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 Of ILLINOIS 
 
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Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
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 University of Illinois Library 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY. 
 
 A NAVAL NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES H ANN AY, 
 
 LATE OE HE2 MAJESTY’S BTAVY. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, REVISED. 
 \ 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND CO, PARRINGDON STREET. 
 
 1854. 
 
frSL 3 
 -H 1 
 I $sif 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 THE DEEAMEE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Malheur a qui du fond de l’exil de la vie, 
 
 Entendit ces concerts d’un monde qu’il envie, 
 
 Du nectar id£al sitot qu’elle a goute. 
 
 La nature repugne a la realite. LAMARTINE. 
 
 Our story opens in a quiet and solemn chamber — the library 
 ^ of a country house, in one of the northern counties, of England. 
 The time is the close of the year 183 — . The mellow sunlight 
 of an autumn morning floats, with a colour like old gold, into 
 the room, touches up, as it were with the hand of a master, a 
 portrait by somebody who knew how to make sallowness sub- 
 lime, illuminates the vellum, and adorns the calf. 
 
 Into this apartment there walked, on the morning in question, 
 a man apparently about thirty-five years of age. He was dressed 
 in black clothes, imperfectly brushed, and a white neckcloth, 
 clumsily put on. His face was at once coarse and thoughtful ; 
 his manner awkwardly dignified ; his eyes were grey and very 
 vivid, but had a vacant kind of look occasionally, from his habit 
 of mental abstraction. As he walked you became aware of a 
 slight deficiency in his gait. 
 
 “ Mr. Trochee — the Header !” 
 
 “ The Header — Mr. Trochee !” 
 
 Having duly introduced him, I may add that he appeared in 
 this library as tutor to the family of Mr. Eontenoy, of Heatherby, 
 which at this time consisted only of one son, a youth still in his 
 teens. Mr. Trochee was what Hr. Johnson called a “ sound, 
 sullen scholar,” and sprang from a genealogical tree which might 
 fairly be called a tree of knowledge, from the number of peda- 
 gogues it had produced. He had a clear head, and no incon- 
 siderable command of that old-fashioned catapult kind of 
 
2 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.JjT. 
 
 sarcasm so much in vogue during the last century. He was 
 indeed exemplary in his way ; and if you had asked him what 
 religio was, he would have replied at once that it was a 
 choriambus ! * 
 
 He now found the library empty, but he established himself 
 very comfortably at the table with some “ scribbling paper” and 
 a book, and in a short time was in the land of day-dreams. 
 
 A small door opened noiselessly at a corner of the room, 
 opposite to the side at which he had entered. He did not look 
 up, and consequently did not see the figure which glided in — 
 that of a youth just growing out of boyhood — a youth somewhat 
 “tall for his age,” and certainly handsome for any age. 
 Singleton Charles' Fontenoy had a slim, graceful figure, pleasing 
 in movement, and elegant in repose, which somehow reminded 
 you of a Persian greyhound. His features were classically 
 handsome, and rather dark ; but this last effect was agreeably 
 relieved by blue eyes, which contrasted pleasantly with his very 
 black curly hair and eyebrows. The countenance seemed fitted 
 to express courage and decision, but there lingered upon it that 
 shyness which usually accompanies premature thought and early 
 earnestness ; which indeed is but the expression of the confusion 
 of tbat Eve the soul when it begins to be conscious of its ex- 
 posure in a strange world, and which Hochefoucauld pronounces 
 preferable to the easy assurance of modish young men. 
 
 Singleton, almost immediately on his entry, took hold of the 
 light ladder which rested against the shelves, to the upper of 
 which it was intended to give access (it was a true Jacob’s 
 ladder to him), and proceeded to adjust it with an obvious 
 design on a burly quarto. 
 
 As he placed his foot on the lowest step, he glanced round at 
 Mr. Trochee with a curious expression half inquiring, and half 
 contemptuous. The tutor’s eyes were fixed immovably on his 
 book. Singleton moved upwards to grasp the object of his 
 desires. He had placed the ladder rather carelessly, and 
 ascended it so also, — when — unhappy type of the fate of many 
 seekers after knowledge ! — he slipped and fell. The quarto, 
 clutched with eager hand at the moment, thundered down after 
 him, inflicting, as it did so, a slight graze on his right temple. 
 
 Singleton burst into a loud laugh as he sprung to his feet, and 
 standing upright met the glance of the astonished tutor, scared 
 Oy the unwonted noise. 
 
 “ It’s really very odd,” said Mr. Trochee, peevishly, “ that 
 everything you do, appears to be accompanied by a dis- 
 turbance !” 
 
 “Very,” said the boy, pouting with his fine lip in a sulky 
 
 * Vis. thus scanned — Heligio : apparently all some learned men know about it. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 3 
 
 manner. Mr. Trochee rose and placed the ladder in what ho 
 emphatically called “its proper place.” 
 
 “ Knocking the books about,” he continued, while Singleton 
 rubbed his forehead with a white pocket handkerchief, diffusing 
 as he did so an odour of violets which more and more irritated 
 our scholastic friend, who would willingly have handed over all 
 who used perfumes to the prosecution of the Sanitary Commis- 
 sion, — “ neglecting your proper studies to run after works with 
 which you have no business ! — where are your Latin hexameters P 
 where is your Greek prose ?” 
 
 The youth .made no answer, but the dark pupils of his blue 
 eyes distended, and his breathing grew short and quick. He 
 continued to rub his forehead. 
 
 “ Come, come,” said Mr. Trochee, “ your head stood it pretty 
 well, I have no doubt. Let us get to work.” 
 
 “I tell you what,” said Singleton, drawing himself up with an 
 air of weariness and anger, “ I am tired of this — tired of reading 
 and hearing about what I do not admire or love ; tired of 
 pedantry, and sick of being haunted by the ghosts of the dead 
 from day to day. I am tired of a process of study which can 
 only be compared to that whim of Byron’s — drinking out of a 
 skull.” 
 
 Mr. Trochee opened his mouth in astonishment. 
 
 “Hone of your darling ideas seem to be governing mankind,” 
 added the youth. 
 
 “ Go on, Scaliger,” cried Mr. Trochee. (This was his notion 
 of irony.) 
 
 “ I wonder at the coolness with which you can hunt out words 
 in a dictionary,” pursued Singleton, “when you know the state 
 of the poor in this very county.” 
 
 “ Bravo, Scioppius ! My dear boy,” said the tutor, compas- 
 sionately, “ I see that you have been led away by the popular 
 vagaries of the day. All the evils which provoke your learned 
 indignation are attributable to one simple cause. But here’s 
 your father.” 
 
 In came, as he spoke, a tall and rather stout gentleman, 
 between forty and fifty years of age, dressed in a flowing morn- 
 ing gown, and looking very magnificent about the throat. His 
 manner combined the serenity of middle age, with the dignity of 
 a county magistrate. He bowed graciously to Mr. Trochee and 
 his son. He usually, indeed, treated his son with much defer- 
 ence ; not on the score of that youth’s own merits, but because he 
 was his son. But Mr. Fontenoy demands a few lines of descrip- 
 tion. His was a character which, belonging to a common enough 
 class, must yet be repeatedly illustrated till it is thoroughly 
 understood. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy thought religion — ’twas his highest conception 
 of it — a useful engine of state. In his own life, instead of a 
 blessing to himself, it was used rather as a means of annoying 
 other people. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy went to church, and at the name of his Redeemer 
 bowed a la Talleyrand. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy would attend the funeral of one of his tenants 
 with all the pomp of yeomanry, and having had an imposing 
 salute fired over his grave, to-day, would put an execution in the 
 house of his widow to-morrow. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy preserved his game most rigidly. However, 
 we shall see more of him as we go on. 
 
 “ You were saying something, I think ? ” he asked Mr. Trochee. 
 
 “ I was just telling your son, sir, that all the evils of Europe” 
 — Mr. Fontenoy drew himself up, with a judicial air — “are 
 attributable to one cause, — the intrusion into political life of 
 half-read men.” This was Mr. Trochee’s favourite term of 
 contempt, and one which he frequently launched at the heads of 
 the agitators of the neighbouring town of Huskdale, where there 
 is a great manufactory of cotton and charges against the 
 Established Church. The calm and vast simplicity of the pro- 
 position duly impressed Mr. Fontenoy ; he glanced at his son, 
 who bit his lips and said nothing. 
 
 “ What gave rise to the conversation ?” 
 
 “ I am afraid Singleton has been acquiring some crude 
 notions,” answered Trochee. At that moment, a short, sharp 
 shower pattered against the windows, a few fitful gusts of wind 
 whirled past the leaves as they w r ere driven from the trees to a 
 violent death. Mr. Fontenoy rushed to look out, feeling a pang 
 of terror about the greenhouse, and after exclaiming, with an 
 air of importance, “ this will try Peel’s Currency Bill ! ” a dictum 
 perfectly unintelligible to Singleton — left the room. 
 
 All this time, the quarto which had fallen had been reposing 
 tranquilly on the floor. Mr. Trochee now picked it up, and 
 proceeded to look at the title-page. 
 
 “ Why, what is this?” he asked angrily. “What are you 
 doing with this ?” 
 
 Singleton blushed, looked confused, and muttered something 
 about “ both sides of the question.” 
 
 “ Sir,” said Mr. Trochee, “ you are too young yet for such 
 writers as Bolingbroke !” 
 
 When the son of a landed proprietor begins to read Boling- 
 broke, and talk about the poor, it is quite clear that something 
 desperate must be done. Mr. Trochee had a long secret con- 
 sultation with Mr. Fontenoy that evening. “ I will send him to 
 school,” said his parent. To check a tendency towards intellee- 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 5 
 
 tual speculation, what could liave been better? It was 
 resolved upon. Mr. Trochee received a handsome and 
 honourable dismissal soon after, and proceeded to London. 
 He found himself thoroughly tired of teaching people, and 
 
 therefore set up as a writer for the Review, by doing 
 
 which he effectually secured himself from the possibility of in- 
 structing anybody ! 
 
 And Singleton meanwhile stayed at home, and read whatever 
 he liked, while his father was looking out for an appropriate 
 school. The blue eyes were dim with poring over black and 
 white. Singleton was just then in an intellectual crisis. He 
 had began to doubt the infallibility of Paley, and had not yet 
 met with the writings of Carlyle ! 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 .... Rarum hoc in adolescentibus nostris : nam quotusqnisque vel setati 
 
 alterius vel auctoritati, ut minor, cedit? Statim sapiunt; statim sciunt omnia s 
 neminem verentur ; imitantur neminem ; atque ipsi sibi exempla sunt ! 
 
 Pliny the Younger. Ep. viii. 23. 
 
 .... Rare this in our young men : for how often does any one of them yield 
 either to the age or the authority of another, as his junior? They grow wise at 
 once : know everything at once : reverence nobody, imitate nobody ; and are, 
 themselves, their own models ! 
 
 The Lepels had arrived ! The Lepels were at Eunreddin ! 
 The Lepels were going to give a ball ! Such was the news which 
 Mr. Fontenoy’s county welcomed with enthusiasm. Such, too, 
 opens the prospect of a lively chapter to the author, entertaining 
 a natural dread of the growing number of readers, who, the 
 moment they come to the word Virtue, skip ; who only patronise 
 writers who convey heartlessness in epigrams, as Hannibal carried 
 poison in a brilliant ring. 
 
 The Lepels had been a long time abroad, and were now about 
 to settle down permanently in their family mansion, — one of 
 those imposing structures, combining the dignity of age with the 
 grace of colour, which take their name from Queen Elizabeth. 
 When you gazed at it, from the broad plains, shaded with noble 
 trees, in which it was situated — when your eye rested on its 
 stately elevation, and the proud escutcheon graven in front — the 
 antique windows — the raised terrace, bounded by the graceful 
 balustrade — you even wondered how people could leave it for a 
 palace on the Grand Canal or a villa on the Bay of Haples. 
 Probably Mr. Lepel’s lawyers could have enlightened you on the 
 point ; but at this time all was right with the family. The estates 
 
6 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENO*', K.N. 
 
 were not more encumbered than was sufficient to show that the 
 family had made good alliances. All this was very agreeable to 
 Mr. Pontenoy, their neighbour. A link of relationship had 
 joined, in a past age, the two houses, in a way near enough to be 
 interesting, and Mr. Pontenoy and Mr. Lepel had been inti- 
 mate associates in their youth. 
 
 Singleton was at the ball, although some very good judges 
 thought it wrong that so mere a boy should “ go out.” But this 
 was not the opinion of all ; for those who looked at him saw 
 that he was handsome, and those who talked to him found that 
 he was .clever. Little Miss Pierrepoint — whom the young Lepel, 
 who was a wit, used to call Sweet P. — pronounced him quite 
 a man, asked him why he never came over to Pierrepoint, and 
 said that II eatherby was a very pretty place. So, indeed, it was ; 
 and perhaps that young lady thought upon the subject more 
 than she spoke. Singleton was pleased, shy, confused, and 
 dreamy, perhaps a little sad. He saw all the county people, of 
 whose titles and places he had so often heard before. Mr. Lepel, 
 wishing to ascertain if he had “ambition,” asked him if he would 
 like to have a commission in the Yeomanry ! Then he danced 
 with Augusta Lepel, a girl who had brought away from Italy, 
 in her own person, a face by Guido and a figure by Correggio ; 
 whose tall form undulated gracefully as she moved, like a palm 
 branch carried in a sacred procession, and whose fine forehead 
 and cheeks seemed to be always blushing, as if they were 
 ashamed of being so pretty ! Her eyes watched him, as he left 
 . her and sauntered down the room, and engaged in conversation 
 : . with some young gentlemen from Oxford. They had been there 
 to “ finish their education ! ” Poor boys ! They did not know that 
 they had not begun it ! 
 
 Singleton was leaning at one side of the room by himself, in 
 a fit of meditation, watched by a dumpy little girl, who wondered 
 why he did not ask her to dance. A youth approached him, 
 in whom he recognised the young Lepel to whom he had been 
 introduced. He had just come of age, and was of rather striking 
 appearance. His features were sharp and of great mobility, 
 expressive of the most decided sagacity and energy ; and his 
 forehead somewhat remarkable by the prominence of the ridge 
 over the eyes, which phrenologists pronounce an evidence of the 
 strength of the perceptive faculties. Singleton could not help 
 thinking it a pity that so good a face should be spoiled by 
 spectacles. He would have been surprised if he had known why 
 they were worn. Lepel was a youth of ambition, and there 
 were many peculiarities about him which his friends were a long 
 time in learning to understand. He now commenced a brisk 
 conversation with Singleton, and struck out some rapid, lively 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 7 
 
 sketches of the life which he had seen on the Continent. He 
 was very entertaining and agreeable, partly from his keen and 
 playful satire, partly from his ingenious flattery. This last was 
 original ; he would praise a beauty for her wit, and a genius 
 for his beauty. 
 
 “ You will devote yourself now to England, I suppose, and 
 begin your career ?” said Singleton. 
 
 “ Career ! oh yes, I suppose so ! but what is an unpretending 
 man to do, now-a-days ?” 
 
 “ Politics ? ” 
 
 “ Ah ! I should be out of place in siicli matters.’’ 
 
 “What is in its place, now, I should like to know?” asked 
 Singleton, with a yawn. 
 
 “ Nothing,” replied Lepel, sharply. “ This is a manufacturing 
 country, with agricultural institutions.” 
 
 “ A neat phrase for an address to the electors of Huskdale,” 
 his companion said, with a smile. 
 
 Lepel laughed, and was very friendly. “ We must see a good 
 deal of each other, my dear Singleton,” he said, looking very 
 intently in his face, and he had a way of doing this which was a 
 flattery in itself. Then he suddenly seized him by the arm 
 “ Look here, my boy ! ” 
 
 “Who? what?” 
 
 “ Hush ! Colonel Bray, knew him at Paris, on a visit in tho 
 neighbourhood. My dear colonel !” cried the quick Lepel. 
 They were joined at that moment by two people, Colonel Bray 
 and his wife, who marched towards them. The colonel was a 4 
 tall, military-looking man, with a large mouth, and a narrow,’ 
 retreating forehead. He had an appearance of decided weakness. 
 Some people would have thought it ridiculous : to Singleton, 
 it was painful, for his organization was of a character which 
 entered into acute and intense sympathy with everything 
 and everybody. Where the mass of people laughed at a person, 
 Singleton suffered for him. This temperament gave him great 
 quickness, but at the cost of great pain. The colonel came 
 grinning up with his wife on his arm. She was a great deal 
 younger than him ; a clever-looking, dark-complexioned little 
 woman, with very black hair, and full, purple mouth. She was 
 certainly pretty, but disagreeably pretty, at least Eontenoy 
 thought so. Whether it was a certain sensuality in her face, 
 that conveyed the idea of ripeness without bloom, or not, — he 
 could not analyse the impression at the instant ; —but certainly, 
 he shrunk from her black eyes, decidedly, if indefinably. Her 
 husband came grinning up, as I said, to the two youths, 
 and Singleton fancied that the wife blushed, as if annoyed 
 and ashamed. Singleton was morbidly a<?ute, as I have hinted, 
 
8 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 and lie fancied again, that there was something peculiar in 
 that blush, and that it was excited by a glance of Lepel’s. 
 
 “Ah! colonel,” said Lepel, “glad to see you. We’re going 
 to have a great review of the Yeomanry soon — national defences, 
 eh?” 
 
 “ National defences ” was the poor colonel’s hobby. His 
 was the vast mind which started the “ Anti- Julius-Caesarism 
 Society,” — a body organized for the purpose of arming every- 
 body, for fear we should be destroyed for ever, if our continental 
 friends equipped a tremendous army — if they maintained it — 
 if they could get ships for it — if it crossed the Channel — if we 
 had no navy — if there were no gales — if &c. &c. 
 
 Lepel introduced Fontenoy, and added that he was interested 
 in the subject. And then he led off the colonel’s wife to dance : 
 and it seemed to Singleton that there was a certain air of 
 sarcasm which might have been spared in his manner, and that 
 the couple looked back with a certain air of gay triumph at 
 them, as they walked off. 
 
 On went the dance — grace keeping time with melody, as the 
 body with the soul. Singleton gazed upon that brilliant com- 
 pany, and sighed ; and there was poetry in that sigh. Ah ! if 
 the moon’s rays had but souls, what melancholy would they 
 feel, in some scenes where they shine the brightest. Happy 
 rays, that have no soul ! 
 
 Half the world think they have acquired manner when they 
 have learned to bore each other with politeness. But to be bored, 
 ^nd bear it with grace, — that is a rare accomplishment! Few 
 •people could tolerate the colonel— Singleton charmed him. He 
 was so earnest and so kindly, listened so patiently, understood 
 him so well ! Only once or twice his eyes wandered away 
 to young Lepel and his partner. How her eyes sparkled, and 
 what a flush ! 
 
 On went the dance : — it was over. The colonel insisted upon 
 taking Singleton to Mrs. Bray : she was so fond of clever young 
 men ! Singleton was left alone with her, for Lepel had moved 
 away. He began to feel that there was a strange fascination 
 about her. He had lost his fluency of speech, and scarcely knew 
 what to say. He noticed that she had a bouquet which he had 
 not seen in her hand before. 
 
 “A pretty bouquet that,” Singleton said, innocently. 
 
 The lady made a gesture ; the bouquet fell — out popped a 
 note ! 
 
 Singleton’s hand was on it in an instant, to hide it. The lady 
 
 f ave a little, faint, timorous cry, and fainted back on the bench. 
 
 n an instant there was a crowd round them — “What’s the 
 matter ? How did it happen ?” — and a great rush. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 9 
 
 9 
 
 Singleton’s nature seemed to have shot into full growth in that 
 instant, “ Stand back !” he cried, almost fiercely, to the press- 
 ing mob. “ Air !” He seized a smelling bottle. The lady was 
 revived by the powerful salts ; she opened her eyes, and seemed 
 as if she would have spoken. By an impulse, Singleton squeezed 
 her hand hard. Thanks to the cruelty, she said nothing, and in 
 another moment she recovered herself. 
 
 “Oh dear !” cried the colonel, who had come up at the dis- 
 turbance. “ My carriage, my carriage !” he kept saying vaguely 
 to people round about him. 
 
 Lepel was soon there, with an unwonted flush on his cheeks. 
 The colonel led away his wife, who fixed her eyes on Singleton, 
 as she bowed good night to him, with an expression which he 
 long remembered. Away went the colonel, so anxious about 
 the defence of the nation — so careless of himself ! 
 
 The guests were preparing to go, and Singleton was agitated 
 and thoughtful. And then, he had concealed the note ! 
 
 Lepel came up to him. 
 
 “ Y ou are to stay here to-night, Singleton,” he said, in a 
 friendly, and rather excited tone. 
 
 “ How so?” 
 
 “ Oh ! it’s all right — do. Your father has gone. They will 
 send you whatever things you want from Heatherby in the 
 morning.” 
 
 “ Very well — you’re very kind,” Fontenoy answered. He knew 
 what this meant, and he marked Lepel’s agitation. 
 
 They ascended the stairs to his private rooms : there was a 
 very comfortable fire burning there. Frederick (that was his 
 Christian name) lighted a lamp, and began to talk lightly away, 
 to put himself at ease. 
 
 “A regular Tusculum — eh, Singleton? See — what a meer- 
 schaum ! This belonged to a poor fellow I knew at Bonn — a great 
 radical. He’s in Spielberg now. Here are my books. Horace, 
 you see : I like him. Gentlemen read Horace ! ” And he went 
 on, turning over books and pamphlets very nervously and 
 rapidly. “ Here’s the best novel in the English language, 
 
 ‘ Tristram Shandy,’ — a copy with Sterne’s autograph in it. Fine, 
 bold, sharp hand he wrote, didn’t he?” Then he ran off a few of 
 Shelley’s lines : — 
 
 Arethusa arose 
 
 From her couch of snows, — 
 
 and came to a dead stop. Singleton was nervous, silent, and 
 embarrassed. 
 
 “ That was a strange affair,” Lepel began, looking up into 
 Fontenoy’s eyes, in his peculiar way. 
 
 Fontenoy ’s eyes dropped. 
 
10 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 “ It was lucky you were the person it happened to. You are 
 young, but wise.” Fontenoy remained silent. 
 
 “ It may be talked about. People will ask questions, but men 
 of the world know how to deal with them. They know how to 
 answer ! ” 
 
 “Not how to lie!” said Singleton, drawing himself up 
 proudly. 
 
 Lepel’s pale face hushed. “ Nobody lies, of course. At least, 
 nobody allows any one to tell him so ! — This pure world,” he 
 added, with a bitter sneer, “makes the distinction, and dubs it 
 Honour !” 
 
 “ Lepel,” said Singleton, “let us be candid with one another. 
 I have discovered a secret of yours, in a most painful way. 
 But I have nothing to do with it, but to regret and forget it. 
 I am no moralist, I am sorry to say, but I love virtua 
 as I love flowers, or a blue sky. It is sweeter to 
 see, and purer to mix with. — Come, come,” added Fontenoy, 
 smiling kindly, and looking very pleasing, as he deserved to do, 
 from his good intentions, — “ behold a juvenile Mentor ! 
 Let us devote this little white creature to the infernal gods ! ” 
 — Here, he pulled out the fatal note. “ Let us put it in the fire !” 
 
 Lepel started, as he saw it, then laughed. “ Be it so ! You 
 are my good genius.” 
 
 They dropped the note into the flames, where it perished in 
 an instant. 
 
 “ So dies a martyr ! ” said Lepel, gaily. — And they dropped 
 the subject. 
 
 Lepel then rang the bell, and with the promptitude of the 
 slaves of the lamp, a servant brought up some supper, and at 
 this very late banquet, they were joined by some Oxonians who 
 were guests at the house. There was a iively gentleman from 
 Exeter, a dandy from Christ Church, and two speculative youths 
 from Oriel. 
 
 “ This is the eve of St. Xilderkin,” said Bones, of Oriel. 
 
 “Indeed,” said Lepel, “what did he do?” 
 
 “ He built an abbey.” 
 
 “ Did he pay for it P” asked Lepel. 
 
 “ This is an age without faith,” said Bones, opening a pie. 
 
 “ And without the divine element at all,” said his fellow-stu- 
 dent of Oriel, pouring out some hock. 
 
 Fontenoy looked curiously up. Something of thissorthad floated 
 through his serious mind at times. He had begun to feel the 
 want of the age ; — a sense of loneliness in life’s journey had visited 
 him occasionally. He turned to Mr. Bones. 
 
 “ You express ideas I have sometimes thought of,” he said. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 11 
 
 “ This absence of faith— do you think it merely temporary, or 
 the natural result of the exhaustion of traditions, and the prelude 
 to a new organization of spirituality ?” 
 
 “Exhaustion of traditions!” exclaimed Bones, pausing 
 horrified, in the dissection of a partridge, and holding 
 the entire bird on his fork, suspended in air. — “ God. 
 bless me ! Bead St. Kilderkin, born a.d. 960, died a.d. 
 1019 ! We have published him in ten folio volumes.” 
 — Here Bones made a motion to cross himself, and the bird 
 tumbled on his plate. 
 
 “ Hang all mysticism,” said the Christ Church man, compre- 
 hensively. “ Stick to the good old school. I’m for our regular 
 institutions, and God save the King !” 
 
 “ Science has destroyed credulity,” said Lepel, “ and reason 
 has put down fanaticism. Organise labour and increase 
 production, and let those who want ‘ spirituality* pay for it, if 
 they like.” 
 
 The time-piece on the mantle-piece struck five. 
 
 CHAPTEB III. 
 
 • • • Who knows not Circe ? 
 
 COHUS. 
 
 It was the evening after the ball. Singleton was sauntering 
 down the main street of Huskdale. He had ridden over on a 
 mission from Miss Lepel, who wanted some tickets for a sacred 
 concert. Huskdale is a maufacturing town, but it combines the 
 most opposite characteristics, and may be said to be in a state 
 of permanent civil war. It returns one Chartist and one Pro- 
 tectionist to Parliament ; it has a high and dry rector, and an 
 Anti- State Church Association ; it has a Mechanics’ Institute, 
 and an Archery Club ; it has a church with an organ and a 
 painting, and a common for a field congregation. It ought to 
 have a temple of J anus, and most assuredly, if it had, its doors 
 would never be closed ! 
 
 It was within an hour of sunset, and the chill breezes of the 
 twilight time were beginning to creep about. Troops of little 
 factory girls were hastening from their dreary prisons to their 
 dreary homes, divided into knots and twining their arms round 
 each other’s necks, in unconscious imitation of the wild flowers 
 which they never see ! The bells of one or two chapels were 
 noisily beating the air. Singleton enjoyed all that he saw, as he 
 
12 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N 
 
 went along, and swung about in liis band a big buncb 
 of the last roses of the year, which he had bought for 
 the purpose of scenting some of his favourite books with the 
 leaves. 
 
 He had turned round a corner, and was proceeding towards 
 the inn wdiere he had put up his pony, vrhen he heard a sharp 
 tapping against a w T indow, which made him involuntarily start 
 suddenly and look round (for he mused rather absently as he 
 walked, after the manner of idealists in general), but not seeing 
 what had caused it, he marched forward again. He had, per- 
 haps, gone another hundred yards, when a figure came running 
 up behind him. Turning round, a young girl almost ran against 
 him ; her bonnet had fallen back, her hair was dishevelled, 
 her cheeks flushed. Our young friend was embarrassed. 
 
 In the presence of Cleopatra, Singleton would have been easy 
 and graceful; in the presence of the young lady’s-maid, who 
 now spoke to him, he was awkward and shy. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, sir,” said the damsel, growing more con- 
 fused in her turn (she did not expect to find him so good look- 
 ing), “ my mistress wishes to see you.” 
 
 " Who ?” 
 
 “ A friend of yours, sir,” she said. There was something very 
 modest in her manner ; so Singleton intimated that he would 
 attend her. Otherwise, he abominated intrigue, and everything 
 that had the look of it. 
 
 They stopped at the door pf a handsome enough house. He 
 went upstairs to the drawing-room, and found there — Mrs. 
 Colonel Bray ! 
 
 She was sitting upon a sofa as he came in, and rose up to 
 receive him as the door closed. There was a slight agitation in 
 her manner, which was very graceful. Singleton bowed. He 
 began again to feel the fascination of her presence. The air 
 seemed warmer in it ! 
 
 “What must you think of me?” she said, in a pretty little 
 tremor, and with a slightly foreign accent, w'hich Fontenoy had 
 not before noticed. “ How kind you were ! What tact, what 
 grace you showed!” Here she clasped her little white hands 
 together in an oratorical manner. “ You so young, too ! It was 
 genius ! It was inspiration ! ” 
 
 Singleton did not entertain so high an opinion of his last 
 night’s exploit, and he could not help smiling. The fair Circe 
 (such w r as her classic name) was wonderfully put at her ease by 
 it. She continued, “I am very unhappy. We women are 
 sacrificed by a false society. They sell us, and violate nature’s 
 harmonies. The fair ought to be given only to the young !” 
 Here Circe looked tenderly at Singleton and adjusted her heavy 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 13 
 
 black bair. Singleton was modest, virtuous, and high-prin- 
 cipled ; he was also young and “ tall for his age.” 
 
 Just then there was a great noise on the stairs. “ Oh del ,” 
 exclaimed Circe ; “ the colonel comes ! Perfidious man ! He 
 said he would not be in till nine ! Let me hide you here,” and 
 she opened a door. 
 
 . “ Ho,” said Singleton, and in came the Colonel. 
 
 “How are you, sir?” said Singleton, quietly, and with a 
 facility of manner which, under the circumstances, raised him 
 very much in Circe’s estimation. “ I just came in to see how 
 Mrs. Bray was ; she seemed ill last night.” 
 
 “ Ah, poor thing,” said the gallant colonel, “she has these 
 delicate attacks sometimes.” Circe blushed and stole a glance 
 at Pontenoy, who looked very grave. 
 
 “My dear,” said the colonel, “let us have the lights. I 
 never saw such a person for sitting in the dark. How, Pon- 
 tenoy, you shall see my maps. Here is Dover.” 
 
 They formed quite a family picture. There sat the colonel 
 with a map and a pair of compasses, with the patient Singleton 
 listening to him. The fair Circe was opposite, with a piece of 
 embroidery, and before her lay a little volume, published at 
 Brussels. It was a “ philosophical ” Prench novel, written by a 
 pure female enthusiast, and containing the history of a young 
 woman of superior genius, who ran away from a great, monstrous, 
 moral marquis, to whom she was married, with a divine 
 galley-slave. 
 
 “A is the fort,” said the Colonel; “B is the enemy’s army 
 in a flotilla ; C is our fleet running away from the gun-boats ; 
 
 “ Stands for dunce,” said the playful Circe. 
 
 “ Mind your own work, my dear,” said her husband, gently. 
 Circe resumed a love-scene, between Adele and the tender 
 format. 
 
 “ I am afraid it begins to get late,” said Singleton, looking at 
 his watch. 
 
 “ Oh, wait a little longer,” said the colonel. “ E ” 
 
 A slight sound was perceptible in the street, shortly after- 
 wards. Circe blushed, as Pontenoy looked up. 
 
 It was a musical instrument, and accompanied by a rather 
 musical voice. Clearly it was not an ordinary itinerary per- 
 former. 
 
 The colonel was drawing a trigonometrical figure, and wholly 
 occupied with it. Singleton’s attention involuntary wandered 
 away, as the music became more clearly audible. He began to 
 see that he was performing in a comedy, for the music was a 
 serenade. Poor colonel ! 
 
14 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 Unfortunately for Circe, it was a fine, clear, 'still night ; so 
 soon the following stanza was audible : — 
 
 Charmer fair— should thy fancy move thee. 
 
 Yet, to declare, that thou dost not love me — 
 
 After all I have felt and spoken, 
 
 Would my faith, or only my heart be broken P 
 
 “ What’s that cursed row? "broke in the colonel, starting to 
 his feet, while Circe jumped up also, looking very angry and 
 frightened. 
 
 “ It’s to the people in the other house," she answered. 
 
 “It ain’t tenanted," cried the colonel, and he ran to the window. 
 
 “ Save me again," whispered Circe, pressing Singleton’s 
 hand. He seized his hat. 
 
 “ Good night, colonel." The colonel ran down after him. 
 Singleton saw a figure in the street, retreating. He followed 
 it, and at a safe distance found Mr. Frederick Lepel. 
 
 “Why, hillo, Fontenoy." 
 
 “ Oh, it’s you," said Singleton. “ You usually serenade 
 people when their husbands are in, do you?" 
 
 “ What, Mentor, out on the loose," said Lepel, with a 
 facetious sneer. “ Circe’s been trying her fascinations with you, 
 eh? I suppose this is one of a series of ‘philosophical experi- 
 ments’ of hers. Bravo ! Three cheers for Madame ." 
 
 “ What does all this mean ?" asked Singleton. 
 
 “ You’ll know it all by-and-by. My boy, you won’t be a 
 dreamer all your life ; or, if you are, so much the worse for you. 
 You may write romances, if you like, but let me act them." 
 
 In these words, Lepel accurately and acutely defined their 
 respective characters. Singleton said nothing, but fell into a fit 
 of musing, and they walked, without speaking, to the George 
 Inn, where their horses were. Singleton was a mere boy ; but 
 how fast he wa3 growing. 
 
 The colonel and his philosophical lady left Huskdale next 
 day. I have touched very lightly on the incident in Singleton’s 
 career in which they figured. It was necessary to influence his 
 character and illustrate Lepel’s. This worthy couple now make 
 their final exit from these pages, — not, I trust, without having 
 borne testimony to the merits of their respective schools. The 
 husband may represent certain alarmists, calculated to bring 
 weak-minded gentlemen to Bedlam ; the wife, certain philoso- 
 phical teachers, who catch the weak by their sweet and cloying 
 diction, as flies are caught by honey. 
 
 Europe is now invaded by a band of female warriors, who 
 sacrifice their ’feminine delicacy for the sake of literary and 
 political influence, as the ancient Amazons seared their breasts 
 that they might handle the bow. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 Currite ducentes subtemina, currite, fusi. 
 
 Catullus, Carm . 61. 
 
 Spin the Fates* threads, and mix them as you spin. 
 
 It was a beautiful autumn morning. The sun was out, and 
 Augusta Lepel was smiling! A month had passed since 
 Mr. Trochee’s departure, and yet not a word of Singleton’s 
 going to school. Perhaps he owed the parental forbearance to 
 the kind influence of old Mr. Lepel, one of the best and kindest 
 of men, though weak — paternally indulgent to all the youth of 
 his acquaintance, lovingly fond of his wife and daughter, and 
 exceedingly proud (for which I am afraid we shall have in due 
 time to pity him) of his only son and heir, the clever and am- 
 bitious Frederick. Singleton, accordingly, was without an 
 instructor — except Augusta, who taught him a great deal. She 
 was twenty-three, Singleton not quite sixteen, but preco- 
 cious, as we know. She was highly gifted, and Singleton very 
 studious ; so he made great progress ! 
 
 Out upon the terrace at Dunreddin, at noon, were a large 
 party, enjoying the warm rays, which needed all their power to 
 temper the naturally chilly air. Fontenoy joere was talking 
 earnestly with old Mr. Lepel, and glancing occasionally at 
 Augusta, who was interchanging light, gay dialogue with 
 Singleton. What did this portend? The Oxonians were 
 gathered in a respectful semi-circle round the lady of the house, 
 and duly devoting themselves to her entertainment. What a 
 beautiful morning ! 
 
 “How,” cried Frederick Lepel, “this is what people call 
 ‘completely English ! ’ Here we are, amusing ourselves and 
 
 doing nothing in the most comfortable manner, regardless of the 
 busy hum of yon town,” pointing to Huskdale, whose spires 
 peeped above the horizon, “ and quite satisfied that we are the 
 finest people in the world.” 
 
 “ Well, your inference ?” asked Mr. Bones. 
 
 “Oh, I’m too lazy to draw inferences this fine day,” said the 
 lively Fred. “ But isn’t the picture characteristic ? By Jove, 
 I believe the English upper classes are the idlest people in the 
 world. We lounge over the sciences, dawdle through literature, 
 yawn over politics. A revolution that convulses Europe is only 
 
16 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 something new to 4 talk about* to us, and a movement that 
 threatens the empire is considered nothing but 4 a bore !’ ” 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy thought that a lively young man was a standing 
 insult to the gravity of middle age, so he listened very coldly to 
 Frederick’s speech. But Mr. Lepel was highly pleased with 
 him, and said — 
 
 44 Well, Fred, you must show a good example. Begin !” 
 
 44 What a curious effect the appearance of the moon has at 
 this hour!” remarked Augusta, looking up at the pale crescent 
 in the blue sky. # 
 
 44 It is an emblem of Faith — paling before the gross material 
 splendour of the sun of commerce,” said Mr. Bones. 
 
 44 1 carry a moon of that shape on my coat-of-arms,” said 
 Mr. Fontenoy. 
 
 44 It’s very pretty,” said Mrs. Lepel. 
 
 44 How grateful we ought all to be, for our blessings,” said her 
 husband. 
 
 (t The moving moon went up the sky," 
 
 quoted Singleton, from the 44 Ancient Mariner.** 
 
 44 She is very like green cheese,” said Frederick. 
 
 As he spoke, a servant appeared, and handed him a newspaper 
 that had just arrived. He seized it eagerly and tore it open ; it 
 was the Huslcdale Courier , a leading journal of the county in 
 the liberal interest. He turned over the pages, and uttered an 
 exclamation of delight. 
 
 44 What is it?” asked his father. 
 
 44 The beginning;” answered Frederick, with his eyes 
 brightening, while the whole party gathered round him. 44 They 
 
 meet to-day in Huskdale, to petition for *s dismissal. Two 
 
 mills have stopped. The crops are bad — everything’s in motion. 
 Let us go into town. Who’ll go?” 
 
 He turned round to them, with excitement in his whole 
 figure. Most of the young men expressed their readiness for 
 anything. 
 
 44 I’m tired of the pheasants,” said Farquhar, the Christ Church 
 man ; 44 anything for a change.” 
 
 44 But, Fred,” said Mr. Lepel, 44 have you made up your mind 
 — be cautious, you know.” 
 
 44 Oh, yes,” he replied ; 44 mind quite made up — packed with 
 principles as neatly as a carpet bag. But there’s no time to lose. 
 I’ll order the phaeton ;’* and away he went, followed by all the 
 youths of the party. 
 
 44 Singleton,” cried Mr. Fontenoy to his son, 44 you will be 
 very careful what you do, if you please. Eemember, I am in tk$ 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, H. N. 17 
 
 commission of tlie peace ; I have no wisli to see a Wilkes in our 
 family.” 
 
 Augusta looked rather anxious as they left, and liung on lier 
 mother’s arm ; Mr. Lepel talked merrily about the buoyancy of 
 youth. Mr. Fontenoy was sulky. The women expressed their 
 kind natural sympathies. The youths drove off. 
 
 The town of Huskdale was agitated to the depth of its dark 
 abysses. It was now drawing towards the close of one of those 
 unfortunate years which intervened between the Heform Bill 
 and the formation of the Conservative Government. A bad 
 harvest had followed a bad harvest. There was a depression in 
 commerce, and this was succeeded by the moral miasma which 
 always rises from stagnant trade. Wanting food, the masses 
 resorted to agitation, and talked of principles, while Government 
 was.thus hampered with the double task of relief and resistance. 
 In this predicament the country looked alternately at riots and 
 at cabinet councils ; and the question seemed to resolve itself 
 into Hunger and Dragoons. 
 
 Lepel’s party rattled gaily into the town, which was all alive 
 with emotion. There, marched troops of mechanics along the 
 pavements, talking to each other, some with earnest gestures, 
 others laughing, with the devil-may-care desperation of men 
 who knew that all this would end in no relief. Some of the 
 shops were closed ; at the doors of others, white-aproned trades- 
 men were standing, and looking .out at the passers-by. Small 
 bodies of police defiled quickly, but quietly, down the pavements, 
 carefully avoiding the gaze of the populace ; a detachment of 
 soldiers were in barracks, under arms, near the scene of the 
 intended meeting. ’Twas altogether a grand constitutional 
 spectacle — the town of Huskdale that afternoon ; yet, strange to 
 say, the effect of the whole was lively and cheerful. A day of 
 grievances is always a gala-day for Huskdale. 
 
 The phaeton, drawn by a couple of neat grays, drove up the 
 main street. Suddenly Lepel drew up by the kerb, flung the 
 reins to Farquhar, and jumped out. They saw him run into some 
 place there, and looking up at the house, observed “ Huskdale 
 Courier” in large letters above the first-floor windows. 
 
 “I say,” said Farquhar to Fontenoy, “What is he going to 
 do there P Eadical paper the 4 Courier,’ ain’t it ? I don’t mind 
 a lark, you know, but we must not have any row.” 
 
 Lepel came out again at that instant, attended by a little 
 man in black, with a pen behind his ear. “ We get down here,” 
 he said. Down they jumped. A man came up and took charge 
 of the phaeton. They went with the man from the “ Courier” 
 office, and reached the Hall — a huge building used for many 
 purposes — where the meeting was to be held. It was near the 
 
 c 
 
 i 
 
18 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 time announced. An enormous mob pressed against tbe 
 entrance, squeezing, crushing, groaning, like a thick forest 
 stirred by a winter gale. “Help!” and “Oh God!” — these 
 were the sounds that broke from the dense crowd, varied occa- 
 sionally by a sharp cry. The multitude moved every now and 
 then in quick, short convulsions ; for that multitude throbbed 
 with a common heart, and the heart diseased. 
 
 Lepel and his friends passed in through a private door, and 
 emerged on a spacious platform or gallery, bounded by a rail, 
 which stood at one end of the hall. They sat down at the 
 corner in front. The platform was quickly filling ; suddenly 
 the hall doors flew open. Like a roaring torrent in poured the 
 crowd. Before you could have breathed thrice that huge 
 building was swarming with life. Singleton was profoundly 
 moved. It was the first time in his existence that he had seen 
 anything of the sort. He hid his face in his hands for a 
 moment with emotion. He began to feel what politics might 
 be ; then he thought for an instant of the library at Heatherby, 
 and it flashed upon him that he was the most worthless dreamer 
 under God’s sky. He, whose thoughts had wandered through 
 creation, what an insignificant being he was here ! His eyes 
 turned to Lepel. Never had he seen him so elated. In the 
 centre of each pale cheek stood a single flushed spot. His eyes 
 sparkled with the steady permanent gleam of awakened, unsleep- 
 ing excitement ; and what should dull that dangerous fire 
 lighted by ambition in his active soul ? His fair, delicate, mobile 
 brow worked uneasily. He never looked at Singleton ; his 
 bright eyes were steadily fixed. Slight nervous gestures showed 
 his agitation. You would have thought him possessed by a 
 devil — and so he was ! 
 
 Through the great crowd there now passed an emotion of 
 excitement and expectancy. So hum the pines when the wind 
 begins slowly to rise in the great western forests. 
 
 Singleton glanced at those who occupied the platform on 
 which he and liis friends were. In the chair, as president, sat the 
 mayor of the town. A respectable, well-to-do tradesman, all his 
 sympathies were with the bourgeoisie to which he belonged — the 
 most stolid, the most immovable, the most bigoted of factions. 
 Aristocracy adorns itself with a sentiment ; the mob are elevated 
 by their passion ; but the bourgeoisie has but its money to give 
 it interest or inspiration. The mayor thought it all quite well 
 to elevate the people, but much more important to lower the 
 poor-rates. 
 
 Beside the chairman was seated a far greater person — the 
 [Reverend Mr. Butter, rector of St. George’s parish, Huskdale 
 -—the indomitable High-church leader of the uncompromising 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 19 
 
 Tory party. You saw as much in his large, bald forehead, and 
 quick eyes. Mr. Eutter was a large man, but 
 
 Mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore miscet ! * 
 
 He was very clever also. He was at once a sturdy foe to dissent, 
 and a great cause of it, and his zeal against dissenters usually 
 had these two- results— to deprive their chapels of steeples, and 
 to fill them with proselytes. He was a strong Tory, more 
 zealous at public meetings than in the pulpit; and notwith- 
 standing his sacred profession, was hardly ever so severe on the 
 devil as on a Eadical editor! The more excited portion of the 
 meeting hooted him, which disturbed him very slightly. He 
 glanced round the platform, and met the eyes of Singleton 
 whom he knew very well (for he and Mr. Fontenoy were great 
 friends), and bowed to him, with considerable surprise at seeing 
 him there. & 
 
 • • • now the expectancy of the crowd grows stronger 
 and stronger, and the excitement increases like a growino- fire. 
 Up rises the chairman with a paper in his hand, quivering m his 
 nervous grasp. The crowd greet him with a roar, such^as you 
 hear m Spain when the bull appears in the circus. He formally 
 opens the business, and sits down again. J 
 
 And then rose a well-known public speaker to move the first 
 resolution. 
 
 Singleton had never heard a public speaker, and he now lent 
 on his arm with his eyes fixed on this man, and listened intently. 
 Ihe language was very different from Bolingbroke’s, to be sure 
 but its . force and applicability, its rugged energy, and 
 bescenmne sarcasm, were invincible. The meeting was mad 
 with indignation when he talked of the sufferings of the 
 operatives and the hopelessness of legislative aid. Singleton 
 was exhausted by the excitement of his sympathy alone, and 
 drops of heavy perspiration stood on his brow. The orator 
 almost screamed as he pronounced a peroration of invective, and 
 his choking syllables were lost in the thunders of applause which 
 greeted his conclusion. There was a pause and heavy breathin o- s 
 through the crowd men turned up their hot faces to the roof, 
 as it they were praying for rain. 
 
 -. Tll e P eo P le °n the platform whispered to each other eagerly. 
 Ihe teeimg of the meeting was obviously intense. The whole 
 ot the manufacturing districts would be affected by the report 
 that went forth to-morrow. Dangerous orators were to follow. 
 Orthodoxy must do something. In the absence of justice, let 
 the people try the Eeverend Mr. Eutter ! J 
 
 * Mind moves the mass, and mixes itself with the great body. 
 
 Viegil, JEneid, Book vi, v, 727# 
 
20 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 Another agitator followed. Again came a whirlwind of 
 passion. The meeting was overcrammed. There was a loud 
 cry of “ Police,” a man fainting, a shout for air, and ten minutes 
 of confusion. Singleton was more and more moved. He would 
 burn his “ Homer” next day. The speaker said that ten thousand 
 able-bodied men were destitute of employment, and soon would 
 be of bread. Singleton resolved that the “Ancient Mariner” 
 should follow. A dreamer ! He was a drone and dunce, — the 
 most contemptible of mankind ! 
 
 Up rose Mr. flutter. There was something majestic in it. 
 Virgil’s vir pietate gravis was not more calmly grave and 
 solemnly decorous. Mr. Putter looked like the British Consti- 
 tution in gaiters ! He was a grand impersonation of our national 
 respectability. When he rose, however, there was a tremendous 
 burst of groaning and yelling, opposed by a stout cheering from 
 some of his faithful admirers. Great noise followed. Mr. 
 Putter adroitly seized an opening ; his fluent rhetoric shot 
 through the tumult as Arethusa through the sea. He secured 
 a hearing. 
 
 “ This is a d — d sensible old fellow,” whispered Farquhar to 
 Fontenoy. 
 
 Singleton laughed. His emotion was subsiding under, the 
 influence of Putter’s cold watery stream of speech. But it did 
 not diminish the influence on his mind of the previous harangues. 
 He had acquired thus early a habit of looking at the souls of 
 things more than their forms. 
 
 Mr. Putter was successful after the fashion of his kind. If 
 the people, wanting bread, got from him nothing but a stone, at 
 least it was a stone of the highest polish. He was miraculously 
 plausible, and to hear him talk, you w T ould have thought hunger 
 one of the worst of crimes. He recommended resignation, and 
 condemned complaint ; and down he sat, amidst conflicting 
 noises. Singleton buried his face in his hands and began to 
 muse, when suddenly Farquhar seized his arm. He turned 
 anxiously round. What was his astonishment, and that of his 
 set, when Lepel rose, and presented himself to the meeting ! 
 There were loud cries of “Who are you?” “What’s your 
 name ?” 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said he, “ I am Mr. Lepel, of Dunreddin, in 
 this neighbourhood, a country gentleman ; and though a country 
 gentleman, a friend to industry and a lover of the people !” 
 
 Singleton stared at him with astonishment. 
 
 “ Bravo, bravo !” cried three or four voices ; and there was a 
 loud cheer. 
 
 “ I saw with astonishment, as I came here to-day, the streets 
 of your peaceful and industrious city filled with soldiers ; and I 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 21 
 
 confess I thought as I did so of Eome sold by the Praetorian 
 guards.” 
 
 If Lepel had been studying agitation and the people of Hush- 
 dale for five years, he could not have hit on a more effective 
 opening, or an allusion better calculated to inflame the passions 
 which Mr. Putter had been endeavouring to soothe down. 
 Prom the whole of the multitude there burst a tremendous 
 cheer. 
 
 On he went, with equal success. You felt that you were 
 listening to a man who had found his proper vocation. Vigorous, 
 copious, accurate, and graphic, without a ray of imagination, but 
 with so much that everybody could appreciate, his language 
 seemed the sublime of common sense. And then he indulged 
 perpetually in sarcasms, not fanciful and ingenious, but broad, 
 sensible, and funny. He attacked, not like a gladiator, but an 
 English bruiser. It was Cobbett all over, and Cobbett when he 
 was young. His personification of a Tory lord of the Marquis 
 de Carabas’ school, 44 preserving rigidly everything but his 
 tenantry,” and 44 once in five years making a great parade of 
 returning ten per cent, of a rent that was fifty per cent, too 
 high,’’ brought down roars of applause from the Eadicals, who 
 recognised the portrait ; and when he grew warmer, and alluded 
 to 44 reverend oppressors of the poor,” and 44 ungracious ministers 
 of grace,” the roof trembled with the thunder of the cheering 
 which followed ; and Singleton looking at Mr. Eutter, saw that 
 anger was rising to his forehead, and that he was writing with 
 indignation. 
 
 44 There was a time, gentlemen,” said Lepel, 44 when the labour- 
 ing men of this kingdom had daily good beef and beer.” 
 
 44 When was that?” asked Mr. Eutter, starting up in great 
 wrath. 
 
 44 Hot in your time, we may be sure,” said the orator, with 
 great composure, and a sublime wave of his hand, while loud 
 laughter, and cries of, 44 Oh,” and 44 Shame,” from Mr. Eutter’s 
 supporters followed. 44 Eeally this irritation scarcely becomes 
 so meek and exemplary a pastor ! But we have now rabidity 
 from the most unexpected quarters. We are daily hearing 
 violent harangues against the popular party, and this ‘black 
 vomit ’ is the deadliest symptom of our political fever ! ” 
 
 This was a metaphor peculiarly adapted to the audience, and 
 was wonderfully applauded. 
 
 Lepel concluded with a- violent peroration ; as he sat down, 
 cheering burst again and again from the meeting. 
 
 44 Three cheers for Mr. Lepel ! ” cried somebody. 
 
 They were given gloriously ; and as he turned to his friends, 
 they saw his hands trembling violently, and his features covered 
 
22 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 with, a light dew of perspiration which sparkled on the purple 
 flush. 
 
 Every obnoxious resolution was carried immediately. The 
 people on the platform rose to go away, and Lepel and his 
 triends went out again by the private door. As they gained the 
 street, he was recognised by the populace and loudly cheered, 
 much to the annoyance of Mr. Earquhar. “ Come, my boys/’ 
 said Lepel to his companions, “ well slip away, and dine at the 
 ‘ George.’ ” 
 
 They went to the inn in question, one of the best in the 
 town, and there they found a private room, with fire blazing, 
 neat wax candles ready for lighting, cloth elegantly laid, and 
 sherry and madeira comfortably airing themselves. 
 
 “ Why, one would think they had expected us,” said Farquhar. 
 
 “Yes,” said Lepel, drily, and with a grin, “it looks like it. 
 Here are the true friends of the people !” And so saying, this 
 great patriot seized the sherry with his usual liveliness, and 
 mixed himself a tumbler of wine and water. “ Are we justified, 
 my friends,” he continued, “ in drinking claret in the present 
 state of the labouring population ?” 
 
 All this was doubtless very facetious, but the truth is that 
 Singleton was getting somewhat shocked by it, and Lepel, per- 
 haps seeing as much, changed his tone, and rung the bell for 
 dinner with his “ spectacle ” look. He had wonderful versatility 
 of manner, this young gentleman, and was born to be an in- 
 triguant. 
 
 The dinner was now brought up, plain, but very good ; soup, 
 a pair of fowls, neck of mutton and turnips, game, and Stilton 
 and celery. They talked very little during the repast, but after 
 the cloth was removed, and port and madeira with dessert fairly 
 established, Lepel resumed his jolly look, filled up a glass, and 
 said, “ Gentlemen, I give you the people, the only source of 
 legitimate power!” with a delicious leer. 
 
 There was a roar of laughter at this, and “ What a shame, 
 old boy!” from his easy companions. Lepel’s vanity was 
 highly delighted. With the most fiery ambition he was very 
 vain. 
 
 “Pretty fellows, you are,” he said, with a laugh, “not to 
 have told me yet, what you think of my speech.” 
 
 “ I tell you, candidly,” said Farquhar, tossing off his wine, 
 
 “ that it was a d- d deal better than I ever thought you could 
 
 do. By J ove, it was first-rate, but it’s cursed wrong you know, 
 and all that.” 
 
 “ It reminded me of Tierney,” said Singleton, who had read a 
 good deal of oratory. “ It was excellent.” 
 
 “It was admirable,” said Bones. “ But I say nothing of its 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 23 
 
 principles, mind yon.” And Bones, who was of a dark com- 
 plexion, looked very grave. 
 
 Lepel’s eyes sparkled as he heard all their encomiums. 
 “Never mind that last question at present. I’ll show them 
 what a gentleman can do when he takes to agitation. The mob 
 have been in the hands of bagmen too long. Pass the wine, my 
 boys — 
 
 Les vrais amis de la bouteille, 
 
 Sont cheris de l’Etre Divin ! 
 
 as my poor friend Dupuis used to sing.” The wine passed 
 round immediately, and there was many a lively remark and 
 gay boast. 
 
 “ Let us drink the memory of Rochefoucauld,” said Lepel. 
 “ His maxims are like cracker-bonbons, smart, snapping, and 
 devilish good things.” 
 
 “ The memory of Catullus,” said Farquhar, taking the notion 
 up in his turn. “ He was the most brilliant fast man of 
 antiquity, and can be compared to nothing but Apollo out on the 
 loose.” 
 
 “ The memory of that pope, — I have forgot his name,” said 
 Bones, ecclesiastical in his wildest moments, “ who originated 
 the phrase JBibamus JPapaliter /” 
 
 “ The memory of Chatterton,” said Singleton, with his blue 
 eyes beaming fire, “ the most admirable genius from the days of 
 Shakspeare to the birth of Shelley, who gained an immortality 
 before he was eighteen.” 
 
 This was received with enthusiasm, and the memory of these 
 favourites duly honoured, much as the ancients themselves 
 honoured their dead, by pouring wine on their ashes. 
 
 They had just drunk Singleton’s toast, when there was a 
 small, curious tapping at the door heard, which produced an im- 
 mediate silence. 
 
 “ Enter,” cried Lepel. 
 
 The door opened, and there appeared — a boy of singnlar 
 aspect. 
 
 .He was dressed in youthful corduroys, and a black waistcoat. 
 His shirt sleeves were tucked up, displaying smutty arms. On 
 his mouth there was a smile and a smudge of ink. In one hand 
 he held a paper cap, of coronal shape ; in the other he carried a 
 long strip of printed paper. With this advancing, he presented 
 it to Lepel. 
 
 “Behold a cacodsemon !” cried Lepel. 
 
 “ I’ll wait for the proof, sir,” said the boy, — “ the wondrous 
 boy,”— -seating himself in a chair, and tucking up his youthful 
 legs, with the most consummate ease. “ They’re a-going to press 
 early this week.’* * 
 
24 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 “ What a doosed mysterious fellow you are, Fred,” said Far- 
 quhar. “ What’s this go ?” 
 
 ** We shall tfee,” said Lepel, mysteriously. Here he rang the 
 bell : the waiter duly appeared. “ Coffee ; ” and he added, “ Bring 
 paper, ink, and pens, and a basin of cold water. — How, some of 
 you fellows, give that youth a glass of port : he is one of the 
 Slaves of the Lamp of Knowledge.” 
 
 The boy drank tranquilly, and composed himself to sleep ! 
 
 In a short time up came the coffee, &c, Lepel soused his face 
 in the cold water, and bathed his forehead eagerly, while his 
 friends watched him, and wondered what he was going to do. 
 He soon sat down, drank some coffee, then seized pen and ink. 
 In a few moments he had dismissed the proof, and he flung it 
 over to Singleton and the others. It was part of that afternoon’s 
 speech. 
 
 “Why, hang it! you’re not editing the ‘ Courier ?’” said 
 F arquhar. 
 
 “ Ho,” said Lepel, quietly, and beginning to cover a sheet of 
 paper with writing at an astonishing rate. His rapid pen went 
 forward, and seemed to pour out its sharp clear characters by 
 magic. 
 
 “ How for a few lines for the Poet’s Corner, my boys ! What 
 say you P Epigram on Butter — quick ! ” 
 
 Between them all they knocked up the following 
 
 EPIGRAM ON A HEAVY PREACHER. 
 
 Poor Booby makes a sad mistake. 
 
 From which amusement we may reap ; 
 
 When he the conscience should awake. 
 
 He sends the sinner off to sleep ! 
 
 When all are snug within their pews. 
 
 He’s great on Origin of Evil ! 
 
 But I’ve my own peculiar views, 
 
 I think his sermons are— the Eevil ! 
 
 Acek. 
 
 “How, boy,” said Lepel, “off like the wind;” and the imp 
 vanished most dramatically. 
 
 “ I have begun my career ! ” Lepel cried, flinging away the 
 pen. 
 
 And immediately after he summoned the waiter, settled the 
 bill, and they drove away. 
 
 It was a beautiful evening, and the sky was populous with 
 stars, as they dashed along the road to Dunreddin ; and the 
 pleasant bright moonlight made the house beautiful and the 
 avenue cheerful. What a change from the excitement of the 
 town, and the day ! 
 
 The ladies were upstairs in the drawing-room at tea. Our 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 25 
 
 party soon joined them. Mrs. Lepel was playing cliess with 
 Ellen Pierrepoint, who had come over during their absence. 
 Augusta was leaning back on the ottoman, reading poetry. Sin- 
 gleton’s father was teasing a little, queer pug-dog, with a coat 
 like Berlin wool. 
 
 Erederick marched in first, as usual. 
 
 “Dear me, Ellen, you have broken the flag off that castle !” 
 said his mother. 
 
 “ Emblemetic of the fate of the oligarchy,” said Erederick, 
 laughing. “ How is the sweet P. P ” he continued ; for, owing 
 to his plain, sensible, off-hand manner, he had a license from 
 young ladies which was not conceded to more romantie 
 youths. But Ellen was not likely to find fault with anything 
 he did. She received him with a frank, gay smile, fall of light 
 and colour. But Erederick cared far more for a cheer. Mis- 
 guided youth ! 
 
 “ Well,” asked his mother, “ was there a meeting ?” 
 
 “Yes,” said Erederick, quietly. 
 
 Ellen looked up. Why did he not go and sit down beside 
 her ? 
 
 “Well, Ered,” pursued his mother, “tell us about the pro- 
 ceedings.” 
 
 “Ask Singleton.” 
 
 “Let me congratulate you on the accession of an orator.” 
 
 “ Do you mean to say you spoke in public, Erederick ?” asked 
 Mrs. Lepel. 
 
 “Yes, mamma, I did.” 
 
 Mrs. Lepel looked very grave. Augusta closed her volume, 
 and looked up. 
 
 “Where’s my father?” asked Erederick. 
 
 “ There’s a gentleman with him in the study, who came about 
 seven o’clock.” 
 
 “ Do you know who it is ?” 
 
 His mother rang the bell. 
 
 “ Who is with your master, Thomas ?” 
 
 “ The Bev. Me. Butter, from Huskdale, ma ? am. M 
 
 CHAPTEB V. 
 
 Spes et prse.mia in ambiguo : certa, funera et luctus. 
 
 Tacitus, Hist. Lib. ii. 45. 
 Hopes and rewards were matter of ambiguity : deaths and grief— certain. 
 
 Hext day about noon Singleton was sitting in the library at 
 
26 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N 
 
 Heatherby — which was only about a mile and a half from Dun- 
 reddin — reading Jeremy Taylor. Every now and then he laid 
 down the volume, and found his thoughts wandering to the 
 proceedings of the day before. His excitement seemed to him 
 now very foolish and useless. It had been an affair of the ima- 
 gination — like his sympathies with the hero of a romance — he 
 began to think. "What could he do, to ameliorate evils ? He 
 had, or thought he had, quite a deficiencydn those qualities 
 which seemed to mark his friend Erederick Lepel out for a 
 worker and mover. Besides, could the race be permanently 
 much elevated P Was it not always the same story over again, 
 this history of theirs P Barbarism, wars, despotism, civilization, 
 corrupted civilization, decay — barbarism over again ! 
 
 He paced up and down the room in a fit of melancholy medi- 
 tation ; he gazed out of the windows wistfully ; the world 
 seemed covered with a sickly haze. He pined for action of some 
 sort. “ How much better,” he thought, “ is the honest woodman, 
 who cuts down an oak to feed the wood fire that warms his 
 family, than either the enthusiast who dreams in its shade, the 
 poet who describes it, the scientific man who measures it, or the 
 botanist who classifies it ! ” 
 
 A servant, at this period of his speculations, entered the room 
 with a note for him. It was a triangular, pink, perfumed little 
 affair, pleasant to the eye, and grateful to the sense. He took it 
 from the salver ; the servant withdrew. 
 
 It was from Augusta Lepel. 
 
 This was the first time he had ever received a note from her, 
 though he saw her constantly, and the two families, indeed, were 
 in the closest intimacy. So, it made a kind of little era. It ran 
 as follows : — 
 
 “Dear Singleton, 
 
 “Will you join a little pic-nic excursion to the ruins of Trevor 
 Abbey, this afternoon ? Mr. Bones and his friends wish to see 
 it before they go, which must be soon. Come over at once. 
 Besides, I have something to say to you. We are all alarmed 
 about Erederick. Enough :--come. 
 
 “Augusta.” 
 
 The truth was, that the party at Dunreddin were rather in a 
 state of uneasiness that morning. The London papers which 
 had come down, were full of details about what they called the 
 “ disturbed state of the manufacturing districts.” Humours, too, 
 had reached them from Huskdale, that there had been distur- 
 bances in the town the night before. Mr. Lepel was silent, 
 gloomy, and thoughtful all breakfast-time, and scarcely spoke a 
 
SINGrLETOK EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 27 
 
 word. Mrs. Lepel appeared with difficulty to preserve her 
 calmness. Frederick did not come down to breakfast at all, but 
 breakfasted in bed ; and before eleven o’clock the same imp 
 whom Bones and Farquhar had seen the day before at the 
 “ George,” was observed by them in the avenue, giving a parcel 
 to one of the servants, and then rode back to Huskdale, on a 
 butcher’s pony, in a style which would have excited the admira- 
 tion of his brother demons of London to an unnatural pitch of 
 envy. The two Oxonians, as they saw this, were smoking in a 
 leaning position against the garden wall. 
 
 “ I tell you what,” said Farquhar, filliping the white ash from 
 his cigar, “ I’m off south very soon.” 
 
 “Well see Trevor to-day, then,” said Bones, pensively. 
 
 “ That fellow Fred will get himself into a scrape, I see,” 
 Farquhar went on. No good ever comes of what’s irregular. 
 If a man must be public, let him go under somebody’s wing. 
 There was young Sickles : Lord Debosh brought him in 
 
 for the Snugglesborough seat. Sickles voted against the party — 
 only by accident. He routed him out directly afterwards ; 
 and I’m told the poor fellow’s redoosed to editing a newspaper ! 
 Now' ” 
 
 Here Frederick Lepel approached them, and Farquhar stopped 
 what he was saying ; for he was rather afraid of him, and per- 
 haps anywhere else but in his own place would have fought shy 
 of him altogether. 
 
 “Well, oh ingenious youths!” began Frederick, with his 
 usual quiet, satirical smile, “ what are you going to do to-day ?” 
 
 “We are thinking of going to see the Abbey,” Bones replied. 
 
 “Very good; youth is the season for amusement!” said 
 Lepel, with a facetious paternal air. He was barely twenty-two, 
 but he was old in energy — and some other things, as we shall 
 see. “The Abbey’s on our property, you know,” he added; 
 “ at least the ruins of it are. Come, Bones, you shall have it 
 at a moderate valuation. We’ll build it by estimate, and rig 
 you up as an abbot from the ‘ property ’ stock of the Huskdale 
 theatre ! ” 
 
 While they were laughing at this proposal, it was announced 
 to the speaker that his father wished to see him in the study ; at 
 which the laugh was renewed against himself. The two Oxonians 
 very well knew what this sort of interview meant in general ; 
 they little understood how differently Lepel viewed it. 
 
 “ Au revoir ,” he cried, waving his hand; “I shall not be 
 long.” And Farquhar nodded and laughed. 
 
 We will follow Frederick. 
 
 He found his father, who was a fine venerable old man, 
 drawing towards sixty, with a sweet serene countenance, — “ a 
 
28 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 lively eye and a benevolent smile,”* — seated with much for- 
 mality in his arm-chair. He was not remarkable for energy of 
 character, or indeed, for his intellectual qualities generally ; but 
 if mediocre, he was agreeably mediocre. He had been educated 
 in the worst prejudices ; but if they had warped his nature, they 
 had not spoiled it; and as for his disposition, nothing could 
 contaminate that. 
 
 “ Sit down, Frederick,” he said, after shaking hands with him 
 affectionately. Frederick had his spectacles on : there was an 
 air of calm enthusiasm about him which it was refreshing to 
 look at. He awaited his father’s words with profound attention 
 and filial deference. 
 
 “ Frederick,” his father began, “ Mr. Butter was over here 
 from Huskdale last night.” 
 
 Frederick gave a slight bow. 
 
 “ I heard from him of your proceedings, yesterday, at this 
 meeting. I am very much surprised, and, I may add, pained at 
 your behaviour. Hear me,” he went on, agitated with the 
 thought, “ you will compromise us all. Such violent language, 
 such unscrupulous hostility to all that is established ! These 
 are dangerous times.” 
 
 “ The more need for the gentlemen of England to exert them- 
 selves,” said his son, mildly but firmly. 
 
 “ But consider, my dear boy, consider the family. That is 
 the link. Isn’t there something — Burke, I rather fancy — ” 
 Mr. Lepel looked puzzled for a moment, but the quotation 
 escaped him. “ At all events, you must see that such radicalism 
 is impossible to persons in our position, an old, well-connected 
 family. Frederick, just ask yourself this, what would Lord 
 Sycamore, whose wife presented your sister, our connection, as 
 everybody knows he is, — what would he say to such a speech as 
 you made ? God bless me, if it should get abroad !” 
 
 “Get abroad,” thought his son, “what will he say to the 
 ‘ Courier ?’ ” Frederick turned a little pale, as he thought of 
 all he had plunged into. 
 
 “ You have very good talents,” continued Mr. Lepel, “ talents 
 that may lead to any reasonable position. The estate is entailed, 
 as you know. What an authority you may be, with care ! If 
 this false step has not ruined all 1” he concluded, playing with a 
 pen nervously, and adjusting himself uneasily in his chair. 
 The old gentleman had been not a little moved by all this ; he 
 had that timorous apprehension of publicity, change, and excite- 
 ment, so natural to one educated entirely in the old school, and 
 who had lived all his life in wealth and good society. He had 
 
 D’Aubignd, of the late Dr. Chalmers. “ Travelling Recollections ” (Cook 2nd). 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N» 
 
 29 
 
 always had the highest opinion of his son’s powers, and had, of 
 late, begun to fear his character. 
 
 “ I have had nothing but the greatest kindness from you,” 
 began Frederick, seriously and impressively, “ but I like to see 
 kindness, like other natural blessings, such as light, extended to 
 all the world ; and I wish you to make that goodness which 
 cheers your own circle, animate and benefit a wider sphere. I 
 am sure you will recollect,” pursued Frederick, artfully, “ what 
 your favourite Johnson says of goodness which is limited in 
 its operation, that it f wantsthe sacred splendour of munificence.’ 
 No w, my dear sir, what are the facts regarding the state of the 
 English lower classes ?” So saying, Frederick secured the old 
 gentleman’s attention, opened a brief, ingenious, and lucid state- 
 ment, and concluded by appealing to his sympathy in favour of 
 his exertions in the cause of “ the masses.” 
 
 Mr. Lepel was considerably moved. He was a very kind- 
 hearted man, as I have said, and besides was one of those who, 
 holding conservative opinions, had begun dimly to look on the 
 [Reform Bill as a measure that, once passed, must necessarily 
 lead to further results. He had opposed the [Reform Bill ; but 
 was it worth while to carry on an antagonism that had already 
 been defeated, and which was possibly morally wrong P He re- 
 mained for a few minutes in deep reflection. 
 
 Suddenly he rose up. “ Frederick, I feel that it is impossible 
 that you can carry on a public agitation. But, I tell you what : 
 I am afraid it is too true that the lower orders have never been 
 properly considered. Every man can do good in his own sphere. 
 We will look to our tenants. You and I can go over the rent 
 roll together. We will abate the rents wherever we can, and 
 retrench to make up the difference.” 
 
 It was lucky for Mr. Frederick Lepel, that he possessed in an 
 eminent degree that command of countenance so necessary to the 
 patriot, — otherwise, he must have been overwhelmed by this 
 burst of the old gentleman’s. For a moment he was silent, 
 actually silenced by this stroke so unconsciously given him by 
 his father, who could not have hit on a better, if he had been 
 trained in diplomacy. By particularly good fortune, there was 
 a slight tap at the door at that instant. Augusta entered to say 
 that the party were just about to start. Her fair face with its 
 fresh hues was quite a relief. The truth is, Augusta had had an 
 idea that something unpleasant might be taking place, and with 
 all her natural kindness and tenderness, had come in hopes to 
 neutralize it. Her appearance broke up the interview. The 
 father and son shook hands ; Mr. Lepel begging Frederick, “ to 
 think over what he had said to him.” 
 
 When Frederick reached his bedroom to prepare for the ex- 
 
30 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 cursion, lie sliut tlie door witli violence, and burst into a roar of 
 laughter. “ Capital, by Jove ! That was an idea of my father’s, 
 with a vengeance.” He chuckled all the time he was dressing at 
 the notion, and then, seizing a pocket-handkerchief, rushed down- 
 stairs to the party, who were waiting for him. “ Good morning, 
 Singleton, fine day ; enavant, mar chons And off they started 
 on their pilgrimage. 
 
 It was one of those fine afternoons of dry, pure air, and fine- 
 tempered sunlight, which we sometimes have in autumn, before 
 that season departs finally to join “ the years beyond the flood.” 
 The country was radiant with all the variety of colours which 
 mark the period ; and that country where our friends were is 
 very beautiful. It undulates with hill and vale ; it is dotted, 
 here and there, with little Saxon churches, with ivy-clad towers, 
 of a date long anterior, as we may be sure, to the town of Husk- 
 dale. The horizon is bounded by high, bare mountains, on whose 
 summits the snow lingers all the year round ; the dells have in 
 them quarries, worked, exhausted, and abandoned long ago, and 
 now full of trees and brushwood, from out which, in the moist 
 twilight of the morning, young rabbits steal to crop the green 
 barley of the fields near. Ho manufacturing town has a site so 
 nearly poetic as Huskdale, or so few of the disagreeable charac- 
 teristics of such cities. Yet, nowhere does there exist such a 
 w r ant of anything approaching to unanimity between the civic 
 and rural inhabitants of the country. 
 
 Frederick and Farquhar marched on in front, talking about 
 Oxford ; Frederick, who had been educated principally abroad, 
 and who belonged altogether to the progress party, attacking it 
 as a bad place of instruction ; Farquhar, on the contrary, de- 
 fending it, which (when we reflect on what it had done for that 
 youth) was, at least, disinterested. Hext came Mr. Bones, with 
 the enthusiasm of a pilgrim in his face, and in his right hand a 
 considerable basket of refreshments. Lastly, came Augusta and 
 Singleton ; they were talking away as usual, in a manner at once 
 playful and full of feeling. 
 
 “ What do you suppose to be the exact nature of the pleasure 
 we receive from seeing ruins ? There is a pleasure, but yet it is 
 # sad too,” said Singleton to his fair instructress. 
 
 “Hear me, Singleton,” said Augusta, “ what difficult questions 
 you put. Why, I think it is, that we have a pleasure in doing 
 honour to the dead, who once inhabited them ; we feel that 
 perhaps they are conscious of our kindness, and that it com- 
 pensates for the decay.” 
 
 “ I am afraid that’s rather far-fetched, Augusta,” cried 
 Frederick, whose quick ear had caught the remark, during a 
 pause in his dialogue with Farquhar. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 31 
 
 “ Yes,” said Singleton, “for it was fetched from heaven !” 
 
 “There’s a true knight,” cried Augusta, laughing at the 
 hyperbole. 
 
 “ Where is the guerdon?” said Singleton in alow voice. 
 
 Augusta smiled, and looked at him with a blush. 
 
 That was it ! 
 
 “Neat,” said Frederick, dropping behind, that the conversa- 
 tion might become general. “ But I’ll explain the pleasure you 
 talk about. The pleasure of seeing ruins consists in this, that we 
 mentally compare them with our own snug dwellings, and felici- 
 tate ourselves on the contrast.” 
 
 “ But if a man were houseless and homeless, he would feel the 
 pleasure,” said Bones. 
 
 “ If so, it would be because he saw a chance of taking a shelter 
 in the nook, there,” replied Lepel. 
 
 “What do we live for, after all?” said Bones, with a sigh. 
 (He began to find the basket heavy.) 
 
 “The greatest happiness of the greatest number,” Lepel 
 answered. 
 
 “And what is the greatest number?” asked Bones. 
 
 “No. 1 !” cried Farquhar, briskly. 
 
 “ Capital,” cried Bones, and everybody laughed again. 
 
 “ That will do for your next wine-party at Christ Church,” 
 Lepel said, smiling. Farquhar was charmed. 
 
 They were now drawing near the abbey, the ruins of which 
 occupied a large space of ground, and were almost entirely 
 covered with ivy. The stones were black with age, and nettles 
 hung out of the ruined tower here and there. Stiff, black yew- 
 trees sprang up, from out the piles of ruins, too, their cold, 
 gloomy life suiting with the desolation round. 
 
 As the party approached, a heavy barn-owl was scared from 
 his retreat, and with many a melancholy whoop, beating the air 
 with his dull wings, made for a neighbouring wood. The daws 
 clamoured with their harsh peevishness ; and the starlings, — at 
 once funereal and lively (like a group of drunken mutes), 
 started out of their ivy home. 
 
 “This is poetry,” said Singleton, uncovering himself for a 
 moment. 
 
 “ I feel it,” said Augusta, softly. 
 
 “ Sancte Kilderkine !” muttered Bones, invoking his favourite 
 saint, in a low voice, “ sit, precor, tibi, terra levis ! — sit nomen 
 honoratum! Ambulans, edens, bibens, sim tui memor.” Bones 
 was a solid, grave young man, who puzzled himself with the 
 doctrines of a very clever set at Oriel, who first made him a 
 proselyte, and then a laughing-stock. 
 
 “ It is a relic of cold, barbarous times of darkness and fraud, 
 
32 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 when a peasant was treated as a beast, and his lord was one,” 
 said Lepel, who, if he had no sentiment, had passion, — from his 
 political feelings, — which was sometimes nearly as effective. 
 Singleton and Augusta made no observation ; they walked round 
 the ruins together. 
 
 “ All the divine feelings crowd upon one here,” whispered 
 Singleton, pressing her hand. She smiled kindly. Singleton 
 looked at her face, but his eyes were scarcely dry. 
 
 “ I love you as a sister,” she said, quietly. 
 
 “ I invoke you as a saint,” said Singleton. 
 
 A quarter of an hour passed away, and then the party sat 
 down on a group of stones, to partake of the delicate collation 
 which they had brought. In pic-nics, everything ought to be as 
 gay as the open air under which it is taken ; the wine should 
 reflect the heavens, for example. Leave bottled stout to ogres, 
 oh reader ! and honour the occasion with the ethereal sparkle of 
 the transcendental moselle. 
 
 “ There must have been something divine in the idea which 
 prompted the builder of this abbey,” said Bones. 
 
 “ho doubt of it,” said Augusta. 
 
 “ I fancy it was built just as we build,” said Frederick ; 
 “ because they thought it useful, and that it would pay. All 
 buildings are the same.” 
 
 “ What do you say to the Great Pyramid ?” asked Singleton. 
 
 “I call it Cheops’ Folly!” replied Lepel, emptying his 
 glass. 
 
 There is no arguing against a mot, so the laugh which followed 
 this stopped the discussion. 
 
 “ What is that noise?” said Farquhar, suddenly. 
 
 There was heard, just as he spoke, the sharp, hard ringing of 
 a horse’s hoofs over the ground, and in an instant afterwards, 
 there galloped up to them a young man in the uniform of a 
 hussar officer. His horse, which was a small, beautiful black 
 creature, as graceful as an antelope, bore the marks of hard 
 riding, and its mouth sparkled \Yith foam ; the rider flung him- 
 self from hi3 saddle within a few yards of them, and holding the 
 bridle in one hand, with the other removed his cap and bowed 
 low. He was very young, with long light hair, and a soft flaxen 
 moustache, and seemed pale and harassed. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, — a thousand pardons,” he said, faintly ; 
 “ may I ask a glass of water ?” 
 
 Lepel jumped to his feet at once. “ God bless me, — there is 
 no water. Let me entreat you to take some Moselle.” And he 
 seized a silver chased cup, which was lying unused on the grass, 
 and filled it with the hissing wine. 
 
 “ Thank you, thank you,” said the young officer, and he 
 
33 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 eagerly swallowed a draught of it. “ You are very kind—” lie 
 looked round the circle, and spoke hurriedly and nervously. 
 “ I am going to Huskdale, — a detachment is ordered there ; 
 I have ridden fifteen miles in the last hour; — they say the 
 country here’s in a most disturbed state — riots expected every 
 hour. Yesterday, a great meeting, —most inflammatory — too 
 bad — poor people.” He spoke these sentences in quick, broken 
 fragments. Lepel looked at him hard ; there was scorn gathering 
 in his heart, and a sneer rising upon his lips. 
 
 “ Pray rest yourself a minute.” 
 
 The officer bowed again, and meeting Augusta’s look, by acci- 
 dent, coloured slightly. 
 
 “I hate the duty,” he proceeded; “all ours do,— but then, 
 what times !” 
 
 “Yes,” said Lepel, very calmly, “times indeed ! So, Govern- 
 ment are afraid , are they ?” he asked, laying a slight emphasis 
 on the last words. 
 
 “ I fancy uneasy,” replied the soldier, who with the quick tact 
 which men of his profession acquire in such matters, saw to 
 ■what class the party belonged. “There’s always danger at these 
 times in such places as this ; it’s as well you will have good 
 protection.” 
 
 With a half-smile at these last words, he rose, bowed, thanked 
 them again, jumped into the saddle, and galloped away to 
 the high-road, which lay near the field in which the ruins w'ere 
 situated. 
 
 “ Well, let us return home,” said Frederick, whose gaiety of 
 manner had been quite driven away by the incident. 
 
 The party rose, somewhat damped also, and took the field- 
 path towards Dunreddin. Augusta was silent, and Singleton did 
 not like to risk the chance of producing any emotion by speaking 
 to her. 
 
 “ Come along, Farquhar,” cried Frederick, motioning to him 
 to take his arm ; and as they walked aw~ay from the ruins, he 
 pointed to the figure of the hussar, who was seen in the distance, 
 disappearing like a small black cloud. “ There goes a cub of war, 
 — a brainless youth, who ought to be trundling a hoop, as he no 
 doubt was six months ago.” 
 
 Frederick had that dislike and contempt for soldiers which is 
 another characteristic of the school to which his tendencies led 
 him. 
 
 “ He seemed very gentlemanly,” said Augusta, quietly. 
 
 “ Oh, of course, gentlemanly enough,” he replied ; “ we are 
 all gentlemanly, I suppose. I say he is a dull machine, used for 
 a vile purpose.” 
 
 He spoke bitterly, for he was always in earnest in his contempt, 
 
 x> 
 
34 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 — in whatever other matters he might be only an actor. His 
 sister said nothing ; they all walked on in silence, and in good 
 time reached Dnnreddin again. How calm and beautiful it 
 looked as they approached ; — to Augusta how holy — to her bro- 
 ther how tame ! 
 
 Singleton’s father was there, and going to stay dinner. So 
 was Ellen Pierrepoint. Mr. Eontenov was in a very bad humour ; 
 he had been all the morning trying poachers. He scarcely took any 
 notice what ever of Frederick Lepel, which brought a glance to that 
 youth’s face which was not pleasant to see. He asked Singleton 
 what he had been doing — as a matter of business — and yawned 
 when he was informed; he said to Augusta that he hoped 
 Singleton was not troublesome to her. He remarked that he 
 did not think the fine weather would last long ; that the [Radicals 
 of Huskdale were great rascals, but would soon be “put down” 
 if they tried anything : that the country interest was shamefully* 
 used by all governments ; that Huskdale was a disgrace to the 
 country ; that in his grandfather’s time it was a wretched village, 
 where they kept nothing but the county foxhounds ; that the 
 Chartist member wore a very bad hat ; and that Mr. Putter 
 was an admirable preacher. In a word, Mr. Fontenoy was in 
 force. 
 
 Frederick Lepel growled epigrams all the time they were at 
 dinner. Mr. Fontenoy and he avoided commenting on each 
 other. Ellen listened to Frederick with great admiration. 
 Farquhar talked to Mrs. Lepel : Mr. Lepel talked to his 
 daughter ; and Bones opened on Singleton about the 
 [Romantic School : everybody talked to the wrong person, and 
 everybody was uneasy. 
 
 After dinner, politics still kept hovering over the gentlemen’s 
 conversation, as it were ; in the drawing-room, matters, however, 
 began to grow better, when Augusta sang. 
 
 How it happened that a little girl, a sister of Miss Pierrepoint, 
 had come over to Dnnreddin ; and while all were in the draw- 
 ing-room, this child, who had been on the terrace, came running 
 in. 
 
 “ Such a pitty sight — such a very pitty sky !” she said, after 
 the manner of childhood. 
 
 “ What does ‘ pitty* Eva say ?” asked Augusta, moving 
 away the pretty child’s light hair from its forehead, and kiss- 
 ing it. 
 
 “ So very pitty a sky !” cried the child again. “ Come, see 
 sky with Eva.” 
 
 Augusta rose, and went out to sec what made little Eva so 
 enthusiastic ; and most of the party followed. They gained the 
 terrace. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 35 
 
 And on tlie horizon, over Huskdale, the sky was hushing 
 with a red glare. 
 
 “ It is the aurora borealis,” cried Augusta, hastily. 
 
 Behind her there was a low ringing laugh. 
 
 “ Who was that ?” 
 
 Nobody answered. 
 
 “ That’s no aurora borealis,” said Mr. Fontenoy, brusquely, 
 and startled. 
 
 “No heavenly fire at all,” said Singleton. 
 
 “It’s a fire at Huskdale !” cried his father. “Merciful 
 God 1” 
 
 At these words, there was a dead and deep silence among the 
 party. The minds of all were full of the troubles of the period, 
 and perhaps of their own relation to them ; and they saw 
 in the spectacle before them an object of more than ordinary 
 terror. 
 
 Singleton stole near Augusta, and whispered to her some 
 words to allay her fears. The silence lasted some time ; then 
 Mr. Lepel spoke : — 
 
 “ Frederick.” 
 
 There -was no answer. 
 
 “ Where is Frederick ?” 
 
 Frederick was galloping to Huskdale as fast as a noble horse 
 could carry him. Mr. Lepel learnt that he had gone. He turned 
 slightly pale, and walked into the house ; but he said nothing. 
 The fire was slowly paling on the thick murky sky ; only red, 
 muddy clouds of smoke hung there, faintly visible. 
 
 There had been a riot — fortunately not a very serious one — 
 in Huskdale ; and it had been followed by the conflagration, 
 which was now being extinguished. 
 
 The neighbourhood of the scene of action was crowded with 
 people, plashing in the water which flowed down the street in a 
 dirty torrent. There gleamed the helmets of the fire brigade, 
 striving to save the burning dwelling, which was wrapped round 
 in a funeral garment of smoke. Windows burst — rafters cracked 
 — up rose the many-coloured fiame3, fantastic in their shapes, 
 towards heaven — curling, leaping, quivering. Then came a great 
 rush of water, and a hiss, and a thick cloud of steam. 
 
 Two mechanics were standing on the pavement near, looking 
 silently on the spectacle, and glancing, first, at the faces of 
 the crowd, which were lighted up by the fire, and then at each 
 other. 
 
 Presently one of them nudged the other, and, rubbing his 
 hands, said, “I’m blessed if it don’t keep one warm — eh, 
 Cowland ?” 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 His companion laughed, and muttered — “ Hush ! So it does ; 
 and it’s cheap, too.” 
 
 And then they both laughed again. The fire at this instant 
 burst another window, and shot out in a thin clear streak, like a 
 golden branch. 
 
 A third mechanic came up to them, just as they were 
 laughing. He was a tall, stout man, with a grave, pale coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 “Ho you know,” he said, “what the Bible says about the 
 laughter o’ fools? — That it’s for all the world like thorns a- 
 crackling under a pot ! Let me tell you, my lads, that it wont 
 keep the pot boiling either.” 
 
 So saying, he passed on, and they saw him no more. Poor 
 fellow ! he was a mute, inglorious commentator. 
 
 The two mechanics looked at each other again, and then at 
 the fire ; the long hoses of the fire brigade were curling up the 
 outside like serpents ; the fire was getting gradually con- 
 quered. But the circumstance excited little emotion in that 
 crowd, for the sympathies of the majority of them were with the 
 Destroyer. 
 
 “ It’s getting low,” said the mechanic, whom his companion 
 had addressed as Cowland. Cowland’s friend touched his arm 
 meaningly as he spoke, for there had approached them while he 
 did so two persons, whose appearance distinctively marked them 
 as belonging to a different order. One was a tall, thin, military- 
 looking man, with a large moustache ; the other, a young one, 
 wrapped in a cloak, and with a kind of foraging-cap pulled far 
 over his brows. 
 
 “ A feu de joie Anglais ,” said the tall one to his companion. 
 
 “ A political suttee,” answered the other. 
 
 “Ah, Paris is the town for mob movements. We deal with 
 the very stones, like Deucalion — we turn them into men ! ” 
 
 “Hear that,” whispered Cowland to his friend. 
 
 “ If the people knew their own power !” pursued the first 
 speaker. 
 
 Cowland addressed him. 
 
 “ They are learning it, sir. We are to have a Convention 
 soon.” 
 
 His brother mechanic pulled him by the arm again, fearing 
 perhaps that the strangers were spies. 
 
 By this time the crowd were beginning to disperse. The me- 
 chanics departed one way, the strangers another. 
 
 “ I should like to visit the penetralia of these radical fellows,” 
 said the tall man. “ They have secret societies here, too, as in 
 Paris. You remember the “ Vrais Amis ’ that I introduced you 
 to?” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N, 
 
 37 
 
 “ Oh yes,” said his young companion ; " but hang it, one must 
 be cautious ; this is a different country.” 
 
 " I’m afraid you’re not a genuine democrat. Hern ember, 
 'none but the brave deserve the fair:’ it’s the same thing in 
 politics.” 
 
 "Yes, deserve the fair, all well and good. But who get what 
 they deserve ?” 
 
 " Come on ; let us beat up the haunts of what they preposter- 
 ously call the ‘ lower orders.’ ” 
 
 It was late the next morning before Frederick Lepel reached 
 Dunreddin, and the servant who had been waiting up for him 
 saw that he was weary and excited. He remained for some time, 
 however, before he went to bed, resting with his hands clasping 
 his forehead, and elbows on the table, in deep thought. Then 
 he dipped into a book, and his eye fell on the passage which we 
 have transferred to the head of this chapter, from the pages of 
 the acute and profound historian of Home, — that ^Rochefoucauld 
 with a soul, — so keen, so deep, so earnest, so pathetic — immortal 
 Tacitus ! Melancholy and concise remark on civil commotions ; 
 Spes et 'premia in ambiguo : certa , funera et luctus ! 
 
 Lepel smiled, yawned wearily, began to undress. As he 
 flung from his neck a heavy gold chain which he wore, 
 “ ’Gad,” he cried, " that’s too pretentious for a friend of the 
 people !” 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 O’er flower and fruit alike, Tom, 
 
 You pass with plodding feet, 
 
 * * * * 
 
 But Genius stops to loiter, 
 
 With all that it may meet. Thackebay. 
 
 While Frederick Lepel was thus employed in the stormy 
 pursuits of the opening of his career, and, to use a very ex- 
 pressive phrase that they have in the navy, was " as busy as the 
 devil in a gale of wind,” that active gentleman, Mr. Fontenoy, 
 of Heatherby, discovered a school for Singleton. Dr. Helot of 
 Oaken Lodge, educated a limited number of young gentlemen 
 of good family in the proper orthodox way which Mr. Fontenoy 
 loved. The school was near one of those beautiful lakes where 
 the shade of the divine Coleridge no doubt loves to linger. It 
 was a good long journey from Huskdale. 
 
 "It had "turned out” several capital scholars. The Doctor 
 was a clever man, and had once been ambitious. Possessed of 
 considerable Greek, and some audacity, he edited ^Eschylus. 
 
38 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 The phenomenon made him a miracle in England. Flushed 
 with success, he went to travel. He reached Germany. One 
 morning he entered the lecture-room of a famous Hellenist, in a 
 famous university. The subject was iEsehylus and his recent 
 editors. “ Of editions of this great poet,” said the Professor, 
 “ there is one well nigh to men of true learning intolerable ; the 
 edition of one Helot, an Englishman.” The Doctor waited 
 somewhile longer. He heard his unhappy edition pounded in 
 the learned man’s mortar: He rushed frantically out, and started 
 for England that night. He became an under-master in a 
 school on his return, and married his head-master’s daughter, a 
 lady as learned as Mrs. Carter, and as slovenly as Pope’s Arte- 
 misia. He then took Oaken Lodge, which he conducted very 
 successfully, and at the time that he wrote to say he was ready 
 to receive our hero, he was tolerably advanced in life. His 
 favorite instrument of correction was the cane. So far he con- 
 ceded to modern ideas, which condemn the use of the birch. But 
 he used the cane vigorously enough, and if, like Aaron’s rod, it 
 “ swallowed up the rest ” of the instruments of punishment, it 
 combined all their terrors in itself. 
 
 A fine afternoon found Singleton walking along a romantic 
 road which led from the town of Penguin to the Doctor’s esta- 
 blishment. He had arrived at Penguin by the coach of the 
 previous night. Hext morning discovered to him that it was a 
 beautiful country ; so he left orders with the people of the inn 
 to send on his luggage to the Lodge, and having obtained some 
 general directions as to his route, set out to walk there. The air 
 was keen, dry, and healthy. On the horizon towered fine blue 
 mountains, marked with bright spots of snow. There was youth 
 in his veins, and poetry in his heart, so he walked merrily along, 
 occasionally soliloquising, as two classes do, the very happy and 
 the very sad. And soliloquising, he flourished about him a stick, 
 which had been presented to him by Frederick Lepel, — a good 
 heavy one, for it had belonged to a satirical writer. To the 
 motion of this he kept time occasionally, by repeating verses 
 which he remembered, a practice which keeps up the spirits of 
 some people, as jingling the loose cash in their pockets appears 
 to do those of the middle classes. 
 
 After walking along in this mood for some time, and passing 
 several of those roadside houses to which the villagers in the 
 north come in winter time to drink ale with burnt oat-cake in it, 
 Singleton arrived at a sharp turn in the road. Pausing here, 
 before rounding the corner, to look at the country, he 
 suddenly spied a book lying on the grass, near the hedge. 
 It was lying face downwards, and had evidently been 
 dropped by accident. He darted to it and picked it up. It 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 39 
 
 was a Virgil, — a very neat little edition. Hero was & surprise. 
 He scanned it carefully, and found on a blank leaf, tbe single 
 
 word “ Lalage.” . . 
 
 “ Lalage/’ What meant that prettiest of antique names, thus 
 written in that sweetest of antique writers ? 
 
 Singleton turned over the pages, laughing. Then he repeated 
 “ Lalage” again and again, making music in the lonely road, and 
 chiming over, from Horace’s delicious ode, 
 
 “ Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, 
 
 Dulce loquentem 1” 
 
 There was a sound ; he started, and saw before him— just 
 turning the corner with quick step — a young girl of seven- 
 teen— with deep blue eyes and a complexion (to use a com- 
 parison of Propertius’) “like rose-leaves swimming in pure 
 milk.” 
 
 (t The gorgeous vision seemed 
 To sate the air with beauty/* 
 
 as Mr. Coventry Patmore says. She stopped short when she 
 saw Singleton, glanced at the book which he held open, and 
 seemed a little frightened. Singleton was not so shy now as 
 before he saw Circe, and, besides, he had recently got hold of an 
 idea that he did not observe his race sufficiently, and was 
 determined to repair the neglect ! So he took off his cap, and 
 bowed. 
 
 “ Were you looking for this book?” 
 
 “ It is my book,” said the girl, demurely. 
 
 “ Lalage V* mused Singleton. “'A pretty name!” saying 
 which, he continued glancing from the book to the girl. “ l ou 
 must not think me impertinent but you who love the classics 
 will know that temporary insanity follows from encountering a 
 nymph.” 
 
 She gave a little grave smile. 
 
 “ Well, Lalage, here is your book. We are walking the same 
 way.” 
 
 They moved on together, and exchanged a few sentences more. 
 Singleton loved girls of an intellectual turn. The fact is, that 
 the affected hatred of “ clever women” which we hear of so often, 
 is usually the sentiment of Prigs and Sensualists — of whom it is 
 well worthy, 
 
 “ So you like Virgil, Lalage ?” 
 
 “ I do not know that I am a judge. It sometimes, seems to 
 me, when I consider his genius and his art, that his poem is 
 like ” 
 
 “Like what, Lalage ?” asked Singleton, stooping to pick up a 
 chestnut, which he flung away, as a kind of distraction. 
 
40 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 “The shield of Achilles carved in a cameo,” said Lalage. 
 
 Singleton’s bine eyes flashed upon her face with a gleam of 
 interest. 
 
 “ It is happy. — But as to 2Eneas ; I confess I have no sympa- 
 thy with him, eh, Lalage P he is too respectable.” 
 
 “ Have we any genius in the world now ?” asked Lalage. 
 
 “ You must look for them in the magazines,” said Singleton, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 Lalage sighed, “ One could love a genius.” 
 
 “ Do you know, Lalage, I think you are a dreamer. I am 
 something of a dreamer myself.” 
 
 “ Oh ! you will waken ; we do not wake.” 
 
 Singleton was silent, and they walked on together. He was 
 already impressed by this strange and beautiful creature. There 
 is a kind of love which we experience only when we are very 
 young — which has the purity of friendship and the aspiration of 
 poetry — which is mystical, and has no gratification but of the 
 soul — which passes from our being like a summer air from the 
 sea’s face — and which (this is the most melancholy characteristic of 
 it) is seldom regretted. 
 
 Singleton gazed at her silently ; their eyes met, and she 
 blushed. 
 
 An elevation in the road revealed a valley, with a small, quick, 
 clear river running through it, spanned by a wooden bridge. 
 A group of cottages formed a little village on its banks ; a rugged 
 little church, with a flinty tower, and a roof whose red colour 
 gleamed in the sun, was near. Half-way down the ascending 
 road was the entrance of a lane, and at this Lalage stopped. 
 Singleton felt his heart stopping too. 
 
 She held out her soft, white hand to bid him good-bye ; 
 Singleton was confused, and began to remember the directions 
 for his journey which he had received at Penguin. “ Then to the 
 left,” he muttered. 
 
 “ Pray, Lalage, where is Oaken Lodge ?” 
 
 “ I am going to it,” she said, motioning to the lane. 
 
 “And I am going to it,” said Singleton, with the blood slowly 
 mounting to his face. “ ’Tis Dr. Helot’s.” 
 
 “I am his daughter,” said Lalage, colouring violently. 
 
 “ And I, his pupil,” answered Singleton. “ Let us come 
 in !” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, B.N. 
 
 41 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 The nonchalance of boys ... is the healthy attitude of human nature. 
 
 Emeeson : Essay on Self-Reliance . 
 
 A tall gentleman in black, portly and commanding, with a 
 white neckcloth wrapped round his neck like a wisp of straw, 
 received him. This was Dr. Helot. He was profoundly cour- 
 teous to Singleton ; for this was part of his system. The Doctor 
 treated all his boys like “ gentlemen,” and caned them with 
 dignity. 
 
 “ You found Mr. Eontenoy looking for the gate, eh, Lalage ?” 
 he said. 
 
 “ Yes, papa,” said Lalage, hesitatingly. 
 
 “Glad to see you, Mr. Singleton,” said the Doctor. “Walk 
 in here, and I will introduce you to Mrs. Helot.” Here he led 
 the way to a parlour, in which a middle-aged lady in spectacles 
 was sitting at a big book. Singleton observed that she used a 
 snuff-box. 
 
 “My dear, — Mr. Singleton Fontenoy.” Singleton bowed, 
 and made some considerable impression. The fact is, that he 
 had come to school a great deal too late for “ moulding,” as the 
 process of warping youth is amusingly called. He had read a 
 great deal too much, for the intellectual part of it ; and as for the 
 other, he had been always, for the last few years, brought into 
 contact with people of the world. What a stride a man’s mind 
 makes, even by going to one or two parties ! Singleton saw at 
 a glance that Mrs. Helot was a worthy person, not quite comme 
 il faut , and he could hardly help laughing, when, glancing to 
 observe the Doctor, he thought what Mr. Frederick Lepel would 
 have said of him, — Frederick, who did not condescend to quote 
 a classic, except for the purpose of making a pun. Singleton sat 
 down very coolly in the awful presence, talked away, when they 
 opened a subject, and comported himself more like a guest than 
 a pupil. Mrs. Helot soon displayed her learning, and he soon 
 saw how Lalage had acquired her strange knowledge and ideas. 
 Ah, Lalage was a sweet puzzle ; so fair and so dreamy ; so 
 romantic and so innocent, simple, and cool. Poor Lalage ! she 
 was a genius, and she belonged at the same time to the Doctor’s 
 “ Virgil class.” Singleton stared next morning as she came in, 
 stationed herself with unaffected simplicity and modesty in her 
 place, and went on wdth the dull task. 
 
 Meanwhile, while Singleton was with the family, the rumour 
 spread through the school that the “ new boy” had come, 
 
42 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 Oaken Lodge had two departments for its boys, — the school- 
 room for the elder, and the boys’ parlour for the younger. 
 
 Singleton was conducted in the evening into the “ school- 
 room,” for which he was judged old enough. There he found a 
 group of youngsters assembled round a fireplace, and cooking 
 slices of raw potato upon fragments of broken plate. They were 
 most of them gentlemanly fellows, but horribly rough. In one 
 corner of the room stood a venerable pulpit, where the Doctor 
 presided during the day ; four huge, long desks, with iron rails, 
 adorned the body of the apartment. The whitewashed walls 
 were grotesquely adorned with figures, done in charcoal and 
 with black] ead pencils. Singleton thought of Heatherby, and 
 then of Dunreddin ; then of Augusta, then of the George Inn, in 
 Iluskdale ; then of Lalage, and reconciled himself to his fate. 
 So, smiling (and like Pisistratus Caxton, he had a pleasant 
 laugh), he moved up to the fireplace, and put himself into 
 friendly relations with his schoolfellows. Jack Selwyn, than 
 whom no boy in Oaken Lodge was cleverer or more caned, made 
 room for him. On the other side was Harry Temple, a 
 “ dreadful” youth, who broke the knees of his father’s horses 
 during the holidays, and who made wanton allusions to Mrs. 
 Helot, which turned the younger boys pale. These two go- 
 verned public opinion in Oaken Lodge. They received Singleton 
 very kindly, mentally agreed that he was a neat-looking fellow, 
 thought that he was doosed old to come to school, and wondered 
 whether he was a muff. They were conducting a dialogue when 
 lie came in, which the other fellows were listening to with 
 respectful attention. 
 
 “ I tell you she’s forty,” said Temple. “ She came out in — 18. 
 I’ve a brother in the lioth (ah, you fellows should see him, — 
 ’gad he’s too proud to speak to the governor), who told me so.” 
 
 “ It’s Sapphini we were talking about,” said Selwyn, turning 
 to Fontenoy. 
 
 “ Oh yes, she sang at a town near me,” answered Singleton, — 
 “ Huskdale, not long ago. I met her at supper.” The fact was, 
 tli at Lepel had taken him there, one night, in company with a 
 Parisian author, who was visiting our manufacturing districts, 
 whom he knew. 
 
 Here was a hit ! Singleton’s reputation was established. 
 
 “ You ain’t joking ?’ said Selwyn, who had all the schoolboy’s 
 suspicion of anything that looked like an attempt to humbug him. 
 
 “ Ho ; why should I ?” asked Singleton, innocently. 
 
 “ By George, I shouldn’t wonder if you knew how to smoke !” 
 cried Temple, enthusiastically. 
 
 Singleton laughed, had tried a cigar, dared say it was a quiet 
 amusement for a leisure hour. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 43 
 
 “ I thought so. I began with returns,” said Temple, lowering 
 bis voice, as if he was afraid the Doctor would hear him. 44 I 
 then got on to bird’s-eye, — but Lord bless you, Seiwyn, there, 
 smokes shag, sir ; he does, upon my word.” 
 
 At this moment, some of the potatoes on the elegant cooking- 
 apparatus gave signs that they were ready for consumption, and 
 they were removed accordingly. Seiwyn handed some to Sin- 
 gleton, who partook of them with considerable amusement. 
 
 “ The worst of school is,” remarked Temple, 44 that one can’t 
 get anything to drink. Old Helot gives us good enough dinners; 
 I don’t grumble at them, but we ought to have wine.” 
 
 44 I wonder whether they have sent my luggage from Pen- 
 guin,” said Singleton. 
 
 <f Jack Eoberts, go and see,” said Seiwyn to one of the boys, 
 who flew instanter. He returned, carrying a brown parcel. 
 The luggage had come, and this was part of it. They all 
 crowded round, as Singleton proceeded to open it. There was 
 a note, just on the surface. Singleton had not seen his things 
 packed, so felt some curiosity to know what this was, and why it 
 was there. It was in the handwriting of Frederick Lepel, and 
 ran as follows : — 
 
 “ Deal* Singleton, 
 
 44 I never was at school — thank God — or I should have been 
 as ignorant as the mass of people. But I suppose it’s like 
 most places, requiring all the consolations of philosophy. Among 
 these, the 4 good things of the world,’ as heavy people call them, 
 must decidedly rank ; so I have made you up a little parcel of 
 them, for your private use. There, you dog ! Don’t ever 
 say that the materialists are apt to be selfish, again ! Good-bye. 
 You have read too much. Open your eyes and look about you. 
 I’m off to a blue-book. Yours, 
 
 44 Feedeeick Lepel.” 
 
 Singleton smiled as he perused this characteristic note, and then 
 proceeded, amidst a general hum of expectation, to unpack the 
 parcel. Off came one layer of brown paper. There was a pause. 
 Off came another. The excitement grew intense. Off came a 
 third, and disclosed two large brown bottles, a tin case, some 
 little pots, and a paper of cigars. There was a burst of asto- 
 nishment. 
 
 44 J ack Eoberts,” cried Seiwyn , 44 run and bolt the door.” The 
 boy bounded like a deer. 
 
 44 What’s the matter?” asked Singleton, seeing the movement, 
 and the excited state of the little colony. 
 
 44 Oh, by George, Fontenoy,” said Seiwyn, 44 you must be 
 green. Do you suppose old Helot would stand that? Ho 
 
44 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 thinks it’s a cake you’ve got in the parcel. I can’t fancy who 
 the cloose put these things up for you. My governor wouldn’t. 
 Catch him !” 
 
 “ Well,” said Singleton, coolly, “ we will see what they are. 
 Have you a corkscrew ?” 
 
 This produced a laugh. Ho such thing was known in the 
 schoolroom. “ Well, — a knife?” 
 
 A knife w r as brought. He seized one of the bottles, held it in 
 a slanting position, and decapitated it, as neatly as Louis XYI. 
 This increased his popularity enormously. A grateful aroma 
 came forth. 
 
 “ Boys,” cried Selwyn, with the impressiveness becoming the 
 occasion, “ if any of you says a word about what’s done here 
 this evening, I’ll lick him. [Remember, I’ll keep my word.” 
 
 Singleton laughed, and poured some of the liqueur into a mug, 
 bearing the word “ John” in gold letters, and handed it to 
 Selwyn, who assumed the tone of a connoisseur, with an air that 
 would have delighted Mr. T . 
 
 “ By George,” said Selwyn, “ it’s a liqueur. Its Cura^oa!” 
 He smacked his lips. “ This refreshes a man, in this hole ! It’s 
 good too.” The little boys looked at each other with wonder, 
 and one or two glanced at the door uneasily. “ What would the 
 boys’ parlour fellows think if they knew it ?” The novelty of all 
 this amused Singleton exceedingly. He proceeded to administer 
 small doses of the liqueur to the crowd. 
 
 “ Does liqueur make people tipsy ?” said Selwyn. 
 
 “ Stuff,” said Temple ; “ of course not.” 
 
 “ You had better hide these things in a safe place,” said 
 Selwyn. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the time when it was necessary to go to 
 bed arrived, and Singleton had to sleep in the same room with 
 Selwyn and Temple. The illicit supplies were carefully con- 
 cealed. Singleton thought his bed a miserable little crib. When 
 he w r oke he missed the luxurious conveniences he had been 
 accustomed to at home ; but when we are young we can all be 
 hardy if we like, however we may have been brought up. 
 
 “ You must rough it out, old fellow,” said Selwyn. 
 
 “ Violets can grow anywhere,” Singleton replied. The bell 
 rung ; they bounded downstairs. The Doctor had taken his 
 place in the pulpit, and the day began as usual by the reading 
 of prayers. 
 
 Then the Doctor proceeded to examine Singleton, that he 
 might place him in a class. Singleton had come to school, as 
 Gibbon says he went to Oxford, “with a stock of erudition that 
 might puzzle a doctor, and a degree of ignorance of which a 
 schoolboy might be ashamed,” The Doctor was somewhat sur- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 45 
 
 prised, and a little puzzled, accordingly. Singleton would 
 bungle at an irregular verb, that Selwyn knew in painful detai], 
 but Singleton had read the disputes about the Homeric poems, 
 and was very well acquainted with all sorts of theories. His 
 peculiar education made him quite a phenomenon in Oaken 
 Lodge. The Doctor placed him in the “ Virgil class” — next 
 Lalage. It was quite a picture to see the fair Lalage assuming 
 her place in the morning, and going through the regular number 
 of lines. Hone of the boys thought it anything remarkable ; 
 even Masters Selwyn and Temple, the leaders of the school, 
 never alluded to her, except as in the “ Virgil class.” As yet, 
 they were in that stage when females generally are rather a 
 subject of peurile contempt than otherwise ; and when precocity 
 displays itself in an affection for the ruder vices, and a respect 
 for jockeys and gamekeepers. As for the Doctor, who was 
 pedantic in everything but what related to his dinner, he looked on 
 his daughter as a most promising scholar, and probably thought 
 it a pity that he could not send her to Oxford to take a degree. 
 
 The very first day, Singleton had an opportunity of seeing 
 discipline enforced in the orthodox way. Selwyn had, with the 
 liveliness which distinguished him, overset a desk, and with the 
 impudence which sometimes accompanies liveliness, laughed at 
 the Doctor’s remonstrance. Dr. Helot descended from the pulpit, 
 armed with his cane, approached Selwyn, buttoned up his coat, 
 took a pinch of snuff to refresh himself, and then seizing the 
 youth by the collar, commenced a hearty castigation. Single- 
 ton, who had never before witnessed the chastisement of any- 
 thing but a pointer, felt a thrill of anger and degradation. Selwyn 
 received the blows with Spartan indifference, and as soon as the 
 Doctor’s back was turned, winked to the boys near him, to their 
 intense delight and amusement. 
 
 The “ Virgil class ” came up that afternoon, at their usual 
 hour. Singleton looked over the book with Lalage. His 
 translating pleased the Doctor. It was accurate enough, and 
 then it was graphic sometimes, which cheered the old gentleman, 
 who w as glad of a change from the dry formal style of render- 
 ing which he was accustomed to hear, in his dreary post-mortem 
 examinations of the text, day after day. 
 
 When school was over, the boys of Oaken Lodge had liberty 
 to go wherever they pleased, for several hours, and Singleton 
 availed himself of this to roam over that wild country, with its 
 deep, bright, swift rivers, pregnant with the life of the North ; 
 and to wander by the banks of those broad lakes, worthy to 
 reflect the blue skies — rivers and lakes which he did not after- 
 wards forget — by the waters of the degenerate Scamander, or 
 among the gardens of the land of the rising sun ! 
 
40 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 In a short time, lie felt that the rude life at school was doing 
 him good. He grew less dreamy ; he grew stronger and healthier. 
 Our training must be rough, if we would be fit for the work of 
 the world, and contented with its daily life. 
 
 To dine with a relish at the Syssitia , we must first bathe in 
 the Eurotas ! 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 But liow tills love came to he produced in me so early is a hard question ! 
 
 Cowley, Essay on Myself. 
 
 In a short time, the Doctor’s experienced eye taught him that 
 Master Singleton Eontenoy was gaining a great ascendancy over 
 the other boys. Fortunately for all parties, the supplies sent 
 him by Jnis friend Lepel were consumed without any dangerous 
 result. Selwyn was afflicted with a settled melancholy for a few 
 days after their disappearance, but he recovered. Temple, 
 having attained his favourite ambition, to be able to smoke 
 “ shag,” had some thoughts of trying opium, which he believed 
 a higher flight, but Singleton dissuaded him. Both these youths 
 thought Singleton a capital fellow, and Selwyn made a point of 
 ostentatiously walking with his arm round his neck directly 
 after school was over. This gave Singleton fashion. 
 
 His influence was easily accounted for. First of all, there 
 arrived one morning a copy of the “ Huskdale Courier,” with an 
 account of the great meeting at which he had been present ; and 
 Singleton was astonished to find himself mentioned as “ one of 
 the gentlemen we observed on the platform.” He showed this 
 to Selwyn. Selwyn preserved his calmness as became the 
 dignity of the Cock of the School, but was obviously deeply im- 
 pressed by it. The paper was handed found ; the boys were 
 delighted with it. It was kept, however, carefully out of sight 
 of the Doctor. The speech of the ambitious Frederick was re- 
 ported at great length in the columns, and specially recommended 
 to public perusal in a leader, which, curiously enough, bore some 
 resemblance to the style of the speech itself— at least Singleton 
 thought so. “ Tremendous cheers” were put in at due intervals. 
 
 Singleton told Selwyn that this was the Frederick who had 
 sent the supplies. Selwyn replied that it was just what might 
 be expected from such adoosed clever fellow. Temple hoped he 
 might never want a regalia. Both, however, agreed that it was 
 a pity he stuck up for the snobs, under which name they com- 
 prehensively included all who were not “ gentlemen’s sons.” 
 Singleton was amused at their political zeal. He began to see 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 47 
 
 what advantage lie had derived from his different culture. 
 Brought up by themselves, boys will learn to think soonest. In 
 fact, Singleton found he learned little or nothing at Oaken 
 Lodge. "The use of the place to him was more that of a gym- 
 nasium than of an academy. But it did him good ; and most of 
 all, by its bringing him in'contact with these boys. He had no 
 time to dream when he was at cricket. 
 
 In spite of the hate of learning which is all that at so many 
 schools boys learn, they have a kind of respect for it. Singleton 
 was liked for his proficiency in knowledge, perhaps as much as 
 for anything else. He had a knack of writing (as they called 
 it) which was found very serviceable in the production of themes ; 
 and of these, he sometimes turned out a dozen orthodox speci- 
 mens — with an old quotation and all, complete— in the course of 
 an evening. He crammed many of the fellows in their tasks, 
 and in fact it soon began to be popularly believed that Singleton 
 Fontenoy knew as much as the Doctor. This was a dangerous 
 and deadly heresy. Then, Singleton had not yet been caned. 
 Some of the boys started a notion that the Doctor was afraid to 
 cane him. From that time his position was critical. One or 
 two, who were jealous of him, shook their heads, and whispered 
 knowingly, “ Time would show,” “ Perhaps he’d stand a caning 
 as well as anybody.” 
 
 While this was a matter of speculation, an affair happened 
 which seemed likely to bring it to a speedy decision. The 
 Doctor’s edition of iEschylus will be remembered. Well, at 
 the time that celebrated work appeared (which was before 
 Singleton’s day), the “ Pimlico Be view” was in all its glory. 
 The “ Pimlico Beview” had been started originally to support 
 the Church (which it did in a most unchristian style), and to 
 maintain the cause of aristocracy, which it did by employing the 
 language of Billingsgate. Dr. Helot having, unhappily, a 
 leaning towards Whiggism, the Pimlico Beviewers found out 
 that he knew no Greek, and, in fact, massacred the work with 
 the most unscrupulous ferocity. 
 
 One day, Frederick Lepel, hunting up old books at Dun- 
 reddin, in a leisure hour, dropped upon this number, and with 
 his customary love of amusement, forwarded it to Singleton, at 
 Oaken Lodge. The boys, who now learned for the first time 
 that their preceptor had been an author, were charmed with the 
 article. The Doctor was treated in it with a contempt which 
 they of course thought exquisitely amusing. Selwyn perched 
 himself, one afternoon, shortly after its arrival, upon a pump in 
 the playground, and began reading it out aloud to an admiring 
 audience. 
 
 “ Listen here, my boys,” cried Selwyn, who had been caned 
 
48 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 that morning, and consequently was just in the humour for the 
 performance : — 
 
 “ ‘ As to this man Helot’s (listen to that !) remarks on the 
 Ellipsis, they are quite on a par with the rest of the per- 
 formance — fatiguing from their dulness, and offensive from their 
 ignorance.’ ” (There was a great laugh at this, when suddenly 
 a voice cried, “ The Doctor ! the Doctor ! ”) “ How, my boys,” 
 
 Selwyn was going on, when the portly figure of Dr. Helot was 
 observed coming up. He had divined from their gestures, that 
 something which partook of the nature of mischief was going 
 forward, and he held in his hand that cane which had so long 
 preserved discipline in Oaken Lodge. 
 
 “ What have we here?” he asked, approaching the pump. 
 Selwyn jumped down, amidst the eager glances of the crowd of 
 awestruck boys, and handed it to him. The Doctor, who was 
 short-sighted, held up the book to look at it, close to his eyes. 
 One little boy tittered — he could not help it. He was a comic 
 writer in embryo ! — The Doctor’s eye caught him. He caned 
 him as a preliminary. He then took a long look at the book, — 
 shut it, — opened it again, — shut it — took a pinch of snuff. Per- 
 haps that reminiscence of the olden time, in spite of its nature, 
 suggested pleasant thoughts ? Perhaps it brought to the old 
 pedagogue’s heart a tender recollection of the day when he 
 first met Mrs. Helot, and the black past was perhaps lighted by 
 that light ? 
 
 At all events, he took the book down from his eyes, and held 
 it in his hand by his side, very quietly, without any of the abrupt 
 gestures of indignation which his pupils expected. They could 
 not understand his feelings. But Singleton, with the quickness 
 of sympathy of which I have spoken before, did, and felt a pang 
 of compunction. 
 
 “Who gave you this ? ” said the Doctor to Selwyn, very 
 quietly. 
 
 Singleton came forward to anticipate him. (“How for it,” 
 thought some of the boys.) “ I did, sir,” he said, calmly. 
 
 The Doctor paused, as if in doubt. Singleton felt that he was 
 perhaps more hurt than angry. So he added, “ It was sent to 
 me without my wish or knowledge.” (“ Ah, the sneak ! ” 
 thought the jealous boys. Boys misunderstand one almost as 
 much as men.) 
 
 The Doctor said, “ I will retain it for the present,” and walked 
 away. The boys looked at each other. 
 
 “I say, old fellow,” said Selwyn to Singleton, “he’s only 
 waiting for a chance, now, to give it to you !” 
 
 Singleton laughed and coloured. 
 
 “ Will you stand it ?” asked one of the boys. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 49 
 
 Singleton saw, from the curiosity with which they all looked 
 up at him, as the inquiry was made, that something was ex- 
 pected from him, out of the common way. Here was a dignified 
 crisis ! 
 
 It now became the engrossing question in Oaken Lodge — 
 when Singleton Fontenoy would be caned P Was the Doctor 
 afraid P 
 
 Meanwhile, Singleton stood next Lalage in the “ Virgil class, 5 * 
 as usual. They looked over the same book. How Singleton 
 loved that dull task ! Delightful contiguity ! There was some- 
 thing in his affection for Lalage which he could not understand. 
 It was different from the reverential, familiar kindness he felt 
 towards Augusta Lepel. It had none of the heat which had 
 transiently radiated through his moral atmosphere when the fair 
 Circe crossed his orbit. Never had he attempted such a meta- 
 physical problem as its explanation ! It was spiritual more than 
 ardent. It was a flirtation of the soul. He thought often of 
 what she had said to him,— “we do not wake. 55 These were 
 pleasant mornings, when Singleton stood by her side, reading 
 Virgil ; and fancied that her breath was an air from the Elysian 
 Fields of which the poet spoke. 
 
 One morning Singleton had committed some slight offence, 
 and was ordered to learn by heart a hundred lines of Persius — a 
 poet who, perhaps, has never been understood properly since he 
 wrote, by anybody but Casaubon. (He has been edited often 
 enough, to be sure, but that has nothing to do with it.) Single- 
 ton was summoned to repeat them. He would probably have 
 been in a difficulty, when Lalage, gliding past the pulpit, dexter- 
 ously fastened a piece of paper to it ; Singleton saw that it con- 
 tained several of the lines suggestively arranged ; by cautiously 
 glancing at them, now and then, he got through the task safely. 
 Pleasant Lalage ! Had her father become cognizant of this, the 
 caning question would probably have been settled for ever. The 
 worthy Doctor, perhaps, was scarcely conscious that his daughter 
 was pretty, and in his care that she should be a scholar, had for- 
 gotten that she was a girl. 
 
 Now for a scene ; — and the sequel. 
 
 In Oaken Lodge, there was a garden ; in the garden, a shrub- 
 bery ; in the shrubbery, a summer-house. In the summer-house, 
 sat Lalage. It was a cold but sunny morning. She had a book 
 in her hand, which she played with, occasionally, as if it were a 
 fan. 
 
 The dead leaves on the gravel-walk fluttered. Singleton came 
 in. They used to meet here, now and then — to prepare the 
 lesson of the day. But the Doctor did not know this instance of 
 their zeal. 
 
 E 
 
so 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 “ Good morning, Lalage. Let me wrap your sliawl round 
 you.” 
 
 “ Are you cold ? ” 
 
 “ Not while I am with you.” 
 
 “ What will you do when you are away?” asked Lalage, 
 simply. Singleton had never thought of that. All he knew 
 was, that he had a feeling for her, something between friendship 
 and his love of the Pleiades. 
 
 “ I cannot think of that.” Lalage broke into a laugh. Single- 
 ton thought of lilies. 
 
 “ What are we reading, this morning?” he said with a smile. 
 
 “ The same as usual,” said Lalage, with a blush. 
 
 “ I wonder what the Naiads were ! ” said Singleton, opening 
 a topic. 
 
 “ It’s a curious subject,” said Lalage, absently. They were 
 advancing in their usual style ! And there now occurred one of 
 those fatal pauses, which used to embarrass them exceedingly. 
 
 “ I have been speculating lately on the ancient mythology,” 
 said the erudite Singleton, looking at Lalage and colouring — 
 though he could not understand why. “ I do not believe in the 
 theory which would have it that they deified the operations of 
 nature — that, for example, corn became Ceres ; or fountains, 
 because they were beneficent, Nymphs. They deified themselves, 
 I think. For example, Lalage, I think that some girl, like you, 
 (excuse the illustration, for the sake of philosophy !) looked, one 
 day, into a fountain, saw herself there, and, naturally enough, 
 believed that it was a Naiad ! ” 
 
 “Do you, really?” said Lalage, with great simplicity. “ Per- 
 haps it was so.” Lalage was the most delightful of pedants. 
 She was very grave and very pretty. To adopt an appropriate 
 illustration — she was an Elzevir edition of Minerva. 
 
 “Lalage,” said Singleton, after a little, “ you know what the 
 Sortes Virgiliance are, don’t you ? You dip into Virgil at ran- 
 dom, and the first sentence your eye catches, has a prophetic 
 reference to your destiny.” 
 
 “ The Persians have the same idea, and try it with Hafiz,” 
 said Lalage. 
 
 “Well, give me the Virgil, and we will try our fate,” pursued 
 Singleton, gently taking the book from her hand. Their fingers 
 met, and they both blushed and laughed again. 
 
 At this moment the bell rang for school, but they neither of 
 them heard it. 
 
 Singleton took the volume. “ Don’t do it !” said Lalage, 
 turning a little pale. 
 
 “Pshaw, Lalage,” he said, “are you so superstitious?” He 
 looked at her. She had lost her colour a little, and how beau* 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 51 
 
 tiful her rich blue eyes looked in contrast with the delicate pallor 
 of her cheek ! 
 
 He took the book in his left hand. He opened it suddenly, 
 and Lalage saw him blush and laugh again. 
 
 “What is it, Singleton ?” 
 
 “ Oh, nothing. What a stupid custom it is ! ” Lalage saw 
 that he had popped upon these apt words in the 8th Eclogue : — 
 
 . . . t( Quid non speremus amantes?’* 
 
 What may not we lovers hope ! 
 
 Singleton flung down the book on the seat and was silent* 
 But Lalage coloured and looked grave. 
 
 “It was only fun,” said Singleton, demurely, and fearing that 
 she was a little shocked. But it was a more serious feeling that 
 poor Lalage had ! Suddenly, her eyes seemed to double in lustre, 
 and Singleton saw a few bright tears on her cheek. At that 
 sight an electric emotion affected him. His boyish playfulness 
 was gone. He seized her hand, and pressed it to his lips, and he 
 felt his heart throb as if it were growing. 
 
 . . . There was a noise of voices, a rattling on the gravel walk, 
 a trampling and a hum ! They started, and in an instant they 
 saw from their summer-house — Dr. Helot, Mrs. Helot, the 
 usher, a servant-maid, and a throng of eager, astonished boys 
 approaching ! It was a crisis. The Doctor arrived first, with his 
 wondering train behind him. 
 
 He uttered no word. He quietly laid his hand on Singleton’s 
 shoulder and walked him away. The boys, in silent expectation, 
 scarcely breathing in the intensity of their excitement, attended 
 them. There was a faint cry behind, which Singleton knew to 
 be Lalage’s voice. At that sound he felt an emotion, — but it was 
 not fear. 
 
 The party gained the schoolroom. The door was shut. The 
 usher, a small, vulgar man, who had never liked Singleton, took 
 his seat. Singleton felt a determined tranquillity. It was a 
 moment of sublime emotion. Every nerve in his body was 
 screwed up to a pitch of intensity of which he could not have 
 believed his constitution capable. The eyes of all the boys were 
 upon him, and they saw the dark pupils of his blue eyes dilate, 
 and beam with a tranquil fire. Now was the time. His 
 reputation in the school for ever, depended upon his conduct 
 now. 
 
 The Doctor looked round the room, and placed Singleton in 
 the middle of the floor. Then he took his cane from its well- 
 known place, buttoned up his coat, took snuff, and drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 You have promoted insubordination in this school,” said the 
 
 E 3 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF MJNOIS 
 
52 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 Doctor ; “ you have assumed a position incompatible with your 
 place as a pupil ; and you have dared to tamper with the feelings 
 of my little girl Lai age.” 
 
 “ Your two first assertions are false, but let them pass. Your 
 last is false, and I repudiate it with disgust and disdain,” said 
 Singleton, his shrill voice ringing through the room, in tones 
 that made many a heart beat high. 
 
 The Doctor made a kind of rush towards him with his cane. 
 Singleton sprung at it, snatched it, flung it through the window 
 like a Parthian arrow. By a lucky chance, there was a heavy 
 ruler near him: he seized it, and bounded on a desk. The 
 boys near him made way. The Doctor advanced towards him. 
 
 “ Stop !” cried Singleton ; “if you dare disgrace me by your 
 touch, I will lay you lifeless !” 
 
 The Doctor stood speechless for a moment. Then recovering 
 himself, and drawing himself up, he said — 
 
 “ You are mad. You can stay here no more : you are ex- 
 pelled !” 
 
 There was a movement of astonishment through the school. 
 
 “ You may come down,” said the Doctor, calmly ; “ I will not 
 touch you.” 
 
 Singleton gave a short, bitter laugh. He descended, and flung 
 the ruler down. 
 
 “You must associate with these boys no more,” pursued 
 Dr. Helot. “ Till you leave, you must stay elsewhere. Follow 
 me.” 
 
 Singleton followed him mechanically, for his passion was sub- 
 siding, and a cold, sickly feeling of disgust succeeding to it. 
 They reached a room in another part of the building, a small, 
 ill-furnished chamber, facing the back part of the house ; and 
 there he was left — alone, and locked in. 
 
 It was a dull apartment. He looked out of the window : his 
 eye rested on a bleak paddock. The grass was short and scanty; 
 the hedges were bare and ragged ; the air was heavy and misty. 
 Ever alive to external circumstances, and apt from his organiza- 
 tion to be the slave of a cloud, or the lover of a rose, he was 
 acutely affected by the melancholy picture. And the revulsion 
 was coming upon him. He began to feel that dull ground-swell 
 of the emotions, heavy, tedious, and sickly, that comes after a 
 storm of passion : he gazed out of the window, feeling his hot 
 brow chilled by the cold touch of the glass. 
 
 How the glorious fancies of his youth had been profaned by 
 his anger ! All the poetry he knew seemed to reproach him for 
 such vulgar emotion. This was his first attempt at Action ; 
 and what a degradation ! — A schoolboy’s rebellion against a 
 pedagogue’s rod ! “Oh brave !” And what of Lalage ? ^ The 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N, 53 
 
 thought was too much for him : he put his hands to his face and 
 wept ; he pined and sickened in his miserable little room. 
 
 We are surrounded, after all, by the elements of comedy : every 
 Ophelia’s grave has its gravedigger. Singleton looked round 
 the room for a book ; he found one. By a refinement of cruelty, 
 unworthy of our age, the only book in that chamber was Dr. 
 Helot’s iEschylus ! Singleton, as he picked it up, burst into a 
 laugh. He looked into the Latin preface, which like composi- 
 tions of the kind, was made up in a harlequin style, of patches of 
 Latinity from the old authors. 
 
 While drearily perusing this, he heard something strike one of 
 the panes of the window. He ran to it, and flung it up. Scarcely 
 had he done so, when a stone flew past him, in, and fell upon the 
 floor. He picked it up ; it was wrapped round with white 
 paper ; he unrolled it, and read the following : — 
 
 “ You’re a brick ! I always said so. Jonesby thought per- 
 haps not : I said, certain. Old Helot’s quite floored : Ballidus 
 ird, as the grammar says. We’re carving it on the desks. 
 Where will you stop at Penguin for the coach P Somebody wants 
 to know. I am silent : real oak never splits. S.” 
 
 In this brief effusion, he had no difficulty in recognising the 
 genius of his friend Selwyn. The somebody must be Lalage. 
 Come what might, he could not leave the county without seeing 
 her again. 
 
 He recollected a pretty little inn in Penguin, called “ The 
 Nightingale’s Nest,” which, being of a fanciful nature, he had 
 stopped at, solely because it was so named. He had a pencil 
 in his pocket : he tore a blank leaf out of the iEschylus, wrote 
 this name upon it, adding that he would wait there, and availed 
 himself of the stone to throw it out of the window. By this 
 time it was getting dark. He had no fancy for sitting there in 
 the dark, during a winter’s night ; so he commenced a furious 
 ringing at the bell, and rushed out of the door as soon as it was 
 opened by the servant, who came to see what was the matter. 
 Descending, he met the Doctor ; and coolly telling him that he 
 was going, and that he should send for his luggage in the morn- 
 ing, 'rushed out of the house. No effort was made to detain so 
 desperate a character, and in a short time he found himself on 
 the road to Penguin — that road where, not very many weeks 
 before, he had met Lalage. 
 
 . Selwyn stole out after him, and, running up, put his hand on 
 his shoulder. Singleton was somewhat affected to see him, and 
 shook hands with him heartily. 
 
 “ Bravo, Fontenoy ; you’re a good fellow. By Jove, how you 
 gave it him ! But your governor won’t lick you when you get 
 home, will he ?” 
 
54 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N, 
 
 Singleton laughed at the bare idea of his dignified parent’s 
 condescending to anything of the sort. For, indeed, Mr. Fon- 
 tenoy of Heatherby, though under certain circumstances he 
 would have let a son starve, would have no more struck him 
 than he would have voted to bring in a Whig for the county. 
 
 “No fear of that, Selwyn. I wish you would come with me : 
 we should have capital fun.” 
 
 Selwyn shook his head mournfully. 
 
 “ That’s no go, old boy, I’m afraid.” 
 
 He was one of nine children of a strict old general officer on 
 half-pay, younger son of an ancient and honourable but poor 
 family, and was obliged to be very cautious and particular. 
 
 “ Could you come on to Penguin, and be back in time for bed- 
 time ? He does not know you are with me ?” 
 
 “ Yes, I think so, if we make haste.” 
 
 “ Come along, then, and by Jove I’ll send a cold goose back 
 to the schoolroom fellows for a present!” cried Singleton, and 
 away they ran. They ran with the utmost speed, and were 
 nearly out of breath by the time they reached the inn, having 
 accomplished the journey by alternate fits of walking and running 
 violently. 
 
 Singleton ordered some dinner and wine, and then they began 
 to talk about Lalage. Selwyn was quiet and sensible, and rather 
 surprised Singleton by the tact and sense he showed in speaking 
 on the matter. The truth is, he was one of those young gentle- 
 men everywhere to be met with now-a-days, who take extraordi- 
 nary pains, not to cultivate really promising abilities. I class 
 the wasting of good talents among the decided phenomena of 
 our day. 
 
 “ Lalage would like to see you before you go, I dare say. It’s 
 quite natural, and I don’t see how it’s improper. The Doctor is 
 angry just now, and unreasonable. If she did not see you, she 
 would likely pine and mope ; if she does, you bid her good-bye, 
 and part with a fair understanding. Lalage’s a good girl,” said 
 the youthful Selwyn, thoughtfully. “ I don’t understand her 
 myself.” He was silent, and Singleton thanked him. 
 
 Dinner was brought. Selwyn had dined, but attacked some 
 wine, and went on talking, with many an anxious look at the 
 clock. Time was jogging on. Selwyn’s eyes twinkled patheti- 
 cally, as he sipped his wine. 
 
 “ I wish I was like you, old fellow. Somehow what I’ve 
 learnt at old Helot’s isn’t the same use to me. Hang it, I should 
 like to do some good — well, we shall see. I think I must be 
 going,” he said, for the tenth time ; and then hesitating, blush- 
 ing, and blundering, as the English always do when they are 
 going to say a sincere and affectionate thing. He went on. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 55 
 
 “ I’m sorry to part with you, old boy. I always liked you from 
 the first. The fact is, do you know — you’re a little like a sister a 
 mine in the face !” Singleton blushed, and laughed merrily. 
 They got the cold roast goose, and wrapped him in ample 
 folds of newspaper. Singleton made Selwyn take a parting 
 glass of wine, accompanied him to the door, shook hands, — and 
 away went his school friend. 
 
 He returned in a gloomy mood to the coffee-room. Two gen- 
 tlemen (commercial gentlemen, that is) had stationed themselves 
 before the fire, and drawn up their chairs to make themselves 
 comfortable. Both had bushy and glossy whiskers ; both wore 
 showy trousers, with very wide stripes. They talked party 
 politics, and discussed the corn laws fluently enough. They 
 abused the landlords, and inveighed against rents. They sneered 
 at the Church, and panegyrised the cotton trade. Each had read 
 the “ Corn Law Catechism,” and had heard of Bentham. Each had 
 a fluent tongue, and great hardihood of assertion ; so that, for 
 aught I know to the contrary, each may by this time be a 
 “ leader ” of the people, and looking to a seat in the Cabinet. 
 
 They made room for Singleton with much politeness. He sat 
 down by the fire, glad to get a chance of escaping from the 
 tyranny of his thoughts. 
 
 “ Things are very bad in the North, sir,” said one of the tra- 
 vellers, civilly. 
 
 “ I am afraid so,” Singleton replied. 
 
 “ And particularly in Bockshire (this was Singleton’s county). 
 Nothing but turnings out, stopped mills, and riots.” 
 
 “ Ah, the landowners there is a bad lot,” said the other tra- 
 veller. (Singleton winced slightly.) “ I know the country well, 
 from Bleartown to Husk dale.” 
 
 “ I have often thought it a pity that the aristocracy do not 
 take more pains to assert their position and discharge its duties,” 
 said Singleton, thoughtfully. 
 
 “ Oh, their day’s gone by, gone by, sir,” said the first speaker, 
 shaking his head with a calm smile. 
 
 “ Why gone by P” said Singleton. “ I see no reason why it 
 should be gone by, more than the day of the merchant or the 
 lawyer. Their race is not degenerate any more than those of 
 the other classes in the nation. They have great property, which 
 cannot be taken from them, more than that of the cotton lords 
 or the bankers. Their order is acquiring a perpetual accession 
 of strength. What they want is an impulse from within.” 
 
 “ But the institution, sir P” 
 
 “ What of it ?” asked our hero, who was at that age when we 
 sometimes get pugnacious in argument whether our heart be in 
 the cause or not. 
 
5 G 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 “ Why — it had its origin in barbarous times. 
 
 “ As to that,” said Singleton, quickly, and tossing off a thimble - 
 fall of sherry with the air of a large proprietor, “ as to origin in 
 barbarous times — so had religion, so had monarchy, bo had filial 
 affection, oratory, and law, and half the divine things the world 
 possesses. The question is, what are barbarous times ? Besides, 
 aristocracy has changed its forms since then, and is adapting 
 itself to new times ; and the spirit of it being true, or profoundly 
 natural (which is the same thing), a change in form is all that is 
 necessary to it. Why, factories and their institutions had their 
 origin in what you call civilized times, and pretty institutions 
 they are !” 
 
 “ To look at it in the abstract,” began the traveller, with a 
 corn-law-lecturer air. 
 
 “ Why not in the concrete ?” said Singleton, wickedly. 
 
 The traveller’s face assumed a puzzled expression; but he 
 recovered himself, and began a long harangue. Singleton’s eyes 
 were fixed on the fire. A strange feeling came over him. The 
 red coals seemed swimming. Suddenly he fancied he saw 
 Lalage in the room. A wondrous oblivion succeeded : — some- 
 thing touched him on the shoulder. He started up. The fire 
 was low. A waiter was by his side. The travellers’ chairs 
 were empty ! 
 
 “It’s nearly twelve o’clock, sir. Your bedroom’s quite 
 ready.” 
 
 Oh, Jupiter ! Oh, Somnus ! Oh, shameful want of breeding ! 
 Oh, gross dereliction of gentlemanly duty ! The youth of my 
 hero must be his excuse, for this breach of all politeness. He 
 had fallen asleep in the middle of the traveller’s harangue ! 
 
 Three days passed, and Singleton was still in “ The Nightin- 
 gale’s Nest.” His luggage had arrived next morning, and no 
 doubt Dr. Helot thought that he had long since departed for 
 Huskdale, per coach. But Singleton, we see, still lingered. 
 He could not go about much, for fear the Doctor should hear 
 that he was in the neighbourhood. So he stayed in, read the 
 newspapers, scribbled verses, wrote to his friend Fred Lepel, 
 and looked at himself in the glass. 
 
 But “ Nemesis favours genius,” as Mr. Disraeli has it, and as 
 any one may learn who chooses, as Juvenal says — 
 
 unum civem donare SibyUaef 
 
 To add one reader to his “ Sybil’ s’* lot. 
 
 (a pun which is at the service of any diner-out of the higher 
 class). On the fourth day, the landlady, a portly, and what is 
 
 * See Goodwin’s book on Political Philosophy, 
 t Juvenal, Sat. iii, 3. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 57 
 
 called a “motherly” female, that is to say, she was big enough 
 to whip ten children efficiently, came to Singleton with a smile 
 of mystery, and whispered that a young lady was asking for 
 him. Singleton blushed fire, and stammered out a muttered 
 request for some room to see her in. 
 
 “ My own parlour has a fire in it,” said the landlady, in a 
 kindly tone, and led the way to a neat little room, where 
 Singleton waited with the most intense anxiety and ner- 
 vousness. 
 
 In came Lalage. What a smile, and how rosy she locked ! 
 The weather was very cold, but no frost could blight the 
 roses in her cheek, any more than it could the violets in her 
 eyes. 
 
 “ How are you ?” said Singleton, delighted ; and she came up 
 to the fire, and took her pretty white hands out of her muff, and 
 warmed them there. 
 
 “ Hush,” said Lalage, “ I have come to Penguin, on business 
 for papa. He thinks you are away.” 
 
 “ This is very sad, Lalage,” said Singleton, with a mournful 
 air. 
 
 Lalage sat down, and pushed back her bonnet, so that her 
 brown ringlets tumbled forward. She smiled a little, and 
 Singleton long remembered the peculiar sweetness that 
 played across her mouth. But it vanished immediately, and she 
 spoke. 
 
 “I came, determined to preserve my calmness,” she said, 
 sadly, “ but I cannot pretend that I am not very sorry we are to 
 part.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Lalage. I wish I could express how miserable 
 I am. I was right when I said we were both dreamers. W e 
 have wandered among the Elysian shades, and we are passing 
 out of the ivory portal.” 
 
 “ Ah, we shall never discuss a lesson again !” said Lalage. 
 
 “I shall never forget what I have learned from you,” said 
 Singleton. 
 
 “ The future is all dark,” said Lalage. 
 
 “We are both young. You stand to me for all that is divine 
 in nature. You are to me a religion. I shall turn towards you 
 when I kneel to pray,” said Singleton. 
 
 And so these young dreamers proceeded. Fools will think 
 they were mad, but wise men will see that they were only unfor- 
 tunate. For wise men dream, and fools only snore. 
 
 “ Lalage, I love you with my soul. I plight you my faith. 
 A little time and we shall meet again.” 
 
 They joined hands. 
 
 An hour had passed. It was over, and Lalage was gone. 
 
58 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 Singleton sat by himself and mused. He had nothing to 
 detain him now in this part of the world, so he determined to go 
 home, and accordingly took his place in that night’s coach to 
 Huskdale. . 
 
 It was winter, and such a bitter winter as is only seen in these 
 northern regions. The roads were almost paved with hard and 
 glittering ice, and dark and wild they seemed to him as he was 
 whirled along, save where the roaring fire of some blacksmith’s 
 forge cast a red glare upon the way. 
 
 The moon rose, sharp, clear, and of a pale gold. Singleton 
 saw through the coach windows one of the most beautiful appear- 
 ances of external nature — moonlight upon snow. Moonlight on 
 the sea is rich, various, and brilliant ; on the snow it has an 
 appearance exquisitely delicate, but melancholy. It lights and 
 tinges with a tender hue the cold masses which it cannot melt. 
 Beautiful and ineffectual type of a higher heavenly light, that so 
 often falls powerless on the world ! 
 
 Singleton, whose only fellow-passenger inside was a benevo- 
 lent and intellectual-looking old gentleman, a quaker of Kendal, 
 slept during the night, miserably and restlessly. In the morning 
 his companion, after the interchange of a few civil phrases, said 
 smilingly — 
 
 “ Thou thinkest much of the ancients, young friend ?” 
 
 “ I scarcely know,” answered our hero, surprised ; “ why P” 
 
 “ Thou didst frequently murmur ‘ Lalage’ last night.” 
 Singleton coloured, and muttered something about “ dreams.” 
 His eyes were dull and heavy. Poor boy ! He had been 
 crying in his sleep. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 But thou, — what dost thou here, 
 
 In the old man’s peaceful hall ? 
 
 Macaulay. Prophecy of Capys. 
 
 “ Frederick,” said Mrs. Lepel to her hopeful son, “ could 
 not you make it convenient to receive that deputation to-morrow 
 in the kitchen?” 
 
 Xow the patriot ought to have been, considering his position 
 and professions generally, rather indignant at this proposal, but 
 he had far too keen a relish for fun to be anything of the sort. 
 So he jumped from the ottoman, -where he was lounging with a 
 book in his hand, and burst into a loud laugh. This laugh, 
 indeed, was unusually hearty for Frederick, and proved by that 
 fact alone that it was indulged at somebody’s expense. For he 
 
* SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 59 
 
 most enjoyed laughter, as Diogenes enjoyed wine, at the cost of 
 others. 
 
 “ Why, mamma, that would scarcely do, I am afraid. You 
 are facetious this evening.” 
 
 “Well, I tell you, Fred, the last deputation (so the servants 
 say) was almost an irruption. The state of the parlour was 
 something terrific. One member of the deputation, in point- 
 ing out the beauties of your grandmother, whose portrait 
 (one of Gainsborough’s best) is over the fireplace, touched it 
 with the end of his stick. If she had lived to see that company 
 there ! ” 
 
 “ And,” added Augusta, “my Views of the East, which un- 
 fortunately lay on the table open, bear the mark of some gigantic 
 thumb.” And she laughed, for Augusta, believing her brother 
 quite earnest and honest in his political deeds, and being too 
 sensible and too good to have any affectations which would 
 interfere with what seemed right, bore no ill-will against the 
 thumb in question, or its owner. Too good, I say, for it maybe 
 remarked that affectation as often comes from badness as from 
 silliness of character ; and thus, reader, when you see a very 
 affected person, besides being pretty sure (which you no doubt 
 will be) that he is a fool, you may also feel tolerably certain that 
 he is a rogue. Whence or wherefore P Because mere vanity 
 alone will not make a person affected. Affectation implies a dis- 
 regard of the feelings of others, and very often a thorough design 
 to hurt them. 
 
 Frederick had become almost a public character. His speech 
 at the great meeting had gone through the empire. Newspapers 
 commented on him ; pamphleteers abused him. Although, 
 of course, he could not expect to engage long the attention 
 of the country, yet he made a far more intense impression 
 on his own neighbourhood. In Huskdale, for example, he 
 became a personage. The Radicals thought they had discovered 
 a new leader. The liberality of his sentiments made him popular. 
 He even began to mix secretly with some of the more dangerous 
 democrats, who are to be found in England, as well as in other 
 countries — Frenchmen who have invented pikes for resisting 
 cavalry, and Polish refugees who have a project for blowing up 
 Westminster Bridge, at a cost of ten and sixpence. There are 
 many such strange characters to be met with by the philo- 
 sophical, from enthusiasts who have arranged everything about 
 the Provisional Government except how to establish it, — to calcu- 
 lators who propose to destroy the Oligarchy, by the agency of 
 penny subscriptions. Now Frederick was only a Radical “ Nor.- 
 JS'or.-West.” In tendency, he certainly belonged to the 
 “ Manchester School,” but .primarily he was neither a Whig, 
 
60 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 Tory, nor Eadical, but a Frederick Lepel. He loved progress, 
 but be also loved bimself ; and perhaps would have cared little 
 for the march of intellect, if he thought there was no chance of 
 his being at the head of it, or at least carrying a colour. Then 
 he had a due regard for his family position into the bargain, and 
 though very indifferent to ancestry, birth, and so on, and quite 
 careless about the possession of these advantages in his asso- 
 ciates, still it was the fact, that he came from a very good 
 family. He could not help it. It was not his fault. But such 
 was the fact, and people knew it. 
 
 In truth, perhaps, it may be said of this young gentleman, 
 that, as some youths go to sea, not because nature at all destined 
 them for sailors, but simply from a love of adventure, and a vague 
 idea of doing something wonderful — so he embarked in agitation 
 from a distaste for the regular hum- drum course of life. Since his 
 return, he had seen quite enough of the young gentlemen in neat 
 shooting-coats, who wandered about the country, with scarcely 
 a question but “Do you hunt?” in their mouths, and scarcely 
 an idea beyond it in their heads, to be quite sure that their 
 society and occupations would not be sufficient for him. Then a 
 great part of his youth, as we know, had been spent in travel, 
 which had made him acquainted with remarkable men. His 
 mind was powerful, and what is even more important, active. 
 He had read and speculated a great deal. 
 
 The reader has doubtless set him down as without principle. 
 But we must remember that now-a-days principle is a kind of 
 ballast, like the ballast in a balloon, which must be thrown over- 
 board if the traveller wishes to rise. It keeps you steady, but it 
 keeps you down. Again, it must not be supposed that he had 
 no good points. He was very good-natured, and (to U3e the 
 balloon illustration again) if he had found it necessary to throw 
 you out after the ballast, he would have delayed it to the last 
 moment, and treated you with the utmost kindness till the fatal 
 time. If he was capable of vices, he had no meanness, and that 
 is something to sav for him in these days. Finally, we must 
 remember the age in which he was born, and the circumstances 
 disadvantageous to education set forth in the motto prefixed to 
 this part of my work. These act differently on different minds, 
 and while some are made by them only unhappy, others are 
 made mischievous. 
 
 “ Well, Fred, you will keep your friends in order, then/’ said 
 his mother, resuming the conversation. 
 
 Mr. Lepel, meanwhile, who had been snoozing on the sofa in 
 a retired part of the room, woke up. 
 
 “ Fred,” he said, “ have you thought over our conversation 
 some time ago ? ” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 61 
 
 “ Yes,” answered Frederick ; ‘‘but the landed interest ques- 
 tion must be deferred for the present.” 
 
 His father looked at him rather hard and curiously. 
 Frederick’s face had a grave and serious expression. 
 
 “ By the bye,” continued Mr. Lepel, raising himself com- 
 pletely from his post-prandial nap, “ By the bye, Fred, I was 
 having a good deal of talk about you to-day. There was Mr. 
 Fontenoy, Mr. Beaconsfield, old Mr. Pierrepoint, several other 
 of the county people, and one Captain Slug from the — ths at 
 
 Huskdale. They were talking about Butter ” 
 
 “ Le pauvre homme /” drawled Frederick with a sneer. 
 “Well,” pursued his father, with as near an approach to a 
 dry smile as a very amiable countenance would permit, “ they 
 began to speak of your political debut. Begard for the people 
 they all thought well enough ; but they thought it a pity you 
 should have taken such a decided Badical part, particularly” — 
 here Mr. Lepel’s words received a slight emphasis, — “ as, had 
 your wish to enter public life been known, Lord Clangour might 
 have done something for you.” 
 
 Frederick’s face was visited by a slight evidence of emotion. 
 “And particularly,” continued his father, watching him 
 curiously still, “ as the Chartists — a large section of the Badicals, 
 as you know — look with great jealousy on such coups from such 
 as you, and are said to be moving about it.” 
 
 Here Frederick began to grow more and more anxious. 
 
 “ And still more,” his father went on, impressively, “ since, 
 at all events, the movement caused by the bad state of the 
 country is virtually at an end. For I have it on the best au- 
 thority, that everything will be put to rights immediately ; that 
 the leaders of the meditated risings are to be seized and tried ; 
 that, in a word, the thing’s done.” 
 
 Frederick jumped to his feet, with a start. “You might, I 
 think, have told me this before. I wish you all good night!” 
 And so saying, he left the drawing-room, and gained his own 
 room. He presently, also, sent down word that he did not feel 
 well ; and next morning his indisposition appeared to exist still, 
 for he was unable to see the deputation above mentioned, which 
 consisted of some operatives wishing his aid to found a literary 
 institute in Huskdale, in opposition to the existing establish- 
 ments of the same kind. 
 
 Curiously enough, he recovered in the afternoon, and came 
 downstairs. He then set off to Huskdale, and made several 
 calls upon political friends, from most of whom he heard ac- 
 counts quite confirmatory of what his father had said the night 
 before. The truth is, that the “ crisis” was taking a favourable 
 turn; and after various “strikes,” “riots,” “ turns-out,” and 
 
62 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 other phenomena of the saturnalia of labour, things were settling- 
 down into the old state once more, and the “ difficulty” called 
 “ condition of England” was about to be postponed for another 
 period of years. 
 
 Frederick, -with his head full of disgust and disappointment, 
 stepped out of a house in Mammon Street, where lie had been 
 having a long conversation with one of the Town Council, a 
 violent Radical ; and marched towards the office of the “ Husk- 
 dale Courier,” his apparent connection with which had so asto- 
 nished his friends Singleton, Farquhar, &c. But before he got 
 there (where, as we shall see, bad news awaited him),' another 
 disagreeable event happened. He was recognised by some 
 groups of idlers, the chaotic elements of that extraordinary mass, 
 a Huskdale mob, and violently hooted. The history of Husk- 
 dale, in a political point of view, is the history of mobs (as 
 Bulwer Lytton says that of Paris is). Somebody is always being 
 hooted there, and all cannot bear that operation with the 
 equanimity of Mr. Rutter, secure as he is in the consciousness 
 of innocence, and a living of £2,000 per annum. 
 
 It is a curious and certain fact, that of all classes of mankind, 
 none despise the public so heartily as demagogues and actors* 
 who have no existence except by its breath. Frederick felt an 
 emotion of disgust hard to describe at this sign of his declining 
 popularity, and walked on with a curse sticking in his throat, to 
 which nothing but his usual hardihood of contempt prevented 
 him from giving hearty utterance. 
 
 “ ’Gad,” he muttered, as he gained another part of the town, 
 “ it is lucky I am no enthusiast, or this would sicken me pretty 
 well ! The ‘ aura 'pojpularis V Pshaw ! It smells like a drain ! ” 
 
 With knit brow and iron sneer, he marched on towards the 
 office of the “ Huskdale Courier.” AYe have mentioned that 
 this was a leading Liberal print, but the truth is, that though, 
 from long standing, it had a great name, its reputation of late 
 had been its chief value. The rivalry of the “ Ranter,” whose 
 democracy was of a darker hue, had damaged its sale. Frederick 
 had with his usual energy, at the commencement of his career, 
 purchased this journal for the sum of £500, which he could not 
 ask his father for, but which he had paid in the form of two 
 bills of £250, one at three months, and another at six. He had 
 talents for business, but he had a love of daring for the sake of 
 daring, which (and he was young yet, we must remember) had 
 had a good deal to do with this speculation. He had written in 
 it for a few numbers with considerable vigour and freshness, 
 astonishing the steady old subscribers by theories which they could 
 not understand, and quotations which they could not translate. 
 
 He reached the door. The office was empty. He went up to 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 63 
 
 the editorial room. It was bare ! Startled and anxious, he 
 ascended another pair of stairs, but was met by a body of men 
 carrying the machine — the actual printing-machine — down, 
 piece by piece ! 
 
 “ Why — what the devil’s to do, here?” cried Lepel, angrily. 
 
 At the sound of his voice, a young fellow who had been long 
 employed in the office, came running to him. He was a poor 
 honest drudge, who had owed his bread to work in this 
 place during several dynasties of editors. He was looking 
 very frightened — 
 
 “ Why, Tanner, what’s the matter?” asked Lepel. 
 
 “ Can’t you see, sir ? Oh ! can’t you see ?” he said, seeming 
 on the verge of crying. 
 
 “ What is it?” 
 
 “It’s an execootion, sir,” cried the poor fellow. How, though 
 he lost his bread by this event, it is a fact that he felt for Lepel’s 
 loss, and perhaps pitied him the most. 
 
 The true state of the case was this. Lepel had bought the 
 affair in utter ignorance of a previous lien on the property, the 
 existence of which had been fraudulently concealed from him by 
 the vendor ! That enterprising trader having secured the bills, 
 was speedily non est inventus . The mortgagee stepped in, — and 
 voila tons ! 
 
 Some young men in Frederick’s position would have 
 raged and stormed — some would have been prostrated — 
 some would have gone away and got drunk ; and some 
 would have become maudlin. Frederick was Frederick 
 still. Three words taught him the whole affair. He gave the 
 calmest business directions to the men ; saw the house gutted 
 tranquilly. His genius and his courage remained calm and 
 triumphant, amidst the ruins of the first ambitious hopes of his 
 youth. He saw how completely he was done, — saw the villany 
 of it, — laughed at what was comic in it, — and changed his whole 
 plans in a few moments’ breathing time. 
 
 A quarter of an hour brought all the employes of the estab- 
 lishment round him. He seated himself on a small stool, which 
 was left in one of the rooms, and very briefly addressed them. 
 With pencil and a note-book, he glanced over some small un- 
 settled accounts. He paid them at once. 
 
 “ I now,” he said in his usual brief, terse way, “ wash my 
 hands of journalism, and I wash them clean.” 
 
 The employes went away, melancholy, and admiring his cool- 
 ness. Lepel was left alone in the desolate house. He looked 
 out of the windows, and saw the thick veils of smoke gloomily 
 sailing over the town. “ Curse the place !” he muttered. “ I 
 think I shall go to Paris again, for a month. A brave people 
 
64 Singleton eontenoy, e.n. 
 
 these, who dare do nothing against a government of fools, but 
 bluster and lie ! ” 
 
 Then he execrated the rogue who had swindled him, — but of 
 course never considered whether his own projects had been right, 
 when tried by a moral standard. 
 
 He suddenly heard a step in the room, and turning round, he 
 saw there a figure he knew. This was a short, melancholy- 
 looking man, in shabby black, originally a mute by profession, 
 but who, being cursed with a literary taste (than which nothing, 
 by the way, can be more fatal to a small trader or labourer), had 
 taken to writing. The former proprietors of the “ Courier” had 
 retained his services at the rate of a dinner and two glasses of 
 brandy-and-water daily, to do the leading-article department. 
 Lepel had degraded him to an inferior post, for he did not 
 admire his style, — which, indeed, was tinged with the melan- 
 choly characteristic of his early avocations. 
 
 “What, — Mr. Lakker,” said Lepel, briskly; “come to arrange 
 the funeral of the ‘ Courier’ eh P” 
 
 “ You are facetious, sir,” said Lakker, mournfully. “This is 
 a sad business. — And just as I meditated sir, asking you for the 
 loan of half a sovereign in advance— which is now, of course,” 
 said Mr. Lakker, looking at him, with a hesitating glance, 
 “ impossible.” 
 
 Lepel smiled, determined to make the advance in question, 
 but he mentally resolved to talk to Mr. Lakker for a little, 
 first, as a matter of amusement and study. How much was 
 kindness, how much wrong in this, the reader must decide for 
 himself. 
 
 “ I have certainly been nicely taken in, Mr. Lakker, but it 
 csn’t be helped. How, what shall you do, Mr. Lakker, if it’s a 
 fair question ?” 
 
 Lakker, who had had some experience of life, saw that the 
 half-sovereign was forthcoming, so went on in good spirits. 
 
 “ I shall resume my proper department of literature, sir,” he 
 said, raising himself a little. 
 
 “ Ah, indeed !” 
 
 “Yes, sir — Epitaphs ! ” 
 
 “ Epitaphs ! — You surprise me.” 
 
 “ Yes, sir — epitaphs — the true ‘ sermons in stones,’ Mr. Lepel ! 
 Who, sir, has ever wandered in our English churchyards, with- 
 out perceiving the gross literary deficiencies of the surviving 
 relatives of this realm ! Hot only is there an absence of that 
 neatness of expression which distinguishes the high class of 
 epitaphs, but there is, sir, almost constantly, a gross abundance 
 of errors in sense and spelling. Is this decent F Is it respectful 
 to the departed ? Is it,” said Mr. Lakker, becoming enthusi- 
 
SINGLETON FGNTENOY, R.N. 
 
 65 
 
 astic, “ worthy of an enlightened age ? Shall we be careful in 
 our newspapers, and negligent on our tombstones ? Shall we 
 teach our peasantry spelling, and bury them without it ? Shall 
 we be learned by the fireside, and illiterate at the grave P — Sir, 
 I early perceived this rank abuse, and I exerted myself to rectify 
 it ! I put myself in communication with various statuaries, and 
 engaged to supply — for a proper but moderate remuneration — 
 proper inscriptions.” 
 
 Lepel was charmed. “ You deserve great credit, upon my 
 honour, Mr. Lakker,” he said ; “ but give me an example. Is it 
 not difficult to deal with such a variety of persons as you must 
 have to write epitaphs for, and, pardon me, are you not apt to 
 repeat yourself ?” 
 
 “ Mankind is fallible,” said Lakker, with a sigh. “ Some 
 people have thought so. Statuaries, sir, I am sorry to say, have 
 made the observation ! ” 
 
 “ Neatness of expression is rare, but very delightful in such 
 compositions,” said Lepel, suggestively. 
 
 “You may say so, sir.” Here Mr. Lakker pulled out some 
 papers from his pocket. — “ For example, Mr. Lepel, Mary Bou- 
 cher is a tradesman’s daughter. I ask her character. I am told 
 she was virtuous to an extraordinary degree. Do I state the 
 plain fact ? No. I write thus : 
 
 MARY BOUCHER. 
 
 WHOSE VIRTUES 
 
 DELIGHTED THE LIVES OF OTHERS, 
 
 AND ADORNED HER OWN. 
 
 “Neat, sir, eh?” said Mr. Lakker. 
 
 Frederick could have roared with laughter, “Capital, Mr. 
 Lakker,”' he cried. 
 
 “ It has its difficulties, sir, this employment, like others. Some 
 people expect far too much for their money. Widows are out- 
 rageous sometimes.” 
 
 “ But if the deceased has been outrageously bad, Mr. 
 Lakker?” 
 
 “ There is the triumph of the art, sir. — Ah,” exclaimed the 
 epitaph writer, “ if I could write ’em in Latin, sir ! That w T ould 
 bring in money ! So many people like to put an inscription 
 over the defunct, that he could not have read if he had been 
 alive!” 
 
 Lepel here looked at his watch, and saw that it was getting 
 late, and he then gave Mr. Lakker a sovereign, saying that he 
 might repay it any time — it was of no consequence ; and so that 
 gentleman seemed to think also, for he never, I believe, troubled 
 himself on the subject afterwards 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 It was about five as Lepel sauntered away from tbe house, 
 musing upon his position — upon the bills to be met — upon the 
 sudden check, in short, that he had encountered, in the opening 
 of his career. He began to think that his ambition must find 
 some other way ; but this was a matter for long reflection. Mean- 
 while, he was young ! With brains, courage, and fortune, what 
 need he care? Then it occurred to him that there was 
 something glorious even in difficulties. Perhaps, also, he 
 had too much neglected pleasure— a dangerous but delightful 
 thought. 
 
 His carriage became more erect ; his eye brightened ; he 
 clenched his hand and shook his arm as he walked along. Draw- 
 ing near the George, he saw a knot of young fellows assembled 
 there, at the entrance to the yard. They had been out hunting. 
 One or two were in pink ; their faces were ruddy with health ; 
 they talked away lightly and good-naturedly. They were smoking 
 cigars, and discussing the run. “ Would any of them change 
 places with me?” thought Lepel, as he glanced at them. “ Hang 
 it, what’s the good of brains if one cannot get oneself envied ?” 
 
 Meanwhile, the group observed him approaching, “ There’s 
 Fred Lepel,” said one of them. 
 
 “ Indeed,” said a dark young man, eagerly. “ That’s him, is 
 it ?” and he raised his eye-glass. 
 
 “ Yery clever, isn’t he ?” 
 
 “ I believe so.” 
 
 “ Oh, of course. Ah, how are you, Fred P” Here Lepel 
 came up to them. He was apparently in capital spirits ; he was 
 pleasant and talkative ; he inquired about the run. In short, he 
 made himself as agreeable as possible. 
 
 “We have all been watching you lately,” said the dark young 
 man, with a slight bow. 
 
 “ Oh,” said Lepel, carelessly. “ Too much honour. I’ve 
 been having a run. Capital pace, but nothing caught. I am 
 going to drop politics, I think.” 
 
 The dark young man seemed more interested in this than one 
 would have expected. He started a little, and looked curiously 
 at Lepel. 
 
 “ Have you heard that the ‘ Courier ’s dead ?” said Lepel, 
 suddenly, for it had just occurred to him that he might as well set 
 a proper story afloat on the subject before rumours began to go 
 round. “ It’s defunct, sir. The proprietor has levanted. There’s 
 a screw loose, I believe.” 
 
 “ Why, we thought, — ” began one of the young men, hesi- 
 tatingly. Lepel saw the forming sentence, while it was yet in 
 the womb of time. 
 
 “ That I had something to do with it, eh ? There are always 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 67 
 
 false rumours about ; but never mind business. So you met at 
 Grorse End, eh?” 
 
 Tbe group now broke into two knots for a few moments. 
 Lepel talked to Harry Pierrepoint, brother of the Ellen of whom 
 mention has been made before. 
 
 Meanwhile one of the party said to the young man with the 
 eye-glass, “ Why do you bore yourself about his politics or pro- 
 jects, hang them?” Eor this was a youth who, not caring to 
 cultivate his own talents, was jealous of those who did. “ Tush, 
 tush, my good Langley, you do not know the world yet,” said 
 his companion. 
 
 “ My sister is over with Augusta,” said Pierrepoint to Fre- 
 derick. 
 
 “ Oh, indeed ; it’s very kind of her. By the bye, who’s that 
 fellow P We were not introduced,” whispered Lepel. 
 
 “Were you not? That’s a cousin of Belden, Lord Clan- 
 gour’s son.” 
 
 Lepel suppressed a “ whew.” It was awkward ; for his re- 
 cent proceedings must have appeared rather extraordinary to 
 that family. He thought suddenly of the interest the youth had 
 shown in what he said, and inwardly admired his tact. 
 
 Shortly afterwards he parted with these young gentlemen, 
 and went home to dinner, where everybody thought him in very 
 high spirits ; so much so, that his father (who had of late been 
 trying to study him) felt somewhat afraid that he had been 
 playing some dangerous game, with dangerous success. 
 
 In the drawing-room he seated himself next Ellen Pierrepoint, 
 and having asked his sister to play something, commenced a low, 
 whispering dialogue. Ellen was bending over a beautiful vo- 
 lume of “Views of the East,” full of gorgeous illustrations by an 
 artist of great genius, and accompanied by some letterpress de- 
 scriptions of the scenes by Higg, who, having gone up the Nile 
 with a small carpet-bag, swaggered in print about his retinue, 
 his luggage, his dragomen, &c. 5 in a style worthy of the “ Ara- 
 bian Sights.” 
 
 “ My sister has brought me a beautiful album from London,” 
 said Ellen. “ Will you write something for me? Langley has 
 written me some beautiful lines, beginning — 
 
 * Go, lovely Eose !* ** 
 
 “ Indeed,” said Frederick ; “ do you remember how they run ?” 
 
 Ellen put on a pretty puzzled look, which wrinkled her little 
 white forehead with lines as delicate as the veins of a rose. 
 “ Let me think. 
 
 “ * Go, lovely Eose! 
 
 Tell her that wastes her time and me— 
 
 That now she knows — * n 
 
 f 2 
 
68 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N, 
 
 Lepel laughed. 44 4 Now she knows !’ That’s very good. 
 What does she know? That the lines are Waller’s.” Frederick 
 did not care for poetry (except satirical poetry), but he read it 
 as a matter of culture. 
 
 44 What, not his own?” asked Ellen. 
 
 44 Not they. You need not tell him, but ask him carelessly 
 if he has read Waller.” 
 
 44 For shame. But will you write something ? I know you 
 can write.” 
 
 Frederick laughed. 44 I am afraid not in the album style, 
 Ellen ; but perhaps you would like an epigram, or an essay on 
 politics ?” 
 
 44 Anything by you,” said Ellen, softly, and dropping her eyes 
 to the book. 44 Not bad,” thought Lepel, who studied his 
 friends as he would Bachel in Bacine. 
 
 44 1 wish I could write poetry,” said Frederick, with a very 
 capital sigh. 
 
 44 People must have great feeling,” said Ellen, 44 to do so.” 
 
 44 People are often unappreciated,” said Frederick. 
 
 Augusta stopped playing. Frederick looked round. 
 
 44 I will get a poet for you,” said Augusta. 44 Singleton Fon- 
 tenoy shall write for you. He’s at school now.” 
 
 44 Poor Singleton,” said Lepel. 44 What a very nice fellow 
 he is.” 
 
 44 He is indeed very agreeable; he has a good heart,” said 
 Augusta. 
 
 The carriage came for Miss Pierrepoint. She kissed her friend 
 Augusta, and turned to shake hands with Frederick. 
 
 44 I mean to do myself the honour of coming over to Pierre- 
 point to-morrow,” he said. 
 
 Ellen looked very glad. 
 
 44 Pray say so to Harry. Good night.” And away went the 
 damsel with Augusta. 
 
 44 Some of the Pierrepoint girls have money,” said Frederick 
 to his sister, about an hour later, after a long fit of musing. 
 44 One of them had something left her by her grandmother.” 
 
 44 That was Ellen,” said Augusta, quietly. 44 She is too good 
 for you, Frederick.” Frederick yawned. 
 
 Some weeks after this memorable day, the Huskdale coach 
 from the west arrived at the Crown Inn in that town, about an 
 hour before dusk. Down jumped the guard, and disencumbered 
 his neck of an enormous shawl. The door was opened, and 
 there came out a young gentleman. His cheeks flushed as he 
 stepped into the chill air. He saw his luggage carried in, and 
 walked away towards another inn, the George. Just as he ap- 
 
SINGLETON’ FONTENOY, Ii.N. 
 
 69 
 
 E roached, he saw a youth in a scarlet coat dismounting from a 
 orse. He thought he recognised the figure. The rider walked 
 into the inn, as he drew near. The ostler was holding the 
 horse. Though it had been a hunting day, the animal seemed 
 in marvellously good condition. 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy,” said the ostler, touching his hat, as the 
 young stranger arrived. Then looking towards the inn knowing^, 
 to be sure that the rider did not hear him, he pointed to the horse 
 with a knowing jerk of his thumb and a leer, and said, “now 
 that’s what I call bringing in an ’orse in good condition.” 
 
 Singleton (for it was that youth) laughed, and turned to enter 
 the hostelry. The doors opened with a swing, just as he reached 
 the portal ; and who should appear in pink, neat cords, and un- 
 exceptionable tops, but — Frederick Lepel ! 
 
 “Hillo, Singleton, bravo — yoicks !” cried he; “here’s a me- 
 tamorphosis.” 
 
 Singleton laughed long and loud. 
 
 “ Pity me, my friend. The gods have vowed vengeance against 
 me, and changed me into a beast. But come in, and wait 
 till I throw off these rascally habiliments. ’Gad, old boy, I’m 
 afraid it won’t be the first time I have turned my coat.” Before 
 long, they were rattling away to Dunreddin. 
 
 “ Were not you astonished ?” said Lepel. “ Ah, I have a good 
 deal to explain. But you have a good deal to tell me. I got 
 your note from Penguin. Come to our place now.” 
 
 “ But, my father ” 
 
 “ Pooh ! I think he dines with us to-day. Better meet him 
 there, and before people, than in a tete-a-tete. Nothing is so 
 horrible as that.” 
 
 This seemed sensible enough, so away they went to Dun- 
 reddin, where, sure enough, Fontenoy pere was in the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 While Singleton was attiring himself upstairs, Lepel ran 
 down before him and said, “ Papa, I have brought a friend 
 home to dinner. He’s upstairs.” The party evinced some 
 curiosity. 
 
 “ Who is he, Fred ?” asked his mother. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy looked up, as if he thought it a great liberty. 
 But Fred could do as he pleased — any thing in reason, and some- 
 times a great deal more. 
 
 “Avery gentlemanly fellow,” said Frederick, smiling. “A 
 youth of very good family, clever, and good looking. I’m sure 
 you will think him good looking, Augusta.” 
 
 “ You are joking with us,” said Augusta. 
 
 The door opened, and in came Singleton. What a surprise ! 
 Singleton was embarrassed, but not ungracefully so. Ho 
 
70 
 
 SINGLETON E0NTEN0Y, B.N. 
 
 blushed, and bowed, and smiled, and then walked straight up 
 to his father, and held out his hand, and said, “ How are you, 
 papa ?” Mr. Fontenoy shook hands with him, with an air of 
 great coolness. Singleton thought he had heard nothing about 
 the Oaken Lodge affair, but he was mistaken. Dr. Helot had 
 written a particular account of it. 
 
 In the course of dinner his father said, “Well, Singleton, 
 where is Mrs. Fontenoy?” 
 
 “ Sir ! ” said Singleton, colouring in an instant. 
 
 “ I thought we were to have a Lalage somebody — no matter.” 
 Singleton was struck dumb. Augusta was astonished. Mr. 
 Fontenoy ’s object was gained. Confusion, curiosity, and doubt, 
 were scattered like seeds into the breasts of the circle. Frederick, 
 indeed — nothing could disturb. But Mr. Fontenoy’s son and 
 heir looked as if he had found poison in his wine. 
 
 CHAP TEE X. 
 
 . . . Now he’s ta’en anither shore. 
 
 An’ ower the sea. Bumrs. 
 
 I have designedly left it to the reader to learn by implication 
 that our hero, Singleton, had no mother, for who knows not 
 how much more agreeable is the knowledge which comes 
 gradually, unperceived and unsought, than that which is formally 
 communicated, or laboriously acquired ? I preferred that this 
 fact should be deduced from what was written of his wayward 
 boyhood. 
 
 The truth is, that Singleton’s mother had been long dead. Ho 
 one seemed to have known her in the county in which he was 
 brought up. His father never alluded to her, and Singleton 
 shrank from the subject in consequence. Hot that he dreaded 
 anything except recalling to him the painful memory of his loss. 
 But this was sufficient restraint to a delicate nature ; so Single- 
 ton had, up to the time of which I am writing, cherished a 
 natural curiosity, but cherished it in secret. He now began to 
 hope that that curiosity would receive its gratification. Ho one 
 of a thoughtful nature, but must love to know everything of the 
 beings from whom he has sprung. Hay, without affecting an- 
 cestral pride, who would not wish to know whether his fair 
 ancestors loved music — if their eyes were blue, or if they flirted ? 
 — without encouraging prejudices, who would not be proud to 
 think that his progenitors read Shakspeare, and perhaps dined 
 with Fielding ? How-a-days, when so many people are preju- 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 71 
 
 diced against prejudices, let us at least respect even prejudices 
 that are associated with sentiment or poetry. Perhaps, it will 
 be found that a gentleman who is 
 
 Too proud to care from whence he came, 
 
 will be apt to be too proud to care where he goes ! 
 
 At all events, Singleton began to grow very curious about his 
 family. He took pleasure in wandering in a gallery where there 
 was a goodly row of De Fontenoys : for I must state, by the 
 bye, that De Fontenoy was originally the family name, and so 
 remained till the time of the French revolution, when Roger De 
 Fontenoy, who was a strong Whig, and a friend of Fox’s — who 
 affected an elegant sans-culottism — and owed money to Brookes 
 — dropped the “ De ” as a barbarous relic. It was not without 
 hesitation that Singleton’s father, a strong Tory, suffered this 
 Roger to remain in the gallery, but he dared not dispense with 
 the genealogical link, so contented himself with remarking that 
 that gentleman had obviously been of unsound mind. 
 
 Singleton early observed that he himself bore little family 
 likeness to these distinguished gentlemen; and this made him 
 more and more curious about his maternal ancestry. A gush of 
 tenderness followed his indulgence of a vein of sentiment ; and 
 he came down one morning, determined to speak to his father 
 on the subject. His father was already out. Singleton was 
 perhaps somewhat relieved, as well as disappointed, for he 
 dreaded the interview a little. In fact, he expected from him 
 little sympathy with sentiment, for Mr. Fontenoy rarely showed 
 that he was subject to any strong emotion but anger. 
 
 Finding that he was left alone in the mansion, Singleton went 
 to wander in the gallery. There, as he was once again gazing at 
 the oval faces and brown eyes of the Fontenoys — characteristics 
 of their Horman origin — he heard a step behind him. Turning 
 round, he saw Mrs. Campbell, the housekeeper, a tall, stately, 
 ladylike personage of mature years, whose face was one of the 
 earliest which he remembered. She had been in the establish- 
 ment ever since his infancy, 'and sometimes, during Mr. Fonte- 
 noy ’s excursions to London or the continent, had been a kind 
 of foster-mother to Singleton. 
 
 “Good morning, Master Singleton,” she said, smiling be- 
 nignantly, to our hero. “ Your papa is going to attend sessions, 
 sir. The trouble he has to go through, poor gentleman, is some- 
 thing awful.” 
 
 Singleton smiled ; and, continuing to gaze at Lionel Fonte- 
 noy, a cavalier, said, “ Ah ! these were the men, Mrs. Camp- 
 bell ! ” 
 
 ‘Yes, indeed, and well you may say it. If they had all been 
 
72 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 as brave as him, we would not have had a red-nosed rebel ruling 
 the country,” said Mrs. Campbell, who had a great contempt 
 for the memory of Oliver Cromwell: 
 
 And here I take the liberty to observe that the poor lady 
 was not more ignorant than many people in very different 
 positions in life, of the real character and history of that great 
 man. 
 
 Singleton looked round him, and sighed. The housekeeper 
 had thought, lately, that he was looking melancholy, and like 
 others, she could not understand how a person could be melan- 
 choly who had fine clothes and lived well. 
 
 “ I am sorry to see you gloomy, Master Singleton,” she said, 
 kindly. 
 
 Singleton assumed a smile, and then it occurred to him that 
 he would sound Mrs. Campbell on the matter which was nearest 
 his thoughts, and of which she must, he fancied, have some 
 knowledge. So he put on a gay air, and pointing again to the 
 portraits, said, “Now, I’m not much like any of these goodly 
 gentlemen, eh, Mrs. Campbell ?” 
 
 She did not perceive his drift, so she said at once, “ Why, I 
 don’t think the likeness is that way, sir.” 
 
 “ Do you remember my mother P ” said Singleton, looking 
 her straight in the face, and striving to conceal his em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell paused, coughed, and answered slowly, “ I 
 have seen her, sir ;” and then, as if she had suddenly remembered 
 something, she said, “ but I must go to ” 
 
 “ Stop ! ” said Singleton, seizing her by the wrist, by a sudden 
 impulse, and growing very hot. 
 
 “ La, how you frighten me ! ” cried the housekeeper. 
 
 “ Mrs. Campbell,” cried Singleton, with an affectionate look, 
 “ you have known me long, and you have been kind to me when 
 I was very young. I want to know all about my mother. Mv 
 father is away ; 1 don’t care to speak to him about it, but tell 
 me all you know. Where was it ? — what was she like P ” 
 
 And Singleton kissed her hand affectionately, and so warmly, 
 that I dare say it made her feel young again ; she actually 
 blushed as coquettishly as the great Elizabeth at sixty. 
 
 “ I’ll show you something, if you will promise not to tell your 
 father nor anybody,” said she, lowering her voice. 
 
 “ Oh, I swear ” 
 
 “Never mind swearing. I never believe that men are in 
 earnest if they swear ! ” 
 
 Here she dived into the recesses of her imposing black silk 
 gown, for a large bunch of keys. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 73 
 
 “ Promise faithfully you will never tell. Your father would 
 never forgive me, Master Singleton.” 
 
 “ I do promise, most faithfully.” 
 
 “ Then follow me.” 
 
 She left the gallery, followed by Singleton, who was all eager- 
 ness and anticipation. On they went, from room to room, 
 through long passages and up mysterious stairs, for Heatherby 
 was a very spacious old place, and had been built and patched in 
 every variety of style. They had no adventure, unless we may 
 so name the encountering a maiden of Mrs. Campbell’s, with a 
 pretty face and feet, who, without the smallest reason, made a 
 point of blushing and looking confused whenever she met Single - 
 ton. — Which was a great shame ! 
 
 At last, they reached a small room at the very top of the 
 house. Mrs. Campbell entered and Singleton after her. It was 
 quite dark. While Singleton stood bewildered, the house- 
 keeper removed a shutter. In rushed the light like a trium- 
 phant conqueror. It peopled the room with little motes waver- 
 ing in the sunbeams. And full in Singleton’s eyes there appeared 
 a portrait. 
 
 Ah! that face — so beautiful and so young — with heavenly 
 eyes of heaven’s own colour — with soft masses of dark hair, and 
 a mouth that seemed redolent of roses, tinged too, in spite of 
 its fairness and its youth, with a melancholy as delicate as the 
 shade of a young cypress — that face was the face of Singleton’s 
 mother ! 
 
 “ Who was that, sir ?” asked Mrs. Campbell. 
 
 Singleton’s eyes filled with tears. “ I know her, — I know 
 her,” he cried. “ Sweet mother, pray for me !” And he ga-zed 
 upon the face with rapture. 
 
 “ Oh, for shame !” cried Mrs. Campbell, shocked at what she 
 sincerely believed to be an impiety ; for it is extraordinary with 
 what pains our “ reforming” churchmen have rooted out all the 
 natural feelings that create and beautify devotion. 
 
 Singleton turned his moist eyes to her. “ Do tell me all you 
 know, Mrs. Campbell. I will remember the -kindness, indeed I 
 will!” 
 
 Mrs. Campbell was touched, but she was frightened. “ Indeed, 
 dear Master Singleton, I know very little. Your mamma died 
 very young, not long after you was born. Your papa keeps 
 everything silent about her. There was something wrong, I 
 believe.” 
 
 “ What !” cried Singleton, turning pale as death. 
 
 “ Oh, dear, I don’t mean that, sir,” cried the housekeeper. 
 “ God forbid. I mean the match was some way objectionable.” 
 
74 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 Here she appeared very much frightened, and perhaps secretly 
 regretted that she had ever brought him to this chamber. 
 
 He stood motionless for a little. A calm feeling of reverence 
 succeeded his emotion, and then seeing that it was impossible, 
 and doubting whether it was just, to draw anything more from 
 her on the subject, he thanked her, kissed his hand with a chi- 
 valrous religion to the picture, and fled to his bedroom. Mrs. 
 Campbell, meanwhile, shut up the window again, locked the 
 room carefully, and then departed to her own apartment, where 
 she recruited her nerves, after this trial, with a large wine-glass of 
 Madeira. 
 
 Singleton had been shut up by himself for some time, and had 
 just bathed his face and refreshed himself with some perfumes, 
 when he received a message, saying that his father wanted to 
 speak to him. With some trepidation he descended. His father 
 was not alone ; there was with him a tall, fine old gentleman, 
 with a fair face, very bold in its expression. He was seated on a 
 chair opposite Mr. Fontenoy, and leaning forward to speak to 
 him on a large heavy cane with a gold head. 
 
 “ This is my boy,” said his father. 
 
 “ Ah, my lad, how are you ?” said the stranger, jumping up to 
 shake hands, and dropping down again very suddenly. “ Do you 
 know who I am, eh P” 
 
 “ No, sir,” said Singleton. 
 
 “ Why, your grand-uncle, to be sure, Sir John Singleton, K.B., 
 Admiral of the White ! Did you never hear of your grandmother, 
 
 Miss Singleton ? By G , you ought to have, for she brought 
 
 rhino into the family.” And here the veteran made a lunge with 
 the portentous cane at Singleton, who burst out laughing. Mr. 
 Fontenoy looked very serious, but was obviously rather fright- 
 ened of his naval relation. 
 
 “ He’s a fine lad. Come here, my boy, and lay your arm on 
 the table !” Singleton obeyed. The admiral raised his arm on 
 the elbow, joined his fingers with Singleton’s, and made him 
 struggle who should press the other’s arm down. Singleton was 
 defeated, but made a good resistance. 
 
 “ Ah, a wiry young rascal. Well, what do you know ? Know 
 Latin and Greek, eh ?” 
 
 “ Yes,” answered Singleton. 
 
 ‘‘Well, you know a d d deal more than I do, that’s all 
 
 then,” said Sir John, with a roar. “ But don’t you learn to swear. 
 I can’t help it sometimes, but it’s very wrong, and I was brought 
 up in the old service.” 
 
 “ You were going to suggest something to my son ?” said Mr. 
 Fontenoy, quietly. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 75 
 
 “ Going to suggest P I was going to ask Iiim whether he 
 wouldn’t like to go to sea ? They say that there’s going to be a 
 war soon. And I think so, for, by Jupiter Jovis, the French 
 won’t rest till they get cursed well licked. 
 
 “ Thundering and roaring — 
 
 Thundering and roaring — 
 
 Thundering and roaring — 
 
 Guns !” 
 
 “Well, Singleton, what do you say?” asked Mr. Fontenoy. 
 “You complain of want of action, and you won’t hunt, and you 
 won’t shoot or fish. Will you go to sea ?” 
 
 “Action!” cried the admiral, misunderstanding the youth’s 
 meaning, — but scarcely more than his father did, by the bye, — 
 “You’ll get actions enough, if there’s a war; and I tell you 
 there’s one brewing in the Mediterranean at this moment.” 
 
 “ Well, I’ll think of it till the morning,” said my hero, some- 
 what taken by surprise. 
 
 “Ah, that’s sensible,” said the admiral; “ and now, Fontenoy, 
 let us have dinner.” 
 
 At dinner, the admiral performed in a manner worthy of his 
 reputation, for he was a dashing and gallant officer. After dinner, 
 he filled up his glass, and saying, solemnly, “ The Queen !” pro- 
 nounced the claret worthy of the toast. 
 
 “Now, you would not think I had a wooden leg, would you, 
 my boy, from my walk ?” he asked Singleton. 
 
 “Certainly not,” said Singleton, with surprise. Sir John 
 jumped up from his chair, and began walking about the room in 
 a most imposing manner. “Yet it’s a jury leg: cork, 
 
 my boy ! And by — whew,” he cried, whistling away the 
 rising oath, “ I have drawn enough corks in my life to 
 keep me in legs till I want them no longer !” And down he sat 
 again. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy began two or three subjects — corn, country, 
 gentlemen, and the poor-rates ; but Sir John did not appear to 
 have a. relish for any of them. “ How do you think I lost my 
 leg? I was midshipman of the £ Magnifico.’ We fell foul 
 of the French ship * Harpagon,’ got to windward of her, shot 
 away her fore-topmast. Well, just as I was going on a message 
 from our captain, to the fellow who commanded the main-deck 
 quarters, — bang came a thirty-two pounder, and takes off my 
 leg ! It was left hanging just by a bit of gristle, and as they 
 carried me below, the leg went bump, bump,” (the admiral took 
 a sip of claret at each exclamation) “at every step of the hatch- 
 way ladder !” 
 
76 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 v Singleton’s genuine shudder was taken by the raconteur as a 
 high compliment. 
 
 “That was a wound, eh? They gave me some brandy, and 
 dressed the stump. I got a pension, and I got a cork leg. And 
 here I am, you see, as sound as ever, and I shall fly my red 
 bunting at the main before I die.” 
 
 44 Shall you go to sea again, uncle ?” asked Singleton. 
 
 4 I don’ t know, my boy,” said the old man, rather moodily. 
 “ But I hear that old Pannikin, a captain of 1818, is to com- 
 mission the 4 Patagonian,’ 80, soon, for the Mediterranean ; and 
 he shall apply for you, if you like. — But help yourself to wine, 
 my boy. ’Gad, you won’t always get claret, or else the service 
 is cursedly altered. By the bye, I invented a bottle once.” 
 
 44 Invented a bottle !” said Mr. Pontenoy. 
 
 44 Yes ; I was with a very dull set of fellows who would not 
 pass the wine, and I invented a bottle with a round bottom that 
 would not stand! So, you see, they were forced to keep it 
 moving.” 
 
 44 Till they could not stand themselves, eh, uncle?” said Sin- 
 gleton, facetiously. 
 
 44 Ha ! ha ! yes, just so,” said the admiral. 
 
 44 Singleton, ring for coffee,” said Mr. Fontenoy, gravely. 
 And so, with anecdotes, and Sir John’s good nature and droll 
 characteristics, the evening passed off pleasantly enough ; and it 
 was not till after accompanying his uncle to his chamber, and 
 then retiring to his own, that our hero began again to think of 
 the tender and touching topics of the morning. How his 
 mother’s sweet face haunted him ! The thought became a vision, 
 and he saw her in his dreams. Then he fancied she came close 
 to him, and kissed his brow, and said — 44 Follow your destiny, 
 son, and you shall hear of me in the South ! ” Singleton awoke 
 suddenly. He could have sworn he heard a voice. But all was 
 still, and he fell asleep again. 
 
 In the morning he rose early. He went to Mrs. Campbell and 
 begged her to let him see the portrait once more, before his 
 father rose. With reluctance, she took him again to the room, 
 and this time he noticed, what he had not observed before, that 
 from his mother’s neck there hung a cross. It might be a mere 
 ornament ; it might be a sacred symbol. And where did that 
 symbol gain its divinity ? In the South ? 
 
 44 Why should I not go to sea ?” said Singleton, in soliloquy. 
 44 The sea has been thought to be the great fountain of being, 
 the fons omnium viventium, the mother of all life ! From the 
 sublime speculations of Thales, to the magnificent hymn of Byron, 
 it has been the object of the wonder of the sage, and the ad- 
 miration of the poet ! From the sea rose Venus — in the sea 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 77 
 
 perished Sappho ? It has been described by iEschylus, and it 
 was the birthplace of Undine ! It received the life-blood of 
 Nelson, and the last sigh of Shelley! Everything great and 
 wonderful and beautiful is associated with its name. Csesar 
 struggled with its currents, and saved from its waters the proudest 
 trophy of his genius. Cicero flew to it for refuge, a few hours 
 before he met his fate from the assassins. It was the bride of 
 Yenice, and the nurse of England. — Enough ; I will go !”— 
 
 “ I will go, uncle,” he said, at breakfast. _ 
 
 “ So you shall, my sucking Nelson,” replied his uncle. “Your 
 appointment shall be here in a fortnight, for Pannikin will hoist 
 his pendant soon, and he has a right to enter one youngster ; 
 and he’s under great obligations to me. I like decision — so 
 gallop over to Huskdale, and tell your tailor to give you your 
 measures on a slip of paper. I will take them to London with 
 me, and hand them over to a crack outfitter. When you come 
 up to town, call upon me in Bolton Street, and I’ll give you a 
 feed.” 
 
 “ I’m exceedingly obliged and grateful.” 
 
 “Well, prove your gratitude by ringing the bell for me.” 
 And in a short time afterwards the distinguished old officer wus 
 on his road to London, and my hero’s fingers were tingling with 
 the vigour of his parting shake. 
 
 * Sir John Singleton was an officer of the old school, and the 
 proper old school. He was not one of those vulgar persons who 
 crept into the service during the war, and who, with none but 
 the qualities that are equally found in the common sailors, 
 prided themselves upon their contempt for refinement, and 
 thought that they were Benbows, because they were barbarians. 
 Not one of those spitting and swearing gentry, who turned the 
 lower decks of their ships into brothels, and the upper into 
 flogging shambles ; who, with vulgar manners deemed it fine to 
 persecute officers of higher culture, and at least equal merit. Sir 
 J ohn had all their daring, but had qualities, also, worthy of his 
 ancient and honourable family ; he was brave, but he was 
 courteous and courtly. To be sure, great culture was inconsis- 
 tent with his career, and a slight roughness betrayed that he had 
 been accustomed to rough work. But he w r as a gentleman, and 
 a man of honour. He had an energy that shrank from nothing ; 
 he might have been a valuable adjutant to Blake, and it was not 
 his fault that he did not die with Nelson, — for no man fought 
 more bravely at Trafalgar, and he had lost his leg in battle some 
 years before that bloody fight. So let us wish him a pleasant 
 journey to town. 
 
 We are now to consider Singleton as preparing to leave home, — 
 a remarkable period, divided between sentiment and common- 
 
78 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 place, — portmanteaus and plighted troth, — tin cases and tears, — 
 a time when we shirk from going, and would not stay for the 
 world. Often he resolved to speak to his father on the myste- 
 rious question which haunted him, but his courage always failed 
 at the point, and whenever he screwed it up to the mark, some- 
 thing spoiled the opportunity. Then he was engaged in attend- 
 ing to innumerable invitations from friends desirous to pay him 
 attention before his departure. Ellen Pierrepoint was anxious 
 to see him with the little dagger on, which forms part of a 
 44 youngster’s” uniform. Augusta was weaving into some white 
 cambric handkerchiefs the Eontenoy crest, in red silk, for his 
 special use, he being 44 barbarous” enough, though he lived in an 
 44 enlightened” manufacturing county, to feel some interest in the 
 heraldic emblems of his family ! Tomkins despises these things, 
 and ridicules a 44 cross fichee.” Does Tomkins know that the 
 fichee means that the Crusader had his cross sharpened at one 
 end, that he might fix it in the earth and kneel before it to pray 
 to God ’ere he went to sleep P Let the poor fellow try and 
 picture that l 
 
 In a week or two there arrived, as the admiral had said there 
 would, a big letter addressed to Mr. Singleton Charles Eontenoy, 
 which we subjoin : — 
 
 44 Sir, 
 
 44 1 am commanded by the Lords Commissioners of the 
 Admiralty to inform you that you have been appointed as Volun- 
 teer of the First Class to H. M. S. 4 Patagonian,’ fitting out at 
 Sheerness, and you are hereby commanded to report yourself on 
 board the guard ship at that port to be examined. 
 
 44 Your obedient servant, 
 
 44 Alfred de Sluggy.” 
 
 Upon the receipt of this document (the signing of which was 
 the only work that the aristocratic De Sluggy had done that week 
 for his money), Singleton was rather frightened. The phrase 
 44 examined” suggested all the terrors of Mr. Trochee over again, 
 and he actually went to the library and read hard for a whole 
 afternoon. He then thought that, as he was going into the 
 Navy, he would look up some naval novels, and he sent over ac- 
 cordly to the Circulating Library at Huskdale for an unlimited 
 supply. 
 
 Back they came, — 44 Cheeks, the Marine,” in three vols. ; 
 44 Iioger McGuflm, the Boatswain 44 A Story of the Sea 
 &c., &c. Singleton, whose reading, as far as modern fiction 
 went, had lain in a different school, was somewhat startled by 
 these productions, and began to think that if they were true 
 pictures of naval life, he would have some extraordinary persons 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 79 
 
 to associate with. But it was too late ; though different, indeed, 
 was the style of these books from that of 44 Zanoni,”-— or thy 
 creations, father of 44 Contarini Fleming” — thou who, amongsf 
 satirists, art God of the Silver Bow ! 
 
 Singleton resolved that he would have separate interviev s 
 with those whom he loved. Thus parting is made more tender, 
 but less embarrassing and sad ; and he resolved to defer to v he 
 last an interview with his father. 
 
 He went, one morning near the fatal day, to Dunref.dm. 
 Augusta was by herself in the boudoir. Singleton opener l the 
 door softly, and went in. There she was, as usual, reading 
 poetry, and looking poetry. 
 
 “ Good morning, Augusta.” 
 
 Augusta looked up and smiled, and motioned to him to sit 
 down. They might almost have been called brother and sister, 
 so like were they in nature, — in enthusiasm, in fancy, in good- 
 ness and gentleness — in what is called 44 organization,” but 
 which yet we feel must be higher than organization, though we 
 cannot define it. How, how different was Singleton from his 
 father, and Augusta from her brother Frederick ! These are 
 mysteries of nature not sufficiently considered. 
 
 44 I go soon, Augusta,” said Singleton, softly ; 44 and I must 
 bid my sister good-bye.” 
 
 44 xou are not going now,” said Augusta, suddenly. 
 
 “Hot this minute,” said Singleton, smiling ; 44 but I wish to 
 have a little farewell chat. I will write to you from the Medi- 
 terranean, and tell you how I like the 4 warm south.’ ” 
 
 4 4 Think of me when you are in Athens,” said Augusta, smil- 
 ing. 44 1 need not tell you who else to think of.” 
 
 Singleton turned pale. 44 Ah, poor Lalage. I wish she had 
 a sister. "Who ever had a sister such as you have been to me P 
 You have been the lamp my soul has seen by !” 
 
 He rose, and went to look out of the window. The spring 
 was coming. But there was a shade on Augusta’s brow, and she 
 sighed. 
 
 44 1 must have a long talk with Fred before I go,” said Sin- 
 gleton. 
 
 44 Ah, do you know, I fear Fred, Singleton. I am convinced 
 that his ambition is quite unscrupulous. I am quite afraid he will 
 bring us into some danger if it is at all necessary to his plans.” 
 
 44 Oh, he is certainly bold and indifferent, but he has a good 
 heart, I think.” 
 
 Augusta looked melancholy, and shook her head. They sat 
 down, and had a long conversation, and then Singleton went 
 next to her brother Frederick’s rooms. He found that great pa- 
 triot (whose democracy, by the way, was now assuming the 
 
80 
 
 # SINGLETON FONTENOY, U.N. 
 
 milder form and title of “ Philosophical Eadicalism”), but whose 
 proceedings were variable and somewhat inconsistent just at pre- 
 sent, — employed with his meerschaum, with his back to the lire. 
 He was gazing philosophically upon a table strewed with books 
 and pape: *s, and had quite the air of an embryo minister. 
 
 “ Ah, S'ing,” he cried ; “ I’m glad to see you. Time of de- 
 parture drawing near ? This is very terrific !” 
 
 “ We must try and bear up,” said Singleton, laughing: 
 
 “ Just so. Put on a weed.” 
 
 “ Thank you. I don’t care about smoking just now.” 
 
 “ Going to sea, my boy,” pursued Lepel. “ How, do you 
 know, Singleton, I am not suspicious (Singleton saw that some 
 monstrous suspicion was forthcoming), but I think I see your 
 father’s drift in wishing you off. It’s my opinion — I may be 
 wrong — (which meant, I feel sure I am right) — but it’s my 
 opinion — thinks of marrying again !” 
 
 Singleton gave a genuine start, and was indeed very seri- 
 ously astonished. Lepel glanced at him, and puffed vigorously 
 at the meerschaum. 
 
 “ He is quite young enough — particularly with the Heatherbv 
 property in his possession (here Lepel sneered), for most young 
 ladies of this day. However, I think you will find that he’ll 
 marry, and it remains for you to consider how far your interests 
 will be affected by it.” 
 
 Singleton continued to listen with great curiosity, and was 
 still too much surprised to speak. 
 
 “ My dear boy,” resumed the speaker, paternally, “ you have 
 no talents for worldly matters. Por practical purposes, the 
 most useless of all vehicles is a balloon ! although it soars so 
 high ! — Of course I know your intellectual powers (Singleton 
 blushed !) but they are not of a practical character, and if you do 
 not take care, it will be your lot in life to be duped by men with 
 not half your talents. Such is often the case with literary 
 men.” — 
 
 Here I pause to remark the curious fact, that neither Lepel 
 nor Singleton thought that this observation was applicable to 
 their own case, and present conversation. — 
 
 “How, I don’t think you and your father have much in 
 common.” — 
 
 It suddenly flashed upon Singleton to speak to Lepel about 
 his mother. But he checked himself, and resolved not to do so. 
 Yet the subject hovered in his mind, and influenced him through 
 the rest of the interview. 
 
 • “ He does not understand you ; and you best know whether 
 perfect confidence has subsisted between you.” — (This remark 
 sank deep into Singleton’s mind.) — “ However, mf boy, put 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 81 
 
 your interests in my hands, while you are away. Let me look 
 out for you.” 
 
 “ Who could my father have in view to marry, think you? ” 
 asked Singleton, passing over, pro tem., the last words. 
 
 “Nay — that’s hard to say. What would you think of — 
 Augusta ? ” 
 
 Singleton was thunderstruck. 
 
 “ Not that it’s at all likely, that, my hoy,” pursued his friend, 
 coolly ; “for she is to marry the eldest Belden, heir to the 
 Clangour Earl.” 
 
 “How so?” asked Singleton, quite overwhelmed, and driven 
 backwards and forwards by every new stroke of Frederick’s. 
 
 “ I see it on the cards,” continued Lepel. “ I have seen that 
 he really likes her — and that’s everything, let me tell you, after 
 all, I see him married to her, and the influence of that family 
 secured for me. It is no such a great honour, although great 
 luck, — for my family have been gentlemen for seven hundred 
 years, and how many of the families in the Peerage can say 
 that ! I see myself in public life, backed by the prejudices of 
 others, and courage of my own, — governing fools, and out- 
 manoeuvring rogues, — the successful schemer under an old 
 system, and perhaps the hero of a new one.” His eyes flashed 
 fire as he spoke, and he stretched out his hand, as though he 
 would grasp the future that he saw before him in a grip of iron. 
 
 Singleton felt his blood grow warm, and then he turned to 
 Lepel, and spoke tranquilly. 
 
 “Well! — I wish you, as Johnson said to Burke, all the suc- 
 cess that an honest man can.” (Lepel laughed ; he was as cool 
 again as ever.) “ I go to the land of dreams — quieter dreams 
 than these. Speak again about what you were saying of my 
 father.” 
 
 Lepel did speak, and the dialogue lasted a long time, and 
 when it concluded, it was with an implied understanding that 
 Lepel should act for Singleton, during his absence, according to 
 his discretion. 
 
 Then Frederick totally changed the subject, and pointed out 
 to him several volumes of orations that lay upon the table. 
 “ There are two arts,” he said, “ more than any others, necessary 
 to the youth of our age.” 
 
 “ And what are they ?” 
 
 “ Oratory, and the use of arms ! Let us go down to dinner, 
 and drink the healths of Cicero, Angelo, and Mr. Nock ! ” 
 
 Frederick was exceedingly lively all dinner time, and you 
 never would have imagined for an instant that he was all the 
 time mentally occupied in speculating on post-obits as a means 
 of raising money to pay bills. 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 Time passed on. There was a grand ball at Heatherby, to 
 celebrate Singleton’s appointment. Nest morning he was to 
 depart. He had resolved to speak to his father on the great 
 subject that very morning ; but, strange to say, Mr. Fontenoy 
 had gone “unavoidably” out, but had left a most affectionate 
 note to his son, containing the final good-bye. Was it indifference 
 or tenderness, thought Singleton, that had prompted this ! 
 
 He knew not. It was enveloped in the mystery which sur- 
 rounded so much for him. Once he thought of delaying his 
 departure at all risks, awaiting his father’s return, and pressing 
 the inquiry ; but, for this, he had not courage. Speaking to 
 Frederick on the subject was profanation; and as for speaking 
 to others, he was prevented by a petty species of fear, which 
 sometimes haunts all of us, — the fear of being thought “ senti- 
 mental.” 
 
 He was accompanied to Huskdale, to the coach, by Frede- 
 rick and various youths of the county of their acquaintance. A 
 start, and he was off ! Of the thousands who have felt the sen- 
 sations of such a moment was there ever one who could describe 
 them ? Here we see the divinity of the soul as much as in any- 
 thing, — that it declines interpretation and analysis, — that it is a 
 King who will accept no words as its slaves. Here, as in every 
 inquiry, we find ourselves stopped by mystery, — myster}-, 
 whereof the recognition and contemplation is as beneficial to the 
 mind as darkness is relieving to the eye. “ Let us be silent, 
 that we may hear the whisper of the gods.” * 
 
 When the coach reached its first halting-place, the guard 
 came to the window. 
 
 “ Which of you gentlemen is Mr. Fontenoy ?” 
 
 “ I am,” replied Singleton. 
 
 “ I was told to give you this when we came here, sir.” 
 
 It was a kind of little note, and in the handwriting of the 
 housekeeper, Mrs. Campbell. It contained but one line : — 
 
 “ They used to live at St. Albans.” 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 Ah pity ! The lily is withered, the purple of the violet turned into paleness. 
 
 Jeremy Taylor. Contemplations on the State of Man. 
 The dead how sacred ! Sacred is the dust 
 Of this heaven-laboured form, erect, divine ! 
 
 Young. Night-Thoughts. 
 
 Eaised on a slight eminence among the fair and fertile plains 
 * Emerson. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 83 
 
 of Hertfordshire, the town of St. Albans has a site worthy of its 
 associations. Roman genius and Saxon Christianity have left 
 their witnesses there. The idealist who has visited the most 
 touching cities in the world may find a fresh pleasure of the soul 
 in that little town. And what Variety ! The mind moves over 
 ages at a stride. From memories of Tacitus to memories of 
 Cromwell. Here died St. Alban ; there sleeps Bacon. Do you 
 want a more modern — nay, a comic association ? Here Hogarth 
 met poor wayward old Lord Lovat (that twopenny Highland 
 Marius), as he was on his way to London, to lay his gray head 
 on the block. . 
 
 And then the abbey ! Vast, grand, and simple, it looks rather 
 as if it had been hewn out of rock, than built. An air of very 
 sublime and severe simplicity attends it. It breathes as it were 
 the cold air of the North ; and suggests that it was the work of 
 men, who learning to bow to Jesus, could not entirely forget 
 Odin and Thor. Its characteristic is a sublime utility, more 
 than beauty or splendour. You would pronounce it a structure 
 created from a deep feeling of the necessity of religion — the child 
 of the people’s devotion, more than the priest’s pride. Utilita- 
 rianism was divine then, and this was the form it took. Upon 
 the whole, I hold the building of this Abbey rather a strange 
 freak for a “barbarous” people in a “dark” age, and difficult to 
 acccount for, when we consider that there was no member for 
 the borough, — town council, — or county paper, — in existence ! 
 The St. Albans people have become civilised now, and turn their 
 “vote and influence” to a more “practical” account ! Oh, that 
 horrible word ! 
 
 It was a fine morning in Spring, and the grey towers of the 
 Abbey looked bright in the sun, and greener seemed the grass 
 
 in the churchyard of St. X . In that spacious resting-place 
 
 there was a man digging a new grave. He was a tall, melan- 
 choly, middle-aged man of sour aspect. He had his coat off, 
 that he might work more freely. His arms were red with the 
 exercise, and every now and then large drops of perspiration fell 
 from him and mixed with the heaps of earth ; for he was work- 
 ing very hard — you might almost say “with a will,” in the cause 
 of the coming tenant ; in a word, you would have taken him for 
 a legatee ! But in truth, he was only the parish sexton, and 
 Tvorked professionally. He had dug the graves for several of 
 his own kin with that same spade — a task which sounds terrible 
 enough, but which to him as a sexton, seemed no more so 
 than murder to an Austrian general, who has put down a free 
 people ! 
 
 Whether it be that gravedigging is not so much of a sinecure 
 as of old, I know not ; but I have remarked that gravediggers 
 
84 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 do not sing now at tlieir toil. Our friend was quite silent ex- 
 cepting a grunt occasionally, and stuck constantly to his work ; 
 when he heard a step near, and looking up, saw a young gentle- 
 man approaching the grave, whose light step, sunny face, and 
 bright eye, contrasted very strikingly with the place. The youth, 
 though not in mourning, was Pressed in very dark clothes : so 
 possibly the sexton thought he might have some business in his 
 way. He looked up, and touching his hat, said, “ A fine morning, 
 sir!” 
 
 “ Very fine, indeed,” said the youth, quietly. 
 
 “ It’s a little chilly, sir, but my work keeps me warm.” 
 
 “ A very large burial-ground this is,” the youth continued, 
 looking round. 
 
 “Yes, sir. This ain’t the best part of it, here where we are. 
 It’s best on the north side. There’s some fine dry lying ground 
 there, sir!” 
 
 “ Some fine monuments I see, too,” and the youth moved on 
 in the direction of which the man spoke. 
 
 There is a beautiful and affecting story told of poor Chatterton. 
 Hot long before the close of his melancholy career he was wan- 
 dering in this way in the churchyard of St. Pancras, in a sublime 
 reverie of poetry, when he stumbled and fell into a new-made 
 grave ! His companion, as he assisted him to get out, congratu- 
 lated him playfully on the “ resurrection of genius.” The poet 
 smiled mournfully and shook his head, but from what he said, it 
 was clear that he thought the accident prophetic. And not long 
 afterwards he drank of the fatal cup, and added one more name 
 to the list of martyrs. 
 
 This story hovered in the memory of Fontenoy as he strolled 
 away from the new-made grave. He had come to St. Albans in 
 consequence of the note which I mentioned in the last chapter. 
 He had but one day to spare before proceeding to Sheerness, and 
 had devoted it to this visit. And now, what could he learn when 
 he was here? The case seemed hopeless. Yet it was something 
 to see the sunlight streaming on the Abbey windows, to know 
 too that Homans had once been on that same ground ; and that 
 perhaps on that very spot some joyous young Tribunus had 
 quoted Horace to his comrade, and dipped into the Falernian or 
 Massican, long, long ago. 
 
 He was musing thus very absently, scarcely seeing the grave- 
 stones before him, and almost stumbling every now and then in 
 the long grass, when suddenly his own name flashed upon his 
 eyes ! He started, like one awakened from sleep, and with keen 
 attention, and a heart beginning to beat, he stood at the foot of 
 the grave and read the words Ivy Fontenoy. Why did he start 
 so ? He might have known that his mother was likely to have 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 85 
 
 been buried here — but this sudden discovery ! — It seemed as if 
 he had just lost her by death — now when he had first known her 
 resting-place. 
 
 He was very sad and lonely there, among this crowd of graves 
 — this mob of monuments. There is something sadder than 
 death in a country churchyard. It is not only that the form you 
 loved is lying there, — and that the ugly heap of earth which it 
 displaced is basking in the sun instead of the form which added 
 to that sun’s glory. But then, how wretched were the lives of 
 the poor drudges to whom the churchyard is a kind of second 
 union ! And oh, their memorials ! Sorrow mingles itselt with a 
 degradation which seems to discolour its tears. 
 
 Singleton stood there in silence. Why is it that all emotion has 
 come to be classed as “ theatrical ?” Is it, that in our age, deep 
 feeling is only seen on the stage, and that we look for nothing 
 elevated or touching except in the mimic life P 
 
 But a new surprise came to him — a soft and beautiful sur- 
 prise. Neglect as cold as the bones of the dead or the hearts 
 of the survivors, had left the other graves bare. But on her 
 grave, there was a bunch of fresh violets — the first of the 
 spring! 
 
 Whose pious hand had offered these fair gifts ? Some one, 
 doubtless, who had known and loved her, lived near — and 
 to Singleton, as he turned away full of this thought — the 
 sunlight on the town seemed brighter, and the fields round more 
 fair. 
 
 He moved away with a lighter heart. The gravedigger had 
 gone. The wind was rising from the northward, and a slow 
 solemn cloud sailing towards the south seemed to beckon Bon- 
 tenoy to follow to the sea. 
 
85 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 THE SEEKER. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 “There was a ship,*’ quoth he. 
 
 TaE Ancient Mariner. 
 
 Men are placed in command of ships still, who were educated under the old 
 system * * * and find themselves as much out of their element as Rip Van "Winkle, 
 in Washington Irving’s charming story, when he descended from the mountain 
 with his long beard. Sketches jit Ultra-Marine. 
 
 H.M.S. “Patagonian” was built as a three-decker, at a cost 
 of £120,000, — when it was discovered that she could not sail. 
 She was then cut down into a frigate at a cost of £50,000, when 
 it was found out that she would not tack. She was next built up 
 into a two-decker, at the cost of another £50,000, — and then 
 it was discovered that she could be made useful — so the Ad- 
 miralty kept her unemployed for ten years ! 
 
 The “ Patagonian,” like some Lords of the Admiralty, was 
 no ways remarkable for her head. But she had a wonderful 
 round stern. She was rather sluggish in working, and altogether 
 was among ships a kind of naval hippopotamus. You might get 
 five knots out of her, on a bowline, in a very stiff breeze, and I 
 believe she once went nine-and-a-half, with a gale of wind on the 
 quarter. In a heavy sea-way she rolls steadily, like an old 
 boatswain who has had a glass too much. She has tolerable ac- 
 commodations inside, and upon the whole, is more ridiculous 
 than positively objectionable. 
 
 When it had been decided to commission the “ Patagonian,” 
 after she had lain for the above-mentioned ten years in the 
 Medway, the next question was — who should be the happy man 
 to command her P A Kent borough became vacant ; there w r as 
 an election : one Pannikin, a captain on half-pay, who had voted 
 for twenty years with the pinks, suddenly voted with the blues. 
 Two of his tradesmen did the same, and the fortune of the day 
 •was turned. How r , what was the exact degree of moral guilt 
 incurred by Pannikin, by this apostacy ? Let us be charitable. 
 It could not be much, for as the veteran was incapable of forming 
 an opinion on politics at ali, it was scarcely a sacrifice of principle 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 87 
 
 in the proper sense of the words. Be that as it may, it was a 
 sensible move. Not long afterwards, Captain Pannikin was 
 appointed to the command of the “ Patagonian.” 
 
 Pannikin was one of those who “came in through the hawse- 
 holes,” as the old naval phrase says, — that is, he entered the 
 service as a common seaman. He began his career as a boy, and 
 in that capacity was appointed servant to a lieutenant, who was 
 a man of very great family by his father’s side, — for history, 
 which delights to puzzle the investigator, is quite silent on the 
 subject of nis maternal origin. This lieutenant was not without 
 those tastes — to which he may be . said to have owed his ex- 
 istence — which distinguished his illustrious father, and his boy 
 Pannikin, I believe, with that intuitive sagacity which is a great 
 deal more profitable in a worldly point of view to a young man 
 than any amount of literary genius, knew how to serve his master 
 without neglecting himself. But, quid multa ? He secured his 
 master’s patronage, and when the ship was paid offi was ap- 
 pointed to another, as midshipman. He had a good deal of 
 stolid physical pluck, and in the days of hot war this was of 
 great service to him. Trafalgar found, him a junior mate, and 
 left him an acting lieutenant, for the ship which he was in, having 
 a fool for a commander, exposed herself, about one o’clock in the 
 afternoon, to be “ raked ” by the whole broadside of' the “ San- 
 tissima Trinidada.” 
 
 On this one occasion, prudence was of more service to Pannikin 
 than pluck. When a ship is in danger of being raked, it is 
 customary to make the men lie down at their quarters, but 
 etiquette requires the officers to remain standing. Now, I sup- 
 pose Pannikin was afraid that if so brave a man as himself con- 
 tinued to stand, his men would be ashamed to lie down ; so, no 
 sooner was it seen from the bow-ports of the lower deck that the 
 huge form of the Spanish three-decker was crossing them at right- 
 angles, within a hundred yards, than Mr. Pannikin, who belonged 
 to the foremost lower-deck quarters, gave the word to lie down, 
 — and set the example ! 
 
 The broadside came; there was a thunder and a crash. 
 Deadly had that shower been ; several officers were killed by it. 
 “ He who humbleth himself shall be exalted,” was verified in 
 Pannikin’s case ; he rose up ; the shot had cleared the way for his 
 promotion, and he was promoted accordingly. It was on this 
 occasion that Sir John Singleton secured his first claim to Pan- 
 nikin’s gratitude. Sir John commanded the after lower-deck 
 quarters of the same ship. A word from him would have fatally 
 damaged the rising man; but Sir John was considerate as well 
 as brave, and maintained a compassionate silence. Indeed, a 
 bloody battle was just the thing to put that brave man into a 
 
88 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 good humour, and he stamped about the lower-deck on the 
 cork-leg, which, as I have said, he even then wore, as merrily as 
 possible. 
 
 After Trafalgar, Pannikin served under my favourite, the 
 brave, good, gentle, and accomplished Collingwood, that Bayard 
 of the sea, whose graceful letters would have done honour to a 
 man who had never done anything in his life but write. He was 
 made a captain in 1818, and from that time to the year in which 
 the “ Patagonian ” was commissioned, this gallant officer never 
 saw the sea. With his prize-money and half-pay, he established 
 himself in a farm in Kent, where he cultivated his laurels, and 
 what he could better appreciate, his cabbages. He became a 
 regular farmer ; he married the daughter of one, and had a 
 family, numerous and promising, almost as that of Priam; 
 indeed, so countrified had he become, that the big official letter, 
 containing the appointment which rewarded his apostacy in the 
 Potborough election, found him in top-boots, beating up a hedge 
 for a hare, with a second-hand single-barrelled Manton and a 
 brown spaniel. 
 
 It was a fine spring morning, about three weeks after he had 
 hoisted his pendant, and Captain Pannikin was with his family 
 steaming down the Medway to Sheerness. The captain stood 
 near the man at the wheel, with a nautical air ; his wife was 
 near him, and Miss J emima, a fine, chubby young lady, of the 
 Dutch tulip style, with a parasol as big as a dandy’s umbrella, 
 was gazing on her papa with admiration. The gallant officer, 
 though in plain clothes, looked very imposing. 
 
 Presently a heavy coal-barge was seen sailing up ahead of 
 them, with a strong breeze. It had a huge black sail spread, 
 and so may be said to have been nigro simillima cygno , as the 
 Latin grammar has it. As it swayed to and fro, there seemed a 
 chance of a collision with the steamer. 
 
 “ Starboard, damme, starboard,” cried Pannikin to the man at 
 the wheel. The passengers looked at him with astonishment. 
 
 “ You ain’t allowed to talk to the man at the wheel, sir,” cried 
 the skipper, from the paddle-box. 
 
 “ I’m a captain in the navy, sir,” cried Pannikin. 
 
 “ That’s nuffing to us. Port, Bill.” Just then the coal-barge 
 yawed. The steamer grazed her. There was a volley of damns 
 from her. The passengers shouted, and Miss J emima started 
 with the shock, and flung herself forward into the arms of a young 
 gentleman in a blue monkey-jacket and a glazed cap, who came 
 rushing up from the cabin to see what was the matter. 
 
 “You cursed lubbers,” roared Pannikin to the crew of the 
 Steamer ; “ you ought to be well flogged.” 
 
 " Never mind him, Bill,” said the imperturbable skipper $ 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 89 
 
 <if steady.” So saying, the skipper shook his fist at the man in 
 the coal-barge, who returned him a graceful salute of a satirical 
 character, with his fingers and nose. 
 
 “ Too bad, — too bad,” muttered Pannikin, angrily. 44 Jemima, 
 come here!” For Jemima had flung herself on a seat, and the 
 young gentleman was holding her parasol with a sympathetic 
 look. 
 
 44 Come here, Jemima ; the lubbers have not sunk her yet ; 
 but it’s not their fault.” 
 
 44 Thank you, sir,” said Jemima, softly and gratefully to the 
 young gentleman ; 44 I must go to my pa, Cap ting Pannikin.” 
 
 44 Oh, indeed ! Captain Pannikin is your father, is he ? I am 
 going to join his ship.” So saying, the youth in the monkey-jacket 
 walked up to the captain, bowed, and said : 44 Captain Pannikin ; 
 I must introduce myself to you, sir. My name is Fontenoy, and 
 I am just going down to join the 4 Patagonian.’ ” 
 
 Here was a chance for the captain’s dignity to assert itself, 
 for it had been somewhat wounded, he was afraid, in the eyes of 
 the passengers, by the skipper’s cool impudence. He gave a 
 little kind of grunt, and said : — 
 
 44 You’re my youngster, eh ? Hem ! Touch your cap to your 
 superior officer !” 
 
 This is a change from the country gentleman of Fockshire, 
 thought our hero, but he did as he was bid. Mrs. Pannikin 
 looked round at the passengers to see if a proper feeling was in- 
 spired among them by this. It is astonishing how the heroes of 
 the old school love to domineer, when they are afloat, over gen- 
 tlemen who would not be seen speaking to them in Pall Mall ! 
 
 “ And how is Sir John Singleton ?” inquired Mrs. Pannikin, 
 loudly, and with an appearance of great interest. 
 
 4 4 He is quite well, I thank you ; we were at the Opera last 
 night. Are you fond of music, Miss Pannikin?” 
 
 Here Singleton turned round and bowed to Jemima, who, 
 however, began to think that it was time to participate in the pa- 
 rental superiority, and answered with a dignity that was some- 
 what forbidding. Singleton, rather surprised at all this, waited a 
 few minutes longer with the group, and then bowed again, and 
 walked away to the fore part of the vessel ; here he meditated on 
 his new position, and mentally compared the Pannikins with the 
 Lepels, Pierrepoints, &c. 44 A queer old gentleman,” he thought ; 
 44 deuced like our gardener at Heatherby !” 
 
 Meanwhile, Captain Pannikin said to his wife, 44 The service 
 is coming to a pretty pitch ! Why, that youngster’s far £oo old 
 to come to sea ; he wore a ring, too, and I smell perfumes yet. 
 The service is going to the devil !” 
 
 When the steamer reached Sheerness, Singleton resolved to 
 
90 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 make the best of his way to the guard-ship, where he was to pass 
 his examination, but, just as he was landing, he heard a voice cry 
 “Youngster!” and was ordered to go on board the “ Sangfroid” 
 hulk, where the “Patagonian’s” crew and officers were hulked 
 during her fitting out, — and had to carry with him a box, two large 
 umbrellas, a washhand-stand, and two of the little Pannikins. 
 When he returned from this mission, he went on board the 
 guard-ship, a grand three-decker, in splendid order, and it was 
 when he first entered her middle-deck port, and stood upon the 
 middle deck, that he began to understand what a man-of-war was. 
 
 He found himself upon a deck, white and fresh as a tree from 
 which the bark has just been cut: the lines which marked 
 the division of the planks were black and delicate as if they had 
 been drawn by an artist’s brush; above him the beams were 
 beautifully white, while, as far as the eye could reach, was a row 
 of lofty and brilliant cannon, polished so that they shone like 
 ebony. On the sides of the ship were long, graceful pikes, that 
 seemed pointed with silver, and tomahawks which gleamed like 
 mirrors. The capstan was veneered with fine wood, and was 
 handsome enough for a drawing-room ornament ; and by the sides 
 of each hatchway bright cannon-shot rested in their shot-racks, 
 like bagatelle-balls in their holes, no less polished, and scarcely 
 less pretty. Seamen, neat, smart, and active, in blue and white, 
 ran noiselessly backwards and forwards. It was a scene that re- 
 presented in its perfection the pomp and beauty of war ! 
 
 He was shown, as soon as he announced his object, into the 
 ward-room, where were seated at the table the various respectable 
 old fogies that compose a guard-ship ward-room mess ; middle- 
 aged captains of marines, masters of old standing, lieutenants who 
 pretend to be somebodies, and young marine officers wdio are no- 
 bodies. They talk of politics without knowledge, and of women 
 without principle ; they criticise clubs to which they don’t be- 
 long, and talk of lords whom they don’t know ; they are great 
 about second-rate hotels, and discuss old anecdotes over new 
 wine ! 
 
 Singleton found the ward-room mess employed as usual ; a 
 copy of the “ United Service Gazette” was on the table, and the 
 master was reading it : he looked up : — 
 
 “ A youngster to be examined,” said the lieutenant, who had 
 been kind enough to bring him in. The master growled. “ I 
 say, doctor, you examine him first,” he said, looking up sulkily 
 from his paper. 
 
 The doctor threw away a book he was employed upon, and told 
 Singleton to come with him. The young marine officer, who w r as 
 seated in a corner, thinking of liis whiskers, cried, “ Don’t hurt 
 him, doctor!” which was intended to frighten Singleton, who, 
 
91 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 however, was, on the contrary, rather amused by the youth’s 
 absurdity, and mentally quoted a line in Juvenal, in which men- 
 tion is made of “ sea-calves,” and of which we may be pretty sure 
 the young marine officer never heard. The doctor having taken 
 Singleton into his cabin, bid him draw a long breath, and then 
 punched him in the breast ; by which performance he ascertained 
 the state of his health to be all right, and then it became the duty 
 of the master to ascertain his intellectual qualifications. A wink 
 passed between some of the mess as the master addressed himself 
 to this task, for it was popularly believed that old Tobitt’s intel- 
 lectual acquirements were not great ; and their own deficiencies 
 by no means prevented his friends from thoroughly seeing his. 
 
 “ Now, young gentleman,” said Tobitt, “ I’ll give you a turn 
 in Rule of Three, and then we’ll see if you can write from dic- 
 tation !” 
 
 Singleton was astonished. From the pompous announcement 
 in the Admiralty’s letter, he had expected something terrific in 
 the way of examination, and had come up primed as if he were 
 going in for a scholarship. 
 
 “ You ain’t frightened, are you?” asked Tobitt. 
 
 Singleton laughed, “ Oh, no, sir,” and with great glee he went 
 through his examination — an examination just fitted to test a 
 youth from a charity school, cet. 10, but which our authorities, it 
 seems, consider quite sufficient for gentlemen who are to be 
 officers. But ridiculous as it is, it would be as well, some people 
 think, to apply it to certain full-grown gentlemen who are ap- 
 pointed to command ships. 
 
 When this was over, Singleton went on board to join his 
 ship, and reported himself on board the “ Sangfroid ” hulk — a 
 huge black vessel of gaunt aspect and dirty sides, with shirts 
 hanging to dry between the three poles which occupied the 
 place of masts. Singleton had a good look at her, while the 
 shore-boat which conveyed him and his chest approached slowly 
 through the rolling waves. The ship’s company were at dinner. 
 A bumboat, with an awning of canvass, lay alongside, well 
 stored with red-herrings, apples, oranges, little pies, tobacco, 
 &c. ; and on this, a dog-faced monkey perched in the channels 
 was grinning, with a greedy and cunning glance, prospective of 
 an early spring for purposes of robbery. 
 
 The “ Sangfroid ” was captured from the French last war, and 
 Singleton, as he gained the deck and looked about him, saw a 
 pistol-shot-hole in one of the cabin windows. 
 
 “ I’m come to join,” said Singleton to a quartermaster who 
 was walking up and down. 
 
 “ Mr. Bertie’s in charge of the watch, sir,” replied the man. 
 “ He’ll be here directly.” 
 
92 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, Ii.N. 
 
 “ And who is Mr. Bertie ? ” 
 
 “ He is a mate, sir.” 
 
 “ And pray, what is a mate ? ” 
 
 “ He’s a midshipman as has passed, and is a waiting till they 
 choose to make him a lieutenant,” replied the quartermaster, 
 looking surprised. 
 
 Just as he spoke, there appeared Mr. Bertie, a man probably 
 about thirty-five, but prematurely old, and with his dark hair 
 already dashed with grey. He both slouched and stooped as he 
 walked. His face was rather purply — but not with the jpurpu- 
 reum lumen juventce. One of his fingers was cased in a long 
 finger of glove, for it had been cut by something or other. The 
 truth was, he had bruised it in striking a man not long before. 
 His eyes were bloodshot, and his look melancholy, but some- 
 what fierce, and also, it must be added, somewhat intellectual 
 and noble. He wore a seedy uniform, that seemed to fit him 
 very badly. 
 
 “ Oh, you’re come to join, are you? A midshipman, eh ? ” 
 
 “ ~No — a volunteer of the first class.” 
 
 “ Hum! Bather old, ain’t you? Well, so much the better, 
 for I’m d — d if it isn’t time somebody should join ! Here have 
 I had all the work to do, and it’s too bad.” And here old Bertie 
 went off into a regular “ growl ” of the most professional cha- 
 racter, and terminated by requesting Singleton to report himself 
 to the commanding officer, and to see whether he would not have 
 the first watch to keep. But probably, the commanding officer, 
 who was Lieutenant Primby, thought it a little too soon to begin 
 making our friend work, so Singleton was left to go down to the 
 gunroom and join his mess. 
 
 Descending to an infernal region, which differed chiefly from 
 the regular one, in this, that the descensus was not so facilis as 
 it proverbially is — Singleton entered a long gunroom with a stove 
 in it, the pipe of which projected to an enormous length, and 
 ultimately went out at the port. A pewter pot was on the table, 
 with the words “ 0 be joyful” engraved upon it. 
 
 When Singleton entered, a young man, in the uniform of a 
 mate, who was sitting reading by the stove, received him very 
 kindly. Singleton had seldom seen a person who united so 
 much acquired to so much natural grace. His face was oval, 
 and of gentle and intelligent expression ; his eyes were dark, 
 luminous, and soft. Many a girl would have been glad to have 
 had such hands ; and his manners were graceful and easy beyond 
 all grace and ease but the highest. 
 
 “ People usually join the service earlier than you seem to have 
 done,” said the mate to Singleton. 
 
 " Why, so I hear, but I am glad I did not.’* 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 93 
 
 “ Perhaps it is as well, and this entry at a later period of life 
 some have thought would be a good thing for the service, if it 
 were made general.” 
 
 “ Ah, that has been meditated as a reform, has it ?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said the mate. Then he smiled and added, “ Not that 
 I like what is now-a-days called reform, much ; but you, I sup- 
 pose, come from a Whig family, from your entering just now ? ” 
 
 “ Not I, indeed,” said Singleton, laughing. “ My father, 
 Pontenoy senior, would not thank you for such a supposition, I 
 assure you.” 
 
 “ Indeed,” said the other, who seemed pleased to hear this 
 fact. “ How did you get your appointment, then, for to my 
 knowledge, one of the most eminent prelates on the bench tried 
 a long time to get one for one of his family, but could not, be- 
 cause he was a Conservative P ” 
 
 Singleton explained, and then they had a good deal of conver- 
 sation on the subject, and Singleton found the mate very well 
 informed and intellectual, and very tenaciously attached to Tory 
 opinions. 
 
 “ But we must be careful how we discuss these matters before 
 old Bertie,” he said, laughing. “Bertie is a very queer fellow. 
 He was the eldest son of a gentleman of fortune, but through 
 continued absence from home and neglect of his relations, he 
 managed to let his younger brother in for his inheritance. The 
 younger brother makes him an allowance, however, and when he 
 gets short he comes to sea for economy. He is a violent Whig, 
 and almost as strongly attached to his opinions as he is to his 
 bottle. Do you know, he positively has a prejudice against me 
 because I am a lord, and son of a Tory peer.” 
 
 “ That seems hard,” said Singleton. “ May I ask your name ? 
 I was not told.” 
 
 The mate told him. He was Lord Alfred Clarion, son of the 
 Duke of Neville. And he might have added that he was one of 
 the best specimens of his order in the profession. 
 
 Not long afterwards, down came old Bertie, growling and 
 swearing, and helped himself to some port. 
 
 “ I mean to go on shore this evening, my lord,” he said. He 
 generally my -lorded Clarion, not as snobs do, by way of flattery, 
 but ceremoniously, to mark his own rank, and to preserve his 
 dignity. Nothing could have annoyed Clarion more. 
 
 “ Very well, Bertie,” he answered quietly. 
 
 Bertie gave a low, rolling growl. “ Mr. is a title, my lord, as 
 well as any other,” he said. 
 
 “Very well, Mr. Bertie,” said Clarion, quietly again, and 
 glancing towards Singleton. But old Bertie, who naturally was 
 essentially a good-hearted person, was mollified, and looking 
 
94 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 up, said, “ I did not mean the observation disagreeably, you 
 know.” 
 
 “ I did not take it so, I assure you.” And after this little 
 fencing scene, Bertie took some more wine, and then he called 
 out to Singleton by the usual title of “youngster,” to come and 
 help him to unpack a carpet-bag. From this, with Singleton’s 
 aid, he dragged out a huge, broad- tailed plain coat, which he 
 meditated wearing that evening on shore. While fumbling in 
 the pockets, he drew out a card bearing the name of “ Captain 
 Tinker,” and after staring stupidly at it for some time, the old 
 boy burst into a laugh, and speedily communicated the laugh to 
 the others, by explaining, that last time he wore that coat, about 
 three months before, he had had a quarrel in a coffee-room with 
 a stranger, which had ended in an exchange of cards. But 
 having returned on board with his brain in a state of confusion, 
 he had forgotten all about it, and it had never returned to his 
 memory till that moment. 
 
 “ Notthatlwouldnot have fought the fellowif I had remembered 
 it,” he said, and this met with ready credence, for Bertie’s pluck 
 was indubitable. The old boy now brought out a pewter basin 
 and began to wash himself in a corner. While he was perform- 
 ing this operation, Singleton looked out of the after port at the 
 shore, where the tribe of Esquimaux who inhabit Sheerness live. 
 Presently he was startled by a tremendous roar of “ youngster,” 
 and turning round, he saw Bertie groping about like Polyphemus, 
 with his eyes half blinded with soap, and reduced to desperation 
 by want of a towel. 
 
 “ Bring a towel, youngster, — quick ! ” 
 
 Singleton rushed to his chest and produced one, which Bertie 
 used with avidity. After this he borrowed a collar from him, 
 and touched up his ropy old whiskers with a pocket-comb, 
 mounted the eccentric coat, and prepared for his departure. 
 
 “ Now, youngster, give me down that cocked-hat box.” 
 
 Once more Singleton obeyed orders, and took down from the 
 beams a triangular-shaped box of a bronze colour. Diving into 
 this, Bertie raked up a cigar wrapped in paper, and unrolled it. 
 The paper was a five-pound note, for he was eccentric in every- 
 thing. Putting this in his pocket, and biting off the end of the 
 cigar, old Bertie took one more glass of port, and then poured 
 out one for Singleton. 
 
 “ Drink that, youngster. Here’s luck ! ” and off he went. 
 
 Lord Clarion, who had been still reading by the stove, and 
 glancing up occasionally, smiled as Singleton resumed his seat, 
 and said, “ Well, that is a mate of ten years* standing— one of 
 a breed that will soon be as extinct as the dodo. But don’t 
 suppose that this apparent barbarism of Bertie’s lies deep. He 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 95 
 
 is a very thoughtful and sensible person, and you will like him 
 better by and bye.” 
 
 “Well, be is a lucky fellow to be waited on by Norman 
 blood,” said Fontenoy, laughing. “Kings can have no more.” 
 
 “Well,” said Lord Clarion, “lam glad to see you are good- 
 natured. That is a great point. Good-nature is the beauty of 
 the mind, and, like personal beauty, wins, almost without any- 
 thing else/ — sometimes, indeed, in spite of positive deficiencies.” 
 
 At this moment the quartermaster put his head in at the door. 
 “ If you please, my lord, Mr. Primby wants you to 4 look out/ 
 for he is going on shore.” 
 
 “ Very well, I will do so, tell him.” Then turning to Single- 
 ton, as he rose to get his uniform cap, Clarion said, with a smile, 
 “ Primby is like England in Nelson’s signal; he 4 expects every 
 man to do his duty.” 
 
 With which capital mot (which the author must state is not 
 his own, but was heard by him afloat), Lord Clarion departed for 
 the deck. 
 
 In the evening other new youngsters who had joined came 
 down to the berth, and Singleton made their acquaintance. 
 One was young Lord Strawberry, one of the rising hopes of the 
 Whig noble family, De Fraise. Two of his brothers were in 
 the Home Office, one governed a minor colony, one was in the 
 army, and one was a “ commissioner.” Alfred was sent to pick 
 up what he could for himself in the navy. He was a little, 
 blue-eyed, pale-faced fellow of fourteen ; good-natured enough, 
 but not remarkable in other respects. There was also young 
 Bludgeon, son of a banker in the provinces somewhere, who 
 married a lady of family, and so got his share of public appoint- 
 ments ; and Box, a sturdy young booby, who had been sent to 
 sea for thrashing the usher where he was at school ; and 
 Howdy Gaffer, son of a magistrate in London, before whom he 
 had once or twice been taken up in the morning, and who had 
 been thus heavily fined by his own parent, a conscientious man 
 of the Brutus order. 
 
 “ It seems there’s to be a naval instructor,” said Bludgeon, 
 mournfully. 
 
 “ I’m cussed if I came to sea for that !” cried Box, savagely. 
 44 I’ve had enough of school!” 
 
 44 1 vote we agree to learn nothing,” said Gaffer. 
 
 “We can easily do that,” said Singleton, laughing. 
 
 44 Hear, hear !” cried Gaffer, taking it up seriously. 
 
 44 1 say,” drawled out Strawberry, -who w r as sprawling on the 
 cushions on the lockers, and who now stretched out his arms 
 languidly, — “I say, Fontenoy, have you seen the Pannikin 
 girl? ? u 
 
96 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N« 
 
 “ I saw theta this morning.” 
 
 “What do you think of them, eh?” drawled the boy, 
 listlessly. 
 
 “ Jemima’s what is called a fine girl.” 
 
 “There is rather too much of her,” yawned the noble. 
 “ Mother P.’s slow, and old P.’s a plebeian.” 
 
 “ Don’t give yourself any of your aristocratic airs here,” cried 
 Pox (whose father, a Eadical, had bullied Government out of this 
 youth’s appointment) ; “ Oligarchy’s not the time of day now. 
 Put I mean to lick that squinting young Pannikin when I can 
 do it on the sly.” 
 
 “ I don’t see why we should be sent to take care of the 
 Pannikins,” said Pludgeon, with a melancholy look. 
 
 “ I gave one of the children to a policeman, to take charge of, 
 the other day, while I went for a glass of ale,” said Gaffer. 
 
 “ The ship’s company are gone to supper,” said Pox. “ I 
 have a tick with the bumboat woman. We’ll devil some 
 herrings, and have some rum-and-water. We dined too early.” 
 
 This was agreed to, in the absence of anything more interest- 
 ing ; and Pox, putting his head out of the gunroom door, called 
 to somebody to pass the word for boy Prown. This unhappy 
 boy was attendant of the mess, and he presently made his ap- 
 pearance with a very dirty face. He received his orders. 
 
 “ Please, sir, Mr. McScrimp [this was the assistant-surgeon] 
 said, the young gentlemen was not to have rum.” 
 
 “ Curse your impudence, you whelp !” cried Pox, ferociously. 
 “ Pring the rum instanter /” 
 
 “ I dare not, sir,” said the boy. 
 
 “Let us cob McScrimp, — I’m game !” cried Pox. 
 
 “ Hear, hear !” cried Gaffer. “ He’s down in his dispensary, 
 in the cockpit.” 
 
 “ Stop,” cried Strawberry ; “ I can manage him. Poy, 
 Lord Strawberry’s compliments to Mr. McScrimp, and would 
 be much obliged for a little of the mess rum.” This was said 
 with great dignity, for this young gentleman had already learned 
 that his title was potent with a certain class of people. Pox 
 grumbled, but it seemed the best plan ; and indeed it was quite 
 successful. A suppliant lord was a phenomenon that none of 
 the McScrimp family, till the present Angus of that name, had 
 ever encountered. It was not in snobbery to resist it, and the 
 rum was thus procured. 
 
 So the “ youngsters” having the gunroom to themselves 
 that evening (for Clarion retired early), spent it very sociably 
 together, and gave each other long accounts of their families 
 and relations, and what “ tin” they would have, and what they 
 did at school. They congratulated themselves on their escape 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 97 
 
 from liome, laughed at old Pannikin, vowed vengeance against 
 McScrimp, and went to bed in high good humour. 
 
 CHAPTER, II. 
 
 Master. What cheer ? 
 
 Boatswain . Good : speak to the mariners : fall to’t yarely .... Bestir, 
 be3tir. Tile Tempest. 
 
 Nauticus exoritur vario certamine clamor. 
 
 Virgil. JEneid. iii. 123. 
 
 ISTest morning, Singleton awoke for the first time in his life 
 in a hammock, and as he started out of a dream, knocked his 
 head against the beams above rather sharply. But in the cause 
 of our country we must bear these little things. Besides, all 
 this was Action and a Career. At least, so our friend tried to 
 persuade himself. But why anticipate disappointment? It is 
 only at a later period of life, that we begin to discover that 
 there can be no true action, till our spiritual tendencies and our 
 worldly avocations work in harmony. He who can achieve that 
 condition, has found his true career. Whereas, to the great 
 majority, viz., those who take up a profession from accident, or 
 interest, the world is nothing but a huge treadmill in which they 
 work away mechanically — either patient animals, or discontented 
 men. 
 
 The “ Sangfroid ” hulk was a line-of-battle vessel, and the 
 midshipmen accordingly slept in the after cockpit, or orlop deck. 
 In the centre of this stood an amputation-table, as it was called 
 (a non amjputando , I suppose, for no amputations used to take 
 place on it), but which they used to wash on. Here stood the 
 row of little pewter basins. Here the young gentlemen per- 
 formed their toilets, each attended by a marine as servant. 
 Singleton got hold of an old Scotchman to attend him, who 
 thought it part of his duty to be paternal, and to give good 
 advice to his master, which was no doubt very disinterested, but 
 which was sometimes rather a bore. 
 
 After he had dressed, Singleton was wandering about the main 
 deck, when he perceived the flutter of a green gown on the main 
 ladder, and this apparition was succeeded by the descent of a 
 youthful female, who, encumbered as she was vrith a large parcel, 
 seemed to find it difficult to move. Singleton gallantly stepped 
 forward to assist her, and by his aid she landed safely, and then 
 acknowledged the courtesy with a smile. Scarcely had she done 
 so, when a loud, roughvoice was heard loudly exclaiming — “Hillo, 
 young gentleman, steady there, keep her away, ho !*' 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 At these words, Singleton looked round, and perceived an 
 elderly man in a blue jacket, with a silver ornament of mysterious 
 shape hanging from his neck, coming up to join them. His 
 manner oddly managed to combine the roughness of a common 
 sailor, with a species of dignity hard to describe. 
 
 “ Hillo, Bet my lass, kiss your old dad !” cried this old boy. 
 And then he turned to Singleton, “ I say, my young gentleman’s 
 son, you’re beginning early. Now you had better just up 
 helm and be off, or I’ll see what Captain Panhikin says to it.” 
 
 “ And pray who are you P” inquired Singleton, angrily. 
 
 “ I am Mr. Bagg, boatswain of H.M.S. ‘ Patagonian,’ ” was 
 the reply. 
 
 Singleton saw the state of things. The young lady was Miss 
 Bagg, and her father could not but place any but one construc- 
 tion on a midshipman’s speaking to her. It was an unfortunate 
 prejudice, but perhaps natural. However, he spoke very civilly 
 to Mr. Bagg, who allowed himself to be convinced he was mis- 
 taken, and then sent his daughter down to the cabin and con- 
 tinued the conversation. “ You must excuse me, you see, sir. 
 Young gentlemen are not always to be trusted, and my daughter’s 
 just a-growing up. It’s dangerous.” 
 
 Here a voice shouted down the hatchway, “Call away the 
 ship’s party.” Out jumped Mr. Bagg’s call, and he gave a tre- 
 mendous whistle, followed by a tremendous roar. Seamen and 
 marines poured up the ladders in swarms. 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy wanted,” cried a quartermaster at that mo- 
 ment, and Singleton ran up on deck, and found that he had to 
 go on board the “ Patagonian,” with all the other youngsters, 
 to “ learn the work,” by Captain Pannikin’s orders. 
 
 The “ Patagonian ” was progressing as fast as ropes, paint, 
 tar, noise, dirt, and swearing could make her. The topmasts 
 were up, and bowsprit out, and the guns were being hoisted in. 
 Perched in the centre, was a smart hatchet-faced lieutenant 
 giving orders, crying, “blue-jackets ” here, and “ marines ” there ; 
 and though dividing the crew into these ranks, yet occasionally 
 addressing them in comprehensive unity, by an unmentionable 
 designation. Here, mark the force of professional habit. In 
 spite of this, this lieutenant was a gentleman, and went into 
 very good society, — and waltzed, flirted, and twaddled, like 
 ordinary people. It is quite an affair of habit — and thus the 
 honest scavenger, when his day’s work is over, retires to the 
 bosom of his family, and becomes a decent man. 
 
 “ Hem, hem,” cried a voice near Singleton, and he beheld 
 Captain Pannikin. The worthy officer was red in the face with 
 exertion, and was somewhat in a state of perplexity ; for, not 
 having been afloat since 1818, he kept ordering things to be 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 99 
 
 done which fnobody understood, and using language to lieu- 
 tenants which they did not like. That morning, he addressed 
 Bertie, as “you sir,” to that gentleman’s intense disgust, so 
 that old Bertie, indeed, came growling down into the gun-room, 
 and swore that he would write for his discharge, and horsewhip 
 him when he obtained it. He offended Primby, the second 
 lieutenant, a west-end dandy of some standing, who set an enor- 
 mous value on people’s “ connections,” and consequently despised 
 his captain ; who wore white kid gloves, and carried a delicate 
 telescope, like an overgrown opera-glass. It seemed that Primby 
 was wearing a rose in his button-hole, when Pannikin came up 
 to him. 
 
 “ Uniform, Mr. Primby, hem ! Always wear uniform, hem ! ” 
 
 “Sir?” said Primby, rather loftily, drawing himself up, and 
 glancing at what he considered his unexceptionable attire. 
 
 “ Boses, eh, Mr. Primby? not uniform, hem !” 
 
 Mr. Primby removed the rose, but once again fell into the 
 mistake, which caused a feud between him and Pannikin, which 
 was never properly made up. And this, Lord Clarion used to 
 call the “ War of the Boses.” 
 
 Next, Captain Pannikin had an unpleasantness with his com- 
 mander, Commander Modell. This was an officer of the school 
 of H.M.S. “ Excellent,” and more remarkable for science than 
 seamanship. He was a man of superior understanding, and very 
 considerable information in the severer parts of knowledge. 
 Without a quarrel, — yet it was evident there could be no sym- 
 pathy between him and Pannikin. 
 
 Again, the first lieutenant and Captain Pannikin had nothing 
 in common. Lieutenant Tressel was a military-naval man. All 
 his sympathies were with the sister service. He had a very 
 military bearing, and wore his coat buttoned up. He made the 
 band play his wife’s quadrilles, and was one of the first of the 
 reading public who welcomed with enthusiasm the dawning 
 genius of Mr. Lever. 
 
 Thus the materials of considerable disturbance already 
 existed in H.M.S. “ Patagonian” ere she had left Sheerness. 
 And as similar elements existed in the gunroom mess, Single- 
 ton began to think that he should enjoy in his first ship the 
 advantage of seeing a great many of the peculiarities of the 
 profession. 
 
 “ Hem !” went Captain Pannikin, as I said above. “ Mr. 
 Eontenoy, you must be my aide-de-camp. Bring all the 
 youngsters here.” And so saying, he drew himself up, and 
 grunted as was his wont. Fontenoy went off accordingly, and 
 returned with my Lord Strawberry, Messrs. Bludgeon, Box, and 
 Bowdy Gaffer. These young gentlemen having been shown into 
 
 h 2 
 
100 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 the captain’s cabin, Captain Pannikin began to address them on 
 the importance of propriety of conduct in general. 
 
 “ Now, Mr. Strawberry?” 
 
 “ Lord Strawberry, if you please, Captain Pannikin.” 
 
 “What! Oh, I forgot. Very well, then, my lord. But re- 
 member, sir, for the future, — never tell your captain he’s wrong. 
 A captain can’t be wrong, ugh, hem!” (These peculiar ejacula- 
 tions of the captain’s are as difficult to render as the Greek par- 
 ticles, properly — the reader’s imagination and ear must aid). 
 “ Do you hear ? hem ! And, sir, if you were Jupiter Hammon 
 you should do your work in my ship !” 
 
 Why Pannikin peculiarly favoured Jupiter Ammon in prefer- 
 ence to Jupiter Olympius, or any other deity, was never disco- 
 vered ; but certain it is, he frequently swore by and appealed to 
 him. The common notion was, that having by chance once met 
 the name in a book, he had taken some fanciful liking to it. 
 
 “ Mr. Box, I hear you went on badly at school ; be careful 
 here, sir, hem !” Box looked savage. 
 
 “ Mr. Gaffer, I hope you don’t like rum — eh, ugh, hem !” 
 here something stuck in the speaker’s throat. Gaffer mentally 
 prayed that he would choke — but he didn’t. 
 
 “Mr. Bludgeon, now that you serve the Queen, pray, sir, be 
 smart and officer-like, ugh !” For Bludgeon was one of those 
 creeping, melancholy fellows one sometimes encounters, who have 
 a turn for mechanism — who prowl about the decks, making ex- 
 periments with tar, and cutting up chips of wood — who execute 
 clumsy models in deal, and make discoveries in steam that have 
 been found out and rejected long ago. Thus they are apt to be 
 slovens ; they borrow tools from the carpenter’s crew, and spoil 
 them ; they litter the gunroom with shavings and steel filings, 
 and they crib cartridges from the gunner. Bludgeon having 
 once incautiously stated that he meant to join the Turkish navy 
 by-and-by, was forthwith raised by the mess to the title of 
 Bludgeon Pasha — varied occasionally by that of Boker Bey. But 
 if Bludgeon’s tastes were not elegant they were useful, and he 
 was a very industrious and intelligent fellow. 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy — as you are older than any of the others, I 
 shall expect you to set a good example. I hear you are studious 
 — stick to Inman, sir, ugh !” Mr. Fontenoy bowed. 
 
 This discourse finished, Captain Pannikin went to visit the 
 gunroom, which was being painted and prepared for the midship- 
 men, as it was expected that the hands would shortly shift over 
 from the “ Sangfroid” to the ship. Here he was followed by his 
 faithful youngsters. They found Lord Clarion (who w*as of an 
 elegant and fanciful taste) superintending the operation. 
 
 And indeed Singleton was surprised to see how much was ca- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, It.N. 
 
 101 
 
 pable of being made of such an unpromising place. The beams 
 and the tiller (which traverses this nautical apartment) were 
 painted a very bright white. The two guns were painted white, 
 except the part which was outside the port ; and the body of the 
 cabin was done like wainscot. The stanchion itself was under the 
 hands of an ingenious mechanic, who was colouring it in a very 
 brilliant manner. 
 
 Captain Pannikin looked round with obvious astonishment at 
 proceedings which had so little in common with those he had 
 been accustomed to in his youth. At last he paused before the 
 stanchion. 
 
 “ Hem, ugh — what’s that, Lord Clarion, eh? What do you 
 call that?” 
 
 “ It is an imitation of lapis lazuli , sir,” said Clarion, in his low, 
 melodious voice, and bowing. 
 
 Pannikin would not have lived in vain if Mr. Leech had been 
 there to catch his air of puzzled astonishment at these words. It 
 was indeed a picture. It was the old school brought into contact 
 with the new. 
 
 “ Hem, ah — service changed since my time,” he muttered, and 
 off he went. The youngsters followed in his wake, as he phrased 
 it ; and he traversed the decks, one by one. All was animation 
 and activity. Primby was directing the men who were getting 
 in stores, in the voice of a master of the ceremonies ; Bertie was 
 bullying away, in his usual style ; while Commander Modell, 
 who never condescended to abusive language, stimulated the lazy 
 by the employment of a tone of polished sarcasm and irony, 
 which irritated them ten times as much ; for sailors rather like a 
 man who abuses them in good hearty Billingsgate slang, and thus 
 the Patagonians had no great love for the scientific and intellec- 
 tual Modell, who reproached them in the style of Junius, and 
 affected to imitate Fonblanque when he was calling out to the 
 fellows on the mainyard ! 
 
 After this inspection, Captain Pannikin, who was by no means 
 an inhospitable man, took off his faithful youngsters to dine with 
 him at his lodgings on shore. The advent of such a band created 
 no small sensation in the family, and apparently some terror ; 
 for young Jacob Pannikin, the cross-jack-eyed (a delicate naval 
 name for one who squints), set up a species of howl, and said, 
 “ Pa ! there won’t be enough ?” Box w r ould have liked to thrash 
 him, but, unhappily, that was impossible while he was under the 
 protection of his Penates ; but his father gave a severe grunt, 
 and checked him. 
 
 The Pannikins gracefully condescended during dinner, and it 
 went off pleasantly enough. That young aristocrat, Lord Straw- 
 berry, who was fast learning the advantages of rank, talked to 
 
102 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 Mrs. and the Misses Pannikin (the young rogue !) about the 
 fashionable world, all dinner-time, much to Fontenoy’s amuse- 
 ment and Pox’s disgust. What with his eye-glass and this con- 
 
 versation, he was indeed an interesting object of study, but he 
 did not perceive that the worthy captain himself was not so much 
 impressed by him as the women ; indeed, Captain Pannikin, 
 though a Tory (until the late election at Po thorough, that is), 
 had rather a dislike (arising from a mixture of early prejudice and 
 personal pomposity) to people of title. 
 
 When they left the house in the evening (with strict injunc- 
 tions to return on board the hulk immediately), young Straw- 
 berry proposed that they should go to some billiard-rooms. Not 
 being much taller than a billiard- table himself, this seemed odd, — 
 but j;he navy is the most precocious of all schools, and they went 
 accordingly. The marker, with a proper respect for their 
 uniform, showed them every attention, and Lord Strawberry 
 availed himself of a stool to stand upon, that he might do full 
 justice to his powers. 
 
 “ What cussed airs that young whelp gives himself !” said Box 
 to Fontenoy, confidentially, as the party were sauntering down 
 to the jetty, to take a boat to go off to the hulk. 
 
 “ The Pannikins were civil to-day, eh ?” said Strawberry, 
 as they rowed along. “ A worthy fellow, the captain !” 
 
 “ You need not have come it quite so strong about your titled 
 fellows,” said Box, sulkily. 
 
 “ Is it my fault that I belong to the aristocracy. I can’t help 
 being noble, can I, Fontenoy ?” said Strawberry, with a melan- 
 choly whine. 
 
 Box growled, and they said nothing further on the subject, but 
 reached the hulk in peace. 
 
 Day by day the fitting progressed, and still higher and higher 
 stretched the tall spars of the line-of-battle ship to the sky, and 
 cordage gathered between her lofty masts thick and intricate, like 
 a gigantic web ; the plain yellow colour of her sides was changed 
 for the chess-board chequered black and white, which, if I mis- 
 take not, was first introduced by Nelson. The crew had shifted 
 over from the “ Sangfroid” — our friend Bertie having taken care, 
 before parting finally with the gunroom, to carve sundry words 
 deep into the table, regardless of the disfigurement. It was only 
 by regularly damaging, in this kind of way, the deal tables for- 
 merly supplied, that our officers shamed the authorities into fur- 
 nishing them with the more pretentious articles now in use in the 
 service. Here the philosopher may observe a type of that ex- 
 traordinary species of public polity called Agitation, which, by 
 an analogous process, damages the present good, in the effort to 
 secure a future one ! Pity it has not always the same success I 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 103 
 
 At last the “ Patagonian” received orders to proceed round to 
 Portsmouth, prior to leaving England. New officers joined. 
 She went out to the Nore, and took her powder on board. Then 
 she spread her white sails to the wind, and curved her first line 
 in the blue waters of the Channel. 
 
 At Spithead more officers joined, who will be introduced to 
 the reader as occasion requires. Public wants caused every 
 despatch to be made in manning the vessel, and preparing to 
 proceed to her station. Eor a cloud was gathering in the East, 
 and the stately and gorgeous Albanian, and the gay Syrian, and 
 the grave Ottoman, were assembling for war. 
 
 Before she finally weighed, she was inspected by my Lord 
 Muddle, of the Twopenny Claudian Family, of the English 
 Patrician Order. He was a sullen, sallow man, with a worldly 
 face, and a cunning eye. He bowed to the officers, and remarked 
 jocularly as he passed the compasses, that they were “ very use- 
 ful things” — rather superfluous information to a sailor, but then 
 we must remember, that this lord was a governor of the navy 
 under our present system, and was of course anxious to show 
 that he had some acquaintance with nautical matters. He went 
 round the ship, then announced that he would go on shore again, 
 and was walking with that object towards the stern, when Cap- 
 tain Pannikin, not without a suppressed grin, conducted him to 
 the gangway. 
 
 “ Hands up anchor!” A whistle, and the rush of many 
 feet, and the huge bars are placed in the capstan, 
 and the men bend over and embrace them eagerly. The 
 band strikes up a shrill, stirring melody. Stamp ! stamp ; 
 Pound goes the capstan. The iron cable and messenger rattle 
 noisily along the lower deck, like the chains of the damned. 
 The huge ship sways heavily head to wind, and the white 
 waves beat against her bows, as she advances to the spot 
 where the anchor lies. 
 
 “ Loose sails, man the rigging, ’way aloft!” The masts and 
 yards swarm with men, thick as the leaves were upon them once, 
 long, long ago. High up towards the sky, where the light royal 
 masts taper, young sailor-boys are climbing like squirrels. The 
 word is given to let fall. Down falls the white canvass. Hoist 
 away ! And you see the topsails rising and fluttering in the 
 wind, full of life. 
 
 “ Heave and a- weigh !” The cable is tight. The anchor lies 
 deep in the earth’s embrace far below. But human arms are 
 strong. The capstan bars are hugged desperately — like the 
 embrace of love — like the embrace of death. Together ! “ Can 
 
 the earth which is dead and a vision, resist spirits that have 
 
104 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 reality and are alive ?”* There is a break — a start — a mad rush. 
 Hound spins the capstan, like a dancing Dervish. The sails 
 shiver, as in fear. What, had the fair green Isle of Wight 
 broken from its moorings, and like old Delos, taken to swim on 
 the sea that loves it so well P Ah, we are away ! The mighty 
 yards are swung to the wind, and the “ Patagonian,” sublime 
 in its ugliness — like Mirabeau — is* oil to sea. 
 
 It was evening — evening in the early summer, and sunset. 
 The glorious old sun was drowning in the blue ocean. All the 
 w r est blazed with colour, and he seemed to be turning the wide 
 sea into wine ! There are no perfumes from thy shore, oh 
 England, but there is refreshment in the gaze on thy green 
 hills. Pleasant are thy white dwellings, and fair are thy snowy 
 cliffs. 
 
 A calm came soon. The sea was covered with shipping. 
 There lay little fishing-boats with sails motionless in calm, 
 and looking like white butterflies resting on blue flowers. 
 The line-of-battle ship, herself, was still as a sleeping giant. 
 Her sails hung lazily down, and her long, bright pendant 
 drooped, and twined round the top-gallant backstays like a gaudy 
 snake. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 There are only two things that are of the slightest value 
 against sea-sickness, and these are brandy and fresh air. When 
 you begin to feel the fatal qualmishness stealing over you — take 
 some brandy and go on deck. There is nothing else for it. 
 Then, the more pluck you have the better. When you are ill, 
 give in — but like a man, like a gladiator who sees there is no 
 chance, but yet even yields boldly. Then take more brandy, 
 and keep on deck. However, how vain all advice on this terrible 
 matter is l Talk of the maladie de pays ! What is that to the 
 maladie de mer. It has a tragic interest too, this miserable illness ; 
 for when the good old Cicero (dear to all men of letters be his 
 name !) was dying from the savage debauchee who murdered him, 
 he took to the sea, and sea-sickness drove him on shore to his 
 assassins. 
 
 How wretched Fontenoy was in the Bay of Biscay, through 
 which the old “ Patagonian” thundered under double reefs 
 with a fair wind ! However, he hit upon the remedies men- 
 tioned above, while poor little Strawberry was nearly defunct in 
 the after cockpit, and Box suffered martyrdom ; for he lay down 
 
 * Sartor Resartus. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.K. 
 
 105 
 
 miserably on the lockers in the gunroom, and an old mate cruelly 
 provoked him by dangling a piece of fat pork, on a string, before 
 his languid eyes ! A delicate piece of humour this ! But then 
 it was an old mate, one of those, no doubt, who in former 
 times, used to spit in their glass of grog, before going out of the 
 gunroom, to prevent any one from appropriating it, in their 
 absence ! 
 
 When the weather became milder, the “ youngsters ” had to 
 go to school. What an Academe ! A canvass screen surrounded a 
 wooden table ; inside this, they sat with the naval instructor, 
 Mr. Bobb, who taught them to dislike navigation. Mr. Bobb 
 might have taught Charon how to navigate the Styx as far as 
 sympathy and kindred thought went. He was an eminently 
 disagreeable little man, with some science, and no literature. 
 He knew nothing of the classics, but could teach French — I 
 mean a dialect of it. He had a prejudice against the Church of 
 England, as vulgar men often have, and had a great love of 
 money. So he sneered at, and avoided the chaplain, and was 
 most intimate with the purser. This was another Scotchman 
 (for I have mentioned McScrimp, the assistant-surgeon already), 
 by name McStirk. McStirk and Bobb used to retire to a cabin 
 and discuss a bottle together. McStirk bullied his purser’s 
 steward so, that it was supposed to be the chief reason why that 
 poor fellow, who was always of a melancholy turn, one day com- 
 mitted suicide in the bread-room. 
 
 In addition to Mr. Bobb, the youngsters were instructed by 
 the boatswain, by Captain Pannikin’s express orders, in the art 
 of making knots. There are the “ running bowline,” and the 
 “ fisherman’s bend,” and the “ crown,” and heaven knows how 
 many more. Box studied all these, for he had a great ambition 
 to be able to make a “ colt,” which is a curious instrument of 
 chastisement used by naval men. It was this occupation that 
 first brought Singleton into any intimate communication with 
 Commander Modell. The youngsters were assembled on the 
 main-deck, each with a piece of “ inch-and-a-lialf,” and Singleton 
 was working away in a state of great perplexity, when Com- 
 mander Modell came up and said, “ What are you doing there, 
 Mr. Fontenoy?” 
 
 “ Making a * Matthew Walker,’ sir,” answered Singleton, 
 touching his hat, and looking ruefully at the rope. How, the 
 said “ Matthew Walker,” if I remember right, is a regular 
 Gordian knot in its difficulty. 
 
 “Ah,” said Modell, looking at the performance, “you had 
 better get the boatswain to show you how to do it.” 
 
 “ It’s certainly a ‘ dignus vindice nodus ,’ ” replied Singleton, 
 by a sudden impulse of facetiousness, and smiling. 
 
106 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 The commander started. Then he smiled also in a queer, 
 grim kind of way. “Very good, Mr. Fontenoy, but for the 
 future, sir, remember, if you please, that it’s not customary in 
 the service to pun to your superior officer.” Singleton begged 
 his pardon, and was considerably abashed, but Commander 
 Modell was rather prepossessed in his favour from that day. 
 
 In the mean time, the gunroom mess seemed threatened with 
 one of those movements known in modern times as a “ disrup- 
 tion.” Party spirit ran so terrifically high ! And no wonder — 
 when we remember that at that time no Tory could expect promo- 
 tion, and that every Whig expected it as a matter of course. The 
 Tory mates used accordingly to lick the Whig youngsters, and so 
 on — and upon the whole, this political mess, when we consider 
 the purity of its political motives, the profundity of its knowledge, 
 and how much principle had to do with its party violence, was 
 no bad type of more important assemblies ! 
 
 One morning, when they were in sight of the coast of Por- 
 tugal, some sixteen of the mess were assembled in the gunroom, 
 variously employed. Lord Clarion was reading, on a chair near 
 the larboard gun ; so was Somers, a very sharp little mate of the 
 Tory party, with an eye quick enough to see everything but his 
 own faults. Lovell, a tall, thin, spoony midshipman, usually 
 called “ Lady Margaret,” was cleaning a flute which he dared 
 not attempt to play. The second master, old Plebbe, was 
 making a lunar on some dirty paper. Snigg, the clerk — a face- 
 tious, satirical fellow, was dozing off the effects of last night’s 
 rum on the lockers. Singleton was reading. Strawberry was 
 asleep, while Box was cautiously stealing away the desk which 
 supported his head. Bludgeon, as usual, was making a model 
 with some hard wood and a blunt knife. 
 
 In came old Bertie, who had had the morning watch, and had 
 just been dressing himself in the cockpit. Every pimple on his 
 purply old face had an irate look. Clarion and Somers inter- 
 changed glances. 
 
 “ Good morning, Bertie,” said Lord Clarion. 
 
 “ I wish you a good morning, my lord,” said Bertie, with a 
 very low and formal bow. Then he glanced round the lockers, 
 and perceived that they were almost wholly tenanted by 
 “ youngsters.” So he coolly went and seized young Strawberry 
 by the legs, and slowly dragged him away from his resting- 
 place. 
 
 “ Come, young shaver, you have all night in : make room 
 for me.” 
 
 “ Don’t hurt his lordship,” said that malignant young imp, 
 Box, who wished to see a row. 
 
 “ What, do you call that thing a lord ? ” cried Bertie, lifting 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 107 
 
 up the unhappy noble by his trousers and coat, in imitation of a 
 well-known saying of Brumm ell’s. There was a great roar of 
 laughter, and Strawberry was furious as he was put down again. 
 Just as Bertie was composing himself to sleep, a hideous noise, 
 which was positively unearthly, resounded through the room. 
 The fact is, that the hand of the ship had their mess on the lower 
 deck, just outside the gunroom, and next to it. And this noise 
 was occasioned by a fit of playfulness which had suddenly seized 
 the gentleman who performed on the bassoon. This proximity 
 of the band was one of the standing nuisances of the mess, a 
 standing grievance, and apparently unavoidable. Over and over 
 again had the master of the band been bullied about such noises 
 — over and over again had he faithfully promised there should be 
 no “ practising ” anywhere but in the cable-tier. 
 
 There was a general laugh, just now, at this noise, and every- 
 body glanced at Bertie, who was lying with his eyes shut. He 
 was a sworn foe to all music, and particularly to this band. 
 
 The facetious clerk, Snigg, awoke at this moment, tolerably 
 refreshed by his slumber, and wiped away a kind of apoplectic 
 foam that used to gather about his lips during his stertorous 
 repose. Indeed, Sniggs being seized with apoplexy was a thing 
 confidently expected by the mess, facetiously alluded to by many, 
 and rather wished for, as a lark, by some. He now rubbed liis 
 eyes, and said — 
 
 “ The wedding-guest he beat his breast. 
 
 For he heard the loud bassoon ! ” 
 
 Just as he said this, another sepulchral sound issued from the 
 band’s mess. Up jumped Bertie. 
 
 “ By G" — , this is too bad ! ” he cried. “ I’ll leave the ship, 
 hang me if I don’t ! ” 
 
 “ It is shameful,” said Lord Clarion. 
 
 t( Orpheus went to hell,” said Snigg ; “ and hang me if every 
 cussed musician oughtn’t to follow.” 
 
 “ I shall cut the service, and join the Guards,” drawled young 
 Strawberry. 
 
 “ Hillo — he’s taken worse,” cried Box, as a still more dismal 
 sound was heard. 
 
 “ Human nature can stand it no longer !” said Bertie. So he 
 jumped up, opened the door, and roared out to the master of the 
 band to come in immediately. The poor man entered, cap in 
 hand, very civilly, and was severely lectured by Bertie for ten 
 minutes. When he had gone — 
 
108 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, H.N. 
 
 “Hang bands!” said Bertie; “there were no such things 
 when I joined the service.” 
 
 “ I thought you liked reform,” said Somers, with a sneer. 
 
 “ I like reform, of course, and so do all but the selfish, who 
 lose power by it,” said Bertie ; “but every innovation is not a 
 reform.” 
 
 “ Hear, hear !” cried Clarion, markedly. The Tories laughed, 
 and looked at Bertie. 
 
 “ I suppose that noise means something,” said Bertie, sarcas- 
 tically ; “ but I should like to know what. Some bra} r s are as 
 bad as the braying of the band trumpets.” 
 
 Here the Whigs laughed. Box was charmed ; a quarrel 
 among the “ oldsters ” was honey to him. 
 
 “ Nae doot o’ that,” said McScrimp, with a most hideous wink 
 and leer at Clarion and Somers. 
 
 Poor McScrimp intended this as a sarcasm against Bertie. 
 He had no opinions himself, but toadied Clarion (who despised 
 him), in the vague and dismal hope that he would, at some 
 future day, be allowed to promenade his raw-boned figure in the 
 saloons of Neville House. 
 
 “ Particularly the braes of bonnie Boon,” said Snigg, looking 
 at him and mimicking. 
 
 There was here a general laugh at McScrimp from both 
 parties. Box shouted and roared in a most exaggerated style ; 
 so McScrimp fastened on him, as a youngster, and struck him. 
 Box was fierce, but McScrimp was twice as old, and three times 
 as strong : he got him on the lockers, and struck him hard two 
 or three times. Box’s eyes flashed fire ; he was as savage as a 
 young bull-dog : in the impotence of his wrath, he spit in 
 McScrimp’s face. The Scotchman knocked his head against a 
 desk savagely. 
 
 There was a loud cry of “ shame,” but the oldsters did not 
 like to interfere with one of their own order. Unfortunately, 
 thrashing was not a very rare phenomenon, and Lord Clarion, 
 besides, was somewhat disgusted with Box’s spitting, although 
 so provoked. The chastisement continued, when, with a spring, 
 Pontenoy, whose blood boiled like a torrent, rushed at McScrimp, 
 and gave him a terrible facer between the eyes. McScrimp 
 uttered a cry, — struck out at Singleton, — hit him in the middle 
 of the face. Whew ! in an instant the blood of the De Eon- 
 tenoys — that Norman blood, on which poor Singleton prided 
 himself — was spurting all over his face. As he drew breath he 
 tasted it : he rushed at McScrimp again. Box had jumped up ; 
 and the bully w’as pinned by the throat. 
 
 “ Stop it, stop it,” cried half a dozen fellows, rushing to the 
 spot. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 109 
 
 “Ko, byG ” said Bertie, who saw tliat McScrimp bad 
 
 gone down, and that Bowdy Gaffer bad pounced in at this crisis, 
 to join bis brother youngsters. Old Bertie grew ferocious at the 
 sight of blood and fighting.' — “ The man that meddles must dare 
 to touch me !” 
 
 “I appeal to you as a man of sense and feeling,” cried Clarion, 
 coming up. 
 
 Here McScrimp groaned. The youngsters were frightened. 
 Clarion drew back Bos, who seemed to stick to his victim, like a 
 gorging leech. Bertie cooled, — the combatants rose up, — they 
 were separated. 
 
 “Go below, and wash yourselves, for Heaven’s sake!” said 
 Clarion, laughing ; “ we positively must have a Biot Act to read 
 in this mess.” 
 
 Box, with a desperately swollen lip, looked fiercely round. He 
 could scarcely see Singleton, but he came up to him, and shook 
 bis band like a madman, and began to cry. — “It ain’t the licking 
 
 got [sob, sob, went Box, nearly choking], it’s because you 
 [sob, sob] were hit ! — Bless you, old fellow.” 
 
 Singleton luckily came off safe, as regarded the eyes. He 
 wiped his face with one of the handkerchiefs that Augusta Lepel 
 bad worked his crest in. It was a nice time to be reminded of 
 her ! 
 
 The youngsters descended to the cockpit, and roared out for 
 their servants : — down came two or three marines. 
 
 “Lor, how gash ye look, Muster Fontenoy!” said Geordie 
 Webb, bis servant. 
 
 “Water,” said Singleton, briefly. 
 
 “Ay, ay; ye need it, I’m thinking; ay, ay. Hoo, sir, ye 
 ken ” 
 
 “Water, Webb.” 
 
 “ Ay, ay,” said Webb, who did not seem to be quite as sober 
 as he might have been. In truth, it was thought by some 
 people, that old Webb had acquired the art (sometimes acquired 
 at sea) of going through all his duties with mechanical propriety 
 when considerably intoxicated, and keeping clear of punishment 
 without losing the enjoyment of rum. 
 
 Webb slowly raised the chest, took out the basin, looked in it, 
 rubbed it vaguely, then started to the main-deck to the tank for 
 the water. While his master was bathing himself, he stood by, re- 
 spectfully, with a towel — 
 
 “ Let dogs delight, 
 
 To bark and bite,” 
 
 began Webb, musingly. 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, Webb. Hand me that bottle.” 
 
110 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 Webb brought out the Eau-de-Cologne, and first put it to bis 
 nose before banding it to bis master. 
 
 Singleton looked at the bottle and shook it. “ I hope, Webb, 
 you don’t drink this P” he said, pouring some out into the hollow 
 of his hand, to bathe his forehead with. 
 
 If he had said this to an English servant, the man would have 
 bridled up, denied it with indignation, and begged he would 
 provide himself with another man. But Webb was Scotch, 
 and the lower orders of Scotland are the best educated in 
 Europe, as we all know. 
 
 So he gave a quiet series of satirical chuckles. “ Hech, hech, 
 sir, that’s nae sae bad !” and appeared to treat the idea as too 
 ridiculous for refutation. The truth was that Webb had tried 
 the bottle, and considered it “puir stuff, but better than 
 naething.” 
 
 “ Hech, hech, sir,” he continued, “ I tell ye hoo ye may mak 
 sure o’ my na drinking it, — gie me some rum ! ” 
 
 “ A clean handkerchief, Webb and having got this without 
 more parley, Singleton returned to the gunroom. Box, whose 
 swollen lip pouted enormously, was there. McScrimp was in 
 his dispensary, and had put himself in the sick-list. The same 
 was done for Box, by the other assistant-surgeon, through the 
 agency of Lord Clarion, who, with characteristic good-nature, 
 managed to hush up the affair, and prevent its being brought 
 before the quarter-deck authorities. All such complaints to 
 Captain Pannikin ended unpleasantly, for that great officer 
 having no capacity for analyzing and pronouncing on conflicting 
 evidence, used to sum up generally, by saying that “ both 
 parties were in the wrong,” which at least was impartial, and 
 which was certainly brief. 
 
 At one o’clock the mess sat down to dinner, with all despatch, 
 for the ship was drawing near land. There was soup at each 
 end, and at one end presided McScrimp. The youngsters sat 
 next him. This is one of the comforts of the service ; you must 
 sit, for weeks and weeks, near a person to whom you don’t 
 speak, and who perhaps hates you mortally. “ Soup, Mr. 
 Box,” said McScrimp, sulkily. 
 
 “ If you please,” said Box, savagely. 
 
 “ I’ll trouble you for the salt/’ said McScrimp to Gaffer, with 
 the look of a demon. 
 
 Gaffer passed it, with the glance of a ghoul. Very agreeable, 
 all this, thought Singleton, who was in a state of remorse and 
 disgust. 
 
 “ This is very good soup,” said Strawberry, good-naturedly. 
 
 “ Soup and bully, eh?” said Snigg, nudging him anti glancing 
 towards McScrimp. Box gave a ghastly grin. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 Ill 
 
 “Mr. Box, a glass of Marsala ?” said old Bertie, in a marked 
 tone, while some of the mess laughed. McScrimp looked like the 
 Dweller of the Threshold. Box, who was ready to take wine 
 with anybody, or indeed without ceremony, drank very cor- 
 dially. The Patagonians had two quarter-casks of that popular 
 wine suspended in the gun-room, to say nothing of supplies 
 below. What would Benbow say, could he see a midshipman’s 
 mess at dinner now-a-days? Well, let him sleep on! — if he 
 wakes a few years hence, I dare say he will see a cordon bleu 
 presiding at the galley-fire ! 
 
 “ Hands, bring ship to an anchor,” cried a quartermaster, 
 abruptly thrusting his head in at the door, almost before dinner 
 was over. 
 
 The mess rushed on deck, and Singleton to the mizen-top, 
 which was his station, and where, like the celebrated cherub, he 
 had to “sit up aloft.” The ship was running up the Tagus 
 with a fair wind. The deep rich blue waters were sparkling in 
 the sun, and sunlight streamed over the fair undulating hills 
 and valleys, with their bright villages and spacious vineyards, 
 — fair nurses of different children, pauper peasants, and rich 
 grapes. 
 
 Hear the man at the wheel stood a singular figure, the Por- 
 tugese pilot. — This wa3 a little fellow in a red nightcap and jack 
 boots, with a tawny, wrinkled face, like a decayed lemon. 
 Fixing his eyes on a known village or house on shore, he guided 
 himself by such landmarks, and accompanied each direction with 
 a little convulsive jerk of his right hand. “ Mak him stabboard; 
 go port ! ” There was perfect silence on board as the ship ran 
 on, broken occasionally by a plunge of the lead in the water, 
 and the long, low, wailing cry of the man in the chains, as he 
 gathered in the dripping-line, and sang out the depth found. 
 
 Captain Pannikin paraded the poop with his huge glass. 
 Lieutenant Primby was on the quarter-deck, occasionally 
 pulling up his white gloves, and arranging his collar and 
 odorous curls. The military Tressel presided on the forecastle ; 
 the scientific Commander Modell stood on one of the quarter-deck 
 carronade slides. 
 
 “ Maintop, there,” cried Modell; “where is the industrious 
 Jones ?” 
 
 “ Here I am, sir,” cries the captain of the top, in high indig- 
 nation. 
 
 “ Ah ! let us have some variety to-day ! Let us see the top- 
 gallant studding-sails come in properly. Pray, sir, is that a 
 tinker in the cross-trees, or the congenial cobbler ? ” I have already 
 mentioned that Modell was of the new school, and never used 
 abusive language ; but I hardly know why an honest tinker or 
 
112 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 cobbler should be so contemptible in. nautical eyes ; yet there 
 can be no bitterer reproach than to compare a seaman to one of 
 these mechanics. 
 
 “ Take in the studding-sails and royals,” said Pannikin, from 
 the poop, with a grunt. 
 
 “ Lower studding-sail tripping-line ; topmast studding-sail 
 down-haul; topmen up, to take in topgallant studding-sails,” 
 cried Modell. “Now, then, start the tack before the yard’s 
 down,” cried he, ironically ; “ do, if you please, and snap the 
 boom. Shorten sail ! ” 
 
 Away started the flapping canvass, and was got in very 
 smartly. Pannikin gave a satisfied grunt ; for it was perceptible 
 that the “Braganza,” Portugese frigate, was lying in the anchor- 
 age, with her great, gaudy stern blazing in the sun, beside one 
 or two of our own ships ; so it was advisable that the “ Pata- 
 gonian ” should make a good appearance ; and a gentleman, who 
 unhappily finds his pantaloons yielding while he is in a quadrille, 
 suffers lightly in comparison with a sensitive captain, who finds 
 his ship disgrace herself in the eyes of a smart squadron. Poor 
 Pannikin ! he knew not what was impending. 
 
 The breeze blew; the sails bellied out gracefully. On flew 
 the ship over the violet river ; the sweet shrubs that grow on the 
 banks, worthy of the golden reputation of the stream, offered up 
 grateful incense to the coming children of the north ; hill and 
 valley, and woods of earth’s fairest plumage, and fruits that hang 
 like jewels on mother earth’s fair neck, were around them ; 
 above, a smiling heaven ; before, more and more distinct grew 
 the town of Lisbon, stretching over rocky hills, with antique 
 buildings, venerable by age, and gardens beautiful as youth. 
 
 The ship was going nine knots. The word was given to shorten 
 sail ; the fore-topsail, from some reason or other, stuck. 
 
 “ Let go the halyards,” roared Pannikin. 
 
 Now, Mr. Tressel on the forecastle hearing the words “let 
 go,” conceived that such a desperate roar could only mean let go 
 the anchor ; accordingly this was done. The ship was brought 
 up suddenly ; there was a desperate confusion. One fluke of 
 the best bower-anchor was broken; there was delay, confusion, 
 humiliation. Mr. Tressel was put under arrest ; the effect of 
 the entree was destroyed ; Pannikin was furious, and the “ Pata- 
 gonian” disgraced. 
 
 Why linger over the painful scene ? Let us come down to the 
 gunroom. Two hours have elapsed ; the ship has been brought 
 properly to an anchor, and all is over. 
 
 “ I shall go on shore,” said Clarion, “ and visit the Aqueduct.” 
 
 “ I want to go to the Opera,” said Somers. “ Tadolini sings 
 here, I dare say.” 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 11 ; 
 
 “I want to go to Cintra,” said Lovell. 
 
 <e I mean to visit the churches,” said Plebbe. 
 
 “I want some ices,” said Strawberry, with a sigh. 
 
 “ I shall go and see the grave of Fielding,” said Fontenoy. 
 
 “ Bravo youngster,” cried Bertie; “ I will go with you. I 
 swear by Tom Jones ! ” 
 
 CHAPTEE IY. 
 
 Hioc exaudiri gemitus, et saeva sonare 
 
 Verbera : JEneid, vi. 557-8. 
 
 Man is a noble animal splendid in ashes and pompous in the grave. 
 
 Sib Thomas Bbowh. 
 
 The <c P atagonian ” had left the Tagus; and passed the 
 huge rock of Gibraltar, with its batteries lying like crouched 
 lions at its feet ; had gone through the Straits, and entered the 
 Mediterranean. It w^as a fine morning. The sun was shining ; 
 the water smooth; the wind lively and fair — and there was a 
 seaman going to be flogged. A picture of naval life would be 
 incomplete without such a scene. And Britannia, in her cha- 
 racter of ruler of the waves, ought to be painted with a “ cat ” in 
 her hand. Who paints Tisiphone, except — 
 
 . . ultrix accincta fiagello,* 
 
 as Virgil has it ? Or who draws Discord, unless— 
 
 With, bloody chaplets in her snaky hair ! 
 
 after the same great master ? Then, why paint Britannia with- 
 out the proper accessories — if it be true, as was said by Napo- 
 leon (for which see Montholon’s book), that her discipline 
 afloat is only maintained by the “most barbarous terror?” I 
 shall be told that the old system is altered and amended. My 
 friends — read the life of Collingwood, and you will see that he 
 maintained his ship in the most admirable order without a tithe 
 of the flogging now carried on in any average vessel. And this 
 was nearly half a century ago ! What makes the difference ? 
 The difference is in the commanders ! It is a known fact, that 
 some officers can dispense with the lash altogether. The thing 
 then can be done. Why is it not so, universally ? Because the 
 selection of officers is bad ; because the education of officers is 
 bad ; because, if a man finds himself allowed to govern men as 
 beasts, he will not take the trouble to try and govern them in 
 
 * iENEiD. lib, vi. 570. 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 SINGLETON FONT2NOY, K.N. 
 
 any otlier way. Under the existing system, the blood shed in 
 flogging is offered tip in honour of the stupidity and baseness of 
 the captain who hogs — as much as was that of the young Spartans 
 to the Diana Orthia ! * 
 
 “ Punishment at seven bells,” said the quartermaster, coming 
 down into the cockpit, about six in the morning. 
 
 “ Hang punishment ! ” cried Somers. 
 
 “You think it wrong, eh ? ” asked Singleton, whose hammock 
 was next his, and who was preparing to turn out. 
 
 “ Very wrong, to rout me out this wa y, after I’ve had the 
 middle watch ! ” 
 
 “ I say — there’s a fellow going to be flogged ! ” said Box, run- 
 ning up to Singleton’s hammock, with an air of great curiosity. 
 
 “Well — so much the worse,” said Singleton, peevishly. He 
 was beginning to grow irritable, now and then, in spite of his 
 good-nature. 
 
 “ I think,” said Lovell, philosophically, “ that fellow made a 
 point of getting flogged, because he knew I would be lazy this 
 morning.” 
 
 “ They used to flog the youngsters when I joined the service,” 
 said Somers, looking at Box. Box grinned in a triumphant 
 manner, and shook young Strawberry’s hammock by the clews. 
 
 “ Be quiet, Box,” said Strawberry, drowsily. 
 
 “Come, rouse and bitt !” cried Box, who in a few weeks had 
 mastered the slang of the service, and, I must also add, had 
 really acquired a good deal of seamanship. “ Bouse out — show 
 a leg !” 
 
 “ Ah, you youngsters ought to have been in the service when 
 I joined,” pursued Somers. “ Youngsters, I tell you, were 
 flogged then.” 
 
 “ Were you ever flogged?” asked Singleton, quietly. 
 
 “ Well, upon my word ! It’s like your impudence to ask such 
 a question.” 
 
 “ Why ? You say you were a youngster, and that youngsters 
 were flogged,” 
 
 “ Well, my sea-lawyer,” said Somers, sneeringly, “did I say 
 I was one of them ?” 
 
 “ I see nothing in you to suppose that you were likely to be in 
 any way superior to the general mob ! ” said Singleton, with a 
 sarcastic sneer. 
 
 “ I can tell you, my friend, that you stand a very good chance 
 of being licked,” said Somers, turning very red. 
 
 Singleton, who was washing at the moment, at his chest, 
 
 * See Plutarch’s “ Life of Lycurgus.” (Langhorne’s Translation ), and not® 
 hi loc. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, H.N. 
 
 115 
 
 looked up very quietly indeed, and continued, “ All, you are 
 right rather to trust to j^our ruffianism, than your arguments.” 
 
 Somers advanced to him with a threatening look. 
 
 “Stop, my friend,” said Singleton: “touch me, and I write 
 for a Court of Inquiry.” 
 
 There was a general laugh at this preposterous announcement 
 from a youngster : but it luckily happened that old Bertie, who 
 was also performing his ablutions at this time, came over to 
 that part of the cockpit. Eertie, who could rarely manage with- 
 out borrowing some toilet article or other, used to patronise 
 Singleton in this way, and indeed rather liked him. So he inter- 
 fered, and no further altercation took place. 
 
 Seven bells (half-past seven) came, and the hands were 
 turned-up to attend punishment. The ship’s company gathered 
 together in the waist and gangways in dense masses, close up to 
 the mainmast. The officers, with swords on, were on the quarter- 
 deck. On the starboard side of the deck, just abaft the gang- 
 way, stood the apparatus of punishment: two capstan-bars 
 secured against the bulwarks, with a grating between them, and 
 a grating below, constituted the simple preparation. Near this 
 was the master-at-arms, with a little cup of water for the benefit 
 of the victim ; and two boatswain’s mates were in attendance, 
 with canvass bags containing the implements of torture. Take 
 away God’s sky, and the free sea round about, and you might 
 have fancied you were in the Inquisition chambers in their 
 palmiest day ! 
 
 “ All ready, sir,” said the master-at-arms to Commander 
 Modell, who looked very gloomy and pensive. 
 
 Modell moved aft to the captain’s cabin. There was a slight 
 sensation among the crowd of seamen ; the guard of marines on 
 the poop fixed bayonets. Captain Pannikin came out of his cabin 
 with his cocked hat and sword on, and moved forward with an 
 awkward pomp to the scene. It would be ignorance of human 
 nature to assert that it was cruelty on his part that made him 
 flog : on the contrary, he was, in his way, a kind and well-mean- 
 ing man. But he had no talent for governing a ship without it : 
 he found it established as a system, and availed himself of it. 
 He did not like it ; but he thought no more of it than a butcher 
 does of killing a calf. 
 
 The prisoner (Williams, a forecastle man) was one of those 
 stolid, ruffianly fellows sometimes encountered at sea — thoroughly 
 valuable sailors, but untameable — who will do any work, but 
 who can with difficulty be subjected to any discipline ; men who 
 are constantly exposing themselves to being flogged, but whom it 
 is no use flogging. On this occasion he had been drunk, and 
 when similar tenfuat&tion came in his way would get drunk again. 
 
116 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 Love of a man like Nelson might have kept him dutiful : flogging 
 he did not care for. 
 
 Captain Pannikin, as I said, came forward, and the prisoner 
 was brought before him. Pannikin was very red, and felt it ne- 
 cessary to make some sort of speech. It was pitiable to hear the 
 attempt : he stuttered, and stammered, and grew confused. 
 
 “ Sorry to have to do it — very sorry — necessity — drunk — 
 sorry — strip !” 
 
 The last word was said more clearly. Yet, such is the over- 
 whelming force of circumstances, that the dread power which 
 Pannikin was using at that moment saved his poor, paltry ad- 
 dress from seeming contemptible ! 
 
 “ Strip !” 
 
 The prisoner stripped himself as coolly as a man going to bathe. 
 His bust was a model for a bust of Hercules ; he stepped with a 
 free tread on the grating, and was firmly secured there, in the 
 usual way. 
 
 The clerk, Mr. Snigg, handed Captain Pannikin the warrant 
 and the article of war : the captain read them, and then mo- 
 tioned to the first boatswain’s mate. This functionary stepped 
 forward, and drew from the canvass bag his “ cat” — rather a 
 handsome implement — the tails brilliantly white — the handle 
 neatly, and indeed fancifully, covered with green baize ! 
 
 At this moment — it seems scarcely credible, but such is the 
 fact — the facetious Snigg drew near Singleton, and whispered — 
 
 “ That’s what I call letting the cat out of the bag” 
 
 Was this cruelty in Snigg P— Not so ; it was another example 
 of habit. He had made the same joke in many ships — particu- 
 larly in the “Bustard,” in the West Indies, Captain Poker, who 
 flogged his men “ on principle,” and who had to make good, out 
 of his pay, a deficit of a hundred gallons of the ship’s rum, which 
 he and Snigg (who was his acting purser) had consumed, by the 
 time she was paid off, in addition to their regular allowance. 
 
 Singleton was very pale, and fumbled nervously with his 
 dagger : he drew his breath involuntarily, as if the blow was to 
 fall upon himself. There was a deep silence, which nothing dis- 
 turbed but the low rumbling sound of the ship’s wheel, turned 
 by the helmsman. 
 
 A whistle — down came the lash ; and on the fair white flesh 
 dawned a row of delicate crimson lines. 
 
 “ One,” cried the master-at-arms. 
 
 Singleton gasped ; but the man who received the blow betrayed 
 no more emotion than if he had been made of granite. 
 
 “ Two — three — four,” and so on, were counted, up to “ One 
 dozen, sir.” 
 
 The man’s back, that had been like white marble, was now 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 117 
 
 like marble veined : it flushed with angry crimson. But he ut- 
 tered no word — gave no symptom of feeling ; till presently 
 stoicism became anger. 
 
 “ Go on — go on : you’re a poor old fool. Your wife told me 
 you was !” 
 
 “ Whom do you speak to ?” cried the captain. 
 
 “ Any that chooses to take it up.” 
 
 There was an uneasy feeling among the officers : it is always a 
 very delicate question how to act with regard to words spoken 
 by a man under punishment. Shall we deal judicially with 
 what we wring from torture ? — that would be too like the Inqui- 
 sition ! 
 
 The second boatswain’s mate brought out a fresh cat, for the 
 tails of the first hung clotted and bloody as a Fury’s hair ! This 
 cat was adorned with red baize. A pleasing variety, and an ar- 
 tistic contrast ! 
 
 The punishment went on : the man seemed about to roar out 
 some new insolence, when there was a sudden confusion among 
 the officers — a rush, a crowd, loud whispers. 
 
 “ What is the matter ?” said Captain Pannikin, in a low, eager 
 voice, turning round 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy has fainted, sir,” said Commander Modell, in 
 a whisper. 
 
 Singleton was carried down the companion ladder into Mr. 
 Primby’s cabin, which was nearly opposite the foot of it, on the 
 main deck. As he opened his eyes, they lighted on a sweet face : 
 for Primby, who, besides his affectations, had good feelings and 
 a somewhat elegant taste, had a portrait of his sister there ; and 
 the sister was a very beautiful girl. 
 
 “ Dear me — what a heavenly face !” said Singleton, waking 
 up in a bewildered way, and staring at the drawing, without the 
 smallest recollection of himself for an instant. 
 
 Primby, who had helped to carry him down, laughed, and 
 sprinkled his face with some water. 
 
 Singleton came round, gave a slight sick shudder, and then 
 jumped up, and thanked the lieutenant. 
 
 “ Sit still, Mr. Fontenoy, for a few moments,” said Primby, 
 good-naturedly. “ Punishment’s over.” The man, indeed, had 
 been cast off, and sent to the sick bay, and thence to walk the 
 poop, and air his bruised frame at his leisure. Singleton sat 
 down accordingly, and a long conversation took place between 
 him and Primby, which ended in a very friendly intimacy. 
 
 A few days passed, during which the man Williams, who had 
 been flogged, was a “ marked man.” Toady ley, the mate of the 
 upper deck, had “ his eye on him,” as he called it. Well might 
 a poor fellow believe in the Evil-eye — that strange superstition — 
 
113 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 who had to encounter the watching glance of Toadyley ! Cun- 
 ning and cruel — plausible and sycophantic — Toadyley was a va- 
 luable servant and a dangerous enemy. Williams did his work 
 sullenly, and sometimes seemed to grow desperate. Singleton, 
 who observed constantly the moral phenomena of the ship for 
 purposes of study, wondered how this would end. There was a 
 lesson in store for him. 
 
 One evening the hands were turned up, as usual, to “reef top- 
 sails,” just after quarters. Captain Pannikin had dined, and, 
 with a red face and bloated look, paced the poop, telescope in 
 hand. 
 
 The word was given to take a reef in the foresail. A man ran 
 up by the forestay, slipped as he reached the collar, and fell 
 down on deck : he was picked up insensible, and carried down to 
 the sick bay. It was soon known that there had been an accident 
 all over the ship. Captain Pannikin gave a loud damn (it was 
 his expression of sorrow and sympathy), and one of the forecastle 
 men took a swab and swabbed up the blood. There was an 
 emotion of terror, succeeded by a gloom, through the whole 
 floating colony. The hands were piped down, and the watch 
 called. 
 
 At nine that night Singleton went up on the main deck to take 
 a walk. He saw a screen hung up between two of the guns. It 
 formed a kind of cabin, and inside it gleamed the light of a 
 lantern, which flickered and played over the white canvass with a 
 ghastly yellow glare. A strange silent spot this, in the darkening 
 shades of night ! What holy mystery was here P 
 
 Singleton approached, and, moving one side of the screen 
 gently, looked in. There lay a grating ; on the grating, an 
 object covered with a red ensign. There is a double symbolic 
 value in that ensign of brave England ! It floats over the war- 
 rior in victory, and it wraps him round in death ! What a me- 
 lancholy spectacle is that — the stiff, symmetrical form of man- 
 hood — when the man is gone ! 
 
 As Singleton turned away, the sentry touched his arm, and 
 said respectfully, “ The screen must not be disturbed, sir !” 
 
 “ Certainly not,” said Singleton, in a low voice ; “ but, sentry, 
 who is it dead?” 
 
 “ Williams, the forecastle man,” answered the sentry, “ whom 
 the fall happened to, sir.” 
 
 Singleton walked quietly away, with his heart beginning to 
 beat strangely ; he reached the bow port, and sat down, and lis- 
 tened to the surging of the waters against the stem. The ship 
 was sailing almost on the brilliant path of the moonlight, which 
 stretched across the sea. A footway of sparkling gold, this, 
 through the wide fields of ocean, and worthy (may we reverently 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 119 
 
 fancy) of being trod by the feet of Him who walked upon tiie 
 waters ! 
 
 There was a melancholy scorn in Singleton’s heart, as he 
 thought of what he had just seen and heard. What a wretched 
 mockery of honour. While this poor fellow was a living soul — a 
 miracle, breathing the breath of God — contempt and contumely 
 were his portion, and his fare was ignominy and the lash ! But 
 now that the soul was gone, and only its poor 4 4 shell” left — when 
 the Temple was ruined and the Divinity away — the poor body 
 received most wonderful attention and respect ! It is a type of 
 the justice of the world ! 
 
 I wonder how often what is called reverence for the dead is 
 but a particular form of the poor survivor’s fears of his own death? 
 how often, I wonder, do we take for a ray of heaven what is no- 
 thing but an ignis fatuus from the grave ! 
 
 The ship was hove to next evening, for the burial. With all 
 honour the corpse was laid across the gangway on a grating. 
 Was it the same grating at which the man had been hogged a 
 week before ? 
 
 Singleton wondered if it was, as he stood and watched the ce- 
 remony. The chaplain was there, reading the sublime words : 
 the officers were uncovered ; a hag was spread over the remains 
 till the last moment ; and the scene was lighted by all the splen- 
 dour of the moon. All was silence, attention, and respect. 
 Death had vindicated the sacredness of man. Satire has no place 
 in such a scene ; and Singleton no longer felt scornful, but only 
 sad. There was a rattle and a hollow plunge, and the sea was in 
 a moment silent, as became the grave. 
 
 44 Watch, make sail! Main brace! Main tack and sheet! 
 Haul away. Topgallant studding-sails ready for setting !'* Let 
 us be off from the bubbling spot. 
 
 The 44 Patagonian ” arrived at Malta on August 1st, 1840. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 “ I do not see why there should be an Eastern question,” said Hillel Besso, 
 with an epigrammatic air. Takceed : or The New Ckusade. 
 
 One night after the arrival of the 44 Patagonian ” in the Grand 
 Harbour, a large party of naval, and a sprinkling of military 
 men, were assembled in Mula’s cafe, in the Strada Beale. It 
 was the hottest period of the year. The door was opened wide, 
 that the languid air might find a hearty welcome. When one 
 
120 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 has lived in hot climates, one begins to understand why the 
 Greeks built a Temple of the Winds ; and when one begins to 
 understand, one ceases to sneer. The room was papered in a 
 very ugly style — in compliment to the English, who patronized 
 it ! The designer of this graceful tapestry had evidently wished 
 to flatter us, as a sporting nation. It represented a stag hunt. 
 The huntsmen wore the orthodox top-boots, and carried huge 
 whips. They were leaping high gates, and struggling in impas- 
 sable fences. At one end was represented the catastrophe. 
 A man with a large weapon was cutting the stag’s throat fero- 
 ciously. 
 
 The frequenters of the cafe were seated at neat little tables 
 of mahogany — some of marble. Ices of all colours were much in 
 vogue, pale lemon and rich red preponderating. A thin haze of 
 cigar-smoke] curled in blue rings along the roof. Some gentle- 
 men were sipping coffee, and some were colouring their lemonade 
 with the aid of brandy. 
 
 “ Indeed,” said Lord Clarion, in reply to a rather energetic 
 sentence from a young officer, whose small, round waist was 
 girt by a scarlet sash, which, falling over his brilliantly 
 white trowsers, made his appearance somewhat picturesque. 
 “ You think these eastern difficulties will end in a European 
 war ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; all our fellows think so. Thiers is warlike by nature. 
 There is a strong war party in Erance, and their fleet, I hear, 
 was never in better order.” 
 
 “ Ah ! But there have been so many false war-alarms.” 
 
 “ True. Yet there must be war some time, and this eastern 
 question is a crisis.” 
 
 “ What is the eastern question ?” asked a young artillery 
 officer, somewhat affectedly. 
 
 “ What, Charley, you want to puzzle us by the interrogatory 
 plan P You must know, Clarion, he is a great theorist. He has 
 a project for settling the eastern difficulty by making Lamartine 
 king of Syria.” 
 
 “ And giving the kingdom of Greece to Ben Disraeli,” added 
 the artillery officer, seriously. He was of a speculative turn, 
 and had nothing to do all the year round, except occasionally to 
 fire cannon at a target from Fort Bicasoli ; so he dabbled in 
 speculation with most singular results. 
 
 “Where is the admiral?” asked Clarion. 
 
 “I believe he’s en route to Alexandria. The commodore’s 
 at Beyrout, in his ship, the ‘ Powerful,” answered a lieutenant 
 of the “ Jupiter,” a line-of-battle ship then in the harbour. 
 “ Suleiman Pasha’s in command at Beyrout with ten thousand 
 troops, and Ibrahim Pasha and the Emir Beschir are in the 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 121 
 
 neighbourhood. We will all be off soon, depend on it. Won’t 
 there be fighting ! ” 
 
 “ Fee-fa-fum I” cried Snigg, from a neighboring table, where 
 he had planted himself with some brandy-and. water, “ I smell 
 the blood of an Egyptian man.” 
 
 The military officer who had spoken first (Bechamel, of a regi- 
 ment stationed in the island) looked round, rather haughtily, 
 at these extraordinary sounds. 
 
 “ Will you fight, Snigg?” asked Somers, who was smoking a 
 cigar. 
 
 “ I’ll do anything if I am paid for it,” answered Snigg, philo- 
 sophically. “What a lot of our fellows will be killed in Syria, 
 without knowing what they are fighting about.” 
 
 “We must put down Mehemet Ali,” said a second master, 
 looking round for applause. 
 
 “ I should like to have one of his pipes,” said a midshipman. 
 “ Will there be any plunder?” 
 
 Bechamel rose, and Lord Clarion went out with him. The 
 remainder of the officers drew near each other, and went on 
 talking about the squadron and the impending war. Snigg 
 established himself with a number of youngsters round him. 
 He delighted to be king among a group of admiring boys, to study 
 their characters, and would even make them tipsy, that he might 
 do so to advantage. Snigg had very good talents and qualities ; 
 but as the constant dropping of water will wear away stone, what 
 cannot a constant succession of drops of rum-and-water effect in 
 the same way ? 
 
 “ I say Mehemet Ali must be put down,” said the second 
 master again, striking the table emphatically. 
 
 “Poor old gentleman,” said Snigg, ironically; “what has he 
 done P” 
 
 “He poisoned a man with coffee, once,” said the second 
 master. 
 
 “By Jove, I think Mula has been taking a hint from him 
 then,” said Snigg, “ for his coffee is execrable. Do you hear 
 that, Mula ? Bring me some lemonade, and a little brandy in 
 it ; or, on second thoughts, Mula, never mind the lemonade. 
 Bring the brandy by itself.” A general laugh followed this 
 characteristic speech. 
 
 “ Well, I shall be sorry to leave Malta,” said Box, pensively. 
 
 “Malta’s an interesting island,” said Lovell, with a spoony 
 look. 
 
 “St. Paul was shipwrecked here,” added the second master, 
 with an erudite air. 
 
 “Yes,” struck in Snigg, brandishing his spoon, “and almost 
 the first things he came across were a bundle of sticks with a 
 
122 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 viper inside them — doosed emblematic of the society!’* And 
 Snigg laughed cheerfully. 
 
 “ Did you ever dine with the Capuchins ?” asked Somers of 
 Lovell . 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “ Ah, then you have a treat to come, if they choose to ask you. 
 They give the best feeds in the island.” 
 
 “ What an excellent body of men !” said Snigg, piously. 
 
 At this moment there was a new arrival. It was a midship- 
 man belonging to one of the ships in the harbour. He had his 
 sword on, and he appeared somewhat flurried. Glancing 
 hastily round the room, his eye lighted on Somers. He 
 bowed. 
 
 “ You belong to the ‘ Patagonian,’ I believe ?” 
 
 ‘■Yes,” said Somers. 
 
 “ The steamer has come in from Alexandria with despatches. 
 There has been a signal made to you from the Palace to prepare 
 for sea.” 
 
 Three or four of the “ Patagonian’s ” fellows jumped up ; the 
 midshipman only waited to swallow some wine-and- water, and 
 then hastened away. 
 
 “ I suppose we had better go on board, eh?” said Somers, 
 looking round. 
 
 “ She can’t sail till the morning, surely.” 
 
 “ Mula, how’s the wind ?” cried out Snigg, with a thick voice. 
 Come here, waiter, — how’s the wind, eh?” 
 
 “How I know, sar?” asked the waiter, a dignified Maltese, 
 sharply. 
 
 “ Silence, zanzir said Snigg, who had been out on the 
 Mediterranean station before, and knew just enough Maltese to 
 be able to abuse the natives a little. 
 
 “We can’t sail without wind,” said Snigg, looking round, 
 stupidly. 
 
 “ There is a steamer in the harbour. She will tow us out.” 
 
 “We had better go,” said Lovell, rising and putting on his 
 cap. 
 
 “ Come along, Silenus,” said Somers to Snigg. 
 
 “ Silenus always had an ass with him, so I will go with you,” 
 returned Snigg, who was never without a retort. 
 
 “ Let us have some beccaficos and champagne,” cried Hillerton, 
 of the “ Jupiter,” coming in. He had just won five pounds at 
 billiards in Stradi Forni, and was in high good-humour. 
 
 “I will join you,” said a little fellow, called Pug Welby. 
 “ You poor Patagonians are going to sea ; I pity you.” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 123 
 
 “ I* art ant pour la Syrie ,” sang out Hillerton, gaily. 
 
 “ Ah,” said Pug Wei by ; “ war is a bore.” 
 
 “ Thank God, the ‘ Jupiter ’ sails very fast, and can run away 
 if need be,” said Hillerton, facetiously. 
 
 The Patagonians dared stay no longer, so they all sallied out, 
 and passing down Strada San Giovanni, and so on down Hix 
 Mangiare, and through the Lascaris’, soon reached a boat and 
 went off. At daylight the “ Patagonian ” was towed out. The 
 wind was westerly, and she started for Syria. 
 
 The “ Patagonian ” went to take her share in that war which 
 terminated in the reduction of Mehemet Ali to his obedience to 
 the Sublime Porte ; or, in other words, in the submission of the 
 greatest man that the East has produced since Solyman the 
 Magnificent, to the sway of an effete government. If hero- 
 worship be true, it was false, and unless human nature change, it 
 will be regretted. 
 
 From 1806, when Mehemet won by his genius the Pashalik 
 of Egypt, to the year in which this war was perpetrated, the 
 country developed and improved, as only countries do under the 
 supreme dominion of a great man. Gravity is not more de- 
 cidedly the one mighty law of the physical, than the influence 
 of individual character is of the moral world. Ho matter what 
 the age or the circumstances. It was a man that made Russia 
 an empire, and a man that made Prussia a camp. Artificial as is 
 the mechanism of the British Constitution, England at its best 
 
 P eriods has always been governed by some one great individual. 
 
 need only mention the name of Cromwell : but look at the last 
 century. In its palmiest years, was it not the name and brain of 
 Chatham that ruled England — three estates and all ? 
 
 To Egypt, Mehemet Ali was a second Hile ! He had certainly 
 some terrible work to do. He came down— as Mr. Carlyle finely 
 says of Cromwell — “ like the hammer of Thor.” How he de- 
 stroyed the Mamelukes, all men know. But though the East is 
 proverbially the land of roses, nothing greater can be accom- 
 plished with rosewater there than elsewhere ! 
 
 The Porte watched his progress. They saw his revenues in- 
 creasing. Improvement suggested nothing to them but increased 
 tribute, and the sultan demanded more “ purses ” with the 
 coolness of a highwayman. Alas for the “ Asian Mystery.” The 
 East is an enchanted land only in romance. We find on inquir- 
 ing into its politics, often nothing better than dull imitations of 
 European cunning and meanness. We find ourselves face to 
 face with Downing Street in a turban, windbags smoking a chi- 
 bouque, and snobs dominant in a divan. 
 
 Mehemet seized Syria, and probably might have seized Stain- 
 
124 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 boul. But now the “ balance of power ” required that the allies 
 should take up the cause of the Porte. What is this balance of 
 power ? It is neutralisation of power ! It is a propping up of 
 two swords against each other, making both useless. It is an 
 organised impotence. It keeps the East compulsorily stagnant, 
 by preventing its development through the agency of such men 
 as Mehemet. This Libra of the political zodiac, in fact, is a 
 coward’s farce. It creates the difficulty of which its supporters 
 are everywhere begging the solution. Well, Mehemet Ali was 
 checked in 1840. What has been gained by it ? Syria has 
 gained nothing, and most certainly not Egypt. And how stands 
 the great question, that of [Russia’s position with regard to the 
 Porte ? Does or does not the day draw nearer, which shall see 
 the eagle floating on the Bosphorus, and when a Sclavonian shall 
 blaspheme Mahomet in the proudest of his temples P 
 
 In 1840, we went vigorously to work. It was a grand, Com- 
 mon-place Crusade. We had marines eating beef in Sidon, 
 and we inundated Lebanon with second-hand Birmingham mus- 
 kets. We frightened merchants, destroyed mulberry-trees, and 
 killed camels. The Syrian war is a most memorable example of 
 the employment of brute force, and the triumph of sheer material 
 strength, that modern times can furnish. A sad want of 
 dignity attends its history. Its operations were complicated by 
 discordant orders, disgraced by petty jealousies between the 
 commanders, and chronicled in despatches redolent of slang. 
 In a word, we did not conquer the great Pasha, we thrashed 
 him. 
 
 I do not admire the plan of disposing of the East “ on the 
 allotment system,” as it may be called, propounded by Louis 
 Blanc in his “ Ten Years.” But when I think of some of our 
 political operations, I heartily concur with that celebrated writer, 
 in his contempt for those who, as he says, “ think that they are 
 practical, because they are mediocre.” 
 
 And now to resume my story, 
 
 . . nunc horrentia Martis ! 
 as friend Virgil hath it. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 Bellum scripturus sum 
 
 Sallust, Bell. Jug. 
 
 “ Land, ahead,” cried the look-out man just after daylight, 
 one morning. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 125 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy, go up to tlio masthead, and take a look at 
 it,” said Lieutenant Primby. 
 
 Fontenoy seized his Doliond, hung it round him by the strap, 
 and rushed away forward. Lord Clarion, who had charge of the 
 forecastle in the same watch, was regaling himself with a cup 
 of ship’s cocoa on the booms. And he might have had a worse 
 beverage at that hour. 
 
 “Ah, good morning, Fontenoy,” he said. “You will have 
 the first peep at Syria.” Fontenoy skipped up the Jacob’s 
 ladder, and was soon running up the fore-rigging. When he 
 reached the cross-trees, he found the look-out man comfortably 
 seated on the fore-topsail yard, with his legs dangling down. 
 
 “There’s land, sir,” said the man, pointing forward to the 
 horizon. Singleton rested the glass on the yard in as convenient 
 a position as he could command. Yes ! — there was land, sure 
 enough. A line of white mountains, barren and stony, was 
 rising out of the blue horizon like an enchanted castle. Lebanon, 
 by Jove ! And the sun was tinging its summit as it rose, too. 
 Singleton took a long, deep glance at it, and thought of Lalla 
 Fookh. 
 
 “ That’s land, sir, eh ? ” said the look-out man. 
 
 “No mistake about that,” said Singleton, gaily. So saying, 
 he put the glass over his neck again, and with an impulse of 
 playfulness (for it was a delicious morning, and his blood was as 
 lively as the quicksilver in a thermometer) he got on the foot- 
 rope of the yard, and leaning over it, gazed far over the horizon. 
 Day was dawning, clearer and clearer, over the sea, which was 
 rolling in long, unbroken blue waves. The wind was setting in 
 towards the coast, and the ship was running steadily along before 
 it with the yards square. Singleton bent over the yard. The 
 fore-topsail bellied steadily out underneath him, and the reef- 
 points on it were dangling as merrily in the wind as a girl’s 
 ringlets ! 
 
 Perhaps it was this fancy that completed Singleton’s happiness. 
 More gaily than ever he moved out towards the yard-arm, and 
 gazed abstractedly before him once more. 
 
 In a few moments he felt the topgallant-sail shake, and heard 
 the boatswain’s mate’s pipe ring shrilly on deck. 
 
 “ Hold on, sir,” cried the look-out man, suddenly. Single- 
 ton’s heart gave a desperate throb, as he felt the yard start. The 
 braces were in motion, as the sails were being trimmed. Single- 
 ton did hold on with desperate tenacity. The look-out man 
 bellowed to the people on deck. The braces were made fast for 
 a moment, and my hero “ laid in,” and got upon the topmast- 
 rigging with remarkable alacrity. The ideal tendencies are con- 
 foundedly dangerous aloft ! 
 
126 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N * 
 
 He came down on deck, and reported to Primby, who laughed 
 at the adventure which he had just had, and offered him some 
 coffee. Primby always had a good “ watch-stock ” in his watch, 
 and one night, when he was in the “Pelham,” in the West 
 Indies, he gave a kind of supper to the fellows in his watch at 
 about two o’clock in the morning, which terminated curiously 
 enough. . The tray was placed near the hatchway, well covered 
 with provisions, and they were all pitching into them, when a 
 noise was heard which made them start like the mice in Horace’s 
 fable : — 
 
 . . . quum subito in gens 
 Valvarum strepitus lectis excussit utrumque.* 
 
 In fact, the admiral, that great man, Sir Booby Booing, was 
 astir ! In a minute or two they heard a step on the companion- 
 ladder, as he hobbled up. There was nothing for it ; they tilted 
 the tray over the combings of the hatchway ! It thundered down 
 below, smashing the china plates with the mess-arms on them, 
 and all the apparatus of that feast. When the admiral reached 
 the deck, he found the officers of the watch walking about in the 
 most regular manner. 
 
 At four bells (six o’clock) Captain Pannikin emerged from his 
 cabin, enveloped in a huge blue pilot-coat ; he nodded sulkily in 
 return to Primby’s salute. 
 
 “ Lash up hammocks, Mr. Primby.” 
 
 The order was given, and the men began to “ take up their 
 beds and walk,” as Mr. Bagg, the boatswain, who was a profane 
 old rascal, used to shout out to them. As the “Patagonian” 
 drew near the land, the Bay of Bey rout was seen swarming with 
 vessels. Up went the “Patagonian’s” number, and shortly 
 afterwards she saluted the commodore, whose blue burgee 
 floated from the “Powerful.” The signal-officer was on the 
 forecastle, when three balls were seen flying up to the “ Power- 
 ful’s” mast-head. They broke, and as the grub bursts into a 
 butterfly, broke into bright flags ! 
 
 “ Bring the signal-book,” shouted Lovell, who was signal-officer. 
 The man came running up with it. Captain Pannikin stood by, 
 anxiously. 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Lovell?” 
 
 Lovell gave a long thirsty look. — “ 3 — 2 — ” 
 
 “ Well, sir, well?” 
 
 “ Beeonnoitre,” cried Lovell. — Captain Pannikin was intensely 
 excited. 
 
 “ Sail to windward,” shouted the look-out-man. 
 
 * Sat. Lib. ii. 0. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 127 
 
 “ Fleet to windward,” cried Lovell, almost at tlie same mo- 
 ment, interpreting the bright symbols. 
 
 The captain stamped on the deck with rage. “ By G 
 
 it’s too bad. Call down the look-out man and put him in irons ; 
 we ought to have seen them half an hour ago. — Turn the hands 
 up!” 
 
 Out came Mr. Bagg’s call. Mr. Bagg had been too long at 
 sea to be excited at anything, so as he saw the captain go fuming 
 aft, he only winked his eye, and muttered something about 
 “a bear with a sore head.” Then his pipe thrilled the 
 decks, and the hatches began to vomit up the men, — it is not 
 a pleasant metaphor, but it hits the thing, — with the utmost 
 violence. 
 
 In came the studding-sails. The “ Patagonian” hauled her 
 wind, which was now rising fast, and laid her head towards the 
 horizon. Again the vision of Bey rout began to grow dim, but 
 what a sight there was to windward ! Like the spires of a 
 great town seen from some distant spot, rose tall masts from the 
 sea ! 
 
 Flow, at this time, a war with France was daily expected. 
 The French had a squadron of some twenty ships not far from 
 Bevrout. Had they descended as enemies on that bay ten days 
 before Beyrout was attacked, and our force landed, they would 
 have found an enemy only a third of their number. What 
 would have been the result ? This I will say, that if any man 
 living could have fought them under such circumstances, 
 Commodore Napier was that man. But I decline to speculate 
 any further ! 
 
 Captain Pannikin, of course, not knowing what this fleet was, 
 thought it safest to clear for action, and gave the order with a 
 great deal of gusto. Indeed, there can be no doubt, that he 
 would not have stuck for an instant at bombarding anything 
 that ever floated, from Noah’s Ark down to the Gomer. 
 
 But as the “ Patagonian” drew nearer with all her men at 
 quarters, and the guns loaded, Pannikin armed with his sword, 
 to say nothing of Fontenoy with his dirk, which was not the 
 least imposing spectacle of the day ! — the fleet turned out to be 
 gallant old Stopford with his reinforcement, and some Turkish 
 ships. The order was given to “ secure the guns,” which the 
 men did with some grumbling, particularly as old Bertie, mate 
 of the lower deck, had, under pretence that there was going 
 to be a desperate action, thrown overboard a quantity of their 
 plates and furniture which took up an unnecessary degree of 
 room ! 
 
 The “Patagonian” exchanged signals, and bore up once 
 more for Beyrout with the new squadron. What a magnificent 
 
128 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E,N. 
 
 spectacle it was. There went the stately “ Princess Charlotte,” 
 leading the way like a queen ! Lofty line-of-battle ships attended 
 her like barons bold. The Turkish ships with the crescent fly- 
 ing, and their gaudy sterns shining in the sunlight, sailed stea- 
 dily along in company. And there was also near, the graceful 
 and brilliant corvette “ Dido,” as beautiful as a nereid, worthy 
 to have borne Cleopatra, — a fairy of the sea ! For, of the crea- 
 tions of Sir William Symonds, this must be admitted (whatever 
 be denied) that Ocean never bore more beautiful vessels. No 
 man with a spark of fancy but must be charmed with his beau- 
 tiful brigs par ticularly, whether in calm they glide along the 
 surface, sweetly and tranquilly as the nautilus, — or in storm, 
 dashing through the waters, they recall the flight of the dove, 
 that bore the olive-leaf of old ! 
 
 In the afternoon, the squadron anchored in the Bay of Bey- 
 rout, and exchanged salutes. How black and funereal looked 
 the old castle ; how sunny the distant Lebanon ! The country 
 was gay with colour. It seemed as though it had gained by a 
 charm the power of the prism, and split every ray from that 
 glorious sun into separate gorgeous hues. The bay was exqui- 
 sitely calm. And prettily lay among the large ships, fishing- 
 boats of the coast with their long yards and high prows. 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy, do you see that line-of-battle ship lying inside, 
 with her broadside on to the town?” said Commander Modell, 
 about three o’clock. 
 
 “ What, the dirty one, sir,” said Singleton, ingenuously. 
 
 Modell smiled. “ Hush, Mr. Fontenoy ; you speak too 
 plainly, young gentleman. [Remember, midshipmen and young- 
 sters are never allowed to express opinions. You have no right 
 to think.” 
 
 Singleton looked up in surprise, and grinned. 
 
 “ Go on board her, sir,” said Modell, with a severe look, “ to 
 copy an order.” 
 
 Away went Singleton in the first cutter, and reached the line- 
 of-battle ship in question. She was a dirty one, beyond the 
 possibility of doubt, and Singleton, as he went on board, won- 
 dered whether her officers were allowed to smell, or whether that 
 sense was defendu , as well as common sense generally. He 
 found a number of youngsters assembled at a wooden table on 
 her main-deck, copying an order into their order-books. There 
 was a most deficient supply of pens and ink, and a lively conver- 
 sation going on, besides, so that the said copying was no easy 
 operation. Singleton secured a stump of pen, however, and by 
 dint of dipping over a midshipman’s shoulder, and progging him 
 in the right ear, now and then, by accident, got a little ink, and 
 began the task. 
 
SIKGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 129 
 
 “I say,” said a fellow from the “ Ganges,” “ the marines land 
 to-night.” 
 
 “Do they, though ; what fun !” 
 
 “ We’ve got lots of shells ready,” said a little boy, from a war- 
 steamer. “ We’ll give it them !” The speaker could not have 
 lifted a thirty-two pound shot if he had been offered its weight 
 in gold. 
 
 “ I’ve got such a beautiful nargilly,” said a youngster, looking 
 up from his writing, which he appeared to find an arduous task. 
 
 “ What, a hubble-bubble ?” said another, using the more 
 familiar name. 
 
 “ Yes. The Turk I bought it of says it belonged to a pasha.” 
 
 “ Very likely,” said a midshipman, rather drily. 
 
 “ It’s hard to draw !” said the youngster, with a touching sigh. 
 
 “ How the blazes do you spell ‘precipitate ?’ ” asked an Irish 
 youngster, eagerly, which caused a general laugh. Here, the 
 officer of the watch sent down to the main deck, for these gentle- 
 men to make less noise. 
 
 Singleton having copied the order, went on deck, and ordered 
 his boat to be called alongside. While waiting for it, he saw a 
 figure emerge from the cabin, under the poop. There was a sen- 
 sation on deck, and my hero perceived at once that the figure 
 was that of a Great Man. 
 
 He was dressed in a rather seedy uniform, and had an awkward 
 stoop ; his face was eccentric, but expressed power. He crossed 
 his hands behind his back, and began to pace the deck, with a 
 gait that was as remarkable as everything else about him. It 
 was Benbow, with a dash of Grimaldi ! 
 
 The “Patagonian’s” cutter was just coming alongside for Fonte- 
 noy, when a small gig shot between her and the ship’s side. A 
 young man about twenty ran up, and came on deck : he was in the 
 uniform of a mate, but had a straw hat on, with the word “ Viper” 
 upon the black ribbon, in gold letters ; his face was most remark- 
 able for its grave beauty, its serenity, and its power ; and Single- 
 ton felt an interest awakened by him, such as he had not experi- 
 enced for many a long day. His eye dwelt upon him anxiously, as 
 he accosted the officer of the watch. He perceived that, though 
 what he said influenced that gentleman obviously, yet that some 
 difficulty prevented their conversation from being satisfactory. 
 
 “Who is he? what does he want?” asked the Great Man, 
 stopping abruptly, and taking a pinch of snuff. 
 
 “ Officer from the brig ‘Viper,’ sir,” said the lieutenant of the 
 watch, touching his hat, “ come to speak about the stores for the 
 Alexandrian squadron.” The Great Man fixed his eye on him, 
 looked at him, from top to toe, inquiringly, and then said, in his 
 peculiar accent, — 
 
130 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT* B.N. 
 
 “Wall, sir; what is it? Speak oot.” 
 
 The young man bowed very formally and gracefully. 
 
 “ I have the honour, sir,” he said, “ to bear a message from my 
 commander, — Commander Tinsley, of the ‘Viper;’ he desires 
 me most respectfully to submit, that the size of the vessel makes 
 it impossible for us to carry the stores in question. We have 
 not room, sir.” Here the young man bowed again, and Singleton 
 thought he had never seen so much manly courtesy, or so fine a 
 bearing. 
 
 The Great Man very deliberately pulled out his snuff-box, 
 supplied his nose, and powdered his coat as usual. Then he 
 looked again at the speaker, from top to toe, inquiringly, and 
 spoke as follows : — 
 
 “ Wall, sir ; ye will go baack to the ‘Viper/ and ye will see 
 Commander Tinsley, and ye will tall him ye have seen me. 
 And ye will tall him that I oerder him to take these stores on 
 board ! And ye wull tall him, that if he has no got room in the 
 lower deck, he must put them on the upper deck ; and that if he 
 has no got room on the upper deck, he must fill his cabin with 
 them. And he must stow them in bulk in the cot where he 
 sleeps. For I am daammed” (this was said with a wonderful 
 broad effect) “ if they shall not go !” 
 
 As he concluded, the Great Man glanced to see the effect this 
 speech had on some of his crew, who were gathered near the 
 main bitts ; for he was not above courting popularity in various 
 ways, this Great Man ! 
 
 The young officer of the “ Viper” bowed, as pleasantly as if he 
 had been bowing in a ball-room, in reply to this address, and 
 moved to the gangway to regain his boat. Singleton was near 
 there as he passed, and was again impressed by his face. It had 
 so much serenity and power. 
 
 They were near each other for a moment. Perhaps it was the 
 curiosity in Singleton’s intellectual countenance that arrested the 
 stranger’s attention. He looked at him earnestly. Singleton 
 felt impelled to speak to him. The man who has never expe- 
 rienced that impulse by which we seek the friendship of a 
 stranger from some undefinable attraction — as inexplicable as the 
 influence of flowers or stars, yet quite as certain — is himself a 
 stranger to true friendship, and still ignorantof the alphabet of God! 
 
 “ That was a strange speech you have just heard,” said Single- 
 ton, as the stranger paused an instant on the gangway. 
 
 The stranger looked at him. “ Do you see my boat ? It has 
 an ensign in it. It is a piece of vulgar, ragged bunting — but all 
 the world honours it. Such is the force of symbols ! ” - 
 
 He spoke, and ran rapidly down, and sprang into his gig. In 
 a moment, she was skimming away. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 131 
 
 Singleton followed, and presently gained his ship. A signal 
 had made all the squadron alert. The marines were in heavy 
 marching order, and it was known that a landing was to be 
 effected. The town swarmed with soldiers, whose heads peeped 
 every now and then out, in various places, and the gleam of 
 whose bayonets shone occasionally behind wall and rock. 
 
 Evening was coming on. The purple twilight was coming. 
 The air began to grow fresher and sweeter. There was a rolling 
 sound — a volume of white smoke. The “ Cyclops ” was beginning 
 to throw shells ! Hissing through the air went the shells — death 
 sleeping within them, till his proper hour. On rough rocks — on 
 fresh green patches, such as the camel loves — cm walls — and 
 amidst green trees — fell the shells. The Arnaut is fierce ; but 
 who can stand against the fatal ball that has a terrible death 
 sleeping in its bosom, as poison lies in a cup P 
 
 Dusk came on. The marines, and heavy, swarthy Turkish 
 troops embarked on board the steamers. There was a cape of 
 land to the south-west. The brilliant “ Dido ” glided in, very 
 fair and very terrible, within a few hundred yards of the rocks ; 
 with her, the little “Wasp,” small, but deadly as a scorpion. 
 
 Dusk became night. Lebanon retired behind the veil of dark- 
 ness, and was no longer seen. The lofty figures of the men-of- 
 war looked gloomier and gloomier ; but here and there gleamed 
 lanterns, just as you can fancy fireflies gleaming in a cypress grove. 
 
 Slowly rose the moon — a well of gold in the heavenly desert ! 
 The light fell everywhere. It enamelled the old castle ; it 
 rested like a smile on the face of the sleeping town. It made the 
 rocks of the cape visible, and there were seen the enemy gather- 
 ing on it, and taking up a position, to resist the landing that was 
 to take place when to-morrow’s sun rose. 
 
 Day came. The enemy were intrenched on the cape. The 
 steamers, loaded with soldiers, were near it, and hovering ready 
 to send them to the attack. The fleet weighed, and spreading 
 out, as a huge bird spreads its wings, formed a line. 
 
 The “ Benbow ” drew in to the cape, and began to throw shells. 
 The enemy clustered behind rocks and walls. The shells fell 
 in among them, and scattered destruction everywhere. Death 
 was playing at Proteus. There was slaughter everywhere. But 
 still they rallied ; still they prepared to resist a landing. 
 
 Suddenly, up flies a signal ! Away go the steamers with their 
 load of marines ! Away goes the “ Castor,” — away goes the 
 splendid “Pique,” brilliant “Dido,” deadly “Wasp!” The 
 blue bay gleams with the white sails of the flying ships — and 
 the wind carries the seeds of death elsewhere. ’Tis the catastrophe 
 of Camacho’s Wedding over again. “A miracle — a miracle! 
 Ho ; a stratagem — a stratagem ! ” 
 
132 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 Without opposition, by this device, the forces were safely 
 landed at Djouni and Dog Eiver, and the English flag hoisted 
 on Lebanon. 
 
 In the evening, the “ Patagonian’s ” mess were discussing 
 the events of the last twenty-four hours, and the prospects of 
 the war. 
 
 “ It was certainly ingenious to persuade the enemy that we 
 were going to land on that cape, and then to dart across the bay, 
 eh P ” said Somers. 
 
 “Hot much in it,” growled Bertie. 
 
 “ It was a happy feint,” said Lovell, with his spoony look. 
 
 “ It was a Capital dodge,” shouted Box. 
 
 “ It was an admirable stratagem,” said Toadyley, who admired 
 everything done by the authorities, and who would eat any 
 amount of dirt, provided it was served in gold or china. 
 
 “ Box has defined it best,” said Lord Clarion, looking up from 
 a recent number of “ Blackwood’s Magazine ” “ it was a capital 
 dodge!” 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 The East is a Career.— Tanceed ; or The New Cbtjsade. (“ Sidonia,” loq.) 
 
 The war progresses. The stern old Mehemit sits in his 
 divan in Alexandria, and plucks with nervous fingers his white 
 silvery beard. Suleiman Pasha — Frenchman and Turk — is with 
 his troops at Beyrout. Fierce Ibrahim hovers with his forces 
 near the outposts of the camp of the Allies. With him is the grave 
 and artful Emir Beschir, grown grey in strategy, and even now 
 meditating one treason more. Brisk steamers are running up 
 and down the coast, distributing muskets and proclamations 
 among the mountaineers. The English, Turkish, and Austrians 
 are encamped at Djouni. The blue burgee of the Commodore 
 floats there ; and near it, the crescent of Selim Pasha waves 
 gaily over his green tent. 
 
 About the middle of September, the “ Patagonian” was lying 
 with some other ships at Beyrout. The rest of the squadron 
 were in Djouni Bay. The “ Patagonian’s” gunroom mess were 
 at breakfast, at eight on a lovely morning. A delicious ripple 
 curled the waters, and the breeze was heartily welcome. 
 Curious little vases of porous clay hung full of water in the 
 ports to cool. Oh ! how heartily welcome were the breeze and 
 the ripple ! Heat, heat — nothing but heat ! The country was 
 gay and gaudy with colour, but it wearied the eye. It had the 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 133 
 
 sickly fascination of the blazing hues of a snake. From the 
 gunroom ports a white cord might be seen stretching down into 
 the sea. At the bottom hung bottles of wine, lowered down 
 there to cool, where the fiercest sun could not penetrate. 
 
 The mess were mostly in their shirt sleeves, or in white 
 jackets. Found, spongy, porous loaves of dark-hued bread 
 were lying on the table. The butter was quite liquid, and re- 
 duced to a bright yellow oil. The tea had been made hours 
 ago, and was drunk cold. The staple article was the grape. 
 Every man had a large bunch of grapes, and was sousing them 
 in his tumbler of water. A langour pervaded the assembly. It 
 was an atmosphere of yawns and sighs. Several fellows were 
 leaning back in their chairs, lazily eating grapes, and watching 
 the crawling of a couple of chameleons that somebody had 
 introduced, which used to drag themselves slowly along the 
 brass rod that crossed the room for the lamps to hang on. 
 Curious little creatures, these famous animals, with triangular 
 heads and long, bony ridges of back, and arrowy tongues that 
 dart like light. They were of a shaded green colour, and their 
 hues did vary slightly now and then, in a curious dawning 
 way. 
 
 44 By Jove,’* cried Box, who had been watching one of them 
 full half an hour, 44 he’s got another fly !” For the chameleon 
 had darted his tongue out, and secured one most skilfully. He 
 no more lived on air than fine ladies and poetesses do ! 
 
 “Has he?” yawned Lovell. 44 By Jove, I envy him his 
 appetite ! ” Lovell said this with such a woe-begone look, that 
 everybody laughed. 
 
 44 Why, Strawberry, what’s the matter with your arm?” 
 The poor little noble had his left arm wrapped round with linen, 
 and bore it in a sling. 
 
 44 The prickly heat,” said Strawberry, ruefully. 
 
 44 Show, show,” cried one or two. Strawberry removed the 
 linen. His poor little arm was as red as beef. Header, do you 
 know what 44 prickly heat* is ? The torment of torments ! An 
 agonizing sensation as from a myriad of needles, or an army of 
 Lilliputian arrows. It murders sleep most cruelly. 
 
 44 Poor boy,” said Lord Clarion. 
 
 44 Poor boy,” sneered the manly Box, who had constitutionally 
 no sympathy with pain. 
 
 Strawberry panted, and wrapped up his arm again, and lay 
 down on the lockers. 
 
 44 1 wonder if my Sauterne’s cool yet,” said Snigg, who was so 
 eager to know, that he used to keep pulling up the cord every 
 ten minutes and looking at it, and thus preventing its getting 
 cool at all. As he spoke he advanced to the port once more, and 
 
134 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 pulled up the cord. Presently there was a roar of laughter 
 through the mess, as the wet cord appeared with only the neck of 
 the bottle on it. It had been unfortunately broken below, — • 
 goodness only knows how, — perhaps by knocking against the 
 barnacles on the ship’s bottom ; — perhaps it had been consumed 
 by some shark, gifted with that very common thing, a taste for 
 other people’s wine. 
 
 “ Well, I’m d d,” said Snigg, looking with a facetious sor- 
 
 row at the neck. “ It serves me right for deserting rum, my 
 proper tipple. Boy, the amber fluid ! ” Here Mr. Snigg mixed 
 himself some swizzle and consoled himself. 
 
 The breakfast things were cleared away. The mess were left 
 to amuse themselves for the forenoon. Somers and Lovell sat 
 down to a highly intellectual and exciting game, which ought to 
 be more generally known, — “ Fly Loo.” It has the advantage 
 of extreme simplicity, and is suited (perhaps I should say, best 
 suited) to the “meanest capacity.” The players each take a 
 piece of lump-sugar, and place it on the table ; on whoever’s 
 lump a fly first lights, he wins the stake ! Behold a beautiful 
 game ! Somers and Lovell watched the flies for some time, and 
 finally Somers lost a bottle of Marsala, and they made it into 
 sangaree, and sat down to drink it. 
 
 “ Do you know,” said Somers, turning round to Clarion, “they 
 say the camp will have a skirmish with Ibrahim’s men soon. 
 The commodore will have a brush ” 
 
 “ I’m hanged,” broke in that wag Snigg, “ if he had not better 
 get a comb as well ! ” 
 
 This allusion to certain personal characteristics of the Great 
 Man .was received with a loud laugh, and no doubt the conversa- 
 tion would have become more lively, but a gun thundered from 
 the main-deck, which showed that the firing at the town was re- 
 sumed. The firing had become by this time a kind of target- 
 practice on a large scale, and Commander Modell used to 
 signalize himself by picking off stray fellows on shore with a 
 main-deck thirty -two, very neatly and creditably indeed ! The 
 mess now went, most of them, to see the firing, and indeed it was 
 very pretty sport, and perhaps not the less so, that the game wa3 
 man. A taste for blood is acquired just like a taste for caviare 
 or olives ; and Box, who fired a gun one day, by dint of persuad- 
 ing the captain of it with a glass of grog to let him, came scream- 
 ing into the mess, that he had killed an Albanian, in a state of 
 unparalleled ecstacv. 
 
 This morning a signal was made for the “Patagonian’s” 
 captain, and Captain Pannikin having gone to answer it, returned 
 on board with a look of great importance, and ordered Modell 
 to “ pass the messenger.” At two p.m., the ship weighed, and 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 135 
 
 left Beyrout. A breeze bad sprung up, and ber huge sails filled 
 merrily. There was considerable excitement felt among the 
 officers touching ber destination. Was it Cyprus? Was it 
 Alexandria? 
 
 Northward, bo ! was the destination. The 44 Patagonian ” 
 passed along the coast beyond Tripoli to Tortosa. This was a 
 town of considerable importance to the Egyptians, particularly 
 as a place full of provisions, and it was resolved to attack it. 
 The 44 Patagonian ” was obliged to anchor two miles off, in 
 consequence of a large shoal. This extended in front of the 
 town, and the water above it was more blue and beautiful where 
 the danger lay. 
 
 As the 44 Patagonian” came to an anchor, she was joined by two 
 other ships. Of these, one was a small and active frigate, the 
 44 Bover,” the other was a ten-gun brig. Singleton was stand- 
 ing on the poop as the brig beat up. She was a wonderful little 
 craft, with a black hull and red ports, which glared in contrast. 
 Her masts towered to an enormous height for her size. Her 
 square mainsa.il spread out broad and wide. All her sails were 
 beautifully white, and indicated that her commanding officer 
 had a dandiacal habit of scrubbing them. She tacked brilliantly. 
 
 44 That’s a pretty brig, quartermaster,” said Singleton. 
 
 44 That’s the little 4 Viper,’ sir.” 
 
 44 The 4 Viper,’ eh ? ” Singleton thought of the young mate 
 belonging to her, whom he had seen a few weeks before, on 
 board t^e line-of-battle ship. He fancied that he could be 
 happy on board such a pretty little craft with such a friend. 
 
 Again the 44 Viper” tacked. She worked her sails as beau- 
 tifully as a girl manoeuvring a parasol. And now she lay on the 
 larboard tack nearly up for the 44 Patagonian’s ” stern. A gust 
 of wind came down from the coast ; she heeled over gracefully. 
 That square mainsail seemed large enough to drag her to the 
 devil, but it only made her rush forward faster, and scatter the 
 white foam from her bow. Her boom-mainsail, too, was enor- 
 mous, but it only urged her flight. 
 
 On she came. It seemed that she would run into the line-of- 
 battle-ship’s quarter. Singleton was in intense suspense. The 
 brig came close by the stern of the 44 Patagonian.” All her sails 
 shook and trembled as the huge hull took the wind out of them. 
 Singleton lent over the taffrail. The stranger was standing on 
 a carronade-slide. He raised his straw-hat ; Singleton cordially 
 waved his hand. She was away. 
 
 44 Hands out launch,” resounded through the ship. A dozen 
 hands jumped into the huge boat on the booms to get her ready. 
 Cumbrous tackles were hoisted ; smart men ran along the fore 
 and main yards. Out went the barge and pinnace first, then the 
 
136 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 tackles were made fast to the launch. The band struck up 
 “ Nancy Dawson the men stamped ; the boatswain’s mates 
 piped shrilly ; the huge boat was raised, and lowered into the 
 sea with a deep splash. Then “ Away there, launch’s crew,” was 
 piped, and they occupied themselves in getting her carronade 
 into her. Meanwhile, the “ Rover ” and “ Viper ” ran near in 
 to the walls of the town. It was decided that the attack should 
 take place next day, and an officer was sent with orders to the 
 “ Rover,” round which the boats composing the attack were to 
 assemble. Sunset came, muskets were fired, and the flags hauled 
 down as usual. 
 
 In the gunroom, shortly after that, many of the mess were as- 
 sembled. The lamps were lighted, and the rum placed on the 
 table. Singleton was reading. The door opened. In came old 
 Dertie, with a cutlass in his hand : his scanty, long, thin hair 
 looked wilder than usual ; his bloodshot eyes were fierce, and a 
 curious expression of maudlin excitement lighted up his face. 
 
 “Hah, my noble Bertie!” cried Snigg, who was “ mixing” 
 with his usual activity. “ Sword in hand, eh? Why, w r hat are 
 you doing with a cutlass ?” 
 
 “ I go in the launch to-morrow,” said Bertie, “ and my cussed 
 sword’s no use ; so I’ve taken a ship’s cutlass, and got the ar- 
 mourer to touch it up.” So saying, he inspected the weapon 
 under the lamp. Then he looked round. “ I’ve got to take a 
 youngster,” he said. 
 
 “ Take me !” shouted Box. 
 
 Singleton looked up from his book. “ Take me, Bertie,” he 
 said, by a sudden impulse. 
 
 “ Toss up for it,” said Bertie. 
 
 Singleton took a dollar out of his pocket, and Box came eagerly 
 up to him. 
 
 “ The cap of liberty is tail,” said Box. “ You toss ; I cry.” 
 
 Up spun the bright coin. “ Head !” cried Box. Down it 
 came with a ring on the table. It was “ tail.” Box was very 
 melancholy. 
 
 “You go then, Fontenoy,” said Bertie. Fontenoy went 
 down and brought his pistols up, and began cleaning them, 
 and looking at them with a justifiable pride. They were very 
 handsome. 
 
 “Leave me these,” said Snigg, laughing, “if you’re killed. 
 
 “ I’ll stand a bottle of champagne now 1” cried Somers, “ and 
 you shall leave them to me. Come, that’s a fair offer.” 
 
 “ It would be tempting Fortune and provoking Nemesis,” said 
 Singleton. 
 
 te Est vehemens Bea ; laedere hanc caveto, 
 
 as Catullus says.” ' u 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 137 
 
 “ D — n Catullus,’ * said Somers. “ Steward, bring a bottle of 
 champagne.” So Fontenoy made no objection, and the agree- 
 ment was completed, and the wine brought. Indeed, it was a 
 very good bargain for him, as matters looked then, though this 
 attack on Tortosa proved a much more dangerous and disastrous 
 affair than was ever expected. 
 
 Morning came — a lovely Eastern morning — and disclosed the 
 “ Bover” and “ Viper” lying at anchor about six hundred yards 
 from the town. The sun shone full upon the white wall that 
 faced the sea. It was bounded at each end by a tower, and was 
 dotted with rows of loopholes, which looked like black specks. 
 The sea broke with a quiet murmur on the black rocks and shingle 
 of the beach ; and to the left of the town a little group of palm 
 trees stood tranquilly near the scene of war and death. 
 
 “ Launch’s crew to muster ! Pinnaces and barges to muster !” 
 piped a boatswain’s mate early in the forenoon. The crews drew 
 up on each side of the quarter-deck and gangways with their 
 arms. Lieutenant Primby was wonderfully attired ; and Snigg, 
 who walked about looking for the materials of fun amongst the 
 preparations, remarked, that “ no calf ever went to the slaughter 
 half so gaily.” Captain Pannikin marched about the deck, 
 “ smelling the battle afar off,” and crying “ Ha, ha !” and grunt- 
 ing “How, then, Jones, cutlass, — hem! Mr. Eontenoy, see to 
 Jones, — ugh !” 
 
 “ At last, the boat shoved off. Bertie stood in the stern of the 
 launch, with his purple face glowing, and angry and savage as 
 the prospect of fighting made him. Eontenoy went with him, 
 and stood alongside him. The heavy boat, with twenty long 
 ponderous oars keeping time, and its carronade raised in the bow 
 and standing above the bulwarks, like some savage beast on the 
 watch, moved heavily along. “ Silence, fore and aft,” cried 
 Bertie, looking round fiercely. The pinnace and barge kept line 
 steadily, one on each side. The first cutter led the way in front. 
 Ho sound was heard, except the measured, monotonous jerk of 
 the oars, in the rowlocks. And so the little boat squadron ad- 
 vanced till they reached the “ Bover” and “ Viper.” They drew 
 up, and laid on their oars here, for now began the work of the 
 frigate and the brig. 
 
 How white in the sunlight gleamed the city’s wall — the tints 
 of grey that time had painted it with brightening in the rays ! In 
 the centre a spot was marked for the “ Bover” and “ Viper” to 
 fire at, and break an opening in. The boats waited to see this 
 done. 
 
 t Like lightning from the cloud broke the fire from the frigate’s 
 side. Like lightning from the cloud broke the fire from the 
 brig. Down fell the shot on the wall in torrents. It dashed, it 
 
138 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, B.N. 
 
 stormed, it poured. The grey wall withered, and broke like thin 
 ice. It peeled away like the bark of a dead tree. The white 
 smoke from the vessels sailed slowly away over the surface of the 
 water, and the eyes of every one in the boat were fixed on the 
 doomed spot on the wall. Light broke through it suddenly, and 
 houses were seen ! The path was opened ! 
 
 Off went the boats, “ Patagonian’s” first cutter taking the lead 
 at a gallop. It was a brilliant race — a great Derby of the Sea ! 
 The cutter made the running, followed by the barge and pinnace 
 of “ Patagonian ’’—boats of “Hover” and “Viper,” — heavy old 
 launch of “ Patagonian” thundering after them, with carronade 
 frowning in the bow, and a match smoking beside it. “ Give 
 way !” cried Bertie, grasping his cutlass. The men laboured 
 like madmen, with hot sweat on their brows. Eontenoy grasped 
 
 the ivory handle of his dagger. “ Throw away that d d 
 
 thing,” said Bertie, giving him a cutlass. He grasped it in his 
 hot hand ; his blood was maddened with excitement, and he 
 longed to bound upon the beach. 
 
 The pace is tremendous. Three hundred yards more to run — 
 and then the goal. Death is the goal for many of these brave 
 riders. “ Patagonian’s ” first cutter keeps the lead with a frightful 
 stride, and reaches the beach. The lieutenant in her waves his 
 sword, and he and his men jump on shore. Eire gleams along 
 the wall. The loopholes are spitting it. Two of the cutter’s 
 crew drop and roll on the shingle, never to move more. 
 
 The launch thunders forward. A terrible shock shakes her. 
 She has struck upon a reef ! The other boats strike too, and the 
 rowers are flung from their thwarts. 
 
 “ Give way — give way ; we’ll get her over,” cried Bertie, with 
 a kind of desperate hope. “ D — n it, Jones, don’t catch. crabs !” 
 
 Poor Jones had caught something worse : he dropped from his 
 thwart, shot dead by a musket-ball. Another man gives a faint 
 cry, and leaves his oar for ever. A darker flood must they em- 
 bark on now ! Eire keeps gleaming along the grey old wall. 
 Two or three balls strike the boat, and bury themselves in the 
 wood. 
 
 It was a desperate moment ; but steadily as the moon shines 
 on a stormy sea, shines the courage of a British officer in the 
 hour of desperate danger. 
 
 “ Point the carronade,” cried Bertie ; “ every man that has a 
 musket bring it to bear on a loophole.” The orders were in- 
 stantly obeyed. The carronade began firing. The ringing of 
 ramrods and smart banging went on. Eontenoy jumped along 
 the thwarts forwards, seized one of the muskets, and, picking out 
 a loophole, fired steadily away at it. A seaman was killed close 
 beside him, and spattered him with blood. He knelt down, and 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 139 
 
 filling his cap with water, held it to the poor fellow’s mouth. 
 The man breathed his last the instant after, and the tears came 
 into Singleton’s eyes with a sudden gush ; but he dashed them 
 away, and kept on firing. 
 
 A rushing hiss was heard above the boats. The “Rover” and 
 “ Viper ” were firing just over their heads, at the shore. A 
 desperate effort was made to lighten the boats over the reef, — all 
 in vain. 
 
 Presently, a new arrival was seen. Old Pannikin came in hi3 
 gig, and hovered about the scene with a musket ; his old sport- 
 ing propensities developing themselves in this crisis, he picked 
 off the enemy “ sitting,” and even “ on the wing,” with much 
 neatness, with a musket. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs, when Singleton, jumping up to 
 take a good aim, felt a blow on the arm : he started, and fell 
 overboard — he felt the water gurgling in his mouth — he struck 
 and plunged — his head smote against something. For a moment 
 a blue world of light and colour swam around him — he seemed 
 to be dreaming — lie tried to speak, like one struggling with 
 nightmare : light seemed rushing into his mouth ; then a cloud 
 eclipsed his soul, and he was conscious of no more. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Wo are associated in adolescent and adult life with. some friends, who, like skies 
 and waters, are coextensive with our idea ... We cannot choose hut love them. 
 
 Emerson - . Nature ; Aisr Essax. 
 
 “ Well ! Where is the soul now ? ” 
 
 “ Where is the blossom in winter ? Where ” 
 
 “ Pshaw !” 
 
 “ Hush — he wakes ! ” 
 
 Singleton opened his eyes— as a flower opens its leaves to the 
 morning sun — and his look met two faces. Of those, one was a 
 keen, sagacious countenance, with small bright eyes, and some- 
 what marked by the traces of small-pox : the other was that of 
 the stranger of the brig. He looked round the room : it was a 
 hare little cabin, with a couple of engravings, and a crucifix 
 hanging up. He felt a sensation of coldness on his forehead : 
 putting his hand to it, he touched a moist cloth that was lying on 
 it. His left arm was very stiff : it was tightly bandaged. He 
 felt exceedingly surprised. 
 
 The two looked at him kindly in silence. Then the handsome 
 stranger said — 
 
 “ Well, doctor, how is he j 
 
 ( 
 
140 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 The other felt his pulse. 
 
 “Oh, it throbs nicely and steadily.. Young gentleman, how 
 do you like Bey rout ?” he added, somewhat abruptly. 
 
 “ I don’t like Tortosa,” said Fontenoy, smiling as he recovered 
 himself. He heard a gurgle of water just by him, and as a light 
 swelling motion was felt at the same instant, he knew he was 
 out at sea. 
 
 “Very good,” said the doctor, quietly. “Are you thirsty ?” 
 
 “ Bather hungry,” said Singleton. 
 
 “ That will do. I hand him over to you, Welwyn : I must go 
 and see after my sick-list.” 
 
 The doctor left, and within three minutes came in some tea — 
 some dark-hued bread — some fresh-grown figs — and some honey 
 fragrant of violet. 
 
 The stranger who had just been addressed by the name of 
 Welwyn placed all these refreshments within easy reach of the 
 cot in which Singleton was snugly ensconced. Singleton raised 
 himself, leant against a background of pillows, looked in 
 Welwyn’s face, and smiled gratefully. 
 
 Welwyn took down a fez, with its long blue wave of silk 
 threads, and placed it on Singleton’s head : then taking down a 
 small looking-glass, he held it before his face. Singleton looked, 
 and as he saw himself blushing, and otherwise much as usual, 
 grew quite composed. 
 
 “It seems to me that I am quite well,” he said, breaking 
 open a fig, and making a delicious plunge into the soft interior 
 of one half. “ But where ami?” 
 
 “ On board the e Viper/ ” said Welwyn. “You fell into the 
 water over the gunwale of the launch, as the bullet grazed you.” 
 
 “The bullet!” 
 
 “Yes: it has done no serious injury, luckily. You can’t 
 swim, I suppose, and you knocked your head against a rock. At 
 that instant, a retreat from that confounded attack was ordered. 
 I was in a pinnace, and picked you up before your own people 
 could ; so I brought you on board here, and you were looked to, 
 all right. The attack was abandoned, and we all weighed at sun- 
 set. It was a smart affair — six killed, and nearly twenty 
 wounded.” 
 
 Singleton listened with great interest to this little narrative — 
 took a tremendous draught of tea, and a huge piece of bread, 
 redolent of golden honey, and ejaculated, “By Jove!” 
 
 “Trim sails,” was heard, and the trampling of feet and 
 rattling of ropes over head. The considerate Welwyn 
 stepped outside the cabin door, on to the lower deck, and 
 seizing the end of the “ wind-sail,” — a long canvass pipe, 
 which came down the hatchway, — brought it near . the 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 141 
 
 entrance : the fresh current of the rising breeze played de- 
 lightfully round Singleton. 
 
 44 Oh — you’re too kind,” he said, colouring. 
 
 Welwyn laughed. 44 Is it not a luxury, eh? Emperors could 
 have no more than such a thing in such a climate.” 
 
 44 1 think I may get up,” said Singleton. 
 
 44 Thanks to the sun of this country, your clothes are dry. I 
 have got a clean shirt for you — and let me tell you that’s more 
 than most of the squadron have, now.” 
 
 44 Even that great man whom we saw, when you and I first 
 met,” said Singleton, laughing, 44 may not.” 
 
 Welwyn laughed too, 44 He seems to me to have fallen under 
 part of the curse of Kehama : — 
 
 “And Water shall know me, 
 
 And fear thee, and fly thee !” 
 
 44 Ah! — what a ring there is in that verse,” said Singleton, 
 getting out of the cot, and beginning to attire himself. 
 
 44 You love poetry?” 
 
 44 As I do my own soul.” Here he proceeded to apparel him- 
 self, and removed the wet cloth from his head. He had given it 
 rather a hard rub, and the black hair round the place was stiff 
 with blood. His left arm was stiff, too, — but these were trifles, 
 and he felt very strong otherwise, and perfectly happy with his 
 new acquaintance. 
 
 So they went on deck together, and Eontenoy looked round 
 with astonishment at the tiny vessel, so different from his own 
 huge 44 Patagonian,” with her eighty guns. The 44 Yiper ” 
 looked like a toy. What an elegant little top-gallant-forecastle 
 raised at the bo w ! What compact boats and booms amidships ! 
 What pretty little carronades ! And then her masts were var- 
 nished like fishing-rods. She was painted a clear, bright stone- 
 colour. Herbitts, belaying-pins, and so on, were stained glossy 
 black. Her hammocks were white as snow, and stowed with 
 matchless care. She was, from one end to another, as trim and 
 smart as a little milliner — and in a smartish breeze, as lively, 
 too ! 
 
 And a smartish breeze sprang up. The 44 Yiper tacked — 
 darting, like a needle, right into the wind’s eye, as she did so. 
 Singleton was astonished. This was different, indeed, from the 
 44 Patagonian,” which was almost as long in stays as the 
 44 Eodney,” — and that’s saying a good deal ! He saw his old ship 
 a mile to leeward, from the 44 Yiper’s ” stern-grating, looking 
 very majestic, but rather ponderous, and felt in no hurry to go 
 on board again. 
 
 Commander Tinsley came on deck. His face was very red— 
 
142 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 as it usually was, after dinner, and in the evening ! He wore 
 mustackios, too! This was a breach of all discipline, but he 
 stuck to it. Stopford had politely snubbed him ; the commodore 
 had snubbed him, unpolitely. A court-martial had been hinted 
 at — but Commander Tinsley would not shave. He neglected 
 discipline and the razor ; he had been “ rapped over the 
 knuckles,” as the phrase is, over and over again, but his knuckles 
 stood a great deal of rapping. He was a very singular little 
 man, and very apt to carry on sail till he lost spars overboard — 
 which he had to pay for out of his pay, as he did not grudge 
 doing. He had some good private means, and considerable in- 
 fluence in his borough, by which last he gained the command of 
 the “ Yiper.” Altogether he did what the worthies of the old 
 school most particularly detest — he “ made a convenience of the 
 service ! ” 
 
 “Hem!” said he to Pontenoy ; “you’re the younker of the 
 ‘ Patagonian ’ that was hit, and nearly swamped, eh P” 
 
 “ Yes, sir,” said Singleton, involuntarily smiling, as he touched 
 his cap. 
 
 “ Don’t grin at me, like a Cheshire cat, sir,” said Tinsley, 
 sharply. 
 
 “ Top-gallant clewlines,” shotted the ofDcerof the watch. 
 
 “ Why, why, d — n my eyes, why ? ” A gust of wind, that 
 made the “ Yiper ” jump, and dash her bow against a wave 
 which covered the whole deck with a shower of spray, might 
 have taught him why ; but he did not care. 
 
 “ I must take the top-gallant sails off her.” 
 
 “ Take my old grandmother off her,” said Tinsley. The masts 
 bent here, like willows, and played “tug, tug;” but they held 
 on, however. Tinsley had his full share of what is called “ the 
 devil’s luck,” — and he deserved it. But some people expected 
 that the “ Yiper ” would go down, stern foremost some night, 
 particularly with that square mainsail on her. 
 
 Presently, a serious squall came on. “Hands shorten sail,” 
 cried Tinsley, reluctantly. The men came tumbling up : Tinsley 
 conducted the work, and with such a rich profusion of Billingsgate 
 as astonished Singleton. 
 
 “ Pore-yard, there — there’s a tinker on the fore-yard, and a 
 cobbler alongside him ; you’ve a head, and so has a scupper-nail 
 and a pumpkin ! Look smart, you grass-combers ; be quick, 
 you ivory-elbowed lubbers,” &c. &c. The truth was, that 
 
 Tinsley, wdien young, had been a pupil of the celebrated B , 
 
 in the West Indies, that great “Billingsgate Quintilian” (as 
 my friend Percival Plug, of the “ Preposterous,” calls him), 
 who educated Lieutenant Hireling of the “ Snob,” and so many 
 other ornaments of the profetssion. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 143 
 
 “ Mr. Welwyn, sir, look sliarp, and be d — d to you ; Mr. 
 Bobus, go be d — d, sir.” 
 
 Singleton stood aft, near tbe stern-gratings, in mute astonish- 
 ment, during this scene ; but nothing surprised him more than 
 the admirable coolness of Welwyn, who betrayed neither irrita- 
 tion nor surprise, but went on doing his work as calmly and per- 
 fectly as possible. 
 
 At last, “ call the watch” was heard ; the ropes were coiled 
 down, and Tinsley, redder than ever, and puffing hard for want 
 of breath, came aft, and blew out like a weary grampus ; then, 
 suddenly he called out “Mr. Welwyn, come here, — Mr. Bobus, 
 come here ; come here, if you please, sir.” This last was to our 
 friend Fontenoy, who walked up to him, with more surprise than 
 ever, as he saw Welwyn and Bobus approaching at the same 
 time. What was the matter now ? 
 
 “Mr. Welwyn, I used the word d — d to you, sir, just now,” 
 said Tinsley, formally. 
 
 “ Don’t mention it, sir,” said Welwyn, bowing politely ; and 
 Singleton, glancing at him, fancied he could see a smile, sleeping, 
 as it were, under the surface of his grave, intelligent face. 
 
 “ I did, sir ; I said d — d ; I recollect it distinctly. Mr. 
 Welwyn, I apologise.” Here he touched his cap, and Welwyn 
 did the same. “ Mr. Bobus, I said ‘ Go be d — d’ to you, sir. I 
 apologise, also.” Here the bowing ceremony again took place. 
 “ Young gentleman” (to Fontenoy), “ I compared you to a 
 Cheshire cat; it was vulgar, and wrong. Sir, I apologise.” 
 Once more he took off his cap, and Singleton did so also, be- 
 ginning to be persuaded that the man was stark staring mad. 
 
 “ How, gentlemen, I hope you are satisfied ; if not, I have a 
 plain coat in my cabin, and will meet you on shore.” This was 
 kind and condescending of Tinsley, who would waive his rank, 
 and shoot you, with the utmost kindness, if you liked it. 
 
 When this scene was over, he asked them all down to his 
 cabin, where three or four bottles were cooling in flannel bags in 
 a tub of water. Here he had a portrait of Mrs. Tinsley, whom 
 he hated as he did cold water (I cannot express it more strongly) 
 as an article of consumption. Hext, he turned the hands up to 
 “ skylark,” or amuse themselves. Singleton could not under- 
 stand his motive for this ; but presently the gallant commander 
 walked forward to, the galley-fire (the lower deck being clear), 
 personally to superintend the preparation of his dinner by his 
 black cook, Pompey. This was his invariable custom, and a 
 strange sight it was, to see him in an old uniform jacket, with a 
 cookery-book in his band, persecuting that unhappy negro. 
 Pompey was frightfully ignorant of the higher branches of 
 cookery ; and his commander, indeed, used to assert that he had 
 
144 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 no other way of producing rotundity in a forcemeat ball than by 
 rubbing it up and down his breast. He would tell you this when 
 you were at soup, and if you shuddered, and looked sick, 
 esteemed it a triumph of his comic powers, In truth, there was 
 no way of accounting for all the peculiarities of Tinsley, except 
 by the most popular theory among his own officers, which was, 
 that five years’ service on the coast of Africa had somehow 
 affected his brain. 
 
 “Well, what think you of the ‘Viper?’ ” said Welwyn to 
 Eontenoy, when they found themselves in the berth — an odd 
 little place, lighted by a “ bull’s-eye” in the deck, painted pink, 
 which had got dirty, and with a scuttle that had a tendency to 
 teak. 
 
 “ I like it much,” said Singleton, squeezing a hard, green 
 lemon, with a leaf still on the stalk — refreshing sight in Syria ! 
 “ But you are somewhat roughly handled, one way and another!” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Welwyn, thoughtfully ; “ but there is great free- 
 dom in the life ; and a certain savage freedom is more favourable 
 to philosophy than greater ease and comfort with more social 
 restraint. Here are my consolations.” 
 
 As he spoke, he opened a locker near him, and displayed a 
 number of books — among them numbers of those little Leipsic 
 editions of the classics, published by Tauchnitz, which are to be 
 found scattered over all the Levant — dear in, their homely aspect 
 to the wandering student ! 
 
 Singleton’s eyes brightened. “I rejoice to find one who has 
 tastes like my own.” 
 
 Welwyn smiled rather sadly. “ Some of your tastes differ 
 perhaps. What, think you, fell from your clothes when I was 
 helping you into the cot last night ?” 
 
 “ What ?” asked Singleton, looking pale. 
 
 Welwyn smiled again, and took from the locker a piece of silver 
 paper, through one end of which peeped part of a lock of brown 
 hair. “ I took care of it for you. Wonderful is the force of 
 symbols, as I had occasion to illustrate to you once before.” 
 
 Singleton pounced upon the hair. “ Ah, the Lalage ! Thank 
 you, Welwyn.” He displayed so much delight, that his compa- 
 nion looked at him with great interest ; then sighed — perhaps at 
 some recollection of his own. Welwyn was one of those melan- 
 choly idealists who, finding nothing in real life that satisfies their 
 aspirations, reject what they can get, and live among their own 
 fancies. They are discontented without being cynical, and 
 though solitary, are not misanthropes. They are favourable to 
 the movement of the age, but shrink from the participators in it ; 
 they love their friends, but go little near them. They read and 
 meditate a great deal, and sometimes write, but will not publish. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 145 
 
 They are aseetically inclined. If they have a weakness, it is 
 quoting Carlyle and Emerson ,* and, poor fellows, they care for 
 no luxury but a pipe ! 
 
 How Eontenoy was of the same class of intellect as Welwyn, 
 but he was younger, and he chiefly sought beauty, while Welwyn 
 sought intellect. 
 
 “ What think you of this war ?” said Singleton, sipping le- 
 monade. 
 
 “ Why, it’s difficult to explain my feelings -as to it. Placed as 
 destiny has placed me, it is my duty to fulfil the conditions of 
 my social position, and take part in it. In that, I apprehend,” 
 said Welwyn, looking rather abstracted, “I am right. But, 
 but ” 
 
 Singleton gazed hard at him : he seemed absent for a moment. 
 
 “ Well?” said Singleton, quietly. 
 
 “ Oh, the idea of the war is not a divine one ! It is a business 
 affair, — murder made mechanical, and carnage without enthu- 
 siasm ! ’Tis different from the Crusades !” 
 
 “ Ah,” said Singleton, “ and if I had been killed yesterday ! — 
 Well, — I should not have been the first Eontenoy who died on 
 this coast !” 
 
 “The first Eontenoy!” said Welwyn, surprised. In truth, 
 it was then for the very first time that he learned our hero’s 
 name. It was strange, but it was the fact. 
 
 “Yes,” said Singleton gaily, “ how odd that I never told you 
 my name.” He did not perceive the entirely new look of interest 
 that Vfelwyn’s face assumed for a moment. 
 
 “ And you never heard my name before you heard it on board 
 here?” said Welwyn. 
 
 “ Ho ! ” said Singleton, surprised in his turn. 
 
 “Ah — Eontenoy! ” pursued Welwyn. “There was a battle 
 for you — battle of Eontenoy, eh?” Welwyn smiled, and then 
 said, “ but your lemonade is full of pips ! ” And at this moment 
 the other two members of the mess came in — Dr. Brunt, the 
 assistant-surgeon who had attended Singleton, and a young, 
 fair-haired boy, Simms, the clerk. Brunt was a very clever, 
 shrewd, good fellow, and a great hand at his work — but, un- 
 fortunately, having never seen a human soul, either at a death- 
 bed or a post-mortem , had taken a fancy to deny its existence, 
 and was a thick and thin materialist, as hard as one side of his 
 scalpel, and as sharp and keen as the other. Simms was a fine, 
 tender-hearted little fellow, who, having been made a clerk from 
 the original position of a ship’s boy, was somewhat shy, and had 
 an absurd notion that he was in some way inferior to other 
 officers, generally. He adored Welwyn, who was very kind to 
 him. 
 
146 SINGLETON FONTENOlf, E.N* 
 
 “ Well, doctor, how is your sick-list ? ” said Welwyn, 
 briskly. 
 
 “ Capital. I have mended Brown’s leg, and repaired Hig- 
 gins’ stomach. Sobkins will want a pill put in to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and then will be all right.” 
 
 “ Why, you always talk about your patients, as if they were 
 so many tables and chairs,” said Welwyn, smiling. 
 
 “ So they are — for my purposes,” said Brunt ; “ and it is 
 better for them that I think so. Science should be cool, 
 and raised above every emotion — as science. If our young 
 friend here had died last night, I should have been devilish 
 sorry for it ” (which was quite true, for he was an exceedingly 
 good-hearted man) ; “ but I should have counted his last ten 
 pulsations as I would count these lemon pips ! ” 
 
 Here the doctor mixed himself some rum-and-water. The 
 commander was known to have gone to bed — very likely to 
 sleep sound ; the brig was under easy sail — everything was snug 
 for the evening. Brunt took Singleton to his dispensary, and 
 dressed his arm and head ; and they returned to the berth to 
 spend the evening. 
 
 What a pleasant evening that was ! Welwyn, with his fine, 
 calm mind, pouring out strange fancies ; Brunt, clever, critical, 
 and amusing; Simms asking questions, and giving such odd, 
 original opinions ; Fontenoy, joyous, lively, and full of clever- 
 ness and good-nature. 
 
 Morning came. The “Patagonian ” was to leeward, as before, 
 and a boat was observed coming from her ; Singleton knew that 
 it must be for him, and half wished that he had been wounded a 
 little more severely. 
 
 He went to the berth, and found Welwyn alone. He told him 
 that he was going ; Welwyn was sorry, but he was quite serene, 
 as usual ! Singleton was moved. 
 
 “You said last night that you believed in love at first sight P ” 
 he said. 
 
 “Yes,” said Welwyn, quietly. “Hovahs somewhere com- 
 pares its effect to magic !” 
 
 “ And I believe in friendship at first sight ! ” said Singleton, 
 holding out his hand. “ Welwyn, I am glad to have made your 
 friendship, and I hope to hold it long !” 
 
 “Iam glad, too,” said Welwyn, more composedly, “ I hope 
 the same.” 
 
 “ Thank you. Well, when shall we see each other ? Come on 
 board the ‘ Patagonian ’ when we reach Djouni, — come and dine 
 with me.” 
 
 “ Thank you : I seldom go out ; I don’t mix in the squadron’s 
 gaieties at all.” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N* 
 
 147 
 
 “ But for my sake !” 
 
 Welwyn smiled. 
 
 “ My dear friend, it is not necessary to friendship that we 
 should see each other ; and by dinners it is somewhat, perhaps, 
 profaned. We can be friends without these personal relations. 
 
 Singleton looked rather blank : his notions of friendship had 
 not reached this transcendental height. He shook hands warmly ; 
 and having bid all the gentlemen of the “ Viper ” good-bye also, 
 jumped into the “ Patagonian’s ” cutter. 
 
 Box was the youth in command of the boat. As they rowed 
 away from her — 
 
 “I say, Singleton,” he said, “how glad you must be to get 
 out of that cussed small craft ! ” 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 Tambourgi, Tambourgi, thy larum afar. 
 
 Gives hopes to the valiant, and promise of war, 
 All the sons of the Mountain arise at the note, — 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The war still progresses. Brave old Mehemet plucks with 
 nervous fingers his white, silvery beard. A hard fate this, for 
 the man of godlike genius — to be thwarted and thrashed by a 
 swarm of mediocre bullies armed with brute force ! Never mind, 
 great Pasha, thou hast done thy work. A few years, and thou 
 wilt sleep as soundly as “him who sleeps in Philse.” Yet it is 
 hard to see the old age of a hero persecuted thus ! To see a 
 hero perishing by the grubbing industry of many little human 
 insects — as Sylla died of the morbus pedicularis\ Ibrahim is 
 still with his forces, not far from the allies, and with him, still, 
 is the old Emir Beschir, meditating treachery once more. 
 Meanwhile, “ Mahomet has come to the mountain ” in the shape 
 of Commodore Napier, whose blue burgee still floats on Leba- 
 non ; and near him, still waves the flag of Selim Pasha over his 
 green tent.f The sky is raining roses and violets as usual, and 
 a weary heat combines with a gorgeous colour to dazzle the 
 senses — so that one feels somewhat like a phoenix burning slowly 
 by spice-wood ! The “ Patagonian ” is in the Bay of Djouni, 
 
 * Treat your friend as a spectacle * * * I do, then, with my friends, as I do 
 with my books,” &c. &c. — See Emerson’s “ Essay on Friendship.” 
 t The author would direct those who want valuable information about 
 Mehemet Ali, to read the “Egypt ” of Prince Puckler Muskau — that able, 
 excellent, fearless, and honest writer. Look, too, at the admissions of Eliot 
 W arburton of the “ Crescent and the Cross.” Why are they so reluctantly made, 
 
 l2 
 
148 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 and our liero, Singleton, after being in tbe sick-list for a fort- 
 night, has emerged well, once more, from below. 
 
 The “ Patagonian’s” mess were in the gunroom as usual, one 
 morning in October. Sidon had fallen. Beyrout was not yet 
 evacuated, but further proceedings were daily expected. The 
 mess were talking over that brilliant exploit performed by the 
 “ Hastings” at Beyrout — the cutting off of a mine — in which the 
 gallant young Luscombe, who was serving as a volunteer, fell. 
 Honour to all enthusiasts ! His grave should not want a laurel 
 if my pen could give it one. But he sleeps well — not far from 
 Lady Hester Stanhope, I fancy. He has his grave with that 
 divine dreamer. Lamartine has been on the spot ; Eothen has 
 written about it. The Mediterranean murmurs near ; an Eastern 
 sun lights it ; the wind sighs among the palm-trees there. What 
 can an enthusiast want more ? 
 
 “ That was a brave fellow,” said Lord Clarion, with a warm 
 sympathy. 
 
 Eontenoy was going to burst into a eulogium, when a quarter- 
 master put his head into the gunroom door, and announced that 
 Captain Pannikin wished to speak to him. 
 
 “What can be the matter?” asked Singleton, rather star- 
 tled. 
 
 “ You’re in for it,” cried a midshipman. “Was it you who 
 milked his cow the other morning?” Eor Captain Pannikin 
 had a cow on board to supply his table with milk, and Snigg 
 used to compare him to the “ fatted calf” in consequence. Eor, 
 Snigg liked milk (with some rum, sugar, and nutmeg in it !) and 
 none of the milk of the said cow ever reached him, which made 
 Snigg indignant. 
 
 Eontenoy found Pannikin in his cabin, with a map before him, 
 and in his fat red fingers a pair of compasses. On the table was 
 his favourite volume, “ Inman’s Navigation,” and its faithful ally, 
 a Nautical Almanac. The captain was redin the face from reple- 
 tion and heat. 
 
 “ Mr. Eontenoy, hem ! I’m pleased with you, sir, ugh ! — I 
 mentioned you in my despatch, about the attack of the other 
 day, hem ! ” 
 
 Mr. Warburton ? As to the history of the war operations of our force, Hunter’s 
 “Expedition” is valuable — and I am much indebted to it. But Mr. Hunter seems 
 like many Englishmen to have carried his prejudices out with him in his port- 
 manteau ! How came he to let a note in. comparing grave, active, far-seeing 
 Mehemet to dancing, fiddling, half'-maniac, half-buffoon Nero? Mr. Hunter 
 should read Suetonius again, and blot out the improper comparison from his 
 work — of which I would willingly take a civil leave, as a pleasant, useful com- 
 panion. It contains, too, some capital passages quoted from Mr. A. Doyle, which 
 increase its value. — Timid readers who have heard bluebeard stories about 
 Mehemet Ali’s cruelties, and who are rose-waterishly inclined, should read 
 Carlyle’s article on “ Lancia” in his ** Miscellanies”— to say nothing of his other 
 writings. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 149 
 
 Eontenoy bowed and expressed bis thanks, and began to 
 form a hazy vision of bimself in command of the Channel 
 squadron. 
 
 “Well, sir — you are to go with a letter to the commodore in 
 the camp, sir.” Singleton bowed again. The document was 
 handed to him, and in a few minutes he was skimming along in 
 the “ Patagonian’s” neat little second gig. He had brought the 
 handsome pistols with him, and wore his dirk. In his white 
 trousers, blue camlet jacket, pretty gold-laced cap, and so on, 
 he looked rather a brilliant fellow as he jumped upon the beach. 
 The sea fringed it with pearly foam, and the pebbles gleamed 
 like precious stones. Drawing a long deep breath of the odorous 
 air, he ordered the boat’s crew to return on board, and took his way 
 along a path of rock that looked like petrified pomegra- 
 nate. The beach was covered with the bustle of war, and the 
 sea was alive with boats. It was a sparkling and a stirring 
 scene. 
 
 How often has man acted his first sceije on this planet, over, 
 since? It was done here, once more. What was Dijouni? A 
 paradise turned into a camp ! And for an angel with a flaming 
 sword, stood an English soldier with a fixed bayonet. Singleton 
 gained the camp and looked around. War had made havoc of 
 that fair spot. Little stumps in the ground met his eye on the 
 way. These had been mulberry-trees — dear to the silkworm. 
 Where were the silkworms gone, and what were the human 
 ■worms to do, who had lived by their spinning? Where were 
 the myrtles whereon the fireflies shine? There were huge 
 ramparts, and a perfect Sahara of sand-bags, and grey white tents 
 instead. Groups of armed men in gaudy dresses were about, 
 with long-barrelled muskets with yellow hoops of brass. Har- 
 gillys fumed, and red clay pipe-bowls rested on the ground, 
 sailors were smoking their short white pipes near, and moun- 
 taineers were selling grapes. The head of a dead sheep was 
 lying near a corner of the rock, with large blue flies swarming 
 on it. 
 
 A pretty little Maronite chapel, with a rude cross at one end, 
 met Singleton’s eye. A small cannon showed its nose at the 
 window. The chapel was the commodore’s abode, and the 
 commodore’s blue pendant floated triumphantly over the emblem 
 of Christ! 
 
 The camp was nearly empty, for the commodore had gone to 
 Corniehovahn, where the allies were assembling, and where 
 Singleton learnt that several battalions had early gone. The 
 eagles and vultures knew that too, in their lofty dwellings in the 
 mountain ! 
 
 To Corniehovahn ! Thither Singleton must bend his way. 
 
150 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 He procured from a mountaineer a small black horse, with 
 Turkish saddle, and shovel stirrups, bridle eked out by knotty 
 rope, and other gay caparisons like ragged carpets of a light 
 pattern. Giving a dollar to this man, and a piastre, by way of 
 backsheesh, to him, that he might refresh himself with aniseed, 
 he shouted “ Cornichovahn the mountaineer cried “ Cornicho- 
 vahn !” and pointed in the direction of a mountain ridge. Sin- 
 gleton set off at a canter, leaving the sea behind, and plunged 
 into Lebanon ! 
 
 The day was still young, and the sun was rising above the 
 mountains, and charming them into amber. As he ascended the 
 hilly path, and gazed upon the view around, he drank the fresh 
 air as if it had been a luxurious wine. And what a bouquet it 
 had ! He plucked the roses from the rocks as he rode by ; and 
 fragrant bushes rained sweetness down. . Below him, his eye 
 travelled along the line of a dried-up mountain torrent, with 
 stones as white as human bones. A melancholy spectacle ! 
 What saith Lamartine — he whose genius seems to have been 
 fired by the morning-land, and, like Memnon’s statue, to have 
 been made vocal by the rays of the Eastern sun : — 
 
 w l’homme, helas ! apres la vie 
 
 C’est un lac dont l’eau s’est enfuie : 
 
 On le cherche, il vient de tarir.” 
 
 Many a spot he saw, which the Crusader might have chosen 
 to fix his cross in, that he might kneel down and pray before it. 
 And he, too, was a Crusader ! That was an amusing thought, 
 and Singleton set off at a gallop, and made the rocks ring with 
 laughter, as it came into his head. A crusader in the cause of 
 Downing Street ! Hurrah ! — down with the Infidel, and up 
 with — what? — the Eunds ! IJp with the Sublime Porte ! 
 
 He gazed with joy on the lofty sycamore with its broad and 
 deep green leaves, and the palm, and the olive, and the mulberry, 
 and little hamlets peeping here and there, gay with colour, and 
 looking as if built of china. 
 
 Presently he saw a beautiful little grey convent, perched upon 
 a hill. He rode up to the gate and coughed loudly, for Mr. 
 Singleton began to feel very thirsty, and as yet saw no sign of 
 the place he wished to get to. Indeed, he had been musing as 
 he galloped along, and the whole scene was too gorgeous for any 
 man of a lively fancy to think of business. Business ! There 
 was a profanity in the idea. It seemed like turning to to roast 
 and eat a bird of Paradise. 
 
 Under the shade of a mulberry-tree sat a little ecclesiastic 
 with a round, jovial face, but with a look of extreme acuteness 
 and courage, He rose, as Singleton’s horse stopped opposite 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 151 
 
 tlie gate. “ Father,” said Singleton, romantically, and with a 
 historical-novel kind of look, 44 I am athirst ! ” 
 
 The little monk shook his head, and did not understand — or 
 pretended not to understand him. Singleton repeated himself 
 in the French tongue with the same result. Suddenly a happy 
 idea struck him. This of course was a Maronite convent : the 
 ecclesiastic was probably a Jesuit, and certainly a Homan 
 Catholic. Latin he must know. Now, though Singleton was a 
 very good Latin scholar, as times go, he had never spoken a 
 word of it in his life, and the effect of it was ridiculous enough. 
 
 “ Loquerisne Latine , sancte pater V' (Do you speak Latin, 
 holy father?) said Singleton, pronouncing the Latin foreign 
 fashion, to make sure, and grinning. 
 
 The little man looked up surprised, and smiled. 44 Loquorne 
 Latine ! Res sane mirabilis esset, si ego in istd lingua hand, 
 maxime versarer /” (It would be odd if I did not.) 
 
 “Nunc est bibendum /” shouted Singleton, jumping from his 
 horse, and entering the gate, he threw his horse’s bridle over it. 
 The little monk invited him in, still smiling his surprise, brought 
 some lemonade, brought some coffee, and a pipe, brought some 
 of the famous vino d'oro of the mountain ! Singleton looked round 
 the refectory. It was a fine spacious chamber. 
 
 They went on talking in a curious style, and Singleton was 
 absolutely forgetting his duty altogether, when he heard a dis- 
 tant rolling sound. The sound echoed through the mountains 
 in waves of echoes, which played from hill to hill. He jumped 
 to his feet, and asked the monk the way to Cornichovahn. The 
 monk pointed. Singleton jumped on horseback, waved his cap, 
 and galloped off — regardless of all danger of stumbling — in the 
 direction. He could see blue smoke floating in the air there, and 
 heard the low, rattling sound of firing. He bounded along the 
 rugged paths — the horse leaping like a chamois — battle lying 
 before him — and everything else forgotten. Scenery, cause, 
 musing, poetry, and all, were driven away by the din of war. 
 
 He reached the heights — hot, breathless, and excited — and 
 found himself in the middle of the commodore’s force. The com- 
 modore himself ! Ah, that was a picture ! When some painter 
 like Hogarth takes to the historical department, we shall pro- 
 bably see it exhibited. Grasping a ship’s cutlass — terrible and 
 ludicrous at once — this wonderful general turned battle into a 
 “ row,” and for a war-cry had a hearty 4 4 daamn ! ” 
 
 Singleton galloped up with his letter from Pannikin. The 
 commodore took it. 
 
 44 Go and fight, sir — ye’re joost in time,” he said. 
 
 Singleton got a cutlass, in imitation of his gallant commander, 
 and galloped up to the Turkish battalions, as a volunteer. 
 
152 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 The army was perched on along narrow range of hills ;* and 
 the enemy (who were commanded by Ibrahim Pasha) held three 
 distinct positions, one behind the other, before them. Out of 
 these they had to be beaten in succession. It was a wild and 
 rocky scene ; and Singleton could not help thinking, as he saw 
 the wild mountaineers on his side, pouring down to the attack 
 like one of their native streams, that the affair had more a bri- 
 gand look, than anything else. 
 
 Our battalion of Turks advanced in companies, with the 
 crescent waving. They rushed to attack the first position. Eire 
 gleamed from the heights. On came the children of Othman 
 with their red caps, wavering like a field of scarlet poppies when 
 the wind is rising. Here and there the firing thins them : never 
 mind, oh true believers ! — houris are waiting to embrace him 
 who falls in battle ! Hear you not the rustling of their green 
 veils ? Steadily on they went, under a hot fire. Suddenly they 
 broke ! — broke en tirailleur — broke in a long line, along the 
 ridge — ran to fight behind rocks and ruined houses ! The 
 enemy from their plateau kept firing. A second and a third 
 battalion were sent on, and broke too. It seemed a fatal mo- 
 ment. Singleton’s horse, which had taken fright at the firing, 
 broke away at a desperate gallop. A bullet sang past his ear : 
 he clenched his teeth. Suddenly the poor beast made a spring 
 forward, flung his rider over his neck, and fell — shot dead. 
 Singleton rolled over, and jumped up, with his face cut. 
 
 “ Hillo, younker, who pays for the nag ?” shouted a loud voice 
 near him. 
 
 The commodore was rallying the wavering battalions— 
 flinging stones at them — pelting the hesitating — damning 
 everybody. 
 
 “ Daamn it all — move on — daamn ye !” 
 
 The cutlass waved like a scythe. The Turks were kicked and 
 thrashed into action : they mounted the hill ; they gained the 
 first position. Singleton was with them : pistol in one hand, 
 he rushed up. He shot an Egyptian through the brain. There 
 Was a smart skirmish — the enemy retreated — the plateau was 
 gained ! 
 
 There was a rush at the second position. The enemy broke 
 and gave way. Singleton caught a moment’s sight of a stern 
 face : it was Ibrahim Pasha, mounted on horseback, with a 
 group of officers. He was retreating ! A knot of Egyptians 
 held their ground for an instant. Singleton, with a party of 
 Turks, rushed to the spot. One of the enemy made a lunge at 
 him with a bayonet ; he had a green Turkish standard round 
 
 See Commodore Napier’s despatch— Hunter’s “ Expedition,” vol. i. p. 191. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 153 
 
 him. Singleton stepped aside— fired the other pistol — missed. 
 He rushed at the man with his cutlass, and fell upon him, 
 and they rolled over together. In the struggle he drew his dirk, 
 and stabbed the enemy in the throat. Slowly the man’s grasp 
 relaxed ; the blood bubbled heavily out of his wound. Single- 
 ton panting, saw his eyes film — grasped the green standard — 
 and fainted. 
 
 When he recovered he was in a tent. Night had come on, 
 and the army were encamped, peacefully, on the mountain. He 
 went out, and walked under the starry sky in the fresh sweet- 
 ness of night. Some officers, who formed the staff of the com- 
 modore, congratulated him on his capturing the standard ; but 
 the look of the dying man haunted him; and the silent 
 stars seemed to arraign him at their high tribunal for murder. 
 
 Beyrout was evacuated about the same time that this defeat of 
 Ibrahim Pasha took place. About this time, too, old Emir 
 Beschir, having watched the tide of affairs, deserted the cause of 
 Mehemet, and gave himself up on board the squadron. He w r as 
 removed to Malta, and comfortably housed in the palace at 
 St. Antonio, where he ended his days in the cochon a Vengrais 
 style. 
 
 Singleton had to pay forty dollars for the horse ; but he 
 gained considerable reputation by his exploits on that memo- 
 rable day, and was generally pronounced to be a “ promising 
 young officer.” However, he was by no means so elated as 
 might have been expected ; nor did he relish the profane 
 pleasantry of Snigg, who used frequently to say to him,— “ Xn- 
 tendest thou to kill me, as thou killedst the Egyptian ?” 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 Stories to read are delectable, 
 
 Suppose that they be naught but fable : 
 
 Then should stories that soothfast were. 
 
 If they were said in good manner. 
 
 Have double pleasure in hearing ! 
 
 For, old stories that men reads, 
 
 ^Represents to them the deeds, 
 
 Of stalwart folks that lived air, 
 
 Eight as they then in presence were. 
 
 Babboue. The Life and Ads of King Hobert Bruce. 
 
 It was evening, — the evening of the 2nd November, 1840, 
 and the eve of the siege of Acre. The squadron were lying at 
 anchor before the doomed town. To-morrow was to finish the 
 crusade. Lights twinkled here and there in the city, where. 
 
154 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 doubtless, many a swarthy Eastern was smoking his chibouque, 
 whom next evening would find lying amidst the ruins of shat- 
 tered ramparts, with his pale face turned up towards the stars. 
 Mount Carmel loomed darkly in the distance ; it was a still and 
 tranquil scene, and there was a cheerful effect every now and 
 then, in the clear, sharp ring of the ship’s hells over the water, 
 as they sounded the hours. The crusaders of the “ Patagonian” 
 were in the gunroom, — listening to Blondel’s lay ?* — invoking 
 the saints? — No; this is an enlightened age, and they were 
 otherwise occupied. 
 
 The facetious Snigg was mixing his rum-and-water, with 
 that coolness which distinguishes the hero when danger is 
 impending. 
 
 “Will it he very hloody, think you?” asked Lovell, 
 twirling his spoon with a half careless air, and perhaps a little 
 flutter. 
 
 “ Most terrifically so, I should fancy,” said Snigg, watching 
 him slyly. “Algiers was, — don’t I know stories about that! 
 Navarino was no joke, either. Oh, these Easterns are savage 
 dogs! Napoleon could not take it; Ibrahim Pasha was six 
 months about it in 1831. 
 
 “ You don’t say so !” 
 
 “ Have you made your will ?” asked Snigg, coolly, for 
 indeed Snigg had made up his mind to assist the surgeon 
 next day, if such an arrangement were possible, and was thus a 
 model of firmness. 
 
 “ Hang my will ! ” said Lovell, indignantly. 
 
 “ It appears to me a proper crisis to write home for 
 money,” said Howdy Gaffer, after a few moments of profound 
 reflection. 
 
 “ Hear, hear!” cried Box. 
 
 “ A governor must have a heart of iron who could resist a 
 letter dated on the eve of battle,” said Bludgeon, patheti- 
 cally. 
 
 “ Some governors are capable of anything,” said Box, severely. 
 And as Box the elder held the same opinion of some sons, the 
 w T orthy couple used to squabble a good deal. 
 
 “Well, Eontenoy, what news?” asked Snigg ; for Singleton 
 had just entered the gunroom in his pilot coat. Singleton had 
 the first watch, which lasts from eight to twelve. 
 
 “Nothing particular; a fine enough night, with light airs 
 from the northward. Ah, Snigg, you profane scoffer, come and 
 look at the place where the Crusaders fought ! There was a 
 He Eontenoi here with Bichard.” 
 
 * See “The Crescent and the Cross,’* vol. ii. p. 112, for a charming little 
 crusading picture, quoted from Lord Lindsay’s beautiful Eastern “ Letters.” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 155 
 
 ' “ A barbarian, my boy/’ said Snigg ; “ come and have some 
 grog.” 
 
 “ Peace, knave,” said Singleton, laughing. “ Fancy the 
 nodding plumes and the blazoned shield, — God at his heart, and 
 a spear in his hand ! Fancy him at sunset, with his casque lying 
 on the grass ” 
 
 “ His cash ?” said the atrocious punster, laughing ; “ was he 
 such a confirmed tippler as that ?” 
 
 “ Snigg, you are hopeless,” said Singleton, smiling, and he 
 went on deck again. Old Bertie had the watch there, and 
 Primby commanded it ; Bertie and Singleton walked about 
 together, and talked away in a singular strain, for the old mate 
 was in a curious state of remorse and philosophy, and had some 
 rum and a pipkin of cool water lying in the gangway recess. 
 About eleven o’clock Singleton and he sat down there ; Primby 
 was looking at the fortifications through a night telescope on the 
 other side. 
 
 “Well, my boy,” said Bertie, a prop os of something he had 
 been relating, “take advice ; you’re just entering the world, and 
 I’m going to leave it ” 
 
 “ Why, Bertie, you’re not thirty-five.” 
 
 “FT ever mind, youngster,” said Bertie ; “that has nothing to 
 do with it. I’ve dealt with my life as I have with my income ; — 
 I’ve drawn it nearly all in advance ! My constitution’s knocked 
 up — I shan’t live long. It’s a d — d pity ! ” Here he took a long 
 pull at the tumbler. 
 
 “ My father was an old rip before me ; dissipation runs in a 
 family like madness, and perhaps its worse. After my mother’s 
 death” (he lowered his voice here, and Singleton appreciated it), 
 “ he broke out very bad. What do you think made me come to 
 sea ? I could not keep on terms with his mistress ! My 
 brother could. Some people are such Christians — when there’s 
 an estate in prospect ! Well, I stayed away a long time, and 
 I came home with good reputation ; the mistress had gone 
 away ” 
 
 “ That was a good thing,” said Singleton. 
 
 “Yes, — but he had got another one! He was civil 
 enough, and as I was eldest son, — of course I expected the land, 
 as it had always gone in our family in regular succes- 
 sion ” 
 
 “ Who’s there ?” shouted the sentry on the forecastle, at this 
 instant. Bertie broke off, and jumped to his feet, and they both 
 ran forward to the forecastle. 
 
 “ What’s the matter, sentry ?” asked Bertie. .. 
 
 “ A man swimming, sir,” answered the sentry, “Shall I fire ?” 
 
 " Wait an instant ! — where is he P” 
 
156 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 The sentry pointed to an object in tbe water, on tbe larboard 
 bow ; tbe moon shone upon it, and the water round played 
 and quivered with a phosophoric sparkle ; it was a man, sure 
 enough. 
 
 “ Ah ! deserting from the 4 Jupiter,' perhaps,” said Bertie, for 
 the “ Jupiter” was lying not far from the “ Patagonian ;” but the 
 man seemed to make no progress. 
 
 “ By G he’s drowning V* cried Bertie. And excited as he 
 
 was, he climbed into the fore-chains, and plunged overboard. It 
 was with a dull, leaden plash that he fell, and by some strange 
 instinct, Singleton suddenly thought of the sound made in the 
 water by the fall of the body of the man whom they had buried 
 after they left Gibraltar. 
 
 Primby came running forward at the noise. Singleton told 
 him what had happened. A boat’s crew was instantly summoned, 
 and, meanwhile the quartermaster of the watch and Singleton 
 ran along the boom and jumped into the cutter that was lying at 
 it ; — they pulled away towards Bertie. 
 
 Steadily played the moonlight on the water, and a track of 
 light followed Bertie as he struck out towards the swimmer. 
 They saw him reach the drowning man, — they rowed hard to 
 the spot. Suddenly they heard a loud cry and a wild splash- 
 ing. They reached the place in time to pick up Bertie in- 
 sensible ; in another minute he would have gone down like a 
 stone. 
 
 But the swimmer — the drowning man ? The ghastly moon- 
 light played like a shroud round a creature of corruption. It 
 was the corpse of a seaman who had been buried by one of the 
 ships some time before, and who had broken from his funeral 
 moorings, and started upwards to the air again. Poor Lazarus ! 
 there was no redemption for him now. 
 
 It was past twelve o’clock when the boat reached the ship’s 
 side. The watch was relieved $ Lord Clarion had come up for 
 the middle watch, and was waiting at the gangway. Singleton 
 told him what had happened. Bertie was insensible still, so one 
 of the assistant-surgeons was called, and a cabin in the cockpit 
 being vacant, Bertie was put to bed in it. 
 
 “ And about the corpse?” asked Singleton. 
 
 “II riy a qne les morts qui ne revient pas ” muttered Clarion. 
 “ This refutes the saying of Barrere, don’t it?” 
 
 Lieutenant Tressel had charge of the watch, and they spoke 
 to him about it. 
 
 “ I wish the fellow had chosen his own ship to come up before,” 
 said Tressel. “ We must sink him with shot immediately. 
 Sailors are confoundedly superstitious, and this will make our 
 men gloomy.” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 157 
 
 So the corpse was duly sunk again, immediately. 
 
 Singleton did not feel sleepy, so he waited on deck some time, 
 talking with Tressel and Clarion. 
 
 “ I suspect Old Bertie was on the verge of delirium tremens ,” 
 said Clarion. “ It must have been a shocking surprise to him to 
 clutch a dead body ” 
 
 “ Ugh !” ejaculated Tressel, with a fastidious shudder. “ And 
 who knows whether he did not associate it in his mind with what 
 he had been saying to you before — eh, Fontenoy ?” 
 
 Here the assistant-surgeon came on deck, and reported that 
 Bertie had a fever. 
 
 “ Poor old boy ! The firing to morrow won’t soothe it,” said 
 Clarion. Singleton went down to the cockpit, looked at Bertie, 
 and then went and turned into his hammock, where he fell asleep 
 immediately. 
 
 Fie was awakened at daylight by the rattling of the drum. The 
 ship was clearing for action. The men were casting loose the 
 guns — tricing up bulwarks — hanging fire-screens round the hatch- 
 ways, and making other preparations. Midshipmen were mus- 
 tering their quarters. Mr. Scale, the gunner, singularly attired, 
 was making ready for his magazine duties. 
 
 As Singleton’s post was that of aide-de-camp to the gallant 
 Captain Pannikin, he went on deck to attend that officer, who, 
 girded by a huge old sword, looked like a nautical Hudibras. He 
 was walking about the poop, and very likely thinking of Tra- 
 falgar, though it would be difficult to name a recollection more 
 utterly out of place on the present occasion ! 
 
 Singleton, with a spy -glass, gazed upon the grim walls facing 
 the sea, and presently saw the huge old Turkish ship^commandecl 
 by Walker Pasha, weigh and stand towards Mount Carmel. 
 The wind was light ; the morning air was hot. The breeze rose 
 and died listlessly, like the languid respirations of a sick man. 
 The four steamers, “ Gorgon,” “ Stromboli,” “ Phoenix,” and 
 “ Vesuvius,” with clear blue steam hissing upwards, and curling 
 away in the air, hovered about, ready for service, and as yet it 
 seemed uncertain how the battle was to begin. The ships were 
 away from the batteries, and the sea breeze had not set in. 
 
 Meanwhile, “pipe to breakfast” ran with a clear, shrill whistle 
 through the ship, and presently the men were swarming on the 
 lower deck, between the guns, breaking biscuit, and mixing it 
 with their cocoa, in their little white-and-brown basins, and eating 
 away very merrily. The gunroom had a melancholy, dismantled 
 appearance. The bulwarks were triced up, and besides that, 
 orders had been given to get ready the sheet-anchor, for anchor- 
 ing by the stern, so that the huge hemp sheet-cable lay coiled 
 up in gigantic folds (“ like a d n mammoth snake,” as one 
 
158 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 of the mates forcibly expressed himself) in that apartment. But, 
 however, here the mess congregated, and consumed cold meat 
 and bread, and also sherry and pale ale, with an indescribable 
 joy at the prospect of lighting, which made every other considera- 
 tion contemptible. Fighting aud promotion were the two lead- 
 ing ideas ; and if it had been Jerusalem or Borne, or Mecca, or 
 Bethlehem, that was to be thundered at that day, it would have 
 been all the same to these gallant crusaders. Indeed, the great 
 gallantry of the officers and men, and the great mechanical per- 
 fection of the instruments or war, alone prevent the Syrian war, 
 when its cause, and various things in the conduct of it are consi- 
 dered, from being utterly contemptible, and too mean for satire. 
 
 The sherry sparkled, and the ale foamed in the cups of the 
 gunroom crusaders, and a lively conversation prevailed during 
 the repast. 
 
 “ Snigg is not so facetious as usual this morning !” said 
 Somers, with a meaning glance towards the jester, who certainly 
 was a little overcast. 
 
 “ Snigg is a philosopher,’’ said he, “ and contemplates the 
 destruction of human life with an awe little known to the frivo- 
 lous.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh !” and a general laugh, followed Snigg’s demure 
 speech. Snigg, even at that early hour, was consuming some 
 rum- and- water. 
 
 “ Well, Snigg, going to attend the sick, eh P” asked another, 
 with a grin. 
 
 “ No ; it seems it’s my duty to take minutes of the proceedings 
 on deck. Never mind ; I shall keep Pannikin between me and 
 the batteries. Any shot that can go through him must be a 
 stunner !” 
 
 “ Are the ships to wait for the sea breeze ?” asked Singleton. 
 
 “ I hope so,” muttered Snigg, devoutly. 
 
 “ No ; the steamers are to tow them into their positions, I 
 hear, one by one,” said Clarion. 
 
 “ Then I’m d — d if we shan’t be licked!” cried Somers.^ 
 
 “ One down and the other come on !” shouted Box, with en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 “ Two to one on the English chicken against the Egyptian 
 pet !” cried his friend Bow dy G-affer, in sporting phrase. 
 
 “ If one gets killed through a blunder of the admiral’s, will an 
 action by one’s executors, for damages, hold against the old 
 fellow ?” said Snigg, with a melancholy grin. 
 
 “ A very improper question,” said Snob Toady ley, with his 
 flunkey ish serious look. 
 
 * See Commodore Napier’s (( War in Syria,” vol. i. pp. 199 to 219, for matter, 
 all interesting — some curious , 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, It.N. 
 
 159 
 
 “ I would report it if I were you,” said Snigg, sneering. 
 
 “ It would serve you right,” said Toadyley, turning red with 
 rage. 
 
 “ And I would serve you right,” said Snigg, with a glance of 
 menace. But here the beat to quarters was again heard, and this 
 skirmish was interrupted by a summons to a more serious fray. 
 In a few minutes the hands were all at quarters again. Single- 
 ton returned to the poop, and regained the side of' his captain. 
 Captain Pannikin appeared in a state of considerable perplexity. 
 Perhaps his instructions were unintelligible ; perhaps he could 
 not understand them through his own deficiencies. All this while 
 the wind kept rising, dying, varying, and shifting, with the most 
 profound disregard of the wishes of the squadron. There is 
 something very sublime in the majestic indifference of Nature to 
 men’s small projects and wars. 
 
 Now, however, it seemed that a light wind from the southward 
 was likely to hold. The signal was made “ to weigh.” And soon 
 the ships stretched in a long stately line, with their lofty canvass 
 spread to the wind, towards Mount Carmel. The grey batteries 
 grew more distinct. The holy mountain loomed clearer in the 
 still air. The squadron advanced in a very gentle and stately 
 manner, and spread out like some fair princesses taking up their 
 position in a dance. 
 
 And now the wind began to change and come from the north- 
 ward. A signal was made from the “ Powerful” to tack. Like a 
 flock of birds changing their direction, they swooped round grace- 
 fully. The breeze began to freshen ; the sea broke into long, 
 rippling lines of blue waves. Away, on the larboard tack, went 
 the stately “ Princess Charlotte,” rough old fiery “ Powerful,” 
 splendid “ Thunderer,” and all the train of war. Gristly and 
 grey were the old sea walls, as if built of mouldering human 
 bones. A mosque tranquilly raised its head away in the inside 
 of the town. And here and there up went the scarlet flags 
 boldly enough, indicating that on behalf of brave old Mehemet 
 some sort of fight would be made, even against the finest chivalry 
 of the sea. 
 
 Singleton was standing on the poop, with a spy-glass, looking 
 anxiously at the batteries. He heard some one near him, and 
 turned and saw Snigg. Snigg was taking considerable pinches 
 of snuff, and moving about very briskly. 
 
 “ I say, Singleton, look at Mount Carmel ! I dare say, the 
 d — d old monks are peering out to look at the fight !” he said. 
 “ Serve ’em right, if they were here ! ” 
 
 At this moment, up went a signal from the “Phoenix” steamer- 
 on board which Admiral Stopford was superintending the opera- 
 tions of the day*— to “ bear up.” 
 
160 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 “ Bear up,” muttered Pannikin. “ Hillo — what’s that the 
 
 e Powerful * says ? ” For, in reply to this last signal, the com- 
 modore was hoisting something or other. 
 
 “ He intends attacking from the north, sir!” answered the 
 signal officer. 
 
 Just as he spoke, some of the batteries began to open fire, 
 and as a pack of hounds breaks into cry, the roaring of cannon, 
 began. 
 
 The “ Powerful ” hauling up near the wind, to weather a shoal 
 which extended off the west batteries, made away with “ Princess 
 Charlotte,” “ Thunderer,” “ Bellerophon,” and “ Pique.” The 
 remainder of the squadron, led by Captain Stewart, of the 
 “ Benbow,” who in a Grisis of confusion asked permission to 
 attack from the south (with great promptitude and tact), 
 diverged to attack the southern batteries. In a short time, the 
 whole squadron got anchored, somehow or other, and at it they 
 went, pell-mell. There was no confusion then ! It was all straight- 
 forward work. It was a thunderstorm — all lightning and shot. 
 
 The “Patagonian” took up a position' in Captain Stewart’s 
 division. “ Load and fire ” were the only necessary orders. The 
 air was darkened with smoke. The town was inundated 
 with cannon-balls. They poured upon it like specks of 
 soot. The fortifications crumbled away, and bared like trees 
 in winter. It was the work of centuries condensed into an 
 afternoon — the spectacle of ruins made in an hour. The poor 
 Egyptians met death everywhere — death from shot — death leap- 
 ing from their shattered walls — death glancing from their broken 
 guns — death bursting from shells — death from above and below, 
 and around — death in the air — death on the earth ! The air 
 was heavy with death ! And the perfumed wind from the Syrian 
 shore mixed with the foul smoke, and met death too. 
 
 Meanwhile, on board the “ Patagonian,” the aft air began to 
 wear the aspect of a battue. In the opening of the battle a shot 
 whistled a little overhead, but nobody was touched. An hour 
 passed. The water was cut up now and then, and some ropes 
 were shot away; but the hull of the “Patagonian” remained 
 intact. It passed gradually from a “ battle ” to a “ lark,” and 
 then it became “ a bore.” Snigg, who still kept on the poop, 
 grew most wonderfully facetious ; swore this was “ killing-day ” 
 at Acre, and hoped next time anything of the sort was to be 
 done, Government would have it done “ by contract.” Beally, 
 it was scarcely w r ork for a gentleman, Snigg said. 
 
 “ I say, Singleton,” he went on, “ I think somebody ought to 
 be killed or wounded, for the sake of a decent list.” 
 
 As he spoke, a shot hissed close over their heads ; Singleton 
 turned and looked at him; he was deadly pale. “Ho, d — n it, 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 161 
 
 I was only joking,” he stammered out, as if anxious to propitiate 
 some avenging Nemesis unseen at hand. 
 
 “ Hush ! ” said Singleton. 
 
 Captain Pannikin was not far from them ; he was seated on a 
 chair (which he had brought up from his cabin), with a cotton 
 umbrella over his head ! 
 
 In the course of the afternoon, Singleton was sent on a message 
 to the lower-deck quarters ; he found several fellows aft there, 
 in the part which formed the gunroom, drinking pale ale ! Snigg 
 was with them ; Box had come down from his station on the 
 main-deck, where he had been firing a gun frequently at the 
 batteries ; he was crowing with delight at some exploit which he 
 had performed, and wiping the grimy prespiration from his face. 
 As they stood there, they saw one or two shot skipping along the 
 water astern like india-rubber balls. 
 
 “ Look there ! ” cried Box, jumping with joy, and clapping his 
 hands. 
 
 “ Be quiet, you young butcher ! ” said Snigg, swallowing a 
 glass of ale. 
 
 “ The town’s smashed,” said a midshipman ; “ it’s all up 
 with it.” 
 
 Just as he spoke, a crimson glare burst upwards to the sky : 
 a gleam of intense light shone over the town ; lieavep. and earth 
 seemed startled with the shock, and the ship palpably trembled 
 through her whole huge frame. Then a mighty cloud wrapped 
 everything for an instant in a deadly darkness — a pall that 
 might have wrapped a dead race — gloomy, lowering, sullen, sad; 
 and then was heard a hissing in the water, as from the fall of 
 heavy rain, and showers of stones and fragments of ruin fell 
 around the ship. A great powder-magazine had burst. Hun- 
 dreds of the enemy were scattered to the four winds of heaven, 
 and the whole town seemed turned into a funeral pile. 
 
 The day was now declining ; the sinking sun, glaring through 
 the dense clouds of smoke, red and faint — a gleam of blood over 
 a scene of blood ! The signal was made to “ cease firing,” and 
 the cannonading died away like a failing thunderstorm. That 
 night, the Egyptians evacuated their city. Next day, the town 
 was given up : and thus ended the siege of Acre, the last action 
 in the Syrian war. 
 
 Singleton was on shore next day, and saw the results of the 
 action — a scene of ruin and death. His notes are before me. 
 But I pass them by, and conclude the chapter with the hopeful, 
 devout, fanciful couplet of Leigh Hunt. # 
 
 t( Good is a hundred— evil, but one : 
 
 Hound about goeth the golden sun.” 
 
 * “ Captain Sword and Captain Pen. 1 * 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, £,N. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Heavens ! what delight in breathing. 
 
 Freshness on the ocean green. 
 
 When the sun resigns his empire. 
 
 To the night’s pale silvery queen. 
 
 Lamaktine ; “ The Gulf of Baia.” (North's Translation.) 
 
 The Syrian war was over, and ilie squadron bad gone to 
 anchor in Marmorice Bay, to winter there. The siege of Acre 
 was followed by aT squabble between the admiral and the com- 
 modore — the details of which have no place in this history. The 
 admiral, it seems, thought that his second in command ought 
 to have anchored- to attack the “ south angle.” The com- 
 modore preferred another course. The admiral snubbed him - 
 the commodore wrote for a court-martial. However, the dig- 
 nified consideration that such an event might stop “ promotions” 
 prevailed : the quarrel did not pass the limits of the ludicrous. 
 This petty squabble was followed by an unauthorized convention. 
 The commodore took it upon himself to negotiate a peace with 
 Mehemet All. It was repudiated by the admiral and Lord 
 Ponsonby. Nevertheless, it was confirmed by the Government. 
 Thus, everything about this campaign was irregular to the last. 
 It occupies a singular position in history. It has not dignity 
 sufficient for a war, and was too bloody for a farce ! 
 
 The Bay of Marmorice is a fine circular bay on the coast of 
 Asia Minor, not far from Rhodes. It is surrounded by high 
 hills, and a well-wooded country. Here the squadron came to 
 winter. The little town shot up into a sudden burst of civilization. 
 Wooden buildings made their appearance, where speculative 
 Greeks, Maltese, and various specimens of the vagrant traders 
 of the Levant, sold wine and coffee, and let out horses to the 
 squadron. Here and there, a stray native from the wild country, 
 round, with a long musket and a knife in his girdle, came in to 
 sell a hare. Tawdry and dirty bazaars were established, with 
 little articles for sale. A native contractor supplied bullocks for 
 the squadron’s fresh meat. Youngsters went on shore in the 
 jolly-boats of their ships to bring off the beef, and rivalled each 
 other in carrying on a dangerous press of sail as they went off 
 with it. Thus passed the winter. 
 
 Eontenoy was bored. He was worse, he was hipped. He 
 suffered from a moral ennui — a weariness without a name. In 
 a romantic land, he had lost the romantic soul. Thus it is, that 
 we find how unjust we are to our own environments and circum- 
 stances — which ought to make our moral happiness for us, as 
 naturally as the atmosphere receives and disperses the sun’s 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 163 
 
 light around us. We go abroad to try to find ourselves at home. 
 We peer into the Nile, and the Scamander, and the Jordan, and 
 discover that the divine rivers will only reflect to us our own 
 faces. 
 
 Poor Bertie died in Marmorice Bay, of the fevei* which he 
 caught the night before Acre. His funeral was a melancholy 
 sight. A dozen boats glided along in line, each with its ensign 
 lowered — that brave English ensign which only strikes to death ! 
 In one of these was the body. In another, a ship’s band played 
 the Dead March, which sounded in strains of proud sorrow far 
 over the water. They made him a rude grave near the beach, 
 on that wild land, and he sleeps well under the shadow of a 
 wooden cross. Eontenoy was there, and thought, with moist 
 eyes, of poor Bertie’s chequered career. It was with a strange 
 feeling that he jumped into the boat, which he commanded, and 
 cried, 44 Give way, men.” The boat started off, and shot merrily 
 through the water. He turned round to look again at the 
 melancholy spot, and thought again of the wild career of him 
 who slept there. 
 
 44 Well, it is better, after all, than to crown a toady’s life with 
 a snob’s monument!” The oars flashed through the waves 
 briskly, and he soon reached the ship. 
 
 A week afterwards the mess were at dinner, or rather at 
 dessert. Eontenoy was sipping claret, and reading Catullus. 
 There is a gaiety about Catullus which is as refreshing as music. 
 He delights you, because he seems to delight himself He pelts 
 you with the flowers of his poetry, not that you may enjoy the 
 perfume, but that he may revel in the fun. It is all play and 
 grace. It is a flow of animal spirits charmed by genius. 
 
 The door opened, and a midshipman from the 44 Princess 
 Charlotte ” came in. He had came on board on duty, but in 
 the service the junior officers have more extended views of duty 
 than their superiors, and think it ought to embrace a visit to the 
 gunroom. So, as he had known Lord Clarion in some other 
 ship, he came down to see him. He was quite right. Eor my 
 own part, I would not undertake to pronounce on the discipline 
 of a ship until I had visited the officers’ messes. If these were 
 pleasant, gentlemanly, and so on, with some English novels and 
 Erench wines, I should be certain that the vessel was in 
 admirable order. Men who live like Hottentots, will fight like 
 Hottentots, and vice versa : — as things are, now-a-days, the 
 greatest military efficiency is usually found associated with the 
 greatest culture and luxury. 
 
 44 Ah, Pug,” said Clarion ; for the midshipman was that Pug 
 Welby of whom we had a glimpse at Malta. 
 
 “Pug” Welby, as he was nicknamed, was a clever little 
 m 2 
 
164 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 fellow, wlio used the profession as a convenience to himself, but 
 was in his own person no convenience to the profession. 
 
 “ How are you, eh ? ” said Pug, looking round, and smiling 
 with a patronising air at the rest of the mess. “ I’ve come on 
 board about some cursed stores.” 
 
 “ Sit down, and have some wine,” said Clarion. “ Is there 
 any news?” 
 
 “ Nothing particular. By the bye, that little ‘ Yiper ’ came in 
 last night from Candia. We snubbed Tinsley about some 
 blunder he made.” By “ we” Pug meant the admiral, to whose 
 ship he belonged. ’Tis an ambitious fa$on de jparler that some 
 flag-ship officers are apt to assume. 
 
 Singleton looked up at the speaker, and threw his book aside. 
 
 “ Good wine this,” said Pug. “ Do you get your wine from 
 Shaw and Maxwell? Well, Tinsley has applied for an officer to 
 be lent to him. None of our fellows will go — I should fancy 
 not, indeed.” 
 
 “ Hillo! where are you off to, Pontenoy?” cried Snigg, as 
 Singleton rose abruptly from the table. 
 
 “ On deck,” said Singleton, briefly. We will accompany him. 
 He hunted up the captain’s steward, and sent in by him his 
 compliments to Captain Pannikin, and begged an interview 
 with him. 
 
 It was most graciously granted. Captain Pannikin was in his 
 inner cabin, gazing in a fit of intellectual abstraction at the 
 barometer. He kindly asked Singleton to sit down — thus, with 
 the condescension of a great man, relieving the embarrassment 
 which his visitor was likely to labour under in his exalted 
 presence. 
 
 “ Captain Pannikin,” said Pontenoy, “ I learn that there 
 is a junior office wanted on board the ‘ Yiper.’ I have come 
 to ask you, as a favour, if you will allow me to be transferred 
 to her.” 
 
 “ What! — wanting to leave my ship — Mr. Pontenoy, hem! ” 
 Here the captain bristled up with a look of parental reproach. 
 
 “ Sir,” said Singleton, with a Johnsonian air, “ to deny that 
 I am indebted to you for great kindness would be impossible if 
 it were attempted, and ungrateful if it were possible.” 
 
 Pannikin stared. 
 
 “ But, sir, it is from you that I have learnt that professional 
 zeal which alone prompts this request.” 
 
 Pannikin blushed ! 
 
 “ On board a large ship there is not the chance of seeing 
 active service, and acquiring knowledge, that there is in a small 
 one.” 
 
 Pannikin brightened up. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 165 
 
 “ That is why I wish to join the ‘ Viper/ sir, and desire your 
 aid in doing so.” 
 
 “ Very well, Mr. Fontenoy. You’re quite right — quite right. 
 I’ll have you lent to her. You’re a promising officer, sir,” said 
 Pannikin, while Poor Singleton would have roared with laughter 
 if he had dared. “You don’t smoke ; you are not extravagant ; 
 you ain’t a dandy, and you keep your log written up, hem !” 
 
 This enumeration of the captain’s list of professional virtues was 
 nearly fatal to Fontenoy ’s self-possession. However, he bowed, 
 and blushed a discretion , and shortly afterwards withdrew. 
 
 “ Well, well,” ejaculated the captain, as the door closed behind 
 him, “ what is the service coming to, ugh ? Impossible, if 
 attempted — ungrateful, if possible, hem ! By Jupiter Ammon, 
 the youngsters now-a-days speak like the candidates at Pot- 
 borough !” 
 
 With which (not complimentary) reflection on Singleton’s 
 address to him, Pannikin thought for a little of Potborough, 
 then rang his bell, and ordered his gig to be manned. Every 
 naval captain keeps that great symbol of respectability. 
 
 So next day came an order on board that Mr. Fontenoy was to 
 be discharged to the “ Viper.” The captain gave him a certificate, 
 which, besides stating that he had behaved with diligence, 
 sobriety, and attention, and was always obedient to command 
 (the regular formula), furthermore contained Captain Pannikin’s 
 opinion that he was a “ gallant, promising, and well-behaved 
 officer.” 
 
 The first cutter was manned, and his chest hoisted into it. 
 His servant, Geordie Webb, the marine, was in a state of 
 maudlin sorrow. As Singleton turned to go on deck, he saw 
 Pox. Box called him aside, and they retired into a corner of 
 the after-cockpit. 
 
 “ You’re going, old fellow,” said Box, with a most melancholy 
 expression. “ We’ve always been good friends. How, you 
 must accept this as a remembrance.” Here he produced a little 
 emerald ring. 
 
 “ Oh — I can’t think of ” 
 
 “ You must take it, old boy. Besides, it ain’t much odds. 
 I got it on tick, and need not pay for six months,” said Box, 
 seriously. 
 
 Singleton laughed — accepted the ixvr)ii6avvov — and went to bid 
 his messmates good-bye. 
 
 . “ Good-bye, Snigg” (Snigg was pretending to cry, with con- 
 siderable comic power). “ Good-bye, Somers — good-bye, Lord 
 Clarion — bye, Lovell — bye, Strawberry,” &c. &c. 
 
 Off went the cutter. The brig was lying near the mouth of 
 the harbour, with her fore-topsail loose. She was evidently 
 
166 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 preparing for flight immediately. The “ Patagonian’s ” boat 
 glided promptly alongside. Singleton jumped on board, and 
 there found Commander Tinsley. 
 
 “ Ha — it’s you, is it — returned like the dog to his what-d'ye- 
 call-it ! ” said the commander. “ Whip on the mainyard for the 
 chest.” 
 
 The chest was hoisted in, and swung gloomily over the side, 
 
 * — something like a coffin — as Singleton could not help fancying. 
 
 The brig weighed, — crowded on all sail as usual, — and ran 
 away, through the narrow, lofty, winding entrance of the bay, 
 with great speed. Once more there burst upon Singleton’s 
 sight the blue plain of the Mediterranean. Beautiful is the 
 aspect of the sea, which washes so many empires ! 
 
 Singleton speedily descended to the berth. There was 
 Welwyn. He was sitting reading a letter. Singleton’s eye in- 
 voluntarily fell upon it, and caught the word Fontenoy. It was 
 perfectly involuntary. He saw no more, — but that he did see 
 that word he was quite certain. 
 
 “ Welwyn ! ” 
 
 Welwyn looked up surprised and, as he met Singleton’s 
 eyes, a shade discomposed. “ What, — Mr. Fontenoy ! Let 
 
 me see: we met at Ah! I remember. How are you? I 
 
 had——” 
 
 “ You had forgotten me? ” said Singleton, with a gay smile, 
 holding out his hand. 
 
 “ Ho,” said Welwyn, calmly. Then, he put away the letters 
 and papers which were lying before him. “ So, you have joined 
 us, eh?” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ That is odd. We have but few attractions here.” 
 
 Singleton said nothing. He thought otherwise. He was 
 wonderfully interested in Welwyn’s character. He was so 
 tranquil, without being cold ; apparently so full of goodness, 
 yet never betraying emotion. There was something in his 
 serenity altogether novel. It was not the indifference of the 
 nil admirari school — which Singleton disliked quite as much as 
 the great and good Dr. Arnold did — and which certainly com- 
 prises a class of persons peculiarly objectionable in our day.. 
 Then, Singleton had formed an idea from the two strange 
 circumstances he had so curiously observed, both times that lie 
 had been on board the “ Viper,” that Welwyn knew something 
 of his family. But the solution of this, he left to time and 
 opportunity. 
 
 “Well,” said Welwyn, after a pause, “ I hope you will find this 
 a pleasant ship.” Here, Brunt and Simms came into the berth, 
 and both expressed their pleasure at having him as a messmate. 
 
SINGLETON' FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 167 
 
 Meanwhile, the boy made preparations for dinner. The bull’s- 
 eye, which lighted* the berth, at that instant suffered a tem- 
 porary eclipse. This was just as the dinner— a glorious pillau of 
 fowls and rice, white, hot,* and savoury, was placed on the table, 
 with fragments of egg dotting it here and there, like crocuses 
 peeping through snow ! 
 
 “ Boy,” said Brunt, “ run on deck, and see what’s on the 
 bull’s-eye. By heavens — it’s shameful ! The light of that 
 bull’s-eye is constantly being eclipsed, Mr. Fontenoy, either by 
 the shadow of an idiot, or the intervention of a coil of rope. I 
 wish they would ‘ shuffle off that mortal coil.” 
 
 “Ah, doctor ,” said little Simms, — <£ firing off a favourite 
 
 joke in honour of the new messmate, eh?” 
 
 “ It’s worthy of the pillau — and that’s worthy of the Shah of 
 Persia,” said Singleton, joyously. 
 
 “ Will you join me in a glass of wine, Fontenoy ? ” said 
 Brunt. “ Do you like lacrima — and which do you prefer — the 
 red or the bianca ! ” 
 
 Singleton stared. This was strong for a small craft ! Little 
 Simms, unperceived by him, stole a glance with his quick, blue 
 eyes at Brunt, who looked very demure. 
 
 “ The white ! ” said Singleton, gaily. “I shall always mark 
 this day with a white stone, and why not with a white wine ?” 
 
 “ Bravo ! ” said Brunt. The wine made its appearance. 
 
 “ Welwyn, can’t you join us — and Simms too, eh?” said 
 Singleton. 
 
 “ I don’t drink generally,” said Welwyn. “ Nevertheless, I 
 have no churlish objection to one glass.” 
 
 So the mess joined in a comprehensive “ wine :” the lacrima 
 was capital. The little brig bounded gaily, and the waves 
 seemed to chuckle against her sides. The whole scene was so 
 new and refreshing to Singleton, after the monotony of the 
 “ Patagonian,” that his spirits rose — brisk and delicious as a 
 breeze from the Cyclades. 
 
 “ How well you live in this mess,” he said, as the servant put 
 on some fine fruit and a bottle of claret. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Brunt, carelessly. “ You line-of-battle-ship 
 fellows think we are barbarians in small crafts : it is not so. 
 Do vou favour the peaceful olive — fair plant of Minerva? ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ Simms, what does Byron call olives ? ” said Brunt. 
 
 u The simple olive, best ally of wine,” 
 
 said little Simms, with a schoolboy air. 
 
 “ Very good,” said Brunt. “ I am gradually instructing him 
 in literature, you see, Fontenoy,” 
 
168 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 Simms looked up gratefully, and smiled. There was a childish 
 simplicity, combined with quickness and delicacy, about the 
 little fellow, that won Singleton’s heart. 
 
 44 I wish him well through the Byron epoch,” said Singleton, 
 laughing. “ I had the Byron fever a couple of years ago : we 
 all have.” 
 
 Welwyn looked at him curiously. 
 
 44 Yes,” said he. 44 And, by the bye, I am sorry to see that 
 shopboys and fast-men have taken to reading him, because they 
 hope to eEjoy some immorality. This is bad. Poor Byron, — 
 he is punished by their applause ! ” 
 
 * Evening came on ; they all went on deck. There was a deli- 
 cious free-and-easiness about the officers of the 44 Viper.” The 
 stern-grating was turned into a kind of divan. Tinsley, with a 
 long beard— his last offence against discpline — sat there and 
 smoked a nargilly, lighted by a ship’s boy in quite an oriental 
 fashion. Lieutenant Bobus did the same. Welwyn mounted a 
 fez, and smoked a chibouque with a cherry tube. Brunt patro- 
 nised a cheroot with a little opium in it. Singleton 4 4 put on a 
 weed,” as his commander recommended him. And they all 
 gathered round Tinsley, as round a pasha, and held edifying 
 converse. 
 
 The breeze was lively, and the water smooth. To leeward 
 appeared an island which gleamed like ivory in the last smile of 
 the dying day: mosques and minarets peeped from it, and glistened 
 in the sunset, which baptized them with fire. It was [Rhodes ! 
 
 The breeze — the murmur of the sea — the island — the sweet- 
 ness and freshness of all around — made Singleton thrill with 
 pleasure. He moved away from the group of officers, and, 
 standing upon the gangway-ladder, gazed around with gladness 
 and joy : he seemed to drink in the glory of the setting sun. 
 
 44 Ah ! ” he muttered, 46 I shall be very happy on board 
 here !” 
 
 As he spoke, the sun sank suddenly, and darkness began to 
 creep over the sea. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, II. N. 
 
 169 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 THE PUPIL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I could not help flattering myself, with the joy that I should have, in viewing the 
 very place and scene of those important events ... in treading that ground when 
 at every step we . . cannot help setting a foot on the memorial of some celebrated 
 action. 
 
 Conyees Middleton - . ‘‘Letter from Rome.” (Grant’s new edition, 1847.) 
 
 Morning found H.M.’s brig “ Yiper ” hovering in a fresh 
 breeze about Rhodes, like one of the swallows which the gay 
 people of that beautiful isle welcomed in summer, in the olden 
 time, with revelry and song. Singleton had the morning watch: 
 he saw the symbols of Turkish dominion glittering in the town 
 — minarets like spears, and little cupolas like the breasts of bud- 
 ding womanhood ! It was a delightful spectacle. According to 
 the instructions left him through Welwyn, whom he relieved at 
 four o’clock, he bore up for the harbour — trimmed sails — and 
 went below to call Commander Tinsley. This is a curious duty, 
 that devolves upon junior officers : they are obliged to call the 
 lieutenant of the next watch — the commander at a certain time — 
 and so on. The orthodox plan is, to pop the lantern close to the 
 eyes of the sleeper, and roar out the hour in a loud voice. This, 
 to be sure, irritates your friend ; but it is effectual. He cannot 
 venture to go to sleep again, and then come up, half an hour late, 
 and tell the officer he has to relieve ; that the “ midshipman did 
 not call him properly.” This ingenious little plan was the fruit 
 of the genius of Lieutenant Bulbous, of the “Snob,” who deserves 
 great credit for an invention so felicitous. 
 
 Singleton descended the companion-ladder at three bells (half- 
 past live) to call Tinsley in due form. He found him wrapped 
 up like a hedgehog in his crib, and slumbering in a torpid state. 
 The atmosphere of the cabin was pervaded by brandy-and-watery 
 ■ gases, so potent that it was scarcely sate to trust yourself in it 
 with any lantern but one of the safety-lanterns of the great Sir 
 Humphrey Davy. The pasha was not visible, except — that is — • 
 
170 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 a little gleam of red from liis nightcap, which peeped ouD Sin- 
 gleton modestly shook him by the shoulder. “ Captain Tinsley 
 -—three bells ! ” Ho answer. “ Three bells — Captain Tinsley !” 
 Still the great man slumbered ; but some low grumblings con- 
 vinced Singleton that he had succeeded in awakening the gun- 
 room officers, and presently Block, the master, came in. Block 
 knew his master’s habits, and in a surprising manner dug in his 
 knuckles just at that part of the counterpane where the sleeper’s 
 ribs might be supposed to be. With a heavy grunt, Tinsley 
 returned to consciousness ; he turned his red face to Fontenoy, 
 — “ Well, ugh, youngster — what news?” 
 
 Singleton told him ; told him that it was a fine morning, and 
 that the brig w T as standing in to the harbour. 
 
 “ Take her in, Block,” said Tinsley. Block went on deck ; 
 Fontenoy was following. 
 
 “ Wait a minute, youngster; light that.” Singleton looked 
 round, and saw arranged an apparatus for preparing hot coffee ; 
 he set fire to the spirits of wine as directed. It was a capital con- 
 trivance, by which the commander provided himself a cup of 
 coffee, ready as soon as he put on his clothes. There was ano- 
 ther contrivance to make the refreshment complete ; it consisted 
 solely of a bottle of brandy in a corner. By the simplest process 
 possible, the coffee received from this its final preparation. 
 
 Singleton was once more about to go : 
 
 “ Younker ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, sir.” 
 
 “ Do I want shaving ? ” said the commander. 
 
 Commander Tinsley did want shaving, unquestionably, for his 
 beard was now long, and his mustachios thick ; but Singleton 
 thought it best to say, “Hot at all, as far as his judgment was 
 concerned;” and managed after this to effect his retreat. When 
 he gained the deck, he found Block conducting the brig into the 
 harbour, and in half an hour she anchored very quietly there. The 
 hands who had not been turned up before were now summoned 
 to furl sails ; this was soon done. The gunner took charge of 
 the forenoon watch, and all the officers prepared to go on shore. 
 This was all very free-and-easy, and Singleton began to think 
 that the “ Viper ” was very like a privateer. 
 
 Presently, a quarantine boat came near them, to ascertain 
 where the “ Viper ” w,as from. A loud laugh summoned Single- 
 ton from the berth, where he had been looking after some break- 
 fast. He and Simms ran on deck to see what was going forward 
 in the way of fun. Commander Tinsley was on the side-ladder, 
 amusing himself at the expense of the man in the boat. 
 
 “ Vare you frum ? ” said the man. 
 
 “ Bono r cried Tinsley, pretending not to understand him. 1 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 171 
 
 “ I speaks Inglese , vy you no speak Inglese ? ” cried tlie unfor- 
 tunate officer. 
 
 “ Bono , bono ,” said tlie commander, nodding his head. 
 
 The man was about to pull away in disgust, and probably de- 
 clare the brig in quarantine, but a rope was flung into his boat, 
 and she was drawn alongside very smartly, like a hooked salmon ; 
 so that, if the brig had been put in quarantine, this functionary 
 must have shared it with her, which probably opened his eyes to 
 the satisfactory nature of the commander’s explanations. He 
 departed, ten minutes afterwards, highly contented, and the 
 “ Vipers,” as they used to call themselves, had full access to 
 the shore. 
 
 A boat from the shore soon came off, and brought som o yaoort 
 for breakfast, which they partook of in the midshipman’s berth 
 with much relish. With some good brown sugar, this said yaoort 
 is one of the best things for breakfast I know, and well worthy 
 a journey to the East to taste. It is something like curds and 
 cream, but ten times better ; better than It? ban cream, — better 
 than blanc-mange, — better than the clotted cream of Devonshire. 
 Anastasius (the brilliant Anastasius, as De Quincey well calls 
 him) — he whose book is a union of “ Tom Jones” and “ Tan- 
 ered,” and perhaps more philosophical than either — calls yaoort a 
 “ sort of Turkish cream-cheese but all the yaoort I ever saw 
 (and I have entered pretty deeply into it), differed from any 
 cream-cheese, not only in flavour but in consistency. It floweth 
 from the can in which the Greek brings it, like water from the 
 rock, — a spring of life and joy. Like the rich flowing verse of 
 
 Tennyson, — like sweet words from the lips of , thou earnest 
 
 to me, oh, yaoort , in the olden time ! Thou wert lovely in a 
 lovely land, and pleasant amongst a pleasant company ! The 
 dream is over ! Let us go on. 
 
 “Well — who is going on shore?” inquired Singleton, after 
 the yaoort was disposed of. “ Welwyn, will you come with 
 me ?” 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Welwyn, quietly, “I am going alone.” 
 
 “ What say you, Brunt? ” Singleton asked. 
 
 “Wait, till I have looked at my list, and reported to Elibb.” 
 
 Elibb was the surgeon of the vessel, but he did not know his 
 work half so well as his assistant, who entertained a most lin- 
 mitigated contempt for him. But Brunt was one of those quiet, 
 hard fellows, who never show such feelings, and he paid Elibb 
 great external civility ; for, as he philosophically remarked to 
 Eontenoy, in confidence, when they began to grow intimate, “it 
 was very lucky Elibb was only a fool, for he might have been a 
 rogue.” 
 
 Brunt now went out to his dispensary — a wretched little hole, 
 
172 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 half the size of the boatswain’s cabin, on the lower deck, and 
 certainly a fine place for a scientific man, who wrote (as Brunt 
 did) for half the medical journals, and was fond of chemical ex- 
 periments. Here, he had a few shelves of little bottles, a mortar 
 destitute of a pestle, and two towels. He had no place for his 
 books, except his chest, and his share of the berth ; and as for 
 keeping up his knowledge of dissection, he never had an oppor- 
 tunity, of course. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” he said to Fontenoy, “ when we go to Malta — won’t I 
 luxuriate in the hospital dead-house ! ” Saying this, he dived 
 into his dispensary for a quill with caustic in it, with which he 
 proceeded delicately to touch up the wound of one of his sick- 
 list. Singleton stood by. The fellow roared suddenly, “ Mr. 
 Brunt, sir ! Mr. Brunt.” 
 
 “ Be quiet, you bull,” said Brunt. “ A curious thing, pain, 
 isn’t it, Fontenoy P — There, that will do ! ” As he said this, he 
 bandaged the patient’s leg with the neatness with which a shop- 
 boy ties up a parcel, and dismissed him. 
 
 Just as he was turning to get ready to go on shore, a message 
 from Tinsley summoned Fontenoy to the presence. The com- 
 mander wanted to take him on shore with him. 
 
 “ Do you speak Turkish, Mr. Fontenoy ? ” he said. 
 
 “ No , sir,” said Singleton, surprised. 
 
 “ Oh, I didn’t know what you youngsters might know, nowa- 
 days ; — the service is coming to such a pitch. But get ready to 
 come on shore with me — I’m going to beat up the pasha ! ” 
 
 Such was the familiar phrase with which the commander in- 
 timated his intention of waiting on that dignified Osmanli, the 
 Pasha of Bhodes. Tinsley thought nothing of coolly “ beating 
 up ” any foreign functionary from a Pasha of three tails to a 
 Bimbashi — secure in his nautical rank, and his own personal self- 
 possession, which last was enormous. First, he had the pride of 
 an Englishman abroad ; secondly, he had the conceit of a sailor; 
 thirdly, he was conscious of his rank as commander; and 
 fourthly, of his merits as Commander Tinsley. Add to this, his 
 cerebral peculiarities arising from his service on the “ coast,” 
 and you will not be surprised that he sometimes did things which 
 nothing but that great dread of English power which (more 
 than any moral respect for us) gives us our position abroad, pre- 
 vented from being attended by very serious consequences. I 
 grieve to say that the indistinct notion that Englishmen form of 
 the nature of an Oriental liarem (not choosing to remember that 
 it is simply an Oriental “ home ”) was cherished by Commander 
 Tinsley in its full indistinctness, and led to his once or twice 
 
 committing but why dwell on these painful details ? “ Call 
 
 away the gig ! ” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 173 
 
 The gig was manned. Singleton jumped in first — according 
 to etiquette, — and Tinsley followed — the side being piped as 
 usual. They shoved off, and reached the shore. Then, away 
 they went to the dwelling of Abdallah Pasha — a handsome but 
 not pretentious building. 
 
 “A snug crib!” said Tinsley to his aide-de-camp, coolly, 
 “ Very likely the old fellow’s feeding — we’ll take a kabob with 
 him, in a friendly way ! — Hoy — you there — Yahoo ! ” 
 
 This last was addressed to an Arnaoot of the pasha’s body- 
 guard, who was lounging at the entrance inside the courtyard. 
 The Arnaoot looked up, gave a quick, sharp glance at the 
 speaker, twirled his mustachios, and disappeared inside. 
 
 4 4 He’ll know us again, I fancy,” said the commander. And then 
 he glanced round inquisitively about him, and remarked that the 
 building was not half so good as the houses in J ermyn Street. 
 It is very odd that some people, if they go to the World’s End, 
 can never get out of the West End ! Tinsley was one of these. 
 If you had taken him to the Grand Signior’s Divan at Stamboul, 
 he would have been mentally all the while in the Cigar Divan in 
 the Strand ! 
 
 “ Well, I say, they’re keeping us waiting,” he said, impatiently. 
 However, at that moment an official appeared, and motioned to 
 them with much courtesy of gesture to follow. They did so ; 
 Tinsley all the while making observations to Eontenoy on people 
 and things about, with the utmost easiness. 
 
 A curtain was drawn aside, and they entered the chamber of 
 the pasha — an old man with a white beard, someVhat marked 
 by the small-pox, and with quick, bright eyes. Singleton, who 
 had studied the works of that valuable body of men, our Oriental 
 travellers, had some intention of endeavouring to conform to 
 usages of etiquette. He was so anxious to appear properly 
 attentive, that he would have willingly prostrated himself in the 
 most approved style of slaves, if it would have looked at all civil. 
 Hot so Tinsley, who walked coolly up the chamber to where the 
 pasha was sitting, and bowed in an off-hand style, as if he was 
 on his own quarter-deck. So well defined and so formal are the 
 regulations of Eastern etiquette, that probably the commander 
 made ten distinct blunders in the first five minutes. Neverthe- 
 less, the pasha showed no sign of surprise, was as quiet, dignified, 
 and polite as a judge. Singleton followed his commander, 
 devoutly trusting that the pasha would see that he was an in- 
 ferior, and hoping that in some confused way the old man would 
 fancy that he was obliged to imitate him, under pain of the 
 bastinado. Meanwhile, Tinsley was quite at his ease — wrapped 
 up in a good-natured contempt of the pasha. 
 
 Why should Tinsley have despised the pasha ? The pasha 
 
174 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 knew Turkish as well as Tinsley did liis own language : and 
 Arabic better than be did any of the continental ones. He had 
 distinguished himself in war while Tinsley was a boy ; and lived 
 more in accordance with the laws of Islamism than Tinsley did 
 with those of his religion. If he had four wives, they were all 
 better treated than poor Mrs. Tinsley ; and his female slaves 
 were scarcely so numerous as the delicate damsels who had 
 amused the leisure of the commander in the dregs of European 
 towns ! 
 
 The interpreter attended, and looked at Tinsley. The pasha 
 waved his hand, and the room was cleared. 
 
 <£ Tell him I’m glad to see him looking so doosedwell! A 
 line old boy, isn’t he, Eontenoy,” said the commander. The in- 
 terpreter looked at the pasha. The pasha gave a slight glance 
 at the interpreter. 
 
 “ Parlez Eran^ais, Monsieur le Capitaine, s’il vous plait,” 
 said the interpreter, politely. 
 
 “ Oh, he don’t understand English! That’s a pretty interpreter, 
 isn’t it, Mr. Eontenoy ?” (Here the interpreter said something 
 to the pasha.) 
 
 “ Tres-bien, tres-bien!” said Tinsley to the interpreter, 
 waving his hand majestically, and breaking out into French, with 
 fatal volubility. “ J’espere que son Altesse le Pasha se porte a 
 merveille.” Tinsley then went on talking to Fontenoy again, 
 “Upon my word, a very nice room! Would he show me his 
 harem, I wonder?” 
 
 Singleton happened to glance at the interpreter (a Candiote) 
 just as the commander said this, and saw that he turned deadly 
 pale. Singleton formed a suspicion of his own, from the circum- 
 stance. However, the man simply replied, on the part of the 
 pasha, that he was glad to see the captain, and added, further, 
 some congratulations on the late w r ar against the Viceroy of 
 Egypt. 
 
 “ All very satisfactory,” said Tinsley to Eontenoy. “ Bien, 
 bono, mon ami l’interprSte. Vous parlez Turc comme trois 
 cent mille diables. Eontenoy, he will surely offer us a pipe !” 
 
 The interpreter and pasha interchanged a few words. The 
 pasha clapped his hands. Pipes and coffee were brought. 
 They seated themselves, Tinsley plumping down on the divan 
 in a wonderful manner. As he remarked, “ this was what he 
 called comfortable.” And he praised the pipes wonderfully 
 also, and was in high good-humour. 
 
 “ A remarkable people, the English, tell the pasha,” he said ; 
 “ bien extraordinaire /” 
 
 “The pasha is thoroughly persuaded of it ; ” said the inter- 
 preter, a little drily. . v yr 
 
SINGLETOK EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 175 
 
 And thus this memorable interview went off, the pasha all the 
 while treating his eccentric guest with the most dignified polite- 
 ness and consideration ; so that Singleton, knowing the myste- 
 rious interest which the Turks attach to madmen, began to think 
 that it was partly to it that the commander owed his indulgent 
 reception ! They rose to take their leave ; Tinsley, with much 
 hospitality, assuring the pasha, through the interpreter, that 
 “ he would be very glad to see him at Brick Lodge, if he 
 should happen to be in Yorkshire !” 
 
 When they left the house, the commander returned on board, 
 giving permission to Fontenoy to amuse himself on shore. 
 
 The Turkish power is like ivy; it has a languid vitality 
 among ruins. Like ivy, its green flag hangs sluggishly over 
 scenes of decay. And here, in Ehodes, as elsewhere, it main- 
 tains a feeble and useless existence amidst the works of the dead 
 past. The Greek is gone ; the Homan is gone ; the gallant 
 Knights of St. John are gone. And over the degenerate descen- 
 dants of those who welcomed the swallow with a hymn of joy, 
 rule the degenerate descendants of those who under Solyman 
 the Magnificent, conquered the Christian knights. # 
 
 Conquered the Christian knights ! It is a melancholy his- 
 tory, and they deserve a better epitaph. Let our thoughts 
 wander for a moment to the spring of the year 1522, when the 
 w r ise and gallant Philip Yilliers de L’lsle Adam, that worthy 
 French knight, was chosen Grand Master of the Order, and 
 came to [Rhodes to take the command. The harbour of Galli- 
 poli, and the whole shores of the Sea of Marmora, resounded 
 with the hum of preparations for w~ar ; and Italy and proud 
 Venice looked with awe at the gathering cloud ; and Christendom 
 watched, with eager eyes, the great Solyman, who, the autumn 
 before, had carried his triumphant arms from the Bosphorus to 
 the Danube, and hoisted his victorious crescent on the towers of 
 Belgrade. 
 
 The gallant gentlemen of the Order, whose ancient blood was 
 warmed by Christian zeal, prepared for their defence against the 
 hordes of the magnificent barbarian. A muster of their forces 
 showed about 5,000 free men able to bear arms, amongst whom 
 were 600 knights of the Order, and 500 soldiers of Crete. The 
 rest were mariners, and the people of the island. “ The former,” 
 says the old historian,^ “did great service.” The island people 
 
 * They took possession the city (after six months’ siege) on Christmas-day, 
 1522. See the excellent account of the whole expedition in old Knolles’ “ History 
 ofthe Turks” (published in 1810), pp. 569 to 600. (3rd edition, printed by A. lslip, 
 
 t Knolles, uli sup . (p, 576). For Dr, Johnson’s high opinion of Knolles, see 
 •* Rambler,” No. 122. 
 
176 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 “ served to little other purpose than to dig and carry earth to 
 the ramparts.” The citizens “ were for the most part weak and 
 of small courage.” 
 
 Nevertheless, there were 600 knights of the Order ; 600 of 
 the chivalry of Christ! They called the degenerate Greeks 
 within the walls of the town ; they raised ramparts ; they loaded 
 granaries. And above all towered the holy cross on the church 
 of their patron, St. John. And, mark one item of the prepara- 
 tions : their Grand Master 4 4 did oftentimes spend the greatest 
 part of the night in the church alone, praying, his head-piece, 
 gorget, and gauntlets lying by him ; so that it was commonly 
 said, that his devout praiers and carefulnesse would make the 
 citie invincible.” What a touching and beautiful picture ! 
 
 Summer came, and on the 26th June, early in the morning, — 
 doubtless just as figs were ripe and olives green, — there was 
 seen from the towers a great spectacle. Over that warm, blue 
 sea, rippling under a fresh westerly breeze, came a huge fleet 
 of Turkish galleys, stretching all along the coast of old Lycia, 
 with the crescent flying. The Rhodians crowded on their 
 battlements to see the enemy pass, and waved their sacred 
 ensigns, and public prayers were offered to the Christian’s God. 
 The Othomans landed their force to the eastward of the city. 
 And now everything was ready for an attack by sea and land. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Order begged help from Christendom against 
 the great foe. None was to be obtained from the pope, — none 
 from the Emperor Charles Fifth, — none from the great Francis 
 First, — none from our King Harry, Defender of the Faith ! 
 Those were stirring times in Europe. Luther was in Wittem- 
 berg, busy with friend Melancthon in preparing his version of 
 the New Testament, and in trying to save the Reformation from 
 the violence of Anabaptist fanatics, endangering it by their 
 movement. Perhaps it was consistent that kings who would not 
 allow Christianity to be reformed in Europe, should not care to 
 defend it in Rhodes. Be that as it may, the Order had to fight 
 its battle unaided. Six hundred Christian gentlemen against 
 Solyman the Magnificent, with an army and a fleet ! It was a 
 glorious struggle ! It went on for six months. Solyman’s 
 forces in countless numbers dashed against the walls like a 
 stormy sea — breaking, perishing, but ever renewed. It must 
 have been a noble spectacle ! to see the lilies of France waving 
 from the tower of the French knights, brave Abbin com- 
 manding ; the eagle gleaming from the tower of the Germans ; 
 our own English standard from the bulwark of the English 
 (which brave De L’lsle Adam himself presided at), and the flags 
 of the Augvernois, the Spaniards, and the Italians ! The battles 
 were daily, bloody, and violent. On the 4th September, in one 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 177 
 
 assault, 2,000 Turks were slain, and fifty of the knights ! Honour 
 be to the memory of the brave knight Francis Fornove of France ! 
 
 He was always for holding out to the last, and with his own 
 hand slew 500 Turks (said one who was present), with shot 
 from St. George’s Tower, during the siege ! 
 
 On the whole, perhaps, history can furnish no better battle- 
 piece than this chivalrous defence. Solyman was several times 
 on the point of abandoning the attack, and his proud soul made 
 him pine and sicken with impatience and disgrace. At last, 
 direct assaults were abandoned in despair. A patient system of 
 attacking the walls by means of trenches was carried on with, 
 indomitable perseverance ; the numbers of the Turks were over- 
 whelming ; and the knights having fought with heroism, had 
 nothing left but to surrender with dignity. It was done. The 
 fierce Solyman had learnt from the sight of such noble enemies 
 to be magnanimous. He suffered the Grand Master and the sur- 
 vivors to depart with their property. They braved the winter 
 weather in their galleys, and finally settled in Malta, in 1530. 
 Brave De l’lsle Adam died there in 1534. Honour to his 
 memory ! He was a grand old knight of a heaven-taught school, 
 and well, indeed, might he and such as he be bewailed in the 
 glorious language of Burke. The Knights of St. J ohn were the 
 last of the chivalry of Europe. They performed their part well, 
 and well may they sleep in the vaults of the church of their 
 patron in Malta. ’Tis a fit resting-place. 
 
 And they do sleep well. Christians kneel to worship on the 
 flag-stones containing their epitaphs, and prayer is ever ascend- 
 ing from their graves ! 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 On yonder mound the Oread was adored. 
 
 In yonder tree the Dryad held her home. 
 
 And from her urn the gentle Naiad poured. 
 
 ✓ The wavelet’s silver foam. 
 
 Schiller’s “ Gods of Greece.” (Sir E. B. Lytton’s Translation.) 
 
 “ A tender and not unpleasing melancholy is the charac- 
 teristic of Bhodes. Sweetness of climate wonderfully softens 
 the aspect of ruin ; and the dead cities of the East seem to lie in 
 state. Bhodes is melancholy — but with the tenderness of Otway, 
 and the softness of Gray ! ” 
 
 Thus mused Singleton Fontenoy, as having parted from his 
 commander, he passed from the gay haunts of the Bhodians of 
 to-day, and found himself wandering amidst the crumbling 
 dwellings of the knights* To this hour, you may see these deso- 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, B.N. 
 
 late abodes, with the escutcheons of their gallant owners, grace- 
 fully carved in front. The number of Frenchmen in the order 
 must have been large, for everywhere the Jleur de lis blos- 
 soms in stone -there. As Singleton passed up a kind of sloping 
 street, he perceived a figure before him. Advancing, he found 
 that it was Welwyn, sketching. Welwyn had shown, on one or 
 two occasions, such a love of solitude, that Singleton wished 
 to avoid all appearance of intrusion, and was about to move 
 away. Welwyn looked up, however, and beckoned him to 
 join him. Singleton did so, and esteemed the invitation a great 
 favour. As he joined him, Welwyn coolly continued filling 
 in some details with his pencil, while Singleton stood by in 
 respectful attention. 
 
 “ Melancholy among ruins, eh ? ” said Singleton. 
 
 “ JNTo. That is the charasteristic of the owl,” Welwyn re- 
 plied, “ the moping owl that doth to the moon complain, as you 
 know.” 
 
 “Why I should have thought that with your imaginative 
 tendencies, you would have been sad among the wrecks of two 
 civilizations.” 
 
 Welwyn rose, closed his sketch-book, and adjusted his cap. 
 “ Let us take a walk.” They strolled along, and gained a posi- 
 tion higher up, which commanded a view both of the town and 
 the sea, under favourable circumstances. Here Welwyn sat 
 down again, and Singleton beside him. It was just drawing 
 near the close of the afternoon. 
 
 “ I am going to shock your ‘ imaginative tendencies * by 
 smoking a pipe here,” said Welwyn, pulling out the instrument 
 in question, and tumbling in a quantity of Latakia to the capa- 
 cious bowl. 
 
 “With all my heart,” said Singleton, laughing. 
 
 Welwyn carefully filled the bowl with the choice weed, lighted 
 it, and raising himself on his elbow, puffed out a blue curl, and 
 began : — 
 
 “You ask me if I am sad among these ruins — my friend, in 
 the world there is nothing sad ” 
 
 Singleton stared as this paradox made its appearance, and 
 wondered why, if what he said was true, his companion was often 
 so gloomy and lonely himself. 
 
 “ Understand me ! [“ Hot so easy ! ” thought Singleton.] I do 
 not mean to say that all the world are happy ! Heaven forbid ! 
 Happiness,” said Welwyn, blowing out a puff of smoke with a 
 contemptuous air, “ is a paltry thing ! Indeed, I cannot fancy 
 any being more miserable than a man -who is habitually 
 happy ! ” 
 
 Singleton laughed, pulled out his pocket-handkerchief, sniffed 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 179 
 
 his favourite violet, and screwed up his attention to listen with 
 a determined air. 
 
 “ To eat, drink, and sleep well — to have an affectionate wife — 
 and moderate pleasures — this men call happiness — an equable 
 condition apparently compounded of prudence and a good diges- 
 tion. Nay, Paley seems to have found an analogy between 
 human happiness and that of an oyster * — an idea quite in ac- 
 cordance with the tone of his philosophy ! But think you that 
 it was under the influence of such paltry ideas that men did 
 what men remember? Was it a love of 4 happiness ’ that took 
 Godfrey de Bouillon and his cross-adorned army through Asia 
 Minor and Palestine ? Did it prompt the monastic institution 
 — the penance and the prayer of that brave society among whose 
 crumbling palaces I am smoking this pipe ? Did it found and 
 propagate the religion they professed? Did it originate the 
 Reformation ? See Luther in his cell at Erfurth, and answer ! ” 
 
 44 Happiness — our being’s end and aim,” muttered Singleton, 
 abstractedly. 
 
 44 ’Tis a beggarly philosophy, scarce two hundred years old,” + 
 said Welwyn, his pale face flushing slightly as his enthusiasm 
 warmed. 
 
 44 Let there be light,” said Singleton. 44 Where is the melan- 
 choly in that sublime saying ? The remark is not mine — it is 
 Bulwer’s, in a note to his novel of 4 Paul Clifford.’ ” 
 
 “Light presupposes darkness,” replied his friend, a little 
 staggered. 44 But look you, Eontenoy, there is something higher 
 than happiness ! — there is a blessedness — as one of my teachers 
 says. I am not defending mere worldly discontent. I speak 
 only of the melancholy attending high aspiration — the 4 desire of 
 the moth for the star,’ to use Shelley’s words.” 
 
 Singleton paused for a moment. Then he said, 44 Pardon me, 
 Welwyn, but you appear to me inconsistent. This conversa- 
 tion began by your saying that these ruins inspired you with no 
 melancholy ! ” 
 
 44 1 am not careful to justify myself,” said Welwyn, rather 
 loftily, in the words of another of his teachers ; $ 44 but I will 
 tell you why I said so. Why should we so much regard the 
 past when we have here the soul from which came all? We are 
 not sufficiently independent. We miserably hang on to what is 
 dead. It is we who are the miracle and the wonder. Nay, pro- 
 perly, nothing can be said to exist by any man for a certainty 
 but his ego — the divine part of him. Eor my part, I look on 
 even my own body as a phenomenon.” 
 
 * Paley’s “ Moral Philosophy,” book i. cap. 6th (concluding paragraph.) 
 t Carlyle, % Emerson. 
 
 N 2 
 
180 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 “ And on me as a phenomenon, too,” said Singleton, laughing, 
 and flinging a pebble at an old column there. 
 
 44 Certainly. You and all men can only be secondary ex- 
 istences in comparison with my consciousness of the existence of 
 my soul.” 
 
 “Well,” said Singleton, sighing, and stretching out his arms, 
 “ these speculations are apt to give a man a headache. But one is 
 always better for them. I thank you for your rather misty re- 
 marks. Pray go on.” 
 
 Welwyn had lain back abstractedly for a moment. He now 
 blew out a long puff of smoke, and, looking earnestly at his 
 friend, proceeded : — • 
 
 “Ah, Fontenoy, there is a philosophy spreading now among 
 the intellectual which looks in society for love, and in nature for 
 God. In its eyes the world itself is only a dream, and man, what 
 Jeremy Taylor calls him, 4 a phantasm of time.’ ” 
 
 44 1 myself,” said Singleton, interrupting him, 44 have been 
 visited by gleams of such ideas. They first impelled me to wander. 
 I did wander — and well ! here I am in Ehodes, as restless, per- 
 turbed, and unsatisfied as I was in Eockshire ! But other ideas, 
 too, prompted me ” 
 
 Here he paused. The circumstances before narrated, which 
 had led him to fancy that Welwyn knew something of his family, 
 and might possibly be able to solve the mystery regarding his 
 mother, which had. exercised so painful an influence on his mind, 
 suddenly rushed to his memory. How was the time to make 
 the trial of Welwyn’s knowledge. 
 
 44 By the bye, Welwyn,” he said, abruptly, and as carelessly as 
 he could, 44 when we first met, you seemed to know something 
 about my family.” 
 
 44 Your family ! — I thought we were talking of philosophy ! ” 
 said Welwyn, haughtily. 
 
 44 True,” said Singleton, colouring, and preserving his calm- 
 ness. 
 
 “Man,” resumed Welwyn, — 44 only a phantasm of time! 
 This philosophy is at war with almost every existing institution, 
 conceiving them to have lost for the most part the divine ideas 
 which were their creators. It is, therefore, in favour of what is 
 called the movement ; but mark ! we are not Eadicals in the 
 ordinary sense of the word. We are not destroyers, but re- 
 newers. We respect Conservatism as a philosophical fact, which 
 represents, too, a sacred idea.” 
 
 “ Hillo ! — expounding the Sybilline books ?” cried a loud 
 hearty voice at this moment. They looked up. Welwyn broke 
 off, and their two messmates, Brunt and Simms, approached. 
 There was something in the active aspect of the surgeon which 
 
SINGLETOK FONTENOY, E.N. 181 
 
 dispelled the visions of the transcendentalist. Singleton jumped 
 up and welcomed them. 
 
 “Well, Fontenoy, has Welwyn been initiating you in the 
 mysteries of the modern prophets ? I have brought Simms on 
 shore to give him lessons, and I have been telling him to take a 
 leap, that he may brag of it when he gets home. There is a 
 fable somewhere in iEsop about a fellow who took a wonderful 
 leap at Rhodes.” 
 
 “Do we sail to-night?” inquired Welwyn. 
 
 “ Wot if I can help it,” said Brunt. 
 
 “You help it?” said Fontenoy, laughing. “What has a 
 medico to do with the ship’s sailing ?” 
 
 “ Only this. Tinsley consulted me about his health, and 
 I’ve given him a dose that will keep him quiet till the 
 morning.” 
 
 “ What a shame ! ” 
 
 “Not at all. I believe he’s half cracked, and it’s my duty to 
 look after him. One day he. would have flogged half the ship’s 
 company. I bled him. Sir, I govern the ‘Viper’ by my lancet 
 and pill-box.” 
 
 “You ought to be pounded in your own mortar,” said Wel- 
 wyn, laughing. “ But where is your superior officer — Flibb, the 
 surgeon ?” 
 
 “ On board. I wonder he didn’t want to go on shore to make 
 geological experiments. Do you know, Fontenoy, what he does 
 sometimes ? He’ll go and pick up a piece of marble among the 
 ruins of a temple, and enter in his note-book that he found a 
 stratum of it ! Oh, he’s a wonderful old fellow ! Simms, don’t 
 laugh ! Remember, sir, never to laugh at your superior officers.” 
 Thus Brunt used to make up for turning the said superior officers 
 into ridicule. 
 
 At this moment it was drawing towards the close of day ; so 
 the “ Vipers” returned on board to dinner in a boat pulled by a 
 Greek. They reported themselves to the first lieutenant (the 
 only lieutenent the brig at that time boasted), Mr. Bobus. He 
 was a very celebrated officer all through the profession — I mean 
 that he was known to be one of the fattest men in the whole navy. 
 And a naval reputation is one of the widest that a man can enjoy ; 
 for consider that we have ships everywhere, and you will see that 
 a naval celebrity is known from the eternally-frozen regions where 
 our wonderful Polar expeditions go, down to the wide Canadian 
 lakes ; thence all through the West Indies, all round Great 
 Britain, in the Baltic, from the Straits to the Archipelago in the 
 "Mediterranean, on the coast of Africa, in South America, and in 
 the East Indies ! Thus Bobus was spoken of as “ fat Bobus ” 
 wherever man has penetrated almost. His name was more ex- 
 
182 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 tended and talked about, perhaps, than that of any illustrious 
 person now living. Such is fame ! 
 
 When the mess were once more installed in the berth, dinner 
 was discussed. Singleton found out that the lacrima (both 
 white and red) had disappeared, and the claret also. The truth 
 was, that there had been exactly one bottle of each of these in 
 the mess, which Brunt had produced to give an air of splendour 
 to Singleton’s first dinner. He laughed when our hero stared at 
 the change. But Singleton laughed with him ; he did not care 
 about faring sumptuously, and he smiled good-naturedly when 
 Welwyn quoted from Emerson, that “ a man is fed, not that he 
 may be fed, but that he may work.” 
 
 In the evening, that “ amber fluid” which Government sup- 
 plies to the navy was placed upon the table. Simms, who had 
 been humming an air for some time, suddenly struck up the 
 following song, which he called — 
 
 THE EOVEE TO ISABEL. 
 
 “ Yes, yes, Sweet, thou art fair. 
 
 But so is the wind ! — and my bark is there. 
 
 As my hand with thy flaxen tresses pale. 
 
 Plays the amorous breeze with the flagging sail. 
 
 Look, Sweet, at the golden moon 
 As bright and as round as a new doubloon ? 
 
 Like the path that it makes across the sea 
 Is the life that thy love has lighted for me. 
 
 Soon, now must the land be drowned, 
 
 And the sea’s fairy ring chain my vessel round. 
 
 But my heart is a fountain of love, I declare, 
 
 And thou art the Naiad that dwellest there. 
 
 Still, Sweet, through the grass of spring, 
 
 Let thy white ankles gleam like to doves on the wing. 
 
 Or, pluck the plump grapes in the torpid sunshine. 
 
 From the wall whereon hangeth the crucified vine. 
 
 Soon, Sweet, shall my cruise be sped, 
 
 So shear me a lock from your worshiped head, 
 
 — With those small golden scissors whose radiance rare 
 Is lost in the light of your heavenly hair !” 
 
 “ Time to put out the lights, gentlemen ! ” said the serjeant of 
 marines, coming to the berth door. 
 
 “Hum or brandy, serjeant?” inquired Mr. Brunt, with great 
 coolness. 
 
 “ Neither, sir, if you please.” 
 
 “With hot water or cold ?” added Brunt, imperturbably. 
 
 The serjeant relaxed into a smile. 
 
 “You’re such a facetious gentleman, sir! — Well, I will take 
 the least drop of rum, cold, if you please.” 
 
 “ Eacetious ! ” growled Brunt, after the serjeant withdrew and 
 the light was not put out ; “ I’ll teach him what I am, if he goes 
 into the sick-list ! ” ^ « 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 183 
 
 So saying, Brunt took hold of a volume lying on the table, 
 and adjusted it ingeniously under the bull’s-eye, to prevent the 
 light being seen, conspicuous in the darkness on deck, where 
 Lieutenant Bobus was smoking his evening cigar. 
 
 The brig left Ehodes next morning, rounded the island to the 
 northward, and — revelling in a strong breeze from the “ sweet 
 south” — glided in among the Cyclades. From island to island, 
 as the bee from flower to flower, flew the brig. Whether 
 dressed in the rosy garb of the morning, or splendid in the 
 imperial purple of a Grecian twilight, these isles were always 
 beautiful. That was a happy summer ! 
 
 She anchored in fragrant Poros — not even made ridiculous by 
 a twopenny Grecian dockyard with one ship in it! It was 
 pleasant to Fontenoy to go on shore, and visit variously among 
 the islands — seeing tender Greek girls, who aped European 
 manners. Poor things ! they were houris worthy of such a 
 paradise ; but fancy their longing to see London, and pining to 
 wake up from their gorgeous Eastern dreams, to this row and 
 the other terrace — dreary catacombs of bricks — haunts of influ- 
 enza and ennui — whose architects “form squares” with the 
 regularity of military mechanism — the biggest city in the world, 
 and, like some of its heiresses, all ugliness and gold ! 
 
 The “ Viper ” anchored at an island which I shall call Enup- 
 nion. It is rich, green, and fragrant ; it swarms with olives, and 
 blushes with grapes. A vein of marble crosses it. A gash in its 
 bosom forms a bay, the shores of which are covered with lemon- 
 groves. As you lie at anchor in deep water, you see, through 
 the glassy realm, the golden floor of sand far down, with sea- 
 weed as beautiful as flowers waving and curling upwards from 
 its depths. The nightingale sings you to sleep, and fireflies 
 light you to your chamber. Everything seems beautiful. There 
 is inspiration in the odour of the roses, and a smile on the face of 
 the moon at night ! 
 
 Into the bay of Enupnion glided the brig, one morning early : 
 the wind was light, so the commander cried, “Out sweeps!” 
 The sweeps were got out : they are long, heavy oars, used in 
 small craft sometimes to propel the vessel during a calm, or to 
 aid a light wind. They spread out on each side of the brig like 
 the black wings of the bat. Time was kept by aid of the boat- 
 swain’s whistle. In glided the brig : she anchored and furled 
 sails ; she lay there a fortnight. 
 
 * * Let us fancy ourselves in a plain, airy chamber, 
 having a large window looking out on a garden, with half a dozen 
 orange-trees loaded with the ripe fruit. On one side of the 
 chamber is a long bench, covered with red cushions ; there is a 
 table, with some lemonade in gilt glasses. There are several 
 
184 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 French chairs in the room : on one of these sits Mr. Fontenoy ; 
 on another — a damsel. Her face is dark, hushed with a ray of 
 rosy light playing up and down it ; her eyes are intensely black, 
 restless, and glowing, and giving a brilliant life to a face other- 
 wise tinged by an expression of languor as soft as the cheek it 
 dwells on. She has miraculous black hair drooping down, and 
 a little red cap perched on her fair head like a crown. She 
 wears a dress like that of the English, but is enveloped in a 
 wonderful sash of yellow silk, curling round her waist lovingly, 
 and dropping down to her pretty feet, encased in yellow slippers. 
 Such is Adela Mavrosceni, daughter of old Mavrosceni (as I 
 take the liberty of calling him), Greek gentleman and English 
 consul. Signor Mavrosceni (as he loved to be called) was a 
 pompous little politician, w T ho turned pale at the name of 
 Palmerston. The signor did not like the English, but we must 
 make allowances for him — he had married one of them ! He 
 married a Miss Simmons, travelling in the Levant as lady’s- 
 maid to a yachting countess, whose hair she dressed, which was 
 very proper ; but whose travels she wrote, which was decidedly 
 wrong ; for the countess published them ! They were gorgeously 
 bound. Hacks, the critic (who had been asked to dinner), com- 
 pared her to He Stael : Snacks (only asked “ in the evening ”) 
 compared her to Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 The Signora Mavrosceni having settled in Enupnion, and 
 become somebody, of course frequently sighed after dear Eng- 
 land, where she was a lady’s-maid. But this made her appear a 
 great personage among the society of the island. “Ah, sar,” 
 as Mavrosceni used to say after her death, “ she alway say she 
 4 lost’ here ! — but by St. Nicholas I alway find her too certain !” 
 So saying, he would chuckle, and wheeze, and puff out smoke, 
 and swallow a lump of rahatlacome (a capital sweetmeat, by the 
 bye), and peer into the Journal de Smyrne , as was his wont. 
 Well, the signora died, and left Adela, aged twelve — very pretty, 
 with a capital knowledge of English, and a thirst for England. 
 
 She was now just fifteen, blit beautifully developed. In these 
 sweet southern regions, the girls “grow wild,” like the fruits 
 and flowers. In England, we grow our damsels, like our melons, 
 shut up, and in hothouses l 
 
 “Now tell me about England, Signor Fontenoy !” said Adela, 
 for the tenth time, playing with the tassel of her little red cap. 
 
 “ I tell you, it is not half so pleasant as Enupnion,” said 
 Singleton. And I am afraid he was beginning to think so, the 
 rogue ! Poor Lalage ! 
 
 “ No, no,” said the girl, impatiently. “ This is dull, dull, 
 dull. I languish, I die. — Now, pray show me how you make a 
 i morning call ’ in England. I am lady of the house — you are a 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 185 
 
 visitor. Come in, and show me !” As she spoke, she jumped 
 up, coquettishly arranging her cap, and the miraculous hair. 
 Singleton rose too, laughing and delighted, and they proceeded 
 to arrange a little comedy. Adela sat down again, with much 
 dignity. Singleton, having stood in the doorway, walked into 
 the room, bowed, and took a chair. 
 
 “ Good morning, Miss Mavrosceni.” 
 
 “ Good morning, Mr. Fontenoy.” 
 
 Here, the wonderful red cap dropped oil. Singleton sprang 
 to pick it up, and his cheek was brushed by the miraculous hair. 
 And a new actor suddenly popped in, in the person of the 
 signor. 
 
 The consul looked very excited. “ Ah, what think you, sar ! 51 
 And he went on to tell Fontenoy that a party of the brig’s crew, 
 who had been allowed to go on shore, had attacked a Greek 
 chapel with a view to help themselves to any little ornaments 
 about the altar that a Protestant could with a clear conscience 
 — pawn. The natives had been furious at the impiety. There 
 had been a row. 
 
 “ I tell you, it lucky for your commander he is Lord Pal- 
 merston’s cousin,” said the consul. 
 
 “ The old rogue,” thought Singleton, who knew that he was 
 nothing of the sort. In fact, this was a pleasing fiction of 
 Tinsley’s, which he broached, privately, to such officials, and 
 which had a highly imposing effect. 
 
 “ I must go on board ! ” said Singleton, ruefully, “ Good-bye ! ” 
 
 He got a boat. He glided along the bay, and gave a melan- 
 choly glance back at the consul’s house. The fair Adela was on 
 the roof, and waved a white handkerchief to him. It struggled 
 in the wind. And that wind was to bear him away. So ter- 
 minated the romance of a fortnight — which is so often the 
 colouring of a life. 
 
 He found the “ Viper” on the point of sailing, and Tinsley 
 furious. The commander harangued his crew, and told them 
 that “ a set of fellows who would rob a church were capable of 
 anything.” Having delivered himself of this apothegm, he 
 “ watered the grog” of the offenders, and proceeded below to 
 drink his own more moderately watered. Shortly afterwards, 
 the “ Viper” sailed. 
 
 “ Do you know, sir,” said the old boatswain — a bit of a Hadical 
 — to Singleton, confidentially, “ touching the robbing that there 
 
 chapel it ain’t worse than Henry the Eighth did ! 
 
 But times is different, and the rights of the people ain’t under- 
 stood,” he added, thoughtfully. 
 
 Once more the “ Viper” was at sea, and gliding to the 
 southward. ^ 
 
186 
 
 SINGLETON PONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 Singleton had the first watch that night, and mused much as it 
 drew near midnight. He was thinking of the tender and playful 
 Greek, and wondering what sort of a life a consul’s was. 
 Whether it was a good speculation to grow mulberry-trees and 
 feed silkworms, and to cultivate olives for the home market — 
 these were the youth’s various fancies ! Heaven only knows 
 what he meditated. 
 
 He noticed one of 'the watch descending the fore-rigging. 
 The man came up to him — 
 
 “ Here’s something for you, sir, if you like to have it. I 
 caught the poor thing asleep on the fore-yard.” 
 
 It was a pretty little white dove — the bird of Venus. 
 
 “ I accept the omen,” muttered Fontenoy, as he warmed it in 
 his breast. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 An orphan’s curse would drag to hell, 
 
 A spirit from on high, 
 
 But, oh, more horrible than that. 
 
 Is a curse in a dead man’s eye ! 
 
 The Ancient Mabineb. 
 
 In a few days, the “ Viper” fell in with a steamer, which 
 brought orders for her to proceed to Tripoli. Away she went. 
 That same evening she fell in with something more serious. 
 
 Just after sunset, Singleton being in charge of the watch, 
 mounted on the poop-gratings, and looked round. It was a 
 wonderfully serene evening — soft and still as a country church- 
 yard, all over the sea. There was absolutely nothing in sight 
 on the ocean, and the horizon girded the vessel round like a 
 magic circle. Singleton was the only officer on deck. All sail 
 was set, and the yards were braced sharp up, but the sails hung 
 from them indolently, and not a reef-point dangled. 
 
 Singleton breathed on his hand, and held it up to feel for an 
 air. There was not a breath to sully a mirror. The water was 
 smooth as ice. A rosy stream of sunset light just lingered on 
 it, and looked like the red lips of a slumbering girl. Singleton 
 sat down on the gratings, and played with his dove. He had 
 taught it to eat out of his hand, and know him thoroughly ; in a 
 word, it was as tame and familiar as the pigeon in the apocryphal 
 story about Mahomet. 
 
 “ Adela, Adela ! ” said Singleton, raising it up and down 
 gently on his wrist. The dove’s mild eyes met his lovingly. 
 <s Pretty pet ! 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 187 
 
 * There is not wind enough in the air 
 To move away the ringlet- curl 
 From the lovely lady’s cheek.* 
 
 Eh ! Adela ? Does it read Coleridge P ” All which was non- 
 sense, highly contemptible, no doubt, in the eyes of sensible 
 fools. 
 
 Here the quartermaster of the watch approached, and touch- 
 ing his hat, said, 4 4 1 would not trust the calm too much, sir.” 
 He was an old sailor of great experience, and Singleton always 
 treated him with that attention due to a man old enough to be 
 his grandfather. 
 
 “ Eh, Eellowes ! ” he said, jumping up, and depositing the bird 
 in a safe place. He looked round again, and saw no sign of 
 danger. However, he did not like to neglect the warning ; but 
 knowing Tinsley’s inveterate hatred to shortening sail, con- 
 tented himself with seeing clewlines, &c., laid along the deck. 
 
 “ Look out, sir ! ” 
 
 A terrible gust burst upon them. 44 Shorten sail ! ” roared 
 Singleton. Over went the brig. Singleton cut the main-sheet 
 with a tomahawk. The main-sail split like a thunder-cloud. 
 The helm was down. The brig righted — dew head to wind — 
 stood with every rag of sail blown from the bolt-ropes — tremb- 
 ling — but safe ? It was a white squall ! It rose, struck, and 
 died in one terrible breath. 
 
 Tinsley sprang on deck. The drst thing he saw was one of 
 the after-guard who had fallen down on his knees to pray. A 
 moment of wild incredulity, and he sprang like a wild beast. 
 44 Why, you damnation scoundrel ! ” and gave the suppliant a 
 tremendous kick, which sent him dying into the scuppers. So 
 much for devotion adoat ! 
 
 The brig was safe. The hands were turned up to bend new 
 sails, reefs were taken in, and all made snug for the night. 
 
 44 Well,” said Tinsley, 44 thank God, they can’t make me pay 
 for the sails this time ! ” And with this devout thanksgiving, 
 the commander retired to his cabin. 
 
 The brig anchored before Tripoli one evening soon after. It 
 was dusk, and the wind was off the land. Welwyn had the 
 drst watch. Singleton was sitting in the berth with Simms and 
 Brunt, and they were all three talking of various matters con- 
 nected with the ship. 
 
 44 Where shall we go after leaving this, think you ? ” asked 
 Singleton. 
 
 44 To Marmorice Bay, I’m afraid,” said Brunt. 44 Hand me a 
 spoon — thank you. You’ve lost your spirits, Eontenoy.” 
 
 44 Yes j but I’ve found my heart, which was getting dull.” 
 
188 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 “ You’re sententious. What a mercy these fresh lemons are ; 
 eh, you fellows ? ” 
 
 “Yes. What does our prophet [as they used jocularly to 
 call Welwyn] say about love P ” 
 
 “ Something vague— but approving. * Every soul is a celestial 
 Venus to every other soul,’* was his last utterance, I believe. 
 I’m going to buy him a tripod,” said Brunt, grinning. 
 
 “Do you know anything of Welwyn’s history?” asked 
 Singleton, lowering his voice. 
 
 “No; nothing to speak of. He served his time in South 
 America. He told me he was poor,” said Brunt — “ that’s all.” 
 
 Singleton was affected. “ How clever he is ! ” he said, 
 warmly. 
 
 “ Yes,” Brunt answered, sincerely ; “ he is, and a hard student 
 from his boyhood. He is the truest philosopher I ever met, in 
 hisiife.” 
 
 “ A glorious fellow ! ” said little Simms, with enthusiasm. 
 
 “ Hush ! what noise is that ? ” asked Singleton. There was a 
 trembling of feet overhead, a hum of voices, a voice calling for a 
 lantern, and a pipe for a boat’s crew. Simms ran up to see 
 what was the matter. 
 
 “ What can it be ? ” said Brunt to Singleton. 
 
 “ God knows,” said Singleton. “ Can it be — stop ! What a 
 sickly feeling I have at my heart ! ” 
 
 “ You look pale ; taste this. Pshaw, — it’s only a qualm, 
 man.” 
 
 “ Death must be something like that qualm, then. Here’s 
 Simms.” 
 
 “ Oh, just fancy,” said Simms ; “ a fellow swam from the 
 shore, — a native, — caught hold of the cable, nearly drowning. 
 They’ve pulled him on board.” 
 
 “How extraordinary ! ” 
 
 “Mr. Brunt, you’re wanted,” cried a seaman at the door. 
 Up jumped Brunt, cool, active, and quick. There was a scuffing 
 noise on the lower deck. Simms and Singleton sat still in the 
 berth, and looked at each other anxiously. 
 
 In ten minutes’ time Brunt came running in. “ Did you ever 
 see a person die, either of you ? ” he asked. 
 
 “No.” 
 
 Impelled by the fearful curiosity which carries us to the 
 scene of the great mystery, they both followed him. They went 
 inside a screen, and there they saw a dark, swarthy man lying- 
 delirious, and galloping on to death. He was muttering away 
 some words which they could not understand. 
 
 * Emerson. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 189 
 
 “ Send Dato here,” said Brunt. Dato was a Maltese, who 
 served as a sailor on board the brig. He came, anxious, and 
 wondering what the doctor wanted him for. When he caught 
 sight of the dying man, all his native superstitions crowded on 
 him. “ Oh, sar,” he said, crossing himself, “what you want 
 me for ? ” 
 
 “ Hush, you fool,” said Brunt ; “ you know Arabic ; is the 
 man speaking Arabic P ” Death had no terrors for the surgeon; 
 he minded it no more than the stopping of a watch. 
 
 The Maltese knelt down, and put his ear near the dying man’s 
 mouth, and again made the sign of the cross. They formed a 
 curious group : the Maltese grinned like a negro with emotion ; 
 Brunt gazed calmly on ; Simms shed tears ; Singleton held his 
 breath, — prayer was stirring in the depths of his soul ! 
 
 “ He speak of his wife and little ones, sar,” said the Maltese, 
 looking up terrified. 
 
 “Poor fellow!” said Brunt, “Hippocrates could not save 
 him now ! ” 
 
 “ He speak of destruction,— and ruin, — and starvation, — and 
 revenge, sar,” cried Dato, running out the w r ords suddenly, and 
 with big tears on his brown face. 
 
 The muttering ceased ; the face changed its expression ; the 
 head gave a short, sharp vibration ; life was gone. Singleton 
 and Simms hurried away. 
 
 But what were the tidings that reached them soon, 
 
 ■ — spreading through the ship like a fatal fire, making every face 
 pale, and every heart beat ! 
 
 Holy of Holies ? The “ Viper” had the plague ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Nulla fugse ratio, nulla spes : omnia mufca. 
 
 Omnia sunt deserta, ostentant omnia let urn. 
 
 Catullus. 
 
 This, then, was the dead man’s avenger ! This was the re- 
 venge which he had taken for the ruin brought upon him by the 
 English Crusade. He had left a curse as a legacy, and death for 
 an executor. The Plague was on board the brig. Death lurked 
 in the charmed air. No man could be sure that the Skeleton was 
 not hovering at his elbow. It was an atmosphere of terror 
 and mystery ! 
 
 In the morning they saw the ghastly emblem of the dread dis- 
 ease — a yellow flag with a black ball in the centre — flying from 
 the fort. Already two men were seized on board. Nausea, 
 
190 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 faintness, delirium — death — were the steps, in regular succession. 
 Some died raving violently, some in a muttering torpor. Of 
 some, the death-bed was attended by beautiful visions. Some 
 floated away to the dark river to the sound of soft music.* 
 
 Like a wounded bird, that flies away, endeavouring to escape 
 from the agony which it bears within itself, the “ Viper” left Tri- 
 poli next day, and carried her agony into the loneliness of the 
 sea. All the night before they had heard from the shore the 
 howl of the jackal. As she moved away in the forenoon they saw 
 two dark specks approaching. The specks increased in size ; 
 they were vultures, lured from their distant homes in Lebanon, 
 by the unerring instinct which tells them where there is death. 
 At noon two sharks were seen sailing about four hundred yards 
 off, with their fins just above water. They had seen no sharks 
 before ! Yet, there they were, drawn from some secret haunt 
 by the promise of a feast. 
 
 Commander Tinsley assembled the officers in his cabin to deli- 
 berate, and to give his general instructions in the crisis. Every- 
 body was present. There was a solemnity about the commander’s 
 manner that contrasted strangely with his usual language and 
 appearance. But the elements of tragedy are simple enough. 
 Once bring in death, and your other dramatis personce soon suit 
 themselves to the play. When fair Ophelia’s body enters, the 
 gravedigger’s jesting is forgotten. Tinsley consulted Elibb and 
 Brunt. The surgeon was nervous, uncertain, embarrassed. Brunt 
 was cool and grand — confident and courageous ; for Brunt had a 
 theory, and very often a theory is as supporting as a religion. 
 Who does not remember the case of a naval surgeon serving on 
 the coast of Africa, who, convinced that the fever on board was 
 not contagious, held a wineglass to the lips of a wretch in his last 
 agony, received the black vomit in it — drank — and lived ! This 
 was never excelled by all the acts of all the martyrs. Honour to 
 a man who believes in a law of God, and with a firm faith goes 
 on never doubting ! 
 
 The officers were dismissed to their duties. Part of the ship 
 was turned into a kind of hospital. The clothes of every seaman 
 who died were burnt, together with his hammock. Several 
 things were done in the efficacy of which Brunt did not privately 
 believe, but it was necessary to keep up as well as possible the 
 courage of the crew. It was beautiful to see how, when the dis- 
 ease was at its worst, discipline maintained itself. There was 
 philosophy to be learnt by studying that. Even men, whom the 
 spectacle of death, coming apparently capriciously, and leaving 
 
 * Aubert, a French physician in Egypt, told Prince Puckler Muskau, “ that he 
 considered the death of a plague-patient one of the happiest.” (See the Prince’s 
 “ Egypt,” yol. i. p. 13.) 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 191 
 
 no one safe, impelled to a brutal levity of language and conduct 
 — who laughed at the destroyer — in whom a familiarity with 
 death had bred a terrible contempt of it ! — the worst of these 
 never broke through a regulation of the ship. They respected 
 law more than they feared the grave. 
 
 The brig was sailing under very easy sail in a light wind, near 
 the coast of Asia Minor. It was a beautiful morning ; and no 
 one who looked from a distance at the brig, and saw her white 
 sails tapering away to the sky, her beautiful hull bounded by the 
 brilliant line of copper ‘which joined the water in a golden kiss, 
 would have thought what havoc was going on within ! The mid- 
 shipmen’s mess were all sitting in side the berth, with the doors shut, 
 to hear a report of the state of the vessel, which Brunt used to 
 give them. One more morning, and here they all were, still 
 alive ! Singleton used to say that every such morning seemed in 
 itself a resurrection ! 
 
 They were all four sitting in silence. Brunt was looking over 
 the notes which he daily made : perhaps it is not too much to 
 say, that the calamity had lost half its horrors for him — it ac- 
 quired such an intense and beautifying light from Thought. 
 
 “ It is odd,” muttered Brunt, at last, turning over paper after 
 paper ; “ scarcely one case with symptoms of recovery ! But I 
 tell you what is odd : none of the officers have had it yet. How, 
 their number being in proportion to that of the whole crew in the 
 ratio of ” 
 
 “ Hush, doctor !” interrupted little Simms, turning pale and 
 glancing round, as if he thought Death was listening ; “ don’t 
 give us such calculations. I declare there is no hope anywhere.” 
 So saying, he pulled out a Bible, which his mother had given 
 him, and opening it in the Psalms, he read aloud, “ How excel- 
 lent is thy loving kindness, O God ! Therefore the children of 
 men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.”* 
 
 “ Disturb yourself as little as you can, my good boy,” said 
 Brunt kindly, moving to close the book gently, which Simms re- 
 sisted. “ Look at me : I am in the thick of it all day,” he 
 added. “ I move where fly thickest the arrows from the silver 
 bow. If I should get it, by the bye,” he added coolly, “ one of 
 you fellows send my notes to Dr. Forbes, for the ‘ Medical 
 Quarterly.’ If all get well, I will throw such light on the dis- 
 order as shall astonish the profession throughout Europe.” 
 
 And the doctor rose and walked forward to inspect his pa- 
 tients, cool, courageous, and indomitable, and moving through the 
 atmosphere of sickness like a refreshing and healthy breeze. His 
 poor superior, old Flibb, trifled and bungled about, picking up 
 
 * Psalm xxxvi. 7. 
 
192 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 hints from him, and then, with great pomposity, giving orders 
 for them to be acted upon. 
 
 J ust after Brunt left, Fontenoy heard a noise on deck ; and, 
 going up, found that a breeze had sprung up, and that the com- 
 mander was ordering sail to be put on the vessel. He soon found 
 that they were bearingup to close with a schooner, which had come 
 out from the land, and was running away to the south-west as 
 hard as she could go. All the canvass possible was put upon the 
 brig, but the schooner was a fast sailer, and held her own very 
 well. Singleton glanced at Tinsley, and saw at once that he had 
 been drinking : his face was inflamed, and his eyes bloodshot. 
 
 “ How then, the topgallant studding-sails ready for setting,” 
 he shouted. “ D — n the fellows ; by G- — d, the plague has made 
 them lazy !” 
 
 As he spoke, he swung his telescope in his hand : it struck 
 against a carronade, and the glass smashed. Tinsley looked at 
 it stupidly for a moment, and flung it out of a port overboard, 
 with an air of bravado. Then he hiccuped, and turned up his 
 bloodshot eyes, to see whether the topgallant studding-sails 
 were ready for setting. 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy, go up to the foretop, and see that studding- 
 sail ready, will you?” 
 
 Fontenoy ran up the rigging. As he gained the top, he found 
 two men getting it ready. Meanwhile, Tinsley called out again, 
 “ Foretop there, look smart, will you 1” 
 
 “ Look smart yourself, you said one of the men, sotto 
 
 voce . 
 
 “ Silence, Henderson,” said Singleton, quietly. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, sir,” answered the man, civilly, “ but 
 ain’t it provoking ?” 
 
 The sails were set. Presently the brig neared the schooner, 
 which, though an English vessel, might with propriety be called 
 the chase, for Tinsley was pursuing her as if she was an enemy, 
 and the schooner held on as if she was flying from a hostile 
 frigate. 
 
 When Singleton came down on deck again, he found that 
 Tinsley had gone below for a few minutes. Lieutenant Bobus and 
 Block the master were talking earnestly together. Singleton 
 could not help hearing them. 
 
 “Yes,” said Bobus, “the coast’s beginning to tell on him. 
 Hothing can stand against what he’s doing now.” 
 
 Block muttered something in reply, and then Bobus answered 
 again, and his concluding words were “death — vacancy!” 
 
 “Ho, ho, my old fellow,” thought Singleton, “that’s your 
 game, is it?” And he chuckled to think of the coolness with 
 which old Bobus could speculate on another man’s death, when 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 193 
 
 ^ first «■“ “ 
 
 be requited of iffi^ “ and tMs ni S bt bis soul ma y 
 
 “ Pt? solemn words sounded on Singleton’s ear like a knell 
 
 ™tt z a* «s 
 
 SsSETAi fia-fsSf “ “ 
 
 —Pot* a u d ? onten °y were walking about tbe deck silentlv 
 Fontenoy having now taken charge of the afternoon watclf 
 
 “»« « * J- .gam,i.h .TeSdt 
 
 ‘‘P r ^® re ’ s the schooner, Mr. Fontenoy.” 
 
 «* 44“.ss ttioS a taS;r mred ' “ a im, p' d »» 
 
 ‘7 they looked, the schooner at last hove to. She was one of 
 
 iid arPal gS r 10 e 0ner , S that come with fruit frorsmyrna 
 and are always fast sailers. There is a prize given I believe d 
 
 marW that reaches borne earliest, and in good time for the 
 TinsWiiT 1C1 0pC0urse stimulates them to “carry on” But 
 
 , JP? ] °J ered tbe stern-boat on board the “Viper ” and sent 
 
 it s imperatively necessary to the ship’s health ! ” 
 
 , . 1 , n V eto l 1 stared with astonishment. “ But sir we mnsf 
 ‘ U JD e (LP Ue ' flag ! Pi® cannot go on board that vessel ! ” 
 mander. ’ “ USt baTO SOme fruit ’” replied the com- 
 
 toSeSofPt 5° tbC p at ’.P ulled 0^ and laid on his oars 
 “ What do to S0h T s e ,r’ k « e P> a g a good distance. 
 
 looki^ ovePtht sidt ? ^ * gmff MW “ a black ba t, 
 
 1 VbefPwe wft Up in r the boat - “ 1 am from H.M.’s sloop 
 irLfsindetM dett° m ® fr , ult - we Y e . £ ot tbe plague on board,” 
 schooner, tS’wtSght n0t t0 injUre tbe P00jffell0 " s ^ tbe 
 
 nutfePnlrhanf aP ‘?BTrod and - ret P ned “ a minute ™th a 
 
 Ire at von » ” Af ^ Grod, sir, if yon come near us, I’ll 
 an forward to MePdtft™® “ t °, ment . some of the schooner’s men 
 tome, said Singleton, quietly, “I don’t meal to hurt you. 
 
194 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 Fling some fruit in to us, or by J ove, if you don’t, our captain 
 will give you some of our grape ! ” 
 
 “ Cool shavers, curse me,” said the gruff man, disappearing 
 again, and returning this time with a batch of melons. 
 
 “ Look out — catch ! ” he cried, flinging first three or four 
 round water-melons, then some of the long, yellow casalbar 
 species, at them. Some of them fell into the water, and were 
 promptly picked up. 
 
 “ Now go away, and God save you,” cried the old gruff man, 
 with a kind of rude pathos. The schooner then filled and stood 
 on, and — the temporary excitement of this incident over — 
 Singleton felt very melancholy as they drew near the brig again, 
 and saw her black hull lying on the water like a coffin, with the 
 clewed-up mainsail drooping like a white pall. The commander 
 eagerly seized the melons, and selecting one for himself, handed 
 over the rest to Brunt, to be used as he thought proper. The 
 schooner was soon out of sight, and the “ Viper” once more 
 alone. 
 
 Shortly after sunset that evening, a message came into the 
 midshipmen’s berth that the captain wanted Mr. Brunt. The 
 news was over the ship in an instant ; it was rumoured that the 
 captain was “ seized,” and two or three of the men whispered 
 that it was a punishment to him for saying that the plague had 
 made the crew lazy. 
 
 Welwyn and Singleton went upon deck soon after, and just as 
 they reached it, Welwyn pinched Singleton’s arm, and whispered, 
 “ Look there.” Looking aft, they saw old Bobus peering down 
 the cabin skylight into Tinsley’s cabin with eager curiosity. 
 “Mark the ghoul,” said Welwyn, in disgust. Bobus raised his 
 head, walked aft, and stretched out his arms violently, with the 
 air of one who is practising gymnastic exercises. “ How well I 
 know what he is thinking !” Welwyn continued. “ He is testing 
 his own health, and congratulating himself on it ! ” As they 
 stood watching the lieutenant, one of the seamen came rolling 
 by quite drunk, and singing. These were the words : — 
 
 Four jolly sailors, so stout and so strong. 
 
 They fisted up the corpse, and they carried it along ! 
 
 He gave a dull, glazed leer at them, and rolled away down the 
 hatchway, hiccuping out his ditty. They did not interfere with 
 him nor report him. Plague did. That same man died next 
 day, and went to answer for all his offences against Nature’s 
 articles of war elsewhere. 
 
 Another morning ! Once more the little band met in their 
 berth, sound and well. Still the plague was going on. Still 
 Brunt was active and hopeful ; and still the awful notes of 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, &.N. 
 
 195 
 
 ,yrst‘ a f<7 *• »>** 
 
 sz£!-*~ tou “ d-Si-ta-wfs.s.'r^; s 
 
 w ^° destr °y and cannot build!— 
 
 Littsr *> *• -Ai&SiS'sisaia 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 £5’ mater > 
 
 Et fleat effasiKseporlToS 8 * ° d ° re5 ’ 
 
 T, , , Tibullus, Lib. i. Eleg. 3 
 
 m n a3 Jj eath > abstain ; I have no mother here 
 To clasp my ashes to her saddened breast — * 
 
 No s ls ter to pour perfume on my bier ’ 
 
 And weep, dishevelled, at my place of rest. 
 
 IoTOdeclT l ^tailS&’‘ *•>• ‘t breakfast on tie 
 
 tween his legs. The plague had l l( -° COa and biscuit be- 
 
 in exact proportion to that dim' r' 1 rec ® n ^y diminishing, and 
 
 sumption of P ?Suids^ ij£j ^T’ .^. com r nder ’ s con- 
 
 more cheerful anrl TTiy^f t • \ The midshipmen s mess grew 
 
 pr.jeS’^CS'idS. StS “t ° ff <* 
 
 just yet. ei tJiat was perhaps premature 
 
 reSr»l™ntdd!«tSe tlle i ‘‘tM?* ° n * “»P *»1. 
 
 shall be recorded. ppened, which being characteristic, 
 
 natefellow— eXted^thJ^n’th ” ^ri™ 63 one st . olid u “ f ortu- 
 always in the bad graces of the «p S ° ^, louce j tei ' s bire— who was 
 punished by the firSiii Ser £ eant > “ d continually being 
 
 punished hint 
 
 O a 
 
196 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 punished him again for getting worse. He had accordingly be- 
 come by this time what is called “ incorrigible and we know 
 from all experience — schoolboy and other — that incorrigible 
 characters are always the most severely “ corrected ” by the 
 authorities. 
 
 This morning poor Tomkins had been suffering some sort of 
 punishment or other, and in the middle of breakfast-time (while 
 Tontenoy was sitting on the camp-stool, as above mentioned), he 
 came down the main -ladder. He joined his mess, and then with 
 a half-crying voice, he called out publicly, “ I can’t stand being 
 put-on like this. I’ll jump overboard.” 
 
 He sprang to his legs suddenly, and rushed to the fore- 
 ladder. 
 
 “ Leave me your traps, John,” called out one of the marines, 
 amidst a roar of laughter. Tomkins rushed up the ladder, and 
 in another instant a heavy splash resounded through the whole 
 ship. Without waiting for a summons, the whole crew started up 
 and sprang on deck after him. The brig was running free, with 
 studding-sails set on both sides ; the helm was put hard-a-star- 
 board ; “ snap, snap,” went the studding-sail booms, the life- 
 buoy was let go ; a boat was got out, and Tomkins was picked 
 up and brought on board, wet through, and miserably sheepish- 
 looking. Commander Tinsley received him at the gangway. Tom- 
 kins was brought before him, dripping like a huge bunch of 
 seaweed. 
 
 “ Well, I’m d — d,” said Tinsley; “ it’s like your impudence 
 to try and commit suicide on board my ship ! It’s — it’s ex- 
 tremely wicked — to rush into the presence of your Creator — 
 without leave from the commanding officer.” 
 
 “ I’m so put-on,” muttered Tomkins, with a look of dogged 
 misery. 
 
 “ Stop his grog,” said Tinsley to the sergeant, who was in 
 attendance. “ By G — , nobody on board here shall go to the 
 devil without my permission.” 
 
 Thereupon Tomkins was dismissed below, to tell his sorrows 
 “ to the marines,” as before. 
 
 This incident dramatically relieved the tragic existence of the 
 brig ; but the drama went on, in a short time, as tragically as 
 ever ; obedient to laws which it is impossible to trace, the pesti- 
 lence suddenly swelled again into an unexpected increase. What 
 a pity that the most serious scenes in life must be dashed by what 
 is ludicrous and what is mean — that, as a faithful painter, I must 
 state that Tinsley diminished his drinking, and Bobus resumed 
 his prayers ! 
 
 A few days afterwards, the brig being still at sea, a message 
 came from Bobus to the assistant-surgeon, saying that he wanted 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 197 
 
 to speak to him. “ What’s in the wind now ? ” muttered Brunt, 
 rising from the table, where he was occupied with his notes'. 
 Welwyn and Fontenoy were sitting silent, and looking at each 
 other ; Simms was asleep on the lockers ; Brunt bundled his 
 notes into a desk and ran on deck. 
 
 Fontenoy broke the silence : somehow or other silence seemed 
 favourable to the disease. 
 
 “Welwyn, you look calm. How is your pulse? Let us 
 compare notes.” 
 
 Ten times a day they went through the ceremony. Welwyn, 
 without speaking, now laid his fingers on his wrist. “ Stop,” 
 cried Fontenoy ; they announced the numbers. 
 
 “ Mine is slower than usual,” Fontenoy said, languidly. “ I 
 am weary ; the sight of the sun makes me sick here. What a 
 miserable existence — this lovely climate, and this dread disease ! 
 It is like a beauty with a sick breath. You don’t speak, Wel- 
 wyn,” he cried, peevishly. “ Speak.” 
 
 Welwyn continued silent, with his large, clear blue eyes fixed. 
 
 “ Welwyn,” resumed Fontenoy, “ say something.” 
 
 His friend looked up with his serene, smiling face, calm as 
 usual, “ What is there to say ? Fear nothing, man ; death itself 
 is only an idea, and as natural as light ; be calm, and care for 
 nothing.” 
 
 “ Pshaw !” cried Fontenoy, striking the table. “ Be human ; 
 don’t carry about a bag of metaphysical wind, or it will fail you 
 in your need.” 
 
 “ I am calm,” said Welwyn. 
 
 “ And I am — loved ! ” said Fontenoy, relapsing into melan- 
 choly, and throwing himself back. “ How can I be anything but 
 miserable here?” 
 
 They were silent again. At that moment Simms muttered 
 something in his sleep, and turned round restlessly ; his flaxen 
 curls hung across his brow, white as the wool of the parcse. 
 
 “ He would be happy if he could sleep for ever,” said Fonte- 
 noy, sighing. Here there was a noise on deck, a trampling of 
 feet, and a humming of talk. The two young men looked at 
 each other with that unquiet inquisitiveness of expression com- 
 mon to the sharers of a situation of peril. The white windsail, 
 drooping down the main-hatchway near the berth-door, fluttered 
 languidly. A whiff of wind, smelling like dead flowers, hovered 
 in the air. Again, young Simms turned restlessly, but he con- 
 tinued to sleep on. 
 
 “ What’s that noise, I wonder?” said Fontenoy. 
 
 Welwyn was going to make some observation, when their 
 messmate Brunt came running down the main-ladder to his dis- 
 pensary — a wretched little eabip, like a large gallipot, — dotted 
 
198 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 with, white bottles and jars, containing leeches too ill to bite, — 
 seized something, and hurried away again. Fontenoy and Wel- 
 wyn followed him and gained the deck. The brig was moving 
 lazily before the wind. The sea was white with light, and on the 
 horizon the distant mountains of Cyprus — which island was just 
 faintly visible — rose from the water, like a rich blue vapour. 
 
 Lieutenant Bobus was walking backwards and forwards on the 
 starboard side of the deck. His manner, his hauteur, the oflen- 
 siveness of his look cf superiority, all showed that something had 
 happened. He stopped every now and then, and — as they had 
 once seen him do before — peered anxiously down the cabin sky- 
 light. Welwyn and Fontenoy stopped at the gangway-ladder 
 and watched him. 
 
 “ What’s in the wind ?” whispered Fontenoy. 
 
 “ Death,” said Welwyn, laconically. 
 
 “ How do you mean ? ” 
 
 “Don’t you see? ” said Welwyn, with his grave Gribbonian 
 sneer, “Tinsley must be ill of the plague. Bobus wants to 
 command the brig — the Falstaff of Tragedy — the parvenu of 
 pestilence ! ” 
 
 They were silent. A boy who was a servant of the com- 
 mander’s came silently up the companion-ladder, and moved 
 away from the skylight of the cabin a flag that had been cast 
 over it. Fresh air and light went down to the dying man’s 
 abode. Tinsley was in the last stage of the disease. His deli- 
 rium was peopled with the base and brutal images that an ill- 
 spent life had stamped upon his brain, and his bad and foolish 
 thoughts and deeds came back like ghosts to him. The ship was 
 agitated at the news. Death seemed more terrible to the crew 
 now that it was seizing their commander ! 
 
 While Fontenoy and his messmate stood silently by the gang- 
 way, Brunt came up the companion-ladder. He was viewed by 
 the ship’s company as a superior being. The grave and acute 
 materialist seemed a symbol of human power in contrast with 
 the powers of nature. He had saved several of the attacked ; 
 his courage had animated all. His conduct, in a word, was an 
 exact illustration of that attributed to Cuvier, in the witty anec- 
 dote which represents him defying the devil to devour him, on 
 the ground that he was not of a carnivorous genus , as proved by 
 his horns and hoofs ! 
 
 Brunt went up to the first lieutenant, now, and touching his 
 cap, made a report. Fontenoy watched Bobus. His figure drew 
 up to its full length. 
 
 “Ho hope?” said Bobus, with his most commanding look. 
 
 “ It’s all hope with him,” whispered Fontenoy to Welwyn, in 
 a low voice. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 109 
 
 Brunt fixed his eye — it was a cold blue eye of the colour of 
 steel — on Bobus. “ He is dying, Mr. Bobus. Clot Bey could 
 not save him now ! ” 
 
 As Brunt mentioned the name of that great physician of the 
 East, he too drew himself up a little, but with very different 
 feelings. Bobus was silent. Suddenly he said, “ These sails are 
 very worn. We must shift sails.” 
 
 He was stepping forward to give an order, when Brunt inter- 
 rupted him. “ The noise would disturb my patient.” 
 
 Bobus hesitated. “ The sails ought to be shifted.” 
 
 “Iobject to the patient’s being disturbed,” said Brunt, decidedly. 
 
 “ You don’t command the brig, sir ! ” cried Bobus, angrily. 
 
 “No, sir — the Plague does just now,” replied the assistant- 
 surgeon with great composure, and helping himself to snuff. “ I 
 beg to represent to you as a medical officer of this ship, that 
 what you propose to do is an act of impropriety. As a gentle- 
 man ” 
 
 “ Stop, sir ! ” roared the first lieutenant. 
 
 But as he was about to break out in wrath, a dull, faint moan 
 was distinctly audible through the open skylight. At that sound 
 he paused. Brunt ran down the companion-ladder again. 
 There was a pause. Curiously enough — and the superstitious 
 nature of the sailors made the fact long remembered by them — 
 at that instant, one of the slight shocks of earthquake, common 
 in the Mediterranean, took place. The brig — which was sta- 
 tionary in a calm, with all her white sails spread — shook like a 
 water-lily. 
 
 The commander was dead ! 
 
 The novissima verba of all men, remarkable either for good or 
 ill, are worth recording. Tinsley’s latest words, before delirium 
 drowned his reason — his last utterance in this miraculous uni- 
 verse — expressed his regret that the admiral would get a death- 
 vacancy ! Sic transit gloria YKmundi , — so passeth the glory of 
 the impure ! 
 
 The sea received his ashes. With equal greediness of swallow, 
 Lieutenant Bobus assumed his command. Now comes another 
 act in this strange farce-tragedy. 
 
 Bobus turr^d the hands up, assembled officers and men on the 
 quarter-deck, and delivered an harangue. He ought to have 
 explained why he was so anxious to have shifted sails in the 
 hour of his late commander’s agony. Was it that he wished to 
 disturb those heavy-laden moments P I have heard of an officer 
 who did this — who exerted himself to accomplish this : such men 
 are the best arguments for future rewards and punishments, and 
 ought to be publicly preached upon (to use a most humorous 
 suggestion of Mr. Thackeray’s) as such ! 
 
200 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 “ I will turn over a new leaf in this ship,” said Bobus. “ The 
 plague has made you lazy. The service must be attended to — 
 and discipline carried out. My remarks apply equally to the 
 officers” — and here he turned round to Welwyn and Fontenoy. 
 The gaze of the assembled seamen followed his eye. Fontenoy 
 blushed with rage and contempt. He was of the sweetest good- 
 nature, but he was nervous and irritable. We are the slaves of 
 our temperaments — and our nerves work us, as strings do 
 puppets. His lips glowed with a white heat of anger. He would 
 have exploded in invective, but Welwyn — always calm — pressed 
 his arm violently. 
 
 44 Don’t look at me, sir,” cried the first lieutenant, who saw 
 Fontenoy ’s glance. 
 
 44 There is no temptation to do it,” said Singleton, with a very 
 decided sneer. 
 
 44 Mr. Fontenoy — go below under arrest!” said Bobus. The 
 ship’s company stared. Singleton touched his cap — bowed — 
 and descended accordingly. 
 
 44 Contempt of the commanding officer,” said Bobus, looking 
 round, 44 will be punished in every (^se ! ” 
 
 If Bobus had carried out that resolution, most people on board 
 must have been severely corrected ! 
 
 Fontenoy descended to the berth. He was sick and miserable. 
 He tried to read but could not. He was surprised to see that 
 Simms was still asleep there, and had not gone on deck when 
 the hands were turned up. So he thought it right to waken 
 him. He shook him gently. Simms woke up suddenly, 
 and then recovering himself, shook the sleep from him as 
 a bird shakes water from its wings. His face seemed somewhat 
 changed ; it had a pinched look, and was as pale as an unripe 
 peach. 
 
 44 Where have we been ?” he asked, abruptly. 
 
 44 Been ?” asked Singleton, in surprise. 
 
 44 1 thought we had been somewhere together,” said Simms. 
 44 1 must have been dreaming.” 
 
 Singleton smiled awkwardly. He was a little supersti- 
 tious, And to be superstitious in that accursed ship was to be 
 accursed. 
 
 Simms moved away the long, white hair from his bony temples. 
 He picked up the silk neck-handkerchief which had fallen off his 
 neck while he was lying down, and flung it carelessly round. It 
 got twisted in some way behind. He asked Singleton to tie it 
 for him. 
 
 Singleton jumped up to do it, stepped behind his friend, and 
 disengaged the flowing black silk. As he did so, he saw what 
 made sickness creep from his heart to his cheek. On the white 
 
201 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 neck were two blctcJc spots, like drops of stale gore — the*boils 
 that mark tlie pestilence. What blight is to the flower, or 
 poison to a well, were these spots to the dweller among the 
 plague- stricken. 
 
 Singleton swallowed his first emotions as one does a nauseous 
 drug, and stood silent and still. He mechanically went on 
 tying the handkerchief, but his fingers trembled. 
 
 “ What’s the matter, Fon ?” asked Simms. 
 
 His careless question — the soft boyish tones in which he 
 spoke, and which were asociated in Singleton’s mind with happy 
 days and gay hopes — made him completely lose his self-posses- 
 sion. He burst into tears, and his eyes were pained with their 
 hot stream. He threw himself on the cushioned lockers, and wept 
 aloud. 
 
 v “ Good God, Fontenoy !” cried Simms, in astonishment. 
 
 Brunt entered the berth as he did so. But, though the aspect 
 of Fontenoy was the most extraordinary, and apparently the 
 most alarming of the two. Brunt’s eyes rested on Simm’s face. 
 Fontenoy sat up, and contrived to convey by his eyes to the 
 assistant-surgeon something <*f what he dreaded. 
 
 “ You’re looking palish, my boy,” said Brunt, carelessly, to 
 Simms. “ What have you been eating P Here, let me tie that 
 handkerchief of yours for you.” 
 
 Simms — and it is strange how we are indifferent to imminent 
 danger which frightened us at a distance (as, for example, we 
 see people who know that five or six of their family have died of 
 consumption, obstinately indifferent to the fact of their spitting 
 blood, and so forth) — Simms smiled, and moved towards Brunt. 
 Brunt quietly tied the handkerchief. 
 
 “Poor Fon has been crying about something,” said Simms, 
 kindly, and smiling. They were the last words Singleton ever 
 heard him say. The pestilence had been working in his blood, 
 and soon giddiness and nausea came on, and his soul began to 
 choke in the ghastly vapours of deaths 
 
 The disease had now reached its crisis, and the period of the 
 year had come when, according to every calculation, it must cease. 
 Brunt was positive it could not last. He swore he would inocu- 
 late himself with it, and try the experiment. 
 
 The evening of the day after Simms was taken ill, another 
 piece of news thrilled the vessel. Fontenoy, who still remained 
 under arrest, was sent for on deck. He went up, and found 
 Welwyn in charge of the watch. 
 
 “You are released from arrest, Fontenoy,” he said. 
 
 “ How so?” 
 
 “ Bobus is dead !” was the reply. It was true ; Welwyn had 
 thus become commander of the vessel for the time. 
 
202 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 The greatness of the crisis made tlie two young men silent, 
 tlie brig had now been cruising for some time in the expectation 
 of falling in with the squadron, and receiving orders from the 
 admiral. To-night she was not far from [Rhodes, and they 
 could see the lights twinkling in the distance, in the city. 
 It was a warm summer evening, redolent of the South— an 
 evening when the air tastes like a celestial wine, and the clouds 
 seem violet and crimson — an evening for love and wonder, 
 luxury and wit. The moon seemed to glow with life, and the 
 whole heavens shone with light, as the desert with sand — a 
 Sahara of stars ! 
 
 And little Simms was dying on this evening — to mingle with 
 the elements in their happiest hour. Totally insensible to the 
 coming change, he was steeped in stupor, so that the 
 effect to Fontenoy, who went to see him, was (as he described 
 it to Welwyn) that of seeing a person murdered ! But happy they 
 who die insensible — and whose first emotion is the presence of 
 God! 
 
 “ You have seen him?” said Welwyn, lowering his voice. 
 
 “Yes,” answered Singleton, shor+ly. 
 
 “ This is an evening for philosophy,” said Welwyn, gazing 
 round. 
 
 “ But scarcely while our friend is dying, in the blossom 
 of life, below,” said Singleton, with reproach looking through his 
 tears. 
 
 “ You mistake me,” said Welwyn, gently. “ I mean no 
 neglect, God knows. But love and sorrow are part of my philo- 
 sophy. My regret is part of it.” 
 
 Welwyn looked so touched, that Singleton regretted his words. 
 He pressed his hand, and said, “ Oh, there are many reasons 
 why I should be the last to misrepresent or hurt you.” 
 
 Welwyn was utterly calm again, and made no reply. The 
 conversation then turned to the prospects of the vessel ; and 
 soon after, Brunt brought up the news that Simms had died. 
 They had a long lock of his light hair cut off, which Fontenoy sent 
 to his mother at Plymouth. She used to show it to her relations 
 and friends, poor old lady, and cry over it. She bought a por- 
 trait of the “ ‘Viper’ as she was leaving Plymouth,” painted in 
 the days when her son first joined the brig, and when his 
 appointment as clerk’s assistant was thought a wonderful piece 
 of good fortune. She often told the story of the great plague on 
 board her Majesty’s brig “ Viper,” and would remark that “ the 
 commander himself had not been spared;” and went on 
 — saying it was “ sinful to repine,” and — repining, as women 
 do. 
 
 Shortly after Simms was buried (they buried him at sea, and 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, F.N. 
 
 203 
 
 Eontenoy ran aloft to tlie main-top, and cried tliere during tlie 
 ceremony) the brig fell in with the squadron. They were 
 sprawling across the ocean like a shoal of whales. The “ Viper” 
 hoisted her yellow plague-flag — symbol of a supremacy not to be 
 attacked. It created an enormous sensation among the squadron. 
 An interchange of signals at great length took place between the 
 44 Viper” and the admiral’s ship. The news spread from one 
 vessel to another, and was received with a volley of “Good Geds ! ” 
 “ Doosed odds !” “ Shockings ! ” &c. &c., according to the tastes 
 of the various messes. 
 
 The “ Viper ” was ordered to proceed to Malta, to take up her 
 station, and go through her quarantine, at the Plague Hospital 
 in Quarantine Harbour. Welwyn was made acting lieutenant 
 in command. The easterly wind thundered in the rear of the 
 brig ; the plague abated. 
 
 In the happy season of the almond and the orange — when the 
 blood-orange gives its heart’s blood to moisten the sweet lips of 
 the South — the “ Viper ” arrived at Malta. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 Patria 6 mea ereatrix, patria 6 mea genetrix, 
 ***** 
 
 TJbinam aut quibus locis te positam, patria rear ? 
 
 Catullus. 
 
 Where dost thou lie, thou loved land, my country, oh, my country, where ? 
 
 Theodore Martin’s Trans. 
 
 The Quarantine* Harbour of Malta is a long creek, which runs 
 parallel with the Grand Harbour, and to the northward and 
 westward of it. The Plague Hospital is a respectable and com- 
 modious building on the right-hand side, in the interior. A 
 small churchyard lies behind ; a piece of ground some hundred 
 yards in length, and bounded at each end by high walls, 
 stretches in front down to the water’s edge. The centre of this 
 ground is occupied by a mass of damp sea-weed or sea-rushes, 
 tenanted by colonies of large rats. To hunt these rats by moon- 
 light was an exciting amusement for the 44 Viper’s” crew, who 
 enjoyed it as much as if they had been country gentlemen. The 
 “ Viper” anchored opposite the hospital. The ship was cleared 
 out, the tanks brought on shore, the hold whitewashed, and 
 every part fumigated. The high and airy rooms of the house 
 lodged the seamen healthily ; the plague ceased, and nothing 
 remained but to serve through the long quarantine with tolerable 
 patience. Welwyn, in his capacity of commander, had a room 
 
204 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 to himself. Brunt and Fontenoy messed together in a large 
 apartment on the ground-floor, where they placed a wooden 
 table on some casks. There was little or no duty to do ; and 
 the day was spent in reading, writing, firing with pistols, and 
 smoking cigars. Fontenoy used to saunter out at noon, lie on 
 the grass reading poetry, and watch the white gulls skimming 
 and dipping in the water of the harbour. One day some letters 
 from England were communicated to them by a quarantine officer 
 in his green boat and yellow uniform, with all the caution with 
 which bread is handed to a bear in his cage. 
 
 The letters being distributed, Singleton retired into a corner 
 to read one which had arrived for him. It was from his father ; 
 but, independent of the news it contained, it was so admirable a 
 specimen of sound sense and paternal advice, that, for the 
 benefit of all classes of readers, I think it right to insert it in 
 these memoirs. 
 
 “ Heatheeby, 8th Aug. 184—. 
 
 “ Dear Singleton, — 
 
 “ I have received your last letter, and am glad to find that 
 you are succeeding so well in your profession. To guard our 
 country is an honourable — the most honourable of offices. 
 Bemember your ancestor who fought at Acre, and your grand 
 uncle who distinguished himself at Minden. Bemember, also, 
 my dear boy, your second cousin in the Admiralty ; and that, if 
 you behave properly, you will certainly be promoted as soon as 
 you pass for your lieutenancy. We were all glad to hear of 
 your gallant conduct on the Syrian coast: there was a most 
 handsome allusion to it in one of the Huskdale papers, and I 
 sent the editor a haunch of venison. It is our duty to encourage 
 literature, and I shall make the servants subscribe to the man’s 
 journal. 
 
 [Here Singleton gave a hearty laugh. Brunt, who was 
 reading a letter from a creditor, looked up ruefully.] 
 
 “ You were slightfully wounded, too, it appears. Never mind 
 these casualties, which are common to all wars. Think what 
 the pride of the family would be, to see you stumping about, a 
 gallant officer with a wooden leg ! 
 
 “ By the bye, you have drawn one or two extra bills on the 
 agents. I hope you are not becoming extravagant. Money is 
 the root of all evil : have as little to do with it as you can. A 
 glass of wine a day is two dozen and a half bottles a year ! One 
 life lost at sixpenny pool a night makes a lake in a year ! I wish 
 I had never got into debt in my youth. If I had not hunted, 
 and played, and laid in bed late, at Oxford, I must infallibly 
 have taken a First. 
 
 “ What you say about your studies — the Ideal — Progression 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 205 
 
 by Antagonism — the Doctrine of the Mythns — Coleridge’s 
 ‘ Aids to Reflection ’ — Dr. Arnold on Church Reform, &c., I 
 consider mystical stuff. Who is Emerson? Is he any re- 
 lation to Wilson Croker ? Have you a good copy of Dibdin’s 
 songs ? 
 
 “ With regard to news, I know nothing very interesting. 
 Your aunt Marian has a bad cold, and your cousin Eleanor is 
 suffering from the influenza. One of the Singletons has married 
 a poor artist — a regular love-match — at Cheltenham. She wrote 
 me an affecting letter about it : I sent her my forgiveness. 
 
 “ Frederick Lepel has turned out a wonderful fellow, full of 
 sound practical sense. He will get into Parliament before long. 
 He has a project which I shall perhaps join. It will involve 
 some arrangements about my estate. But as you don’t under- 
 stand these business matters, I shall say no more about them. 
 Write soon. 
 
 “ Your affectionate Father, 
 
 “ John Singleton Eontenoy.” 
 
 “ Why, what’s the matter? ” called out Brunt, seeing Single- 
 ton rise and colour deeply as the letter dropped from his hands. 
 
 “ Nothing,” said Singleton, moving towards the door. 
 
 “ Bad news ? Have some pale ale.” 
 
 But Singleton had passed out of the door. It was a warm 
 autumn afternoon, and he went and threw himself on the long 
 grass near the house, whose white walls were glowing in the 
 sun. As he did so, a green-and-gold lizard blazing like a flame 
 darted into a hole in the stone. Singleton read the letter again, 
 crushed it in his hand, and began tearing up the grass, and 
 flinging it at the water. 
 
 He was in a mood of angry musing when he heard steps, and 
 Welwyn approached. Welwyn had a pair of pistols in his hand, 
 and was going to practise a little. With him this kind of 
 amusement was very rare, and Singleton felt surprised, and 
 looked so. 
 
 “ What, are you going to shoot?” he said. 
 
 “ Yes, I’ve just had a letter that has disturbed me. I want a 
 material distraction to save me from thought.” As he spoke, he 
 went and fixed a circular piece of lead to the wall with a nail, 
 and stepped back to twelve yards. 
 
 “ I have had just such a letter, too,” said Singleton. 
 
 “ From your father?” asked Welwyn, adjusting himself to 
 fire. 
 
 “ Yes ; what was yours ?” 
 
 Welwyn fired at the moment Singleton spoke. Under cover 
 of the fire, he suppressed his answer to the question. 
 
206 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 “ That’s a good shot, isn’t it ? See what a white speck it has 
 made close to the mark !” 
 
 Singleton bit his lips. 
 
 “You shoot ! Take the other pistol while I load this.” 
 
 “I’m not so good at this practice as you,” said Singleton, 
 meaningly. He raised the pistol hastily and fired wide. Wel- 
 wyn looked at him curiously, and then said, “ By the bye, will you 
 come and dine with me to-day, upstairs ?” 
 
 “ Certainly, with pleasure.” 
 
 “We will have some conversation. Do you care about firing 
 any more P” 
 
 There was something in Welwyn’s tone which made Singleton 
 look at him to see whether he meant anything besides the 
 thing expressed. Welwyn turned his head away and looked out 
 on the harbour. Involuntarily Singleton’s gaze followed ; he 
 saw a boat glide out from the opposite side and push towards 
 the shore, obviously intending to land outside the wall. In the 
 wall there was a door through which communications were held 
 between the people in quarantine and the world without. As 
 the boat neared, Singleton saw some female figures in it. He 
 felt a slight smile playing on his lips at the thought of the 
 Transcendental Philosopher’s having such visitors ; for, from 
 Welwyn’s anxious look, it was evident that visitors they were. 
 The pistol shots, had they been signals ? 
 
 “ I don’t care about firing any more,” said Singleton. “ You’re 
 a very good shot, Welwyn ! Aw revoir /” 
 
 Singleton turned towards the house, and Welwyn moved 
 towards the wall. 
 
 “ Becovered, eh?” asked Brunt, as Singleton strolled in, and 
 found the medico preparing his work on the Plague, and smoking 
 a cigar. 
 
 “ Yes,” answered Singleton, carelessly. “ We recover easily 
 when we are young. Wound the young tree, and it grows again ; 
 cut the old one, and it’s only fit for firewood.” 
 
 “ Sententious and sentimental.” 
 
 “ Where’s our young commander, the youth who exhausts the 
 4 Viper,’ and then pants for new vessels to command, like an 
 Alexander?” 
 
 44 Don’t know,” answered Brunt. 
 
 44 Would you like to see him? Alexander seeks his Thais! 
 ‘Every soul is a celestial Venus to every other soul.’ He’s 
 illustrating his philosophy.” 
 
 He pulled Brunt to one side of the large window, and they 
 saw in the distance Welwyn carrying on a conversation at the 
 door above mentioned. A female form was faintly visible. 
 
 44 Boy,” cried Singleton to the mess-servant, 44 bring me a spy- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 207 
 
 glass. By Jove, I’ll inspect her, as an astronomer does Venus ! 
 What a pretty girl ! 
 
 * Serene, with, argent-lidded eyes,* 
 
 as Tennyson hath it.” Here he laid down the glass. “ Whew !” 
 
 “ What’s the matter ?” said Brunt. 
 
 “ Why — it’s odd — it seems like a face I know ! ” 
 
 “ Indeed,” said Brunt, with a quiet sneer. “ You’ve been in 
 Malta before, I suppose ?” 
 
 Singleton sat meditating a little, till he found Welwyn’s hand 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 “ Are you ready for dinner ?” 
 
 He looked up and blushed, as he thought of what he had been 
 doing just before. 
 
 “ Yes : I am.” 
 
 They went upstairs together to Welwyn’s rooms. The dinner 
 passed off almost in absolute silence, and Singleton, looking up 
 once or twice, saw his friend turn away his gaze, and look out at 
 the window. It is difficult to preserve our calmness when the 
 heart is full, as it is difficult to carry, without spilling a full 
 cup. 
 
 At last, dinner was over. Welwyn proposed that they should 
 draw to the window. 
 
 “ I never drink wine — or very seldom — as you know,” he said, 
 “ but here’s some claret. Light a pipe. Here is some Latakia 
 —that rose of weeds — and let us spend our few remaining hours 
 in friendly talk.” 
 
 “ Few remaining hours !” said Fontenoy, surprised. 
 
 “ Yes, mifrater,— we get pratique to-morrow. I take the brig 
 home as acting lieutenant in command, to pay her off. You are 
 to be discharged to the ordinary-ship in Dockyard Creek, to wait 
 for the ‘ Patagonian.* ” 
 
 “ By Jove !” 
 
 “Yes. And I — I return to my twopenny Lar, and my wooden 
 Penates in England!” 
 
 Fontenoy remained silent, and poured out a glass of wine. It 
 was of a rare vintage, and it glowed through his veins like the 
 stolen fire through Prometheus’ man of clay. The sunset light 
 flowing in at the window gave new lustre to the lustre of the 
 wine, and fresh ripeness to the ripeness of the fruit. The water 
 of the harbour below throbbed with the pulses of the tide, and 
 trembled and thrilled with the kisses of the sun. 
 
 “ So, we are going to separate,” said Singleton, scarcely know- 
 ing what to say. He was anxiously thinking how he could best 
 invite W elwyn to that perfect confidence which he was eager to 
 interchange. 
 
208 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 “ Even so. Tlie chief good of friendship is not the friend you 
 feel it for, but the Possible of Love in which it induces you to 
 believe.” And here Welwyn puffed out a volume of smoke, and 
 looked transcendental. 
 
 “ Your philosophy is a little stern,” said Eontenoy. “ I love 
 persons, and not ideas. The early Christians, who were martyrs, 
 died for love of Jesus, and not for love of his whole plan of 
 doctrine. As I once said to you before — be human.” 
 
 “ Friends,” said Welwyn, “are like bottles picked up at sea, 
 which tell you of ships far off with cargoes and passengers. 
 They are divine symbols.” 
 
 “ Not a bad illustration ; but come, Welwyn, tell me your 
 plan of life. For my part, I live, morally, from hand to mouth 
 — one set of ideas to-day, another to-morrow. Do you know, 
 when we were in the Levant — I don’t wish to speak irreverently 
 — but I used to change my religion every morning watch! 
 When in the morning I saw old Mount Athos close to us, with 
 his summit white with wet mist, I thought of the solitude of 
 his monasteries, and sighed for their peace ! When, sailing 
 eastward, I heard the waves lashing the shores of Troy, I was a 
 hero-worshipper. I fall into a vague attachment for every girl 
 I see, and look for a Damon in every man I meet. Every fresh 
 book that I come across sways me from my old bearings. But 
 you — you seem to enjoy the repose of an epicurean god ! 
 JSTothing appears to move you. You seem to regale yourself 
 with the vague philosophy you draw from poetry and pleasure — 
 as tranquilly as you inhale smoke through that amber mouth- 
 piece.” 
 
 Singleton leaned back exhausted, and refreshed himself with 
 wine. 
 
 “Well,” said his friend, “your condition is natural. It is, at 
 all events, better than that miserable stagnation of soul which 
 characterises so many people now-a-days, when mankind seem 
 to have lost their individuality, and can only be counted in lumps, 
 like hay or cotton. The first thing necessary to a man is, self- 
 reliance ; the second, self-reliance ; the third, self-reliance. 
 Your restlessness is healthy : it is like the movements of a 
 child, who, while tumbling everything about near him, is learn- 
 ing from them the laws of the senses. Accept your emotions. 
 Love what comes spontaneously. As Emerson says — e Plant 
 yourself on your instincts.’ In one word, my dear Fontenoy, 
 make your impulses your principles, and be what the world calls 
 irregular, on system . This will forward your education ; but 
 always remember, further, what the sarde teacher has said, that 
 { nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles.’ ” 
 
 He paused, and they both gazed out upon the waters once 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 209 
 
 more. The sunlight was dying awky, and it seemed as though 
 the soul were departing from the wind. The waters lay so still, 
 that the brig seemed to grow in them like a tree from smooth 
 sward. Shadow after shadow glided over the hushed wave like 
 spies — glided and stole away, and died. 
 
 “ Who was it that said he had often fancied he could hear the 
 darkness coming?” asked Singleton. 
 
 “An American poet — Edgar A. Poe # — a man of a fine but sombre 
 genius ; a genius, — like the eyes of your Adela Mavrosceni, at 
 Enupnion — at once dark and luminous.” 
 
 “Ah, poor Adela!” said Eontenoy. “I had forgotten I was 
 in love with her.” 
 
 “ For shame, Eontenoy !” said Welwyn, sharply. 
 
 Eontenoy was abashed. “ Open the window,” he said. 
 
 The fresh twilight cooled his blood, which beat in his temples 
 like the fingers of a fairy. They went out on the balcony in 
 front, and bathed in the odorous air. Lights began to gleam 
 here and there in the town across the harbour, as if fireflies 
 were gradually settling on the walls. 
 
 “ ’Tis our last evening together, Welwyn,” said Singleton. 
 
 As he spoke, bell after bell began to toll in that island of many 
 churches. The sweet sounds shook the air, like the firing of 
 silver cannon, or the shivering, tinkling bells of innumerable 
 sheep. 
 
 It was the hour of vespers. The sound awoke the nightin- 
 gales, and they began to offer tlieir prayer, in song : the song 
 shook the orange-trees, and they offered their prayer, in per- 
 fume. Perhaps these were not less holy than the formal invoca- 
 tions of the city. The divinest of all prayer — come whence it 
 may — is the prayer which is unconscious. 
 
 Darkness now began to drop like dew over everything. The 
 brig seemed sailing out of sight in it. The air grew chill ; they 
 drew down the window, and lights were brought. The lamp- 
 light painted itself on the dark background of the window-panes, 
 like gold. 
 
 “Welwyn,” said Singleton, rising and beginning to pace the 
 room— (’tis a custom that adheres to nautical men for life) — 
 “ to-morrow, we separate ; to-night, I would invite your confi- 
 dence. I am not alogether the reckless being that this kind of 
 career would make of me. I have long wished ” 
 
 “ My dear Singleton,” interrupted Welwyn, “ I guess what 
 you would say. I will tell you a story ; the vesper-bells have 
 reminded me of it.” 
 
 * Since the above was written I have published an edition of Poe’s Poems. 
 [ 1853 .] 
 
 P 
 
210 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 He blew from bis little volcano of a meerschaum-bowl a cloud 
 of Vesuvian smoke and began. 
 
 “ Many years ago there was a family settled in this island, who 
 came here from Italy, having been originally Norman. They 
 were poor and proud — proud of their birth, as only those can be 
 who have known what it is to lose their proper position from 
 loss of fortune. There was one daughter, and she was destined 
 to be made a nun. It was not that the family had ever been 
 very zealous devotees ; but the father knew his daughter 
 could not expect now to make a becoming match. So he 
 resolved to marry her — as the phrase is — to Heaven; at all 
 
 events, as he thought, a suitable bridegroom for one of the A 
 
 family ! 
 
 “ The daughter was young and pretty. And a young and 
 pretty nun — what is she but a flower worked in black crape ? — a 
 silver crest on a funeral pall P 
 
 “Well ; she was entered in the convent as a novice. The 
 nuns were mostly old women ; garrulous, pale, wrinkled and 
 extremely fond of bonbons. Where she slept there was a 
 hideous crucifix, — the size of life, or rather of death, — at her 
 bedside ; without any pretensions to merit, as a work of art, 
 this image had a certain hideousness of fidelity which made it 
 expressive : it seemed terribly alive. It was Jesus, — not the 
 sweet mild figure that we see on the canvass of Trancia, — but 
 Jesus cruelly murdered, and as he presented himself to the fero- 
 cious rabble that shouted at his crucifixion ! This image was 
 not there when she composed herself to sleep the first night ; it 
 was only on waking restlessly, before daylight, that by the rays 
 of the moon she saw it for the first time ! But what had been 
 intended to terrify, only disgusted this girl, who had a fine ima- 
 gination: she took an invincible dislike to this establishment. 
 Taney living with these black old nuns ; with their chatter, their 
 bigotry, and ignorance, and superstition ; their bad teeth, and 
 their eternal bonbons. What a life for a girl, intended by 
 nature to gather strawberries and nurse children ! It is a most 
 disgusting system, this, of plucking pretty flowers and pounding 
 them into medicinal drugs !” 
 
 “ Hear, hear,” cried Singleton. Welwyn looked grave, and 
 resumed. 
 
 “ Time passed on, and nearer and nearer grew the day when 
 the novice was to take the vows ; it seems a bad compliment to 
 offer Heaven a broken heart ; but in the present wreck of creeds 
 it seems that it is quite common ! Meanwhile, the poor girl fell 
 in love. It was with a young Englishman ” 
 
 Singleton stopped in his walk, and laying his hand on the 
 lamp, looked with an earnest and troubled glance at the narrator. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, It.N. 211 
 
 “ Eh bienV* said Welwyn, with a restless kind of smile j 
 “take some wine.” 
 
 “ Go on,” said Fontenoy, impatiently. 
 
 “ She met him, I believe, first in church. He had gone to 
 
 St. ’s, as Englishmen do, to stand up, while the people are 
 
 kneeling in crowds ; to gaze at the ceremonies as a show ; to 
 come away, thanking Providence that they are ‘ reformed and 
 to go off and play billiards : but their glances met ; she loved, 
 — he fancied ; he found out who and what she was. Some time 
 afterwards there was a grand procession, in which the girl ” 
 
 “ What was her Christian name P” asked Fontenoy. 
 
 “ I forget. The girl, I say, was to represent an angel. Ah, 
 she could do it well ! The procession moved on ; the English- 
 man stood by ; he slipped into her hand a note ; she thrust it 
 into her beating bosom.- — But I must be short. The commu- 
 nication went on : she eloped with him, and they were married. 
 But, I believe, — that is, I fear, — she had taken her vows before, 
 and that she broke them ; and woe and sorrow came upon her 
 family, and shame mixed like poison with their food and cup.” 
 Welwyn’s voice faltered, and his face received a transient red. 
 
 “ She went to England with her husband. I believe she was 
 disappointed in him, to whom she had given everything ; he had 
 little to give in return ; and remorse took possession of her mind, 
 and her imagination took a sombre hue, and — well — you know 
 the end of all these histories : peace to her early grave ! — But, 
 Fontenoy, be calm, for God’s sake !” Welwyn started up, and 
 took hold of his friend’s hands. “ Pshaw, man — tears !” 
 
 Fontenoy sat down in a chair, and threw himself back. 
 
 “ Welwyn,” he said, solemnly ; “ you know that it was my 
 mother of whom you speak !” 
 
 “ And I, too, have her blood,” said Welwyn, pressing together 
 firmly his white lips, and speaking in a low voice. 
 
 Singleton shook his hand, and his eyes floated in tears. Just 
 then they heard a noise, and both jumped up, and ran to the 
 window. 
 
 “ What is that ?” 
 
 “ Hush ! The plash of oars,” said Welwyn. Once more the 
 fresh night air rushed into the room ; the lamp flickered rest- 
 lessly in its globe, as though the flames were struggling to fly ; 
 some shreds of torn paper on the table flew upwards, and drop- 
 ped down in the room, like a shower of blossoms. 
 
 They looked out on the water ; the night was dark, but the 
 sharp phosphoric gleam, the lightning of the sea, which broke, 
 showed the motion of oars. “ Who’s there ?” shouted the sentry 
 at the door below. 
 
 All right, sentry,” cried Welwyn, from the window, Wait 
 
 p 2 
 
212 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 here, Fontenoy, while I run down.” Welwyn disappeared. 
 Singleton heard a noise of voices below. Here, a sudden im- 
 pulse prompted him to bury his face in his hands, and reflect on 
 the history which he had just heard ; the strange relation stirred 
 his imagination, while it touched his heart, — it opened a romance 
 before him. He thought with intensity of his past life ; he 
 brought his mother’s image before his eyes ; he weaned himself 
 from surrounding objects, and became lost in meditation. The 
 door opened — heavens ! — was that her ghost ? There entered 
 into the room a young girl, who at once recalled to his eyes 
 the portrait he beheld with emotion in Heatherby so long 
 before. 
 
 Her eyes were of the same deep blue — those rich violet eyes 
 in which the hue is beauty, and the light is thought ; her hair 
 dark and glossy ; her features pale, w ith a tinge of melancholy 
 alternating with tints of soft rose-colour. Her mouth was 
 always speaking in emotion, even when she was silent. Its soft 
 lines seemed to think, and Fontenoy fancied that they expressed 
 pain. But how entrancing was the charm of the whole face ! 
 How beautiful the motions of her slight and graceful figure ! 
 
 Fontenoy rose up, dazzled and disturbed — entranced in a 
 sweet terror at the supernatural beauty. As she met his eyes, a 
 slight emotion passed over her face. Welwyn entered. 
 
 “ My sister, Mr. Fontenoy.” Then, anxious to relieve the 
 agitation of the scene, he began moving about the room, busying 
 himself in arranging small trifles, shutting down the window, 
 and so on. 
 
 “As we get pratique to-morrow,” he said, smiling, “ and as I 
 shall sail soon, I thought I would ask Ivy to dwell in my palace 
 here, to-night. I have prepared a state apartment for her. 
 We meet so seldom, eh, Ivy?” 
 
 Ivy smiled, but sadly. Singleton gazed upon her face, and 
 wondered what the sorrow was that tinged it. But he was so 
 much agitated by the events of the night, that he was incapable 
 of uttering even the merest commonplace. For the life of him, 
 he could never acquire that art, so many people have, of uttering 
 pettinesses when heart and soul require something elevating and 
 touching. 
 
 Welwyn seemed to make an effort to start a subject of con- 
 versation, but there was an obvious constraint on the part of all 
 — a constraint that appeared as if it could melt only into deep and 
 agitating emotion. So Fontenoy judged it best to retire for the 
 night, and did so, soon after. 
 
 Next day, the “ Viper’s ” crew went on board the brig. She 
 spread her sails to the wind, and passed round into the Grand 
 Harbour. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 213 
 
 fr " It turned out as Welwyn had said. The brig was ordered to 
 England to be paid off. Fontenoy was discharged to the 
 “Kabob,”an ordinary-ship lying in Dockyard Creek, to wait 
 for the “Patagonian.” That afternoon, he had his chest taken 
 on board. The morning afterwards, he came on deck, early. 
 The “ Vijper ” had sailed. 
 
 “ Gone !” exclaimed Singleton to himself, as he walked about 
 the poop. [“Gone! And I did not bid Welwyn good-bye! 
 Mystery on mystery.” 
 
 While he was thus soliloquising, one of the gaudy shore-boats 
 of the island came alongside. A note was handed to him. It 
 was as follows : — 
 
 “ ‘ Viper/ Sunrise . 
 
 “ Good-bye, and God bless you — you whose friendship I love, 
 and whose blood I share. We shall meet again. Pardon me, 
 that I don’t leave you Ivy’s address. In the existing state of 
 things, the most dangerous of all possessions is a heart. Fare- 
 well. 
 
 “Alfked Welwyn.” 
 
 “Ivy’s address!” soliloquised Fontenoy. “Her address is 
 — my heart ! ” 
 
 CKAPTEE VII. 
 
 Where the tall spreading pine, 
 
 And white-leaved poplar grow, 
 
 And mingling their broad boughs in leafy twine, 
 
 A grateful shadow throw . . . 
 ***** 
 
 There wine, there perfumes bring. 
 
 Bring garlands of the rose. 
 
 Horace to Dellitjs. 
 
 (Bon Gaultier’s Translation.) 
 
 The “ ICabob,” in which my hero now found himself, waiting 
 the arrival of the “ Patagonian ” (which, not being commanded 
 by a man of influence, was employed on disagreeable duty at a 
 distant part of the station), bore the flag of Sir John Lumper, 
 K.B. The lieutenant who commanded her was young Lumper, 
 that officer’s son. Sir John lived on shore, and superintended 
 the dockyard ; young Lumper came on board when there was 
 anybody to be punished ; the “ Kabob,” meanwhile, was vir- 
 tually governed by the gunner, Mr. Bounce, who had the father’s 
 ignorance without his rank, and the son’s insolence without his 
 whiskers. Mr. Bounce set an example of drunkenness to the 
 
£14 SINGLETON FONTENOT, B.tf. 
 
 crew, and reported those who followed it to Lieutenant Lumper ; 
 Lieutenant Lumper punished everybody but the proper person, 
 and his father the admiral always applauded the man who was 
 in the wrong. The “ Kabob ” was thus a well-regulated vessel, 
 and a credit to her Majesty’s service. 
 
 Singleton was the only officer on board ; he had all the ward- 
 room to himself ; he led a very monotonous life. In the morn- 
 ing he emerged from his cabin, and breakfasted on an omelette 
 and some grapes ; he read and scribbled till dinner, or sipped 
 wine-and-water and smoked cheroots ; he dined in solitary 
 splendour and went on shore. There he rode out to Slima or 
 somewhere ; back, and to the Opera ; on board and to bed ! 
 This was dull enough. It requires a very strong constitution to 
 stand idleness : Singleton began to get hipped ; he caught him- 
 self yawning at noon. To be sure, Mr. Bounce, with a conde- 
 scension seldom found in great men, kindly intimated to him that 
 he would be happy to come in and take a glass of “ summat ” 
 with him in the evening. The message found Singleton reading 
 “ Horace Walpole it amused him more than even the metho- 
 dical sprightliness of that brilliant old fribble. He sent Mr. 
 Bounce a bottle of rum, with his compliments, and declined the 
 interview. Mr. Bounce pronounced him a “ /aristocrat,” and 
 drank the rum. 
 
 Singleton was at a dangerous period of life ; he was young and 
 handsome, and had money, and had talents, and, I am bound to 
 add, was vain. The affection he had for Lalage had been 
 eclipsed by Ivy, — Ivy was lost to him ; Welwyn was away. He 
 was solitary, and I am afraid solitude is dangerous. Our egotism 
 develops. There is many a fault “born to blush unseen,” and 
 grow in the desert of an unoccupied heart. 
 
 At a certain period in the lives of all of us — all who live , that 
 is — the intellect acquires an undue supremacy ; it outgrows the 
 heart and overshadows the conscience. We honour talent above 
 everything ; closely associated with this comes the tendency to 
 materialism ; the union almost always leads to profligacy. We 
 are fond of argument, and we affect epigram ; we learn Pope by 
 heart, and repeat Talleyrand’s mots ; we grow sarcastic, and 
 study Eochefoucauld. Unless some kind, strong influence comes 
 in, we grow vicious ; unless we have great talents, we become 
 bores. 
 
 There is nothing in our modern civilization that differs so 
 much from that of the ancients as our materialism. Theirs was 
 brilliant and attractive, ours is gloomy and utilitarian. Com- 
 pare Horace and Tibullus with the tone of the sceptics of to-day. 
 They make life a short and fugitive, but a gay and sparkling 
 scene. Our epicureans are coarse and selfish. Instead of sym- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 215 
 
 posia and the funeral-pile extinguished with wine, we have heavy 
 dinners and cheap funerals. This, however, is a favourable 
 symptom. Now-a-days the best poetry and philosophy — even 
 the best wit and humour— are on the side of faith and reverence. 
 
 But we must all go through the various gradations of feeling. 
 Singleton was now, from position and other causes, under the 
 materialist influence. It is a sad time for a man when he is 
 ashamed of his poetic impulses, and does not care to show his 
 love for another. But Singleton’s materialism was of the antique 
 character. He thought that the hours were to be pelted with 
 roses as they flew. He revelled in the gay poetry of him whose 
 verses I have prefixed to this chapter. He was for making life 
 joyous. Well, it was better than the other class of materialism. If 
 man is a worm, let him be a silkworm ! 
 
 He had been reading one morning, about a week after his join- 
 ing the “ Kabob he felt tired, and determined to go on shore. 
 On going to his chest to get out some things for dressing, his 
 eye lighted on a bundle of papers, which had long been over- 
 looked. He opened them. “ By Jove ! Letters of introduc- 
 tion ! ” He could not imagine how they had so long escaped his 
 notice. He pulled them out and scattered them on the ward- 
 room table. While he was surveying them, Pug Welby walked 
 in. Pug had been invalided from Marmorice Bay, and sent to 
 Malta Hospital. He had recovered there with marvellous 
 rapidity, and was now living on shore. Pontenoy had made his 
 acquaintance at that cafe in Strada Teatro which is known as 
 BAcardo’s ; for Fontenoy, in his present worship-of-talent phase, 
 patronized that particular cafe out of respect to the political 
 economist. His intimacy with Pug Welby, at present, was one 
 of the most notable symptoms of his state of mind. Pug was a 
 little, dapper, neat, vain, lively person, knowing everybody, 
 caring for nobody — indifferent to mankind, and loving oysters — 
 addicted to play, fond of beccaficos, critical in gloves and wine, 
 with a taste equally ready to decide on perfumes or pictures, 
 dressed admirably, and with a tendency to be accomplished. The 
 last phrase describes him best. An anecdote of him charac- 
 terizes him to a T. He had quarrelled with his father, and had 
 not seen him for years. A friend of the family met him in the 
 street, and mentioned that he had encountered his father not 
 long before. 
 
 “ God bless me !” said Pug, with exquisite surprise ; “is that 
 old gentleman alive yet? ” 
 
 He now stood watching Fontenoy without speaking. Fontenoy 
 looked up. “ Bless me, Pug, how you startle me !” 
 
 Pug gave him a plump finger to shake. “ How do? What 
 have you got there ? Bills ? ” 
 
216 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 “ Letters of introduction.” 
 
 “ Oli, they’re no good. You present them, get asked to 
 dinner, get bad wine, and no claret. They’ll be ‘ happy to see 
 you when you call ’ — bow to you in Elorian gardens — * sorry to 
 say box at the Opera always full ’ — name down in visiting-book, 
 &c. Ha, ha ! ” Here Pug sneered, “ People have visiting- 
 books, sir, in this island, whose proper libro d’oro is the 
 ledger.” 
 
 “ I like you, Pug — you like nobody,” said Singleton. 
 
 “ There’s no humbug about us ,” said Pug. “ But come, let’s 
 see who they’re to.” 
 
 Singleton opened one. “ Brasely Branton, Esq., Strada 
 St. Coquino — from his uncle. ‘ Show any kindness in 
 power, &c.’ ” 
 
 “ Branton ! Oh, I know. A merchant. He has younger 
 sons consigned to him from England, and makes a commission on 
 them by introducing them to the governor. Keeps a list of his 
 acquaintances, with their incomes opposite. Well, go. He 
 gives good dinners, and you’ll see people there. Hot that there’s 
 anybody much worth seeing,” yawned Pug. 
 
 “ Ferdinand Blugg,” said Singleton, pitching another letter 
 across the table. 
 
 “ Banker, with family by an Italian lady — two daughters, with 
 three eyes between them. Has oriental travellers there con- 
 stantly — fellows who are profound about the spelling of ‘ nargilly,’ 
 and talk about ‘him who sleeps at Philse,’ over the soup.” 
 
 Half a dozen other letters were disposed of. Pug spitted 
 people, like larks, in a row. Poor Singleton ; this was a change 
 from Welwyn’s conversation ! * 
 
 “ Well, dress !” said Pug. Singleton dressed, and they set 
 off together. 
 
 “ Come along,” said Singleton. 
 
 The curly -headed boatman, in blue shirt, white trousers, and 
 red sash, pulled away, and they landed at Valetta. The air there 
 was fragrant with that oily, fishy fragrance peculiar to the land- 
 ing-place. A heat weighed like a load over the town. A group 
 of merry beggars ran up, with their eternal nix mangiare , to beg. 
 Singleton and Pug hurried away, and bounded along the stairs 
 of Strada San Giovanni, till they gained the Strada Beale. It 
 was warm with many-coloured life. Officers sauntered ; soldiers 
 marched ; the Maltese squabbled. Priests walked gravely along, 
 pale-faced, with eyes downcast. Women with the black mantilla 
 arching over their heads, and flowing in Stygian waves behind, 
 glided by. Once or twice one of them raised it as she passed 
 Singleton, and her dark eye gleamed from underneath, like light 
 through trees. ^Singleton turned to look as they passed away, 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 217 
 
 and Png quizzed him about it. Singleton laughed. They passed 
 on in great good spirits. 
 
 “Now,” said Pug, “what’s the order of the day?” 
 
 “ Oh, I don’t know. Suppose I leave my card with some of 
 the introductions ?” 
 
 “ Very well. Let us look in at Muir’s shop, and hear the 
 news.” 
 
 Mr. Muir has a circulating library in Strada Beale, where you 
 go to pass through an hour among books, papers, and magazines, 
 with the semblance of intellectuality. Old gentlemen read the 
 papers, and young ladies dip into Bousseau’s “ Confessions,” and 
 inquire the price of it. Young ladies, it is a work which will cost 
 you a great deal ! 
 
 They entered. The latest magazines and novels, the newest 
 paper and paper-cutters, strewed the table. The proprietor 
 pointed out the most recent publications with brief, judicious, 
 critical remarks. I have observed that all keepers of circulating- 
 libraries become critics by virtue of their office. The, other day 
 I heard one observe that the Chevalier Bunsen was “ a clever 
 man — but heavy, sir — heavy !” Our light literature is certainly 
 influencing the age ! 
 
 Singleton turned over a magazine, and dipped into “ Punch.” 
 Pug took up the “ Malta Mail.” While they were thus occu- 
 pied, a party rustled into the shop. Pug turned round, — “ How 
 do you do, Mr. Branton ? Let me present you to Mr. Pontenoy. 
 How odd ! He was just going to call on you, and leave a letter 
 of introduction !” 
 
 “ Glad to make Mr. Pontenoy’s acquaintance,” said Mr. 
 Branton, bowing. He was a tall, stout man, with an uneasy 
 look of dignity, which seemed to sit on him like an awkward 
 shirt-collar. He pulled out his watch, and said, “ Will you come 
 and dine with us P” 
 
 “ We shall be most happy,” said Pug, accepting for both, with 
 his usual coolness. Pontenoy bowed. They walked out, and 
 Mr. Branton having said “ six o’clock,” bid them good-bye, and 
 strolled into the club, in the square. 
 
 “ Do you know the Italian game at billiards ?” asked Pug. 
 
 “ Ho.” 
 
 “ The Spanish, or the Bussian ?” 
 
 “ Neither, ” replied Singleton. 
 
 “ My poor boy !” said Pug. “ Come, and let me teach you. 
 W e English are too isolated ; we are insular, and neglect the 
 amusements of the continent. That is the cause of national 
 wars, depend on it.” 
 
 They sauntered off to a billiard-room. Pug explained the rudi- 
 ments of the games in question. Under his skilful hand, the 
 
218 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 brilliant vari-coloured balls used in them dropped into the pockets 
 as naturally as fruit drops from a tree. Pug was a tantalizing 
 player. When you felt certain he was going to do nothing, 
 somehow or other the balls trickled along like rivulets, just into 
 their proper places ! 
 
 Prom the billiard-room they adjourned to a pastrycook’s, in 
 the Stradi Porni. Pug drank ginger- wine. “ This is inno- 
 cence,” he whispered. “ This reminds one of one’s childhood. 
 Besides, my boy, some of the women from the Opera drop in here 
 in the afternoons. There, — don’t turn your head round like a 
 young stork.” 
 
 Prom Strada Porni to Plorian Gardens. 
 
 The gardens were filling. “You like these, eh, Singleton? 
 This is the Eden of Malta, with three serpents to every Eve ! You 
 must not pluck the flowers, but you may speak to the nursery- 
 maids. Look at that pompous cub ! How he is got up ! He 
 ought to dress* well, for his grandfather was a tailor. I’ve got a 
 bill of his due by my ‘grandfather, among my papers. Some of 
 these days I shall pay it to him in Bicardo’s. But, hang it, it 
 would be paying dearly for one’s sarcasm.” 
 
 Here “ the cub ” in question came up to them. He was a 
 newly -joined ensign in a regiment. 
 
 “ An, Welby, how do you do?” 
 
 “How are you, Thimbleston? Mr. Pontenoy, Mr. Thim- 
 bleston.” 
 
 Mr. Thimbleston made a slight inclination, and began glancing 
 round the gardens, moving his head in his stock with all the 
 gravity and formality of the figure of Pieschi in Madame 
 Tussaucl’s. 
 
 “ Shall we have good races this year ?” inquired Mr. Thim- 
 bleston, languidly. 
 
 “ It is to be hoped so,” said Pug. 
 
 “ I think of entering Cucumber,” said Thimbleston ; “ but I 
 don’t wish it to be generally known yet.” 
 
 “ Pontenoy,” said Pug, with great gravity, “ you will make a 
 point of keeping this conversation strictly secret. Thimbleston, 
 you may rely on our secresy.” 
 
 It takes eight minutes, I believe, for the sun’s light to reach 
 the earth. It also takes eight minutes for a sarcasm to reach 
 Thimbleston. They moved on before that time, and finally found 
 themselves, at a quarter after six, stopping at the door of Mr. 
 Branton’s house, in Strada St. Coquino. Some flower-pots, with 
 queer plants in them, stood in the hall. Images were stationed 
 in niches as you went up the staircase, like sentries in sentry- 
 boxes. 
 
 The guests were grouped in the drawing-rooms in knots a la 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, B.N. 
 
 219 
 
 Stock Exchange. Miss Branton came downstairs a moment or 
 two after the arrival of Singleton and Welby — looking fresh, 
 rosy, and chilly, as a strawberry ice. Among the company (as the 
 newspapers say) were sundry elderly gentlemen, one and all im- 
 pressed with the notion that Malta was a great and powerful co- 
 lony, the chief of Britain’s dependencies ; a consul for somewhere, 
 who protected the interests of two resident hairdressers belonging 
 to his native land ; a public executioner, in the shape of a Maltese 
 doctor ; two military men ; a stray midshipman ; and a traveller, 
 asked to dinner on the strength of his having a yacht. 
 
 Dinner was announced. It began very brilliantly. Mrs. and 
 Miss Branton interchanged a word or two occasionally in Italian, 
 with that delightful good breeding — the only thing indigenous in 
 the island. 
 
 “ That was a curious thing, the other day,” said Mr. Branton ; 
 44 the rising of the water in the harbour.” 
 
 He alluded to a sudden start made by the waters, some time 
 before, beyond their usual level — not before they were wanted, in 
 a sanitary point of view, however ! 
 
 44 Volcanic, ” said the Maltese doctor. “ You recollect, there 
 once rose up an island near Sicily. It went down again in three 
 weeks ” 
 
 44 Do you know why ?” interrupted Welby. 
 
 44 Ho.” 
 
 44 Because they named it after Sir James Graham. ” 
 
 Everybody laughed at this sally. 44 First laugh” to a diner- 
 out, is as cheering as “ first blood” to a bruiser. By a happy 
 coincidence, the champagne, iced in snow from Mount Etna, 
 made its appearance at that moment. Fontenoy and Miss 
 Branton, meanwhile, were opening a conversation, under the 
 distant surveillance of the Maltese doctor’s wife. Miss Branton 
 asked him in a breath, if he had seen the Palace, St. John’s 
 Church, Citta Vecchia, the Catacombs, St. Paul’s Bay, and the 
 Opera ! 
 
 4 4 Only the Opera, of all these, as yet,” said Fontenoj^, 
 smiling. 
 
 44 Oh, you must see everything,” said Miss Branton. 44 Do 
 you know Blue-eyed Village ? ” 
 
 44 Ho : what a romantic name ! ” 
 
 44 Yes ; the people are remarkable for having blue eyes, You 
 should go there.” 
 
 44 1 don’t care about them,” said Singleton, telling a gross fib. 
 The truth is, Miss Branton’s eyes were as black as black 
 currants. She simpered. 
 
 44 Do you like green eyes ? ” she asked, glancing at the 
 Maltese doctor’s wife, who, at last, had turned away her head. 
 
220 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 Fontenoy gave a glance in the same direction. 
 
 “ No : the apples of her eyes are crab-apples.” 
 
 Miss Branton giggled. Fontenoy blushed. Mr. Branton 
 looked at them from his end of the table, and wondered whether 
 he was the eldest son; 
 
 * After dinner, Fontenoy had the satisfaction, when the ladies 
 departed, of hearing Maltese politics discussed. Considerable 
 indignation was expressed at a recent arbitrary alteration in 
 the value of the dollar. Government had reduced it in value 
 twopence. 
 
 “ It must be raised again, or we are ruined,” said an old 
 gentleman, indignantly. 
 
 “ Twopence more, and up goes the donkey ! ” whispered Pug 
 to Fontenoy. 
 
 At last the adjournment took place. There was music, and 
 so on, in the drawing-room ; the whole concluding with the pro- 
 duction of a compound of champagne, cura^oa, and hot calf s- 
 foot jelly, that might have inspired the genius of Catullus. Pug 
 and Fontenoy departed early. 
 
 “ Well,” said Fontenoy to himself, as he was being rowed on 
 board the “ Kabob,” “ nothing is worth living for except pleasure ; 
 man is a diviner animal chiefly by knowing that. I wish I had 
 been born a noble in the days of the Regency. As it is, Vive la 
 bagatelle ! A mere man of pleasure is a donkey : I will unite 
 study with it ; and having gained accomplishments, will wear 
 them for ornament, as the ancients wore crowns at supper. The 
 flower that charms my sense shall grace my diadem. — What 
 have we here ? ” 
 
 He had gained the ward-room. A note was lying on the 
 table ; he opened it — it was an invitation. 
 
 “ I must pay an homage to intellect before I go to sleep,” he 
 said. 
 
 He accordingly took up a volume of Bishop Butler’s sermons, 
 and coolly and deliberately studied one of them before retiring. 
 
 Such was Singleton Fontenoy ’s present spiritual condition. 
 But we must not always conclude with the heartless and the 
 dull, that what seems a bad youth will develop into a bad man. 
 The finest oak that overshadows the road you pass, reader, 
 may have grown from an acorn that had been rejected by a 
 hog ! 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E,N, 
 
 221 
 
 CHAPTEE Y III. 
 
 Haec hora est tua,.cum furit Lyseus, 
 
 Cum regnat rosa, cum madent capilli. 
 
 Tunc me vel rigidi legant Catones. 
 
 Mahtial. 
 
 A diligent study of Swift, when we are young, lays the 
 foundation of a vigorous style, and gives us a fine, healthy con- 
 tempt for human nature — a pleasing symptom in a boy ! The 
 morning after the dinner at the Brantons, Fontenoy devoted 
 himself to that author. He is the Tower of Pisa of literature. 
 Attracting attention, and made conspicuous by his deflection 
 from the established social line, he is yet remarkable by his 
 grandeur, and as stable as any building in literary time. Pro- 
 bably no man ever had so much fancy, combined with so much 
 of what the world emphatically calls sense . Yet the fancy is 
 not beautiful or attractive ; his flowers are not odorous ; his 
 ornaments — like those of a savage warrior — do not so much 
 adorn himself, as terrify his enemies. He shines with barbaric 
 gold. But gold it is ; and Swift has admirers in all classes. He 
 is liked by men of imagination, as well as by mere men of 
 common sense — by the. lovers of Tennyson, and the readers of 
 Cobbett. 
 
 One of Swift’s best effusions is founded on a maxim of 
 [Rochefoucauld’s. [Rochefoucauld was one of Fontenoy ’s teachers 
 at this time. His pithy maxims have an influence impossible to 
 resist ; his little volume is a Delphi of epigrams. He is an 
 oracle, whose wit and wisdom are so wonderfully mixed that 
 you cannot divide them, or apportion them. You feel with 
 pain how much there is impossible to deny of all that you would 
 wish to deny. The fact is, there is no protection against him, 
 except in our best instincts. Let us try him by a fair test. 
 Supposing every man accepted his dicta, and acted accordingly, 
 • — how would the world go on ? 
 
 We are not so much governed by the opinions writers teach, 
 as the sentiments they inspire. Swift and [Rochefoucauld 
 appeal to men’s vanity : they make love to it ; a child is born 
 from the union, and swaggers through the world something 
 between Iago and Narcissus. 
 
 Tired at last, Fontenoy equipped himself for the shore. He 
 landed at Yaletta, as usual, and went to Pug Welby’s rooms. 
 Mr. Welby had lodgings in Strada St. Paolo, ornamented with 
 busts turned upside down, and a piano out of tune. Fontenoy 
 found him with two gentlemen — Mr. Bechamel, once before 
 
222 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 mentioned ; and a clerk in an office, familiarly known as the 
 Peninsular Snob, who lost money at billiards to men whom he 
 disliked, for the sake of getting into society which he did not 
 enjoy. The three companions were sitting in silence, looking at 
 each other, and smoking. Mr. Bechamel occasionally varied his 
 amusement by burning holes in the leaves of a plant in a flower- 
 pot, with the lighted end of his cigar. 
 
 Pontenoy was lazily welcomed, and a cigar and chair pointed 
 out to him by telegraphic signs. 
 
 “ It’s odd,” remarked Bechamel, slowly. 
 
 “ What? ” asked Singleton. 
 
 “Not heard ? ” said Pug. 
 
 “ No.” There was another pause. 
 
 “ The squadron’s coming in.” Pontenoy opened his eyes wide. 
 
 “ The 4 Patagonian’ with them ? ” 
 
 “No ; she was not made out in the offing, I fancy she’s at 
 Beyrout.” 
 
 “Well, that’s good, at all events,” said Singleton. 
 
 “ Yes ; but suppose you are sent to her.” 
 
 “ Whew ! ” 
 
 “ You don’t fancy that, eh? Apply to join the flag-ship.” 
 
 Bechamel looked up, lazily. 
 
 “ Ah ! perhaps I will. But let us come and dine somewhere.” 
 
 “ That must not be neglected,” said Pug, emphatically. 
 “ Thank God, quails are in ! ” 
 
 They emerged into the street. “ Stop, I’ve forgot my stick. 
 No matter, I will get one here.” As he spoke, they were near- 
 ing the door of one of those shops where naval men most resort 
 — stores, where they sell everything, from theodolites to eau de 
 Cologne — Mantons and macassar — brushes and bouquets — boot- 
 jacks and pickled salmon : where everything is ready but ready - 
 money in payment ; and where, if you are not born with a genius 
 for tick, you have tick thrust upon you. The proprietor was 
 standing at the door enjoying the afternoon air. They entered. 
 
 Welby wanted a sixpenny stick. They stopped to talk. 
 Welby ordered a box of cigars round to his lodgings. Pontenoy 
 found himself suddenly requiring cambric pocket-handkerchiefs, 
 honey- water, Howland’s kalydor (he was in dread of freckles), 
 and an air-gun ! 
 
 “A commercial country is supported by credit,” said Welby, 
 thoughtfully, as they turned into Strada Beale. Bechamel 
 started off to the auberge, where his regiment had their mess. 
 Singleton and Pug dined at the Mediterranee. 
 
 “ Let us go to the Opera,” said Pug, at dessert. 
 
 “I hate the pit,” said Singleton, “andll wish there was a 
 ballet.” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 223 
 
 “Yes,” said Pug. “ In Malta everything’s proper where it 
 ought to be improper, and vice (pronounced in one syllable) 
 versa .” 
 
 “ Shall we go ?” 
 
 “ Y ery well.” 
 
 They set off. As they reached the entrance in the Strada 
 Teatro, the aristocracy of the island were arriving. The caleches 
 of the leaders of fashion hobbled up, one by one, and deposited 
 their burdens. 
 
 “ This way,” said Pug, pulling Singleton to the box-entrance 
 door. 
 
 “ But we have no box.” 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, and come with me.” As Pug spoke, he 
 squeezed Fontenoy ’s arm, and they moved up the stairs. The 
 functionary who kept the passage half-way up, looked for their 
 tickets. 
 
 “Is the governor in his box?” asked Mr. Welby, with his 
 usual quiet suavity. 
 
 “ Yes, sir,” said the man, bowing ldw. 
 
 “ Come on, Singleton,” said Pug. 
 
 Singleton followed. They gained the lobby of the first tier. 
 Singleton took Pug’s arm, and wondered what was coming next. 
 He was no match for his friend in coolness, and felt considerable 
 embarrassment at the prospect of some audacity which he per- 
 ceived to be in contemplation. 
 
 “ Oh, I say, Pug- ” he began. 
 
 “ Peace, my boy.” Pug spoke, and immediately began peering 
 into the boxes, here and there. Presently, he opened the door 
 of one. “I beg your pardon, sir! Wrong number. Thank 
 you.” The door closed again. The}^ remained like a couple of 
 exiled Peris. Meanwhile, the orchestra began, and there ran 
 through the house the hush and murmur of the opening of the 
 evening. 
 
 “This is infernally awkward,” said Pug. “Hah! here’s one 
 empty.” He opened the door, and popped in. ’Twas a quiet, 
 little, neat box, rather far round. Singleton followed without 
 reflection. 
 
 “Cosy — isn’t it?” said Pug. “Deuced like the room in a 
 bathing-machine. Make yourself at home, old fellow !” 
 
 “But, hang it — if the proper owner should come!” said 
 Fontenoy, uneasily. 
 
 “ Oh, he won’t come now. Besides, if he does, it’s only a 
 mistake. As a gentleman, he must ask us to stay.” 
 
 Singleton thought that “ as a gentleman” he had no business 
 to be there ; but Pug had already composed himself to listen 
 with the tranquillity of a connoisseur, and Madame Philomel, as 
 
224 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 a milkmaid, was making the house ring with her love for a 
 peasant (in C). So he calmed his mind, and glanced round the 
 boxes. It was what is called a “ brilliant” night. The governor, 
 Sir Ajax Lumber, was in his regal box. The Bluggs, &c., were 
 there. Sir John Lumber was there, with his son John, who 
 had a face very like a baboon by Annibal Caracci. 
 
 Madame Philomel told her love to the peasant and the boxes. 
 John Lumber flung two-pennyworth of flowers to her. The 
 wicked baron of ancient lineage but vulgar aspect entered, with 
 his retainers. The buffo , as his steward, sang something comic. 
 Pug Welby cried “Bravo!” The buffo was his particular 
 favourite, and he used to supply him with brandy-and-water at 
 Bicardo’s, when the performances of the night were over. Mid- 
 shipmen thought it fast to drink with the buffo , and indeed, the 
 poor fellow was not more vain, greedy, and illiterate than such 
 “ artists” usually are. The most melancholy-looking man in the 
 house was a distinguished traveller, who had exhausted dissipa- 
 tion in London, and was now recruiting a wrecked constitution 
 and. character in the balmy air of the south. What to him was 
 this poor imitation of the gorgeous haunts of his youth ? What 
 the society of the poor unfledged roues about him ? — practisers 
 of second-rate iniquity, who took up the cast-off mistresses of the 
 aristocracy, as their valets do their left-off coats ! 
 
 “Where are you going, Pug?” inquired Singleton, as his 
 companion rose. 
 
 “ Only into the Bluggs’ box — back in a minute.” 
 
 Pug departed, and Singleton was left alone. Presently he 
 heard a shuffling noise outside the door of the box. It opened. 
 Singleton began to colour violently, and his heart beat high. 
 An old gentleman entered, accompanied by a girl. Singleton’s 
 emotions rushed into another channel, for, behold! the couple 
 were — who ?— 
 
 I call this a situation ! 
 
 His father and Augusta Lepel ? Ho. 
 
 Old Hr. Helot and Lalage ? Ho. 
 
 Welwyn and his sister Ivy ? Ah — no — no ! 
 
 “ God bless me, sare,” said the old gentleman. AndFontenoy 
 recognised his friends of Enupnion — the consul and Adela 
 Mavrosceni ! 
 
 The orchestra at that moment burst into a long tvail of 
 melancholy music . 
 
 The Adela gave a little cry of astonishment and delight. The 
 people in the boxes (who reflected that they had not paid their 
 money to see emotion — except acted) looked indignantly at the 
 box. A fellow in the pit cried “ Order !” The consul planted 
 himself in front. Singleton sat behind with Adela, blushing and 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 225 
 
 confused. Her large dark eyes palpitated splendour, and lier 
 whole demeanour exhibited the delight of a child. 
 
 “We have met again, ah, Mr. Fontenoy. And you don’t 
 look very glad to see me.” 
 
 “ I am : — but I am so surprised. ’Tis odd that I should have 
 got into your box. The fact was — ” but with the light of those 
 eyes upon him, Singleton could not lie. 
 
 “Yes,” said Adela, scarcely listening, “ there is a law in 
 nature that acts in barmony with the affections, and brings such 
 meetings about. You know who used to tell me so.” 
 
 Singleton smiled as he recognised his own doctrine, laid down 
 under the shade of the mulberry-tree, in her beautiful island. 
 But he felt that he had changed since then. The girl was as 
 sweet as ever, but she was not the type of all sweetness. The 
 mystical part of his emotion towards her had gone. 
 
 “And how are the gazelles?” inquired Singleton, “and the 
 silkworms, and so on?” To his surprise, he found himself 
 inclined to yawn — and Miss Branton, all this time, was turning 
 on the box an opera-glass of the power of Lord Posse’s telescope. 
 
 “All are quite well,” said Adela, quietly. As she spoke, she 
 turned a peculiar searching glance upon him. Singleton was 
 actually glad that Pug Welby arrived at that moment. Pug 
 having seen his friend quietly domesticated, thought it right to 
 come round to the box, and having been introduced by Singleton, 
 commenced to entertain Adela with a flow of small talk, which 
 made her miserable, and relieved Singleton exceedingly. 
 
 At the end of the second act, she touched her father’s arm, 
 and told him that she did not feel well. Singleton felt as if he 
 had been stung at the heart by a wasp. He reproached himself 
 bitterly. But what could he do ? He offered to escort them 
 home. They were staying at an hotel. 
 
 “ As you are unwell, I will not disturb you by coming in,” he 
 said, when they reached the door ; “ but I will call to-morrow, 
 and I hope I shall find you better. What a fine night !” 
 
 “ Oh, very fine,” said Adela, quietly ; “and really the Opera is 
 agreeable, and very full, and the races will be good this year.” 
 Her lip trembled, and her dark eyes glowed, till their pupils 
 swelled like dewdrops. Her father, meanwhile, unconscious of 
 the meaning of all this, passed through the glass doors into the 
 hotel. They were left standing together, under the warm 
 Mediterranean night. 
 
 “ I have not deserved this, Adela,” said Singleton. “ Besides, 
 it is not right for you to slight me.” 
 
 How, there was whispering at Singleton’s ears a devil in the 
 form of vanity, and its cold breath was freezing his heart. 
 
 “ And what have I deserved?” said Adela, proudly. “ You 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 ■used to tell me that you loved me ; and have you been anything 
 but cold, and false, and weary, since we met again?” 
 
 “ But, Adela, you are so hasty. Was I to fall on my knee3 
 in the opera-box? Girls are so unreasonable!” The last sen- 
 tence was the wanton effusion of a sudden impertinence. 
 
 “ Good night, Mr. Fontenoy,” said Adela, subsiding into 
 contempt. 
 
 “ Adela, forgive me. I am not myself to-night. I have met 
 with misfortunes since I saw you. Come, by the memory of the 
 olden time, nymphs, gardens, roses, and the Levant, let us part 
 as we ought to part, and not shame the stars, and the glory of a 
 night like this.” He smiled, and bent his blue eyes upon her. 
 Again she searched his whole heart with her beautiful glance. 
 She held out her hand, he kissed it, and clasped her to his 
 bosom. But as he disentangled himself from her embrace — as 
 one who caught in wild rose-bushes, breaks from the fragrant 
 prison — his heart reproached him. And a tear from her cheek 
 was burning into his, as he drew away from the warm enchant- 
 ment of her soft rich lips. 
 
 Singleton turned away from the door, waved his farewell, and 
 walked away, soliloquising. 
 
 Sometimes the devil mesmerizes us, I believe, and we speak 
 through his influence. 
 
 “ Well, well,” said Singleton, “ behold a new scene in my life 
 beginning. She is a fine, rosy girl, by Jupiter ! 
 
 e At Acme leviter caput reflectens, 
 
 Et dulcis pueri ebrios ocellos, 
 
 Illo purpureo ore saviata !’ 
 
 Well did Catullus know such scenes as this ! By Jove, her com- 
 plaint of my desertion was not unlike the complaint of Ariadne. 
 With Enupnion for Haxos, the thing would do well. 
 
 ‘ Siccine me patriis avectam, perfide, ab oris, 
 
 Perfi.de, deserto liqubti in littore, Theseu ?* 
 
 and well, oh Bochefoucauld, didst thou observe that there is 
 nothing in which V amour jpr opr e mingles so largely as V amour ! ” 
 
 He turned into Strada Beale, and looked in at Mula’s Cafe. 
 The squadron had anchored at five o’clock, and a swarm of 
 officers were ashore. You could see the gleam of their epaulettes 
 through the cigar smoke, as you entered the cafe, and that was 
 almost all. There was a great deal of lively conversation and 
 hearty laughter. Singleton felt elated. As he moved up the 
 room, and placed himself before a mirror to adjust his curls and 
 tie, many a greeting welcomed him from men he knew there : 
 for Singleton, besides being known as one who had signalised 
 himself in the Syrian war, had a general reputation for talent, 
 
227 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT,. E.N. 
 
 and over and above all, 44 was suck a devilish good fellow!” 
 Of course he had enemies — all brilliant men have. But those 
 who disliked him feared his satire, for Singleton carried sarcasm 
 about with him to keep off fools, as we carry a whip to chastise 
 dogs. 
 
 He was surrounded by a group of youngsters immediately, all 
 anxious to hear about the plague in the “ Viper.” In exchange, 
 he learnt everything concerning the 44 Patagonian.” She was 
 at Beyrout, where the Druses and Maronites were squabbling. 
 Pannikin was as well as could be expected. Lord Clarion had 
 gone to visit Damascus, with a stock of brown bread and hard- 
 boiled eggs. Commander Modell was studying Arabic, but had 
 not yet mastered the alphabet ; and Primby was taking lessons 
 from a Turk in the art of making Otto of Boses. Meanwhile, 
 officers of all ranks were wearing beards and mustachios, and 
 affecting oriental habits, as they do generally in ships much in 
 the East. So much for the 44 Patagonian.” 
 
 44 And what sort of man is the new admiral?” inquired Pug 
 Welby. 
 
 44 Gloomy and surly, rather,” said a mate. 
 
 44 Commend me to the commander,” remarked Pug. 44 He is 
 serious. I knew him in the 4 Bloater;’ used to have the 
 youngsters in and examine us in Scripture history. 1 sold him 
 nicely, once.” 
 
 44 Tell us, Pug,” said two or three boys, eagerly. 
 
 44 Why, I went and asked for a private interview. I was 
 shown into his cabin, and told him that I had recently been 
 afflicted with spiritual doubts of a distressing nature. I was 
 inclined to the Manichsean doctrines, and begged to be set 
 right.” 
 
 44 Capital,” said Singleton. 44 And how did the poor fellow 
 look?” 
 
 44 Never saw a man so cushioned,” said Pug. 44 He stammered 
 out that he was busy. But he never bored me with his advice 
 afterwards.” 
 
 44 Cursed ill-bred these youngsters,” muttered an ensign, who 
 was sitting near, unnoticed, speaking to Captain Bulrush, of the 
 44 Boarer,” who was silent — being sober. The syllables caught 
 Singleton’s ear. 
 
 44 Pug,” said Singleton, in a loud voice. 44 After all, Bocke- 
 foucauld was often right.” 
 
 44 How, and why?” 
 
 44 You know what he says. 4 L’air bourgeois se perd qiielque- 
 fois a l’armee.’ There is a wisdom in the reservation ! ” 
 
 44 Hush,” said Pug, grinning. 44 But who was that com 
 foundedly pretty girl that came into our box to-night?” 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 “ Ah, that is a history. She is the daughter of the Consul of 
 Enupnion. They are here on a visit.” 
 
 “lam afraid she don’t appreciate lively dialogue,” said Pug, 
 ruefully. 
 
 “ A child of nature, my dear hoy,” said Singleton, looking in 
 the mirror, with a conceited glance. “ But, come, let us have 
 ‘ a beaker full of the warm south,’ and be lively.” 
 
 “ Beakers of the warm south for two,” said Mr. Welby. The 
 attendant, whom no eccentricity ever disturbed, brought lemonade 
 and brandy. 
 
 About one, a large party of young gentlemen sallied into the 
 quiet and silent streets, bent on amusement. The unreasonable 
 population were all in bed. This w r as too bad. The Maltese 
 police would not fight : they were obstinately reasonable. But 
 one or two of them just hovered at a respectful distance after 
 the party. Pug and Singleton marched in front ; a considerable 
 number of midshipmen followed. The whole band joined in a 
 popular chorus. Presently they arrived at the corner of a 
 street. “ I have it,” cried Pug. “ A grand idea !” He paused. 
 The whole band surrounded him, with looks of expectancy. 
 With a solemn expression, Pug pointed to a dark object which 
 frowned awfully out from the corner house. Like the explosion 
 of a mine, everybody burst into a cheer. “ Capital ! ” “ At it ! ” 
 “ Down with it ! ” “ Who’s the tallest ! ” “ Bravo ! ” 
 
 The object was neither more nor less than one not uncommon 
 in Yaletta — a wooden figure of a saint perched in a wooden cage 
 of angular form on the corner house. The saint was presumed 
 to be the guardian of the district. He was superstitiously 
 dreaded by the populace as crows dread a scarecrow. To pull 
 it down, as was evident to Singleton, excited as he was, at a 
 glance, would create a furious sensation in the minds of the 
 people — would be pregnant with all sorts of mischief ; was, at 
 the worst, sacrilege, and at the best, unphilosophical — was a 
 hideous proposal in fact, look at in any way ! 
 
 But then it was “ a lark,” as everybody exclaimed. Done it 
 must be. Nec mora — a great, big midshipman, of the flag-ship, 
 who ought to have known better, perched himself under it, with 
 his head against the wall, and proffered “ a back.” Pug Welby, 
 alert as an ape, jumped on his shoulders. He could touch the 
 flooring of the saint’s dwelling. Cries of “ Go it, Pug!” burst 
 from the party. To do Pug justice, he would have stormed a 
 fort with the same readiness. He stood upright — raised his 
 stick — smash went a glass window in the little cabin. The 
 fragments rattled down like hail. Everybody laughed and 
 shouted. Even in that absurd moment, Singleton reflected on 
 the philosophy of the movement. Since the time long before, 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 229 
 
 when that tawdry old symbol had been perched up there, what 
 a change of feeling in the possessors of the island ! 
 
 “ It’s only a ‘ pented bredd,’ ” cried a Scotch midshipman. 
 The poor old saint nodded as Pug strove to effect a landing on 
 his floor. The floor cracked. A fall was impending. Suddenly 
 one of the party cried, “ Police.” Pug bounded on the pave- 
 ment like a rope-dancer. And round a corner of the street came, 
 at that moment, a regular body of constables in military order. 
 There was a halt, and they advanced to seize the party. 
 
 “ Stop,” said Welby, “ or we’ll show fight!” 
 
 The naval men gathered together in good order. The big 
 midshipman rushed at the enemy. A baton was used on him. 
 A smart sound was Jieard. 
 
 “ That’s Tom’s head, I’ll swear!” cried Pug. 
 
 With a huge laugh the party rushed at the foe. A smart 
 encounter took place, and Singleton found himself rolling on the 
 pavement, struggling with a young Maltese policeman, who 
 grasped his throat, and nearly poisoned him with the horrible 
 odour of garlic. 
 
 A truce was made. It was agreed that the naval men, over- 
 powered by great odds, should make an honourable compromise, 
 and leave their names and the names of their ships at the 
 station-house. A policeman, who had both eyes coloured, was 
 to have four dollars, and by a special clause the navy was to 
 stand two bottles of wine. The treaty being settled, all parties 
 marched amicably to the station-house, and a reconciliation was 
 made ; the whole scene being confoundedly affecting (as Pug 
 Welby subsequently described it), and reminding Singleton of 
 the pathetic delineation of the meeting of Otho’s and Vitellius* 
 troops in Tacitus’ “ History.” (Book ii. cap. 45.) 
 
 “ How, genelmen, name and ’dress please, sare,” said the 
 serjeant ; “ I no wish keep you, but must give name and sheep.” 
 
 Paper and pens were produced. The serjeant was no judge, 
 of English proper names. The following morning found the 
 officials rowing round the harbour in search of the under- 
 mentioned gentlemen, to the astonishment and delight of the 
 squadron. 
 
 Thomas Aquinas, Esq., H.M.S. “ Jupiter.” 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Nickleby, K.N., H.M.S. » Caliban.” 
 
 Pickwick, of the “ Bustard.” 
 
 Hugh McNeile, of the “Kabob.” 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, “Jupiter;” 
 and 
 
 Samuel Johnson, of the “ Kabob.” 
 
 These names written, the party started to go on board, con- 
 cluding with two final amusements, — racing on the backs of 
 boatmen down the steps of Strada St. Giovanni, at the risk of 
 
230 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 their necks ; and the time-honoured jest of rolling the little 
 hoys, who sleep in barrels — like Pegulus — down Nix Mangiare 
 hill. Daylight was creeping in at the port of Singleton’s cabin 
 when he laid his fevered cheek on his pillow ; his brain throbbed 
 like the chords of a harp that the player has just left ; vague, 
 novel images floated before him, and he nestled into oblivion in 
 the embrace of the sunbeams. 
 
 *M* Mm 
 
 W W W W W W W 
 
 “ Wanted directly, sir!” There was a sharp, repeated tapping 
 at his door, — “tap, tap, tap,” like a shower of acorns in a storm. 
 Singleton started from a sound sleep : “ Death must be like that 
 sleep,” he thought ; he bounded out of bed. 
 
 It was only Welby ; but he looked uncommonly serious. How 
 strange, a sudden seriousness in a trifler ; it awes and mocks us, 
 like the paint on the cheeks of a dead clown ! 
 
 “ What’s the matter ?” inquired Singleton. “ Heavens ! how 
 ill I feel.” His eyes were heavy with languor ; he tore at the 
 bell-rope ; “ Coffee — tea — quick, steward. Well, Pug — about 
 last night P” 
 
 “ Such a row ! That d — d image was found this morning by 
 the plebs (curse them) as we left it. It seems they fancy that the 
 Greek sailors in the harbour did it, out of spite against the rival 
 religion ! ” 
 
 “ What a mockery ; what a farce ; what a commentary on 
 religious differences!” cried Fontenoy, with a bitter sneer. 
 “Michael, tea, do you hear?” He commenced eating grapes, 
 and laughing violently ; his head throbbed with it. 
 
 “ Well, there’s been a sort of riot ; the Greeks are in 
 danger.” 
 
 Singleton turned deadly pale; he thought of the Mavro- 
 scenis. 
 
 “ However, that’s tolerably arranged ; it seems a guard was 
 sent to the place. It’s known now that some of the squadron 
 were the parties ; there will be a regular inquiry ; but we 
 must lie quiet. You and I are best off, waiting for our ships ; 
 come ashore at once, land on the Burmola side, and spend the 
 day in the country.” 
 
 “ The Mavroscenis will be safe ? I ought to call to-day.” 
 
 “You cannot,” said Pug, decidedly. 
 
 “ Poor Adela ! — hang it. Curse all my folly,” muttered Sin- 
 gleton. Pug turned away, looked out of the stern windows, and 
 began whistling. Singleton felt a growing indifference to him, 
 but then, had he not sought his society, and encouraged him P 
 He had no right to preach. He went on breakfasting. While 
 he was doing so, a heavy parcel arrived from the shore, full of 
 things which he had ordered. While making room for them, his 
 
SINGLETON FQNTENOY, K.N. 
 
 231 
 
 eye fell on his father’s last letter, and lie tore it up in disgust, 
 and flung*the fragments into the sea. 
 
 They took some gloria. Singleton dressed ; put an elzevir in 
 one pocket, and filled the other with cigars. They hailed a boat, 
 landed at the extreme end of the creek, and walked away towards 
 the interior of the island. 
 
 ’Twas a beautiful warm afternoon : they came to a house that 
 had once been the residence of some family of gentle blood ; in 
 the half-neglected garden behind it, fragments of sculptured 
 stone — the bones of a balustrade — lay among the flowers ; they 
 found that it was now a sort of inn. They had chairs brought 
 under an almond-tree, and they sat there, and sipped lemonade 
 and smoked, and sprawled on the grass. Pug plucked a long 
 stalk of it and made a slip-not, and laid in wait to snare the 
 gaudy lizards, as they glided from the stones. Singleton 
 watched, him and moralized, and grew calm again and talked 
 lightly. 
 
 “ What slaves we are of our bodies — everything depends on 
 them,” he said ; “ this morning I was remorseful, for I 
 
 had a headache, — now, I am well, and don’t care for any- 
 thing.” 
 
 Pug came and sat behind him, and leading the conversation 
 by degrees, came out with the fact that he had a scheme ; he 
 did not mind saying that he had partly brought Singleton 
 here for the purpose of discussing it, — Singleton’s curiosity was 
 excited. 
 
 “ You remember that ass, Thimbleston ?” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ The fool has got in debt [by the bye, what were Pug and 
 Singleton doing?] — he must sell Cucumber. JSTow, I know” 
 said Pug, solemnly, “ that that horse has the best chance ; in 
 fact, a fellow who was present at the exercising a few mornings 
 ago assured me so . — I can ride. — Buy Cucumber !” 
 
 Singleton laughed. “ All I know about horses would shame 
 a baby ! ” 
 
 “jNo matter; you are not expected to know these things.” 
 (This was said as a compliment, and had the effect of one.) 
 “But you may own the horse. You will win money by 
 laying on him ; if he wins, you can sell him for half as much 
 again.” 
 
 “The money !” exclaimed Singleton. 
 
 “You are an only son, and your father is a man of property, 
 —the estate is entailed ; you can raise money. I know a man in 
 Strada who does that kind of thing.” 
 
 The debate went on. Singleton, influenced by a dozen senti- 
 ments — love of excitement, vanity, a wish to be a Crichton, fond- 
 
232 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 ness for Pug Welby, &c. — yielded, and put bimself in bis friend’s 
 bands. 
 
 Next evening, at tbe cafes, after some talk about tbe recent 
 “ general order,” in wbicb Admiral Gloomy (successor to Stop- 
 ford) bad treated of tbe image row — and after a good laugb at 
 tbe fact rumoured about, that tbe priests bad told tbe populace 
 that tbe saint bad been saved by miraculous interposition, — tbe 
 prevailing topic was tbe coming races. Everybody bad learned that 
 Cucumber bad been bought by Fontenoy of tbe “Patagonian,” and 
 Ihat Pug Welby was tbe “ gentleman rider.” Cucumber’s name 
 after tbe purchase was altered by Singleton to “ iEneas : ” this 
 was almost tbe only step be bad power to take in tbe arrange- 
 ments about bis own horse, so completely did tbe science of tbe 
 accomplished Pug make him supreme ! 
 
 That same evening, Singleton sat two hours on tbe balcony in 
 front of tbe Mavrosceni’s rooms, and discoursed with Adela con- 
 cerning mysterious sympathies and tbe “ desire of tbe moth for 
 tbe star.” 
 
 “ Ah, Singleton !” said Adela, “this reminds me of tbe island 
 ■ — our island ; I love to be elevated above tbe dull cares 
 and duller pleasures of tbe world. And we are so : — are we 
 not?” 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Quem tu Melpomene, sepiel 
 Nascentem plaeido lumine videris, 
 
 Ilium non labor Isthmius 
 Clarabit pugilem - 
 
 Horace. 
 
 He on whose natal hour the queen 
 Of verse hath smiled, shall never grace 
 The Isthmian gauntlet, or be seen 
 First in the famed Olympic race ! 
 
 Bishop Atterbury’s Translation. 
 
 " Miss Branton, will you do me a favour? ” said Fontenoy, 
 with a comic look of supplication. 
 
 He might well be anxious ; Miss Branton bad considerable 
 coldness, wbicb her friends called dignity; and some rude- 
 ness, wbicb they christened hauteur. Pug Welby called her tbe 
 Deuce of Diamonds. Pug was matchless at nicknames, and stood 
 godfather to everybody that bad a soubriquet : Singleton, who 
 was felicitous in description of a different class, compared her to 
 tbe red snow at tbe North Pole — rosy and cold. She bad great 
 talents for annoying people, and, somehow or other, cultivated 
 her faults as she ought to have her good qualities ; she knew 
 
SINGLETON" FONTENOT, B.N. 
 
 233 
 
 how to slight poor men, or unpopular men, or unfortunate men, 
 and could keep up during an evening a stream of annoyance as 
 paltry and disagreeable at once as a draught through a keyhole. 
 But she dreaded ridicule, and Singleton, if he had liked, could 
 have impaled her on an epigram. Perhaps she liked him more 
 than she did most people, — but Miss Branton prudently killed 
 all imprudent feelings, — a moral infanticide common now-a-days. 
 Society is becoming a burial-club for the emotions ; we poison 
 our loves and hopes, and put them out of the way — for the sake of 
 what we get for interring them. Well, well ! 
 
 “ What is it, Mr. Fontenoy ? ” said the lady. 
 
 44 Your party on the 10th, to which you have so kindly invited 
 me, will, I know, be brilliant. I beg to supplicate a card for two 
 particular people. 
 
 44 Who are they ? ” inquired Miss Branton, with a quiet deter- 
 mined air. 
 
 44 Mr. Mavrosceni, consul at Enupnion,” said Singleton, with 
 an elevating tone ; “a man of ancient Greek family, and great 
 diplomatic skill, — a man of property . . . 
 
 44 And ? ” inquired Miss Branton, slowly. 
 
 44 Oh,” said Singleton, quickly and very carelessly, 44 if you ask 
 
 him, you must ask his daughter — a little girl it would 
 
 amuse her, poor thing ! . . . . She wants to see the world . . . .” 
 
 Miss Branton enjoyed his confusion as people do jelly. She 
 inwardly resolved to ask them — with the proviso that Miss Mav- 
 rosceni should wear her native dress ! For Miss Branton aspired 
 to be a Lion Queen. She had already secured Buzz, the Oriental 
 traveller, and a professor, and goodness knows whom, and Adela 
 might pass for a lioness cub, she reflected, very well. 
 
 She looked grave, begged that Miss Mavrosceni would wear 
 her native dress, and finally arranged to give her mamma the 
 necessary orders. Singleton expressed his gratitude. 
 
 44 And how is iEneas P ” inquired Miss Branton. 
 
 44 Oh, in famous condition. Welby assures me he shall win.” 
 
 44 Put a beggar on horseback — isn’t there an encouraging pro- 
 verb P ” she said, with a sneer. She hated Welby. 
 
 44 Really, you are cruel,” said Singleton ; 44 sarcasm seems 
 strange from such lips — it’s like — 
 
 f the bees of Trebizond, 
 
 Which from the sunniest flowers, that glad 
 With their pure smile the garden round, 
 
 Draw venom forth, that drives men mad.’ 
 
 as Moore tells us.” 
 
 Nobody else dared have told Miss Branton as much. But 
 she smiled. 
 
 44 1 frankly confess I don’t like him. In fact, I should like to 
 
234 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 be revenged on liim !” she said, suddenly, with a malignant look, 
 that made Singleton feel sick. 
 
 44 Marry liim” thought Singleton. And with a smile on his 
 lips, apparently of good-nature, but which was the enjoyment of 
 his suppressed sarcasm, he rose, made his bow, and finished his 
 morning call. 
 
 Next, lie started to the Eagle Hotel. The Signor Mavrosceni 
 was out. Adela was at home. 
 
 44 Why do you grin, you rascal?” he said to the Maltese 
 waiter, as he passed him. The wretched man was presuming to 
 look conscious as he showed him up ! Foreign servants never 
 seem to me to be able to acquire that appearance of total indif- 
 ference to what is said and done, which is such an art among 
 their English confreres. 
 
 Adela was alone. She had opened the folding window-doors 
 of the balcony, and was kneeling down watering some flowers. 
 Her long black hair flowed loosely about her. She jumped up, 
 as the door opened, with her usual naivete and gracq. 44 Well, 
 can I go ? ” 
 
 44 Is that the first question you ask me?” said Singleton, half 
 ruefully. 
 
 44 Oh, we don’t talk forms. I know you are well. You look 
 so !” 
 
 44 And you, too. Providence said, 4 let there be light,’ and 
 there was — Adela Mavrosceni ! ” 
 
 44 You did not make these high-flown speeches in Enupnion,” 
 said Adela, whose intuition taught her that it was not a good 
 symptom by way of change. 
 
 44 I am improving,” said Singleton, quietly, and he went and 
 plucked a flower. Adela darted forward. 
 
 44 For shame. Ho you know that killing a rose is murder ? ” 
 And as she spoke, the ghost of the murdered rose blushed grate- 
 ful in her cheek ! 
 
 44 You have a good deal of fancy, my Lucent,” said Sin- 
 gleton. 
 
 44 |Well — do I go to these people’s party, or what they call it ? ” 
 
 44 Ah — I had forgotten.” 
 
 “Singleton!” ^ 
 
 Singleton felt convicted, and looked frightened, as he saw tho 
 large eyes quivering with emotion. 
 
 44 My dear Adela, you must not be so sensitive. If you are so 
 very sensitive, you can never expect to be happy ! ” 
 
 She muttered something and turned away to the window. 
 
 44 Yes, you are to go, of course. I promised, did I not? You 
 will be the flower of the party.” She remained silent. “ I will 
 recover her,” thought Singleton. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 235 
 
 “ Adela — come. Pardon my carelessness. When I am with, 
 you, I forget everything ! ” 
 
 She turned round, and smiled again ; and then she began to 
 talk about the party, and her seeing the world. There was a 
 strange blending of native simplicity and girlish vanity in Adela. 
 She was a beautiful flower that would not bear transplanting. 
 Perhaps it would have been happy for Fontenoy if he could have 
 retained enough of his primary enthusiasm and simplicity to have 
 devoted his life to her, and her obscure lot. The Persians say, 
 that the nightingale, when he sees the rose, becomes intoxicated, 
 Put, oh, reader ! if you carry the bird off, and cage it in a town, 
 will it ever Be able to feel that glorious delirium again ? 
 
 “ You will look like your native 'EXsvrj, Adela,” said Singletou, 
 congratulating himself that he was broaching the costume ques- 
 tion with great tact. “ I should like to wear a Greek dress. 
 It would be better than our conventional commonplace. Put I 
 must wear uniform.” 
 
 “ Put should I wear our Greek dress ! ” said Adela, opening 
 her great black eyes wide. “ Mamma would never have thought 
 of such a thing.” 
 
 Singleton did not like to hear her allude to her mamma or 
 relations. Put he did not show this, so Adela escaped seeing 
 another bad symptom of the altered state of his feelings. 
 
 “ She was an English lady. You are more than half Greek. 
 It would be thought right, I assure you ; and you will look so 
 much better than the other girls ! ” 
 
 Adela smiled, and a little while afterwards Singleton went 
 away. “ Dear me,” he muttered to hinself, as he strode along 
 the street, “what an innocent thing she is!” And then he 
 coloured, and was presently lost in a maze of perplexed reflec- 
 tions. Put he had an engagement with Pug Welby and two or 
 three men at three o’clock, and he was obliged to keep it. The 
 day of the races was drawing near — 
 
 The great, th’ important day, big with the’fate 
 Of Cato and of Rome 
 
 as he quoted to himself, while sauntering anxiously along. 
 
 The island was in a fine state of mental activity. iEneas 
 stood uncommonly well, but there were hideous rumours afloat 
 respecting the barb of a man in the Fifles, by name Cheroot. 
 (Cheroot was the name- of the horse, the owner’s was not 
 of so much importance). Jacky Splay — a pleasant, lively mate 
 of the flag-ship — was to ride one horse, and he was now ashore 
 every morning, in the morning watch, exercising him. The im- 
 mortal Penbow would indeed have been astonished could he 
 have risen from his grave and seen that portentous spectacle ! 
 
236 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, 11. N. 
 
 And what would he have said could he have seen the servant of 
 Tomkins of the “Jupiter,” walking the gangway four hours at a 
 time with his master’s patent-leather boots on, to stretch them 
 for Tomkins’ use, on that important occasion! Meanwhile, 
 “ sweeps ” were being organized on board every ship. The 
 regiments were as eager as men on the eve of battle. Ensigns 
 became enthusiastic, and passed from the London Primer to a 
 betting-book. Every man who had won or lost on the Derby, or 
 the Oaks, became an authority, and added a cubit to his stature 
 for the nonce. To have been inside the ring at Epsom was a 
 
 distinction : — to have betted with Lord was an honour : — 
 
 to have had a jockey to breakfast was something to boast of! 
 
 Singleton, all this time, had been going to Pug’s rooms. Pug 
 was looking anxious, but dissembling his emotions, and was now 
 sitting with two other men at the table, making calculations on 
 a card with his gold pencil-case. 
 
 “ Sit down, Eon — speak to you directly,” he said. The two 
 other men honoured Singleton with a tolerably inquisitive stare, 
 then glanced at each other, and rose to go away. After they 
 had gone, Pug looked up, and somewhat anxiously, too. 
 
 “ I’m glad you are come, old boy.” 
 
 “ Anything the matter ? ” said Singleton, uneasily. 
 
 “ Not particularly, but I am fagged. Three days more, and— 
 whew ! Are you heavily engaged P ” 
 
 “ Here is my book,” said Singleton, with a melancholy smile. 
 “ I took your advice, you know, and took ‘ ten ’ wherever it was 
 offered.” ^ 
 
 “ That you have, by Jove ! ” said Pug, looking at the work in 
 question. 
 
 “I think I shall publish it, and dedicate it to the Jockey 
 Club,” said Singleton, yawning, smiling, but not over com- 
 fortable. “ ‘ Meya [3i[3\iov, fieya Kaicov, ’ — by my troth, the man 
 who said that was a true prophet and seer.” 
 
 “You take it coolly, Singleton. But, by Jove! my boy,” 
 said Pug, lowering his voice, “ if iEneas don’t win, I’m com- 
 pletely floored: and that’s a mild way of putting it! ” As he 
 spoke, he grew very serious, and his open, sunburnt face paled 
 from its hazel tinge. 
 
 “Well, well,” said Eontenoy, “we must stand the hazard of 
 the die. I’ll do what I can for you ; and, faith ! if the worst 
 comes to the worst — that is, if HCneas comes in last — the 
 governor must exert himself! The axe, sir, must startle the 
 wood-pigeons near Heatherby ! Birnam wood must come to 
 Dunsinane, and be sold as timber ! ” 
 
 Pug laughed. “ What are our colours to be ? ” 
 
 “Oh, blue and buff. Let us patronize the Whigs.” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 237 
 
 “ Are you going to the Brantons’ to-morrow night P ” 
 
 “ Yes ; and you P ” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Pug ; “I shall drop in late, just as one of the 
 late quadrilles is 4 placed.’ ” 
 
 It was the night of the Brantons’ party. Everybody was 
 there. What with naval men, military men, and ladies, each 
 quadrille looked like a tricolour flag. “ And how did the civilians 
 look?” inquires a reader of a peaceful profession. Like the 
 stick that supports it, my dear sir. The Maltese doctor was 
 there, in his favourite costume of snuff-colour — 
 
 . . . long, and lank, and brown. 
 
 As is the ribbed sea-sand ! 
 
 His wife had a turban, which suited her admirably as a 
 Tartar ! Mrs. Branton was sumptuous, and her daughter as 
 stately as a white poppy. She was in a very good humour, for 
 there were two or three grand old gouty gentlemen of great rank, 
 among the guests ; and Miss Branton, like the Earth in the 
 “ Princess,” was — 
 
 . . . All Danae to tbe stars ! 
 
 and as complaisant as possible. Mr. Buzz, the Oriental traveller* 
 with a grave beard of formal cut — a man made to be stared at — 
 attracted no inconsiderable attention, to his great delight ; and, 
 happily, was quite unconscious that it was more to his hair than 
 his distinction, that he owed the flattering notice. How-a-days, 
 people are getting so obstinately philosophical, as to imagine that 
 to have been to the wall of China, or the Pyramids, is, of itself, 
 no mark of superiority. They ask lohat he has brought away ? 
 when travellers are mentioned. To have been to Egypt — That 
 has been the fortune of several mummies ; but we don’t ask them 
 to dinner in consequence ! 
 
 It was late when Singleton entered the rooms. His cheek was 
 a little pale, and his eye anxious. He made his bow to Airs. 
 Branton, and glided to the side of her daughter. As he inter- 
 changed a few words, his eyes kept wandering round, every now 
 and then. Miss Branton saw it, and thought a smile . “ They 
 
 are come ! ” she said. 
 
 “ Who ? ” asked Singleton. 
 
 “ Your Greek friends.” 
 
 Singleton smiled and bowed, and presently stole away. 
 
 Seated at another part of the room, he saw Adela Mavrosceni 
 • — all her romantic beauty shining in the scene — like a fair picture 
 when the light falls full on it. He approached. The lady of 
 the Maltese doctor was sitting by her side. Two or three 
 gentlemen were chatting near her, and looking at her occa- 
 
233 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 sionally. It was impossible not to look at a creature of so much 
 natural grace. She shed attractions from her a3 a dower sheds 
 its leaves. 
 
 “ Ah, Singleton, how glad I am you are come at last ! ” she 
 said, smiling. The Maltese doctor’s lady looked astonished ; 
 the knot of loungers whispered among themselves, and one of 
 them, a tall rifleman, with an aquiline nose, gave the most deli- 
 cate of all imaginable glances in their direction. 
 
 “ Who is that fellow ? ” whispered No. 1. 
 
 “ Fontenoy, owner of iEneas,” said No. 2. 
 
 “ Oh, the doose ! I couldn’t laugh if I was. I have not 
 laughed these five years, not since Ranter’s year,” said No. 3, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 “Poor boy, I fancy Pug Welby’s his instructor.” 
 
 “ Somebody ought to write to his father,” said No. 1, indig- 
 nantly. (No. 1 had been laying against JEneas right and left, 
 and was now afraid he might run first after all.) 
 
 “Well, he begins early. Let us come and have an ice. It’s 
 awfully hot.” 
 
 And the group departed. 
 
 “ Who is that girl in the masquerade dress ? ” said a young 
 lady in a female knot, further off. 
 
 “ Masquerade dress !” giggled No. 2 ; “ she’s a Greek lady !” 
 
 “ Is there such a thing?” yawned No. 1. (Gigglunt omnes.) 
 
 “ She is rather good-looking,” said No. 3, timidly. 
 
 “ Do you think so ?” said No. 1. “ Something theatrical 
 
 about her ! Isn’t there now ?” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, how true !” said Nos. 2 and 3. At that instant, 
 Pug Welby, whose eye instantly told him what these amiable 
 girls were saying, moved over to them, determined to dislodge 
 them. Up he came, smiling. 
 
 “ Good evening, Miss — ,” (naming No. 1). “I have not 
 
 seen you dancing much !” 
 
 “ It’s so hot,” said Miss , awkwardly, and suppressing 
 
 a better reason. 
 
 “ Just so ! But, bless me, who is that beautiful creature ?” 
 exclaimed Pug, with enthusiasm. 
 
 “ The — which do you mean?” asked No. 2. 
 
 “ There can be no mistake ; the sweet- faced Grecian ?” 
 
 “ Nobody seems to know,” said No. 1, rather spitefully. 
 
 “ W ell, •she is worth inquiring after. She is beautiful.” 
 
 “ Not my style,” said No. 1. 
 
 “ That is perfectly true,” said Mr. Welby, with a bow. 
 “ Some Greek lady, I suppose.” 
 
 “We were wondering if there is such a thing,” said No. 3. 
 ( Gigglunt omnes , again.) 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 239 
 
 “ Oli, I fancy tliere may be Greeks who are ladies, as well as 
 English who are not,” said Pug, laughing blandly. 
 
 “Dear me, there’s my aunt,” cried 1ST o. 1, and away she went. 
 Nos. 2 and 3 began to talk about the races. Pug strolled off. 
 
 Meanwhile, Singleton was sitting with Adela. She talked to 
 him with so much vivacity and intimacy, that varipus people 
 looked at them. Singlaton felt confused and ashamed. I never, 
 for the life of me, could understand why we are so sensitive about 
 the opinions of people whom we neither admire nor respect. But 
 we are. And Singleton, as he saw one or two eyeglasses, and 
 some eyes quite sharp enough without these optical aids, turned 
 on himself and Adela, felt miserable. Mrs. Yahoo looked at 
 them as she would at a brace of partridges, and thought, “ Bless 
 me, what would his relations say ? Such intimacies can only 
 lead one way.” 
 
 Well did the great Goethe observe, that if the people who hold 
 themselves surest of heaven are to get there, he did not care to be 
 one of the party ! 
 
 “ You don’t look happy, Singleton. I think, after all, your 
 nature is best suited for retirement.” 
 
 “ You do me honour, Adela,” said Singleton, feeling painfully 
 how little he deserved the compliment. 
 
 “ Ah ! last summer,” mused Adela, plucking her bouquet to 
 pieces. 
 
 “ Bless me,” thought Singleton, “are we to have a scene?” 
 
 At that moment there came up a young midshipman, a boy of 
 fifteen, to speak to Singleton. He was at once as effeminate as 
 a girl, and as vicious as a gladiator. Of a noble family, and very 
 good-looking, he was much courted. But there is scarcely a vice 
 practised by mature profligates which he did not play with, as a 
 girl does with kittens. He strolled up, dressed in the extreme of 
 profusion and elegance (and at that time the dandies of the navy 
 thought it fine to depart as widely as possible from the regulations 
 aboutuniform) — languid asyesterday’sroses, as Ovidsays, and odo- 
 rous as a vase. He ogled Adela with his fine soft eyes, which he 
 played like Thackeray’s Blanche Amory, a character of which he 
 was in some respects the male prototype. 
 
 “Well, Fontenoy, how do you do — nervous, eh? How is 
 iEneas ?” 
 
 Fontenoy coloured. Of iEneas he had never said a word to 
 Adela, and she looked up rather surprised. 
 
 “ Yery well. Do you offer anything?” he said, laughing as 
 carelessly as he could. 
 
 “ My book’s made up,” drawled the bov. He glanced slightly 
 at Adela’s figure, and moved on — to flirt in another quarter 
 of the room with a woman old enough to be his mother. 
 
240 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 Singleton turned to Adela. She was apparently absent and 
 preoccupied : she would not dance — would not have refreshments 
 — would not explain — wanted to go home. Afraid of a scene, 
 Singleton pretended not to see that anything was the matter, 
 sought out her father (who was playing chess with the Maltese 
 doctor — a crack performer, who studied Lolli, and played the 
 Evans Gambit), and told him she found the rooms too hot. They 
 went away, and Singleton remained behind, distrait and re- 
 morseful. He hunted up Pug Welby, and they made their 
 adieux before supper, and went off to visit iEneas in his stable. 
 He was looking glorious ; a dark grey barb, slight, vivid, and 
 active as a pulse. 
 
 “ If he knew what depended on him ! ” said Singleton, in a 
 moralizing mood. 
 
 Singleton slept that night on a sofa-bed in Welby ’s rooms. 
 They kept up a conversation long after they had ^retired to their 
 respective rooms, through the open door. 
 
 The day arrived. It was extremely fine — warm, but with a 
 breeze ; dry, but not dusty. The Pieta was crowded with 
 horsemen, and all kinds of vehicles. The race was to take 
 place on a long road by Ihe water-side at Slima ; the Grand 
 Stand was duly erected, and preparations made worthy of the 
 Olympic Games. 
 
 Singleton trotted out to the scene of action on a pony : he did 
 not care to be bored by anybody’s company in a carriage. The 
 neighbourhood of the Stand was crowded ; the Maltese boys 
 were perched on the walls ; boats were swarming on the water, 
 like summer insects. Midshipmen and gamins of the islands 
 galloped up and down the course ; military men in tops were 
 running about everywhere. But the grandest sight of all was 
 Mobblin of the “Bustard,” who made up for his want of genuine 
 tops by turning his ordinary Wellingtons outside his trousers ! 
 Unconscious Mobblin ! type of a thousand shams, more honoured 
 and less respectable. 
 
 The scene was rich in the elements of comedy, in earnestness 
 about trifles, in pretension without reality, in sham brilliancy 
 like paper fireworks. 
 
 The horses were placed for the first race. Captain Smugg, of 
 the llifles, flogs one desperately to make it stand and give a fair 
 start ; it rears, — the captain is pushed back into the water. 
 
 At last comes the great race. JEneas, Cheroot, and Cabbage 
 are led majestically out. Pug Welby, blazing like a rainbow in 
 his silk jockey’s jacket and cap, pops the light saddle on his 
 left arm, and trips gaily into the weighing-room, — the horses are 
 marched off to the starting-post, — the bell rings. Higby, the 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 241 
 
 clerk of the course, canters up and down, and, with great gal- 
 lantry, lashes several Maltese off the road with a long horse- 
 whip ; everybody laughs, Singleton Fontenoy included ; he has 
 just finished a pint of Moselle, and is wondering where he will 
 be, and what he will be thinking of, that time twenty-four hours, 
 — a grand subject for an anxious man. 
 
 The air rang with shouts — the road thundered with echoes ; 
 three horses were seen like cannon-balls in the distance. The 
 grand stand becomes mad, — Singleton’s head swims, and he 
 stands in his stirrups like a man preparing for a cavalry charge. 
 
 iEneas ran last ; pulled up short — came down, — broke his own 
 knees, and poor Pug Welby’s leg. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 On desperate seas, long wont to roam, 
 
 Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, 
 
 Thy Naiad airs have brought me home. 
 
 To the glory that was Greece, 
 
 And the grandeur that was Rome. 
 
 Edgar A. Poe. 
 
 The packet from England came in that evening ; there was a 
 letter for Singleton in his father’s well-known handwriting — he 
 was almost afraid to open it — at last he tore away the seal. It 
 was short, and informed him that his father wanted his co- 
 operation in raising money by a mortgage, which he could not 
 do without it. 
 
 “ He must pay for it,” said Singleton, laughing gloomily. He 
 went off to the money-lender to whom Pug Welby had intro- 
 duced him, — he told him he must have more cash ; papers were 
 to be signed, — he was ready to sign anything. Glorious bags of 
 dollars were produced, rich, round, and heavy as grape-shot. 
 He made an estimate of his debts, — iEneas he sold for a com- 
 parative trifle, — he found he could pay his debts of honour, and 
 determined, like Prospero, “ deeper than ever plummet sounded, 
 to drown his book ! ” What business had he to meddle 
 with such matters P He resolved that he would reform ; he 
 would study Arabic, and translate “ A1 Koran he would join 
 a small craft, and serve away from Malta. Once he thought of 
 going home across Prance, and serving on another station ; and 
 then his thoughts turned to Adela. Suppose he went to Signor 
 Mavrosceni, and proposed to marry her ? He could go with 
 them to Enupnion, — become vice-consul, — grow mulberry-trees, 
 and feed silkworms. It would be a beautiful exile — but to live 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 STN&LETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 amidst such people — to dwell in a land where new magazines 
 never reached, and Hansard was unknown ! He was too English 
 for that ! Well, should he marry Adela, leave the service, and 
 go home ? What, — to live in a cottage where they would be 
 visited by nobody, in a climate where the soft Greek would be 
 certain to have bronchitis ! 
 
 Here Singleton rang the bell (for he had been carrying on this 
 debate after dinner in the Mediterranee) and ordered some more 
 wine. He continued to debate. It was one of those occasions 
 when a man’s soul and his body resolve themselves into a com- 
 mittee ; and, somehow or other, the body generally gets the best of 
 it. Oh, for a Sterne to chronicle the discussion ! ’Twere worthy 
 of the sweet wisdom of Augustine Caxton, in his fanciful hour. 
 
 The Body having taken the chair, the Soul moved that they 
 should unite to aspire. The Body moved as an amendment 
 after the words aspire — add, “ with the aid of wine.” Wine was 
 ordered. The Body pronounced him serviceable, and an excel- 
 lent witness. The Soul grew languid. The Body began to be 
 triumphant. Enough, — enough. 
 
 Singleton rose, and left the hotel. It was a strange exhilara- 
 tion that he felt now. He could pay his debts — thank God. 
 The worst was postponed. Meanwhile he was young. More, 
 — he was loved ! He felt as if he could have kissed the fresh 
 air as it came wantonly from the sea. All the poetry he re- 
 membered rang in his head like the echoes of bells. He strode 
 along the streets with the tread of a young athlete. It was ten 
 o’clock at night. The night was glorious. The breath of the 
 young Greek seemed to mingle with the air. Ha ! he would go 
 and see her. He stopped at a shop, and looked in at a mirror. 
 His face was flushed, and his eyes restless and fiery. 
 
 He arrived at the hotel of the Mavroscenis. The waiter 
 came to answer the bell. 
 
 “ The Signor Mavrosceni — is he at home P ” 
 
 “ They are gone, sir ! ” 
 
 “What!” cried Eontenoy. “What do you mean, knave?” 
 He gave a look so startled and fierce, that the man shrunk back, 
 astonished. 
 
 “ They sailed this evening, sir.” 
 
 “ Let me pass !” cried Eontenoy, brushing by him ; and seizing 
 a lamp, he ran up to their rooms. He Hung open the room in 
 which she usually sat. It was deserted. Cold, and silent, it 
 struck upon him like the air of a vault. He opened another 
 door, and saw a little bedroom. The wdiite curtains drooped 
 like a shroud. Here was the shrine, but the goddess had van- 
 ished. 
 
 At that moment the landlady of the hotel came waddling up- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 243 
 
 stairs, and with a becoming appearance of sympathy, handed 
 him a little note. Singleton crushed it in his hand, and bounding 
 downstairs, ran out of the house. He stopped at the first light 
 he came to, and read as follows : — 
 
 “ Miss Mavrosceni presents her compliments to Mr. Fontenoy, 
 and thanks him for his kindness, on the part of her father and 
 herself, during their stay in Malta. They are fortunate in hav- 
 ing fine weather for sailing/ * 
 
 The satire was exquisite. Singleton was stung to the heart's 
 core. But his first impulse was anger, and he soliloquized, 
 “Ah, but it is not so easy for you to forget, mia car a. This is 
 assumed.” Then he tore the note into a hundred fragments, and 
 scattered them to the wind. He rushed off to a cafe, got some 
 more wine, and poured a libation on the ground — Jovi Libera- 
 tori — in imitation of Seneca. 
 
 “What the devil are you about?” exclaimed a voice. He 
 looked up. There entered the young midshipman who had 
 spoken to him at the Brantons’ party about iEneas. 
 
 “Nothing that you can understand,” said Singleton. 
 
 Dulcimer stared; then sneered, languidly. “Were you 
 heavily let in?” 
 
 “ What do you mean?” asked Fontenoy, angrily. 
 
 Dulcimer yawned. “ You are not yourself, to-night, Mr. Fon- 
 tenoy.” 
 
 “You are — unfortunately,” said Singleton, sneering. 
 
 “ Here, Zoe ! ” Dulcimer whistled ; his little Persian grey- 
 hound came bounding up to him. He bowed formally, and 
 walked out. 
 
 “ I should not wonder if that boy challenges me,” thought 
 Fontenoy, laughing ; “everything seems to be prematurely 
 developed in this island, except the intellect.” 
 
 He seated himself, moodily, at a table, and plunged into a 
 strain of reflection. A party entered ; they were mostly men with 
 whom he was on very friendly terms ; his feelings took another 
 turn, and he received them with uproarious good spirits. He 
 asked after Pug Welby ; Pug had been taken to the Naval Hos- 
 pital in Bighi Bay ; his leg had been set, and he was going on 
 very well. Singleton resolved to visit him next day. The Naval 
 Hospital had been turned into a kind of hotel, by some gentle- 
 men in ill-health there ; they smuggled in wine, smoked cigars 
 in unfrequented parts of the grounds, and administered pills to 
 the deputy-surgeon’s chickens ! Nothing was wanted but a 
 billiard-table, and this could not be got, unfortunately, though 
 Snibbs, of the “ Jupiter” (who was suffering from febris desi - 
 diosa — or lazy fever), suggested that one should be set up in the 
 dead-house ! 
 
244 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 Fontenoy told tlie newcomers of liis tiff witli Dulcimer. To 
 do Singleton justice, it must be said, that at this worst period of 
 his career, if he insulted anybody, he was always ready to shoot 
 them, afterwards ; what can a refined society expect more ! 
 
 The night was spent, as many more had been, in idleness and 
 revelry. Singleton fell asleep on the cushions in a billiard-room, 
 and awoke at daylight. The table looked a ghastly green in the 
 morning’s rays ; the players were pale and haggard. Just as 
 Singleton awoke, the youth known as the Peninsular Snob, flung 
 another five-pound note across the table to the man he was play- 
 ing with ; the marker was leaning on the long cue — forward, and 
 dozing ; at every click of the balls he started, and mechanically 
 called out the numbers. 
 
 “ Twenty, — twenty -four.” 
 
 “ Spot’s twenty, you d — d fool,” shouted the “ Peninsular,” 
 correcting him ; the man altered it, stared stupidly, and leant 
 again forward. Again Somnus waved the Lethsean branch, and 
 his swimming eyes closed. Again the “ click, click,” awoke him. 
 A melancholy sight ! 
 
 There was not long afterwards a sad story about the “ Penin- 
 sular ;” his debts grew heavy ; he determined to fly. When the 
 steamer from Alexandria arrived, in quarantine, he boldly went 
 on board her, for a passage to England ; but he was put on shore 
 at the Lazaretto, and after serving the whole of her time in quar- 
 antine, had to come out and face his creditors ! 
 
 Singleton awoke ; he recognised where he was, and yawned ; his 
 dark hair was wild and tangled ; his eyes looked as if they had 
 been dressed a la Tartare. He sat up, and looked on ; suddenly 
 he rose and left the house. 
 
 The morning was beautiful. It was now getting late in the 
 year, but the mild air of summer still lingered, as love lingers 
 after passion is sated and dead. 
 
 Singleton strolled down to a part of Valetta that gave him a 
 full view of the sea, and leaning over the forts, cast his eyes far 
 and wide. How sweet and fresh the breeze was ! One or two 
 vessels were in sight ; he wondered, as he looked at them, 
 where they were from, and what they were doing on board ; he 
 sat there a long time, musing and thoughtful. Then the bells of 
 the churches began to toll. ’Twas the day of one of the innu- 
 merable saints of the calendar ; and suddenly an impulse struck 
 Eontenoy ; he would go into St. John’s. 
 
 Welwyn’s words recurred to him; he determined to act on 
 his impulse. He moved towards Strada St. Giovanni : in another 
 minute he was standing inside, and enjoying the serene and 
 solemn splendour of the temple of God. A calm fell upon his 
 soul. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 245 
 
 He looked tranquilly around and above. The figures on tbe 
 gorgeously-painted roof seemed ready to fly. He stooped, and 
 read the epitaphs of the Knights of St. John on the flagstones. 
 He was attracted to one by the great similarity of the arms 
 sculptured on it to his own. The knight had died young. JEgre - 
 gid pietate , he was, said the record. And Fontenoy thought how 
 differently he must have been employed on this island. He 
 blushed before the dead knight’s epitaph, as if he had met his 
 eye. 
 
 Looking up, he saw a young girl enter the church. She wore 
 a mantilla, which concealed her face, — but not the beauty of her 
 figure — not the grace of her movements ! His eye followed her. 
 She glided to the confessional. 
 
 Fontenoy watched and waited. As she moved towards the 
 door, he saw her face. It was Ivy Welwyn! She did not see 
 him. As she went out of the church, she was joined by an 
 elderly woman. They walked away quickly. Singleton saw a 
 Maltese whom he knew. He gave him a dollar, and told him to 
 follow that young lady, find out where she lived, and report to 
 him on board. Then he turned once more into the church, and 
 wandering about, mused. Presently, he leaned against a 
 column. His mind was miserable — his nerves weak. Tears 
 came into his eyes. 
 
 ^ “ My son, are you ill ? ” 
 
 t Fontenoy looked up. A priest was standing before him. His 
 pale, mild Italian face, his soft dark eyes, had a look that was 
 soothing. Singleton shook away his tears. 
 
 “Iam better, thank you.” And pleased at the stranger’s kind- 
 ness, he entered into conversation with him. The church was 
 now nearly empty. 
 
 “ I was just reading the epitaph of that knight,” said Single- 
 ton, pointing to it. 
 
 The priest glanced at his uniform. “You are then acquainted 
 with the Latin language ?” 
 
 “Yes. It is a noble tongue. It is like marble — fit equally 
 for building palaces, or being cut into chimney ornaments. It is 
 magnificent in oratory, and admirable in epigram.” 
 
 The priest’s eyes brightened. “You speak well,” he said, 
 calmly and paternally, though he was young. 
 
 “ One of our writers remarks that it is unjust to speak of the 
 Latin as a dead language,” said Singleton. “ Consider its daily 
 employment in the Catholic Church— -the Roman Catholic— 
 your Church, I mean,” he said, colouring slightly. 
 
 The priest bowed. “ The unity of language preserved the 
 unity of faith, during the ages when tongues were changing. 
 The Latin language kept Christianity in itself — as the mummies 
 
246 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 in. Egypt are sometimes found to have grain in them, which still 
 vegetates.” 
 
 “ I admire your metaphor,” said Singleton ; “ and how well 
 you know our language ! It is not native to you ?” 
 
 “ No,” said the priest, quietly. “ Do we go the same way at 
 all?” he asked hesitatingly. “I am going to cross over to 
 Burmola.” 
 
 “ I am going that way,” said Singleton. 
 
 They left the church together. As they walked down to the 
 landing-place, they continued to converse. Without saying a 
 word of encouragement, or courting Singleton in the least, 
 the priest yet attracted him prodigiously. They got into a boat. 
 
 “Will you come on board?” asked Singleton, as they got 
 alongside his ship. 
 
 “ Thank you. I should like to see a ship,” said the priest, 
 gently. They went on deck, and descended into the ward-room. 
 Singleton ordered breakfast, and offered the stranger some tea. 
 He accepted it. Singleton showed him his books. His name 
 was written in them. 
 
 “ Your name is Eontenoy. I have heard that name before,” 
 said the priest. “ My name is Adda.” 
 
 “ We must know each other,” said Singleton, warmly. 
 
 “You are kind,” said the priest, gently. 
 
 And he bowed, and turned over the leaves of the “ Colloquia ” 
 of Erasmus, which he had taken up. Singleton smiled. 
 
 “ Ah ! that was a fine-minded man,” cried Singleton, laughing. 
 
 “ A half man,” said Father Adda, mildly. 
 
 “ Shall I show you the most delicate sarcasm that was ever 
 penned ?” said Singleton. 
 
 Father Adda made no opposition. Singleton turned to 
 the dialogue called “ Charon.” Charon is complaining that his 
 boat is leaky, and wants repairing. His companion suggests 
 that he should repair it with wood from the Elysian groves. 
 Charon says that the groves are all used already. “ Used 
 for what ?” asks the other. “ For burning the shades of the 
 heretics ,” is the reply. 
 
 Father Adda gave a grave smile. Singleton turned the con- 
 versation to the Church of Home ; his companion seemed to avoid 
 it. They resumed the subject of literature ; Father Adda was 
 thoroughly familiar with it, and astonished Fontenoy by the 
 copiousness of his knowledge and the elegance of his langua ge. 
 
 “ You must allow me to visit you,” said Fontenoy at the close 
 of a capital sketch of Dryden delivered by the priest. 
 
 “ Will you come now P” asked Adda. 
 
 Singleton consented, and dressed himself : and they set off 
 together over to Burmolg,. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 247 
 
 They stopped at the door of a small house : it was opened by 
 an ugly crone. They went upstairs : Singleton was very much 
 affected by the sight of the room in which he found himself. 
 
 It was an apartment of moderate size ; at one end was a bed 
 without curtains, and with sheets and blankets of coarse texture. 
 
 Everything was rugged and poor — the table, the chairs, the 
 carpet. Nothing in the room was handsome but a crucifix of 
 ivory ; nothing plentiful but books. 
 
 There were books everywhere : the table groaned with them ; 
 they loaded shelves, and littered the floor. The coal-scuttle 
 stood on a folio ; a leg of the table was propped by a quarto. 
 The cat slept on Bellarmine : a broken plate reposed on St. 
 Augustine. Thomas Aquinas was snug in bed ; and a “ Life of 
 Ignatius Loyola ” nestled in the father’s nightcap. 
 
 But you saw evidences that the divine was not only the theo- 
 logian of a Church of hoary antiquity, but the member of a 
 powerful confederation, strong, active, and of to-day. There were 
 the latest Journals and the newest Beviews — the “Tablet” — 
 the “ Times ” — Beports — Blue Books — German, Italian, and 
 Erench papers — Oxford pamphlets, and Brussels editions — the 
 latest fruits of the Tree of Knowledge lay scattered before you 
 there ! The father was an epicure in his taste for Knowledge. 
 He got the first copy of a new pamphlet as people in London get 
 forced strawberries and early green peas. Honour to such men 
 — be their creed what it may ! 
 
 They sat down. Lemonade and rusks were produced. Sin- 
 gleton and Adda sat together for two hours. When Fontenoy 
 returned on board, he had under his arm a “ Life of Loyola” and 
 Bishop Wiseman’s “ Lectures.” 
 
 He paid his debts of honour ; gave over going to parties ; 
 stayed on board a great deal; and was constantly at Father 
 Adda’s. He gave up his dandyisms and dissipations. Behold 
 him in the evening, seated at the stern -port, reading ! A Maltese 
 enters. 
 
 “Well, Missa Fontenoy, I find her at last!” 
 
 Singleton looked up. “ Whom do you mean ?” 
 
 The man answers, “ The young lady of St. John’s Church.” 
 
 Singleton closed his book, and remained for a few minutes 
 silent and thoughtful. Should he tell the man that he did 
 not want to know her address ? It was a moment of per- 
 plexity. 
 
 Love conquered — as he must and will. Doctrines may be false 
 — but Cupid is a sound divine. He took down the address, and 
 that evening he went ashore. 
 
 He walked out from Yaletta to a village, came to a house 
 with a large garden, and entered the garden by a broken gate. 
 
248 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 There among the orange-trees was Ivy ! 
 
 He walked up to her with a beating heart. She started with 
 astonishment, and her cry, her gesture, and her flush, told Sin- 
 gleton that he was loved. 
 
 As she saw him, and started, she let fall her string of ebony 
 beads. 
 
 Singleton picked them up with a charmed reverence, and 
 gave them to her — though a month before he would have 
 doubtless reflected in his epigrammatic way, “ How like these 
 are to the general run of priests, being wooden instruments of 
 prayer ! ” 
 
 But not so, now. With the spiritual revival, had come the 
 true love. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 249 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 H O M E. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 And fear’st thou, and fear’st thou, 
 
 And see’st thou, and hear’st thou ? 
 
 And drive we not free 
 O’er the terrible sea, 
 
 I and thou ? 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 f It is a dark and stormy night ; the wind is howling a death- 
 rattle through the throat of the Channel. Heavy line-of-battle 
 ships lie doggedly, three anchors down, cables veered out, lower 
 yards and topmasts struck, in the Sound. It is a night when 
 seamen swear and women pray ! 
 
 It was especially bad in the throat of the Channel ; the moon 
 was at her full, and had driven the ocean mad ; the wind tore up 
 and down the black waters, and every now and then, a crash of 
 thunder rolled all round heaven. 
 
 Presently the moon rolls grandly out from behind a black 
 cloud, as if she had just been shot, all fiery, for the first time, 
 into space. By her light, which streams in a golden oil over 
 the waves, a brig is made visible. Stunted-looking, with top- 
 gallant masts down — bare and ragged, with close-reefed main- 
 topsail and storm-trysails,— -she labours heavily and sulkily along. 
 It is H.M.’s brig “ Viper,” and this is her welcome home ! let 
 us transport ourselves on board. 
 
 Welwyn in his cabin, muffled in a huge coat, with a tarpaulin 
 hat on, takes the lantern and looks at the barometer, — no change, 
 — the mercury is cowering low down. Welwyn feels the brig 
 jump and tremble as the waves thump against her ribs, he but- 
 tons his coat resolutely, and pushes up the narrow companion- 
 ladder ; a flash of lightning meets him on deck. As he reaches 
 the weather-gangway — bang ! bang ! goes the brig’s head against 
 the water, a sea breaks, and hissing down heavily, wets every- 
 thing fore and aft with one tremendous shower. 
 
 “ Ugh, ugh !” said Mr. Block, the master, who was in charge 
 
250 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 of tlie watch; “a man might as well he a Newfoundland dog.” 
 The brig here plunged and kicked. 
 
 “ What do you think of it?” asked Welwyn, looking drearily 
 to windward. 
 
 “ Bad, bad, bad ! ” said Block, shaking his head. “ It’s blowing 
 great guns, and I’ve nothing to oppose to it but a pocket-pistol.” 
 
 Here the brig kicked again, as if disgusted at the master’s 
 joke ; Mr. Block pulled out the pocket-pistol in question, and 
 drank some brandy. 
 
 “ If we knew where we were,” said Welwyn, rather uneasily. 
 
 “Let’s heave the deep-sea lead!” suggested the master. 
 
 “ Watch, heave the deep-sea lead !” 
 
 The men began to crawl out from where they were huddled, 
 under the top-gallant forecastle, — the heavy lead was produced 
 and armed, — the line was passed along fore and aft. 
 
 “ Let go ! Watch there, watch !” passed from one end of the 
 brig io the other. The lead plunged, the line whizzed, the reel 
 span, — presently it was hoisted up again, — a lantern was brought, 
 — Block inspected the armed end of the dripping traveller. 
 
 “ Well, — what does it say ?” 
 
 Block paused. “We must be cursed near the coast of France,” 
 he said. 
 
 “ I’ll wear, and lay to,” said Welwyn, with calm decision ; 
 “ turn up, everybody — wear ship.” He seized a speaking-trum- 
 pet — the men trudged to their places. 
 
 The helm was gradually put up, and the weather-braces 
 rounded in, — the brig’s head fell off from the wind, — then, she 
 gave a swoop to leeward, and seemed preparing to fly ahead ; a 
 sea, meanwhile, gave her a slap astern, and flung the little dingy 
 that hung there on board in a twinkling. But she rounded to 
 on the other tack quietly, and having been a long time struck on 
 the starboard bow, held the larboard to the sea, in return, with 
 great resignation, — and now there was nothing to do but to keep 
 a good look-out, and wait for morning. The brig rose and fell 
 doggedly, but stuck to her place. 
 
 Welwyn waited on deck a long time, but there was no change. 
 At last he thought he might retire to his cabin, for a little rest, 
 • — he left word that he was to be called at daylight, and lay down 
 on his cot. 
 
 Daylight came — as it comes after stormy nights — sullen, 
 gradual, and grey ; the sea dawned into a kind of ashen light — 
 dirty and sickly -iooking, — it foamed like a huge ocean of porter ; 
 the seamen began to move about the soaked deck, weary, wet, 
 and wrinkled. 
 
 The wind moderated ; they bore up on their course, after some 
 consultation between Welwyn and the master. They shook a 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, It.N. 
 
 251 
 
 reef out of the main-topsail, and set the reefed foresail. The 
 brig vibrated and leapt along, shuddering and rolling ; Welwyn’s 
 servant crawled up with some coffee. He sat down on the stern 
 grating to sip it, when the look-out man cried, “ A sail.” 
 
 “ Take the glass, and look at her, quartermaster,” said 
 Welwyn, sipping the hot coffee. “ A homeward-bound India- 
 man likely.” 
 
 The quartermaster looked, and muttered something or other. 
 
 “ Why, she seems in distress,” he said. 
 
 Welwyn got up, and looked in the direction to leeward, tha^ 
 had been indicated. As the brig neared, there to be sure was 
 a craft — a poor, maimed yacht, with her beautiful wings clipped, 
 and looking like a wounded butterfly. It was a real object of 
 nautical sympathy to a moralizing man. 
 
 The quartermaster did not share the feeling much, apparently, 
 for he growled out that he wondered what business they had 
 out on such a night, and that it “ was a tempting of Providence.” 
 In the eyes of a quartermaster, Providence has the sympathies 
 and feelings of a post-captain. But such notions are not con- 
 fined to such classes. I fancy we most of us judge Providence 
 according to notions of our own. 
 
 “We must run down to them,” muttered Welwyn. The 
 weather was still moderating, luckily. The brig “ kept away” a 
 little, and started with fresh speed. As they neared the yacht, 
 she seemed more and more helpless. She was a beautiful 
 schooner, and her line of copper flashed as she rose every now 
 and then on the waves. But her masts were broken, and she 
 had a jury rudder. 
 
 Welwyn took the speaking-trumpet, and hailed her. There 
 was no answer. They saw nobody. The schooner rose and fell, 
 and seemed helpless. Presently, however, a hand waved some- 
 thing above the bulwarks. It looked like a flag, or a piece of 
 silk. 
 
 Welwyn and Mr. Block were watching her from the lee gang- 
 way. The brig had hove to, to windward. 
 
 “It’s a d — d pretty wreck,” said the master, sentimentally. 
 
 “ Shall we send a boat ?” inquired Welwyn. 
 
 “ In this sea ?” 
 
 “It is not so bad as it was. I’ll go,” said the youthful com- 
 mander. 
 
 A boat was got out, and manned with a pickqd crew. She 
 put off — Welwyn aft, with a keen eye and an intrepid heart, 
 guiding the coxswain. The boat plunged, but she was well 
 managed. She drew near the schooner. A line was passed, and 
 Welwyn and some of the boat’s crew got on board over the stern. 
 The first object they encountered was the figure of a man lying 
 
252 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 rolled up, with a red nightcap on, apparently asleep. The cox- 
 swain went to him, and shook him. 
 
 “All — right — old — fellow,” muttered the sleeper. The 
 “ Viper’s” men began to laugh. “ He’s drunk, sir,” said the 
 coxswain, to Welwyn. 
 
 Welwyn moved on — found some more of the crew in the same 
 state. He set his men to work to repair the schooner’s damages, 
 as well as it could be done. Then he descended into the yacht’s 
 cabin. 
 
 It was a melancholy scene that met his eyes. The floor was 
 strewed with the wrecks of shattered luxury, — shivered mirrors, 
 spilled wine, crystal, and silver, — and crushed flowers, and 
 spoiled books and prints, — porcelain that had crumbled into 
 gold dust, and fragments of glass sparkling like beads. The air 
 was heavy and close. The panels of the bulwarks were defaced ; 
 the green silk curtains lay in fragments on the floor. And Wel- 
 wyn’s eye caught a soiled, white, small glove, lying like a smashed 
 lily. 
 
 He stood for a moment in astonishment. Then, putting his 
 head up the ladder, he ordered the cabin skylight to be opened. 
 As he called out, he heard a noise in an inner cabin. The door 
 suddenly opened — 
 
 .“Great Heaven — where is my father? And] Welwyn saw a 
 tall and beautiful girl, wrapped in an enormous shawl, and with 
 her hair hanging in wild black ringlets down. Her face was 
 pale with terror and anxiety, her eyes painfully bright. 
 
 “All is safe,” said Welwyn, hurriedly. “ 1 have come from 
 her Majesty’s brig ‘Viper,’ to take charge of the yacht. The 
 gale is over.” 
 
 The girl blushed suddenly red. Welwyn stooped down, and 
 began picking up the fragments of the broken things, to avoid 
 causing her any disagreeable confusion. At that instant, 
 the fresh air and light came from the opened skylight, most 
 gratefully, and a great rich gleam of sunshine lighted up the 
 cabin. 
 
 Welwyn thought it best to go on deck for a little. The brig’s 
 men were busy putting things to rights. The weather was fast 
 moderating, still, and sail being made, the schooner began to 
 move through the water, towing the “ Viper’s” boat astern. A 
 little.boy, apparently a cabin servant, was running about on deck. 
 Welwyn called him — 
 
 “ Whom does this yacht belong to, my boy ?” 
 
 “ Mr. Lepel, sir. It was not his fault, sir.” 
 
 ** Here the boy looked frightened, being apparently afraid that 
 his master would be subjected to castigation by the naval 
 authorities. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 253 
 
 Welwyn smiled. “But wliat brought the yacht into this 
 state?” 
 
 The boy went on to tell him, that the schooner had left Ply- 
 mouth Sound on a cruise, a few days before ; that the gale 
 had blown them off the shore ! that the sailing-master in charge 
 had been taken ill (which meant, had got drunk ) ; and so the 
 yacht had soon become helpless. 
 
 As he finished the narration, the master came up to Welwyn, 
 very coolly. He rubbed his eyes — “ Ah, leeftenant ; a roughish 
 breeze we’ve had, ain’t we? I s’pose you’ll leave us, now 
 we’re all right agin ! ” 
 
 “Certainly not. The schooner being in distress, we take 
 charge of her,” said Welwyn, quietly. And he turned away his 
 head, and looked at the brig, which had made sail, and was 
 standing on in a line with them. The master kept, however, 
 standing close to Welwyn, with his eyes fixed on him, and his 
 hands deep in his pockets. 
 
 “ Want the salvage, s’pose, leeftenant, eh?” he said, twid- 
 dling his thumbs, which were outside his pockets, like crab’s 
 claws. 
 
 “I have answered you,” said Welwyn, turning away his 
 head. 
 
 The man stood immoveable, grinning, with eyes fixed on him, 
 and moving the hideous red thumbs as before. 
 
 “Eh, leeftenant, he! he !” he began. 
 
 But just then, the coxswain, who had been watching the pro- 
 ceedings with great disgust, and was aware of Welwyn’s quiet- 
 ness, suddenly came behind the master, and seizing him by the 
 collar, hurled him on one side. The master gave the same 
 stupid leer, and presently composed himself once more to 
 slumber. 
 
 Welwyn sent the boy down into the cabin, to inquire after the 
 gentleman and his daughter. It was only his duty ! 
 
 Back came a message, “Would he come down.” 
 
 “Collins,” said Welwyn to his coxswain, “keep the schooner 
 on in the brig’s track. Let the hands refit the rigging, and so 
 forth.” 
 
 He went down the ladder to the cabin again. Things were, 
 by this time, pretty well put to rights. There were sitting at 
 the table, our old friend Mr. Lepel, and Augusta. Mr. Lepel was 
 older and feebler than when we saw him last, in appearance, 
 
 . and alas ! in reality, too ! Augusta was — Augusta. What 
 more can we say ! A little taller and more graceful — a 
 little milder and more intellectual — with brow all thought, and 
 eyes all mind, she looked like what she was — a cultivated English 
 girl! 
 
254 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 “We owe our safety to you, sir,” said Mr. Lepei. 
 
 “We had, certainly, a rather rough night,” said Welwyn, 
 smiling ; “but these are our common duties in our profession. 
 Happy those whose duties are such that they must naturally be 
 their greatest pleasures, too ! ” 
 
 Poor Welwyn had not found that such was always the case, 
 but the sentiment occurred to him, and he wished to please those 
 he was with. 
 
 Augusta looked at him with some surprise. “ I think you said 
 your brig was called the 4 Yiper ? ’ ” 
 
 Welwyn bowed. 
 
 “ Then surely, papa,” cried Augusta, turning to her father, 
 “was not young Fontenoy in that vessel?” 
 
 Welwyn smiled. “I can answer that — he was ; he left us at 
 Malta just before we sailed.” 
 
 And then there occurred a long interchange of questions and 
 answers concerning my hero, of whom Welwyn spoke, as he 
 thought, with great esteem and attachment. This led to more 
 intimate communion between him and the Lepels, and they 
 invited him to visit them at Plymouth. Shortly afterwards, 
 Welwyn returned to the brig, leaving the coxswain and some 
 hands on board the yacht. 
 
 The vessels anchored in Plymouth Sound next morning. 
 
 And now Welwyn was plunged into the business of paying off 
 the brig, and was deep!into!the news of the navy. The Admiralty 
 sent him down his promotion to the rank of lieutenant, and he 
 received a letter from a high authority, complimenting him on 
 his conduct while in the “ Yiper.” 
 
 Plymouth was as lively as usual, full of naval men “ mooning” 
 about Union Street, &c. &c. A most interesting court-martial 
 was being held on board the flag-ship, upon Snoggles of the 
 “ Beaver,” a lieutenant, who, during the recent gale, had re- 
 ported the sheet-anchor ready for letting go, at a time when 
 about twenty seamen and their wives were suspended on it, in 
 their connubial hammocks. A happy accident prevented 
 Snoggles* report from being acted upon, otherwise, the persons 
 most ignorant of naval matters in the country, must be able to 
 guess what a frightful doom would have befallen the slumbering 
 couples. 
 
 Snoggles was tried — took the affair very coolly — made a sar- 
 castic defence, with many damning exposures of the discipline of 
 the “ Beaver” — and was sentenced to be put “ at the bottom of 
 the list of lieutenants,” a post for which he had been sedulously 
 qualifying himself for many years ! Sentence having been duly 
 passed, the philosophic Snoggles departed to the continent, 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 255 
 
 tliere to live quietly on his private means, and his four shillings 
 per diem, half-pay ; and may be seen, I am informed, by the 
 curious, at most of the places of note frequented by English 
 travellers abroad. 
 
 The “ Viper” was soon paid off. Brunt hurried up to London 
 to prepare his work on the plague, and to enjoy the luxury of dis- 
 section, of which he had been so long deprived. 
 
 One morning, Welwyn went to the hotel where the Lepels 
 were staying. 
 
 “Ah, Mr. Welwyn,” said the old gentleman, “we thought 
 you had forgotten us. I have disposed of my yacht.,- and we are 
 going home to Bockshire ; will you come down and visit us 
 there ?” 
 
 Welwyn paused. He glanced at Augusta, but she was looking 
 out of the window, and playing with her gold chain. 
 
 “You are very kind,” he said, “ but I must first go to 
 some relations. But I will join you afterwards there with 
 pleasure.” 
 
 The door opened. “Well, Fred?” said Mr. Lepel. Welwyn 
 saw a young man, who had obviously just arrived by the coach, 
 enter the room. 
 
 “ How do, sir — how are you, Augusta ? f It’s very chilly, this 
 morning. Awfully cold I was, coming down in the coach, and 
 perched opposite a Methodist parson. Freezing ! ” 
 
 Mr. Lepel, junior, here removed his cashmere handkerchief, 
 and looked at Welwyn. 
 
 “Lieutenant Welwyn — my son Frederick. This is the gentle- 
 man who saved us, you know, Fred,” said Mr. Lepel. 
 
 “ Very glad to see you, Mr. Welwyn,” said the philosophical 
 [Radical and Alcibiades of the Manchester School ; “I must 
 have a talk with you about the navy estimates!” He spoke 
 this with that fatherly air which young gentlemen who are 
 getting on precociously in the world assume towards their coe- 
 vals. His sister glanced quietly at Welwyn, who bowed. 
 Welwyn fell into the mistake common to persons of the idealist 
 and romantic class of intellect — of looking down on the practical 
 men. The fact is, the latter have not only their own cleverness to 
 go upon, but the world’s cleverness to back them. 
 
 “That was a dreadful scene!” said old Mr. Lepel, re- 
 verting (as he was apt to do) to the gale. “ What a night that 
 was ! ” 
 
 “Ah — you must have found it terribly cold!” said Fre- 
 derick, moving close to the fire. “When will the “ Times ” be 
 down ?” 
 
256 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting. 
 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door ; 
 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, 
 
 And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; 
 
 And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor. 
 
 Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 
 
 “ The Raven/* by Edgar A. Poe. 
 
 As Frederick spoke, lie warmed liis hands with that hearty 
 relish for physical comfort which most demagogues have. Since 
 we last saw him he had been “ getting on” famously. He was 
 “ up” in all sorts of facts, and was considered a very promising 
 young man. A London wit described him as one of those 
 youths who wear white chokers and marry widows. One meets 
 such gentlemen about — very quick and penetrating — very ready 
 and sarcastic — more intimate with their elders than with people 
 of their own years — reducing everything to utility, and never 
 even reading without a distinct view to material gain. 
 
 Frederick, I say, warmed his hands with a hearty relish. By 
 little and little, I must add, he was growing more selfish — but it 
 was that kind of selfishness which is not easily seen in particular 
 instances. You don’t find it out for a long time, and by the 
 aggregation of many cases — and then the harm, whatever it may 
 be, of the acquaintance is done 1 
 
 “ Yes, very cold it must have been,” he added, vaguely, for 
 his thoughts were wandering somewhere else. Mr. Lepel, who 
 had a wonderful opinion of his son, smiled. 
 
 “ Let me see,” said Frederick, standing upright before the 
 fire, with a parliamentary air, “ I never come anywhere without 
 seeing what there is to be seen. Mr. Welwyn, will you come 
 over the dockyard with me.” 
 
 Welwyn consented, and they left the hotel together. They 
 entered the dockyard, and inspected the various parts of it. 
 Everywhere Frederick was keen-sighted — calculating expenses, 
 viewing improvements, and pondering on alterations. Welwyn, 
 who looked at things from a totally different point of view, 
 seemed silent and stupid. Frederick made various experiments 
 on him. It was his way. He regularly investigated and 
 classified every new friend. 
 
 As they were standing looking at some patent anchors — a 
 recent invention — a gang of convicts passed. 
 
 “ Look there,” said Frederick, moralising, “ A very impor- 
 tant question is convict labour. How these poor devils there 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N* 
 
 257 
 
 are criminals by necessity. Statistics show that there will be so 
 much crime, just as there will be so much grass or cabbage, per 
 year. They can’t help themselves. Then, consider the particular 
 social influences — poverty, ignorance (and Toryism, added 
 Frederick, with a grin) — and what right have we to punish 
 them? Our primary duty is reform.” 
 
 Welwyn looked thoughtful. “ It is very melancholy. Every 
 one of these beings is a dormant good man. By nature, each is 
 a possible goodness. An impulse of the soul might transform 
 any one of them.” 
 
 Frederick coughed — an under-secretary-receiving-a-deputation 
 sort of cough — and pulled out a snufl-box. He had recently 
 taken to snuff, and used dandiacal mixtures. 
 
 “ Ah ! you are a reformer, then, like myself,” he said, scarcely 
 knowing what to say. 
 
 “ I am not a reformer, but I admire reform,” said Welwyn. 
 (“ A conservative trimmer,” thought Lepel.) “ I am an optimist, 
 I confess, in spite of Basselas and Candide. Everything will 
 come right.” 
 
 “ You believe in Peel?” said Frederick ; the time being that 
 of his administration. 
 
 “ Chiefly in Providence,” said Welwyn, with one of his grave 
 smiles. 
 
 Frederick laughed, and thought him a mystical sort of 
 fellow, with some brains. They walked along, and came to a 
 gigantic shed, where there was a line-of-battle ship on the stocks. 
 The name of Hildebrand was painted over her “ 120.” In her 
 then state, with her mighty ribs bare, she looked like the 
 skeleton of a mammoth. 
 
 “ There goes the public money,” said Frederick, with a laugh. 
 “ What think you of our naval expenditure?” 
 
 “ It has never occupied my attention much. Ho you know it 
 appears to me that an officer who is always thinking more of 
 reforming his business than of doing it as he finds it, is not the 
 best possible.” 
 
 “ By Jove,” said Frederick, “ I’d fling that in Charley 
 Hapier’s teeth if I was on the Treasury bench. But, you 
 know, such ideas would stop all reform.” 
 
 “ Somehow I don’t like the practice of reform, as it is carried 
 on in this country,” said Welwyn, musingly ; and they turned 
 away from the shed. 
 
 A party of matys were crossing just before them. 
 
 “ How, these seem intelligent, active men,” said Welwyn. 
 
 “Yes — and every man of them has a vote, sir!” said 
 Frederick. (“ A biped with a vote ” would be an accurate 
 definition of homo, according to the creed of some people.) 
 
 s 
 
258 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 They passed out of the gates, and returned to the hotel. 
 Frederick, as they walked along, talked a great deal more about 
 reform and reformers. 
 
 44 I tell you what I think of the reformers,” said Welwyn, 
 smiling. 
 
 44 Well?” said Frederick, with curiosity. 
 
 44 Oh ! no, it’s of no consequence,” said Welwyn, correcting 
 himself, and feeling, perhaps, that he was stirring from his 
 serene tranquillity by even giving an opinion. 
 
 44 Tell me,” said Frederick, pausing on the foot of the stairs. 
 
 44 That the country is suffering from disease of the heart, and 
 that their treatment is to crop its hair and beard !” 
 
 4 4 Well, we will do it close, you’ll see.” And they moved 
 on upstairs. Welwyn stayed to dinner, and went in the 
 evening to a party at the PoH- Admiral’s. Next morning, he 
 started with the Lepels, by coach, to Exeter. 
 
 London! 44 Jolly old London,” as Washington Irving well 
 calls it. 44 The best place in summer, and the only place in 
 winter,” as James Smith, also, did reasonably say. To Welwyn 
 it was a grand dream — a floating cloud with a million of figures 
 — he cared nothing to stay or to examine it. He went ,pro tem ., 
 to Hatchett’s — Mr. Lepel and his daughter started for the 
 north — Frederick remained in lodgings in Grosvenor-street. 
 Frederick was busy ! 
 
 Welwyn had little to do. He went to the Admiralty ; he went 
 to his agent’s. In the whole town he had not a friend, and he 
 had not that acquaintance with London, which, joined with a 
 philosophical spirit, makes the town itself a society. 
 
 What did Welwyn care for a town which neglected Sweden- 
 borg, and idolized George Brummell ? To be sure, there were 
 some naval men about — there were some at Hatchett’s. These, 
 however, were generally youths who were going through the 
 orthodox course — who had come of age — dropped into moderate 
 patrimonies — started cabs and tigers — and were laying in a stock 
 of poverty and anecdotes for their next cruise. Then, there 
 were some men he knew of another class — steady old lieutenants, 
 who lived near the Strand, and dined at the Crown, in Fupert 
 Street. Fed-faced old gentlemen, who took a little wine, and a 
 great deal of rum -and- water, and looked at the 44 Navy List,” and 
 talked about Jellicoe and Bird Allen. What had Welwyn to 
 say to them ? 
 
 Frederic Lepel was in London, to be sure. Welwyn did not 
 care for his society. But here was the difference between them 
 — Lepel liked him well enough. They differed, radically, in 
 character, but here was the superiority (if so it may be called) of 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 259 
 
 the practical man, that he availed himself with equal indifference 
 of everybody— being always bent on his career, more than his 
 individuality, — while Welwyn esteemed the maintenance of his 
 spiritual individuality a matter of principle. The distinction is 
 worth studying. 
 
 One day, W elwyn was going up Parliament Street, having been 
 musing in Poet’s Corner for an hour, when he perceived a 
 Hansom cab, rushing violently towards his side of the pavement. 
 He caught the features of Mr. Frederick Lepel, who waved his 
 hand, and made a gesture to him to stop. Frederick patronized 
 Hansom cabs very much, being of opinion, that in safety, rapidity, 
 and compactness, the Hansom was a type of modern civilization. 
 He had given up his Brougham, impelled, as he said by economy; 
 but as he spent the money in other ways, this was no great 
 saving. He was not the man to expend anything for the sake 
 of show — and besides, show was only necessary to supply the 
 want of substance. Solid, industrious young gentlemen of 
 brains had no need of it, he reflected. 
 
 “Come in !” he cried, as the cab drew up. Welwyn sprang 
 in, without much consideration, and away they rattled. 
 
 “You seemed very gloomy. Have you no friends in London ?” 
 Frederick asked. 
 
 “Ho,” said Welwyn. 
 
 “ It is very empty just now, certainly — though as the Duke of 
 Queensberry used to say, ‘ it’s fuller than the country ! ’ Come 
 to my rooms.” 
 
 The cab stopped. They jumped out. The door was opened 
 byLepel’s servant, and they went upstairs. Frederick occupied 
 a drawing-room floor in the house. There were one or two 
 busts in the room they went into — an engraving of “ John sign- 
 ing Magna Charta” — ditto of the “American Declaration of 
 Independence,” — and the “ Death Warrant of Charles the 
 First.” A plain oblong table occupied the centre of the room, 
 and at one end of it was a waste-paper basket big enough for a 
 Druidical auto-da-fe. There were two well-filled bookcases, 
 and there were heaps of papers and pamphlets of all sorts — 
 “ Letters to a noble Lord,” and “ Remarks on the present 
 Crisis,” &c., scattered about — also, minutes of the House, and 
 parliamentary documents. 
 
 “Excuse me,” said Frederick; and he began to open some 
 letters, from which it might have been conjectured that he had 
 not slept at home the night before. 
 
 But Welwyn had seen the “ Death Warrant,” and his thoughts 
 were wandering back to the day when Whitehall witnessed the 
 terrible expiation of all the follies and falsifications of that king, 
 
 s 2 
 
260 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 from whose blood, like to the blood of Ajax, sprang the flower — 
 English liberty. 
 
 He was startled from his reverie by a sharp “Tish!” from 
 Lepel. Lepel laid down a letter which he w 7 as reading, and 
 looked up. He rose from his chair. 
 
 “ Well, it is certainly odd how things come about. It is the 
 strangest thing that I should have met you on this very day of 
 all days.” 
 
 Here he rang the bell. 
 
 “ Charles, I shall dine at home.” 
 
 “ Yes, sir.” 
 
 “Wait a minute. Mr. Welwyn, had not you better stay, if 
 you have no engagement P” 
 
 Welwyn thought of the coffee-room at Hatchett’s — the noisy 
 man, who usually dined opposite him — the fat old country gen- 
 tleman, who wrangled with the waiter about the port till he was 
 “red in the face,” having been previously more than red in that 
 part of it called the nose — and accepted. 
 
 “I have asked three or four quiet men to-day,” said Erederick. 
 “ Well — make it all right,” he said, dismissing the servant. 
 
 Frederick’s business habits did not extend to domestic details. 
 So long as he had what he wanted, he let his servant do what he 
 pleased, and was plundered, not from ignorance, but because he 
 could not be bored about small matters ; though, perhaps, he 
 never attained the sublime indifference to personal economy of 
 the distinguished Alfred Bethnall Green, Esq. (who was often at 
 
 Dunreddin), who usually went to M ’s at the beginning of 
 
 the season, and gave him £2,000, with instructions to “make it 
 go as far as he could,” which, we may be sure, was not very far, 
 at Green’s favourite pace. 
 
 When the servant left the room, Lepel resumed. He took 
 the letter up, and threw it down again. 
 
 “This is from Mr. Fontenoy. You knew the son in the 
 ‘ Viper,’ did you not?” 
 
 “ Certainly I did,” said Welwyn, with some surprise. 
 
 “Was he going on curiously ? When I used to see a good 
 deal of him, he was a promising fellow enough ; but had what I 
 call a mental green-sickness — a sort of disorder of the imagina- 
 tion and unhealthiness of the intellect — which resulted in desul- 
 tory exertions and transient attachments.” 
 
 Welwyn was somewhat struck by this little speech. All the 
 external liveliness of Lepel which belonged to his temperament 
 vanished while he was making it. He looked intelligent, serious, 
 and sensible, giving an idea of what might be expected of him in 
 his earnest and aspiring hour. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 261 
 
 “ There was nothing very curious about him that I remember,” 
 said Welwyn, quietly. “ He was not like very ordinary persons, 
 certainly, for it seemed to me that he was of imaginative ten- 
 dencies ; and as they develop themselves before the mind is 
 thoroughly formed, the youth of those who have them is some- 
 times what is called eccentric.” 
 
 “Well,” Lepel said, “do the imaginative tendencies make 
 people buy the favourites for garrison races, and raise money 
 from Maltese money-lenders P ” 
 
 Welwyn drew himself up with surprise. 
 
 “ I should hope not.” 
 
 “ Fontenoy has been doing it, then,” said Lepel, taking up the 
 letter once more. Welwyn made a gesture to take it. Frederick 
 turned down the part alluded to, and pointed out the words. 
 Welwyn read, and was astonished. 
 
 “ That is what dullards call ‘ sowing their wild oats,’ ” said 
 Lepel, who seemed very much annoyed. 
 
 “It is a vulgar phrase, to describe a vulgar thing,” said 
 Welwyn. 
 
 “D — n it!” said Lepel, muttering some words to himself. 
 And then he went on with the letter. 
 
 “How, this is rich, ah! ah!” he exclaimed. 
 
 “ What ! ” said Welwyn, drumming nervously with his fingers 
 on the table. 
 
 “ There is a postscript which says that he has taken a new 
 whim. Nothing will suit him now but Roman Catholic haunts. 
 So, his father learns from a friend in the island. ’Gad, this 
 reminds me of Hoggles, of the “Weekly Rattler,” who, on the 
 pope’s death, t’other day, sent round a card with 
 
 Hoggles eor Pope ! 
 
 on it ! ” 
 
 Welwyn was in no mood for a joke. He looked very grave 
 and sad. 
 
 “ I tell you what,” said Lepel, “ you’re only his messmate, 
 and, of course, don’t know all about him ; but I suspect ” 
 
 Welwyn was on the point of stopping him, but had not the 
 courage. 
 
 “ I suspect there was some mystery about his mother which 
 may be influencing him now.” 
 
 Welwyn coloured very deeply. Lepel’s keen glance lighted 
 upon him. “Ah!” thought Frederick, “ he knows something 
 of it.” But Frederick did not guess how much, or how deeply 
 the fortunes of Welwyn and Singleton were intertwined, or that 
 it was blood of Singleton’s that was blushing in the face before 
 
262 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 him, or that Ms projects would be influenced by the circumstances 
 which he was thinking of ! 
 
 The servant came to lay the cloth. They went into another 
 room to wash their hands. On their return, the men who had 
 been invited were assembling. They were chiefly members of 
 that large class of young gentlemen who are thronging the gates 
 of the professions now — offshoots from old families from which 
 the younger branches are getting more and more distant every 
 generation — cousins and second cousins of great people who are 
 scarcely aware of their existence, but whose pedigrees, arms, 
 and connections, these young gentlemen have at their fingers' 
 ends. Conservative by hereditary sympathy, and yet Liberal by 
 education and aspiration, why should not this class be a most 
 important element in the work of the future? Yet everybody 
 seems to be more active — more influential in this country — than 
 a youth of the better orders. Some thousands of the best 
 educated, and the most avarices youths of the day, are by their 
 own supineness, and the present state of the suffrage, excluded 
 from all share in the conduct of the state. I suppose, for ex- 
 ample, that a hundred of the mob vote for every artist or student 
 — that twenty coalwhippers have more votes amongst them than 
 fifty average readers of Tacitus and Carlyle ! 
 
 Among the guests was our former acquaintance Mr. Bones, 
 of Oxford, who had now gradually developed into one of those 
 portentous unions of dandyism and Puseyism, which amuse the 
 philosopher in Pall Mall — tailor-made saints — trying to be en- 
 thusiasts, with half misgivings that they are fools, — disciples of 
 a system, two parts credulity and one part affectation ! 
 
 There was a young barrister who had written a pamphlet, and 
 wore spectacles ; there was the brother of a Liberal member ; 
 there was a statist in embryo ; there was a leading-article man. 
 All more or less clever — all working men, and pushing men — 
 quite free from the petty affectations of judgment in wine and 
 Trench cookery, which make many ridiculous, who might have 
 been only harmless. The only one properly ridiculous was 
 Bones. He had recently brought out a volume of poems, and 
 written an absurd preface dated “ Eve of St. Kilderkin.” 
 Frederick only asked him on this day, because he could not 
 stand him alone. You required to take him well mixed with 
 people of common sense ! 
 
 The dinner was of the quiet class. The conversation skimmed 
 politics, hovered about personal matters, and made flying dips 
 into literature. The leading-article man unfortunately remarked 
 that poetry was on its decline. Bones looked aggrieved. The 
 leading-article man, poor fellow! was unconscious of offence. 
 He had never heard of “ St. Ursula’s Nightcap, and other Poems.” 
 
 Frederick gave as a toast — 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 263 
 
 “ Tlie people, the only source of legitimate power.” It was 
 half-comedy with him. 
 
 “ What 'do you say to that sentiment, Welwyn ? he asked. 
 
 “ I look for a higher source,” said Welwyn. 
 
 “ Talking of poetry,” said the leading-article man; 44 give me 
 the man that can write a leader? ” , , . 
 
 “ Well, Pinion, I agree with you. I declare that lor three 
 who can write verses, novels, or essays, there is not one who can 
 write a leader,” said Lepel. 44 Mind you, I mean a good one I 
 
 Pinion bowed. , _ u. 
 
 “ I should think the 4 feeler’ must be the most difficult ot the 
 
 genus” resumed Fred. 
 
 Pinion looked modest. 
 
 “ What is the 4 feeler ? ’ ” inquired the barrister. 
 
 '“Why,” said Lepel, “when you want to know how public 
 feeling is turning, and write a mysterious prolusion, that satisfies 
 everybody, without communicating anything, or committing 
 
 anybody ! ” . s 
 
 They all laughed, and looked at Pinion. 
 
 “ Talk of Delphi,” said Frederick, giving the port (the only 
 wine he 4 hung out,’ as the elegant phrase is) a vigorous push ; 
 “ they never beat one of Pinion’s 4 We s ! You know I m a 
 iudge : I once owned a paper. Aud wasn’t I let in ! ” 
 
 “ I myself had a young one,” said Pinion, pathetically ; 
 
 44 but , 0 
 
 6 Abstulit atra dies, &c. 
 
 it died, and made-— no profit ! ” ^ . . 
 
 44 Have you seen 44 The Lays of Ancient Eome ? asked some- 
 body, across the table. 
 
 44 1 never read poetry,” said the statist. 
 
 “ Well— but that has nothing to do with the 44 Lays,” said 
 Pinion, with a chuckle. 
 
 A little after this period in the conversation, Lepel’s servant 
 came into the room. 
 
 “ What’s the matter ? ” inquired Frederick. 
 
 “ Beg your pardon, sir — is one of the gentlemen s names 
 Welwyn — a-staying at Hatchett’s, if you please ? ” 
 
 Welwyn started. Who could want him? And who had 
 traced him here ? 
 
 “What is it?” he asked. 44 That’s my name.” Frederick 
 dropped the nut-crackers and looked up. Bones started and 
 spilled some wine over his 44 High-church waistcoat,” or 44 cassock 
 waistcoat” (as they call them at Cambridge). How-a-days, the 
 University tailors seem to have the power of canonisation— 
 formerly confined to the pope. It is a grand sight for a cynic 
 to see one of them recommending to the spiritual enthusiast — a 
 waistcoat that looks like a hair-shirt ! 
 
264 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 Welwyn hurried downstairs. In a moment he returned again. 
 His face was serious, though, not agitated. He apologized, and 
 said that he must go. 
 
 “ It’s a great pity. Let me see you soon,” said Frederick. 
 
 Welwyn bowed and departed. — In half an hour he was rolling 
 along, out of town, between two rows of tall elms that glided by 
 him like the mourners in a funeral procession. On, on — in the 
 direction of the Northern Star. 
 
 He sat in a post-chaise, and was whirled over the Great 
 Northern Hoad, through a rich level country, dotted with little 
 dells, like dimples, and varied by undulations as gentle as the 
 mark left on a pillow by the pressure of a fair girl’s head. 
 It was the close of autumn. Earth seemed to have had her 
 locks shorn to relieve the summer-fever. The fields were bare 
 and rough — gristly with stubble/* and seemed deserted for ever. 
 Scarecrows that had done their office were rotting slowly at 
 their posts. 
 
 It was a melancholy time, and it was a melancholy way. For, 
 now that the current of national blood runs in other channels, 
 the Northern Hoad is bare and empty all day, as the dry bed of 
 a river. Only outcasts and wanderers wearily drag along it, and 
 leave red marks from their bare feet on its dusty paths, xlnd, 
 wretched above all is its autumnal wretchedness, when the 
 hedges are bare and ragged, and the trees have little heaps of 
 dead leaves lying at their feet. 
 
 Drearier and drearier it grew in the dusk, when every suc- 
 ceeding tree became dimmer, and the landscape on either side 
 was heavy with blackness, except where a solitary distant light 
 lay like a fallen star. Welwyn leaned back in his seat with his 
 arms crossed, and could have fancied that there was a dark 
 figure opposite, and sharing the journey. But his philosophy 
 admitted no ghosts. Ghosts, ghosts — what ghosts can there be 
 but projected from* me? If he had seen all the Furies — he 
 would have put his fingers on his pulse. In a world that is all 
 shadows, what matter one more or less P Keep thy heart up, 
 oh gentle idealist, whose philosophy lies as softly on thy being 
 as moonlight on the sea ! 
 
 Presently the lights of a town rose over a curve in the road 
 and flashed in the darkness, artillery-fashion. The chaise stopped 
 at a turnpike, then whirled past quiet little houses with dabs of 
 garden in front, and windows seeming sheets of light (little 
 houses that suggest love in a cottage, and a young wife reading 
 one a new poem by T ) ; then stopped again. Welwyn got 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 265 
 
 down, sent liis trunk into the inn, and moved away on Iiis busi- 
 ness. He gained the centre of the town. A gigantic figure 
 loomed near him. It was an abbey. He was in St. Alban’s. 
 Oncemoreour story lingers near St. Alban’s pile andBacon’s ashes. 
 
 He passed down a lane near the abbey, stopped at a door, — 
 knocked thrice. It was opened by an old woman dressed in 
 black, and holding a candle. 
 
 “ Mr. Alfred, how you are grown ! Come in, sir, the priests 
 are with him.” 
 
 Welwyn’s face darkened. He followed her on tip-toe, and 
 with the soft, reverent step with which we approach a dearly- 
 loved grave. (What a strange life there is about such a spot!) 
 In another minute he breathed heavily. The air he respired 
 was that of his father’s death- chamber. They had not met for 
 years. They had been separated by temperament, by stern 
 anger, by jealousy, and hate. 
 
 The father, a man of sixty, was lying on his back, breathing 
 hard, and with his eyes fixed on the priests. They were by the 
 bedside, and performing that ceremony in which the Church of 
 Home anoints with holy oil her dying children, to fight, like 
 gladiators, the battle with death ! One of them turned to the 
 son, and made a motion to him to kneel. He paused, and obeyed. 
 But he was not one who thought that he approached nearer the 
 great Source of Being by bending his knees. 
 
 The ceremony was concluded. The priests withdrew. Welwyn 
 was left alone in the room with his father. The old man took no 
 notice of him ; seemed quite unconscious of his presence. His 
 manner was stern and strange ; for there ran through his race 
 that dark chain of eccentricity, at one end of which is genius, and 
 at the other — insanity. 
 
 “ Well, father,” said Welwyn, “I am come.” 
 
 The old man rose suddenly up in the bed. “ Speak to me, my 
 boy. Where is Ivy P Hoes she remember that she must expiate 
 her mother’s sin by her own sorrow ? Listen to me, for I have 
 not long to live, and already my heart beats slow and sullen, as 
 if ’twere ashamed to go !” 
 
 Alfred was moved, and he sat down by the bedside. 
 
 “ I know that my time is short. There has been a strange 
 odour of violets all day. When I was young, I learnt that that 
 was a sign of death. At least, I mean, when it comes as it has 
 here, and at times like this.” 
 
 “ Ivy is still at Malta,” said Alfred, slowly, and avoiding 
 reference to what his father had just said. 
 
 “ Good, good ! ” and the old man’s eyes brightened. “ Convey 
 my wishes to her, and tell her that as her mother lost heaven for 
 the sake of me — — ” 
 
266 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 “ What ! ” cried his son, starting to his feet. . The father, by a 
 sudden impulse, pulled the bell-rope which hung by the bedside. 
 The bell rang with a sharp, wailing noise through the house. 
 The elder of the two priests came into the room. Mr. Welwyn 
 had fallen back on his pillow insensible — and insensible he passed 
 away. 
 
 w W W W W W w w 
 
 And Welwyn was wandering out in the open air of night, 
 meditating on that event which turns the stars into mourners, 
 and every wind of heaven into a dirge. 
 
 “ When we are, Death is not ; and when Death is, we are 
 not.” # 
 
 A magnificent dilemma, with horns as bright and splendid as 
 the horns of the moon ! 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 Dressed for effect, yet no way proud of dress. 
 
 Bestowing alms though unmoved by distress, 
 
 Too proud to do no good — that would be mean — 
 
 But yet too vain to let that good be seen — 
 
 He never looked to heaven except for weather ; 
 
 His heart and boots were both of patent leather ; 
 
 An oligarch, — he strictly served the Crown, 
 
 Thinking it helped to keep the people down ; 
 
 And though he left Religion in the lurch. 
 
 He paid his money to support the Church. 
 
 (From a Volume of Unpublished Satires.) 
 
 Fontenoy the elder having just returned from his magisterial 
 duties, was seated in his library at Heatherby. He was fatigued. 
 It was the beginning of a severe winter. Poverty and vagrancy 
 were very common. A plentiful game-season had produced very : 
 full calendars. In this country, crime fluctuates with the supply ' 
 of partridges ; and when we see it announced that the “birds are < 
 strong on the wing ” at an early date in the season, we naturally \ 
 expect full prisons and impoverished peasantry. Mr. Fontenoy ‘ 
 and his colleague on the bench (Pierrepoint of Pierrepoint, &c.) 
 had just been committing some hideous and unnatural villains 
 for stealing holly .f The atrocious miscreants had been taking 
 little pieces of that plant to sell to people desirous of adorning 
 their houses with it at Christmas. Toleration has its limits. 
 Such knaves must be sent to jail ! Mr. Fontenoy had committed 
 them with his most severe expression — a look that might have 
 
 * Tristram Shandy. 
 
 t What has become of the “ great-hearted gentlemen” of Browning’s " Kentish 
 Sir Bing’s” school ? Echo answers — but only from the grave ! 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 267 
 
 iced wine. Not that he was snbject to fits of anger or excite- 
 ment. He was usually in an equable state of cool temperature. 
 He never knew those marvellous alternations which make ol 
 some men, to-day a meteor flying through heaven, to-morrow an 
 serolite, cold and silent on the earth. 
 
 He busied himself just now among his papers. There was a 
 deed of mortgage and the prospectus of a mining company before 
 him, and lying beside them, a letter from his son, which he had 
 indorsed “ Singleton’s folly,” and which he kept with other 
 documents of a very different character. He was a singularly 
 unromantic man, one of those to whom tears suggest nothing but a 
 pocket-handkerchief. His favourite part of Scripture was the “Pro- 
 digal Son,” which he conceived to have been expressly launched 
 against the young gentlemen of his generation — and in killing 
 the “ Patted Calf,” his predominant reflection would have been 
 on the price of veal. In fact, the contrast between himself and 
 Singleton was as striking as that between the allegorical headings 
 given to the chapters of the “ Song of Solomon,” and the gor- 
 geous, glowing poetry of the song itself ! Greater it could not 
 well be. 
 
 He had just finished a letter when he heard a hasty step on 
 the stairs ; the door opened, and he welcomed Frederick Lepel. 
 Notwithstanding the difference of their political opinions (which 
 in most cases was a matter of importance in Mr. Fontenoy’s esti- 
 mation), they were excellent friends ; he looked on Frederick as 
 a sensible fellow, who wished to rise in the world, and who had 
 doubtless very good private reasons for taking the course he 
 did. 
 
 “ How do you do, Frederick ? ” 
 
 “ How are you, sir P ” said Frederick, with much emjpressement. 
 “ Ho I interrupt you ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no. I suppose you are beginning to be pretty full at 
 Hunreddin, now ? ” 
 
 “Yes,” said Frederick, shrugging his shoulders a little. 
 “ What they call ‘old English hospitality.’ My father is hint- 
 ing at a wassail bowl ; as if one could not get drunk enough on 
 mulled port ! ” 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy smiled grimly. “ By the bye, we had some 
 cases of holly stealing this morning. Curious thing it is, that 
 people should deface shrubs ! and for what purpose ? A bar- 
 barous decoration ! ” 
 
 “Yes,” said Frederick; “the only use of holly is to make 
 birdlime.” 
 
 “ Are there any fresh arrivals of guests ? ” 
 
 “ Yes ; and that was what I came over to talk about. We 
 have got a Lieutenant Welwyn of the navy, who knows Single- 
 
268 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, ft.N. 
 
 ton; he found my father’s yacht in the Channel, drifting like a 
 tub (when I want to go anywhere, I take a passage in a 
 steamer), — and towed them safe into Plymouth.” 
 
 “ Welwyn !” said Mr. Fontenoy ; and he paused, and seemed 
 meditating. “I remember a man of that name, long ago, 
 abroad. Well, time passes?” Lepel looked at him with a half 
 sneer, and turned and carelessly skimmed with his eye the book- 
 cases. He was wondering what reminiscence had called so 
 much human interest into that dry, hard face. 
 
 “What sort of man is this Welwyn?” Mr. Fontenoy asked, 
 raising his head from his hand, on which it had been resting for 
 some time. 
 
 “ Quiet, grave, gentlemanlike, and rather unintelligible,” said 
 Frederick, sententiously. 
 
 “ Oh, a plain old lieutenant.” 
 
 “Hot at all; quite young and good-looking, and talks much 
 more like a pope than a sailor.” 
 
 “ Ah, I must have some conversation with him about Sin- 
 gleton.” 
 
 Frederick then turned the conversation to business matters, 
 for they were associated together in one or two projects, and 
 after some time they setoff for Dunreddin. They found a large 
 company assembled in the drawing-room ; dinner waiting for 
 them, old Mr. Lepel fidgety, Mrs. Lepel anxious (she was 
 always anxious when Frederick was late), Augusta pensive, and 
 the company, generally, in various stages of decorous anxiety. 
 Welwyn was dressed in mourning, and looked pale and 
 thoughtful. The difference between him and Frederick, in ap- 
 perance, was this, — one was the kind of man to sit for a cardinal ; 
 the other to stand for a borough. 
 
 There was barely time for more than a mere formal introduc- 
 tion of Welwyn to Mr. Fontenoy, when dinner was announced, j 
 and the party “ formed order of sailing ” (as Sir J. Singleton, ' 
 C.B., used to phrase it), and “tacked in succession ” to the ' 
 dining-room. During dinner, Welwyn glanced once or twice at • 
 Mr. Fontenoy, who was at some distance from him. Mr. Fon- ' 
 tenoy asked him to take wine, to encourage him ! Fontenoy 
 jpere liked a young man who looked shy. I still maintain that 
 shyness usually accompanies mental superiority (by which I do 
 not mean “ brains,” as people call it, or mere talent), — though 
 Thackeray classes it as a “ species of vanity. ” # Say that the 
 shyness of some is so ; at all events, we must still class it with 
 that good-natured vanity which is sensitive about the opinion 
 of others. And how much better is that than the air capable et 
 
 * In “ Pendennis,” where we find the good sense of a homily, with the easy charm of 
 a novel. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 269 
 
 compose," which, as Rochefoucauld says, usually becomes im- 
 pertinence. 
 
 At dessert, it must be admitted the conversation was dull. 
 There was a gentleman who talked of prison discipline, and 
 whose conversation was a fine specimen of the severest secon- 
 dary punishments. Frederick’s talk, to be sure, was better, for, 
 like a grindstone, he not only ground, but sparkled. Fontenoy 
 pere uttered observations so gravely, that you were reminded of 
 an oracle utttered by an oak of old. A Scotchman who had 
 come down from grouse-shooting, and who was a native of that 
 remarkable part of Scotland called Galloway, spoke incessantly 
 of “ Galloway! ” 
 
 “ Mr. Murdock, have you seen Ulswater ?” 
 
 “ Have ye ever seen Gallaway ?” 
 
 “ Mr. Murdock, have you seen the new book on Palestine ?” 
 
 “ Palestine — Pawlestine ! Eh, — it’s no much bigger than 
 Gallaway !” 
 
 You always felt inclined to hurl a pine-apple at the head of 
 Murdock, if you sat opposite him ; and were constantly reminded 
 of that anecdote of Sir Philip Francis, in which we are told that 
 he sprang from his chair once, seized a prosy man by the throat, 
 in the middle of an observation, and exclaimed that “ flesh and 
 blood could bear it no longer ! ” 
 
 Welwyn was prodigiously relieved when he found himself in 
 the drawing-room. Hear him, on an ottoman, was Ellen Pierre- 
 point — a little, fair, slim girl, who tripped up to chat with an 
 agreeable person, as prettily as a robin hops up to the window in 
 winter-time for crumbs. She was attracted by Welwyn’s 
 reserve and quiet : perhaps agreeing with an old and forgotten 
 writer, who says — 
 
 Not bould in speech, nor man of many words, 
 
 Chuse thou a husband ; leafy tree affords 
 The smallest store of fruit.* 
 
 Welwyn shut up the book he had been looking at, as she sat 
 down beside him. During the few days he had been at Dun- 
 reddin, he had conversed with her several times. She used to 
 talk t© him about the sea, and then, by an easy transition — at 
 least one that she found very easy — about Frederick Lepel. 
 
 “ How, Mr. Welwyn, tell me something about the ‘ Flying 
 Dutchman.’ ” 
 
 * From “ A Happy Husband,” by Patrick Hannay, Gent., M.A., 1618. — He was 
 grandson of Donald Hannay, Esq., of Sorbie, in Wigtownshire, N.B. He wrote 
 Two Elegies on the Death of Queen Ann, wife of James I., besides other “ Poems,” 
 published in one volume, with a curious portrait, in 1622 j and sometimes has much 
 point and command of versification. — See Ellis’s <{ Specimens j” Bubke’s 
 “ Visits of Seats and Arms,” Yols. II. and III.; &c. &c. 
 
270 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 Augusta caught the words, and came over and joined them. 
 She had a great love for the marvellous. 
 
 “ It is odd,” she said, “ that the unromantic Dutch should have 
 furnished the best supernatural story to the legends of the 
 ocean.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Welwyn ; “ I remember, once, when I was - 
 coming round the Cape of Good Hope, in the ‘ Pelican.’ It 
 was very stormy weather ” 
 
 Augusta bent her eyes with an eager look ; Ellen nodded her 
 head with delight, at the prospect of a story, till her ringlets 
 shook again. Presently, a little group formed round them. 
 
 “ Very stormy weather !” resumed Welwyn. “ Fancy a sky 
 deadly black, with great, long clouds of glaring white scudding 
 across it, and a moon rushing like a blood-red cannon-ball! 
 We had been all day labouring in the sea, with very little sail 
 set. J ust at sunset, a ship passed close by us ; I came to wind- 
 ward to look at her ; she had a large black hull, with a white 
 stripe : her masts were a bright brown ; she was before the wind, 
 flying at a grand pace ” 
 
 Ellen held her breath. . 
 
 “ She passed on. We watched her, breathlessly ; her sails 
 did not move ; she went out of sight.” 
 
 “Well?” asked Ellen. 
 
 “ Well !” said the narrator, with a demure smile. * 
 
 “Did you see her again?” 
 
 “Ho!” 
 
 “ What was she, then ?” asked Augusta. 
 
 “ The £ Damp ant,’ Captain Huggles, going to Bombay, with a 
 general cargo,” said Welwyn, looking innocent. 
 
 “ Oh ! For shame !” { 
 
 “Heally, this is trifling with our young affections,” said the j 
 lively and daring Miss Beaconsfield, who read George Sand. 
 
 Frederick Lepei, who had joined the group, laughed. “Very J 
 good, Welwyn. Generally, when sailors begin to spin a yarn, 
 nothing short of the shears of Atropos can cut it in a decent * 
 time.” 
 
 “And pray who is Atropos?” inquired Miss Beaconsfield. 
 
 “ A femme savante of the upper circles,” said Frederick, 
 moving away. Ellen Pierrepoint went to the piano. Augusta 
 spoke to Welwyn of Singleton ; perhaps the father heard the 
 name, for he crossed over to them. 
 
 “ Pray — stay,” said Welwyn, in a sudden low voice, to Miss 
 Lepel. She had been about to move away; she coloured a 
 little, but remained seated. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy came up, and entered into conversation with 
 Welwyn about his son. His questions were of the genuine 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 271 
 
 conventional class ; they chilled Welwyn ; Augusta had been 
 chilled by such long before. It is a sad fact that there are only 
 two fates for genuine original beings born into the world of con- 
 vention, now — rebellion or misery ! Who ever met a very 
 gifted person who was not either fanatic, quietist, or quack? 
 But it is only the first two that the world dislikes. Allons ! 
 
 When Mr. Fontenoy had asked various questions, he paused: 
 then he said, 44 I remember your name very well, Mr. Welwyn. 
 Are you of the Welwyns of ?” (naming a county.) 
 
 “1 never troubled \ myself much about our origin,” said 
 Welwyn. 44 I was too careless, and too poor.” 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy winced at the word “poor.” For the life of 
 him, he could not help shuddering at that word. 
 
 “ I used to know a gentleman of your name,” he went on, 
 44 long ago ; I was abroad then ” * 
 
 44 I don’t think the name is uncommon,” interrupted Welwyn. 
 And the music growing loud at that moment, Mr. Fontenoy said, 
 hastily, that he hoped to see more of Mr. Welwyn during his stay 
 in this part of the country, and left them. 
 
 44 I don’t like that man,” said Welwyn, suddenly. 
 
 Augusta was surprised, but she said simply, 44 Some people 
 do not.” 
 
 “ Pardon me,” he observed, recovering himself. “ I talk in 
 my sleep sometimes. My life is a melancholy dream.” 
 
 The music ceased. EllenPierrepoint came over to Augusta, with 
 her winning way, and said, 44 Oh, pray sing us 4 The Martyr.’ ” 
 
 44 The Martyr ? ” said Frederick. 44 What is that ? ” 
 
 44 You will be expected to cry,” said Miss Beaconsfield, in a 
 comic whisper. 
 
 Augusta hesitated. One or two of the party pressed Ellen’s 
 request. • 
 
 44 May I beg it as a favour,” said Welwyn. 
 
 Miss Lepel walked to the piano at once, and sat down ; and 
 Welwyn felt a sudden thrill of pleasure — so sweet, and so new ! 
 
 Then Augusta sang the following strange, irregular strain — 
 quaint and sad, as a rude death’s-head and cross-bones on a 
 country tomb. The attraction lay in the music to which it 
 was set — a flowing, wild, melancholy melody, impossible to 
 describe. 
 
 THE MARTYR. 
 
 It was the early morning 
 When first she met my view ; 
 
 What time with heavy rain- drops 
 Sparkled the spear-like yew : 
 
 It was the fall of summer 
 When she used to pass by me ; 
 
 What time the year was weaning 
 The fruit from the mother tree. 
 
272 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 Ever, in early morning, 
 
 Glided she forth alone ; 
 
 Cold and silent she seemed 
 As a lily carved in stone : 
 
 Ever, in early morning, 
 
 Forth the maiden goes, 
 
 With water, cold as her glances, 
 
 To water a lonely rose. 
 
 Drooping and dying the rose seem’d — 
 
 Forth the maiden goes — 
 
 Paler and paler her cheek grew, 
 
 Redder and redder the rose ! 
 
 It was the early morning — 
 
 The rose had gained its prime — 
 
 A voice, like the voice of the maiden, 
 
 Was heard in the village chime. 
 
 Still, from the early morning, 
 
 Went on a heavy work ; 
 
 Deeply the green earth was wounded, 
 
 In the shadow of the kirk. 
 
 Then there was no more morning — 
 
 Oh ! then my grief was strong — 
 
 The rose decked the grave of the maiden, 
 
 Who had nourished it so long. 
 
 There was a murmur as she ceased, and Augusta coughed and 
 lowered her head for a moment, and her white handkerchief 
 gleamed as it crossed her long black hair. Mr. Fontenoy had, 
 strange to say, been listening with attention, and seemed to take 
 more interest in it than he did in music generally. (Though, to be 
 sure, he had subscribed for a new organ for the Gev. Mr. Gut- 
 ter’s church lately !) 
 
 “ Do you know where we got that jrnusic, Mr. Fontenoy P ” 
 asked Ellen Pierrepoint, timidly. 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “ On that day when we were ail over at Ileatherby, and you 
 gave us leave to turn over those old portfolios of music. It 
 was tied up in a romantic way, and there was a lock of hair 
 inside.” 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy turned pale. At that moment he met Welwyn’s 
 eye, and apparently something in its expression discomposed 
 him, for he turned away, changed the conversation abruptly, 
 with a little rusty laugh, and soon afterwards ordered his carriage, 
 and went home. The Pierrepoints went also soon afterwards ; 
 and it became evident that it was time for everybody to retire, 
 for Murdock had fallen sound asleep on a sofa, and was snoring 
 like an apoplectic S ten tor. 
 
 Welwyn gained his room, and sinking into a chair, began to 
 muse. “No, it is madness — folly grown insane ! It is imperti- 
 nence. If she loves me — why, then, that only makes it worse ! 
 I hope she does not — I hope to God she does not. Pshaw! Shall 
 I, who am a sharer in the Great Soul — 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 273 
 
 c . . . owner of the sphere 
 Of the seven stars and the solar year.’ 
 
 become the slave of an idea — a formalist — a fanatic ? I have not 
 broken every idol only to make room for one.” 
 
 Meanwhile, Frederick Lepel in his rooms read a line written 
 on half a sheet of scented note-paper. It was this — 
 
 “ Dear Fritz, — I think — yes. 
 
 “ E ” 
 
 Frederick lighted his meerschaum with it, stirred the fire, took 
 from it a little copper pan, in which some claret was gently sim- 
 mering, and left the room, treading lightly along the gallery. 
 
 Welwyn heard a slight tapping at his door, — started and 
 coloured, — then smiled at his folly, and opened it. He saw 
 Frederick in a rich dressing-gown, and with a black velvet cap 
 on. 
 
 “ I thought you would not have gone to bed. Just step over 
 to my rooms, and have a chat. I can’t sleep yet.” 
 
 Welwyn readily assented. They sat down in Frederick’s 
 sitting-room. Frederick wound up his alarum, which was to 
 summon him to his reading early, and composing himself in a 
 huge arm-chair, seemed in the exact mood for gossip. But, in 
 truth, the active brain under his pale well-developed forehead 
 was busily at work. 
 
 They chatted away pleasantly enough — talked of the various 
 people in the house, and the neighbouring country. Fred was 
 gay and amusing. 
 
 Presently he leaned forward to knock the ashes out of his pipe, 
 and said, “ I expect another visitor soon — one of the ‘ sordid 
 and rapacious oligarchy,’ as some of my Radical friends call them ; 
 but in reality a pleasant, gentlemanly fellow — (here Fred laughed 
 agreeably) — with everything about him that said Radicals think 
 creditable in themselves, and blood that every man of good 
 descent must sympathise with into the bargain — Lord Belden. 
 (Here Fred rose, and touched Welwyn’s shoulder.) I know you 
 would soon guess the state of things, so I tell you beforehand. 
 He is what people call ‘ in love ’ with Augusta — an old engage- 
 ment. Hang it, I thought I had put too much nutmeg in ! 
 What a bore ! ” 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 SINGLETON i'ONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Leave all for love ; — 
 
 Yet hear me, yet, 
 
 One word more thy heart behoved. 
 
 One pulse more of firm endeavour, 
 
 Keep thee, to-day. 
 
 To-morrow, for ever. 
 
 Free as an Arab 
 Of thy beloved. 
 
 Emerson-. 
 
 My faculties gather to her beauty, like the genii to the glister of the lamp. 
 
 “ Shirley,” by Currer Bell, Vol. III. 149-50. 
 
 Welwyn descended very late to breakfast next morning. He 
 bad scarcely sat down when Miss Lepel entered the room. 
 Mr. Murdock was finishing a grouse. 44 Eh, Muster Welwyn, 
 you’re late this morning ! And ye, too, Miss Lepel ! ” (Mur- 
 dock had a notion that his forte was comedy.) 
 
 44 I slept ill, and was restless,” said Welwyn. 
 
 Augusta had slept ill, and had been restless. Welwyn saw 
 as much — if not from her delicate pallor, and the touching 
 languor of her eyes, for which the long black lashes seemed too ] 
 heavy — then, certainly, from the blush which passed across her 
 features as he spoke, like the reflection of a kingfisher’s breast 
 in a running stream. 
 
 44 I heard from Gawloway this morning,” said Murdock, 
 chipping an egg, as you could fancy an ibis chipping a crocodile’s. 
 
 44 Air. Welwyn, have ye been in the West Indies?” 
 
 44 For a short time.” 
 
 44 Ye’ll know something of guano, then!” 
 
 Murdock carried him off to the library, to ask him the impor- 
 tant question at greater leisure. Even this monstrous bore was 
 a relief to Welwyn in his present frame of mind. Mr. Murdock 
 pelted him with guano for an hour, then strolled off to take a 
 walk, and examine any vagrants that he might meet on the 
 roads as to the causes of their being out of employment ; having 
 accomplished which, he used to give the victim a penny, and 
 advise him to read Adam Smith. He then sauntered on through 
 •the lanes, calculating the pecuniary value of any exuvice lying on 
 the road ; and so passed the day in rational and honest pursuits, 
 and thanked Heaven that he was not a dreamer, but a practical 
 man. 
 
 When Murdock had gone out, Welwyn deliberated what he 
 should do. There was the library, but he had not courage to 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N* * + 2*75 
 
 read. The weather was too cold for sauntering to anybody but 
 the hardy Murdock. In this hesitation he was wandering about 
 the library, reading the names of books which he was too languid 
 to take down, when Mr. Lepel came in. He was laudably 
 anxious to see that his guest was amused, and Welwyn was 
 equally anxious to appear perfectly happy. 
 
 Mr. Lepel began hunting about for an attractive volume for 
 him as eagerly as if he had been a bookseller going to dispose of 
 it. His own literary tastes — as far as he had literary tastes — 
 were of a good old traditionary character. He liked Shakspeare, 
 but did not care to trouble himself with Coleridge and Hazlitt’s 
 criticisms on him — much less with all those wonderful specula- 
 tions with which the world has been flooded of late, wherein 
 Caliban is proved to be a Brummell, and Iago an injured indi- 
 vidual — with much of the same class. He honoured Milton, yet 
 somehow did not often read anything but Comus. Among 
 moderns, Burke was a favourite, Sir Walter Scott a darling. 
 He had only ventured on one of Sir Edward’s novels, and lie 
 timidly objected to one or two of Tennyson’s poems, as some 
 old people do. 
 
 “ Let me see — what have we here?” he said, taking out a 
 volume. “ Jones on Constitutional Law. Hem! An elaborate 
 treatise ! ” 
 
 Welwyn smiled as he saw that the leaves were uncut. Jones 
 was replaced. 
 
 “As a naval man, perhaps you would like a naval novel.” 
 He took down “ Tom Cringle’s Log” — the best fiction of that 
 species that was ever written. Welwyn had read it. 
 
 “ Beally,” said Welwyn, laughing, “ you are giving yourself 
 too much trouble, and encouraging me in lazy habits.” 
 
 “ I tell you what,” said Mr. Lepel, “ I wish you would go and 
 visit Mr. Eontenoy at Heatherby. Some of the young ladies 
 have been intending to go for some time.” 
 
 “ 1 don’t like the man, but I must see him some time. I need 
 not stay long, and there will be others with me,” thought 
 Welwyn, in an instant. So he said that he was ready to go. 
 He was going to say happy, though he invariably endeavoured 
 to check all tendencies to conventional talk as well as he could. 
 But, as times go, one might as well speak Sanscrit, as speak 
 honestly for general purposes. 
 
 Mr. Lepel went out. Welwyn remained alone in the library. 
 He took up some paper, and fell to sketching heads with a pen. 
 He drew well — a common accomplishment in the service. 
 
 Presently Augusta and Ellen Pierrepoiut came in, looking for 
 their negligent cavalier. Welwyn jumped up, and threw down 
 the pen. 
 
276 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 “ I ought to have been ready, but pray excuse me for a 
 moment.” He left the room to make some slight change in his 
 dress. When he returned, they went out. They had agreed to 
 walk, as the distance was trifling. The air was milder, and the 
 sun made the snow which rested in light flakes on the tips of the 
 trees and shrubs, sparkle there like blossoms. They all three 
 walked easily along, and without taking arms. That custom is 
 a bore. It prevents you seeing the face of the person you are 
 walking with, unless you markedly turn your head to meet their 
 eyes — which is sometimes awkward. I frankly confess, that 
 I hate to see a troup of couples, chained together like galley- 
 slaves, or — to use a more pleasing illustration — tied together in 
 a bouquet. 
 
 “ I love winter scenery,” said Welwyn , — “ I like what some- 
 body calls, — 
 
 e The frolic architecture of the snow.’ *** 
 
 Here they gained the summit of a rather steep lane. 
 
 “ That is Heatherby,” said Miss Lepel, pointing to Mr. Fon- 
 tenoy’s seat. Soon afterwards they stepped into the park. 
 There were many acres of grand, smooth sward, dotted here and 
 there with noble trees. On one side of the house rose a slight 
 hill covered with a thick plantation. The estate was very well 
 wooded — though, just at this time, execution had been done to 
 a considerable extent, and trees, peeled white, and with the 
 bark piled in square black loads beside them (like bathers with 
 their clothes), were lying stretched in pale death. These were 
 phenomena on which our party did not speculate. 
 
 “ It is a beautiful place,” said Welwyn, pausing. He thought 
 of Singleton, and mentally congratulated him on the heritage ; 
 but as for envy, it never entered his mind. 
 
 As they approached the house, its beauty grew more grand, 
 more definite and imposing. It was intellectually as well as 
 architecturally Elizabethan. Its deep red hue shone in the sun 
 like petrified fruit. There was a certain pride even in the 
 attitude of the “ three roebuck’s heads coujped ,” which figured 
 on the escutcheon in front. They seemed ready to show fight — 
 like their master — and appeared to exclaim, “ Look at us, we are 
 preserved ! ” The building was eloquent and conscious, and said, 
 “ Behold, oh visitor ! I am an aristocrat. If my possessors are 
 not titularly noble, ’tis that they were too proud to seek a super- 
 fluous honour ! ” 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy was out, but was going to return soon. So 
 they walked in to wait for him, and strove to amuse themselves 
 
 * The quotation is an anachronism, I am afraid, in Welwyn’s mouth ; but I would 
 risk a worse fault to introduce a line of Emerson’s ! 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 277 
 
 in the interval. Not that that was easy in Mr. Fontenoy ’s man- 
 sion, wherein a solemn grandeur as of a cathedral reigned ever 
 — where a canary in a cage was afraid to sing — where the shy 
 and the tremulous sipped the wine at lunch with an awful reve- 
 rence. Indeed, everything there became the master, who — as 
 Camille Desmoulins wittily said of St. Just — carried his head as 
 if it were the Host ! 
 
 “ That vase came from Pompeii,” said Augusta, pointing to 
 one. 
 
 “ It has only changed its tomb,” said Ellen Pierrepoint, who 
 occasionally shot a silver arrow at Mr. Fontenoy, of whom she 
 stood in some dread. 
 
 “ I have often wondered,” said Augusta, lowering her voice, 
 “ what kind of lady Mrs. Fontenoy was ; I believe she died 
 young.” 
 
 A slight cold calm fell upon the three. Welwyn rose from 
 his chair, and began pacing the large drawing-room in which 
 they were sitting — crossing the streams of light and shadow that 
 poured from the lofty window. 
 
 . “ Singleton is not at all like his father in the face,” he said, 
 musingly. 
 
 “ I dare say he resembles her” said Miss Lepel. “ I can 
 fancy a girl like Singleton.” 
 
 Welwyn halted, and looked out of the window. The light 
 fell on his profile. 
 
 “ I see a slight resemblance to Singleton in Mr. Welwyn,” 
 said Miss Pierrepoint. Welwyn moved rather abruptly, and 
 smiled. 
 
 “ Yes, I can fancy a girl like Singleton,” said Augusta again, 
 musingly. 
 
 Welwyn again stopped, and looked at them. 
 
 “Can you fancy a girl with a face something between an 
 Italian summer and a northern sky, with hair in ebony blossoms, 
 and eyes like violets in love P ” 
 
 “ Yes,” said both the girls, smiling a little ; “ and what then P ” 
 
 “ Can you fancy her shuddering at the prospect of a cloister ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes ! ” cried the Pierrepoint, making her ringlets dance. 
 
 “And having escaped that, — finding the worse cloister of a 
 cold heart for shelter ? Finally, love having changed into sorrow, 
 and religion darkened into superstition, can you fancy, then, her 
 wearing away, and, in a word, dying a martyr to an aspiration ?” 
 
 “Like the martyr in the song we found here,” said Miss 
 Pierrepoint. 
 
 “Yes,” said Welwyn, slowly — “yes — very like the martyr in 
 the song. True ! ” 
 
 His manner was so strange, that they turned rather pale, and 
 
278 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, &.N. 
 
 looked at each other. But the shade passed away from his high 
 pale brow, and he smiled again, and began more lightly. 
 
 “Well, this was a fancy of mine. — How strange that Mr. 
 Fontenoy does not come !” 
 
 “Let ns look at the pictures — let us look at the ancient 
 Fontenoys,” said Miss Pierrepoint. 
 
 It was agreed. They gained the gallery ; there were the 
 gentlemen. They wandered about criticising them : sometimes 
 Augusta praised one — so that Welwyn wondered it did not sud- 
 denly take life, and walk down with delight. One section of the 
 Mahometans hold the odd belief that all artists will, at the Judg- 
 ment-day, be called on to furnish souls for their figures. Happy 
 creed ! Oh, shade of Phidias, the figures in the works of some 
 of our English gentlemen want souls most terribly ! — But this 
 is a mere passing shot, to put the “ light” reader into good- 
 humour ! 
 
 “Mr. Fontenoy is like that gentleman,” said Welwyn, indica- 
 ting the great-grandfather. 
 
 “Except, unhappily, in one thing — he speaks!” said Miss 
 Pierrepoint. 
 
 As they left the gallery, xiugusta lingering behind day- 
 dreamily, the old housekeeper — ladylike, stately Mrs. Campbell, 
 of whom we had a peep before — came up to her, with a solemn 
 whisper — 
 
 “Dear me, Miss Lepel, what is that gentleman’s name?” 
 
 “Mr. Welwyn, a naval officer,” said Augusta, colouring. 
 
 “Well, Miss Lepel,” said the housekeeper, solemnly, “he re- 
 minds me in his face — he’s really very like, it’s the oddest 
 thing possible — of Mr. Fontenoy’s lady. But I dare not speak 
 of it.” 
 
 Mrs. Campbell moved away, and Augusta followed Welwyn 
 and Ellen. They were in the drawing-room together ; and, as 
 they did not care much for each other, talking in a lively and 
 intimate strain. Ellen asked him if he believed in love at first 
 sight, to which he answered “Yes; and in no other!” And 
 afterwards Ellen repeated the phrase to Augusta, who thought 
 of making a note of it, but found it unnecessary — she remem- 
 bered it so well ! 
 
 At last Mr. Fontenoy arrived. He had been very busy ; he 
 had been over to Huskdale. He ordered lunch ; he received 
 Welwyn very hospitably. The four sat down ; the repast con- 
 sisted of what my Lady Wortley Montague loved — chickens and 
 champagne. 
 
 “ I am sorry you had to wait,” said Mr. Fontenoy, gravely, 
 for the third time. 
 
 “Oh!” said Miss Pierrepoint, in her usual lively style, “we 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 279 
 
 amused ourselves very well : Mr. Welwyn lias a dramatic talent.” 
 Mr. Fontenoy bowed bis acquiescence, pleasantly. 
 
 “And,” continued Ellen, gaily, and never noticing that Wel- 
 wyn was looking dark, and actually somewhat alarmed — “he in- 
 terested us by drawing a picture of a girl escaping a cloister — 
 marrying a lover — and, finally — ah ! a melancholy fancy — pining 
 away ! ” 
 
 Welwyn blushed scarlet; Augusta seemed terrified; Mr. 
 Fontenoy paused, apparently shocked, with his glass in his hand 
 — then raised it. His lips were pale, and rigidly quivering as 
 they were touched by the wine. It is a terrible sight to see a 
 cold, worldly man stung or shocked : the more firmly the tree 
 is rooted in earth , the more startling is the crash when the 
 lightning from heaven does come 1 
 
 Ellen looked up in surprise at the sensation her careless words 
 had made. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy recovered himself, and said some commonplace 
 thing, but his glance rested for an instant on Welwyn, with a 
 dark and sinister expression, — then he poured out some more 
 wine, and so the lunch passed off — everybody disturbed — ever}^ 
 body trying to be easy — and everybody conscious of the failure. 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy rose. 
 
 “ Mr. Welwyn,” he said, “ let me show you my library. These 
 young ladies have been often there, — they will excuse us.” 
 
 Welwyn bowed, and strode after the speaker with a step as 
 proud as his own. As they entered the room, Mr. Fontenoy 
 shut the door, and locked it, — they were left alone with the 
 solemn, quiet books, and the sublime and sallow face of the 
 churchman by Velasquez, who lorded it over the chamber. 
 
 “Mr. Welwyn,” said Mr. Fontenoy, “ I perceive that you are 
 of the Welwyns of ” 
 
 “If you know them, you know how, alone, they may be ad- 
 dressed!” said Welwyn, with lofty quiet. 
 
 “ I know my duties as a gentleman,” said Mr. Fontenoy, with 
 cold pride. “ Well, sir, have you come here to betray my early 
 follies to — everybody — to the world?” He stammered, and was 
 moved. “ I know your father hates me ; — I know all, — every- 
 thing, sir, — I defy him ! ” 
 
 “He is dead,” said Welwyn, tranquilly; “these words are 
 idle as the wind that sweeps his grave. But come, Mr. Fon- 
 tenoy,” he continued, availing himself of his companion’s mute 
 surprise to seize his attention ; “ come, listen to reason, listen to 
 something better, — feeling. Man should not, like the tree, get 
 hollow at the heart, as he gets hoary at the head ! — As to what 
 you have just said, I am no babbler, — what that young girl 
 spoke of, was only told as an idle fancy, without weight or name. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 • ; 2 §P 
 
 I will suppress no truth, but I will indulge no gossip. Yet, after 
 all, Mr. Fontonoy, why a mystery? I, sir,” said Welwyn, proudly, 
 “ am not ashamed of the blood with which you mingled your 
 own — which I share with your son. He , I doubt not ” 
 
 “ Enough, sir,” said Mr. Fontenoy, now recovering himself 
 quite, and subsiding into his old shell; “I thank you. Our 
 opinions differ ; but, Mr. Welwyn, we will have silence and 
 friendship. How stiff the lock of the door is ! ” 
 
 They went out, and Mr. Fontenoy ’s soul ran back again — like 
 a startled rabbit into its burrow. 
 
 The girls were in the drawing-room ; Mr. Fontenoy smiled as 
 he joined them, and said to Welwyn : — “A good library, is it 
 not ?” But Welwyn never stooped to conventional trickery, so 
 he merely made a bow, and did not disguise, in his manner, that 
 the interview had been of a serious character. 
 
 It happened that Mr. Fontenoy was that day engaged to dine 
 with the Lepels. It was drawing near the time for departure, 
 and it was agreed that the four should go together, — then it was 
 agreed they should walk, — then Miss Pierrepoint manoeuvred to 
 walk with Welwyn (not that she liked him — ’twas part of an 
 undercurrent of plot — yet she did not dislike him either), but 
 that was defeated, — then she dropped behind, that Welwyn and 
 Augusta might walk first, in sight of her, — strange to say, that, 
 too, was not accomplished, — finally the two couples set off. 
 
 Welwyn, loq. I hope, Miss Lepel, you were not much agitated 
 by the awkward scene at lunch ? 
 
 Augusta. I was, somewhat. 
 
 Welwyn (hesitating). It was embarrassing. Ho you under- 
 stand it, Miss Lepel ? 
 
 Augusta. I could see that the words awoke a painful reminis- 
 cence ; indeed, I fancy [hesitates] that they embodied a part of 
 Mr. Fontenoy’s own history. 
 
 Welwyn. It is like your [stops short], I should say — you 
 
 are quite right, — such is the case ; I happen to know the story. 
 In fact — but I may be frank with you ? 
 
 Aagusta. (turning her eyes fearlessly upon him). I hope so, 
 indeed, Mr. Welwyn ; we ought all to be frank ! 
 
 Welwyn. Thank you ; plainly then, he did marry a lady in the 
 way described, and whose fate [his voice lowers] was as described. 
 My father married her elder sister, — but, perhaps, it should not 
 be told to everybody. 
 
 Augusta (much surprised). I will keep it secret. 
 
 They walked on together. Their two friends were con- 
 siderably in advance, — and Welwyn mused and wavered, — 
 should he try and divine whether the girl by his side was fancy- 
 free or not, and, having found out, take a decided course one way 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 281 
 
 or another F On one side, was acceptance, — on the other, going 
 hack to the navy, might not the fate of learns befall him, and 
 he, in soaring too boldly towards heaven, fall into the Sea ! 
 The whole speculation was intoxicating. She knew his thoughts, 
 and she honoured his fears, — and silent, seemingly formal as 
 they were, they marched on together — like iEneas and his friend 
 — wrapped in a haze, woven by the Queen of Love ! 
 
 When they reached Dunreddin, they found Frederick in great 
 good spirits, Lord Belden having arrived, and with him the news 
 of the dangerous illness of one of the sitting members for Husk- 
 dale. Frederick had been playing up to that seat for years. He 
 was young, clever, of good family, good expectations, and well 
 backed. How was the time ! By using Augusta to attract my 
 Lord Belden, by playing Welwyn against him, by courting Mr. 
 Fontenoy, and availing himself of Ellen Pierrepoint as a diplo- 
 matist generally, wonders might be accomplished ! 
 
 Indeed, Frederick was now about to keep all these human 
 objects in play around him, like balls spun by a juggler, for 
 praise and profit of his own. Meanwhile, he amused everybody 
 in everybody’s favourite way. And thus this Alcibiades of the 
 Manchester school cut off his dog’s tail, to tickle and beguile the 
 good Athenians of the county of Bockshire. 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 I was a child, and she was a child, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea ; 
 
 But we loved with a love that was more than love, 
 
 I and my Annabel Lee. 
 
 Edgar A. Poe. 
 
 IVY TO HER BROTHER ALFRED WELWYN. 
 
 “ Malta. 
 
 “ It has happened as you feared, my brother. We have met ! 
 I know not how he found me. I was strolling in the garden, in 
 the hour before sunset, just when the breeze, fresh from the sea, 
 makes the air cool, when he passed in at the gate. I like his 
 manner. He moves with the look of one who has a right to be 
 in the world. I scarcely know what made me blush and start as 
 he entered. And I blushed more when I reflected that he per- 
 ceived it. Yet, why ? It cannot be that I love him. I love the 
 Holy Mother — I love my holy patron S&int. And it never makes 
 me blush to see their image, or to kneel at their shrine ! This 
 is wrong, this confusion. I have imposed on myself penance 
 
282 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 ancl vigil. I will expiate tlie pleasure which his society gives me. 
 Well, I do so ! Yet the penance does not wound, as penance 
 did before ; and the vigil ! ah, it is superfluous ! The thought of 
 him keeps me awake and restless, as the ruffled rose-leaf disturbed 
 the Sybarite’s sleep. 
 
 “ You will not blame me, Alfred, that I write freely to you. I 
 know not whether these feelings are wrong : but if so; whence do 
 they come P Can the Great Power, which we all dread, stoop to 
 torture a being like me P Sometimes a terrible idea haunts me : 
 is it that I am given over to the Evil One P Does he tempt me 
 thus ? Or, can an evil being come in such a sweet shape ? It is 
 a heavy mystery ! Can it indeed be wrong to feel for a gentle- 
 hearted friend something of the affection which we are all taught 
 to feel for God — which our nature makes us feel for flower and 
 star? 
 
 “ It seems to me, my brother, that I have discovered my sin ! 
 I am too happy ! I have no right to love so intensely that blue 
 heaven which I have done nothing to earn. I have no right, 
 when I loll under the orange-tree, and watch the first swarm of 
 fireflies gathering in the myrtle-bush, to doubt that labour and 
 watching here are necessary to avoid eternal pain. I am the 
 vilest of heretics ! When he whispers to me, my heart beats, as 
 it never beats at the music of the choir, or the tones of the priest. 
 O, my brother, write to me ; dispel my doubts as to right and 
 wrong ; blame me, if you please, but send me a law. 
 
 “ You know my education. You know how rigidly I have 
 obeyed all. From my youth in the green valleys where our 
 father now rests, I was taught by the ministers of our creed that 
 expiation was due by me for the faults of our mother’s race. My 
 mother — her sister — offended heaven, and broke laws. What 
 was the result ? You know our father’s treatment of the heart 
 of her who abandoned all she had been vowed to for him ! You 
 know her sister’s fortune — how they repented bitterly — how they 
 died young. Well, I early resolved to atone for their failing, 
 and to shun their fate. And, behold ! the veil that I have been 
 looking forward to as a bridal garment now looms on me a pall ! 
 
 “ I feel weary and irresolute. The grand, gorgeous roof of 
 the church now seems crushing me with its weight. The incense 
 is sickly and heavy. How different all from the fresh green of the 
 garden and the pure perfume of the flowers ! The father to 
 whom I confess perceives the change that has come over my 
 spirit. He presses me — he grieves me. I am shocked, for it 
 seems a profanation. I am miserable, for I fear that my thoughts 
 are sinful. When I sprinkle myself with water, the cross seems 
 burning on my brow ! 
 
 “ I am sure I have struggled to do right. I have spent my 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 283 
 
 youth in solitude, or among the devout. I have avoided the 
 follies of girlhood. On the bare walls of my chamber no mirror 
 has hung. When I looked accidentally into a fountain, and, 
 blushing, began to adorn my hair, I turned away suddenly, and 
 reflected I was doing wrong. 
 
 “ I have poured out all my strange wandering thoughts before 
 you, Alfred. Tell me what I am to do. I swear that I adhere 
 to the old faith; I practise all its rites. Surely that I am happy 
 when I am with my cousin, is not a sin ! Is my heart a sin ? 
 I will pray to the Holy Mother — Rose of Sharon — and Ark of 
 the Covenant — and she will send me grace ! I will cast the 
 
 false idol from my heart * # * I break off suddenly, 
 
 Alfred — for he is here ! ” 
 
 Slowly rose Welwyn from his seat, as he finished this letter. 
 It fell from his hand, and fluttered to the floor. 
 
 It was the morning after the visit at Mr. Fontenoy’s ; he was 
 alone in the library, where he had retired to read it. He 
 recovered himself — picked it up again — and walked to the 
 window, that the sight of the landscape might compose his mind. 
 Then he set himself to a calm reflection on the state of circum- 
 stances. He was embarrassed at every turn of his thoughts ; 
 difficulty here — difficulty there — confusion and sorrow over all ! 
 He felt a hand on his shoulder, and started ; it was Frederick 
 Lepel. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 My son, my lord — a youth of parts, 
 
 Who longs to be a small place-holder ! 
 
 Mooee. “ The Fudge Family in Paris.” 
 
 “ You look gloomy, Welwyn ! ” said Frederick. “ One would 
 fancy you were in love ! ” 
 
 “ If I were,” said Welwyn, “ what then ?” 
 
 Frederick shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. “ Well — I 
 don’t know. I suppose you would go down on your knees, and 
 pour out— your expectations ! ” 
 
 Welwyn gave a melancholy laugh. 
 
 “ I am owner of the sphere. 
 
 Of the seven stars and the solar year.” 
 
 “ A brilliant property, but the rents are badly paid,” said the 
 worldling. “ But let us come out, and amuse ourselves. For 
 myself, I am just in the humour for killing mandarins ! ” 
 
 “ Rilling mandarins !” 
 
 „ “Yes. Havn’t you read Balzac the Inimitable? He starts 
 
284 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 the question whether if one could kill a mandarin in China, and 
 gain a large sum of francs by moving the little finger — one 
 would do it. Mind you, without any annoyance, or anything of 
 that sort — only the certainty that you had done it. I frankly 
 confess that — to use an Americanism — I am a whale at man- 
 darins ! ” 
 
 “ It’s a very philosophical idea, and aptly hits our epoch,” 
 said Welwyn. “ Would you really kill the mandarin ?” 
 
 “Why — would not you?” asked Frederick with surprise. 
 
 “ I don’t know. I think not.” 
 
 “We all do it,” said Frederick, “and for much less than 
 Balzac’s amount. Parliament does it. Everybody does it.” 
 
 They went out. A phaeton was waiting at the door ; they 
 drove off in it to Huskdale. As they were driving along, 
 Frederick talked of his prospects. There was every chance of a 
 vacancy in the borough soon, and he was preparing an address. 
 
 “ I made my debut in that building as a politician,” he said, 
 jerking the whip in the direction of the hall, where that great 
 meeting was held which my hero attended. Its doors were now 
 covered with placards, announcing a series of lectures. Frederick 
 pulled up, to take a glance at them : it looked liberal. And 
 Frederick subscribed to the Huskdale Ethnogymnasium — the 
 Mechanics’ Institute — and all the other institutions for the 
 benefit of the people which Huskdale afforded. The syllabus, 
 as it was called, which they were now inspecting, announced 
 that Mr. Thomas Snoggles would deliver the following lectures — 
 
 Monday — On Ancient Etruria. 
 
 Tuesday — The Habits of Bees. 
 
 Wednesday— The Phoenician language. 
 
 Thursday — The Law of Nations. 
 
 Friday — Early Spanish Literature. 
 
 Saturday — The Metaphysics of Logic. 
 
 While Sunday evening had, with wonderful appropriateness, 
 been selected as the time for a discourse on miracles, not as they 
 appeared to St. Paul, but as they appeared to Mr. Snoggles ! 
 
 “ Snoggles must be a man of erudition,” said Welwyn, drily. 
 
 Frederick drove on rapidly, and began to laugh. 
 
 “ My dear sir, reform is like the Thames : it is a great river, 
 but partly fed by sewers.” 
 
 “ Whig above Eichmond, eh ? ” 
 
 “ Humph,” said Frederick ; “you flatter the Whigs.” 
 
 On rattled the greys. The two young men saw the portly 
 figure of the Bev. Mr. Butter coming down on one side of the 
 pavement ; his legs, encased in gaiters of sombre black, were so 
 small in proportion to his body, that he always looked like one 
 of the staves held by a mute. This Frederick had just observed 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 285 
 
 to Welwyn, when the phaeton turned a corner, and entered 
 Mammon Street. They instantly perceived the figure of a little 
 active man waiting at the corner. Frederick pulled up : they 
 got down ; left the phaeton in charge of the servant who had 
 been sitting behind, and joined the stranger. 
 
 “ How are you, Bibb P” said Frederick. 
 
 “ Good morning ?” 
 
 Bibb took snuff, and began to talk, keeping his fingers inside 
 the lid. He was a strange little man, dressed in black ; he had 
 square-shaped tight features, with blue eyes, that never rested 
 for a moment - r and had a curious trick of constantly looking, 
 first on one side, and then on the other, as if he expected to see 
 a friend or a bailiff. Frederick used to call him “ the man with 
 the brazen mask.” There was a mystery about him. One 
 acquaintance thought him a person of family ; the other, a 
 returned convict. It was impossible to decide who he was. If 
 you knew for certain that he was living in St. Giles’s in the 
 morning, you would probably see him in the middle of the day 
 talking to a county member. 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Bibb, how do matters look ?” 
 
 “Very well. I have been all the morning spreading a 
 rumour ” 
 
 Welwyn looked surprised. Frederick saw it ; so he checked 
 the speaker, carelessly. 
 
 “ Diffusing intelligence, eh P” 
 
 “ Yes, I am a man of business. You see, Mr. Lepel, that at 
 a crisis like this, when the minds of the people have once been 
 attracted to a public matter, the attention must be kept awake 
 by a perpetual series of new touches.” 
 
 Frederick nodded. 
 
 “ I remember,” said Bibb, taking snuff, “ that when Jolby 
 
 stood for he and two other fellows kept me for an hour, 
 
 trying to persuade me to go down and oppose Peel at Tamworth, 
 once ” 
 
 Welwyn opened his eyes : he now guessed that Mr. Bibb was 
 an electioneering agent; so he was, pro tern. 
 
 “For two mortal hours at the Beform Club, sir, they kept 
 bullying me to go down. Perhaps I was wrong not to go : 
 after all, there was nothing to do, but answer Peel !” 
 
 Frederick coughed slightly. Mr. Bibb continued — 
 
 “As your friend here has very reasonably observed ” 
 
 “ I beg pardon,” said Welwyn, with mild surprise. “ But I 
 am not aware that I observed anything.” 
 
 “Oh, I beg pardon,” said Bibb, rather taken aback; “I 
 thought you did” — (the truth is, from all appearances Mr. Bibb 
 had that morning been “ lunching with an eminent distiller,” 
 
286 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 which was Lis phrase for refreshing himself at the Green Man). 
 
 “ But to resume. When Jolby stood for , I got him in — 
 
 cost him only £850. I was known in the county ,” added Bibb, 
 impressively. 
 
 And here he entered into a long harangue, in oratorical phra- 
 seology, and concluded by pulling out a dirty “ Parliamentary 
 Companion.” He ran through some thirty or forty names, 
 smudging the page with his thumb. “ I know him — know him 
 — know him** And then he pulled out a letter beginning “ My 
 dear Bibb,” from a very well-known member, and ended by a 
 rapid glance at the present state of the borough of Huskdale. 
 He talked of Church, and Reform, and Education, as people do 
 of the articles in a market ; and discussed principles as men talk 
 over the odds. Finally, he had an appointment on business, and 
 he hurried away. 
 
 Lepel and Welwyn moved on. Frederick repented that he had 
 brought Welwyn with him. 
 
 “ A queer fellow, Mr. Bibb — is he not ?” he asked. 
 
 “Yes,” said Welwyn, “ an odd-looking fellow, too.” 
 
 “ Indifferent to externals — a philosopher, sir,” said Frederick, 
 compassionately. 
 
 “ Quite natural that the lowest of all trades should be car- 
 ried on in the lowest of all manners,” said Welwyn, quoting 
 Macaulay. 
 
 Frederick looked at him with some surprise ; but there was no 
 expression of sarcasm in his face. Welwyn hated and despised 
 nothing. He looked from a calm height at all evil, or if he had 
 to ,come near it, simply moved out of its way. He was optimist, 
 without fanaticism, quietest without indifference. 
 
 They walked on, each engaged in his own reflections. Suddenly 
 Frederick pulled Welwyn by the arm. They halted abruptly. 
 They were just opposite the office of one of the county 
 papers. It was Saturday. The lamps were glimmering 
 through the window from the inside ; and outside, on a large 
 sheet of paper in huge letters, still wet as streams of rain, were 
 these words. 
 
 “ By Expeess,” 
 
 “ Heath of Me. Peossee, M.P.” 
 
 “ Come in,” said Frederick, quickly ; they entered together. 
 “ Give me a .copy of the paper.” His fingers trembled as he 
 pulled out his purse to pay for it, so that he could scarcely 
 undo the knot. As they went out again, the wind blew 
 the damp sheet all over him. “ Tush, pshaw ?” He doubled 
 it up, violently, and read the passage he wanted. Welwyn 
 stood by, and gazed calmly on his heightened colour and elated 
 eye. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 287 
 
 “ Come on, Welwyn, llome. ,, 
 
 They walked quickly to the phaeton which was waiting at the 
 “ George.” The greys sprang forward, and off they rolled to 
 Dunreddin. “ Wrap yourself, my hoy,” said Erederick, pulling 
 the apron over Welwyn, “it’s devilish cold!” His heart was 
 overflowing with good-nature from the sudden good news. The 
 borough was vacant at last. But Welwyn, in his brooding, 
 thoughtful way, kept wondering at the death — which Erederick 
 looked on as such a mere stroke of fortune — wondering what 
 sort of man Prosser had been — and dreamily speculating where 
 and how his cold figure was lying, at that instant. Some men get 
 morbid from the habit of eternal speculation. I do not envy the 
 insight that glances down to the bottom of a churchyard, and 
 sees rottenness and worms, where I see graceful hillocks and 
 fresh grass ! 
 
 “ Well, what news?” asked Lord Belden, rising from the sofa 
 in the drawing-room, and stroking his moustache as they entered. 
 He was a short compact man, with black whiskers and pale 
 forehead, with very small hands and feet, neat, good-natured, 
 and gentlemanly, as unlike an Oligarch (which seems, some- 
 how, to be the ogre of political nursery tales, now-a-days) as 
 possible ! 
 
 “ Prosser est mort,” said Erederick. “ My address will be out 
 on Monday. Beer must flow ; the British lion is roused, and I 
 will put my head in his mouth.” 
 
 There was a general laugh. Dinner was announced. It was 
 a very lively meal that day. 
 
 “ What do you say to the repeal of the corn laws ?” asked 
 Lord Belden. 
 
 “ Things are not ripe for that yet,” said Erederick. 
 
 “ Things not being ripe, means, with the [Radicals, that there is 
 nothing for them to pluck,” said his lordship. 
 
 “You are severe.” 
 
 “ What, you don’t call yourself a Radical, do you ?” 
 
 “ Hot in the offensive sense of the word,” said Frederick, 
 cautiously. “I am an enlightened-movement man. And as I 
 only want, that what is best for all parties to be removed should 
 be removed, I may be said to be a Conservative.” 
 
 Welwyn happened to be looking towards Augusta at that 
 moment. She smiled. The graceful Murdock bawled out, “ A’m 
 afraid that’s Jesuitical,” to Frederick. Murdock liked downright 
 men ; and as he was sternly opposed to free trade, he was at this 
 time a supporter of Sir Robert. 
 
 Somebody having mentioned Mr. Eontcnoy shortly after this, 
 Mr. Lepel said that he had been having bad news of Singleton* 
 from Malta. 
 
288 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 “ 1 wonder what he means by bad news of Singleton,” 
 said Augusta. “ I hear something like that of him every other 
 mail.” 
 
 “ I believe he has been forming a foolish attachment, my 
 dear,” said her father. 
 
 Augusta was silenced. Frederick glanced at Belden. Then 
 he said across the table to Welwyn — 
 
 “ What do you say to that, Welwyn ? You know him.” 
 
 “ I ?” said Welwyn, “ I think it extremely probable.” Look- 
 ing up, he saw that Augusta’s eyes were turned away, bufc he 
 saw also — or fancied — that she was colouring slightly. 
 
 “ The question arises, what is a foolish attachment ?” 
 said a young Beaconsfield, of a legal turn. Nobody seemed to 
 know. 
 
 “ Do you know, Miss Pierrepoint ?” said that forward youth, 
 to Ellen. 
 
 “ Yes ; it is an attachment to a person who does not care for 
 you,” said Ellen, half in jest and half in earnest, and with her 
 April smile, — ■“ April, with her white hands wet with flowers,” 
 to use Leigh Hunt’s lovely line. 
 
 “ Very good, my dear Miss Pierrepoint,” said Mr. Lepel, 
 paternally. Frederick adjusted his collar ; Lord Belden 
 looked sentimental, and wiped his moustache with his fragrant 
 cambric. 
 
 When the ladies rose to depart, Frederick opened the door. 
 It chanced, that an observation created some lively dialogue at 
 his father’s end of the table. The hum having passed, Frederick 
 was missed. 
 
 “ Where is Frederick ?” asked Mr. Lepel. 
 
 Lord Belden raised the gold eyeglass which usually reposed 
 on his breast. “ Don’t see him.” 
 
 “ Hem ! Fred has a chance now , has he not ?” asked 
 his father, looking eagerly and elated at the gentlemen 
 present. 
 
 4 4 Oh, certainly,— no doubt, — youth of talents,” — went round 
 the table in a murmur of approbation. The old man passed his 
 fingers through his sunny white hair. 
 
 “ He shall have all the support of our family,” said Lord 
 Belden. 
 
 And indeed that was cheering. His father, the Earl of Clangour, 
 was one of the magnates of the county ; he had a castle as large 
 as a village, with a conservatory worthy of Montezuma, an aviary 
 like an American forest, — everything, in short, that could 
 minister to luxury or gratify pride. The earl himself, who had 
 been shattered by a terrible stroke of paralysis, never quitted his 
 own room. Lord Belden was the eldest and only son ; the lord 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 289 
 
 of everything except his own will, he was — for he was one of the 
 most indecisive of mankind. 
 
 Where was Frederick ? When the ladies went to the draw- 
 ing-room, he stole up to his own apartments ; he arranged the 
 papers on the spacious table, stirred the fire, and lighted a large 
 lamp ; then he began pacing the room, and every now and then 
 paused to listen at the half-opened door. A pause, — then a step 
 was heard, light as the rustle of a leaf ; another, — and Ellen 
 Pierrepoint entered ! 
 
 “ Hush ! ” said Ellen, as she came up to the fire ; “I can only 
 stay a moment. Oh, Fred, I am so glad that you have good 
 news ! ” 
 
 “Well, but about what we were speaking of! Time is 
 short ! ” 
 
 A shadow came over the girl’s face. Self, self, — she could not 
 help seeing Frederick’s selfishness. 
 
 “My own Ellen,” said Frederick, coaxingly. He touched her 
 fingers, and held them in his own — as if they were dice ! 
 
 “ Mark me,” said Ellen ; — “ Augusta loves Welwyn ; I know 
 it, — I feel sure of it.” 
 
 “ Hah ! ” Frederick coloured, and leant his arm on the 
 carved mantel-piece. 
 
 “ I ought to know the signs,” said Ellen, drooping her eyes ; 
 but the touching phrase did not move him. 
 
 “ Well,” said Frederick, drawing himself up to his full length ; 
 “ Nous verrons ; you see, Ellen, I am ambitious.” 
 
 “ I like you for it,” said the girl, proudly. 
 
 “ And we will see whether — but no matter. Thank you very 
 much Ellen ; and I am afraid I must return to these worthies, 
 and their claret.” 
 
 “ Why, Fred, what a long time you have been away,” said 
 Mr. Lepel. 
 
 “ Had a headache,” said Fred ; “ it’s gone now.” 
 
 “ Let us drink the health of the future prime-minister,” said 
 Lord Belden, laughing. They duly performed the ceremony, 
 and Frederick made an amusing burlesque acknowledgment, 
 and declared that he had nothing but the country’s welfare at 
 heart, with much facetiousness. 
 
 The address came out ; the writ came down ; the election came 
 ofi*. Frederick had the support of the Hadicals, who voted by 
 sympathy ; the tradesmen, who voted by interest ; Tories, who 
 thought him better than a violent Badical or Chartist ; and a mis- 
 cellaneous crew, who if they did not admire his principles, 
 heartily appreciated his beer. Now-a-days, the “ Battle of the 
 
 v 
 
290 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 Constitution” is fought in the public-houses. The “ Times” had 
 a lively leader on the election, containing three epigrams and a 
 quotation from Yirgil, and quizzing Mr. Frederick Lepel most 
 unmercifully, to the intense annoyance of his mamma. 
 
 But Frederick was too clever a man to be angry at such a 
 clever attack, and besides, the next number announced his name 
 as a “ member elected to serve in the present Parliament.” 
 
 His speech from the hustings (which, in Huskdale, is generally 
 erected in appropriate proximity to Mr, Butter’s church) was a 
 model of lucidity and terseness. It was clear, practical, and 
 lively. 
 
 There is nothing in which our age is so totally deficient as 
 oratory. We have a hundred speakers, but where is the orator ? 
 Where shall we find one from whose soul eloquence flows as 
 naturally as poetry from the poet’s lips P The true orator is the 
 poet of the practical : he has to bring a great imagination and a 
 deep heart to deal with the business of his day, and by making 
 what is necessary, glorious —and elevating duty into something 
 divine-x-he should be able to touch the heart of the multitude 
 abroad, as religion or poetry touches it at home. He must be 
 an enthusiast : he must be sincere. He uses rhetoric, but he is * 
 not a rhetorician. He must be fearless and simple as a child. 
 He must be warm with earnestness— so shall his words descend 
 on the people like cloven tongues of flame — inspiring, sanctify- ? 
 ing, beautiful ! He must love the world as Jupiter loved Danae, ; 
 and pour himself all abroad upon it, in a shower of gold. 
 
 How different such a man from the patcher of gaudy phrases 
 — the trim worker in filagree — the maker of philosophical toys — - 
 the Yaucanson of ingenious mental mechanism — the clever artist 
 of sentiment and epigram ! Burton tells us, in his “Anatomy of 
 Melancholy,” of an Eastern monarch who had little birds trained , 
 to catch butterflies — a species of hawking that our rhetoricians j 
 much remind one of, in their flights. But let us wait; the'' 
 destinies may yet give us a voice in England, that all men wilT 
 be glad to hear. 
 
 At the time of the Huskdale election of 184 — the ingenious f 
 bribe of promising to marry one of your constituent’s daughters 
 had not been invented ; so Frederick Lepel had to make more 
 commonplace professions, and thus, at last, succeeded in obtain- 
 ing the six-hundred-and-fifty-eighth part of the management of 
 the sceptre of King Alfred. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 291 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 II est trop vrai que l’honneur me l’ordonne, 
 
 Que je vous renonce, que je vous abandonne, 
 
 Que 
 
 Voltaibe. “ Zaire/* 
 
 “ Upon my word, a brilliant likeness ! ” 
 
 “ Quite in the Beynolds style, indeed ! ” 
 
 “ How much for a 4 portrait in this style,’ Mr. Welwyn ? ” said 
 Miss Beaconsfield, facetiously. 
 
 Amidst this kind of brisk tattle was it that Welwyn entered 
 the drawing-room of Dunreddin about noon, a few days after 
 the events recorded in our last. 
 
 “What’s the matter?” asked Welwyn, with some surprise. 
 Augusta was sitting on the sofa, trifling with a book ; Ellen 
 Pierrepoint and some other damsels were fluttering round the 
 table. 
 
 “ Here it is ! ” said Ellen ; and she held up a sheet of paper 
 covered with heads in pen and ink, in Welwyn’s dashing lines. 
 The sheet was a perfect Hydra ! There was a terrible similarity 
 in the heads, too ! The same majesty of brow, the same finish 
 of outline, the same diadem of hair characterized them all. ’Twas 
 a constellation of Augusta Lepels ! 
 
 Ellen handed the sheet over to Welwyn, with a little, pert, 
 pretty bow. 44 1 wonder who did these ! ” 
 
 Augusta leaned farther back, and held her volume up before 
 her face. 
 
 44 1 did them,” said Welwyn, very quietly ; 44 1 think the like- 
 ness very good.” 
 
 44 So do I,” said Miss Beaconsfield, drily. 
 
 44 How quickly they must have been dashed off,” said the 
 Pierrepoint, with artistic innocence of look. 44 The fruit of an 
 occupied fancy.” 
 
 “Very likely,” said Welwyn; and he looked her in the 
 face with such tranquil intellectual composure that she was 
 astonished. 
 
 Augusta glanced at him, and felt a sudden thrill of pride. 
 Welwyn folded the paper up deliberately, and presented it to 
 her. The aforesaid damsels maintained a grave surprise ; some 
 of them, perhaps, interpreting Welwyn’s coolness as mere indif- 
 ference. Eor this, however, Augusta had too much sympathy 
 and Ellen too much quickness. Miss Beaconsfield really admired 
 the whole scene, and whispered to Miss Pierrepoint that they 
 
292 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 made love like crowned heads. Mrs. Lepel, who was employed 
 upon some curious and unintelligible piece of needlework, as 
 elaborate as the Bayeux tapestry, asked carelessly what they 
 were all laughing at P Hers was that happy calmness of tem- 
 perament which, never moved itself, never suspects emotion in 
 others. It was a coldness of a pleasant sort — refreshing as the 
 chill of a fountain in summer, or a rush of cool air on a sultry 
 day. 
 
 She liked Augusta very much as an only daughter, and 
 (somewhat to her own surprise), a good deal more besides, for 
 her rare and beautiful qualities. Augusta was of that pecu- 
 liar class of the gifted who are not conscious of their gifts, and 
 who, when they have done or said anything very fine, are as 
 much surprised at it as others are delighted. She really blushed 
 if she was “ caught out” in an accomplishment, which gave 
 occasion to some people to say that she was a “ consummate 
 actress” — a piece of praise which, considering that they were 
 generally very bad actresses or actors, showed a degree of 
 appreciation uncommonly rare, both on and off the stage. 
 
 Mrs. Lepel not being particularly ambitious, would have been 
 quite willing that Augusta should have made a commonplace ! 
 match — with one of the country-people of equal family — with a 
 very well-endowed parson of good connections, or so forth. In 
 the case of a very furious attachment, I dare say she would have f 
 abated two avuncular baronets, a consobrinal lord, and a corre- ■ 
 sponding amount of rent. But see what it is to have a youth of 
 abilities and perseverance in a family ! Frederick was bent on 
 his sister’s doing in the matrimonial what he himself proposed to 
 do in the political world. Visions of an opening of Parliament, 
 where one distinguished Lepel was addressed among the faithful 
 Commons by royal lips, while his sister, as a peeress, gazed off 
 the imperial show, were present to that active-minded boy at an; 
 early age. 
 
 Having been educated by a private tutor (an inestimable ad-‘ 
 vantage to a person of talents), he grew up without being influ- ; 
 enced by the traditions of public schools or universities. While 0 
 his cousins and contemporaries were learning to write what Pea- 
 cock calls an Anglo-Celtic dialect of Latin, and to read a few bits 
 of a few classic authors, Frederick was learning the learning of his 
 day. Having thus got a taste for reading from what he liked to 
 read, he came to the classics as a friend, and not as a slave or 
 drudge. He had accordingly a far better acquaintance with the an- 
 cient literature in a few years than those who knew nothing else. 
 When you come in contact with a crack orthodox youth, you 
 will find that he can perhaps write tolerable Alcaics, and can 
 produce a decent (though woodenish) version of Tennyson’s 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 293 
 
 “ Queen of the May,” in Latin. Does lie know anything of the 
 Homan literature ? Has he read anything of Cicero, except the 
 Orations against Ca/taline, and the “ De Officiis ? ” Ask his 
 tutor ! And breathe it softly, for perhaps the worthy man has 
 not himself ! 
 
 When the Lepels went abroad, [Frederick enjoyed the further 
 advantage — so strikingly pointed out by the author of “ Conings- 
 by ” — of meeting remarkable men who would speak freely and 
 boldly. And abroad, a man will far easier get society, in pro- 
 portion to his own personal merits, than in England. He met all 
 sorts of strange thinkers — Gremans, hot from metaphysics ; 
 Italians, mystical and liberal ; Frenchmen, of eclectic philosophy 
 and downright worldliness of practice ; and calm, accomplished, 
 sceptical diplomatists, who would smile away the enthusiasm of 
 a Festus, and disconcert a rebellious archangel in offering him 
 a pinch of snuff! At all the great towns the Lepels were in 
 the best society — as became a family standing equally well in 
 the books of “ Burke” or “Coutts!” and Frederick mixed 
 with every class — exiled democrats, Jesuits, and chasseurs 
 d'Afrique ; he became addicted to dissipation, without the reck- 
 lessness and gaiety which make it more pardonable and more 
 ruinous ; finally, he became that mixture of Manchester politi- 
 cal theories and Parisian moral principles which we have seen. 
 A terrible and repulsive young gentleman he would have been, 
 but for a lively wit and a good-natured temperament. 
 
 It was on board the “ Altercation,” a steamer, which then ran 
 between Marseilles and Naples, that the Lepels encountered my 
 Lord Belden. The old Mr. Lepel had known him as a boy at 
 Clangour Castle. Indeed, part of the estates of the earl had 
 once belonged to the Lepel family, which (as is often the case 
 now-a-days) was of a better descent than its more magnificent 
 and imperial neighbour. Frederick was a model of a travelling 
 companion, and won the young lord’s heart before he had told 
 him his name. A man of the Clangour rank has no need to wrap 
 himself up in the wretched exclusiveness of petty gentry and 
 mushroom bourgeois. They were soon intimate. Frederick’s 
 name was mentioned. Belden at once knew it — knew all about 
 them — rushed into talk about “ the county,” and joined the tra- 
 velling circle. He was in gloomy spirits at that time, having 
 recently, in his travels in Syria, lost his cousin (the Honourable 
 
 H. Troubadour, son of Viscount ), who was smitten by 
 
 a coup de soleil as they were riding from Beyrout to Damascus, 
 and died by the roadside near a little village, with Arab women 
 crying beside him, and his mother’s name upon his lips. 
 
 Belden was good-natured and sensible to that degree, that he 
 felt rather ashamed of being heir to the earldom of Clangour, 
 
294 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 without having done anything to deserve it. Perhaps he would 
 not have objected to being taxed for it, to satisfy his conscience ; 
 and indeed so honourable a capitation-tax levied on the aristo- 
 cracy would at once do credit to them, and do good to the reve- 
 nue. He was an intelligent, indolent person, rather silent as 
 regarded giving opinions, but who read many and many a sound 
 page of knowledge over a cigar, oftener than the world gave him 
 credit for. Andthe liberality which his positionprevented himfrom 
 showing inpolitical action was amply gratified in his private doings. 
 
 Frederick early marked out this youth for a brother-in-law. 
 
 44 I envy sentimental people, Belden,” he would say, as they 
 were playing billiards. “Iam not so myself, but I envy Au- 
 gusta.” He used to joke Augusta, privately, about the splen- 
 dour of a coronet, Belden’s devotion, &c. They were thrown 
 together oftener than Augusta liked, and certainly her graceful 
 and imperial bearing made more impression on Belden’s heart 
 than the attractions of any other girl ever did. To be sure, 
 there were many and many eligible young ladies brought before 
 his notice by affectionate mammas, more particularly during the 
 crisis of that middle class exultation and ambition which fol- t 
 lowed, a few years ago, on the conquest of the heir of a dukedom, 
 
 by the daughter of T. Blubber, Esq. at •. Ah, that was 
 
 a romantic history ! She nursed the youthful dukeling in his. 
 illness, saved him from the churchyard, and carried him to the, 
 church. 44 Ah ! ” quoth his facetious grace, a few years after, 
 44 I had rather she had deposited me peaceably outside F ” 
 
 Frederick came into the drawing-room just as Welwyn had r 
 given his sister the drawings. With an eye that saw all, and a 
 face that revealed nothing, he took in the whole scene. 
 
 44 Augusta, show me those sketches, will you, dear? ” he said,j 
 in a fraternal voice. Augusta handed the paper to him. He! 
 looked at the heads with great good-nature. 44 How very 
 pretty! Your execution, eh, Welwyn? Mamma, have you 
 seen these ? ” I 
 
 Augusta coloured and felt hurt, for she saw his intent. Mean- 
 while, Mrs. Lepel looked complacently at them. 44 Very pretty, 
 indeed.” They had only a commonplace interest for her eyes. 
 Frederick folded them up, and put them in his pocket. 
 
 44 A fine day for the winter,” he said, carelessly looking out of 
 the window. 44 1 am going over to the castle to dinner.” So say- 
 ing, he left the room. As Welwyn stood at the window, a little 
 while after, he saw the servant holding the avenue-gate open, 
 and he saw Frederick on horseback, trotting quietly out. He 
 remained gazing at his vanishing figure, in a state of dreamy 
 reverie — then turned. The drawing-room was empty. 
 
SINGLETON' FONTENOY, R.N, 
 
 295 
 
 “ ‘ I am half-sick of shadows/ ” 
 
 muttered Welwyn, quoting from the “ Lady of Shalott.” 
 There is a relief and an inspiration in quoting, when we are 
 melancholy, such as the miser feels in counting and rattling his 
 gold. 
 
 Welwyn wandered about the gorgeous room, musing. What 
 weariness, what sickness it is, to be in love ! Before we can get 
 to the Elysian Fields, we must cross the Styx. And, in 
 England, we have a frightful amount of money to pay the 
 boatman ! 
 
 Notwithstanding how brutally hackneyed the term Platonic 
 Love has become, how vulgarized it has been, there is a divinity 
 in love which we would do well to remember. Instead of defin- 
 ing love, suppose we were to begin by admitting that the best 
 thing about it is, that it cannot be defined ! Do you love your 
 friend P If so, try and say why. When you have exhausted all 
 the secondary parts of your attachment, similarity of tastes, 
 convenience, and the rest of it, is there not a spirituality at last 
 about your feelings towards him, inexplicable as your own being, 
 or as gravitation P Abandon yourself to that spirituality, friend. 
 As the natural philosophers who write on mechanics tell us, that 
 a stone set rolling down a hill covered with various obstacles, 
 will yet, demonstratively, run by the directest line possibly con- 
 ceivable ; even so will the moral nature, flowing on, instinc- 
 tively, and by a higher law than our volition, find the course 
 best for it. 
 
 .... So mused Welwyn, reflecting on the love that day by 
 day he felt growing in his being for Augusta. He paced the 
 room anxiously. — He saw the handle of the door move. In- 
 stinctively he felt that she was there. The door opened, and 
 she entered. They had never exchanged a word of confidence, 
 but each knew that the other loved, as well as if it had been 
 written on the sky. 
 
 “I did not know you were here, Mr. Welwyn,” said Augusta, 
 simply. “ I came to look for something I left.” 
 
 Welwyn knew she was speaking literal truth. It is a vulgar 
 affection that quibbles and plays tricks. Those who play at 
 hide-and-seek, are those who are not worth seeking. 
 
 “ I am glad you have come, Miss Lepel,” he said ; “ I have 
 been wishing to speak to you.” 
 
 Augusta was bending over the table. Her heart beat as she 
 looked up, but her eyes met his gaze with a calmness as great 
 as their beauty. They said “ speak” as plainly as light. But, 
 at that moment, Welwyn turned pale. No: — he would not 
 compromise her by attaching her affections to his miserable 
 fortunes. 
 
296 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 “ You have much to forgive me for,” lie said. “ Forgive me 
 if I am silent now.” — 
 
 Tlie door opened. Ellen Pierrepoint came in. She saw the 
 crisis. Inwardly, she exulted that she had come in time. “Ah, 
 Augusta — let me help you to look for that.” She drew her arm 
 round Augusta’s waist. A tear fell upon her curls. Welwyn 
 left the room. 
 
 Two days passed. Frederick had come back from Clangour 
 Castle in great good-humour, and towards Welwyn was particu- 
 larly kind and attentive. He knew how Welwyn loved his 
 sister : — he knew how it was returned. But he was far too 
 much a man of the world to cause any violent interference. 
 What — a scene ! A quarrel with a gentlemanly young man ! 
 Make his sister violently miserable, and Belden break off, and 
 the family sympathetic and disturbed ! Hot he. But ! 
 
 ’Twas breakfast time at Dunreddin. Everybody was down 
 to breakfast that morning. Frederick had good spirits enough 
 for two — and there were certainly two who wanted them in the 
 party. 
 
 “You don’t look as if you had slept well, Mr. Welwyn,” said * 
 Mrs. Lepel, innocently. 
 
 “He must have another blanket put on his bed!” said 
 Frederick, chipping an egg. “ Take some honey, Welwyn, ? 
 fragrantia mella , my boy. I planted some heather, under the * 
 advice of the Scotchman who was here some time ago — on pur- 
 pose for our bees.” 
 
 “What nonsense you talk, Fred,” said his mother. 
 
 “ An M.P. talk nonsense ! Breach of privilege,” said Frede- 
 rick, laughing, 
 
 A servant entered with the morning’s letters. Conspicuous 
 among them was one for Welwyn — almost as long as a coffin, and j 
 about as cheerful — marked in the corner, On Her Majesty s \ 
 Service , and stamped with the Admiralty seal. There was an < 
 awkward pause while he opened it. He coughed. Frederick’s 
 eye rested, only for an instant, on his sister’s face — and she * 
 turned it away transparent with blushes. 
 
 Welwyn was appointed one of the lieutenants of her Majesty’s 
 Yacht. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 A liberal nature and a niggard doom. 
 
 Forster : Dedication of his Life of Goldsmith . 
 
 Welwyn read the letter aloud. It was an excellent appoint- 
 ment — honourable, and with the certainty of promotion. The 
 company congratulated him, and none more warmly than Frede- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 297 
 
 rick, who knew well what bitterness lurked in the good fortune. 
 Welwyn folded the letter up deliberately, talked of the necessity 
 of going, and so the breakfast passed over. All day long he was 
 restless and disturbed to a degree that he could not have con- 
 ceived possible. Ah, it is all very well to fancy that we know 
 the metaphysics of love ! Where are we when it comes in form P 
 It is fine to theorise about gravitation ; but woe to us when 
 we fall from a tower, and it seizes us in practice ! Welwyn tried 
 to read newspapers, and found himself poring over the lists of 
 marriages. What “ disappointed ” person has not done that, 
 morbidly, sadly, dreamily, and found a new and wondrous in- 
 terest excited by the names of strangers — names which before 
 he would have seen with equal indifference in the marriages or 
 deaths ! Who does not love love for the interest it invests every- 
 thing with? How the “disappointed” sympathises with Miss 
 Tomkins, who at last has gained her Charles — feels ready to 
 embrace Charles himself— though perhaps the fellow is a prig or 
 a screw, and is only marrying as he would take a shop or hire a 
 house ! How the “ disappointed ” watches an engaged couple 
 employed in that deliciously romantic practice of the middle 
 classes — purchasing furniture, and cheapening chimney orna- 
 ments ! “ Stony-hearted ” Baker Street — thou that listenest to 
 
 the sighing of accomplished girls, and drinkest the tears of law- 
 students — think of the Disappointed in time ! 
 
 Bah ! Ever since Wealth married with Humbug, and produced 
 their offspring — Be spect ability — their progeny has been increas- 
 ing in power. And in a few years, unless modern notions alter, 
 younger sons who want wives will have to rush in a body on the 
 respectable neighbourhood — like Bomulus and his friends on the 
 Sabines — and end by founding a colony in one of the suburbs ! 
 
 So Welwyn had to make preparations for going. He resolved 
 to visit Mr. Eontenoy. The fresh spring air did liis blood good, 
 as he marched along the lanes to Heatherby. The snowdrops 
 were just out ; the spark of floral fire from which the flame of 
 the crocus was to burn was just lighted in the earth; the 
 hedges began to have a gleam of green here and there. Every- 
 thing was fresh and hopeful, and Mr. Fontenoy was sitting, in 
 a warm dressing-gown, over a blazing fire in his study. 
 
 “ Ah, Mr. Welwyn ! Glad to see you, sir.” The fire was 
 strong enough to roast an ox, but not to melt Mr. Fontenoy. 
 
 “ I am about to go to sea again, sir,” said his visitor. It was 
 occurring to, Welwyn that he would invite the confidence of 
 this man, who, after all, was his connection. 
 
 “ To sea — indeed ! I envy a man with an active professon. 
 Such a fine profession, too !” 
 
298 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 “ I am not an object for envy, just now,” said Welwyn, 
 “The fact is,” here Welwyn drew his chair nearer Mr. 
 Fontenoy, “ I was thinking of consulting you.” 
 
 A horrible idea struck Mr. Fontenoy. Was the youth going 
 to borrow money from him ? His face fell ; Welwyn perceived 
 it. As he did not suspect a meanness in any man, he guessed, 
 at first, that Mr. Fontenoy had probably perceived signs of his 
 unfortunate attachment, and feared the subject. Unhappily, 
 however, that gentleman’s first excitement took verbal form, 
 and he muttered something about “rents.” Welwyn saw his 
 mistake, and laughed. If he had looked hurt or angry, Mr. 
 Fontenoy would not have cared. The laugh galled him ; to hurt 
 such a character’s meanness is to wound his amour joropre. He 
 drew himself up — “ I excite your merriment, Mr. Welwyn,” he 
 said, with a magnificent air. 
 
 Welwyn rose from his chair. “ You mistake me if you think 
 I wish to annoy you. But, Mr. Fontenoy, I was going to ask 
 your opinion. You are my relation. I am your son’s dearest 
 friend.” 
 
 “Mr. Welwyn,” said Mr. Fontenoy, rising too, “however 
 honoured I should feel by your relationship, you will perhaps 
 excuse me if I state that facts induce me to doubt that con- 
 nection.” He played with some papers on the table with a hand 
 that trembled a little. Welwyn’s blue eyes rested on his hard, 
 worldly features — large with inquiry. He waited in solemn 
 silence for him to continue. Mr. Fontenoy felt very agitated. 
 He wished that he could get into a rage, but was awed and kept 
 cold by his companion’s coolness. There was a silence. 
 
 “ I have spoken, sir,” said Mr. Fontenoy, seeing that Welwyn 
 did not speak. 
 
 “ Ours are not minds between which there can be much 
 sympathy, I know,” said Welwyn. “ But perhaps you will be 
 good enough to explain yourself.” 
 
 “ Well, sir,” said Mr. Fontenoy, attempting a sneer, “ I will 
 try. I have reason to doubt, sir, whether my marriage — that 
 marriage, sir, which alone would unite us in any way (you are 
 not of the Fontenoys, sir !) — was a legal marriage ! It is a ques- 
 tion, sir.” 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy ! Bemember, sir, that even in this house you 
 are in the presence of God,” said Welwyn, mastering a cold 
 sickness that struck him. 
 
 “ It is my house, sir, and I won’t be dictated to here !” said 
 Mr. Fontenoy, moving to the bell-rope, f Welwyn placed himself 
 between him and the wall. “ Wait.” Sickened as he was, and 
 shrinking from the disgraceful arbitrament of a personal struggle, 
 he made up his mind to have a thorough explanation ; and with 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 299 
 
 the disciplined firmness of his profession, adopted the natural 
 means. 
 
 44 Be good enough to tell me precisely what your words mean, 
 Mr. Fontenoy P Do you call your son a bastard, and dishonour 
 his mother’s grave?” As Welwyn spoke, he accidentally saw his 
 face in a mirror, and started at its deathlike pallor. 
 
 44 Very forcible words — fine language, no doubt,” said Mr. 
 Fontenoy, who seemed to think that sneering was his safest 
 point. 44 I speak as a man of business, sir, and say plainly, that 
 I don’t think the marriage which I was foolishly led into, as 
 a boy, was a legal marriage. I don’t consider the offspring of 
 that marriage entitled to succeed to the hereditary estates of the 
 house. I have reason to believe this, since you choose to push 
 the subject ; and arrangements, sir, are being made about it, 
 which will change the condition of all parties.” 
 
 44 I won’t talk to you of high feeling or generous sentiment,” 
 said Welwyn ; “ but according to your own small laws — which 
 have the world for a god, and the belly for an altar — I believe 
 you will ultimately find you are wrong.” 
 
 44 Ah — ha!” said Mr. Fontenoy, grinning in a ghastly man- 
 ner, and showing his teeth, as a corpse does in death sometimes, 
 “let those exult who win! Look here, sir, — look here!” he 
 went on, taking up a bundle of papers. 44 Look at the boy’s 
 extravagance ! And, I hear, he has formed what he calls an 
 attachment. I have news preparing for him !” 
 
 “ God help him,” said Welwyn, calmly. 
 
 “ If he marries, he may provide for himself.” 
 
 44 God bless him,” said Welwyn, again. 
 
 “ And if he leaves his profession, he may starve,” added Mr. 
 Fontenoy, with a jerk. He pronounced the word 44 starve ” 
 with the gusto which a good worldly man gives it. 
 
 “ God watch over him,” said Weiwyn, once more. 44 And for 
 you, sir,” he added, 44 good-bye. Live on in your heartlessness, 
 as a toad lives in stone ! ” 
 
 Mr. Fontenoy rang the bell. Welwyn moved to the door, 
 and passed downstairs. A livery-servant attended in the hall. 
 The master came half way down stairs. 4 4 Good morning, Mr. 
 Welwyn. Charles, the door. A fine day !” 
 
 Welwyn passed silently out, and exulted as he found himself 
 once more in the fresh spring air. On he went through the 
 lanes that led to Dunreddin. He fell into a profound reverie on 
 what he had just heard — on all he had lately suffered. He was 
 so absorbed in his thoughts, that as he entered the avenue, it 
 was with his head drooping on his breast. His cap pushed 
 rather back, left the fair amplitude of his brow exposed, and his 
 dark hair hung loosely about it. Two young ladies watched 
 
300 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 liim from the window. One of them drew back. “ What is the 
 matter, Augusta?” said the other. 
 
 “ Pshaw, you know, Ellen.” Ellen was silent. She felt that 
 she had played falsely and cruelly against her friend. And for 
 what ? For the love of Frederick Lepel ! She had hurt a good 
 heart for the sake of a questionable one ; and had after all, per- 
 haps, not gained that ! The cold and bad part of the world owes 
 the success which it generally meets in temporal matters a great 
 deal to the alliance of better natures which it employs and 
 imposes on. 
 
 When Welwyn arrived, he learnt that the coach, which he had 
 determined to travel by, started from Huskdalk early next 
 morning. The Lepels had asked several people to dinner, in 
 order that he might be — so Mr. Lepel had planned it — as lively, 
 the last day of his stay, as possible. 
 
 “ You have seen Mr. Eontenoy then?” said Mr. Lepel. 
 
 “ Yes, sir,” said Welwyn, with a melancholy air. 
 
 “ Has he any news of Singleton this time?” inquired the old 
 gentleman, jocularly. “ My God,” thought Welwyn, “ what will 
 these good-hearted people think when they hear what I have 
 heard ! ” But he did not think it right to speak on the subject ; 
 so he made some off-hand answer. His gloominess was noticed 
 by everybody. He felt it — so strove against it as much as pos- 
 sible. He would not leave unhappiness as his legacy to a family 
 that had treated him so kindly. He determined to have no 
 scene — no explanation with Augusta. “ Keep up to day, oh, 
 my heart ! ” he thought ; “ and when once I am away, break if 
 you will ! ” He longed, indeed, to be off, and alone with his 
 sorrow. 
 
 After dinner, he found himself for a short time alone with 
 Lord Belden. It was from this nobleman — as the reader has, 
 of course, guessed — that Frederick had procured Welwyn’s 
 appointment. Belden, who knew nothing of the intrigues of 
 his young friend, naturally fancied that Welwyn knew the fact. 
 Being a modest man, he felt the awkwardness of imposing a 
 sense of obligation on anybody, so was desirous of putting 
 Welwyn at his ease. 
 
 “ I trust you will have a pleasant journey, Mr. Welwyn,” he 
 said, kindly. “ I’m afraid the new kind of duty will be dull to 
 one who is familiar with war.” 
 
 Welwyn was thinking of something else at the moment. 
 Perhaps he looked confused as he muttered a civil answer. 
 
 He wants to thank me, but is shy, poor fellow, thought his 
 lordship. “We have not much interest’ with the present 
 people,” he said, “or we might have got you something 
 better.” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 301 
 
 “ Your lordsliip is very good,” said Welwyn, bowing. The 
 sentence puzzled him a little at first. All at once the real state 
 of things flashed on him. He had never suspected it before — « 
 strangely enough. But he decided not to say anything to Lord 
 Belden about it; so repeated his thanks more gracefully, and 
 changed the conversation. When Frederick came in, which he 
 did soon after, he found them chatting on indifferent subjects. 
 
 The evening in the drawing-room was not lively. Welwyn was 
 to leave extremely early in the morning, to catch the coach at 
 Huskdale. And when the party broke up for the night, that 
 w T as to be his last glimpse of Augusta. He sat, as he thought of 
 it, gazing stupidly at her, as the bird of night gazes at the moon. 
 The conversation flagged ; so much so that a sigh was audible 
 in the silence. At last came the hour of good-bye and good 
 night. The door shut upon Welwyn, like the door of a vault or 
 a prison. 
 
 In the early morning he awoke. Frederick was to accompany 
 him over to Huskdale. They started from Dunreddin. They 
 reached the “ George ” before the time. 
 
 As they were waiting in a private room, Frederick, who had 
 been for some time walking about restlessly, stopped suddenly, 
 and said — 
 
 “ By the bye, Welwyn, you saw Mr. Fontenoy — did not you 
 - — yesterday ?” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ I somehow dislike that man,” said Frederick, with an 
 appearance of warmth. 
 
 “ I do so, thoroughly,” said Welwyn. “ He is cold, and 
 mean, and mediocre.” 
 
 “ Here comes the coach!” cried Frederick, looking from the 
 window. “ And now, Welwyn,” he continued, turning round to 
 him, “ I am going to say something to you, if I may take the 
 liberty.” 
 
 Welwyn turned suddenly red, and held his breath. He could 
 not fancy but that Lepel must be about to allude to the One 
 subject. 
 
 “ I don’t know anything about your circumstances, old boy, 
 but perhaps you are put to expense in joining your ship. If so, 
 you know, let me do the Bothschild. This is a great commercial 
 country, as they say in Huskdale ; and I shall be happy to lend 
 you — ” 
 
 “ Oh, thank you. You’re very kind. But a small patrimony 
 suffices for a philosopher,” said Welwyn, kindly. He felt in- 
 clined to smile, as he thought how odd it was that this unscru- 
 pulous youth, who would have broken his heart to further his 
 
302 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 ambition, should make an offer so kind according to everybody’s 
 ideas. 
 
 “ Well, take a cigar,” said Frederick, laughing, as he un- 
 clasped his cigar-case. “ Good-bye ! ” 
 
 Welwyn jumped into the coach. It rolled off. Frederick 
 was out of his sight in a moment. 
 
 Welwyn had to wait some time at Penguin, from which town 
 he wrote off letters to his sister at Malta, and to Singleton. A 
 paragraph for the last of these was furnished by a strange 
 incident which he saw in that town. 
 
 It chanced that he was strolling in the morning near an ancient 
 church. The door was open. He went in, and saw that a 
 baptism was about to be performed. The group were rather 
 singular-looking people. The mother, a pretty, blue-eyed young 
 wife ; her husband, a meek young man, of scholastic aspect, who 
 seemed afraid of his baby. But the strange figure was that of 
 an elderly gentleman in black, of erudite look, snuffy, absent, of 
 solemn glance, and grave air. The quiet appearance of the 
 whole scene struck Welwyn’s imagination, and he leaned against 
 a pew and looked on. 
 
 The clergyman took up his station, and asked what name was 
 to be given to the child — a boy. 
 
 “Julius Placidus,” said the elderly gentleman, with a solemn 
 expression of face. 
 
 The clergyman looked surprised. “I don’t remember that 
 name,” he said, mildly. 
 
 “ It will be found in 4 Tacitus, the History,’ book iii., chapter 
 84. [See Brotier’s edition.] He was the tribune of the cohort 
 who dragged Vitellius from his hiding-place.” 
 
 The clergyman stared. The name was duly given. 
 
 “ God bless me,” mused Welwyn, “ what a singular set ! ” 
 
 As they passed by him, the blue-eyed mother stared at him 
 very hard, and he heard her mutter to her husband, “ I have seen 
 a face like that before.” 
 
 “ A face like that before,” thought Welwyn. “Who, in the 
 name of goodness, are they?” 
 
 The sexton lingered behind to close the church, and respect- 
 fully waited for Welwyn, who was gazing at the escutcheons. 
 Welwyn, as he came out, handed him a trifle. “Who were these 
 people here just now? ” he asked. 
 
 “ Them, sir ? Hr. Helot, the schoolmaster. It was the chris- 
 tening o’ the little one of his daughter Lallyger, — her as married 
 Mr. Bigg ! ” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 303 
 
 “Married Mr. Rigg,” soliloquized Welwyn, as lie strolled 
 away, almost stumbling over the graves. “ Married Mr. Rigg ! 
 Will Augusta marry a Lord Rigg, I wonder ! 
 
 “ 4 Keep thee, to-day. 
 
 To-morrow, for ever. 
 
 Free as an Arab 
 Of thy beloved !* 
 
 “ Ah, no, no ! My thoughts — my being — turn as restlessly to 
 her ever — 'as the vane on yon spire to the wind ! ” 
 
304 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, II. N. 
 
 BOOK THE LAST. 
 
 BEST. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Everything thou hast touched, I love ; everything thou speakest of, I love : thy 
 hand played with these vine-leaves, — I wear them in my bosom. 
 
 Sis E. B. Lytton’s Zanoni. 
 
 And now, oli, kindly reader, whose cigar I have accompanied, 
 or whose sofa I have shared, let us follow the swallow and fly 
 again to the South. We cross France, we enter on a purple 
 wilderness of sea, the eye is dazzled by the silver scales of sun- 
 light on its surface ; presently, a white island emerges from the ! 
 ocean — like a dove from violets, — it is Malta. It is summer-time 
 in Malta ; titans of flowers begin to threaten heaven with their 
 nodding heads, the almond-trees are loaded with the sleek hairy « 
 pods which hold the fruit ; it is very hot, so that sometimes in ; 
 the middle of the day the air wraps one round like scented 
 cambric ! 
 
 In 184 — , her Majesty’s Ship “ Cleopatra,” 120, came out to 
 assume the command of the Mediterranean, with Admiral Sir 
 Eooby Booing on board, and fifty pounds’ worth of Madeira in 
 the midshipman’s gunroom. The “ Cleopatra ” was the last 
 result — the crowning specimen — of modern naval improvement, j 
 From the days of grand old Blake — when waggon-loads of silver, 
 taken from the Spanish, reeled through London streets — to the 
 days of the “ Cleopatra,” what a change ! From Blake dying in 
 his rude cabin in the English Channel, to Booing drawing table- 
 money of £800 a year to feed friends, what a change ! Of the 
 mere physical changes in the service, in living, and so on, per- 
 haps much complaint should not be made : forms of living have 
 altered everywhere. But from Blake and his officers, bent on 
 doing Ood’s work on the waters, and with a faith as strong as 
 their oaken ships, to Booing, with his belief in the dockyard, and , 
 reverence for the powers that are in , — Lieutenant Primby’s 
 dandyism, and Captain Paggles’ piano, — there has been a change 
 by no means for the better ! ‘ " 
 
 The “ Cleopatra ” having anchored in Malta, and been suhse- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 305 
 
 quently moored at a “ broth of a buoy” in the Grand Harbour, 
 remained there, 
 
 “ As idle as a painted ship. 
 
 Upon a painted ocean/' 
 
 Fontenoy was appointed to her, shortly after her arrival, the 
 “ Patagonian ” having, by this time, been ordered home ; her 
 commission was nearly over, but the paving-off time was some- 
 what accelerated by an accident. The “ Patagonian,” in fact, in 
 a fit of rhinocerean playfulness, bumped herself on shore on the 
 coast of Spain, the rudder was carried away, the false keel was 
 damaged ; she was ordered to proceed to England, and Captain 
 Pannikin retired into private life once more. 
 
 Duty on board the “ Cleopatra ” was of a light and airy cha- 
 racter. The hands were turned up to drill at daylight, when the 
 midshipmen, in blanket trousers and otherwise gay dishabille , 
 ran about actively enough, — the watches were slept through 
 with praiseworthy regularity, — general quarters were occasionally 
 indulged in, when a newly-invented trumpet for summoning the 
 boarders caused much fun, noise, and confusion. During the 
 ship’s company’s dinner-time, it was found necessary to partake 
 of ices, which an old Frenchman brought off in a curious machine, 
 nice and cool ; plum-cake is not a very absurd concomitant of 
 lemon-ice, and after both, a cigar is refreshing. Besides, the 
 gunroom mess did not dine till six, when they partook of some 
 dozen of made dishes, &c., served in a really respectable style 
 upon china adorned with the mess arms (a donkey rampant), and 
 accompanied by iced wine. To live near the shore of a populous 
 island without landing there is at least tedious, which was pro- 
 bably the reason why the gentlemen of the “ Cleopatra ” were 
 constantly landing. To facilitate landing, a good boat should be 
 always at hand : they had a good boat always at hand, and 
 adorned with a mess flag ; one boat is scarcely enough for many 
 people, other boats were constantly hovering about. Boats are 
 expensive when constantly employed — and this was perhaps the 
 reason why, when a batch of yonngsters came off in one, they 
 were each so anxious not to be the last man in getting out. The last 
 man cannot have money always, and this was undoubtedly the 
 reason why Jigger, of the “ Bustard,” was frequently seized by 
 the leg by the boatman, when the ardour of professional duty 
 made him show unusual haste in leaving ! 
 
 It was the middle of the day, — several gentlemen of the “ Cleo- 
 patra ” were seated in a cabin on the main-deck, — it belonged to 
 the third lieutenant, who allowed it to be used as a lounge. Pug 
 Welby was reclining on the bed, which in the daytime became a 
 sofa ; Blanchard, a mate, and Sutherland, a midshipman, were 
 seated in chairs ; also a youngster, with an odd mark on the tip 
 
 x 
 
306 
 
 SIN&LETON FONTENOT, B.N. 
 
 of his nose, produced by the incision of a penknife and tbe rub- 
 bing in of salt — a process which had recently been performed on 
 him by an “ oldster ” of South Sea tastes. 
 
 “ How’s the leg, Pug?” said Blanchard, alluding to the acci- 
 dent which had befallen him some months before. 
 
 “Capital,” said Pug, stretching it out; “I wish I had not 
 broken it a second time ; it was that that delayed it.” 
 
 “ I shouldn’t wonder,” said Blanchard, yawning ; “ can you 
 kick with it, — try it on the youngster ! ” 
 
 Little Pipp, the youngster alluded to, jumped up in a fright. 
 “Please not, Mr. Welby !” He was a little, pale boy, of sickly 
 constitution, and had been sent to sea by his father, a rich mer- 
 chant, at the instigation of a second wife. 
 
 “Adjust him,” said Pug, with a severe air. Pipp was seized 
 by Blanchard and Sutherland, and placed in a convenient po- 
 sition, — he raised a dismal howl, — Pug let him go ; at that instant 
 Fontenoy came in — he had a note in his hand, and seemed some- 
 what anxious. 
 
 “Oh! Welby — would you mind keeping my ‘four to six’ 
 watch ? ” he said. 
 
 “ Hem ! Anything particular ?” 
 
 Singleton coloured slightly. “Yes, I have promised to go on 
 shore.” 
 
 “Well, sit down a minute, old fellow. Don’t be in such a 
 hurry. How different you are to what you used to be.” 
 
 “ Am I ?” said Singleton, smiling, and tapping with his fingers 
 on the breech of the gun which occupied part of the cabin. 
 
 “You have lost your gaiety, and you are getting monkish. 
 You talk like an epitaph. There’s as much difference between 
 you now, and what you were last winter, as between iEneas 
 on the course, and iEneas drawing the Snobkins’ caleche, which 
 is his present employment.” 
 
 Singleton smiled. “ You’ll keep the watch at all events, in 
 spite of my degeneracy?” 
 
 “ Yes — but be a man, and drop in at Bicardo’s. Grood-bye.” > 
 Singleton departed. He descended to the cockpit, and presently 
 popped through the middle-deck port, holding a small carpet-bag 
 in his hand. The boatman into whose boat he got, pulled away 
 towards Burmola. Singleton left the carpet-bag at an inn, and 
 then took his way to a square not far off. He knocked, and was 
 admitted by an old woman. 
 
 “ Is the father in ?” 
 
 She motioned to him to go upstairs. As he reached the door of 
 the room, he fancied he heard voices talking inside. He tapped. 
 
 “ Come in.” 
 
 | Singleton entered. Father Adda was alone — at his table. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 307 
 
 Singleton glanced round tlie apartment, curiously and uneasily. 
 There were no signs of any other human being there. The priest 
 noticed his look. 
 
 “You thought you heard something ?” 
 
 “Yes,” said Singleton, colouring. 
 
 “ I was reading aloud. But sit down, Mr. Fontenoy. You 
 are looking rather unwell. Your eye is unnaturally bright. The 
 colour on your cheek flushes and goes abruptly. Take care — 
 there is a dir a cohors febrium in this island, always in full force 
 in summer.” 
 
 “ Yes, indeed,” said Singleton, with a sigh ; “ but see, I have 
 brought you some of your books back.” As he spoke, he laid 
 on the table two or three volumes of controversial theology. 
 “ Bad enough is fever ; but worst of all is the fever of the mind, 
 with its thirst for truth and peace.” 
 
 The father gazed at him, adjusted the skull-cap on his pale 
 forehead, and wrote something with a pen. 
 
 Singleton moved about the room, restlessly. “ Father, how 
 long have I known you — since we met in St. John’s ?” 
 
 “ Some months ; — but, Fontenoy, do you like the Latin of that 
 Treatise P It seems to have the homely, rather slatternly garb 
 of one who used the tongue for familiar purposes ; it wants the 
 finish, the dignity, the compactness of the classic writers.” 
 Singleton turned the pages of the book listlessly ; he threw it 
 down again ; then carelessly turned to another. 
 
 “ That is a strange face, that face of Loyola ! and what a story, 
 his ! My God — when one thinks of these grand enthusiasts, one 
 ought to blush at the sight of their portraits.” 
 
 “You read the ‘ Life’ I gave you, I think,” said Father Adda. 
 “Yes; but— poor human nature — one is staggered at such 
 stories as his getting a miraculous insight into the mystery of 
 the Trinity, and so on.” The father was silent. Then he again 
 asked Singleton to sit down, and why he was so restless. The 
 colour hovered about Singleton’s cheek as he did so. He sat 
 down, and leaned upon his hands ; then, suddenly he raised his 
 head, and stood up once more. 
 
 “Father,” he said, “I have pondered deeply on what I have 
 heard and learned from you. For years I have hungered and 
 pined for a principle of Faith and action ; and now, something 
 in my heart whispers that I may yet find peace in your Church ! ” 
 The priest’s eyes brightened calmly, and their light seemed 
 reflected on his brow. 
 
 “My son,” he said, “these feelings are not my creation ; but, 
 beware how you neglect impulses which we have a right to be- 
 lieve may be the vibrations of the heart under the touch of the 
 
 ■finfrov r\{- 
 
808 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 Singleton was suddenly awed ; then lie stopped short, and 
 said that he must go. The father rose to conduct him ; they 
 paused on the threshold. Singleton turned back — 
 
 “ Give me your blessing.” 
 
 “ With all my heart.” 
 
 “ I shall see you again soon.” 
 
 “ In the mean time — Peace to you.” 
 
 “ Good day.” 
 
 And away went Singleton. He reached the little inn where 
 he had been before the visit. He went in, changed his uniform 
 for plain clothes, and once more crossed the harbour in a boat 
 for Valetta; it was about four o’clock. He went to a house in 
 Strada Porni ; a horse was waiting for him : he mounted it, and 
 rode off. As he passed the walls of Elorian Gardens, the car- 
 riages of the garrison people were moving about ; the Brantons, 
 too, were abroad ; Dulcimer was leaning languidly back in their 
 carriage. 
 
 “ How do, Eontenoy ?” he said, as Singleton came near them. 
 
 “ I hope you are well,” said Eontenoy, taking off his cap to 
 the party. 
 
 “ Do you know that there is to be no Begatta this year ? The ■ 
 admiral is opposed to it ; and says that if they have one, the 
 boats must race with their guns in.” 
 
 “ Indeed.” 
 
 “ However, there’s one thing ; a boat can’t break its knees if ? 
 it does lose,” said Dulcimer, smiling. 
 
 ‘ You’ve been reading, I see,” said Eontenoy, drily. 
 
 “ Ha, hem ! What did you give for that fellow, if it’s a fair 
 question,” said Dulcimer, glancing at Singleton’s horse. 
 
 “ A dollar for the evening! Good day!” Singleton trotted 
 off, and presently broke into a canter. “ These people kill me,” 
 he muttered. “Eancy it’s taking six thousand years for the j 
 earth to turn up such a set.” 
 
 He cantered on along the high road towards Citta Vecchia ; 
 and presently he turned his horse’s head down a lane, and pro- , 
 ceeded at a slow pace. He passed through a small village with 
 a church, with some high trees in front of it. A Maltese boy 
 came running out of a house to hold the horse ; Singleton dis- 
 mounted, and proceeded on. 
 
 Meanwhile, within a few hundred yards of Jlim, in the garden 
 of an old-fashioned house of the times of De L’lsle Adam, 
 strolled Ivy Welwyn. She looked something between a nun 
 and a naiad ! Her dress was simple and sombre. Her black 
 hair, which seemed steeped in darkness, was plainly arranged. 
 Her beautiful features were pale. But every now and then her 
 deep violet eyes gleamed with such a lively light, and her slight 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 309 
 
 figure moved with such a playful grace, that you wondered how 
 she could be solemn. It suggested “ II Penseroso,” set to music 
 by Auber ! 
 
 " In her hand she held a string of ebony beads. She raised 
 them, and played with them carelessly. Her fancies wantoned 
 in the light of love, like waves in the rays of the moon. She 
 moved through the grass of the garden, and listened. Hot a 
 sound ! Mechanically, her white fingers arranged the beads, as 
 she mused. 
 
 “ For two days he has not been here ! He is right. I have 
 told him, that for me to love is sin. He spares me sorrow and 
 penance. I should like to know that he is well ! ” 
 
 Down dropped a bead. 
 
 4 4 What a load I have to carry to the confessional ! and I come 
 away with a heavy heart still, — his presence relieves me. I hope 
 he is not ill ! ” 
 
 Down dropped a bead. 
 
 “ The greater my love, the greater my guilt, — as the oranges 
 of Sicily are then ripest when they most resemble blood ! Oh, 
 my cousin ! though you have taken my heart, let me save my soul ! 
 Is he ill ?” 
 
 Down dropped a bead. 
 
 “ Signora ! ” 
 
 She turned, — the beads dropped. The old lady who lived 
 with her as a guardian, — long a friend of the Welwyns and of 
 the house into which the fathers of Fontenoy and Welwyn mar- 
 ried, — came out into the garden. 
 
 “ Your cousin is coming ! ” 
 
 She started, and stamped her little foot on the grass, in 
 anxiety and indecision. “ I am gone ! — say I am away ! ” 
 
 She bounded in at the hall door, and left the old lady alone. 
 A sharp rapping was heard at the garden gate, — there was Sin- 
 gleton. He came to the gate with breathless hope and eager- 
 ness in his eyes, — he never fancied that Ivy would not be in the 
 house, —he did not dare ! 
 
 “ Where is Ivy ?” 
 
 “ She is away, signor, — she is out.” 
 
 “What! Do you jest?” His lips seemed hardening into 
 marble. 
 
 “ She is gone out, signor. You are not alarmed, are 
 you ?” 
 
 He turned away, and, pulling his cap over his eyes, dragged 
 slowly along, like a wounded man. There was a gathering of 
 sorrow swelling in his heart and pressing on him, like the rising 
 waves on one who has been tied to a stake on the beach, and left 
 to die in the full of the tide. 
 
310 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 “ Singleton !” 
 
 “ Ivy ! Oh, my heavens, — how cruel you are ! ” 
 
 She had come running out, and she stood there before him 
 with face flushed and eyes trembling with light. 
 
 “ Forgive me, Singleton, — I trifled with you.” 
 
 He leaned against the wall, and put his hand to his heart, — 
 for a moment he had turned as pale as death. “ Ivy,” he said ; 
 
 “ in the name of God, never trifle so again. Tell me that you 
 will never see me more, and let me go and die ; but do not make 
 my heart a toy, and break it in sport ! ” 
 
 “ You know I would not, Singleton. It is I who suffer, — 
 and for you.” 
 
 “ Well — don’t cry, dear ; your tears burn my heart. Look up. 
 The sky is red with roses and gold. Do you see that bridge of 
 white cloud? Darling, I should like to wander on it with 
 you, and we would forget the world for ever. Ivy, do you 
 listen ?” " 
 
 “ I have listened too much to you, Singleton : I must tell 
 you again and again, that the language of love is out of place 
 when it is addressed to me. What does it mean ?” and 
 Ivy turned pale. “We cannot be united. You know toj 
 what future I have devoted myself, and you — you are but a 
 
 . . , 
 
 “ My child,” interrupted Singleton, “ you make me mise- ? 
 
 rable ; be 4 still, I am your slave, but I cannot obey you * 
 in this. Bid me do anything, and I will do it — except forget 
 you.” 
 
 The girl was silent. The silence was broken by the sound of 
 the church bell in the neighbouring village : it filled the air with 
 voices. The lovers looked at each other’s eyes in silence. The 
 ebony beads had fallen on the grass, and sparkled in the green { 
 setting. Singleton picked them up. 
 
 “ When I am with you,” he said, “ my thoughts string them-'' 
 selves in prayers, like these beads.” 
 
 “Think more of the prayers than of me,” said the girl, 
 solemnly. 
 
 “ One day, perhaps, we shall kneel together under the same 
 roof. Since I have known you, dear — look up, Ivy, I can speak 
 better when I see your eyes — I have experienced again that 
 happy, holy feeling which I first felt, when, as a boy, I awoke to 
 the knowledge that sun and stars are here for a higher purpose 
 than to give us warmth and light. Ivy, you have been a priest 
 to me ; and sometimes I think that that great Church, to which 
 our mothers belonged, ought to be my soul’s home. Ivy, your 
 love keeps me in purity and aspiration : it keeps my holiest 
 feelings alive, as breath keeps the flame flickering as it rises to- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N . 
 
 ill 
 
 wards heaven. My thoughts float upon the river of your hair. 
 It is with my whole nature that I adore you. I love your pure 
 spirit — I love your sweet face.” 
 
 He spoke with such passion that the beads trembled and 
 rattled in his hand. He felt a thrill across his lips as if a silken 
 thread quivered through them. The girl had listened with down- 
 cast eyes, —rising and falling in emotion, as a bird rises and falls 
 on the bosom of a swelling sea. 
 
 44 Ivy — speak to me — do you love me ?” 
 
 44 Oh, yes, yes ! ” cried the girl, passionately, while her eyes 
 glistened with the spray from her heart. . . . “ That is why I am 
 so unhappy. Oh, God, this is sin ! Go, Singleton — go ; leave me 
 to solitude and prayer —go ! ” 
 
 She stamped her little foot upon the grass. The violet fire in 
 her eyes was most painful to see ; the tears started down her 
 cheeks, and drying suddenly, left a scorching trace. Her whole 
 nature was struggling with the heavy burden of care that her 
 strange and dark education had imposed on her. 
 
 Poor Ivy ! I cannot describe her properly — I love her 
 
 too well ! 
 
 Singleton did go, and they parted more calmly ; but he did 
 not know what she suffered : day by day she was getting more 
 pale. There are people in the world who can watch such 
 changes in those for whom they ought to be ready to shed their 
 heart’s blood, quite calmly, — can measure their misery as coolly 
 as an undertaker measures a corpse. Hot so Singleton. 
 
 It was twilight as he drew near Yaletta. The reins had fallen 
 on his horse’s neck, and he was again musing. As he cast his 
 eyes on the road, he saw the shadow of a figure cast there by the 
 moon, which was just up. He looked behind. 
 
 4 4 What ! Father Adda ! ” 
 
 44 Yes,” said a calm voice. It was the priest’s. 
 
 . 44 Where have you been?” 
 
 44 To Bokkar.” 
 
 * That was the name of the village which was close by Ivy’s 
 house ; the mention made Singleton feel somewhat uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 44 Indeed. I have been near there,” said Fontenoy, quietly. 
 
 44 1 saw you ; I did not like to delay you. But you see I have 
 overtaken you.” 
 
 44 Yes, my horse carries double — 
 
 * Post equitem sedet, atra cura,* 
 
 as Horace says. Ho wonder I came so slow.” 
 
 44 There is peace for us all if we seek it,” said the priest, 44 if 
 the care be a worthy care. We must distinguish between divine 
 sorrow and the earthly sorrow we cause ourselves.” 
 
312 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 Singleton glanced at the pale features lighted up by the moon. 
 Woman’s face had never made them smile, nor man’s laughter 
 met a hearty response there. His creed ; it had marked itself in 
 wrinkles on his brow ! “ Heavens ! ” thought Singleton, “if he 
 should be deluded — what a life his w^l have bedn ! ” 
 
 “Who goes there?” cried the sentry at Strada Eeale 
 Gate. 
 
 They answered, and passed through. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Secreti loquimur. Tibi nunc, hortante Camena, 
 
 Excutienda damus prsecordia. 
 
 ■ Persies, Sat . 5 ; 21, 2. 
 
 “ Lash up hammocks, sir !” 
 
 Singleton felt his swinging couch vibrate as a rude hand 
 touched the “ nettles,” and woke suddenly from a deep, dreamless 
 sleep, — one of those from which we wake with a sort of wonder, 
 and begin to fancy that death may not be so terrible after all. • 
 He had been reading till nearly daylight. He cast his languid 
 eyes round ; the cockpit was just beginning to stir into life ; 
 gentlemen were stationing themselves before their toilet appara- * 
 tus on the amputation-table ; queer little looking-glasses were f 
 suspended here and there, in which flickered the reflection of the 
 yellow light of lamps ; shouts were heard of “ pass the word for 
 Tomkins — pass the word for Higgs,” as each riser required his 
 marine valet. There was a splashing of water, — an odour of 
 bear’s grease, — a rattling of chest lids. One youth, with nothing 
 on but his trousers, was standing under the hatchway, poking 
 his head up the wind-sail to monopolize as much air as possible ; ; 
 a kick soon displaced him , we may be sure. Presently comes a 
 thump ; a cartouch-box, or perhaps even a bayonet, rattles down 
 from the lower- deck, where the marines are cleaning their 
 accoutrements ; then a curse and a grumble ; a light cloud of 
 pipe-clay floats in the air. Anon comes a sharp pop, — it is soda- 
 water, — the cork strikes Dalton, who is trying to shave at the 
 risk of his life ; there is a general laugh. In a short time, some 
 dozen or so of the mids are assembled round the amputation- 
 table ; conversation begins. 
 
 “ Where did you go, Harry, after the Bloakers’ spread?” 
 
 “To Eicardo’s.” Splash, splash. “Lend me some honey- 
 water, Charley.” 
 
 “Do you d — d whelps use honey- water ? ” growled an old 
 mate. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 313 
 
 “ Yes,” cried Blanchard, “when one can get it good. Do yon 
 like it, Mr. Hoggles ? I confess, for my part, that kalydor is 
 absolutely necessary to my existence in this climate ! It lies so 
 fragrantly on the cheek at night, — like the breath of the beloved 
 one ! It keeps off the mosquitoes, too ; I hear a mosquito now. 
 Ah ! it has bit me.” 
 
 Blanchard subsided into agonized silence. 
 
 “ Mr. Blanchard ! the first cutter is called away,” said a 
 quartermaster, coming down the ladder ; Blanchard commanded 
 that boat, and spent a small income in keeping her nice. 
 
 “D — n and confound the first cutter,” said a youngster, who 
 had two uncles bishops, and one a dean of noted piety. 
 
 “ Youngsters must not swear,” said the old mate, who affected 
 propriety, as it gave him an excuse for thrashing the youngsters. 
 
 “ I’ll be up directly,” said Blanchard, to the quartermaster. 
 “ Bless me, where’s my sponge ? I had a sponge that Undine 
 might love ! Hang it, one can never get a chance of dressing 
 like a gentleman here ; I’ll cut the service, and join the 
 Guards ! ” 
 
 “ Nice girl, the eldest Bloaker,” said a youngster ; “ has she 
 got any money?” (The speaker was sixteen years old.) 
 
 “ Hem, hem ; take care !” cried somebody. A cabin-door was 
 observed to open stealthily ; it was that of the chaplain, Mr. 
 Mawker. Mr. Mawker used to report all impropriety to the 
 commander, who was serious. Mr. Mawker was a divine with 
 large lay whiskers ; he had jilted ladies at almost every port in 
 the Mediterranean, and dared scarcely land anywhere for fear of 
 being horsewhipped by an indignant brother. 
 
 “ I hate spies,” cried a midshipman, in a meaning tone. Mr. 
 Mawker’s door gradually closed. 
 
 “ The cutter’s manned, Mr. Blanchard,” cried the quarter- 
 master, coming down again. * 
 
 “ It must wait, — I’m dressing,” said Blanchard, furiously, and 
 perspiring over a tight Wellington. Away went the quarter- 
 master. Down he came again, — “You must come, sir, or the 
 commander will send a file of marines for you, he says.” 
 
 “Curse the boots, — oh, Lord!” ejaculated Blanchard. The 
 quartermaster went on deck again. In three minutes there was 
 a great rattling on the after ladder, and down came the sergeant 
 of marines, with a party ! Blanchard was suffering the torture 
 of the boot; — J ames the Second would have enjoyed the spectacle 
 he presented. 
 
 “ How, sir ; please, sir,” said the sergeant, embarrassed. 
 “ Here’s your trousers, sir ! be quick, please. I have orders to 
 bring you as you are, sir.” Blanchard made desperate exertions, 
 and at last hurried on his clothes, and got away. 
 
314 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 Fontenoy had been slowly dressing himself during this scene ; 
 he now left the cockpit and went up into the gunroom to break- 
 fast. Oh ! the luxury of a bunch of green grapes cooling in 
 chilly w r ater, some new bread, and a pat of fresh butter on a 
 strawberry leaf! Such, with a cup of tea, was his morning 
 repast. He sat at it very silently ; he was languid. When he 
 had finished, he lay down on the lockers, and leaning on his left 
 arm, gazed at the sea. He felt a strange sensation coming on, 
 and yet accompanied with a feeling that all was right. The sea 
 was heaving slowly up and down before him, like a purple pall. 
 Were the waves violets? A boat passed, painted green and 
 yellow ; the sunlight gleamed on it ; it looked like a dragonfly. 
 Who was playing music in it ? By degrees the music increased, 
 and the waves seemed to have bells in their bubbles ; — bells, 
 — bells, — bells! — and his memory grew miraculously vivid. 
 Heatherby came before him. He remembered that on the 14th 
 September, 1839, there was somebody to ‘dinner ; he was a little 
 man with spectacles, who talked about the corn-laws ! What 
 made him remember him now ? he had never thought of him 
 since ! He was wonderfully amused by the little man ; he was 
 so grotesque. He began to laugh, — a strange rattling laugh, 
 — like the noise of Ivy’s ebony beads. 
 
 Fontenoy was getting delirious. 
 
 Ebony beads ! The waves seemed to have black beads for 
 bubbles ; up and down rose the beads ; then a hand, a hot hand, 
 seemed to pass across his brow ; he resigned himself to it. It 
 was wrapping a hot leaf round him, — a leaf from a palm-tree, 
 reeking of sand ; the sand pricked him. Oh, God ! — Ivy, make 
 them take it away ! It began to go : a slow, drowsy heat came 
 over him ; the water seemed so hot that one would be afraid to 
 bathe in it. Still his head leaned on his arm ; the arm seemed 
 to have hardened there. Fragments of old poems began to whirl 
 through his mind, — he read them ; there they were before him, 
 in print ; he would swear to the particular print. What a slow 
 heat was destroying him ! 
 
 It was the Sirocco ! The sirocco wind had come ; it rested 
 on the stony island, — a glare of hot air : a wind that you would 
 like to strike, — for which you feel a hatred as for something 
 humanly horrible. It came like a ghost from the sandy desert, 
 — the hell of winds. It was a wind that (Eolus had sent to the 
 desert for punishment ; it came, and had absorbed the horror of 
 a thousand leagues of sand into one soul : everything drooped ; 
 there was languor in the look of stones and rocks ; the nerves of 
 men slackened. Fontenoy lay on the cushions, — stretched in 
 languor, — like the tongue from the mouth of a weary lion ! 
 
 Presently, a change came over him. Ivy’s fingers were 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 315 
 
 tapping at his temples ; he thought it cruel, but that at the same 
 time she was only in play. He found his thoughts dancing, and 
 was improvising song. Boat after boat crossed past the ship, — 
 full of knights of the Order of St. John ! Suddenly, the water 
 seemed wonderfully cooler ; how hot he was, and how cool the 
 water ! he would try to cool himself ; he laughed to think how 
 he would revel in it ; he moved. 
 
 A splash ! The upper deck of the “ Cleopatra” was all in 
 confusion. “Let go the life-buoy! Ho, — call away a boat! 
 Who is it ? how did it happen ?” 
 
 “ They’re picking him up, sir,” said the officer of the watch 
 to the commander. 
 
 “ Send for the doctor,” said the commander. “ It is Mr. 
 Fontenoy, is it ?” 
 
 “ Yes, sir.” 
 
 “Very strange ; very strange,” he said. 
 
 The boat came alongside. Fontenoy was carried on the 
 middle-deck ; his long black hair drooped across his face. They 
 soon recovered him from the effects of the water, and he awoke, 
 — to fever. Fever had been hovering] about him for several 
 
 days ; it had dodged him in his walks, breathed on his sleep, 
 lighted on him and darted off again, like a bird among trees : 
 now it had him in fruition, in full possession. 
 
 “ I think he had better be sent to the hospital, at once,” said 
 the doctor. 
 
 “ Perhaps so,” said the commander. 
 
 Blanchard had to take him there, with one of the assistant- 
 surgeons, in the first cutter. The Haval Hospital of Malta is a 
 fine building on the left side of the harbour as you enter, near 
 Bighi Bay. They landed at a long flight of stairs ; they passed 
 in at the gate ; there was a fine garden stretched at the back of 
 the building, through which they passed. Seamen in flannel 
 dressing-gowns and caps, — some pale, with bright staring eyes, 
 — some limping with wounds hardly healed, — were sunning 
 themselves there. 
 
 They passed under a colonnade at the left wing of the building, 
 and through some passages into the midshipman’s ward, a fine, 
 spacious room enough, looking out on a colonnade facing the 
 harbour. There were four little beds in it, each with white 
 mosquito curtains, each screened in with a large green screen, 
 and each with a little table for books and convenience. Two 
 young gentlemen, in the “ convalescent” state, were sprawling on 
 sofas. They were rather glad to find that somebody had got a 
 fever, — it was such a bore to have no company ! 
 
 „ Fontenoy was put to bed, under the direction of the amiable 
 
316 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 and accomplished old surgeon (Dr. W ) ; the “ nurse” was 
 
 one Beppo, a Maltese, who always had a comic grin on his 
 face, which grew ten times more comic, in effect, when he wished 
 to be serious ; he was a good-hearted creature, Beppo, and 
 singular enough altogether. Singleton was put to bed with every 
 kindness. 
 
 “ There de barley-water, Missa Fontenoy ; you lie quiet, — 
 you soon be well.” And he chucked Singleton under the chin, 
 and patted his cheek. Singleton gave a faint smile, and lay 
 there, drearily counting the window-panes. Oh, those window- 
 panes ! up and down the lofty window his dreary eye ranged a 
 hundred times a day ! 
 
 “ Beppo — when will we have tea?” asked one of the con- 
 valescents. 
 
 “ De usual time, — not before,— -you know, Missa Twigg ; ” and 
 Beppo moved off. 
 
 “ Bigg, what a fellow Beppo is,” said Twigg. 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 They relapsed into silence ; Singleton heard the long, heavy, 
 intolerable sigh of ennui . 
 
 “ Bigg,— what could you eat now ?” asked Twigg. This was 
 a favourite theme, with the convalescent; indeed, the “half- 
 diet,” a leg of fowl with a potato, or something of that sort, was 
 but meagre fare ! 
 
 “Let me see !” said Bigg, thoughtfully. “ Say a baked cod’s 
 head and shoulders : did you ever try it baked, Twigg P With 
 oysters, I mean, and bread-crumbs — done brown — and steam- 
 ing, directly the spoon goes in, like mad !” 
 
 “ Or,” said Twigg, “ some kidneys in wine sauce ; or, a beef- 
 steak pudding — as they do ’em at the ‘ Cheshire Cheese,’ in Fleet 
 Street. Do you know that place ?” 
 
 “ Dear Fleet Street ! ” ejaculated Bigg. “ Oh, Twigg, if you 
 and 'I were walking arm-in-arm into the ‘ Bainbow !’ ” 
 
 Again there was a pause, — then they spoke in a lower tone, — 
 they were discussing the regulation by which nothing was 
 permitted to pass the gate without a “pass” signed by the 
 surgeon. 
 
 “ I’ve an idea!” said Twigg. “The old fellow never objects 
 to letting in preserves ; I’ll write a pass for preserves, — he’ll 
 sign it, — we’ll add the word ‘ meat,’ and have in some preserved 
 grouse ! ” 
 
 That this “dodge” was as successful as its ingenuity Re- 
 served, Singleton heard from audible sounds of mastication and 
 chuckling, as he lay awake at night. 
 
 Meanwhile, the mess of the “ Cleopatra ” had gone to dinner, 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 317 
 
 — it was a “ crack ” mess, — they were just seated about six 
 o’clock, — one or two fellows were glancing at the bills of fare 
 which lay on the table. The table was adorned with wine — the 
 decanters of which bore that grateful haze which marks that the 
 wine is iced. Omelettes, ragouts, and fricassees of various sorts 
 were being demolished ; the light from the ports came modulated 
 by green curtains. 
 
 “ Poor Fontenoy !” said Pug Welby, feelingly. “ How 
 devilish odd ! — how did it really happen ?” 
 
 “ I was in the gunroom,” said a mate ; “ he jumped out.” 
 “God bless me! — Is that turkey before you, Clarendon P — 
 Jumped out ! — delirious !” 
 
 “ Hem !” said Clarendon, meaningly. 
 
 “Why, what does that mean, — that ‘hem,’ — any thing behind 
 the scenes?” 
 
 The speaker nodded mysteriously. “ Wine, Pug ?” 
 
 “ With pleasure ; I’ll speak to you by and bye.” 
 
 They wined and nodded ; there were glances of mystery round 
 the table, and everybody ate with increased emotion. 
 
 “ I know something ” began a mate. 
 
 “ D d little,” muttered Pug, sotto voce . 
 
 “ About the affair of Fon ?” 
 
 “ Yes. — Youngster, never take a bottle by the bilge in such 
 
 weather as this ; who’s to drink after' your d d hands 
 
 have been heating it ? — There was a girl in the case, for one 
 thing.” 
 
 “ He has not hit it,” said Clarendon to Pug, aside. 
 
 “ Ah ! he is eccentric. Pass the preserved pears.” 
 
 So tattled the mess. But, after dinner, a select party assem- 
 bled to smoke, at the bow port on the main deck ; Pug was 
 there, and Clarendon, and one or two more. 
 
 “ You see,” said Clarendon, puffing away, and with his white 
 hand resting on the breeching of a gun near him, “ I think it 
 was a case of ” 
 
 “ Of what P” asked Pug, eagerly, while the rest of the group 
 stirred themselves to listen. 
 
 “Attempted suicide !” 
 
 “ God bless me ! ” said Pug, scattering the cigar-ash on his 
 white drill trousers as he started. “But how, — what? Who 
 the doose would kill himself if he had any money ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, you’re making a jest of it,” said Clarendgp, seriously 
 and quickly ; “ I tell you I’m in earnest. The fact is, there are 
 some queer stories about Singleton. Passing over that con- 
 founded eccentricity which takes him to places and people that 
 nobody else goes to — look, for instance, at his making such a 
 chum of a priest •” 
 
318 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 “ And, hang it ! the Eoman priests ain’t gentlemen, you 
 know,’ 5 struck in Bungle, a mate. 
 
 “ Well, well, go on, Clarendon,” said Pug, impatiently. 
 
 “It’s gone out again, ypeste /” said Clarendon, looking at his 
 cigar ; “ hut what I was going to say is, — there is a fellow here 
 who knows Pontenoy’s dad, and all about their county. The 
 father originally made, as was always thought, a queer match ; 
 but now, it seems it’s dubious whether they were married 
 and ” 
 
 “Whew ! ” went Mr. Pug Welby, with a prolonged whistle, 
 “ ‘ nobody’s son, as Chesterfield said ! The world is a strange 
 business — you never fall on your feet unless you alight on 
 somebody else’s shoulders : you must have somebody you can 
 stick to ” 
 
 Mr. Welby stopped, and stared. Just as he spoke these last 
 words, a stranger approached them : it was Pather Adda. There 
 was a singular contrast between the pale, decorous sombre 
 priest, and the free-and-easy knot who were chatting and 
 smoking before him. They all looked up in surprise, and Bungle 
 put his tumbler to his lips, and stared over the rim of the glass 
 at him with the most marked astonishment. 
 
 “ Do I intrude, gentlemen ? ” said the father, bowing with 
 much grace ; “ I came to see Mr. Pontenoy ; is he on board P ” 
 
 “ Sinkly, a chair,” said Welby, readily ; “sit down, sir; he 
 has had an accident, I am sorry to say.” 
 
 And Welby, in a polite and rather off-hand way, told Pather 
 Adda the whole story, holding his cigar down that it might not 
 offend him, while Bungle stared at his sacerdotal garb with 
 much curiosity. The priest thanked him, bowed gravely again, 
 and withdrew. 
 
 “ Be sure your sins shall find you out,” said Bungle, affecting 
 a nasal snuffle, as the figure of the father disappeared. 
 
 “ ’Grad, mine generally find me at home,” said Pug, philoso- 
 phically. The group rose, and walked aft again. A party of 
 lieutenants and ward-room men were smoking in that part of 
 the deck between the guns, and discussing the regular subjects 
 as usual. Captain Bulrush of the “ Boarer” was among them ; 
 that remarkable brig of his had been under sailing orders for 
 eight-and-forty hours : it was blowing a fine fresh breeze right 
 out of the Grand Harbour, but Bulrush was waiting for his 
 “ washing” to come off. 
 
 So things were progressing on board, while Singleton lay in 
 his bed with the fever — music playing in his brain. In the 
 middle of the night the ward were disturbed by a deep low 
 groaning from another part of the building. Singleton was 
 awake, and morbidly wondered who the poor fellow was ; his 
 two comrades, Messrs. Twigg and Bigg, were snoring in their 
 
singleton fontenoy, e.n. 
 
 319 
 
 respective beds. Then Singleton heard the snoring interrupted, 
 and weary exclamations, then 
 
 “ Twigg, are you awake ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Cursed row — what’s that cursed row? ” (A growl.) 
 
 “ Wish somebody would put a hot potatoe in the fellow’s 
 mouth,” said Twigg. The groaning ceased soon. The house 
 was very still after it. 
 
 At seven. Master Beppo made his appearance to call them. 
 
 “ Tabeep # coming, genelemen,” he said, announcing that the 
 surgeon was beginning his rounds. # 
 
 “ Hillo, Beppo, how’s Mrs. Beppo ? ” said Twigg. 
 
 “ How Mrs. Twigg, sare ? ” retorted Beppo. 
 
 “ You impudent fellow ! But, Beppo, who was making that 
 row last night? ” 
 
 “Man called Johnson, sare; he die at two o’clock.” Then 
 Beppo put his finger on his lip, and motioned to Mr. Twigg 
 not to make a noise, glancing aside at Fontenoy, as he did so. 
 
 Day passed after day — it was languor set to music. Little 
 shadows of delirium crossed Singleton’s brain occasionally ; a 
 constant phenomenon was the ringing of bells — terrible sound, 
 when it is his own death-bell that the prophetic sufferer hears ! 
 
 One night Singleton dreamed with peculiar and vivid distinct- 
 ness of his friend Welwyn. He awoke refreshed: he reflected 
 on the dream. Whence do these things come ? If I suddenly 
 and unexpectedly dream of a particular loved soul, is it by acci- 
 dent or chance ? The world is full of law ; it must be by some 
 power — perhaps some divine and mysterious power, as certain 
 and inexplicable as the influence of a star ! May it not be that 
 the loved soul is dreaming of us, or thinking of us, too, at that 
 moment ? At least, let us try and find love in our philosophy 
 whenever we can, as the astronomer longs for and watches that 
 famous observation in his science — the passage of Venus across 
 the sun’s disc ! 
 
 Singleton was musing on such thoughts in the forenoon, 
 when Beppo came running to the bedside. “ A padre ask for 
 you, sir.” 
 
 There appeared round the corner of the screen Father Adda. 
 Beppo saluted him with all his native reverence for the order ; 
 Singleton held out his hand. 
 
 “ My son, this is sad ; you have my prayers.” 
 
 He sank upon his knees by the bedside, and remained there 
 for some moments ; when he rose, Singleton placed his hot dry 
 hand in his. The priest gazed at him very kindly ; Singleton’s 
 thoughts turned to Ivy: he began to wander — suddenly he 
 said--. 
 
 * Doctor. 
 
320 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 “Father, you know Bokkar; near there is the place where 
 she lives, — she, Miss Welwyn, must know that I am ill.” He 
 looked at Adda as he spoke, puzzled, and for a moment forget- 
 ting him ; a haze succeeded : when he saw clearly again, the 
 priest was gone. 
 
 Singleton began to recover, and to creep back into health 
 again. He left his bed ; at first he used to lie on the sofa, and 
 read a little. By degrees he began to appreciate the full benefit 
 of Messrs. Twigg and Bigg’s society : they were still “recover- 
 ing” — Twigg from a musket-shot in a smart pirate skirmish on 
 the Barbary coast ; Bigg, from a shattering he had given his 
 fingers by loading a gun, when there was an unhappy and 
 malignant particle of fire in the barrel. He did not enjoy their 
 society much, nor sympathise with their pursuits ; they lounged 
 about the garden of the hospital, seeking for opportunities to 
 smoke “on the sly,” — catching lizards by the tail, — and helping 
 themselves to the almonds before they were ripe ! They carved 
 their names on the colonnade pillars, and made havoc among the 
 geraniums. Singleton could not enjoy these pursuits ; his heart 
 was too heavy, and his mind too full. Twigg and Bigg “ chaffed” 
 him. Singleton started with serious surprise at one of their 
 practical jokes ; they affixed a cross, ingeniously made from 
 brown paper, on his screen. Father Adda had visited him 
 several times. He was always studying the father’s theological 
 books : there was gathering slowly, and with increasing force in 
 his mind, a feeling in favour of his doctrines. And if a spirit, 
 weary with struggle and inquiry, seeks an opiate to give it 
 repose, what Church offers one in such an ancient and splendid 
 chalice ? 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height ; 
 
 What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang). 
 
 In height and cold, the splendour of the hills ? 
 
 But cease to move so near the heavens, and cease 
 To glide a sunbeam by the blasted pine. 
 
 To sit a star, upon the sparkling spire ; 
 
 And come, for Love is of the valley, come. 
 
 For Love is of the valley. 
 
 Tennyson’s Princess , p. 151-2. (1st edition.) 
 
 One morning, my friend Singleton was informed that a large 
 parcel had arrived for him. “ This for you, sare,” cried Beppo, 
 with his usual grin. “ What can it be P ” said Singleton, com- 
 mencing to undo the string. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 321 
 
 “Perhaps present from some ’complished lady, sare,” said 
 Beppo, facetiously. 
 
 “ Don’t talk nonsense, Beppo.” 
 
 “All, you far too sensible, Missa Fontenoy.” 
 
 Singleton succeeded in removing the string from Iris package. 
 It turned out to be a literary bundle — a parcel of treatises — 
 genus , pamphlets, and species, tracts. Tracts ! tracts of the 
 Society for — diffusing something or other. Inside the wrapping- 
 paper were these words : — “ To Singleton Fontenoy, Esqr., with 
 the compliments of the Beverend Mr. Grubb.” 
 
 “ Who is Grubb ? ” said Mr. Twigg, who had approached the 
 table, and was looking over Fontenoy ’s shoulder. 
 
 “ I know no such person,” said Singleton, in a perplexed 
 state. 
 
 He began to turn the productions over ; they were Protestant 
 polemical works, “ Down with Babylon /” (2 cl.) “ Come out of 
 Serf &c., &c., all ferociously assaulting the Homan Catholic 
 Church, and all to be had a few pence cheaper if you took more 
 than a hundred copies (which you didn’t !) The fact was, that a 
 rumour had been spread that my hero was about to renounce 
 the orthodox faith (as established by Act of Parliament). Malta 
 is a hot-bed of religious bigotry, in which, at this period, Mr. 
 Grubb was a prosperous fungus. Bomanism and Protestantism 
 are there always at loggerheads. One Sunday, the Reverend 
 Mr. Somebody preaches on the Beformation and its blessings ; 
 instantly, an announcement appears that Father Somebody 
 means soon to lecture on the Mass. The reverend preachers, and 
 the father lecturers ; meanwhile the relative numbers of each 
 party remain as before. Mr. Grubb, one of the leaders of the 
 Protestants, remarkable for his zeal, had heard of Father Adda’s 
 frequent visits to Fontenoy, and had sent in these tracts, which 
 were to defend Singleton against his assaults, as sand-bags are 
 employed against shells. They attacked the pope, personally 
 and coarsely, as a rabble at an election burn an effigy of their 
 own ugly construction by way of revenging themselves on an 
 unpopular gentleman ; whether the effigy be Wee, is a minor 
 point in such cases. 
 
 Singleton put a few of them into the pocket of his dressing- 
 gown, and strolled languidly into the spacious garden to refresh 
 himself in the sun and the sea-breeze. He was still weak, his 
 limbs dragged heavily along: violent motion made his heart 
 flutter in a death-like manner. He crawled over to a seat, and 
 lolled back, looking up at the blue sky which swam above him 
 dreamily ; he reclined, and listened to the hum of insects, and 
 watched the wagging of the flowers, which nodded to salute the 
 passing wind. Then he pulled out some of the pamphlets, and 
 
 Y 
 
322 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 turned over their pages indolently ; as he was doing so, Father 
 Adda approached. Singleton coloured a little as his eye fell on 
 them. 
 
 “ Good morning ; I am glad to see you, Father Adda.” 
 
 “Iam glad to see you out to-day ; summer is rushing upon 
 us as in a wave of beauty.” 
 
 He removed his strange black priest’s hat, and bared his high 
 forehead to the wind ; there was something in his look which 
 contrasted very much at that moment with his stern garb and 
 pale face. 
 
 “ Have you been to Bokkar lately ? ” asked Singleton. 
 
 “ Bokkar ? yes ! You seem to think much of that place ; you 
 spoke to me of it one day when I was here before — you were 
 very ill then.” 
 
 “ Hid I ? ” stammered Singleton, colouring a little again. 
 
 “ Ho you not remember what you said? ” asked the priest, in 
 a low voice. 
 
 “ Ho.” 
 
 “ It was confused — of course you could not.” 
 
 A little puff of wind, as he spoke, blew one of the tracts down t 
 on the grass ; he stooped most attentively to pick it up, and laid 
 it on the seat beside Fontenoy. There was a sardonic shade, 
 light and instantaneous, across his lips at the moment. Single- ■ 
 ton saw it, and spoke. . 
 
 “ I owe these tracts to a stranger’s zeal : they came here about 
 two hours ago.” 
 
 The priest took one of them up ; then spoke with bitter 
 melancholy, “ Free inquiry— right of private judgment ! Where 
 did these bring you , where have they brought others ? Germany, 
 the great country of the Reformation, has become now the 
 greatest fountain of infidelity ; where those who reject God’s . 
 Mother believe in Strauss ! In England, your Church has l 
 become a corporation, to which men grudge its income. My . 
 friend, my son, I tell you that, when under the influence of 
 e free inquiry,’ a man takes up the Bible to question a faith, he I 
 places himself by that act out of the power of getting faith at 
 all. It is egotism — look how he will, he will see only the reflec- 
 tiod of his own small individuality.” 
 
 Singleton was silent : he felt his heart beat. Gradually and 
 gradually he had been drawn by his studies within the enchanted 
 web of the Roman theology ; his heart began to beat time 
 with the stately march of their processions. An immortal being 
 must have some immortal food, and cannot exist on the vulgar 
 supplies of the world’s day ; and therefore it is that a curse will 
 rest, and does rest, on the nation or state that has nothing to 
 offer to the young but mechanical work, meanly rewarded. A 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 323 
 
 nation where the word “ saint,” is a nickname, which believes in 
 no enthusiasm, which holds the religious man to be the greatest 
 infidel of all, such a nation may enjoy the fatness of a snail, but 
 can only expect the honour of one. If he who lives by the sword 
 must die by the sword, so he who lives by the “ till ” shall die by 
 the “ till,” — die to great ideas, and die to pure faith. Every 
 human being above the class who seem born without souls, 
 or born spiritually blind, finds the necessity of a divine belief. If 
 none such be inspired by those about him, or inhaled from some 
 noble example at hand, he grows up vague and discontented ; 
 perhaps takes to the nearest mumbo-jumbo, or gets whirled into 
 an unhealthy cloud of mysticism, through which what natural 
 light is in him beams dimly and unprofitably. 
 
 Singleton raised himself upon his arm. “Even so ! ” he said, 
 looking up at Father Adda’s face. “ For some time the thought 
 of your religion has lain continually on my breast, as its symbol 
 does on one that is very dear to me !” 
 
 The father looked grave. “ Once for all, son,” he said, 
 “ beware how you mistake vulgar light of earth for light from 
 heaven.” 
 
 Singleton paused, rather startled, particularly by Father 
 Adda’s manner. 
 
 “ The convert who alone is a true convert, and worthy of the 
 Church’s bosom, is the holy enthusiast. He must have no par- 
 ticle of selfishness ” 
 
 “ Selfishness ! ” exclaimed Singleton. 
 
 “ He must be ready to make* sacrifices ! ’Tis the religion of 
 sacrifice ; ’tis the worship of sorrow. It was in persecution and 
 misery that our Church was founded ; its enemies could not see 
 its purity through its blood that they shed, and which blinded 
 them.” 
 
 “ I had a friend,” said Singleton, plucking a handful of flowers 
 and flinging them wantonly in the air, “ who regarded all 
 churches as so many temporary forms of one worship — forms of 
 one Eternal Spirit ” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” exclaimed the priest — “ Welwyn ! ” 
 
 “ Welwyn ! and you know him ?” said Singleton, sitting up, 
 and gazing eagerly in his face. 
 
 “ He is of our Church — or, nominally so — but right of 
 private judgment has made him a dreamer without a hope ! Ask 
 your own heart if any belief in metaphysical abstractions — if 
 any ‘ principles ’ — so derived — can equal in their effect my stable 
 and heart-held faith in a personal God, and a communion of 
 saints, and all our creed. These 4 philosophical’ dreams are very 
 well in the study ; carry them to j r our loved one’s grave, and see 
 how they will console you there ! ” 
 
 y 2 
 
324 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 Singleton sank back. 44 You have spoken well. It is true. 
 I feel that a man gains quite infinitely even in believing the one 
 article of Prayers for the Dead.” 
 
 44 May you be guided to a humble faith in all ! ” 
 
 44 But stop,” said Fontenoy ; 44 you know Welwyn ; you know, 
 then, I suppose, that I am his relation P ” 
 
 44 I do,” said Father Adda, quietly. 
 
 44 You know his sister ?” said Singleton. 
 
 1 44 Yes.” 
 
 44 Sweet Ivy ! ” exclaimed Singleton. 44 The thought of her 
 brings life to my languid being.” 
 
 A slight flush of colour crossed the priest’s brow. Outlaw 
 of human emotion — was it that the ghost of a passion passed 
 across him? We may kill the emotions, but their shades will 
 haunt us. 
 
 Again Singleton rose up, and began to walk about with the , 
 father. Father Adda was agitated, 
 
 44 You are fond of her P ” l\e said. 44 Of course ! she is your 
 relation ! ” 
 
 41 I am fond of her, for she is my life !” said Singleton. 
 
 44 The more glorious the sacrifice,” replied the priest, calmly. 
 
 44 The sacrifice, — the — what ? Speak plainly to me now, 
 father, pray ! ” 
 
 44 Well — so be it! She enters the Sisters of St. Agnes, and 
 devotes her life to God ! ” 
 
 Singleton laughed, and choked a little. 44 1 will ask her that, 
 mi pater ! ” 
 
 44 Do ! Enthusiast for religion are you ? Oh, youth, how 
 skin-deep that faith must be which can sacrifice nothing. ” 
 
 Singleton was staggered, and paused. 44 Well, I will struggle 
 for the right.” 
 
 44 And now,” said the priest, who saw that the tears were 
 rising in the youth’s eyes (and, perhaps, remembered what is 
 laid down in one of Cicero’s treatises on rhetoric, that lacrymd 
 nil citius arescit I must go. I shall see you again.” 
 
 44 Your blessing ? ” 
 
 44 Willingly.” 
 
 He gave it, and Singleton saw his dark figure departing down 
 the garden-walk. He turned and wandered into the quadrangle. 
 44 I shall never recover,” he thought, 44 with all this agitation. 
 And now for a glimpse at the Mediterranean ! ” 
 
 He then strolled away in front of the building to the height 
 that looked into the Grand Harbour. The fortifications glittered 
 white in the sunlight opposite ; the wind was blowing fresh into 
 the harbour, and the fair- way buoy was bobbing up and down 
 like a swinging cherry. The Marina was lined with speronari 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 325 
 
 and English and foreign craft. The luxury of nature, after 
 we have been pestered with thought, is irresistible. Singleton 
 revelled in it, and longed for some active work, — something 
 to do ! 
 
 Twigg came up to him at this moment. For the first time 
 since he had had the honour of his acquaintance, he experienced 
 decided pleasure at his approach. 
 
 44 Well, Twigg, any news ? ” 
 
 44 News ! ” said the youth, shrugging his shoulders in a me- 
 lancholy manner. 44 There’s been nothing but a vessel signalled 
 from the Palace ; but she won’t come in ; not she ! Of course 
 not. It would be something to amuse us poor devils, and she 
 won’t.” 
 
 44 Where is Bigg ? ” 
 
 44 He ! Oh, he’s gone to sleep, lucky fellow. Beppo’s eating 
 olives. Could not we find something to amuse us ? ” 
 
 As he spoke, the sound of a gun was heard. They both looked 
 to the mouth of the harbour, and there was a man-of-war brig 
 in sight. She had just rounded the corner from the northward, 
 and was saluting the admiral ; she came tripping along, with all 
 sail set. 
 
 “ What brig is that? ” inquired Singleton. 
 
 Twigg looked at her. Gradually his face assumed a ludicrous 
 degree of horror. 44 By Jove, it’s us ; its our brig ! ” 
 
 44 What P ” 
 
 “ The 4 Sybarite,’ 10,” answered Twigg, ruefully. 44 She’s a ’ell 
 afloat ! Old Belden, the lieutenant in command, is a Tartar. 
 Two men hanged themselves off Galita ; and there’s never any- 
 thing to eat in the mess ! ” 
 
 Bigg joined them, and presently chimed in with his messmate’s 
 complaint. The horror of these youths was something wonder- 
 ful : they foresaw an immediate discharge, for their wounds were 
 now well. Indeed, they rather regretted their recovery ! for Dr. 
 W , the surgeon, was so kind and gentlemanly, and the hos- 
 
 pital was such a comfortable place for indolent leisure, that they 
 dreaded going back to work and discomfort’ afloat ; and it may 
 be affirmed that they were right. The Naval Hospital, with such 
 officials as Dr.W. and his assistant-surgeons, Drs. N. andS. W, 
 (the last-named, one of the most accomplished men in the pro- 
 fession), had a value as a place of abode irrespective of its special 
 qualities. Many a naval man read and reflected, and benefited 
 morally there, to a degree far beyond his progress on board his 
 ship. 44 Beprobates ” took to intellectual amusements, — Higsby 
 to chess, — and Snigsby to the French grammar. 
 
 The 44 Sybarite ” glided along. Presently the top-gallant sails 
 and royals shrivelled up and struggled in the wind ; then her 
 
326 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 masts beamed out as tbe canvass was taken off her, like figures 
 from which the drapery has fallen. The men swarmed aloft, and 
 the sails disappeared in the furling as leaves before a blight 
 of insects. 
 
 “ There goes the old Syb ! 5 5 said Twigg, shaking his head. 
 
 “ Many a glass of grog you and I have had on board her,” 
 said Bigg, in a moralizing tone. 
 
 “ I wonder what Eelden’s about now P ” 
 
 “ D g somebody’s eyes,” Bigg said, calmly. 
 
 “ Tea, genelmen,” said Beppo. 
 
 They went off just as the “ Sybarite ” was comfortably posted 
 at a buoy, to their room. Beppo produced the tea ; soon after- 
 wards the doctor’s rounds began. 
 
 The doctor came to Singleton in his turn — felt his pulse, and 
 looked in his face. 
 
 “ You are getting round fast, Mr.Fontenoy, but you must not 
 excite yourself ; is there anything on your mind that excites 
 you ? ” 
 
 Singleton hesitated : two little spots of colour dawned on his 
 cheeks. The doctor drew him aside. 
 
 “ Hem ! Mr. Fontenoy, may I ask you a question ?” 
 
 “ Certainly, sir, I shall be happy to answer it.” 
 
 “ Have you beeome a member of the Boman Church ?” 
 
 “■ Ho, I have not — not now, certainly,” answered Singleton, . 
 taken aback. 
 
 The doctor took snuff. “ I thought not,” he said ; “ however, 
 let me tell you it was so asserted by a priest to a person of my 
 acquaintance — it was asserted by Father Tallotti. He said that 
 you had been baptized, and had confessed. I will contra- 
 dict it.” 
 
 The doctor went away shortly afterwards ; Singleton wondered 
 who could have made the false assertion. Father Adda was in- 
 capable of falsehood, certainly : but who could have told this 
 Father Tallotti anything of the sort? He sickened at the idea 
 of being played off as a tool by a faction. 
 
 At sunset he went again into the garden, and walking in soli- 
 tude, had a long meditation on his past life ; he thought of the 
 attachments he had formed before the one which now engrossed 
 him. Every true lover has these little loves before the great one 
 comes ; they are like those pretty pieces of carved wood which 
 Columbus found floating in the Atlantic, forerunners and signs 
 that he was drawing near his great goal, and approaching the 
 end of his wanderings across the Ocean. 
 
 He returned inside, and then sat down, and with the fresh 
 sweetness of the summer night still lingering about his senses, 
 wrote the following note : — 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 327 
 
 “ To Ivy. 
 
 “ Dearest Ivy, 
 
 “ Do you wonder that I have not come to see you? I 
 have been ill — I am still weak ; but write to me, and make me 
 well, — lift me with your gentle hand from the brink of the grave. 
 
 “ I have felt this evening unusually happy ; I know — I feel, 
 that it is well with you. Write to me, Jvy ; my heart beats at 
 the thought of you, as a bell that rings for prayer. 
 
 “ Father Adda has been with me to-day; 1 have spoken to 
 him of you — he knows you. Is he then the confessor whom you 
 have mentioned to me ? He talked of the Sisters of St. Agnes. 
 Ivy, ask your own heart if you love St. Agnes as much as you 
 do me ? 
 
 “ You have said that it was your duty to sacrifice yourself ; 
 what impulse can be diviner than attachment ? Heaven is holier 
 than a temple ! The fairest objects can only reflect something 
 from above. Dearest Ivy, what would even your beautiful blue 
 eyes be, if there was no light ? — Yours, ever and ever, 
 
 “ Singleton.” 
 
 He folded the note up, and sealed it, and then consulted the 
 faithful Beppo how a messenger could be found to take it to 
 Bokkar. Beppo procured one, and it was sent. 
 
 A few days passed, and there was no answer ; Father Adda 
 did not visit him. He heard no news from the “ Cleopatra he 
 began to be weighed upon by a sense of impending ill-fortune. 
 Thanks to his youth and strength, he had shaken off the fever, 
 s and his mind now marched forward out of its shadow : he felt 
 that eager longing for action natural to bold youth, when the 
 pulses beat like a hammer, and the sea-breeze brings the wild 
 rose flying to the cheek, and the spirit feels that desire to bound 
 into stormy work — that longing to leap which is inspired in a 
 wild being by the sight of a stormy wave ! 
 
 It was a beautiful morning : Singleton was discharged from 
 the hospital. He took a boat at the stairs, and in a few minutes 
 was gliding along the Grand Harbour ; in the centre of it a 
 steamer, obviously just arrived, was lying, hissing away her 
 angry breath in a white column. Boats were swarming round 
 her; a white union-jack, the signal for a midshipman, flew 
 saucily out from the “ Cleopatra’s” peak. The Maltese boats, 
 with white awnings spread, laboured along the water ; the har- 
 bour was all alive with the noise of boatswains’ pipes, bells, 
 shouts, and the laughter of divers. 
 
 When he reached the “ Cleopatra,” he found many officers 
 walking about on deck. Singleton stared round him. The. first 
 
328 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 person whose eye he met was Toadyley (brother of Toadyley of 
 the “ Patagonian,” — they are a numerous family) — who was mate 
 of the upper deck. He was moving smartly fore and aft, bullying 
 the after-guard, peering at the hammocks, &c., as usual. 
 
 “ Hillo, Toadyley ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, Fontenoy ! how are you P — back.” 
 
 Mr. Toadyley spoke without cordiality, and hurried off to see 
 to some work or other. “ How,” thought Singleton, “ I know 
 that I am in bad odour with the 4 authorities’ for something or 
 other.” 
 
 Indeed, Mr. Toadyley was a type of a class we find every- 
 where, who are walking indexes of the amount of current snobbism 
 or meanness. You know how you stand with the bigoted and 
 servile and all their family, by the exact degree of civility you 
 meet with from these poor eye-servers. But not only are they 
 thus serviceable : they serve to show you how you are getting- 
 on in the world ; if they stop and flatter you, be of good cheer — 
 you are mounting the world’s ladder. Do they nod and grimace, 
 you have made a little hit. A man can’t climb a tree without 
 getting his clothes rubbed — the flattery of the Toadyleys is the 
 necessary dirt ; they are wonderfully useful. 
 
 Singleton walked aft, and reported himself to the commander. 
 Under the poop, three or four of the clerks were sorting the 
 squadron’s letters, which had just arrived in the steamer ; white 
 leather bags discharged their contents — a voluminous mass of 
 letters dotted with black and red wax, papers in brown wrappers, 
 &c. As Singleton reached them, the clerk said, “ You’re just in 
 time !” and handed him a bundle. 
 
 He withdrew between the guns ; there was the familiar aspect 
 of the county paper, a letter in a strange, business-looking style, 
 and one from Welwyn, in his large and fine handwriting, like a 
 masculine woman’s. But he looked in vain for the Fontenoy 
 crest : it was now a considerable time since he had heard from 
 his father — he was beginning to be seriously alarmed about it. 
 He did not like the aspect of the strange ietter : altogether he 
 made a singular resolution — he would go on shore, and read his 
 correspondence quietly in the country. Header, be wise, — if 
 you have a misery, take it out of town, air it in the fresh breeze, 
 let it lose itself in the woods — drown it in the river. If you are 
 poor, go out of town to be poor ; you can wear rags without a 
 blush, only in the sight of God ! 
 
 So Fontenoy got leave to go on shore, took with him an 
 Elzevir, as in former days, and landing on the Marina, passed 
 that way out of the gates of the town. 
 
 He lay for some time on the grass, in a garden at one of the 
 little villages of Malta. Presently he got up, seated himself at 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 329 
 
 a table under an awning of the inn, sipped some lemonade, and 
 opened the letters. 
 
 He rose up, with the blood thumping in his temples, and the 
 summer spinning before his eyes ! He had learned all — all that 
 Welwyn had heard from his father, as we recorded it at the time ; 
 learned that terrible news from another quarter, also ; learned, 
 that he stood there, — he, Singleton Fontenoy, — under the 
 Southern sun, the penniless child of disgrace ! 
 
 And there was an astonishing paragraph in the newspaper, — 
 a paragraph that made Singleton stare at it, wondering if he was 
 actually reading the English tongue. 
 
 It would be a pity to mutilate it ; here it is, entire : — 
 
 “ Marriages. 
 
 *•' On the th instant, at St. Peter’s, Cheltenham, by the Reverend Fletcher 
 
 Brown, John Singleton Fontenoy, Esq., of Heatherby, to Priscilla, relict of the late 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Harcher, C.B., of the 2nd Timbuctoo Dragoons.” 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Sem. What is life ? 
 
 ’Tis not to stalk about and draw fresh air, 
 
 From time to time, or gaze upon the sun — 
 
 ’Tis to be free. 
 
 Addison’s Cato> Act 2nd . 
 
 He rose up from his seat, and left the house. Nothing could give 
 hi3 mind relief but violent motion. This was, indeed, a crisis ! 
 he thanked God that there was no one there to see him blushing. 
 Truly it would be a fine story, for those who loved scandal, that 
 Singleton Fontenoy, — he who prided himself on his lineage, and 
 smacked of the fine gentleman, was a bastard ! He dwelt on the 
 word with a curious interest, — on the word itself, in all its 
 offensiveness, — with that sort of interest which takes people to 
 see executions and other horrors. Now, it began to be plain to 
 him why he had heard no mention of his mother ! People don’t 
 like to allude to their youthful follies. Doubtless she had been 
 a pretty girl, and there was an end of it. The subject presented 
 itself to his mind in a hundred aspects. 
 
 First of all, here was a very good reason why his father and 
 he had never heartily sympathised. Mr. Fontenoy, though he 
 had first adopted him, — perhaps from some impulse of remorse, 
 could of course not be expected to look with all the interest of a 
 father on a youth who could not succeed to the family estates ; 
 he was not the kind of man. Then how natural that he should 
 have sent him to sea, where he was out of the w r ay ! And of course 
 the marriage had clinched it ! He was now an outlaw, and virtually 
 an exile ; and, apparently, the best thing he could do was to go 
 
330 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 to Algiers, and join the French, army. He could trade in his 
 blood ! — and as, for Ivy ! — but when he thought of her he was 
 fairly beaten, and he sobbed aloud. 
 
 Then a sudden reaction took place in his feelings. Son, or 
 bastard, or whatever he was, he had a soul, and was born a free 
 inheritor of the glories of creation. All these regrets were the 
 pangs of wounded vanity and folly. He would stand upon his 
 own individuality, and face the world by his proper power. 
 
 In this frame of mind he entered Valetta in the evening. As 
 he walked down Strada Reale, he saw the figure of Father Adda 
 before him. It suddenly struck him that the father must know 
 something of that strange, confused web of family history in 
 which he had been imprisoned so long. He came up behind 
 him, and tapped him on the shoulder; Father Adda turned 
 sharply round. 
 
 “ G-ood evening, father ! It is a fine evening. I have some- 
 thing to say to you ! ” 
 
 The priest, as he fancied, seemed somewhat embarrassed. He, 
 too, had heard the news, thought Singleton, and cared little about 
 a convert with no broad lands. 
 
 “ Good evening, my son.” 
 
 “ Turn down this way, please,” said Singleton, taking his arm 
 at the corner of a street, at the end of which gleamed a patch of sea. 
 
 “ I have some duty ” began Adda. 
 
 “ The duty to the poor is imperative,” said Singleton, drily. 
 “ One word.” They turned the corner. “ I am anxious, and 
 weary ; my heart is languid, and m 1 1 1 ' 11 pardon 
 
 know the Welwyns ; you know they are my relations. I ask 
 you simply, — do you know anything of my mother?” He co- 
 loured a little as he spoke the last words. 
 
 “ Much, — all ! but, stay, Mr. Fontenoy ; come to me, to- ( 
 morrow ! I have duty now.” He glanced round, with embar- 
 rassment, again. In his excited mood my hero pressed him 
 beyond the borders of his usual courtesy. 
 
 “ Father Adda ; I have had a shameful letter. You will 
 scarcely believe it, but I am told that I — I — am not my 
 father’s legitimate son ! ” 
 
 Father Adda started with unfeigned astonishment. “ Pshaw, 
 Mr. Fontenoy!” Then he paused; his eyes brightened for an 
 instant, and he resumed. “ I see ! The motive of this assertion 
 is obvious : they grudge the lands of Heatherby ” 
 
 “ Heatherby ! Then you know ” 
 
 The father’s countenance changed. He went on. “ Know ! 
 — ’tis my business to know ! But time is short. They grudge 
 the lands of Heatherby to one who aspires to submit himself to 
 the Old Church, — the Cybele of Religions !” 
 
 my abruptness, therefore. What 
 
 You 
 
•SINGLETON EONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 331 
 
 Singleton’s lip curled. “ Mighty Mother — would she dirty 
 her fingers with the soil ! ” 
 
 Adda winced. “ Come ; these sneers are not you. But wait 
 till to-morrow ! I must go now ! the wind rises ” 
 
 “The wind rises!” exclaimed Singleton; “and what is the 
 wind to you ?” One flash of light suddenly dazzled his mind ; 
 —this haste of the priest’s had some reference to Ivy ! 
 
 “ Good day,” said Adda, and moved away. “ What ! Mr. 
 Eontenoy, do you follow me?” 
 
 “Yes,” said the youth, doggedly, “our fates are bound to- 
 gether ; I follow — go on.” 
 
 “Then,” said the priest, stopping short, “ then you call down 
 a malediction, and may ” 
 
 As he spoke, with the air of one who raises and poises a 
 weapon, a third person joined them : it was a friend of Single- 
 ton’s — Julian Linley, who was now staying at Malta, en route to 
 the East. He absorbed Singleton’s attention for the moment, and 
 in that moment the father disappeared. 
 
 “ Why, he’s gone,” exclaimed Singleton. 
 
 “ Well,” said Julian, drawing his arm round Singleton’s, “ well, 
 let him go. His Church is going !” 
 
 His gay laugh — musical enough for one to dance to — made 
 Singleton start, and look confused — 
 
 “The world’s dread laugh, 
 
 That scarce the stern philosopher can brave,’* 
 
 is more impressive, more potent than a funeral bell. Let any 
 one come fresh from an idealist’s writings into a drawing-room 
 full of people ; how stable and strong everything looks, when 
 the whole universe a minute before seemed a kind of dream ! 
 Singleton felt strangely troubled, and half his aspirations, and 
 even his sorrows trembled, and seemed ready for flight at the 
 sound. 
 
 “You are mopish,— -frons Iceta parum ,” said Julian ; “ come, 
 I have passed through these strange humours. To-night I wish 
 you to come with me to a ‘ reception,’ the most original and 
 select in the island : there will be men of fame and learning there 
 — will you come ?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Singleton, decidedly ; “ yes.” 
 
 The Baron that night had a drawing-room full of great 
 
 people and strange people. A veteran diplomatist about to 
 proceed to the Brazils as Minister from the Court of Portugal 
 was there, so subtle and so gentlemanly. He was the most 
 plausible of Ultra-Tories, and prepared to demonstrate that the 
 serfs of Russia were the happiest plebeians in the world. Nicolas, 
 he said, was the father of his people, — not a compliment, thought 
 Singleton, if he resembled some parents. Near him was a 
 traveller from Mesopotamia, and goodness knows where, who 
 
332 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 had lived among ruins for years, domesticated like a lizard. 
 There was there also one of the most distinguished of Irishmen, 
 the wittiest of scholars, and the most scholastic of wits — Praxis, 
 — with libraries in his head, and comedy on his tongue. He 
 knew theology as well as a bishop, and in translating Horace, 
 rivalled even the graceful and lively Bon Gaultier. The Demo- 
 critus of travellers moved conspicuous in the company ; he 
 was then resting at Malta, in the course of those travels 
 which, as recorded by his pen, were one long line of pleasant 
 light. 
 
 Singleton was peering in at a cabinet where there was a col- 
 lection of medals, when Julian came up to him, accompanied by 
 a tall man of most intellectual aspect. Julian mentioned his 
 name, and Singleton instantly recognised before him a crack 
 scholar and writer, one of those dangerous and dexterous critics 
 and wits whose pens are arrows — whose laughter shakes thrones ! 
 Hext to meeting the maiden whom we love, the most delightful 
 human pleasure is meeting the great man we reverence. Sin- 
 gleton was flattered and dazzled : he blushed and stammered. 
 The great man put him quite at his ease with a few sentences ; 
 he was not the kind of person who began displaying his 
 talents at once like a peacock spreading his tail, as some people 
 do. 
 
 They talked for some time, and presently lighted on the sub- 
 ject of the Homan Church. 
 
 44 So you were nearly a convert, Linley tells me?” 
 
 Were! Singleton felt awkward; he said that he certainly 
 had changed his views about it very much since he had been 
 studying some works on the subject. 
 
 4 4 Ah, they showed you the necessity of a rule of faith, gave 
 you a dose of Wiseman and Milner preparatory to Bossuqt and 
 Bellarmine ; showed you a papal tree, with every pope since 
 St. Peter.” 
 
 44 Yes,” said Singleton. 
 
 44 They demonstrated — I suppose you have not dipped into 
 Baronius ? — the falsity of the story of Pope J oan : proved they 
 had been misrepresented and calumniated, that they did not kill 
 so many people, and that the last religious executions in England 
 were by Protestants.” 
 
 Singleton nodded, and felt inclined to smile. The speaker 
 took an ice from a tray handed by the servant at that moment, 
 and partaking of it with gusto, continued — 
 
 44 Did you make an excursion among the fathers ? ” — 
 
 44 He prefers the daughters, I fancy,” broke in Mr. Julian 
 Linley, facetiously. 
 
 44 Tace imjprobe l Well, the aesthetic influence came in to back 
 the polemics. You were enchanted by the antiquity, the beauty 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 
 
 333 
 
 of the establishment, its splendid illustration by the arts. Oh, 
 these wonderful pretty faces of ladies who were mistresses in 
 private life, and became virgins on canvass ! Enfin, had you 
 really sufficient reasons given you to induce you to step back 
 across two centuries, and reject a religion under which Eng- 
 land has become one of the most prosperous countries in tlie 
 world?” — 
 
 Something called away the speaker, and Singleton was again 
 left by himself. He mused in a drowsy nil admirari manner. 
 Presently the same distinguished gentleman passed near him 
 again, and asked him if he had seen any of the works of 
 Carlyle ? 
 
 “ No, not any,” answered Fontenoy. 
 
 “ Head Carlyle, and see what you think of things in general, 
 then.” 
 
 Singleton was once more left by himself. This time he ob- 
 served an old gentleman, who appeared like a doctor, watching 
 him very curiously. Who could it be? The old gentleman 
 crossed over to him ; he seemed somewhat feeble : he was very 
 aged, and his bald head shone like a nautilus shell. He came 
 up to Singleton, and asked his name. Singleton answered him. 
 
 “ Turn your head a little that way, my young friend.” 
 
 Singleton obeyed with increased surprise. The old man took 
 off his spectacles, wiped them — put them on again. 
 
 “ Your mother, my young friend, she was not English — not 
 of English name ? ” 
 
 Singleton’s face grew hot. “ No, I think not !” 
 
 “ Her name was Adda?” 
 
 Singleton started back, and his voice faltered. The conver- 
 sation with Welwyn, and Welwyn’s story, and the mention 
 
 by him of the A family rushed to his mind. Now, at last, 
 
 he fancied he saw all ! 
 
 “ I think — that is — yes,” he answered. Strange to say, the 
 old man seemed scarcely less moved, particularly as he said that 
 he too knew her long ago ! 
 
 A servant came in at that moment, and approached the old 
 gentleman. “ His Excellency’s carriage is ready!” 
 
 He started, and feebly stammering to Singleton to come to 
 him next day, bowed vaguely to the company, and departed. 
 
 “ Julian!” said Singleton. 
 
 “ Well, what’s the matter, man, — have you seen a ghost ?” 
 
 “ Who — who was that old gentleman here just now ?” 
 
 “ Don’t you know ? The Cardinal Pira — one of the most dis- 
 tinguished scholars in Europe ; thirty years ago he was a poor 
 priest in this island — and as obscure as you or I.” 
 
 “ Let us come away : my head aches.” 
 
334 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, B.N. 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 O tell her, swallow, that thy brood is flown ; 
 
 Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, 
 
 But in the North long since my nest is made. 
 
 The Princess, p. 70. 
 
 The ocean (that kindly mother of the unfortunate) opened her arms to receive 
 him. 
 
 Fielding, Tom Jones. 
 
 Next morning at daylight the hands were turned up to 
 exercise. 44 Hands loose sails.” The whole squadron were on 
 the alert, — men were seen hopping up the masts like wood- 
 peckers. The commander took his station on the poop. There 
 was a pause, and silence, and the men crowded to the bulwarks, 
 waiting for the order to 44 man the rigging.” The midshipmen 
 of the tops took advantage of the period to run up first, — it is 
 not pleasant to have a huge fellow climbing over you, and 
 treading on your fingers with his bare horny feet ! That was all 
 well enough for Benbow and Jervis — but it won’t do for the 
 Strawberrys, the Dulcimers, and the Welbys of our more 
 civilized day ! 
 
 The commander glanced round the other ships of the squadron, 
 to see fair play in the race ; the signal officer turned his glass on 
 them. 44 There’s some fellows in the 4 Jupiter’s’ tops, sir,” he 
 said. 
 
 44 Signal 4 clear tops ! ’ ” said the commander. In a few 
 minutes up flew the balls — out blew the flags. That was a snub 
 for the squadron, and relished accordingly. 
 
 Men were observed coming down the rigging in most of the ships. 
 
 44 What’s the 4 Orson ’ about? ” 
 
 44 She has loosed sails, sir.” 
 
 So she had ! Poor Captain G-unne, of the 44 Orson,” being in 
 a confused state of mind, had loosed sails before the time, and 
 was ordered to furl again forthwith — to the intense amusement 
 of the squadron. 
 
 44 Man the rigging. — ’Way aloft ! ” 
 
 The shrouds throbbed like nerves, — away went the men, — the 
 tops grew black with figures. 
 
 44 Trice up.” TJp go the studding-sail booms, looking as 
 clean as peeled almonds. 
 
 44 Lay out.” The men swarm along the yards, and the 
 foot-ropes dance under them. Meanwhile, you hear through 
 the silence of the vast work the shrill, squeaking voices of 
 44 youngsters ” in the tops, giving orders, with a noise like penny 
 trumpets. 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 
 
 335 
 
 “ Let fall.” Down drop the sails. Then there is a “ pipe 
 down,” and the men come thumping down the rigging again, 
 leaving the sails drooping in graceful folds. 
 
 The commander kept pacing the poop as before, when he 
 abruptly stopped. “ What is that signal up at the Palace P” 
 
 The signal officer started — he had not seen it. He turned 
 his glass on it. “ Brig in distress off the harbours mouth” 
 
 “ Call away the pinnace and second cutter. Main-top there ; 
 Mr. Welby, come down. Mizen-top there ; Mr. Fontenoy> 
 come down.” Pontenoy and Pug came tripping down the rig- 
 ging like rope-dancers ; Pontenoy came quickest,— Pug being 
 of opinion (contrary, by the way, to the commander’s ideas on 
 the subject) that a certain dignified moderation of pace was 
 becoming in an officer. 
 
 The pinnace was manned, and taken charge of by Pug — the 
 cutter by Fontenoy. They shoved off, with orders to see what 
 was the matter with the brig, and to offer her assistance. 
 
 “ Give way,” they both cried, and the boats slashed along, 
 abreast, down the middle of the harbour. 
 
 “ Pontenoy,” said Welby, <e what can be the matter with her 
 here P The weather ain’t so very bad.” Indeed, it was a fine 
 moderate breeze enough. 
 
 “ Goodness knows,” answered Singleton. 
 
 “ Distress,” growled Welby, who was not over pleased at being 
 bored with such a job. “ I suppose the fellow’s liquor is all out.” 
 
 The boats shot! past the “fair- way” buoy, and Singleton rose 
 in the stern-sheets to look round. 
 
 “ There she is, sir ! ” said his coxswain quickly, and pointing 
 with his finger. 
 
 There, sure enough was a brig — a common-looking English 
 brig, with a dirty white stripe. Her topmasts were snapped off, 
 just above the caps, where appeared only their ragged stumps ; 
 she had had a smash on the larboard bow apparently, for some 
 of the bulwark that had been knocked away was hanging by a 
 few', fibres, and showed a white wound. 
 
 “ There’s a picture ! ” cried Welby, with disgust. “ Give way, 
 men.” 
 
 The boats bounded forward. The pinnace went alongside her 
 on the starboard side, the cutter on the other, — and Singleton 
 and Welby reached the deck at the same moment. 
 
 “ Come on board — half the pinnace’s crew/’ cried Welby, 
 putting his head over the gangway. The men jumped up. The 
 little skipper, a small, demure man, with a knowing eye — one of 
 the cunning crew who delight “ serious” owners by staying, 
 when on shore, at Sailors’ Homes, listening to Marine Mis- 
 sionaries, and singing doggrel hymns in the cable tier, — touched 
 his hat to Welby 
 
336 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 “ Why — how the devil did you get into this plight?” said 
 Welby, looking round. “ Coxswain, take the brig’s helm, — put 
 her before the wind. How, hands get out the spare topmasts, 
 — mast-ropes up to send the stumps down. What, is there a 
 leak, too ? ” 
 
 The brig’s men were working away at the pumps, — some of 
 the boats’ crew were put to them : work was set going with 
 man-of-war promptitude. 
 
 “ You can’t go to sea, now,” said Welby to the skipper. 
 
 “ Oh, — I hope so, sir ! ” As he spoke, he backed against the 
 stanchions of his cabin-ladder, placing himself between Welby 
 and the descent. 
 
 “Pshaw, man ; do you think we are going with you to 
 
 where are you going ? ” 
 
 “ To Palermo.” 
 
 “ To Palermo ! You must put in to refit again.” 
 
 The little skipper turned pale, and looked uneasy. 
 
 Welby moved forward, and urged the men who were at the 
 pumps ; the broken topmasts were sent dangling down, and 
 spare ones put in a fair way of being run up. He came back to 
 where the skipper was still standing : “ You had better come 
 forward with me and look at the bulwarks.” 
 
 “Yes, sir, — oh, yes,” he said in a flurried way. 
 
 “ The brig got run into last night, did she ? ” 
 
 “Yes, sir. We left the harbour at sunset ; the wind was 
 contrary. Middle o’ the night a man-of-war brig was standing 
 across our bows, and tacked just before she reached us ; she had 
 too much way on, and so just thumped us, while she was in 
 stays.” 
 
 “ Ah ! — the ‘ Poarer,’ I suppose,” muttered Welby. He 
 moved again to go forward, but, looking back, saw the skipper 
 still standing by his cabin-ladder. 
 
 “ Qome on, man, — what are you waiting for? ” 
 
 Again the skipper appeared agitated, but he moved this time, 
 and went shuffling forward. “ A nasty piece of business,” said 
 Welby, looking at the effects of the smash. “ Sharp there, with 
 the fore-topmast ; — boats ahead to tow.” 
 
 Half of each boat’s crew got into the boats, and pulled a- 
 head. 
 
 “ Singleton ! ” cried Welby. He ran aft, and found Singleton 
 standing near the cabin skylight. 
 
 “ What is the matter, in Heaven’s name, Fontenoy ? ” 
 Singleton made a gesture like a startled tiger, and bounded to 
 the after-ladder; at the same instant the captain of the brig 
 came running aft. “You can’t go down, — you must not go 
 down ! ” and flinging himself before him, opposed his passage. 
 
 , “ What does this mean ? ” asked Welby, in astonishment. 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 337 
 
 “ I heard a voice below, just now,” said Singleton. “ Answer 
 me this, — you have a passenger on board — a lady P ” 
 
 “ What is that to you ? ” 
 
 “ Let me pass ! ” 
 
 “You shan’t.” 
 
 “ Fool ! I wear a sword.” 
 
 His arm moved, — there was a gleam like white lightning. 
 The terrified skipper flung himself, in a round ball — like a 
 hedgehog — down his own stairs ; he thundered against the cabin- 
 door, and there was a cry from inside — the voice of Ivy ! 
 
 Singleton stood upright and calm (Welby remembered his 
 look long after the Maltese circles had ceased to tattle about 
 the strange career of the Enthusiast), and said, “You take the 
 brig in : — I accomplish my destiny.” 
 
 He stalked down the ladder, burst open the cabin-door, and 
 there was Ivy ! The brig’s captain picked himself up, and went 
 on deck again. There was a trampling and thumping overhead, 
 as the work went on ; and the youth and maiden were left 
 alone. 
 
 Singleton threw his sword down on the deck. 
 
 “ So you would have left me, Ivy, — without a word of farewell ! 
 I did not expect it. — You have a heart ! ” 
 
 The light from the miserable skylight of the brig’s cabin 
 showed how pale Ivy’s features were ; and under those deep, 
 deep blue eyes — eyes which, in the dark South, are as refreshing 
 to see as sky to the captive, — was a shade like the shade of a 
 leaf. Ah, Singleton, it did not become you to reproach one who 
 had buffered so much, and so purely ! 
 
 “You received my letter, did you not? ” 
 
 She pulled it from her bosom. 
 
 “ There ! I would not have kept it, — but I thought I might, 
 as I was not to see you again.” 
 
 She sank back upon a sofa in the cabin, which had been in 
 various ways adorned for her, as Singleton saw on glancing 
 round. 
 
 He sat down on the deck at her feet, and kissed her hand. 
 “ It was Father Adda who arranged your departure ; you were 
 going to Sicily ! J have been very miserable, Ivy, — but I see 
 hope dawning ; the ship is going back to the harbour. Fate 
 has caused this delay. Promise — say, Ivy — that you will not 
 go away from the island again, but as mine ! Renounce the 
 cursed soul-prison to which they would persuade you ; worship 
 with a happy being, and a joyous loving soul! The little bird 
 that flies nearest heaven is the gayest in its song ! ” 
 
 She was silent, but her bosom heaved in a wave of love and 
 tenderness. 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 (Meanwhile, the noise went on, on deck. The vessel heeled 
 under a breeze, — there was a rattling of ropes and spars.) 
 
 Singleton looked up at her face as he knelt. Her lingers 
 blushed at his loving touch ! Suddenly he clasped her to his 
 breast. “ You are mine, Ivy, for ever ; your heart cannot say 
 no. Do not sin!” She rose up proudly. “To disobey the 
 heart, that is the worst sin ! ” continued Singleton. 
 
 She stooped and deliberately kissed him on the forehead. 
 Like the seal of the angel in the “ Revelations,” that kiss made 
 him a holy servant for ever. 
 
 Then, they sat and murmured to each other like leaves on a 
 tree in summer. 
 
 Ivy’s form trembled with a sudden violent coughing. 
 
 Singleton started to his feet. At the door there entered a 
 spectre — a long grey volume of vapour, like the rising of the 
 genii in the “ Arabian Nights ;” at the same moment the sky- 
 light above them shivered, and the glass hailed down in a 
 tempest. 
 
 “ Singleton !” roared Welby ; “fire /” 
 
 “ Ivy, come, — you are mine. I can face anything now” 
 
 They bounded on deck together. The brig had caught fire ; 
 she was a mile from the harbour, and the wind had set off the 
 land. There were some casks of turpentine on the forecastle, — 
 one of them had got spilt, — fire caught it, and away went a 
 living stream of it, hissing — blackening the deck — splashing into 
 the sea. 
 
 Welby jumped up on the bulwarks, holding by the topmast 
 back-stays. “ Singleton, look after the girl! Leave the rest to 
 me. Cutter and pinnace come alongside ! Haul up the 
 courses!” 
 
 Welby was quite cool. It is always the way with dandies, 
 idlers, and all the genus. Why shordd we grudge a man his 
 betting and billiards, if he is equally ready for tempest and war P 
 
 Singleton stood with Ivy at the starboard- quarter, between 
 her and the smoke, which was drifting in hot fiakeg aft. “ Be 
 
 composed, dear. One minute, and the boat ” Ivy stood in 
 
 a petrified calm, like a torrent frozen in the leap. Meanwhile, 
 the brig’s crew were galloping desperately fore and aft, seizing 
 things and dropping them again in terror. The skipper staggered 
 backwards and forwards like a man in a fit ; and the fire cracked 
 along below the deck, like the running of innumerable rats. 
 The smoke rose thicker and thicker. Even in that moment, 
 Singleton had calmness to see that spectators were gathering in 
 Eorts Elmo and Ricasoli, on both sides of the harbour, to see the 
 spectacle, — the nautical auto-da-fe. 
 
 “ Cutter under the quarter !” 
 
 Singleton lifted up Ivy like a baby, clambered on to the 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, B.N. 
 
 339 
 
 bulwarks with her ; the coxswain seized her, — “ Now, marxn !” 
 he cried, and in another minute she was, half-fainting, in the 
 cutter’s stern-sheets. 
 
 “ Shove off, never mind me !” cried Singleton. 
 
 “ Go, Singletpn,” cried Welby. “ To the boats, everybody ! 
 The fire wins /” 
 
 There was a thick, pestiferous, heavy smoke now, and the fire 
 began to roar. The masts lighted like candles. Splash after 
 splash was heard of men jumping overboard. Singleton bounded 
 into the cutter. Last of all, Welby leapt into the pinnace. The 
 men in the water were picked up ; the heavily-crammed boats 
 pulled slowly away from the burning wreck. 
 
 “A pretty d — d morning’s work,” said one of the pinnace’s 
 crew. 
 
 “ Silence, fore-and-aft,” cried Welby. “ Skipper,” he added, 
 slapping the little man who was in the boat with him, with his 
 head between his knees, on the shoulder, “look at the brig; 
 you won’t see her any more !” 
 
 There she was, to leeward of them, tossing in the sea, and 
 writhing like a tortured snake. The flames soared, glitteringup 
 the masts, which fell bit by bit ; the sea all round her hissed 
 sadly ; then, — she collapsed into charred timber, and was scat- 
 tered upon the streaming waters. 
 
 “Cheer up, old fellow,” said Welby, to the skipper, “you 
 ain’t the owner, I suppose.” 
 
 “The Lord ish a man o’ war!” muttered the skipper, inco- 
 herently, while a laugh ran through the boat’s crew. The 
 skipper was drunk. A tremendous pull at a brandy-bottle when 
 the fire was discovered, had settled him. 
 
 “ Give way !” cried Pug Welby, relapsing into his old insou- 
 ciance. “D — n it, I’m getting peckish !” he muttered. “ Give 
 way, men.” 
 
 They were met at the mouth of the harbour by several of the 
 squadron’s boats, which were hurrying to their relief. Singleton 
 went with Ivy into the first cutter of the “ Jupiter,” the mid- 
 shipman of which was a friend of his, and asked him to land 
 them at Yaletta. He left his own boat to return without him 
 to the “ Cleopatra.” 
 
 When they landed, Singleton took Ivy to an hotel, where he 
 was known ; there proper attention w.as paid to her. He left her 
 alone in a suite of rooms, and sallied out. It was a morning when 
 years seemed crowded into an hour ! — years of work he had to 
 do, — for he was now in the crisis of his fortune, — and that day 
 was the heart of his life. 
 
 He first sought out the old lady who had lived with Ivy as 
 guardian, and who was to have followed her in the next vessel 
 
 z 2 
 
340 
 
 SINGLETON EONTENOY, R.N. 
 
 to Palermo, r where Ivy was to have taken the veil. He sent her 
 to the hotel. 
 
 Then his next work was to keep his appointment with Cardinal 
 Pira. One hour he was there : and as he passed out of the por- 
 tals of the courtyard, his eye was bright with pride, and his 
 tread seemed the echo of power. Turning the corner, who 
 should he stumble against but — Father Adda ! The calm mild 
 look of the priest showed a night spent in study and devotion — 
 a morning, ignorant of all that had made it a morning for the 
 youth before him. He accosted Singleton most kindly. 
 
 “ Well, father, good day. I am afraid I was hasty last night. 
 Your pardon !” 
 
 “ Granted willingly. I can imagine your feelings.” 
 
 “ Indeed !” 
 
 “Yes. You were no doubt agitated by what you had heard. 
 
 How, I think that a satisfactory process ” 
 
 “Enough. I will not trouble you. Ho, my dear relation 
 The priest started, and his brow was shaded with a touch of 
 colour. “I am not ashamed of the blood of Adda. How % 
 know why I am somewhat warmer than my brethren of the 
 Horth ; why sometimes my veins seem to run wine ! ” 
 
 “Well, you forgive me my secrecy.” 
 
 “I forgive you all, now. Join me at the Hotel, in an 
 
 hour ! But, father, father, see ! ” ! 
 
 Father Adda turned abruptly, and saw before him the captain 
 of the brig that had perished in the fire ! 
 
 Fontenoy returned on board the “Cleopatra” at six o’clock 
 that evening. Everybody stared at him. 
 
 “Fontenoy, you’re in for it.” 
 
 “ Fontenoy, you’re in a frightful row.” 
 
 ' ‘ Who is she, Fontenoy ?” 
 
 “ Fontenoy, when are you going to be baptized ? ” 
 
 “ I wonder he don’t blush to be called Fontenoy, when he^ 
 knows what we know,” whispered Toadyley. 
 
 “ He owes Mordecai two hundred,” returned Snobby. 
 
 “ Steward,” said Singleton, “ some hock and Seltzer-water.” 
 
 “ The service is going to the devil,” said Toadyley, in a marked 
 tone. 
 
 “ That’s lucky for you : he’ll likely promote you when it gets 
 there,” said Singleton, dipping into the beverage. There was a 
 laugh. 
 
 “ Mr. Fontenoy wanted.” It was the quartermaster’s familiar 
 voice. 
 
 Fontenoy went on deck accordingly. He found himself 
 brought before the captain, — old Bicksby, — the commander, — 
 and a clerk, ready to take notes. That smacked of a court- 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, E.N. 341 
 
 martial ; gun fired at 8 p.m. ; union-jack at the peak ; captains 
 in full-dress ; and ignorance and bigotry stark naked ! 
 
 To be brief, he found himself charged with neglecting his duty 
 in not coming on board in the cutter, and with “ insubordination,” 
 which means, generally, that the offender has shown a disposi- 
 tion to resent offensive insolence from some harsh superior. It was 
 put to him, — Stand a court-martial, or leave the “ Cleopatra !” 
 
 He chose the latter alternative, and to the astonishment of 
 everybody, joined the “Sybarite” — that “hell afloat.” He 
 made the" choice deliberately : he wanted work, he wanted 
 healthy excitement. Helden, who, besides the second master, 
 had nobody but our acquaintances, Twigg and Bigg, on board, 
 snapped at him. Singleton joined her, had a cabin to himself 
 (one good thing, at all events), and found himself in a scene of 
 dirt, noise, and cockroaches. 
 
 A few days afterwards a signal was made from the flag-ship 
 for “ Sybarite ” and “ Caitiff” to go outside, and try rate of sail- 
 ing. The “ Caitiff” was another brig, then in harbour, com- 
 manded by Kraggles, M.P., a little man, part prig, part roue — 
 or roue turned regular, and made even somewhat duller than 
 before by the process — as soiled linen gets spoiled by severe 
 washing. Having become member for a corrupt borough, he 
 turned Government hack, gave silent votes in the House, and 
 made loud professions out of it ; in due time got a command, 
 and delivered parliamentary speeches to his ship’s crew, with the 
 capstan for a red-box. Poor little Kraggles ! 
 
 The brigs weighed, Fontenoy “ carrying on ” in the “ Syb,” 
 and Ivy watching her from the shore. The “ Sybarite ” was a 
 Symondite, and worked like a weathercock. Off the brigs went 
 in line, like two couples going “ down the middle ” of a country 
 dance. It was a fresh breeze, with smooth water — just the 
 combination for a Symondite ! The “ Sybarite ” slashed through 
 the waves like a knife through cream-cheese ; tacked as fast as 
 they could haul the main-yard ; went three miles to windward 
 of the “ Caitiff” in the first hour they tried it on a bowline ! It 
 came on to blow hard — they double-reefed. The “ Syb” played 
 at fistycuffs with the head sea, soused everything fore and aft, 
 beat the “ Caitiff,” and beat even the porpoises ! The brigs bore 
 up to try “ going free.” Up bore the “ Sybarite,” began to roll 
 some thirty-five degrees, and to groan as if she was sea-sick — 
 Symondites will. They shook a reef out ; beat the “ Caitiff” on 
 her best point. “ Never was such a triumph,” said everybody. 
 
 Never, indeed ! for it soon became evident why the trial had 
 been ordered. Artful Sir Booby Booing, K.C.B. ! Immediately 
 that the report of the “ Sybarite’s” trumph was made, she was 
 ordered to “ prepare for sea,” and received instructions to pro- 
 ceed to relieve the “ Cowslip ” on the west coast of Africa ! 
 
342 
 
 SINGLETON FONTIJNOY, R.N. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 Hunc labor sequns, 
 
 Provehit, et pulcro reddit sua dona labori. 
 
 Juvenal. 
 
 FONTENOY TO WELWYN. 
 
 “ Sybarite, Gibb alt ah. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 “ . . . And thus, my dear Welwyn, light broke suddenly 
 upon the darkness which had been gathering round me. This 
 Cardinal Pira — this strange old man, whose acquaintance I 
 made by an accident — was the priest who performed my father’s 
 marriage ceremony ! You will find everything necessary in the 
 documents which Ivy brings with her to England, in charge of 
 Mr. Branton. People will say that this stroke of fortune was by 
 an almost incredible incident. Well, it is natural for the com- 
 monplace to believe in the commonplace ! Be it so. 
 
 “ I suppose you will not see my father. I confess that I can- 
 not understand what looks so like malignity on his part; my I 
 follies and extravagances, bad as they were, were scarcely potent J 
 enough impulses. It seems to me that his worldly pride has all 1 
 his life been shocked by the remembrance of his early love- 1 
 match. That a man should be ashamed of having been true to ] 
 God and Nature ! See what a Nemesis presides over affairs ! I 
 inherit from the enthusiasm of my mother’s race. What was 
 good in the marriage has blended itself with my nature — what 
 was bad has avenged itself in his repentance. What sort of 
 lady is the novercct ? ’Twas a fine match, I suppose : she, per- 
 haps, would like to rob me of my inheritance for her offspring. 
 But these considerations are trivial; I pardon everybody and 
 everything, I believe in the grand old ancient doctrine, that a 
 man’s fortune is in himself. 
 
 “ You would laugh if you could see me in my wonderful cabin 
 in this brig. I have leisure here to think : I retrace my career. 
 What absurd follies — what pretensions and affectations ! Yet, 
 this I must say, each folly was a spiritualism , the offspring of 
 some misguided spiritualism, but of spiritual origin, still ! My 
 search after pleasure was a misled love of beauty — each affecta- {| 
 tion was an aspiration distorted. I have never ceased to have 
 hearty affection for my fellow-men, and, above all, reverence for 
 the great. 
 
 “ This life does me good : it is rugged as a path on the Alps ; 
 but in the silence and the solitude of the waters there is great 
 healing. There is a noble beneficence in work. The first thing 
 that happened to mankind was their getting turned out of a 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOT, K.N. 343 
 
 garden, and it sometimes occurs to me that it was the greatest 
 piece of luck the race ever met with ! 
 
 * £ I have not much time, on board here, for reading, but I 
 have a few choice spirits in my cabin. I have taken the advice 
 of a literary man whom I met at Malta. I read C. Great in 
 what he teaches, great in what he suggests, greater than all in 
 what he inspires — that man has called from the depths of my 
 being what good lay buried there, with a voice as ’twere the 
 trump of a resurrection angel ! The error of our time is not that 
 of admiring too much, and therefore I am the more enthusiastic 
 in what I say now. Have you read Sartor Resartus ? What 
 glances of insight — what solemn music — what rays of true 
 beauty and tenderness are there ! As for C.’s attacks in some of 
 his works on sordid strongholds, we can appreciate them — we who 
 know what kind of thing is the firing of shot and shell ! 
 
 41* lyu 
 
 WWW W WWW 
 
 “ The wind is rising — we sail to night ; a short time will bring 
 
 me into a scene of strife and danger. Do you know visions 
 
 sometimes come across me of a future naval expedition as noble 
 as those of Blake — as that of the Argonauts P I think of you 
 and myself as serving in a fleet — greater than a war fleet, greater 
 than a mere mercantile fleet — carrying to rich solitudes the 
 elements of greatness — carrying out the members of a colony 
 fired with the spirit of a nation ! . . . But I must break off ; 
 we are going to bend new sails, and the fore-yard wants look- 
 ing at. — Farewell, dear friend, yours faithfully, 
 
 “ Singleton C. Fontenot.” 
 
 CHAPTER VII, 
 
 O quid solutis est beatius curis ? 
 
 Q.uum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 
 Labore fessi venimus Larem ad nostrum ! 
 
 Catullus, Carm. 31. 
 
 Oh, what more sweet than the release from care ? 
 
 Where the mind lays its burden down, and where, 
 
 Spent with far travel, we come home and spread 
 Our limbs to rest along the wished-for bed ! 
 
 Bon Gaultier’s Trans. 
 
 Time has passed. We make a leap across its gulf. It is not 
 a very v ide leap, but it must be made. We now find ourselves 
 in the gunroom of the flag-ship at Portsmouth. The time is 
 the “ Ministerial crisis,” prior to the coming in of the present 
 Ministry. 
 
 A strange sight in a mess during a ministerial crisis ! Promo- 
 tions being dealt by alternate Governments to their friends, in 
 
344 
 
 SINGLETON F ONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 turn, a ministerial crisis is a naval crisis also. All the Govern- 
 ment gentlemen are anxious ; all the Opposition, eager. There 
 are gentlemen sick of longing, and gentlemen dying for change. 
 Everybody whose father has had a faithful promise from Sir 
 John, everybody whose aunt is the bosom friend of Lady Mary ; 
 the many whose families “ have always stuck to the party, by 
 Jove, sir !” are in a terrible state of excitement. 
 
 Many of our old acquaintances, long variously dispersed about 
 the world, are met in the flag- ship’s gunroom. Lord Straw- 
 berry, who has become a pretentious mate, is there, eager for 
 the advent of Lord John and his friends to power. .Pug Welby 
 has turned up, once more, a lieutenant, with a premature gout. 
 Box, after being “ spun ” for his gunnery examination three 
 times, has passed at last. He is not agitated by the crisis ; his 
 parents’ views in politics are of a peculiarly violent order. Box 
 must take his chance ; he would probably be promoted at once 
 if Mr. Feargus O’Connor got the Treasury. Poor Box ! 
 
 The gunroom table of the “ Elephant ” was covered with 
 papers, with a few bottles of pale ale here and there. The more 
 anxious gentlemen were walking backwards and forwards. The 
 morning mail had not come down. 
 
 “ I knew it,” said a strong Tory (i. e ., the son of one). “ Peel 
 can’t stand. After abolishing the Corn Laws, what can you 
 expect P I knew he would fling the party overboard, long ago. 
 D — n it, he might promote his old friends, though, before going 
 out.” 
 
 “ He’s a traitor,” said little Hobby, a Protectionist youngster* 
 fiercely. Hobby’s mamma was a peeress in her own right, — as 
 Hobby was a fool in his. Hobby had been in the royal yacht 
 for some time, where he turned out a miraculous rig, — where, as 
 he asserted, her Majesty loved his intellectual conversation! 
 Hobby spoke of Prince Albert as a “brick,” and gave you to 
 understand that he had proved himself to him (Hobby) to be a 
 good judge of cigars. 
 
 “ When the Whigs were tottering in 184 — , they promoted 
 twenty fellows in a batch !” said a mate. 
 
 “.That’s what I call public spirit,” said Pug Welby, who had 
 come down from the wardroom to hear what was going forward. 
 
 “ Peel’s conduct was not nautically correct,” said Snigg (still 
 clerk, punster, and “boozer”). 
 
 “ Why?” asked somebody, lazily awaiting the jest. 
 
 “ A breeze arose, and he opened the ports. That’s the way to 
 swamp a ship ! ” 
 
 “Ugh !” exclaimed a melancholy Tory. 
 
 A midshipman came running in. “ Steward, a glass of swizzle! 
 I’ve got to board the £ Sybarite,’ just back from the Coast, you 
 know.” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 345 
 
 “ 'Sybarite/ ’’said Welby, pricking up bis ears. "Who has her?” 
 
 " Fontenoy, — acting.” 
 
 “ Why, hang the fellow,” said Pug, "he was only a midship- 
 man when h§ went out.” 
 
 " Ah, you see, Eelden died of the fever, — doosed civil of Eel- 
 den ! Fontenoy had passed ; the admiral gave him the acting 
 command.” 
 
 "You knew Fontenoy, Welby ? ” 
 
 "I should say so !” said Welby, involuntarily kicking out the 
 leg that " iEneas ” had broken for him. 
 
 " Hang it, here’s the boatman ! ” 
 
 The door opened. There was a rush. The letters and papers 
 were seized. There was the news ! "Formation of a Cabinet.” 
 All up with the Peelites and Tories ! 
 
 Strawberry ordered a bottle of champagne. 
 
 "I’ll take some rum-and-water on the event,” said Snigg ; 
 " not for my own sake, but for the sake of the country ! ” 
 
 There was the sound of a " call ;” they were piping the side, 
 on the middle deck, for somebody. 
 
 " Mr. Welby, a gentleman wants to see you . 55 
 
 Welby went on the middle deck. There was his visitor, a 
 'tall young man, somewhat sunburnt, with blue eyes and dark 
 hair. Welby stared; he remembered some face like it, but 
 softer and more boyish. 
 
 The stranger came and shook him ferociously by the hand. 
 " God bless me, Pug, don’t you know me ? 55 
 
 " Fontenoy ! 55 
 
 They shook hands again. " Come to my cabin / 5 said Pug. 
 "You are darker, and more staid-looking. Your voice is 
 changed . 55 
 
 " Ah / 5 said Fontenoy. "I can’t say e vox — et prceterea 
 nihil !”’ 
 
 " Just the same fellow / 5 said Pug. " Come on. 5 ’ 
 
 They laughed, and walked hastily along to Welby’s cabin; 
 and then began the habitual interchange, so lively and so melan- 
 choly. Where is old , and — — , and ! Who is dead ; 
 
 who has " gone to the dogs /’ who has made unmentionable 
 marriages ? One feels the thrill of memory as one writes of it ! 
 Where is fair-haired Frank, with whom I jested and played — 
 he whom I loved so well on the shores of the old Corcyra ? He 
 died on the deadly Coast, and the sea-nymphs made rings of his 
 hair. 
 
 " Pannikin is dead— -died of the dropsy / 5 said Welby. 
 
 "Ah ! 55 
 
 “ Times are changing / 5 went on Pug, moralizing ; " every- 
 ? thing changes but my aunt.” 
 
346 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOT, R.N. 
 
 “ You are the same fellow as ever, I see,” laughed Fontenoy. 
 
 “ She never changes ! Empires perish, but she remains im- 
 moveable — like a mummy — very like a mummy!” 
 
 Singleton returned on board soon ; he had to pay off the brig, 
 and was confoundedly pestered about the “ books,” which had to 
 be “ made up.” The Admiralty confirmed his “ acting ” appoint- 
 ment, and he emerged in the world a full-blown lieutenant. He 
 hurried up to town, we may easily believe, at no ordinary pace, 
 doing everything “ regardless of expense for to say nothing of 
 his private means, he had a considerable sum of prize-money 
 due to him for capturing the “ Santo Pokero ” slaver, with five 
 hundred slaves on board. 
 
 He came back from his agents to his hotel ; his father was in 
 the north : he scarcely knew where to find anybody, and was 
 ignorant entirely of the localities of the metropolis. However, 
 he recollected Mr. Frederick Lepel, M.P., and sought his name 
 out in a “ Parliamentary Companion,” where he found the fol- 
 lowing : — 
 
 “ Lepel, Frederick, Huskdale, son of A. Lepel, Esquire, of 
 Eunreddin, Eockshire, first returned 184 — , on Liberal princi- 
 ples.” Singleton grinned. “ Is attached to the prin- 
 
 ciples of the British Constitution, and will suffer no infringe- 
 ment of it, further than may be necessary to the great principles 
 of progress. A free-trader ; will agree to an equitable Church 
 reform. Author of a ‘ Letter on the Currency,” ‘ Cotton v. Cant/ 
 and other pamphlets. Eockshire, Eunreddin ; Grosvenor Street, 
 Albert Club, Square ; Calico Club, Piccadilly !” 
 
 “ Bravo, Fred !” soliloquised Singleton, as he read this im- 
 posing paragraph. Without heart or genius (though one would 
 not speak harshly of ‘such a good fellow 5 ), Fred was now a 
 “ prosperous gentleman/’ He entered the House an easy Liberal 
 — watched his time, spoke a little good sense, seasoned with 
 jocosity ; got on ; — coquetted with the League — watched that ; — 
 subscribed 50Z. to it in the nick of time — was advertised to be 
 at one of its Covent Garden meetings, but fell ill in the after- 
 noon. He was now watching the crisis, and speculating whether 
 his liberalism was the right quantity for a Whig official. 
 
 Singleton took a cab, and was driven to Grosvenor Street. 
 Frederick was “ at home,” was just going to dine ; asked him to 
 dinner — indeed, he gave him a hearty recognition, and was civil 
 in the extreme, particularly talking away to amuse him, and 
 being very lively. 
 
 “ Well, Frederick,” said Singleton, quietly, as they began 
 dessert, “ have you seen my father lately? ” 
 
 “ Eh ? why no ; the truth is, we are not on over good terms.” 
 He looked flurried a little. 
 
 “ Where is Welwyn — do you see him sometimes ? ” 
 
SINGLETON EONTENOY, K.N. 
 
 347 
 
 te Not exactly — no ; lie is out of my way. However, I helped 
 him to getting his commandership : you know he is a com- 
 mander ?” 
 
 44 Yes.” 
 
 “ It was through me. Lord Belden got him appointed to the 
 Eoyal Yacht — a good thing for a young man ! Lord Clangour, 
 I mean — you know the old earl is dead ?” 
 
 “ I had not heard it.” 
 
 44 Yes, — awfully sudden.” 
 
 44 Let me see, — you were just getting friendly with Lord Bel- 
 den, when I left home.” 
 
 Frederick looked down at the plate before him, and in- 
 spected the plumage of the cockatoo. Singleton had touched on 
 a failure. 
 
 44 That’s all over,” he said, with a sort of memory of a sneer 
 on his lip ; 44 there was Augusta to thank for that ! ” 
 
 44 She refused him ?” 
 
 44 Yes, coronet and all ! Not that the 4 all,’ or anything but 
 the rank and fortune, was worth having.” 
 
 44 1 thought you rather liked him.” 
 
 44 Oh — a little. But, hang the fellow, with all Ms chances, to 
 be beaten by Welwyn?” 
 
 44 Welwyn is a very superior person, and most certainly as 
 much a gentleman as any man in the empire.” 
 
 44 My dear sir, we are all gentlemen, and some of us superior 
 persons. That is not sufficient.” 
 
 44 1 suppose your sister liked Welwyn, at all events.” 
 
 44 She has been at some pains to show it,” said Frederick, 
 drily. 
 
 44 How do you mean ? Welwyn, I know, of course, — though 
 I am a stranger to all the particulars, — of course, I say, behaved 
 most honourably.” 
 
 44 Yes, no doubt ; that Was all the worse, perhaps. If he had 
 given me a loophole!” said Frederick. His eye brightened, 
 and he balanced the nutcrackers, in a peculiar way, between his 
 forefinger and thumb, and across his hand. 
 
 Singleton felt disgusted, and involuntarily moved his wine- 
 glass a little way off. 
 
 44 Well,” continued Frederick, in a tone that seemed to show 
 a wish to close the subject ; 44 the thing’s done. With his pro- 
 fession, her eight thousand of her own, and whatever means he 
 may have, — they must do what they can.” 
 
 44 What — do you mean to say they are married? ” cried Sin- 
 gleton. 
 
 44 Just so. They live in the country, in the domestic-virtuous 
 style, quite like what you see in an epitaph ! Pass the wine.” 
 Singleton felt a joy which he did not care to show, at this 
 
348 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 news. He willingly changed the subject, and they talked 
 away about the Slave Trade, the Arms Bill, and the Corn 
 Laws. 
 
 In the evening, Frederick took him to a great gathering — a 
 “ brilliant ” party, — one of those assemblages which Jigger of 
 the “Bustard,” summed up in this brief description : “Places 
 where you are infernally hot, and must not swear.” Fontenoy very 
 soon lost himself — wandered about the forest of people, and 
 ultimately took refuge on a seat, the next to what is called a very 
 fine woman. The lady and he got into conversation — he never 
 knew how — and she began a sort of Semiramis flirtation 
 with him. They talked about poetry, about scenery, about 
 music. 
 
 “ There is Mr. Lepel, dancing,” she said, as the conversation 
 flagged a moment. 
 
 “ Ah, so I see,” said Singleton. “ Do you know him P ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes. What wit he has I ” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Singleton ; “ the family have all talent.” 
 
 “You know the family, then ?” 
 
 “ Old neighbours of mine !” said Singleton, smiling. 
 
 “Neighbours. Oh, ho! you are a Bockshire man, then!” 
 said the lady, with vivacity. 
 
 “ Just so,” said Fontenoy, with a bow. 
 
 “ Let me guess your name. I know all the county names.” 
 (“ Queer woman enough,” thought my hero.) 
 
 “ Beaconsfield, — no, they’re dull ! ” 
 
 Singleton bowed like the Comte d’Artois. 
 
 “ Pierrepoint, Temple, Selwyn, or Haslewood ?” 
 
 “ No, I must save you the trouble” but at that instant some 
 
 female friend of the strange lady came up. Singleton resigned 
 his seat, and moved away a little. 
 
 A couple passed close by. Singleton heard one of them say, 
 “ How well Mrs. Fontenoy is looking to-night ! ” He started 
 round, and looked in the direction in which the speaker glanced. 
 Plainly, the strange lady was Mrs. Fontenoy. 
 
 “ Yes,” answered the other, “ she bears the separation very 
 well.” They laughed, and moved on through the crush. 
 
 “ G-od bless me ! ” soliloquised Singleton, as he walked to his 
 hotel ; “ fancy a man’s flirting with his stepmother ! And they 
 are separated, eh?” 
 
SINGLETON FONTENOY, B.N. 
 
 349 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Quis deus magis ah magis 
 Est petendus amantibus P 
 Quem colent homines magis 
 Caslitum ? O Hymenaee, Hymen, 
 
 Hymen, O Hymensee. 
 
 Catullus. 
 
 “ One hour more,” said Welwyn, looking at tlie time-piece: 
 “ will it ever come, Ivy ?” 
 
 “ Don’t tease her, dear.” 
 
 “ Do I look very pale ?” 
 
 Excepting that particular rose tint which you have acquired in 
 England.” 
 
 “ The scenery is not equal to Sicily, is it?” asked Welwyn, 
 facetiously. 
 
 And yet it was very absurd ; the plains of Hertfordshire are 
 as line as the plains of Smyrna, and they are called the finest in 
 the world. Perch yourself on Shenley Hill, reader, and thank 
 God you were born an Englishman ! 
 
 This conversation took place between three Welwyns, whom 
 we know, in the parlour of a house of quiet respectability in Hert- 
 fordshire. It was summer-time ; they were standing at the 
 window and looking at the landscape, except every now and then 
 when they looked at the time-piece. 
 
 “ Eancy Singleton’s talking to his stepmother without know- 
 ing her ! ” said Welwyn. 
 
 “ And fancy Frederick making so much of him ; Frederick, 
 who has behaved so ill to us all,” said Augusta. 
 
 “ Frederick has good points,” said the optimist. 
 
 “ Poor Mr. Eontenoy, the elder, and those horrible railways,” 
 Augusta went on ; “ that was all Frederick’s doing, too. I wish 
 people would learn the difference of meaning between ambition 
 and getting on ! Singleton is ‘ ambitious,’ the other wants to 
 ‘ get on.’ There is a mighty difference.” 
 
 So spoke the fair Augusta; Ivy sighed, and went to the 
 window. “ Eeally, there are too many flowers in this room : I 
 feel quite faint.” 
 
 “ Come into the air, dear,” said her brother. “ Hush !” 
 
 The wind among the laurels ! The wind swept through the 
 garden, and brought a handful of apple-blossoms in at the open 
 window, and made the feathers of the poor little canary ruffe 
 like flames of gold. 
 
 There was a sound again, harder, distincter : the sound of 
 wheels. 
 
 “ Here he is !” cried Welwyn. 
 
350 
 
 SINGLETON FONTENOY, E.N. 
 
 “ Let me be alone when he comes,” said Ivy, in an agitated 
 voice. . 
 
 The gate clinks, the steps sound ; Singleton was heard talking 
 loudly to Welwyn. Augusta ran down to see him, and received 
 a fraternal salute. Then Ivy heard steps bounding along the 
 stairs, and in came Singleton. He paused a moment in surprise ; 
 all Ivy’s agitation had merged into joy and delight. “ Bless 
 me, how sweet you are grown ! ” exclaimed Singleton. And, 
 indeed, Ivy was wonderfully improved; not that she was not 
 always beautiful, — of course she was. But happiness and tran- 
 quillity of mind, their soft flow feeds beauty as the river feeds 
 the lily. And Singleton, as he embraced her, fancied that there 
 was all the North in the clear lustre of her face, and all the 
 South in the soft warmth of her lips. 
 
 Welwyn and his young wife came into the room, and the four 
 formed a happy party. 
 
 Singleton took Welwyn’s arm, and moved with him to the 
 window and whispered ; the girls, having nothing better to do, 
 kissed each other. 
 
 “ You have not seen him yet ?” said Welwyn. 
 
 “ No. We have interchanged letters, though ; we are friends , 
 again. He offers Heatherby for us to stay at. It’s too preten- 
 tious for me. You know our favourite Laman Blanchard’s 
 sweet lines. 
 
 “ * It is not in the mountains. 
 
 Nor the palaces of pride, 
 
 That love will fold his wings up 
 And rejoicingly abide ; 
 
 But in meek and humble natures 
 His home is ever found, 
 
 As the lark that sings in heaven 
 Builds his nest upon the ground ! * ** 
 
 When you marry, reader, spare yourself the unhappy accom- 
 paniments of form and ostentation : women who giggle, and men 
 who make speeches. Do as my hero did, and plight your troth ' 
 before God, in a village church, at a simple altar, and with a 
 humble pastor. Nature will be kind, if you are kind to her, and 
 mock her not with carriages and champagne: thou shalt have 1 
 the Muses for thy bridesmaids, and thy “ favours ” shall be the 
 violet and the rose ! 
 
 Here ends the story of Singleton Fontenoy. The last time I 
 saw him, he was reading a “ Latter-Day Pamphlet.” 
 
 And here wakes up the author from a dream of his youth. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY COX (BROS.) AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET. 
 
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