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 a I E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 U N IVE.R5 ITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
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 ^- ^■■!_,.-v 6^^y 
 
 UNCLE HORACE, 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 SKETCHES OF IRISH CHARACTER, 
 
 it 
 
 THE BUCCANEER, 
 &c. &c. 
 
 I> 
 
 Contentment, Parent of Delight- 
 So much a stranger to our sight. 
 
 Green. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 aiDcccxxxviz.
 
 LONDON : 
 Printed by William Clowes and Sons, 
 
 Stamford Street.
 
 
 8^3 
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A serving man not quite a clown. — Gheen. 
 
 The old ugly clock upon tlie tower of St. 
 James's had marked three — the hour of 
 one of the sunniest da3^s in the month of 
 May. The trees of the Park seemed again 
 proud of their greenness ; for it had showered 
 lieavily at twelve ; and the flowers, blossoming, 
 poor things ! with such affected gaiety in the 
 
 i balconies of the neighbouring dwellings, — 
 had been renovated by the effects of a natural 
 bath. Even Apsley-house smiled in the sun- 
 
 ,^ shine, while a couple of his Grace's high-bred 
 
 ''si 
 
 '* domestics, as they lounged against the solid 
 
 J, gates, appeared exceedingly amused at the 
 
 awkward carriage, aspect, and habiliments of 
 
 ^4 VOL. I. B 
 
 '^
 
 Z UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 a country-looking servant, who, with open 
 mouth and staring eyes, had made his way 
 down Piccadilly, and stood at Hyde Park Cor- 
 ner; now peering under one arch, and then 
 under another, with as much astonishment as 
 delight. He was a tall athletic man, whose 
 age it would have been difficult to determine ; 
 his hair was combed quite straight, and was, 
 naturally, of that pale drab colour which an- 
 cient coachmen of ancient families are still 
 fond of imitating in their wigs. The cloth 
 of his livery matched its hue ; and his scarlet 
 waistcoat was scarcely of deeper tint than his 
 glowing cheeks. The town-bred lackeys would 
 have set him down as a perfect simpleton, 
 and perhaps have quizzed him accordingly, 
 had it not been for a peculiar keenness and 
 sharpness of eye that kept watch, as it were, 
 over every person who passed, and every thing 
 that occurred. He carried a well-filled car- 
 pet-bag in one hand, and a couple of hat-boxes 
 in the other ; a shot-belt was strapped across 
 his shoulder, and a huge basket, out of which 
 peeped a travelling-cap, and a furred glove 
 

 
 UNCLE HORACE. 3 
 
 dangled from his arm ; a brace of pistols were 
 stuck in the belt, to which also was fastened a 
 heavy iron dog-chain ; to this was attached a 
 stiff, white, crabbed-looking terrier, who seemed 
 more bewildered than his master, yet ready to 
 snap at every man, woman, or child that crossed 
 his way. 
 
 It would have been no easy matter to deter- 
 mine to what class of servants the stranger be- 
 longed ; his hat was bent before and behind, 
 after the coachman fashion ; his coat belonged 
 to the genus footman; his gaiters were too 
 clumsy for any but a groom ; and his shoes ! 
 his shoes almost threw the self-instituted 
 inspectors of his apparel into convulsions. 
 Such shoes had never been made in Lon- 
 don, that was certain ! Notwithstanding the 
 incongruity of his dress, Peter Pike was evi- 
 dently on very good terms with himself, and 
 with all the world. He laid his luggage for a 
 few minutes on the pavement, wiped his face 
 with a blue cotton handkerchief, patted the 
 terrier, who, dog like, returned the caress with 
 interest; asked a noble-looking Life Guards- 
 
 b2
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 man the way to Belgrave Square, and resuming 
 what a London servant would call a " very 
 heavy load/' crossed to Grosvenor Place, and 
 left the lackeys at full liberty to scrutinize the 
 next passer by who might be fortunate or 
 unfortunate enough to attract their attention. 
 
 Peter met with little to excite his admira- 
 tion after he passed St. George's Hospital ; 
 he thought there were a few streets in Liver- 
 pool as fine as Grosvenor Place, and, perfectly 
 unconscious of any singularity of appearance, 
 he very much wondered why such a number 
 of people stared and laughed at him; he 
 looked at his coat, it was new and spotless; 
 his gaiters, they too were new; he cast his 
 cunning eyes Upwards, the brim of his hat was 
 a good brim, and new also ; — he felt, as he said 
 afterwards, that he fitted as tight in his clothes 
 as if he had been in his coffin. Yet still the 
 people stopt, and stared, and smiled, and, to 
 confess the truth, Peter felt relieved when he 
 was fairly housed in the housekeeper's room of 
 Mr. Brown Lorton's splendid dwelling in Bel- 
 grave Sq\iare.
 
 tJNCLE HORACE. 5 
 
 There is no feeling in tlie world so chilling 
 as that which comes with perfect *' newness/' if 
 I dare so use the word — nothing that so op- 
 presses a stranger on first entering a London 
 house. Few are insensible to the delights of 
 novelty in the abstract ; but novelty^ on the 
 whole, is a very sad and wearisome thing, par- 
 ticularly so to one who, like Eeter, had passed 
 more than thirty years of his life in a provin- 
 cial town. 
 
 He was exceedingly glad at first when the 
 door closed and shut out the grinning faces 
 of two nursery maids, whom he distinctly 
 heard calling him '' Johnny Raw." He breathed 
 freely in the servants' hall, and thought he 
 should have been happy in the housekeeper's 
 room, to which apartment his rank (as valet to 
 Mr. Brown Lorton's brother) entitled him ; 
 but the parrot of the lady's maid attacked his 
 master's dog on the threshold, and almost tore 
 his ear off. Bright could have managed a rat, 
 a weazel, a stoat, or a cat, to admiration ; but 
 he had no knowledge of the mode of warfare 
 adopted by parokeets, cockatoos, or any of the
 
 6 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 tribe ; and when the combat was ended, and 
 poor Peter saw how grand and stately the 
 room was, and how strange everything ap- 
 peared, and how red and awkward he looked 
 in the mirror, he wished himself back in Well- 
 street, or in the great room at the Rose, where 
 he had the satisfaction of hearing his master's 
 health drank every Saturday evening, by at 
 least one hundred and twenty happy and 
 industrious persons employed in his said 
 master's warehouses. 
 
 His mind was occupied between thinking 
 what he should say to the housekeeper, and 
 how he should commence a letter to a certain 
 Mary Blundell ; and, above all, who he should 
 get to write the intended letter, when a tall, 
 fashionably-dressed young man lounged into 
 the room, and without taking any notice what- 
 ever of Peter Pike, commenced arranging his 
 hair by a small glass which he drew from 
 his pocket. At first Peter, in his simplicity, 
 thought he was, what he should have called, a 
 gentleman, and he half rose from his seat; but 
 as quickly repented the movement, for he
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 thought, nay, he was certain in another mo- 
 ment, that the lounging gentleman was no 
 other than a boy he had known some time 
 previously. The warm-hearted countryman 
 did not hesitate to recognise his old acquaint- 
 ance, and extending his hand to him, ex- 
 claimed : — 
 
 '' Eh, wounds. Job Harris, but I be glad to 
 see ye. Don't ye know an old friend ? I 
 bean't an old friend with a new face : eh, 
 marry me, boy ! but ye'r wonderfully altered.'' 
 
 " Hah-hah !" replied the second-rate puppy, 
 " I really did not recognise you ; it is so very, 
 very long since I have seen anything at all 
 like you. Pray, I beg your paw-don, but pray, 
 what are you ?" 
 
 "What am I?" exclaimed Peter, "Why, I 
 be Peter Pike, Mr. Brown's body-man." While 
 the poor fellow replied, the " gentleman's gen- 
 tleman " produced his snuff-box, which he pre- 
 sented to his astonished companion. Peter re- 
 fused it in silent astonishment, and the beau, 
 returning it to his waistcoat pocket, observed, 
 " Oh, you don't fashionize !"
 
 8 UKCLE HORACE. 
 
 " What ?" inquired Peter. 
 
 " You do not patronize the Eoyal mixture.'* 
 
 " I tell thee, in a word,"' exclaimed the coun- 
 tryman, really incensed at his affectation, *' I 
 tell thee honestly, I hate all mixtures ; and the 
 worst of them all, is a scruple of gentility to a 
 pound of vulgarity. Why, what ails thee. Job ? 
 We be old acquaintances, and there is no 
 reason in life why we should mystificate each 
 other. London is a woundy bad place I know, 
 and fashion's but a gypsy sort of mother, who 
 changes her children in the nursing. So up 
 and tell me what you've been doing for the 
 last fifteen months, ever since you left Steel 
 Lodge and the factory, and set off like a pack 
 of harriers to the tune of Hunt the Hare ! 
 Ay, away you went, bag and baggage, as soon 
 as ever Mrs. Brown ^ " 
 
 The puppy laid his hand on his arm empha- 
 tically, and said, in a manner which he intended 
 should be impressive, 
 
 " I beg your pawdon. Mister Pike, but we 
 only use the vulgarity you have mentioned in 
 conjunction with a counteracting perfection —
 
 UNCLE HORACE. X) 
 
 Lorton. IVe, Mister Pike, are Browns Lor- 
 tons.'* 
 
 Peter stood in silent wonder for a few mo- 
 ments, and slowly repeated, " Browns Lortons ! 
 Brown is as good a name as any in Liverpool ; 
 but Lorton — what the sense of the Lorton was, 
 I never could tell — did Master get any money 
 by it ?" 
 
 " Money — vulgar — No, most excellent Peter, 
 you are soporific, which signifies sleepy-headed : 
 — the addition was a matter of necessity, I 
 assure you : Brown — mark, how poor it sounds 
 — a thing of one syllable, like Smith or Jones. 
 What ! was Brown, simple Brown, to come in 
 contamination with Cavendish, and Pelham, 
 and Langham, and Lauderdale, and Devon- 
 shire, and all the rest !" During this rhodo- 
 montade, the orator succeeded in winding 
 himself up to his highest pitch of absurdity, 
 for the edification of his country acquaintance; 
 and to complete the effect, produced a patent 
 fire-box, and having lighted a match fired his 
 cigar. 
 
 Peter had to learn the tact of concealing
 
 10 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 his feelings and astonishment, and therefore 
 expostulated immediately with his associate on 
 the impropriety of, as he expressed it, '' Puff, 
 puff, puffing, over such a beautiful room; 
 can't you swallow the smoke," he continued ; 
 " and what delight can you find in an old 
 piece of stick? Job Harris, you're an altered 
 man, or vou wouldn't show the cold shoulder 
 to an old friend, as you have done to me." 
 
 *' I beg your pawdon, my dear fellow," per- 
 sisted the valet, " for not thinking of it ; but 
 will you take a cigar ? They are real Havannah, 
 I assure you." 
 
 Peter could control himself no longer; but^ 
 luckily for him, Mrs. Claggit, who filled the 
 combined situations of lady's maid and house- 
 keeper^ entered at the moment ; to her he at 
 once applied for information as to the health of 
 her master and mistress; and, above all, ex- 
 pressing his earnest desire to know how Miss 
 Mary was, and if she was much admired, and 
 if she looked as handsome as the last day he 
 saw her at his master's ? Mrs. Claggit was 
 both ready and willing to give Peter all the
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 11 
 
 information he could possibly require, for two 
 reasons ; first, because she loved gossip ; se- 
 condly^ Peter might be called handsome, and 
 it answered her purpose to play him off against 
 Job, who had, as she said, '' been getting too 
 airified for flesh and blood to bear." She told 
 him that Miss Mary, as he called her, was as 
 much worshipped as heart could desire; that 
 she was more so this season than ever, because 
 the family had got into a larger house, and Miss 
 Lorton's fortune had increased (at this piece 
 of news Peter smiled) ; that she had a great 
 many lovers, but none who met with her ap- 
 proval ; yet that a great deal of pains had 
 been taken to improve Miss Lorton, and make 
 her exactly what she ought to be, which was 
 no easy matter, as she had odd country ways 
 with her, that were hard to get over; that 
 Mrs. Lorton herself was almost as much ad- 
 mired as her daughter ; that she was greatly 
 noticed by many ladies of high rank, because 
 of her great propriety and splendid parties ; 
 that indeed she, Mrs. Claggit, thought she 
 carried this (the propriety) a little, she might
 
 12 
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 say a great deal, too far ; she ought to remem- 
 ber, that notwithstanding Mr. Brown Lorton's 
 immense fortune, he was only a Liverpool 
 merchant ; and though there was work enough 
 to prevent its being known, it was known, and 
 talked of too ; so that, considering that, she 
 thought when certain ladies of high birth, 
 who would have noticed Mrs. Lorton, and had 
 a great affection for Miss Lorton, were civil, 
 their civility should have been returned ; but, 
 indeed, her mistress chose to hear what it was 
 no business of hers to hear ; and to say that 
 no one should visit her, whose reputation was 
 not quite what it should be. To be sure, many 
 commended her for it, and the Duchess of 
 Fieeds, and Lady Conyers, and a many others, 
 of the stand-offs, had been heard to say that 
 Mrs. Brown Lorton was a prudent lady ; and 
 one of the very tip-tops, the holy of holies 
 among the grandees, had called on them ; but 
 she (Mrs. Claggit) knew her own know ; that 
 people who have sons without a shilling, are 
 very civil to people who have only daughters 
 with chests upon chests of gold ; no matter if
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 13 
 
 the blood of the sons is thick enough to be cut 
 with a knife, still gold-dust could thicken even 
 the thin blood of a Liverpool merchant ! Mrs. 
 Claggit talked so fast and so fine, that poor 
 Peter could not exactly call to mind all she 
 said, when she departed, promising to return 
 as soon as she had " finished " her mistress. 
 Job had also disappeared, leaving Peter, 
 Bright, a parrot, and a macaw, in possession 
 of the apartment, which, in honest Pike's 
 opinion, was far too good for " sarvants." 
 
 Bright, curled up, as he was, under Peter's 
 chair, kept a steady watch on the parrot, who 
 clambered up and down its stand, inclined, 
 and yet loath, to renew the combat ; while 
 Peter ruminated on his journey to London, 
 wondering how it would end, and " putting 
 this and tliat" together, to divine why, and to 
 what purpose, his master, an old bachelor of 
 fifty at the very least, could have volunteered 
 such an excursion. There would have been 
 nothing extraordinary in Mr. Horace Brown 
 visiting his brother, Mr. Brown Lorton, but 
 for the well known fact that the brothers had
 
 14 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 parted on any terms but good terms — that 
 Mrs. Brown Lorton and Mr. Horace Brown, 
 had hated each other with more than the usual 
 degree of hatred which brothers-in-law and 
 sisters-in-law usually cherish the one towards 
 the other — that Horace had a most particular 
 antipathy to London, believing it to be the 
 sink of iniquity — the modern Babel — the most 
 abandoned metropolis in the whole world 
 with the exception of Paris, which he abomi- 
 nated with the determined loathing of a ve- 
 ritable John Bull. You could not affront 
 Horace Brown more than by endeavouring 
 to convince him that the French did not live 
 upon frogs and soup — that they were not slaves 
 — and that they did not wear wooden shoes. 
 His wine merchant once recommended him 
 French wines, and lost his custom : — his 
 haberdasher submitted French gloves to his 
 inspection, and was turned out of the house : 
 and Mary, his niece — the creature, some said 
 the only creature, he loved upon earth — he 
 sent one night supperless to bed, when she 
 had been staying at his house, and was a very
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 15 
 
 little girl, because she played with a French 
 doll ! This last act of patriotic tyranny was 
 the only one he regretted, and often did Mary 
 say it was the single deed of unkindness in a 
 long life of love. 
 
 There is neither history nor mystery con- 
 nected with the fact of Brown Lorton's re- 
 moval from Liverpool to London. He had 
 realized a magnificent fortune ; such a fortune 
 as is often talked of, but seldom met with ; — 
 had married, early in life, a very lovely, a very 
 weak, and a very ambitious woman — ambiti- 
 ous in a small way — ambitious of fashionable 
 reputation — of the distinction which attends 
 upon beauty and station, and " all that sort of 
 thing." One — indeed the first disagreement 
 the brothers ever had arose from the fact, that 
 Brown Lor ton never told his brother who he 
 had married ; and while Horace half suspected 
 that she was a foreigner, — he soon disco- 
 vered she had *' foreign ways ;" — they rarely 
 associated together except for the purposes of 
 business ; and when Brown Lorton found 
 himself master of at least a hundred thousand
 
 16 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 pounds, he resolved to gratify his wife, please 
 himself, and finish his daughter's education 
 by a residence in London ! Horace Brown 
 would have sincerely rejoiced at the dissolu- 
 tion of a partnership which left him undis- 
 puted control over an immense establishment, 
 had it not been that, by some means or other, 
 his little playful niece had gained the mastery 
 over his affections. 
 
 Brown Lorton had been the father of many 
 children, but Mary was the only one who 
 survived the years of childhood; and she had 
 been so delicate during her infancy, that 
 Horace Brown had invited her and her nurse 
 to his cottage, the " Steel Lodge" of Peter's 
 reminiscences, where she soon made her own 
 way to her uncle's heart. This her mother 
 had no objection to, having worldly wisdom 
 enough to understand that if one hundred 
 thousand pounds had one hundred thousand 
 advantages — one hundred and fifty, perhaps 
 two hundred thousand, possessed as many 
 more. 
 
 Mary — nobody knew exactly why, or how
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 17 
 
 she managed it — controlled her uncle m all 
 his '^ queer ways," and made him love her 
 dearly, while tormenting him to death ; — the 
 truth is, . she was proud of her power ; and, 
 moreover, uncle Horace did not love his 
 niece a bit more than she loved him. This 
 was the grand secret of her influence : — there 
 was love in every tone of her sweet voice when 
 she talked to him — love formed the basis of 
 all her pet scoldings — love danced in her dark 
 blue eyes when he praised her singing, and 
 what but Mary's love could make him forget 
 both gout and rheumatism ! Much, therefore, 
 did he rail against London, and London ways, 
 and London fashions, and London habits ; 
 and (for as Mary grew up he fancied his sister* 
 in-law less abominable, and his brother more 
 tolerable,) often in the evening would he all 
 but anathematize those who, dissatisfied with 
 the station in which they were brought up, not 
 content with living beloved and respected in 
 their own sphere, seek a higher, where, de- 
 spite their wealth, they are looked down upon 
 as Parvenus, and are ultimately respected 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 iieithor by themselves nor others. The argu- 
 ments of Horace were right and just, and 
 woukl perhaps have been useful, had he de- 
 livered them with temper ; but that was a 
 good quality he never possessed, and his 
 " crossness" was rendered more repulsive by 
 a vein of biting, bitter satire, which pointed 
 his sharp sayings, as poison does the arrow. 
 Their meetings, therefore, were never meet- 
 ings of affection; but Mary, sweet, gentle, 
 lively, affectionate Mary, was uniformly the 
 peace-maker. 
 
 As the period of the departure of the 
 younger brother and his family drew near, these 
 quarrels became all but combats. Often did 
 Mrs. Brown Lorton declare that never should 
 that '' brute Horace" enter their house again : 
 and as frequently did Horace swear that '^ the 
 whole set might go headlong to the devil 
 before he would trouble himself about them." 
 Yet Mary, like the blessed dovO;, would bear 
 the olive branch from one to the other, and 
 patch up peace, which though sure to be dis 
 turbed, was still, she said, better than nothing.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 19 
 
 At last the day came — the travelling carriage 
 and four was at the door — Mr. W. Brown — (he 
 had not yet taken the name of Lorton) — Mr. 
 W. Brown — Mrs. Brown — servants — imperials 
 — and all ready. Horace and his brother had 
 quarrelled tremendously the night before : — 
 it would have signified little, for they had 
 disagreed on the same subject scores of times 
 — but they had parted with civil coldness. 
 Oh, that chilling civility ! What matters a 
 keen encounter, where strength meets strength, 
 and wit meets wit ; or to descend — where 
 abuse meets its equal antagonist ; such quar- 
 rels can be forgotten — forgiven — ^ ay, and 
 heartily ; but the sneer, the jibe, the curling 
 lip, the lowering eye, the inuendo — these are 
 Satan's barbs : — the others belong to poor 
 ''tiuman frailty. 
 
 All were ready for the journey to London — 
 all save Mary. Where was Mary ? Weeping 
 on her uncle's neck, in her uncle's garden — 
 weeping — kneeling to him only to come and 
 shake hands with Mamma — to part friends 
 with his own brother — for her sake : would he 
 
 c2
 
 20 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 refuse her last request, and she going away — 
 perhaps for ever ! 
 
 "For ever!'-' repeated the stern Horace: 
 " Perhaps so best, Mary ; perhaps it ^YOuld be 
 happier for me, if I were certain, child, I should 
 never see vou ao-ain. You would be better 
 in the churchyard — I beg your mother's par- 
 don — in the Vault — with the rest ; better off 
 a thousand times, than to become a corrupted 
 piece of London affectation. What else can 
 you be ? I don't care for myself, though you 
 and Peter, and that faithful dog, have long 
 been the only creatures I hold communion 
 with : but, oh Mary ! you, who are so beloved, 
 so respected, so looked up to throughout the 
 country; whose reputation is like polished 
 steel, whose heart — but no matter. — You to go, 
 where the higher you get the more enemies 
 you will make. The very wealth which your 
 parents think will elevate you all, to what 
 they call a level with the great — that wealth, 
 Mary, will work your destruction ; make you 
 the mark for fools and fops to aim at ; gather 
 flies, human flies, who follow the honey to
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 21 
 
 steal it. You will become the victim of some 
 beggar sprig of nobility, whose family will 
 talk about their son being sacrificed to the 
 Liverpool merchant's daughter !" 
 
 " No/' said Mary, hidmg her blushing cheek 
 upon her uncle's shoulder ; '' No, uncle, dear 
 uncle, I will marry only whom you please." 
 
 " Mary ! " he exclaimed, " you are now 
 seventeen, and I think old enough to make 
 a promise. Will you promise me that 30U 
 will never marry unless I approve your choice ; 
 it may seem " 
 
 '' Uncle, dear uncle," interrupted the girl, 
 blushing still more deeply, " I make you that 
 promise with all my heart and soul ; here, on 
 my bended knees — here, on this bank of vio- 
 lets, where I have played, since you led me by 
 your finger from my nurse's arms; — here, 
 with the air I breathed in my childhood, and 
 have never yet burthened with a lie : with that 
 blessed air around me, and the beams of God's 
 pure and holy sun resting on my brow ! I 
 swear, uncle, I will never marry without your 
 full consent and blessing."
 
 22 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 ^' Enough, enough/' he replied. '' And 
 Mary, you will not see me in London till that 
 event is near at hand ; threatening, I was 
 going to say, and why should I not — for 
 marriage, Mary, one day or other will be a 
 threat to you — the evil of which I will avert. 
 By God's blessing you will not see me in 
 London, until marriage approach you — as a 
 curse, not as a blessing." 
 
 Again poor Mary implored, entreated, 
 prayed him to bid her parents^ adieu : she 
 tried in vain. Time passed *on, and Mary 
 forgot neither her solemn engagement nor 
 her uncle's promise. Yet she had never seen 
 him since that day, until he made his [appear- 
 ance in Belgrave Square, an hour or two 
 before the arrival of Peter Pike and Bright 
 excited the rage of Mrs. Claggit's parrot.
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 His last removal fixed him — every stain 
 Was blotted from his household coat, and he 
 Now show'd the world he was a gentleman. 
 And, what is better, could afford to be. 
 
 Life's Lottery, 
 
 Mary's career in society had been pretty much 
 the same as that of every other young lady 
 who has the prospect of a splendid fortune, 
 and is under the guardianship of an easy, 
 good-tempered father and a singularly affec- 
 tionate mother. I repeat the word singularly, 
 because Mrs. Lor ton, fond of amusement, fond 
 of pleasure, fond of admiration, as she really 
 was, still loved her child with a devotion which 
 formed the leading feature in her character; 
 it was the delight of her life to hear Mary 
 praised; and certainly her heart triumphed, 
 and deserved to triumph, in the conscious- 
 ness that Mary deserved all the praise — ay.
 
 24 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 and ten times more than slie received ; that, 
 gentle reader, is indeed saying much. She 
 was the most beautiful illustration of sim- 
 ple poetry that was ever given to the world; 
 a ballad set by Nature to one of her sweetest 
 melodies : light-footed as a fairy ; cheerful 
 as the lark in June; the most removed 
 from a fine lady of any creature in exist- 
 ence, and yet so naturally elegant, so un- 
 affectedly graceful, that all who looked upon 
 her faultless face blessed God for having sent 
 into the world, in these degenerate days, so 
 pure a copy of what Eve herself might have 
 been when first she cheered the heart of Adam. 
 Her mother had endeavoured to begem her 
 with accomplishments, and her father had 
 given out that his daughter might ride in a 
 chariot of gold if she pleased ; but Mary's 
 accomplishments never told in society. She 
 had no taste for crape flowers or rice-paper, 
 though she could create a tree, and tint a 
 landscape. Her voice was not sufficiently 
 powerful to sing, so as to produce astonish- 
 ment, and she sometimes failed in natural and
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 25 
 
 t 
 
 artless songs, because she felt them too in- 
 tensely. She never conld have existed in 
 London, but for the flowers and birds that 
 crowded her dressing-room. In society she 
 laughed and talked with men, but her mirror- 
 like mind only received the shadows as they 
 passed, and preserved its bright surface un- 
 contaminated. While her mother toiled most 
 laboriously after presentations and introduc- 
 tions, and was kept in a perpetual state of 
 nervous excitement by the on dits and disap- 
 pointments to which admitted, or, rather, to- 
 lerated, parvenus are subjected, Mary enjoyed 
 whatever came ; and her mother loved her too 
 tenderly to make her the partner of her fa- 
 shionable anxieties. Once, indeed, she com 
 plained bitterly of the insolence of a female 
 autocrat, who had refused them the entree to 
 some temple where the elite only are privi- 
 leged to be either extravagant or ridiculous. 
 Mary grieved because her mother was mor- 
 tified; expressing a hope, that a time would 
 come when they should live amongst those 
 who would consider and treat them as their
 
 26 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 equals. Mr. Brown Lorton had his own share 
 of ambition ; he felt that something besides 
 his gilded state was necessary to raise him to 
 the rank of associates, or, I should rather say, 
 visiters, who drank his wine, rode his horses, 
 commanded in his house, and yet hardly no- 
 ticed its master. He employed a person to 
 hunt out his ancestors, or what does as well 
 — to invent them; thus it was that Brown 
 and Lorton became assimilated, and that the 
 following paragraph, commencing with the 
 ' Court Journal,' went the round of the 
 papers : — 
 
 " We understand that Mr. Brown Lorton, 
 who has recently purchased the estate of Lor- 
 ton Hall in Berkshire, is a lineal descendant 
 (by the mother's side) of Julia Mary, Baroness 
 Lorton, whose beauty created such a sensation 
 at the Court of Henry VIII. The descent 
 runs thus: — Dame Julia Mary, created Ba- 
 roness Lorton, married Edward Lorton, gent. ; 
 had issue, two daughters, who married; the 
 elder, John Shofton, of Shofton in Essex fens ; 
 the younger, Henry de la Perr Alder, of Alder
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 27 
 
 Hill. Janet Alder married Alfred Prettyman, 
 of the good city of Bristol, who by sign manual 
 took the name of Alder, and left issue, eleven 
 daughters and three sons. Ursula, the third 
 female of this numerous family, was, according 
 to some private memorials, distinguished for 
 her truly patriotic attachment to Charles II. ; 
 and rather at an advanced period of life 
 married Edward Crawford, of the city of Lon- 
 don, an ancient gentleman, whose ancestors 
 had added dignity to the civic chair for a 
 number of years ; they had issue, one daugh- 
 ter, who inherited immense wealth, married 
 the Hon. Charles Lacelles, and left issue, two 
 daughters ; Margaret, the elder, who died un- 
 married ; Mary, the younger, married Horace 
 Brown, Esq., and died in 1804, leaving issue, 
 Horace Brown, Esq., the elder, and William 
 the younger, who has expended a small por- 
 tion of his princely fortune in repurchasing 
 the original estate of Lorton-hall, Berkshire, 
 and has also shown his good taste by reviving 
 the ancient name. Mr. Brown Lorton mar- 
 ried Mary Anne, only daughter of Adolphe
 
 28 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Linden, Esq., and has issue, one daughter, 
 Mary Adolphine, whose beauty and grace at- 
 tracted her Majesty's especial notice at the last 
 drawing-room. Mr. Brown Lorton's town- 
 residence is in Belgrave-square." 
 
 So far went the mere newspapers : the 
 ^ Court Journal' enlarged thereon, as follows : 
 " This information will at once destroy the 
 influence of the ill-natured report, as to the 
 plebeian origin of this distinguished gentle- 
 man, Avhich has found its way amid certain 
 underbred circles that delight in reducing the 
 aristocracy to their own level." 
 
 '' Death and the devil !" exclaimed Horace 
 Brown, when he read this puff direct in the 
 ' Court Journal,' which a waggish clerk in his 
 counting-house had placed on his desk, so that 
 he could not avoid seeing the obnoxious para- 
 graph. " And to lug me into their notice, — 
 how shall I ever be able to look my own clerks 
 in the face ! It is the first time, however, that 
 I ever heard of Mrs. Brown's father; and to 
 call the poor child Adolphine !" Bitterly did 
 the unlucky wight repent his jest, for that day
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 29 
 
 Mr. Horace Brown made every human being 
 who called him master feel his ill-temper. And 
 moreover forbade, under pain of his displea- 
 sure, that a ' Court Journa? should be brought 
 into his house; denouncing the unoffending 
 paper as a record of folly and a compound of 
 affectation ! Mr. Horace determined to con- 
 fine himself and his clerks to ' The Times.' 
 " There/' thought he, " fashionable trash is 
 never recorded." Oh, Horace ! Horace ! where 
 is it that fashion never enters ? What was his 
 dismay at seeing one morning the follow- 
 ing announcement recorded in his favourite 
 paper : — 
 
 " We understand that, in the event of a dis- 
 solution of Parliament, Mr. Brown Lorton, 
 of Lorton Hall, Berks, and Belgrave-square, 
 London, is resolved to offer himself as a can- 
 didate for the representation of either Berks 
 or Lancashire." 
 
 Mr. Horace Brown electrified his clerks by 
 throwing ' The Times' into the fire, and ab- 
 sented himself from his counting-house for 
 two entire days ; his faithful servant Peter
 
 30 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Pike, fatliomed the cause of his master's in- 
 creased irritation; and the morning after the 
 destruction of " the leading journal/' ^vhile 
 laying the toast-rack on the table, ventured to 
 say, '' I think. Master, I know a way to pre- 
 vent Master William from being in Par- 
 liament for us." Horace Brown's eye, in- 
 quired — how? though his lips moved not. 
 " Just then," observed honest Peter, with a 
 look of peculiar intelligence — "just then, if 
 you'd stand for the county yourself." Whether 
 Peter meant this as a jest, or whether he had 
 grown ambitious of such a distinction for his 
 master, I know not ; but this I do know, that 
 the observation nearly cost him his place. 
 
 Certainly there is no doubt that Mr. Brown 
 Lorton meditated obtaining a seat in the 
 British Senate; — doubtless, if he had been 
 willing to come in on any terms, the party 
 then in power, from a pure desire to augment 
 their numbers for their country's good, would 
 have procured him a seat ; but those of whose 
 acquaintance he was ambitious, were of the 
 opposite set, and so he was obliged to wait
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 31 
 
 until the spirit of the times brought about that 
 change which was as much coveted on the one 
 side, as it was deprecated on the other ; had 
 matters been otherwise, there is little doubt 
 that Mr. Brown Lorton's round ledger-hand 
 would have franked many a letter, and his 
 '' still, small voice" have murmured the " yea, 
 yea," or "nay, nay;'' so delightful to those 
 who glory in the game of " follow my leader." 
 Although Brown Lorton had meditated upon 
 mixing with his fellowmen in the House of 
 Commons, it was not as yet understood by the 
 elite who " patronized" his wife, that he was at 
 all times admissible into their circles. Mrs. 
 Brown Lorton had planned and laboured for 
 some months after Mary's presentation at 
 Court, to be invited to a certain party, which 
 stamped a mysterious sort of privilege on its 
 guests. She had not interest enough to effect 
 her desire, but she had what did as well — 
 she had gold ; a bargain was struck, through 
 the interposition of a lady- agent, who did not 
 scruple to accept a douceur for her trouble. 
 The female part of the family were informed.
 
 32 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " that they might go, but that Mr. Brown 
 Lorton could not be received." 
 
 The lady, though she loved her husband, 
 was elated at her success, but Mary's indig- 
 nation knew no bounds ; in vain did her mo- 
 ther represent the advantages that must arise 
 from such an introduction, — dear Mary was 
 firm in her resolve. " What ! accept such a 
 notice as an invitation ? What ! consent to 
 enter a house w^here her father was forbidden 
 to appear, — submit to such a degradation? 
 Never !" And her deep blue eyes grew 
 brio'hter, and her cheek flushed, as she flew 
 into her fath'er's library, where, poor man, he 
 sat half the day, playing grand amongst 
 splendidly-bound books, which, to do him jus- 
 tice, he did read sometimes ; there she threw 
 her arms round his neck, and wept in the 
 fullness of mingled ire and aff'ection ; she 
 had the satisfaction of sending a refusal to 
 the " permit" ; and the very same night, in 
 the crush-room at the Opera, was imprudent 
 enough to cast a look of anger and defiance 
 upon the proud woman whom she insisted
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 33 
 
 had insulted them : the look never reached its 
 destination, but fell on an antiquated beau, 
 who displayed his wit by declaring that Miss 
 Lorton's eyes were as brilliant as cut-steel; — 
 the termination of the affair was, that Mrs. 
 Lorton lost her money. Refunding is not 
 precisely understood by the sellers of introduc- 
 tions. But, despite her vexation, Mary rose 
 in her "mother's esteem ; while her father, after 
 dinner, with tears in his eyes (the mixed pro- 
 duce of feeling and claret), declared that Mary 
 had proved she loved her parents for them- 
 selves, not for their gold. And the blessed 
 girl laughed at the absurdity of supposing that 
 parents could be loved for anything but them- 
 selves. She had not learned that people are 
 always apt to believe they are valued by 
 others for the quality, or possession to which 
 they themselves attach the greatest merit; 
 Mr. Brown Lorton had long imagined that 
 his gold was his ; perhaps he was right — we 
 shall see. Not having accomplished his seat 
 in Parliament, Mr. Brown Lorton, in a lucky 
 tnoment, conceived he could attain the po- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 pularity his soul desired, by giving dinners. 
 He had discovered, for somebody had told 
 him, that young men of fashion attended much 
 more to the business, the materiel of eating, 
 than they did formerly. Your regular diner- 
 out of the last century, was a rubicund, solid, 
 calculating person of forty, or thereabouts. No 
 man under a certain calibre was then esteemed 
 worthy of a seat at the table of a giver of din- 
 ners. But, in our more refined age, young men 
 and thin, animals, who, if they can eat a dinner, 
 never look the better for it, — creep even into 
 the reserved places, and discuss prime cuts 
 and green turtle — to say nothing of the variety 
 of made dishes — with a precocity of skill that 
 might well put the old gastronomic school 
 to the blush. Most men of ton and taste 
 were satisfied to boast the possession of a 
 French cook; but our ci-devant Liverpool 
 trader caused it to be made known that his 
 house confessed a divided empire — he enter- 
 tained both an Italian and a Frenchman to 
 " rule his roast." — " Koast," did I say? Now, 
 out upon my vulgarity ! — who ever heard of 
 such a term in modern cookery ?
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 35 
 
 Brown Lorton's dinners had been really 
 talked of, ay^ and recorded too, amongst the 
 fashionable novelties of the day ; and he had, 
 thanks to his cooks, attained the very summit 
 of gastronomic reputation, when his brother 
 Horace's unexpected arrival electrified his esta- 
 blishment ; — all was mingled astonishment and 
 dismay in his mansion. Horace had not been 
 invited, and yet Horace was come. Horace, 
 too, had been making money while other people 
 were spending it ; so that Horace, though to 
 some an unwelcome visitor, must not be unwel- 
 comed. Mary was, as usual, in her pretty dress- 
 ing-room — not alone though. Mrs. Brown 
 Lorton was too able a tactician not to have 
 secured an ally in the person of a lady, half- 
 governess, half-companion, who, well bred, icell 
 educated (as the phrase goes), and accustomed 
 to the routine of fashionable life, could in- 
 struct without wearying, advise without an- 
 noying, her charge, and was at least ten 
 years younger than herself. Miss Maxwell, 
 though doomed to a situation half " toady," half 
 teacher, had nevertheless her pleasing quali- 
 
 D.2
 
 36 UNCLE HORx\CE. 
 
 ties ; but whatever disposition she had for good 
 or evil, will be developed in the progress of 
 my story. Hundreds of persons of her class 
 pass harmlessly and happily through life, filling 
 up the chinks of society to admiration, who 
 are never either noticed or missed, and yet 
 could not very well be done without. Mary's 
 room was fitted up with greater taste than is 
 generally displayed in a young lady's boudoir. 
 The upholsterer had done less, the fair mistress 
 more, than usual ; — there was the common quan- 
 tity of white muslin and pink silk ; there were 
 ottomans, and china and looking-glasses, and 
 a guitar ; the window opened into a deep bal- 
 cony, completely screened from observation, 
 and filled with flowers, — Mary was extra- 
 vagant in her flowers. Over the low, white 
 marble chimney-piece hung that exquisite print 
 of the Trial of Lord William Russell — it is the 
 picture, of all others, for a lady's chamber. 
 What woman can think of the womanly devo- 
 tion and heroism of Lady Rachel, without 
 being better for the thought ? There was a 
 splendid engraving of Scott, another of Words- 
 worth; Newton's ever-living Vicar of Wake-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 37 
 
 field ; a few drawings, selected' evidently more 
 by feeling than judgment, — the science had 
 not been cultivated in proportion to the selec- 
 tor's love of the beautiful art. In one corner, 
 supported on a pedestal of black marble, and 
 canopied by a drapery of black velvet, was 
 an exquisite model of Canova's Melancholy 
 Magdalen. It would be difficult to trace the 
 origin of the taste which prompted Mary, the 
 gay, light-hearted Mary, to select such a sub- 
 ject ; but there it was : and often, when her 
 bright blue eyes rested upon it, they filled 
 with tears. She used playfully to call it her 
 shrine, and wish that the world's votaries could 
 be brought to kneel to anything so holy. It 
 was pleasant to see how frequently that beau- 
 tiful girl retired within her small sanctuary, — 
 singing with her birds, employed with her em- 
 broidery, or reading books, which a moralist 
 must approve, though a philosopher would 
 sneer at — spent many an hour, which women, 
 less admired, less sought after than the heiress 
 of Lorton, would have squandered in idle chat- 
 ter, or more reprehensible flirtation.
 
 38 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 There was to be a splendid ball on the even- 
 ing of Horace Brown's arrival in Belgrave 
 Square, and Mary's maiden, a tall, graceful 
 damsel, with large brown eyes and braided 
 hair, had laid a very pretty white crape dress 
 on the sofa in Mary's room, where Miss Max- 
 well had been assisting and directing, or try- 
 ing to direct, Mary's taste in the arrangement 
 of some jewels. 
 
 '' Simplicity and pearls!" said the gou- 
 vernante ; " your caskets might as well be re- 
 stricted to a single suit ; for it is pearls, pearls, 
 nothing but pearls. Well, I wish I had been 
 born a beauty and an heiress." 
 
 '' Miss Maxwell," laughed Mary, laying 
 down her embroidery, and inspecting her 
 dress ; — " say, an heiress ; beauty follows riches, 
 at least, so we observe, as surely as the shadow 
 follows the substance. I never heard a word 
 of my beauty until dear, kind Papa advertised 
 my heiress- ship." 
 Never, Mary?" 
 
 No : never by anybody of consequence, 
 which you say is the same thing as not hearing 
 
 C( 
 
 C(
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 39 
 
 of it at all. Miss Maxwell, I am so tired : — do 
 you know what I should like V 
 
 '' No : but I know what I should like. I 
 should like you to go down to the piano, and 
 sing over that splendid aria which won Grisi 
 so many hearts, at Lady Flasher ton's morning 
 concert." 
 
 " I, who cannot \ go through a ballad with- 
 out blushing and trembling, to attempt one of 
 JBellini's most difficult airs ! My dear friend, 
 will you not understand how very ridiculous 
 my pet linnet would make herself by emu- 
 lating Jubilee ? No, no : the violet has not 
 the rich perfume of the lily, nor the robin the 
 note of the lark." 
 
 " My dear child," said her companion, " do 
 not, I implore you, get that horrid blue trick 
 which degrades Lady Ellen so much — draw- 
 ing similes for ever; it may confer a sort of 
 distinction on her, poor thing, but you " 
 
 " That will do. Miss Maxwell. I wish I 
 could resemble Lady Ellen in anything ; yet 
 she would not wish me to be an imitator." 
 
 " When I lived with Lady Flasher ton,"
 
 40 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 said Miss Maxwell, who had the habit, so 
 natural to weak minds, of appealing to the 
 opinion of another for the confirmation of her 
 own — '' When I lived with Lady Flasher- 
 ton " 
 
 " Never mind her, dear Maxy, now," inter- 
 rupted Mary, who from past experience had 
 an instinctive dread of lady this, lady that, 
 and lady t'other, following in the train of 
 Lady Flasher ton. " Never mind her, but 
 guess what it is I wish for." 
 
 " A differently situated box at the Opera ! 
 I assure you that the draught gave me quite 
 a crick in my neck. — Your Mamma's box is so 
 exposed " 
 
 " Ah you must take care of rheumatism, as 
 Doctor Priestly says, dear Maxy." 
 
 " I wish Doctor Priestly would mind his 
 own business," said Miss Maxwell, bridhng. 
 *' I am not quiie old enough for rheumatism 
 yet." 
 
 *' Come, now, guess what is my heart's 
 
 desire." 
 
 " Another Opera box ?" 
 " No."
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 41 
 
 " An entire stomacher of emeralds, relieved 
 with brilliants, fashioned into stars, and bor- 
 dered with pearls, as large as blackbird's 
 eggs ? 
 
 " No." 
 
 " A new batch of lovers ? " 
 
 '' No, no," replied Mary, gaily; " I must 
 dispose of the old ones first. It is very unin- 
 teresting to have so many ; so many with but 
 one idea?" 
 
 " Well, but is it not pleasant to be that one 
 idea?" 
 
 " Ah, you mistake/' replied the young lady 
 with an altered manner; " their one idea is 
 self Come, tell me. Miss Maxwell, how many 
 I have. 1 am heavy at heart this morning ; 
 but they say I am a tyrant, and nothing en- 
 livens a tyrant so much as numbering his 
 captives." 
 
 " First tell me what you should so much 
 like." 
 
 *' Oh, it was nothing, simply nothing," she 
 replied, carelessly. 
 
 " Then tell over your own lovers. Miss Lor-
 
 42 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 ton, and arrange your own jewels. Why should 
 I pleasure you, when you refuse to pleasure 
 me. Lady Flasher ton, — " 
 
 " If I did tell you," interrupted Mary, '' you 
 would not understand me : — you are town- 
 bred." 
 
 '' And does that dull the understanding ?" 
 inquired Miss Maxwell. 
 
 " Were Uncle Horace here,'* said Mary, 
 '' he would reply, that it perverted the thing 
 you named ; which, he would saucily add, no 
 woman ever possessed.'' 
 
 ^' Oh, the monster !" exclaimed Miss Max- 
 well, who stood boldly forward as the champion 
 of female intellect, thereby supporting the ex- 
 cellence of her own. 
 
 "Dear Uncle Horace," continued Mary. 
 " so rough, yet so gentle ; so harsh, yet so kind. 
 A bear, with the heart of a lamb ; the bravery 
 of a lion, and the wisdom of an " 
 
 *' Owl!" rather rudely interrupted the di- 
 rectress en cA(?/of the heiress's manners. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," replied Mary, colour- 
 ing ; " Uncle Horace is not in the least an
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 43 
 
 owl. He is tall, severe, yet noble looking. 
 They used to say I was very like him — as like 
 as a child could be to a man." 
 
 " My dear Mary, you must not look of- 
 fended ; I did but jest. Now, what was it you 
 wished for ?" 
 
 '' I will tell you now," said the maiden, 
 leaning her arm on a chifFoniere, and standing 
 with her back to the curtained door, " I will 
 tell you now — for the mention of my dear 
 Uncle's name always brings a torrent of pure 
 thoughts and pure feelings back to my heart 
 — I wished — it was very silly — it is very silly 
 — and yet I have been wishing it all the morn- 
 ing — I wished that — I — wished — for a free, 
 unfettered race over the green downs, where 
 I sported when a child. Oh ! you know not 
 what it is 1 The stainless sky of heaven for 
 your canopy — the soft and speckled moss 
 yielding beneath your tread — the dew, break- 
 ing into moist diamonds round your feet — the 
 leveret ! her long ears peeping 'mid the golden 
 furze, as if astonished at your swiftness ; and 
 then, among the bushes to discover the song-
 
 44 UNCLE HORACE 
 
 thrush's nest, the little golden bills of the 
 nestlings gaping for food, while their parents 
 circle o'er their heads, and, in Nature's own 
 true language, implore you not to harm their 
 callow brood. My own beloved downs ! what 
 would I not give for a branch of white roses 
 from my dear nurse's cottage ! " 
 
 " The most beautiful roses I ever saw," said 
 Miss Maxwell, without understanding or heed- 
 ing the natural enthusiasm of Mary's cha- 
 racter, — " The most beautiful roses I ever 
 saw, were in a A^ase at Howell and James's, 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Howell and James's !" repeated the girl, 
 in a tone which said, ' you have brought me 
 from heaven down to earth.' " Howell and 
 James's, indeed ! Well, I have done. There 
 is nothing of Nature here, so why should I 
 speak of what is not ; — but had you seen the 
 place I called mine own — my uncle's cottage, 
 three miles from the busy town — so far from 
 business — ^just for the sake of the pure air and 
 freshened breezes, you would comprehend this 
 rhapsody."
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 45 
 
 Poor Miss Maxwell repeated one of the 
 thousand small lies of society, and said, " I do," 
 when she did not ; but she could devise no 
 other mode of recalling Miss Lorton to her- 
 self, than by inquiring, if now she should tell 
 over her lovers ! 
 
 '* Ay, my lovers," sighed Mary. " Well ! — " 
 
 " That ' Well,' sounds like //^'— but never 
 mind. What say you to the Scotch highlander?" 
 
 " I say," replied Mary, trying to dispel her 
 romantic visions, '' away with kailbrose and 
 haggis ; his face and his pedigree are all too 
 long for Mary Lorton." 
 
 " Lady Flasherton says that the young 
 Irish peer " 
 
 " Stop, stop, my dear Maxy. The Irish 
 peer with the long- tailed family — scores of 
 distant cousins — dozens of near relations — 
 ever so many fathers and mothers — O's and 
 bogs — feasts and fasts — saints and sinners — 
 pride and poverty ! No : those who like him 
 may have him ; but I will never be led to the 
 altar by a compound of shillalas, shamrocks, 
 and whiskey !"
 
 46 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " What if your mother said Yes ? " inquired 
 Miss Maxwell, with whom the handsome, 
 thoughtless Irishman was a great favourite, 
 
 " That will neither my father nor my mo- 
 ther," replied Mary. " Don't you remember 
 
 the song " 
 
 " ' But my mother having heard that the young man was 
 poor,' — 
 
 ^' you know what follows." 
 
 " That objection cannot be made to Sir 
 Paul — the City Sir Paul! Perhaps he may 
 find favour in your sight." 
 
 " Human nature," as some wise writer 
 gravely remarks, " is only human nature 1 " 
 And it is not in the beforesaid, ill-used human 
 nature, at least not in the human nature of a 
 young girl, to count over her lovers, numerous 
 a« the sands of the sea, without being amused 
 at their quantity or quality. Mary was both too 
 high-minded and too timid to enter into the 
 unprincipled vulgarity called flirting ; but she 
 had acquired, perhaps from her uncle Horace, 
 a habit of observation, and a perception of the
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 47 
 
 ridiculous, which was the source of much 
 innate amusement to herself. This she rarely- 
 imparted to others; but the mention of the 
 City Sir Paul, the great feeder at her father's 
 table, was too powerful a temptation, and she 
 laughed outright while sketching his portrait. 
 '" What ! the modern Falstaif— the knight of 
 the beetle brow and enormous rotundity* 
 whose eyes wander unceasingly over the 
 crowded board, seeking what next may be 
 devoured : who, when a boy, wished that the 
 school-room was a plum-pudding, and that he 
 might be permitted to eat his way out of it. 
 The lord of venison — the very king of turtle — 
 the emperor of high feeding ! Heard I ever 
 the like, to mention him to me !" 
 
 " What think you of the half French, half 
 Italian Count de Mouskito?" inquired Miss 
 Maxwell. " His last importation of gold chains, 
 poodles, and perfumes, appear to have made 
 a great impression on your mother's suscepti- 
 bility and your father's wisdom." 
 
 Mary's eye rested on Miss Maxwell, to as- 
 certain if she intended her last sentence as a
 
 48 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 sneer, or a simple observation. Her features 
 were calm and quiet ; in fact, as meaningless 
 as usual ; and she was employed in snipping 
 two ends of ribbon to exactly tlie same length. 
 At last she raised her eyes, which were of an 
 undefinable colour, verging on gray, to the 
 expressive and inquiring countenance of her 
 charge, and quietly repeated, " V/hat think 
 you of Mouskito ?" 
 
 " She dared not have said it to, me, if she had 
 intended it as a sneer," thought Mary, and 
 replied, " I think Robin Hood's far-famed 
 bow was as nothing to the one he draws. If 
 you had only heard his address to me the other 
 day. ^ Ma chere demoiselle, I assure you I 
 have de courage of de lion, wid de gentleness 
 of de agneau — what you call lamb! and de 
 wisdom of ten tousand serpents. Ah ! made- 
 moiselle, if you did but see me once enrage, 
 you would never forget it ! At Rome, in that 
 great and mighty city, de Pope himself call 
 me rascally Frenchman. I take him by de 
 nape of his neck, as if he was little dog — 
 what you call poppy — and kick him (je vous
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 49 
 
 demande mille pardons, cliere mademoiselle) — 
 from his own palace to St. Peter's, Avlicre he 
 was going to celebrate son religion ; and den 
 I say to de assemblee — Ah, ah ! behold your 
 Pope ! And dey say — no von ting, no von 
 vord; they were efFraye de moi — who am, 
 chere mademoiselle, your liomble slave." 
 
 " Upon my word, most gentle Mary," said 
 Miss Maxwell, " you did that admirably. 
 Ah ! my dear, if you would only let yourself 
 out in society, what a sensation it would create ; 
 it would be exactly like — like " 
 
 " You are at a loss for a simile, so I will 
 help you," interrupted Mary — '' like that cruel 
 mockery of mirth, dancing in fetters. Oh ! 
 there has been a great deal of pains thrown 
 away on me I I shall never become what you 
 call ' A well-educated young lady.' " 
 
 " If you will none of these I have men- 
 tioned," said Miss Maxwell, hunting the sub- 
 ject to death, " you have, I am sure, less in- 
 clination for the attaches and younger bro- 
 thers, who dress a room, and pay attention to 
 the chaperons." 
 
 VOL. 1. E
 
 50 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 '' In truth, I care for none of them, and you 
 know it. I do not want to marry." 
 
 " Every young lady says so before she is 
 twenty." 
 
 '' Psha ! " replied the young heiress. " And 
 yet, do )^ou know, there is one reason why I 
 should like to marry nobly. There are cer- 
 tain persons, and I could name them, who 
 have slighted the daughter of the Liverpool 
 merchant, because of her birth, and flattered 
 her because of her wealth. All I say now is, 
 let them look to it if ever I should be a Coun 
 tess ! — I'll show them that the blood of a 
 trader is as red as the blood of a duke. My 
 Opera box shall be lined with ermine, and 
 carpeted with miniver. I'll cloak me in the 
 richest furs, ay, furs that kings might covet." 
 
 " You would do well and wisely," said Miss 
 Maxwell, filling up the break which Mary her- 
 self had left. " I am glad to see a spirit in 
 you at last; something more dignified, more 
 fearless." 
 
 " You said I would do wisely," inter- 
 rupted Mary, pursuing the current of her
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 51 
 
 t 
 
 own feelings ; " you did wisdom injustice ; if 
 the thought were born of wisdom, it w^ould 
 not have made my heart heavy, or my cheek 
 flush. Oh, no, Maxy, it would not be wise ; I 
 should sacrifice my own happiness for a wicked 
 bauble, and be rewarded by knowing that 
 every woman of illustrious birth whom I out- 
 shone would call me — " 
 
 - What ?" 
 
 " The proud Parvenue !" 
 
 Miss Maxwell remained silent, and Mary 
 drew a miniature from her bosom, which she 
 kissed affectionately. " See," she exclaimed, 
 " see ! it is dear uncle Horace ! Whenever I 
 am going to have a fit of folly, I look upon 
 his picture, — I would not be without this little 
 jewel for the wealth of worlds ! When my 
 mother gained her object, and persuaded my 
 father to come to London, the business w^as 
 divided between papa and uncle Horace ; and 
 owing to my uncle's cleverness, papa found 
 himself richer by thirty thousand pounds than 
 he had dreamed of; — and uncle need not have 
 told him this ; but oh, he is so upright, and so 
 
 E 2 
 
 UBRARV 
 
 .. 1 iMfMQ
 
 52 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 good ! I can understand the nature of a talis- 
 man when I look upon my little picture, — 
 How I do wish he were here! but I see no 
 prospect of his visiting London." 
 
 " Well, Mary," said Miss Maxwell, looking 
 over her shoulder at the picture ; " well, 
 Mary, I think I never saw a more perfect 
 portraiture of a cross, formal, cold, pigtailed 
 old bachelor." 
 
 Mary turned slowly round to reprove the 
 speaker for her observation, but ere she could 
 utter a word, she found herself in the arms of 
 — uncle Horace.
 
 53 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 And folks are always apt to sneer — 
 One wovild not be out-done, my dear I 
 
 Lloyu. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that all went smoothly 
 as a marriage bell with Peter and his new 
 associates. Peter, as well as his master, had 
 a distinctive character ; he had lived, " man 
 and boy," twenty years in the service of Ho- 
 race Brown, and had acquired a few of his 
 habits. Bright, too, was in his manners very 
 distinct from the sleek and silky spaniels, — 
 petits maitres, in their way, — who crept, and 
 crouched, and snarled about the house; and, 
 indeed, master, man, and dog, were at once 
 regarded with suspicion throughout the esta- 
 blishment. Job Harris intimated to Peter, 
 before he had been an hour in the house, that 
 Bright should be sent to the stables — a pro- 
 posal which Peter resented as warmly, as if 
 Job had directed him to be consigned to the
 
 54 U^CLE HORACE. 
 
 same domicile. Peter's astonishment was con- 
 tinually excited ; the servants were so different 
 to any he had ever before seen; — Mrs. Clag- 
 gitt was the only person who treated him with 
 common civility; and even her civility had 
 something dubious in its character. One 
 little scene which Peter witnessed astounded 
 him so much, that he treasured it in his 
 memory, to be repeated in the country; and 
 as it was the first, and, indeed, the last 
 of the kind he experienced, it was well worth 
 remembering. Certain expressions and ob- 
 servations soon proved to Mrs. Brown Lor- 
 ton's fashionable servants, that Peter Pike was 
 neither a rogue nor a fool ; consequently he 
 was not exactly suited for their acquaintance; 
 and though they were obliged to tolerate him, 
 they never suffered his presence, after the first 
 day, behind the scenes. The best servants in 
 the world are to be found in the establish- 
 ments of the genuine aristocracy of England 
 — men and women who have grown grey in - 
 faithfulness and affection for their employers. 
 The evils which the mediocre class of so-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 55 
 
 ciety complain of in their domestics^ can ge- / 
 nerally be traced to themselves. Servants in- 
 variably take their tone and — if they live long 
 enough in the same places — their characters 
 from their employers : an extravagant mistress 
 is ever complaining of extravagant servants ; a 
 careless mistress, of slatterns ; an ill-tempered 
 mistress provokes the exercise of the same 
 quality in her dependants ; and a tyrant makes 
 tyrants, who, if they have nothing else to ty- 
 rannize over, will kick the cats and dogs. The 
 servants of Brown Lorton were excellent ex- 
 amples of the correctness of this theory — they 
 were pretenders — not satisfied with being in 
 the service of a wealthy commoner, they aped 
 the distinction of My Lord Duke, My Lady 
 Duchess, and affected style and station. Un- 
 der the idea that the family were going to a 
 long- taiked-of ball, they had fixed on the eve- 
 ning of Horace Brown's unexpected arrival 
 for a little display of their own; and that same 
 love of display so far interfered with Mrs. 
 Claggitt's prudence, that she permitted the 
 unsophisticated Peter to be present at her
 
 56 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 interview with the confectioner, that she might 
 have an opportunity of impressing upon him 
 a due estimate of her importance. 
 
 " The fact of it is, Mr. Puff," she com- 
 menced, " that unless you can arrange our 
 little supper to-night, snug and scug, as the 
 saying is, I'll manage with a more 'commo- 
 dating gentleman." 
 
 " My dear lady," replied the honest dealer, 
 " can't you listen to reason ; how can a trades- 
 man live at this rate; do I not furnish the 
 suppers up-stairs at so much a-head ?" 
 
 " 1 know you do," said Mrs. Claggitt, " and 
 a fine penny you make of it : you send in all 
 the fowls, tongues, hams, and game, uncarved ; 
 the gentlemen won't cut them up — the ladies 
 can't, so that more than half is returned to 
 you." 
 
 " To be sure it is, from such houses as 
 yours," replied the confectioner; '' but there's 
 many won't put up with such things, and 
 have their own poultry and game up from their 
 country-seats. So you see the obligation to 
 look sharp is more on us than ever; if it
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 57 
 
 wasn't for the returned dishes, I should put 
 food in other people's mouths, but none in my 
 own. Why, my good Mrs. Claggitt, what 
 comes from a supper here, or in Mayfair, fur- 
 nishes one to the shabby-genteels in the 
 smaller squares; what comes from them sets 
 out another, Oxford-street way, and beyond 
 Tottenham-court-road. I have at this moment 
 a pheasant that has taken his stand at seven 
 supper-tables ! — the fellow is woundy tough ; 
 but with fresh browning, and tasteful garnish- 
 ing where incisions have been attempted, you 
 would be surprised how well he looked as I 
 was packing him and a few other stale matters 
 off to the Regent's Park." 
 
 "Ah !" said Mrs. Claggitt, with an important 
 toss of her head, '' that may do very well for 
 such people, but it would not do here, I assure 
 you : we know a sheep's head from a carrot, as 
 the song says, and never will countenance such 
 imposition ; — ^just and fair, just and fair — that's 
 always what I will stand up for ; and I has my 
 reward : my mistress always says, ' My Claggitt 
 is a treasure.' "
 
 68 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " My dear lady !" exclaimed the man of 
 pastry, when the housekeeper had sufficiently 
 exulted in her own praise, " you do not sup- 
 pose /would treat you in that way; I am sure, 
 though you said the last brace of birds I sent 
 carved, were tough, they were fresh ; upon my 
 honor, they had never shown but once, and 
 that was at Lady Flasherton's, who never cares 
 how little people eat, for she is mean enough 
 to take twenty-five per cent, off every uncut 
 dish returned — she is, indeed." 
 
 " The mean monster ! She, too, that Miss 
 Maxwell is always up-crying — but our supper." 
 
 '' 'Pon my soul," said the confectioner, " I 
 can't do it under four shillings a-head." 
 
 Peter was on the point of exclaiming, that 
 well might Mrs. Brown Lorton think Claggitt 
 a treasure, when she bargained so conscien- 
 tiously for every atom, but he remembered, 
 just in time, that something had been said of 
 suppers down-stairs ; and an undefined convic- 
 tion that Mrs. Claggitt was absolutely bargain- 
 ing for herself, not her mistress, came upon 
 him at the moment. The confectioner, after
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 59 
 
 a pause, continued, " Think of the poundage- 
 money that goes amongst you gentlemen and 
 ladies — think of that, Mrs. Claggitt — servants 
 are harder to deal with than their masters." 
 
 " And well they may be," sighed ' the trea- 
 sure ;' '' well they may be ; what have they to 
 look to, but their little earnings; service is no 
 inheritance ; it may be here to-day, and gone 
 to-morrow, with the best of us ; they have 
 plenty here at present : but Oh ! Mr. Puff, they 
 are so extravagant — so fond of show — nothing 
 but company, company ; — still, I say nothing ; 
 I have been a good friend, and got you a deal 
 of custom ; so, indeed, you must give our sup- 
 per in for three and six each !" 
 
 " If I do, you can't have a drop of wine with 
 it," replied the conscientious tradesman ; " not 
 a drop." 
 
 " I won't stand for the wine," replied Mrs. 
 Claggitt; " Mr. Harris and Mr. Joshua can 
 manage that ; but, positively, you must let us 
 have in a couple of bottles of your cherry- 
 bounce." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Claggitt, Mrs. Claggitt !" ex-
 
 60 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 claimed tlie polite man of pastry ; " I hope you 
 will never want that, as long as my cellar is in 
 existence." 
 
 '' I shouldn't be so particular," said the 
 dame, '' but that Mr. Brown Lorton's brother 
 is come, and this is his valet, Mr. Pike, and we 
 want to treat him." 
 
 " Thank e'e, thank e'e," replied Peter, " but 
 I never eat suppers ; ' to bed with the lamb, 
 and up with the lark, makes service light 
 work,' they say in my country." Mr. Puff 
 made no observation upon Peters rusticity, 
 and Mrs. Claggitt continued, " Jellies and 
 trifle, and all, you know — all nice, and served 
 about eleven — ^just as they go, you know — and 
 pray mind who you send, for there was a 
 Avoundy piece of work about the fruit-knives." 
 
 " Mrs. Claggitt, I have told you before, that 
 none of my men had to do with them ; they're 
 honest to the back -bone, and never touch a 
 thing — belonging to my connexions." 
 
 ^^ Good-bye, then, Mr. Puff", and— Puff— 
 there's a dear man — if you can put it in at 
 three shillings ahead, do. What, you can't ?
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 61 
 
 well, then, we'll make it out at the next bill ; 
 settle it and the last petty suppe in the Christ- 
 mas account. Ah, PufF! Puff! you know our 
 little treats never cost you a farthing I" 
 
 " There's an honest housekeeper, with a ven 
 geance," thought the tradesman, as he ran up 
 the area steps ; " but what can I do ? In those 
 parvenu houses a mistress would think it de- 
 grading to look after her household : so it is 
 the servants who see the bills, and not the 
 masters." 
 
 " I think, if you please, Mrs. Claggitt," said 
 Peter, rising, " I'll step up to my master's 
 room, and settle his things a bit, against din- 
 ner." 
 
 " Dinner ! — lunch, you mean ; why, whatever 
 alive puts dinner in the man's head at this 
 hour ?" 
 
 '' Why, it's four o'clock," said Peter. 
 
 " Eight is our nominal dinner-hour," she 
 replied ; *' but you may go where you please, 
 of course. I saw Mr. Job playing draughts 
 in the servants' hall : he forgets himself some- 
 times with the under- servants ; but perhaps
 
 62 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 you play, and it might amuse you for an hour 
 or two." 
 
 In an unlucky moment, Peter went, and 
 looked on, and tried to understand, and de- 
 clared his ignorance of loo, bagatelle, and 
 billiards, but avowed a vulgar partiality for 
 cricket, and a knowledge of all- fours — was 
 induced to bet — lost — accused Mr. Job of 
 foul play — got into a dispute — was sneered 
 at — a quarrel ensued, attended with much 
 noise, which Bright considerably increased ; 
 in the midst of the confusion the door opened; 
 Mr. Horace Brown, having rung his bell 
 again and again for his usually attentive 
 servant, resolved to ascertain the cause of his 
 delay; and after many blunders discovered 
 him in the servants' hall. Peter was tho- 
 roughly ashamed, no matter how great the 
 provocation, of being drawn into a riot; his 
 master quickly perceived that he had been 
 made the butt of the town-bred servants, and 
 it was too good an opportunity of venting his 
 spleen upon a class he so thoroughly dislil^ed. 
 
 Casting a look not easily to be forgotten by
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 63 
 
 those upon whom it fell, he drew forth a well- 
 filled purse, and counted a considerable sum 
 of money into Peter's hand, saying, '' I should 
 have told you, before you entered into this new 
 society, that civility must be purchased ; it has 
 its price, like everything else in London. That 
 gentleman," pointing to Job, " will perhaps 
 sell you a week'^ decent behaviour, — for — per- 
 haps, most correctly dressed young man, you 
 will favour Pike (to whom, if I mistake not, 
 you once acted as pantry-boy) by telling him 
 the price, in gold, silver, or brass, of your for- 
 bearance — you, I perceive, are chief here; so 
 your subordinates will claim less : but pay 
 them all, Peter — pay them all for their civility ; 
 — you need not curtsey, ladies, I am not going 
 to bestow a doit upon you — not a single far- 
 thing to add another to your vanities : but 
 pay them too, if they are civil, Peter — mind 
 you, not else — as they treat you, so let them 
 be rewarded !" 
 
 Horace Brown could not have devised a 
 more efficient method of compelling kind treat- 
 ment. No sooner had he quitted the servants'
 
 64 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 hall, repeating his extraordinary directions of 
 ^' Pay them, Peter — pay them all — according 
 to their civility," than every one offered their 
 congratulations on the Uberality of the " sweet 
 — odd — old gentleman, his master!" Even 
 Job Harris confessed, that, simply from a de- 
 sire of frolic, he had declared that Peter lost 
 a bet, which in fact he had won : smiles took 
 the place of sneers ; even Bright was caressed, 
 and for his sake Mrs. Claggitt's parrot was 
 deprived of its chicken bone — to prove how 
 much and how highly his master was es- 
 teemed !
 
 ( 65 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 O vain to seek delight in earthly thing ! 
 But most in courts where proud Ambition towers ; 
 Deluded wight! who weens fair Peace can spring 
 Beneath the pompous doom of kesar or of king. 
 
 I^Shenstone. 
 
 " Ah ! you little thought/' said Uncle Horace, 
 as he sat, after his interview with Peter, in 
 Mary's own dressing-room, tete-a-tete with his 
 beloved niece, " you little thought I was so 
 near, so very near you, and so happy to find 
 that you still remembered me, and talked of 
 me, and looked at the old bachelor's picture. 
 What was it, Miss — Miss Maxwell called me ? 
 — an ugl}^ — cross — pig-tailed — ?" 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! hush !" exclaimed Mar}" ; 
 '^ indeed — indeed — she only said all that to 
 vex me : she told me, when. I was dressing, she 
 thought you much handsomer than your pic- 
 ture I And papa and mamma were so very, 
 very glad to see you ! And, Oh, dear Uncle, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 I am so happy now ; I wish you would never 
 go away from London." 
 
 Horace Brown was on the pomt of rushing 
 into invective against the " Queen of Cities," 
 but an unusual degree of prudence prevented 
 him. He had come to London for a specific 
 purpose — a purpose that concerned the hap- 
 piness of his beloved niece ; and he won- 
 dered she had not already inquired into the 
 motive of his journey; he was certain she 
 could not altogether have forgotten their part- 
 ing in his garden, and the assurance he gave 
 her there, that until marriage approached her 
 as a curse — not a blessing — he had bidden her 
 farewell ! Yet she never seemed to care about 
 the motive of his coming. Satisfied with the 
 fact of his being come, and the knowledge that 
 no marriage was likely to be " forced upon 
 her," she was happy in sitting on an ottoman 
 at his feet, and feeling that he was really under 
 their roof. Some anxieties flitted occasionally 
 through her little head, as she thought how- 
 papa and mamma would hit it off now with 
 Uncle Horace ; it never occurred to her that
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 67 
 
 " Papa's" really splendid fortune was fast di- 
 minishing, inasmuch as the interest thereof had 
 been totally insufficient to meet the enormous 
 expenses into which both father and mother 
 had launched. It might have been supposed 
 that Brown Lorton's business habits would have 
 
 made it a pleasure to inspect his affairs — that 
 in the matter of accounts he would have used 
 the knowledge he possessed : but his mind, 
 that is, the portion of what is called mind, 
 which fell to his share, was anything but careful 
 or mercenary. The management of the busi- 
 ness had been almost totally in the hands of 
 Horace Brown, for the younger brother, unfor- 
 tunately, loved ease, and the elder, fortunately, 
 employment; and when he found himself in 
 London, master of a large property, straining 
 at a place in society, which, with some, signifies 
 an acquaintance with mere lords and ladies — 
 the dread of being considered as bringing the 
 habits of the counting-house into the vortex 
 of the wheel, and thus clogging its movements 
 — the fear of being called shabby — at first 
 overpowered every consideration ; and latterly, 
 
 F 2
 
 68 UNCLK HORACE. 
 
 accounts came laden with so many disagree- 
 ables, that he was glad to cast them from him 
 altogether. His wife never cared for, never 
 thought of expense — vain and thoughtless, 
 the love of show, the desire to shine, to dazzle, 
 to outvie those whose birth she laughed at, 
 and yet would have given worlds for its advan- 
 tage — this one destructive passion overpowered 
 whatever was good in her nature ; there was 
 but one feeling that contended with it for 
 supremacy in her feeble, yet affectionate na- 
 ture, and that was — the love of her daughter. 
 Many would have said her vanity was strong- 
 est ; but the many would have been, as they 
 often are — in the wrong. 
 
 The reduced and reducing state of Brown 
 Lorton's finances, was an all-powerful reason 
 why his brother should be treated with attention 
 and politeness ; and his wife, when she saw her 
 Mary's extreme delight at his arrival, could 
 not find it in her heart to chill its warmth ; to 
 be sure, she did hint her fears of how Uncle 
 Horace would behave, and what he would say 
 to My Lord this, and whether he would be
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 69 
 
 sufficiently polite to My Lady that, and Mary 
 laughed, and said Uncle Horace was always a 
 gentleman ; and though she doubted how far 
 his courtesy might extend to the nobility she 
 had mentioned, merely because of their titles, 
 which, Mary slyly added, had not had time to 
 grow old in the peerage, yet she was certain 
 he had too much good feeling and good sense, 
 not to treat them as became himself. 
 
 Mary was right : Horace Brown was more 
 polished in principle than in manner ; and 
 when associating with persons whose intel- 
 lect was on a level with his own, they quickly 
 discovered that the merchant's mind was filled 
 with rich material — a fact which neither his 
 brother or sister had the power to comprehend. 
 
 ^- Suppose, Mary, my dear," said Mrs. Brown 
 Lorton, " suppose — to-day, for instance — he 
 was to ask for porter at dinner, what would 
 the people — the servants, say ?" 
 
 '• Dear Mamma," replied Mary, '^ that is 
 true ; Harris, I dare say, has quite forgotten 
 uncle's habits, so he would say he had 
 omitted the porter; to prevent which, I will 
 tell him to have it ready. Now, do not look
 
 70 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 SO displeased ; I assure you, the day I spent 
 with Lady Ellen, her mamma. Lady Norley, 
 drank ale — ale, at dinner !" 
 
 " Ale ! my dear ; are you sure of it ?" 
 
 " Quite sure. Mamma ; believe me, people of 
 real rank attend much less to fashion than 
 we do : they make fashions for themselves, yet 
 never think about them." 
 
 " Perhaps, then," said Mrs. Lorton, " per- 
 haps your uncle might drink ale instead of that 
 horrid porter. Will you ask him ?" 
 
 '' Fie, dear Mamma, let him have what he 
 likes," replied the sensible girl. 
 
 '' You are quite sure Lady Norley really 
 drank the ale ?" again inquired Mrs. Lorton. 
 
 " Quite ; and now I remember, she blamed 
 the butler for not having porter read}^, which 
 she said she liked better with Stilton." 
 
 " My dear Mary, why did you not mention 
 this before ? I am so fond of ale, but dared 
 not drink it, as I did not know what people 
 might say. By all means, tell Claggitt or 
 Magdalene to tell Harris to have some porter 
 ready." 
 
 '' Dear Mamma, how she torments herself
 
 UNCLE HORACE, 71 
 
 about trifles," thought Mary; "and yet how 
 beautiful she looked !" And having given di- 
 rections to the butler for the filling forth of 
 the now j^ermitted beverage, she seated herself 
 where we left her, at her uncle's feet. There 
 was a gaiety in Mary's manner, an outbreaking 
 of the heart, itself a mine of mingled affection 
 and niirthfulness, Avhich fascinated all with 
 whom she ventured to converse. She was so 
 truthful in her nature, and she evinced that 
 truthfulness with such unstudied grace, that 
 it was impossible not to appreciate her rare 
 and yet most womanly qualities. She was very 
 anxious her uncle should like those she liked ; 
 and with the delicious open-heartedness of 
 youth, she had some sympathies with all. The 
 delight of her character was, that she every- 
 where espied roses, if not in the blossom, at 
 least in the bud ; and never did she yield to 
 her perception of the ludicrous, without taxing 
 her memory, when the humour was past, to 
 discover if she had been too severe in her 
 playful censures. , 
 
 " You were not, wickedly. Uncle mine, be-
 
 id. UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 hind that cunning curtain, the whole time I 
 was chattering to Maxy ?" 
 
 " No, I suppose not," he repHed, smiUng ; 
 '*but I heard about the crabbed, pig-tailed — " 
 Mary would not suffer him to finish the 
 sentence, but began to assure him how much 
 he had been mistaken in supposing that no- 
 body would visit them ; " indeed," she added, 
 " we have hosts of friends !" 
 
 " Indeed !" ejaculated her uncle, doubtingly. 
 " Indeed," she repeated, " we have Right 
 Honourable ones : some few there were who 
 looked upon us coldly just at first ; I do not 
 mean they were exactly scornful ; but you 
 know they did not quite know us — indeed, that 
 was all." 
 
 '' Did not exactly know how much you were 
 worth, and so fought shy — eh ?" 
 
 " Ah, Uncle, do not traders 'fight shy,' as 
 you call it, of ' a bad man on 'Change,' though 
 he may be good in every other way ; it is not 
 ill-nature, only caution." 
 
 " Very good, Miss Mary, arguing with your' 
 uncle !"
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 73 
 
 " No, only reasoning. You have not told 
 me liow you like our house ?" 
 
 " 'Tis large and comfortless : a wren like 
 my sweet niece should have a smaller nest : 
 but is there nothing you would ask about — no 
 one to remember of all — the many whom you 
 seemed to love in your old cottage home ?" 
 
 " Seemed, dear Uncle Horace," repeated 
 Mary, in an offended tone ; " why do you say 
 seemed ?"" 
 
 " Because we generally inquire after what 
 we really love. You have asked for nothing — 
 no one. I'm glad I have not much to love !" 
 
 "Why, Uncle?" 
 
 *' Because loving you is likely to give me a 
 sufficient quantity of trouble for the rest of my 
 life !" 
 
 " Now," exclaimed Mary, " that is exactly 
 one of your desperately cross speeches, which 
 1 shall pretend not to hear. Say, how is my 
 nurse r 
 
 " Why, well ; hale as a frosty morning, and 
 healthy too." 
 
 " And how is Mrs. Pursey, and poor old
 
 74 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Peter — the vicar's wife — the curate and his 
 thirteen children — old farmer Dodd, and good- 
 man Shyers' nag, who hurt his knee while he 
 was stealing barley — dame Buckley and her 
 blind grandson — are they all well ? Has 
 the clerk improved in his singing? Does 
 mother Rice sleep all sermon time — are the 
 buttercups plenty as ever in the fallow- field — 
 and how many puppies had Rose at her last 
 litter ? Does wild Madge rear turkeys still ? 
 And now that I have done with the dear 
 farm, I will go to the warehouse, and ask if 
 your head clerk, your man of cast-iron, Mr. 
 Alexander — got the patent his heart was set 
 on, for the construction of his imperceptible 
 plough and tremendous crane? Now, Uncle 
 Horace, Uncle Horace, have I lost my me- 
 mory r 
 
 " Not quite," he replied; '' and yet there is 
 one person in particular you have forgotten." 
 
 " Lame Mrs. Hickory ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 « Pretty Mary Lintott ?" 
 
 "No."
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 75 
 
 " Old Grace Lightfoot and her merry grand 
 brats?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then, my dear Uncle," said Mary, blush- 
 ing a little at the same time, '' then, my dear 
 Uncle, I suppose you mean some of those rich 
 vulgar people who used to visit us, but whom, 
 you must remember, I only saw at the town- 
 house, when I was well enough to leave your 
 dear cottage and be at home." 
 
 Again Uncle Horace said "No;" adding, 
 " the person I allude to is neither rich nor 
 vulgar. I hope I shall never have to accuse you 
 of the vulgarity of affectation. Listen, Mary. 
 Many a time have you sat for hours on my 
 knee, in your childhood, listening to the fables 
 I loved tcr invent for your amusement. I will 
 tell you one now, though I have long been out 
 of practice. There was an old bird once, 
 something between an owl and a raven, for he 
 sometimes moped like the one, and sometimes 
 he croaked like the other; but this old bird 
 took a fancy to a little gay goldfinch, and 
 brought it home to his nest, and the goldfinch
 
 76 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 learned to love him very much, and the old 
 moping, croaking bird loved the small bird, as 
 if it had been, indeed, better than if it had 
 been, either an owl or a raven " 
 
 " Ah, ah !" laughed Mary, " I have found 
 you out. You mean yourself and me !" 
 
 Her uncle laid his hand on her head, and 
 continued, without heeding her interruption, — 
 
 " And the old bird said, my goldfinch is 
 dull in its cage, becavise I cannot companion, 
 though I may protect, it. So, though I can- 
 not, perhaps, catch another goldfinch to be its 
 friend, I may be able to find some other bird 
 to enliven its solitude. So the moping old 
 fellow poked about, and invited a modest 
 brown linnet to visit his goldfinch. At first 
 the goldfinch was mightily pleased with the 
 linnet, who gave way to it in everything ; and 
 though the pretty painted creature was at 
 times wayward and capricious, like all pretty 
 things, yet the brown linnet bore it all, and 
 was gentle, and yielding, and kind " 
 
 " My dear Uncle," interrupted Mary, laying 
 her burning cheek upon her uncle's hand, 
 " you need not go on ; I shall be happy in-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 77 
 
 deed to hear if the playfellow of my child- 
 hood, Harry Mortimer, be well." 
 
 '' Harry Mortimer was the companion of 
 your youth, Mary," replied Mr. Brown, gravely, 
 " as well as the playfellow of your childhood. 
 Let me finish my fable, and tell you how the 
 pretty goldfinch loved a new gilded cage better 
 than its woodbine nest, and prized the society 
 of magpies, jays, and parrots more than the 
 affection " 
 
 " Uncle I" exclaimed Mary, rising and stand- 
 ing before her relative, while bright and holy 
 truth beamed in her eyes, " Uncle, you do me 
 wrong, heaven knows you do. It was Harry 
 who preferred such company. Did he not 
 leave you and come to London to some fine 
 relation, who, after all, would do nothing for 
 him ; and then, when he returned to the coun- 
 try, used to write letters to — to — some fine 
 lady ? He told me she was his cousin, and he 
 offered me her drawings to copy, — and — he 
 would not tell me her name." 
 
 "You quarrelled, I suppose?" said Horace 
 Brown, taking a larger pinch of snuff than 
 usual.
 
 78 UKCLE HORACE. 
 
 " Oil, worse ! much worse than that : — we 
 could have made up a quarrel : — but w^e be- 
 came stiff, and polite, and — but it matters not ; 
 I hope he is well, and all you could desire !" 
 
 ^^Well! oh, yes, he is well!" replied her 
 Uncle drily ; " but it has been my misfortune 
 to see all those I love, — not many, to be sure, — 
 do exactly what I would not wish. You, here ; 
 and then Harry — Harry's kindred, as if on 
 purpose to plague me, must take a sudden 
 fancy to him, — not a fancy either, that I could 
 forgive, — but it was interest. His noble rela- 
 tive, suddenly deprived of his two sons, and 
 having only one daughter, takes it into his 
 magnificent pate, that it is not fitting the 
 son of a discarded sister (whom he literally 
 suffered, with her husband, to die of starva- 
 tion) should be a trader ; and, of course, I 
 would not, could not, suffer him to remain with 
 me ; the poor fellow, though, would have — I 
 am sure he would have — preferred it. He said 
 so, and I never knew him utter a falsehood ; 
 no, not in compliment. I could have forgiven 
 his kinsman's proud recognition, but for his 
 scorn of trade ; and his grandfather, his own
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 79 
 
 grandfather, was a Bristol merchant ; think 
 of that!" persisted Horace, so indignant at the 
 peer's forgetfiilness, that he ahnost forgot his 
 own object, until recalled to it by Mary's in- 
 quiry, '' if Harry — if Mr. Mortimer, was in 
 London V 
 
 " To be sure he is — came up with me — and 
 his relation's fine carriage met him at Houn- 
 slow." 
 
 " At Hounslow !" repeated Mary — a new 
 light bursting upon her all at once. " Why, 
 my dearest friend, Lady Ellen Revis, told 
 me their carriage was going to-day to Houns- 
 low to meet her cousin, whom she hoped 
 would reside with them." 
 
 " To be sure !" replied Uncle Horace, stoop- 
 ing to caress Bright, who had, despite all 
 obstacles, found out his master ; " to be sure ; 
 Lady Ellen Revis is his cousin ; — now you 
 know her name. Look at that poor dog! — 
 there's affection — there's fidelity ! — there. 
 Bright, that will do — but, God bless me, Mary 
 you are fainting !"
 
 ( so ) 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 'Tis a strange thing, this depth of love — 
 Which dwells within the human heart : 
 
 From earth below — to heaven above — 
 In each and all — it finds a part, 
 
 L> £• L. 
 
 " I CANNOT, Mother — I am not able — my head 
 aches — indeed, indeed, I cannot go — do not 
 ask me — I shall not be missed — pray, pray do 
 not ask me." 
 
 " But Mary, dearest Mary, think, my child, 
 of the importance of being seen in that house, 
 when the very persons I have been trying to 
 meet ever since we have been in town will all 
 be there ! I know you have dined with Lady 
 Ellen and her mother since the death of his 
 lordship's sons ; but that was when there was 
 nobody there." 
 
 " I cannot help it. Mamma : I cannot go." 
 *' And your beautiful dress ! — Come, darling, 
 let Magdalene bathe your temples with eau
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 81 
 
 de Cologne. You must reall}' make an effort. 
 See what a lovely colour you have got ! Come, 
 Mary ! What will her ladyship say?" 
 
 '' I do not care," replied Mary Lor ton, al- 
 most petulantly, and burying her face in the 
 rich cushion of the sofa. 
 
 '' Not caro what the Countess of Norley 
 says !" repeated Mrs. Brown Lorton, in sad 
 astonishment. " But your friend, Lady Ellen, 
 what will she say ?" 
 
 " Friend!" sighed Mary. *^ Friend ! — I 
 have no friend !" 
 
 " My blessed child!'* exclaimed her affec- 
 tionate mother, throwing herself, jewelled and 
 all-radiant as she was, by her da\ighter's side. 
 " What is the matter — or what do you mean ? 
 But I see how it is. Your uncle Horace has 
 been preaching up something against the 
 aristocracy — putting things into your head. 
 I mij^ht have imagined that when he came to 
 London everything rational would be turned 
 topsy-turvy." 
 
 '' No, Mother ; he has not said a word 
 against the aristocracy ; and, indeed, has put 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 nothing new into my head. If I am asked 
 for by any one, simply say, I am not well." 
 
 In vain did Mrs. Brown Lorton pray^ in- 
 treat, and suggest remedies. Mary was always 
 a little obstinate, and now she was firm ; 
 besides, her mother, anxious upon two ac- 
 counts, saw that her beloved one was really 
 ill ; her cheek was flushed, not with health, 
 but a feverish hectic. Her eyes were brilliant 
 — her pulse quick. Anxious as Mrs. Lorton 
 was about splendour, success, reputation, and 
 " what people would say,'' she was more anxi- 
 ous for Mary's health. At first she thought 
 that her daughter for once had caught the 
 tone of modern society, and become caprici- 
 ous. But as Miss Maxwell said, '' Young 
 ladies, except they are oddities, do not exer- 
 cise that quality unless when their dress does 
 not please, or their jewels are old-fashioned." 
 Mary had not these provocatives. The white 
 crape was a miracle of taste ; and as to her 
 bijouterie ! — Storr and Mortimer took good care 
 that nothing of hers should merit the re- 
 proach. No: it was evident that Mary was
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 83 
 
 ill — too ill to venture to a fete from which she 
 had anticipated much pleasure^, and her mo- 
 ther much success ; and Mrs. Brown Lorton 
 came to the conclusion (for go, she said, she 
 must), as she stepped into her carriage, that 
 it was all Uncle Horace's fault. Mary had 
 been so well in the morning — so pleased at 
 her uncle's arrival — so delighted at the pros- 
 pect of being with Lady Ellen — so charmed 
 with her dress ! — It was his fault : he had 
 excited her, and brought back to her mind the 
 scenes of her childhood, and had most likely 
 said something, that — but, in short. Uncle Ho- 
 race was to blame, though she wisely resolved 
 not to tell him so. And where had he wan- 
 dered? After putting all things into con- 
 fusion, from the kitchen to the attics, he had 
 gone out of the house, nobody knew where ; 
 only saying to the porter, that he would return 
 at night I 
 
 Heavy were the hearts of the parvenus as 
 they rolled to the splendid house where they 
 well knew they were welcomed only for the 
 sake of their wealth ! What lives of mortifi- 
 
 g2
 
 84 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 cation and misery do hundreds drag on in the 
 salons of London ! Even the privileged be- 
 come heart-sick and weary of the eternal glare, 
 and glitter, and tinsel of the world's great 
 crush-room ; but woe to those who have tp 
 endure the sneer, and the contempt, and the 
 sarcasm ! How many do I know, who in their 
 own proper sphere would be honoured and 
 1,'espected, and yet seem willing to be trampled 
 upon, merely, like poor Mrs. Lorton, from a 
 desire to know what people would say, a dread 
 of what they might say ! Oh, the paltriness 
 of mere worldly ambition ! How sad it is that 
 people are content to sink in their own esteem, 
 from a miserable desire to rise in the esteem 
 of others ! — as if it were possible to attain that 
 of others, while losing one's own ! 
 
 The Brown Lorton equipage was as well 
 appointed as any that crowded the noble 
 Square, and the liveried attendants twice as 
 numerous as they need have been; and yet 
 Mr. Brown Lorton's heart always sank within 
 him at the first announcement of his name ;
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 85 
 
 and Mrs. Brown Lorton never felt at home, 
 tliougli convinced that her jewels were as re- 
 splendent as those of any of the Lady L.s or 
 Mrs. B.s, that lent light and loveliness to the 
 gorgeous rooms. 
 
 Life, long and happy, to English beauty ! 
 Despite all that has been, or ever will be said 
 of its fragility, its danger, its destruction, — 
 it is a blessed thing to look upon, and live 
 amono;st. Talk of its fading; ! — it never fades ; 
 it is but transferred from face to face. The 
 bud comes forth as the blossom is perfected, 
 and the bud bursts into blossom but to hide 
 the falling leaves, fragrant amid the decay of 
 the parent flower ! Then the beauties of our 
 country are so varied. The peasant girl, gifted 
 with pearl-like modesty — and the courtly mai- 
 den, set, as her birth-right, in a golden circlet, 
 the intellectual face beamino; intelliofence — 
 and the English matron, proud as Cornelia of 
 her living jewels ! Nor is the perfectness of 
 English beauty confined to any class. In 
 summer time you meet it everywhere : — by 
 the hedge rows — in the streets— in the mar-
 
 86 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 kets — at the Opera, where, tiers on tiers, hun- 
 dreds upon hundreds of lovely faces glitter 
 and gleam, and smile and weep; and then 
 you wonder whence they come, and bless your 
 fortune that they so congregate to harmonize 
 the sight, in sweet accordance with the ear. 
 Even in Lady Norley's crowded rooms there 
 ^va» a crush of beauty ; yet Mrs. Lorton might 
 be forgiven for her earnest longing that Mary 
 had been there. It was, poor woman, a tri- 
 umphant hour in her estimation, when the 
 mistress of the fete took her hand as she 
 passed on ; and when Lady Ellen Revis hung 
 upon her arm, inquiring for her chosen friend, 
 ^' Mary, dear Mary," her exaltation was com- 
 plete. If inquiries for a beloved child ever 
 could sound wearisomely in a mother's ear, 
 Mrs . Br'Own Lorton would have tired of Lady 
 Ellen's anxiety. And there were many others 
 who had looked eagerly for the in-coming of 
 the heiress, who soon lounged elsewhere, when 
 they found she would not shine forth that 
 night. Mrs. Brown Lorton, too, was doomed 
 to a surprise in recognising in Lord Norley's
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 87 
 
 heir the youth, the very Harry Mortimer, 
 whom she feared at one time her daughter 
 loved all too well. 
 
 Mary longed to be alone : nor, indeed, was 
 there much difficulty in persuading Miss Max- 
 well that she would be better by herself, or 
 at least with her attendant, Magdalene — 
 ^' better to be perfectly quiet." 
 
 It was easy to be quiet with Magdalene ; 
 Miss Maxwell hated her with so earnest a 
 hatred, that she was in no degree sorry to 
 heap any annoyance on her, that did not make 
 her of value in the eyes of a mistress who ' 
 loved to treat all things kindly. 
 
 " You make fools of the servants by your 
 indulgence," said she, one day, to Mary. 
 
 "Do I?" replied the young lady, gently; 
 But then I make myself happy by it." 
 
 " Magdalene," said her mistress, '' I thuik 
 you would be better in my dressing-room, or 
 perhaps with the housekeeper." 
 
 " Do you desire me to go," replied the girl : 
 " If you wish me away, I am gone. But I am 
 well, very well here, if it is your pleasure.''
 
 88 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Mary fell into a reverie, and Magdalene con- 
 tinued her needle work. Suddenly Mary looked 
 up, and observed that Magdalene's tears 
 were dropping silently upon her thin, white 
 hands, as she sat in the recess of the window, 
 bending over her work, her high features in 
 strong relief from the crimson curtain at her 
 back, her eyes cast down, their lashes bent with 
 the tears that rushed from beneath their snowy 
 pent-house, and her tall graceful figure curved 
 like that of a Grecian nymph. Her mistress 
 thought she had never seen anything more 
 lovely : the tears flowed so unceasingly, and 
 the features remained so perfectly colourless 
 and marble-like, that it suggested to Mary the 
 idea of a weeping statue, where nought but 
 tears had life. She plied her needle con- 
 tinually, and yet it was evident that she was 
 reading passages of memory, or the feelings 
 of her own soul — she was not with external 
 objects. 
 
 " Magdalene !" said Mary. 
 
 The girl started, wiped her eyes, and in an 
 instant was by her young lady's couch.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 89 
 
 *' Magdalene," continued Mary, " you are 
 either ill or unhappy — have you had any words 
 with the servants ?" 
 
 " No, Madam." 
 
 " Are you ill ?" 
 
 '' No, indeed, thank you most kindly, I am 
 not." 
 
 '' Then you are unhappy, Magdalene ; do 
 you want money ? Why do you smile?" 
 
 " My dear young lady," replied the girl, 
 '' 1 hope you will not think about me : I am 
 low-spirited ; you cannot understand — God 
 forbid you should — what that is. I do not, 
 thanks to your generosity, want money; and 
 you will forgive me when I tell you, that I 
 smiled only because rich persons — rich ladies 
 — think that every sorrow may be cured by 
 gold !" 
 
 " I do not think so, Magdalene ; God knows 
 I do not : I am both young and rich, and yet 
 I know perfectly, there is much that neither 
 youth nor wealth can purchase. Do not let 
 me see you weeping ; I cannot bear to see 
 people — particularly those whom I esteem — in
 
 90 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 sorrow; and, Magdalene, your being my ser- 
 vant does not prevent my valuing the good, 
 tlie superior qualities which God has given 
 you." 
 
 The maiden threw herself on her knees by 
 her young lady's couch, and pressed her hand 
 gratefully and affectionately to her lips. 
 
 " I know it. Madam, I know that you have 
 treated me — Oh, so differently from others ! 
 May God bless you — bless you for it. I ought 
 to be cheerful and contented with so kind a 
 mistress — it is wrong — wicked — not to be so : 
 but it is not always easy to he thankful and 
 resigned in that sphere of life to which it has 
 
 pleased God to call us.'' 
 
 Mary only sighed; said a few more kind 
 words to her attendant; told her to put by 
 her work and take a cheerful book as her com- 
 panion into her dressing-room, whence she 
 would call her when she wanted her for any- 
 thing. 
 
 '' Poor Magdalene !" exclaimed Mary ; " and 
 does she, too, suffer from this straining after 
 rank, this sighing for seats in forbidden places.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 9J 
 
 as my uncle calls it ! Alas ! I could not re- 
 prove her ambition^ it is so like our own : the 
 maid sighs to be the mistress — the mistress to 
 be greater still — so goes the world !" Mary 
 rose from her couch, and paced up and down 
 her chamber ; a glass door opened from it into 
 her dressing-room, and through the thin silk 
 curtains that hung across the glass, Mary could 
 distinctly see her servant bending over the 
 book she had directed her to read. The feel- 
 ings of the heiress, as she passed to and fro, 
 were not enviable : her Uncle's strong appeal 
 to them had worked upon her, and brought 
 the " brown linnet" of his fable forcibly to 
 her remembrance ; perhaps he had never been 
 banished from it : but it is extraordinary how 
 completely the business and fashions of the 
 world are at variance with the affections. In- 
 stead of shutting young ladies up in the silence 
 and solitude of their own chambers as a cure 
 for love, it would be wiser to place them in the 
 vortex of society, and set it turning, or rather, 
 let it turn itself. It is in no way extraordi- 
 nary, that persons immured in the country
 
 92 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 should remember their friends — they have 
 nothing else to do ; but commend me to the 
 friendships and affections that stand the test 
 of the whirling worlds with its changes^ its 
 lures^ its temptations. Mary had certainly 
 loved Harry Mortimer ; had been deeply 
 wounded at his refusing to tell even her, whose 
 letters he received, and whose drawings he 
 offered her to copy: — on the subject of his 
 family he had always been painfully silent. 
 Mary had known and loved his mother in lier 
 childhood ; but Lord Norley's elevation to the 
 Peerage had been of recent date, for when 
 first his nephew visited him, he had little pro- 
 spect of an earldom ; he was then only a law 
 lord, but with pride enotigh to furnish a king- 
 dom of dukedoms. Horace Brown, usually 
 deficient in grace or gentleness of manner, had 
 a way of his own of doing good, as rare as it 
 is uncommon : he was fond of giving — as he 
 would himself have said, if anything could in- 
 duce him to speak of his own good offices — 
 " young people a push on in the world ;" and 
 in many instances he managed these " pushes"
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 93 
 
 SO skilfully, that the hand which gave them 
 remained unseen. He had known, and some 
 persons hinted, had loved Mrs. Mortimer, in 
 her youth ; but be that as it may, neither she 
 nor her husband would have suffered as they 
 did suffer, if he had conjectured what their 
 situation really was. After their death Harry 
 became to him as a son ; and a stranger would 
 have supposed that Horace Brown derived 
 some great advantage from the society of the 
 youth, whom he treated with the attention of 
 q,n equal, and the frankness of a friend : to be 
 sure, Harry tormented him sadly ; never could 
 be kept to book-keeping ; scrawled poetry over 
 half the ledgers, and cut up whole hundreds 
 of pens, that he might try them, as he always 
 did, by writing the simple word " Mary." 
 The first wish of Horace Brown's heart was, 
 that his two darlings should be dear to each 
 other ; but whatever skill he might have in 
 human natare, on the Avhole, he had none in 
 that most gossamer portion of it called '' love :" 
 it was too fine, too intricate, too fanciful for 
 him. If he had let things alone, I doubt if
 
 94 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Mary and Harry would have been so apart ; 
 but lie was generous hearted^ and fond of 
 making well, better; and the only skill he 
 ever manifested in the matter was in the ap- 
 plication of his little fable. Still it must be 
 confessed, that the effect of his allegory was 
 increased a hundredfold by the fact of Harry's 
 being in London, a received guest at Lord 
 Norley's house, the cousin and correspondent 
 of her friend Lady Ellen Revis. 
 
 For worlds she would not have met him, as 
 she knew she must, under such circumstances. 
 A common-minded girl, a girl of even more 
 than ordinary mind, would have rejoiced at 
 playing off a discarded lover, of exhibiting 
 herself, with as many attendants as a peacock 
 has eyes in his gorgeous tail: but let it be 
 remembered, that Mary had loved — nay, did 
 love Harry Mortimer, though she did not 
 believe it herself. Ah I love often fastens 
 the bandage over his own eyes. 
 
 " To think," she whispered within her 
 bosom, " to think that I must lose my friend ! 
 the only one amongst the hosts of girls whom
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 95 
 
 I have met in London — that 1 care for ! We 
 have walked together — talked together — 
 sung together. When I have been weak, who 
 strengthened me? — but Lady Ellen. When 
 I have been foolish, who reproved? — 'twas 
 Lady Ellen. Proud 1 have been — sometimes 
 vain of my wealth, who told of proper motives 
 for ambition? — the Lady Ellen. So perfect 
 is she in all wisdom, one would have thought 
 she learnt of Uncle Horace. I looked to her 
 for council, as I would have looked to him ; 
 and when the great ones sneered, and would 
 have crushed me by civil coldness, who gave 
 me courage which I might well lack, and 
 showed that courage bravely in my cause — 
 dear Lady Ellen ! But I must lose her now — 
 give her quite up, and have no more a friend ! 
 I do not, cannot blame him for his preference ; 
 but it was pitiful not to trust me. I, who 
 loved him like a sister ! He never would 
 speak of his great London relatives ; but, she 
 — she might have mentioned him. She must 
 have known well who we were ! I thought I 
 had a friend for life ! Harry is nothing to me
 
 96 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 now — absolutely nothing ! How could he be ? 
 But, oh ! to lose my friend !" and the artless 
 and unintentional sophist buried her face in 
 her hands, as she knelt by her couch, and 
 wept bitterly. 
 
 Poor innocent ! — She never asked herself 
 why Lady Ellen could not continue to be her 
 friend — it never occurred to her to examine the 
 structure of the barrier which her imagination 
 had erected between them — she never once 
 asked why the cherished friendship of her soul 
 was ended — she never inquired how it v/as that 
 she could not meet together, two, with whom, 
 when apart, she had spent so many happy 
 hours ! She repeated a hundred times to her- 
 self that "Harry was nothing to her:" and 
 yet the feeling of intense misery with which 
 she contemplated the possibility of his being 
 united to his cousin, swept all tranquillity and 
 comfort from her soul. She had wrought her- 
 self into the perfect belief that he loved Lady 
 Ellen, and was beloved of her; and while she 
 tried to convince herself that she prayed for 
 their happiness, she wept the bitter tears of
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 97 
 
 youthful anguish. At last, when the night 
 was far spent, she slept, and though her sleep 
 was fevered and troubled, Magdalene rejoiced 
 that she had found repose at last. The affec- 
 tionate attendant watched with untiring pa- 
 tience by the bed-side of her mistress; and 
 yet she heard not the hght step of one who 
 entered the chamber — until a gentle hand 
 rested on her shoulder ! 
 
 Magdalene rose and curtsied ; but no word 
 was exchanged; though the visiter took her 
 seat by the sleeper's couch. It was a beautiful 
 sight. The lovely head of Mary Lorton, 
 resting on, without crushing, the fringed pillow, 
 her arms crossed upon her bosom, which 
 scarcely heaved beneath their pressure. Lady 
 Ellen Revis — for she it was who had quitted 
 the festivities of her own house to inquire 
 after the health of her friend — Lady Ellen, 
 half sitting, half supporting herself on the 
 couch, the drapery of which, descending from 
 a golden star in the ceiling, nearly shrouded 
 her figure; while her sparkling, intelligent, 
 but restless features were turned on the sleep- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 UNCLE HORCE. 
 
 ing countenance of her favourite. Magdalene 
 had withdrawn to her old seat in the window, 
 and the contour of her delicate form never 
 looked more graceful than it did then — her 
 head bent down, and her hands clasped on 
 her knees — in an attitude of intense watch- 
 fulness. Lucky was it, for the sake of my 
 picture, that the drapery did in part conceal 
 the figure of Lady Ellen. 
 
 Hers was one of those clear, penetrating, 
 intellectual countenances which strike imme- 
 diately, and are never forgotten. Her eyes 
 were of a deeply pure blue, full of tenderness 
 and fire; her brow was high, broad, and 
 full ; her nose well shaped , and her mouth 
 capable of every variety of expression, from 
 the most severe reproof, to the bland and 
 persuasive smile which wreathes the lips with 
 beauty ; her hair was magnificent, shading in 
 its depths to the deepest brown, and coming 
 out in the sunshine with silken brightness; 
 her skin was clear; her complexion almost 
 colourless, except when animated or startled ; 
 then it flushed with the impetuosity of an
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 99 
 
 ardent temperament to the deepest crimson : 
 but, alas ! there ended her beauty. Nature 
 decreed that this lovely flower should blossom 
 on a bended stem ; the stalk curved beneath 
 the rich burthen of its coronal. She was de- 
 formed; not much, not half so much as many 
 who pass through society without thinking it a 
 misfortune ; but she felt it in all its aggravated 
 bitterness — it was the bane of her existence — 
 the drop of poison which tainted the whole 
 cup. Her mother, proud of her talents, her 
 wit — nay, though it was a foolish pride as 
 applied to a female, because it makes them 
 enemies, not friends — proud of her learning — 
 endeavoured, but vainly, to make her forget it, 
 and sometimes imagined she had succeeded; 
 but she was mistaken ; the consciousness of 
 deformity never left her for a moment — she 
 exaggerated the impression it made on others 
 — she watched the direction taken by every 
 eye; and compliments really bestowed with 
 sincerity, and which she justly deserved, she 
 set down as sneers, or as polite forgeries 
 on the bank of truth, which pass current with 
 
 H 2
 
 100 U^CLE HORACE. 
 
 the unwary for sterling gold ; perhaps it was 
 the truthfulness of Mary's character that drew 
 her so suddenly, yet so strongly, towards her — 
 perhaps, also, she was pleased at finding some 
 one, who relied on her for direction and sup- 
 port — who loved her entirely for herself. 
 
 After gazing on the countenance of her 
 friend for a considerable time. Lady Ellen 
 beckoned Magdalene into the next room. 
 
 " Has she been long ill?" she inquired. 
 " She walked an hour with me yesterday, 
 and then appeared quite well ! " 
 
 " She did not complain, my lady, until this 
 evening." 
 
 " Not until this evening !'' repeated Lady 
 Ellen. " And now to have such a flushed 
 cheek and fevered hand! Besides, Magda- 
 lene, I thought — I am certain I saw the 
 shining of dried up tears upon her cheek." 
 
 " Indeed, my lady ! " was the maiden's 
 answer. 
 
 '' Has any thing occurred to displease, to 
 discompose her?" 
 
 " I cannot say, my lady," was again the 
 girl's taciturn reply.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 101 
 
 " Her Uncle Horace is arrived. Surely 
 that gave her pleasure ?" 
 
 " Oh, indeed it did, my lady ! — great de- 
 light ; perhaps the very excitement has made 
 her ill." 
 
 " Do you really think happiness makes per- 
 sons ill?" inquired Lady Ellen, fixing her 
 piercing eyes on Magdalene. 
 
 " I cannot speak from my own experience," 
 she said. " I have never been tried that way ; 
 but I have heard it is so, my lady." 
 
 Lady Ellen again rested her eyes on Mag- 
 dalene for an instant, and then returned to the 
 bedside of her sleeping, but untranquil friend. 
 
 Mary's countenance had lost that beautiful 
 expression of placidity which characterized 
 it a little time before. Her arms were tossed 
 upon the coverlet, and her brilliant cheek was 
 wet with weeping. She moaned and mur- 
 mured, and was evidently strugghng with 
 such painful feelings, that Lady Ellen thought 
 it would be kindness to dispel her slumbers. 
 
 *' Mary, waken, dear Mary — Mary, waken," 
 she repeated, and the full rich tones of her
 
 102 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 voice sounded like a softened strain of church 
 music through the chamber. '* Waken, my 
 dear friend ! " 
 
 When Mary awoke, she looked confused 
 and agitated, and gazed earnestly in Lady 
 Ellen's face. She then pressed back the hair 
 from her temples, and held her throbbing 
 brows between both her hands. 
 
 " Dear Mary, do you not know me ? Will 
 you not speak to Ellen Revis ! " said Lady 
 Ellen, trying to withdraw her hands. 
 
 " Know you : oh, yes ! I know you well. 
 I see you now — I saw you in my dream ! 
 Oh, how I wish you w^ere not here ! " 
 
 " Do you, indeed ! Yet see how obstinate 
 I am to remain — and how ungrateful you are 
 to me, who left my own home at this time — 
 past — long past midnight, and all that I 
 might be with you. Dear Mary, you do not 
 surel}^ wish me gone !" 
 
 " And the company — the music," said Mary, 
 shaking off the remembrance of what was 
 frightful in her dream, and awaking fully to 
 the present, though it was shadowed by the
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 103 
 
 past. " You left your house on your own 
 birth-day fete to come to me — and then you 
 woke me from that painful dream ! — but leave 
 me now, dear Lady Ellen — it seems unkind, 
 ungrateful — but I am better by myself" 
 
 "You call me Lady Ellen!" replied her 
 friend. " And yovi beg of me to leave you. 
 Oh, Mary ! when I lingered in bitter suffering 
 after my brother's death — when my parents 
 were so fully absorbed in their own sorrows 
 that they never heeded mine — who sympa- 
 thized with me, and watched in my sick room 
 for hours, and days, and weeks ? I never 
 drove her from me : and will you be less kind 
 to me, than I to you ; — you who are far kinder 
 to others than I am to any, save yourself?" 
 
 Mary replied not to this tender speech, 
 more tender though it was than any she had 
 ever heard from Lady Ellen, who was chary of 
 her affection. 
 
 " Some other time," she said at last, hiding 
 her face at the same moment from her friend : 
 " Some other time, but not to-night. I have 
 been agitated : — my Uncle came and talked to 
 me of younger, happier days "
 
 104 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 She had paused in her confidence — I had 
 abnost written that whoever does so, does 
 not deserve a friend ; but the world, I know, 
 thinks differently ; and I must remember that 
 Mary paused, not because she doubted that 
 friend's fidelity, but because she doubted her 
 own worthiness. Passing abruptly from the 
 subject, she inquired if her mother was come 
 home. 
 
 Lady Ellen was both too young, and too 
 steady in her own affections, to imagine that 
 Mary was capable of sudden and capricious 
 change. She thought that illness had made 
 her nervous and irritable ; but that when it 
 passed away, whether it proceeded from a 
 mental or a physical cause, she would be, 
 as she had ever been to her until within the 
 last twenty minutes. 
 
 She told Mary that Mrs. Lorton had not 
 returned — that she knew she had been anxious 
 to get away, but found it almost impossible. 
 " It is the world, dear Mary ! — the world ! 
 which I flatter myself I am better acquainted 
 with than most of the Lady Evelinas and 
 Jemimas who enact heroines in life and novels.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 105 
 
 at the age of two-and-twenty ! This same 
 knowledge of the world whispered in my ear, 
 that its being buzzed about that a young 
 heiress's Uncle, having arrived in London, 
 in the possession of at least a hundred thou- 
 sand sterling — reasons for the good opinion 
 of the world — and intending to bestow these 
 alchymists, that turn evil into good, upon 
 his niece — she, the said niece, rose amazingly 
 in the barometer of public favour ; and to con- 
 clude my speech with a simile — We all know 
 how frequently the lord of the feast takes 
 the mother down to supper, that he may take 
 the daughter off for life." 
 
 Mary almost smiled. 
 
 " I sent your Uncle an invitation," she con- 
 tinued ; " but he did not come. I thought I 
 should have seen him here. When your mo- 
 ther extinguished our lights by the announce- 
 ment of your illness " 
 
 " You invited Uncle Horace ?" said Mary, 
 raising herself on her couch. 
 
 " To be sure I did ! The moment I heard 
 he was in town, I wrote him, with my own 
 hand, a most lady-like note, on plain white
 
 106 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 paper, which a certain long known, yet new- 
 found relative of mine, promised to deliver ! " 
 Mary had not courage to look up to see if 
 
 Lady Ellen blushed, for she blushed herself, 
 and that effectually prevents a girl from ob- 
 serving the blushes of others. Her ladyship 
 continued : — 
 
 " You never mentioned Harry to me : — and 
 I little fancied that the Mary Brown he once 
 talked of, was my friend Mary Lorton. Shall 
 I tell you the story now, as you seem better, 
 and have not sent me away, and have for- 
 gotten your ugly dream. I never dance, you 
 know, so am not tired, and can sit with you 
 all night. Ah ! little I thought when laugh- 
 ing, — no, perhaps I ought to say sneering, — 
 at the absurdity of first love, that " 
 
 Mary did not suffer her to finish her obser- 
 vation, and little did Lady Ellen imagine the 
 bitter pangs she had inflicted on her young 
 friend, the '' once talked of" rung upon her 
 heart — the " sneer" entered it ; yet with a 
 strong effort she lifted her head from the 
 pillow, and said — 
 
 " Not, indeed, now — not to-night. I pray
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 107 
 
 you. Lady Ellen, dear Ellen, if you will, no 
 more to-night. — Magdalene, ring for Lady 
 Ellen's carriage. — Go down with her your- 
 self. Do not, oh, do not flash your eye upon 
 me ! I am ill and miserable ! I know you 
 meant this visit kindly, very kindly. Forgive 
 me — say you forgive me ! To-morrow I shall 
 be more myself." 
 
 " Dear Mary, shall I come to-morrow ?" 
 inquired Lady Ellen, as she folded her Cash- 
 mere over her shoulders, hurt, though not 
 angered, at Mary's strange behaviour. " Shall 
 I come to-morrow?" 
 
 ** I do not know ! — yes, perhaps you had 
 better. Now — thanks — and good night!" 
 
 " It is very strange ! " muttered Lady Ellen, 
 as she descended the stairs, closely followed 
 by the attentive Magdalene. '^ It is very 
 strange ! " she repeated, and then turning to 
 the attendant, she added, " If your mistress 
 has not returned before I arrive at home, I 
 will request her to do so immediately." 
 
 While she was in the act of speaking, she 
 heard a carriage roll up to the door, and before
 
 108 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 it was almost possible to imagine that the 
 steps were down, Mrs. Brown Lorton, pale as 
 a spectre — the jewels sparkling on her brow, 
 while the eyes beneath were wild, yet rayless, 
 totally regardless of her dress, without the 
 slightest covering to protect her beautiful 
 arms and bosom from the keen morning air, 
 which was mingling with the heavier breeze of 
 night — rushed across the hall, passed Lady 
 Ellen and Magdalene without noticing either, 
 flew up stairs — and well Magdalene knew, as 
 the sound of the footsteps were lost in the 
 distance, that she never even stopt at her 
 daughter's door. The hall porter seemed 
 really awake, and turned his powdered head 
 upwards to ascertain if it was his mistress or 
 a ghost; the footman held the door in his 
 hand, and his mouth opened with astonish- 
 ment ; Lady Ellen was obliged to call up her 
 own carriage, which had driven away to make 
 room for Mrs. Lorton's ; and as some little 
 delay occurred, and she stood in the entrance, 
 she observed a tall man, closely muffled in a 
 capacious cloak, stride round the corner of the
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 109 
 
 Square, and stop directly on the pave, from 
 whence he looked into the porch where she 
 waited. With the utmost coolness he ex- 
 amined the armorial bearings of both car- 
 riages, then turned away. The night clouds 
 hung heavily upon the morning, still the 
 eastern horizon gave tokens of the coming 
 day, and the gas burnt so brightly, that as 
 the carriage passed the inquisitive stranger, 
 who was retracing his steps, Lady Ellen had 
 an indistinct remembrance that he had been 
 a guest that same night at her father's house !
 
 110 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Earth has no unpolluted spring, 
 From the curs'd soil some dangerous taint they bear ; 
 So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting. 
 
 Dr. Watts. 
 
 On the same night that Lady Ellen Revis 
 visited Mary Lorton, anxious to ascertain the 
 cause of her indisposition, and to contribute to 
 its removal. On the same night that poor 
 Mary's heart was torn by the renewal of her 
 earliest affection — jealousy of one whom she 
 imagined a rival — and regrets at the conse- 
 quent loss of her dearest friend. On the same 
 night that Mrs. Brown Lorton returned almost 
 a maniac from the festive scene where, under the 
 influence of peculiar reports, she achieved a 
 distinction which she had long panted for in 
 vain. On the same night that Lady Ellen 
 threw herself back upon the rich cushions of 
 her carriage, and pondered upon the possi- 
 bility of all the Brown Lortons having gone
 
 UNCLE HORACE. Ill 
 
 mad together. On that night Horace Brown 
 returned, about the hour of one, to his bro- 
 ther's house, inquired anxiously and tenderly 
 for his niece, and having ascertained from 
 Magdalene, that she was only suffering from 
 an indisposition called nervous, betook him- 
 self to his chamber, rang his bell;, again, 
 again, and again ! At last, one of the " gen- 
 tlemen," of the order of hall and pantry, with 
 a somewhat unsteady step, and a breath per- 
 fumed by the wine and confections that con- 
 stituted the petit souper of the lower re- 
 gions, for which Mrs. Claggitt had so amply 
 provided in the morning, condescended to 
 attend the summons, and to inform Mr. Ho- 
 race Brown, that "his valet'' (alas! poor 
 Peter !) had gone out, and had not yet come 
 back. The man thought it strange that 
 Mr. Brown should not express displeasure at 
 his absence. 
 
 " Did he take the dog with him?" inquired 
 Uncle Horace. 
 
 " No, Sir ; he tied him up in his own bed- 
 room,"
 
 112 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " Then bring him here." 
 
 " Here, Sir !" repeated the man, in evident 
 astonishment, looking round at the magnificent 
 furniture. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, here ; you do not suppose 
 I am going to sleep in this cut-throat city 
 without a dog in my room ?" 
 
 The servant staggered a bow and withdrew. 
 Nearly half an hour elapsed before he re- 
 turned, holding the unlucky Bright at arm's 
 length by the skin of his neck. The poor 
 animal screamed with joy at the sight of his 
 master, jumped, wagged his stumpy tail, and 
 having expressed his delight in true dog-like 
 fashion, sprang to the foot of the bed, and 
 curled himself round, placing his black snubish 
 nose upon his stubbed legs, sayings as plainly 
 as dog could say, '' You see, I know how to 
 make myself at home !" 
 
 " Do you wish the hanimal to remain on the 
 bed. Sir?" inquired the half-grinning servant, 
 who waited further orders. 
 
 Horace Brown made no reply to the some- 
 what impertinent question, but desired that
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 113 
 
 Peter miolit be sent to him the moment he 
 returned. 
 
 Mary had not confided the adjustment of 
 her uncle's chamber entirely to the housemaid ; 
 she had, in the early part of the day, placed a 
 bunch of roses on the sofa- table, which stood 
 in the centre of the room ; roses, fair, white, 
 and redolent of perfume; there were violets 
 also, not many, but so sweet ; and one or two 
 sprigs of the domestic w^all-flower. She had 
 also scattered a few books, with writing mate- 
 rials, on the same table ; and, placed upon an 
 embroidered cushion, reverently apart from 
 every other volume, was a bible, which her 
 uncle had "'ivcn her on her twelfth birth- day. 
 
 "Dear Mary !" he exclaimed, taking up the sa- 
 cred book, — and the " dear Mary" was repeated 
 more than once, when he found a peculiar 
 little mark, simply three lines crossed like the 
 rays of a star, opposite the commencement of 
 his favourite chapters. I have often noted 
 how strongly people illustrate their own cha- 
 racters by their predilections for particular por- 
 tions of Scripture. The high- wrought tempe- 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 rament deliglits in the sublimity of Isaiah^ 
 the splendour of Job, and the fine poetry of 
 the Psalms. The pensive alv/ays derive a 
 melancholy pleasure from the Lamentations of 
 Jeremiah. The Proverbs are dwelt upon both 
 by great and by little thinkers; — those v/ho 
 think deeply make them as texts ; and those 
 who think in a small way are glad of a sen- 
 tence which saves them trouble. Many a 
 dormant orator has been roused by the dig- 
 nified eloquence of Paul. Uncle Horace, how- 
 ever, did not deny how infinitely he pre- 
 ferred the character of Peter. 
 
 I knew a purse-proud man once, who 
 was fond of removing his neighbour's land- 
 mark, and of building houses and granaries 
 of immense extent; this man affected strict 
 and singular devotion, yet he would never 
 attend church when that portion of the Scrip- 
 ture was appointed to be read which treats of 
 the rich man who pulled down his barns to 
 build greater, and whose soul was required of 
 him that same night ! Uncle Horace could 
 not with justness, in my opinion, be called a
 
 
 UKCLE HORACE. 115 
 
 religions man ; he was strictly, nobly moral, a 
 firm supporter of church and state, and was 
 therefore glad at heart to see that Mary re- 
 membered his favourite chapters, not so much 
 for the sake of what the chapters contained, in 
 the abstract, as because they were connected 
 with himself. Many there are who will be 
 very angry with Uncle Horace for this, and 
 very angry with me for recording it ; but I 
 can only repeat, that such was the fact, and 
 that the general excuse of poor human nature 
 must be offered for him, as well as for us all, at 
 least fifty times during the sixteen hours out 
 of the twenty-four, which we are supposed to 
 employ in the pleasures or business of life. 
 
 Horace Brown looked over the beautifully- 
 bound books, and a positive sneer curled his 
 upper lip whenever he opened an annual or a 
 novel. Really his taste in literature must 
 have been very extraordinary, for, in the pre- 
 sent enlightened age, when entertaining know- 
 ledge walks the streets, and the intellectual is 
 so cultivated, to the exclusion of bodily em- 
 ployment, that if the world does not of itself 
 
 i2
 
 116 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 produce its fruits in due season, we shall have 
 no fruits at all, from the simple fact, that the 
 MIND is too much occupied with the mind to 
 heed the body: — his taste in literature must 
 have been very extraordinary, for surely, as I 
 said, or intended to say, an enlightened age, 
 like the one it is said we live in, would 
 never encourage any species of art or literature 
 that was not eminently advantageous to the 
 mind. Of this future generations will judge, 
 when they record and criticise our productions. 
 As the night waned on, Horace Brown 
 paced up and down his chamber ; it was one 
 of the loveliest nights in May. He looked out 
 upon the spacious square; and though car- 
 riage after carriage rolled past, still no one 
 stopped at his brother's dwelling. He turned 
 over the volumes again and again, occasionally 
 paused, as the name of a story, or the beauty 
 of an engraving, attracted his attention; but, 
 it would seem, derived little amusement from 
 his occupation; for he played with — no, not 
 that either, for Bright was not a dog to be 
 played with, — he could be conversed with ; and
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 117 
 
 answered by a quick glance of his intelligent 
 eye^, whatever was propounded to him within 
 the possible range of canine comprehension ; 
 therefore Horace conversed with Bright after 
 Bright's own fashion ; though, to confess the 
 truth, the dog thought his master exceedingly 
 absurd not to go to bed and sleep when he 
 could, and he hinted as much to him, by 
 keeping one eye shut during the broken 
 dialogue which followed after St. Peter's 
 church had sounded the hour of three! At 
 last Master Pike made his appearance, and 
 though Horace Brown had been for some time 
 inclined to follow Bright's hint and example, 
 now, with that quickness and energy of cha- 
 racter which banishes sleep, he was as perfectly 
 awake as if he had enjoyed comfortable and 
 refreshing repose for many hours. 
 
 " I thought you would never return !" ex- 
 claimed his master. 
 
 " I thought so too, pretty nearly, Sir," re- 
 plied Peter ; ''I own I thought so at one 
 time. Sir, I'd rather navigate through Man- 
 chester, Liverpool, Birmingham, and every
 
 118 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 village in the neighbourhood, than tramp 
 again of a moonlight night, as I have done, 
 over that Blackfriars' bridge, to say nothing of 
 Fleet Street, and along the alleys and ways 
 at the other side their river. Then the peo- 
 ple are so curst — I ask your pardon. Sir, — 
 uncivil, — that impudent scoundrel, Job Harris, 
 Mister Harris, to be sure ! sneered like 
 Satan when I asked the way to Stamford 
 Street, Blackfriars, and said he had never been 
 in ' that there country !' There is a pretty 
 girl, a very pretty girl, a beautiful girl, poor 
 thing ! below in the scullery, and she said, 
 * Mr. Peter,' said she, and stopped scouring 
 the dripping-pan while she spoke, ' Mr. Peter,' 
 said she, ' my brother Bob will show you the 
 way with all the pleasure in life.' 
 
 " Peter," interrupted Horace, " tell your 
 story quickly ; it is more important for me to 
 know the result than the details ; but before 
 you get any further, Peter, there is one thing 
 I must remind you of, do you remember the 
 solemn promise you made me on quitting 
 home?"
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 119 
 
 "About the Temperance Society, Sir?" 
 meekly replied the jolly-looking rascal. 
 
 '' No, Peter, thai was another matter alto- 
 gether." And as Horace Brown spoke, not a 
 muscle of his face moved ; he fixed his full, 
 clear, and severe grey eye upon the rosy, 
 good-tempered countenance of his domestic. 
 '' Another matter ; yet, I must say, almost as 
 important as the one to which I see I must 
 again refer; — you promised me most so- 
 lemnly that, while in London, you would 
 steer clear of everything in the shape of 
 a woman; and never dare, as you call it, to 
 fall in love !" 
 
 " Yes, Sir!" said Peter, rubbing the cuff of 
 his coat with the forefinger of his right hand. 
 
 " I would not have reminded you of it, but, 
 your wretched propensity occurred to me im- 
 mediately, when you spoke of the girl below." 
 
 " Sir," exclaimed Peter, " I am not at all in 
 love with the scullery-maid ; to be sure, she 
 handled the di'ipping-pan with such a grace- 
 fulness ; and only for her brother Bob, Sir, I 
 might have walked the streets all night, which.
 
 120 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 indeed^ I may say I did ; — but I know myself 
 rather better than to fall in love with a scul- 
 lery-maid, for all that !" 
 
 " Peter, Peter/' expostulated his master — 
 '' Peter, you remember the Manchester gipsy !" 
 
 " Sir, j^ou are too hard upon me I" Peter 
 Pike interrupted his master with much humi- 
 Hty ; but Horace Brown continued : 
 
 " And the sailor s wife, Peter, whose hus- 
 band threw you into the Prince's Dock, at 
 Liverpool !" 
 
 '' I have told your honour fifty times," he 
 replied, '' as how she passed herself off as a 
 widow!" 
 
 '' And the knife-grinder's sister at Shef- 
 field !" 
 
 " Your honour's memory is very good," 
 slided in Peter. 
 
 " Good, you rascal!" said his master ; '' and it 
 had need to be good ; you have been little more 
 than thirteen hours in London, and with my 
 most important business on your hands — and 
 yet you talk to me of the beauty of a scul- 
 lery-wench ! '
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 121 
 
 " The best proof, Sir, that I didn't think 
 much of her; because, if I did " 
 
 " Go on, go on," proceeded Horace. 
 
 " I shouldn't like to tell your honour, see- 
 ing you have little care for the tenderness of 
 lovers !" 
 
 Horace Brown seized a boot, and felt half 
 inclined to throw it at the head of the carica- 
 ture of the tender passion that stood before 
 him. While Peter, not by any means un- 
 accustomed to such ebullitions of his master s 
 temper, shrunk behind the massive bed-post, 
 and waited till the missive of his hujre dis- 
 pleasure had passed on its way, Horace 
 dropped the boot, and looking at him most 
 contemptuously, exclaimed, 
 
 " Why, you overgrown beet-root ! — you ass ! 
 — the pains I have taken to save you from 
 destruction, during the last twenty years, will 
 be useless. You'll make a fool of yourself in 
 your old age. You'*ll commit matrimony, that 
 you will ! 1 could pardon you for murder 
 sooner ! I can understand why a woman mar- 
 ries ; but idiots, such as you, to take idiotcy
 
 J 22 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 nine times worse than itself as its companion, 
 deserves a century at tlie tread-mill ! I see. 
 Sir, I see, — I know, by the cut of your counte- 
 nance, you have got matrimony into your head 
 again ; but if you have, you shall tramp. Sir, 
 tramp ! I'll have no married men, with slip- 
 shod wives, and a score of brats squalling in 
 every corner ! You may presume too much 
 upon your usefulness. Master Peter, and the 
 confidence I have placed in you !" 
 
 " I never betrayed it !" observed Pike, stand- 
 ing firmly before his master, whom want of 
 sleep, vexation at Mary's indisposition, and 
 total dissatisfaction at the habits of a London 
 establishment, had rendered ten times more 
 irritable than usual. 
 
 " I do not say you did. Sirrah," he replied, 
 for truth always found a responding note 
 within his bosom, even in his most ill-tem- 
 pered mood. " I do not say you did ; but the 
 idea of matrimony, except under very particu- 
 lar circumstances, makes me angry, and you 
 know it does : — to see my brother now, — if he 
 had not married ! If he had not married, he
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 123 
 
 would not have turned fine gentleman ; — so if 
 
 he had not married, he would not have with- 
 drawn ; and if he had not married, the firm 
 of Brown and Company, would be worth, 
 at the least farthing, three hundred, ay, or 
 four hundred thousand pounds !" 
 
 " And where would Miss Mary be ?" in- 
 quired Pike, quietly and slyly. 
 
 " Peter," said his master, after a pause, "you 
 are an honest fellow ; only remember your 
 promise, that's all : — and now tell me all 
 you have seen and heard." 
 
 " It would take from this till noon to tell 
 your honour all," replied Peter^ who was 
 somewhat of a realist, I mean practically, not 
 theoretically. *' Only the conchision of my 
 observations is, that the Londoners are the 
 most curst, obstropulousest, uncivilist set I was 
 ever amongst. Sir. At the other side of the 
 water, I'd bet a silver bodkin, against a White- 
 chapel sharp, that a man's life's not worth a 
 brass farthing, — and they be so rude!" 
 
 " You got safely back, however !" 
 
 " Ay, Sir, thanks to Bob. Welh I reached
 
 124 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Stamford Street, and I surveyed and kept on 
 the look-out ; and I found the number — the 
 numbers. Sir, are the same as at Liverpool, — 
 and I looked up at the house ; but I saw no- 
 thing, nor nobody ; and with that I thought 
 I'd find something out on the sly; and so I 
 knockt bold as thunder at the next door, and 
 such a pretty girl opened it ! ' My little dear,' 
 said I " 
 
 " Plague on it. Pike," interrupted Horace 
 Brown, wincing as if a wasp had stung him, 
 " that's not the way to speak to a servant !" 
 
 " Not to a man-servant, I know ; but. Sir, I 
 ask your pardon ; only, what would you have 
 me say ? 
 
 " Say? why young woman, or young person, 
 to be sure !" 
 
 " Well, Sir, I will," replied Pike, unwilling 
 to irritate his irritable master a second time, 
 '' I will, though it sounds unfriendly. So I 
 pronounced his name beautifully. Sir, and 
 asked * does he live here ?' " 
 
 " '^ Next door,' says she, * and I'd thank 
 you. Master Bumpkin, to be more particular
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 125 
 
 in your number ; calling me from my tins, and 
 my hands all over whitening, daubing the 
 door, and all from the stupidity of an old 
 fogey !' And she slammed the gate in my 
 face !" 
 
 " Serve you right," said Horace, rubbing 
 his hands. '' Serve you quite right, for your 
 familiarity ; Fm glad of it — a sensible, pru- 
 dent girl !" 
 
 " Well, Sir, I thought it uncivil ; but as I 
 wanted most to know where he lived, and then 
 to be sure it was he, I went to a public-house 
 at the corner, and fished, and fished, until I 
 made out that the gentleman with the foreign 
 name was going out in his cab that night at 
 half-past nine or ten. So I waited, and waited, 
 and at last up drove the cab, with a beautiful 
 iron-grey horse under it ; — and at last, out 
 came a gentleman ; but so muffled in his 
 cloak, that I could not get sight of him. So 
 a hackney-coach coming up, I desired the man 
 to follow the cab, and putting Bob inside, I 
 mounted the box ; and the cab went over ano- 
 ther bridge, and then turned into a square
 
 126 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 which the driver told me faced the house of 
 Parliament ; and there the gentleman got out, 
 and I got down ; but was too late to see his 
 face. So I paid coachee^, and stood close up 
 to the cab. ' I tell you what, m.y cove/ said a 
 brat of a boy, who could sit comfortably on my 
 thumb-nail, and was decked out in blue livery, 
 *^ you'd better keep off, or I'll give you in 
 charge to the po-leese ; you want to steal, by 
 your standing ; keep moving, my fine fee-low, 
 or I'll call a constable !' I did not want to 
 make a piece of work there, or I'd have pulled 
 him out of his snail-shell, but went away, and 
 could not help asking a respectable-looking old 
 man, who stood near the door, if some shabby 
 persons, passing to and fro, in and out, in 
 dirty boots and linen, were gentlemen ? The 
 old man looked at me, and only replied, ' They 
 are members of the House of Commons !' 
 Presently out came the cloak and hat I waited 
 for, leaning on the arm of a gentlemanly, 
 elderly man, very well dressed, who was 
 talking to him about a petition, so that I could 
 not see the face, nor did not hear the voice of
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 127 
 
 him I was watching. They both got into the 
 cab, and hop-o' my-thumb clung to the back 
 like a wren on a rick of barley. Away, then, 
 I followed in a cab of my own, and where 
 should the gentleman be set down, but in some 
 square, among thousands of carriages, — at 
 Lady Norley's, master Harry's auntl" 
 
 " The devil !" exclaimed Horace Brown. 
 
 " So I said," continued Pike ; " and still I 
 could not see his face ; but while I strolled 
 about, the mistress's coachman spied me, and 
 invited me to sit on his box, as the footman 
 had gone to help some other lady's footman to 
 drink a bottle of claret ; and as the coach 
 commanded a view of the door, I was glad of 
 the offer ; and, after some time, there was a 
 cry — ' Mrs. Brown Lorton's carriage !' — and 
 when at last we got to the door, after a cargo 
 of oaths that would sink a bible, there came 
 another shout — ' Mrs. Brown Lorton's carriage 
 stops the way !' and down she came, after a 
 bit, flying through the crowd, with anxiety, I 
 thought, to get back to Miss Mary. The foot- 
 man had not finished his claret, and I put up
 
 128 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 the steps. As the carriage turned to drive off, 
 down he came, and then I knew him — hand- 
 somer than ever he looked, in my opinion, and 
 not a day older ; and as he turned, first one 
 way and then the other, he knocked up against 
 me, as I stood on the top step, having resolved 
 to wait till he came out. I don't think he knew 
 "me, though he stared hard too, with his black 
 piercing eyes. I was quite satisfied, and fol- 
 lowed little Bob, who stood at the corner ; but 
 it was astonishing, quick walker though I am, 
 how that man flew past me ; he tracked the 
 carriage home. Sir, to the very door, and I met 
 him returning as I left Grosvenor Place !" 
 
 " Is my brother come home ?" inquired his 
 master. 
 
 " I do not know. Sir ; they told me he was 
 to finish the night at some grand Sir's, or 
 something, who gives wonderful good suppers." 
 
 " Oh ! very likely — they will all finish some- 
 where, or some how or other, one of these 
 days ; and that, I suppose,' ere long T' replied 
 Horace Brown.
 
 129 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Be full, ye courts ; be j^reat who will ; 
 
 Search for Peace with all your skill: 
 
 Open wide the lofty door, 
 
 Seek her on the marble floor. 
 
 In vain you search, she is not there ; 
 
 In vain ye search the domes of Care I 
 
 DVER. 
 
 " I THINK," said Horace Brown to his pretty- 
 niece, as she huns: over some flowers he had 
 brought her, a few mornings after i\vc fete at 
 Lady Norley's, " I think, Mary, it would do 
 you a great deal of good to take a ride or a 
 walk, or both." 
 
 " I think so too," said Miss Maxwell. 
 
 " A ride, perhaps, as it will be the first 
 time you have been out for some days."* 
 
 '' I perfectly agree with you, Mr. Brown," 
 replied Miss Maxwell; " a ride decidedly 
 would be best." 
 
 " And yet," continued Uncle Horace, " a 
 walk might be more beneficial. The motion 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 of walking, with the fresh air blowing around, 
 is so refreshing!" 
 
 " So it is, indeed. Sir ; I perfectly agree 
 with you," chimed in Miss Maxwell. 
 
 " Perhaps," persisted the worthy man, with- 
 out heeding the fair echo, '' if you were to 
 order the carriage, drive to Kensington Gar- 
 dens, and then walk " 
 
 " The thing of all others I should recom- 
 mend," said Miss Maxwell. '' I was just think- 
 ing of it. Dear Mary, how happy you must 
 feel in having so kind and considerate a re- 
 lative ! " 
 
 Horace Brown cast upon Miss Maxwell one 
 of his withering looks, but it produced no 
 change on her adamantine countenance, where 
 every feature was well trained, and never 
 disarranged by what are called emotions : hers 
 was one of those faces which continue un- 
 changed by time or circumstances. A pat- 
 tern face to cut propriety by, to the exclu- 
 sion of feeling; and yet the features were 
 good, well-shaped, and regular. 
 
 Horace continued to try the effect of the 
 exterminating power of his eye on Miss Max-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 131 
 
 well rather longer than usual, but in vain; 
 and then he said, " You pay yourself a com- 
 pliment, madam ! " 
 
 "Pay myself a compliment! How?" she 
 inquired. 
 
 '' Simply because you said i was kind and 
 considerate for thinking as you thought !" 
 
 " Dear me, Mr. Brown," replied the sapient 
 lady, " how very clever you are ! I never 
 thought of that. I declare you are wonderful ! 
 — quite." 
 
 Uncle Horace's smile, when he was annoyed, 
 was the most bitter smile in the world; but 
 Miss MaxwelFs eyes looked as if they could 
 not comprehend its bitterness. 
 
 *' Maxy, will you ring for Magdalene, and 
 she will get my shawl and bonnet," said Mary. 
 
 " Nay, dearest, I will go myself, and see 
 them aired," (it was hot sunny weather), "and 
 direct the footman to tell the coachman to 
 get the carriage. Which carriage shall it be, 
 Mr. Brown, — the coach, the landau, or Mary's 
 own pony phaeton?" 
 
 " My phaeton," murmured Mary. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 UNCLE IiaRACE. 
 
 "Thank God, she is gone!" ejaculated 
 Horace with a sisch, as Miss Maxwell closed 
 the door. " Mary, what does that woman want 
 here ? she's as worrying as the tooth-ache. 
 What do you want with her ?" 
 
 " Oh, uncle. Mamma wants her! She 
 knows everybody, and she is very good-na- 
 tured and useful. Now, too, that Mamma 
 has been ill ever since the other night, she 
 has been so attentive, so kind ; indeed, she is 
 a kind-hearted person. She has taught me a 
 great deal ! " 
 
 -What?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't remember ! — Japanning, and 
 German cross-stitch, and the guitar!" 
 
 "Valuable acquirements, doubtless !" sneered 
 Uncle Horace. 
 
 And Papa, even with his cook, could not 
 order his dinners without Maxy. She resided 
 a long time with Lady Flasher ton." 
 
 " I know that," interrupted Uncle Horace; 
 " but should like also to know in what ca- 
 pacity ?" 
 
 " Friend, confidential friend, I suppose," re- 
 plied Mary.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 133 
 
 " Indeed ! Then her friendship is to be 
 purchased, I suppose ? " 
 
 Mary had not time to reply, before Miss 
 Maxwell, followed by Magdalene, entered. 
 
 '^ Don't you think, Mr. Brown, our sweet 
 friend had better put on ' her things' here?" 
 inquired Miss Maxwell. 
 
 *^ Meaning to turn me out, I suppose," re- 
 plied Horace. *' Then I think not. I should 
 wish Mary to go into her room with Magda- 
 lene to dress, and so leave me here alone with 
 vou." 
 
 ^^ Oh, Sir!" ejaculated Miss Maxwell, her 
 heart at the moment beating more quickly 
 than it had done for the last fifteen j^ears; 
 for few unmarried ladies, approaching the 
 termination of the summer solstice, can be 
 thrown into the society of rich unmarried 
 men without speculating thereupon. 
 
 Most women possess a talent, and by no 
 means an uneducated one, for matrimony. 
 At first, with common-minded girls, it eva- 
 porates in flirtations ; when that does not do, 
 they sink into the sentimental, quote poetry,
 
 134 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 and catch vulgar colds in their heads by 
 '^ baying the moon," though, if they can help it, 
 not in " sequestered solitude." I have known 
 the sentimental continue after thirty ; but 
 generally speaking, ladies assume a different 
 character at that antiquated-maidenly period 
 they become geologists^ or conchologists, 
 or moralists, or sectarianists, or — any thing 
 but rationalists ! An unmarried lady feels 
 herself desperately circumstanced between 
 thirty and forty — she does not consider any 
 of the Lords of the creation either too young 
 or too old — she catches at all, and should be 
 especially avoided by minors as well as majors 
 — she grows absolutely dangerous when near- 
 ing forty, though when once that aAvful 
 number is past, I have known the most in- 
 defatigable husband-hunter throw up her for- 
 lorn hope, and become, even amongst men, a 
 tolerably safe, and a very agreeable compa- 
 nion. There are exceptions : poor Miss Max- 
 well was one certainly; for she hunted on, 
 until hunted down by Death ! 
 
 As Mary passed her uncle, she could not
 
 UNCLE HORACE. - 135 
 
 avoid smiling; apiece of impertinence for which 
 he felt very much inclined to box her ears; 
 perhaps he would have done so, had he not 
 remembered it was the first time a smile 
 had wreathed her lips since they discoursed 
 about Harry Mortimer; and how long did 
 his anger continue when Mary smiled ? 
 
 '^ Pray be seated, madam," said Uncle 
 Horace, pointing to a chair. 
 
 " Oh, Sir !" again sighed the lad}^ 
 " You need not sigh, nor agitate yourself 
 in the least," commenced Uncle Horace, when 
 he had seated himself as far from her as he 
 possibly could. *' You need not make your- 
 self at all uncomfortable, madam," he con- 
 tinued; " I know you to be a woman of good 
 
 plain sense ! " 
 
 Now nothing affronts a person who is in the 
 sentimental mood so much as to be charged 
 with plain sense ; and Maxy was going to 
 assure Horace that it was a quality she knew 
 nothing of; but he waved his hand, impatient 
 of interruption. 
 
 " In short, madam, you are a mere woman 
 of the world ! "
 
 136 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " Sir!" ejaculated the Duenna, as if doubt- 
 ing that she heard aright. 
 
 ** A mere woman of the world. Anxious to 
 drive the best bargain you can for yourself, 
 and perfectly careless what becomes of every- 
 body else in the world ! " 
 
 " Sir !" repeated the lady in a tone of un- 
 feigned astonishment. 
 
 " Such is the truth, and you know it ; and 
 what is to me more important, I know it!'* 
 And Uncle Horace knit his brows firml}^ but 
 not fiercely. 
 
 *' Mr. Brown ! " 
 
 " You may, you might, talk yourself dumb, 
 madam, if it were possible, but you could not 
 alter my opinion." 
 
 " I assure you, Sir, Lady Flasherton " 
 
 ^' May go to the devil, madam. I beg your 
 pardon ; I know it is not polite to name the 
 prime minister of fashionable society in the 
 presence of his votaries ; but I am rude as 
 unpolished steel — a Liverpool trader, no- 
 thing more; and, therefore, that I may be 
 perfectly understood, I repeat, that you, 
 madam, are a mere woman of the world, anxi-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 137 
 
 Oils, by your connexion with this or any other 
 family, to do one or both of two things : — first 
 of all to get a husband; secondly, to make 
 money, or to secure both in one, if you could 
 get a rich fool to lead you to the altar." 
 
 '^ Sir ! " said Miss Maxwell, rising, " I do 
 not understand you." 
 
 *' Not quite yet ; but do me the fav^our to 
 resume your scat, and your understanding 
 will become enlightened in a few minutes. I 
 cannot, madam, aid you in your aim after 
 happiness, but I can in your search after 
 wealth. It mdy be, that in six months' time,, 
 the family you now reside with will not be 
 worth sixpence ! " 
 
 *^ Merciful Heaven!" she exclaimed, her 
 natural selfishness bursting forth in all its 
 deformity ; '' then what would become of 
 me ! 
 
 " Exactly so," said Horace Brown. " What, 
 indeed, would become of you ! You would 
 find it difficult to meet with other ladies' 
 who employ only those you recommend ; the 
 per-centage paid you by the different trades- 
 people is a pretty fortune in itself: but I am
 
 138 UiNCLE HORACE. 
 
 not going to expose this, at least not at pre- 
 sent ; it is one amongst many curious facts, 
 which less than a week's residence in London 
 has furnished me with. Now, Miss Maxwell, you 
 perceive that / knoio you ; one moment more, 
 and you will know me^ As Horace spoke, he 
 drew a well-filled purse from his pocket — " Self- 
 interest, madam, blinds some persons, and en- 
 lightens others ; it is an excellent linguist, for 
 it comprehends all languages — it calls virtues 
 and vices into action, teaching us to keep at 
 least the appearance of virtue to ourselves, and 
 to suffer our friends to appropriate the vices, 
 when they are no longer needed for our own 
 advantage. It is always accused of our crimes; 
 yet in common honesty, I must own that it is 
 the source of many of our perfections. Per- 
 mit me, madam, to lay the sacrifice I now 
 make to self-interest at your feet; in return, 
 I desire that my niece may be left alone to my 
 guidance : you, so fertile in invention, can 
 always excuse her being so to her mother, who, 
 I know, dreads my influence over her daugh- 
 ter ; it is also necessary that I am informed 
 of any and all who address Miss Brown."
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 139 
 
 '^ Lorton ! " added Miss Maxwell, obse- 
 quiously. 
 
 *' In the way of marriage," continued Uncle 
 Horace. '' What she knows herself, will be 
 known to me without your interference ; but 
 she does not know all that transpires here." 
 
 Mr. Brown thought Miss Maxwell grew 
 j)aler than usual ; but he Avas not certain. 
 
 " But, Sir — Mr. Brown," said she, grasping 
 in her hand the purse he had placed upon her 
 lap, " would this be honourable ?'' 
 
 *' Have you iveighed that j^urse ? " inquired 
 Uncle Horace, coolly. 
 
 Mechanically did Maxwell lift it up, and 
 mechanically did she smile. 
 
 *' All that transpires in this house?" re- 
 peated Miss Maxw^ell, peering through the 
 netting. 
 
 " All, without colouring or reserve." 
 
 " But, Sir, '- " 
 
 " Woman ! " said Horace sternly, " count 
 the gold. If your information be worth more, 
 you shall have more. You can he bought, I 
 know full well; and, harkye, if any out-bid
 
 140 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 the Liverpool trader, let me know. I have 
 found the philosopher's stone." 
 
 Miss Maxwell stared with astonishment, not 
 quite certain that he was in his senses. 
 
 *' It consists in the mingling of industry 
 and carefulness, and turns, what it works 
 upon, to brilliant gold. Good morning, Miss 
 Maxwell. I need not bid you to remember 
 self-interest;" and he laughed scornfully 
 while speaking. *'Nor — ah! ah! ah! — tell 
 you, after what has passed between us, how 
 perfectly useless it will be, to waste your 
 blandishments and sweetness upon Horace 
 Brown!"
 
 141 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The gaudy gloss of fortune only strikes 
 The vulgar eye ; the sufTrage of the wise, 
 The praise that's worth ambition, is attain'd 
 By sense alone, and dignity of mind. 
 
 Armstrong. 
 
 " And so your mother is ill, Mary," said Ho- 
 race to his niece, as the phaeton turned into 
 Hyde Park. 
 
 " Indeed, uncle, she is any thing but well. 
 I cannot make out what is the matter with 
 her: — her temper is so uncertain." 
 
 *' Pooh ! is she not a woman V 
 
 " She is so nervous." 
 
 " Pooh ! she would be considered fashion- 
 able!" 
 
 " She has lost her colour." 
 
 " Mere want of roug^e ! " 
 
 Mary turned round and laid her hand on 
 her uncle's arm — her eyes were filled with 
 tears. 
 
 " Well," said Uncle Horace, " I will not
 
 142 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 vex you, Mary ; if your mother is really in- 
 disposed, send for a doctor — though, God 
 knows, I never put faith in their skill ; but by 
 all means send for a doctor. Where's your 
 father?" 
 
 " Gone to see some turtle just arrived in 
 the London Docks." 
 
 " There, Mary, a gentleman is bowing to 
 you." 
 
 Mary returned the salute. And a florid, 
 showy, good-natured-looking man cantered 
 to the side of their carriage. He was pre- 
 cisely one of the sort of men whom nature 
 moulded into beauty, and then left ; thinking 
 any other endowment unnecessary. His head 
 was rather empty, yet he was a gentleman — 
 that never could be questioned for a moment 
 — but the first sentence he spoke, together 
 with his manner of speaking it, convinced 
 you he was not an English one. Major 
 Blaney had always moved in good society — 
 had not the least vestige of brogue clinging 
 like a bur to his ordinary conversation — had 
 travelled and fought, sung and danced to ad-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 143 
 
 miration ; and yet had never been able ta 
 acquire that high-bred repose, which is the 
 distinguishing characteristic of an EngHsh 
 gentleman. He tried for it, however — and 
 spoiled his natural energy by endeavouring 
 to wrap it in the cast-off cloak of the last 
 English aristocrat with whom he had dined 
 or exchanged civilities; but he could not 
 succeed. He would have given half the in- 
 come he (like other Irishmen) ought to have 
 possessed, to have been born in England. 
 Liady Ellen Revis, who discovered in him an 
 apostacy, which I grieve to say all Irish- 
 men away from their country are too apt to 
 manifest — always called him Major O'Blaney, 
 invariably apologizing afterwards for using 
 the O, and finishing her pretty excuse by 
 saying it occurred to her that the distinguish- 
 ing O should be appended to the name of 
 every Irishman in the world. 
 
 Mary introduced her uncle to the officer, and 
 could not help thinking that Uncle Horace — 
 the expression of whose countenance was suffi- 
 ciently severe to gratify the greatest stickler
 
 144 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 for the native dignity of the Lords of tlie 
 creation — she, I say, could not help thinking 
 that her uncle had more of the liigh-bred gen- 
 tility of repose about him than the gallant 
 Major, who complimented and smiled ; and 
 informiuQ' Mr. Brown that he was to have the 
 honour of meeting him that day at dinner, as 
 he was to dine with Mr. Lor ton, flung a rose 
 at Mary's feet, and continued his ride. 
 
 " How a short nose disfigures a man's coun- 
 tenance ! " said Horace Brown, bending his 
 thin body to look after the horseman, and then 
 devoting to the enjoyment of his own long 
 one, an exceedingly large pinch of snuff. " But 
 by Vulcan ! here are three bowers together,'' 
 he continued. " I wish to Heaven we were 
 out of this infernal place ! Is there no place 
 where you can take a drive, child, without 
 being bobbed at, like a cherry on a stick ?" 
 
 Mary laughed at her uncle's homely simile; 
 and his temper was not softened when one of 
 the three passing close to the carriage, ad- 
 dressed Mary in French. His choler rose, 
 when she presented him to her uncle, as the
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 145 
 
 Count de Muskito, who immediately ad- 
 dressed a superabundance of compliments to 
 the worthy trader. Lucky was it for all par- 
 ties that they were soon separated by the 
 crowd of carriages which clustered near Ken- 
 sington Gardens. Many lovely faces glanced 
 at Mary as she passed ; but her eye was rest- 
 less, and her cheek flushed. 
 
 '' I wish," said she, " that Maxy had been 
 with us. She is acquainted wdth everybody, 
 and takes so much trouble off my hands. I 
 forget half the people, and do not know ex- 
 actly who to bow to. Mamma remembers 
 every one, but I become nervous and confused." 
 
 " We will get out here," said her uncle ; 
 *' a walk, child, will do you good»" 
 
 The ponies were drawn up, and Uncle 
 Horace was about to descend, when Mary 
 exclaimed suddenly — " Oh, no! not here; do 
 not let us get down here : let us go another 
 round, or home — let us go home." 
 
 Mr. Brown was about to exclaim in his 
 usual strain against the fickleness of woman- 
 
 VOL I. L
 
 146 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 kind; but lie looked on Mary's now pallid 
 cheek, and remained silent. 
 
 " Then wait liere for me^, Mary, for five 
 minutes; I see Harry Mortimer walking in 
 at that gate with two ladies — his fine aunt and 
 cousin, I suppose. I want to know the reason 
 of his not calling ; and I will know it too ; if 
 you both chose to quarrel, and make fools of 
 yourselves, that's no reason he should forget 
 what is due to one who was his friend, when 
 he had no other." 
 
 " Uncle, he did call ; — do not go — indeed, 
 he called twice yesterday." , 
 
 " And would not your father see him ? 
 Why he told me he intended asking him and 
 his uncle to dinner to-day ! '' 
 
 " Papa, I believe, did not know he called." 
 
 *' And you, Mary, did you refuse to receive 
 an old friend like Harry?" 
 
 " He called with Lady Ellen," murmured 
 Mar}^, hardly knowing what she said. 
 
 " With Lady Ellen!" repeated her uncle: 
 " With Lady Ellen ! whose wit and beauty, 
 and I know not what beside, has formed the
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 147 
 
 theme of all your letters, and wlio was to be 
 your friend till death ! Mary," added Horace, 
 — stepping down to pursue his intended plan, 
 and as he spoke he advanced his head close to 
 the very pretty white crape bonnet that 
 shaded the young lady's face, — " Mary, take 
 ca,re you are not jealous ! " 
 
 He was soon out of sight, and Miss Lorton 
 doubled her veil over her face, and desired 
 the fairy postilion, who guided her ponies, to 
 draw up in the least exposed part of the drive, 
 and await her uncle's return. 
 
 Her face, her whole frame, was quivering 
 from agitation, for the warning recurred to her 
 — sounded in her ear — rung upon her heart — 
 " Was she jealous?" Did her uncle imagine 
 her guilty of such meanness ? If he did, what 
 must others do ? What must Hai?ry Mortimer 
 think? What would Lady Ellen, the high- 
 minded Lady Ellen Revis, think of her ! Bit- 
 terly did she reproach herself for her want of 
 energy. " I must seem a poor, weak, de- 
 graded creature in the eyes of Lady Ellen ! — 
 in his eyes also! And he will think that I 
 
 L 2
 
 148 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 love him — love him so dearly that I cannot 
 bear to see him in company with her ho 
 loves!" Then she regretted she had not 
 gone into the gardens at once with her uncle. 
 *' Better I had met them there ! — Fool that 
 I was to imagine I could live on in Lon- 
 don without meeting them constantly." And 
 then poor Mary with a heating heart, and 
 eyes throbbing to her temples, resolved to be 
 a heroine ! In her simplicity she ran over, 
 with the rapid glance of a young and vigor- 
 ous mind, the dilemmas of all whom she had 
 ever heard of as similarly circumstanced; but 
 no case, she thought, was half as trying as her 
 own. If Lady Ellen's character had afforded 
 the least grounds for anything short of per- 
 fect admiration, it would have been comfort- 
 ing ; for self-love never fails to extract a de- 
 licious balm from the faults and follies of 
 friends. We frequently imagine it is our 
 affection which prompts us to correct their 
 foibles : this is generally a mistake ; in nine 
 cases out of every ten, we play monitor to 
 show our superiority : all thisj the better part
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 149 
 
 of the community do with the most perfect 
 unconsciousness, and without any knowledge of 
 the motive which prompts their actions. And 
 when dear Mary glanced over the fair title 
 page of Lady Ellen's character, I am not quite 
 sure that she did not sigh at its clearness 
 and its beauty. Envy, however, is so das- 
 tardly a quality, that no one ever yet pleaded 
 guilty of it; and I believe Mary Lorton 
 had less than any other beauty in London, 
 who was entering her nineteenth year. Find- 
 ing in the sweet storehouse of her memory no 
 case parallel with her own, what did she do ? 
 She thought a few thoughts of prayer, that 
 God would direct and strengthen her to be- 
 have with the dignity and propriety which are 
 ever the eldest and twin-born of true Religion. 
 Oh ! that the young did but know the value 
 of such supplications — the value of the 
 few words uttered by the soul to Him who 
 reads the soul's feelings as if they were written 
 in a book ! Never was such petition sent up 
 to the throne of God without receiving a 
 guiding and consoling answer. She had not
 
 150 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 breathed her prayer, she had only felt it, — when 
 she saw her obstinate uncle coming towards 
 her, accompanied by the party he had gone in 
 search of, — ,Lady Ellen leaning on Uncle 
 Horace, and the stately Lady Norley, smiling 
 graciously upon the once discarded Harry 
 Mortimer. On they came ; and now thought 
 Mary — " I will not disgrace myself." She 
 received Lady Ellen — she thought as usual — 
 but Ellen felt that the reception was different. 
 She extended her hand to her old companion, 
 and a peculiar look from her uncle rewarded 
 her at once. It was the first time in her 
 young life she had ever felt the necessity of 
 triumphing over self; and though as they 
 drove homeward her heart did beat, and her 
 eyes did fill with tears, yet she felt proud of 
 her triumph, and more at peace with herself. 
 And what, it will be asked, did the town 
 say cf Harry Mortimer ? 
 
 "Blaney," inquired a regular lounger at 
 one of the clubs, " can you tell me — a — a — 
 why Lord Norley chooses to bring this un- 
 heard-of nephew of his to London ? When his
 
 UNCLE HORACE. I5l 
 
 last son died we were all speculating on Lady 
 Ellen as a splendid heiress ; and as it is, I 
 suppose she will have the jjersonals, real and 
 funded. Yet ■" 
 
 '^ You think this young Mortimer devihshly 
 in the way/' said Blaney. 
 
 " Exactly ! " replied Lounger number one, 
 of the three who seemed of the same genus. 
 
 Blaney was doing what an Irishman, or 
 indeed any man, never fails to do when he 
 has an opportunity; he was standing with his 
 back to the lire-place, opposite one of those 
 multipliers of beauty and its reverse, called 
 looking-glasses ; and arranging his mous- 
 taches in the most military manner — " You 
 think him devilishly in the way?" he again 
 inquired carelessly. 
 
 "\ do — a — a — don't you?" The lounger, 
 be it remembered, always spoke with a pecu- 
 liar indecision of manner. 
 
 " I can't say I do — I can't exactly say I 
 ever found any man particularly in my way." 
 
 " Well done, Blaney ! " exclaimed lounger
 
 J 52 
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 numl)er two ; '' that is Irish modesty, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 Blaney frowned, and few men cared to make 
 Blaney frown twice. 
 
 " I say, Blaney, don't you think really now 
 — a — a — that Norley could have done without 
 this nephew?" inquired lounger number three. 
 " I dare say he could,'' replied the hand- 
 some Major; " but I don't see why he should 
 — he's his own flesh and blood." (Lounger 
 number two thought that both an Irish phrase 
 and an Irish feeling ; but he remembered the 
 frown, and did not care to say so.) " There's 
 the title, you know," continued the Major. 
 *^ His Lordship too is suspected of a certain 
 little well-bred parsimony, which it is only 
 polite to term ' prudence ;' and I hear does 
 not deem it unholy for cousins to marry." 
 
 *' The devil !" exclaimed lounger number 
 one. '' And he will like, perhaps, to keep the 
 money in the family: — then, you remember, 
 his eldest son was Member for his county; 
 Cleveland was too young, poor fellow ! even if
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 153 
 
 he had lived, to succeed him — younger than 
 Lady Ellen by five years ; and I hear that 
 his Lordship has got Mortimer in training 
 ah-eady to represent the ' independent in- 
 terest,' where, of course, no one dares oppose 
 his nominee. But a son-in-law could stand 
 for the county as well as a nephew — a — a — 
 could he not?" 
 
 " It won't do," said Blaney, laughing. 
 *' You never had, you never will have a chance 
 of Lady Ellen." 
 
 " I don't care," replied the coxcomb. '' I 
 could have passed over her deformity ; but I 
 hear she is clever — horrid! — think of a c/erer 
 wife!" 
 
 " Who would know more than yourself," 
 said the Major, quietly. 
 
 " Exactly ! — quite detestable ! " 
 
 " And understands Latin." 
 
 " You don't really mean to say the woman 
 understands Latin ! " said the horrified dandy. 
 Good God ! what an escape I have had !" then 
 after a pause continued — " But, my dear fellow, 
 I hear that this Harry Mortimer has been
 
 154 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 totally uneducated — brought up somewhere 
 in — a — a — place called Liverpool, where they 
 make — a — a — steamers — and palm oil — and 
 snuffers — by some trading man — a — a — Mr. 
 Brown." 
 
 " I believe he was adopted, or something of 
 the sort, on the death of his mother, with 
 whom Lord Norley had quarrelled, by an 
 elder brother of Brown Lorton's, whose din- 
 ners you pronounce unexceptionable ; and 
 who is worth — I cannot tell how much. As 
 to his being uneducated, I think him, without 
 any exception, one of the most gentlemanly 
 fellows I ever met with, and the ladies have, 
 already pronounced him splendid!'' 
 
 Blaney, be it observed, felt how much he 
 himself was admired, and consequently could 
 afford to speak the truth, even of a gentleman. 
 
 " The devil!" interrupted the exquisite. 
 
 " Then he w411 be going every where — how 
 very disagreeable ! — really, one is elbowed in 
 the rudest manner. — At Brookes's and Crock- 
 ford's — it is quite — a — a — horrid, and to — a — 
 a — gentleman, painful in the extreme ! I
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 155 
 
 cannot think but it is improper in the utmost 
 degree in Lord Norley to present such a 
 person ; he ought to be called to account." 
 
 ** For introducing his own nephew into 
 society !" said the Major. 
 
 " A — a — I forgot that he was his nephew — 
 a — a — shocking — quite !" 
 
 " What is shocking?" inquired Major 
 Blaney, who, though as far as possible from 
 what is considered ' intelligent,' had a suffi- 
 cient quantity of brains to be amused at the 
 vacuity of the lounger's understanding. 
 
 *' Oh ! to be his nephew, you know — a — a — 
 brought up — in that manner — a — a — Member 
 for the county — a — a — married to Lady Ellen 
 — concentrating the landed interest — and 
 Latin — a — a — and — a — a — the funded pro- 
 perty too — ail that Lady Ellen might have 
 had — all to the Liverpool trader." 
 
 *' By Jove, man !" exclaimed Blaney, half 
 angry with the puppy, " have I not told you 
 that Harry Mortimer is his nephew?" 
 
 The youth made no reply, but extracting 
 himself with the utmost care and skill from
 
 156 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 the fauteidl in which he had been entombed 
 during this faithfully recorded conversation, 
 he addressed three syllables to the second 
 lounger, simply, " Shall we — a — go?" who 
 motioned to the third, and they managed to 
 glide out of the room silently and gracefully. 
 
 " There they go," muttered Blaney, " and 
 well has Lady Ellen named them — the three 
 degrees of comparison — foolish ! — foolisher ! — 
 foolishest ! — Marry Lady Ellen, indeed ! The 
 next thing, I suppose, will be to marry Mary 
 Lor ton."
 
 ]57 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 What other art remains untried 
 This load of anguish to remove. 
 And heal the cruel wounds of love ? 
 To friendship's sacred force apply; 
 That source of tenderness and joy ; 
 A joy no anxious fears profane, 
 A tenderness that feels no pain : 
 Friendship shall all these ills appease, 
 And give the tortur'd mourner ease. 
 
 Hamilton. 
 
 A HERO is supposed to deserve peculiar atten- 
 tion at a lady's hand ; and yet I do not know 
 how it is, but I take far more pleasure in re- 
 cording the actions, and developing the cha- 
 racter of my heroines. I love my own sex — I 
 would rather, ten to one, repeat the conversa- 
 tions of Lady Ellen — of Mary Lorton — or even 
 chronicle the occasion of Magdalene's tears, 
 than describe the feelings of Harry Mortimer 
 — the speculations, political and matrimonial, 
 of -his uncle on his behalf — trace the weak 
 ambition of Brown Lorton — the simplicity and
 
 158 ^ UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 shrewdness of Peter Pike — or the strength 
 and terseness of Horace ; but, no ; I confess 
 a partiaUty for Horace — dear Uncle Horace I 
 whose precepts and example are both good ; 
 who trades, without being a trader ; who de- 
 lights in benevolence ; and whose roughness 
 is only a sort of apology to himself for loving 
 humanity all too well. Yes, I confess a par- 
 tiality for Uncle Horace, far beyond that I 
 feel for any of the male sex who have hitherto 
 appeared upon these pages; but my lady 
 friends would never forgive me, if I did not 
 mention some of the qualities which impressed 
 themselves upon Mary's memory in favour of 
 Harry Mortimer. 
 
 Major Blaney has announced that he was 
 handsome and gentlemanlike. 
 
 '^ Handsome and gentlemanlike I" Ladies, 
 I appeal to you : — Do you think it necessary 
 that Mary Lorton need give any further rea- 
 son for a preference, so natural when shut up 
 with this " handsome and gentlemanlike" 
 youth — no, not shut up, but created while 
 wandering together through a certain green
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 159 
 
 copse that skirted Uncle Horace's garden; 
 cultivating the same flowers — feeding the same 
 birds — singing the same songs — reading the 
 same books — loving the same things — until 
 each reflected the thoughts and feelings of the 
 other ; until, indeed, loving the same pure, 
 natural, and beautiful wonders of the creation, 
 produced a love as natural, as beautiful, and 
 as pure. 
 
 Now, Mary — if asked before the '' trifle 
 light as air" had " moved" dissension be- 
 tween her and him — would never have thought 
 of his being ^' gentlemanlike : — " she would 
 have said he was — '^ Oh, so kind!" — '' Oh, 
 so generous I" — '' Oh, so noble !" — and, per- 
 haps, (this would have been in an under 
 tone) — *' Oh, so handsome /" A delicately 
 minded girl will never avow that she prefers 
 a man because of his beauty, which she only 
 acknowledges as an incidental advantage ; 
 she will deny its fascination to herself, and 
 create for him most amiable and excellent 
 qualities — such qualities taking their tone from 
 her own mind; — she will enwreath him with
 
 160 U^CLE HORACE. 
 
 I 
 
 perfections ! — she will become an alchymist 
 and crystallize him at once ! — And the marry- 
 ing part of mankind ought to be most thank- 
 ful that such is the endearing weakness of 
 woman ; for if she did not create these per- 
 fections, what would become of the perfec- 
 tionless beings who congregate like summer 
 flies on the inside and the outside of our 
 dwellings, with as little motive, and, for ought 
 I ever could discover, to as little purpose ! 
 
 Will Mary's description satisfy ? Not quite. 
 Well, then, his eyes blue ; his teeth, you may- 
 suppose them white, but from the firm and 
 peculiar formation of his mouth, they were but 
 little seen ; never, indeed, except when he 
 laughed, and his laugh was music. His eye, 
 in general, would have been called " cold." 
 Mary never thought it so; and, unhappily, 
 another lady existed who entertained the 
 same opinion. But there was about Harry a 
 carefulness — a watching both of himself and 
 others — far beyond his years ; the result of early 
 trials and disappointments. He had never 
 forgotten the reception Lord Norley had given
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 161 
 
 liim, when his two sons sat in health and 
 vigour at his hoard, and when it was likely 
 that he would have been but an incumbrance 
 to his house ; and he would have been basely 
 ungrateful, if he had forgotten the attention — 
 the sisterly affection lavished upon him by 
 his cousin Ellen. He had one other quality, 
 which I love to think of — to bless ! laud 
 him for it, ye who read its record ! — a true 
 and independent spirit ! — this made him quit 
 the dwelling where luxury might have tempted 
 a youth of eighteen to sit on the lowest seat, 
 and wait my lord's pleasure for a higher — 
 this made him toil in the office of Horace 
 Brown, at a labour he could not compre- 
 hend, and which his soul abhorred ; yet, when 
 almost unconsciously he wasted paper and 
 destroyed pens, the half smile half frown of 
 his benefactor and friend nev^er possessed a 
 tithe of the severity which the reproaches of 
 his own conscience visited upon him for time 
 mis-spent. 
 
 Independence is never without pride ; though 
 pride, improperly so called, is to be met with 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 without independence. Harry's pride pre- 
 vented his asking Mary the reason of her 
 change. The modern Moloch, too, rose to 
 his imagination. She was rich — he was poor : 
 and he so thoroughly loathed the remembrance 
 of his uncle's harshness, that he could not bear 
 to speak or think of all he suffered there ; nor 
 did he wish that any eye but his own should 
 see his cousin's letters. And they were no 
 longer boy and girl. When she went to 
 London, he laboured unceasingly : that is to 
 say, he really sat in the counting-house from 
 morning till night, and destroyed less paper 
 and fewer pens than ever he had done before. 
 He was half tempted to refuse Lord Norley's 
 offer ; and he would have done so, but for one 
 simple passage in his uncle's letter : — 
 
 '' I have now no son, unless my sister's child 
 will be as one to me in my bereavement." 
 
 Then Lady Ellen: — 
 
 " Harry, will you refuse to be my brother V 
 
 How mad the world would have imagined 
 Mortimer for even pausing to consider such 
 an offer ! — I loved him for it !
 
 UhCLE HORACE. 163 
 
 " I wish you/' said Lord Norley to this new 
 heir of his affections — heir to his speculations 
 rather, — " I wish you to appear exactly as my 
 sons Avould have appeared, and have set apart 
 nearly the same sum for that object ; I say 
 nearly, because the habits you must have ac- 
 quired will doubtless enable you to make a 
 greater show, with a smaller expenditure, than 
 other young men would require for the same 
 purposes." 
 
 " I feel your kindness, my Lord ; and 
 have no doubt that what you design for 
 me will exceed my wants," replied Mortimer;* 
 " but I shall not be able to aj^pear to spend 
 more than I really spend. I have never been 
 extravagant, 3^et never sought to make a 
 guinea seem two." 
 
 Lord Norley made no comment on this 
 specimen of honest feeling, though it did occur 
 to him that he might not find his nephew so 
 docile as he expected. He continued: — "I 
 intend to call on your friend, Mr. Horace 
 Brown, to-day." He paused^ expecting Harry 
 to make some observation on his Lordship's 
 
 m2
 
 164 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 condescension. Harry, however, continued 
 silent. " If you are not otherwise engaged, 
 you can ride with me ; it would prevent his 
 feeling awkward or embarrassed ; and he has 
 been so kind to you, that you should consider 
 his feelings." 
 
 Harry had his own reasons for not wishing 
 to call at Mr. Brown Lor ton's with his uncle. 
 But he could hardly help smiling at the idea 
 of any one confusing the worthy merchant. 
 He parried the invitation, and assured him at 
 the same time, that his friend, if he pleased, 
 could command the best society in the county ; 
 and that he was altogether a superior man to 
 his brother. 
 
 " One meets these pari^enus every where," 
 said his Lordship ; " yet Brown Lorton has an 
 excellent judgment — a very excellent judg- 
 ment — in dinners — and the daughter is lovely, 
 quite lovely. It is a pity so sweet a girl should 
 be 2i parvenueV 
 
 Poor Lord Norley ! how would he have 
 looked if some English Asmodeus had just 
 tapped him on the shoulder, and reminded him
 
 UNCLE HORACE. • 165 
 
 that the grade above his conceited self looked 
 down upon him as a parvenu, with as much 
 contempt as he looked down upon Brown 
 Lorton ? 
 
 This puts me in mind of a fable : — 
 *' I thank Jupiter!" said the sparrow^ " that 
 I am not a diminutive bird like the wren, to 
 be made the sport of every school-boy, and the 
 simile of all that is petite and contemptible ! 
 I thank Jupiter I am not a little wren !" 
 
 " How I pity that miserable sparrow !" quoth 
 a thrush, as, pluming his brown wing, he gave 
 loose to his conceit in song. " How I pit}^ 
 that poor sparrow ! If I were no bigger than 
 he is, I would never show my bill beyond 
 the eaves of the cottage which concealed my 
 nest !" 
 
 '' My neighbour thrush thinks a great deal 
 of himself," whispered a blackbird to his lady 
 wife, as she sat patiently upon her eggs ; " but 
 what a small creature it is ! so ragged and 
 starved in his appearance ; — it would be his 
 wisest plan to roost in the holly bush all day, 
 instead of fluttering as if he were a bird of
 
 166 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 mao:nitude." And the blackbird stretched 
 his neck, and gave a whistle of triumph which 
 attracted the attention of a well-powdered 
 jackdaw, as he balanced himself with a care- 
 less, foppish air, first on one leg, and then on 
 the other, on the pinnacle of a chimney : — 
 
 " That poor little bird," cawed Master Jack, 
 in soliloquy, " tries to make himself heard, 
 though it is almost impossible he can be seen ; 
 he is so dark top, as well as small ; no tint to 
 relieve the black. Well ! it really is astonish- 
 ing how insignificant some people look;" and 
 he pirouetted in the sun beams, delighted to 
 see how large his shadow appeared upon 
 the grey roof where he had established a 
 residence, 
 
 '' Well I what will the world come to !" ex- 
 claimed an old rook to a still older eagle, who 
 was reposing on the battlement of a neigh- 
 bouring tower. 
 
 '^What's the matter now, gossip?" quoth 
 the eagle, withdrawing his gaze from the sun. 
 
 " Haven't you heard the clatter ?" replied 
 the rook.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 167 
 
 " No/' said the eagle ; " my ears were filled 
 with the music of the spheres — with re- 
 membrance of the harmony which I heard 
 through the gates of heaven, when last I 
 soared into the sky." 
 
 " Then you did not hear what the jackdaw 
 said !" chattered the rook. 
 
 '• Not I !" replied the eagle. 
 
 " The poor caricature of the genus corvusT* 
 persisted the learned bird : " the diminutive 
 jackdaw has been ridiculing the blackbird 
 because of his size ! If / did that, indeed, it 
 would be no wonder — I, a well-proportioned 
 bird !" 
 
 " You !" exclaimed the eagle. 
 
 '* Yes ; me, to be sure !" replied the rook, 
 with more temper than he ought to have 
 shown in so august a presence. " Does not 
 your majesty perceive a vast difference between 
 a rook and a jackdaw?" 
 
 " Not I, indeed !" quoth the eagle, as he 
 spread his wings : " Not I, indeed! in my eyes 
 you are all the same."
 
 168 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 To eat to live — to live to eat! 
 
 Pro and Con. 
 
 The dinner at Brown Lorton's passed^ as all 
 professed eating dinners do, when no great 
 wits are present, and wliere the quantity of, 
 good things consumed far surpasses the quan- 
 tity of good things said. I believe all the 
 fashionable novels that have been presented 
 to the '' reading public" during the last ten 
 years, have given minute descriptions of these 
 affairs; consequently, any details of mine would 
 be superfluous; moreover, I confess my ig- 
 norance of them ; I should not be able to do 
 Brown Lorton's '' first-rate dinners " justice. 
 I have no talent for them ; and unless they 
 are served with taste and elegance, and gar- 
 nished with rare company, they are, to me.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 169 
 
 hot, stupid, and disagreeable : it is only the 
 lights, the splendour of the plate, and the per- 
 fume and beauty of the dessert that makes 
 them endurable. Eating is an unpleasant 
 task — a sort of animal necessity — a tribute 
 which the clay exacts from the spirit — a daily 
 record of our wants — a hint from mortality as 
 to the base matter we consist of. 
 
 The only thing I remember of the parti- 
 cular dinner I am called upon to notice is, 
 that Lord Norley was first piqued, and then 
 rather pleased, at the ease and dignified con- 
 fidence of Horace Brown, from whom he ex- 
 tracted (his Lordship was a man of the world) 
 a suflficient quantity of information touching 
 the manufacturing districts, to create a con- 
 siderable sensation in the House of Peers 
 next night. Horace had his own manners 
 his own opinions, his own ideas ; he felt that 
 as an English merchant he was necessary to 
 the existence of the greatest kingdom in the 
 world, and he was proud of it. Such a man 
 cannot fail of being respected in society. 
 Even Harry Mortimer was delighted to see
 
 170 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 how he was at once appreciated ; the occa- 
 sional sarcasms, the cayenne with which he 
 flavoured his discourse, gave a zest to the 
 conversation at Brown Lorton's, which it had 
 never possessed before. Brown Lorton, who 
 had been sitting in trembhng fear of his bro- 
 ther's brusquerie during the early part of the 
 first grand dinner at which he had been pre- 
 sent, and who never, at his own table, had 
 sufficient courage to call his opinions his own, 
 grew astonished at his brother's moral bold- 
 ness. Poor Lorton was so anxious to secure 
 the favour of his titled guests, that he forgot 
 himself, and became as firmly manacled a slave 
 as ever rowed in a Venetian galley I 
 
 The ladies did not appear at this '• feast 
 of eating and flow of wine." The mistress of 
 the mansion was shut into her bed-room ; not 
 with her daughter, but with Miss Maxwell : — 
 and Mary was alone — did I say alone ? — No : 
 she was not alone in her silent and sacred 
 chamber, for she had books — several — heaped 
 on a low table near the window ; and she sat, 
 her feet upon a yellow ottoman, her arms rest-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 171 
 
 ing on the cushions of a luxurious chair, while 
 she bent over a volume, a small volume of 
 poetry — Mrs. Hemans' " National Lyrics !" 
 What a blessed thing is poetry ! — how much 
 of all that is best, and dearest, and holiest, 
 shines forth from a page — a stanza — a single 
 line ! Prose, heavy prose, toils after it in vain. 
 It is the spirit, the essence of literature. She 
 turned over and over the leaves ; now half 
 warbling the songs — the music for which she 
 had learnt, then imagining a wild music of her 
 own to some Spanish war hymn^ or some soft 
 evening chant which angels inspired, and 
 angels might stoop to hear. 
 
 Mary hardly knew how it was, but a few 
 days had brought much wisdom to her store of 
 thoughts. It is a beautiful thing, that b}^ 
 reading our own heart, we learn to read the 
 hearts of others. Books are but feeble records 
 of humanity : — those who would be greatly 
 wise must read itself. The study was new to 
 Mary Lorton ; she may be said to have only 
 achieved the a, b, c of moral literature ; but 
 that, in so young, so rich, so fair a maid, was
 
 172 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 something. The motto to one of the poems 
 rivetted her attention. She read it twice : — 
 
 " They sin who tell us Love can die, 
 With life all other passions fly ; 
 All others are but vanity ! 
 In heaven Ambition cannot dwell, 
 Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell. — 
 Earthly these passions, as of earth, — 
 They perish where they drew their birth. 
 But Love is indestructible ! 
 Its holy flame for ever burneth — 
 From heaven it came — to heaven returneth." 
 
 These hnes of Southey's were prefixed to 
 one of the " Songs of a Guardian Spirit," that 
 breathe of the holy perfume in which all things 
 SHE wrote were steeped; while Mary pon- 
 dered o'er the ]page, she blessed the poet. 
 Let us, too, pause to bless her memory, though 
 she is gone from among us, to be no more 
 seen, no more heard ! — Gone, in the prime of 
 womanhood, to the grave — the cold, damp, 
 narrow grave ! — gone for ever from a w^orld 
 that hardly valued her as she deserved I Her 
 harp hangs upon the willows ! — her voice is 
 silent ! — her pen is dry ! No longer will she 
 touch the occurrences of life with a " golden
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 173 
 
 finger," and transmute tliem into poetry. Her 
 mind was one vast imagination ; her heart, 
 the temple of tenderness. She was of all 
 others the poet of the affections ; not of the 
 gross and sensual feelings which are so called, 
 but of the affections that are breathed by the 
 Creator into our souls! I cannot think of 
 her life, her death, without heavy and settled 
 grief. Many a page of her Lyrics was marked 
 by Mary's tears ; and well it was that her 
 naturally pure taste directed her to such a holy 
 fountain of enjoyment, for neither her mother 
 nor Miss Maxwell cared what she read. Lady 
 Ellen, indeed, lent her books ; but Lady Ellen 
 delighted more in high and lofty romance, or 
 in the keen encounter of men's wits. 
 
 While Mary was reading, she received a 
 note from her friend ; it was as follows : — , 
 
 " Perhaps, dearest Mary, I ought not to write 
 you — perhaps, I ought not again to visit you. 
 I said I would not, after your strange coldness 
 to me the other night ; but this morning you 
 were almost yourself again. Tell me ivhy you
 
 174 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 were so cold? or tell Harry, when you see 
 him this evening (for I am sure he will see 
 you), and come to me to-morrow, and bring 
 " Uncle Horace" Avith you; and let me know 
 if he is disengaged, for I intend to lay violent 
 siege to his heart. Dear Harry tells us so 
 much of his excellence, that I quite love him 
 for it." 
 
 Mary paused, and her breath came thickly 
 to her lips. She looked on the note to con- 
 tinue ; but there was nothing more I Mary 
 thought it finished abruptly with — 
 '^ Yours ever affectionately, 
 
 " Ellen Revis." 
 
 She turned the note over and over, twisted 
 it, tortured the poor paper into a double knot 
 — forgot her book ! — suffered Bright to rest 
 his shaggy paws upon the delicate blue silk 
 which Major Blaney had declared on a former 
 occasion was a dress fit for an angel, and, of 
 course, almost worthy of Miss Lorton ; — heeded 
 nothing — saw nothing, until roused from her 
 reverie (during which she was perfectly un-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 175 
 
 conscious that twilight was softening the bril- 
 liancy of day into a scarcely less brilliant 
 night), by a well-known voice. She saw Uncle 
 Horace and Harry Mortimer within her 
 sanctum. 
 
 " I almost thought/' said her uncle, without 
 noticing an agitation w^hich even the twilight 
 could not conceal, " that you would have been 
 in your mother's room; and I wanted Harry 
 to sec the Canova, which b}?" the way he cannot 
 do without lights." 
 
 *' Shall I ring for them ?" said Mary, " or 
 may I trouble you to show it ?" 
 
 " Which do you mean, Mary ?" inquired 
 her provoking relative. 
 
 " Either," she replied, coldly. 
 
 " I assure you, MissLorton," said Mortimer, 
 " I would not have intruded here, had not 
 your uncle insisted upon it ; he told me " 
 
 " Make no apology, I request of 3^ou," in- 
 terrupted the young lady. " I am always 
 glad to see my uncle's friends, and my old 
 acquaintances." 
 
 " How delighted that poor dog is to see
 
 176 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 you !" exclaimed Mr. Brown, as, after a lonj^ 
 and awkward pause, lier favourite maid en- 
 tered, and lit the tapers. 
 
 " Poor Bright ! we were fellow travellers," 
 said Harry, patting his rough coat. 
 
 *' Now look at the Mao-dalen ! — is it not 
 beautiful? Who would ever imagine a fo- 
 reigner could have so fine an idea of female 
 beauty !" said Horace, all his prejudice roused 
 at the idea of any but an Englishman accom- 
 plishing aught that was excellent. 
 
 " My dear uncle !" exclaimed Mary, " you 
 are worse than ever! Surely all our rarest 
 models of beauty, our choicest specimens of 
 art^ come from abroad !" 
 
 " Models of beauty !— stuff ! Specimens of 
 art — granted. Yes ; our best specimens of 
 art come from abroad — an artful, pick -pocket- 
 ing set ! Art ! why where should it come 
 from, but from abroad ! I really am ashamed 
 of you, Mary, to admire anything un-English.*" 
 " Then why do you admire that ?" inquired 
 Mary. 
 
 " Oh ! it is very beautiful — holy and beau-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 177 
 
 tiful ! Fit for a church, if it had not been 
 carved by an Italian and a Catholic !'* 
 
 " And yet/' said Mary, " so small a cast 
 can give you but a faint idea of the original. 
 Many, and particular!}^ Magdalene, have de- 
 scribed to me its surpassing composure and 
 dignity." 
 
 " Magdalene ! why where did Magdalene 
 see it?" inquired Uncle Horace, who would 
 as soon have sent a servant on a voyage of 
 discovery to the moon, as one inch out of 
 England. 
 
 " Abroad 1" 
 
 " So you have been abroad !" said Horace 
 Brown ; a slight idea that Magdalene must be 
 imworthy of the situation she held crossing 
 his mind, in spite of his good-nature. 
 
 " Yes, Sir," replied the girl. 
 
 *' Have you been in many countries ?" 
 
 " Not many. Sir." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " In Italy ; and remained a little time at 
 Naples, at Florence, and at Rome." 
 
 If Magdalene had not seemed a superior 
 
 VOL. 1. N
 
 178 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 person, Horace would have felt to ascertain if 
 his pockets were safe ; but he looked into her 
 face, which had rather more colour than usual, 
 and thought her beautiful. 
 
 '' How came you to travel ? Were you in 
 service then ?" 
 
 " No, Sir ; I travelled with two younger 
 brothers — twins. My mother, on her death- 
 bed, made me promise never to leave them 
 if they journeyed out of England. She could 
 not bear them to go abroad." 
 
 " A sensible woman — a very sensible wo- 
 man !" exclaimed Horace, ready to confer the 
 diploma of sound judgment upon every one 
 who thought as he thought. " But where," 
 he added, " are they now ?" 
 
 " One," replied Magdalene, '' is buried in 
 the Protestant burying- ground at Rome, in a 
 grave without a name, shaded by the projec- 
 tion of an ancient wall-tower, and by this time 
 covered with the grass and flowers of Italy." 
 As she spoke, her voice trembled with emo- 
 tion, and tears rushed to her eyes. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" exclaimed Horace, " to die
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 179 
 
 in a strange country — away from England — no 
 name upon his grave either." 
 
 " It will have a name. Sir/' said Magdalene, 
 " one of these days." 
 
 " Your other brother ?" 
 
 *' Is in England, Sir.'* 
 
 During this short dialogue Mary had ex- 
 changed a few words with Harry, but in so 
 low a tone that Uncle Horace heard them not ; 
 they were evidently not disagreeable to her 
 ear, — not painful at all events, for she blushed 
 deeply while he spoke. Harry turned round 
 as Uncle Horace was wondering how a ser- 
 vant, a London servant, could express herself 
 so well, and afford to travel with her brothers, 
 and said, " We had an adventure, yesterday, 
 — an adventure. Sir, so much after your own 
 heart, that I wished you had shared it." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Horace. " Pray tell 
 me what it was/' 
 
 '' Lady Ellen and I had been wiling away 
 the morning in the Regent's Park, and turned 
 into the Colosseum. We passed from one sub- 
 ject to another in the saloon, until her atten- 
 
 N 2
 
 180 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 tion was attracted by a very spirited figure in 
 plaster — a Brig-and's wife clinging to a rock, 
 supposed to be watching her husband's descent 
 into the glen beneath. She bought it, and 
 inquired the artist's address. 
 
 " * He lives in a place/ replied tho attend- 
 ant, ' where your ladyship would hardly go ; 
 if you desire, he will, of course, feel much 
 honoured in waiting upon you.' But Lady 
 Ellen would go ; so she procured the direc- 
 tion ; the man adding, — ' It is such a miserable 
 hole, that your ladyship will regret your visit.' 
 " ' Do you think,' inquired my cousin, ' that 
 the gentleman's feelings would be hurt at 
 being discovered in such lodgings ? because, 
 if so, I will send for him.' 
 
 " The man laughed. ^ Oh, dear, no, my 
 Lady ! of course, he will be too much honoured. 
 He is not a gentleman, exactly; a youth — a 
 mere youth. Clever ; but I fear indolent, he 
 does so little.' Lady Ellen said that he 
 could not be expected to do a great deal, if 
 all he did was so exquisite in quality. The 
 man shrugged his shoulders, and we drove off."
 
 U^■CLE HORACE. 181 
 
 " What was the artist's name ?" inquired 
 Uncle Horace. 
 
 " Philip Marsden," replied young Mortimer. 
 
 '' By Vulcan, I am glad he is an English- 
 man !'' was Uncle Horace's characteristic ob- 
 servation. 
 
 " In one of those lone, cold, shivering 
 houses," continued Mortimer, " which stretch 
 out into what once was a meadow, but hav- 
 ing been half built upon, looks gloomy, and 
 drear, and grassless even now ; spotted with 
 a half-naked child, or a few dirty, starved 
 geese, mocking rusticity, and claiming alHance 
 with the soil and misery of London paupers ; 
 — in one, or rather at the back of one of these 
 cottages, we found the sculptor. The mistress 
 of the place, astonished at our appearance, 
 directed us with much civility across a filthy 
 yard, at the bottom of which appeared, what 
 I suppose was intended originally for a car- 
 penter's shed. There was a long, low, narrow 
 window close to the door, and, before Lady 
 Ellen knocked for entrance, she paused to 
 observe the artist through its dim panes. As
 
 182 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 he stood with his back to us, it was impossible 
 not to observe the ease and grace of his wil- 
 lowy figure. A tunic of grey cloth was girded 
 round his waist by a black leather belt ; and 
 a small cap, of the same material, sat lightly 
 upon long and clustering curls. 
 
 " I hope," said Uncle Horace, " he is not 
 a puppy/' 
 
 " Before him, on an elevated table," con- 
 tinued Mortimer, " was a figure evidently in- 
 tended as a companion to the one Lady Ellen 
 had purchased — a Brigand leaning back, and 
 looking upward, waving his hand in the air. 
 It was partially covered with wet linen, but 
 the attitude of the head, notwithstanding the 
 smallness of the figure, was magnificent. At 
 one side of this rude table stood an easel, 
 around which were different portions of sculp- 
 ture; and he had managed, with a couple of 
 sticks, to form a sort of reading-desk to 
 support some books. Apparently, the youth 
 had been fatigued by exertion, and was seek- 
 ing relaxation in change of employment, for 
 he was reading, though a modelling tool re-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 183 
 
 mained in his hand. The clay floor of the 
 shed was heaped with the strange mis-shapen 
 creations of a wild, but fertile and powerful 
 imagination — a skeleton with extended arms 
 supported a shroud-like drapery, in one corner, 
 and in the other a straw pallet was but par- 
 tially concealed by a tattered curtain." 
 
 Mary sighed. 
 
 "Go on/' said Uncle Horace. 
 
 '' There was a poverty in the aspect of the 
 sculptor's dwelling that was painful to look 
 upon ; but it was the poverty of circumstances, 
 not the poverty of genius." < 
 
 " Kight," interrupted Uncle Horace, " they 
 are, indeed, distinct." 
 
 " * It is hardly fair,' whispered Ellen to me, 
 ' to pry into such a scene.' She tapped at the 
 door, however, and before he opened it he 
 threw a ragged cloth over a delft plate, upon 
 which rested a half-eaten crust of bread, and 
 a broken vessel of water. He started when 
 he opened the door, but Lady Ellen endea- 
 voured to remove his embarrassment by say- 
 ing how much she admired the Brigand's
 
 184 
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 wife — how much she desired a companion for 
 it. I wish, dear Sir, you had witnessed the 
 flush of an ambition, perhaps gratified for 
 the first time, suffuse itself over the youth's 
 features. I never saw a man with so pale a 
 cheek, so white a brow ; if it had not been for 
 the bright and earnest look of his eagle eye, 
 you might have imagined him a corpse. There 
 was a loftiness in his address, tempered by 
 modesty, which fascinated us both. And he 
 showed Lady Ellen some models, that would 
 do no disgrace to the glorious sculptors of 
 Italy and Greece. If he lives he will be a 
 great man ; but " 
 
 " Curse your ' buts ;' really, Harry, you 
 provoke me sometimes !" exclaimed Uncle 
 Horace. '' Wliat is to prevent the young 
 man's living? what is to prevent his being a 
 great man ? Is not his merit discovered ; and 
 when once a man's talent is known and appre- 
 ciated in England, he must succeed ! — by Hea- 
 ven, he shall succeed /'' 
 
 It escaped the warm-hearted man's notice 
 as he thundered forth this declaration, that
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 185 
 
 Magdalene advanced, as though she would have 
 fallen at his feet ; but controlled the emotion 
 — whatever it might have been that prompted 
 so strange a movement — and retired to the 
 place she had left. 
 
 " He looks so very worn : — his parents arc 
 both dead. The woman of the house said 
 she believed ho had no relation in the world ; 
 and yet, poor fellow ! he is so energetic, so full 
 of fire. It is quite beautiful to hear him talk 
 of his art; — you would imagine he had the 
 power of an emperor, and could call persons 
 and actions into existence for its glory." 
 
 " You have seen him again, then ?" 
 
 '' Oh, yes I to-day : and Lady Norley is to 
 have her bust done ; and Mary should have 
 seen how delicately her friend Lady Ellen 
 managed to bestow upon him a purse. The 
 net- work, she said, as a souvenir from her- 
 self, the gold to purchase the marble, that 
 was to be a present from her to her mother, 
 which his skill would prevail on her to accept." 
 
 '' God bless her !" said Uncle Horace.
 
 186 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 And Mary was not at all displeased that 
 Harry had called her Mary ; and though quite 
 as much perplexed as ever, Mary laid her 
 head on her pillow that night, with a heart 
 lightened of much of its sorrow. 
 
 I wonder what the few words were that 
 Harry whispered to her in the twilight of that 
 sweet room !
 
 18' 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 But grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime 
 " Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime ; 
 An age that melts with unperceived decay. 
 And glides in modest innocence away ; 
 Whose peaceful day benevolence endears, 
 Whose night congratulating conscience cheers. 
 
 Johnson. 
 
 It is true that Mary Lorton had more than 
 once whispered to herself — " I wonder what 
 brought dear Uncle Horace to London at this 
 particular time !" — his farewell to her in his 
 garden was yet green in her remembrance ; — 
 and he had given her but one hint that there 
 was any peculiar motive for his visit. She 
 knew perfectly well that as to London, he loved 
 it not ; that he entertained a mortal antipathy 
 to the habits it engendered; that he looked 
 upon her mother as a fool, and her father as 
 little better ; that he cherished a hope of 
 seeing her wedded to his favourite Harry she 
 fully understood ; and she also saw clearly that 
 his dislike to the '' silken bands " did not ex-
 
 188 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 tend to hers and Mortimer's establishment in 
 the world. ' 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brown Lor ton had, at one time, 
 manifested a certain degree of interest for 
 Harry Mortimer, not from an appreciation of 
 his intrinsic merit, but because he was the 
 nephew of a Peer ! They would occasionally 
 introduce him (while living near Liverpool) 
 to anybody npon whom they wished to make an 
 impression, " as Lord Norley's nephew ;" — but 
 when they ascertained that his lordship at the 
 period to which I allude was not disposed '' to 
 do anything for the young man," their good 
 opinion of him greatly diminished. It never 
 entered into the simple comprehension of Mr. 
 or Mrs. Brown Lor ton to attribute an atom of 
 blame to any member of the aristocracy ; and 
 both, therefore, came to the conclusion, that 
 '' the young man must have something wrong 
 about him." About the same time a coolness, 
 though from far different causes, grew up 
 between Mary and Harry, and Mrs. Brown 
 Lorton did all she could to increase it. 
 
 Mary knew that her vmcle would never have
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 189 
 
 journeyed to London merely to see how young 
 Mortimer " got on" with his grand relatives. 
 One of his peculiarities — and a very extraordi- 
 nary one it was — consisted in the fact^ that as 
 soon as anybody he loved, or was interested 
 about, got beyond a difficulty, whether pecu- 
 niary or otherwise, so soon, and not till then, 
 did he appear not to care any more about him. 
 Peter Pike once gave a perfect illustration 
 of this feature in his master's character ; and 
 that without being at all conscious of his 
 having ever illustrated anything in his life. 
 
 " You see," said he one day, '' my master is, 
 just as a body may say, the oddest gentle- 
 man in all England. There's no understand- 
 ing him : and even / give it up. I used to 
 try to make out what he was after, but it was 
 no use ; and we were always broiling together 
 by consequence : so I thought it best to take 
 his advice, which was, — ' Peter Pike,' says he, 
 ' I have three pieces of advice to give you, 
 which you must attend to if you live with me. 
 The first is, — do as you're bid j the second is, 
 — do as you're bid ; the third is, — do as you're
 
 190 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 bid ! ' So I saw at last it was the only way 
 to have peace. But now, I tell you, there's 
 no understanding my master. Not far from 
 our house there are a few huts scattered about, 
 and belonging to them — for no one claimed her 
 in particular — was a dog, and this dog was 
 called Chance. Well, if a piece was cut out 
 of all the ugly curs in Europe, an uglier beast 
 could not be made than Chance : she'd the 
 ears of a fox ; the nose of a pig ; the tail — but 
 no, she had no tail, it was only a stump ; the 
 claws of a cat ; the coat of a badger ; the eyes 
 of a ferret ; the teeth of a tiger ; the stomach 
 of a greyhound; and a tongue as bitter and 
 as long as a washerwoman's ! Still, a few of 
 the people at the huts liked the beast ; it was 
 a good watch, looked after the geese on the 
 common, and had a wonderful instinct towards 
 the children belonging to those who threw it 
 a bone. I don't know how it was, but this 
 nasty brute conceived a great hatred to my 
 master, and he never could step outside his 
 own gate that the creature would not be at his 
 heels gnarling, and growling, and snapping ;
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 191 
 
 and the cursing and swearing that passed be- 
 tween that dog and my master would tear the 
 surpHce off a minister's back, — it went beyond 
 everything. My master would pelt him and 
 kick him if he could ; but Chance would be 
 off like an arrow before he could touch her. 
 This state of warfare lasted a good three 
 months; every day the dog swearing at my 
 master, and my master at the dog. 
 
 " At last winter came, and Chance had pups. 
 Well, the snow was knee deep, but master 
 was out, looking about covering some of Miss 
 Mary's roses — and what should he see at the 
 other side of the hedge but this nasty dog 
 scratching and howling. 
 
 " ' She'll be at me, now,' said the master to 
 the gardener. 
 
 " ' I think you could get a good throw at 
 her, sir,' replied the gardener ; ' for the boys 
 have drowned her pups, and buried them in 
 that mass of manure ; and 1 think the heat 
 has brought them to life again, for I hear them 
 squalling through the heap.' 
 
 " Well, if you could only have heard the
 
 192 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 froth master got into in a minute, and liow he 
 cursed our gardener — honest man ! — as hard 
 as ever he cursed Chance, for not taking the 
 pups out of the heap ; and bounced over the 
 hedge, and with his own hands pulled out 
 three living pups, and brought them and the 
 mother into the kitchen, and got hot milk for 
 her ; and to be sure dogs are queer beasts, 
 for she was gentle as a lamb then. So he kept 
 them till he set them up, mother and sons. 
 — Well — and I thought we were in for hav- 
 ing the beasts always; but when she grew fat, 
 and out of her trouble, and well to do, master 
 cooled, and sent her back to the huts; for 
 that's one of the queer ways he has, — to take to 
 the miserable, and the sick, and the poor, and 
 set them up, and then leave them when they 
 are happy, and well, and rich." 
 
 This love for the needy, and carelessness 
 towra'ds the prosperous, Mary knew would 
 have its influence with regard to Harry. More 
 than once she was inclined to think that some 
 danger or difficulty threatened her parents; 
 for certainly Uncle Horace sneered at, and
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 193 
 
 quarrelled less with them than formerly : this, 
 though it made her more positively happy, 
 brought its counteracting anxiety, — for Uncle 
 Horace ever kept his sweetest smiles for the 
 unfortunate ! She had certainly heard of 
 tradespeople calling more than once, and she 
 also knew that her father had complained of 
 some city failure where some of his money 
 had been lodged, affecting his pecuniary re- 
 sources for a time. Still she felt assured in 
 her own mind that something more was neces- 
 sary to domicile her uncle in their dwelling, 
 from whence he gave no token of departure ; 
 on the contrary, he manifested a desire to 
 enter into society, where the reputation of his 
 wealth, and his near connexion with the beau- 
 tiful heiress, insured him at least a civil re- 
 ception. In fact, his new habits and desires 
 appeared greatly at variance with his old ones ; 
 and altogether he puzzled his fair niece not a 
 little. Miss Maxwell, too — Miss Maxwell's 
 grave face had grown more grave : instead of 
 the honied words which formerly she poured 
 upon Uncle Horace as thickly as the dew of 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Hermon, she now appeared restless and un- 
 easy in his presence, and under a constraint 
 painful to witness, and which she in vain 
 struggled to conceal. Mrs. Brown Lorton^ 
 ever since the party at Lady Norley's, had 
 been the victim of a nervous irritability ex- 
 ceedingly foreign to her nature. Contrary 
 to her usual habit, she refused to see her 
 medical attendant; and Mary was growing 
 really miserable at the progress of a disease 
 which in a cheerful and animated temperament 
 she thought exceedingly alarming. Her father 
 appeared the only one who had not absolutely 
 changed : for Magdalene, whom Mary had 
 treated more as a humble friend than a mere 
 servant, had learned to smile ; and her kind 
 mistress thought she perceived a slight, yet 
 healthy colour tinting her pale cheek. Mary 
 was one of those blessed-and-blessing beings 
 who always find leisure, no matter what 
 their own troubles may be, to think of the 
 sorrows of others. It was to her a pleasure^ 
 which the selfish and worldly-minded can- 
 not comprehend, to see the transient smile
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 195 
 
 illumine Magdalene's placid and lovely coun- 
 tenance, though her own heart was anythmg 
 but at rest. 
 
 If Harry really did retain " a deep and 
 affectionate remembrance " of their early days, 
 if he had felt what he murmured, during the 
 few moments that Uncle Horace addressed 
 Magdalene, in the twilight that evening in her 
 own " dear room," why had he not been there 
 since ? It is true she had refused to go to 
 Lady Ellen the next day according to her 
 invitation, but then Lady Ellen might have 
 come to her : there was nothing to prevent it. 
 She had been left for nearly two whole days to 
 herself. Her mother still in her chamber, — - 
 " too nervous," she said, to permit even the 
 daughter she so dearly loved to be near her, 
 and yet constantly occupied with Miss Max- 
 well : — more than once Mary had paused at the 
 door and heard sobbings ! 
 
 Her father she never saw till after dinner, 
 and then the quantity of good things he had 
 been eating and drinking certainly rendered 
 him no very interesting companion. Uncle Ho- 
 
 o2
 
 196 
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 race was generally either out or closeted with 
 Peter Pike, who, in his turn, appeared to have 
 taken a rambling fit, and left the interesting 
 Job Harris, the clacking Mrs. Claggett, and 
 the other deities of the lower regions, to their 
 employments, speculations, or amusements. 
 Everyone had grown accustomed to Uncle 
 Horace, Peter Pike, and Bright; and yet 
 within a fortnight everything had changed in 
 a most unaccountable manner, — the knocker 
 was delicately muffled, and Mary's thousand 
 and one admirers were obliged to pass along 
 one side of the superb square and up another, 
 without catching so much as a glimpse of the 
 lady of their love. Perhaps the most start- 
 ling event of that altered period was this. 
 One night, — Saturday night, too,- — Mary sat 
 up waiting her uncle's return until past eleven^ 
 and still he came not ! And Avhere, most 
 hnaginative reader, do you suppose he was? 
 Where, in your opinion, could the excellent 
 proprietor of the most extensive stores in 
 Liverpool have spent the intermediate hours 
 between eight and twelve ? I pray you exer-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 197 
 
 cise your ingenuity. The montli was June, 
 — the evening, as I have said, Saturday. 
 At the Opera! the sole inhabitant of Mrs. 
 Brown Lortoii's well-situated box ! Now 
 what think you of that ? Poor Uncle Horace ! 
 he had not been long so domiciled when the 
 door flew open, and a particularly well-dressed 
 lounger entered, staid a few minutes, and dis- 
 appeared. Another succeeded, stared at the 
 Avorthy trader, and vanished. Presently Mr. 
 Brown's voice called, as at an English theatre, 
 '' Box-keeper ! " 
 
 '' Sir," was the polite reply, accompanied by 
 a bow which would not have disgraced the 
 ballet. 
 
 " I thought this was a private box ! " 
 
 '' Most undoubtedly^ sir." 
 
 *' Then why do you suffer every lounger 
 who pleases to enter it ? " 
 
 " Unquestionably ! 1 beg your pardon, sir, 
 but I thought you were a member of Mrs. 
 Brown Lorton's family." 
 
 " Well, sir — so I am^ I suppose ; but what 
 of that?
 
 198 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 '' Why, sii% I assure you no one has entered 
 except two gentlemen who have the regular 
 entree ! " * 
 
 - The what, sh- ? " 
 
 ^^ Entree, sir." 
 
 " Speak English, if you please, sir," growled 
 Uncle Horace. 
 
 '' Permission, sir, to go in and out as they 
 please ;" and then added, seeing how imsatis- 
 fied Uncle Horace looked, '' friends, you per- 
 ceive, sir, of Mrs. Brown Lorton's." 
 
 '' And are there likely to be many more such 
 friends here to-night ?" inquired Horace, draw- 
 ing his head back into the box as a snail draws 
 in its horns. 
 
 '' Really I can't say, sir ; there are four 
 standing together who will, I dare say, look 
 m. 
 
 '' Then, by George, sir, lock up the box, 
 and swear you've lost the key," he exclaimed, 
 banging to the door in a manner that made 
 the carpeted lobbies echo again, and left the 
 perplexed box-keeper in open-mouthed aston- 
 ishment. Having thus arranged against far-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 199 
 
 ther intrusion, he half enveloped himself in 
 the silken curtain, and commenced peeping 
 before and behind the identical pillar that was 
 a source of so much annoyance to Miss Max- 
 well. More than once or twice did he congra- 
 tulate himself on the precaution he had taken, 
 for the box door was regularly besieged during 
 the evening. What he thought of the opera 
 it is not in my power to communicate ; it 
 was his first, and, to the best of my belief, his 
 last visit. I crave your mercy, Fanatico per 
 Musica ! — I am not accountable for Uncle 
 Horace's taste, or his deficiency thereof; I only 
 record facts. 
 
 When he returned to Bel grave Square 
 Mary had gone to bed ; but patient Peter was 
 seated in Mr. Brown's dressing-room at the 
 table, his head resting upon his hands, while 
 he indulged in a refreshing slumber. He was 
 so sound asleep that he never heard his master 
 enter ; and Horace, seeing a book open close 
 to his elbow, thought he would take note of the 
 studies of his serving- man. Much did he hope 
 it might be the " Whole Art of Service ex-
 
 200 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 emplified, with Sundry Receipts never before 
 published 1" or '' The Farrier's Assistant ;" or 
 even '' The Kennel's Companion;" — for Peter's 
 dress, on his first arrival in London, was a 
 true type of his multitudinous and multifarious 
 employments in Mr. Brown's establishment. 
 But no ! the unclosed book was none of these. 
 It was a cheap publication, something after the 
 fashion of an Annual, yet not an Annual; a 
 sort of tail, a hanger-on, to those elegant and 
 ephemeral books, the last ring of the tail, 
 bound in blue calico, and lettered with silver; 
 and the leaf was turned down on a piece of 
 literary illumination, entitled, " How to make 
 Love r' and was, moreover, illustrated by a pic- 
 torial effort of some unhappy artist's — a young 
 man on his knees to a young lady, with one 
 hand pressed upon his heart, the other carry- 
 ing the fair one's hand to his lips ! 
 
 This would have been too much for the phi- 
 losophy of Uncle Horace, if his mind had not 
 been preoccupied with more important matter 
 than the subject of Peter's cogitations ; as it 
 was, he shook him rudely by the shoulder
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 201 
 
 and told liim in good round terms that he 
 was by many degrees a greater fool than he 
 took him for — information which Master Pike 
 received with his accustomed resignation, and 
 prepared to mull some wine over the night- 
 lamp, a beverage which Uncle Horace always 
 took before he went to bed. 
 
 " Did you see him. sir ?" inquired Peter re- 
 spectfully. 
 
 " I did; — there, you always give me too 
 much ginger." 
 
 *' I will take care, sir. You do not think, 
 now, sir, I was mistaken in his indentity ?" 
 
 " No, I was perfectly satisfied : he is very 
 much altered, but still singularly handsome T' 
 
 " He was, about twenty years ago, the hand- 
 somest man, for aforriner, I ever looked at!" 
 
 " The whole story is so strange, the infor- 
 mation you obtained so extraordinary,"" ob- 
 served Horace, '* that I cannot even now make 
 it out. I certainly thought,- at first, you were 
 mistaken ; his returning at all to England was 
 so unaccountable !'* 
 
 " Aughl" said Peter (Peter always thus pre
 
 202 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 faced what he considered a clever speech !) 
 " Wherever the geese are the fox will come !" 
 
 " I wonder, Peter," inquired Uncle Horace, 
 " what he has been doing during the last twenty 
 — by the way^ I do not think it can be twenty 
 years. " 
 
 " The Devil could tell if he would," quoth 
 Peter, stirring in the sugar. " And it must 
 be twenty years and some months, or more ; 
 for if you remember, it was a year after your 
 brother brought home his wife — your honour 
 remembers how fond he used to be before then 
 of travelling for the firm, and leaving buggy 
 and all, and going off to them French islands 
 — Jersey, or some such name they call them. 
 Many a time have I set him off in the buggy, 
 and old Harris, Job's father, with him, as a 
 sort of clerk and valet, and guard like, and 
 his samples in the well of the buggy ! I am 
 sure you haven't forgot the day old Harris 
 came home, and young master drove past the 
 store an hour after in a po-chay and four, 
 with such white favours !" 
 
 *' The fool !" was Uncle Horace's short but 
 emphatic exclamation.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 203 
 
 " Well, sir, if you call to mind the great 
 ball they gave in the great room, all in honour 
 of the christening of the son that died. At 
 that ball, for the first time, he was seen in 
 Liverpool ; and you can tell, I dare say, how 
 glad the young master was to see him, and 
 made so much of him, and 'troduced him to 
 every one as his wife's cousin ; and I am sure 
 that very evening she was taken in a swoond, 
 and I lighted the way for your brother to carry 
 her up stairs. How every body raved about 
 her beauty ! Miss Mary will never be as hand- 
 some as her mother." 
 
 " What do you know about beauty ?" ex- 
 claimed Uncle Horace, to whom the comparison 
 was really odious. '' Mary is a thousand times 
 more lovely. Peter, you're a blind fool." 
 
 '' As your honour pleases," replied Peter, 
 handing his master the negus ; adding, " May 
 I ask if he was alone ?" 
 
 " No," replied Uncle Horace; " there were 
 many to whom he spoke at the Opera, one 
 man, a Count something, whom I have seen 
 here ; — he watched the box I was in very nar-
 
 204 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 rowly, but I am quite satisfied that you were 
 right." 
 
 " Ah, I couldn't be mistaken, sir ! — the 
 first thing attracted me to him at the Chequers 
 in Liverpool, was his voice, which led me 
 through the disguise, as I may say ; and then 
 his inquiries after your brother and his famil}^, 
 and then when I dogged him, as I may say, at 
 the risk of my life, and overheard the con- 
 versation that passed between him and an- 
 other outlandisher — first I thought they 
 wanted to rob the house, but afterwards, — as 
 I told you, sir — " 
 
 *• Ay, Peter, ay ; of course I was obliged to 
 be near dear Mary." 
 
 " But do you know, sii since then I have 
 been thinking, that — put that and that, and 
 that, together, perhaps it is not Miss." 
 
 *' Never mind, Peter, my head is so con- 
 fused, so tortured, so bewildered, to-night — By 
 Vulcan ! I wonder how the women can ever sit 
 four mortal hours in that house, listening to 
 what English ears could never understand ; it 
 is a thousand times more noisy — than — "
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 205 
 
 " The great forge at our factory !" said Peter, 
 helping his master to a simile while he put on 
 his night-cap. 
 
 " Than all the forges in and out of Liver- 
 pool and Birmingham put together," replied 
 Uncle Horace, as he got into bed.
 
 ( 20G ) 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 But ah ! my breast is human still ; 
 
 The rising sigh, the falling tear, 
 My langviid vitals' feeble rill, 
 
 The sickness of my soul declare. 
 
 But yet with fortitude resign'd, 
 
 I'll thank th' inflicter of the blow ; 
 
 Forbid the sigh, compose my mind. 
 
 Nor let the gush of mis'ry flow. 
 
 Chatterton. 
 
 Lady Ellen Revis had been employing her 
 morning in various ways; dressing, and read- 
 ing, and working, as ladies do, who have no- 
 thing to do; and thinking, as ladies do not 
 often think, — when her servant informed her 
 that her lordly father required her presence 
 in his library. Lord Norley's library was like 
 every other portion of his house, magnificent 
 and uncomfortable. Just such was his Lord- 
 ship's own character : — he was a very pompous 
 and by no means a pleasant person to deal 
 with. 
 
 " Sit down, Ellen," said the stately gentle-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 207 
 
 man^ adding, '' I wish to have some confiden- 
 tial conversation with you." 
 
 Ellen knew of old that all Lord Norley's 
 conversations were difficult of comprehension ; 
 but his confidential ones, especially so. He 
 lived very much amongst the place-capt ima- 
 ginings of political fancy^ and confused others 
 as well as himself by a certain species of 
 declamation which he called talking ; at the 
 same time, however bewildered his ivords 
 might be, his ideas were concentrated in him- 
 self, that selfheing composed of all who were 
 so nearly connected with him as to render 
 theirjactions of importance in his speculations ; 
 and whom he endeavoured to hold in complete 
 vassalage. " Sit down : has your protege — 
 your newly discovered Canova, Mr. Philip 
 Marsden, been here to-day ?" 
 
 " Not to-day, papa. I wish you would not 
 insist on his ' taking off my head,' as Mrs. 
 Malaprop says. I intended he should ma- 
 nage your bust, and mamma's and Harry 
 Mortimer's ; but really to condemn an artist 
 to perpetuate deformity is a hard task." 
 
 " How absurdly sensitive you are on that
 
 208 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 point, Ellen !" replied her father. " You mag- 
 nify the slight defect in your shoulder in a 
 most ridiculous manner; however, be it as 
 you please, it would appear that I have no 
 influence over my nearest connexions. My 
 poor boys, indeed — but they are gone !" 
 
 " I am sure, papa, if you wish, I will sit ; 
 
 but " 
 
 '' There it is again !" interrupted his Lord- 
 ship ; " and it is just the same with your 
 cousin — there is a ' but' to everything." 
 
 Lady Ellen saw that her father ^vas out of 
 temper ; and with the natural generosity of 
 a noble mind, she was glad he had chosen to 
 vent his spleen upon her, and not upon her 
 mother or her cousin. She remained silent, 
 waiting the growling of the storm — for Lord 
 Norley's storms seldom accumulated into burst- 
 ing ; they were rather a continuation of petty 
 squalls, an under current of contrary winds, 
 running first one way and then the other; 
 fizzing and fussing, ra,ther than thundering. 
 His Lordship w^as too prone to be disturbed 
 by petty annoyances, to be ever greatly 
 angry ; but these little irritabilities frittered
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 209 
 
 away, and overthrew some plans and resolves 
 which might have rendered him really useful 
 in his generation. Lord Norley continued 
 twirling a paper-cutter between his finger and 
 thumb, and Lady Ellen's eyes were fixed upon 
 her brother's picture. She was glad it was 
 not hung in a room which she was often ob- 
 liged to enter, and she wondered how her 
 father could bear it there. 
 
 " Poor Reginald!" exclaimed his Lordship, 
 following the direction of her looks, and an- 
 swering them, though she had not spoken a 
 word. ^' Poor Reginald ! he was a fine fellow. 
 I had no trouble with him !"' 
 
 Lady Ellen remembered how often he had 
 complained of " Poor Reginald !" while living 
 
 " Have you seen Harry since breakfast ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Really he is very unmanageable, very ! I 
 cannot account for it, and yet it is to be ac- 
 counted for — brought up as he has been, 
 without associates suitable to his rank ; and by 
 that Mr. Horace Brown, a very intelligent, 
 but a very intractable person." 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Lady Ellen thought that if her father 
 wished to mould Harry Mortimer to his will, 
 it was a pity he had not " brought him up" 
 from the time he was first left destitute. 
 
 " I have been talking to him this morning 
 upon two most important topics ; first of all 
 relative to his settlement in life — he is nearly 
 four -and- twenty : secondly, as to what course 
 of politics I am to guarantee in a particular 
 quarter if I secure his return." 
 
 Lady Ellen s heart beat with a quickness she 
 could not account for at the moment, and her 
 breath came short and thick. His Lordship 
 continued : — 
 
 " As to his settlement in life — (it is really 
 very tiresome of Hacket to forget day after 
 day the exact depth I wish the blinds drawn) 
 — I suppose Lady Norley informed you what 
 my desire was on that subject: stay, before 
 you reply to me, Ellen, have the goodness to 
 remember that I imagine I consulted your 
 feelings in that arrangement; your zeal for 
 his return could only be interpreted in one 
 way."
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 211 
 
 '' Father," interrupted Lady Ellen, rising 
 from her seat, while the veins in her proud 
 and snowy forehead swelled, and her eyes 
 sparkled, — " My Lord, I cannot permit you to 
 put any such construction upon the desire I 
 felt and expressed, that Henry Mortimer, my 
 cousin- ger man, your Lordship's sisters only 
 son, should partake of the affluence and rank 
 which (pardon me, my dear father,) it was your 
 duty to bestow on him. While my brothers 
 lived, you may remember that I urged the 
 same point — (Lord Norley smiled) ; and 
 though Harry's waywardness thwarted your 
 kindness then, you thought of him still, and 
 took him to replace the children you had lost. 
 I cannot — indeed, my Lord, I cannot — suffer 
 the zeal I evinced in my cousin's cause to bear 
 any other than a sisterly interpretation." 
 
 " Your disinterestedness is likely to be put to 
 the test, Ellen," replied his Lordship, gravely. 
 " You will not be called upon to bear any 
 other regard than a sisterly one to the inde- 
 pendent Mr. Harry Mortimer. He told me 
 
 p2
 
 212 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 this morning, that much as he admired, re- 
 spected, venerated you, for aught I know, — he 
 did not love you well enough to make you his 
 wife. " In an instant Ellen Revis became 
 white — white as marble ; every trace of life 
 vanished from her cheek and lips. Lord 
 Norley rushed forward to support her, but she 
 grasped the chair from which she had risen, 
 and after drawing her breath once or twice 
 with exceeding difficulty, looked up into her 
 father's face. '' Dear Ellen, do not let me see 
 this agitation. I feel assured of your pre- 
 ference ; and I make no doubt, when he comes 
 to consider his own interests — the property — 
 the advantages — the seat in Parliament — 
 the " 
 
 Lady Ellen had covered her face with her 
 hands when her father recommenced speak- 
 ing; and he continued, for some time, enu- 
 merating the benefits that must accrue, by 
 the union of his daughter and his nephew ; 
 advantages which, according to his estimate, 
 were all on Mortimer's side. He was pro- 
 ceeding to state the improbability of any man,
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 213 
 
 upon cool reflection, shutting his eyes to such 
 benefits, when Lady Ellen, having quite re- 
 covered her self-possession, interrupted him, — 
 
 " You did not urge these subjects on — on — • 
 my cousin ?" she inquired, proudly. 
 
 " No, Ellen, he would not give me time. 
 I spoke of your union as a settled thing — 
 a consolidation of interests domestic and poli- 
 tical — reverted to the course I wished him to 
 adopt — the tone necessary in his conversa- 
 tions — not with you, child (you need not look 
 so alarmed), but with men of a certain party 
 Avhom he would meet here ; — then I spoke of 
 you again, when he flew out with a quantity 
 of exploded nonsense; but I assure you he 
 mentioned you with the utmost respect ; 
 and " 
 
 The word respect grated so upon the heart 
 of Ellen lie vis, that she did not hear the con- 
 clusion of her father's sentence, but clasped 
 her hands, and exclaimed, " Thank God for 
 that ! — that disgrace is spared me, to be forced 
 upon any man as his wife ; but worse than all, 
 upon such a man as Mortimer! — the idea is
 
 214 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 worse than death ! Oh, father, father, what has 
 your child done that you should so degrade 
 her?" 
 
 Lord Norley appeared terrified at his 
 daughter's energy — it was so powerful, so 
 real : — those who are accustomed to consider 
 human passions and human feelings as the 
 mere toys of life, are always unprepared for 
 the reality — the truthfulness of nature. 
 
 " Surely," said his Lordship, " I cannot 
 have been mistaken. Is it possible that you 
 do not love him ?" 
 
 '' Yes, father ; I do love Harry Mortimer — 
 love him as a brother; but look — fill this 
 great room with diamonds, and say that I 
 should make them all my own by wedding 
 him, I would sooner leave your house a penny- 
 less beggar ! " 
 
 '' But are you not aware, Ellen, that treat- 
 ing him as my son, returning him for our own 
 county (though that, if he sides with the pre- 
 sent ministry, will be but a trifling expense), 
 enabling him to keep up his rank in our 
 sphere, and a thousand other things, must be
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 215 
 
 a tremendous diminution of your fortune, and 
 you know " 
 
 " Forgive me, father, dearest father, for 
 again interrupting you ! I know that the 
 phrase goes * as crooked as a Lord,' but I know 
 of none that says as crooked as a Lady ! Do 
 not trouble yourself to gild me as a matrimo- 
 nial pill for some greedy knave, or half-witted 
 fool to swallow ; — Ellen Revis will I live, Ellen 
 Revis will I die ! Harry Mortimer can bear 
 your wealth and new sprung honours bravely, 
 and support the ancestral dignity of my dear 
 mother — ay, when all our heads are low. I 
 would not wed him for a crown of kingdoms ! 
 Consolidate your political interest as much as 
 you can ; but do not, oh ! do not degrade your 
 only living child, by forcing her upon her 
 cousin. I honour him a thousand times more 
 for his great honesty." 
 
 She threw herself into the arms of her father, 
 who was sorely perplexed, and who really loved 
 his daughter, as a portion of himself, as much 
 as he loved anything — except interest or am- 
 bition. How long this scene might have been
 
 216 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 prolonged I cannot tell, had not his Lordship 
 been compelled to meet some grandee at the 
 Foreign Office; and as his eye wandered for 
 a moment from the exceeding beauty of his 
 daughter's face, to the timepiece which stood 
 upon his chimney, he saw that his hour was 
 come, and telling Lady Ellen that they would 
 talk again upon this subject, he kissed her 
 cheek, with more affection and less politeness 
 than usual, and entered his punctual carriage, 
 which had waited exactly two minutes and five 
 seconds at the door. 
 
 How long Lady Ellen sat in the fauteuil 
 where Lord Norley placed her, I know not, 
 nor could she tell. Every feeling of her pas- 
 sionate temperament had been called into 
 action — the conviction that she loved her 
 cousin — had loved him long, pressed round her 
 heart and brain as with a burning zone, and 
 the certainty that he loved not her — that he 
 had rejected her, aroused her pride and her 
 self-love, to uproot the cherished blessing of 
 the only affection her proud nature had ever 
 bowed to. The hours — for they were hours
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 217 
 
 of agony which she spent in the library — 
 passed by, but not unrecorded — not vm- 
 registered; and — let me do her noble nature 
 justice — not unimproved. 
 
 " My father was right/' she said within her 
 thoughts, " I did love him — love him from the 
 first; — it was love, not generosity, that made 
 me urge his claims upon my father's heart. 
 Oh! the praise bestowed upon my disinter- 
 ested feelings I how bitterly does it rise in 
 judgment against me ! I, so selfish — so meanly 
 selfish, as to expect such sacrifice — the sacri- 
 fice of merit and much beauty, to my de- 
 formity ! How blind I have been ! talking 
 and railing at my own crookedness, while 
 Aveaving nets to catch his love ! My first 
 feelings, when 1 first knew him, might have 
 been pardoned ; but then I knew not Mary, 
 and now that poor girl's conduct to me is 
 made plain. Poor child ! she was jealous — 
 jealous of me ! — a pretty subject for a fair and 
 lovely woman's jealousy. Oh that Harry had 
 but told me he loved her ! — But men will not 
 be sincere : they think that by confessing a
 
 218 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 preference for one woman in particular, they 
 insult the whole sex ! And Mary too — how 
 little Mary knew me !" 
 
 Lady Ellen, when once her eyes were opened, 
 had courage and firmness to look upon the 
 wreck of her affections ; not as Mary Lorton 
 would have done, to weep and mourn thereat, 
 but to remedy and repair : — this was one 
 essential difference in their characters. Mary 
 doubted her own strength — Ellen knew that 
 hers could do whatever she Avilled; and her 
 own sufferings at the onset, she felt assured 
 would but render her triumph — the great 
 triumph over self — more decided at the end. 
 A little incident will illustrate my meaning 
 better than the longest chapter. 
 
 Lady Ellen and Mary Lorton each desired 
 a rose from off a beautiful tree that was bent 
 to the earth by the weight of its blossoms. 
 Mary fingered the stem so delicately, fearing 
 the thorns, that her hand was severely wounded. 
 Lady Ellen grasped the bough, and the thorns 
 were so crushed by the pressure, that they in- 
 jured her not. The thorns of life, most intelli-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 219 
 
 gent reader, may be conquered after the same 
 fashion. 
 
 Once convinced in her own powerful and 
 extensive mind of what was right, no earthly 
 consideration could make Ellen Revis swerve 
 therefrom ; and luckily for herself and others, 
 her ideas of right were in strict conformity 
 with those principles of religion, of honour, 
 and justice, which elevate human nature. 
 
 Many and bitter tears she had given to 
 the wreck of the fairy palace which her heart 
 and imagination had erected and peopled ; 
 but having wailed over it, in the solitude 
 of silence of her own heart, her succeeding 
 feeling was how to confer benefits on the 
 living. She recalled every word, look, and 
 action Harry Mortimer had addressed to her 
 since the commencement of their acquaintance, 
 and in no one instance could she blame his 
 conduct. Nay, she recalled his very looks, 
 and with something Sery like self-reproach for 
 having been so " lightly won," she pronounced 
 him blameless. Nothing tests nobility of soul 
 so strongly as forwarding a rival's claims to
 
 220 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 the affection of a beloved object. Ellen 
 Revis was not only noble but proud ; and her 
 pride was tried almost beyond its strength 
 by the desire she felt to appear careless of 
 Harry's affections. Yet, mingled as it was 
 with true woman's generosity, it enabled her 
 to address her cousin as he entered the library, 
 though she was glad that it was the gentle 
 light of evening, not the glaring sun of morn- 
 ing, that was streaming through the windows, 
 and that the chair in which she sat was suffi- 
 ciently high-backed to screen her face from 
 observation. 
 
 " Oh, cousin, is it you ! " she exclaimed ; 
 at the same time pressing her clasped hands 
 on her heart to still its beatings. " Nay, do 
 not attempt to run away, I have been sitting 
 here for hours, reading — I suppose — and 
 waiting your arrival." 
 
 Harfy stammered out something about 
 being sorry she had w£#ted; and also, that 
 had he known she had been there, he would 
 have come into the library " long ago." 
 
 " Harry Mortimer," said Ellen, " I pray
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 221 
 
 you do not indulge in a habit of story- telling". 
 If you had known I was here, you would have 
 gone to any other portion of the dwelling 
 rather than meet me to-day, — nor do I wonder 
 at it. However, come and sit down, — no, not 
 there, opposite to me, but here, on my right 
 hand, — that \yill do. You need not draw back 
 — good, my cousin — I am neither going to 
 make love to you, nor offer" — (and here she 
 drew herself up, and — but that she w^as so 
 completely shaded from the light — Mortimer 
 must have observed the pride that flashed 
 from her eyes) — " nor offter myself as your 
 bride. But I am going to scold you, Harry 
 Mortimer. What have you ever seen in Ellen 
 Revis to prevent your considering her your 
 friend ? Was I not worthy to bo trusted with 
 your secret ? Was not my sisterly regard for 
 you, my friendship for Mary Lorton, a suffi- 
 cient guarantee for my good offices? " 
 
 " Mary Lorton — secret," murmured Harry 
 as she paused. 
 
 *' Ay, my brother-cousin ! " continued the 
 lady, *' I have discovered your secret — your —
 
 222 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 why should I hesitate about the word," she 
 added ; endeavouring with all a woman's tact 
 to cover the pain, which pronouncing the mystic 
 name gave her — by skilfully turning the sub- 
 ject of her hesitation — " the word is simple, 
 though you feel it deeply — I have discovered 
 your love for Mary Lorton ! " 
 
 " My love for Mary Lorton !" he repeated ; 
 " I am sure no word, no act of mine " 
 
 " The very thing I complain of," she inter- 
 rupted ; "^ I know you never treated me as a 
 friend." 
 
 " Upon my sacred honour, Ellen, a coolness 
 has existed between Mary and me for months. 
 The fact was, she became jealous, silly girl, 
 of your letters and the drawings ! — and the 
 letters, though I confessed they came from a 
 lady, I could not in honour show her, contain- 
 ing as they did family affairs, and facts re- 
 lating solely to my cousins and uncle." 
 
 " And it was ill-judgment not to show them. 
 Do you not know that those who truly love, 
 though they may have two hearts, can have 
 but one soul ! The mystery, my good cousin, 
 to her, was ill-judged ! "
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 223 
 
 " But how. Lady Ellen, how came you to 
 discover this ?" 
 
 Lady Ellen Revis paused ; and then she 
 told the truth. It is a question with me whe- 
 ther those who tell the truth from impulse, 
 or those who tell the truth from reason, de- 
 serve the most credit. Impulse is nature — 
 reason ! dare I call it art ? Lady Ellen was 
 not artful, and yet she reasoned. 
 
 " It is awkward," she said, " and yet why 
 I know not, for we are cousins — brother and 
 sister rather — near akin in blood — and in all 
 truth and friendship. My father told me how 
 highly you complimented me this morning, 
 by thinking me too good to bestow upon a 
 man who had no heart to give for mine. Now 
 do not apologize ; you rejected cousin Ellen, 
 and must positively present her with a wreath 
 of silver willow ! But, notwithstanding your 
 desire to see me mated with a man of heart, 
 and notwithstanding this ugly lump upon my 
 shoulder, I knew human nature too well to 
 suppose you would refuse to swallow the 
 gilded pill, if your heart had not been occu-
 
 224 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 pied by something better than heartless specu- 
 lation !" 
 
 " Believe me, Ellen, there is no ^Yoman upon 
 earth " 
 
 " You love so well as me, except ! — No 
 woman on earth you esteem so highly, except ! 
 — No woman you would so des^*e to marry, 
 except ! — I know it all, cousin.'* 
 
 *' Lord Norley has been abrupt. I would 
 not wound " 
 
 " Harry !" said Lady Ellen, assuming for 
 the first, and indeed it was the last time in 
 her life, a proud tone to her cousin. *' You 
 cannot suppose from my past conduct that you 
 were ever more to me than a dear relative, — 
 consequently my father was not too abrupt. 
 And there can be no danger of my feelings 
 being wounded I " 
 
 " Indeed, Ellen, I meant not that," replied 
 Harry, without noticing her manner. " If 
 Mary, on my arrival in London, had mani- 
 fested the least remains of an affection which 
 grew with my growth; but the vanities — the 
 glare — the lovers she has had — the extreme
 
 UNCLE horacf:. 225 
 
 volatility and ambition of her mother — the 
 heavy toiling after distinction of her father — 
 
 the " 
 
 " You do Mary injustice ! " interrupted 
 Lady Ellen, firmly. " And as I have been the 
 innocent instrument of setting you all wrong, 
 I will be the direct means of bringing you all 
 right again. You shall see what talents I 
 possess for winding off, and winding on, and 
 winding up. I should have been, putting all 
 things else out of the question, a most ill- 
 assorted wife for you : if you get into Parlia- 
 ment, (which, asking your pardon, is a task 
 fools find easy now-a-days,) the extent of 
 your service to the State will be to make a 
 maiden speech — a speech upon the currency 
 question — one upon the poor-laws — ditto on 
 the duty on malt — a few cautious observations 
 on tithes — write occasional letters to the news- 
 papers — and then accept the Chiltern Hun- 
 dreds ! For me, my regret is, that Talleyrand 
 is too old to marry, and that Metternich has, 
 I believe, a wife; they would have suited me 
 exactly ; but as to the other members of the 
 
 VOL. f. Q
 
 226 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 diplomatic corps, 1, Ellen Re vis, hold them in 
 sovereign contempt. No ; you and Mary will 
 cultivate roses and children, and Uncle Ho- 
 race and I will be godmamma and godpapa. 
 Have you any idea what Brown Lorton's pro- 
 perty really is ? " 
 
 " I know what it icas ; but living as they 
 have been living lately, I really can form no 
 idea." 
 
 '^ Well," continued Lady Ellen, " 1 must 
 find that out, because papa must be managed. 
 And — however, the dressing-hour is come — 
 God bless you, Harry. I will set my wits to 
 work for the happiness of you and Mary, and 
 you will both bless Ellen Revis when she is in 
 her grave : there, one kiss upon my hand will 
 do ! — it must not be more, or I will tell Mary I" 
 She flew out of the room. 
 
 ^' She is an admirable creature," exclaimed 
 Harr)/, " and what excellent spirits she has — 
 I never saw her in such spirits — delighted at 
 making others happy — what charming spirits !" 
 
 How little do we know of each other in this 
 masquerading world. Before Harry Morti-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 227 
 
 nier had finished his encomium upon his 
 cousin's " charming spirits," Lady Ellen had 
 thrown herself upon her bed in an agony of 
 irrepressible anguish : the part she had been 
 playing had overpowered her strength, and so 
 torturing were her feelings, that she Avould 
 have welcomed death during that and many 
 succeeding hours. Still nothing disturbed 
 her resolution to promote the happiness of her 
 cousin. 
 
 Men sacrifice others ! Women themselves I 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Thus does false ambition rule us ; 
 Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us ; 
 To keep a race of flickering knaves. 
 
 Shenstone. 
 
 '• I CERTAINLY," said Job Harris, as he stretched 
 his legs to the uttermost upon one chair, while 
 he balanced his body upon another, and threw 
 his arm graceful^ over the back of a third, 
 in the househeeper's-room, — " I certainly, for 
 one, mean to cut the connexion ; it is not 
 my ambition to wait on my equals ! " 
 
 " If things go on as they are going," ob- 
 served Mrs. Claggitt, '' so w ill 1 ; if one does 
 live with people of a lower order, one expects 
 some advantages out of the common by it. 
 Miss Myrvin, the Duchess of Leitrim's woman, 
 cut me dead in Kensington Gardens Sunday 
 week. I know 'twas because I live with ^ 
 parvenu. As long as there w^as lots of wailes
 
 Ur^CLE HORACE. 229 
 
 and company, and things conducted, as a body 
 may say, Mr. Harris, upon a liberality footing, 
 why things and people could be put up with ; 
 but Mrs. Lorton's taken to her room and the 
 doldrums • " 
 
 '' And that Brummagem brute," chimed in 
 Harris, " has made master look into the books ; 
 and I know wants to count champagne, — as if 
 any one ever could tell at a dinner how much 
 champagne is drank." 
 
 " And it is a thmg that flies so — every 
 way," said Mrs. Claggitt. 
 
 " To be sure it does. Well, Mrs. Claggitt," , 
 replied Harris, '' it's a true saying, — ' if you 
 wrestle with sweeps you come ofP with soot,' — 
 it's unknoAvn the rust I have gathered in this 
 family ; and, as I said before, for one, I mean 
 to cut the connexion." 
 
 " And yet," observed Mrs. Claggitt, mu- 
 singly, " ' Look afore you leap,' is another 
 wise word. Mister Job, youA^e a purty bit 
 of wages." 
 
 " Wages," repeated the servant, contemptu- 
 ously, — " wages ! Mrs. Claggitt, you women
 
 230 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 have mercenary minds. What is the con- 
 sideration of wages to a man's reputation. 
 It is something to stand behind the chair of a 
 duke — to call a duchess's carriage. But I've 
 made up my mind ; guess to what, Mrs. Clag- 
 gitt." 
 
 '* How should I guess," responded the 
 housekeeper ; " you're such a terrible high- 
 flier." 
 
 ''■ Why I mean to move heaven and earth 
 to get into the minister line ! " 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Mrs. Claggitt, lifting 
 up her hands and eyes ; " to go into the 
 church — live with a parson ! Why it's reg'lar 
 starvation now- a- days. And where's the 
 credit ! " 
 
 '' Parson, indeed ! " said Harris, with an 
 oath and a look of contempt, which if Mrs. 
 Claggitt had seen, she would have made Job 
 remember. " No, madam ; to get with a 
 minister of state, the Prime Minister to be 
 sure — that would be worth living for — that's 
 something like life — the dinners there while 
 he's in office, and which the country pays for —
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 231 
 
 the wines — the company — and last, the snug- 
 snug, nice little situation as a reward for my 
 services. Ah ! we all seek to better ourselves I 
 — that's my ambition ! " 
 
 " Well, Job Harris, icho would have tliouo-ht 
 of that but yourself — certainly you hnve a 
 head — only the ministers have been a chang- 
 ing so much about lately !" 
 
 " Never mind that/' replied the long- 
 headed Job ; " still they all stay in long 
 enough to <jive p/aces.'' 
 
 " It's a good look-out," said Mrs. Claggitt, 
 pulling down her front, which during the 
 conversation had slipped higher off her fore- 
 head than she deemed becoming. " I wish I 
 had such another — they're all so odd to deal 
 with here. It was only yesterday a gentleman 
 at the corner of the square, mistaking me, I 
 suppose, for that set up girl, Magdalene," — 
 (Job opened his eyes at the idea !) — " gave 
 me a letter to give Miss Mary, and tlie silly 
 child threw it into the fire before my face. I 
 am sure, though Mrs. Lorton fa:acies herself
 
 232 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 ill. Miss Mary might have a few friends to 
 enliven the house, if it was for nothing else. 
 It's all Mr. Horace Brown's doings, I know, 
 
 at bottom — and that beast Pike " 
 
 "Don't mention him, I beg," interrupted 
 Job, affectedly ; '' his very name makes me 
 ill — upon my honour it does. The fellow never 
 shared with me the contents of the purse his 
 master gave him to purchase civility, though 
 I did demean myself by noticing him." 
 
 '' Well, then. Miss Maxwell, who is always 
 closeted with my mistress,' said Mrs. Clag- 
 gitt, without heeding his allusion to the purse, 
 " I could tell a story about her." 
 
 '' Nothing that I don't know," said Harris. 
 " Ah ! she was closeted with that old sin- 
 ner Hor — " 
 
 '' Hush, Mrs. Claggitt — walls may have ears : 
 I know — and I know also, for all the reputa- 
 tion some one has for propriety and honour, 
 that some one at her own chamber- door took 
 a letter from me, which was given me with an 
 Amj unction {as the lawyers say) to give it into
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 233 
 
 her own hands ; and the first word she spoke, 
 and she white and trembhn' as a marble sta- 
 tute, was — ' My husband has not seen it !' " 
 
 " You doii't say so, Harris — you're a ro- 
 mancing." 
 
 " Ton my honour ! '* repHcd the man of 
 napkins, laying his hand on his heart, and 
 bending his head gracefully. " 'Pon my 
 honour, Mrs. Claggitt, it is true ! " 
 
 *' Well, after that — but it's a wicked world I 
 — I can match your story, though you won't 
 believe it. I observed that same H. B. call 
 that minx Magdalene into his dressing-room; 
 and when she came out she had been crying, 
 and held a purse in her hand. Beat me that 
 if you can ! " 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Harris, firmly, 
 who, to Mrs. Claggitt's great mortification, 
 admired Magdalene much. 
 
 '' Not believe it when / smo it with my own 
 eyes," exclaimed Mrs. Claggitt. 
 
 " Old — elderly ladies' eyes sometimes see 
 double, or put on their spiteful spectacles when 
 they look at the young and the handsome."
 
 234 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " Old! — elderly!" screamed the housekeeper. 
 " Why, you ill-bred, unmannerly cub — you 
 lick-plate. What do you mean by that — old, 
 elderly ! I'll let your mistress know your 
 base insinuvations — I'll " 
 
 " Don't lose your temper, pray, Mrs. Clag- 
 gitt ; I hope you will not — 1 7iever do — it's not 
 my ambition." 
 
 '' To the Dickons with your ambition !" said 
 the housekeeper; ''111 tell my mistress, as 
 sure as you've a head on your ugly should- 
 ers ! 
 
 '' Ugly shoulders !" retorted Harris, pulling 
 up his neckcloth to give himself an air of dig- 
 nity. '• But tell away, madam; I can tell too 
 — the letter to Miss Mary, and the story of 
 Miss Maxwell." 
 
 '' You said you knew that before," inter- 
 rupted Mrs. Claggitt. 
 ' '' If I did, I did not tell it. I had a resj)ect 
 for the old gentleman's reputation." 
 
 " You ought to have some for your own. 
 Master Job ; and then that whey-faced girl " 
 (Mrs. Claggitt's complexion, as may be in-
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 235 
 
 ferred from this observation, had a '' roseate 
 hue") '' wouldn't so often come peeping down 
 the area." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Claggitt, it's better to have two 
 girls peeping down the area, than two hus- 
 bands threatening prosecutions for bigamy !" 
 
 " / never had two husbands, and I scorn 
 your insinuations. I never had but one, and 
 I married him to better myself. You're a 
 base man. Job Harris." And the voice which 
 had commenced fortissimo, softened to the soft- 
 est piano, and then she burst into tears. 
 
 Harris, regardless of the fair one's agitation, 
 was lounging out of the room, when a footman 
 entered hastily — 
 
 " Well !" he exclaimed, " it's a queer world! 
 Maxy has been watching and stopping in the 
 library all the morning, to see Mr. Horace 
 Brown — I heard her ask three times if he was 
 come in ! Magdalene, I think, has been after 
 the same errand, for I see her poking her 
 head over the banisters every double knock 
 that comed to the door." 
 
 " There !" interrupted Mrs. Claggitt, drying
 
 236 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 her eyes, and casting a triumphant look at 
 Harris. 
 
 The man continued his story : " At last Mr. 
 Brown came in. Magdalene tripped down, 
 but the old bachelor had already been seized 
 upon by Miss Maxwell, and she had hardly 
 got him into the back parlour — " 
 
 " Scandalous P' exclaimed the housekeeper, 
 in a burst of virtuous indignation. 
 
 '' when who drives up to the door but 
 
 Lady Ellen Eevis. And what do you think 
 the question was, — not how is Mrs. Lorton, or 
 is Miss Lorton at home, but is Mr. Horace 
 Brown at home? He is, my Lady, says I, 
 but he is engaged, I believe, and Miss Lor- 
 ton's at home. I do not want to see Miss 
 Lorton, she says, getting out ; so do not dis- 
 turb her yet ; but I cannot go away without 
 seeing Mr. Horace Brown, and will wait until 
 he is disengaged." 
 
 '' What will the world come to !" ejaculated 
 Mrs. Claggitt, putting up her pocket handker- 
 chief, and looking quite cheerful at this im- 
 portation of fresh scandal. " What room did 
 you show her into^ Thomas ?"
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 237 
 
 " The second drawing-room/' 
 
 *' All! that puts me m mind to unpin the 
 curtains in the third," said the housekeeper; 
 *' no time like the present !" and away, for- 
 getting her tears in her curiosity, posted Mrs. 
 Claggitt.
 
 238 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Do any thing but love ; or, if Ihoxi lovest. 
 And art a woman, hide thy love from him 
 Whom thou dost worship : never let him know 
 How dear he is. 
 
 L. E. Landon. 
 
 Lady Ellen Revis, be it observed, was no- 
 where famed for wliat the vulgar call *' humi- 
 lity ;" what high-minded person ever was ? 
 True humility is a quality the vulgar never 
 understand; so that the menials at Brown 
 Eor ton's might well have been astonished at 
 her ladyship's offering to ivait until Horace 
 Brown was disengaged. If the age for necro- 
 mancy had not been past, the worth}^ mer- 
 chant might have had the honour of being 
 burned, or, at the very least, branded as a 
 wizard, from the mere fact of his having three 
 women dancing attendance upon him at the
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 239 
 
 same moment. Ellen Revis was not without 
 the prejudices of her caste, but her strong" 
 sound sense kept them in wonderful sub- 
 jection ; in the present instance, she could 
 not have been more anxious to meet a prince 
 of the blood-royal, than she was to encounter 
 the Liverpool merchant. A brief greeting 
 passed between them on his entrance, though 
 Horace looked disturbed and perplexed. 
 
 " I fear I have intruded at an unseasonable 
 hour,'' said Lady Ellen ; " but I had something 
 of much moment to inquire about, and I know 
 I am naturally impatient." 
 
 Horace assured her he would be most happy 
 to hear whatever she was pleased to say, 
 though, to confess the truth, he felt a tete-a- 
 tete with a noble lady as a sort of unwarrant- 
 able tax oU'^his good-nature and good manners. 
 
 " I believe," she said, with less agitation 
 than any disbeliever in the strength of woman's 
 resolve w^ould deem possible — '' I believe, I 
 need not tell you how deeply interested I have 
 felt in the welfare and happiness of my cousin
 
 240 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Harry, to whom, dear Sir, you were a friend 
 when — and you will easily believe I am 
 ashamed to confess it — he had no friend but 
 you !" Horace bowed ; it was not the first 
 time a suspicion had crossed his shrewd mind, 
 that Lady Ellen was too " deeply interested " 
 in her cousin. 
 
 *' If/' she continued, " there is a being more 
 truly anxious for his well-doing, I think it is 
 yourself; though I will struggle for the dis- 
 tinction of being one of his best, if I have not 
 the power of being his i^ery best friend." 
 
 '^ Candid enough/' thought Horace ; but 
 he suffered the lady to explain herself as best 
 she might, for he offered no comment. 
 
 "It is an awkward subject," quotli Lady 
 Ellen, after a pause ; " but, I believe he was 
 a philosopher who said, that the motive con- 
 secrates the act." 
 
 " He must have been a bad one, then," 
 observed our uncle bluntly. " He must have 
 been a bad one, otlierwise he would not have 
 made excuses for evil deeds !"
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 241 
 
 Poor Lady Ellen felt much confused; but 
 her purpose remained unshaken. She had 
 heard of oil being poured on troubled waters ; 
 and, moreover, she thought she would pat the 
 lion though he was already chafed. 
 
 '' Still I fear I must follow the philosopher's 
 precept, and you will not, I am sure, believe 
 that the friend of Mary Lorton, and Harry 
 Mortimer, comes under the severe sentence 
 you have just pronounced." 
 
 Horace bowed again, but said nothing. He 
 did Ellen injustice. To be sure, he was an 
 old bachelor, and that unhappy and misguided 
 race can have few opportunities of judging of 
 the beautiful lights and shadows of female 
 character. 
 
 " I think it very likely my cousin has com- 
 municated to you, that my father, for the pur- 
 poses of forwarding some political and domestic 
 views, had settled in his own mind that he 
 would, by the intervention of a particular 
 ceremony, transform his daughter into a niece, 
 — yet keep his daughter, — and his nephew 
 into a son, and yet depart not from his nephew." 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " Nor suffer his nephew's or his daughter's 
 fortune to depart from him/' growled Horace, 
 aloud, thinking to himself, " a pretty modest 
 maiden truly: how she deceived my poor 
 Mary 1 — What a world it is !" 
 
 " There are two obstacles to his Lordship's 
 arrangement," continued Lady Ellen, after a 
 courage-giving pause. " In the first place, no 
 earthly power shall ever compel me to be the 
 wife of Harry Mortimer ; and in the second, 
 no earthly inducement would ever tempt Harry 
 Mortimer to be my husband." 
 
 Horace Brown looked earnestly and steadily 
 in Lady Ellen's face ; but she baffled his pene- 
 tration. What a blessing it was that her 
 mind was of so noble a quality and so finely 
 tempered, for she was an admirable, and 
 might have been a dangerous, actress. 
 
 " Well, madam, and what then?" said the 
 merchant, advancing his seat nearer to the 
 Peer's daughter : " what then, madam ? " 
 
 " It is a pity to disappoint papa of a wed- 
 ding, which, when comme ilfaut" (Horace was 
 so interested that he forgot to frown at the
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 243 
 
 French), " gives a man increased consequence 
 in the world fashionable — the world political ; 
 and, where it dues exist — though, Heaven knows ! 
 I hardlv know ivhere that is ! — in the world 
 domestic ! Mr. Brown/' she added, abruptly, 
 " Mary and Harry love each other — however 
 they may have quarrelled, they love each other 
 still. Will you unite your influence with mine 
 to make them happy ?" 
 
 She extended her hand to Uncle Horace, 
 who pressed it within both palms, and in spite 
 of herself tears rushed from her eyes. At 
 that instant the keen perceptions of Horace 
 Brown detected the rustle of a silk gown in 
 the third drawing-room ; — the next, he threw 
 both folding-doors open, and there was Mrs. 
 Claggitt, of course busied with the curtains. 
 
 " Do you London ladies arrange your draw- 
 ing-rooms in the evening ? We, poor country 
 folk, manage to do so in the morning," he said 
 to her, sternly. 
 
 *' Oh, dear, Sir ! oh, la. Sir ! Sure, this is 
 morning. Sir ! " muttered the housekeeper, 
 disconcerted. 
 
 r2
 
 244 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " I should call it nearly evening," replied 
 Horace ; " but it matters not, morning or 
 evening — tramp — away ! — down stairs ! — and, 
 hark ye, good woman, when I want you to be 
 present at a conversation, I will send for you ! 
 — Now go !" 
 
 It is quite impossible to picture the dismay 
 — the rage of Mrs. Claggitt, and useless to 
 repeat the grumbling, and remonstrances, 
 and — to confess the truth — round oaths which 
 burst from her lips, as she descended. 
 
 Our London servants are ceiJtainly, men and 
 women, eight out of ten, sad reprobates ; but it 
 may be a question (Horace Brown asserts it is 
 2i fact, not a question,) if the example of what 
 is called the fashionable world (whose shadows 
 they are) does not make them so. Be that as 
 it may, Mrs. Claggitt's dismissal gave Lady 
 Ellen time to recover herself, and having once 
 broached the object of her visit, she felt but 
 little difficulty in continuing. 
 
 " I suspect you must be well acquainted 
 with my father's peculiar motives ; the prin- 
 cipal one is a very praiseworthy ambition, and
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 245 
 
 a desire to consolidate whatever pecuniary 
 resources he can command, to further that 
 ambition." 
 
 " I think, madam," interrupted Horace, " his 
 Lordship's motives do not merit to be styled 
 * peculiar.' Ambition, whether it be called 
 spurious or otherwise, appears to me the moral 
 curse of England. Our schools are 'academies;' 
 our servants seek not service, but ' situations ;'. 
 our dancers are artists; our attorneys (the 
 rascals!) are grown lawyers; our mantua- 
 makers are fashionists ; our milliners, modistes ; 
 our butchers, purveyors ; each village must 
 have its square, and every farmer would be a 
 squire ! the ignorant might imagine that to be 
 distinguished, was synonymous to being re- 
 spectable. I am a plain man, madam — an 
 English merchant — nothing more. I beg 
 your pardon, Lady Ellen, but pray do not 
 suffer yourself to imagine that ambition in our 
 days is a peculiarity." 
 
 " At all events my father is ambitious. — He 
 thinks he discovers much in your friend that 
 will make a Statesman !"
 
 246 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " By a Statesman, I suppose/' said Horace, 
 " he means one who will uphold State and 
 State- affairs, according to his Lordship's sense 
 of right and wrong." 
 
 " I am no politician," replied Lady Ellen, 
 '' at least I do not wish to be one just now; 
 and I only desired to observe, that by having 
 not three, but one fortune to provide, he cal- 
 culated that his sinews of war would gain 
 strength by the union he proposed." 
 
 " His Lordship is an adept in addition, 
 doubtless," observed Horace, sarcastically. 
 
 " Mr. Brown," replied Lady Ellen, " you 
 will not surely blame my father for calculating 
 contingencies. I have always understood that 
 forethought was the spirit of trade." 
 
 '' Trade, madam, has many spirits : — ^justice, 
 truth, and uprightness are the corner stones of 
 its temple ; or, rather (I am not skilful at 
 similes), they are the croAvns of its glory. An 
 honest British trader can stand unabashed 
 before the greatest monarch in the world ; and, 
 more than that, he can hope to meet his God 
 face to face at the last day !"
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 247 
 
 Lady Ellen had always disliked trade and 
 its originators ; but the honest burst of Uncle 
 Horace compelled her to confess, that for his 
 sake, in future, she would honour traders. 
 How rapidly does one generous heart echo 
 the feelings of another ! 
 
 " At all events, dear Sir," continued Lady 
 Ellen, " my object in seeking you was simply 
 this — Mary and my cousin love each other — 
 I could reconcile them in five minutes. The 
 heart, lu/ieu it loves, labours to find excuses 
 for what it loves. — Of course, matters are 
 easily arranged between them. And, if I 
 know anything of Mr. and Mrs. Brown Lorton, 
 they would be, in their own set phrase, ' but 
 too much honoured by a such a union ' now ; 
 though Mary has had lovers, more noble, and 
 as rich, nay, far richer than Harry will be in 
 his own right. Yet, they both love Mary, and 
 would be miserable if she, dear girl, were not 
 happy — thai is all arranged; but, my father, 
 he is still most painfully annoyed at his plans 
 being frustrated — he does not like contradic-
 
 248 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 tion. My mother never contradicts him by 
 any chance, and I never thwarted him but on 
 that subject. There is but one way to obviate 
 all difficulties with regard to Lord Norley. I 
 have endeavoured, during the last two days, 
 to impress upon him, that, as I am so firm in 
 refusing that Harry should be nearer to me 
 than he is, it is but just I should pay for my 
 obstinacy. I most cheerfully waive all claim 
 to the property (which my dear brothers, had 
 they lived, would have possessed,) in favour 
 of my cousin — I will never receive or appro- 
 priate a single penny of it to my own use ; 
 the sum secured to me by my mother's settle- 
 ment is more than enough for one who, when 
 the hey-day of youth is over, with, doubtless, 
 an increased deformity of person, and a heart, 
 which even now is prematurely old, can have 
 but few inducements to mix in the gay world I" 
 
 '' Noble, generous," murmured Uncle Ho- 
 race. " But, Lady Ellen, your future settle- 
 ment in life !" 
 
 " Now, Mr. Horace Brown," interrupted
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 249 
 
 Lady Ellen, with an air of gaiety, '' don't you 
 think I am, considering all things, wonderfully 
 settled at present ? Do you wish me better ? " 
 
 " No, by Jupiter !" replied the worthy man. 
 " You are a wonderful woman — for a lord's 
 daughter I" « 
 
 Lady Ellen smiled. 
 
 '' My father is pleased at my concession, 
 though vexed that his plan has been frustrated ; 
 but now, dear Sir, comes another point — Harry 
 must, of course, take your dear Mary as his 
 wife. My father's " 
 
 " Pride," put in Uncle Horace. 
 
 " That,'' replied Lady Ellen, speaking 
 slowly, " could be overcome — ^by a valuable 
 consideration. Mary has the reputation of 
 great wealth ; but my father will see every 
 thing in black and white." 
 
 " The only way," observed our friend, '' to 
 know how we stand with the world, and the 
 world with us ! — a very excellent plan." 
 
 " But, I cannot help thinking, that your 
 brother s mode of life — his being totally un- 
 acquainted with the expenditure necessary for
 
 250 UNCLE HORACE. v 
 
 the peculiar sphere into which he has, I will 
 
 say, plunged — has " 
 
 '' Involved himself, madam. You are right.'* 
 " I feared as much ; but when I broach the 
 subject to my father, may I not say that you 
 will consider Mary as your child ?" 
 
 " Ay, madam, that you may !" exclaimed 
 Uncle Horace, delighted at finding a friend, 
 where he most dreaded opposition to his 
 darling project. " Listen one moment : long, 
 long before my partnership with my brother 
 was dissolved, I shared my own profits out 
 in different speculations ; if I lost, which was 
 but seldom, I tried at something else : — ships 
 — merchandise — the funds — in Liverpool — 
 in Bristol — Manchester— ay, in the Mart of 
 London (to say nothing of the factories of Iron 
 Birmingham). My name would even then 
 have brought — some few notes more or less — 
 two hundred thousand pounds ! Whatever 
 I have touched has prospered — God's bless- 
 incj has been on it all ! Ventures to America, 
 to Russia"^ — China — Turkey — Hindostan — 
 have returned freighted to the very decks with
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 251 
 
 golden cargoes; still I spent no more upon 
 myself than I had ever done ; and my own 
 townsmen thought old Horace Brown throve 
 but slowly in comparison to those who made a 
 gilded show. Madam, the frank may trust 
 each other. None, save myself, till now, have 
 known of what I really do possess. I loathe the 
 ostentation that sets forth its deeds, its wealth, 
 — or charities ; even your cousin cannot guess 
 how many coffers hold my gold. My brother 
 — it would have been sheer madness to let 
 him dream of this. I came to London, having 
 discovered that some deep sharpers had, as I 
 imagined, from the information I received (for 
 I heard not with my own ears), laid a plot 
 to entrap my Mary into matrimony. I have 
 heard of many sharpers since — I have also 
 seen the man I did suspect, but cannot yet 
 find out what 'tis he really aims at. Poor 
 Mary ! did your father see with my eyes. Lady 
 Ellen, he would think her far above the price 
 of gold or power ; but tell him this : without 
 the slightest reference to my brother's wealth, 
 I will, on Mary's wedding-day, if she wed with
 
 252 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 him I wish, tell down in solid gold — deben- 
 tures — ^stock — whatever way he will — full fifty 
 thousand pounds : — will that suffice^? — think 
 you that that will satisfy his Lordship's wishes ? 
 — convert the bright, the pure, the honesthloodi 
 that flows in her young veins, into the thick, 
 the stagnant pool which creeps with lagging 
 indolence through the patrician arteries of 
 lords and ladies ! Will fifty thousand pounds 
 do this ? And, hark ye, who wi)l have the 
 residue ? Who, but Mary and the man she 
 loves ? How I have prayed to God that 
 Mortimer might find no friend but me ! — 
 how I should have gloried had he been a 
 blacksmith's son. I loved them both so dearly 
 in their childhood — I prayed so for their union 
 — and their increasing coldness jarred upon 
 my spirits like the dull knocking of a worn- 
 out hammer upon Corinthian brass. Forgive 
 me. Lady Ellen, I judged that you increased 
 that coldness — I thought that you were proud 
 and selfish, though Harry said, and Mary 
 would have sworn, you were an angel ! And 
 yet," he continued, rising, and pacing up and
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 253 
 
 down the room, '' I would that Harry were not 
 in your sphere — my little violet would have 
 blossomed more sweetly, and been more happy, 
 in her native dell. — They will both forget me 
 in their own happiness." 
 
 " That last," said Lady Ellen, while Horace, 
 who had worked himself into a fit of genuine 
 enthusiasm, moved restlessly about the apart- 
 ment, — '' that last is the only selfish sentence 
 you have uttered." 
 
 " Lady," he replied, while his brow clouded, 
 *' I am growing old — youth casts away sor- 
 rows, and replaces new friends with those still 
 more new (for the friendship of the young is 
 more a passion than a principle) ; but when 
 people advance in life, they lose the power of 
 loving, or inspiring love." 
 
 " Not so, Sir ; the affections that were at- 
 tracted by the person, transfer themselves to 
 the mind, when it is lovely." 
 
 " Lovely," repeated Uncle Horace, with a 
 change of manner so abrupt, that it made 
 Lady Ellen smile. 
 
 *' I spoke of the mind," she again repeated. 
 
 " Mind ! I never knew a man of mind, as it
 
 254 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 is called, worth a doit ! — that is the only thing 
 which reconciles me to the prospect of the boy's 
 getting into the Peerage. Poor fellow! — he 
 had too much mijid ever to make a rational 
 shilling, though he tried hard for it too. Dear 
 Mary once could do the prettiest sums in 
 practice you ever saw ; but now ! — oh, London ! 
 London ! "" 
 
 Lady Ellen could not avoid thinking of the 
 strange mixtures out of which Nature moulded 
 this man. She could trace in Horace Brown 
 the fire of that same ambition at which he 
 sneered, although she saw how differently it 
 was directed, — another argument in favour of 
 a little theory the Lady had been establishing 
 in her own mind, that our passions, when pro- 
 perly directed, become virtues ; when the con- 
 trary, they degenerate into the vices which are 
 tacked upon the back of '' poor human na- 
 ture !" 
 
 " After all," continued Horace, his thoughts 
 
 wandering from one chain to another, rather 
 
 ' than continuing from link to link, — " after 
 
 all, why, if he has talent, with me it would 
 
 have been a curse to him, but now it may be
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 255 
 
 a blessing to others : — God knows it is a rare 
 commodity amongst them ! And, dear Mary ! 
 — tell me honestly. Lady Ellen, what do your 
 set say of her ?" 
 
 *' Honestly !" she repeated, smiling, and you 
 expect that from a Peer's daughter. " Some, 
 then, say it is a pity she was not highly born ; 
 others, it is a pity she was not highly bred. 
 The men all call her lovely — the women deny 
 her claim to prettiness, except those who have 
 sons to marry. Some are sorry she has a 
 mother; others wonder when her father will 
 die of apoplexy. — The report of her uncle's 
 wealth has added much to her consequence." 
 
 ^' And her gentleness — her virtues !" chimed 
 in Horace Brown. 
 
 " Pshaw ! In an heiress gentleness would 
 be called a want of ton, and virtue follows as a 
 matter of course — it is never tempted ! " 
 
 '' And is my Mary to live amongst such a 
 set !" exclaimed Uncle Horace, doubting in his 
 own mind whether he was not conniving at her 
 misery by increasing her fortune. 
 
 " Make yourself easy. Sir, on that score.
 
 256 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Mary and my cousin will, after a few years, 
 vegetate to your heart's content upon their own 
 estate: — my father's pains will be thrown away 
 upon Mortimer. No, no ; they will establish 
 schools, clothe and educate dirty children, by 
 which means the race of knaves and bad ser- 
 vants will be perpetuated ; feed the poor — a 
 sure way to encourage idleness. Harry will 
 tish in a lake, and Mary will read poetry, de- 
 scriptive of the cruelty of fox-hunting, the 
 while, on a bank by his side, looking both of 
 them fit to sit for a family portrait of domestic 
 felicity, which will, doubtless, be completed by 
 tlie introduction of a little Master Horace, or, 
 perhaps, my little godchild — Miss Ellen. He 
 will be a county magistrate : for two or three 
 sessions a county Member ; and sweet Mary 
 will be a modernized edition of Lady Boun- 
 tiful ! There, in such a sphere," added Lady 
 Ellen, in a subdued tone, and with an altered 
 manner, " she will not be thought a parvenue 
 — she will be hailed as a blessing !" 
 '^ But your father ! " 
 Oh ! not a word to him of schools or things
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 257 
 
 of the sort ! he will find out his mistake in 
 time ; when, like most Ministerial mistakes, it 
 will be too late to remedy the evils they have 
 occasioned," exclaimed Lady Ellen, rising. 
 " Mr. Brown, I have been as explicit with you 
 as you have been with me ; think not, if I 
 have spoken lightly upon one or two points of 
 my father's character, that I love him lightly ; 
 not so. A little more of any one of the really 
 noble qualities he possesses, would have made 
 him an illustrious character. As it is, he is 
 viy father, and Harry's uncle ! — for both our 
 sakes, you will forget that he is a Peer, and 
 respect him as a many 
 
 " 1 hope," said Horace, recalling portions 
 of the conversation which had touched upon 
 the Peerage, " I hope, Lady Ellen, I have 
 said nothing wounding or offensive to your 
 feelings. — I would not for the world ! " 
 
 " My dear Sir," she interrupted, " whatever 
 you have said, of this I am convinced, you 
 would not wound meybr the ivorld — and I am 
 not wounded. See my cousin — talk with Mary 
 — I will speak to my father." 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " There is no necessity/' said Uncle Horace, 
 warily, " to tell him of the extended wealth I 
 have told you I possess. I could give Mary 
 more at once — and would — and will — if it be 
 necessary ; but — otherwise — it is a pity to call 
 in such sums as make large per cent age : — 
 and. Lady Ellen, the fifty thousand pounds 
 must not be talked of; for those in Liverpool 
 — all worthy men and true — would think me 
 mad to v/ithdraw such monies ; and at such a 
 time, when seven or ten per cent, could be 
 produced by its employment." 
 
 " I understand," said Lady Ellen, wonder- 
 ing at the new page in his character which had 
 been turned, '' you do not want the reputa- 
 tion of having so large a sum to spare ; nor 
 do you wish to be thought careless of the 
 same." 
 
 " Exactly, to a tittle, lady ; for, mark you, 
 men's thoughts are either gold or brass. If 
 the world thinks well of your concerns, their 
 thoughts are letters of rich credit upon so- 
 ciety ; if not "
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 259 
 
 " Brass weighs a vessel down !" said Lady 
 Ellen, smiling. 
 
 She bade him kindly farewell ;— and Uncle 
 Horace handed her into her carriage with as 
 much respect as if she had been the daughter 
 of the greatest merchant in England. 
 
 " It is such a pity," thought Uncle Horace, 
 as he returned to the house, " that she is not a 
 man of business,'^ 
 
 s2
 
 260 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
 
 An undistinguishable throng, 
 And gentle wishes long subdued. 
 
 Subdued and cherish'd long, 
 
 COLEUIDGE. 
 
 '* SiKG it again, Mary — oh, sing it to me once 
 more — it recalls the hours — whisyjer, — nay, 
 closer still, — the hours — before you became 
 jealous of a kind cousin — and I believed you 
 loved me not." 
 
 '^ For shame, Harry ! " 
 
 '"^ Nay, sing again." 
 
 *^^ Look you — a string is broken." 
 
 '' Well, touch the chords." 
 
 ^^ There — ^hear how it jars ! " 
 
 '' Mark, dearest Mary, — one little un- 
 sound string can mar the music of the whole ! 
 So it is with love— rone jarring thought de- 
 stroys its harmony. Let us remember this." 
 
 *' Did you learn that conceit of Uncle
 
 UKCLE HORACE. 261 
 
 Horace ? " inquired the maiden, as she re- 
 strung the instrument. 
 
 '' No;, Mar3^ Uncle Horace is matter-of- 
 fact enough for marriage — but not much trou- 
 bled about the romance of love." 
 
 - Of Lady Ellen, then ? " 
 
 '' No, nor of Lady Ellen — nor of Lord 
 Norley." 
 
 Mary laughed. " I wish," she said, " dear 
 Ellen were but here — ^within one 'sveek she 
 brought us so much happiness — set all things 
 in such delicious tune — explained — arranged 
 and rectified — made strangers friends — the 
 proud humble — the humble proud — and yet 
 would not remain near us to share the bless- 
 ings of her own creation." 
 
 *' She has promised to return soon — for town 
 is yet full — and Brighton at this season (for 
 I know far less than you do of fashion, Mary) 
 — Brighton, they tell me, is dulled to deep 
 stupidity." 
 
 '' She looked so ill," said Marv, " before she 
 went." 
 
 *' Her mother said the change would do her
 
 262 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 good. You must love Lady Norley, I tliiiik, 
 Mary — she is a glorious woman ! " 
 
 '' She is, indeed ; the dignity of her rank 
 is overshadowed by the dignity and majesty 
 of her virtues." 
 
 -"' I feel proud of Lady Norley's good opi- 
 mlonr said Mortimer. '' And you, Mary, not- 
 withstanding my lordly uncle's disappointment, 
 have raised me in his esteem. Ah gold! 
 gold! it is a wondrous talisman — and he 
 values me, like others, for its sake." 
 
 " I cannot tell how it is," replied Mary, 
 ^' but I feel a sad misgiving as to my fu- 
 ture conduct. I have never been at ease in 
 this grand circle — Maxy has preached, and 
 my dear mother talked for hours — ^but yet I 
 trembled — it was in vain they told me of the 
 power of my wealth — it was in vain — ." She 
 paused and blushed : and Harry at first en- 
 joying her confusion, but at last took pity and 
 said, — " Go on, Mary, or skip them if you 
 like. You were going, I suppose, to say it 
 was in vain you had so many lovers ! Was it 
 not so ? "
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 263 
 
 " Ay/' continued Mary ; '' and, skipping 
 the lovers, I was going to say that, with re- 
 spect to wealth, those amongst the aristocracy 
 who really despise it seem so much the best, 
 the most to be respected ; that it has been only 
 their esteem, their kind looks, I longed for." 
 
 '' Right, Mary ! And as their esteem is 
 not to be purchased by wealth, what, think 
 you, can purchase it ? " 
 
 " I know not ; virtue ma}^ — if it is of that il- 
 lustrious nature which shines forth even to the 
 heavens ! Talent — but then before they hear of 
 it. Uncle Horace says it must be distinguished ! 
 They seem too much encircled in their own 
 glory to be of the benefit they might to such a 
 commercial people as the English — at least so 
 Uncle Horace says." 
 
 " Well, sweet one, you will be really of 
 them, I suppose — :(if my plebeian education 
 does not hold me back). And this I do be- 
 lieve, that modest merit like yours, Mary — so 
 simple — so beautiful — yet set in such fine gold 
 — will steal upon their hearts, where pretenders 
 could never make impression."
 
 264 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " Ay — they will say, perhaps, that I am 
 vastly well for a rich trader's daughter ! " 
 
 *' Mary — this matter takes an unworthy 
 hold upon your mind," said Mortimer, seri- 
 ously — " gain courage, my own love — remain 
 yourself — keep that sweet innocence which 
 won my heart — and that deep purity of truth 
 and action which secured it to you, even when 
 you cast me from you. What is there of real 
 value you do not possess? Beauty — and 
 youth — and talent — for all purposes of taste 
 and usefulness — and what all great ones 
 covet — wealth — and an unspotted reputation. 
 What would you more? The station, sweet, 
 Vvhich now you tremble at, and say you like 
 not ? — This is absurd." 
 
 " Not so," she replied. " I do but fear, 
 that should you be a senator — a man (as 
 surely you must be) to command attention in 
 the world — I shall be unable to keep up the 
 dignity, the high behaviour, which would be 
 your due : instead of leading, I should tremble 
 following — you cannot think how now I trem- 
 ble in presence of high rank."
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 265 
 
 " Mary — this must not be. We have often, 
 dearest, in the wild country (do you remember 
 the bathing- lodge in Wales ?) looked from the 
 brow of that high cliffy which toppled o^er 
 the sea, upon the midnight sties. Do you 
 remember noting how the moon, bright 
 heaven's queen, pursued her steady way ; the 
 planets, and the stars of greatest magnitude, 
 climbing the sky in unambitious, yet most 
 glorious order ? They wander not from their 
 allotted paths, my love — nor do the small, 
 small stars, those feeble specks of light that 
 seem to our short sight smaller than dew- 
 drops, seek to shoot athwart the heavens, and 
 mount ! If they did " 
 
 '' Harry, I have seen a shooting star," in- 
 terrupted Mary. 
 
 " A falling one, you mean ; some discon- 
 tented sparkler seeking a more extended orbit, 
 forgetting that the hand of God arranged the 
 harmony of nature, and that, small as it was, 
 its presence ivhere He had placed it was essen- 
 tial to the universal whole." 
 
 " Harry— I will not be a falling star. I
 
 266 UI^CLE HORACE. 
 
 know that you learned tliis of Uncle Horace — 
 his voice is not so sweetly tuned as yours, but 
 it is his wisdom — I would that I were wise — 
 but living evermore beneath your shadow, I 
 shall, like the clay on which the rose dew 
 dropped, imbibe your fragrance." 
 
 " A truce to poetry and compliment." 
 
 " But why to poetry ? " she asked. 
 
 *' Because, dear Mary, when we are married, 
 our life shall be one pastoral poem." 
 
 " With notes in prose — of courts, and par- 
 liaments, and laws. If we are not poetry to 
 each other, I fear we shall find it scarce. My 
 mother, they say, was once romantic — ^}^et see 
 how she is changed." 
 
 Mary paused, and her bright eyes filled 
 with tears. — That a deep-brooding melancholy 
 had taken possession of Mrs. Brown Lorton 
 was evident to her family — the eagerness with 
 which she had sought and courted fashionable 
 society had sunk into an unaccountable apathy 
 — Miss Maxwell, true in some degree to the 
 purse Uncle Horace had so well filled, confided 
 to him that Mrs. Lorton received letters and
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 267 
 
 replied to them — that she received them with 
 secrecy and agitation, and replied to them 
 while shedding many tears — that she (Miss 
 Maxwell) could not manage, with all her art;, 
 to make out the purport of this correspond- 
 ence, though she thought she knew from 
 whence the letters came — and though Uncle 
 Horace kept his opinion to himself, certain it 
 was that Miss Maxwell fixed upon the person 
 whom he suspected had laid a train to obtain 
 his niece's hand. 
 
 This was Uncle Horace's great and per- 
 plexing mystery. Keen and observant to a 
 degree seldom attained in any sphere of 
 life — his acuteness had been chiefly directed 
 to the mercantile transactions, in which he 
 engaged with an almost unparalleled com- 
 bination of caution and vigour. The conver- 
 sation Peter Pike had overheard, in a manner 
 which it would be tedious and unnecessary to 
 recount, impressed upon his mind the be- 
 lief that a foreigner of considerable talent, 
 though by no means young or of very great 
 personal attraction, meditated repairing a
 
 268 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 shattered fortune by renewing the acquaint- 
 ance of early years with Mrs. Brown Lorton 
 and gaining the hand of the youthful heiress. 
 This, at leasts was the conclusion he drew from 
 what Peter reported. This was the great 
 object of his journey to London — though it 
 has been shown he had another of lesser 
 interest — but his conjectures became com- 
 pletely at fault when the stranger continued 
 in London without making any effort to be 
 even introduced to Miss Lorton, though it 
 was evident his residence in the mighty city 
 was known to her mother. 
 
 The breach between Mary and her lover 
 had been rapidly healed by the disinterested 
 interference of Lady Ellen Revis ; who, when 
 her task was accomplished, had felt that 
 absence and repose were necessary for the 
 restoration of her over-excited and generous 
 mind to its wonted tranquillity ; and Uncle 
 Horace had the gratification of seeing his 
 darling project on the eve of being accom- 
 plished. He had even begun to think who of 
 the few he regarded was in the most trouble
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 269 
 
 — for of course, when once he had set matters 
 right in his brother's estabhshment, he would 
 leave his protegees to their happiness for a 
 time, and seek whom he could next serve. 
 The young sculptor, Philip Mars den, had in- 
 terested this worthy, but eccentric man, most 
 deeply; and he would have been perfectly 
 delighted in the fulfilment of his old, and the 
 pursuit of his new, happiness, " if," as Peter 
 Pike expressed it, " things had been all square 
 in the Square ; but there was a deal to settle 
 yet before all the mystifications were cleared 
 up." In this opinion Peter was correct. 
 
 Lady Ellen's disinterested generosity had 
 conquered her father's objection, and Mr. 
 Brown's liberal and unexpected settlement 
 upon his niece had made the Peer calculate 
 thus : — " If Ellen is content with twenty, or, 
 say, fifteen thousand pounds, and Harry marries 
 a girl with fifty thousand — absolute cash — the 
 family property is at once increased thirty or 
 thirty-five thousand pounds. Then again — 
 Brown Lorton's estate in Suffolk commands
 
 270 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 very considerable parliamentary influence, 
 though he does not, poor man ! know how to 
 use it; but I do, and that is all the better. 
 It joins my estates, and its former occupier 
 gave me more trouble than enough in former 
 years. He is out of the way, and I shall have 
 no difiiculty in managing Lorton ; — those sort 
 of men, anxious to cling to the skirts of the 
 nobility, never care about being cat's-pawed, 
 until they find their nails burnt off"; and then 
 they are helpless ! Altogether, if the bar ple- 
 beian be well gilt — it is no great disadvantage 
 — Lorton will think himself honoured — I wish 
 I apprehended no more difficulty in other quar- 
 ters. My nephew has got a strange mingling 
 of, what he calls, independent feelings ; how, 
 Heaven knows ! except from that golden trader : 
 — can't manage him — have tried him in every 
 way — no ambition in my way, and yet proud 
 as Lucifer: — told me he was proud of being 
 an English trader! — good idea that, faith. — 
 What a fool Ellen is! — I could have sworn 
 she liked her cousin, and he her ! — fortunate
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 271 
 
 Miss Lorton having much money, for she is 
 pretty, and men, when they are either very 
 young or very old, do strange things for what 
 they call love — never could understand that 
 either. — If I could but have foreseen the loss 
 of my poor boys, would have brought Harry 
 up differently. — I think his wife, that is to be, 
 will stimulate his ambition — that was the grand 
 thing in Ellen. Mrs. Lorton, a poor, pretty, 
 weak, vain, gabbling woman, proud of her re- 
 putation and her daughter — the father and 
 mother must both retire to the country ; unless, 
 on an emergency, I was to get Lorton into 
 Parliament — he is young still — but I do not 
 think that will be at all necessary; — we shall 
 see," &c. &c. 
 
 Leaving his Lordship with his determination 
 to '' see," as far as he could, we will listen to 
 Mary's song, which ought to have been sung 
 at the commencement of the chapter ; the 
 words, be it observed, derived their fascination 
 from her voice and expression, rather than 
 from any merit of their own.
 
 272 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Where is Love found ? The happy and true, 
 
 Who is never weary, or dull, or lonely ; 
 Who is ever the same, yet always new ; 
 
 Who gladdens the heart, but the pure heart only ; 
 Who smiles away sorrow, and drives away strife, 
 
 Or, if the world frown, is at hand to cheer us ; 
 Who smooths both the up-hill and down-hill of life j 
 
 And in age, as in youth, is ever near xis — 
 
 Where is this Love ? 
 
 Shall we meet him in Cities ? He is not there, 
 
 Where Art presides with her thousand lures ; 
 And Pleasure seeks, hand in hand with Care, 
 
 The hearts that she tempts, but never secures ; 
 Where Mirth never gladdens, but all that's gay 
 
 Is the banquet of Dead-sea fruits out spread; 
 Where the revel by night, and the sleep by day, 
 
 Bring the burning pulse and the aching head — 
 
 Love is not there ! 
 
 Where is Love found ? Where the wild flowers grow. 
 
 And the birds and the breezes both are singing, 
 And heaven and earth have a healthy glow — 
 
 A blessing that each unto each is bringing; 
 Where the fruit-trees blossom, and fields are green. 
 
 At either side of some silent river ; 
 And Nature — the mother of Love — is seen, 
 
 The gentle, yet bountiful, beaut3'-giver — 
 
 There Love is found !
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 273 
 
 Mary was, perhaps, unconscious of the 
 energy with which she repeated the refrain 
 of her ditty ; but while she had been singing, 
 her mother and Miss Maxwell entered the 
 room together. 
 
 Mrs. Brown Lorton had been singularly 
 beautiful in her youth ; and Peter Pike only 
 said the truth when he affirmed that " Miss 
 Mary was not as handsome as her mother." 
 
 Mrs. Lorton's features were delicately cast ; 
 and thoutch Horace Brown believed she was 
 of foreign origin, her eyes were blue, and a 
 profusion of light auburn hair curled with 
 undiminished luxuriance over her brow; her 
 face had a soft and childish expression, which 
 accorded well with her musical laugh and the 
 gentle tones of her voice. She dressed judi- 
 ciously (let no one despise the " accomplish- 
 ment,'* for such it really is), and her kindly 
 and affectionate nature would have been duly 
 appreciated in cottage life, where nothing be- 
 yond kindness and affection is expected ; but 
 she failed in the sphere in which she wished to 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 move. Ignorant of the extended knowledge as 
 to tlie routine of ^Ae world that society requires, 
 yet ambitious to be considered its ornament, 
 Mrs. Lorton had for ever bade adieu to the 
 eclat and happiness which she derived in the 
 country from being the reigning queen of her 
 own circle, where her taste and beauty gave 
 her so decided a superiority. 
 
 It was impossible not to remark the " change' 
 of which Mary had spoken ; her once careless 
 and joyous features were crushed, as it were, 
 by an expression of anxiety and misery ; and 
 instead of seriousness being an effort, gaiety 
 had become one. 
 
 Uncle Horace, that morning, had brought 
 Mary a bouquet of beautiful summer flowers — 
 brought them, not ordered them ; and Mary 
 had arranged roses, and all, in a deep china 
 bowl, where they had sufficient room to dis- 
 play their various perfections. Her mother, 
 as I have said, entered with Miss Maxwell 
 while she was singing, and sat down at the 
 table where the flov/ers stood. She bent over
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 275 
 
 them, and Harry observed that her tears fell 
 fast upon their leaves. 
 
 "' Beautiful! charming! delightful!" ex- 
 claimed the toady ; " really your voice im- 
 proves every hour — I never heard anything 
 like it — it is quite miraculous — Lady Flasher- 
 ton herself observed it to me the last time she 
 heard you : — ' Maxwell,' she said, ' with a few 
 hints from you, that girl would equal Kitty 
 Stephens — quite her style.' — She always calls 
 Miss Stephens Kitty — it is her way — dehghtful 
 woman Lady Flasherton. — Do you know her, 
 Mr. Mortimer ?" 
 
 '' I have heard you speak of her before, I 
 think," replied Harry, Avith some of Uncle 
 Horace's dryness. 
 
 He had conceived a strong prejudice against 
 Miss Maxwell from the first moment he saw 
 her — of course his acquaintance with her was 
 of recent date ; — happily for them all, they 
 had not known nor needed such a friend^ 
 until they entered the tattered lists of fashion- 
 able life. Miss Maxwell was certainly a " most 
 
 T 2
 
 276 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 civil-spoken lady" to every body — what she 
 said of every body was another matter : she 
 held it as a principle that civility cost nothing, 
 except, perhaps, a sort of moral penance, which 
 she made up for by being trebly malicious 
 when the object of civility was out of sight ; 
 but I must do her justice — she could be polite 
 to Harry, without doing any violence to her 
 feelings, which, like most maiden ladies of a 
 certain age, were peculiarly tender towards 
 young and handsome men. 
 
 While Miss Maxwell complimented Mary 
 and flattered Harry, Mrs. Brown Lorton ap- 
 peared bent upon analyzing the perfume and 
 the hues of the beautiful flowers ; but Morti- 
 mer saw she was still weeping, and dexter- 
 ously contrived to draw Miss Maxwell to the 
 drawing-room, requesting her to sing some of 
 Miss Stephens's songs, in Miss Stephens's style 
 — an effort made by many, as well as Miss 
 Maxwell, and with as little success. 
 
 Mary, blessing Harry for his consideration, 
 threw herself on her knees, by her mother's
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 277 
 
 side. She folded her arms round her neck, 
 and as she drew her head towards her, kissed 
 off the tears which were pouring from her 
 eyes ; as she looked up to her face, she shud- 
 dered at the deep calm expression of settled, 
 sorrow which covered her features as with a 
 pall. 
 
 " Mother, . dearest mother !" she exclaimed. 
 *' Oh, tell me — tell me Avhat it is that has so 
 changed you ! tell me — oh, do tell me ! — it is 
 Mary — your own Mary that asks you. Mo- 
 ther ! am Tnot worthy to be your friend?" 
 
 Is there in the whole world one who com- 
 prehends not the magic of that word " mo- 
 ther ! " Its sound — its associations — its 
 melody — its powerful, natural music! How 
 it steals into the heart! — in it are centred 
 all the affections of our youth ; and when are 
 they so well worth having as before the world 
 has taught them its selfishness — its coldness 
 — the practised evil of its false wisdom ? It 
 is a beautiful word — mother ! It seems as 
 though the sound was born of Nature. No 
 child under the influence of excitement ex-
 
 278 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 claims " Mamma !" — it has an artificial eclio : 
 but " mother" — oh^ blessed word ! how does it 
 recall the age of helplessness, when a mother 
 watched the days of childhood — when a mo- 
 ther taught the days of youth — when a mother 
 counselled the days of matured existence — 
 when the mother blends the character of a 
 friend and a companion with the devoted ten- 
 derness of — of what ? — a mother ! — the word 
 has no companion. 
 
 Mrs. Lorton looked mournfully in her 
 daughter's face, and wept on: — it seemed as 
 if the fountain of her tears was still full, still 
 overflowing : — her features were motionless, 
 except that her lip quivered ; and long was it 
 ere she made any reply to her daughter's 
 appeal. 
 
 " I must tell you, Mary — I must tell you — 
 and yet why? — to make you unhappy — not, 
 thank God ! as unhappy as myself — that you 
 can never be — your heart rejoices in the ful- 
 filment of its first affection — you have no 
 temptation to concealment — no motive for de- 
 ception ." She paused, as if fearing she
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 279 
 
 had said too much, while Mary breathlessly 
 awaited her words. '* You are now, Mary," 
 she continued, " about to be united to the 
 object of your love ; and, in truth, had you 
 told me that you loved him, even before Lord- 
 Norley brought him forward as his son, I do 
 not think I would have opposed your wishes." 
 
 " Nay, " interrupted Mary ; " but you 
 know, ever since we have been in London, 
 you have been so immersed in plans of plea- 
 . sure, and the pleasures of plans, that we have 
 had no time for the confidential intercourse 
 in which we passed so many happy hours in , 
 the country." 
 
 " But in the country, Mary — you quarrelled 
 with Harry in the country, without ever con- 
 sulting me about it — and yet it appears ^^ou 
 loved him all the time : never trifle with your 
 happiness, my child. And now, when you are 
 married, your father and I will be quite over- 
 looked — forgotten. Would I could be cer- 
 tain that all would be forgotten — I mean, not 
 known !" 
 
 She paused abruptly in her weak and wa-
 
 280 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 vering observations ; and Mary, almost trem- 
 bling, though she knew not why, inquired — 
 " What forgotten ? — what known ?" 
 " Known?" repeated her mother, following 
 on the word rather than replying to the 
 question ; '' all things are known, sooner or 
 later — it is absurd to imagine anything con- 
 cealed ; remember, Mary, that concealment is 
 impossible : — -you were very wrong in conceal- 
 ing your attachment for Harry." 
 
 " Mamma, I never attempted to conceal 
 anything ; you know — you must surely remem- 
 ber — what pains you took to make me forget 
 him." 
 
 " Well," replied Mrs. Lorton, " perhaps I 
 did then ; but things are changed. Oh, Mary, 
 would to God that we were out of London !" 
 
 Mary involuntarily started with astonish- 
 ment ; — that her mother, who had so frequently 
 declared the impossibility of living anywhere 
 but in London, should so earnestly desire to 
 be out of it, was a marvel she could not com- 
 prehend : — there was no mistaking the earnest- 
 ness of her words. She continued, after a
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 281 
 
 short pause, in the same tone, for Mary was 
 unable to interrupt her : — 
 
 " I feel such a depression — such a sinking 
 both of mind and body, that I cannot support 
 the crowds and fashion as I used. The con- 
 gratulations which have poured upon me, on 
 your approaching marriage, seem cold and 
 heartless. The cards of inquiry — and the 
 calls : — ah, Mary, do you remember, in the 
 country how affectionate every one was, and 
 how they used to look up to me, and consult 
 my taste ? — and the fashions I used to invent 
 — and the popularity ball I gave when your 
 father was created an alderman ! — to be sure, 
 that w^as in the country — and here, nobody is 
 anybody ; though 1 am sure the sums we 
 have spent ! — the money we have laid out ! — 
 and so little, so very little of real happiness 
 for it ! And that Lady Flasherton — the jewels 
 I have given Maxwell for that woman — the 
 presentation cost me — no matter ! If you 
 had only seen the civil sneer with which she 
 wished me joy of your wedding that is to be ; 
 and when I talked of the old affection between
 
 282 U^CLE HORACE. 
 
 you and Harry, if you had only heard her talk 
 of his changed situation, and how gratifying 
 it must have been to find him still attached — 
 and attached to you — forgetting how my poor 
 girl is gilded ! " 
 
 " That," said Mary, warmly, '' never operated 
 upon him." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said her mother, in the 
 same low, wailing tone ; " and yet, Mary, it is 
 hard to say how gold operates — or upon 
 whom !" 
 
 " Well, dearest mother, we will not talk of 
 that. Uncle Horace, you know, says •" 
 
 "What care I what he says!" interrupted 
 Mrs. Lorton, in anger. " Uncle Horace meets 
 me everywhere — he is a perpetual spy ! Max- 
 well — your father — Harry — and you yourself, 
 Mary — you, yourself — think nothing right but 
 what he says — nothing right but what he does. 
 — Y"ou love your Uncle Horace better than 
 you do me ! " 
 
 To this petulant and unkind observation 
 Mary replied by a burst of tears ; and after 
 much soothing on the part of her mother, Mrs.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 283 
 
 Lorton returned to the same strain, though 
 Mary endeavoured by every means in her 
 power to bring her back to the subject they 
 had started from — the real cause of her changed 
 feelings and manners. 
 
 Mary saw that her mother was playing her 
 off; for every sentence she uttered showed 
 distinctly what a heavy pall weighed upon 
 her spirits, and that the ordinary topics upon 
 which she murmured were only the results of 
 "previous misery, tinting everything to its 
 own sallow hue. She continued murmuring 
 against one, against the other — complaining 
 of the world's pride — of its vanity (she, her- 
 self, so lately amongst the vainest) — of its 
 emptiness— of its wickedness — of the manner 
 in which her husband, once so domestic, was 
 estranged from her society by the dinner- 
 giving and dinner-eating people, who pre- 
 tended to patronize the dinner-maker, only 
 for the sake of the feast ! — of his fast-coming 
 parsimony, until her daughter, sick at heart, 
 and weary of such themes, would have re- 
 joiced at escaping therefrom, but for the
 
 284 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 overwhelming desire she experienced to dive 
 deeper into a mystery which she felt, without 
 knowing why^ would be the source of misery to 
 more than to herself. What an extraordinary 
 mental phenomenon is what is termed presen- 
 timent ! how perfectly unaccountable ! — how 
 mysterious ! What field it affords for specu- 
 lation ! — that hovering of the cloud — that 
 gathering of the tempest ; when flowers are 
 blossoming around us — when music is ringing- 
 its joyful changes in our ears — when all we 
 have hoped for seems within our grasp, still 
 we feel the coming sorrow — we feel that the 
 arrow is pointed, though we know not where it 
 will strike.
 
 2S5 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 In meaner minds Ambition works alone ; 
 But with such art puts Virtue's aspect on, 
 That not more like in feature and in mien, 
 The god and mortal in the comic scene. 
 
 You NO. 
 
 Many interviews passed between Mary and 
 her mother, of as unsatisfactory a nature as 
 the one so slightly sketched in the preceding 
 pages ; instead of forcing — absolutely forcing 
 herself into society, as she had done at the 
 commencement of her fashionable career, Mrs. 
 Brown Lorton shrank in the most sensitive 
 manner from observation. If the necessary 
 preparations for Mary's marriage called her 
 forth, she flew in and out of her carriage with 
 the rapidity of lightning; — if she was prevailed 
 on to drive in the Park, she invariably drew 
 down the blind, and folded her veil over her 
 face, although the season was at its close, and
 
 286 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Lord and Lady Norley's connexions over- 
 lookedj as they expressed it, " for that season, 
 and for certain reasons," the plebeian connex- 
 ion Lord Norley's nephew was about to make, 
 by '' accepting " the daughter of a Liverpool 
 merchant; although those of the high and 
 mighty, who had never called before, called 
 now, and condescended to invite Mr. and Mrs. 
 Brown Lorton, not only to their public, but 
 to their more recherche entertainments. Not- 
 withstanding this last temptation — which to 
 those ambitious of fashionable distinction it 
 might seem impossible to withstand — Mrs- 
 Lorton remained at home, perfectly aware 
 it was at the risk of displeasing those very 
 persons, whom so short a time before she 
 would have almost died to obtain the least 
 notice from. Horace Brown would have fan- 
 cied that she was recovering her senses — if 
 he could have been brought to believe she 
 ever possessed any of those enviable gifts ; — 
 but her bitterness towards him remained un- 
 mitigated; nay, it was rather increased than 
 diminished; and Uncle Horace taxed Miss
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 287 
 
 Maxwell privately with playing liim false, and 
 fomenting disunion. 
 
 Mr. Brown Lorton was neither affected by 
 his wife's change, his brother's quaintness, nor 
 his daughter's approaching marriage; he had 
 plodded in his counting-house, without en- 
 tering into any of those shrewd, but dangerous 
 speculations which had made his brother as 
 superior to him in wealth as he was in talent ; 
 and now, perfectly satisfied, he plodded at his 
 dinners, and was certainly more proud of his 
 excellence as a judge of the gastronomic art, 
 than ever he had been of any other source 
 of his success. Mary must have remained at 
 home from one or two '^ most important" pre- 
 sentations, as Lord Norley pronounced them 
 to be, if it had not been for Lady Norley's 
 kindness, who chaperoned her very graciously. 
 Lady Ellen, too, had triumphed over herself, 
 and returned to town in time for the last 
 drawing-room." Major Blaney had retired 
 from the list of Mary's suitors with more sorrow 
 than many would have believed, had they 
 been told that the gay Major regretted the
 
 288 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 loss of the fair maid's hand, quite as much as 
 the loss of her fortune ! And his lounging 
 companions, awed by young Mortimer's su- 
 periority, had given up wondering and ex- 
 claiming at his " success" and popularity, and 
 confined themselves to occasional hits at his 
 '' good fortune." 
 
 In this same " good fortune,'** Harry was a 
 religious believer; he was overwhelmed by 
 the " golden shower" which had descended 
 upon him. Young, animated by a high and 
 generous spirit, which had been neither curbed 
 nor broken, he gave himself freely up to the 
 intoxication of the fleeting hours, overflowing 
 as they were w4th happiness. He laughed at 
 the change that had taken place in Mrs. 
 Lorton's manners and habits ; he had observed 
 her capricious and variable temper for too 
 long a period to heed much her present hu- 
 mours; and he by turns reasoned with, and 
 by turns chid his beloved Mary for giving so 
 much anxiety to what he considered merely a 
 change of temper, that would pass away before 
 the colour of her next new dress was decided
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 289 
 
 upon. But ^lary loved her mother too well 
 to be thus deceived; and the bitter feeling 
 that she was deemed unworthy of her parent's 
 confidence, minLded itself with surmises as to 
 the cause, mysterious and hidden as it was, 
 that at such a time had overcast her mother's 
 happiness. 
 
 To Lady Ellen Revis she could talk freel}'' ; 
 but Lady Ellen saw too little of Mrs. Lor ton 
 to judge as to the real state of her mind, and 
 knowing Mary's gentle and affectionate na- 
 ture^ she was led to believe that Mrs. Brown 
 Lorton absurdly imagined that she was now 
 of sufficient consequence to play la premiere 
 role in the world of fashion, and had decided 
 upon adopting that of la belle capricieuse. 
 Thus poor Mary met with but little sympathy, 
 and she was perfectly aware that numberless 
 persons designated her mother as arrogant 
 and affected, while she felt assured that she 
 was the victim of some deep and secret an- 
 guish. This knowledge embittered all her 
 enjoyments, and cast a sadness over her coun- 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 tenance wliicli her lover and her uncle both 
 lamented. 
 
 Lady Ellen had made a glorious ciFort to 
 uproot the cherished aTfection ; which, if suc- 
 cessfuh is the charm, if blighted, becomes the 
 bane, of woman's life. Every virtuous, every 
 noble feeling assisted her resolve, and she 
 imagined she had triumphed ; but an affection 
 is rarely, indeed, desh^oyed in woman's heart ; 
 it may be supplanted, but unless another take 
 its place, the memory of the first is unknow- 
 ingly cherished — ay, cherished, while a spark 
 of life remains in the fevered^ affectionate 
 bosom. I do not say that a woman loves but 
 once, but I do affirm that love is necessary to 
 her existence ; and blessed be the Wisdom 
 that made it so ! 
 
 There was no sacrifice Ladv Ellen w^ould 
 not make for those she loved : — her love was 
 heroism — her heroism the spirit of love ; and 
 Avith all that, she was proud of her sacrifice, 
 perhaps too proud; for when she looked round 
 with her quick and intelligent eye upon the 
 cold and selfish world, and contrasted it with
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 291 
 
 her own iipriglit purposes, she thanked God 
 '' that she was not such as others w^ere." Lady 
 Ellen Revis was the most busied of all for 
 the approaching nuptials ; the preparations 
 afforded her employment, and she laboured to 
 convince herself that her doing so, was a proof 
 that her heart rested where it ought — within 
 her own bosom. 
 
 "Ellen," said her father, one morning, '' you 
 are quite as anxious that everything should be 
 as it ought for your cousin's bridal, as if you, 
 not Miss Lorton, were to be the bride." 
 
 '' My Lord ! " she exclaimed, not knowing 
 what she said. 
 
 '' You are quite as anxious that everything 
 should be as it ought for your cousin's bridal, 
 as if you, not Miss Lorton, w'ere to be the 
 bride," repeated the Peer. 
 
 '' Oh, yes. Sir — quite," replied Lady Ellen 
 bending over her coffee, to hide her changing 
 colour. 
 
 *' The sugar, my dear. Bless me, child, 
 how 3'our hand trembles — are you ill, Ellen ? 
 Eeally the last month of the season, and the 
 
 u 2
 
 292 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 last month of the session, destroy the consti- 
 tutions of both men and women." 
 
 " It does, indeed. Sir." 
 
 " I am sure I hope Harry will relieve me of 
 a portion of the weight of public business 
 which is bowing me down to the grave ! I 
 wish you would speak to him about it, Ellen. 
 I much desire this wedding to be over ; I am 
 sure when I was going to be married to your 
 mother, I never neglected my parliamentary 
 duties." 
 
 '' But Harry is not yet in Parliament," ex- 
 postulated the generous Lady Ellen. 
 ^ '' The reason, of all others, that be ought to 
 go down to the House every night." 
 
 " Which House does your Lordship mean?" 
 inquired his daughter, — perhaps with a desire 
 to draw her father from domestic topics. 
 
 '' I am really astonished that you. Lady 
 Ellen Eevis, should ask such a question I" 
 replied his Lordship. '' Whatever is to be 
 learnt of grace of manner, or elegance of dic- 
 tion, cannot be acquired, I imagine, in the 
 Lower House -, where, if Mortimer docs as I
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 293 
 
 desire, liis stay will only be a step to some- 
 thing better. I cannot avoid repeating, Lady 
 Ellen, that I am astonished at my daughter's 
 not knowing at once to which of the Houses of 
 Parliament I referred. If I do not mistake, 
 you have visited both : will you have the good- 
 ness to inform me what you heard or saw in 
 the House — the reformed House of Commons, 
 that w^ould lead you to suppose I could think 
 it a fit school for the study of any one gentle- 
 manly quality." 
 
 '' Dear father," said Lady Ellen, glad that 
 her purpose was effected, and yet anxious to 
 soften his asperity ; " there are still, thank 
 God, some gentlemen left in the Lower' 
 House." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, Lady Ellen, so there are ; 
 but have the goodness to inform me who you 
 heard ; — you went with your mother, I ima- 
 gine." 
 
 '' We were rather unfortunate, I think : the 
 first gent — person I mean — who spoke, was 
 
 (( 
 
 Bah ! " exclaimed his Lordship, passing
 
 294 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 Ids cup from hiro in evident displeasure ; 
 The next was that tough old agriculturist. 
 
 gOO{ 
 
 se 
 
 J' 
 
 " Bah I " again muttered Lord Norley, 
 rising from his chair ; '' go on^ Lady Ellen." 
 
 '' I really forget — some Irish members, I 
 believe," replied his daughter, shrinking from 
 the scene, vvliich promised to become stronger 
 than she had anticipated. 
 
 " Ah ! ' An ounce of civit, good apothecary T 
 Were their coats on or off ? — or can you in- 
 form me if you understood, as well as heard, 
 their voices I" 
 
 " I really forget, papa ; — it was very hot 
 and very disagreeable in the ventilator, — and 
 finding that Sir Robert did not intend speak- 
 ing, we came away !" 
 
 " I am glad you did, — coming away imme- 
 diately was the only atonement you could make 
 for going there at all. I should have sup- 
 posed that the single specimen you had of 
 Ccmmons oratory would have prevented your 
 fancying for a moment that I could imagine
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 295 
 
 any young man benefited by listening to such 
 as you have named !" 
 
 " Why, then, insist upon Harry's making 
 one amongst them ?" inquired Lady Ellen. 
 
 " I gave you credit for more tact than to 
 ask such a question I '' replied his Lordship, 
 resuming his seat, and placing his right hand 
 on the table. 
 
 This Lady Ellen knew was the preliminary 
 to a sYJcech — ^'explanation'''' Lord Norley 
 called it — and accordingly he commenced. 
 And his daughter listened for three-quarters 
 of an hour at least ; during which time sundry 
 well-known phrases struck upon her ear, such 
 as, '' Consolidated Interests " — '' Agricultural 
 districts " — '' Parliamentary Representatives '* 
 
 — " Agitators " — " Conservatives " — and 
 " State expediency " — " Lord John Kussell '* 
 — " Necessity for exertion " — " Destructives " 
 
 — '^ Radicalism " — " Sir Robert Peel " — 
 " Public good" — " Bench of Bishops " — 
 — " horrid Conspiracy " — and a host of other 
 sounds ; concluded by a desire that Lady 
 Ellen would impress upon her cousin's mind
 
 296 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 the necessity there was for his spending the 
 evenings of the next week in the House of 
 Peers instead of with Mary Lorton, — as Par- 
 liament would adjourn in a week, and the 
 bridal take place the morning afterwards.
 
 297 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Seek to be good, but aim not to be j2;reat; 
 A woman's noblest station is retreat ; 
 Her fairest virtues fly from public sigbt. 
 Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light. 
 
 Lytti-eton. 
 
 " Another day — only anotlier day !" whis- 
 pered Harry, as he ardently j)ressed the hand 
 of his betrothed to his lips. " Another day, 
 Mary, and then you will be all mine own." 
 
 The week had passed as lovers' weeks in- 
 variably do, with a rapidity for which both 
 declared they could not account : — 
 
 " For who to sober measurement 
 
 Time's happy swiftness brings — 
 When birds of Paradise have lent 
 The plumage of their wings." 
 
 Only, as Harry said, " two days !" and yet so 
 much remained to be done. The modistes were 
 in despair — Mrs. Claggit (who had resumed
 
 298 UKCLE HORACE. 
 
 her good temper, and made up her quarrel 
 with Job Harris, at the prospect of a '' good 
 alUance," and an increase of " vails"), vowed 
 that the breakfast arrangements could hardly 
 be finished by the time — Peter Pike rejoiced 
 exceedingly in new and fashionable liveries, 
 and the anticipation of what effect the silver 
 favours might produce in his favour, on the 
 heart of no other than the fair and gentle 
 Magdalene, for whom he entertained, though 
 he did not dare to profess, a most " respectful" 
 attachment. 
 
 Miss Maxwell was in the pouts ; she had 
 expected all along to be installed as the bride's 
 travelling companion ; and Mary's gentleness 
 would have consented to this arrangement, 
 but for the interference of " Uncle Horace." 
 
 *' If Mrs. Lorton does not want you, Miss 
 Maxwell," he said, " Mary I am sure does not. 
 Young people are better by themselves : even 
 / would not force myself upon them !" 
 
 Miss Maxwell thought of sundry gifts and 
 sundry prospects, and remained silent ; and an 
 hour afterwards assured Mrs. Lorton, that as
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 209 
 
 she could not bring herself, after all, to leave 
 her friend alone, she would remain with her. 
 
 Lord Norley talked politics to his nephew 
 until he made him half mad ; and then seeing 
 that he was stringing the bow too tightly, sent 
 Lady Ellen Eevis to soften and arrange. 
 Noble Lady Ellen ! what a host of trials had 
 not her affection and generosity brought upon 
 herself ! 
 
 3{c «|^ *l^ '•^ ^ ^ 
 
 " But you will sit to the sculptor to-day, 
 will you not, Madam," inquired Magdalene of 
 her mistress, after Mortimer had departed. « 
 " You know hov/ anxious your uncle and Mr. 
 Mortimer are about it, and the sculptor himself 
 so eager to have sufficient to work upon while 
 you are out of town ! indeed, he is now wait- 
 ins: ii^^ the small breakfast room." 
 
 '' Magdalene !" said Mary, looking up rather 
 slyly at her maiden, " I think, Magdalene, 
 that after a little time, when I bring Philip 
 Marsden into fashion — at least into fashion 
 with some — I think, Magdalene, that Master 
 Philip will not long want a wife.''
 
 300 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " Probably not. Madam," replied Magda- 
 lene, turning not red, but pale. " I am sure 
 the bust he is now doing will gain him fame, 
 and that, you know, brings favour.'' 
 
 " Taking a sentence from Uncle Horace, 
 Magdalene," replied Mary ; '' well, I ought to 
 forgive you for doing what I so often do 
 myself When I want to appear wise — I quote 
 Uncle Horace." 
 
 *' And well you may !" exclaimed the girl, 
 her face flushing with sudden emotion; — 
 ** well 3^ou may ; he is the best, the most 
 generous gentleman under the canopy of 
 Heaven !" 
 
 *' If Philip Marsden saw you now, he would 
 be jealous, Magdalene," said Mary. 
 
 Again Magdalene turned pale, white as 
 ashes. Mary instantly thought within herself, 
 " I do not, I am sure, turn pale, when Harry's 
 name is mentioned ; why should she so change ? 
 • — I will inquire." 
 
 " Magdalene, I am sure you love Philip ; 
 — na}', start not — if you do not love him, you 
 are a base, bad girl. Why should you not ?
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 301 
 
 It is true you are but a young waiting-maidj 
 yet, Magdalene, I know that you have seen 
 better days ; your conversation is beyond your 
 present sphere — your manners far above your 
 station : and though he will be foremost in that 
 great art, which is a shadowing forth of God's 
 own power, still, Magdalene, a girl, good, 
 virtuous, of noble soul, and upright purpose, 
 my Uncle Horace says, ' is fit mate for any 
 king!' If you love him not, you are no fit 
 maid for me. I saw you kiss his hand but 
 yesterday." 
 
 Mary was going on, but was prevented by 
 Magdalene dropping on her knees. 
 
 " I cannot bear to be suspected by you ! "' 
 she exclaimed, while sobbing violently. " He 
 is my brother !" She covered, her face with 
 her hands as she spoke, and Mary raised her, 
 much astonished at her words. 
 
 *' Your brother ! — your brother a sculptor, 
 and you my servant !" said the heiress, with 
 that involuntary respect which well-condition- 
 ed minds invariably show to those stamped
 
 02 UN" CLE HORACE. 
 
 liy the Almighty's nobility — genius : " Why 
 did you not tell me this before ?" 
 
 " Simply, Miss Lorton, because I ivas a 
 servant — because I could not bear it to be 
 known that Philip Marsden's sister was ob- 
 liged to earn her bread ; it was pride, but 
 God knows, pride for his sake, not my own ! 
 Your uncle discovered my secret ; may the 
 Almighty bless him ! hov/ greatly he has served 
 my brother ! " 
 
 " My poor Magdalene ! " said Mary. " And 
 you have had enemies within these walls, who 
 talked of you with scandal." 
 
 " I know it w^ell," she replied ; " but I could 
 bear ten times as much as that from people I 
 despise, rather than see him sneered at, for the 
 sake of my humble industry ; but you, I could 
 not bear you to suspect me. You will keep 
 my secret ; nor, I am sure, deem my services 
 of less value, because my brother is a genius. 
 I will not live upon his earnings, my own 
 will be always the sweetest, but I care not for 
 that. Should he grow ill, or very rich, and
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 303 
 
 need me then, why then — until then — I trust. 
 Miss Lorton, you will not require another 
 maid." 
 
 ''Magdalene,'' said Mary, "you must tell me 
 more of this. You are of gentle birth; I know 
 you are ! — but I must speak to Mortimer ; I 
 do not mean to keep a single secret from my 
 husband ! — 1 am so glad you are the sculptor's 
 sister ! 1 can so much the more regard you as 
 my friend — it is such a nice romance — and 
 Uncle Horace thus to find it out, and keep it 
 to himself, — I cannot treat you as a serveait 
 now!" 
 
 *' Treat me as you have ever done — I ask no 
 more," said the grateful girl ; and before her 
 gentle mistress could reply. Uncle Horace 
 himself entered the room. Mary greeted her 
 beloved relative more warmly than ever ; but 
 when he kissed her, she thought she felt his 
 lip tremble on her cheek. 
 
 " One other day," he said, " and my Mary 
 will have to ask leave who she may love. I 
 thought, child, that if I secured your hap- 
 piness^ I should be content to j)art with ycu
 
 304: UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 without any reference to myself; but it is not 
 so. I could not, I think, now manage to do 
 without your affection — I love you better than 
 I thought I should, for you are unspoiled : — a 
 heiress in London, yet unspoiled ! " 
 
 " Uncle Horace," replied Mary, " you spoil 
 me more than anybody else ; indeed you do — 
 you and Harry." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed the excellent man, with 
 a tenderness of feeling which those who had 
 only seen him in his rougher moods, could 
 not imagine. " May it be ever thus — may he 
 never change towards you ; if he does, I should 
 curse " 
 
 " Dear, dear Uncle," interrupted Mary, 
 " why say so hard a word? curses and Harry 
 Mortimer are surely not meet associates ; if 
 he did change, it would be my own fault, surely 
 not his." 
 
 *' Ay, woman ! woman ! However, thank 
 God, noiv my mind is perfcctl}^ at rest on one 
 head. I told 3^ou, long ago, I would not come 
 to London till marriage threatened you." 
 
 " Well, Sir," inquired Mary eagerly^ as her 
 uncle paused.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 305 
 
 " Well, I fancied that such was the case, 
 and I came — my informer must have been 
 mistaken. Lovers I found, more plenty than 
 hawthorn berries in a frosty winter — all civil 
 too, to your rich uncle, Mary, while they cared 
 but little if Horace Brown were at the devil ! 
 — but not the one whose courtesies I dreaded 
 for your salve.'*i 
 
 *' My sake V repeated Mary. 
 
 "Yes, child, your sake; although I found 
 him ovit in London — found too — that — but no 
 matter," continued the old gentleman, inter- 
 rupting himself; " notwithstanding a thousand 
 corroborating and mysterious circumstances 
 Avhich it appears almost absurd to think of, 
 much less repeat. I feel myself as having 
 been a sort of mercantile Don Quixote, in 
 search of adventures." 
 
 '' But tell me, uncle, do tell me what 3'ou 
 mean — you speak in riddles — I do not under- 
 stand you — ^liow could I? — explain — nay, it is 
 cruel thus to tease a woman's curiosity — pray, 
 pray explain ! " 
 
 " Not now — some other time — after this 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 o 
 
 06 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 order matrimonial is attended to. Shall you 
 not be ashamed of Uncle Horace amongst the 
 nobles, lords, and ladies who will attend this 
 ceremony? making a fashion of one of the 
 most solemn ordinances of the church ! eating 
 and drinking afterwards like fools — augh ! 
 You remember your promise : no French 
 frippery, no silks, no gauzes of foreign manu- 
 facture. Whatever we have, Mary, was earned 
 by British trade — that trade it is our duty to 
 support ! " 
 
 '' Indeed, dear uncle, I have not an inch of 
 foreign blonde in my trousseau!'''' 
 
 " Trous — what ? — trous — devil ! Can't you 
 speak English ? By Vulcan ! the idea of 
 getting fashions from people who can't speak 
 English ! — a nation whom we have beat by 
 sea and land ! If there should be a war again, 
 I'll volunteer, just for the pleasure it would 
 give me to shoot a Frenchman! — I told that 
 pompous fool Lord Norley so^ last night. It 
 is a wonderful thing to me how ever he came 
 to be Lady Ellen Eevis' father ! " 
 
 *' Or Harry's uncle," chimed in Mary.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 307 
 
 " No, that's not so v/ondcrful, Marv, be- 
 cause Harr}^ has been properly brought up. 
 I do with pleasure anticipate his appearance 
 in Parliament ; I confess it, because he is 
 practically informed as to the Uatc of the 
 manufacturing districts : — one ounce of prac^ 
 ileal information is worth a pound of oral in- 
 struction. Why, there was Lord Norley the 
 other night, notwithstanding the pahis I took 
 with him, absolutely confounding the shipping 
 of Hull with the shipping of Liverpool. What 
 think you of that ? " 
 
 "Very stupid of him," said Mary, smiling. 
 
 Uncle Horace made no reply, but paced 
 backwards and forwards, as was his custom, 
 when thinking or excited ; at last he stopped 
 abruptly opposite to where Mary was seated: — 
 
 " I suppose you have too much of woman's 
 trumpery to attend to, to sit to poor Marsden 
 to-day ? " he said at last. 
 
 " No, uncle, I will give him a long sitting, 
 for you wish it." 
 
 " Thank you, my child — thank you ! and I 
 
 x2
 
 08 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 will give you, not as a reward, Mary — that I 
 would not offer you — but I will give you this 
 purse of gold — it contains three hundred — not 
 your modern stamped sovereigns — things in- 
 vented and marked with a sounding title to 
 cheat those who need, and still farther enricli 
 those who jjossess wealth ; but guineas, girl — 
 real sterling guineas. A maiden's dower be- 
 longs to her husband ; she has no right, in 
 the sight of either God or man, to presume 
 thereon, any more than if she went pcnnyless 
 to his bosom. He endows her with himself, 
 his worldly goods; she gives herself imd. her 
 obedience — obedience I the bitter word to say 
 or swallow." 
 
 " Uncle, I do not think so," said Mary, 
 while tears sprang into her eyes; "^ I cannot 
 see the hardness of that word. To please 
 those we love, is pleasure to ourselves. Obe- 
 dience is love's duty — duty, to those who think 
 aright, is happiness. If the sound of ' to obey' 
 distresses woman's ear, wh}-, let her say ' to 
 love ! ' construe it thus, and all is right."
 
 fC 
 
 (< 
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 309 
 
 *' I hope that you may read it so in twelve 
 months hence. Suppose your husband was 
 unreasonable?'' inquired Horace. 
 
 '^ I would reason myself into the belief 
 that it was I v/ho was unreasonable, and not 
 he." 
 
 " Suppose he w^ould that you should stay 
 within, while he went pleasuring?" 
 
 Well, uncle, I would stay," replied Mar}'. 
 And pout, and sulk, and flounce when he 
 returned," persisted Mr. Brown. 
 
 " No ; I would so study to make his vrel- 
 come sv/eet, that he w^ould mourn to have been 
 so long absent." 
 
 " But, Mary, men change; suppose he 
 forgot to love you ? " 
 
 " Why then," said poor Mary, bursting at 
 once into tears, — '^ why then, I should lay 
 down my head and die ; and I think it very 
 cruel of you to suppose anything of the kind ; 
 and I do not want any money, thank you. Sir ; 
 I have enough, thank " 
 
 Uncle Horace was grieved he had gone so 
 far; for, to confess a truth^ he had a great
 
 310 UNCLE HOrSACE. 
 
 antipathy to woman's tears ; he ahvays said 
 " they made him uncomfortable ;" so inflicting 
 a slight box upon Mary's pretty ear, he asked 
 her how she dared call him " Sir ! " and how 
 she could presume to refuse his gift I and cer- 
 tainly her tears ceased as he shook the gold, 
 and they quite dried up when she saw the 
 glittering contents of a flat red velvet case, 
 ■which he extracted from a capacious pocket ; 
 and having clasped a brilliant gorget round 
 her throat, and having decided that it became 
 her exceedingly, Mary forgot her displeasure 
 ere you could count twenty; and why should 
 she not ? Gentle reader, there are few men 
 or women whose tears cannot be dried by gems 
 or gold ; besides, after another day, Mary was 
 to be a bride I 
 
 ^' I must say one word about that gold," re- 
 commenced her uncle, while Mary was already 
 thinkino; what she should do with it. " Let 
 there be no pretty nor petty subterfuges with 
 regard to money between you and your hus- 
 band, no closed books, no privy purse ; if a 
 man once discovers that a woman has men 23-,
 
 U^CLE HORACE. 311 
 
 and has concealed lier v»-ealtli from liim, he 
 suspects her ever after; and where there is 
 suspicion, there is an end to happiness ! I 
 could never be as happy Avith Peter Pike as I 
 am, if I had not the most implicit confidence 
 in his fidelity." 
 
 Mary could not avoid smiling at the sort of 
 parallel her uncle appeared to have drawn in 
 his own mind, associating her prospects of 
 happiness, as Harry Mortimer's wife, with his 
 views of happiness as Peter Pike's master. 
 She assured him that she had no desire to form 
 a privy purse, or any purse, and then he was ^ 
 not exactly pleased at that ; he told her that 
 she must keep her own accounts, and talked 
 of the advantages that would arise to females 
 if they understood the use of the day-book 
 and the ledger. Had his niece been fond of 
 the study of what is called character, she would 
 have observed how closely the business habits 
 of this excellent man clung to his boldest pro- 
 jects and kindest purposes; at the very time 
 when he had given her fifty thousand pounds 
 without a sigh of regret, without a feeling.
 
 312 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 save that of the highest gratification at having 
 it to bestow, he ^Yas hinting to her the ad- 
 vantages that might result from her placing a 
 small portion of the comparativel}^ small sum 
 he had just placed at her disposal, in a Savings 
 Bank. 
 
 * :3{: * * * * 
 
 The room in which Philip Marsden had ar- 
 rano-ed the necessary apparatus for plaster 
 moulding, was a small waiting-apartment, with 
 one window opening to tlie Square, and at 
 this window Uncle Horace posted himself, not 
 fronting, but leaning against a sort of pillar 
 that projected on either side of the frame- 
 work. While his niece sat, her uncle kept up 
 a sort of running commentary — a most sin- 
 gular one too — upon the various topics that 
 struck his fancy. His ideas of art were bold 
 and original ; — he had a fine, though unculti- 
 vated perception of the palpably beautiful and 
 the sublime, though the delicate shadings of 
 feeling and sentiment would have been thrown 
 away upon him altogether. The time is past, 
 and past for ever, when a knowledge of litera-
 
 u^'CLE nouACE. 313 
 
 turc, and a faniiliarit}- witli trade, were deemed 
 incompatible. In literature his taste sa- 
 voured of the old school. He quoted Pope — 
 admired Addison — swore by the Spectator — 
 abused Lord Byron — not that he had ever 
 read a line he wrote, but he hated him for 
 several reasons; first of all, he considered 
 poetry as degrading to his rank ; then, his 
 Lordship was the fashion ; and, above all, he 
 resided abroad, and died abroad ; and Uncle 
 Horace, I am sorry to say, only regretted that, 
 like Napoleon, he did not die sooner. Uncle 
 Horace read and admired Scott, preferring 
 Jeannie Deans to all the heroines of romance ; 
 and Mary declared he made his eyes red for a 
 week by weeping over the Bride of Lammer- 
 moor : — these were his lighter tastes. The 
 afternoons of his Sabbaths v/ere spent in the 
 society of Bacon, Locke, Newton, and that 
 glorious old immortal Jeremy Taylor; add to 
 this that Uncle Horace was an excellent his- 
 torian ; and that Shakspeare, though he sel- 
 dom quoted him, was the text book of his 
 thoughts ; and you are pretty well acquainted
 
 314 UNCLE HORACi:. 
 
 v.'itli Uncle Horace's store of information ; 
 that is, gentle reader, supposing you yourself 
 are as well read — a matter by no means to be 
 taken for granted. 
 
 Uncle Horace was not fond of new theories ; 
 and finding that the young sculptor was a 
 believer in phrenology, he had become very 
 anxious to dispossess him of his belief; not by 
 argument, but by a species, or rather a succes- 
 sion of sneers, at what he considered its ab- 
 surdity. Marsclen had all the fire and energy 
 of genius in his temperament, and fought 
 lustily for his favourite science ; he explained 
 over and over again to him the geography of 
 Mary's beautiful head — expatiated upon the 
 development of the organs of time and melody, 
 on the combination of gaiety and benevolence, 
 the latter preventing the former from ever 
 becoming satirical or severe — talked of her 
 imaginative dreaminess ; and what certainly 
 was quite true, the preponderance of jealous 
 feeling ; and Uncle Horace sneered, and would 
 give the half- enamoured sculptor no credit for 
 his skill, because, he said, Mary carried her
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 315 
 
 heart and its accompanying feelings upon her 
 sleeve; "but there. Master Marsden," said 
 Uncle Horace, pointing to a gentleman who 
 was leaning, talking to another against the 
 iron rails of the Square, while crowds passed 
 around him and his companion, — " there is a 
 man, Avhose head, if you could read, I would 
 say you were indeed a Seer." 
 
 '' Where, uncle ? " inquired Mary, glad to 
 escape from her sitting. 
 " There, child ! " 
 
 " Ah ! I know one of those two," she ex- 
 claimed, half laughing ; " an old lover of mine, , 
 Count de Muskito ; the other I never saw 
 
 before, he is " 
 
 " He is ! " repeated the young sculptor, in 
 so changed a tone of voice, that Horace Brown 
 and Mary Lorton turned instantly round to 
 look at him : — " He is — " and the words camo 
 thick and deep from between his firm set lips, 
 while his countenance paled and quivcrei 
 Avith deadly hatred : — " He is the greatest 
 villain under Heaven ! and by the living God 
 I will face him 1 "
 
 n 5 
 
 16 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 He sprang to tlie door with the impetuosity 
 of a maniac, but the strong grasp of Uncle 
 Horace prevented his purpose. 
 
 '' Marsden, you are mad ; you cannot pos- 
 sibl}^ know him : why, man, he has puzzled 
 me. When he was last in England, you were 
 little more than born. You must, indeed j^ou 
 must be mistaken ! " 
 
 " Let me go. Sir ! '' persisted the youth, 
 struggling with greater energy and power 
 than one could have supposed he possessed : — 
 ''Let me go, Sir! — know him! — too well I 
 know him — I would not let him escape me for 
 immortal fame ! — I will go. Sir ! — If you knew 
 all, instead of impeding me, you would go with 
 me. Mr. Brown, I will not be detained !" 
 By a sudden feat of agility, rather than by an 
 effort of bodily strength, the young sculptor 
 eluded his friend's grasp — a few more seconds' 
 delay occurred in his opening the door ; and 
 Uncle Horace, while ejaculating that the 
 '' foul fiend had seized him," looked out of the 
 Avindow, and saw, to his relief and astonish- 
 ment, that both the gentlemen he had pointed 
 out had disappeared.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 317 
 
 '' Who is it, uncle ? — nay, tell me who it 
 
 is?" 
 
 Before her uncle had either time to reply 
 to, or evade her question, Magdalene entered 
 with a message from her mother, desiring to 
 see her immediately in her own room; " She 
 could not wait, she said, a single moment." 
 
 When Mary entered her mother's room, 
 she found her with pallid cheeks, to which art 
 had lent no hue. Her eyes were red and 
 swollen, and the veins of her temples stood 
 painfully out on her clear white forehead ; she 
 seemed labouring under some heavy weight 
 of misery, rather than sudden or strong ex- 
 citement. There was no fire in her eye, and 
 the muscles of her well-formed mouth appeared 
 too rigid to express ordinary emotion. 
 
 " Mary," said she^ " your mother is about 
 to solicit your charity. Your uncle, I believe, 
 has given you gold ; will you " 
 
 Mrs. Lorton paused, and fixed her eyes on 
 the beaming features of her child, who waited 
 not for another word, but drew the purse she 
 had received but an hour before, from her 
 bosom.
 
 f> 
 
 18 UNCLK HORACE. 
 
 " Take it, clearest motlier/' said the gene- 
 rous girl, presenting it to her without a min- 
 gling of any other earthly feeling, with the 
 delight she experienced in being able to minis- 
 ter to her mother's necessities, be they what 
 they might : — '' Take it — I am glad my uncle 
 was so liberal ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lorton clutched the purse within her 
 slender fingers. " Is it all here, Mary, all ? — 
 and do you give it all to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother, all. I hope it is enough for 
 what you require : — stay, I have still twenty 
 guineas in my desk. Shall I fetch them too?" 
 
 " Then is there only three hundred pounds 
 in this purse?" inquired her mother in a dis- 
 appointed tone. 
 
 " That is all, mamma ; and tell me how you 
 knew I had it?" 
 
 ' A little colour mounted to Mrs. Lorton's 
 cheek. '^ How I knew !" she replied : — '' How 
 I knew ! — You do not suppose I listened at 
 your door, Mary? — you do not think I would 
 play the eavesdropper to my own child?* she 
 said in an irritated tone of voice ; then added, 
 '' Maxwell told me."
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 319 
 
 Mary was too much occupied with thinking 
 of the strano-eness of her mother's looks, and 
 the greater strangeness of her wanting money 
 at a time when slie knew her father's supplies 
 had been so liberal, to inquire how Miss Max- 
 well knew anything of a private conversation 
 between her and her uncle ; she had not time 
 to consider, for her mother recalled her atten- 
 tion by the exclamation — 
 
 " And )^ou have only twenty guineas more !'* 
 
 '' But you shall have them, dearest mother. 
 I do not want money ; and if I did, I could 
 ask my uncle — tell him you required that — * 
 and " 
 
 " Girl, are you mad?" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Lorton, violently, and violence with her was 
 indeed of rare occurrence : — " Girl, are you 
 mad? Tell Horace Brown that I took the 
 money from my own child which he gave her, 
 wdien she was on the eve of lawful and holy 
 marriage! — robbed my daughter! INlary," 
 she continued, flinging the purse from her, 
 " Mary, I will not have your gold, I will be 
 disgraced first !
 
 320 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 " Mother ! disgraced ! you will break my 
 heart," said the poor girl. "Mother, if the 
 hundreds were thousands, are they not yours ? 
 All I have is yours ; for I am your own — your 
 child — ^your Mary ! " 
 
 " My own — my own — my ov>'n," sighed the 
 half distracted woman, with a monotonous 
 wail, as of a bereaved dove over her rifled 
 nest : — " My own — my own — my own I — until 
 another day is past : but, Mary, you will never 
 curse your mother ! " 
 
 *' Curse my mother ! " repeated the horri- 
 fied girl : — " Curse my mother ! " She looked 
 at her parent with a face so full of anguish, 
 that it recalled Mrs. Lorton to herself. 
 
 " Forgive me, Mary — only forgive me — I 
 shall soon be better; — nay, ask me no ques- 
 tions, for I will answer none — I cannot. If," 
 she added, with a quick transition of voice and 
 manner, " if you set a price upon your gold, 
 you can take it back." 
 
 '' I set no price upon it, mother," replied 
 poor Mary, in a heart-broken tone ; " take 
 it, and I will bring you the remaining twenty.'*
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 321 
 
 She went out of the room with a heavy 
 heart, leaving the jewel-case her uncle had 
 given her upon her mother's dressing-table. 
 I have said she left the room with a heavy 
 heart ; I should have added, perhaps, not for 
 the sake of the gold, but because of the mys- 
 tery and harshness of her mother's manner. 
 When she returned, Mrs. Lorton was sitting 
 on her cushioned dressing-chair, by the table, 
 her cheek resting on her hand, the casket 
 open before her on the table. Mary laid 
 down the gold beside the purse — her mother's 
 eyes were still fixed upon the glittering gems. . 
 
 *' Three hundred and twenty pounds," she 
 said at last, slowly and emphatically. '' Three 
 hundred and twenty — and I must have five 
 hundred before the sun sets." 
 
 " Can you not ask my father for the re- 
 mainder," said the maiden ; " every farthing 
 of my own allowance is gone. I have paid 
 for every thing ; for Uncle Horace " 
 
 " Peace !" exclaimed her mother, sternly; 
 " his name presses on me like the nightmare : 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 and as to your father, he is altogether ill, 
 either from indigestion or temper." 
 
 " Mother^, dearest mother," in her turn in- 
 terrupted Mary, " you used not to speak of 
 my kind father thus." 
 
 Mrs. Lorton made no reply, but counted on 
 her fingers vaguely, though not as an arith- 
 metician, but as a dreamer. She turned the 
 gorget over and over : '' Mary," she said, after 
 a considerable pause, " Has Harry seen this 
 bauble yet?" 
 
 . '« Not yet, mamma ; I intend to surprise 
 
 him." 
 
 " Have any seen it but your uncle ?" 
 
 " No, mamma." 
 
 " Mary, you must say — think — invent some 
 excuse about this to him for a week — ten days 
 — and lend it me for that period." 
 
 Mary paused. She had anticipated so much 
 pleasure from showing the splendid present 
 to her lover : — it was a trial ; short as was the 
 pause, Mrs. Lorton's eye fired — Mary saw it, 
 and did not suffer her to speak.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 323 
 
 " Oh, yes, mammal it will be safer with 
 you than with me, as I am going travelling, 
 you know." 
 
 '' Yes," replied her mother, ^' it will be safe, 
 doubtless ; it will be pledged — pawned — the 
 fashionable way of raising money. Do not 
 start and stare so, Mary ; you may think me 
 cruel — you would not, if you knew but all. You 
 need not glance, my child, towards all those 
 gems that glitter in the sun. You think I 
 ought j^rs^ to use them, as they are mine own, 
 to raise what money I require." 
 
 "God knows!" interrupted Mary, *' I did 
 not think about it. I am so bewildered, I 
 know not what to think." 
 
 " You might have thought so, and that 
 without a crime ; but one secret I can tell you : 
 — my emeralds — my brilliants — all my chains 
 — they are not worth twenty pounds, Mary ! — 
 no, nor ten : — you know too what they cost. 
 Mary, your mother and her jewels are alike 
 
 FORGERIES !" 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Ah ! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven, 
 When drooping health and spirits go amiss ? 
 How tasteless then whatever can be given ! 
 Health is the vital principle of bliss. 
 And exercise of health. In proof of this. 
 Behold the wretch, who slugs his life away. 
 Soon swallow'd in disease's sad abyss. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Poor Mary thought she could have borne 
 anything, past or to come, better than the 
 loss of her uncle's gift. She felt it was lost, 
 though she endeavoured to persuade herself 
 it was but lent. Her mother had forbade her 
 to tell the truth to her uncle ; and, until the 
 hour of dinner, she spent the remainder of 
 the day in the solitude of her own room, 
 from which even Magdalene was exckided.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 325 
 
 She felt inexpressibly mortified at the idea 
 that, with all her money, she could not draw 
 a single guinea at that particular time, with- 
 out subjecting herself to her uncle's scrutiny. 
 And a thousand agonizing conjectures flitted 
 through her brain as to the cause of her 
 mother's pecuniary distress. She established 
 the idea, at last, that she must gamble, — 
 and this opinion, bad as it was, was a posi- 
 tive relief to her mind. That day her father 
 had decided on giving the concluding dinner 
 of the season ; and ladies and gentlemen of 
 distinguished taste — taste, such as Kitchener 
 and Ude appreciated — only were invited, with 
 the exception of Uncle Horace, who made 
 several most injudicious observations during 
 the repast. First of all, he said, a plaice was 
 as good as a turbot ; adding, that he hardly 
 expected to be forgiven for such an opinion, 
 knowing as he did that people are more angry 
 at having their tastes called in question than 
 their virtues. Then speaking to Lord Norley, 
 he obsei*ved, that all sorts of modern patriotism
 
 32G UNCLE HORACE. 
 
 were absorbed by self interest, as the ocean 
 swallows up the rivers of the earth. Major 
 Blaney, who showed his good sense by accept- 
 ing, considering all things, rather an injudi- 
 cious invitation, debated for some time in his 
 own mind whether he ought or ought not to 
 call Uncle Horace out, as a punishment for 
 one or two sarcasms levelled against his 
 country. And despite his veneration for his 
 friend, and his predisposition to intoxicating 
 happiness, Harry Mortimer could have knocked 
 him down most heartily for his half mirthful, 
 half malicious, encomiums on the advantages 
 of celibacy, and the disadvantages of married 
 life ! 
 
 The ladies had not retired many minutes, 
 Mrs. Lorton looking so wretched and bewil- 
 dered that poor Mary felt assured she should 
 be obliged to assign a reason for it to Harry, 
 when a considerable bustle in the dining-room 
 attracted their attention, — servants were hur- 
 rying backwards and forwards, — and full soon 
 the truth was known.
 
 UNCLE HORACE. 327 
 
 Mr. Brown Lorton had fallen forward on his 
 own table in a state of suffocation : and within 
 an hour the great dinner-giver of the past 
 season was himself a feast for worms. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Wii-liam Clowes and Sons, 
 Duke-Street, Lambeth.
 
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