 
 Miss Blenkinsop. , , „ . , ^. , ^ _ , 
 
 " She's a dev'lish fine woman that Mirabel, said Tiptoif ; though 
 
 Mirabel was a d d fool to marry her." 
 
 " A stupid old spooney," said the peer. 
 " Mirabel !" cried out Pendennis. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " laughed out Harry Foker. " We ve heard of her before, 
 haven't we, Pen ? " c 
 
 It was Pen s first love. It was Miss Fotheringay. The year before she 
 had been led to the altar by Sir Charles Mirabel, G.C.B., and formerly 
 envoy to the Court of Pumpernickel, who had taken so active a part in 
 the negotiations before the Congress of Swammerdan, and signed, on 
 behalf of H. B. M. , the Peace of Pultusk. 
 
 Emily was always as stupid as an owl, said Miss iilenkmsop. 
 Eh ! eh ! pas si bete," the old peer said. 
 
 Oh, for shame !" cried the actress, who did not m the least know 
 what he meant. 
 
216 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 And Pen looked out and beheld his first love once again— and jiidered 
 how he ever could have loved her. 
 
 Thus^ on the very first night of his arrival in London^ Mr. Arthur 
 Pendennis found himself introduced to a club^ to an actress of genteel 
 comedy and a heavy father of the stage, and to a dashing s^ety of jovial 
 blades, old and young ; for my Lord Colchicum, thou stricken in 
 years, bald of head, and enfeebled in person, was still indefatigable in the 
 pursuit of enjoyment, and it was the venerable Viscount's boast that he 
 could drink as much claret as the youngest member of the society which 
 he frequented. He lived with the youth about town : he gave them 
 countless dinners at Richmond and Greenwich : an enlightened patron 
 of the drama in all languages and of the Terpsichorean art, he received 
 dramatic professors of all nations at his banquets— English from the 
 Covent Garden and Strand houses, Italians from the Haymarket, French 
 from their own pretty little, theatre, or the boards of the Opera where 
 they danced. And at his villa on the Thames, this pillar of the State 
 gave sumptuous entertainments to scores of young men of fashion, who 
 very affably consorted with the ladies and gentlemen of the green-room 
 — with the former chiefly, for Viscount Colchicum preferred their society 
 as more polished and gay than that of their male brethren. 
 
 Pen went the next day and paid his entrance money at the Club, 
 which operation carried off exactly one-third of his hundred pounds : 
 and took possession of the edifice, and ate his luncheon there with 
 immense satisfaction. He plunged into an easy chair in the library, 
 and tried to read all the magazines. He wondered whether the 
 members were looking at him, and that they could dare to keep on 
 their hats in such fine rooms. He sate down and wrote a letter to 
 Fairoaks on the Club paper, and said, what a comfort this place would 
 be to him after his day's work was over. He went over to his uncle's 
 lodgings in Bury Street with some considerable tremor, and in com- 
 pliance with his mother s earnest desire, that he should instantly call 
 on Major Pendennis ; and was not a little relieved to find that the 
 Major had not yet returned to town. His apartments were blank. 
 Brown hollands covered his library table, and bills and letters lay on 
 the mantelpiece, grimly awaiting the return of their owner. The 
 Major was on the Continent, the landlady of the house said, at Badn- 
 Badn, with the Marcus of Steyne. Pen left his card upon the shelf 
 with the rest. Fairoaks was written on it still. When the Major 
 returned to London, which he did in time for the fogs of November, 
 after enjoying which he proposed to spend Christmas with some friends 
 in the country, he found another card of Arthur s, on which Lamb 
 Court, Temple, was engraved, and a note from that young gentleman 
 and from his mother, stating that he was come to town, was entered a 
 member of the Upper Temple, and was reading hard for the bar. 
 
 Lamb Court, Temple ; — where was it ? Major Pendennis remembered 
 that some ladies of fashion used to talk of dining with Mr. Aylifi*e, the 
 barrister, who was in society," and who lived there in the King's 
 Bench, of which prison there was probably a branch in the Temple, 
 and Ayliffe was very likely an officer. Mr. Deuceace, Lord Crab's 
 son, had also lived there, he recollected. He despatched Morgan to 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 217 
 
 find out where Lamb Court was, and to report upon the k)dging 
 selected by Mr. Arthur. That alert messenger had little difficulty in 
 discovering^Mr. Pen's abode. Discreet Morgan had in his time traced 
 peopte far fmre difficultr to find than Arthur. , r 
 
 '' What sort of a place is it, Morgan?" asked the Major out of the 
 bed-curtain« in Bury Street the next morning, as the valet was arrang- 
 ing his toilfett^ in the deep yellow London fog. 
 
 ''1 should say rayther a shy place/' said Mr. Morgan. "The 
 lawyers lives there, and has their names on the doors. Mr. Harthur 
 lives three pair high, sir. Mr. Warrington lives there too, sir. 
 
 Suffolk Warringtons ! I shouldn't wonder : a good family, thought 
 the Major. "The cadets of many of our good families follow the robe 
 as a profession. Comfortable rooms, eh ? " . 
 
 "Honly saw the outside of the door, sir, with Mr. Warrington s 
 name and Mr. Arthurs painted up, and a piece of paper with ^Back 
 at 6 ; ' but I couldn't see no servant, sir. " 
 
 Economical, at any rate," said the Major. 
 
 " Very, sir. Three pair, sir. Nasty black staircase as ever I see. 
 Wonder how a gentleman can live in such a place." 
 
 " Pray, who taught you where gentlemen should or should not live, 
 Morgan.? Mr. Arthur, sir, is going to study for the bar, sir;' the 
 Major said with much digmt3^f-and closed the conversation and began 
 to array himself in the yellow fog. , , . i r cc n 
 
 "Boys will be boys," the mollified uncle thought to himself. He 
 has written to me a devilish good letter. Colchicum says he has had 
 him to dine, and thinks him a gentlemanlike lad. His mother is one 
 of the best creatures in the world. If he has sown his wild oats, and 
 will stick to his business, he may do well yet. Think of Charley 
 Mirabel, the old fool, marrying that flame of his ; that Fothermgay ! 
 He doesn't like to come here till I give him leave, and puts it in a very 
 manly nice way. I was deuced angry with him, after his Oxbridge 
 escapades—and showed it, too, when he was here before— Gad, 111 go 
 and see him, hang me if I don't." . xi, rr i 
 
 And having ascertained from Morgan that he could reach the lemple 
 without much difficulty, and that a City omnibus would put him down 
 at the gate, the Major one day after breakfast at his Club— not the 
 Polyanthus, whereof Mr. Pen was just elected a member, but another 
 Club : for the Major was too wise to have a nephew as a constant inmate 
 of any house where he was in the habit of passing his time— the Major 
 one day entered one of those public vehicles, and bade the conductor 
 to put him down at the gate of the Upper Temple. 
 
 When Major Pendennis reached that dingy portal it was about twelve 
 o'clock in the day ; and he was directed by a civil personage with a 
 badge and a white apron, through some dark alleys, and under various 
 melancholy archways into courts each more dismal than the other, 
 until finally he reached Lamb Court. If it was dark in Pall Mall, what 
 was it in Lamb Court? Candles were burning in many of the rooms 
 there— in the pupil-room of Mr. Hodgeman, the special pleader, whose 
 six pupils were scribbling declarations under the tallow ; in Sir Hokey 
 Walker's clerk's room, where the clerk, a person far more gentleman- 
 like and cheerful in appearance than the celebrated counsel, his master. 
 
218 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 was conversing in a patronising manner with the managing clerk of an 
 attorney at the door ; and in Curling the wig-maker s melancholy shop^ 
 where^ from behind the feeble glimmer of a couple of lights^ large Ser- 
 jeants' and judges' wigs were looming drearily^ with the blank blocks 
 
 at toss-halfpenny under that lamp. A laundress in pattens passed in 
 at one door^ a newspaper boy issued from another. A porter, whose 
 white apron was faintly visible^ paced up and down. It would be impos- 
 sible to conceive a place more dismal, and the Major shuddered to 
 think that any one should select such a residence. Good Ged ! " he 
 said^ the poor boy mustn't live on here. " 
 
 The feeble and filthy oil-lamps, with which the staircases of the 
 Upper Temple are lighted of nights, were of course not illuminating 
 the stairs by day, and Major Pendennis, having read with difficulty his 
 nephew's name under Mr. Warrington's on the wall of No. 6, found 
 stilj greater difficulty in climbing the abominable black stairs, up the 
 banisters of which, which contributed their damp exudations to his 
 gloves, he groped painfully until he came to the third storey. A candle 
 was in the passage of one of the two sets of rooms ; the doors were 
 open, and the names of Mr. Warrington and Mr. A. Pendennis were 
 very clearly visible to the Major as he went in. An Irish charwoman, 
 with a pail and broom, opened the door for the Major. 
 
 Is that the beer } " cried out a great voice : give us hold of it." 
 The gentleman who was speaking was seated on a table, unshorn and 
 smoking a short pipe ; in a farther chair sate Pen, with a cigar, and 
 his legs near the fire. A little boy, who acted as the clerk of these 
 gentlemen, was grinning in the Major's face, at the idea of his being 
 mistaken for beer. Here, upon the third floor, the rooms were some- 
 what lighter, and the Major could see the place. 
 
 Pen, my boy, it's I — it's your uncle," he said, choking with the 
 smoke. But as most young men of fashion used the weed, he pardoned 
 the practice easily enough. 
 
 Mr. Warrington got up from the table, and Pen, in a very perturbed 
 manner, from his chair. Beg your pardon for mistaking you," said 
 Warrington, in a frank, loud voice. ^^Will you take a cigar, sir.?* 
 Clear those things off the chair, Pidgeon, and pull it round to the fire." 
 
 Pen flung his cigar into the grate ; and was pleased with the cor- 
 diality with which his uncle shook him by the hand. As soon as he 
 could speak for the stairs and the smoke, the Major began to ask Pen 
 very kindly about himself and about his mother ; for blood is blood, 
 and he was pleased once more to see the boy. 
 
 Pen gave his news, and then introduced Mr. Warrington — an old 
 Boniface man — whose chambers he shared. 
 
 The Major was quite satisfied when he heard that Mr. Warrington 
 was a younger son of Sir Miles Warrington of Suffolk. He had served 
 with an uncle of his in India and in New South Wales, years ago. 
 \ Took a sheep-farm there, sir, made a fortune — better thing than 
 law or soldiering," Warrington said. Think I shall go there too." 
 And here, the expected beer coming in, in a tankard with a glass 
 bottom, Mr. Warrington, with a laugh, said he supposed the Major 
 would not have any, and took a long, deep draught himself, after which 
 
 Two little clerks were playing 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 219 
 
 he wiped his wrist across his beard with great satisfaction. The young 
 man was perfectly easy and unembarrassed. He was dressed in a ragged 
 old shooting-jacket, and had a bristly blue beard. He was drinking 
 beer like a coal-heaver, and yet you couldn t but perceive that he was 
 a gentleman. 
 
 When he had sate for a minute or two after his draught he went out 
 of the room, leaving it to Pen and his uncle, that they might talk over 
 family affairs were they so inclined. . , o x 
 
 Rough and ready, your chum seems," the Major said. Somewhat 
 different from your dandy friends at Oxbridge." 
 
 Times are altered," Arthur replied, with a blush. Warrington 
 is only just called, and has no business, but he knows law pretty well ; 
 and until I can afford to read with a pleader, I use his books and get 
 
 his help." , , . 1 .1 A 
 
 ^^s that one of the books?" the Major asked, with a smile. A 
 French novel was lying at the foot of Pen's chair. 
 
 This is not a working day, sir," the lad said. " We were out very 
 late at a party last night— at Lady Whiston's," Pen added, knowing 
 his uncle's weakness. Everybody in town was there except you, sir ; 
 Counts, Ambassadors, Turks, Stars and Garters— I don't know who— 
 it's all in the paper— and my name, too," said Pen, with great glee. 
 ''I met an old flame of mine there, sir," he added, with a laugh. 
 " You know whom I mean, sir,— Lady Mirabel— to whom I was intro- 
 duced over again. She shook hands, and was gracious enough. I may 
 thank you for being out of that scrape, sir. She presented me to the 
 husband, too— an old beau in a star and a blonde wig. He does not 
 seem very wise. She has asked me to call on her, sir : and I may go 
 now without any fear of losing my heart." 
 
 What, we have had some new loves, have we?" the Major asked, 
 in high good-humour. , 
 
 Some two or three," Mr. Pen said, laughing. But I don t put on 
 my grand serieux any more, sir. That goes off after the first flame." 
 
 " Very right, my 'dear boy. Flames and darts and passion, and that 
 sort of thing, do very well for a lad : and you were but a lad when that 
 i affair with the Fotheringill—Fotheringay— (what's her name?) came 
 off. But a man of the world gives up those follies. You still may do 
 very well. You have been hit, but you may recover. You are heir to 
 a little independence, which everybody fancies is a doosid deal more. 
 You have a good name, good wits, good manners, and a good person— ^ 
 and, begad ! I don't see why you shouldn't marry a woman with money j 
 — get into Parliament— distinguish yourself, and — and, in fact, that ; 
 sort of thing. Remember, it's as easy to marry a rich woman as a poor ? 
 woman : and a devilish deal pleasanter to sit down to a good dinner \ 
 than to a scrag of mutton in lodgings. Make up your mind to that. \ 
 A woman with a good jointure is a doosid deal easier a profession 'than 
 the law, let me tell you. Look out ; / shall be on the watch for you : 
 and I shall die content, my boy, if I can see you with a good ladylike 
 wife and a good carriage, and a good pair of horses, living in society, 
 and seeing your friends, like a gentleman." It was thus this affec- 
 tionate uncle spoke, and expounded to Pen his simple philosophy. 
 
 What would my mother and Laura say to this, I wonder ? " thought 
 
220 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the lad. Indeed, old Pendennis s morals were not their morals, nor 
 was his wisdom theirs. 
 
 This alfecting conversation between uncle and nephew had scarcely 
 concluded, when Warrington came out of his bedroom, no longer in 
 rags, but dressed like a gentleman, straight and tall, and perfectly- 
 frank and good-humoured. He did the honours of his ragged sitting- 
 room with as much ease as if it had been the finest apartment in London. 
 And queer rooms they were in which the Major found his nephew. 
 The carpet was full of holes— the table stained with many circles of 
 Warrington's previous ale-pots. There was a small library of law- 
 books, books of poetry, and of mathematics, of which he was very fond. 
 (He had been one of the hardest livers and hardest readers of his time 
 at Oxbridge, where the name of Stunning Warrington was yet famous 
 for beating bargemen, pulling matches, winning prizes, and drinking 
 milk-punch. ) A print of the old College hung up over the mantelpiece, 
 and some battered volumes of Plato, bearing its well-known arms, were 
 on the book-shelves. There were two easy-chairs ; a standing reading- 
 desk piled with bills ; a couple of very meagre briefs on a broken-legged 
 study-table. Indeed, there was scarcely any article of furniture that 
 had not been in the wars, and was not wounded. Look here, sir, 
 here is Pen's room. He is a dandy, and has got curtains to his bed, 
 and wears shiny boots, and has a silver dressing-case." Indeed, Pen s 
 room was rather coquettishly arranged, and a couple of neat prmts of 
 opera-dancers, besides a drawing of Fairoaks, hung on the walls. In 
 Warrington's room there was scarcely any article of furniture, save a 
 great shower-bath, and a heap of books by the bedside ; where he lay 
 upon straw like Margery Daw, and smoked his pipe, and read half 
 through the night his favourite poetry or mathematics. 
 
 When he had completed his simple toilette, Mr. Warrington came out 
 of this room, and proceeded to the cupboard to search for his breakfast. 
 
 Might I offer you a mutton-chop, sir } We cook 'em ourselves, hot 
 and hot ; and I am teaching Pen the first principles of law, cookmg, 
 and morality at the same time. He's a lazy beggar, sir, and too much 
 
 of a dandy. " i . r 
 
 And so saying, Mr. Warrington wiped a gridiron with a piece ot paper, 
 put it on the fire, and on it two mutton-chops, and took from the cup- 
 board a couple of plates, and some knives and silver forks, and castors. 
 
 Say but a word. Major Pendennis," he said : there's another chop 
 in the cupboard, or Pidgeon shall go out and get you anything you like. " 
 
 Major Pendennis sate in wonder and amusement, but he said he had 
 just breakfasted, and wouldn't have any lunch. So Warrington cooked 
 the chops, and popped them hissing hot upon the plates. 
 
 Pen fell to at his chop with a good appetite, after looking up at his 
 uncle, and seeing that gentleman was still in good-humour. 
 
 You see, sir," Warrington said, Mrs. Flanagan isn't here to do 
 'em and we can't employ the boy, for the little beggar is all day occupied 
 cleaning Pen's boots. 'And now for another swig at the beer. 1 en 
 drinks tea ; it's only fit for old women." „ , • * 
 
 " And so you were at Lady Whiston's last night, the Major said, not 
 in truth knowing what observation to make to this rough diamond. 
 I at Lady Whiston's ! Not such a flat, sir. I don't care for female 
 
Copyright, Service &■ Paioti, 1897 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 221 
 
 society. In fact it bores me. I spent my evening philosophically at 
 
 the Back Kitchen." . , ^, at • 
 
 "The Back Kitchen? indeed! said the Major. 
 
 «I see you don't know what it means," Warrington said. Ask 
 Pen He'^was there after Lady Whiston's. Tell Major Pendennis 
 oKn.'it thp Back Kitchen, Pen— don't be ashamed of yourself. 
 '^So Pen saSt wis a Httle eccentric society of men of letters and men 
 about town, to which he had been presented ; and the Major began to 
 S that the young fellow had seen a good deal of the world since his 
 arrival in London. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE KNIGHTS OP THE TEMPLE 
 
 rni.LEGES schools, aud Inns of Court, still have some respect for 
 ant^X: and r^aintain a great number of the customs and mst.tu ions 
 ?our aAcestors, with which those persons who do not particularly 
 rLard their forefathers, or perhaps are not very well acquainted with 
 y^!!! loZ since done away. A well-ordained workhouse or prison 
 ;^m4h be tTi^rovideT w^h^^^ appliances of health, comfort and 
 cleriinessfSL/a respectable Foundation School, a venerable College 
 orTlearned Inn. In the latter place of residence men are contented 
 to sleepTn dingy closets, and to pay for the sitting-room and the cup- 
 board! which is their domitory, the price of a good villa and garden m 
 the suburbs, or of a roomy house in the neglected squares of the town 
 The poorest mechanic in VtalfieMs has a cistern and an unbounded 
 suppfy of water at his command; but the ge.itlemen of the Inns o 
 Court and the gentlemen of the Universities, have their supply of this 
 cosmeCfetched in jugs by laundresses and bedmakers, and live in 
 ToXs which were erected long before the custom of cleanliness and 
 ^^n»nL Ahtlied amonff us. There are individuals still alive who sneer 
 atTeTopCan^^^^^^^ them with epithets of scorn. GentW^^ 
 there can be but little doubt that your ancestors were the Great Un- 
 washed and in the Temple especially, it is pretty certain, that only 
 under the greatest difficulties and restrictions, the virtue which has been 
 pronounced to be next to godliness could have been practised at al 
 ^ Old Grump, of the Norfolk Circuit, who had lived for more than 
 thirty years in the chambers under those occupied by Warrington and 
 Pendennis, and who used to be awakened by the roaring of the shower- 
 Ss wh ch those gentlemen had erected in their apartments -part of 
 the contents of which occasionally trickled through the roof into Mr. 
 G^ump's room,-declaredthat the practice was an absurd new-fangled 
 Sfied folly, and daily cursed the laundress who slopped the staircase 
 £ ^ch Z h^ad to pass^ Grump, now much more than ^-f-^^^-^^ 
 old, had indeed never used the luxury in question He had done 
 wHhout water very well, and so had our fathers before him. Of all 
 Erkniffhts and baronets, lords and gentlemen, bearing arms, whose 
 escutcheons are painted upon the walls of the famous hall of the Upper 
 Temple! was the?e no philanthropist good-natured enough to devise a 
 
222 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 set of Hummums for the benefit of the lawyers^ his fellows and suc- 
 cessors ? The Temple historian makes no mention of such a scheme. 
 There is Pump Court and Fountain Court, with their hydraulic 
 apparatus, but one never heard of a bencher disporting in the fountain ; 
 and can't but think how many a counsel learned in the law of old days 
 might have benefited by the pump. 
 
 Nevertheless, those venerable Inns which have the Lamb and Flag 
 and the Winged Horse for their ensigns, have attractions for persons 
 who inhabit them, and a share of rough comforts and freedom, which 
 men always remember with pleasure. I don't know whether the student 
 of law permits himself the refreshment of enthusiasm, or indulges in 
 poetical reminiscences as he passes by historical chambers, and says. 
 
 Yonder Eldon lived — upon this site Coke mused upon Lyttelton — 
 here Chitty toiled — here Barnwell and Alderson joined in their famous 
 labours — here Byles composed his great work upon bills, and Smith 
 compiled his immortal leading cases — here Gustavus still toils, with 
 Solomon to aid him : " but the man of letters can't but love the place 
 which has been inhabited by so many of his brethren, or peopled by 
 their creations as real to us at this day as the authors whose children 
 they were — and Sir Roger de Coverley walking in the Temple Garden, 
 and discoursing with Mr. Spectator about the beauties in hoops and 
 patches who are sauntering over the grass, is just as lively a figure to 
 me as old Samuel Johnson rolling through the fog with the Scotch 
 gentleman at his heels on their way to Dr. Goldsmith's chambers in 
 Brick Court ; or Harry Fielding, with inked ruffles and a wet towel 
 round his head, dashing off articles at midnight for the Covent Garden 
 Journal, while the printer's boy is asleep in the passage. 
 
 If we could but get the history of a single day as it passed in any 
 one of those four-storeyed houses in the dingy court where our friends 
 Pen and Warrington dwelt, some Temple Asmodeus might furnish us 
 with a queer volume. There may be a great Parliamentary counsel 
 on the ground-floor, who drives off to Belgravia at dinner-time, when 
 his clerk, too, becomes a gentleman, and goes away to entertain his 
 friends, and to take his pleasure. But a short time since he was hungry 
 and briefless in some garret of the Inn ; lived by stealthy literature ; 
 hoped, and waited, and sickened, and no clients came ; exhausted his 
 own means and his friends' kindness ; had to remonstrate humbly with 
 duns, and to implore the patience of poor creditors. Ruin seemed to 
 be staring him in the face, when, behold, a turn of the wheel of fortune, 
 and the lucky wretch in* possession of one of those prodigious prizes 
 which are sometimes drawn in the great lottery of the Bar, Many a 
 better lawyer than himself does not make a fifth part of the income 
 of his clerk, who, a few months since, could scarcely get credit for 
 blacking for his master's unpaid boots. On the first-floor, perhaps, 
 you will have a venerable man whose name is famous, who has lived 
 for half-a-century in the Inn, whose brains are full of books, and whose 
 shelves are stored with classical and legal lore. He has lived alone all 
 these fifty years, alone and for himself, amassing learning and compiling 
 a fortune. He comes home now at night only from the club, where he 
 has been dining freely, to the lonely chambers where he lives a godless 
 old recluse. When he dies, his Inn will erect a tablet to his honour. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 223 
 
 ind his heirs burn a part of his library. Would you like to have such 
 I prospect for your old age, to store up learning and money, and end 
 50 ? But we must not linger too long by Mr. Doomsday's door. Worthy 
 VIr. Grump lives over him, who is also an ancient inhabitant of the Inn, 
 md who, when Doomsday comes home to read Catullus, is sitting down 
 with three steady seniors of his standing to a steady rubber at whist, 
 after a dinner at which they have consumed their three steady bottles 
 af port. You may see the old boys asleep at the Temple Church of a 
 Sunday. Attorneys seldom trouble them, and they have small fortunes 
 of their own. On the other side of the third landing, where Pen and 
 Warrington live, till long after midnight, sits Mr. Paley, who took the 
 highest honours, and who is a fellow of his College, who will sit and 
 read and note cases until two o'clock in the morning ; who will rise at 
 seven and be at the pleader s chambers as soon as they are open, where 
 he will work until an hour before dinner-time ; who will come home from 
 Hall and read and note cases again until dawn next day, when perhaps 
 Mr. Arthur Pendennis and his friend Mr. Warrington are returning 
 from some of their wild expeditions. How differently employed Mr. 
 Paley has been ! He has not been throwing himself away : he has only 
 been bringing a great intellect laboriously down to the comprehension 
 of a mean subject, and in his fierce grasp of that, resolutely excluding 
 from his mind all higher thoughts, all better things, all the wisdom of 
 philosophers and historians, all the thoughts of poets ; all wit, fancy, 
 reflection, art, love, truth altogether— so that he may master that 
 enormous legend of the law, which he proposes to gain his livelihood 
 by expounding. Warrington and Paley had been competitors for 
 University honours in former days, and had run each other hard ; and 
 everybody said now that the former was wasting his time and energies, 
 whikt all people praised Paley for his industry. There may be doubts, 
 however, as to which was using his time best. The one could afford time 
 to think, and'the other never could. The one could have sympathies 
 t and do kindnesses ; and the other must needs be always selfish. He 
 could not cultivate a friendship or do a charity, or admire a work of 
 genius, or kindle at the sight of beauty or the sound of a sweet song- 
 he had no time, and no eyes for anything but his law-books. All was 
 dark outside his reading-lamp. Love, and Nature, and Art (which is 
 the expression of our praise and sense of the beautiful world of God), 
 were shut out from him. And as he turned off his lonely lamp at night, 
 he never thought but that he had spent the day profitably, and went 
 to sleep alike thankless and remorseless. But he shuddered when he 
 met his old companion Warrington on the stairs, and shunned him as 
 , one that was doomed to perdition. 
 
 ' It may have been the sight of that cadaverous ambition and self- 
 complacent meanness, which showed itself in Paley's yellow face, and 
 twinkled in his narrow eyes, or it may have been a natural appetite for 
 pleasure and joviality, of which it must be confessed Mr. Pen was ex- 
 ceedingly fond, which deterred that luckless youth from pursuing his 
 designs upon the Bench or the Woolsack with the ardour, or rather 
 steadiness, which is requisite in gentlemen who would climb to those 
 seats of honour. He enjoyed the Temple life with a great deal of relish : 
 his worthy relatives thought he was reading as became a regular student : 
 
 2 
 
224 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and his uncle wrote home congratulatory letters to the kind widow at 
 Fairoaks_, announcing that the lad had sown his wild oats^ and was be- 
 coming quite steady. The truth is_, that it was a new sort of excitement' 
 to Pen the life in which he was now engaged, and having given up some 
 of the dandified pretensions, and fine-gentleman airs which he had con-^ 
 tracted among his aristocratic College acquaintances, of whom he now 
 saw but little, the rough pleasures and amusements of a London bachelor^ 
 were very novel and agreeable to him, and he enjoyed them all. Time; 
 was he would have envied the dandies their fine horses in Rotten Rowy 
 but he was contented now to walk in the Park and look at them. He 
 was too young to succeed in London society without a better name! 
 and a larger fortune than he had, and too lazy to get on without these 
 adjuncts. Old Pendennis fondly thought he was busied with law because 
 he neglected the social advantages presented to him, and, having been 
 at half-a-dozen balls and evening parties, retreated before their dulness; 
 and sameness ; and whenever anybody made inquiries of the worthy 
 Major about his nephew, the old gentleman said the young rascal was 
 reformed, and could not be got away from his books. But the Major ' 
 would have been almost as much horrified as Mr. Paley was, had he ^ 
 known what was Mr. Pen's real course of life, and how much pleasure ' 
 entered into his law studies. I 
 A long morning's reading, a walk in the park, a pull on the river, 
 a stretch up the hill to Hampstead, and a modest tavern dinner ; a . 
 bachelor night passed here or there, in joviality, not vice (for Arthur 
 Pendennis admired women, so heartily that he could never bear the ^ 
 society of any of them that were not, in his fancy at least, good and 
 pure) ; a quiet evening at home, alone with a friend and a pipe or two, 
 and a humble potation of British spirits, whereof Mrs. Flanagan, the i 
 laundress, invariably tested the quality, — these were our young gentle- 
 man's pursuits, and it must be owned that his life was not unpleasant. 
 In term-time, Mr. Pen showed a most praiseworthy regularity in per- 
 forming one part of the law-student's course of duty, and eating his 
 dinners in Hall. Indeed, that Hall of the Upper Temple is a sight not 
 uninteresting, and with the exception of some trifling improvements 
 and anachronisms which have been introduced into the practice there, 
 a man may sit down and fancy that he joins in a meal of the seventeenth 
 century. The bar have their messes, the students their tables apart ; 
 the benchers sit at the high table on the raised platform, surrounded 
 by pictures of judges of the law and portraits of royal personages who 
 have honoured its festivities with their presence and patronage. Pen 
 looked about, on his first introduction, not a little amused with the 
 scene which he witnessed. Among his comrades of the student class i 
 there were gentlemen of all ages, from sixty to seventeen ; stout grey- 
 headed attorneys who were proceeding to take the superior dignity, 
 — dandies and men about town who wished for some reason to be 
 barristers of seven years' standing, — swarthy, black-eyed natives of the 
 Colonies, who came to be called here before they practised in their 
 own islands, — and many gentlemen of the Irish nation, who make a 
 sojourn in Middle Temple Lane before they return to the green country 
 of their birth. There were little squads of reading students who talked 
 law all dinner-time ; there were rowing men, whose discourse was of 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 225 
 
 sculling matches^ the Red House^ Vauxhall^ and the Opera ; there 
 were others great in politics^ and orators of the students' debating 
 clubs ; with all of which sets> except the firsts whose talk was an almost 
 unknown and a quite uninteresting language to him^ Mr. Pen made a 
 gradual acquaintance^ and had many points of sympathy. 
 
 The ancient and liberal Inn of the Upper Temple provides in its Hall^ 
 and for a most moderate price, an excellent wholesome dinner of soup, 
 i meat, tarts, and port wine or sherry, for the barristers and students who 
 attend that place of refection. The parties are arranged in messes of 
 four, each of which quartets has its piece of beef or leg of mutton, its 
 sufficient apple-pie, and its bottle of wine. But the honest habitues of 
 the Hall, amongst the lower rank of students, who have a taste for good 
 living, have many harmless arts by which they improve their banquet, 
 and innocent dodges " (if we may be permitted to use an excellent 
 phrase that has become vernacular since the appearance of the last 
 dictionaries) by which they strive to attain for themselves more delicate 
 food than the common everyday roast meat of the students' tables. 
 ^^Wait a bit," said Mr. Lowton, one of these Temple gourmands. 
 Wait a bit," said Mr. Lowton, tugging at Pen's gown — the tables 
 i are very full, and there's only three benchers to eat ten side dishes — if 
 we wait, perhaps we shall get something from their table." And Pen 
 looked with some amusement, as did Mr. Lowton with eyes of fond 
 I desire, towards the benchers' high table, where three old gentlemen 
 were standing up before a dozen silver dish-covers, while the clerk was 
 quavering out a grace. 
 
 Lowton was great in the conduct of the dinner. His aim was to 
 I manage so as to be the first, or captain of the mess, and to secure for 
 I himself the thirteenth glass of the bottle of port wine. Thus he would 
 i have the command of the joint on which he operated his favourite cuts, 
 and made rapid dexterous appropriations of gravy, which amused Pen 
 j infinitely. Poor Jack Lowton ! thy pleasures in life were very harm- 
 I less ; an eager epicure, thy desires did not go beyond eighteenpence. 
 ! Pen was somewhat older than many of his fellow-students, and there 
 I was that about his style and appearance which, as we have said, was 
 rather haughty and impertinent, that stamped him as a man of ton — 
 very unlike those pale students who were talking law to one another, 
 and those ferocious dandies, in rowing shirts and astonishing pins and 
 waistcoats, who represented the idle part of the little community. The 
 humble and good-natured Lowton had felt attracted by Pen's superior 
 \ looks and presence — and had made acquaintance with him at the mess 
 by opening the conversation. 
 
 This is boiled beef day, I believe, sir," said Lowton to Pen. 
 Upon my word, sir, I'm not aware," said Pen, hardly able to contain 
 his laughter, but added, I'm a stranger ; this is my first term ; " on 
 which Lowton began to point out to him the notabilities in the Hall. 
 
 That's Boosey the bencher, the bald one sitting under the picture 
 and 'aving soup ; I wonder whether it's turtle ? They often 'ave turtle. 
 Next is Balls, the King's Counsel, and Swettenham — Hodge & Swetten- 
 ham, you know. That's old Grump, the senior of the bar ; they say he's 
 dined here forty years. They often send 'em down their fish from 
 the benchers to the senior table. Do you see those four fellows seated 
 
 p 
 
226 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 opposite us ? They are regular swells — tip-top fellows^ I can tell you — 
 Mr. Trails the Bishop of Ealing's son, Honourable Fred Ringwood, 
 Lord Cinqbars' brother, you know. Hell have a good place, I bet any 
 money ; and Bob Suckling, who's always with him — a high fellow too. 
 Ha ! ha ! " Here Lowton burst into a laugh. 
 What is it ? " said Pen, still amused. 
 
 I say, I like to mess with those chaps," Lowton said, winking his 
 eye knowingly, and pouring out his glass of wine. 
 And why ? " asked Pen. 
 
 Why ! they don't come down here to dine, you know, they only 
 make-believe to dine. They dine here. Law bless you ! They go to 
 some of the swell clubs, or else to some grand dinner party. You 
 see their names in the Morning Post at all the fine parties in London. 
 Why, 1 bet anything that Ringwood has his cab, or Trail his brougham 
 (he's a devil of a fellow, and makes the Bishop's money spin, I can tell 
 you), at the corner of Essex Street at this minute. They dine ! They 
 won't dine these two hours, I dare say. " 
 
 But why should you like to mess with them, if they don't eat any 
 dinner } " Pen asked, still puzzled. There's plenty, isn't there ? " 
 
 ^^How green you are," said Lowton. ^^Excuse me, but you are 
 green. They don't drink any wine, don t you see, and a fellow gets 
 the bottle to himself if he likes it when he messes with those three 
 chaps. That's why Corkoran got in with 'em." 
 
 Ah, Mr. Lowton, I see you are a sly fellow," Pen said, delighted 
 with his acquaintance : on which the other modestly replied, that he 
 had lived in London the better part of his life, and of course had his 
 eyes about him ; and went on with his catalogue to Pen. 
 
 There's a lot of Irish here," he said : that Corkoran's one, and 
 I can't say I like him. You see that handsome chap with the blue 
 neckcloth, and pink shirt, and yellow waistcoat, that's another ; that's 
 Molloy Maloney, of Ballymaloney, and nephew to Major-General Sir 
 Hector O'Dowd, he, he," Lowton said, trying to imitate the Hibernian 
 accent. He's always bragging about his uncle ; and came into Hall 
 in silver-striped trousers the day he had been presented. That other 
 near him, with the long black hair, is a tremendous rebel. By Jove, 
 sir, to hear him at the Forum it makes your blood freeze ; and the next 
 is an Irishman, too. Jack Finucane, reporter of a newspaper. They 
 all stick together, those Irish. It's your turn to fill your glass. What } 
 you won't have any port ? Don't like port with your dinner } Here's 
 your health. " And this worthy man found himself not the less attached 
 to Pendennis because the latter disliked port wine at dinner. 
 
 It was while Pen was taking his share of one of these dinners with 
 his acquaintance Lowton as the captain of his mess, that there came to 
 join them a gentleman in a barrister's gown, who could not find a seat, 
 as it appeared, amongst the persons of his own degree, and who strode 
 over to the table and took his place on the bench where Pen sate. He 
 was dressed in old clothes and a faded gown, which hung behind him, 
 and he wore a shirt which, though clean, was extremely ragged, and 
 very different to the magnificent pink raiment of Mr. Molloy Maloney, 
 who occupied a commanding position in the next mess. In order to 
 notify their appearance at dinner, it is the custom of the gentlemen 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 227 
 
 who eat in the Upper Temple Hall to write down their names upon 
 slips of paper, which are provided for that purpose, with a pencil for 
 each mess. Lowton wrote his name first, then came Arthur Pendennis, 
 and the next was that of the gentleman in the old clothes. He 
 smiled when he saw Pen's name, and looked at him. W e ought to 
 know each other," he said. We're both Boniface men ; my name's 
 W arrington. " 
 
 ^^Are you St Warrington.^" Pen said, delighted to see this 
 
 hero. 
 
 Warrington laughed — Stunning Warrington — yes," he said. 1 
 recollect you in your freshman's term. But you appear to have quite 
 cut me out." 
 
 The College talks about you still," said Pen, who had a generous 
 admiration for talent and pluck. The bargeman you thrashed. Bill 
 Simes, don't you remember, wants you up again at Oxbridge. The 
 Miss Notleys, the haberdashers " 
 
 Hush ! " said Warrington — glad to make your acquaintance 
 Pendennis. Heard a good deal about you. " 
 
 The young men were friends immediately, and at once deep in 
 College talk. And Pen, who had been acting rather the fine gentleman 
 on a previous day, when he pretended to Lowton that he could not 
 drink port wine at dinner, seeing Warrington take his share with a 
 great deal of gusto, did not scruple about helping himself any more, 
 rather to the disappointment of honest Lowton. When the dinner was 
 over, Warrington asked Arthur where he was going. 
 
 I thought of going home to dress, and hear Grisi in ^ Norma,' " 
 Pen said. 
 
 Are you going to meet anybody there ? " he asked. 
 
 Pen said, No — only to hear the music," of which he was very fond. 
 
 " You had much better come home and smoke a pipe with me," said 
 Warrington, — ^^a very short one. Come, I live close by in Lamb 
 Court, and we'll talk over Boniface and old times." 
 
 They went away ; Lowton sighed after them. He knew that 
 Warrihgton was a baronet's son, and he looked up with simple rever- 
 ence to all the aristocracy. Pen and Warrington became sworn friends 
 from that night. Warrington's cheerfulness and jovial temper, his 
 good sense, his rough welcome, and his never-failing pipe of tobacco, 
 charmed Pen, who found it more pleasant to dive into shilling taverns 
 with him than to dine in solitary state amongst the silent and polite 
 frequenters of the Polyanthus. 
 
 Ere long Pen gave up his lodgings in St. James's, to which he had 
 migrated on quitting his hotel, and found it was much more economical 
 to take up his abode with Warrington in Lamb Court, and furnish and 
 occupy his friend's vacant room there. For it must be said of Pen, 
 that. no man was more easily led than he to do a thing, when it was 
 a^ novelty, or when he had a mind to it. And Pidgeon, the youth, 
 arid Flanagan, the laundress, divided their allegiance now between 
 Warrington and Pen. 
 
228 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 Elated with the idea of seeing life^ Pen went into a hundred queer 
 London haunts. He liked to think he was consorting with all sorts of 
 lYien — so he beheld coalheavers in their tap-rooms ; boxers in their 
 inn-parlours : honest citizens disporting in the suburbs or on the river ; 
 and he would have liked to hob and nob with celebrated pickpockets^ 
 or drink a pot of ale with a company of burglars and cracksmen^ had 
 chance afforded him an opportunity of making the acquaintance of this 
 class of society. It was good to see the gravity with which Warrington 
 listened to the Tutbury Pet or the Brighton Stunner at the Champion's 
 Arms, and behold the interest which he took in the coalheaving 
 company assembled at the Fox-under-the-Hill. His acquaintance with 
 the public-houses of the metropolis and its neighbourhood, and with 
 the frequenters of their various parlours, was prodigious. He was 
 the personal friend of the landlord and landlady, and welcome to 
 the bar as to the club-room. He liked their society, he said, better 
 than that of his own class, whose manners annoyed him, and whose 
 conversation bored him. In society," he used to say, everybody is 
 the same, wears the same dress, eats and drinks, and says the same 
 things ; one young dandy at the club talks and looks just like another, 
 one Miss at a ball exactly resembles another, whereas there's character 
 here. I like to talk with the strongest man in England, or the man 
 who can drink the most beer in England, or with that tremendous 
 republican of a hatter, who thinks Thistlewood was the greatest 
 character in history. I like gin-and-water better than claret. I like 
 a sanded floor in Carnaby Market better than a chalked one in May- 
 fair. I prefer Snobs, I own it." Indeed, this gentleman was a social 
 republican ; and it never entered his head while conversing with Jack 
 and Tom that he was in any respect their better ; although, perhaps, 
 the deference which they paid him might secretly please him. 
 
 Pen followed him then to these various resorts of men with great 
 glee and assiduity. But he was considerably younger, and therefore 
 much more pompous and stately than Warrington ; in fact, a young 
 prince in disguise, visiting the poor of his father's kingdom. They 
 respected him as a high chap, a fine fellow, a regular young swell. 
 He had somehow about him an air of imperious good humour, and a 
 royal frankness and majesty, although he was only heir apparent to 
 twopence-halfpenny, and but one in descent from a gallipot. If these 
 positions are made for us, we acquiesce in them very easily ; and are 
 always pretty ready to assume a superiority over those who are as good 
 as ourselves. Pen s condescension at this time of his life was a fine 
 thing to witness. Amongst men of ability this assumption and imperti- 
 nence passes off with extreme youth : but it is curious to^ watch the 
 conceit of a generous and clever lad — there is something almost 
 touching in that early exhibition of simplicity and folly. 
 
 So, after reading pretty hard of a morning, and, I fear, not law 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 229 
 
 merely, but politics and general history and literature, which were 
 as necessary for the advancement and instruction of a young man 
 as mere dry law, after applying with tolerable assiduity to letters, to 
 reviews, to elemental books of law, and, above all, to the newspaper, 
 until the hour of dinner was drawing nigh, these young gentlemen 
 would sally out upon the town with great spirits and appetite, and bent 
 upon enjoying a merry night as they had passed a pleasant forenoon. 
 It was a jovial time, that of four-and-twenty, when every muscle of 
 mind and body was in healthy action, when the world was new as 
 yet, and one moved over it spurred onwards by good spirits and the 
 delightful capability to enjoy. If ever we feel young afterwards, it is 
 with the comrades of that time : the tunes we hum in our old age 
 are those we learned then. Sometimes, perhaps, the festivity of that 
 period revives in our memory ; but how dingy the pleasure-garden has 
 grown, how tattered the garlands look, how scant and old the company, 
 and what a number of the lights have gone out since that day ! Grey 
 hairs have come on like daylight streaming in — daylight and a head- 
 ache with it. Pleasure has gone to bed with the rouge on her cheeks. 
 Well, friend, let us walk through the day, sober and sad, but friendly. 
 
 I wonder what Laura and Helen would have said, could they have 
 seen, as they might not unfrequently have done had they been up and 
 in London, in the very early morning when the bridges began to blush 
 in the sunrise, and the tranquil streets of the city to shine in the 
 dawn, Mr. Pen and Mr. Warrington rattling over the echoing flags 
 towards the Temple, after one of their wild nights of carouse — nights 
 wild but not so wicked as such nights sometimes are, for Warrington 
 was a woman-hater ; and Pen, as we have said, too lofty to stoop to a 
 vulgar intrigue. Our young Prince of Fairoaks never could speak to 
 one of the sex but with respectful courtesy, and shrank from a coarse 
 word or gesture with instinctive delicacy — for though we have seen 
 him fall in love with a fool, as his betters and inferiors have done, and 
 as it is probable that he did more than once in his life, yet for the time 
 of the delusion it was always as a goddess that he considered her, and 
 chose to wait upon her. Men serve women kneeling — when they get 
 on their feet they go away. 
 
 That was what an acquaintance of Pen's said to him in his hard 
 homely way — an old friend with whom he had fallen in again in 
 London — no other than honest Mr. Bows of the Chatteris Theatre, 
 who was now employed as pianoforte player, to accompany the eminent 
 lyrical talent which nightly delighted the public at the Fielding's Head 
 in Covent Garden : and where was held the little club called the 
 Back Kitchen. 
 
 Numbers of Pen's friends frequented this very merry meeting. The 
 Fielding's Head had been a house of entertainment, almost since the 
 time when the famous author of ^^Tom Jones" presided as magistrate 
 in the neighbouring Bow Street : his place was pointed out, and the 
 chair said to have been his, still occupied by the president of the night's 
 entertainment. The worthy Cutts, the landlord of the Fielding's 
 Head, generally occupied this post when not disabled by gout or other 
 illness. His jolly appearance and fine voice may be remembered by 
 some of my male readers ; he used to sing profusely in the course of 
 
230 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the harmonic meeting, and his songs were of what may he called the 
 British Brandy-and- Water School of Song— such as " The Good Old 
 English Gentleman/' "'Dear Tom, this Brown Jug/' and so forth— 
 songs in which pathos and hospitality are blended, and the praises of 
 good liquor and the social affections are chanted in a barytone voice. 
 The charms of our women, the heroic deeds of our naval and military 
 commanders, are often sung in the ballads of this school, and many a 
 time in my youth have I admired how Cutts the singer, after he had 
 worked us all up to patriotic enthusiasm, by describing the way in which 
 the brave Abercromby received his death-wound, or made us join him 
 in tears, which he shed liberally himself, as in faltering accents he 
 told how autumn s falling leaf proclaimed the old man he must die " 
 — how Cutts the singer became at once Cutts the landlord, and, before 
 the applause which we were making with our fists on his table, in com- 
 pliment to his heart-stirring melody, had died away, was calling, 
 ^^Now, gentlemen, give your orders, the waiter s in the room — John, 
 a champagne cup for Mr. Green. I think, sir, you said sausages and 
 mashed potatoes .^^ John, attend on the gentleman." 
 
 And I'll thank ye give me a glass of punch too, John, and take 
 care the wather boils," a voice would cry not unfrequently, a well- 
 known voice to Pen, which made the lad blush and start when he 
 heard it first— that of the venerable Captain Costigan ; who was now 
 established in London, and one of the great pillars of the harmonic 
 meetings at the Fielding's Head. 
 
 The Captain's manners and conversation brought very many young 
 men to the place. He was a character, and his fame had begun to 
 spread soon after his arrival in the metropolis, and especially after his 
 daughter's marriage. He was great in his conversation to the friend 
 for the time being (who was the neighbour drinking by his side), 
 about ^'^me daughter." He told of her marriage, and of the events 
 previous and subsequent to that ceremony ; of the carriages she kept ; 
 of Mirabel's adoration for her and for him ; of the hunther pounds 
 which he was at perfect liberty to draw from his son-in-law, whenever 
 necessity urged him. And having stated that it was his firm intention 
 to dthraw next Sathurday, I give ye me secred word and honour next 
 Sathurday, the fourteenth, when ye'U see the money will be handed 
 over to me at Coutts's, the very instant I present the cheque," the 
 Captain would not unfrequently propose to borrow half-a-crown of his 
 friend until the arrival of that day of Greek Kalends, when, on the 
 honour of an ofi^cer and a gentleman, he would repee the thrifling 
 obligetion. 
 
 Sir Charles Mirabel had not that enthusiastic attachment to his 
 father-in-law of which the latter sometimes boasted (although in other 
 stages of emotion Cos would inveigh, with tears in his eyes, against 
 the ingratitude of the child of his bosom, and the stinginess of the 
 wealthy old man who had married her) ; but the pair had acted not 
 unkindly towards Costigan ; had settled a small pension on him, which 
 was paid regularly, and forestalled with even more regularity by poor 
 Cos ; and the period of the payments was always well known by his 
 friends at the Fielding's Head, whither the honest Captain took care 
 to repair, bank-notes in hand, calling loudly for change in the. midst 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 231 
 
 of the full harmonic meeting. I think ye'll find that note won*t be 
 refused at the Bank of England^ Cutts^ my boy/' Captain Costigan 
 would say. Bows, have a glass } Ye needn't stint yourself to-night, 
 anyhow ; and a glass of punch will make ye play con spirito. " For he 
 was lavishly free with his money when it came to him, and was scarcely 
 known to button his breeches pocket, except when the coin was gone, 
 or sometimes, indeed, when a creditor came by. 
 
 It was in one of these moments of exultation that Pen found his old 
 friend swaggering at the singers' table at the Back Kitchen of the 
 Fielding's Sflead, and ordering glasses of brandy-and- water for any of 
 his acquaintances who made their appearance in the apartment. War- 
 rington, who was on confidential terms with the bass singer, made his 
 way up to this quarter of the room, and Pen walked at his friend's heels. 
 
 Pen started and blushed to see Costigan. He had just come from 
 Lady Whiston's party, where he had met and spoken with the Captain's 
 daughter again for the first time after very old old days. He came up 
 with outstretched hand, very kindly and warmly to greet the old man ; 
 still retaining a strong remembrance of the time when Costigan's 
 daughter had been everything in the world to him. For though this 
 young gentleman may have been somewhat capricious in his attach- 
 ments, and occasionally have transferred his afi'ections from one woman 
 to another, yet he always respected the place where Love had dwelt, 
 and, like the Sultan of Turkey, desired that honours should be paid 
 to the lady towards whom he had once thrown the royal pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 The tipsy Captain returned the clasp of Pen's hand with all the 
 strength of a palm which had become very shaky by the constant lift- 
 ing up of weights of brandy-and-water, looked hard in Pen's face, and 
 said, Grecious heavens, is it possible ? Me dear boy, me dear fellow, 
 me dear friend ; " and then with a look of muddled curiosity, fairly 
 broke down with, I know your face, me dear dear friend, but, bedad, 
 I've forgot your name. " Five years of constant punch had passed since 
 Pen and Costigan met. Arthur was a good deal changed, and the 
 Captain may surely be excused for forgetting him ; when a man at the 
 actual moment sees things double, we may expect that his view of the 
 past will be rather muzzy. 
 
 Pen saw his condition and laughed, although, perhaps, he was some- 
 what mortified. Don't you remember me. Captain .f^" he said. ^^I 
 am Pendennis— Arthur Pendennis, of Clavering." • 
 
 The sound of the young man's friendly voice recalled and steadied 
 Cos's tipsy remembrance, and he saluted Arthur, as soon as he knew 
 him, with a loud volley of friendly greetings. Pen was his dearest boy, 
 his gallant young friend, his noble collagian, whom he had held in his 
 inmost heart ever since they had parted — how was his fawther, no, his 
 mother, and his guardian, the General, the Major. ^^1 preshoom, 
 from your appearance, that you've come into your prawpertee ; and, 
 bedad, ye'll spend it like a man of spirit — I'll go bail for that. No ! 
 not yet come into your estete ? If ye want any thrifle, heark ye, there's 
 poor old Jack Costigan has got a guinea or two in his pocket — and, be 
 heavens ! you shall never want, Awthur, me dear boy. What'll ye 
 have? John, come hither, and look aloive; give this gentleman a 
 
232 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 glass of punchy and Fll pay for't. — Your friend? Tve seen him before. 
 Permit me to have the honour of making meself known to ye, sir, and 
 requesting yell take a glass of punch. " 
 
 I don t envy Sir Charles Mirabel his father-in-law/' thought Pen- 
 dennis. ^'^ And how is my old friend Mr. Bows, Captain } Have you 
 any news of him, and do you see him still ? " 
 
 ^^No doubt he's very well," said the Captain, jingling his money, 
 and whistling the air of a song— The Little Doodeen "—for the sing- 
 ing of which he was celebrated at the Fielding's Head. Me dear boy 
 — I've forgot your name again — but me name's Costigan, Jack Costigan, 
 and I'd loike ye to take as many tumblers of punch in me name as ever 
 ye loike. Ye know me name; I'm not ashamed of it." And so the 
 Captain went maundering on. 
 
 ^^It's pay-day with the General," said Mr. Hodgen the bass singer, 
 with whom Warrington was in deep conversation : and he's a precious 
 deal more than half-seas over. He has already tried that ^Little 
 Doodeen' of his, and broke it, too, just before I sang ^King Death.' 
 Have you heard my new song, ^ The Body Snatcher,' Mr. Warrington ? 
 — angcored at St. Bartholomew's the other night — composed expressly 
 for me. Per'aps you or your friend would like a copy of the song, 
 sir.^ John, just 'ave the kindness to 'and over a ^Body Snatcher' 'ere, 
 will yer } — There's a portrait of me, sir, as I sing it — as the Snatcher — 
 considered rather like." 
 
 Thank you," said Warrington ; heard it nine times — know it by 
 heart, Hodgen." 
 
 Here the gentleman who presided at the pianoforte began to play 
 upon his instrument, and Pen, looking in the direction of the music, 
 beheld that very Mr. Bows, for whom he had been asking but now, and 
 whose existence Costigan had momentarily forgotten. The little old 
 man sate before the battered piano (which had injured its constitution 
 wofuUy by sitting up so many nights, and spoke with a voice, as it were, 
 at once hoarse and faint), and accompanied the singers, or played with 
 taste and grace in the intervals of the songs. 
 
 Bows had seen and recollected Pen at once when the latter came into 
 the room, and had remarked the eager warmth of the young man's 
 recognition of Costigan. He now began to play an air, which Pen 
 instantly remembered as one which used to be sung by the chorus of 
 villagers in The Stranger," just before Mrs. Haller came in. It shook 
 Pen as he heard it. He remembered how his heart used to beat as that 
 air was played, and before the divine Emily made her entry. Nobody, 
 save Arthur, took any notice of old Bows's playing : it was scarcely 
 heard amidst the clatter of knives and forks, the calls for poached eggs 
 and kidneys, and the tramp of guests and waiters. 
 
 Pen went up and kindly shook the player by the hand at the end of 
 his performance ; and Bows greeted Arthur with great respect and 
 cordiality. What, you haven't forgot the old tune, Mr. Pendennis r 
 he said : I thought you'd remember it. I take it, it was the first 
 tune of that sort you ever heard played— wasn't it, sir.^ You were 
 quite a young chap then. I fear the Captain's very bad to-night. He 
 breaks out on a pay-day ; and I shall have the deuce's own trouble 
 in getting him home. We live together. We still hang on, sir, in 
 
PENDENNIS 233 
 
 partnership, though Miss Em — though my Lady Mirahel has left the 
 firm. — And so you remember old times, do you ? Wasn't she a beauty, 
 sir ? — Your health and my service to you," — and he took a sip at the 
 pewter measure of porter which stood by his side as he played. 
 
 Pen had many opportunities of seeing his early acquaintances after- 
 wards, and of renewing his relations with Costigan and the old musician. 
 
 As they sate thus in friendly colloquy, men of all sorts and conditions 
 entered and quitted the house of entertainment ; and Pen had the 
 pleasure of seeing as many different persons of his race, as the most 
 eager observer need desire to inspect. Healthy country tradesmen 
 and farmers, in London for their business, came and recreated them- 
 selves with the jolly singing and suppers of the Back Kitchen ; — squads 
 of young apprentices and assistants, the shutters being closed over the 
 scene of their labours, came hither, for fresh air doubtless ; — rakish 
 young medical students, gallant, dashing, what is called loudly " 
 dressed, and (must it be owned ?) somewhat dirty, — were here smoking 
 and drinking, and vociferously applauding the songs ; — young Uni- 
 versity bucks were to be found here too, with that indescribable genteel 
 simper which is only learned at the knees of Alma Mater ; — and hand- 
 some young guardsmen, and florid bucks from the St. James's Street 
 Clubs ; — nay, senators English and Irish — and even members of the 
 House of Peers. 
 
 The bass singer had made an immense hit with his song of ^^The 
 Body Snatcher," and the town rushed to listen to it. A curtain drew 
 aside, and Mr. Hodgen appeared in the character of the Snatcher, 
 sitting on a coffin, with a flask of gin before him, with a spade, and a 
 candle stuck in a skull. The song was sung with a really admirable 
 terrific humour. The singer's voice went down so low, that its grumbles 
 rumbled into the hearer s awe-stricken soul ; and in the chorus he 
 clamped with his spade, and gave a demoniac ^' Ha ! ha ! " which caused 
 the very glasses to quiver on the table, as with terror. None of the 
 other singers, not even Cutts himself, as that high-minded man owned, 
 could stand up before the Snatcher, and he commonly used to retire to 
 Mrs. Cutts's private apartments, or into the bar, before that fatal song 
 extinguished him. Poor Cos's ditty, ^^The Little Doodeen," which 
 Bows accompanied charmingly on the piano, was sung but to a few 
 admirers, who might choose to remain after the tremendous resurrec- 
 tionist chant. The room was commonly emptied after that, or only left 
 in possession of a very few and persevering votaries of pleasure. 
 
 Whilst Pen and his friend were sitting here together one night, or 
 rather morning, two habitues of the house entered almost together. 
 
 Mr. Hoolan and Mr. Doolan," whispered Warrington to Pen, saluting 
 these gentlemen, and in the latter Pen recognised his friend of the 
 Alacrity coach, who could not dine with Pen on the day on which the 
 latter had invited him, being compelled by his professional duties to 
 decline dinner-engagements on Fridays, he had stated, with his compli- 
 ments to Mr. Pendennis. 
 
 Doolan's paper, the Dawn, was lying on the table much bestained 
 by porter, and cheek-by-jowl with Hoolan's paper, which we shall 
 call the Day ; the Dawn was Liberal — the Day was ultra-Conservative. 
 
234 PENDENNIS 
 
 Many of our journals are officered by Irish gentlemen, and their gallant 
 brigade does the penning among us, as their ancestors used to transact 
 the fighting in Europe ; and engage under many a flag, to be good 
 friends when the battle is over. 
 
 Kidneys, John, and a glass of stout, says Hoolan. How are 
 you, Morgan ? how's Mrs. Doolan ? " . , , , , 
 
 Doing pretty well, thank ye, Mick, my boy— faith she s accustomed 
 to it," said Doolan. How's the lady that owns ye } Maybe Til step 
 down Sunday, and have a glass of punch, Kilburn way. 
 
 Don't bring Patsey with you, Morgan, for our Georgy s got the 
 measles," said the friendly Mick, and they straightway fell to talk 
 about matters connected with their trade— about the foreign mails— 
 about who was correspondent at Paris, and who wrote from Madrid— 
 about the expense the Morning Journal was at in sending couriers, about 
 the circulation of the Evening Star, and so forth. 
 
 Warrington, laughing, took the Dawn, which was lying before him, 
 and pointed to one of the leading articles in that journal, which com- 
 menced thus — . , J IX 
 
 As rogues of note in former days who had some wicked work to 
 perform,— an enemy to put out of the way, a quantity of false coin to 
 be passed, or a lie to be told, or a murder to be done,— employed a 
 professional perjurer or assassin to do the work, which they were them- 
 selves too notorious or too cowardly to execute,— our notorious contem- 
 porary, the Day, engages smashers out of doors to utter forgeries against 
 individuals, and calls in auxiliary cut-throats to murder the reputation 
 of those who offend him. A black-vizarded ruffian (whom we will un- 
 mask), who signs the forged name of Trefoil, is at present one of the 
 chief bravoes and bullies in our contemporary's estabhshment. He is 
 the eunuch who brings the bowstring, and strangles at the order of the 
 Day. We can convict this cowardly slave, and propose to do so. The 
 charge which he has brought against Lord Bangbanagher, because he 
 is a Liberal Irish peer, and against the Board of Poor Law Guardians 
 of the Bangbanagher Union, is," &c. , ^„ ^ T»/r 
 
 " How did they like the article at your place, Mick ? asked Morgan ; 
 when the Captain puts his hand to it he's a tremendous hand at a 
 smasher. He wrote the article in two hours— in— whew— you know 
 where, while the boy was waiting." 
 
 ^^Our governor thinks the public don't mind a straw about these 
 newspaper rows, and has told the Docther to stop answering," said the 
 other. ^^Them two talked it out together in my room. The Docther 
 would have liked a turn, for he says it's such easy writing, and requires 
 no reading up of a subject : but the governor put a stopper on him. 
 '^^The taste for eloquence is going out, Mick," said Morgan. 
 ^^'Deed then it is, Morgan," said Mick. ^^That was fine writing 
 when the Docther wrote in the Phaynix, and he and Condy Rooney 
 blazed away at each other day after day." 
 
 And with powder and shot, too, as well as paper, said Morgan. 
 Faith, the Docther was out twice, and Condy Rooney winged his man. ^^ 
 ^^They are talking about Doctor Boyne and Captain Shandon, 
 Warrington said, who are the two Irish controversialists of the Dawn 
 and the Day, Doctor Boyne being the Protestant champion, and Captam 
 
PENDENNIS 236 
 
 Shandon the Liberal orator. They are the best friends in the world, I 
 believe, in spite of their newspaper controversies ; and though they cry 
 out against the English for abusing their country, by Jove, they abuse 
 it themselves more in a single article than we should take the panis to 
 do in a dozen volumes. How are you, Doolan?" , t i x 
 
 Your servant, Mr. Warrington— Mr. Pendennis, I am delighted to 
 have the honour of seeing ye again. The night's journey on the top of 
 the Alacrity was one of the most agreeable I ever enjoyed m my lite, and 
 it was your liveliness and urbanity that made the trip so charming. 1 
 have often thought over that happy night, sir, and talked over it to Mrs. 
 Doolan. 1 have seen your elegant young friend, Mr. Foker, too, here, 
 sir, not unfrequently. He is an occasional frequenter of this hostelry, 
 and a right good one it is. Mr. Pendennis, when I saw you I was on 
 the Tom and Jerry weekly paper ; I have now the honour to be sub- 
 editor of the Dawn, one of the best written papers of the empire —and 
 he bowed very slightly to Mr. Warrington. His speech was unctuous 
 and measured, his courtesy oriental, his tone, when talking with the two 
 Englishmen, quite different to that with which he spoke to his comrade. 
 
 Why the devil will the fellow compliment so } " growled Warrington, 
 with a sneer which he hardly took the pains to suppress. Psha— 
 who comes here? all Parnassus is abroad to-night: here s Archer. 
 We shall have some fun. Well, Archer, House up ? " 
 
 Haven t been there. I have been," said Archer, with an air of 
 mystery, "where I was wanted. Get me some supper, John— some- 
 thing substantial. I hate your grandees who give you nothing to eat. 
 If it had been at Apsley House, it would have been quite different. 
 The Duke knows what I like, and says to the Groom of the Chambers, 
 ^ Martin, you will have some cold beef, not too much done, and a pint 
 bottle of pale ale, and some brown sherry, ready in my study as usual ; 
 Archer is coming here this evening.' The Duke doesn't eat supper 
 himself, but he likes to see a man enjoy a hearty meal, and he knows 
 that I dine early. A man can t live upon air, be hanged to him." 
 
 " Let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Pendennis," Warrington 
 said, with great gravity. "' Pen, this is Mr. Archer, whom you have 
 heard me talk about. You must know Pen's uncle, the Major, Archer, 
 you who know everybody ? " >» a i, 
 
 " Dined with him the day before yesterday at Gaunt House, Archer 
 said. " We were four— the French Ambassador, Steyne, and we two 
 
 commoners." , i x i, 4. 
 
 " Why, my uncle is in Scot " Pen was going to break out, but 
 
 Warrington pressed his foot under the table as a signal for him to be quiet. 
 
 " It was about the same business that I have been to the palace to- 
 night," Archer went on simply, " and where I've been kept four hours, 
 in an anteroom, with nothing but yesterday's Times, which I knew by 
 heart, as I wrote three of the leading articles myself ; and though the 
 Lord Chamberlain came in four times, and once holding the royal tea- 
 cup and saucer in his hand, he did not so much as say to me, ^ Archer, 
 will you have a cup of tea 
 
 " Indeed ! what is in the wind now } " asked Warrington— and turn- 
 ing to Pen, added, " You know, I suppose, that when there is anything 
 wrong at Court they always send for Archer } '* 
 
236 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 There is something wrong," said Mr. Archer^ and as the story 
 will be all over the town in a day or two_, I don't mind telling it. At 
 the last Chantilly races_, where I rode Brian Boru for my old friend the 
 Duke de St. Cloud — the old King said to me, ^Archer, I'm uneasy 
 about St. Cloud. I have arranged his marriage with the Princess 
 Marie Cune'gonde ; the peace of Europe depends upon it — for Russia 
 will declare war if the marriage does not take place, and the young fool 
 is so mad about Madame Massena, Marshal Massena's wife, that he 
 actually refuses to be a party to the marriage. ' Well, sir, I spoke to 
 St. Cloud, and having got him into pretty good humour by winning 
 the race, and a good bit of money into the bargain, he said to me, 
 ^ Archer, tell the Governor I'll think of it. ' " 
 
 How do you say Governor in French ? " asked Pen, who piqued 
 himself on knowing that language. 
 
 Oh, we speak in English — I taught him when we were boys, and I 
 saved his life at Twickenham, when he fell out of a punt," Archer said. 
 
 I shall never forget the Queen's looks as I brought him out of the 
 water. She gave me this diamond ring, and always calls me Charles 
 to this day." 
 
 Madame Massena must be rather an old woman. Archer," 
 Warrington said. 
 
 Dev'lish old — old enough to be his grandmother ; I told him so," 
 Archer answered at once. But those attachments for old women are 
 the deuce and all. That's what the King feels : that's what shocks the 
 poor Queen so much. They went away from Paris last Tuesday night, 
 and are living at this present moment at Jaunay's Hotel." 
 
 Has there been a private marriage. Archer r " asked Warrington. 
 
 Whether there has or not I don't know,"" Mr. Archer replied ; all 
 I know is that I was kept waiting four hours at the palace ; that I never 
 saw a man in such a state of agitation as the King of Belgium when 
 he came out to speak to me, and that I'm devilish hungry — and here 
 comes some supper." 
 
 He has been pretty well to-night," said Warrington, as the pair 
 went home together : ^'^ but I have known him in much greater force, 
 and keeping a whole room in a state of wonder. Put aside his archery 
 practice, that man is both able and honest — a good man of business, an 
 excellent friend, admirable to his family as husband, father, and son." 
 
 What is it makes him pull the long bow in that wonderful manner.^" 
 ^^An amiable insanity," answered Warrington. ^^He never did 
 anybody harm by his talk, or said evil of anybody. He is a stout 
 politician, too, and would never write a word or do an act against his 
 party, as many of us do." 
 
 ^^Of us I Who are we?** asked Pen. ^^Of what profession is Mr. 
 Archer ? " 
 
 ^^Of the Corporation of the Goosequill — of the Press, my boy," 
 said Warrington ; of the fourth estate. " 
 
 Are you, too, of the craft then ? " Pendennis said. 
 
 We will talk about that another time," answered the other. They 
 were passing through the Strand as they talked, and by a newspaper 
 office, which was all lighted up and bright. Reporters were coming 
 out of the place, or rushing up to it in cabs ; there were lamps burning 
 
P£NDENNIS 
 
 237 
 
 in the editor's rooms, and above whei c?. the compositors were at work : 
 the windows of the building were in a bW^ of gas. 
 
 Look at that. Pen/' Warrington said. There she is— the great 
 engine — she never sleeps. She has her ambassadors in every quarter 
 of the world — her couriers upon every road. Her officers march along 
 with armies, and her envoys walk into statesmen's cabinets. They are 
 ubiquitous. Yonder journal has an agent, at this minute, giving 
 bribes at Madrid ; and another inspecting the price of potatoes in 
 Covent Garden. Look ! here comes the Foreign Express galloping in. 
 They will be able to give news to Downing Street to-morrow : funds will 
 rise or fall, fortunes be made or lost ; Lord B. will get up, and, holding 
 the paper in his hand, and seeing the noble Marquis in his place, will 
 make a great speech ; and — and Mr. Doolan will be called away from 
 his supper at the Back Kitchen ; for he is foreign sub-editor, and sees 
 the mail on the newspaper sheet before he goes to his own. *' 
 
 And so talking, the friends tui-ned into their chambers, as the dawn 
 was beginning to peep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 IN WHICH THE PRINTER S DEVIL COMES TO THE DOOR 
 
 Pen, in the midst of his revels and enjoyments, humble as they were, 
 and moderate in cost if not in kind, saw an awful sword hanging over 
 him which must drop down before long and put an end to his frolics 
 and feasting. His money was very nearly spent. His club subscrip- 
 tion had carried away a third part of it. He had paid for the chief 
 articles of furniture with which he had supplied his little bedroom : in 
 fine, he was come to the last five-pound note in his pocket-book, and 
 could think ot no method of providing a successor : for our friend had 
 been bred up like a young prince as yet, or as a child in arms whom 
 his mother feeds when it cries out. 
 
 Warrington did not know what his comrade's means were. An only 
 child with a mother at her country house, and an old dandy of an 
 uncle who dined with a great man every day. Pen might have a large 
 hank at his command for anything that the other knew. He had gold 
 chains and a dressing-case fit for a lord. His habits were those of an 
 aristocrat, — not that he was expensive upon any particular point, for 
 he dined and laughed over the pint of porter and the plate of beef 
 from the cook's shop with perfect content and good appetite, — but he 
 could not adopt the penny-wise precautions of life. He could not give 
 twopence to a waiter ; he could not refrain from taking a cab if he had 
 a mind to do so, or if it rained, and as surely as he took the cab he 
 overpaid the driver. He had a scorn for cleaned gloves and minor 
 economies. Had he been bred to ten thousand a year he could scarcely 
 have been more free-handed ; and for a beggar, with a sad story, or a 
 couple of pretty piteous-faced children, he never could resist putting 
 his hand into his pocket. It was a sumptuous nature, perhaps, that 
 could not be brought to regard money ; a natural generosity and 
 
238 
 
 PENDEiVl>JIS 
 
 1 
 
 kindness ; and possibly a petty vanity that was pleased with praise, 
 even with the praise of waiters and cabmen. I doubt whether the 
 wisest of us know what oar own motives are, and whether some of the 
 actions of which we are the very proudest will not surprise us when 
 we trace them, as we shall one day, to their source. 
 
 Warrington then did not know, and Pen had not thought proper to 
 confide to hk friend, his pecuniary history. That Pen had been wild 
 an r1 wicl odiy extravagant at College, the other was aware; everybody 
 at (^rdlege was extravagant and wild ; but how great the son's expenses 
 had bf3en, and how small the mother's means, were points which had 
 not been as yet submitted to Mr. Warrington's examination. 
 
 At last the story came out, while Pen was grimly surveying the 
 change for the last five-pound note, as it lay upon the tray from the 
 public-house by Mr. Warrington's pot of ale. 
 
 It is the last rose of summer," said Pen ; its blooming companions 
 have gone long ago ; and behold the last one of the garland has shed 
 its leaves ; " and he told Warrington the whole story which we know 
 of his mother's means, of his own follies, of Laura's generosity ; during 
 which time Warrington smoked his pipe and listened intent. 
 
 Impecuniosity will do you good," Pen's friend said, knocking out 
 the ashes at the end of the narration ; I don't know anything more 
 wholesome for a man — for an honest man, mind you — for another, the 
 medicine loses its effect — than a state of tick. It is an alterative and 
 a tonic ; it keeps your moral man in a perpetual state of excitement ; 
 as a man who is riding at a fence, or has his opponent's single-stick 
 before him, is forced to look his obstacle steadily in the face, and brace 
 himself to repulse or overcome it ; a little necessity brings out your 
 pluck if you have any, and nerves you to grapple with fortune. You 
 will discover what a number of things you can do without when you 
 have no money to buy them. You won't want new gloves and varnished 
 boots, eau-de-Cologne, and cabs to ride in. You have been bred up as 
 a molly-coddle. Pen, and spoilt by the women. A single man who has 
 health and brains, and can't find a livelihood in the world, doesn't 
 deserve to stay there. Let him pay his last halfpenny and jump over 
 Waterloo Bridge. Let him steal a leg of mutton and be transported 
 and get out of the country — he is not fit to live in it. Dixi ; I have 
 spoken. Give us another pull at the pale ale." 
 
 You have certainly spoken; but how is one to live.^" said Pen. 
 There is beef and bread in plenty in England, but you must pay for 
 it with work or money. And who will take my work ? and what work 
 can I do ? " 
 
 Warrington burst out laughing. ^"^ Suppose we advertise in the 
 Tmies" he said, ^^for an usher's place at a classical and commercial 
 academy— A gentleman, B.A. of St. Boniface College, Oxbridge, and 
 
 who was plucked for his degree " 
 
 Confound you ! " cried Pen. 
 
 <^ — Wishes to give lessons in classics and mathematics, and the 
 rudiments of the French language; he can cut hair, attend to the 
 younger pupils, and play a second on the piano with the daughters of 
 the principal. Address A. P., Lamb Courts Temple." 
 Go on," said Pen, growling. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 239 
 
 " Men take to all sorts of professions. Why, there is your friend 
 Bloundell — Bloundell is a professional blackleg, and travels the Con- 
 tinent, where he picks up young gentlemen of fashion and fleeces 
 them. There is Bob O'Toole, with whom I was at school, who drives 
 the Ballynafad mail now, and carries honest Jack Finucane's own 
 correspondence to that city. I know a man, sir, a doctor's son, like 
 — well, don't be angry, I meant nothing ofi*ensive — a doctor s son, I 
 say, who was walking the hospitals here, and quarrelled with his 
 governor on questions of finance, and what did he do when he came 
 to his last five-pound note ? he let his mustachios grow, went into a 
 provincial town, where he announced himself as Professor Spineto, 
 chiropodist to the Emperor of All the Russias, and by a happy opera- 
 tion on the editor of the county newspaper, established himself in 
 practice, and lived reputably for three years. He has been reconciled 
 to his family, and has now succeeded to his father's gallipots. '* 
 
 Hang gallipots !" cried Pen. I can't drive a coach, cut corns, 
 or cheat at cards. There's nothing else you propose ? " 
 
 ^*^Yes; there's our own correspondent," Warrington said. Every 
 man has his secrets, look you. Before you told me the story of your 
 money-matters, I had no idea but that you were a gentleman of 
 fortune, for, with your confounded airs and appearance, anybody would 
 suppose you to be so. From what you tell me about your mother's 
 income, it is clear that you must not lay any more hands on it. You 
 can't go on sponging upon the women. You must pay off that trump 
 of a girl. Laura is her name } — here's your health, Laura ! — and carry 
 a hod rather than ask for a shilling from home." 
 But how earn one ? " asked Pen. 
 
 How do I live, think you ? " said the other. On my younger 
 brother's allowance, Pendennis? I have secrets of my own, my boy ; " 
 and here Warrington's countenance fell. ^^I made away with that 
 allowance five years ago : if I had made away with myself a little time 
 before, it would have been better. I have played off my own bat, ever 
 since. I don't want much money. When my purse is out, 1 go to 
 work and fill it, and then lie idle like a serpent or an Indian, until 1 
 have digested the mass. Look, 1 begin to feel empty," Warrington 
 said, and showed Pen a long lean purse, with but a few sovereigns at 
 one end of it. 
 
 But how do you fill it " said Pen. 
 
 " I write," said Warrington. I don't tell the world that I do so," 
 he added with a blush. I do not choose that questions should be 
 asked : or, perhaps, I am an ass, and don't wish it to be said that 
 George Warrington writes for bread. But I write in the Law Reviews : 
 look here, these articles are mine." And he turned over some sheet's. 
 
 I write in a newspaper now and then, of which a friend of mine is 
 editor." And Warrington going with Pendennis to the club one day, 
 called for a file of the Dawn, and pointed with his finger silently to 
 one or two articles, which Pen read with delight. He had no diflftculty 
 in recognising the style afterwards — the strong thoughts and curt 
 periods, the sense, the satire, and the scholarship. 
 
 I am not up to this," said Pen, with a genuine admiration of his 
 friend's powers. I know very little about politics or history. War- 
 
240 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 rington ; and have but a smattering of letters. I can't fly upon such 
 a wing as yours. 
 
 ^^But you can on your own, my boy, which is lighter, and soars 
 higher, perhaps," the other said, good-naturedly. Those little scraps 
 and verses which I have seen of yours show me, what is rare in these 
 days, a natural gift, sir. You needn't blush, you conceited young 
 jackanapes. You have thought so yourself any time these ten years. 
 You have got the sacred flame — a little of the real poetical fire, sir, I 
 think ; and all our oil-lamps are nothing, compared to that, though 
 ever so well trimmed. You are a poet, Pen,^my boy,'' and so speaking, 
 Warrington stretch^ out his broad hand," and clapped Pen on the 
 shoulder. r 
 
 Arthur was so delighted that the tears cjme into his eyes. How 
 kind you are to me, Warrington ! " he said. 
 
 I like you, old boy," said the other. I was dev'lish lonely in 
 chambers and wanted somebody, and the sight of your honest face 
 somehow pleased me. I liked the way you laughed at Lowton — that 
 poor good little snob. And, in fine, the reason why I cannot tell — 
 but so it is, young 'un. I'm alone in the world, sir, and I wanted some 
 one to keep me company ; " and a glance of extreme kindness and 
 melancholy passed out of Warrington's dark eyes. 
 
 Pen was too much pleased with his own thoughts to perceive the 
 sadness of the friend who was complimenting him. Thank you, 
 Warrington," he said, thank you for your friendship to me, and — 
 and what you say about me. I have often thought I was a poet. I 
 will be one — I think I am one, as you say so, though the world mayn't. 
 Is it — is it the Ariadne in Naxos which you liked (I was only eighteen 
 when I wrote it), or the Prize Poem } " 
 
 Warrington burst into a roar of laughter. ^^Why, you young 
 goose," he yelled out — of all the miserable weak rubbish I ever tried, 
 Ariadne in Naxos is the most mawkish and disgusting. The Prize 
 Poem is so pompous and feeble, that I'm positively surprised, sir, it 
 didn't get the medal. You don't suppose that you are a serious poet, 
 do you, and are going to cut out Milton and iEschylus.^ Are you 
 setting up to be a Pindar, you absurd little tom-tit, and fancy you have 
 the strength and pinion which the Theban eagles bear, sailing with 
 supreme dominion through the azure fields of air.^ No, my boy, I 
 think you can write a magazine article, and turn out a pretty copy of 
 verses ; that's what I think of you. " 
 
 ^^By Jove !" said Pen, bouncing up and stamping his foot, ^^I'll 
 show you that I am a better man than you think for. " 
 
 Warrington only laughed the more, and blew twenty-four puffs 
 rapidly out of his pipe by way of reply to Pen. 
 
 An opportunity for showing his skill presented itself before very long. 
 That eminent publisher, Mr. Bacon (formerly Bacon and Bungay) of 
 Paternoster Row, besides being the proprietor of the Legal Review, in 
 which Mr. Warrington wrote, and of other periodicals of note and 
 gravity, used to present to the world every year a beautiful gilt volume 
 called the Spring Annual," edited by the Lady Violet Lebas, and 
 numbering amongst its contributors not only the most eminent, but 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 241 
 
 the most fashionable, poets of our time. Young Lord Dodo's poems 
 first appeared in this miscellany— the Honourable Percy Popjoy, whose 
 chivalrous ballads have obtained him such a reputation — Bedwin Sands's 
 Eastern Ghazuls, and many more of the works of our young nobles, 
 were first given to the world in the Spring Annual," which has since 
 shared the fate of other vernal blossoms, and perished out of the world. 
 The book was daintily illustrated with pictures of reigning beauties, or 
 other prints of a tender and voluptuous character ; and as these plates 
 were prepared long beforehand, requiring much time in engraving, it 
 was the eminent poets who had to write to the plates, and not the 
 painters who illustrated the poems. 
 
 One day, just when this volume was on the eve of publication, it 
 chanced that Mr. Warrington called in Paternoster Row to talk with 
 Mr. Hack, Mr. Bacon's reader and general manager of publications — 
 for Mr. Bacon, not having the least taste in poetry or in literature 
 of any kind, wisely employed the services of a professional gentle- 
 man. Warrington, then, going into Mr. Hack's room on business 
 of his own, found that gentleman with a number of proof plates 
 and sheets of the Spring Annual" before him, and glanced at 
 some of them. 
 
 Percy Popjoy had written some verses to illustrate one of the pictures, 
 which was called the Church Porch. A Spanish damsel was hastening 
 to church with a large prayer-book ; a youth in a cloak was hidden in 
 a niche watching this young woman. The picture was pretty : but 
 the great genius of Percy Popjoy had deserted him, for he had made 
 the most execrable verses which ever were perpetrated by a young 
 nobleman. 
 
 Warrington burst out laughing as he read the poem : and Mr. Hack 
 laughed too, but with rather a rueful face. It won't do," he said, 
 
 the public won't stand it. Bungay's people are going to bring out 
 a very good book, and have set up Miss Bunion against Lady Violet. 
 ^Ve have most titles to be sure — but the verses are too bad. Lady 
 Violet herself owns it ; she's busy with her own poem ; what's to be 
 done.f* We can't lose the plate. The governor gave sixty pounds 
 for it. " 
 
 I know a fellow who would do some verses, I think," said 
 Warrington. Let me take the plate home in my pocket ; and send 
 to my chambers in the morning for the verses. You'll pay well, of 
 course ? " 
 
 Of course," said Mr. Hack ; and Warrington, having despatched 
 his own business, went home to Mr. Pen, plate in hand. 
 
 Now, boy, here's a chance for you. Turn me off a copy of verses 
 to this." 
 
 What's this? A Church Porch. — A lady entering it, and a youth 
 out of a wine-shop window ogling her. — What the deuce am I to do 
 with it .'^ " 
 
 ^^Try," said Warrington. ^^Earn your livelihood for once, you 
 who long so to do it." 
 
 Well, I will try," said Pen. 
 
 ^^And I'll go out to dinner," said Warrington, and left Mr. Pen 
 in a brown study. 
 
 Q 
 
242 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 When Warrington came home that night at a very late hour, the 
 verses were done. There they are," said Pen. ^^Iscrev ^^ jm out 
 at last. I think they'll do. " ^ 
 
 I think they will," said Warrington, after reading them. They 
 ran as follows : — 
 
 THE CHURCH PORCH. 
 
 Although I enter not, 
 Yet round about the spot 
 
 Sometimes I hover, 
 And at the sacred gate 
 With longing eyes I wait, 
 
 Expectant of her. 
 
 The Minster bell tolls out 
 Above the city's rout 
 
 And noise and humming : 
 They've stopped the chiming bell, 
 I hear the organ's swell — 
 
 She's coming, she's coming ! 
 
 My lady comes at last, 
 Timid and stepping fast. 
 
 And hastening hither, 
 With modest eyes downcast. 
 She comes — she's here — she's past. 
 
 May Heaven go with her ! 
 
 Kneel undisturb'd, fair saint, 
 Pour out your praise or plaint 
 
 Meekly and duly. 
 I will not enter there, 
 To sully your pure prayer 
 
 With thoughts unruly. 
 
 But suffer me to pace r\ 
 Round the forbidden place, 
 
 Lingering a minute, 
 Like outcast spirits, who wait, 
 And see through Heaven's gate 
 
 Angels within it. 
 
 *'^Have you got any more, young fellow.^" asked Warrington. 
 
 We must make them give you a couple of guineas a page ; and if 
 the verses are liked, why, you'll get an entree into Bacon's magazines, 
 and may turn a decent penny." 
 
 Pen examined his portfolio and found another ballad which he 
 thought might figure with advantage in the Spring Annual," and 
 consigning these two precious documents to Warrington, the pair 
 walked from the Temple to the famous haunt of the Muses and their 
 masters. Paternoster Row. Bacon's shop was an ancient low-browed 
 building with a few of the books published by the firm displayed in 
 the windows, under a bust of my Lord of Verulam, and the name of 
 Mr. Bacon in brass on the private door. Exactly opposite to Bacon's 
 house was that of Mr. Bungay, which was newly painted and elabor- 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 248 
 
 ately decorated in the style of the seventeenth century, so that you might 
 have fancied stately Mr. Evelyn passing over the threshold, or curious 
 Mr. Pepys examining the books in the window. Warrington went 
 into the shop of Mr. Bacon, but Pen stayed without. It was agreed 
 that his ambassador should act for him entirely ; and the young fellow 
 paced up and down the street in a very nervous condition until he 
 should learn the result of the negotiation. Many a poor devil before 
 him has trodden those flags, with similar cares and anxieties at his 
 heels, his bread and his tame dependent upon the sentence of his 
 
 j magnanimous patrons of the Row. Pen looked at all the windows of 
 all the shops ; and the strange variety of literature which they exhibit. 
 In this were displayed black-letter volumes and books in the clear pale 
 types of Aldus and Elzevir : in the next, you might see the Penny 
 Horrific Register ; " the Halfpenny Annals of Crime," and History 
 
 ' of the most celebrated Murderers of all Countries,'' ^^The Raff's 
 Magazine," The Larky Swell," and other publications of the penny 
 
 j press ; whilst at the next window, portraits of ill-favoured individuals, 
 with facsimiles of the venerated signatures of the Reverend Grimes 
 Wapshot, the Reverend Elias Howie, and the works written and the 
 sermons preached by them, showed the British Dissenter where he 
 could find mental pabulum. Hard by would be a little casement hung 
 with emblems, with medals and rosaries, with little paltry prints of 
 saints gilt and painted, and books of controversial theology, by which 
 the faithful of the Roman opinion might learn a short way to deal 
 with Protestants, at a penny a piece, or ninepence the dozen for dis- 
 tribution ; whilst in the very next window you might see Come 
 out of Rome," a sermon preached at the opening of the Shepherd's 
 Bush College, by John Thomas, Lord Bishop of Ealing. Scarce 
 an opinion but has its expositor and its place of exhibition in this 
 peaceful old Paternoster Row, under the toll of the bells of Saint 
 Paul. 
 
 Pen looked in at all the windows and shops, as a gentleman, who is 
 going to have an interview with the dentist, examines the books on the 
 waiting-room table. He remembered them afterwards. It seemed to 
 \ him that Warrington would never come out; and indeed the latter 
 was engaged for some time in pleading his friend's cause. 
 
 Pen's natural conceit would have swollen immensely if he could but 
 have heard the report which Warrington gave of him. It happened 
 I that Mr. Bacon himself had occasion to descend to Mr. Hack's room 
 whilst^ Warrington w^as talking there, and Warrington, knowing 
 Bacon's weaknesses, acted upon them with great adroitness in his 
 friend's behalf. In the first place, he put on his hat to speak to 
 Bacon, and addressed him from the table, on which he seated himself. 
 ! Bacon liked to be treated with rudeness by a gentleman, and used to 
 1 pass it on to his inferiors as boys pass the mark. What ! not know 
 Mr. Pendennis, Mr. Bacon?" Warrington said. '^'^You can't live 
 much in the world, or you would know him. A man of property in 
 j the West, of one of the most ancient families in England, related to 
 1 half the nobility in the empire — he's cousin to Lord Pontypool — he 
 I was one of the most distinguished men at Oxbridge ; he dines at Gaunt 
 House every week/' 
 
 4i 
 
244 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Law bless me^ you don*t say so^ sir. Well — really — Law bless me 
 now," said Mr. Bacon. 
 
 ^^I have just been showing Mr. Hack some of his verses, which he 
 sat up last night, at my request, to write ; and Hack talks about giving 
 him a copy of the book — the what-d'you-call-'em." 
 
 ^^Law bless me now, does he.^* The what-d'you-call-'em. In- 
 deed ! " 
 
 The ^ Spring Annual ' is its name, — as payment for these verses. 
 You don't suppose that such a man as Mr. Arthur Pendennis gives up 
 a dinner at Gaunt House for nothing ? You know, as well as anybody, 
 that the men of fashion want to be paid." 
 
 That they do, Mr. Warrington, sir," said the publisher. 
 
 I tell you he's a star ; he'll make a name, sir. He's a new man, 
 
 sir. " 
 
 They've said that of so many of those young swells, Mr. War- 
 rington," the publisher interposed with a sigh. There was Lord 
 Viscount Dodo, now : I gave his Lordship a good bit of money for his 
 poems, and only sold eighty copies. Mr. Popjoy's ^ Hadgincourt,' sir, 
 fell dead." 
 
 Well, then, I'll take my man over to Bungay," Warrington said, 
 and rose from the table. This threat was too much for Mr. Bacon, 
 who was instantly ready to accede to any reasonable proposal of Mr. 
 Warrington's, and finally asked his manager what those proposals 
 were. When he heard that the negotiation only related as yet to a 
 couple of ballads, which Mr. Warrington offered for the Spring 
 Annual," Mr. Bacon said, ^^Law bless you, give him a cheque directly;" 
 and with this paper Warrington went out to his friend, and placed it, 
 grinning, in Pen's hands. Pen was as elated as if somebody had left him 
 a fortune. He offered Warrington a dinner at Richmond instantly. 
 
 What should he go and buy for Laura and his mother? He must 
 buy something for them. " 
 
 ^'^ They'll like the book better than anything else," said Warrington, 
 ^^with the young one's name to the verses, printed among the 
 swells." 
 
 Thank God ; thank God ! " cried Arthur, I needn't be a charge 
 upon the old mother. I can pay off Laura now. I can get my own 
 living. I can make my own way." 
 
 I can marry the grand vizier's daughter ; I can purchase a house 
 in Belgrave Square ; I can build a fine castle in the air ; " said 
 Warrington, pleased with the other's exultation. ^^Well, you may 
 get bread and cheese. Pen : and I own it tastes well, the bread which 
 you earn your.self." 
 
 They had a magnum of claret at dinner at the club that day, at 
 Pen's charges. It was long since he had indulged in such a luxury, 
 but Warrington would not balk him : and they drank together to the 
 health of the Spring Annual." 
 
 It never rains but it pours, according to the proverb ; so very 
 speedily another chance occurred, by which Mr. Pen was to be helped 
 in his scheme of making a livelihood. Warrington one day threw him 
 a letter across the table, which was brought by a printer's boy, from 
 Captain Shandon, sir " — the little emissary said ; and then went and 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 245 
 
 fell asleep on his accustomed bench in the passage. He paid many a 
 subsequent visit there^ and brought many a message to Pen. 
 
 p., Tuesday Morning. 
 
 "My dear Sir,— Bungay will be here to-day about the Pall Mall Gazette. 
 You would be the very man to help us with a genuine West End article— yon 
 
 understand— dashing, trenchant, and d aristocratic. Lady Hipshaw will 
 
 write : but she's not much, you know, and we've two lords ; but the less they do 
 the better. We must have you. We'll give you your own terms, and we'll 
 make a hit with the Gazette. 
 
 " Shall B. come and see you, or can you look in upon me here ?— Ever yours. 
 
 Some more opposition/' Warrington said, when Pen had read the 
 note. Bungay and Bacon are at daggers' drawn ; each married the 
 sister of the other, and they were for some time the closest friends and 
 partners. Hack says it was Mrs. Bungay who caused all the mischief 
 between the two; whereas Shandon, who reads for Bungay a good 
 deal, says Mvs. Bacon did the business; but I dont know which is 
 right. Peach um or Lockit. Since they have separated, it is a furious 
 war between the two publishers ; and no sooner does one bring out 
 a book of travels, or poems, a magazine or periodical, quarterly, or 
 monthly, or weekly, or annual, but the rival is in the field with some- 
 thing similar. I have heard poor Shandon tell with great glee how 
 he made Bungay give a grand dinner at Blackwall to all his writers, 
 by saying that Bacon had invited his corps to an entertainment at 
 Greenwich. When Bungay engaged your celebrated friend Mr. Wagg 
 to edit the Londoner^ Bacon straightway rushed off and secured Mr. 
 Grindle to give his name to the Westminster Magazine. When Bacon 
 brought out his comic Irish novel of ^Barney Brallagan,' off went 
 Bungay to Dublin, and produced his rollicking Hibernian story of 
 ^ Looney MacTwolter.' When Doctor Hicks brought out his ^ Wander- 
 ings in Mesopotamia' under Bacons auspices, Bungay produced Pro- 
 fessor Sadiman's ^ Researches in Zahara ; " and Bungay is publishing 
 his Pall Mall Gazette as a counterpoise to Bacon s Whitehall Review. 
 Let us go and hear about the Gazette. There may be a place for you 
 in it. Pen, my boy. We will go and see Shandon. We are sure to 
 find him at home." 
 
 Where does ho live } " asked Pen. 
 
 the Fleet Prison," Warrington said. "And very much at 
 home he is there, too. He is the king of the place." 
 
 Pen had never seen this scene of London life, and walked with no 
 small interest in at the grim gate of that dismal edifice. They went 
 through the anteroom, where the officers and janitors of the place 
 were seated, and passing in at the wicket, entered the prison. The 
 noise and the crowd, the life and the shouting, the shabby bustle of 
 the place, struck and excited Pen. People moved about ceaselessly 
 and restless, like caged animals in a menagerie. Men were playing at 
 fives. Others pacing and tramping : this one in colloquy with his 
 lawyer in dingy black — that one walking sadly, with his wife by his 
 side, and a child on his arm. Some were arrayed in tattered dressing- 
 
246 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 gowns^ and had a look of rakish fashion. Everybody seemed to be 
 busy, humming, and on the move. Pen felt as if he choked in the 
 place, and as if the door being locked upon him they never would let 
 him out. 
 
 They went through a court up a stone staircase, and through 
 passages full of people, and noise, and cross lights, and black doors 
 clapping and banging ; — Pen feeling as one does in a feverish morning 
 dream. At last the same little runner who had brought Shandon's 
 note, and had followed them down Fleet Street munching apples, and 
 who showed the way to the two gentlemen through the prison, said, 
 ^^This is the Captain's door," and Mr. Shandon's voice from within 
 bade them enter. 
 
 The room, though bare, was not uncheerful. The sun was shining 
 in at the window — near which sate a lady at work, who had been gay 
 and beautiful once, but in whose faded face kindness and tenderness 
 still beamed. Through all his errors and reckless mishaps and mis- 
 fortunes, this faithful creature adored her husband, and thought him 
 the best and cleverest, as indeed he was one of the kindest of men. 
 Nothing ever seemed to disturb the sweetness of his temper ; not debts : 
 not duns : not misery : not the bottle : not his wife's unhappy position, 
 or his children's ruined chances. He was perfectly fond of wife and 
 children after his fashion : he always had the kindest words and smiles 
 for them, and ruined them with the utmost sweetness of temper. He 
 never could refuse himself or any man any enjoyment which his money 
 could purchase; he would share his last guinea with Jack and Tom, 
 and we may be sure he had a score of such retainers. He would sign 
 his name at the back of any man's bill, and never pay any debt of his 
 own. He would write on any side, and attack himself or another man 
 with equal indifference. He was one of the wittiest, the most amiable, 
 and the most incorrigible of Irishmen. Nobody could help liking 
 Charley Shandon who saw him once, and those whom he ruined could 
 scarcely be angry with him. 
 
 When Pen and Warrington arrived, the Captain (he had been in 
 an Irish militia regiment once, and the title remained with him) was 
 sitting on his bed in a torn dressing-gown, with a desk on his knees, 
 at which he was scribbling as fast as his rapid pen could write. Slip 
 after slip of paper fell off the desk wet on to the ground. A picture 
 of his children was hung up over his bed, and the youngest of them 
 was pattering about the room. 
 
 Opposite the Captain sate Mr. Bungay, a portly man of stolid coun- 
 tenance, with whom the little child had been trying a conversation. 
 Papa's a very clever man," said she ; mamma says so." 
 Oh, very," said Mr. Bungay. 
 
 ^^And you're a very rich man, Mr. Bundy," cried the child, who 
 could hardly speak plain. 
 
 Mary ! " said mamma, from her work. 
 
 Oh, never mind," Bungay roared out with a great laugh ; no 
 harm in saying I'm rich — he, he — I am pretty well off, my little dear." 
 
 If you're rich, why don't you take papa out of piz'n ? " asked the 
 child. 
 
 Mamma at this began to wipe her eyes with the work on which she 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 247 
 
 was employed. (The poor lady had hung curtains up in the room, 
 had brought the children's picture and placed it there, and had made 
 one or two attempts to ornament it.) Mamma began to cry; Mr. 
 Bungay turned red, and looked fiercely out of his bloodshot little 
 eyes ; Shandon's pen went on, and Pen and Warrington arrived with 
 their knock 
 
 Captain Shandon looked up from his work. How do you do, Mr. 
 Warrington he said. ''^Tll speak to you in a minute. Please sit 
 down, gentlemen, if you can find places," and away went the pen again. 
 
 Warrington pulled forward an old portmanteau— the only available 
 seat— and sate down on it, with a bow to Mrs. Shandon, and a nod to 
 Bungay ; the child came and looked at Pen solemnly ; and in a couple 
 of minutes the swift scribbling ceased ; and Shandon, turning the desk 
 over on the bed, stooped and picked up the papers. 
 
 I think this will do," said he. It's the prospectus for the Pall 
 Mall Gazette.'* 
 
 ''Audi here's the money for it," Mr. Bungay said, laying down a 
 five-pound note. I'm as good as my word, I am. When I say Til 
 pay, I pay." 
 
 Faith, that's more than some of hs can say," said Shandon, and he 
 eagerly clapped the note into his pocket. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXH 
 
 WHICH IS PASSED IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF LUDGATE HILL 
 
 Our imprisoned Captain announced in smart and emphatic language, 
 in his prospectus, that the time had come at last when it was necessary 
 for the gentlemen of England to band together in defence of their 
 common rights and their glorious order, menaced on all sides by foreign 
 revolutions, by intestine radicalism, by the artful calumnies of mill- 
 owners and cotton-lords, and the stupid hostility of the masses whom 
 they gulled and led. ^^The ancient monarchy was insulted," the 
 Captain said, ''by a ferocious republican rabble. The Church was 
 deserted by envious dissent, and undermined by stealthy infidelity. 
 The good institutions, which had made our country glorious, and the 
 name of English Gentlemen the proudest in the world, were left with- 
 out defence, and exposed to assault and contumely from men to whom 
 no sanctuary was sacred, for they believed in nothing holy ; no history 
 venerable, for they were too ignorant to have heard of the past ; and 
 no law was binding which they were strong enough to break, when 
 their leaders gave the signal for plunder. It was because the kings of 
 France mistrusted their gentlemen," Mr. Shandon remarked, ''that 
 the monarchy of Saint Louis went down : it was because the people of 
 England still believed in their gentlemen, that this country encountered 
 and overcame the greatest enemy a nation ever met : it was because 
 we were headed by gentlemen that the Eagles retreated before us from 
 the Douro to the Garonne : it was a gentleman who broke the line at 
 Trafalgar, and swept the plain of Waterloo.** 
 
24B 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Bungay nodded his head in a knowing manner^ and winked his eyes 
 when the Captain came to the Waterloo passage : and Warrington burst 
 out laughing. 
 
 ^^You see how our venerable friend Bungay is affected/' Shandon 
 said^ slily looking up from his papers — that's your true sort of test. 
 I have used the Duke of Wellington and the battle of Waterloo a 
 hundred times : and I never knew the Duke to fail. 
 
 The Captain then went on to confess^ with much candour^ that up to 
 the present time the gentlemen of England^ confident of their rights 
 and careless of those who questioned it^ had left the political interest 
 of their order^ as they did the management of their estates^ or the 
 settlement of their legal affairs^ to persons affected to each peculiar 
 service^ and had permitted their interests to be represented in the press 
 by professional proctors and advocates. That time Shandon professed 
 to consider was now gone by : the gentlemen of England must be their 
 own champions : the declared enemies of their order were brave^ strong, 
 numerous^ and uncompromising. They must meet their foes in the 
 field : they must not be belied and misrepresented by hireling advocates : 
 they must not have Grub Street publishing Gazettes from Whitehall ; 
 
 That's a dig at Bacon's people, Mr. Bungay/' said Shandon, turning 
 round to the publisher. 
 
 Bungay clapped his stick on the floor. Hang him, pitch into him, 
 Capting," he said with exultation : and turning to Warrington, wagged 
 his dull head more vehemently than ever, and said, For a slashing 
 article, sir, there's nobody like the Capting — no-obody like him." 
 
 The prospectus-writer went on to say that some gentlemen, whose 
 names were, for obvious reasons, not brought before the public (at 
 which Mr. Warrington began to laugh again), had determined to bring 
 forward a journal, of which the principles were so and so. These 
 men are proud of their order, and anxious to uphold it," cried out 
 Captain Shandon, flourishing his paper with a grin. They are loyal 
 to their sovereign, by faithful conviction and ancestral allegiance ; they 
 love their Church, where they would have their children worship, and 
 for which their forefathers bled ; they love their country, and would 
 keep it what the gentlemen of England — yes, the gentlemen of England 
 (we'll have that in large caps., Bungay, my boy) have made it — the 
 greatest and freest in the world : and as the names of some of them are 
 
 appended to the deed which secured our liberties at Runnymede " 
 
 What's that } " asked Mr. Bungay. 
 
 An ancestor of mine sealed it with his sword-hilt," Pen said, with 
 great gravity. 
 
 It's the Habeas Corpus, Mr. Bungay," Warrington said, on which 
 the publisher answered, All right, I dare say," and yawned, though he 
 said, ^^Go on, Capting." 
 
 y — at Runnymede; they are ready to defend that freedom to-day 
 with sword and pen, and now, as then, to rally round the old laws and 
 liberties of England. " 
 
 ^^Brayvo !" cried Warrington. The little child stood wondering; 
 the lady was working silently, and looking with fond admiration. 
 " Come here, little Mary," said Warrington, and patted the child's fair 
 curls with his large hand. But she shrank back from his rough caress. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 249 
 
 and preferred to go and take refuge at Pen's knee, and play with his 
 fine watch-chain : and Pen was very much pleased that she came to 
 him ; for he was very soft-hearted and simple, though he concealed his 
 gentleness under a shy and pompous demeanour. So she clambered 
 up on his lap whilst her father continued to read his programme. 
 
 You were laughing," the Captain said to Warrington, about ^ the 
 obvious reasons * which I mentioned. Now, I'll show ye what they are, 
 ye unbelieving heathen. ^ We have said,' " he went on, ^ that we 
 cannot give the names of the parties engaged in this undertaking, and 
 that there were obvious reasons for that concealment. We number 
 influential friends in both Houses of the Senate, and have secured allies 
 in every diplomatic circle in Europe. Our sources of intelligence are 
 such as cannot, by any possibility, be made public — and, indeed, such as 
 no other London or European journal could, by any chance, acquire. 
 But this we are free to say, that the very earliest information con- 
 nected with the movement of English and Continental politics, will be 
 found ONLY in the columns of the Pall Mall Gazette. The Statesman 
 and the Capitalist, the Country Gentleman and the Divine, will be 
 amongst our readers, because our writers are amongst them. We 
 address ourselves to the higher circles of society : we care not to dis- 
 own it — the Pall Mall Gazette is written by gentlemen for gentlemen ; its 
 conductors speak to the classes in which they live and were born. The 
 field-preacher has his journal, the radical freethinker has his journal : 
 why should the gentlemen of England be unrepresented in the Press } ' " 
 
 Mr. Shandon then went on with much modesty to descant upon the 
 literary and fashionable departments of the Pall Mall Gazette y which were 
 to be conducted by gentlemen of acknowledged reputation ; men famous 
 at the Universities (at which Mr. Pendennis could scarcely help laugh- 
 ing and blushing), known at the Clubs and of the Society which they 
 described. He pointed out delicately to advertisers that there would 
 be no such medium as the Pall Mall Gazette for giving publicity to 
 their sales ; and he eloquently called upon the nobility of England, 
 the baronetage of England, the revered clergy of England, the bar of 
 England, the matrons, the daughters, the homes and hearths of England, 
 to rally round the good old cause ; and Bungay at the conclusion of 
 the reading woke up from a second snooze in which he had indulged 
 himself, and again said it was all right. 
 
 The reading of the prospectus concluded, the gentlemen present 
 entered into some details regarding the political and literary manage- 
 ment of the paper, and Mr. Bungay sate by listening and nodding his 
 head, as if he understood what was the subject of their conversation, 
 and approved of their opinions. Bungay's opinions, in truth, were 
 pretty simple. He thought the Captain could write the best smashing 
 article in England. He wanted the opposition house of Bacon smashed, 
 and it was his opinion that the Captain could do that business. If the 
 Captain had written a letter of Junius on a sheet of paper, or copied a 
 part of the Church Catechism, Mr. Bungay would have been perfectly 
 contented, and have considered that the article was a smashing article. 
 And he pocketed the papers with the greatest satisfaction : and he not 
 only paid for the manuscript, as we have seen, but he called little Mary 
 to him, and gave her a penny as he went away. 
 
250 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 The reading of the manuscript over, the party engaged in general 
 conversation, Shandon leading with a jaunty fashionable air in compli- 
 ment to the two guests who sate with him, and who, by their appearance 
 and manner, he presumed to be persons of the beau monde. He knew 
 very little indeed of the great world, but he had seen it, and made the 
 most of what he had seen. He spoke of the characters of the day, 
 and great personages of the fashion, with easy familiarity and jocular 
 allusions, as if it was his habit to live amongst them. He told anecdotes 
 of their private life, and of conversations he had had, and entertain- 
 ments at which he had been present, and at which such and such a 
 thing occurred. Pen was amused to hear the shabby prisoner in a tattered 
 dressing-gown talking glibly about the great of the land. Mrs. Shandon 
 was always delighted when her husband told these tales, and believed 
 in them fondly every one. She did not want to mingle in the fashion- 
 able world herself, she was not clever enough ; but the great Society 
 was the very place for her Charles . he shone in it . he was respected 
 in it. Indeed, Shandon had once been asked to dinner by the Earl 
 of X. ; his wife treasured the invitation-card in her workbox at that 
 very day. 
 
 Mr. Bungay presently had enough of this talk, and got up to take 
 leave, whereupon Warrington and Pen rose to depart with the publisher, 
 though the latter would have liked to stay to make a further acquaint- 
 ance with this family, who interested him and touched him. He said 
 something about hoping for permission to repeat his visit, upon which 
 Shandon, with a rueful grin, said he was always to be found at home, 
 and should be delighted to see Mr. Pennington. 
 
 111 see you to my park-gate, gentlemen," said Captain Shandon, 
 seizing his hat in spite of a deprecatory look and a faint cry of Charles " 
 from Mrs. Shandon. And the Captain, in shabby slippers, shuffled out 
 before his guests, leading the way through the dismal passages of the 
 prison. His hand was already fiddling with his waistcoat pocket, 
 where Bungay's five-pound note was, as he took leave of the three 
 gentlemen at the wicket ; one of them, Mr. Arthur Pendennis, being 
 greatly relieved when he was out of the horrid place, and again freely 
 treading the flags of Farringdon Street. 
 
 Mrs. Shandon sadly went on with her work at the window looking 
 into the court. She saw Shandon with a couple of men at his heels 
 run rapidly in the direction of the prison tavern. She had hoped to 
 have had him to dinner herself that day ; there was a piece of meat, 
 and some salad in a basin, on the ledge outside of* the window of their 
 room, which she had expected that she and little Mary were to share 
 with the child's father. But there was no chance of that now. He 
 would be in that tavern until the hours for closing it ; then he would 
 go and play at cards or drink in some other man's room, and come 
 back silent, with glazed eyes, reeling a little in his walk, that his wife 
 might nurse him. Oh, what varieties of pain do we not make our 
 women suffer ! 
 
 So Mrs. Shandon went to the cupboard, and, in lieu of a dinner, 
 made herself some tea. And in those varieties of pain of which we 
 spoke anon, what a part of confidante has that poor teapot played ever 
 since the kindly plant was introduced among us I What myriads of 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 251 
 
 women have cried over it^ to be sure ! What sick beds it has smoked 
 by ! What fevered lips have received refreshment from out of it ! 
 Nature meant very gently by women when she made that tea-plant. 
 With a little thought what a series of pictures and groups the fancy 
 may conjure up and assemble round the teapot and cup. Melissa and 
 Saccharissa are talking love secrets over it. Poor Polly has it and her 
 lover s letters upon the table ; his letters who was her lover yesterday, 
 and when it was with pleasure^ not despair, she wept over them. Mary 
 comes tripping noiselessly into her mother s bedroom, bearing a cup of 
 the consoler to the widow who will take no other food. Ruth is busy 
 concocting it for her husband, who is coming home from the harvest- 
 field — one could fill a page with hints for such pictures ; — finally, Mrs. 
 Shandon and little Mary sit down and drink their tea together, while 
 the Captain goes out and takes his pleasure. She cares for nothing 
 else but that, when her husband is away. 
 
 A gentleman with whom we are already slightly acquainted, Mr. 
 Jack Finucane, a townsman of Captain Shandon's, found the Captain's 
 wife and little Mary (for whom Jack always brought a sweetmeat in his 
 pocket) over this meal. Jack thought Shandon the greatest of created 
 geniuses, had had one or two helps from the good-natured prodigal, 
 who had always a kind word and sometimes a guinea for any friend in 
 need ; and never missed a day in seeing his patron. He was ready to 
 run Shandon's errands and transact his money business with publishers 
 and newspaper editors, duns, creditors, holders of Shandon's accept- 
 ances, gentlemen disposed to speculate in those securities, and to trans- 
 act the thousand little afi*airs of an embarrassed Irish gentleman. I 
 never knew an embarrassed Irish gentleman yet, but he had an aide- 
 de-camp of his own nation, likewise in circumstances of pecuniary 
 discomfort. That aide-de-camp has subordinates of his own, who 
 again may have other insolvent dependants — all through his life our 
 Captain marched at the head of a ragged staff, who shared in the rough 
 fortunes of their chieftain. 
 
 He won t have that five-pound note very long, I bet a guinea,'* 
 Mr. Bungay said of the Captain, as he and his two companions walked 
 away from the prison ; and the publisher judged rightly, for when 
 Mrs. Shandon came to empty her husband's pockets, she found but a 
 couple of shillings and a few halfpence out of the morning's remit- 
 tance. Shandon had given a pound to one follower ; had sent a leg of 
 mutton and potatoes and beer to an acquaintance in the poor side of 
 the prison ; had paid an outstanding bill at the tavern where he had 
 changed his five-pound note ; had had a dinner with two friends there, 
 to whom he lost sundry half-crowns at cards afterwards ; so that the 
 night left him as poor as the morning had found him. 
 
 The publisher and the two gentlemen had had some talk together 
 after quitting Shandon, and Warrington reiterated to Bungay what he 
 had said to his rival, Bacon, viz., that Pen was a high fellow, of great 
 genius, and what was more, well with the great world, and related to 
 
 no end " of the peerage. Bungay replied that he should be happy 
 to have dealings with Mr. Pendennis, and hoped to have the pleasure 
 of seeing both gents to cut mutton with him before long, and so^ with 
 mutual politeness and protestations, they parted. 
 
252 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 ^^It is hard to see such a man as Shandon_," Pen said, musing, and 
 talking that night over the sight which he had witnessed, " of accom- 
 plishments so multifarious, and of such an undoubted talent and 
 humour, an inmate of a gaol for half his time, and a bookseller s 
 hanger-on when out of prison. '* 
 
 1 am a bookseller s hanger-on — you are going to try your paces as 
 a hack," Warrington said with a laugh. We are all hacks upon some 
 road or other. I would rather be myself than Paley our neighbour in 
 chambers : who has as much enjoyment of his life as a mole. A deuced 
 deal of undeserved compassion has been thrown away upon what you 
 call your bookseller's drudge." 
 
 Much solitary pipes and ale make a cynic of you," Pen said. You 
 are a Diogenes by a beer-barrel, Warrington. No man shall tell me 
 that a man of genius, as Shandon is, ought to be driven by such a 
 vulgar slave-driver as yonder Mr. Bungay, whom we have just left, who 
 fattens on the profits of the other s brains, and enriches himself out of 
 his journeyman's labour. It makes me indignant to see a gentleman 
 the serf of such a creature as that, of a man who can't speak the 
 language that he lives by, who is not fit to black Shandon's boots." 
 
 So you have begun already to gird at the publishers, and to take 
 your side amongst our order. Bravo, Pen, my boy ! " Warrington 
 answered, laughing still. What have you got to say against Bungay's 
 relations with Shandon ? Was it the publisher, think you, who sent 
 the author to prison ? Is it Bungay who is tippling away the five-pound 
 note which we saw just now, or Shandon ? " 
 
 Misfortune drives a man into bad company," Pen said. ^^It is 
 easy to cry ^ Fie ! ' against a poor fellow who has no society but such as 
 he finds in a prison ; and no resource except forgetfulness and the 
 bottle. We must deal kindly with the eccentricities of genius, and 
 remember that the very ardour and enthusiasm of temperament which 
 makes the author delightful often leads the man astray." 
 
 A fiddlestick about men of genius ! " Warrington cried out, who 
 was a very severe moralist upon some points, though possibly a very 
 bad practitioner. I deny that there are so many geniuses as people 
 who whimper about the fate of men of letters assert there are. There 
 are thousands of clever fellows in the world who could, if they would, 
 turn verses, write articles, read books, and deliver a judgment upon 
 them ; the talk of professional critics and writers is not a whit more 
 brilliant, or profound, or amusing, than that of any other society of 
 educated people. If a lawyer, or a soldier, or a parson, outruns his 
 income, and does not pay his bills, he must go to gaol ; and an author 
 must go too. If an author fuddles himself, I don't know why he 
 should be let off a headache the next morning — if he orders a coat from 
 the tailor's, why he shouldn't pay for it. " 
 
 I would give him more money to buy coats," said Pen, smiling. 
 ^^I suppose I should like to belong to a well-dressed profession. I 
 protest against that wretch of a middle-man whom I see between Genius 
 and his great landlord, the Public, and who stops more than half of the 
 labourer's earnings and fame." 
 
 I am a prose labourer," Warrington said : you, my boy, are a 
 poet in a small way, and so, I suppose, consider you are authorised to 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 253 
 
 be flighty. What is it you want ? Do you want a body of capitalists 
 that shall be forced to purchase the works of all authors who may 
 present themselves manuscript in hand ? Everybody who writes his 
 epic^ every driveller who can or can't spell^ and produces his novel or 
 his tragedy,— are they all to come and find a bag of sovereigns in ex- 
 change for their worthless reams of paper ? Who is to settle what is 
 good or bad, saleable or otherwise? Will you give the buyer leave, in 
 fine, to purchase or not? Why, sir, when Johnson sate behind the i/^ 
 screen at Saint John's Gate, and took his dinner apart, because he was 
 too shabby and poor to join the literary bigwigs who were regaling them- 
 selves round Mr. Cave's best tablecloth, the tradesman was doing him 
 no wrong. You couldn't force the publisher to recognise the man of 
 genius in the young man who presented himself before him, ragged, 
 gaunt, and hungry. Rags are not a proof of genius ; whereas capital 
 is absolute, as times go, and is perforce the bargain-master. It has a 
 right to deal with the literary inventor as with any other ;— if I produce 
 a novelty in the book trade, I must do the best 1 can with it ; but I can 
 no more force Mr. Murray to purchase my book of travels or sermons 
 than I can compel Mr.Tattersall to give me a hundred guineas for my 
 horse. I may have my own ideas of the value of my Pegasus, and 
 think him the most wonderful of animals ; but the dealer has a right 
 to his opinion, too, and may want a lady's horse, or a cob for a heavy 
 timid rider, or a sound hack for the road, and my beast won't suit him." 
 
 "You deal in metaphors, Warrington," Pen said ; "but you rightly 
 say that you are very prosaic. Poor Shandon ! There is something 
 about the kindness of that man, and the gentleness of that sweet 
 creature of a wife, which touches me profoundly. I like him, I am 
 afraid, better than a better man." 
 
 " And so do I," Warrington said. " Let us give him the benefit of 
 our sympathy, and the pity that is due to his weakness : though I fear 
 that sort of kindness would be resented as contempt by a more high- 
 minded man. You see he takes his consolation along with his mis-u- 
 fortune, and one generates the other or balances it, as is the way of 
 the world. He is a prisoner, but he is not unhappy." 
 
 " His genius sings within his prison bars," Pen said. 
 
 " Yes," Warrington said bitterly ; " Shandon accommodates himself 
 to a cage pretty well. He ought to be wretched, but he has Jack and 
 Tom to drink with, and that consoles him ; he might have a high 
 place, but, as he can't, why, he can drink with Tom and Jack;— he 
 might be providing for his wife and children, but Thomas and John 
 have got a bottle of brandy which they want him to taste ;— he might 
 pay poor Snip, the tailor, the twenty pounds which the poor devil 
 wants for his landlord, but John and Thomas lay their hands upon his 
 purse ;— and so he drinks w^hilst his tradesman goes to gaol and his 
 family to ruin. Let us pity the misfortunes of genius, and conspire 
 against the publishing tyrants who oppress men of letters." 
 
 " What ! are you going to have another glass of brandy-and-water ? 
 Pen said, with a humorous look. It was at the Back Kitchen that the 
 above philosophical conversation took place between the two young men. 
 
 Warrington began to laugh as usual. " Video ineliora proboque — 
 mean, bring it me hot, with sugar, John," he said to the waiter 
 
254 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 ^^I would have some more^ too^ only I don't want it/' said Pen. 
 
 It does not seem to me, Warrington, that we are much better than 
 our neighbours. " And Warrington's last glass having been despatched, 
 the pair returned to their chambers. 
 
 They found a couple of notes in the letter-box, on their return, 
 which had been sent by their acquaintance of the morning, Mr. 
 Bungay. That hospitable gentleman presented his compliments to 
 each of the gentlemen, and requested the pleasure of their company at 
 dinner on an early day, to meet a few literary friends. 
 
 ^^We shall have a grand spread," said Warrington. ^^We shall 
 meet all Bungay's corps. " 
 
 All except poor Shandon," said Pen, nodding a good-night to his 
 friend, and he went into his own little room. The events and acquaint- 
 ances of the day had excited him a good deal, and he lay for some time 
 awake thinking over them, as Warrington's vigorous and regular snore 
 from the neighbouring apartment pronounced that that gentleman was 
 engaged in deep slumber. 
 
 Is it true, thought Pendennis, lying on his bed and gazing at a 
 bright moon without, that lighted up a corner of his dressing-table, 
 and the frame of a little sketch of Fairoaks drawn by Laura, that hung 
 over his drawers — is it true that I am going to earn my bread at last, 
 and with my pen ? that I shall impoverish the dear mother no longer ; 
 and that I may gain a name and reputation in the world, perhaps.'^ 
 These are welcome if they come, thought the young visionary, laughing 
 and blushing to himself, though alone and in the night, as he thought 
 how dearly he would relish honour and fame if they could be his. If 
 Fortune favours me, I laud her ; if she frowns, I resign her. I pray 
 Heaven I may be honest if I fail, or if I succeed. I pray Heaven I 
 may tell the truth as far as I know it : that I mayn't swerve from it 
 through flattery, or interest, or personal enmity, or party prejudice. 
 Dearest old mother, what a pride will you have, if I can do anything 
 worthy of our name ! and you, Laura, you won't scorn me as the 
 worthless idler and spendthrift, when you see that I — when I have 
 achieved a — psha ! what an Alnaschar I am because I have made five 
 pounds by my poems, and am engaged to write half-a-dozen articles 
 for a newspaper. He went on with these musings, more happy and 
 hopeful, and in a humbler frame of mind, than he had felt to be for 
 many a day. He thought over the errors and idleness, the passions, 
 extravagances, disappointments, of his wayward youth : he got up 
 from the bed : threw open the window, and looked out into the 
 night : and then, by some impulse, which we hope was a good one, 
 he went up and kissed the picture of Fairoaks, and flinging himself 
 down on his knees by the bed, remained for some time in that 
 posture of hope and submission. When he rose, it was with stream- 
 ing eyes. He had found himself repeating, mechanically, some little 
 words which he had been accustomed to repeat as a child at his 
 mother's side, after the saying of which she would softly take him 
 to his bed and close the curtains round him, hushing him with a 
 benediction. 
 
 The next day, Mr. Pidgeon^ their attendant^ brought in a large 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 255 
 
 brown-paper parcel, directed to G. Warrington, Esq. , with Mr. Trotter's 
 compliments, and a note which Warrington read. 
 
 Pen, you beggar ! " roared Warrington to Pen, who was in his 
 own room. 
 
 "Hullo?" sung out Pen. 
 
 Come here, you're wanted," cried the other, and Pen came out. — 
 What is it } " said he. 
 
 Catch ! " cried Warrington, and flung the parcel at Pen's head, 
 who would have been knocked down had he not caught it. 
 
 " It's books for review for the Pall Mall Gazette ; pitch into 'em,'* 
 Warrington said. As for Pen, he had never been so delighted in his 
 life : his hand trembled as he cut the string of the packet, and beheld 
 within a smart set of new neat calico-bound books, travels, and novels, 
 and poems. 
 
 Sport the oak, Pidgeon," said he. I'm not at home to anybody 
 to-day." And he flung into his easy chair, and hardly gave himself 
 time to drink his tea, so eager was he to begin to read and to review. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 IN WHICH THE HISTORY STILL HOVERS ABOUT FLEET STREET 
 
 Captain Shandon, urged on by his wife, who seldom meddled in 
 business matters, had stipulated that John Finucane, Esquire, of the 
 Upper Temple, should be appointed sub-editor of the forthcoming Pall 
 Mall Gazette, and this post was accordingly conferred upon Mr. 
 Finucane by the spirited proprietor of the Journal. Indeed he 
 deserved any kindness at the hands of Shandon, so fondly attached 
 was he, as we have said, to the Captain and his family, and so eager to 
 do him a service. It was in Finucane's chambers that Shandon used 
 in former days to hide when danger was near and bailiffs abroad : until 
 at length his hiding-place was known, and the Sheriff's officers came as 
 regularly to wait for the Captain on Finucane's staircase as at his own 
 door. It was to Finucane's chambers that poor Mrs. Shandon came 
 often and often to explain her troubles and griefs, and devise means of 
 rescue for her adored Captain. Many a meal did Finucane furnish for 
 her and the child there. It was an honour to his little rooms to be 
 visited by such a lady ; and as she went down the staircase with her 
 veil over her face. Fin would lean over the balustrade looking after 
 her, to see that no Temple Lovelace assailed her upon the road, per- 
 haps hoping that some rogue might be induced to waylay her, so that 
 he. Fin, might have the pleasure of rushing to her rescue, and break- 
 ing the rascal's bones. It was a sincere pleasure to Mrs. Shandon 
 when the arrangements were made by which her kind honest champion 
 was appointed her husband's aide-de-camp in the newspaper. 
 
 He would have sate with Mrs. Shandon as late as the prison hours 
 permitted, and had indeed many a time witnessed the putting to bed 
 of little Mary, who occupied a crib in the room ; and to whose evening 
 prayers that God might bless papa, Finucane, although of the Romish 
 
256 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 faith himself, had said Amen with a great deal of sympathy — hut he 
 had an appointment with Mr. Bungay regarding the affairs of the 
 paper, which they were to discuss over a quiet dinner. So he went 
 away at six o'clock from Mrs. Shandon, hut made his accustomed 
 appearance at the Fleet Prison next morning, having arrayed himself 
 in his best clothes and ornaments, which, though cheap as to cost, 
 were very brilliant as to colour and appearance, and having in his 
 pocket four pounds two shillings, being the amount of his week's 
 salary at the Daily Journal, minus two shillings expended by him in 
 the purchase of a pair of gloves on his way to the prison. 
 
 He had cut his mutton with Mr. Bungay, as the latter gentleman 
 phrased it, and Mr. Trotter, Bungay's reader and literary man of 
 business, at Dick's CofFee-House on the previous day, and entered at 
 large into his views respecting the conduct of the Pall Mall Gazette. 
 In a masterly manner he had pointed out what should be the sub- 
 editorial arrangements of the paper : what should be the type for the 
 various articles : who should report the markets : who the turf and 
 ring ; who the Church intelligence ; and who the fashionable chit- 
 chat. He was acquainted with gentlemen engaged in cultivating 
 these various departments of knowledge, and in communicating them 
 afterwards to the public — in fine, Jack Finucane was as Shandon had 
 said of him, and, as he proudly owned himself to be, one of the best 
 sub-editors of a paper in London. He knew the weekly earnings -of 
 every man connected with the Press, and was up to a thousand dodges, 
 or ingenious economic contrivances, by which money could be saved to 
 spirited capitalists, who were going to set up a paper. He at once 
 dazzled and mystified Mr. Bungay, who was slow of comprehension, 
 by the rapidity of the calculations which he exhibited on paper, as 
 they sate in the box. And Bungay afterwards owned to his subordi- 
 nate, Mr. Trotter, that that Irishman seemed a clever fellow. 
 
 And now having succeeded in making this impression upon Mr. 
 Bungay, the faithful fellow worked round to the point which he had 
 very near at heart, viz., the liberation from prison of his admired friend 
 and chief. Captain Shandon. He knew to a shilling the amount of the 
 detainers which were against the Captain at the porter's lodge of the 
 Fleet ; and, indeed, professed to know all his debts, though this was 
 impossible, for no man in England, certainly not the Captain himself, 
 was acquainted with them. He pointed out what Shandon's engage- 
 ments already were ; and how much better he would work if removed 
 from confinement (though this Mr. Bungay denied, for ^'^when the 
 Captain's locked up," he said, we are sure to find him at home ; 
 whereas, when he's free, you can never catch hold of him ") ; finally, 
 he so worked on Mr. Bungay's feelings, by describing Mrs. Shandon 
 pining away in the prison, and the child sickening there, that the 
 publisher was induced to promise that, if Mrs. Shandon would come 
 to him in the morning, he would see what could be done. And the 
 colloquy ending at this time with the second round of brandy-and- 
 water, although Finucane, who had four guineas in his pocket, would 
 have discharged the tavern reckoning with delight, Bungay said, No, 
 sir, — this is my affair, sir, if you please. James, take the bill, and 
 eighteenpence for yourself," and he handed over the necessary funds 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 257 
 
 to the waiter. Thus it was that Finucane, who Went to bed at the 
 Temple after the dinner at Dick's, found himself actually with his 
 week's salary intact upon Saturday morning. 
 
 He gave Mrs. Shandon a wink so knowing and joyful, that that kind 
 creature knew some good news was in store for her, and hastened to 
 get her bonnet and shawl, when Fin asked if he might have the honour 
 of taking her a walk, and giving her a little fresh air. And little Mary 
 jumped for joy at the idea of this holiday, for Finucane never neglected 
 to give her a toy, or to take her to a show, and brought newspaper 
 orders in his pocket for all sorts of London diversions to amuse the 
 child. Indeed, he loved them with all his heart, and would cheerfully 
 have dashed out his rambling brains to do them, or his adored Captain, 
 a service. 
 
 ^^May I go, Charley.'* or shall I stay with you, for you're poorly, 
 dear, this morning.^ He's got a headache, Mr. Finucane. He 
 suffers from headaches, and I persuaded him to stay in bed," Mrs. 
 Shandon said. 
 
 Go along with you, and Folly. Jack, take care of 'em. Hand me 
 over the Burton's ^ Anatomy,' and leave me to my abominable devices," 
 Shandon said, with perfect good-humour. He was writing, and not 
 uncommonly took his Greek and Latin quotations (of which he knew 
 the use as a public writer) from that wonderful repertory of learning. 
 
 So Fin gave his arm to Mrs. Shandon, and Mary went skipping down 
 the passages of the prison, and through the gate into the free air. From 
 Fleet Street to Paternoster Row is not very far. As the three reached 
 Mr. Bungay's shop, Mrs. Bungay was also entering at the private door, 
 holding in her hand a paper parcel and a manuscript volume bound in 
 red, and, indeed, containing an account of her transactions with the 
 butcher in the neighbouring market. Mrs. Bungay was in a gorgeous 
 shot-silk dress, which flamed with red and purple ; she wore a yellow 
 shawl, and had red flowers inside her bonnet, and a brilliant light-blue 
 parasol. Mrs. Shandon was in an old black-watered silk ; her bonnet 
 had never seen very brilliant days of prosperity any more than its owner, 
 but she could not help looking like a lady whatever her attire was. The 
 two women curtsied to each other, each according to her fashion. 
 
 I hope you're pretty well. Mum ? " said Mrs. Bungay. 
 
 It's a very fine day," said Mrs. Shandon. 
 
 Won't you step in. Mum } " said Mrs. Bungay, looking so hard at 
 the child as almost to frighten her. 
 
 I — I came about business with Mr. Bungay — I — I hope he's pretty 
 well .^ " said timid Mrs. Shandon. 
 
 If you go to see him in the counting-house, couldn't you — couldn't 
 you leave your little gurl with me.^" said Mrs. Bungay, in a deep 
 voice, and with a tragic look, as she held out one finger towards 
 the child. 
 
 I want to stay with mamma," cried little Mary, burying her face 
 in her mother's dress. 
 
 " Go with this lady, Mary, my dear," said the mother. 
 
 I'll show you some pretty pictures," said Mrs. Bungay, with the 
 voice of an ogress, and some nice things besides ; look here^"— and 
 opening her brown-paper parcel, Mrs. Bungay displayed some choice 
 
 R 
 
258 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 sweet biscuits^ such as her Bungay loved after his wine. Little Mary 
 followed after this attraction^ the whole party entering at the private 
 entrance^ from which a side door led into Mr. Bungay's commercial 
 apartments. Here^ however^ as the child was about to part from her 
 mother^ her courage again failed her^ and again she ran to the maternal 
 petticoat ; upon which the kind and gentle Mrs. Shandon^ seeing the 
 look of disappointment in Mrs. Bungay's face^ good-naturedly said^ 
 
 If you will let me^ I will come up too^ and sit for a few minutes^" 
 and so the three females ascended the stairs together. A second biscuit 
 charmed little Mary into perfect confidence^, and in a minute or two 
 she prattled away without the least restraint. 
 
 Faithful Finucane meanwhile found Mr. Bungay in a severer mood 
 than he had been on the night previous^ when two-thirds of a bottle of 
 port^ and two large glasses of brandy-and-water^ had warmed his soul 
 into enthusiasm_, and made him generous in his promises towards 
 Captain Shandon. His impetuous wife had rebuked him on his return 
 home. She had ordered that he should give no relief to the Captain ; 
 he was a good-for-nothing fellow^ whom no money would help ; she 
 disapproved of the plan of the Pall Mall Gazette,' and expected that 
 Bungay would only lose his money in it as they were losing over the 
 way (she always called her brother s establishment over the way ") 
 by the Whitehall Journal Let Shandon stop in prison and do his 
 work ; it was the best place for him. In vain Finucane pleaded and 
 promised and implored^ for his friend Bungay had had an hour's lecture 
 in the mornings and was inexorable. 
 
 But what honest Jack failed to do below stairs in the counting-house^ 
 the pretty faces and manners of the mother and child were effecting in 
 the drawing-room^ where they were melting the fierce but really soft 
 Mrs. Bungay. There was an artless sweetness in Mrs. Shandon's voice, 
 and a winning frankness of manner, which made most people fond of 
 her, and pity her : and taking courage by the rugged kindness with 
 which her hostess received her, the Captain's lady told her story, and 
 described her husband's goodness and virtues, and her child's failing 
 health (she was obliged to part with two of them, she said, and send 
 them to school, for she could not have them in that horrid place) — that 
 Mrs. Bungay, though as grim as Lady Macbeth, melted under the 
 influence of the simple tale, and said she would go down and speak to 
 Bungay. Now in this household to speak was to command, with Mrs. 
 Bungay ; and with Bungay, to hear was to obey. 
 
 It was just when poor Finucane was in despair about his negotiation, 
 that the majestic Mrs. Bungay descended upon her spouse, politely 
 requested Mr. Finucane to step up to his friends in her drawing-room, 
 while she held a few minutes' conversation with Mr. B. , and when the 
 pair were alone the publisher s better half informed him of her inten- 
 tions towards the Captain's lady. 
 
 What's in the wind now, my dear?" Maecenas asked, surprised, 
 at his wife's altered tone. ^'^ You wouldn't hear of my doing anything for 
 the Captain this morning : I wonder what has been a changing of you." 
 
 ^^The Capting is an Irishman," Mrs. Bungay replied; ^^and those 
 Irish I have always said I couldn't abide. But his wife is a lady, as 
 any one can see ; and a good woman, and a clergyman's daughter, and 
 
PENDENNIS 259 
 
 a West of England woman, B., which I am myself, by my mothers 
 side — and, O Marmaduke, didn't you remark her little ffurl ^ " 
 Yes, Mrs.^ B., I saw the little girl." 
 
 And didn't you see how like she was to our angel, Bessy, Mr. B. ? " 
 —and Mrs. Bungay's thoughts flew back to a period eighteen years 
 back, when Bacon and Bungay had just set up in business as small 
 booksellers in a country town, and when she had had a child, named 
 Bessy, something like the little Mary who had just moved her 
 compassion. 
 
 Well, well, my dear," Mr. Bungay said, seeing the little eyes of 
 his wife begin to twinkle and grow red ; the Captain ain't in for 
 much. There's only a hundred and thirty pound against him. Half 
 the money will take him out of the Fleet, Finucane says, and we'll pay 
 him half salaries till he has made the account square. When the little 
 un said, ^ Why don't you take Par out of ^izn?' I did feel it. Flora 
 upon my honour I did, now." And the upshot of this conversation 
 was, that Mr. and Mrs. Bungay both ascended to the drawing-room, 
 and Mr. Bungay made a heavy and clumsy speech, in which he an- 
 nounced to Mrs. Shandon that, hearing sixty-live pounds would set her 
 husband free, he was ready to advance that sum of money, deducting 
 it from the Captain's salary, and that he would give it to her on con- 
 dition that she would personally settle with the creditors regarding- her 
 husband's liberation. 
 
 I think this was the happiest day that Mrs. Shandon and Mr. 
 l^inucane had had for a long time. Bedad, Bungay, you're a trump !" 
 roared out Fm, in an overpowering brogue and emotion. Give us 
 your fist, old boy : and won't we send the Pall Mall Gazette up to ten 
 thousand a week, that's all I " and he jumped about the room, and 
 tossed up little Mary, with a hundred frantic antics. 
 
 If I could drive you anywhere in my carriage, Mrs. Shandon— I'm 
 sure its quite at your service," Mrs. Bungay said, looking out at a 
 one-horse vehicle which had just driven up, and in which this lady 
 took the air considerably— and the two ladies, with little Mary between 
 them (whose tiny hand Maecenas's wife kept fixed in her great grasp), 
 with the delighted Mr. Finucane on the back seat, drove away from 
 Paternoster Row, as the owner of the vehicle threw triumphant glances 
 at the opposite windows at Bacon's. 
 
 ''It won't do the Captain any good," thought Bungay, goiriff back 
 to his desk and accounts, ^^but Mrs. B. becomes reg'lar upset when 
 she thinks about her misfortune. The child would have been of age 
 yesterday if she'd lived. Flora told me so ;" and he wondered how 
 women did remember things. 
 
 We are happy to say that Mrs. Shandon sped with very good success 
 upon her errand. She who had had to mollify creditors when she had 
 no money at all, and only tears and entreaties wherewith to soothe 
 them, found no difficulty in making them relent by means of a bribe of 
 ten shillings in the pound ; and the next Sunday was the last, for some 
 time at least, which the Captain spent in prison. 
 
260 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 A DINNER IN THE ROW 
 
 Upon the appointed day our two friends made their appearance at Mr. 
 Bungay's door in Paternoster Row ; not the public entrance through 
 which booksellers boys issued with their sacks full of Bungay s volumes, 
 and around which timid aspirants lingered with their virgin manuscripts 
 ready for sale to Sultan Bungay, but at the private door of the house, 
 whence the splendid Mrs. Bungay would come forth to step into her 
 chaise and take her drive, settling herself on the cushions, and casting 
 looks of defiance at Mrs. Bacon's opposite windows— at Mrs. Bacon, 
 who was as yet a chaiseless woman. 
 
 On such occasions, when very much wroth at her sister-in-law's 
 splendour, Mrs. Bacon would fling up the sash of her drawing-room 
 window, and look out with her four children at the chaise, as much as 
 to say, Look at these four darlings. Flora Bungay ! This is why I 
 can't drive in my carriage ; you would give a coach and four to have 
 the same reason." And it was with these arrows out of her quiver 
 that Emma Bacon shot Flora Bungay as she sate in her chariot envious 
 and childless. 
 
 As Pen and Warrington came to Bungay's door, a carriage and a 
 cab drove up to Bacon s. Old Doctor Slocum descended heavily from 
 the first; the Doctor's equipage was as ponderous as his style, but 
 both had a fine sonorous effect upon the publishers in the Row. A 
 couple of dazzling white waistcoats stepped out of the cab. 
 
 Warrington laughed. ''You see Bacon has his dinner-party too. 
 That is Doctor Slocum, author of 'Memoirs of the Poisoners.' You 
 would hardly have recognised our friend Hoolan in that gallant white 
 waistcoat. Doolan is one of Bungay's men, and faith, here he comes." 
 Indeed Messrs. Hoolan and Doolan had come from the Strand in the 
 same cab, tossing up by the way which should pay the shilling ; and 
 Mr. D. stepped from the other side of the way, arrayed in black, with 
 a large pair of white gloves which were spread out on his hands, and 
 which the owner could not help regarding with pleasure. 
 
 The house porter in an evening coat, and gentlemen with gloves as 
 large as Doolan's, but of the famous Berlin^ web, were in the passage 
 of Mr. Bungay's house to receive the guests' hats and coats, and bawl 
 their names up the stair. Some of the latter had arrived when the 
 three new visitors made their appearance ; but there was only Mrs. 
 Bungay, in red satin and a turban, to represent her own charming sex. 
 She made curtseys to each new-comer as he entered the drawing-room, 
 but her mind was evidently preoccupied by extraneous thoughts. The 
 fact is, Mrs. Bacon's dinner-party was disturbing her, and as soon as she 
 had received each individual of her own company. Flora Bungay flew 
 back to the embrasure of the window, whence she could rake the carriages 
 of Emma Bacon's friends as they came rattling up the Row. The sight 
 of Doctor Slocum's large carriage, with the gaunt job-horses, crushed 
 Flora : none but hack-cabs had driven up to her own door on that day. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 261 
 
 They were all literary gentlemen, though unknown as yet to Pen. 
 There was Mr. Bole, the real editor of the magazine of which Mr. 
 Wagg was the nominal chief ; Mr. Trotter, who, from having broken 
 out on the world as a poet of a tragic and suicidal cast, had now sub- 
 sided into one of Mr. Bungay's back shops as reader for that gentleman ; 
 and Captain Sumph, an ex-beau still about town, and related in some 
 indistinct manner to Literature and the Peerage. He was said to have 
 written a book once, to have been a friend of Lord Byron, to be related 
 to Lord Sumphington ; in fact, anecdotes of Byron formed his staple, 
 and he seldom spoke but with the name of that poet or some of his 
 contemporaries in his mouth, as thus ; I remember poor Shelley at 
 school being sent up for good for a copy of verses, every line of which 
 I wrote, by Jove ; " or, I recollect, when I was at Missolonghi with 
 Byron, offering to bet Gamba," and so forth. This gentleman. Pen 
 remarked, was listened to with great attention by Mrs. Bungay ; his 
 anecdotes of the aristocracy, of which he was a middle-aged member, 
 delighted the publisher's lady ; and he was almost a greater man than 
 the great Mr. Wagg himself in her eyes. Had he but come in his own 
 carriage, Mrs. Bungay would have made her Bungay purchase any 
 given volume from his pen. 
 
 Mr. Bungay went about to his guests as they arrived, and did the 
 honours of his house with much cordiality. ^^How are you, sir? 
 Fine day, sir. Glad to see you year, sir. Flora, my love, let me 'ave 
 the honour of introducing Mr. Warrington to you. Mr. Warrington, 
 Mrs. Bungay ; Mr. Pendennis, Mrs. Bunga}'. Hope you've brought 
 good appetites with you, gentlemen. You, Dcolan, I know 'ave, for 
 you've always 'ad a deuce of a twist. " 
 Lor, Bungay ! " said Mrs. Bungay. 
 
 Faith, a man must be hard to please, Bungay, who can't eat a 
 
 food dinner in this house," Doolan said, and he winked and stroked 
 is lean chops with his large gloves ; and made appeals of friendship 
 to Mrs. Bungay, which that honest woman refused with scorn from 
 the timid man. She couldn't abide that Doolan," she said in confi- 
 dence to her friends. Lideed, all his flatteries failed to win her. 
 
 As they talked, Mrs. Bungay surveying mankind from her window, 
 a magnificent vision of an enormous grey cab-horse appeared, and 
 neared rapidly. A pair of white reins, held by small white gloves, 
 were visible behind it ; a face pale, but richly decorated with a chin- 
 tuft, the head of an exiguous groom bobbing over the cab-head — these 
 bright things were revealed to the delighted Mrs. Bungay. ^'^The 
 Honourable Percy Popjoy's quite punctual, I declare," she said, and 
 sailed to the door to be in waiting at the nobleman's arrival. 
 
 ^^It's Percy Popjoy," said Pen, looking out of the window, and 
 seeing an individual in extremely lacquered boots descend from the 
 swinging cab : and, in fact, it was that young nobleman — Lord 
 Falconet's eldest son, as we all very well know, who was come to dine 
 with the publisher — his publisher of the Row. 
 
 ^^He was my fag at Eton," Warrington said. ^^I ought to have 
 licked him a little more." He and Pen had had some bouts at the 
 Oxbridge Union Debates, in which Pen had had very much the better 
 of Pei'cy : who presently appeared, with his hat under his arm, and a 
 
262 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 look of indescribable good-humour and fatuity in his round dimpled 
 face, upon which Nature had burst out with a chin-tuft, but, ex- 
 hausted with the eiFort, had left the rest of the countenance bare 
 of hair. 
 
 The temporary groom of the chambers bawled out, The Honour- 
 able Percy Popjoy," much to that gentleman's discomposure at hearing 
 his titles announced. 
 
 What did the man want to take away my hat for, Bungay ? " 
 he asked of the publisher. ^^Cant do without my hat — want it to 
 make my bow to Mrs. Bungay. How well you look, Mrs. Bungay, 
 to-day. Haven't seen your carriage in the Park : why haven't you 
 been there } I missed you ; indeed I did. " 
 
 I'm afraid you're a sad quiz," said Mrs. Bungay. 
 ^^Quiz! Never made a joke in my — hullo; who's here? How 
 d'ye do, Pendennis.^^ How d'ye do, Warrington .^^ These are old 
 friends of mine, Mrs. Bungay. I say, how the doose did you come 
 here } " he asked of the two young men, turning his lacquered heels 
 upon Mrs. Bungay, who respected her husband's two young guests, now 
 that she found they were intimate with a lord's son. 
 
 What ! do they know him } " she asked rapidly of Mr. B. 
 
 High fellers, I tell you — the young one related to all the nobility," 
 said the publisher : and both ran forward, smiling and bowing, to 
 greet almost as great personages as the young lord — no less characters, 
 indeed, than the great Mr. Wenham and the great Mr. Wagg, who 
 were now announced. 
 
 Mr. Wenham entered, wearing the usual demure look and stealthy 
 smile with which he commonly surveyed the tips of his neat little 
 shining boots, and which he but seldom brought to bear upon th^ 
 person who addressed him. Wagg's white waistcoat spread out, on 
 the contrary, with profuse brilliancy ; his burly red face shone re- 
 splendent over it, lighted up with the thoughts of good jokes and a 
 good dinner. He liked to make his entree into a drawing-room with a 
 laugh, and, when he went away at night, to leave a joke exploding 
 behind him. No personal calamities or distresses (of which that 
 humorist had his share in common with the unj ocular part of man- 
 kind) could altogether keep his humour down. Whatever his griefs 
 might be, the thought of a dinner rallied his great soul ; and when he 
 saw a lord, he saluted him with a pun. 
 
 Wenham went up, then, with a smug smile and whisper, to Mrs. 
 Bungay, and looked at her from under his eyes, and showed her the 
 tips of his shoes. Wagg said she looked charming, and pushed on 
 straight at the young nobleman, whom he called Pop ; and to whom 
 he instantly related a funny story, seasoned with what the French call 
 gros seL He was delighted to see Pen, too, and shook hands with him, 
 and slapped him on the back cordially ; for he was full of spirits and 
 good-humour. And he talked in a loud voice about their last place 
 and occasion of meeting at Baymouth ; and asked how their friends of 
 Clavering Park were, and whether Sir Francis was not coming to London 
 for the season ; and whether Pen had been to see Lady Rockminster, 
 who had arrived — fine old lady. Lady Rockminster ! These remarks 
 Wagg made not for Pen's ear so much as for the edification of the 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 268 
 
 company, whom he was glad to inform that he paid visits to gentlemen's 
 country seats, and was on intimate terms with the nobility. 
 
 Wenham also shook hands with our young friend— all of which scenes 
 Mrs. Bungay remarked with respectful pleasure, and communicated her 
 ideas to Bungay, afterwards, regarding the importance of Mr. Pen- 
 dennis— ideas by which Pen profited much more than he was aware. 
 
 Pen, who had read, and rather admired some of her works (and 
 expected to find in Miss Bunion a person somewhat resembling her 
 own description of herself in the Passion-Flowers," in which she 
 stated that her youth resembled — 
 
 A violet, shrinking meanly 
 When blows the March wind keenly ; 
 A timid fawn, on wild-wood lawn, 
 Where oak-boughs rustle greenly," — 
 
 and that her maturer beauty was something very different, certainly, 
 to the artless loveliness of her prime, but still exceedingly captivating 
 and striking), beheld, rather to his surprise and amusement, a large 
 and bony woman in a crumpled satin dress, who came creaking into the 
 room with a step as heavy as a grenadier's. Wagg instantly noted the 
 straw which she brought in at the rumpled skirt of her dress, and would 
 have stooped to pick it up, but Miss Bunion disarmed all criticism by 
 observing this ornament herself, and, putting down her own large foot 
 upon it, so as to separate it from her robe, she stooped and picked up 
 the straw, saying to Mrs. Bungay, that she was very sorry to be a little 
 late, but that the omnibus was very slow, and what a comfort it was to 
 get a ride all the way from Brompton for sixpence. Nobody laughed 
 at the poetess's speech, it was uttered so simply. 
 
 Indeed, the worthy woman had not the least notion of being ashamed 
 of an action incidental upon her poverty. 
 
 Is that ' Passion-flowers ' } " Pen said to Wenham, by whom he was 
 standing. ''Why, her picture in the volume represents her as a very 
 well-looking young woman. " 
 
 /'You know passion-flowers, like all others, will run to seed," 
 Wenham said ; Miss Bunion's portrait was probably painted some 
 years ago." 
 
 Well, I like her for not being ashamed of her poverty." 
 '' So do I," said Mr. Wenham, who would have starved rather than 
 have come to dinner in an omnibus ; but I don't think that she need 
 flourish the straw about, do you, Mr. Pendennis.?* My dear Miss 
 Bunion, how do you do } I was in a great lady's drawing-room this 
 morning, and everybody was charmed with your new volume. Those 
 lines on the christening of Lady Fanny Fantail brought tears into the 
 Duchess's eyes. I said that I thought I should have the pleasure of 
 meeting you to-day, and she begged me to thank you, and say how 
 greatly she was pleased. " 
 
 ^ii7^^ history, told in a bland, smiling manner, of a Duchess whom 
 Wenham had met that very morning, too, quite put poor Wagg's 
 dowager and baronet out of court, and placed Wenham beyond Wagg 
 as a man of fashion. Wenham kept this inestimable advantage^ and 
 
264 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 having" the conversation to himself, ran on with a number of anecdotes 
 regarding the aristocracy. He tried to bring Mr. Popjoy into the con- 
 versation^ by making appeals to him^ and saying, I was telling youT 
 
 father this morning," or, 1 think you were present at W House 
 
 the other night when the Duke said so and so" but Mr. Popjoy would 
 not gratify him by joining in the talk, preferring to fall back into the 
 window recess with Mrs. Bungay, and watch the cabs that drove up to 
 the opposite door. At least, if he would not talk, the hostess hoped 
 that those odious Bacons would see how she had secured the noble 
 Percy Popjoy for her party. 
 
 And now the bell of St. Paul's tolled half-an-hour later than that 
 for which Mr. Bungay had invited his party, and it was complete with 
 the exception of two guests, who at last made their appearance, and in 
 whom Pen was pleased to recognise Captain and Mrs. Shandon. 
 
 When these two had made their greetings to the master and mistress 
 of the house, and exchanged nods of more or less recognition with 
 most of the people present. Pen and Warrington went up and shook 
 hands very warmly with Mrs. Shandon, who, perhaps, was affected to 
 meet them, and think where it was she had seen them but a few days 
 before. Shandon was brushed up, and looked pretty smart, in a red 
 velvet waistcoat, and a frill, into which his wife had stuck her best 
 brooch. In spite of Mrs. Bungay's kindness, perhaps in consequence 
 of it, Mrs. Shandon felt great terror and timidity in approaching her : 
 indeed, she was more awful than ever in her red satin and bird of 
 paradise, and it was not until she had asked in her great voice about 
 the dear little guri,»-that the latter was somewhat encouraged, and 
 ventured to speak. 
 
 Nice-looking woman," Popjoy whispered to Warrington. ^^Do 
 introduce me to Captain Shandon, Warrington. I'm told he's a 
 tremendous clever fellow; ahd, dammy, I adore intellect, by Jove I 
 do!" This \yas the truth: Heaven had not endowed young Mr. 
 Popjoy with much intellect of his own, but had given him a generous 
 faculty for admiring, if not for appreciating, the intellect of others. 
 
 And introduce me to Miss Bunion. I'm told she's very clever too. 
 She's rum to look at, certainly, but that don't matter. Dammy, I 
 consider myself a literary man, and I wish to know all the clever 
 fellows." So Mr. Popjoy and Mr. Shandon had the pleasure of 
 becoming acquainted with one another ; and now the doors of the 
 adjoining dining-room being flung open, the party entered and took 
 their seats at table. Pen found himself next to Miss Bunion on one 
 side, and to Mr. Wagg — the truth is, Wagg fled alarmed from the 
 vacant place by the poetess, and Pen was compelled to take it. 
 
 The gifted being did not talk much during dinner, but Pen re- 
 marked that she ate with a vast appetite, and never refused any of 
 the supplies of wine which were ofi'ered to her by the butler. Indeed, 
 Miss Bunion having considered Mr. Pendennis for a minute, who gave 
 himself rather grand airs, and who was attired in an extremely fashion- 
 able style, with his very best chains, shirt-studs, and cambric fronts, 
 he was set down, and not without reason, as a prig by the poetess ; 
 who thought it was much better to attend to her dinner than to take 
 any notice of him, She told him as much in after days wjth her usual 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 265 
 
 candour. " I took you for one of the little Mayfair dandies/' she said 
 to Pen. "You looked as solemn as a little undertaker; and as I 
 disliked, beyond measure, the odious creature who was on the other side 
 of me, I thought it was best to eat my dinner and hold my tongue.'* 
 
 " And you did both very well, my dear Miss Bunion," Pen said with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "Well, so I do, but I intend to talk to you the next time a great 
 deal : for you are neither so solemn, nor so stupid, nor so pert as 
 you look." 
 
 " Ah, Miss Bunion, how I pine for that ^ next time ' to come," Pen 
 said, with an air of comical gallantry. — But we must return to the day 
 and the dinner at Paternoster Row. 
 
 The repast was of the richest description—" What I call of the florid 
 Gothic style," Wagg whispered to Pen, who sate beside the humorist, 
 in his side-wing voice. The men in creaking shoes and Berlin gloves 
 were numerous and solemn, carrying on rapid conversations behind 
 the guests, as they moved to and fro with the dishes. Doolan called 
 out, " Waither," to one of them, and blushed when he thought of his 
 blunder. Mrs. Bungay's own footboy was lost amidst those large and 
 black-coated attendants. 
 
 "Look at that very bow-windowed man," Wagg said. "He's an 
 undertaker in Amen Corner, and attends funerals and dinners. Cold 
 meat and hot, don't you perceive } He's the sham butler here, and' I 
 observe, my dear Mr. Pendennis, as you will through life, that wherever 
 there is a sham butler at a London dinner, there is sham wine — this 
 sherry is filthy. Bungay, my boy, where did you get this delicious 
 brown sherry 
 
 " I'm glad you like it, Mr. Wagg ; glass with you," said the publisher. 
 ^^It's some 1 got from Alderman Benning's store, and gave a good 
 figure for it, I can tell you. Mr. Pendennis, will you join us.^ Your 
 'ealth, gentlemen." 
 
 The old rogue, where does he expect to go to ? It came from the 
 public-house," Wagg said. ^^It requires two men to carry off that 
 sherry, 'tis so uncommonly strong. I wish I had a bottle of old 
 Steyne's wine here, Pendennis : your uncle and I have had many a one. 
 He sends it about to people where he is in the habit of dining. I 
 remember at poor Rawdon Crawley's, Sir Pitt Crawley's brother — he 
 was Governor of Coventry Island — Steyne's chef always came in the 
 morning, and the butler arrived with the champagne from Gaunt 
 House, in the ice-pails ready. " 
 
 "How good this is!" said Popjoy good-naturedly. "You must 
 have a cordon bleu in your kitchen. " 
 
 " Oh yes," Mrs. Bungay said, thinking he spoke of a jackchain very 
 likely. 
 
 I mean a French chef said the polite guest. 
 Oh yes, your lordship," again said the lady. 
 
 Does your artist say he's a Frenchman, Mrs. B. ? " called out 
 Wagg. 
 
 Well, I'm sure I don't know," answered the publisher's lady. 
 Because, if he does, he's a quizzin yer/* cried Mr. Wagg ; but 
 nobody saw the pun, which disconcerted somewhat the bashful punster. 
 
266 
 
 PENDENNlS 
 
 The dinner is from Grig^gs' in St. Paul's Churchyard ; so is Bacon's/' 
 he whispered Pen. Bungay writes to give half-a-crown a head more 
 than Bacon,— so does Bacon. They would poison each other's ices if 
 they could get near them ; and as for the made-dishes— they are poison. 
 This— hum — ha — this Brimhorion a la Sevigne is delicious, Mrs. B./' 
 he said, helping himself to a dish, which the undertaker handed 
 to him. 
 
 ''Well, I'm glad you like it," Mrs. Bungay answered, blushing-, 
 and not knowing whether the name of the dish was actually that which 
 Wagg gave to it, but dimly conscious that that individual was quizzing 
 her. Accordingly she hated Mr. Wagg with female ardour; and 
 would have deposed him from his command over Mr. Bungay's perio- 
 dical, but that his name was great in the trade, and his reputation in 
 the land considerable. 
 
 By the displacement of persons, Warrington had found himself on 
 the right hand of Mrs. Shandon, who sate in plain black silk and faded 
 ornaments by the side of the florid publisher. The sad smile of the 
 lady moved his rough heart to pity. Nobody seemed to interest him- 
 self about her : she sate looking at her husband, who himself seemed 
 rather abashed in the presence of some of the company. Wenham and 
 Wagg both knew him and his circumstances. He had worked with 
 the latter, and was immeasurably his superior in wit, genius, and 
 acquirements ; but Wagg's star was brilliant in the world, and poor 
 Shandon was unknown there. He could not speak before the noisy 
 talk of the coarser and more successful man ; but drank his wine in 
 silence, and as much of it as the people would give him. He was 
 under surveillance. Bungay had warned the undertaker not to fill the 
 Captain's glass too often or too full. It was a melancholy precaution 
 that, and the more melancholy that it was necessary. Mrs. Shandon, 
 too, cast alarmed glances across the table to see that her husband did 
 not exceed. 
 
 Abashed by the failure of his first pun, for he was impudent and 
 easily disconcerted, Wagg kept his conversation pretty much to Pen 
 during the rest of dinner, and of course^ chiefly spoke about their 
 neighbours. ''This is one of Bungay's grand field-days," he said. 
 "We are all Bungavians here.— Di^ you read Popjoy's novel .^^ It 
 was an old magazine story written by poor Buzzard years ago, and 
 forgotten here until Mr. Trotter (that is Trotter with the large shirt- 
 collar) fished it out and bethought him that it was applicable to the late 
 elopement ; so Bob wrote a few chapters a propos — Popjoy permitted 
 the use of his name, and I dare say supplied a page here and there — 
 and ' Desperation, or the Fugitive Duchess ' made its appearance. The 
 great fun is to examine Popjoy about his own work, of which he 
 doesn't know a word.— I say. Popjoy, what a capital passage that is in 
 Volume Three— where the Cardinal in disguise, after being converted by 
 the Bishop of London, proposes marriage to the Duchess's daughter." 
 
 "Glad you like it," Popjoy answered; "it's a favourite bit of my 
 own." 
 
 "There's no such thing in the whole book," whispered Wagg to 
 Pen. " Invented it myself. Gad ! it wouldn't be a bad plot for a 
 High-Church novel." 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 267 
 
 " I remember poor Byron, Hobhouse, Trelawney, and myself, dining 
 with Cardinal Mezzocaldo, at Rome/' Captain Sumph began, " and we 
 had some Orvieto wine for dinner, which Byron liked very much. 
 And I remember how the Cardinal regretted that he was a single man. 
 We went to Civita Vecchia two days afterwards, where Byron's yacht 
 was — and, by Jove, the Cardinal died within three weeks ; and Byron 
 was very sorry, for he rather liked him." 
 
 A devilish interesting story, Sumph, indeed," Wagg said. 
 ^^You should publish some of those stories. Captain Sumph, you 
 really should. Such a volume would make our friend Bungay's 
 fortune," Shandon said. 
 
 " Why don't you ask Sumph to publish 'em in your new paper — 
 the what-d'ye-call-'em — hay, Shandon ? " bawled out Wagg. 
 
 Why don't you ask him to publish 'em in your old magazine, the 
 Thingumbob ? " Shandon replied. 
 
 ^Ms there going to be a new paper?" asked Wenham, who knew 
 perfectly well ; but was ashamed of his connection with the press. 
 
 Bungay going to bring out a paper .^^ " cried Popjoy, who, on the 
 contrary, was proud of his literary reputation and acquaintances. 
 
 You must employ me. Mrs. Bungay, use your influence with him, 
 and make him employ me. Prose or verse — what shall it be ? Novels, 
 poems, travels, or leading articles, begad. Anything or everything — 
 only let Bungay pay me, and I'm ready — I am now, my dear Mrs. 
 Bungay, begad now." 
 
 It's to be called the Small Beer Chronicle," growled Wagg, and 
 little Popjoy is to be engaged for the infantine department." 
 
 It is to be called the Pall Mall Gazette, sir, and we shall be very 
 happy to have you with us," Shandon said. 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette — why Pall Mall Gazette ? " asked Wagg. 
 
 Because the editor was born at Dublin, the sub-editor at Cork, 
 because the proprietor lives in Paternoster Row, and the paper is 
 published in Catherine Street, Strand. Won't that reason suffice you, 
 Wagg ? " Shandon said ; he was getting rather angry. Everything 
 must have a name. My dog Ponto has got a name. ' You've got a 
 name, and a name which you deserve, more or less, bedad. Why d'ye 
 grudge the name to our paper ? " " - 
 
 By any other name it would smell as sweet," said Wagg. 
 ^^I'll have ye remember its name's not what-d'ye-call-'em, Mr. 
 Wagg," said Shandon. You know its name well enougb, and — and 
 you know mine. " 
 
 And I know your address, too," said Wagg ; but this was spoken 
 in an undertone, and the good-natured Irishman was appeased almost 
 in an instant after his ebullition of spleen, and asked Wagg to drink 
 wine with him in a friendly voice. 
 
 When the ladies retired from the table, the talk grew louder still ; 
 and presently Wenham, in a courtly speech, proposed that everybody 
 should drink to the health of the new journal, eulogising highly the 
 talents, wit, and learning of its editor, Captain Shandon. It was his 
 maxim never to lose the support of a newspaper man, and in the course 
 of that evening, he went round and saluted every literary gentleman 
 present with a privy compliment specially addressed to him ; informing 
 
268 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 this one how great an impression had been made in Downing Street by 
 his last article^ and telling that one how profoundly his good friend, 
 the Duke of So-and-So, had been struck by the ability of the late 
 numbers. 
 
 The evening came to a close, and in spite of all the precautions to 
 the contrary, poor Shandon reeled in his walk, and went home to his 
 new lodgings, with his faithful wife by his side, and the cabman on his 
 box jeering at him. Wenham had a chariot of his own, which he put 
 at Popjoy's service ; and the timid Miss Bunion seeing Mr. Wagg, who 
 was her neighbour, about to depart, insisted upon a seat in his carriage, 
 much to that gentleman's discomfiture. 
 
 Pen and Warrington walked home together in the moonlight. And 
 now," Warrington said, that you have seen the men of letters, tell 
 me, was I far wrong in saying that there are thousands of people in 
 this town, who don't write books, who are, to the full, as clever and 
 intellectual as people who do } " 
 
 Pen was forced to confess that the literary personages with whom he 
 had become acquainted had not said much, in the course of the night's 
 conversation, that was worthy to be remembered or quoted. In fact, not 
 one word about literature had been said during the whole course of 
 the night :— and it may be whispered to those uninitiated people who 
 are anxious to know the habits and make the acquaintance of men 
 of letters, that there are no race of people who talk about books, or 
 perhaps, who read books, so little as literary men. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE ^^PALL MALL GAZETTE " , 
 
 Considerable success at first attended the new journal. It was | 
 generally stated, that an influential political party supported the paper ; 
 and great names were cited amongst the contributors to its columns. 
 Was there any foundation for these rumours.^ We are not at liberty 
 to say whether they were well or ill founded ; but this much we may 
 divulge, that an article upon foreign policy, which was generally 
 attributed to a noble Lord, whose connection with the Foreign Office { 
 is very well known, was in reality composed by Captain Shandon, in ' 
 the parlour of the Bear and Staff public-house near Whitehall Stairs, ] 
 whither the printer s boy had tracked him, and where a literary ally of j 
 his, Mr. Bludyer, had *a temporary residence ; and that a series of j 
 papers on finance questions, which were universally supposed to be \ 
 written by a great Statesman of the House of Commons, were in reality i 
 composed by Mr. George Warrington, of the Upper Temple. | 
 That there may have been some dealings between the Pall Mall Gazette \ 
 and this influential party is very possible. Percy Popjoy (whose father, \ 
 Lord Falconet, was a member of the party) might be seen not un- 
 frequently ascending the stairs to Warrington's chambers ; and some 
 information appeared in the paper which gave it a character, and 
 could only be got from very peculiar sources. Several poemS; feeble in 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 269 
 
 thought^ but loud and vigorous in expression, appeared in the Pall Mall 
 Gazette, with the signature of ''P. P."; and it must be owned that 
 his novel was praised in the new journal in a very outrageous manner. 
 
 In the political department of the paper Mr. Pen did not take any 
 share ; but he was a most active literary contributor. The Pall Mall 
 Gazette had its offices, as we have heard, in Catherine Street in the 
 Strand, and hither Pen often came with his manuscripts in his pocket, 
 and with a great deal of bustle and pleasure; such as a man feels at 
 the outset of his literary career, when to see himself in print is still a 
 novel sensation, and he yet pleases himself to think that his writings 
 are creating some noise in the world. 
 
 Here it was that Mr. Jack Finucane, the sub-editor, compiled with 
 paste and scissors the journal of which he was supervisor. With an 
 eagle eye he scanned all the paragraphs of all the newspapers which had 
 anything to do with the world of fashion over which he presided. He 
 didn't let a death or a dinner-party of the aristocracy pass without 
 having the event recorded in the columns of his journal ; and from the 
 most recondite provincial prints, and distant Scotch and Irish news- 
 papers, he fished out astonishing paragraphs and intelligence regarding 
 the upper classes of society. It was a grand, nay, a touching sight, for 
 a philosopher to see Jack Finucane, Esquire, with a plate of meat from 
 the cook-shop, and a glass of porter from the public-house, for his meal, 
 recounting the feasts of the great, as if he had been present at them ; 
 and in tattered trousers and dingy shirt-sleeves, cheerfully describing 
 and arranging the most brilliant fetes of the world of fashion. The 
 incongruity of Finucane's avocation, and his manners and appearance, 
 amused his new friend Pen.. Since he left his own native village, 
 where his rank probably was not very lofty. Jack had seldom seen any 
 society but such as used the parlour of the taverns which he frequented, 
 whereas from his writing you would have supposed that he dined with 
 ambassadors, and that his common lounge was the bow-window of 
 White's. Errors of description, it is true, occasionally slipped from 
 his pen ; but the Ballinafad Sentinel, of which he was own corre- 
 spondent, suffered by these, not the Pall Mall Gazette, in which Jack 
 was not permitted to write much, his London chiefs thinking that the 
 scissors and the paste were better wielded by him than the pen. 
 
 Pen took a great deal of pains with the writing of his reviews, and 
 having a pretty fair share of desultory reading, acquired in the early 
 years of his life, an eager fancy, and a keen sense of fun, his articles 
 pleased his chief and the public, and he was proud to think that he 
 deserved the money which he earned. We may be sure that the Pall 
 Mall Gazette was taken in regularly at Fairoaks, and read with delight 
 by the two ladies there. It was received at Clavering Park, too, where 
 we know there was a young lady of great literary tastes; and old 
 Doctor Portman himself, to whom the widow sent her paper after she 
 had got her son's articles by heart, signified his approval of Pen's pro- 
 ductions, saying that the lad had spirit, taste, and fancy, and wrote, if 
 not like a scholar, at any rate like a gentleman. 
 
 And what was the astonishment and delight of our friend Major Pen- 
 dennis, on walking into one of his clubs, the Regent, where Wenham, 
 Lord Falconet, and some other gentlemen of good reputation and fashion 
 
270 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 were assembled^ to hear them one day talking over a number of the 
 Pall Mall Gazette, and of an article which appeared in its columns 
 making some bitter fun of a book recently published by the wife of a 
 celebrated member of the opposition party. The book in question was 
 a Book of Travels in Spain and Italy^ by the Countess of Muffborough, 
 in which it was difficult to say which was the most wonderful, the 
 French or the English, in which languages her ladyship wrote in- 
 differently, and upon the blunders of which the critic pounced with 
 delighted mischief The critic was no other than Pen: he jumped 
 and danced round about his subject with the greatest jocularity and 
 high spirits : he showed up the noble lady's faults with admirable mock 
 gravity and decorum. There was not a word in the article which was 
 not polite and gentlemanlike; and the unfortunate subject of the 
 criticism was scarified and laughed at during the operation. Wenham's 
 bilious countenance was puckered up with malign pleasure as he read 
 the critique. Lady Muffborough had not asked him to her parties 
 during the last year. Lord Falconet giggled and laughed with all his 
 heart ; Lord Muffborough and he had been rivals ever since they began 
 life; and these complimented Major Pendennis, who until now had 
 scarcely paid any attention to some hints which his Fairoaks corre- 
 spondence threw out of ^''dear Arthur's constant and severe literary 
 occupations, which I fear may undermine the poor boy's health," and 
 had thought any notice of Mr. Pen and his newspaper connections 
 quite below his dignity as a Major and a gentleman. 
 
 But when the oracular Wenham praised the boy's production ; when 
 Lord Falconet, who had had the news from Percy Popjoy, approved of 
 the genius of young Pen ; when the great Lord Steyne himself, to whom 
 the Major referred the article, laughed and sniggered over it, swore it 
 was capital, and that the Muffborough would writhe under it, like a 
 whale under a harpoon, the Major, as in duty bound, began to admire 
 his nephew very much, said, ''By gad, the young rascal had some stuff 
 in him, and would do something ; he had always said he would do 
 something ; " and with a hand quite tremulous with pleasure, the old 
 gentleman sate down to write to the widow at Fairoaks all that the 
 great folks had said in praise of Pen ; and he wrote to the young 
 rascal, too, asking when he would come and eat a chop with his old 
 uncle, and saying that he was commissioned to take him to dinner at 
 Gaunt House, for Lord Steyne liked anybody who could entertain him, 
 whether by his folly, wit, or by his dulness, by his oddity, affectation, 
 good spirits, or any other quality. Pen flung his letter across the 
 table to Warrington ; perhaps he was disappointed that the other did 
 not seem to be much affected by it. 
 
 The courage of young critics is prodigious : they clamber up to the 
 judgment seat, and, with scarce a hesitation, give their opinion upon 
 works the most intricate or profound. Had Macaulay's History or 
 Herschel's Astronomy been put before Pen at this period, he would 
 have looked through the volumes, meditated his opinion over a cigar, 
 and signified his august* approval of either author, as if the critic had 
 been their born superior and indulgent master and patron. By the 
 help of the Biographie Universelle " or the British Museum, he would 
 be able to take a rapid resume of a historical period, and allude to 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 271 
 
 names, dates, and facts, in such a masterly, easy way, as to astonish 
 his mamma at home, who wondered where her boy could have acquired 
 such a prodigious store of reading, and himself too, when he came 
 to read over his articles two or three months after they had been 
 composed, and when he had forgotten the subject and the books which 
 he had consulted. At that period of his life Mr. Pen owns that he 
 would not have hesitated, at twenty-four hours' notice, to pass an 
 opinion upon the greatest scholars, or to give a judgment upon the 
 Encyclopaedia. Luckily he had Warrington to laugh at him and to 
 keep down his impertinence by a constant and wholesome ridicule, or 
 he might have become conceited beyond all sufferance ; for Shandon 
 liked the dash and flippancy of his young aide-de-camp, and was, 
 indeed, better pleased with Pen's light and brilliant flashes, than with 
 the heavier metal which his elder coadjutor brought to bear. 
 
 But though he might justly be blamed on the score of impertinence 
 and a certain prematurity of judgment, Mr. Pen was a perfectly honest 
 critic ; a great deal too candid for Mr. Bungay's purposes, indeed, who 
 grumbled sadly at his impartiality. Pen and his chief, the Captain, 
 had a dispute upon this subject one day. In the name of common 
 sense, Mr. Pendennis," Shandon asked, what have you been doing — 
 praising one of Mr. Bacon's books ? Bungay has been with me in a 
 fury this morning, at seeing a laudatory article upon one of the works 
 of the odious firm over the way. " 
 
 Pen's eyes opened wide with astonishment. Do you mean to say," 
 he asked, that we are to praise no books that Bacon publishes : or 
 that, if the books are good, we are to say they are bad ? " 
 
 ^^My good young friend, for what do you suppose a benevolent 
 publisher undertakes a critical journal, — to benefit his rival " Shandon 
 inquired. 
 
 To benefit himself certainly, but to tell the truth too," Pen said — 
 ruat coelum, to tell the truth. " 
 
 And my prospectus," said Shandon, with a laugh and a sneer ; do 
 you consider that was a work of mathematical accuracy of statement ? " 
 
 Pardon me, that is not the question," Pen said ; and I don't 
 think you very much care to argue it. I had some qualms of con- 
 science about that same prospectus, and debated the matter with my 
 friend Warrington. We agreed, however," Pen said laughing, that 
 because the prospectus was rather declamatory and poetical, and the 
 giant was painted upon the show-board rather larger than the original, 
 who was inside the caravan, we need not be too scrupulous about this 
 trifling inaccuracy, but might do our part of the show, without loss of 
 character or remorse of conscience. W e are the fiddlers, and play our 
 tunes only ; you are the showman." 
 
 ^^And leader of the van," said Shandon. '^^Well, I am glad that 
 your conscience gave you leave to play for us. " 
 
 Yes, but," said Pen, with a fine sense of the dignity of his position, 
 we are all party men in England, and I will stick to* my party like a 
 Briton. I will be as good-natured as you like to our own side — he is 
 a fool who quarrels with his own nest ; and I will hit the enemy as 
 hard as you like — but with fair play. Captain, if you please. One can't 
 tell all the truth, I suppose ; but one can tell nothing but the truth : 
 
272 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and I would rather starve, by Jove, and never earn another penny by 
 my pen" (this redoubted instrument had now been in use for some 
 six weeks, and Pen spoke of it with vast enthusiasm and respect) than 
 strike an opponent an unfair blow, or, if called upon to place him, 
 rank him below his honest desert." 
 
 Well, Mr. Pendennis, when we want Bacon smashed, we must get 
 some other hammer to do it," Shandon said, with fatal good-nature ; 
 and very likely thought within himself, A few years hence perhaps 
 the young gentleman won't be so squeamish." The veteran Condottiere 
 himself was no longer so scrupulous. He had fought and killed on sq 
 many a side for many a year past, that remorse had long left him. 
 
 Gad," said he, youVe a tender conscience, Mr. Pendennis. It*s 
 the luxury of all novices, and I may have had one once myself ; but 
 that sort of bloom wears off with the rubbing of the world, and I'm 
 not going to the trouble myself of putting on an artificial complexion, 
 like our pious friend Wenham, or our model of virtue, Wagg. " 
 
 ^^I don't know whether some people's hypocrisy is not better. 
 Captain, than others' cynicism." 
 
 It's more profitable, at any rate," said the Captain, biting his nails. 
 
 That Wenham is as dull a quack as ever quacked : and you see the 
 carriage in which he drove to dinner. Faith, it'll be a long time 
 before Mrs. Shandon will take a drive in her own chariot. God help 
 her, poor thing ! " And Pen went away from his chief, after their 
 little dispute and colloquy, pointing his own moral to the Captain's 
 tale, and thinking to himself, Behold this man, stored with genius, 
 wit, learning, and a hundred good natural gifts : see how he has 
 wrecked them, by paltering with his honesty, and forgetting to respect 
 himself. Wilt thou remember thyself, O Pen.f* thou art conceited 
 enough ! Wilt thou sell thy honour for a bottle } No, by Heaven's 
 grace, we will be honest, whatever befalls, and our mouths shall only 
 speak the truth when they open." 
 
 A punishment, or at least a trial, was in store for Mr. Pen. In the 
 very next number of the Pall Mall Gazette, Warrington read out, with 
 roars of laughter, an article which by no means amused Arthur Pen- 
 dennis, who was himself at work with a criticism for the next week's 
 number of the same journal ; and in which the Spring Annual " was 
 ferociously maltreated by some unknown writer. The person of all 
 most cruelly mauled was Pen himself His verses had not appeared 
 with his own name in the Spring Annual," but under an assumed : 
 signature. As he had refused to review the book, Shandon had handed 
 it over to Mr. Bludyer, with directions to that author to dispose of it. 
 And he had done so effectually. Mr. Bludyer, who was a man of very 
 considerable talent, and of a race which, I believe, is quite extinct in 
 the press of our time, had a certain notoriety in his profession, and 
 reputation for savage humour. He smashed and trampled down the 
 poor spring flowers with no more mercy than a bull would have on a 
 parterre ; and having cut up the volume to his heart's content, went 
 and sold it at a bookstall, and purchased a pint of brandy with the 
 proceeds of the volume. J 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 273 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 WHERE PEN APPEARS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 
 
 Let us be allowed to pass over a few months of the history of Mr. 
 Arthur Pendennis's lifetime, during the which, many events may have 
 occurred which were more interesting and exciting to himself, than 
 thev would be likely to prove to the reader of his present memoirs. 
 V\^e left him, in the last chapter, regularly entered upon his business 
 as a professional writer, or literary hack, as Mr. Warrington chooses to 
 style himself and his friend; and we know how the life of any hack, legal 
 or literary, in a curacy, or in a marching regiment, or at a merchants 
 Idesk is full of routine, and tedious of description. One day s labour re- 
 sembles another much too closely. A literary man has often to work 
 for his bread against time, or against his will, or in spite ot his health, 
 or of his indolence, or of his repugnance to the subject on which he is 
 called to exert himself, just like any other daily toiler. When you 
 iwant to make money by Pegasus (as he must, perhaps who has no 
 other saleable property), farewell poetry and aerial flights ; Pegasus 
 only rises now like Mr. Green s balloon, at periods advertised before- 
 hand, and when the spectators' money has been paid. Pegasus trots 
 in harness, over the stony pavement, and pulls a cart or a cab behind 
 him Often Pegasus does his work with panting sides and trembhng 
 knees, and not seldom gets a cut of the whip from his driver. 
 
 Do not let us, however, be too prodigal of our pity upon Pegasus. 
 There is no reason why this animal should be exempt from laboui*, or 
 illness, or decay, any more than any of the other creatures of God s 
 world. If he gets the whip, Pegasus very often deserves it, and 1 tor 
 one am quite ready to protest with my friend, George H arrmgton, 
 affainst the doctrine which some poetical sympathisers are inclined 
 to put forward, viz., that men of letters, and what is called genius, 
 are to be exempt from the prose duties of this daily, bread-wanting, 
 tax-paying life, and are not to be made to work and pay like their 
 
 ^^WellTthen, the Pall Mall Gazette being duly established, and 
 Arthur Pendenniss merits recognised as a flippant, witty, and amus- 
 ing critic, he worked away hard every week, preparing reviews ot such 
 works as came into his department, and writing his reviews with 
 flippancy certainly, but with honesty, and to the best of his power. 
 It might be that a historian of threescore, who had spent a quarter ot 
 a century in composing a work of which our young gentleman dis- 
 posed in the course of a couple of days reading at the British Museum, 
 was not altogether fairly treated by such a facile critic : or that a poet, 
 who had been elaborating sublime sonnets and odes until he thought 
 them fit for the public and for fame, was annoyed by two or three 
 dozen pert lines in Mr. Pen s review, in which the poet s claims were 
 settled by the critic, as if the latter were my lord on the bench, and 
 the author a miserable little suitor trembling before him. The actors 
 at the theatres complained of him wofully, too, and very likely he was 
 
274 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 too hard upon them. But there was not much harm done after allj 
 It is different now, as we know ; but there were so few great historians, 
 or great poets, or great actors, in Pen's time, that scarce any at all 
 came up for judgment before his critical desk. Those who got a little; 
 whipping, got what in the main was good for them ; not that the judge 
 was any better or wiser than the persons whom he sentenced, or indeed 
 ever fancied himself so. Pen had a strong sense of humour and justice,; 
 and had not therefore an overweening respect for his own works ; be-^ 
 sides, he had his friend Warrington at his elbow — a terrible critic if| 
 the young man was disposed to be conceited, and more savage over 
 Pen than ever he was to those whom he tried at his literary assize. 
 
 By these critical labours, and by occasional contributions to leading 
 articles of the journal, when, without wounding his paper, this eminent 
 publicist could conscientiously speak his mind, Mr. Arthur Pendennis 
 gained the sum of four pounds four shillings weekly, and with no 
 small pains and labour. Likewise he furnished Magazines and Reviews, 
 with articles of his composition, and is believed to have been (though i 
 on this score he never chooses to speak) London correspondent of the > 
 Chatteris Champion^ which at that time contained some very brilliant 
 and eloquent letters from the metropolis. By these labours the 
 fortunate youth was enabled to earn a sum very nearly equal to four 
 hundred pounds a year ; and on the second Christmas after his arrival 
 in London, he actually brought a hundred pounds to his mother, as a 
 dividend upon the debt which he owed to Laura. That Mrs. Pendennis 
 read every word of her son's works, and considered him to be the 
 profoundest thinker and most elegant writer of the day ; that she 
 thought his retribution of the hundred pounds an act of angelic virtue ; 
 that she feared he was ruining his health by his labours, and was 
 delighted when he told her of the society which he met, and of the 
 great men of letters and fashion whom he saw, will be imagined by all/ 
 readers who have seen son-worship amongst mothers, and that charm- j 
 ing simplicity of love with which women in the country watch the! 
 career of their darlings in London. If John has held such and such a 
 brief ; if Tom has been invited to such and such a ball ; or George has 
 met this or that great and famous man at dinner ; what a delight there 
 is in the hearts of mothers and sisters at home in Somersetshire ! How 
 young Hopeful's letters are read and remembered ! What a theme for 
 village talk they give, and friendly congratulation ! In the second^ 
 winter. Pen came for a very brief space, and cheered the widow's 
 heart, and lightened up the lonely house at Fairoaks. Helen had her 
 son all to herself ; Laura was away on a visit to old Lady Rockminster ; 
 the folks of Clavering Park were absent ; the very few old friends of 
 the house. Doctor Portman at their head, called upon Mr. Pen, and 
 treated him with marked respect ; between mother and son^ it was all 
 fondness, confidence, and affection. It was the happiest fortnight of 
 the widow's whole life ; perhaps in the lives of both of them. The^ 
 holiday was gone only too quickly; and Pen was back in the busy 
 world, and the gentle widow alone again. She sent Arthur's money 
 to Laura : I don't know why this young lady took the opportunity of 
 leaving home when Pen was coming thither, or whether he was the 
 more piqued or relieved by her absence. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 275 
 
 He was by this time^ by his own merits and his uncle's introductions^ 
 }retty well introduced into London^ and known both in literary and 
 jolite circles. Amongst the former his fashionable reputation stood 
 lim in no little stead ; he was considered to be a gentleman of good 
 jresent means and better expectations_, who wrote for his pleasure, 
 :han which there cannot be a greater recommendation to a young 
 iterary aspirant. Bacon, Bungay, and Co., were proud to accept 
 lis articles ; Mr. Wenham asked him to dinner ; Mr. Wagg looked 
 ipon him with a favourable eye ; and they reported how they met him 
 it the houses of persons of fashion, amongst whom he was pretty 
 welcome, as they did not trouble themselves about his means, present 
 )r future ; as his appearance and address were good ; and as he had 
 rot a character for being a clever fellow. Finally, he was asked to 
 me house, because he was seen at another house : and thus no small 
 I'^arieties of London life were presented to the young man : he was made 
 ikmiliar with all sorts of people from Paternoster ilow to Pimlico, and 
 vas as much at home at Mayfair dining-tables as at those tavern boards 
 vhere some of his companions of the pen were accustomed to assemble. 
 
 Full of high spirits and curiosity, easily adapting himself to all whom 
 16 met, the young fellow pleased himself in this strange variety and 
 umble of men, and made himself welcome, or at ease at least, wherever 
 18 went. He would breakfast, for instance, at Mr. Plover's of a 
 norning, in company with a peer, a bishop, a parliamentary orator, 
 ;wo blue ladies of fashion, a popular preacher, the author of the last 
 lew novel, and the very latest lion imported from Egypt or from 
 \merica ; and would quit this distinguished society for the back room 
 it the newspaper office, where pens and ink and the wet proof-sheets 
 vere awaiting him. Here would be Finucane, the sub-editor, with the 
 ast news from the Row ; and Shandon would come in presently, and 
 riving a nod to Pen, would begin scribbling his leading article at the 
 )ther end of the table, flanked by the pint of sherry, which, when the 
 ittendant boy beheld him, was always silently brought for the Captain : 
 )r Mr. Bludyer s roaring voice would be heard in the front room, 
 vhere that truculent critic would impound the books on the counter 
 n spite of the timid remonstrances of Mr. Midge, the publisher, and 
 ifter looking through the volumes would sell them at his accustomed 
 )Ookstall, and having drunken and dined upon the produce of the sale 
 n a tavern box, would call for ink and paper, and proceed to smash " 
 ;he author of his dinner and the novel. Towards evening Mr. Pen 
 vould stroll in the direction of his club, and take up Warrington there 
 br a constitutional walk. This exercise freed the. lungs, and gave an 
 ippetite for dinner, after which Pen had the privilege to make his bow 
 it some very pleasant houses which were opened to him ; or the town 
 )efore him for amusement. There was the Opera ; or the Eagle 
 Tavern ; or a ball to go to in Mayfair ; or a quiet night with a cigar 
 md a book and a long talk with Warrington ; or a wonderful new 
 5ong at the Back Kitchen ; — at this time of his life Mr. Pen beheld all 
 ;orts of places and men ; and very likely did not know how much he 
 mjoyed himself until long after, when balls gave him no pleasure, 
 leither did farces make him laugh ; nor did the tavern joke produce 
 :he least excitement in him ; nor did the loveliest dancer that ever 
 
^'"^ PENDENNIS 
 
 "Snowed her ankles cause him to stir from his chair after dinner. At 
 his present mature age all these pleasures are over ; and the times 
 have passed away too. It is but a very very few years since — but the; 
 time is gone^ and most of the men. Bludyer will no more bullyt 
 authors or cheat landlords of their score. Shandon^ the learned andj 
 thriftless, the witty and unwise, sleeps his last sleep. They burie(8 
 honest Doolan the other day : never will he cringe or flatter, never* 
 pull long-bow or empty whisky-noggin any more. 
 
 The London season was now blooming in its full vigour, and the 
 fashionable newspapers abounded with information regarding the 
 grand banquets, routs, and balls which were enlivening the polite 
 world. Our gracious Sovereign was holding levees and drawing- 
 rooms at St. James's : the bow-windows of the clubs were crowded 
 with the heads of respectable red-faced newspaper-reading gentlemen : 
 along the Serpentine trailed thousands of carriages : squadrons of 
 dandy horsemen trampled over Rotten Row : everybody was in town, 
 in a word ; and of course Major Arthur Pendennis, who was somebody, 
 was not absent. 
 
 With his head tied up in a smart bandanna handkerchief, and his 
 meagre carcass enveloped in a brilliant Turkish dressing-gown, thei 
 worthy gentleman sate on a certain morning by his fireside, letting his 
 feet gently simmer in a bath, whilst he took his early cup of tea, andi 
 perused his Morning Post, He could not have faced the day withoutj 
 his two hours toilet, without his early cup of tea, without his Morninp] 
 Post. I suppose nobody in the world except Morgan, not even Morgan sj 
 master himself, knew how feeble and ancient the Major was growing, 
 and what numberless little comforts he required. 
 
 If men sneer, as our habit is, at the artifices of an old beauty, at her 
 paint, perfumes, ringlets ; at those innumerable, and to us unknown, 
 stratagems with which she is said to remedy the ravages of time and 
 reconstruct the charms whereof years have bereft her ; the ladies, it is 
 to be presumed, are not on their side altogether ignorant that men are 
 vain as well as they, and that the toilets of old bucks are to the full as 
 elaborate as their own. How is it that old Blushington keeps that 
 constant little rose-tint on his cheeks ; and where does old Blondel get^ 
 the preparation which makes his silver hair pass for golden? Havj 
 you ever seen Lord Hotspur get off his horse when he thinks nobodj 
 is looking? Taken out of his stirrups, his shiny boots can hardlj 
 totter up the steps of Hotspur House. He is a dashing young nobl^ 
 man still as you see the back of him in Rotten Row : when you behoM 
 him on foot, what an old, old fellow ! Did you ever form to yourseM 
 any idea of Dick Lacy (Dick has been Dick these sixty years) injl 
 natural state, and without his stays? All these men are objects whoffl 
 the observer of human life and manners may contemplate with as muM 
 profit as the most elderly Belgravian Venus, or inveterate Mayf^l 
 Jezebel. An old reprobate daddy-longlegs, who has never said h|l 
 prayers (except perhaps in public) these fifty years ; an old buck wM 
 still clings to as many of the habits of youth as his feeble grasp « 
 health can hold by : who has given up the bottle, but sits with younj 
 fellows over it, and tells naughty stories upon toast-and-water— whi 
 has given up beauty, but still talks about it as wickedly as the youiigetf 
 
PENDENNIS 277 
 
 ^v^ in company-such an old fellow, I say if any parson in Pimlico 
 r St. James's were to order the beadles to bring him into the middle 
 isle, and there set him in an armchair, and make a text ot him, and 
 reach about him to the congregation, could be turned to a wholesome 
 se for once in his life, and might be surprised to find that some good 
 houghts came out of him. But we are wandering from text, the 
 tonest Major, who sits all this while with his feet coohng m the bath . 
 lorgan takes them out of that place of purification, and dries them 
 laintily, and proceeds to set the old gentleman on his legs, with 
 waistband and wig, starched cravat, and spotless boots and gloves 
 
 It was during these hours of the toilet that Morgan and his employer 
 iad their confidential conversations, for they did not meet much at 
 »ther times of the day— the Major abhorring the society of his own 
 ihairs and tables in his lodgings ; and Morgan, his master s toilet over 
 md letters delivered, had his time very much on his own hands. 
 
 This spare time the active and well-mannered gentleman bestowed 
 imonff the valets and butlers of the nobility, his acquaintance : and 
 Morgan Pendennis, as he was styled-for by such compound names 
 rentlemen's gentlemen are called in their private circles-was a tre- 
 uent and welcome guest at some of the very highest tables m this 
 Lown. He was a member of two influential clubs m Mayfair and 
 'Pimlico ; and he was thus enabled to know the whole gossip of the 
 town, and entertain his master very agreeably during the two hours 
 .toilet conversation. He knew a hundred tales and legends regarding 
 Ipersons of the very highest ton, whose valets canvass their august 
 secrets, iust, my dear madam, as our own parlour-maids and dependants 
 in the kitchen discuss our characters, our stinginess and generosity, 
 our pecuniary means or embarrassments, and our little domestic or 
 connubial tiffs and quarrels. If I leave this manuscript open on my 
 table, I have not the slightest doubt Betty will read it, and they will 
 Italk it over in the lower regions to-night; and to-morrow she will 
 bring in my breakfast with a face of such entire imperturbable inno- 
 cence, that no mortal could suppose her guilty of playing the spy. 
 If you and the Captain have high words upon any subject, which is 
 liust possible, the circumstances of the quarrel, and the characters ot 
 both of you, will be discussed with impartial eloquence over the kitchen 
 tea-table ; and if Mrs. Smith's maid should by chance be taking a dish 
 of tea with yours, her presence will not undoubtedly act as a restraint 
 upon the discussion in question; her opinion will be given with 
 ■candour ; and the next day her mistress will probably know that 
 Captain and Mrs. Jones have been a quarrelling as usual. Nothing is 
 secret. Take it as a rule that John knows everything : and as m our 
 humble world so in the greatest: a duke is no more a hero to his 
 valet-de-chambre than you or I; and his Grace s Man at his club, m 
 ,company doubtless with other Men of equal social rank, talks over his 
 ; master s character and affairs with the ingenuous truthfulness which 
 befits gentlemen who are met together in confidence. Who is a 
 i niggard and screws up his money-boxes: who is m the hands ot the 
 money-lenders, and is putting his noble name on the back ot bills ot 
 exchange: who is intimate with whose wife: who wants whom to 
 marry her daughter, and which he won't, no, not at any price :— all 
 
278 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 these facts gentlemen's confidential gentlemen discuss confidentially, I 
 and are known and examined by every person who has any claim to a 
 rank in genteel society. In a word, if old Pendennis himself was said || 
 to know everything, and was at once admirably scandalous and delight- ] 
 fully discreet ; it is but justice to Morgan to say, that a great deal of '} 
 his master's information was supplied to that worthy man by his valet, ■ 
 who went out and foraged knowledge for him. Indeed, what more 
 eflfectual plan is there to get a knowledge of London society, than to ' 
 begin at the foundation — that is, at the kitchen-floor ? 
 
 So Mr. Morgan and his employer conversed as the latter s toilet ! 
 proceeded. There had been a Drawing-room on the day previous, and I 
 the Major read among the presentations that of Lady Clavering by ■ 
 Lady Rockminster, and of Miss Amory by her mother. Lady Clavering, 
 — and in a further part of the paper their dresses were described, with ! 
 a precision and in a jargon which will puzzle and amuse the antiquary 
 of future generations. The sight of these names carried Pendennis back 
 to the country. How long have the Claverings been in London } " 
 he asked ; pray, Morgan, have you seen any of their people ? " 
 
 ^^Sir Francis have sent away his foring man, sir," Mr. Morgan 
 replied ; and have took a friend of mine as own man, sir. Indeed he 
 applied on my reckmendation. You may recklect Towler, sir, — tall 
 red-' aired man — but dyes his 'air. Was groom of the chambers in 
 Lord Levant's famly till his Lordship broke hup. It's a fall for Towler, 
 sir ; but pore men can't be particklar," said the valet, with a pathetic 
 voice. 
 
 Devilish hard on Towler, by gad ! " said the Major, amused, and 
 not pleasant for Lord Levant — he, he 1 " ^ 
 
 Always knew it was coming, sir. I spoke to you of it Michaelmas 
 was four years when her Ladyship put the diamonds in pawn. It was 
 Towler, sir, took 'em in two cabs to Dobree's — and a good deal of 
 the plate went the same way. Don't you remember seeing of it at 
 Blackwall, with the Levant arms and coronick, and Lord Levant settn 
 oppsit to it at the Marquis of Steyne's dinner ? Beg your pardon ; did 
 I cut you, sir ? " 
 
 Morgan was now operating upon the Major's chin — he continued the 
 theme while strapping the skilful razor. They've took a house in 
 Grosvenor Place, and are coming out strong, sir. Her Ladyship's 
 going to give three parties, besides a dinner a week, sir. Her fortune 
 won't stand it — can't stand it. " 
 
 ^^Gad, she had a devilish good cook when I was at Fairoaks," the 
 Major said, with very little compassion for the widow Amory's fortune. 
 
 Marobblan was his name, sir ; — Marobblan's gone away, sir ; " 
 Morgan said, — and the Major, this time with hearty sympathy, said, 
 
 he was devilish sorry to lose him." 
 
 There's been a tremenjuous row about that Mosseer Marobblan," 
 Morgan continued. At a ball at Baymouth, sir, bless his impadence, 
 he challenged Mr. Harthur to fight a jewel, sir, which Mr. Harthur 
 was very near knocking him down, and pitchin' him out a winder, and 
 serve him right ; but Chevalier Strong, sir, came up and stopped the 
 shindy — I beg pardon, the holtercation, sir — them French cooks has as 
 much pride and hinsolence as if they was real gentlemen." 
 
PENDENNIS 279 
 
 heard something of that quarrel/' said the Major; '^but 
 Mirobolant was not turned off for that?" 
 
 ^^No, sir-that affair, sir, which Mr. Harthur forgave it him and 
 be'aved most handsome, was hushed hup : it was about Miss Ham ory 
 sir, that he 'ad his dismissial. Those French fellers, they fancy 
 everybody is in love with 'em ; and he climbed up the large grape vine 
 to her winder, sir, and was a trying to get m, when he was caught 
 sir; and Mr. Strong came out, and they got the garden-engine and 
 plaved on him, and there was no end of a row, sir. 
 
 -Confound his impudence ! You don't mean to say Miss Amory 
 encouraged him.?" cried the Major, amazed at a peculiar expression in 
 Mr. Morgan's countenance. 
 
 Morgan resumed his imperturbable demeanour. "Know nothing 
 about it, sir. Servants don't know them kind of things the least. 
 Most probbly there was nothing in it-so many lies is told about 
 families— Marobblan went away, bag and baggage, saucepans, and pianna, 
 and all— the feller 'ad a pianna, and wrote potry in French, and he 
 took a lodging at Clavering, and he hankered about the primises, and 
 it was said that Madame Fribsby, the milhner, brought letters to Miss 
 Hamory, though 1 don't believe a word about it ; nor that he tried to 
 pison hisself with charcoal, which it was all a humbug betwigst him and 
 MlI^. Fribsby ; and he was nearly shot by the keeper m the park. 
 
 In the course of that very day, it chanced that the Major had 
 stationed himself in the great window of Bayss Club m St. James s 
 Street, at the hour in the afternoon when you see a half-score ot re- 
 spectable old bucks similarly recreating themselves (Bays s is rather 
 an old-fashioned place of resort now, and many of its members more 
 than middle-aged; but in the time of the Prince Regent, these old 
 fellows occupied the same window, and were some of the very greatest 
 dandies in this empire)— Major Pendennis was looking from the great 
 window, and spied his nephew Arthur walking down the street in 
 company with his friend Mr. Popjoy. ^o.. 
 
 "Look!" said Popjoy to Pen, as they passed, "did you ever pass 
 Bays's at four o'clock, without seeing that collection of old fogies 
 It's a regular museum.^ They ought to be cast in wax, and set up at 
 Madame Tussaud's " ^ „_ , 
 
 " —In a chamber of old horrors by themselves. Pen said, laughing. 
 
 "—In the chamber of horrors ! Gad, dooced good ! Pop cried. 
 "They are old rogues, most of 'em, and no mistake. Thf^e s old 
 Blondel ; there's my uncle Colchicum, the most confounded old sinner 
 in Europe ; there's— hullo ! there's somebody rapping the window and 
 nodding at us." ^ , u . 4. 
 
 " It's mv uncle, the Major,'^ said Pen. " Is he an old smner too ? 
 
 "Notorious old rogue," Pop said, wagging his head. ( Notowious 
 old wogue," he pronounced the words, thereby rendering them much 
 more emphatic.) " He's beckoning you in ; he wants to speak to you. 
 
 " Come in too," Pen said. ^ ^ , 
 
 "—Can't," replied the other. "Cut Uncle Col. two years ago, 
 about Mademoiselle Frangipane— Ta, ta," and the young sinner took 
 leave of Pen, and the club of the elder criminals, and sauntered into 
 
280 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Blacquiere's^ an adjacent establishment^ frequented by reprobates of 
 his own age. 
 
 Colchicum^ Blondel^ and the senior bucks had just been conversing 
 about the Clavering family^ whose appearance in London had formed 
 the subject of Major Pendennis's morning conversation with his valet. 
 Mr. Blondel's house was next to that of Sir Francis Clavering^ in 
 Grosvenor Place : giving very good dinners himself^ he had remarked 
 some activity in his neighbour's kitchen. Sir Francis^ indeed^ had a 
 new chef, who had come in more than once and dressed Mr. Blondel's 
 dinner for him ; that gentleman having only a remarkably expert 
 female artist permanently engaged in his establishment^ and employing 
 such chefs of note as happened to be free on the occasion of his grand 
 banquets. They go to a devilish expense and see devilish bad com- 
 pany as yet^ I hear/' Mr. Blondel said — they scour the streets^ by 
 gad^ to get people to dine with 'em. Champignon says it breaks his 
 heart to serve up a dinner to their society. What a shame it is that 
 those low people should have money at all ! " cried Mr. Blondel^ whose 
 grandfather had been a reputable leather-breeches maker, and whose 
 father had lent money to the Princes. 
 
 ^^1 wish I had fallen in with the widow myself," sighed hord C'>lc)>i- 
 cum, ^'^and not been laid up with that confounded gout at Lei. ;.orn. 
 I would have married the woman myself; Pm told she has sixir^-vi^ired 
 thousand pounds in the Threes." \n 
 
 ^'Not quite so much as that,— I knew her famRv in Ixidia, Major 
 Pendennis said. ''I knew her family in India; iW fa5:heri was an 
 enormously rich old indigo-planter, — know all about heK^-^-lavering 
 has the next estate to ours in the country. Ha ! there's ^y nephew 
 walking with " 4, 
 
 ^^With mine, — the infernal young scamp," said Lord Colphicum, I 
 glowering at Popjoy out of his heavy eyebrows ; and he turne't? away 
 from the window as Major Pendennis tapped upon it. 
 
 The Major was in high good-humour. The sun was bright, tJie air 
 brisk and invigorating. He had determined upon a visit to ' Lady 
 Clavering on that day, and bethought him that Arthur would be a 
 good companion for the walk across the Green Park to her Ladyship^'s 
 door. Master Pen was not displeased to accompany his illustrians 
 relative, who pointed out a dozen great men in their brief tranisit 
 through St. James's Street, and got bows from a Duke, at a crossir^g^ 
 a Bishop (on a cob), and a Cabinet Minister with an umbrella. T he | 
 Duke gave the elder Pendennis a finger of a pipe-clayed glove to shak'e, ' 
 which the Major embraced with great veneration ; and all Pen's blood 
 tingled as he found himself in actual communication, as it were, with 
 this famous man (for Pen had possession of the Major's left arm, whilst | 
 that gentleman's other wing was engaged with his Grace's right), 
 and he wished all Grey Friars School, all Oxbridge University, all 
 Paternoster Row and the Temple, and Laura and his mother at 
 Fan-oaks, could be standing on each side of the street, to see the 
 meeting between him and his uncle, and the most famous duke in 
 Christendom. 
 
 ^'How do, Pendennis.? — fine day," were his Grace's remarkable 
 words, and with a nod of his august head he passed on— in a blue 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 281 
 
 frock-coat and spotless white duck trousers, in a white stock, with a 
 shining buckle behind. 
 
 Old Pendennis, whose likeness to his Grace has been remarked, 
 began to imitate him unconsciously, after they had parted, speaking 
 with curt sentences, after the manner of the great man. We have all 
 of us, no doubt, met with more than one military officer who has so 
 imitated the manner of a certain Great Captain of the Age ; and has, 
 perhaps, changed his own natural character and disposition, because 
 Fate had endowed him with an aquiline nose. In like manner have we 
 not seen many another man pride himself on having a tall forehead 
 and a supposed likeness to Mr. Canning? many another go through life 
 swelling with self-gratification on account of an imagined resemblance 
 (we say imagined,'' because that anybody should be really like that 
 most beautiful and perfect of men is impossible) to the great and revered 
 George IV. } many third parties, who wore low necks to their dresses 
 because they fancied that Lord Byron and themselves were similar in 
 appearance ? and has not the grave closed but lately upon poor Tom 
 Bickerstaff, who having no more imagination than Mr. Joseph Hume, 
 looked in the glass, and fancied himself like Shakespeare, shaved his 
 forehead so as further to resemble the immortal bard, wrote tragedies 
 incessantly, and died perfectly crazy— actually perished of his forehead.? 
 These or similar freaks of vanity most people who have frequented the 
 world must have seen in their experience. Pen laughed in his roguish 
 sleeve at the manner in which his uncle began to imitate the great man 
 from whom they had just parted : but Mr. Pen was as vain in his own 
 way, perhaps, as the elder gentleman, and strutted, with a very con- 
 sequential air of his own, by the Major s side. 
 
 ^ ' Yes, my dear boy," said the old bachelor, as they sauntered through 
 the Green Park, where many poor children were disporting happily, 
 and errand boys were playing at toss halfpenny, and black sheep were 
 grazing in the sunshine, and an actor was learning his part on a bench, 
 and nursery-maids and their charges sauntered here and there, and 
 several couples were walking in a leisurely manner ; yes, depend on 
 it, my boy ; for a poor man, there is nothing like having good acquaint- 
 ances. Who were those men, with whom you saw me in the bow window 
 at Bays's.? Two were Peers of the realm. Hobandnob will be a Peer, 
 as soon as his grand-uncle dies, and he has had his third seizure ; and 
 of the other four not one has less than his seven thousand a year. Did 
 you see that dark blue brougham, with that tremendous stepping horse, 
 waiting at the door of the club } You'll know it again. It is Sir Hugh 
 Trumpington s ; he was never known to walk in his life ; never appears 
 in the streets on foot— never : and if he is going two doors off, to see 
 his mother, the old dowager (to whom I shall certainly introduce you, 
 for she receives some of the best company in London), gad, sir, he 
 mounts his horse at No. 23, and dismounts again at No. 25a. He is 
 now upstairs, at Bays's, playing piquet with Count Punter : he is the 
 second-best player in England — as well he may be ; for he plays every day 
 of his life, except Sundays (for Sir Hugh is an uncommonly religious man), 
 from half-past three till half-past seven, when he dresses for dinner. " 
 
 A very pious manner of spending his time," Pen said, laughing, and 
 thinking that his uncle was falling into the twaddling state. 
 
282 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Gad^ sir, that is not the question. A man of his estate may em- 
 ploy his time as he chooses. When you are a baronet, a county member, 
 with ten thousand acres of the best land in Cheshire, and such a place 
 as Trumpington (though he never goes there), you may do as you like." 
 
 ^^And so that was his brougham, sir, was it.^" the nephew said, 
 with almost a sneer. 
 
 His brougham — oh ay, yes ; — and that brings me back to my point 
 — revenons d nos moutons. Yes, begad ! revenons a nos moutons. Well, 
 that brougham is mine if I choose, between four and seven. Just as 
 much mine as if I jobbed it from Tilbury's, begad, for thirty pound a 
 month. Sir Hugh is the best-natured fellow in the world ; and if it 
 hadn't been so fine an afternoon as it is, you and I would have been in 
 that brougham at this very minute, on our way to Grosvenor Place. 
 That is the benefit of knowing rich men ; — I dine for nothing, sir ; — I 
 go into the country, and I'm mounted for nothing. Other fellows 
 keep hounds and gamekeepers for me. Sic vos non vobis, as we used 
 to say at Grey Friars, hay ? I'm of the opinion of my old friend Leech, 
 of the Forty-fourth ; and a devilish good shrewd fellow he was, as most 
 Scotchmen are. Gad, sir. Leech used to say he was so poor that he 
 couldn't afford to know a poor man." 
 
 You don't act up to your principles, uncle," Pen said good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 ^^Up to my principles : how, sir.^" the Major asked, rather testily. 
 You would have cut me in St. James's Street, sir," Pen said, ^^were 
 your practice not more benevolent than your theory ; you who live 
 with dukes and magnates of the land, and would take no notice of a 
 poor devil like me. " By which speech we may see that Mr. Pen was 
 getting on in the world, and could flatter as well as laugh in his sleeve. 
 
 Major Pendennis was appeased instantly, and very much pleased. 
 He tapped affectionately his nephew's arm on which he was leaning, 
 and said, — You, sir, you are my flesh and blood ! Hang it, sir, I've 
 been very proud of you and very fond of you, but for your confounded 
 follies and extravagances— and wild oats, sir, which I hope you've 
 sown. Yes, begad ! I hope you've sown 'em ; I hope you've sown 
 'em, begad I My object, Arthur, is to make a man of you — to see you 
 well placed in the world, as becomes one of your name and my own, 
 sir. You have got yourself a little reputation by your literary talents, 
 which I am very far from undervaluing, though in my time, begad, 
 poetry and genius and that sort of thing were devilish disreputable. 
 There was poor Byron, for instance, who ruined himself, and con- 
 tracted the worst habits by living with poets and newspaper-writers, 
 and people of that kind. But the times are changed now — there's a 
 run upon literature — clever fellows get into the best houses in town, 
 begad ! Tempora mutantur, sir, and, by Jove, I suppose whatever is is 
 right, as Shakespeare says." 
 
 Pen did not think fit to tell his uncle who was the author who had 
 made use of that remarkable phrase, and here descending from the 
 Green Park, the pair made their way into Grosvenor Place, and to the 
 door of the mansion occupied there by Sir Francis and Lady Clavering. 
 
 The dining-room shutters of this handsome mansion were freshly 
 gilded; the knockers shone gorgeous upon the newly-painted door; 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 283 
 
 the balcony before the drawing-room bloomed with a portable garden 
 of the most beautiful plants^ and with flowers^ white^ and pink, and 
 scarlet ; the windows of the upper room (the sacred chamber and 
 dressing-room of my lady, doubtless), and even a pretty little casement 
 of the third storey, which keen-sighted Mr. Pen presumed to belong 
 to the virgin bedroom of Miss Blanche Amory, were similarly adorned 
 with floral ornaments, and the whole exterior face of the house presented 
 the most brilliant aspect which fresh new paint, shining plate-glass, 
 newly cleaned bricks, and spotless mortar, could offer to the beholder. . 
 
 ^^How Strong must have rejoiced in organising all this splendour,'* 
 thought Pen. He recognised the Chevalier's genius in the magnificence 
 before him. 
 
 Lady Clavering is going out for her drive,'' the Major said. We 
 shall only have to leave our pasteboards, Arthur." He used the word 
 
 pasteboards," having heard it from some of the ingenious youth of 
 the nobility about town, and as a modern phrase suited to Pen's tender 
 years. Indeed, as the two gentlemen reached the door, a landau drove 
 up, a magnificent yellow carriage, lined with brocade or satin of a faint 
 cream-colour, drawn by wonderful grey horses, with flaming ribbons, 
 and harness blazing all over with crests ; no less than three of these 
 heraldic emblems surmounted the coats-of-arms on the panels, and 
 these shields contained a prodigious number of quarterings, betokening 
 the antiquity and splendour of the houses of Clavering and Snell. A 
 coachman in a tight silver wig surmounted the magnificent hammer- 
 cloth (whereon the same arms were worked in bullion), and controlled 
 the prancing greys — a young man still, but of a solemn countenance, 
 with a laced waistcoat and buckles in his shoes — little buckles, unlike 
 those which John and Jeames, the footmen, wear, and which we know 
 are large, and spread elegantly over the foot. 
 
 One of the leaves of the hall door was opened, and John— -one of the 
 largest of his race— was leaning against the door-pillar, with his am- 
 brosial hair powdered, his legs crossed ; beautiful, silk-stockinged ; in 
 his hand his cane, gold-headed, dolichoskion. Jeames was invisible, but 
 near at hand, waiting in the hall, with the gentleman who does not wear 
 livery, and ready to fling down the roll of hair-cloth over which her 
 Ladyship was to step to her carriage. These things and men, the which 
 to tell of demands time, are seen in the glance of a practised eye : and, 
 in fact, the Major and Pen had scarcely crossed the street, when the 
 second hattant of the door flew open ; the horsehair carpet tumbled down 
 the door-steps to those of the carriage ; John was opening it on one side 
 of the emblazoned door, and Jeames on the other, and two ladies, attired 
 in the highest style of fashion, and accompanied by a third, who carried 
 a Blenheim spaniel, yelping in a light- blue ribbon, came forth to ascend 
 the carriage. 
 
 Miss Amory was the first to enter, which she did with aerial lightness, 
 and took the place which she liked best. Lady Clavering next followed, 
 but her Ladyship was more mature of age and heavy of foot, and one of 
 those feet, attired in a green satin boot, with some part of a stocking, 
 which was very fine, whatever the ankle might be which it encircled, 
 might be seen swaying on the carriage-step, as her Ladyship leaned for 
 support on the arm* of the unbending Jeames, by the enraptured observer 
 
284 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 of female beauty who happened to be passing at the time of this im- 
 posing ceremonial. 
 
 The Pendennises senior and junior beheld those charms as they came 
 up to the door — the Major looking grave and courtly^ and Pen somewhat 
 abashed at the carriage and its owners ; for he thought of sundry little 
 passages at Clavering, which made his heart beat rather quick. 
 
 At that moment Lady Clavering, looking round, saw the pair — she 
 was on the first carriage-step, and would have been in the vehicle in 
 another second, but she gave a start backwards (which caused some of 
 the powder to fly from the hair of ambrosial Jeames), and crying out, 
 ^^Lor, if it isn*t Arthur Pendennis and the old Major ! " jumped back 
 to terra firma directly, and holding out two fat hands, encased in tight 
 orange-coloured gloves, the good-natured woman warmly greeted the 
 Major and his nephew. 
 
 Come in, both of you. — Why haven't you been before ? — Get out, 
 Blanche, and come and see your old friends. — Oh, I'm so glad to see 
 you. We've been watin' and watin' for you ever so long. Come in, 
 luncheon ain't gone down," cried out this hospitable lady, squeezing 
 Pen's hand in both hers (she had dropped the Major's after a brief 
 wrench of recognition), and Blanche, casting up her eyes towards the 
 chimneys, descended from the carriage presently, with a timid, blushing, 
 appealing look, and gave a little hand to Major Pendennis. 
 
 The companion with the spaniel looked about irresolute, and doubting 
 whether she should not take Fido his airing ; but she too turned right 
 about face and entered the house, after Lady Clavering, her daughter, 
 and the two gentlemen. And the carriage, with the prancing greys, 
 was left unoccupied, save by the coachman in the silver wig. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 IN WHICH THE SYLPH REAPPEARS 
 
 Better folks than Morgan, the valet, were not so well instructed as 
 that gentleman, regarding the amount of Lady Clavering's riches ; and 
 the legend in London, upon her Ladyship's arrival in the polite metro- 
 polis, was, that her fortune was enormous. Indigo factories, opium 
 clippers, banks overflowing with rupees, diamonds and jewels of native 
 princes, and vast sums of interest paid by them for loans contracted by 
 themselves or their predecessors to Lady Clavering's father, were men- 
 tioned as sources of her wealth. Her account at her London banker's 
 was positively known, and the sum embraced so many ciphers as to 
 create as many O's of admiration in the wondering hearer. It was 
 a known fact that an envoy from an Indian Prince, a Colonel Altamont, 
 the Nawaub of Lucknow's prime favourite, an extraordinary man, who 
 had, it was said, embraced Mahometanism, and undergone a thousand 
 wild and perilous adventures, was at present in this country, trying to 
 negotiate with the Begum Clavering the sale of the Nawaub's celebrated 
 nose-ring diamond, ^Hhe light of the Dewan." 
 
 Under the title of the Begum, Lady Clavering's fame began to spread 
 
PENDENNIS 286 
 
 in London before she herself descended upon the capital, and as it has 
 been the boast of Delolme, and Blackstone, and all panegyrists of the 
 British Constitution, that we admit into Aur aristocracy i^eril: of every 
 kind,^nd that the lowliest-born man, if^he buf jie.s'^rVe 'it, may wear 
 the robes of a peer, and sit alongside of a Cavendish oi; .a St?n ey : so 
 it ought to be the boast of our good soc^c^ty^ ttat haugh th^ugh it be, 
 naturally jealous of its privileges, aad; ca'-eful who- feh^H be aanutted 
 into its circle, yet, if an individual be but rich . enough, all barriers are 
 instantly removed, and he or she is welccmed. as ft-om^ hic wejilth he 
 merits to be. This fact shows our British indet)endence ^nd honest 
 feeling— our higher orders are not such mere haughty aristocrats as the 
 ignorant represent them : on the contrary, if a man have money they 
 ' will hold out their hands to him, eat his dinners, dance at his balls, 
 marry his daughters, or give their own lovely girls to his sons, as affably 
 as your commonest roturier would do. 
 
 As he had superintended the arrangements of the country mansion, 
 our friend, the Chevalier Strong, gave the benefit of his taste and 
 advice to the fashionable London upholsterers, who prepared the town 
 house for the reception of the Clavering family. In the decoration of 
 this elegant abode, honest Strong's soul rejoiced as much as if he had 
 been himself its proprietor. He hung and re-hung the pictures, he 
 studied the positions of sofas, he had interviews with wine merchants 
 and purveyors who were to supply the new establishment ; and at the 
 same time the Baronet's factotum and confidential friend took the 
 opportunity of furnishing his own chambers, and stocking his snug 
 little cellar : his friends complimented him upon the neatness of the 
 former ; and the select guests who came in to share Strong s cutlet 
 now found a bottle of excellent claret to accompany the meal. 1 he 
 Chevalier was now, as he said, in clover : " he had a very comfortable 
 set of rooms in Shepherd's Inn. He was waited on by a former 
 Spanish Legionary and comrade of his whom he had left at a breach ot 
 a Spanish fort, and found at a crossing in Tottenham Court Road, and 
 whom he had elevated to the rank of body-servant to himself and to 
 the chum who, at present, shared his lodgings. This was no other 
 than the favourite of the Nawaub of Lucknow, the valiant Colonel 
 Altamont. , 
 No man was less curious or, at any rate, more discreet, than JNea 
 Strong, and he did not care to inquire into the mysterious connection 
 which, very soon after their first meeting at Baymouth, was estabhshed 
 between Sir Francis Clavering and the envoy of the Nawaub. Ihe 
 latter knew some secret regarding the former, which put Clavering 
 into his power, somehow ; and Strong, who knew that his patron s 
 early life had been rather irregular, and that his career with his 
 regiment in India had not been brilliant, supposed that the Colonel, 
 who swore he knew Clavering well at Calcutta, had some hold upon 
 Sir Francis to which the latter was forced to yield. In truth. Strong 
 had long understood Sir Francis Clavering's character, as that of a 
 man utterly weak in purpose, in principle, and intellect, a moral and 
 physical trifler and poltroon. 
 
 With poor Clavering his Excellency had had one or two interviews 
 after their Baymouth meeting, the nature of which conversations the 
 
286 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Baronet did not confide to Strong : although he sent letters to Altamont 
 by that.gentl^^man_, who was his ambassador in all sorts of affairs. On 
 one of tiiese Wc^s^ono the Nawaub's envoy must have been in an ex- 
 ceeding ill-hiJfinOtLr ; "fc^r'l^e cilushed Clavering's letter in his hand^ and 
 said with* his own particular 'manner and emphasis — 
 
 ^^A hMi).dred' beahanged. :I!ll have no more letters nor no more 
 shilly-shally. TelT ClaveriBg- I'lt have a thousand,, or by Jove I'll 
 split, and burst him all to atoms. Let him give me a thousand and 
 I'll go abi*ofl4>) pM*J give^yctu my honour as a gentleman, I'll not ask 
 him for no hiore fee a year. Give him that message from me. Strong, 
 my boy ; and tell him if the money ain't here next Friday at twelve 
 o'clock, as sure as my name's what it is, I'll have a paragraph in the 
 newspaper on Saturday, and next week I'll blow up the whole concern." 
 
 Strong carried back these words to his principal, on whom their 
 effect was such, that actually, on the day and hour appointed, the 
 Chevalier made his appearance once more at Altamont's hotel at 
 Bay mouth, with the sum of money required. Altamont was a gentle- 
 man, he said, and behaved as such ; he paid his bill at the inn, and 
 the Baymouth paper announced his departure on a foreign tour. 
 Strong saw him embark at Dover. It must be forgery at the very 
 least," he thought, that has put Clavering into this fellow's power, 
 and the Colonel has got the bill." 
 
 Before the year was out, however, this happy country saw the 
 Colonel once more upon its shores. A confounded run on the red had 
 finished him, he said, at Baden Baden : no gentleman could stand 
 against a colour coming up fourteen times, tie had been obliged to 
 draw upon Sir Francis Clavering for means of returning home : and 
 Clavering, though pressed for money (for he had election expenses, 
 had set up his establishment in the country, and was engaged in 
 furnishing his London house), yet found means to accept Colonel 
 Altamont's bill, though evidently very much against his will ; for in 
 Strong's hearing. Sir Francis wished to heaven, with many curses, that 
 the Colonel could have been locked up in a debtor's gaol in Germany 
 for life, so that he might never be troubled again. 
 
 These sums for the Colonel Sir Francis was obliged to raise without 
 the knowledge of his wife ; for though perfectly liberal, nay, sumptuous 
 in her expenditure, the good lady had inherited a tolerable aptitude 
 for business along with the large fortune of her father, Snell, and 
 gave to her husband only such a handsome allowance as she thought 
 befitted a gentleman of his rank. Now and again she would give him 
 a present or pay an outstanding gambling debt ; but she always exacted 
 a pretty accurate account of the money so required ; and respecting 
 the subsidies to the Colonel, Clavering fairly told Strong that he 
 couldn't speak to his wife. 
 
 Part of Mr. Strong's business in life was to procure this money and 
 other sums for his patron. And in the Chevalier's apartments, in 
 Shepherd's Inn, many negotiations took place between gentlemen of 
 the moneyed world and Sir Francis Clavering ; and many valuable 
 bank-notes and pieces of stamped paper were passed between them. 
 When a man has been in the habit of getting in debt from his early 
 youth, and of exchanging his promises to pay at twelve months against 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 287 
 
 present sums of money^ it would seem as if no piece of good fortune 
 ever permanently benefited him : a little while after the advent of 
 prosperity, the money-lender is pretty certain to be in the house again, 
 and the bills with the old signature in the mark^.t. Clav^rmg found 
 it more convenient to see these gentry at Strong's lodgings than at his 
 own; and such was the Chevaliers friv)bdsh1p for ihe Baroaot, that 
 although he did not possess a shilling of h\JS owii, hi^ name might be 
 seen as the drawer of almost all the bills of exchange which Sjr Francis 
 Clavering accepted. Having drawn Claverin^'s bjils;, h^^ot them 
 discounted ^^in the City." When they became due ne ^a^leyed with 
 the bill-holders, and gave them instalments of their debt, or got 
 time in exchang:e_for fresh acceptances. Regularly or irregularly, 
 gentlemen must live somehow : and as we read how, the other day, 
 at Comorn, the troops forming that garrison were gay and lively, acted 
 plays, danced at balls, and consumed their rations, though menaced 
 with an assault from the enemy without the walls, and with a gallows 
 if the Austrians were successful, — so there are hundreds of gallant 
 spirits in this town, walking about in good spirits, dining every day 
 in tolerable gaiety and plenty, and going to sleep comfortably, with 
 a bailiif always more or less near, and a rope of debt round their necks 
 — the which trifling inconveniences Ned Strong, the old soldier, bore 
 very easily. 
 
 But we shall have another opportunity of making acquaintance with 
 these and some other interesting inhabitants of Shepherd's Inn, and in 
 the meanwhile are keeping Lady Clavering and her friends too long 
 waiting on the door-steps of Grosvenor Place. 
 
 First they went into the gorgeous dining-room, fitted up. Lady 
 Clavering couldn't for goodness gracious tell why, in the middle-aged 
 style, unless," said her good-natured Ladyship, laughing, because 
 me and Clavering are middle-aged people ; " — and here they were 
 offered the copious remains of the luncheon of which Lady Clavering 
 and Blanche had just partaken. When nobody was near, our little 
 sylphide — who scarcely ate at dinner more than the six grains of rice 
 of Amina, the friend of the Ghouls in the Arabian Nights — was most 
 active with her knife and fork, and consumed a very substantial portion 
 of mutton cutlets : in which piece of hypocrisy it is believed she re- 
 sembled other young ladies of fashion. Pen and his uncle declined 
 the refection, but they admired the dining-room with fitting compli- 
 ments, and pronounced it very chaste," that being the proper phrase. 
 There were, indeed, high-backed Dutch chairs of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury ; there was a sculptured carved buffet of the sixteenth ; there was 
 a sideboard robbed out of the carved work of a church in the Low 
 Countries, and a large brass cathedral lamp over the round oak table ; 
 there were old family portraits from Wardour Street, and tapestry 
 from France, bits of armour, double-handed swords and battle-axes 
 made of carton-pierre, looking-glasses, statuettes of saints, and Dresden 
 china — nothing, in a word, could be chaster. Behind the dining-room 
 was the library, fitted with busts and books all of a size, and wonderful 
 easy-chairs, and solemn bronzes in the severe classic style. Here it 
 was that, guarded by double doors. Sir Francis smoked cigars, and 
 read Beirs Life in London^ and went to sleep after dinner, when he was 
 
288 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 not smoking over the billiard-table at his clubs^ or punting at tl 
 gambUng--]^Quses in St. James's. 
 
 But 'wh£t ,,co ujd.eijuai ihe chaste splendour of the drawing-rooms ?- 
 the carpets ,w^i'b so xnagiiifi^'ently fluffy that your foot made no mo] 
 noise on, thpm than your shadow : on their white ground bloomc 
 rosec? ano. tulips as big, jis wa.:ming-pans ; about the room were hig 
 draiTO and low ehai^s\- baK^ly^e^ged chairs^ chairs so attenuated th; 
 it was ^ jvqnd^r any but' a sylph could sit upon them^ marqueter 
 tables;€ov^,red with "mai^vellous gimcracks_, china ornaments of all ag< 
 and oountrfes^ b?oa?.es_, gilt daggers^ Books of Beauty^ yataghan 
 Turkish papooshes^ and boxes of Parisian bonbons. Wherever yc 
 sate down there were Dresden shepherds and shepherdesses conveniei 
 at your elbow ; there were^ moreover^ light-blue poodles and due] 
 and cocks and hens in porcelain ; there were nymphs by Bouche 
 and shepherdesses by Greuze, very chaste indeed ; there were musl: 
 curtains and brocade curtains_, gilt cages with parroquets and lovi 
 birds^ two squealing cockatoos^ each out-squealing and out-chatterir 
 the other ; a clock singing tunes on a console-table^ and another boor 
 ing the hours like Great Tom^ on the mantelpiece — there was^ in 
 word^ everything that comfort could desire^ and the most elegant tas 
 devise. A London drawing-room fitted up without regard to expeni 
 is surely one of the noblest and most curious sights of the presei 
 day. The Romans of the Lower Empire^ the dear Marchionesses ar 
 Countesses of Louis XV., could scarcely have had a finer taste tha 
 our modern folks exhibit ; and everybody who saw Lady Clavering 
 reception rooms was forced to confess that they were most elegani 
 and that the prettiest rooms in London — Lady Harley Quin's, Lac 
 Hanway Wardour's, Mrs. Hodge-Podgson's own, the great Railrof 
 Cfroesus' wife, were not fitted up with a more consummate chastity.' 
 
 Poor Lady Clavering, meanwhile, knew little regarding these thing 
 and had a sad want of respect for the splendours around her. I onj 
 know they cost a precious deal of money. Major," she said to her gues 
 and that I don't advise you to try one of them gossamer gilt chairs 
 / came down on one the night we gave our second dinner-party. Wh 
 didn't you come and see us before ? We'd have asked you to it. " 
 
 You would have liked to see mamma break a chair, wouldn't yoi 
 Mr. Pendennis?" dear Blanche said, with a sneer. She was angr 
 because Pen was talking and laughing with mamma, because mamm 
 had made a number of blunders in describing the house — for a hundre 
 other good reasons. 
 
 I should like to have been by to give Lady Clavering my arm 
 she had need of it," Pen answered, with a bow and a blush. 
 
 Quel preux Chevalier ! " cried the Sylphide, tossing up her little head 
 
 I have a fellow-feeling with those who fall, remember," Pen said 
 I suffered myself very much from doing so once." 
 
 And you went home to Laura to console you," said Miss Amory 
 Pen winced. He did not like the remembrance of the consolation whicl 
 Laura had given to him, nor was he very well pleased to find that hii 
 rebuff in that quarter was known to the world : so as he had nothing 
 to say in reply, he began to be immensely interested in the furniture 
 round about him, and to praise Lady Clavering's taste with all his might. 
 
Copyright, Service &- Paton, 1897 
 
UNIVERSITY 6f\lU»^0^^- 
 
PENDENNIS 289 
 
 '^Me don't praise me/' said honest Lady Clavering; it's all the 
 upholst(rer's doings^ and Captain Strong's ; they did it all while we 
 was at tie Park — and — and — Lady Rockminster has been here and says 
 the saloigs are very well/' said Lady Clavering, with an air and tone 
 of great deference. 
 
 My cousin Laura has been staying with her/' Pen said. 
 It's not the dowager : it is the Lady Rockminster. " 
 ^^'^ Indeed ! " cried Major Pendennis, when he heard this great name 
 of fastiion. ^^If you have her Ladyship's approval. Lady Clavering, 
 you can not be far wrong. No, no, you cannot be far wrong. Lady 
 Rockmin ster, I should say, Arthur, is the very centre of the circle of 
 fashion and taste. The rooms are beautiful indeed !" and the Major's 
 I voice hueshed as he spoke of this great lady, and he looked round and 
 ■surveyed the apartments awfully and respectfully, as if he had been 
 Lat church. 
 
 [ Yes, Lady Rockminster has took us up," said Lady Clavering. 
 
 \ Take n us up, mamma," cried Blanche, in a shrill voice. 
 
 ^^Well^ taken us up, then," said my lady; ^^it's very kind of her, 
 and I dar e say we shall like it when we git used to it, only at first one 
 don't fanr.y being took — well, taken up, at all. She is going to give 
 our balls for us ; and wants to invite all our diners. But I won't stand 
 that. I w ill have my old friends, and I won't let her send all the cards 
 out, and sit mum at the head of my own table. You must come to me, 
 Arthur and Major — come, let me see, on the 14th. — It ain't one of our 
 grand dinners, Blanche," she said, looking round at hfer daughter, who 
 bit her lips and frowned very savagely for a sylphide. 
 
 The Major, with a smile and a bow, said he would much rather 
 come to a quiet meeting than to a grand dinner. He had had enough 
 
 ] of those large entertainments, and preferred the simplicity of the 
 
 / home circle. 
 
 I always think a dinner s the best the second day," said Lady Claver- 
 I ing, thinking to mend her first speech. " On the 14th we'll be quite a 
 I snug little party ; " at which second blunder. Miss Blanche clasped her 
 hands in despair, and said, ^^O mamma, mus etes incomgible." Major 
 Pendennis vowed that he liked snug dinners of all things in the world, 
 and confounded her Ladyship's impudence for daring to ask such a man 
 as him to a second day's dinner. But he was a man of an economical 
 turn of mind, and bethinking himself that he could throw over these 
 people if anything better should offer, he accepted with the blandest air. 
 \ As for Pen, he was not a diner-out of thirty years' standing as yet, 
 end the idea of a fine feast in a fine house was still perfectly welcome 
 to him. 
 
 "^ What was that pretty little quarrel which engaged itself between 
 your worship and Miss Amory.^" the Major asked of Pen, as they 
 Xlralked away together. ^^I thought you used to be au mieuoc in 
 /T;hat quarter." 
 
 1 Used to be," answered Pen, with a dandified air, is a vague phrase 
 regarding a woman. Was and is are two very different terms, sir, as 
 regards women's hearts especially." 
 
 Egad, they change as we do," cried the elder. When we took the 
 Cape of Good Hope, I recollect there was a lady who talked of poisoning 
 
 T 
 
290 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 herself for your humble servant ; and, begad, in three month, she ran 
 away from her husband with somebody else. Don't get /o rself en- 
 tangled with that Miss Amory. She is forward, affected, and uiderbred ; 
 and her character is somewhat — never mind what. But don't thinly oi 
 her : ten thousand pound won't do for you. What, my gcod '^ellow, is^ 
 ten thousand pound .^^ I would scarcely pay that girl's m il]ii,^»r's bill' 
 with the interest of the money." 
 
 You seem to be a connoisseur in millinery, uncle," Pen said. 
 
 I was, sir, I was," replied the senior ; and the old war ho rse, yo 
 know, never hears the sound of a trumpet, but he begins to h^i^ he !- 
 you understand," — and he gave a killing though somewha t super 
 annuated leer and bow to a carriage that passed them and i nteroc 
 the Park. 
 
 Lady Catherine Martingale's carriage," he said, mons'ous fine girls 
 the daughters, though, gad, I remember their mother a thouscind times 
 handsomer. No, Arthur, my dear fellow, with your person and ex- 
 pectations, you o^ xbt to make a good coup in marriage some day or other 
 and though I .vui. in't have this repeated at Fairoaks, you rugve, ha . 
 ha! a reputi ion ^or a little wickedness, and for beinj.'. ;* r homme 
 dangereuo!, doi 't i f +t a young fellow with the women. 'J'ht-y like it, 
 sif — they hate i n uksop . . . young men must be young men, you 
 know. But for i: vu ^^e," continued the veteran moralist, that is a 
 very different martin. Marry a woman with money. I've t(Vid you 
 before it is as easy to get a rich wife as a poor one ; and a doosod deal 
 more comfortable to sit ddwn to a well-cooked dinner, witli your lietif 
 entrees nicely served, 1; ; to have nothing but a damned <:old le^ of 
 mutton between you and ir wife. We shall have a goo t dii .aer on 
 the 14th, when we dine vv. /■> Sir Francis Clavering : stick to that, my 
 boy, in your relations with i: . • family. Cultivate 'em, but keep 'em for 
 dining. No more of your ^>uthful follies and nonsense about love in 
 a cottage." 1 
 
 It must be a cottage witli a double coach-house, a cottage of ^eii- 
 tility, sir," said Pen, quoting tiie hackneyed ballad of the ^^Dt il's 
 Walk :" but his uncle did noo know that poem (though, perhaps, iie 
 might be leading Pen upon the very promenade in question), and we, it 
 on with his philosophical remarks, very much pleased with the aptneso 
 of the pupil to whom he addressed them. Indeed, Arthur Pendennis 
 was a clever fellow, who took his colour very readily from his neighbour, 
 and found the adaptation only too easy. 
 
 Warrington, the grumbler, growled out that Pen was becoming such 
 a puppy that soon there would be no bearing him. But the truth is 
 the young man's success and dashing manners pleased his elder coin* 
 panion. He liked to see Pen gay and spirited, and brimful of health, 
 and life, and hope ; as a man who has long since left off being amused 
 with clown and harlequin, still gets a pleasure in watching a cldid at, 
 a pantomime. Mr. Pen's former sulkiness disappeared with his better'^ 
 fortune ; and he bloomed as the sun began to shine upon him. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 291 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 IN WHICH COLONEL ALTAMONT APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS 
 
 On the day appointed^ Major Pendennis^ who had formed no better 
 engagement, and Arthur, who desired none, arrived together to dine 
 with SilNJEmncis Clavering. The only tenants of the drawing-room 
 ^^hen Pen^d his uncle reached it, were Sir Francis and his wife, and 
 our friend Captain Strong, whom Arthur was very glad to see, though 
 tae Major looked very sulkily at Strong, being by no means well pleased 
 
 ' o sit down to dinner with Claveri^^g's d house-steward, as he 
 
 -irreverently called Strong. But Mr. Welbore Welbore, Clavering's 
 country neighbour and brother member of Parliament, speedily arriving, 
 Pendennis the elder was somewhat appeased, for Welbore, though per- 
 i^ctly dull, and taking no more part in the conversation at dinner than 
 ihe footman behind his chair, was a respectable country gentleman of 
 ancient family and seven thousand a year ; and the Major felt always 
 at ease in such society. To these were added oth- persons of note : 
 u'\e Dowager Lady Rockminster, who had her reasons for being well 
 with the Clavering family, and the Lady Agnes Foker, with her son 
 Mr. Harry, our old acquaintance. Mr. Pynsent could not come, his 
 parliamentary duties keeping him at the House, duties which sate upon 
 the two other senators very lightly. Miss Blanche Amory was the last 
 of the company who made her appearance. She was dressed in a killing 
 white silk dress, which displayed her pearly shoulders to the utmost 
 advantage. Foker whispered to Pen, who regarded her with eyes of 
 evident admiration, that he considered her a stunner." She chosen to 
 be very gracious to Arthur upon this day, and held out her hand mo^ 
 cordially, and talked about dear Fairoaks, and asked for dear* li^ra 
 and his mother, and said she was longing to go back to the country, 
 and in fact was entirely simple, affectionate, and artless. 
 
 Harry Foker thought he had never seen anybody so amiable and de- 
 lightful. Not accustomed much to the society of ladies, and ordinarily 
 being dumb in their presence, he found that he could speak before 
 Miss Amory, and became uncommonly lively and talkative, even 
 before the dinner was announced and the party descended to the 
 lower rooms. He would have longed to give his arm to the fair 
 Blanche, and conduct her down the broad carpeted stair; but she 
 fell to the lot of Pen upon this occasion, Mr. Foker being appointed 
 to escort Mrs. Welbore Welbore, in consequence of his superior rank 
 as an earl's grandson. 
 
 But though he was separated from the object of his desire during the 
 passage downstairs, the delighted Foker found himself by Miss Amory's 
 side at the dinner-table, and flattered himself that he had manoeuvred 
 very well in securing that happy place. It may be that the move was 
 not his, but that it was made by another person. Blanche had thus 
 the two young men, one on each side of her, and each tried to render 
 himself gallant and agreeable. 
 
 Foker's mamma, from her place, surveying her darling boy, was sur- 
 
292 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 prised at his vivacity. Harry talked constantly to his fair neighbour 
 about the topics of the day. 
 
 ^^Seen Taglioni in the Sylphide, Miss Amory? Bring me that 
 souprame of Volile again^ if you please" (this was addressed to the 
 attendant near him) ; very good : can*t think where the souprames 
 come from ; what becomes of the legs of the fowls^ I wonder ? She's 
 clipping in the Sylphide^ ain t she ? " and he began very kindly to hum 
 the pretty air which pervades that prettiest of all ballets^ now faded into 
 the past with that most beautiful and gracious of all dancers. Will 
 the young folks ever see anything so charming, anything so classic, 
 anything like Taglioni ? 
 
 Miss Amory is a sylph herself/' said Mr. Pen. 
 
 What a delightful tenor voice you have, Mr. Foker ! " said the 
 young lady. I am sure you have been well taught. I sing a little 
 myself. I should like to sing with you." 
 
 / Pen remembered that words very similar had been addressed to him- 
 self by the young lady, and that she had liked to sing with him in 
 jformer days. And sneering within himself, he wondered with how 
 many other gentlemen she had sung duets since his time } But he did 
 not think fit to put "this awkward question aloud : and only said, with 
 the very tenderest air which he could assume, I should like to hear 
 you sing again. Miss Blanche. I never heard a voice I liked so well 
 as yours, I think." 
 
 I thought you liked Laura's," said Miss Blanche. 
 
 Laura's is a contralto : and that voice is very often out, you know," 
 Pen said- bitterly. I have heard a great deal of music in London," 
 he continued. I'm tired of those professional people — they sing too 
 loud— or I have grown too old or too blase. One grows old very soon 
 in London, Miss Amory. And like all old fellows, I only care for the 
 songs I heard in my youth." 
 
 I like English music best. I don't care for foreign songs much. — 
 Get me some saddle of mutton," said Mr. Foker. 
 
 I adore English ballads of all things," said Miss Amory. 
 " Sing me one of the old songs after dinner, will you?" said Pen, 
 with an imploring voice. 
 
 Shall I sing you an English song, after dinner?" asked the 
 Sylphide, turning to Mr. Foker. I will, if you will promise to come 
 ^ up soon : " and she gave him a perfect broadside of her eyes. 
 
 I'll come up after dinner, fast enough," he said simply. I don't 
 care about much wine afterwards — I take my whack at dinner — I mean 
 my share, you know ; and when I have had as much as I want, I toddle 
 up to tea. I'm a domestic character. Miss Amory — my habits are 
 simple — and when I'm pleased I'm generally in a good humour, ain't 
 I, Pen? — That jelly, if you please — not that one, the other with the 
 cherries inside. How the doose do they get those cherries inside the 
 jellies?" In this way the artless youth prattled on : and Miss Amory 
 listened to him with inexhaustible good humour. When the ladies 
 took their departure for the upper regions, Blanche made the two young 
 r men promise faithfully to quit the table soon, and departed with kind 
 / glances to each. She dropped her gloves on Foker's side of the table, 
 / and her handkerchief on Pen's. Each had some little attention paid to 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 293 
 
 him ; her politeness to Mr. Foker was perhaps a little more encouraging 
 than her kindness to Arthur : but the benevolent little creature did 
 her best to make both the gentlemen happy. Foker caught her last 
 glance as she rushed out of the door ; that bright look passed over Mr. 
 Strong's broad white waistcoat^ and shot straight at Harry Foker's. 
 The door closed on the charmer : he sate down with a sigh, and swal- 
 lowed a bumper of claret. 
 
 As the dinner at which Pen and his uncle took their places was not 
 one of our grand parties, it had been served at a considerably earlier 
 hour than those ceremonial banquets of the London season, which 
 custom has ordained shall scarcely take place before nine o'clock ; and 
 the company being small, and Miss Blanche, anxious to betake herself 
 to her piano in the drawing-room, giving constant hints to her mother 
 to retreat,— Lady Clavering made that signal very speedily, so that it 
 was quite daylight yet when the ladies reached the upper apartments, 
 from the flower-embroidered balconies of which they could command 
 a view of the two Parks, of the poor couples and children still saunter- 
 ing in the one, and of the equipages of ladies and the horses of dandies 
 passing through the arch of the other. The sun, in a word, had not 
 set behind the elms of Kensington Gardens, and was still gilding the 
 statue erected by the ladies of England in honour of his Grace the 
 Duke of Wellington, when Lady Clavering and her female friends left 
 the gentlemen drinking wine. 
 
 The windows of the dining-room were opened to let in the fresh air, 
 and afforded to the passers-by in the street a pleasant or, perhaps, 
 tantalising view of six gentlemen in white waistcoats, with a quantity 
 of decanters and a variety of fruits before them— little boys, as they 
 passed and jumped up at the area railings, and took a peep, said to 
 one another, Mi hi, Jim, shouldn't you like to be there, and have a 
 cut of that there pineapple } " — the horses and carriages of the nobility 
 and gentry passed by, conveying them to Belgravian toilets : the police- 
 man, with clamping feet, patrolled up and down before the mansion ; 
 the shades of evening began to fall : the gas-man came and lighted the 
 lamps before Sir Francis's door : the butler entered the dining-room, 
 and illuminated the antique Gothic chandelier over the antique carved 
 oak dining-table : so that from outside the house you looked inwards 
 upon a night scene of feasting and wax candles ; and from within you 
 beheld a vision of a calm summer evening, and the wall of Saint James's 
 Park, and the sky above, in which a star or two was just beginning 
 to twinkle. 
 
 Jeames, with folded legs, leaning against the door-pillar of his 
 master's abode, looked forth musingly upon the latter tranquil sight ; 
 whilst a spectator, clinging to the railings, examined the former scene. 
 Policeman X, passing, gave his attention to neither, but fixed it upon 
 the individual holding by the railings, and gazing into Sir Francis 
 Clavering's dining-room, where Strong was laughing and talking away, 
 making the conversation for the party. 
 
 The man at the railings was very gorgeously attired with chains, 
 jewellery, and waistcoats, which the illumination from the house 
 lighted up to great advantage ; his boots were shiny ; he had brass 
 buttons to his coat, and large white wristbands over his knuckles ; and 
 
294 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 indeed looked so grand^ that X imagined he beheld a member of Parlia- 
 ment^ or a person of consideration before him. Whatever his rank^ 
 however^ the M. P. or person of consideration^ was considerably excited 
 by wine ; for he lurched and reeled somewhat in his gait, and his hat 
 was cocked over his wild and bloodshot eyes in a manner which no sober 
 hat ever could assume. His copious black hair was evidently surrepti- 
 tious_, and his whiskers of the Tyrian purple. 
 
 As Strong's laughter, following after one of his own gros mots, came 
 ringing out -of window, this gentleman without laughed and sniggered 
 in the queerest way likewise, and he slapped his thigh and winked at 
 Jeames pensive in the portico, as much as to say, Plush, my boy, isn't 
 that a good story ? " 
 
 Jeames's attention had been gradually drawn from the moon in the 
 heavens to this sublunary scene ; and he was puzzled and alarmed by 
 the appearance of the man in shiny boots. A holtercation," he re- 
 marked, afterwards, in the servants' hall — a holtercation with a feller 
 in the streets is never no good ; and indeed, he was not hired for any 
 such purpose." So, having surveyed the man for some time, who went 
 on laughing, reeling, nodding his head with tipsy knowingness, J eames 
 looked out of the portico, and softly called Pleaceman," and beckoned 
 to that officer, 
 
 X marched up resolute, with one Berlin glove stuck in his belt side, 
 and Jeames simply pointed with his index finger to the individual who 
 was laughing against the railings. Not one single word more than 
 
 Pleaceman " did he say, but stood there in the calm summer evening, 
 pointing calmly : a grand sight. 
 
 X advanced to the individual and said, " Now, sir, will you have the 
 kindness to move hon } " 
 
 The individual, who was in perfect good humour, did not appear to 
 hear one word which Policeman X uttered, but nodded and waggled his 
 grinning head at Strong, until his hat almost fell from his head over the 
 area railings. 
 
 Now, sir, move on, do you hear } " cries X, in a much more peremp- 
 tory tone, and he touched the stranger gently with one of the fingers 
 inclosed in the gauntlets of the Berlin woof. 
 
 He of the many rings instantly started, or rather staggered back, 
 into what is called an attitude of self-defence, and in that position began 
 the operation which is entitled squaring," at Policeman X, and showed 
 himself brave and warlike, if unsteady. Hullo, keep your hands off a 
 gentleman," he said, with an oath which need not be repeated. 
 
 Move on out of this," said X, and don't be a blocking up the 
 pavement, staring into gentlemen's dining-rooms." 
 
 ^^Not stare — ho, ho, — not stare — that is a good one," replied the 
 other, with a satiric laugh and sneer. Who's to prevent me from 
 staring, looking at my friends, if I like } Not you, old highlows." 
 
 Friends ! I dessay. Move on," answered X. 
 
 If you touch me, I'll pitch into you, I will," roared the other. I 
 tell you I know 'em all — That's Sir Francis Clavering, Baronet, M.P. — 
 I know him, and he knows me — and that's Strong, and that's the young 
 chap that made the row at the ball. I say. Strong, Strong ! " 
 
 It's that d Altamont," cried Sir Francis within, with a start 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 206 
 
 and a guilty look ; and Strong also, with a look of annoyance, got up 
 from the table and ran out to the intruder. ^ 
 
 A gentleman in a white waistcoat, running out from a dinmg-room 
 bare-headed, a policeman, and an individual decently attired, engaged 
 in almost fisticuffs on the pavement, were enough to make a crowd, 
 even in that quiet neighbourhood, at half-past eight o clock in the 
 evening, and a small mob began to assemble before Sir Francis Claver- 
 ings door. ''For God's sake, come in," Strong said, seizing his 
 acquaintance's arm. Send for a cab, James, if you please," he added 
 in an under voice to that domestic ; and carrying the excited gentleman 
 out of the street, the outer door was closed upon him, and the small 
 crowd began to move away. -n 
 
 Mr. Strong had intended to convey the stranger into Sir l^ranciss 
 private sitting-room, where the hats of the male guests were awaiting 
 them, and having there soothed his friend by bland conversation, to 
 have carried him off as soon as the cab arrived— but the new-comer was 
 in a great state of wrath at the indignity which had been put upon him ; 
 and when Strong would have led him into the second door, said m a 
 tipsy voice, That ain t the door— that's the dining-room door— where 
 the drink's going on— and I'll go and have some, by Jove ; I'll go and 
 have some." At this audacity the butler stood aghast in the hall, and 
 placed himself before the door : but it opened behind him, and the 
 master of the house made his appearance, with anxious looks. 
 
 I will have some,— by I will," the intruder was roaring out, 
 
 as Sir Francis came forward. Hullo ! Clavering, I say, I'm come to 
 have some wine with you; hay ! old boy— hay, old corkscrew.'^ Get 
 us a bottle of the yellow seal, you old thief— the very best— a hundred 
 rupees a dozen, and no mistake." 
 
 The host reflected a moment over his company. There is only W el- 
 bore, Pendennis, and those two lads, he thought— and with a forced 
 laugh and piteous look, he said,—" Well, Altamont, come in. I am 
 very glad to see you, I'm sure." 
 
 Colonel Altamont— for the intelligent reader has doubtless long ere 
 this discovered in the stranger. His Excellency the Ambassador of the 
 Nawaub of Lucknow— reeled into the dining-room, with a triumphant 
 look towards Jeames, the footman, which seemed to say, There, sir, 
 what do you think of that? Now, am I a gentleman or no? and 
 sank down into the first vacant chair. Sir Francis Clavering timidly 
 stammered out the Colonel's name to his guest Mr. Welbore Welbore, 
 and His Excellency began drinking wine forthwith and gazing round 
 upon the company, now with the most wonderful frowns, and anon with 
 the blandest smiles, and hiccupped remarks encomiastic of the drink 
 which he was imbibing. . „ 
 
 '' Very singular man. Has resided long in a native court in India, 
 Strong said, with great gravity, the Chevalier's presence of mind 
 never deserting him. ''In those Indian courts they get very 
 singular habits." 
 
 " Very," said Major Pendennis drily, and wondering what in good- 
 ness' name was the company into which he had got. 
 
 Mr. Foker was pleased with the new-comer. "It's the man who 
 would sing the Malay song at the Back Kitchen," he whispered to Pen. 
 
296 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Try this pine^ sir/' he then said to Colonel Altamont^ " it's uncom- 
 monly fine." 
 
 Pines — IVe seen 'em feed pigs on pines^" said the Colonel. 
 
 All the Nawauh of Lucknow's pigs are fed on pines^" Strong whis- 
 pered to Major Pendennis. 
 
 Oh^ of course/' the Major answered. Sir Francis Clavering was^ 
 in the meanwhile^, endeavouring to make an excuse to his other guests 
 for the new-comer's condition^ and muttered something regarding 
 Altamont^ that he was an extraordinary character, very eccentric, very 
 — had Indian habits — didn't understand the rules of English society ; 
 to which old Welbore, a shrewd old gentleman, who drank his wine 
 with great regularity, said, ^^That seemed pretty clear." 
 
 Then, the Colonel seeing Pen's honest face, regarded it for a while 
 with as much steadiness as became his condition ; and said, I know 
 you too, young fellow. I remember you. Bay mouth ball, by Jingo. 
 Wanted to fight the Frenchman. / remember you ; " and he laughed, 
 and he squared with his fists, and seemed hugely amused in the drunken 
 depths of his mind, as these recollections passed, or rather reeled, 
 across it. 
 
 Mr. Pendennis, you remember Colonel Altamont at Baymouth } " 
 Strong said : upon which Pen, bowing rather stifl^ly, said, He had 
 the pleasure of remembering that circumstance perfectly." 
 
 What's his name.^^" cried the Colonel. Strong named Mr. Pen- 
 dennis again. 
 
 Pendennis ! — Pendennis be hanged ! " Altamont roared out to the 
 surprise of every one, and thumping with his fist on the table. 
 
 My name is also Pendennis, sir," said the Major, whose dignity 
 was exceedingly mortified by the evening's events — that he. Major Pen- 
 dennis, should have been asked to such a party, and that a drunken 
 man should have been introduced to it. " My name is Pendennis, and 
 I will be obliged to you not to curse it too loudly." 
 
 The tipsy man turned round to look at him, and as he looked, it 
 appeared as if Colonel Altamont suddenly grew sober. He put his 
 hand across his forehead, and in doing so displaced somewhat the black 
 wig which he wore ; and his eyes stared fiercely at the Major, who, in 
 his turn, like a resolute old warrior as he was, looked at his opponent 
 very keenly and steadily. At the end of the mutual inspection, 
 Altamont began to button up his brass-buttoned coat, and rising up 
 from his chair suddenly, and to the company's astonishment, reeled 
 towards the door, and issued from it, followed by Strong : all that 
 the latter heard him utter was— Captain Beak ! Captain Beak, by 
 Jingo ! " 
 
 There had not passed above a quarter of an hour from his strange 
 appearance to his equally sudden departure. The two young men and 
 the Baronet's other guest wondered at the scene, and could find no 
 explanation for it. Clavering seemed exceedingly pale and agitated, 
 and turned with looks of almost terror towards Major Pendennis. The 
 latter had been eyeing his host keenly for a minute or two. Do you 
 know him } " asked Sir Francis of the Major. 
 
 ^^I am sure I have seen the fellow," the Major replied, looking as if 
 he, too, was puzzled. Yes, I have it. He was a deserter from the 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 297 
 
 Horse Artillery, who got into the Nawaub's service. 1 remember his 
 face quite well." 
 
 Oh ! " said Clavering, with a sigh which indicated immense relief 
 of mind, and the Major looked at him with a twinkle of his sharp old 
 eyes. The cab which Strong had desired to be called, drove away 
 with the Chevalier and Colonel Altamont ; coffee was brought to the 
 remaining gentlemen, and they went upstairs to the ladies in the 
 drawing-room, Foker declaring confidentially to Pen that this was 
 the rummest go he ever saw," which decision Pen said, laughing, 
 
 showed great discrimination on Mr. Foker*s part." 
 
 Then, according to her promise. Miss Amory made music for the 
 young men. Foker was enraptured with her performance, and kindly 
 joined in the airs which she sung, when he happened to be acquainted 
 with them. Pen affected to talk aside with others of the party, but 
 Blanche brought him quickly to the piano by singing some of his own 
 words, those which we have given in a previous chapter, indeed, and 
 which the Sylphide had herself, she said, set to music. I don t know 
 whether the air was hers, or how much of it was arranged for her by 
 Signor Twankidillo, from whom she took lessons: but good or bad, 
 original or otherwise, it delighted Mr. Pen, who remained by her side, 
 and turned the leaves now for her most assiduously. — ^^Gad ! how I wish 
 I could write verses like you, Pen," Foker sighed afterwards to his com- 
 panion. If I could do 'em, wouldn't I, that's all ! But I never was a 
 dab at writing, you see, and I'm sorry I was so idle when I was at school." 
 
 No mention was made before the ladies of the curious little scene 
 which had been transacted below stairs ; although Pen was just on the 
 point of describing it to Miss Amory, when that young lady inquired 
 for Captain Strong, who she wished should join her in a duet. But 
 chancing to look up towards Sir Francis Clavering, Arthur saw a 
 peculiar expression of alarm in the Baronet's ordinarily vacuous face, 
 and discreetly held his tongue. It was rather a dull evening. Welbore 
 went to sleep, as he always did at music and after dinner : nor did 
 Major Pendennis entertain the ladies with copious anecdotes and endless 
 little scandalous stories, as his wont was, but sate silent for the most 
 part, and appeared to be listening to the music, and watching the fair 
 young performer. 
 
 The hour of departure having arrived, the Major rose, regretting 
 that so delightful an evening should have passed away so quickly, and 
 addressed a particularly fine compliment to Miss Amory upon her 
 splendid talents as a singer. Your daughter. Lady Clavering," he 
 said to that lady, ^^is a perfect nightingale — a perfect nightingale, 
 begad ! I have scarcely ever heard anything equal to her, and her 
 pronunciation of every language— begad, of every language — seems to 
 me to be perfect; and the best houses in London must open before 
 a young lady who has such talents, and, allow an old fellow to say. 
 Miss Amory, such a face." 
 
 Blanche was as much astonished by these compliments as Pen was, 
 to whom his uncle, a little time since, had been speaking in very dis- 
 paraging terms of the Sylph. The Major and the two young men 
 walked home together, after Mr. Foker had placed his mother in her 
 "carriage, and procured a light for an enormous cigar. 
 
298 PENDENNIS 
 
 The young gentleman's company or his tobacco did not appear to be . 
 agreeable to Major Pendennis, who eyed him askance several times, 
 and with a look which plainly indicated that he wished Mr. Foker 
 would take his leave ; but Foker hung on resolutely to the uncle and 
 nephew, even until they came to the former s door in Bury Street, 
 where the Major wished the lads good night. 
 
 ^^And I say. Pen," he said in a confidential whisper, calling his 
 nephew back, mind you make a point of calling in Grosyenor Place to- 
 morrow. They've been uncommonly civil : mons'ously civil and kind. 
 
 Pen promised and wondered, and the Majors door having been 
 closed upon him by Morgan, Foker took Pen's arm, and walked with 
 him for some time silently puffing his cigar. At last when they had 
 reached Charing Cross on Arthur's way home to the Temple, Harry 
 Foker relieved himself, and broke out with that eulogium upon poetry, 
 and those regrets regarding a misspent youth, which have just been 
 mentioned. And all the way along the Strand, and up to the door of 
 Pen's very staircase, in Lamb Court, Temple, voung Harry Foker did 
 not cease'to speak about singing and Blanche Amory. 
 
 V 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 RELATES TO MR. HARRY FOKEr's AFFAIRS 
 
 Since that fatal but delightful night in Grosvenor Place, Mr. Harry 
 Foker's heart had been in such a state of agitation as you would hardly 
 have thought so great a philosopher could endure. When we remember 
 what good advice he had given to Pen in former days, how an early 
 wisdom and knowledge of the world had manifested itself m the gitted 
 youth ; how a constant course of self-indulgence, such as becomes a 
 gentleman of his means and expectations, ought by right to have in- 
 creased his cynicism, and made him, with every succeeding day ot his 
 life, care less and less for every individual in the world, with the single 
 exception of Mr. Harry Foker, one may wonder that he should fall 
 into the mishap to which most of us are subject once or twice m our 
 lives, and disquiet his great mind about a woman. But Foker, though 
 early wise, was still a man. He could no more escape the common lot 
 than Achilles, or Ajax, or Lord Nelson, or Adam our first father, and 
 now, his time being come, young Harry became a victim to Love, the 
 All-conqueror. 
 
 When he went to the Back Kitchen that night after quitting 
 Arthur Pendennis at his staircase-door in Lamb Court, the gin-twist 
 and devilled turkey had no charms for him, the jokes of his com- 
 panions fell flatly on his ear ; and when Mr. Hodgen, the singer ot 
 ^-^The Body Snatcher," had a new chant even more dreadful and 
 humorous than that famous composition, Foker, although he appeared 
 his friend, and said Bravo Hodgen," as common politeness and his 
 position as one of the chefs of the Back Kitchen bound him to do, yet 
 never distinctly heard one word of the song, which, under its title ot 
 ^^The Cat in the Cupboard," Hodgen had since rendered so famous. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 29D 
 
 jate and very tired ^ he slipped into his private apartments at home 
 ,nd sought the downy pillow^ but his slumbers were disturbed by the 
 ever of his soul^ and the image of Miss Amory. 
 
 Heavens^ how stale and distasteful his former pursuits and friendships 
 ppeared to him ! He had not been^ up to the present time^ much 
 ccustomed to the society of females of his own rank in life. When 
 le spoke of such, he called them modest women." That virtue, 
 rhich let us hope they possessed, had not hitherto compensated to 
 Ar. Foker for the absence of more lively qualities which most of his 
 twn relatives did not enjoy, and which he found in Mesdemoiselles the 
 adies of the theatre. His mother, though good and tender, did not 
 ,muse her boy ; his cousins, the daughters of his maternal uncle, the 
 espectable Earl of Rosherville, wearied him beyond measure. One 
 ras blue, and a geologist ; one was a horsewoman and smoked cigars ; 
 ►ne was exceedingly Low Church, and had the most heterodox views 
 ►n religious matters ; at least, so the other said, who was herself of the 
 ^ery Highest Church faction, and made the cupboard in her room into 
 m oratory, and fasted on every Friday in the year. Their paternal 
 lOuse of Drummington, Foker could very seldom be got to visit. He 
 wore he had rather go on the treadmill than stay there. He was not 
 nuch beloved by the inhabitants. Lord Erith, Lord Rosherville's heir, 
 !onsidered his cousin a low person, of deplorably vulgar habits and 
 nanners ; while Foker, and with equal reason, voted Erith a prig and 
 I dullard, the nightcap of the House of Commons, the Speaker's 
 )pprobrium, the dreariest of philanthropic spouters. Nor could George 
 Robert, Earl of Gravesend and Rosherville, ever forget that on one 
 jvening when he condescended to play at billiards with his nephew, 
 ihat young gentleman poked his Lordship in the side with his cue, and 
 laid, Well, old cock, Tve seen many a bad stroke in my life, but I 
 lever saw such a bad one as that there." He played the game out 
 vith angelic sweetness of temper, for Harry was his guest as well as 
 lis nephew ; but he was nearly having a fit in the night ; and he 
 iept to his own rooms until young Harry quitted Drummington on 
 lis return to Oxbridge, where the interesting youth was finishing 
 lis education at the time when the occurrence took place. It was an 
 iwful blow to the venerable earl ; the circumstance was never alluded 
 :o in the family ; he shunned Foker whenever he came to see them in 
 London or in the country, and could hardly be brought to gasp out a 
 
 How d'ye do ? " to the young blasphemer. But he would not break his 
 5ister Agnes's heart, by banishing Harry from the family altogether ; nor, 
 ndeed, could he afford to break with Mr. Foker senior, between whom 
 md his Lordship there had been many private transactions, producing 
 in exchange of bank cheques from Mr. Foker, and autographs from the 
 3arl himself, with the letters I O U written over his illustrious signature. 
 
 Besides the four daughters of Lord Gravesend whose various qualities 
 iiave been enumerated in the former paragraph, his Lordship was blest 
 with a fifth girl, the Lady Ann Milton, who, from her earliest years 
 and nursery, had been destined to a peculiar position in life. It was 
 ordained between her parents and her aunt, that when Mr. Harry 
 Foker attained a proper age. Lady Ann should become his wife. The 
 idea had been familiar to her mind when she yet wore pinafores, and 
 
300 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 when Harry, the dirtiest of little boys, used to come back with black ifi 
 eyes from school to Drummington, or to his father's house of Logwood, 11 
 where Lady Ann lived much with her aunt. Both of the young people tl 
 coincided with the arrangement proposed by the elders, without any « 
 protests or difficulty. It no more entered Lady Ann's mind to question d 
 the order of her father, than it would have entered Esther s to dispute b( 
 the commands of Ahasuerus. The heir-apparent of the house of Foker iii 
 was also obedient; for when the old gentleman said, Harry, your th 
 uncle and I have agreed that when you're of a proper age, you'll marry |j 
 Lady Ann ; she won't have any money, but she's good blood, and a k 
 good one to look at, and I shall make you comfortable ; if you refuse, re 
 you'll have your mother's jointure, and two hundred a year during my i 
 life," — Harry, who knew that his sire, though a man of few words, 
 was yet implicitly to be trusted, acquiesced at once in the parental ji 
 decree, and said, Well, sir, if Ann's agreeable, I say ditto. She's m 
 not a bad-looking girl." V 
 
 And she has the best blood in England, sir. Your mother's blood, vi 
 your own blood, sir," said the Brewer. There's nothing like it, sir." ai 
 
 Well, sir, as you like it," Harry replied. When you want me, ai 
 please ring the bell. Only there's no hurry, and I hope you'll give us \^ 
 a long day. I should like to have my fling out before I marry." ' 
 
 Fling away, Harry ! " answered the benevolent father. Nobody F 
 prevents you, do they ? " And so very little more was said upon this S 
 subject, and Mr. Harry pursued those amusements in life which suited a 
 him best ; and hung up a little picture of his cousin in his sitting-room, ? 
 amidst the French prints, the favourite actresses and dancers, the f 
 racing and coaching works of art, which suited his taste and formed his « 
 gallery. It was an insignificant little picture, representing a simple 
 round face with ringlets ; and it made, as it must be confessed, a very I 
 poor figure by the side of Mademoiselle Petitot, dancing over a rain- 
 bow, or Mademoiselle Redowa, grinning in red boots and a lancer's cap. 
 
 Being engaged and disposed of. Lady Ann Milton did not go out so 
 much in the world as her sisters, and often stayed at home in London 
 at the family house in Gaunt Square, when her mamma with the other 
 ladies went 'abroad. They talked and they danced with one man after 
 another, and the men came and went, and the stories about them were 
 various. But there was only this one story about Ann : she was en- 
 gaged to Harry Foker ; she never was to think about anybody else. It 
 was not a very amusing story. 
 
 Well, the instant Foker awoke on the day after Lady Clavering's 
 dinner, there was Blanche's image glaring upon him with its clear grey 
 eyes, and winning smile. There was her tune ringing in his ears, " Yet 
 round about the spot, ofttimes I hover, ofttimes I hover," which poor 
 Foker began piteously to hum, as he sat up in his bed under the crimson 
 silken coverlet. Opposite him was a French print of a Turkish lady 
 and her Greek lover, surprised by a venerable Ottoman, the lady's 
 husband ; on the other wall was a French print of a gentleman and 
 lady, riding and kissing each other at the full gallop ; all round the 
 chaste bedroom were more French prints, either portraits of gauzy 
 nymphs of the Opera or lovely illustrations of the novels ; or, mayhap, 
 an English chef-d'oduvre or two, in which Miss Pinckney of T. R. E. O. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 301 
 
 70uld be represented in tight pantaloons in her favourite page part ; or 
 diss Rougemont as Venus ; their value enhanced by the signatures of 
 hese ladies, Maria Pinckney, or Frederica Rougemont, inscribed under- 
 leath the prints in an exquisite facsimile. Such were the pictures in 
 i^hich honest Harry delighted. He was no worse than many of his 
 leighbours ; he was an idle jovial kindly fast man about town ; and if 
 lis rooms were rather profusely decorated with works of French art, so 
 ihat simple Lady Agnes, his mamma, on entering the apartments where 
 ler darling sate enveloped in fragrant clouds of Latakia, was often 
 kwildered by the novelties which she beheld there, why, it must be 
 emembered that he was richer than most young men, and could better 
 ,lFord to gratify his taste. 
 
 A letter from Miss Pinckney, written in a very degage style of spelling 
 ind handwriting, scrawling freely over the filigree paper, and com- 
 nencing by calling Mr. Harry her dear Kok^y-pokey-fokey, lay on his 
 )ed-table by his side, amidst keys, sovereigns, cigar-cases, and a bit of 
 verbena, which Miss Amory had given him, and reminding him of the 
 irrival of the day when he was to stand that dinner at the Elefant 
 md Castle, at Richmond, which he had promised ; " a card for a private 
 )0x at Miss Rougemont's approaching benefit, a bundle of tickets for 
 ^Ben Budgeon's night, the North Lancashire Pippin, at Martin 
 ^aunce's, the Three-cornered Hat, in St. Martin's Lane ; where Conkey 
 5am, Dick the Nailor, the Deadman (the Worcestershire Nobber), 
 vould put on the gloves, and the lovers of the good old British sport 
 vere invited to attend" — these and sundry other memoirs of Mr. 
 ^'oker s pursuits and pleasures lay on the table by his side when he 
 voke* 
 
 Ah ! how faint all these pleasures seemed now ! What did he care 
 •or Conkey Sam or the Worcestershire Nobber ? What for the French 
 prints ogling him from all sides of the room ; those regular stunning 
 dap-up out-and-outers ? And Pinckney spelling bad and calling him 
 Hokey-fokey, confound her impudence ! The idea of being engaged to 
 i dinner at the Elephant and Castle at Richmond with that old woman 
 who was seven-and-thirty years old, if she was a day) filled his mind 
 with, dreary disgust now, instead of that pleasure which he had only 
 jresterday expected to find from the entertainment. 
 
 When his fond mamma beheld her boy that morning, she remarked 
 m the pallor of his cheek, and the general gloom of his aspect. Why 
 io you go on playing billiards at that wicked Spratt's ? " Lady Agnes 
 asked. My dearest child, those billiards will kill you, I*m sure they 
 9rill." 
 
 It isn't the billiards," Harry said gloomily. 
 
 Then it's the dreadful Back Kitchen," said the Lady Agnes. I've 
 often thought, d'you know, Harry, of writing to the landlady, and 
 begging that she would have the kindness to put only very little wine 
 in the negus which you take, and see that you have your shawl on 
 before you get into your brougham." 
 
 ^^Do, ma'am. Mrs. Cutts is a most kind motherly woman," Harry 
 said. ^^But it isn't the Back Kitchen, neither," he added, with a 
 ghastly sigh. 
 
 As Lady Agnes never denied her son anything, and fell into all his 
 
302 
 
 PEINDENNIS 
 
 ways with the fondest acquiescence^ she was rewarded by a perfect con- 
 fidence on young Harry's part, who never thought to disguise from her 
 a knowledge of the haunts which he frequented ; and, on the contrary, 
 brought her home choice anecdotes from the clubs and billiard-rooms, 
 which the simple lady relished, if she did not understand. My son 
 goes to Spratfs," she would say to her confidential friends. All the 
 young men go to Spratt's after their balls. It is de rigueur, my dear ; 
 and they play billiards as they used to play macao and hazard in Mr. 
 Fox's time. Yes, my dear father often told me that they sate up always 
 until nine o'clock the next morning with Mr. Fox at Brookes' s, whom I 
 remember at Drummington, when I was a little girl, in a bulF waistcoat 
 and black satin small-clothes. My brother Erith never played as a 
 young man, nor sate up late — he had no health for it ; but my boy 
 must do as everybody does, you know. Yes, and then he often goes 
 to a place called the Back Kitchen, frequented by all the wits and 
 authors, you know, whom one does not see in society, but whom it is a 
 great privilege and pleasure for Harry to meet, and there he hears the 
 questions of the day discussed ; and my dear father often said that it 
 was our duty to encourage literature, and he had hoped to see the late 
 Dr. Johnson at Drummington, only Dr. Johnson died. Yes, and Mr. 
 Sheridan came over, and drank a great deal of wine — everybody drank 
 a great deal of wine in those days — and papa's wine-merchant's bill 
 was ten times as much as Erith's* is, who gets it as he wants it from 
 Fortnum & Mason's, and doesn't keep any stock at all." 
 
 That was an uncommon good dinner we had yesterday, ma'am," 
 the artful Harry broke out. Their clear soup's better than ours — 
 Moufflet will put too much tarragon into everything. The supreme de 
 volaille was very good — uncommon, and the sweets were better than 
 Moufflet's sweets. Did you taste the plomhiere, ma'am, and the mara- 
 schino jelly } Stunningly good that maraschino jelly ! " 
 
 Lady Agnes expressed her agreement in these, as in almost all 
 other sentiments of her son, who continued the artful conversation, 
 saying — 
 
 Very handsome house that of the Claverings. Furniture, I should 
 say, got up regardless of expense. Magnificent display of plate, ma'am." 
 The lady assented to all these propositions. 
 
 Very nice people the Claverings." 
 
 H'm ! " said Lady Agnes. 
 
 I know what you mean. Lady C. ain't distangy exactly, but she 
 is very good-natured." 
 
 Oh, very ! " mamma said, who was herself one of the most good- 
 natured of women. 
 
 " And Sir Francis, he don't talk much before ladies ; but after dinner 
 he comes out uncommon strong, ma'am — a highly agreeable, well- 
 informed man. When will you ask them to dinner? Look out for 
 an early day, ma'am ; " and looking into Lady Agnes's pocket-book, 
 he chose a day only a fortnight hence (an age that fortnight seemed 
 to the young gentleman), when the Claverings were to be invited to 
 Grosvenor Street. 
 
 The obedient Lady Agnes wrote the required invitation. She was 
 accustomed to do so without consulting her husband, who had his own^ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 303 
 
 ![)ciety and habits^ and who left his wife to see her own friends alone, 
 larry looked at the card : but there was an omission in the invitation 
 ^hich did not please him. 
 
 ^^You have not asked Miss Whatdyecallum— Miss Emery, Lady 
 /lavering's daughter." 
 
 ^^Oh, that little creature !" Lady Agnes cried. '*^No, I think not, 
 larry." 
 
 ''We must ask Miss Amory," Foker said. ^^I— I want to ask 
 ^endennis ; and — and he's very sweet upon her. Don't you think 
 he sings very well, ma'am ? " 
 
 ''I thought her rather forward, and didn't listen to her singing. 
 he only sang at you and Mr. Pendennis, it seemed to me. But I will 
 sk her if you wish, Harry," and so Miss Amory's name was written on 
 he card with her mother's. 
 
 This piece of diplomacy being triumphantly executed, Harry em- 
 raced his fond parent with the utmost affection, and retired to his own 
 partments, where he stretched himself on his ottoman, and lay brood- 
 ig silently, sighing for the day which was to bring the fair Miss Amory 
 nder his paternal roof, and devising a hundred wild schemes for 
 leeting her. 
 
 On his return from making the grand tour, Mr. Foker junior had 
 Tought with him jr polyglot valet, who took the place of Stoopid, and 
 ondescended to wait at dinner, attired in shirt-fronts of worked muslin, 
 nth. many gold studs and chains. This man, who was of no particular 
 ountry, and spoke all languages indifferently ill, made himself useful 
 0 Mr. Harry in a variety of ways, — read all the artless youth's corre- 
 pondence, knew his favourite haunts and the addresses of his acquaint- 
 nce, and officiated at the private dinners which the young gentleman 
 ;ave. As Harry lay upon his sofa after his interview with his mamma, 
 obed in a wonderful dressing-gown, and puffing his pipe in gloomy 
 ilence, Anatole, too, must have remarked that something affected his 
 aaster's spirits ; though he did not betray any ill-bred sympathy with 
 larry's agitation of mind. When Harry began to dress himself in his 
 >ut-o*f-door morning costume, he was very hard indeed to please, and 
 particularly severe and snappish about his toilet : he tried, and cursed, 
 )antaloons of many different stripes, checks, and colours : all the boots 
 vere villainously varnished; the shirts too '^^loud" in pattern. He 
 cented his linen and person with peculiar richness this day ; and what 
 nust have been the valet's astonishment, when, after some blushing and 
 lesitation on Harry's part, the young gentleman asked, '' I say, Anatole, 
 vhen I engaged you, didn't you — hem — didn't you say that you could 
 Iress — ^hem — dress hair ? " 
 
 The valet said, '' Yes, he could." 
 
 '' Cherchy alors une paire de tongs , — et — curly moi unpew,'' Mr. Foker 
 ;aid, in an easy manner ; and the valet, wondering whether his master 
 iv^as in love, or was going masquerading, went in search of the articles, 
 —first from the old butler who waited upon Mr. Foker senior, on whose 
 bald pate the tongs would have scarcely found a hundred hairs to seize, 
 md finally of the lady who had the charge of the meek auburn fronts 
 jf the Lady Agnes. And the tongs being got. Monsieur Anatole twisted 
 Ills young master's locks until he had made Harry's head as curly as a 
 
304 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 negro's ; after which the youth dressed himself with the utmost care I 
 and splendour^ and proceeded to sally out. 
 
 At what dime sail I order de drag_, sir^ to be to Miss Pingney's 
 door, sir ? " the attendant whispered as his master was going forth. 
 
 Confound her! — Put the dinner off— I cant go!" said Foker. ; 
 No, hang it — I must go. Poyntz and Rougemont, and ever so man^ i 
 more, are coming. The drag at Pelham Corner at six o'clock, Anatole. ' 
 
 The drag was not one of Mr. Foker's own equipages, but was hired^ 
 from a livery stable for festive purposes ; Foker, however, put his owii 
 carriage into requisition that morning, and for what purpose does the 
 kind reader suppose? Why, to drive down to Lamb Court, Temple, 
 taking Grosvenor Place by the way (which lies in the exact direction of 
 the Temple from Grosvenor Street, as everybody knows), where he just; 
 had the pleasure of peeping upwards at Miss Amory's pink window- 
 curtains ; having achieved which satisfactory feat, he drove oiF to Pen's 
 chambers. Why did he want to see his dear friend Pen so nauch? 
 Why did he yearn and long after him ? and did it seem necessary to 
 Foker's very existence that he should see Pen that morning, having 
 parted with him in perfect health on the night previous? Pen h^d 
 lived two years in London, and Foker had not paid half-a-dozen visits 
 to his chambers. What sent him thither now in such a hurry ? ^ 
 
 What ? — If any young ladies read this page, I have only to inform 
 them that when the same mishap befalls them, which now had for 
 more than twelve hours befallen Harry Foker, people will grow in- 
 teresting to them for whom they did not care sixpence on the day 
 before ; as on the other hand persons of whom they fancied themselves 
 fond will be found to have become insipid and disagreeable. Then 
 your dearest Eliza or Maria of the other day, to whom you wrote 
 letters and sent locks of hair yards long, will on a sudden be as in- 
 different to you as your stupidest relation; whilst, on the contrary, 
 about Ms relations you will begin to feel such a warm interest ! such 
 a loving desire to ingratiate yourself with Ms mamma ! such a liking 
 for that dear kind old man Ms father ! If He is in the habit of visiting 
 at any house, what advances you will make in order to visit there too 
 If He has a married sister you will like to spend long mornings witli 
 her. You will fatigue your servant by sending notes to her, for whicl 
 there will be the most pressing occasion twice or thrice in a day. Yoi 
 will cry if your mamma objects to your going too often to see Hij 
 family. The only one of them you will dislike, is perhaps his youngei 
 brother, who is at home for the holidays, and who will persist in stay 
 ing in the room when you come to see your dear new-found friend 
 his darling second sister. Something like this will happen to you 
 young ladies, or, at any rate, let us hope it may. Yes, you must g( 
 through the hot fits and the cold fits of that pretty fever. Youi 
 mothers, if they would acknowledge it, have passed through it befor< 
 you were born, your dear papa being the object of the passion of course 
 — who could it be but he ? And as you suffer it, so will your brothers 
 in their way, — and after their kind. More selfish than you : mor<| 
 eager and headstrong than you : they will rush on their destiny whei«| 
 the doomed charmer makes her appearance. Or, if they don't, am \ 
 you don't. Heaven help you ! As the gambler said of his dice, to lov(.^ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 805 
 
 and win is the best thing, to love and lose, is the next best. Now, 
 then, if you ask why Henry Foker, Esquire, was in such a hurry to 
 see Arthur Pendennis, and felt such a sudden value and esteem for 
 him, there is no difficulty in saying it was because Pen had become 
 really valuable in Mr. Foker s eyes : because if Pen was not the rose, 
 he had yet been near that fragrant flower of love. Was not he in the 
 habit of going to her house in London ? Did he not live near her in 
 the country ?— know all about the enchantress ? What, I wonder, would 
 Lady Ann Milton, Mr. Foker's cousin and pretendue, have said, if her 
 Ladyship had known all that was going on in the bosom of that funny 
 little gentleman ? 
 
 Alas ! when Foker reached Lamb Court, leaving his carriage for the 
 admiration of the little clerks who were lounging in the archway that 
 leads thence into Flag Court, which leads into Upper Temple Lane, 
 Warrington was in the chambers, but Pen was absent. Pen was gone 
 to the printing-office to see his proofs. " Would Foker have a pipe, 
 and -should the laundress go to the Cock and get him some beer.^ " 
 Warrington asked, remarking with a pleased surprise the splendid 
 toilet of this scented and shiny-booted young aristocrat ; but Foker 
 had not the slightest wish for beer or tobacco ; he had very important 
 business : he rushed away to the Pall Mall Gazette office, still bent 
 upon finding Pen. Pen had quitted that place. Foker wanted him 
 that they might go together to call upon Lady Clavering. Foker 
 went away disconsolate, and whiled away an hour or two vaguely at 
 clubs ; and when it was time to pay a visit, he thought it would be 
 but decent and polite to drive to Grosvenor Place and leave a card 
 upon Lady Clavering. He had not the courage to ask to see her when 
 the door was opened ; he only delivered two cards, with Mr. Henry 
 Foker engraved upon them, to Jeames, in a speechless agony. Jeames 
 received the tickets, bowing his powdered head. The varnished doors 
 closed upon him. The beloved object was as far as ever from him, 
 though so near. He thought he heard the tones of a piano and of a 
 siren singing, coming from the drawing-room and sweeping over the 
 balcony shrubbery of geraniums. He would have liked to stop and 
 listen, but it might not be. Drive to TattersalFs," he said to the 
 groom, in a voice smothered with emotion,— And bring my pony 
 round," he added, as the man drove rapidly away. 
 
 As good luck would have it, that splendid barouche of Lady Claver- 
 ing s, which has been inadequately described in a former chapter, 
 drove up to her Ladyship's door just as Foker mounted the pony which 
 was in waiting for him. He bestrode the fiery animal, and dodged 
 about the Arch of the Green Park, keeping the carriage well in view, 
 until he saw Lady Clavering enter, and with her— whose could be that 
 angel form, but the enchantress's clad in a sort of gossamer, with a 
 pink bonnet and a light-blue parasol — but Miss Amory } 
 
 The carriage took its fair owners to Madame Rigodon's cap and lace 
 shop, to Mrs. Wolsey's Berlin worsted shop, — who knows to what other 
 resorts of female commerce ? Then it went and took ices at Hunter s, 
 for Lady Clavering was somewhat florid in her tastes and amusements, 
 and not only liked to go abroad in the most showy carriage in London, 
 but that the public should see her in it too. And so, in a white bonnet 
 
 u 
 
306 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 with a yellow feather, she ate a larg-e pink ice in the sunshine before 
 Hunter's door, till Foker on his pony, and the red jacket who accom- 
 panied him, were almost tired of dodging. 
 
 Then at last she made her way into the Park, and the rapid Foker 
 made his dash forward. A^hat to do ? Just to get a nod of recognition 
 from Miss Amory and her mother ; to cross them a half-dozen times in 
 the drive ; to watch and ogle them from the other side of the ditch, ^ 
 where the horsemen assemble when the band plays in Kensington'! 
 Gardens. What is the use of looking at a woman* in a pink bonnet! 
 across a ditch ? What is the earthly good to be got out of a nod of the 
 head } Strange that men will be contented with such pleasures, or, if 
 not contented, at least that they will be so eager in seeking them. Not 
 one word did Harry, he so fluent of convei-sation ordinarily, exchange ^ 
 with his charmer on that day. Mutely he beheld her return to her 
 carriage, and drive away among rather ironical salutes from the young 
 men in the Park. One said that the Indian widow was making the 
 paternal rupees spin rapidly ; another said that she ought to have 
 burned herself alive, and left the money to her daughter. This one 
 asked who Clavering was?— and old Tom Eales, who knew everybody, 
 and never missed a day in the Park on his grey cob, kindly said th'at 
 Clavering had come into an estate over head and heels in mortgage : 
 that there were devilish ugly stories about him when he was a young 
 man, and that it was reported of him that he had a share in a gambling- 
 house, and had certainly shown the white feather in his regiment. 
 He plays still ; he is in a hell every night almost," Mr. Eales added, i 
 
 I should think so, since his marriage,'' said a wag. 
 
 He gives devilish good dinners," said Foker, striking up for the 
 honour of his host of yesterday. 
 
 '^'I daresay, and I daresay he doesnt ask Eales," the wag said, '^l : 
 say, Eales, do you dine at Clavering' s— at the Begum's ? " 
 
 'J /dine there.?" said Mr. Eales, who would have dined with Beelze- 
 bub if sure of a good cook, and when he came away would have painted 
 his host blacker than fate had made him. 
 
 You might, you know, although you do abuse him so," continued 1 
 the wag. ^^They say it's very pleasant. Clavering goes to sleep after 
 dinner ; the Begum gets tipsy with cherry brandy, and the young lady i 
 sings songs to the young gentlemen. She sings well, don't she, Fo ? " 
 
 Slap up," said Fo. I tell you what, Poyntz, she sings like a — i 
 whatdyecallum— you know what I mean—like a mermaid, you know, [ 
 but that's not their name." ! 
 ..w^ ^^^^'^ ^ mermaid sing," Mr. Poyntz, the wag, replied. 1 
 
 Who ever heard a mermaid ? Eales, you are an old fellow : did you ? " ^ 
 
 Don't make a lark of me, hang it, Poyntz," said Foker, turning 
 red, and with tears almost in his eyes ; you know what I mean : it's 
 those what's-his-names— in Homer, you know. I never said I was a 
 good scholar." 
 
 And nobody ever said it of you, my boy," Mr, Poyntz remarked ; 
 and Foker, striking spurs into his pony, cantered away down Rotten ■ 
 Row, his mind agitated with various emotions, ambitions, mortifica- 
 tions. He was sorry that he had not been good at his books in early 
 life, that he might have cut out all those chaps who were about her, 
 
 1 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 307 
 
 md who talked the languages^ and wrote poetry^ and painted pictures 
 n her alburn^ and — and that. — What am I/' thought little Foker, 
 compared to her ? She's all soul_, she is_, and can write poetry or 
 compose music_, as easy as I could drink a glass of beer. Beer.'* — 
 iamme_, that's all I'm fit for^ is beer. I am a poor^ ignorant little 
 beggar good for nothing but Foker's Entire. I misspent my youth^ 
 ind used to get the chaps to do my exercises. And what's the con- 
 sequences now.^ O Harry Foker^ what a confounded little fool you 
 •lave been ! " 
 
 As he made this dreary soliloquy^ he had cantered out of Rotten 
 Row into the Park^ and there was on the point of riding down a large 
 Did roomy family carriage^ of which he took no heed^ when a cheery 
 voice cried out Harry, Harry ! " and looking up, he beheld his aunt, 
 the Lady Rosherville, and two of her daughters, of whom the one who 
 5poke was Harry's betrothed, the Lady Ann. 
 
 He started back with a pale, scared look, as a truth, about which he 
 had not thought during the whole day, came across him. There was 
 his fate, there, in the back seat of that carriage ! 
 
 What is the matter, Harry ? why are you so pale ? You have been 
 faking and smoking too much, you wicked boy," said Lady Ann. 
 
 Foker said, ^^How do, aunt.^* How do, Ann.^" in a perturbed 
 manner — muttered something about a pressing engagement, — indeed 
 he saw by the Park clock that he must have been keeping his party 
 in the drag waiting for nearly an hour — and waved a good-bye. The 
 little man and the little pony were out of sight in an instant — the 
 ^reat carriage rolled away. Nobody inside was very much interested 
 ibout his coming or going : the Countess being occupied with her 
 spaniel, the Lady Lucy's thoughts and eyes being turned upon a 
 i^olume of sermons, and those of Lady Ann upon a new novel, which 
 the sisters had just procured from the library. ^ 
 
 CARRIES THE READER BOTH TO RICH3I0ND AND GREENWICH 
 
 Poor Foker found the dinner at Richmond to be the most dreary en- 
 tertainment upon which ever mortal man wasted his guineas. ^^I 
 wonder how the deuce I could ever have liked these people.^" he 
 :hought in his own mind. *^^Why, I can see the crows'-feet under 
 R-ougemont's eyes, and the paint on her cheeks is laid on as thick as 
 Clown's in a pantomime ! The way in which that Pinckney talks slang 
 s quite disgusting. I hate chaff in a woman. And old Colchicum ! 
 that old Col, coming down here in his brougham, with his coronet on 
 t, and sitting bodkin between Mademoiselle Coralie and her mother ! 
 [t's too bad. An English peer, and a horse-rider of Franconi's ! — It 
 kvon't do ; by Jove, it won't do. I ain't proud ; but it will not do ! " 
 
 Twopence-halfpenny for your thoughts, Fokey ! " cried out Miss 
 Rougemont, taking her cigar from her truly vermilion lips, as she be- 
 leld the young fellow lost in thought, seated at the head of his table. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
308 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 amidst melting ices^ and cut pineapples^ and bottles full and empty^ 
 and cigar-ashes scattered on fruit, and the ruins of a dessert which had 
 no pleasure for him. 
 
 Does Foker ever think?" drawled out Mr. Poyntz. ^'Foker, 
 here is a considerable sum of money offered by a fair capitalist at this 
 end of the table for the present emanations of your valuable and acute 
 intellect^ old boy ! " 
 
 What the deuce is that Poyntz a talking about?" Miss Pinckney 
 asked of her neighbour. '^^I hate him. He's a drawlin,, sneerin 
 beast." 
 
 ^'What a droll of a little man is that little Fokare, my lor/' 
 Mademoiselle Coralie said, in her own language, and with the rich 
 twang of that sunny Gascony in which her swarthy cheeks and bright 
 black eyes had got their fire. What a droll of a man ! He does 
 not look to have twenty years." 
 
 ^^I wish I were of his age," said the venerable Colchicum, with a 
 sigh, as he inclined his purple face towards a large goblet of claret. 
 
 G'te jeunesse. Peuhl je menfiche/' said Madame Brack, Coralie's 
 mamma, taking a great pinch out of Lord Colchicum's delicate gold 
 snuff-box. ^^Je naime que les hommes faits, moL Comme milor, 
 Coralie! 7iest-ce pas que tu naimes que les hommes faits, ma bichette?" 
 
 My lord said, with a grin, "You flatter me, Madame Brack." 
 
 Taisez-vous, maman; vous iietes quune Ute,' Coralie cried, with 
 a shrug of her robust shoulders ; upon which, my lord said that she 
 did not flatter at any rate ; and pocketed his snuff-box, not desirous 
 that Madame Brack's dubious fingers should plunge too frequently 
 into his Mackabaw. 
 
 There is no need to give a prolonged detail of the animated conver- 
 sation which ensued during the rest of the banquet ; a conversation 
 which would not much edify the reader. And it is scarcely necessary 
 to say, that all ladies of the corps de danse are not like Miss Pinckney, 
 any more than that all peers resemble that illustrious member of their 
 order, the late lamented Viscount Colchicum. 
 
 Mr. Foker drove his lovely guests home to Brompton in the drag 
 that night ; but he was quite thoughtful and gloomy during the whole j 
 of the little journey from Richmond; neither listening to the jokes 
 of the friends behind him and on the box by his side, nor enlivening 
 them, as was his wont, by his own facetious sallies. And when the 
 ladies whom he had conveyed alighted at the door of their house, and 
 asked their accomplished coachman whether he would not step in and 
 take something to drink, he declinedVith so melancholy an air, that 
 they supposed that the Governor and he had had a difference, or that 
 some calamity had befallen him ; and he did not tell these people what 
 the cause of his grief was, but left Mesdames Rougemont and Pinckney, 
 unheeding ,the cries of the latter, who hung over her balcony like 
 Jezebel, and called out to him to ask him to give another party soon. 
 
 He sent the drag home under the guidance of one of the grooms, and 
 went on foot himself; his hands in his pockets, plunged in thought. 
 The stars and moon shining tranquilly overhead, looked down upon 
 Mr. Foker that night, as he in his turn sentimentally regarded them. 
 And he went and gazed upwards at the house in Grosvenor Place, and 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 309 
 
 at the windows which he supposed to be those of the beloved object ; 
 and he moaned and he sighed in a way piteous and surprising to witness, 
 which Policeman X did, who informed Sir Francis Clavering s people, 
 as they took the refreshment of beer on the coach-box at the neigh- 
 bouring public-house, after bringing home their lady from the French 
 play, that there had been another chap hanging about the premises 
 that evening — a little chap, dressed like a swell. 
 
 And now, with that perspicacity and ingenuity and enterprise which 
 only belong to a certain passion, Mr. Foker began to dodge Miss Amory 
 through London, and to appear wherever he could meet her. If Lady 
 Clavering went to the French play, where her Ladyship had a box, Mr. 
 Foker, whose knowledge of the language, as we have heard, was not 
 conspicuous, appeared in a stall. He found out where her engagements 
 were (it is possible that Anatole, his man, was acquainted with Sir Francis 
 Clavering's gentleman, and so got a sight of her Ladyship's engagement- 
 book), and at many of these evening parties Mr. Foker made his ap- 
 pearance—to the surprise of the world, and of his mother especially, 
 whom he ordered to apply for cards to these parties, for which until 
 now he had shown a supreme contempt. He told the pleased and 
 unsuspicious lady that he went to parties because it was right for him 
 to see the world : he told her that he went to the French play because 
 he wanted to perfect himself in the language, and there was no such 
 good lesson as a comedy or vaudeville ; — and when one night the 
 astonished Lady Agnes saw him stand up and dance, and complimented 
 him upon his elegance and activity, the mendacious little rogue asserted 
 that he had learned to dance in Paris, whereas Anatole knew that his 
 young master used to go off privily to an academy in Brewer Street, 
 and study there for some hours in the morning. The casino of our 
 modern days was not invented, or was in its infancy as yet; and 
 gentlemen of Mr. Foker's time had not the facilities of acquiring the 
 science of dancing which are enjoyed by our present youth. 
 
 Old Pendennis seldom missed going to church. He considered it to 
 be his duty as a gentleman to patronise the institution of public worship, 
 and that it was a correct thing to be seen at church of a Sunday. One 
 day, it chanced that he and Arthur went thither together : the latter, 
 who was now in high favour, had been to breakfast with his uncle, 
 from whose lodging they walked across the Park to a church not far 
 from Belgrave Square. There was a charity sermon at Saint James s, 
 as the Major knew by the bills posted on the pillars of his parish church, 
 which probably caused him, for he was a thrifty man, to forsake it for 
 that day : besides, he had other views for himself and Pen. '^We will 
 go to church, sir, across the Park ; and then, begad, we will go to the 
 Claverings house and ask them for lunch in a friendly way. Lady 
 Clavering likes to be asked for lunch, and is uncommonly kind, and 
 monstrous hospitable." 
 
 " I met them at dinner last week, at Lady Agnes Foker's, sir," Pen 
 said, ^^and the Begum was very kind indeed. So she was in the 
 country : so she is everywhere. But I share your opinion about Miss 
 Amory ; one of your opinions, that is, uncle, for you were changing, 
 the last time we spoke about her. " 
 
 And what do you think of her now ? " the elder said. 
 
310 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 ^^I think her the most confounded little flirt in London/' Pen 
 answered^ laughing. ^^She made a tremendous assault upon Harry 
 Foker^ who sat next to her ; and to whom she gave all the talk^ though 
 I took her down." 
 
 Bah ! Henry Foker is engaged to his cousin^ all the world knows 
 it : not a bad coup of Lady Rosherville's_, that. I should say^ that the 
 young man at his father's death — and old Mr. Foker's life's devilish 
 bad ! you know he had a fit at Arthur's last year — I should say_, that 
 young Foker won't have less than fourteen thousand a year from the 
 brewery^ besides Logwood and the Norfolk property. I have no pride 
 about me^ Pen. I like a man of birth certainly, but dammy, I like a 
 brewery which brings in a man fourteen thousand a year ; hay. Pen ? 
 Ha, ha ! that's the sort of man for me. And I recommend you, now 
 that you are lanced in the world, to stick to fellows of that sort ; to 
 fellows who have a stake in the country, begad." 
 
 '^^ Foker sticks to me, sir," Arthur answered. He has been at our 
 chambers several times lately. He has asked me to dinner. We are 
 almost as great friends as we used to be in our youth : and his talk is 
 about Blanche Amory from morning till night. I'm sure he's sweet 
 upon her." 
 
 I'm sure he is engaged to his cousin, and that they will keep the 
 young man to his bargain," said the Major. ^^The marriages in these 
 families are affairs of state. Lady Agnes was made to marry old Foker 
 by the late Lord, although she was notoriously partial to her cousin, 
 who was killed at Albuera afterwards, and who saved her life out of 
 the lake at Drummington. I remember Lady Agnes, sir, an exceedingly 
 fine woman. But what did she do } — of course she married her father's 
 man. Why, Mr. Foker sate for Drummington till the Reform Bill, 
 and paid dev'lish well for his seat, too. And you may depend upon 
 this, sir, that Foker senior, who is a parvenu, and loves a great man, 
 as all parvenus do, has ambitious views for his son as well as himself, 
 and that your friend Harry must do as his father bids him. Lord bless 
 you ! I've known a hundred cases of love in young men and women : 
 hay. Master Arthur, do you take me? They kick, sir, they resist, 
 they make a deuce of a riot, and that sort of thing, but they end by 
 listening to reason, begad." 
 
 Blanche is a dangerous girl, sir," Pen said. I was smitten with 
 her myself once, and very far gone, too," he added : but that is 
 years ago." 
 
 Were you How far did it go } Did she return it ? " asked the 
 Major, looking hard at Pen. 
 
 Pen, with a laugh, said that at one time he did think he was pretty . 
 well in Miss Amory's good graces. But my mother did not like her, j 
 and the affair went off. " Pen did not think it fit to tell his uncle all | 
 the particulars of that courtship which had passed between himself and 
 the young lady. 
 
 A man might go farther and fare worse, Arthur," the Major said, 
 still looking queerly at his nephew. 
 
 Her birth, sir ; her father was the mate of a ship, they say : and 
 she has not money enough," objected Pen, in a dandified manner. 
 What's ten thousand pound and a girl bred up like her? " 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 311 
 
 You use my own words, and it is all very well. But, I tell you in 
 confidence, Pen, — in strict honour, mind, — that it's my belief she has 
 a devilish deal more than ten thousand pound : and from what I saw 
 of her the other day, and — and have heard of her — I should say she 
 was a devilish accomplished, clever girl ; and would make a good wife 
 with a sensible husband." 
 
 How do you know about her money ^ " Pen asked, smiling. You 
 seem to have information about everybody, and to know about all 
 the town." 
 
 do know a few things, sir, and I don't tell all I know. Mark 
 that," the uncle replied. And as for that charming Miss Amory, — 
 for charming, begad ! she is, — if I saw her Mrs. Arthur Pendennis, I 
 should neither be sorry nor surprised, begad ! and if you object to ten 
 thousand pound, what would you say, sir, to thirty, or forty, or fifty.'*" 
 and the Major looked still more knowingly, and still harder at Pen. 
 
 ^^Well, sir," he said to his godfather and namesake, ^*^make her 
 Mrs Arthur Pendennis. You can do it as well as I." 
 
 Psha ! you are laughing at me, sir," the other replied, rather 
 peevishly, and you ought not to laugh so near a church gate. Here 
 we are at St. Benedict's. They say Mr. Oriel is a beautiful preacher, " 
 
 Indeed, the bells were tolling, the people were trooping into the 
 handsome church, the carriages of the inhabitants of the lordly quarter 
 poured forth their pretty loads of devotees, in whose company Pen and 
 his uncle, ending their edifying conversation, entered the fane. I do 
 not know whether other people carry their worldly alfairs to the church 
 door. Arthur, who, from habitual reverence and feeling, was always 
 more than respectful in a place of worship, thought of the incongruity 
 of their talk, perhaps ; whilst the old gentleman at his side was utterly 
 unconscious of any such contrast. His hat was brushed : his wig was 
 trim : his neckcloth was perfectly tied. He looked at every soul in 
 the congregation, it is true ; the bald heads and the bonnets, the flowers 
 and the feathers : but so demurely, that he hardly lifted up his eyes 
 from his book — from his book which he could not read without glasses. 
 As for Pen's gravity, it was sorely put to the test when, upon looking 
 by chance towards the seats where the servants were collected, he spied 
 out, by the side of a demure gentleman in plush, Henry Foker, Esquire, 
 who had discovered this place of devotion. Following the direction of 
 Harry's eye, which strayed a good deal from his book, Pen found that 
 it alighted upon a yellow bonnet and a pink one : and that these bonnets 
 were on the heads of Lady Clavering and Blanche Amory. If Pen's 
 uncle is not the only man who has talked about his worldly affairs up 
 to the church door, is poor Harry Foker the only one who has brought 
 his worldly love into the aisle ? 
 
 When the congregation issued forth at the conclusion of the service, 
 Foker was out amongst the first, but Pen came up with him presently, 
 as he was hankering about the entrance, which he was unwilling to 
 leave, until my lady's barouche, with the bewigged coachman, had borne 
 away its mistress and her daughter from their devotions. 
 
 When the two ladies came out, they found together the Pendennises, 
 uncle and nephew, and Harry Foker, Esquire, sucking the crook of his 
 stick, standing there in the sunshine. To see and to ask to eat were 
 
812 PENDENNIS 
 
 simultaneous with the good-natured Begum, and she invited the three 
 gentlemen to luncheon straightway. 
 
 Blanche, too, was particularly gracious. Oh ! do come" she said 
 to Arthur, if you are not too great a man. I want so to talk to you 
 about — but we mustn't say what, here, you know. What would Mr. 
 Oriel say ? " And the young devotee jumped into the carriage after her 
 mamma. I've read every word of it. It's adorable/' she added, still 
 addressing herself to Pen. 
 
 I know ivho is/' said Mr. Arthur^ making rather a pert how. 
 
 What's the row about .f^" asked Mr. Foker^ rather puzzled. 
 
 I suppose Miss Clavering means ^ W alter Lorraine,' " said the 
 Major, looking knowing, and nodding at Pen. 
 
 ^ ^ I suppose so, sir. There was a famous review in the Pall Mall this 
 morning. It was Warrington's doings though, and I must not be too 
 proud." 
 
 '^'^ A review in Pall Mall? — Walter Lorraine? What the doose do 
 you mean ? " Foker asked. Walter Lorraine died of the measles, 
 poor little beggar, when we were at Grey Friars. I remember his 
 mother coming up." 
 
 You are not a literary man, Foker," Pen said, laughing, and hook- 
 ing his arm into his friend's. You must know I have been writing a 
 novel, and some of the papers have spoken very well of it. Perhaps 
 you don't read the Sunday papers ? " 
 
 I read Bell's Life regular, old boy," Mr. Foker answered : at which 
 Pen laughed again, and the three gentlemen proceeded in great good- 
 humour to Lady's Clavering's house. 
 
 The subject of the novel was resumed after luncheon by Miss Amory, 
 who indeed loved poets and men of letters if she loved anything, and was 
 sincerely an artist in feeling. Some of the passages in the book made 
 me cry, positively they did," she said. 
 
 Pen said, with some fatuity, I am happy to think I have a part of 
 vos larmes, Miss Blanche ; " and the Major (who had not read more than 
 six pages of Pen's book) put on his sanctified look, saying, Yes, there 
 
 are some passages quite affecting, mons'ous affecting : and " 
 
 Oh, if it makes you cry," Lady Clavering declared she would not 
 read it, '^'^ that she wouldn't." 
 
 Don't, mamma," Blanche said, with a French shrug of her shoulders; 
 and then she fell into a rhapsody about the book, about the snatches of 
 poetry interspersed in it, about the two heroines, Leonora and Neaera ; 
 about the two heroes, Walter Lorraine and his rival the young Duke — 
 
 and what good company you introduce us to," said the young lady 
 archly, quel ton! How much of your life have you passed at court? 
 and are you a Prime Minister's son, Mr. Arthur ? " 
 
 Pen began to laugh — It is as cheap for a novelist to create a Duke 
 as to make a Baronet," he said. Shall I tell you a secret. Miss 
 Amory ? I promoted all my characters at the request of the publisher. 
 The young Duke was only a young Baron when the novel was first 
 written ; his false friend, the Viscount, was a simple commoner, and so 
 on with all the characters of the story. " 
 
 What a wicked, satirical, pert young man you have become ! 
 Comme vous voild forme ! " said the young lady. How different from 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 813 
 
 Arthur Pendennis of the country ! Ah ! I think I like Arthur Pen- 
 dennis of the country best^ though ! " and she gave him the full benefit 
 of her eyes^ — both of the fond appealing glance into his own^ and of 
 the modest look downwards towards the carpet^ which showed off her 
 dark eyelids and long fringed lashes. 
 
 Pen of course protested that he had not changed in the leasts to which 
 the young lady replied by a tender sigh ; and thinking that she had 
 done quite enough to make Arthur happy or miserable (as the case 
 might be)^ she proceeded to cajole his companion^ Mr. Harry Foker^ 
 who during the literary conversation had sate silently imbibing the head 
 of his cane^ and wishing he was a clever chap like that Pen. 
 
 If the Major thought that by telling Miss Amory of Mr. Foker s 
 engagement to his cousin^ Lady Ann Milton (which information the 
 old gentleman neatly conveyed to the girl as he sate by her side at 
 luncheon below stairs)_, — if, we say, the Major thought that the know- 
 ledge of this fact would prevent Blanche from paying any further 
 attention to the young heir of Foker's Entire, he was entirely mistaken. 
 She became only the more gracious to Foker : she praised him, and 
 everything belonging to him ; she praised his mamma ; she praised the 
 pony which he rode in the Park ; she praised the lovely breloques or 
 gimcracks which the young gentleman wore at his watch-chain, and 
 that dear little darling of a cane, and those dear little delicious monkeys' 
 heads with ruby eyes, which ornamented Harry's shirt, and formed 
 the buttons of his waistcoat. And then, having praised and coaxed 
 the weak youth until he blushed and tingled with pleasure, and until Pen 
 thought she really had gone quite far enough, she took another theme. 
 
 I am afraid Mr. Foker is a very sad young man," she said, turning 
 round to Pen. 
 
 He does not look so," Pen answered, with a sneer. 
 
 I mean we have heard sad stories about him. Haven't we, 
 mamma ? What was Mr. Poyntz saying here, the other day, about that 
 party at Richmond } Oh, you naughty creature ! " But here, seeing 
 that Harry's countenance assumed a great expression of alarm, while 
 Pen's wore a look of amusement, she turned to the latter and said, I 
 believe you are just as bad : I believe you would have liked to have been 
 there, — wouldn't you ? I know you would : yes — and so should I. " 
 
 Lor, Blanche ! " mamma cried. 
 
 Well, I would. I never saw an actress in my life. I would give 
 anything to know one ; for I adore talent. And I adore Richmond, 
 that 1 do ; and I adore Greenwich, and I say, I should like to go there. " 
 
 Why should not we three bachelors," the Major here broke out 
 gallantly, and to his nephew's special surprise, *^^beg these ladies to 
 honour us with their company at Greenwich ? Is Lady Clavering to go 
 on for ever being hospitable to us, and may we make no return } Speak 
 for yourselves, young men,— eh, begad ! Here is my nephew, with 
 his pockets full of money — his pockets full, begad ! and Mr. Henry 
 Foker, who, as I have heard say, is pretty well-to-do in the world, — 
 how is your lovely cousin. Lady Ann, Mr. Foker ? — here are these two 
 young ones, — and they allow an old fellow like me to speak. Lady 
 Clavering, will you do me the favour to be my guest? and Miss 
 Blanche shall be Arthur's, if she will be so good," 
 
314 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Oh, delightful ! " cried Blanche. 
 
 I like a bit of fun too/* said Lady Clavering ; and we will take 
 
 some day when Sir Francis 
 
 ^^When Sir Francis dines out^ — yes^ mamma/' the daughter said^ 
 it will be charming." 
 
 And a charming day it was. The dinner was ordered at Greenwich, 
 and Foker, though he did not invite Miss Amory, had some delicious 
 opportunities of conversation with her during the repast, and after- 
 wards on the balcony of their room at the hotel, and again during the 
 drive home in her Ladyship's barouche. Pen came down with his 
 uncle, in Sir Hugh Trumpington's brougham, which the Major borrowed 
 for the occasion. I am an old soldier, begad," he said, and 1 learned 
 in early life to make myself comfortable." 
 
 And, being an old soldier, he allowed the two young men to pay for 
 the dinner between them, and all the way home in the brougham he 
 rallied Pen about Miss Amory's evident partiality for him : praised her 
 good looks, spirits, and wit t and again told Pen, in the strictest con- 
 fidence, that she would be a devilish deal richer than people thought. 
 
 CHAPTER XLl 
 
 CONTAINS A NOVEL INCIDENT 
 
 Some account has been given, in a former part of this story, how 
 Mr Pen, during his residence at home, after his defeat at Oxbridge, 
 had occupied himself with various literary compositions, and, amongst 
 other works, had written the greater part of a novel. This book, 
 written under the influence of his youthful embarrassments, amatory 
 and pecuniary, was of a very fierce, gloomy, and passionate sort, — the 
 Byronic despair, the Wertherian despondency, the mocking bitterness 
 of Mephistopheles, of Faust, were all reproduced and developed in the 
 character of the hero ; for our youth had just been learning the 
 German language, and imitated, as almost all clever lads do, his 
 favourite poets and writers. Passages in the volumes once so loved, 
 and now read so seldom, still bear the mark of the pencil with which 
 he noted them in those days. Tears fell upon the leaf of the book, 
 perhaps, or blistered the pages of his manuscript, as the passionate 
 young man dashed his thoughts down. If he took up the book after- 
 wards, he had no ability or wish to sprinkle the leaves with that early 
 dew of former times his pencil was ho longer eager to score its marks 
 of approval ; but as he looked over the pages of his manuscript, he 
 remembered what had been the overflowing feelings which had caused 
 him to blot it, and the pain which had inspired the line. If the secret 
 history of books could be written, and the author s private thoughts 
 and meanings noted down alongside of his story, how many insipid 
 volumes would become interesting, and dull tales excite the reader ! 
 Many a bitter smile passed over Pen's face as he read his novel, and 
 recalled the time and feelings which gave it birth. How pompous 
 some of the grand passages appeared \ and how weak others were in 
 
Copyright, Service & Paion. 1897, 
 
LlbRARV 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY of IIUNOIS. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 315 
 
 I which he thought he had expressed his full heart ! This page was 
 imitated from a then favourite author, as he could now clearly see and 
 confess, though he had believed himself to be writing originally then. 
 As he mused over certain lines he recollected the place and hour where 
 he wrote them : the ghost of the dead feeling came back as he mused, 
 and he blushed to review the faint image. And what meant those 
 blots on the page ? As you come in the desert to ground where camels' 
 
 I hoofs are marked in the clay, and traces of withered herbage are yet 
 
 ! visible, you know that water was there once : so the place in Pen's 
 
 1 mind was no longer green, and the fons lacrymarum was dried up. 
 He used this simile one morning to Warrington, as the latter sate 
 
 i over his pipe and book, and Pen, with much gesticulation, according 
 to his wont when excited, and with a bitter laugh, thumped his manu- 
 script down on the table, making the tea-things rattle, and the blue 
 
 i milk dance in the jug. On the previous night he had taken the 
 manuscript out of a long-neglected chest, containing old shooting 
 jackets, old Oxbridge scribbling-books, his old surplice, and battered 
 cap and gown, and other memorials of youth, school, and home. He 
 
 J read in the volume in bed, until he fell asleep, for the commencement 
 of the tale was somewhat dull, and he had come home tired from a 
 London evening party. 
 
 By Jove ! " said Pen, thumping down his papers, when I think 
 that these were written only a very few years ago, I am ashamed of 
 my memory. I wrote this when I believed myself to be eternally in love 
 with that little coquette. Miss Amory. I used to carry down verses to 
 
 j her, and put them into the hollow of a tree, and dedicate them ^ Amori.'" 
 
 ! That was a sweet little play upon words," Warrington remarked, 
 with a pufF. Amory — Amori. It showed profound scholarship. 
 Let us hear a bit of the rubbish." And he stretched over from his 
 easy-chair, and caught hold of Pen's manuscript with the fire-tongs, 
 which he was just using in order to put a coal into his pipe. Thus in 
 possession of the volume, he began to read out from the Leaves from 
 the Life-book of W alter Lorraine. " 
 
 False as thou art beautiful ! heartless as thou art fair : mockery 
 of Passion ! ' Walter cried, addressing Leonora ; ^ what evil spirit hath 
 sent thee to torture me so ? O Leonora -^^ ' " * 
 
 Cut that part out," cried Pen, making a dash at the book, which, 
 however, his comrade would not release. Well ! don't read it out 
 at any rate. That's about my other flame, my first — Lady Mirabel 
 that is now. I saw her last night at Lady Whiston's. She asked me 
 to a party at her house, and said that, as old friends, we ought to meet 
 
 : oftener. She has been seeing me any time these two years in town, 
 and never thought of inviting me before ; but seeing Wenham talking 
 to me, and Monsieur Dubois, the French literary man, who had a 
 dozen orders on, and might have passed for a Marshal of France, she 
 condescended to invite me. The Claverings are to be there on the 
 same evening. Won't it be exciting to meet one's two flames at the 
 same table ? " 
 
 Two flames ! — two heaps of burnt-out cinders," Warrington said. 
 Are both the beauties in this book ? " 
 
 ^^Both, or something like them," Pen said, Leonora, who marries 
 
316 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the Duke^ is the Fotheringay. I drew the Duke from Magnus Charters, 
 with whom I was at Oxford ; it's a little like him ; and Miss Amory is 
 Neaera. By Gad, Warrington, I did love that first woman ! I thought 
 of her as I walked home from Lady Whiston's in the moonlight ; and 
 the whole early scenes came back to me as if they had been yesterday. 
 And when I got home, I pulled out the story which I wrote about her 
 and the other three years ago : do you know, outrageous as it is, it 
 has some good stuff in it ; and if Bungay won t publish it, I think 
 Bacon will." 
 
 That's the way of poets," said Warrington. They fall in love, 
 jilt, or are jilted : they suffer and they cry out that they suffer more 
 than any other mortals : and when they have experienced feelings 
 enough they note them down in a book, and take the book to market. 
 All poets are humbugs, all literary men are humbugs ; directly a man 
 begins to sell his feelings for money he's a humbug. If a poet gets 
 a pain in his side from too good a dinner, he bellows Ai, Ai, louder 
 than Prometheus." 
 
 I suppose a poet has greater sensibility than another man," said 
 Pen, with some spirit. That is what makes him a poet. I suppose 
 that he sees and feels more keenly : it is that which makes him speak 
 of what he feels and sees. You speak eagerly enough in your leading 
 articles when you espy a false argument in an opponent, or detect a 
 quack in the House. Paley, who does not care for anything else in 
 the world, will talk for an hour about a question of law. Give another 
 the privilege which you take yourself, and the free use of his faculty, 
 and let him be what nature has made him. Why should not a man 
 sell his sentimental thoughts as well as you your political ideas, or 
 Paley his legal knowledge ? Each alike is a matter of experience^and 
 practice. It is not money which causes you to perceive a fallacy, or 
 Paley to argue a point; but a natural or acquired aptitude for that 
 kind of truth : and a poet sets down his thoughts and experiences upon 
 paper as a painter does a landscape or a face upon canvas, to the best 
 of his ability, and according to his particular gift. If ever I think I 
 have the stuff in me to write an epic, by Jove I will try. If I only 
 feel that I am good enough to crack a joke or tell a story, I will do 
 that." 
 
 Not a bad speech, young one," Warrington said, but that does 
 not prevent all poets from being humbugs. " 
 
 What — Homer, ^schylus, Shakespeare and all ? " 
 
 Their names are not to be breathed in the same sentence with you 
 pigmies," Warrington said ; there are men and men, sir." 
 
 Well, Shakespeare was a man who wrote for money, just as you 
 and I do," Pen answered : at which Warrington confounded his im- 
 pudence, and resumed his pipe and his manuscript. 
 
 There was not the slightest doubt then that this document contained 
 a great deal of Pen's personal experiences, and that Leaves from the 
 Life-book of Walter Lorraine " would never have been written but for 
 Arthur Pendennis's own private griefs, passions, and follies. As we 
 have become acquainted with these in the earlier part of his biography, 
 it will not be necessary to make large extracts from the novel of 
 Walter Lorraine," in which the young gentleman had depicted such 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 317 
 
 of them as he thought very likely to interest the reader^ or were suit- 
 able for the purposes of his story. 
 
 Now^ though he had kept it in his box for nearly half of the period 
 during which^ according to the Horatian maxim, a work of art ought 
 to lie ripening (a maxim, the truth of which may, by the way, be 
 questioned altogether), Mr. Pen had not buried his novel for this time 
 in order that the work might improve, but because he did not know 
 where else to bestow it, or had no particular desire to see it. A man 
 who thinks of putting away a composition for ten years before he shall 
 give it to the world, or exercise his own maturer judgment upon it, 
 had best be very sure of the original strength and durability of the 
 work ; otherwise on withdrawing it from its crypt he may find that, 
 like small wine, it has lost what flavour it once had, and is only taste- 
 less when opened. There are works of all tastes and smacks, the 
 small and the strong, those that improve by age, and those that won't 
 bear keeping at all, but are pleasant at the first draught, when they 
 refresh and sparkle. 
 
 Now Pen had never any notion, even in the time of his youthful 
 inexperience and fervour of imagination, that the story he was writing 
 was a masterpiece of composition, or that he was the equal of the great 
 authors whom he admired ; and when he now reviewed his little per- 
 formance, he was keenly enough alive to its faults, and pretty modest 
 regarding its merits. It was not very good, he thought ; but it was as 
 good as most books of the kind that had the run of circulating libraries 
 and the career of the season. He had critically examined more than 
 one fashionable novel by the authors of the day then popular, and he 
 I thought that his intellect was as good as theirs, and that he could write 
 ; the English language as well as those ladies or gentlemen ; and as he 
 I now ran over his early performance, he was pleased to find here and 
 i there passages exhibiting both fancy and vigour, and traits, if not of 
 genius, of genuine passion and feeling. This, too, was Warrington's 
 verdict, when that severe critic, after half-an-hour s perusal of the 
 manuscript, and the consumption of a couple of pipes of tobacco, laid 
 Pen's book down, yawning portentously. I can't read any more of 
 j that balderdash now," he said ; but it seems to me there is some 
 I good stuff in it. Pen, my boy. There's a certain greenness and fresh- 
 I ness in it which I like somehow. The bloom disappears ofi' the face of 
 poetry after you begin to shave. You can't get up that naturalness 
 and artless rosy tint in after days. Your cheeks are pale and have got 
 faded by exposure to evening parties, and you are obliged to take cur- 
 ling-irons, and macassar, and the deuce-knows-what to your whiskers ; 
 they curl ambrosially, and you are very grand and genteel, and so 
 forth ; but, ah ! Pen, the spring-time was the best. " 
 
 What the deuce have my whiskers to do with the subject in hand } " 
 Pen said (who perhaps may have been nettled by Warrington's allusion 
 to those ornaments, which, to say the truth, the young man coaxed, 
 '[ and curled, and oiled, and perfumed, and petted, in rather an absurd 
 manner). Do you think we can do anything with ^ Walter Lorraine ' ? 
 I Shall we take him to the publisher's or make an auto-da-fe of him ? " 
 I don't see what is the good of incremation," Warrington said, 
 though I have a great mind to put him into the fire, to punish your 
 
318 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 atrocious humbug and hypocrisy. Shall I burn him indeed ? You have 
 much too great a value for him to hurt a hair of his head." 
 
 ^^Have I? Here goes/' said Pen^ and Walter Lorraine" went off 
 the table^ and was flung on to the coals. But the fire_, having done its 
 duty of boiling the young men's breakfast-kettle^ had given up work for 
 the day_, and had gone out^ as Pen knew very well ; and Warrington^ 
 with a scornful smile^ once more took up the manuscript with the tongs 
 from out of the harmless cinders. 
 
 O Pen^ what a humbug you are ! " Warrington said ; ^^and, what 
 is worst of all^ sir^ a clumsy humbug. I saw you look to see that the 
 fire was out before you sent ^ Walter Lorraine ' behind the bars. No^ 
 we won't burn him : we will carry him to the Egyptians,, and sell him. 
 We will exchange him away for money^ yea^ for silver and gold^ and for 
 beef and for liquors^ and for tobacco and for raiment. This youth will 
 fetch some price in the market ; for he is a comely lad^ though not over 
 strong ; but we will fatten him up^ and give him the bath^ and curl his 
 hair^ and we will sell him for a hundred piastres to Bacon or to Bungay. 
 The rubbish is saleable enough^ sir ; and my advice to you is this : the 
 next time you go home for a holiday^ take ^ W alter Lorraine ' in your 
 carpet-bag — give him a more modern air, prune away, though sparingly, 
 some of the green passages, and add a little comedy, and cheerfulness, 
 and satire, and that sort of thing, and then we'll take him to market and 
 sell him. The book is not a wonder of wonders, but it will do very well. " 
 
 '^'^ Do you think so, Warrington } " said Pen, delighted, for this was 
 great praise from his cynical friend. 
 
 You silly young fool ! I think it's uncommonly clever," Warrington 
 said, in a kind voice. ^^So do you, sir." And with the manuscript 
 which he held in his hand he playfully struck Pen on the cheek. That 
 part of Pen's countenance turned as red as it had ever done in the earliest 
 days of his blushes : he grasped the other's hand and said, " Thank you, 
 Warrington," with all his might ; and then he retired to his own room 
 with his book, and passed the greater part of the day upon his bed re- 
 reading it : and he did as Warrington had advised, and altered not a 
 little, and added a great deal, until at length he had fashioned Walter 
 Lorraine " pretty much into the shape in which, as the respected novel- 
 reader knows, it subsequently appeared. 
 
 Whilst he was at work upon this performance, the good-natured 
 Warrington artfully inspired the two gentlemen who read " for Messrs. 
 Bacon and Bungay with the greatest curiosity regarding Walter Lor- 
 raine," and pointed out the peculiar merits of its distinguished author. 
 It was at the period when the novel called the fashionable " was in 
 vogue among us ; and Warrington did not fail to point out, as before, 
 how Pen was a man of the very first fashion himself, and received at the 
 houses of some of the greatest personages in the land. The simple and 
 kind-hearted Percy Popjoy was brought to bear upon Mrs. Bungay, 
 whom he informed that his friend Pendennis was occupied upon a work 
 of the most exciting nature ; a work that the whole town would run 
 after, full of wit, genius, satire, pathos, and every conceivable good 
 quality. We have said before, that Bungay knew no more about novels 
 than he did about Hebrew or Algebra, and neither read nor understood ^ 
 any of the books which he published and paid for ; but he took his 
 
PENDENNIS 319 
 
 jpinions from his professional advisers and from Mrs. B. ; and, evi- 
 iently with a view to a commercial transaction, asked Pendennis and 
 arrington to dinner again. 
 
 Bacon, when he found that Bungay was about to treat, of course 
 )egan to be anxious and curious, and desired to outbid his rival. Was 
 mything settled between Mr. Pendennis and the odious house over 
 he^way " about the new book ? Mr. Hack, the confidential reader, was 
 old to make inquiries, and see if anything was to be done; and the 
 •esult of the inquiries of that diplomatist was, that one morning 
 3acon himself toiled up the staircase of Lamb Court, and to the door 
 .n which the names of Mr. Warrington and Mr. Pendennis were 
 tainted. 
 
 For a gentleman of fashion, as poor Pen was represented to be, it 
 aust be confessed that the apartments he and his friend occupied were 
 lot very suitable. The ragged carpet had grown only more ragged 
 iurmg the two years of joint occupancy : a constant odour of tobacco 
 .erlumed the sitting-room r Bacon tumbled over the laundress's buckets 
 ti the passage through which he had to pass ; Warrington's shooting- 
 icket was as tattered at the elbows as usual ; and the chair which 
 Jacon was requested to take on entering broke down with the publisher 
 Varrington burst out laughing, said that Bacon had got the game 
 hair, and bawled out to Pen to fetch a sound one from his bedroom • 
 nd seeing the publisher looking round the dingy room with an air 
 f profound pity and wonder, asked him whether he didn't think the 
 partments were elegant, and if he would like, for Mrs. Bacon's drawing-- 
 3om, any of the articles of furniture.? Mr. Warrington's character 
 s a humorist, was known to Mr. Bacon I never can make that chap 
 ut, the publisher was heard to say, ^^or tell whether he is in earnest 
 r only chaffing. 
 
 It is very possible that Mr. Bacon would have set the two gentlemen 
 own as impostors altogether, but that there chanced to be on the 
 reakfast-table certain cards of invitation which the post of the morning 
 ad brought m for Pen, and which happened to come from some very 
 malted personages of the heau-monde, into which our young man had 
 IS introduction. Looking down upon these. Bacon saw that the 
 larchioness of Steyne would be at home to Mr. Arthur Pendennis 
 pon a given day, and that another lady of distinction proposed to have 
 mcmg at her house upon a certain future evening. Warrington saw 
 le admiring publisher eyeing these documents. Ah," said he, with 
 1 air of simplicity, Pendennis is one of the most affable young men 
 ever knew, Mr. Bacon. Here is a young fellow that dines with all 
 le great men in London, and yet he'll take his mutton-chop with you 
 Id me quite contentedly. There's nothing like the affability of the 
 d English gentleman. ^ 
 Oh, no, nothing," said Mr. Bacon. 
 
 I^And you wonder why he should go on living up three pair of stairs 
 ith me, don t you, now } Well, it is a queer taste. But we are fond 
 
 each other ; and as I can't afford to live in a grand house, he comes 
 |id stays in these rickety old chambers with me. He's a man that can 
 itord to live anywhere." 
 
 I fancy it don't cost him much here;' thought Mr. Bacon ; and 
 
320 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the object of these praises presently entered the room from his adjacent 
 sleeping apartment. 
 
 Then Mr. Bacon began to speak upon the subject of his visit ; said 
 he heard that Mr. Pendennis had a manuscript novel ; professed him- 
 self anxious to have a sight of that work, and had no doubt that they 
 would come to terms respecting it. What would be his price for it? 
 would he give Bacon the refusal of it? he would find our house a 
 liberal house, and so forth. The delighted Pen assumed an air of 
 indifference, and said that he was already in treaty with Bungay, and 
 could give no definite answer. This piqued the other into such liberal, 
 though vague offers, that Pen began to fancy Eldorado was opening to 
 him, and that his fortune was made from that day. 
 
 I shall not mention what was the sum of money which Mr. Arthur 
 Pendennis finally received for the first edition of his novel of Walter 
 Lorraine," lest other young literary aspirants should expect to be as 
 lucky as he was, and unprofessional persons forsake their own call- 
 ings, whatever they may be, for the sake of supplying the world with 
 novels, whereof there is already a sufficiency. Let no young people 
 be misled and rush fatally into romance-writing : for one book which 
 succeeds let them remember the many that fail, I do not say deservedly 
 or otherwise, and wholesomely abstain : or if they venture, at least let 
 them do so at their own peril. As for those who have already written 
 novels, this warning is not addressed, of course, to them. Let them 
 take their wares to market ; let them apply to Bacon and Bungay, I 
 and all the publishers in the Row, or the metropolis, and may they 
 be happy in their ventures ! This world is so wide, an* the tastes of 
 mankind happily so various, that there is always a chance for every ' 
 man, and he may win the prize by his genius or by his good fortune. ^ 
 But what is the chance of success or failure ; of obtaining popularity, [ 
 or of holding it when achieved? One man goes over the ice, which t 
 bears him, and a score who follow flounder in. In fine, Mr. Pendennis s) 
 was an exceptional case, and applies to himself only: and I asserts 
 solemnly, and will to the last maintain, that it is one thing to write a!' 
 novel, and another to get money for it. a- m 
 
 By merit, then, or good fortune, or the skilful playing olf of Bungay 
 against Bacon which Warrington performed (and which an amateur 
 novelist is quite welcome to try upon any two publishers in the trade). 
 Pen's novel was actually sold for a certain sum of money to one of the 
 two eminent patrons of letters whom we have introduced to our readers. 
 The sum was so considerable that Pen thought of opening an accouni 
 at a banker s, or of keeping a cab and horse, or of descending int( 
 the first floor of Lamb Court into newly furnished apartments, or o: 
 migrating to the fashionable end of the town. 
 
 Major Pendennis advised the latter move strongly; he opened hiJ 
 eyes with wonder when he heard of the good luck that had befallei 
 Pen ; and which the latter, as soon as it occurred, hastened eagerb 
 to communicate to his uncle. The Major was almost angry that Per 
 should have earned so much money. Who the doose reads this kmc 
 of thing ? " he thought to himself, when he heard of the bargain whicl 
 Pen had made. I never read your novels and rubbish. Except Pau 
 de Kock, who certainly makes me laugh, I don't think I've looked mt< 
 
PENDENNIS 321 
 
 a book of the sort these thirty years. Gad ! Pen's a lucky fellow. I 
 should think he might write one of these in a month now,— say a month, 
 that's twelve in a year. Dammy, he may go on spinning this nonsense 
 for the next four or five years, and make a fortune. In the meantime, 
 I should wish him_ to live properly, take respectable apartments, and 
 
 ''Tth^l-^Fa^ghing, told Warrington what his uncle's advice had been ; 
 but he luckily had a much more reasonable counsellor than the old 
 gentleman in the person of his friend, and in his own conscience, which 
 said to him, " Be grateful for this piece of good fortune ; don t plunge 
 into any extravagances. Pay back Laura ! " And he wrote a etter to 
 her, in which he told her his thanks and his regard ; and enclosed to 
 her such an instalment of his debt as nearly wiped it off. The widow 
 and Laura herself might well be affected by the letter. It was written 
 with genuine tenderness and modesty ; and old Doctor Portman, when 
 he read a passage in the letter, in which Pen, with an honest heart full 
 of gratitude, humbly thanked Heaven for his present prosperity, and for 
 sending him such dear and kind friends to support him in his ill-fortune, 
 —when Doctor Portman read this portion of the letter his voice faltered, 
 and his eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. And when he had quite 
 finished reading the same, and had taken his glasses off his nose, and 
 had folded up the paper and given it back to the widow I am constrained 
 to say, that after holding Mrs. Pendennis's hand for a minute, the 
 Doctor drew that lady towards him and fairly kissed her : at which 
 salute, of course, Helen burst out crying on the Doctors shoulder, tor 
 her heart was too full to give any other reply : and the Doctor, blushing 
 a great deal after his feat, led the lady, with a bow, to the sofa, on 
 which he seated himself by her ; and he mumbled out, m a low voice, 
 some words of a Great Poet whom he loved very much, and who describes 
 how in the days of his prosperity he had made " the widow s heart to 
 
 i ThVletter does the boy very great honour, very great honour, my 
 1 dear," he said, patting it as it lay on Helen's knee-" and I think we 
 have all reason to be thankful for it-very thankful. I need not tell 
 you in what quarter, my dear, for you are a sainted woman : yes, Laura, 
 my love, your mother is a sainted woman. And Mrs. Pendennis, ma am, 
 ■ I shall order a copy of the book for myself, and another at the Book Club 
 
 We may be sure that the widow and Laura walked out to meet the 
 • mail which brought them their copy of Pen's precious novel, as soon as 
 : that work was printed and ready for delivery to the public : and that 
 I they read it to each other : and that they also read it privately and 
 i separately, for when the widow came out of her room in her dressing- 
 gown at one o'clock in the morning with volume two, which she had 
 i finished, she found Laura devouring volume three in bed. Laura did 
 I not say much about the book, but Helen pronounced that it was a happy 
 I mixture of Shakespeare, and Byron, and Walter Scott, and was quite 
 certain that her son was the greatest genius, as he was the best son, 
 
 in the world. , , , 1^1.1, r,^ 
 
 Did Laura not think about the book and the author, although she 
 i said so little ! At least she thought about Arthur Pendennis. K.ind 
 as his tone was, it vexed her. She did not like his eagerness to repay 
 
322 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 that money. She would rather that her brother had taken her gift as 
 she intended it : and was pained that there should be money calculations 
 between them. His letters from London^ written with the good-natured 
 wish to amuse his mother^ were full of descriptions of the famous people, 
 and the entertainments, and magnificence of the great city. Everybody 
 was flattering him and spoiling him, she was sure. Was he not looking 
 to some great marriage, with that cunning uncle for a Mentor (between 
 whom and Laura there was always an antipathy), that inveterate world- 
 ling, whose whole thoughts were bent upon pleasure and rank and 
 fortune ? He never alluded to— to old times, when he spoke of her. 
 He had forgotten them and her, perhaps : had he not forgotten other 
 things and people ? 
 
 These thoughts may have passed in Miss Laura s mind, though she 
 did not, she could not, confide them to Helen. She had one more 
 secret, too, from that lady, which she could not divulge, perhaps be- 
 cause she knew how the widow would have rejoiced to know it. This 
 regarded an event which had occurred during that visit to Lady Rock- 
 minster, which Laura had paid in the last Christmas holidays, when 
 Pen was at home with his mother, and when Mr. Pynsent, supposed to 
 be so cold and so ambitious, had formally oifered his hand to Miss Bell. 
 No one except herself and her admirer knew of this proposal : or that 
 Pynsent had been rejected by her : and probably the reasons she gave 
 to the mortified young man himself were not those which actuated her 
 refusal, or those which she chose to acknowledge to herself. ^^I 
 never,'' she told Pynsent, can accept such an offer as that which you 
 make me, which you own is unknown to your family, as I am sure it 
 would be unwelcome to them. The difference of rank between us is 
 too great. You are very kind to me here— too good and kind, dear 
 Mr. Pynsent— but I am little better than a dependant." 
 
 A dependant ! who ever so thought of you } You are the equal of 
 all the world," Pynsent broke out. 
 
 I am a dependant at home, too," Laura said sweetly, and, indeed, 
 I would not be otherwise. Left early a poor orphan, I have found the 
 kindest and tenderest of mothers, and I have vowed never to leave her 
 —never. Pray do not speak of this again — here, under your relative's 
 roof, or elsewhere. It is impossible." 
 
 ^^If Lady Rockminster asks you yourself, will you listen to her.?" 
 Pynsent cried eagerly. 
 
 No," Laura said. I beg you never to speak of this any more. I 
 must go away if you do."— And with this she left him. 
 
 Pynsent never asked for Lady Rockminster's intercession : he knew 
 how vain it was to look for that : and he never spoke again on that 
 subject to Laura or to any person. 
 
 When at length the famous novel appeared, it not only met with 
 applause from more impartial critics than Mrs. Pendennis, but, luckily 
 for Pen, it suited the taste of the public, and obtained a quick and 
 considerable popularity. Before two months were over. Pen had the 
 satisfaction and surprise of seeing the second edition of Walter 
 Lorraine " advertised in the newspapers : and enjoyed the pleasure of 
 reading and sending home the critiques of various literary journals and 
 reviewers upon his book. Their censure did not much affect him ; for 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 S23 
 
 the good-natured young man was disposed to accept with considerable 
 humility the dispraise of others. Nor did their praise elate him over- 
 much : for^ like most honest persons,, he had his own opinion about 
 his own performance, and when a critic praised him in the wrong 
 place, he was hurt rather than pleased by the compliment. But if a 
 review of his work was very laudatory, it was a great pleasure to him 
 to send it home to his mother at Fairoaks, and to think of the joy 
 which it would give there. There are some natures, and perhaps, as 
 we have said, Pendennis's was one, which are improved and softened 
 by prosperity and kindness, as there are men of other dispositions, 
 who become arrogant and graceless under good fortune. Happy he 
 who can endure one or the other with modesty and good-humour I 
 Lucky he who has been educated to bear his fate, whatsoever it may 
 be, by an early example of uprightness, and a childish training in 
 honour ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLH 
 
 ALSATIA 
 
 Bred up, like a bailiff or a shabby attorney, about the purlieus of the 
 Inns of Court, Shepherd's Inn is always to be found in the close 
 neighbourhood of Lincoln's Inn Fields, and the Temple. Somewhere 
 behind the black gables and smutty chimney-stalks of Wych Street, 
 Holywell Street, Chancery Lane, the quadrangle lies, hidden from the 
 outer world ; and it is approached by curious passages and ambiguous 
 smoky alleys, on which the sun has forgotten to shine. Slop-sellers, 
 brandy-ball and hardbake vendors, purveyors of theatrical prints for 
 youth, dealers in dingy furniture, and bedding suggestive of anything 
 but sleep, line the narrow walls and dark casements with their wares. 
 The doors are many-belled : and crowds of dirty children form endless 
 groups about the steps : or around the shell-fish dealers' trays in these 
 courts ; whereof the damp pavements resound with pattens, and are 
 drabbled with a never-failing mud. Ballad-singers come and chant 
 here, in deadly guttural tones, satirical songs against the Whig adminis- 
 tration, against the bishops and dignified clergy, against the German 
 relatives of an august royal family : Punch sets up his theatre, sure of 
 an audience, and occasionally of a halfpenny, from the swarming occu- 
 pants of the houses : women scream after their children for loitering 
 in the gutter, or, worse still, against the husband who comes reeling 
 from the gin-shop : — there is a ceaseless din and life in these courts, 
 out of which you pass into the tranquil, old-fashioned quadrangle 
 of Shepherd's Inn. In a mangy little grass-plat in the centre rises 
 up the statue of Shepherd, defended by iron railings from the 
 assaults of boys. The Hall of the Inn, on which the founder's arms 
 are painted, occupies one side of the square, the tall and ancient 
 chambers are carried round other two sides, and over the central arch- 
 way, which leads into Oldcastle Street, and so into the great London 
 thoroughfare. 
 
 The Inn may have been occupied by lawyers once; but the laity 
 
324 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 have long since been admitted into its precincts, and I do not know 
 that any of the principal legal firms have their chambers here. The 
 offices of the Polwheedle and Tredyddlum Copper Mines occupy one set 
 of the ground-floor chambers ; the Registry of Patent Inventions and 
 Union of Genius and Capital Company, another ; — the only gentleman 
 whose name figures here, and in the Law List," is Mr. Campion, who 
 wears mustachios, and who comes in his cab twice or thrice in a week ; 
 and whose West End offices are in Curzon Street, Mayfair, where Mrs. 
 Campion entertains the nobility and gentry to whom her husband lends 
 money. There, and on his glazed cards, he is Mr. Somerset Campion ; 
 here he is Campion & Co. ; and the same tuft which ornaments his 
 chin sprouts from the under-lip of the rest of the firm. It is splendid 
 to see his cab-horse harness blazing with heraldic bearings, as the 
 vehicle stops at the door leading to his chambers. The horse flings 
 froth off his nostrils as he chafes and tosses under the shining bit. The 
 reins and the breeches of the groom are glittering white, — the lustre of 
 that equipage makes a sunshine in that shady place. 
 
 Our old friend. Captain Costigan, has examined Campion s cab and 
 horse many an afternoon, as he trailed about the court in his carpet 
 slippers and dressing-gown, with his old hat cocked over his eye. He 
 suns himself there after his breakfast when the day is suitable ; and 
 goes and pays a visit to the porter s lodge, where he pats the heads of the 
 children, and talks to Mrs. Bolton about the thayatres and me daughther 
 Leedy Mirabel. Mrs. Bolton was herself in the profession once, and 
 danced at the Wells in early days as the thirteenth of . Mr. Serle's 
 forty pupils. 
 
 Costigan lives in the third floor at No. 4, in the rooms which were 
 Mr. Podmore's, and whose name is still on the door — (somebody else's 
 name, by the way, is on almost all the doors in Shepherd's Inn). When 
 Charley Podmore (the pleasing tenor singer, T. R. D. L., and at the 
 Back Kitchen Concert Rooms) married and went to live at Lambeth, 
 he ceded his chambers to Mr. Bows and Captain Costigan, who occupy 
 them in common now, and you may often hear the tones of Mr. Bows s 
 piano of fine days when the windows are open, and when he is practising 
 for amusement, or for the instruction of a theatrical pupil, of whom he 
 has one or two. Fanny Bolton is one, the portress's daughter, who has 
 heard tell of her mother's theatrical glories, which she longs to emulate. 
 She has a good voice and a pretty face and figure for the stage ; and she 
 prepares the rooms and makes the beds and breakfasts for Messrs. 
 Costigan and Bows, in return for which the latter instructs her in music 
 and singing. But for his unfortunate propensity to liquor (and in that 
 excess she supposes that all men of fashion indulge), she thinks the 
 Captain the finest gentleman in the world, and believes in all the-ver- 
 sions of all his stories ; and she is very fond of Mr. Fows too, and very 
 grateful to him, and this shy queer old gentleman has a fatherly fond- 
 ness for her too, for in truth his heart is full of kindness, and he is never 
 easy unless he loves somebody. 
 
 Costigan has had the carriages of visitors of distinction before his 
 humble door in Shepherd's Inn : and to hear him talk of a morning 
 (for his evening song is of a much more melancholy nature) you would 
 fancy that Sir Charles and Lady Mirabel were in the constant habit of 
 
 \ 
 
PENDENNIS 325 
 
 callinff at his chambers, and bringing with them the select nobility to 
 visit the old man, the honest old half-pay Captain, poor old Jack 
 Costigan," as Cos calls himself. . / . . 
 
 The truth is, that Lady Mirabel has left her husband s card (which 
 has been stuck in the little looking-glass over the mantelpiece of the 
 sittinff-room at No. 4 for these many months past), and has come in 
 person to see her father, but not of late days. A kind person, disposed 
 to discharge her duties gravely, upon her marriage with Sir Charles, 
 she settled a little pension upon her father, who occasionally was ad- 
 mitted to the table of his daughter and son-in-law. At first poor Cos s 
 behaviour in the hoight of poloit societee," as he denominated Lady 
 Mirabel's drawing-room table, was harmless, if it was absurd. As he 
 clothed his person in his best attire, so he selected the longest and 
 richest words in his vocabulary to deck his conversation, and adopted 
 a solemnity of demeanour which struck with astonishment all those 
 persons in whose company he happened to be.— Was your Leedyship 
 in the Pork to-dee } " he would demand of his daughter. I looked tor 
 your equipage in veen :— the poor old man was not gratified by the soight 
 of his daughther s choriot. Sir Chorlus, I saw your neem at the Levee ; 
 many s the Levee at the Castle at Dublin that poor old Jack Costigan 
 has attended in his time. Did the Juke look pretty well ? Bedad, 1 11 
 call at Apsley House and lave me cyard upon 'um. I thank ye, James, 
 a little dthrop more champeane." Indeed he was magnificent in his 
 courtesy to all, and addressed his observations not only to the master 
 and the guests, but to the domestics who waited at the table, and who 
 had some difficulty in maintaining their professional gravity while they 
 waited on Captain Costigan. 
 
 On the first two or three visits to his son-in-law, Costigan maintained 
 a strict sobriety, content to make up for his lost time when he got to 
 the Back Kitchen, where he bragged about his son-in-law's clar t and 
 burgundee, until his own utterance began to fail him, over his sixth 
 tumbler of whisky-punch. But with familiarity his caution vanished, 
 and poor Cos lamentably disgraced himself at Sir Charles Mirabels 
 table, by premature inebriation. A carriage was called for him : the 
 hospitable door was shut upon him. Often and sadly did he speak to 
 his friends at the Kitchen of his resemblance to King Lear in the plee 
 —of his having a thankless choild, bedad— of his being a pore worn-out 
 lonely old man, dthriven to dthrinking by ingratitude, and seeking to 
 dthrown his sorrows in punch. 
 
 It is painful to be obliged to record the weaknesses of fathers, but 
 it must be furthermore told of Costigan, that when his credit was 
 exhausted and his money gone, he would not unfrequently beg money 
 from his daughter, and make statements to her not altogether con- 
 sistent with strict truth. On one day a bailiff was about to lead him 
 to prison, he wrote, " unless the— to you insignificant— sum of three 
 pound five can be forthcoming to liberate a poor man's grey hairs 
 from gaol. " And the good-natured Lady Mirabel despatched the money 
 necessary for her father's liberation, with a caution to him to be more 
 economical for the future. On a second occasion the Captain met with 
 a frightful accident, and broke a plate-glass window in the Strand, lor 
 which the proprietor of the shop held him liable. The money was 
 
826 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 forthcoming this time too^ to repair her papa s disaster^ and was carried 
 down by Lady Mirabel's servant to the slipshod messenger and aide-de- 
 camp of the Captain^ who brought the letter announcing his mishap. 
 If the servant had followed the Captain's aide-de-camp who carried the 
 remittance^ he would have seen that gentleman^ a person of Costigan's 
 country too (for have we not said^ that however poor an Irish gentleman 
 is, he always has a poorer Irish gentleman to run on his errands and 
 transact his pecuniary affairs ?), call a cab from the nearest stand, and 
 rattle down to the Roscius's Head, Harlequin Yard, Drury Lane, where 
 the Captain was indeed in pawn, and for several glasses containing 
 rum-and-water, or other spirituous refreshment, of which he and his 
 staff had partaken. On a third melancholy occasion he wrote that he 
 was attacked by illness, and wanted money to pay the physician whom 
 he was compelled to call in ; and this time Lady Mirabel, alarmed 
 about her father's safety, and perhaps reproaching herself that she had 
 of late lost sight of him, called for her carriage and drove to Shepherd's 
 Inn, at the gate of which she alighted, whence she found the way to 
 her father s chambers, No. 4, third floor, name of Podmore over the 
 door," the portress said, with many curtsies, pointing towards the 
 door of the house, into which the affectionate daughter entered and 
 mounted the dingy stair ! Alas ! the door, surmounted by the name 
 of Podmore, was opened to her by poor Cos in his shirt-sleeves, and 
 prepared with the gridiron to receive the mutton-chops which Mrs. 
 Bolton had gone to purchase. 
 
 Also, it was not pleasant for Sir Charles Mirabel to have letters 
 constantly addressed to him at Brookes's with the information that 
 Captain Costigan was in the hall, waiting for an answer ; or when he 
 went to play his rubber at the Travellers', to be obliged to shoot out 
 of his brougham and run up the steps rapidly, lest his father-in-law 
 should seize upon him ; and to think that while he read his paper or 
 played his whist, the Captain was walking on the opposite side of Pall 
 Mall, with that dreadful cocked hat, and the eye beneath it fixed 
 steadily upon the windows of the club. Sir Charles was a weak man ; 
 he was old, and had many infirmities : he cried about his father-in-law 
 to his wife, whom he adored with senile infatuation : he said he must 
 go abroad, — he must go and live in the country, — he should die, or 
 have another fit if he saw that man again — he knew he should. And 
 it was only by paying a second visit to Captain Costigan, and repre- 
 senting to him, that if he plagued Sir Charles by letters, or addressed 
 him in the street, or made any further applications for loans, his allow- 
 ance would be withdrawn altogether, that Lady Mirabel was enabled 
 to keep her papa in order, and to restore tranquillity to her husband. 
 And on occasion of this visit, she sternly rebuked Bows for not keeping 
 a better watch over the Captain ; desired that he should not be allowed 
 to drink in that shameful way; and that the people at the horrid 
 tjiverns which he frequented should be told, upon no account to give 
 ^him credit. " Papa's conduct is bringing me to the grave," she said 
 (though she looked perfectly healthy), ^^and you, as an old man, 
 Mr. Bows, and one that pretended to have a regard for us, ought to 
 be ashamed of abetting him in it." These were the thanks which 
 honest Bows got for his friendship and his life's devotion. And I do 
 
 i 
 
PEISTDENNIS 
 
 32^ 
 
 not suppose that the old philosopher was much worse oiF than many- 
 other men^.or had greater reason to grumble. 
 
 On the second floor of the next house to Bows's^ in Shepherd's Inn, 
 at No. S, live two other acquaintances of ours^ Colonel Altamont, 
 agent to the Nawaub of Lucknow^ and Captain the Chevalier Edward 
 Strong. No name at all is over their door. The Captain does not 
 choose to let all the world know where he lives^ and his cards bear the 
 address of a Jermyn Street hotel ; and as for the Ambassador Pleni- 
 potentiary of the Indian potentate^ he is not an envoy accredited to 
 the Courts of St. James's or Leadenhall Street^ but is here on a confi- 
 dential mission^ quite independent of the East India Company or the 
 Board of Control. In fact/' as Strong says^ Colonel Altamont's 
 object being financial^ and to effectuate a sale of some of the principal 
 diamonds and rubies of the Lucknow crown^ his wish is not to report 
 himself at the India House or in Cannon Row^ but rather to negotiate 
 with private capitalists — with whom he has had important transactions 
 both in this country and on the Continent." 
 
 We have said that these anonymous chambers of Strong's had been 
 very comfortably furnished since the arrival of Sir Francis Clavering 
 in London^ and the Chevalier might boast with reason to the friends 
 who visited him, that few retired Captains were more snugly quartered 
 than he, in his crib in Shepherd's Inn. There were three rooms 
 below : the office where Strong transacted his business — whatever that 
 might be — and where still remained the desk and railings of the 
 departed officials who had preceded him, and the Chevalier's own bed- 
 room and sitting-room ; and a private stair led out of the office to two 
 upper apartments, the one occupied by Colonel Altamont, and the 
 other serving as the kitchen of the establishment, and the bedroom of 
 Mr. Grady, the attendant. These rooms were on a level with the 
 apartments of our friends Bows and Costigan next door at No. 4 ; and 
 by reaching over the communicating leads, Grady could command the 
 mignonette-box which bloomed in Bows's window. 
 
 From Grady's kitchen-casement often came odours still more fragrant. 
 The three old soldiers who formed the garrison of No. 3 were all skilled 
 in the culinary art. Grady was great at an Irish stew ; the Colonel 
 was famous for pillaus and curries ; and as for Strong, he could cook 
 anything. He made French dishes and Spanish dishes, stews, fricassees, 
 and omelettes, to perfection ; nor was there any man in England more 
 hospitable than he when his purse was full, or his credit was good. 
 At those happy periods, he could give a friend, as he said, a good 
 dinner, a. good glass of wine, and a good song afterwards; and poor 
 Cos often heard with envy the roar of Strong's choruses, and the 
 musical clinking of the glasses, as he sate in his own room, so far 
 removed and yet so near to those festivities. It was not expedient to 
 invite Mr. Costigan always : his practice of inebriation was lamentable ; 
 and he bored Strong's guests with his stories when sober, and with his 
 maudlin tears when drunk. 
 
 A strange and motley set they were, these friends of the Chevalier ; 
 and though Major Pendennis would not much have relished their 
 company, Arthur and Warrington liked it not a little. There was a 
 
328 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 history about every man of the set : they seemed all to have had their 
 tides of luck and bad fortune. Most of them had wonderful schemes 
 and speculations in their pockets_, and plenty for making rapid and 
 extraordinary fortunes. Jack Holt had been in Queen Christina s 
 army^ when Ned Strong had fought on the other side ; and was now 
 organising a little scheme for smuggling tobacco into London^ which 
 must bring thirty thousand a year to any man who would advance 
 fifteen hundred, just to bribe the last officer of the Excise who held 
 out, and had wind of the scheme. Tom Diver, who had been in the 
 Mexican navy, knew of a specie-ship which had been sunk in the first 
 year of the war, with three hundred and eighty thousand dollars on board, 
 and a hundred and eighty thousand pounds in bars and doubloons. 
 ^^Give me eighteen hundred pounds," Tom said, ^^and I'm off to- 
 morrow. I take out four men and a diving-bell with me ; and I 
 return in ten months to take my seat in Parliament, by Jove ; and to 
 buy back my family estate." Keightley, the manager of the Polwheedle 
 and Tredyddlum Copper Mines (which were as yet under water), besides 
 singing as good a second as any professional man, and besides the 
 Tredyddlum Office, had a Smyrna Sponge Company, and a little quick- 
 silver operation in view, which would set him straight with the world 
 yet. Filby had been everything : a corporal of dragoons, a field- 
 preacher, and missionary agent for converting the Irish ; an actor at 
 a Greenwich fair booth, in front of which his father's attorney found 
 him when the old gentleman died and left him that famous property, 
 from which he got no rents now, and of which nobody exactly knew 
 the situation. Added to these was Sir Francis Clavering, Bart, who 
 liked their society, though he did not much add to its amusements by 
 his convivial powers. But he was made much of by the company now, 
 on account of his wealth and position in the world. He told his little 
 story and sang his little song or two with great affability : and he had 
 had his own history, too, before his accession to good fortune ; and 
 had seen the inside of more prisons than one, and written his name on 
 many a stamped paper. 
 
 When Altamont first returned from Paris, and after he had com- 
 municated with Sir Francis Clavering from the hotel at which he had 
 taken up his quarters (and which he had reached in a very denuded 
 state, considering the wealth of diamonds and rubies with which this 
 honest man was intrusted). Strong was sent to him by his patron the 
 Baronet ; paid his little bill at the inn, and invited him to come and 
 sleep for a night or two at the chambers, where he subsequently took 
 up his residence. To negotiate with this man was very well, but to 
 have such a person settled in his rooms, and to be constantly burthened 
 with such society, did not suit the Chevalier's taste mnch ; and he 
 grumbled not a little to his principal. 
 
 I wish you would put this bear into somebody else's cage," he said 
 to Clavering. ^^The fellow's no gentleman. I don't like walking 
 with him. He dresses himself like a nigger on a holiday. I took him 
 to the play the other night; and, by Jove, sir, he abused the actor 
 who was doing the part of villain in the play, and swore at him so, 
 that the people in the boxes wanted to turn him out. The after-piece 
 was the ^ Brigand,' where VVallack comes in wounded, you know, and 
 
 i 
 
PENDENNIS S29 
 
 dies When he died, Altamont began to cry like a child, and said it 
 
 was a d d shame, and cried and swore so, that there was another 
 
 row, and everybody laughing. Then I had to take him away, because 
 he wanted to take his coat off to one fellow who laughed at him ; and 
 bellowed to him to stand up like a man.— Who is he? Where the 
 deuce does he come from? You had best tell me the whole story, 
 Frank • you must one day. You and he have robbed a church to- 
 gether' that's my belief. You had better get it off your mind at once, 
 Clavering, and tell me what this Altamont is, and what hold he has 
 
 ^^"^Hang him ! I wish he was dead ! " was the Baronet's only reply ; and 
 his countenance became so gloomy, that Strong did not think fit to ques- 
 tion his patron any further at that time ; but resolved, if need were, to 
 try and discover for himself what was the secret tie between Altamont 
 and Clavering. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 IN WHICH THE COLONEL NARRATES SOME OF HIS ADVENTURES 
 
 Early in the forenoon of the day after the dinner in Grosvenor Place, 
 at which Colonel Altamont had chosen to appear, the Colonel emerged 
 from his chamber in the upper storey at Shepherd's Inn, and entered 
 into Strong's sitting-room, where the Chevalier sate m his easy-chair 
 with the newspaper and his cigar. He was a man who made his tent 
 comfortable wherever he pitched it, and long before Altamont s arrival, 
 had done justice to a copious breakfast of fried eggs and broiled rashers, 
 which Mr. Grady had prepared secundum artem. Good-humoured and 
 talkative, he preferred any company rather than none ; and though he 
 had not the least liking for his fellow-lodger, and would not have 
 grieved to hear that the accident had befallen him which Sir Francis 
 Clavering desired so fervently, yet kept on fair terms with him. He 
 had seen Altamont to bed with great friendliness on the night previous, 
 and taken away his candle for fear of accidents ; and finding a spirit- 
 bottle empty, upon which he had counted for his nocturnal refreshment, 
 had drunk a glass of water with perfect contentment over his pipe, 
 before he turned into his own crib and to sleep. That enjoyment 
 never failed him : he had always an easy temper, a faultless digestion, 
 and a rosy cheek ; and whether he was going into action the next 
 morning or to prison (and both had been his lot), in the camp or the 
 Fleet, the worthy Captain snored healthfully through the night, and 
 woke with ^good heart and appetite, for the struggles or difficulties or 
 pleasures of the day. ^ , ^ • 4. ^ 
 
 The first act of Colonel Altamont was to bellow to Grady for a pint ot 
 pale ale, the which he first poured into a pewter flagon, whence he trans- 
 ferred it to his own lips. He put down the tankard empty, drew a great 
 breath, wiped his mouth on his dressing-gown (the difference of the 
 colour of his beard from his dyed whiskers had long struck Captain 
 Strong, who had seen too that his hair was fair under his black wig, but 
 made no remarks upon these circumstances)— the Colonel drew a great 
 
330 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 breathy and professed himself immensely refreshed by his draught. 
 
 Nothing like that beer/' he remarked^ ^^when the coppers are hot. 
 
 Many a day I've drunk a dozen of Bass at Calcutta^ and— and " 
 
 And at Lucknow, I suppose/' Strong said, with a laugh. I got the 
 beer for you on purpose : knew you d want it after last night." And the 
 Colonel began to talk about his adventures of the preceding evening. 
 
 ''I cannot help myself/' the Colonel said, beating his head with 
 his big hand. ^^^I'm a madman when I get the liquor on board me; 
 and ain't fit to be trusted with a spirit-bottle. When I once begin 
 I can't stop till I've emptied it; and when I've swallowed it, Lord 
 knows what I say or what I don't say. I dined at home here quite 
 quiet. Grady gave me just my two tumblers, and I intended to pass 
 the evening at the Black and Red as sober as a pai-son. Why did you 
 leave that confounded sample-bottle of Hollands out of the cupboard. 
 Strong } Grady must go out too, and leave me the kettle a-boiling for 
 tea. It was of no use, I couldn't keep away from it. Washed it all 
 down, sir, by Jingo. And it's my belief I had some more, too, after- 
 wards at that infernal little thieves' den." 
 
 What, were you there too Strong asked, ''and before you came 
 to Grosvenor Place? That was beginning betimes." 
 
 '' Early hours to be drunk and cleared out before nine o'clock, eh } 
 But so it was. Yes, like a great big fool, I must go there ; and found 
 the fellows dining, Blackland and young Moss, and two or three more 
 of the thieves. If we'd gone to Rouge et Noir, I must have won. But 
 we didn't try the black and red. No, hang 'em, they know'd I'd have 
 beat 'em at that — I must have beat 'em — I can't help beating 'em, I tell 
 you. But they was too cunning for me. That rascal Blackland got the 
 bones out, and we played hazard on the dining-table. And I dropped 
 all the money I had from you in the morning, be hanged to my luck. 
 It was that that set me wild, and I suppose I must have been very hot 
 about the head, for I went off thinking to get some more money from 
 Clavering, I recollect ; and then— and then I don't much remember 
 what happened till I woke this morning, and heard old Bows at No. 4 
 playing on his planner." 
 
 Strong mused for a while as he lighted his cigar with a coal. '' I 
 should like to know how you always draw money from Clavering, 
 Colonel," he said. 
 
 The Colonel burst out with a laugh—'' Ha, ha ! he owes it me," 
 he said. 
 
 " I don't know that that's a reason with Frank for paying," Strong 
 answered. " He owes plenty besides you." 
 
 "Well, he gives it me because he is so fond of me/' the other said, 
 with the same grinning sneer. " He loves me like a brother ; you know 
 he does. Captain.— No.?— He don't .?— Well, perhaps he don't; and if 
 you ask me no questions, perhaps I'll tell you no lies. Captain Strong- 
 put that in your pipe and smoke it, my boy." 
 
 " But I'll give up that confounded brandy-bottle," the Colonel con- 
 tinued after a pause. " I must give it up, or it'll be the ruin of me." 
 
 " It makes you say queer things," said the Captain, looking Altamont 
 hard in the face. " Remember what you said last night, at Clavering's 
 table." 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 831 
 
 "Say ? What did I say?" asked the other hastily. "Did I split 
 inything ? Dammy, Strong, did I split anything ? " 
 
 " Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies/' the Chevalier 
 ireplied on his part. Strong thought of the words Mr. Altamont had 
 iised, and his abrupt departure from the Baronet's dining-table and 
 lOuse as soon as he recognised Major Pendennis, or Captain Beak, as 
 he called the Major. But Strong resolved to seek an explanation of 
 Ithese words otherwise than from Colonel Altamont, and did not choose 
 ico recall them to the other s memory. " No," he said then, " you 
 iidn't split, as you call it. Colonel ! it was only a trap of mine to see if 
 [ could make you speak ; but you didn't say a word that anybody could 
 comprehend — you were too far gone for that." 
 
 So much the better, Altamont thought; and heaved a great sigh as 
 if relieved. Strong remarked the emotion, but took no notice, and 
 the other, being in a communicative mood, went on speaking. 
 
 Yes, I own to my faults," continued the Colonel. There is some 
 Ithings I can't, do what I will, resist : a bottle of brandy, a box of dice, 
 and a beautiful woman. No man of pluck and spirit, no man as was 
 iworth his salt ever could, as I know of There's hardly p'raps a country 
 in the world in which them three ain't got me into trouble." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Strong. 
 Yes, from the age of fifteen, when I ran away from home, and 
 went cabin-boy on board an Indiaman, till now, when I'm fifty year 
 lold, pretty nigh, them women have always been my ruin. Why, it 
 was one of 'em, and with such black eyes and jewels on her neck, and 
 sattens and ermine like a duchess, I tell you— it was one of 'em at 
 Paris that swept off the best part of the thousand pound as I went off 
 with. Didn't I ever tell you of it? Well, I don't mind.^ At first I 
 was very cautious, and having such a lot of money kep it close and 
 jlived like a gentleman— Colonel Altamont, Meurice's Hotel, and that 
 isort of thing— never played, except at the public tables, and won more 
 ;than I lost. Well, sir, there was a chap that I saw at the hotel and 
 the Palace Royal too, a regular swell fellow, with white kid gloves and 
 a tuft to his chin, Bloundell-Bloundell his name was, as I made ac- 
 quaintance with somehow, and he asked me to dinner, and took me to 
 Madame the Countess de Foljambe's soirees— snch a woman, Strong ! 
 I— such an eye !— such a hand at the planner. Lor bless you, she'd sit 
 down and sing to you, and gaze at you, until she warbled your soul 
 'out of your body a'most. She asked me to go to her evening parties 
 every Toosday ; and didn't I take opera-boxes and give her dinners at 
 jthe restaurateur's, that's all? But I had a run of luck at the tables, 
 iand it was not in the dinners and opera-boxes that poor Clavering s 
 money went. No, be hanged to it, it was swep off in another way. 
 One night, at the Countess's, there was several of us at supper— Mr. 
 Bloundell-Bloundell, the Honourable Deuceace, the Marky de la Tour 
 jde Force— all tip-top nobs, sir, and the height of fashion, when we had 
 I supper, and champagne you may be sure in plenty, and then some of 
 that confounded brandy. I would have it— I would go on at it— the 
 Countess mixed the tumblers of punch for me, and we had cards as 
 well as grog after supper, and I played and drank until I don't know 
 what I did. I was like I was last night. I was taken away and put to 
 
332 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 bed somehow^ and never woke until the next day, to a roaring head- 
 ache, and to see my servant, who said the Honourable Deuceace 
 wanted to see me, and was waiting in the sitting-room. ^How are 
 you. Colonel ? ' says he, a coming into my bedroom. ^ How long did 
 you stay last night after I went away } The play was getting too high 
 for me, and I'd lost enough to you for one night' 
 
 ^ To me,' says I, ^ how's that, my dear feller ? ' (for though he was 
 an Earl's son, we was as familiar as you and me). ^ How's that, my 
 dear feller ? ' says I, and he tells me that he had borrowed thirty louig 
 of me at vingt-et-un , that he gave me an I O U for it the night before, 
 which I put into my pocket-book before he left the room. I takes oul 
 my card-case — it was the Countess as worked it for me — and there was 
 the I O U sure enough, and he paid me thirty louis in gold down upor 
 the table at my bedside. So I said he was a gentleman, and asked hiir 
 if he would like to take anything, when my servant should get it foi 
 him ; but the Honourable Deuceace don't drink of a morning, and he 
 went away to some business which he said he had. 
 
 Presently there's another ring at my outer door ; and this time it'j 
 Bloundell-Bloundell and the Marky that comes in. ^Bong jour 
 Marky,' says I. ^ Good morning — no headache } ' says he. So I saic 
 I had one ; and how I must have been uncommon queer the nighl 
 afore ; but they both declared I didn't show no signs of having had to( 
 much, but took my liquor as grave as a judge. 
 
 ' So,' says the Marky, ^ Deuceace has been with you ; we met hin 
 in the Palais Royal as we were coming from breakfast. Has he settlec 
 with you ? Get it while you can : he's a slippery card ; and as he woi 
 three ponies of Bloundell, I recommend you to get your money whih 
 he has some.' 
 
 ^ He has paid me,' says I ; ^ but I knew no more than the deac 
 that he owed me anything, and don't remember a bit about lending 
 him thirty louis.' 
 
 ^^The Marky and Bloundell looks and smiles at each other at this 
 and Bloundell says, ^ Colonel, you are a queer feller. No man coulc 
 have supposed, from your manners, that you had tasted anythin|6 
 stronger than tea all night, and yet you forget things in the morning. 
 Come, come, — tell that to the marines, my friend, — we won't have i 
 at any price. ' 
 
 ' En effet,' says the Marky, twiddling his little black mustachios ii 
 the chimney-glass, and making a lunge or two as he used to do at th< 
 fencing-school. (He was a wonder at the fencing-school, and I've seei 
 him knock down the image fourteen times running, at Lepage's.) ' Le" 
 us speak of affairs. Colonel, you understand that affairs of honour an 
 best settled at once : perhaps it won't be inconvenient to you to arrangi 
 our little matters of last night.' 
 
 ^ What little matters.^ ' says I. ^ Do you owe me any money, Marky? 
 " ^ Bah ! ' says he ; ^ do not let us have any more jesting. I havi 
 your note of hand for three hundred and forty louis. La void ! ' sayi 
 he, taking out a paper from his pocket-book. 
 
 ^ And mine for two hundred and ten,' says Bloundell-Bloundell 
 and he puts out his bit of paper. 
 
 1 was in such a rage of wonder at this, that I sprang out of bed 
 
PENDENNIS 333 
 
 md wrapped my dressing-gown round me. 'Are you come here to 
 a fool of me ? • sayl I. ' I don t owe you two hundred or two 
 Aousand, or two louis : and I won't pay you a farthing. Do you 
 ™se you can catch me with your notes of hand? I laugh at em, 
 
 nn^ at vou • and I believe you to be a couple 
 
 ' -/coupk of what?' W Mr. Bloundell. ' You of course are 
 aware that we are a couple of men of honour. Colonel Altamont and 
 not come here to trifle or to listen to abuse from you. You will either 
 pay us or we will expose you as a cheat, and chastise you as a cheat, 
 
 "'tys the Marky,-but I didn't ^ 
 have thrown the little fellow out of the window ; but it was different with 
 Bloundell,— he was a large man, that weighs three stone more than me, 
 and stands six inches higher, and I think he could have done for me. 
 ' "'Monsieur will pay, or Monsieur will give me the reason why. 
 I believe you're little better than a poUsson, Colonel Altamont, —that 
 was the phrase he used "-Altamont said w th a grin,-" and I got 
 plenty more of this language from the two fellers, and was in the thick 
 of the row with them, when another of our party came in. This was 
 a friend of mine-a gent I had met at Boulogne, and had taken to the 
 iCountess's myself. ^And as he hadn't played at all on the previous 
 night, and had actually warned me against Bloundell and the others, 
 I told the story to him, and so did the other two. 
 
 «'I am very sorry,' says he. 'You would go on playing : the 
 Countess entrekted you to discontinue.^ These gent emen offered re- 
 neatedlv to stop. It was you that insisted on the large stakes, not 
 thev ' In fact he charged dead against me : and when the two others 
 went away, he told me how the Marky would shoot me as sure as 
 my name was-was what it is. ' I left the Countess crying, too, said 
 he ' She hates these two men ; she has warned you repeatedly against 
 them • (which she actually had done, and often told me never to play 
 with them), 'and now. Colonel, I have left her m V^t^ncs almost lest 
 there should be any quarrel between you, and that confounded Marky 
 should put a bullet through your head. It's my belief, says my friend, 
 ' that that woman is distractedly in love with you. , . , , , „^ 
 
 , " ' Do you think so ? ' says I ; upon which my friend told me how 
 i' she had actually gone down on her knees to him, and said, have 
 \ Colonel Altamont ! ' , „ , 4.1, 4. i„„„i„ 
 
 "As soon as I was dressed, I went and called upon that lovely 
 ! woman. She gave a shriek and pretty near fainted when she saw me. 
 She called me Ferdinand,— I'm blest if she didn t. _ 
 
 "I thought your name was Jack," said Strong, with a laugh, at 
 which the Colonel blushed very much behind his dyed whiskers. 
 
 "A man may have more names than one, mayn t he, btrong. 
 Altamont asked. « When I'm with a lady, I like to take a good one. 
 She called me by my Christian name. She cried fit to break your 
 heart. I can't stand seeing a woman cry— never could— not whilst 
 I'm fond of her. She said she could not bear to think of my losing 
 : so much money in her house. Wouldn't I take her diamonds and 
 ! necklaces, and pay part ? ,,.,.11 i,-„t, 
 
 " I swore I wouldn't touch a farthing's worth of her jewellery, which 
 
334 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 perhaps I did not think was worth a great deal^ — ^but what can a 
 woman do more than give you her all? That's the sort I like^ and I 
 know there s plenty of 'em. And I told her to be easy about the 
 money^ for I would not pay one single farthing. 
 
 ' Then they'll shoot you/ says she ; ^they'll kill my Ferdinand.' " 
 They'll kill my Jack wouldn't have sounded well in French/' Strong 
 said^ laughing. 
 
 Never mind about names/' said the other sulkily: ^^a man of 
 honour may take any name he chooses, I suppose." 
 
 Well, go on with your story/' said Strong. She said they would 
 kill you." 
 
 ' No/ says I, ' they won't : for I will not let that scamp of a Marquis 
 send me out of the world ; and if he lays a hand on me, I'll brain him, 
 Marquis as he is.' 
 
 At this the Countess shrank back from me as if I had said some- 
 thing very shocking. ^Do I understand Colonel Altamont aright.?*' 
 says she ; ^ and that a British officer refuses to meet any person who 
 provokes him to the field of honour } ' 
 
 ^ Field of honour be hanged. Countess ! ' says L ^ You would not 
 have me be a target for that little scoundrel's pistol practice ? ' 
 
 ' Colonel Altamont,' says the Countess, ^ I thought you were a man 
 of honour— I thought, I— but no matter. Good-bye, sir.' And she 
 was sweeping out of the room, her voice regular choking in her pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " ^ Countess ! '• says I, rushing after her and seizing her hand. 
 
 ^ Leave me. Monsieur le Colonel,' says she, shaking me off, ^ my 
 father was a General of the Grand Army. A soldier should know how 
 to pay all his debts of honour.' 
 
 What could I do ! Everybody was against me. Caroline said I had 
 lost the money : though I didn't remember a syllable about the busi- 
 ness. I had taken Deuceace's money too ; but then it was because he 
 offered it to me, you know, and that's a different thing. Every one of 
 these chaps was a man of fashion and honour ; and the Marky and the 
 Countess of the first families in France. And by Jove, sir, rather than 
 offend her, I paid the money up : five hundred and sixty gold napoleons, 
 by Jove : besides three hundred which I lost when I had my revenge. 
 
 And I can't tell you at this minute whether I was done or not," 
 concluded the Colonel, musing. " Sometimes I think I was : but then 
 Caroline was so fond of me. That woman would never have seen me 
 done : never, I'm sure she wouldn't : at least, if she would, I'm deceived 
 in woman." 
 
 Any further revelations of his past life which Altamont might have 
 been disposed to confide to his honest comrade the Chevalier, were in- 
 terrupted by a knocking at the outer door of their chambers : which, 
 when opened by Grady the servant, admitted no less a person than Sir 
 Francis Clavering into the presence of the two worthies. 
 
 ^^The Governor, by Jove," cried Strong, regarding the arrival of his 
 patron with surprise. What's brought you here } " growled Altamont, 
 looking sternly from under his heavy eyebrows at the Baronet. It's 
 no good, T warrant." And, indeed, good very seldom brought Sir 
 Francis Clavering into that or any other place. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 335 
 
 Whenever he came into Shepherd's Inn^ it was money that brought 
 the unlucky Baronet into those precincts : and there was commonly a 
 gentleman of the money-dealing world in waiting for him at Strong s 
 chambers^ or at Campion s below ; and a question of bills to negotiate 
 or to renew. Clavering was a man who had never looked his debts 
 fairly in the face^ familiar as he had been with them all his life : as long 
 as he could renew a bill^ his mind was easy regarding it ; and he would 
 sign almost anything for to-morrow^ provided to-day could be left un- 
 molested. He was a man whom scarcely any amount of fortune could 
 have benefited permanently^ and who was made to be ruined, to cheat 
 small tradesmen, to be the victim of astuter sharpers : to be niggardly 
 and reckless, and as destitute of honesty as the people who cheated 
 him, and a dupe, chiefly because he was too mean to be a successful 
 knave. He had told more lies in his time, and undergone more base- 
 ness of stratagem in order to stave ofi^ a small debt, or to swindle a poor 
 creditor, than would have sufficed to make a fortune for a braver rogue. 
 He was abject and a shuffler in the very height of his prosperity. Had^ 
 he been a Crown Prince — he could not have been more weak, useless, 
 dissolute, or ungrateful. He could not move through life except lean- 
 ing on the arm of somebody ; and yet he never had an agent but he 
 mistrusted him ; and marred any plans w hich might be arranged for 
 his benefit, by secretly acting against the people whom he employed. 
 Hrong knew Clavering, and judged him quite correctly. It was not as 
 Viends that this pair met ; but the Chevalier worked for his principal, 
 IS he would when in the army have pursued a harassing march, or 
 indergone his part in the danger and privations of a siege ; because it 
 ras his duty, and because he had agreed to it. What is it he wants } " 
 bought the two ofldcers of the Shepherd's Inn garrison, when the 
 Jaronet came among them. 
 
 His pale face expressed extreme anger and irritation. So, sir," he 
 aid, addressing Altamont, you've been at your old tricks." 
 Which of 'um } " asked Altamont, with a sneer. 
 You have been at the Rouge et Noir : you were there last night," 
 
 Iried the Baronet. 
 How do you know, — were you there ? " the other said. I was at 
 18 Club : but it wasn't on the colours I played, — ask the Captain, — 
 ve been telling him of it. It was with the bones. It was at hazard, 
 ir Francis, upon my word and honour it was ; " and he looked at the 
 ►aronet with a knowing humorous mock humility, which only seemed 
 o make the other more angry. 
 
 " What the deuce do I care, sir, how a man like you loses his money, 
 lid whether it is at hazard or roulette ? " screamed the Baronet, with 
 multiplicity of oaths, and at the top of his voice. What I will not 
 ave, sir, is that you should use my name, or couple it with yours. — 
 )amn him. Strong, why don't you keep him in better order .^^ I tell 
 ou he has gone and used my name again, sir, — drawn a bill upon me, 
 nd lost the money on the table — I can't stand it — I won't stand it. 
 lesh and blood won't bear it — Do you know how much I have paid for 
 ou, sir } " 
 
 This was only a very little 'un, Sir Francis — only fifteen pound, 
 aptain Strong, they wouldn't stand another : and it oughtn't to anger 
 
336 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 you, Governor. Why, it's so trifling I did not even mention it to Strong 
 — did I now. Captain ? I protest it had quite slipped my memory, and 
 all on account of that confounded liquor I took/* 
 
 Liquor or no liquor, sir, it is no business of mine. I don't care 
 what you drink, or where you drink it — only it shan t be in my house. 
 And I will not have you breaking into my house of a night, and a fellow 
 like you intruding himself on my company : how dared you show your- 
 self in Grosvenor Place last night, sir, — and — and what do you suppose 
 my friends must think of me when they see a man of your sort walking 
 into my dining-room uninvited, and drunk, and calling for liquor as if 
 you were the master of the house ? " 
 
 They'll think you know some very queer sort of people, I dare 
 say," Altamont said, with impenetrable good-humour. Look here. 
 Baronet, I apologise ; on my honour I do, and ain t an apology enough 
 between two gentlemen ? It was a strong measure I own, walking into 
 your cuddy, and calling for drink as if I was the Captain : but I had 
 had too much before, you see, that's why I wanted some more ; nothing 
 can be more simple — and it was because they wouldn't give me no more 
 money upon your name at the Black and Red, that I thought I would 
 come down and speak to you about it. To refuse me was nothing : but 
 to refuse a bill drawn on you that have been such a friend to the shop 
 and are a baronet and a member of Parliament, and a gentleman and 
 no mistake — damme — it's ungrateful." 
 
 By heavens, if ever you do it again, — if ever you dare to show your- 
 self in my house : or give my name at a gambling-house or at any other 
 house, by Jove — at any other house — or give any reference at all to me 
 or speak to me in the street, by Gad, or anywhere else until I speak to 
 you — I'll disclaim you altogether — I won't give you another shilling." 
 
 " Governor, don't be provoking," Altamont said surlily. Don't tal 
 to me about daring to do this thing or t'other, or when my dander is u 
 it's the very thing to urge me on. I oughtn't to have come last night, 
 I know I oughtn't ; but I told you I was drunk, and that ought to be 
 sufficient between gentleman and gentleman." 
 
 You a gentleman ! Dammy, sir," said the Baronet, how dares a 
 fellow like you to call himself a gentleman ? " 
 
 I ain't a baronet, I know," growled the other ; and I've forgotten 
 how to be a gentleman almost now, but — but I was one once, and my 
 father was one, and I'll not have this sort of talk from you. Sir F. 
 Clavering, that's flat. I want to go abroad again. Why don't you come 
 down with the money, and let me go ? Why the devil are you to be 
 rolling in riches, and me to have none ? Why should you have a house 
 and a table covered with plate, and me be in a garret here in this 
 beggardly Shepherd's Inn ? We're partners, ain't we ? I've as good a 
 right to be rich as you have, haven't I ? Tell the story to Strong here, if 
 you like ; and ask him to be umpire between us. I don't mind letting my 
 secret out to a man that won't split. Look here. Strong — perhaps you 
 
 guess the story already — the fact is, me and the Governor " 
 
 ^^D , hold your tongue," shrieked out the Baronet in a fury. 
 
 You shall have the money as soon as I can get it. I ain't made of 
 money. I'm so pressed and badgered, I don't know where to turn. I 
 shajlgo mad; by Jove, I shall. I wish I was dead, for I'm the most 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 337 
 
 miserable brute alive. I say, Mr. Altamont, don't mind me. When 
 I'm out of health — and I'm devilish bilious this morning — hang me^ I 
 abuse everybody, and don't know what I say. Excuse me if I've offended 
 you. I — I'll try and get that little business done. Strong shall try. 
 Upon my word he shall. And I say. Strong, my boy, I want to speak 
 to you. Come into the office for a minute." 
 
 Almost all Clavering's assaults ended in this ignominious way, and in 
 a shameful retreat. Altamont sneered after the Baronet as he left the 
 room, and entered into the office, to talk privately with his factotum. 
 
 What is the matter now the latter asked of him. It's the old 
 story, I suppose." 
 
 D it, yes," the Baronet said, I dropped two hundred in 
 
 ready money at the Little Coventry last night, and gave a cheque for 
 three hundred more. On her Ladyship's bankers, too, for to-morrow ; 
 and I must meet it, for there'll be the deuce to pay else. The last 
 time she paid my play-debts, I swore I would not touch a dice-box 
 again, and she'll keep her word. Strong, and dissolve partnership, if 
 I go on. I wish I had three hundred a year, and was away. At a 
 German watering-place you can do devilish well with three hundred 
 
 a year. But my habits are so d reckless : I wish I was in the 
 
 Serpentine. I wish I was dead, by Gad I wish I was. I wish I had 
 never touched those confounded bones. I had such a run of luck last 
 night, with five for the main, and seven to five all night, until those 
 ruffians wanted to pay me with Altamont's bill upon me. The luck 
 turned from that minute. Never held the box again for three mains, 
 and came away cleared out, leaving that infernal cheque behind me. 
 'How shall I pay it } Blackland won't hold it over. Hulker & Bullock 
 Iwill write about it directly to her Ladyship. By Jove, Ned, I'm the 
 most miserable brute in all England." 
 
 It was necessary for Ned to devise some plan to console the Baronet 
 under this pressure of grief ; and no doubt he found the means of 
 procuring a loan for his patron, for he was closeted at Mr. Campion's 
 offices that day for some time. Altamont had once more a guinea or 
 two in his pocket, with a promise of a further settlement : and the 
 Baronet had no need to wish himself dead for the next two or three 
 months at least. And Strong, putting together what he had learned 
 from the Colonel and Sir Francis, began to form in his own mind a 
 pretty accurate opinion as to the nature of the tie which bound the 
 two men together. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 A CHAPTER OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 Every day, after the entertainments at Grosvenor Place and Greenwich, 
 of which we have seen Major Pendennis partake, the worthy gentle- 
 man's friendship and cordiality for the Clavering family seemed to 
 increase. His calls were frequent ; his attentions to the lady of the 
 Ihouse unremitting. An old man about town, he had the good fortune 
 I to be received in many houses, at which a lady of Lady Clavering's 
 
 Y 
 
338 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 distinction ought also to be seen. W ould her Ladyship not like to be 
 present at the grand entertainment at Gaunt House? There was to 
 be a very pretty breakfast ball at Viscount Marrowfat's^ at Fulham. 
 Everybody was to be there (including august personages of the highest 
 rank)^ and there was to be a Watteau quadrille^, in which Miss Amory 
 would surely look charming. To these and other amusements^ the 
 obsequious old gentleman kindly offered to conduct Lady Clavering, 
 and was also ready to make himself useful to the Baronet in any way 
 agreeable to the latter. 
 
 In spite of his present station and fortune, the world persisted in 
 looking rather coldly upon Clavering_, and strange suspicious rumours 
 followed him about. He was blackballed at two clubs in succession. 
 In the House of Commons,, he only conversed with a few of the most 
 disreputable members of that famous body, having a happy knack of 
 choosing bad society, and adapting himself naturally to it, as other 
 people do to the company of their betters. To name all the senators 
 with whom Clavering consorted, would be invidious. We may mention 
 only a few. There was Captain Raff, the honourable member for 
 Epsom, who retired after the last Goodwood races, having accepted, 
 as Mr. Hotspur, the whip of the party, said, a mission to the Levant ; 
 there was Hustingson, the patriotic member for Islington, whose voice 
 is never heard now denunciating corruption, since his appointment to 
 the Governorship of Coventry Island ; there was Bob Freeny, of the 
 Booterstown Freenys, who is a dead shot, and of whom we therefore 
 wish to speak with every respect ; and of all these gentlemen, with 
 whom in the course of his professional duty Mr. Hotspur had to confer, 
 there was none for whom he had a more thorough contempt and dis- 
 like than for Sir Francis Clavering, the representative of an ancient 
 race, who had sat for their own borough of Clavering time out of mind 
 in the House. If that man is wanted for a division," Hotspur said, 
 ^^'^ten to one he is to be found in a hell. He was educated in the 
 Fleet, and he has not heard the end of Newgate yet, take my word 
 for it. He'll muddle away the Begum's fortune at thimble-rig, be 
 caught picking pockets, and finish on board the hulks. " And if the 
 highborn Hotspur, with such an opinion of Clavering, could yet from 
 professional reasons be civil to him, why should not Major Pen- 
 dennis also have reasons of his own for being attentive to this unlucky ■ 
 gentleman ? 
 
 He has a very good cellar and a very good cook," the Major said : 
 as long as he is silent he is not offensive, and he very seldom speaks. 
 If he chooses to frequent gambling-tables, and lose his money to black- 
 legs, what matters to me ? Don't look too curiously into any man's 
 affairs. Pen, my boy ; every fellow has some cupboard in his house, 
 begad, which he would not like you and me to peep into. Why should 
 we try, when the rest of the house is open to us } And a devilish good 
 house, too, as you and I know. And if the man of the family is not 
 all one could wish, the women are excellent. The Begum is not over- 
 refined, but as kind a woman as ever lived, and devilish clever too ; 
 and as for the little Blanche, you know my opinion about her, you ; 
 rogue; you know my belief is that she is sweet on you, and would 
 have you for the asking. But you are growing such a great man, that 4 
 
PENDENNIS 839 
 
 I suppose you won t be content under a Duke's daughter— hay, sir? I 
 recommend you to ask one of them, and try." 
 
 Perhaps Pen was somewhat intoxicated by his success in the world ; 
 and it may also have entered into the young man's mind (his uncle's 
 perpetual hints serving not a little to encourage the notion) that Miss 
 Amory was tolerably well disposed to renew the little flirtation which 
 had been carried on in the early days of both of them, by the banks of 
 the rural Brawl. But he was little disposed to marriage, he said, at 
 that moment, and, adopting some of his uncle's worldly tone, spoke 
 rather contemptuously of the institution, and in favour of a bachelor 
 life. 
 
 You are very happy, sir," said he, ^*^and you get on very well 
 alone, and so do 1. With a wife at my side, I should lose my place in 
 society ; and I don t, for my part, much fancy retiring into the country 
 with a Mrs Pendennis ; or taking my wife into lodgings to be waited 
 upon by the servant-of-all-work. The period of my little illusions is 
 over. You cured me of my first love, who certainly was a fool, and 
 would have had a fool for her husband, and a very sulky discontented 
 husband too if she had taken me. We young fellows live fast, sir • 
 
 and I feel as old at five-and~twenty as many of the old fo^ the old 
 
 bachelors— whom I see in the bow-window at Bays's. Don't look 
 oltended, 1 only mean that 1 am hlase about love matters, and that I 
 could no more fan myself into a flame for Miss Amory now, than I 
 c^"" i."" M^'. ¥^^^^^1 ^^ain. I wish I could ; I rather like 
 t5ir Mirabel for his infatuation about her, and think his passion is the 
 most respectable part of his life." 
 
 Sir Charles Mirabel was always a theatrical man, sir," the Maior 
 said annoyed that his nephew should speak flippantly of any person of 
 Sir Charles s rank and station. He has been occupied with theatricals 
 since his early days. He acted at Carlton House when he was Page 
 to the Prince ;— he has been mixed up with that sort of thing : he 
 could aftord to marry whom he chooses ; and Lady Mirabel is a most 
 respectable woman, received everywhere— everywhere, mind. The 
 Duchess of Connaught receives her. Lady Rockminster receives her— 
 It doesn t become young fellows to speak lightly of people in that 
 station 1 here s not a more respectable woman in England than Lady 
 Mirabel --and the old fogies, as you call them, at Bays's, are some of 
 the hrst gentlemen in England, of whom you youngsters had best 
 ^A.^ . n\anners, and a little breeding, and a little modesty." 
 And the Major began to think that Pen was growing exceeding-lv pert 
 ^'^i^'^'^^.^^y^^' ^"^^ ^0^1^ a great deal too much of him. 
 
 Ihe Major s anger amused Pen. He studied his uncle's peculiarities 
 with a constant relish, and was always in a good humour with his 
 worldly old Mentor. ^^I am a youngster of fifteen years' standing, 
 sir, he said adroitly, ^^and if you think that we are disrespectful, you 
 should see those of the present generation. A protege of yours came 
 to breakfast with me the other day. You told me to ask him, and 1 
 did It to please you. We had a day's sights together, and dined at the 
 club, and went to the play. He said the wine at the Polyanthus was 
 not so good as Elhss wme at Richmond, smoked Warrington's caven- 
 dish after breakfast, and when I gave him a sovereign as a farewell 
 
340 PENDENNIS 
 
 token, said he had plenty of them, but would take it to show he wasn t 
 
 proud." .11 n/r • 
 
 ^^Did he did you ask young Clavermg? cried the Major, ap- 
 peased at once—'' fine boy, rather wild, but a fine boy— parents like 
 that sort of attention, and you can't do better than pay it to our worthy 
 friends of Grosvenor Place. And so you took him to the play and 
 tipped him? That was right, sir, that was right with which Mentor 
 quitted Telemachus, thinking that the young men were not so very 
 bad, and that he should make something of that fellow yet. 
 
 As Master Clavering grew into years and stature, he became too 
 strong for the authority of his fond parents and governess ; and 
 rather governed them than permitted himself to be led by their orders. 
 With his papa he was silent and sulky, seldom making his appearance, 
 however, in the neighbourhood of that gentleman ; with his mamma 
 he roared and fought when any contest between them arose as to the 
 gratification of his appetite, or other wish of his heart ; and m his 
 disputes with his governess over his book, he kicked that quiet creature s 
 shins so fiercely, that she was entirely overmastered and subdued by 
 him. And he would have so treated his sister Blanche, too, and did 
 on one or two occasions attempt to prevail over her ; but she showed 
 an immense resolution and spirit on her part, and boxed his ears so 
 soundly, that he forebore from molesting Miss Amory, as he did the 
 governess and his mamma, and his mamma s maid. ^ 
 
 At length, when the family came to London, Sir Francis gave torth 
 his opinion, that ''the little beggar had best be sent to school. 
 Accordingly the young son and heir of the house of Clavering was 
 despatched to the Rev. Otto Rose's establishment at Twickenham, 
 where young noblemen and gentlemen were received preparatory to 
 their introduction to the great English public schools. ^ i ^. 
 
 It is not our intention to follow Master Clavering m his scholastic 
 career ; the paths to the Temple of Learning were made more easy to 
 him than they were to some of us of earlier generations. He advanced 
 towards that fane in a carriage-and-four, so to speak, and might halt 
 and take refreshment almost whenever he pleased. He wore varnished 
 boots from the earliest period of youth, and had cambric handkerchiets 
 and lemon-coloured kid gloves, of the smallest size ever manufactured 
 by Privat. They dressed regularly at Mr. Rose's to come down to 
 dinner ; the young gentlemen had shawl dressing-gowns, fires m then- 
 bedrooms, horse and carriage exercise occasionally, and oil for their 
 hair Corporal punishment was altogether dispensed with by the 
 Principal, who thought that moral discipline was entirely sufficient to 
 lead vouth ; and the boys were so rapidly advanced in many branches 
 of learning, that they acquired the art of drinking spirits and smoking 
 cigars, even before they were old enough to enter a public school. 
 Younff Frank Clavering stole his father's Havannahs, and conveyed 
 them to school, or smoked them in the stables, at a surprisingly early 
 period of life, and at ten years old drank his champagne almost as 
 stoutly as any whiskered cornet of dragoons could do. , 
 
 When this interesting youth came home for his vacations, m-d^or' 
 Pendennis was as laboriously civil and gracious to him as he was to tne 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 341 
 
 rest of the family ; although the boy had rather a contempt for old 
 Wigsby, as the Major was denominated, — mimicked him behind his 
 back, as the polite Major bowed and smirked to Lady Clavering or 
 Miss Amory ; and drew rude caricatures, such as are designed by in- 
 genious youths, in which the Major's wig, his nose, his tie, &c., were 
 represented with artless exaggeration. Untiring in his efforts to be 
 agreeable, the Major wished that Pen, too, should take particular notice 
 of this child ; incited Arthur to invite him to his chambers, to give 
 him a dinner at the club, to take him to Madame Tussaud's, the 
 Tower, the play, and so forth, and to tip him, as the phrase is, at the 
 end of the day's pleasures. Arthur, who was good-natured and fond 
 of children, went through all these ceremonies one day ; had the boy 
 to breakfast at the Temple, where he made the most contemptuous 
 remarks regarding the furniture, the crockery, and the tattered state 
 of Warrington's dressing-gown ; and smoked a short pipe, and re- 
 counted the history of a fight Ijetween Tuffy and Long Biggings, at 
 Rose's, greatly to the edification of the two gentlemen, his hosts. 
 
 As the Major rightly predicted, Lady Clavering was very grateful 
 for Arthur's attention to the boy ; more grateful than the lad himself, 
 who took attentions as a matter of course, and very likely had more 
 sovereigns in his pocket than poor Pen, who generously gave him one 
 of his own slender stock of those coins. 
 
 The Major, with the sharp eyes with which Nature endowed him, 
 and with the glasses of age and experience, watched this boy, and sur- 
 veyed his position in the family without seeming to be rudely curious 
 about their affairs. But, as a country neighbour, one who had many 
 family obligations to the Claverings, an old man of the world, he took 
 occasion to find out what Lady Clavering's means were, how her capital 
 was disposed, and what the boy was to inherit. And setting himself 
 to work, — for what purposes will appear, no doubt, ulteriorly, — he 
 soon had got a pretty accurate knowledge of Lady Clavering's affairs 
 and fortune, and of the prospects of her daughter and son. The 
 daughter was to have but a slender provision ; the bulk of the property 
 was, as before has been said, to go to the son, — his father did not care 
 for him or anybody else, — his mother was dotingly fond of him as the 
 child of her latter days, — his sister disliked him. Such may be stated, 
 in round numbers, to be the result of the information which Major 
 Pendennis got. Ah ! my dear madam," he would say, patting the 
 head of the boy, this boy may wear a baron's coronet on his head on 
 some future coronation, if matters are but managed rightly, and if Sir 
 Francis Clavering would but play his cards well." 
 
 At this the widow Amory heaved a deep sigh. He plays only too 
 much of his cards. Major, I'm afraid," she said. The Major owned that 
 he knew as much ; did not disguise that he had heard of Sir Francis 
 Clavering's unfortunate propensity to play; pitied Lady Clavering 
 sincerely ; but spoke with such genuine sentiment and sense, that her 
 Ladyship, glad to find a person of experience to whom she could confide 
 her grief and her condition, talked about them pretty unreservedly to 
 Major Pendennis, and was eager to have his advice and consolation. 
 Major Pendennis became the Begum's confidant and house-friend, and 
 as a mother, a wife, and a capitalist, she consulted him. 
 
342 PENDENNIS 
 
 He gave her to understand (showing at the same time a great deal of 
 respectful sympathy) that he was acquainted with some of the circum- 
 stances of her first unfortunate marriage^ and with even the person of 
 her late husband, whom he remembered in Calcutta— when she was 
 living in seclusion with her father. The poor lady, with tears of shame 
 more than of grief in her eyes, told her version of her story. Going 
 back a child to India after two vears at a European school, she had met 
 Amory, and foolishly married him. " Oh, you don t know how miser- 
 able that man made me,'' she said, or what a life I passed betwixt him 
 and my father. Before 1 saw him I had never seen a man except my 
 father's clerks and native servants. You know we didn't go into society 
 
 in India on account of " I know," said Major Pendennis, with a 
 
 bow). I was a wild, romantic child, my head was full of novels which 
 I'd read at school— I listened to his wild stories and adventures, for he 
 was a daring fellow, and I thought he talked beautifully of those calm 
 nights on the passage out, when he used to . . . Well, I married him, 
 and I was wretched from that day— wretched with my father, whose 
 character you know. Major Pendennis, and I won't speak of: but he 
 wasn't a good man, sir,— neither to my poor mother, nor to me, except 
 that he left me his money,— nor to no one else that I ever heard of : 
 and he didn't do many kind actions in his lifetime, I'm afraid. And as for 
 Amory, he was almost worse ; he was a spendthrift when my father was 
 close : he drank dreadfully, and was furious when in that way. He 
 wasn't in any way a good or faithful husband to me. Major Pendennis ; 
 and if he'd died in the gaol before his trial, instead of afterwards, he 
 would have saved me a deal of shame and of unhappiness since, sir." 
 Lady Clavering added : For perhaps I should not have married at all 
 if I had not been so anxious to change his horrid name, and I have not 
 been happy in my second husband, as I suppose you know, sir. Ah, 
 Major Pendennis, I've got money to be sure, and I'm a lady, and people 
 fancy I'm very happy, but I ain't. We all have our cares, and griefs, 
 and troubles : and many's the day that I sit down to one of my grand 
 dinners with an aching heart, and many a night do I lay awake on my 
 fine bed, a great deal more unhappy than the maid that makes it. For 
 I'm not a happy woman. Major, for all the world says ; and envies the 
 Begum her diamonds, and carriages, and the great company that comes 
 to my house. I'm not happy in my husband ; I'm not happy m my 
 daughter. She ain't a good girl like that dear Laura Bell at Fairoaks. 
 She's cost me many a tear, though you don't see 'em ; and she sneers 
 at her mother because I haven't had learning and that. How should 1 ^ 
 I was brought up amongst natives till I was twelve, and went back to 
 India when I was fourteen. Ah, Major, I should have been a good 
 woman if I had had a good husband. And now I must go upstairs and 
 wipe my eyes, for they're red with cryin . And Lady Rockminster s a 
 comin'/and we're goin' to 'ave a drive in the Park. And when Lady 
 Rockminster made her appearance, there was not a trace of tears or 
 vexation on Lady Clavering's face, but she was full of spirits, and 
 bounced out with her blunders and talk, and murdered the kings 
 English with the utmost liveliness and good humour. 
 
 himself. 
 
 Begad, she is not such a bad woman ! " the Major thought within 
 self! She is not refined, certainly, and calls ' Apollo ' Apoller ; 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 343 
 
 but she has some heart, and I like that sort of thing", and a devilish 
 deal of money, too. Three stars in India Stock to her name, begad ! 
 which that young cub is to have — is he ? " And he thought how he 
 should like to see a little of the money transferred to Miss Blanche, 
 and better still, one of those stars shining in the name of Mr. Arthur 
 Pendennis. 
 
 Still bent upon pursuing his schemes, whatsoever they might be, the 
 old negotiator took the privilege of his intimacy and age, to talk in a 
 kindly and fatherly manner to Miss Blanche, when he found occasion 
 to see her alone. He came in so frequently at luncheon-time, and 
 became so familiar with the ladies, that they did not even hesitate to 
 quarrel before him ; and Lady Clavering, whose tongue was loud, and 
 temper brusque, had many a battle with the Sylphide in the family 
 friend's presence. Blanche's wit seldom failed to have the mastery in 
 these encounters, and the keen barbs of her arrows drove her adversary 
 discomfited away. I am an old fellow," the Major said; ^^I have 
 nothing to do in life. I have my eyes open. I keep good counsel. I 
 am the friend of both of you ; and if you choose to quarrel before me, 
 why I shan't tell any one. But you are two good people, and I intend 
 to make it up between you. I have between lots of people— husbands 
 and wives, fathers and sons, daughters and mammas, before this. I 
 like it ; I've nothing else to do." 
 
 One day, then, the old diplomatist entered Lady Clavering' s drawing- 
 room, just as the latter quitted it, evidently in a high state of indigna- 
 tion, and ran past him up the stairs to her own apartments. She 
 couldn't speak to him now," she said ; she was a great deal too angry 
 with that — that — that little wicked" — anger choked the rest of the 
 words, or prevented their utterance until Lady Clavering had passed 
 out of hearing. 
 
 My dear good Miss Amory," the Major said, entering the drawing- 
 room, ^^I see what is happening. You and mamma have been dis- 
 agreeing. Mothers and daughters disagree in the best families. It 
 was but last week that I healed up a quarrel between Lady Clapperton 
 and her daughter Lady Claudia. Lady Lear and her eldest daughter 
 have not spoken for fourteen years. Kinder and more worthy people 
 than these I never knew in the whole course of my life ; for everybody 
 but each other admirable. But they can't live together : they oughtn't 
 to live together ; and I wish, my dear creature, with all my soul, that 
 I could see you with an establishment of your own, for there is no 
 woman in London who could conduct one better — with your own 
 establishment, making your own home happy." 
 
 I am not very happy in this one," said the Sylphide ; and the 
 stupidity of mamma is enough to provoke a saint." 
 
 Precisely so ; you are not suited to one another. Your mother 
 committed one fault in early life — or was it Nature, my dear, in your 
 case ? — she ought not to have educated you. You ought not to have 
 been bred up to become the refined and intellectual being you are, 
 surrounded, as I own you are, by those who have not your genius or 
 your refinement. Your place would be to lead in the most brilliant 
 circles, not to follow, and take a second place in any society. I have 
 watched you^ Miss Amory : you are ambitious ; and your proper sphere 
 
344 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 I 
 i 
 
 is command. You ought to shine : and you never can in this house, I 
 know it. I hope I shall see you in another and a happier one, some 
 day, and the mistress of it. " 
 
 The Sylphide shrugged her lily shoulders with a look of scorn. 
 
 Where is the Prince, and where is the palace. Major Pendennis?'' j 
 she said. I am ready. But there is no romance in the world now, \ 
 no real affection. " • j 
 
 No, indeed," said the Major, with the most sentimental and simple ] 
 air which he could muster. 1 
 Not that I know anything ahout it," said Blanche, casting her eyes j 
 down, except what I have read in novels." 
 
 ''Of course not," Major Pendennis cried; ''how should you, my 
 dear young lady } and novels ain't true, as you remark admirably, and 
 there* is no romance left in the world. Begad, I wish I was a young 
 fellow like my nephew." 
 
 " And what," continued Miss Amory, musing, what are the men j 
 whom we see about at the balls every night— dancing guardsmen, ' 
 penniless Treasury clerks — boobies ! If I had my brother s fortune, I 
 might have such an establishment as you promise me — but with my 
 name, and with my little means, what am 1 to look to.^ A country 
 parson, or a barrister in a street near Russell Square, or a captain in a 
 dragoon regiment, who will take lodgings for me, and come home from ; 
 the mess tipsy and smelling of smoke like Sir Francis Clavering. That ' 
 is how we girls are destined to end life. Oh, Major Pendennis, I am 
 sick of London, and of balls, and of young dandies with their chin-tips, 
 and of the insolent great ladies who know us one day and cut us the 
 next— and of the world altogether. I should like to leave it and go 
 into a convent, that I should. I shall never find anybody to under- 
 stand me. And I live here as much alone in my family and in the i 
 world, as if I were in a cell locked up for ever. I wish there were 
 Sisters of Charity here, and that I could be one and catch the plague, 
 and die of it— I wish to quit the world. I am not very old : but I am j| 
 tired, I have suffered so much— I've been so disillusionated— I'm weary, | 
 I'm weary— oh ! that the Angel of Death would come and beckon me | 
 away ! " i 
 
 This speech may be interpreted as follows. A few nights since a ji 
 great lady. Lady Flamingo, had cut Miss Amory and Lady Clavering. 
 She was quite mad because she could not get an invitation to Lady 
 Drum's ball : it was the end of the season and nobody had proposed to 
 her : she had made no sensation at all, she who was so much cleverer 
 than any girl of the year, and of the young ladies forming her special 
 circle. Dora who had but five thousand pounds. Flora who had i 
 nothing, and Leonora who had red hair, were going to be married, and 
 nobody had come for Blanche Amory ! 
 
 "You judge wisely about the world, and about your position, my 
 dear Miss Blanche," the Major said. "The Prince don't marry 
 nowadays, as you say : unless the Princess has a doosid deal of money 
 in the funds, or is a lady of his own rank.— The young folks of the 
 great families marry into the great families : if they haven't fortune 
 they have each other's shoulders, to push on in the world, which is 
 pretty nearly as good.— A girl with your fortune can scarcely hope for 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 345 
 
 a great match : but a girl with your genius and your admirable tact 
 
 and fine manners, with a clever husband by her side, may make any 
 I place for herself in the world. — We are grown doosid republican. 
 
 Talent ranks with birth, and wealth now, begad : and a clever man 
 I with a clever wife may take any place they please." 
 I Miss Amory did not of course in the least understand what Major 
 i Pendennis meant. — Perhaps she thought over circumstances in her 
 i mind and asked herself, could he be a negotiator for a former suitor 
 I of hers, and could he mean Pen } No, it was impossible. — He had been 
 
 civil, but nothing more. — So she said, laughing, ^^Who is the clever 
 [man, and when will you bring him to me. Major Pendennis.'^ I am 
 [dying to see him." 
 
 At this moment a servant threw open the door, and announced Mr. 
 i Henry Foker : at which name, and the appearance of our friend, both 
 
 the lady and the gentleman burst out laughing. 
 
 ^^That is not the man," Major Pendennis said. ^^He is engaged 
 
 to his cousin. Lord Gravesend's daughter. — Good-bye, my dear 
 
 Miss Amory." 
 
 ! Was Pen growing worldly, and should a man not get the experience 
 [ of the world and lay it to his account } He felt, for his part," as he 
 [ said, that he was growing very old very soon. How this town forms 
 I and changes us ! " he said once to Warrington. Each had come in 
 t from his night^s amusement ; and Pen was smoking his pipe, and re- 
 counting, as his habit was, to his friend the observations and adventures 
 of the evening just past. How I am changed," he said, " from the 
 simpleton boy at Fairoaks, who was fit to break his heart about his 
 first love ! Lady Mirabel had a reception to-night, and was as grave 
 and collected as if she had been born a Duchess, and had never seen a 
 trap-door in her life. She gave me the honour of a conversation, and 
 patronised me about ^Walter Lorraine,' quite kindly." 
 
 What condescension ! " broke in Warrington. 
 
 Wasn't it ? " Pen said simply — at which the other burst out 
 laughing according to his wont. ^^Is it possible," he said, ^^that 
 i anybody should think of patronising the eminent author of Walter 
 Lorraine ' " 
 
 ^^You laugh at both of us," Pen said, blushing a little — ^^I was 
 coming to that myself She told me that she had not read the 
 book (as indeed I believe she never read a book in her life), but that 
 i Lady Rockminster had, and that the Duchess of Connaught pronounced 
 it to be very clever. In that case, I said I should die happy, for that 
 to please those two ladies was in fact the great aim of my existence, 
 and having their approbation, of course I need look for no other. 
 Lady Mirabel looked at me solemnly out of her fine eyes, and said, 
 ^ Oh, indeed,' as if she understood me ; and then she asked me whether 
 I went to the Duchess's Thursdays, and when I said No, hoped she 
 should see me there, and that I must try and get there, everybody 
 went there — everybody who was in society : and then we talked of the 
 new ambassador from Timbuctoo, and how he was better than the old 
 one ; and how Lady Mary Billington was going to marry a clergyman 
 quite below her in rank ; and how Lord and Lady Ringdove had fallen 
 
346 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 out three months after their marriage about Tom Pouter of the Blues, 
 Lady Ringdove's cousin — and so forth. From the gravity of that 
 woman you would have fancied she had been born in a palace^ and i 
 lived all the seasons of her life in Belgrave Square.'* 
 
 And you^ I suppose you took your part in the conversation pretty 
 well, as the descendant of the Earl your father, and the heir of Fairoaks 
 Castle ? " Warrington said. Yes, I remember reading of the fes- \ 
 tivities which occurred when you came of age. The Countess gave a : 
 brilliant tea soiree to the neighbouring nobility ; and the tenantry 
 were regaled in the kitchen with a leg of mutton and a quart of ale. 
 The remains of the banquet were distributed amongst the poor of the 
 village, and the entrance to the park was illuminated until old John 
 put the candle out on retiring to rest at his usual hour. " 
 
 My mother is not a countess,'* said Pen, though she has very f 
 good blood in her veins too — but commoner as she is, I have never met t 
 a peeress who was more than her peer, Mr. George ; and if you will ! 
 come to Fairoaks Castle you shall judge for yourself of her and of my 
 cousin too. They are not so witty as the London women, but they 
 certainly are as well bred. The thoughts of women in the country are 
 turned to other objects than those which occupy your London ladies. 
 In the country a woman has her household and her poor, her long : 
 calm days and long calm evenings." 
 
 Devilish long," Warrington said, and a great deal too calm ; 
 IVe tried 'em." j 
 
 The monotony of that existence must be to a certain degree melan 
 choly — like the tune of a long ballad ; and its harmony grave and' 
 gentle, sad and tender : it would be unendurable else. The loneliness 
 of women in the country makes them of necessity soft and sentimental.] 
 Leading a life of calm duty, constant routine, mystic reverie,— a sort 
 of nuns at large — too much gaiety or laughter would jar upon theif 
 almost sacred quiet, and would be as out of place there as in a church." 
 Where you go to sleep over the sermon," Warrington said. 
 You are a professed misogynist, and hate the sex because, I suspec 
 you know very little about them," Mr. Pen continued, with an air 
 considerable self-complacency. '^li you dislike the women in th 
 country for being too slow, surely the London women ought to be fast 
 enough for you. The pace of London life is enormous : how do people^ 
 
 last at it, I wonder, — male and female } Take a woman of the world t 
 follow her course through the season ; one asks how she can survive 
 it } or if she tumbles into a sleep at the end of August, and lies torpid 
 until the spring } She goes into the world every night, and sits watching 
 her marriageable daughters dancing till long after dawn. She has a 
 nursery of little ones, very likely, at home, to whom she administers 
 example and affection ; having an eye likewise to bread-and-milk, 
 catechism, music and French, and roast leg of mutton at one o'clock ; 
 she has to call upon ladies of her own station, either domestically or in 
 her public character, in which she sits upon Charity Committees, or 
 Ball Committees, or Emigration Committees, or Queen's College Com- 
 mittees, and discharges I don't know what more duties of British 
 stateswomanship. She very likely keeps a poor-visiting list ; has con- 
 versations with the clergyman about soup or flannel, or proper religious 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 347 
 
 teaching for the parish ; and (if she lives in certain districts) probably 
 attends early church. She has the newspapers to read^ and, at least, 
 must know what her husband's party is about, so as to be able to talk 
 to her neighbour at dinner ; and it is a fact that she reads every new 
 book that comes out ; for she can talk, and very smartly and well, 
 about them all, and you see them all upon her drawing-room table. 
 She has the cares of her household besides : — to make both ends meet ; 
 to make the girls' milliner's bills appear not too dreadful to the father 
 iand paymaster of the family ; to snip off, in secret, a little extra article 
 of expenditure here and there, and convey it, in the shape of a bank- 
 note, to the boys at college or at sea ; to check the encroachments of 
 tradesmen and housekeepers' financial fallacies ; to keep upper and 
 lower servants from jangling with one another, and the household in 
 order. Add to this, that she has a secret taste for some art or science, 
 models in clay, makes experiments in chemistry, or plays in private on 
 the violoncello, — and I say, without exaggeration, many London ladies 
 are doing this, — and you have a character before you such as our 
 ancestors never heard of, and such as belongs entirely to our era and 
 period of civilisation. Ye gods I how rapidly we live and grow ! In 
 [line months, Mr. Paxton grows you a pineapple as large as a port- 
 nanteau, whereas a little one, no bigger than a Dutch cheese, took 
 :hree years to attain his majority in old times ; and as the race of 
 pineapples so is the race of man. Hoiaper — what's the Greek for a 
 bineapple, Warrington ? " 
 
 ! Stop, for mercy's sake, stop with the English and before you come 
 :o the Greek," W arrington cried out, laughing. I never heard you 
 nake such a long speech, or was aware that you had penetrated so 
 leeply into the female mysteries. Who taught you all this, and into 
 vhose boudoirs and nurseries have you been peeping, whilst I was 
 imoking my pipe, and reading my book, lying on my straw bed ? " 
 
 You are on the bank, old boy, content to watch the waves tossing in 
 i he winds, and the struggles of others at sea," Pen said. I am in the 
 tream now, and by Jove I like it. How rapidly we go down it, hay.'* — 
 trong and feeble, aid and young — the metal pitchers and the earthen 
 )itchers — the pretty little china boat swims gaily till the big bruised 
 ;)razen one bumps him and sends him down — eh, vogue la galere ! — you 
 I ee a man sink in the race, and say good-bye to him — look, he has only 
 lived under the other fellow's legs, and comes up shaking his poll, and 
 jtriking out ever so far ahead. Eh, vogue la galere, I say. It's good 
 iport, Warrington — not winning merely, but playing." 
 
 "Well, go in and win, young 'un. I'll sit and mark the game," 
 1^ arrington said, surveying the ardent young fellow with an almost 
 latherly pleasure. " A generous fellow plays for the play, a sordid one 
 or the stake ; an old fogy sits by and smokes the pipe of tranquillity, 
 rhile Jack and Tom are pummelling each other in the ring." 
 
 " Why don't you come in, George, and have a turn with the gloves } 
 loM are big enough and strong enough," Pen said. " Dear old boy, you 
 re worth ten of me. " 
 
 "You are not quite as tall as Goliath, certainly," the other answered, 
 dth a laugh that was rough and yet tender. " And as for me, I am 
 isabled. I had a fatal hit in early life. I will tell you about it some 
 
348 PENDENNIS ^ 
 
 day. You may^ too^ meet with your master. Don't be too eager^ or l 
 too confident, or too worldly, my boy." 
 
 Was Pendennis becoming worldly, or only seeing the world, or both? 
 and is a man very wrong for being after all only a man? Which is the 
 most reasonable, and does his duty best : he who stands aloof from the 
 struggle of life, calmly contemplating it, or he who descends to the 
 ground, and takes his part in the contest? ^^That philosopher," Pen 
 said, had held a great place amongst the leaders of the world, and 
 enjoyed to the full what it had to give of rank and riches, renown and 
 pleasure, who came, weary-hearted, out of it, and said that all was vanity 
 and vexation of spirit. Many a teacher of those whom we reverence, 
 and who steps out of his carriage up to his carved cathedral place, 
 shakes his lawn ruffles over the velvet cushion, and cries out that the 
 whole struggle is an accursed one, and the works of the world are evil. 
 Many a conscience-stricken mystic flies from it altogether, and shuts 
 himself out from it within convent walls (real or spiritual), whence he 
 can only look up to the sky, and contemplate the heaven out of which 
 there is no rest, and no good. 
 
 ^^But the earth, where our feet are, is the work of the same 
 Power as the immeasurable blue yonder, in which the future lies 
 into which we would peer. Who ordered toil as the condition ol 
 life, ordered weariness, ordered sickness, ordered poverty, failure, suc- 
 cess — to this man a foremost place, to the other a nameless struggle 
 with the crowd — to that a shameful fall, or paralysed limb, or sudden 
 accident — to each some work upon the ground he stands on, until he ifl 
 laid beneath if While they were talking, the dawn came shining 
 through the windows of the room, and Pen threw them open to receive 
 the fresh morning air. Look, George,'* said he ; look and see the 
 sun rise : he sees the labourer on his way a-field ; the work-girl plying 
 her poor needle ; the lawyer at his desk, perhaps ; the beauty smiling 
 asleep upon her pillow of down ; or the jaded reveller reeling to bed ; 
 or the fevered patient tossing on it ; or the doctor watching by itj, 
 over the throes of the mother for the child that ii^ to be born into tht; 
 world ;— to be born and to take his part in the suffering and struggling^ 
 the tears and laughter, the crime, remorse, love, folly, sorrow, rest." | 
 
 CHAPTER XLV 1 
 
 MISS amory's partners ^ 
 
 The noble Henry Foker, of whom we have lost sight for a few pages> 
 has been in the meanwhile occupied, as we might suppose a man of his 
 constancy would be, in the pursuit and indulgence of his all-absorbing 
 passion of love. 
 
 He longed after her, and cursed the fate which separated him from 
 her. When Lord Gravesend's ftimily retired to the country (his 
 Lordship leaving his proxy with the venerable Lord Bagwig), Harry 
 still remained lingering on in London, certainly not much to the 
 
 .1} 
 
 J 
 
Copyright, Service & Paton, 1897, 
 
OF TH£ 
 
 UNIVERSITY of ILLINOIS. 
 
! PENDENNIS 349 
 
 iorrow of Lady Ann^ to whom he was affianced^ and who did not in 
 }he least miss him. Wherever Miss Amory went^ this infatuated 
 ^'oung fellow continued to follow her ; and being aware that his en- 
 l^agement to his cousin was known in the world^ he was forced to 
 jnake a mystery of his passion^ and confine it to his own breast^ so that 
 it was so pent in there and pressed down_, that it is a wonder he did 
 iiot explode some day with the stormy secret^ and perish collapsed 
 ifter the outburst. 
 
 There had been a grand entertainment at Gaunt House on one 
 »eautiful evening in June,, and the next day's journals contained al- 
 nost two columns of the names of the most closely printed nobility 
 .nd gentry who had been honoured with invitations to the ball. 
 Imong the guests were Sir Francis and Lady Clavering and Miss 
 V.mory, for whom the indefatigable Major Pendennis had procured an 
 nvitation^ and our two young friends Arthur and Harry. Each exerted 
 dmself, and danced a great deal with Miss Blanche. As for the 
 worthy Major, he assumed the charge of Lady Clavering, and took 
 :are to introduce her to that department of the mansion where her 
 jadyship specially distinguished herself, namely, the refreshment- 
 oom, where, amongst pictures of Titian and Giorgione, and regal 
 )ortraits of Vandyke and Reynolds, and enormous salvers of gold and 
 ilver, and pyramids of large flowers, and constellations of wax candles 
 —in a manner perfectly regardless of expense, in a word — a supper 
 vas going on all night. Of how many creams, jellies, salads, peaches, 
 rhite soups, grapes, pates , galantines, cups of tea, champagne, and so 
 brth. Lady Clavering partook, it does not become us to say. How 
 nuch the Major suffered as he followed the honest woman about, 
 •ailing to the solemn male attendants and lovely servant-maids, and 
 idministering to Lady Clavering's vaivL&us wants with admirable 
 )atience, nobody knows : — he never confessed. He never allowed his 
 Lgony to appear on his countenance in the least ; but with a constant 
 kindness brought plate after plate to the Begum. 
 
 Mr. Wagg counted up all the dishes of which Lady Clavering par- 
 ook as long as he could count (but as he partook very freely himself 
 )f champagne during the evening, his powers of calculation were not to 
 )e trusted at the close of the entertainment), and he recommended 
 yir. Honeyman, Lady Steyne's medical man, to look carefully after 
 :he Begum, and to call and gjgt news of her Ladyship the next day. 
 
 Sir Francis Clavering made his appearance, and skulked for a while 
 ibout the magnificent rooms : but the company and the splendour 
 vhich he met there were not to the Baronet's taste, and after tossing 
 )ff a tumbler of wine or two at the buffet, he quitted Gaunt House for 
 :he neighbourhood of Jermyn Street, where his friends Loder, Punter, 
 ittle Moss Abrams, and Captain Skewball were assembled at the familiar 
 ^reen table. In the rattle of the box, and of their agreeable conver- 
 sation. Sir Francis's spirits rose to their accustomed point of feeble 
 lilarity. 
 
 Mr. Pynsent, who had asked Miss Amory to dance, came up on one 
 occasion to claim her hand, but scowls of recognition having already 
 oassed between him and Mr. Arthur Pendennis in the dancing-room, 
 Arthur suddenly rose up and claimed Miss Amory as his partner for 
 
350 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the present dance^ on which Mr. Pynsent^ biting his lips and scowling'} 
 yet more savagely, withdrew with a profound bow, saying that he gavef 
 up his claim. There are some men who are always falling in one's way 
 in life. Pynsent and Pen had this view of each other ; and regarded 
 each other accordingly. 
 
 ^^What a confounded conceited provincial fool that is!" thought 
 the one. Because he has written a twopenny novel, his absurd head 
 is turned, and a kicking would take his conceit out of him." 
 
 What an impertinent idiot that man is ! " remarked the other to 
 his partner. His soul is in Downing Street ; his neckcloth is fools- ^ 
 cap ; his hair is sand ; his legs are rulers ; his vitals are tape and 
 sealing-wax ; he was a prig in his cradle ; and never laughed since he 
 was born, except three times at the same joke of his chief. I have the 
 same liking for that man. Miss Amory, that I have for cold boiled 
 veal." Upon which Blanche of course remarked, that Mr. PendennisI 
 was wicked, 7nechant, perfectly abominable, and wondered what he 
 would say when her back was turned. 
 
 ^^Say! — Say that you have the most beautiful figure and the 
 slimmest waist in the world, Blanche — Miss Amory, I mean; I beg your 
 pardon. Another turn ; this music would make an alderman dance." 
 
 And you have left off tumbling when you waltz, now ? " Blanche 
 asked, archly looking up at her partner's face. 
 
 One falls and one gets up again in life,^lanche ; you know I used 
 to call you so in old times, and it is the prettiest name in the world ; 
 besides, I have practised since then." 
 
 ^^And with a great number of partners, I'm afraid," Blanche said, 
 with a little sham sigh, and a shrug of the shoulders. And so in truth 
 Mr. Pen had practised a good deal in this life ; and had undoubtedly 
 arrived at being able to dance better. 
 
 If Pendennis was impertinent in his talk, Foker, on the other hand, 
 so bland and communicative on most occasions, was entirely mum and' 
 melancholy when he danced with Miss Amory. To clasp her slender 
 waist was a rapture, to whirl round the room with her was a delirium ; 
 but to speak to her. what could he say that was worthy of her .^^ What 
 pearl of convej>cioiou coiiM he bring that was fit for the acceptance of 
 such a Queer of love uui wit as Blanche? It was she who made the 
 talk when she was in the cumpany ui thW- j si ^trickeu partner. It 
 was she who asked him how that dear little pony was, and l/>(>ked at 
 him and thanked him with such a tender kindness and regret, nnd 
 refused the dear little pony with such a delicate sigh when he offered, 
 it. I have nobody to ride with in London," she said. Mamma id 
 timid, and her figure is not pretty on horseback. Sir Francis never 
 goes out with me. He loves me like — like a step-daughter. Oh, how 
 delightful it must be to have a father — a father, Mr. Foker ! " i 
 
 ^^Oh, uncommon," said Mr. Harry, who enjoyed that blessing very 
 calmly, upon which, and forgetting the sentimental air which she had 
 just before assumed, Blanche's grey eyes gazed at Foker with such an 
 arch twinkle, that both of them burst out laughing, and Harry, en- 
 raptured and at his ease, began to entertain her with a variety of 
 innocent prattle — good kind simple Foker talk, flavoured with many 
 expressions by no means to be discovered in dictionaries, and relatingj)^ 
 
 / 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 351 
 
 to the personal history of himself or horses^ or other things dear and 
 important to him^ or to persons in the ball-room then passing before 
 j them^ and about whose appearance or character Mr. Harry spoke with 
 artless freedom^ and a considerable dash of humour. 
 
 And it was Blanche who_, when the conversation flagged^ and the 
 youth's modesty came rushing back and overpowering him, knew how 
 j to reanimate her companion : asked him questions about Logwood, and 
 'whether it was a pretty place whether he was a hunting-man^ and 
 i whether he liked women to hunt ? (in which case she was prepared to 
 say that she adored hunting) — but Mr. Foker expressing his opinion 
 i against sporting females, and pointing out Lady Bullfinch, who happened 
 to pass by, as a horse-godmother, whom he had seen at cover with a 
 cigar in her face, Blanche too expressed her detestation of the sports 
 of the field, and said it would make her shudder to think of a dear 
 sweet little fox being killed, on which Foker laughed and waltzed with 
 renewed vigour and grace. 
 
 And at the end of the waltz,— the last waltz they had on that night, 
 — Blanche asked him about Drummington, and whether it was a fine 
 house. His cousins, she had heard, were very accomplished : Lord 
 Erith she had met, and which of his cousins was his favourite? Was 
 it not Lady Ann? Yes, she was sure it was she ; sure by his looks and 
 ihis blushes. She was tired of dancing ; it was getting very late ; she 
 [must go to mamma ; — and, without another word, she sprang away from 
 Harry Foker's arm, and seized upon Pen's, who was swaggering about 
 the dancing-room, and again said, Mamma, mamma !— take me to 
 mamma, dear Mr. Pendennis ! " transfixing Harry with a Parthian shot, 
 as she fled from him. 
 
 My Lord Steyne, with garter and ribbon, with a bald head and shining 
 eyes, and a collar of red whiskers round his face, always looked grand 
 upon an occasion of state ; and made a great effect upon Lady Clavering 
 when he introduced himself to her at the request of the obsequious 
 Major Pendennis. With his own white and royal hand, he handed to 
 her Ladyship a glass of wine, said he had heard of her charming daughter, 
 and begged to be presented to her; and, at this very juncture, Mr. 
 Arthur Pendennis came up with the young lady on his arm. 
 
 The peer made a profound bow, and Blanche the deepest curtsey that 
 Bver was seen. His Lordship gave Mr. Arthur Pendennis his hand to 
 ^hake ; said he had read his book, which was very wicked and clever ; 
 isked Miss Blanche if she had read it,— at which Pen blushed and 
 ivinced. Why, Blanche was one of the heroines of the novel. Blanche, 
 jin black ringlets and a little altered, was the Nesera of ''Walter 
 ILorraine. " 
 
 Blanche had read it : the language of the eyes expressed her admira- 
 tion and rapture at the performance. This little play being achieved, 
 the Marquis of Steyne made other two profound bows to Lady Clavering 
 md her daughter, and passed on to some other of his guests at the 
 splendid entertainment. 
 
 Mamma and daughter were loud in their expressions of admiration 
 3f the noble Marquis so soon as his broad back was turned upon them. 
 ■ He said they make a very nice couple,'* whispered Major Pendennis 
 to Lady Clavering. Did he now, really? Mamma thought they 
 
352 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 would ; Mamma was so flustered with the honour which had just been 
 shown to her^ and with other intoxicating events of the evenings that 
 her good-humour knew no bounds. She laughed^ she winked^ and 
 nodded knowingly at Pen ; she tapped him on the arm with her fan ; 
 she tapped Blanche ; she tapped the Major ; — her contentment was 
 boundless^ and her method of showing her joy equally expansive. 
 
 As the party went down the great staircase of Gaunt House^ the 
 morning had risen stark and clear over the black trees of the square ; 
 the skies were tinged with pink ; and the cheeks of some of the people 
 at the ball_, — ah_, how ghastly they looked ! That admirable and 
 devoted Major above all^ — who had been for hours by Lady Clavering's 
 side^ ministering to her and feeding her body with everything that 
 was nice^ and her ear with everything that was sweet and flattering^ — 
 oh ! what an object he was ! The rings round his eyes were of the colour 
 of bistre ; those orbs themselves were like the plovers' eggs whereof 
 Lady Clavering and Blanche had each tasted ; the wrinkles in his old 
 face were furrowed in deep gashes ; and a silver stubble^ like an elderly 
 morning dew^ was glittering on his chin, and alongside the dyed 
 whiskers, now limp and out of curl. 
 
 There he stood, with admii*able patience, enduring, uncomplaining, 
 a silent agony ; knowing that people could see the state of his face 
 (for could he not himself perceive the condition of others, males and 
 females, of his own age ?) — longing to go to rest for hours past ; aware 
 that suppers disagreed with him, and yet having eaten a Li tie so as to 
 keep his friend. Lady Clavering, in good humour ; witii tn'inges of 
 rheumatism in the back and knees ; with weary feet burning in his 
 varnished boots, — so tired, oh, so tired and longing for bed ! If a 
 man, struggling with hardship and bravely overcoming it, is an object 
 of admiration for the gods, that Power in whose chapels the old Major 
 was a faithful worshipper must have looked upwards approvingly ^.on 
 the constancy of Pendennis's martyrdom. There are suff'erers in that 
 cause as in the other : the negroes in the service of Mumbo Jumbo tattoo 
 and drill themselves with burning skewers with great fortitude ; and 
 we read that the priests in the service of Baal gashed themselves and 
 bled freely. You who can smash the idols, do so with a good courage ; 
 but do not be too fierce with the idolaters, — they worship the best 
 thing they know. 
 
 The Pendennises, the elder and the younger, waited with Lady 
 Clavering and her daughter until her Ladyship's carriage was announced, 
 when the elder's martyrdom may be said to have come to an end, for 
 the good-natured Begum insisted upon leaving him at his door in Bury 
 Street ; so he took the back seat of the carriage, after a feeble bow or 
 two, and speech of thanks, polite to the last, and resolute in doing his 
 duty. The Begum waved her dumpy little hand by way of farewell 
 to Arthur and Foker, and Blanche smiled languidly out upon the : 
 young men, thinking whether she looked very wan and green under 
 her rose-coloured hood, and whether it was the mirrors at Gaunt House, 
 or the fatigue and fever of her own eyes, which made her fancy herself 
 so pale. 
 
 Arthur, perhaps, saw quite well how yellow Blanche looked, but did 
 not attribute that peculiarity of her complexion to the effect of the. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 353 
 
 looking-glasses, or to any error in his sight or her own. Our young 
 man of the world could use his eyes very keenly, and could see Blanche's 
 face pretty much as nature had made it. But for poor Foker it had 
 a radiance which dazzled and blinded him : he could see no more faults 
 in it than in the sun, which was now flaring over the house-tops. 
 
 Amongst other wicked London habits which Pen had acquired, the 
 moralist will remark that he had got to keep very bad hours ; and often 
 was going to bed at the time when sober country people were thinking 
 of leaving it. Men get used to one hour as to another. Editors of 
 newspapers, Covent Garden market people, night cabmen and colFee- 
 sellers, chimney-sweeps, and gentlemen and ladies of fashion who 
 frequent balls, are often quite lively at three or four o'clock of a morn- 
 ing, when ordinary mortals are snoring. We have shown in the last 
 chapter how Pen was in a brisk condition of mind at this period, inclined 
 to smoke his cigar at ease, and to speak freely. 
 
 Foker and Pen walked away from Gaunt House, then, indulging in 
 both the above amusements : or rather Pen talked, and Foker looked 
 as if he wanted to say something. Pen was sarcastic and dandified 
 when he had been in the company of great folks ; he could not help 
 imitating some of their airs and tones, and having a most lively imagi- 
 nation, mistook himself for a person of importance very easily. He 
 rattled away, and attacked this person and that ; sneered at Lady J ohn 
 Turnbull's bad French, which her Ladyship will introduce into all con- 
 versations in spite of the sneers of everybody ; at Mrs. Slack Roper's 
 extraordinary costume and sham jewels ; at the old dandies and the 
 young ones ; — at whom didn't he sneer and laugh } 
 
 You fire at everybody. Pen — you're grown awful, that you are," 
 Foker said. ^^Now you've pulled about Blondel's yellow wig, and 
 Colchicum's black, one, why don't you have a shy at a brown one, hay ? 
 you know whose I mean. It got into Lady Clavering's carriage." 
 
 Under my uncle's hat.^ My uncle is a martyr, Foker, my boy. 
 My uncle has been doing excruciating duties all night. He likes to 
 go to bed rather early. He has a dreadful headache if he sits up and 
 touches supper. He always has the gout if he walks or stands much at 
 a ball. He has been sitting up, and standing up, and supping. He has 
 gone home to the gout and the headache, and for my sake. Shall 1 
 make fun of *the old boy ? no, not for Venice ! " 
 
 ^^How do you mean that he has been doing it for your sake?" 
 Foker asked, looking rather alarmed. 
 
 ^^Boy ! canst thou keep a secret if I impart it to thee.'^" Pen cried 
 out, in high spirits. ^*^Art thou of good counsel.^ Wilt thou swear .f* 
 Wilt thou be mum, or wilt thou peach ? Wilt thou be silent and hear, 
 or wilt thou speak and die } " And as he spoke, flinging himself into 
 an absurd theatrical attitude, the men in the cab-stand in Piccadilly 
 wondered and grinned at the antics of the two young swells. 
 
 What the doose are you driving at } " Foker asked, looking very 
 much agitated. 
 
 Pen, however, did not remark this agitation much, but continued, in 
 the same bantering and excited vein. Henry, friend of my youth," 
 he said, and witness of my early follies, though dull at thy books, yet 
 thou art not altogether deprived of sense, — nay, blush not, Henrico, 
 
 z 
 
354 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 thou hast a good portion of that^ and of courage and kindness too, at i 
 the service of thy friends. Were I in a strait of poverty^ I would 
 come to my Foker's purse. Were I in grief, I would discharge my 
 
 grief upon his sympathising bosom " 
 
 Gammon^ Pen — go on/' Foker said. \ 
 I would, Henrico, upon thy studs, and upon thy cambric worked 
 by the hands of beauty to adorn the breast of valour ! Know then, 
 friend of my boyhood's days, that Arthur Pendennis, of the Upper 
 Temple, student-at-law, feels that he is growing lonely, and old Care is 
 furrowing his temples, and Baldness is busy with his crown. Shall we 
 stop and have a drop of coffee at this stall, it looks very hot and nice ? 
 Look how that cabman is blowing at his saucer. No, you won't? 
 Aristocrat ! I resume my tale. I am getting on in life. I have got 
 devilish little money. I want some. I am thinking of getting some, 
 and settling in life. I'm thinking of settling. I'm thinking of marrying, 
 old boy. I'm thinking of becoming a moral man : a steady port-and- 
 sherry character : with a good reputation in my quartier, and a moderate 
 establishment of two maids and a man — with an occasional brougham 
 to drive out Mrs. Pendennis, and a house near the Parks for the accom- 
 modation of the children. Ha ! what say est thou } Answer thy friend, 
 thou worthy child of beer. Speak, I adjure thee by all thy vats." 
 
 But you ain't got any money. Pen," said the other, still looking 
 alarmed. 
 
 I ain't? No, but she 'ave. I tell thee there is gold in store for me 
 — not what you call money, nursed in the lap of luxury, and cradled on 
 grains, and drinking in wealth from a thousand mash-tubs. What do 
 you know about money? What is poverty to you is splendour to the 
 hardy son of the humble apothecary. You can't live without an establish- 
 ment, and your houses in town and country. A snug little house some- 
 where off Belgravia, a brougham for my wife, a decent cook, and a fair 
 bottle of wine for my friends at home sometimes; these simple neces- 
 saries suffice for me, my Foker." And here Pendennis began to look 
 more serious. Without bantering further. Pen continued, I've rather 
 serious thoughts of settling and marrying. No man can get on in the 
 world without some money at his back. You must have a certain stake 
 to begin with, before you can go in and play the great game. Who 
 knows that I'm not going to try, old fellow ? * Worse men than I have 
 won at it. And as I have not got enough capital from my fathers, I 
 must get some by my wife — that's all." 
 
 They were walking down Grosvenor Street, as they talked, or rather 
 as Peri talked, in the selfish fulness of his heart ; and Mr. Pen must 
 have been too much occupied with his own affairs to remark the concern 
 and agitation of his neighbour, for he continued — " We are no longer 
 children, you know, you and I, Harry. Bah ! the time of our romance 
 has passed away. Vf^e don't marry for passion, but for prudence and 
 for establishment. What do you take your cousin for.^^ Because she 
 is a nice girl, and an Earl's daughter, and the old folks wish it, and that 
 sort of thing." 
 
 And you, Pendennis," asked P'oker, you ain t very fond of the 
 girl — you're going to marry ? " 
 
 Pen shrugged his shoulders. " Comme (?a," said he ; I like her^ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 355 
 
 well enough. She's pretty enough ; she's clever enough. I think she'll 
 do very well. And she has got money enough — that's the great point. 
 Psha I you know who she is_, don't you ? I thought you were sweet on her 
 yourself one night when we dined with her mamma. It's little Amory. 
 
 I — I thought so/' Foker said : and has she accepted you ? " 
 
 Not quite^" Arthur replied_, with a confident smile^ which seemed 
 to say^ I have but to ask, and she comes to me that instant. 
 
 Oh, not quite," said Foker; and he broke out with such a dreadful 
 laugh, that Pen, for the first time, turned his thoughts from himself 
 towards his companion, and was struck by the other's ghastly pale face. 
 
 ^'^My dear fellow, Fo ! what's the matter.^ You're ill," Pen said, in 
 a tone of real concern. 
 
 You think it was the champagne at Gaunt House, don't you ? It 
 ain't that. Come in ; let me talk to you for a minute. I'll tell you 
 
 what it is. D it, let me tell somebody," Foker said. 
 
 They were at Mr. Foker's door by this time, and, opening it, Harry 
 walked with his friend into his apartments, which were situated in the 
 back part of the house, and behind the family dining-room, where the 
 elder Foker received his guests, surrounded by pictures of himself, his 
 wife, his infant son on a donkey, and the late Earl of Gravesend in his 
 robes as a Peer. Foker and Pen passed by this chamber, now closed 
 with death-like shutters, and entered into the young man's own 
 quarters. Dusky streams of sunbeams were playing into that room, 
 and lighting up poor Harry's gallery of dancing girls and opera nymphs 
 with flickering illuminations. 
 
 Look here ! I can't help telling you. Pen," he said. Ever since 
 the night we dined there, I'm so fond of that girl, that I think I shall 
 die if I don't get her. I feel as if I should go mad sometimes. I can't 
 stand it. Pen. I couldn't bear to hear you talking about her, just now, 
 about marrying her only because she's money. Ah, Pen ! that ain't 
 the question in marrying. I'd bet anything it ain't. Talking about 
 money and such a girl as that, it's — it's — what-d'ye-call-'em — you know 
 what I mean — I ain't good at talking — sacrilege, then. If she'd have 
 me, I'd take and sweep a crossing, that I would ! " 
 
 Poor Fo ! I don't think that would tempt her," Pen said, eyeing 
 his friend with a great deal of real good-nature and pity. She is not 
 a girl for love and a cottage." 
 
 She ought to be a duchess, I know that very well, and I know she 
 wouldn't take me unless I could make her a great place in the world — 
 for I ain't good for anything myself much — I ain't clever and that sort 
 of thing," Foker said sadly. If I had all the diamonds that all the 
 duchesses and marchionesses had on to-night, wouldn't I put 'em in her 
 lap.^ But what's the use of talking.^ I'm booked for another race. 
 It's that kills me. Pen. I can't get out of it ; though I die, I can't get 
 out of it. And though my cousin's a nice girl, and I like her very 
 well, and that, yet I hadn't seen this one when our governors settled 
 that matter between us. And when you talked, just now, about her 
 doing very well, and about her having money enough for both of you, 
 I thought to myself it isn't money or mere liking a girl, that ought to 
 be enough to make a fellow marry. He may marry, and find he likes 
 somebody else better. All the money in the world won't make you 
 
356 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 happy then. Look at me ; I've plenty of money^ or shall hav6^ out of 
 the mash-tubs^ as you call 'em. My governor thought he'd made it all 
 right for me in settling my marriage with my cousin. I tell you it 
 won't do ; and when Lady Ann has got her husband^ it won't be happy 
 for either of us^ and she'll have the most miserable beggar in town." 
 
 Poor old fellow ! " Pen said^ with rather a cheap magnanimity^ I 
 wish I could help you. I had no idea of this^ and that you were so 
 wild about the girl. Do you think she would have you without your 
 money } No. Do you think your father would agree to break off your 
 engagement with your cousin } You know him very well^ and that he 
 would cast you off rather than do so." 
 
 The unhappy Foker only groaned a reply^ flinging himself prostrate 
 on a sofa^ face forwards^ his head in his hands. 
 
 As for my aiFair^" Pen went on — my dear fellow^ if I had thought 
 matters were so critical with you_, at least I would not have pained you 
 by choosing you as my confidant. And my business is not serious^ at 
 least not as yet. I have not spoken a word about it to Miss Amory. 
 Very likely she would not have me if I asked her. Only I have had a 
 great deal of talk about it with my uncle^ who says that the match might 
 be an eligible one for me. I'm ambitious and I'm poor. And it appears 
 Lady Clavering will give her a good deal of money^ and Sir Francis 
 might be got to — never mind the rest. Nothing is settled^ Harry. They 
 are going out of town directly. I promise you I won't ask her before 
 she goes. There's no hurry : there's time for everybody. But suppose 
 you got her^ Foker. Remember what you said about marriages just 
 now^ and the misery of a man who doesn't care for his wife ; and what 
 sort of a wife would you have who didn't care for her husband ? " 
 
 But she would care for me^" said Foker, from his sofa — that is, 
 I think she would. Last night only, as we were dancing, she said " 
 
 What did she say ! " Pen cried, starting up in great wrath. But 
 he saw his own meaning more clearly than Foker, and broke off with a 
 laugh — Well, never mind what she said, Harry. Miss Amory is a 
 clever girl, and says numbers of civil things — to you — to me, perhaps 
 — and who the deuce knows to whom besides ? Nothing's settled, old 
 boy. At least, my heart won't break if I don't get her. Win her if 
 you can, and I wish you joy of her. Good-bye ! Don't think about 
 what I said to you. I was excited, and confoundedly thirsty in those 
 hot rooms, and didn't, I suppose, put enough Seltzer water into the 
 champagne. Good-night ! I'll keep your counsel too. ^ Mum ' is the 
 word between us ; and ^ let there be a fair fight, and let the best man 
 win,' as Peter Crawley says." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Arthur Pendennis, giving a very queer and rather 
 dangerous look at his companion, shook him by the hand, with some- 
 thing of that sort of cordiality which befitted his just-repeated simile of 
 the boxing-match, and which Mr. Bendigo displays when he shakes 
 hands with Mr. Gaunt before they fight each other for the champion's 
 belt and two hundred pounds a side. Foker returned his friend's salute 
 with an imploring look, and a piteous squeeze of the hand, sank back 
 on his cushions again, and Pen, putting on his hat, strode forth into 
 the air, and almost over the body of the matutinal housemaid, who 
 was rubbing the steps at the door. , \ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 357 
 
 And so he wants her too_, does he ? " thought Pen as he marched 
 along — and noted within himself with a fatal keenness of perception, 
 and almost an infernal mischief, that the very pains and tortures which 
 that honest heart of Foker's was suffering gave a zest and an impetus 
 to his own pursuit of Blanche : if pursuit that might be called which 
 had been no pursuit as yet, but mere sport and idle dallying. She 
 said something to him, did she ? perhaps she gave him the fellow flower 
 to this : " and he took out of his coat and twiddled in his thumb and 
 finger a poor little shrivelled crumpled bud that had faded and blackened 
 with the heat and flare of the night. — ^^I wonder to how many more 
 she has given her artless tokens of affection — the little flirt ! " — and he 
 flung his into the gutter, where the water may have refreshed it, and 
 where any amateur of rose-buds may have picked it up. And then 
 bethinking him that the day was quite bright, and that the passers-by 
 might be staring at his beard and white neckcloth, our modest young 
 gentleman took a cab and drove to the Temple. 
 
 Ah ! is this the boy that prayed at his mother's knee but a few years 
 since, and for whom very likely at this hour of morning she is praying } 
 Is this jaded and selfish worldling the lad who, a short while back, was 
 ready to fling away his worldly all, his hope, his ambition, his chance 
 of life, for his love This is the man you are proud of, old Pendennis. 
 You boast of having formed him : and of having reasoned him out of 
 his absurd romance and folly — and groaning in your bed over your 
 pains and rheumatisms, satisfy yourself still by thinking, that at last 
 that lad will do something to better himself in life, and that the Pen- 
 dennises will take a good place in the world. And is he the only one 
 who in his progress through this dark life goes wilfully or fatally astray, 
 whilst the natural truth and love which should illumine him grow dim 
 in the poisoned air, and suffice to light him no more } 
 
 When Pen was gone away, poor Harry Foker got up from the sofa, 
 and taking out from his waistcoat — the splendidly buttoned, the 
 gorgeously embroidered, the work of his mamma — a little white rose- 
 bud, he drew from his dressing-case, also the maternal present, a pair 
 of scissors, with which he nipped carefully the stalk of the flower, and 
 placing it in a glass of water opposite his bed, he sought refuge there 
 from care and bitter remembrances. 
 
 It is to be presumed that Miss Blanche Amory had more than one 
 rose in her bouquet, and why should not the kind young creature give 
 out of her superfluity, and make as many partners as possible happy } 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 MONSEIGNEUR s'aMUSE 
 
 The exertions of that last night at Gaunt House had proved almost 
 too much for Major Pendennis ; and as soon as he could move his 
 weary old body with sslS^ty^ he ti^ansported himself groaning to Buxton, 
 and sought relief in the healing waters of that place. Parliament 
 
858 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 broke up. Sir Francis Clavering and family left town, and the aiFairs 
 which we have just mentioned to the reader were not advanced_, in the 
 brief interval of a few days or weeks which have occurred between this 
 and the last chapter. The town was, however, emptied since then. 
 
 The season was now come to a conclusion : Pen's neighbours, the 
 lawyers, were gone upon circuit : and his more fashionable friends had 
 taken their passports for the Continent, or had fled for health or ex- 
 citement to the Scotch moors. Scarce a man was to be seen in the 
 bow-windows of the clubs, or on the solitary Pall Mall pavement. The 
 red jackets had disappeared from before the Palace gate : the tradesmen 
 of St. James's were abroad taking their pleasure : the tailors had grown 
 mustachios and w^ere gone up the Rhine : the bootmakers were at Ems 
 or Baden, blushing when they met their customers at those places of 
 recreatiqn, or punting beside their creditors at the gambling-tables : 
 the clergymen of St. James's only preached to half a congregation, 
 in which there was not a single sinner of distinction : the band 
 in Kensington Gardens had shut up their instruments of brass and 
 trumpets of silver : only two or three old flys and chaises crawled by 
 the banks of the Serpentine, and Clarence Bulbul, who was retained 
 in town by his arduous duties as a Treasury clerk, when he took his 
 afternoon ride in Rotten Row, compared its loneliness to the vastness of 
 the Arabian desert, and himself to a Bedouin wending his way through 
 that dusty solitude. Warrington stowed away a quantity of cavendish 
 tobacco in his carpet-bag, and betook himself, as his custom was in the 
 vacation, to his brother's house in Norfolk. Pen was left alone in 
 chambers for a while, for this man of fashion could not quit the 
 metropolis when he chose always : and was at present detained by the 
 affairs of his newspaper, the Pall Mall Gazette, of which he acted as the 
 editor and charge d'affaires during the temporary absence of the chief. 
 Captain Shandon, who was with his family at the salutary watering- 
 place of Boulogne-sur-Mer. 
 
 Although, as we have seen, Mr. Pen had pronounced himself for 
 years past to be a man perfectly blase and wearied of life, yet the truth 
 is that he was an exceedingly healthy young fellow still ; with a fine 
 appetite, which he satisfied with the greatest relish and satisfaction at 
 least once a day , and a constant desire for society, which showed him 
 to be anythiiigibut ^misanthropical. If he could not get a good dinner, 
 he sate down to a bad one with entire contentment ; if he could not 
 procure the company oi* witty or great or beautiful persons, he put up 
 with any society t)iat oaii!" to hand; and was pei'fectly satisfied in a 
 tavern parlour or oi." i»o.!y "*a Greenwich steamboat, or in a jaunt to 
 Hampstead with Mr. ir'liiuciuie, his colleague at the Pall Mall Gazette; 
 or in a visit to the sum'mer t heatres across the river : or to the Royal 
 Gardens of Vauxhall, where do war on terms of friendship with the 
 great Simpson, and where he shook "the principal comic singer or the 
 lovely equestrian of the arena by th '^Aand. And while he could watch 
 the grimaces or the graces of these t lth a satiric humour that was not 
 deprived of sympathy, he could look ori with an eye of kindness at the 
 lookers-on too; at the roystering > uth bent upon enjoyment, and 
 here taking it: at the honest parerr , with their delighted children 
 laughing and clapping their hands at lu^. show ; at the poor outcasts, 
 
PENDENNIS 359 
 
 whose laughter was less innocent though perhaps louder, and who 
 brought their shame and their youth here, to dance and be merry till 
 the dawn at least ; and to get bread and drown care. Of this sympathy 
 with all conditions of men Arthur often boasted : he was pleased to 
 possess it : and said that he hoped thus to the last he should retain it. 
 As another man has an ardour for art or music, or natural science, 
 Mr. Pen said that anthropology was his favourite pursuit ; and had his 
 eyes always eagerly open to its infinite varieties and beauties : contem- 
 plating with an unfailing delight all specimens of it in all places to 
 which he resorted, whether it was the coquetting of a wrinkled dowager 
 in a ball-room, or a high-bred young beauty blushing m her prime 
 there ; whether it was a hulking guardsman coaxing a servant-girl m 
 the Park— or innocent little Tommy that was feeding the ducks whilst 
 the nurse listened. And indeed a man, whose heart is pretty clean, 
 can indulge in this pursuit with an enjoyment that never ceases, and 
 is only perhaps the more keen because it is secret and has a touch oi 
 sadness in it ; because he is of his mood and humour lonely, and apart 
 although not alone. , . x^r • ^ 
 
 Yes, Pen used to brag and talk in his impetuous way to Warrington. 
 " I was in love so fiercely in my youth, that I have burned out that 
 flame for ever, I think ; and if ever I marry, it will be a marriage of 
 reason that I will make, with a well-bred, good-tempered, good-looking 
 person who has a little money, and so forth, that will cushion our 
 carriage in its course through life. As for romance, it is all done ; I 
 have spent that out, and am old before my time— I'm proud of it. 
 
 Stuff!" growled the other, ''you fancied you were getting bald 
 the other day, and bragged about it as you do about everything. But 
 you began to use the bear's-grease pot directly the hair-dresser told 
 you ; and are scented like a barber ever since." 
 
 "You are Diogenes," the other answered, ''and you want every 
 man to live in a tub like yourself. Violets smell better than stale 
 tobacco, you grizzly old cynic." But Mr. Pen was blushing whilst he 
 made this reply to his unromantical friend, and indeed cared a i great 
 deal more about himself still than such a philosopher perhaps should 
 have done. Indeed, considering that he was careless about the world, 
 Mr. Pen ornamented his person with no small pains in order to make 
 himself agreeable to it, and for a weary pilgrim as he was, wore very 
 tight boots and bright varnish. 
 
 It was in this dull season of the year then, of a shmmg Friday night 
 in autumn, that Mr. Pendennis, having comTilpt-d at his newspaper 
 office a brilliant leading article— such as Ciaer hanx^andon himself might 
 have written, had the Captain been in good humour, and inclined to 
 work, which he never would do except under compulsion— that Mr. 
 Arthur Pendennis having written his article, and reviewed it approv- 
 ingly as it lay before him in itr wet proof-sheet at the oflftce of the 
 paper, bethought him that he wc dd cross the water, and regale himself 
 with the fireworks and other amusements of Vauxhall. So he affably 
 put in his pocket the order which admitted " Editor of Pall Mall Gazette 
 and friend " to that place of recreation, and paid with the coin of the 
 realm a sufficient sum to enable him to cross Waterloo Bridge. The 
 walk thence to the Gardens was pleasant^ the stars were shining in the 
 
360 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 skies above^ looking down upon the royal property^ whence the rockets 
 and Roman candles had not yet ascended to outshine the stars. 
 
 Before you enter the enchanted ground^ where twenty thousand 
 additional lamps are burned every night as usual, most of us have 
 passed through the black and dreary passage and wickets which hide 
 the splendours of Vauxhall from uninitiated men. In the walls of this 
 passage are two holes strongly illuminated, in the midst of which you 
 see two gentlemen at desks, where they will take either your money as 
 a private individual, or your order of admission if you are provided 
 with that passport to the Gardens. Pen went to exhibit his ticket at 
 the last-named orifice, where, however, a gentleman and two ladies 
 were already in parley before him. 
 
 The gentleman, whose hat was very much on one side, and -who wore 
 a short and shabby cloak in an excessively smart manner, was crying 
 out in a voice which Pen at once recognised — 
 
 Bedad, sir, if ye doubt me honour, will ye obleege me by stipping 
 
 out of that box, and ** 
 
 Lor, Capting ! " cried the elder lady. 
 Don*t bother me," said the man in the box. 
 
 ^^ And ask Mr. Hodgen himself, who's in the gyardens, to let these 
 leedies pass. Don't be froightened, me dear madam, Tm not going to 
 quarl with this gintleman, at any reet before leedies. Will ye go, sir, 
 and desoire Mr. Hodgen (whose orther I keem in with, and he's me 
 most intemate friend, and 1 know he's goan to sing the ^ Body Snatcher * 
 here to-noight), with Captain Costigan's compliments, to stip out and 
 let in the leedies — for meself, sir, oi've seen Vauxhall, and I scawrun 
 any interfayrance on moi account ; but for these leedies, one of them 
 has never been there, and oi should think ye'd hardly take advantage 
 of me misfartune in losing the tickut, to deproive her of her pleasure." 
 
 ^'^It ain't no use. Captain. I can't go about your business," the 
 checktaker said ; on which the Captain swore an oath, and the elder 
 lady said, Lor, 'ow provokin' ! " 
 
 As for the young one, she looked up at the Captain and said, Never 
 mind. Captain Costigan, I'm sure I don't want to go at all. Come 
 away, mamma." And with this, although she did not want to go at all^ 
 her feelings overcame her, and she began to cry. 
 
 ^^Me poor child !" the Captain said. ^^Can ye see that, sir, and 
 will ye not let this innocent creature in ? " 
 
 It ain't my business," cried the doorkeeper peevishly, out of the 
 illuminated box. at this minute Arthur came up, and recognising 
 
 Costigan, said, Do'S" j Know me. Captain } Pendennis I " And he 
 took off his hat and made a bow to the two ladies. Me dear boy ! 
 Me dear friend !" cried the Captain, extending towards Pendennis the 
 grasp of friendship; and he rapidly explained to the other what he 
 called a most unluckee conthratong. " He had an order for Vauxhall, 
 admitting two, from Mr. Hodgen, theia within the Gardens, and singing 
 (as he did at the Back Kitchen and the nobility's concerts) the Body 
 Snatcher," the Death of General Wolfe," the Banner of Blood," and 
 other favourite melodies ; and, having this order for the admission of 
 two persons, he thought that it would admit three, and had come 
 accordingly to the Gardens with his friends. But on his way^ Captam 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 361 
 
 Costigan had lost the paper of admission — it was not forthcoming at all ; 
 and the leedies must go back again^ to the great disappointment of one 
 of them, as Pendennis saw. 
 
 Arthur had a great deal of good-nature for everybody, and how could 
 he refuse his sympathy in such a case as this? He had seen the 
 innocent face as it looked up to the Captain, the appealing look of the 
 girl, the piteous quiver of the mouth, and the final outburst of tears. 
 If it had been his last guinea in the world, he must have paid it to have 
 given the poor little thing pleasure. She turned the sad imploring 
 eyes away directly they lighted upon a stranger, and began to wipe 
 them with her handkerchief Arthur looked very handsome and kind 
 as he stood before the women, with his hat off, blushing, bowing, 
 generous, a gentleman. Who are they.^" he asked of himself He 
 thought he had seen the elder lady before. 
 
 If I can be of any service to you. Captain Costigan," the young 
 man said, ^^I hope you will command me. Is there any difficulty 
 about taking these ladies into the Garden ? Will you kindly make use 
 of my purse ? And — and I have a ticket myself which will admit two — 
 I hope, ma am, you will permit me ? " 
 
 The first impulse of the Prince of Fairoaks was to pay for the whole 
 party, and to make away with his newspaper order as poor Costigan had 
 done with his own ticket. But his instinct, and the appearance of the 
 two women, told him that they would be better pleased if he did not 
 give himself the airs of a grand seigneur, and he handed his purse to 
 Costigan, and laughingly pulled out his ticket with one hand, as he 
 offered the other to the elder of the ladies — ladies was not the word — 
 they had bonnets and shawls, and collars and ribbons, and the youngest 
 showed a pretty little foot and boot under her modest grey gown, but 
 his Highness of Fairoaks was courteous to every person who wore a 
 petticoat, whatever its texture was, and the humbler the wearer only 
 the more stately and polite in his demeanour. 
 
 *^ Fanny, take the gentleman's ai-m,'' the elder said ; since you will 
 be so very kind — I've seen you often come in at our gate, sir, and go in 
 to Captain Strong's at No. 3." 
 
 Fanny made a little curtsey, and put her hand under Arthur's arm. 
 It had on a shabby little glove, but it was pretty and small. She 
 was not a child, but she was scarcely a woman as yet ; her tears had 
 dried up, her cheek mantled with youthful blushes, and her eyes 
 glistened with pleasure and gratitude, as she looked up into Arthur's 
 kind face. 
 
 Arthur, in a protecting way, put his other hand upon the little one 
 resting on his arm. Fanny's a very pretty little name," he said; 
 and so you know me, do you " 
 
 ^^We keep the lodge, sir, at Shepherd's Inn," Fanny said with a 
 curtsey ; and I've never been at Vauxhall, sir, and pa didn't like me 
 to go — and — and — O — O — law, how beautiful I " She shrank back as she 
 spoke, starting with wonder and delight as she saw the Royal Gardens 
 blaze before her with a hundred million of lamps, with a splendour such 
 as the finest fairy tale, the finest pantomime she had ever witnessed at 
 the theatre, had never realised. Pen was pleased with her pleasure, 
 9-nd pressed to his side the little hand which clung so kindly to him. 
 
362 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 What would I not give for a little of this pleasure ? " said the blasS 
 young man. 
 
 ^^Your purse, Pendennis, me dear boy/' said the Captains voice 
 behind him. ^^Will ye count it.^ it's all roight-^no — ye thrust in 
 old Jack Costigan (he thrusts me, ye see, madam). YeVe been me 
 preserver, Pen (I've known 'um since choildhood, Mrs. Bolton ; he's 
 the proproietor of Fairoaks Castle, and many's the cooper of clar't 
 I've dthrunk there with the first nobilitee of his neetive countee) — Mr. 
 Pendennis, ye've been me preserver, and oi thank ye ; me daughther 
 will thank ye. — Mr. Simpson, your humble servant, sir." 
 
 If Pen was magnificent in his courtesy to the ladies, what was his 
 splendour in comparison to Captain Costigan's bowing here and there, 
 and crying bravo to the singers ? 
 
 A man descended, like Costigan, from a long line of Hibernian kings, 
 chieftains, and other magnates and sheriffs of the county, had of course 
 too much dignity and self-respect to walk arrum-in-arrum (as the Captain 
 phrased it) with a lady who occasionally swept his room out, and cooked 
 his mutton-chops. In the course of their journey from Shepherd's Inn 
 to Vauxhall Gardens, Captain Costigan had walked by the side of the 
 two ladies, in a patronising and aifable manner pointing out to them the 
 edifices worthy of note, and discoorsing, according to his wont, about 
 other cities and countries which he had visited, and the people of rank 
 and fashion with whom he had the honour of an acquaintance. Nor 
 could it be expected that, arrived in the Royal property, and strongly 
 illuminated by the flare of the twenty thousand additional lamps, the 
 Captain could relax from his dignity, and give an arm to a lady who 
 was, in fact, little better than a housekeeper or charwoman. 
 
 But Pen, on his part, had no such scruples. Miss Fanny Bolton did 
 not make his bed nor sweep his chambers ; and he did not choose to 
 let go his pretty little partner. As for Fanny, her colour heightened, 
 and her bright eyes shone the brighter with pleasure, as she leaned for 
 protection on the arm of such a fine gentleman as Mr. Pen. And she 
 looked at numbers of other ladies in the place, and at scores of other 
 gentlemen under whose protection they were walking here and there ; 
 and she thought that her gentleman was handsomer and grander-looking 
 than any other gent there. Of course there were votaries of pleasure 
 of all ranks in the garden — rakish young surgeons, fast young clerks 
 and commercialists, occasional dandies of the Guard regiments, and the 
 rest. Old Lord Colchicum was there in attendance upon Mademoiselle 
 Caracoline, who had been riding in the ring ; and who talked her native 
 French very loud, and used idiomatic expressions of exceeding strength 
 as she walked about, leaning on the arm of his Lordship. 
 
 Colchicum was in attendance upon Mademoiselle Caracoline, little 
 Tom Tufthunt was in attendance upon Lord Colchicum; and rather 
 pleased, too, with his position. When Don J uan scales the wall, there's 
 never a want of a Leporello to hold the ladder. Tom Tufthunt was 
 quite happy to act as friend to the elderly Viscount, and to carve the 
 fowl, and to make the salad at supper. When Pen and his young 
 lady met the Viscount's party, that noble peer only gave Arthur a 
 passing leer of recognition as his Lordship's eyes passed from Pen's face 
 under the bonnet of Pen's companion. But Tom Tufthunt wagged his 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 363 
 
 head very good-naturedly at Mr. Arthur, and said, How are you, old 
 boy ? " and looked extremely knowing at the godfather of this history. 
 
 ^^That is the great rider at Astiey's ; I have seen her there/' Miss 
 Bolton said, looking after Mademoiselle Caracoline ; and who is that 
 old man ? Is it not the gentleman in the ring ? " 
 
 ^^That is Lord Viscount Colchicum, Miss Fanny/' said Pen, with an 
 air of protection. He meant no harm, he was pleased to patronise the 
 young girl, and he was not displeased that she should be so pretty, and 
 that she should be hanging upon his arm, and that yonder elderly Don 
 Juan should have seen her there. 
 
 Fanny was very pretty ; her eyes were dark and brilliant ; her teeth 
 were like little pearls ; her mouth was almost as red as Mademoiselle 
 Caracoline's when the latter had put on her vermilion. And what a 
 difference there was between the one's voice and the other's, between 
 the girl's laugh and the woman's ! It was only very lately, indeed, 
 that Fanny, when looking in the little glass over the Bows-Costigan 
 mantelpiece as she was dusting it, had begun to suspect that she was 
 a beauty. But a year ago, she was a clumsy, gawky girl, at whom her 
 father sneered, and of whom the girls at the day-school (Miss Minifer's, 
 Newcastle Street, Strand ; Miss M., the younger sister, took the leading 
 business at the Norwich circuit in 182— ; and she herself had played 
 for two seasons with some credit T. R. E. O., T. R. S. W., until she 
 fell down a trap-door and broke her leg) : the girls at Fanny's school, 
 we say, took no account of her, and thought her a dowdy little creature 
 as long as she remained under Miss Minifer's instruction. And it was 
 unremarked and almost unseen, in the dark porter's lodge of Shepherd's 
 Inn, that this little flower bloomed into beauty. 
 
 So this young person hung upon Mr. Pen's arm, and they paced the 
 Gardens together. Empty as London was, there were still some two 
 millions of people left lingering about it, and amongst them one or two 
 of the acquaintances of Mr Arthur Pendennis. 
 
 Amongst them, silent and alone, pale, with his hands in his pockets, 
 and a rueful nod of the head to Arthur as they met, passed Henry Foker, 
 Esq. Young Henry was trying to ease his mind by moving from place 
 to place, and from excitem'ent to excitement. But he thought about 
 Blanche as he sauntered in the dark walks ; he thought about Blanche 
 as he looked at the devices of the lamps. He consulted the fortune- 
 teller about her, and was disappointed when that gipsy told him that 
 he was in love with a dark lady who would make him happy ; and at 
 the concert, though Mr. Momus sang his most stunning comic songs, 
 and asked his most astonishing riddles, never did a kind smile come to 
 visit Foker's lips. In fact, he never heard Mr. Momus at all. 
 
 Pen and Miss Bolton were hard by listening to the same concert, 
 and the latter remarked, and Pen laughed at, Mr. Foker's woebegone 
 face. 
 
 Fanny asked what it was that made that odd-looking little man so 
 dismal.^ "I think he is crossed in love!" Pen said. '^'^ Isn't that 
 enough to make any man dismal, Fanny ? " And he looked down at 
 her, splendidly protecting her, like Egmont at Clara in Goethe's play, 
 or Leicester at Amy in Scott's novel. 
 
 Crossed in love, is he.^ poor gentleman !" said Fanny, with a sigh. 
 
364 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and her eyes turned round towards him with no little kindness and 
 pity — but Harry did not see the beautiful dark eyes. 
 
 How dy do^ Mr. Pendennis ? " a voice broke in here, — it was that 
 of a young man in a large white coat with a red neckcloth, over which 
 a dingy shirt-collar was turned so as to exhibit a dubious neck — with a 
 large pin of bullion or other metal, and an imaginative waistcoat with 
 exceedingly fanciful glass buttons, and trousers that cried with a loud 
 voice, Come look at me, and see how cheap and tawdry I am ; my 
 master, what a dirty buck ! '* and a little stick in one pocket of his coat, 
 and a lady in pink satin on the other arm — How dy do ? — Forget me, 
 I dare say? Huxter, — Clavering." 
 
 How do you do, Mr. Huxter ? " the Prince of Fairoaks said in his 
 most princely manner. I hope you are very well." 
 
 Pretty bobbish, thanky." — And Mr. Huxter wagged his head. I 
 say, Pendennis, you ve been coming it uncommon strong since we had 
 the row at Wapshot's, don't you remember } Great author, hay } Go 
 about with the swells. Saw your name in the Morning Post. I suppose 
 you're too much of a swell to come and have a bit of supper with an 
 old friend } — Charterhouse Lane to-morrow night, — some devilish good 
 fellows from Bartholomew's, and some stunning gin-punch. Here's my 
 card," And with this Mr. Huxter released his hand from the pocket 
 where his cane was, and pulling off the top of his card-case with his 
 teeth, produced thence a visiting ticket, which he handed to Pen. 
 
 You are exceedingly kind, I am sure," said Pen ; but I regret 
 that I have an engagement which will take me out of town to-morrow 
 night." And the Marquis of Fairoaks, wondering that such a creature 
 as this could have the audacity to give him a card, put Mr. Huxter's 
 card into his waistcoat pocket with a lofty courtesy. Possibly Mr. 
 Samuel Huxter was not aware that there was any great social difference 
 between Mr. Arthur Pendennis and himself. Mr. Huxter's father was 
 a surgeon and apothecary at Clavering, just as Mr. Pendennis's papa 
 had been a surgeon and apothecary at Bath. But the impudence of 
 some men is beyond all calculation. 
 
 Well, old fellow, never mind," said Mr. Huxter, who, always frank 
 and familiar, was from vinous excitement even more affable than usual. 
 " If ever you are passing, look up at our place, — I'm mostly at home 
 Saturdays ; and there's generally a cheese in the cupboard. Ta, ta. — 
 There's the bell for the fireworks ringing. Come along, Mary. " And 
 he set off running with the rest of the crowd in the direction of the 
 fireworks. 
 
 So did Pen presently, when this agreeable youth was out of sight, 
 begin to run with his little companion ; Mrs. Bolton following after 
 them, with Captain Costigan at her side. But the Captain was too 
 majestic and dignified in his movements to run for friend or enemy, 
 and he pursued his course with the usual jaunty swagger which distin- 
 guished his steps, so that he and his companion were speedily distanced 
 by Pen and Miss Fanny. 
 
 Perhaps Arthur forgot, or perhaps he did not choose to remember, 
 that the elder couple had no money in their pockets, as had been proved 
 by their adventure at the entrance of the Gardens ; howbeit. Pen paid 
 a couple of shillings for himself and his partner, and with her hanging 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 3(55 
 
 close on his arm, scaled the staircase which leads to the firework gallery. 
 The Captain and mamma might have followed them if they liked, but 
 Arthur and Fanny were too busy to look back. People were pushing 
 and squeezing there beside and behind them. One eager individual 
 rushed by Fanny, and elbowed her so, that she fell back with a little 
 cry, upon which, of course, Arthur caught her adroitly in his arms, 
 and, just for protection, kept her so defended, until they mounted the 
 stair, and took their places. 
 
 Poor Foker sate alone on one of the highest benches, his face illumi- 
 nated by the fireworks, or in their absence by the moon. Arthur saw 
 him, and laughed, but did not occupy himself about his friend much. 
 He was engaged with Fanny. How she wondered ! how happy she 
 was ! how she cried Oh, oh, oh, as the rockets soared into the air, and 
 showered down in azure, and emerald, and vermilion. As these wonders 
 blazed and disappeared before her, the little girl thrilled and trembled 
 with delight at Arthur's side— her hand was under his arm still, he felt 
 it pressing him as she looked up delighted. 
 How beautiful they are, sir ! " she cried. 
 Don't call me sir, Fanny," Arthur said. 
 A quick blush rushed up into the girl's face. What shall I call 
 you ? " she said, in a low voice, sweet and tremulous. What would 
 you wish me to say, sir „ t» j . 
 
 Again, Fanny ! Well, I forgot ; it is best so, my dear, Pendennis 
 said, very kindly and gently. I may call you Fanny ? " 
 
 Oh yes ! " she said, and the little hand pressed his arm once more 
 very eagerly, and the girl clung to him so that he could feel her heart 
 beating on his shoulder. 
 
 I may call you Fanny, because you are a young girl, and a good 
 girl, Fanny, and I am an old gentleman. But you mustn't call me 
 anything but sir, or Mr. Pendennis, if you like ; for we live in very 
 different stations, Fanny ; and don't think I speak unkindly : and-- 
 and why do you take your hand away, Fanny? Are you afraid of me? 
 Do you think I would hurt you? Not for all the world, my dear little 
 girl. And— and look how beautiful the moon and stars are, and how 
 calmly they shine when the rockets have gone out, and the noisy wheels 
 have done hissing and blazing. When I came here to-night I did not 
 think I should have had such a pretty little companion to sit by my 
 side, and see these fine fireworks. You must know I live by myself, 
 and work very hard. I write in books and newspapers, Fanny ; and I 
 was quite tired out, and expected to sit alone all night ; and— don t 
 cry, my dear dear little girl." Here Pen broke out, rapidly putting 
 an end to the calm oration which he had begun to deliver ; for the 
 sight of a woman's tears always put his nerves in a quiver, and he 
 began forthwith to coax her and soothe her, and to utter a hundred 
 and twenty little ejaculations of pity and sympathy, which need not 
 be repeated here, because they would be absurd in print. So would a 
 mother's talk to a child be absurd in print ; so would a lover's to his 
 bride. That sweet artless poetry bears no translation ; and is too subtle 
 for grammarians' clumsy definitions. You have but the same four 
 letters to describe the salute which you perform on your grandmother s 
 forehead^ and that which you bestow on the sacred cheek of your 
 
366 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 mistress ; but the same four letters^ and not one of them a labial. Do 
 we mean to hint that Mr. Arthur Pendennis made any use of the 
 monosyllable in question ? Not so. In the first place^ it was dark : 
 the fireworks were over^ and nobody could see him ; secondly^ he was 
 not a man to have this kind of secret^ and tell it ; thirdly^ and lastly, 
 let the honest fellow who has kissed a pretty girl_, say what would have 
 been his own conduct in such a delicate juncture.'* 
 
 Well, the truth is, that however you may suspect him, and whatever 
 you would have done under the circumstances, or Mr. Pen would have 
 liked to do, he behaved honestly, and like a man. I will not play 
 with this little girl's heart," he said within himself, and forget my 
 own or her honour. She seems to have a great deal of dangerous and 
 rather contagious sensibility, and I am very glad the fireworks are 
 over, and that I can take her back to her mother. Come along, 
 Fanny ; mind the steps, and lean on me. Don t stumble, you heedless 
 little thing ; this is the way, and there is your mamma at the door." 
 
 And there, indeed, Mrs. Bolton was, unquiet in spirit, and grasping 
 her umbrella. She seized Fanny with maternal fierceness and eager- 
 ness, and uttered some rapid abuse to the girl in an undertone. The 
 expression in Captain Costigan's eye — standing behind the matron and 
 winking at Pendennis from under his hat — was, I am bound to say, 
 indefinably humorous. 
 
 It was so much so, that Pen could not refrain from bursting into a 
 laugh. ^^You should have taken my arm, Mrs. Bolton," he said, 
 offering it. I am very glad to bring Miss Fanny back quite safe to 
 you. We thought you would have followed us up into the gallery. 
 We enjoyed the fireworks, didn't we.^ " 
 
 Oh yes ! " said Miss Fanny, with rather a demure look. 
 
 ^^And the bouquet was magnificent," said Pen. ^'^And it is ten 
 hours since I had anything to eat, ladies ; and I wish you would per- 
 mit me to invite you to supper." 
 
 'Dad," said Costigan, Vd loike a snack tu ; only I forgawt me 
 purse, or I should have invoited these leedies to a colleetion." 
 
 Mrs. Bolton with considerable asperity said, She 'ad an 'eadache, 
 and would much rather go 'ome." 
 
 A lobster salad is the best thing in the world for a headache," Pen 
 said gallantly, and a glass of wine I'm sure will do you good. Come, 
 Mrs. Bolton, be kind to me and oblige me. I shan't have the heart to 
 sup without you, and upon my word I have had no dinner. Give me 
 your arm : give me the umbrella. Costigan, I'm sure you'll take care 
 of Miss Fanny ; and I shall think Mrs. Bolton angry with me, unless 
 she will fkvour me with her society. And we will all sup quietly, and 
 go back in a cab together." 
 
 The cab, the lobster salad, the frank and good-humoured look of 
 Pendennis, as he smilingly invited the worthy matron, subdued her 
 suspicions and her anger. Since he would be so obliging, she thought 
 she could take a little bit of lobster, and so they all marched away to a 
 box ; and Costigan called for a waither with such a loud and belligerent 
 voice, as caused one of those officials instantly to run to him. 
 
 The carte was examined on the wall, and Fanny was asked to choose 
 her favourite dish ; upon which the young creature said she was fond 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 367 
 
 I of lobster too^ but also owned to a partiality for raspberry-tart. This 
 ) delicacy was provided by Pen, and a bottle of the most frisky champagne 
 ( was moreover ordered for the delight of the ladies. Little Fanny 
 i drank this ; — what other sweet intoxication had she not drunk in the 
 i course of the night? 
 
 When the supper, which was very brisk and gay, was over, and 
 Captain Costigan and Mrs. Bolton had partaken of some of the rack 
 punch that is so fragrant at Vauxhall, the bill was called and discharged 
 by Pen with great generosity, — loike a foin young English gentleman 
 of th' olden toime, be Jove," Costigan enthusiastically remarked. And 
 as, when they went out of the box, he stepped forward and gave Mrs. 
 Bolton his arm, Fanny fell to Pen's lot, and the young people walked 
 away in high good-humour together, in the wake of their seniors. 
 
 The champagne and the rack punch, though taken in moderation by 
 all persons, except perhaps poor Cos, who lurched ever so little in his 
 gait, had set them in high spirits and good-humour, so that Fanny 
 began to skip and move her brisk little feet in time to the band, which 
 was playing waltzes and galops for the dancers. As they came up to 
 the dancing, the music and Fanny's feet seemed to go quicker together 
 — she seemed to spring, as if naturally, from the ground, and as if she 
 required repression to keep her there. 
 
 Shouldn't you like a turn ? " said the Prince of Fairoaks. What 
 fun it would be ! Mrs. Bolton, ma'am, do let me take her once round. " 
 Upon which Mr. Costigan said, Off wid you ! " and Mrs. Bolton not 
 refusing (indeed, she was an old war-horse, and would have liked, at 
 the trumpet's sound, to have entered the arena herself), Fanny's shawl 
 was off her back in a minute, and she and Arthur were whirling round 
 in a waltz in the midst of a great deal of queer, but exceedingly 
 joyful company. 
 
 Pen had no mishap this time with little Fanny, as he had with Miss 
 Blanche in old days, — at least, there was no mishap of his making. 
 The pair danced away with great agility and contentment, — first a 
 waltz, then a galop, then a waltz again, until, in the second waltz, 
 they were bumped by another couple who had joined the Terpsichorean 
 choir. This was Mr. Huxter and his pink satin young friend, of whom 
 we have already had a glimpse. 
 
 Mr. Huxter very probably had been also partaking of supper, for he 
 was even more excited now than at the time when he had previously 
 claimed Pen's acquaintance ; and, having run against Arthur and his 
 partner, and nearly knocked them down, this amiable gentleman of 
 course began to abuse the people whom he had injured, and broke out 
 into a volley of slang against the unoffending couple. 
 
 Now then, stoopid ! Don't keep the ground if you can't dance, 
 old Slow Coach !" tne young surgeon roared out (using, at the same 
 time, other expressions far more emphatic), and was joined in his 
 abuse by the shrill language and laughter of his partner ; — to the in- 
 terruption of the ball, the terror of poor little Fanny, and the immense 
 indignation of Pen. 
 
 Arthur was furious ; and not so angry at the quarrel as at the shame 
 attending it. A battle with a fellow like that ! A row in a public 
 garden, and with a porter's daughter on his arm ! What a position 
 
i) 
 
 368 PENDENNIS 
 
 for Arthur Pendennis ! He drew poor little Fanny hastily away from 
 the dancers to her mother^ and wished that lady^ and Costigan^ and 
 poor Fanny underground, rather than there, in his companionship, 
 and under his protection. 
 
 When Huxter commenced his attack, that free-spoken young gentle- 
 man had not seen who was his opponent ; and directly he was aware 
 that it was Arthur whom he had insulted, he began to make apologies. 
 
 Hold your stoopid tongue, Mary," he said to his partner. It's an 
 old friend and crony at home. I beg pardon, Pendennis ; wasn't aware 
 it was you, old boy." Mr. Huxter had been one of the boys of the 
 Clavering school, who had been present at a combat which has been 
 mentioned in the early part of this story, when young Pen knocked 
 down the biggest champion of the academy, and Huxter knew that it 
 was dangerous to quarrel wi-th Arthur. 
 
 His apologies were as odious to the other as his abuse had been. Pen 
 stopped his tipsy remonstrances by telling him to hold his tongue, and 
 desiring him not to use his (Pendennis's) name in that place or any 
 other ; and he walked out of the Gardens with a titter behind him from 
 the crowd, every one of whom he would have liked to massacre for 
 having been witness to the degrading broil. He walked out of the 
 Gardens, quite forgetting poor little Fanny, who came trembling behind 
 him with her mother and the stately Costigan. 
 
 He was brought back to himself by a word from the Captain, who 
 touched him on the shoulder just as they were passing the inner gate. 
 There's no ray-admittance except ye pay again," the Captain said. 
 
 Hadn't I better go back and take the fellow your message.^" 
 
 Pen burst out laughing. Take him a message ! Do you think I 
 would fight with such a fellow as that ? " he asked. 
 
 No, no ! Don't, don't ! " cried out little Fanny. How can you 
 be so wicked. Captain Costigan ? " The Captain muttered something 
 about honour, and winked knowingly at Pen, but Arthur said gallantly, 
 
 No, Fanny, don't be frightened. It was my fault to have danced in 
 such a place. I beg your pardon, to have asked you to dance there." 
 And he gave her his arm once more, and called a cab, and put his 
 three friends into it. 
 
 He was about to pay the driver, and to take another carriage for 
 himself, when little Fanny, still alarmed, put her little hand out, and 
 caught him by the coat, and implored him and besought him to come in. 
 
 Will nothing satisfy you," said Pen, in great good-humour, that 
 I am not going back to fight him ? W^ell, I will come home with you. 
 Drive to Shepherd's Inn, cab." The cab drove to its destination. 
 Arthur was immensely pleased by the girl's solicitude about him : her 
 tender terrors quite made him forget his previous annoyance. 
 
 Pen put the ladies into their lodge, having shaken hands kindly with 
 both of them ; and the Captain again whispered to him that he would 
 see 'um in the morning if he was inclined, and take his message to 
 that scoundthrel." But the Captain was in his usual condition when 
 he made the proposal ; and Pen was perfectly sure that neither he nor 
 Mr. Huxter, when they awoke, would remember anything about the 
 dispute. 
 
 i 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 369 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 A VISIT OF POLITENESS 
 
 CosTiGAN never roused Pen from his slumbers : there was no hostile 
 message from Mr. Huxter to disturb him ; and when Pen woke^ it was 
 with a brisker and more lively feeling than ordinarily attends that 
 moment in the day of the tired and hlase London man. A City man 
 wakes up to care and Consols^ and the thoughts of 'Change and the 
 counting-house take possession of him as soon as sleep flies from under 
 his nightcap ; a lawyer rouses himself with the early morning to think 
 of the case that will take him all his day to work upon,, and the inevi- 
 table attorney to whom he has promised his papers ere night. Which 
 of us has not his anxiety instantly present when his eyes are opened, 
 to it and to the world, after his night's sleep Kind strengthener 
 that enables us to face the day's task with renewed heart ! Beautiful 
 ordinance of Providence that creates rest as it awards labour ! 
 
 Mr. Pendennis's labour, or rather his disposition, was of that sort 
 that his daily occupations did not much interest him, for the excitement 
 of literary composition pretty soon subsides with the hired labourer, 
 and the delight of seeing one's self in print only extends to the first 
 two or three appearances in the magazine or newspaper page. Pegasus 
 put into harness, and obliged to run a stage every day, is as prosaic as 
 any other hack, and won't work without his whip or his feed of corn. So, 
 indeed, Mr. Arthur performed his work at the Pall Mall Gazette (and 
 since his success as a novelist with an increased salary), but without 
 the least enthusiasm, doing his best or pretty nearly, and sometimes 
 writing ill and sometimes well. He was a literary hack, naturally fast 
 in pace and brilliant in action. 
 
 Neither did society, or that portion which he saw, excite or amuse 
 him overmuch. In spite of his brag and boast to the contrary, he 
 was too young as yet for women's society, which probably can only 
 be had in perfection when a man has ceased to think about his own 
 person, and has given up all designs of being a conqueror of ladies ; 
 he was too young to be admitted as an equal amongst men who had 
 made their mark in the world, and of whose conversation he could 
 scarcely as yet expect to be more than a listener. And he was too old 
 for the men of pleasure of his own age ; too much a man of pleasure 
 for the men of business ; destined, in a word, to be a good deal alone. 
 Fate awards this lot of solitude to many a man ; and many like it 
 from taste, as many without difficulty bear it. Pendennis, in reality, 
 suffered it very equanimously ; but in words, and according to his 
 wont, grumbled over it not a little. 
 
 What a nice little artless creature that was," Mr. Pen thought at 
 the very instant of waking after the Vauxhall affair ; what a pretty 
 natural manner she has ; how much pleasanter than the minauderies 
 of the young ladies in the ball-rooms ! " (and here he recalled to him- 
 self some instances of what he could not help seeing was the artful 
 simplicity of Miss Blanche, and some of the stupid graces of other young 
 
 2 A 
 
370 PENDENNI8 
 
 ladies in the polite world) ; who could have thought that such a pretty I 
 rose could grow in a porter's lodge^ or bloom in that dismal old flower- » 
 pot of a Shepherd's Inn ? So she learns to sing from old Bows ? If her 5 
 singing voice is as sweet as her speaking voice^ it must be pretty. I like s 
 those low voilees voices. ' What would you like me to call you } ' indeed. 
 Poor little Fanny ! It went to my heart to adopt the grand air with her, 
 and tell her to call me ^ sir. ' But we'll have no nonsense of that sort — 
 no Faust and Margaret business for me. That old Bows ! So he teaches 
 her to sing^ does he ? He's a dear old fellow, old Bows : a gentleman 
 in those old clothes : a philosopher, and with a kind heart, too. How 
 good he was to me in the Fotheringay business. He, too, has had his 
 griefs and his sorrows. I must cultivate old Bows. A man ought to 
 see people of all sorts. I am getting tired of genteel society. Besides, 
 there's nobody in town. Yes, I'll go and see Bows, and Costigan too . 
 what a rich character ! begad, I'll study him, and put him into a book. " f 
 In this way our young anthropologist talked with himself ; and as 
 Saturday was the holiday of the week, the Pall Mall Gazette making i 
 its appearance upon that day, and the contributors to that journal 
 having no further calls upon their brains or ink-bottles, Mr. Pendennis 
 determined he would take advantage of his leisure, and pay a visit to 
 Shepherd's Inn — of course to see old Bows. 
 
 The truth is, that if Arthur had been the most determined roue and 
 artful Lovelace who ever set about deceiving a young girl, he could 
 hardly have adopted better means for fascinating and overcoming poor 
 little Fanny Bolton than those which he had employed on the previous 
 night. His dandified protecting air, his conceit, generosity, and good 
 humour, the very sense of good and honesty which had enabled him to 
 check the tremulous advances of the young creature, and not to take 
 advantage of that little fluttering sensibility, — his faults and his virtues ii 
 at once contributed to make her admire him ; and if we could peep into ) 
 Fanny's bed (which she shared in a cupboard, along with those two 1 
 little sisters to whom we have seen Mr. Costigan administering ginger- 
 bread and apples), we should find the poor little maid tossing upon her 
 mattress, to the great disturbance of its other two occupants, and 
 thinking over all the delights and events of that delightful, eventful 
 night, and all the words, looks, and actions of Arthur, its splendid hero. ! 
 Many novels had Fanny read, in secret and at home, in three volumes 
 and in numbers. Periodical literature had not reached the height 
 which it has attained subsequently, and the girls of Fanny's generation 
 were not enabled to purchase sixteen pages of excitement for a penny, 
 rich with histories of crime, murder, oppressed virtue, and the heartless 
 seductions of the aristocracy ; but she had had the benefit of the circu- 
 lating library which, in conjunction with her school and a small brandy- 
 ball and millinery business. Miss Minifer kept, — and Arthur appeared \ 
 to her at once as the type and realisation of all the heroes of all those \ 
 darling greasy volumes which the young girl had devoured. Mr. Pen, we 
 have seen, was rather a dandy about shirts and haberdashery in general. 
 Fanny had looked with delight at the fineness of his linen, at the bril- 
 liancy of his shirt-studs, at his elegant cambric pocket-handkerchief and 
 white gloves, and at the jetty brightness of his charming boots. The 
 Prince had appeared and subjugated the poor little handmaid. His i 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 371 
 
 imag^e traversed constantly her restless slumbers ; the tone of his voice, 
 the blue light of his eyes, the generous look, half love half pity, — the 
 manly protecting smile, the frank, winning laughter, — all these were 
 repeated in the girl's fond memory. She felt still his arm encircling 
 her, and saw him smiling so grand as he filled up that delicious glass of 
 champagne. And then she thought of the girls, her friends, who used 
 to sneer at her — of Emma Baker, who was so proud, forsooth, because 
 she was engaged to a cheesemonger, in a white apron, near Clare 
 Market ; and of Betsy Rodgers, who made such a to-do about her young 
 man — an attorney's clerk, indeed, that went about with a bag i 
 
 So that, at about two o'clock in the afternoon, the Bolton family 
 having concluded their dinner (and Mr. B., who, besides his place of 
 porter of the Inn, was in the employ of Messrs. Tressler, the eminent 
 undertakers of the Strand, being absent in the country with the 
 Countess of Estrich's hearse), when a gentleman in a white hat and 
 white trousers made his appearance under the Inn archway, and stopped 
 at the porter's wicket, Fanny was not in the least surprised, only de- 
 lighted, only happy, and blushing beyond all measure. She knew it 
 could be no other than He. She knew He'd come. There he was ; 
 there was His Royal Highness beaming upon her from the gate. She 
 called to her mother, who was busy in the upper apartment, Mamma, 
 mamma ! " and ran to the wicket at once, and opened it, pushing aside 
 the other children. How she blushed as she gave her hand to him ! 
 How affably he took off his white hat as he came in ; the children 
 staring up at him 1 He asked Mrs. Bolton if she had slept well after 
 the fatigues of the night, and hoped she had no headache ; and he said 
 that as he was going that way he could not pass the door without asking 
 aews of his little partner. 
 
 Mrs. Bolton was perhaps rather shy and suspicious about these 
 advances; but Mr. Pen's good-humour was inexhaustible; he could 
 not see that he was unwelcome. He looked about the premises for a 
 seat, and none being disengaged — for a dish-cover was on one, a work- 
 box on the other, and so forth — he took one of the children's chairs, 
 and perched himself upon that uncomfortable eminence. At this, the 
 children began laughing, the child Fanny louder than all — at least, she 
 was more amused than any of them, and amazed at His Royal High- 
 aess's condescension. He to sit down in that chair — that little child's 
 chair ! — Many and many a time after, she regarded it : haven't we 
 almost all such furniture in our rooms, that our fancy peoples with 
 dear figures, that our memory fills with sweet smiling faces, which may 
 never look on us more } 
 
 So Pen sate down and talked away with great volubility to Mrs. 
 Bolton. He asked about the undertaking business, and how many 
 Imutes went down with Lady Estrich's remains; and about the Inn, 
 md who lived there. He seemed very much interested about Mr. 
 Campion's cab and horse, and had met that gentleman in society. He 
 thought he should like shares in the Polwheedle and Tredyddlum : did 
 IMrs. Bolton do for those chambers } Were there any chambers to let 
 in the Inn } It was better than the Temple : he should like to come 
 to live in Shepherd's Inn. As for Captain Strong, and — Colonel Alta- 
 mont was his name.^ — he was deeply interested in them too. The 
 
372 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Captain was an old friend at home. He had dined with him at chambers 
 here^ before the Colonel came to live with him. What sort of man 
 was the Colonel.^ Wasn't he a stout man, with a large quantity of 
 jewellery, and a wig and large black whiskers — very black (here Pen 
 was immensely waggish, and caused hysteric giggles of delight from 
 the ladies) — very black indeed ; in fact, blue black ; that is to say, a 
 rich greenish purple } That was the man ; he had met him, too, at 
 Sir Fr . . . — in society. 
 
 Oh, we know," said the ladies. ^^Sir F is Sir F. Clavering. 
 
 He's often here : two or three times a week with the Captain. My 
 little boy has been out for bill-stamps for him. O Lor ! I beg pardon, 
 I shouldn't have mentioned no secrets," Mrs. Bolton blurted out, beinjg^ 
 talked perfectly into good-nature by this time. But we know you 
 to be a gentleman, Mr. Pendennis, for Tm sure you have shown that 
 you can beayve as such. Hasn't Mr. Pendennis, Fanny ? " 
 
 Fanny loved her mother for that speech. She cast up her dark eyes 
 to the low ceiling and said, Oh that he has, I'm sure, Ma," with a 
 voice full of meaning. 
 
 Pen was rather curious about the bill-stamps, and concerning the 
 transactions in Strong's chambers. And he asked, when Altamont 
 came and joined the Chevalier, whether he too sent out for bill-stamps, 
 who he was, whether he saw many people, and so forth. These ques- 
 tions, put with considerable adroitness by Pen, who was interested 
 about Sir Francis Clavering's doings from private motives of his own, 
 were artlessly answered by Mrs. Bolton, and to the utmost of her 
 knowledge and ability, which, in truth, were not very great. 
 
 These questions answered, and Pen being at a loss for more, luckily 
 recollected his privilege as a member of the Press, and asked the ladies 
 whether they would like any orders for the play ? The play was their 
 delight, as it is almost always the delight of every theatrical person. 
 When Bolton was away professionally (it appeared that of late the 
 porter of Shepherd's Inn had taken a serious turn, drank a good deal, 
 and otherwise made himself unpleasant to the ladies of his family), they 
 would like of all things to slip out and go to the theatre — little Barney, 
 their son, keeping the lodge ; and Mr. Pendennis's most generous and 
 most genteel compliment of orders was received with boundless gratitude 
 by both mother and daughter. 
 
 Fanny clapped her hands with pleasure : her face beamed with it. 
 She looked and nodded, and laughed at her mamma, who nodded 
 and laughed in her turn. Mrs. Bolton was not superannuated for 
 pleasure yet, or by any means too old for admiration, she thought. And 
 very likely Mr. Pendennis, in his conversation with her, had insinuated 
 some compliments, or shaped his talk so as to please her. At first 
 against Pen, and suspicious of him, she was his partisan now, and 
 almost as enthusiastic about him as her daughter. When two women 
 get together to like a man, they help each other on— each pushes the 
 other forward— and the second, out of sheer sympathy, becomes as 
 eager as the principal : at least, so it is said by philosophers who have 
 examined this science. 
 
 So the offer of the play-tickets, and other pleasantries, put all parties 
 into perfect good-humour, except for one brief moment, when one of 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 373 
 
 .the younger children^ hearing the name of ^^Astley's" pronounced, 
 came forward and stated that she should like very much to go too ; on 
 which Fanny said Don't bother 1" rather sharply ; and mamma said, 
 " Git- long, Betsy- Jane, do now, and play in the court so that the 
 two little ones, namely, Betsy-Jane and Ameliar-Ann, went away in 
 their little innocent pinafores, and disported in the courtyard on the 
 smooth gravel, round about the statue of Shepherd the Great. 
 . And here, as they were playing, they very possibly communicated 
 with an old friend of theirs and dweller in the Inn ; for while Pen was 
 making himself agreeable to the ladies at the lodge, who were laughing 
 delighted at his sallies, an old gentleman passed under the archway 
 from the Inn square, and came and looked in at the door of the lodge. 
 
 He made a very blank and rueful face when he saw Mr. Arthur 
 seated upon a table, like Macheath in the play, in easy discourse with 
 Mrs. Bolton and her daughter. 
 
 What ! Mr. Bows } How d*you do. Bows } " cried out Pen, in a 
 cheery, loud voice. I was coming to see you, and was asking your 
 address of these ladies." 
 
 You were coming to see me, were you, sir ? " Bows said, and came 
 in with a sad face, and shook hands with Arthur. Plague on that old 
 man ! " somebody thought in the room : and so, perhaps, some one else 
 besides her. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 IN shepherd's inn 
 
 Our friend Pen said, How d'ye do, Mr. Bows ? " in a loud cheery 
 voice on perceiving that gentleman, and saluted him in a dashing off- 
 hand manner, yet you could have seen a blush upon Arthur's face 
 (answered by Fanny, whose cheek straightway threw out a similar 
 fluttering red signal) ; and after Bows and Arthur had shaken hands, 
 and the former had ironically accepted the other's assertion that he was 
 about to pay Mr. Costigan's chambers a visit, there was a gloomy and 
 rather guilty silence in the company, which Pen presently tried to 
 dispel by making a great rattling and noise. The silence of course 
 departed at Mr. Arthur's noise, but the gloom remained and deepened, 
 as the darkness does in a vault if you light up a single taper in it. 
 Pendennis tried to describe, in a jocular manner, the transactions of 
 the night previous, and attempted to give an imitation of Costigan 
 vainly expostulating with the check-taker at Vauxhall. It was not a 
 good imitation. What stranger can imitate that perfection ? Nobody 
 laughed. Mrs. Bolton did not in the least understand what part Mr. 
 Pendennis was performing, and whether it was the check-taker or the 
 Captain he was taking off. Fanny wore an alarmed face, and tried a 
 timid giggle ; old Mr. Bows looked as glum as when he fiddled in the 
 orchestra, or played a difficult piece upon the old piano at the Back f 
 Kitchen. Pen felt that his story was a failure ; his voice sank and | 
 dwindled away dismally at the end of it — flickered, and went out ; and | 
 it was all dark again. You could hear the ticket-porter, who lolls * 
 
374 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 about Shepherd's Inn^ as he passed on the flags under the archway : 
 the clink of his boot-heels was noted by everybody. 
 
 You were coming to see me^ sir^" Mr. Bows said. Won't you 
 have the kindness to walk up to my chambers with me ? You do them 
 a great honour, I am sure. They are rather high up ; but " 
 
 Oh ! I live in a garret myself, and Shepherd's Inn is twice as 
 cheerful as Lamb Court," Mr. Pendennis broke in. 
 
 I knew that you had third-floor apartments," Mr. Bows said ; 
 and was going to say — you will please not take my remark as dis- 
 courteous — that the air up three pair of stairs is wholesomer for 
 gentlemen than the air of a porter's lodge." 
 
 Sir ! *' said Pen, whose candle flamed up again in his wrath, and 
 who was disposed to be as quarrelsome as men are when they are in the 
 wrong. Will you permit me to choose my society without " 
 
 You were so polite as to say that you were about to honour my 
 'umble domicile with a visit," Mr. Bows said, with his sad voice. 
 
 Shall I show you the way.^ Mr. Pendennis and I are old friends, 
 Mrs. Bolton — very old acquaintances ; and at the earliest dawn of his 
 life we crossed each other." 
 
 The old man pointed towards the door with a trembling finger, and 
 a hat in the other hand, and in an attitude slightly theatrical ; so were 
 his words when he spoke somewhat artificial, and chosen from the 
 vocabulary which he had heard all his life from the painted lips of the 
 orators before the stage-lamps. But he was not acting or masquerading, 
 as Pen knew very well, though he was disposed to pooh-pooh the old 
 fellow's melodramatic airs. ^' Come along, sir," he said, as you are 
 so very pressing. Mrs. Bolton, I wish you a good day. Good-bye, 
 Miss Fanny ; 1 shall always think of our night at Vauxhall with 
 pleasure; and be sure I will remember the theatre-tickets." And he 
 took her hand, pressed it, was pressed by it, and was gone. 
 
 What a nice young man, to be sure ! " cried Mrs. Bolton. 
 
 D'you think so. Ma } " said Fanny. 
 
 I was a-thinkin' who he was like. When I was at the Wells with 
 Mrs. Serle," Mrs. Bolton continued, looking through the window- 
 curtain after Pen, as he went up the court with Bows, — there was a 
 young gentleman from the City, that used to come in a tilbry, in a 
 white 'at, the very image of him, ony his whiskers was black, and Mr. 
 P.'s is red." 
 
 Law, Ma ! they are a most beautiful hawburn," Fanny said. 
 ^^He used to come for Emly Budd, who danced Columbine in 
 ^ 'Arleykin 'Ornpipe, or the Battle of Navarino,' when Miss De la 
 Bosky was took ill — a pretty dancer, and a fine stage figure of a 
 woman — and he was a great sugar-baker in the City, with a country 
 'ouse at 'Omerton ; and he used to drive her in the tilbry down Gos- 
 well Street Road; and one day they drove and was married at St. 
 Bartholomew's Church, Smithfield, where they 'ad their bands read 
 quite private ; and she now keeps her carriage, and I sor her name in 
 the paper as patroness of the Manshing-House Ball for the Washy- 
 women's Asylum. And look at Lady Mirabel — Capting Costigan's 
 daughter — she was profeshnl, as all very well know." Thus, and 
 more to this purpose^ Mrs. Bolton spoke, now peeping through the 
 
PENDENNIS 375 
 
 window-curtain, now cleaning the mugs and plates, and consigning 
 them to their place in the corner cupboard; and finishing her speech 
 as she and Fanny shook out and folded up the dinner-cloth between 
 them, and restored it to its drawer in the table. 
 
 Although Costigan had once before been made pretty accurately 
 to understand what Pen s pecuniary means and expectations were, 1 
 suppose Cos had forgotten the information acquired at Chatteris years 
 affof or had been induced by his natural enthusiasm to exaggerate his 
 friend's income. He had described Fairoaks Park m the most glowing 
 terms to Mrs. Bolton, on the preceding evening, as he was walking 
 about with her during Pen's little escapade with Fanny, had dilated 
 upon the enormous wealth of Pen's famous uncle, the Major, and 
 shown an intimate acquaintance with Arthur's funded and landed 
 property. Very likely Mrs. Bolton, in her wisdom, had speculated 
 upon these matters during the night; and had had visions of Fanny 
 driving in her carriage, like Mrs. Bolton's old comrade, the dancer ot 
 Sadler's Wells. , . , . v t_ 
 
 In the last operation of table-cloth folding, these two foolish women, 
 of necessity, came close together ; and as Fanny took the cloth and 
 gave it the last fold, her mother put her finger under the young girl s 
 chin and kissed her. Again the red signal flew out, and fluttered on 
 Fanny's cheek. What did it mean ? It was not alarm this time. It 
 was pleasure which caused the poor little Fanny to blush so. Poor 
 little Fanny ! What ! is love sin, that it is so pleasant at the begin- 
 ning, and so bitter at the end ? XI, 4. 1, «o 
 After the embrace, Mrs. Bolton thought proper to say that she was 
 a-ffoing out upon business, and that Fanny must keep the lodge ; 
 which Fanny, after a very faint objection indeed, consented to do. bo 
 Mrs. Bolton took her bonnet and market-basket, and departed ; and 
 the instant she was gone, Fanny went and sate by the window which 
 commanded Bows's door, and never once took her eyes away from that 
 quarter of Shepherd's Inn. , . . x- +1,^ 
 Betsy-Jane and Ameliar-Ann were buzzing m one corner ot the 
 place, and making believe to read out of a picture-book, which one ot 
 them held topsy-turvy. It was a grave and dreadful tract, ot Mr. 
 Bolton's collection. Fanny did not hear her sisters prattling over it. 
 She noticed nothing but Bows's door. v i.x j u i. a 
 At last she gave a little shake, and her eyes lighted up. He had 
 come out. He would pass the door again. But her poor little 
 countenance fell in an instant more. Pendennis, indeed, came out; 
 but Bows followed after him. They passed under the archway together. 
 He only took off his hat, and bowed as he looked in. He did not stop 
 to speak. 
 
 In three or four minutes— Fanny did not know how long, but she 
 looked furiously at him when he came into the lodge— Bows returned 
 alone, and entered into the porter's room. 
 
 " Where's your Ma, dear.? " he said to Fanny. 
 
 "I don't know," Fanny said, with an angry toss.^^ ''I dont toUows 
 Ma's steps wherever she goes, I suppose, Mr. Bows." i i i 
 
 Am I my mother's keeper Bows said, with his usual melancholy 
 bitterness. Come here, Betsy-Jane and Amelia-Ann ; I've brought 
 
376 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 a cake for the one who can read her letters best^ and a cake for the 
 other who can read them the next best. " 
 
 When the young ladies had undergone the examination through 
 which Bows put them^ they were rewarded with their gingerbread 
 medals^ and went off to discuss them in the court. Meanwhile Fanny 
 took out some work, and pretended to busy herself with it, her mind 
 being in great excitement and anger as she plied her needle. Bows 
 sate so that he could command the entrance from the lodge to the 
 street. But the person whom, perhaps, he expected to see, never 
 made his appearance again. And Mrs. Bolton came in from market, 
 and found Mr. Bows in place of the person whom she had expected to 
 see. The reader perhaps can guess what was his name. 
 
 The interview between Bows and his guest, when those two mounted 
 to the apartment occupied by the former in common with the descendant 
 of the Milesian kings, was not particularly satisfactory to either party. 
 Pen was sulky. If Bows had anything on his mind, he did not care to 
 deliver himself of his thoughts in the presence of Captain Costigan, 
 who remained in the apartment during the whole of Pen's visit ; having 
 quitted his bed-chamber, indeed, but a very few minutes before the 
 arrival of that gentleman. We have witnessed the deshabille of Major 
 Pendennis : will any man wish to be valet-de-chambre to our other 
 hero, Costigan } It would seem that the Captain, before issuing from 
 his bedroom, scented himself with otto of whisky. A rich odour of 
 that delicious perfume breathed from out him, as he held out the grasp 
 of cordiality to his visitor. The hand which performed that grasp 
 shook wofuUy : it was a wonder how it could hold the razor with 
 which the poor gentleman daily operated on his chin. 
 
 Bows's room was as neat, on the other hand, as his comrade's was 
 disorderly. His humble wardrobe hung behind a curtain. His books 
 and manuscript music were trimly arranged upon shelves. A litho- 
 graphed portrait of Miss Fotheringay, as Mrs. Haller, with the 
 actress's sprawling signature at the corner, hung faithfully oyer thj 
 old gentleman's bed. Lady Mirabel wrote much better than Miss 
 Fotheringay had been able to do. Her Ladyship had laboured assi- 
 duously to acquire the art of penmanship since her marriage ; and, in 
 a common note of invitation or acceptance, acquitted herself very 
 genteelly. Bows loved the old handwriting best, though; the fair 
 artist's earlier manner. He had but one specimen of the new style, 
 a note in reply to a song composed and dedicated to Lady Mirabel, 
 by her most humble servant Robert Bows ; and which document was 
 treasured in his desk among his other state papers. He was teaching 
 Fanny Bolton now to sing and to write, as he had taught Emily in 
 former days. It was the nature of the man to attach himself to some- 
 thing. When Emily was torn from him he took a substitute : as a 
 man looks out for a crutch when he loses a leg, or lashes himself to a 
 raft when he has suffered shipwreck. Latude had given his heart to a 
 v/oman, no doubt, before he grew to be so fond of a mouse in the 
 Bastille. There are people who in their youth have felt and in- 
 spired an heroic passion, and end by being happy in the caresses, or 
 agitated by the illness, of a poodle. But it was hard upon Bows, and 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 377 
 
 grating to his feelings as a man and a sentimentalist^ that he should 
 find Pen again upon his track, and in pursuit of this little Fanny. 
 
 Meanwhile Costigan had not the least idea but that his company was 
 perfectly welcome to Messrs. Pendennis and Bows, and that the visit 
 of the former was intended for himself. He expressed himself greatly 
 pleased with that mark of poloightness, and promised, in his own mind, 
 that he would repay that obligation at least, which was not the only 
 debt which the Captain owed in life, by several visits to his young 
 friend. He entertained him affably with news of the day, or rather of 
 ten days previous ; for Pen, in his quality of journalist, remembered to 
 have seen some of the Captain's opinions in the Sporting and Theatrical 
 Newspaper, which was Costigan's oracle. He stated that Sir Charles 
 and Lady Mirabel were gone to Baden-Baden, and were most pressing 
 in their invitations that he should join them there. Pen replied, with 
 great gravity, that he had heard that Baden was very pleasant, and the 
 Grand Duke exceedingly hospitable to English. Costigan answered, 
 that the laws of hospitalitee bekeam a Grand J uke ; that he sariously 
 would think about visiting him ; and made some remarks upon the 
 splendid festivities at Dublin Castle, when His Excellency the Earl of 
 Portansherry held the Viceraygal Coort there, and of which he (Costi- 
 gan) had been a humble but pleased spectator. And Pen — as he heard 
 these oft-told well-remembered legends — recollected the time when he 
 had given a sort of credence to them, and had a certain respect for the 
 Captain. Emily and first love, and the little room at Chatteris, and 
 the kind talk with Bows on the bridge, came back to him. He felt 
 quite kindly disposed towards his two old friends ; and cordially shook 
 the hands of both of them when he rose to go away. 
 
 He had quite forgotten about little Fanny Bolton whilst the Captain 
 was talking, and Pen himself was absorbed in other selfish meditations. 
 He only remembered her again as Bows came hobbling down the stairs 
 after him, bent evidently upon following him out of Shepherd's Inn. 
 
 Mr. Bows's precaution was not a lucky one. The wrath of Mn 
 Arthur Pendennis rose at the poor old fellow's feeble persecution. 
 Confound him, what does he mean by dogging me ? thought Pen. And 
 he burst out laughing when he was in the Strand and by himself, as he 
 thought of the elder's stratagem. It was not an honest laugh, Arthur 
 Pendennis. Perhaps the thought struck Arthur himself, and he 
 blushed at his own sense of humour. 
 
 He went off to endeavour to banish the thoughts which occupied him, 
 whatever those thoughts might be, and tried various places of amuse- 
 ment with but indifferent success. He struggled up the highest stairs 
 of the Panorama ; but when he had arrived, panting, at the height of 
 the eminence, Care had come up with him, and was bearing him com- 
 pany. He went to the Club, and wrote a long letter home, exceedingly 
 witty and sarcastic, and in which, if he did not say a single word about 
 Vauxhall and Fanny Bolton, it was because he thought that subject, 
 however interesting to himself, would not be very interesting to his 
 mother and Laura. Nor could the novels or the library table fix his 
 attention, nor the grave and respectable Jawkins (the only man in 
 town), who wished to engage him in conversation; nor any of the 
 amusements which he tried, after flying from Jawkins. He passed a 
 
378 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Comic Theatre on his way home^ and saw Stunning Farce/' Roars 
 of Laughter/' Good Old English Fun and Frolic/' placarded in ver- 
 milion letters on the gate. He went into the pit, and saw the lovely 
 Mrs. Leary, as usual, in a man's attire ; and that eminent buffo actor, 
 Tom Horseman, dressed as a woman. Horseman's travestie seemed to 
 him a horrid and hideous degradation ; Mrs. Leary's glances and ankles 
 had not the least effect. He laughed again, and bitterly, to himself, 
 as he thought of the effect which she had produced upon him, on the 
 first night of his arrival in London, a short time — what a long long 
 time ago ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 IN OR NEAR THE TEMPLE GARDEN 
 
 Fashion has long deserted the green and pretty Temple Garden, in 
 which Shakespeare makes York and Lancaster to pluck the innocent 
 white and red roses which became the badges of their bloody wars ; and 
 the learned and pleasant writer of the Handbook of London " tells us 
 that the commonest and hardiest kind of rose has long ceased to put 
 forth a bud " in that smoky air. Not many of the present occupiers 
 of the buildings round about the quarter know or care, very likely, 
 whether or not roses grow there, or pass the old gate, except on their 
 way to chambers. The attorneys' clerks don't carry flowers in their 
 bags, or posies under their arms, as they run to the counsels' chambers 
 — the few lawyers who take constitutional walks think very little about 
 York and Lancaster, especially since the railroad business is over. 
 Only antiquarians and literary amateurs care to look at the gardens 
 with much interest, and fancy good Sir Roger de Coverley and Mr. 
 Spectator with his short face pacing up and down the road ; or dear 
 Oliver Goldsmith in the summer-house, perhaps meditating about the 
 next Citizen of the World," or the new suit that Mr. Filby, the 
 tailor, is fashioning for him, or the dunning letter that Mr. Newbery 
 has sent. Treading heavily on the gravel, and rolling majestically 
 along in a snuff-coloured suit, and a wig that sadly wants the barber's 
 powder and irons, one sees the Great Doctor step up to him (his Scotch 
 lackey following at the lexicographer's heels, a little the worse for port 
 wine that they had been taking at the Mitre), and Mr. Johnson asks 
 Mr. Goldsmith to come home and take a dish of tea with Miss Williams. 
 Kind faith of Fancy ! Sir Roger and Mr. Spectator are as real to us 
 now as the two doctors and the boozy and faithful Scotchman. The 
 poetical figures live in our memory just as much as the real personages, 
 — and as Mr. Arthur Pendennis was of a romantic and literary turn, 
 by no means addicted to the legal pursuits common in the neighbour- 
 hood of the place, we may presume that he was cherishing some such 
 poetical reflections as these, when, upon the evening after the events 
 recorded in the last chapter, the young gentleman chose the Temple 
 Gardens as a place for exercise and meditation. 
 
 On the Sunday evening, the Temple is commonly calm. The 
 chambers are for the most part vacant : the great lawyers are giving 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 379 
 
 grand dinner-parties at their houses in the Belgravian or Tyburnian 
 districts ; the agreeable young barristers are absent, attending those 
 parties, and paying their respects to Mr. Kewsys excellent claret, 
 i or Mr. Justice Ermine's accomplished daughters : the uninvited are 
 ! partaking of the economic joint, and the modest half-pint of wine at 
 • the Club, entertaining themselves, and the rest of the company in the 
 I club-room, with circuit jokes and points of wit and law. Nobody is in 
 chambers at all, except poor Mr. Cockle, who is ill, and whose laundress 
 I is making him gruel ; or Mr. Toodle, who is an amateur of the flute, 
 ; and whom you may hear piping solitary from his chambers in the 
 second floor ; or young Tiger, the student, from whose open windows 
 comes a great gush of cigar smoke, and at whose door are a quantity of 
 dishes and covers, bearing the insignia of Dick's or the Cock. But 
 ! stop ! Whither does Fancy lead us ? It is vacation time ; and, with 
 ! the exception of Pendennis, nobody is in chambers at all. 
 
 Perhaps it was solitude, then, which drove Pen into the garden ; for 
 although he had never before passed the gate, and had looked rather 
 carelessly at the pretty flower-beds, and the groups of pleased citizens 
 ! sauntering over the trim lawn and the broad gravel-walks by the river, 
 i on this evening it happened, as we have said, that the young gentleman, 
 who had dined alone at a tavern in the neighbourhood of the Temple, 
 took a fancy, as he was returning home to his chambers, to take a little 
 walk in the gardens, and enjoy the fresh evening air, and the sight of 
 the shining Thames. After walking for a brief space, and looking at 
 the many peaceful and happy groups round about him, he grew tired 
 of the exercise, and betook himself to one of the summer-houses which 
 flank either end of the main walk, and there modestly seated himself. 
 What were his cogitations ? The evening was delightfully bright and 
 calm ; the sky was cloudless ; the chimneys on the opposite bank were 
 not smoking ; the wharfs and warehouses looked rosy in the sunshine, 
 and as clean as if they, too, had washed for the holiday. The steamers 
 rushed rapidly up and down the stream, laden with holiday passengers. 
 The bells of the multitudinous City churches were ringing to evening 
 prayers,— such peaceful Sabbath evenings as this Pen may have remeni- 
 bered in his early days, as he paced, with his arm round his mother's 
 waist, on the terrace before the lawn at home. The sun was lighting up 
 the little Brawl, too, as well as the broad Thames, and sinking downwards 
 majestically behind the Clavering elms, and the tower of the familiar 
 village church. Was it thoughts of these, or the sunset merely, that 
 caused the blush on the young man's face.^ He beat time on the 
 bench to the chorus of the bells without ; flicked the dust off his shining 
 boots with his pocket-handkerchief, and starting up, stamped with his 
 foot and said, "No, by Jove, I'll go home." And with this resolution, 
 which indicated that some struggle as to the propriety of remaining 
 where he was, or of quitting the garden, had been going on in his 
 mind, he stepped out of the summer-house. 
 
 He nearly knocked down two little children, who did not indeed 
 reach much higher than his knee, and were trotting along the gravel- 
 walk, with their long blue shadows slanting towards the east. 
 
 One cried out Oh ! " the other began to laugh ; and with a know- 
 ing little infantine chuckle, said, " Missa Pen-dennis ! " And Arthur, 
 
380 PENDENNIS j 
 
 looking down^ saw his two little friends of the day before, Mesdemoiselles I 
 Ameliar-Ann and Betsy-Jane. He blushed more than ever at seeing [ 
 them, and seizing the one whom he had nearly upset, jumped her up \ 
 into the air, and kissed her : at which sudden assault Ameliar-Ann [ 
 began to cry in great alarm. | 
 This cry brought up instantly two ladies in clean collars and new [ 
 ribbons, and grand shawls, namely : Mrs. Bolton in a rich scarlet i 
 Caledonian cashmere, and a black silk dress ; and Miss F. Bolton 
 with a yellow scarf and a sweet sprigged muslin, and a parasol — quite 
 the lady. Fanny did not say one single word : though her eyes flashed 
 a welcome, and shone as bright — as bright as the most blazing windows 
 in Paper Buildings. But Mrs. Bolton, after admonishing Betsy-Jane, 
 said, Lor, sir — how very odd that we should meet you year ! I 'ope 
 you 'ave your 'ealth well, sir. — Ain't it odd, Fanny, that we should 
 meet Mr. Pendennis ? " What do you mean by sniggering, Mesdames ? 
 When young Croesus has been staj^ing at a country house, have you 
 never, by any singular coincidence, been walking with your Fanny in i: 
 the shrubberies.^ Have you and your Fanny never happened to be I 
 listening to the band of the Heavies at Brighton, when young De Boots ^ 
 and Captain Padmore came clinking down the Pier } Have you and I 
 your darling Frances never chanced to be visiting old widow Wheezy i 
 at the cottage on the common, when the young curate has stepped in 
 with a tract adapted to the rheumatism .f* Do you suppose that, if 
 singular coincidences occur at the Hall, they don't also happen at I 
 the Lodge ? 
 
 It was a coincidence no doubt : that was all. In the course of the i 
 conversation on the day previous, Mr. Pendennis had merely said, in i 
 the simplest way imaginable, and in reply to a question of Miss Bolton, : 
 that although some of the courts were gloomy, parts of the Temple t 
 were very cheerful and agreeable, especially the chambers looking on 
 the river and around the gardens, and that the gardens were a very 
 pleasant walk on Sunday evenings and frequented by a great number 
 of people — and here, by the merest chance, all our acquaintances met 
 together, just like so many people in genteel life. What could be 
 more artless, good-natured, or natural ? 
 
 Pen looked very grave, pompous, and dandified. He was unusually 
 smart and brilliant in his costume. His white duck trousers and white 
 hat, his neckcloth of many colours, his light waistcoat, gold chains, and 
 shirt-studs, gave him the air of a prince of the blood at least. How his 
 splendour became his figure ! Was anybody ever like him ? some one 
 thought. He blushed — how his blushes became him ! the same indi- 
 vidual said to herself The children, on seeing him the day before, had 
 been so struck with him, that after he had gone away they had been 
 playing at him. And Ameliar-Ann, sticking her little chubby fingers 
 into the arm-holes of her pinafore, as Pen was wont to do with his 
 waistcoat, had said, ^^Now, Bessy-Jane, I'll be Missa Pendennis." 
 Fanny had laughed till she cried, and smothered her sister with kisses 
 for that feat. How happy, too, she was to see Arthur embracing 
 the child ! 
 
 If Arthur was red, Fanny, on the contrary, was very worn and pale. 
 Arthur remarked it, and asked kindly why she looked so fatigued. 
 
 I 
 
[ 
 
 Copyright, Service &• Paton, 1897. 
 
"NlV£RSJTyof!H|NO!S. 
 
FENDENNIS 381 
 
 I was awake all night/' said Fanny, and began to blush a little. 
 I put out her candle, and hordered her to go to sleep and leave off 
 readin /' interposed the fond mother. 
 
 You were reading ! And what was it that interested you so t 
 1 asked Pen, amused. 
 
 Oh, it's so beautiful ! " said Fanny. 
 (( What ? " 
 
 ' Walter Lorraine/ " Fanny sighed out. How I do hate that 
 Neara— Nsera— I don't know the pronunciation. And how I love 
 Leonora, and Walter ; oh, how dear he is ! " 
 
 How had Fanny discovered the novel of Walter Lorraine, and 
 that Pen was the author ? This little person remembered every single 
 word which Mr. Pendennis had spoken on the night previous, and how 
 he wrote in books and newspapers. What books ? She was so eager to 
 know, that she had almost a mind to be civil to old Bows, who was 
 suffering under her displeasure since yesterday, but she determined first 
 to make application to Costigan. She began by coaxing the Captain 
 and smiling upon him in her most winning way, as she helped to arrange 
 his dinner and set his humble apartment in order. She was sure his linen 
 wanted mending (and indeed the Captain's linen-closet contained some 
 curious specimens of manufactured flax and cotton). She would mend 
 his shirts— «// his shirts. What horrid holes— what funny holes 1 She 
 put her little face through one of them, and laughed at the old warrior 
 in the most winning manner. She would have made a funny httle 
 picture looking through the holes. Then she daintily removed Costigan's 
 dinner things, tripping about the room as she had seen the dancers do 
 at the play ; and she danced to the Captain's cupboard, and produced 
 his whisky-bottle, and mixed him a tumbler, and must taste a drop of 
 it— a little drop ; and the Captain must sing her one of his songs, his 
 dear songs, and teach it to her. And when he had sung an Irish melody 
 in his rich quavering voice, fancying it was he who was fascinating the 
 little Siren, she put her little question about Arthur Pendennis and his 
 novel, and having got an answer, cared for nothing more, but left the 
 Captain at the piano about to sing her another song, and the dmner- 
 tray in the passage, and the shirts on the chair, and ran downstairs, 
 quickening her pace as she sped. 
 
 Captain Costigan, as he said, was not a litherary cyarkter, nor had 
 he as yet found time to peruse his young friend's ellygant perfaurum- 
 ance, though he intended to teak an early opporchunitee of purchasing 
 a cawpee of his work. But he knew the name of Pen's novel from the 
 fact that Messrs. Finucane, Bludyer, and other frequenters of the Back 
 Kitchen, spoke of Mr. Pendennis (not all of them with great friendship ; 
 for Bludyer called him a confounded coxcomb, and Hoolan wondered 
 that Doolan did not kick him, &c.) by the sobriquet of Walter Lorraine, 
 —and was hence enabled to give Fanny the information which she 
 required. 
 
 And she went and ast for it at the libery," Mrs. Bolton said,-- 
 " several liberies— and some 'ad it and It was hout, and some 'adn't 
 it. And one of the liberies as 'ad it wouldn't let 'er 'ave it without a 
 sovering; and she 'adn't one, and she came back a-crying to me— 
 didn't you, Fanny — and I gave her a sovering." 
 
382 PENDENNIS I 
 
 1 
 
 And^ oh^ I was in such a fright lest any one should have come to [ 
 the libery and took it while I was away^" Fanny said, her cheeks and | 
 eyes glowing. And, oh, I do like it so ! " \ 
 
 Arthur was touched by this artless sympathy, immensely flattered I 
 and moved by it. ^^Do you like it.^ " he said. If you will come up \ 
 to my chambers I will — No, I will bring you one — no, I will send you i 
 one. Good night. Thank you, Fanny. God bless you. I mustn't |l 
 stay with you. Good-bye, good-bye. " And, pressing her hand once, L 
 and nodding to her mother and the other children, he strode out of the [ 
 gardens. f 
 
 He quickened his pace as he went from them, and ran out of the gate | 
 talking to himself. ^^Dear, dear little thing," he said, — darling j 
 little Fanny ! You are worth them all. I wish to heaven Shandon ! 
 was back. I'd go home to my mother. I mustn't see her. I won't. 
 I won't, so help me " f 
 
 As he was talking thus, and running, the passers-by turning to look | 
 at him, he ran against a little old man, and perceived it was Mr. Bows, i 
 Your very 'umble servant, sir," said Mr. Bows, making a sarcastic \ 
 bow, and lifting his old hat from his forehead. ; 
 
 I wish you a good day," Arthur answered sulkily. Don't let me I 
 detain you, or give you the trouble to follow me again. I am in a 
 hurry, sir ; good evening. " 
 
 Bows thought Pen had some reason for hurrying to his rooms. 
 
 Where are they ? " exclaimed the old gentleman. You know 
 whom I mean. They're not in your rooms, sir, are they ^ They told 
 Bolton they were going to church at the Temple ; they weren't there. 
 They are in your chambers : they mustn't stay in your chambers, Mr. 
 Pendennis. " 
 
 Damn it, sir ! " cried out Pendennis fiercely. Come and see if 
 they are in my chambers : here's the court and the door — come in and 
 see." And Bows, taking off his hat and bowing first, followed the 
 young man. 
 
 They were not in Pen's chambers, as we know. But when the 
 gardens were closed, the two women, who had had but a melancholy 
 evening's amusement, walked away sadly with the children, and they 
 entered into Lamb Court, and stood under the lamp-post which 
 cheerfully ornaments the centre of that quadrangle, and looked up 
 to the third floor of the house where Pendennis's chambers were, and 
 where they saw a light presently kindled. Then this couple of fools 
 went away, the children dragging wearily after them, and returned to 
 Mr. Bolton, who was immersed in rum-and-water at his lodgings in 
 Shepherd's Inn. 
 
 Mr. Bows looked round the blank room which the young man occu- 
 pied, and which had received but very few ornaments or additions since 
 the last time we saw them. Warrington's old bookcase and battered 
 library. Pen's writing-table with its litter of papers, presented an 
 aspect cheerless enough. Will you like to look in the bedrooms, Mr. 
 Bows, and see if my victims are there ? " he said bitterly ; or whether 
 I have made away with the little girls, and hid them in the coal-hole .f*" 
 Your word is sufficient, Mr. Pendennis," the other said, in his sad 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 383 
 
 itone. You say they are not here, and I know they are not. And 1 
 hope they never have been here, and never will come." 
 
 Upon my word, sir, you are very good, to choose my acquaintances 
 
 I for me," Arthur said, in a haughty tone; ^^and to suppose that any- 
 
 ibody would be the worse for my society. I remember you and owe 
 you kindness from old times, Mr. Bows; or I should speak more 
 angrily than I do, about a very intolerable sort of persecution to which 
 you seem inclined to subject me. You followed me out of your Inn 
 
 i yesterday, as if you wanted to watch that I shouldn't steal something." 
 
 iHere Pen stammered and turned red, directly he had said the words ; 
 he felt he had given the other an opening, which Bows instantly took.^^ 
 " I do think you came to steal something, as you say the words, sir," 
 Bows said. Do you mean to say that you came to pay a visit to poor 
 old Bows, the fiddler.^ or to Mrs. Bolton, at the porters lodge? Oh 
 fie ! Such a fine gentleman as Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, doesn't 
 condescend to walk up to my garret, or to sit in a laundress's kitchen, 
 
 ibut for reasons of his own. And my belief is that you came to steal a 
 
 i pretty girl's heart away, and to ruin it, and to spurn it afterwards, Mr. 
 Arthur Pendennis. That's what the world makes of you young dandies, 
 
 \ you gentlemen of fashion, you high and mighty aristocrats, that trample 
 upon the people. It's sport to you, but what is it to the poor, think 
 
 i you ; the toys of your pleasures, whom you play with, and whom you 
 fling into the streets when you are tired } I know your order, sir. I 
 know your selfishness and your arrogance, and your pride. Wh^t 
 does it matter to my lord that the poor man's daughter is made miser- 
 able, and her family brought to shame } You must have your pleasures, 
 and the people of course must pay for them. What are we made for, 
 but for that? It's the way with you all— the way with you all, sir." 
 
 Bows was speaking beside the question, and Pen had his advantage 
 here, which he was not sorry to take— not sorry to put off the debate 
 from the point upon which his adversary had first engaged it. Arthur 
 broke out with a sort of laugh, for which he asked Bows s pardon. 
 
 Yes, I am an aristocrat," he said ; ^Mn a palace up three pair of 
 stairs, with a carpet nearly as handsome as yours, Mr. Bows. My life 
 is passed in grinding the people, is it?— in ruining virgins and robbing 
 the poor? My good sir, this is very well in a comedy, where Job 
 Thornberry slaps his breast, and asks my Lord how dare he trample on 
 an honest man and poke out an Englishman's fireside ; but in real life, 
 Mr. Bows, to a man who has to work for his bread as much as you 
 do— how can you talk about aristocrats tyrannising over the people ? 
 Have I ever done you a wrong? or assumed airs of superiority over 
 you? Did you not have an early regard for me— in days when we 
 were both of us romantic young fellows, Mr. Bows? Come, don't be 
 angry with me now, and let us be as good friends as we were before." 
 
 Those days were very different," Mr. Bows answered; ^^and Mr. 
 Arthur Pendennis was an honest, impetuous young fellow then ; rather 
 selfish and conceited, perhaps, but honest. And I liked you then, 
 because you were ready to ruin yourself for a woman." 
 "And now, sir? Arthur asked. 
 
 " And now times are changed, and you want a woman to ruin her- 
 self for you/' Bows answered. " I know this child, sir. I've always 
 
384 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 said this lot was hanging over her. She has heated her little brain 
 with novels_, until her whole thoughts are about love and lovers^ and 
 she scarcely sees that she treads on a kitchen floor. I have taught the 
 little thing. I am fond of the girl^ sir. I'm a lonely old man ; I lead 
 a life that I don't like^ among boon companions, who make me melan- 
 choly. I have but this child that I care for. Have pity upon me, and 
 don't take her away from me_, Mr. Pendennis — don t take her away. " 
 
 The old man's voice broke as he spoke. Its accents touched Pen, 
 much more than the menacing or sarcastic tone which Bows had com- 
 menced by adopting. | 
 
 Indeed," said he kindly, you do me a wrong if you fancy I intend 
 one to poor little Fanny. I never saw her till Friday night. It was 
 the merest chance that our friend Costigan threw her into my way. I 
 have no intentions regarding her — that is " 
 
 ^^That is, you know very well that she is a foolish girl, and her 
 mother a foolish woman, — that is, you meet her in the Temple Gardens, 
 and of course without previous concert, — that is, that when I found 
 her yesterday, reading the book you've wrote, she scorned me," Bows 
 said. What am I good for but to be laughed at } a deformed old 
 fellow like me ; an old fiddler that wears a threadbare coat, and gets 
 his bread by playing tunes at an alehouse } You are a fine gentleman, 
 you are. You wear scent in your handkerchief, and a ring on your 
 finger. You go to dine with great people. Who ever gives a crust to 
 old Bows ? And yet I might have been as good a man as the best of ^ 
 you. I might have been a man of genius, if I had had the chance ; ay, 
 and have lived with the master-spirits of the land. But everything has 
 failed with me. I'd ambition once, and wrote plays, poems, music — 
 nobody would give me a hearing. I never loved a woman but she 
 laughed at me ; and here I am in my old age alone — alone ! Don't 
 take this girl from me, Mr. Pendennis, I say again. Leave her with 
 me a little longer. She was like a child to me till yesterday. Why 
 did you step in, and make her mock my deformity and old age } " 
 
 I am guiltless of that, at least," Arthur said, with something of a 
 sigh. Upon my word of honour, I wish I had never seen the girl. 
 My calling is not seduction, Mr. Bows. I did not imagine that I had 
 made an impression on poor Fanny, until — until to-night. And then, 
 sir, I was sorry, and was flying from my temptation as you came upon 
 me. And," he added, with a glow upon his cheek, which, in the 
 gathering darkness, his companion could not see, and with an audible 
 tremor in his voice, ^^I do not mind telling you, sir, that on this 
 Sabbath evening, as the church bells were ringing, I thought of my 
 ow^ hon^e, and of women angelically pure and good, who dwell there ; 
 and I was running hither, as I met you, that I might avoid the danger 
 which besets me, and ask strength of God Almighty to do my duty." 
 
 After these words from Arthur a silence ensued, and when the con- 
 versation was resumed by his guest, the latter spoke in a tone which 
 was much more gentle and friendly. And on taking farewell of Pen, 
 Bows asked leave to shake hands with him, and with a very warm and 
 affectionate greeting on both sides, apologised to Arthur for having 
 mistaken him, and paid him some compliments which caused the 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 386 
 
 ( young man to squeeze his old friend's hand heartily again. And as 
 they parted at Pen's door^ Arthur said he had given a promise, and he 
 hoped and trusted that Mr. Bows might rely on it. 
 
 ^'Amen to that prayer/' said Mr. Bows, and went slowly down 
 the stair. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THE HAPPY VILLAGE AGAIN 
 
 Early in this history, we have had occasion to speak of the little 
 iown of Clavering, near which Pen's paternal home of Fairoaks stood, 
 md of some of the people who inhabited the place ; and as the society 
 :here was by no means amusing or pleasant, our reports concerning it 
 «^ere not carried to any very great lengtli. Mr. Samuel Huxter, the 
 gentleman whose acquaintance we lately made at Vauxhall, was one 
 )f the choice spirits of the little town, when he visited it during his 
 vacations, and enlivened the tables of his friends there by the wit of 
 Bartholomew's and the gossip of the fashionable London circles which 
 le frequented. 
 
 Mr. Hobnell, the young gentleman whom Pen had thrashed, in 
 jonsequence of the quarrel in the Fotheringay affair, was, whilst a 
 mpil at the Grammar School at Clavering, made very welcome at 
 ;he tea-table of Mrs. Huxter, Samuel's mother, and was free of the 
 Surgery, where he knew the way to the tamarind-pots, and could 
 cent his pocket-handkerchief with rose-water. And it was at this 
 leriod of his life that he formed an attachment for Miss Sophy Huxter, 
 rhom, on his father's demise, he married, and took home to his house 
 •f the Warren, a few miles from Clavering. 
 
 The family had possessed and cultivated an estate there for many 
 jears, as yeomen and farmers. Mr. HobneU's father pulled down 
 he old farm-house ; built a flaring new white-washed mansion, with 
 apacious stables ; had a piano in the drawing-room ; kept a pack of 
 larriers ; and assumed the title of Squire Hobnell. When he died 
 nd his son reigned in his stead, the family might be fairly considered 
 0 be established as county gentry. And Sam Huxter, in London, did 
 o great wrong in boasting about his brother-in-law's place, his hounds, 
 ^orses, and hospitality, to his admiring comrades at Bartholomew's, 
 ivery year, at a time commonly when Mrs. Hobnell could not leave 
 he increasing duties of her nursery, Hobnell came up to London for 
 
 lark, had rooms at the Tavistock, and he and Sam indulged in the 
 leasures of the town together. Ascot, the theatres, Vauxhall, and ' 
 he convivial taverns in the joyoms neighbourhood of Covent Garden, 
 ^ere visited by the vivacious squire, in company with his learned 
 rother. When he was in London, as he said, he liked to do as 
 K)ndon does, and to "go it a bit," and when he returned to the west 
 e took a new bonnet and shawl to Mrs. Hobnell, and relinquished' 
 )r country sports and occupations during the next eleven months, the 
 legant amusements of London life. 
 
 Sam Huxter kept up a correspondence with his relative, and supplied 
 
 2 B 
 
386 PENDENNIS 
 
 him with choice news of the metropolis, in return for the haskets of 
 hLTes parSes, and clouted cream which the squire and l"s good- 
 naW wife for;arded to Sam. A youth more bnlhant and distm- , 
 Shed tiiey did not know. He was the life and soul of their house, 
 when he made his appearance in his native place His songs, jokes and . 
 7un kept the Warren in a roar. He had saved their eldest darling s 
 me, by teking a fish-bone out of her throat : in fine, he was the delight | 
 
 "^As'iU-luck would have it. Pen again fell in with Mr Huxter, only ' 
 three days aftl" the rencontre at Vauxhall. Faithful to his vow, he 
 Snot been to see little Fanny. He was trying to drive her from 
 Msmind by occupation, or other mental excitement. .He laboured 
 tho^h not to much profit, incessantly l^i^'-o«'"V 1 ^i' ™ 
 canadtv of critic for the Pall Mall Gazette, made woful and, savage 
 onslaught on a poem and a romance which came I'f ^''"Z^?; J"^f. 
 ment These authors slain, he went to dine alone at the ly ^^^b of 
 the Polvanthus where the vast solitudes frightened him, and made him 
 £ more moody. He had been to more theatres for relaxation. 
 SwholThourwas roaring with laughter and applause, and he saw 
 IX ^IuZTfZTe that m^ade him slid. It would have damped the 
 spiSts ofthe buffoon on the stage to have seen Pen «£Xima ;,^^He 
 
 fehtn-ki^lrr^ira^ 
 
 fest^^/er Hampstead Common and Hendon lanes, and had got no sleep 
 «f nCht He would go to the Back Kitchen. It was a sort of comfort 
 tl hi^to tMnHie s/ould see Bows. Bows was there, veiT ca^n pr^^ 
 cirlin^at the old piano. Some tremendous comic songs ^^ele sung, 
 S made th^ roL crack vnth laughter. How sti.n.^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 he did not in the least regard. „ j^. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 387 
 
 Jolly night at Vauxhall— wasn't it ? " he said^ and winked in a very 
 i knowing way. 
 
 I'm glad you liked it/' poor Pen said^ groaning in spirit. 
 I was dev'lish cut — uncommon— been dining with some chaps at 
 j Greenwich. That was a pretty bit of muslin hanging on your arm— 
 who was she ? " asked the fascinating student. 
 
 The question was too much for Arthur. Have I asked you any 
 j questions about yourself^ Mr. Huxter } " he said. 
 
 ' I didn't mean any offence — beg pardon — hang it ! you cut up quite 
 j savage/' said Pen's astonished interlocutor. 
 
 Do you remember what took place between us the other night } " 
 Pen asked, with gathering wrath. You forget } Very probably. You 
 were tjpsy, as you observed just now, and very rude." 
 
 Haig it, sir, I asked your pardon," Huxter said, looking red. 
 
 YaU did certainly, and it was granted with all my heart, I am sure. 
 But if you recollect, I begged that you would have the goodness to omit 
 me from the list of your acquaintance for the future ; and when we met 
 in public, that you would not take the trouble to recognise me. Will 
 you please to remember this hereafter } and as the song is beginning, 
 permit me to leave you to the unrestrained enjoyment of the music." 
 
 He took his hat, and making a bow to the amazed Mr. Huxter, left 
 the table, as Huxter's comrades, after a pause of wonder, set up such 
 a roar of laughter at Huxter, as called for the intervention of the 
 president of the room; who bawled out, ''Silence, gentlemen; do 
 have silence for ' The Body Snatcher ! ' " which popular song began as 
 Pen left the Back Kitchen. He flattered himself that he had com- 
 manded.his temper perfectly. He rather wished that Huxter had been 
 pugnaciiDus. He would have liked to fight him or somebody. He 
 went home. The day's work, the dinner, the play, the whisky-and- 
 water, the quarrel— nothing soothed him. He slept no better than on 
 the previous night. 
 
 A few days afterwards, Mr. Sam Huxter wrote home a letter to Mr. 
 Hobnell in the country, of which Mr. Arthur Pendennis formed the 
 principal subject. Sam described Arthur's pursuits in London, and his 
 Bv 'ifounded insolence of behaviour to his old friends from home. He 
 said he was an abandoned criminal, a regular Don Juan, a fellow who, 
 wrhen he did come into the country, ought to be kept out of honest 
 r)eoples houses. He had seen him at Vauxhall, dancing with an innocent 
 ^irl in the lower ranks of life, of whom he was making a victim. He 
 iiad found out from an Irish gentleman (formerly in the army), who 
 Frequented a club of which he, Huxter, was a member, who the girl 
 ivas on whom this conceited humhuy was practising his infernal arts ; 
 md he thought he should warn her father, &c. &c.— The letter then 
 touched on general news, conveyed the writer's thanks for the last parcel 
 md the rabbits, and hinted his extreme readiness for further favours. 
 
 About once a year, as we have stated, there was occasion for a 
 3hristening at the Warren, and it happened that this ceremony took 
 place a day after Hobnell had received the letter of his brother-in-law 
 In town. The infant (a darling little girl) was christened Mira-Lucretia, 
 ifter Its two godmothers, Miss Portman and Mrs. Pybus of Clavering, 
 ind as of course Hobnell had communicated Sam's letter to his wife, 
 
 \ 
 
388 PENDENNIS 
 
 Mrs Hobnell imparted its horrid contents to her two gossips. A 
 pretty story it was, and prettily it was told throughout Clavering in 
 the course of that day. , , , ^ j i -i. 
 
 Mira did not— she was too much shocked to do so— speak on tne 
 matter to her mamma, but Mrs. Pybus had no such feelings of reserve. 
 She talked over the matter not only with Mrs. Portman, but with Mr. 
 and the Honourable Mrs. Simcoe, with Mrs. Glanders, her daughters 
 beinff to that end ordered out of the room, with Madame Fribsby, and, 
 in a word, with the whole of the Clavering society. Madame Fribsby, 
 looking furtively up at her picture of the Dragoon, and inwards into 
 her own wounded memory, said that men would be men, and as long 
 as they were men would be deceivers ; and she pensively quoted some 
 lines from Marmion," requesting to know where deceiving lovers 
 should rest ? Mrs. Pybus had no words of hatred, horror, contempt, 
 strong enough for a villain who could be capable of conduct so base. 
 This was what came of early indulgence, and insolence, and extrava- 
 gance, and aristocratic airs (it is certain that Pen had refused to drmk 
 tea with Mrs. Pybus), and attending the corrupt and horrid parties in 
 the dreadful modern Babylon ! Mrs. Portman was afraid that she 
 must acknowledge that the mothers fatal partiality had spoiled this 
 bov, that his literary successes had turned his head, and his horrid 
 passions had made him forget the principles which Doctor Portman had 
 instilled into him in earlv life. Glanders, the atrocious Captain ot 
 Dragoons, when informed of the occurrence by Mrs. Glanders, whistled 
 and made jocular allusions to it at dinner-time ; on which Mrs. Glanders 
 called him a brute, and ordered the girls again out of the room, as the 
 horrid Captain burst out laughing. Mr. Simcoe was calm under the 
 intelligence; but rather pleased than otherwise: it only served to 
 confirm the opinion which he had always had of that wretched young 
 man : not that he knew anything about him— not that he had read 
 one line of his dangerous and poisonous works ; Heaven forbid that 
 he should ! but what could be expected from such a youth, and such 
 frightful, such lamentable, such deplorable want of seriousness.-* Pen 
 formed the subject for a second sermon at the Clavering chapel ot 
 ease : where the dangers of London, and the crime of reading or 
 writing novels, were pointed out on a Sunday evening, to a large and 
 warm congregation. They did not wait to hear whether he was guilty 
 or not. They took his wickedness for granted : and with these ad- 
 mirable moralists, it was who should fling the stone at poor Pen. 
 
 The next day Mrs. Pendennis, alone and almost fainting with emotion, 
 and fatigue, walked or rather ran to Doctor Portman's house to consult 
 the good Doctor. She had had an anonymous letter— some Christian 
 had thought it his or her duty to stab the good soul who had never 
 done mortal a wrong— an anonymous letter with references to Scripture, 
 pointing out the doom of such sinners, and a detailed account ot Pen s 
 crime. She was in a state of terror and excitement pitiable to witness. 
 Two or three hours of this pain had aged her already. In ^er hi;st 
 moment of agitation she had dropped the letter, and Laura had read it. 
 Laura blushed when she read it ; her whole frame trembled, but it was 
 with anger. The cowards," she said.—'' It isn't true.— No, mother, 
 it isn't true." 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 889 
 
 It is true, and you've done it, Laura/' cried out Helen fiercely. 
 Why did you refuse him when he asked you ? Why did you hreak 
 my heart and refuse him ? It is you who led him into crime. It is 
 you who flung him into the arms of this — this woman. — Don't speak 
 to me.— Don't answer me. I will never forgive you, never ! Martha, 
 bring me my bonnet and shawl. I'll go out. I won't have you come 
 with me. Go away. Leave me, cruel girl ; why have you brought 
 this shame on me.^" And bidding her daughter and her servants keep 
 away from her, she ran down the road to Clavering. 
 
 Doctor Portman, glancing over the letter, thought he knew the 
 handwriting, and, of course, was already acquainted with the charge 
 made against poor Pen. Against his own conscience, perhaps (for the 
 worthy Doctor, like most of us, had a considerable natural aptitude for 
 receiving any report unfavourable to his neighbours), he strove to 
 console Helen ; he pointed out that the slander came from an anony- 
 mous quarter, and therefore must be the work of a rascal ; that the 
 charge might not be true — was not true, most likely — at least, that 
 Pen must be heard before he was condemned ; that the son of such a 
 mother was not likely to commit such a crime, &c. &c. 
 
 Helen at once saw through his feint of objection and denial. You 
 think he has done it," she said, — you know you think he has done 
 it. Oh, why did I ever leave him. Doctor Portman, or suffer him 
 away from me } But he can't be dishonest— pray God, not dishonest — 
 you don't think that, do you? Remember his conduct about that 
 other — person — how madly he was attached to her. He was an honest 
 boy then — he is now. And I thank God — yes, I fall down on my 
 knees and thank God he paid Laura. You said he was good— you did 
 yourself. And now — if this woman loves him — and you know they 
 must — if he has taken her from her home, or she tempted him, which 
 is most likely — why still, she must be his wife and my daughter. And 
 he must leave the dreadful world and come back to me — to his mother. 
 Doctor Portman. Let us go away and bring him back — yes — bring him 
 back— and there shall be joy for the — the sinner that repenteth. Let 
 us go now, directly, dear friend — this very " 
 
 Helen could say no more. She fell back and fainted. She was 
 carried to a bed in the house of the pitying Doctor, and the surgeon 
 was called to attend her. She lay all night in an alarming state. 
 Laura came to her, or to the Rectory rather ; for she would not see 
 Laura. And Doctor Portman, still beseeching her to be tranquil, and 
 growing bolder and more confident of Arthur s innocence as he wit- 
 nessed the terrible grief of the poor mother, wrote a letter to Pen 
 warning him of the rumours that were against him, and earnestly 
 praying that he would break off and repent of a connection so fatal to 
 his best interests and his soul's welfare. 
 
 And Laura ? — was her heart not wrung by the thought of Arthur s 
 crime and Helen's estrangement? Was it not a bitter blow for the 
 innocent girl to think that at one stroke she should lose all the love 
 which she cared for in the world ? 
 
390 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER LI 
 
 WHICH HAD VERY NEARLY BEEN THE LAST OF THE STORY 
 
 Doctor Portman's letter was sent off to its destination in London^ 
 and the worthy clergyman endeavoured to soothe down Mrs. Pendennis 
 into some state of composure until an answer should arrive which the 
 Doctor tried to think^ or^ at any rate^ persisted in sayings would be 
 satisfactory as regarded the morality of Mr. Pen. At least Helen's 
 wish of moving upon London^ and appearing in person to warn her 
 son of his wickedness, was impracticable for a day or two. The 
 apothecary forebade her moving even so far as Fairoaks for the first 
 day^ and it was not until the subsequent morning that she found her- I 
 self again back on her sofa at home_, with the faithful, though silent, 
 Laura nursing at her side. 
 
 Unluckily for himself and all parties, Pen never read that homily 
 which Doctor Portman addressed to him until many weeks after the 
 epistle had been composed ; and day after day the widow waited for 
 her son's reply to the charges against him ; her own illness increasing 
 with every day's delay. It was a hard task for Laura to bear the , 
 anxiety ; to witness her dearest friend's suffering ; worst of all, to | 
 support Helen's estrangement, and the pain caused to her by that ^ 
 averted affection. But it was the custom of this young lady, to the 
 utmost of her power, and by means of that gracious assistance which 
 Heaven awarded to her pure and constant prayers, to do her duty. 
 And as that duty was performed quite noiselessly, — while the supplica- 
 tions which endowed her with the requisite strength for fulfilling it 
 also took place in her own chamber, away from all mortal sight, — we, 
 too, must be perforce silent about these virtues of hers, which no more 
 bear public talking about, than a flower will bear to bloom in a ball- 
 iroom. This only we will say — that a good woman is the loveliest 
 iflower that blooms under heaven ; and that we look with love and 
 'wonder upon its silent grace, its pure fragrance, its delicate bloom of 
 beauty. Sweet aiid beautiful ! — the fairest and the most spotless ! — is 
 it not a pity to see them bowed down or devoured by Grief or Death 
 inexorable — wasting in disease — pining with long pain — or cut off by 
 sudden fate in their prime ? We may deserve grief— but why should 
 these be unhappy ? — except that we know that Heaven chastens those 
 whom it loves best ; being pleased, by repeated trials, to make these 
 pure spirits more pure. 
 
 So Pen never got the letter, although it was duly posted and faith- 
 fully discharged by the postman into his letter-box in Lamb Court, 
 and thence carried by the laundress to his writing-table with the rest 
 of his lordship's correspondence. 
 
 Those kind readers who have watched Mr. Arthur s career hitherto, 
 and have made, as they naturally would do, observations upon the 
 moral character and peculiarities of their acquaintance, have probably 
 discovered by this time what was the prevailing fault in Mr. Pen's 
 disposition, and who was that greatest enemy, artfully indicated in the 
 
PENBENNIS 391 
 
 ititle-paffe, with whom he had to contend. Not a few of us, my beloved 
 Dublic, have the very same rascal to contend with : a scoundrel who 
 Lkes every opportunity of bringing us into mischief, of plunging us 
 into quarrels, of leading us into idleness and unprofiteble company, 
 and what not. In a word, Pen's greatest enemy was^himself : and as 
 he had been pampering, andxoaxing, and indulging that individual all 
 his life, the rogue grew insolent, as all spoiled servants will be , and at 
 the slightest attempt to coerce him, or make him do that which was 
 unpleaLit to him, became frantically rude and unruly. A person 
 who is used to-Nmaking sacrifices— Laura, for instance, who had got 
 such a habit of giving up her own pleasure for others— can do the 
 business quite easily ; but Pen, unaccustomed as he was to any sort 
 of self-denial, suffered moodily when called on to pay his share, and 
 savaerely grumbled at being obliged to forego anything he liked. 
 
 He had resolved in his mighty mind, then, that he would not see 
 Fanny ; and he wouldn't. He tried to drive the thoughts of that 
 fascinating little person out of his head, by constant occupation, by 
 exercise, by dissipation and society. He worked then too much ; he 
 walked and rode too much ; he ate, drank, and smoked too much : 
 nor could all the cigars and the punch of which he partook drive little 
 Fanny's image out of his inflamed brain ; and at the end of a week ot 
 this discipline and self-denial our young gentleman was m bed with a 
 fever. Let the reader who has never had a fever in chambers pity the 
 wretch who is bound to undergo that calamity. ^ ^ 
 
 A committee of marriageable ladies, or of any Christian persons 
 interested in the propagation of the domestic virtues, should employ a 
 Cruikshank or a Leech, or some other kindly expositor of the follies ot 
 the day, to make a series of Designs representing the horrors ot a 
 bachelor's life in chambers, and leading the beholder to think of better 
 things, and a more wholesome condition. What can be more uncom- 
 fortable than the bachelor s lonely breakfast ?— with the black kettle in 
 the dreary fire in Midsummer : or, worse still, with the fire gone out 
 at Christmas, half-an-hour after the laundress has quitted the sitting- 
 room ? Into this solitude the owner enters shivering, and has to com- 
 mence his day by hunting for coals and wood ; and before he begins 
 : the work of a student, has to discharge the duties of a housemaid, vice 
 Mrs. Flanagan, who is absent without leave. Or, again, what can 
 form a finer subject for the classical designer than the bachelor s shirt 
 —that garment which he wants to assume just at dinner-time, and 
 which he finds without any buttons to fasten it? Then there is the 
 bachelor's return to chambers, after a merry Christmas holiday, spent 
 in a cosy country-house, full of pretty faces, and kind welcomes and 
 regrets. He leaves his portmanteau at the barber's in the Court : he 
 lights his dismal old candle at the sputtering little lamp on the stair : 
 he enters the blank familiar room, where the only tokens to greet him, 
 that show any interest in his personal welfare, are the Christmas bills, 
 which are lying in wait for him, amiably spread out on his reading- 
 table. Add to these scenes an appalling picture of the bachelor s ill- 
 ness, and the rents in the Temple will begin to fall from the day of 
 the publication of the dismal diorama. To be well m chambers is 
 melancholy, and lonely and selfish enough ; but to be ill in chambers 
 
I 
 
 392 PENDENNIS 1; 
 
 — to pass nights of pain and watchfulness — to long for the morning I 
 and the laundress — to serve yourself your own medicine hy your own I 
 watch — to have no other companion for long hours but your own ji 
 sickening fancies and fevered thoughts : no kind hand to give you 
 drink if you are thirsty, or to smooth the hot pillow that crumples i 
 under you, — this, indeed, is a fate so dismal and tragic, that we shall I 
 not enlarge upon its horrors : and shall only heartily pity those | 
 bachelors in the Temple who brave it every day. 
 
 This lot befell Arthur Pendennis after the various excesses which we j 
 have mentioned, and to which he had subjected his unfortunate brains. 1 
 One night he went to bed ill, and the next day awoke worse. His only ; 
 visitor that day, besides the laundress, was the printer's devil, from the 
 Pall Mall Gazette office, whom the writer endeavoured, as best he could, 
 to satisfy. His exertions to complete his work rendered his fever the 
 greater : he could only furnish a part of the quantity of " copy " 
 usually supplied by him ; and Shandon being absent, and Warrington 
 not in London to give a help, the political and editorial columns of the 
 Gazette looked very blank indeed ; nor did the sub-editor know how to 
 fill them. 
 
 Mr. Finucane rushed up to Pen's chambers, and found that gentle- 
 man so exceedingly unwell, that the good-natured Irishman set to work 
 to supply his place, if possible, and produced a series of political and 
 critical compositions, such as no doubt greatly edified the readers of the 
 periodical in which he and Pen were concerned. Allusions to the great- 
 ness of Ireland, and the genius and virtue of the inhabitants of that in- 
 jured country, flowed magnificently from Finucane's pen ; and Shandon, 
 the Chief of the paper, who was enjoying himself placidly at Boulogne- 
 sur-Mer, looking over the columns of the journal, which was forwarded 
 to him, instantly recognised the hand of the great Sub-editor, and said, 
 laughing, as he flung over the paper to his wife, Look here, Mary, 
 my dear, here is Jack at work again." Indeed, Jack was a warm friend 
 and a gallant partisan, and when he had the pen in hand, seldom 
 let slip an opportunity of letting the world know that RafFerty was the 
 greatest painter in Europe, and wondering at the petty jealousy of the 
 Academy, which refused to make him an R.A. : of stating that it was 
 generally reported at the West End, that Mr. Rooney, M.P., was 
 appointed Governor of Barataria ; or of introducing into the subject in 
 hand, whatever it might be, a compliment to the Round Towers or the 
 Giant's Causeway. And, besides doing Pen's work for him, to the best 
 of his ability, his kind-hearted comrade offered to forego his Saturday's 
 and Sunday's holiday, and pass those days of holiday and rest as nurse- 
 tender to Arthur, who, however, insisted that the other should not 
 forego his pleasure, and thankfully assured him that he could bear best 
 his malady alone. 
 
 Taking his supper at the Back Kitchen on the Friday night, after 
 having achieved the work of the paper, Finucane informed Captain 
 Costigan of the illness of their young friend in the Temple ; and re- 
 membering the fact two days afterwards, the Captain went to Lamb 
 Court and paid a visit to the invalid on Sunday afternoon. He found 
 Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, in tears in the sitting-room, and got a 
 bad report of the poor dear young gentleman within. Pen's condition 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 393 
 
 had so much alarmed her^ that she was obliged to have recourse to the 
 stimulus of brandy to enable her to support the grief which his illness 
 occasioned. As she hung about his bed, and endeavoured to minister 
 to him, her attentions became intolerable to the invalid, and he begged 
 her peevishly not to come near him. Hence the laundress's tears and 
 redoubled grief, and renewed application to the bottle, which she was 
 accustomed to use as an anodyne. The Captain rated the woman soundly 
 for her intemperance, and pointed out to her the fatal consequences 
 which must ensue if she persisted in her imprudent courses. 
 
 Pen, who was by this time in a very fevered state, was yet greatly 
 pleased to receive Costigan's visit. He heard the well-known voice 
 in his sitting-room, as he lay in the bedroom within, and called the 
 Captain eagerly to him, and thanked him for coming, and begged him 
 to take a chair and talk to him. The Captain felt the young man's 
 pulse with great gravity — (his own tremulous and clammy hand grow- 
 ing steady for the instant while his finger pressed Arthur's throbbing 
 vein)— the pulse was beating very fiercely— Pen's face was haggard 
 and hot — his eyes were bloodshot and gloomy; his ^^bird," as the 
 Captain pronounced the word, afterwards giving a description of his 
 condition, had not been shaved for nearly a week. Pen made his visitor 
 sit down, and tossing and turning in his comfortless bed, began to try 
 and talk to the Captain in a lively manner about the Back Kitchen, 
 about Vauxhall, and when they should go again, and about Fanny — 
 how was little Fanny ? 
 
 Indeed how was she ? We know how she went home very sadly on 
 the previous Sunday evening, after she had seen Arthur light his lamp 
 in his chambers, whilst he was having his interview with Bows. Bows 
 came back to his own rooms presently, passing by the lodge door, and 
 looking into Mrs. Bolton's, according to his word, as he passed, but 
 with a very melancholy face. She had another weary night that night. 
 Her restlessness wakened her little bedfellows more than once. She 
 daren't read more of Walter Lorraine " : Father was at home and 
 would suffer no light. She kept the book under her pillow, and felt 
 for it in the night. She had only just got to sleep, when the children 
 began to stir with the morning, almost as early as the birds. Though 
 she was very angry with Bows, she went to his room at her accustomed 
 hour in the day, and there the good-hearted musician began to talk 
 to her. 
 
 I saw Mr. Pendennis last night, Fanny," he said. 
 
 Did you ? I thought you did," Fanny answered, looking fiercely 
 at the melancholy old gentleman. 
 
 I've been fond of you ever since we came to live in this place," he 
 continued. " You were a child when I came ; and you used to like me, 
 Fanny, until three or four days ago : until you saw this gentleman." 
 
 And now, I suppose, you are going to say ill of him," said Fanny. 
 ''Do, Mr. Bows — that will make me like you better." 
 
 '' Indeed I shall do no such thing," Bows answered ; I think he is 
 a very good and honest young man." 
 
 '' Indeed ! you know that if you said a word against him, I would 
 never speak a word to you again — never ! " cried Miss Fanny ; and 
 clenched her little hand, and paced up and down the room. Bows 
 
394 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 noted ^ watched, and followed the ardent little creature with admiratioir 
 and gloomy sympathy. Her cheeks flushed, her frame trembled ; her 
 eyes beamed love, anger, defiance. You would like to speak ill of 
 him," she said ; but you daren't — ^you know you daren t ! " 
 
 I knew him many years since," Bows continued ; when he was 
 almost as young as you are, and he had a romantic attachment for our 
 friend the Captain's daughter — Lady Mirabel that is now." 
 
 Fanny laughed. I suppose there was other people, too, that had 
 romantic attachments for Miss Costigan," she said : I don't want to 
 hear about ^em." 
 
 He wanted to marry her ; but their ages were quite dispropor- 
 tionate : and their rank in life. She would not have him because he 
 had no money. She acted very wisely in refusing him ; for the two 
 would have been very unhappy, and she wasn't a fit person to go and 
 live with his family, or to make his home comfortable. Mr. Pendennis 
 has his way to make in the world, and must marry a lady of his own 
 rank. A woman who loves a man will not ruin his prospects, cause 
 him to quarrel with his family, and lead him into poverty and misery 
 for her gratification. An honest girl won't do that, for her own sake, 
 or for the man's." 
 
 Fanny's emotion, which but now had been that of defiance and anger, 
 here turned to dismay and supplication. "What do I know about 
 marrying, Bows ? " she said. " When was there any talk of it ? What 
 has there been between this young gentleman and me that's to make 
 people speak so cruel } It was not my doing ; nor Arthur's — Mr. Pen- 
 dennis' s — that I met him at Vauxhall. It was the Captain took me 
 and Ma there. We never thought of nothing wrong, I'm sure. He 
 came and rescued us, and was so very kind. Then he came to call and 
 ask after us : and very very good it was of such a grand gentleman to 
 be so polite to humble folks like us ! And yesterday Ma and me just 
 went to walk in the Temple Gardens, and—and "—here she broke out 
 with that usual, unanswerable female argument of tears— and cried, 
 " Oh ! I wish I was dead ! I wish I was laid in my grave ; and had 
 never, never seen him ! " 
 
 " He said as much himself, Fanny," Bows said ; and Fanny asked, 
 through her sobs. Why, why should he wish he had never seen her.^^ 
 Had she ever done him any harm } Oh, she would perish rather than 
 do him any harm. Whereupon the musician informed her of the con- 
 versation of the day previous, showed her that Pen could not and must 
 not think of her as a wife fitting for him, and that she, as she valued 
 her honest reputation, must strive too to forget him. And Fanny, 
 leaving the musician, convinced but still of the same mind, and pro- 
 mising that she would avoid the danger which menaced her, went back 
 to the porter's lodge, and told her mother all. She talked of her love 
 for Arthur, and bewailed, in her artless manner, the inequality of their 
 condition, that set barriers between them. "There's the Lady of 
 Lyons," Fanny said. " Oh, Ma ! how I did love Mr. Macready when 
 I saw him do it ; and Pauline, for being faithful to poor Claude, and 
 always thinking of him ; and he coming back to her an oflicer, through 
 all his dangers ! And if everybody admires Pauline— and I'm sure 
 everybody does, for being so true to a poor man— why should a gentle- 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 896 
 
 man be ashamed of loving a poor girl ? Not that Mr. Arthur loves me 
 — Oh^ no, no ! I ain't worthy of him ; only a princess is worthy of 
 such a gentleman as him. Such a poet !— writing so beautifully and 
 looking so grand ! I'm sure he's a nobleman, and of ancient family, 
 and kep' out of his estate. Perhaps his uncle has it. Ah, if I might, 
 ;oh, how I'd serve him, and work for him, and slave for him, that I 
 would. I wouldn't ask for more than that. Ma,— j^st allowed to 
 see him of a morning ; and sometimes he'd say ' How d'you do, Fanny? ' 
 or, ' God bless you, Fanny ! ' as he said on Sunday. And Fd work, 
 and work ; and I'd sit up all night, and read, and learn, and make 
 myself worthy of him. The Captain says his mother lives in the 
 country, and is a grand lady there. Oh, how I wish I might go and 
 be her servant. Ma ! I can do plenty of things, and work very neat ; 
 and — and sometimes he'd come home, and I should see him ! " 
 i The girl's head fell on her mother's shoulder as she spoke, and she 
 ! gave way to a plentiful outpouring of girlish tears, to which the matron, 
 of course, joined her own. You mustn't think no more of him, 
 Fanny," she said. If he don't come to you, he's a horrid, wicked man." 
 
 Don't call him so, mother," Fanny replied. "He's the best of 
 men, the best and the kindest. Bows says he thinks h« is unhappy at 
 \ leaving poor little Fanny. It wasn't his fault, was it, that we met 
 and it ain't his that I mustn't see him again. He says I mustn't— and 
 I mustn't, mother. He'll forget me, but I shall never forget him. No ! 
 I'll pray for him, and love him always— until I die— and I shall die, I 
 know I shall — and then my spirit will always go and be with him." 
 
 " You forget your poor mother, Fanny, and you'll break my heart 
 ! by goin' on so," Mrs. Bolton said. Perhaps you will see him. I'm 
 sure you'll see him. I'm sure he'll come to-day. If ever I saw a man 
 in love, that man is him. When Emily Budd's young man first came 
 about her, he was sent away by old Budd, a most respectable man, and 
 violoncello in the orchestra at the Wells : and his own fam'ly wouldn't 
 hear of it neither. But he came back. We all knew he would. Emily 
 always said so : and he married her ; and this one will come back too ; 
 and you mark a mother's words, and see if he don't, dear." 
 
 At this point of the conversation Mr. Bolton entered the lodge for 
 his evening meal. At the father's appearance, the talk between mother 
 and daughter ceased instantly. Mrs. Bolton caressed and cajoled the 
 surly undertaker's aide-de-camp, and said, "Lor, Mr. B., who'd have 
 thought to see you away from the Club of a Saturday night ! Fanny 
 dear, get your pa some supper. What will you have, B. ? The poor 
 gurl's got a gathering in her eye, or somethink in it — I was lookin' at 
 it just now as you came in." And she squeezed her daughter's hand 
 as a signal of prudence and secrecy ; and Fanny's tears were dried up 
 likewise ; and by that wondrous hypocrisy and power of disguise which 
 women practise, and with which weapons of defence nature endows 
 them, the traces of her emotion disappeared ; and she went and took 
 her work, and sate in the corner so demure and quiet, that the careless 
 male parent never suspected that anything ailed her. 
 
 Thus, as if Fate seemed determined to inflame and increase the poor 
 child's malady and passion, all circumstances and all parties round about 
 her urged it on. Her mother encouraged and applauded it ; and the 
 
306 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 very words which Bows used in endeavouring to repress her flame only 
 augmented this unlucky fever. Pen was not wicked and a seducer : 
 Pen was high-minded in wishing to avoid her. Pen loved her : the. 
 good and the great^ the magnificent youth^ with the chains of gold and 
 the scented auhurn hair ! And so he did : or so he would have loved 
 her five years hack^ perhaps^ before the world had hardened the ardent 
 and reckless boy — before he was ashamed of a foolish and imprudent 
 passion^ and strangled it as poor women do their illicit children^ not on 
 account of their crime^ but of the shame^ and from dread that the finger 
 of the world should point to them. 
 
 What respectable person in the world will not say he was quite right 
 to avoid a marriage with an ill-educated person of low degree^ whose 
 relations a gentleman could not well acknowledge^ and whose manners 
 would not become her new station ? — and what philosopher would not 
 tell him that the best thing to do with these little passions, if they 
 spring up, is to get rid of them, and let them pass over and cure them- 
 selves : that no man dies about a woman, or vice versa: and that one 
 or the other having found the impossibility of gratifying his or her 
 desire in the particular instance, must make the best of matters, forget 
 each other, look out elsewhere, and choose again ? And yet, perhaps, 
 there may be something said on the other side. Perhaps Bows was 
 right in admiring that passion of Pen's, blind and unreasoning as it was, 
 that made him ready to stake his all for his love ; perhaps, if self- 
 sacrifice is a laudable virtue, mere worldly self-sacrifice is not very much 
 to be praised ;— in fine, let this be a reserved point, to be settled by the 
 individual moralist who chooses to debate it. 
 
 So much is certain, that with the experience of the world which 
 Mr. Pen now had, he would have laughed at and scouted the idea of 
 marrying a penniless girl out of the kitchen. And this point being 
 fixed in his mind, he was but doing his duty, as an honest man, in 
 crushing any unlucky fondness which he might feel towards poor little 
 Fanny. 
 
 So she waited and waited in hopes that Arthur would come, bhe 
 waited for a whole week, and it was at the end of that time that the 
 poor little creature heard from Costigan of the illness under which 
 Arthur was suffering. 
 
 It chanced on that very evening after Costigan had visited Pen, that 
 Arthur's uncle the excellent Major arrived in town fii-om Buxton, 
 where his health had been mended, and sent his valet Morgan to make 
 inquiries for Arthur, and to request that gentleman to breakfast with 
 the Major the next morning. ITie Major was merely passing through 
 London on his way to the Marquis of Steyne's house of Stillbrook, 
 where he was engaged to shoot partridges. 
 
 Morgan came back to his master with a very long face. He had 
 seen Mr. Arthur ; Mr. Arthur was very bad indeed ; Mr. Arthur was 
 in bed with a fever. A doctor ought to be sent to him ; and Morgan 
 thought his case most alarming. 
 
 Gracious goodness ! this was sad news indeed. He had hoped that 
 Arthur could come down to Stillbrook : he had arranged that he 
 should go, and procured an invitation for his nephew from Lord 
 
 1 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 Stevne. He must go himself; he couldn't throw Lord Steyne over : 
 the fever might be catching: it might be measles: he had never 
 himself had the measles; they were dangerous when contracted at his 
 •e. Wasanybody with Mr. Arthur? 
 Morgan said there was somebody a-nussmg of Mr. Arthur 
 The Major then asked, Had his nephew taken any advice ? Morgan 
 said he had asked that q(iestion, and had been told that Mr. Pendennis 
 
 ' mX-^ maX was sincerely vexed at hearing of Arthur's calamity 
 He would have gone to him, but what good could it do Arthur that 
 he (the Major) should catch a fever? His own ailments rendered it 
 absolutely impossible that he should attend to anybody but himself. 
 But the young man must have advice— the best advice ; and Moigan 
 was straightway despatched with a note from Major Pendennis to his 
 friend Doctor Goodenough, who by good luck happened to be m London 
 and at home, and who quitted his dinner instantly, and whose carriage 
 was, in half-an-hour, in Upper Temple Lane, near Pen s chambers. 
 
 The Major had asked the kind-hearted physician to bring him news 
 of his nephew at the Club where he himself was dining, and in the 
 course of the night the Doctor made his appearance Jhe affair was 
 very serious: the patient was in a high fever : he had had Pen bled 
 instantly : and would see him the first thing m the mormng. The 
 Major went disconsolate to bed with this unfortunate news. When 
 Goodenough came to see him according to his promise the next day, the 
 Doctor had to listen for a quarter of an hour to an account of the Major s 
 own maladies, before the latter had leisure to hear about Arthur. 
 
 He had had a very bad night— his— his nurse said : at one hour he 
 had been delirious. It might end badly : his mother had better be 
 I sent for immediately. The Major wrote the letter to Mrs. Pendennis 
 i with the greatest alacrity, and at the same time with the most polite 
 i precautions. As for going himself to the lad, in his state it was im- 
 possible. " Could I be of any use to him, my dear Doctor ? he asked. 
 ' The Doctor, with a peculiar laugh, said. No : he didn t think the 
 Major could be of any use : that his own precious health required the 
 most delicate treatment, and that he had best go into the country and 
 stay : that he himself would take care to see the patient twice a day, 
 and do all in his power for him. , .p, u t ^ 
 
 The Major declared, upon his honour, that if he could be of any use 
 he would rush to Pen's chambers. As it was, Morgan should go and 
 see that everything was right. The Doctor must write to him by 
 every post to StiUbrook : it was but forty miles distant from London, 
 and if anything happened he would come up at any sacrifice. 
 
 Major Pendennis transacted his benevolence by deputy and by post. M 
 "What else could he do?" as he said. "Gad, you know, in these 
 cases, it's best not disturbing a fellow. If a poor fellow goes to the 
 bad, why. Gad, you know, he's disposed of. But in order to get well 
 (and in this, my dear Doctor, I'm sure you will agi-ee with me), the 
 best way is to keep him quiet— perfectly quiet." 
 
 Thus it was the old gentleman tried to satisfy his conscience : and he 
 went his way that day to StiUbrook by railway (for railways have sprung 
 up in the course of this narrative, though they have not quite pene- 
 
398 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 1 
 
 trated into Pen's country yet)^ and made his appearance^ in his usual 
 trim order and curly wi^_, at the dinner-table of the Marquis of Steyne. 
 But we must do the Major the justice to say^ that he was very unhappy 
 and gloomy in demeanour. Wagg and Wenham rallied him about his 
 low spirits ; asked whether he was crossed in love ? and otherwise 
 diverted themselves at his expense. He lost his money at whist after 
 dinner, and actually trumped his partner's highest spade. And the 
 thoughts of the suffering boy, of whom he was proud, and whom he 
 loved after his manner, kept the old fellow awake half through the 
 night, and made him feverish and uneasy. 
 
 On the morrow he received a note in a handwriting which he did not 
 know : it was that of Mr. Bows, indeed, saying that Mr. Arthur Pen- 
 denis had had a tolerable night ; and that as Doctor Goodenough had 
 stated that the Major desired to be informed of his nephew's health, 
 he, R. B., had sent him the news per rail. 
 
 The next day he was going out shooting, about noon, with some of j 
 the gentlemen staying at Lord Steyne's house ; and the company, wait- j 
 ing for the carriages, were assembled on the terrace in front of the 1 
 house, when a fly drove up from the neighbouring station, and a grey- ; 
 headed, rather shabby old gentleman jumped out, and asked for Major 
 Pendennis. It was Mr. Bows. He took the Major aside and spoke to 
 him ; most of the gentlemen round about saw that something serious ; 
 had happened, from the alarmed look of the Major's face. 
 
 Wagg said, It's a bailiff come down to nab the Major ; " but nobody . 
 laughed at the pleasantry. ; 
 
 Hullo ! What's the matter, Pendennis ? " cried Lord Steyne, with \ 
 his strident voice. Anything wrong } " ' I 
 
 ^^It's — it's — my boy that's dead," said the Major, and burst into a 1 
 sob — ^the old man was quite overcome. 
 
 Not dead, my Lord ; but very ill when I left London," Mr. Bows 
 said, in a low voice. i 
 
 A britzka came up at this moment as the three men were speaking. ] 
 The Peer looked at his watch. You've twenty minutes to catch the 
 mail-train. J ump in, Pendennis; and drive like h — , sir, do you hear.^^" 
 
 The carriage drove off swiftly with Pendennis and his companion, and i 
 let us trust that the oath will be pardoned to the Marquis of Steyne. \ 
 
 The Major drove rapidly from the station to the Temple, and found 
 a travelling carriage already before him, and blocking up the narrow : 
 Temple Lane. Two ladies got out of it, and were asking their way of 
 the porters ; the Major looked by chance at the panel of the carriage, : 
 and saw the worn-out crest of the Eagle looking at the Sun, and the 
 motto, Nec tenui penna," painted beneath. It was his brother's old 
 carriage, built many many years ago. It was Helen and Laura that 
 were asking their way to poor Pen's room. 
 
 He ran up to them ; hastily clasped his sister's arm and kissed her , 
 hand ; and the three entered into Lamb Court, and mounted the long 
 gloomy stair. 
 
 They knocked very gently at the door, on which Arthur's name was 
 written, and it was opened by Fanny Bolton. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 399 
 
 CHAPTER Lll 
 
 A CRITICAL CHAPTER 
 
 As Fanny saw the two ladies and the anxious countenance of the elder, 
 who regarded her with a look of inscrutable alarm and terror, the poor 
 o-'irl at once knew that Pen's mother was before her ; there was a re- 
 semblance between the widow's haggard eyes and Arthur s as he tossed 
 in his bed in fever. Fanny looked wistfully at Mrs. Pendennis and at 
 Laura afterwards; there was no more expression in the latter s face 
 than if it had been a mass of stone. Hard-heartedness and gloom dwelt 
 on the figures of both the new-comers ; neither showed any the famtest 
 ffleam of mercy or sympathy for Fanny. She looked desperately from 
 them to the Major behind them. Old Pendennis dropped his eyelids, 
 looking up ever so stealthily from under them at Arthur's poor little 
 
 nurse. « 
 
 <c wrote to you yesterday, if you please, ma'am," Fanny said, 
 trembling in every limb as she spoke ; and as pale as Laura, whose sad 
 menacing face looked over Mrs. Pendennis's shoulder. 
 
 Did you, madam ? " Mrs. Pendennis said. I suppose I may now 
 relieve you from nursing my son. I am his mother, you understand.'' 
 Yes, ma'am. I— this is the way to his—— Oh, wait a minute, 
 
 cried out Fanny. I must prepare you for his " 
 
 The widow, whose face had been hopelessly cruel and ruthless, here 
 started back with a gasp and a little cry, which she speedily stifled. 
 
 He's been so since yesterday," Fanny said, trembling very much, 
 and with chattering teeth. 
 
 A horrid shriek of laughter came out of Pen s room, whereof the 
 door was open ; and, after several shouts, the poor wretch began to 
 sing a college drinking-song, and then to hurray and to shout as if he 
 was in the midst of a wine party, and to thump with his fist against 
 the wainscot. He was quite delirious. 
 
 He does not know me, ma'am," Fanny said. 
 
 Indeed. Perhaps he will know his mother ; let me pass, if you 
 please, and go in to him." And the widow hastily pushed by little 
 Fanny, and through the dark passage which led into Pen's sitting- 
 room. Laura sailed by Fanny, too, without a word ; and Major Pen- 
 dennis followed them. Fanny sat down on a bench in the passage, 
 and cried, and prayed as well' as she could. She would have died for 
 him, and they hated her ! They had not a word of thanks or kindness 
 for her, the fine ladies. She sate there in the passage, she did not 
 I know how long. They never came out to speak to her. She sate 
 there until Doctor Goodenough came to pay his second visit that day ; he 
 found the poor little thing at the door. 
 
 ^^What, nurse How's your patient?" asked the good-natured 
 Doctor. Has he had any rest ? " 
 
 Go and ask them. They're inside," Fanny answered. 
 
 ^^Who? his mother .J*" 
 
 Fanny nodded her head and didn't speak. 
 
400 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 You must go to bed yourself, my poor little maid," said the Doctor. 
 You will be ill too, if you don't." 
 
 Oh, mayn't I come and see him ; mayn't I come and see him ? I 
 — I — love him so," the little girl said ; and as she spoke she fell down 
 on her knees and clasped hold of the Doctor's hand in such an agony 
 that to see her melted the kind physician's heart, and caused a mist to 
 come over his spectacles. 
 
 Pooh, pooh ! Nonsense ! Nurse, has he taken his draught? Has 
 he had any rest ? Of course you must come and see him. So must I." 
 
 They'll let me sit here, won't they, sir ? I'll never make no noise. 
 I only ask to stop here," Fanny said. On which the Doctor called her 
 a stupid little thing ; put her down upon the bench where Pen's printer's 
 devil used to sit so many hours ; tapped her pale cheek with his finger, 
 and bustled into the further. room. 
 
 Mrs. Pendennis was ensconced pale and solemn in a great chair by 
 Pen's bedside. Her watch was on the bed-table by Pen's medicines. 
 Her bonnet and cloaks were laid in the window. She had her Bible 
 in her lap, without which she never travelled* Her first movement, 
 after seeing her son, had been to take Fanny's shawl and bonnet, which 
 were on his drawers, and bring them out and drop them down upon 
 his study-table. She had closed the door upon Major Pendennis, and 
 Laura too ; and taken possession of her son. 
 
 She had had a great doubt and terror lest Arthur should not know 
 her ; but that pang was spared to her, in patt at least. Pen knew his 
 mother quite well, and familiarly smiled and nodded at her. When j 
 she came in, he instantly fancied that they were at home at Fairoaks ; j 
 and began to talk and chatter and laugh in a rambling wild way. | 
 Laura could hear him outside. His laughter shot shafts of poison into \ 
 her heart. It was true then. He had, been guilty — and with that ' 
 creature ! — an intrigue with a servant maid ; and she had loved him — 
 and he was dying most likely — raving and unrepentant. The Major | 
 
 I now and then hummed out a word of remark or consolation, which ' 
 Laura scarce heard. A dismal sitting it was for all parties ; and when j 
 ^ Goodenough appeared, he came like an angel into the room. 
 
 It is not only for the sick man, it is for the sick man's friends that 
 the Doctor comes. His presence is often as good for them as for the 
 patient, and they long for him yet more eagerly. How we have all 
 watched after him ! what an emotion the thrill of his carriage-wheels 
 in the street, and at length at the door, has made us feel ! how we 
 hang upon his words, and what a comfort we get from a smile or two, 
 if he can vouchsafe that sunshine to lighten our darkness ! Who hasn't 
 seen the mother prying into his face, to know if there is hope for the 
 sick infant that cannot speak, and that lies yonder, its little frame 
 battling with fever ? Ah, how she looks into his eyes ! What thanks 
 if there is light there ; what grief and pain if he casts them down, and 
 dares not say hope ! " Or it is the house-father who is stricken. The 
 terrified wife looks on, while the physician feels his patient's wrist, 
 smothering her agonies, as the children have been called upon to stay 
 their plays and their talk. Over the patient in the fever, the wife 
 expectant, the children unconscious, the Doctor stands as if he were 
 Fate, the dispenser of life and death : he must let the patient off this 
 
kzm fo'^ f^e liif/e §tr/ jaid 
 
 Copyright, Service & Paton, 1897 
 
«F THt 
 
 UNIVERSlTyc^ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 401 
 
 time : the woman prays so for his respite ! One can fancy how awful 
 the responsibility must be to a conscientious man : how cruel the 
 feeling that he has given the wrong remedy, or that it might have been 
 possible to do better : how harassing the sympathy with survivors, if 
 the case is unfortunate— how immense the delight of victory ! 
 
 Having passed through a hasty ceremony of introduction to the 
 new-comers, of whose arrival he had been made aware by the heart- 
 broken little nurse in waiting without, the Doctor proceeded to examine 
 the patient, about whose condition of high fever there could be no 
 mistake, and on whom he thought it necessary to exercise the strongest 
 antiphlogistic remedies in his power. He consoled the unfortunate 
 mother as best he might ; and giving her the most comfortable assur- 
 ances on which he could venture, that there was no reason to despair 
 yet, that everything might still be hoped from his youth, the strength 
 of his constitution, and so forth ; and having done his utmost to allay 
 the horrors of the alarmed matron, he took the elder Pendennis aside 
 into the vacant room (Warrington's bedroom), for the purpose of hold- 
 ing a little consultation. 
 
 The case was very critical. The fever, if not stopped, might and 
 would carry off the young fellow : he must be bled forthwith : the 
 mother must be informed of this necessity. Why was that other young 
 lady brought with her } She was out of place in a sick-room. 
 
 " And there was another woman still, be hanged to it !" the Major 
 said, the— the little person who opened the door. His sister-in-law 
 had brought the poor little devil's bonnet and shawl out, and flung 
 them upon the study-table. Did Goodenough know anything about 
 the— the little person.^ I just caught a glimpse of her as we passed 
 in," the Major said, ^^and begad she was uncommonly nice-looking." 
 The Doctor looked queer : the Doctor smiled— in the very gravest 
 moments, with life and death pending, such strange contrasts and 
 occasions of humour will arise, and such smiles will pass, to satirise 
 the gloom, as it were, and to make it more gloomy ! 
 ! - "I have it," at last he said, re-entering the study; and he wrote 
 a couple of notes hastily at the table there^ and sealed one of them. 
 Then, taking up poor 'Fanny's shawl and bonnet, and the notes, he 
 went out in the passage to that poor little messenger, and said, ^'Quick, 
 nurse ; you must carry this to the surgeon, and bid him come instantly : 
 and then go to my house, and ask for my servant, Harbottle, and tell 
 him to get this prescription prepared ; and wait until I — until it is 
 ready. It may take a little time in preparation." 
 
 So poor Fanny trudged away with her two notes, and found the 
 apothecary, who lived in the Strand hard by, and who came straight- 
 way, his lancet in his pocket, to operate on his patient ; and then Fanny 
 made for the Doctor's house, in Hanover Square. 
 
 The Doctor was at home again before the prescription was made up, 
 which took Harbottle, his servant, such a long time in compounding.; 
 and, during the remainder of Arthur's illness, poor Fanny never made 
 her appearance in the quality of nurse at his chambers any more. But 
 for that day and the next, a little figure might be seen lurking about 
 Pen's staircase,— a sad, sad little face looked at and interrogated the 
 apothecary, and the apothecary's boy, and the laundress, and the kind 
 
402 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 physician himself, as they passed out of the chambers of the sick man. i 
 And on the third day, the kind Doctor's chariot stopped at Shepherd's" 
 Inn, and the good, and honest, and benevolent man went into the 
 porter's lodge, and tended a little patient he had there, for whom the 
 best remedy he found was on the day when he was enabled to tell' 
 Fanny Bolton that the crisis was over, and that there was at length 
 every hope for Arthur Pendennis. 
 
 J. Costigan, Esquire, late of Her Majesty's service, saw the Doctor's 
 carriage, and criticised its horses and appointments. Green liveries, 
 bedad ! " the General said, and as foin a pair of high-stepping bee 
 horses as ever a gentleman need sit behoind, let alone a docthor. 
 There's no ind to the proide and ar'gance of them docthors, nowadays 
 — not but that is a good one, and a scoientific cyarkter, and a roight 
 good fellow, bedad ; and he's brought the poor little girl well troo her 
 faver. Bows, me boy ; " and so pleased was Mr. Costigan with the 
 Doctor's behaviour and skill, that, whenever he met Dr. Goodenough's 
 carriage in future, he made a point of saluting it and the physician 
 inside, in as courteous and magnificent a manner as if Dr. Goodenough 
 had been the Lord Liftenant himself, and Captain Costigan had been 
 in his glory in Phaynix Park. 
 
 The widow's gratitude to the physician knew no bounds — or scarcely 
 any bounds, at least. The kind gentleman laughed at the idea of 
 taking a fee from a literary man, or the widow of a brother practitioner, 
 and she determined when she got back to Fairoaks that she would send 
 Goodenough the silver-gilt vase, the jewel of the house, and the glory 
 of the late John Pendennis, preserved in green baize, and presented to 
 him at Bath, by the Lady Elizabeth Firebrace, on the recovery of her 
 son, the late Sir Anthony Firebrace, from the scarlet fever. Hippo- 
 crates, Hygeia, King Bladud, and a wreath of serpents surmount the 
 cup to this day ; which was executed in their finest manner, by Messrs. 
 Abednego, of Milsom Street ; and the inscription was by Mr. Birch, 
 tutor to the young baronet. 
 
 This priceless gem of art the widow determined to devote to Good- 
 enough, the preserver of her son ; and there was scarcely any other 
 favour which her gratitude would not have conferred upon him, except 
 one, which he desired most, and which was that she should think a 
 little charitably and kindly of poor Fanny, of whose artless sad story 
 he had got something during his interviews with her, and of whom he 
 was induced to think very kindly, — not being disposed, indeed, to give 
 much credit to Pen for his conduct in the affair, or not knowing what 
 that conduct had been. He knew enough, however, to be aware that 
 the poor infatuated little girl was without stain as yet ; that while she 
 had been in Pen's room it was to see the last of him, as she thought, 
 and that Arthur was scarcely aware of her presence ; and that she 
 smfFered under the deepest and most pitiful grief at the idea of losing 
 him, dead or living. 
 
 But on the one or two occasions when Goodenough alluded to Fanny, 
 the widow's countenance, always soft and gentle, assumed an expression 
 so cruel and inexorable, that the Doctor saw it was in vain to ask her 
 for justice or pity, and IflB broke off all entreaties, and ceased making 
 any further allusions regarding his little client. There is a complaint 
 
 1 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 403 
 
 which neither poppy^ nor nianclragora_, nor all the drowsy syrups of the 
 East could allay in the men in his time_, as we are informed by a 
 popular poet of the days of Elizabeth ; and which^ exhibited in women, 
 no medical discoveries or practice subsequent — neither homoeopathy, 
 nor hydropathy, nor mesmerism, nor Dr. Simpson, nor Dr. Locock can 
 cure, and that is — we won't call it jealousy, but rather gently denomi- 
 nate it rivalry and emulation in ladies. 
 
 Some of those mischievous and prosaic people who carp and calculate 
 at every detail of the romancer, and want to know, for instance, how, 
 when the characters in the Critic " are at a deadlock with their 
 daggers at each other s throats, they are to be got out of that murderous 
 complication of circumstances, may be induced to ask how it was pos- 
 sible in a set of chambers in the Temple, consisting of three rooms, two 
 cupboards, a passage, and a coal-box, Arthur a sick gentleman, Helen 
 his mother, Laura her adopted daughter, Martha their country at- 
 tendant, Mrs. Wheezer a nurse from St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Mrs. 
 Flanagan an Irish laundress. Major Pendennis a retired military officer, 
 Morgan his valet, Pidgeon Mr. Arthur Pendennis's boy, and others, 
 could be accommodated — the answer is given at once, that almost 
 everybody in the Temple was out of town, and that there was scarcely 
 a single occupant of Pen's house in Lamb Court except those who were 
 engaged round the sick-bed of the sick gentleman, about whose fever 
 we have not given a lengthy account, neither shall we enlarge very 
 much upon the more cheerful theme of his recovery. 
 
 Everybody, we have said, was out of town, and of course such a 
 fashionable man as young Mr. Sibwright, who had chambers on the 
 second floor in Pen's staircase, could not be supposed to remain in 
 London. Mrs. Flanagan, Mr. Pendennis's laundress, was acquainted 
 with Mrs. Rouncy, who did for Mr. Sibwright, and that gentleman's 
 bedroom was got ready for Miss Bell, or Mrs. Pendennis, when the 
 latter should be inclined to leave her son's sick-room, to try and seek 
 for a little rest for herself. 
 
 If that young buck and flower of Baker Street, Percy Sibwright, 
 could have known who was the occupant of his bedroom, how proud 
 he would have been of that apartment ! — what poems he would have 
 written about Laura ! (several of his things have appeared in the 
 annuals, and in manuscript in the nobility's albums) — he was a Camford 
 man and very nearly got the English Prize Poem, it was said ; — Sib- 
 wright, however, was absent and his bed given up to Miss Bell. It 
 was the prettiest little brass bed in the world, with chintz curtains 
 lined with pink — he had a mignonette box in his bedroom window, and 
 the mere sight of his little exhibition of shiny boots, arranged in trim 
 rows over his wardrobe, was a gratification to the beholder. He had a 
 museum of scent, pomatum, and bears'-grease pots, quite curious to 
 examine, too ; and a choice selection of portraits of females, almost 
 always in sadness and generally in disguise or deshabille , glittered round 
 the neat walls of his elegant little bower of repose. Medora with dis- 
 hevelled hair was consoling herself over her banjo for the absence of 
 her Conrad— the Princess Fleur de Marie (of Rudolstein and the 
 " Mysteres de Paris ") was sadly ogling out of the bars of her convent 
 cage, in which, poor prisoned bird, she was moulting away— Dorothea 
 
404 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 of Don Quixote " was washing her eternal feet : — in fine^ it was such i 
 an elegant gallery as became a gallant lover of the sex. And in Sib- -j 
 Wright's sitting-room^ while there was quite an infantine law librarj^ j 
 clad in skins of fresh new-born calf, there was a tolerably large collection i 
 of classical books which he could not read, and of English and French \ 
 works of poetry and fiction which he read a great deal too much. His | 
 invitation cards of the past season still decorated his looking-glass : j 
 and scarce anything told of the lawyer but the wig-box beside the Venus j 
 upon the middle shelf of the bookcase, on which the name of P. Sib- 
 wright. Esquire, was gilded. 
 
 With Sibwright in chambers was Mr. Bangham. Mr. Bangham was 
 a sporting man, married to a rich widow. Mr. Bangham had no j 
 practice — did not come to chambers thrice in a term : went a circuit I 
 for those mysterious reasons which make men go circuit, — and his ] 
 room served as a great convenience to Sibwright when that young ' 
 gentleman gave his little dinners. It must be confessed that these 
 two gentlemen have nothing to do with our history, will never appear 
 in it again probably, but we cannot help glancing through their doors 
 as they happen to be open to us, and as we pass to Pen s rooms ; as in 
 the pursuit of our own business in life through the Strand, at the Club, 
 nay at church itself, we cannot help peeping at the shops on the way, 
 or at our neighbour s dinner, or at the faces under the bonnets in the 
 next pew. 
 
 Very many years after the circumstances about which we are at 
 present occupied, Laura, with a blush and a laugh showing much 
 humour, owned to having read a French novel once much in vogue, 
 and when her husband asked her, wondering where on earth she could 
 have got such a volume, she owned that it was in the Temple, when 
 she lived in Mr. Percy Sibwright' s chambers. 
 
 ' ' And, also, I never confessed," she said, on that same occasion, 
 what I must now own to : that I opened the japanned box, and took 
 out that strange-looking^ wig inside it, and put it on and looked at 
 myself in the glass in it. ' 
 
 Suppose Percy Sibwright had come in at such a moment as thai? 
 What would he have said, — the enraptured rogue ? What would have 
 been all the pictures of disguised beauties in his room compared to that 
 living one ? Ah, we are speaking of old times, when Sibwright was a 
 bachelor and before he got a county court, — when people were young — 
 when most people were young. Other people are young now ; but we 
 no more. 
 
 When Miss Laura played this prank with the wig, you can't suppose 
 that Pen could have been very ill upstairs ; otherwise, though she had 
 grown to care for him ever so little, common sense of feeling and 
 decorum would have prevented her from performing any tricks or 
 trying any disguises. 
 
 But all sorts of events had occurred in the course of the last few days 
 which had contributed to increase or account for her gaiety, and a little 
 colony of the reader's old friends and acquaintances was by this time 
 established in Lamb Court, Temple, and round Pen's sick-bed there. 
 First, Martha, Mrs. Pendennis's servant, had arrived from Fairoaks, 
 being summoned thence by the Major, who justly thought her presence 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 405 
 
 would be comfortable and useful to her mistress and her young master, 
 for neither of whom the constant neighbourhood of Mrs. Flanagan 
 (who during Pen s illness required more spirituous consolation than 
 ever to support her) could be pleasant. Martha then made her appear- 
 ance in due season to wait upon Mrs. Pendennis_, nor did that lady go 
 once to bed until the faithful servant had reached her, when, with a 
 heart full of maternal thankfulness, she went and lay down upon 
 Warrington's straw mattress, and among his mathematical books, as 
 has been already described. 
 
 It is true that ere that day a great and delightful alteration in Pen's 
 condition had taken place. The fever, subjugated by Dr. Goodenough's 
 blisters, potions, and lancet, had left the young man, or only returned 
 at intervals of feeble intermittance ; his wandering senses had settled 
 in his weakened brain : he had had time to kiss and bless his mother 
 for coming to him, and calling for Laura and his uncle (who were both 
 affected according to their different natures by his wan appearance, his 
 lean shrunken hands, his hollow eyes and voice, his thin bearded face), 
 to press their hands and thank them affectionately ; and after this 
 greeting, and after they had been turned out of the room by his affec- 
 tionate nurse, he had sunk into a fine sleep which had lasted for about 
 sixteen hours, at the end of which period he awoke calling out that he 
 was very hungry. If it is hard to be ill and to loathe food, oh, how 
 pleasant to be getting well and to be feeling hungry — how hungry.'* 
 Alas, the joys of convalescence become feebler with increasing years, as 
 other joys do — and then — and then comes that illness when one does 
 not convalesce at all. 
 
 On the day of this happy event, too, came another arrival in Lamb 
 Court. This was introduced into the Pen- Warrington sitting-room by 
 large puffs of tobacco smoke — the puffs of smoke were followed by an 
 individual with a cigar in his mouth, and a carpet-bag under his arm — 
 this was Warrington, who had run back from Norfolk, when Mr. Bows 
 thoughtfully wrote to inform him of his friend's calamity. But he had 
 been from home when Bows's letter had reached his brother's house — 
 the Eastern Counties did not then boast of a railway (for we beg the 
 reader to understand that we only commit anachronisms when we 
 choose, and when by a daring violation of those natural laws some 
 great ethical truth is to be advanced) — in fine, Warrington only 
 appeared with the rest of the good luck upon the lucky day after Pen's 
 convalescence may have been said to have begun. 
 
 His surprise was, after all, not very great when he found the chambers 
 of his sick friend occupied, and his old acquaintance the Major seated 
 demurely in an easy chair (W arrington had let himself into the rooms 
 with his own pass-key), listening, or pretending to listen, to a young 
 lady who was reading to him a pla)^ of Shakespeare in a low sweet voice. 
 The lady stopped and started, and laid down her book, at the apparition 
 of the tall traveller with the cigar and the carpet-bag. He blushed, he 
 flung the cigar into the passage : he took off his hat, and dropped that 
 too, and going up the Major, seized that old gentleman's hand, and 
 asked questions about Arthur. 
 
 The Major answered in a tremulous, though cheery voice — it was 
 curious bow emotion seemed to olden him — and returning Warrington's 
 
406 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 pressure with a shaking hand, told him the news— of Arthur's happy 
 
 crisis, of his mother's arrival— with her young charge— with Miss 
 
 You need not tell me her name/' Mr. Warrington said with great 
 animation, for he was affected and elated with the thought of his friend's 
 recovery — you need not tell me your name. I knew at once it was 
 Laura.'' And he held out his hand and took hers. Immense kindness 
 and tenderness gleamed from under his rough eyebrows, and shook his 
 voice as he gazed at her and spoke to her. And this is Laura !" his 
 looks seemed to say. And this is Warrington," the generous girl's 
 heart beat back. Arthur's hero— the brave and the kind— he has 
 come hundreds of miles to succour him, when he heard of his friend's 
 misfortune ! " 
 
 Thank you, Mr. Warrington," was all that Laura said, however : 
 and as she r'eturned the pressure of his kind hand, she blushed so, that 
 she was glad the lamp was behind her to conceal her flushing face. 
 
 As these two were standing in this attitude, the door of Pen's bed- 
 chamber was opened stealthily as his mother was wont to open it, and 
 Warrington saw another lady, who first looked at him, and then turn- 
 ing round towards the bed, said Hsh ! " and put up her hand. 
 
 It was to Pen Helen was turning, and giving caution. He called out 
 with a feeble, tremulous, but cheery voice, Come in. Stunner— come 
 in, Warrington. I knew it was you— by the— by the smoke, old boy," 
 he said, as holding his worn hand out, and with tears at once of weak- 
 ness and pleasure in his eyes, he greeted his friend. 
 
 I— I beg pardon, ma'am, for smoking," Warrington said, who now 
 almost for the first time blushed for his wicked propensity. 
 
 Helen only said, ^^God bless you, Mr. Warrington !" She was so 
 happy, she would have liked to kiss George. Then, and after the 
 friends had had a brief, very brief interview, the delighted and inexor- 
 able mother, giving her hand to Warrington, sent him out of the room 
 too, back to Laura and the Major, who had not resumed their play of 
 
 Cymbeline " where they had left it off at the arrival of the rightful 
 owner of Pen's chambers. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII 
 
 CONVALESCENCE | 
 
 Our duty now is to record a fact concerning Pendennis, which, however 
 shameful and disgraceful, when told regarding the chief personage and 
 godfather of a novel, must, nevertheless, be made known to the public 
 who reads his veritable memoirs. Having gone to bed ill with fever, and 
 suffering to a certain degree under the passion of love, after he had gone 
 through his physical malady, and had been bled and had been blistered, 
 and had had his head shaved, and had been treated and medicamented as 
 the doctor ordained :— it is a fact, that, when he rallied up from his bodily 
 ailment, his mental malady had likewise quitted him, and he was no more 
 in love with Fanny Bolton than you or I, who are much too wise, or 
 too moral, to allow our hearts to go gadding after porters' daughters. 
 He laughed at himself as he lay on his pillow, thinking of this second. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 407 
 
 ; cure which had been effected upon him. He did not care the least 
 ; about Fanny now : he wondered how he ever should have cared : and 
 I according to his custom made an autopsy of that dead passion, and 
 I anatomised his own defunct sensation for his poor little nurse. What 
 [ could have made him so hot and eager about her but a few weeks back ? 
 I Not her wit^ not her breedings not her beauty— there were hundreds 
 I of women better looking than she. It was out of himself that the 
 i passion had gone: it did not reside in her. She was the same; but 
 j the eyes which saw her were changed ; and^ alas that it should be so ! 
 i were not particularly eager to see her any more. He felt very well 
 i disposed towards the little thing, and so forth ; but as for violent 
 i personal regard, such as he had but a few weeks ago, it had fled under 
 } the influence of the pill and lancet, which had destroyed the fever in 
 \ his frame. And an immense source of comfort and gratitude it was to 
 I Pendennis (though there was something selfish in that feeling, as in 
 I most others of our young man), that he had been enabled to resist 
 f temptation at the time when the danger was greatest, and had no par- 
 l ticular cause of self-reproach as he remembered his conduct towards the 
 f young girl. As from a precipice down which he might have fallen, so 
 I from the fever from which he had recovered, he reviewed the Fanny 
 [1 Bolton snare, now that he had escaped out of it, but I'm not sure that 
 he was not ashamed of the very satisfaction which he experienced. It 
 I is pleasant, perhaps, but it is humiliating to own that you love no more, 
 i Meanwhile the kind smiles and tender watchfulness of the mother at 
 t his bedside filled the young man with peace and security. To see that 
 health was returning, was all the unwearied nurse demanded : to execute 
 any caprice or order of her patient's, her chiefest joy and reward. He 
 felt himself environed by her love, and thought himself almost as grate- 
 ful for it as he had been when weak and helpless in childhood. 
 
 Some misty notions regarding the first part of his illness, and that 
 Fanny had nursed him, Pen may have had, but they were so dim that 
 he could not realise them with accuracy, or distinguish them from what 
 he knew to be delusions which had occurred and were remembered 
 during the delirium of his fever. So as he had not thought proper on 
 former occasions to make any allusions about Fanny Bolton to his 
 mother, of course he could not now confide to her his sentiments re- 
 garding Fanny, or make this worthy lady a confidante. It was on both 
 sides an unlucky precaution and want of confidence ; and a word or two 
 in time might have spared the good lady, and those connected with her, 
 a deal of pain and anguish. 
 
 Seeing Miss Bolton installed as nurse and tender to Pen, I am sorry 
 to say Mrs. Pendennis had put the worst construction on the fact of the 
 intimacy of these two unlucky young persons, and had settled in her 
 own mind that the accusations against Arthur were true. \^hy not 
 have stopped to inquire ?— There are stories to a man's disadvantage 
 that the women who are fondest of him are always the most eager to 
 believe. Isn't a man's wife often the first to be jealous of him } Poor 
 Pen got a good stock of this suspicious kind of love from the nurse who 
 was now watching over him ; and the kind and pure creature thought 
 that her boy had gone through a malady much more awful and debasing 
 than tjie mere physical fever, and yvas stained by crime as well as 
 
408 PENDENNIS i 
 
 weakened by illness. The consciousness of this she had to bear per- | 
 force silently^ and to try to put a mask of cheerfulness and confidence j 
 over her inward doubt and despair and horror. • 
 When Captain Shandon, at Boulogne, read the next number of the \ 
 Pall Mall Gazette^ it was to remark to Mrs. Shandon that Jack Finu- ; 
 cane's hand was no longer visible in the leading articles, and that Mr. i 
 Warrington must be at work there again. I know the crack of his \ 
 whip in a hundred, and the cut which the fellow's thong leaves. There's \ 
 Jack Bludyer, goes to work like a butcher, and mangles a subject. Mr. 1 
 Warrington finishes a man, and lays his cuts neat and regular, straight 
 down the back, and drawing blood every line ; " at which dreadful | 
 metaphor, Mrs. Shandon said, Law, Charles, how can you talk so ! I ' 
 always thought Mr. Warrington very high, but a kind gentleman ; and 
 I'm sure he was most kind to the children. " Upon which Shandon said, ^ 
 
 Yes ; he's kind to the children ; but he's savage to the men ; and to 
 be sure, my dear, you don't understand a word about what I'm saying ; 
 and it's best you shouldn't ; for it's little good comes out of writing for 
 newspapers ; and it's better here, living easy at Boulogne, where the 
 wine's plenty, and the brandy costs but two francs a bottle. Mix us 
 another tumbler, Mary, my dear; we'll go back into harness soon. 
 ^ Cras ingens iterabimus aequor' — bad luck to it." 
 
 In a word, Warrington went to work with all his might, in place of 
 his prostrate friend, and did Pen's portion of the Pall Mall Gazette 
 ^^with a vengeance," as the saying is. He wrote occasional articles , 
 and literary criticisms ; he attended theatres and musical performances, 
 and discoursed about them with his usual savage energy. His hand 
 was too strong for such small subjects, and it pleased him to tell ' 
 Arthur's mother, and uncle, and Laura, that there was no hand in 
 all the band of penmen more graceful and light, more pleasant and 
 more elegant, than Arthur's. ''The people in this country, ma'am, 
 don't understand what style is, or they would see the merits of our , 
 young one," he said to Mrs. Pendennis. '' I call him ours, ma'am, 
 for I bred him ; and I am as proud of him as you are ; and, bating a 
 little wilfulness, and a little selfishness, and a little dandification, I 
 don't know a more honest, or loyal, or gentle creature. His pen is 
 wicked sometimes, but he is as kind as a young lady— as Miss Laura 
 }iere — and I believe he would not do any living mortal harm." 
 
 At this, Helen, though she heaved a deep deep sigh, and Laura, 
 I though she, too, was sadly wounded, nevertheless were most thankful j 
 for Warrington's good opinion of Arthur, and loved him for being so | 
 attached to their Pen. And Major Pendennis was loud in his praises 
 of Mr. Warrington, — more loud and enthusiastic than it was the Major's 
 wont to be. " He is a gentleman, my dear creature," he said to Helen, 
 ''every inch a gentleman, my good madam— the Suffolk Warringtons 
 —Charles the First's baronets :— what could he be but a gentleman, 
 comeoutof that family .^^— Father,— Sir Miles Warrington; ran away 
 with— beg your pardon. Miss Bell. Sir Miles was a very well-known 
 man in London, and a friend of the Prince of Wales. This gentleman 
 is a man of the greatest talents, the very highest accomplishments- 
 sure to get on, if he had a motive to put his energies to work." 
 
 Lf^ura blushed for herself whilst the Major was talking and praising 
 
PENDENNIS 409 
 
 ' Arthur s hero. As she looked at Warrington's manly face^ and dark^ 
 melancholy eyes, this young person had been speculating about him^ 
 and had settled in her mind that he must have been the victim of an 
 unhappy attachment ; and as she caught herself so speculating, why. 
 Miss Bell blushed. 
 
 Warrington got chambers hard by — Genier s chambers in Flag Court ; 
 and having executed Pen's task with great energy in the morning, his 
 delight and pleasure of an afternoon was to come and sit with the sick 
 man's company in the sunny autumn evenings ; and he had the honour 
 more than once of giving Miss Bell his arm for a walk in the Temple 
 Gardens ; to take which pastime, when the frank Laura asked of Helen 
 permission, the Major eagerly said, Yes, yes, begad — of course you 
 go out with him — it's like the country, you know ; everybody goes out 
 with everybody in the Gardens, and there are beadles, you know, and 
 that sort of thing — everybody walks in the Temple Gardens." If the 
 great arbiter of morals did not object, why should simple Helen She 
 was glad that her girl should have such fresh air as the river could give, 
 and to see her return with heightened colour and spirits from these 
 harmless excursions. 
 
 Laura and Helen had come, you must know, to a little explanation. 
 When the news arrived of Pen's alarming illness, Laura insisted upon 
 accompanying the terrified mother to London, would not hear of the 
 refusal which the still angry Helen gave her, and, when refused a 
 second time yet more sternly, and when it seemed that the poor lost 
 lad's life was despaired of, and when it was known that his conduct was 
 such as to render all thoughts of union hopeless, Laura had, with many 
 tears, told her mother a secret with which every observant person who 
 reads this story is acquainted already. Now she never could marry 
 him, was she to be denied the consolation of owning how fondly, how 
 truly, how entirely she had loved him.^ The mingling tears of the 
 women appeased the agony of their grief somewhat, and the sorrows 
 and terrors of their journey were at least in so far mitigated that they 
 shared them together. 
 
 What could Fanny expect when suddenly brought up for sentence 
 before a couple of such judges.^ Nothing but swift condemnation, 
 awful punishment, merciless dismissal ! Women are cruel critics in 
 cases such as that in which poor Fanny was implicated ; and we like 
 them to be so : for, besides the guard which a man places round his 
 own harem, and the defences which a woman has in her heart, her 
 faith, and honour, hasn't she all her own friends of her own sex to 
 keep watch that she does not go astray, and to tear her to pieces if she 
 is found erring ? When our Mahmouds or Selims of Baker Street or 
 Belgrave Square visit their Fatimas with condign punishment, their 
 mothers sew up Fatima's sack for her, and her sisters and sisters-in-law 
 see her well under water. And this present writer does not say nay ; 
 he protests most solemnly, he is a Turk too. He wears a turban and 
 a beard like another, and is all for the sack practice, Bismillah I But 
 O you spotless, who have the right of capital punishment vested in you, 
 at least be very cautious that you make away with the proper (if so* she 
 may be called) person. Be very sure of the fact before you order the 
 barge out ; and doii't pop your* subject into the Bosphorus, until you 
 
410 PENDENNIS 
 
 are quite certain that she deserves it. This is aU I would urge in poor 
 Fatima's behalf-absolutely all-net a word more, by the beard of the 
 Prophet. If she's guilty, down with her-heave over the sack, away 
 with it into the Golden Horn bubble and squeak, and justice being 
 done, give way, men, and let us pull back to supper. 
 
 So the Major did not in any way object to Warrington s continued 
 promenades with Miss Laura, but, like a benevolent old gentleman, 
 Ccouraged in every way the intimacy of that couple. Were there any 
 'exhibitions in town? he was for Warrington conducting her to them 
 If Warrington had proposed to take her to Vauxhall itself, this most 
 complaisant of men would have seen no harm,-nor would Helen, if 
 Pendennis the elder had so ruled it,-nor would there have been any 
 harm between two persons whose honour was entirely spotless,-between 
 Warrington, who saw in intimacy a pure and high-nimded, and aitles 
 woman for the first time in his life,-and Laura who too for the first 
 time was thrown into the constant society of a gentleman of great natural 
 parts and powers of pleasing ; who possessed varied acquirements, en- 
 thusiasm, simplicity, humour, and that freshness of mind which his simple 
 SraSabits gave him, and ^hich contrasted so much with Pen s dandy 
 Sidifference of manner and faded sneer In Warrington s very uncouth- 
 ness there was a refinement, which the other s finery lacked. In his 
 energy, his respect, his desire to please, his hearty laughter, or simple 
 confiding pathos, what a difference to Su tan Pen's yawning sove- 
 reignty and languid acceptance of homage ! What had made Pen at 
 home such a dandy and such a despot? The women had spoiled him, 
 as we like them and as they like to do. They had cloyed him with 
 obedience, and surfeited him with sweet respect and submission, until 
 he grew weary of the slaves who waited upon him, and their caresses 
 and^ajoleries excited him no more. Abroad, he was brisk and lively 
 and eager and impassioned enough-most men are, so constituted and 
 so nurtured. -Does this, like the former sentence, run a chance of being 
 misinterpreted, and does any one dare to suppose ^at the wnter would 
 incite the women to revolt? Never, by the whiskers of the Prophet, 
 ZSn he says He wears a beard, and he likes his women to be slaves 
 ^hTt man doesn't ? What man would be henpecked I say We wiU 
 cut off all the heads in Christendom or Turkeydom rather than that. 
 
 WellTthen, Arthur, being so languid, and indifferent, and careles^ 
 about the favours bestowed upon him, how came it that Laura shoul^ 
 have such a love and rapturous regard for him, that a mere iiiadequatj 
 Sressfon of it should have kept the girltalkinga 1 the w;ay from FairJ 
 oaks to London, as she and Helen travelled m the POSt-chaise? As 
 soon as Helen had finished one story about the dear fellow, and narrated 
 wTth a hundred sobs and ejaculations, and looks up to heaven some 
 thrilling incidents which occurred about the period when the hero was 
 breeched Laura began another equally interesting and equally onia- 1 
 with tears, and told how heroically he had a tooth out or 
 wouldn't have it out, or how daringly he robbed a h-d ^ "est, or how 
 magnanimously he spared it; or how he gave a shilling to the old 
 woman on the common, or went without his bread and butter ioi the 
 beggar-boy who came into the yard-and so on One to another the 
 Sing women sang laments upon their hero, who, my worthy reade. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 411 
 
 has long since perceived, is no more a hero than either one of us. Being 
 as he was, why should a sensible girl be so fond of him ? 
 
 This point has been argued before in a previous unfortunate sentence 
 (which lately drew down all the wrath of Ireland upon the writer's 
 head), and which said that the greatest rascal cut-throats have had 
 somebody to be fond of them, and if those monsters, why not ordinary 
 mortals ? And with whom shall a young lady fall in love but with the 
 person she sees ? She is not supposed to lose her heart in a dream, like a 
 Princess in the Arabian Nights ; " or to plight her young affections to 
 the portrait of a gentleman in the Exhibition, or a sketch in the Illus- 
 trated London News. You have an instinct within you which inclines 
 you to attach yourself to some one. You meet Somebody : you hear 
 Somebody constantly praised : you walk, or ride, or waltz, or talk, or- 
 sit in the same pew at church with Somebody : you meet again, and 
 again, and — Marriages are made in heaven," your dear mamma says, 
 pinning your orange-flower wreath on, with her blessed eyes dimmed 
 with tears — and there is a wedding breakfast, and you take off your 
 white satin and retire to your coach-and-four, and you and he are a 
 happy pair. — Or, the affair is broken off, and then, poor dear wounded 
 heart ! why then you meet Somebody Else, and twine your young affec- 
 tions round number two. It is your nature so to do. Do you suppose 
 it is all for the man's sake that you love, and not a bit for your own? 
 Do you suppose you would drink if you were not thirsty, or eat if you 
 were not hungry } 
 
 So then Laura liked Pen because she saw scarcely anybody else at 
 Fairoaks except Doctor Portman and Captain Glanders, and because 
 his mother constantly praised her Arthur, and because he was gentle- 
 manlike, tolerably good-looking and witty, and because, above all, it 
 was of her nature to like somebody. And having once received this 
 image into her heart, she there tenderly nursed it and clasped it — she 
 there, in his long absences and her constant solitudes, silently brooded 
 over it and fondled it — and when after this she came to London, and 
 had an opportunity of becoming rather intimate with Mr. George 
 Warrington, what on earth was to prevent her from thinking him a 
 most odd, original, agreeable, and pleasing person } 
 
 A long time afterwards, when these days were over, and Fate in its 
 own way had disposed of the various persons now assembled in the 
 dingy building in Lamb Court, perhaps some of them looked back and 
 thought how happy the time was, and how pleasant had been their 
 evening talks and little walks and simple recreations round the sofa of 
 Pen the convalescent. The Maj or had a favourable opinion of September 
 in London from that time forward, and declared at his clubs and in 
 society that the dead season in town was often pleasant, doosed pleasant, 
 begad ! He used to go home to his lodgings in Bury Street of a night, 
 wondering that it was already so late, and that the evening had passed 
 away so quickly. He made his appearance at the Temple pretty con- 
 stantly in the afternoon, and tugged up the long black staircase with 
 quite a benevolent activity and perseverance. And he made interest 
 with the c/ie/* at Bays's (that renowned cook, the superintendence of 
 whose work upon Gastronomy compelled the gifted author to stay in 
 the metropolis), to prepare little jellies^ delicate clear soups^ aspics^ 
 
412 PENDENNIS 
 
 and other trifles good for invalids, which Morgan the valet constantly 
 brought down to the little Lamb Court colony. And the permission to 
 drink a glass or two of pure sherry being accorded to Pen by Ur. Uood- 
 enouffh, the Major told with almost tears in his eyes how his noble 
 friend the Marquis of Steyne, passing through London on his way to 
 the Continent, had ordered any quantity of his precious, his priceless 
 AmontiUado, that had been a present from King Ferdinand to the noble 
 Marquis, to be placed at the disposal of Mr. Arthur Pendennis^ The 
 widow and Laura tasted it with respect (though they didn t in the least 
 like the bitter flavour), but the invalid was greatly invigorated by it, 
 and Warrington pronounced it superlatively good, and proposed the 
 Major's health in a mock speech after dinner on the first day when the 
 wine was served, and that of Lord Steyne and the aristocracy m general. 
 
 Major Pendennis returned thanks with the utmost gravity, and in a 
 speech in which he used the words " the present occasion at least the 
 proper number of times. Pen cheered with his feeble voice from his 
 arm-chair. Warrington taught Miss Laura to cry " Hear ! hear ! and 
 tapped the table with his knuckles. Pidgeon the attendant grinned, 
 and honest Doctor Goodenough found the party so merrily engaged, 
 when he came in to pay his faithful gratuitous visit. 
 
 Warrington knew Sibwright, who lived below, and that gallant 
 gentleman, in reply to a letter informing him of the use to which his 
 apartments had been put, wrote back the most polite and flowery letter 
 of acquiescence. He placed his chambers at the service of their fan- 
 occupants, his bed at their disposal, his carpets at their feet. Every- 
 body was kindly disposed towards the sick man aiid his family. His 
 heart (and his 'mother's too, as we may fancy) melted within him at 
 the thought of so much good feeling and good nature. Let Pens 
 biographer be pardoned for alluding to a time not far distant when a 
 soniewhat similar mishap brought him a providential friend, a kind 
 physician, and a thousand proofs of a most touching and surprising 
 
 kindness and sympathy. , , , . /• j j x. • „4.i„^„„ 
 
 There was a piano in Mr. Sibwright's chamber (indeed this gentleman, 
 a lover of all the arts, performed himself— and exceedingly ill too- 
 upon the instrument ; and had had a song dedicated to hJin-the words 
 bv himself, the air by his devoted friend Leopoldo Twankidillo), and at 
 this music-box, as Mr. Warrington called it, Laura, at first with a great 
 deal of tremor and blushing (which became her very much), played and 
 sang, sometimes of an evening, simple airs, and old songs of home. Her 
 voice was a rich contralto, and Warrington, who scarcely knew one 
 tune from another, and who had but one tune or bray m his repertoire, 
 -a most discordant imitation of "God save the King, -sat rapt in 
 delight listening to these songs. He could follow their rhythm if not 
 their harmony ; and he could watch, with a constant and daily growing 
 enthusiasm, the pure and tender and generous creature who made the 
 
 I wonder how that poor pale little girl in the black bonnet, who 
 used to stand at the lamp-post in Lamb Court sometimes of an eyeunig, 
 looking up to the open windows from which the music came, liked to 
 hear it ? When Pen's bed-time came the songs were hushed. Lights 
 appeared in the upper room : his room, whither the widow used to con- 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 413 
 
 duct him; and then the Major and Mr. Warrington, and sometimes Miss 
 Laura, would have a game at ecarte or backgammon ; or she would sit by 
 working a pair of slippers in worsted— a pair of gentlemen's slippers— 
 they might have been for Arthur or for George or for Major Pendennis : 
 one of those three would have given anything for the slippers. 
 
 Whilst such business as this was going on within, a rather shabby old 
 gentleman would come and lead away the pale girl in the black bonnet, 
 who had no right to be abroad in the night air, and the Temple porters, 
 the few laundresses, and other amateurs who had been listening to the 
 concert, would also disappear. 
 
 Just before ten o'clock there was another musical performance, namely 
 that of the chimes of St. Clement's clock in the Strand, which played 
 the clear cheerful notes of a psalm, before it proceeded to ring its ten 
 fatal strokes. As they were ringing, Laura began to fold up the 
 slippers ; Martha from Fairoaks appeared with a bed-candle, and a 
 constant smile on her face ; the Major said, God bless my soul, is it 
 so late } " Warrington and he left their unfinished game, and got up 
 and shook hands with Miss Bell. Martha from Fairoaks lighted them 
 out of the passage and down the stair, and, as they descended, they 
 could hear her bolting and locking the sporting door " after them, 
 upon her young mistress and herself. If there had been any danger, 
 grinning Martha said she would have got down that thar hooky soord 
 which hung up in gantleman s room," — meaning the Damascus scimitar 
 with the name of the Prophet engraved on the blade and the red velvet 
 scabbard, which Percy Sibwright, Esquire, brought back from his tour 
 in the Levant, along with an Albanian dress, and which he wore with such 
 elegant effect at Lady Mullinger's fancy ball, Gloucester Square, Hyde 
 Park. It entangled itself in Miss Kewsey's train, who appeared in the 
 dress in which she, with her mamma, had been presented to their sovereign 
 (the latter by the L — d Ch-nc-ll-r's lady), and led to events which have 
 nothing to do with this history. Is not Miss Kewsey now Mrs. Sib- 
 wright } Has Sibwright not got a county court .^^ — Good night, Laura and 
 Fairoaks Martha. Sleep well and wake happy, pure and gentle lady. 
 
 Sometimes after these evenings Warrington would walk a little v. ay 
 with Major Pendennis — just a little way — just as far as the Temple gate 
 —as the Strand — as Charing Cross — as the Club — he was not going into 
 the Club ? Well, as far as Bury Street, where he would laughingly 
 shake hands on the Major's own doorstep. They had been talking about 
 Laura all the way. It was wonderful how enthusiastic the Major, who, 
 as we know, used to dislike her, had grown to be regarding the young 
 lady. — ^^Dev'lish fine girl, begad. — Dev'lish well-mannered girl — my 
 sister-in-law has the manners of a duchess, and would bring up any girl 
 well. Miss Bell's a little countrified. But the smell of the hawthorn is 
 pleasant, demmy. How she blushes ! Your London girls would give 
 many a guinea for a bouquet like that — natural flowers, begad ! And 
 she's a little money too — nothing to speak of — but a pooty little bit of 
 money. " In all which opinions no doubt Mr. Warrington agreed ; and 
 though he laughed as he shook hands with the Major, his face fell as 
 he left his veteran companion ; and he strode back to chambers, and 
 smoked pipe after pipe long into the night, and wrote article upon article 
 more and more savage, in lieu of friend Pen disabled. 
 
414 PENDENNIS 
 
 Well, it was a happy time for almost all parties concerned. Pen 
 mended daily. Sleeping and eating were his constant occupations. 
 His appetite was something frightful. He was ashamed of exhibiting 
 it before Laura^ and almost before his mother, who laughed and 
 applauded him. As the roast chicken of his dinner went away he eyed 
 the departing friend with sad longing, and began to long for jelly, or 
 tea, or what not. He was like an ogre in devouring. The Doctor 
 cried stop, but Pen would not. Nature called out to him more loudly 
 than the Doctor, and that kind and friendly physician handed him over 
 with a very good grace to the other healer. 
 
 And here let us speak very tenderly and in the strictest confidence 
 of an event which befell him, and to which he never liked an allusion. 
 During his delirium the ruthless Goodenough ordered ice to be put to 
 his head, and all his lovely hair to be cut. It was done in the time of 
 — of the other nurse, who left every single hair of course in a paper for 
 the widow to count and treasure up. She never believed but that the j: 
 girl had taken away some of it, but then women are so suspicious upon i; 
 these matters. 
 
 When this direful loss was made visible to Major Pendennis, as of 
 course it was the first time the elder saw the poor young man s shorn | 
 pate, and when Pen was quite out of danger, and gaining daily vigour, 
 the Major, with something like blushes and a queer wink of his eyes, - 
 said he knew of a — a person — a coiffeur, in fact — a good man, whom | 
 he would send down to the Temple, and who would — a— apply — a — a ' 
 temporary remedy to that misfortune. 
 
 Laura looked at Warrington with the archest sparkle in her eyes — 
 Warrington fairly burst out into a boohoo of laughter : even the widow 
 was obliged to laugh ; and the Major erubescent confounded the impu- 
 dence of the young folks, and said when he had his hair cut he would 
 keep a lock of it for Miss Laura. 
 
 Warrington voted that Pen should wear a barrister's wig. There 
 was Sibwright's down below, which would become him hugely. Pen 
 said " Stuff," and seemed as confused as his uncle ; and the end was 
 that a gentleman from Burlington Arcade waited next day upon Mr. 
 Pendennis, and had a private interview with him in his bedroom ; and 
 a week afterwards the same individual appeared with a box under his 
 arm, and an ineffable grin of politeness on his face, and announced 
 that he had brought 'ome Mr. Pendennis's 'ead of 'air. 
 
 It must have been a grand but melancholy sight to see Pen in the 
 recesses of his apartment, sadly contemplating his ravaged beauty and 
 the artificial means of hiding its ruin. He appeared at length in the 
 'ead of 'air; but Warrington laughed so that Pen grew sulky, and 
 went back for his velvet cap, a neat turban which the fondest of mammas 
 had worked for him. Then Mr. Warrington and Miss Bell got some 
 flowers off the ladies' bonnets and made a wreath, with which they 
 decorated the wig and brought it out in procession, and did homage 
 before it. In fact they indulged in a hundred sports, jocularities, 
 waggeries, and petits jeu.7) innocens : so that the second and third floors 
 of Number 6 Lamb Court, Temple, rang with more cheerfulness 
 and laughter than had been known in those precincts for many a 
 long day. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 At last^ after about ten days of this life^ one evening when the little 
 spy of the court came out to take her usual post of observation at the 
 lamp^ there was no music from the second-floor window^ there were no 
 lights in the third-storey chambers, the windows of each were open, 
 and the occupants were gone. Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, told 
 Fanny what had happened. The ladies and all the party had gone to 
 Richmond for change of air. The antique travelling chariot was brought 
 out again and cushioned with many pillows for Pen and his mother ; 
 and Miss Laura went in the most affable manner in the omnibus under 
 the guardianship of Mr. George Warrington. He came back and took 
 possession of his old bed that night in the vacant and cheerless chambers, 
 and to his old books and his old pipes, but not perhaps to his old sleep. 
 
 The widow had left a jar full of flowers upon his table, prettily 
 arranged, and when he entered they filled the solitary room with 
 odour. They were memorials of the kind, gentle souls who had gone 
 away, and who had decorated for a little while that lonely, cheerless 
 iplace. He had had the happiest days of his whole life, George felt— 
 Ihe knew it now they were just gone : he went and took up the flowers, 
 and put his face to them, smelt them — perhaps kissed them. As he put 
 them down, he rubbed his rough hand across his eyes with a bitter word 
 and laugh. He would have given his whole life and soul to win that 
 prize which Arthur rejected. Did she want fame ? He would have won 
 it for her : — devotion ? — a great heart full of pent-up tenderness and 
 manly love and gentleness was there for her, if she might take it. But 
 it might not be. Fate had ruled otherwise. "Even if 1 could, she 
 iwould not have me," George thought. " What has an ugly, rough old 
 ifellow like me, to make any woman like him ? I'm getting old, and 
 Pve made no mark in life. I've neither good looks, nor youth, nor 
 jmoney, nor reputation. A man must be able to do something besides 
 jstare at her and offer on his knees his uncouth devotion, to make a woman 
 like him. What can I do ? Lots of young fellows have passed me in 
 the race — what they call the prizes of life didn't seem to me worth the 
 trouble of the struggle. But for her. If she had been mine and liked 
 a diamond — ah ! shouldn't she have worn it ! Psha, what a fool I am 
 to brag of what I would have done ! We are the slaves of destiny. Our 
 lots are shaped for us, and mine is ordained long ago. Come, let us 
 have a pipe, and put the smell of these flowers out of court. Poor little 
 isilent flowers ! You'll be dead to-morrow. What business had you to 
 jshow your red cheeks in this dingy place ^ " 
 
 I By his bedside George found a new Bible which th^mjj^w had placed 
 jthere, with a note inside saying that she had not seeiS^^^l^j amongst 
 Ihis collection in a room where she had spent a number the^^^^^^j 
 jivhere God had vouchsafed to her prayers the life of her son, and that 
 jshe gave to Arthur's friend the best thing she could, and besought him 
 to read in the volume sometimes, and to keep it as a token of a grateful 
 imother's regard and affection. Poor George mournfully kissed the book 
 as he had done the flowers ; and the morning found him still reading 
 in its awful pages, in which so many stricken hearts, in which so many 
 tender and faithful souls, have found comfort under calamity, and refuge 
 and hope in affliction. 
 
416 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER LIV 
 
 fanny's occupation's gone 
 
 Good Helen, ever since her son s illness, had taken, as we have seen, , 
 entire possession of the young man, of his drawers and closets and ail i 
 which they contained : whether shirts that wanted buttons, or stockings j 
 that required mending, or must it be owned? letters that lay amongst ^ 
 those articles of raiment, and which of course it was necessary that ■ 
 somebody should answer during Arthur s weakened and incapable con- 
 dition Perhaps Mrs. Pendennis was laudably desirous to have some 
 explanations about the dreadful Fanny Bolton mystery, regarding which • 
 she had never breathed a word to her son, though it was present m her 
 mind always, and occasioned her inexpressible anxiety and disquiet. 
 She had caused the brass knocker to be screwed off the inner door of 
 the chambers, whereupon the postman's startling double rap would, as 
 she lustly argued, disturb the rest of her patient, and she did not allow 
 him to see any letter which arrived, whether from bootmakers who im- 
 portuned him, or hatters who had a heavy account to make up against 
 next Saturday, and would be very much obliged if Mr. Arthur Pendennis 
 would have the kindness to settle, &c. Of these documents. Pen, who 
 was alwavs freehanded and careless, of course had his share, and though 
 no great one, one quite enough to alarm his scrupulous and conscien- 
 tious mother. She had some savings ; Pen's magnificent self-denial, 
 and her own economy, amounting from her great simphcity and avoid- 
 ance of show to parsimonv almost, had enabled her to put by a little 
 sum of money, a part of which she delightedly consecrated to the paying 
 off of the young gentleman's obligations. At this price, many a worthy 
 youth and respected reader would hand over his correspondence to his 
 parents ; and perhaps there is no greater test of a man's regularity and 
 easiness of conscience than his readiness to face the postman. Blessed 
 is he who is made happy by the sound of a rat-tat ! The good are eager 
 for it : but the naughty tremble at the sound thereof. So it was very 
 kind of Mrs. Pendennis doubly to spare Pen the trouble of hearing and 
 answering letters during his illness. , -, ^ r j 
 
 ^ There could have been nothing in the young man s chests of drawers 
 and wardrobes which could be considered as inculpating him in any way, 
 nor any satis^^^iiiLdocuments regarding the Fanny Bolton affair found 
 there for twWB'v had to ask her brother-in-law if he knew anything 
 about the odiJas transaction, and the dreadful intrigue in which her son 
 was engaged. When they were at Richmond one day, and Pen with 
 Warrington had taken a seat on a bench on the terrace, the widow kept 
 Mai or Pendennis in consultation, and laid her terrors and perplexities 
 before him, such of them at least (for, as is the wont of men and women, 
 she did not make quite a clean confession, and I suppose no spendthritt 
 asked for a schedule of his debts, no lady of fashion asked by her husband 
 for her dressmaker's bills, ever sent in the whole of them yet)— such, 
 we say of her perplexities, at least, as she chose to confide to her Director 
 for the time being. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 417 
 
 When J then^ she asked the Major what course she ought to pursue, 
 ibout this dreadful — this horrid affair^ and whether he knew anything 
 •egarding it ? the old gentleman puckered up his face^ so that you could 
 lot tell whether he was smiling or not ; gave the widow one queer look 
 vith his little eyes ; cast them down to the carpet again, and said, My 
 iear, good creature, I don't know anything about it ; and I don t wish 
 ;o know anything about it ; and, as you ask me my opinion, I think 
 /ou had best know nothing about it too. Young men will be young 
 nen ; and, begad, my good ma'am, if you think our boy is a Jo " 
 
 Pray, spare me this," Helen broke in, looking very stately. 
 
 My dear creature, I did not commence the conversation, permit 
 ne to say," the Major said, bowing very blandly. 
 
 " I can't bear to hear such a sin — such a dreadful sin — spoken of in 
 juch a way," the widow said, with tears of annoyance starting from her 
 3yes. I can't bear to think that my boy should commit such a crime. 
 [ wish he had died, almost, before he had done it. I don't know how 
 I survive it myself ; for it is breaking my heart. Major Pendennis, to 
 :hink that his father's son — my child — whom I remember so good — oh, 
 JO good, and full of honour ! — should be fallen so dreadfully low, as to 
 —as to " 
 
 As to flirt with a little grisette, my dear creature ? " said the Major. 
 ■^Egad, if all the mothers in England were to break their hearts 
 because — Nay, nay ; upon my word and honour, now, don't agitate 
 p'ourself, don't cry. I can't bear to see a woman's tears — I never could 
 —never. But how do we know that anything serious has happened ? 
 Has Arthur said anything ? " 
 
 ^^His silence confirms it," sobbed Mrs. Pendennis, behind her 
 pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 ^^Not at all. There are subjects, my dear, about which a young 
 fellow cannot surely talk to his mamma," insinuated the brother-in-law. 
 
 '^She has written to him," cried the lady, behind the cambric. 
 
 " What, before he was ill .^^ Nothing more likely." 
 No, since," the mourner with the batiste mask gasped out ; not 
 
 before ; that is, I don't think so — that is, I " 
 
 Only since ; and you have — yes, I understand. I suppose when 
 he was too ill to read his own correspondence, you took charge of it, 
 did you } " 
 
 " I am the most unhappy mother in the world," cried out the un- 
 fortunate Helen. 
 
 " The most unhappy mother in the world, because your son is a man 
 and not a hermit ! Have a care, my dear sister. If you have sup- 
 pressed any letters to him, you may have done yourself a great injury ; 
 and, if 1 know anything of Arthur's spirit, may cause a difference be- 
 tween him and you, which you'll rue all your life — a difference that's 
 a dev'lish deal more important, my good madam, than the little — ^little 
 — trumpery cause which originated it." 
 
 There was only one letter," broke out Helen, — only a very little 
 one — only a few words. Here it is — oh — how can' you^ how can you 
 speak so " 
 
 i When the good soul said only a very little one," the Major could 
 not speak at all, so inclined was he to laugh, in spite of the agonies of 
 
 2 D 
 
418 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the poor soul before him^ and for whom he had a hearty pity and liking 
 too. But each was looking at the matter with his or her peculiar eyes 
 and view of morals^ and the Major s morals^ as the reader knows^ were 
 not those of an ascetic. 
 
 I recommend you/' he gravely continued^ if you can^ to seal it 
 up — those letters ain't unfrequently sealed with wafers — and to put it 
 amongst Pen's other letters, and let him have them when he calls for 
 them. Or if we can't seal it, we mistook it for a bill. " 
 
 I can't tell my son a lie," said the widow. It had been put silently 
 into the letter-box two days previous to their departure from the 
 Temple, and had been brought to Mrs. Pendennis by Martha. She had 
 never seen Fanny's handwriting, of course ; but when the letter was 
 put into her hands, she knew the author at once. She had been on the 
 watch for that letter every day since Pen had been ill. She had opened 
 some of his other letters because she wanted to get at that one. She 
 had the horrid paper poisoning her bag at that moment. She took it 
 out and oiFered it to her brother-in-law. 
 
 Arther Pendennis, Esq. ," he read, in a timid little sprawling hand- 
 writing, and with a sneer on his face. No, my dear, I won't read 
 any more. But you, who have read it, may tell me what the letter 
 contains — only prayers for his health in bad spelling, you say — and a 
 desire to see him ? Well, there's no harm in that. And as you ask 
 me " — here the Major began to look a little queer for his own part, and 
 put on his demure look — as you ask me, my dear, for information, 
 why, I don't mind telling you that — ah — that — Morgan, my man, has 
 made some inquiries regarding this affair, and that — my friend Doctor 
 Goodenough also looked into it — and it appears that this person was 
 greatly smitten with Arthur ; that he paid for her and took her to 
 Vauxhall Gardens, as Morgan heard from an old acquaintance of Pen's 
 and ours, an Irish gentleman, who was very nearly once having the 
 honour of being the — from an Irishman, in fact ; — that the girl's father, 
 a violent man of intoxicated habits, has beaten her mother, who persists 
 in declaring her daughter's entire innocence to her husband on the one 
 hand, while on the other she told Goodenough that Arthur had acted 
 like a brute to her^ child. And so you see the story remains in a 
 mystery. Will you have it cleared up } I have but to ask Pen, and 
 he will tell me at once — he is as honourable a man as ever lived." 
 
 Honourable ! " said the widow, with bitter scorn. Oh, brother, 
 what is this you call honour } If my boy has been guilty, he must marry 
 her. I would go down on my knees and pray him to do so." 
 
 ^*^Good God ! are you mad screamed out the Major ; and remem- 
 bering former passages in Arthur's history and Helen's, the truth came 
 across his mind that, were Helen to make this prayer to her son, he 
 would marry the girl : he was wild enough and obstinate enough to 
 commit any folly when a woman he loved was in the case. My dear 
 sister, have you lost your senses } " he continued (after an agitated 
 pause, during which the above dreary reflection crossed him) ; and in 
 a softened tone, What right have we to suppose that anything has 
 passed between this girl and him ? Let's see the letter. Her heart is 
 breaking ; pray, pray, write to me — home unhappy — unkind father — 
 your nurse — poor little Fanny — spelt, as you say, in a manner to outrage 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 '419 
 
 all seiise of decorum. But^ good heavens ! my dear^ what is there 
 in this ? only that the little devil is making love to him still. Why, 
 she didn't come into his chambers until he was so delirious that he didn t 
 know her. What-d'you-call- em, Flanagan, the laundress, told Morgan, 
 my man, so. She came in company of an old fellow, an old Mr. Bows, 
 who came most kindly down to Stillbrook and brought me away — by the 
 way, I left him in the cab, and never paid the fare ; and dev'lish kind it 
 was of him. No, there's nothing in the story." 
 
 Do you think so } Thank Heaven — thank God ! Helen cried, 
 ril take the letter to Arthur and ask him now. Look at him there. 
 He's on the terrace with Mr. Warrington. They are talking to some 
 children. My boy was always fond of children. He's innocent, thank 
 God — thank God ! Let me go to him." 
 
 Old Pendennis had his own opinion. When he briskly took the not 
 guilty side of the case, but a moment before, very likely the old gentle- 
 man had a different view from that which he chose to advocate, and 
 judged of Arthur by what he himself would have done. If she goes 
 to Arthur, and he speaks the truth, as the rascal will, it spoils all, 
 he thought. And he tried one more effort. 
 
 My dear, good soul," he said, taking Helen's hand and kissing it, 
 " as your son has not acquainted you with this affair, think if you have 
 any right to examine it. As you believe him to be a man of honour, 
 what right have you to doubt his honour in this instance ? Who is his 
 accuser ? An anonymous scoundrel who has brought no specific charge 
 against him. If there were any such, wouldn't the girl's parents have 
 come forward ? He is not called upon to rebut, nor you to entertain, 
 an anonymous accusation ; and as for believing him guilty because a 
 girl of that rank happened to be in his rooms acting as nurse to him, 
 begad you might as well insist upon his marrying that dem'd old Irish 
 gin-drinking laundress, Mrs. Flanagan." 
 
 The widow burst out laughing through her tears — ^the victory was 
 gained by the old general. 
 
 Marry Mrs. Flanagan, by Ged," he continued, tapping her slender 
 hand. No. The boy has told you nothing about it, and you know 
 nothing about it. The boy is innocent — of course. And what, my good 
 soul, is the course for us to pursoo ? Suppose he is attached to this girl 
 — don't look sad again, it's merely a supposition — and begad a young 
 fellow may have an attachment, mayn't he ? — directly he gets well he 
 will be at her again." 
 
 He must come home ! We must go off directly to Fairoaks," the 
 widow cried out. 
 
 " My good creature, he'll bore himself to death at Fairoaks. He'll 
 have nothing to do but to think about his passion there. There's no 
 place in the world for making a little passion into a big one, and where 
 a fellow feeds on his own thoughts, like a lonely country house where 
 there's nothing to do. We must occupy him, amuse him : we must 
 take him abroad : he's never been abroad except to Paris for a lark. 
 We must travel a little. He must have a nurse with him, to take great 
 care of him, for Goodenough says he had a dev'lish narrow squeak of it 
 (don't look frightened), and so you must come and watch : and I sup- 
 pose you'll take Miss Bell, and I should like to ask Warrington to come 
 
420 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Arthur's dev'lish fond of Warrington. He can't do without Warrington. 
 Warrington's family is one of the oldest in England^ and he is one of 
 the best young fellows I ever met in my life. I like him exceedingly." 
 
 Does Mr. Warrington know anything about this — this affair.'^" 
 asked Helen. He had been away, 1 know, for two months before it 
 happened ; Pen wrote me so." 
 
 ^^Not a word — 1 — I've asked him about it. I've pumped him. He 
 never heard of the transaction, never ; I pledge you my word," cried 
 out the Major, in some alarm. "And, my dear, I think you had much 
 best not talk to him about it — much best not — of course not : the sub- 
 ject is most delicate and painful." 
 
 The simple widow took her brother's hand and pressed it. " Thank 
 you, brother," she said. " You have been very, very kind to me. You 
 have given me a great deal of comfort. I'll go to my room, and think 
 of what you have said. This illness and these — these emotions — have 
 agitated me a great deal ; and I'm not very strong, you know. But 
 I'll go and thank God that my boy is innocent. He is innocent. Isn't 
 he, sir.f^" 
 
 " Yes, my dearest creature, yes," said the old fellow, kissing her 
 affectionately, and quite overcome by her tenderness. He looked after 
 her as she retreated, with a fondness which was rendered more piquant, 
 as it were, by the mixture of a certain scorn which accompanied it. 
 
 Innocent !" he said ; " I'd swear, till I was black in the face, he was 
 innocent, rather than give that good soul pain." 
 
 Having achieved this victory, the fatigued and happy warrior laid 
 himself down on the sofa, and put his yellow silk pocket-handkerchief 
 over his face, and indulged in a snug little nap, of which the dreams, 
 no doubt, were very pleasant, as he snored with refreshing regularity. 
 The young men sate, meanwhile, dawdling away the sunshiny hours 
 on the terrace, very happy, and Pen, at least, very talkative. He was 
 narrating to Warrington a plan for a new novel, and a new tragedy. 
 Warrington laughed at the idea of his writing a tragedy. By Jove, he 
 would show that he could ; and he began to spout some of the lines of 
 his play. 
 
 The little solo on the wind instrument which the Major was perform- 
 ing was interrupted by the entrance of Miss Bell. She had been on 
 a visit to her old friend. Lady Rockminster, who had taken a summer 
 villa in the neighbourhood ; and who, hearing of Arthur's illness, and 
 his mother's arrival at Richmond, had visited the latter ; and, for the 
 benefit of the former, whom she didn't like, had been prodigal of grapes, 
 partridges, and other attentions. For Laura the old lady had a great 
 fondness, and longed that she should come and stay with her ; but 
 Laura could not leave her mother at this juncture. Worn out by 
 constant watching over Arthur's health, Helen's own had suffered very 
 considerably ; and Doctor Goodenough had had reason to prescribe for 
 her as well as for his younger patient. 
 
 Old Pendennis started up on the entrance of the young lady. His 
 slumbers were easily broken. He made her a gallant speech — he had 
 been full of gallantry towards her of late. Where had she been gather- 
 ing those roses which she wore on her cheeks } How happy he was to 
 be disturbed out of his dreams by such a charming reality Laura had 
 
PENDENNIS 421 
 
 plenty of humour and honesty ; and these two caused her to have on 
 her side something very like a contempt for the old gentleman. It 
 delighted her to draw out his worldliness, and to make the old habitm 
 of clubs and drawing-rooms tell his twaddling tales about great folks, 
 and expound his views of morals. • • i ci. 
 
 Not in this instance, however, was she disposed to be satirical, bhe 
 had been to drive with Lady Rockminster in the Park, she said ; and 
 she had brought home game for Pen, and flowers for mamma. She 
 looked very grave about mamma. She had just been with Mrs. I en- 
 dennis. Helen was very much worn, and she feared she was very, very 
 ill. Her large eyes filled with tender marks of the sympathy which she 
 felt in her beloved friend's condition. She was alarmed about her. 
 Could not that good— that dear Doctor Goodenough—cure her } 
 
 Arthur s illness, and other mental anxiety," the Major slowly said, 
 *'^had, no doubt, shaken Helen." A burning blush upon the girl's 
 face showed that she understood the old man s allusion. But she 
 looked him full in the face and made no reply. He might have 
 spared me that," she thought. What is he aiming at in recalling 
 that shame to me ? " , . , . u 
 
 That he had an aim in view is very possible. The old diplomatist seldom 
 spoke without some such end. Doctor Goodenough had talked to him, 
 he said, about their dear friend's health, and she wanted rest and change 
 of scene— yes, change of scene. Painful circumstances which had 
 occurred must be forgotten and never alluded to ; he begged pardon 
 for even hinting at them to Miss Bell— he never should do so again— 
 nor, he was sure, would she. Everything must be done to soothe and 
 comfort their friend, and his proposal was that they should go abroad 
 for the autumn to a watering-place in the Rhine neighbourhood, where 
 Helen might rally her exhausted spirits, and Arthur try and become a 
 new man. Of course, Laura would not forsake her mother.^ 
 
 Of course not. It was about Helen, and Helen only— that is, about 
 Arthur too for her sake— that Laura was anxious. She would go abroad 
 or anywhere with Helen. 
 
 And Helen having thought the matter over for an hour in her room, 
 had by that time grown to be as anxious for the tour as any schoolboy, 
 who has been reading a book of voyages, is eager to go to sea. Whither 
 should they go? the farther the better— to some place so remote 
 that even recollection could not follow them thither : so delightful 
 that Pen should never want to leave it— anywhere so that he could 
 be happy. She opened her desk with trembling fingers and took out 
 her banker's book, and counted up her little savings. If more was 
 wanted, she had the diamond cross. She would borrow from Laura 
 again. Let us go— let us go," she thought ; directly he can bear 
 the journey let us go away. Come, kind Doctor Goodenough— come 
 quick, and give us leave to quit England." 
 
 The good Doctor drove over to dine with them that very day. It 
 you agitate yourself so," he said to her, and if your heart beats so, 
 and if you persist in being so anxious about a young gentleman who is 
 getting well as fast as he can, we shall have you laid up, and Miss Laura 
 to watch you ; and then it will be her turn to be ill, and I should like 
 to know how the deuce a doctor is to live who is obliged to come and 
 
422 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 attend you all for nothing ? Mrs. Goodenough is already jealous of you, 
 and says^ with perfect justice, that I fall in love with my patients. And 
 you must please to get out of the country as soon as ever you can^ that 
 I may have a little peace in my family." 
 
 When the plan of going abroad was proposed to Arthur, it was re- 
 ceived by that gentleman with the greatest alacrity and enthusiasm. 
 (He longed to be olF at once. He let his mustachios grow from that 
 jvery moment, in order, I suppose, that he might get his mouth into 
 (training for a perfect French and German pronunciation ; and he was 
 jfeeriously disquieted in his mind because the mustachios, when they came, 
 •were of a decidedly red colour. He had looked forward to an autumn 
 jat Fairoaks ; and perhaps the idea of passing two or three months there 
 did not amuse the young man. There is not a soul to speak to in the 
 place," he said to Warrington. 1 can't stand old Portman's sermons, 
 and pompous after-dinner conversation. I know all old Glanders's 
 stories about the Peninsular war. The Claverings are the only Christian 
 people in the neighbourhood, and they are not to be at home before 
 Christmas, my uncle says : besides, Warrington, I want to get out of 
 the country. Whilst you were away, confound it, I had a temptation, 
 from which I am very thankful to have escaped, and which I count that 
 even my illness came very luckily to put an end to." And here he 
 narrated to his friend the circumstances of the Vauxhall affair, with 
 which the reader is already acquainted. * 
 
 Warrington looked very grave when he heard this story. Putting 
 the moral delinquency out of the question, he was extremely glad for 
 Arthur's sake that the latter had escaped from a danger which might 
 have made his whole life wretched ; which certainly," said Warrington, 
 
 would have occasioned the wretchedness and ruin of the other party. 
 And your mother and — and your friends — what a pain it would have 
 been to them ! " urged Pen's companion, little knowing what grief and 
 annoyance these good people had already suffered. 
 
 Not a word to my mother ! " Pen cried out, in a state of great 
 alarm. She would never get over it. An esclandre of that sort would 
 kill her, I do believe. And," he added, with a knowing air, and as if, 
 like a young rascal of a Lovelace, he had been engaged in what are 
 called affaires de coeur all his life, *^fthe best way, when a danger of that 
 sort menaces, is not to face it, but to turn one's back on it and run."] 
 And were you very much smitten ? " Warrington asked. ^ 
 Hm !" said Lovelace. She dropped her h's, but she was a dear 
 little girl." 
 
 O Clarissas of this life, O you poor little ignorant vain foolish 
 maidens ! if you did but know the way in which the Lovelaces speak of 
 you : if you could but hear Jack talking to Tom across the coffee-room 
 pf a club ; or see Ned taking your poor little letters out of his cigar- 
 Ipase, and handing them over to Charley, and Billy, and Harry across 
 the mess-room table, you would not be so eager to write, or so ready 
 W listen ! There's a sort of crime which is not complete unless the 
 lucky rogue boasts of it afterwards ; and the man who betrays your 
 honour in the first place, is pretty sure, remember that, to betray your 
 secret too. 
 
 " It's hard to fight, and it's easy to fall," Warrington said gloomily. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 423 
 
 And as you say, Pendennis, when a danger like this is imminent, 
 the hest way is to turn your hack on it and run." , . , „ 
 
 After this little discourse upon a subject about which Pen would 
 have talked a great deal more eloquently a month back, the conversa- 
 tion reverted to the plans for going abroad, and Arthur eagerly pressed 
 his friend to be of the party. Warrington was a part of the family— a 
 part of the cure. Arthur said he should not have half the pleasure 
 without Warrington. 
 
 But George said No, he couldn't go. He must stop at home and 
 take Pen's place. The other .remarked that that was needless, for 
 Shandon was now come back to London, and Arthur was entitled to 
 a holiday. . 
 
 Don t press me," Warrington said ; I can t go. 1 ve particular 
 engagements. I'm best at home. I've not got the money to travel, 
 that's the long and short of it— for travelling costs money, you know." 
 
 This little obstacle seemed fatal to Pen. He mentioned it to his 
 mother : Mrs. Pendennis was very sorry ; Mr. Warrington had been 
 exceedingly kind; but she supposed he knew best about his affairs. 
 And then, no doubt, she reproached herself for selfishness in wishing 
 to carry the boy off and have him to herself altogether. 
 
 ^*^What is this I hear from Pen, my dear Mr. Warrington.^" the 
 Major asked one day, when the pair were alone, and after Warrington's 
 objection had been stated to him. Not go with us ? We can't hear 
 of such a thing — Pen won't get well without you. I promise you, I'm 
 not going to be his nurse. He must have somebody with him that's 
 stronger and gayer and better able to amuse him than a rheumatic old 
 fogy like me. I shall go to Carlsbad very likely, when I've seen you 
 people settle down. Travelling costs nothing nowadays— or so little ! 
 And— and pray, Warrington, I remember that I was your father's very 
 old friend, and if you and your brother are not on such terms as to 
 enable you to— to anticipate your younger brother's allowance, I beg 
 you to make me your banker, for hasn't Pen been getting into your 
 debt these three weeks past, during which you have been doing what 
 he informs me is his work, with such exemplary talent and genius, 
 begad ? " . 
 
 Still, in spite of this kind offer and unheard-of generosity on the 
 part of the Major, George Warrington refused, and said he would stay 
 at home. But it was with a faltering voice and an irresolute accent 
 which showed how much he would like to go, though his tongue per- 
 sisted in saying nay. 
 
 But the Major's persevering benevolence was not to be balked m 
 this way. At the tea-table that evening, Helen happening to be absent 
 from the room for the moment, looking for Pen, who had gone to 
 roost, old Pendennis returned to the charge, and rated Warrington 
 for refusing to join in their excursion. ''Isn't it ungallant, Miss 
 Bell ? " he said, turning to that young lady. Isn't it unfriendly ? 
 Here we have been the happiest party in the world, and this odious 
 selfish creature breaks it up ! " 
 
 Miss Bell's long eyelashes looked down towards her teacup : and 
 Warrington blushed hugely, but did not speak. Neither did Miss 
 Bell speak : but when he blushed she blushed too. 
 
424 
 
 PENBENNIS 
 
 You ask him to come^ my dear/' said the benevolent old gentle- 
 man^ '^'^and then perhaps he will listen to you " 
 
 ''Why should Mr. Warrington listen to me?" asked the young 
 lady, putting the query to her teaspoon seemingly, and not to the 
 Major. 
 
 Ask him ; you have not asked him/' said Pen's artless uncle. 
 ''I should be very glad indeed if Mr. Warrington would come/' 
 remarked Laura to the teaspoon. 
 '' Would you ? " said George. 
 
 She looked up and said '^'^ Yes." Tl^eir eyes met. ''I will go any- 
 where you ask me, or do anything/' said George lowly, and forcing 
 out the words as if they gave him pain. 
 
 Old Pendennis was delighted ; the affectionate old creature clapped 
 his hands and cried '' Bravo ! bravo I It's a bargain— a bargain, 
 begad ! Shake hands on it, young people !" And Laura, with a look 
 full of tender brightness, put out her hand to Warrington. He took 
 hers ; his face indicated a strange agitation. He seemed to be about 
 to speak, when from Pen's neighbouring room Helen entered, looking 
 at them as the candle which she held lighted her pale frightened face. 
 
 Laura blushed more red than ever, and withdrew her hand. 
 
 ^^^^ What is it.?" Helen asked. 
 It's a bargain we have been making, my dear creature," said the 
 Major, in his most caressing voice. We have just bound over Mr. 
 Warrington in a promise to come abroad with us." 
 
 '' Indeed ! " Helen said. 
 
 CHAPTER LV 
 
 IN WHICH FANNY ENGAGES A NEW MEDICAL MAN 
 
 Could Helen have suspected that, with Pen's returning strength, his 
 unhappy partiality for little Fanny would also reawaken ? Though she 
 never spoke a word regarding that young person, after her conversation 
 with the Major, and though, to all appearance, she utterly ignored 
 Fanny's existence, yet Mrs. Pendennis kept a particularly close watch, 
 upon all Master Arthur's actions; on the plea of ill-health, would scarcely 
 let him out of her sight ; and was especially anxious that he should biB 
 spared the trouble of all correspondence, for the present at least. Very 
 likely Arthur looked at his own letters with some tremor ; very likely, 
 as he received them at the family table, feeling his mother's watch upon 
 him (though the good soul's eye seemed fixed upon her teacup or her 
 book), he expected daily to see a little handwriting, which he would 
 have known, though he had never seen it yet, and his heart beat as he 
 received the letters to his address. Was he more pleased or annoyed, 
 that, day after day, his expectations were not realised ; and was his mind 
 relieved, that there came no letter from Fanny .^^ Though, no doubt, 
 in these matters, when Lovelace is tired of Clarissa (or the contrary), 
 it is best for both parties to break at once, and each, after the failure of 
 the attempt at union, to go his own way, and pursue his course through 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 425 
 
 life solitary ; yet our self-love, or our pity, or our sense of decency, does 
 not like that sudden bankruptcy. Before we announce to the world 
 that our firm of Lovelace and Co. can't meet its engagements, we try to 
 make compromises ; we have mournful meetings of partners : we delay 
 the putting up of the shutters, and the dreary announcement of the 
 failure. It must come : but we pawn our jewels to keep things going a 
 little longer. On the whole, I dare say, Pen was rather annoyed that 
 he had no remonstrances from Fanny. What ! could she part from him, 
 and never so much as once look round } could she sink, and never once 
 hold a little hand out, or cry Help, Arthur ! " Well, well : they don't 
 all go down who venture on that voyage. Some few drown when the 
 vessel founders ; but most are only ducked, and scramble to shore. And 
 the reader's experience of A. Pendennis, Esquire, of the Upper Temple, 
 will enable him to state whether that gentleman belonged to the class 
 of persons who were likely to sink or to swim. 
 
 Though Pen was as yet too weak to walk half a mile ; and might not, 
 on account of his precious health, be trusted to take a drive in a carriage 
 by himself, and without a nurse in attendance ; yet Helen could not 
 keep watch over Mr. Warrington too, and had no authority to prevent 
 that gentleman from going to London, if business called him thither. 
 Indeed, if he had gone and stayed, perhaps the widow, from reasons of 
 her own, would have been glad ; but she checked these selfish wishes 
 as soon as she ascertained or owned them ; and, remembering Warring- 
 ton's great regard and services, and constant friendship for her boy, 
 received him as a member of her family almost, with her usual melan- 
 choly kindness, and submissive acquiescence. Yet somehow, one 
 morning when his affairs called him to town, she divined what Warring- 
 ton's errand was, and that he was gone to London to get news about 
 Fanny for Pen. 
 
 Indeed, Arthur had had some talk with his friend, and told him more 
 at large what his adventures had been with Fanny (adventures which 
 the reader knows already), and what were his feelings respecting her. 
 He was very thankful that he had escaped the great danger, to which 
 Warrington said Amen heartily ; that he had no great fault wherewith 
 to reproach himself in regard of his behaviour to her, but that if they 
 parted, as they must, he would be glad to say a God bless her, and to 
 hope that she would remember him kindly. In his discourse with War- 
 rington he spoke upon these matters with so much gravity, and so much 
 emotion, that George, who had pronounced himself most strongly for 
 the separation too, began to fear that his friend was not so well cured 
 as he boasted of being ; and that, if the two were to come together 
 again, all the danger and the temptation might have to be fought once 
 more. And with what result.^ ''It is hard to struggle, Arthur, and 
 it is easy to fall," Warrington said : '' and the best courage for us poor 
 wretches is to fly from danger. I would not have been what I am now, 
 had I practised what I preach." 
 
 ''And what did you practise, George?" Pen asked eagerly. "I 
 knew there was something. Tell us about it, Warrington." 
 
 " There was something that can't be mended, and that shattered my 
 whole fortunes early," Warrington answered. " I said I would tell you 
 about it some day. Pen ; and will, but not now. Take the moral without 
 
426 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the fable now^ Pen^ my boy ; and if you want to see a man whose 
 whole life has been wrecked by an unlucky rock against which he 
 struck as a boy — here he is_, Arthur^ and so I warn you." 
 
 We have shown how Mr. Huxter^ in writing home to his Clavering 
 friends, mentioned that there was a fashionable club in London of 
 which he was an attendant^ and that he was there in the habit of meet- 
 ing an Irish officer of distinction^ who^ amongst other news^ had given 
 that intelligence regarding Pendennis which the young surgeon had 
 transmitted to Clavering. This club was no other than the Back 
 Kitchen^ where the disciple of Saint Bartholomew was accustomed to 
 meet the General^, the peculiarities of whose brogue^ appearance, dis- 
 position, and general conversation, greatly diverted many young 
 gentlemen who used the Back Kitchen as a place of nightly entertain- 
 ment and refreshment. Huxter, who had a fine natural genius for 
 mimicking everything, whether it was a favourite tragic or comic actor, 
 a cock on a dunghill, a corkscrew going into a bottle and a cork issuing 
 thence, or an Irish officer of genteel connections who offered himself 
 as an object of imitation with only too much readiness, talked his talk, 
 and twanged his poor old long-bow whenever drink, a hearer, and an 
 opportunity occurred, studied our friend the General with peculiar 
 gusto, and* drew the honest fellow out many a night. A bait, consist- 
 ing of sixpennyworth of brandy and water, the worthy old man was 
 sure to swallow : and under the influence of this liquor, who was more 
 happy than he to tell his stories of his daughter's triumphs and his 
 own, in love, war, drink, and polite society ? Thus Huxter was enabled 
 to present to his friends many pictures of Costigan : of Costigan fighting 
 a jewel in the Phaynix — of Costigan and his interview with the Juke of 
 York — of Costigan at his sonunlaw's teeble, surrounded by the nobilitee 
 of his countree — of Costigan when crying drunk, at which time he was 
 in the habit of confidentially lamenting his daughter s ingratichewd, and 
 stating that his grey hairs were hastening to a praymachure greeve. 
 And thus our friend was the means of bringing a number of young 
 fellows to the Back Kitchen, who consumed the landlord's liquors whilst 
 they relished the General's peculiarities, so that mine host pardoned 
 many of the hitter's foibles, in consideration of the good which they 
 brought to his house. Not the highest position in life was this certainly, 
 or one which, if we had a reverence for an old man, we would be anxious 
 that he should occupy : but of this aged bufi'oon it may be mentioned 
 that he had no particular idea that his condition of life was not a high 
 one, and that in his whiskied blood there was not a black drop, nor in 
 his muddled brains a bitter feeling against any mortal being. Even his 
 child, his cruel Emily, he would have taken to his heart and forgiven 
 with tears ; and what more can one say of the Christian charity of a 
 man than that he is actually ready to forgive those who have done him 
 every kindness, and with whom he is wrong in a dispute ? 
 
 There was some idea amongst the young men who frequented the 
 Back Kitchen, and made themselves merry with the society of Captain 
 Costigan, that the Captain made a mystery regarding his lodgings for 
 fear of duns, or from a desire of privacy, and lived in some wonderful 
 place. Nor would the landlord of the premises, when questioned upon 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 427 
 
 this subject^ answer any inquiries ; his maxim being that he only knew 
 gentlemen who frequented that room^ in that room ; that when they 
 quitted that room^ having paid their scores as gentlemen^ and behaved 
 as gentlemen^ his communication with them ceased; and that^ as a 
 gentleman himself^ he thought it was only impertinent curiosity to ask 
 where any other gentleman lived. Costigan, in his most intoxicated 
 and confidential moments^ also evaded any replies to questions or hints 
 addressed to him on this subject : there was no particular secret 
 about it^ as we have seen, who have had more than once the honour 
 of entering his apartments, but in the vicissitudes of a long life he 
 had been pretty often in the habit of residing in houses where 
 privacy was necessary to his comfort, and where the appearance of 
 some visitors would have brought him anything but pleasure. Hence 
 all sorts of legends were formed by wags or credulous persons re- 
 specting his place of abode. It was stated that he slept habitually 
 in a watch-box in the City; in a cab at a mews, where a cab pro- 
 prietor gave him a shelter; in the Duke of York's Column, &c., the 
 wildest of these theories being put abroad by the facetious and 
 imaginative Huxter. For Huxey, when not silenced by the company 
 of swells," and when in the society of his own friends, was a very 
 diiFerent fellow to the youth whom we have seen cowed by Pen's im- 
 pertinent airs, and, adored by his family at home, was the life and 
 soul of the circle whom he met, either round the festive board or the 
 dissecting-table. 
 
 On one brilliant September morning, as Huxter was regaling himself 
 with a cup of coffee at a stall in Covent Garden, having spent a delicious 
 night dancing at Vauxhall, he spied the General reeling down Henrietta 
 Street, with a crowd of hooting blackguard boys at his heels, who had 
 left their beds under the arches of the river betimes, and were prowling 
 about already for breakfast, and the strange livelihood of the day. The 
 poor old General was not in that condition when the sneers and jokes 
 of these young beggars had much effect upon him : the cabmen and 
 watermen at the cabstand knew him, and passed their comments upon 
 him : the policemen gazed after him, and warned the boys off him, with 
 looks of scorn and pity : what did the scorn and pity of men, the jokes 
 of ribald children, matter to the General ? He reeled along the street 
 with glazed eyes, having just sense enough to know whither he was 
 bound, and to pursue his accustomed beat homewards. He went to bed 
 not knowing how he had reached it, as often as any man in London. He 
 woke and found himself there, and asked no questions : and he was tack- 
 ing about on this daily though perilous voyage, when, from his station 
 at the coffee-stall, Huxter spied him. To note his friend, to pay his 
 twopence (indeed, he had but eightpence left, or he would have had a 
 cab from Vauxhall to take him home), was with the eager Huxter the 
 work of an instant — Costigan dived down the alleys hy Drury Lane 
 Theatre, where gin-shops, oyster-shops, and theatrical wardrobes abound, 
 the proprietors of which were now asleep behind their shutters, as the 
 pink morning lighted up their chimneys ; and through these courts 
 Huxter followed the General, until he reached Oldcastle Street, in 
 which is the gate of Shepherd's Inn. 
 
 Here, just as he was within sight of home, a luckless slice of orange- 
 
428 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 peel came between the General's heel and the pavement^ and caused 
 the poor old fellow to fall backwards. 
 
 Huxter ran up to him instantly^ and after a pause^ during which the 
 veteran^ giddy with his fall and his previous whisky, gathered, as he 
 best might, his dizzy brains together, the young surgeon lifted up the 
 limping General, and very kindly and good-naturedly offered to conduct 
 him to his home. For some time, and in reply to the queries which the 
 student of medicine put to him, the muzzy General refused to say where 
 his lodgings were, and declared that they were hard by, and that he 
 could reach them without difficulty ; and he disengaged himself from 
 Huxter's arm, and made a rush, as if to get to his own home unattended ; 
 but he reeled and lurched so that the young surgeon insisted upon ac- 
 companying him, and, with many soothing expressions and cheering and 
 consolatory phrases, succeeded in getting the General's dirty old hand 
 under what he called his own fin, and led the old fellow, moaning 
 piteously, across the street. He stopped when he came to the ancient 
 gate, ornamented with the armorial bearings of the venerable Shepherd. 
 
 Here 'tis," said he, drawing up at the portal, and he made a successful 
 pull at the gate-bell, which presently brought out old Mr. Bolton, the 
 porter, scowling fiercely, and grumbling as he was used to do every 
 morning when it became his turn to let in that early bird. 
 
 Costigan tried to hold Bolton for a moment in genteel conversation, 
 but the other surlily would not. Don't bother me," he said ; ^^go to 
 your hown bed, Capting, and don't keep honest men out of theirs." So 
 the Captain tacked across the square and reached his own staircase, up 
 which he stumbled, with the worthy Huxter at his heels. Costigan 
 had a key of his own, which Huxter inserted into the keyhole for him, 
 so that there was no need to call up little Mr. Bows from the sleep into 
 which the old musician had not long since fallen, and Huxter having 
 aided to disrobe his tipsy patient, and ascertained that no bones were 
 broken, helped him to bed, and applied compresses and water to one of 
 his knees and shins, which, with the pair of trousers which encased 
 them, Costigan had severely torn in his fall. At the General's age, and 
 with his habit of body, such wounds as he had inflicted on himself are 
 slow to heal : a good deal of inflammation ensued, and the old fellow 
 lay ill for some days suffering both pain and fever. 
 
 Mr. Huxter undertook the case of his interesting patient with great 
 confidence and alacrity, and conducted it with becoming skill. He 
 visited his friend day after day, and consoled him with lively rattle and 
 conversation for the absence of the society which Costigan needed, and 
 of which he was an ornament ; and he gave special instructions to the 
 invalid's nurse about the quantity of whisky which the patient was to 
 take — instructions which, as the poor old fellow could not for many 
 days get out of his bed or sofa himself, he could not by any means 
 infringe. Bows, Mrs. Bolton, and our little friend Fanny, when able 
 to do so, officiated at the General's bedside, and the old warrior was 
 made as comfortable as possible under his calamity. 
 
 Thus Huxter, whose aff"able manners and social turn made him quickly 
 intimate with persons in whose society he fell, became pretty soon inti- 
 mate in Shepherd's Inn, both with our acquaintances in the garrets and 
 those in the porter's lodge. He thought he had seen Fanny somewhere : 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 429 
 
 he felt certain that he had ; but it is no wonder that he should not accu- 
 rately remember her, for the poor little thing never chose to tell him 
 where she had met him ; he himself had seen her at a period when his own 
 views both of persons and of right and wrong were clouded by the ex- 
 citement of drinking and dancing, and also little Fanny was very much 
 changed and worn by the fever and agitation, and passion and despair, 
 which the past three weeks had poured upon the head of that little 
 victim. Borne down was the head now, and very pale and wan the face : 
 and many and many a time the sad eyes had looked into the postman's, 
 as he came to the Inn, and the sickened heart had sunk as he passed 
 away. When Mr. Costigan's accident occurred, Fanny was rather 
 glad to have an opportunity of being useful and doing something kind 
 —something that would make her forget her own little sorrows perhaps : 
 she felt she bore them better whilst she did her duty, though 1 dare say 
 many a tear dropped into the old Irishman's gruel. Ah, me ! stir the 
 gruel well, and have courage, little Fanny ! If everybody who has 
 suffered from your complaint were to die of it straightway, what a fine 
 year the undertakers would have ! ^ 
 
 Whether from compassion for his only patient, or delight in his 
 society, Mr. Huxter found now occasion to visit Costigan two or three 
 times in the day at least, and if any of the members of the porter's lodge 
 family were not in attendance on the General, the young doctor was 
 sure to have some pai-ticular directions to address to them at their own 
 place of habitation. He was a kind fellow ; he made or purchased toys 
 for the children ; he brought them apples and brandy-balls ; he brought 
 a mask and frightened them with it, and caused a smile upon the face 
 of pale Fanny. He called Mrs. Bolton Mrs. B., and was very intimate, 
 familiar, and facetious with that lady, quite different from that 'aughty 
 'artless beast," as Mrs. Bolton now denominated a certain young gentle- 
 man of our acquaintance, and whom she now vowed she never could 
 abear 
 
 It was from this lady, who was very free in her conversation, that 
 Huxter presently learnt what was the illness which was evidently prey- 
 ing upon little Fan, and what had been Pen's behaviour regarding her. 
 Mrs. Bolton's account of the transaction was not, it may be imagined, 
 entirely an impartial narrative. One would have thought from her 
 story that the young gentleman had employed a course of the most per- 
 severing and flagitious artifices to win the girl's heart, had broken the 
 most solemn promises made to her, and was a wretch to be hated and 
 chastised by every champion of woman. Huxter, in his present frame 
 of mind respecting Arthur, and suffering under the latter's contumely, 
 was ready, of course, to take all for granted that was said in the dis- 
 favour of this unfortunate convalescent. But why did he not write 
 home to Clavering, as he had done previously, giving an account of 
 Pen's misconduct, and of the particulars regarding it, which had now 
 come to his knowledge ? He once, in a letter to his brother-in-law, 
 announced that that nice young man, Mr. Pendennis, had escaped 
 narrowly from a fever, and that no doubt all Clavering, where he tvas 
 so popular, would be pleased at his recovery ; and he mentioned that he 
 had an interesting case of compound fracture, an officer of distinction, 
 which kept him in town ; but as for Fanny Bolton, he made no more 
 
430 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 mention of her in his letters — no more than Pen himself had made 
 mention of her. O you mothers at home^ how much do you think you 
 know about your lads? How much do you think you know? 
 
 But with Bows^ there was no reason why Huxter should not speak his 
 mind^ and so^ a very short time after his conversation with Mrs. Bolton^ 
 Mr. Sam talked to the musician about his early acquaintance with Pen- 
 dennis ; described him as a confounded conceited blackguard_, and ex- 
 pressed a determination to punch his impudent head as soon as ever he 
 should be well enough to stand up like a man. 
 
 Then it was that Bows on his part spoke^ and told his version of the 
 story^ whereof Arthur and little Fan were the hero and heroine ; how 
 they had met by no contrivance of the former^ but by a blunder of the 
 old Irishman^ now in bed with a broken shin — how Pen had acted with 
 manliness and self-control in the business — how Mrs. Bolton was an 
 idiot ; and he related the conversation which he^ Bows^ had had with 
 Pen, and the sentiments uttered by the young man. Perhaps Bow's 
 story caused some twinges of conscience in the breast of Pen's accuser, 
 and that gentleman frankly owned that he had been wrong with re- 
 gard to Arthur, and withdrew his project for punching Mr. Pendennis's 
 head. 
 
 But the cessation of his hostility for Pen did not diminish Huxter s 
 attentions to Fanny, which unlucky Mr. Bows marked with his usual 
 jealousy and bitterness of spirit. I have but to like anybody," the 
 old fellow thought, and somebody is sure to be preferred to me. It 
 has been the same ill luck with me since I was a lad, until now that I 
 am sixty years old. What can I expect better than to be laughed at ? 
 It is for the young to succeed, and to be happy, and not for old fools 
 like me. I've played a second fiddle all through life," he said, with a 
 bitter laugh ; how can I suppose the luck is to change after it has 
 gone against me so long ? ' This was the selfish way in which Bows 
 looked at the state of affairs : though few persons would have thought 
 there was any cause for his jealousy, who looked at the pale and grief- 
 stricken countenance of the hapless little girl, its object. Fanny received 
 Huxter's good-natured efforts at consolation and kind attentions kindly. 
 She laughed now and again at his jokes and games with her little sisters, 
 but relapsed quickly into a dejection which ought to have satisfied Mr. 
 Bows that the new-comer had no place in her heart as yet, had jealous 
 Mr. Bows been enabled to see with clear eyes. 
 
 But Bows did not. Fanny attributed Pen's silence somehow to 
 Bows's interference. Fanny hated him. Fanny treated Bows with 
 constant cruelty and injustice. She turned from him when he spoke — 
 she loathed his attempts at consolation. A hard life had Mr. Bows, 
 and a cruel return for his regard. 
 
 When Warrington came to Shepherd's Inn as Pen's ambassador, it 
 was for Mr. Bows's apartments he inquired (no doubt upon a previous 
 agreement with the principal for whom he acted in this delicate negotia- 
 tion), and he did not so much as catch a glimpse of Miss Fanny when 
 he stopped at the Inn-gate and made his inquiry. Warrington was, of 
 course, directed to the musician's chambers, and found him tending 
 the patient there, from whose chamber he came out to wait upon his 
 guest. We have said that they had been previously known to one 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 481 
 
 another, and the pair shook hands with sufficient cordiality. After a 
 little preliminary talk, Warrington said that he had come from his 
 friend Arthur Pendennis, and from his family, to thank Bows for his 
 attention at the commencement of Pen's illness, and for his kindness 
 in hastening into the country to fetch the Major. 
 
 Bows replied that it was hut his duty : he had never thought to have 
 seen the young gentleman alive again when he went in search of Pen's 
 relatives, and he was very glad of Mr. Pendennis's recovery, and that 
 he had his friends with him. Lucky are they who have friends, Mr. 
 Warrington," said the musician. I might be up in this garret and 
 nobody would care for me, or mind whether I was alive or dead." 
 What ! not the General, Mr. Bows.^" Warrington asked. 
 The General likes his whisky-bottle more than anything in life," 
 the other answered ; we live together from habit and convenience ; 
 and he cares for me no more than you do. What is it you want to ask 
 me, Mr. Warrington ? You ain't come to visit me, I know very well. 
 Nobody comes to visit me. It is about Fanny, the porter's daughter, 
 you are come — I see that very well. Is Mr. Pendennis, now he has 
 got well, anxious to see her again Does his lordship the Sultan 
 propose to throw his 'ankerchief to her } She has been very ill, sir, 
 ever since the day when Mrs. Pendennis turned her out of doors — kind 
 of a lady, wasn't it } The poor girl and myself found the young gentle- 
 man raving in a fever, knowing nobody, with nobody to tend hi^ but 
 his drunken laundress — she watched day and night by him. I set off 
 to fetch his uncle. Mamma comes and turns Fanny to the right-about. 
 Uncle comes and leaves me to pay the cab. Carry my compliments to 
 the ladies and gentlemen, and say we are both very thankful, very. 
 Why, a countess couldn't have behaved better ; and for an apothecary's 
 lady, as I'm given to understand Mrs. Pendennis was — I'm sure her 
 behaviour is most uncommon aristocratic and genteel. She ought to 
 have a double-gilt pestle and mortar to her coach." 
 
 It was from Mr. Huxter that Bows had learned Pen's parentage no 
 doubt, and if he took Pen's part against the young surgeon, and Fanny's 
 against Mr. Pendennis, it was because the old gentleman was in so 
 savage a mood, that his humour was to contradict everybody. 
 
 Warrington was curious, and not ill pleased at the musician's taunts 
 and irascibility. ^^I never heard of these transactions," he said, '^^ or 
 got but a very imperfect account of them from Major Pendennis. 
 What was a lady to do } I think (I have never spoken with her on the 
 subject) she had some notion that the young woman and my friend Pen 
 were on — on terms of— of an intimacy which Mrs. Pendennis could not, 
 of course, recognise " 
 
 ^^Oh, of course not, sir. Speak out, sir; say what you mean at 
 once, that the young gentleman of the Temple had made a victim of 
 the girl of Shepherd's Inn, eh ? And so she was to be turned out of 
 doors — or brayed alive in the double-gilt pestle and mortar, by Jove ! 
 No, Mr. Warrington, there was no such thing : there was no victimising, 
 or if there was, Mr. Arthur was the victim, not the girl. He is an 
 honest fellow, he is, though he is conceited, and a puppy sometimes. 
 He can feel like a man, and run away from temptation like a man. I 
 own it, though I suffer by it, I own it. He has a heart, he has : but 
 
432 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 the girl hasn't^ sir. That girl will do anything to win a man^ and fling 
 him away without a pang^ sir. If she's flung away herself^ sir, she'll 
 feel it and cry. She had a fever when Mrs. Pendennis turned her out 
 of doors ; and she made love to the Doctor, Doctor Goodenough, who 
 came to cure her. Now she has taken on with another chap — another 
 
 sawbones, ha, ha ! d it, sir, she likes the pestle and mortar, and 
 
 hangs round the pill-boxes, she's so fond of 'em, and she has got a 
 fellow from Saint Bartholomew's, who grins through a horse-collar for 
 her sisters, and charms away her melancholy. Go and see, sir : very 
 likely he's in the lodge now. If you want news about Miss Fanny, you 
 must ask at the Doctor's shop, sir, not of an old fiddler like me — Good- 
 bye, sir. There's my patient calling." 
 
 And a voice was heard from the Captain's bedroom, a well-known 
 voice, which said, I'd loike a dthrop of dthrink. Bows, I'm thirstee." 
 And not sorry, perhaps, to hear that such was the state of things, and 
 that Pen's forsaken was consoling herself, Warrington took his leave 
 of the irascible musician. 
 
 As luck would have it, he passed the lodge door just as Mr. Huxter 
 was in the act of frightening the children with the mask whereof we 
 have spoken, and Fanny was smiling languidly at his farces. Warring- 
 ton laughed bitterly. ''Are all women like that?" he thought. ''I 
 think there's one that's not," he added, with a sigh. 
 
 At Piccadilly, waiting for the Richmond omnibus, George fell in with 
 Major Pendennis, bound in the same direction, and he told the old 
 gentleman of what he had seen and heard respecting Fanny. 
 
 Major Pendennis was highly delighted : and, as might be expected 
 of such a philosopher, made precisely the same observation as that which 
 had escaped from Warrington. '' All women are the same," he said. 
 '' La petite se console. Daymy, when I used to read 'Telemaque' at 
 school. Calypso iie pouvait se consoler, — you know the rest, Warrington, 
 — I used to say it was absard. Absard, by Gad, and so it is. And so 
 she's got a new soupirant, has she, the little porteress.^ Dayvlish nice 
 little girl. How mad Pen will be— eh, Warrington.^ But we must 
 break it to him gently, or he'll be in such a rage that he will be going 
 after her again. We must menager the young fellow." 
 
 '' I think Mrs. Pendennis ought to know that Pen acted very well in 
 the business. She evidently thinks him guilty, and, according to Mr. 
 Bows, Arthur behaved like a good fellow," Warrington said. 
 
 ''My dear Warrington," said the Major, with a look of some alarm, 
 " in Mrs. Pendennis's agitated state of health and that sort of thing, 
 the best way, I think, is not to say a single word about the subject— 
 or, stay, leave it to me : and I'll talk to her— break it to her gently, 
 you know, and that sort of thing. I give you my word I will. And 
 so Calypso's consoled, is she ? " And he sniggered over this gratify- 
 ing truth, happy in the corner of the omnibus during the rest of the 
 journey. 
 
 Pen was very anxious to hear from his envoy what had been the 
 result of the latter's mission ; and as soon as the two young men could 
 be alone, the ambassador spoke in reply to Arthur's eager queries. 
 
 " You remember your poem. Pen, of ' Ariadne in Naxos ' } " War- 
 rington said ; " devilish bad poetry it was, to be sure." 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 433 
 
 Apres ? " asked Pen, in a great state of excitement. 
 When Theseus left Ariadne, do you remember what happened to 
 her, young fellow ? " 
 
 ^'^ It's a lie, it's a lie ! You don't mean that ! " cried out Pen, starting 
 ( up, his face turning red. 
 
 Sit down, stoopid," Warrington said, and with two fingers pushed 
 ' Pen back into his seat again. " It's better. for you as it is, young one," 
 (he said sadly, in reply to the savage flush in Arthur's face. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI 
 
 FOREIGN GROUND 
 
 Major Pendennis fulfilled his promise to Warrington so far as to satisfy 
 his own conscience, and in so far to ease poor Helen with regard to her 
 son, as to make her understand that all connection between Arthur 
 and the odious little gate-keeper was at an end, and that she need have 
 |no further anxiety with respect to an imprudent attachment or a de- 
 grading marriage on Pen's part. And that young fellow's mind was 
 also relieved (after he had recovered the shock to his vanity) by think- 
 Hing that Miss Fanny was not going to die of love for him, and that no 
 unpleasant consequences were to be apprehended from the luckless and 
 brief connection. 
 
 So the whole party were free to carry into effect their projected 
 Continental trip, and Arthur Pendennis, rentier, voyageant avec 
 Madame Pendennis et Mademoiselle Bell, and George Warrington, 
 particulier, age de 32 ans, taille 6 pieds (anglais), figure ordinaire, 
 cheveux noirs, barbe idem, &c., procured passports from the consul of 
 H.M. the King of the Belgians at Dover, and passed over from that port 
 to Ostend, whence the party took their way leisurely, visiting Bruges 
 md Ghent on their way to Brussels and the Rhine. It is not our 
 purpose to describe this oft-travelled tour, or Laura's delight at the 
 tranquil and ancient cities which she saw for the first time, or Helen's 
 ►vonder and interest at the Beguine convents which they visited, or the 
 ilmost terror with which she saw the black-veiled nuns with outstretched 
 irms kneeling before the illuminated altars, and beheld the strange 
 !)omps and ceremonials of the Catholic worship. Bare-footed friars in 
 :he streets, crowned images of Saints and Virgins in the churches, 
 before which people were bowing down and worshipping, in direct 
 lefiance, as she held, of the written law ; priests in gorgeous robes, 
 )r lurking in dark confessionals, theatres opened and people dancing 
 )n Sundays ; — all these new sights and manners shocked and bewildered 
 the simple country lady ; and when the young men after their evening 
 Irive or walk returned to the widow and her adopted daughter, they 
 ^ound their books of devotion on the table, and at their entrance Laura 
 A'ould commonly cease reading some of the psalms or the sacred pages 
 ^hich, of all others, Helen loved. The late events connected with 
 ler son had cruelly shaken her ; Laura watched with intense, though 
 bidden anxiety, every movement of her dearest friend ; and poor Pen 
 
 2 E 
 
434 PENDENNIS 
 
 was most constant and affectionate in waiting upon his mother, whose 
 wounded bosom yearned with love towards him, though there was a 
 secret between them, and an anguish or rage almost on the mother s 
 part, to think that she was dispossessed somehow of her son s heart, or 
 that there were recesses in it which she must not or dared not enter. 
 She sickened as she thought of the sacred days of boyhood when it had 
 not been so— when her Arthur's heart had no secrets, and she was his 
 all in all : when he poured his hopes and pleasures, his childish griets, 
 vanities, triumphs into her willing and tender embrace : when her home 
 was his nest still ; and before fate, selfishness, nature, had driven him 
 forth on wayward wings— to range on his own flight— to smg his own 
 song— and to seek his own home and his own mate. Watching this 
 devouring care and racking disappointment in her friend, Laura once 
 said to Helen, If Pen had loved me as you wished, I should have gained 
 him, but I should have lost you, mamma, I know I should ; and Hike 
 you to love me best. Men do not know what it is to love as we do, 1 
 think,"— and Helen, sighing, agreed to this portion of the young lady s 
 speech, though she protested against the former part. For my part, 1 
 suppose Miss Laura was right in both statements, and with regard to 
 the latter assertion especially, that it is an old and received truism— 
 love is an hour with us : it is all night and all day with a woman. 
 Damon has taxes, sermon, parade, tailors' bills, parliamentary duties, 
 and the deuce knows what to think of; Delia has to think about Damon 
 —Damon is the oak (or the post), and stands up, and Delia is the ivy 
 or the honeysuckle whose arms twine about him. Is it not so, Delia.'' 
 Is it not your nature to creep about his feet and kiss them, to twine 
 round his trunk and hang there ; and Damon s to stand like a British 
 man with his hands in his breeches pockets, while the pretty tond 
 parasite clings round him. 
 
 Old Pendennis had only accompanied our friends to the waters 
 edge, and left them on board the boat, giving the chief charge ot the 
 little expedition to Warrington. He himself was bound on a brief visit 
 to the house of a great man, a friend of his, after which sojourn he 
 proposed to join his sister-in-law at the German watermg-place, whither 
 the Dartv was bound. The Major himself thought that his long atten- 
 tions to' his sick family had earned for him a little relaxation-and 
 though the best of the partridges were thinned off, the pheasants were 
 still to be shot at Stillbrook, where the noble owner then was ; old 
 Pendennis betook himself to that hospitable mansion and disported 
 there with great comfort to himself A royal Duke, some foreigners 
 of note, some illustrious statesmen, and some pleasant people visited! 
 it ; it did the old fellow's heart good to see his name in the Mormn^^ 
 Post amongst the list of the distinguished company which the Marquis 
 of Stevne was entertaining at his country house at Stillbrook. He was 
 a very useful and pleasant personage in a country house. Me enter- 
 tained the young men with queer little anecdotes and gnvoises stories 
 on their shooting-parties or in their smoking-room, where they laughed 
 at him and with him. He was obsequious with the ladies of a morning, 
 in the rooms dedicated to them. He walked the new amvals about the 
 park and gardens, and showed them the carte du pays, and where there 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 435 
 
 was the best view of the mansion, and where the most favourable point 
 to look at the lake : he showed where the timber was to be felled, and 
 where the old road went before the new bridge was built, and the hill 
 cut down ; and where the place in the wood was where old Lord Lynx 
 discovered Sir Phelim O'Neal on his knees before her ladyship, &c. &c. ; 
 he called the lodge-keepers and gardeners by their names : he knew 
 the number of domestics that sat down in the housekeeper's room, and 
 how many dined in the servants' hall ; he had a word for everybody, 
 and about everybody, and a little against everybody. He was invalu- 
 able in a country house, in a word : and richly merited and enjoyed 
 his vacation after his labours. And perhaps whilst he was thus de- 
 servedly enjoying himself with his country friends, the Major was not 
 ill-pleased at' transferring to Warrington the command of the family 
 expedition to the Continent, and thus perforce keeping him in the 
 service of the ladies, — a servitude which George was only too willing 
 to undergo, for his friend's sake, and for that of a society which he 
 found daily more delightful. Warrington was a good German scholar, 
 and was willing to give Miss Laura lessons in the language, who was 
 very glad to improve herself ; though Pen, for his part, was too weak 
 or lazy now to resume his German studies. W arrington acted as courier 
 and interpreter ; Warrington saw the baggage in and out of ships, inns, 
 and carriages, managed the money matters, and put the little troop 
 into marching order. Warrington found out where the English church 
 was, and, if Mrs. Pendennis and Miss Laura were inclined to go thither, 
 walked with great decorum along with them. Warrington walked by 
 Mrs. Pendennis's donkey, when that lady went out on her evening 
 excursions ; or took carriages for her ; or got Galignani for her ; or 
 devised comfortable seats under the lime-trees for her, when the guests 
 paraded after dinner, and the Kursaal band at the bath, where our tired 
 friends stopped, performed their pleasant music under the trees. Many 
 a fine whiskered Prussian or French dandy, come to the bath for the 
 Trente-et-quarantey" cast glances of longing towards the pretty fresh- 
 coloured English girl who accompanied the pale widow, and would have 
 longed to take a turn with her at the galop or the waltz. But Laura 
 did not appear in the ball-room, except once or twice, when Pen vouch- 
 safed to walk with her ; and as for Warrington, that rough diamond 
 had not had the polish of a dancing-master, and he did not know how 
 to waltz, — though he would have liked to learn, if he could have had 
 such a partner as Laura — Such a partner ! psha, what had a stiff 
 bachelor to do with partners and waltzing } what was he about, dancing 
 attendance here ? drinking in sweet pleasure at a risk he knows not of 
 what after sadness, and regret, and lonely longing } But yet he stayed 
 on. You would have said he was the widow's son, to watch his constant 
 care and watchfulness of her ; or that he was an adventurer, and wanted 
 to marry her fortune, or, at any rate, that he wanted some very great 
 treasure or benefit from her, — and very likely he did, — for ours, as the 
 reader has possibly already discovered, is a Selfish Story, and almosL 
 every person, according to his nature, more'^or less generous than 
 George, and according to the way of the world as it seems to us, is 
 occupied about Number One. So Warrington selfishly devoted himself 
 to Helen, who selfishly devoted herself to Pen, who selfishly devoted 
 
436 PENDENNIS 
 
 himself to himself at this present period, having no other personage or i( 
 object to occupy him, except, indeed, his mother's health, which gave r 
 him a serious and real disquiet ; but though they sat together, they did 
 not talk much, and the cloud was always between them. 
 
 Every day Laura looked for Warrington, and received him with ! 
 more frank and eager welcome. He found himself talking to her as 
 he didn't know himself that he could talk. He found himself perform- 
 ing acts of gallantry which astounded him after the performance : he 
 found himself looking blankly in the glass at the crows feet round his 
 eyes, and at some streaks of white in his hair, and some intrusive silver • 
 bristles in his grim blue beard. He found himself looking at the young i 
 bucks at the bath— at the blond, tight-waisted Germans— at the caper- 
 ing Frenchmen, with their lacquered mustachios and trim varnished i 
 boots— at the English dandies. Pen amongst them, with their calm 
 domineering air, and insolent languor : and envied each one of these ? 
 some excellence or quality of youth, or good looks, which he possessed, 
 and of which Warrington felt the need. And every night, as the 
 night came, he quitted the little circle with greater reluctance ; and, 
 retiring to his own lodging in their neighbourhood, felt himself the 
 more lonely and unhappy. The widow could not help seeing his 
 attachment. She understood now why Major Pendennis (always a 
 tacit enemy of her darling project) had been so eager that Warrington I 
 should be of their party. Laura frankly owned her great, her enthusi- ! 
 astic, regard for him : and Arthur would make no movement. Arthur 
 did not choose to see what was going on ; or did not care to prevent, ; 
 or actually encouraged, it. She remembered his often having said ' 
 that he could not understand how a man proposed to a woman twice. | 
 She was in torture— at secret feud with her son, of all objects in the j 
 world the dearest to her— in doubt, which she dared not express to I 
 herself, about Laura,— averse to Warrington, the good and generous. 
 No wonder that the healing waters of Rosenbad did not do her good, 
 or that Doctor von Glauber, the bath physician, when he came to visit 
 her, found that the poor lady made no progress to recovery. Mean- 
 while Pen got well rapidly ; slept with immense perseverance twelve 
 hours out of the twenty-four ; ate huge meals ; and, at the end of a 
 couple of months, had almost got back the bodily strength and weight ^ 
 which he had possessed before his illness. 
 
 After they had passed some fifteen days at their place of rest and 
 refreshment, a letter came from Major Pendennis announcing his speedy 
 arrival at Rosenbad, and, soon after the letter, the Major himself made 
 his appearance, accompanied by Morgan, his faithful valet, without 1 
 whom the old gentleman could not move. When the Major travelled I 
 he wore a jaunty and juvenile travelling costume ; to see his back still, 
 you would have taken him for one of the young fellows whose slim 
 waists and youthful appearance Warrington was beginning to envy. It 
 was not until the worthy man began to move, that the observer remarked 
 that Time had weakened his ancient knees, and had unkindly interfered 
 to impede the action of the natty little varnished boots in which the 
 gay old traveller still pinched his toes. There were magnates, both 
 of our own country and of foreign nations, present that autumn at 
 Rosenbad. The elder Pendennis read over the strangers' list with 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 437 
 
 great gratification on the night of his arrival^ was pleased to find several 
 of his acquaintances among the great folks^ and would have the honour 
 of presenting his nephew to a German Grand Duchess^ a Russian 
 Princess^ and an English Marquis^ before many days were over : nor 
 was Pen by any means averse to making the acquaintance of these great 
 personages, having a liking for polite life, and all the splendours and 
 amenities belonging to it. That very evening the resolute old gentle- 
 man, leaning on his nephew's arm, made his appearance in the halls of 
 the Kursaal, and lost or won a napoleon or two at the table of Trente- 
 ct-quarante. He did not play to lose, he said, or to win ; but he did as 
 other folks did, and betted his napoleon and took his luck as it came. 
 He pointed out the Russians and Spaniards gambling for heaps of gold, 
 and denounced their eagerness as something sordid and barbarous ; an 
 English gentleman should play where the fashion is play, but should 
 not elate or depress himself at the sport ;*and he told how he had seen 
 his friend the Marquis of Steyne, when Lord Gaunt, lose eighteen thou- 
 sand at a sitting, and break the bank three nights running at Paris, 
 without ever showing the least emotion at his defeat or victory — " And 
 that's what I call being an English gentleman. Pen, my dear boy," the 
 old gentleman said, warming as he prattled about his recollections — 
 " what I call the great manner only remains with us and with a few 
 families in France." And as Russian Princesses passed him, whose 
 reputation had long ceased to be doubtful, and damaged English ladies, 
 who are constantly seen in company of their faithful attendant for the 
 time being in these gay haunts of dissipation, the old Major, with eager 
 garrulity and mischievous relish, told his nephew wonderful particulars 
 regarding the lives of these heroines, and diverted the young man with, 
 a thousand scandals. Egad, he felt himself quite young again, he' 
 remarked to Pen, as, rouged and grinning, her enormous chasseur 
 behind her bearing her shawl, the Princess Obstropski smiled and 
 recognised and accosted him. He remembered her in '14 when she 
 was an actress of the Paris Boulevards, and the Emperor Alexander's 
 aide-de-camp Obstropski (a man of great talents, who knew a good deal 
 about the Emperor Paul's death, and was a devil to play) married her. 
 He most courteously and respectfully asked leave to call upon the 
 Princess, and to present to her his nephew, Mr. Arthur Pendennis ; 
 and he pointed out to the latter a half-dozen of other personages whose 
 names were as famous, and whose histories were as edifying. What 
 would poor Helen have thought could she have heard those tales, or 
 known to what kind of people her brother-in-law was presenting her 
 son.? Only once, leaning on Arthur's arm, she had passed through the 
 room where the green tables were prepared for play, and the croaking 
 croupiers were calling out their fatal words of Rouge gagne and Couleur 
 perd. She had shrunk terrified out of the Pandemonium, imploring 
 Pen, extorting from him a promise, on his word of honour, that he 
 would never play at those tables ; and the scene which so frightened 
 the simple widow, only amused the worldly old veteran, and made him 
 young again ! He could breathe the air cheerfully which stifled her. 
 Her right was not his right : his food was her poison. Human crea- 
 tures are constituted thus differently, and with this variety the marvel- 
 lous world is peopled. To the credit of Mr. Pen, let it be said, that he 
 
438 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 kept honestly the promise made to his mother^ and stoutly told his 
 uncle of his intention to abide by it. 
 
 When the Major arrived, his presence somehow cast a damp upon at 
 r4east three of the persons of our little party — upon Laura, who had any- 
 / thing but respect for him ; upon Warrington, whose manner towards 
 him showed an involuntary haughtiness and contempt ; and upon the 
 timid and alarmed widow, who dreaded lest he should interfere with her 
 i darling, though almost desperate, projects for her boy. And, indeed, 
 I the Major, unknown to himself, was the bearer of tidings which were 
 I to bring about a catastrophe in the affairs of all our friends. 
 
 Pen with his two ladies had apartments in the town of Rosenbad ; 
 honest Warrington had lodgings hard by; the Major, on arrival at 
 Rosenbad, had, as befitted his dignity, taken up his quarters at one of 
 the great hotels, at the Roman Emperor" or the ^^Four Seasons," 
 where two or three hundrecj gamblers, pleasure-seekers, or invalids, 
 sate down and over-ate themselves daily at the enormous table d'hote. 
 To this hotel Pen went on the morning after the Major s arrival, duti- 
 fully to pay his respects to his uncle, and found the latter s sitting-room 
 duly prepared and arranged by Mr. Morgan, with the Major s hats 
 ■brushed, and his coats laid out : his despatch-boxes and umbrella-cases, 
 his guide-books, passports, maps, and other elaborate necessaries of 
 the English traveller, all as trim and ready as they could be in their 
 master's own room in Jermyn Street. Everything was ready, from the 
 medicine-bottle fresh filled from the pharmacien's, down to the old 
 fellow's Prayer-Book, without which he never travelled, for he made 
 a point of appearing at the English church at every place which he 
 honoured with a stay. Everybody did it," he said ; every English 
 gentleman did it :" and this pious man would as soon have thought of 
 not calling upon the English ambassador in a Continental town, as of 
 not showing himself at the national place of worship. 
 
 The old gentleman had been to take one of the baths for which Rosen- 
 bad is famous, and which everybody takes, and his after-bath toilet was 
 not yet completed when Pen arrived. The elder called out to Arthur 
 in a cheery voice from the inner apartment, in which he and Morgan 
 were engaged, and the valet presently came in, bearing a little packet 
 to Pen s address— Mr. Arthur's letters and papers, Morgan said, which 
 he had brought from Mr. Arthur s chambers in London, and which con- 
 sisted chiefly of numbers of the Pall Mall Gazette, which our friend Mr. 
 Finucane thought his collaborateur would like to see. The papers were 
 tied together : the letters in an envelope, addressed to Pen, in the last- 
 named gentleman's handwriting. 
 
 Amongst the letters there was a little note addressed, as a former 
 letter we have heard of had been, to Arther Pendennis, Esquire/* 
 which Arthur opened with a start and a blush, and read with a very 
 keen pang of interest, and sorrow, and regard. She had come to 
 Arthur's house, Fanny Bolton said— and found that he was gone— gone 
 away to Germany without ever leaving a word for her— or answer to her 
 last letter, in which she prayed but for one word of kindness— or the 
 books which he had promised her in happier times, before he was ill, 
 and which she should like to keep in remembrance of him. She said 
 she would not reproach those who had found her at his bedside when 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 439 
 
 he was in the fever^ and knew nobody, and who had turned the poor 
 girl away without a word. She thought she should have died^ she said, 
 of that/but Doctor Goodenough had kindly tended her, and kep her 
 life, when, perhaps, the keeping of it was of no good, and she forgave 
 everybody : and as for Arthur, she would pray for him for ever. And 
 when he was so ill, and they cut off his hair, she had made so free as to 
 keep one little lock for herself, and that she owned. And might she 
 still keep it, or would his mamma order that that should be gave up too ? 
 She was willing to obey him in all things, and couldn't but remember 
 that once he was so kind, oh ! so good and kind ! to his poor Fanny. 
 
 When Major Pendennis, fresh and smirking from his toilet, came out 
 of his bedroom to his sitting-room, he found Arthur, with this note 
 before him, and an expression of savage anger on his face, which sur- 
 prised the elder gentleman. What news from London, my boy ? " he 
 rather faintly asked ; are the duns at you, that you look so glum } '* 
 \ "Do you know anything about this letter, sir?" Arthur asked. 
 
 " What letter, my good sir ? " said the other drily, at once perceiving 
 what had happened. 
 
 " You know what 1 mean — about, about Miss — about Fanny Bolton 
 —the poor dear little girl," Arthur broke out. " When was she in my 
 room ^ Was she there when I was delirious — I fancied she was — was 
 she? Who sent her out of my chambers ? Who intercepted her letters 
 to me? Who dared to do it.^ Did you do it, uncle?" 
 
 " It's not my practice to tamper with gentlemen's letters, or to answer 
 iamned impertinent questions," Major Pendennis cried out, in a great 
 tremor of emotion and indignation. "There was a girl in your rooms 
 when I came up at a great personal inconvenience, daymy— and to meet 
 with a return of this kind for my affection to you^ is not pleasant^ by 
 Gad, sir — not at all pleasant." 
 
 "That's not the question, sir," Arthur said hotly— " and— and, I beg 
 your pardon, uncle. You were, you always have been, most kind to 
 me : but I say again, did you say anything harsh to this poor girl ? Did 
 you send her away from me ? " 
 
 " I never spoke a word to the girl," the uncle said, " and I never sent 
 her away from you, and know no more about her, and wish to know no 
 more about her, than about the man in the moon. " 
 
 "Then it's my mother that did it," Arthur broke out. "Did my 
 mother send that poor child away ? " 
 
 " I repeat I know nothing about it, sir," the elder said testily. " Let's 
 change the subject, if you please." 
 
 "I'll never forgive the person who did it," said Arthur, bouncing up 
 and seizing his hat. 
 
 The Major cried out, "Stop, Arthur, for God's sake, stop !" but 
 before he had uttered his sentence, Arthur had rushed out of the room, 
 and at the next minute the Major saw him striding rapidly down the 
 street that led towards his home. 
 
 " Get breakfast ! " said the old fellow to Morgan, and he wagged his 
 head and sighed as he looked out of the window. " Poor Helen — poor 
 soul ! There'll be a row. I knew there would : and begad all the fat's 
 in the fire." 
 
 When Pen reached home he only found Warrington in the ladies' 
 
440 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 drawing-room^ waiting their arrival in order to conduct them to the 
 place where the little English colony at Rosenhad held their Sunday 
 church. Helen and Laura had not appeared as yet ; the former was 
 ailing^ and her daughter was with her. Pen's wrath was so great that 
 he could not defer expressing it. He flung Fanny's letter across the 
 table to his friend. Look there^ Warrington/' he said ; she tended 
 me in my illness, she rescued me out of the jaws of death, and this is 
 the way they have treated the dear little creature. They have kept her 
 letters from me ; they have treated me like a child, and her like a dog, 
 poor thing ! My mother has done this." 
 
 '^If she has, you must remember it is your mother," Warrington 
 interposed. 
 
 It only makes the crime the greater, because it is she who has done 
 it," Pen answered. She ought to have been the poor girl's defender, 
 not her enemy ; she ought to go down on her knees and ask pardon of 
 her. 1 ought ! I will ! 1 am shocked at the cruelty which has been 
 shown her. What ? She gave me her all, and this is her return ! She 
 sacrifices everything for me, and they spurn her ! " 
 
 *^^Hush !" said Warrington, ^Hhey can hear you from the next 
 room." 
 
 Hear } let them hear ! " Pen cried out, only so much the louder. 
 Those may overhear my talk who intercept my letters. I say this 
 poor girl has been shamefully used, and I will do my best to right her ; 
 I will." 
 
 The door of the neighbouring room opened, and Laura came forth 
 with pale and stern face. She looked at Pen with glances from which 
 beamed pride, defiance, aversion. Arthur, your mother is very ill," 
 she said ; it is a pity that you should speak so loud as to disturb her." 
 
 It is a pity that I should have been obliged to speak at all," Pen 
 answered. And I have more to say before I have done." 
 
 I should think what you have to say will hardly be fit for me to 
 hear," Laura said haughtily. 
 
 You are welcome to hear it or not, as you like," said Mr. Pen. 
 I shall go in now, and speak to my mother." 
 
 Laura came rapidly forward, so that she should not be overheard 
 by her friend within. Not now, sir," she said to Pen. You may 
 kill her if you do. Your conduct has gone far enough to make her 
 wretched. " 
 
 ^^'^ What conduct?" cried out Pen, in a fury. ^^Who dares impugn 
 it ? Who dares meddle with me ? Is it you who are the instigator of 
 this persecution ? " 
 
 I said before it was a subject of which it did not become me to 
 hear or to speak," Laura said. But as for mamma, if she had acted 
 otherwise than she did with regard to — to the person about whom you 
 seem to take such an interest, it would have been I that must have 
 quitted your house, and not that — that person. " 
 
 By heavens ! this is too much," Pen cried out, with a violent 
 execration. 
 
 Perhaps that is what you wished," Laura said, tossing her head up. 
 No more of this, if you please ; I am not accustomed to hear such 
 subjects spoken of in such language ; " and with a stately curtsey the 
 
 1 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 441 
 
 young lady passed to her friend's room^ looking her adversary full in 
 the face as she retreated and closed the door upon him. 
 
 Pen was bewildered with wonder, perplexity, fury, at this monstrous 
 and unreasonable persecution. He burst out into a loud and bitter 
 laugh as Laura quitted him, and with sneers and revilings, as a man 
 ! who jeers under an operation, ridiculed at once his own pain and his 
 j persecutor's anger. The laugh, which was one of bitter humour, and 
 t no unmanly or unkindly expression of suffering under most cruel and 
 unmerited torture, was* heard in the next apartment, as some of his 
 unlucky previous expressions had been, and, like them, entirely mis- 
 I interpreted by the hearers. It struck like a dagger into the wounded 
 ' and tender heart of Helen ; it pierced Laura, and inflamed the high- 
 : spirited girl with scorn and anger. ^^And it was to this hardened 
 I libertine," she thought — ^' to this boaster of low intrigues, that I had 
 given my heart away. " — He breaks the most sacred laws," thought 
 Helen. * He prefers the creature of his passion to his own mother ; 
 and when he is upbraided, he laughs, and glories in his crime. ' She 
 gave me her all,' I heard him say it," argued the poor widow ; and 
 he boasts of it, and laughs, and breaks his mother's heart." The 
 emotion, the shame, the grief, the mortification almost killed her. 
 She felt she should die of his unkindness. 
 
 Warrington thought of Laura's speech — Perhaps that is what you 
 wished." She loves Pen still," he said. " It was jealousy made her 
 speak." — Come away. Pen. Come away, and let us go to church and 
 get calm. You must explain this matter to your mother. She does 
 not appear to know the truth : nor do you quite, my good fellow. 
 Come away, and let us talk about it." And again he muttered to him- 
 self, ^ Perhaps that is what you wished.' Yes, she loves him. Why 
 shouldn't she love him ? Whom else would I have her love ? What can 
 she be to me but the dearest and the fairest and the best of women ? " 
 
 So, leaving the women similarly engaged within, the two gentlemen 
 walked away, each occupied with his own thoughts, and silent for a 
 considerable space. I must set this matter right," thought honest 
 George, as she loves him still — I must set his mother's mind right 
 I about the other woman." And with this charitable thought, the good 
 fellow began to tell more at large what Bows had said to him regarding 
 Miss Bolton's behaviour and fickleness, and he described how the girl 
 was no better than a light-minded flirt ; and, perhaps, he exaggerated 
 the good-humour and contentedness which he had himself, as he 
 thought, witnessed in her behaviour in the scene with Mr. Huxter. 
 
 Now, all Bows's statements had been coloured by an insane jealousy 
 and rage on that old man's part ; and instead of allaying Pen's renascent 
 desire to see his little conquest again, Warrington's accounts inflamed 
 and angered Pendennis, and made him more anxious than before to set 
 himself right, as he persisted in phrasing it, with Fanny. They arrived 
 at the church door presently ; but scarce one word of the service, and 
 not a syllable of Mr. Shamble's sermon, did either of them comprehend, 
 probably — so much was each engaged with his own private speculations. 
 The Major came up to them after the service, with his well-brushed hat 
 and wig, and his jauntiest, most cheerful, air. He complimented them 
 upon being seen at church ; again he said that every comme-il-fauti 
 
442 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 person made a point of attending the English service ahroad ; and he 
 walked back with the young men, prattling to them in garrulous good- 
 humour, and making bows to his acquaintances as they passed ; and 
 . thinking innocently that Pen and George were both highly delighted 
 \ by his anecdotes, which they suffered to run on in a scornful and silent 
 i acquiescence. 
 
 At the time of Mr. Shamble s sermon (an erratic Anglican divine, 
 hired for the season at places of English resort, and addicted to debts, 
 drinking, and even to roulette, it was said). Pen, chafing under the 
 persecution which his womankind inflicted upon him, had been medi- 
 tating a great act of revolt and of justice, as he had worked himself up 
 to believe ; and Warrington on his part had been thinking that a crisis 
 in his affairs had likewise come, and that it was necessary for him to 
 break away from a connection which every day made more and more 
 wretched and dear to him. Yes, the time was come. He took those 
 fatal words, Perhaps that is what you wished," as a text for a gloomy 
 homily, which he preached to himself, in the dark crypt of his own 
 heart, whilst Mr. Shamble was feebly giving utterance to his sermon. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII 
 
 ^^FAIROAKS TO LET " 
 
 Our poor widow (with the assistance of her faithful Martha of Fairoaks, 
 who laughed and wondered at the German ways, and superintended 
 the affairs of the simple household) had made a little feast in honour 
 of Major Pendennis's arrival, of which, however, only the Major and 
 his two younger friends partook, for Helen sent to say that she was too 
 unwell to dine at their table, and Laura bore her company. The Major 
 talked for the party, and did not perceive, or choose to perceive, what a 
 gloom and silence pervaded the other two sharers of the modest dinner. 
 It was evening before Helen and Laura came into the sitting-room to 
 join the company there. She came in leaning on Laura, with her back 
 to the waning light, so that Arthur could not see how pallid and woe- 
 stricken her faqe was ; and as she went up to Pen, whom she had not 
 seen during the day, and placed her fond arms on his shoulder, and 
 kissed him tenderly, Laura left her, and moved away to another part 
 of the room. Pen remarked that his mother s voice and her whole 
 frame trembled, her hand was clammy cold as she put it up to his 
 forehead, piteously embracing him. The spectacle of her misery only 
 added, somehow, to the wrath and testiness of the young man. He 
 scarcely returned the kiss which the suffering lady gave him : and the 
 countenance with which he met the appeal of her look was hard and 
 cruel. ''She persecutes me," he thought within himself, ''and she 
 comes to me with the air of a martyr." " You look very ill, my child,' 
 she said. " 1 don t like to see you look in that way." And she tottered 
 to a sofa, still holding one of his passive hands in her thin cold clingnig 
 fingers. 
 
 " I have had much to annoy me, mother," Pen said, with a throbbing 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 443 
 
 breast : and as he spoke Helen's heart began to beat so, that she sate 
 almost dead and speechless with terror. 
 
 Warrington, Laura, and Major Pendennis, all remained breathless, 
 aware that the storm was about to break. 
 
 ^^I have had letters from London," Arthur continued, ^^and one 
 that has given me more pain than I ever had in my life. It tells me 
 that former letters of mine have been intercepted and purloined away 
 from me ; — that — that a young creature who has shown the greatest 
 love and care for me, has been most cruelly used by — by you, mother." 
 
 For God's sake, stop," cried out Warrington. She's ill — don't 
 you see she is ill } " 
 
 Let him go on," said the widow faintly. 
 
 Let him go on and kill her," said Laura, rushing up to her mother's 
 side. Speak on, sir, and see her die." 
 
 " It is you who are cruel," cried Pen, more exasperated and more 
 savage, because his own heart, naturally soft and weak, revolted indig- 
 nantly at the injustice of the very suffering which was laid at his door. 
 
 It is you who are cruel, who attribute all this pain to me : it is you 
 who are cruel with your wicked reproaches, your wicked doubts of me, 
 your wicked persecutions of those who love me, — yes, those who love 
 me, and who brave everything for me, and whoi^ you despise and trample 
 upon because they are of lower degree than you. Shall I tell you what 
 I will do, — what I am resolved to do, now that I know what your conduct 
 has been ? — I will go back to this poor girl whom you turned out of 
 my doors, and ask her to come back and share my home with me. I'll 
 defy the pride which persecutes her, and the pitiless suspicion which 
 insults her and me." 
 
 Do you mean. Pen, that you " here the widow, with eager eyes 
 
 and outstretched hands, was breaking out, but Laura stopped her. 
 
 Silence, hush, dear mother," she cried, and the widow hushed. 
 Savagely as Pen spoke, she was only too eager to hear what more he 
 had to say. " Go on, Arthur, go on, Arthur," was all she said, almost 
 swooning away as she spoke. 
 
 By Gad, I say he shan't go on, or I won't hear him, by Gad," the 
 Major said, trembling too in his wrath. If you choose, sir, after all 
 we've done for you, after all I've done for you myself, to insult your 
 mother and disgrace your name, by allying yourself with a low-born 
 kitchen girl, go and do it, by Gad, — but let us, ma'am, have no more to 
 do with him. I wash my hands of you, sir, — I wash my hands of you. 
 I'm an old fellow, — I ain't long for this world. I come of as ancient 
 and honourable a family as any in England, and I did hope, before I 
 went off the hooks, by Gad, that the fellow that I'd liked, and brought 
 up, and nursed through life, by Jove, would do something to show me 
 that our name — yes, the name of Pendennis, was left undishonoured 
 behind us ; but if he won't, dammy, I say, amen. By G — , both my 
 father and my brother Jack were the proudest men in England, and I 
 never would have thought that there would come this disgrace to my 
 name — never — and — and I'm ashamed that it's Arthur Pendennis." 
 The old fellow's voice here broke off into a sob : it was the second time 
 that Arthur had brought tears from those wrinkled lids. 
 
 The sound of his breaking voice stayed Pen's anger instantly, and he 
 
444 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 stopped pacing the room, as he had been doing until that moment. 
 Laura was by Helen's sofa ; and Warrington had remained hitherto an 
 almost silent but not uninterested spectator of the family storm. As 
 the parties were talking, it had grown almost dark ; and after the luU 
 which succeeded the passionate outbreak of the Major, George's deep 
 voice, as it here broke trembling into the twilight room, was heard 
 with no small emotion by all 
 
 ^'^Will you let me tell you something about myself, my kind 
 friends ?" he said,— '^'^ you have been so good to me, ma'am— you have 
 been so kind to me, Laura— I hope I may call you so sometimes— my 
 dear Pen and I have been such friends that— that I have long wanted 
 to tell you my story such as it is, and would have told it to you earlier 
 but that it is a sad one and contains another's secret. However, it 
 may do good for Arthur to know it— it is right that every one here 
 should. It will divert you from thinking about a subject which, out 
 of a fatal misconception, has caused a great deal of pain to all of you. 
 May I please tell you, Mrs. Pendennis ? " 
 
 Pray speak," was all Helen said ; and indeed she was not much 
 heeding ; her mind was full of another idea with which Pen's words 
 had supplied her, and she was in a terror of hope that what he had 
 hinted might be as she wished. 
 
 George filled himself a bumper of wine and emptied it, and began to 
 speak. You all of you know how you see me," he said,— a man 
 without a desire to make an advance in the world : careless about repu- 
 tation ; and living in a garret and from hand to mouth, though I have 
 friends and a name, and I dare say capabilities of my own, that would 
 serve me if I had a mind. But mind I have none. I shall die in that 
 garret most likely, and alone. I nailed myself to that doom in early 
 life. Shall I tell you what it was that interested me about Arthur 
 years ago, and made me inclined towards him when I first saw him ? 
 The men from our college at Oxbridge brought up accounts of that 
 early aifair with the Chatteris actress, about whom Pen has often talked 
 to me since : and who, but for the Major's generalship, might have been 
 your daughter-in-Jaw, ma'am. I can't see Pen in the dark, but he 
 blushes, I'm sure ; and I dare say Miss Bell does ; and my friend Major 
 Pendennis, I dare say, laughs as he ought to do— for he won. What 
 would have been Arthur's lot now had he been tied at nineteen to 
 an illiterate woman older than himself, with no qualities in common 
 between them, to make one a companion for the other, no equality, no 
 confidence, and no love, speedily What could he have been but most 
 miserable? And when he spoke just now and threatened a similar 
 union, be sure it was but a threat occasioned by anger, which you must 
 give me leave to say, ma'am, was very natural on his part, for after a 
 generous and manly conduct— let me say who know the circumstances 
 well— most generous and manly and self-denying (which is rare with 
 him),— he has met from some friends of his with a most unkind sus- 
 picion, and has had to complain of the unfair treatment of another 
 innocent person, towards whom he and you are all under much 
 obligation." 
 
 The widow was going to get up here, and Warrington, seeing her 
 attempt to rise, said, '^'^Do I tire you, ma'am?" 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 445 
 
 Oh no — go on — go on/* said Helen, delighted, and he continued. 
 ^'^ 1 liked him, you see, because of that early history of his, which 
 had come to my ears in college gossip, and because I like a man, if you 
 will pardon me for saying so. Miss Laura, who shows that he can have 
 a great unreasonable attachment for a woman. That was why we be- 
 came friends — and are all friends here — for always, aren't we ? " he 
 added, in a lower voice, leaning over to her, and Pen has been a great 
 comfort and companion to a lonely and unfortunate man. 
 
 I am not complaining of my lot, you see ; for no man's is what he 
 would have it ; and up in my garret, where you left the flowers, and 
 with my old books and my pipe for a wife, I am pretty contented, and only 
 occasionally envy other men, whose [careers in life are more brilliant, 
 or who can solace their ill-fortune by what Fate and my own fault have 
 deprived me of — the afl'ection of a woman or a child." Here there 
 came a sigh from somewhere near Warrington in the dark, and a hand 
 was held out in his direction, which, however, was instantly withdrawn, 
 for the prudery of our females is such^ that before all expression of 
 feeling, or natural kindness and regard, a woman is taught to think 
 of herself and the proprieties, and to be ready to blush at the very 
 slightest notice ; and checking, as of course it ought, this spontaneous 
 motion, modesty drew up again, kindly friendship shrank back ashamed 
 of itself, and Warrington resumed his history. My fate is such as I 
 made it, and not lucky for me or for others involved in it. 
 
 I, too, had an adventure before I went to college ; and there was no 
 one to save me as Major Pendennis saved Pen. Pardon me. Miss Laura, 
 if I tell this story before you. It is as well that you — all of you — should 
 hear my confession. Before I went to college, as a boy of eighteen, I 
 was at a private tutor's, and there, like Arthur, I became attached, or 
 fancied I was attached, to a woman of a much lower degree and a greater 
 age than my own. You shrink from me " 
 
 No, I don't," Laura said, and here the hand went out resolutely, 
 and laid itself in Warrington's. She had divined his story from some 
 previous hints let fall by him, and his first words at its commencement. 
 
 " She was a yeoman's daughter in the neighbourhood," Warrington 
 said, wuth rather a faltering voice, and I fancied — what all young 
 men fancy. Her parents knew who my father was, and encouraged 
 me, with all sorts of coarse artifices and scoundrel flatteries, which I 
 see now, about their house. To do her justice, I own she never cared 
 for me, but was forced into what happened by the threats and com- 
 pulsion of her family. Would to God that I had not been deceived : 
 but in these matters we are deceived because we wish to be so, and I 
 thought I loved that poor woman. 
 
 What could come of such a marriage } I found, before long, that 
 I was married to a boor. She could not comprehend one subject that 
 interested me. Her dulness palled upon me till I grew to loathe it. 
 And after some time of a wretched, furtive union — I must tell you all 
 — I found letters somewhere (and such letters they were !) which 
 showed me that her heart, such as it was, had never been mine, but 
 had always belonged to a person of her own degree. 
 
 At my father's death, I paid what debts I had contracted at college, 
 and settled every shilling which remained to me in an annuity upon — 
 
446 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 upon those who bore my name^ on condition that they should hide 
 themselves away^ and not assume it. They have kept that condition^ 
 as they would break it^ for more money. If I had earned fame or 
 reputation_, that woman would have come to claim it : if I had made a 
 name for myself^ those who had no right to it would have borne it ; 
 and I entered life at twenty, God help me — hopeless and ruined beyond 
 remission. I was the boyish victim of vulgar cheats, and, perhaps, it 
 is only of late 1 have found out how hard — ah, how hard — it is to for- 
 give them. I told you the moral before, Pen ; and now 1 have told 
 you the fable. Beware how you marry out of your degree. I was 
 made for a better lot than this, I think : but God has awarded me this 
 one — and so, you see, it is for me to look on and see others successful 
 and others happy, with a heart that shall be as little bitter as possible." 
 
 ^^By Gad, sir," cried the Major, in high good-humour, ^^I intended 
 you to marry Miss Laura here." 
 
 ^^And, by Gad, Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound," 
 Warrington said. 
 
 How d'ye mean a thousand } it was only a pony, sir," replied the 
 Major simply, at which the other laughed. 
 
 As for Helen, she was so delighted, that she started up, and said, 
 
 God bless you — God for ever bless you, Mr. Warrington ! " and kissed 
 both his hands, and ran ap to Pen, and fell into his arms. 
 
 Yes, dearest mother," he said, as he held her to him, and with a 
 noble tenderness and emotion, embraced and forgave her. ^^I am 
 innocent, and my dear, dear mother has done me a wrong." 
 
 Oh yes, my child, I have wronged you, thank God, I have wronged 
 you ! " Helen whispered. Come away, Arthur — not here — I want to 
 ask my child to forgive me — and — and my God to forgive me ; and to 
 bless you, and love you, my son." 
 
 He led her, tottering, into her room, and closed the door, as the 
 three touched spectators of the reconciliation looked on in pleased 
 silence. Ever after, ever after, the tender accents of that voice faltering 
 sweetly at his ear — the look of the sacred eyes beaming with an affection 
 unutterable— the quiver of the fond lips smiling mournfully — were re- 
 membered by the young man. And at his best moments, and at his 
 hours of trial and grief, and at his times of success or well-doing, the 
 mother's face looked down upon him, and blessed him with its gaze of 
 pity and purity, as he saw it in that night when she yet lingered with 
 him ; and when she seemed, ere she quite left him, an angel, trans- 
 figured and glorified with love — for which love, as for the greatest of 
 the bounties and wonders of God's provision for us, let us kneel and 
 thank Our Father. 
 
 The moon had risen by this time ; Arthur recollected well afterwards 
 how it lighted up his mother's sweet pale face. Their talk, or his rather, 
 for she scarcely could speak, was more tender and confidential than it 
 had been for years before. He was the frank and generous boy of her 
 early days and love. He told her the story, the mistake regarding 
 which had caused her so much pain — his struggles to fly from tempta- 
 tion, and his thankfulness that he had been able to overcome it. He 
 never would do the girl wrong, never ; or wound his own honour or his 
 mother's pure heart. The threat that he would return was uttered in 
 
Copyright, Service &■ Paton, 1897. 
 
UBRAKY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 yHlVFP^'TY of IIUNOIS. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 447 
 
 a moment of exasperation^ of which he repented. He never would see 
 her ag-ain. But his mother said^ Yes^ he should ; and it was she who 
 had been proud and culpable — and she would like to give Fanny Bolton 
 something — and she begged her dear boy's pardon for opening the letter 
 — and she would write to the young girl^ if, — if she had time. Poor 
 thing ! was it not natural that she should love her Arthur ? And again 
 she kissed him^ and she blessed him. 
 
 As they were talking the clock struck nine^ and Helen reminded him 
 how^ when he was a little boy^ she used to go up to his bedroom at that 
 hour, and hear him say Our Father. And once more, oh, once more, 
 the young man fell down at his mother's sacred knees, and sobbed out 
 the prayer which the Divine Tenderness uttered for us, and which has 
 been echoed for twenty ages since by millions of sinful and humbled 
 men. And as he spoke the last words of the supplication, the mother's 
 head fell down on her boy's, and her arms closed round him, and to- 
 gether they repeated the words ^^for ever and ever," and ^^Amen." 
 
 A little time after, it might have been a quarter of an hour, Laura 
 heard Arthur's voice calling from within, Laura, Laura ! " She rushed 
 into the room instantly, and found the young man still on his knees, 
 and holding his mother's hand. Helen's head had sunk back, and was 
 quite pale in the moon. Pen looked round, scared with a ghastly terror. 
 '^Help, Laura, help !" he said — she's fainted — she's " 
 
 Laura screamed, and fell by the side of Helen. The shriek brought 
 Warrington and Major Pendennis and the servants to the room. The 
 sainted woman was dead. The last emotion of her soul here was joy, 
 to be henceforth unchequered and eternal. The tender heart beat no 
 more ; it was to have no more pangs, no more doubts, no more griefs 
 and trials. Its last throb was love ; and Helen's last breath was a 
 benediction. 
 
 The melancholy party bent their way speedily homewards, and Helen 
 was laid by her husband's side at Clavering, in the old church where 
 she had prayed so often. For a while Laura went to stay with Doctor 
 Portman, who read the service over his dear sister departed, amidst his 
 own sobs and those of the little congregation which assembled round 
 Helen's tomb. There were not many who cared for her, or who spoke 
 of her when gone. Scarcely more than of a nun in a cloister did people 
 know of that pious and gentle lady. A few words among the cottagers 
 whom her bounty was accustomed to relieve, a little talk from house to 
 house at Clavering, where this lady told how their neighbour died of a 
 complaint of the heart ; whilst that speculated upon the amount of 
 property which the widow had left; and a third wondered whether 
 Arthur would let Fairoaks or live in it, and expected that he would not 
 be long getting through his property — this was all, and except with one 
 or two who cherished her, the kind soul was forgotten by the next 
 market-day. Would you desire that grief for you should last for a few 
 more weeks ? and does after-life seem less solitary, provided that our 
 names, when we go down into silence," are echoing on this side of 
 the grave yet for a little while, and human voices are still talking about 
 us? She was gone, the pure soul, whom only two or three loved and 
 knew. The great blank she left was in Laura's heart, to whom her 
 
448 PENDENNIS 
 
 love had been everything, and who had now but to worship her memorjr. 
 "I am glad that she gave me her blessnig before she went away, 
 Warrington said to Pen ; and as for Ai^thur with a humble acknow- 
 ledgment and wonder at so much affection, he hardly dared to ask of 
 HefvTn to make him worthy of it, though he felt that a saint there was ■ 
 
 '""'m^^X'^^-:.^^ -re found in perfect order, and her little pro- i 
 pertv ready for transmission to her son, in trust for whom she held it. ; 
 CJrsTn her desk showed that she had long been aware of the com- 
 plahit! one of the heart, under which she laboured, and knew that it 
 would suddenly remove her : and a prayer was found in her handwriting, 
 asking that her end might be, as it was, in the arms of her son. 
 
 Laura and Arthur talked over her sayings, all of which the tormei 
 most fondly remembered, to the young man s shame somewhat, who 
 Tought how much greater her love had been for Helen than his own 
 He referred himself entirely to Laura to know what Helen wou d have 
 wished should be done; what poor persons she would have liked to 
 Telieve; what legacies or remembrances she would have wished to 
 toansmit. They packed up the vase which Helen in her gratitude had 
 destiTed to Doctor Goodenough, and duly sent it to the kind Doctor ; 
 a silver coffee-pot, which she used, was sent off to Doctor Portman , a 
 diamond ring, with her hair, was given with affectionate greeting to 
 
 %Tm"us?have been a hard day for poor Laura when she went over to 
 FairoTks first, and to the little room which she had occupied, and which 
 was hers no more, and to the widow's own blank chamber in which 
 Those two had parsed so many beloved hours. Ther«, of course were 
 the clothes in the wardrobe, the cushion on "'^''^h she piayed the 
 chair at the toilette : the glass that was no niore r^^ff, j\«^^^deai sad 
 face. After she had been here awhile, Pen knocked and led hei down 
 stafrs to the parlour again, and made her drink a little wme, and said, 
 " God bless you," as she touched the glass. « Nothing shall ever be 
 changed in your'room," he said-" it is alwa5;syour room-it is always 
 my sfster's room. Shall it not be so, Laura ? " and Laura said, " Yes ! 
 
 Cong th^widow's papers was found a packet, marked by the widow 
 "Letterf from Laura's father," and which Arthur gave to her 
 were the letters which had passed between the cousins in the eaiiy days 
 before the marriage of either of them. The ink was ^ded in which 
 thev were written : the tears dried out that both perhaps had shed 
 over them : the grief healed now whose bitterness they chronicled ; the 
 
 ? -rnL doubtlesf unit^^^^^^^^^^^^ TrrJi^e ^hS 
 
 wafw Ih t^\tnd £ sftendlrly to Helen : how faithfully 
 her more than mother had cherished her father s memory, how tiuly 
 she had loved him, how meekly resigned him. „ , . , , ^^ 
 Onfleglcy of h s mother's Pen remembered, of which Laura could 
 ha?e no fogn'isance. It was that wish of Helen's to -ake -me^^^^^^^^^ 
 to Fanny Bolton ; and Pen wrote to her, putting his l^ttf jmder an 
 envelope to Mr. Bows, and requesting that g?«tleman to lead it 
 fore he delivered it to Fanny. " Dear Fanny Pen I have to 
 
 acknowledge two letters from you, one of which was delayed in my 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 449 
 
 illness" (Pen found the first letter in his mother's desk after her 
 decease, and the reading it gave him a strange pang), and to thank 
 ^ou, my kind nurse and friend, who watched me so tenderly during my 
 fever. And I have to tell you that the last words of my dear mother, 
 who is no more, were words of goodwill and gratitude to you for 
 lursing me : and she said she would have written to you, had she had 
 time — that she would like to ask your pardon if she had harshly treated 
 ^ou — and that she would beg you to show your forgiveness by accept- 
 ing some token of friendship, and regard from her." Pen concluded 
 by Saying that his friend, George Warrington, Esq., of Lamb Court, 
 Temple, was trustee of a little sum of money, of which the interest 
 would be paid to her until she became of age, or changed her name, 
 which would always be affectionately remembered by her grateful 
 friend, A. Pendennis. The sum was in truth but small, although 
 enough to make a little heiress of Fanny Bolton ; whose parents were 
 ippeased, and whose father said Mr. P. had acted quite as the gentle- 
 man — though Bows growled out that to plaster a wounded heart with 
 1 bank-note was an easy kind of sympathy ; and poor Fanny felt only 
 too clearly that Pen's letter was one of farewell. 
 
 " Sending hundred-pound notes to porters' daughters is all dev'lish 
 well" old Major Pendennis said to his nephew (whom, as the proprietor 
 )f Fairoaks and the head of the family, he now treated with marked 
 ieference and civility), and as there was a little ready money at the 
 aank, and your poor mother wished it, there's perhaps no harm done. 
 But, my good lad, Td have you to remember that you've not above five 
 lundred a year, though, thanks to me, the world gives you credit for 
 3eing a doosid deal better off ; and, on my knees, I beg you, my boy, 
 ion't break into your capital. Stick to it, sir ; don't speculate with it, 
 dr ; keep your land, and don't borrow on it. Tatham tells me that the 
 Chatteris branch of the railway may — will almost certainly pass through 
 Zllavering, and if it can be brought on this side of the Brawl, sir, and 
 :hrough your fields, they'll be worth a dev'lish deal of money, and your 
 ive hundred a year will jump up to eight or nine. Whatever it is, 
 iceep it, I implore you, keep it. And I say. Pen, I think you should 
 ^ve up living in those dirty chambers in the Temple and get a decent 
 odging. And I should have a man, sir, to wait upon me ; and a horse 
 )r two in town in the season. All this will pretty well swallow up your 
 ncome, and I know you must live close. But remember you have a 
 certain place in society, and you can't afford to cut a poor figure in the 
 «^orld. What are you going to do in the winter ? You don't intend 
 10 stay down here, or, I suppose, to go on writing for that — what-d'ye- 
 3all-'em — that newspaper 
 
 Warrington and I are going abroad again, sir, for a little, and then 
 kve shall see what is to be done," Arthur replied. 
 
 And you'll let Fairoaks, of course. Good school in the neighbour- 
 hood ; cheap country ; dev'lish nice place for East India colonels, or 
 ^amilies wanting to retire. I'll speak about it at the club ; there are 
 ots of fellows at the club want a place of that sort." 
 
 I hope Laura will live in it for the winter, at least, and will make 
 t her home," Arthur replied : at which the Major pish'd and psha'd, 
 md said that there ought to be convents, begad, for English ladies, and 
 I . 2 F 
 
450 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 wished that Miss Bell had not been there to interfere with the arrange^ 
 ments of the family, and that she would mope herself to death alon« 
 
 in that place. , , i ^ t 
 
 Indeed, it would have been a very dismal abode for poor Laura, who 
 was not too happy either in Doctor Portman's household, and in the • 
 town where too many things reminded her of the dear parent whom 
 she had lost. But old Lady Rockminster, who adored her young friend 
 Laura, as soon as she read in the paper of her loss, and of her presence 
 in the country, rushed over from Baymouth, where the old lady was 
 staying, and insisted that Laura should remain six months, twelve 
 months, all her life with her ; and to her Ladyship's house, Martha from 
 Fairoaks, as /mme de chambre, accompanied her young mistress. 
 
 Pen and Warrington saw her depart. It was difficult to say which 
 of the young men seemed to regard her the most tenderly. Your 
 cousin is pert and rather vulgar, my dear, but he seems to have a good 
 heart," little Lady Rockminster said, who said her say about everybody 
 
 but I like Bluebeard best. Tell me, is he louche au coeur ? " 
 
 Mr. Warrington has been long— engaged," Laura said, dropping 
 
 her eyes. , i i > 4.4. 
 
 Nonsense, child ! And good heavens, my dear ! that s a pretty 
 diamond cross. What do you mean by wearing it in the morning?" 
 
 "Arthur — my brother, gave it me just now. It was— it was "—she 
 could not finish the sentence. The carriage passed over the bridge, and 
 by the dear dear gate of Fairoaks— home no more. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII 
 
 OLD FRIENDS 
 
 It chanced at that great English festival, at which all London takes a 
 holiday upon Epsom Downs, that a great number of the personages to 
 whom we have been introduced in the course of this history, were as- 
 sembled to see the Derby. In a comfortable open carriage, which had 
 been brought to the ground by a pair of horses, might be seen Mrs. 
 Bungay, of Paternoster Row, attired like Solomon in all his glory, and 
 having by her side modest Mrs. Shandon, for whom, since the com- 
 mencement of their acquaintance, the worthy publisher's lady had 
 maintained a steady friendship. Bungay, having recreated himself with, 
 a copious luncheon, was madly shying at the sticks hard by, till the 
 perspiration ran oiF his bald pate. Shandon was shambling about among 
 the drinking-tents and gipsies : Finucane constant in attendance on the 
 two ladies, to whom gentlemen of their acquaintance, and connected 
 with the publishing house, came up to pay a visit. 
 
 Among others, Mr. Archer came up to make her his bow, and told 
 Mrs. Bungay who was on the course. Yonder was the Prime Minister ; 
 his lordship bad just told him to back Borax for the race ; but Archet 
 thought Muffineer the better horse. He pointed out countless dukes 
 and grandees to the delighted Mrs. Bungay. Look yonder in thef 
 Grand Stand," he said. There sits the Chinese Ambassador with the. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 461 
 
 Mandarins of his suite. Fou-choo-foo brought me over letters of intro- 
 duction from the Governor-General of India^ my most intimate friend, 
 and I was for some time very kind to him, and he had his chopsticks 
 laid for him at my table whenever he chose to come and dine. But 
 he brought his own cook with him, and — would you believe it, Mrs. 
 Bungay .^^ — one day, when I was out, and the Ambassador was with 
 Mrs. Archer in our garden eating gooseberries, of which the Chinese 
 are passionately fond, the beast of a cook, seeing my wife's dear little 
 Blenheim spaniel (that we had from the Duke of Marlborough himself, 
 whose ancestor's life Mrs. Archer's great-great-grandfather saved at the 
 battle of Malplaquet), seized upon the poor little devil, cut his throat, 
 and skinned him, and served him up stuffed with forced-meat in the 
 second course." 
 
 Law !" said Mrs. Bungay. 
 
 You may fancy my wife's agony when she knew what had happened ! 
 The cook came screaming upstairs, and told us that she had found poor 
 Fido's skin in the area, just after we had all of us tasted of the dish ' 
 She never would speak to the Ambassador again — never j and, upon my 
 word, he has never been to dine with us since. The Lord Mayor, who 
 did me the honour to dine, liked the dish very much ; and, eaten with 
 green peas, it tastes rather like duck. " 
 
 ^' You don't say so, now ! " cried the astonished publisher's lady. 
 
 Fact, upon my word. Look at that lady in blue, seated by the 
 Ambassador : that is Lady Flamingo, and they say she is going to be 
 married to him, and return to Pekin with his Excellency. She is getting 
 her feet squeezed down on purpose. But she'll only cripple herself, 
 and will never be able to do it— never. My wife has the smallest foot 
 in England, and wears shoes for a six-years-old child ; but what is that 
 to a Chinese lady's foot, Mrs. Bungay ? " 
 
 Who is that carriage as Mr. Pendennis is with, Mr. Archer.^ " Mrs. 
 Bungay presently asked. He and Mr. Warrington was here jest 
 now. He's 'aughty in his manners, that Mr. Pendennis, and well he 
 may be, for I'm told he keeps tip-top company. 'As he 'ad a large 
 fortune left him, Mr. Archer .^^ He's in black still, I see." 
 
 Eighteen hundred a year in land, and twenty-two thousand five 
 hundred in the Three-and-a-half per Cents. ; that's about it," said 
 Mr. Archer. j 
 
 ''Law! why, you know everything, Mr. A. 1" cried the lady of 
 Paternoster Row. 
 
 '' I happen to know, because I was called in about poor Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis's will," Mr. Archer replied. Pendennis's uncle, the Major, 
 seldom does anything without me ; and as he is likely to be extravagant 
 we've tied up the property, so that he can't make ducks-and-drakes with 
 it. — How do you do, my lord ? — Do you know that gentleman, ladies ? 
 You have read his speeches in the House ; it is Lord Rochester. " 
 
 ''Lord Fiddlestick," cried out Finucane, from the box. ^' Sure it's 
 Tom Staples, of the Morning Advertiser, Archer. " 
 
 "Is it.^" Archer said simply. " Well, Tm very short-sighted, and 
 upon my word I thought it was Rochester. That gentleman with the 
 double opera-glass" (another nod) "is Lord John; and the tall man 
 with him, don't you know him.^ is Sir James." 
 
462 PENDENNIS 
 
 " You know 'em because you see 'em in the House," growled Finucane. 
 
 " I know them because they are kind enough to allow me to call theni 
 my most intimate friends," Archer continued. "Look at the Duke of 
 Hampshire ; what a pattern of a fine old English gentleman ! He never 
 misses the 'Derby.' 'Archer,' he said to me only yftei-day, I have 
 been at sixty-five Derbies ! appeared on the field for the fii^t time on a 
 piebald pony when I was seven years old, with my father, the Prince ot 
 VVales, and Colonel Hanger, and only missing two races,-one when 
 I had the measles at Eton, and one in the Waterloo year, when I was 
 with my friend Wellington in Flanders.' , 
 
 " And who is that yellow carriage, with the pink and yellow parasols 
 that Mr. Pendennis is talking to, and ever so many gentlemen asked 
 
 ^ " That^fs'^Lady Clavering, of Clavering Park, next estate to my friend 
 Pendennis. That is the young son and heir upon the box ! he s awfully 
 tipsy, the little scamp ! and the young lady is Miss Amory, Lady 
 Clavering's daughter by a first marriage, and uncommonly sweet upon 
 mv friend Pendennis; but I've reason to think he has his heart fixed 
 elsewhere. You have heard of young Mr. Foker-the great brewer, 
 Foker, you know-he was going to hang himse f in consequence of a 
 fatal passion for Miss Amory, who refused him, but was cut down just 
 in time by his valet, and is now abroad, under a keeper. 
 
 " How happy that young fellow is ! " sighed Mrs. Bungay. Who d 
 have thought when he came so quiet and demure to dine with us, three 
 or four years ago, he would turn out such a grand character ! Why, 
 I saw his name at Court the other day, and presented by the Marquis 
 of Steyne and all ; and in every party of the nobility his name s down 
 
 ^'""I'intro^duce^d him a good deal when he first came up to town/' Mi- 
 Archer said, "and his uncle. Major Pendennis, did the rest. Hallo 
 There's Cobden here, of all men in the world ! I must go and speak 
 to him Good-bye, Mrs. Bungay. Good morning, Mrs. bhandon. 
 
 An hour previous to this time, and at a different part of the course, 
 there might have been seen an old stage-coach, on the ^^^ttere^ ro°f «J 
 which a Irowd of shabby raffs were stamping and hallooing, as the gieat 
 event of the day-the Derby race-rushed over the green sward, and 
 by the shouting millions of people assembled to view that magnificent 
 scene. This wis Wheeler's (the " Harlequin's Head ") drag, which had 
 brought down a company of choice spirits from Bow Street with a slap- 
 up luncheon in the « bobt." As the whirling race flashed by each of 
 the choice spirits bellowed out the name of the horse or the col^^^^^^^ 
 which he thought or he hoped might be foremost. "The Cornet . 
 « If s Mufiineer ! " " It's blue sleeves ! " " Yallow cap ! yallow cap ! 
 yallowcap !" and so forth, yelled the gentlemen sportsmen, during 
 [hat delicious and thrilling minute ^^fore the contest was decided a^^^^^ 
 as the fluttering signal blew out, showing the number of the famous 
 horse Podasoku! as winner of the race, one of the gentlemen on the 
 "Xfequhi's Head " drag sprang up off the roof, as if he was a pigeon 
 and about to fly away to London or York with the news. 
 
 But Hs eMon did not lift him many inches from h^^sta'iding-pkice 
 to which he came down again on the instant, causing the boards of the 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 463 
 
 crazy old coach-roof to crack with the weight of his joy. Hurray^ 
 hurray ! " he hawled out^ Podasokus is the horse ! Supper for ten^ 
 Wheeler^ my boy. Ask you all round of course^ and damn the 
 expense. 
 
 And the gentlemen on the carriage^ the shabby swaggerers, the 
 dubious bucks, said, Thank you — congratulate you, Colonel ; sup with 
 you with pleasure : " and whispered to one another, " The Colonel stands 
 to win fifteen hundred, and he got the odds from a good man, too." 
 
 And each of the shabby bucks and dusky dandies began to eye his 
 neighbour with suspicion, lest that neighbour, taking his advantage, 
 should get the Colonel into a lonely place and borrow money of him. 
 And the winner on Podasokus could not be alone during the whole of 
 that afternoon, so closely did his friends watch him and each other. 
 
 At another part of the course you might have seen a vehicle, certainly 
 more modest, if not more shabby, than that battered coach which had 
 brought down the choice spirits from the Harlequin's Head ; " this 
 was cab No. 2002, which had conveyed a gentleman and two ladies from 
 the cabstand in the Strand : whereof one of the ladies, as she sat on 
 the box of the cab enjoying with her mamma and their companion a 
 repast of lobster-salad and bitter ale, looked so fresh and pretty that 
 many of the splendid young dandies who were strolling about the course, 
 and enjoying themselves at the noble diversion of Sticks, and talking 
 to the beautifully-dressed ladies in the beautiful carriages on the hill, 
 forsook these fascinations to have a glance at the smiling and rosy- 
 cheeked lass on the cab. The blushes of youth and good-humour 
 mantled on the girl's cheeks, and played over that fair countenance 
 like the pretty shining cloudlets on the serene sky overhead ; the elder 
 lady's cheek was red too ; but that was a permanent mottled rose, 
 deepening only as it received fresh draughts of pale ale and brandy-and- 
 water, until her face emulated the rich shell of the lobster which she 
 devoured. 
 
 The gentleman who escorted these two ladies was most active in 
 attendance upon them : here on the course, as he had been during the 
 previous journey. During the whole of that animated and delightful 
 drive from London, his jokes had never ceased. He spoke up un- 
 dauntedly to the most awful drags full of the biggest and most solemn 
 guardsmen ; as to the humblest donkey-chaise in which Bob the dust- 
 man was driving Molly to the race. He had fired astonishing volleys 
 of what is called ^^chaiF" into endless windows as he passed ; into lines 
 of grinning girls' schools ; into little regiments of shouting urchins 
 hurraying behind the railings of their Classical and Commercial Acade- 
 mies ; into casements whence smiling maid-servants, and nurses tossing 
 babies, or demure old maiden ladies with dissenting countenances, were 
 looking. And the pretty girl in the straw bonnet with pink ribbon, 
 and her mamma, the devourer of lobsters, had both agreed that when 
 he was in spirits " there was nothing like that Mr. Sam. He had 
 crammed the cab with trophies won from the bankrupt proprietors of 
 the Sticks hard by, and with countless pincushions, wooden apples, 
 backy-boxes. Jack-in-the-boxes, and little soldiers. He had brought 
 up a gipsy with a tawny child in her arms to tell the fortunes of the 
 ladies : and the only cloud which momentarily obscured the sunshine 
 
454 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 of that happy party, was when the teller of fate informed the young 
 lady that she had had reason to beware of a fair man, who was false to 
 her : that she had had a bad illness, and that she would find that a 
 dark man would prove true. 
 
 The girl looked very much abashed at this news : her mother and the 
 young man interchanged signs of wonder and intelligence. Perhaps 
 the conjurer had used the same words to a hundred different carriages 
 on that day. . 
 
 Making his way solitary amongst the crowd and the carriages, and 
 noting, according to his wont, the various circumstances and characters 
 which the animated scene presented, a young friend of ours came 
 suddenly upon cab 2002, and the little group of persons assembled on 
 the outside of the vehicle. As he caught sight of the young lady on 
 the box, she started and turned pale : her mother became redder than 
 ever : the heretofore gay and triumphant Mr. Sam immediately as- 
 sumed a fierce and suspicious look, and his eyes turned savagely from 
 Fanny Bolton (whom the reader, no doubt, has recognised in the young 
 lady of the cab) to Arthur Pendennis, advancing to meet her. 
 
 Arthur, too, looked dark and suspicious on perceiving Mr. Samuel 
 Huxter in company with his old acquaintances : but his suspicion was 
 that of alarmed morality, and, I dare say, highly creditable to Mr. 
 Arthur : like the suspicion of Mrs. Lynx, when she sees Mr. Brown 
 and Mrs. Jones talking together, or when she remarks Mrs. Lamb 
 twice or thrice in a handsome opera-box. There may be no harm m 
 the conversation of Mr. B. and Mrs. J. : and Mrs. Lamb's opera-box 
 (though she notoriously can't afford one) may be honestly come by : 
 but yet a moralist like Mrs. Lynx has a right to the little precautionary 
 fright ; and Arthur was no doubt justified in adopting that severe 
 demeanour of his. 
 
 Fanny's heart began to patter violently: Huxter s fists, plunged 
 into the pockets of his paletot, clenched themselves involuntarily, and 
 armed themselves, as it were, in ambush : Mrs. Bolton began to talk 
 with all her might, and with a wonderful volubility : and Lor ! she was 
 so 'appy to see Mr. Pendennis, and how well he was a lookin', and we'd 
 been talkin' about Mr. P. only jest before ; hadn't we, Fanny? and if 
 this was the famous Hepsom races that they talked so much about, she 
 didn't care, for her part, if she never saw them again. And how was 
 Major Pendennis, and that kind Mr. Warrington, who brought Mr. 
 P.'s great kindness to Fanny? and she never would forget it, never : 
 and Mr. Warrington was so tall, he almost broke his 'ead up against 
 their lodge door. You recollect Mr. Warrington a knockin of his 
 head — don't you, Fanny ? 
 
 Whilst Mrs. Bolton was so discoursing, I wonder how many thousands 
 of thoughts passed through Fanny's mind, and what dear times, sad 
 struggles, lonely griefs, and subsequent shamefaced consolations were 
 recalled to her. What pangs had the poor little thing, as she thought 
 how much she had loved him, and that she loved him no more ? There 
 he stood, about whom she was going to die ten months since, dandified, 
 supercilious, with a black crape to his white hat, and jet buttons in his 
 shirt-front : and a pink in his coat, that some one else had probably 
 given him : with the tightest lavender-coloured gloves sewn with black ; 
 
PENDENNIS 455 
 
 and tlie smallest of canes. And Mr. Huxter wore no gloves, and great ? 
 Blucher boots, and smelt very much of tobacco certainly ; and looked, 
 oh, it must be owned, he looked as if a bucket of water would do him ; 
 a great deal of good ! All these thoughts, and a myriad of others, | 
 rushed through Fanny's mind as her mamma was delivering herself of ^ 
 her speech, and as the girl, from under her eyes, surveyed Pendennis 
 — surveyed him entirely from head to foot, the circle on his white fore- 
 head that his hat left when he lifted it (his beautiful, beautiful hair had 
 grown again), the trinkets at his watch-chain, the ring on his hand 
 under his glove, the neat shining boot, so, so unlike Sam's highlow ! — 
 and after her hand had given a little twittering pressure to the lavender- 
 coloured kid grasp which was held out to it, and after her mother had 
 delivered herself of her speech, all Fanny could find to say was,—'' This 
 is Mr. Samuel Huxter, whom you knew formerly, I believe, sir ; Mr. 
 Samuel, you know you knew Mr. Pendennis formerly— and— and, will 
 you take a little refreshment ? " 
 
 These little words, tremulous and uncoloured as they were, yet were 
 understood by Pendennis in such a manner as to take a great load of 
 suspicion from off his mind— of remorse, perhaps, from his heart. The 
 frown on the countenance of the Prince of Fairoaks disappeared, and a 
 good-natured smile and a knowing twinkle of the eyes illuminated his 
 highness's countenance. I am very thirsty," he said, and I will be 
 glad to drink your health, Fanny ; and I hope Mr. Huxter will pardon 
 me for having been very rude to him the last time we met, and when I 
 was so ill and out of spirits, that indeed I scarcely knew what I said." 
 And herewith the lavender-coloured dexter kid-glove was handed out, 
 in token of amity, to Huxter. 
 
 The dirty fist in the young surgeon's pocket was obliged to undouble 
 itself, and come out of its ambush disarmed. The poor fellow himself 
 felt, as he laid it in Pen's hand, how hot his own was, and how black- 
 it left black marks on Pen's glove ; he saw them,— he would have liked 
 to have clenched it again and dashed it into the other's good-humoured 
 face; and have seen, there upon that ground, with Fanny, with all 
 England looking on, which was the best man — he, Sam Huxter of 
 Bartholomew's, or that grinning dandy. 
 
 Pen, with ineffable good-humour, took a glass— he didn't mind what 
 it was— he was content to drink after the ladies ; and he filled it with 
 frothing lukewarm beer, which he pronounced to be delicious, and 
 which he drank cordially to the health of the party. 
 
 As he was drinking and talking on in an engaging manner, a young 
 lady in a shot dove-coloured dress, with a white parasol lined with pink, 
 and the prettiest dove-coloured boots that ever stepped, passed by Pen, 
 leaning on the arm of a stalwart gentleman with a military moustache. 
 
 The young lady clenched her little fist, and gave a mischievous side- 
 look as she passed Pen. He of the mustachios burst out into a jolly laugh. 
 He had taken off his hat to the ladies of cab No. 2002. You should 
 have seen Fanny Bolton's eyes watching after the dove-coloured young 
 lady ! Immediately Huxter perceived the direction which they took, 
 they ceased looking after the dove-coloured nymph, and they turned 
 and looked into Sam Huxter's orbs with the most artless good-humoured 
 expression. 
 
456 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 What a beautiful creature ! " Fanny said. What a lovely dress ! 
 Did you remark, Mr. Sam, such little, little hands } " 
 
 It was Capting Strong/' said Mrs. Bolton : and who was the 
 young woman, I wonder ? 
 
 A neighbour of mine in the country — Miss Amory," Arthur said, — 
 
 Lady Clavering*s daughter. You've seen Sir Francis often in Shep- 
 herd's Inn, Mrs. Bolton." 
 
 As he spoke, Fanny built up a perfect romance in three volumes — 
 Love — faithlessness — splendid marriage at St. George's, Hanover Square 
 — broken-hearted maid — and Sam Huxter was not the hero of that f 
 story — poor Sam, who by this time had got out an exceedingly rank i 
 Cuba cigar, and was smoking it under Fanny's little nose. ^ c 
 
 After that confounded prig Pendennis joined smiirieft the party, the 
 sun was less bright to Sam Huxter, the sky less blue — the Sticks had i 
 no attraction for him — the bitter beer was hot and undrinkable — the i 
 world was changed. He had a quantity of peas and a tin pea-shooter f 
 in the pocket of the cab for amusement on the homeward route. He 
 didn't take them out, and forgot their existence until some other wag, 
 on their return from the races, fired a volley into Sam's sad face ; upon 
 which salute, after a few oaths indicative of surprise, he burst into a 
 savage and sardonic laugh. 
 
 But Fanny was charming all the way home. She coaxed, and 
 snuggled, and smiled. She laughed pretty laughs ; she admired every- 
 thing; she took out the darling little Jack-in-the-boxes, and was so 
 obliged to Sam. And when they got home, and Mr. Huxter, still with 
 darkness on his countenance, was taking a frigid leave of her — she 
 burst into tears, and said he was a naughty unkind thing. 
 
 Upon which, with a burst of emotion almost as emphatic as hers, the 
 young surgeon held the girl in his arms — swore that she was an angel, 
 and that he was a jealous brute ; owned that he was unworthy of her, 
 and that he had no right to hate Pendennis ; and asked her, implored 
 her, to say once more that she 
 
 That she what? — The end of the question and Fanny's answer were 
 pronounced by lips that were so near each other, that no bystander 
 could hear the words. Mrs. Bolton only said, Come, come, Mr. H. 
 — no nonsense, if you please ; and I think you've acted like a wicked 
 wretch, and been most uncommon cruel to Fanny, that I do." 
 
 When Arthur left No. 2002, he went to pay his^respects to the carriage 
 to which, and to the side of her mamma, the dove-coloured author of 
 ^^Mes Larmes" had by this time returned. Indefatigable old Major 
 Pendennis was in waiting upon Lady Clavering, and had occupied the 
 back seat in her carriage ; the box being in possession of young Hopeful, 
 under the care of Captain Strong. 
 
 A number of dandies, and men of a certain fashion — of military bucks, 
 of young rakes of the public offices, of those who may be styled men's 
 men rather than ladies' — had come about the carriage during its station 
 on the hill — and had exchanged a word or two with Lady Clavering, and 
 a little talk (a little chaff" some of the most elegant of the men styled 
 their conversation) with Miss Amory. They had offered her sportive 
 bets, and exchanged with her all sorts of free-talk and knowing innuen- 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 457 
 
 I; does. They pointed out to her who was on the course: and the who " 
 ^ was not always the person a young lady should know. 
 
 When Pen came up to Lady Clavering's carriage^ he had to push his 
 way through a crowd of these young bucks who were paying their court 
 to Miss Amory, in order to arrive near that young lady^ who beckoned 
 him by many pretty signals to her side. 
 
 ^'Je I'ai vue/' she said ; ^^elle a de bien beaux yeux ; vous etes un 
 monstre V* 
 
 Why monster.?*" said Pen, with a laugh; ^^Honi soit qui mal y 
 pense. jMy young friend, yonder, is as well protected as any young lady 
 in Christendom. She has her mamma on one side, her pretendu on the 
 other. Could any harm happen to a girl between those two ? 
 
 One does not know what may or may not arrive," said Miss Blanche, 
 in French, when a girl has the mind, and when she is pursued by a 
 wicked monster like you. Figure to yourself. Major, that 1 come to 
 find Monsieur, your nephew, near to a cab, by two ladies, and a man, oh, 
 such a man ! and who ate lobsters, and who laughed, who laughed ! " 
 
 "It did not strike me that the man laughed," Pen said. "And as 
 for lobsters, I thought he would have liked to eat me after the lobsters. 
 He shook hands with me, and griped me so, that he bruised my glove 
 black and blue. He is a young surgeon. He comes from Clavering. 
 Don't you remember the gilt pestle and mortar in High Street.^ " 
 
 "If he attends you when you are sick," continued Miss Amory, "he 
 will kill you. He will serve you right ; for you are a monster."* 
 
 The perpetual recurrence to the word " monster " jarred upon Pen. 
 " She speaks about these matters a great deal too lightly," he thought. 
 ^^If I had been a monster, as she calls it, she would have received me 
 just the same. This is not the way in which an English lady should 
 speak or think. Laura would not speak in that way, thank God ; " and 
 as he thought so, his own countenance fell. 
 
 " Of what are you thinking } Are you going to bonder me at present.''" 
 Blanche asked. "Major, scold your mechant nephew. He does not 
 amuse me at all. He is as hete as Captain Crackenbury. " 
 
 " What are you saying about me, Miss Amory } " said the guardsman, 
 with a grin. " If it's anything good, say it in English, for I don't 
 understand French when it's spoke so devilish quick." 
 
 It aint anything good. Crack," said Crackenbury's fellow. Captain 
 Clinker. "Let's come away, and don't spoil sport. They say Pen- 
 dennis is sweet upon her." 
 
 ' " I'm told he's a devilish clever fellow," sighed Crackenbury. " Lady 
 Violet Lebas says he's a devilish clever fellow. He wrote a work, or a 
 poem, or something ; and he writes those devilish clever things in the — 
 in the papers, you know. Dammy, I wish / was a clever fellow, Clinker. " 
 
 That's past wishing for. Crack, my boy," the other said. " I can't 
 write a good book, but I think I can make a pretty good one on the 
 Derby. What a flat Clavering is ! And the Begum ! I like that old 
 Begum. She's worth ten of her daughter. How pleased the old girl 
 was at winning the lottery !" 
 
 " Clavering's safe to pay up, ain't he ? " asked Captain Crackenbury. 
 
 " I hope so," said his friend ; and they disappeared, to enjoy them- 
 selves among the Sticks. 
 
458 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Before the end of the day's amusements^ many more gentlemen of 
 Lady Clavering*s acquaintance came up to her carriage, and chatted 
 with the parly which it contained. The worthy lady was in high spirits 
 and good humour, laughing and talking according to her wont, and 
 offering refreshments to all her friends, until her ample baskets and 
 bottles were emptied, and her servants and postillions were in such a 
 royal state of excitement as servants and postillions commonly are upon 
 the Derby Day. 
 
 The Major remarked that some of the visitors to the carriage appeared 
 to look with rather queer and meaning glances towards its owner. 
 
 How easily she takes it ! " one man whispered to another. The 
 Begum's made of money," the friend replied. How easily she takes 
 what.^" thought old Pendennis. ^^Has anybody lost any money 
 Lady Clavering said she was happy in the morning because Sir Francis 
 had promised her not to bet. 
 
 Mr. W elbore, the country neighbour of the Claverings, was passing 
 the carriage, when he was called back by the Begum, who rallied him 
 for wishing to cut her. Why didn't he come before } Why didn't 
 he come to lunch } " Her Ladyship was in great delight, she told him 
 — she told everybody, that she had won five pounds in a lottery. As 
 she conveyed this piece of intelligence to him, Mr. Welbore looked so 
 particularly knowing, and withal melancholy, that a dismal apprehen- 
 sion seized upon Major Pendennis. ^^He would go and look after the 
 horses and those rascals of postillions, who were so long in coming 
 round." When he came back to the carriage, his usually benign and 
 smirking countenance was obscured by some sorrow. What is the 
 matter with you now } " the good-natured Begum asked. The Major 
 pretended a headache from the fatigue and sunshine of the day. The 
 carriage wheeled off the course and took its way Londonwards, not the 
 least brilliant equipage in that vast and picturesque procession. The 
 tipsy drivers dashed gallantly over the turf, amidst the admiration of 
 foot-passengers, the ironical cheers of the little donkey-carriages and 
 spring vans, and the loud objurgations of horse-and-chaise men, with 
 whom the reckless postboys came in contact. The jolly Begum looked 
 the picture of good-humour as she reclined on her splendid cushions ; 
 the lovely Sylph ide smiled with languid elegance. Many an honest 
 holiday-maker with his family wadded into a tax-cart, many a cheap 
 dandy working his way home on his weary hack, admired that brilliant 
 turn-out, and thought, no doubt, how happy those swells " must be. 
 Strong sat on the box still, with a lordly voice calling to the postboys 
 and the crowd. Master Frank had been put inside the carriage, and 
 was asleep there by the side of the Major, dozing away the effects of 
 the constant luncheon and champagne of which he had freely partaken. 
 
 The Major was revolving in his mind meanwhile the news the receipt 
 of which had made him so grave. If Sir Francis Clavering goes on 
 in this way," Pendennis the elder thought, this little tipsy rascal will 
 be as bankrupt as his father and grandfather before him. The Begum's 
 fortune can't stand such drains upon it : no fortune can stand them : 
 she has paid his debts half-a-dozen times already. A few years more 
 of the turf, and a few coups like this will ruin her." 
 
 " Don't you think we could get up races at Clavering, mamma } " 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 469 
 
 Miss Amory asked. Yes^ we must have them there again. There 
 were races there in the old times^ the good old times. It's a national 
 amusement_, you know ; and we could have a CI avering ball : and we 
 might have dances for the tenantry^ and rustic sports in the park — Oh^ 
 it would be charming." 
 
 Capital fun^'' said mamma. Wouldn't it. Major ? " 
 The turf is a very expensive amusement, my dear lady," Major 
 Pendennis answered, with such a rueful face, that the Begum rallied 
 him, and asked laughingly whether he had lost money on the race. 
 
 After a slumber of about an hour-and-a-half, the heir of the house 
 began to exhibit symptoms of wakefulness, stretching his youthful arms 
 over the Major's face, and kicking his sister's knees as she sate opposite 
 to him. When the amiable youth was quite restored to consciousness, 
 he began a sprightly conversation. 
 
 ^'l say, Ma," he said, ^^I've gone and done it this time, I have." 
 What have you gone and done, Franky dear ? " asked mamma. 
 How much is seventeen half-crowns ? Two pound and half-a-crown, 
 ain't it } I drew Borax in our lottery, but I bought Podasokus and Man- 
 milliner of Leggat minor for two open tarts and a bottle of ginger-beer. " 
 
 You little wicked gambling creature, how dare you begin so soon ? " 
 cried Miss Amory. 
 
 ^^Hold your tongue, if you please. Who ever asked your leave, 
 miss.'^" the brother said. "And I say. Ma " 
 
 " Well, Franky dear?" 
 You'll tip me all the same, you know, when I go back " — and here 
 he broke out into a laugh. I say. Ma, shall I tell you something ? " 
 
 The Begum expressed her desire to hear this something, and her son 
 and heir continued : — 
 
 When me and Strong was down at the Grand Stand after the race, 
 and I was talking to Leggat minor, who was there with his governor, 1 
 saw Pa look as savage as a bear. And I say. Ma, Leggat minor told me 
 that he heard his governor say that Pa had lost seven thousand backing 
 the favourite. I'll never back the favourite when I'm of age. No, no 
 — hang me if I do : leave me alone. Strong, will you ? " 
 
 Captain Strong ! Captain Strong ! is this true ? " cried out the un- 
 fortunate Begum. Has Sir Francis been betting again ? He promised 
 me he wouldn't. He gave me his word of honour he wouldn't." 
 
 Strong, from his place on the box, had overheard the end of young 
 Clavering's communication, and was trying in vain to stop his unlucky 
 tongue. 
 
 I'm afraid it's true, ma'am," he said, turning round. " I deplore 
 the loss as much as you can. He promised me as he promised you ; 
 but the play is too strong for him ! he can't refrain from it." 
 
 Lady Clavering at this sad news burst into a fit of tears. She 
 deplored her wretched fate as the most miserable of women. She 
 declared she would separate, and pay no more debts for this ungrateful 
 man. She narrated with tearful volubility a score of stories only too 
 authentic, which showed how her husband had deceived, and how con- 
 stantly she had befriended him : and in this melancholy condition, 
 whilst young Hopeful was thinking about the two guineas which he 
 himself had won, and the Major revolving, in his darkened mind, 
 
460 PENDENNIS 
 
 whether certain plans wi. he tml been forming had better not be 
 abandoned, the splendid Cd -:lage drove up at length to the Begum s 
 house in Gro^venor Place , the idlers and boys lingering about the 
 place to witaesa, according to public wont, the close of the Derby Day, 
 and cheering the carriage as it drew up, and envying the happy folks 
 who descended from it. 
 
 And it's for the son of this man that I am made a beggar ! Blanche 
 said, quivering with anger, as she walked upstairs leaning on the 
 Major s arm— for this cheat— for this blackleg— for this liar— for this 
 robber of women." , „ , n ^ -j . 
 
 Calm yourself, my dear Miss Blanche, the old gentleman said , 
 I pray, calm yourself. You have been hardly treated, most unjustly. 
 But remember that you have always a friend in me ; and trust to an 
 old fellow who will try and serve you." 
 
 And the young lady, and the heir of the hopeful house of Clavermg 
 having retired to their beds, the remaining three of the Epsom party 
 remained for some time in deep consultation. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX 
 
 EXPLANATIONS 
 
 Almost a year, as the reader will perceive, has passed since an event 
 described a few pages back. Arthur's black coat is about to be ex- 
 changed for a blue one. His person has undergone other more pleasing 
 and remarkable changes. His wig has been laid aside, and his hair, 
 though somewhat thinner, has returned to public view. And he has 
 had the honour of appearing at Court in the uniform of a Cornet ot 
 
 the Clavering troop of the shire Yeomanry Cavalry, being presented 
 
 to the Sovereign by the Marquis of Steyne. . , a 4.1, » 
 
 This was a measure strongly and pathetically urged by Arthur s 
 uncle. The Major would not hear of a year passing before this cere- 
 mony of gentlemanhood was gone through. The old gentleman thought 
 that his nephew should belong to some rather more select club than the 
 Polyanthus ; and has announced everywhere in the world his disappoint- 
 ment that the young man's property has ti|5|^d out not by any means 
 as well as he could have hoped, and is uridfeSSfteen hundred a year. ^ 
 
 That is the amount at which Pendennis s property is set down in 
 the world— where his publishers begin to respect him much more than 
 formerly, and where even mammas are by no means uncivil to him. 
 For if the pretty daughters are, naturally, to marry people ot very 
 different expectations— at any rate, he will be eligible for the plain ones ; 
 and if the brilliant and fascinating Mira is to hook an Earl, poor little 
 Beatrice, who has one shoulder higher than the other, must hang on 
 to some boor through life, and why should not Mr. Pendennis be^hei 
 support In the very first winter after the accession to his mothers 
 fortune, Mrs. Hawxby in a country house caused her Beatrice to learn 
 billiards from Mr, Pendennis, and would be driven by nobody but him 
 in the pony carriage, because he was literary and her Beatrice was 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 461 
 
 literary too^ and declared that the young man, under the instigation 
 of his horrid old uncle, had behaved most infamously in trifling with 
 Beatrice's feelings. The truth is, the old gentleman, who knew Mrs. 
 Hawxby's character, and how desperately that lady would practise 
 upon unwary young men, had come to the country house in question 
 and carried Arthur out of the danger of her immediate claws, though 
 not out of the reach of her tongue. The elder Pendennis would have 
 had his nephew pass a part of the Christmas at Clavering, whither the 
 family had returned ; but Arthur had not the heart for that. Claver- 
 ing was too near poor old Fairoaks ; and that was too full of sad 
 recollections for the young man. 
 
 We have lost sight of the Claverings, too, until their reappearance 
 upon the Epsom race-ground, and must give a brief [account of them 
 in the interval. During the past year, the world has not treated any 
 member of the Clavering family very kindly. Lady Clavering, one of 
 the best natured women that ever enjoyed a good dinner, or made a 
 slip in grammar, has had her appetite and good-nature sadly tried by 
 constant family grievances, and disputes such as make the efforts of 
 the best French cook unpalatable, and the most delicately-stuffed sofa- 
 cushion hard to lie on. " I'd rather have a turnip. Strong, for dessert, 
 than that pineapple, and all them Muscatel grapes, from Clavering," 
 says poor Lady Clavering, looking at her dinner-table, and confiding 
 her griefs to her faithful friend, if I could but have a little quiet to 
 eat it with. Oh, how much happier I was when I was a widow, and 
 before all this money fell in to me ! " 
 
 The Clavering family had indeed made a false start in life, and had 
 got neither comfort, nor position, nor thanks for the hospitalities which 
 they administered, nor a return of kindness from the people whom they 
 entertained. The success of their first London season was doubtful ; 
 and their failure afterwards notorious. Human patience was not great 
 enough to put up with Sir Francis Clavering," people said. He was 
 I too hopelessly low, dull, and disreputable. You could not say what, 
 I but there was a taint about the house and its entourages. Who was the 
 i Begum, with her money, and without her h's, and where did she come 
 ■ from } What an extraordinary little piece of conceit the daughter 
 ' was, with her Gallicised graces and daring affectations, not fit for well-^>" 
 bred English girls to associate with ! What strange people were those 
 they assembled round about them ! Sir Francis Clavering was a gambler, 
 living notoriously in the- society of blacklegs and profligates. Hely 
 Clinker, who was in his regiment, said that he not only cheated at cards, 
 but showed the white feather. What could Lady Rockminster have 
 meant by taking her up ? " After the first season, indeed. Lady Rock- 
 minster, who had taken up Lady Clavering, put her down ; the great 
 ladies would not take their daughters to her parties : the young men 
 who attended them behaved with the most odious freedom and scornful 
 familiarity ; and poor Lady Clavering herself avowed that she was obliged 
 to take what she called "the canal" into her parlour, because the 
 tiptops wouldn't come. 
 
 She had not the slightest ill-will towards " the canal," the poor dear 
 lady, or any pride about herself, or idea that she was better than her 
 neighbour ; but she had taken implicitly the orders which on her entry 
 
462 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 into the world her social godmothers had given her : she had heen will- 
 ing to know whom they knew^ and ask whom they asked. " The canal/* 
 in fact, was much pleasanter than what is called society ; " but, as we 
 said before, that to leave a mistress is easy, while, on the contrary, to 
 be left by her is cruel ; so you may give up society without any great 
 pang, or anything but a sensation of relief at the parting ; but severe 
 are the mortifications and pains you have if society gives up you. 
 
 One young man of fashion we have mentioned, who at least it might 
 have been expected would have been found faithful amongst the faith- 
 less, and Harry Foker, Esq. , was indeed that young man. But he had 
 not managed matters with prudence ; and the unhappy passion at first 
 confided to Pen, became notorious and ridiculous to the town, was 
 carried to the ears of his weak and fond mother, and finally brought 
 under the cognisance of the bald-headed and inflexible Foker senior. 
 
 When Mr. Foker learned this disagreeable news, there took place 
 between him and his son a violent and painful scene, which ended in 
 the poor little gentleman's banishment from England for a year, with 
 a positive order to return at the expiration of that time and complete 
 his marriage with his cousin ; or to retire into private life and three 
 hundred a year altogether, and never see parent or brewery more. 
 Mr. Henry Foker went away then, carrying with him that grief and care 
 which passes free at the strictest custom-houses, and which proverbially 
 accompanies the exile, and with this crape over his eyes, even the Parisian 
 Boulevard looked melancholy to him, and the sky of Italy black. 
 
 To Sir Francis Clavering that year was a most unfortunate one. The 
 events described in the last chapter came to complete the ruin of the 
 year. It was that year of grace in which, as our sporting readers may 
 remember. Lord HarrowhilFs horse (he was a classical young nobleman, 
 and named his stud out of the Iliad when Podasokus won the 
 
 Derby," to the dismay of the knowing ones, who pronounced the 
 winning horse's name in various extraordinary ways, and who backed 
 Borax, who was nowhere in the race. Sir Francis Clavering, who was 
 intimate with some of the most rascally characters of the turf, and, of 
 course, had valuable information," had laid heavy odds against the 
 winning horse, and backed the favourite freely, and the result of his 
 dealings was, as his son correctly stated to poor Lady Clavering, a loss 
 of seven thousand pounds. 
 
 Indeed, it was a cruel blow upon the lady, who had discharged her 
 husband's debts many times over : who had received as many times his 
 oaths and promises of amendment ; who had paid his money-lenders 
 and horse-dealers ; who had furnished his town and country houses, 
 and who was called upon now instantly to meet this enormous sum, the 
 penalty of her cowardly husband's extravagance. 
 
 It has been described in former pages how the elder Pendennis had 
 become the adviser of the Clavering family, and in his quality of inti- 
 mate friend of the house, had gone over every room of it, and even seen 
 that ugly closet which we all of us have, and in which, according to the 
 proverb, the family skeleton is locked up. About the Baronet's pecu- 
 niary matters, if the Major did not know, it was because Clavering him- 
 self did not know them^ and hid them from himself and others in such 
 a hopeless entanglement of lies, that it was impossible for adviser or 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 463 
 
 attorney or principal to get an accurate knowledge of his affairs. But, 
 concerning Lady Clavering, the Major was much better informed ; and 
 when the unlucky mishap of the Derby " arose, he took upon himself 
 to become completely and thoroughly acquainted with all her means, 
 whatsoever they were ; and was now accurately informed of the vast 
 and repeated sacrifices which the widow Amory had made in behalf of 
 her present husband. 
 
 He did not conceal, — and he had won no small favour from Miss 
 Blanche by avowing it,— his opinion, that Lady Clavering's daughter 
 had been hardly treated at the expense of her son by her second 
 marriage : and in his conversations with Lady Clavering had fairly 
 hinted that he thought Miss Blanche ought to have a better provision. 
 We have said that he had already given the widow to understand that 
 he knew all the particulars of her early and unfortunate history, having 
 been in India at the time when— when the painful circumstances occurred 
 which had ended in her parting from her first husband. He could tell 
 her where to find the Calcutta newspaper which contained the account 
 of Amory's trial, and he showed— and the Begum was not a little 
 grateful to him for his forbearance — how, being aware all along of this 
 mishap which had befallen her, he had kept all knowledge of it to him- 
 self, and been constantly the friend of her family. 
 
 Interested motives, my dear Lady Clavering," he said, of course 
 I may have had. We all have interested motives, and mine, I don't 
 conceal from you, was to make a marriage between my nephew and 
 your daughter." To which Lady Clavering, perhaps with some surprise 
 that the Major should choose her family for a union with his own, said 
 she was quite willing to consent. 
 
 But frankly he said, My dear lady, my boy has but five hundred a 
 year, and a wife with ten thousand pounds to her fortune would scarcely 
 better him. We could do better for him than that, permit me to say ; 
 md he is a shrewd cautious young fellow who has sown his wild oats 
 now— who has very good parts and plenty of ambition— and whose 
 object in marrying is to better himself If you and Sir Francis chose 
 
 and Sir Francis, take my word for it, will refuse you nothing — you 
 bould put Arthur in a way to advance very considerably in the world, 
 |ind show the stulf which he has in him. Of what use is that seat in 
 Parliament to Clavering, who scarcely ever shows his face in the House, 
 3r speaks a word there } Vm told by gentlemen who heard my boy at 
 Oxbridge, that he was famous as an orator, begad !— and once put his 
 Foot into the stirrup and mount him, Fve no doubt he won t be the last 
 3f the field, ma'am. I've tested the chap, and know him pretty well, 
 [ think. He is much too lazy, and careless, and flighty a fellow, to 
 make a jog-trot journey, and arrive, a« your lawyers do, at the end of 
 their lives ; but give him a start and good friends*, and an opportunity, 
 md take my word for it, he'll make himself a name that his sons shall 
 be proud of. I don't see any way for a fellow like him to parvenir, but 
 by making a prudent marriage — not with a beggarly heiress — to sit down 
 For life upon a miserable fifteen hundred a year — but with somebody 
 ivhom he can help, and who can help him forward in the world, and 
 (whom he can give a good name and a station in the country, begad, in 
 return for the advantages which she brings him. It would be better 
 
464 PENDENNIS 
 
 for you to have a distinguished son-in-law^ than to keep your husband 
 on in Parliament^ who's of no good to himself or to anybody else there, 
 and that's, I say, why I've been interested about you, and olFer you what , 
 I think a good bargain for both." i 
 You know I look upon Arthur as one of the family almost now," I 
 said the good-natured Begum ; he comes and goes when he likes ; 
 and the more I think of his dear mother, the more I see there's few I 
 people so good — none so good to me. And I'm sure I cried when I 
 heard of her death, and would have gone into mourning for her myself, 
 only black don't become me. And I know who his mother wanted him , 
 to marry — Laura, I mean— whom old Lady Rockminster has taken such 
 a fancy to, and no wonder. She's a better girl than my girl. I know 
 both. And my Betsy — Blanche, I mean— ain't been a comfort to me, 1 
 Ma-jor. It's Laura Pen ought to marry." 
 
 Marry on five hundred a year ! My dear good soul, you are mad !" | 
 Major Pendennis said. Think over what I have said to you. Do no- 1 
 thing in your affairs with that unhappy husband of yours without con- , 
 suiting me ; and remember that old Pendennis is always your friend." 
 
 For some time previous. Pen's uncle had held similar language to I 
 Miss Amory. He had pointed out to her the convenience of the match j 
 which he had at heart, and was bound to say, that mutual convenience j 
 was of all things the very best in the world to marry upon — the only ( 
 thing. Look at your love-marriages, my dear young creature. The ! 
 love-match people are the most notorious of all for quarrelling after- ! 
 wards ; and a girl who runs away with Jack to Gretna Green, constantly 
 runs away with Tom to Switzerland afterwards. The great point in 
 marriage is for people to agree to be useful to one another. The lady 
 brings the means, and the gentleman avails himself of them. My boy|s 
 wife brings the horse, and begad Pen goes in and wins the plate. That's 
 what I call a sensible union. A couple like that have something to talk 
 to each other about when they come together. If you had Cupid him- . 
 self to talk to— if Blanche and Pen were Cupid and Psyche, begad— 
 they'd begin to yawn after a few evenings, if they had nothing but 
 sentiment to speak on." ' 
 
 As for Miss Amory, she was contented enough with Pen as long as 
 there was nobody better. And how many other young ladies are like 
 her } — and how many love-marriages carry on well to the last } — and 
 how many sentimental firms do not finish in bankruptcy and how 
 many heroic passions don't dwindle down into despicable indifference, 
 or end in shameful defeat? 
 
 These views of life and philosophy the Major was constantly, accord- 
 ing to his custom, inculcating on Pen, whose mind was such that he 
 could see the right on both sides of many questions, and, comprehend- 
 ing the sentimental life which was quite out of the reach of the honest 
 Major's intelligence, could understand the practical life too, and accom- 
 modate himself, or think he could accommodate himself, to it. So it 
 came to pass that during the spring succeeding his mother's death he 
 was a good deal under the influence of his uncle's advice, and domesti- 
 cated in Lady Clavering's house; and in a measure was accepted by 
 Miss Amory without being a suitor, and was received without being 
 engaged. The young people were extremely familiar, without being 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 46^ 
 
 i)articularly sentimental^ and met and parted with each other in perfect 
 rood-humour. And I/' thought Tendeniiis, am the fellow who 
 dght years ago had a grand passion^ and last year was raging in a 
 ever about Briseis ! " 
 
 Yes^ it was the same Pendennis^ and time had brought to him as to 
 he rest of us^ its ordinary consequences, consolations^ developments, 
 ^e alter very little. When we talk of this man or that woman being 
 10 longer the same person whom we remember in youth, and remark 
 of course to deplore) changes in our friends, we don't, perhaps, calcu- 
 ate that circumstance only brings out the latent defect or quality, and 
 logs not crea^^^^ The selfish languor and indifference of to-day's 
 >ossession is the consequence of the selfish ardour of yesterday's pursuit: 
 he scorn and weariness which cries vanitas vanitatum is but the lassitude 
 »f the sick appetite palled with pleasure : the insolence of the successful 
 iurvenu is only the necessary continuance of the career of the needy 
 truggler : our mental changes are like our grey hairs or our wrinkles 
 -but the fulfilment of the plan of mortal growth and decay : that 
 rhich is snow-white now was glossy black once ; that which is sluggish 
 besity to-day was boisterous rosy health a few years back ; that calm 
 reariness, benevolent, resigned, and disappointed, was ambition, fierce 
 nd violent, but a few years since, and has only settled into submissive 
 epose after many a battle and defeat. Lucky he who can bear his 
 allure so generously, and give up his broken sword to Fate the 
 'onqueror with a manly and humble heart ! Are you not awe-stricken, 
 on, friendly reader, who, taking the page up for a moment's light 
 eading, lay it down, perchance, for a graver reflection, — to think how 
 ou, who have consummated your success or your disaster, may be 
 Lolding marked station, or a hopeless and nameless place, in the crowd 
 -who have passed through how many struggles of defeat, success, 
 rime, remorse, to yourself only known ! — who may have loved and 
 Town cold, wept and laughed again, how often ! — to think how you 
 re the same You, whom in childhood you remember, before the voyage 
 f life began ! It has been prosperous, and you are riding into port, 
 he people huzzaing and the guns saluting, — and the lucky captain 
 pws from the ship's side, and there is a care under the star on his 
 ireast which nobody knows of : or you are wrecked, and lashed, hope- 
 Bss, to a solitary spar out at sea the sinking man and the successful 
 ne are thinking each about home, very likely, and remembering the 
 ime when they were children ; alone on the hopeless spar, drowning 
 ut of sight ; alone in the midst of the crowd applauding you. 
 
 . CHAPTER LX 
 
 CONVERSATIONS 
 
 )uR good-natured Begum was at first so much enraged at this last in- 
 Itance of her husband's duplicity and folly, that she refused to give Sir 
 ''rancis Clavering any aid in order to meet his debts of honour, and 
 ieclared that she would separate from him, and leave him to the con- 
 
 2 G 
 
466 PENDENNIS 
 
 sequences of his incorrigible weakness and waste. After that fatal 
 day's transactions at the Derby, the unlucky gambler was in such a 
 condition of mind that he was disposed to avoid everybody ; alike his 
 turf-associates with whom he had made debts which he trembled lest he 
 should not have the means of paying, and his wife, his long-suffering 
 banker, on whom he reasonably doubted whether he should be allowed 
 any longer to draw. When Lady Clavering asked the next morning 
 whether Sir Francis was in the house, she received answer that he had 
 not returned that night, but had sent a messenger to his valet, ordering 
 him to forward clothes and letters by the bearer. Strong knew that he 
 should have a visit or a message from him in the course of that or the 
 subsequent day, and accordingly got a note beseeching him to call upon 
 his distracted friend F. C. at Short's Hotel, Blackfriars, and ask for 
 Mr. Francis there. For the Baronet was a gentleman of that pecu- 
 liarity of mind that he would rather tell a lie than not, and always began 
 a contest with fortune by running away and hiding himself. The Boots 
 of Mr. Short's establishment, who carried Clavering's message to Gros- 
 venor Place, and brought back his carpet-bag, was instantly aware 
 who was the owner of the bag, and he imparted his information to the 
 footman who was laying the breakfast-table, who carried down the news 
 to the servants' hall, who took it to Mrs. Bonner, my Lady's house- 
 keeper and confidential maid, who carried it to my Lady. And thus 
 every single person in the Grosvenor Place establishment knew that Sir 
 Francis was in hiding, under the name of Francis, at an inn in the 
 Blackfriars Road. And Sir Francis's coachman told the news to other 
 gentlemen's coachmen, who carried it to their masters, and to the 
 neighbouring Tattersall's, where very gloomy anticipations were formed 
 that Sir Francis Clavering was about to make a tour in the Levant. 
 
 In the course of that day the number of letters addressed to Sir 
 Francis Clavering, Bart., which found their way to his hall table, was 
 quite remarkable. The French cook sent in his account to my Lady ; 
 the tradesmen who supplied her Ladyship's table, and Messrs Finer 
 and Gimcrack, the mercers and ornamental dealers, and Madame 
 Crinoline, the eminent milliner, also forwarded their little bills to her 
 Ladyship, in company with Miss Amory's private, and by no means 
 inconsiderable, account at each establishment. 
 
 In the afternoon of the day after the Derby, when Strong (after a 
 colloquy with his principal at Short's Hotel, whom he found crying 
 and drinking Cura9oa) called to transact business according to his 
 custom at Grosvenor Place, he found all these suspicious documents 
 ranged in the Baronet's study ; and began to open them and examine 
 them with a rueful countenance. 
 
 Mrs. Bonner, my Lady's maid and housekeeper, came down upon hirr 
 whilst engaged in this occupation. Mrs. Bonner, a part of the family,, 
 and as necessary to her mistress as the Chevalier was to Sir ^rancis. 
 was of course on Lady Clavering's side in the dispute between her anc 
 her husband, and as by duty bound even more angry than her Ladyshii 
 
 ^^^^^She won't pay, if she takes my advice," Mrs. Bonner said. You'l 
 please to go back to Sir Francis, Captain-^and he lurking about m a lol^ 
 public-house and don't dare to face his wife like a man I- and say thai 
 
PENDENNIS 467 
 
 we won't pay his debts no longer. We made a man of him, we took 
 him out of gaol (and other folks too perhaps), we've paid his debts over 
 and over again— we set him up in Parliament and gave him a house in 
 town and country, and where he don't dare show his face, the shabby 
 sneak ! We've given him the horse he rides and the dinner he eats and 
 the very clothes he has on his back 5 and we will give him no more 
 Our fortune, such as is left of it, is left to ourselves, and we won't 
 wa^te any more of it on this ungrateful man. We'll give him enough 
 to live upon and leave him, that's what we'll do : and that's what you 
 may tell him from Susan Bonner." 
 
 Susan Bonner's mistress hearing of Strong's arrival sent for him at 
 this juncture, and the Chevalier went up to her Ladyship, not without 
 hopes that he should find her more tractable than her factotum, Mrs. 
 Bonnei-. Many a time before had he pleaded his client's cause with 
 Lady Clavering and caused her good-nature to relent. He tried again 
 mce more. He painted in dismal colours the situation in which he had 
 found Sir Francis : and would not answer for any consequences which 
 might ensue if he could not find means of meeting his engagements. 
 
 Kill hisself," lauffhed Mrs. Bonner, kill hisself, will he ? Dying's 
 the best thing he could do." Strong vowed that he had found him with 
 ;he razors on the table ; but at this, in her turn. Lady Clavering laughed 
 3itterly. He'll do himself no harm as long as there's a shilling left 
 )f which he can rob a poor woman. His life's quite safe. Captain : you 
 nay depend upon that. Ah ! it was a bad day that ever I set eyes 
 m him." 
 
 ^ He's worse than the first man," cried out my Lady's aide-de-camp. 
 ^ He was a man, he was— a wild devil, but he had the courage of a man 
 -whereas this fellow— what's the use of my Lady paying his bills, and 
 lelling her diamonds, and forgiving him ? He'll be as bad again next 
 ^ear. The very next chance he has he'll be a cheating of her, and 
 •obbing of her : and her money will go to keep a pack of rogues and 
 windlers— I don't mean you. Captain— you've been a good friend to us 
 inough, bating we wish we'd never set eyes on you." 
 
 The Chevalier saw, from the words which Mrs. Bonner had let slip 
 egarding the diamonds, that the kind Begum was disposed to relent 
 ►nee more at least, and that there were hopes still for his principal. 
 
 Upon my word, ma'am," he said, with a real feeling of sympathy 
 or Lady Clavering's troubles, and admiration for her untiring good- 
 lature, and with a show of enthusiasm which advanced not a little his 
 Taceless patron's cause— anything you say against Clavering, or Mrs. 
 Conner here cries out against me, is no better than we deserve, both of 
 ^s, and it was an unlucky day for you when you saw either. He has 
 'ehaved cruelly to you ; and if you were not the most generous and 
 Drgiving woman in the world, I know there would be no chance for 
 im. ^ But you can't let the father of your son be a disgraced man, and 
 end little Frank into the world with such a stain upon him. Tie him 
 own ; bind him by any promises you like : I vouch for him that he will 
 abscribe them." 
 
 ^^And break 'em," said Mrs. Bonner. 
 And keep 'em this time," cried out Strong. He must keep them, 
 t you could have seen how he wept, ma'am ! ^ O Strong/ he said to 
 
468 PENDENNIS 
 
 me 'it's not for myself I feel now : it's for my boy-ifs for the best 
 woman in England, whom I have treated basely-I know I have. He 
 didn't intend to bet upon this race, ma'am— indeed he didn t. He was 
 cheated into it : all the ring was taken in. He thought he might make 
 the bet quite safely, without the least risk. And it will be a lesson to 
 him for all his life long. To see a man cry-Oh, it s dreadful. 
 
 "He don't think much of making my dear Missus cry, said Mrs. 
 Bonner—" poor dear soul !— look if he does. Captain. i 
 
 « If you've the soul of a man, Clavering," Strong said to his principal, ; 
 when he recounted this scene to him, "you'll keep your promise this < 
 time : and, so help me Heaven ! if you break word with her, 1 11 turn 
 
 What'afp " cried Mr. Francis, to whom his ambassador brought! 
 the news back at Short's Hotel, where Strong found the Baronet crying^ 
 
 and drinking Curacoa. „ , , „ , , ^ ci. <eT\^ 
 
 " Psha ! Do you suppose I am a fool ? burst out Strong. Dof 
 you suppose I could have lived so long in the world, Frank Clavering; 
 without having my eyes about me ? You know I have but to speak and 
 you are a beggar to-morrow. And I am not the only man who knows 
 your secret." 
 
 " Who else does ? " gasped Clavering. , 
 " Old Pendennis does, or I am very much mistaken. He recognisett 
 the man the first night he saw him, when he came drunk into your 
 
 ^^'"He knows it, does he?" shrieked out Clavering "Damn him^ 
 
 '^'" Wd like to kill us all, wouldn't you, old boy?" said Strong, 
 with a sneer, puffing his cigar. , . j. , j 
 
 The Baronet dashed his weak hand against his forehead ; perhaps tht 
 other had interpreted his wish rightly. " O Strong ! he ""f d if I 
 dared, I'd put an end to myself, for I'm the d---est iniserable dog ir 
 all England. It's that that makes me so wild and reckless. It s thai 
 which makes me take to drink" (and he drank, with a trembling hand 
 a bumper of his fortifier-the Cura9oa), " and to live about with the* 
 thieves. I know they're thieves, every one of em, d— -d thieves 
 And-and how can I help it?-and I didn't know it, you know-and 
 by Gad, I'm innocent-and until I saw the d-— d scoundrel first, ^ 
 knew n^ more about it than the dead-and 1 fly, and 1 11 go aW 
 out of the reach of the confounded hells, and I'll bury myself in a forest 
 by Gad ! and hang myself up to a tree-and, oh-I m the most miseiab 
 beggar in all England ! " And so with more tears, shrieks, and curs« 
 thf impotent wretch vented his grief and deplored his unhappy fate 
 and in the midst of groans and despair and blasphemy, vowed his misei 
 
 ''¥heCured proverb which declares that to be an m wind wh^ 
 blows good to nobody, was verified in the case of Sir Francis Claveiinf 
 and another of the occupants of Mr. Strong's chambers m Shepherd 
 Inn. The man was "good," by a lucky hap, with whom Colon. 
 Altamont made his bet; and on the settling day of Deiby^-. 
 Captain Clinker, who was appointed to settle Sir Francis Clavering 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 46^ 
 
 liook for him (for Lady Clavering-, by the advice of Major Pendennis, 
 w^ould not allow the Baronet to liquidate his own money transactions), 
 paid over the notes to the Baronet's many creditors — Colonel Altamont 
 bad the satisfaction of receiving the odds of thirty to one in fifties, 
 »vhich he had taken against the winning horse of the day. 
 
 Numbers of the Colonel's friends were present on the occasion to 
 congratulate him on his luck — all Altamont's own set and the gents 
 vho met in the private parlour of the convivial Wheeler, my host of 
 ;he Harlequin's Head/' came to witness their comrade's good fortune, 
 md would have liked, with a generous sympathy for success, to share 
 n it. Now was the time," Tom Diver had suggested to the Colonel, 
 ^ to have up the specie ship that was sunk in the Gulf of Mexico, 
 vith the three hundred and eighty thousand dollars on board, besides 
 jars and doubloons. " The Tredyddlums were very low — to be bought 
 br an old song — never was such an opportunity for buying shares," 
 ^r. Keightley insinuated ; and Jack Holt pressed forward his tobacco- 
 imuggling scheme, the audacity of which pleased the Colonel more 
 han any other of the speculations proposed to him. Then of the 
 ^ Harlequin's Head" boys : there was Jack Rackstraw, who knew of a 
 >air of horses which the Colonel must buy ; Tom Fleet, whose satirical 
 ►aper. The Swell, wanted but two hundred pounds of capital to be worth 
 . thousand a year to any man — ^^with such a power and influence, 
 Jolonel, you rogue, and the entree of all the green-rooms in London," 
 ^m urged ; whilst little Moss Abrams entreated the Colonel not to 
 isten to these absurd fellows with their humbugging speculations, but 
 0 invest his money in some good bills which Moss could get for him, 
 nd which would return him fifty per cent, as safe as the Bank of 
 England. 
 
 Each and all of these worthies came round the Colonel with their 
 arious blandishments ; but he had courage enough to resist them, and 
 [) button up his notes in the pocket of his coat, and go home to Strong^ 
 nd sport'* the outer door of the chambers. Honest Strong had 
 iven his fellow-lodger good advice about all his acquaintances ; and 
 hough, when pressed, he did not mind frankly taking twenty pounds 
 imself out of the Colonel's winnings. Strong was a great deal too 
 pright to let others cheat him. 
 
 He was not a bad fellow when in good fortune, this Altamont. He 
 rdered a smart livery for Grady, and made poor old Costigan shed 
 sars of quickly dried gratitude by giving him a five-pound note after 
 
 snug dinner at the Back Kitchen, and he bought a green shawl for 
 Irs. Bolton, and a yellow one for Fanny ; the most brilliant sacri- 
 ces" of a Regent Street haberdasher's window. And a short time 
 fter this, upon her birthday, which happened in the month of June, 
 liss Amory received from a friend " a parcel containing an enormous 
 rass-inlaid writing-desk, in which there was a set of amethysts, the 
 lost hideous eyes ever looked upon, — a musical snuff-box, and two 
 ^eepsakes of the year before last, and accompanied with a couple of 
 own-pieces of the most astounding colours, the receipt of which goods 
 lade the Sylphide laugh and wonder immoderately. Now it is a fact 
 liat Colonel Altamont had made a purchase of cigars and French silks 
 rom some duffers in Fleet Street about this period ; and he was found 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 hv Strong in the open Auction-Room in Cheapside, having invested 
 some money in two desks, several pairs of rich y-plated candlesticks, a 
 drneSme, and a bagatelle-hoard. The dinner epergne remained 
 archambersfand figured at the banquets there, which the Colonel gave 
 m-ettv Wv. It slemed beautiful in his eyes, until Jack Holt said it 
 Loked as i/it had been taken " in a bill." And Jack Holt certainly 
 
 '''The dinners were pretty frequent at chambers and Sir Francis 
 Clavering condescended to Jartake of them constantly. His own hou.e 
 was shut up : the successor of Mirobolant, who had sent in his bills 
 ro prematur^ely, was dismissed by the indignant Lady Clavenng : the 
 InxuriTnce of the establishment was greatly pruned and reduced. One 
 of t^e We footmen was cashiered, upon which the other gave warning 
 nori^khif to serve without his mate, or in a family where on y one 
 footman Ls kep'. General and severe economical refoms were pmc 
 tised by The sTgum in her whole household, f'^J^'^^^^'^Z rill 
 Pvt^avaLnce of which her graceless husband had b^n guilty, fhe 
 Malor warher Ladyship's frilnd ; Strong on the part of poor Clavenng; 
 E Ladyship's lawyer, and the honest Begum herse f, executed the^e 
 SormswSh promptitude and severity. After paying the Baronet s 
 debts thrsettlement of which occasioned considerable pubhc scandal 
 S caused the Baronet to sink even lower in the ^orld s estimation 
 ?han he had been before. Lady Clavenng quitted London for Tunbridge 
 \5m1s L high dudgeon, refusing to see her reprobate husband, whom 
 I a !h riaver nff remained in London patiently, by no means 
 ^^IC^^eet^lS:^ indignation, -dUked n^^^^^ 
 tL House of Commons, whence he and Captain Ralf and Mi. MaiKei 
 
 rnand^^flawyeX^^^ 
 
 «nd the clerkr winked at each other, as he sate in their office. Nc 
 ^i, +h«t heTeiished the dinners at Shepherd's Inn, and was per 
 foctiv restned tht^^^^^^ he was so happy nowhere else; h. 
 
 iokes and where he quavered his dreary little French song, afte 
 Strong had sung his jovial chorus, and honest Costigan had piped h 
 
 great house at h"™^;"^.^^^^^^ and his valet who sneered at him. 
 tbe old woman who kept tne noube, duu mo vo c nrru„ 
 «Yp« dammit " said he to his friends in Shepherd s Inn lha 
 
 :&r„s .y^aS iLT„ Spoon. .„d ^ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 471 
 
 confidence in me. And the very servants begin to laugh— the dam 
 scoundrels ! TU break every bone in their great hulking bodies^ curse 
 *em^ I will.— They don't answer my bell : and— and my man was at 
 Vauxhall last night with one of my dress shirts and my velvet waist- 
 coat on,— I know it was mine— the confounded impudent blackguard 
 —and he went on dancing before my eyes, confound him ! I'm sure 
 he'll live to be hanged— he deserves to be hanged— all those infernal 
 rascals of valets. " 
 
 He was very kind to Altamont now : he listened to the Colonel's 
 loud stories when Altamont described how— when he was working his 
 way home once from New Zealand, where he had been on a whaling 
 expedition— he and his comrades had been obliged to shirk on board at 
 night, to escape from their wives, by Jove— and how the poor devils 
 put out in their canoes when they saw the ship under sail, and paddled 
 madly after her : how he had been lost in the bush once for three 
 months in New South Wales, when he was there once on a trading 
 speculation : how he had seen Boney at Saint Helena, and been pre- 
 sented to him with the rest of the officers of the Indiaman of which he 
 was a mate— to all these tales (and over his cups Altamont told many of 
 them ; and it must be owned, lied and bragged a great deal) Sir Francis 
 now listened with great attention : making a point of drinking wine 
 with Altamont at dinner, and of treating him with every distinction.^ 
 
 " Leave him alone, I know what he's a-coming to," Altamont said, 
 laughing, to Strong, who remonstrated with him ; and leave me 
 alone : 1 know what I'm a-telling, very well. I was officer on board 
 an Indiaman, so I was : I traded to New South W ales, so I did, in a 
 ship of my own, and lost her. I became officer to the Nawaub, so I 
 did : only me and my royal master have had a difference. Strong — 
 that's it. Who's the better or the worse for what I tell ?— or knows 
 anything about me } The other chap is dead— shot in the bush, and 
 his body reckognised at Sydney. If I thought anybody would split, do 
 you think I wouldn't wring his neck ? I've done as good before now. 
 Strong — I told you how I did for the overseer before I took leave- but 
 in fair fight, I mean— in fair fight ; or, rayther, he had the best of it. 
 He had his gun and bay'net, and I had only an axe. Fifty of 'em saw 
 
 it_ay, and cheered me when I did it — and I'd do it again, him, 
 
 wouldn't I ? I ain't afraid of anybody ; and I'd have the life of the 
 man who split upon me. That's my maxim, and pass me the liquor — 
 You wouldn't turn on a man. I know you. You're an honest feller, 
 and will stand by a feller, and have looked death in the face like a man. 
 But as for that lily-livered sneak—that poor lyin' swindlin' cringin cur 
 of a Clavering— who stands in my shoes— stands in my shoes, hang 
 him ! I'll make him pull my boots off and clean 'em, I will. Ha, ha !" 
 Here he burst out into a wild laugh, at which Strong got up and put 
 away the brandy-bottle. The other still laughed good-humouredly. 
 
 You're right, old boy," he said ; you always keep your head cool, 
 you do— and when I begin to talk too much— I say, when I begin to 
 pitch, I authorise you, and order you, and command you, to put away 
 the brandy-bottle." 
 
 The event for which, with cynical enjoyment, Altamont had been on 
 the look-out, came very speedily. One day. Strong being absent upon 
 
472 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 an errand for his principal^ Sir Francis made his appearance in the 
 chambers^ and found the envoy of the Nawaub alone. He abused the 
 world in general for being heartless and unkind to him : he abused his 
 wife for being ungenerous to him : he abused Strong for being ungrate- 
 ful—hundreds of pounds had he given Ned Strong — been his friend 
 for life and kept him out of gaol, by Jove,— and now Ned was taking 
 her Ladyship's side against him and abetting her in her infernal unkind 
 treatment of him. They've entered into a conspiracy to keep me 
 penniless, Altamont," the Baronet said : they don t give me as much 
 pocket-money as Frank has at school." 
 
 Why don't you go down to Richmond and borrow of him, Claver- 
 ing.^ " Altamont broke out with a savage laugh. He wouldn't see his 
 poor old beggar of a father without pocket-money, would he ? '* 
 
 ^^I tell you, I have been obliged to humiliate myself cruelly," 
 Clavering said. Look here, sir — look here, at these pawn-tickets ! 
 Fancy a Member of Parliament and an old English Baronet, by Gad ! 
 obliged to put a drawing-room clock and a Buhl inkstand up the spout ; 
 and a gold duck's-head paper-holder, that I dare say cost my wife five 
 pound, for which they'd only give me fifteen-and-six ! Oh, it's a 
 humiliating thing, sir, poverty to a man of my habits ; and it's made 
 
 me shed tears, sir, — ^tears ; and that d d valet of mine — curse him, 
 
 I wish he was hanged ! — has had the confounded impudence to 
 threaten to tell my Lady : as if the things in my own house weren't 
 my own, to sell or to keep, or to fling out of window if I choose — by 
 Gad ! the confounded scoundrel." 
 
 Cry a little ; don't mind cryin' before me — it'll relieve you, Claver- 
 ing," the other said. Why, I say, old feller, what a happy feller I 
 once thought you, and what a miserable son of a gun you really are ! " 
 
 It's a shame that they treat me so, ain't it?" Clavering went on,— 
 for though ordinarily silent and apathetic, about his own griefs the 
 Baronet could whine for an hour at a time. And — and, by Gad, sir, 
 I haven't got the money to pay the very cab that's waiting for me at 
 the door ; and the porteress, that Mrs. Bolton, lent me three shillin's, 
 
 and I don't like to ask her for any more : and I asked that d d old 
 
 Costigan, the confounded old penniless Irish miscreant, and he hadn't 
 got a shillin', the beggar ; and Campion's out of town, or else he'd do 
 a little bill for me, I know he would." 
 
 I thought you swore on your honour to your wife that you wouldn't 
 put your name to paper said Mr. Altamont, puffing at his cigar. 
 
 Why does she leave me without pocket-money then } Damme, I 
 
 must have money," cried out the Baronet. O Am , O Altamont, 
 
 I'm the most miserable beggar alive." 
 
 You'd like a chap to lend you a twenty-pound note, wouldn't you 
 now } " the other asked. 
 
 If you would, I'd be grateful to you for ever— for ever, my dearest 
 friend," cried Clavering. 
 
 How much would you give } Will you give a fifty-pound bill, at 
 six months, for half down and half in plate } " asked Altamont. 
 
 Yes, I would, so help me , and pay it on the day," screamed 
 
 Clavering. I'll make it payable at my banker's : I'll do anything 
 you like," 
 
Copyright, Service &' Paton, 1897, 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNiVERSlTYof IIUNOIS. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 473 
 
 Well^ I was only chaffing you. I'll give you twenty pound/* 
 You said a pony," interposed Clavering ; my dear fellow, you 
 said a pony, and Til be eternally obliged to you ; and I'll not take it 
 as a gift — only as a loan, and pay you back in six months, I take my 
 oath I will." 
 
 '^^Well — well — there's the money. Sir Francis Clavering, I ain't a 
 bad fellow. When I've money in my pocket, dammy, I spend it like 
 a man. Here's five-and-twenty for you. Don't be losing it at the 
 hells, now. Don't be making a fool of yourself. Go down to Clavering 
 Park, and it'll keep you ever so long. You needn't 'ave butcher's 
 meat ; there's pigs, I dare say, on the premises : and you can shoot 
 rabbits for dinner, you know, every day till the game comes in. 
 Besides, the neighbours will ask you about to dinner, you know, some- 
 times : for you are a Baronet, though you have outrun the constable. 
 And you've got this comfort, that rm off your shoulders for a good bit 
 to come — p'raps this two years — if 1 don't play ; and I don't intend to 
 touch the confounded black and red : and by that time my Lady, as 
 you call her — Jimmy, I used to say — will have come round again ; and 
 you'll be ready for me,^you know, and come down handsomely to yours 
 truly." 
 
 At this juncture of their conversation Strong returned, nor did the 
 Baronet care much about prolonging the talk, having got the money ; 
 and he made his way from Shepherd's Inn, and went home and bullied 
 his servant in a manner so unusually brisk and insolent, that the man 
 concluded his master must have pawned some more of the house 
 furniture, or, at any rate, have come into possession of some ready 
 money. 
 
 And yet Tve looked over the house, Morgan, and I don't think he 
 has took any more of the things," Sir Francis's valet said to Major 
 Pendennis's man, as they met at their Club soon after. ^^My lady 
 locked up a'most all the bejewtary afore she went away, and he couldn't 
 take away the picters and looking-glasses in a cab : and he wouldn't 
 spout the fenders and fire-irons — he ain't so bad as that. But he's got 
 money somehow. He's so dam'd imperent when he have. A tew nights 
 ago I sor him at Vauxhall, where I was a-polkin with Lady Hemly 
 Babewood's gals — a wery pleasant room that is, and an uncommon 
 good lot in it, hall except the 'ousekeeper, and she's methodisticle — I 
 was a-polkin — you're too old a cove to polk, Mr. Morgan — and 'ere's 
 your 'ealth — and I 'appened to 'ave on some of Clavering's ahherdashei^y , 
 and he sor it too : and he didn't dare so much as speak a word." 
 
 How about the house in St. John's Wood.^^" Mr. Morgan asked. 
 
 Execution in it. — Sold up heverything : ponies, and pianna, and 
 brougham, and all. Mrs. Montague Rivers hoff to Boulogne, — non est 
 inwentus, Mr. Morgan. It's my belief she put the execution in her- 
 self : and was tired of him." 
 
 Play much ? " asked Morgan. 
 ^'^ Not since the smash. When your Governor and the lawyers, and 
 my Lady and him had that tremendous scene : he went down on his 
 knees, my Lady told Mrs. Bonner, as told me, — and swoar as he never- 
 piore would touch a card or a dice, or put his name to a bit of paper \ 
 
474 PENDENNIS 
 
 ind mv Ladv was a goin' to give him the notes down to pay his lia- 
 WlitiS after the race! only your Governor said which he wrote it on 
 a pS of paper, and passed it across the table to the lawyer and my 
 LTy) thatLme one else had better book up for him,_for he d have 
 kep' some of the money. He's a sly old cove, your Gov nor 
 
 TheTxpression of « old cove," thus flippantly applied by the younger 
 gentleman to himself and his master, displeased Mr. Morgan exceed- 
 Sv On the first occasion, when Mr. Lightfoot used the obnoxious 
 expression, his comrade's anger was only indicated by a silent frown , 
 but on the second oifence, Morgan, who was smoking his «^ar elegantly, 
 and holding it on the tip of his penknife, withdrew the cigar from his 
 lins and took his young friend to task. 
 
 ^" Don't call Major Pendennis an old cove, if you'll 'ave the goodness 
 Lightfoot, and don't call rm an old cove nether. Such words am t used 
 in society ; and we have lived in the fust society, both at ome and 
 foriiiff We've been intimate with the fust statesmen of Europe. When 
 we go abroad we dine with Prince Metternich and Louy P|»1"P l^-j; 
 We go here to the best houses, the tiptops I tell you. We ride w^h 
 T ord John and the noble Whycount at the 'edd of Foring Affairs. We 
 i S the He'^-l of BurgrLe, and are consulted by the Marquis of 
 Steyne in everythink. We ougld to know a thmg or twMlr. Lightfoot 
 You're a young man ; I'm an old cove, as you say. We ve ''oth seen 
 the world, and we both know that it ain't money, nor hem a Baronet 
 nor Tvin a town and country 'ouse, nor a paltry five or six thousand 
 
 ^ ^" It's ten, Mr. Morgan," cried Mr. Lightfoot, with great animation. 
 
 « It may have been, sir," Morgan said, with calm severity ; it may 
 have been', Mr. Lightfoot, but it ain't six now nor hve, sir. It s been 
 doosedly dipped and cut 'into, sir, by the confounded extmvygance of 
 Jour mIstor,Vith his helbow shakin', and ^i^. bill-discountin and his 
 cottage in the Regency Park, and his many wickednesses. He s a bad 
 'un, Mr. Lightfoot-a bad lot, sir, and that you know. And t am t 
 moAey, sir,-not such money as that, at any rate, come fi-om a Ca^cuttar 
 Xily, and I dussay wrung out of the pore starving bl^«ks-^h?^ ^ill 
 give a pusson position in society, as you know very well. Weve no 
 monev but we go everywhere : there's not a housekeeper s room, sir, 
 ^ thl'town oflny consiquince, where James Morgan ain't welcome. 
 And t waTme who got you into this Club, Lightfoot, as you very well 
 taow, though I am an old cove, and they would have blackballed you 
 witVinnt me as sure as vour name is Frederic. 
 
 «I knw they would, Mr. Morgan," said the other, with much 
 
 Wen, then, don't call me an old cove, sir. It -"^'t f "^le^^^^^^^ 
 Frederic Lightfoot, which I knew you when you was a cab-boy, and when 
 vour father^was in trouble, and got you the place you have now when 
 (he plenehman went away'. Anjif you think, -^/hat \e«ause you e 
 makiuff UD to Mrs. Bonner, who may have saved her two thouh<nia 
 rund-and I dare say she has in five-and-twenty years, as she have 
 rvedconfiTentialmaid(oLadyClayering-yet,sii,you^^^^^^^ 
 virlio nut vou into that service, and who knows what you weie betoie, 
 straKdon'fbeSJme you, Frederic Lightfoot, to call me an old cove, 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 475 
 
 I beg your pardon, Mr. Morgan — I can't do more than make^ an 
 apology will you have a glass, sir, and let me drink your 'ealth ? " 
 
 You know I don t take sperrits, Lightfoot," replied Morgan, ap- 
 peased. " And so you and Mrs. Bonner is going to put up together, 
 are you?" 
 
 ^^Shes old, but two thousand pounds a good bit, you see, Mr. 
 Morgan. And well get the ^Clavering Arms' for a very little ; and 
 that'll be no bad thing when the railroad runs through Clavering. 
 And when we are there, I hope you'll come and see us, Mr. Morgan." 
 
 It's a stoopid place, and no society," said Mr. Morgan. I know 
 it well. In Mrs. Pendennis's time we used to go down reg'lar^ and 
 the hair refreshed me after the London racket." 
 
 ^^The railroad will improve Mr. Arthur's property," remarked 
 Lightfoot. What's about the figure of it, should you say, sir } " 
 
 Under fifteen hundred, sir," answered Morgan ; at which the other, 
 who knew the extent of poor Arthur's acres, thrust his tongue in his 
 cheek, but remained wisely silent. 
 
 ^^shis man any good, Mr. Morgan?" Lightfoot resumed. 
 
 ^'^Pidgeon ain't used to society as yet ; but he's young and has good 
 talents, and has read a good deal, and I dessay he will do very well," 
 replied Morgan. He wouldn't quite do for this kind of thing, Light- 
 foot, for he ain't seen the world yet." 
 
 When the pint of sherry for which Mr. Lightfoot called, upon Mr. 
 Morgan's announcement that he declined to drink spirits, had been 
 discussed by the two gentlemen, who held the wine up to the light, 
 and smacked their lips, and winked their eyes at it, and rallied the 
 landlord as to the vintage, in the most approved manner of con- 
 noisseurs, Morgan's ruflled equanimity was quite restored, and he was 
 prepared to treat his young friend with perfect good-humour. 
 
 What d'you think about Miss Amory, Lightfoot— tell us in confi- 
 dence, now— Do you think we should do well— you understand— if we 
 make Miss A. into Mrs. A. P., comprendy vous?" 
 
 She and her ma's always quarrellin'," said Mr. Lightfoot. Bonner 
 is more than a match for the old lady, and treats Sir Francis like— like 
 this year spill, which I fling into the grate. But she daren't say a 
 word to Miss Amory. No more dare none of us. When a visitor comes 
 in, she smiles and languishes, you'd think that butter wouldn't melt 
 in her mouth : and the minute he is gone, very likely, she flares up 
 like a little demon, and says things fit to send you wild. If Mr. Arthur 
 comes, it's 'Do let's sing that there delightful song !' or 'Come and 
 write me them pooty verses in this halbum ! ' and very likely she's 
 been a rilin' her mother, or sticking pins into her maid, a minute 
 before. She do stick pins into her and pinch her. Mary Hann showed 
 me one of her arms quite black and blue ; and I recklect Mrs. Bonner, 
 who's as jealous of me as a old cat, boxed her ears for showing me. 
 And then you should see Miss at luncheon, when there's nobody but 
 the family. She makes b'leave she never heats, and my ! you should 
 only jest see her. She has Mary Hann to bring her up plum-cakes and 
 creams into her bed-room ; and the cook's the only man in the house 
 she's civil to. Bonner says, how, the second season in London, Mr, 
 Soppington was a goin' to propose for her-, and actially came one day^ 
 
476 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and sor her flin^ a book into the fire, and scold her mother so, that he 
 went down softly by the back droring-room door, which he came in 
 by ; and next thing we heard of him was, he was married to Miss Rider. 
 Oh, she's a devil, that little Blanche, and that's my candig apinium, 
 Mr. Morgan." 
 
 ^^Apinion, not apinium, Lightfoot, my good fellow," Mr. Morgan 
 said, with parental kindness : and then asked of his own bosom, with 
 a sigh. Why the deuce does my Governor want Master Arthur to marry 
 such a girl as this ? And the tete-d-tete of the two gentlemen was broken 
 up by the entry of other gentlemen members of the Club — when fashion- 
 able town-talk, politics, cribbage, and other amusements ensued, and 
 the conversation became general. 
 
 The Gentleman's Club was held in the parlour of the Wheel of 
 Fortune " public-house, in a snug little by-lane, leading out of one of 
 the great streets of Mayfair, and frequented by some of the most select 
 gentlemen about town. Their masters' affairs, debts, intrigues, ad- 
 ventures ; their ladies' good and bad qualities and quarrels with their 
 husbands; all the family secrets were here discussed with perfect 
 freedom and confidence : and here, when about to enter into a new 
 situation, a gentleman was enabled to get every requisite information 
 regarding the family of which he proposed to become a member. 
 Liveries, it may be imagined, were excluded from this select precinct ; 
 and the powdered heads of the largest metropolitan footmen might 
 bow down in vain entreating admission into the Gentleman's Club. 
 These outcast giants in plush took their beer in an outer apartment of 
 the Wheel of Fortune," and could no more get an entry into the 
 Club-room than a Pall Mall tradesman or a Lincoln's Inn attorney 
 could get admission into Bays's or Spratt's. And it is because the con- 
 versation which we have been permitted to overhear here, in some 
 measure explains the characters and bearings of our story, that we have 
 ventured to introduce the reader into a society so exclusive. 
 
 CHAPTER LXI 
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD 
 
 A SHORT time after the piece of good fortune which befell Colonel Alta- 
 mont at Epsom, that gentleman put into execution his projected foreign 
 tour, and the chronicler of the polite world who goes down to London 
 Bridge for the purpose of taking leave of the people of fashion who quit 
 this country, announced that among the company on board the Soho 
 to Antwerp last Saturday, were Sir Robert, Lady, and the Misses 
 Hodge ; Mr. Serjeant Kewsey, and Mrs. and Miss Kewsey ; Colonel 
 Altamont, Major Coddy," &c. The Colonel travelled in state, and as 
 became a gentleman : he appeared in a rich travelling costume ; he 
 drank brandy-and-water freely during the passage, and was not sick, 
 as some of the other passengers were ; and he was attended by his body- 
 servant, the faithful Irish legionary who had been for some time inwaitmg 
 upon himself Captain Strong in their chambers of Shepherd's Inn, 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 477 
 
 The Chevalier partook of a copious dinner at Blackwall with his 
 departing friend the Cobnel^ and one or two others^ who drank many- 
 healths to Altamont at that liberal gentleman's expense. Strong, old 
 boy/' the Chevalier s worthy chum said, if you want a little money, 
 now's your time. Fm your man. You're a good feller, and have been 
 a good feller to me, and a twenty-pound note more or less will make no 
 odds to me." But Strong said, ''No, he didn t want any money ; he 
 was flush, quite flush— that is, not flush enough to pay you back your 
 last loan, Altamont, but quite able to carry on for some time to come" 
 —and so, with a not uncordial greeting between them, the tw^o parted. 
 Had the possession of money really made Altamont more honest and 
 amiable than he had hitherto been, or only caused him to seem more 
 amiable in Strong s eyes } Perhaps he really was better ; and money 
 improved him. Perhaps it was the beauty of wealth Strong saw and 
 respected. But he argued within himself, ''This poor devil, this un- 
 lucky outcast of a returned convict, is ten times as good a fellow as my 
 friend Sir Francis Clavering, Bart. He has pluck and honesty in his 
 way. He will stick to a friend and face an enemy. The other never 
 had courage to do either. And what is it that has put the poor devil 
 under a cloud } He was only a little wild, and signed his father-in- 
 law's name. Many a man has done worse, and come to no wrong, 
 and holds his head up. Clavering does. No, he don't hold his head 
 up : he never did in his best days." And Strong, perhaps, repented him 
 of the falsehood which he had told to the free-handed Colonel, that 
 he was not in want of money : but it was a falsehood on the side of 
 honesty, and the Chevalier could not bring down his stomach to borrow 
 a second time from his outlawed friend. Besides, he could get on. 
 Clavering had promised him some ; not that Clavering's promises were 
 much to be believed, but the Chevalier was of a hopeful turn, and 
 trusted in many chances of catching his patron, and waylaying some 
 of those stray remittances and supplies, in the procuring of which for 
 his principally Mr. Strong's chief business. 
 
 He had grumbled about Altamont's companionship in the Shepherd s 
 Inn chambers ; but he found those lodgings more glum now without 
 his partner than with him. The solitary life was not agreeable to his 
 social soul : and he had got into extravagant and luxurious habits too, 
 having a servant at his command to run his errands, to arrange his 
 toilettes, and to cook his meal. It was rather a grand and touching 
 sight now to see the portly and handsome gentleman painting his own 
 boots, and broiling his own mutton-chop. It has been before stated 
 that the Chevalier had a wife, a Spanish lady of Vittoria, who had gone 
 back to her friends, after a few months' union with the Captain, whose 
 head she broke with a dish. He began to think whether he should not 
 go back and see his Juanita. The Chevalier was growing melancholy 
 after the departure of his friend the Colonel : or, to use his own pic- 
 turesque expression, was "down on his luck." These moments ot 
 depression and intervals of ill-fortune occur constantly in the lives ot 
 heroes. Marius at Minturnse, Charles Edward in the Highlands, 
 Napoleon before Elba :— what great man has not been called upon to 
 I face evil fortune ? • rru ^ 
 
 From Clavering no supplies were to be had for some time, ine live- 
 
478 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 and-twenty pounds^ or "pony/' which the exemplary Baronet had 
 received from Mr. Altamont^ had fled out of Clavering s keeping as 
 swiftly as many previous ponies. He had been down the river with a 
 choice party of sporting gents^ who dodged the police and landed in 
 Essex^ where they put up Billy Bluck to fight Dick the Cabman^ whom 
 the Baronet backed^ and who had it all his own way for thirteen rounds^ 
 when^ by an unlucky blow in the windpipe^ Billy killed him. " It's 
 always my luck^ Strong/' Sir Francis said ; " the betting was three to i 
 one on the Cabman^ and I thought myself as sure of thirty pounds as I 
 if I had it in my pocket. And dammy^ I owe my man Lightfoot fourteen I 
 pound now which he's lent and paid for me : and he duns me — the con- I 
 founded impudent blackguard : and I wish to Heaven I knew any way I 
 of getting a bill done^ or of screwing a little out of my Lady ! I'll give 
 you half^ Ned^ upon my soul and honour, I'll give you half if you can 
 get anybody to do us a little fifty." i 
 
 But* Ned said sternly that he had given his word of honour, ^ I 
 gentleman, that he would be no party to any future bill-transactions | 
 in which her husband might engage (who had given his word of honour 
 too), and the Chevalier said that he, at least, would keep his word, and ■ 
 would black his own boots all his life rather than break his promise. 1 
 And what is more, he vowed he would advise Lady Clavering that Sir i 
 Francis was about to break his faith towards her, upon the very first | 
 hint which he could get that such was Clavering's intention. j 
 
 Upon this information Sir Francis Clavering, according to his custom, j 
 cried and cursed very volubly. He spoke of death as his only resource. ; 
 He besought and implored his dear Strong, his best friend, his dear 
 old Ned, not to throw him over ; and when he quitted his dearest Ned, 
 as he went down the stairs of Shepherd's Inn, swore and blasphemed at 
 Ned as the most infernal villain, and traitor, and blackguard, and coward 
 under the sun, and wished Ned was in his grave, and in a worse place, f 
 only he would like the confounded ruffian to live until Frank Clavering j 
 had had his revenge out of him. 
 
 In Strong's chambers the Baronet met a gentleman whose visits were 
 now, as it has been shown, very frequent in Shepherd's Inn, Mr. Samuel 
 Huxter, of Clavering. That young fellow, who had poached the walnuts 
 in Clavering Park in his youth, and had seen the Baronet drive through 
 the, street at home with four horses, and prance up to church with 
 powdered footmen, had an immense respect for his Member, and a pro- 
 digious delight in making his acquaintance. He introduced himself, 
 with much blushing and trepidation, as a Clavering man— son of Mr. 
 Huxter of the market-place— father attended Sir Francis's keeper, Cox- 
 wood, when his gun burst and took off* three fingers— proud to make 
 Sir Francis's acquaintance. All of which introduction Sir Francis re- 
 ceived affably. And honest Huxter talked about Sir Francis to the 
 chaps at Bartholomew's ; and told Fanny in the lodge, that, after all, ] 
 there was nothing like a thoroughbred un, a regular good old English | 
 gentleman, one of the olden time ! To which Fanny replied, that she 
 thought Sir Francis was an ojous creature— she didn't know why— but 
 she couldn't abear him— she was sure he was wicked, and low, and mean 
 —she knew he was ; and when Sam to this replied that Sir Francis was 
 very affable, and had borrowed half-a-sov. of him quite kindly, Fanny 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 479 
 
 burst into a laugh, pulled Sam's long hair (which was not yet of irre- 
 proachable cleanliness), patted his chin, and called him a stoopid, stoopid, 
 old foolish stoopid, and said that Sir Francis was always borrering money 
 of everybody, and that Mar had actially refused him twice, and had had 
 to wait three months to get seven shillings which he had borrered of 'er. 
 
 Don't say 'er, but her ; borrer, but borrow ; actially, but actually, 
 Fanny," Mr. Huxter replied — not to a fault in her argument, but to 
 grammatical errors in her statement. 
 
 ^'^Well then, her, and borrow, and hactually— there then, you 
 stoopid," said the other ; and the scholar made such a pretty face that 
 the grammar-master was quickly appeased, and would have willingly 
 given her a hundred more lessons on the spot, at the price which he 
 took for that one. 
 
 Of course Mrs. Bolton was by, and I suppose that Fanny and Mr. 
 Sam were on exceedingly familiar and confidential terms by this time, 
 and that time had brought to the former certain consolations, and 
 soothed certain regrets, which are deucedly bitter when they occur, 
 but which are, no more than tooth-pulling, or any other pang, eternal. 
 
 As you sit, surrounded by respect and affection ; happy, honoured, 
 and flattered in your old age ; your foibles gently indulged ; your least 
 words kindly cherished ; your garrulous old stories received for the 
 hundredth time with dutiful forbearance, and never- failing hypocritical 
 smiles ; the women of your house constant in their flatteries ; the young 
 men hushed and attentive when you begin to speak ; the servants awe- 
 stricken ; the tenants cap in hand, and ready to act in the place of your 
 worship's horses when your honour takes a drive— it has often struck 
 you, thoughtful Dives ! that this respect, and these glories, are for 
 the main part transferred, with your fee simple, to your successor — that 
 the servants will bow, and the tenants shout, for your son as for you ; 
 that the butler will fetch him the wine (improved by a little keeping) 
 that's now in your cellar ; and that, when your night is come, and the 
 light of your life is gone down, as sure as the morning rises after you 
 and without you, the sun of prosperity and flattery shines on your heir. 
 Men come and bask in the halo of Consols and acres that beams round 
 about him : the reverence is transferred with the estate ; of which, with 
 all its advantages, pleasures, respect, and good-will, he in turn becomes 
 the life-tenant. How long do you wish or expect that your people will 
 regret you? How much time 'does a man devote to grief before he 
 begins to enjoy A great man must keep his heir at his feast like a 
 living memento mori. If he holds very much by life, the presence of 
 that other must be a constant sting and warning. Make ready to go," 
 says the successor to your honour ; ^'^ I am waiting : and I could hold it 
 as well as you." 
 
 What has this reference to the possible reader to do with any of the 
 characters of this history ? Do we wish to apologise for Pen because 
 he has got a white hat, and because his mourning for his mother is 
 fainter ? All the lapse of years, all the career of fortune, all the events 
 of life, however strongly they may move or eagerly excite him, never 
 can remove that sainted image from his heart, or banish that blessed 
 love from its sanctuary. If he yields to wrong, the dear eyes will look 
 
PENDE^^NIS 
 
 sadlv Hpon him when he dares to meet them ; if he does well, endurea 
 pain, or conquers temptation, the ever-present love will greet hnn, he 
 kno^s, with approval and pity ; if he falls plead for h.m ; if he suffers, 
 cheer him -—be with him and accompany him always until death is past, 
 and sorrow and sin are no more. Is this mere dreaming, or, on the 
 part of an idle story-teller, useless moralising? May not the man of 
 the world take his moment, too, to be grave and thoughtful? Ask ot 
 your own hearts and memories, brother and sister, if we do not live in 
 the dead : and (to speak reverently) prove God by love.'' 
 
 Of these matters Pen and Warrington often spoke in many a solemn 
 and friendly converse in after days ; and Pendennis s mother was wor- 
 shipped in his memory, and canonised there, as such a saint ought to 
 be Lucky he in life who knows a few such women ! A kind provision 
 of Heaven it was that sent us such ; and gave us to admire that touch- < 
 ins: and wonderful spectacle of innocence, and love, and beauty. 
 
 But as it is certain that if, in the course of these sentimental conver- 
 sations, any outer stranger. Major Pendennis for instance, had walked 
 into Pen's chambers, Arthur and Warrington would have stopped their 
 talk, and chosen another subject, and discoursed about the Opera, or the 
 last debate in Parliament, or Miss J ones s marriage with Captain fsmith, 
 or what not,-so, let us imagine that the public steps ,11 at this juncture, 
 and stops the coniidential talk between author and reader, and begs us 
 to resume our remarks about this world, with which both are certainly 
 better acquainted than with that other one into which we have just 
 
 ''^Vcomk.l into his property, Arthur Pfidennis at ^r^t P^Pprted 
 himself with a modesty and equanimity which obtained his friend Wai- 
 rington's praises, though Arthur's uncle was a little inclined to quarrel 
 with his nephew's meanness of spirit, for not assuming greater state 
 and pretensions now that he had entered on the enjoyment of his, 
 kinffdom He would have had Arthur installed m handsome quarters, 
 and riding on showy park hacks, or in well-built cabriolets, every day^ 
 "I am too absent," Arthur said with a laugh, "to drive a cab m 
 London ; the omnibuses would cut me in two, or I should send my 
 horse's head into the ladies' carriage windows; and you wouldn t 
 have me driven about by my servant like an apothecary, uncle ? Wo, . 
 Major Pendennis would on no account have his nephew appear like 
 an apothecary; the august representative of the house of 1 eiidennis 
 must not so demean himself. And when Arthur, pursuing his banter, 
 said, "And yet, I dare say, sir, my father was proud enough when 
 he first set up his gig," the old Major hemmed and ha d, and his 
 wrinkled face reddened with a blush as he answered, " You know 
 what Buonaparte said, sir, ' B faut laver son huge sale en famtUe. 
 There is no need, sir, for you to brag that your father was a-a 
 medical man. He came of a most ancient but fallen house, and was 
 obliged to reconstruct the family fortunes, as many a man of good 
 femfly has done before him. You are like the fellow m Sterne si 
 —the Marquis who came to demand his sword again. Yom- tatner 
 got back yours for you. You are a man of landed estate, by Oad, sir, 
 and a gentleman— never forget you are a gentleman. 
 
 Then Arthur slily turned on his uncle the argument which he had 
 
PENDENNIS 481 
 
 : heard the old gentleman often use regarding himself In the society 
 which I have the honour of frequenting through your introduction^ 
 who cares to ask about my paltry means or my humble gentility^ 
 uncle?" he asked. ^^It would be absurd of me to attempt to compete 
 with the great folks ; and all that they can ask from us is^ that we 
 should have a decent address and good manners. " 
 
 But for all that^ sir^ I should belong to a better Club or two/' the 
 uncle answered : I should give an occasional dinner, and select my 
 society well ;^ and I should come out of that horrible garret in the 
 Temple, sir.'* And so Arthur compromised, by descending to the 
 second floor in Lamb Court: Warrington still occupying his old 
 ][uarters, and the two friends being determined not to part one from 
 the other. Cultivate kindly, reader, those friendships of your youth ; 
 it is only in that generous time that they are formed. How different 
 :,he intimacies of after days are, and how much weaker the grasp of 
 ^our own hand after it has been shaken about in twenty years' com- 
 merce with the world, and has squeezed and dropped* a thousand 
 equally careless palms ! As you can seldom fashion your tongue to 
 ;peak a new language after twenty, the heart refuses to receive fi-iend- 
 ihip pretty soon : it gets too hard to yield to the impression. 
 
 So Pen had many acquaintances, and being of a jovial and easy turn, 
 ^ot more daily : but no friend like Warrington ; and the two men 
 ;ontinued to live almost as much in common as the Knights of the 
 Temple, riding upon one horse (for Pen s was at Warrington's service), 
 md having their chambers and their servitor in coq^vion. 
 
 Mr. Warrington had made the acquaintance ox Pen's friends of 
 jrosvenor Place during their last unlucky season in London, and had 
 xpressed himself no better satisfied with Sir Francis and Lady Clavering 
 nd her Ladyships daughter than was the public in general. ^'^The 
 ^orld is right," George said, about those people. The young men 
 lugh and talk freely before those ladies, and about them. The girl 
 ees people ^ whom she has no right to know, and talks to men with 
 ^hom no girl should have an intimacy. Did you see those two repr(>- 
 ■' ates leaning over Lady Clavering's carriage in the Park the other day, 
 nd leering under Miss Blanche's bonnet No good mother would 
 3t her daughter know those men, or admit them within her doors." 
 
 ^^The Begum is the most innocent and good-natured soul alive," 
 iterposed Pen. She never heard any harm of Captain Blackball 
 r read that trial in which Charley Lovelace figures. Do you suppose 
 bat honest ladies read and remember the Chronique Scandaleuse as 
 ell as you, you old grumbler } " 
 
 Would you like Laura Bell to know those fellows?" Warrington 
 sked, his face turning rather red. Would you let any woman you 
 )ve be contaminated by their company ? I have no doubt that the 
 oor Begum is ignorant of their histories. It seems to me she is 
 ;norant of a great number of better things. It seems to me that 
 our honest Begum is not a lady. Pen. It is not her fault, doubt- 
 iss, that she has not had the education or learned the refinements 
 Pa lady." 
 
 She is as moral as Lady Portsea, who has all the world at her balls, 
 ^jid as refined as Mrs. Bull, who breaks the king s English, and has 
 
 2 H 
 
482 PENDENNIS 
 
 half-a-dozen dukes at her table/' Pen answered, rather sulkily. Why 
 should vou and I be more squeamish than the rest of the world? Why 
 are we to visit the sins of her fathers on this harmless kind creature? 
 She never did anything but kindness to you or any mortal soul. As 
 far as she knows, she does her best. She does not set up to be more 
 than she is. She gives you the best dinners she can buy, and the best 
 company she can get. She pays the debts of that scamp of a husband 
 of hers She spoils her boy like the most virtuous mother in England. 
 Her opinion about literary matters, to be sure, is not worth much ; and 
 I dare say she never read a line of Wordsworth, or heard of Tennyson 
 
 "'"No'more has Mrs. Flanagan the laundress," growled out Pen's 
 Mentor : "no more has Betty the housemaid ; and 1 have no word ot 
 blame against them. But a high-souled man doesn t make friends of 
 these A gentleman doesn't choose these for his companions, or bitterly 
 rues it afterwards if he do. Are you, who are setting up to be a man 
 of the world and a philosopher, to tell me that the aim of life is to 
 guttle three courses and dine off silver ? Do you dare to own to your- 
 self that your ambition in life is good claret, and that you 11 dme with 
 any, provided you get a stalled ox to feed on ? You call me a Cynic- 
 why, what a monstrous Cynicism it is, which you and the rest of you 
 men of the world admit. Td rather live upon raw turnips and sleep in 
 a hollow tree, or turn backwoodsman or savage, than degrade myselt to 
 this civilisation, and own that a French cook was the thing in life best 
 til I'viii for ** 
 
 "'""Beclusf you Bke a raw beef-steak and a pipe afterwards," broke' 
 out Pen, "you give yourself airs of superiority over people whose 
 testes ar^ more dainty, and are not ashamed of the world they live ,n. \ 
 Who ffoes about professing particular admiration, or esteem, or triend- 
 ship, or gratitude even, for the people one meets every day ? It A. 
 asksme to his house, and gives me his best, I 
 
 what they are worth, and no more. I do not profess to P^Y him bact 
 ill friendship, but in the conventional money of society. When W 
 part, we part without any grief. When we meet, we are tolerably gld 
 to see one another. If I were only to live with my friends, your bM 
 muzzle, old George, is the only face I should see. 
 
 " You are your uncle;s pupil," said Warrington, rather sadly , . 
 
 ^°" An^whyM^trSed^Pendennis ; " why not acknowledge the worl( 
 I stand upon, and submit to the conditions of the society which we liv. 
 in and live by ? I am older than you, George, in spite of your grizzle 
 whiskers, and have seen much more of the world than you have in you 
 garret here, shut up with your books and your reveries ^^'^ y?"J »ff 
 of one-and-twenty. I say, I take the world as it is, and being of it 
 will not be ashamed of it. ^ If the time is out of joint, have I any callin, 
 or strength to set it right ? " „ , , „ , 
 
 "Indeed, I don't think you have much of either," growled Pen 
 
 mterlocutor.^^ whether I am better than my neighbour," Arthur con 
 tinued,-"if I concede that I am no better,-! also doubt whether h 
 is better than I. I see men who begin with ideas of universal refonr 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 483 
 
 I and who^ before their beards are grown^ propound their loud plans for 
 the regeneration of mankind^ give up their schemes after a few years of 
 bootless talking and vainglorious attempts to lead their fellows ; and 
 after they have found that men will no longer hear them^ as indeed 
 they never were in the least worthy to be heard^ sink quietly into the 
 rank and file^ — acknowledging their aims impracticable^ or thankful that 
 
 1 they were never put into practice. The fiercest reformers grow calm^ 
 and are fain to put up with things as they are : the loudest Radical 
 orators become dumb^ quiescent placemen ; the most fervent Liberals, 
 when out of power, become humdrum Conservatives, or downright 
 tyrants or despots in office. Look at Thiers, look at Guizot, in opposi- 
 tion and in place ! Look at the Whigs appealing to the country, and 
 the Whigs in power ! Would you say that the conduct of these men is 
 an act of treason, as the Radicals bawl, — who would give way in their 
 turn, were their turn ever to come ? No, only that they submit to 
 circumstances which are stronger than they, — march as the world 
 marches towards reform, but at the world's pace (and the movements 
 of the vast body of mankind must needs be slow), — forego this scheme 
 as impracticable, on account of opposition, — that as immature, because 
 against the sense of the majority, — are forced to calculate drawbacks 
 and difficulties as well as to think of reforms and advances, — and com- 
 pelled finally to submit, and to wait, and to compromise.'* 
 
 '^The Right Honourable Arthur Pendennis could not speak better, 
 or be more satisfied with himself, if he was First Lord of the Treasury 
 and Chancellor of the Exchequer," Warrington said. 
 
 Self-satisfied ? Why self-satisfied ? " continued Pen. It seems to 
 me that my scepticism is more respectful and more modest than the 
 revolutionary ardour of other folks. Many a patriot of eighteen, many 
 a Spouting-Club orator, would turn the Bishops out of the House of 
 Lords to-morrow, and throw the Lords out after the Bishops, and throw 
 the throne into the Thames after the Peers and the Bench. Is that 
 man more modest than I, who take these institutions as I find them, 
 and wait for time and truth to develop, or fortify, or (if you like) 
 destroy them ? A college tutor, or a nobleman's toady, who appears 
 one fine day as my right reverend lord, in a silk apron and a shovel-hat, 
 and assumes benedictory air& over me, is still the same man we re- 
 member at Oxbridge, when he was truckling to the tufts, and bullying 
 the poor undergraduates in the lecture-room. An hereditary legislator, 
 who passes his time with jockeys and blacklegs and ballet-girls, and 
 who is called to rule over me and his other betters because his grand- 
 father made a lucky speculation in the funds, or found a coal or tin 
 mine on his property, or because his stupid ancestor happened to be in 
 command of ten thousand men as brave as himself, who overcame twelve 
 thousand Frenchmen, or fifty thousand Indians — such a man, I say, 
 inspires me with no more respect than the bitterest democrat can feel 
 towards him. But, such as he is, he is a part of the old society to 
 which we belong ; and I submit to his lordship with acquiescence ; and 
 he takes his place above the best of us at all dinner-parties, and there 
 bides his time. I don't want to chop his head off with a guillotine, or 
 to fling mud at him in the streets. When they call such a man a dis- 
 grace to his order ; and such another, who is good and gentle, refined 
 
484 PENDENNIS 
 
 and generous, who employs his great means in promoting every kind- 
 ness and charity, and art and grace of life, in the kindest and most 
 gracious manner, an ornament to his rank-the question as to the use 
 Ld propriety of the order is not in the least affected one way or other 
 There it is, extant among us, a part of our habits, the creed of many of 
 us, the growth of centuries, the symbol of a most complicated tradition 
 -there stand my lord the bishop and my lord the hereditary legislator 
 -what the French call transactions both of them,-representing m 
 their present shape mail-clad barons and double-sworded ch>efs (from 
 whom their lordships the hereditaries, for the most part, dm t descend), 
 and priests, professing to hold an absolute truth and ^ divinely-mherited 
 power, the which truth absolute our ancestors burned at the stake, a,nd 
 denied there ; the which divine transmissible power still exists in print 
 —to be believed, or not, pretty much at choice ; and of these, 1 say, 1 
 acquiesce that they exist, and no more. If you say that these schemes 
 devised before printing was known, or steam was born ; when thought 
 was an infant, scared and whipped : and truth under its gum-dians was 
 gagged, and swathed, and blindfolded, and not allowed to lift its voice 
 or to look out, or to walk under the sun ; before men were permitted 
 to meet, or to trade, or to speak with each other-if any one says (as 
 some faithful souls do) that these schemes are for ever, and having been 
 changed and modified constantly are to be subject to no further develop- 
 ment or decay, I laugh, and let the man speak. But I would have 
 toleration for these, as I would ask it for my own opinions ; and if they 
 are to die, I would rather they had a decent and natural than an abrupt 
 and violent death." . c(v,„j,„,. 
 
 "You would have sacrificed to Jove," Warrington said, had you 
 lived in the time of the Christian persecutions." „ , r „^ 
 
 « Perhaps I would," said Pen, with some sadness. Perhaps 1 am 
 a coward,-perhaps my faith is unsteady ; but this is my own reserve 
 What I argue here is, that I will not persecute. Make a faith or a 
 dogma absolute, and persecution becomes a logical consequence; and; 
 Dominic burns a Jew, or Calvin an Arian, NefO a Chnstian or 
 Elizabeth or Mary a Papist or Protestant; or their father both or 
 either, according to his humour ; and acting without any p^^^^^^ 
 remorse,-but on the contrary, with strict notions of duty fulfilled. 
 Make dogma absolute, and to inflict or to suffer death becomes easy and 
 necessary; and Mahomet's soldiers shouting ' Paradise ! Paradise ! 
 and dying on the Christian spears, are not more or less pi;aiseworthy 
 than the same men slaughtering a townful of ''""ing off the 
 heads of all prisoners who would not acknowledge that there was but 
 
 rtle whUe'sCce, young one," Warrington said, who had been 
 listening to his friend's confessions neither without sympathy nor scorn, 
 for his mood led him to indulge in both, « you asked me why 1 remained 
 out of the strife of the world, and looked on at the great labour of mv 
 neighbour without taking any part in the struggle. Why, what a meM 
 dikttante you own yourself to be, in this confession g^n^'-al s^eptici^^^^ 
 and what a listless spectator yourself ! You are f ^-«°d-tw«nty yeart 
 old, and as blase as a rake of sixty. You neither hope "o^^^" 
 much, nor believe much. You doubt about other men as much as about 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 485 
 
 yourself. Were it made of such pococuranti as you^ the world would 
 be intolerable ; and I had rather live in a wilderness of monkeys and 
 listen to their chatter^ than in a company of men who denied every- 
 thing." 
 
 Were the world composed of Saint Bernards or Saint Dominics_, 
 it would be equally odious,'* said Pen, and at the end of a few score 
 years would cease to exist altogether. Would you have every man with 
 his head shaved, and every woman in a cloister, — carrying out to the 
 full the ascetic principle ? Would you have conventicle hymns twang- 
 ing from every lane in every city in the world ? Would you have all 
 the birds of the forest sing one note and fly with one feather ? You 
 call me a sceptic because I acknowledge what is ; and in acknowledging 
 that, be it linnet or lark, or priest or parson ; be it, I mean, any single 
 one of the infinite varieties of the creatures of God (whose very name 
 I would be understood to pronounce with reverence, and never to 
 approach but with distant awe), I say that the study and acknowledg- 
 ment of that variety amongst men especially increases our respect and 
 wonder for the Creator, Commander, and Ordainer of all these minds, 
 so different and yet so united, — meeting in a common adoration, and 
 offering up, each according to his degree and means of approaching the 
 Divine centre, his acknowledgment of praise and worship, each singing 
 (to recur to the bird simile) his natural song." 
 
 And so, Arthur, the hymn of a saint, or the ode of a poet, or the 
 chant of a Newgate thief, are all pretty much the same in your philo- 
 sophy," said George. 
 
 Even that sneer could be answered were it to the point," Pendennis 
 replied ; but it is not ; and it could be replied to you, that even to 
 the wretched outcry of the thief on the tree, the wisest and the best of 
 all teachers we know of, the untiring Comforter and Consoler, promised 
 a pitiful hearing and a certain hope. Hymns of saints ! odes of poets ! 
 who are we to measure the chances and opportunities, the means of 
 doing, or even judging, right and wrong, awarded to men ; and to 
 establish the rule for meting out their punishments and rewards ? We 
 are as insolent and unthinking in judging of men's morals as of their 
 intellects. We admire this man as being a great philosopher, and set 
 down the other as a dullard, not knowing either, or the amount of 
 truth in either, or being certain of the truth anywhere. We sing Te 
 Deum for this hero who has won a battle, and De Profundis for that 
 other one who has broken out of prison, and has been caught afterwards 
 by the policeman. Our measure of rewards and punishments is most 
 partial and incomplete, absurdly inadequate, utterly worldly, and we 
 wish to continue it into the next world. Into that next and awful 
 world we strive to pursue men, and send after them our impotent party 
 verdicts of condemnation or acquittal. We set up our paltry little 
 rods to measure Heaven immeasurable, as if, in comparison to that, 
 Newton's mind, or Pascal's, or Shakspeare's, was any loftier than mine ; 
 as if the ray which travels from the sun would reach me sooner than 
 the man who blacks my boots. 'Measured by that altitude, the tallest 
 and the smallest among us are so alike diminutive and pitifully base, 
 that I say we should take no count of the calculation, and it is a mean- 
 ness to reckon the difference." 
 
486 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 ^^Your figure fails there^ Arthur/' said the other^ better pleased; 
 ^Mf even by common arithmetic we can multiply as we can reduce 
 almost infinitely^ the Great Reckoner must take count of all ; and the 
 small is not small, or the great great, to his infinity/' 
 
 I don't call those calculations in question/' Arthur said ; I only 
 say that yours are incomplete and premature ; false in consequence, 
 and, by every operation, multiplying into wider error. I do not con- 
 demn the men who killed Socrates and damned Galileo. I say that 
 they damned Galileo and killed Socrates." 
 
 And yet but a moment since you admitted the propriety of acquies- 
 cence in the present, and, I suppose, all other tyrannies?" 
 
 No, but that if an opponent menaces me, of whom and without 
 cost of blood and violence I can get rid, I would rather wait him out, 
 and starve him out, than fight him out. Fabius fought Hannibal 
 sceptically. Who was his Roman coadjutor, whom we read of in 
 Plutarch when we were boys, who scoff'ed at the other's procrastination 
 and doubted his courage, and engaged the enemy and was beaten for 
 his pains } " 
 
 In these speculations and confessions of Arthur, the reader may 
 perhaps see allusions to questions which, no doubt, have occupied and 
 discomposed himself, and which he may have answered by very different 
 solutions to those come to by our friend. We are not pledging our- 
 : selves for the correctness of his opinions, which readers will please to 
 consider are delivered dramatically, the writer being no more answer- 
 ^able for them than for the sentiments uttered by any other character 
 of the story: our endeavour is merely to follow out, in its progress, 
 the development of the mind of a worldly and selfish, but not ungene- 
 rous or unkind or truth-avoiding man. And it will be seen that the 
 lamentable stage to which his logic at present has brought him, is one 
 of general scepticism and sneering acquiescence in the world as it is ; 
 or if you like so to call it, a belief qualified with scorn in all things 
 extant. The tastes and habits of such a man prevent him from being 
 a boisterous demagogue, and his love of truth and dislike of cant keep 
 him from advancing crude propositions, such as many loud reformers 
 are constantly ready with ; much more of uttering downright falsehoods 
 in arguing questions or abusing opponents, which he would die or 
 starve rather than use. It was not in our friend's nature to be able to 
 utter certain lies ; nor was he strong enough to protest against others, 
 except with a polite sneer ; his maxim being, that he owed obedience 
 to all Acts of Parliament as long as they were not repealed. 
 
 And to what does this easy and sceptical life lead a man ? Friend 
 Arthur was a Sadducee, and the Baptist might be in the Wilderness 
 shouting to the poor, who were listening with all their might and faith 
 to the preacher's awful accents and denunciations of wrath or woe or 
 salvation ; and our friend the Sadducee would turn his sleek mule with 
 a shrug and a smile from the crowd, and go home to the shade li^s 
 terrace, and muse over preacher and audience, and turn to his rol of 
 Plato, or his pleasant Greek song-book babbling of honey and Hyblji, 
 and nymphs and fountains and love. To what, we say, does this scep- 
 ticism lead.^ It leads a man to a shameful loneliness and selfishness, 
 
PENDENNIS 487 
 
 so to speak— the more shameful^ because it is so good-humoured and 
 conscienceless and serene. Conscience ! What is conscience ? Why 
 accept remorse? What is public or private faith? Mythuses alike 
 enveloped in enormous tradition. If^ seeing and acknowledging the 
 lies of the worlds Arthur, as see them you can with only too fatal a 
 clearness, you submit to them without any protest further than a laugh : 
 if, plunged yourself in easy sensuality, you allow the whole wretched 
 world to pass groaning by you unmoved : if the fight for the truth is 
 taking place, and all men of honour are on the ground armed on the 
 one side or the other, and you alone are to lie on your balcony and 
 smoke your pipe out of the noise and the danger, you had better have 
 died, or never have been at all, than such a sensual coward. 
 
 •^^The truth, friend,*' Arthur said imperturbably ; where is the 
 truth? Show it me. That is the question between us. I see it on 
 both sides. I see it on the Conservative side of the House, and amongst 
 the Radicals, and even on the ministerial benches. I see it in this man 
 wlio worships bv Act of Parliament, and is rewarded with a silk apron 
 and five thousand a year : in that man, who, driven fatally by the re- 
 morseless logic of his creed, gives up everything, friends, fame, dearest 
 ties, closest vanities, the respect of an army of churchmen, the recog- 
 nised position of a leader, and passes over, truth-impelled, to the enemy, 
 in whose ranks he is ready to serve henceforth as a nameless private 
 soldier :— I see the truth in that man, as I do in his brother, whose 
 logic drives him to quite a different conclusion, and who, after having 
 passed a life in vain endeavours to reconcile an irreconcilable book, 
 flings it at last down in despair, and declares, with tearful eyes, and 
 hands up to Heaven, his revolt and recantation. If the truth is with 
 all these, why should 1 take side with any one of them ? Some are 
 called upon to preach : let them preach. Of these preachers there are 
 somewhat too many, methinks, who fancy they have the gift. But we 
 cannot all be parsons in church, that is clear. *Some must sit silent and 
 listen, or go to sleep mayhap. Have we not all our duties ? The head 
 charity-boy blows the bellows ; the master canes the other boys in the 
 organ-loft ; the clerk sings out Amen from the desk ; and the beadle 
 with the staff opens the door for his Reverence, who rustles in silk up 
 to the cushion. I won't cane the boys, nay, or say Amen always, or 
 act as the Church's champion or warrior, in the shape of the beadle with 
 the staff; but I will take off my hat in the place, and say my prayers 
 there too, and shake hands with the clergyman as he steps on the grass 
 outside. Don't I know that his being there is a compromise, and that 
 he stands before me an Act of Parliament? That the church he occu- 
 pies was built for other worship? That the Methodist chapel is next 
 door ; and that Bunyan the tinker is bawling out the tidings of damna- 
 tion on the common hard by ? Yes, 1 am a Sadducee ; and I take things 
 as I find them, and the world, and the Acts of Parliament of the world, 
 as they are ; and as I intend to take a wife, if I find one— not to be 
 madly'in love and prostrate at her feet like a fool— not to worship her 
 as an angel, or to expect to find her as such— but to be good-natured to 
 her, and courteous, expecting good-nature and pleasant society from 
 her in turn. And so, George, if ever you hear of my marrying, depend 
 on it, it won't be a romantic attachment on my side : and if you hear 
 
488 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 of any good place under Government, I have no particular scruples that \ 
 I know of, which would prevent me from accepting your offer." ; 
 
 O Pen, you scoundrel ! I know what you mean/' here Warrington 
 broke out. This is the meaning of your scepticism, of your quietism, 
 of your atheism, my poor fellow. You're going to sell yourself, and ' 
 Heaven help you ! You are going to make a bargain which will degrade 
 you and make you miserable for life, and there's no use talking of it. ' 
 If you are once bent on it, the devil won't prevent you." ; 
 
 ^**^0n the contrary, he's on my side, isn't he, George.^" said Pen, 
 with a laugh. What good cigars these are ? Come down and have l! 
 a little dinner at the Club ; the chefs in town and he'll cook a good | 
 one for me. No, you won't Don't be sulky, old boy, I'm going down , 
 to — ^to the country to-morrow." ^ 
 
 CHAPTER LXII 
 
 WHICH ACCOUNTS PERHAPS FOR CHAPTER LXI 
 
 The information regarding the affairs of the Clavering family, which 
 Major Pendennis had acquired through Strong, and by his own personal 
 interference as the friend of the house, was such as almost made the 
 old gentleman pause in any plans which he might have once entertained 
 for his nephew's benefit. To bestow upon Arthur a wife with two such 
 fathers-in-law as the two worthies whom the guileless and unfortunate 
 Lady Clavering had drawn in her marriage ventures, was to benefit no 
 man. And though the one, in a manner, neutralised the other, and 
 the appearance of Amory or Altamont in public would be the signal for 
 his instantaneous withdrawal and condign punishment, — for the fugitive 
 convict had cut down the officer in charge of him, and a rope would be 
 inevitably his end, if he came again under British authorities ; yet no 
 guardian would like to secure for his ward a wife whose parent was to 
 be got rid of in such a way ; and the old gentleman's notion always had 
 been that Altamont, with the gallows before his eyes, would assuredly 
 avoid recognition ; while, at the same time, by holding the threat of 
 his discovery over Clavering, the latter, who would lose everything by 
 Amory's appearance, would be a slave in the hands of the person who 
 knew so fatal a secret. 
 
 But if the Begum paid Clavering s debts many times more, her 
 wealth would be expended altogether upon this irreclaimable reprobate ; 
 and her heirs, whoever they might be, would succeed but to an emptied 
 treasury ; and Miss Amory, instead of bringing her husband a good 
 income and a seat in Parliament, would bring to that individual her 
 person only, and her pedigree with that lamentable note of sus. per 
 coll. at the name of the last male of her line. 
 
 There was, however, to the old schemer revolving these things in his 
 mind, another course yet open ; the which will appear to the reader 
 who may take the trouble to peruse a conversation, which presently 
 ensued, between Major Pendennis and-the honourable Baronet the 
 member for Clavering. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 489 
 
 When a man, under pecuniary difficulties, disappears from among 
 his usual friends and equals, — dives out of sight, as it were, from the 
 flock of birds in which he is accustomed to sail, it is wonderful at what 
 strange and distant nooks he comes up again for breath. I have known 
 a Pall Mall lounger and Rotten Row buck, of no inconsiderable fashion, 
 vanish from amongst his comrades of the Clubs and the Park, and be 
 discovered, very liappy and aifable, at an eighteenpenny ordinary in 
 Billingsgate : another gentleman, of great learning and wit, when out- 
 running the constable (were I to say he was a literary man some critics 
 would vow that I intended to insult the literary profession), once sent 
 me his address at a little public-house called the Fox under the Hill," 
 down a most darksome and cavernous archway in the Strand. Such a 
 man, under such misfortunes, may have a house, but he is never in his 
 house ; and has an address where letters may be left ; but only simple- 
 tons go with the hopes of seeing him. Only a few of the faithful know 
 where he is to be found, and have the clue to his hiding-place. So, 
 after the disputes with his wife, and the misfortunes consequent thereon, 
 to find Sir Francis Clavering at home was impossible. Ever since I 
 hast him for my book, which is fourteen pound, he don't come home 
 till three o'clock, and purtends to be asleep when I bring his water of 
 a mornin', and dodges hout when I'm downstairs," Mr. Lightfoot re- 
 marked to hi» friend Morgan ; and announced that he should go down 
 to my Lady and be butler there, and marry his old woman. In like 
 manner, after his altercations with Strong, the Baronet did not come 
 near him, and fled to other haunts, out of the reach of the Chevalier's 
 reproaches ; — out of the reach of conscience, if possible, which many 
 of us try to dodge and leave behind us by changes of scene and other 
 fugitive stratagems. 
 
 So, though the elder Pendennis, having his own ulterior object, was 
 bent upon seeing Pen's country neighbour and representative in Parlia- 
 ment, it took the Major no inconsiderable trouble and time before he 
 could get him into such a confidential state and conversation, as were 
 necessary for the ends which the Major had in view. For since the 
 Major had been called in as family friend, and had cognisance of 
 Clavering's afl"airs, conjugal and pecuniary, the Baronet avoided him : 
 as he always avoided all his lawyers, and agents, when there was an 
 account to be rendered, or an afi'air of business to be discussed between 
 them ; and never kept any appointment but when its object was the 
 raising of money. Thus, previous to catching this most shy and 
 timorous bird, the Major made more than one futile attempt to hold 
 I him ; — on one day it was a most innocent-looking invitation to dinner 
 at Greenwich, to meet a few friends : the Baronet accepted, suspected 
 I something, and did not come ; leaving the Major (who indeed proposed 
 ! to represent in himself the body of friends) to eat his whitebait alone : 
 j —on another occasion the Major wrote and asked for ten minutes' talk, 
 and the Baronet instantly acknowledged the note, and made the ap- 
 • pointment at four o'clock the next day at Bays's precisely (he carefully 
 underlined the precisely ") ; but though four o'clock came, as in the 
 course of time and destiny it could not do otherwise, no Clavering made 
 his appearance. Indeed, if he had borrowed twenty pounds of Pen- 
 dennis, he could not have been more timid, or desirous of avoiding the 
 
490 PENDENNIS 
 
 Major ; and the latter found that it was one thing to seek a man, and 
 another to find him. 
 
 Before the close of that day in which Strong s patron had given the 
 Chevalier the benefit of so many blessings before his face and curses 
 behind his back, Sir Francis Clavering, who had pledged his word and 
 his oath to his wife's advisers to draw or accept no more bills of ex- 
 change, and to be content with the allowance which his victimised wife 
 still awarded him, had managed to sign his respectable name to a piece 
 of stamped paper, which the Baronet's friend, Mr. Moss Abrams, had 
 carried ofi^, promising to have the bill *^'done" by a party with whose 
 intimacy Mr. Abrams was favoured. And it chanced that Strong heard 
 of this transaction at the place where the writings had been drawn,— 
 in the back parlour, namely, of Mr. Santiago's cigar-shop, where the 
 Chevalier was constantly in the habit of spending an hour in the 
 evening. 
 
 '^He is at his old work again," Mr. Santiago told his customer. 
 
 He and Moss Abrams were in my parlour. Moss sent out my boy 
 for a stamp. It must have been a bill for fifty pound. I heard the 
 Baronet tell Moss to date it two months back. He will pretend that 
 it is an old bill, and that he forgot it when he came to a settlement 
 with his wife the other day. I dare say they will give him some more 
 money now he is clear." A man who has the habit of putting his un- 
 lucky name to promises to pay " at six months, has the satisfaction 
 of knowing, too, that his affairs are known and canvassed, and his 
 signature handed round, among the very worst knaves and rogues 
 of London. 
 
 Mr. Santiago's shop was close by St. James's Street and Bury Street, 
 where we have had the honour of visiting our friend Major Pendennis 
 in his lodgings. The Major was walking daintily towards his apart- 
 ment, as Strong, burning with wrath and redolent of Havanna, strode 
 along the same pavement opposite to him. 
 
 Confound these young men : how they poison everything with 
 their smoke," thought the Major. Here comes a fellow with mus- 
 tachios and a cigar. Every fellow who smokes and wears mustachios 
 is a low fellow. Oh ! it's Mr. Strong.— I hope you are well, Mr. 
 Strong?" and the old gentleman, making a dignified bow to the 
 Chevalier, was about to pass into his house ; directing towards the 
 lock of the door, with trembling hand, the polished door-key. 
 
 We have said that,- at the long and weary disputes and conferences 
 regarding the payment of Sir Francis Clavering's last debts. Strong 
 and Pendennis had both been present as friends and advisers of the 
 Baronet's unlucky family. Strong stopped and held out his hand to 
 his brother negotiator, and old Pendennis put out towards him a couple 
 of ungracious fingers. 
 
 What is your good news?" said Major Pendennis, patronising the 
 other still further, and condescending to address to him an observa- 
 tion, for old Pendennis had kept such good company all his life, that 
 he vaguely imagined he honoured common men by speaking to them. 
 
 Still in town, Mr. Strong? I hope I see you well." 
 
 My news is bad news, sir," Strong answered ; it concerns our 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 491 
 
 friends at Tunbridge Wells^ and 1 should like to talk to you about it. 
 Clavering is at his old tricks again^ Major Pendennis." 
 
 Indeed ! Pray do me the favour to come into my lodging/' cried 
 the Major, with awakened interest; and the pair entered and took 
 possession of his drawing-room. Here seated, Strong unburthened 
 himself of his indignation to the Major, and spoke at large of Claver- 
 ing's recklessness and treachery. ''No promises will bind him, sir," 
 he said. '' You remember when we met, sir, with my Lady's lawyer, 
 how he wouldn't be satisfied with giving his honour, but wanted to take 
 his oath on his knees to his wife, and rang the bell for a Bible, and 
 swore perdition on his soul if he ever would give another bill. He has 
 been signing one this very day, sir ; and will sign as many more as you 
 please for ready money : he will deceive anybody, his wife or his child, 
 or his old friend, who has backed him a hundred times. Why, there's 
 
 a bill of his and mine will be due next week " 
 
 '' I thought we had paid all 
 
 '' Not that one," Strong said, blushing. '' He asked me not to 
 mention it, and— and— I had half the money for that, Major. And they 
 will be down on me. But I don't care for it : I'm used to it. It's Lady 
 Clavering that riles me. It's a shame that that good-natured woman, 
 who has paid him out of gaol a score of times, should be ruined by his 
 heartlessness. A parcel of bill-stealers, boxers, any rascals, get his 
 money ; and he don't scruple to throw an honest fellow over. Would 
 you believe it, sir, he took money of Altamont — you know whom I 
 mean.'*" 
 
 '' Indeed } of that singular man, who I think came tipsy once to Sir 
 Francis's house?" Major Pendennis said, with impenetrable counte- 
 nance. '' Who is Altamont, Mr. Strong ? " 
 
 '' I am sure I don't know, if you don't know," the Chevalier answered, 
 with a look of surprise and suspicion. 
 
 To tell you frankly," said the Major, I have my suspicions. I 
 suppose— mind, I only suppose— that in our friend Clavering's life— who, 
 between you and me. Captain Strong, we must own is about as loose a 
 fish as any in my acquaintance — there are, no doubt, some queer secrets 
 and stories which he would not like to have known : none of us would. 
 And very likely this fellow, who calls himself Altamont, knows some 
 story against Clavering, and has some hold on him, and gets money 
 out of him on the strength of his information. I know some of the 
 best men of the best families in England who are paying through the 
 nose in that way. But their private affairs are no business of mine, 
 Mr. Strong ; and it is not to be supposed that because I go and dine 
 with a man, I pry into his secrets, or am answerable for all his past 
 life. And so with our friend Clavering, I am most interested for his 
 wife's sake, and her daughter's, who is a most charming creature : and 
 when her Ladyship asked me, I looked into her affairs, and tried to set 
 them straight ; and shall do so again, you understand, to the best of 
 my humble power and ability, if I can make myself useful. And if I 
 am called upon— you understand, if I am called upon— and— by the 
 way, this Mr. Altamont, Mr. Strong } How is this Mr. Altamont } 
 I believe you are acquainted with him. Is he in town 
 
 '' I don't know that t am called upon to know where he is, Major 
 
492 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Pendennis/' said Stron^^ rising and taking up his hat in dudgeon, for 
 the Major s patronising manner and impertinence of caution offended 
 the honest gentleman not a little. 
 
 Pendennis's manner altered at once from a tone of hauteur to one of 
 knowing good-humour. Ah, Captain Strong, you are cautious, too, 
 I see ; and quite right, my good sir, quite right. We don t know what 
 ears walls may have, sir, or to whom we may he talking ; and as a man 
 of the world, and an old soldier,— an old and distinguished soldier, I have 
 been told. Captain Strong,— you know very well that there is no use in 
 throwing away your fire ; you may have your ideas, and I may put two 
 and two together and have mine. But there are things which don t 
 concern him that many a man had better not know, eh. Captain? and 
 which I, for one, won't know until I have reason for knowing them : 
 and that I believe is your maxim too. With regard to our fj:iend the 
 Baronet, I think with you, it would be most advisable that he should 
 be checked in his imprudent courses ; and most strongly reprehend any 
 man's departure from his word, or any conduct of his which can give 
 any pain to his family, or cause them annoyance in any way. That is 
 my full and frank opinion, and I am sure it is yours." 
 Certainly," said Mr. Strong drily. 
 
 I am delighted to hear it ; delighted that an old brother soldier 
 should agree with me so fully. And I am exceedingly glad of the lucky 
 meeting which has procured me the good fortune of your visit. Good 
 evening. Thank you. Morgan, show the door to Captain Strong." 
 
 And Strong, preceded by Morgan, took his leave of Major Pendennis ; 
 the Chevalier not a little puzzled at the old fellow's prudence ; and the 
 valet, to say the truth, to the full as much perplexed at his master s 
 reticence. For Mr. Morgan, in his capacity of accomplished valet, 
 moved here and there in a house as silent as a shadow ; and, as it so 
 happened, during the latter part of his master's conversation with his 
 visitor, had been standing very close to the door, and had overheard 
 not a little of the talk between the two gentlemen, and a great deal 
 more than he could understand. 
 
 Who is that Altamont? know anything about him and Strong .^^ 
 Mr. Morgan asked of Mr. Lightfoot, on the next convenient occasion 
 when they met at the Club. 
 
 Strong's his man of business, draws the Governor's bills, and in- 
 dosses 'em, and does his odd jobs and that; and I suppose Altamont's 
 in it too," Mr. Lightfoot replied. ''That kite-flying, you know, Mr. 
 M., always takes two or three on 'em to set the paper going. Altamont 
 put the pot on at the Derby, and won a good bit of money. I wish 
 the Governor could get some somewhere, and I could get my book 
 paid up." ^ „ Tt/r 
 
 ''Do you think my Lady would pay his debts again.? Morgan 
 asked. " Find out that for me, Lightfoot, and I'll make it worth your 
 while, my boy." 
 
 Major Pendennis had often said, with a laugh, that his valet Morgan 
 was a much richer man than himself : and, indeed, by a long course 
 of careful speculation, this wary and silent attendant had been amass- 
 ing a considerable sum of money, during the years which he had passed 
 
PENDENNIS 493 
 
 in the Major s service^ where he had made the acquaintance of many 
 other valets of distinction, from whom he had learned the aifairs of 
 their principals. When Mr. Arthur came into his property, but not 
 until then, Morgan had surprised the young gentleman by saying that 
 he had a little sum of money, some fifty or a hundred pound, which 
 he wanted to lay out to advantage ; perhaps the gentleman in the 
 Temple, knowing about affairs and business and that, could help a 
 poor fellow to a good investment ? Morgan would be very much obliged 
 to Mr. Arthur, most grateful and obliged indeed, if Arthur could tell 
 him of one. When Arthur laughingly replied, that he knew nothing 
 about money matters, and knew no earthly way of helping Morgan, 
 the latter with the utmost simplicity, was very grateful, very grateful 
 indeed, to Mr. Arthur, and if Mr. Arthur should want a little money 
 before his rents was paid, perhaps he would kindly remember that his 
 uncle s old and faithful servant had some as he would like to put out : 
 and be most proud if he could be useful anyways to any of the family. 
 
 The Prince of Fairoaks, who was tolerably prudent and had no need of 
 ready money, would as soon have thought of borrowing from his uncle's 
 servant as of stealing the valef s pocket-handkerchief, and was on the 
 point of making some haughty reply to Morgan s offer, but was checked 
 by the humour of the transaction. Morgan a capitalist ! Morgan 
 offering to lend to him ! The joke was excellent. On the other hand, 
 the man might be quite innocent, and the proposal of money a simple 
 offer of good-will. So Arthur withheld the sarcasm that was rising to 
 his lips, and contented himself by declining Mr. Morgan's kind proposal. 
 He mentioned the matter to his uncle, however, and congratulated the 
 latter on having such a treasure in his service. 
 
 It was then that the Major said that he believed Morgan had been 
 getting devilish rich for a devilish long time. In fact he had bought 
 the house in Bury Street, in which his master was a lodger ; and had 
 actually made a considerable sum of money from his acquaintance with 
 the Clavering family, and his knowledge obtained through his master 
 that the Begum would pay all her husband's debts, by buying up as 
 many of the Baronet's acceptances as he could raise money to purchase. 
 Of these transactions the Major, however, knew no more than most 
 gentlemen do of their servants, who live with us all our days and are 
 strangers to us : so strong custom is, and so pitiless the distinction 
 between class and class. 
 
 "So he offered to lend you money, did he? the elder Pendenms 
 remarked to his nephew. "He's a dev'lish sly fellow, and a dev hsh 
 rich fellow ; and there's many a nobleman would hke to have such 
 a valet in his service, and borrow from him too. And he am t a bit 
 changed. Monsieur Morgan. He does his work just as well as ever— 
 he's always ready to my bell— steals about the room like a cat— he s so 
 dev'lishly attached to me, Morgan ! " ^ > 
 
 On the day of Strong's visit, the Major bethought him of Pen s story, 
 and that Morgan might help him, and rallied the valet regarding his 
 wealth with that free and insolent way which so high-placed a gentle- 
 man might be disposed to adopt towards so unfortunate a creature. 
 
 " I hear that you have got some money to invest, Morgan, said the 
 Major, 
 
494 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 It's Mr. Arthur has been tellings hang him ! thought the valet. 
 Tm glad my place is such a good one." 
 
 Thank you^ sir — I've no reason to complain of my place nor of 
 my master/' replied Morgan demurely. 
 
 You re a good fellow : and I believe you are attached to me ; and 
 I'm glad you get on well. And I hope you'll be prudent^ and not be 
 taking a public-house or that kind of thing. " 
 
 A public-house^ thought Morgan — me in a public-house ! — the old 
 fool ! — Dammy, if I was ten years younger I'd set in Parlyment before 
 I died^ that I would. — ^^No^ thank you kindly^ sir. I don't think of 
 the public line^ sir. And I've got* my little savings pretty well put 
 out_, sir." 
 
 You do a little in the discounting way, eh, Morgan ? " 
 
 Yes, sir, a very little. — I — I beg your pardon, sir — might I be so 
 free as to ask a question 
 
 Speak on, my good fellow," the elder said graciously. 
 
 About Sir Francis Clavering's paper, sir } Do you think he's any 
 longer any good, sir.^ Will my Lady pay on 'em any more, sir?" 
 
 What, you've done something in that business already .f^" 
 
 Yes, sir, a little," replied Morgan, dropping down his eyes. And 
 I don't mind owning, sir, and I hope I may take the liberty of saying, 
 sir, that a little more would make me very comfortable if it turned out 
 as well as the last. 
 
 Why, how much have you netted by him, in Gad's name ? " asked 
 the Major. 
 
 I've done a good bit, sir, at it : that I own, sir. Having some 
 information, and made acquaintance with the fam'ly through your 
 kindness, I put on the pot, sir." 
 ^^You did what.?^" 
 
 ^^I laid my money on, sir — I got all I could, and borrowed, and 
 bought Sir Francis's bills ; many of 'em had his name, and the gentle- 
 man's as is just gone out, Edward Strong, Esquire, sir : and of course 
 I know of the blow-hup and shindy as is took place in Grosvenor Place, 
 sir ; and as I may as well make my money as another, I'd be mry much 
 obleeged to you if you'd tell me whether my Lady will come down any 
 more." 
 
 Although Major Pendennis was as much surprised at this intelligence 
 regarding his servant, as if he had heard that Morgan was a disguised 
 Marquis, about to throw off his mask and assume his seat in the House 
 of Peers ; and although he was of course indignant at the audacity of 
 the fellow who had dared to grow rich under his nose, and without his cog- 
 nisance ; yet he had a natural admiration for every man who represented 
 money and success, and found himself respecting Morgan, and being 
 rather afraid of that worthy, as the truth began to dawn upon him. 
 
 Well, Morgan," said he, I mustn't ask how rich you are ; and 
 the richer the better for your sake, I'm sure. And if I could give you 
 any information that could serve you, I would speedily help you. But 
 frankly, if Lady Clavering asks me whether she shall pay any more of 
 Sir Francis's debts I shall advise and hope she won't, though I fear she 
 will — and that is all I know. And so you are aware that Sir Francis is 
 beginning again in his — eh — reckless and imprudent course.'*" 
 
4 PENDENNIS 496 
 
 ^^At his old games, sir — can't prevent that gentleman. He will 
 do it 
 
 ^^Mr. Strong was saying that a Mr. Moss Abrams was the holder of 
 one of Sir Francis Clavering's notes, po you know anything of this 
 Mr. Abrams or the amount of the bill ? " 
 
 ^^Don t know the bill ; know Abrams quite well, sn\ 
 I wish you would find out about it for me. And I wish you would 
 find out where I can see Sir Francis Clavering, Morgan." 
 
 And Morgan said, "Thank you, sir— yes, sir—I will, sir, and 
 retired from the room, as he had entered it, with his usual stealthy 
 respect and quiet humility ; leaving the Major to muse and wonder 
 over what he had just heard. .xi,4.i.i,^ 
 
 The next morning the valet informed Major Pendennis that he had 
 seen Mr Abrams ; what was the amount of the bill that gentleman was 
 desirous to negotiate ; and that the Baronet would be sure to be m the 
 back parlour of the "Wheel of Fortune" Tavern that day at one 
 o'clock. 
 
 To this appointment Sir Francis Clavering was punctual, and as at 
 one o'clock he sate in the parlour of the tavern in question, surrounded 
 bv spittoons, Windsor chairs, cheerful prints of boxers, trotting horses, 
 and pedestrians, and the lingering of last night's tobacco fumes-as the 
 descendant of an ancient line sate in this delectable place accommodated 
 with an old copy of Bell's Life in London, much blotted with beer, the 
 polite Major Pendennis walked into the apartment. . ^ , , , , 
 
 "So it's you, old boy?" asked the Baronet, thinking that Mr. Moss 
 Abrams had arrived with the money. 
 
 "How do you do. Sir Francis Clavering? I wanted to see you, 
 and followed you here," said the Major, at sight of whom the other s 
 countenance fell. , . j . • j 
 
 Now that he had his opponent before him, the Major was determined 
 to make a brisk and sudden attack upon him, and went into action at 
 once "I know/' he continued, "who is the exceedingly disreput- 
 able person for whom you took me, Clavering; and the errand which 
 
 ^'"^?I^^^^^ is it?" asked the Baronet, with a sulky and 
 
 denrecatorv look. " Why are you following me about, and taking the 
 iTmTnd and meddling L m/ affairs. Major Pendennis? I'- never 
 done 2/01^ any harm, have I? I've never had j/oz/r money. And I don t 
 choose to be dodged about in this way, and domineered over. I don t 
 choose it, and I won't have it. If Lady Clavering has any proposal to 
 make to me, let it be done in the regular way, and through the lawyers. 
 
 ''"f at^Tt'com: Cm Lady Clavering," the Major said, " but of my 
 own accord, to trv and remonstrate with you, Clavering, and see if you 
 crbe kept from ruin. It is but a month ago that you swore on your 
 Tonour a^d w^^^^^^^^^^ to get a Bible to strengthen the oath, that you 
 would accept no more Mis, but content yourself with the allow^^^^^^^ 
 which Lady Clavering gives you. All your debts were P^^f w^^th that 
 proviso, and you have broken it; this Mr. Abrams has a bill of yours 
 for sixty pounds." 
 
496 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 It's an old bill. I take my solemn oath it's an old bill/' shrieked 
 out the Baronet. 
 
 You drew it yesterday^ and you dated it two months back purposely. 
 By Gad^ Clavering^ you sicken me with lies^ I can't help telling you 
 so. I've no patience with you^ by Gad. You cheat everybody^ yourself 
 included. I've seen a deal of the worlds but I never met your equal 
 at humbugging. It's my belief you had rather lie than not." 
 
 Have you come here, you old — old beast, to tempt me to — to pitch 
 into you, and— knock your old head off.^" said the Baronet, with a 
 poisonous look of hatred at the Major. 
 
 ^^What, sir.?*" shouted out the old Major, rising to his feet and 
 clasping his cane, and looking so fiercely, that the Baronet's tone 
 instantly changed towards him. 
 
 No, no," said Clavering piteously ; I beg your pardon. I didn't 
 mean to be angry, or say an)i;hing unkind, only you're so damned harsh 
 to me. Major Pendennis. What is it you want of me } Why have you 
 been hunting me so } Do you want money out of me too } By Jove, 
 you know I've not got a shilling," — and so Clavering, according to his 
 custom, passed from a curse into a whimper. 
 
 Major Pendennis saw, from the other's tone, that Clavering knew his 
 secret was in the Major's hands. 
 
 I've no errand from anybody, and no design upon you," Pendennis 
 said, but an endeavour, if it's not too late, to save you and your family 
 from utter ruin, through the infernal recklessness of your courses. I 
 knew your secret " 
 
 I didn't know it when I married her ; upon my oath I didn't know 
 
 it till the d d scoundrel came back and told me himself; and it's 
 
 the misery about that which makes me so reckless, Pendennis ; indeed 
 it is," the Baronet cried, clasping his hands. 
 
 I knew your secret from the very first day when I saw Amory come 
 drunk into your dining-room in Grosvenor Place. I never forget faces. 
 I remember that fellow in Sydney a convict, and he remembers me. I 
 know his trial, the date of his marriage, and of his reported death in 
 : the bush. I could swear to him. And I know you are no more married 
 I to Lady Clavering than I am. I've kept your secret well enough, for 
 I've not told a single soul that I know it, — not your wife, not yourself 
 1 till now." 
 
 ■ ^^Poor Lady C, it would cut her up dreadfully," whimpered Sir 
 Francis : ^^and it wasn't my fault. Major ; you know it wasn't." 
 
 Rather than allow you to go on ruining her as you do, I will tell 
 her, Clavering, and tell all the world too ; that is what I swear I will 
 do, unless I can come to some terms with you, and put some curb 
 on your infernal folly. By play, debt, and extravagance of all kinds, 
 you've got through half your wife's fortune, and that of her legitimate 
 heirs, mind — her legitimate heirs. Here it must stop. You can't live 
 together. You're not fit to live in a great house like Clavering ; and 
 before three years more were over, would not leave a shilling to carry 
 on. I've settled what must be done. You shall have six hundred a 
 year ; you shall go abroad and live on that. You must give up Parlia- 
 ment, and get on as well as you can. If you refuse, I give you my word 
 I'll make the real state of things known to-morrow ; I'll swear to Amory, 
 
• PENDENNIS 497 
 
 ' who, when identified, will go back to the country from whence he came, 
 and will rid the widow of you and himself together. And so that boy 
 of yours loses at once all title to old Snell's property, and it goes to 
 your wife's daughter. Ain't I making myself pretty clearly understood?" 
 
 You wouldn't be so cruel to that poor boy, would you, Pendennis } " 
 asked the father, pleading piteously ; hang it, think about him. He*s 
 a nice boy ; though he's dev'lish wild, I own— he's dev'lish wild." 
 
 It's you who are cruel to him," said the old moralist. Why, sir, 
 you'll ruin him yourself inevitably in three years." 
 
 Yes, but perhaps I won't have such dev'lish bad luck, you know ;— 
 the luck must turn : and I'll reform, by Gad, I'll reform. And if you 
 were to split on me, it would cut up my wife so ; you know it would, 
 most infernally." 
 
 "'To be parted from you/' said the old Major, with a sneer; ^Wou 
 know she won't live with you again." 
 
 But why can't Lady C. live abroad, or at Bath, or at Tunbridge, or 
 at the doose, and I go on here ? " Clavering continued. I like being 
 here better than abroad, and I like being in Parliament. It's dev'lish 
 convenient being in Parliament. There's very few seats like mine left ; 
 ind if I gave it 'em, I should not wonder the Ministry would give me 
 in island to govern, or some dev'lish good thing ; for you know I'm a 
 gentleman of dev'lish good family, and have a handle to my name, and 
 —and that sort of thing. Major Pendennis. Eh, don't you see } Don't 
 70U think they'd give me something dev'lish good if I was to play my 
 jards well? And then, you know, I'd save money, and be kept out of 
 :he way of the confounded hells and rouge et rzoVr— and— and so I'd 
 •ather not give up Parliament, please." For at one instant to hate and 
 lefy a man, at the next to weep before him, and at the next to be 
 )erfectly confidential and friendly with him, was not an unusual pro- 
 ;ess with our versatile-minded Baronet. 
 
 As for your seat in Parliament," the Major said, with something of 
 I blush on his cheek, and a certain tremor, which the other did not see 
 /you must part with that. Sir Francis Clavering, to— to me." ' 
 
 ^^What ! are you going into the House, Major Pendennis?" 
 No— not I ; but my nephew, Arthur, is a very clever fellow, and 
 ivould make a figure there : and when Clavering had two Members, his 
 father might very likely have been one ; and— and I should like Arthur 
 0 be there," the Major said. 
 
 " Dammy, does he know it, too ? " cried out Clavering. 
 
 ''Nobody knows anything out of this room," Pendennis answered ; 
 
 and if you do this favour for me, I hold my tongue. If not, I'm a 
 nan of my word, and will do what I have said." 
 
 ^''Isay, Major," said Sir Francis, with a peculiarly humble smile, 
 you— you couldn't get me my first quarter in advance, could you, 
 
 ike the best of fellows ? You can do anything with Lady Clavering ; 
 
 nd, upon my oath, I'll take up that bill of Abrams. The little dam 
 
 coundrel, I know he'll do me in the business— he always does ; and if 
 
 ou could do this for me, we'd see. Major." 
 ''And I think your best plan would "be to go down in September to 
 
 slavering to shoot, and take my nephew with you, and introduce him. 
 
 ^ es, that will be the best time. And we will try and manage about the 
 
 2 I 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 advance " (Arthur may lend him that, thought old Pendennis. Con- 
 found him, Iseat in Parliament is worth a hundred and fifty pounds.) 
 " And, Clavering, you understand, of course, my nephew knows nothmg 
 ahout this business. You have a mind to retire : he is a Clavernig man 
 and a good representative for the borough ; you nitroduce him, and your 
 
 P'-^Whetcln you S me the hundred and fifty. Major? When shaU 
 I come and see you f Will you be at home this evening or to-morrow 
 mor^ng^ Will vou have anything here? They've got some dev lish 
 good bitters in the bar. I often have a glass of bitters, it sets one 
 
 "^The old Major would take no refreshment ; but rose and took hi J 
 leave of the Baronet, who walked with him to the door of the Wheel f 
 of Fortune," and then strolled into the bar, where he took a glass of 
 Sn-and-bitters with the landlady there : and a gentleman connected 
 wUh the ring (who boarded at the "Wheel of F.") commg m, he and 
 Francis Claverinff and the landlord talked about the fights and the 
 new! of the sportog world in general ; and at length Mr. Moss Abrams 
 arrived wilh^the proceeds of \he Baronet's bill, from which his own 
 handsome commission was deducted, and out of re™apder Sir 
 Francis "stood" a dinner at Greenwich to his distinguished friend, and 
 
 '-^i^^^r^L^:^, a cab in Piccadilly dro..^ 
 Lamb Court, Temple, where he speedily was closeted with his nephew 
 
 ''^Aftm- Stalk thev parted on very good terms, and it was in conse- 
 quence of that unreported conversation, whereof the reader nevertheles 
 can pretty well guess the bearing, that Arthur expressed himself as w 
 have hea^d in the colloquy with Warrington which is reported in th. 
 
 wtTaman is tempted to do a tempting thing he can And ^ hj^n^re: 
 ingenious reasons for^gratifying his l ^mg : and Arthur thought vev 
 much that he would like to be in Parliament, and that he would 1 
 Tdistinguish himself there, and that he need not c^^e much what s^. 
 he took, as there was falsehood and truth on every side. And on thi 
 and on 'other matters he thought he would c^-proX j^^"^," 
 science, and that Sadduceeism was a very convenient and good-humoure 
 profession of faith. 
 
 CHAPTER LXni 
 
 PHYLLIS AND OOBYDON 
 
 On a picturesque common in the neighbourhood J";j|>,!^fe^^^^^^^ 
 Lady blavering had found a pretty villa, whither r«t"«J^f 
 conjugal disputes at the end of that unlucky London reason M« 
 Amorv of course, accompanied her mother, and Master UaveriB 
 came 'home for the holidays, with whom Blanche's ch'ef o-upat^ 
 was to fight and quarrel. But this was only a home P«;St™e;/'f ^ 
 young schoolboy was not fond of home sports. He found cncket, au 
 
* PENDENNIS 499 
 
 horses, and plenty of friends at Tunbridge. The good-natured Begum's 
 house was filled with a constant society of young gentlemen of thirteen, 
 who ate and drank much too copiously of tarts and champagne, and 
 rode races on the lawn, and frightened the fond mother, who smoked * 
 and made themselves sick, and the dining-room unbearable to Miss 
 Blanche. She did not like the society of young gentlemen of thirteen. ^<-^>V^ 
 
 As for that fair young creature, any change, as long as it was change, 
 was pleasant to her; and for a week or two she would have liked 
 poverty and a cottage, and bread and cheese ; and, for a night, perhaps, 
 i dungeon and bread and water, and so the move to Tunbridge was by 
 no means unwelcome to her. She wandered in the woods, and sketched 
 trees and farmhouses ; she read French novels habitually ; she drove 
 nto Tunbridge Wells pretty often, and to any play, or ball, or conjurer, 
 )r musician who might happen to appear in the place ; she slept a great 
 leal, she quarrelled with mamma and Frank during the morning ; she 
 Found the little village school and attended it, and first fondled the 
 ^irls and thwarted the mistress, then scolded the girls and laughed at 
 :he teacher ; she was constant at church, of course. It was a pretty 
 ittle church, of immense antiquity — a little Anglo-Norman bijou, built 
 :he day before yesterday, and decorated with all sorts of painted windows, 
 carved saints* heads, gilt Scripture texts, and open pews. Blanche 
 }egan forthwith to work a most correct High-Church altar-cover for 
 :he church. She passed for a saint with the clergyman for a while, 
 vhom she quite took in, and whom she coaxed and wheedled, and 
 ondled so artfully, that poor Mrs. Smirke, who at first was charmed 
 vith her, then bore with her, then would hardly speak to her, was 
 dmost mad with jealousy. Mrs. Smirke was the wife of our old friend 
 5mirke, Pen's tutor and poor Helen's suitor. He had consoled himself 
 br her refusal with a young lady from Clapham whom his mamma 
 )rovided. When the latter died, our friend's views became every day 
 nore and more pronounced. He cut off his coat collar, and let his 
 lair grow over his back. He rigorously gave up the curl which he 
 ised to sport on his forehead, and the tie of his neckcloth, of which he 
 vas rather proud. He went without any tie at all. He went without 
 linner on Fridays. He read the Roman Hours, and intimated that 
 le was ready to receive confessions in the vestry. The most harmless 
 creature in the world, he was denounced as a black and most dangerous 
 Tesuit and Papist, by Mufldn of the Dissenting Chapel, and Mr. Simeon 
 i^night at the old church. Mr. Smirke had built his chapel of ease 
 vith the money left him by his mother at Clapham. Lord ! lord ! 
 vhat would she have said to hear a table called an altar ! to see candle- 
 sticks on it ! to get letters signed on the Feast of Saint So-and-so, or 
 he Vigil of Saint What-do-you-call-'em ! All these things did the 
 )oy of Clapham practise ; his faithful wife following him. But when 
 Blanche had a conference of near two hours in the vestry with Mr. 
 Smirke, Belinda paced up and down on the grass, where there were 
 >nly two little grave-stones as yet ; she wished that she had a third 
 here ; only, only he would offer very likely to that creature, who had 
 nfatuated him in a fortnight. No, she would retire ; she would go 
 nto a convent and profess, and leave him. Such bad thoughts had 
 ?mirke's wife and his neighbours regarding him ; these, thinking him 
 
500 PENDENNIS 
 
 in direct correspondence with the Bishop of Rome ; that, bewailing 
 errors to her even more odious and fatal ; and yet our friend meant no 
 earthly harm. The post-office never brought him any letters from the 
 Pope ; he thought Blanche, to be sure, at first, the most pious, gifted, 
 riffht-thinking, fascinating person he had ever met ; and her manner 
 of singing the Chants delighted him— but after a while he began to 
 grow rather tired of Miss Amory, her ways and graces grew stale 
 somehow ; then he was doubtful about Miss Amory ; then she made a 
 disturbance in his school, lost her temper, and rapped the children s 
 fingers Blanche inspired this admiration and satiety, somehow, m , 
 many men. She tried to please them, and flung out all her graces at 
 once ; came down to them with all her jewels on, all her smiles, and \ 
 cajoleries, and coaxings, and ogles. Then she grew tired of them and ; 
 of trying to please them, and never having cared about them, dropped ( 
 them : and the men grew tired of her, and dropped her too. Jt was a 
 happy night for Belinda when Blanche went away ; and her husband, 
 with rather a blush and a sigh, said, ^^He had been deceived m her; 
 he had thought her endowed with many precious gifts, he teared they 
 were mere tinsel; he thought she had been a right-thinking person, 
 he feared she had merely made religion an amusement— she certainly 
 had quite lost her temper to the schoolmistress, and beat Polly Kucker s 
 knuckles cruelly." Belinda flew to his arms, there was no question 
 about the grave or the veil any more. He tenderly embraced her on 
 the forehead. There is none like thee, my Belinda," he said, throw- 
 inff his fine eyes up to the ceiling, precious among women ! As ter 
 Blanche, from the instant she lost sight of him and Belinda, she never 
 thought or cared about either any more. . nn i w 
 
 But when Arthur went down to pass a few days at Tunbridge- Wells 
 with the Begum, this stage of indifference had not arrived on Miss 
 Blanche s part or on that of the simple clergyman. Smirke beheved 
 her to be an angel and wonder of a woman. Such a perfection he had 
 never seen, and sate listening to her music in the summer evenings, 
 open-mouthed, rapt in wonder, tealess, and bread-and-butterless. J^as- 
 cinating as he had heard the music of the opera to be— he had never 
 but once attended an exhibition of that nature (which he mentioned 
 with a blush and a sigh— it was on that day when he had accompanied 
 Helen and her son to the play at Chatteris)-he ^^^^d not conceive 
 anvthing more delicious, more celestial, he had almost said, than Miss 
 Amorv's music. She was a most gifted being : she had a precious soul : 
 she had the most remarkable talents— to all outward seeming, the most 
 heavenly disposition, &c. &c. It was in this way that, being then at 
 the height of his own fever and bewitchment for Blanche, Smirke dis- 
 coursed to Arthur about her. i 
 The meeting between the two old acquaintances had been very cordial, 
 Arthur loved anybody who loved his mother ; Smirke could speak oi 
 that theme with genuine feeling and emotion. They had a hundre 
 things to tell each other of what had occurred m their lives. Ai tnul 
 would perceive," Smirke said, - that his-his views on Church matter 
 had developed themselves since their acquaintance. Mrs. bmirKe, 
 most exemplary person, seconded them with all her endeavours H 
 had built this little church on his mother's demise, who had lett hii 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 601 
 
 provided with a sufficiency of worldly means. Though in the cloister 
 himself, he had heard of Arthur s reputation. He spoke in the kindest 
 and most saddened tone ; he held his eyelids down, and howed his fair 
 head on one side. Arthur was immensely amused with him ; with his 
 airs ; with his follies and simplicity ; with his blank stock and long 
 hair; with his real goodness, kindness, friendliness of feeling. And 
 his praises of Blanche pleased and surprised our friend not a little, and 
 made him regard her with eyes of particular favour. 
 
 The truth is, Blanche was very glad to see Arthur ; as one is glad 
 to see an agreeable man in the country, who brings down the last news 
 and stories from the great city ; who can talk better than most country 
 folks, at least can talk that darling London jargon, so dear and indis- 
 pensable to London people, so little understood by persons out of the 
 world. The first day Pen came down, he kept Blanche laughing for 
 hours after dinner. She sang her songs with redoubled spirit. She 
 did not scold her mother : she fondled and kissed her, to the honest 
 Begum's surprise. When it came to bed-time, she said, Deja ! " with 
 the prettiest air of regret possible ; and was really quite sorry to go to 
 bed, and squeezed Arthur's hand quite fondly. He on his side gave 
 her pretty palm a very cordial pressure. Our young gentleman was of 
 i that turn, that eyes very moderately bright dazzled him. 
 
 She is very much improved," thought Pen, looking out into the 
 ; night, very much. I suppose the Begum won't mind my smoking 
 I with the window open. She's a jolly good old woman, and Blanche is 
 immensely improved. I liked her manner with her mother to-night. 
 I liked her laughing way with that stupid young cub of a boy, whom 
 ! they oughtn't to allow to get tipsy. She sang those little verses very 
 ' prettily ; they were devilish pretty verses too, though I say it who 
 [ shouldn't say it." And he hummed a tune which Blanche had put to 
 i some verses of his own. Ah ! what a fine night ! How jolly a cigar 
 i is at night ! How pretty that little Saxon church looks in the moon- 
 I light ! I wonder what old ^Harrington's doing ! Yes, she's a dayvlish 
 I nice little thing, as my uncle says." 
 
 [ Oh, heavenly ! " Here broke out a voice from a clematis-covered 
 casement near— a girl's voice : it was the voice of the author of Mes 
 Larmes." , 
 
 Pen burst into a laugh. Don't tell about my smoking, he said, 
 leaning out of his own window. 
 
 Oh ! go on ! I adore it," cried the lady of Mes Larmes. ' 
 Heavenly night ! Heavenly, heavenly moon ! but I must shut my 
 i window and not talk to you, on account of les mceursi How droll they 
 i are, les moeurs! Adieu." And Pen began to sing the Good Night to 
 Don Basilio. 
 
 The next day they were walking in the fields together, laughing and 
 chattering— the gayest pair of friends. They talked about the days of 
 their youth, and Blanche was prettily sentimental. They talked about 
 Laura, dearest Laura— Blanche had loved her as a sister : was she 
 happy with that odd Lady Rockminster ? Wouldn't she come and stay 
 with them at Tunbridge ? Oh, what walks they would take together ! 
 What songs they would sing— the old, old songs. Laura's voice was 
 splendid. Did Arthur— she must call him Arthur— remember the songs 
 
502 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 they sang in the happy old days^ now he was grown such a great man^ 
 and had such a succes ? &c. &c. 
 
 And the day after^ which was enlivened with a happy ramble through 
 the woods to Penhurst^ and a sight of that pleasant park and hall, came 
 that conversation with the curate which we have narrated, and which 
 made our young friend think more and more. 
 
 Is she all this perfection ? " he asked himself. ^' Has she become 
 serious and religious } Does she tend schools and visit the poor } Is 
 she kind to her mother and brother ? Yes, I am sure of that : I have 
 seen her." And walking with his old tutor over his little parish, and 
 going to visit his school, it was with inexpressible delight that Pen 
 found Blanche seated instructing the children, and fancied to himself 
 how patient she must be, how good-natured, how ingenuous, how really 
 simple in her tastes, and unspoiled by the world. 
 
 And do you really like the country } " he asked her, as they walked 
 together. 
 
 I should like never to see that odious city again. O Arthur — that 
 
 is, Mr. well, Arthur, then — one's good thoughts grow up in these 
 
 sweet woods and calm solitudes, like those flowers which won't bloom 
 in London, you know. The gardener comes and changes our balconies 
 once a week. I don't think I shall bear to look London in the face 
 again — its odious, smoky, brazen face ! But, heigho ! " 
 
 Why that sigh, Blanche } " 
 
 Never mind why." 
 
 Yes, I do mind why. Tell me, tell me everything. " 
 I wish you hadn't come down ; " and a second edition of Mes 
 Soupirs " came out. 
 
 You don't want me, Blanche ? " 
 
 I don't want you to go away. I don't think this house will be very 
 happy without you, and that's why I wish that you never had come." 
 Mes Soupirs " were here laid aside, and Mes Larmes" had begun. 
 
 Ah ! What answer is given to those in the eyes of a young woman ? 
 What is the method employed for drying them } What took place } 
 O ringdoves and roses, O dews and wildflowers, O waving greenwoods 
 and balmy airs of summer ! Here were two battered London rakes, 
 taking themselves in for a moment, and fancying that they were in love 
 with each other, like Phillis and Corydon. 
 
 When one thinks of country houses and country walks, one wonders 
 that any man is left unmarried. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV 
 
 TEMPTATION 
 
 Easy and frank-spoken as Pendennis commonly was with Warrington, 
 how came it that Arthur did not inform the friend and depositary of 
 all his secrets of the little circumstances which had taken place at the 
 villa near Tunbridge Wells ? He talked about the discovery of his old 
 tutor Smirke freely enough, and of his wife, and of his Anglo-Norman 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 503 
 
 church, and of his departure from Clapham to Rome ; but, when asked 
 about Blanche, his answers were evasive or general ; he said she was a 
 good-natured clever little thing, that rightly guided she might make no 
 such bad wife after all, but that he had for the moment no intention of 
 marriage, that his days of romance were over, that he was contented 
 with his present lot, and so forth. 
 
 In the meantime there came occasionally to Lamb Court, Temple, 
 pretty little satin envelopes, superscribed in the neatest handwriting, and 
 sealed with one of those admirable ciphers, which, if Warrington had 
 been curious enough to watch his friend's letters, or indeed if the cipher 
 had been decipherable, would have shown George that Mr. Arthur was 
 in correspondence with a young lady whose initials were B. A. To these 
 pretty little compositions, Mr. Pen replied in his best and gallantest 
 manner ; with jokes, with news of the town, with points of wit, nay, 
 with pretty little verses very likely, in reply to the versicles of the muse 
 of ^^Mes Larmes." Blanche we know rhymes with ^''branch," and 
 
 stanch," and launch," and no doubt a gentleman of Pen s ingenuity 
 would not forego these advantages of position, and would ring the pretty 
 little changes upon these pleasing notes. Indeed, we believe that those 
 love-verses of Mr. Pen s, which had such a pleasing success in the 
 
 Rose-leaves," that charming Annual edited by Lady Violet Lebas, 
 and illustrated by portraits of the female nobility by the famous artist 
 Pinkney, were composed at this period of our hero's life ; and were 
 first addressed to Blanche, per post, before they figured in print, 
 cornets as it were to Pinkney's pictorial garland. 
 
 Verses are all very well," the elder Pendennis said, who found Pen 
 scratching down one of these artless effusions at the Club as he was 
 waiting for his dinner ; and letter-writing if mamma allows it, and 
 between such old country friends of course there may be a correspond- 
 ence, and that sort of thing ; but mind. Pen, and don't commit your- 
 self, my boy. For who knows what the doose may happen } The best 
 way is to make your letters safe. I never wrote a letter in all my life 
 that would commit me, and demmy, sir, I have had some experience of 
 women." And the worthy gentleman, growing more garrulous and 
 confidential with his nephew as he grew older, told many affecting 
 instances of the evil results consequent upon this want of caution to 
 many persons in Society ; "—how from using too ardent expressions 
 in some poetical notes to the widow Naylor, young Spoony had sub- 
 jected himself to a visit of remonstrance from the widow's brother. 
 Colonel Flint ; and thus had been forced into a marriage with a woman 
 old enough to be his mother : how when Louisa Salter had at length 
 succeeded in securing young Sir John Bird, Hopwood, of the Blues, 
 produced some letters which Miss S. had written to him, and caused a 
 withdrawal on Bird's part, who afterwards was united to Miss Stickney 
 of Lyme Regis, &c. The Major, if he had not reading, had plenty of 
 observation, and could back his wise saws with a multitude of modern 
 instances, which he had acquired in a long and careful perusal of the 
 great book of the world. 
 
 Pen laughed at the examples, and blushing a little at his uncle's 
 remonstrances, said that he would bear them in mind and be cautious. 
 He blushed, perhaps, because he had borne them in mind ; because he 
 
504 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 was cautious : because in his letters to Miss Blanche he had from 
 instinct^ or honesty perhaps^ refrained from any avowals which might 
 compromise him. Don't you remember the lesson I had, sir, in 
 Lady Mirabel's — Miss Fotheringay's affair? I am not to be caught 
 again, uncle," Arthur said, with mock frankness and humility. Old 
 Pendennis congratulated himself and his nephew heartily on the 
 latter's prudence and progress, and was pleased at the position which 
 Arthur was taking as a man of the world. 
 
 No doubt, if Warrington had been consulted, his opinion would 
 have been different : and he would have told Pen that the boy's foolish 
 letters were better than the man's adroit compliments and slippery 
 gallantries ; that to win the woman he loves, only a knave or a coward 
 advances under cover, with subterfuges, and a retreat secured behind 
 him : but Pen spoke not on this matter to Mr. Warrington, knowing 
 pretty well that he was guilty, and what his friend's verdict would be. 
 
 Colonel Altamont had not been for many weeks absent on his foreign 
 tour — Sir Francis Clavering having retired meanwhile into the country 
 pursuant to his agreement with Major Pendennis — when the ills of 
 fate began to fall rather suddenly and heavily upon the sole remaining 
 partner of the little firm of Shepherd's Inn. When Strong, at parting 
 with Altamont, refused the loan proffered by the latter in the fulness 
 of his purse and the generosity of his heart, he made such a sacrifice 
 to conscience and delicacy as caused him many an after-twinge and 
 pang ; and he felt — it was not very many hours in his life he had 
 experienced the feeling — that in this juncture of his affairs he had 
 been too delicate and too scrupulous. Why should a fellow in want 
 refuse a kind offer kindly made } Why should a thirsty man decline 
 a pitcher of water from a friendly hand, because it was a little soiled ? 
 Strong's conscience smote him for refusing what the other had fairly 
 come by, and generously proffered : and he thought ruefully, now it 
 was too late, that Altamont's cash would have been as well in his pocket 
 as in that of the gambling-house proprietor at Baden or Ems, with 
 whom his Excellency would infallibly leave his Derby winnings. It 
 was whispered among the tradesmen, bill-discounters, and others who 
 had commercial dealings with Captain Strong, that he and the Baronet 
 had parted company, and that the Captain's paper " was henceforth 
 of no value. The tradesmen, who had put a wonderful confidence in 
 him hitherto — for who could resist Strong's jolly face and frank and 
 honest demeanour } — now began to pour in their bills with a cowardly 
 mistrust and unanimity. The knocks at the Shepherd's Inn chambers' 
 door were constant, and tailors, bootmakers, pastry-cooks who had 
 furnished dinners, in their own persons, or by the boys their repre- 
 sentatives, held levees on Strong's stairs. To these were added one 
 or two persons of a less clamorous but far more sly and dangerous sort, 
 — the young clerks of lawyers, namely, who lurked about the Inn, or 
 concerted with Mr. Campion's young man in the chambers hard by, 
 having in their dismal pocket-books copies of writs to be served on 
 Edw^ard Strong, requiring him to appear on an early day next term 
 before our Sovereign Lady the Queen, and answer to, &c. &c. 
 
 From this invasion of creditors, poor Strong, who had not a guinea 
 in his pocket, had, of course, no refuge but that of the Englishman's 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 505 
 
 castle^ into which he retired^ shutting the outer and inner door upon 
 the enemy^ and not quitting his stronghold until after nightfall. 
 Against this outer barrier the foe used to come and knock and curse in 
 vain, whilst the Chevalier peeped at them from behind the little curtain 
 which he had put over the orifice of his letter-box ; and had the dismal 
 satisfaction of seeing the faces of furious clerk and fiery dun, as they 
 dashed up against the door and retreated from it. But as they could 
 not be always at his gate, or sleep on his staircase, the enemies of the 
 Chevalier sometimes left him free. 
 
 Strong, when so pressed by his commercial antagonists, was not quite 
 alone in his defence against them, but had secured for himself an ally 
 or two. His friends were instructed to communicate with him by a 
 system of private signals : and they thus kept the garrison from starving 
 by bringing in necessary supplies, and kept up Strong s heart and pre- 
 vented him from surrendering, by visiting him and cheering him in his 
 retreat. Two of Ned's most faithful allies were Huxter and Miss Fanny 
 Bolton : when hostile visitors were prowling about the Inn, Fanny's 
 little sisters were taught a particular cry or jodel, which they inno- 
 cently whooped in the court : when Fanny and Huxter came up to 
 visit Strong, they archly sang this same note at his door ; when that 
 barrier was straightway opened, the honest garrison came out smiling, 
 the provisions and the pot of porter were brought in, and in the society 
 of his faithful friends the beleaguered one passed a comfortable night. 
 There are some men who could not live under this excitement, but 
 Strong was a brave man, as we have said, who had seen service and 
 never lost heart in peril. 
 
 But besides allies, our general had secured for himself, under diffi- 
 culties, that still more necessary aid, — a retreat. It has been mentioned 
 in a former part of this history, how Messrs. Costigan and Bows lived 
 in the house next door to Captain Strong, and that the window of one 
 of their rooms was not very far off the kitchen-window which was 
 situated in the upper storey of Strong s chambers. A leaden water-pipe 
 and gutter served for the two ; and Strong, looking out from his kitchen 
 one day, saw that he could spring with great ease up to the sill of his 
 neighbours* window, and clamber up the pipe which communicated 
 from one to the other. He had laughingly shown this refuge to his 
 chum, Altamont ; and they had agreed that it would be as well not 
 to mention the circumstance to Captain Costigan, whose duns were 
 numerous, and who would be constantly flying down the pipe into their 
 apartments if this way of escape were shown to him. 
 
 But now that the evil days were come. Strong made use of the 
 passage, and one afternoon burst in upon Bows and Costigan with his 
 jolly face^ and explained that the enemy was in waiting on his staircase, 
 and that he had taken this means of giving them the slip. So while 
 Mr. Mark's aides-de-camp were in waiting in the passage of No. 3, 
 Strong walked down the steps of No. 4, dined at the Albion, went to 
 the play, and returned home at midnight, to the astonishment of Mrs. 
 Bolton and Fanny, who had not seen him quit his chambers, and could 
 not conceive how he could have passed the line of sentries. 
 
 Strong bore this siege for some weeks with admirable spirit and 
 resolution, and as only such an old and brave soldier would, for the 
 
606 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 pains and privations which he had to endure were enough to depress 
 any man of ordinary courage ; and what vexed and riled " him (to 
 use his own expression) was the infernal indifference and cowardly 
 ingratitude of Clavering^ to whom he wrote letter after letter^ which 
 the Baronet never acknowledged by a single word, or by the smallest 
 remittance, though a five-pound note, as Strong said, at that time would 
 have been a fortune to him. 
 
 But better days were in store for the Chevalier, and in the midst of 
 his despondency and perplexities there came to him a most welcome 
 aid. Yes, if it hadn t been for this good fellow here," said Strong ; 
 ^^for a good fellow you are, Altamont, my boy, and hang me if I don t 
 stand by you as long as I live ; I think, Pendennis, it would have been 
 all up with Ned Strong. It was the fifth week of my being kept a 
 prisoner, for I couldn't be always risking my neck across that water- 
 pipe, and taking my walks abroad through poor old Cos's window, and 
 my spirit was quite broken, sir — dammy, quite beat, and I was thinking 
 of putting an end to myself, and should have done it in another week, 
 when who should drop down from heaven but Altamont ? " 
 
 Heaven ain't exactly the place, Ned," said Altamont. I came 
 from Baden-Baden," said he, and I'd had a deuced lucky month 
 there, that's all." 
 
 ^^Well, sir, he took up Mark's bill,, and he paid the other fellows 
 that were upon me, like a man, sir, that he did," said Strong en- 
 thusiastically. 
 
 And I shall be very happy to stand a bottle of claret for this company, 
 and as many more as the company chooses," said Mr. Altamont, with a 
 blush. Hallo ! waiter, bring us a magnum of the right sort, do you 
 hear ? And we'll drink our healths all round, sir— and may every good 
 fellow like Strong find another good fellow to stand by him at a pinch. 
 That's my sentiment, Mr. Pendennis, though I don't like your name." 
 ^^No ! And why?" asked Arthur. 
 
 Strong pressed the Colonel's foot under the table here ; and Altamont, 
 rather excited, filled up another bumper, nodded to Pen, drank off his 
 wine, and said, He was a gentleman, and that was sufficient, and they 
 were all gentlemen." 
 
 The meeting between these all gentlemen " took place at Richmond, 
 whither Pendennis had gone to dinner, and where he found the Cheva- 
 lier and his friend at table in the cofi'ee-room. Both of the latter were 
 exceedingly hilarious, talkative, and excited by wine, and Strong, who 
 was an admirable story-teller, told the story of his own siege, and ad- 
 ventures and escapes, with great liveliness and humour, and described 
 the talk of the sheriff's officers at his door, the pretty little signals of 
 Fanny, the grotesque exclamations of Costigan when the Chevalier 
 burst in at his window, and his final rescue by Altamont, in a most 
 graphic manner, and so as greatly to interest his hearers. 
 
 ^•^As for me, it's nothing," Altamont said. When a ship's paid 
 off, a chap spends his money, you know. And it's the fellers at the 
 black and red at Baden-Baden that did it. I won a good bit of money 
 there, and intend to win a good bit more, don't I, Strong } I'm going 
 to take him with me. I've got a system. I'll make his fortune, I tell 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 507 
 
 you. 1*11 make your fortune, if you like — dammy, everybody's fortune. 
 But what ril do, and no mistake, boys, I promise you. Til put in for 
 that little Fanny. Dammy, sir, what do you think she did ? She had 
 two pound, and Tm blest if she didn t go and lend it to Ned Strong ! 
 Didn't she, Ned ? Let's drink her health." 
 
 With all my heart," said Arthur, and pledged this toast with the 
 greatest cordiality. 
 
 Mr. Altamont then began, with the greatest volubility, and at great 
 length, to describe his system. He said that it was infallible, if played 
 with coolness ; that he had it from a chap at Baden, who had lost by 
 it, it was true, but because he had not capital enough ; if he could have 
 stood one more turn of the wheel, he would have had all his money 
 back ; that he and several more chaps were going to make a bank, and 
 try it ; and that he would put every shilling he was worth into it, and 
 had come back to this country for the express purpose of fetching away 
 his money, and Captain Strong ; that Strong should play for him : that 
 he could trust Strong and his temper much better than he could his 
 own, and much better than Bloundell-Bloundell or the Italian that 
 
 stood in." As he emptied his bottle, the Colonel described at full 
 length all his, plans and prospects to Pen, who was interested in listen- 
 ing to his story, and the confessions of his daring and lawless good- 
 humour. 
 
 I met that queer fellow Altamont the other day," Pen said to his 
 uncle, a day of two afterwards. 
 
 Altamont^ } What Altamont ? There's Lord Westport's son," said 
 the Major. v 
 
 No, no ; th^ fellow who came tipsy into Clavering's dining-room 
 one day when we were there," said the nephew, laughing ; and he 
 said he did not like the name of Pendennis, though he did me the 
 honour to think that I was a good fellow." 
 
 " I don't know any man of the name of Altamont, I give you my 
 honour," said the impenetrable Major ; and as for your acquaintance, 
 I think the less you have to do with him the better, Arthur." 
 
 Arthur laughed again. He is going to quit the country, and 
 make his fortune by a gambling system. He and my amiable college 
 acquaintance, Bloundell, are partners, and the Colonel takes out 
 Strong with him as aide-de-camp. What is it that binds the Chevalier 
 and Clavering, I wonder } " 
 
 ^^I should think, mind you. Pen, I should think — but of course I 
 have only the idea — that there has been something in Clavering's 
 previous life which gives these fellows and some others a certain power 
 over him ; and if there should be such a secret, which is no affair of 
 ours, my boy, dammy, I say it ought to be a lesson to a man to keep 
 himself straight in life, and not to give any man a chance over him. " 
 
 Why, I think you have some means of persuasion over Clavering, 
 uncle, or why should he give me that seat in Parliament ? " 
 
 Clavering thinks he ain't fit for Parliament," the Major answered. 
 
 No more he is. What's to prevent him from putting you or anybody 
 else into his place if he likes } Do you think that the Government or 
 the Opposition would make any bones about accepting the seat if he 
 offered it to them ? Why should you be more squeamish than the first 
 
508 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 men, and the most honourable men, and men of the highest birth and 
 position in the country, begad?" The Major had an answer of this 
 kind to most of Pen's objections, and Pen accepted his uncle s replies, 
 not so much because he believed them, but because he wished to believe 
 them. We do a thing— which of us has not ?— not because everybody 
 does it," but because we like it ; and our acquiescence, alas 1 proves 
 not that everybody is right, but that we and the rest of the world are 
 poor creatures alike. 
 
 At his next visit to Tunbridge, Mr. Pen did not forget to amuse Miss 
 Blanche with the history which he had learned at Richmond of the 
 Chevalier's imprisonment, and of Altamont's gallant rescue. And after 
 he had told his tale in his usual satirical way, he mentioned with praise 
 and emotion little Fanny's generous behaviour to the Chevalier, and 
 Altamont's enthusiasm in her behalf. 
 
 Miss Blanche was somewhat jealous, and a good deal piqued and 
 curious about Fanny. Among the many confidential little communica- 
 tions which Arthur made to Miss Amory in the course of their delight- 
 ful rural drives and their sweet evening walks, it may be supposed that 
 our hero would not forget a story so interesting to himself, and so 
 likely to be interesting to her, as that of the passion and cure of the 
 poor little Ariadne of Shepherd's Inn. His own part in that drama he 
 described, to do him justice, with becoming modesty ; the moral which 
 he wished to draw from the tale being one in accordance with his usual 
 satirical mood, viz., that women get over their first loves quite as easily 
 as men do (for the fair Blanche, in their intimes conversations, did not 
 cease to twit Mr. Pen about his notorious failure in his own virgin 
 attachment to the Fotheringay), and, number one being withdrawn, 
 transfer themselves to number two without much difficulty. And poor 
 little Fanny was ofi'ered up in sacrifice as an instance to prove this 
 theory. What griefs she had endured and surmounted, what bitter 
 pangs of hopeless attachment she had gone through, what time it had 
 taken to heal those wounds of the tender little bleeding heart, Mr. Pen 
 did not know, or perhaps did not choose to know ; for he was at once 
 modest and doubtful about his capabilities as a conqueror of hearts, and 
 averse to believe that he had executed any dangerous ravages on that 
 particular one, though his own instance and argument told against 
 himself in this case ; for if, as he said. Miss Fanny was by this time m 
 love with her surgical adorer, who had neither good looks nor good 
 manners, nor wit, nor anything but ardour and fidelity to recommend 
 him, must she not, in her first sickness of the love-complaint, have had 
 a serious attack, and sufi'ered keenly for a man, who had certainly a 
 number of the showy qualities which Mr. Huxter wanted. 
 
 You wicked odious creature," Miss Blanche said, I believe that 
 you are enraged with Fanny for being so impudent as to forget you, 
 and that you are actually jealous of Mr. Huxter." Pei;haps Miss 
 Amory was right, as the blush which came in spite of himself and 
 tingled upon Pendennis's cheek (one of those blows with which a man's 
 vanity is constantly slapping his face), proved to Pen that he was angry 
 to think he had been superseded by such a rival. By such a fellow 
 as that ! without any conceivable good quality ! Oh, Mr. Pendennis ! 
 
PENDENNIS 509 
 
 falthouffh this remark does not apply to such a smart fellow as you) if 
 Nature had not made that provision for each sex in the credulity ot 
 the other, which sees ^ood qualities where none exist, good looks m 
 donkeys ears, wit in their numskulls, and music m their hray, there 
 would not have been near so much marrying and giving in marriage as 
 now obtains, and as is necessary for the due propagation and continu- 
 ance of the noble race to which we belong ! ^, , T 1_ IJ 
 " Jealous or not," Pen said, and, Blanche, I don t say no, I should 
 have liked Fanny to come to a better end than that. I dont like 
 histories that end in that cynical way ; and when we arrive at the con- 
 clusion of the story of a pretty girl's passion, to find such a hgure as 
 Huxter s at the last page of the tale. Is all life a compromise, my 
 lady fair, and the end of the battle of love an ignoble surrender Is 
 the search for the Cupid which my poor little Psyche pursued m the 
 darkness— the god of her souFs longing— the god of the blooming 
 cheek and rainbow pinions— to result in Huxter, smelling of tobacco 
 and gallipots .^^ 1 wish, though I don t see it in life, that people^ could 
 be like Jenny and Jessamy, or my lord and lady Clementina m the 
 story-books and fashionable novels, and at once under the ceremony, 
 and, as it were, at the parson's benediction, become perfectly handsome 
 and good and happy ever after." . 
 
 And don't you intend to be good and happy, pray. Monsieur le 
 Misanthrope— and are you very discontented with your lot— and will 
 your marriage be a compromise "—(asked the author of Mes Larmes, 
 with a charming moue)—' and is your Psyche an odious vulgar wretch ? 
 You wicked satirical creature, I can't abide you ! You take the hearts 
 of young things, play with them, and fling them away with scorn. You 
 ask for love and trample on it. You— you make me cry, that you do, 
 Arthur, and— and don't— and I wont be consoled in that way— and I 
 think Fanny was quite right in leaving such a heartless creature." 
 
 " Again, I don't say no," said Pen, looking very gloomily at Blanche, 
 and not offering by any means to repeat the attempt at consolation 
 which had elicited that sweet monosyllable ''don't" from the young 
 lady. '' I don't think I have much of what people call heart ; but I 
 don't profess it. 1 made my venture when I was eighteen, and lighted 
 my lamp and went in search of Cupid. And what was my discovery of 
 love !— a vulgar dancing- woman. I failed, as everybody does, almost 
 everybody ; only it is luckier to fail before marriage than after." 
 
 '' Merci du choioc, Monsieur,'' said the Sylphide, making a curtsey. 
 Look, my little Blanche," said Pen, taking her hand, and with his 
 voice of sad good-humour, ''at least I stoop to no flatteries." 
 
 " Quite the contrary," said Miss Blanche. 
 
 " And tell you no foolish lies, as vulgar men do. Why should you 
 and I, with our experience, ape romance and dissemble passion } I do 
 not believe Miss Blanche Amory to be peerless among the beautiful, 
 nor the greatest poetess, nor the most surpassing musician, any more 
 than I believe you to be the tallest woman in the whole world— like the 
 giantess whose picture we saw as we rode through the fair yesterday. 
 But if I don't set you up as a heroine, neither do I offer you your very 
 humble servant as a hero. But 1 think you are— well, there, I think 
 you are very sufficiently good-looking." 
 
510 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Mercij' Miss Blanche said^ with another curtsey. 
 
 I think you sing charmingly. I'm sure you're clever. I hope 
 and believe that you are good-natured^ and that you will be com- 
 panionable. " 
 
 And so^ provided I bring you a certain sum of money and a seat in 
 Parliament^ you condescend to fling to me your royal pocket-handker- 
 chief/' said Blanche. Que d'honneur ! We used to call your Highness 
 the Prince of Fairoaks. What an honour to think that I am to be 
 elevated to the throne^ and to bring the seat in Parliament as back- 
 sheesh to the sultan ! I am glad I am clever_, and that I can play and 
 sing to your liking ; my songs will amuse my lord's leisure." 
 
 And if thieves are about the house/' said Pen^ grimly pursuing 
 the simile^ forty besetting thieves in the shape of lurking cares and 
 enemies in ambush and passions in arms^ my Morgiana will dance 
 round me with a tambourine^ and kill all my rogues and thieves with a 
 smile. Won't she ? " But Pen looked as if he did not believe that she 
 would. Ah^ Blanche/' he continued after a pause^ don't be angry ; 
 don't be hurt at my truth-telling. Don't you see that I always take 
 you at your word } You say you will be a slave and dance — I say, 
 dance. You say, ^ I take you with what you bring : ' I say, ^ I take 
 you with what you bring.' To the necessary deceits and hypocrisies of 
 our life, why add any that are useless and unnecessary.'* If I offer my- 
 self to you because I think we have a fair chance of being happy to- 
 gether, and because by your help I may get for both of us a good place 
 and a not undistinguished name, why ask me to feign raptures and 
 counterfeit romance, in which neither of us believe ? Do you want me 
 to come wooing in a Prince Prettyman's dress from the masquerade 
 warehouse, and to pay you compliments like Sir Charles Grandison ? 
 Do you want me to make you verses as in the days when we were — 
 when we were children } I will if you like, and sell them to Bacon and 
 Bungay afterwards. Shall I feed my pretty princess with bonbons ? " 
 
 Mais f adore les bonbons, moi" said the little Sylphide, with a queer 
 piteous look. 
 
 I can buy a hatful at Fortnum and Mason's for a guinea. And 
 it shall have its bonbons, its pootty little sugarplums, that it shall," 
 Pen said, with a bitter smile. Nay, my dear, nay, my dearest little 
 Blanche, don' t cry. Dry the pretty eyes, I can't bear that ; " and he 
 proceeded to offer that consolation which the circumstance required 
 and which the tears, the genuine tears of vexation, which now sprang 
 from the angry eyes of the author of Mes Larmes," demanded. 
 
 The scornful and sarcastic tone of Pendennis quite frightened and 
 overcame the girl. 1 — I don't want your consolation. I — I never 
 was — so — spoken to bef — by any of my — my — by anybody " — she sobbed 
 out, with much simplicity. 
 
 Anybody I " shouted out Pen, with a savage burst of laughter ; and 
 Blanche blushed one of the most genuine blushes which her cheek had 
 ever exhibited, and she cried out, O Arthur, vous etes un homme 
 terrible ! " She felt bewildered, frightened, oppressed, the worldly little 
 flirt who had been playing at love for the last dozen years of her life, 
 and yet not displeased at meeting a master. 
 
 ^^Tell me, Arthur," she said, after a pause in this strange love- 
 
opyright. Service & Patoti, 1897. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 511 
 
 makings why does Sir Francis Clavering give up his seat in Parlia- 
 ment ? " 
 
 Aufait, why does he give it to me?" asked Arthur^ now blushing 
 in his turn. 
 
 ^^You always mock me^ sir^" she said. ^^If it is good to he in 
 Parliament_, why does Sir Francis go out } " 
 
 ^^My uncle has talked him over. He always said that you were 
 not sufficiently provided for. In the — the family disputes_, when your 
 mamma paid his debts so liberally^ it was stipulated^ I suppose^ that 
 you — that is, that I — that is, upon my word, I don't know why he goes 
 out of Parliament," Pen said, with rather a forced laugh. You see, 
 Blanche, that you and I are two good little children, and that this 
 marriage has been arranged for us by our mammas and uncles, and that 
 we must be obedient, like a good little boy and girl." 
 
 So, when Pen went to London, he sent Blanche a box of bonbons, 
 each sugarplum of which was wrapped up in ready-made French verses, 
 of the most tender kind ; and, besides, despatched to her some poems 
 of his own manufacture, quite as artless and authentic : and it was no 
 wonder that he did not tell Warrington what his conversations with 
 Miss Amory had been, of so delicate a sentiment were they, and of a 
 nature so necessarily private. 
 
 And if, like many a worse and better man, Arthur Pendennis, the 
 widow's son, was meditating an apostasy, and going to sell himself to 
 — we all know whom, — at least the renegade did not pretend to be a 
 believer in the creed to which he was ready to swear. And if every 
 woman and man in this kingdom, who has sold her or himself for 
 money or position, as Mr. Pendennis was about to do, would but pur- 
 chase a copy of his memoirs, what tons of volumes Messrs. Smith, 
 Elder & Co. would sell ! 
 
 CHAPTER LXV 
 
 IN WHICH PEN BEGINS HIS CANVASS 
 
 Melancholy as the great house at Clavering Park had been in the days 
 before his marriage, when its bankrupt proprietor was a refugee in 
 foreign lands, it was not much more cheerful now when Sir Francis 
 Clavering came to inhabit it. The greater part of the mansion was 
 shut up, and the Baronet only occupied a few of the rooms on the 
 ground floor, where his housekeeper and her assistant from the lodge- 
 gate waited upon the luckless gentleman in his forced retreat, and 
 cooked a part of the game which he spent the dreary mornings in 
 shooting. Lightfoot, his man, had passed over to my Lady's service ; 
 and, as Pen was informed in a letter from Mr. Smirke, who performed 
 the ceremony, had executed his prudent intention of marrying Mrs. 
 Bonner, my Lady's woman, who, in her mature years, was stricken 
 with the charms of the youth, and endowed him with her savings and 
 her elderly person. To be landlord and landlady of the Clavering 
 Arms " was the ambition of both of them ; and it was agreed that they 
 
512 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 were to remain in Lady Clavering's service until quarter-day arrived, 
 when they were to take possession of their hotel. Pen graciously promised 
 that he would give his election dinner there^ when the Baronet should 
 vacate his seat in the young man's favour ; and, as it had been agreed 
 by his uncle, to whom Clavering seemed to be able to refuse nothing, 
 Arthur came down in September on a visit to Clavering Park, the owner 
 of which was very glad to have a companion who would relieve his 
 loneliness, and perhaps would lend him a little ready money. 
 
 Pen furnished his host with these desirable supplies a couple of days 
 after he had made his appearance at Clavering : and no sooner were 
 these small funds in Sir Francis's pocket, than the latter found he had 
 business at Chatteris and the neighbouring watering-places, of which 
 
 shire boasts many, and went off to see to his affairs, which were 
 
 transacted, as might be supposed, at the county race-grounds and 
 billiard-rooms. Arthur could live alone well enough, having many 
 mental resources and amusements which did not require other persons' 
 company : he could walk with the gamekeeper of a morning, and for 
 the evenings there were plenty of books and occupation for a literary 
 genius like Mr. Arthur, who required but a cigar and a sheet of paper 
 or two to make the night pass away pleasantly. In truth, in two or 
 three days he had found the society of Sir Francis Clavering perfectly 
 intolerable; and it was with a mischievous eagerness and satisfac- 
 tion that he offered Clavering the little pecuniary aid which the latter 
 according to his custom solicited ; and supplied him with the means of 
 taking flight from his own house. 
 
 Besides, our ingenious friend had to ingratiate himself with the . 
 townspeople of Clavering, and with the voters of the borough which 
 he hoped to represent ; and he set himself to this task with only the 
 more eagerness, remembering how unpopular he had before been in 
 Clavering, and determined to vanquish the odium which he had in- 
 spired amongst the simple people there. His sense of humour made 
 him delight in this task. Naturally rather reserved and silent in 
 public, he became on a sudden as frank, easy, and jovial as Captain 
 Strong. He laughed with everybody who would exchange a laugh 
 with him, shook hands right and left, with what may be certainly 
 called a dextei'ous cordiality ; made his appearance at the market-day 
 and the farmers' ordinary; and, in fine, acted like a consummate 
 hypocrite, and as gentlemen of the highest birth and most spotless 
 integrity act when they wish to make themselves agreeable to their 
 constituents, and have some end to gain of the country folks. How is 
 it that we allow ourselves not to be deceived, but to be ingratiated so 
 readily by a glib tongue, a ready laugh, and a frank manner ? We 
 know, for the most part, that it is false coin, and we take it : we know 
 that it is flattery, which it costs nothing to distribute to everybody, 
 and we had rather have it than be without it. Friend Pen went about 
 at Clavering, laboriously simple and adroitly pleased, and quite a 
 different being from the scornful and rather sulky young dandy whom 
 the inhabitants remembered ten years ago. 
 
 The Rectory was shut up. Doctor Portman was gone, with his gout 
 and his family, to Harrogate ; an event which Pen deplored very much 
 in a letter to the Doctor, in which, in a few kind and simple words, he 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 513 
 
 expressed his regret at not seeing his old friend^ whose advice he 
 wanted and whose aid he might require some day. But Pen consoled 
 himself for the Doctor s absence^ by making acquaintance with Mr. 
 Simcoe^ the opposition preacher^ and with the two partners of the 
 cloth-factory at Chatteris, and with the Independent preacher there, 
 all of whom he met at the Clavering Athenaeum, which the Liberal 
 party had set up in accordance with the advanced spirit of the age, 
 and perhaps in opposition to the aristocratic old reading-room, into 
 which the Edinburgh Review had once scarcely got an admission, and 
 where no tradesmen were allowed an entrance. He propitiated the 
 younger partner of the cloth-factory, by asking him to dine in a 
 friendly way at the Park ; he complimented the Honourable Mrs. 
 Simcoe with hares and partridges from the same quarter, and a request 
 to read her husband's last sermon ; and being a little unwell one day, 
 the rascal took advantage of the circumstance to show his tongue to 
 Mr. Huxter, who sent him medicines and called the next morning. 
 How delighted old Pendennis would have been with his pupil ! Pen 
 himself was amused with the sport in which he was engaged, and his 
 success inspired him with a wicked good-humour. 
 
 And yet, as he walked out of Clavering of a night, after " presiding " 
 at a meeting of the Athenaeum, or working through an evening with 
 Mrs. Simcoe, who, with her husband, was awed by the young Londoner's 
 reputation, and had heard of his social successes ; as he passed over 
 the old familiar bridge of the rushing Brawl, and heard that well- 
 remembered sound of waters beneath, and saw his own cottage of Fair- 
 oaks among the trees, their darkling outlines clear against the starlit 
 sky, different thoughts no doubt came to the young man's mind, and 
 awakened pangs of grief and shame there. There still used to be a 
 light in the windows of the room which he remembered so well, and in 
 which the Saint who loved him had passed so many hours of care and 
 yearning and prayer. He turned away his gaze from the faint light 
 which seemed to pursue him with its wan reproachful gaze, as though 
 it was his mother's spirit watching and warning. How clear the night 
 was ! How keen the stars shone ; how ceaseless the rush of the flowing 
 waters; the old home trees whispered, and waved gently their dark 
 heads and branches over the cottage roof. Yonder, in the faint star- 
 light glimmer, was the terrace where, as a boy, he walked of summer 
 evenings, ardent and trustful, unspotted, untried, ignorant of doubts 
 or passions ; sheltered as yet from the world's contamination in the 
 pure and anxious bosom of love. . . . The clock of the near town 
 tolling midnight, with a clang, disturbs our wanderer's reverie, and 
 sends him onwards towards his night's resting-place, through the lodge 
 into Clavering avenue, and under the dark arcades of the rustling 
 limes. 
 
 When he sees the cottage the next time, it is smiling in sunset ; 
 those bedroom windows are open where the light was burning the night 
 before ; and Pen's tenant. Captain Stokes, of the Bombay Artillery 
 (whose mother, old Mrs. Stokes, lives in Clavering), receives his land- 
 lord's visit with great cordiality : shows him over the grounds and the 
 new pond he has made in the back garden from the stables; talks to 
 him confidentially about the roof and chimneys, and begs Mr. Pendennis 
 
514 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 to name a day when he will do himself and Mrs. Stokes the pleasure to, 
 &c. Pen, who has heen a fortnight in the country, excuses himself for 
 not having called sooner upon the Captain by frankly owning tfeat he 
 had not the heart to do it. I understand you, sir," the Captain says ; 
 and Mrs. Stokes, who had slipped away at the ring of the bell (how odd 
 it seemed to Pen to ring the bell !), comes down in her best gown, sur- 
 rounded by her children. The young ones clamber about Stokes ; the 
 boy jumps into an arm-chair. It was Pen s father s arm-chair ; and 
 Arthur remembers the days when he would as soon have thought of 
 mounting the king's throne as of seating himself in that arm-chair. 
 He asks Miss Stokes— she is the very image of her mamma— if she can 
 play ? He should like to hear a tune on that piano. She plays. He 
 hears the notes of the old piano once more, enfeebled by age, but he 
 does not listen to the player. He is listening to Laura singing as in the 
 days of their youth, and sees his mother bending and beating time over 
 the shoulder of the girl. 
 
 The dinner at Fairoaks given in Pen s honour by his tenant, and 
 at which old Mrs. Stokes, Captain Glanders, Squire Hobnell, and the 
 clergyman and his lady, from Tinckleton, were present, was very stupid 
 and melancholy for Pen, until the waiter from Clavering (who aided the 
 Captain s stable-boy and Mrs. Stokes's butler) whom Pen remembered 
 as a street-boy, and who was now indeed barber in that place, dropped 
 a plate over Pen s shoulder, on which Mr. Hobnell (who also employed 
 him) remarked, I suppose, Hodson, your hands are slippery with 
 bear s-grease. He's always dropping the crockery about, that Hodson 
 is — haw, haw ! " On which Hodson blushed, and looked so discon- 
 certed, that Pen burst out laughing ; and good-humour and hilarity 
 were the order of the evening. For the second course, there was a hare 
 and partridges top and bottom, and when after the withdrawal of the 
 servants Pen said to the Vicar of Tinckleton, I think, Mr. Stooks, you 
 should have asked Hodson to cut the hare" the joke was taken instantly 
 by the clergyman, who was followed in the course of a few minutes by 
 Captains Stokes and Glanders, and by Mr. Hobnell, who arrived rather 
 late, but with an immense gulFaw. 
 
 While Mr. Pen was engaged in the country in the above schemes, it 
 happened that the lady of his choice, if not of his affections, came up 
 to London from the Tunbridge villa bound upon shopping expeditions 
 or important business, and in company of old Mrs. Bonner, her mother's 
 maid, who had lived and quarrelled with Blanche many times since she 
 was an infant, and who now, being about to quit Lady Clavering's 
 service for the (hymeneal ^tate, was anxious like a good soul to bestow 
 some token of respectful kindness upon her old and young mistress 
 before she quitted them altogether, to take her post as the wife of 
 Lightfoot, and landlady of the Clavering Arms." 
 
 The honest woman took the benefit of Miss Amory's taste to make 
 the purchase which she intended to offer her Ladyship ; and requested 
 the fair Blanche to choose something for herself that should be to her 
 liking, and remind her of her old nurse who had attended her through 
 many a wakeful night, and eventful teething, and childish fever, and 
 who loved her Uk^ a child of her own a most, These purchases were 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 615 
 
 made, and as the nurse insisted on buying an immense Bible for Blanche 
 the young lady suggested that Bonner should purchase a large ^^John- 
 son's Dictionary*' for her mamma. Each of the two women miffht 
 certainly profit by the present made to her. 
 
 Then Mrs. Bonner invested money in some bargains in linen-drapery 
 which might be useful at the Clavering Arms/' and bought a red 
 and yellow neck-handkerchief, which Blanche could see at once was 
 intended for Mr. Lightfoot. Younger than herself by at least five- 
 and-twenty years, Mrs. Bonner regarded that youth with a fondness 
 at once parental and conjugal, and loved to lavish ornaments on his 
 person, which already glittered with pins, rings, shirt-studs, and chains 
 and seals, purchased at the good creature's expense. 
 
 It was in the Strand that Mrs. Bonner made her purchases, aided by 
 Miss Blanche, who liked the fun very well, and when the old lady had 
 bought everything that she desired, and was leaving the shop, Blanche, 
 with a smiling face, and a sweet bow to one of the shopmen, said. 
 Pray, sir, will you have the kindness to show us the way to Shep- 
 herd's Inn." ^ 
 Shepherd's Inn was but a few score of yards off, Oldcastle Street was 
 close by, the elegant young shopman pointed out the turning which the 
 young lady was to take, and she and her companion walked off together. 
 
 Shepherd's Inn ! what can you want in Shepherd's Inn, Miss 
 Blanche. J^" Bonner inquired. ^^Mr. Strong lives there. Do you 
 want to go and see the Captain } " 
 
 I should like to see the Captain very well. I like the Captain ; but 
 it is not him I want. I want to see a dear little good girl, who was 
 very kind to— to Mr. Arthur when he was so ill last year, and saved 
 his life almost ; and I want to thank her, and ask her if she would like 
 anything. I looked out several of my dresses on purpose this morning, 
 Bonner !" and she looked at Bonner as if she had a right to admira- 
 tion, and had performed an act of remarkable virtue. Blanche, indeed, 
 was very fond of sugar-plums; she would have fed the poor upon 
 them, when she had had enough, and given a country girl a ball dress 
 when she had worn it and was tired of it. 
 
 Pretty girl— pretty young woman ! " mumbled Mrs. Bonner. I 
 know / want no pretty young women to come about Lightfoot," and in 
 imagination she peopled the Clavering Arms " with a harem of the 
 most hideous chambermaids and barmaids. 
 
 Blanche, with pink and blue, and feathers, and flowers, and trinkets, 
 and a shot silk dress, and a wonderful mantle, and a charming parasol, 
 presented a vision of elegance and beauty such as bewildered the eyes 
 of Mrs. Bolton, who was scrubbing the lodge-floor of Shepherd's Inn, 
 and caused Betsy- Jane and Ameliar-Ann to look with delight. 
 
 Blanche looked on them with a smile of ineffable sweetness and 
 protection; like Roweria going to see Rebecca ; like Marie Antoinette 
 visiting the poor in the famine; like the Marchioness of Carabas 
 alighting from her carriage and four at a pauper-tenant's door, and 
 taking from John No. II. the packet of Epsom salts for the invalid's 
 benefit, carrying it with her own imperial hand into the sick room- 
 Blanche felt a queen stepping down from her throne to visit a subject, 
 and enjoyed all the bland consciousness of doing a good action. 
 
516 PENDENNIS 
 
 My good woman ! I want to see Fanny— Fanny Bolton ; is she 
 here ^ 
 
 ^Mrs. Bolton had a sudden suspicion, from the splendour of Blanche's 
 appearance, that it must be a play-actor, or something worse. 
 What do you want with Fanny, pray ? " she asked. 
 I am Lady Clavering's daughter— you have heard ot bir 1^ rancis 
 Clavering? And 1 wish very much indeed to see Fanny Bolton. 
 Pray step in. Miss— Betsy- Jane, where s Fanny?" 
 Betsy-Jane said Fanny had gone into No. 3 staircase, on which Mrs 
 Bolton said she was probably in Strong s rooms, and bade the child 
 go and see if she was there. . , . x • c+ ^^'c 
 
 ^^In Captain Strong's rooms ! Oh, let us go to Captain Strongs 
 rooms," cried out Miss Blanche. I know him very well. You 
 dearest little girl, show us the way to Captain Strong ! cried out Miss 
 Blanche, for the floor reeked with the recent scrubbing, and the goddess 
 did not like the smell of brown soap. , , xi. c 
 
 And as they passed up the stairs, a gentleman by the name ot 
 Costi^an, who happened to be swaggering about the court, and gave a 
 very knowing look with his ^^oi" under Blanches bonnet, remarked 
 to himself, "That's a devilish foine gyurll, bedad, goan up to Sthrong 
 and Altamont ; they're always having fbine gyurlls up their stairs. 
 
 " Hallo— hwhat's that ? " he presently said, looking up the windows, 
 from which some piercing shrieks issued. 
 
 At the sound of the voice of a distressed female the intrepid Cos 
 rushed up the stairs as fast as his old legs would carry him, being 
 nearly overthrown by Strong's servant, who was descending the stair. 
 Cos found the outer door of Strong's chambers open, and began to 
 thunder at the knocker. After many and fierce knocks, the inner door 
 was partially unclosed, and Strong's head appeared. , ^ ^ ^. 
 " It's oi, me boy. Hwhat's that noise, Sthrong } asked Costigan. 
 
 Go to the d " was the only answer, and the door was shut on 
 
 •'Cos's venerable red nose : and he went downstairs muttering threats 
 \ at the indignity offered to him, and vowing that he would have satis- 
 faction. In the meanwhile the reader, more lucky than VfP^am 
 ■Costigan, will have the privilege of being made acquainted with the 
 secret which was withheld from that officer. 
 
 It has been said of how generous a disposition Mr. Altamont was, 
 and when he was well supplied with funds, how liberally he spent them. 
 Of a hospitable turn, he had no greater pleasure than drinking in 
 company with other people ; so that there was no man more welcome 
 at Greenwich and Richmond than the Emissary of the Nawaub of 
 
 ^"now"^^* chanced that on the day when Blanche and Mrs. Bonner 
 ascended the staircase to Strong's room in Shepherd s Inn, the Colonel 
 
 had invited Miss Delaval of the Theatre Royal, and her mother, 
 
 Mrs. Hodffe, to a little party down the river, and it had been agreed 
 that they were to meet at chambers, and thence walk down to a 
 port in the neighbouring Strand to take water. So that when Mrs. 
 Bonner and " Mes Larmes " came to the door, where Grady, Altamont s 
 servant, was standing, the domestic said "Walk in, ladies, with the 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 517 
 
 utmost affability, and led them into the room, which was arranged as 
 if they had been expected there. Indeed, two bouquets of flowers, 
 bought at Covent Garden that morning, and instances of the tender 
 gallantry of Altamont, were awaiting his guests upon the table. Blanche 
 smelt at the bouquet, and put her pretty little dainty nose into it, and 
 tripped about the room, and looked behind the curtains, and at the 
 books and prints, and at the plan of Clavering estate hanging up on 
 the wall ; and had asked the servant for Captain Strong, and had 
 almost forgotten his existence and the errand about which she had 
 come, namely, to visit Fanny Bolton ; so pleased was she with the new 
 adventure, and the odd, strange, delightful, droll little idea of being 
 in a bachelor's chambers in a queer old place in the City. 
 
 Grady meanwhile, with a pair of ample varnished boots, had disap- 
 peared into his master's room. Blanche had hardly the leisure to 
 remark how big the boots were, and how unlike Mr. Strong's. 
 
 ^^The women's come," said Grady, helping his master to the 
 boots. 
 
 Did you ask 'em if they would take a glass of anything ? " asked 
 Altamont. 
 
 Grady came out. — ^^He says, will you take anything to drink 
 the domestic asked of them : at which Blanche, amused with the art- 
 less question, broke out into a pretty little laugh, and asked of Mrs. 
 Bonner, Shall we take anything to drink } " 
 
 ^ Well, you may take it or lave it," said Mr. Grady, who thought 
 his offer slighted, and did not like the contemptuous manners of the 
 new-comers, and so left them. 
 
 " Will we take anything to drink ? " Blanche asked again : and again 
 began to laugh. 
 
 Grady," bawled out a voice from the chamber within — a voice that 
 made Mrs. Bonner start. 
 
 Grady did not answer : his song was heard from afar off, from the 
 kitchen, his upper room, where Grady was singing at his work. 
 Grady, my coat ! " again roared the voice from within. 
 Why, that is not Mr. Strong's voice," said the Sylphide, still half 
 laughing. Grady my coat ! — Bonner, who is Grady my coat ? We 
 ought to go away." 
 
 Bonner still looked quite puzzled at the sound of the voice which 
 she had heard. " 
 
 The bedroom door here opened, and the individual who had called 
 out Grady, my coat," appeared without the garment in question. 
 
 He nodded to the women, and walked across the room. ''1 beg 
 your pardon, ladies. Grady, bring my coat down, sir ! Well, my 
 dears, it's a fine day, and we'll have a jolly lark at " 
 
 He said no more ; for here Mrs. Bonner, who had been looking at 
 him with scared eyes, suddenly shrieked out, Amory, Amory ! " and 
 fell back screaming and fainting in her chair. 
 
 The man so apostrophised looked at the woman an instant, and, 
 rushing up to Blanche, seized her and kissed her. Yes, Betsy," he 
 said, by G — it is me. Mary Bonner knew me. What a fine gal 
 we've grown ! But it's a secret, mind. I'm dead, though I'm your 
 father. Your poor mother don't know it. What a pretty gal we've 
 
618 PENDENNIS 
 
 grown ! Kiss me— kiss me close^ my Betsy ! D it^ I love you : 
 
 Tm your old father." 
 
 Betsy or Blanche looked quite bewildered^ and began to scream too 
 — once^ twice^ thrice ; and it was her piercing shrieks which Captain 
 Costigan heard as he walked the court below. 
 
 At the sound of these shrieks the perplexed parent clasped his hands 
 (his wristbands were open, and on one brawny arm you could see letters 
 tattooed in blue), and, rushing to his apartment, came back with an 
 eau-de-cologne bottle from his grand silver dressing-case, with the 
 fragrant contents of which he began liberally to sprinkle Bonner and 
 Blanche. 
 
 The screams of these women brought the other occupants of the 
 chambers into the room : Grady from his kitchen, and Strong from his 
 apartment in the upper storey. The latter at once saw from the aspect 
 of the two women what had occurred. 
 
 Grady, go and wait in the court," he said, and if anybody comes 
 — you understand me." 
 
 Is it the play-actress and her mother.?*" said Grady. 
 
 Yes— confound you— say that there's nobody in chambers, and the 
 party s off for to-day." ^„ i . 
 
 Shall I say that, sir? and after I bought them bokays? asked 
 Grady of his master. 
 
 Yes," said Amory, with a stamp of his foot ; and Strong going to 
 the door too, reached it just in time to prevent the entrance of Captani 
 Costigan, who had mounted the stair. 
 
 The ladies from the theatre did not have their treat to Greenwich, 
 nor did Blanche pay her visit to Fanny Bolton on that day. And Cos, 
 who took occasion majestically to inquire of Grady what the mischief 
 was, and who was crying?— had for answer that 'twas a woman, another 
 of them, and that they were, in Grady s opinion, the cause of 'most all 
 the mischief in the world. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI 
 
 IN WHICH PEN BEGINS TO DOUBT HIS ELECTION 
 
 Whilst Pen, in his own county, was thus carrying on his selfish plans 
 and parliamentary schemes, news came to him that Lady Rockminster 
 had arrived at Baymouth, and had brought with her our friend Laura. 
 At the announcement that Laura his sister was near him. Pen felt 
 rather guilty. His wish was to stand higher in her esteem, perhaps, 
 than in that of any other person in the world. She was his mother s 
 legacy to him. He was to be her patron and protector in some sort. 
 How would she brave the news which he had to tell her ; and how 
 should he explain the plans which he was meditating? He felt as if 
 neither he nor Blanche could bear Laura s dazzling glance ot calm 
 scrutiny, and as if he would not dare to disclose his worldly hopes and 
 ambitions to that spotless judge. At her arrival at Baymouth, he 
 
t^ENDENNIS 
 
 Wrote a letter thither which contained a great number of fine phrases 
 and protests of affection, and a great deal of easy satire and raillery ; 
 in the midst of all which Mr. Pen could not help feeling that he was in 
 a panic, and that he was acting like a rogue and hypocrite. 
 
 How was it that a simple country girl should be the object of fear 
 and trembling to such an accomplished gentleman as Mr. Pen } His 
 worldly tactics and diplomacy, his satire and knowledge of the world, 
 could not bear the test of her purity, he felt somehow. And he had to 
 own to himself that his affairs were in such a position, that he could 
 not tell the truth to that honest soul. As he rode from Clavering to 
 Baymouth, he felt as guilty as a schoolboy who doesn't know his lesson, 
 and is about to face the awful master. For is not Truth the master 
 always, and does she not have the power and hold the book ? 
 
 Under the charge of her kind, though somewhat wayward and abso- 
 lute patroness. Lady Rockminster, Laura had seen somewhat of the 
 world in the last year, had gathered some accomplishments, and profited 
 by the lessons of society. Many a girl who had been accustomed to 
 that too great tenderness in which Laura's early life had been passed, 
 would have been unfitted for the changed existence which she now had 
 to lead. Helen worshipped her two children, and thought, as home- 
 bred women will, that all the world was made for them, or to be con- 
 sidered after them. She tended Laura with a watchfulness of affection 
 which never left her. If she had a headache, the widow was as alarmed 
 as if there had never been an aching head before in the world. She 
 slept and woke, read and moved under her mother's fond superinten- 
 dence, which was now withdrawn from her, along with the tender 
 creature whose anxious heart would beat no more. And painful 
 moments of gi-ief and depression no doubt Laura had, when she stood 
 in the great careless world alone. Nobody heeded her griefs or her 
 solitude. She was not quite the equal, in social rank, of the lady 
 whose companion she was, or of the friends and relatives of the im- 
 perious but kind old dowager. Some Very likely bore her no good-will 
 —some, perhaps, slighted her : it might have been that servants were 
 occasionally rude; their mistress certainly was often. Laura not 
 seldom found herself in family meetings, the confidence and familiarity 
 of which she felt were interrupted by her intrusion ; and her sensitive- 
 ness of course was wounded at the idea that she should give or feel this 
 annoyance. How many governesses are there in the world, thought 
 cheerful Laura, — how many ladies, whose necessities make them slaves 
 and companions by profession ! What bad tempers and coarse unkind- 
 ness have not these to encounter ! How infinitely better my lot is with 
 these really kind and affectionate people than that of thousands of 
 unprotected girls ! It was with this cordial spirit that our young lady 
 adapted herself to her new position : and went in advance of her fortune 
 with a trustful smile. 
 
 Did you ever know a person who met Fortune in that way, whom the 
 goddess did not regard kindly ? Are not even bad people won by a 
 constant cheerfulness and a pure and affectionate heart? When the 
 babes in the wood, in the ballad, looked up fondly and trustfully at 
 those notorious rogues whom their uncle had set to make away with the 
 ji little folks, we all know how one of the rascals relented, and made away 
 
520 PENDENNIS 
 
 with the other— not having the heart to he cruel to so much innocence 
 and beauty. Oh, happy they who have that virgin loving trust and 
 sweet smiling confidence in the world, and fear no evil because they 
 think none ! Miss Laura Bell was one of those fortunate persons ; and 
 besides the gentle widow's little cross, which, as we have seen. Fen 
 ffave her, had such a sparkling and brilliant kohinoor in her bosom, 
 as is even more precious than that famous jewel ; for it not only fetches 
 a price, and is retained by its owner in another world where diamonds 
 are stated to be of no value, but here, too, is of inestimable worth to its 
 possessor; is a talisman against evil, and lightens up the darkness ot 
 life, like Cogia Hassan s famous stone. ^ , „ , . . » i. 
 
 So that before Miss Bell had been a year in Lady Rockminster s house, 
 there was not a single person in it whose love she had not won by the 
 use of this talisman. From the old lady to the lowest dependent of her 
 bounty, Laura had secured the good-will of everybody. With a mistress 
 of such a temper, my Lady's woman (who had endured her mistress for 
 forty years, and had been clawed and scolded and jibed every day and 
 night in that space of time) could not be expected to have a good temper 
 of her own ; and was at first angry against Miss Laura, as she had been 
 affainst her Ladyship s fifteen preceding companions. But when Laura 
 was ill at Paris, this old woman nursed her in spite of her mistress, who 
 was afraid of catching the fever, and absolutely fought for her medicine 
 with Martha from Fairoaks, now advanced to be Miss Laura s own maid. 
 As she was recovering, Grandjean the chef wanted to kill her by the 
 number of delicacies which he dressed for her, and wept when she ate 
 her first slice of chicken. The Swiss major-domo of the house cele- 
 brated Miss Bell's praises in almost every European language, which he 
 spoke with indifferent incorrectness ; the coachman was happy to drive 
 her out ; the page cried when he heard she was ill ; and Calyerley and 
 Coldstream (those two footmen, so large, so calm ordinarily, and so 
 difficult to move) broke out into extraordinary hilarity at the news 
 of her convalescence, and intoxicated the page at a wme-shop, to /e^e 
 Laura's recovery. Even Lady Diana Pynsent (our former acquaintance 
 Mr Pynsent had married by this time), who had had a considerable 
 dislike to Laura for some time, was so enthusiastic as to say that she 
 thou£>:ht Miss Bell was a very agreeable person, and that grandmamma 
 had a great trouvaille in her. All this kindness Laura had acquired, not 
 by any arts, not by any flattery, but by the simple force of good-nature, 
 and by the blessed gift of pleasing and being pleased. ^ ^ ^ , ^ 
 
 On the one or two occasions when he had seen Lady Kockmmster, 
 the old lady, who did not admire him, had been very pitiless and abrupt 
 with our young friend, and perhaps Pen expected when he came to, 
 Baymouth to find Laura installed in her house m the quahty of humble 
 companion, and treated no better than himself. When she heard of 
 his arrival she came running downstairs, and I am not sure that she did 
 not embrace him in the presence of Calverley and Coldstream : not that 
 those gentlemen ever told : if the fractus orUs had come to a smash, it 
 Laura, instead of kissing Pen, had taken her scissors and snipped oif 
 his head— Calverley and Coldstream could have looked on impavidly,. 
 without allowing a grain of powder to be disturbed by the calamity. . 
 Laura had so much improved in health and looks that Pen could not^ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 521 
 
 but admire her. The frank eyes which met his beamed with good 
 health ; the cheek which he kissed blushed with beauty. As he looked 
 at her, artless and graceful, pure and candid, he thought he had never 
 seen her so beautiful. Why should he remark her beauty now so much, 
 and remark too to himself that he had not remarked it sooner ? He 
 took her fair trustful hand and kissed it fondly ; he looked in her 
 bright clear eyes, and read in them that kindling welcome which he was 
 always sure to find there. He was affected and touched by the tender 
 tone and the pure sparkling glance ; their innocence smote him some- 
 how and moved him. 
 
 How good you are to me^ Laura — sister ! " said Pen, I don't 
 deserve that you should — that you should be so kind to me." 
 
 Mamma left you to me," she said, stooping down and brushing his 
 forehead with her lips hastily. You know you were to come to me 
 when you were in trouble, or to tell me when you were: very happy : 
 that was our compact, Arthur, last year, before we parted. Are yoTi 
 very happy now, or are you in trouble, which is it ? " and she looked 
 at him with an arch glance. Do you like going into Parliament ? 
 Do you intend to distinguish yourself there How I shall tremble 
 for your first speech ! " 
 
 Do you know about the Parliament plan, then ? " Pen asked. 
 
 Know ? — all the world knows ! I have heard it talked about many 
 times. Lady Rockminster s doctor talked about it to-day, I dare say 
 it will be in the Chatteris paper to-morrow. It is all over the county 
 that Sir Francis Clavering, of Clavering, is going to retire, in behalf 
 of Mr. Arthur Pendennis, of Fairoaks; and that the young and 
 beautiful Miss Blanche Amory is " 
 
 What ! that too ? " asked Pendennis. 
 ^^That, too, dear Arthur. Tout se sait, as somebody would say, 
 whom I intend to be very fond of ; and who I am sure is very clever 
 and pretty. I have had a letter from Blanche. The kindest of letters. 
 She speaks so warmly of you, Arthur ! I hope — I know she feels what 
 she writes. — When is it to be, Arthur.^ Why did you not tell me.^* I 
 may come and live with you then, mayn't I } " 
 
 My home is yours, dear Laura, and everything I have," Pen said. 
 If I did not tell you, it was because — because — I do not know : 
 nothing is decided yet No words have passed between us. But you 
 think Blanche could be happy with me — don't you } Not a romantic 
 fondness, you know. I have no heart, I think ; I've told her so : only 
 a sober-sided attachment : — and want my wife on one side of the fire 
 and my sister on the other, — Parliament in the session and Fairoaks in 
 the holidays, and my Laura never to leave me until somebody who has 
 a right comes to take her away. " 
 
 Somebody who has a right— somebody with a right ! Why did Pen, 
 as he looked at the girl and slowly uttered the words, begin to feel 
 angry and jealous of the invisible somebody with the right to take her 
 away ! Anxious, but a minute ago, how she would take the news 
 regarding his probable arrangements with Blanche, Pen was hurt 
 somehow that she received the intelligence so easily, and took his 
 happiness for granted. 
 
 Until somebody comes," Laura said, with a laugh, " I will stay at 
 
522 
 
 PENDENNiS 
 
 home and be Aunt Laura, and take care of the children when Blanche 
 is in the world. I have arranged it all. I am an excellent house- 
 keeper. Do you know I have been to market at Paris with Mrs. Beck, 
 and have taken some lessons from M. Grandjean ? And I have had . 
 some lessons in Paris in singing too, with the money which you sent me, 
 you kind boy ; and I can sing much better now : and I have learned to 
 dance, though not so well as Blanche, and when you become a Minister 
 of State, Blanche shall present me and with this, and with a pro- 
 voking good-humour, she performed for him the last Parisian curtsey. 
 
 Lady Rockminster came in whilst this curtsey was being performed, 
 and gave to Arthur one finger to shake ; which he took, and over which 
 he bowed as well as he could, which, in truth, was very clumsily. 
 So you are going to be married, sir," said the old lady. 
 
 "Scold him, Lady Rockminster, for not telling us," Laura said, 
 going away 1 which, in truth, the old lady began instantly to do. 
 " So you are going to marry, and to go into Parliament in place of 
 that good-for-nothing Sir Francis Clavering. I wanted him to give 
 my grandson his seat— why did he not give my grandson his seat.? I 
 hope you are to have a great deal of money with Miss Amory. I 
 wouldn't take her without a great deal. " ... 
 
 " Sir Francis Clavering is tired of Parliament," Pen sdid, wmcmg, 
 " and— and I rather wish to attempt that career. The rest of the story 
 is at least premature." i , i ..t 
 
 " I wonder, when you had Laura at home, you could take up with 
 such an alFected little creature as that," the old lady continued. 
 
 " I am very sorry Miss Amory does not please your Ladyship, said 
 
 Pen, smiling. , , , r x • i. 
 
 " You mean— that it is no affair of mine, and that I am not going to 
 marry her. Well, Tm not, and Fm very glad I am not— a little odious 
 thing. When I think that a man could prefer her to my Laura, I ve"" 
 no patience with him, and so I tell you, Mr. Arthur Pendennis." 
 
 " I am very glad you see Laura with such favourable eyes," Pen said. 
 
 " You are very glad, and you are very sorry. What does it matter, 
 sir, whether you are very glad or very sorry? A young man who 
 prefers Miss Amory to Miss Bell has no business to be sorry or glad. 
 A young man who takes up with such a crooked lump of affectation as 
 that little Amory,— for she is crooked, I tell you she is,— after seeing 
 my Laura, has no right to hold up his head again. Where is your 
 friend Bluebeard? The tall young man, I mean,— Warrington, isn t 
 his name? Why does he not come down, and marry Laura? What 
 do the young men mean by not marrying such a girl as that? They 
 all marry for money now. You are all selfish and cowards. We ran 
 away with each other, and made foolish matches in my time. I have 
 no patience with the young men ! When I was at Paris in the winter, 
 I asked all the three attaches at the Embassy why they did not fall in 
 love with Miss Bell? They laughed— they said they wanted money. 
 You are all selfish— you are all cowards." 
 
 " I hope before you offered Miss Bell to the attaches, said Pen, with 
 some heat, "you did her the favour to consult her?" 
 
 " Miss Bell has only a little money. Miss Bell must marry soon. 
 Somebody must make a match for her, sir ; and a girl can t offer her- 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 6iS 
 
 self/' said the old dowager, with great state. Laura, my dear, Fve 
 been telling your cousin that all the young men are selfish ; and that 
 there is not a pennyworth of romance left among them. He is as bad 
 as the rest." 
 
 ^^Have you been asking Arthur why he won't marry me}" said 
 Laura, with a smile, coming back and taking her cousin's hand. (She 
 had been away, perhaps, to hide some traces of emotion, which she did 
 not wish others to see.) ^^He is going to marry somebody else ; and 
 I intend to be very fond of her, and to go and live with them, provided 
 he then does not ask every bachelor who comes to his house why he 
 does not marry me." 
 
 The terrors of Pen's conscience being thus appeased, and his exami- 
 nation before Laura over without any reproaches on the part of the 
 latter. Pen began to find that his duty and inclination led him con- 
 stantly to Baymouth, where Lady Rockminster informed him that a 
 place was always reserved for him at her table. And I recommend 
 you to come often," the old lady said, for Grandjean is an excellent 
 cook, and to be with Laura and me will do your manners good. It is 
 easy to see that you are always thinking about yourself. Don't blush 
 and stammer— almost all young men are always thinking about them- 
 selves. My sons and grandsons always were until I cured them. Come 
 here, and let us teach you to behave properly : you will not have to 
 carve, that is done at the side-table. Hecker will give you as much 
 wine as is good for you ; and on days when you are very good and 
 amusing you shall have some champagne. Hecker, mind what I say. 
 Mr. Pendennis is Miss Laura's brother ; and you will make him com- 
 fortable, and see that he does not have too much wine, or disturb me 
 whilst I am taking my nap after dinner. You are selfish : I intend to 
 cure you of being selfish. You will dine here when you have no other 
 engagements ; and if it rains you had better put up at the hotel." As 
 long as the good lady could order everybody round about her, she was 
 not hard to please ; and all the slaves and subjects of her little dowager 
 court trembled before her, but loved her. 
 
 She did not receive a very numerous or brilliant society. The doctor, 
 of course, was admitted, as a constant and faithful visitor ; the vicar 
 and his curate ; and on public days the vicar's wife and daughters, and 
 some of the season visitors at Baymouth were received at the old lady's 
 entertainments : but generally the company was a small one, and Mr. 
 A.rthur drank his wine by himself when Lady Rockminster retired to 
 take her doze, and to be played and sung to sleep by Laura after dinner. 
 
 "If my music can give her a nap," said the good-natured girl, 
 
 ought I not to be very glad that I can do so much good ? Lady Rock- 
 minster sleeps very little of night : and I used to read to her until I 
 Pell ill at Paris, since when she will not hear of my sitting up." 
 
 " Why did you not write to me when you were ill ? " asked Pen, with 
 I blush. 
 
 " What good could you do me } I had Martha to nurse me : and the 
 loctor every day. You are too busy to write to women or to think 
 ibout them. You have your books and your newspapers, and your 
 )olitics and your railroads to occupy you. I wrote when I was well." 
 
524 PENDENNIS 
 
 And Pen looked at her, and blushed again, as he remembered that, 
 during all the time of her illness, he had never written to her, and had 
 scarcely thought about her. ~ ^ n j 
 
 In consequence of his relationship. Pen was free to walk and ride 
 with his cousin constantly, and in the course of those walks and rides 
 could appreciate the sweet frankness of her disposition, and the truth, 
 simplicity, and kindliness of her fair and spotless heart. In their ^ 
 mother's lifetime she had never spoken so openly or so cordially as t 
 now. The desire of poor Helen to make a union between her two t 
 children had caused a reserve on Laura's part towards Pen ; tor which, 
 under the altered circumstances of Arthur's life, there was now no 
 necessity. He was engaged to another woman ; and Laura became his 
 sister at once,-hiding, or banishing from herself, any doubts which ; 
 she might have as to his choice ; striving to look cheerfully forward, j 
 and hope for his prosperity ; promising herself to do all that aflFection ; 
 might do to make her mother's darling happy. , , . 
 
 Their talk was often about the departed mother. And it was from : 
 a thousand stories which Laura told him that Arthur was made aware ■ 
 how constant and absorbing that silent maternal devotion had been , 
 which had accompanied him present and absent through life, and had 
 only ended with the fond widow's last breath. One day the people in 
 Clavering saw a lad in charge of a couple of horses at the churchyard 
 gate; Ji it was told over the place that Pen and Laura had visited 
 Helen's grave together. Since Arthur had come down into the country, 
 he had been there once or twice : but the sight of the sacred stone had 
 brought no consolation to him. A guilty man doing a guilty deed : a ■ 
 mere speculator, content to lay down his faith and honour for a fortune 
 and a worldly career ; and owning that his life was hut a contemptible 
 surrender-what right had he in the holy place ?-what booted it to 
 him that others in the world he lived inwere no hetter than himself ? 
 Arthur and Laura rode by the gates of Fairoaks ; and he shook hands 
 with his tenant's children, playing on the lawn and the terrace-Laura 
 looked steadily at the cottage wall, at the creeper on the Porch, and 
 the magnolia growing up to her window. « Mr. Pendennis rode by 
 S-da^/' one ofthe boys told his mother, "with a lady and he stopped 
 and tiiked to us, and he asked for a bit of honeysuckle off the poich 
 and gave it the lady. I couldn't see if she was pretty ; she had her 
 veil down. She was riding one of Cramp's horses, out of Baymouth 
 
 As they rode over the downs between home and Baymouth, i'en ma 
 not speak much, though they rode very close together. He was think- 
 ing what a mockery life was, and how men i-ef"sel>appness when they 
 may have it ; or, having it, kick it down ; or barter it, with then eyes 
 open, for a little worthless money or beggarly honour. And then the 
 thought came, what does it matter for the little space ? The lives oi 
 the best and purest of us are consumed m a vain d^si^e, an-i e^^^^^^^^ 
 a disappointment: as the dear soul's who sleeps in her grave yon^^^^^^^ 
 She had her selfish ambition, as much as Cssar had ; and died, bulked 
 of her life's longing. The stone covers over our hopes and oui memories. 
 Our place knows us not. " Other people's children are pl^^ng 
 grass," he broke out, in a hard voice, " where you and I used to play, 
 Laura. And you see how the magnolia we planted has grown up sina 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 525 
 
 our time. I have been round to one or two of the cottages where my 
 mother used to visit. It is scarcely more than a year that she is gone, 
 and the people whom she used to benefit care no more for her death 
 than for Queen Anne's. We are all selfish : the world is selfish : 
 there are but a few exceptions, like you, my dear, to shine like good 
 deeds in a naughty world, and make the blackness more dismal." 
 
 ^^I wish you would not speak in that way, Arthur," said Laura, 
 looking down and bending her head to the honeysuckle on her breast. 
 When you told the little boy to give me this, you were not selfish." 
 
 A pretty sacrifice I made to get it for you ! " said the sneerer. 
 
 But your heart was kind and full of love when you did so. One 
 cannot ask for more than love and kindness ; and if you think humbly 
 of yourself, Arthur, the love and kindness are not diminished — are 
 they? I often thought our dearest mother spoilt you at home, by 
 worshipping you ; and that if you are — I hate the word — what you say, 
 her too great fondness helped to make you so. And as for the world, 
 when men go out into it, I suppose they cannot be otherwise than 
 selfish. You have to fight for yourself, and to get on for yourself, and 
 to make a name for yourself Matnma and your uncle both encouraged 
 you in this ambition. If it is a vain thing, why pursue it } 1 suppose 
 such a clever man as you intends to do a great deal of good to the 
 country, by going into Parliament, or you would not wish to be there. 
 What are you going to do when you are in the House of Commons } " 
 
 Women don't understand about politics, my dear," Pen said, 
 sneering at himself as he spoke. 
 
 But why don t you make us understand? I could never tell about 
 Mr. Pynsent why he should like to be there so much. He is not a 
 clever man ^" 
 
 He certainly is not a genius, Pynsent," said Pen. 
 
 Lady Diana says that he attends Committees all day ; that then 
 again he is at the House all night ; that he always votes as he is told ; 
 that he never speaks ; that he will never get on beyond a subordinate 
 place, and, as his grandmother tells him, he is choked with red-tape. 
 Are you going to follow the same career, Arthur ? What is there 
 in it so brilliant that you should be so eager for it ? I. would rather 
 ithat you should stop at home, and write books — good books, kind 
 books, with gentle kind thoughts, such as you have, dear Arthur, and 
 such as might do people good to read. And if you do not win fame, 
 what then? You own it is vanity, and you can live very happily with- 
 out it. I must not pretend to advise : but I take you at your own 
 word about the world ; and as you own it is wicked, and that it tires 
 you, ask you why you don't leave it ? " 
 
 And what would you have me to do ? " asked Arthur. 
 
 I would have you bring your wife to Fairoaks to live there, and 
 study, and do good round about you. I would like to see your own 
 children playing on the lawn, Arthur, and that we might pray in our 
 mother s church again once more, dear brother. If the world is a 
 i temptation, are we not told to pray that we may not be led into it?" 
 
 Do you think Blanche would make a good wife for a petty country 
 gentleman? Do you think I should become the character very well, 
 Laura?" Pen asked. "Remember temptation walks about the hedge- 
 
526 PENDENNIS 
 
 rows as well as the city streets : and idleness is the greatest tempter 
 of all " 
 
 "What does— does Mr. Warrington say?" said Laura, as a blush 
 mounted up to her cheek, and of which Pen saw the fervour, though 
 Laura's veil fell over her face to hide it. 
 
 Pen rode on by Laura's side silently for a while. Georges name 
 so mentioned brought back the past to him, and the thoughts which 
 he had once had regarding George and Laura Why should the re- 
 currence of the thought agitate him, now that he knew the union was 
 impossible ? Why should he be curious to know if, during the months 
 of intimacy, Laura had felt a regard for Warrington? From that 
 day until the present time George hp,d never alluded to his story, 
 and Arthur remembered now that since then George had scarcely ever 
 mentioned Laura's name. ; . » r, • j 
 
 At last he came close to her. « Tell me something, Laura, he said. 
 
 She put back her veil and looked at him. " What is it, Arthur.? 
 she asked— though from the tremor of her voice she guessed very well. 
 
 "Tell me— but for George's misfortune— I never knew him speak; 
 of it before or since that day— would you— would you have given him 
 — frhat you refused me ? " 
 
 "Yes, Pen," she said, bursting into tears. 
 
 "He deserved you better than I did," poor Arthur groaned forth, 
 with an indescribable pang at his heart. " I am but a selfish wretch, 
 and George is better, nobler, truer than I am. God bless him ! 
 
 "Yes, Pen," said Laura, reaching out her hand to her cousin, and 
 he put his arm round her, and for a moment she sobbed on his 
 
 '^The gentle girl liad had her secret, and told it. In the widow's last 
 journey from Fairoaks, when hastening with her mother to Arthurs 
 sick bed, Laura had made a different confession ; and it was only when 
 " Warrington told his own story, and described the hopeless condition ot 
 his life, that she discovered how much her feelings had changed, and with 
 what tender sympathy, with what great respect, delight, and admira- 
 tion she had grown to'regard her cousin's friend. _ Until she knewtha 
 some plans she might have dreamed of were impossible, and that 
 Warrington, reading her heart perhaps, had told his melancholy sto^ 
 to w^rn her, she had not asked herself whether it was possible that hei 
 affections could change ; and had been shocked and scared by the 
 discovery of the truth. How should she have told it to Helen, and 
 confessed her shame ! Poor Laura felt guilty before her friend with 
 the secret which she dared not confide to her ; felt as if she had been 
 ungrateful for Helen's love and regard ; felt as if she had been wickedly 
 faithless to Pen in withdrawing that love from him which he did nol 
 even care to accept ; humbled even and repentant hefore War ington 
 lest she should have encouraged him by undue sympathy, or shown 
 the preference which she began to feel. 
 
 The catastrophe which broke up Laura's home, and the grief ani 
 anguish which she felt for her mother's death, gave her I'ttle leisure fo 
 thoughts more selfish ; and by the time she rallied from that grief th 
 minor one was also almost cured. It was but for a moment that slw 
 hadTndulled a hope about Warrington. Her admiration and respe«5l 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 627 
 
 for him remained as strong as ever. But the tender feeling with which 
 she knew she had regarded him was schooled into such calmness, that 
 it may be said to have been dead and passed away. The pang which 
 it left behind was one of humility and remorse. Oh, how wicked 
 and proud I was about Arthur/' she thought : how self-confident 
 and unforgiving ! I never forgave from my heart this poor girl, who 
 was fond of him, or him for encouraging her love; and I have been 
 more guilty than she, poor little artless creature ! I, professing to 
 I love one man, could listen to another only too eagerly ; and would not 
 pardon the change of feelings in Arthur, whilst I myself was changing 
 and unfaithful." And so humiliating herself and acknowledging her 
 weakness, the poor girl sought for strength and refuge in the manner 
 in which she had been accustomed to look for them. 
 
 She had done no wrong : but there are some folks who suffer for a 
 Fault ever so trifling as much as others whose stout consciences can 
 walk under crimes of almost any weight; and poor Laura chose to 
 Fancy that she had acted in this delicate juncture of her life as a very 
 ^reat criminal. She determined that she had done Pen a great injury 
 jby withdrawing that love which, privately in her mother's hearing, she 
 ifiad bestowed upon him ; that she had been ungrateful to her dead 
 5enefactress by ever allowing herself to think of another or of violating 
 'ler promise; and that, considering her own enormous crimes, she 
 )ught to be very gentle in judging those of .others, whose temptations 
 vere much greater, very likely : and whose motives she could not 
 inderstand. 
 
 A year back, Laura would have been indignant at the idea that 
 |irthur should marry Blanche : and her high spirit would have risen 
 is she thought that from worldly motives he should stoop to one so 
 [mworthy. Now when the news was brought to her of such a chance 
 the intelligence was given to her by old Lady Rockminster, whose 
 ipeeches were as direct and rapid as a slap on the face), the humbled 
 ;irl winced a little at the blow, but bore it meekly, and with a desperate 
 icquiescence. He has a right to marry ; he knows a great deal more 
 )f the world than I do," she argued with herself '' Blanche may not 
 )e so light-minded as she seemed, and who am I to be her judge I 
 lare say it is very good that Arthur should go into Parliament arid dis- 
 inguish himself, and my duty is to do everything that lies in my power 
 0 aid him and Blanche, and to make his home happy. I dare say I 
 ihall live with them. If I am godmother to one of their children, I 
 inll leave her my three thousand pounds !" And forthwith she began 
 0 think what she could give Blanche out of her small treasures, and 
 uow best to conciliate her affection. She wrote her forthwith a kind 
 etter, in which, of course, no mention was made of the plans in con- 
 emplatiou, but in which Laura recalled old times, and spoke her good- 
 iFill, and in reply to this she received an eager answer from Blanche : 
 n which not a word about marriage was said, to be sure, but Mr. 
 i^endennis was mentioned two or three times in the letter, and they 
 vere to be henceforth dearest Laura, and dearest Blanche, and loving 
 isters, and so forth. 
 
 When Pen and Laura reached home, after Laura's confession (Pen's 
 loble acknowledgment of his own inferiority and generous expression 
 
528 PENDENNIS 
 
 of love for Warrington causing the gi^'s heart to throb, and rendering 
 doubly keen those tears which she sobbed on his shoulder), a little slim 
 letter was awaiting Miss Bell in the hall, at wh ch she trembled rather 
 Sly as she unsealed it, and at which Pen blushed as he recognised 
 it : for he saw instantly that it was from Blanche. 
 
 Laura opened it hastily, and cast her eyes quickly over it, as Pen 
 
 '''f^^:'S.7ro:''lS:£^-L.nr. said, "She has been with old 
 Bonner, Lady Clavering's maid. Bonner is going to marry Lightfoot 
 fhe buiier. Where do you think Blanche has been?" she cried out 
 
 To Paris, to Scotland, to the Casino?" 
 "To Shepherd's Inn, to see Fanny; but Fanny wasnt there, and 
 Blanche is going to leave a present for her. Isn't it kind of her, and 
 thoughtful?" And she handed the letter to Pen, who read- 
 
 "'I saw Madame Mere, who was scrubbing the room, and looked at 
 me with very scrubby looks ; but la belle Fanny was not aw logis ; and , 
 as I heard that she was in Captain Strong's apartments Bonner and! 
 mounted au troisieme to see this famous beauty. Another disappoint-, 
 rX-only the Chevalier Strong and a friend of his m the room : so 
 we came away after all without seeing the enchanting Fanny. 
 
 "^^e(mvote mille et mille baisers. When will that horrid canvassing 
 be over ? Sleeves are worn,' &c. &c. &c." ^ 
 
 After dinner the Doctor was reading the Times. « A young gently 
 man I attended when he was here some eight or nine years ago hM 
 Tme into a fine fortune," the Doctor said. «I see here announce* 
 ^h^ death of John Henry Foker, Esq., of Logwood Hall, at Pau, ilj 
 the Pyrenees, on the 16th ult." ,o 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII 
 
 IN WHICH THE MAJOR IS BIDDEN TO STAND AND DEMVER 
 
 Any gentleman who has frequented the "Wheel of Fortune'' pubW 
 house where it may be remembered that Mr. James Morgan s Clul 
 was h^ld, and where^Sir Francis Clavering had an interview with Majo, 
 Pendennis, is aware that there are three rooms for guests upon th 
 ground-floor, besides the bar where the landlady sits. One is a pa lov^ 
 frequented by the public at large ; to another room ^rentlemen in ^^^^^ 
 resort- and the third apartment, on the door of which ' Private J 
 painted, Ts tSt hired hy the Club of "The Confidentials," of whid 
 Messrs. Morgan and Lightfoot were members. 
 
 The noiseless Morgan had listened to the conversation between Stron 
 and Major Pendennis at the latter's own lodgings, and had carrie. 
 away from it matter for much private speculation ; a^/«f ^ 
 knowledge had led him to follow his master when M^J"', f 
 the "Wheel of Fortune," and to take his place qmetly m the Con« 
 
PENDENNIS 529 
 
 dential room, whilst Pendennis and Clavering had their discourse in 
 the parlour. There was a particular corner in the Confidential room 
 from which you could hear almost all that passed in the next apart- 
 ment ; and as the conversation between the two gentlemen there was 
 rather angry, and carried on in a high key, Morgan had the benefit of 
 overhearing almost the whole of it ; and what he heard strengthened 
 the^conclusions which his mind had previously formed. 
 
 ^'He knew Altamont at once, did he, when he saw him in Sydney^ 
 Clavering am t no more married to my Lady than I am ! Altamont's 
 the man ; Altamont s a convict : young Harthur comes into Parlyment, 
 and the Gov nor promises not to split. By Jove, what a sly old rogue 
 it is, that old Gov nor ! No wonder he's anxious to make the match 
 between Blanche and Harthur: why, she'll have a hundred thousand 
 if she s a penny, and bring her man a seat in Parlyment into the 
 bargain. N obody saw, but a physiognomist would have liked to behold , 
 the expression of Mr. Morgan's countenance, when this astounding 
 intelligence was made clear to him. But for my hage, and the con- 
 founded prejudices of society," he said, surveying himself in the gW 
 dammy, James Morgan, you might marry her yourself." But if he 
 cou d not marry Miss Blanche and her fortune, Morgan thought he 
 could mend his own by the possession of this information, and that it 
 inight be productive of benefit to him from very many sources Of all 
 the persons whom the secret afi^ected, the greater number would not 
 like to have it known. For instance. Sir Francis Clavering, whose 
 fortune it involved, would wish to keep it quiet; Colonel Altamont, 
 whose neck it imphcated, would naturally be desirous to hush it : and 
 that young upstart beast, Mr. Harthur, who was for gettin' into Par- 
 lyment on the strength of it, and was as proud as if he was a duke with 
 halt-a-millium a year (such, we grieve to say, was Morgan's opinion of 
 his employer s nephew), would pay anythink sooner than let the world 
 know that he was married to a convick's daughter, and had got his 
 seat in Parlyment by traflicking with this secret. As for Lady C , 
 Morgan thought, if she's tired of Clavering, and wants to get rid of 
 him, she 11 pay : if she's frightened about her son, and fond of the little 
 beggaiyshell pay all the same : and Miss Blanche will certainly come 
 down handsome to the man who will put her into her rights, which 
 she was unjustly defrauded of them, and no mistake. Dammy " 
 concluded the valet, reflecting upon this wonderful hand which luck 
 had given him to play, ^^with such cards as these, James Morgan, you 
 are a made man. It may be a reg'lar enewity to me. Every one of 
 em must susscribe. And with what I've made already, I may cut 
 business, give my old Gov'nor warning, turn gentleman, and have a 
 servant of my own, begad." Entertaining himself with calculations 
 such as these, that were not a little likely to perturb a man's spirit, 
 Mr. Morgan showed a very great degree of self-command by appearing 
 and being calm, and by not allowing his future prospects in any way 
 to interfere with his present duties. r j j 
 
 One of the persons whom the story chiefly concerned. Colonel Alta- 
 mont, was absent from London when Morgan was thus made acquainted 
 mth his history. The valet knew of Sir Francis Clavering's Shepherd's 
 Inn haunt, and walked thither an hour or two after the Baronet and 
 
 2 L 
 
mo 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Peiidennis had had their conversation together. But that bird was flown ; v 
 Colonel Altamont had received his Derby winnings, and was gone to the i 
 Continent. The fact of his absence was exceedingly vexatious to Mr. 
 Morgan. He'll drop all that money at the gambling-shops on the 
 Rhind/' thought Morgan, and I might have had a good bit of it. 
 It's confounded annoying to think he's gone and couldn't have waited 
 a few days longer." Hope, triumphant or deferred, ambition or dis- 
 appointment, victory or patient ambush, Morgan bore all alike, with 
 similar equable countenance. Until the proper day came, the Major's 
 boots were varnished, and his hair was curled, his early cup of tea was 
 brought to his bedside, his oaths, rebukes, and senile satire borne, 
 with silent obsequious fidelity. Who would think, to see him waiting 
 upon his master, packing and shouldering his trunks, and occasionally 
 assisting at table at the country houses where he might be staying, 
 that Morgan was richer than his employer, and knew his secrets and 
 other people's? In the profession Mr. Morgan was greatly respected 
 and admired, and his reputation for wealth and wisdom got him much 
 renown at most supper-tables : the younger gentlemen voted hini 
 stoopid, a feller of no ideas, and a fogey, in a word : but not one of 
 them would not say amen to the heartfelt prayer which some of the 
 most serious-minded among the gentlemen uttered, '' When I die may 
 I cut up as well as Morgan Pendennis ! " 
 
 As became a man of fashion. Major Pendennis spent the autumn 
 passing from house to house of such country friends as were at home 
 to receive him, and if the Duke happened to be abroad, or the Marquis 
 in Scotland, condescending to sojourn with Sir John or the plain Squire. 
 To say the truth, the old gentleman's reputation was somewhat on the 
 wane : many of the men of his time had died out, and the occupants 
 of their halls and the present wearers of their titles knew not Major 
 Pendennis ; and little cared for his traditions of the wild Prince and 
 Poins, and of the heroes of fashion passed away. It must have struck 
 the good man with melancholy as he walked by many a London door^ 
 to think how seldom it was now opened for him, and how often he used 
 to knock at it— to what banquets and welcome he used to pass through 
 it— a score of years back. He began to own that he was no longer of 
 the present age, and dimly to apprehend that the young men laughed 
 at him. Such melancholy musings must come across many a Pall Mall 
 philosopher. The men, thinks he, are not such as they used to be m 
 his time : the old grand manner and courtly grace of life are gone : 
 what is Castlewood House and the present Castlewood compared to the 
 magnificence of the old mansion and owner ? The late lord came to 
 London with four post-chaises and sixteen horses : all the West Road 
 hurried out to look at his cavalcade : the people in London streets even 
 stopped as his procession passed them. The present lord travels with 
 five bagmen in a railway carriage, and sneaks away from the station, 
 smoking a cigar in a brougham. The late lord in autumn filled Castle- 
 wood with company, who drank claret till midnight : the present man 
 buries himself in a hut on a Scotch mountain, and passes November in 
 two or three closets in an entresol at Paris, where his amusements are ^ 
 dinner at a cafe and a box at a little theatre. What a contrast there 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 531 
 
 is between his Lady Lorraine, the Regent's Lady Lorraine, and her little 
 Ladyship of the present era ! He figures to himself the first, beautiful, 
 gorgeous, magnificent in diamonds and velvets, daring in rouge, the 
 wits of the world (the old wits, the old polished gentlemen — not the 
 canaille of to-day with their language of the cabstand, and their coats 
 smelling of smoke) bowing at her feet ; and then thinks of to-day's 
 Lady Lorraine — a little woman in a black silk gown, like a governess, 
 who talks astronomy, and labouring classes, and emigration, and the 
 deuce knows what, and lurks to church at eight o'clock in the morning. 
 Abbots-Lorraine, that used to be the noblest house in the county, is 
 turned into a monastery — a regular La Trappe. They don't drink two 
 glasses of wine after dinner, and every other man at table is a country 
 curate, with a white neckcloth, whose talk is about Pollv Higson's 
 progress at school, or Widow Watkins' lumbago. And the other 
 young men, those lounging guardsmen and great lazy dandies— sprawl- 
 ing over sofas and billiard-tables, and stealing off to smoke pipes in 
 each other's bedrooms, caring for nothing, reverencing nothing, not 
 even an old gentleman who has known their fathers and their betters, 
 not even a pretty woman — what a difference there is between these 
 men, who poison the very turnips and stubble fields with their tobacco, 
 and the gentlemen of our time !" thinks the Major ; the breed is gone 
 —there's no use for 'em ; they're replaced by a parcel of damned cotton- 
 spinners and utilitarians, and young sprigs of parsons with their hair 
 combed down their backs. I'm getting old : they're getting past me ; 
 they laugh at us old boys," thought old Pendennis. And he was not 
 far wrong; the times and manners which he admired were pretty 
 nearly gone — the gay young men larked " him irreverently, whilst 
 the serious youth had a grave pity and wonder at him, which would 
 have been even more painful to bear, had the old gentleman been aware 
 of its extent. But he was rather simple ; his examination of moral 
 questions had never been very deep ; it had never struck him, perhaps, 
 until very lately, that he was otherwise than a most respectable and 
 rather fortunate man. Is there no old age but his without reverence ? 
 Did youthful folly never jeer at other bald pates ? For the past two or 
 three years, he had begun to perceive that his day was well-nigh over, 
 and that the men of the new time had begun to reign. 
 
 After a rather unsuccessful autumn season then, during which he 
 was faithfully followed by Mr. Morgan, his nephew Arthur being 
 engaged, as we have seen,* at Clavering, it happened that Major Pen- 
 dennis came back for a while to London, at the dismal end of October, 
 when the fogs and the lawyers come to town. Who has not looked 
 with interest at those loaded cabs, piled boxes, and crowded children, 
 rattling through the streets on the dun October evenings ; stopping at 
 the dark houses, where they discharge nurse and infant, girls, matron 
 and father, whose holidays are over.^ Yesterday it was France and 
 sunshine, or Broadstairs and liberty ; to-day comes work and a yellow 
 fog ; and, ye gods ! what a heap of bills there lies in Master's study. 
 And the clerk has brought the lawyer's papers from Chambers ; and in 
 half-an-hour the literary man knows that the printer's boy will be in 
 the passage : and Mr. Smith with that little account (that particular 
 little account) has called presentient of your arrival, and has left word 
 
532 PENDENNIS 
 
 that he will call to-morrow moriimg at ten. Who amongst us has not 
 said ffood-bye to his holiday ; returned to dun London, and his fate ; 
 surveyed his labours and liabilities laid out before him, and been aware 
 of that inevitable little account to settle ? Smith and his little account 
 in the morning, symbolise duty, difficulty, struggle, which you will 
 meet, let us hope, friend, with a manly and honest heart— And you 
 think of him, as the children are slumbering once more in their own 
 beds, and the watchful housewife tenderly pretends to sleep. 
 
 Old Pendennis had no special labours or bills to encounter on the 
 morrow, as he had no affection at home to soothe him. He had always 
 money in his desk sufficient for his wants ; and being by nature and 
 habit tolerably indifferent to the wants of other people, these latter 
 were not likely to disturb him. But a gentleman may be out of temper 
 though he does not owe a shilling: and though he ni^y *)e ever so 
 selfish, he must occasionally feel dispirited and lonely. He had had 
 two or three twinges of gout in the country house where he had been 
 staying ; the birds were wild and shy, and the walking over the 
 ploughed fields had fatigued him deucedly : the young men had laughed 
 at him, and he had been peevish at table once or twice : he had not 
 been able to get his whist of an evening : and, in fine, was glad to 
 come away. In all his dealings with Morgan, his valet, he had been 
 exceedingly sulky and discontented. He had sworn at him and abused 
 him for many days past. He had scalded his mouth with bad soup at 
 Swindon. He had left his umbrella in the railroad carriage : at which 
 niece of forgetfulness he was in such a rage, that he cursed Morgan 
 more freely than ever. Both the chimneys smoked furiously m his 
 lodgings ; and when he caused the windows to be flung open, he swore 
 so acrimoniously, that Morgan was inclined to fling him out of window, 
 too, through that opened casement. The valet swore after his master, 
 as Pendennis went down the street on his way to the Club. 
 
 Bays's was not at all pleasant. The house had been new painted, 
 and smelt of varnish and turpentine, and a large streak of white paint 
 inflicted itself on the back of the old boy s fur-collared surtout. Ihe 
 dinner was not good : and the three most odious men m all London- 
 old Hawkshaw, whose cough and accompaniments are fit to make any 
 man uncomfortable ; old Colonel Gripley, who seizes on all the news- 
 papers ; and that irreclaimable old bore Jawkins, who would come and 
 dine at the next table to Pendennis, and describe to him every inn-bili 
 which he had paid in his foreign tour ; each and all of these disagi-ee- 
 able personages and incidents had contributed to make Major Pen- 
 dennis miserable ; and the Club waiter trod on his toe as he brought 
 him his coffee. Never alone appear the Immortals. The Furies always 
 hunt in company ; they pursued Pendennis from home to the Club, 
 and from the Club home. , , . a v.^^^ 
 
 Whilst the Major was absent from his lodgings, Morgan had been 
 seated in the landlady's parlour, drinking freely of hot brandy-ami- 
 water, and pouring out on Mrs. Brixham some of the abuse which he 
 had received from his master upstairs. Mrs. Brixham was Morgans 
 slave. He was his landlady s landlord. He had bought the lease ot 
 the house which she rented ; he had got her name and her son s to 
 acceptances, and a bill of sale which made him master of the luckless 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 533 
 
 widow's furniture. The young Brixham was a clerk in an insurance- 
 office, and Morgan could put him into what he called quod any day. 
 Mrs. Brixham was a clergyman's widow, and Mr. Morgan, after per- 
 forming his duties on the first floor, had a pleasure in making the old 
 lady fetch him his bootjack and his slippers. She was his slave. The 
 little black profiles of her son and daughter; the very picture of 
 Tiddlecot Church, where she was married, and her poor dear Brixham 
 lived and died, was now Morgan's property, as it hung there over the 
 mantelpiece of his back-parlour. Morgan sate in the widow's back- 
 room, in the ex-curate's old horsehair study-chair, making Mrs. Brixham 
 
 I bring supper for him, and fill his glass again and again. 
 
 The liquor was bought with the poor woman's own coin, and hence 
 Morgan indulged in it only the more freely; and he had eaten his 
 supper and was drinking a third tumbler when old Pendennis returned 
 
 ] from the Club, and went upstairs to his rooms. Mr. Morgan swore 
 very savagely at him and his bell, when he heard the latter, and finished 
 his tumbler of brandy before he went up to answer the summons. 
 
 He received the abuse consequent on this delay in silence, nor did 
 the Major condescend to read in the flushed face and glaring eyes of 
 the man, the anger under which he was labouring. The old gentle- 
 
 I man's foot-bath was at the fire ; his gown and slippers awaiting him 
 
 1 there. Morgan knelt down to take his boots off with due subordina- 
 
 j tion : and as the Major abused him from above, kept up a growl of 
 maledictions below at his feet. Thus, when Pendennis was crying 
 
 I Confound you, sir, mind that strap — curse you, don't wrench my 
 foot off," Morgan sotto voce below was expressing a wish to strangle 
 
 t him, drown him, and punch his head off. 
 
 \ The boots removed, it became necessary to divest Mr. Pendennis of 
 I his coat : and for this purpose the valet had necessarily to approach 
 very near to his employer ; so near that Pendennis could not but per- 
 ceive what Mr. Morgan's late occupation had been ; to which he ad- 
 verted in that simple and forcible phraseology which men are sometimes 
 in the habit of using to their domestics ; informing Morgan that he was 
 a drunken beast, and that he smelt of brandy. 
 
 At this the man broke out, losing patience, and flinging up all sub- 
 ordination, I'm drunk, am I ? I'm a beast, am I ? I'm d d, am 
 
 I ? you infernal old miscreant. Shall I wring your old head ofi^, and 
 drownd yer in that pail of water ? Do you think I'm a-goin' to bear 
 your confounded old harrogance, you old Wigsby ! Chatter your old 
 hivories at me, do you, you grinning old baboon ! Come on, if you are 
 a man, and can stand to a man. Ha ! you coward, knives, knives ! " 
 
 If you advance a step I'll send it into you," said the Major, seizing 
 up a knife that was on the table near him. Go downstairs, you 
 drunken brute, and leave the house ; send for your book and your 
 "Wages in the morning, and never let me see your insolent face again. 
 
 This d d impertinence of yours has been growing for some months 
 
 past. You have been growing too rich. You are not fit for service. 
 €ret out of it, and out of the house." 
 
 ^^And where would you wish me to go, pray, out of the 'ouse.^" 
 asked the man, and won't it be equal convenient to-morrow mornin' ? 
 — tootyfay mame shose^ sivvaplay^ munseer " 
 
534 PENDENNIS 
 
 Silence, you beast, and go !" cried out the Major. 
 
 Morgan began to laugh, with rather a sinister laugh. " Look yere, 
 Pendennis," he said, seating himself, " since Tve been in this room 
 
 you ve called me beast, brute, dog : and d d me, haven't you ? 
 
 How do you suppose one man likes that sort of talk from another ? 
 How many years have I waited on you, and how many damns and 
 cusses have you given me, along with my wages ? Do you think a man's 
 a dog, that you can talk to him in this way? If I choose to drink a 
 little, why shouldn't I ? I've seen many a gentleman drunk form'ly, 
 and per'aps have the 'abit from them. I ain't a-goin' to leave this 
 house, old feller, and shall I tell you why.? The house is my house, 
 every stick of furnitur in it is mine, excep' your old traps, and your 
 shower-bath, and your wig-box. I've bought the place, I tell you, with 
 my own industry and perseverance. I can show a hundred pound, 
 where you can show fifty or your damned supersellious nephew either. 
 I've served you honourable, done everythink for you these dozen years, 
 and I'm a dog, am I ? I'm a beast, am I? That's the language for 
 gentlemen, not for our rank. But I'll bear it no more, I throw up 
 your service ; I'm tired on it ; I've combed your old wig and buckled 
 your old girths and waistbands long enough, I tell you. Don't look 
 savage at me, I'm sitting in my own chair, in my own room, a-telling 
 the truth to you. I'll be your beast, and your brute, and your dog no 
 more. Major Pendennis 'Alf Pay." ^ 
 
 The fury of the old gentleman, met by the servant s abrupt revolt, 
 had been shocked and cooled by the concussion, as much as if a sudden 
 shower-bath or a pail of cold water had been flung upon him. That 
 effect produced, and his anger calmed, Morgan's speech had interested 
 him, and he rather respected his adversary, and his courage in facing 
 him— as of old days, in the fencing-room, he would have admired the 
 opponent who hit him. 
 
 You are no longer my servant," the Major said : ^^and the house 
 may be yours ; but the lodgings are mine, and you will have the goodness 
 to leave them. To-morrow morning, when we have settled our accounts, 
 I shall remove into other quarters. In the meantime, I desire to go 
 to bed, and have not the slightest wish for your further company." 
 
 Well have a settlement, don't you be afraid," Morgan said, getting 
 up from his chair. I ain't done with you yet ; nor with your family, nor 
 with the Clavering family. Major Pendennis; and that you shall know. 
 Have the goodness to leave the room, sir ;— I'm tired," said the 
 
 Major. , , „ 1.1. 
 
 Hah ! you'll be more tired of me afore you ve done, answered the 
 man, with a sneer, and walked out of the room ; leaving the Major to 
 compose himself as best he might, after the agitation of this extraor- 
 dinary scene. 
 
 He sate and mused by his fireside over the past events, and the con- 
 founded impudence and ingratitude of servants ; and thought how he 
 should get a new man : how devilish unpleasant it was for a man of his 
 age, and with his habits, to part with a fellow to whom he had been 
 accustomed : how Morgan had a receipt for boot-varnish, which was 
 incomparably better and more comfortable to the feet than any he 
 had ever tried ; how very well he made mutton-broth, and tended him 
 
I 
 
 PENDENNIS 635 
 
 i when he was unwell. Gad, it's a hard thing to lose a fellow of that 
 i sort : but he must go/' thought the Major. He has grown rich, and 
 1 impudent since he has grown rich. He was horribly tipsy and abusive 
 I to-night. We must part, and I must go out of the lodgings. Dammy, 
 'I I like the lodgings ; I'm used to 'em. It's very unpleasant, at my time 
 i of life, to change my quarters." And so on, mused the old gentleman, 
 i The shower-bath had done him good : the testiness was gone : the loss 
 l of the umbrella, the smell of paint at the Club, were forgotten under 
 I the superior excitement. Confound the insolent villain!" thought 
 the old gentleman. He understood my wants to a nicety ; he was 
 ^ the best servant in England." He thought about his servant as a man 
 i thinks of a horse that has carried him long and well, and that has come 
 I down with him, and is safe no longer. How the deuce to replace him ? 
 I Where can he get such another animal ? 
 
 I In these melancholy cogitations the Major, who had donned his own 
 dressing-gown and replaced his head of hair (a little grey had been 
 introduced into the coiffure of late by Mr. Truefitt, which had given 
 ^the Major's head the most artless and respectable appearance) ; in these 
 cogitations, we say, the Major, who had taken ofF his wig and put on 
 his night-handkerchief, sate absorbed by the fireside, when a feeble 
 knock came at his door, which was presently opened by the landlady 
 of the lodgings. 
 
 ^^God bless my soul, Mrs. Brixham !" cried out the Major, startled 
 that a lady should behold him in the simple appareil of his night- 
 toilette. It— it's very late, Mrs. Brixham." 
 
 I wish I might speak to you, sir," said the landlady, very piteously. 
 
 About Morgan, I suppose ? He has cooled himself at the pump. 
 Can't take him back, Mrs. Brixham. Impossible. I'd determined to 
 part with him before, when I heard of his dealings in the discount 
 business— I suppose you've heard of them, Mrs. Brixham ? My ser- 
 vant's a capitalist, begad." 
 
 Oh, sir," said Mrs. Brixham, I know it to my cost. I borrowed 
 from him a little money five years ago ; and though I have paid him 
 many times over, I am entirely in his power. I am ruined by him, 
 sir. Everything I had is his. He's a dreadful man." 
 
 Eh, Mrs. Brixham ? tant pis — dev'lish sorry for you, and that I 
 must quit your house after lodging here so long : there's no help for 
 it. I must go." 
 
 He says we must alF go, sir," sobbed out the luckless widow. 
 ^^He came downstairs from you just now— he had been drinking, 
 and it always makes him very wicked— and he said that you had 
 insulted him, sir, and treated him like a dog, and spoken to him un- 
 kindly ; and he swore he would be revenged ; and— and, I owe him a 
 hundred and twenty pounds, sir— and he has a bill of sale of all my 
 furniture — and says he will turn me out of my house, and send my 
 poor George to prison. He has been the ruin of my family, that man.''^ 
 ^^Dev'lish sorry, Mrs. Brixham ; pray take a chair. What can I do.^" 
 "Could you not intercede with him for us.^ George will give half 
 his allowance : my daughter can send something. If you will but stay 
 
 on, sir, and pay a quarter's rent in advance " 
 
 "My good madam, I would as soon give you a quarter in advance as 
 
536 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 not, if I w^te going to stay in the lodgings. But I can't; and I can't 
 aiFord to fling away twenty pounds, my good madam. I'm a poor half- 
 pay officer, and want every shilling I have, begad. As far as a few 
 pounds goes — say five pounds — I don't say — and shall be most happy, 
 and that sort of thing ; and I'll give it to you in the morning with 
 pleasure ; but — but it's getting late, and I have made a railroad 
 journey." 
 
 God's will be done, sir," said the poor woman, drying her tears. 
 ^^I must bear my fate." 
 
 And a dev'lish hard one it is, and most sincerely I pity you, Mrs. 
 Brixham. I — I'll say ten pounds, if you will permit me. Good night." 
 
 ^^Mr. Morgan, sir, when he came downstairs, and when — when I 
 besought him to have pity on me, and told him he had been the ruin 
 of my family, said something which I did not well understand — that he 
 would ruin every family in the house — that he knew something would 
 bring you down too — and that you should pay him for your — your 
 insolence to him. I — I must own to you, that I went down on my 
 knees to him, sir ; and he said, with a dreadful oath against you, that 
 he would have you on your knees." 
 
 Me ? — by Gad, that is too pleasant ! Where is the confounded 
 fellow?" 
 
 He went away, sir. He said he should see you in the morning. 
 Oh, pray try and pacify him, and save me and my poor boy." And 
 the widow went away with this prayer, to pass her night as she might, 
 and look for the dreadful morrow. 
 
 The last words about himself excited Major Pendennis so much, that 
 his compassion for Mrs. Brixham' s misfortunes was quite forgotten in 
 the consideration of his own case. 
 
 Me on my knees ? " thought he, as he got into bed : confound 
 his impudence. Who ever saw me on my knees? What the devil 
 does the fellow know ? Gad, I've not had an affair these twenty years. 
 I defy him." And the old campaigner turned round and slept pretty 
 sound, being rather excited and amused by the events of the day — the 
 last day in Bury Street he was determined it should be. ^^ For it's 
 impossible to stay on with a valet over me and a bankrupt landlady. 
 What good can I do this poor devil of a woman ? I'll give her twenty 
 pound — there's Warrington's twenty pound, which he has just paid — 
 but what's the use ? She'll want more, and more, and more, and that 
 cormorant Morgan will swallow all. No, dammy, I can't afford to 
 know poor people ; and to-morrow I'll say good-bye — ^to Mrs. Brixham 
 and Mr. Morgan." -r--^^ 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIII 
 
 IN WHICH THE MAJOR NEITHER YIELDS HIS MONEY NOR HIS LIFE 
 
 Early next morning Pendennis's shutters were opened by Morgan, 
 who appeared as usual, with a face perfectly grave and respectful, 
 bearing with him the old gentleman's clothes, cans of water, and 
 elaborate toilette requisites, 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 537 
 
 '^It's you, is it?*' said the old fellow from his bed. ^'I shan't take 
 you back again, you understand." 
 
 " I 'ave not the least wish to be took back agin, Major Pendennis/' 
 Mr. Morgan said, with grave dignity, nor to serve you noi* hany man. 
 But as I wish you to be comf table as long as you stay in my house, I 
 I came up to do what's ne'ssary.'* And once more, and for the last tim^e, 
 Mr. James Morgan laid out the silver dressing-case, and strapped the 
 shining razor. 
 
 These offices concluded, he addressed himself to the Major with an 
 indescribable solemnity, and said: '^Thinkin' that you would most 
 likely be in want of a respectable pusson, until you suited yourself, I 
 spoke to a young man last night, who is 'ere." 
 Indeed," said the warrior in the tent-bed. 
 
 He 'ave lived in the fust families, and I can wouch for his respect- 
 ability." 
 
 You are monstrous polite," gi-inned the old Major. And the truth 
 is, that after the occurrences of the previous evening, Morgan had 
 gone out to his own Club at the Wheel of Fortune," and there find- 
 |! ing Frosch, a courier and valet just returned from a foreign tour with 
 \ young Lord Cubley, and for the present disposable, had represented to 
 t Mr. Frosch, that he, Morgan, had had a devil of a blow-hup with his 
 I own Gov'nor, and was going to retire from the business haltogether, 
 I and that if Frosch wanted a tempo'ry job, he might prob'bly have it 
 \ by applying in Bury Street. " 
 
 You are very polite," said the Major, and your recommendation, 
 I I am sure, will have every weight." 
 
 \ Morgan blushed ; he felt his master was a-chaffin' of him." " The 
 I man have awaited on you before, sir," he said with great dignity. 
 
 Lord De la Pole, sir, gave him to his nephew young Lord Cubley, 
 and he have been |with him on his foring tour, and not wishing to go 
 to Fitzurse Castle, which Frosch's chest is delicate, and he cannot bear 
 the cold in Scotland, he is free to serve you or not, as you choose." 
 
 ^^I repeat, sir, that you are exceedingly polite," said the Major. 
 
 Come in, Frosch — you will do very well — Mr. Morgan, will you have 
 the great kindness to " 
 
 " I shall show him what is ne'ssary, sir, and what is custom'ry for 
 you to wish to 'ave done. Will you please to take breakfast 'ere or at 
 the Club, Major Pendennis?" 
 
 With your kind permission, I will breakfast here, and afterwards 
 we will make our little arrangements." 
 
 ^^If you please, sir." 
 Will you now oblige me by leaving the room ? " 
 
 Morgan withdrew : the excessive politeness of his ex-employer made 
 him almost as angry as the Major s bitterest words. And whilst the 
 old gentleman is making his mysterious toilette, we will also modestly 
 retire. 
 
 After breakfast Major Pendennis and his new aide-de-camp occupied 
 themselves in preparing for their departure. The establishment of the 
 old bachelor was not very complicated. He encumbered himself with 
 no useless wardrobe. A Bible (his mother s), a road-book. Pen's novel 
 (calf elegant), and the Duke of Wellington s Despatches, with a few 
 
538 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 prints, maps, and portraits of that illustrious General, and of various 
 sovereigns and consorts of this country, and of the General under whom 
 Major Pendennis had served in India, formed his literary and artistical 
 collection : he was always ready to march at a few hours' notice, and 
 the cases in which he had brought his property into his lodgings some 
 fifteen years before were still in the lofts, amply sufficient to receive all ! 
 his goods. These, the young woman who did the work of the house, ^ 
 and who was known by the name of Betty to her mistress and of Slavey 
 to Mr. Morgan, brought down from their resting-place, and obediently 
 dusted and cleaned under the eyes of the terrible Morgan. His de- 
 meanour was guarded and solemn ; he had spoken no word as yet to 
 Mrs. Brixham respecting his threats of the past night, but he looked 
 as if he would execute them, and the poor widow tremblingly awaited 
 her fate. 
 
 Old Pendennis, armed with his cane, superintended the package of 
 his goods and chattels, under the hands of Mr. Frosch, and the Slavey 
 burned such of his papers as he did not care to keep : flung open doors 
 and closets until they were all empty ; and now all boxes and chests 
 were closed, except his desk, which was ready to receive the final ; 
 accounts of Mr. Morgan 
 
 That individual now made his appearance, and brought his books. 
 As I wish to speak to you in privick, per aps you will 'ave the kind- 
 ness to request Frosch to step downstairs," he said, on entering. 
 
 Bring a couple of cabs, Frosch, if you please — and wait downstairs 
 until I ring for you," said the Major. Morgan saw Frosch downstairs, 
 watched him go along the street upon his errand, and produced his 
 books and accounts, which were simple and very easily settled. 
 
 And now, sir," said he, having pocketed the cheque which his ex- 
 employer gave him, and signed his name to his book with a flourish, 
 ^^and now that accounts is closed between us, sir," he said, ^^I porpose 
 to speak to you as one man to another " (Morgan liked the sound of his 
 own voice ; and, as an individual, indulged in public speaking whenever 
 he could get an opportunity, at the Club, or the housekeeper s room), 
 ^^and I must tell you, that Tm in possussion of certing in/amation/' 
 
 And may I inquire of what nature, pray?" asked the Major. 
 
 It's valuable information, Major Pendennis, as you know very well. 
 I know of a marriage as is no marriage — of a honourable Baronet as is \ 
 no more married than I am ; and which his wife is married to some- | 
 body else, as you know too, sir.'* 
 
 Pendennis at once understood all. Ha ! this accounts for your ^ 
 behaviour You have been listening at the door, sir, I suppose," said ji 
 the Major, looking very haughty. ^^I forgot to look at the keyhole 1 
 when I went to that public-house, or I might have suspected what sort i 
 of a person was behind it." ^ 
 
 I may have my schemes as you may have yours, I suppose," \ 
 answered Morgan. I may get my information, and I may act on i| 
 that information, and I may find that information valuable as anybody i 
 else may. A poor servant may have a bit of luck as well as a gentle- ji 
 man, mayn't he ? Don't you be putting on your 'aughty looks, sir, and (i 
 comin' the aristocrat over me. That's all gammon with me, I'm an ' 
 Englishman, I am, and as good as you," 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 589 
 
 '^To what the devil does this tend, sir? and how does the secret 
 which you have surprised concern me, I should like to know ? " asked 
 Major Pendennis, with great majesty. 
 
 How does it concern me, indeed ? how grand we are ! How does it 
 concern my nephew, 1 wonder? How does it concern my nephew's seat 
 in Parlyment ! and to subornation of bigamy ? How does it concern 
 that ? What, are you to be the only man to have a secret, and to trade 
 on it? Why shouldn't I go halves. Major Pendennis? I've found it 
 out too. Look here ! 1 ain't goin' to be unreasonable with you. Make 
 it worth my while, and I'll keep the thing close. Let Mr. Arthur take 
 his seat, and his rich wife, if you like ; I don't want to marry her. 
 But I will have my share, as sure as my name's James Morgan. And 
 if I don't " 
 
 And if you don't, sir — what ? " Pendennis asked. 
 
 If I don't, I split, and tellall. I smash Clavering, and have him and 
 his wife up for bigamy — so help me, I will ! I smash young Hopeful's 
 marriage, and I show up you and him as makin' use of this secret, in 
 order to squeeze a seat in Parlyment out of Sir Francis, and a fortune 
 out of his wife." 
 
 Mr. Pendennis knows no more of this business than the babe un- 
 born, sir," cried the Major, aghast. ^^No more than Lady Clavering, 
 than Miss Amory does. " 
 
 Tell that to the marines. Major," replied the valet; that cock 
 won't fight with me." 
 
 Do you doubt my word, you villain ? " 
 
 No bad language. I don't care one twopence-'a'p'ny whether your 
 word's true or not. I tell you, I intend this to be a nice little annuity 
 to me, Major ; for I have every one of you ; and I ain't such a fool as 
 to let you go. I should say that you might make it five hundred a year 
 to me among you, easy. Pay me down the first quarter now, and I'm 
 as mum as a mouse. Just give me a note for one twenty-five. There's 
 your cheque-book on your desk." 
 
 And there's this too, you villain," cried the old gentleman. In the 
 desk to which the valet pointed was a little double-barrelled pistol, 
 which had belonged to Pendennis's old patron, the Indian commander- 
 in-chief, and which had accompanied him in many a campaign. One 
 more word, you scoundrel, and I'll shoot you like a mad dog. Stop — 
 by Jove, I'll do it now. You'll assault me, will you ? You'll strike at 
 an old man, will you, you lying coward ? Kneel down and say your 
 prayers, sir, for by the Lord you shall die." 
 
 The Major's face glared with rage at his adversary, who looked 
 terrified before him for a moment, and at the next, with a shriek of 
 
 Murder ! " sprang towards the open window, under which a police- 
 man happened to be on his beat. Murder ! Police ! " bellowed Mr. 
 Morgan. 
 
 To his surprise. Major Pendennis wheeled away the table and walked 
 to the other window, which was also open. He beckoned the police- 
 man. Come up here, policeman," he said, and then went and placed 
 himself against the door. 
 
 You miserable sneak," he said to Morgan ; the pistol hasn't been 
 loaded these fifteen years, as you would have known very well if you 
 
540 PENDENNIS 
 
 had not been such a coward. That policeman is comings and I will 
 have him up^ and have your trunks searched ; I have reason to believe 
 that you are a thief^ sir. I know you are. I'll swear to the things." 
 You gave 'em to me— you gave 'em to me ! " cried Morgan. 
 
 The Major laughed. " We'll see/' he said ; and the guilty valet 
 remembered some fine lawn-fronted shirts— a certain gold-headed cane 
 —an opera-glass, which he had forgotten to bring down, and of which 
 he had assumed the use along with certain articles of his master's 
 clothes, which the old dandy neither wore nor asked for. 
 
 Policeman X entered, followed by the scared Mrs. Brixham and her 
 maid-of-all-work, who had been at the door and found some difficulty 
 in closing it against the street amateurs, who wished to see the row. 
 The Major began instantly to speak. 
 
 1 have had occasion to discharge this drunken scoundrel," he said. 
 
 Both last night and this morning he insulted and assaulted me. I am 
 an old man and took up a pistol. You see it is not loaded, and this coward 
 cried out before he was hurt. I am glad you are come. I was charging 
 him with taking my property, and desired to examine his trunks and 
 his room." 
 
 The velvet cloak you ain't worn these three years, nor the weskits, 
 and I thought I might take the shirts, and I— I take my hoath I in- 
 tended to put back the hopera-glass," roared Morgan, writhing with 
 rage and terror. 
 
 The man acknowledges that he is a thief," the Major said calmly. 
 ^^He has been in my service for years, and I have treated him with 
 every kindness and confidence. We will go upstairs and examine his 
 trunks." 
 
 In those trunks Mr. Morgan had things which he would fam keep 
 from public eyes. Mr. Morgan, the bill-discounter, gave goods as 
 well as money to his customers. He provided young spendthrifts with 
 snuff-boxes and pins and jewels and pictures and cigars, and of a very 
 doubtful quality those cigars and jewels and pictures were. Their 
 display at a police-office, the discovery of his occult profession, and 
 the exposure of the Major's property, which he had appropriated, in- 
 deed, rather than stolen,— would not have added to the reputation of 
 Mr. Morgan. He looked a piteous image of terror and discomfiture. 
 
 ^^He'll smash me, will he?" thought the Major. ^'I'll crush him 
 now, and finish with him." 
 
 But he paused. He looked at poor Mrs. Brixham's scared face ; and 
 he thought for a moment to himself that the man brought to bay and 
 in prison might make disclosures which had best be kept secret, and 
 that it was best not to deal too fiercely with a desperate man. 
 
 Stop," he said, policeman. I'll speak with this man by himself. 
 Do you give Mr. Morgan in charge } " said the policeman. 
 I have brought no charge as yet," the Major said, with a signifi- 
 cant look at his man. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," whispered Morgan, very low. 
 ^^Go outside the door, and wait there, policeman, if you please.— Now, 
 Morgan, you have played one game with me, and you have not had the 
 best of it, my good man. No, begad, you've not had the best of it, though 
 you had the best hand; and you've got to pay too, now, you scoundrel. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 541 
 
 Yes^ sir," said the man. 
 
 Tve only found out, within the last week, the game which you 
 have been driving, you villain. Young De Boots, of the Blues, recog- 
 nised you as the man who came to barracks, and did business one-third 
 in monev, one-third in eau-de-cologne, and one-third in French prints, 
 you confounded demure old sinner ! I didn't miss anything, or care 
 a straw what you'd taken, you booby ; but I took the shot, and it hit- 
 hit the bull's-eye, begad. Dammy, sir, I'm an old campaigner." 
 
 What do you want with me, sir?" 
 
 I'll tell you. Your bills, I suppose, you keep about you in that 
 dem'd great leather pocket-book, don't you? You'll burn Mrs. Brix- 
 
 ham's bill ? " „ i j xi, 
 
 Sir, I ain t a-goin' to part with my property, growled the man. 
 
 You lent her sixty pounds five years ago. She and that poor devil 
 of an insurance clerk, her son, have paid you fifty pounds a year ever 
 since : and you have got a bill of sale of her furniture, and her note ot 
 hand for a hundred and fifty pounds. She told me so last night. By 
 Jove, sir, you>e bled that poor woman enough." 
 
 I won't give it up," said Morgan. If I do I'm 
 
 Policeman !" cried the Major. 
 ^^You shall have the bill," said Morgan. You re not going to 
 take money of me, and you a gentleman ?" 
 
 I shall want you directly," said the Major to X, who here entered, 
 and who again withdrew. 
 
 No, my good sir," the old gentleman continued ; I have not any 
 desire to have further pecuniary transactions with you ; but we will 
 draw out a little paper, which you will have the kindness to sign. No, 
 stop '—you shall write it ! you have improved immensely in writing of 
 late, and have now a very good hand. You shall sit down and write, 
 if you please— there, at that table— so— let me see— we may as well 
 have the date. Write ' Bury Street, St. James's, October 21, 18—. 
 
 And Morgan wrote as he was instructed, and as the pitiless old 
 Major continued : — . ^ xi. • 
 
 ''I, James Morgan, having come in extreme poverty into the service 
 of Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, of Bury Street, St. James s, a Major m 
 her Majesty's service, acknowledge that I received liberal wages and 
 board wages from my employer, during fifteen years.— You can t object 
 to that, I'm sure," said the Major. 
 
 "During fifteen years," wrote Morgan. 
 
 " In which time, by my own care and prudence, the dictator 
 resumed, " I have managed to amass sufficient money to purchase the 
 house in which my master resides, and besides to effect other savings. 
 Amongst other persons from whom I have had money, I may mention 
 my present tenant, Mrs. Brixham, who, in consideration of sixty pounds 
 advanced by me five years since, has paid back to me the sum of two 
 hundred and fifty pounds sterling, besides giving me a note ot hand 
 for one hundred and twenty pounds, which I restore to her at the 
 desire of my late master. Major Arthur Pendennis, and therewith tree 
 her furniture, of which I had a bill of sale.— Have you written t 
 
 " I think if this pistol was loaded, I'd blow your brains out, said 
 Morgan. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 No, you wouldn't. You have too great a respect for your valuable 
 life, my good man/' the Major answered. Let us go on and begin 
 a new sentence." 
 
 And having, in return for my master's kindness, stolen his property 
 from him, which I acknowledge to be now upstairs, in my trunks : and 
 having uttered falsehoods regarding his and other honourable families, 
 1 do hereby, in consideration of his clemency to me, express my regret 
 for uttering these falsehoods, and for stealing his property ; and declare 
 that I am not worthy of belief, and that I hope — yes, begad — that I 
 hope to amend for the future. Signed, James Morgan." 
 I'm d d if I sign it," said Morgan. 
 
 ^^My good man, it will happen to you, whether you sign or no, 
 begad," said the old fellow, chuckling at his own wit. There, I shall 
 not use this, you understand, unless — unless I am compelled to do so. 
 Mrs. Brixham, and our friend the policeman, will witness it, I dare say, 
 without reading it : and I will give the old lady back her note of hand, 
 and say, which you will confirm, that she and you are quits. I see 
 there is Frosch come back with the cab for my trunks ; I shall go to an 
 hotel. — You may come in now, policeman; Mr. Morgan and I have 
 arranged our little dispute. If Mrs. Brixham will sign this paper, and 
 you, policeman, will do so, I shall be very much obliged to you both. 
 Mrs. Brixham, you and your worthy landlord, Mr. Morgan, are quits. 
 I wish you joy of him. Let Frosch come and pack the rest of the things." 
 
 Frosch, aided by the Slavey, under the calm superintendence of Mr. 
 Morgan, carried Major Pendennis's boxes to the cab in waiting : and 
 Mrs. Brixham, when her persecutor was not by, came and asked a 
 Heaven's blessing upon the Major, her preserver, and the best and 
 quietest and kindest of lodgers. And having given her a finger to 
 shake, which the humble lady received with a curtsey, and over which 
 she was ready to make a speech full of tears, the Major cut short that 
 valedictory oration, and walked out of the house to the hotel in Jermyn 
 Street, which was not many steps from Morgan's door. 
 
 That individual, looking forth from the parlour-window, discharged 
 anything but blessings at his parting guest ; but the stout old boy could 
 afford not to be frightened at Mr. Morgan, and flung him a look of 
 great contempt and humour as he strutted away with his cane. 
 
 Major Pendennis had not quitted his house of Bury Street many 
 hours, and Mr. Morgan was enjoying his otium in a dignified manner, 
 surveying the evening fog, and smoking a cigar, on the doorsteps, when 
 Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, the hero of this history, made his appear- 
 ance at the well-known door. 
 
 My uncle out, I suppose, Morgan } " he said to the functionary ; 
 knowing full well that to smoke was treason in the presence of the Major. 
 
 Major Pendennis is hout, sir," said Morgan, with gravity, bowing, 
 but not touching the elegant cap which he wore. Major Pendennis 
 have left this 'ouse to-day, sir, and T have no longer the honour of being 
 in his service, sir." 
 
 Indeed, and where is he ? " 
 
 I believe he 'ave taken tempor'y lodgings at Cox's 'otel, in Jummin 
 Street," said Mr. Morgan ; and added, after a pause, Are you in town 
 
PENDENNIS 543 
 
 for some time, pray, sir ? Are you in Chambers ? I should like to have 
 the honour of waiting on you there : and would be thankful if you would 
 favour me with a quarter of an hour." 
 
 Do you want my uncle to take you back ? " asked Arthur, insolent 
 and good-natured. 
 
 I want no such thing ; Td see him " the man glared at him for 
 
 a minute, but he stopped. No, sir, thank you," he said in a softer 
 voice; ^^it's only with you that I wish to speak, on some business 
 which concerns you ; and perhaps you would favour me by walking 
 into my house ! " 
 
 If it is but for a minute or two, I will listen to you, Morgan," said 
 Arthur ; and thought to himself, I suppose the fellow wants me to 
 patronise him ; " and he entered the house. A card was already in the 
 front windows, proclaiming that apartments were to be let, and having 
 introduced Mr. Pendennis into the dining-room, and offered him a chair, 
 Mr. Morgan took one himself, and proceeded to convey some informa- 
 tion to him, of which the reader has already had cognisance. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX 
 
 IN WHICH PENDENNIS COUNTS HIS EGGS 
 
 Our friend had arrived in London on that day only, though but for a 
 brief visit, and having left some fellow-travellers at an hotel to which 
 he had convoyed them from the West, he hastened to the Chambers in 
 Lamb Court, which were basking in as much sun as chose to visit that 
 dreary but not altogether comfortless building. Freedom stands in 
 lieu of sunshine in Chambers ; and Templars grumble, but take their 
 ease in their Inn. Pen's domestic announced to him that Warrington 
 was in Chambers too, and, of course, Arthur ran up to his friend's 
 room straightway, and found it, as of old, perfumed with the pipe, 
 and George once more at work at his newspapers and reviews. The 
 pair greeted each other with the rough cordiality which young English- 
 men use one to another : and which carries a great deal of warmth 
 and kindness under its rude exterior. Warrington smiled and took 
 his pipe out of his mouth, and said, " Well, young one ! " Pen advanced, 
 and held out his hand, and said, How are you, old boy ? " And so 
 this greeting passed between two friends who had not seen each other 
 for months. Alphonse and Frederic would have rushed into each 
 other's arms and shrieked Ce bon cmur ! ce cher Alphonse ! " over 
 each other's shoulders. Max and Wilhelm would have bestowed half- 
 a-dozen kisses, scented with Havannah, upon each other's mustachios. 
 
 Well, young one !" How are you, old boy.^ ' is what two Britons 
 say I after saving each other's lives, possibly, the day before. To- 
 morrow they will leave off shaking hands, and only wag their heads at 
 one another as they come to breakfast. Each has for the other the 
 very warmest confidence and regard ; each would share his purse with 
 the other : and hearing him attacked, would break out in the loudest 
 and most enthusiastic praise of his friend ; but they part with a mere 
 
544 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Good-bye, they meet with a mere How-d'you-do ? and they don't write 
 to each other in the interval. Curious modesty, strange stoical decorum 
 of English friendship ! Yes, we are not demonstrative like those 
 confounded foreigners," says Hardman ; who not only shows no friend- 
 ship, but never felt any all his life long. 
 
 Been in Switzerland ? " says Pen. — Yes," says Warrington. 
 Couldn't find a bit of tobacco fit to smoke till we came to Strasburg, 
 where I got some caporal." The man's mind is full, very likely, of 
 the great sights which he has seen, of the great emotions with which 
 the vast works of Nature have inspired it. But his enthusiasm is too 
 coy to show itself, even to his closest friend, and he veils it with a' 
 cloud of tobacco. He will speak more fully of confidential evenings, 
 however, and write ardently and frankly about that which he is shy of 
 saying. The thoughts and experience of his travel will come forth in 
 his writings ; as the learning, which he never displays in talk, enriches 
 his style with pregnant allusion and brilliant illustration, colours his 
 generous eloquence, and points his wit. 
 
 The elder gives a rapid account of the places which he has visited 
 in his tour. He has seen Switzerland, North Italy, and the Tyrol — he 
 has come home by Vienna, and Dresden, and the Rhine. He speaks 
 about these places in a shy sulky voice, as if he had rather not mention 
 them at all, and as if the sight of them had rendered him veryi[unhappy. 
 The outline of the elder man's tour thus gloomily sketched out, the 
 young one begins to speak. He has been in the country — very much 
 bored — canvassing — uncommonly slow — he is here for a day or two, 
 and going on to — to the neighbourhood of Tunbridge Wells, to some 
 friends — that will be uncommonly slow, too. How hard it is to make 
 an Englishman acknowledge that he is happy ! 
 
 And the seat in Parliament, Pen.^^ Have you made it all right.'*'! 
 
 ^^AU right, — as soon as Parliament meets and a new writ can be 
 issued, Clavering retires, and I step into his shoes," says Pen. 
 
 And under which king does Bezonian speak or die ? " asked W ar- 
 rington. Do we come out as Liberal Conservative, or as Government 
 man, or on our own hook.'*" 
 
 Hem ! There are no politics now ; every man's politics, at least, 
 are pretty much the same. I have not got acres enough to make me a 
 Protectionist ; nor could I be one, I think, if I had all the land in the 
 county. I shall go pretty much with Government, and in advance of 
 them upon some, social questions which I have been getting up during 
 the vacation ; — don't grin, you old cynic, 1 have been getting up the 
 Blue Books, and intend to come out rather strong on the Sanitary and 
 Colonisation questions." 
 
 We reserve to ourselves the liberty of voting against Government, 
 though we are generally friendly. We are, however, friends of the 
 people avant tout. We give lectures at the Clavering Institute, and 
 shake hands with the intelligent mechanics. We think the franchise 
 ought to be very considerably enlarged ; at the same time we are free 
 to accept office some day, when the House has listened to a few crack 
 speeches from us, and the Administration perceives our merit." 
 
 1 am not Moses," said Pen, with, as usual, somewhat of melancholy 
 
 asks Warrington. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 545 
 
 in his voice. I have no laws from heaven to bring down to the people 
 from the mountain. I don't belong to the mountain at all^ or set up 
 to be a leader and reformer of mankind. My faith is not strong enough 
 for that ; nor my vanity, nor my hypocrisy, great enough. I will tell 
 Qo lies, George, that I promise you ; and do no more than coincide in 
 those which are necessary and pass current, and can't be got in without 
 recalling the whole circulation. Give a man at least the advantage of 
 his sceptical turn. If I find a good thing to say in the House, I will 
 say it ; a good measure, I will support it ; a fair place, I will take it, 
 and be glad of my luck. But I would no more flatter a great man than 
 fi mob ; and now you know as much about mv politics as I do. What 
 call have I to be a Whig ? Whiggism is not a'divine institution. Why 
 mot vote with the Liberal Conservatives ? They have done for the nation 
 what the Whigs would never have done without them. Who converted 
 both.?*— the Radicals and the country outside. I think the Morning 
 Post is often right, and Punch is often wrong. I don't profess a call, 
 but take advantage of a chance. Parlons d' autre chose.'' 
 
 ^^The next thing at your heart, after ambition, is love, I suppose 
 i^arrington said. How have our young loves prospered ? Are we 
 ^oing to change our condition, and give up our Chambers } Are you 
 ^•oing to divorce me, Arthur, and take unto yourself a wife } " 
 
 I suppose so. She is very good-natured and lively. She sings, 
 ind she don't mind smoking. She'll have a fair fortune— I don't 
 mow how much— but my uncle augurs everything from the Begum's 
 generosity, and says that she will come down very handsomely. And 
 think Blanche is dev'lish fond of me," said Arthur, with a sigh. 
 ^'^That means that we accept her caresses and her money." 
 
 Haven't we said before, that life was a transaction " Pendennis 
 aid. I don't pretend to break my heart about her. I have told her 
 )retty fairly what my feelings are— and— and have engaged myself to 
 ler. And since I saw her last, and for the last two months especially, 
 rhilst I have been in the country, I think she has been growing fonder 
 nd fonder of me ; and her letters to me, and especially to Laura, seem 
 0 show it. Mine have been simple enough — no raptures nor vows, 
 ou understand— but looking upon the thing as an affaire faite ; and 
 lot desirous to hasten or defer the completion." 
 
 And Laura how is she?" Warrington asked frankly. 
 
 Laura, George," said Pen, looking his friend hard in the face— 
 ^ by Heaven, Laura is the best, and noblest, and dearest girl the sun 
 ver shone upon." His own voice fell as he spoke : it seemed as if he 
 ould hardly utter the words : he stretched out his hand to his comrade,) 
 ho took it and nodded his head. ^ 
 
 Have you only found out that now, young un ? " Warrington said, 
 fter a pause. 
 
 Who has not learned things too late, George ? " cried Arthur, in 
 is impetuous way, gathering words and emotion as he went on. 
 ' Whose life is not a disappointment ? Who carries his heart entire 
 3 the grave without a mutilation ? I never knew anybody who was 
 appy quite : or who has not had to ransom himself out of the hands of 
 ate with the payment of some dearest treasure or other. Lucky if we 
 re left alone afterwards, when we have paid our fine, and if the tyrant 
 
 2 M 
 
546 PENDENNIS 
 
 visits us no more. Suppose I have found out that 1 have lost the 
 greatest prize in the world, now that it can't be mme-that for j^ears I 
 had an angel under my tent, and let her go?-am I the only one-ah, 
 Sear old hoy, am 1 the' only one? And do you think my lot is easier 
 to bear because I own that I deserve it? She s gone from us. God s 
 blessing be with her ! She might have stayed, and I lost her ; it s like 
 Undine : isn't it, George ? " 
 
 " She was in this room once, said George. . , ^. 
 
 He saw her there— he heard the sweet low voice— he saw the sweet 
 smile and eyes shining so kindly-the face remembered so fondly- 
 thought of in what night-watches-blest and loved always-gone now 1 
 A giL that had held a nosegay-a Bible with Helen s handwritmg- 
 were all that were left him of that brief flower of his life. Say it is a 
 dream : say it passes : better the recollection of a dream than an aim- 
 less waking from a blank stupor. . , .^.i. v 
 
 The two friends sate in silence awhile, each occupied with his own 
 thoughts and aware of the other's. Pen broke it presently by fy»}S 
 that he must go and seek for his uncle, and report progress to the old 
 fl-entleman. The Major had written in a very bad humour : the Major 
 wis getting old. " I should like to see you in Parliament, and snugly 
 settled with a comfortable house and an heir to the name before I make 
 my bow. Show me these," the Major wrote, " and then, let old Arthur 
 Pendennis make room for the younger fellows ; he has walked the Pali 
 
 '^"TwVk^a^i^fiess about the old heathen," said Warrington. 
 "He cares for somebody besides himself, at least for some other part 
 of himself besides that which is buttoned into his own coat :-for you 
 and vour race. He would like to see the progeny of the Pendennises 
 multiplying and increasing, and hopes that they may inherit the land. 
 The old patriarch blesses you from the Club window of Bayss, and is 
 carried off and buried under the flags of St. James s Church, m sight 
 of Piccadilly, and the cabstand, and the carriages going to the levee. 
 
 '^'^^'Sblood^^^^^^^^ into the family," mused Pen, "is rather 
 tainted If I had chosen, I think my father-in-law Amory would not 
 have been the progenitor I should have desired for my race ; nor my 
 grandfather-in-law Snell ; nor our oriental ancestoi;s. By the way, 
 who was Amory? Amory was Lieutenant of an Indiaman. Blanche 
 wrote some verses about him,-about the storm, the mountain wave, 
 the seaman's grave, the gallant father, and that sort of thing. Amory 
 was drowned commanding a country ship between Calcutta and Sydney , 
 Amory and the Begum weren't happy together. She has been unlucky 
 in her selection of husbands, the good old lady, for, between ourselves 
 a more despicable creature than Sir Francis Clavering, of Clavering 
 
 PaX Baronet, never " "Never legislated for his country, broke 
 
 in Warrington ; at which Pen blushed rather. ^ • j +u<, 
 
 " By thl wa^, at Baden," said Warrington, "I found our friend the 
 Chevalier Strong in great state, and wearing his orders. He to d me 
 that he had quarrelled with Clavering, of whom he seemed to have a mos 
 as bad an opinion as you have, and in fact, I think, though 1 « ill no 
 be certain, confided to me his opinion, that Clavering was an uttei 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 547 
 
 scoundrel. That fellow Bloundell^ who taught you card-playing at 
 Oxbridge^ was with Strong ; and time^ 1 think^ has brought out his 
 valuable qualities^ and rendered him a more accomplished rascal 
 than he was during your under-graduateship. But the king of the 
 place was the famous Colonel Altamont^ who was carrying all be- 
 fore him^ giving fetes to the whole society^ and breaking the bank^ it 
 was said/* 
 
 My uncle knows something about that fellow — Clavering knows 
 something about him. There's something louche regarding him. But 
 come ! I must go to Bury Street^ like a dutiful nephew." And taking 
 his hat. Pen prepared to go. 
 
 I will walk, too/' said Warrington. And they descended the stairs, 
 stopping, however, at Pen's chambers, which, as the reader has been 
 informed, were now on the lower storey. 
 
 Here Pen began sprinkling himself with eau-de-Cologne, and care- 
 fully scenting his hair and whiskers with that odoriferous water. 
 
 What is the matter.^ You've not been smoking. Is it my pipe 
 that has poisoned you ? " growled Warrington. 
 
 I am going to call upon some women," said Pen. I'm — I'm going 
 to dine with 'em. They are passing through town, and are at an hotel 
 in Jermyn Street." 
 
 Warrington looked with good-natured interest at the young fellow 
 dandifying himself up to a pitch of completeness ; and appearing at 
 length in a gorgeous shirt-front and neckcloth, fresh gloves, and 
 glistening boots. George had a pair of thick highlows, and his old 
 shirt was torn about the breast, and ragged at the collar, where his 
 blue beard had worn it. 
 
 Well, young un," said he simply, I like you to be a buck, some- 
 how. When I walk about with you, it is as if I had a rose in my 
 button-hole. And you are still affable. I don't think there is any 
 young fellow in the Temple turns out like you ; and I don't believe 
 you were ever ashamed of walking with me yet." 
 
 Don't laugh at me, George," said Pen. 
 " I say^ Pen," continued the other sadly, if you write— if you write 
 to Laura, I wish you would say ^God bless her' from me." 
 
 Pen blushed ; and then looked at Warrington ; and then — and then 
 burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughing. 
 
 ^^I'm going to dine with her," he said. ^'l brought her and 
 Lady Rockminster up from the country to-day — made two days of it — 
 slept last night at Bath — I say, George, come and dine too. I may 
 ask any one I please, and the old lady is constantly talking about 
 you." 
 
 George refused. George had an article to write. George hesitated ; 
 and oh, strange to say 1 at last he agreed to go. It was agreed that 
 they should go and call upon the ladies ; and they marched away in 
 high spirits to the hotel in Jermyn Street. Once more the dear face 
 shone upon him ; once more the sweet voice spoke to him, and the 
 tender hand pressed a welcome. 
 
 There still wanted half-an-hour to dinner. You will go and see 
 your uncle now, Mr. Pendennis," old Lady Rockminster said. You 
 will not bring him to dinner — no — his old stories are intolerable ; and 
 
548 PENDENNIS 
 
 I want to talk to Mr Warrington; I dare say he will amuse us. I 
 think we have heard all your stories. We have been together for two 
 whole days, and I think we are getting tired of each other. 
 
 So, obeying her Ladyship s orders, Arthur went downstairs and 
 walked to his uncle's lodgings. 
 
 CHAPTER LXX 
 
 FIAT JUSTITIA 
 
 The dinner was served when Arthur returned, and Lady Rockmmster 
 be^an to scold him for arriving late. But Laura, looking at her cousin, 
 saw that his face was so pale and scared that she interrupted her im- 
 perious patroness ; and asked, with tender alarm, What had happened.'' 
 
 was Arthur ill ? , , i i xi 4. 
 
 Arthur drank a large bumper of sherry. ''I have heard the most 
 extraordinary news ; 1 will tell you afterwards," he said, looking at 
 the servants. He was very nervous and agitated during the dinner. 
 
 Don't tramp and beat so with your feet under the table. Lady 
 Rockminster said. You have trodden on Fido and upset his saucer. 
 You see Mr, Warrington keeps his boots quiet." 
 
 At the dessert— it seemed as if the unlucky dinner would never be 
 over— Lady Rockminster said, ^^This dinner has been exceedingly 
 stupid. I suppose something has happened, and that you want to 
 speak to Laura. I will go and have my nap. I am not sure that J 
 shall have any tea-no. Good-night, Mr. Warrington. Jou must 
 come again, and when there is no business to talk about. And the 
 old lady, tossing up her head, walked away from the room with great 
 
 (ieorffe and the others had risen with her, and Warrington was about 
 to ffo away, and was saying Good-night " to Laura, who, of course, 
 was looking much alarmed about her cousin, when Arthur said, Pray 
 stay, George. You should hear my news too, and give me your counsel 
 in this case. I hardly know how to act in it." 
 
 ^^It's something about Blanche, Arthur, said .Laura, her heart 
 beating, and her cheek blushing, as she thought it had never blushed 
 
 Yes— and the most extraordinary story," said Pen. ''^hen I left 
 vou to go to my uncle s lodgings, I found his servant, Morgan, who 
 has been with him so long, at the door, and he said that he and his 
 master had parted that morning ; that my uncle had quitted the house, 
 and had gone to an hotel— this hotel. I asked for him when I came 
 in • but he was gone out to dinner. Morgan then said that he had 
 something of a most important nature to communicate to me, and 
 beffffed me to step into the house ; his house it is now. It appears the 
 scoundrel has saved a great deal of money whilst in my uncle s service, 
 and is now a capitalist and a millionaire, for what I know. Well, 1 
 went into the house, and what do you think he told me? This must 
 be a secret between us all— at least if we can keep it, now that it is in 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 649 
 
 possession of that villain. Blanche's father is not dead. He has come 
 to life again. The marriage between Clavering and the Begum is no 
 marriage." 
 
 ^^And Blanche, I suppose, is her grandfathers heir.^" said War- 
 rington. 
 
 Perhaps ; but the child of what a father ! Amory is an escaped 
 convict — Clavering knows it ; my uncle knows it — and it was with this 
 piece of information held over Clavering in terror em that the wretched 
 old man got him to give up his borough to me." 
 
 " Blanche doesn t know it/' said Laura, nor poor Lady Clavering ? " 
 
 ^^No," said Pen ; Blanche does not even know the history of her 
 father. She knew that he and her mother had separated, and had 
 heard as a child, from Bonner her nurse, that Mr. Amory was drowned 
 in New South Wales. He was there as a convict, not as a ship's 
 captain, as the poor girl thought. Lady Clavering has told me that 
 they were not happy, and that her husband was a bad character. She 
 would tell me all, she said, some day : and I remember her saying to 
 me, with tears in her eyes, that it was hard for a woman to be forced 
 to own that she was glad to hear her husband was dead, and that twice 
 in her life she should have chosen so badly. What is to be done now ? 
 The man can't show and claim his wife : death is probably over him if 
 he discovers himself : return to transportation certainly. But the 
 rascal has held the threat of discovery over Clavering for some time 
 past, and has extorted money from him time after time." 
 
 " It is our friend Colonel Altamont, of course," said Warrington I 
 " I see all now." 
 
 If the rascal comes back," continued Arthur, Morgan, who knows 
 his secret, will use it over him — and having it in his possession, pro- 
 poses to extort money from us all. The d d rascal supposed I was 
 
 cognisant of it," said Pen, white with anger ; asked me if I would 
 give him an annuity to keep it quiet ; threatened me, me, as if I was 
 trafficking with this wretched old Begum's misfortune; and would 
 extort a seat in Parliament out of that miserable Clavering. Good 
 heavens ! was my uncle mad, to tamper in such a conspiracy } Fancy 
 our mother's son, Laura, trading on such a treason ! " 
 
 I can't fancy it, dear Arthur," said Laura, seizing Arthur's hand, 
 and kissing it. 
 
 No ! " broke out Warrington's deep voice, with a tremor ; he sur- 
 veyed the two generous and loving young people with a pang of in- 
 describable love and pain. No. Our boy can't meddle with such a 
 wretched intrigue as that. Arthur Pendennis can't marry a convict's 
 daughter ; and sit in Parliament as Member for the hulks. You must 
 wash your hands of the whole affair. Pen. You must break off. You 
 must give no explanations of why and wherefore, but state that family 
 reasons render a match impossible. It is better that those poor women 
 should fancy you false to your word than that they should know the 
 truth. Besides, you can get from that dog Clavering — I can fetch that 
 for you easily enough — an acknowledgment that the reasons which 
 you have given to him as the head of the family are amply sufficient 
 for breaking off the union. Don't you think with me, Laura?" He 
 scarcely dai'ed to look her in the face as he spoke. Any lingering hope 
 
 I 
 
550 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 that he might have— any feeble hold that he might feel upon the last 
 spar of his wrecked fortune, he knew he was casting away ; and he let 
 the wave of his calamity close over him. Pen had started up whilst he 
 was speaking, looking eagerly at him. He turned his head away. He 
 saw Laura rise up also and go to Pen, and once more take his hand 
 and kiss it. " She thinks so too— God bless her !" said George. 
 
 ^'Her fathers shame is not Blanches fault, dear Arthur, is it?" 
 Laura said, very pale, and speaking very quickly. Suppose you had 
 been married, would you desert her because she had done no wrong ? 
 Are you not pledged to her ? Would you leave her because she is in 
 misfortune.^ And if she is unhappy, wouldn't you console her ? Our 
 mother would, had she been here." And, as she spoke, the kind girl 
 folded her arms round him, and buried her face upon his heart. 
 
 Our mother is an angel with God," Pen sobbed out. And you 
 (are the dearest and best of women— the dearest, the dearest, and the 
 best. Teach me my duty. Pray for me that I may do it— pure heart. 
 God bless you— God bless you, my sister. ^ 
 
 ^^Amen," groaned out Warrington, with his head in his hands. 
 She is right," he murmured to himself She can t do any wrong, 
 I think— that girl." Indeed, she looked and smiled like an angel. 
 Many a day after, he saw that smile— saw her radiant face as she looked 
 up at Pen— saw her putting back her curls, blushing and smiling, and 
 still looking fondly towards him. , 
 
 She leaned for a moment her little fair hand on the table, playing on 
 it. And now, and now "—she said, looking at the two gentlemen. 
 And what now } " asked George. 
 " And now we will have some tea," said Miss Laura, with her smile. 
 But before this unromantic conclusion to a rather sentimental scene 
 could be suffered to take place, a servant brought word that Major 
 Pendennis had returned to the hotel, and was waiting to see his nephew. 
 Upon this announcement, Laura, not without some alarm, and an 
 appealing look at Pen, which said, Behave yourself well— hold to the 
 right, and do your duty— be gentle, but firm with your uncle "—Laura, 
 we say, with these warnings written in her face, took leave of the two 
 gentlemen, and retreated to her dormitory. Warrington, who was not 
 generally fond of tea, vet grudged that expected cup very much. Why 
 could not old Pendennis have come in an hour later? Well, an hour 
 sooner or later, what matter ? The hour strikes at last. The inevitable 
 moment comes to say farewell. The hand is shaken, the door closed, 
 and the friend gone ; and, the brief joy over, you are alone. In 
 which of those many windows of the hotel does her hght beami* 
 perhaps he asks himself as he passes down the street. He strides away 
 to the smoking-room of a neighbouring Club, and there applies himself 
 to his usual solace of a cigar. Men are brawling and talking loud about 
 politics, opera-girls, horse-racing, the atrocious tyranny of the com- 
 mittee ;— bearing this sacred secret abx)ut him, he enters into this 
 brawl. Talk away, each louder than the other. Rattle and crack jokes. 
 Laugh and tell your wild stories. It is strange to take one's place and 
 part in the midst of the smoke and din, and think every man here has 
 his secret ego most likely, which is sitting lonely and apart, away in the 
 private chamber, from the loud game in which the rest of us is joining. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 5/51 
 
 Arthur^ as he traversed the passages of the hotels felt his anger 
 rousing up within him. He was indignant to think that yonder old 
 gentleman^ whom he was about to meet, should have made him such 
 a tool and puppet, and so compromised his honour and good name. 
 The old fellow's hand was very cold and shaky when Arthur took it. 
 He was coughing ; he was grumbling over the fire ; Frosch could not 
 bring his dressing-gown or arrange his papers as that d d con- 
 founded impudent scoundrel of a Morgan. The old gentleman be- 
 moaned himself and cursed Morgan's ingratitude with peevish pathos. 
 
 ^^The confounded impudent scoundrel ! He was drunk last night, 
 and challenged me to fight him, Pen : and begad, at one time I was so 
 excited that I thought I should have driven a knife into him ; and the 
 infernal rascal has made ten thousand pound, I believe — and deserves 
 to be hanged, and will be ; but, curse him ! I wish he could have 
 lasted out my time. He knew all my ways, and, dammy, when I rang 
 the bell, the confounded thief brought the thing I wanted — not like 
 that stupid German lout. And what sort of time have you had in the 
 country? Been a good deal with Lady Rockminster? You can't do 
 better. She is one of the old school — vieille ecole, bonne ecole, hey? 
 Dammy, they don't make gentlemen and ladies now ; and in fifty years 
 you'll hardly know one man from another. But they'll last my time. 
 I ain't long for this business : I'm getting very old. Pen, my boy ; and. 
 Gad, I was thinking to-day, as I was packing up my little library, 
 there's a Bible amongst the books that belonged to my poor mother ; I 
 would like you to keep that. Pen. I was thinking, sir, that you would 
 most likely open the box when it was your property, and the old fellow 
 was laid under the sod, sir." And the Major coughed and wagged his 
 old head over the fire. 
 
 His age — his kindness, disarmed Pen's anger somewhat, and made^ 
 Arthur feel no little compunction for the deed which he was about to do..^ 
 He knew that the announcement which he was about to make would 
 destroy the darling hope of the old gentleman's life, and create in his 
 breast a woful anger and commotion. 
 
 Hey — hey — I'm ofi^, sir," nodded the Elder ; ^^but I'd like to read 
 a speech of yours in the Times before I go — ^ Mr. Pendennis said : 
 Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking' — hey, sir? hey, Arthur? 
 Begad, you look devilish well and healthy, sir. I always said my 
 brother Jack would bring the family right. You must go down into 
 the West, and buy the old estate, sir. Nec tenui pennd, hey ? We'll 
 rise again, sir — rise again on the wing — and, begad, I shouldn't be 
 surprised that you will be a Baronet before you die." 
 
 His words smote Pen. And it is I," he thought, that am going 
 to fling down the poor old fellow's air-castle. Well, it must be. Here 
 goes. — I — I went into your lodgings at Bury Street, though I did not 
 find you," Pen slowly began — ^^and I talked with Morgan, uncle." 
 I Indeed ! " The old gentleman's cheek began to flush involuntarily, 
 and he muttered, The cat's out of the bag now, begad ! " 
 
 He told me a story, sir, which gave me the deepest surprise and 
 pain," said Pen. 
 
 The Major tried to look unconcerned. ^^What — that story about 
 — about What-d'you-call-'em, hey?" 
 
552 PENDENNIS 
 
 About Miss Amory s father— about Lady Clavering s first husband, 
 and who he is, and what." 
 
 Hem— a devilish awkward affair ! " said the old man, rubbing his 
 nose. I—I've been aware of that— eh— confounded circumstance for 
 
 some time.*' . , * i i -i 
 
 I wish I had known it sooner, or not at all, said Arthur gloomily. 
 
 He is all safe," thought the Senior, greatly relieved. Gad ! I 
 should have liked to keep it from you altogether— and from those two 
 poor women, who are as innocent as unborn babes in the transaction." 
 
 You are right. There is no reason why the two women should hear 
 it ; and I shall never tell them— though that villain, Morgan, perhaps 
 may," Arthur said gloomily. He seems disposed to trade upon his 
 secret, and has already proposed terms of ransom to me. I wish I had 
 known of the matter earlier, sir. It is not a very pleasant thought to 
 me that I am engaged to a convict's daughter." 
 
 The very reason why I kept it from you— my dear boy. But Miss 
 Amory is not a convict's daughter, don't you see } Miss Amory is the 
 daughter of Lady Clavering, with fifty or sixty thousand pounds for a 
 fortune ; and her father-in-law, a Baronet and country gentleman, of 
 high reputation, approves of the match, and gives up his seat in Parlia- 
 ment to his son-in-law. What can be more simple.^ " 
 
 Is it true sir ? " 
 
 Begad, yes, it is true, of course it's true. Amory's dead. I tell 
 you he is dead. The first sign of life he shows, he is dead. He can't 
 ^ippear. We have him at a deadlock, like the fellow in the play— the 
 ' Critic,' hey .^'— devilish amusing play, that ' Critic' Monstrous witty 
 man Sheridan ; and so was his son. By Gad, sir, when I was at the 
 Cape, I remember " x xi. 
 
 The old gentleman's garrulity, and wish to conduct Arthur to the 
 Cape, perhaps arose from a desire to avoid the subject which was nearest 
 his nephew's heart ; but Arthur broke out, interrupting him—'' If you 
 had told me this tale sooner, I believe you would have spared me and 
 yourself a great deal of pain and disappointment ; and I should not 
 have found myself tied to an engagement from which I can't, in honour, 
 recede." - t--* 
 
 ''No, begad, we've fixed you— and a man whd*s~ff^ io a seat in 
 Parliament, and a pretty girl, with a couple of thousand a year, is fixed 
 to no bad thing, let me tell you," said the old man. ^ _ ^ , 
 
 "Great Heaven, sir !" said Arthur; "are you blind .'^ Cant you 
 see ? " 
 
 " See what, young gentleman ? " asked the other. , „ * i, 
 
 , " See, that rather than trade upon this secret of Amory s, Arthur 
 cried out, " I would go and join my father-in-law at the hulks ! See, 
 that r ather than take a seat in Parliament as a bribe from Clavering for 
 silence, I would take the spoons off the table ! See, that you have given 
 me a felon's daughter for a wife ; doomed me to poverty and shame ; 
 cursed my career when it might have been— when it might have been 
 so different but for you ! Don't you see that we have been playing a 
 guilty game, and have been over-reached ;— that in offering to marry 
 this poor girl, for the sake of her money, and the advancement she 
 would bring, I was degrading myself, and prostituting my honour.'^ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 553 
 
 What in Heaven*s name do you mean^ sir ? " cried the old man. 
 ^^1 mean to say that there is a measure of baseness which I can't pass," 
 Arthur said. " I have no other words for it, and am sorry if they hurt 
 you. I have felt, for months past, that my conduct in this affair has been 
 wicked, sordid, and worldly. I am rightly punished by the event, and 
 having sold myself for money and a seat in Parliament, by losing both." 
 
 How do you mean that you lose either } " shrieked the old gentle- 
 man. Who the devil's to take your fortune or your seat away from 
 you } By G— , Qavering shall give 'em to you. You shall have every 
 shilling of eighty thousand pounds." 
 
 I'll keep my promise to Miss Amory, sir," said Arthur. 
 
 And, begad, her parents shall keep theirs to you." 
 ^^Not so, please God," Arthur answered. I have sinned, but^ 
 Heaven help me, I will sin no more. I will let Clavering off from that 
 bargain which was made without my knowledge. I will take no money 
 with Blanche but that which was originally settled upon her ; and I 
 will try to make her happy. You have done it. You have brought this 
 on me, sir. But you knew no better : and I forgive " 
 
 Arthur — in God's name — in your father's, who, by heavens, was 
 the proudest man alive, and had the honour of the family always at 
 heart — in mine — for the sake of a poor broken-down old fellow, who 
 has always been dev'lish fond of you — don't fling this chance away— I 
 pray you, I beg you, I implore you, my dear, dear boy, don't fling this 
 chance away. It's the making of you. You're sure to get on. You'll 
 be a Baronet ; it's three thousand a year : dammy, on my knees, there, 
 I beg of you, don t do this." 
 
 And the old man actually sank down on his knees, and seizing one of 
 Arthur's hands, looked up piteously at him. It was cruel to remark 
 the shaking hands, the wrinkled and quivering face, the old eyes weep- 
 ing and winking, the broken voice. Ah, sir," said Arthur, with a 
 groan, you have brought pain enough on me, spare me this. You 
 have wished me to marry Blanche. I marry her. For God's sake, sir, 
 rise ! I can't bear it." 
 
 You — you mean to say that you will take her as a beggar, and be 
 one yourself.'* " said the old gentleman, rising up and coughing violently. 
 
 I look at her as a person whom a great calamity has befallen, and 
 to whom I am promised. She cannot help the misfortune ; and as she 
 had my word when she was prosperous, I shall not withdraw it now 
 she is poor. I will not take Clavering's seat, unless afterwards it 
 should be given of his free will. I will not have a shilling more than 
 her original fortune." 
 
 Have the kindness to ring the bell," said the old gentleman. I 
 have done my best, and said my say ; and I'm a dev'lish old fellow. 
 And — and — it don't matter. And — and Shakespeare was right — and 
 Cardinal Wolsey — begad — ^ and had I but served my God as I've served 
 you'— yes, on my knees, by Jove, to my own nephew — I mightn't have 
 been — — Good night, sir, you needn't trouble yourself to call again." 
 
 Arthur took his hand, which the old man left to him ; it was quite 
 passive and clammy. He looked very much oldened ; and it seemed 
 as if the contest and defeat had quite broken him. 
 
 On the next day he kept his bed, and refused to see his nephew. 
 
554 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER LXXI 
 
 IN WHICH THE DECKS BEGIN TO CLEAR 
 
 When^ arrrayed in his dressing-^own^ Pen walked up^ according to 
 custom^ to Warrington's chambers next morning to inform his friend 
 of the issue of the last night's interview with his uncle^ and to ask^ as 
 usual, for George's advice and opinion, Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, 
 was the only person whom Arthur found in the dear old chambers. 
 George had taken a carpet-bag, and was gone. His address was to his., 
 brother's house in Suffolk. Packages, addressed to the newspaper and 
 review for which he wrote, lay on the table, awaiting delivery. 
 
 I found him at the table when I came, the dear gentleman ! " 
 Mrs. Flanagan said, writing at his papers, and one of the candles 
 was burned out ; and hard as his bed is, he wasn't in it all night, sir." 
 
 Indeed, having sat at the Club until the brawl there became intoler- 
 able to him, George had walked home, and had passed the night finish- 
 ing some work on which he was employed, and to the completion of 
 which he bent himself with all his might. The labour was done, and 
 the night was worn away somehow, and the tardy November dawn 
 came and looked in on the young man as he sate over his desk. In 
 the next day's paper, or quarter's review, many of us very likely ad- 
 mired the work of his genius^ the variety of his illustration, the fierce 
 vigour of his satire, the depth of his reason. There was no hint in his 
 writing of the other thoughts which occupied him, and always accom- 
 panied him in his work : a tone more melancholy than was customary, 
 a satire more bitter and impatient than that which he afterwards showed, 
 may have marked the writings of this period of his life to the very few 
 persons who knew his style or his name. We have said before, could 
 we know the man's feelings as well as the author's thoughts — how 
 interesting most books would be !— more interesting than merry. I 
 suppose harlequin's face behind his mask is always grave, if not melan- 
 choly — certainly each man who lives by the pen, and happens to read 
 this,' must remember, if he will, his own experiences, and recall many 
 solemn hours of solitude and labour. What a constant care sate at the 
 side of the desk and accompanied him ! Fever or sickness were lying 
 possibly in the next room : a sick child might be there, with a wife 
 watching over it terrified and in prayer ; or grief might be bearing him 
 down, and the cruel mist before the eyes rendering the paper scarce 
 visible as he wrote on it, and the inexorable necessity drove on the 
 pen. What man among us has not had nights and hours like these } 
 But to the manly heart— severe as these pangs are, they are endurable : 
 long as the night seems, the dawn comes at last, and the wounds heal, 
 and the fever abates, and rest comes, and you can afford to look back 
 on the past misery with feelings that are anything but bitter. 
 
 Two or three books for reference, fragments of torn-up manuscript, 
 drawers open, pens and inkstand, lines half visible on the blotting- 
 paper, a bit of sealing-wax twisted and bitten and broken into sundry 
 pieces — such relics as these were about the table, and Pen flung himself 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 555 
 
 down ill George's empty chair — noting things according to his wont^ 
 or in spite of himself. There was a gap in the bookcase (next to the 
 old College Plato,, with the Boniface arms)^ where Helen's Bible used 
 to be. He has taken that with him^ thought Pen. He knew why his 
 friend was gone. Dear dear old George ! 
 
 Pen rubbed his hand over his eyes. Oh^ how much wiser, how much 
 better, how much nobler he is than I, he thought. Where was such a 
 friend, or such a brave heart ? Where shall I ever hear such a frank 
 voice and kind laughter ? Where shall I ever see such a true gentle- 
 man ? No wonder she loved him. God bless him ! What was I com- 
 pared to him ? What could she do else but love him ? To the end of 
 ,our days we will be her brothers, as fate wills that we can be no more. 
 We'll be her knights, and wait on her ; and when we're old, we'll say 
 how we loved her. Dear dear old George ! 
 
 When Pen descended to his own chambers, his eye fell on the letter- 
 box of his outer door, which he had previously overlooked, and there 
 was a little note to A. P., Esq., in George's well-known handwriting, 
 George had put into Pen's box probably as he was going away. 
 
 "D^ Pen, — I shall be half way home when you breakfast, and intend to stay 
 over Christmas in Suff^% or elsewhere. 
 
 ' ' I have my own opinion of the issue of matters about which we talked in 
 
 J St. yesterday : and think my presence de trop. 
 
 " Vale. G. W. 
 
 " Give my very best regards and adieux to your cousin." 
 
 And so George was gone, and Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, ruled 
 over his empty chambers. 
 
 Pen of course had to go and see his uncle on the day after their 
 colloquy ; and not being admitted, he naturally went to Lady Rock- 
 minster's apartments, where the old lady instantly asked for Bluebeard, 
 and insisted that he should come to dinner. 
 
 Bluebeard is gone," Pen said, and he took out poor George's scrap 
 of paper, and handed it to Laura, who looked at it — did not look at Pen 
 in return, but passed the paper back to him, and walked away. Pen 
 rushed into an eloquent eulogium upon his dear old George to Lady 
 Rockminster, who was astonished at his enthusiasm. She had never 
 heard him so warm in praise of anybody ; and told him, with her usual 
 frankness, that she didn't think it had been in his nature to care so 
 much about any other person. 
 
 As Mr. Pendennis was passing through Waterloo Place in one of his 
 many walks to the hotel where Laura lived, and whither duty to his 
 uncle carried Arthur every day, he saw issuing from Messrs. Gimcrack's 
 celebrated shop an old friend, who was followed to his brougham by an 
 obsequious shopman bearing parcels. The gentleman was in the deepest 
 mourning ; the brougham, the driver, and the horse, were in mourning. 
 Grief in easy circumstances, and supported by the comfortablest springs 
 and cushions, was typified in the equipage and the little gentleman, its 
 proprietor. 
 
 What, Foker ! Hail, Foker ! " cried out Pen— the reader, no doubt, 
 has likewise recognised Arthur's old schoolfellow— and he held out his 
 hand to the heir of the late lamented John Henry Foker, Esquire, the 
 
556 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 master of Logwood and other houses, the principal partner in the ^reat 
 bi-ewery of Foker & Co. : the greater portion of Foker's Entire. 
 
 A little hand, covered with a glove of the deepest ebony, and set off 
 by three inches of a snowy wristband, was put forth to meet Arthur s 
 salutation. The other little hand held a little morocco case, containing, 
 no doubt, something precious, of which Mr. Foker had just become 
 proprietor in Messrs. Gimcrack's shop. Pen's keen eyes and satiric 
 turn showed him at once upon what errand Mr. Foker had been em- 
 ployed ; and he thought of the heir in Horace pouring forth the 
 gathered wine of his father's vats ; and that human nature is pretty 
 much the same in Regent Street as in the Via Sacra. 
 Le Roi est mort. Vive le Roi ! " said Arthur. 
 ^^Ah!" said the other. '^^Yes. Thank you--very much obliged. How 
 do you do, Pen?— very busy— good-bye V and he jumped into the black 
 brougham, and sate like a little black Care behind the black coachman. 
 He had blushed on seeing Pen, and shown other signs of guilt and per- 
 turbation, which Pen attributed to the novelty of his situation ; and 
 on which he began to speculate in his usual sardonic manner. 
 " Yes : so wags the world," thought Pen. ^^The stone closes over 
 Harry the Fourth, and Harry the Fifth reigns in his stead. The old 
 ministers at the brewery come and kneel before him with their books ; 
 the draymen, his subjects, fling up their red caps, and shout for him. 
 What a grave deference and sympathy the bankers and the lawyers 
 show ! There was too great a stake at issue between those two that 
 they should ever love each other very cordially. As long as one man 
 keeps another out of twenty thousand a year, the younger must be 
 always hankering after the crown, and the wish must be the father to 
 the thought of possession. Thank Heaven, there was no thought of 
 money between me and our dear mother, Laura." ^ 
 
 " There never could have been. You would have spurned it ! 
 cried Laura. Why make yourself more selfish than you are. Pen ; 
 and allow your mind to own, for an instant, that it would have enter- 
 tained such— such dreadful meanness } You make me blush for you, 
 
 Arthur : you make me '' her eyes finished this sentence, and she 
 
 passed her handkerchief across them. 
 
 There are some truths which women will never acknowledge. Pen 
 said, and from which your modesty always turns away. I do not say 
 that I never knew the feeling, only that I am glad I had not the tempta- 
 tion. Is there any harm in that confession of weakness ? " 
 
 We are all taught to ask to be delivered from evil, Arthur, said 
 Laura, in a low voice. I am glad if you were spared from that great 
 crime ; and only sorry to think that you could by any possibility have 
 been led into it. But you never could • and you don't think you could. 
 Your acts are generous and kind : you disdain mean actions. You take 
 Blanche without money, and without a bribe. Yes, thanks be to Heaven, 
 dear brother. You could not have sold yourself away ; I knew you could 
 not when it came to the day, and you did not. Praise be— be where 
 praise is due. Why does this hoi-rid scepticism pursue you, my Arthur t 
 Why doubt and sneer at your own heart— at every one's? Oh, if you 
 knew the pain you give me— how I lie awake and think of those hard 
 sentences, dear brother, and wish them unspoken, unthought . 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 567 
 
 Do I cause you many thoughts and many tears^ Laura ? " asked 
 Arthur. The fulness of innocent love beamed from her in reply. A 
 smile heavenly pure, a glance of unutterable tenderness, sympathy, 
 pity, shone in her face— all which indications of love and purity Arthur 
 beheld and worshipped in her, as you would watch them in a child, as 
 one fancies one might regard them in an angel. 
 
 ^^1— I don't know what I have done," he said simply, ^Ho have 
 merited such regard from two such women. It is like undeserved 
 praise, Laura— or too much good fortune, which frightens one— or a 
 great post when a man feels that he is not fit for it. Ah, sister, how 
 weak and wicked we are; how spotless and full of love and truth 
 Heaven made you ! I think for some of you there has been no fall,'' 
 he said, looking at the charming girl with an almost paternal glance of 
 admiration. You can't help having sweet thoughts, and doing good 
 actions= Dear creature ! they are the flowers which you bear." 
 
 ^^And what else, sir?" asked Laura. ^^I see a sneer coming over 
 your face. What is it.^ Why does it come, to drive all the good 
 thoughts away ? " 
 
 A sneer, is there ? I was thinking, my dear, that nature in making 
 you so good and loving did very well : but " 
 
 ^^But what? What is that wicked but? and why are you always 
 calling it up ? " i . » 
 
 But will come in spite of us. But is reflection. But is the sceptic s 
 familiar, with whom he has made a compact ; and if he forgets it, and 
 indulges in happy day-dreams, or building of air-castles, or listens to 
 sweet music let us say, or to the bells ringing to church. But taps at 
 the door, and says. Master, I am here. You are my master ; but I am 
 yours. Go where you will you can't travel without me. I will whisper 
 to you when you are on your knees at church. I will be at your 
 marriage pillow. I will sit down at your table with your children. 1 
 will be behind vour deathbed curtain. That is what But is," Pen said. 
 
 " Pen, you frighten me," cried Laura. 
 
 ^^Do you know what But came and said to me just now, when I was 
 looking at you ? But said. If that girl had reason as well as love, she 
 would love you no more. If she knew you as you are — the sullied 
 selfish being which you know— she must part from you, and could give 
 you no love and no sympathy. Didn't I say," he added fondly, that 
 some of you seem exempt from the fall? Love you know; but the 
 knowledge of evil is kept from you." 
 
 "What is this you young folks are talking about?" asked Lady 
 Rockminster, who at this moment made her appearance in the room, 
 having performed, in the mystic retirement of her own apartments, and 
 under the hands of her attendant, those elaborate toilette-rites with- 
 out which the worthy old lady never presented herself to public view. 
 "Mr. Pendennis, you are always coming here." 
 
 " It is very pleasant to be here," Arthur said " and we were talking, 
 when you came in, about my friend Foker, whom I met just now ; and 
 who, as your Ladyship knows, has succeeded to his father's kingdom." 
 
 " He has a very fine property, he has fifteen thousand a year. He is 
 my cousin. He is a very worthy young man. He must come and see 
 me," said Lady Rockminster, with a look at Laura. 
 
558 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 He has been engaged for many years past to his cousin. Lady " 
 
 Lady Ann is a foolish little chit/' Lady Rockminster said, with 
 much dignity : "^^and I have no patience with her. She has outraged 
 every feeling of society. She has broken her father's heart, and 
 thrown away fifteen thousand a year." 
 
 Thrown away ! What has happened } " asked Pen. 
 It will be the talk of the town in a day or two ; and there is no 
 need why I should keep the secret any longer," said Lady Rockminster, 
 who had written and received a dozen letters on the subject. I had 
 a letter yesterday from my daughter, who was staying at Drummington 
 until all the world was obliged to go away on account of the frightful 
 catastrophe which happened there. When Mr. Foker came home from 
 Nice, and after the funeral. Lady Ann went down on her knees to her 
 father, said that she never could marry her cousin, that she had con- 
 tracted another attachment, and that she must die rather than fulfil 
 her contract. Poor Lord Rosherville, who is dreadfully embarrassed, 
 showed his daughter what the state of his affairs was, and that it was 
 necessary that the arrangements should take place ; and, in fine, we all 
 supposed that she had listened to reason, and intended to comply with 
 the desires of her family. But what has happened— last Thursday she 
 went out after breakfast with her maid, and was married in the very 
 church in Drummington Park to Mr. Hobson, her father's own chaplain 
 and her brother's tutor ; a red-haired widower with two children. Poor 
 dear Rosherville is in a dreadful way : he wishes Henry Foker should 
 marry Alice or Barbara ; but Alice is marked with the smallpox, and 
 Barbara is ten years older than he is. And, of course, now the young 
 man is his own master, he will think of choosing for himself. The blow 
 on Lady Agnes is very cruel. She is inconsolable. She has the house 
 in Grosvenor Street for her life, and her settlement, which was very 
 handsome. Have you not met her.^^ Yes, she dined one day at Lady 
 Clavering's— the first day I saw you, and a very disagreeable young man 
 I thought you were. But I have formed you. We have formed him, 
 haven't we, Laura ? Where is Bluebeard } let him come. Jhat horrid 
 Grindley, the dentist, will keep me in town another week." 
 
 To the latter part of her Ladyship's speech Arthur gave no ear. He 
 was thinking for whom could Foker be purchasing those tnnkets which 
 he was carrying away from the jeweller's. Why did Harry seem anxious 
 to avoid him ? Could he be still faithful to the attachment which had 
 agitated him so much, and sent him abroad eighteen months back.? 
 Psha ! The bracelets and presents were for some of Harry s old friends 
 of the Opera or the French Theatre. Rumours from Naples and Paris, 
 rumours such as are borne to Club smoking-rooms, had announced that 
 the young man had found distractions ; or, precluded from his virtuous 
 attachment, the poor fellow had flung himself back upon his old com- 
 panions and amusements— not the only man or woman whom society 
 forces into evil, or debars from good : not the only victim of the world s 
 selfish and wicked laws. 
 
 As a good thing when it is to be done cannot be done too quickly, 
 Laura was anxious that Pen's marriage intentions should be put into 
 execution as speedily as possible, and pressed on his arrangements with 
 
PENDENNIS 659 
 
 rather a feverish anxiety. Why could she not wait ? Pen could afford 
 to do so with perfect equanimity, hut Laura would hear of no delay. 
 She wrote to Pen : she implored Pen : she used every means to urge 
 expedition. It seemed as if she could have no rest until Arthur s 
 happiness was complete. . , .j 
 
 She offered herself to dearest Blanche to come and stay at Tunbridge 
 with her, when Lady Rockminster should go on her intended visit to 
 the reigning house of Rockminster ; and although the old dowager 
 scolded, and ordered, and commanded, Laura was deaf and disobedient ; 
 she must go to Tunbridge, she would go to Tunbridge ; she, who 
 ordinarily had no will of her own, and complied smilingly with any- 
 body's whim and caprices, showed the most selfish and obstinate deter- 
 mination in this instance. The dowager lady must nurse herself in 
 her rheumatism, she must read herself to sleep, if she would not hear 
 her maid, whose voice croaked, and who made sad work of the senti- 
 mental passages in the novels— Laura must go, and be with her new 
 sister. In another week, she proposed, with many loves and regards 
 to dear Lady Clavering, to pass some time with dearest Blanche. 
 
 Dearest Blanche wrote instantly in reply to dearest Laura's No. 1, 
 to say with what extreme delight she should welcome her sister : how 
 charming it would be to practise their old duets together, to wander 
 o'er the grassy sward, and amidst the yellowing woods of Penshurst and 
 Southborough ! Blanche counted the hours till she should embrace 
 her dearest friend. i , iv x- 
 
 Laura, No. 2, expressed her delight at dearest Blanche s affectionate 
 reply. She hoped that their friendship would never diminish ; that 
 the confidence between them would grow in after years ; that they 
 should have no secrets from each other ; that the aim of the life ot 
 each would be to make one person happy. , • 
 
 Blanche, No. 2, followed in two days. ^'How provoking ! 1 hen- 
 house was very small, the two spare bedrooms were occupied by that 
 horrid Mrs. Planter and her daughter, who had thought proper to fall 
 ill (she always fell ill in country houses), and she could not or would 
 not be moved for some days." t i j i. j 4. 
 
 Laura, No. 3. It was indeed very provoking. L. had hoped to 
 hear one of dearest B.'s dear songs on Friday : but she was the more 
 consoled to wait, because Lady R. was not very well, and liked to be 
 nursed by her. Poor Major Pendennis was very unwell too, in the 
 same hotel— too unwell even to see Arthur, who was constant in his 
 calls on his uncle. Arthur's heart was full of tenderness and affection. 
 She had known Arthur all her life. She would answer "—yes, even m 
 italics she would answer— for his kindness, hi^ goodness, and his 
 gentleness." 
 
 Blanche, No. 3. What is this most surprising, most extraordinary 
 letter from A. P. ? What does dearest Laura know about it } What 
 has happened.? What, what mystery is enveloped under his frightful 
 reserve ? " 
 
 Blanche, No. 3, requires an explanation ; and it cannot be better 
 given than in the surprising and mysterious letter of Arthur Pendennis. 
 
560 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII 
 
 MR. AND MRS. SAM HUXTEH 
 
 Dear Blanche/' Arthur wrote, you are ] always reading and 
 dreaming pretty dramas, and exciting romances in real life, are you 
 now prepared to enact a part of one ? And not the pleasantest part, 
 dear Blanche, that in which the heroine takes possession of her father's 
 palace and wealth, and, introducing her husband to the loyal retainers 
 and faithful vassals, greets her happy bridegroom with ^ All of this is : 
 mine and thine,' — but the other character, that of the luckless lady, ^ 
 who suddenly discovers that she is not the Prince's wife, but Claude 
 Melnotte's the beggar s : that of Alnaschar's wife, who comes in just 
 as her husband has kicked over the tray of porcelain which was to be 
 the making of his fortune. — But stay; Alnaschar, who kicked down 
 the china, was not a married man ; he had cast his eye on the Vizier's 
 daughter, and his hopes of her went to the ground with the shattered 
 bowls and teacups. 
 
 Will you be the Vizier's daughter, and refuse and laugh to scorn 
 Alnaschar, or will you be the Lady of Lyons, and love the penniless 
 Claude Melnotte ? I will act that part if you like. I will love you my 
 best in return. 1 will do my all to make your humble life happy ; for 
 humble it will be ; at least the odds are against any other conclusion ; 
 we shall live and die in a poor, prosy, humdrum way. There will be 
 no stars and epaulettes for the hero of our story. I shall write one or 
 two more stories, which will presently be forgotten. I shall be called 
 to the Bar, and try to get on in my profession ; perhaps some day, if 
 I am very lucky, and work very hard (which is absurd), I may get a 
 colonial appointment, and you may be an Indian Judge's lady. Mean- 
 while I shall buy the Pall Mall Gazette; the publishers are tired of 
 it since the death of poor Shandon, and will sell it for a small sum. 
 Warrington will be my right hand, and write it up to a respectable 
 sale. I will introduce you to Mr. Finucane the sub-editor, and I know 
 who in the end will be Mrs. Finucane, — a very nice gentle creature, 
 who has lived sweetly through a sad life — and we will jog on, I say, 
 and look out for better times, and earn our living decently. You shall 
 have the opera-boxes, and superintend the fashionable intelligence, and I 
 break your little heart in the poet's corner. Shall we live over the s 
 offices } — there are four very good rooms, a kitchen, and a garret for f 
 Laura, in Catherine Street in the Strand ; or would you like a house S 
 in the Waterloo Road } — it would be very pleasant, only there is that \* 
 halfpenny toll at the Bridge. The boys may go to King's College, , 
 mayn't they Does this all read to you like a joke.^ 
 
 Ah, dear Blanche, it is no joke, and I am sober and telling the 
 truth. Our fine day-dreams are gone. Our carriage has whirled out 
 of sight like Cinderella's : our house in Belgravia has been whisked 
 away into the air by a malevolent Genius, and I am no more a Member 
 of Parliament than I am a Bishop on his bench in the House of Lords, 
 or a Duke with a Garter at his knee. You know pretty well what my 
 
 1 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 661 
 
 property is, and your own little fortune : we may have enough with 
 those two to live in decent comfort : to take a cab sometimes when we 
 go out to see our friends, and not to deny ourselves an omnibus when 
 we are tired. But that is all : is that enough for you, my little dainty 
 lady ? I doubt sometimes whether you can bear the life I offer you — 
 at least, it is fair that you should know what it will be. If you say, 
 ^Yes, Arthur, 1 will follow your fate whatever it may be, and be a 
 loyal and loving wife to aid and cheer you ' — come to me, dear Blanche, 
 and may God help me so that I may do my duty to you. If not, and 
 you look to a higher station, I must not bar Blanche's fortune — I will 
 stand in the crowd, and see your Ladyship go to Court when you are 
 presented, and you shall give me a smile from your chariot window. I 
 saw Lady Mirabel going to the drawing-room last season : the happy 
 husband at her side glittered with stars and cordons. All the flowers 
 in the garden bloomed in the coachman's bosom. Will you have these 
 and the chariot, or walk on foot and mend your husband's stockings ? 
 
 ^'^ I cannot tell you now — afterwards I might, should the day come 
 when we may have no secrets from one another — what has happened 
 within the last few hours which has changed all my prospects in life : 
 but so it is, that I have learned something which forces me to give up 
 the plans which I had formed, and many vain and ambitious hopes in 
 which I had been indulging. I have written and despatched a letter to 
 Sir Francis Clavering, saying that I cannot accept his seat in Parlia- 
 ment until after my marriage ; in like manner I cannot and will not 
 accept any larger fortune with you than that which has always be- 
 longed to you since your grandfather's death, and the birth of your 
 half-brother. Your good mother is not in the least aware — I hope she 
 never may be — of the reasons which force me to this very strange 
 decision. They arise from a painful circumstance, which is attributable 
 to none of our faults ; but, having once befallen, they are as fatal and 
 irreparable as that shock which overset honest Alnaschar's porcelain, 
 and shattered all his hopes beyond the power of mending. I write 
 gaily enough, for there is no use in bewailing such a hopeless mis- 
 chance. We have not drawn the great prize in the lottery, dear 
 Blanche : but I shall be contented enough without it, if you can be 
 so ; and I repeat with all my heart, that I wilJjdQjQC^LJaest^ you 
 happy. . ^,..>-^ ^"'""""""^'''^-N^,....,— — 
 
 and takes my refusal the seat in Parliament in sad dudgeon : the 
 scheme was his, poor old gentleman, and he naturally bemoans its 
 failure. But Warrington, Laura, and I had a council of war : they 
 know this awful secret, and back me in my decision. You must love 
 George as you love what is generous and upright and noble ; and as for 
 Laura — she must be our Sister, Blanche, our Saint, our good Angel. 
 With two such friends at home, what need we care for the world with- 
 out, or who is member for Clavering, or who is asked or not asked to 
 the great balls of the season } " 
 
 To this frank communication came back the letter from Blanche to 
 Laura, and one to Pen himself, which perhaps his own letter justified. 
 " You are spoiled by the world," Blanche wrote ; you do not love 
 your poor Blanche as she would be loved, or you would not offer thus 
 
 2 N 
 
562 PENDENNIS 
 
 lightly to take her or to leave her. No, Arthur, you love me not— a 
 man of the world, you have given me your plighted troth, and are ready 
 to redeem it; hut that entire affection, that love whole and abiding, 
 where— where is that vision of mv youth ? I am but a pastime of your 
 life, and I would be its all ;— but a fleeting thought, and I would be 
 your whole soul. I would have our two hearts one; but ah, my 
 Arthur, how lonely yours is ! how little you give me of it ! You speak 
 of our parting with a smile on your lip ; of our meeting, and you care 
 not to hasten it ! Is life but a disillusion, then, and are the flowers of 
 our garden faded away ? I have wept— I have prayed— I have passed 
 sleepless hours— I have shed bitter bitter tears over your letter I To 
 you I bring the gushing poesy of my being— the yearnings of the soul 
 that longs to be loved— that 'pines *for love, love, love, beyond all !— 
 that flings itself at your feet, and cries, Love me, Arthur ! Your heart 
 beats no quicker at the kneeling appeal of my love !— your proud eye 
 is dimmed by no tear of sympathy !— you accept my soul's treasure as 
 though 'twere dross ! not the pearls from the unfathomable deeps of 
 affection ! not the diamonds from the caverns of the heart. You treat 
 me like a slave, and bid me bow to my master ! Is this the guerdon of 
 a free maiden— is this the price of a life's passion ? Ah me ! when was it 
 otherwise.^ when did love meet with aught but disappointment? Could 
 I hope (fond fool !) to be the exception to the lot of my race ; and lay 
 my fevered brow on a heart that comprehended my own ? Foolish girl 
 that I was ! One by one, all the flowers of my young life have faded 
 away; and this, the last, the sweetest, the dearest, the fondly, the 
 madly loved, the wildly cherished— where is it ! But no more of this. 
 Heed not my bleeding heart— Bless you, bless you always, Arthur ! 
 
 I will write more when I am more collected. My racking brain 
 renders thought almost impossible. I long to see Laura ! She will 
 come to us directly we return from the country, will she not ? And 
 you, cold one ! ^* 
 
 The words of this letter were perfectly clear, and written in Blanche 
 neatest hand upon her scented paper ; and yet the meaning of the com- 
 position not a little puzzled Pen. Did Blanche mean to accept or to 
 refuse his polite offer ? Her phrases either meant that Pen did not 
 love her, and she declined him, or that she took him, and sacrificed 
 herself to him, cold as he was. He laughed sardonically over the letter, 
 i and over the transaction which occasioned it. He laughed to think 
 I how Fortune had jilted him, and how he deserved his slippery fortune. 
 
 He turned over and over the musky gilt-edged riddle. It amused his 
 1; humour ; he enjoyed it as if it had been a funny story. ^ 
 
 He was thus seated, twiddling the queer manuscript m his hand, 
 joking grimly to himself, when his servant came in with a card from a 
 gentleman, who wished to speak to him very particularly. And if Pen 
 had gone out into the passage, he would have seen, sucking his stick, 
 rolling his eyes, and showing great marks of anxiety, his old acquaint- 
 ance Mr. Samuel Huxter. at tj + + 
 ^^Mr. Huxter on particular business! Pray, beg Mr. Huxter t( 
 come in," said Pen, amused rather ; and not the less so when pooi 
 Sam appeared before him. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 663 
 
 " Pray take a chair^ Mr. Huxter," said Pen^ in his most superb 
 manner. In what way can I be of service to you } " 
 
 ^^1 had rather not speak before the flunk — before the man^ Mr. 
 Pendennis : " on which Mr. Arthur's attendant quitted the room. 
 I'm in a fix_," said Mr. Huxter gloomily. 
 Indeed !" 
 
 She sent me to you/' continued the young surgeon. 
 
 What ! Fanny } Is she well } I was coming to see her, but I have 
 had a great deal of business since my return to London." 
 
 ^^I heard of you through my governor and Jack Hobuell," broke in 
 Huxter. ^^I wish you joy, Mr. Pendennis, both of the borough and 
 the lady, sir. Fanny wishes you joy, too," he added, with something 
 of a blush. 
 
 There's many a slip between the cup and the lip ! Who knows 
 what may happen, Mr. Huxter, or who will sit in Parliament for 
 Clavering next session } " 
 
 You can do anything with my governor," continued Mr. Huxter. 
 You got him Clavering Park. The old boy was very much pleased, 
 sir, at your calling him in. Hobnell wrote me so. Do you think you 
 could speak to the governor for me, Mr. Pendennis } " 
 "'And tell him what.^" 
 
 I've gone and done it, sir," said Huxter, with a particular look. 
 
 You — you don't mean to say you have — you have done any wrong 
 to that dear little creature, sir } " said Pen, starting up in a great fury. 
 
 I hope not," said Huxter, with a hang-dog look : but I've married 
 her. And I know there will be an awful shindy at home. It was agreed 
 that I should be taken into partnership when I had passed the College, 
 and it was to have been Huxter & Son. But I would have it, confound 
 it. It's all over now, and the old boy's wrote me that he's coming up 
 to town for drugs ; he will be here to-morrow, and then it must all 
 come out." 
 
 ^^And when did this event happen.^" asked Pen, not over well 
 pleased, most likely, that a person who had once attracted some portion 
 of his royal good graces should have transferred her allegiance, and 
 consoled herself for his loss. 
 
 Last Thursday was five weeks — it was two days after Miss Amory 
 came to Shepherd's Inn," Huxter answered. 
 
 Pen remembered that Blanche had written and mentioned her visit. 
 
 I was called in," Huxter said. I was in the Inn looking after old 
 Cos's leg ; and about something else too, very likely : and I met Strong, 
 who told me there was a woman taken ill in Chambers, and went up to 
 give her my professional services. It was the old lady who attends Miss 
 Amory — her housekeeper, or some such thing. She was taken with 
 strong hysterics ; I found her kicking and scratching like a good one 
 — in Strong's chamber, along with him and Colonel Altamont, and 
 Miss Amory crying and as pale as a sheet ; and Altamont fuming about 
 — a regular kick up. They were two hours in the Chambers ; and the 
 old woman went whooping off in a cab. She was much worse than the 
 young one. I called in Grosvenor Place next day to see if I could be 
 of any service, but they were gone without so much as thanking me : 
 and the day after I had business of my own to attend to — a bad business 
 
564 PENDENNTS 
 
 too/' said Mr. Huxter gloomily. 'J But it's done, and can t be undone ; 
 and we must make the best of it." t» • i. i 
 
 She has known the story for a month, thought Pen, with a sharp 
 pang of grief, and a gloomy sympathy— this accounts for her letter of 
 to-day. She will not implicate her father, or divulge his secret; she 
 wishes to let me off from the marriage— and finds a pretext— the 
 
 generous girl ! . „ , , xt . xi, 
 
 • ^^Do vou know who Altamont is, sir.?^" asked Huxter, after the 
 pause, during which Pen had been thinking of his own affairs. "Fanny 
 and I have talked him over, and we can't help fancying that it s Mrs. 
 Lightfoot's first husband come to life again, and she who has just 
 married a second. Perhaps Lightfoot won't be very sorry for it, 
 sighed Huxter, looking savagely at Arthur, for the demon of jealousy 
 was still in possession of his soul ; and now, and more than ever 
 since his marriage, the poor fellow fancied that Fanny's heart belonged 
 to his rival. _ it 
 
 Let us talk about your affairs," said Pen. Show me how I can 
 be of any service to you, Huxter. Let me congratulate you on your 
 marriage. I am thankful that Fanny, who is so good, so fascinating, 
 so kind a creature, has found an honest man, and a gentleman who will 
 make her happy. Show me what I can do to help you.'' ^ 
 
 She thinks you can, sir," said Huxter, accepting Pen s proffered 
 hand, and I'm very much obliged to you, I'm sure and that you 
 might talk over my father, and break the business to him and my 
 mother, who always has her back up about feing a clergyman s 
 daughter. Fanny ain't of a good family, I know, and not up to us in 
 breeding and that— but she's a Huxter now." 
 
 The wife takes the husband's rank, of course, said Fen. 
 And with a little practice in society," continued Huxter, i«^bibing 
 his stick, she'll be as good as any girl in Clavering. You should 
 hear her sing and play on the piano. Did you ever ? Old Bows taught 
 her And she'll do on the stage, if the governor was to throw me over ; 
 but I'd rather not have her there. She can't help being a coquette, 
 Mr. Pendennis, she can't help it. Dammy, sir ! I'll be bound to say, 
 that two or three of the Bartholomew chaps, that I've brought into my 
 place, are sitting with her now ; even Jack Linton, that I took down 
 as my best man, is as bad as the rest, and she will go on smgmg and 
 making eyes at him. It's what Bows says, if there were twenty men 
 in a room, and one not taking notice of her, she wouldnt be satisfied 
 until the twentieth was at her elbow." 
 
 You should have her mother with her," said Pen, laughing. 
 " She must keep the lodge. She can't see so much of her family as 
 she used. I can't, you know, sir, go on with that lot. Consider my 
 rank in life," said Huxter, putting a very dirty hand up to his chin. 
 
 ''All fait;' said Mr. Pen, who was infinitely amused, and concerning 
 whom mutato nomine (and of course concerning nobody else in the 
 world) the fable might have been narrated. , . „ 
 
 As the two gentlemen were in the midst of this colloquy, another 
 knock came to Pen's door, and his servant presently announced Mr. 
 Bows. The old man followed slowlv, his pale face blushing, and his 
 hand trembling somewhat as he took Pen's. He coughed, and wiped 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 665 
 
 his face in his checked cotton pocket-handkerchief, and sate down with 
 his hands on his knees, the sun shining on his bald head. Pen looked 
 at the homely figure with no small sympathy and kindness. This man, 
 too, has had his griefs, and his wounds, Arthur thought. This man, 
 too, has brought his genius and his heart, and laid them at a woman's 
 feet ; where she spurned them. The chance of life has gone against 
 him, and the prize is with that creature yonder. Fanny s bridegroom, 
 thus mutely apostrophised, had winked meanwhile with one eye at old 
 Bows, and was driving holes in the floor with the cane which he loved. 
 
 So we have lost, Mr. Bows, and here is the lucky winner," Pen 
 said, looking hard at the old man. 
 
 ^^Here is the lucky winner, sir, as you say." 
 
 I suppose you have come from my place asked Huxter, who, 
 having winked at Bows with one eye, now favoured Pen with a wink 
 of the other— a wink which seemed to say, Infatuated old boy— you 
 understand— over head and ears in love with her — poor old fool ! " 
 
 " Yes, I have been there ever since you went away. It was Mrs. Sam 
 who sent me after you : who said that she thought you might be doing 
 something stupid— something like yourself, Huxter.'' 
 
 There's as big fools as I am," growled the young surgeon. 
 
 A few, p'raps," said the old man ; not many, let us trust. Yes, 
 she sent me after you for fear you should offend Mr. Pendennis ; and 
 I dare say because she thought you wouldn't give her message to him, 
 and beg him to go and see her ; and she knew / would take her errand. 
 Did he tell you tha-^sir } " 
 
 Huxter blushed scarlet, and covered his confusion with an impreca- 
 tion. Pen laughed ! the scene suited his bitter humour more and more. 
 ^^I have no doubt Mr. Huxter was going to tell me," Arthur said, 
 and very much flattered I am sure I shall be to pay my respects to 
 his wife." 
 
 It's in Charterhouse Lane, over the baker's, on the right-hand side 
 as you go from St. John's Street," continued Bows, without any pity. 
 
 You know Smithfield, Mr. Pendennis .^^ St. John's Street leads into 
 Smithfield. Dr. Johnson has been down the street many a time with 
 ragged shoes, and a bundle of penny-a-lining for the Genfs Magazine. 
 You literary gents are better off now — eh } You ride in your cabs, and 
 wear yellow kid gloves now." 
 
 I have known so many brave and good men fail, and so many 
 quacks and impostors succeed, that you mistake me if you think 1 am 
 puffed up by my own personal good luck, old friend," Arthur said 
 sadly. Do you think the prizes of life are carried by the most de- 
 serving? and set up that mean test of prosperity for merit You must 
 feel that you are as good as I. I have never questioned it. It is you 
 that are peevish against the freaks of Fortune, and grudge the good 
 luck that befalls others. It's not the first time you have unjustly 
 accused me. Bows." 
 
 Perhaps you are not far wrong, sir," said the old fellow, wiping 
 his bald forehead. ''I am thinking about myself and grumbling; 
 most men do when they get on that subject. Here's the fellow that's 
 got the prize in the lottery ; here's the fortunate youth." ^ 
 
 I don't know what you are driving at," Huxter said, who had 
 
566 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 been much puzzled as the above remarks passed between his two 
 companions. 
 
 Perhaps not/' said Bows drily. Mrs. H. sent me here to look 
 after you^ and to see that you brought that little message to Mr. Pen- 
 dennis^ which you didn't, you see, and so she was right. Women 
 always are, they have always a reason for everything. Why, sir," he 
 said, turning round to Pen with a sneer, she had a reason even for 
 giving me that message. I was sitting with her after you left us very 
 quiet and comfortable ; I was talking away, and she was mending your 
 shirts, when your two young friends. Jack Linton and Bob Blades, 
 looked in from Bartholomew's ; and then it was she found out that she 
 had this message to send. You needn't hurry yourself, she don't want 
 you back again ; they'll stay these two hours, I dare say." 
 
 Huxter arose with great perturbation at this news, and plunged his 
 stick into the pocket of his paletot, and seized his hat. 
 
 You'll come and see us, sir, won't you } " he said to Pen. You'll 
 talk over the governor, won't you, sir, if I can get out of this place 
 and down to Clavering " 
 
 You will promise to attend me gratis if ever I fall ill at Fairoaks, 
 will you, Huxter } " Pen said good-naturedly. I will do anything I 
 can for you. I will come and see Mrs. Huxter immediately, and we 
 will conspire together about what is to be done." 
 
 I thought that would send him out, sir," Bows said, dropping into 
 his chair again as soon as the young surgeon had quitted the room. 
 
 And it's all true, sir — every word of it. She wants you back again, 
 and sends her husband after you. She cajoles everybody, the little 
 devil. She tries it on you, on me, on poor Costigan, on the young 
 chaps from Bartholomew's. She's got a little court of 'em already. 
 And if there's nobody there, she practises on the old German baker 
 in the shop, or coaxes the black sweeper at the crossing." 
 Is she fond of that fellow?" asked Pen. 
 
 There is no accounting for likes and dislikes," Bows answered. 
 Yes, she is fond of him ; and having taken the thing into her head, she 
 would not rest until she married him. They had their banns published 
 at St. Clement's, and nobody heard it or knew any just cause or impedi- 
 ment. And one day she slips out of the porter's lodge and has the 
 business done, and goes off to Gravesend with Lothario ; and leaves 
 a note for me to go and explain all things to her ma. Bless you ! the 
 old woman knew it as well as I did, though she pretended ignorance. 
 And so she goes, and I'm alone again. I miss her, sir, tripping along 
 that court, and coming for her singing lesson ; and I've no heart to 
 look into the porter's lodge now, which looks very empty without her, 
 the little flirting thing. And I go and sit and dangle about her lodg- 
 ings, like an old fool. She makes 'em very trim and nice, though ; 
 gets up all Huxter' s shirts and clothes : cooks his little dinner, and 
 sings at her business like a little lark. What's the use of being angry > 
 I lent 'em three pound to go on with : for they haven't got a shilling 
 till the reconciliation, and pa comes down." 
 
 When Bows had taken his leave. Pen carried his letter from Blanche, 
 and the news which he had just received, to his usual adviser, Laura. 
 It was wonderful upon how many points Mr. Arthur, who generally 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 567 
 
 followed his own opinion^ now wanted another person's counsel. He 
 could hardly so much as choose a waistcoat without referring to Miss 
 Bell : if he wanted to buy a horse he must have Miss Bell's opinion : 
 all which marks of deference tended greatly to the amusement of the 
 shrewd old lady with whom Miss Bell lived^ and whose plans regarding 
 her protegee we have indicated. 
 
 Arthur produced Blanche's letter then to Laura^ and asked her to 
 interpret it. Laura was very much agitated, and puzzled by the con- 
 tents of the note. 
 
 ^^It seems to me/' she said, ^^as if Blanche is acting very art- 
 fully." 
 
 " And wishes so to place matters that she may take me or leave me f 
 Is it not so 
 
 It is, I am afraid, a kind of duplicity which does not augur well 
 for your future happiness ; and is a bad reply to your own candour 
 and honesty, Arthur. Do you know I think— I think — I scarcely like 
 to say what I think," said Laura, with a deep blush ; but of course the 
 blushing young lady yielded to her cousin's persuasions, and expressed 
 what her thoughts were. It looks to me, Arthur, as if there might 
 be — there might be somebody else," said Laura, with a repetition of 
 the blush. 
 
 And if there is," broke in Arthur, and if I am free once again, 
 will the best and dearest of all women " 
 
 You are not free, dear brother," Laura said calmly. You belong 
 to another ; of whom I own it grieves me to think ill. But I can't do 
 otherwise. It is very odd that in this letter she does not urge you to 
 tell her the reason why you have broken arrangements which would 
 have been so advantageous to you ; and avoids speaking on the sub- 
 ject. She somehow seems to write as if she knows her father's 
 secret. " 
 
 Pen said, Yes, she must know it ; " and told the story, which he 
 had just heard from Huxter, of the interview at Shepherd's Inn. 
 
 It was not so that she described the meeting," said Laura ; and 
 going to her desk, produced from it that letter of Blanche's which 
 mentioned her visit to Shepherd's Inn. "Another disappointment- 
 only the Chevalier Strong and a friend of his in the room." This was 
 all that Blanche had said. " But she was bound to keep her father's 
 secret. Pen," Laura added. " And yet, and yet— it is very puzzling." 
 
 The puzzle was this, that for three weeks after this eventful discovery 
 Blanche had been only too eager about her dearest Arthur ; was urging, 
 as strongly as so much modesty could urge, the completion of the happy 
 arrangements which were to make her Arthur's for ever ; and now it 
 seemed as if something had interfered to mar these happy arrangements 
 — as if Arthur poor was not quite so agreeable to Blanche as Arthur 
 rich and a member of Parliament— as if there was some mystery. At 
 last she said 
 
 "Tunbridge Wells is not very far oif, is it, Arthur? Hadn't you 
 better go and see her ? " 
 
 They had been in town a week, and neither had thought of that 
 simple plan before ! 
 
568 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII 
 
 SHOWS HOW ARTHUR HAD BETTER HAVE TAKEN A RETURN-TICKET 
 
 The train carried Arthur only too quickly to Tunbridge^ though he 
 had time to review all the circumstances of his life as he made the brief 
 journey ; and to acknowledge to what sad conclusions his selfishness 
 and waywardness had led him. Here is the end of hopes and aspira- 
 tions^" thought he^ of romance and ambitions ! Where I yield or 
 where I am obstinate^ I am alike unfortunate ; my mother implores 
 me^ and I refuse an angel ! Say I had taken her ; forced on me as she 
 was, Laura would never have been an angel to me. I could not have 
 given her my heart at another's instigation ; I could never have known 
 her as she is, had 1 been obliged to ask another to interpret her qualities 
 and point out her virtues. I yield to my uncle's solicitations, and 
 accept on his guarantee Blanche, and a seat in Parliament, and wealth, 
 and ambition and a career ; and see ! — Fortune comes and leaves me 
 the wife without the dowry, which I had taken in compensation of a 
 heart. Why was I not more honest, or am I not less so ^ It would 
 have cost my poor old uncle no pangs to accept Blanche's fortune 
 whencesoever it came ; he can't even understand, he is bitterly indig- 
 nant, heart-stricken almost, at the scruples which actuate me in refusing 
 it. I dissatisfy everybody. A maimed, weak, imperfect wretch, it 
 seems as if I am unequal to any fortune. I neither make myself nor 
 any one connected with me happy. What prospect is there for this 
 poor little frivolous girl, who is to take my obscure name and share my 
 fortune ? I have not even ambition to excite me, or self-esteem enough 
 to console myself, much more her, for my failure. If I were to write 
 a book that should go through twenty editions, why, I should be the 
 very first to sneer at my reputation. Say I could succeed at the Bar, 
 and achieve a fortune by bullying witnesses and twisting evidence ; is 
 that a fame which would satisfy my longings, or a calling in which my 
 life would be well spent ? How I wish I could be that priest opposite, 
 who never has lifted his eyes from his breviary, except when we were 
 in Reigate tunnel, when he could not see : or that old gentleman next 
 him, who scowls at him with eyes of hatred over his newspaper. The 
 priest shuts his eyes to the world, but has his thoughts on the book, 
 which is his directory to the world to come. His neighbour hates him 
 as a monster, tyrant, persecutor, and fancies burning martyrs, and 
 that pale countenance looking on, and lighted up by the flame. These 
 have no doubts ; these march on trustfully, bearing their load of logic." 
 
 Would you like to look at the paper, sir } " here interposed the 
 stout gentleman (it had a flaming article against the order of the black- 
 coated gentleman who was travelling with them in the carriage), and 
 Pen thanked him and took it, and pursued his reverie, without reading 
 two sentences of the journal. 
 
 ^^And yet, would you take either of those men's creeds, with its 
 consequences.^" he thought. ^^Ah me! you must bear your own 
 Uiurthen, fashion your own faith, think your own thoughts, and pray 
 
PENDENNIS 669 
 
 vour own prayer. To what mortal ear could I tell all, if I had a 
 mind?^ or who could understand all? Who can tell another s short- 
 comings, lost opportunities, weigh the passions which overpower the 
 defects which incapacitate reason?— what extent of truth and rigl;t his 
 neighbour's mind is organised to perceive and to do ?-wh at invisible 
 and forgotten accident, terror of youth, chance or mischance of fortune, 
 may have altered the current of life ? A grain of sand may alter it, as 
 the flinging of a pebble may end it. Who can weigh circumstances, 
 passions, temptations, that go to our good and evil account, save One, 
 before whose awful wisdom we kneel, and at whose mercy we ask 
 absolution? Here it ends," thought Pen; ^Hhis day or to-morrow 
 will wind up the account of my youth ; a weary retrospect, alas ! a sad 
 history, with many a page I would fain not look back on ! But who 
 has not been tired or fallen, and who has escaped without scars trom 
 that struggle ? " And his head fell on his breast, and the young man s 
 heart prostrated itself humbly and sadly before that Throne where sits 
 wisdom, and love, and pity for all, and made its confession. What 
 matters about fame or poverty ?" he thought. If I marry this woman 
 I have chosen, may 1 have strength and will to be true to her, and to 
 make her happy! *If I have children, pray God teach me to speak and 
 to do the truth among them, and to leave them an honest name. 1 here 
 are no splendours for my marriage. Does my life deserve any.^^ 1 
 begin a new phase of it ; a better than the last may it be, 1 pray 
 
 ^ThTtrain stopped at Tunbridge as Pen was making these reflections : 
 and he handed over the newspaper to his neighbour, of whom he took 
 leave, while the foreign clergyman in the opposite corner still sate 
 with his eyes on his book. Pen jumped out of the carriage then, his 
 carpet-bag in hand, and briskly determined to face his fortune. 
 
 A fly carried him rapidly to Lady Clavering s house from the station; 
 and, as he was transported thither, Arthur composed a little speech, 
 which he intended to address to Blanche, and which was really as 
 virtuous, honest, and well-minded an oration as any man ot his turn 
 of mind, and under his circumstances, could have uttered. Ihe pur- 
 port of it was— Blanche, I cannot understand from your last letter 
 what your meaning is, or whether my fair and frank proposal to you 
 is acceptable or no. I think you know the reason which induces me 
 to forego the worldly advantages which a union with you ofterecl, and 
 which I could not accept without, as I fancy, being dishonoured.^ It 
 vou doubt of my affection, here I am ready to prove it. Let femirke 
 be called in, and let us be married out of hand ; and with all my heart 
 I purpose to keep my vow, and to cherisn you through life, and to be 
 a true and a loving husband to you." , ^ . i. i. 
 
 From the fly Arthur sprang out then to the hall-door, where he was 
 met by a domestic whom he did not know. The man seemed to be 
 surprised at the approach of the gentleman with the carpet-bag which 
 he made no attempt to take from Arthur s hands. Her Ladyship s 
 not at home, sir," the man remarked. ^ t • f P " 
 
 I am Mr. Pendennis," Arthur said. Where is Lightfoot ? 
 
 Lightfoot is gone," answered the man. My Lady is out, and my 
 orders was " 
 
670 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 ^^I hear Miss Amoiys voice in the drawing-room/' said Arthur. 
 
 Take the hag to a dressing-room^ if you please ; " and^ passing hy 
 the porter, he walked straight towards that apartment, from which, as 
 the door opened, a warhle of melodious notes issued. 
 
 Our little Siren was at her piano, singing with all her might and 
 fascinations. Master Clavering was asleep on the sofa, indifferent to 
 the music : but near Blanche sat a gentleman who was perfectly enrap- 
 tured with her strain, which was of a passionate and melancholy nature. 
 
 As the door opened, the gentleman started up with a Hullo ! the 
 music stopped, with a little shriek from the singer ; Frank Clavering 
 woke up from the sofa, and Arthur came forward and said, What, 
 Foker ! how do you do, Foker ? " He looked at the piano, and there, 
 by Miss Amory's side, was just such another purple-leather box as he 
 had seen in Harry's hand three days before, when the heir of Logwood 
 was coming out of a jeweller's shop in Waterloo Place. It was opened, 
 and curled round the white satin cushion within was, oh, such a 
 magnificent serpentine bracelet, with such a blazing ruby head and 
 diamond tail ! 
 
 How de-do, Pendennis } " said Foker. Blanche made many motions 
 of the shoulders, and gave signs of interest and agitation. And she 
 put her handkerchief over the bracelet, and then she advanced, with a 
 hand which trembled very much, to greet Pen. 
 
 How is dearest Laura ? " she said. The face of Foker looking up 
 from his profound mourning — that face, so piteous and puzzled, was one 
 which the reader's imagination must depict for himself ; also that of 
 Master Frank Clavering, who, looking at the three interesting indivi- 
 duals with an expression of the utmost knowingness, had only time to 
 ejaculate the words, Here's a jolly go !" and to disappear sniggering. 
 
 Pen, too, had restrained himself up to that minute : but looking still 
 at Foker, whose ears and cheeks tingled with blushes, Arthur burst out 
 into a fit of laughter, so wild and loud, that it frightened Blanche much 
 more than any the most serious exhibition. 
 
 And this was the secret, was it } Don't blush and turn away, Foker, 
 my boy. Why, man, you are a pattern of fidelity. Could I stand be- 
 tween Blanche and such constancy — could I stand between Miss Amory 
 and fifteen thousand a year " 
 
 It is not that, Mr. Pendennis," Blanche said, with great dignity. 
 " It is not money, it is not rank, it is not gold that moves me ; but it 
 is constancy, it is fidelity, it is a whole trustful loving heart offered to 
 me, that I ' treasure— yes, that I treasure !" And she made for her 
 handkerchief, but, reflecting what was underneath it, she paused. I 
 do not disown, I do not disguise — my life is above disguise — to him on 
 whom it is bestowed, my heart must be for ever hare — that I once 
 thought I loved you,— yes, thought I was beloved by you !— I own. 
 How I clung to that faith ! How I strove, I prayed, I longed to believe 
 it ! But your conduct always— your own words, so cold, so heartless, 
 so unkind, have undeceived me. You trifled with the heart of the 
 poor maiden ! You flung me back with scorn the troth which I had 
 plighted ! I have explained all— all— to Mr. Foker." 
 
 ''That you have," said Foker^ with devotion and conviction in his 
 looks, 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 571 
 
 ^^What ! all?" said Pen^ with a meaning look at Blanche. ^^It is 
 I am in faulty is it? Well, well, Blanche, be it so. I won't appeal 
 against your sentence, and bear it in silence. I came down here looking 
 to very different things. Heaven knows, and with a heart most truly 
 and kindly disposed towards you. I hope you may be happy with 
 another, as, on my word, it was my wish to make you so ; and I hope 
 my honest old friend here will have a wife worthy of his loyalty, his 
 constancy, and affection. Indeed they deserve the regard of any 
 woman — even Miss Blanche Amory. Shake hands, Harry ; don't look 
 askance at me. Has anybody told you that 1 was a false and heartless 
 character?" 
 
 ^^I think you're a " Foker was beginning, in his wrath, when 
 
 Blanche interposed. 
 
 Henry, not a word ! — I pray you let there be forgiveness ! " 
 
 " You're an angel, by Jove, you're an angel !" said Foker, at which 
 Blanche looked seraphically up to the chandelier. 
 
 In spite of what has passed, for the sake of what has passed, I 
 must always regard Arthur as a brother," the seraph continued ; we 
 have known each other years, we have trodden the same fields, and 
 plucked the same flowers together. Arthur ! Henry ! I beseech you 
 to take hands and to be friends ! Forgive you !— /forgive you, Arthur, 
 with my heart I do. Should I not do so for making me so happy ? " 
 
 There is only one person of us three whom I pity, Blanche," Arthur 
 said gravely ; and I say to you again, that I hope you will make this 
 good fellow, this honest and loyal creature, happy." 
 
 Happy ! O heavens ! " said Harry. He could not speak. His 
 happiness gushed out at his eyes. She don't know — she can't know 
 how fond I am of her, and — and who am I ? a poor little beggar, and 
 she takes me up and says she'll try and 1—1— love me. I ain't worthy 
 of so much happiness. Give us your hand, old boy, since she forgives 
 you after your heartless conduct, and says she loves you. I'll make 
 
 you welcome. I tell you I'll love everybody who loves her. By 
 
 if she tells me to kiss the ground I'll kiss it. Tell me to kiss the 
 ground ! I say, tell me. I love you so. You see I love you so." 
 
 Blanche loo'ked up seraphically again. Her gentle bosom heaved. 
 She held out one hand as if to bless Harry, and then royally permitted 
 him to kiss it. She took up the pocket-handkerchief, and hid her own 
 eyes, as the other fair hand was abandoned to poor Harry's tearful 
 embrace. 
 
 '^l swear that is a villain who deceives such a loving creature as 
 that," said Pen. 
 
 Blanche laid down the handkerchief, and put hand No. 2 softly on 
 Foker's head, which was bent down kissing and weeping over hand 
 ; No. 1. Foolish boy," she said, it shall be loved as it deserves : 
 i who could help loving such a silly creature?" 
 
 And at this moment Frank Clavering broke in upon the sentimental 
 trio. 
 
 I say, Pendennis," he said. 
 "Well, Frank !" 
 
 The man wants to be paid, and go back. He's had some beer. 
 " I'll go back with him," cried Pen. Good-bye, Blanche. God 
 
 I 
 
572 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 bless you, Foker, old friend. You know neither of you wants me 
 here." He longed to be off that instant. 
 
 Stay — I must say one word to you. One word in private, if you 
 please," Blanche said. ^^You can trust us together, can't you — 
 Henry .f^" The tone in which the word Henry was spoken, and the 
 appeal, ravished Foker with delight. Trust you !" said he. ^^Oh, 
 who wouldn't trust you ! Come along, Franky, my boy." 
 
 Let's have a cigar," said Frank, as they went into the hall. 
 
 She don't like it," said Foker gently. 
 
 Law bless you — she don't mind. Pendennis used to smoke regular," 
 said the candid youth. 
 
 It was but a short word I had to say," said Blanche to Pen, with 
 great calm, when they were alone. ^^You never loved me, Mr. 
 Pendennis." 
 
 I told you how much," said Arthur. I never deceived you." 
 I suppose you will go back and marry Laura," continued Blanche. 
 Was that what you had to say ? " said Pen. 
 
 You are going to her this very night, I am sure of it. There is no 
 denying it. You never cared for me." 
 ''Etvous?'* 
 
 Et moi, c est different. I have been spoilt early. I cannot live out 
 of the world, out of excitement. I could have done so, but it is too 
 late. If I cannot have emotions I must have the world. Xi^u would 
 offer me neither one nor the other. You are blase in everything, even 
 in ambition. You had a career before you, and you would not take it. 
 You give it up ! — for what ? — for a hetise, for an absurd scruple. Why 
 would you not have that seat, and be such a puritain ? Why should 
 you refuse what is mine by right — by right, entendez-vous ? " 
 
 You know all, then ? " said Pen. 
 ^^Only within a ^lonth. But I have suspected ever since Baymouth 
 — yiimporte since when. It is not too late. He is as if he had never 
 been ; and there is a position in the world before you yet. Why not 
 sit in Parliament, exert your talent, and give a place in the world to 
 yourself, to your wife ? I take celui-ld. II est bon. II est riche. II est 
 — vous le connaissez autant que moi, enfin. Think you that I would not 
 prefer un homme qui Jem parler de moi ? If the secret appears, I am 
 rich d millions. How does it affect me ? It is not my fault. It will 
 never appear." 
 
 You will tell Harry everything, won't you.^" 
 
 Je comprends. Vous refusez^' said Blanche savagely. I will tell 
 Harry at my own time, when we are married. You will not betray 
 me, will you.^ You, having a defenceless girl's secret, will not turn 
 upon her and use it.^* B'il me plait de le cacher, mon secret; pourquoi le 
 donnerai-je ^ Je Vaime^ mon pauvre pere, voyez-vous ? I would rather 
 live with that man than with you fades intriguers of the world. I must 
 have emotions — il men donne. II m'ecrit. II ecrit tres-bien, voyez-vous 
 — comme un pirate — comme un Bohemien — comme un homme. But for 
 this I would have said to my mother — Ma mere! quittons ce Idche mari, 
 cette Idche societe — retournons a mon per e.'' 
 
 The pirate would have wearied you like the rest," said Pen. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 573 
 
 Eh ! 11 mefaut des emotions," said Blanche. Pen had never seen her 
 or known so much about her in all the years of their intimacy as he 
 saw and knew now : though he saw more than existed in reality. For 
 this young lady was not able to carry out any emotion to the full ; but 
 had a sham enthusiasm, a sham hatred, a sham love, a sham taste, a 
 sham grief, each of which flared and shone very vehemently for an 
 instant, but subsided and gave place to the next sham emotion. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV 
 
 A CHAPTER OF MATCH-MAKING 
 
 Upon the platform at Tunbridge, Pen fumed and fretted until the 
 arrival of the evening train to London, a full half-hour,— six hours it 
 seemed to him ; but even this immense interval was passed, the train 
 arrived, the train sped on, the London lights came in view— a gentle- 
 man who forgot his carpet-bag in the train rushed at a cab, and said to 
 the man, Drive as hard as you can go to Jermyn Street.'' The cab- 
 man, although a Hansom cabman, said "Thank you" for the gratuity 
 which was put into his hand, and Pen ran up the stairs of the hotel to 
 Lady Rockminster's apartments. Laura was alone in the drawing- 
 room, reading, with a pale face, by the lamp. The pale face looked 
 up when Pen opened the door. May we follow him.^ The great 
 moments of life are but moments like the others. Your doom is 
 spoken in a word or two. A single look from the eyes ; a mere pres- 
 sure of the hand, may decide it ; or of the lips, though they cannot 
 speak. 
 
 When Lady Rockminster, who has had her after-dinner nap, gets up 
 and goes into her sitting-room, we may enter with her Ladyship. 
 
 "Upon my word, young people are the first words she says, and 
 her attendant makes wondering eyes over her shoulder. And well 
 may she say so ; and well may the attendant cast wondering eyes ; for 
 the young people are in an attitude ; and Pen in such a position as 
 every young lady who reads this has heard tell of, or has seen, or hopes, 
 or at any rate deserves to see. 
 
 In a word, directly he entered the room. Pen went up to Laura of 
 the pale face, who had not time even to say. What, back so soon ? and 
 seizing her outstretched and trembling hand just as she was rising from 
 her chair, fell down on his knees before her, and said quickly, " I have 
 seen her. She has engaged herself to Harry Foker— and— and now, 
 Laura ? " . . 
 
 The hand gives a pressure— the eyes beam a reply— the quivering 
 lips answer, though speechless. Pen s head sinks down in the girFs 
 lap, as he sobs out, "Come and bless us, dear mother !" and arms as 
 tender as Helen's once more enfold him. 
 
 In this juncture it is that Lady Rockminster comes in and says, 
 " Upon my word, young people ! Beck ! leave the room. What do 
 you want poking your nose in here } '* 
 
674 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 Pen starts up with looks of triumph^ still holding Laura's hand. 
 
 She is consoling me for my misfortune^ ma'am^" he says. 
 
 What do you mean hy kissing her hand ? I don't know what you 
 will he next doing." 
 
 Pen kissed her Ladyship's. " / have been to Tunbridge^" he says, 
 
 and seen Miss Amory ; and find on my arrival that — that a villain 
 has transplanted me in her aifections," he says, with a tragedy 
 air. 
 
 ^^Is that all.'^ Is that what you were whimpering on your knees 
 about ? " says the old lady, growing angry. You might have kept 
 the news till to-morrow." 
 
 Yes — another has superseded me/' goes on Pen ; but why call 
 him villain ? He is brave, he is constant, he is young, he is wealthy, 
 he is beautiful." 
 
 What stuff are you talking, sir ? " cried the old lady. What has 
 happened ? " 
 
 Miss Amory has jilted me, and accepted Henry Foker, Esquire. I 
 found her warbling ditties to him as he lay at her feet ; presents had 
 been accepted, vows exchanged, these ten days. Harry was old Mrs. 
 Planter's rheumatism, which kept dearest Laura out of the house. He 
 is the most constant and generous of men. He has promised the living 
 of Logwood to Lady Ann's husband, and given her a splendid present 
 on her marriage ; and he rushed to fling himself at Blanche's feet the 
 instant he found he was free." 
 
 And so, as you can't get Blanche, you put up with Laura : is that 
 it, sir } " asked the old lady. 
 
 He acted nobly," Laura said. 
 
 I acted as she bade me," said Pen. Never mind how. Lady Rock- 
 minster ; but to the best of my knowledge and power. And if you 
 mean that I am not worthy of Laura, I know it, and pray Heaven to 
 better me ; and if the love and company of the best and purest creature 
 in the world can do so, at least I shall have these to help me." 
 
 ^^Hm, hm," replied the old lady to this, looking with rather an 
 appeased air at the young people. It is all very well ; but I should 
 have preferred Bluebeard." 
 
 And now Pen, to divert the conversation from a theme which was 
 growing painful to some parties present, bethought him of his interview 
 with Huxter in the morning, and of Fanny Bolton's affairs, which he 
 had forgotten under the immediate pressure and excitement of his own. 
 And he told the ladies how Huxter had elevated Fanny to the rank of 
 wife, and what terrors he was in respecting the arrival of his father. 
 He described the scene with considerable humour, taking care to dwell 
 especially upon that part of it which concerned Fanny's coquetry and 
 irrepressible desire of captivating mankind ; his meaning being, You 
 see, Laura, I was not so guilty in that little affair ; it was the girl who 
 made love to me, and I who resisted. As I am no longer present, the 
 little siren practises her arts and fascinations upon others. Let that 
 transaction be forgotten in your mind, if you please ; or visit me with 
 a very gentle punishment for my error." 
 
 Laura understood his meaning under the eagerness of his explana- 
 tions. If you did any wrong, you repented, dear Pen," she said, 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 575 
 
 ^^and you know/' she added^ with meaning eyes and blushes^ ^Uhat 
 /have no right to reproach you." 
 
 ''^rim \" grumbled the old lady; ^^I should have preferred Blue- 
 beard." 
 
 The past is broken away. The morrow is before us. I will do my 
 best to make your morrow happy^ dear Laura/' Pen said. His heart 
 was humbled by the prospect of his happiness : it stood awe-stricken in 
 tlie contemplation of her sweet goodness and purity. He liked his wife 
 better that she had owned to that passing feeling for Warrington^ and 
 laid bare her generous heart to him. And she— very likely she was 
 thinking, How strange it is that I ever should have cared for another ; 
 I am vexed almost to think I care for him so little, am so little sorry 
 that he is gone away. Oh, in these past two months how I have learned 
 to love Arthur ! I care about nothing but Arthur ; my waking and 
 sleeping thoughts are about him ; he is never absent from me. And 
 to think tliat he is to be mine, mine ! and that I am to marry him, and 
 not to be his servant, as I expected to be only this morning ; for I 
 would have gone down on my knees to Blanche to beg her to let me 
 live with him. And now — Oh, it is too much. O mother ! mother, 
 that you were here !" Indeed, she felt as if Helen were there — by her 
 actually, though invisibly. A halo of happiness beamed from her. She 
 moved with a different step, and bloomed with a new beauty. Arthur 
 saw the change ; and the old Lady Rockminster remarked it with her 
 shrewd eyes. 
 
 What a sly demure little wretch you have been," she whispered to 
 Laura— while Pen, in great spirits, was laughing, and telling his story 
 about Huxter — ^^and how you have kept your secret !" 
 
 ^^How are we to help the young couple?" said Laura. Of course 
 Miss Laura felt an interest in all young couples, as generous lovers 
 always love other lovers. 
 
 We must go and see them," said Pen. 
 
 Of course we must go and see them," said Laura. I intend to 
 be very fond of Fanny. Let us go this instant. Lady Rockminster, 
 may I have the carriage ? " 
 
 Go now ! — Why, you stupid creature, it is eleven o'clock at night. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Huxter 'have got their nightcaps on, I dare say. And it 
 is time for you to go now. Good night, Mr. Pendennis." 
 Arthur and Laura begged for ten minutes more. 
 
 We will go to-morrow morning, then. I will come and fetch you 
 with Martha." 
 
 An earl's coronet," said Pen, who, no doubt, was pleased himself, 
 will have a great effect in Lamb Court and Smithfield. Stay— Lady 
 Rockminster, will you join us in a little conspiracy ?" 
 How do you mean conspiracy, young man ? " 
 
 Will you please to be a little ill to-morrow : and when old Mr. 
 Huxter arrives, will you let me call him in ? If he is put into a good 
 humour at the notion of attending a baronet in the country, what in- 
 fluence won't a countess have on him ? When he is softened — when he 
 is quite ripe, we will break the secret upon him ; bring in the young 
 people, extort the paternal benediction, and finish the comedy." 
 
 A parcel of stuff," said the old lady. Take your hat, sir. Come 
 
676 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 away^ miss. There — my head is turned another way. Good night, 
 young people." And who knows but the old lady thought of her own 
 early days as she went away on Laura's arm, nodding her head, and 
 humming to herself? 
 
 With the early morning came Laura and Martha, according to 
 appointment ; and the desired sensation was, let us hope, effected in 
 Lamb Court, whence the three proceeded to wait upon Mr. and Mrs. 
 Samuel Huxter, at their residence in Charterhouse Lane. 
 
 The two ladies looked at each other with great interest, and not a 
 little emotion on Fanny's part. She had not seen her /^guardian," as 
 she was pleased to call Pen in consequence of his bequest, since the 
 event had occurred which had united her to Mr. Huxter. 
 
 Samuel told me how kind you had been," she said. " You were 
 always very kind, Mr. Pendennis. And — and I hope your friend is 
 better, who was took ill in Shepherd's Inn, ma'am." 
 
 My name is Laura," said the other, with a blush. I am — that is, 
 I was — that is, I am Arthur's sister : and we shall always love you for 
 being so good to him when he was ill. And when we live in the 
 country, I hope we shall see each other. And I shall be always happy 
 to hear of your happiness, Fanny." 
 
 We are going to do what you and Huxter have done, Fanny. — 
 Where is Huxter } What nice snug lodgings you've got ! What a 
 pretty cat ! " 
 
 While Fanny is answering these questions in reply to Pen, Laura 
 says to herself — Well, now really ! is this the creature about whom 
 we were all so frightened } What could he see in her } She's a homely 
 little thing, but such manners ! Well, she was very kind to him, — 
 bless her for that. " 
 
 Mr. Samuel had gone out to meet his Pa. Mrs. Huxter said that 
 the old gentleman was to arrive that day at the Somerset CofFee-House 
 in the Strand ; and Fanny confessed that she was in a sad tremor about 
 the meeting. ^Hf his parents cast him off, what are we to do " she 
 said. I shall never pardon myself for bringing ruing on my 'usband's 
 'ead. You must intercede for us, Mr. Arthur. If mortal man can, 
 you can bend and influence Mr. 'Uxter senior." Fanny still regarded 
 Pen in the light of a superior being, that was evident. No doubt 
 Arthur thought of the past, as he marked the solemn little tragedy-airs 
 and looks, the little ways, the little trepidations, vanities, of the little 
 bride. A.s soon as the interview was over entered Messrs. Linton and 
 Blades, who came, of course, to visit Huxter, and brought with them 
 a fine fragrance of tobacco. They had watched the carriage at the 
 baker's door, and remarked the coronet with awe. They asked of 
 Fanny who was that uncommonly heavy swell who had just driven off.'* 
 and pronounced the Countess to be the right sort. And when they 
 heard that it was Mr. Pendennis and his sister, they remarked that 
 Pen's father was only a sawbones ; and that he gave himself confounded 
 airs ; they had been in Huxter's company on the night of his little 
 altercation with Pen in the Back Kitchen. 
 
 Returning homewards through Fleet Street, and as Laura was just 
 stating, to Pen's infinite amusement, that Fanny was very well, but 
 that really there was no beauty in her, — there might be, but she could 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 677 
 
 not see it, — as they were locked near Temple Bar, they saw young 
 Huxter returning to his bride. The governor had arrived ; was at 
 the Somerset CofFee-House — was in tolerable good-humour — something 
 about the railway : but he had been afraid to speak about— about that 
 business. Would Mr. Fendennis try it on } " 
 
 Pen said he would go and call at that moment upon Mr. Huxter, 
 and see what might be done. Huxter junior would lurk outside whilst 
 that awful interview took place. The coronet on the carriage inspired 
 his soul also with wonder ; and old Mr. Huxter himself beheld it with 
 delight, as he looked from the coffee-house window on that Strand 
 which it was always a treat to him to survey. 
 
 ^^And I can afford to give myself a lark, sir," said Mr. Huxter, 
 shaking hands with Pen. Of course you know the news ? We have 
 got our bill, sir. We shall have our branch line — our shares are up, 
 sir — and we buy your three fields along the Brawl, and put a pretty 
 penny into your pocket, Mr. Pendennis. " 
 
 Indeed ! — that was good news." Pen remembered that there was 
 a letter from Mr. Tatham, at Chambers, these three days ; but he had 
 not opened the communication, being interested with other affairs. 
 
 I hope you don't intend to grow rich, and give up practice," said 
 Pen. We can't lose you at Clavering, Mr. Huxter ; though I hear 
 very good accounts of your son. My friend. Dr. Goodenough, speaks 
 most highly of his talents. It is hard that a man of your eminence, 
 though, should be kept in a country town." 
 
 ^^The metropolis would have been my sphere of action, sir," said 
 Mr. Huxter, surveying the Strand. ^^But a man takes his business 
 where he finds it ; and I succeeded to that of my father." 
 
 It was my father s, too," said Pen. I sometimes wish I had 
 followed it." 
 
 You, sir, have taken a more lofty career," said the old gentleman. 
 You aspire to the senate : and to literary honours. You wield the 
 poet's pen, sir, and move in the circles of fashion. We keep an eye 
 upon you at Clavering. We read your name in the lists of the select 
 parties of the nobility. Why, it was only the other day that my wife 
 was remarking how odd it was that at a party at the Earl of Kidder- 
 minster's your name was not mentioned. To what member of the 
 aristocracy may I ask does that equipage belong from which I saw you 
 descend } The Countess Dowager of Rockminster } How is her Lady- 
 ship } " 
 
 Her Ladyship is not very well ; and when I heard that you were 
 coming to town, I strongly urged her to see you, Mr. Huxter," Pen 
 said. Old Huxter felt, if he had a hundred votes for Clavering, he 
 would give them all to Pen. 
 
 There is an old friend of yours in the carriage — a Clavering lady 
 too — will you come out and speak to her.f*" asked Pen. The old 
 surgeon was delighted to speak to a coronetted carriage in the midst 
 of the full Strand : he ran out bowing and smiling. Huxter junior^ 
 dodging about the district, beheld the meeting between his father and 
 Laura, saw the latter put out her hand, and presently, after a little 
 colloquy with Pen, beheld his father actually jump into the carriage, 
 ,and drive away with Miss Bell. 
 
578 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 There was no room for Arthur, who came back, laughing, to the 
 young surgeon, and told him whither his parent was bound. During 
 the whole of the journey, that artful Laura coaxed, and wheedled, and 
 cajoled him so adroitly, that the old gentleman would have granted 
 her anything ; and Lady Rockminster achieved the victory over him 
 by complimenting him on his skill, and professing her anxiety to 
 consult him. What were her Ladyship's symptoms ? Should he meet 
 her Ladyship's usual medical attendant? Mr. Jones was called out of 
 town ? He should be delighted to devote his very best energies and 
 experience to her Ladyship s service. 
 
 He was so charmed with his patient, that he wrote home about her 
 to his wife and family ; he talked of nothing but Lady Rockminster 
 to Samuel, when that youth came to partake of beef-steak and oyster- 
 sauce, and accompany his parent to the play. There was a simple 
 grandeur, a polite urbanity, a high-bred grace about her Ladyship, 
 which he had never witnessed in any woman. Her symptoms did not 
 seem alarming : he had prescribed— Spir : Ammon : Aromat : with a 
 little Spir : Menth : Pip : and orange-flower, which would be all that 
 was necessary. 
 
 Miss Bell seemed to be on the most confidential and affectionate 
 footing with her Ladyship. She was about to form a matrimonial con- 
 nection. All young people ought to marry. Such were her Ladyship s 
 words; and the Countess condescended to ask respecting my own 
 family, and I mentioned you by name to her Ladyship, Sam, my boy. 
 I shall look in to-morrow, when, if the remedies which I have prescribed 
 for her Ladyship have had the effect which I anticipate, I shall pro- 
 bably follow them up by a little Spir : Lavend : Comp :— and so set 
 my noble patient up. What is the theatre which is most frequented 
 by the— by the higher classes in town, hey, Sam? and to what amuse- 
 ment will you take an old country doctor to-night, hey, sir?" 
 
 On the 'next day, when Mr. Huxter called in Jermyn Street at 
 twelve o'clock. Lady Rockminster had not yet left her room, but Miss 
 Bell and Mr. Pendennis were in waiting to receive him. Lady Rock- 
 minster had had a most comfortable night, and was getting on as well 
 as possible. How had Mr. Huxter amused himself? at the theatre? 
 with his son ? What a capital piece it was, and how charmingly Mrs. 
 O'Leary looked and sang it ! and what a good fellow young Huxter 
 was i liked by everybody, an honour to his profession. He has not 
 his father's manners, I grant you, or that old-world tone which is 
 passing away from us, but a more excellent, sterling fellow never lived. 
 ^^He ought to practise in the country whatever you do, sir," said 
 Arthur. "He ought to marry— other people are going to do so— 
 and settle. " 
 
 " The very words that her Ladyship used yesterday^ Mr. Pendennis. 
 He ought to marry. Sam should marry, sir." 
 
 " The town is full of temptations, sir," continued Pen. The old 
 gentleman thought of that houri, Mrs. O'Leary. 
 
 "There is no better safeguard for a young man than an early 
 marriage with an honest, affectionate creature." 
 
 "No better, sir, no better." 
 
 " And love is better than money, isn't it?" 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 679 
 
 Indeed it is/' said Miss Bell. 
 
 I agree with so fair an authority/' said the old gentleman^ with 
 a bow. 
 
 And— and suppose^ sir/* Pen said, that I had a piece of news to 
 communicate to you.*' 
 
 God bless my soul, Mr. Pendennis ; what do you mean ? asked 
 the old gentleman. 
 
 Suppose I had to tell you that a young man, carried away by an 
 irresistible passion for an admirable and most virtuous young creature 
 — whom everybody falls in love with — had consulted the dictates of 
 reason and his heart, and had married. Suppose I were to tell you 
 that that man is my friend ; that our excellent, our truly noble friend, 
 the Countess Dowager of Rockminster, is truly interested about him 
 (and you may fancy what a young man can do in life when that family 
 is interested for him) ; suppose 1 were to tell you that you know him 
 — that he is here — that he is " 
 
 Sam married ! God bless my soul, sir, you don't mean that.'^ " 
 
 And to such a nice creature, dear Mr. Huxter. " 
 
 Her Ladyship is charmed with her," said Pen, telling almost the 
 first fib which he has told in the course of this story. 
 
 Married ! the rascal, is he ? " thought the old gentleman. 
 
 They will do it, sir," said Pen ; and went and opened the door. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Huxter issued thence, and both came and knelt 
 down before the old gentleman. The kneeling little Fanny found favour 
 in his sight. There must have been something attractive about her, 
 in spite of Laura's opinion. 
 
 Will never do so any more, sir," said Sam. 
 
 Get up, sir," said Mr. Huxter. And they got up, and Fanny came 
 a little nearer and a little nearer still, and looked so pretty and pitiful, 
 that somehow Mr. Huxter found himself kissing the little crying-laugh- 
 ing thing, and feeling as if he liked it. 
 
 What's your name, my dear ? " he said, after a minute of this sport. 
 
 Fanny, papa," said Mrs. Samuel. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV 
 
 EXEUNT OMNES 
 
 Our characters are all a month older than they were when the last- 
 described adventures and conversations occurred, and a great number 
 of the personages of our story have chanced to re-assemble at the 
 little country town where we were first introduced to them. Frederic 
 Lightfoot, formerly mattre-d'hotelin the service of Sir Francis Clavering 
 of Clavering Park, Bart. , has begged leave to inform the nobility and 
 
 gentry of shire that he has taken that well-known and comfortable 
 
 hotel, the Clavering Arms," in Clavering, where he hopes for the 
 continued patronage of the gentlemen and families of the county. 
 
 This ancient and well-established house," Mr. Lightfoot's manifesto 
 states, ^^has been repaired and decorated in a style of the greatest 
 
580 PENDENNIS 
 
 comfort. Gentlemen hunting with the Dumplingbeare hounds will 
 find excellent stabling and loose boxes for horses at the ^Clavering 
 Arms/ A commodious billiard-room has been attached to the hotel, 
 and the cellars have been furnished with the choicest wines and spirits, 
 selected, without regard to expense, by F. L. Commercial gentlemen 
 will find the ^ Clavering Arms ' a most comfortable place of resort : 
 and the scale of charges has been regulated for all, so as to meet the 
 economical spirit of the present times." h 
 Indeed, there is a considerable air of liveliness about the old inn. j( 
 The Clavering arms have been splendidly repainted over the gateway, i 
 The colFee-room windows are bright and fresh, and decorated with [a 
 Christmas holly; the magistrates have met in petty sessions in the 
 card-room of the Old Assembly. The farmers ordinary is held as of 
 old, and frequented by increased numbers, who are pleased with Mrs. 
 Lightfoot's cuisine. Her Indian curries and mulligatawny soup are 
 especially popular ; Major Stokes, the respected tenant of Fairoaks 
 Cottage, Captain Glanders, H.P., and other resident gentry, have pro- 
 nounced in their favour, and have partaken of them more than once, 
 both in private and at the dinner of the Clavering Institute, attendant 
 on the incorporation of the reading-room, and when the chief inhabi- 
 tants of that flourishing little town met together and did justice to the 
 hostess's excellent cheer. The chair was taken by Sir Francis Clavering, 
 Bart., supported by the esteemed rector. Dr. Portman ; the vice-chair 
 being ably filled by — Barker, Esq. (supported by the Rev. J. Simcoe 
 and the Rev. S. Jowls), the enterprising head of the ribbon factory in 
 Clavering, and chief director of the Clavering and Chatteris Branch of 
 the Great Western Railway, which will be opened in another year, and 
 upon the works of which the engineers and workmen are now busily 
 
 engaged. . i vr 
 
 An interesting event which is likely to take place m the life of our 
 talented townsman, Arthur Pendennis, Esq., has, we understand, caused 
 him to relinquish the intentions which he had of offering himself as a 
 candidate for our borough : and rumour whispers " (says the Chatteris 
 Champion, Clavering Agriculturist, and Baymouth Fisherman,— th^X in- 
 dependent county paper, so distinguished for its unswerving principles 
 and loyalty to the British oak, and so eligible a medium for advertise- 
 ments)— rumour states," says the C. C, C. A., and B, F,, 'Hhat 
 should Sir Francis Clavering's failing health oblige him to relinquish 
 his seat in Parliament, he will vacate it in favour of a young gentleman 
 of colossal fortune and related to the highest aristocracy of the empire, 
 who is about to contract a matrimonial alliance with an accomplished I, 
 and lovely lady, connected by the nearest ties with the respected family | 
 at Clavering Park. Lady Clavering and Miss Amory have arrived at 
 the Park for the Christmas holidays; and we understand that a large 
 number of the aristocracy are expected, and that festivities of a pecu- 
 liarly interesting nature will take place there at the commencement of 
 the new year." 
 
 The ingenious reader will be enabled, by the help of the above' 
 announcement, to understand what has taken place during the little 
 break which has occurred in our narrative. Although Lady Rock- 
 minster grumbled a little at Laura's preference for Pendennis over 
 
1 
 
 PENDENNIS 581 
 
 i Bluebeard, those who are aware of the latter s secret will understand 
 that the young girl could make no other choice^, and the kind old lady 
 jwho had constituted herself Miss Bell's guardian was not ill pleased 
 ijthat she was to fulfil the great purpose in life of young ladies and 
 marry. She informed her maid of the interesting event that very 
 aight, and of course Mrs. Beck, who was perfectly aware of every 
 single circumstance, and kept by Martha, of Fairoaks, in the fullest 
 knowledge of what was passing, was immensely surprised and delighted. 
 
 Mr. Pendennis's income is so much ; the railroad will give him so 
 much more, he states ; Miss Bell has so much, and may probably have 
 a little more one day. For persons in their degree, they will be able 
 to manage very well. And 1 shall speak to my nephew Pynsent, who 
 I suspect was once rather attached to her, — but of course that was 
 out of the question — (^^ Oh ! of course, my Lady ; I should think so 
 indeed !") — not that you know anything whatever about it, or have 
 any business to think* at all on the subject, — I shall speak to George 
 Pynsent, who is now Chief Secretary of the Tape and Sealing Wax 
 Office, and have Mr. Pendennis made something. And, Beck, in the 
 morning you will carry down my compliments to Major Pendennis, 
 and say that I shall pay him a visit at one o'clock. Yes," muttered the 
 old lady, the Major must be reconciled, and he must leave his fortune 
 to Laura's children." 
 
 Accordingly, at one o'clock, the Dowager Lady Rockminster appeared 
 it Major Pendennis' s, who was delighted, as may be imagined, to receive 
 30 noble a visitor. The Major had been prepared, if not for the news 
 which her Ladyship was about to give him, at least with the intelligence 
 that Pen's marriage with Miss Amoij was broken off. The young gentle- 
 man bethinking him of his uncle, tor the first time that day it must be 
 owned, and meeting his new servant in the hall of the hotel, asked after 
 the Major's health from Mr. Frosch ; and then went into the cofl'ee- 
 room of the hotel, where he wrote a half-dozen lines to acquaint his 
 guardian with what had occurred. " Dear uncle," he said, if there 
 bas been any question between us, it is over now. I went toTunbridge 
 VFells yesterday, and found that somebody else had carried olF the prize 
 ibout which we were hesitating. Miss A., without any compunction for 
 me, has bestowed herself upon Harry Foker, with his fifteen thousand 
 I year. I came in suddenly upon their loves, and found and left him 
 ;n possession. 
 
 And you'll be glad to hear, Tatham writes me that he has sold 
 three of my fields at Fairoaks to the Railroad Company, at a great 
 ligure. I will tell you this, and more when we meet ; and am always 
 ^our affectionate — A. P." 
 
 1 tiflhk I am aware of what you were about to tell me," the Major 
 said, with a most courtly smile and bow to Pen's ambassadress. ^'^It 
 svas a very great kindness of your Ladyship to think of bringing me 
 the news. How well you look ! How very good you are ! How very 
 kind you have always been to that young man ! " 
 
 It was for the sake of his uncle," said Lady Rockminster, most 
 politely. 
 
 He has informed me of the state of affairs, and written me a nice 
 aote,— yes, a nice note," continued the old gentleman ; and I find he 
 
582 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 has had an increase to his fortune^ — yes ; and all things considered, I 
 don't much regret that this affair with Miss Amory is manquee, though ; 
 I wished for it once, — in fact, all things considered, I am very glad 
 of it." 
 
 ^^We must console him. Major Pendennis," continued the lady; 
 
 we must get him a wife/' The truth then came across the Major's 
 mind, and he saw for what purpose Lady Rockminster had chosen to 
 assume the office of ambassadress. 
 
 It is not necessary to enter into the conversation which ensued, or to \ 
 tell at any length how her Ladyship concluded a negotiation, which, in 
 truth, was tolerably easy. There could be no reason why Pen should 
 not marry according to his own and his mother s wish : and as for Lady 
 Rockminster, she supported the marriage by intimations which had very 
 great weight with the Major, but of which we shall say nothing, as her 
 Ladyship (now, of course, much advanced in years) is still alive, and 
 the family might be angry ; and, in fine, the old gentleman was quite 
 overcome by the determined graciousness of the lady, and her fondness 
 for Laura. Nothing, indeed, could be more bland and kind than Lady 
 Rockminster's whole demeanour, except for one moment when the 
 Major talked about his boy throwing himself away, at which her Lady- 
 ship broke out into a little speech, in which she made the Major under- 
 stand, what poor Pen and his friends acknowledge very humbly, that 
 Laura was a thousand times too good for him. Laura was fit to be the 
 wife of a king, — Laura was a paragon of virtue and excellence. And 
 it must be said, that when Major Pendennis found that a lady of the 
 \ rank of the Countess of Rockminster seriously admired Miss Bell, he 
 f instantly began to admire her himself. 
 
 So that when Herr Frosch was requested to walk upstairs to Lady 
 Rockminster's apartments, and inform Miss Bell and Mr. Arthur Pen- 
 dennis that the Major would receive them, and Laura appeared blushing 
 and happy as she hung on Pen s arm, the Major gave a shaky hand to 
 one and the other, with no afi'ected emotion and cordiality, and then 
 ^ent through another salutation to Laura, which caused her to blush 
 still more. Happy blushes ! bright eyes beaming with the light of 
 love ! The story-teller turns from this group to his young audience, 
 and hopes that one day their eyes may all shine so. 
 
 Pen having retreated in the most friendly manner, and the lovely 
 Blanche having bestowed her young affections upon a blushing bride- 
 groom with fifteen thousand a year, there was such an outbreak of 
 happiness in Lady Clavering's heart and family as the good Begum had 
 not known for many a year, and she and Blanche were on the most 
 delightful terms of cordiality and affection. The ardent Fokei^ pressed 
 onwards the happy day, and was as anxious as might be expected to 
 abridge the period of mourning which should put him in possession 
 of so many charms and amiable qualities, of which he had been only, 
 as it were, the heir-apparent, not the actual owner, until then. The 
 gentle Blanche, everything that her affianced lord could desire, was 
 not averse to gratify the wishes of her fond Henry. Lady Clavering 
 came up from Tunbridge. Milliners and jewellers were set to work 
 and engaged to prepare the delightful paraphernalia of Hymen. Lady 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 Claveriii^ was in such a good humour, that Sir Francis even benefited 
 by it, and such a reconciliation was effected between this pair, that Sir 
 Francis came to London, sate at the head of his own table once more, 
 and appeared tolerably flush of money at his billiard-rooms and gam- 
 bling-houses again. One day, when Major Pendennis and Arthur went 
 to dine in Grosvenor Place, they found an old acquaintance estab- 
 lished in the quality of major-domo, and the gentleman in black, 
 who, with perfect politeness and gravity, offered them their choice 
 of sweet or dry champagne, was no other than Mr. James Morgan. 
 The Chevalier Strong was one of the party ; he was in high spirits and 
 condition, and entertained the company with accounts of his amuse- 
 ments abroad. 
 
 It was my Lady who invited me," said Strong to Arthur under his 
 voice — ^^that fellow Morgan looked as black as thunder when I came 
 in. He is about no good here. I will go away first, and wait for you 
 and Major Pendennis at Hyde Park Gate." 
 
 Mr. Morgan helped Major Pendennis to his greatcoat when he was 
 quitting the house ; and muttered something about having accepted a 
 temporary engagement with the Clavering family. 
 
 ^' I have got a paper of yours, Mr. Morgan," said the old gentleman. 
 
 "Which you can show, if you please, to Sir Francis, sir, and per- 
 fectly welcome," said Mr. Morgan, with downcast eyes. "I'm very 
 much obliged to you. Major Pendennis, and if I can pay you for all 
 your kindness, I will." 
 
 Arthur overheard the sentence, and seeing the look of hatred which 
 accompanied it, suddenly cried out that he had forgotten his hand- 
 kerchief, and ran upstairs to the drawing-room again. Foker was still 
 there : still lingering about his siren. Pen gave the siren a look full 
 of meaning, and we suppose that the siren understood meaning looks, 
 for when, after finding the veracious handkerchief of which he came 
 in quest, he once more went out, the siren, with a laughing voice, 
 said, "0 Arthur — Mr. Pendennis — I want you to tell dear Laura 
 something !" and she came out to the door. 
 
 " What is it } " she asked, shutting the door. 
 
 " Have you told Harry } Do you know that villain Morgan knows 
 
 I know it," she said. 
 
 Have you told Harry ? " 
 " No, no," she said. " You won't betray me } " 
 " Morgan will," said Pen. 
 
 "No, he won't," said Blanche. "I have promised him— ri importe. 
 Wait until after our marriage. —Oh, until after our marriage.— Oh, 
 how wretched I am ! " said the girl, who had been all smiles, and grace, 
 and gaiety during the evening. 
 
 Arthur said, " I beg and implore you to tell Harry. Tell him now. 
 It is no fault of yours. He will pardon you anything. Tell him 
 to-night." 
 
 " And give her this— 7/ est /a— with my love, please ; and I beg your 
 pardon for calling you back ; and if she will be at Madame Crinoline's 
 at half-past three, and if Lady Rockminster can spare her, I should so 
 like to drive with her in the Park : " and she went in, singing, and 
 
584 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 kissing her little hand^ as Morgan the t^elvet-footed came up the car- 
 peted stair. 
 
 Pen heard Blanche's piano breaking out into brilliant music as he 
 went down to join his uncle ; and they walked away together. Arthur 
 briefly told him what he had done. ^^What was to be done.^" he 
 asked. 
 
 What is to be done^ begad said the old gentleman. " What is 
 to be done but to leave it alone ? Begad^ let us be thankful^" said the 
 old fellow^ with a shudder^ that we are out of the business^ and leave 
 it to those it concerns." 
 
 I hope to Heaven she'll tell him/' said Pen. 
 ^^Begad^ she'll take her own course/' said the old man. ^^Miss 
 Amory is a dev'lish wideawake girl^ sir^ and must play her own cards ; 
 and I'm doosid glad you are out of it — doosid glad^ begad. Who's this 
 smoking } Oh^ it's Mr. Strong again. He wants to put in his oar^ I 
 suppose. I tell you_, don't meddle in the business^ Arthur. " 
 
 Strong began once or twice^ as if to converse upon the subject^ but 
 the Major would not hear a word. He remarked on the moonlight on 
 Apsley House^ the weather^ the cabstands — anything but that subject. 
 He bowed stiffly to Strongs and clung to his nephew's arm^ as he turned 
 down St. James's Street^ and again cautioned Pen to leave the affair 
 alone. It had like to have cost you so much^ sir, that you may take 
 my advice," he said. 
 
 When Arthur came out of the hotel. Strong's cloak and cigar were 
 visible a few doors oS. The jolly Chevalier laughed as they met. I 
 am an old soldier, too," he said. I wanted to talk to you, Pendennis. 
 I have heard of all that has happened, and all the chops and changes 
 that have taken place during my absence. I congratulate you on your 
 marriage, and I congratulate you on your escape too, — you understand 
 me. It was not my business to speak, but I know this, that a certain 
 party is as arrant a little — well — well, never mind what. You acted 
 like a man and a trump, and are well out of it." 
 
 I have no reason to complain," said Pen. I went back to beg 
 and entreat poor Blanche to tell Foker all : I hope, for her sake, she 
 will ; but I fear not. There is but one policy. Strong, there is but one. " 
 
 And lucky he that can stick to it," said the Chevalier. That 
 rascal Morgan means mischief He has been lurking about our 
 Chambers for the last two months : he has found out that poor mad 
 devil Amory's secret. He has been trying to discover where he was : 
 he has been pumping Mr. Bolton, and making old Costigan drunk 
 several times. He bribed the Inn porter to tell him when we came 
 back : and he has got into Clavering's service on the strength of his 
 information. He will get very good pay for it, mark my words, the 
 villain." 
 
 Where is Amory } " asked Pen. 
 
 At Boulogne, I believe. I left him there, and warned him not to 
 come back. I have broken with him, after a desperate quarrel, such 
 as one might have expected with such a madman. And I'm glad to 
 think that he is in my debt now, and that I have been the means of 
 keeping him out of more harms than one." 
 
 He has lost all his winnings, I suppose } " said Pen. 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 685 
 
 I No : he is rather better than when he went away^ or was a fort- 
 i night ago. He had extraordinary luck at Baden : broke the bank 
 several nights^ and was the fable of the place. He lied himself there 
 with a fellow by the name of Bloundell^ who gathered about him a 
 society of all sorts of sharpers, male and female, Russians, Ger- 
 mans, French, English. Amory got so insolent, that I was obliged 
 to thrash him one day within an inch of his life. I couldn't help 
 myself ; the fellow has plenty of pluck, and I had nothing for it but 
 to hit out." 
 
 And did he call you out ? " said Pen. 
 
 You think if I had shot him I should have done nobody any harm ? 
 No, sir : I waited for his challenge, but it never came : and the next 
 time I met him he begged my pardon, and said, ^ Strong, I beg your 
 pardon ; you whopped me and you served me right.' I shook hands : 
 but I couldn't live with him after that. I paid him what I owed him 
 the night before," said Strong with a blush. I pawned everything 
 to pay him, and then I went with my last ten florins, and had a shy 
 at the roulette. If I had lost, I should have let him shoot me in the 
 morning. I was weary of my life. By Jove, sir, isn't it a shame that 
 a man like me, who may have had a few bills out, but who never deserted 
 a friend, or did any unfair action, shouldn't be able to turn his hand to 
 anything to get bread } I made a good night, sir, at roulette, and I've 
 done with that, I'm going into the wine business. My wife's relations 
 live at Cadiz. I intend to bring over Spanish wine and hams ; there's 
 a fortune to be made by it, sir, — a fortune. — Here's my card. If you 
 want any sherry or hams, recollect Ned Strong is your man." And 
 the Chevalier pulled out a handsome card, stating that Strong & Com- 
 pany, Shepherd's Inn, were sole agents for the celebrated Diamond 
 Manzanilla of the Duke of Garbanzos, Grandee of Spain of the First 
 Class ; and of the famous Toboso hams, fed on acorns only in the 
 country of Don Quixote. Come and taste 'em, sir, — come and try 
 'em at my Chambers. You see, I've an eye to business, and by Jove 
 this time I'll succeed." 
 
 Pen laughed as he took the card. I don't know whether I shall 
 be allowed to go to bachelor's parties," he said. ^^You know I'm 
 going to " 
 
 But you must have sherry, sir. You must have sherry." 
 *^I will have it from you, depend on it," said the other. ^^And I 
 think you are very well out of your other partnership. — That worthy 
 Altamont and his daughter correspond, I hear," Pen added, after a 
 pause. 
 
 Yes ; she wrote him the longest rigmarole letters, that I used to 
 read : the sly little devil ; and he answered under cover to Mrs. Bonner. 
 He was for carrying her ofl* the first day or two, and nothing would 
 content him but having back his child. But she didn't want to come, 
 as you may fancy; and he was not very eager about it." Here the 
 Chevalier burst out in a laugh. Why, sir, do you know what was 
 the cause of our quarrel and boxing-match } There was a certain widow 
 at Baden, a Madame la Baronne de la Cruche-cassee, who was not much 
 better than himself, and whom the scoundrel wanted to marry ; and 
 irould, but that I told her he was married already. I don't think that 
 
 I 
 
586 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 she was much better than he was. I saw her on the pier at Boulogne 
 the day I came to England.'* 
 
 And now we have brought up our narrative to the point whither the 
 announcement in the Chatteris Champion had already conducted us. 
 
 It wanted but very very few days before that blissful one when Foker 
 should call Blanche his own ; the Clavering folks had all pressed to 
 see the most splendid new carriage in the whole worlds which was 
 standing in the coach-house at the Clavering Arms ; " and shown^ in 
 grateful return for drink^ commonly^ by Mr. Foker's head coachman. 
 Madame Fribsby was occupied in making some lovely dresses for the 
 tenants' daughters^ who were to figure as a sort of bridesmaids' chorus 
 at the breakfast and marriage ceremony. And immense festivities 
 were to take place at the Park upon this delightful occasion. 
 
 Yes^ Mr. Huxter^ yes ; a happy tenantry, its country's pride, will 
 assemble in the baronial hall, where the beards will wag all. The ox 
 shall be slain, and the cup they'll drain ; and the bells shall peal quite 
 genteel ; and my father-in-law, with the tear of sensibility bedewing 
 his eye, shall bless us at his baronial porch. That shall be the order 
 of proceedings, I think, Mr. Huxter ; and I hope we shall see you and 
 your lovely bride by her husband's side, — and what will you please to 
 drink, sir.^^ Mrs. Lightfoot, madam, you will give to my excellent 
 friend and body-surgeon, Mr. Huxter, Mr. Samuel Huxter, M.R.C.S., 
 every refreshment that your hostel affords, and place the festive amount 
 to my account ; and, Mr. Lightfoot, sir, what will you take } though 
 you've had enough already, I think ; yes, ha. " 
 
 So spoke Harry Foker, in the bar of the Clavering Arms." He 
 had apartments at that hotel, and had gathered a circle of friends 
 round him there. He treated all to drink who came. He was hail- 
 fellow with every man. He was so happy ! He danced round Madame 
 Fribsby, Mrs. Lightfoot's great ally, as she sate pensive in the bar. 
 He consoled Mrs. Lightfoot, who had already begun to have causes of 
 matrimonial disquiet ; for the truth must be told, that young Lightfoot, 
 having now the full command of the cellar, had none over his own 
 unbridled desires, and was tippling and tipsy from morning till night. 
 And a piteous sight it was for his fond wife to behold the big youth 
 reeling about the yard and coffee-room, or drinking with the farmers 
 and tradesmen his own neat wines and carefully-selected stock of 
 spirits. 
 
 When he could find time, Mr. Morgan the butler came from the 
 Park, and took a glass at the expense of the landlord of the Clavering 
 Arms. " He watched poor Lightfoot's tipsy vagaries with savage sneers. 
 Mrs. Lightfoot felt always doubly uncomfortable when her unhappy 
 spouse was under his comrade's eye. But a few months married, and 
 to think he had got to this ! Madame Fribsby could feel for her. 
 Madame Fribsby could tell her stories of men every bit as bad. She 
 had had her own woes too, and her sad experience of men. So it is, 
 that nobody seems happy altogether ; and that there's bitters, as Mr. 
 Foker remarked, in the cup of every man's life. And yet there did 
 not seem to be any in his, the honest young fellow ! It was brimming 
 over with happiness and good-humour. 
 
 Mr Morgan was constant in his attentions to Foker. And yet \ 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 587 
 
 don't like him somehow/' said the candid young man to Mrs. Lightfoot. 
 ^ ^ He always seems as if he was measuring me for my coffin some- 
 how. Pa-in-law's afraid of him ; pa-in-law's a — hem ! never mind^ 
 but ma-in-law's a trump, Mrs. Lightfoot." 
 
 Indeed my Lady was ; " and Mrs. Lightfoot owned^ with a sigh^ 
 that perhaps it had been better for her had she never left her 
 mistress. 
 
 No^ I do not like thee, Dr. Fell : the reason why I cannot tell/' 
 continued Mr. Foker ; and he wants to be taken as my head 
 man. Blanche wants me to take him. Why does Miss Amory 
 like him so } " 
 
 " Did Miss Blanche like him so ? " The notion seemed to disturb 
 Mrs. Lightfoot very much ; and there came to this worthy landlady 
 another cause for disturbance. A letter, bearing the Boulogne post- 
 mark, was brought to her one morning, and she and her husband 
 were quarrelling over it as Foker passed down the stairs by the bar, 
 on his way to the Park. His custom was to breakfast there, and 
 bask awhile in the presence of Armida ; then^ as the company of 
 Clavering tired him exceedingly, and he did not care for sporting, 
 he would return for an hour or two to billiards and the society of 
 the " Clavering Arms ; " then it would be time to ride with Miss 
 Amory, and, after dining with her, he left her and returned modestly 
 to his inn. 
 
 Lightfoot and his wife were quarrelling over the letter. What was 
 that letter from abroad } Why was she always having letters from 
 abroad } Who wrote 'em ? — he would know. He didn't believe it was 
 her brother. It was no business of his ! It was a business of his ; 
 and, with a curse, he seized hold of his wife, and dashed at her pocket 
 for the letter. ^ 
 
 The poor woman gave a scream ; and said, Well, take it. ' Just 
 as her husband seized on the letter, and Mr. Foker entered at the door, 
 she gave another scream at seeing him, and once more tried to seize 
 the paper. Lightfoot opened it, shaking her away, and an enclosure 
 dropped down on the breakfast-table. 
 
 Hands off, man alive ! " cried little Harry, springing in. Don't 
 lay hands on a woman, sir. The man that lays his hand upon a woman, 
 
 save in the way of kindness, is a Hallo it's a letter for Miss 
 
 Amory. What's this, Mrs. Lightfoot ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot began in piteous tones of reproach to her husband, 
 — You unmanly fellow ! to treat a woman so who took you olF the 
 street. Oh, you coward, to lay your hand upon your wife ! Why 
 did I marry you ? Why did I leave my Lady for you ? Why did I 
 spend eight hundred pound in fitting up this house that you might 
 drink and guzzle .f* " 
 
 ^^She gets letters, and she won't tell me who writes letters, said 
 Mr. Lightfoot, with a muzzy voice ; " it's a family affair, sir. Will 
 you take anything, sir ? " , 
 
 ''I will take this letter to Miss Amory, as I am going to the 
 Park," said Foker, turning very pale ; and taking it up from the 
 table, which was arranged for the poor landlady's breakfast, he went 
 away. 
 
588 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 ^^He's comin' — dammy^ who's a-comin'? Who's J. A., Mrs. Light- 
 foot — curse me^ who's J. A. ? " cried the husband. 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot cried out^ Be quiet^ you tipsy brute^ do ! " — and 
 running to her bonnet and shawl^ threw them on^ saw Mr. Foker 
 walking down the street, took the by-lane which skirts it, and ran 
 as quickly as she could to the lodge-gate, Clavering Park. Foker saw 
 a running figure before him, but it was lost when he got to the lodge- 
 gate. He stopped and asked, Who was that who had just come in.^ 
 Mrs. Bonner, was it ? " He reeled almost in his walk : the trees swam 
 before him. He rested once or twice against the trunks of the naked 
 limes. 
 
 Lady Clavering was in the breakfast-room with her son, and her 
 husband yawning over his paper. Good morning, Harry," said the 
 Begum. Here's letters, lots of letters ; Lady Rockminster will be 
 here on Tuesday instead of Monday, and Arthur and the Major come 
 to-day ; and Laura is to go to Doctor Portman's and come to church 
 from there : and — what's the matter, my de'dr? What makes you so 
 pale, Harry .f*" 
 
 Where is Blanche ? " asked Harry, in a sickening voice — not 
 down yet ? " 
 
 Blanche is always the last," said the boy, eating muffins ; she's 
 a regular dawdle, she is. When you're not here, she lays in bed till 
 lunch-time." 
 
 Be quiet, Frank," said the mother. 
 Blanche came down presently, looking pale, and with rather an 
 eager look towards Foker ; then she advanced and kissed her mother, 
 and had a face beaming with her very best smiles on when she greeted 
 Harry. 
 
 How do you do, sir ? " she said, and put out both her hands. 
 I'm ill," answered Harry. I — I've brought a letter for you, 
 Blanche." 
 
 A letter, and from whom is it, pray.f^ Voyons/' she said. 
 
 I don't know — I should like to know," said Foker. 
 
 How can I tell until I see it ? " asked Blanche. 
 
 Has Mrs. Bonner not told you ? " he said, with a shaking 
 voice. " There's some secret. You give her the letter. Lady 
 Clavering. " 
 
 Lady Clavering, wondering, took the letter from poor Foker's 
 shaking hand, and looked at the superscription. As she looked at 
 it, she too began to shake in every limb, and with a scared face she 
 dropped the letter, and running up to Frank, clutched the boy to 
 her, and burst out with a sob — Take that away — it's impossible, it's 
 impossible." 
 
 ^Vhat is the matter ? " cried Blanche, with rather a ghastly 
 smile ; the letter is only from — from a poor pensioner and relative 
 of ours." 
 
 It's not true, it's not true," screamed Lady Clavering. No, my 
 Frank, — is it, Clavering ? " 
 
 Blanche had taken up the letter, and was moving with it towards 
 the fire, but Foker ran to her and clutched her arm. — I must see 
 that letter," he said ; give it me. You shan't burn it." 
 
PENDENNIS 689 
 
 e( You — you shall not treat Miss Amory so in my house/' cried the 
 Baronet ; " give back the letter^ by Jove 
 
 Read it— and look at her/' Blanche cried^, pointing to her mother ; 
 « it — it was for her I kept the secret ! Read it^ cruel man ! " 
 
 And Foker opened and read the letter : — 
 
 I have not wrote, my darling Bessy, this three weeks ; but this is to give her 
 a father's blessing, and I shall come down pretty soon as quick as my note, and 
 intend to see the ceremony, and my son-in-law. I shall put up at Bonner's. I 
 have had a pleasant autumn, and am staying here at an hotel where there is good 
 company, and which is kep in good style. I don't know whether I quite approve 
 of your throwing over Mr. P. for Mr. F., and don't think Foker's such a pretty 
 name, and from your account of him he seems a muff, and not a beauty. But he 
 has got the rowdv, which is the thing. So no more, my dear little Betsy, till we 
 meet, from your affectionate father, J. Amory Altamont." 
 
 Read it. Lady Clavering ; it is too late to keep it from you now/' 
 said poor Foker ; and the distracted woman, having cast her eyes over 
 it, again broke out into hysterical screams, and convulsively grasped 
 
 her son. , n^i. > 
 
 ^^They have made an outcast of you, my boy, she said. Ihey ve 
 dishonoured your old mother ; but I'm innocent, Frank ; before 
 God, I'm innocent. I didn't know this, Mr. Foker ; indeed, indeed, 
 
 I didn't." 11.. 1 
 
 ^^I'm sure you didn't," said Foker, going up and kissing her 
 
 hand. , , . x t> 4. 
 
 Generous, generous Harry," cried out Blanche, in an ecstasy. I5ut 
 he withdrew his hand which *was upon her side, and turned from her 
 with a quivering lip. That's different," he says. 
 
 " It was for her sake— for her sake, Harry." Again Miss Amory is 
 in an attitude. . , i ccr 
 
 There was something to be done for mine, said loker. I would 
 have taken you, whatever you were. Everything's talked about m 
 London. I knew that your father had come to— to grief. You don t 
 
 think it was— it was for your connection I married you ? D it 
 
 all ! I've loved you with all my heart and soul for two years, and 
 you've been playing with me, and cheating me," broke out the 
 young man, with a cry. O Blanche, Blanche, it's a hard thing, 
 a hard thing ! " and he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed 
 
 behind them. ^ . , . . a xi_ 
 
 Blanche thought, Why didn't I tell him that night when Arthur 
 
 warned me ? " ^ , . m i i. 
 
 " Don't refuse her, Harry," cried out Lady Clavermg. ^ake her, 
 take everything I have. It's all hers, you know, at my death. This 
 boy's disinherited."— (Master Frank, who had been looking scared at 
 the strange scene, here burst into a loud cry.)— ''Take every shilling. 
 Give me just enough to live, and to go and hide my head with this child, 
 and to fly from both. Oh, they've both been bad bad men. Perhaps 
 he's here now. Don't let me see him. Clavering, you coward, defend 
 me from him." , . r • 
 
 Clavering started up at this proposal. You am t serious, Jemima? 
 You don't mean that.^" he said. ''You won't throw me and Frank 
 
590 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 over ? I didn't know it^ so help me . Foker, I'd no more idea of 
 
 it than the dead — until the fellow came and found me out^ the d d 
 
 escaped convict scoundrel." 
 
 The what ? " said Foker. Blanche gave a scream. 
 
 Yes^" screamed out the Baronet in his turn. Yes^ a d d 
 
 runaway convict — a fellow that forged his father-in-law's name — a 
 
 d d attorney^ and killed a fellow in Botany Bay^ hang him — and ran 
 
 into the Bush, curse him ; I wish he'd died there. And he came to 
 me, a good six years ago, and rohbed me ; and I've been ruining my- 
 self to keep him, the infernal scoundrel ! And Pendennis knows it, 
 
 and Strong knows it, and that d d Morgan knows it, and she 
 
 knows it, ever so long ; and I never would tell it, never : and I kept 
 it from my wife." 
 
 And you saw him, and you didn't kill him, Clavering, you coward ? " 
 said the wife of Amory. Come away, Frank ; your father's a coward. 
 I am dishonoured, but I'm your old mother, and you'll — you'll love me, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 Blanche, eploree, went up to her mother ; but Lady Clavering shrank 
 from her with a sort of terror. Don't touch me," she said ; you've 
 no heart ; you never had. I see all now. I see why that coward was 
 going to give up his place in Parliament to Arthur ; yes, that coward I 
 and why you threatened that you would make me give you half Frank's 
 fortune. And when Arthur offered to marry you without a shilling, 
 because he wouldn't rob my boy, you left him, and you took poor Harry. 
 Have nothing to do with her, Harry. You're good, you are. Don't 
 marry that — that convict's daughter. Come away, Frank, my darling ; 
 come to your poor old mother. We'll hide ourselves ; but we're honest, 
 yes, we are honest." 
 
 All this while a strange feeling of exultation had taken possession of 
 Blanche's mind. That month with poor Harry had been a weary month 
 to her. All his fortune and splendour scarcely sufficed to make the 
 idea of himself supportable. She was wearied of his simple ways, and 
 sick of coaxing and cajoling him. 
 
 Stay, mamma ; stay, madam ! " she cried out, with a gesture which 
 was always appropriate, though rather theatrical ; I have no heart, 
 have 1} I keep the secret of my mother's shame. I give up my rights 
 to my half-brother and my bastard brother — yes, my rights and my 
 fortune. I don't betray my father, and for this I have no heart ! I'll 
 have my rights now, and the laws of my country shall give them to 
 me. I appeal to my country's laws — yes, my country's laws ! The 
 persecuted one returns this day. I desire to go to my father." And 
 the little lady swept round her hand, and thought that she was a 
 heroine. 
 
 You will, will you } " cried out Clavering, with one of his usual 
 oaths. I'm a magistrate, and dammy, I'll commit him. Here's a 
 chaise coming ; perhaps it's him. Let him come." 
 
 A chaise was indeed coming up the avenue ; and the two women 
 shrieked each their loudest, expecting at that moment to see Altamont 
 arrive. 
 
 The door opened, and Mr. Morgan announced Major Pendennis and 
 Mr. Pendennis, who entered, and found all parties engaged in this 
 
PENDENNIS 
 
 691 
 
 fierce quarrel. A large screen fenced the breakfast-room from the 
 hall ; and it is probable that, according to his custom Mr. Morgan 
 had taken advantage of the screen to make himself acquainted with 
 all that occurred. 
 
 It had been arranged on the previous day that the young people 
 should ride ; and at the appointed hour in the afternoon, Mr. Foker s 
 horses arrived from the ^^Clavering Arms." But Miss Blanche did 
 not accompany him on this occasion. Pen came out and shook hands 
 with him on the doorsteps ; and Harry Foker rode away, followed by 
 his groom in mourning. The whole transactions which have occupied 
 the most active part of our history were debated by the parties con- 
 cerned during those two or three hours. Many counsels had been 
 given, stories told, and compromises suggested ; and at the end Harry 
 Foker rode away, with a sad God bless you ! " from Pen. There was 
 a dreary dinner at Clavering Park, at which the lately installed butler 
 did not attend ; and the ladies were both absent. After dinner Pen 
 said, I will walk down to Clavering and see if he is come." And he 
 walked through the dark avenue, across the bridge and road by his 
 own cottage, — the once quiet and familiar fields of which were flaming 
 with the kilns and forges of the artificers employed on the new railroad 
 works ; and so he entered the town, and made for the Clavering 
 Arms." 
 
 It was past midnight when he returned to Clavering Park. He 
 was exceedingly pale and agitated. "Is Lady Clavering up yet.^" 
 he asked. Yes, she was in her own sitting-room. He went up to 
 her, and there found the poor lady in a piteous state of tears and 
 agitation. 
 
 " It is I — Arthur," he said, looking in ; and entering, he took her 
 hand very affectionately and kissed it. You were always the kindest 
 of friends to me, dear Lady Clavering," he said. " I love you very 
 much. I have got some news for you." 
 
 " Don't call me by that name," she said, pressing his hand. " You 
 were always a good boy, Arthur ; and it's kind of you to come 
 now — very kind. You sometimes look very like your ma, my 
 dear." 
 
 "Dear good Lady Clavering" Arthur repeated, with particular 
 emphasis, " something very strange has happened." 
 
 " Has anything happened to him ? " gasped Lady^ Clavering. " Oh, 
 it's horrid to think I should be glad of it — horrid !" 
 
 "He is well. He has been and is gone, my dear lady. Don't 
 alarm yourself— he is gone, and you are Lady Clavering still." 
 
 " Is it true, what he sometimes said to me," she screamed out, — 
 "that he " 
 
 "He was married before he married you," said Pen. ^^He has 
 confessed it to-night. He will never come back." There came another 
 shriek from Lady Clavering, as she flung her arms round Pen, and 
 kissed him, and burst into tears on his shoulder. 
 
 What Pen had to tell, through a multiplicity of sobs and interrup- 
 tions, must be compressed briefly, for behold our prescribed limit is 
 reached, and our tale is coming to its end. With the Branch Coach 
 
592 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 from the railroad, which had succeeded the old Alacrity and Perse- 
 verance, Amory arrived, and was set down at the ^^Claverin^ Arms." 
 He ordered his dinner at the place under his assumed name of Alta- 
 mont ; and, being of a jovial turn, he welcomed the landlord, who was 
 nothing loth, to a share of his wine. Having extracted from Mr. 
 Lightfoot all the news regarding the family at the Park, and found, 
 from examining his host, that Mrs. Lightfoot, as she said, had kept 
 his counsel, he called for more wine of Mr. Lightfoot, and at the end 
 of this symposium, both, being greatly excited, went into Mrs. Light- 
 foot's bar. 
 
 She was there taking tea with her friend, Madame Fribsby ; and 
 Lightfoot was by this time in such a happy state as not to be surprised 
 at anything which might occur, so that, when Altamont shook hands 
 with Mrs. Lightfoot as an old acquaintance, the recognition did not 
 appear to him to be in the least strange, but only a reasonable cause 
 for further drinking. The gentlemen partook then of brandy-and- 
 water, which they offered to the ladies, not heeding the terrified looks 
 of one or the other. 
 
 Whilst they were so engaged, at about six o'clock in the evening, 
 Mr. Morgan, Sir Francis Clavering's new man, came in, and was re- 
 quested to drink. He selected his favourite beverage, and the parties 
 engaged in general conversation. 
 
 After a while Mr. Lightfoot began to doze. Mr. Morgan had re- 
 peatedly given hints to Mrs. Fribsby to quit the premises ; but that 
 lady, strangely fascinated, and terrified it would seem, or persuaded 
 by Mrs. Lightfoot not to go, kept her place. Her persistence occa- 
 sioned much annoyance to Mr. Morgan, who vented his displeasure in 
 such language as gave pain to Mrs. Lightfoot, and caused Mr. Alta- 
 mont to say that he was a rum customer, and not polite to the sex. 
 
 The altercation between the two gentlemen became very painful 
 to the women, especially to Mrs. Lightfoot, who did everything to 
 soothe Mr. Morgan ; and, under pretence of giving a pipe-light to 
 the stranger, she handed him a paper on which she had privily written 
 the words, ^^He knows you. Go." There may have been something 
 suspicious in her manner of handing, or in her guest's of reading, the 
 paper : for when he got up a short time afterwards, and said he would 
 go to bed, Morgan rose too, with a laugh, and said it was too early to 
 go to bed. 
 
 The stranger then said he would go to his bedroom. Morgan said 
 he would show him the way. 
 
 At this the guest said, Come up. Fve got a brace of pistols up 
 there to blow out the brains of any traitor or skulking spy," and glared 
 so fiercely upon Morgan, that the latter, seizing hold of Lightfoot by 
 the collar, and waking him, said, '^^ John Amory, I arrest you in the 
 Queen's name. Stand by me, Lightfoot. This capture is worth a 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 He put forward his hand as if to seize his prisoner, but the other, 
 doubling his fist, gave Morgan with his left hand so fierce a blow on 
 the chest, that it knocked him back behind Mr. Lightfoot. That 
 gentleman, who was athletic and courageous, said he would knock his 
 guest's head off, and prepared to do so, as the stranger, tearing off 
 
PENDENNIS 593 
 his coat, and cursing both of his opponents, roared to them to 
 
 ^^But with a piercing scream Mrs. Lightfoot flung herself before her 
 husband, whilst with another and louder shriek Madame Fribsby ran 
 to the stranger, and calling out Armstrong, Johnny Armstrong !" 
 seized hold of his naked arm, on which a blue tattooing of a heart and 
 M. F. were visible. 
 
 The ejaculation of Madame Fribsby seemed to astound and sober 
 the stranger. He looked down upon her, and cried out, It's Polly, 
 
 by Jove !" * mi • • 
 
 Mrs. Fribsby continued to exclaim : ^•^This is not Amory. 1 his is 
 Johnny Armstrong, my wicked, wicked husband, married to me in 
 St. Martin s Church, mate on board an Indiaman, and he left me two 
 months after, the wicked wretch. This is John Armstrong— here s 
 the mark on his arm which he made for me." 
 
 The stranger said, ''I am John Armstrong, sure enough, Polly. 
 I'm John Armstrong, Amory, Altamont— and let 'em all come on, 
 and try what they can do against a British sailor. Hurray, who's 
 
 Morgan still called out, Arrest him ! " But Mrs. Lightfoot said. 
 
 Arrest him ! arrest you, you mean spy ! What ! stop the marriage 
 and ruin my Lady, and take away the ' Clavering Arms ' from us ? " 
 
 Did he say he'd take away the ^Clavering Arms' from us? asked 
 Mr. Lightfoot, turning round. Hang him, I'll throttle him !'' 
 
 " Keep him, darling, till the coach passes to the up train. It 11 be 
 here now directly." , x. ...^ ^ a j 
 
 D him, I'll choke him if he stirs," said Lightfoot. And so 
 
 they kept Morgan until the coach came, and Mr. Amory or Armstrong 
 went away back to London. . t, 
 
 Morgan had followed him : but of this event Arthur Pendennis did 
 not inform Lady Clavering, and left her invoking blessings upon him 
 at her son's door, going to kiss him as he was asleep. It had been a 
 
 busy day. j . i x 
 
 We have to chronicle the events of but one day more, and that was 
 a day when Mr. Arthur, attired in a new hat, a new blue frock-coat 
 and blue handkerchief, in a new fancy waistcoat, new boots, aiid new 
 shirt-studs (presented by the Right Honourable the Countess Dowager 
 of Rockminster), made his appearance at a solitary breakfast-table in 
 Clavering Park, where he could scarce eat a single morsel of food. 
 Two letters were laid by his worship's plate ; and he chose to open the 
 first, which was in a round clerk-like hand, in preference to the second 
 more familiar superscription. 
 Note 1 ran as follows : — 
 
 ^'Garbanzos Wine Company, Shepherd's l^si^,— Monday. 
 "My dear Pendennis,— In congratulating you heartily upon the event which 
 is to make you happy for life, I send my very kindest remembrances to Mrs. Fen- 
 dennis, whom I hope to know even longer than I have already known her And 
 when I call her attention to the fact, that one of the most necessary articles to 
 her husband's comfort is pure sherry, I know I shall have her for a customer for 
 your worship's sake. j. j 
 
 But I have to speak to you of other than my own concerns. Yesterday after- 
 
 2 P 
 
594 
 
 PENDENNIS 
 
 noon, a certain J. A. arrived at my Chambers from Clavering, which he had left 
 under circumstances of which you are doubtless now aware. In spite of our differ- 
 ence, I could not but give him food and shelter (and he partook freely both of the 
 Garbanzos Amontillado and the Toboso ham), and he told me what had happened 
 to him, and many other surprising adventures. The rascal married at sixteen, i 
 and has repeatedly since performed that ceremony — in Sydney, in New Zealand, I 
 in South America, in Newcastle, he says, first, before he knew our poor friend j 
 the milliner. He is a perfect Don Juan. 
 
 "And it seemed as if the Commendatore had at last overtaken him, for as we 
 were at our meal, there came three heavy knocks at my outer door, which made 
 our friend start. I have sustained a siege or two here, and went to my usual 
 place to reconnoitre. Thank my stars I have not a bill out in the world, and 
 besides those gentry do not come in that way. I found that it was your uncle's 
 late valet, Morgan, and a policeman (I think a sham policeman), and they said 
 they had a warrant to take the person of John Armstrong, alias Amory, alias 
 Altamont, a runaway convict, and threatened to break in the oak. 
 
 *'Now, sir, in my own days of captivity I had discovered a little passage along 
 the gutter into Bows's and Costigan's window, and I sent Jack Alias along this 
 covered-way, not without terror of his life, for it had grown very cranky ; and 
 then, after a parley, let in Mons. Morgan and friend. 
 
 "The rascal had been instructed about that covered-way, for he made for the 
 room instantly, telling the policeman to go downstairs and keep the gate ; and 
 he charged up my little staircase as if he had known the premises. As he was 
 going out of the window we heard a voice that you know, from Bows's garret, 
 saying, ' Who are ye, and hwhat the divvle are ye at ? You'd betther leave the 
 gutther ; bedad there's a man killed himself already.' 
 
 "And as Morgan, crossing over and looking into the darkness, was trying to 
 see whether this awful news was true, he took a broomstick, and with a vigorous 
 dash broke down the pipe of communication — and told me this morning, with 
 great glee, that he was reminded of that * aisy sthratagem by remembering his 
 dorling Emilie, when she acted the pawrt of Cora in the Plee — and by the bridge 
 in Pezawro, bedad.' I wish that scoundrel Morgan had been on the bridge when 
 the General tried his 'sthratagem.' 
 
 "If I hear more of Jack Alias, I will tell you. He has got plenty of money 
 still, and I wanted him to send some to our poor friend the milliner ; but the 
 scoundrel laughed and said, he had no more than he wanted, but offered to give 
 anybody a lock of his hair. Farewell — be happy ! and believe me always truly 
 yours, E. Strong." 
 
 And now for the other letter/* said Pen. Dear old fellow ! " and \ 
 he kissed the seal before he broke it.] 
 
 Warrington, Tuesday. 
 
 " I must not let the day pass over without saying a God bless you, to both of 
 you. May Heaven make you happy, dear Arthur, and dear Laura ! I think, 
 Pen, that you have got the best wife in the world ; and pray that, as such, you 
 will cherish her and tend her. The Chambers will be lonely without you, dear 
 Pen ; but if I am tired, I shall have a new home to go to in the house of my 
 brother and sister. I am practising in the nursery here, in order to prepare for 
 the part of Uncle George. Farewell ! make your wedding tour, and come back 
 to your affectionate G. W." 
 
 Pendennis and his wife read this letter together after Doctor Port- 
 man's breakfast was over, and the guests were gone ; and when the 
 carriage was waiting amidst the crowd at the Doctor s outer gate. But 
 the wicket led into the churchyard of St. Mary's, where the bells vere 
 pealing with all their might, and it was here, over Helen's green grass, 
 
PENDENNIS 595 
 
 that Arthur showed his wife George's letter. For which of those two 
 —for grief was it or for happiness^ that Laura's tears abundantly fell 
 on the paper? And once more^ in the presence of the sacred dust^ she 
 kissed and blessed her Arthur. 
 
 There was only one marriage on that day at Clavering Church ; for^ 
 in spite of Blanche's sacrifices for her dearest mother^ honest Harry 
 Foker could not pardon the woman who had deceived her intended 
 husband, and justly argued that she would deceive him again. He 
 went to the Pyramids and Syria, and there left his malady behind him, 
 and returned with a fine beard, and a supply of tarbooshes and nargillies, 
 with which he regales all his friends. He lives splendidly, and, through 
 Pen's mediation, gets his wine from the celebrated vintages of the Duke 
 of Garbanzos. 
 
 As for poor Cos, his fate has been mentioned in an early part of this 
 story. No very glorious end could be expected to such a career. 
 Morgan is one of the most respectable men in the parish of St. James's, 
 and in the present political movement has pronounced himself like a 
 man and a Briton. And Bows, — on the demise of Mr. Piper, who 
 played the organ at Clavering, little Mrs. Sam Huxter, who has the 
 entire command of Doctor Portman, brought Bows down from London 
 to contest the organ-loft, and her candidate carried the chair. When 
 Sir Francis Clavering quitted this worthless life, the same little inde- 
 fatigable canvasser took the borough by storm, and it is now represented 
 by Arthur Pendennis, Esq. Blanche *Amory, it is well known, married 
 at Paris, and the saloons of Madame la Comtesse de Montmorenci de 
 Valentinois were amongst the most suivis of that capital. The duel 
 between the Count and the young and fiery representative of the 
 Mountain, Alcide de Mirobo, arose solely from the latter questioning 
 at the Club the titles borne by the former nobleman. Madame de 
 Montmorenci de Valentinois travelled after the adventure : and Bungay 
 bought her poems, and published them, with the Countess's coronet 
 emblazoned on the Countess's work. 
 
 Major Pendennis became very serious in his last days, and was 
 never so happy as when Laura was reading to him with her sweet 
 voice, or listening to his stories. For this sweet lady is the friend of 
 the young and the old ; and her life is always passed in making other 
 lives happy. 
 
 And what sort of a husband would this Pendennis be ? ' many a 
 reader will ask, doubting the happiness of such a marriage and the 
 fortune of Laura. The querists, if they meet her— are referred to that 
 lady herself, who, seeing his faults and wayward moods— seeing and 
 owning that there are men better than he — loves him always with the 
 most constant affection. His children or their mother have never 
 heard a harsh word from him ; and when his fits of moodiness and soli- 
 tude are over, welcome him back with a never-failing regard and confi- 
 dence. His friend is his friend still,— entirely heart-whole. That malady 
 is never fatal to a sound organ. And George goes through his part of 
 godpapa perfectly, and lives alone. If Mr. Pen's works have procured 
 him more reputation than has been acquired by his abler friend, whom 
 no one knows, George lives contented without the fame. If the best 
 men do not draw the great prizes in life, we know it has been so settled 
 
596 PENDENNIS 
 
 by the Ordainer of the lottery. We own, and see daily, how the falsi 
 and worthless live and prosper, while the good are called away, and thi 
 dear and young perish untimely, — we perceive in every man's life thi 
 m-dimed happiness, the frequent falling, the bootless endeavour, thi 
 struggle of Right and Wrong, in which the strong often succumb an( 
 the swift fail : we see flowers of good blooming in foul places, as, in the 
 most lofty and splendid fortunes, flaws of vice and meanness, and staina 
 of evil ; and, knowing how mean the best of us is, let us give a hand of 
 charity to Arthur Pendennis, with all his faults and shortcomings, who 
 does not claim to be a hero, but only a man and a brother. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press 
 
1