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 THE 
 
 CREAM OF A LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 A MAN OF THE WORLD 
 
 Sic veris falsa remiscet— Hob. 
 
 IN THBEE VOLUMES 
 
 YOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 EICHAED BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET 
 
 1863
 
 LO-VDOy 
 
 PKl.NTUD BY SPOTTIbWOODE AM> CC. 
 
 KEW-STliiJiT SQUARE
 
 8&^ 
 
 V. 1 
 
 CONTEXTS 
 
 or 
 THE FIRST VOLUME 
 
 CHAP. PAGK 
 
 I. INTROCUCTOKY 1 
 
 n. GENEALOGICAL AND HERALDIC ... 10 
 
 III. IN "WHICH I MAKE MY FIRST APrEARANCE 
 
 ON THE SCENE 23 
 
 CV) IV. IN AYHICH I LOSE ALL CHANCE OF THE 
 
 J\ PRIiLACT 42 
 
 Y. THE ABBE AND THE AUNT — CLAPHAM TO 
 
 3 THE rescue: 62 
 
 (j VI. LOVE AND ORTHODOXY 'a l'iRLANDAISE ' . 71 
 
 ^ VII. MY BROTHER — CONJUGAL MISHAPS AND 
 
 ^ CONTROVERSIAL DISCOMFITURE . . 97 
 
 O 
 
 Cn VIII. MATERNAL ALARMS AND CLERICAL PHILO- 
 
 _^ SOPHY — MUSCULAR CHRISTIANITY AND 
 
 ^ MILITARY TRAINING . . . .110 
 
 ^ IX, A FAIR START IN LIFE GOOD ADVICE FROM 
 
 '^ A HIGH QUARTER NOT QUITE THROWN 
 
 AWAY 134 
 
 ^
 
 CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME 
 
 CHAP. PAGK 
 
 X. DUBLIN — IT S NOTABILITIE S AND ITS GAERISON 1 50 
 
 XI. A BREAKFAST IN ST. JAMES'S PLACE . 171 
 
 XIL DAMON AND PYTHIAS . . . .193 
 
 Xin. BEHIND THE SCENES 208 
 
 XIV. A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR . . . .225 
 
 XV. MR. DESCHAMPS' STATEMENT, WHICH THROWS 
 
 SOME LIGHT ON A DARK SUBJECT . . 239 
 
 XVI. IN WHICH THE 3IYSTERY IS STILL FURTHER 
 
 CLEARED UP 257 
 
 XVII. IN WHICH THE SKEIN IS FURTHER UN- 
 RAVELLED 269 
 
 XVni. THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY . . 283
 
 THE CEEAM OF A LITE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 It has been said — I forget by whom — that if 
 any man of ordinary intelligence, who has 
 passed the middle period of life, will simply 
 and truthfully record the principal details 
 of his own career, he can hardly fail to 
 produce a narrative of some interest to the 
 majority of readers. 
 
 I do not pledge myself to an unqualified 
 behef in the truth of this theory ; but I am 
 about to act on the assumption of its correct- 
 ness, by noting down, as an autobiographer, 
 some passages of a life which has exhibited no 
 striking peculiarities of incident, and has 
 certainly achieved no great amount of social 
 distinction. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Z THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 The reader who makes up his mind to 
 accompany me on this little excursion into 
 the regions of memory must, therefore, ac- 
 commodate his expectations to the sober hue 
 of my personal experience, which has ranged 
 pretty freely over the familiar aspect of human 
 affairs, but is little conversant with the high 
 gymnastics of life. In my unvarnished tale 
 he will find the spasmodic element lamentably 
 deficient, the sesthetic but faintly developed, 
 the ideal restricted within very moderate 
 bounds, and the poetry of existence kept 
 down in humiliating subordination to the 
 precepts of the Decalogue and the rules of 
 vulgar arithmetic. Of sentiment or romance 
 he will encounter no more than is consistent 
 with tolerably strong nerves and digestive 
 organs rarely subject to disturbance. In 
 short, if he seeks for heroic proportions either 
 in my own character or in the events I have 
 to record, I give him timely and courteous 
 warning that he is fated to disappointment. 
 
 To own the truth, whatever aspect the 
 world at large may have presented to the 
 more imaginative among my contemporaries, 
 its prosaic side has been most within the 
 range of my moral vision. In my progress
 
 INTRODUCTOKY. 3 
 
 through life I have, like my neighbours, met 
 with some barefaced reprobates and not a few 
 sneaking rogues ; but I have seldom had to 
 grapple with anything in the shape of pic- 
 turesque villany, and have never had the 
 good fortune to contemplate that ' majesty of 
 guilt ' which, according to high poetic autho- 
 rity, ' awes the spirit.' X ay more, in those 
 rare instances where, as a moralist, I have 
 had to lament, in certain individuals of the 
 softer sex, the absence of that strictness of 
 principle on which we mainly depend for the 
 maintenance of our high national standard 
 of social propriety, I have always failed to 
 recognise that compensating development of 
 the heroic virtues which, in the pages of 
 French romance, so gracefully counterbalances 
 the trifling ethical deficiencies at which I have 
 hinted. 
 
 In admitting so much, I am perhaps betray- 
 ing my own defects of mental organisation. 
 The prose which, according to my view, con- 
 stitutes the substantial material of life, might 
 possibly assume the highest poetic attributes in 
 the eye of one whose nerves were more deli- 
 cately strung, or more perfectly attuned to the 
 divine harmonies of heroic nature. But be 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE CKEAM OF A LIFE. • 
 
 that as it may, the reader must not interpret 
 my avowal in too austere a sense. Prose in 
 action is not, any more than prose in language, 
 necessarily synonymous with dulness. In the 
 power of arresting the attention or captivat- 
 ing the fancy, it may often contest the palm 
 with the loftiest flights of poetic originality. 
 
 A chapter of ' Candide ' or ' Les Quatre 
 Facardins ' will sometimes prove a more 
 effectual antidote to the blue-devils than a 
 canto of 'Childe Harold' or (dare we avow it?) 
 a book of ' Paradise Lost.' In like manner, 
 the prose of real life may occasionally involve 
 effects more gratifying to experience and 
 pleasanter to record than the occurrences 
 most deeply tinged with a poetic colouring ; 
 a hue, by the by, for which they are some- 
 times less indebted to their own intrinsic 
 gloom or grandeur, than to the imaginative, 
 and perhaps semi-dyspeptic medium through 
 which, as through a halo, they are contem- 
 plated in the present, or reproduced from the 
 past. 
 
 But it is time that I should descend to par- 
 ticulars, and introduce myself, in form, to the 
 reader. He will, I am sure, pardon my weak- 
 ness and honour my candour, when I openly
 
 IXTKODUCTORY. 5 
 
 avow the satisfaction I feel in being able 
 to state that I am, in the strictest sense of the 
 term, a Gentleman by birth. 
 
 I am aware that this is very unphiloso- 
 phical. I know all that can be urged in 
 favour of the common-sense view of the 
 subject. Genealogical feeling is a prejudice — 
 agreed : so is our estimate of negro beauty. 
 Rank is a mere conventionality — granted : so 
 are our pantaloons, to say nothing of our 
 crinolines. 
 
 The rank is but tlie guinea stamp, 
 The man 's the gowd, for a' that. 
 
 Well and wittily said by the boozing bard of 
 Caledonia ! But with all due respect for the 
 authority of that tippling exciseman, the 
 profile of our Sovereign Lady Victoria, on a 
 small lump of the precious metal in question, 
 gives it a certain picturesque finish, and by 
 no means derogates from its intrinsic value, 
 while promoting its circulation, and thereby 
 increasing its practical use. 
 
 I may be told, no doubt, that in the annals 
 of human greatness — moral and intellectual 
 — the accident of birth appears to have had 
 but little influence on the mode or degree in
 
 b THE CEEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 which that greatness has been manifested. 
 JEsop was a slave ; Homer (according to some 
 very questionable authority) a blind beggar- 
 man ; Horace, by his own avowal, the off- 
 spring of a freed-man, and, if we believe 
 Suetonius, the son of a fishmonger; although 
 I need scarcely remind my classical readers 
 how inconclusive is the evidence on which 
 that respectable historian relies in su23port of 
 the statement.* Wolsey was the son of a 
 butcher ; Shakspeare a poacher, or something 
 worse ; and so on. But without venturing to 
 assert that Nature, in the distribution of her 
 good gifts, shews any predilection for the 
 aristocracy, I cannot help noticing, as a sin- 
 gular fact, that the great majority of our most 
 distinguished compatriots who figure in the 
 records of the past, are to be found among the 
 classes who can boast of gentle blood. 
 
 Were we, for example, to pass in review 
 the most eminent names that illustrate English 
 history in the sixteenth and seventeenth cen- 
 turies, in war and politics — nay, even in 
 science, literature, and philosophy — how small 
 
 * The reproach : ' Quotiens ego vidi patrem tuum 
 cubito se emungentem ! ' — reported to have been ad- 
 dressed to Horace by one of his acquaintance.
 
 IXTRODUCTOEY. 7 
 
 a proportion of the goodly company should 
 we recognise as belonging by birth to the 
 lower ranks of life ! 
 
 Were Reginald Pole, Sii* Thomas More, 
 Lord Treasurer Burghley, Secretary Wal- 
 singham, and Sir Philip Sidney, men of mean 
 or obscure origin ? Was Francis Bacon a 
 plebeian, John Hampden a peasant, or the 
 great commoner, Sir Thomas Wentworth, a 
 heraldic nonentity ? Of the gallant men who 
 were actively engaged as leaders m the san- 
 guinary struggle of the Great Eebellion, how 
 many can be reckoned, as sprung from 'the 
 people,' if that term is to be used as peculiarly 
 applicable to the humbler classes of society ? 
 Were Essex, Montrose, Falkland, Fairfax, and 
 Hazlerigg terrce jilii ? Xay, was not even 
 Old Noll himself a gentleman bom, with the 
 blood of the old Plantagenets flowing through 
 his veins ? 
 
 Again, did not Algernon Sidney and Wil- 
 liam Lord Russell — the model patriots of the 
 age — both belong to what our friend Jacob 
 Omnium calls 'the Upper Ten Thousand'? 
 Were not Waller and Dryden alike men of 
 gentle birth? And, to croAvn all, was not 
 Robert Boyle — in the well-known words of
 
 8 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 his reverend paneg}Tist — at once ' the father 
 of chemistry and the brother of the Earl of 
 Cork' ? 
 
 Now as each of these eminent persons was 
 of honourable descent, and, doubtless, fully 
 alive to the importance of that fact in his 
 own particular case, I do not see why a man 
 like myself, who can far less easily dispense 
 with the distinction as a title to the respect 
 of the world, should hesitate to avow himself 
 well pleased to have been born a gentleman. 
 
 The reader who, doubtless, like most Eng- 
 lishmen, venerates the Peerage, will I fear, 
 be of opinion that I have lost sight of the due 
 proportion to be observed between cause and 
 eiFect, when, after making my own gentle 
 birth the groundwork of these reflections on 
 the philosophy of ancestral pride, I inform 
 him that I was ushered into the world without 
 the smallest handle to my name, and -svith no 
 higher claim on the respect of a tuft-hunting 
 generation than is involved in the position of 
 the younger son of a baronet. 
 
 The baronetcy in question, however, dates 
 from the Kestoration. Like a few others of 
 the same period, still extant, it was the cheap 
 reward of gallant services in the field, and
 
 INTRODUCTORY. ^ 
 
 disastrous fidelity to the fallen throne : the 
 unsubstantial equivalent of a goodly estate 
 and an ancient inheritance sacrificed on the 
 altar of loyal duty, in the cause of a monarch 
 whose sad fate cannot be recalled without 
 sympathy by the descendants of those who 
 imperilled all their eartlily prospects for his 
 sake, but of whom it may truly be said that 
 he might have been less unfortunate, if he 
 could have made up his mind to be less 
 false. 
 
 Before bringing this introductor}' chapter 
 to a close, I have only to add, for the purpose 
 of completing my introduction to the reader, 
 that the follo^Ying pages contain so much of 
 the autobiography and personal reminiscences 
 of Gerald Osmanby, second son of Sir Philip 
 Fitzherbert Osmanby, of Osmanby Manor, in 
 
 the county of , Bart., as the aforesaid 
 
 Gerald deems it expedient to confide to the 
 well-known discretion of the Public.
 
 10 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 GENEALOGICAL AND HERALDIC. 
 
 I AM not going to trespass on the patience of 
 the reader (who, I am quite sure, is, like my- 
 self, heartily tired of reading about the civil 
 wars of the seventeenth century) by explain- 
 ing more in detail the process through which 
 my ancestor and namesake, Gerald Osmanby 
 the Cavalier, contrived to strip himself of the 
 greater part of his patrimony, — or how it 
 came to pass that the ancient and wealthy 
 squire of 1640 dwindled at once and ex- 
 panded into the new and needy baronet of 
 1660. With all due respect for the ' sinister 
 hand gules' — the 'bloody hand ' of Ulster — I 
 may be allowed to conjecture that its addition 
 to the paternal shield was not looked upon by 
 its loyal recipient as a very ample recognition 
 of the services which had eiFectually im- 
 poverished his ancient house. Public virtue, 
 like every other kind of virtue, is, no doubt,
 
 GENEALOGICAL AND IIEIIALDIC. 11 
 
 its o^vn reward; but perhaps its remunerative 
 value is not always very liighly a[)preciatc(l 
 by those who have found its praetiee at once 
 expensive and thankless. 
 
 I have, however, no reason to believe that 
 my chivalrous progenitor indulged in any 
 private regrets on the subject of his unprolit- 
 able virtue. The monument erected to his 
 memory by a more prosperous descendant, 
 about a century back, in the ancient ])arish 
 church of Osnianby St. Peter's, affords such 
 evidence in favour of his political consistency 
 as can be supplied by an elaborate epitaph, 
 setting forth, in a ponderous and patch-work 
 latinity, his valiant exploits in the iield, his 
 unshaken fidelity to the throne, and the com- 
 parative poverty in which, as a necessary 
 result of his pecuniary sacrifices in the royal 
 cause, his latter years were passed. 
 
 This costly memorial of departed worth has 
 long been the glory of the (juiet little village, 
 and a source of just pride, with a little occa- 
 sional profit, to the sexton and clerk. Its 
 decorative illustrations of the text presented 
 by the epitaph are worthy of note in an 
 aesthetic point of view. They comprise a stout 
 female of severe aspect, attired in flowing and
 
 12 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 apparently very limp drapery, bending over 
 something that bears a strong resemblance to 
 a large claret-jug half covered by a napkin, 
 as she points significantly to the scroll — a 
 lady who might, at a pinch, pass muster for 
 any one of the Cardinal Virtues except Tem- 
 perance, but who, I am credibly informed, was 
 intended to personify Loyalty — and a small 
 flight of cherubim — also of very robust ap- 
 pearance, but seemingly in various stages of the 
 mumps and tooth-ache, who hover about the 
 inscription, or ostentatiously volunteer their 
 questionable assistance to a couple of half- 
 starved griffins strenuously engaged, notwith- 
 standing their attenuated aspect, in their 
 legitimate duty of supporting the family 
 escutcheon. 
 
 But in spite of this jumble of allegorical 
 and pious symbolism, brought to bear, in the 
 way of corroborative testimony, on the edify- 
 ing statements of the scroll, I confess that to 
 me the most significant proof of the perma- 
 nency of my respected ancestor's convictions 
 is supplied by the three Horatian words, 
 ' QuALis AB INCEPTO ' appearing beneath the 
 shield. 
 
 My esteemed friend Garter (who has obli-
 
 ■ GENEALOGICAL ^SJNT) HERALDIC. 13 
 
 gingly investigated the point for my Scitisfac- 
 tion) assures me that this motto was adopted 
 by Sir Gerald, and duly re,iri>tered by royal 
 permission in the College of Arms, v/ithin a 
 year of his death, in substitution for the ori- 
 ginal and ancient Xorman devise of the family : 
 'Chascl'^n^ pouk Soy;' a sentiment certainly 
 savouring more of worldly prudence than of 
 effervescent loyalty, and, as such, most appro- 
 priately resumed in the decoration of his 
 shield, by Sir Gerald's immediate successor in 
 the baronetcy. 
 
 This gentleman, being less of an enthusiast 
 and more of a philosopher than his father, 
 soon after the death of the latter took the 
 most prudent step that could possibly be 
 adopted under his circumstances, by offering 
 his heart and hand to the Puritan daughter 
 and sole heiress of the wealthy scrivener, who, 
 in his character of mortgagee in possession, 
 had become the virtual o^\Tier of Osmanby 
 Manor and the extensive estates attached to it. 
 Being lucky enough to find favour in the eyes 
 of his fair creditor, Sir Gerald (Xo. 2) not 
 only recovered for his descendants the posses- 
 sion of his ancestral mansion and broad acres, 
 but found himself in the enjoyment of wealth
 
 14 THE CREAM OE A LIFE. 
 
 far greater than had fallen to the lot of any 
 of his predecessors in the ownership of the 
 property. 
 
 With equal worldly prudence, and an amount 
 of political sagacity that would have done 
 credit to Talleyrand, he abjured the ancient 
 and hereditary faith of his family, and con- 
 formed to the Established Church, a few months 
 before the landing of the Prince of Orange, 
 and was one of the first landed proprietors 
 of his county who joined the bloodless but 
 triumphant standard of the fortunate invader. 
 
 Continuing to distinguish himself as a 
 staunch supporter of the principles of the 
 Revolution, both as a member of the House 
 of Commons and a man of great influence in 
 his county, he enjoyed during many years a 
 high degree of favour with King William III. 
 and his Whig advisers. It is said, indeed, 
 that just before the close of that monarch's 
 reign, he had obtained the promise of a peer- 
 age, and that the royal letters patent confer- 
 ring on him and the heirs male of his body 
 the dignity of a Baron of England, by the 
 name, style, and title of Baron Osmanby of 
 Osmanby Manor, had been duly drawn out 
 and engrossed, but, unluckily, had not yet
 
 GENEALOGICAL AND HERALDIC. 15 
 
 passed the Great Seal at the time of his 
 Majesty's death. For want of this slight but 
 essential formality, the gracious intentions of 
 the crown, and the loyal hopes of the subject, 
 were alike frustrated. The well-known Jaco- 
 bite tendencies of Queen Anne are quite suflS.- 
 cient to account for the non-completion of this 
 act of royal grace. The services of which it 
 was understood to be the reward were not 
 such as appealed very forcibly to the personal 
 sympathies of her Majesty; and the phantom 
 coronet, after hovering for a moment above 
 the brow of the expectant peer, vanished into 
 thin air. 
 
 Thus deprived of his chance of figuring 
 among the magnates of the realm in the Upper 
 House of Parliament, Sir Gerald continued to 
 flourish as a commoner of high position, and 
 — except in the instance of a trifling episode 
 or two of private correspondence with the 
 exiled court of St. Germain's, in which he 
 tried the hedging game, after the most ap- 
 proved fashion of the day — a consistent 
 patriot and Whig during the remainder of his 
 life. 
 
 It would appear that his descendants and 
 successors in the baronetcy for several gene-
 
 16 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 rations inherited from him, together with the 
 restored and augmented patrimony of his 
 house, a certain aptitude for marrying heir- 
 esses ; and through the auspicious alliance of 
 his grandson, the fourth baronet, with the 
 Lady Maud Fitzherbert, one of the three 
 dauo-hters and co-heiresses of the last Earl of 
 Swinnerton, an equal and undivided share in 
 the ancient barony of Fitzherbert, which fell 
 into abeyance on the death of that nobleman, 
 became vested in my respected grandfather, 
 Sir Basil Fitzherbert Osmanby. 
 
 Now an undivided share of a barony in 
 abeyance is but a shadowy kind of inheritance. 
 It is provokingly inoperative, and sadly hypo- 
 thetical. It is, in fact, to use a quaint and 
 familiar illustration, ' something and nothing 
 — like eating soup ivith a fork ! ' 
 
 But before I proceed, I had better perhaps 
 explain in a few words what is meant by the 
 term ' abeyance ' as applied to a peerage. 
 Should the reader know all about it, he ^\'ill 
 excuse the interruption for the sake of the 
 many who do not ; for it is undeniable that, 
 although this branch of peerage law is fre- 
 quently brought under the notice of the public, 
 in the newspaper reports of the proceedings
 
 GENEALOGIC.^X AXD HERALDIC. 17 
 
 of the House of Lords, sitting as a ' Com- 
 mittee for Privileges/ there is no subject con- 
 nected with our national institutions, on which 
 a greater amount of ignorance exists among 
 what are considered the well-informed classes 
 of society. 
 
 Our best novelists, in particular — even 
 those whose personal acquaintance with the 
 higher ranks of life and the choicest circles 
 of fashion and politics, invest their writings 
 with a kind of oracular authority in the eyes 
 of despairing Bloomsbury, dejected Maiyle- 
 bone, and aspiring Tyburnia — the very writers 
 whom May Fair extols, Belgravia delights to 
 honour, and the Carlton or Brookes' s (as the 
 case may be) admits into the inmost pene- 
 tralia of party worship, the adytum of poli- 
 tical and parliamentary sanctity — even these 
 gifted individuals, pri\dleged as they are to 
 reveal to the outer-barbarian of humdrum 
 existence those occasional glimpses of Para- 
 dise, those beatific visions of aristocratic 
 refinement and diplomatic brilliancy, which 
 captivate the fancy and enrapture the soul of 
 the Mudieite millions — are apt, when dabbling 
 with this abstruse subject, to fall into heral- 
 dico-legal blunders, the very sight of which, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 in a work of extensive circulation, might suf- 
 fice to stir up the bile of the smallest pursui- 
 vant in the College, and throw our good friend 
 Sir Charles Young into a serious fit of the 
 jaundice. 
 
 Be it known, therefore, for the information 
 of those whom it may concern, that on the 
 death without issue male of a baron^ whose 
 peerage has been created by writ of summons 
 only — a mode of creation which, although still 
 legal, has been practically discontinued for 
 the last two hundred years or thereabouts — 
 the barony would devolve on an only daughter, 
 if he has one ; but in the event of his leaving 
 two or more daughters, it would, in legal 
 parlance, fall into abeyance between or among 
 these ladies as co-heiresses — the issue of a 
 deceased daughter, if any, being entitled to, 
 and fully representing, her share of the heir- 
 ship. In this state of things — the claims of 
 all by descent being equal — no one of these 
 ladies has a right to assume the family honours 
 to the exclusion of the others. As a title of 
 peerage, however, is, like the first French 
 Eepublic, ' One and indivisible,' the enjoy- 
 ment of the barony and all its privileges is 
 suspended during the abeyance, which, if the
 
 GENEALOGICAL AND HERALDIC. 19 
 
 Crown do not interfere, must continue among 
 these co-heiresses and their descendants until 
 the extinction of every line except one ; and 
 until the co-equal claims in that line, if any, 
 are reduced to one, which, being vested in a 
 single individual — either male or female — 
 represents the entire inheritance, and revives 
 the peerage for his or her benefit. At any 
 time during the continuance of the abeyance, 
 however, the Cro^\Ti may, in the exercise of 
 the Eoyal prerogative, call the suspended 
 peerage into active existence, — in other words, 
 terminate the abeyance in favour of any one 
 of the co-heirs whom the good pleasure of the 
 Sovereign may select for the purpose. When 
 this is done, everything goes on as if the indi- 
 ■\ddual so favoured had succeeded to the barony 
 in the ordinary course of inheritance ; and the 
 peerage is enjoyed, not as a new title, but 
 ■with precedence according to the date of the 
 original creation. 
 
 This explanation may assist the reader to 
 understand the position and conduct of my 
 grandfather. Sir Basil. 
 
 His mother being, as I have stated, one of 
 the co-heiresses of the Barony of Fitzherbert, 
 he, as her eldest son, succeeded, on her death, 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 to her rights as co-heir. But my revered 
 ancestress, Lady Maud, brought into the 
 family a more substantial marriage-portion 
 than this mere possibility of peerage. Al- 
 though her father. Lord Swinnerton, had no 
 power over the ultimate destination of his 
 hereditary honours, he had the uncontrolled 
 disposal of his large estates, which he natu- 
 rally wished to secure, in undiminished 
 extent, to one branch of his descendants. Ac- 
 cordingly, he devised them by will, in strict 
 settlement, for the benefit of Lady Maud Os- 
 manby and her issue male. 
 
 Of her two sisters, one had made a runaway 
 match with a dancing-master of the name of 
 Buggin, and had given birth to a numerous 
 progeny afflicted with that remarkable patro- 
 nymic. Cast oiF by her father and family, 
 she had died in obscure and very straitened 
 circumstances, leaving an eldest son in whom 
 her line of heirship centered. The other 
 sister, married to a country gentleman of good 
 family, had died young, leaving a daughter 
 and only child, by whom her line was rejn^e- 
 sented at the time of Lady Maud's death, and 
 who was then the wife of a rich Govern- 
 ment contractor, of Jewish descent, named 
 Samuelson.
 
 GENEALOGICAL AND HERALDIC. 21 
 
 In this state of things, my grandfather, 
 having, as we have seen, had the good luck 
 to obtain the lion's share of the territorial 
 inheritance of his maternal ancestry, resolved 
 that he would also achieve the monopoly of 
 the heraldic distinctions involved in his 
 descent from the noble house. He accord- 
 ingly petitioned the Crown, and made a per- 
 sonal application to the Prime Minister of the 
 day, Mr. Pitt — that the abeyance of the 
 Barony of Fitzherbert might be terminated in 
 his favour ; representing with great force and 
 plausibility, that as one genuine Osmanby 
 was unquestionably more than a match, 
 heraldically speaking, for any given number of 
 Buggins and Samuelsons, — and as, moreover, 
 he was the representative of the eldest co- 
 heiress, and in possession of the family estates, 
 his share of the Fitzherbert heirship — although 
 legally only equal to each of the other branches 
 — was virtually the principal one, and invested 
 with a moral claim far superior to that which 
 could be urged on behalf of either of the 
 other co-heirs. 
 
 His arguments, however, failed to convince 
 the ^linister, who courteously, but clearly, 
 intimated to the aspiring baronet that he saw
 
 22 THE CREAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 no necessity for accelerating in his favour the 
 action of the laws of inheritance by the inter- 
 position of the Eoyal prerogative. But being 
 anxious to render his refusal as little offensive 
 as possible to a gentleman who sat in the 
 House of Commons for his own snug family 
 borough, the other seat of which was occupied 
 by his legal adviser, as imrming-pan — so the 
 phrase went — for the baronet's son, yet a 
 great many years from his majority, Mr. 
 Pitt, with an unfortunate attempt at concilia- 
 tion or compromise, expressed his perfect 
 willingness to recommend Sir Basil's name to 
 the King, for the less substantial dignity of 
 an Irish Peerage. 
 
 This well-meant proposal filled up the 
 measure of Sir Basil's disgust. The offer of 
 a ' Brummagem coronet,' as he scornfully de- 
 signated the merely titular distinction, was at 
 once rejected with contemptuous hauteur ; 
 and my grandfather, who had entered the 
 Minister's closet a staunch adherent to the 
 Tory party, rushed out of it a confirmed Whig 
 for life !
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 m WHICH I ]MAKE MY FIRST APPEAEANCE OX 
 THE SCENE. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that ' the cause of 
 civil and religious liberty all over the world ' 
 obtained the valuable support of our ancient 
 house, and that my father — at the tune of 
 this auspicious change a schoolboy at Eton, 
 whose political education was in the most 
 elementary stage — was ultimately brought 
 up in the yerj odour of Whig sanctity, and, 
 ere his entrance into public life, duly indoc- 
 trinated in the orthodox creed of Brookes's 
 and Carlton House. 
 
 I am bound, however, in justice to the 
 memory of my revered parent, to state that 
 in adopting the political faith of "Wliiggery, 
 he did not quite assimilate his principles and 
 practice to the social habits of that great 
 party, which, in those days, involved a few 
 eccentricities less edifying in the eyes of the
 
 24 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 moralist, than conducive to tlie personal en- 
 joyment of those who indulged in them. 
 
 In eager imitation of their illustrious chief, 
 Charles James Fox, the leading Whigs greatly 
 affected, the 'free-and-easy' in the cut of their 
 garments and their views of moral duty. 
 Their domestic ties and their nether habili- 
 ments hung alike very loosely about them. 
 They gamed with frantic recklessness, and 
 drank with inexhaustible powers of absorp- 
 tion ; and it may be said that they partially 
 anticipated the new moral code which, accord- 
 ing to Macaulay, was inaugurated in the 
 literary world through the Byronian reve- 
 lation : for, if they did not, in full compliance 
 with what he describes as the principal dogma 
 of that creed, ' hate their neighbour,' they 
 certainly practised the correlative duty of 
 / loving their neighbour's wife,' to an extent 
 that amply justifies the grave history doubts 
 traditionally affecting the pedigree of so many 
 great houses among the Whig aristocracy of 
 our own day. 
 
 On most of these points my father was 
 certainly much below the liberal standard of 
 his political brethren. He was a man of 
 temperate and even abstemious habits ; he
 
 MY FIRST APPEAEAl^CE. 25 
 
 hated cards and cultivated a taste for anti- 
 quarian lore ; and so far was he from exhibit- 
 ing any undue partiality for the better or 
 worse halves of his friends and acquaintance, 
 that the loss of his own wife who, after four 
 years of conjugal happiness, left him a 
 widower with two infant children — a son 
 and a daughter — drove him, at the age of 
 thirty, from the gay haunts of society and 
 the stirring scenes of political life, into the 
 seclusion of a country retreat in a remote 
 county. 
 
 There, in spite of the urgent and angry 
 remonstrances of his more worldly father, he 
 remained — at first, and for a long time, 
 brooding over his grief, and, latterly, indulg- 
 ing his love of quiet and his turn for specu- 
 lative philosophy — until the death of Sir 
 Basil, some dozen years later, imposed on 
 him the necessity, or afforded him the pretext 
 for a return to active life. 
 
 That ' property has its duties, as well as its 
 rights,' is an axiom, the substance of which 
 had been intuitively assented to and practi- 
 cally recognised by a few profound thinkers 
 — far in advance of their age — long before 
 the late Lieutenant Drammond, of Statistical
 
 26 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 and Reform-Bill memory, to whom the 
 original discovery of this mighty truth is 
 erroneously attributed, had embodied the 
 stupendous idea in the sublime words with 
 which it is now so familiarly associated. My 
 father was, in his own wa}^, and ' according 
 to his lights,' as the religious world phrase 
 it, entitled to rank among these master- 
 spirits, these pioneers of moral civilisation. 
 In succeeding to a large — but, thanks to the 
 profuse expenditure of his immediate prede- 
 cessor, and his own voluntary sacrifices on 
 the altar of filial duty — a slightly encum- 
 bered estate, he accepted the responsibilities 
 involved in that position. He duly installed 
 himself at Osmanby Manor, subscribing 
 largely to the hounds, although he never 
 hunted ; he restored and beautified the 
 chancel of the venerable old parish church ; 
 re-lined, re-padded, re-cushioned, and re-has- 
 socked the family pew, until it might have 
 passed for the Temple of Morpheus, although 
 he not unfrequently said his prayers at home 
 on a Sunday; and took a. few hundred acres 
 of arable land into his own hands, although 
 his acquaintance with the science of agricul- 
 ture was limited to the contents of the
 
 MY FIKST APPEARANCE. 27 
 
 Georgics, and from the consciousness of his 
 own deficiences as a farmer, he lived in per- 
 petual awe of his own bailiff. He astonished 
 his tenants by a spontaneous abatement of 
 15 per cent, on the rents, which had been 
 screwed up to the highest practicable pitch, 
 in a vain attempt to establish a balance be- 
 tween the late baronet's income and his 
 annual expenses ; sold off a choice racing 
 stud; discharged a score of stablemen and 
 supernumerary indoor servants ; and cut down 
 a small forest of old timber, in order to pay 
 off paternal debts which were not charged on 
 the estate. Finally, having duly returned 
 himself to Parliament for the family borough 
 of Plumperstown, in the room of his deceased 
 father, he went up to London to attend his 
 duties in the House — and, to the disappoint- 
 ment of a widowed sister who had long pre- 
 sided over the profuse and rather rollicking 
 hospitalities of Osmanby, and — to the intense 
 disgust of a Gorgon of a governess, to whom, 
 with unbounded confidence in her moral 
 worth, intellectual merit, and personal ugK- 
 ness, he had for some years past intrusted 
 the education of his daughter and the key of 
 the tea-caddy, at his cottage-villa residence
 
 28 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 in Westmoreland — looked out for a second 
 wife. 
 
 As lie was not mucli past forty, and un- 
 exceptionable in appearance and manners, 
 with a good worldly position, and the repu- 
 tation, at least, of great wealth, it is super- 
 fluous to say that his search presented no 
 insurmountable difficulties. But although, 
 unlike his first marriage, which had been a 
 love-match in all the negative financial force 
 of that term, his second matrimonial venture 
 afforded a fresh illustration of our hereditary 
 talent for subjugating the hearts of heiresses, 
 it gave mortal offence to his nearest con- 
 nections, and laid the foundation of protracted 
 family estrangement. 
 
 And yet, according to every fair estimate of 
 relative, social, and personal claims, my mother, 
 the heiress in question, had by no means the 
 best of the bargain. She was young enough 
 to be his daughter, as well born and as highly 
 connected as himself, with a fortune of fifty 
 thousand pounds 'hard cash,' as the phrase 
 goes, — which in those days meant a good deal 
 more than fifty thousand Consols. She could 
 boast of good looks and talens de societe suffi- 
 cient to rescue the epithets ' lovely and accom-
 
 MY FIRST APPEAEANCE. 29 
 
 plished,' with which the courteous chronicler 
 of the ' Morning Post ' connected her name in 
 the announcement of her approaching mar- 
 riage, from the charge of gross exaggeration; 
 while, as regards the more important quahties 
 of mind, temper, and heart, she was all that 
 the most sanguine votary of the domestic 
 principle, in his search after happiness, could 
 reasonably hope to secure as the sunshine of 
 daily existence. Like the fair Aurora Eaby 
 in ' Don Juan,' however, 
 
 She was a Catholic — sincere — austere ; * 
 
 that is to say, austere to herself, though full of 
 Christian charity and kindness to all around 
 her. But it so happened that the ultra-Pro- 
 testant element, which had been in a quiescent, 
 not to say torpid state, in our family, for the 
 previous generation or two, was just at that 
 moment in process of rapid and aggi^essive 
 development in the person of my aforesaid 
 aunt, the Dowager Viscountess Tarleton, a 
 ci-devant beauty, now very much on the wane, 
 who having, during many years, as wife and 
 widow, enjoyed and, I fear, somewhat abused, 
 the latitude of interpretation conceded by the 
 "Whig liberality of that day, to the restrictive
 
 30 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 rules of common-place morality, and thereby 
 much enhanced the social attractions of Sir 
 Basil's establishment, over which, in town and 
 country, she presided, — had lately taken what 
 was called a serious turn, and, no longer able 
 to secure or retain the homage of the most 
 conspicuous sinners of the age, wa^ paying 
 assiduous and successful court to the best 
 style of people among the saints. 
 
 To one just admitted, as a zealous and 
 edifying neophyte, into those select circles of 
 sanctimonious cant and pharisaical intolerance 
 which arrogated to themselves the exclusive 
 title of 'Evangelical ' — which honoured Wilber- 
 force as an apostle, recognised in Hannah 
 More the inspired wisdom of a Christian Py- 
 thoness, and looked upon Mr. Roberts of ' My 
 Grandmother's Review ' as an improved and 
 Protestant edition of St. Austin, the prospect 
 of a popish sister-in-law was fraught with 
 religious disgust, and not to be contemplated 
 without pious consternation. 
 
 On the other hand, it might well excite 
 some degree of surprise, that the youthful 
 Monica de Turville — fair, wealthy, and devote 
 as she was, with all the jeunesse doree of the 
 Catholic aristocracy contending for a favouring
 
 MY FIRST APPEARANCE. 31 
 
 glance of her soft dark eye — should have turned 
 her resolute connubial gaze in the direction of 
 a portly Protestant widower, of middle age, 
 clogged with the incumbrance of an elder son 
 who would, in the natural order of things, 
 divert the descent of the family title and 
 estates from the line of a second marriage; 
 and this, too, at a time when, as was currently 
 reported, although I do not vouch for the 
 truth of the rumour. Lady Buckingham had 
 set her heart on making up a match between 
 the interesting heiress and the Due de 
 Guiche. 
 
 It thus happened that if the ' elect ' of 
 the Clapham Confession were scandalized at 
 the matrimonial backsliding of one whom they 
 had hoped to entice within their privileged 
 and puritanical circle, the rigid guardians of 
 family orthodoxy among the proud and pious 
 coteries of English Catholicity, were not less 
 disgusted at this eccentric choice of a husband 
 on the part of a young lady whose wealth 
 was looked upon as the lawful prize of 'the 
 faithful' — as a legitimate subsidy in aid of 
 the slender means of some highly-descended 
 adherent of the ancient faith, with an unim- 
 peachable pedigree and a threadbare estate.
 
 32 THE CREAM OE A LIFE. 
 
 But the fair Monica was of age, and, in 
 every sense, her own mistress ; being an orphan 
 without brother or sister, and mth no living 
 relative nearer than a first cousin, except a 
 couple of aunts, who were professed nuns 
 and inmates of a convent at Seville. Having 
 once made up her mind, therefore, she was not 
 likely to be very amenable to remonstrance on 
 a subject which, as far as her freedom of 
 action was concerned, might fairly be said to 
 be nobody's business but her own. All, 
 therefore, that could be effected by the im- 
 portunate solicitude of her friends, was to 
 convince her of the expediency of retaining 
 the absolute control over her property, under 
 the terms of her marriage- settlement : an 
 arrangement in which the intended bridegroom 
 acquiesced with more or less of alacrity, and 
 which Charles Butler was duly instructed to 
 complete in the most satisfactory form that 
 the science of conveyancing could supply. 
 
 At the time of my father's second marriage, 
 his daughter Maud was fourteen years of age, 
 and consequently quite old enough to feel 
 some vexation at the prospect of a stepmother ; 
 a state of mind which was sedulously en- 
 couraged by the remarks and suggestions of
 
 3rsr FIKST APPEARANCE. 33 
 
 Miss Stickney, the ill-favoured and erudite 
 croverness to whom I have alreadv alluded. 
 The result may be guessed. Studious dis- 
 respect and systematic insubordination on the 
 part of pupil and instructress towards the new 
 Lady Osmanby soon produced a domestic 
 crisis, in which Sir Philip, under ordinary 
 circumstances the mildest and most indulgent 
 of men, was roused to a formidable outbreak 
 of anger. The contest ended, for the moment, 
 by the utter discomfiture of the intrepid 
 Stickney, who was constrained to abandon 
 the position and retire from the field with 
 ignominious rapidity. But the victory proved 
 a barren one, as far as the restoration of familv 
 peace was concerned. The chief fomenter of 
 rebellion was, indeed, removed from the scene ; 
 but the principle of disafi*ection, thanks to her 
 influence, was too deeply rooted in the mind 
 of her pupil, to be efi'ectually subdued by this 
 act of salutary rigour. 
 
 It was in vain that Sir Philip sought to 
 supply the place of the discarded governess 
 by an individual equally well qualified for the 
 task of instruction, and more interested in the 
 maintenance of that discipline so important 
 to the well-being of the domestic common- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 wealth. The young lady could neither be 
 conciliated by kindness, nor reduced to sub- 
 mission by stern reproof. The odium theolo- 
 gicum evidently lent its aid to the jealous 
 hostility of the step- child ; and it soon became 
 evident to the perplexed husband and father 
 that the permanent residence of his mutinous 
 daughter under the same roof with his youth- 
 ful bride involved a state of things in which 
 his own peace and comfort would be liable to 
 perpetual disturbance. 
 
 He had, however, a strong prejudice, whether 
 well or ill founded, against the system of 
 boarding-schools for the education of young 
 ladies ; and, in this difficulty, he gladly 
 closed with the offer of his sister, Lady Tarleton, 
 to take charge of the fair and wilful Maud 
 during the remaining years of her schoolroom 
 existence, waiving, for the moment, any question 
 as to her future home when the period should 
 arrive for her introduction into society. 
 
 This arrangement secured much present 
 relief, and held out the prospect of contingent 
 advantages ; as Lady Tarleton was childless, 
 and sufficiently well provided for, as the only 
 daughter of the late baronet, and under the 
 will of a husband whom she had successfully
 
 MY FIRST APPEARANCE. 35 
 
 wheedled and hoodwinked during the few 
 years of their married life, to render the 
 ultimate disposal of her property by will a 
 natural subject of speculation. 
 
 As to the son and heir, George Augustus 
 Frederick, Maud's senior by a year, he was 
 in the sixth form at Eton, and anticipating 
 his speedy removal to the Military College at 
 Marlow, when this important change took 
 place in the family affairs. In his position as 
 eldest son, and with his mind eagerly bent on 
 the military career which, at his own earnest 
 desire, he was about to adopt, he naturally 
 bore with more equanimity the announcement 
 of an event which would not, as it seemed, 
 materially affect his future prospects or per- 
 sonal convenience. Thoughtful in disposition, 
 resolute in character, and steady in conduct, 
 he was conscious of possessing a strong hold 
 on the regard and confidence of his father; 
 and as long as he did not withhold from his 
 stepmother those outward marks of respect 
 which she was entitled to require at his hands, 
 he had no reason to fear the influence of this 
 new tie as producing any amount of estrange- 
 ment between Sir Philip and himself. 
 
 Accordingly, during the eighteen months
 
 3G THE CKEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 that elapsed between the marriage and George's 
 departure from England, to join the army in 
 Spain as a cornet in the — th regiment of light 
 dragoons — a rank to which he was gazetted 
 on the very day of my birth — my mother had 
 no other cause of complaint against him, than 
 a too ceremonious deference of manner, scru- 
 pulously adhering to every conventional rule 
 of propriety in his intercourse with her, but 
 seeming quietly to repel all approach to the 
 footing of affectionate cordiality which she 
 was well inclined to establish between them. 
 
 Once only, and at the eleventh hour, did 
 this systematic reserve give w^ay to a more 
 frank demonstration of kind feeling. This 
 was on the occasion of the last interview he 
 had with her before his embarkation for the 
 Peninsula. 
 
 My mother's health had suffered severely 
 from the effects of her confinement ; and she 
 had been ordered by Dr. Baillie to the sea, to 
 recruit her strength. At the period in ques- 
 tion, she was, with a portion of the establish- 
 ment, including, of course, the reader's humble 
 servant, the baby, occupying ^ small house on 
 the Marine Parade at Brighton; while Sir 
 Philip remained in Portman Square, in the
 
 MY FIKST APPEARANCE. 37 
 
 performance of his Parliamentary duties; the 
 business of the session being then at its 
 height. 
 
 She was surprised one morning by a visit 
 from her stepson, whom she had supposed to 
 be also in London, engaged in preparation for 
 his departure, and who had taken a polite and 
 rather formal leave of her, while assisting her 
 into her carriage, on the day of her journey to 
 Brighton. She greeted him mth much cor- 
 diality; but he seemed more than usually 
 grave and silent, as he took his seat close to 
 the head of the sofa on which, being still very 
 weak, she was reclining. 
 
 At length, after a short pause, and with 
 some appearance of embarrassment, he said : 
 
 ' Lady Osmanby, you are surprised to see 
 me; but I sail from Southampton two days 
 hence, and I am come to say good bye.' 
 
 ' It is very kind of you, George,' said my 
 mother ; ' and I am truly glad to see you once 
 more before you go.' 
 
 ' You must not think,' resumed he, pro- 
 bably replying to what he supposed to be her 
 thoughts, 'that my father suggested this 
 visit. He knows nothino^ of it. I was anx- 
 ious to see you, and should not have gone
 
 38 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 away happy if I had not come. The fact is, 
 you know, I am going where there is sure to 
 be plenty of fighting, and I may be knocked 
 on the head any day.' 
 
 ' Oh, George ! ' interrupted my mother, ' we 
 will hope for better things.' 
 
 ' Of course — of course,' said he. ' I do not 
 mean to say I expect to be killed. On the 
 contrary, I rather feel as if I should not. But 
 no one can tell; and I have been thinking 
 that, as I have not, I fear, behaved very well 
 to you, it would be a great comfort to me to 
 know that you forgive me, and will not think 
 unkindly of me if I should happen to die.' 
 
 My mother was much agitated. 
 
 ' Oh, George ! ' said she, ' you must not talk 
 in that way. I have nothing to forgive. I 
 am sure you have never behaved ill to me. 
 Indeed, you have been always very good; and 
 I can only hope that Baby, when he is your 
 age, will take example by you.' 
 
 ' No, mamma ! ' rejoined he, for the first time 
 adopting that mode of address, ^I have not 
 been good to you. I know that, as a general 
 rule, I strive to do what is right. But there 
 are usually two ways of doing the right thing ; 
 and I fear I have not always taken the best
 
 MY FIRST APPEARANCE. 39 
 
 way. I hope I have not seriously failed in 
 respect towards you as my father's wife. But 
 you have been very kind to me, and deserved 
 much more than mere respect at my hands. 
 Whatever allowances you may be willing to 
 make, I cannot acquit myself of all blame in 
 my behaviour towards you. I therefore now 
 ask your pardon, and hope that you mil really 
 forgive me.' 
 
 So saying, he bent over her, and kissed her 
 forehead; while she, too much overcome to 
 speak, took his hand and pressed it affection- 
 ately between her own, in token of perfect 
 reconciliation. 
 
 ' But,' continued George, ' I must see Baby ; 
 and bid him also good bye.' 
 
 It need hardly be said that nurse and her 
 ' precious charge ' were thereupon speedily 
 summoned by the gratified mother. As I 
 have no recollection of myself at that inter- 
 esting period of existence, I will not pretend 
 to describe my appearance or behaviour on 
 the occasion ; although I am enabled to supply 
 the general details of the interview in question 
 from authentic sources of information. All 
 children of two months old are, to my think- 
 ing, but shapeless lumps of humanity. They
 
 40 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 usually seem to be in sad want of a pocket- 
 handkerchief, and not unfrequently squall 
 with a vigour that would do credit to the 
 pulmonary organization of the human subject 
 at a more advanced stage of physical develop- 
 ment. Let us hope that my entrance on the 
 scene was that oi 2i loersona muta. 
 
 Be that as it may, my brother, as I have 
 been credibly informed, took me in his arms, 
 and held me with a great deal of awkward 
 carefulness, promising that he would not let 
 me fall and break me; and, having selected 
 as dry a spot as he could find for the opera- 
 tion, he imprinted a fraternal kiss on my face, 
 and returned me to the more scientific custody 
 of my nurse. 
 
 ' God bless him 1 ' said he. ' I am glad that 
 you have had him christened Gerald, I almost 
 envy him the name. It is the real, proper 
 Osmanby name; and I would much rather 
 have it than be named, as I am, after the 
 Prince, however grand it may be to have a 
 royal godfather, more for show than use. 
 However, should anything happen to me, 
 Baby's name and position will be all right; 
 and.it will be a great comfort to my father to
 
 MY FIRST APPEARANCE. 41 
 
 have another son to succeed hmi in due 
 time.' 
 
 ' No, George,' said my mother, ' 3'ou must 
 not pain me by talking in that way. I feel 
 certain that you will return to us safe and 
 sound. You will marry, and have children 
 of your own ; and my Gerald will not lose the 
 benefit of your example as a good man and a 
 brave soldier. But I have one favour to ask 
 of you for him. Though I am not going to 
 the wars, I, too, may die, and perhaps die 
 young. Promise me that, whatever happens, 
 you will be a true brother to him — that you 
 will love him and watch over him for vour 
 father's sake, if not for mine.' 
 
 ' Here is my hand upon it ;' said George. ' I 
 will be to him everything that a brother 
 ought to be.' 
 
 Two days later, George sailed for Spain; 
 and many a long year elapsed before he and I 
 were again face to face. 
 
 Perhaps those words, emphatic as they 
 were, passed away from the memory of him 
 who spoke them. They were certainly not 
 forgotten by her to whom they were addressed.
 
 42 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 IN WHICH I LOSE ALL CHANCE OF THE PRIMACY. 
 
 I WAS the only child of my father's second 
 marriage ; and the circumstances detailed in 
 the preceding chapter had the effect of isolat- 
 ing my infancy and early boyhood from all 
 association with any near relatives except my 
 parents. I was, therefore, in a fair way to be 
 spoiled, and am by no means prepared to say 
 that a result so congruous to the usual nature 
 of things did not occur in my case. 
 
 I had, indeed, an additional chance of 
 exhibiting in my person the social at- 
 tractions of over-indulged and petted child- 
 hood; for a severe fall from my pony, 
 when I was little more than four years old, 
 laid me on my back for eighteen months, 
 and, although unattended with any permanent 
 injury to my bodily frame, left serious traces 
 in the general debility of my health, which 
 for many years rendered me totally unfit to
 
 I LOSE THE PRIMACY. 43 
 
 encounter tlie rough discipline of a public 
 school. 
 
 It thus happened that I was brought up at 
 home until the age of sixteen ; and my edu- 
 cation, up to that period, partook largely of 
 the drawbacks and advantages attendant on 
 domestic training. 
 
 The reader will probably demur to the 
 notion that anything but unmitigated evil 
 could result from a system so repugnant to 
 our national habits and ideas. But without 
 taking up the gauntlet in defence of private 
 education, I must fearlessly assert that under 
 certain social and intellectual conditions which 
 cannot always be secured for the benefit of 
 the domestic alumnus^ a boy brought up at 
 home is more advantageously circumstanced 
 for the cultivation and development of his 
 mind, manners, and morals, than the great 
 majority of the ingenuous youth who fill the 
 crowded ranks of Rugby, Harrow, or even 
 Eton. 
 
 In my instance, the position and personal 
 character of my father were such as in a great 
 measure to counterbalance or neutralize most 
 of the disadvantages commonly ascribed to 
 the domestic system. Passing, as he did, a
 
 44 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 great portion of the year at Osmanby Manor, 
 he could at least secure for me at home, and 
 under his own superintendence, the physical 
 benefits involved in a country life, with the full 
 enjoyment of pure air and healthful exercise, 
 in unrestricted freedom. Desirous that I 
 should excel in all manly exercises suitable to 
 my station as an English gentleman, he took 
 especial care that, as far as my health would 
 permit, I should have every opportunity of 
 becoming an expert and fearless horseman, 
 a skilful angler, and a crack shot. On the 
 other hand, his daily precepts, backed up by 
 the example of his own studious habits and 
 extensive reading, early fostered in my mind 
 the germ of intellectual tastes, supplying to 
 some extent the want of competitive emula- 
 tion in my classical studies, and, as regards 
 modern literature and general knowledge, 
 stimulating my ambition by the prospect of 
 political eminence or social success. 
 
 Owing to my mother's delicate health and 
 my father's love of retirement, our ordinary 
 course of existence at Osmanby was rather 
 exceptionally quiet and uneventful. But 
 during the session of Parliament, which we 
 always passed in London, the house in Port-
 
 I LOSE THE PRIMACY. 45 
 
 man Square was a favourite resort of many 
 who figured in the front ranks of public and 
 social life. Always at home, and having no 
 schoolroom community to fall back upon, I 
 was naturally much more in the society of my 
 parents and the intimate friends who fre- 
 quented the house, than is usual in the case of 
 boys subjected to the ordinary routine of 
 education, even during the period of their 
 holidays. It thus came to pass that, from my 
 earliest boyhood, I was not only accustomed 
 to hear the political news, the literary gossip, 
 and sometimes the social scandal of the day, 
 retailed and. discussed in my presence, but 
 occasionally brought into personal communi- 
 cation mth some of the most distinguished 
 among my father's contemporaries, whose 
 social fame is merely matter of tradition to 
 the majority of my own. 
 
 I dare say I am not much the wiser or the 
 -wittier for it ; but still, as a mere souvenir^ it 
 is some satisfaction to me to have marvelled 
 at the surpassing ugliness of Madame de 
 Stael, as she patted me on the cheek, and 
 painfully elaborated a trivial question or two 
 in very uncouth English ; to have listened 
 with delighted attention, as I frequently did,
 
 46 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 to the eas}^ flow of Thomas Moore's familiar 
 talk, when, in the midst of a small but 
 friendly circle at my father's table, amongst 
 those who loved the man as sincerely as they 
 admired the poet and the satirist, that prince 
 of chansonniers was content to ' please without 
 art and win without* the effort inseparable 
 from the more brilliant colloquial triumphs of 
 the petted lion of the Holland House coterie; 
 to have been early familiarized >vith the satyr- 
 like aspect, caustic irony, and cutting wit of 
 the venerable bard of Memory, Samuel Rogers 
 — who, according to the testimony of an emi- 
 nent contemporary, his rival in conversational 
 venom, always ' carried his stiletto about with 
 him,' and of whom it was plausibly asserted 
 that he had done more (7()(?(:?-natured, and said 
 more zYZ-natured tilings than any other man of 
 his time ; to have heard, at first hand, many a 
 'joke from Jekyll,' and not a few epigrams 
 from James Smith of the ' Rejected Addresses;' 
 to have been petted by Joanna Baillie, patron- 
 ised by Maria I'dgeworth, and kindly noticed 
 by Jane Porter; and, though last not least, to 
 have witnessed the tragic dignity and solemn 
 grandeur, with which the unrivalled Siddons, the 
 ' Queen of Tears,' enquired the cost per yard
 
 I LOSE THE rRIMACY. 47 
 
 of the brocaded silk that ii^^^ured as the train of 
 my mother's court dress on the birthday. I 
 say nothing of a liost of minor celebrities, 
 parliamentary, diplomatic, and social, who 
 passed in rapid review before me, and excited 
 more or less interest in my mind, at an age 
 when the foremost names of Grecian and 
 Roman history usually absorb and exhaust 
 such tendencies to hero-worship as are com- 
 monly developed in the lower forms of a 
 public school. 
 
 There was, however, one circumstance con- 
 nected with my domestic education, and perhaps 
 attributable to it, which tlie reader will pro- 
 bably view as a very calamitous result of the 
 system. I was brought up a Catholic. 
 
 How this came to pass I cannot take upon 
 myself to say. The prevalent opinion on the 
 subject among my father's ultra- Protestant 
 connections — or at least the statement by 
 which they affected to explain the deplorable 
 fact, when lamenting over it in the circles of 
 the * elect,' — was that my mother, retaining 
 under her marriage-settlement the absolute 
 control over her propert}^, had made me the 
 subject of spiritual barter and — so to speak — 
 bought me of my father for ten thousand
 
 48 THE CREAM OF A LTEE. 
 
 pounds. If this view of tlie subject be 
 correct, all I can say is that I wish I had 
 proved a more profitable investment ; although 
 I cannot pretend to rate myself, in the scale 
 of commercial orthodoxy, at quite so low a 
 figure as would satisfy some of my ultra- 
 montane friends in the present day, who, I 
 am credibly assured, consider me — in my 
 character of a loyal subject and a patriotic 
 Englishman — very dear at the money. 
 
 Although I am unable distinctly to refute 
 the rumour which assigns so unusual a cause 
 for the peculiar direction of my religious 
 education, I must be allowed to express my 
 total disbelief of its accuracy. Had my 
 father entertained any strong convictions in 
 conformity with the doctrines of the Anglican 
 Communion, as distinguished from those of 
 the Eoman Catholic Church, I feel confident 
 that no worldly benefit to himself could have 
 reconciled him to what he would have justly 
 considered as a dereliction of principle; while, 
 on the other hand, if he felt indifferent on 
 the subject, he was certainly incapable of the 
 meanness involved in the attempt to extort 
 from my mother's religious feelings or pre- 
 judices, the pecuniary assistance which he was
 
 I LOSE THE PRDL\Cr. 49 
 
 doubtfiil of obtaining from her affection or 
 liberality. 
 
 The fact is, I suspect, that dogmatic 
 theology had but little hold on his mind, 
 except as connected with the main princij^les 
 and broad doctrines of Christianity. Edu- 
 cated at a period of the civilised world, when 
 the great intellectual struggle was not between 
 or among the divers denominations of Chris- 
 tians, but between Christianity itself — or 
 rather the vital principle of religious belief 
 and future personal resjDonsibility — on the one 
 hand, and utter infidelity on the other — he 
 had taught hunself to view all those who 
 -svere leagued together against the common 
 enemy, as brother-soldiers fighting under one 
 and the same banner, and honourably engaged 
 in the same noble and holy cause. Although 
 outwardly conforming, vriih sl modified amount 
 of exactness, to the precepts and practice of 
 the Established Church, he was, I much 
 fear, that irregular combatant in religious 
 warfare, so well described in the memorable 
 words of Richard Shell, felicitously applied 
 to a high judicial functionary of our day, as 
 ' a Christian unattached.^ 
 
 This position, however incomprehensible in 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 theory, or untenable in logic, is characteristic 
 of a state of feeling which I have known, in 
 more than one instance, to co-exist with a 
 deep respect for the great truths of religion, 
 and much practical attention to the moral 
 duties it inculcates. Far be it from me to 
 appear as the apologist of undefined belief or 
 dogmatic indifference. All I mean to suggest 
 is, that not a few good and conscientious 
 men have passed through life in this illogical 
 condition of mind, quoad spirituals, and I 
 believe that my father was among the 
 number. 
 
 Had I been hardy and robust in constitu- 
 tion, I have no doubt that, according to the 
 traditionary proprieties of my birth and 
 position, I should have been placed under 
 strict clerical and scholastic discipline at some 
 aristocratic establishment for teaching ' the 
 young idea how to shoot,' in due preparation 
 for Eton, long before the age when the 
 boyish intellect is fitted to apprehend the 
 distinctions of religious controversy, even in 
 their simplest aspect. But, as it was, the 
 weakness of frame and general delicacy of 
 health that marked my early boyhood, had 
 the natural eifect of retaining me constantly
 
 I LOSE THE PRIMACY. 51 
 
 under the watchful care of my mother, who, 
 herself all but a confirmed invalid, found, in 
 the attractive dissipation of society, but little 
 inducement to delegate to others the charge 
 of her child's moral and social traininof. 
 
 Until the age of seven, or thereabouts, 
 I was hardly ever absent from her side ; and 
 although I have no recollection of having 
 been previously the subject of any contro- 
 versial instruction on her part, it was ne^xt to 
 impossible that her mode of inculcating upon 
 me the general precepts of religion shoold not 
 have been tinged with Catholic feeling, and 
 calculated to produce in my mind a strong 
 bias towards that form of Christianity which 
 she accepted in her conscience and adorned 
 by her example. 
 
 Anxious to afford her every reasonable 
 facility for the performance of her religious 
 duties, my father had, shortly after his mar- 
 riage, restored to its original use an apart- 
 ment in the right mng of the mansion-house 
 at Osmanby, which, formerly the chapel, had 
 during the time of his predecessors for the 
 last two generations, been used as a billiard- 
 room. Although at first, and for some years, 
 there was no chaplain resident in the house, 
 
 E 2 
 
 ^mERSfJY OF
 
 52 THE ORE Ail OF A LIFE. 
 
 mass was solemnized in the chapel on every 
 Sunday, during the family sojourn at Os- 
 manby ; an old emigre priest, engaged during 
 the week as French master at a large school 
 in Bath, from which city we were distant 
 about twelve miles, coming over regularly 
 from Saturday to Monday for that purpose ; 
 and the magnificent Monsieur Le Pastourel, 
 Sir Philip's French cook, officiating ' by par- 
 ticular desire' and rather unwillingly, as 
 clerk or acolyte for the benefit of a congrega- 
 tion usuall}^ consisting of my mother and her 
 own maid. 
 
 I have already hinted that my father was 
 rather addicted to the snug but disedifying 
 practice of saying his prayers at home on 
 Sundays. In this state of circumstances, it 
 was natural enough that my own attendance 
 at the parish church should not be very 
 regularly insisted on ; and perhaps it was 
 not more to be wondered at that I should 
 occasionally — whether motu propria^ or in 
 compliance with the maternal suggestion — 
 contribute my tiny presence to the rival cele- 
 bration, — thereby increasing the number of 
 spectators, if not of worshippers, to a grand 
 total of three.
 
 I LOSE THE PRIMACY. 53 
 
 Whatever may have been the combination 
 of remote and proximate causes in producing 
 this result, it is certain that before I had 
 completed my eighth year, I was conscious of 
 a very stout determination in my o^^Tl mind, 
 that I would adhere to my mother's religion ; 
 and as nothing in the demeanour of my 
 father towards me suggested any fear of his 
 displeasure on the occasion, I did not hesitate 
 openly to express my wishes on the subject. 
 When the matter was first brought to his 
 attention, he made, as I best recollect, some 
 little show of disapproval, — observing that, 
 in the existing state of the law, it might be 
 detrimental to my prospects in life, as a 
 younger son, to be brought up a Catholic ; 
 but he ended by telling my mother that she 
 might have her own way on the point of my 
 religious education, pro\dded she did not 
 insist on making ine either a Jew or a Cal- 
 vinist. And so the affair was promptly and 
 amicably settled. 
 
 A legitimate consequence of this arrange- 
 ment was the introduction at Osmanby of a 
 permanently resident Catholic chaplain, who, 
 in addition to his strictly ecclesiastical duties,
 
 54 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 was engaged to conduct or superintend my 
 classical and general education. 
 
 Here I must, perforce, disappoint the ex- 
 pectation of the orthodox reader, who, accord- 
 ing to the established precedents applicable to 
 the subject — precedents sanctioned by the 
 venerable authority of our most popular 
 novelists of the present and many an earlier 
 generation — is entitled to look in this place 
 for a thrilling description of the conventional 
 Popish Priest, the domestic Jesuit of British 
 romantic literature. He must, however, make 
 allowance for one who, in recording matters 
 of fact, cannot draw upon his imagination for 
 those salient points of sacerdotal delinquency 
 — those mysterious glimpses of moral obli- 
 quity and dark spiritual domination, which 
 give so much zest to the no-Popery fictions of 
 Mrs. Charles Gore, Mrs. TroUope, Charlotte 
 Bronte, Mr. James, Mrs. Beecher Stowe, and 
 a host of minor traders on the cockney 
 bigotry and fanatical gohemoucherie of the 
 day. 
 
 Were I writing a novel, and bent upon 
 achieving that species of popularity which 
 depends on a successful appeal to the puri- 
 tanical and low-church element among the
 
 I LOSE THE PRLMACY. 55 
 
 reading public — were I, in short, desirous of 
 waving the scarlet rag of Popery before the 
 infuriated eyes of the British Bull — for the 
 purpose of inciting him to a vigorous onslaught 
 on the book-shelves of Mudie, with a view of 
 carrying off the whole of my first edition, I 
 have no doubt I could cook up a sketch of a 
 Jesuit after the most approved receipt, and 
 season it highly enough for the most fastidious 
 anti-papal palate. Who, indeed, can be at a 
 loss to jot down a list of the ingredients which 
 go to make up this favourite literary entremct ? 
 — the pale, thoughtful, but saturnine aspect ; 
 the black piercing eyes, generally cast down 
 in feigned humility and seemingly devout 
 abstraction, but occasionally and furtively 
 darting out glances of fiendish malignity ; the 
 stealthy and cat-like step ; the soft, musical, 
 and insinuating voice ; the lurking behind 
 trees in the shrubbery ; the listening at half- 
 closed doors ; the peeping through keyholes, 
 and all the various little tricks of ecclesias- 
 tical legerdemain which, as is well known to 
 all low-church controversialists, the disciples 
 of Loyola are bound to practise at the bidding 
 of their spiritual chief. How easy to describe 
 Father Anselm or Father Ignatius as secretly
 
 56 THE CREAINI OF A LIFE. 
 
 and silently pulling tlie strings which regulate 
 every movement of the unconscious puppets 
 that constitute the family group ; corrupting 
 the morals and undermining the fidelity of 
 the entire household; seducing the lady's 
 maid in order to obtain constant access to the 
 private escritoire of her mistress — for which, 
 as well as for the family letter-bag, always 
 intrusted to a post-boy who is in his pay, 
 and secretly affiliated to the Society of Jesus, 
 he has, of course, contrived to obtain a 
 duplicate key — and finally, with the aid of 
 the Spanish or Portuguese minister, also a 
 secret employe of the Society, introducing into 
 the house a brother Jesuit, Father Xavier, 
 under the disguise of a French cook, for the 
 purpose of taking off Paterfamilias by a slow 
 poison, administered in his favourite sauce, 
 as soon as the artificer of the plot shall have 
 succeeded in persuading him to execute a 
 will disposing of his vast estates in favour of 
 the Church, in spite of the strict entail to 
 which they are subject under his marriage- 
 settlement, and without the slightest regard 
 to the statute of Edward YI. against super- 
 stitious uses, or the law of Mortmain, which, 
 after the example of Mr. Anthony Trollope,
 
 I LOSE THE PRBL\CY. 57 
 
 I should have no difficulty in repealing for 
 the occasion. 
 
 Then just think of the startling and ap- 
 palling catastrophe ! How I could suddenly 
 unmask this sacerdotal villain through the 
 unlooked-for agency of the penitent Abigail, 
 who, being under sentence of death for infan- 
 ticide, is suddenly converted by reading Dr. 
 Croly on the Apocalypse — and makes a clean 
 breast of it all to the jail chaplain — while the 
 providential arrival of Professor Faraday on 
 a visit to the mansion-house, during the pre- 
 valence of a smart family mulligrubs leads to 
 an analytical survey of the hatterie de cuisine ^ 
 eventuating in the arrest of the Jesuit clief^ 
 and the precipitate retreat of his friend the 
 chaplain, who, hearing the officers of justice 
 on the stairs, locks and barricades himself in 
 his private apartment at the top of the east 
 turret, and while the constabulary of the dis- 
 trict are thundering away at his oak, lets 
 himself down from the window by a rope- 
 ladder, which, as we all know, is one of the 
 stock 'properties' of his order. But mark 
 the end! — respice jinem — respice funem. This 
 hempen convenience, having been accidentally 
 discovered a few days before by the under-
 
 58 THE CREAM OF A XIFE. 
 
 housemaid — another victim of this clerical 
 Lothario — has been, in resentment of his 
 desertion, so successfully though invisibly 
 weakened at one point by her avenging scis- 
 sors, that it gives way about sixty feet from 
 the ground, and Father Anselm falls a corpse 
 on the flags of the poultry -yard, to the great 
 disturbance of the bantams, dorldngs, and 
 Cochin-Chinese fowl then and there assembled. 
 And lo ! on removing his hair-shirt — which 
 is found to be very comfortably lined with 
 the softest chamois-leather, the awe-struck 
 spectators discover suspended round his neck 
 a miniature of Lola Montes, together with a 
 papal bull under the seal of the Fisherman, 
 countersigned by the general of the Jesuits 
 and the prefect of Propaganda, containing a 
 prospective pardon for as many murders as, 
 in the discharge of his spiritual functions, the 
 wearer may be minded to commit, and a 
 general license for every imaginable sin except 
 heresy and suicide. 
 
 Let the reader only imagine this spirited 
 combination of probabilities presented to the 
 public Avith all the adventitious aid that could 
 be afforded by the racy humour and vulgarity 
 of Mrs. TroUope, the keen and caustic cynicism
 
 I LOSE THE PRIMACY. 59 
 
 of Mr. Thackeray, or the oily lubricity of 
 sensual detail which distinguishes the love- 
 scenes of Adam Bede ; and he will, I think, 
 admit that the tale would supply the ground- 
 work of a highly eulogistic article in the 
 ' Kecord,' and stand a very fair chance of 
 figuring on all the low-church drawing-rpom 
 tables in London, and throughout most of the 
 right-thinking book clubs in the country, as 
 the great fiction of the day ! 
 
 But, alas ! trammelled as I am by the harsh 
 fetters of truth, I am debarred from all the 
 advantages attendant on this picturesque and 
 truly Rembrandtish treatment of the subject. 
 The reader must not look for a fancy Jesuit ; 
 I can only present him with an unadorned 
 sketch of a real Norman priest. 
 
 Dear old Michel Laurrier ! Although many 
 a long year has gone by, since, for the last 
 time, I pressed with grateful afi*ection your 
 dying hand, still ready and able to return my 
 grasp with all the warmth of paternal regard 
 — since I last met the clear and truthful 
 glance of your dark intelligent eye, which, in 
 the midst of acute bodily suffering, bespoke 
 all the firmness of the philosopher and the 
 calm resignation of the Christian priest —
 
 60 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 since, but a few days later, I stood, with a 
 sad heart, by your humble grave in Old St. 
 Pancras* churchyard, as your loved remains 
 were lowered into their last resting-place, while 
 your old friend and brother- exile, the Abbe 
 C , with the tears streaming down his 
 
 mild and venerable face, performed the last 
 sad rites over your coffin — how fresh and dis- 
 tinct in my memory is the record of your 
 virtues and acquirements ; of your extensive 
 and varied knowledge ; of the deep conviction 
 and enlightened liberality of your religious 
 faith and feelings ; of your artless simplicity 
 of character, your social cheerfulness, your 
 innocence of heart, and unaffected purity of 
 mind and spirit ! How I loved, even when I 
 laughed at, your quick susceptibility on all 
 points affecting the honour of France — a sus- 
 ceptibility which in no way derogated from 
 your warm attachment to the country of your 
 adoption — that ardour for legitimacy and that 
 avowed dislike for liberty in the abstract, 
 which so oddly contrasted with your practical 
 appreciation of British freedom ! Dear old 
 friend ! In spite of the bitter recollections 
 connected with your daily written report of 
 my scholastic progress, which, thanks to my
 
 I LOSE THE PRIMACY. Gl 
 
 habitual indolence, so often drew do^vn on me 
 a paternal reproof of greater or less severity ; 
 in spite of your reprehensible, though strictly 
 national indifference to the rules of prosody, 
 and your detestable pronunciation of Latin, 
 which it has been the labour of my life to 
 unlearn — two circumstances which have served 
 to cast an unfounded doubt on the sterlinoj 
 character of my classical attainments, — never 
 can I cease to dwell with grateful enthusiasm 
 on your remembrance ; to recall the many 
 intellectual advantages I owe to your careful 
 and affectionate tuition, your entertaining 
 and instructive society, and the example of 
 your active and well-stored mind !
 
 62 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ABBE AND THE AUNT — CLAPHAM TO THE 
 RESCUE ! 
 
 The Abbe Laurrier was one of that numerous 
 body of French provincial clergy who sought 
 and found refuge on the friendly shores of 
 England, from the perils that assailed them 
 in their own country, during the scandalous 
 excesses of the first Revolution. 
 
 Too numerous to find regular employment, 
 or even the means of subsistence on the nar- 
 rowest scale of human necessities, in the per- 
 formance of their priestly functions, the 
 majority of these clerical refugees sought and 
 obtained the means of providing for the day 
 that was passing over them, by giving lessons 
 in French, and sometimes in Latin, in schools 
 and private families. 
 
 The Abbe Laurrier was for many years one 
 of the most assiduous labourers in this hum- 
 ble but useful vocation ; and owing to his rare
 
 THE ABBE AND THE AUNT. G3 
 
 qualifications as a linguist and scientific gram- 
 marian, his services as a professor of languages 
 were long in great request among a large and 
 influential connection. His general attain- 
 ments, extensive information, and sterling 
 worth rendered his society acceptable in 
 almost every family where he was profession- 
 ally engaged ; and his pupils seldom failed to 
 become his friends. 
 
 The success he met with was so great that, 
 at the restoration of peace after the battle of 
 Waterloo, he found himself in possession of a 
 sum of money sufficient, according to the 
 modest scale of his wants, to secure himself a 
 comfortable independence for life. He there- 
 fore resolved to return to France, and pass the 
 remainder of his days in his native country. 
 
 On revisiting the scenes of his youth and 
 early clerical labours in Normandy, his first 
 care was to ascertain the fate of a brother, 
 his only near relative, who, at the period of 
 his expatriation, was beginning life in the 
 position of a small farmer, and of whose sub- 
 sequent career he was wholly ignorant. 
 
 The Abbe succeeded in tracing him out, 
 and found him still engaged in agriculture, 
 but sadly straitened in means, with a large
 
 64 THE CKEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 family of children dependent on his exertions. 
 Grieved at the prospect of the ruin which 
 seemed impending over his nearest connections, 
 the Abbe Laurrier at once made up his mind 
 to sacrifice his own hopes of ease and retire- 
 ment to the object of rescuing his brother 
 from the difficulties besetting him. He ac- 
 cordingly made over to this brother the far 
 greater portion of his own small means — the 
 produce of so many years of unintermitting 
 exertion — returning to England to resume his 
 labours as a professor of languages, and, in 
 some sort, to begin life anew. 
 
 It was at this period that, through his old 
 friend the Marquis d'Osmond, French Ambas- 
 sador at the Court of St. James's, at whose 
 house he was a frequent and welcome visitor, 
 the Abbe was made known to my father and 
 mother ; and when the ecclesiastical and edu- 
 cational interests at Osmanby Manor were in 
 process of arrangement in conformity with 
 my religious predilections, in the manner I 
 have already stated, he at once occurred to 
 them as a person well qualified for the com- 
 bined temporal and spiritual functions of resi- 
 dent tutor and chaplain. They had little 
 difficulty in persuading him to undertake this
 
 THE ABBE AXD THE AUNT. 65 
 
 twofold duty, under circumstances favourable 
 alike to his personal comfort and the indul- 
 gence of his literary tastes. 
 
 For seven years he was an inmate of the 
 family, in town and country, to the mutual 
 satisfaction of himself and his patrons ; and in 
 spite of his character of pedagogue — ill-calcu- 
 lated as it is to conciliate the affection of 
 childhood — he contrived, from the first, to 
 secure my regard, without any sacrifice of 
 that strictness of discipline which it behoved 
 him to maintain. 
 
 The fact is — and this is another humi- 
 liating confession which I have to make to 
 the strong-minded ladies who may happen to 
 read this biography — the fact is, that I have 
 the ' organ of veneration ' rather largely deve- 
 loped in my mental and moral system. I am 
 not sufficiently skilled in the now somewhat 
 obsolete science of phrenology, to tell how far 
 this ignoble state of mind is indicated by the 
 permanent bumps visible or palpable on my 
 cranium ; but I am strongly inclined to think 
 that its development was greatly assisted by 
 external and forcible action judiciously ap- 
 plied in an opposite quarter, at a period of life 
 when rules of moral duty are less effectually 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 66 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 impressed on the memory of the tyro in ethics 
 by reasoning addressed to the head, than by 
 a practical appeal to the principles of sensa- 
 tion elsewhere. 
 
 Upon the whole, however, I cannot say that 
 I regret this peculiarity of my moral being. 
 It has its disadvantages, no doubt, on some 
 extraordinary occasions, when a neck-or- 
 nothing game is to be played in politics or 
 war. But, as regards the practical applica- 
 tion of moral science, it is safest to shape our 
 course in life upon the normal, rather than 
 the exceptional, principle. 
 
 I am aware that while under the influence 
 of this feeling, I could never be a tyrannicide, 
 a heresiarch, nor even the irresponsible dic- 
 tator of a recently emancipated nation. But 
 every man is not born to be a Brutus, a 
 Mahomet, a Cromwell, a Washington, or even 
 a Garibaldi. I have the comfortable assu- 
 rance that the feeling in question has kept 
 me out of some scrapes in this world ; and, to 
 say the least of it, I have no great apprehen- 
 sion of evil results from it in the next. 
 
 To return to the Abbe Laurrier (whose 
 name, by the way, I am not mis-spelling : he 
 would often lament the perversity of his
 
 THE ABBE AND THE AUNT. 67 
 
 ancestors in spoiling so auspicious a patrony- 
 mic by the insertion of the second r in the 
 middle of it). Acceptable as were his ser- 
 vices to the entire household at Osmanby and 
 in Portman Square, his engagement as my 
 tutor gave the greatest umbrage to the rest 
 of my father's family. But when it was 
 clearly ascertained that my religious educa- 
 tion was to be in conformity with my mother's 
 faith, the indignation of my pious aunt. Lady 
 Tarleton, knew no bounds ; and the tone and 
 style of her remonstrances, addressed to my 
 father in sundry epistles breathing the purest 
 spirit of ultra-evangelical fanaticism, had the 
 effect of widening into a complete breach the 
 unavowed disunion which had for some years 
 existed between them. 
 
 My sister Maud had remained under Lady 
 Tarleton's care, in pursuance of the arrange- 
 ment already mentioned, until her eighteenth 
 year ; visiting her father at intervals for a few 
 weeks together, and keeping up a decent show 
 of respect and attention in her intercourse 
 with Sir Philip and Lady Osmanby. 
 
 The period having arrived for her introduc- 
 tion into the world, she was offered the option 
 of returning as an inmate to her family home.
 
 68 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 and making her debut at Court and in society, 
 under the auspices of her father's wife. Sir 
 Philip, however, was with some difficulty in- 
 duced to acquiesce in her strongly expressed 
 wish to reside permanently with Lady Tar- 
 leton. But he declared at the same time that 
 her presentation at the Drawing-Eoom must 
 take place through the medium of Lady 
 Osmanby, or not at all ; enforcing this inti- 
 mation of his pleasure by a very significant 
 hint as to the diminution of her allowance, in 
 the event of her presuming to reject the ser- 
 vices of her step-mother on the occasion. 
 
 Maud was not disposed to push matters to 
 this extremity, and accordingly submitted 
 with a good grace to the arrangements con- 
 nected with this important ceremonial, includ- 
 ing a splendid ball given by Lady Osmanby 
 in honour of the ' coming out ' of her fair 
 'presentee. 
 
 Thus a kind of hollow truce had been 
 patched up between Portman Square and 
 Curzon Street ; and if there was but little 
 real cordiality, there was, at any rate, a fair 
 amount of outward civility in the social inter- 
 course of the two houses, until Avhat Lady 
 Tarleton was pleased to characterize as my
 
 THE ABBE AND THE AUXT. 69 
 
 father's deplorable and culpable weakness in 
 handing me over to ' the enemy,' again stirred 
 up all the Protestant bile in her system, and 
 led to an open declaration of war on her part. 
 
 It is said that she actually went the length 
 of taking the opinion of counsel as to the 
 possibility of obtaining the interference of the 
 Lord Chancellor, in order to remove me from 
 the custody and guardianship of my father, 
 and place me in more orthodox keeping. But 
 although the Court of Chancery was then pre- 
 sided over by Lord Eldon — a judge whose 
 well-known hostility to the Catholics probably 
 supplied in her mind some inducement to the 
 attempt — she would seem to have met with 
 no encouragement from her legal advisers, to 
 venture on so hazardous an experiment. It 
 is, perhaps, owing to her salutary dread of 
 costs, on the occasion, that my ' case ' does not 
 figure in ' the books ' as an impressive warn- 
 ing to slovenly Protestants, and an edifying 
 precedent justifying the procedure of the 
 Koman Court in the analogous matter of 
 young Mr. Mortara. 
 
 It is also reported that, baffled on this 
 point, she exerted all her political influence 
 to oret the Abbe Laurrier sent out of the
 
 70 THE CEEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 country under the provisions of the Alien 
 Act, then in force. But in this she met with 
 no better success ; and the story goes that 
 having, with a vast deal of trouble and no 
 small amount of bribery among official door- 
 keepers and messengers, succeeded in effecting 
 an entry into Lord Sidmouth^s private room 
 at the Home Office, she accompanied her 
 appeal to his lordship's constitutional feel- 
 ings, with so much excitement of manner, that 
 the interview, cut very short by that discreet 
 Minister, ended by a strong recommendation 
 on his part that she should drive home as fast 
 as possible, and send without delay for Doctor 
 Willis.
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 LOVE AND ORTHODOXY ' A l'iRLANDAISE.' 
 
 Whatever mav have been the extent to which 
 my aunt carried the manifestations of her 
 religious zeal, on the occasion of my early 
 secession from the ranks of the Established 
 Church, she did not involve my sister in the 
 social scandal and ridicule of her proceedings, 
 nor, consequently, in the open rupture which 
 ensued between Osmanby Manor and her- 
 self. 
 
 Maud was no longer resident under her roof. 
 She had been married two years before to 
 Lord Belturbet, an Irish peer of straitened 
 means, who, with the impulsive credulity of 
 his country, had mistaken her for an heiress, 
 at the same time that Lady Tarleton, upon 
 equally imperfect data^ had set him down as a 
 saint, during a winter season at Bath. 
 
 His proposals were made and accepted, 
 somewhat precipitately, before the respective
 
 72 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 financial and spiritual claims of the contracting 
 parties had been subjected on either side to the 
 scrutiny which prudence and piety combined 
 to dictate. Maud was a very pretty girl: 
 and, to do the Irishman justice, he was honestly 
 in love within eight-and-forty hours of their 
 first meeting, and consequently in a state of 
 mind to accept, with much eagerness, any 
 species of evidence, however legally or morally 
 insufficient, in corroboration of the whisper 
 with which the courteous master of the cere- 
 monies — himself an Irishman — had accom- 
 panied his assembly-room introduction to 
 Miss Osmanby, to the effect that she was 
 ' well worth looking after.' 
 
 His lordship was a stranger at Bath, and 
 indeed in England, having but recently re- 
 turned from the West Indies, where he had 
 been serving with his regiment, when the 
 news of his elder brother's death and his own 
 consequent accession to the title and estates 
 had occasioned his retirement from the army. 
 Bath was, however, in those days, according to 
 the complimentary words of an English fine 
 lady, addressed, rather mal-a'propos^ to one of 
 the most distinguished Irishmen of her time 
 — ' very much infested with Irish,' and my
 
 LOVE AXD ORTHODOXY A l'iRLANDAISE. 73 
 
 Lord Belturbet soon foresfathered ■v\'itli a 
 brother Hibernian of his acquaintance, in the 
 
 person of General Y , once so well known 
 
 as ' Larry V ,' of the Life Guards — to 
 
 whom he addressed himself for the purpose of 
 verifying the encouraging but somewhat vague 
 information of the M. C. 
 
 ' Do you happen to know a Miss Osmanby, 
 in these parts, General?' enquired Beltur- 
 bet. 
 
 ' Is it the fair Maud? ' quoth Larry. ' What 
 'd ail me, not to be knowing the prettiest girl 
 in London, let alone Bath ! ' 
 
 ' She's an angel ! ' exclaimed the enthusiastic 
 peer, ' and a sweet creature to boot. But how 
 about the mopusses^ General? Is she weighty^ 
 as Heaviside tells me ? ' 
 
 ' Devil a doubt of it,' said Y , ' sure 
 
 I know all about her.' 
 
 ' ^lav be vou 'd oblio^e me with the fio'ure?' 
 
 ' Why then, I couldn't hit it off at once to 
 a fraction. But I '11 engage there 's more than 
 enough for a reasonable man. She 's the only 
 daughter of a big baronet who, they say, owned 
 
 half shire. 'Deed I knew both her 
 
 parents, some years back ; and mighty pleasant 
 people they were. Then there 's the aunt, Lady
 
 74 THE CREAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 Tarleton, th' ould woman that trots her out. 
 She 's as rich as Croesus, and has neither chick 
 nor child. Maud '11 come in for it all, I hear. 
 If you put your come-hither upon the young 
 lady, and get on the blind side of the aunt, 
 you 're a made man, as sure as your name 's 
 MacMahon, or Belturbet, as the case may be, 
 and more power to your elbow ! ' 
 
 ' Well, I believe I 'd stand a good chance 
 with the fair Maud, if her eyes are not thun- 
 dering rogues and deceivers. But as for the 
 old lady, may be you 11 tell me the right line 
 of march, as you seem to have reconnoitred 
 the country.' 
 
 ' I can give you a hint, any way. Are you 
 sarious at all ? ' 
 
 ' Serious is it ? Never more in earnest in 
 my life.' 
 
 ' Devil doubt ye ! But 't was n't that kind of 
 sariousness I meant. Are ye anything of a 
 saint ? ' 
 
 ' Faith then, I believe I 've qualified to some 
 extent by being a good deal of a sinner, God 
 help me ! ' 
 
 'I see. But you have n't yet reached the 
 penitential stage. However, there 's no help 
 for you, unless you 'd establish a character for
 
 LOVE AND ORTHODOXY A l'iRLAXDAISE. 75 
 
 piety. Th' ould viscountess is the biggest 
 swaddler out.' 
 
 ' Well, but what am I to do to prove my 
 sanctity ? ' 
 
 ' Let us see. To-morrow 's Sunday. I 'd 
 be seen at the abbey, absorbed in my devotions, 
 at both morning and afternoon service. I 
 happen to know 't is there they go/ 
 
 ' I can do that, anyhow, though 'tis some 
 time since I was at church. May be you 'd 
 give me a hint how to behave. I 'd be loth to 
 seem like a fish out of water.' 
 
 ' Is it joking you are? Was there no such 
 thing as church parade in the th? ' 
 
 ' Is it in Jamaica? The weather was too hot 
 entirely. Besides, our fellows were all Ro- 
 mans, to a man.' 
 
 'By my sowl! Mac, I believe ye were at 
 Mass rather later than at church.' 
 
 ' May be I was, General ; and small blame to 
 me ! But as I 'd like to do the thing genteelly, 
 just tell me the right demeanour in the 
 abbey.' 
 
 ' The right demaynour, is it ? WTiy, man 
 alive, you can't go Avrong, except, may be, at 
 the starting-post, and that's asily avoided. 
 See here! When the box-keeper — tut, pew-
 
 76 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 opener, I mane — shows you to a sate — just 
 put your face in your hat and count twenty. 
 That 's our substitute for holy water, you 
 know — and then you 're all right. But stay 
 — have you a big prayer-book in your kit?^ 
 
 'Well, I believe I had something of the 
 kind among my traps when I first joined, just 
 before Corunna. But that 's a long while ago ; 
 and I have n't a notion what became of it. 
 But now 1 think of it, I believe I 've a tidy 
 copy of the New (Testament somewhere, that 
 I 've taken more care of, because it was my 
 mother's gift. It's a decent size too.' 
 
 'Would it look any way respectable and 
 responsible under your arm ? ' 
 
 ' Well ! it 's little the worse for wear, any- 
 how. Small blame to it ! for it 's not often it 
 gets an airing.' 
 
 ' Can you lay you hand on it now? ' 
 ' If you 'd wait a few minutes, I 'd see.' 
 This conversation, reported to me many 
 years after, -with infinite gusto^ by Belturbet 
 himself — which accounts for my knowledge 
 of its rather disedifying details — took place 
 at his rooms in the hotel, whither he and the 
 General had adjourned for the enjoyment of 
 a trifle of toddy and talk, after the theatre.
 
 LOVE AND ORTHODOXY A L'IRLANDAISE. 77 
 
 I am not prepared to say wliat lengtli of 
 search this 'asy-going Christian/ as he not 
 incorrectly described himself, was condemned 
 to undero;o, before the Testament was dis- 
 covered. He found it at last, however; — a 
 large octavo edition, bound in green morocco 
 and gold, in excellent preservation, with this 
 inscription in a neat female hand, on the 
 fly-leaf :— 
 
 ' To my darling Terence ; with the blessing 
 of his affectionate mother, Teresa Veronica 
 Belturbet/ 
 
 ' Wliy, this is famous ! ' exclaimed Larry, 
 as he took the book to examine it. ' Sure it 
 would do credit to a dane or a bishop. And 
 your mother's writing, too. Them 's quare 
 names by the by. Holy Moses ! what 's this 
 at all ? ' continued he, as he turned to the title- 
 page. ' By the powers, 'tis the popish varsion, 
 as large as life, with all them Rhemish notes, 
 too! By my sowl! but this bates Bana- 
 gher ! ' 
 
 ' I don't know what you mean by rummish 
 notes. General \ I'll be bound there 's a power 
 of deep theology in them. But what would 
 it be but the popish version, as you call it? 
 Sure there 's not a better Catholic in Ireland
 
 78 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 than my mother ; nor a better woman on 
 earth, glory be to God ! ' 
 
 It was the Douai Testament, sure enough. 
 
 ' Well ! * said the General, ' I ^m fairly at a 
 non-plus. Sure I never dreamt you were a 
 Papist?' 
 
 'And who said I was, General? Anyway, 
 I'm as good a Protestant as my father before 
 me, God rest his soul! But in our family, 
 you know, the women all stick to the old 
 faith ; and, may be, if we 'd happen, by and 
 by, to find ourselves a trifle out in our reckon- 
 ing, 'tis they would pray us through our 
 troubles, elegantly 1 ' 
 
 ' Faith, Mac ! ' said the General, ' you 're 
 not the only Protestant family in Ireland, by 
 a long chalk, that hangs rather loose on the 
 Establishment, though they bolt the oath 
 without wincing when it 's in the way of pre- 
 farment. But no matter ! I think, with the 
 laste taste in life of caution, the " Doway " 
 will serve your turn beautifully to-morrow. 
 You won't be in the same pew with the ladies ; 
 and you needn 't let them, nor anyone else, 
 examine the book too closely. So do you 
 take care to be conspicuously visible at the 
 abbey door, with the Testament under your
 
 LOVE AXD OETHODOXY A l'IKLANDAISE. 79 
 
 arm, when they walk or drive up ; and when 
 you go in, keep well in sight of them if you 
 can. I 've told you how to throw off. But 
 it would be mighty edifying besides, if you 'd 
 rattle out the responses in tip-top style. But 
 then, you have 'nt the right book. Well, you 
 must do what you can. You can say the 
 " Our Father," I conclude.' 
 
 ' To be sure I can ; and the " Hail Mary " — 
 elegant.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Thunder alive ! man ! That 'd spoil 
 aU.' 
 
 ' Well, well. Sure I forgot just then that 
 we Protestants don't believe in the Blessed 
 Yirgin. But I '11 be all right, never fear ! ' 
 
 Upon these hints Lord Belturbet acted with 
 promptitude, boldness — not to say impudence 
 — and rapid success. 
 
 But before I record any further details of 
 his courtship, I must, in justice to his cha- 
 racter, endeavour to deprecate the severe 
 judgment of the reader, who, on the strength 
 of this little exhibition of lax theology on the 
 part of my worthy brother-in-law, may be 
 disposed to set him down as little better than 
 the heathen and the publican. 
 
 The fact is, his state of mind and feeling.
 
 80 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 singular as it appears in reference to the all- 
 important interests of religion, was the natural 
 and very common result of family circum- 
 stances of an ordinary character among the 
 higher classes of Ireland, in his and an earlier 
 generation — circumstances painful and dis- 
 creditable in themselves, but which the cruel 
 state of the law in Ireland, as affecting the 
 Catholics during the greater part of the last 
 century, was well calculated to produce and 
 foster. 
 
 Lord Belturbet, the father of our 'asy- 
 going ' friend, was one of a large class, at that 
 time well known as kiln-dried Protestants — 
 a designation claiming, I presume, some meta- 
 phorical significance, the nature of which, 
 however, I am wholly at a loss to explain. 
 But although its figurative propriety may be 
 open to cavil, there is no doubt as to its prac- 
 tical meaning, which implied a reluctant and 
 uneasy, if not wholly hypocritical conformity 
 to the Established Church, on the part of the 
 ambitious head of some old Catholic family, 
 influenced by wordly motives of hope or fear, 
 while viewing with complacency, if not with 
 avowed approbation, the close adherence to 
 the faith of their ancestors exhibited by his
 
 LOVE AND ORTHODOXY A l'iELANDAISE. 81 
 
 mother and sisters, or wife and daughters (as 
 the case might be), to whom he ungrudgingly 
 allowed the enjoyment of a scrupulous con- 
 science, as a less expensive luxury in their 
 case than in his own. 
 
 Of course, when one of these questionable 
 converts had secured the substantial benefits 
 of his conformity, in the shape of place, 
 pension, or sinecure — parliamentary station, 
 if a Commoner — or restoration to his here- 
 ditary seat in the House of Lords, if a peer; — 
 the credit of his new-born Protestantism, and the 
 permanent brightness of the improved family 
 prospects depended, to some extent, onhisgiving 
 such proof of the sincerity of his convictions 
 as could be supplied by the outwardly ortho- 
 dox trainino; of those who were to succeed to 
 the advantages of his regenerated status. In 
 such arrangements, therefore, it was the usual 
 practice to bring up the sons of the family as 
 nominal Protestants, at least, occasionally ex- 
 hibiting them at church, and perhaps gi\^ng 
 them the benefit of such intermitting instruc- 
 tion in the Catechism, as the Protestant rector 
 of the parish, in his character of a shepherd 
 without a flock, might from tune to time be 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE CKEAM 0¥. A LITE. 
 
 induced to impart to the all but empty benches 
 of his church. 
 
 But if the letter of their religious training, 
 under such circumstances, was decorously Pro- 
 testant, its spirit was subjected to the far 
 more powerful influences of domestic asso- 
 ciation, often, in these cases, actively and 
 exclusively popish. 
 
 With a mother warmly attached to the 
 Catholic faith; with his sisters under careful 
 instruction in the same communion ; with 
 every servant in the establishment, from the 
 nursery to the stables and dog-kennel, a zea- 
 lous ' Eoman ; ' and the parish priest, intrusted 
 perhaps with the direction of his early classi- 
 cal studies, running tame about the house at 
 all hours of the day, when he had leisure or 
 inclination to do so ; with a father whose 
 orthodoxy, such as it was, seemed far better 
 fitted for holiday shew than for every day 
 use — the young heir of the recently-con- 
 verted line generally shufiled through his 
 boyhood in a curious state of spiritual oscilla- 
 tion, but little favourable to the steadiness or 
 distinctness of his religious views in after life ; 
 and while gradually accepting his Protestant 
 character as an inevitable incident — perhaps
 
 LOVE AND ORTHODOXY 1 l'iRLANDAISE. 83 
 
 a necessary evil — of his social and civil posi- 
 tion, he could not, when entering the world, 
 readily divest himself of those early feelings 
 of veneration for the faith of his ancestors, 
 which had so long held their place in his 
 heart, or shake himself free from a lingering 
 partiality for certain forms of Catholic piety, 
 perhaps fondly associated in his mind with the 
 idea or the memor)^ of all that was dearest to 
 him on earth. 
 
 The Barony of Belturbet, a peerage created 
 by James 11. in the year 1689, at a time when 
 he was not only de jure^ but de facto^ king of 
 Ireland, in favour of Sir Terence ]\lacMahon, 
 Bart., of Shanbanagher Castle in the county 
 of Monaghan, remained at the final expulsion 
 of that monarch from his Irish kino^dom un- 
 affected by outlawry or attainder; the new 
 peer not having, by any overt act of resistance 
 to the authority of King "William, exposed 
 himself to the penalties of high treason. He 
 was, in fact, a man very far advanced in years, 
 and in a state of great bodily infirmity, at the 
 time when this delusive honour was conferred 
 upon him, rather in recognition of his services 
 in early life, as a staunch adherent of the 
 falling monarchy under Charles L, than as a
 
 84 THE CREAM OF A LITE. 
 
 recompense for any active exertions in James's 
 cause. 
 
 He survived the Revolution but a sliort 
 time ; and, on his death, his eldest son assumed 
 the title, which, however, although borne and 
 used by him and his successors in the two 
 next generations, and universally conceded to 
 those gentlemen, in the interests of peace, by 
 the courtesy of their friends and neighbours, 
 was never acknowledged by the Government 
 or the authorities of the House of Lords. As 
 Catholics, they would of course, irrespectively 
 of any question as to the origin of the peer- 
 age, have been excluded from their seat in 
 Parliament by the form of oath required from 
 a peer. But this exclusion, common to all 
 inheritors of peerages who professed the old 
 religion, involved no denial of any right in- 
 herent in the dignity of a peer, and therefore 
 left the Catholic possessors of that dignity in 
 the undisputed enjoyment of all the heraldic 
 privileges — the full style, title, and prece- 
 dence — belonging to the rank which it 
 represented. 
 
 In the case of the Lords Belturbet, however, 
 the Crown and the Executive resolutely per- 
 severed in treating them in all respects as
 
 LOVE AND ORTHODOXY A l'iRL^VNDAISE. 85 
 
 Commoners; and when the fourth lord had 
 the misfortune to kill his particular friend and 
 nearest country neighbour in a duel, and, owing 
 to what was considered in those days, the very 
 unhandsome vindictiveness of the widow, the 
 criminal law was called into play against the 
 survivino; combatant — the law officers of the 
 Crown quietly disregarded his plea of peerage ; 
 and in spite of the record of the Court of 
 King's Bench, where it was set down for argu- 
 ment in the ensuing term, persisted in having 
 him tried, as he had been indicted, under the 
 name of Sir Hugh MacMahon, Bart. 
 
 The duel had been a perfectly fair one ; a fact 
 which the judge took care to notice very em- 
 phatically, in his charge to the jury, thereby 
 making some atonement for having pooh- 
 poohed the protest of the prisoner's counsel 
 against the gross irregularity of the procedure. 
 A verdict of acquittal was a matter of course ; 
 and, under the circumstances, it was almost 
 equally a matter of course that the acquitted 
 and indio^nant MacMahon should call out 
 the Attorney-General, whom he accordingly 
 ' winged ' within eight-and-forty hours of his 
 release. 
 
 The indio;nitv which he had suffered at the
 
 86 THE CEEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 hands of the Government preyed upon his 
 mind, and contributed, with his rather inordi- 
 nate partiality for claret, to shorten his life. 
 His son, on succeeding to a claim which, how- 
 ever constitutionally unassailable, had been 
 so insultingly disregarded by the ' powers that 
 be,' could ill brook the annoyance of this false 
 position, greatly aggravating, as it did, the 
 pressure of the galling disabilities common to 
 all his Catholic fellow-countrymen. Deter- 
 mined to put the question of his peerage to 
 the test of a formal and legal decision, he 
 petitioned the Crown, and took the necessary 
 steps for bringing the matter before the House 
 of Lords in due course of reference to their 
 lordships' ' Committee for Privileges.' 
 
 Kightly or wrongly distrusting, however, 
 the temper of a tribunal which, to say the 
 least of it, was not very likely to show much 
 indulgence to the claim of a 'papist,' he 
 resolved to conciliate their favourable atten- 
 tion by the edifying step of abjuring the 
 Catholic religion, and conforming to the Es- 
 tablished Church ; a proceeding to which he 
 was careful to impart the greatest possible 
 amount of publicity; having made up his 
 mind that what his conversion might be sup-
 
 LOVE AND ORTHODOXY A L'IELAXDAISE. 87 
 
 posed to want in sincerity, should be fully 
 made up in display. 
 
 This masterly movement was eminently 
 successful. The result was, indeed, in one 
 sense, more favourable than he could have 
 anticipated ; and this ^vithout affording any 
 ground for calling in question the virtue or 
 im23artiality of their lordships' committee. 
 
 Before the matter had been formally opened, 
 he received a polite note from the chief secre- 
 tary of the Lord Lieutenant, summoning him 
 to an interview ; and on waiting upon that 
 functionary, he was informed that various 
 reasons combined to render it undesirable that 
 the question of the validity of the original 
 creation of the peerage by James the Second 
 should be subject to a pubHc and protracted 
 argument ; but that if it would suit his views 
 to waive the discussion of a point, the decision 
 of which in his favour was, at the best, far 
 from certain, the Government were willing to 
 mark their sense of his high social, ancestral, 
 and personal claims, by advising His Majesty 
 to grant him a new patent, conferring the 
 barony of Belturbet on him and the heirs 
 male of his body ; a step which, although 
 restricting his precedence to the date of the
 
 88 THE CREAM OE A LIEE. 
 
 new creation, -would place Ms rank and pri- 
 vileges beyond the reach of cavil. 
 
 As may well be imagined, he gladly closed 
 with this offer ; and thus the Belturbet peer- 
 age took a fresh and effective start from the 
 year 1785, while the Catholics of the County 
 Monaghan had to lament the apostasy of the 
 most ancient chieftain, the best shot, and the 
 boldest rider among them. 
 
 When, during the continental war, in the 
 early part of the century, the country was 
 visited by the income-tax, in even a more 
 virulent form of the disease than that under 
 which it now rages among us, the notorious 
 Home Tooke, being duly served with the offi- 
 cial notice and enquiry for the purpose of 
 assessment, made (it is said) a return of ' no 
 income whatever.' The story goes on to 
 relate how, being summoned before the com- 
 missioners with a view to test the accuracy 
 of a statement not in itself very easy of 
 belief, he persisted in the assertion, declaring 
 that he had nothing to depend on but the 
 voluntary contributions of his friends, which 
 enabled him to keep up his comfortable estab- 
 lishment at Wimbledon ; and how, being asked 
 bv the still sceptical functionaries if he were
 
 LOVE AND OETHODOXY A l'iRLAXDAISE. 89 
 
 prepared to verify the statement by his oath, 
 he coolly replied : ' Certainly. I would rather, 
 any day, trust God Almighty with my con- 
 science^ than you^ gentlemen^ with my purse.'' 
 
 Whether the new or newly re-baked Lord 
 Belturbet, in his suspicious conformity, was 
 or not exhibiting the same rash confidence in 
 the indulgence of Heaven, with which the 
 reverend and irreverent Jacobin, in his con- 
 tempt for the fiscal authorities of his day, 
 was willing to be charged in their opinion, 
 I do not pretend to say. But he did not, it 
 appears, signalise his zeal for the parliamen- 
 tary faith by enforcing any very severe 
 amount of orthodoxy among the members of 
 his family. Having secured his seat in the 
 House of Lords by ' bolting ' the oaths of ab- 
 juration and supremacy, he was ever after- 
 wards sparing enough of the outward mani- 
 festations of Protestantism ; and when, twenty 
 years later, he died in London, after a linger- 
 iug illness, there were rumours of Father 
 O'Leary having been seen a good deal about 
 the premises during the last few days of his 
 life. 
 
 This state of things in the paternal menage 
 must, I think, go far to account for the ' asy-
 
 90 THE CREAJNI OF A LIFE. 
 
 going ' character of the son's orthodoxy, at 
 the time of his rapid and prosperous court- 
 ship. But aided by Larry Y *s judicious 
 
 advice, and backed up by that gentleman's 
 private assurance to Lady Tarleton that the 
 Shanbanagher estate was ' a mighty fine pro- 
 perty,' while, on the principle that ' toute 
 veritc n'est par bonne a dire^^ he did not think 
 it necessary to inform her that the ' mighty 
 fine property ' in question was mortgaged for 
 more than two-thirds of its value, — Lord 
 Belturbet found himself an accepted lover 
 and nephew-in-law before a second Sunday 
 had come round to put the efficacy of the 
 ' Douay Version ' to a renewed test. 
 
 All being couleur de rose^ as far as the feel- 
 ings of the ladies were concerned, he was 
 rather taken aback by being referred, en 
 dernier r assort^ to the young lady's father^ as 
 an authority whose ratification was essential 
 to the validity of the treaty, and with whom 
 the arrangement of the financial clauses chiefly 
 rested. 
 
 Poor Belturbet had, to use his own phrase, 
 'knocked his head against the notion,' that 
 Maud was an only child and an orphan^ — the 
 General having spoken of his acquaintance
 
 LOVE AND ORTHODOXY A l'iRLAXDAISE. 91 
 
 with her parents as a thing of the past, and 
 no mention having been made of a brother. 
 But being, as I have said, honestly in love, 
 he bore the disenchanting discovery with 
 great fortitude, and put the best face he could 
 on the matter, when he was informed that a 
 sum of 10,000/., payable on Sir Philip's death, 
 was all that he could rely upon, as his future 
 wife's fortune, and that, for any present 
 income, she was entirely dependent on her 
 father's liberality. 
 
 It was Lady Tarleton's turn to look aghast, 
 when, in answer to some polite expression of 
 a hope that the intended alliance would be 
 not less satisfactory to Lord Belturbet's family 
 than to that of the future bride, he quietly 
 answered : 
 
 ' Oh ! no fear about that. I dare say they'd 
 be as well pleased if there was more ready- 
 money forthcoming. But 'tis n't much I have 
 in the way of a family to trouble themselves 
 about the matter; and I '11 engage they '11 raise 
 no objections. I had but the one brother ; 
 and he's gone to glory, poor lad ! My only 
 sister is in the '• Visitation " at Cork; and my 
 mother's a dear good soul, who takes this
 
 92 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 world very easy. Faitli ! 'tis telling lier beads 
 she is, mostly.' 
 
 ' Telling her what ? ' almost screamed Lady 
 Tarleton. 
 
 ' Well, sure I mean saying the Eosary, or 
 the Penitential Psalms, or what not — keeping 
 her weather-eye up for the next world, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' The Kosary ! ' faintly re-echoed my aunt — 
 too much appalled to give energetic utterance 
 to her feelings — ' your mother ! — a — a papist ! 
 — and your sister ? ' 
 
 ' As I mentioned — she's in the Visitation.' 
 
 ' No doubt,' said Lady Tarleton, sternly, 
 but still rather bewildered, 'your mother's 
 apostasy must have been a severe visitation 
 to yourself as well as to your sister.' 
 
 ' A severe what ? ' said Belturbet. ' I don't 
 know what you mean by talking of apostasy. 
 'T was n't she was the apostate any way, — nor 
 my sister either : or she 'd hardly be where 
 she is.' 
 
 ' And where is that ? ' inquired the irate 
 viscountess, still more mystified. 
 
 '• In the Ursuline Convent at Cork — the 
 Visitation, as I told you.' 
 
 ' A NUN ! ' groaned my aunt.
 
 LOVE AND OETHODOXY A l'iELANDAISE. 93 
 
 ' Divil a doubt of it ! ' said Belturbet. 
 ' Faith, 'tis the Lady Abbess she is, and cock 
 of the walk entirely.' 
 
 So great was Lady Tarleton's exasperation 
 on making this notable discovery, and per- 
 ceiving how very far her pious nephew-in-law 
 elect was from entertaining the proper degree 
 of horror for the spiritual delinquencies of his 
 family, that she expressed her resolve, and 
 did her utmost, to break off the match. 
 
 But her efforts were unavailing. Maud 
 had long survived the real or affected anti- 
 popish enthusiasm which had so ably seconded 
 her feelings of annoyance at the domestic in- 
 fliction of a stepmother ; and however ac- 
 quiescent she might be, while under her aunt's 
 roof, in the dreary social habits and grim 
 puritanism of that portion of ' the Elect ' to 
 whose society she was chiefly condemned, she 
 had not the least idea of regulating her matri- 
 monial plans in obedience to the canons of 
 the Clapham S}Tiod. Having once made up 
 her mind that she had found the right man, 
 she stoutly refused to give him up ; and the 
 same post which carried to Osmanby Lady 
 Tarleton's earnest entreaties, addressed to 
 Sir Philip, that he would not sanction his
 
 94 THE CEEAM OF A LITE. 
 
 daughter's marriage witli a pauper peer — a 
 mere Irish adventurer — conveyed to Lady 
 Osmanby a letter from Maud, couched in very 
 humble and respectful terms, req[uesting her 
 stepmother's good ojfices with her father, for 
 the purpose of counteracting the effects of 
 her aunt's capricious opposition, and her un- 
 just prejudice against the ' noblest being that 
 ever walked the earth.' 
 
 It so happened that my mother, who had 
 some Irish relations, was tolerably well ac- 
 quainted with the family history of this branch 
 of the MacMahons, and had therefore a very 
 good clue to the real cause of Lady Tarleton's 
 hostility, which the latter had been discreet 
 enough to suppress. My father accordingly 
 made his own enquiries as to the character 
 and property of Lord Belturbet. The first 
 he found to be unexceptionable ; and, as to 
 the second, although his information was less 
 satisfactory, matters were far from being so 
 bad as my aunt, in her vexation, had thought 
 proper to represent them. The young couple 
 would have enough to enable them to go on 
 quietly and respectably, if they could only be 
 prevailed upon to live within their income. 
 This, to be sure, was rather too much to ex-
 
 LOVE A^TD OETHODOXY A l'iRLAXDAISE. 95 
 
 pect from any Irishman under the sun : but 
 'sufficient for the day' was 'the evil thereof;' 
 and the only effect of Lady Tarleton's hostile 
 interference was to induce Sir Philip to add 
 a sum of 200/. a year to the annual allowance 
 of 500/., which he had originally proposed to 
 make to his daughter during his life. 
 
 Finding her remonstrances ineffectual, my 
 aunt, though with an iU grace, withdrew her 
 objections, and the wedding was solemnized 
 with all due family decorum. 
 
 My aunt was, as it turned out, needlessly 
 alarmed for the orthodoxy of her niece. Lord 
 Balturbet was in no danger of relapsing into 
 ' popery ;' a step big with results as disastrous 
 to his political prospects, as they woald have 
 been injurious to his domestic comfort, par- 
 ticularly at dinner-time on Fridays, and 
 throughout the forty days of Lent. The 
 marriage was a happy one ; and Maud, who 
 knew how to set about it, contrived to secure 
 as much of her own way as generally falls to 
 the lot of the most strong-minded of her sex, 
 when theoretically submitting to the yoke of 
 Hymen. 
 
 There is a superstition very prevalent 
 among us in England, that an Irishman is
 
 96 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 never hen-pecked. Perhaps a short visit to 
 Shanbanagher Castle, during the residence of 
 my sister and brother-in-law at that ancient 
 seat, might have gone some way towards dis- 
 pelling that widely-spread popular error.
 
 97 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 ^lY BROTHER. — CONJUGAL MISHAPS AND 
 CONTROVERSIAL DISCOMEITURE. 
 
 At the period when the question of my reli- 
 gious education was the cause of so much 
 angry excitement in Curzon Street, Lady 
 Belturbet was in Ireland, and, as became a 
 good wife, too much engrossed by the tem- 
 poral interests of the house of MacMahon, 
 Avhich was in rapid process of multiplication 
 at Shanbanagher, to take the spiritual dangers 
 of my avenir very deeply to heart. 
 
 But there was another indi^ddual claiming 
 a voice in the matter, whose annoyance, 
 though less violently displayed than my aunt's, 
 on the occasion, was as openly avowed, and, 
 in its results, far more permanently injurious 
 to the family harmony of Osmanby Manor. 
 This was my brother George, concerning 
 whose career, subsequently to the date of his 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 departure for tlie Peninsula, I must now say 
 a few words. 
 
 After serving witli some distinction until 
 tlie end of the war, and commanding a troop 
 at Waterloo, where he was slightly wounded, 
 he remained for a year in France with the 
 Army o£ Occupation ; and at the end of that 
 time, accompanied the — th Kegiment of Foot, 
 into which he had exchanged, to Canada. 
 
 While at Montreal, he shared the fate which 
 attends most of our bachelor militaires in that 
 dangerous locality. He lost his heart to a 
 fair Canadian. This lady, Josephine Belineau 
 by name, was the daughter of a gentleman 
 officially connected with one of the Superior 
 Courts of the Colony, whose exact position 
 could not well be ascertained from George's 
 statement of the case, in the letter which he 
 wrote home, announcing his engagement, and 
 soliciting the paternal consent. 
 
 A contemporaneous and private despatch 
 to Sir Philip, however, from Colonel De Grey, 
 George's commanding officer and friend, while 
 urging the speedy recall of the latter to Eng- 
 land, and promising any amount of leave 
 which the Colonel's own regimental authority 
 and the sanction of the Colonial Commander-
 
 MY BROTHER. 99 
 
 in-Chief could insure for the purpose of 
 facilitating George's immediate departure, de- 
 scribed the future father-in-law as a kind of 
 forensic hybrid — a cross between an Old 
 Bailey attorney and a police magistrate — not 
 in terms characterizing him as a snoh^ for the 
 sole and simple reason that, at the date of 
 the gallant Colonel's communication, the Eng- 
 lish language had not as yet been enriched by 
 that expressive and classical addition to our 
 national vocabulary. 
 
 Need I say that Sir Philip refused his con- 
 sent, and acted on Colonel De Grey's hint by 
 a peremptory order to George to return home 
 forthwith, as he valued the paternal blessing 
 and his next quarter's allowance? In such a 
 case, tht pere noble has no alternative. He is 
 bound to assume all the terrors that the com- 
 bined action of the father and the treasurer 
 can bring into play against the filial heart- 
 strings and purse-strings. He must, according 
 to the emphatic phrase of an aggrieved heir- 
 apparent smarting under the infliction of an- 
 cestral obduracy, be ' not merely pater^ but 
 paternmns.^ 
 
 But however stern his apparent resolve, the 
 'heaw father' is often doomed to make an 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 abortive display of authority. And so it was 
 with Sir Philip. 
 
 The Colonel, who had done his best to dis- 
 suade George from entering into the engage- 
 ment, failed to keep his own counsel as to his 
 strong appeal to Sir Philip. George saw at 
 once that with such influences brought to bear 
 against him in his father's mind, it was hope- 
 less to think of obtaining his consent. In 
 despair of securing this important sanction, 
 the lovers were left to the resource which, 
 according to my old friend James Smith, the 
 Londoners were obliged to call in aid at the 
 date of the Gunpowder Plot, when unable to 
 command the services of ' that famed old 
 runner Townsend :' — 
 
 And so they did the best they could — 
 That is — they did without him. 
 
 George, without waiting for a reply to his 
 letter, married Miss Belineau 'out of hand,' 
 and trusted to Providence, the chapter of acci- 
 dents, and his father's kind heart, to set mat- 
 ters straight at home. 
 
 Colonel De Grey, mentally ejaculating ' lihe" 
 ram animam meam^ officiated as best man on 
 the occasion ; and subdued by the combined
 
 MY BROTHER. 101 
 
 fascinations of the bride's beauty and the 
 father-in-law's champagne, did his best in a 
 second despatch to explain away the harshest 
 features of the first ; having, as he said, on 
 further enquiry, assured himself that le jj^re 
 Belineau's official position was highly respec- 
 table, and, from his own observation, bearing 
 testimony to the great personal charms and 
 distinguished manners of the new Mrs. Os- 
 manby. 
 
 My father was not long in relenting; a 
 result to which my mother's influence mate- 
 rially conduced. ]\Iy aunt Tarleton, who had, 
 according to her laudable custom, poured oil 
 on the flames, sneeringly attributed the exer- 
 tion of that influence to the fact of the fair 
 Josephine being a Catholic. The charge 
 failed to excite my mother's anger ; so I sup- 
 pose she felt it to be unjust. But, of course, 
 Mrs. Osmanby's religious views were no stum- 
 bling-block in the way of her ladyship's ad- 
 vocacy. 
 
 All, therefore, seemed happily arranged. 
 My father exhibited his usual liberality in the 
 figure of the annual allowance to the young 
 couple ; in due time Mrs. Osmanby presented 
 her husband with a daughter ; George was in
 
 102 THE CREAM OF A LITE. 
 
 daily expectation of obtaining his majority, 
 with the prospect of an immediate exchange 
 into a regiment quartered in Ireland ; he had 
 made his arrangements to return home on 
 leave, and Avas looking forward to the pleasure 
 and pride of presenting his beautiful wife to 
 his relations, when a sudden blight fell upon 
 his happiness and his hopes. 
 
 This is not the place for the full details of 
 a story, the real circumstances of which were 
 but imperfectly known to his best friends in 
 England for many a long year. But there 
 was, or was said to have been, a discovery of 
 letters casting a fatal suspicion on Mrs. Os- 
 manby, and implicating Colonel De Grey, as 
 the object of a guilty attachment. There was 
 a duel, in which the Colonel was dangerously 
 wounded — a separation — but apparently no 
 sufficient proof to justify proceedings for a 
 divorce. The lady took refuge, or sought a 
 retreat, in a convent, whether in penitence or 
 resentment, was a point admitting of some 
 doubt ; and, a few months later, the injured, 
 or at least exasperated, husband returned to 
 England, heartbroken in appearance, soured 
 in temper, and seemingly shattered in mind ; 
 bringing with him his infant child, whom, to
 
 MY BROTHER. 103 
 
 the great mortification of my mother, he in- 
 sisted on confiding to the care of Lady Tar- 
 leton, the quarter to which he seemed to look 
 for the most eflPective sympathy in his domestic 
 troubles. 
 
 He remained but a short time in London; 
 and although my father came up to town to 
 meet him on his arrival, he declined, on some 
 trifling pretext, to accompany Sir Philip on 
 his return home ; and finally joined his new 
 regiment at Cork, without having paid my 
 mother the respect of going down to Osmanby 
 even for a day, for the purpose of seeing her 
 after an absence of so many years. 
 
 The secret of this ungracious behaviour 
 was soon discovered, when, in a letter dated 
 from his new quarters, he addressed my father 
 in a tone of earnest remonstrance, bordering 
 on reproof, on the subject of my education, 
 the objectionable nature of which he had 
 learnt from Lady Tarleton. He pointed out 
 that, from the deplorable circumstances at- 
 tending his own marriage, which had con- 
 demned him, practically, to a life of celibacy, 
 there was every prospect that I, as his next 
 brother, would ultimately succeed to the re- 
 presentation of a family noted for its attach-
 
 104 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 ment to the faith and institutions of the 
 country, and a2)pealed to Sir Philip, whether, 
 as a father and a Protestant Englishman of 
 high position, he could justify it to his con- 
 science to inflict this indignity on the name 
 and the memory of his ancestors. 
 
 It was perfectly natural that the strong 
 sense of his domestic injuries, and his resent- 
 ment against a Catholic wife who had, as it 
 was supposed, done him such grievous wrong, 
 should aggravate his feelings of dislike towards 
 the religion she professed, and impart a certain 
 amount of bitterness to the language in which 
 he discussed the subject of the adoption of 
 that religion by a younger brother, situated as 
 I was. 
 
 In fact, the remonstrance, looked at from 
 the point of view of his own dogmatic belief — 
 and every man has a right to expect that the 
 propriety of his acts should be judged of in 
 fair relation to, and due allowance for, his con- 
 scientious convictions — was not, in substance, 
 unreasonable ; and no one who read it could 
 refuse to admit that the letter in which that 
 remonstrance was conveyed was forcibly and 
 ably written. But, dear reader, when, in 
 family or friendly misunderstandings, did you
 
 IVIY BROTHER. 105 
 
 ever know any good come of a clever letter ? 
 Do not these documents, however flowing in 
 style, apposite in illustration, and conclusive 
 in argument, generally confirm the favoured 
 individual to whom they are addressed, in that 
 particular line of conduct which is, with so 
 much warning eloquence, pointed out for his 
 reprobation and avoidance ? Do they ever 
 fail to widen the breach which has called them 
 into existence, and which, if they are very 
 clever indeed^ "they usually bid fair to perpe- 
 tuate ? How many childish tiffs have they 
 not expanded into serious quarrels — how many 
 warmly-attached friends have they not es- 
 tranged for life ? Spoken remonstrances, be- 
 tween persons so circumstanced, may be 
 severe and even intemperate, without doing 
 much harm. An unseemly expression may 
 be retracted or modified on the spot. If 
 neither retracted nor modified, it may be 
 forgiven, in consideration of the heat of the 
 argument, and forgotten next day. But your 
 measured and deliberate censure in black and 
 white, your polished but cutting sarcasm, and, 
 above all, your placid assumption of argumen- 
 tative triumph and high moral infallibility — 
 ingredients all usually to be found in a ' clever
 
 106 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 letter ' — remain as a record of much that had 
 far better be obliterated from the memory of 
 both parties. 
 
 No, dear reader ! never suffer yourself to 
 be betrayed into these epistolary assaults on 
 the moral shortcomings or the logical incon- 
 sistencies of anyone whom you value and 
 wish to retain as a friend. Of course yoii are 
 right, and he is all in the wrong. Be it so. 
 Tell him to his face that he is an ass, and 
 prove it to him syllogistically, if you like, 
 provided that the demonstration is performed 
 viva voce. But if he he your friend, never sit 
 down in cold blood to your writing-desk, to 
 confute him into an enemy. 
 
 Apart from the broad principle, there were 
 in the case of this proceeding of my brother's 
 some peculiar elements of failure. Grave 
 paternal admonition can boast a certain pre- 
 scriptive propriety, and occasionally has its 
 effect. But, as a general rule, it does not pay 
 for a man to lecture his ancestors. The pri- 
 vilege of prosing is, by common consent, 
 in such matters, restricted to what the heralds 
 and genealogists call ' the ascending line.' It 
 is undoubtedly the duty of every Christian 
 man to set a good example to his father,
 
 MY BROTHER. 107 
 
 assuming tlie old gentleman to be extant, and 
 in want of moral edification. But it is really 
 a stronoj measure to challeno-e his attention in 
 the avowed character of a fugleman, or gra- 
 tuitously taking upon yourself the duties of a 
 religious drill-sergeant, to insist upon putting 
 him through his positions and facings, before 
 he has announced his desire to enlist. 
 
 In George's instance the attempt was a 
 signal fiasco. His clever letter produced an 
 immediate answer, which, if not equally clever, 
 was quite as much to the purpose. It was in 
 the following terms : — 
 
 ' Dear George, — In the twentieth chapter 
 of Exodus you will find these words, " honour 
 
 THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER," a prCCCpt 
 
 which in your recent letter you have grie- 
 vously, though not for the first time, in- 
 fringed. 
 
 ' When, in your reckless pursuit of an 
 unworthy object, you openly disregarded my 
 wishes, and braved my just displeasure, you 
 would, as you deserved, have been made to 
 feel severely the consequences of your unduti- 
 fal conduct, but for the generous interference 
 of one whose kindness you now ungratefully
 
 108 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 requite by studied disrespect to herself, and 
 deliberate insult to the faith which she adorns 
 by her virtues. 
 
 ' You are pleased to inform me that I am 
 answerable to my ancestors for the orthodoxy 
 of my posterity. If this be so, I have sadly 
 neglected my duty in your case, and am only 
 making very imperfect amends to the first 
 baronet of my family, whose title you will, in 
 due course of nature, inherit, and to the first 
 Baron Fitzherbert, whose peerage you may 
 possibly one day enjoy, by restoring their 
 lineal descendant, your brother Gerald, to the 
 ranks of that church of which they were both 
 staunch adherents. 
 
 ' I am your aflPectionate father, 
 
 'Philip F. Osmanby.' 
 
 The result of this correspondence was, if 
 not an open rupture, at least a decided cool- 
 ness between Sir Philip and his heir, which 
 had not been removed or diminished when, 
 about two years later. Major Osmanby accom- 
 panied his regiment to Corfu. 
 
 In the interval, he never once crossed 
 the threshold of his father's house, either 
 in town or country. He was, however, but
 
 MY BROTHEK. 109 
 
 little in London, or even in England, during 
 that period ; seldom absenting himself from 
 the head-quarters of the — th, and devoting 
 himself exclusively to his military duties. 
 Perhaps the death of his infant daughter, 
 which took place rather suddenly when the 
 child was about eighteen months old, and 
 under the care of Lady Tarleton, removed 
 his chief inducement to an occasional visit to 
 London. Be that as it may, everything con- 
 spired to estrange him completely from me, 
 and to render the development of any feeling 
 akin to family affection between us apparently 
 impossible. 
 
 I had, in fact, nearly attained man's estate, 
 before I knew my only brother, even by sight.
 
 110 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 MATERNAL ALARMS AND CLERICAL PHILOSOPHY 
 — MUSCULAR CHRISTIANITY AND MILITARY 
 TRAINING. 
 
 Dear reader, I liave been dawdling on my 
 way, until, I fear, you must be half inclined 
 to withdraw your companionship from me 
 during the remainder of my journey. I have 
 lingered over the traditions of my family and 
 the incidents of my childhood, with a garrulity 
 that might justify conjecture in adding a good 
 score of years to the half century, which, I 
 grieve to admit, has elapsed since I made my 
 first acquaintance with the unsatisfactory 
 nature of things on this puzzling planet. 
 But for the present, at least, I forswear 
 digression. Give me but another chance, and 
 I will undertake that we shall get on, au pas 
 redouble. 
 
 I had more than completed my sixteenth 
 year, when Sir Philip rejoiced my heart, and
 
 ALA-TERXAL ALARMS. Ill 
 
 struck terror to my mother's soul, by suddenly 
 announcing that he was about to send me to 
 the Military College at Sandhurst, as the best 
 means of fitting me for the commission in the 
 Guards which he had a prospect of obtaining 
 for me. 
 
 ' Oh ! my dear Sir Philip ! ' exclaimed her 
 ladyship ; ' you are not serious. These mili- 
 tary schools are dreadful places, I am certain. 
 And then, Gerald will have to attend church, 
 every Sunday at least, perhaps every morning 
 and evening.' 
 
 ' Xever fear, mamma,' said I, • they are not 
 going to convert me. Church parade is aU in 
 the way of business, you know. It 's part of 
 the articles of war, I fancy. I dare say they 
 won't slang the Pope more than those feUows 
 do in the newspapers ; and if the worst comes 
 to the worst, I can go to sleep during the 
 sermon. I 've done such a thing at the Bava- 
 rian before now.' 
 
 ' More shame for you,' said my mother. 
 
 ' Gome, Monica,' said my father, speaking in 
 a determined tone — and when he had tho- 
 roughly made up his mind on a point, there 
 was no mistake about it — ' we must not have 
 any of this nonsense. You have had your
 
 112 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 own way about the boy's education, and I 
 don't regret it. But if amongst you, and the 
 
 Abbe, and Father W you haven't contrived 
 
 to make a staunch Catholic of him by this 
 time, it's your own fault, and not mine. To 
 Sandhurst he must go, and when there he will 
 have to conform to the rules of the place and 
 the service. I wish,' added he, half aside, 
 ' that he ran as little risk in some other 
 matters as he will in his religion. But, risk 
 or no risk, he must take his chance.' 
 
 ' All right, governor,' said I, ' Le Roi le 
 veut — soit fait comme il est desire,'' 
 
 So it was settled that I was to go to Sand- 
 hurst. 
 
 My mother, in a state of much consterna- 
 tion, told the sad news to the Abbe. The 
 Abbe took the matter very quietly, shrugged 
 his shoulders and said — as all Frenchmen do 
 when there is nothing particular to say, and no 
 use in saying it — ' Que voulez-vous? ' adding, 
 with practical good sense, ' Monsieur Gerald 
 is to be a soldier, and he must learn his pro- 
 fession.' 
 
 Her ladyship then betook herself for sym- 
 pathy to her old friend Mr. W -, the head 
 
 chaplain of the B n Legation, who had had
 
 JIATEKNAL ALARMS. 113 
 
 the chief care of my spiritual education ; for 
 the Abbe, although chaplain at Osmanby, 
 had, as my tutor, merely the direction of my 
 secular studies, and was not, virtute officii^ 
 the keeper of my conscience. Mr. W , how- 
 ever, exhibited no greater alarm at the 
 prospect than his brother ecclesiastic. He 
 probably thought that a thoroughly well- 
 vaccinated subject, fresh from the hands of 
 Jenner himself, might safely spend a short 
 time in the Small-pox Hospital. 
 
 ' My dear lady,' said he, ' you are need- 
 lessly alarmed. A military college is not a 
 school of theology ; and if Gerald is obliged 
 to attend the Church Service, he will hear little 
 or nothing but old Catholic prayers, after all. 
 He is probably in very little danger of con- 
 troversy ; and if it should be forced upon him, 
 rely upon it he can hold his own against any 
 Ko-Popery arguments he is likely to hear 
 from his companions. I hope he will come 
 and see me before he goes.' 
 
 To say the truth, a confidential visit to the 
 worthy padre was generally looked forward 
 to by me with feelings not very dissimilar to 
 those mth which I contemplated an interview 
 with the late Mr. Dumergue, of dentistic 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 celebrity. But on this occasion I was well 
 pleased to obey his summons ; for the visit 
 was not made to him in his professional cha- 
 racter ; and although, from the secret workings 
 of that inward monitor that ' doth make 
 cowards of us all,' I rather /zml'^c? the confes- 
 sor, I always dearly loved the man, as I still 
 revere his memory. 
 
 He received me with his usual cheerful and 
 affectionate cordiality. He was seldom jor^ac Ay, 
 out of the pulpit ; but no man knew better 
 than he the advantage of ' a word in season ^ 
 addressed to the heart and conscience of 
 youth; and he exhibited the rarest tact and 
 judgment in the selection of the right word 
 on these occasions. 
 
 ' My dear child,' said he, ' you are going to 
 enter upon a new scene, where, morally speak- 
 ing, you will be exposed to many perils. I 
 do not mean to your faith, for that^ I ^now, 
 will be in no danger. But you will have to 
 contend with much evil example in the con- 
 duct of those around you. Do you know 
 why you, above all others, ought to be proof 
 against its influence ? I will tell you. Where 
 you are going, you will, no doubt, be the only 
 Catholic among a large body of youths, every
 
 MATERNAL ALAEMS. 115 
 
 one of whom, probably, has been brought up 
 in the strongest hostility to your religion, and 
 taught to think ill of its professors. It will 
 rest with you either to confirm, or to soften, if 
 you cannot wholly remove, these unfavourable 
 opinions, by your own conduct. Never forget 
 that if you are idle, insubordinate, or immoral, 
 the scandal of these sins will recoil on the 
 faith you profess ; while, on the other hand, 
 if you act up to your duty in every respect, as 
 a soldier, a Christian, and a gentleman, you 
 wiU do more to correct the prejudices of your 
 Protestant companions than all that you or 
 anyone else could say to them in the way of 
 argument, however logically convincing. Go 
 then, my dear boy : be studious, regular, and 
 exact in the performance of everything that 
 your superiors may properly require of you ; 
 firmly resolving that by the grace of Almighty 
 God, and with His blessing, your holy faith 
 shall never be scandalized or dishonoured 
 through your means. Will you promise me 
 this, my dear Gerald ?' 
 
 I readily gave the required pledge ; and I 
 trust I may say that, in substance at least, if 
 not to the letter, I kept my word. I can at 
 any rate assert with truth that during the
 
 116 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 period of nearly two years which I passed at 
 Sandhurst, I was never put under arrest for a 
 second, and never once reported for disobedi- 
 ence, irregularity, breach of discipline, or any 
 other offence, moral or military. 
 
 As to my mother's apprehensions on the 
 score of danger to my orthodoxy, the result 
 proved how much more correct was the esti- 
 mate which my clerical friends had formed on 
 that point. It is true that before I had been 
 a week an inmate of the College, I had given 
 one fellow a sound thrashing for calling me a 
 ' Papist,' after due warning that I considered 
 (as I always have done, and always shall do) 
 the term inappropriate and personally offen- 
 sive ; and had plentifully ' tapped the claret ' 
 of another, for politely intimating that I was 
 an idolater ; an imputation for which, after a 
 couple of rounds gone through, as he said, 
 merely for form's sake, he freely and heartily 
 apologised ; whereupon we swore eternal 
 friendship on the spot, and we have kept 
 it up, I am happy to say, to this day. 
 
 But these little assaults on my religious 
 susceptibilities were merely intended to try 
 my mettle, and were no more serious develop- 
 ments of the controversial spirit as directed
 
 MUSCULAR CHRISTIANITY. 117 
 
 against my peculiar tenets, than the sobriquet 
 of Pope Joan, — which I endured with the 
 greatest placidity, as at once a recognition of 
 my Catholicity and a compliment to the deli- 
 cacy of my complexion, — or an occasional 
 request for a little holy water, (of which I was 
 generally supposed to keep a supply in my 
 dressing-case,) for the alleged purpose of exor- 
 cising the blue-devils under which a brother 
 cadet might be labouring. 
 
 But what shall I say of the College itself, in 
 its practical and moral aspect? This much, 
 at any rate, — that it strengthened my con- 
 stitution, developed my muscular powers, and 
 tended to promote that feeling of self-reliance 
 which is even more important in the warfare 
 of civil life than in the career of military 
 duty. I may add that the drill was regular 
 and effective, the scientific instruction able 
 and conscientious, the discipline strict without 
 undue severity; the social tone, if not posi- 
 tively chivalrous, on the whole manly and 
 gentlemanlike. 
 
 As I was steady and persevering, and really 
 took kindly to the pipe-clay, it is almost su- 
 pei^uous to say that, without becoming a very 
 profound strategist, I acquired a knowledge of
 
 118 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 Brown Bess and an amount of familiarity witli 
 the ordinary parade and field-manoeuvres, 
 amply sufficient to qualify me for the duties 
 of a subaltern in the Guards ; and greatly to 
 shorten, in my case, the preliminary course of 
 regimental drill to which I was subjected on 
 first joining the household brigade of infantry. 
 Candour, however, obliges me to admit that 
 my Sandhurst reminiscences partake far less 
 of an Arcadian character than those 'Rugbaean 
 Memories ' for which the eloquent pen of 
 ' Tom Brown ' has won such extensive popu- 
 larity. The Military College was certainly 
 not, in a strict sense, a school of morals. 
 Perhaps I should rather say it was a school of 
 very lax morals. It was not, indeed, charge- 
 able with the systematic and savage cruelty 
 exercised by the senior over the junior class 
 of cadets, which, some few years back, com- 
 bined with the grossest licentiousness, to 
 render the Woolwich Academy the most fear- 
 ful moral ordeal that a Christian youth could 
 well encounter in the process of professional 
 education ; a state of things which at length, 
 tardily, indeed, but efi*ectually, aroused the 
 attention of the responsible authorities, and, 
 under the pressure of public indignation, ex-
 
 MILITARY TRAINING. 119 
 
 torted from them vigorous measures of repres- 
 sion and reform. But although considerably 
 higher in the scale of morality than Woolwich, 
 as recently shewn up to the admiring gaze of 
 a religious public, Sandhurst was, in my days, 
 by no means an edifying community, and in 
 open profligacy certainly far exceeded the 
 license ascribed by common report to the 
 average morals of Eton or Harrow. Neither 
 did it strikingly illustrate that social condition 
 where, according to the questionable dictum 
 of Edmund Burke, ' Yice itself loses half its 
 evil ; ' for assuredly at Sandhurst vice lost but 
 little of its grossness. 
 
 Perhaps, as far as I was concerned, the 
 uncompromising character of the vicious ex- 
 ample that prevailed may have had its ad- 
 vantages. Had the lowest stamp of the 
 guard-room and the barrack-yard been less 
 conspicuous in its -manifestation, I might have 
 found it a more difficult task to escape its 
 contagion. 
 
 The hue of romance — the halo of false 
 sentiment — can too often distort or obscure the 
 moral vision in those not less carefully trained 
 or religiously biassed than myself. But vulgar 
 debauchery was alike repugnant to my tastes
 
 120 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 as a gentleman, and my principles as a Chris- 
 tian. Thank God! I can look back to my 
 Sandhurst days with the satisfactory conscious- 
 ness of having stoutly and successfully resisted 
 the demoralizing influences of the social at- 
 mosphere by which I was surrounded. 
 
 The reader must not, however, understand 
 me as claiming the glory of solitary adherence 
 to the rules of morality, in the midst of a 
 totally corrupt generation. I am not describ- 
 ing myself as emphatically or exclusively the 
 ' Lamb in Wolfs clothing ' among the royster- 
 ing cadets of the Military College. I should 
 be greatly over-stating my trials, and exag- 
 gerating my own merits, were I to sanction 
 such an inference. I was far from being 
 without the support which similarity of feel- 
 ing and identity of principles on these points 
 can afford ; and, in particular, it was my good 
 fortune that he who, among my comrades, 
 most powerfully excited my emulation by his 
 untiring industry and scholastic success, was 
 no less remarkable for steadiness of moral 
 conduct and a strong practical sense of 
 religious duty. 
 
 This was no other than the individual whose 
 intimacy with me had been inaugurated by
 
 MILITARY TRAINING. 121 
 
 the slight personal conflict already noticed, 
 which his consciousness of beinsf in the wrono; 
 would not allow him to protract, although his 
 greater physical strength must, in the long 
 run, have secured him the victory ; as he was 
 my senior by eighteen months, and of a very 
 muscular frame. It would seem that the fever 
 of theological rancour was, in his case, effec- 
 tually subdued by the simple process of phle- 
 botomy which I ' exhibited ' for his benefit, 
 when his nose partially expiated the indis- 
 cretion of his tongue ; for assuredly, from that 
 hour, no hostile discussion of a contro- 
 versial character ever occurred to disturb the 
 good understanding that was established be- 
 tween us on the ratification of peace. 
 
 However divergent our dogmatic views 
 might be, we were not slow in making the 
 mutual discovery that we thought very much 
 alike on all points connected with the practical 
 operation of religious feeling. From that 
 moment, he earnestly sought to throw the 
 shield of his moral and social influence around 
 me, on all occasions when he apprehended 
 danger to my principles from the evil example 
 of others, or saw me exposed to personal 
 annoyance from the ridicule which my openly
 
 122 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 avowed opinions not unfrequently brought 
 down upon me. 
 
 In cases of the latter kind, indeed, I felt 
 tolerably competent to hold my own. My 
 father's favourite maxim, ' Whatever happens, 
 never suffer yourself to be laughed out of 
 your notions of right and wrong ; ^ had not 
 been lost upon me ; and a certain readiness, 
 not unmixed with scientific skill, which I had 
 early displayed, in meeting insult or imperti- 
 nence with active measures of defence and re- 
 taliation, had its effect in repressing the spirit 
 of jeering and contemptuous mockery, so often 
 resorted to by fools in their anxiety to reduce 
 others to their own moral and intellectual level. 
 
 But ' vis unita fortior ; ' and it is not easy 
 to over-rate the advantages I derived, under 
 these circumstances, from the example and 
 friendship of Hugh Conyers. 
 
 We are apt to attach a great deal of impor- 
 tance, and not unjustly, to the influence of 
 early impressions made on the mind of child- 
 hood, and the moral atmosphere in which that 
 period of life is passed, as powerfully affecting, 
 in after days, the character of the man. And 
 yet one cannot but observe how ineffectual are 
 the most favourable conditions of this ele-
 
 MILITAKY TRAINING. 123 
 
 mentary discipline, to impart anything like 
 strength or solidity of principle to certain 
 individuals in whose moral charpente the verte- 
 bral column seems to have been altogether 
 omitted; while, on the other hand, there are 
 some natures in which the development of the 
 principle of good seems to take place indepen- 
 dently of all educational influences ; characters 
 on whom, so to speak, Virtue sets her indelible 
 stamp from the beginning — whose moral being 
 starts into existence armed at all points for 
 the warfare of this world, like Pallas issuing 
 from the head of Jove. From the first moment 
 when their minds can grasp the clear distinc- 
 tion betw^een right and wrong, their choice is 
 irrevocably made ; and, come what may, they 
 will persevere to the end. 
 
 Hugh Conyers was one of this favoured 
 class ; and he bore its impress in his counte- 
 nance and demeanour. You might read it in 
 his aspect, at once calm and resolute — in 
 his open and intellectual brow — in the mild 
 yet deep thoughtfulness of his blue eye — 
 in a certain unmistakeable look of honesty 
 and candour that seemed to pervade his 
 features. You could trace it in his quiet, 
 forbearing temper — in his scrupulous regard
 
 124 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 for trutli and strict adherence to the rules of 
 duty, in the most trivial, as in the most im- 
 portant particulars — in the absence of all 
 unseemly license in his conversation — in his 
 indignant rebuke of ostentatious or obtrusive 
 vice — in his unaffected reverence for holy 
 things — in his eager sympathy with all that 
 was generous and high-minded in conduct. 
 
 There seemed but little in the circum- 
 stances of his domestic position and early 
 training, to account for a tone of moral feel- 
 ing so far beyond the average standard of 
 the boyish conscience. His father, a general 
 officer of some distinction, had been for many 
 years absent from England, in various colonial 
 commands ; his mother had died when he was 
 under ten years of age ; and the intermediate 
 years which elapsed before he was entered at 
 Sandhurst as a cadet had been chiefly passed 
 at Westminster School ; his home, during the 
 holidays, being with his maternal grand- 
 mother, a ci-devant Lady of the Bedchamber, 
 who, by the favour of the Crown, occupied 
 a suite of apartments in Hampton Court 
 Palace, where she constantly resided. 
 
 Those who remember Westminster School 
 in the time of Dr. Goodenough will not dis-
 
 MILITARY TRAINING. 125 
 
 pute the assertion that, in those palmy days, 
 that venerable institution stood high among 
 the public schools of England, in scholastic 
 reputation, and the practical results of its 
 discipline, as exhibited in the manly and gen- 
 tlemanlike character of those whom it trained 
 for the arena of professional or public life. 
 But it was certainly not remarkable for a 
 moral tone of more than average strictness. 
 No doubt the reomlation amount of relimous 
 doctrine was, on all suitable occasions, duly 
 served out by the official dispensers of 
 that invaluable commodity. But where no 
 domestic teaching ekes out the deficiencies of 
 the school allowance, the value of the boon is 
 not likely to be fully appreciated by those to 
 whom it is supplied. 
 
 This supplemental advantage, usually en- 
 joyed, to some extent at least, and in one 
 shape or another, by the public schoolboy, 
 seemed, as far as I could ascertain, to have 
 been wholly denied to Hugh Conyers. His 
 grandmother was a stately old lady, as deaf 
 as a post, with a large supply of the most 
 approved courtly traditions, and an affection 
 for long sixpenny whist that engrossed the 
 lion's share of her time and attention. Hugh
 
 126 THE CREA:\r OF A LIFE. 
 
 was an only son ; and in the absence of his 
 father, had no male relative to whom he was 
 authorized to look for that moral guidance 
 and support so essential to most of us in our 
 boyhood and early youth. 
 
 He had, indeed, a maternal uncle, a 
 bachelor*peer, who lived in Albany, where he 
 gave faultless dinners to friends and acquaint- 
 ances not always equally irreproachable, and, 
 during the London season, generally passed 
 his afternoons in the bay window at White's, 
 where his portly figure was as well known to 
 the hatteur du pave as the statue of King 
 Charles at Charing Cross, or old Lord St. 
 Helens' s powdered wig at the window of the 
 Travellers'. But, as he combined with a 
 strong vocation for the turf, a decided and 
 very notorious weakness for the nymphs of 
 the corps-de-ballet^ there was little benefit to 
 be derived from his example, and nothing to 
 be fairly expected from him in the way of 
 precept, to supply the want of paternal 
 superintendence in the case of his nephew. 
 
 Such an uncle has, no doubt, his uses and 
 his ' mission ; ' as the cockney-philosophy of 
 the present day, with its second-hand French 
 bombast, loves to term it. Periodical tips of
 
 MILITARY TRAINING. 127 
 
 respectable amount ; a hint now and then on 
 the details of the toilet, illustrated and en- 
 forced by a timely cadeau^ in the shape of 
 watch-guard, shirt-studs, or seal-ring, — stray 
 opera-tickets during the midsummer holidays, 
 — an occasional impromptu dinner at Rich- 
 mond or Blackwall, with a party not too 
 jovial in their habits, or too attractive in 
 their demeanour ; the loan of Paul de Eock's 
 latest novel or any other choice specimen of 
 modem French literature most in vogue — a 
 little judicious advice as to ' whom to avoid ' 
 among sporting men and dancing women: 
 these few particulars will, I think, go far to 
 comprise and exhaust the whole range of 
 duties in reference to a youthful nephew, 
 which the moral code of St. James's Street 
 and Pall- Mall would seek to enforce on a 
 bachelor uncle of moderate means, scanty pre- 
 judices, and a high social position. 
 
 This, at least, was the view taken of the 
 subject by Lord Grey stoke, the worthy peer 
 in question ; and all things considered, Con- 
 yers had not much to regret in the practical 
 working of a theory that restricted within 
 these narrow bounds the familiar intercourse 
 between his uncle and himself durino: the
 
 128 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 period of his schoolboy life. It is true that 
 he was, as I have intimated, of robust moral 
 structure — with distinct impressions as to 
 the path he should follow, in which he was 
 well qualified to walk alone. But no one 
 gets on the faster in the right direction, for 
 the constant companionship of those who are 
 inclined to lead him astray. 
 
 I have said that the friendship of Hugh 
 Conyers was of material advantage to me ; 
 and I have some satisfaction in reflecting that 
 the benefit was not all on one side. If the 
 strength and firmness of his principles afforded 
 effectual support to my good resolutions, my 
 society was not altogether unfit to supply him 
 with reasonable grounds of emulation, in 
 matters of less consequence indeed, but yet 
 not wholly unimportant. 
 
 The peculiar circumstances of my education 
 had favoured my mental progress, on many 
 points where his studies had been more re- 
 stricted, and his opinions, consequently, had 
 assumed a narrower cast. More than a match 
 for me in classical learning, at least as far as 
 Greek was concerned, he was greatly my 
 inferior in knowledge of English literature 
 and modern history. ^ly reading, although
 
 MILITARY TRAINING. 129 
 
 desultory enough, had, for my age, been 
 extensive. An early familiarity with the 
 French lano-uao^e, and more than a smatter- 
 ing of Italian, had placed at my command 
 abundant sources of amusement and instruc- 
 tion, historical, social, and literary, of which 
 I had eagerly availed myself. In aid of the 
 moral and didactic influence of my dear old 
 Abbe, the constant society of my father, — a 
 clever and accomplished man, earnestly bent 
 on the cultivation of my mental powers, 
 and to whom I was fondly and reverentially 
 attached, — had supplied a powerful stimulus 
 to my efibrts in the pursuit of general know- 
 ledge ; while the unusual opportunities I en- 
 joyed, at his table or under his roof, of 
 listening to the conversation of able men of the 
 world, actively engaged or deeply interested 
 in the conflict of public life, had accustomed 
 me to the discussion of serious matters, and 
 to some extent familiarized me with the chief 
 prevalent topics of political and social con- 
 troversy. 
 
 I had thus insensibly acquired habits of 
 thought, and intellectual tastes, a good deal 
 above the ordinary mental level of my con- 
 temporaries, — perhaps not unalloyed by a 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 slight dash of coxcombry traceable to the 
 consciousness of this result. At all events, 
 in those days, my thirst after knowledge and 
 anxiety for improvement were too sincere 
 and enthusiastic to escape the observation of 
 those with whom I was brought into daily 
 and familiar contact. 
 
 The feelings of youth are contagious ; par- 
 ticularly where similarity of moral principle 
 exists as a powerful bond of union. With- 
 out representing myself as possessed of any 
 mental superiority, or exercising any corres- 
 ponding influence over Conyers, I may aver 
 that his constant association with me had the 
 effect of giving a beneficial impulse to his 
 general studies, and dispelling some mists of 
 prejudice and intolerance which threatened 
 slightly to obscure the brightness of his moral 
 vision. As a natural consequence of discus- 
 sion based on more accurate impressions of 
 history and philosophic science, his mind, 
 ^yithout sacrificing in any degree the depth 
 of his own religious convictions, gradually 
 adopted more candid views of rival creeds, 
 and a more charitable estimate of the position 
 of their adherents ; his John-Bull-ism^ while 
 retaining all that is most valuable and effect-
 
 MILITAEY TEAIXCNG. 131 
 
 ive in the indomitable spirit of our insular 
 nationality, became more clearly distinguish- 
 able from that vulgar exclusiveness of feel- 
 ing, so happily satirized by the French as 
 ' patriotisme d'antichamhre.'' 
 
 Circumstances, disadvantageous in some 
 respects, had conspired to anticipate, for my 
 benefit, the period which generally arrives, 
 sooner or later, in the life of every man of 
 sense, destined in the strugofle of active exist- 
 ence to mix laro^elv with various classes of his 
 fellow-men ; a period when intercourse with 
 the world breaks down the main outworks of 
 early prejudice, and substitutes a spirit of 
 cautious investigation, for the unquestioning 
 faith of childhood, in the case of such tradi- 
 tionary theories of moral duty and truth, as 
 are not stamped with the seal of revelation, 
 or recommended by the highest sanction of 
 religious authority. I certainly was not, at 
 sixteen, much of a philosopher, but I was 
 something of a logician, and had learnt to feel 
 and reason as a man of the world on many 
 subjects of legitimate debate, where Conyers 
 could be hardly brought to allow that there 
 were two sides to the question ; and it must 
 be admitted that a man is under no trifling
 
 132 THE CREAJ^I OF A LIFE. 
 
 obligation to the first person who arouses him 
 to the necessity of distinguishing impressions 
 which merely represent the foregone conclu- 
 sions of others, from the results of his own 
 reasoning on facts or theories carefully ana- 
 lysed by the independent process of his own 
 mind. 
 
 But enough of my Sandhurst career, which 
 presents nothing of peculiar interest to the 
 reader. It would scarcely have occupied so 
 much space in this narrative, had not its 
 memories been inseparably connected with 
 the origin of a friendship which I reckon 
 among the brightest pages of my life. 
 
 About the end of my first year at the Mili- 
 tary College, Conyers, who had gone with 
 great credit through the entire course of pro- 
 fessional instruction, and passed his examina- 
 tion with a high degree of xuoog^ obtained his 
 commission without purchase in a light in- 
 fantry corps, and shortly after joined his regi- 
 ment at Gibraltar. It was not, however, in 
 accordance with my father's views that I 
 should remain at Sandhurst, for the purpose 
 of engaging in the usual competition; as my 
 purchase-money was already lodged for a 
 commission in the Guards— a nomination not
 
 MILITARY TRAINING. 133 
 
 within the range of those allotted to the suc- 
 cessful candidates among the Sandhurst 
 cadets, for gratuitous admission into the 
 army. Before the expiration of my second 
 year at the College, I was gazetted as ensign 
 and lieutenant, by purchase, in his Majesty's 
 First or Grenadier Reo:iment of Foot Guards.
 
 134 THE CEEAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A FAIR START IN LIFE — GOOD ADVICE FROM A 
 HIGH QUARTER NOT QUITE THROWN AWAY. 
 
 My commission in the Grenadier Guards dates 
 from the beginning of the year 1828, when 
 the late Earl of Ripon, then Viscount Gode- 
 rich, was at the head of a very short-lived 
 Administration. As the addition of my very 
 small unit to the aggregate of our national 
 defences was not an event of any political 
 significance, the reader may feel some sur- 
 prise that I should be thus particular in 
 fixing its chronology. It has, however, some 
 importance in relation to my debut as a 
 guardsman, from the simple fact that the 
 Iron Duke was then commander-in-chief — a 
 post which he vacated a few weeks later, to 
 assume the chief direction of the State as 
 Prime Minister. 
 
 Had my entrance on the paths of Glory 
 been delayed until after that change, I should
 
 AND GOOD ADVICE. 135 
 
 not, on obtaining my commission, have had to 
 pay my personal devoirs to his Grace, as the 
 head of the Army, nor had the opportunity 
 of treasuring up, Tvith, I hope, a pardonable 
 complacency, the remembrance of the few 
 words addressed to me on the occasion by one 
 whom I viewed, at that moment, as the embo- 
 diment of the warlike glories and chivalrous 
 spirit of the country. 
 
 The Comte de Segur, in his amusing ' Me- 
 moires et Souvenirs,' observes, a propos of his 
 first interview with Frederick the Great of 
 Prussia, that anyone T\ith a due allowance of 
 'elevation dans Tame' {Hihemice^ ' asy assu- 
 rance*) can undergo the ceremony of intro- 
 duction to a crowned head with proper 
 dignity and composure ; but that a certain 
 degree of '•emotion'' — {Etonice^ 'funk') — is 
 inevitable on beino^ first brouofht face to face 
 with a really Great Man. 
 
 I am not prepared to dispute this theory; 
 although it is, perhaps, but imperfectly corro- 
 borated by my own experience. I certainly 
 went through my first presentation at the 
 Levee with the average amount of awkward- 
 ness ; being, like my neighbours, more bent 
 on gracefully achieving the partial prostration
 
 136 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 of body incident to the ceremony of ' kissing 
 hands,' than occupied with the degree of eleva- 
 tion which my soul was bound to maintain in 
 the Eoyal presence. But I freely admit that 
 I felt a little trepidation when about to find 
 myself, for the first time, in personal commu- 
 nication with the Victor of Waterloo. 
 
 My father, who was slightly acquainted 
 with his Grace, and had had one or two inter- 
 views with him on the subject of my commis- 
 sion, accompanied me on this memorable visit 
 to the Horse Guards. This was all in my 
 favour. The Duke received us with a fair 
 amount of business-like civility. I was sur- 
 prised, and somewhat disappointed, to find 
 him so much shorter than myself. At 
 eighteen, one's impressions of heroism are not 
 easily dissociated from the idea of physical 
 advantages. His manner was rather abrupt 
 — his voice somewhat harsh. His features are 
 imprinted in the national memory, and it is 
 superfluous to describe them. But, in spite of 
 my enthusiasm, I could not help remarking 
 — what has, I think, struck most of those 
 to whom his countenance was familiar — how 
 slight was the indication it generally afforded 
 of that intellectual superiority of which his
 
 A FAIR START, AND GOOD ADVICE. 137 
 
 career gave such varied and incontrovertible 
 proof. 
 
 After the first few words of introduction, 
 and the mention of mj name by my father, 
 his Grace was obliging enough to observe that 
 I was ' a well-grown recruit ; ' and went on, 
 showing, in a few brief sentences, what ap- 
 peared to me a wonderful acquaintance with 
 my 'antecedents/ 
 
 ' Your second son, I think. Sir Philip — just 
 left Sandhurst — report very satisfactory — 
 diligent, steady, and subordinate — you have 
 another son in the service ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' said my father ; ' my eldest, 
 now in command of the — th Regiment, in 
 India.' 
 
 ' I know — good officer.' (To me) : ' You 
 will follow his example, sir, and, I hope, re- 
 tain the good opinion of your superiors. Have 
 you seen Colonel Townshend ? ' 
 
 ' Xot yet, my Lord,' said I. * I was in- 
 formed that it was my duty to offer my 
 acknowledgments to your Grace, and pay my 
 personal respects to you as the head of the 
 army and the colonel of my regiment, before 
 I reported myself to my commanding officer.' 
 
 ' Good ! you will report yourself to Colonel
 
 138 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 Townshend, without delay, and follow his 
 instructions implicitly. Well, sir, as your 
 Colonel, I shall expect that you will do credit 
 to the regiment and to the service. Study 
 your profession — attend to your drill — 
 never shirk your duty, — and keep out of 
 debt. Make yourself a good soldier, and I 
 will not lose sight of you. Good morning ! ' 
 
 So saying, he extended to me the fore 
 finger of his right hand, which I reverently 
 enclosed in naine; and, after the interchange 
 of equally brief civilities between him and my 
 father, we took our leave. 
 
 'Well,' said my father, as we crossed the 
 parade on leaving the Horse Guards, ' the 
 Duke has given you very good advice, Gerald ; 
 and I hope you mean to follow it.' 
 
 ' Certainly, papa,' said I, ' as far as the 
 pipe-clay is concerned. But as for keeping 
 out of debt, I must look to you for the 
 means of attaining and perpetuating that 
 happy state of existence.' 
 
 ' True,' said my father, with a laugh. ' I 
 must arrange something about your allow- 
 ance. But it wdll be your own fault, and 
 your own misfortune, too, if you exceed it.' 
 
 'Never fear, dad,' said I. (It was very
 
 AND GOOD ADVICE. 139 
 
 disrespectful, I^own, but I did call him " dad," 
 except before company; and, incredible as it 
 may appear, he liked it.) ' Never fear, dad! 
 do you only fix a moderately handsome 
 figure, and I'll undertake to live within my 
 income.' 
 
 The allowance was handsome — so hand- 
 some, indeed, that it is a wonder how I con- 
 trived to keep my word. But I did keep it. 
 
 Eight hundred a year to a lad of eighteen, 
 with the run of his father's town-house and 
 stables, whenever the battalion was quartered 
 in London — to say nothing of a high-actioned 
 cab-horse and a clever park hack purchased 
 for him at starting ! My wealth seemed 
 boundless. But, before I had been quite six 
 months in the receipt of this princely revenue, 
 I was startled to find how rapidly it was 
 slipping away. So I thought of my promise, 
 and pulled up in time. 
 
 It was no longer, as Mr. Pisistratus Caxton 
 says, 'What wiU he do with it?' but, 'What 
 has he done with it?' 
 
 Well, I really had not deliberately gone 
 and made a fool of myself, in any way. Not 
 a sixpence of it had been invested in remorse ; 
 but there had certainly been a considerable
 
 140 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 outlay in the purchase of experience. I had 
 neither rattled a dice-box nor touched a card 
 during the whole season. I had made no 
 book, and ventured no bets at Epsom, and 
 had therefore escaped the wheels of the Derby 
 Juggernaut. The only bet I sported at Ascot 
 was a dozen of French gloves, which I pur- 
 posely lost to the prettiest debutante of the 
 season, who jilted me (in a saltatorial sense) 
 at the next Wednesday's Almack's, in order 
 that she might dance with Lyne Stephens. I 
 had shirked Goodwood, and kept clear of 
 NeA\^narket. I had given a wide berth to the 
 nymphs of the Opera and ballet^ whom I was 
 quite content to gaze at across the foot-lights ; 
 and I had only had one unlucky transaction 
 in horse-flesh, viz. when I was persuaded by 
 old Colonel Foxley — a retired guardsman, still 
 a member of the club, where he took quite a 
 paternal interest in the youngsters of the 
 brigade, particularly such of them as abounded 
 more in cash than caution — to swop my 
 quiet park hack, which the Colonel feared 
 was not quite up to my weight, against his 
 broAvn thorough-bred mare — ' the sweetest 
 thing in England; only a little too showy and 
 playful for an old fellow of sixty-two,' which
 
 A FAIR START, AXD GOOD ADVICE. 141 
 
 * sweet thins: * turned out to be a confirmed 
 roarer, with a slight string-halt, and such an 
 invincible repugnance to pass a stage-coach, 
 that I might as well have attempted to ride 
 her up the slope of the Great Pyramid, as to 
 make my way on her back from St. James's 
 Street to Hyde Park Corner, through the 
 Piccadilly of those by-gone days of Great 
 ^^estern Road traffic. 
 
 She fetched fifteen pounds at Tattersall's, 
 whither I sent her about six weeks after I had 
 become her fortunate possessor ; and a month 
 later in the season I paid seventy guineas to 
 repurchase my own horse from the Colonel, 
 who was just at that time a martyr to the 
 gout, and suddenly starting for Wiesbaden, 
 under the combined influence of medical 
 advice and sartorial pressure. 
 
 And here, dear reader, bear with me, while 
 episodically, and, I fear, rather coxcombically, 
 I record my first conversational succes. It is, 
 alas ! but a pun — a small pun, and a Latin 
 pun; but it was, as you will see in good 
 time, big with important results to my future 
 destiny. You will thus, if you are at all of 
 a philosophical turn of mind, be led to con- 
 template and admire the concatenation of
 
 142 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 events — tlie ^ encliainement des causes secon- 
 daires ^ — as our friends in Paris phrase it, 
 which controls our actions and regulates the 
 course of our lives, after the fashion so beau- 
 tifully illustrated in that venerable apologue 
 of the elderly gentlewoman whose progress 
 towards home was inconveniently delayed by 
 the contumacious, but characteristic behaviour 
 of her pig. 
 
 About a year after my friend Foxley's 
 departure for Wiesbaden, I was one afternoon 
 chatting in the morning room of the Guards' 
 Club — then, and until within a few years, at 
 the upper end of St. James's Street, and next 
 door to what was Crockford's, and is now, or 
 was very recently, a nondescript establishment 
 called the Wellington — when a brother Guards- 
 man, who was deep in the study of the ' Times,' 
 suddenly exclaimed, addressing himself to me 
 with a significant chuckle — 
 
 ' Why, Osmanby, here's your friend, old 
 Foxley, outlawed at the suit of Nugee, the 
 tailor!' 
 
 ' No wonder,' said I. ' What could he expect 
 when he got into such hands ? Don't we know 
 from Horace that — 
 
 "^XJGM seria ducent hi mala !'
 
 A FAIR START, AKD GOOD ADVICE. 143 
 
 This sally, audacious as it was, was honoured 
 with a round of applause. Within five minutes 
 after its perpetration, John Lyster had crossed 
 oyer to White's and told it to Luttrell, whom 
 it woke up from a doze over the ' Quarterly 
 Review.' With Luttrell, it re-crossed the 
 street to Brookes's, where he repeated it to 
 Tom ^loore, who was just starting to dine at 
 Holland House. At Holland House, Moore 
 met Rogers, and deliberately outraged his 
 feelings by retailing the small witticism — 
 a species of offence which seldom failed to 
 elicit a spurt of venom from the cynical bard 
 of Memory. Accordingly, he observed that — 
 
 Gentle dulness ever loves a joke, 
 
 and that the effort in question was about the 
 usual calibre of Guards' club wit ; addino- 
 that it had a certain amount of interest for 
 him in another point of view, as he rather 
 thought it was the first attempt at a bon-mot 
 ever ventured upon by one of my estimable, 
 but not very lively family. 
 
 But, although he was unwilling to patronize 
 me in my character of a punster, the anecdote 
 had the effect of reminding him of my ex- 
 istence. He was, as I have said or intimated,
 
 144 THE CKEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 an old friend of my father and mother, and 
 had known me, more or less, from my infancy. 
 Still, a youthful subaltern in the Guards, with- 
 out a handle to his name, and not yet fully 
 launched on the tide of fashionable popularity, 
 had but slight claims on his notice ; and, 
 although we not unfrequently met at some 
 crowded assembly of the * Upper Ten Thou- 
 sand,' he seldom honoured me by his recogni- 
 tion, when he could decently avoid it. 
 
 It happened, however, that a day or two 
 before, a young Parisian elegant of pure 
 Eoyalist stamp, the Vicomte de Saulny, one 
 of the Gardes du Corjjs^ just arrived on a 
 short visit to London, had brought him a letter 
 from M. de Chateaubriand, who had but 
 recently been French Ambassador in England. 
 Anxious to shew all due respect to an intro- 
 duction from one so high in the ranks of 
 diplomacy and literature, Rogers had given 
 M. de Saulny an invitation to breakfast for 
 an early day. The mention of my name in 
 connection with the small household-brigade 
 witticism, which had so excited his disgust, 
 now reminded him that a few weeks pre- 
 viously, when dining at my father's, in company 
 with M. de Yaudreuil, the Secretary of the
 
 A FATTv STAKT, AND GOOD ADVICE. 145 
 
 French Embassy, he had noticed that I spoke 
 French with ease and fluency ; and it occurred 
 to him that my familiarity mth that language, 
 and my position as a Guardsman, combined to 
 render me a suitable acquaintance for his 
 young Garde du Corps, and might, in a philo- 
 logical sense, do something to help off the 
 impending breakfast. 
 
 It thus came to pass that, early on the 
 ensuing day, T received the following note. 
 written in that neatest of all hands, so well 
 known to the fair autograph-hunters of the 
 day: — 
 
 'My dear Sie, — Will you do an act of 
 charity, and (if not on guard) breakfast with 
 me on Tuesday at half-past ten, to meet a 
 young French officer of the '' Maison du Roi," 
 who will be charmed to make your acquaint- 
 ance? With kind regards to your father, and 
 love to dear Lady Osmanby. 
 
 ' I am, truly yours, 
 
 ' Saimuel Rogers.' 
 
 St. James' Place, Sunday. 
 
 To the reader who remembers, or may have 
 heard traditionally, how highly the privilege 
 of admission to the breakfast-table in question 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 was prized in those days, it will be superfluous 
 to state that, as no regimental duty inter- 
 vened, my acceptance of the invitation was 
 given in a spirit of alacrity very similar to 
 that exhibited by the late Duchess of Gordon's 
 Scotch guest, who, when hospitably challenged 
 by her Grace to drink wine with her, empha- 
 tically exclaimed, ' JVuU a duck swum ? ' 
 
 I went, accordingly, to that breakfast; and 
 in due time, dear reader, you shall learn whom 
 I met on the occasion. But, for the present, I 
 must defer that important revelation; as I 
 have, in alluding to it, anticipated the course 
 of my narrative by more than a year ; and I 
 must go back to the point whence I started, 
 viz. the unaccountably evanescent character 
 of my first year's allowance, which, after all, 
 I can only deplore, without satisfactorily ex- 
 plaining. 
 
 It is true that I gave a few dinners at the 
 Clarendon, under considerable misapprehen- 
 sion as to the probable cost of the 7nenu^ and, 
 particularly, in a state of total ignorance as to 
 the price of turtle, at a time when, as I after- 
 wards found to my dismay, the market was 
 ' tight, ^ as they say on the Stock Exchange. 
 It is equally undeniable, that although Green
 
 A FAIR STAET, AXD GOOD ADVICE. 147 
 
 and Ward, as they declared, sold me tliose 
 emerald and diamond shirt-studs for a song^ 
 it was a song that went up to some very high 
 notes. In like manner, each of my brocaded- 
 silk dressing-gowns, of which, being a moderate 
 man, I sported only two, represented, as well 
 as exhibited, a very pretty figure. I must 
 own, also, that during the months when my 
 battalion was quartered at Windsor, my weekly 
 travelling expenses were not light, as, when- 
 ever it was feasible, I used, on Wednesdays and 
 Saturdays, to rim up to town in the afternoon 
 for Almack's or the Opera, returning in good 
 time for the next morning's parade. 
 
 In those days, ere railroads were in existence, 
 and when the pace of the Windsor coaches 
 was insufferably slow, posting was the only re- 
 source, under such circumstances, for a young 
 gentleman of active and social habits like my- 
 self, particularly when his locomotive arrange- 
 ments, on these occasions, generally comprised 
 a start from London to Windsor in the small 
 hours of the morning. Xow, if the reader 
 can achieve the amount of statistical research 
 necessary to ascertain the ordinary rate of 
 posting in the year of grace 1828, he mU 
 soon make the discovery that the cost of a 
 
 l2
 
 148 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 chaise and pair, twice a week, from Windsor to 
 London and back, must have made a fearful 
 inroad into a ten-pound note. To be sure 
 I was often accompanied on these trips by my 
 brother subaltern and great ally, Tracy Og- 
 lander ( 0' Glanclei\ as they insisted on calling 
 him when he exchanged into the Royal Irish), 
 and it was quite an understood thing between 
 us that he was to share the expense. But 
 poor Tracy was always a great sufferer from 
 what Dr. Johnson terms ' impecuniosity,' 
 being, as he said, not only a younger brother, 
 like myself, but a much younger-er\n:o\h^T: than 
 I was; and, as present cash payments w^ere a 
 matter of extreme difficulty with him for the 
 time, the whole immediate outlay fell upon 
 me; and the settlement of accounts between 
 us was, by mutual consent, postponed until 
 a time when Messrs. Greenwood & Cox 
 might be more fully alive to the value of his 
 autograph, when it was also ' understood ' that 
 he would replace a couple of ponies which, 
 over and above, stood to his debit in the record 
 of our pecuniary dealings. 
 
 This record, however, was only made upon 
 what are called ' the tablets of memory,' from 
 which, in the case of a borrower, the process
 
 A FAIR START, AND GOOD .VDVICE. 149 
 
 of obliteration by the action of time, is usually 
 very rapid; and it is therefore no great 
 wonder that, as yet, no earlier day than the 
 Greek Kalends has been fixed for my reim- 
 bursement.' 
 
 Poor Oglander ! I must do him the justice 
 to say that I verily believe he fully meant to 
 pay me, ' some time or other.' But I never 
 reminded him of the state of the account; 
 and, alas ! a round shot at Moodkee knocked 
 him over before the arrival of that indefinite 
 period. How gladly would I have given ten 
 times the money to set him on his legs again ! 
 
 So much for the financial improvidence 
 of my first year, or, more properly speaking, 
 my first six months in the Guards. As I 
 have said, I pulled up in time; and by 
 practising the strictest economy during the 
 remaining half year, 1 contrived to make both 
 ends meet, without having to make a penitent 
 appeal to the paternal sympathies, or finding 
 myself, in the alternative, constrained to seek 
 the charitable aid of the tribes of Israel; — a 
 class of philanthropists against whose obtru- 
 sive but fatal benevolence my father had em- 
 phatically and not unsuccessfully warned me.
 
 150 THE CEEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DUBLIN — ITS NOTABILITIES AND ITS GARRISON. 
 
 In the second year of my service in the 
 Guards, I found myself quartered with my 
 battalion in Dublin, at a period of great 
 public excitement in that city, as the reader 
 will readily believe, when he bears in mind 
 that 1829 was the memorable year of Catholic 
 emancipation. 
 
 The personal interest which I took in the 
 incidents of a crisis so important to my poli- 
 tical and social prospects, as an adherent of the 
 ancient faith, need hardly be enlarged upon. 
 I was of an age and a temperament to be 
 keenly alive to the annoyance involved in the 
 Catholic disabilities, which harassed the feel- 
 ings, and threatened to blight the career of 
 everyone of my co-religionists about to enter 
 on the anxious struggle of the world, and 
 pressed with peculiarly offensive harshness on
 
 DUBLIN — ITS NOTABILITIES AND GAKRISON. 151 
 
 those moving in that sphere of life in Trhich 
 my birth had placed me. 
 
 How orreat was mv exultation when I hailed, 
 in the first warrior of the age, whom I had 
 ever looked up to with patriotic veneration, and 
 was now doubly bound to revere in my pro- 
 fessional and regimental capacity, the resolute 
 and effectual redresser of what I had begun 
 to feel as a grievous and all but intolerable 
 wrong! 
 
 But if the state of the law, as it affected the 
 Catholics, prior to the Emancipation Act, was 
 so acutely felt by Englishmen of that creed, 
 fonnino:. as thev did, a small and insisnificant 
 portion of the community, what must have 
 been the feeling of indignation with which it 
 was viewed in Ireland by four-fifths of the 
 entire population, who, in that country, were 
 subjected to its insulting and disastrous pres- 
 sure I Can it now be matter of wonder that 
 the extraordinary man whose mental and phy- 
 sical energy succeeded in organizing the for- 
 midable system of agitation before which the 
 long-cherished policy of religious exclusion 
 was destined to give way, should, among the 
 enfranchised millions indebted to him for their 
 liberation, have enjoyed an amount of popu-
 
 152 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 larity, and attained an overwhelming influence, 
 of which contemporary history affords no 
 other example? 
 
 I am not, however, going to enter on the 
 field of obsolete party politics ; nor would I 
 seek to revive the defunct animosities that, 
 thirty years ago, or upwards, embittered social 
 existence in England as in Ireland. But the 
 memory of that period, in connection with its 
 characteristics, as exhibited in the latter 
 country, figures too prominently among the 
 souvenirs of my early days, to be excluded 
 from the passing record to which it is fairly 
 entitled ; and the name of O'Connell is asso- 
 ciated alike with my experiences of the Irish 
 capital, and the details of my second disap- 
 pointment in the character of a hero-wor- 
 shipper. 
 
 Ever since I had been old enough to enter 
 into the merits of ' the Catholic question,' I 
 had felt an ardent desire to see ' Big 0,' as 
 Cobbett rather quaintly designated him ; and 
 I had naturally pictured to myself the great 
 leader of the Irish Catholics as an individual 
 at least moderately endowed with the personal 
 attributes which, in early youth, our fancy is
 
 DUBLIX — ITS NOTABILITIES AND G^VRRISON. 153 
 
 eager to recognise in the objects of our liisto- 
 rical or patriotic enthusiasm. 
 
 The hidi intellectual forehead, the finely- 
 developed features, the eagle glance, the lofty 
 carriage and commanding deportment — all 
 these thinofs, in o;reater or less deofree, seem 
 indispensable to the proprieties of what, in the 
 affected jargon of newspaper philosophy, is 
 now called 'hegemony,' vulgh^ popular or 
 political leadership. But a little practical 
 experience of public life serves to dispel the 
 error of those who look upon such qualifica- 
 tions as necessarily, or commonly associated 
 with this kind of pre-eminence. 
 
 It must, however, be admitted that they are 
 valuable auxiliaries to the moral or mental 
 power by which that pre-eminence is mainly 
 achieved; and without seeking to disparage 
 the abilities of the noble and eminent politician 
 who, some years back, made so singular a 
 transition from the autocracy of the Turf to 
 the leadership of the Conservative opposition 
 in the House of Commons, I may venture to 
 say that the fine figure, aristocratic features, 
 and princely air of the late Lord George 
 I>entinck, were not without their weight in 
 conciliating the allegiance of that portion of
 
 154 THE CREAM OE A LIFE. 
 
 his adherents (a class numerous enough in all 
 parties), who would have been puzzled to 
 assign a plausible reason for the political faith 
 that was in them. 
 
 On the other hand, it must be admitted 
 that nothing short of commanding talent and 
 a peculiar aptitude for working on the minds 
 and feelings of the masses, could have created 
 or sustained the popularity of a democratic 
 leader, in a scratch wig so utterly uncouth 
 and disfiguring as that with which O'Connell 
 concealed and degraded the cranial develop- 
 ment for which he was indebted to nature. 
 Nor was there, according to my recollection of 
 the great Agitator, anything in the character 
 or details of his countenance to mitigate the 
 effect of the 'jasey' by which it was sur- 
 mounted. His features were wholly deficient 
 in dignity and impressiveness ; and, the good- 
 humoured, easy-going kind of look which they 
 usually wore, presented a singular, and, to my 
 mind, almost laughable contrast to the quali- 
 ties of mind and temperament exhibited in 
 his untiring public career. His portly and 
 burly figure seemed more suited to a pros- 
 perous and self-indulgent alderman, pleasantly 
 engrossed by the material enjoyments com-
 
 DUBLIN — ITS NOTABILITIES AND GARRISON. 155 
 
 monly associated with our ideas of that species 
 of municipal distinction, than to the restless 
 votary of political excitement, every hour of 
 whose existence was more or less devoted to 
 the interests of patriotism, the struggles of 
 party, or the intrigues of faction. 
 
 I am, however, speaking only of the outward 
 man, as it was not, at that time, my fortune 
 to be brought into personal communication 
 with him ; and my opportunities of observing 
 his countenance and demeanour in social life 
 were few and not favourable. The idol of a 
 whole nation, or, at any rate, of four- fifths of 
 a whole nation, is not likely to find much 
 amusement in exhibiting himself as the lion of 
 a co7iversazione ; and on the rare occasions 
 when he can be pressed into the service by the 
 intrepid matrons whose delight it is to organize 
 those formidable contrivances for the infliction 
 of boredom, he is generally glad to make his 
 escape through the earliest practicable breach 
 in the enchanted, but by no means enchanting 
 circle within which he has been unhappily 
 decoyed. 
 
 There is, however, one very conspicuous 
 Hibernian celebrity — a name honourably asso- 
 ciated with the literary advocacy of the same
 
 156 THE CREAJVl OF A LIFE. 
 
 great cause — ^who figures mucli more actively 
 in my Dublin reminiscences of that day. If 
 my position as an officer of the Guards was 
 but an indifi*erent passport to the circles of 
 political agitation, from which, indeed, I natu- 
 rally thought it my duty to keep aloof, it 
 could not fail to secure me ready admission to 
 the drawing-room and the boudoir of the most 
 distinguished and eccentric Irishwoman of 
 her time ; and it is from this period that I 
 date my long intimacy with Sydney, Lady 
 Morgan. 
 
 I doubt whether in the whole range of my 
 social experience, I could find another indivi- 
 dual from whose society I have derived the 
 same amount of amusement. Certainly there 
 is no one Avho ever enforced such seemingly 
 inconsistent, and all but contradictory claims 
 on the attention of those ivho are partial to 
 conversational excitement. So singular a 
 compound of genius and frivolity, of wit and 
 absurdity, of manly vigour of thought and 
 ultra-feminine vanity and affectation, of out- 
 of-the-way knowledge and exceptional igno- 
 rance, may be sought for in vain in the 
 present generation, and cannot fairly be ex- 
 pected to exhibit itself twice in a century.
 
 DUBLIN — ITS NOTABILITIES AND GARRISON. 157 
 
 It was, doubtless, to this rare combination of 
 conflicting elements in her character, that she 
 was indebted for a social position equally 
 abnormal. While ostentatiously j^rofessing 
 the philosophic independence of an advanced 
 liberal, a devotee of literature, and an esprit 
 foi% she exhibited an adoration of rank 
 and fashion as intense and eager as can weU 
 be found ^vithin the wide expanse of Anglo- 
 Saxon and Celtic kyriolatry ; and it was her 
 fortune to achieve social triumphs of the most 
 intoxicating description, in the opposite cha- 
 racters of a democrat and a tuft-hunter. 
 
 Worshipped by coxcombical infidels and 
 seedy republicans, in France and Italy, she 
 was not less the idol of orthodox peeresses and 
 other aristocratic fine ladies, in England and 
 Ireland. Xor was this social popularity with 
 the 'top-sawyers' (to use her own favourite 
 word) of her own country confined to the 
 Whig or Liberal section of the great world. 
 W^hile enjoying the homage of those to whom 
 her eloquent vituperation of their political 
 opponents afibrded a pungent excitement, she 
 numbered among her warmest admirers and 
 most attached friends many who held her
 
 158 THE CREAM OE A LIFE. 
 
 sham republican theories and genuine religious 
 latitudinarianism in utter abhorrence. 
 
 To those who were not personally acquainted 
 with her, it is no easy matter to convey an 
 idea of her peculiar claims on the eager notice 
 of society. Unattractive in appearance, and 
 unaided by any prestige of birth, fortune, or 
 connection, she commenced her literary and 
 social career with as few external advantages 
 as could well attend the debut of one destined 
 to fill so large a space in the eye of the world. 
 But, apart from the consideration of her talents 
 as a writer, which early attracted public at- 
 tention to her works, she was gifted with 
 social qualifications of so effective a character, 
 that, when preceded by the reputation achieved 
 by her pen, she could not fail to make good 
 her ground in every circle, of which she had 
 once obtained the entree. A keen sense of 
 humour, an easy and often brilliant flow of 
 language, alternating amusingly between the 
 epigrammatic and the intense — the frivolous 
 and the profound — the superciliously fine and 
 the racily vulgar — at one moment the flash of 
 conscious and genuine wit, at another the arro- 
 gant onslaught of intrepid ignorance parading 
 itself as knowledge ; here an anecdote of
 
 DUBLIN — ITS NOTABILITIES AND GARRISON. 159 
 
 satirical piquancy, as incorrect in its details 
 as it was hen trovato in substance; there a 
 blunder in history that might have struck 
 Hallam or Lingard with instantaneous apo- 
 plexy; — all this formed an ensemble of con- 
 versational eccentricity and spirit such as 
 seldom enlivens the well-bred and decorous 
 monotony of social life in England. 
 
 As to myself, I must own that, from the 
 first, her society exercised over me a fascina- 
 tion which no subsequent experience ever 
 availed to diminish. Whether she challenged 
 my admiration by a burst of genius, or pro- 
 voked my merriment by an outbreak of 
 absurdity, her conversation always acted as a 
 pleasant stimulus to my intellect or fancy; 
 and I shall ever look back to the hours I 
 lounged away in Lower Kildare Street, as 
 among the pleasantest that marked the period 
 of my garrison-life in Dublin. 
 
 One agreeable result of my professional 
 visit to the Land of Saints, was a orreat in- 
 crease of intimacy with my sister and her 
 worthy husband. Whenever the state of my 
 regimental duties and the indulgence of my 
 commanding officer enabled me to run down 
 for a few days to Shanbanagher Castle, I was
 
 160 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 welcomed with a cordial hospitality that 
 seemed to make up for the long years of 
 estrailgement between Lady Belturbet and 
 the home of my boyhood. 
 
 Away from the numbing influence of Lady 
 Tarleton's pharisaical devotion and puritanical 
 gloom, Maud appeared to have assumed a new 
 character. The unhealthy pressure once re- 
 moved, the springs of her mind and heart 
 seemed to have regained their elasticity, and 
 the stream of natural affection to have re- 
 covered its flow. Belturbet and she were a 
 very happy couple. She had her own way, 
 certainly; but it was a mild and judicious 
 despotism, of which he appreciated the ad- 
 vantages. She had twice as much common 
 sense as her husband; but then he had the 
 rare good sense to know it, and accept his 
 slightly subordinate position as a logical con- 
 sequence of his mental inferiority. 
 
 Not that he was deficient — how few of his 
 countrymen are ! — in talent or wit. He could 
 return thanks for his health at the Hunt 
 Dinner, in language that would do no dis- 
 credit to Hansard, and with a spirit and depth 
 of feeling that went straight to the heart of 
 his auditory, and sustained his county popu-
 
 DUBLIN — ITS NOTABILITIES AND GARRISON. 161 
 
 larity at a deservedly high pitch. Presiding 
 at his own board, during the rather brisk 
 circulation of the bottle, after the departure 
 of the ladies, he could keep the table in a roar 
 for an hour together, by the quaintness of his 
 humour and the peculiar turn of fun he could 
 give to the most trivial anecdote that admitted 
 of jocose development; and this, without 
 ever forgetting the proprieties of life, or over- 
 stepping the bounds of restraint imposed on 
 him by his position as a gentleman and a peer. 
 But he could neither regulate his household 
 expenditure, nor manage his estate. Arith- 
 metic was to him an unfathomable myster}', 
 and the red-tape element was wholly wanting 
 in his composition. He was equally unable 
 to cast up accounts, or tie up papers. So he 
 wisely abdicated the domestic and financial 
 sceptre of Shanbanagher, in favour of his 
 wife. She acted ii^self as house steward, and 
 kept a tight hand over the land agent and his 
 proceedings. If she did not exactly regulate 
 his lordship's stud, or choose his claret for 
 him, it is my firm belief that he never bought 
 a horse, or gave an order to his wine merchant, 
 without her express sanction. 
 
 The result of these prudent concessions, on 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE CREAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 his part, was a degree of solvency that would 
 have been otherwise unattainable, and was 
 certainly very rare in that neighbourhood. 
 If not quite upon velvet in money matters, 
 he could at any rate boast that he was far less 
 ruined than most of his brother-landowners 
 in the county; and although, I dare say, ac- 
 cording to the vulgar phrase, it has had a 
 squeak for it^ Shanbanagher Castle, with the 
 'demesne' attached to it, has, to this day, 
 been kept out of the Encumbered Estates 
 Court. 
 
 It was a great comfort to me that I could 
 open my heart to my sister, on a point which 
 occupied my mind a good deal, but was a 
 tabooed subject in Portman Square and at 
 Osmanby. I was not in general very dreamy 
 or sentimental ; but the unusual state of cir- 
 cumstances which had kept me from all com- 
 munication with my only brother, was to me 
 a matter of deep regret, and even mortification. 
 I grieved over this unfortunate estrangement 
 from a near relative, whom I had not seen 
 since my earliest infancy, as if I had had 
 personal experience of the good and noble 
 qualities which I, as it were instinctively, 
 ascribed to him. It seemed to me very hard
 
 DUBLIN ITS NOTABILITIES AND GARRISON. 163 
 
 that, without any faults of my own, except a 
 rather premature development of dogmatic 
 preferences, I should be deprived of that 
 social support and domestic sympathy which 
 I felt I had a right to expect from an elder 
 brother, to whom I looked up as the future 
 head of my family — and whose character 
 and career were such as to reflect additional 
 honour on a position rated by me, in my 
 genealogical enthusiasm, at a far higher value 
 than the estimate of the world was likely to 
 attach to it. 
 
 In addition to these thoughts and feelings, 
 my romantic tendencies found something to 
 work upon in the events of George's married 
 life, concerning which he had, as I learnt from 
 my sister, continued to observe a silence so 
 mysterious as to excite a doubt whether 
 Christian forbearance, or violent prejudice, and 
 perhaps unjust resentment, were the main- 
 spring of this gloomy and ostentatious dis- 
 cretion. 
 
 I have already mentioned that his infant 
 daughter, placed under the care of my aunt 
 Tarleton, had died within a year of his return 
 from Canada, and thereby severed the chief 
 link that bound him to the goodly fraternity 
 
 m2
 
 104 THE CREAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 of the ' righteous over much/ in the midst of 
 which that austere Viscountess passed her 
 devout and rather anathematical existence. 
 He had been now for some years, with his re- 
 giment, in India, where he had greatly distin- 
 guished himself in the Burmese war, and in 
 many subsequent warlike episodes of Indian 
 life, and had recently attained the brevet rank 
 of colonel, and received the companion's Cross 
 of the Bath in requital of his services. I 
 now learnt from Lady Belturbet, mth whom 
 he kept up an intermitting correspondence, 
 that he was about to return to England on 
 leave, in contemplation of an exchange with 
 some officer of the same res^imental rank as 
 himself, on the half-pay or unattached list; 
 and my heart bounded within me at the 
 prospect of seeing him within a few months 
 in London, where I felt that no adverse in- 
 fluence could effectually thwart my earnest 
 wish and firm resolve to bring myself to his 
 notice, and claim at his hands the friendship 
 of a brother. 
 
 In Maud I found no lack of sympathy with 
 my feelings on this subject ; and I reckoned 
 with confidence on the aid of her womanly
 
 DUBLIN — ITS NOTABILITIES AND GAIiRISON. 1G5 
 
 tact and sisterly kindness in forwarding my 
 views of family reunion. 
 
 I have little more to say of my Hibernian 
 experiences of that year. In the month of 
 June my battalion was ordered back to 
 London ; and I was not sorry to find myself 
 once more on the pave of St. James's Street, 
 emancipated at once from the Catholic dis- 
 abilities which had just been repealed, and 
 from the rigid pipe-clay of the Dublin military 
 regulations, which in those days exacted, and, 
 for aught I know, still continue to exact, a strict 
 adherence to regimental costume, whether on or 
 off guard, instead of the ' mufti ' which the offi- 
 cers of the London garrison are privileged to 
 enjoy at all times, except when on actual duty. 
 
 Au reste, I ' made it out ' tolerably well, 
 during my winter and spring in the minor 
 capital; falling in love a good deal, at the 
 balls, but chiefly after a glass or two of cham- 
 pagne at supper — and generally recovering 
 my heart the next morning, when the re- 
 membrance of my charmer's brogue was more 
 vividly impressed on my mind, than the bright- 
 ness of her eyes, or the smartness of her wit 
 in repartee; and not unfrequently made love
 
 166 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 to^ especially in a vicarious sense, by the 
 mammas, who, ^vith the national credulity, 
 would insist on setting me down as an eldest 
 son, because I drove a high-trotting horse in 
 my cab, and dined occasionally at ' the Castle,' 
 when the big- wigs mustered in force. 
 
 I am happy to say, however, that I neither 
 committed myself, nor compromised anyone 
 else ; and while I made a good many friends 
 during my stay in Dublin, I think I can safely 
 assert that, on my departure, I left no enemies 
 behind me. 
 
 In those days, it was rather the fashion 
 among the Guards to decry the society and 
 style of the Dublin folks; and I remember 
 that, before I was ordered to Ireland, there 
 were sundry good but rather apocryphal stories 
 current at the club, illustrative of a less ad- 
 vanced stage of civilization as alleged to 
 prevail in the Hibernian metropolis. Some 
 of these anecdotes, indeed, reflected not so 
 much on the shortcomings of the natives them- 
 selves, as on the inferiority of tone occasionally 
 observable among the officers of line regiments, 
 with whom, while forming part of the Dublin 
 garrison, the elegans of the Guards were of 
 course brought into professional and social
 
 DUBLIN ITS NOTABILITIES AND GARRISON. 1G7 
 
 contact ; and in particular I recollect an aris- 
 tocratic member of our refined community — 
 one who is still extant and highly placed in 
 courtly circles — relating, with much gusto^ a 
 fragment of ball-room conversation which he 
 professed to have overheard on St. Patrick's 
 night, or some other occasion of festive 
 gathering at the Castle — in which a youthful 
 ensign in the line was represented as question- 
 ing his fair partner in the quadrille as to her 
 partiality for oysters^ by way of securing for 
 himself an opportunity of communicating the 
 interesting statistical fact that 'there's one 
 Macdermot of ours that hoults 'em like pays I ' 
 For my part, without disputing the authen- 
 ticity of a statement so honourably vouched, 
 I shall content myself with saying that it was 
 not my good fortune, while in Dublin, to meet 
 with anything half so spicy in the way of 
 deviation from the decorous monotony of 
 civilized life. In fact, the only social trait 
 which dwells in my memory in connection 
 with this, my first \dsit to Ireland, as calcu- 
 lated to afibrd a pretext for a sneer at the 
 tone of Dublin society, or the deficient ac- 
 quirements of the fairer portion of it, is one in 
 which I very much doubt whether my own
 
 168 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 coxcombry was not far more conspicuous than 
 the pardonable ignorance of the unsophisticated 
 dame of whom I am about to relate it. The 
 story, such as it is, might have suited any 
 other locality ; and, after all, the heroine of it 
 was not, I believe, an Irishwoman by birth. 
 It exhibits, however, far too original a blunder 
 to be suppressed ; and I cannot resist the 
 temptation of telling it. 
 
 The lady in question, a person of rank and 
 station, Avas a great musical enthusiast, and 
 had been, in her younger days, a first-rate 
 performer on the pianoforte. Her house, one 
 of the most cordially hospitable in Dublin, 
 was a favourite resort of mine ; as, although 
 not possessing the strong musical digestion 
 requisite for sitting out those fierce pugilistic 
 encounters with the instrument, in which the 
 fair pianistes of my generation were, at that 
 time, beginning to indulge, and of which, I 
 grieve to speak it, the fashion has not yet 
 passed away, — I was really fond of music in 
 its less severe aspects, and much enjoyed the 
 spirited and scientific singing of the Dublin 
 sirens, whose warbling enlivened the frequent 
 
 and friendly soirees of Lady in Merrion 
 
 Square.
 
 DUBLIN ITS NOTABILITIES AND GARRISON. 169 
 
 On one of these occasions, during a short 
 interval in the programme of the evening, I 
 was standing by the pianoforte, chatting with 
 my worthy hostess, while she carelessly ran 
 over the keys with that masterly touch, and 
 graceful variety of modulation, in which it 
 was easy to discover the verve of the accom- 
 plished musician. A passage of impromptu 
 brilliancy having called forth my genuine 
 admiration, I was anxious to convince Lady 
 
 of what was unfortunately not the fact, 
 
 viz., that I was sufficientlv skilled in the science 
 of music to appreciate her rare talent at its 
 full value, and that, in particular, I could 
 detect in the rapid changes of chord and key, 
 her perfect familiarity with thoroughbass or 
 counterpoint, — a mystery, by the way, of 
 which I had about as distinct a notion as 
 I had of Coptic. 
 
 Xow it will probably occur to the reader, if 
 he be a practical man, that when introducing, 
 however rashly, the subject of thoroughbass, 
 I should have done well to designate that 
 abstruse science by its vernacular name. But 
 — I must confess it — I was, I believe, in those 
 early days, a little — just a very little— fine ; 
 and when discoursino: on ' hio^h art
 
 170 THE CREAIM OF A LIFE. 
 
 I suppose I thought it most judicious to call 
 in the aid of that language which in itself 
 seems to breathe the very soul of melody. 
 At all events, what I said was : 
 
 ' Of course, Lady , you are thoroughly 
 
 well acquainted with contrappunto ? ' 
 
 ' No ! ' responded her ladyship, promptly 
 and decisively. 'J have not the honour of 
 knowing him,'' 
 
 The poor lady actually thought I was in- 
 quiring as to her acquaintance with a dis- 
 tinguished foreigner — Monsieur le Comte 
 Kappunto ! 
 
 A
 
 171 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A BREAKFAST IN ST. JAjVIES'S PLACE. 
 
 Once more in London, I am reminded that 
 I owe the reader some account of a certain 
 breakfast in St. James's Place, the date of 
 which coincides with this portion of my his- 
 tory ; although the trivial causes which led to 
 my being honoured with an invitation from 
 the Bard of Memory have been, by anticipa- 
 tion, stated in an earlier chapter, as illustrative 
 of the slight character of those incidents which 
 seem in some cases to form the pivot of our 
 destiny. 
 
 This breakfast, then, for which the reader 
 has been kept waiting like the hero of ' /' Ome- 
 lette Fantastique^ took place in that said month 
 of June 1829, in honour, as I have said, of 
 the Vicomte de Saulny, the young garde-du- 
 corps for whom Mr. Rogers was anxious to 
 secure a decent competency of grammatical 
 French conversation during the repast. The
 
 172 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 party consisted, as far as men were concerned, 
 of the Yicomte, the incomparable Henry Lut- 
 trell, and myself ; while the social board was 
 graced by the presence of three fair ladies, 
 two of whom, at least, were of sufficient social 
 eminence to justify a passing tribute to their 
 merits. 
 
 One was Mrs. M 1, the celebrated writer, 
 
 who had achieved the moral miracle of being 
 a female political economist, without being 
 the least of a bore. I confess that funk was 
 the prevailing sensation with me when I found 
 myself presented to her ; but this dastardly 
 feeling, originating in the fact that I had 
 never before encountered a female of the 
 species — to my youthful fancy as great an 
 anomaly as a female artilleryman — soon dis- 
 appeared before the charm of her unaffected 
 and sociable manner, and my admiration of 
 her thoroughly Parisian French. 
 
 The other was our accomplished host's 
 sister. Miss Rogers, whose conversational 
 talent lives in the memory of all that remains 
 of her own and the succeeding generation, as 
 among the notahilia of what is now, alas ! a 
 remote period of history. To her I needed 
 no introduction, having known her intimately
 
 A BREAKFAST IN ST. JAMES's PLACE. 173 
 
 from my childhood, and more recently learned 
 to appreciate the merits which so strongly 
 recommended her to the favour of her con- 
 temporaries. 
 
 Miss Rogers was one of a class far from 
 numerous in social life, who have always 
 challenged my admiration, and attracted my 
 willing attentions in society. She was the 
 heau ideal of a clever unmarried woman of a 
 certain age, who accepts her position and de- 
 termines to make the most of it. It is a piece 
 of vulgar and foolish impertinence to sneer at 
 the sisterhood of old maids. There are few 
 among those so contemptuously designated 
 who are not examples of a species of heroism, 
 not the less genuine that it is unobtrusive 
 and unappreciated. How much of patient 
 endurance, of courage, and dignity under sad 
 trials and disappointments, — of devotion and 
 self-sacrifice, — should we often discover, could 
 we but pry into the secret history of hearts 
 and feelings, among that slighted and, in some 
 sense, aggrieved class ! It is said that the 
 element of romance mingles more or less in 
 the career of everyone among us. I cannot 
 give my unqualified assent to this theory, as 
 far as our sex are concerned ; for I fancy
 
 174 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 I have met not a few lords of the creation, of 
 whom it might be plausibly said — as the Abbe 
 de Pradt used to say of the first Napoleon — 
 that the heart had been accidentally omitted 
 from the anatomical structure of the indi- 
 vidual; its functions being substitutionally 
 performed by the gizzard. But as relates to 
 women, I have little doubt that the notion is 
 correct ; and when I see a sad, meek, and 
 faded spinster gliding quietly and uncom- 
 plainingly through the monotonous routine of 
 her obscure and joyless existence, she seems 
 to me to claim my sympathy for sufferings 
 all the more acute, that she dares not proclaim 
 them to the world, and her pride will scarce 
 allow her to acknowledge them to herself. 
 
 But an intelligent and cheerful-minded 
 spinster, in tolerably easy circumstances, who, 
 at five-and-forty, or thereabouts, resolutely 
 discards all romantic ideas, bids adieu to 
 female sentimentality, and boldly takes her 
 stand as a man of the world, is, generally 
 speaking, as pleasant a companion as the 
 chances of society afibrd. With more than 
 matronly a-plomb — and with that buoyancy 
 of spirit which absolute independence and a 
 happy exemption from the responsibilities of
 
 A BREAKFAST IN ST. JAMES'S PLACE. 175 
 
 maternal chaperonage are calculated to pro- 
 duce, she holds her own more securely, and 
 at a slighter sacrifice to conventionalism, than 
 any other portion of the female community. 
 Eetaining enough of feminine softness of cha- 
 racter to rescue her from the imputation of 
 coarseness, she has generally some little expe- 
 rience of those athletic exercises of the mind, 
 which the majority of her sex are prone to 
 regard as the exclusive vocation of ours ; and 
 somehow or other, she enjoys an unchallenged 
 freedom of remark and latitude of discussion 
 that, in widows or wives, would be apt to elicit 
 the sneers of the cynical and the frowns of 
 the demure. If she indulges in gossip, it is 
 generally seasoned with wit, and pointed with 
 epigrammatic sharpness. It is the wholesome 
 racy scandal of the clubs, not the tittle-tattle 
 of the boudoir or the tea-table. In short, she 
 is often a capital fellow ; and when one has 
 the good fortune to find one's self seated at 
 dinner near a favourable specimen of this in- 
 teresting class, the signal for the departure of 
 the ladies is a source of real vexation; and 
 one is half disposed to treat her obedience to 
 the summons as an unmanly sacrifice to an 
 absurd national prejudice.
 
 176 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 Miss Eogers was, in my early days, one of 
 the most distinguished examples of that form 
 of social eminence ; and not even the Misses 
 
 Berry, nor the Ladies P y — whose names 
 
 will occur to many of my readers as brilliant 
 illustrations of its peculiar charm — could 
 claim, in that character, a sincerer tribute of 
 homage from those who, like myself, had the 
 opportunity of appreciating their merits, as 
 among the conversational benefactors of man- 
 kind. Witty and satirical, like her brother. 
 Miss Eogers displayed her formidable powers 
 in that line with pleasanter effect on the feel- 
 ings of the hearers. She was, so to speak, 
 our old friend Sam ' with the chill off.' 
 Where he was savage, she was scarcely severe, 
 but rather good humour edly critical. Her 
 satire did not lack pungency ; but it was in 
 great measure free from the venom which 
 tipped the shafts of her brother's cynical 
 pleasantry ; and if she occasionally entrapped 
 you into a laugh at the foibles of some 
 common friend or acquaintance, she never 
 made you feel too keenly, when quitting the 
 circle of her amused listeners, that like Sir 
 Peter Teazle, vou were leavino; vour character 
 behind you. •
 
 A BREAKFAST IX ST. JAMES'S PLACE. 177 
 
 But there was a third lady present at that 
 memorable breakfast. And what of her ? At 
 all events, she was neither a political econo- 
 mist, nor a man of the world ; for youth and 
 lightheartedness shone in her every look and 
 movement; while joy and innocence beamed 
 from out a pair of the brightest eyes that 
 ever lighted up the ' human face divine,' or 
 darted converging rays of peculiar intensity 
 right through the left breast of a susceptible 
 guardsman's waistcoat. 
 
 Bright, and at the same time soft, were 
 those happy, honest eyes, of sapphire hue, 
 and fringed with lashes of a darker shade ; 
 the bloom of the peach was on her cheek, and 
 the dimples of gaiety and good humour played 
 round the rosy lips that, ever and anon, par- 
 tially revealed the matchless row of veritable 
 pearls confided to their custody. I am not 
 going to indulge in any more minute descrip- 
 tion. The reader's taste may possibly not 
 agree with mine, as to the line of beauty in 
 female features. I don't even say that she 
 was actually beautiful. All I say is, that 
 there are some faces so thoroughly unmis- 
 takeable as indications of temper, heart, and 
 disposition, that all conjecture and inquiry on 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE CREAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 the subject are superfluous ; and this was one 
 of them. You looked at the owner; one 
 fixed glance was enough. You saw — you 
 felt — you knew she was an angel — and there 
 was an end of it. 
 
 One thing more I should mention, viz., that 
 there was, every now and then, in the expres- 
 sion of her countenance, a look — a something 
 — that reminded me of somebody, I knew not 
 whom, but certainly some face with the fea- 
 tures of which I was more or less familiar. 
 
 I did not catch her name in the sort of 
 general introduction that followed my en- 
 trance into the room, where the ladies were 
 already assembled. I had arrived in St. James's 
 Place at the same moment as M. de Saulny, 
 to whom I naturally insisted on yielding the 
 pas'j and the butler was, of course, too much 
 pre-occupied with the task of announcing a 
 foreign name, free as it was from all organic 
 difficulties for an English tongue, to give full 
 and due effect to my patronymic in conjunc- 
 tion with the style and title of the Vicomte 
 de Saulny. It thus happened that my fair 
 friend, as I afterwards found, was equally un- 
 enlightened as to my individuality, without, I 
 dare say, feeling anything like the same degree
 
 A BEEAKFAST IN ST. JAZilES'S- PLACE. 179 
 
 of interest in the clearing up of the mystery 
 which I experienced, in her regard. 
 
 I soon ascertained that, whoever she might 
 be, she was under the care of, and apparently 
 on a visit with, Miss Rogers, who addressed 
 her merely as ' Mary.' Out of politeness to 
 the Yicomte, the conversation at breakfast 
 was carried on chiefly in French ; and as that 
 gentleman was by no means deficient in the 
 fluency and volubility which usually distin- 
 guish the colloquial efforts of his countrymen, 
 he naturally concentrated on himself the chief 
 attention of the company, leaving but little 
 opportunity for the by-play of more confi- 
 dential or less general discourse between any 
 of the other guests. The chances of the table 
 had placed me next to my unknown beauty; 
 and I was well disposed, had it been feasible, 
 to make the most of this proximity, by exerting 
 to the utmost my powers of small-talk. But 
 the Yicomte, whose warlike sympathies pro- 
 bably attracted him to a brother soldier, and 
 who was fall of eager curiosity about a variety 
 of professional details upon which I alone, in 
 that company, was able to enlighten him, kept 
 me too much on the qui vive^ as an authority 
 in British military statistics, to allow me fair 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 play in my equally legitimate function, as a 
 ' squire of dames;' and I could only now and 
 then snatch an opportunity for a brief display 
 of deferential attention to my attractive 
 neighbour. Her manner, perfectly modest, 
 simple and ingenuous, was yet certainly not 
 discouraging ; and there was something about 
 her frank and merry smile, when she met my 
 glance, as I from time to time resumed my 
 efforts to engage her in conversation, which 
 seemed to assure me that she took the will for 
 the deed, and felt no particular repugnance to 
 the establishment of friendly relations between 
 us, if Fate and talkative Frenchmen would 
 permit. 
 
 At length, during a partial lull. Miss Kogers 
 addressed me by name, with an inquiry after 
 my mother's health. 
 
 ' Lady Osmanby,' added she, ' was rather 
 complaining when I called in Portman Square 
 about a fortnight ago; but she told me she 
 should be quite herself again in a day or two, 
 as she was expecting her Gerald from Dublin. 
 So I hope your arrival has worked the ex- 
 pected cure.' 
 
 While I returned the suitable answer, what- 
 ever it was, to the inquiry, I was surprised to
 
 A BREAIvPAST IN ST. JA^EES'S PLACE. 181 
 
 see my fair inconnue turn suddenly towards 
 me, and ^:^ her eyes intently on my face, with 
 a look of perplexity. 
 
 'What is the matter?' said I. 'Have I 
 said anything wicked or startling?' 
 
 ' Oh, I beg your pardon,' said she, while a 
 deep blush covered her cheek ; ' but I confess 
 I was taken by surprise. You do n't mean 
 to say that you are really Gerald Osmanby?' 
 
 ' So, at least, I have been always led to 
 believe,' said I. ' But perhaps I was changed 
 at nurse, and you may possess some evidence 
 of the fact. At all events, I should very 
 much like to know your reason for question- 
 ing my identity.' 
 
 ' Oh, it 's a shame to laugh at me in that 
 way. You know I do 'nt mean that. But the 
 fact is, I did not in the least know who you 
 were; and to tell you the truth, you speak 
 French so well, that I half thought you were 
 a Frenchman.' 
 
 ' Heaven forbid ! ' exclaimed I, in a whisper 
 that was not audible beyond ourselves. ' But 
 still I should much like to know why I have 
 not as good a right to be Gerald Osmanby, as 
 to be John Smith or any other person.' 
 
 ' Oh, I 'm afraid I was very ill-bred ; but it
 
 182 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 was quite involuntary. The truth is, you 
 know, I have heard so much about you, that 
 it seemed strange to have been sitting near 
 you and talking to you without knowing it.' 
 
 ' Heard so much about me ! ' cried I, rather 
 bewildered, and in some little alarm. ( ' Surely,' 
 thought I to myself, ' my fair friend has no 
 Irish correspondents who have been singing 
 my praises, or the reverse. There was that 
 Miss O'Dwyer, at Shanbanagher, to be sure; 
 but I really never said anything very parti- 
 cular to her; indeed, she did all the flirting 
 herself, well! ') ' How do you mean, heard so 
 much about me ? ' continued I. ' Was it from 
 the other side of the water?' 
 
 ' Well, it was from beyond sea, latterly, at 
 all events. But I thought my name would 
 have told you how it was that I had heard of 
 you.' 
 
 ' If I had only the pleasure of knowing 
 your name,' said I. 
 
 ' Oh, I beg your pardon a thousand times ! ' 
 exclaimed she, blushing again; 'I thought 
 Mr. Rogers told you who I was; and that 
 made it seem strange that you should have 
 said nothing about my brother.' 
 
 'Your brother?'
 
 A BREAKFAST IN ST. JA^IES'S PLACE. 183 
 
 ' Yes ; but I am forgetting again. I have 
 not told you that I am Mary Conyers, Hugh's 
 sister/ 
 
 ' Grood heavens ! ' exclaimed I, astonished in 
 my turn. ' What a fool I was not to have 
 guessed it ! That is the look that has been 
 haunting and puzzling me the whole morning. 
 So you are the " Mary " of whom he was so 
 constantly talking at Sandhurst. And how 
 is the dear old fellow?' 
 
 ' Yery well, and complaining that you have 
 not answered his last letter. But I am happy 
 to say he is exchanging into the Guards, and 
 coming home.' 
 
 This was, indeed, good news to me. I had 
 not seen Conyers since he had left Sandhurst 
 and joined the — th regiment at Gibraltar, 
 two years before. But my affection and 
 admiration for him were undiminished; and 
 we had kept up a tolerably brisk correspond- 
 ence in the .interval. 
 
 ' I am rejoiced to hear it,' said I. ' I saw 
 by the " Gazette " that he had obtained his 
 lieutenancy ; but I had no idea he was think- 
 ing of an exchange. Do you know which 
 regiment of Guards he is about to join?' 
 
 ' I have not the remotest notion. Indeed, I
 
 184 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 did not know there was more than one regi- 
 ment of Guards ; so you mil think me very- 
 ignorant for a soldier's daughter. By the by, 
 I suppose you know papa has just got a divi- 
 sion in India. It is five thousand a-year. Is 
 not that nice ? ' 
 
 ' Indeed, I had not heard it. I am very 
 glad to offer you my congratulations on the 
 subject. But I hope you do n't mean to join 
 him in India.' 
 
 ' Oh, dear, no ! not at present, at all events. 
 Grandmamma cannot spare me, and I have to 
 work very hard for the next year. Besides, 
 now that dear Hugh will be in England, it 
 would be too vexatious to leave it.' 
 
 ' You are very fond of him, I dare say.' 
 
 ' It would be very odd if I were not, dar- 
 ling fellow as he is ! And I am sure you love 
 him very much, too, or you would be very 
 ungrateful.' 
 
 ' My conscience is pretty easy on that 
 point. But why do you say I should be un- 
 grateful ? ' 
 
 ' Because he thinks so highly of you, and 
 used to sing your praises so much. Oh ! he 
 would not have a word said against you.' 
 
 ' What can you mean ? ' said I, laughing,
 
 A BREAKFAST IN ST. JA^IES's PLACE. 185 
 
 ' and where on earth has he had to fight my 
 battles ? I declare I thought I was a very 
 inoflfensive, quietly behaved young man, and 
 never dreamt that anyone was attackmg 
 me behind my back — to him^ too, of all 
 people ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! ' said she, with another deep 
 blush, and in evident embarrassment. ' I am 
 really very absurd. But, of course, I meant 
 nothing.' 
 
 ' Well, but, indeed, you must tell me what 
 this nothing is — or I shall go away quite un- 
 happy.' 
 
 ' I am so sorry to have spoken in that 
 foolish way ; and now I know you will be 
 oiFended with me, if I tell you what I really 
 alluded to.' 
 
 ' I am never ofi^ended at hearing the truth 
 from anyone — least of all from my friends : 
 and I have a right to expect that, as Hugh 
 Conyers's sister, you will feel like a friend 
 towards me.' 
 
 ' Well, then, it was only this — that grand- 
 mamma used to vex him a little about you ? ' 
 
 ' Grandmamma ! Do you mean Lady 
 Greystoke ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.'
 
 186 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 'Why, she has never seen me — and can 
 hardly have heard my name mentioned, ex- 
 cept by him.' 
 
 ' No ; but, you see, she did not quite like 
 his intimacy with you.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' said I, in a rather stately tone. 
 Does her ladyship think an Osmanby not 
 sufficiently hon gentilhomme to associate with 
 a Conyers ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! It was nothing of that sort. 
 You could not seriously imagine such a thing. 
 She says, herself, that yours is one of the 
 best families in England. But, you know, 
 you are — or you were, at least, — a Roman 
 Catholic' 
 
 ' Oh ! Is that all ? ' exclaimed I, somewhat 
 relieved. ' Yes, it is quite true ; I was and 
 am a Catholic. I suppose you think it very 
 shocking ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no. I was speaking of grandmamma's 
 objections ; not of my own. But I see I 
 have offended you after all ; and I am 5(? 
 sorry ! ' 
 
 ' No ! ' said I, rather sadly. ' I am not in 
 the least offended. Indeed, these little re- 
 minders are good for us, upon the whole. If 
 our friends did not let out the truth some-
 
 A BREAKFAST IX ST. JA:kIES'S PLACE. 187 
 
 times, we should be apt to forget that we have 
 horns and a tail ! ' 
 
 ' WTiat do you mean ? ' 
 
 But here our rather confidential chat was 
 interrupted by a general movement of the 
 breakfast party ; and I was fastened on by 
 the Vicomte, who kept me continuously in 
 talk, while making the tour of those world- 
 famed rooms, so rich in priceless treasures of 
 art, and graceful objects of virtu. With 
 exemplary good breeding, he affected a suit- 
 able amount of rapture, as our accomphshed 
 host modestly poiuted out the chief attractions 
 of his museum of taste. 
 
 But it was no easy matter for a Frenchman 
 of that day to g^t up the steam of enthusiasm 
 in favour of the chefs d'oeuvre of Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds' pencil ; and I could not help laugh- 
 ing in my sleeve, when an earnest contempla- 
 tion of ' Puck ' elicited nothing more sestheti- 
 cally appropriate than this remark : 
 
 ^Tiens! c'est gentil ca! Est-il drole! le 
 gamin ! ' 
 
 At length, carriages were announced ; and 
 in the slight bustle of approaching departure, 
 Miss Conyers watched her opportunity, and 
 approaching me rather hurriedly, as I stood a
 
 188 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 little apart, held out her hand to me, saying, 
 in a subdued voice, with visible nervousness 
 almost amounting to agitation : ' Mr. Os- 
 manby, I am so grieved to have annoyed you 
 — pray, forgive me.' 
 
 ' Forgive you ! ' answered I, gaily, taking the 
 little hand, and keeping it fast imprisoned in 
 my own till she gently struggled to release it, 
 ' I have nothing to forgive, and everything to 
 be grateful for. Are you going ? I hope we 
 shall soon meet again. Shall you be at Al- 
 mack's to-morrow nio;ht ?' 
 
 ' Almack's ! oh, dear, no ! I am only in 
 London for a few days, because Miss Rogers 
 coaxed grandmamma to let me come up to hear 
 Pasta, whom I have never yet heard, in " Anna 
 Bolena," to-night ; and to see the new piece at 
 Drury Lane to-morrow, when we are to have 
 Lady Holland's box. I am going back to 
 Hampton Court on Thursday.' 
 
 ' Then you won't be at the drawing-room.' 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! no. I am not to be pre- 
 sented until this time next year. You know 
 I am still in the schoolroom, and under the 
 orders of my governess. I shall not be seven- 
 teen until next January.' 
 
 ' Well, as soon as Hugh comes home I shall
 
 A BREAKFAST IN ST. JAMES's PLACE. 189 
 
 bully him until he takes me do\vn to Hampton 
 Court to see you ; and once there, I shall 
 insist upon converting grandmamma. In the 
 meantime, let me have the melancholy satisfac- 
 tion of attending you to the carriage.' 
 
 ' Come, Mary,' said Miss Rogers, ' you must 
 not talk any more to those wicked officers of 
 the Guards. They are very dangerous people, 
 and always shocking flirts.' 
 
 ' Don't believe a word of it, my dear Miss 
 Conyers,' said I. 
 
 ' I don't believe it of you^ at all events,' 
 said Mary, looking up at me with her bright 
 smile. ' I am sure Hugh would not be so 
 fond of you, if you were wicked in any way.' 
 
 ' My dear child,' said her chaperon, laugh- 
 ing, ' all men are dreadful reprobates ; and I 
 have no doubt your brother is very little 
 better than the rest of them. But don't look 
 so horrified, Mary ; we need n't pretend to 
 know anything about it, you know, and 
 
 Where ignorance is bliss, 
 'Tis folly to be wise.' 
 
 ' I know better, as far as Hugh is concerned,' 
 whispered Mary to me, as I drew her arm 
 within mine to lead her to the carriage. ' But
 
 190 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 I see how it is — Miss Rogers lives so much 
 among the Whigs ; and grandmamma says 
 they are most of them dreadfully wicked 
 people. She has a perfect horror of Holland 
 House. Well, goodbye, I dare say I shall see 
 you again some day ; and, in the meantime, I 
 hope I am forgiven.' 
 
 So saying, she took her seat in the carriage, 
 and gave me a parting smile. 
 
 ' Forgiven ! Yes ! But, forgotten ! Never.' 
 
 I stood on the door steps watching the 
 carriage as it drove away, and keeping it in 
 sight until it turned up towards St. James's 
 Street, when it suddenly occurred to me that 
 the footman was holding the door open for my 
 re-entrance into the house ; rightly conjecturing 
 that, as I was without my hat, I was not going 
 to walk off then and there. So I returned 
 hastily to the drawing-room, painfully conscious 
 that * Jeames,' and the more dignified butler who 
 stood at the foot of the stairs, were laughing 
 at me in the secret recesses of their hearts. 
 
 ' That is a very pretty young lady,' said our 
 host, with a significant smile ; ' and those eyes 
 of hers will commit havoc by-and-by among 
 the eUgans of the Guards' Club, if they have 
 not already begun to do so.'
 
 A BKEAKFAST IN ST. JAMES'S PLACE. 191 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said I, brazening it out, as the 
 phrase goes ; ' I 'm a dead man already ! She 
 is charming ; so thoroughly natural and unso- 
 phisticated ! ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said he, with his irrepressible sneer ; 
 ' To a man of your Io7ig experience, as an 
 admirer and favourite of the sex, — who must 
 be so utterly blase on these points, and sated 
 with repeated triumphs over the hearts of the 
 fair and the fashionable, — the sight of this 
 rustic beauty must be, as Mr. Leigh Hunt 
 would say, quite refreshing J 
 
 The venom was in full operation, and I felt 
 it was time to be off. I had brought it on 
 myself, I dare say, by a slight flippancy of 
 tone. But I resolved to die game. 
 
 ' Oh ! my dear Sir,' said I, ' my experience 
 is scanty enough, and my admiration little 
 worth. If, indeed, I could boast of having, 
 like yourself, found favour in the eyes of three 
 generations of beauties — But, tempo e galan* 
 tuomo.' And thereupon I took my leave. 
 
 ' Upon my soul,' said Luttrell, as he took 
 my arm on his way to Brookes's, ' you have n't 
 been quarteerd in Dublin for nothing. That 
 last speech of yours to our patriarchal friend 
 was as cool a specimen of easy assurance as I
 
 192 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 have witnessed since I sat in tlie Irish House 
 of Commons. I did not think you could be 
 so savage.' 
 
 ' Nor could I, without strong provoca- 
 tion : ' — 
 
 * At ille 
 Qui me commorit (melius non tangere, clamo) 
 Flebit.' 
 
 'Well/ said Luttrell, ' I am glad to see you 
 are on good terms with Horace, at all events. 
 A tiff with one * dead poet is quite enough in 
 one day.' 
 
 * The present generation may require to be told that 
 Rogers was familiarly known by the sobriquet of the 
 * dead poet,' in allusion to his cadaverous aspect. Th is 
 personality is, I believe, traceable to a satirical novel, 
 entitled ' Glenarvon,' published upwards of forty years 
 ago, the authorship of which was attributed to Lady 
 Caroline Lamb.
 
 193 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 
 Maky CoNYERS's information Avas correct. A 
 few days later, Lieutenant Hugh Percy 
 Conyers was duly gazetted as exchanging 
 from the — th regiment of the line into the 
 3rd regiment of Foot Guards, — v\'hich had not 
 at that time received the designation of Scots 
 Fusilier Guards, by which they are now dis- 
 tinguished, — and before the end of the month 
 I had the pleasure of shaking him by the hand, 
 and i]freetin2: him with a heartv welcome to 
 the shores of Old England, and the ranks 
 of my beloved household brigade. 
 
 Two years of garrison duty in the Mediter- 
 ranean had produced their full effect in his 
 physical and moral development. It was 
 conspicuous in the increased breadth of his 
 shoulders, and the corresponding expansion 
 of his mind. With his earnestness of purpose 
 and deep conscientious feeling, it was a matter 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 of course that he should have applied hhnself 
 sedulously to the scientific theory, as well as 
 the practical duties of his profession. But 
 while diligent in the acquisition of military 
 knowledge, he had found time for other studies, 
 and by judicious reading had greatly ex- 
 tended the range of his general information. 
 
 It is too much the fashion among non-mili- 
 tary classes, (I hate the vulgar and incorrect 
 application of the word ' civilian ' by which 
 the despotic authority of leading articles has 
 succeeded in disfiguring the Queen's English) 
 to speak of ordinary regimental life as a mere 
 school of idleness, frivolity, and dissipation. 
 I believe this censure to be not only exag- 
 gerated, but, in the main, undeserved. Cer- 
 tainly, country-quarters in England, Ireland 
 or Scotland, particularly in the case of infantry, 
 leave a considerable margin of leisure at the 
 disposal of unfledged subalterns, just released 
 from the discipline of a public school, or the 
 stricter surveillance of a private tutor ; nor do 
 I venture to assert that this leisure is, in the 
 majority of cases, very usefully or even quite 
 innocently employed. But a fool or a fribble 
 in a red coat would, in all probability, be just 
 as foolish or as frivolous in garments of any
 
 DAMON AXD PYTHIAS. 195 
 
 other hue. In judging of the army, as such, 
 we must not take our standard of the ordinary 
 military character from those who enter it 
 with no other vocation than a bopsh fancy 
 for the ' pride, pomp and circumstance ' of a 
 soldier's parade existence, or a wish to figure 
 as the Lothario of nursery maids and milliners' 
 apprentices. It would be about as reasonable 
 to form our estimate of the intellectual and 
 moral calibre of the bar, from the mass of so- 
 called ' students ' of the Inns of Court, who, 
 -without any definite professional views, but 
 merely as a qualification for ' something under 
 government,' or mth a vague notion that it 
 will add to the terrors of their judicial cha- 
 racter as county magistrates, in the eye of 
 the poacher, when in due course of time they 
 are put in the commission of the peace, — eat 
 their way in hall, at the rate of three dinners 
 a term, to the nominal degree of counsel 
 learned in the law. 
 
 But take the case of the youth who adopts 
 the profession of arms with a juster sense of 
 its duties, its capabilities and its legitimate 
 object, — with whom it is not merely a daily 
 avocation scantily profitable and, like all 
 others, more or less tedious in its ordinary 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 routine, but a scientific and interesting study 
 — honourable and patriotic in its purposes, 
 and, as he would fain hope, glorious in its 
 results. Such a one, even under the least 
 favourable circumstances of barrack life, is 
 seldom at a loss for rational and creditable 
 occupation, whether connected with the details 
 of his regimental duty, which, in the view of 
 the genuine soldier, extend over a wide range 
 of subjects affecting the moral and material 
 well-being of those entrusted to his command, 
 or obtained from pursuits bearing a remoter 
 relation to his professional career. The high 
 average of mental cultivation admitted to 
 exist among the officers of the British army, 
 as a class, fully justifies the inference that 
 such cases are not exceptional. There are, I 
 am convinced, but few regiments in the service 
 whose mess does not include a fair proportion 
 of intelligent and accomplished men of the 
 world, with well-stored minds and intellectual 
 tastes, eager to hail, as a valuable accession to 
 their ranks, a recruit with the true spirit of 
 a gentleman and the social attributes of a man 
 of sense and education. 
 
 I think it was the lamented Richard Shell 
 who, in one of his bar speeches, in a cause
 
 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 197 
 
 connected more or less with tlie pipe-clay, 
 made a fair forensic hit, and provoked the 
 merriment of a special jury, by describing his 
 personal reminiscences of a dinner at the mess 
 of a line regiment, as identified with ' a cold 
 collation with hot wine ; ' where the entire 
 conversation was made up of talk about 
 ' Johnson of ours^ and Thompson of yours,^ 
 But I suspect the experience of those who 
 have occasionally enjoyed the benefit of regi- 
 mental hospitality will, in most instances, 
 lead them to dispute the truth, while they 
 recognise the wit of this satirical view of the 
 question ; a view which I conceive to be libel- 
 lous alike in a gastronomic and in an intellec- 
 tual sense. 
 
 Hugh Conyers had assuredly suffered no 
 moral deterioration from his military career. 
 The same unshaken steadiness of principle 
 continued to regulate his conduct and influ- 
 ence his every thought and feeling. There 
 was something about his frank, open manner, 
 and honest countenance, that at once conci- 
 liated the good opinion of all those with whom 
 he came into social contact ; and his excellent 
 temper and obliging disposition could not fail 
 to strengthen the impression, as he became
 
 198 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 better known. But he was little solicitous 
 for popularity, in the full sense of that word, 
 among the great majority of his brother- 
 guardsmen, and still less among society at 
 large in London. 
 
 ' It is in obedience to my father's wish,' 
 said he to me ; ' expressed, I fancy, at the 
 instigation of my uncle Greystoke, who thinks 
 a line regiment rather infra dig. for an indi- 
 vidual who has the honour to be his nephew, 
 that 1 have left my old corps, where I was very 
 comfortable, and learning my business better 
 than I shall do in your non-chalant house- 
 hold-brigade. As the Governor wished it, 
 and, owing to his new appointment, was able 
 and willing to fork out the difference, I did 
 not like to refuse ; and I must make the best 
 of it for the present. But to my mind, the 
 life of a man about town, such as most of 
 your fellows — and yourself among them, I 
 suppose — are leading, is not very good for 
 either body or mind : to say nothing of one's 
 soul.' 
 
 * Well ! ' said I, ' You are rather hard upon 
 us. It's my belief that the Guards are quite 
 as likely to go to heaven as any other branch 
 of the service.'
 
 DA^.ION AND PYTHIAS. 199 
 
 ' It's no easy matter for any of us, under 
 any circumstances, I fear,' said he ; ' and it's 
 a doubly hard chance, if a fellow has not some 
 active and serious occupation to steady his 
 thoughts and keep him out of mischief. But 
 I s^^oke of my own views and inclinations, and 
 had no intention of aspersing the spiritual 
 condition of my new comrades. They may 
 all be saints, for anything I know to the con- 
 trary, as yet ; at least, I have not made the 
 discovery that they are much worse than their 
 neighbours. But in London, at all events, 
 they can't help being a set of idle dogs ; and 
 I had rather not follow their example.' 
 
 ' Regimental duty is light, in this part of 
 the world, I must admit,' said I. ' But that 
 does not prove that we are all idlers.' 
 
 ' Well, now ! You were not on guard yes- 
 terday. Just tell me how you got through 
 the day ? First of all, at what hour did you 
 rise?' 
 
 ' That last is an irrelevant inquiry,' said I; 
 ' and I protest against it ; especially as I was 
 very late at Almack's the night before, and 
 the position was therefore exceptional. Yes- 
 terday was not with me exactly a hard-work- 
 ing day; but had it been less so, you have no
 
 200 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 right to iix upon it as the average specimen, and 
 say, "^0? uno disce omnes.^' One thing, how- 
 ever, I can aver, viz., that everything I said or 
 did, during the four-and-twenty hours, might 
 have been proclaimed at Charing Cross, with- 
 out giving the Devil's advocate any plausible 
 grounds for opposing my beatification. Indeed, 
 I may sa}^ that, in one sense, I was prema- 
 turely canonized ; for Oglander beat me three 
 games running at billiards, without conde- 
 scending to score the hazards that he couldn't 
 help making. But if my morning and after- 
 noon can only exhibit merits of a negative 
 character, I made up for it later in the day. 
 I can truly boast that I greatly extended the 
 range of my scientific knowledge, by upwards 
 of three hours of experimental philosophy, 
 attended with highly satisfactory demonstra- 
 tions ; and that before I retired to rest, I took 
 a short but comprehensive survey of the diplo- 
 matic relations of the chief European States. 
 You see that, unlike the Emperor Titus, I 
 have not lost a day.' 
 
 ' How can I tell that, without the details of 
 3'our experimental philosophy and diplomatic 
 studies ?' 
 
 ' You shall have them in sufficient abun-
 
 DAMOX AND PYTHIAS. 201 
 
 dance to prove my words. Jack Slingsby, 
 late of " owr5," as you line fellows say, is going 
 to be married in a few weeks to a frightful 
 heiress of fabulous wealth, and is consequently 
 busy in organizing the future establishment 
 of himself and his bride. He gave a trial 
 dinner yesterday at the Clarendon, to test the 
 capacity of a chef whom the bourgeois wants 
 him to engage ; and I was one of the jury 
 empanelled on the occasion. The perfor- 
 mance was glorious, but interminable. It 
 prodigiously developed my views of gastro- 
 nomic science ; and I think that having to 
 decide, dogmatically, on the merits of a dozen 
 new-fangled entrees that one had never even 
 heard of before, is experimental philosophy 
 with a vengeance ! Alvanley was of the 
 party, and having agreed in the unanimous 
 verdict of approval, characteristically observed 
 that as one of that highly conscientious grand 
 jury, it was a great satisfaction to him to 
 reflect that he could ignore the hill — a senti- 
 ment in which I fully participated.' 
 
 ' Your studies during the remainder of the 
 evening were, I suppose, of an equally edify- 
 ing character ? ' 
 
 ' They were, as I told you, strictly in the
 
 202 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 international line. I was thinking of going 
 home to bed, shirking a humdrum ball or two, 
 for the gymnastics of which I did not feel 
 sufficiently ethereal after so formidable a 
 " tuck out," as you used to call it at Sand- 
 hurst. But De Vandreuil, who was also of 
 the party, and who is a good deal in Portman 
 Square, insisted in carrying me off to Princess 
 Lieven's, having, propria motu^ asked and 
 obtained a card for me ; and accordingly I 
 found myself, before midnight, amongst a 
 crowd of high diplomatic prigs from every 
 point of the compass, plastered all over with 
 stars, crosses, and ribbons — not to speak of 
 native pomposities in the red-tape and 
 despatch-box line — and portly duchesses, 
 rouged and be-diamonded after the most ap- 
 proved fashion, only tempering one's awe at 
 their grandeur, by the painfully spasmodic 
 character of their French conversation. I 
 got into a regular block in one of the door- 
 ways, where I couldn't account for the dread- 
 ful smell of garlic that seemed to pervade the 
 apartment, until I discovered that I was 
 jammed up close to the Spanish Secretary 
 of Legation, who, I should think, was truly 
 national in his style of feeding ! As I knew
 
 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 203 
 
 hardly anyone there — except two or three of 
 our fellows, and a couple of patronesses of 
 Almack's, who were mildly benignant, but by 
 no means impulsively chatty — I made my 
 escape as soon as I could, and turned in, 
 without much encroaching on the small hours 
 of the morning. Xow, I must say, that if 
 your own log^ during the last twelve months, 
 exhibits nothing worse in the way of dissipa- 
 tion and general depravity, you may reckon 
 yourself rather an exemplary member of 
 society than otherwise.' 
 
 ^ That only shews the rapidity of your 
 downward progress, under the influence of 
 St. James's and ]\Iay Fair. A day in which 
 sloth and gluttony — two out of the seven 
 deadly sins — come out in such bold relief, 
 does not quite entitle you to say, " Sic itur ad 
 astra." But, joking apart, this sort of life 
 doesn't suit me. I cannot get on without a 
 good deal of head-work, and strong bodily 
 exercise. It is well for me that I have not 
 the same taste for philandering that you 
 have ; as my allowance is necessarily scanty, 
 and I have not, like you, the means of vjmg 
 with the leading dandies of the day, in horse- 
 flesh, brocaded waistcoats, and other park
 
 204 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 and opera splendours. I am not going to live 
 the life of a hermit, but I shall work hard to 
 master the theory as well as the practice of 
 my profession ; and as soon as I get my step 
 in rank, I shall, if I can, exchange to a com- 
 pany in some line regiment on active service. 
 Meantime, I shall do my best to qualify my- 
 self for the adjutancy of my battalion, keep 
 my muscular system in good condition by 
 pulling a good deal on the river, and employ 
 the remainder of the time in looking sharp 
 after your morals.' 
 
 Conyers was as good as his word. He did 
 look after my morals ; and I am not ashamed 
 to avow my belief that the influence of his 
 society was scarcely less valuable to me, at 
 this period of my life, than it had been when 
 we were brother cadets at Sandhurst. ' Yes,' 
 says the reader, ' it is the old story of the 
 ascendancy of a strong mind over a weak 
 one.' Well, be it so ; if there be really any 
 weakness of mind in appreciating firmness of 
 principle in another, and striving to emulate 
 it in our own conduct ; in listening calmly to 
 home-truths, however plain-spoken their de- 
 livery, when we are conscious or apprehen- 
 sive that we run some risk of deserving the
 
 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 205 
 
 censure they imply or threaten ; in so far 
 distrusting our own strength of purpose, that 
 we are glad to sustain it by the fortifying 
 aid of congenial fellowship and virtuous 
 example. 
 
 But in justice to myself, I must say that, 
 much as I loved and esteemed Conyers, his 
 influence over me was not such as to usurp 
 the authority of my own judgment, or com- 
 promise that independence of thought which, 
 within certain limits, every man of sense 
 knows how to value and is prepared to assert. 
 
 "With perfect unanimity of feeling on all 
 points of high moral duty, there was between 
 Conyers and me no small antagonism, of a 
 friendly character, on many matters of in- 
 tellectual taste and debateable expediency. 
 There was, perhaps, a slight tinge of austerity 
 in his views of social enjoyment, and a little 
 of the feeling, without, however, any of the 
 cant of puritanism, in his estimate of religious 
 duty. Having no ear for music, and little 
 taste for dramatic excitement, he was honestly 
 disposed to take credit for a certain amount 
 of virtuous self-denial in the rarity of his 
 visits to the opera, where, in fact, he was 
 always terribly bored : while my own frequent
 
 206 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 presence in that brilliant scene — for brilliant 
 it was in those days — appeared now and 
 then to excite in his mind some misgivings as 
 to the soundness of my moral views, if not 
 the steadiness of my conduct. 
 
 If these crotchety ideas oozed out, as they 
 occasionally would, in our frequent discus- 
 sions on things in general, I usually contrived 
 to turn the tables on him, by observing that 
 I always found a good evening's amusement 
 at the King's Theatre an excellent receipt 
 for keeping out of mischief. ' If you, my dear 
 Conyers,' said I, ' find that going to the opera 
 makes you wicked, or wickedly disposed, you 
 are quite right to stay away ; and, indeed, it 
 argues a deplorable amount of backsliding 
 on your part to venture within the doors. 
 You do n't care a brass button for Mozart or 
 Rossini, and are attracted to the place only 
 by the handsome legs and scandalously short 
 petticoats of Mademoiselle This and Madame 
 Tha% among the dancers. No wonder you 
 feel ashamed of yourself when you go home ! 
 Now, I honestly delight in good music and 
 fine acting. With me, seeing and listening 
 to Pasta and Donzelli constitute not only 
 a virtuous but an intellectual enjoyment ;
 
 DAMON AKD PYTHIAS. 207 
 
 and "when, on a Saturday night, I turn in, 
 after a good spell of '' Otello " or " Semira- 
 mide," relieved by some harmless chat and 
 gossip with my fair friends in their respective 
 boxes, while you and other wicked fellows in 
 the pit are peering eagerly through your 
 double-glasses at the liberal display of flesh- 
 coloured silk in the ballet^ " my bosom's lord 
 sits lightly on his throne," and I am all right 
 for breakfast and church next morning, vdih 
 a good appetite and an easy conscience.' 
 
 It came to pass, however, before the end 
 of that season, that in spite of the unimpeach- 
 able character of my philosophy, as developed 
 in the foregoing observations — the opera- 
 house and, indeed, the materiel of the ballet^ 
 afforded him, in his assumed capacity of 
 mentor, a triumph at my expense. At some 
 little risk of my own reputation for strict 
 propriety of demeanour, I am bound to relate 
 the facts, which were rather momentous in 
 their consequences to myself, if not to others. 
 But as, in so doing, I shall certainly ' nothing 
 extenuate,' I will entreat the reader to re- 
 member the latter portion of Othello's very 
 sensible advice, and not ' set down aught in 
 malice.'
 
 208 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 It is a wonder that, appreciating as I did 
 the varied attractions of the opera, on the 
 stage and before the curtain, I should have 
 cared to go behind the scenes ; or^ at least, 
 that having once gratified my curiosity by a 
 survey of that very disenchanting locality, 
 I should have fallen into the stupid practice 
 of frequenting it. The fact is, it afforded 
 me little or no amusement, and really j)os- 
 sessed not a particle of fascination for me. 
 But ' one fool makes many.' It was con- 
 sidered the right tiling^ among the birds of my 
 feather, to look in behind the scenes, in the 
 course of the evening. The rule, it is need- 
 less to say, was that the profane public were 
 excluded from this hallowed ground ; and it 
 was only through a haughty defiance of strict 
 regulations, that you enjoyed the privilege. 
 It had thus what Sydney Smith called ' the
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 209 
 
 flavour of prohibition ; ' and you passed the 
 remonstrant Cerberus (who, to be sure, some- 
 times received a sop) with a swaggering sense 
 of your own importance, and a gratifying as- 
 surance that, no matter how he might deal with 
 an obscure public — Ebers, or Laporte, or who- 
 ever might be the manager of the season, 
 knew better than to enforce such a regulation 
 against a man of your position. 
 
 And so it was that, about once a week, 
 I used to find myself, for a short time, swelling 
 the number of troublesome coxcombs who 
 were infesting the approaches to the stage — 
 peering impertinently into dressing and prac- 
 tising rooms — paying clumsy compliments to 
 the prima donna, as she passed to the side- 
 scenes, or volunteering attentions to the pre- 
 miere danseuse^ as she poised her toe at a 
 wonderful angle of elevation, or rehearsed a 
 rapid twitter of hattemens for her approaching 
 grand entree ; while curses, not loud but deep, 
 rumbled in the mouths of perplexed scene- 
 shifters and grimy carpenters, as their move- 
 ments were retarded and their operations 
 paralysed by a swarm of obstructive dandies, 
 distracting the attention and turning the 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE CREA^I OF A LIFE. 
 
 heads of the female choristes or figurantes, by 
 silly or worse than silly talk. 
 
 It was while occupying, for the time, this 
 very low grade in the scale of intellectual 
 humanity, that I was standing one night near 
 one of the side-scenes, during the perform- 
 ance of a new hallet^ as a bevy of not very 
 handsome and rather lanky figurantes^ all, as 
 Moore says, ' in very thin clothing, and but 
 little of it,' were trooping on to the stage to 
 group themselves into a tableau for the rising 
 of the curtain — when I was accosted by the 
 last of these who was about to pass in — a 
 rather pretty, modest-looking girl mth whom 
 I had exchanged a few words of civility on 
 a previous night, in consequence of having 
 accidentally trodden on her foot, in my sudden 
 retreat from some advancing machinery. She 
 said to me, in a low timid voice : ' Good even- 
 ing to you, sir.' 
 
 I returned the salutation ; and wishing to 
 reciprocate her courtesy, I remarked that her 
 dress was very becoming. ' Lauk ! do you 
 think so ? ' exclaimed she, more desirous than 
 I was to prolong the conversation ; but the 
 bell rang, and an angry apostrophe from the 
 ballet-master, who stood close by — 'Miss
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 211 
 
 Kuggles, I'll fine you -^ve shillings, by ! ' 
 
 having recalled her to her duties, she rushed 
 precipitately on the stage, as the curtain rose. 
 
 Unluckily, about five minutes before, a jet 
 of gas, attached to the side -scene, having been 
 turned up too high, had cracked the glass 
 funnel by which it was protected, and the 
 fragments had just been removed, leaving 
 the flame exposed to the draught — in those 
 regions considerable. In her hurry and alarm 
 at the threat, she did not observe this ; and 
 as she passed rapidly by, the gas caught a 
 hght floating drapery or scarf attached to 
 her bodice, and in one instant she was in 
 a blaze. 
 
 Tearing ofi" my coat, I bounded on the 
 stage ; and while a scream of agony or terror 
 burst from the Hps of the poor girl, as she 
 became conscious of her position — I dragged 
 her back, threw the coat round her, and laid 
 her at once on the ground, where, with some 
 difficulty, but in a few seconds, I succeeded in 
 extinguishing the flames, but not without some 
 damage to my o\vn hands, one of which, in- 
 deed, sufi'ered severely. 
 
 I need not say that the consternation was 
 great and general. The curtain was hastily
 
 212 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 lowered, and the wliole corps- de-hallet crowded 
 round the sufferer, with looks of alarm and 
 words of sympathy. She was removed to one 
 of the dressing-rooms, and laid on a sofa, in 
 violent hysterics, while surgical aid was 
 sought. 
 
 Surgical aid, somehow, is always at hand, 
 in a sudden emergency of the kind, occurring 
 in public ; and two minutes had not elapsed, 
 before a young medical practitioner was in 
 attendance. I at first imagined that he be- 
 longed to the staff of the theatre, and was in 
 official waiting in case of accidents. He cer- 
 tainly was not attired as if he came from the 
 pit or boxes ; and if he was recruited from the 
 gallery, that respectable section of the audience 
 must have thought him a good riddance ; for 
 he had unmistakeably forgotten to change his 
 dissecting coat. 
 
 However, he seemed both skilful and hu- 
 mane ; and after a careful examination of the 
 injuries which the poor girl had received, and 
 the application of some slight remedies, among 
 which I was surprised to observe a liberal use 
 of hair-powder, with which he covered the 
 affected part, he reported, confidently and 
 decidedly, that the case Avas not one to justify
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 213 
 
 any alarm as to the consequences. She was 
 a little burnt about the neck and shoulders, 
 but beyond the slight shock to the nervous 
 system, inseparable from such an accident, 
 there was, he said, no serious mischief, and 
 she would probably be all right in a week or 
 ten days. * The sooner she is taken home 
 and put to bed, the better,' added he. 
 
 Here one of the dressers suggested her 
 being taken to St. George's Hospital. 
 
 ' Oh ! please let me go home ! ' cried the 
 poor girl, with a fresh burst of tears. ' I 
 do n't want to go to the hospital — mother '11 
 go distracted if I don't go home.' 
 
 ' Well,' said the surgeon, ' is there no one 
 among you people who knows where she lives, 
 and will take her home in a hacknev- coach? ' 
 
 ' She live out Lambeth way, I believe,' said 
 the dresser ; ' and there be a little chap, her 
 brother, who come for her most nights. But 
 he won't be here for an hour or more, as this 
 here hally^s a longlsh concern.' 
 
 While all this was ofoins; on, the room had 
 rapidly thinned, the audience having been 
 effectually re-assured as to the results of the 
 accident ; and the performance had, of course, 
 been resumed. There remained only two or
 
 214 THE CREA^I OF A LIFE. 
 
 three of the servants of the theatre, the 
 deputy stage manager, the medico^ and my- 
 self. 
 
 * Well,' said the surgeon, ' if her case were 
 serious, I would go home with her myself. 
 But I am obliged to go far eastward, before 
 I return home. In the mean time, some one, 
 I hope, will be found able and willing to take 
 charge of her, and see her safe at her own 
 lodgings. 
 
 ' Where do you live, my poor girl? ' said I, 
 approaching the suiFerer, and speaking as 
 gently as I could. 
 
 'Oh, sir!' sobbed she; ' it's you — it's you 
 saved my life ! Oh ! what^u^r can I do for 
 you?' 
 
 ' Well, you can tell me your address, and 
 we will see about taking you home to your 
 mother.' 
 
 ' Mother lives No. 8 Street ' (I forget 
 
 the name) ' Vauxhall Eoad.' 
 
 ' Do you think,' said I to the surgeon, ' that 
 I might venture to drive her home in my 
 cabriolet. I know it is in waiting and within 
 hail, as I ordered it early to go to a ball. 
 But after what has occurred, I am in no trim 
 for dancincf.'
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 215 
 
 ' Well, if she is properly wrapped up, I 
 do n't see why she might not go in the cab. 
 It is a very warm, fine night, and the cab will 
 rattle her less than a hackney-coach. You 
 w^on't drive fast. But, bless my soul! what 
 is the matter with your hand ? ' enquired he, 
 as he observed that I was wincing, and nursing 
 it with my handkerchief. ' Why, good hea- 
 vens ! ' exclaimed he, as I exhibited the suffer- 
 ing member. ' You are badly burnt too — 
 how did that happen? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' he 's burnt hisself, putting me out ! ' 
 sobbed the patient.' 
 
 ' Never mind,' said I ; ' I'll take care to have 
 all that properly attended to.' 
 
 ' Why, you 're not in a condition to drive,* 
 said the surgeon, as he turned his attention to 
 my hand, and recommenced operations with 
 the powder-puff. ' I must dress it for you, 
 and you must use it as little as possible. 
 Why, the other is burnt too.' 
 
 ' That is a mere trifle,' said I, ' and as for 
 driving, my horse would n't bear the whip ; 
 and as long as I can hold the reins, he's all 
 right. I could manage him witli a silken 
 thread.' 
 
 ' Well, then, when we have just made this
 
 216 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 bandage a little tidy, and made a sling for it 
 with your handkerchief, if you will be so kind 
 as to take charge of the poor lass, I dare say 
 she'll go home as comfortably under your 
 care, as in any other way/ 
 
 ' No fear about that ! ' said the stage official, 
 with a sneer. ' The gentleman knows the 
 place, well enough, I '11 be bound ; and as he 
 caused the mischief by his philandering with 
 her, when she ought to have been minding 
 her business, it is as well he should look after 
 her — and she asks no better, I suspect.' 
 
 ' Hold your slanderous tongue, sir,' said I. 
 ' Thank God, I have been instrumental in 
 saving the poor girl's life, endangered through 
 no fault of mine — but by the negligence of 
 the underlings here; and I shall not be 
 deterred, by the sneers of a rascally candle- 
 snuiFer, from going through with my duty as 
 a Christian and a gentleman.' 
 
 So saying, I despatched a supernumerary 
 call-boy, who was loitering about the place, 
 to seek for my cab, and bring it round to the 
 stage-door. This was soon done. Plarry, 
 my tiger, was an experienced Londoner, of 
 twelve or thirteen years of age, who was wide 
 awake, in more senses than one, and could
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 217 
 
 detect my name among the cries of a hundred 
 screeching link-boys. 
 
 The female attendants of the. theatre soon 
 supplied the poor girl Avith every imaginable 
 garment and A^Tap that her journey home 
 could require. She was carefully lifted into 
 the cab; I took my place beside her; Harry 
 jumped up behind^ and we slowly drove off. 
 But not before I had oriven mv card to the 
 surgeon, and requested him to call next day 
 on his patient, whose address he had taken 
 down, assuring him, at the same time, that I 
 would guarantee the payment of his bill for 
 attendance. 
 
 ' I will, as you wish, call to-morrow,' said 
 he. ' But in the meantime, you may as well 
 send for the nearest practitioner ; as our patient 
 will probably want a composing draught before 
 she gets to sleep. I do n't think she will re- 
 quire anything more to-night, in the way of 
 doctoring.' 
 
 ' You must keep quite still,' said I to my 
 companion, as we drove away. ' We will go 
 very gently, that we may not flurry or jolt 
 you ; but we shall be home in twenty minutes. 
 There, do not talk,' added I, as some inarti- 
 culate sounds struggled to make their way
 
 218 THE CREA^I OF A LIFE. 
 
 through a subdued fit of sobbing ; ' you will 
 only agitate yourself.' 
 
 ' I have n't thanked you as I ought ; I never 
 can,' said she. 
 
 ' Well, that is an additional reason for say- 
 ing no more about it now. Are you in much 
 pain ? ' 
 
 ' j^^ot so bad as I was.' 
 
 ' Well, then, try if you can compose your- 
 self to sleep. The night is very hot, and you 
 are well wrapped up, so there is no fear of 
 your getting a chill. Do you sit comfortably ? ' 
 continued I, as she moved restlessly. 
 
 ' Yes ; but please might I rest my head upon 
 your shoulder ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly, if you find it more convenient/ 
 said I. 
 
 She took me at my word; a proceeding 
 which did not much facilitate my operations 
 as a charioteer, hampered as I was with one 
 arm in a sling, and the other paining me suffi- 
 ciently to make me grudge even the slight 
 exertion which was all that the sensitive deli- 
 cacy of Roland's mouth required, for the 
 guidance of his steps or the repression of his 
 undue impetuosity. Knight-errantry is a very 
 fine thing in its way; but, like everything
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 219 
 
 else in this world, it has its prosaic side ; and 
 before I had reached the obscure and narrow 
 street where the dwelling of my fair charge 
 was situated, I could not help \vishing that I 
 had given half-a-sovereign to one of the 
 female attendants of the coulisse to take her 
 home in a hackney-coach. It was the longest 
 half-hour's drive that I had ever experienced. 
 
 Beino; well read in the works of Anthonv 
 Hamilton, I could not help thinking, as the 
 poor girl tightly grasped my arm, and leaned 
 heavily on my shoulder, during the whole 
 journey, that, if she bore some resemblance to 
 ''Fleur (TEinne ' in her feelings towards me, I 
 felt as unlike Tarare^ during his memorable 
 ride, as possible. 
 
 It was certainly a great relief to me when 
 the drive came to an end ; and, following her 
 directions, I drove up to the private door of 
 a very shabby-looking house, the ground-floor 
 of which was chiefly occupied by a shop of 
 some kind, which was, of course, closed at 
 that late hour. 
 
 'Please ring the second-floor bell,' said she, 
 in answer to the cab-boy's inquiry whether he 
 was to knock. Harry was just about tall 
 enough to achieve the required exploit, and
 
 220 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 accordingly gave the bell a vigorous pull. 
 After the lapse of a few minutes, the door 
 was opened by a middle-aged woman of tidy 
 appearance, with a lighted 'mutton fat' in 
 her hand. 
 
 'Who may you be pleased to want, sir?' 
 said she, as I jumped out of the cab, while a 
 faint voice from under the hood answered — 
 
 ' Mother, it 's m^.' 
 
 ' Why, Lor' a' mercy, Susey, what 's up 
 now, child?' 
 
 ' Do n't be alarmed, Mrs. . . .' 
 
 ' My name 's Ruggles, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, Mrs. Ruggles, your daughter was n't 
 very well at the theatre to-night, and I have 
 brought her home.' 
 
 ' Just as I said ! ' exclaimed the matron, 
 with some asperity. ' It's all along of that 'ere 
 pickled salmon. She would eat such lots of 
 it. I told her how it would be.' 
 
 ' No,' said I, it was a slight accident. Miss 
 Ruggles's dress caught fire, but ' 
 
 ' Caught fire ! ' almost shrieked poor Mrs. 
 Ruggles. ' Oh, my child ! ' 
 
 ' I 'm not much burnt, mother,' said the 
 poor girl, sobbing ; ' and this gentleman was 
 so kind.'
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 221 
 
 'There, now,' said I; ^ keep quiet. I will 
 tell your mother all about it, by-and-by; but, 
 in the meantime, let us get you out of the cab 
 and upstairs.' 
 
 This was no easy matter, with my disabled 
 hand, and I had not even the assistance of 
 the stalwart Harry, who was obliged to be at 
 Eoland's head during the process. I contrived, 
 however, to land her safely within the narrow 
 entrance; while I strove to pacify the poor 
 mother, who, in a bewildered state, half crying, 
 half scolding, was seeking an explanation of 
 the matter. 
 
 ' My good lady,' said T, ' be patient, and 
 just go before us with your light; I must 
 carry your daughter upstairs.' 
 
 This was a fearfully difficult operation ; but 
 there was no help for it. The poor child was 
 too frightened and agitated to walk up the 
 steep, ladder-like stairs ; and I am afraid she 
 rather preferred being carried, under the cir- 
 cumstances, apart from any question of phy- 
 sical incapacity. She was not quite a feather 
 w^eight; but, had I enjoyed the full use of my 
 arms, I should have thought nothing of it. 
 As it was, I felt almost sick with pain and 
 fatigue, when I had reached the small sitting-
 
 222 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 room on the second floor, and deposited my 
 burden on a horsehair-covered sofa. 
 
 The room was neat, and decently furnished. 
 The cloth was laid for supper; and a potent 
 smell of onions pervaded the apartment to an 
 overwhelming extent. It is, according to my 
 peculiar feelings, a great antidote to romance. 
 Next to garlic, the onion is the most disen- 
 chanting of all vegetables. 
 
 Mrs. Ruggles's fears were a good deal 
 allayed, when she found that the injuries were 
 of a comparatively slight character. As the 
 sympathetic element receded, the objurgatory 
 impulse resumed the ascendant, and she began 
 lecturing the girl pretty sharply for her 
 carelessness. This I put an end to, as peremp- 
 torily as I could, by threatening her with the 
 dangerous consequences to the invalid, of any 
 further excitement that night, and requesting 
 that the nearest medical man might be sent 
 for immediately. 
 
 ' There was a doctor just round the corner,^ 
 Mrs. Euggles said, ' and she would go and 
 fetch him ; * but as I was by no means anxious 
 to be left in charge of the patient until her 
 return, and was dying to get home and obtain 
 the benefit of a little nursing on my o^vn
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 223 
 
 account, I volunteered to knock up this Escu- 
 lapius myself, if she would give me his ad- 
 dress, promising to send him without delay. 
 
 ' Well, I think all she do want is a cup of 
 tea and a good night's rest,' said she ; ' but if 
 they told you, positive, that she must have an- 
 other doctor to-night, sir, I suppose she must. 
 God knows, I 've had enough to do to pay the 
 doctor's bill, when Jem had the measles a 
 month or two back.' 
 
 ' Do n't fret about the expense,' said I. 
 ' Here are a couple of sovereigns, which will 
 do more than keep you going, and pay for 
 whatever little additional comforts your 
 daughter may require for the present. The 
 gentleman who attended to her at the theatre 
 will call to-morrow; and I have made him 
 understand that I am to be paymaster.' 
 
 This largesse restored her equanimity, and 
 called forth loud expressions of gratitude. I 
 was just taking my leave, when a hurried and 
 noisy step was heard on the stair. The door 
 was flung open, and a boy of about eleven 
 years of age burst into the room, in an agony 
 of grief and alarm, and, rushing up to the 
 poor girl, threw his arms wildly round her, 
 while he sobbed out —
 
 224 THE CREAM OE A LIFE. 
 
 ' Oh, Susey, Susey, you 're not going to die ! 
 Oh, whsitever shall I do ! ' 
 
 ' Drat the boy ! ' said Mrs. Ruggles. ' What's 
 the good of going on like that? She ain't a- 
 goin' to die ; leastways, if you do n't worret 
 her to death.' 
 
 . ' They said — they said — down at the stage 
 door, that she was burnt terrible bad,' said he, 
 "with a fresh burst of tears, ' and that she 'd 
 been took home by a strange gen'l'man ; and 
 oh, I thought she 'd die afore I seed her.' 
 
 ' Poor Jem,' said Susey ; ' do n't cry. I 'm not 
 so bad ; indeed I 'm not. This kind gentleman 
 has saved my life. But I 'm very weak and ill, 
 Jem; so perhaps you '11 go for Mr. Drenchley.' 
 
 ' At all events,' said I, ' Jem shall show me 
 the way, and I will take care to send him at 
 once, if he is to be found.' 
 
 Accordingly, with Jem as a guide, I soon 
 reached the abode of the apothecary, whom, 
 after a little time, I succeeded in rousing from 
 his slumbers, by means of a vigorous assault 
 on the ' night-bell.' Five minutes sufficed to 
 give him all necessary explanation of the cir- 
 cumstances ; and having received his assu- 
 rance that he would attend without delay to 
 the case, I left him to the surveillance of Jem, 
 and drove home.
 
 225 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 A MYSTEEIOUS VISITOR. 
 
 A SODIONS to my friend H , our Imttalion 
 
 surgeon, produced next morning an early visit 
 from that skilful practitioner, resulting, as 
 may well be supposed, in a certificate of my 
 unfitness for re^-imental dutv, satisfactorilv 
 explaining my absence from parade. He even 
 condemned me to keep the inside of the house 
 for a couple of days, as the worry and fatigue 
 of the previous night had not a little aggra- 
 vated the effect of the injuries I had received, 
 and involved the necessity of a little regular 
 treatment. 
 
 It was the fao; end of the season ; and mv 
 father and mother had left town a week pre- 
 viously for Osmanby. I was, therefore, left 
 in sole possession of the house in Portman 
 Square, with the reduced establishment befit- 
 ting the circumstances. 
 
 Fortunately for me, however, it comprised 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE CREAM OF A LITE. 
 
 iny old nurse, Dorothy Simmons, who, still 
 retained in the service on full pay, but in a 
 supernumerary and rather sinecure-ish capa- 
 city, could never be induced to leave town 
 while ' Master Gerald ' remained in Portman 
 Square, and might require her services in the 
 sewing on of a shirt button, or any other 
 little office of sedulous female care, for the 
 want of which, forlorn bachelors often experi- 
 ence so desolate a feeling of loneliness. 
 
 Great was dear old Dolly's consternation 
 on seeing the state of my hand, when I exhi- 
 bited it to her sympathising gaze ; greater 
 still her pride to think that she should have 
 the opportunity of nursing me in good earnest ; 
 a diversion for which, thanks to my usually 
 good health, I had not afforded her an excuse 
 for many a day. 
 
 While the dear old girl was engaged in 
 dressing my wounded hand, about three o'clock 
 in the afternoon, on the day after the accident, 
 my servant brought in the card of a gentle- 
 man who wished to see me. On reading the 
 name, ' Mr. Henry Deschamps,' with which I 
 was unacquainted, I at once arrived at the 
 conclusion that it was the surgeon to whom I 
 had given my address at the Opera House, and
 
 A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 227 
 
 who was come, in compliance with my request, 
 to report the result of his visit to the unlucky 
 Miss Euggles. I therefore desired the servant 
 to admit him. 
 
 I was not mistaken — it was my friend of the 
 previous night ; this time, without his dis- 
 secting coat. Having now more leisure to 
 scrutinise his appearance, I saw at one glance 
 that he was a gentleman. He seemed about 
 six or seven- and-twenty, and had the air of a 
 man of the world. But there was a looli of 
 nervousness, not to say agitation, in his coun- 
 tenance, for which I was at a loss to account, 
 even on the supposition that he had found his 
 patient in a dangerous condition^ 
 
 ' Pray be seated,' said I ; ' I do not apologise 
 for not suspending operations. This good 
 lady is only carrying out the instructions of 
 our battalion surgeon, whom I have seen. 
 Her presence need be no interruption to us. 
 Have you seen your fair patient this morning ? ' 
 
 ' I have ;' said he; ' she is going on very 
 favourably ; and, as I think she is in good 
 hands, I shall not think it necessary to rej^eat 
 my visit.' 
 
 ' I hope,* said I, ' you perfectly understood 
 that I was prepared to guarantee the proper
 
 228 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 remuneration for your very skilful services, 
 and that, in sending for another practitioner 
 last night, I was only obeying your injunc- 
 tions.' 
 
 ' Just so,' said Mr. Deschamps ; ' I perfectly 
 understood you last night ; but you do not, I 
 think, quite understand me this morning. I 
 do not wish to undertake the case, which, 
 indeed, is a straightforward one. My inter- 
 ference had no other motive than feelings of 
 common humanity. I am not, as you proba- 
 bly imagine, an apothecary or general practi- 
 tioner; in fact, I am not practising surgery 
 professionally in London, though I am Avalking 
 the hospitals with a view to future practice as 
 a surgeon elsewhere. I require, and can 
 accept of no remuneration in this case.' 
 
 ' Still,' said I, ' I myself have had the bene- 
 fit of your skill, and been the means of tres- 
 passing greatly on your time to-day.' 
 
 ' To the extent of a walk from the Hum- 
 mums to Vauxhall and back again ! I should 
 have done as much, in the interests of my o^vn 
 digestion, had my walk had no definite object 
 in view. Pray let us say no more about such 
 a trifle. I do not consider myself to have 
 placed you under the slightest obligation ;
 
 A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 229 
 
 and, if you persist in taking a different view of 
 the matter, I am afraid you must submit to 
 the mortification of receiving a gratuitous 
 service from an obscure medical student.' 
 
 He said this, with a certain touch of bitter- 
 ness in his tone, for which I was at a loss to 
 account; as my demeanour towards him had 
 been perfectly courteous, and certainly free 
 from anything like an assumption of supe- 
 riority. 
 
 ' It seems to me,' said I, 'that, as a subaltern 
 in the army, and consequently a tyro in the 
 killing art, I am pretty much on a par with a 
 student in the art of healing ; and, in my 
 character as a sucking [Marlborough or Wel- 
 lington, I suppose I may be considered to be 
 as obscure as an embryo Hunter or Brodie. 
 But, joking apart, I trust I am too much of 
 a gentleman not to feel grateful for services 
 so frankly and considerately rendered, and 
 enough of a Christian to appreciate the 
 motive to which they are attributable. I en- 
 tirely agree with La Rochefoucauld, that '' Le 
 trop grand empressement qiC on met a s^acquitter 
 (Vune obligation^ est line espece cf ingratitude ^ ' 
 
 It was, perhaps, rather a bold assumption, 
 on my part, to take it for granted that a
 
 230 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 medical student would be sufficiently conversant 
 with French literature, to seize the apposite- 
 ness of the quotation. But by good luck the 
 shot told. 
 
 ' Practically it is rather a rare species of 
 ingratitude,' said Mr. Deschamps, with a 
 smile. ' However, I fully assent to the philo- 
 sophy of the dictum. But, before we quit the 
 subject of my patient of yesterday, will you 
 allow me to suggest that you do not suffer 
 many days to elapse without making your 
 personal inquiries about her ? ' 
 
 ' My personal inquiries ! ' exclaimed I, 
 rather mystified ; ' 1 confess I do not quite 
 understand the object of that suggestion.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said he ; ' but, though 
 she was going on very well this morning, she 
 seemed a good deal excited v/hen your name 
 was mentioned, and very eager to learn how 
 you were, and whether I thought there was a 
 chance of your calling to see her. It occurred 
 to me, therefore, as anything like fidget or 
 anxiety of mind would be bad for her, that 
 an early visit from you might be beneficial.' 
 
 'Well,' observed I, 'this is, I fancy, the 
 first time that I have been turned into a pre- 
 scription for the benefit of a young lady's
 
 A AfYSTERlOUS VISITOR. 231 
 
 nerves. But I fear you entirely misconstrue 
 my connection with this affair, which was 
 really as casual as your own. I had not 
 spoken half-a-dozen sentences to the girl, and 
 did not so much as know her name, until last 
 night. I am afraid I must say, with you, that 
 I decline to undertake her cure.' 
 
 To this he made no reply, but looked, as 
 I thought, rather incredulous ; and a short 
 silence ensued. 
 
 All this time, my good old Dorothy was 
 in the room, busy about my lotion and band- 
 ages, and not giving any signs of immediate 
 departure. 
 
 At length my visitor rose, and with evident 
 embarrassment said : — 
 
 ' I feel that I ought to apologise ; but could 
 you favour me with five minutes' private 
 conversation ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' answered I, in great astonish- 
 ment. ' But if what you want to say relates 
 to your Yauxhall patient, I can assure you 
 there is not the slightest occasion for secresy, 
 as far as I am concerned.* 
 
 ' It does not relate to her,' said he, gravely 
 and emphatically. 
 
 Still more puzzled, I had no alternative but
 
 232 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 to request that Dorothy would retire until 
 she was summoned. As soon as we were 
 alone, he continued: — 
 
 ' It was not until I got home to my hotel last 
 night, when I for the first time looked at the 
 card you gave me, that I learned your name.' 
 
 'Well,' said I, 'what of my name?' 
 
 ' It is one,' ansAvered he, ' connected in my 
 mind with the most painful associations.' 
 
 ' It is impossible,' said I, beginning to en- 
 tertain doubts of his sanity, ' that such asso- 
 ciations can relate to me, personally. I am 
 happy to say that, up to the present time, no 
 one has the slightest pretext for considering 
 himself aggrieved by any conduct of mine — 
 not even my tailor ! ' 
 
 ' I speak of your fiunily name. May I ask 
 if you are related to Sir Philip Osmanby?' 
 
 ' I am his son, and you are under his roof. 
 I feel equally certain that you can have no 
 just cause of complaint against him ; nor, 
 indeed, can I listen to any suggestion of the 
 kind.' 
 
 ' I make none. But }'ou have, I think, an 
 elder brother ? ' 
 
 ' I have — a gallant and distinguished 
 soldier.'
 
 A MYSTEKIOUS VISITOR. 233 
 
 ' I do not doubt it. He was, if I mistake 
 not, quartered in Lower Canada some years 
 ago, and married a young lady of Montreal ? ' 
 
 ' Excuse me,' said I. ' A moment's reflec- 
 tion must suffice to convince you that I cannot 
 properly discuss, with a stranger, the subject 
 of my brother's unfortunate marriage.' 
 
 ' The marriage was indeed unfortunate ; but, 
 as far as he is concerned, the misery has been 
 of his own seeking and his o^vn infliction. 
 Bear with me,' continued my mysterious 
 visitor, as, with a gesture of impatience, I 
 was about to interrupt him, in my anxiety to 
 put an end to what I considered a useless and 
 impertinent discussion of my family aflairs. 
 ' I may well claim your indulgence, when I 
 tell you that, if personally unknown to you, I 
 am no stranger to those so nearly connected 
 with you. I am first cousin to the unfortu- 
 nate, the deeply-injured Josephine Osmanby, 
 your sister-in-law — your brother's virtuous 
 and vilely-slandered wife; and, since the death 
 of her father, I am her nearest living relative.' 
 
 This announcement, made with every ap- 
 pearance of deep feeling, rather took me aback. 
 Perhaps the impulse of curiosity was not with- 
 out its influence in combating my resolve to
 
 234 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 cut short tlie discussion. I have already said 
 that I was but very imperfectly acquainted 
 with the cause and details of my brother's 
 estrangement from his wife. It had been, 
 during my boyhood, a kind of taboo'd subject 
 in our family party ; and in more recent times 
 my knowledge of the state of feeling between 
 my father and his eldest son, had naturally 
 served as a check upon my spirit of investi- 
 gation, respecting matters that Sir Philip 
 might find it painful to discuss. 
 
 ' I must tell you frankly,' said I, after a 
 short pause, ' that I am ill qualified to enter 
 on a subject in reference to which I can well 
 understand that you feel acutely. I was but 
 a child at the date of the occurrences to which 
 you seem to allude ; and, up to this day, I have 
 no means of judging how far your estimate of 
 the conduct of those principally concerned is 
 well or ill founded.' 
 
 ' You have naturally,' observed he, ' been 
 brought up with feelings of strong prejudice 
 against my unfortunate Idns woman.' 
 
 ' Only to this extent,' said I, ' that a general 
 knowledge of my brother's alleged grounds 
 for the separation could hardly fail to suggest 
 an unfavourable inference as to her conduct. 
 
 • ■^^^■^
 
 A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 236 
 
 But I have never had any communication with 
 him on the subject. He has been long absent 
 from Enofland.' 
 
 ' That is unfortimate,' said Deschamps. 
 ' Although my chief object in visiting Eng- 
 land, and especially London, where I arrived 
 only a month ago, was the prosecution of my 
 professional studies, I had a strong addi- 
 tional inducement, in the hope of obtaining a 
 personal interview with Colonel Osmanby, 
 whom I supposed to be resident in this city, 
 or, at least, in some part of Great Britain.' 
 
 ' Has Mrs. Osmanby,' enquired L ^ been left 
 in ignorance of his proceedings since the 
 separation took place ? ' 
 
 ' Completely so ; as far as any communi- 
 cation from himself is concerned. The yearly 
 payment of a sum of 150/. remitted to a 
 Montreal banker for her use, through the 
 Colonel's London agent, affords the presump- 
 tion that he is still alive. But she has never 
 received a line from himself or any of his 
 family, since his cruel desertion of her; and 
 the numerous letters which she has addressed 
 and sought to transmit to him through the 
 same channel, have aU been returned unopened, 
 and without a word of explanation, by his
 
 236 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 man of business. She was even left to learn 
 the death of her child, by its announcement 
 in the London papers.' 
 
 ' And what, may I ask, has been her position 
 during the lapse of so many years passed 
 under these painful circumstances ? ' 
 
 ' She has lived the life of a saint — as she is 
 and always has been,' answered Deschamps, 
 with energetic emphasis ; ' and until, five years 
 back, her father's declining health imposed on 
 her the duty of residing under his roof, and 
 devoting herself to his comfort and conveni- 
 ence, she lived the life of a recluse, in the 
 convent where she first took refuge in her 
 affliction. Since his death, she has sought 
 an asylum with the same community. I 
 believe she follows the rule of the order as 
 strictly as the nuns themselves. Everyone in 
 Montreal, however, knows that she is doing 
 penance for the sins of others, and not for 
 her own. There, at least, nobody doubted her 
 innocence, even when she was not, as she is 
 now, in a position to prove it.' 
 
 Startled by the assertion contained in this 
 last sentence, I could not but feel anxious for 
 further explanations. In a matter of such 
 vital importance to the happiness and honour
 
 A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 237 
 
 of a near relative, no feeling of pride or 
 reserve could avail to repress my curiosity. 
 Scanty as was my knowledge of the circum- 
 stances attending the separation, I knew from 
 remarks which had, on more than one occasion, 
 fallen from my mother in my presence, that 
 she had miso-ivimrs as to the fact of Mrs. 
 Osmanby's guilt ; and on every account I felt 
 it to be my duty to listen to what my visitor 
 had to allege in her vindication. 
 
 ' Should Mrs. Osmanby succeed in establish- 
 ing her innocence,' said I, ' no one will be more 
 gratified by such a result than myself. But 
 I must remind you that the whole story is a 
 mystery to me ; and, whatever may be your 
 materials for refuting the charge l)rought 
 against my sister-in-law, I shall be unable to 
 appreciate their value, unless you state, as 
 distinctly as you can, the facts which exposed 
 her to so grievous a suspicion.' 
 
 'No one,' replied he, 'is better qualified 
 than I am to perform that task. The afi^air 
 made too deep an impression on me, young as 
 I was, to have escaped my memory, even in 
 the slightest details, as they transpired at the 
 time. From my near relationship to Josephine, 
 and the more than cousinlv interest I took in
 
 238 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 her fate, I was, from the first, admitted to her 
 confidence and that of her parents, in re- 
 ference to every circumstance of that sad 
 history. I will state the facts as briefly as I 
 can/ 
 
 But his statement shall be reserved for the 
 next chapter.
 
 239 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 MR. DESCHAMPS' STATEMENT, WHICH THROWS 
 SOME LIGHT ON A D^RK SUBJECT. 
 
 ' I HAVE told you that I am her first cousin ; 
 but I should add that, having lost both ray 
 parents at an early age, I was brought up 
 under the guardianship of my uncle, her father, 
 and, in the intervals of my college studies, 
 was generally resident under his roof. From 
 my early boyhood, therefore, I was always on 
 terms of fraternal intimacy Avith Josephine, 
 who is the most amiable creature in the world ; 
 and she has ever been to me as a beloved 
 sister. 
 
 ' My uncle, as you may perhaps have heard, 
 held a lucrative appointment connected with 
 the Supreme Court of Montreal. He and 
 his wife were friendly and hospitable people ; 
 they kept a handsome establishment, and their 
 only child was the most accomplished, as well 
 as the prettiest girl in the society of the place.
 
 240 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 It is 110 wonder that tlieir house was a point of 
 attraction to the officers of the garrison. 
 
 ' Shortly after the arrival of the regiment 
 coinmanded by Colonel De Grey, in which 
 your brother was senior captain, both these 
 gentlemen became frequent visitors at my 
 uncle's house. From the first, Captain Os- 
 manby's admiration for my cousin was ex- 
 hibited in a very conspicuous manner; nor 
 was it less easy to perceive that his attentions 
 were very acceptable. At the end of a few 
 weeks, he was her declared and accepted lover. 
 
 * I have no reason to believe that in seekiiiir 
 to obstruct the marriage, Colonel De Grey 
 was actuated by any discreditable motive. It 
 is, however, the fact that he earnestly remon- 
 strated with your brother on the imprudence 
 of the eii2:afrement, and went the leno^th of 
 writing to Sir Philip, in the hope of putting a 
 stop to the affair. 
 
 ' His interference, as might have been fore- 
 seen, had the effect of hastening the proceed- 
 ings of the lovers. Captain Osmanby had 
 written home to announce his engagement, 
 subject to the approval of his father, on whose 
 indulgent affection he had a just reliance. 
 But when he learned from the Colonel's own
 
 SOME LIGHT ON A DARK SUBJECT. 241 
 
 lips, that Sir Philip would, by the same mail, 
 receive a representation of the affair on the 
 authority of his commanding officer, which 
 could not but create the strongest prejudice 
 a^rainst the connection, in the minds of vour 
 brother's relations, he resolved not to wait for 
 a sanction which, under these circumstances, 
 he despaired of obtaining; and, in an oxil 
 hour, my uncle and aunt, too keenly alive to 
 the supposed advantage of securing a son-in- 
 law who was heir to a laro'e estate and a hiofh 
 social position, consented to an immediate 
 marriaore. A fortnio^ht before the arrival of 
 an angry letter from Sir Philip, condemning 
 the eno'aorement in the stronofest terms, and 
 insisting on its immediate abandonment, Jose- 
 phine had become the wife of George Osmanby. 
 ' The event proved that your brother was 
 fully justified in reckoning on Sir Philip's 
 placability. Long before the birth of the 
 child who was afterwards so cruelly torn from 
 its afflicted mother, Captain Osmanby's family 
 were perfectly reconciled to him, — he was in 
 the receipt of a very liberal allowance from 
 his father, and, to all appearance, the young 
 couple had the fairest prospects of permanent 
 happiness. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE CREAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 ' De Grey's strenuous efforts to prevent the 
 marriage had at first been deeply resented by 
 your brother, who might, perhaps, be pardoned 
 for putting an unfavourable construction on 
 the Colonel's conduct. An apparent recon- 
 ciliation, however, had take place, even before 
 the wedding, on De Grey's apologetic avowal 
 that he had acted on a hasty and, as it turned 
 out, incorrect view of my uncle's social position 
 in the colony ; and, at the period to which I 
 now refer, they were, to all outward seeming, 
 on the same terms of cordial and all but 
 fraternal intimacy, that had subsisted between 
 them before their brief estrangement. 
 
 ' But a fatal suspicion that De Grey had 
 been influenced in his unlucky interference, 
 by the feelings of a rival, anxious to supplant 
 him in the affections of his intended bride, 
 had taken deep though secret root in Captain 
 Osmanby's mind. In the absence of all tan- 
 gible grounds for such an impression, he was 
 naturally careful not to betray its existence 
 by any change of demeanour towards the 
 object of his mistrust. But it is certain that 
 he must have long brooded over the idea, and 
 encouraged a morbid susceptibility on the 
 point, that might, on the slightest apparent
 
 SOltfE LIGHT ON A BARK SUBJECT. 243 
 
 corroboration, be expanded into unalterable 
 conviction. Mrs. Osmanby had a fine voice, 
 sang with great taste, and played admirably 
 on the pianoforte. I have no doubt that her 
 musical talents formed the chief attraction of 
 her society in the eyes of the Colonel, who 
 was enthusiastically fond of music. Being a 
 bachelor, with a good deal of spare time on 
 his hands, he was well inclined to bestow a 
 fair share of his company on those whom he 
 looked upon in the light of intimate friends. 
 If Captain Osmanby could not divest himself 
 of his suspicions, he felt, I dare say, secretly 
 ashamed of them. He was, at all events, un- 
 willing to proclaim them to the world, or to 
 his brother officers, by openly discouraging 
 De Grey's visits to his quarters. The Colonel, 
 therefore, was a frequent guest, either invited 
 or uninvited, of the young couple, on a footing 
 of a great intimacy. But I emphatically 
 assert, what your brother himself would not 
 venture to deny, that up to the moment of 
 his alleged discovery, nothing in the conduct 
 or demeanour of Mrs. Osmanby had afforded 
 the slio^htest orpounds for censure or anim- 
 adversion. 
 
 ' It happened that one morning, while 
 
 B 2
 
 244 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 present during the playing of the military- 
 bands, at the parade and relief of the guard 
 in the qiiadrangle of the Government House, 
 Mrs. Osmanby was much struck by the air of 
 a march played by the band of the regiment 
 Avhich shared with your brother's the military 
 duties of the place. She expressed a wish to 
 obtain a copy of it; a matter about which 
 there could have been no difficulty, in the 
 case of any music performed by the band of 
 her husband's regiment. But the jealousy of 
 rival bands presented an obstacle requiring 
 the exercise of some little diplomacy to over- 
 come. The march was the composition of 
 the band-master of the other regiment; and 
 when Colonel De Grey, at Mrs. Osmanby's 
 request, sounded him on the subject, the ap- 
 plication was met by a positive refusal. The 
 march was manuscript ; and the composer 
 made it a rule, he said, never to give copies 
 of his unpublished compositions, especially to 
 the officers of another regiment. 
 
 ' Mrs. Osmanby was content to acquiesce 
 in this decision; but the Colonel, unwilling 
 that she should be disappointed, assured her 
 that he would not rest satisfied with the 
 refusal ; adding that he had no doubt of
 
 SOME LIGHT OX A DAEK SUEJECT. 245 
 
 ultimately overcoming the man's objections, 
 by dint of a little judicious flattery, and 
 through tlie interest of his Colonel, with 
 whom De Grey was on very friendly terms. 
 
 ' Mrs. Osmanby thanked him ; and, express- 
 ing her unwillingness to give him any further 
 trouble in an affair to which she attached but 
 little importance, left it in his hands, and 
 thought no more of the matter, until, about a 
 fortnight later, as she was stepping into her 
 carriage at her own door, Colonel De Grey 
 came up to her with a letter in his hand, and 
 said : ^' Good morning ! Mrs. Osmanby. I was 
 just coming to call upon you; but I must not 
 detain you from your drive. You will see 
 by this that I have been as good as my word 
 about the troop-march.'' 
 
 ' So saying he placed the letter in her hand, 
 and, after a suitable acknowledgment on her 
 part, he took his leave, and she drove on. 
 
 ' The letter, which was addressed to her on 
 the outside, was not very bulky in appear- 
 ance, but evidently contained an enclosure 
 that might, from its size and consistency, be 
 a leaf of music paper, of the furm commonly 
 used in small oblong books for manuscript 
 music — doubled in one or two folds.
 
 246 THE CREAISI OF A LIEE. 
 
 ' Thinking it useless to examine the manu- 
 script until she could do so at the pianoforte, 
 she slipped the letter, without breaking the 
 seal, into the pocket of the carriage-door, 
 whence she forgot to remove it on her return 
 home, and where it was found, the same even- 
 ing, by the stable -servant who washed the 
 carriage. 
 
 ' Mrs. Osmanby was suffering from a severe 
 headache, and had retired to rest shortly after 
 dinner. When the letter was brought in from 
 the stables, the servant, not finding his mistress 
 in the drawing-room, placed it in the hands 
 of his master, stating, at the same time, where 
 it had been found. 
 
 ' One glance at the address was sufficient 
 for Captain Osmanby to recognise the hand- 
 writing of Colonel De Grey, with which he 
 was well acquainted. There was nothing in 
 the fact of the Colonel having written a note 
 to Mrs. Osmanby, which could in itself have 
 excited the suspicion of a mind not previously 
 warped by jealous apprehensions; nor could 
 it reasonably be said, that the place in which 
 it had been found was likely to have been 
 selected as peculiarly favourable to the con- 
 veyance of a secret communication. But to
 
 SOME LIGHT ON A DAEK SUBJECT. 247 
 
 one labouring already under a species of 
 delusion on the subject, the incident may 
 possibly have appeared rather mysterious. 
 It was, no doubt, under a sudden impulse of 
 jealous feeling, that he at once tore open the 
 letter, and eagerly examined the contents. 
 
 ' Unfortunately, they were of a nature to 
 confirm his darkest suspicions. The first 
 thing that caught his eye was a ticket for a 
 public masquerade which was to take place 
 at the Assembly Rooms, two nights later. 
 It was accompanied by a note in these terms : 
 ''''My best beloved^ I send you the enclosed, ac- 
 cording to my promise. , as I suppose you 
 
 have heard^ goes with his company on detachment 
 
 to-w^orrow for a fortnight to " (naming 
 
 an out-quarter some twenty miles distant.) 
 " Of course he does not dream of dragging you 
 to that dreary quarter. His absence will be 
 most opportune. I shall reckon on meeting you 
 on Wednesday at the same spot as last time; and^ 
 as the?!, you may leave all further arrangements 
 to me. I shall ic ear the old domino. — Yours 
 devotedly., Heney." 
 
 ' The scene that followed the discovery of 
 this letter may be partly imagined. If I were 
 accurately acquainted with its details, I had
 
 248 THE CREAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 ratlier not dwell on them. Suffice it to say, 
 that Josephine, aroused from a heavy sleep by 
 her enraged husband, found herself dragged 
 out of bed, and overwhelmed by a torrent of 
 the most fearful reproaches, in which every 
 epithet of female infamy was applied to her, 
 without being able to form the remotest con- 
 jecture as to the cause of an outbreak that, for 
 some time, she attributed to a sudden fit of in 
 sanity. When, at length, she succeeded in 
 obtaining some explanation of her husband's 
 violence, her horror and bewilderment were 
 complete. She could only call Heaven to 
 witness that she was alike innocent of every 
 shadow of offence against her duty, and utterly 
 unable to explain or understand the contents 
 of the letter. In vain did she appeal to the 
 fact that she had, at her own urgent request, 
 obtained permission to accompany her husband 
 to his out-quarters — in vain remind him that 
 the letter itself, left unopened by her in a 
 place so easily accessible to the curiosity of 
 servants, afforded convincing proof that she 
 had no suspicion of, or clue to, its real contents. 
 He threw her violently from him, as she clung 
 round him in an agony of frantic grief. She 
 fell heavily to the ground, and he rushed out
 
 SOME LIGHT ON A DARK SUBJECT. 249 
 
 of the room, leaving her senseless on the 
 floor. 
 
 ' He at once sought a brother officer, Lieu- 
 tenant Graham, of his own company, and 
 despatched him with a message to De Grey, 
 insistinof on an immediate meetinor. Xhe 
 Colonel's demeanour was as difficult to account 
 for as his letter, which Graham exhibited to 
 him, as conclusive against any attempt at 
 apology or explanation. He was, according 
 to this gentleman's report, fearfully agitated, 
 almost to tears, and vehement in his assevera- 
 tions of Mrs. Osmanby's innocence. He, how- 
 ever, at once referred Lieutenant Graham to 
 a friend: and a hostile meeting^ was arrans^ed 
 for the next morning at daybreak. You are 
 of course aware of the result. The combatants 
 fired simultaneously. De Grey discharged his 
 pistol in the air, and fell at the same moment, 
 havinof received his adversary's ball throuo^h 
 the luno^s. The reo^imental suro^eon, who w^as 
 in attendance on the ground, pronounced the 
 wound mortal; and De Grey, under that im- 
 pression, and as he lay bleeding on the ground, 
 caught the hand of his adversary, who was 
 bending over him, and exclaimed, with as 
 much energy as his fast-failing strength would
 
 250 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 admit, "George, George! on the word of a 
 Christian and a dying man, your wife is inno- 
 cent — and I — I am alone to blame ; but I, too, 
 am guiltless of any design against your 
 honour, which I valued as my own." 
 
 ' He was removed, in a state of insensibility, 
 to his quarters, where he lay for some weeks 
 in a hopeless condition, his life trembling 
 hourly in the balance. At length he gradually 
 rallied ; but his recovery was slow ; nor was 
 it till about nine months later that he was 
 able to resume his military duties. In the 
 meantime, the major of the regiment had re- 
 tired ; and your brother, on succeeding to the 
 vacant step, had exchanged into another regi- 
 ment or gone on half-pay, and left the colony 
 on his return to England, before De Grey was 
 sufficiently recovered to admit of the possi- 
 bility of a personal interview between them. 
 During his long and tedious illness, however, 
 he frequently exhibited a restless anxiety to 
 see your brother, which his medical attendants 
 were studious to repress — conceiving that, 
 under the circumstances, such a meeting could 
 not fail to be highly injurious to their patient, 
 from the probable effect of agitation and, as 
 they supposed, remorse, on his greatly debi-
 
 SOIME LIGHT OX A DARK SUBJECT. 251 
 
 litated nervous system — and wlien be was 
 informed that Major Osmanby had embarked 
 for England, the news threw him into so 
 violent a state of excitement, as to produce a 
 serious relapse. 
 
 • In the meantime, the unfortunate Josephine, 
 without having to reproach herself witii a 
 single act of imprudence, or the faintest shadow 
 of indiscretion in her conduct or demeanour, 
 was doomed to suffer the worst penalties of 
 acknowledged guilt. In spite of the tears, 
 entreaties, and reproaches of her afflicted 
 parents, who, as a matter of strict justice, 
 claimed, on her behalf, a calm and searching 
 investigation of all the circumstances, her 
 husband refused to entertain, for a moment, 
 the suggestion of her possible innocence, re- 
 solutely persisting in his determination not to 
 see her again, and forcibly removing her in- 
 fant daughter from her care. 
 
 ' ^\^lolly unable to face the world under 
 such a weight of unmerited obloquy and 
 heart-breaking affliction, she took refuge in 
 the Ursuline Convent where she had been 
 chiefly educated, and in which she was received 
 as a boarder, by especial permission of the 
 bishop, who, in relaxing the rules of discipline
 
 252 THE CKEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 affecting the community, in favour of this 
 much-injured lady, openly pr'oclaimed his 
 utter disbelief of the imputation cast upon 
 her. It is no exagsfcration to state that this 
 feeling was shared by all whose opinion was 
 of any moral weight among the society of 
 Montreal ; but I have been told, that among 
 her husband's relatives in England, this pro- 
 ceeding on her part has been insisted upon as 
 an evidence of conscious guilt.' 
 
 ' I, at any rate,' observed I, ' am not so 
 illogical as to draw such an inference from 
 what I conceive to have been the wisest 
 course she could adopt. But you spoke of 
 being in a position to vindicate her fame.' 
 
 ' It was no empty boast, as you shall pre- 
 sently find. A few months after Colonel De 
 Grey's recovery, his regiment was ordered to 
 another colonial station. When on the eve of 
 departure, he sought an interview with my 
 uncle, and, in terms the most emphatic and 
 impressive, protested that Mrs. Osmanby had 
 never given him the slightest encouragement 
 to address her in the terms of the fatal letter ; 
 and, with half-frantic vehemence, he invoked 
 the vengeance of Heaven on his own head, if 
 he had, on any previous occasion, experienced
 
 so:me light on a dark subject. 253 
 
 or exhibited to'.vards her a feeling more repre- 
 hensible than respectful admiration and sin- 
 cere friendship. He professed himself wholly 
 unable to account for his conduct, except on 
 the supposition that he was under the influ- 
 ence of temporary derangement, to which, he 
 said, some of his family had been subject. 
 " Colonel De Grey," said my uncle, '' I do not 
 require your protestations to satisfy me of my 
 daughter's innocence, of which I have never 
 entertained a doubt. What I claim at your 
 hands is that, having the power, you will at 
 once vindicate her before God and man. I 
 laugh to scorn your plea of temporary insanity. 
 I see there is a mystery in the afikir ; and you 
 dare not deny that it is in your power to clear 
 it up." De Grey turned deadly pale, and 
 made no reply. At length, after a pause of 
 some minutes, during which his countenance 
 betrayed uncontrollable agitation, he said, " 1 
 have no further explanation to ofier. At all 
 events, if I can add anything to what I have 
 already said, there is but one person on earth 
 to whom my words can be addressed." " And 
 who is that person ? " enquired my uncle. 
 " George Osmanby himself," replied De Grey. 
 " If there be, as you admit, a further expla-
 
 254 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 nation to be made," rejoined Mr. Belineau, 
 " no one can be more fully entitled to it than 
 I am. But I shall say no more. My daugh- 
 ter's fair fame is in your hands, to re-establish 
 or destroy. Your silence is an aggravation 
 of your guilt; and remember, Colonel De 
 Grey, that a day will come when you will 
 have to answer before the judgment-seat of 
 God, for the moral cowardice which dooms the 
 name of my innocent child to disgrace." To 
 this the Colonel made no reply; but, with a 
 half-suppressed groan, he struck his forehead 
 violently with his open hand, and rushed out 
 of the room. 
 
 ' From that day, nothing occurred to throw 
 any light upon the mystery, until about six 
 months ago, when a stranger, having the ap- 
 pearance of a Roman Catholic ecclesiastic, 
 and speaking English with a strong foreign 
 accent, called one morning at Mr. Belineau's 
 house, and inquired the address of Mrs. Os- 
 manby. Being informed that she resided in 
 the house, and was at that moment at home, 
 but unable to receive visitors by reason of her 
 close attendance on her father, who was dan- 
 gerously ill, he stated that he was the bearer 
 of a very important communication, which he
 
 SOME LIGHT ON A DAliK SUBJECT. 255 
 
 could make only in a personal interview, and 
 sent in an earnest request tliat slie would 
 grant him the favour of a few minutes' pri- 
 vate conversation. When pressed to give his 
 name, he said it was unknown to Mrs. Os- 
 manby; but he at length produced a card, 
 mth the words ^'' Abate Velloni^ Rome^'^ en- 
 graved thereon, which was delivered, with his 
 message, to Josephine, who, after some hesi- 
 tation, consented to see him. 
 
 ' In answer to her inquiry as to the object 
 of his visit, he stated that he was commissioned 
 to deliver into her own hands a packet in- 
 trusted to him hj an English lady at Rome, 
 whom he had recently received into the Roman 
 Catholic Church, and who, on confomiing to 
 the preliminary rite of a general confession, 
 had revealed circumstances which had obliged 
 him to render her absolution conditional on 
 an act of reparation to Mrs. Osmanby, whose 
 character had suffered many years previously 
 through the misconduct of the lady in ques- 
 tion. He went on to state that this lady was 
 the mdow of Colonel De Grey, to whom, on 
 the death of a former husband, she had been 
 married some years after the painful occur- 
 rence to which his communication referred, 
 and who had himself died at Rome, after a
 
 256 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 lingering illness, about eighteen months prior 
 to the conversion of his widow. He farther 
 stated that Mrs. De Grey had retired to a 
 convent, where she contemplated taking the 
 veil ; and that he had, at her earnest entreaty, 
 and at her expense, undertaken the journey 
 and voyage to Montreal, for the purpose of 
 delivering to Mrs. Osmanby a packet of far 
 too great importance to be intrusted to the 
 chances of the Post Office, and in order that 
 he might be able personally to assure Mrs. De 
 Grey of the Christian forgiveness which, he 
 doubted not, Mrs. Osmanby would readily 
 bestow upon her. 
 
 ' This communication greatly agitated Mrs. 
 Osmanby, who was ignorant of Colonel De 
 Grey's marriage, and had altogether lost sight 
 of that gentleman's career since his departure 
 from the colony. She opened, with a trem- 
 bling hand, the packet handed to her by the 
 Abate, and, besides other documents to which 
 I shall presently refer, she found a written 
 statement addressed to herself, and signed 
 " Emily De Grey," of which the paper I now 
 produce is a copy.' 
 
 So saying, Mr. Deschamps placed in my 
 hands a manuscript containing the folloAving 
 statement : —
 
 257 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IN WHICH THE MYSTERY IS STILL FURTHER 
 CLEARED UP. 
 
 ' Rome : October, 1828. 
 
 ' It is with a feeling of deep humiliation, and 
 still deeper repentance, that I undertake the 
 task imposed on me by truth and religion: 
 that of vindicating your unjustly-aspersed 
 character, at the expense of my own. I have 
 been the unhappy means of inflicting upon 
 you the most grievous injury, not, indeed, by 
 any intentional act, but by forbearing to speak 
 when a word from me could have cleared your 
 fame — a word, however, which, to be spoken, 
 would have required the courage that belongs 
 only to the innocence I had lost ; for, while it 
 would have been your complete justification, 
 it would have been my own disgrace and 
 ruin. 
 
 ' It is probable that the name subscribed to 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 THE CEEAII OF A LIFE. 
 
 this statement will not suffice to identify me 
 in your memory. But I was well known to 
 you during the early days of happiness that 
 succeeded your marriage. My first husband 
 was a brother officer of Captain Osmanby in 
 the — th regiment, and the lieutenant of his 
 company at the date of his sad and fatal 
 estrangement from you. You will remember 
 me as Emily Graham ; and that name will at 
 once affi)rd you a clue to unravel the deplo- 
 rable mystery of which you have been the 
 victim. The letter which fell into the hands 
 of your husband, though enclosed in a cover 
 addressed to you, was intended for me. On 
 the same day, a packet addressed to me by 
 Colonel De Grey, and conveyed to my hands 
 with the stealthy caution which conscious 
 guilt suggested, was opened by me in the 
 privacy of my own bed-room, after I had 
 taken the precaution of locking the door. It 
 contained the small sheet of manuscript music 
 and the note intended for you, both of which 
 you -will find enclosed herewith. How it 
 happened that he was guilty of the careless- 
 ness of misdirecting these letters, it is of no 
 avail to inquire. It is a mistake which has 
 often occurred, though seldom with such dis- 
 astrous results.
 
 THE MYSTERY FURTHER CLEARED UP. 259 
 
 ' For some hours I gave myself up for lost. 
 I knew that the letter intended for me must 
 have been delivered to you; and I could not 
 doubt that its contents were fearfully com- 
 promising. But, as I found on the following 
 morning, when I heard from my unsuspecting 
 husband the history of the hostile meeting 
 which Ae, of all men, had been employed to 
 arrange between De Grey and Captain Os- 
 manby, and which had so nearly proved fatal 
 to the former, the terms of the letter received 
 by you were, by a singular combination of 
 circumstances, such as not in any degree to 
 suggest a doubt as to the correctness of the 
 address. Captain Osmanby, as well as my 
 husband, was under orders to proceed with 
 his company, the next day, on detachment to 
 the out-quarters mentioned in the letter; and 
 by a fatal coincidence — fatal, at least, to your 
 happiness, though effectually screening me 
 from exposure — the initial letter " 0," by 
 which Colonel De Grey meant to designate 
 my husband, who was christened Henry 
 Oliver^ and whom I generally addressed by 
 the latter name, could not, in a letter pur- 
 porting to be written to you, be suspected of 
 indicating any other name than Osmanby. 
 
 S 2
 
 260 THE CREA3I OF A LIFE. 
 
 ' Could I describe to you the agony and 
 remorse I felt, when, day after day, I heard 
 the question of your supposed guilt canvassed 
 before me, you would admit that, in my case, 
 retribution followed close in the track of sin. 
 But neither my husband, nor, as far as I could 
 observe, anyone else, had the slightest suspi- 
 cion of the truth ; and I shrank (may Heaven 
 forgive me !) from proclaiming to the world 
 my own infamy. I could not, however, help 
 feeling, that if I were not to abandon for ever 
 all my hopes of Divine mercy, the revelation 
 must some day be made ; and, instead of 
 destroying the contents of the packet received 
 by me, which, if discovered in my possession, 
 might, at any time, lead to my exposure, I 
 preserved them with the utmost care, enclosing 
 them in a sealed packet, on which I wrote the 
 words, " to be opened only in the event of my 
 death," and which, wherever I went, I kept in 
 the safest and most secret place under my 
 control. 
 
 ' It is but justice to Colonel De Grey, to say 
 that he was deeply and permanently affected 
 by this deplorable affair. But a false sense of 
 honour induced him to conceal the truth from 
 Captain Osmanby, whose domestic happiness
 
 THE MYSTERY FURTHER CLEARED UP. 261 
 
 was, like your reputation, sacrificed to this 
 mistaken delicacy. Had lie succeeded in ob- 
 taining a personal interview with your hus- 
 band, while the latter remained in Canada, he 
 had, as I have reason to know, determined to 
 reveal to him, under a pledge of secresy, the 
 real facts as to the destination of the fatal 
 letter. He could not, however, make up his 
 mind to do so in writing, as he had no means 
 of securing the silence of Captain Osmanby, 
 who, once in possession of a document tending 
 to establish the innocence of his wife, would 
 doubtless have considered that her full justifi- 
 cation could hardly be efi'ected without giving 
 a certain publicity to facts involving my ex- 
 posure. They were not destined to meet 
 again in this world ; and, alas ! De Grey, still 
 influenced by a wish to screen me from dis- 
 grace, postponed the necessary reparation, 
 until death had deprived him of all chance of 
 making it by word of mouth. 
 
 ' I should here state that we were both too 
 conscience-stricken to admit of our pursuing 
 a guilty intrigue which had brought misery on 
 ourselves, as well as on the innocent victims 
 of our sin. From that time forward we, by a 
 tacit agreement, shunned each other's society.
 
 262 THE CEEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 as far as it was practicable to do so without 
 attracting comment or attention, while De 
 Grey and my husband remained brother officers 
 in the same regiment, on terms of friendly 
 association. A year after the regiment arrived 
 at Bombay, however, De Grey exchanged into 
 the — th Light Dragoons, which was under 
 orders for the Cape, and we did not meet 
 again until I had been a widow for more than 
 a year ; my husband having died of the cholera 
 while on duty up the country, about live years 
 after our departure from Montreal. 
 
 ' It was at Cheltenham, where I had fixed 
 my residence, on my return to England, that I 
 renewed my acquaintance with Colonel De 
 Grey, who had then left the service, and was in 
 a declining state of health. He seemed still 
 more broken in spirits, and appeared to take but 
 little pleasure in society. For many months, our 
 intercourse was confined to the interchange of 
 the commonest civilities ; and neither of us ven- 
 tured on any allusion to the past. But living, 
 as w^e did, a good deal in the same set, we 
 gradually resumed a tone of more apparent 
 cordiality ; and at the end of little more than a 
 year, I was startled by the unexpected offer of 
 his hand. Up to that time, I had fancied that
 
 THE MYSTERY FURTHER CLEARED UP. 263 
 
 my affection for him was a thing wholly gone 
 by. Its remembrance was fraught with such 
 bitter and humiliating reflections, that I had 
 almost schooled myself into the beKef that I 
 viewed him with a feeling even less cordial than 
 indifference ; and I could well imagine that 
 he was conscious of a similar estrangement 
 on his own part. His proposal served to un- 
 deceive me as to my own sentiments, though 
 it failed, perhaps, to enlighten me completely 
 as to his. 
 
 ' We were married ; but there was little of 
 happiness in store for me in a union founded 
 on such antecedents. Failing health and deep 
 depression of spirits cast a perpetual gloom 
 over his society. He was not positively un- 
 kind, but grave, almost to sternness, in his 
 general demeanour; and if his habitual de- 
 spondency occasionally yielded, for a moment, 
 to some passing impulse of a more lively 
 character, I never had the comfort of feeling 
 that the cheering influence was in any way 
 traceable to my presence or sympathy. But 
 this was as it should be. Wrong never comes 
 right. 
 
 ' Yery shortly after our marriage, he ex- 
 pressed to me his solemn and deep conviction
 
 264 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 that his days were numbered ; and, as I 
 marked the gradual change in his appearance, 
 I was not long before I shared this melancholy 
 belief. He had, in fact, as I afterwards learnt, 
 an incurable disease of the nature of internal 
 cancer ; but I feel certain that his death was 
 greatly accelerated by the mental anxiety to 
 which he was a prey. 
 
 ' The unmerited injury which he had in- 
 flicted on you and your husband was, I have 
 good reason to believe, ever present to his 
 mind. If he seldom alluded to it in direct 
 terms, he frequently recurred to the days of 
 his intimate friendship with Captain Osmanby, 
 whose affection for him, he would declare with 
 tears, had been like that of a brother, in many 
 trying circumstances of his early career. 
 
 ' His complaint was attended with great 
 pulmonary Aveakness; and in the second year 
 of our marriage he was strongly urged by his 
 medical advisers not to encounter the risk of 
 an English winter. It was therefore arranged 
 that we should pass that season in Italy. We 
 arrived at Rome in the early part of October, 
 intending to proceed to Naples for the winter 
 months. But his daily increasing weakness 
 rendered all further travelling impossible.
 
 THE MYSTERY FURTHER CLEARED UP. 265 
 
 His days were indeed numbered. He lived 
 but three weeks after our arrival at Rome. 
 
 ' Two days before his death, as I sat by his 
 bedside, he addressed me as follows : — '• Emily, 
 I have not many days, perhaps not many 
 hours, to live ; and there is something I have 
 put off saying too long, which I must now 
 say. If you value my hopes as a dying 
 Christian, it will not be said in vain." 
 
 ' After an interval, he proceeded — " I think 
 you will admit that I have done my utmost to 
 make reparation for the moral injury I was so 
 unhappy as to occasion you. But — and you 
 know it too well — in striving to be just and 
 faithful to you, I have been the means of 
 inflicting grievous wrong and, as I much fear, 
 irreparable misery, on others. This thought 
 has embittered my life for years ; and now that 
 I am dying it cannot be dwelt on without 
 remorse and terror. I have never had the 
 moral courage to place this matter before you 
 in its true light. I have shrunk from the 
 thought of exacting a painful and humiliating 
 sacrifice at your hands ; but as your husband, 
 speaking to you on the brink of the grave, I 
 am bound to tell you, that, come what may, it 
 is a sacrifice which God requires of you."
 
 266 THE CEEAJVI OF A LIFE. 
 
 ' I could not affect to misunderstand bim. 
 
 * What is it you expect me to do ?' asked I. 
 
 * " I expect you," answered he, " to com- 
 plete what I have only partially performed. In 
 my desk, which you see there, and which you 
 will open when I am gone, you will find a 
 sealed letter addressed to Colonel Osmanby. 
 It contains a statement of facts, as they are 
 known to you and me alone. See that it 
 reaches his hands with as little delay as pos- 
 sible after my death ; and never forget that I 
 am giving a proof of my unbounded confi- 
 dence in you, by entrusting this duty to your 
 hands, when I could easily have secured its 
 performance by some other person. We are 
 jointly answerable for the evil caused by the 
 suppression of these facts. It is right that 
 we should join in the act of reparation. Be- 
 ware—for the sake of your own soul, as weU 
 as mine — how you are tempted to disregard 
 my solemn and dying injunction on this point ! 
 I have not mentioned your name in the letter; 
 and although, without my doing so, the ex- 
 planation will be perfectly intelligible to 
 Osmanby, the statement will not compromise 
 you in the eyes of any third person into whose 
 hands it may fall."
 
 THE MYSTERY FURTHER CLEARED UP. 267 
 
 ' I gave the required promise, and was per- 
 fectly sincere in my intention of keeping it. 
 But as the impression produced by my hus- 
 band's emphatic words, followed by his death 
 within forty-eight hours, gradually faded from 
 my mind, I felt an increasing repugnance to 
 a step which involved so degrading an avowal 
 on my part. It is useless to recount the his- 
 tory of a mental struggle which might have 
 been indefinitely protracted, had not circum- 
 stances, which I need not here detail, given a 
 new direction to my religious views and feel- 
 ings. Suffice it to say, that having survived 
 all my near relations, I had no ties of kindred 
 that rendered my immediate return to Eng- 
 land a matter of necessity, in reference to my 
 future plans ; and I was induced to prolong 
 my stay at Rome, where, in the early days 
 of this my second widowhood, I experienced 
 great kindness and attention from an Italian 
 family of high rank, to whom my husband had 
 brought a letter of introduction from an Eng- 
 lish Catholic acquaintance. To the interest 
 taken by these kind friends in my spiritual 
 welfare, I owe the gradual removal of those 
 religious prejudices which I shared with the 
 great mass of English Protestants. I have
 
 2G8 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 been recently received into the Catholic 
 Church ; and you will easily understand that 
 the performance of the painful duty of which 
 I am now striving to acquit myself, is a neces- 
 sary consequence of my admission into that 
 communion. 
 
 ' The bearer of this will place in your hands 
 the short note and small musical manuscript 
 which Colonel De Grey intended for you, and 
 supposed himself to have delivered to you, 
 enclosed under the cover so unfortunately 
 misdirected by him. These documents, taken 
 in connection with this statement, would sup- 
 ply the most convincing proof of your inno- 
 cence, even' without the additional testimony 
 of Colonel De Grey's letter to your husband, 
 which will, at the same time, be committed to 
 your charge, for transmission to that gentle- 
 man, whose present address I am unable to 
 ascertain. 
 
 ' I have only to add my prayers for your 
 temporal and eternal welfare, and my earnest 
 hope that you mil not withhold your Christian 
 forgiveness for the grievous injuries I have 
 been the means of inflicting on you. 
 
 'Emily de Grey.*
 
 269 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 IN WHICH THE SKEIN IS FUKTHER UNBAVELLED. 
 
 When I had finished the perusal of this state- 
 ment, in which, I need hardly say, I felt 
 deeply interested, Mr. Deschamps resumed his 
 narrative : — 
 
 ' The original paper, of which you have seen 
 a correct copy,' said he, ' remains in Mrs. 
 Osmanby's possession. It was accompanied 
 by the note and musical enclosure to which 
 Mrs. De Grey refers, as having been sent to 
 her by mistake. That note contained merely 
 the following words, which I read from the 
 copy I have myself made from the original 
 document : — 
 
 Monday. 
 
 ' " Dear Mrs. Osmanby, 
 
 ' " I have at length succeeded in obtain- 
 ing the troop march, which I have much 
 pleasure in sending you. 
 
 ' " Yours very truly, 
 
 ' " Henry De Grey."
 
 270 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 ' These documents, which, you must admit, 
 establish her innocence most triumphantly, 
 are of too great importance to her complete 
 vindication, to be trusted out of her own 
 keeping. It is there that Colonel Osmanby 
 must seek them. But she has confided to 
 me the sealed packet left by Colonel De Grey 
 in the hands of his widow for transmission to 
 your brother, which I have promised, if pos- 
 sible, to place in his hands, together with the 
 copy of Mrs. De Grey's statement or confes- 
 sion. I undertook this duty, on my depar- 
 ture from Montreal, in the belief that Colonel 
 Osmanby was in England. On arriving in 
 London, I ascertained by inquiry at the Horse 
 Guards, and at Greenwood & Cox's, the 
 Army Agents, that, when last heard of, he was 
 still in India, but on the eve of returning 
 home, Slaving just effected an exchange with 
 an officer on the half-pay list. As I came 
 over to England with the intention of remain- 
 ing about a year, I reckoned on obtaining an 
 early interview "svith him on his arrival in 
 London, of which the agents promised to give 
 me timely notice. This morning's post, how- 
 ever, has brought me a letter from Montreal, 
 which obliores me to return home without
 
 THE SKEIN FURTHER UNRAVELLED. 271 
 
 delay. In fact, it informs me of the death of 
 a great uncle, who has appointed me his exe- 
 cutor, and named me his sole heir and legatee. 
 The inevitable change in my plans has occa- 
 sioned me much embarrassment with regard 
 to Colonel De Grey's packet, which I am, in a 
 manner, pledged to deliver into your brother's 
 own hands. This will sufficiently account to 
 you for my introducing the topic of these 
 painful family affairs, on an occasion which 
 would not otherwise have justified my taking 
 such a liberty.' 
 
 ' No apology can possibly be required under 
 the circumstances,' said I ; ' and I cannot but 
 feel grateful to the apparently fortuitous chain 
 of events which has led to our meeting and 
 this explanation. How soon do you start ? ' 
 
 ' By the very first ship on board of which I 
 can secure a decent berth. I hope to be off 
 before the end of next week, as there are two 
 or three vessels advertised to sail about that 
 time.' 
 
 ' As far as I know,' said I, ' there is no 
 chance of my brother's arrival in England 
 before the middle of August; and we are now 
 only in the last week of July. I can only 
 sav, that, as it is my bounden duty, so it will
 
 272 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 be my anxious endeavour, to bring these im- 
 portant facts to his immediate notice, when 
 he makes his appearance in London. I am 
 quite willing, should you desire it, to take 
 charge of any of these papers which you may 
 feel disposed to intrust to my care. I cannot, 
 however, say that I am very fond of the cus- 
 tody of original documents of great import- 
 ance ; and your object probably will be 
 sufficiently secured by leaving the sealed 
 packet in the hands of my brother's agents. 
 The statement I have just read, being merely 
 a copy, may, without any difficulty, be left in 
 my hands ; and I need hardly say, that I am 
 most anxious to communicate its contents 
 without delay to my father and mother.' 
 
 ' My own idea,' said Deschamps, ' would be 
 to reverse the arrangement you suggest. I 
 should prefer to leave Mrs. De Grey's state- 
 ment, with the necessary explanations, in the 
 hands of the as-ents— of course under a sealed 
 cover — with directions for its immediate de- 
 livery to Colonel Osmanby. But if I am to part 
 with this important packet — of which, be it 
 observed, I have never seen the contents — I do 
 not think I should be justified in intrusting it 
 to anyone but a near relative of the person to
 
 THE SKEIN FURTHER UNRAVELLED. 273 
 
 whom it is addressed. And yet I have a 
 difficulty of doing so, on the present occasion, 
 for the expression of which I must throw 
 myself on your indulgence;' and so saying, 
 he blushed up to the roots of his hair. 
 
 '- Davus sum, non (Edipus^^ said I, rather 
 drily; ' I must trouble you to explain.' 
 
 He was apparently in no hurry to do so. 
 A pause of a minute or two ensued. I grew 
 somewhat impatient. 
 
 ' I have already observed,' said I, ' that I 
 would rather not be left in possession of that 
 particular document, and I can therefore very 
 well dispense with the detail of your reasons 
 for not requiring me to assume that disagree- 
 able responsibility. I waive my right to an 
 explanation which appears to involve so much 
 embarrassment ; and, to put an end to your 
 perplexity, from whatever source it arises, I 
 positively decline to take charge of the packet 
 in question. I dare say I may appear to }ou too 
 young to be trusted with so weighty a matter. 
 
 'No, no!' said he, hurriedly; 'it was not 
 of your youth I was thinking. I have no 
 misgivings as to your sense or discretion. The 
 scruple was not mine ; it had exclusive refer- 
 ence to Mrs. Osmanby's feelings.' 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 ' Mrs. Osmanby's feelings ! ' exclaimed I ; ' in 
 what manner can they be affected or com- 
 promised by my intervention in this matter?' 
 
 ' Well, you see she has, naturally enough, a 
 strong impression that Colonel Osmanby's rela- 
 tions view her with great hostility ; and, in the 
 position you occupy in his family, you would 
 seem not unlikely to share that common pre- 
 judice, and to be somewhat biassed against 
 her interests.' 
 
 ''My position in the family ? — biassed against 
 her interests? — What ! ' exclaimed I, suddenly 
 starting up, as a train of thought rushed 
 through my mind, suggesting a most insult- 
 ing interpretation of these phrases, ' do you 
 mean to say, sir, — do you dare to insinuate 
 that my position, as Sir Philip Osmanby's 
 second son, might induce me to act the part of 
 a villain and a traitor towards my only brother 
 and his caluminated wife ! — that, in short, you 
 cannot trust me with a document of vital 
 importance to their honour and happiness, 
 because it is my interest, as presumptive heir, 
 to perpetuate their estrangement, and keep 
 them asunder?' 
 
 ' No ! no, no ! ' said he ; ' you mistake me 
 entirely. I never dreamt of such an insinu- 
 ation ; what I intended to say . '
 
 THE SKEIN FURTHER imRAVELLED. 275 
 
 ' Your words/ interrupted I, * whatever you 
 intended to say, are not, in my mind, suscep- 
 tible of any other interpretation. You act 
 wisely in "withdrawing them. But I can have 
 no further discussion with you on this matter. 
 One interview, as our personal intercourse had 
 better terminate here. If you have the in- 
 terests of Mrs. Osmanby at heart, I advise 
 you to place all these papers, without delay, 
 in the hands of Colonel Osmanby's agents. I 
 shall at once apprise Sir Philip Osmanby of 
 the facts you have communicated to me — and 
 I wish you a very good morning.' 
 
 ' One word more ! ' said he ; ' I entreat you. 
 As a man of sense, you will not, I am sure, 
 in a momentary fit of pique at a supposed 
 insult or offence which was never intended, 
 decline your share of the duty which we are 
 both anxious to perform to the best of our 
 ability. I must remind you that I spoke 
 merely of the view which, according to my 
 conjecture, Mrs. Osmanby might possibly take 
 of the proceeding on which I had already 
 determined ; and I alluded to her feelings on 
 the subject, in the hope, nay, I may say in the 
 certainty, of eliciting from you an expression 
 of sentiment which might serve to re-assure
 
 27 G THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 her. But, on the word of a gentleman, the 
 idea of your position in reference to the title 
 and estates, never crossed my mind. I spoke 
 of the religious prejudices of which I supposed 
 her to be the object — ^prejudices which I 
 could not but fear had already had their share 
 in confirming Colonel Osmanby in that course 
 of stern obduracy which he has pursued to- 
 wards his unfortunate wife. She might,. I 
 thought, suppose that, brought up as you have 
 been, in an atmosphere of bitter hostility to 
 the Catholic religion, you would yield but a 
 grudging belief to those circumstances which, 
 when known, should have the effect of restor- 
 ing her to her proper station in your ancient 
 family.' 
 
 ' Your assumption,' observed I, ' that I have 
 been educated in bitter hostility to the Catholic 
 religion, is perfectly gratuitous. To me it is 
 something more, and nearly trenches on the 
 comic. May I take the liberty of inquiring 
 to what religious communion you yourself 
 belong?' 
 
 ' I am a member of the Church of England,' 
 answered he. 
 
 ' Then I have only to observe that Mrs. 
 Osmanby has more to apprehend from yoiir^
 
 THE SKEm FURTHER UNRAVELLED. 277 
 
 religious prejudices than from mine. Like 
 herself, I am a Catholic ; and so, as she must 
 be well aware, if she knows anything of the 
 family into which she has married, is my 
 mother, Lady Osmanby.^ 
 
 Had I declared myself a Buddhist or a Maho- 
 metan, my confession of faith could scarcely 
 have had a more startling effect on my hearer. 
 But I must admit that his demeanour betraved 
 some lack of orthodox zeal on the occasion. 
 Instead of the pious horror that might have 
 been reasonably anticipated, his surprise par- 
 took largely of exultation. The knowledge 
 of my benighted state seemed to afford him 
 inexpressible relief. 
 
 ' Well ! ' exclaimed he, ' this is really quite 
 providential ! I cannot tell you what a weight 
 it removes from my mind.' 
 
 ' The deuce it does! ' said I. ' You don't 
 happen, by any chance, to be a Jesuit in dis- 
 guise, do you ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said he, laughing, 'but I am a Free- 
 mason, which, according to some authorities, 
 is nearly as bad. However, you can easily 
 understand that my care of ]\Irs. Osmanby's 
 worldly interests is at present paramount to 
 any question of her or your spiritual concerns.
 
 278 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 My perplexities are at an end, and I shall at 
 once decide on leaving all these documents in 
 your custody.' 
 
 ' Excuse me/ said I. ' Should you leave 
 London before the arrival of Colonel Osmanby, 
 I will consent to take charge of the copy of 
 Mrs. De Grey's statement, if you insist on 
 my doing so. But the Colonel's sealed letter 
 must be deposited elsewhere. My brother's 
 agents are the proper persons to whom it 
 should be confided ; and, apart from any ques- 
 tion of feeling on my side, or distrust on yours, 
 it will be safer in their custody, well supplied 
 as they are with stationary tin boxes, and iron 
 safes, than in the custody of a harum-scarum 
 subaltern, who leaves his keys behind him , at 
 the mercy of servants, once or twice a fort- 
 night, on an average.' 
 
 After some discussion, he acquiesced in this 
 arrangement ; and it was further agreed that 
 he should include in the packet containing 
 that portion of the papers to be left in my 
 charge, a short narrative explanatory of his 
 connection with the affair, and detailing the 
 circumstances which had led to his being 
 intrusted with the duty of conveying these 
 important documents to the hands of Colonel 
 Osmanby.
 
 THE SKEIN FURTHER UNRAVELLED. 279 
 
 As the injury to my right hand, from the 
 occurrence of the previous night, had, for the 
 time, disabled me for the use of the pen, I 
 further urged upon him the expediency of his 
 writing, without delay, to my father, to apprise 
 him of the existence of these important papers 
 and their intended disposal, while awaiting 
 my brother's arrival in England. To this he 
 also consented; and promising to call upon 
 me again, on the eve of his departure, for the 
 purpose of placing in my hands the docu- 
 ments I had aofreed to take charsfe of, and 
 which I had requested him to retain in his own 
 custody until the last moment, he took his 
 leave. 
 
 About ten days elapsed mthout my hearing 
 any tidings of him. Before the end of that 
 time, I had quite recovered the use of my hand, 
 under the skilful treatment of our battalion 
 surgeon, and had resumed alike my regimental 
 duties and my usual habits of life, which, at 
 a time when I was in the sole occuj)ation 
 of the family barrack, were naturally more 
 ^ clubbable^ (as Johnson terms it) than 
 domestic. 
 
 It happened, therefore, that I was absent 
 from home when he called to make his fare-
 
 280 THE CREAM' OF A LIFE. 
 
 well visit in Portman Square. He obtained, 
 however, an interview with my good Dorothy, 
 whom, on the strength of what he had observed 
 at our first meeting, he justly supposed to be 
 a very reliable depositary of any article in- 
 tended to reach my hands without delay, 
 and confided to her care a sealed packet ad- 
 dressed to me, which I found on my return 
 home that night. It proved, on examination, 
 to contain not only that portion of the papers 
 which I had consented to receive, but also 
 the letter from Colonel De Grey to my brother. 
 These documents were accompanied by the 
 following note ; — 
 
 Hummmns, Thursday. 
 
 ' Dear Sir, — I am starting by to-night's 
 mail for Liverpool, and hope to sail the day 
 after to-morrow. I trust to your indulgence 
 to pardon a slight deviation from our arrange- 
 ments, as agreed on. After mature con- 
 sideration, I have decided not to intrust any 
 of the accompanying papers to Messrs. Green- 
 wood. For many reasons, it seems to me de- 
 sirable that all these documents should reach 
 the hands of Colonel Osmanby simultaneously, 
 and through the medium of his own family.
 
 THE SKEIN FUKTHER UNRAVELLED. 281 
 
 I therefore rely on you to secure this object 
 at the earliest possible moment. 
 ' With my best wishes, I remain, 
 ' Your faithful servant, 
 
 ' Edward Deschamps.' 
 
 There was no help for it. I was obliged to 
 take upon myself the entire conduct of this 
 affair, and to be the first to broach this delicate 
 subject to a brother who was personally a 
 stranger to me, and, from all I could learn, 
 but little disposed to recognise, in my case, the 
 claims of near relationship. Earnestly bent 
 as I was on breaking dovrn the barrier of early 
 estrangement which appeared to separate us, 
 I would have given my next quarter's allow- 
 ance to avoid the awkwardness which, as 
 matters stood, seemed inevitable on the occa- 
 sion of our first meeting. 
 
 It is true that I was in a position to render 
 him the greatest service imaginable, by dis- 
 pelling at once the heavy cloud which had so 
 long obscured his destiny. But how could I 
 tell that he might not have become more than 
 reconciled to the murkiness of the atmosphere ? 
 He had certainly sho^NTi no want of alacrity 
 in parting with his wife, when she was young
 
 282 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 and handsome. Could I be quite certain that, 
 after a lapse of ten years, he would not be 
 less ready to welcome her vindication, than in 
 honour and justice he ought to be ? Extremes 
 meet; and as, under ordinary circumstances, 
 the most embarrassing task that can well 
 devolve on one gentleman, is to acquaint an- 
 other with the fact of his wife's misconduct, 
 so, in some exceptional cases, it may be equally 
 ticklish work to be the medium for the trium- 
 phant demonstration of a lady's innocence, to 
 a husband who has thoroughly accepted his 
 position on the assumption of her guilt. 
 
 But speculation was useless, and my course 
 of action clear. One golden rule holds good 
 throughout — 
 
 ' Fay ce que doy — advienne que pourra.^
 
 283 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 
 
 I HOPE the reader will be of opinion that the 
 circumstances so unexpectedly brought to my 
 knowledge in my interview with Mr. Des- 
 champs, were of a nature to account for the 
 fact that I did not, in the interval that elapsed 
 before that gentleman's departure from Lon- 
 don, bestow much thought on the fascinating 
 Miss Ruggles, or her progress towards conva- 
 lescence. 
 
 I had ascertained from my servant, who, by 
 my directions, made an inquiry at her residence 
 a couple of days after the accident, that she 
 was going on quite favourably ; and as soon 
 as I had got rid of the painful effects of my 
 OAvn personal share in the matter, I was 
 content to dismiss it from my mind, ex cept so 
 far as it might serve me as a salutary warning 
 against the practice of lounging in the coulisse
 
 284 THE CREAISI OF A LIFE. 
 
 of the Opera-house. It occurred to me, how- 
 ever, about a fortnight later, that I was bound 
 to redeem the pledge which, under the philan- 
 thropic impulse of the moment, I had given to 
 Kuggles mere^ that I would defray all neces- 
 sary medical expenses on the occasion ; and 
 having, luckily, but scanty experience of 
 apothecaries' bills in my own case, I did not 
 feel quite certain that the couple of sovereigns 
 I had left with that estimable matron would 
 prove sufficient for the purpose. 
 
 This was clearly a point that invited per- 
 sonal inquiry. Accordingly, I drove out to 
 Lambeth, one fine morning, soon after break- 
 fast, and, to the evident satisfaction of both 
 mother and daughter, found myself, after 
 making my way up a very dark and ricketty 
 staircase, in their small but tidy sitting- 
 room, to which, I think, the abiding aroma of 
 onions, not less potent than on the night of 
 the accident, might have sufficed to guide me 
 blindfold. 
 
 I found the lovely Susan reclining in an 
 easy chair near the open window; — rather 
 smartly dressed, looking pretty, but very 
 pale, until the surprise and, I am afraid I 
 must say, the pleasurable excitement of my
 
 THE DANGERS OE PHILANTHROPY. 285 
 
 arrival, brought the blood into her cheeks with 
 a rush, and diffused over her countenance 
 a deep and general glow, which as rapidly 
 subsided. 
 
 Mrs. Ruggles, whose mission as a votary of 
 skilled labour was chiefly developed in the 
 practice of that important science known to 
 the fair sex as ' clear-starching,' was busily 
 engaged in * getting up' certain ornamental 
 articles of female apparel, and was so effec- 
 tually, though not disaofreeably, discomposed 
 by my sudden appearance, that the formidable 
 instrument of highly-polished steel, technically 
 described, I believe, as an Italian iron, with 
 which she was operating on the costly lace and 
 embroidery spread out before her, fell from her 
 hand on my approach. 
 
 ' Lawk, sir,' exclaimed she, ' only to think 
 of it 's being you ! And here's Susy have 
 been a-frettin' about you till she druv me 
 a'most wild ! ' 
 
 ' I hope you are getting quite well,' said I, 
 addressing the daughter. ' I should have 
 called to make my inquiries sooner, but I have 
 been much occupied.' 
 
 ' Thank'ee, sir,' said the poor girl, ' I am 
 doing nicely, but am not very strong ; ' and
 
 286 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 thereupon, in corroboration of her statement, 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 * There, there ! ' said Mrs. Euggles, sooth- 
 ingly, 'you see, sir, her nerves is weak like, 
 after what she have been through.' 
 
 'I am afraid,' observed I, *that I have 
 startled her by coming in so abruptly. But 
 I tapped twice at the door mthout making 
 anyone hear ; ' a fact of which the noise in the 
 street reaching the apartment through the 
 open window, afforded a sufficient explanation. 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Susan, gently sobbing, ' it's 
 not that ; I know I'm very foolish ; only I was 
 afraid you was ill ; as I knew, the night you 
 saved my life, that you was burnt terrible 
 bad — and then — somehow, I thought I never 
 should see you again, to thank you for all 
 your kindness.' 
 
 * Well, well,' said I, cheerily, ' you see I am 
 all right now, and I'm very sorry you" have 
 worried yourself about me. My injuries were 
 of a trifling nature ; and I did no more than 
 any other man of common humanity would 
 have done in trying to extinguish the fire. I 
 hope,' continued I, addressing Mrs. Ruggles, 
 ' that she is weU out of the doctor's hands by 
 this time ; and I have not forgotten my pro-
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 287 
 
 mise to bear you harmless as regards his bill, 
 and all other expenses.' 
 
 ' Heaven bless you for it, sir ! ' said that 
 worthy matron. ' It'll be a precious long 
 bill, I reckon, for he have sent her a power o' 
 doctor's stuff, to be sure ! And, although he 
 says she a'most well, he keeps on coming here 
 every other day, and, as I knows of old, his 
 visits costs as much as his doses, and more 
 too, for the matter of that. Here he is, I do 
 believe,' continued she, as there came a loud 
 tap at the door, and in answer to her ' come 
 in,' ^Ir. Drenchley strode into the room. 
 
 The medical profession, in the grade of 
 general practitioner, comprises a very wide 
 range of social diversity in the station and 
 demeanour of its professors. A large pro- 
 portion of this useful and generally estimable 
 class are gentlemen in the fullest acceptation 
 of the term, and often highly agreeable men 
 of the world. On the other hand, there are 
 among them not a few whose appearance and 
 manners bear unmistakeable traces of their 
 plebeian origin, uncivilized habits, and essen- 
 tially vulgar minds. Mr. Drenchley belonged 
 very decidedly to the last-mentioned category. 
 I will not positively assert that he was the
 
 286 THE CREAM OF A LITE. 
 
 thereupon, in corroboration of her statement, 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 * There, there ! ' said Mrs. Buggies, sooth- 
 ingly, 'you see, sir, her nerves is weak like, 
 after what she have been through.' 
 
 'I am afraid,' observed I, 'that I have 
 startled her by coming in so abruptly. But 
 I tapped twice at the door without making 
 anyone hear ; ' a fact of which the noise in the 
 street reaching the apartment through the 
 open window, afforded a sufficient explanation. 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Susan, gently sobbing, ' it's 
 not that ; I know I'm very foolish ; only I was 
 afraid you was ill ; as I knew, the night you 
 saved my life, that you was burnt terrible 
 bad — and then — somehow, I thought I never 
 should see you again, to thank you for all 
 your kindness.' 
 
 ' Well, well,' said I, cheerily, ' you see I am 
 all right now, and I'm very sorry you' have 
 worried yourself about me. My injuries were 
 of a trifling nature ; and I did no more than 
 any other man of common humanity would 
 have done in trying to extinguish the fire. I 
 hope,' continued I, addressing Mrs. Ruggles, 
 ' that she is well out of the doctor's hands by 
 this time ; and I have not forgotten my pro-
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 287 
 
 mise to bear you harmless as regards tds bill, 
 and all other expenses/ 
 
 ' Heaven bless you for it, sir ! ' said that 
 worthy matron. ' It'll be a precious long 
 bill, I reckon, for he have sent her a power o' 
 doctor's stuff, to be sure ! And, although he 
 says she a'most well, he keeps on coming here 
 every other day, and, as I knows of old, his 
 visits costs as much as his doses, and more 
 too, for the matter of that. Here he is, I do 
 believe,' continued she, as there came a loud 
 tap at the door, and in answer to her ' come 
 in,' Mr. Drenchley strode into the room. 
 
 The medical profession, in the grade of 
 general practitioner, comprises a very wide 
 range of social diversity in the station and 
 demeanour of its professors. A large pro- 
 portion of this useful and generally estimable 
 class are gentlemen in the fullest acceptation 
 of the term, and often highly agreeable men 
 of the world. On the other hand, there are 
 among them not a few whose appearance and 
 manners bear unmistakeable traces of their 
 plebeian origin, uncivilized habits, and essen- 
 tially vulgar minds. Mr. Drenchley belonged 
 very decidedly to the last-mentioned category. 
 I will not positively assert that he was the
 
 290 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 witli an attempt at a friendly dig in the ribs ; 
 but the eye that was not winking caught mine, 
 and he probably understood its mute elo- 
 quence. At all events, he discreetly abstained 
 from the intended demonstration. 
 
 ' Well,' said he, again directing his atten- 
 tion to his patient ; ' I should say we could 
 not be going on better. We must exhibit a 
 little more quinine, and throw in a judicious 
 alterative or two, and then we shall be all 
 right.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ruggles,' said I, ' now that I have 
 heard this gentleman's satisfactory report ' 
 
 ' My name is Drenchley, Captain,' inter- 
 rupted he. 
 
 'Well, having Mr. Drenchley's assurance 
 that his patient is going on well, I will wish 
 you good morning, and not interfere with his 
 professional duties.' 
 
 ' Oh ! pray don't hurry away on my account. 
 Captain. I have no private and confidential 
 questions to ask ; we are too nearly convales- 
 cent for that. I shall cut my stick immedi- 
 ately. Have you had a little walk this morn- 
 ing, dear?' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Susan ; ' I was tired by my 
 walk yesterday ; and it's so hot to-day, I don't 
 feel equal to it.'
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHEOPY. 291 
 
 ' Oh ! but you must have air and exercise ; 
 fresh air is what you want, especially. The 
 weather is hot, certainly. But, now I think 
 of it, we could, I fancy, amongst us, meet that 
 objection. I am sure the Captain will excuse 
 the suggestion I am about to make.' 
 
 ' I am no Captain,' said I. 
 
 ' Well, I beg ten thousand pardons — Lieu- 
 tenant.' 
 
 ' You need not trouble yourself with my 
 regimental rank, sir. My name is Osmanby.' 
 
 ' Well, then, ^h\ Osmanby, I am going, per- 
 haps, to take a great liberty with you ' 
 
 ' Excuse me, Mr. Drenchley ; I am not 
 accustomed to allow such a privilege to a 
 stranger.' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! I am sure I should be the last 
 person to do or say anything disrespectful. 
 I was merely going to suggest what, I should 
 say, cannot fail to be agreeable. Our patient, 
 you see, ought not to lose the benefit of this 
 fine morning. And yet, as she truly says, 
 it is very hot for walking. Now, you have 
 your cabriolet here, and I think it would be 
 very nice — -just the thing, in short — if you 
 would treat her to a short drive ; just a little 
 way into the country, and back. I am sure
 
 292 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 it would do you good, dear/ added he, address- 
 ing the poor girl, whose whole face glowed, 
 while her eyes sparkled with delight at the 
 suggestion. 
 
 I really could have found it in my heart to 
 pound Mr. Drenchley in one of his o^vn mor- 
 tars. I had some difficulty in repressing an 
 exclamation of annoyance and disgust ; and 
 I have no doubt my face was a pretty faithful 
 index of my feelings ; for his patient bent her 
 eyes on me imploringly, with a look, half in 
 terror, half in reproach. 
 
 ' Lawks ! ^ exclaimed Mrs. Euggles, ' that 
 would be fine for her, surely ! ' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ruggles,' thought I, ' you are an old 
 fool, if not something worse ;' and I was about 
 to cut the matter short by a peremptory re- 
 fusal, when I again met the glance of the fair 
 Susan. Her eyes — and they were very fine 
 eyes, reader — were again swimming with 
 tears. 
 
 It may be a weakness, but I have always 
 disliked to see a young woman cry ; particu- 
 larly if I have been the cause, however inno- 
 cently, of that lachrymal affection. 
 
 ' Come ! * thought I to myself, ' I need not 
 be ungracious, at any rate.'
 
 THE DANGEKS OF PHILANTHROPY. 293 
 
 ' I am afraid,' said I, ' that I am pressed 
 for time this morning, as I have an appoint- 
 ment at the Club. But I don't mind walking 
 back to St. James's Street ; and, if ^liss Rug- 
 gles would like an hour's drive, my cab-boy, 
 who is very steady, and will be very careful 
 of her, shall take her in any direction she 
 likes, and bring her home safely.' 
 
 ' Thank you, sir, — I had much rather not,' 
 said she, hastily, and struggling to restrain 
 her tears. ' I could not think of putting you 
 to such inconvenience. What does it signify? 
 You must not trouble yourself any more about 
 the likes of me. Only — only, you've no need 
 to be ashamed of being seen with me, for any- 
 thing I have ever done, or would do — if it 
 was ever so ! ' 
 
 And so saying, she fell to sobbing outright. 
 This was painful and embarrassing. 
 
 ' Oh dear ! ' said the detestable Drenchley, 
 * I see I have put my foot in it, while I was 
 trying, as hard as I could, to make things 
 pleasant.' 
 
 ' Mr. Drenchley,' said I, exasperated be- 
 yond all powers of endurance, 'will you do 
 me the inexpressible favour to ' {go to the 
 d — I! I was tempted to say, but I eschewed
 
 294 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 the foul fiend, and substituted) — 'to mind 
 your own business, and not volunteer any 
 suggestions about mine/ 
 
 ' Bless my soul ! ' exclaimed he, ' did I 
 ever ! well, I give you my word, I meant no 
 offence; but if gentlemen mil be so touchy, 
 there's no help for it. Mrs. Ruggles, we must 
 continue the tonics as usual; I will send a 
 fresh supply. Good morning ! ' and thereupon 
 he beat a rapid retreat. 
 
 I was really perplexed. I looked at the 
 poor girl, and could not help thinking, as I 
 observed how pale and worn she was, that a 
 quiet drive in the fresh air would do her good. 
 She was evidently so much hurt at my plan 
 of handing her over to Harry for that purpose, 
 that it would have been almost cruel to repeat 
 the suggestion; and I had not the heart to 
 do so. We were in the second week of 
 August; town was very empty; and I re- 
 flected that there was little or no chance of 
 my meeting any of my female acquaintance 
 on the road to Putney. I resolved to encounter 
 the risk. 
 
 ' Come 1 ' said I ; ' you must not worry your- 
 self with such fancies. What can have put it 
 into your head that I should be ashamed of
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 295 
 
 being seen with you? To convince you of 
 the contrary, I will forego the engagement I 
 spoke of, and be at your service for the next 
 hour or two. We will have a quiet country 
 drive; and, if you will get your bonnet and 
 shawl, we can start without delay. But 
 whenever you feel the least fatigue, you must 
 let me know, and I will bring you home at 
 once.' Joy once more sparkled in her eyes, 
 and both mother and daughter were profuse 
 in their expressions of gratitude. 
 
 ' She shall make herself quite smart, ' quoth 
 Mrs. Ruggles; 'and, though I says it as 
 shouldn't, she do look uncommon nice in her 
 Sunday bonnet.' 
 
 ' Well ! ' said I, ' let her wrap up well, as 
 she will find plenty of air under the hood of 
 the cabriolet.' 
 
 The fair Susan's toilet was rapidly per- 
 formed. Mrs. Ruggles was right — the Sunday 
 bonnet was very becoming. Indeed, the entire 
 mise en scene was unexceptionable. The girl 
 was naturally quiet and lady-like in her ap- 
 pearance; and a certain transparent delicacy 
 of complexion, often observable in young 
 people recently recovered from severe illness, 
 contributed to give an air of refinement to her
 
 29G THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 aspect. ' At any rate/ thought I, as I assisted 
 her into the cab, and took my seat beside her, 
 ' there is nothing to be ashamed of in her 
 looks. No one would ever take her for a 
 ballet-girl. Captious critics, however, might 
 observe that I have no business to be drivino; 
 a7iy young lady about in my cab, seeing that I 
 have neither sister nor cousin falling within 
 that description; and, what is more, I am 
 afraid they would be quite right. But I am 
 in for it, and must make the best of it.' 
 
 Now I give the reader distinct notice, that 
 he need not be under the slightest alarm 
 about my morals, or those of the fair Ruggles. 
 Although old bachelors will not believe me 
 when I say so, I "was actuated by no motive 
 but genuine kindness and good nature, in 
 complying with the suggestion of the officious 
 apothecary. It is equally certain that I had 
 no taste for acquiring the reputation of irre- 
 gularities with which I was not justly charge- 
 able; and while my companion, refreshed by 
 the summer breeze, and rather elated by the 
 position in which she found herself, appeared 
 to enjoy her drive with a timid and grateful 
 complacency, I was simply bored, and vexed 
 at my own weakness in being, I cannot say
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 297 
 
 talked — but cried into committing what I felt 
 to be an absurdity. 
 
 In this frame of mind, I could not help 
 being rather silent, giving but little encourage- 
 ment to the harmless loquacity of my fair 
 friend, whose conversational powers did not 
 seem to be of a verv hiofh order, and whose 
 grammar was slightly defective. To be sure, 
 in those days, popular education had not 
 made the wonderful strides it has achieved in 
 the present enlightened stage of the world's 
 progress. 
 
 1 endeavoured, however, to assign a civil 
 motive for my taciturnity, by remarking that 
 talking would probably fatigue her, and that 
 it was better for her to enjoy the fresh air 
 and the gentle motion of the cabriolet in 
 silence. 
 
 In this view she acquiesced with a very 
 good grace ; and after about an hour's drive, 
 during which I had sought the less frequented 
 roads connected with the suburban outlets of 
 the AVest End, I was beo^innins: to conoratulate 
 myself on the prospect of having ' done good 
 by stealth,' without any necessity of ' blushing 
 to find it fame,' and had just proposed to 
 turn my horse's head homewards, when my
 
 298 THE CREAM OF A LIEE. 
 
 fair charge alarmed me by exclaiming — ' Oh ! 
 dear ! I do feel so faint ' — a statement fully- 
 corroborated by the deadly paleness that had 
 overspread her countenance. 
 
 ' It is only weakness/ said she. ' It is past 
 my usual dinner-hour. If I could only get 
 a little brandy and water, and something to 
 eat, I should be quite well again.' 
 
 What was I to do ? We were about half 
 way between Mortlake and Richmond. I 
 had wisely resolved on turning back, before 
 encountering the greater publicity of the last- 
 mentioned town ; but all considerations of 
 prudence in reference to the questionable 
 society in which I was exhibiting myself, 
 naturally gave way before the imperious ne- 
 cessity of the case, which admonished me to 
 seek without delay for effectual assistance 
 and proper restoratives for my invalid com- 
 panion, who, I feared, would faint outright 
 before I could reach any decent place of re- 
 freshment. 
 
 In some uneasiness, and greater perplexity, 
 I resolved to make my way, as fast as possible, 
 to the Castle Hotel, Richmond, the nearest 
 and most convenient auberge of which I had 
 any experience in that neighbourhood. My
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 299 
 
 high-bred bay, who had shown occasional 
 signs of impatience at the unusually tardy 
 pace to which I had, up to that moment, 
 restricted his movements, responded with 
 great alacrity to the slightest hint from my 
 whip. I put him at once to his full trotting 
 speed — it was not far short of twelve miles 
 an hour — and in less than five minutes I 
 pulled him up at the door of the ' Castle.' 
 
 The increased rapidity of the motion had 
 rather revived the fair Susan ; but it was not 
 without assistance that I succeeded in landing 
 her from the cab, and conducting her to a 
 small sitting-room overlooking the river ter- 
 race, into which we were ushered by the head 
 waiter, and accompanied by the chambermaid, 
 who had been hastily summoned at the sight 
 of her half-fainting condition. She was placed 
 on a sofa; and with the aid of strong salts 
 and a glass of sherry, which I procured for 
 her with all possible despatch, she soon 
 rallied. 
 
 As her faintness was mainly the result of 
 fatigue or excitement, and, as she had inti- 
 mated, partly attributable to the want of her 
 usual mid-day meal, I thought the best thing 
 I could do for her would be to order a liberal
 
 300 THE CKEAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 supply of mutton chops, to be prepared with 
 all reasonable expedition. The result fully 
 vindicated the wisdom of the prescription, on 
 which I had of course not ventured without 
 personally obtaining her acquiescence in the 
 propriety of the treatment. I was in no cue 
 for luncheon myself, having breakfasted late 
 and substantially; but I felt bound, in polite- 
 ness, to be present at the administering of the 
 remedy I had prescribed ; and I think I may 
 venture to say that I never saw three portly 
 loin chops ' au naturel ' disappear more rapidly 
 before the determined onslaught of a hungry 
 damsel, than on that memorable occasion. 
 
 This was satisfactory at least, if not ro- 
 mantic; nor could I possibly object to the 
 pint of Dublin stout with which she accom- 
 panied the operation, and for which there was 
 abundance of legitimate precedent, at that 
 period, in cases of j9e^zV^ sante or constitutional 
 debility. But when, to the deferential inquiry 
 of the smirking waiter, whether she would 
 like any vegetables besides ' taturs,' she timidly 
 intimated a wish for ' a pickled onion or two,' 
 I had no difficulty in recognising the family 
 predilection to which the peculiar fragrance
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 301 
 
 of the maternal domicile was doubtless attri- 
 butable. 
 
 Cheered by such unmistakeable s}Tiiptoms 
 of convalescence, I thought I might safely 
 take prompt measures for our departure ; and, 
 having again consigned my promising invalid 
 to the good offices of a female attendant, I 
 went in quest of Harry, and desired him to 
 bring round the cabriolet, which had been put 
 up to await my orders. 
 
 On leaving the stables, I sauntered for a 
 minute or two on the terrace which overlooks 
 the river; and, as I was returning to the 
 house, a party of three emerged from the door, 
 in brisk and apparently joyous conversation, 
 through which, ere they made their appear- 
 ance, I had detected a well-known voice. It 
 was, therefore, with more of annoyance than 
 surprise that I found myself suddenly con- 
 fronted with Hugh Conyers. This was bad 
 enough, considering my wish to remain incog. 
 But the worst was to come. He was in at- 
 tendance on two ladies, in one of whom I 
 was inexpressibly disgusted to recognise my 
 greatly-revered, highly-sanctimonious, and 
 particularly spiteful aunt. Lady Tarleton ;
 
 302 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 while her companion — heavens and earth — 
 was no other than Mary Conyees ! 
 
 The trio greeted me with expressions of 
 surprise, and, as far as two of them at least 
 were concerned, with every demonstration of 
 cordiality. Mary held out her hand to me 
 with all the frankness of long-existing friend- 
 ship. Hugh's salutation was hearty and voci- 
 ferous ; while the dowager, between whom and 
 the establishment in Portman Square a decent 
 semblance of family intimacy had been main- 
 tained for some years past, gave me a gracious 
 nod, accompanied by the extension of one 
 finger towards me, and the performance of 
 something as nearly approaching to a smile, as 
 was safely practicable without revealing too 
 indiscreetly the costly mechanism of a bran 
 new set of teeth, one of Cartwright's most 
 recent productions, and a remarkably fine spe- 
 cimen of chryselephantine art. 
 
 ' Well, old fellow,' said Hugh, ' where did 
 you come from? Are you with a party?' 
 
 ' No,' said I, 'not with a party ;' and I submit 
 that my answer, although, mentally, some- 
 what evasive, was strictly and philologically 
 correct. I had read, in the work of some doubt- 
 ful legal authority, that it required at least
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 303 
 
 three persons to constitute a conspiracy ; but 
 I felt certain that, neither in a political nor in 
 a social sense, could a lesser number satisfy 
 the definition of a party. Not having, at the 
 moment, an opportunity of referring to John- 
 son for the verification of my views, I hope I 
 was justified in acting on the assumption of 
 their accuracy. 
 
 The reader must bear in mind that, in those 
 remote days, it would not have entered the 
 mind of the most snohicular of haberdashers' 
 apprentices to designate a lady, young or 
 old, as a ' party,' using that most perverted 
 term in the sense of ' individual.' I devoutly 
 hope that, even in our day, no officer of Her 
 Majesty's Household Brigade of Infantry 
 would allow himself to be betrayed into such 
 a colloquial abomination. But I mil not 
 answer for the Life Guards or Blues. 
 
 So I said — not, however, without a twinge 
 of conscience — ' No ; I am not with a party. 
 I have driven down, tempted by the fineness 
 of the day.' 
 
 ' Well, then,' said Conyers, ' we mil lay an 
 embargo on you. I have been pulling down 
 from Hampton Court, having induced not only 
 my little Polly here, but your lady-aunt, who is
 
 304 THE CREAM OP A LIFE. 
 
 charitably doing penance, for a few days, with 
 dear old granny, at that old barrack of a 
 palace, to trust themselves to my sculling. 
 But — I don't know how it happened — I have 
 contrived to strain one of my arms a little ; 
 so that if you would take the sculls on our way 
 back, you would be doing me good service, and 
 making yourself useful as well as agreeable, to 
 the lajdies. What say you ? K there should 
 not be hashed mutton for five at orrand- 
 
 c 
 
 mamma's, you and I will have our rations at 
 the Toy, or some other public-house. Tour 
 boy will bring the cab up there, and you shall 
 drive me back to town at night, for I am on 
 sruard to-morrow." 
 
 Barv amteeedemUm sedaiatm^ ^. 
 
 Hone was mv Xemesis stridincr alon^, bv no 
 means p^de daudo^ but with seven-league 
 boots. Here was the opportunity I had so 
 ardently desired, of meeting the fair 3Iary 
 again, and enjoying her bright, innocent, and 
 ingenuous society, under the most favourable 
 circumstances : and I could not avail myself 
 of it, because I had charge of a young lady 
 without an A in the worid, and with an over- 
 whelming passion for onions !
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 305 
 
 But a bright thought struck me. 'I can 
 yet escape,' thought I ; ' accept Conyers's pro- 
 posal, and throw over the Buggies, without 
 scandal or barbarity. I will, by Yenus ! ' 
 
 ' You hesitate ? ' said Hugh. 
 
 ' No,' said I ; ' I am at the service of the 
 ladies, whose liege man I am, of life and limb. 
 The only difficulty I have is about the cab. 
 The horse will have had as much as is good 
 for him this morning, if he goes back quietly 
 to town ; and I must have him out again 
 to-night, as I have promised to call for De 
 Saulny, who is going, under my auspices, to 
 the very last ball of the season, where I have 
 promised to introduce him to an undoubted 
 heiress. But you and I can return by the 
 last coach from Hampton Court; and I shall 
 have plenty of time to dress for the vapour- 
 bath in Portland Place.' 
 
 * Be it so I ' said Conyers. 
 
 I thought that Clary's eyes reflected the 
 satisfaction ^vith which I contemplated the 
 carr}dng out of this arrangement ; and full of 
 spirits at the prospect of a pleasant afternoon, 
 after a morning of rather serious annoyance, 
 I left my friends on the terrace, under which 
 Hugh's trim-built wherry was moored, and 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 hastened back to Harry, to whom I com- 
 mitted the charge of reconducting Miss Rug- 
 gles in safety to her residence. Then, not 
 without feeling a little ashamed of myself, I 
 rejoined that forlorn damsel, whom I found 
 duly equipped for her departure, and who, 
 having, as I presume, viewed with some in- 
 terest my meeting with the boating party, 
 which had occurred on a part of the terrace 
 commanded by the window of the room in 
 which she had discussed her substantial lun- 
 cheon, was evidently questioning the waiter, 
 in attendance with the bill, as to the names 
 of the ladies with whom I had been talking ; 
 for, as I entered, I heard him say : ' I do n't 
 know who the young lady is. Miss, but the 
 old 'un is Lady Tarleton, a great Lunnon 
 lady as IVe seed often driving about when I 
 lived in town.' 
 
 I got rid of the waiter and his small ac- 
 count, as quickly as possible ; and then, ad- 
 dressing the fair Susan in my blandest tones, 
 I said : 
 
 ' My dear Miss Ruggles, I am glad to see 
 that you are quite recovered from your little 
 indisposition ; and I am sure you will forgive 
 me for behaving rather unceremoniously, as I
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHIL.\XTHROPY. 60 i 
 
 am about to do. The faxit is, I have met some 
 very particular friends and connections, who 
 are really in want of my assistance in rowing 
 them up the river. I must, therefore, ask you 
 to excuse me from accompanying you back to 
 town. My boy will drive you very carefuUv; 
 and, as you have seen how quietly my horse 
 goes, you will have no apprehensions about 
 the change of whips. I assure you Harry 
 handles the reins quite as skilfully as his 
 master. I am sorry I cannot wait to put you 
 into the carriage ; but it will come round in a 
 couple of minutes, and the waiter shall let you 
 know the moment it is ready. Tell your 
 mamma that I will call in a day or two to see 
 how you are getting on ; and — and — good 
 morning ! ' 
 
 So saying, I shook hands with her, hur- 
 riedly; and, without giving her time to ex- 
 press the disappointment which I was afraid 
 she felt, I left the room, and hastened to rejoin 
 the party who were waiting for me at the 
 landing steps. 
 
 ' I am quite at your service now,' said I, 
 as I proceeded to hand the ladies into the 
 boat, while Hugh took his place as steersman, 
 and one of the many small boys in attendance
 
 308 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 assisted me in loosening her moorings. A 
 delay — a most vexatious delay of a minute or 
 two, occurred by reason of my fussy aunt 
 missing lier sable boa — rather a superfluous 
 addition to the toilet, at the end of the dog 
 days — declaring that she had left it in the 
 room where they had been having their lun- 
 cheon, while Mary Conyers protested that she 
 had seen it trailing on the ground behind 
 Lady Tarleton, and had put it over her neck, 
 as they were descending the steps to the boat. 
 At lenofth it was found under a cloak on the 
 cushion of the seat. I had stripped off my 
 coat and waistcoat, and, jumping into the 
 boat as she was shoved off, was just handling 
 the sculls for a start, when, to my disgust and 
 terror, Harry made his appearance at the top 
 of the landing- steps, making vehement ges- 
 tures to me to stop, and calling out : 
 
 ' Beg pardon, sir ! — ' 
 
 ' Well,' said I, hastily, ' what do you want? 
 Did I not tell you to go back to town imme- 
 diately?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' said the boy, touching his hat; 
 ' but, please sir, what am I to do ? The 
 young lady says, quite positive, as she won't 
 trust herself to my driving.'
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 309 
 
 ' The young lady ! ' exclaimed more than one 
 voice. 
 
 'What young lady, sir?' enquired Lady 
 Tarleton, with a portentous frown on her 
 majestic brow. 
 
 'Please, my lady, the young woman as 
 master ^ave druv down here this morning, 
 and as 'ave been a-lunchin' with him.' 
 
 There was an awkward pause. Conyers 
 looked grave ; Lady Tarleton malignantly 
 triumphant; Mary embarrassed, and rather 
 frightened. How / looked, Heaven knows. 
 But I know how I felt) and if I live to the 
 age of old Jenkins, I am not likely to forget 
 it. I could have gladly jumped overboard; 
 but there was not water enough to drown 
 me. 
 
 I made a desperate eflfort to carry matters 
 off with a high hand. ' How dare you dis- 
 obey my orders, sir?' said I, in a voice of 
 very genuine exasperation. ' Go back at once, 
 and do as I have told you.' 
 
 So saying, I resumed the sculls, and was 
 about to ' give way ' without any further 
 allusion to this awkward interruption; but 
 Conyers interposed, with much gravity and a 
 little sternness of manner —
 
 310 THE CREA3I OF A LIFE. 
 
 ' No, Gerald ! ' said he ; ' our arrangement 
 cannot stand. Had I suspected for a moment 
 that there was anyone here who had a claim on 
 your attentions, I should certainly not have 
 dreamt of asking you to join us. You told 
 me you were alone.' 
 
 ' Pardon me,' said I. ' I made no such 
 statement. I gave you to understand that 
 there was nothing to prevent me from joining 
 your party; and such is the fact.' 
 
 ' Well ! ' said he mournfully, and half 
 soliloquising, ' I could not have believed it 
 of you, if any stranger had told me ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! ' exclaimed my aunt, with a 
 spiteful chuckle, ' you need not be very in- 
 credulous in Gerald's case, Mr. Conyers. For 
 my part, I can believe everything but what is 
 good and truthful, of a young gentleman who 
 has been trained up in the school of the 
 Jesuits. / said nothing. But when I saw 
 him here, I guessed at once the sort of com- 
 pany he was in.' 
 
 ' Thank you, aunt, for your charitable sur- 
 mises,' said I. ' My education has, I dare 
 say, not secured me from all risk of making a 
 fool of myself; but it has certainly taught 
 me to speak the truth boldly on all occasions;
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 311 
 
 and no one knows this better than Hiiofh 
 Conyers. For the sake of his good opinion, 
 therefore, and that of ]\Iiss Conyers, both of 
 which I highly value, I must claim the right 
 to explain what, I much grieve to say, has a 
 suspicious aspect/ 
 
 ' I think, Osmanby,' said Conyers, hastily, 
 ' we had better dispense with explanations. 
 My sister is not used to discussions of this 
 kind. Let us not detain you from your . . . 
 your companion. 
 
 ' Hugh,' said I, ' I require no warning to 
 teach me the respect I owe to your sister. 
 My story is a very simple one, and contains 
 nothing that she need fear to listen to. Xay,' 
 continued I, in a more determined tone, as 
 he was about to interrupt me again, 'after 
 Lady Tarleton's libellous insmuations, and 
 your tacit acquiescence in them, I must insist 
 on being heard.' 
 
 I then, addressing my self pointedly to Mary, 
 related the story of Miss Ruggles's narrow 
 escape from death by fire, and the active part 
 I had taken in saving her life ; calling attention 
 to the conspicuous scar on my right hand, in 
 corroboration of the statement. I told how I 
 had taken her home on the night of the acci-
 
 312 THE CREAM OF A LIFE. 
 
 dent, under circumstances that had rendered 
 my visit of that morning to Lambeth one of 
 actual duty as well as humanity; how the 
 foolish and impertinent suggestion of the 
 apothecary, and my own feeling of compassion 
 for one who was recovering but slowly from 
 so fearful a shock to the nerves and general 
 health, had determined me, although with great 
 reluctance, to give her the benefit of a short 
 country drive ; and how her alarming faintness 
 had obliged me to seek some place where I 
 could obtain refreshment for her. I added 
 that, being thoroughly re-assured about her 
 health, by the excellence of her appetite at 
 luncheon, I had felt no scruple in consigning 
 her to the care of my groom to drive her home, 
 as a much more satisfactory arrangement for 
 me, and one quite as convenient for her ; and, 
 in conclusion, I appealed to Miss Conyers's 
 candour to say whether she did not think that 
 if Hugh had found himself under similar cir- 
 cumstances, he -would have been very likely to 
 act precisely as I had done. 
 
 Mary listened to my tale with evident in- 
 terest, and some appearance of sympathy ; for 
 I could detect a tear glistening in her eye at 
 some points of the narrative. Hugh heard me
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 313 
 
 in silence ; but Lady Tarleton could with diffi- 
 culty be restrained from interrupting me, at 
 every turn of the story, with exclamations of 
 contempt or incredulity. The moment I had 
 ceased to speak, she turned to Conyers, and, 
 in a voice of the greatest asperity, said — 
 
 ' Mr. Conyers, I believe I must trouble you 
 to take the oars, and release us from this sort 
 of painful, and, I may say, disgraceful exhi- 
 bition. I consider that I am here as the cha- 
 peron of Miss Conyers ; and, as such, I am 
 quite sure I ought not to expose her to what 
 I look upon as contaminating society. If it is 
 my misfortune to have a nephew so devoid of 
 all true religion and decent feeling, as to make 
 a parade of his shameful intimacy with opera- 
 girls and women of loose character, it shall at 
 least not be my fault if I do not protect my 
 young friends from the offence and insult of 
 his society.' 
 
 * Aunt,' observed I, ' your religion, as well 
 as mine, forbids us to bear false witness 
 against our neighbour. You have no right 
 either to doubt my word, or to speak of this 
 poor young woman, of whom you know 
 nothing, as a person of bad character.'
 
 314 THE CREAM OF A LITE. 
 
 ' Indeed ! * said she ; ' you will allow me to 
 form my own judgment of your veracity as 
 well as of her morals. I am confident they 
 are about on a par. Mr. Conyers, I must 
 insist on our starting immediately 1 ' 
 
 ' / shall not detain you, aunt,' said I, as I 
 took up my coat and waistcoat, and jumped 
 out of the boat. 'Conyers!' continued I, 
 while he pulled off in apparently moody 
 silence, ' am I to understand you as acquies- 
 cing in this outrageous and cruel disbelief of 
 my solemn word ?' 
 
 ' I must postpone the discussion,' answered 
 he, curtly. 
 
 ' I will never condescend to resume it ! ' ex- 
 claimed I, with vehemence and ungovernable 
 emotion. 
 
 But a soft and gentle voice reached my ear, 
 as the boat moved off — 
 
 ' Mr. Osmanby ! ' cried Mary, timidly, 
 ' never mind ! I believe every word you 
 have spoken; and so does Hugh, in his heart.' 
 
 ' May God bless you for it ! ' exclaimed I, 
 as she smiled and waved her hand to me, 
 while the boat gained the middle of the 
 stream.
 
 THE DANGERS OF PHILANTHROPY. 315 
 
 I stood on the bank, and watched them 
 until they were lost in the distance. And 
 then — and then ! Reader ! don't be too hard 
 upon me — soldier, guardsman, and dandy as 
 I was — I fairly burst into tears ! 
 
 EXD OF THE FIRST VOLOFE. 
 
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