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Cornell University Library PR 5606.A1 1869 The adventures of Philip on his way thro 3 1924 013 562 131 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 35621 31 Tkanksgiving. THE ADYENTUEES OE PHILIP ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD; WHO ROBBED HIM, WHO HELPED HIM, AND WHO PASSED HIM BY. TO WHICH IS NOW PREFIXED A SHAEBY GENTEEL STOEY. * - r ► t BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BT FREDERICK WALKER. HOUSEHOLD EDITION. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. k^ LIBRARY A. i+oSQa W. M. THACKERAY'S WORKS. HARPER'S HOUSEHOLD EDITION. ISmo, Clotb. Novels : Vanity Fair. — Pendennis. — The Newcomes. — The Virginians.— Adventures of Philip. — Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. Illustra- ted. Six volumes, i2mo. Cloth, $1 25 per volume. Miscellaneous Writings : Barry Lyndon, Hoggarty Diamond, Ac- Paris and Irish Sketch Books, &c. — Book of Snobs, Sketches, &c.— Four Georges, English Humorists, Roundabout Papers, &c. — Catha- rine, Christmas Books, &c Five volumes, izmo. Cloth, $1 25 per volume. Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. ■ Harpcr & Brotmbrs wUl sena either of the above volumes by mail, positive pre* paid, to any paft of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. CONTENTS. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. Chap. Page I. .3 II. How Mrs. Gann eeceived two Lodoebs . . . 10 III. A Shabby Genteel Dinnek, and other Incidents op A LIKE Nature 18 IV.' In which Mr'. Fitch proclaims his Love, and Mr. Bran- don PREPARES POR 'WaE . . . . . . ' 27 Y. CoifTAIN'S A GREAT DeAL OF COMPLICATED LcVE-MAKINO 32 'VI. Describes a Shabbt Genteel Marriage and more IjOve- MAKING . . . . . . . . . . 41 yiL 'V^hich brings a great Ndmbbr op People to MargaIb BY THE Steamboat . . . . . .' •..;.46 Vlll. 'Which treats op 'War and Lo've, and many Things that — ARE not TO BE UNDERSTOOD IN ChAP. VII. . . 50 EX. 'Which th&eatens Death, but contains a great Deal OP Mabrying . . . . ' . . . . .58 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. I. Doctor Fell 69 II. At School and at Home 75 III. A Consultation 81 IV. A Genteel Family 86 V. The Noble Kinsman 95 VI. Brandon's 105 yn. Impletur Vbteris Bacchi 114 Vlll. Will be pronounced to be Cynical by the Benevo- lent 123 IX. Contains one Biddle which is solved, and perhaps SOME more 127 X. In ■which we visit "Admiral Byno " . . .134 XI. In which Philip is very ill tempered ... 141 XII. Damocles . 150 XIII. Love me, love my Dog 162 XIV. Contains two op Philip's Mishaps 170 XV. Samaritans 182 CONTENTS. XVI. XVII. xvm. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. xxni. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVHL XXIX XXX. XXXI. xxxn. xxxin. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII. " XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLU. Ik which Philip shows his Mettle . . • 187 B.sEvis esse labobo ^00 Drum ist's so wohl mik iir deb Welt . . . 207 Qn'ON EST BIEN k ViNGT AnS .... 219 Course op Teue Love 228 Tbeats op Panging, Dining, Dying ... 238 PoLvis ET TJmbka sumus 250 In which we still hoveb about the Elysian Fields ■ 256 Nec dulces Amobes sperne, Puee, neque tu Ciio- eeas . . , • 268 Inpandi Dolores 275 Contains a Tug op War 286 I CHABGE TOU, DeOP YOUE DAGGERS . . . 293 In which Mrs. MacWhieteb has a New Bonnet 303 In the Depabtments op Seine, Loire, and Styx (Infeeieur) 312 Returns to Old Feiends 321 Nabrates that famous Joke about Miss Grigsby 331 Ways and Means . 342 Describes a Situation interesting but not un- expected 350 In which I OWN that Philip t:^ll8 an Untruth . 356 Res Augusta Domi 368 In which the Drawing-rooms are not puenished after all 377 Neo plena Cruoris Hieudo 387 The Bearer op the Bowstring .... 395 In which several People have their Trials . 405 In which the Luck goes very much against us . 409 In which we eeach the last Stage, but one op this Journey 423 The Realms op Buss 437 ADVERTISEMENT. "When the " Shabby Genteel Story " was first reprinted with other stories and sketches by Mr. Thackeray, collected together under the title of " Mis- cellanies," the following note was appended to it : — It was my intention to complete the little story, of which only the first part is here written. Perhaps novel-readers will understand, even from the above chap- ters, what was to ensue. Caroline was to be disowned and deserted by her wicked husband: that abandoned man was to marry somebody else: hence, bitter trials and grief, patience and virtue, for poor little Caroline, and a melancholy ending, — as how should it have been gay ? The tale was interrupted at a sad period of the writer's own life. The colors are long since dry; the artist's hand is changed. It is best to leave the sketch, as it was when first designed seventeen years ago. The memory of the past is renewed as he looks at it, — die Bilder froher Tage Und mancke Hebe Schatten steigen auf. W. M. T. London, April 10, 1857. Mr. Brandon, a principal character in this story, figures prominently in " The Adventures of Philip," under his real name of Brand Firmin ; Mrs. Brandon, his deserted wife, and her father, Mr. Gann, are also introduced; therefore the " Shabby Genteel Story" is now prefixed to " The Adventures ofPhUip." LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. THANKSGinitO Frontispiece. What Nathan said unto David Page 86 Mr. Frog requests the Honor of Prince Ox's Company at Dinner . 88 The Old Fogies 108 Laura's Fireside 12G Nurse and Doctor 145 Hand and Glove 170 "Good Samaritans" 185 Charlotte's Convoy 212 Morning Greetings 225 A Quarrel 246 Miss Charlotte and her Partners 272 Comfort is Grief 288 The Poor helping the Poor 312 At the Sicic Man's Door 320 A Letter from New York 342 Mugford's Favorite 353 Paterfamilias 369 Judith and Holofernes 402 More Free than Welcome 415 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. CHAPTER I. AT that remarkable period when Louis XVIII. was restored a second time to the throne of his fathers, and all the English who had money or leisure rushed over to the Continent, there lived in a certain boarding-house at Brussels a genteel young widow, who bore the elegant name of Mrs. WellesleyMaearty. vin the same house and room with the widow lived her mamma, a lady who was called Mrs. Crabb. Both professed to be rather fashionable people. The Crabbs were of a very old English stock, and the Macartys were, as the world knows, County Cork people ; related to the Sheenys, Einnigans^ Clancys, and other distin- guished families in their part of Ire- land. But Ensign Wellcsley Mac, not having a shilling, ran off vvith Miss Crabb, who possessed the same independence ; and after having been married abont six months to the lady, was carried off suddenly, on the 18th of June, 1815, by a disease very prevalent in those glorious times, — the fatal cannon-shot morbus. He, and many hundred young fellows of his regiment, the Clonakilty Fenciblcs, were attacked by this epidemic on the same day, at a place about ten miles from Brussels, and there perished. The ensign's lady had accompanied her husband to the Continent, and about five months after his death brought into the world two remark- ably fine female children. Mrs. Wellesley's mother had been reconciled to her daughter by this time, — for, in truth, Mrs. Crabb had no other child but her runaway Juli- ana, to whom she flew when she heard of her destitute condition. And, in- deed, it was high time that some one should come to the young widow's aid ; for as her husband did not leave money, nor anything that represented money, except a number of tailors' and boot-makers' bills, neatly docket- ed, in his writing-desk, Mrs. Welles- ley was in danger of starvation, should no frieiidly person assist her. Mrs. Crabb, then, came off to her daughter, whom the Sheenys, Einni- gans, and Clancys refused, with one scornful voice, to assist. The fact is, that Mr. Crabb had once been butler to a lord, and his lady a lady's-maid ; and at Crabb's death, Mrs. Crabb disposed of the "Ram" hotel and posting-house, where her husband had made three thousand pounds, and was living in genteel ease in a country town, when Ensign Macarty came, saw, and ran away with Juliana. Of such a connection, it was impossible that the great Clancys and Einnigans could take notice ; and so once more Widow Crabb was compelled to share with her daughter her small income of a hundred and twenty a year. Upon this, at a boarding-house in Brussels, the two managed to live pretty smartly, and to maintain an honorable reputation. The twins were put out, after the foreign fashion, to nurse, at a village in the neighbor- hood ; for Mrs. Macarty had been too ill to nurse them ; and Mrs. Crabb A SHABBY GENTEEL STOBlK could not aflford to purchase that most expensive article, a private wet- nurse. ■ There had been numberless tiffs and quarrels between mother and daughter when the latter was in her maiden state ; and Mrs. Crabb was, to tell tbe truth, in no wise sorry when her Jooly disappeared with the en- sign, — for the old lady dearly loved n gentleman, and was not a little flat- tered at being the mother to Mrs. Ensign Maearty. Why the ensign should have run away with his lady at all, as he might have had her for the asking, is no business of ours; nor are we going to rake up old stories and village scandals, which insinuate that Miss Crabb ran away with him, for with these points the writer and the reader have nothing to Well, then, the reconciled mother and daughter lived once more togeth- er, at Brussels. In the course of a year, Mrs. Macarty's sorrow had much abated; and having a great natural \qve of dress, and a tolerably hand- some face and person, she was in- duced, without much reluctance, to throw her weeds aside, and to appear in the most becoming and vaiied costumes which her means and in- genuity could furnish. Considering, indeed, the smallness of the former, it was agreed on all hands that Mrs. Crabb and her daughter deserved wonderful credit, — that is, they managed to keep up as respectable an appearance as if they had five hun- dred a. year ; and at church, at tea- parties, and abroad in the streets, to be what is called quite the gentle- women. If they starved at home, nobody saw it ; if they patched and pieced, nobody (it was to be hoped) knew it ; if they bragged about their relations and property, could any one say them nay? Thus they lived, hanging on with desperate energy to the skirts of genteel society; Mrs. Crabb, a sharp woman, rather re- spected her daughter's superior rank ; and Mrs. Maearty did not quarrel so much as heretofore with her mamma, on whom herself and her two children were entirely dependent. While affairs were at this juncture, it happened that a young Englishman, James Gann, Esq., of the great oil- house of Gann, Blubbery, and Grann (as he took care to tell you before you had been an hour in his company), — it happened, I say, that James Gann, Esq., came to Brussels for a month, for the purpose of perfecting himself in the French language ; and while in that capital went to lodge at the very boarding-house which con- tained Mrs. Crabb and her daughter. Gann was young, weak, inflammable ; he saw and adored Mrs. Wellesley Maearty; and she, who was at this period all but engaged to a stout old wooden-legged Scotch regimental sur- geon, pitilessly sent Dr. M'Lint about his business, and accepted the ad- dresses of Mr. Gann. How the young man arranged matters with his papa the senior partner, X don't know; but it is certain that there was a quarrel, and aftei-wards a reconciliation ; and it is also known that James Gann fought a duel with the surgeon, — receiving tbe .Xsculapian fire, and discharging bis own bullet into the azure skies. About nine thousand times in the conrse of his after yeai-s did Mr. Gann narrate the history of the combat; it enabled him to go through life with the reputation of a man of courage, and won for him, as he said with pride, the hand of his Juliana: perhaps this was rather a questionable benefit. One part of the tale, however, honest James never did dare to tell, except when peculiarly excited by wrath or liquor; it was this: that on the day after the wedding, and in the presence of many friends who had come to offer their congratulations, a stout nurse, bearing a brace of chubby little ones, made her appearance ; and these rosy urchins, springing forward at the sight of Mrs. James Gann, shouted affec- tionately, '■'Maman! maman!" at which the lady, blushing rosy red, A SHABBY GENTEEL STOBY. said, "James, these two are yours " ; and poor James wellnigh fainted at this sudden paternity so put upon him. "Children!" screamed he, aghast; " whose children ? " at which Mrs. Crabb, majestically checking him, said, "These, ray dear Janjes, are the daughters of the gallant aiid good Ensign Macarty, whose widow you yesterday led to the altar. May you be happy with her, and may these blessed children " (tears) "find in you a father, who shall replace him that fell in the field of glory ! " Mrs. Crabb, Mrs. James Gann, Mrs. Major Lolly, Mrs. Piffler, and several ladies present, set up a sob immediately; and James Gann, a good-hnmored, soft-hearted man, was quite taken aback. lUssing his lady hurriedly, he vowed that he would take care of the poor little things, and proposed to kiss them likewise ; which caress the darlings refused with many roars. Gann's fate was sealed from that minute ; and he was properly henpecked by his wife and his mother- in-law during the life of the latter. Indeed, it was to Mrs. Crabb that the sti-atagem of the infant concealment was due ; for when her daughter in- nocently proposed to have or to see the cHldren, the old lady strongly pointed out the foUy of such an ar- rangement, which might, perhaps, frighten away Mr. Gann from the delightful matrimonial trap into which (lucky rogue !) he was about to fall. Soon after the marriage, the happy pair returned to England, occupying the house in Thames Street, City, until the death of Gann senior ; when his son, becoming head of the firm pf Gann and Blubbery, quitted the dis- mal precincts of Billingsgate and colonized in the neighborhood of Put- ney ; where a neat box, a couple of spare bedrooms, a good cellar, and a smart gig to drive into and out from town, made a real gentleman of him. Mrs. Gann treated him with much scorn, to be sure, called him a sot, and abused hugely the male compan- ions that he brought down with him to Putney. Honest James would listen meekly, would yield, and would bring down a brace more friends the next day, with whom he would dis- cuss his accustomed number of bottles Qf port. About this period, a daughter was born to him, called Caroline Brandenburg Gann ; so named after a large mansion near Hammersmith, and an injured queen who lived there at the time of the little girl's birth, and who was greatly compassioncd and patronized by Mrs. James Gann, and other ladies of distinction. Mrs. James was a lady in those days, and gave evening-parties of the very first order. At this period of time, Mrs. James Gann sent the twins, Kosalind Clan- cy and Isabella Finnigau Wellesley Macarty to a boarding-school for young ladies, and grumbled much at the amount of the half-years' bills which her husband was called upon to pay for them ; for though James discharged them with perfect good- humor, his lady, began to entertain a mean opinion indeed of her pretty young children. , They could expect no fortune, she said, from Mr. Gann, and she wondered that he should think of bringing them up expensive- ly, when he had a darling child of his own, for whom he was bound to save all the money that he could lay by. Grandmamma, too, doted on the little Caroline Brandenburg, and vowed that she would leave her three thousand pounds to this dear infant ; for in this way does the world show its respect for that most respectable thing prosperity. Who in this life get the smiles, and the acts of friend- ship, and the pleasing legacies? — The -rich. And I do, for my part, heartily wish that some one would leave me a trifle, — say twenty thou- sand pounds, — being perfectly confi- dent that some one else would leave me more ; and that I should sink into my grave worth a plum at least. Little Caroline then had her maid, her airy nursery, her little carriage to drive in, the promise of her grand* "6 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. mamma's consols, and that priceless treasure, — her mamma's undivided affectiou. Gann, too, loved her sin- cerely, in his careless, good-humored way ; but he determined, notwith- standing, that his step -daughters should have something handsome at his death, but — but for a great But. Gann and Blubbery were in the oil line, — have we not said so ? Their profits arose from contracts for lio-hting a great number of streets in London ; aad about this period Gas came into use. Gann- and Blubbery appeared in the Gazette ; and, I am sorry to say, so bad had been the management of Blubbery, — so great the extravagance of both partners and their ladies, — that they only paid their creditors fourteenpence halfpenny in the pound. When Mrs. Crabb heard of this dreadful accident, — Mrs. Crabb, who (lined thrice a week with her son-in- law ; who never would have been al- lowed to enter the house at all had not honest James interposed his good- nature between her quarrelsome daughter and herself, — Mrs. Crabb, I say, proclaimed James Gann to be a swindler, a villain, a disreputable, tipsy, vulgar man, and made over her money to the Misses Rosalind Clancy and Isabella Finnigan Macarty ; leav- ing poor little Caroline without one single maravedi. Half of one thou- sand five hundred pounds allotted to each was to be paid at marriage, tlie other half on the death of Mrs. James Gann, who was to enjoy the interest thereof. Thus do we rise and fall in this world, — thus does Fortune shake her swift wings, and bid us abruptly to resign the gifts (or rather loans) which we have had from her. How Gann and his family lived after their stroke of misfortune, I kiiow not ; but as the failing trades- man is going through the process of bankruptcy, and for some months afterwards it may be remarked that he has usually some mysterious means isf subsistence, — stray spars of the wreck of his property, on which he manages to seize, and to float for a while. During his retirement, in an obscure lodging in Lambeth, where the poor fellow was so tormented by his wife as to be compelled to fly to the public-house for refuge, Mrs. Crabb died ; a hundred a year thus came into the possession of Mrs. Gann ; and some of James's friends, who thought him a good fellow in his prosperity, came forward, and fur- nished a house, in which they placed him, and came to see and comfort him. Then they came to see him not quite so often ; then they found out that Mrs. Gann was a sad tyrant, and a silly woman ; then the ladies de- clared her to be insupportable, and Gann to be a low, tipsy fellow : and the gentlemen could but shake their heads, and admit that the charge was true. Then they left off coming to see him altogether; for such Is the way of the world, where many of us have good impulses, and are generous on an occasion, but are wearied by perpetual want, and begin to grow angry at its importunities, — being very properly vexed at the dally re- currence of hunger, and the impu- dent unreasonableness of starvation. Gann, then, had a genteel wife and children, a furnished house, and a hundred pounds a year. How should he live ? The wife of James Gann, Esq., would never allow him to de- mean himself by taking a clerk's place ; and James himself, being as idle a fellow as ever was known, was fain to acquiesce in this determination of hers, and to wait for some more genteel employment. And a curious list of such genteel employments might be made out, were one inclined to follow this interesting subject far ; shabby compromises with the world, into which poor fellows enter, and still fondly talk of their " position," and strive to imagine that they are really working for their bread. Numberless lodging-houses are kept by the_ females of families who have met with reverses : are not " board- A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. ing-houses, with a select musiciEil so- ciety, in the neighborhood of the squares," maintained by such ? Do not the gentlemen of the boarding- houses issue forth every morning to the City, or make believe to go thith- er, on some mysterious business which they have ? After a certain period, Mrs. James Gann kept a lodging-house (in her own words, received " two inmates into her fam- ily"), and Mr. Gann had his myste- rious business. In the year 1835, when this story begins, there stood in a certain back street in the town of Margate a house, on the door of which might be read, in gleaming brass, the name of Mr. Ganjj . It was the work of a single smutty servant-maid to clean this brass plate every morning, and to at- tend as far as possible to the wants of Mr. Gann, his family, and lodgers ; and his house being not very far from the sea, and as you might, by chmbing up to the roof, get a sight between two chimneys of that multi- tudinous element, Mrs. Gann set down her lodgings as fashionable; and declared on her cards that her house commanded " a fine view of the sea." On the wire window-blind of the parlor was written, in large charac- ters, the word Office ; and here it was that Gann's services came into play. He was very much changed, poor fellow ! and humbled ; and from two cards that hung outside the blind, I am led to believe that he did not disdain to be agent to the "London and Jamaica Ginger-Beer Company," and also for a certain preparation called " Gaster's Infants' Farinacio, or Mothers' Invigorating Substitute," — a damp, black, mouldy, half-pound packet ofwhich stood in permanence atoneendofthe "office" mantel-piece; while a fly-blown ginger-beer bottle occupied the other extremity. Noth- ing else indicated that this ground- floor chamber was an office, except a huge black inkstand, in which stood a stumpy pen, richly crusted with ink at the nib, and to all appearance for many months enjoying a sinecure. To this room you saw every day, at two o'clock, the employ^ from the neighboring hotel bring two quarts of beer ; and if you called at that hour, a tremendous smoke, and smell of dinner, would gush out upon you from the "office,' as you stumbled over sundry battered tin dish-covers, which lay gaping at the threshold. Thus had that great bulwark of gen- tility, the dining at six o'clock, been broken in ; and the reader must there- fore judge that the house of Gann was in a demoralized state. Gann certainly was. After the ladies had retired to the back-parlor (which, with yellow gauze round the frames, window-curtains, a red silk cabinet piano, and an album, was still tolerably genteel), Gann remained, to transact business in the office. This took place in the presence of friends, and usually consisted in the produc- tion of a bottle of gin from the comer cupboard, or, mayhap, a litre of brandy, which was given by Gann with a knowing wink, and a fat finger placed on a twinkling red nose : when Mrs. G. was out, James would also produce a number of pipes, that gave this room a constant and agree- able odor of shag tobacco. In fact, Mr. Gann had nothing to do from morning till night. He was now a fat, bald-headed man of fifty ; a dirty dandy on week-days, with a shawl-waistcoat, a tuft of hair to his great double chin, a snufly shirt-frill, and enonnous breast-pin and seals : he had a pilot-coat, with large moth- er-of-pearl buttons, and always wore a great rattling telescope, with which he might be seen for hours, on the sea- shore or the pier, examining the ships, the bathing-machines, the ladies' schools as they paraded up and down the esplanade, and all other objects which the telescopic view might give him. He knew every person con- nected with every one of the Deal and Dover coaches, and was sure to be witness to the arrival or departure of 8 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. several of them in the course of the day ; he had a word for the ostler about " that, gray mare," a nod for the " shooter " or guard, and a bow for the dragsman ; he could send parcels for nothing up to town; had twice had Sir Rumble Tumble (the noble driver of the riash-o'-light- ning-light-fpur-inside-post-eoach) " up at his place," and took care to tell you that some of the party were pretty considerably " sewn up," too. He did not frequent the large hotels ; but in revenge he knew every person who entered or left them ; and was a great man at the " Bag of Nails " and the " Magpie and Punchbowl," where he was president of a club ; he took the bass in " Mynheer Van Dunk," " The Wolf," an and am now housed in private lodgings, humble, and at a humble price. I am here, thank. Heaven, quite alone. •Bohinson Crusoe had as much society in his island, as I in this of Thanet. In compensation I sleep a great deal. do nothing, and -walk mnch. silent, by the side of the roaring sea, like CalcUas, priest of Apollo., ^ "The fact is, that until papas wrath is appeased, I must Uve with the utmost meekness and humility, and have barely enough money in my possession to pay such small current expenses as fell on me here, wliere strangers are many and credit -dqes not exist. I pray you, therefore, to tell Mr. Simpson the tailor, Mr. Jack- son the boot-maker,, honest Solpmon- son the discounter of bills, and all such friends in London and Oxford as may make, inquiries after me, that I am at this very moment at the city of Munich in Bavaria, from which I shall not return until my marriage with Miss Goldmore, the great Indian heiress ; who, upon my honor, will have me, I believe, any day for the asking. " Nothing else will satisfy my hon- ored father, I know, whose purse has already, bled pretty freely for me, I must confess, and who has taken the great oath that never is brokep, to bleed no more unless this marriage is brought about. Come it ni\ist.:,; I can'1: work, I can't starve, and I can't live under a thousand a year. " Here, to be sure, the charges are not enormous ; f6r' your edification, read my week's bill : — * George Brandon, Esq., 'To Mrs. James Gann. £ s. d. A week's lodging, 1 Breakfast, cream, eggs .. ^ ... 9 Dinner (fourteen mutton-chops) 10 6 ' Fire, boot-cleaning, &c 3 6 £2 3 ' Settted, Juliana Gann.' " Juliana Gann I . Is it not a sweet name ? it sprawls over half the paper. Could you but see the owner of the name, my dear fellow ! I love to ex- amine the, customs of natives of all countries,- and upon my vy^ord there are some barbarians in our own less known, and more worthy of ! being known, than Hottentots, wild Irisl^ A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 13 Otaheiteans, or any sucU savages. If yon conldsee flie airs that tWS woman gives herself; the rouge, rib- bons, rings, and other female. ginir cracks that she wears ; . if you iiould hear her reminiscences, of past times, * when she and, Mr. . Gann moved in the, very genteelest circles, of socie- ty '; of the peerage, which she knows by. heart ; and of the , fashionable novels, in every word of which. she believes, you would be proud of your order, and admire the intense respect which,. the canaille show towards it. There never was siioh an old woman, not even our tutor at Christchnrch. "There is a he Gann, a vast, bloat- ed oldman,. in a rough coat, who has met me once, and asked me, with ■. a grin, if my mutton'ichops was to my liking? The satirical monster! What can I eat in this place , but mutton-chops? A great, bleeding beefsteak, or a filthy, reeking gtgot a i'eoM,. with a turnip poultice? J should die if I did. As for. fish in a watering-place, I never touch it; it is sure to be bad. Nor care I for little sinewy, dry, black -legged fowls. Cutlets are my only resource ; I have them nicely enough broiled by a Uttle humble companion of the familjr, (a companion, ye gods, in . ihis family!) who blushed hugely jvhen ;he confessed that the cooking was hers, and that her name was Caroline. For drink I indulge in gin,, of which I consume two wineglasses daily, in two tumblers of cold water; it is the only Uquor that one can be sure to find genuine in a common house in England. . "This Gann, I take it, has similar likings, for I hear him occasionally at midnight floundering up the stairs (his boots lie dirty in the passage) — floundering, I say, up the stairs, and cursing the candlestick, whence es- cape now and anon the snuffers and extinguisher, and with brazen rattle disturb . the silence of the night. Thrice a week, at least, does Gann breakfast in bed, -- sure sign of pri- dian intoxication ; and thrice a week. uithe morning, I hear a hoarse voice roaring for ' my soda-water.' How long nave the rogues drunk soda- water! "At: nine, Mrs.- Gann and daugh- ters are accustomed to breakfast; a handsome pair of girls, : truly, and much followed, as I hear,-, m; the quarter. These dear creatures are always ■ paying me -visits, —r visits -with the tea-kettle, visits with the newspaper (one brings it, and one comes for it) ; but the one is alyvays at the other's lieels, and ^o one caur not show one's self to be. that dear, gay seducing, fellow, that one. has been, at home and on the Continent. Do you remember cette chire margtuse at Pau ? That cursed conjugal pistol- bnllfit still plays the deuce .with my shoulder. J)o you remember Betty Bundy, the butcher's daughter,? A pretty race of fools are we to go mad after such women, and risk all, — oaths, prayers, piomises, long weari- some courtships, -77^ for what? — for vanity, truly. When the battle is over, behold your conquest ! Betty Bundy is a vulgar country wench ; and cette hdle marquise is old, rouged, and has false hair. Vanitas vanita- tum! wbat a moral man I will be some day or other ! " I have found an old acquaintance, (and be hanged to him !) wbo has come to lodge in- this very house. Do you recollect at Bome a young artist, !Eitch by name, the handsome gaby with the large beard, that mad Mrs. Carrickfergus.was doubly mad about? Oh the second floor of Mrs. Gann's lionse dwells this youth. His beard brings the gamins of the streets trooping and yelling about bim .; his fine braided coats have grown some- what shabby now ; and the , poor fellow is, like your humble servant (by the. way, have jou a 500 franc billet to spare ?) — hke your humble servant, I -say, very low in pocket. The young Andrea bears up gayly, however; twangles his guitar, paints the worst pictures in the world, and pens sonnets to his imaginary mis. 14 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. tress's eyebrow. Luckily the rogue did not know my name, or I should have been compelled to unbosom to him ; and when I called out to him, dubious as to my name, ' Don't you know mel I met you in Kome. My name is Brandon,' the painter was perfectly satisfied, and majestically bade me welcome. "FauCT- the continence of this young Joseph, — he has absolutely run away from Mrs. Carrickfergus ! ' Sir,' said he, with some hesitation and blushes, when I questioned him about the widow, ' I was compelled to leave Kome in consequence of the fatal fondness of that woman. I am an 'andsome man, sir, — I know it, — all the chaps in the Academy want mo for a model ; and that woman, sir, is sixty. Do you think I would ally myself with her ; sacrifice my happiness for the sake of a creature that 's as hugly as an 'arpy ? I 'd rather starve, sir. I 'd rather give up ray hart and my 'opes of rising in it than do a haction so disMAAonorable.' " There is a stock of virtue for you ! and the poor fellow half starved. He lived at Rome upon the seven por- traits that the Carrickfergus ordered of him, and, as I fancy, now does not make twenty pounds in the year. rare chastity ! O wondrous silly hopes ! motus animorum, atque certamina tanta ! — ptdveris exigui jac- tu, in such an insignificant little lump of mud as this ! Why the deuce does not the fool marry the widow ? His betters would. There was a cap- tain of dragoons, an Italian prince, and four sons of Irish peers, all at her feet ; but the Cockney's beard and whiskers have overcome them all. Here my paper has come to an end ; and I have the honor to bid your Lordship a respectful farewell. " G. B." Of the young gentleman who goes by the name of Brandon, the reader of the above letter will not be so mis- guided, we trust, as to have a very exalted opinion. - The noble viscount read this document to a supper-party in Christchurch, In Oxford, and left it in a bowl of milk-punch ; whence a scout abstracted it, and handed it over to us. My Lord was twenty years of age when he received the epistle, and had spent a couple of years abroad, before going to the University, under the guardianship of the worthy individual who called himself George Brandon. Mr. Brandon was the son of a half- pay colonel, of good family, who, honoring the great himself, thought his son would vastly benefit by an ac- quaintance with them, and sent him to Eton, at cruel charges upon a slen- der purse. Prom Eton the lad went to Oxford, took honors there, fre- quented the best society, followed with a kind of proud obsequiousness all the tufts of the University, and left it owing exactly two thousand pounds. Then there came storms at home; fury on the part of the stern old " governor " ; and final payment of the debt. But while this settlement was pending. Master George had con- tracted many more debts among bill- discounters, and was glad to fly to the Continent as tutor to young Lord Cinqbars, in whose company he learned every one of the vices in Eu- rope ; and having a good natural genius, and a heart not unkindly, had used these qualities in such an admirable manner as to be at twenty- seven utterly ruined in purse and principle, — an idler, a spendthrift, and a glutton. He was free of his money ; would spend his last guinea for a sensual gratification ; would borrow from his neediest friend ; had no kind of conscience or remorse left, but believed himself to be a good- natured devil-may-care fellow ; had a good deal of wit, and indisputably good manners, and a pleasing, dash- ing frankness in conversation with men. I should like to know how many such scoundrels our universi- ties have turned out ; and how much ruin has been caused by that accursed system which is called in England A SHABBY GENTEEL STOBT. 15 " the education of a gentleman." Go, my son, for ten years to a public school, that " world in miniature " ; learn " to fight for yourself" against the time when your real struggles shall begin. Begin to be selfish at ten years of age ; study for other ten years ; get a competent knowledge of boxing, swimming, rowing, and crick- et, with a pretty knack of Latin hex- ameters and a decent smattering of Greek plays, — do this and a fond father shall bless you, — bless the two thousand pounds which he has spent in acquiring all these benefits for . you. . And, besides, what efse have you not learned t You have been many hundreds of times to chap- el, and have learned to consider the religious service performed there as the vainest parade in the world. If your father is a grocer, you have been beaten for his sake, and have learned to be ashamed of him. You have learned to forget (as how should you remember, being separated from them for three fourths of your time 1) the ties and natural affections of home. Y^on have learned, if you have a kind- ly heart and an open hand, to com- pete with associates much more wealthy than yourself; and to con- sider money as not much, but honor — the honor of dining and consort- ing with your betters — as a great deal. All this does the public-school and college boy learn ; and woe be to his knowledge ! Alas, what natural tenderness and kindly clinging filial affection is he taught to trample on and despise! My friend Brandon had gone through this process of edu- cation, and had been irretrievably ruined by it, — his heart and his hon- esty had been ruined by it, that is to say ; and he had received, in return for them, a small quantity of classics and mathematics, — pretty compen- sation for all he had lost in gaining them ! But I am wandering most absurdly from the point ; right or wrong, so nature and education had formed Mr. Brandon, who is one of a con- siderable class. Well, this young gou' tleman was established at Mrs. Gann's house ; and we are obliged to enter into all these explanations con- cerning him, because they are neces- sary to the right understanding of our story, — Brandon not being al- together a bad man, nor much worse than many a one who goes through a course of regular selfish swindling all his life long, and dies religious, re- signed, proud of himself, and univer- sally respected by others ; for this eminent advantage has the getting' and-keeping scoundrel over the ex- travagant and careless one. One day, then, as he was gazing from the window of his lodging-house, a cart, containing a vast number of eas- els, portfolios, wooden cases of pictures, and a small carpet-bag that might hold a change of clothes, stopped at the door. ■ The vehicle was accom- panied by a remarkable young fellow^ — dressed in a frock-coat covered over with frogs, a dirty turned-down shirt- collar, with a blue satin cravat, and a cap placed wonderfully on one ear, — who had evidently hired apartments at Mr. Gann's. This new lodger was no other than Mr. Andrew Fitch ; or, as he wrote on his cards, without tha prefix. Q^tidzea <^ifyd. Preparations had been made at Gann B for the reception of Mr. Pitch, whose aunt (an auctioneer's lady in the town), had made arrangements that he should board and lodge with the Gann family,- and have the apart- ments on the second floor as his pri- vate rooms. In these, then, young Andrea was installed. He was a youth of a poetic temperament, loving solitude; and where is such to be found more easily than on the storm- washed shores of Margate in winter ? Then the boarding-house keepers have shut up their houses and gone away 16 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. in anguish; then the taverns take their carpets up, and you ' can have your choice of a hundred and twenty beds in any one of them ; then but one dismal vfaiter remains to super- intend this vast echoing pile of lone- liness, and the latidlord ptnea for sum- mer; then the flys for Eamsgate stand tenantless beside the pier ; and about four Sailors, in pearjackets, are to be seen in the three principal streets; in the rest, silence, closed shutters, torpid chimneys enjoying their unnatural winter sinecure,—' not the clack of a patten echoing over the cold dry flags ! This solitude had befen chosen by Mr. Brandon for good reasons of his own ; Gann and his family would have fled, but that they had no other house wherein to take refuge ; and Mrs. Hammerton, the auctioneer's lady, felt so keenly the kindness which she was doing to Mrs. Gann, in providing her with a lodger at such a period, that she considered herself tiiUy justified in extracting from the latter a bonus of two guineas, threat- ening on refusal to send her darling nephew to a rival establishment over the way. Andrea was here then, in the loneli- ness that he loved, — a fantastic youth, who lived but for his art ; to whom the world was like the Cobflrg Theatre, and he in a magnificent cos- tume acting a principal part. His art and his beard and whiskers were the darlings of his heart. His long pale hair fell over a high polished brow, which looked wonderfully thoughtful ; and yet no man was more guiltless of thinking. He was always putting himself into attitudes; he never spoke the truth ; and was so entirely affected and absurd, as to bo quite honest at last : for it is my bcr lief that the man did not know truth from falsehood any longer,. and was when he was alone, when lie was in company, nay, when he was uncon- scious and sound asleep snoring in bed, one complete lump of affectation. When his apartments on the second floor were arranged according to his fency, they made a tremendous show. He had a large Gothic chest, in which he put his wardrobe (namely, two vel- vet waiscoats, four varied satin under ditto, two pairs braided trousers,' two shirts, half a -dozen false collars, and a couple of pairs of dreadfiiUy dilapi- dated Blucher boots). He had some pieces of armor ; some China jugs and Venetian glasses; some bits of old damask rags, to drape his doors and windows : and a rickety lay figure, in a Spanish hat and cloak, over which slung a long Toledo rapier and a guitar, with a ribbon of dirty sky-* blue. Such was our poor fellow's stock in trade. He had some volumes of poems, — "Lalla Kookh," and the sterner compositions of Byron : for, to do him justice, he hated "Don Juan," and a woman was in his eyes an angel ; a Aangel, alas ! he would call her, for nature and the circum- stances of his family had taken sad Cockney advantages over Andrea's pronunciation. The Misses Wellealey Macarty were not, however,' very squeamish with regard to grammar, and, in this dull season, voted Mr. Fitch an elegant young fellow. His immense beard and whiskers gave them the highest opinion of Tiis genius; and before long the intimacy between the young people was considerable, for Mr. Pitch insisted upon drawing the por- traits of the whole family. He paint-^ ed Mrs. Gann in her rouge and ribbons, as described by Mr. Bran- don ; Mr. Gann, who said that his picture would be very useful to the artist, as every soul in Margate knew him; and the Misses Macarty (a' neat group; representing Miss Bella em- bracing Miss Linda, was was pointing to a pianoforte). "I suppose you '11 do my Carry nexf!" said Mr. Gann, expressing his approbation of the last picture. "Law, sir," said Miss Linda; " Carry, with her red hair ! —it would be ojus." A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 17 " Mr. Fitch might as welt paint Becky, our maid," said Miss Bdla. " Carry is quite impossible, Gann," said Mrs. Gann ; " she has n't a gown fit to be seen in. She 's not been at church for thirteen Sundays in conse- quence." . - - ." " And more shame for yon, ma'am," said- Mr. Gann, who' liked his child; " Carry shaU have a gown; and the best of gowns." And jingling three- and-twenty shillings invhis pocket, Mr. Gann determined to spend them all in the purchase of a robe for Carry. But alas, the gown never came ; half the money was spent that very even- ing at the "Bag of Nails.-" ' ' "Is that — that young lady, your daughter 1 " said Mr. Fitch, siir- prised, for he fancied Carry was a bumble companion of the family. . • " Yes, she is, and a very good daughter, too, sir," answered Mr. Gann. ■ Fetch and Carry I call her, or else Carryvan, — she 's bo useful. Ain't you. Carry ■?" "I m very glad if I am, papa," said the young lady, who was blush- ing violently, and in whose presence all this conversation had been carried on. " Hold your tongue, miss," said her mother ; " you are very expensive to us, that you are, and need not brag about the work you do. You would not live on charity, would you, like some folks ? " ('here she looked fierce- ly at Mr. Gann ;) " and if your sisters and me starve to keep you and some folks," I presume you are bound to make us some return." When any allusion was made to Mr. Gann's idleness and extrava- gance, or his lady showed herself in any way inclined to be angi-y, it was honest James's habit not to answer, but to take his hat and walk abroad to the public-house; or if haply she scolded him at night, he would turn his back and fall a-snoring. These were the only remedies he found for Mrs. James's bad temper, and the first of them he adopted on hearing these words of his lady, which we have just now transcribed. Poor Caroline had ndtlier father's refuge of flight, but was obliged to stay and listen ; and a wondrous elo- quence, God wot! had Mrs. Gann npon the subject of her daughter's ill- conduct. The first lecture Mr. Fitch heai'd, he set down Caroline for a monster. Was she not idle, sulky, scornful, and a sloven? For these and many more of her daughter's vices Mrs. Gann vouched, declaring that Caroline's misbehavior was has- tening her own death, and finished by a fainting-fit. In the presence of all these charges, there stood Miss Caro- line, dumb, stupid, and cardess; nay; When the fainting-fit came on, and Mrs. Gann fell back on the sofa, the unfeeling girl took the opportunity to retire, and never offered to smack her mamma's hands, to give her the smelling-bottle, or to restore her with a glass of water.- Ono stood close at h^ud ; for Mr. Fitch, when this first fit occurred, was sitting in the Gann parlor, painting that lady's portrait ; and he was mak- ing towards her with his tumbler, when Miss Linda cried out, " Stop ! the water 's full of paint"; and straightway burst out laughing. Mrs. Gann jumped up at this, cured sud- denly, and left the room, looking somewhat foolish. " You don't know Ma," said Miss liinda, still giggling ; " she 's always fainting." " Poor thing ! " cried Fitch ; " very nervous, I suppose 1 " " O; very ! " answered the lady, ex- changing arch glances with Miss Bella. " Poor dear lady ! " continued the artist; "I pity her from myhinmost soul. Does n't the himmortal bard of Havon observe, how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thank- less child 1 And is it true, ma'am, that thafyOttng woman has been the ruin of her family "! " " Ruin of her fiddlestick ! " replied Miss Bella. "Law, Mr. Fitch,- you don't know Ma yet ; she is in one of her tantrums," 18 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. " Wliat, 'then, it is n't true 1 " cried simple-minded JFitcli. To which nei- ther of the young ladies made any answer in words, nor could the little artist comprehend why they looked at each other, and burst out laughing. But he retired pondering on what he had seen and heard ; and being a very soft young fellow, most implicitly be- lieved the accusations of poor dear Mrs. Gann, and thought her daughter Caroline was no better than a Regan or Goneril. A time, however, was to come when he should believe her to be a most pure and gentle Cordelia ; and of this change in Fitch's opinions we shall speak in Chapter III. CHAPTER III. A SHABBY OEtTTEEI, DINNER, AND OTHEK INCIDENTS OF A LIKE NA- TUKE. Mk. Brandon's letter to Lord Cinqbai-s produced, as we have said, a great impression upon the family of Gann ; an impression which was con- siderably increased by their lodger's subsequent behavior: for although th? persons with whom he now asso- ciated were of a very vulgar, ridicu- lous kind, they were by no means so low or ridiculous that Mr. Brandon should not wish to appear before them in the most advantageous light ; and, accordingly, he gave himself the great- est airs when in their company, and bragged incessantly of his acquaint- ance and familiarity with the nobil- ity. Mr. Brandon was a tuft-hunter of the genteel sort; his pride being quite as slavish, and his haughtiness as mean and cringing, in fact, as poor Mrs. Gann's stupid wonder and respect for all the persons whose names are written with titles before them. free and happy Britons, what a miserable, truckling, cringing race ye are ! The reader has no doubt encoun- tered a number of such swaggerers in the course of his conversation with the world, — men of a decent middle rank, who affect to despise it, and herd only with persons of the fashion. This is an offence in a man which none of us can forgive ; we call him tuft-hunter, lickspittle, sneak, un- manly; we hate, and profess to de- spise him. I fear it is no such thing. We envy Lickspittle, that is the fact ; and therefore hate him. Were he to plague us with the stories of Jones and Brown, our familiars, the man would be a simple bore, his stories heard patiently; but so soon as he talks of my Lord or the Duke, we are in arms against him. I have seen a whole merry party in Russell Square grow suddenly gloomy and dumb, be- cause a pert barrister, in a loud, shrill voice, told a story of Lord This, or the Marquis of That. We all hated that man ; and I would lay a wager that every one of the fourteen per- sons assembled round the boiled tur- key and saddle of mutton (not to mention side-dishes from the pastry- cook's opposite the British Museum) — I would wager, I say, that every one was muttering inwardly, "A plague on that fellow ! he knows a lord, and I never spoke to more than three in the whole course of my life." To our betters we can reconcile our- selves, if we please, respecting them very sincerely, laughing at their jokes, making allowance for their stu- pidities, meekly suffering their inso- lence; but we can't pardon our equals going beyond us. A friend of mine who lived amicably and happily among his friends and relatives at Hackney was on a sudden disowned by the latter, cut by the former, and doomed in innumerable prophecies to ruin, because he kept a foot-boy, a harmless little blowsy-faced urchin, in light, snuff-colored clothes, glister ing over with sugar-loaf buttons There is another man, a great man, a literary man, whom the public loves, and who took a sudden leap from ob- scurity into fame and wealth. This A SHABBY GENTEEL STOBY. 1!) was a crime ; but he bore his rise with so much modesty, that even his brethren of the pen did not envy him. One luckless day he set up a one-horse chaise ; from that minute ho was doomed. " Have you seen his new car- riage t " says Snarley. " Yes," says Yow ; " he 's so con- sumedly proud of it, that he can't see his old friends while he drives." " Ith it a donkey-cart," lisps Sim- per, " thit gwand cawwaige 1 I always thaid that the man, from hith thtile, wath fitted to be a vewy dethent coth- termonger." " Yes, yes," cries old Candor, " a sad pity indeed ! — dreadfully extrava^ gant, 1 'm told, — bad health, — ex- pensive family, — works going down every day, — and now he must set up a carriage forsooth ! " Snarley, Yow, Simper, Candor, hate their brother. If he is ruined, they will be kind to him and just, but he is successful, and woe be to him ! ***** This trifling digression of half a page or so, although it seems to have nothing to do with the story in hand, has, nevertheless, the sti-ongest rela- tion to it ; and you shall hear what. In one word, then, Mr. Brandon bragged so much, and assumed such airs of superiority, that after a while he perfectly disgusted Mrs. Gann and the Misses Macarty, who were gentle- folks themselves, and did not at all like his way of telling them that he was their better. Mr. Fitch was swallowed up in his hart as he called it, and cared nothing for Brandon's airs. Gann, being a low-spirited fel- low, completely submitted to Mr. Brandon, and looked up to bim with deepest wonder. And poor little Caroline followed her father's faith, and in six weeks after Mr. Brandon's arrival at the lodgings had grown to believe him the most perfect, finished, polished, agreeable of mankind. In- deedi the poor girl had never seen a gentleman before, and towards such her gentle heart turned instinctively. Brandon never offended 'by hard words ; insulted her by cruel scorn, such as she met with from her mother and her sisters ; there was a quiet manner about the man quite different to any that she had before seen amongst the acquaintances of her family ; and if he assumed a tone of superiority in his conversation with her and the rest, Caroline felt that he was their superior, and as such ad- mired and respected him. What happens when in the innocent bosom of a girl of sixteen such sensa- tions arise ? What has happened ever since the world began 1 I have said that Miss Caroline had no friend in the world but her father, and must here take leave to recall that assertion ; — a friend she most cer- tainly had, and that was honest Becky, the smutty maid, whose name has been mentioned before. Miss Caro- line had learned, in the course of a life spent under the tyranny of her mamma, some of the notions of the latter, and would have been very much offended to call Becky her friend : but friends in fact they were ; and a great comfort it was for Caroline to descend to the calm kitchen from the stormy back-parlor, and there vent some of her little woes to the compassionate sei-vant of all work. When Mrs. Gann went out with her daughters, Becky would take her work and come and keep Miss Caro- line company ; and if the truth must be told, the greatest enjoyment the pair used to have was in these after- noons, when they read together out of the precious greasy, marble-covered volumes that Mrs. Gann was in the habit of fetching from the library. Many and many a tale had the pair so gone through. I can see them over " Manfrone ; or the One-handed Monk," — ^the room dark, the street silent, the hour ten, — the tall, red, lurid candlewick waggling down, the flame flickering pale upon Miss Cslto- line's pale face as she read out, and lighting up honest Becky's goggling eyes, vfho sat silent, her work in hei 20 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. Jap : she had not done a stitch of it ■OT an hour. As the trap-door slowly opens, and the scowling Alonzo, bend- ing over the sleeping Imoinda, draws his pistol, cocks it, looks well if the Tiriming be right, places it then to the sleeper's ear, and — tJiunder-under-under — down fall the snuifers ! Becky has had them in hand for ten minutes, afraid to use them. Up starts Caro- line, and flings the book back into her mamma's basket. It is that lady re- turned with her daughters from a tea- party, where two young gents from London have been mighty genteel in- deed. For the sentimental, too, as well as for the terrible. Miss Caroline and the cook had a strong predilection, and had wept their poor eyes out over " Thaddeus of Warsaw " and the " Scottish Chiefs." Fortified by the examples drawn from those instructive volumes, Becky was firmly convinced that her young mistress would meet with a great lord some day or other, or be carried ofij like Cinderella, by a brilliant prince, to the mortification of her elder sisters, whom Becky hated. And when, therefore, the new lodger came, lonely, mysterious, melancholy, elegant, with the romantic name of George Brandon, — when he wrote a letter directed to a lord, and Miss Caroline and Becky together exam- ined the superscription, such a look passed between them as the pencil of Leslie or Maclise could alone describe for us. Becky's orbs were lighted up with a preternatural look of wonder- ing wisdom ; whereas, after an instant, Caroline dropped hers, and blushed, and said, " Nonsense, Becky ! " " Is it nonsense 1 " said Becky, grinning and snapping her fingers with a triumphant air ; " the cards comes true ; I knew they would. Did n't you have king and queen of hearts three deals running f What did you dream about last Tuesday, tell me that?" But Miss Caroline never did tell, for her sisters came bouncing down the stairs, and examined the lodger's letter. Caroline, however, went away musing much upon these points ; and she began to think Mr. Brandon more wonderful and beautiful every day. In the mean time, while Miss Caro- line was innocently indulging in her inclination for the brilliant occupier of the first floor, it came to pass that the tenant of the second was inflamed by a most romantic passion for her. For, after partaking for about a fortnight of the family dinner, and passing some evenings with Mrs. Gann and the young ladies, Mr. Fitch, though by no means quick of comprehension, began to perceive that the nightly charges that we^re brought against poor Caroline could not be founded upon truth. " Let 's see," mused he to himself. " Tues- day, the old lady said her daughter was bringing her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, because the coojk had not boiled the potatoes. Wed- nesday, she said Caroline was an as- sassin, because she could not find her own thimble. Thursday, she vows Caroline has no religion, because that old pair of silk stockings were not darned. And this can't be," reason- ed Fitch, deeply. "A gal haint a murderess because her Ma can't find her thimble. A woman that goes to slap her grown-up daughter on the back, and before company too, for such a paltry thing as a hold pair of stockings, can't be surely a speaking the truth." And thus gradually his first impression against Caroline wore away. As this disappeared, pity took possession of his soul, — and we know what pity is akin to ; and, at the same time, a correspond- ing hatred for the oppressors of a creature so amiable. To sum up, in six short weeks after the appearance of the two gentlemen, we find our chief dramatis personam as follows : — Carolinr, an innocent young woman. In love with Brandon. Fitch, a celebrated painter, almost in lov9 witl\ Garolinb. Brandon, a young gentleman in love with nunseli. A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. 21 At first he was pretty constant in his attendance upon the Misses Ma- carty when they went out to walk, nor were they displeased at his atten- tions ; but he found that there were a great number of Margate beaux — ugly, vulgar fellows as ever were — who always followed in the young ladies' train, and made themselves in- finitely more agreeable than he was. These men Mr. Brandon treated with a great deal of scorn : and, in return, they hated him icordially. So did the ladies speedily : his haughty manners, though quite as impertinent and free, were not half so pleasant to them as Jones's jokes or Smith's charming romps ; and the girls gave Brandon very shortly to understand that they were much happier without him. "Ladies, your humble," he heard Bob Smith say, as that little linen- draper came skipping to the door Irom which they were issuing. " The sun 's hup and trade is down ; if you 're for a walk, I 'm your man. And Miss Linda and Miss Bella each took an arm of Mr. Smith, and sailed down the street. " I 'm glad you ain't got that proud gent with the glass hi," said Mr. Smith ; " he 's the most hill-bred, supercilious beast I ever see." " So he is," says Bella. " Hush ! " says Linda. The "proud gent with the glass hi " was at this moment lolling out of the first-floor window, smoking his accustomed cigar; and his eyeglass was fixed upon the ladies, to whom he made a very low bow. It may be imagined how fond he was of them afterwards, and what looks ho cast at Mr. Bob Smith the next time he met him. Mr. Bob's heart beat for a day afterwards ; and he found he had business in town. But the love of society is stronger than even pride ; and the great Mr. Brandon was sometimes fain to descend from his high station and consort with the vulgar family with whom he lodged. But, as we have said, he always did this with a won- derfully condescending air, giving his associates to understand how great was the honor he did them. One day, then, he was absolutely so kind as to accept of an invitation from the ground-floor, which was de- livered in the passage by Mr. James Gann, who said " It was hard to see a gent eating mutton-chops from week's end to week's end ; and if Mr. Brandon had a mind to meet a devil- ish good fellow as ever was, my iriend Swigby, a man who rides his horse, and has his five hundred a year to spend, and to eat a prime cut out of as good a leg of pork (though he said it) as ever a knife was stuck into, they should dine that day at three o'clock sharp, and Mrs. G. and the gals would be glad of the honor of his company." The person so invited was rather amused at the terms in which Mr. Gann conveyed his hospitable mes- sage ; and at three o'clock made his appearance in the back-parlor, whence he had the honor of conducting Mrs. Gann (dressed in a sweet yellow moussdine de laine, with a large red turban, a Jerronniere, and a smelling- bottle attached by a ring to a very damp, fat hand) to the " ofiicc, where the repast was set out. The Misses Macarty were in costumes equally tasty : one on the guest's right hand ; one near the boarder, Mr. Fitch, — who, in a large beard, an amethyst velvet waistcoat, his hair fresh wetted, and parted accurately down the middle to fall in curls over his collar, would have been irresisti- ble if the collar had been a little, little whiter than it was. Mr. Brandon,, too, was dressed in his very best suit ; for though he af- fected to despise his hosts very much, he wished to make the most favorable impression upon them, and took care to tell Mrs. Gann that he and Lord So-and-so were the only two men in the world who were in possession of that particular waistcoat which she admired : for Mrs. Gann was very gracious, and had admired the waist- coat, being desirous to impress with 22 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. awe Mr. Gann's friend and admirer, Mr. Swigby, — who, man of fortune as he was, was a constant frequenter of the club at the "Bag of Nails." About this club and its supporters Mr. Gann's guest, Mr. Swigby, and Gann himself, talked very gayly be- fore dinner ; all the jokes about all the club being roared over by the pair. Mr. Brandon, who felt he was the great man of the party, indulged him- self in his great propensities without restraint, and told Mrs. Gann sto- ries about half the nobility. Mrs. Gann conversed knowingly about the Opera ; and declared that she thought Taglioni the sweetest singer in the world. " Mr. — a — Swigby, have you ever seen Lablacho dance f " asked Mr. Brandon of that gentleman, to whom he had been formally introduced. "At VauxhaU is he?" said Mr. Swigby, who was just from town. " Yes, on the tight-rope ; a charm- ing performer." On which Mr. Gann told how he had been to VauxhaU when the princes were in London ; and his lady talked of these knowingly. And then they fell to conversing about fire- works and rack-punch ; Mi'. Brandon assuring the young ladies that Vaux- haU was the very pink of the fashion, and longing to have the honor of dancing a quadrille with them there. Indeed, Brandon was so very sarcas- tic, that not a single soul at table un- derstood him. The table, from Mr. Brandon's plan of it, which was afterwards sent to my Lord Cinqbars, was arranged as follows : — Miss Caroline. Miss L. Maoabtt. 1. Potatoes. 3. A roast leg of pork, with sage and oniona. Three shreds of celery ia a glass. Boiled haddock, removed by hashed mutton. 2. Cabbage. 4. Mr. Swigbt. Miss B. Maoabtt. Me. Bbandoh. 1 and 2 are pots of porter ; 3, a quart of ale, Mrs. Gann's favorite drink ; 4, a bottle of fine old golden the real produce of the Uva purchased at the "Bag of Hotel for Is. 9d. by Mr. J. sherry, grape,' Nails' Gann. Mr. ' Taste that sherrv. Gann. sir. Your 'ealth, and my services to you, sir. That wine, sir, is given me as a particular favor by my — ahem ! — my wine-merchant, who only will part with a small quantity of it, and imports it direct, sir, from — ahem ! — from — " Mr. Brandon. "From Xeres, of course. It is, I really think, the finest wine I ever tasted in my life, — at a commoner's table, that is." Mrs. Gann. " 0, in course, a com- moner's table ! — we have no titles, sir (Mr. Gann, I wiU trouble you for some more crackling), though my poor dear girls are related, by their blessed father's side, to some of the first nobility in the land, I assure you." Mr. Gann. "Gammon, Jooly my dear. Them Irish nobility, you know, what are they? ■ And be- sides, it 's my belief that the gals are no more related to them than I am. Miss Bdla {to Mr. Brandon, con- A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 22 fidentially). " You must find that poor Par is sadly vulgar, Mr. Bran- don.'^ Mrs. Gann. "Mr. Brandon has never heen accustomed to such lan- guage, I am sure ; and I entreat you will excuse Mr. Gann's rudeness, sir." Miss Linda. "Indeed, I assure you, Mr. Brandon, that we 've high connections as well as low ; as high as some people's connections, per'aps, though we are not always talking of the nobility." This was a double shot : the first barrel of Miss Linda's sentence hit her step-father ; the second part was levelled directly at Mr. iSrandon. " Don't you think I 'm right, Mr. Fitch?" Mr. Brandon. "You are quite right, Miss Linda, in this as in every other instance ; but I am afraid Mr. Fitch has not paid proper attention to your excellent remark: for, if I don't mistake the meaning of that beautiful design which he has made with his fork upon the table-cloth, his soul is at this moment wrapped up in his art." This was exactly what Mr. Fitch wished that all the world should sup- pose. He flung back his hair, and stared wildly for a moment, and said, " Pardon me, madam : it is true my thoughts were at that moment far away in the regions of my hart." He was really thinking that his atti- tude was a very elegant one, and that a large garnet ring which he wore on his forefinger must be mistaken by all the company for a ruby. "Art is very well," said Mr. Bran- don ; " but with such pretty natural objects before you, I wonder you were not content to think of them." "Do you mean the mashed pota- toes, sir ? " said Andrea Fitch, won- dering. " I mean Miss Rosalind Macarty," answered Brandon, gallantly, and laughing heartily at the painter's sim- plicity. But this compliment could not soften Miss Linda, who had an uneasy conviction that Mr. Brandon was laughing at her, and disliked him accordingly. At this juncture, Miss Caroline en- tered and took the place marked as hers, to the left hand of Mr. Gann, vacant. An old rickety wooden stool was placed for her, instead of that elegant and commodious Windsor chair which supported, every other person at table ; and by the side of the plate stood a curious old battered tin mug, on which the antiquarian might possibly discover the inscrip- tion of the word " Caroline." This, in truth, v/as poor Caroline's mug and stool, having been appropriated to her from childhood upwards ; and here it was her custom meekly to sit, and eat her daily meal. It was well that the girl was placed near her father, else I do believe she would have been stai-ved ; but Gann was much too good-natured to allow that any difference should be made between her and her sisters. There are some meannesses which arc too mean even for man, — woman, lovely woman alone, can venture to commit them. Well, on the present occasion, and when the dinner was half over, poor Caroline stole gently into the room and took her ordinary place. Caroline's pale face was very red ; for the fact must be told that she had been in tlie kitchen, helping Becky, the universal maid ; and having heard how the great Mr. Brandon was to dine with them upon that day, the simple girl had been showing her respect for him, by compiling, in her best manner, a certain dish, for the cooking of which her papa had often praised her. She took her place, blushing violently when she saw him, and if Mr. Gann had not been mak- ing a violent clattering with his knife and fork, it is possible that he might have heard Miss Caroline's heart thump, which it did violently. Her dress was somehow a little smarter than usual ; and Becky the maid, who brought in that remove of hash- ed mutton which has been set down in the bill of fare, looked at her u A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. young lady with a good deal of com- placency, as, loaded with plates, she quitted the room. Indeed, the poor girl deserved to be looked at : there was an air of gentleness and inno- cence about her that was apt to please spme persons, much more than the bold beauties of her sisters. Tlie two young men did not fail to remark this ; one of them, the little painter, had long since observed it. " You are very late, miss," cried Mrs. Gann, who affected not to know what had caused her daughter's de- lay. " You 're always late ! " and the elder girls stared and grinned at each other knowingly, as they always did when mamma made such attacks upon Caroline, who only kept her eyes down upon the table-cloth, and began to eat her dinner without say- ing a word. "Come, my dear,'' cried honest Gann, " if she is late you know why. A girl can't be here, and there too, as I say ; can they, Swigby t " " Impossible ! " said Swigby. " Gents, " continued Mr. Gann, " our Carry, you must know, has been down stairs, making the pudding for her old pappy ; and a good pudding she makes, I can tell you." Miss Caroline blushed more vehe- mently than ever ; the artist stared her full in the face ; Mrs. Gann said, " Nonsense ! " and " Stuff! " very ma- jestically; only Mr. Brandon inter- posed in Caroline's favor. " I would sooner that my wife should know how to make a pud- ding," said he, " than how to play the best piece of music in the world ! " " Law, Mr. Brandon ! I, for my part, wouldn't demean myself by any such kitchen-work!" cries Miss Linda. " Make puddens, indeed ; it 's ojous ! " cries Bella. " Tor you, my loves, of course ! " interposed their mamma. "Young women of your family and circum- stances is not expected to perform any such work. It 'a different with Miss Caroline, who, if She does make herself useful now and then, don t make herself near so useful as she should, considering that she s not a shilling, and is living on our chanty, like some other folks." Thus did this amiable woman neg- lect no opportunity to give her opin- ions about her husband and daugh- ter. The former, however,_ cared not a straw; and the latter, in this in- stance, was perfectly happy. Had not kind Mr. Brandon approved of her work; and could she ask for more? " Mamma may say what she pleases to-day," thought Caroline. "I am too happy to be made angry by her." Poor little mistaken Caroline, to think you were safe against three women! The dinner had not ad- vanced much further, when Miss Isa- bella, who had been examining her younger sister curiously for some short time, telegraphed Miss Linda across the table, and nodded, and winked, and pointed to her own neck ; a very white one, as I have be- fore had the Iionor to remark, and quite without any covering, except a smart necklace of twenty-four rows of the lightest blue glass beads, fin- ishing in a neat tassel. Linda had a similar ornament of a vermilion color ; whereas Caroline, on this occasion, wore a handsome new collar up to the throat, and a brooch, which looked all the smarter for the shabby frock over which they were placed. As soon as she saw her sister's signals, the poor little thing, who had only just done fluttering and blushing, fell to this same work over again. Down went her eyes once more, and her face and neck lighted up to the color of Miss Linda's sham cornelian. " What 's the gals giggling and ogling about t " said Mr. Gann, in- nocently. " What is it, my darling loves ? " said stately Mrs. Gann. " Why, don't you see. Ma ? " said Linda. " Look at Miss Carry ! I'm blessed if site has not got on Becky's col- A SHABBY GENTEEL STOET. 25 lar and brooch that Sims the pilot gave her!" The young ladies fell back in np- roanoas fits of laughter, and laughed nil the time that their mamma was thundering out a speech, in which she declared that her daughter's con- duct was unworthy a gentlewoman, and bid her leave the room and take off those disgraceful ornaments. There was no need to tell her ; the poor little thing gave one piteous look at her father, who was whistling, and seemed indeed to think the mat- ter a good joke ; and after she had managed to open the door and totter into the passage, you might have heard her weeping there, weeping tears more bitter than any of the many she had shed in the course of her life. Down she went to the kitchen, and when she reached that humble place of refuge, first pulled at her neck and made as if she would take off Becky's collar and brooch, and then flung herself into the arms of that honest scullion, where she cried and cried till she brought on the first fit of hysterics that eyer she had had. This crying could not at first be heard in the parlor, where the young ladies, Mrs. Gann, Mr. Gann, and his iriend from the " Bag of Nails," were roaring at the excellence of the joke. Mr. Brandon, sipping sherry, sat by, looking very sarcastically and slyly from one party to the other; Mr. Fitch was staring about him too, but with a very different expression, anger and wonder inflaming his bearded countenance. At last, as the laugh- ing died away and a faint voice of weeping came from the kitchen below, Andrew could bear it no longer, but bounced up from his chair and rushed out of the room, exclaiming, — " By Jove, it 's too bad ! " " What does the man mean ? " said Mrs. Gann. He meant that he was from that moment over head and ears in love with Caroline, and that he longed to beat, buffet, pummel, thump, tear to pieces, those callous ruffians who so pitilessly laughed at her. "What's that chop wi' the beard in such tantrums about ? " said the gentleman from the " Bag of Nails." Mr. Gann answered this query by some joke, intimating that " per'aps Mr. Fitch's dinner did not agree with him," at which tliese worthies roared again. The young ladies said, "Well, now, upon my word ! " . " Mighty genteel behayior truly ! " cried mamma ; " bnt what can you expect fi'om the poor thing ? " Brandon only sipped more sherry, but he looked at Fitch as the latter flung out of the room, and his counte- nance was lighted up by a more un- equivocal smile. These two little adventures were fol- lowed by a silence of some few minutes, during which the meats re- mained on the table, and no signs were shown of that pudding upon which poor Caroline had exhausted her skill. The absence of this deli- cious part of the repast was first re- marked by Mr. Gann ; and his lady, after jangling at the bell for some time in vain, at last begged one of her daughters to go and hasten mat- ters. " Becky ! " shrieked Miss Linda from the hall, but Becky replied not. "Becky, are we to be kept waiting all day ? " continued the lady, in the same shrill voice. "Mamma wants the pudding ! " "TELIi HER TO TETCH IT HEU- SELP ! " roared Becky, at which re- mark Gann and his facetious friend once more went off into fits of laugh- ter. " This is too bad ! " said Mrs. G., starting up; "she shall leave the house this instant ! " and so no doubt Becky would, but that the lady owed her five quarters' wages ; which she, at that period, did not feel inclined to pay- Well, the dinner at last was at an end; the ladies went away to tea. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. leaving the gentlemen to their wine ; Brandon, very condescendingly, par- taking of a bottle of port, and listen- ihg with admiration to the toasts and sentiments vfith which it is still the custom among persons of Mr. Gann's rank of life to preface each glass of wine. As thus : — Glass I. " Gents," says Mr. Gann, rising, " this glass I need say nothink about. Here's the king, and long life to him and the family ! " Mr. Swigby, with his glass, goes knock, knock, knock on the table; and saying gravely, " The king ! " drinks off his glass, and smacks his lips afterwards. Mr. Brandon, who had drunk half his, stops in the midst and says, " 0, 'the king'!" Mr. Swigby. " A good glass of wine that, Gann my boy ! " Air. Brandon. " Capital, really ; though, upon my faith, I'm no judge of port." Mr. Gann (smacks). "A fine fruity wine as ever I tasted. I suppose you, Mr. B., are accustomed only to claret. I've 'ad it, too, in my time, sir, as Swigby there very well knows. I travelled, sir, sure le Continong, I assure you, and drank my glass of claret with the best man in France, or England either. I was n't always what I am, sir." Mr. Brandon. "You don't look as if you were." Mr. Gann. "No, sir. Before that gas came in, I was head, sir, of one of the fust 'ouses in the hoil-trade, Gann, Blubbery & Gann, sir, — Thames Street, City. I 'd my box at Putney, as good a gig and horse as my friend there drives." Mr. Swlgbi/. "Ay, and a better too, Gann, I make no doubt." Mr. Gann. " Well, sat/ a better. I had a better, if money could fetch it, sir ; and I did n't spare that, I wan-ant yon. No, no, James Gann didn't grudge his purse, sir; and had his friends around him, as he 's 'appy to 'ave now, sir. Mr. Brandon, your 'ealth, sir, and may we hoften meet under this ma'ogany. Swigby my bor, God bless you ! " 'Mr. Brandon. "Your very good health." , „ Mr. /Swigby. " Thank you, Gann. Here's to you, and long life and pros- perity and happiness to you and yours. Bless you, Jim my boy ; Heaven bless you! I say this, Mr. Bandon — Brandon —what 's your name — there ain't a better fellow in all Margate than James Gann, — no, nor in all England. Here's Mrs. Gann, gents, and the family. Mrs. Gann!" (drinks.) Mr. Brandon. " Mes. Gann. Hip, hip, hurrah !" (drinks.) Mr. Gann. " Mrs. Gann, and thank you, gents. A fine woman, Mr. B. ; ain't she now 1 Ah, if you 'd seen 'er when I married her ! Gad, she was fine then — an out and outer, sir ! Such a figure ! " Mr. Swigby. '' You 'd choose none but a good 'un, I war'nt. Ha, ha, ha ! " Mr. Gann. "Did I ever tell you of my duel along with the regimental doctor ? No ! Then I will. I was a young chap, you see, in those days ; and when I saw her at Brussels — ( Brusdt, they call it) — I was right slick up over head and ears in love with her at once. But what was to be done ? There was another gent in the case, — a regimental doctor, sir, — a reg'lar dragon. ' Faint heart,' says I, ' never won a fair lady,' and so I made so bold. She took me, sent the doctor to the right about. I met him one morning in the park at Brussels, and stood to him, sir, like a man. When the affair was over, my second, a leften- ant of dragoons told me, ' Gann,' says he, ' I 've seen many a man under fire, — I 'm a Waterloo man,' says he, — ' and have rode by Wel- lington many a long day ; but I nev- er, for coolness, see such a man as you.' Gents, here 's the Duke of Wellington and the British army ! " (the gents drink.) Mr. Brandon. " Did you kill the doctor, sir ? " A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 27 Mr. Gam. " Why, no, Bir ; I shot in the hair." Mr. Brandon. " Shot him in the hair ! Egad, that was a severe shot, and a very lucky escape the doctor had of it ? Whereabout in the hair 1 a whisker, sir ; or, perhaps, a pig- Mr. Swigbij. " Haw, haw, haw ! shot'u in the hair, — capital, capi- tal ! " Mr. Gann, who has grown very red. "No, sir; there may be some mis- take in my pronouuciation, which I did n't expect to have laughed at, at my hown table." Mr. Brandon. " My dear sir ! I protest and vow — " Mr. Gann. "Never mind it, sir. I gave you my best, and did my best to make you welcome. If you like better to make fun of me, do, sir. That may be the genteel way, but hang me if it 's hour way; is it, Jack? Our way; I beg your par- don, sir." Mr. Swigby. " Jim, Jim ! for Heaven's sake ! — peace and harmony of the evening — conviviality — so- cial enjoyment — did n't mean it — did you mean anything, Mr. What- d'-ye-call-'im ■? " Mr. Brandon. " Nothing, upon my honor as a gentleman ! " Mr. Gann. " Well, then, there 's my hand ! " and good-natured Gann tried to forget the insult, and to talk as if nothing had occurred : but he had been wounded in the most sensi- tive point in which a man can be touched by his superior, and never forgot Brandon's joke. That night at the club, when dreadfully tipsy, he made several speeches on the subject, and burst into tears many times. The pleasure of the evening was quite spoiled ; and, as the conversation be- came vapid and dull, we shall refrain from reporting it. Mr. Brandon speedily took leave, bnt had not the courage to face the ladies at tea ; to whom, it appears, the reconciled Becky had brought that refreshing beverage. 2* CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH MK. PITCH PKOCLAIMS HIS LOVE, AND MK. BEANDON PltE- pahes rOR war. From the splendid hall in which Mrs. Gann was dispensing her hospi- tality, the celebrated painter, Andrea Eitch, rushed forth in a state of mind even more delirious than that which he usually enjoyed. He looked abroad into the street : all there was dusk and lonely ; the rain falling heavily, the wind playing Pandean pipes and whistling down the chimney-pots. "I love the storm," said Fitch, sol- emnly ; and he put his great Spanish cloak round him in the most approved manner (it was of so prodigious a size that the tail of it, as it twirled over his shoulder, whisked away a lodging-card from the door of the house opposite Mr. Gann's). " I love the storm and solitude," said he, lighting a large pipe iilled full of the fragrant Oronooko ; and thus armed, he passed rapidly down the street, his hat cocked over his ringlets. Andrea did not like smoking, but he used a pipe as a part of his pro- fession as an artist, and as one of the picturesque parts of his costume ; in like manner, though he did not fence, he always travelled about with a pair of foils ; and quite unconscious of music, nevertheless had a guitar con- stantly near at hand. Without such properties a painter's spectacle is not complete ; and now he determined to add to them another indispensable requisite, — a mistress. " What great artist was ever without one ? " thought he. Long, long had he sighed for some one whom he might love, some one to whom he might address the poems which he was in the habit of making. Hundreds of such frag- ments had he composed, addressed to Leila, Ximena, Ada, — imaginary beauties, whom he courted in dreamy verse. With what joy would he re- place all those by a real charmer of flesh and blood ! Away he went, then, on this evening, — the tyranny 28 A &HABBY GENTEEL STORY. of Mrs. Gann towards poor Caroline haying awakened all his sympathies in the gentle girl's favor, — determined now and forever to make her the mis- tress of his heart. Monna-Lisa, the Fornarina, Leonardo, Raphael, — he thought of all these, and vowed that his Caroline should be made famous and live forever on Ms canvas. While Mrs. Gann was preparing for her friends, and entertainiag them at tea and whist ; while Caroline, all uncon- scious of the love she inspired, was weeping up stairs in her little garret; while Mr. Brandon was enjoying the refined conversation of Gann and Swigby, over their glass and pipe in the office, Andrea walked abroad by the side of the ocean ; and, before he was wet through, walked himself into the most fervid affection for poor per- secuted Caroline. The reader might have observed him (had not the night been very dark, and a great deal too wet to allow a sensible reader to go abroad on such an errand) at the sea- shore standing on a rock, and draw- ing from his bosom a locket which contained a cnrl of hair tied up in ribbon. He looked at it for a mo- ment, and then flung it away from him into the black boiling waters be- low him. " No other 'air but thine, Caroline, shall ever rest near this 'art ! " he said, and kissed tho locket and re- stored it to its place. Ligh^minded youth, whose hair was it that he thus flung away 1 How many times had Andrea shown that very ringlet in strictest confidence to several brethren of the brush, and declared that it was the hair of a dear girl in Spain whom he loved to madness 1 Alas ! 't was but a fiction of his fevered brain; every one of his friends had a locket of hair, and Andrea, who had no love until now, had clipped this precious token from the wig of a lovely lay- figure, with cast-iron joints and a card-board head, that had stood for some time in his atelier. I don't know that he felt any shame about the proceeding, for he was of such a warm imagination that he had grown to believe that the hair did actually come from a girl in Spain, and only parted with it on yielding to a supenor attachment. ' This attachment being fixed on, the young painter came home wet through ; passed the night in reading Byron; making sketches, and burn- ing them ; writing poems to Caroline, and expunging them with pitiless india-rubber. A romantic man makes a point of sitting up all night, and pacing his chamber ; and you may see many a composition of Andrea's dated "Midnight, 10th of March, A. F.," with his peculiar flourish over the initials. He was not sorry to be told in the morning, by the ladies at break- fast, that he looked dreadfully pale^ and answered, laying his hand on his forehead, and shaking his head gloomily, that he could get no sleep : and then he would heave a huge sigh ; and Miss Bella and Miss Linda would look at each other, and grin according to their wont. He was glad, I say, to have his woe remarked, and continued his sleeplessness for two or three nights ; but he was certainly still more glad when he heard Mr. Bran- don, on the fourth morning, cry out, in a shrill angry voice, to Becky the maid, to give the gentleman up stairs his compliments, — Mr. Brandon's compliments, — and tell him that ho could not get a wink of sleep for the horrid trampling he kept up. " I am hanged if I stay in the house a night longer," added the first-floor sharply, " if that Mr. Pitch kicks up such a confounded noise ! " Mr. Pitch's point was gained, and henceforth he was as quiet as a mouse ; for his wish was not only to be in love, but to let everybody know that he was in love, or where is the u.se of a bdle passion ? So, whenever he saw Caroline, at meals, or in the passage, he used to stare at her with the utmost power of his big eyes, and fall to groaning most pathetically. He used to leave his meals untasted, groan, heave sighs, and stare incessantly. Mrs. Gann and her A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 2d eldest daughters were astonished at these manoeuvres ; for they never suspected that any man could possibly bo such a, fool as to fall in love with Caroline. At length the suspicion came upon them, created immense laughter and delight ; and the ladies did not fail to rally Caroline in their usual elegant way. Gann, too, loved a joke (much polite waggery had this worthy man practised in select inn- parlors for twenty years past), and would call poor Caroline " Mrs. F." ; and say that instead ol Fetch and Carry, as he used to name her, he should style her Fitch and Carry for the future ; and laugh at this great pun, and make many others of a similar sort, that set Caroline blushing. Indeed, the girl suffered a great deal more from this raillery than at first may be imagined ; for after the first awe inspired by Fitch's whiskers had passed away, and he had drawn the young ladies' pictures, and made designs in their albums, and in the midst of their jokes and conversation had remained perfectly silent, the Gann family had determined that the man was an idiot : and, indeed, were not very wide Oi" the mark. In everything except his own peculiar art honest Fitch was an idiot ; and as upon the subject of painting, the Ganns, like most people of their class in England, were profoundly ignorant, it came to pass that he would breakfast and dine for many days in their company, and not utter one single syllable. So they looked upon him with extreme pity and con- tempt, as a harmless good-natured, crack-brained creature, quite below them in the scale of intellect, and only to be endured because he paid a certain number of shillings weekly to the Gann exchequer. Mrs. Gann in all companies was accustomed to talk about her idiot. Neighbors and chil- dren used to peer at him as he strutted down the street; and though every young lady, including my dear Caro- line, is flattered by having a lover, at least they don't like such a lover as this. 'The Misses Macarty (after hav- ing set their caps at him very fiercely, and quarrelled concerning him on his first coming to lodge at their house) vowed and protested now that he was no better than a chimpanzee; and. Caroline and Becky agreed that this insult was as great as any that could be paid to the painter. " He 's a good creature, too, said Becky, " crack- brained as he is. Do you know, miss, he gave me half a sovereign to buy a new collar, after that business t'other day f " " And did — Mr. , — did the first - floor say anything ? " asked Caroline. " Did n't he ! he 's a funny gentle- man, that Brandon, sure enough; and when I took him np breakfast next morning, asked about Sims the pilot, and what I gi'ed Sims for the collar and brooch, — he, he ! " And this was indeed a correct re- port of Mr. Brandon's conversation with Becky ; he had been infinitely amused with the whole transaction, and wrote his friend the viscount a capital facetious account of the man- ners and customs of the native inhab- itants of the isle of Thanet. And now, when Mr. Fitch's passion was fully developed, — as far, that is, as sighs and ogles could give it utter- ance, — a curious instance of that spirit of contradiction for which our race is remarkable was seen in the behavior of Mr. Brandon. Althongli Caroline, in the depths of her little silly heart, had set him down for her divinity, her wondrous fairy prince, who was to deliver her from her present miserable durance, she had never by word or deed acquainted Brandon with her inclination for him, but had, with instinctive modesty, avoided him more sedulously than before. He, too, had never bestowed a thought upon her. How should such a Jove as Mr. Brandon, from the cloudy summit of his fashionable Olympus, look down and perceive such an humble, retiring being as poor little Caroline Gann ? Think- ing her at first not disagreeable, he 30 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. had never, until the day of the din- ner, hestowed one single further thought upon her; and only when exasperated by the Miss Macartys' behavior towards him, did he begin to think how sweet it would bo to make them jealous and unhappy. " The nncouth grinning monsters," said he, " with their horrible court of Bob Smiths and Jack Joneses, daring to look down upon me, a gentleman, me, the celebrated mangeur des cceurs, — a man of genius, fashion, and noble family ! If I could but revenge my- self on them ! What injury can I invent to wound them." It is curious to what points a man in his passion will go. Mr. Brandon had long since, in fact, tried to do the greatest possible injury to the young ladies ; for it had been, at the first dawn of his acquaintance, as we are bound with much sorrow to confess, his fixed intention to ruin one or the other of them. And when the young ladies had, by their coldness and indif- ference to him, frustrated this benevo- lent intention, he straightway fancied that they had injured him severely, and cast about for means to revenge himself upon them. This point is, to bo sure, a very delicate one to treat, — for in words, at least, the age has grown to be wonderfully moral, and refuses to hear discourses upon such subjects. But human nature, as far as I am able to learn, has not much changed since the time when Kichardson wrote, and Hogarth painted, a cen- tury ago. There are wicked Love- laces abroad, ladies, now as then, when it was considered no shame to expose the rogues ; and pardon us, therefore, for hinting that such there be. Elegant acts of rouerie, such as that meditated by Mr. Brandon, are often performed still by dashing young men of the world, who think no sin of an amourette, but glory in it, especially if the victim be a person of mean condition. Had Brandon suc- ceeded (such is the high moral state of our British youth), all his friends would have pronounced him, and he would have considered himself, to be a very lucky, captivating dog ; nor, as I beUeve, would he have had a single pang of conscience for the rascally action which he had committed. This supreme act of scoundrelism has man permitted to himself — to de- ceive women. When we consider how he has availed himself of the privilege so created by him, indeed one may sympathize with the ad- vocates of woman's rights who point out this monstrous wrong. We have read of that wretched woman of old whom the pious Pharisees were for stoning incontinently ; but we don't hear that they made any outcry against t!ie man who was concerned in the crime. Where was he ? Happy, no doubt, and easy in mind, and re- galing some choice friends over a bottle with the history of his success. Being thus injured then, Mr. Bran- don longed for revenge. How should he repay these impertinent young women for slighting his addresses ? " Pardi," said he ; "just to punish their pride and insolence, I have a great mind to make love to their sister." He did not, however, for some time, condescend to perform this threat. Eagles such as Brandon do not sail down from the clouds in order to pounce upon small flies, and soar air- wards again, contented with such an ignoble booty. In a word, he never gave a minute's thought to Miss Caro- line, until further circumstances oc- curred which caused this great man to consider her as an object somewhat worthy of his remark. The violent affection suddenly ex- hibited by Mr. Fitch, the painter, to- wards poor little Caroline was the point which determined Brandon to begin to act. " My deak ViscotjNT," — (wrote he to the same Lord Cinqbars whom he formerly addressed) — " Give me joy ; for in a week's time it is my in- tention to be violently in love, — and A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. 31 bve is no small amusement in a water- ing-place in winter. " 1 told you about the fair Juliana Gann and her family. I forgot whether I mentioned how the Juliana had two fair daughters, the Rosalind and the Isabella ; and another, Caro- line by name, not so good-looking as her half-sisters, but, nevertheless, a pleasing young person. " Well, when I came hither, I had nothing to do but to fall in love with the two handsomest ; and did so, tak- ing many walks with them, talking much nonsense ; passing long dismal evenings over horrid tea with them and their mamma : laying regular siege, in fact, to these Margate beau- ties, who, according to the common rule in such cases, could not, I thought, last long. " Miserable deception ! disgusting aristocratic blindness ! " (Mr. Bran- don always assumed that his own high birth and eminent position were granted.) "Would j'ou believe it, that I, who have seen, fought, and conquered in so many places, should have been ignominiously defeated here ? Just as American Jackson de- feated our Peninsular veterans, I, an old Continental conqueror too, have been overcome by this ignoble enemy. These women have intrenched them- selves so firmly in their vulgarity, that I have been beaten back several times with disgrace, being quite un- able to make an impression. The monsters, too, keep up a dreadful fire from behind their intrenchments ; and besides have raised the whole conntry against me : in a word, all the snobs of their acquaintance are in Hrms. There is Bob Smith, the linen-draper ; Harry Jones, who keeps (he fancy tea-shop ; young Glauber, the apothecary ; and sundry other persons, who are ready to eat me ivhen they see me in the streets ; and gre all at the beck of the victorious Amazons. " How is a gentleman to make head against such a canaille as this t — a regular jarquerie. Once or twice I have thought of retreating ; but a re- treat, for sundry reasons I have, is in- convenient. I can't go to London ; I am known at Dover ; I believe there is a bill against me at Canterbury ; at Chatham there are sundry quartered regiments whose recognition I should be unwilling to risk. I must stay here — and bo hanged to the place — until my better star shall rise. " But I am determined that my stay shall be to some purpose ; and so to show how persevering I am, I shall make one more trial upon the third daughter, — yes, upon the third daughter, a family Cinderella, who shall, I am determined, make her sis- ters crever with envy. I merely mean fun, you know, — not mischief^ — for Cinderella is but a little child : and, besides, I am the most harmless fel- low breathing, but must have my joke. Now, Cinderella has a lover, the bearded painter of whom I spoke to you in a former letter. He has lately plunged into the most extraor- dinary fits of passion for her, and is more mad than even he was before. Woe betide you, painter ! I have nothing to do : a month to do that nothing in ; in that time, mark my words, I will laugh at that painter's beard. Should you like a lock of it, or a sofa stuifed with it? there is heard enough : or should you like to see a specimen of poor little Cinderel- la's golden ringlets ? Command your slave. I wish I had paper enough to write you an account of a grand Gann dinner at which I assisted, and of a scene which there took place; and how Cinderellawas dressed out, not by a fairj', but by a cliaiitable kitchen- maid, and was turned out of the room by her indignant mamma, for appear- ing in the scullion's finery. Bat my forte does not lie in such descriptions of polite life. We diank port, and toasts after dinner : here is the menu, and the names and order of the eaters." t!c ^ flt flf flp The bill of fare has been given al- 32 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. ready, and need not, therefore, be again laid before the public. " What a fellow that is ! " said young Lord Cinqbars, reading the letter to his friends, and in a profound admiration of his tutor's genius^ " And to think that he was a read- ing man, too, and took a double first," cried another ; " why, the man is an Admirable Crichton." " Upon my life, though, he 's a little too bad," said a third, who was a moralist. And with this a fresh bowl of milk-punch came reeking from the college butteries, and the joyial party discussed that. CHAPTER V. CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OP COM- PLICATED LOVE-MAKING. The Misses Macarty were exces- sively indignant that Mr. Fitch should have had the audacity to fall in love with their sister ; and poor Caroline's life was not, as may bo imagined, made much the happier by the envy and passion thus excited. Mr Fitch's amour was the source of a great deal of pain to her. Her mother would tauntingly say, that as both were beg- gars, they could not do better than marry ; and declared in the same sa- tirical way, that she should like noth- ing better than to see a large family of grandchildren about her, to be plagues and burdens upon her, as her daughter was. The short way would have been, when the young painter's intentions were manifest, which they pretty speedily were, to have requested him immediately to quit the house ; or, as Mr. Gann said " to give him the sack at once " ; to which measure the worthy man indignantly avowed that he would have resort. But his lady would not allow of any such rudeness ; although, for her part, she professed the strongest scorn and contempt for the painter. For the painful fact must be stated: Fitch had a short time previously paid no less a sum than a whole quarter's board and lodging in advance, at Mrs. Gann s humble request, and he possessed his landlady's receipt for that sum ; the mention of which circumstance si- lenced Gann's objections at once. And indeed, it is pretty certain that, with all her taunts to her daughter and jnst abuse of Fitch's poverty, Mrs. Gann in her heart was not alto- gether averse to the match. In the first place, she loved match-making ; next, she would be glad to be rid of, her daughter at any rate ; and, besides. Fitch's aunt, the auctioneer's wife, was rich, and had no children ; paint- ers, as she had heard, make often a greafr deal of money, and Fitch might be a clever one, for aught she knew. So he was allowed to remain in the house, an undeclared but very assidu- ous lover ; and to sigh, and to moan, and make verses and portraits of his beloved, and build castles in the air as best he might. Indeed our hum- ble Cinderella was in a very curious position. She felt a tender passion tor the first-floor, and was adored by the second-floor, and had to wait up- on both at the summons of the bell of either ; and as the poor little thing was compelled not to notice any of the sighs and glances which the paint- er bestowed upon her, she also had schooled herself to maintain a quiet demeanor towards Mr. Brandon, and not allow him to discover the secret which was laboring in her little breast. I think it may be laid down as a pretty general rule, that mostromantic little girls of Caroline's age have such a budding sentiment as this young person entertained ; quite innocent, of course; nourished and talked of in delicious secrecy to the confidante of the hour. Or else what are novels made for? Had Caroline read of Valancourt and Emily for nothing, or gathered no good example from those five tear-fraught volumes which de- scribe the loves of Miss Helen Mar and Sir William Wallace ? Many a time had she depicted Brandon in a fancy costume, such as the fascinating Valancourt wore ; or painted herself A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 33 as Helen, tying a sash round her knight's cuirass, and watching him forth to battle. Silly fancies, no doubt ; but consider, madam, the poor girl's age and education ; the only in- struction she had ever received was from these tender, kind-hearted, silly books : the only happiness which Fate had allowed her was in this little silent world of fancy. It would be hard to grudge the poor thing her dreams; and many such did she have, and im- part blushingly to honest Becky, as they sat by the humble kitchen-fire. Although it cost her heart a great pang, she had once ventured to im- plore her mother not to send her up stairs to the lodgers' rooms, for she shrunk at the notion of the occurrence that Brandon should discover her re- gard for liim ; but this point had never entered Mrs. Gann's sagacious head. She thought her daughter wished to avoid Fitch, and sternly bade her do her duty, and not give heraelf such impertinent airs ; and, indeed, it can't be said that poor Caroline was very sorry at being compelled to continue to see Brandon. To do both gentle- men justice, neither ever said a word unfit for Caroline to hear. Fitch would have been torn to pieces by a thousand wild horses rather than have breathed a single syllable to hurt her feelings; and Brandon, though by no means so squeamish on ordinary occasions, was innately a gentleman, and from taste rather than from virtue, was carefully respectful in his behavior to her. As for the Misses Macarty them- selves, it has been stated that they had already given away their hearts several times ; Miss Isabella being at this . moment attached to a certain young wine-merchant, and to Lieuten- ant or Colonel Swabber of the Span- ish service ; and Miss Rosalind hav- ing a decided fondness for a foreign nobleman, with black mustachios, who had paid a visit to Margate. Of Miss Bella's lovers. Swabber had dissappeared ; but she still met the wine-merchant pretty often, and it is believed had gone very nigh to accept liim. As for Miss Rosalind, I am sorry to say that the course of her true love ran by no means smoothly : the Frenchman had tui-ned out to be not a marquess, but a billiard-marker ; and a sad, sore subject the disappoint- ment was with the neglected lady. We should have spoken of it long since, had the subject been one that was much canvassed in the Gann family; but once when Gann had endeavored to rally his step-daughter on this unfortunate attachment (using for the purpose those delicate terms of wit for which the honest gentleman was always famous). Miss Linda had flown into such a violent fury, and comported herself in a way so dread- ful, that James Gann, Esquire, was fairly frightened out of his wits by the threats, screams, and imprecations wliich she uttered. Miss Bella, who was disposed to be jocose likewise, was likewise awed into silence; for her dear sister talked of tearing her eyes out that minute, and uttered some hints, too, regarding love-ma1> ters personally affecting Miss Bella herself, which caused that young lady to turn pale-red, to mutter something about "wicked lies," and to leave the room immediately. Nor was the subject ever again broached by the Ganns. Even when Mrs. Gann once talked about that odious French im- poster, she was stopped immediately, not by the lady concerned, but by Miss Bella, who cried, sharply, "Mamma, hold your tongue, and don't vex our dear Linda by alluding to any such stuff." It is most proba- ble that the young ladies had had a private conference, which, beginning a little fiercely at first, had ended amicably : and so the marquess was mentioned no more. Miss Linda, then, was comparative- ly free (for Bob Smith, the linen-dra- per, and young Glauber, the apothe- cary, went for nothing) ; and, very luckily for her, a successor was found for the faithless Frenchman, almost immediately. 34 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. This gentleman was a commoner, to be sure ; but had a good estate of five hundred a year, kept his horse and gig, and was, as Mr. Gann re- marked, as good a fellow as ever lived. Let us say at once that the new lover was no other than Mr. Swigby. From the day when he had been introduced to the family he appeared to be very much attract- ed by the two sisters ; sent a turkey off his own farm, and six bottles of prime Hollands, to Mr. and Mrs. Gann, in presents ; and, in ton short days after his first visit, had informed his friend Gann that he was violently in love with two women whose names he would never — never breathe. The worthy Gann knew right well how the matter was ; for he had not failed to remark Swigby's melancholy, and to attribute it to its right cause. Swigby was forty-eight years of age, stout, hearty, gay, much given to drink, and had never been a lady's man, or, indeed, passed half a dozen evenings in ladies' society. He thought Gann the noblest and finest fellow in the world. Ho never heard any singing like James's, nor any jokes like his ; nor had met with such an accomplished gentleman or man of the world. " Gann has his faults," Swigby would say at the " Bag of Nails"; "which of us has not? — but I tell you what, he 's the greatest trump I ever see." Many scores of scores had he paid for Gann, many guineas and crown-pieces had he lent him, since he came into his property some three years before. What were Swigby's former pursuits I can't tell. What need we care ? Had n't he five hundred a year now, and a horse and gig f Ay, that he had. Since his accession to forttme, this gay young bachelor had taken his share (what he called " his whack") of pleasure; had been at one — nay, perhaps, at two — public-houses every night; and had been lipsy, I make no doubt, nearly a thousand times in the course of the three years. Many people had tried to cheat him ; but, no, no ! he knew what was what, and in all matters of money was simple and shrewd. Gann's gentihty won him ; his bragging, his ton, and the stylish tuft on his chin. To be m- vited to his house was a proud mo- ment ; and when he went away, after the banquet described in the last chapter, he was in a perfect ferment of love and liquor. " What a stylish woman is that Mrs. Gann ! " thought he, as he tum- bled into bed at his inn ; " fine she must have been as a gal ! " fourteen stone now, without saddle or bridle, and no mistake. And them Miss Macartys. Jupiter ! what spank- ing, handsome, elegant creatures ! — real elegance in both on 'em ! Such hair ! — black 'a the word — as black as my mare ; such cheeks, such necks, and shoulders ! " At noon he re- peated these observations to Gann himself, as he walked up and down the pier with that gentleman, smok- ing Manilla cheroots. He was in raptures with his evening. Gann re- ceived his praises with much majestic good-humor. "Blood, sir!" said he, "blood's everything! Them gals have been brought up as few ever have. I don't speak of myself ; hut their mother — their mother 's a lady, sir. Show me a woman in England as is better bred or knows the world more than my Juliana ! " " It 's impawssible," said Swigby. " Think of the company we 've kep', sir, before our misfortunes, — the fust in the land. Brandenburg House, sir, — England's injured queen. Law bless you ! Juliana was always there." "I make no doubt, sir; you .can see it in her," said Swigby, solemnly. " And as for those gals, why, ain't they related to the fust families in Ireland, sir? — In course they are. As I said before, blood's everything; and those yonng women have the best of it: they are connected with tha reg'lar old noblesse." " They have the best of every think, A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 35 I'm sure," said Swigby, "and de- serve it, too," and relapsed into liis morning remarks. " What creatures ! what elegance ! what hair and eyes, sir! — black, and all 's black, as I say. What complexion, sir ! — ay, and what makes, too ! Such a neck and shoulders I never see !" Gann, who had his hands in his pockets (his friend's arm being hooked into one of his), here suddenly with- drew his hand from its hiding-place, clenched his fist, assumed a horrible knowing grin, and gave Mr. Swigby such a blow in the ribs as wellnigh sent him into the water. " You sly dog!" said Mr. Gann, with inex- pressible emphasis ; " you 've found tliat out, too, have you ? Have a care, Joe my boy, — have a care." And herewith Gann and Joe burst into tremendous roars of laughter, fresh explosions taking place at inter- vals of five minutes during the rest of the walk. The two friends parted exceedingly happy; and when they met that evening at "The Nails" Gann drew Swigby mysteriously into the bar, and thrust into his hand a triangular piece of pink paper, which the latter read : — " Mrs. Gann and the Misses Ma- carty request the honor and pleasure of Mr. Swigby 's company (if you have no better engagement) to tea to- morrow evening, at half past five. ^'Margaretia Cottage, Salamanca Road North, Thursday evening." The faces of the two gentlemen were wonderftilly expressive of satis- faction as this communication passed between them. And I am led to be- lieve that Mrs. Gann had been un- usually pleased with her husband's conduct on that day, for honest James had no less than thirteen and sixpence in his pocket, and insisted, as usual, upon standing glasses all round. Joe Swigby, left alone in the little parlor behind the bar, called for a sheet of paper, a new pen and a wafer, and in the space of half an hour concocted a veiy spirited and satisfactory an- swer to this note ; which was carried off by Gann, and duly delivered. Punctually at half past five Mr. Jo- seph Swigby knocked at Margaretta Cottage door, in his new coat with glistenng brass buttons, his face clean shaved, and his great ears shining over his great shirt-collar delightfully bright and red. What happened at this tea-party it is needless here to say ; but Swigby came away from it quite as much en- ch.inted as before, and declared that the duets sung by the ladies in hideous discord were the sweetest mnslc he had ever heard. He sent the gin and the turkey the next day; and, of course, was invited to dine. The dinner was followed up on his part by an offer to drive all the young ladies and their mamma into the country ; and he hired a very smart barouche to conduct them. The in- vitation was not declined ; and Fitch, too, was asked by Mr. Swigby, in the height of his good-humor, and ac- cepted with the utmost delight. " Me and Joe will go on the box,'' said Gann. "You four ladies and Mr. Fitch shall go inside. Carry must go bodkin ; but she ain't veiy big." " Carry, indeed, will stop at home," said her mamma ; " she 's not fit to go out." At which poor Fitch's jaw fell ; it was in order to ride with her that he had agreed to accompany the party ; nor could he escape now, having just promised so eagerly. " O, don't let 's have that proud Brandon," said the young ladies, when the good-natured Mr. Swigby proposed to ask that gentleman ; and therefore he was not invited to join them in their excursion ; but he stayed at home very unconcernedly, and saw the Barouche and its load drive off. Somebody else looked at it fi-om the parlor-window with rather a heavy heart, and that some one was poor Caroline. The day was bright and sunshiny; the spring was beginning early ; it would have been pleasant to have been a lady for once, and to have 86 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. driven along in a carriage with prancing horses. Mr. Fitch looked af- ter her in a very sheepish, melancholy way ; and was so dismal and silly during the iirst part of the journey, that Miss Linda, who was next to him, said to her papa that she would change places with him ; and actually mounted the hox by the side of the happy, trembling Mr. Swigby. How proud he was, to be sure! How knowingly did he spank the horses along, and fling out the shillings at turnpikes ! " Bless you, he don't care for change ! " said Gann, as one of the toll - takers offered to render some coppers ; and Joe felt infinitely obliged to his friend for setting off his amiable qualities in such a way. mighty Fate, that over us mis- erable mortals rulest supreme, with what small means are thy ends ef- fected ! — with what scornful ease and mean instruments does it please thee to govern mankind ! Let each man think of the circumstances of his life, and how its lot has been determined. The getting up a little earlier or later, the turning down this street or that, the eating of this dish or the other, may influence all the years and ac- tions of a future life. Mankind walks down the left-hand side of Regent Street instead of the right, and meets a friend who asks him to dinner, and goes, and finds the turtle remarkably good, and the iced punch very cool and pleasant ; and, being in a meny, jovial, idle mood, has no objection to a social rubber of whist, — nay, to a few more glasses of that cool punch. In the most careless, good-humored way, he loses a few points ; and still feels thirsty, and loses a few more points ; and, like a man of spirit, in- creases his stakes, to he sure, and just by that walk down Regent Street is ruined for life. Or he walks down the right-hand side of Regent Street instead of the left, and, good Heav- ens ! who is that charming young creature who has just stepped into her carriage from Mr. Eraser's shop, and to whom and her mamma Mr. Fraser has made the most elegant bow in the world 1 It is the lovely Miss Moidore, with a hundred thou- sand pounds, who has remarked your elegant figure, and regularly drives to town on the ;first of the month; to purchase her darling Magazine. Yon. drive after her as fest as the hack- cab will carry you. She reads the Magazine the whole way. She stops at her papa's elegant villa at Hamp- stead, with a conservatory, a double coach-house, and a park-like pad- dock. As the lodge gate separates you from . that dear girl, she looks back just once, and blushes. Erubuit,, scdva est res. She has blushed, and you are all right. In a week you are introduced to the family, and pro- nounced a charming young fellow of high principles. In three weeks you have danced twenty-nine quadrilles with her, and whisked hei through several miles of waltzes. In a month Mrs. O'Flaherty has flung herself into the arms of her mother, just having come from a visit to the vil- lage of Gretna, near Carlisle; and you have an account at your banker's ever after. What is the cause of all this good fortune t — a walk on a particular side of Regent Street. And so true and indisputable is this fact, that there 's a young north- country gentleman with whom I am acquainted, that daily paces up and down the above-named street for many hpurs, fully expecting that such an adventure will happen to him ; for which end he keeps a cab in readiness at the comer of Vigo Lane. Now, after a dissertation in this history, the reader is pretty sure to know that a moral is coming ; and the facts connected with our tale, which are to bo drawn from the above little essay on fate, are simply these : I. If Mr. Fitch had not heard Mr. Swigby invite all the ladies, he would have refused Swigby's invitation, and stayed at home. 2. If he had not been in the carriage, it is quite cer- A SHABBY GENTEEL STOKY. 37 tain that Miss Rosalind Macarty would not have been seated by him on the hack seat. 3. If he had not been sulky, she never would have asked her papa to let her take his place on the box. 4. If she had not taken her papa's place on the box, not one of the circumstances would have happened which did happen; and which were as follows : — 1. Miss Bella remained inside. 2. Mr. Sw^by, who was wavering between the two, like a certain ani- mal between two bundles of hay, was determined by this circumstance, and made proposals to Miss Linda, whis- pering to Miss Linda : " Miss, I ain't equal to the like of you ; but I 'm hearty, healthy, and have five hun- dred a year. Will you marry me ? " In fact, this veiy speech had been taught him by cunning Gann, who saw well enough that Swigby would speak to one or other of his daugh- ters. And to it the young lady re- plied, also in a whispering, agitated tone, "Law, Mr. S. ! What an odd man ! How can yon I " And, after a little pause, added, " Speak to mam- ma." 3. (And this is the main point of my story.) If little Caroline had been allowed to go out, she never would have been left alone with Brandon at Margate. When Fate wills that something should come to pass, she sends forth a million of little circum- stances to clear and prepare the way. In the month of April (as indeed in half a score of other months of the year) the reader may have remarked that the cold northeast wind is prev- alent j and that when, tempted by a glimpse of sunshine, he issues forth to take the air, he receives not only it, but such a quantity of it as is enough to keep him shivering through the rest of the miserable month. On one of these happy days of English weather (it was the very day before the pleasure-party described in the last chapter) Mr. Brandon cursing heartily his country, and thinking how infinitely more congenial to him were the winds and habits prevalent in other nations, was marching over the cliffs near Margate, in the midst of a storm of shrill east wind which no ordinary mortal could bear, when he found perched on the cliff, his fingers blue with cold, the celebrated Andrea Fitch, employed in sketching a land or a sea scape on a sheet of gray paper. " Yon have chosen a fine day for sketching," said Mr. Brandon, bitter- ly, his tmn aquiline nose peering out livid from the fiir collar of his coat. Mr. Fitch smiled, understanding the allusion. " An hartist, sir," said he, " does n't mind the coldness of the weather. There was a chap in the Academy who took sketches twenty degrees below zero in Hiceland, — Mount 'Ecla, sir ! E was the man that gave the first hidea of Mount 'Ecla for the Surrey Zoological Gardens." " He must have been a wonderful enthusiast ! " said Mr. Brandon ; " I fancy that most would prefer to sit at home, and not numb their fingers in such a freezing storm as this ! ' " Storm, sir ! " replied Fitch, ma- jestically ; " I live in a storm, sir ! A true hartist is never so 'appy as when he can have the advantage to gaze upon yonder tempestuous hoccan in one of its hangry moods.' " Ay, there comes the steamer," answered Mr. Brandon ; " I can fancy that there are a score of unhap- py people on board who are not artists, and would wish to behold your ocean quiet." " They are not poets, sir : the glori- ous hever-changing expression of the great countenance of Nature is not seen by them. I should consider myself unworthy of my hart, if I could not bear a little privation of cold or 'eat for its sake. And besides, sir, whatever their hardships may be, such a sight hamply repays me ; for, although my private sorrows may be (has they are) tremendous, I never can look abroad upon the green hearth and hawful sea, without in a meas> 38 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. lire forgetting my personal woes and wrongs ; for what right has a poor creature like me to think of his affairs in the presence of such a spectacle as this ? I can't, sir ; I feel ashamed of myself ; I bow my 'ead and am quiet. When I set myself to examining hart, sir (by which I mean nature), I don't dare to think of anything else." " You worship a very charming and consoling mistress," answered Mr. Brandon, with a supercilious air, lighting and beginning to smoke a cigar ; " your enthusiasm does you credit." " If you have another," said Andrea Fitch, " I should like to smoke one, for you seem to have a real feeling about hart, and I was a getting so deucedly cold here, that really there was scarcely any bearing of it." " The cold is very severe," replied Mr. Brandon. "No, no, it's not the weather, sir ! " said Mr. Fitch ; " it 's here, sii', here " (pointing to the left side of his waistcoat.) " What ! you, too, have had sor- rows ? " " Sorrows, sir ! hagonies, — hago- nies, which I have never unfolded to any mortal ! I have hendured hal- most heverything. Poverty, sir, 'unger, hoblo(juy, 'opeless love ! but for my hart, sir, I should be the most miserable wretch in the world ! " And herewith Mr. Fitch began to pour forth into Mr. Brandon s ears tlie history of some of those sorrows under which he labored, and which he communicated to every single per- son who would listen to him. Mr. Brandon was greatly amused by Fitch's prattle, and the latter told him under what privations he had studied his art : how he bad starved for three years in Paris and Rome, while laboring at his profession : how meanly jealous the Royal Academy was which would never exhibit a single one of his pictures ; how he had been driven from the Heternal City by the attentions of an immense fat Mrs. Carrickfergus, who absolut^ ly proposed marriage to him ; and how he was at this moment (a fact ot which Mr. Brandon was already quite aware) madly and desperately in love with one of the most beautiful maid- ens in this world. For Fitch, having a mistress to his heart's desire, was boiling with impatience to have a confidant; what, indeed, would be the joy of love, if one were not allowed to speak of one's feelings to a friend who could know how to sym- pathize with them 1 Fitch was sure Brandon did, because Brandon was the very first person -with whom the painter had talked since he had come to the resolution recorded in the last chapter. " I hope she is as rich as that un- lucky Mrs. Carrickfergus, whom you treated so cruelly?" said the confi- dant, affecting entire ignorance. " Rich, sir 1 no, I thank Heaven, she has not a penny ! " said Fitch. " I presume, then, you are yourself independent," said Brandon, smiling; " for in the marriage state, one or the other of the parties concerned should bring a portion of the filthy lucre 1 " " Have n't I my profession, sir ? " said Fitch, majestically, having de- clared five minutes before that he starved in his profession. " Do you suppose a painter gets nothing? Have n't I borders from the first peo- ple in Europe ? — commissions, sir, to hexecute 'istory - pieces, battle- pieces, haltar-pieces 1 " "Masterpieces, I am sure," said Brandon, bowing politely; "for a gentleman of your astonishing genius can do no other. " The delighted artist received this compliment with many blushes, and vowed and protested that his perform- ances were not really worthy of such high praise ; but he fancied Mr. Bran- don a great connoisseur, nevertheless, and unburdened his mind to him in a manner still more open. Fitch's sketch was by this time finished ; and putting his drawing-implements to- getherj he rose, and the gentlemen A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. 39 walked away. The sketeh was hugely admired by Mr. Brandon, and when they came homo. Fitch, culling it dex- teronsly out of his book, presented it in a neat speech to his friend, " the gifted hamateur." " The gifted hamateur " received the drawing with a profusion of thanks, and BO much did ho value it, that he had actually torn off a piece to light a cigar with, when he saw that words were written on the other side of the paper, and deciphered the follow- ing:— " SONG OP THE VIOLET. " A humble flower long time I pined, Upon the solitary plain. And trembled at the angry wind, And shrunk l)efore the bitter rain. And, oh ! *t was in a blessed hour, A passing wanderer chanced t-> see And, pitying the lonely flower, To stoop and gather me. " I fear no more the tempest rude. On dreary heath no more I pine, But left my cheerless solitude. To decl£ the breast of Caroline. Alas 1 our days are brief at best. Nor long 1 fear will mine endure. Though sheltered here upon a breast So gentle and so pure, " It draws the fragrance from my leaves, It robs me of my sweetest breath } And every time it falls and heaves. It warns me of my coming death. Sut one I know would glad forego All joys of life to be as 1 ; An hour to rest on that sweet breast. And then, contented, die. " Andbba." When Mr. Brandon had finished the perusal of these verses, he laid them down with an air of considera- ble vexation. " Egad ! " said he, " this fellow, fool as he is, is not so great a fool as he seems ; and if he goes on this way, may finish by turn- ing the girl's head. They can't re- sist a man if he but presses hard enough, — I know they can't!" And here Mr. Brandon mused over his various experience, which con- firmed his observation, that bo a man ever so silly, a gentlewoman will yield to him out of sheer weariness. And he thought of several cases in which, by the persevering application of copies of verses, young ladies had been Drought from dislike to suffer- ance of a man, from sufferance to partiality, and from partiality to St. George's, Hanover Square. " A ruf- fian who murders his h's to carry off such a delicate little creature as that ! " cried he, in a transport : " it shall never be if I can prevent it ! " He thought Caroline more and mere beautiful every instant, and was him- self by this time almost as much in love with her as Pitch himself. Mr. Brandon, then, saw Fitch de- part in Swigby's carriage with no or- dinary feelings of pleasure. Miss Caroline was not with them. " Kow is my tijne ! " thought Brandon ; and ringing the bell, he inquired with some anxiety, from Becky, where Miss Caroline was t It must be con- fessed that mistress and maid were at their usual occupation, working and reading novels in the back parlor. Poor Carry ! what other pleasure had she? She had not gone through many pages, or Becky advanced many stitches in the darning of that table- cloth which the good housewife, Mrs. Gann, had confided to her cliargc, when an humble knock was heard at the door of the sitting-room, ihat caused the blushing Caroline to trem- ble and drop her book, as Miss Lydia Languish does in the play. Mr. George Brandon entered with a very demure air. He held in his hand a black satin neck-scarf, of which a part had come to be broken. Ho conld not wear it in its present con- dition, that was evident ; but Miss Caroline was blushing and trembling a great deal too much to suspect that this wicked Brandon had himself torn his own scarf with his own hands one moment before he entered the room. I don't know whether Becky had any suspicions of this fact, or whether it was only the ordinary roguish look which she had when anything pleased her, that now lighted up her eyes and caused her mouth to expand smil 40 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. ingly, and her fat red cheeks to gather up into wrinkles. " I have had a sad misfortune," said he, " and should be very much obliged indeed to Miss Caroline to repair it." (Caroline was said with a kind of tender hesitation that caused the young woman, so named, to blush more than ever. ) " It is the only stock I have in the world, and I can't go barenecked into the street; can I, Mrs. Becky 1 " " No, sure," said Becky. " Not unless I was a celebrated painter, like Mr. Fitch," added Mr. Brandon, with a smile, which was reflected speedily upon the face of the lady whom he wished to interest. " Those great geniuses, " he added, "may do anything." " For, " says Becky, " hee 's got enough beard on hees faze to keep hees neck warm ! " At which remark, though Miss Caroline very properly said, " For shame, Becky ! " Mr. Bran- don was so convulsed with laughter, that he fairly fell down upon the sofa on which Miss Caroline was seated. How she startled and trembled, as he flung his arm upon the back of the couch ! Mr. Brandon did not attempt to apologize for what was an act of considerable impertinence, but con- tin led mercilessly to make many more jokes concerning poor Fitch, which were so cleverly suited to the compre- hension of the maid and the young mistress, as to elicit a great number of roars of laughter from the one, and to cause the other to smile in spite of herself. Indeed, Brandon had gained a vast reputation with Becky in his morning colloquies with her, and she was ready to laugh at any single word which it pleased him to ntter. How many of his good things had this honest scullion carried down stairs to Caroline f and how pitilessly had she contrived to eslropier them in their passage from the drawing-room to the kitchen 1 Well, then, while Mr. Brandon " was a going on " as Becky said, Car- oline had taken his stock, and her little fingers were occupied in re- pairing the damage he had done to it. Was it clumsiness on her part? Certain it is that the rent took several minutes to repair ; of them the man- geur de caars did not fail to profit, conversing in an easy, kindly, confi- dential way, which set our fluttering heroine speedily at rest, and enabled her to reply to his continual queries, addressed with much adroitness and an air of fraternal interest, by a number of those pretty little timid whispering yeses and noes, and those gentle, quick looks of the eyes, where- with young and modest maidens are wont to reply to the questions of se- ducing young bachelors. Dear yeses and noes, how beautiful you are when gently whispered by pretty lips! — glances of quick innocent eyes, how chai-ming are yon ! — and how charm- ing the soft blush that steals over the cheek towards which the dark lashes are drawing the blue-veined eyelids down. And here let the writer of this solemnly declare, upon his veracity, that he means nothing but what is right and moral. But look, I pray you, at an innocent, bashful girl of sixteen : if she be but good, she must be pretty. She is a woman now, but a girl still. How delightful all her ways are ! How exquisite her instinctive grace ! All the arts of all the Cleopatras are not so captivating as her nature. Who can resist her confiding simplicity, or fail to be touched and conquered by her gentle appeal to protection ■? All this Mr. Brandon saw and felt, as many a gentleman educated in this school will. It is not because a man is a rascal himself, that he cannot ap- preciate virtue and purity very keenly ; and our hero did feel for this simple, tender, artless creature, a real respect and sympathy, — a sympathy so fresh and delicious, that he was but too glad to yield to it and indulge in it, and which he mistook, probably, for a real love of virtue, and a return to the days of his innocence. Indeed, Mr. Brandon, it was no such thing. It was only because vice A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. 41 and debauch were stale for the mo- ment, and this pretty virtue new. It was only because your cloyed appetite was long unused to this simple meat that you felt so keen a relish for it ; and I thought of you only the last blessed Saturday, at Mr. Lovegrove's, " West India Tavern," Blackwall, where a company of fifteen epicures, who had scorned the turtle, pooh- poohed the punch, and sent away the whitebait, did suddenly and simulta^ neously make a rush upon — a dish of beans and bacon. And if the assiduous reader of novels will think upon some of the most celebrated woi-ks of that species, which have lately appeared in this and other countries, he will find, amidst much debauch of sentiment and enervating dissipation of intellect, that the writers have from time to time a returning appetite for innocence and freshness, and indulge us with occasional repasts of beans and bacon. How long Mr. Brandon remained by Miss Caroline's side I have no means of judging ; it is probable, however, that he stayed a much longer time than was necessary for the mending of his black satin stock. I believe, indeed, that he read to the ladies a great part of the " Mysteries of TJdol- pho," over which they were engaged ; and interspersed his reading with many remarks of his own, both tender and satirical. Whether he was in her company half an hour or four hours, this is certain, that the time slipped away very swiftly with poor Caroline ; and when a carriage drove up to the door, and shrill voices were heard crv- ing " Becky ! " " Carry ! " and Rebec- ca the maid, starting up, cried, " Lor', here 's missus ! " and Brandon jumped rather suddenly off the sofa, and fled up the stairs, — when all these events took place, I know Caroline felt very sad, indeed, and opened the door for her parents with a very heavy heart. Swigby helped Miss Linda off the box with excessive tenderness. Papa was bustling and roariiig in high good-humor, and called for " hot water and tumblers immediately." Mrs. Gann was gracious; and Miss Bell sulky, as she had good reason to be, for she insisted upon taking the front seat in the carriage before her sister, and had lost a husband by that very piece of obstinacy. Mr. Fitch, as he entered, bestowed upon Caroline a heavy sigh and deep stare, and silently ascended to his own apartment. He was lost in thought. The fact is, he was trying to remember some verses regarding a violet, which he had made five years before, and which he had somehow lost from among his papers. So he went up stairs, muttering, " A humble flower long Bince I pined Upon a Bolitary plain — " CHAPTER VI. DESCRIBES A SHABBY GENTEEL MAE- KIAGE, AND MOKE LOVE-MAKING. It will not be necessary to describe the particulars of the festivities which took place on the occasion of Mr. Swigby's marriage to Miss Macarty. The happy pair went off in a post- chaise and four to the bridegroom's country-seat, accompanied by the bride's blushing sister ; and when the first week of their matrimonial bliss was ended, that worthy woman, Mrs. Gann, with her excellent husband, went to visit the young couple. Miss Caroline was left, therefore, sole mis- tress of the house, and received especial cautions from her mamma as to pru- dence, economy, the proper manage- ment of the lodgers' billsi and the necessity of staying at home. Considering that one of the gentle- men remaining in the hOuso was a declared lover of Miss Caroline, I think it is a little surprising that her mother should leave her unprotected ; but in this matter the poor are not so particular as the rich ; and so this young lady was consigned to the guardianship of her own innocence, and the lodgers' loyalty: nor was there any reason why Mrs. Gann 42 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. should doubt the latter. As for Mr. Fitch, he would have far preferred to be torn to pieces by ten thousand wild horses, rather than to offer to the young woman any unkindness or insult ; and how was Mrs. Gann to snppose that her other lodger was a whit less loyal? that he had any partiality for a person of whom ho al- ways spuke as a mean, insignificant little baby? So, without any mis- frivings, and in a one-horse fly with Mr. Gann by her side, with a bran new green coat and gilt buttons, Juliana Gann went forth to visit her beloved child, and console hsr in her married state. And here, were I allowed to occupy the reader with extraneous matters, I could give a very curious and touch- ing picture of the Swigby m&iaji. Mrs. S., I am very sorry to say, quarrelled with her husband on the third day after their marriage, — and for what, pr'thee ? Why, because he would smoke, and no gentleman ought to smoke. Swigby, therefore, patient- ly resigned his pipe, and with it one of t!ie quietest, happiest, kindest com- panions of his solitude. He w.is a different man after this ; his pipe was as a limb of his body. Having on Tues- day conquered the pipe, Mrs. Swigby on Thursday did battle with her hus- band's rum-and-water, a drink of an odious smell, as she very properly observed ; and the smell was doubly odious, now that the tobacco-smoke no longer perfumed the pai-lor breeze, and counteracted the odors of the juice of West India sugai-canes. On Thurs- day, then, Mr. Swigby and rum held out pretty bravely. Mrs. S. attacked the punch with some sharp-shooting, and fierce charges of vulgarity ; to which S. replied, by opening the battery of oaths (chiefly directed to his own eyes, however), and loud pro- testations that he would never surren- der. In three days more, however, the rum-and-water was gone. Mr. Swigby, defeated and prostrate, had given up that stronghold ; his young wife and sister were triumphant ; and his poor mother, who occupied her son's house, and had till now taken her place at the head of his table, saw that her empire was forever lost, and was preparing suddenly to succumb to the imperious claims of the mistress of the mansion. All this, I say, I wish I had the liber- ty to describe at large, as also to narrate the arrival of majestic Mrs. Gann ; and a battle-royal which speedily took place between the two worthy moth- ers-in-law. Noble is the hatred of ladies who stand in this relation to each other ; each sees what injury the other is inflicting upon her darling child ; each mistrusts, detests, and to her offspring privily abuses the arts and crimes of the other. A house with a wife is often warm enough ; a house with a wife and her mother is rather warmer than any spot on the known globe; a house with two mothers-in-law is so excessively hot, that it can be likened to no place on earth at all, but one must go lower for a simile. Think of a wife who despises her husband, and teaches him manners ; of an elegant sister, who joins in rallying him (this was almost the only point of union be- tween Bella and Linda now, — for since the marriage, Linda hated her sister consumediy). Think, I say, of two mothers - in - law, — one, large, pompous, and atrociously genteel, — another coarse and shrill, determined not to have her son put upon, — and you may see what a happy fellow Joe Swigby was, and into what a piece of good luck he had fallen. What would have become of him without his father-in-law? Indeed one shudders to think ; but the conse- quence of that gentleman's arrival and intervention was speedily this : — About four o'clock, when the dinner was removed, and the quarrelling used commonly to set in, the two gents took their hats, and sallied out ; and as one has found when the body is inflamed that the application of a stringent medicine may cause the ill to disappear for a while, only to re- A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. 43 turn elsewhere with greater force ; in like manner, Mrs. Swigby's sudden victory over the pipe and rum-and- water, although it had caused a tem- porary cessation of the evil of which she complained, was quite unable to stop it altogether; it disappeared from one spot only to rage with more violence elsewhere. In Swigby's par- lor, rum and tobacco odors rose no more (except, indeed, when Mrs. Gann would partake of the former as a restorative); but if you could have seen the " Half-Moon and Snuffers " down the village ; if you could have seen the good dry skittle-ground which stretched at the back of that inn, and the window of the back-parlor which superintended that skittle-ground; if the hour at which you beheld these objects was evening, what time the rustics from their toils released trolled the stout ball amidst the rattling pins (the oaken pins that standing in the sun did cast long shadows on the golden sward) ; if yon had remarked all this, I say, you would have also seen in the back parlor a tallow can- dle twinkling in the shade, and stand- ing on a little greasy table. Upon the greasy table was a pewter porter- pot, and to the left a teaspoon glitter- ing in a glass of gin ; close to each of these two delicacies was a pipe of tobacco; and behind the pipes sat Mr. Gann and Mr. Swigby, who now made the " Half-Moon and Snuffers " their usual place of resort, and forgot their married cares. In spite of all our promises of brevity, these things have taken some space to describe; and the reader must also know that some short interval elapsed ere they occurred. A month at least passed away before Mr. Swigby had decidedly taken up his position at the little inn : all this time, Gann was staying with his son-in-law, at the latter's most earnest request ; and Mrs. Gann remained under the same roof at her own desire. Not the hints of her daughter, nor the broad ques- tions of the dowager Mrs. Swigby, could induce honest Mrs. Gann to 3 stir from her quarters. She had had her lodgers' money in advance, as was the worthy woman's custom ; she knew Margate iu April was dreadfully dull, and she determined to enjoy the country until the jovial town season arrived. The Canter- bury coachman, whom Gann knew, and who passed through the village, used to take her cargo of novels to and fro ; and the old lady made her- self as happy as circumstances would allow. Should anything of im- portance occur during her mamma's absence, Caroline was to make use of the same conveyance, and inform Mrs. Gann in a letter. Miss Caroline looked at her papa and mamma, as the vehicle which was to bear them to the newly mar- ried couple moved up the street ; but, strange to say, she did not feel that heaviness of heart which she before had experienced when forbidden to share the festivities of her family, but was on this occasion more happy than any one of them, — so happy, that the young woman felt quite ashamed of herself; and Becky was fain to re- mark how her mistress's check flushed, and her eyes sparkled (and turned perpetually to the door), and her whole little frame was in a flutter. " I wonder if he will come," said the little heart ; and the eyes tumed and looked at that well-known sofa- comer, where he had been placed a fortnight before. He looked exactly like Lord Byron, that he did, with his pale brow, and his slim bare neck ; only not half so wicked — no, no. She was sure that her — her Mr. B , her Bran , her George, was as good as he was beautiful. Don't let US be angry with her for calling him George ; the girl was bred in an humble sentimental school ; she did not know enough of society to be squeamish ; she never thought that she could be his really, and gave way in the silence of her fancy to the fiiU extent of her affection for him. She had not looked at the door above twenty-five times,^— that is to say, her 44 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. parents had not quitted the house ten minutes, — when, sure enougli, the latch did rattle, the door opened, and, with a faint blush on his clieelt, divine George entered He was going to malce some excuse, as on the former occasion; but lie looked first into Caroline's face, which was beaming with joy and smiles ; and the little thing, in return, regarded him, and — made room for him on the sofa. sweet instinct of love ! Brandon had no needof excuses, but sat down, and talked away as easi- ly, happily, and confidentially, and nei- ther took any note of time. Andrea Fitch (the sly dog!) witnessed the Gann departure with feelings of ex- ultation, and had laid some deep plans of his own with regard to Miss Caroline. So strong was his confi- dence in his friend on the first floor, that Andrea actually descended to tho'c apartments, on his way to Mrs. Gana's parlor, in order to consult Mr. Brandon, and^make known to him his plan of operations. It would have made your lieart break, or, at the very least, your sides ache, to behold the countenance of poor Mr. Fjtch, as he thrust his bearded head in at the door of the parlor. There was Brandon lolling on the sofa, at his ease ; Becky in full good-hutnor; and Caroline, al- ways absurdly inclined to blush, blushing at Fitch's appearance more than ever ! She could not help look- ing from him slyly and gently into the face of Mr. Brandon. That gen- tleman saw the look, and did not fail to interpret it. It was a confes- sion of love, — an appeal for protec- tion. A thrill of delightful vanity shot through Brandon's frame, and made his heart throb, as he noticed this look of poor Caroline. He an- swered it with one of his own that was cruelly wrong, cruelly trium- phant, and Sarcastic ; and he shouted out to Mr. Fitch, with a loud, -discon- certed tone, which only made that young painter feel more awkward than over he had been. Fitch made some clumsy speech regarding his din- ner, — whether that meal was to be held, in the absence of the parents, at the usual hour, and then took his leave. The poor fellow had been pleasing himself with the notion of taking this daily meal tete-a-tete with Caroline. What progress would he make in her heart during the absence of her par- ents I Did it not seem as if the first marriage had been arranged on pur- pose to facilitate his own ? He de- termined thus his plan of campaign. He would make, in the first place, the most beautiful drawing of Caroline that ever was seen. " The conversa- tions I '11 'ave with her during the sittings," says he, " will carry me a pretty long way ; the drawing itself will be so beautiful, that she can't resist that. I'll write her verses in her halbum, and make designs hallu- sive of my passion for her." And so our pictorial Alnaschar dreamed and dreamed. He had, erelong, estab- lished himself in a house in Newman Street, with a footman to Open the door. Caroline was up stairs, his wife, and her picture the crack portrait of the Exhibition. With her by his side, Andrea Fitch felt he could do anything. Half a dozen carriages at his door, — a hundred guineas for a IGl>Cat portrait. I^ady Fitch, Sir Andrew Fitch, the President's chain, — all sorts of bright visions floated before his imagination ; , and as Caro- line was the first precious condition of Jiis preferment, he determined forth- with to begin, and realize that. But disappointment ! on com- ing down to dinner at three o'clock to that charming tete-a-tete, he found no less than four covers laid on the table, Miss Caroline blushing (accord- ing to custom) at the head of it; Becky, the maid, grinning at the foot ; and Mr. Brandon sitting quiet- ly on one side, as much at home, for- sooth, as if he had held that position for a year. The fact is, that the moment after Fitch retired, Brandon, inspired by jealousy, had made the same request which had been brought forward by A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 45 the painter ; nor tnnst the ladies be too angry with Caroline, if after some scruples and stru{»gles, she yielded to the proposal. Kemember that the girl was the daughter of a boarding- house, accustomgd to continual deal- ings with her mamma's lodgers, and up to the present moment thinking herself as safe among them as the young person who walked through Ireland with a bright gold wand, in the song of Mr. Thomas Moore. On the point, however, of Brandon's admission, it must be confessed, for Caroline's honor, that she did hesi- tate. She felt that she entertained very different feelings towards him to those with which any other lodger or man had inspired her, and made'a little movement (H resistance at first. But the poor giirl's modesty overcame ihiSj as well as her wish. Ought she to avoid him? Ought she not to stifle any preference which she might feel towards him, and act to- wards him with the same indifference which she would show to any other person in a like situation ? Was not Mr. Fitch to dine at table as usual, and had she refused him 1 So rear soned she in her heart. Silly little cunning heart ! it knew that all these reasons were lies, and that she shodd avoid the man ; but she was willing to accept of any pretext for meeting, and so made a kind of compromise with her conscience. Dine he should ; but Becky should dine too, and be a protector to her. Becky laughed loudly at the idea of this, and took her place with huge delight. It is needless to say a word about this dinner, as we have already de- scribed a former meal; suffice it to say, that the presence of Brandon caused the painter to be excessively sulky and uncomfortable; and so gave his rival, who was gay, trium- phant, and at his ease, a decided ad- vantage over him. Nor did Brandon neglect to use this to the utmost. When Fitch retired to his own apart- ments, — not jealous gs yet, for the simple fellow believed every word of Brandon's morning conversation with him, — but vaguely annoyed and dis- appointed, Brandon assailed him with all the force of ridicule; at all his manners, words, looks, he joked mer- cilessly; laughed at his low birth, (JVIiss Gann, be it remembered, had been taught to picjne herself upon her own family), and mvented a series of stories concerning his past life which made the ladies^ for Becky, being in the parlor, must be considered as such — conceive the greatest con- tempt and pity for the poor painter. After this, Mr. Brandon would ex- patiate with much eloquence upon his own superior attractions and qualities. He talked of his cousin, Xord So-and- so, with the easiest air imaginable; told Caroline what princesses he had danced with at foreign coui-ts ; fright- ened her with accounts of dreadful duels he ■ had fought ; in a word, " posed " before her as a hero of the most sublime kind. How the poor little thing drank in all his talcs ; and how she and Becky (for they now occu- pied the same bedroom) talked over them at night ! Miss Caroline, as Mr. Fitch has already stated, had in her possession, like almost every young lady in Eng- land, a little square book called an al- bum, containing prints from annuals ; hideous designs of flowers ; old pic- tures of faded fashions, cut out and pasted into the leaves ; and small scraps of verses selected from Byron, Landon, or Mrs. Hemans ; and writ-, ten out in the girlish hand of the own- er of the book. Brandon looked over this work with a good deal of curios; ity, — for he." " Author ? O yes ; they are — they are George's ! " She burst into tears as she said that word ; and, pulling the little faded flowers to pieces, went sobbing out of the room. Dear, dear little Caroline ! she has only been in love two months, and is already beginning to feel the woes of it! It cannot be from want of experi- ence, — for X have felt the noble pas- sion of love many times these forty years, since I was a boy of twelve (by which the reader may form a pretty good guess of my age), — it cannot be, I say, from want of experience A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 51 (hat I am unable to describe; step by titep, the progress of a love-affair ; nay, I am perfectly certain that I could, if I chose, make a most aston- ishing and heart-rending liber amaris ; but, nevertheless, I always feel a vast repugnance to the following out of a subject of this kind, which I attrib- ute to a natural diffidence and sense of shame that prevent me from enlar- ging on a theme that has in it some- thing sacred, — certain arcana which an honest man, although initiated into them, should not divulge. If such coy scruples and blushing delicacy prevent one from passing the threshold even of an honorable love, and setting down, at so many guineas or shillings per page, the pious emo- tions and tendernesses of two persons chastely and legally engaged in sigh- ing, ogling, hand-squeezing, kissing, and so forth (for with such outward signs I believe that the passion of love is expressed), — if a man feel, I say, squeamish about describing an innocent love, he is doubly disinclined to describe a guilty one ; and I have always felt a kind'of loathing for the skill "of such geniuses as Rousseau or Richardson, who could paint with such painful accuracy all the struggles and woes of Eloise and Clarissa, — all the wicked arts and triumphs of such scoundrels as Lovelace. We have in this history a scoun- drelly Lovelace in the person going by the name of George Brandon, and a dear, tender, innocent, yielding creature on whom he is practising hia infernal skill ; and whether the public feel any sympathy for her or not, the writer can only say, for his part, that he heartily loves and respects poor little Caroline, and is quite unwilling to enter into any of the slow, painful, wicked details of the courtship which passed between her and her lover. Not that there was any ivickedness on her side, poor girl ! or that she did anything but follow the natural and beautiful impulses of an honest little female heart, that leads it to trust audloye, and worship a being of the , 3*" other sex, whom the eager fancy in-. vests with all sorts of attributes of superiority. There was no wild, conceited tale that Brandon told Caroline which she did not believe, — no virtue which she could conceive or had read of in novels with which she did not endow him. Many long talks had they, and many sivccr, stolen interviews, during the periods in which Caroline's father and moth- er were away making merry at the house of their son-in-law ; and while she was left under the care of her virtue and of Becky the maid. In-^ deed, it was a blessing that the latter was left in the joint guardianship. For Becky, who had such an absurd opinion of her young lady's merits as to fancy that she was a fit wife for any gentleman of the land, and that any gentleman might be charmed and fall in love with her, had some in- stinct, or possibly some experience, as to the passions and errors of youth, and warned Caroline accordingly. "If he's really in love, Miss, and! think he be, he'll marry you; if ho won't marry you, he 's a rascal, and you 're too good for him, and must have nothing to do with him." To which Caroline replied, that she was sure Mr. Brandon was the most an- gelic, higb-principled of human be- ings, and that she was sure his in- tentions were of the most honorable description. We have before described what Mr. Brandon's character was. He was not a man of honorable intentions at all. But he was a gentleman of so excessively eager a temperament, that if properly resisted by a practised cotjuette, or by a woman of strong principles, he would sacrifice anything to obtain his ends, r— nay, marry to obtain them ; and, considering his disposition, it is only a wonder that he had not been married a great num- ber of times already ; for he had been in love perpetually since his seven- teenth year. By which the reader may pretty well appreciate the virtue or the prudence of the ladies with 51 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. those infernal verses, menace death, blood, and danger, and then — " Here he fell hack into a charming revery ; the wily fellow knew what power such a circumstance would give him over a poor weak girl, who would do anything rather than that her be- loved should risk his life. And with this dastardly speculation as to the price he should ask for refraining from meeting Fitch, he was entertaining himself; when, much to his annoy- ance, that gentleman again came Into the room. " Mr. Brandon," said he, " you have insulted me in the grossest and cruelest way." " Well, sir, are you come to apolo- gize ? " said Brandon, sneeringly. "No, I'm not come to apologize, Mr. Aristocrat ; it 's past that. I 'm come to say this, sir, that I take you for a coward ; and that, unless you will give me your solemn word of honor not to mention a word of this quarrel to Miss Gann, which might {irevent our meeting, I will never eave you till we do fight ! " "This is outrageous, sir! Leave the room, or by Heavens I '11 not meet you at all ! " " Heasy, sir ; easy, I beg your par- don, I can force you to that ! " " And how, pray, sir ? " " Why, in the first place, here 's a stick, and I '11 .'orsewliip you ; and here are a pair of pistols, and we can fight now ! " " Well, sir, I give you my honor," said Mr. Brandon, in a diabolical rage; and added, "I'll meet you to- morrow, not now ; and you need not be afraid that I '11 miss you ! " " Hadew, sir," said the chivalrous little ]?itch ; " bon giorno, sir, as we used to say at Rome." And so, for the second time, he left Mr. Brandon, who did not like very well the ex- traordinary courage he had displayed. " What the deuce has exasperated the follow so ■? " thought Brandon. Why, in the first place, he had crossed Fitch in love ; and, in the gecond, he had sneered at his pronuur ciaition and his gentility, and Mtch'u little soul was in a fury which noth- ing but blood would allay : he was determined, for the sake of his hart and his lady, to bring this proud champion down. So Brandon was at last left to his cogitations ; when, confusion ! about five o'clock came another knock at his door. " Come in ! " growled the owner of the lodgings. A sallow, blear-eyed, rickety, un- dersized creature, tottering upon a pair of high-heeled lackered boots, and supporting himself upon an im- mense gold-knobbed cane, entered the room with his hat on one side and a jaunty air. It was a white hat with a broad brim, and under it fell a great deal of greasy, lank hair that shrouded the cheek-bones of the wear- er. The little man had no beard to his chin, appeared about twenty years of age, and might weigh, stick and all, some seven stone. If you wish to know how this exquisite was dressed, I have the pleasure to inform you that he wore a great sky-blue em- broidered satin stock, in the which figured a carbuncle that looked like a lambent gooseberry. He had a shawl waistcoat of many colors ; a pair of loose blue trousers, neatly strapped to show his little feet ; a brown cut- away coat with brass buttons that fit- ted tight round a spider waist ; and over all a white or drab surtout with a sable collar and cuffs, from which latter on each hand peeped five little fingers covered with lemon-colored kid gloves. One of these hands he held constantly to his little chest : and with a hoarse, thin voice, he piped out : — r " George my buck I how goes it 7 " We have been thus particular in our description of the costume of this individual (whose inward man strong- ly corresponded with his manly and agreeable exterior), because he was the person whom Mr. Brandon most respected in the world. " CiNQBAKa ! " exclaimed our hero ; A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 55 * why, what the deuce has brought you to Margate t" " Fwendship, my old cock ! " said the Honorable Augustus Frederick Ringwood, commonly called Viscount Cinqbars, for indeed it was he. ''Twendship and the City of Canter- buwy steamer!" and herewith his Lordship held out his right-hand fore- finger to Brandon, who enclosed it most cordially in all his. " Wath n't it good of me, now, George, to come down and conthole you in thith curthed, thtupid place, — hay now "i " said my Lord, after these salutations. Brandon swore he was very glad to see him, which was very true, for he had no sooner set his eyes upon his Lordship, than he had determined to borrow as much money from him as ever he could induce the young nobleman to part with. "I'll tell you how it wath, my boy; you thee I was thtopping at Long'th, when I found, by Jove, that the governor wath come to town ! Cuth me if I did n't meet the infamal old family dwag, with my mother, thithterth, and all, ath I wath dwiv- ing a hack-cab with Polly Tomkinth in the Pawk ! Tho when I got home, 'Hang it!' thayth I to Tufthunt, 'Tom my boy,' thaith I, 'I've just theen the governor, and must be oif ! ' 'What, back to Ockthford?' thaith Tom. ' No,' thaith I, ' that mon't do. Abroad — to Jewicho — anywhere. Egad, I have it! I'll go down to Margate and thee old George, that I will.' And tho off I came the very next day ; and here I am, and thereth dinner waiting for uth at the hotel, and thixth bottleth of champagne in ithe, and thum thalmon : tho you mutht come." To this proposition Mr. Brandon readily agreed, being glad enough of the prospect of a good dinner and some jovial society, for he was low and disturbed in spirits, and so prom- ised to dine with his friend at the ^'Sun." The two gentlemen conversed for some time longer. Mr. Brandon was a shrewd fellow, and^knew perfectly well a fact of which, no doubt, the reader has a notion, — namely, that Lord Cinqbars was a ninny; but, nevertheless, Brandon esteemed him highly as a lord. Wo pardon stupid- ity in lords ; nature or instinct, how- ever sarcastic a man may be among ordinary persons, renders him towards men of quality benevolently blind : a divinity hedges not only the king, but the whole peerage. " That's the girl, I suppose," said my Lord, knowingly wmking at Brandon : " that little pale girl, who let me in, I mean. A nice little filly, upon my honor, Georgy my buck ! " " Oh — that — yes — I wrote, 1 think, something about her," said Brandon, blushing slightly; for, in- deed, he now began to wish that bis friend should make no comments upon a young lady with whom he was so much in love. " I suppose it 's all up now ? " con- tinued my Lord, looking still more knowing. " All over with her, hay ? I saw it was by her looks, in a minute." "Indeed you do me a great deal too much honor. Miss — ah — Miss Gann is a very respectable young per- son, and I would not for the world have you to suppose that I would do anything that should the least injure her character." At this speech. Lord Cinqbars was at first much puzzled; hut, in con- sidering it, was fully convinced that Brandon was a deeper dog than ever. Boiling with impatience to know the particulars of this delicate intrigue, this cunning diplomatist determined he would pump the whole story out of Brandon by degrees; and so, in the course of half an hour's conver- sation that the young men had to- gether, Cinqbars did not make less than forty allusions to the subject that interested him. At last Brandon cut him short rather haughtily, by begging that he would make no further allusions to the subject, as it was one that was excessively dis- agreeable to him. 56 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. In fact there was no mistake about it now. George Brandon was in love with Caroline. He felt that ho was while he blushed at his friend's allud- ing to her, while he grew indignant at the young lord's coarse banter about her. Turning the conversation to anotlier point, he asked Cinqbars about his voyage, and whether he had brought any companion with him to Margate ; whereupon my Lord related all his feats in London, how he had been to the watch-house, how many bottles of champagne he had drunk, how he had "milled" a policeman, &c., &c. ; and he concluded by saying that he had come down with Tom 'Tufthunt, who was at the inn at that very mo- ment smoking a cigar. This did not increase Brandon's gooJ-humor ; and when Cinqbars mentioned his friend's name, Brandon saluted it mentally with a hearty curse. These two gentlemen hated each other of old. Tufthunt was a small-college man of no family, with a foundation fellowship ; and it used to be considered that a sporting fel- low of a small college was u sad, raffish, disreputable character. Tuft- hunt, tlisn, was a vulgar fellow, and Brandon a gentleman, so they hat- ed each other. They were both toadies of the same nobleman, so they hated each other. They had had some quarrel at college about a disputed bet, which Brandon knew lie owed, and so they hated each other ; and in their words about it Brandon had threatened to horsewhip Tufthunt, and called him a " sneaking, swindling, small -college snob"; and so little Tufthunt, who had not resented the words, hated Brandon far more than Brandon hated him. The latter only had a contempt for his rival, and voted him a profound bore and vul- garian. So, although Mr. Tufthunt did not choose to frequent Mr. Brandon's rooms, he was very anxious that his friend, the young lord, should not fall into his old bear-leader's hands again. and came down to Margate to coun- teract any influence which the arts of Brandon might acquire. '■ Curse the fellow ! " thought Tuft- hunt in his heart (there was a fine reciprocity of curses between the two men); "he has drawn Cinqbars al- ready for fifty pounds a year, and will have some half of his last remit- tance, if I don't keep a lookout, the swindling thief! " And so frightened was Tufthunt at the notion of Brandon's return to power and dishonest use of it, that he was at the time on the point of writ- ing to Lord Ringwood to tell him of his son's doings, only he wanted some money deucedly himself. . Of Mr. Tufthunt's physique and hisitory it is necessary merely to say, that he was the sou of a country attorney who was agent to a lord ; he had been sent to a foundation-school, where he distin- guished himself for ten years, by fight- ing and being flogged more than any boy of the five hundred. From the foundation-school he went to college with an exhibition, which was succeed- ed by a fellowship, which was to end in a living. In his person Mr. Tufthunt was short and bow-legged ; he wore a sort of clerico-sporting costume con- sisting of a black straight-cut coat and light drab breeches, with a vast number of buttons at the ankles ; a sort of dress much affectioned by sporting gentlemen of the University in the author's time. Well, Brandon said he had some letters to write, and promised to follow his friend, which he did ; but, if the truth must be told, so infatuated was the young man become with his pas- sion, with the resistance he had met with, and so nervous from the vari- ous occurrences of the morning, that he passed the half-hour during which he was free from Cinqbars's society in kneeling, imploring, weeping at Caro- line's little garret-door, which had re- mained piteously closed to him. Ho was wild with disappointment, morti- fication — mad, longing to see her. The cleverest coquette in Europa A SHABBY GENTEEL STOBY. 57 could not have so inflamed him. His first act on entering the dinner- room was to drink off a large tumbler of champagne; and when Cinqbars, in his elegant way, began to rally him upon his wildness, Mr. Brandon only growled and cursed with frightful vehemency, and applied again to the bottle. His face, which had been quite white, grew a bright red; his tongue, which had been tied, began to chatter vehemently; tefore the fish was off the table, Mr. Brandon showed strong symptoms of intoxica- tion : before the dessert appeared, Mr. Tufthunt, winking knowingly to Lord Cinqbars, had begun to draw him out ; and Brandon, with a num- ber of shrieks and oaths, was narrat- ing the history of his attachment. "Look yon, Tufthunt," said he, wildly ; " hang you, I hate you but I must talk ! I 've been, for two months nowj in this cursed hole ; in a rick- ety iodging; with a vulgar family ; as vulgar, by Jove, as you are your- self!" Mr. Tufthunt did not like this style of address half so much as Lord Cinq- bars, who was laughing immoderately, and to whom Tufthunt whispered rather sheepishly, " Pooh, pooh, he 's drunk ! " " Druiik ! no, sir," yelled out Bran- don ; " I 'm mad, though, with the prudery of a little devil of fifteen, who has cost me more trouble than it would take me to seduce every one of your sisters, — ha, ha ! every one of the Miss Tufthunts, by Jove ! Miss Suky Tufthunt, Miss Dolly Tufthunt, Miss Anna-Maria Tufthunt, atid the whole bunch. Gome, sir, don't sit scowling at mn, or I '11 brain you with the decanter." (Tufthunt was down again on the sofa.) "I've borne with the girl's mother, and her fa- ther, and her sistere, and a cook in the house, and a scoundrel of a painter, that I'm going to fight about her; and for what? — why, for a letter, which says, ' George, "I '11 kill myself ! George, I '11 kill myself ! ' — ha, ha ! a little devil like that killing herself. — ha, ha ! and I — I who — who adore her, who am mad for ^ " " Mad I believe he is," said Tuft- hunt; and at this moment Mr. Bran- don was giving the most unequivocal signs of madness ; he plunged his head into the comer of tne sofa, and was kicking his feet violently into the cushions. " You don't understand him, Tufty my boy," said Lord Cinqbars, with a very superior air. "You ain't, up to these things, I tell you ; and Isuspect, by Jove, that you never were in lov« in your life. 1 know what it is, sir. And as for 13l-andon, Heaven bless you ! I 've often seen him in that way when we were abroad. When he has an intrigue, he 's mad about it. Let me see, there was the Countess Pri'tzch, at Baden-Baden ; there was the woman at Pau ; and that girl — at Paris, was iti — no, at Vienna. He went on just so about them all ; but I '11 tell you what, when tee do the thing, we do it easier, my hoy, hay 1 " And so saying, my Lord cocked up his little sallow, beardless face into a grin, and then fell to eying- a glass of execrable claret across a candle. An intrigue, as he called it, was the little creature's delight ; and until the time should arrive when he could have one himself, he loved to talk of those of his friends. As for Tufthunt, we may fancy how that gentleman's previous affec- tion for Brandon was increased by the latter's brutal addresses to him. Brandon continued to drink and. to talk, though not always in the senti- mental way in which he had spoken about his loves and injuries. Grow- ing presently madly jocose as he had before been madly melancholy, ho naiTated to the two gentlemen the particulars of his quarrel with Fitch, mimicking the little painter's man- ner in an excessively comic way, and giving the most ludicrous account of his person, kept his companions in a roar of laughter. Cinqbars swore that he would see the fun in the 56 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. In fact there was no mistake about it now. George Brandon was in love with Caroline. He felt that ho was while he blushed at his friend's allud- ing to her, while he grew indignant at the yonng lord's coarse banter about her. Turning the conversation to another point, he asked Cinqbars about his voyage, and whether he had brought any companion with him to Margate ; whereupon my Lord related all his feats in London, how he had been to the watch-house, how many bottles of champagne he had drunk, how ho had "milled" a policeman, &c., &c. ; and he concluded by saying that he had come down with Tom 'Tufthunt, who was at the inn at that very mo- ment smoking a cigar. This did not increase Brandon's gooi-humor ; and when Cinqbars mentioned his friend's name, Brandon saluted it mentally with a hearty curse. These two gentlemen hated each other of old. Tufthunt was a small-college man of no family, with a foundation fellowship ; and it used to be considered that a sporting fel- low of a small college was a sad, raffiih, disreputable character. Tuft- hunt, than, was a vulgar fellow, and Brandon a gentleman, so they hat- ed each other. They were both toadies of the same nobleman, so they hated each other. They had had some quarrel at college about a disputed bet, which Brandon knew he owed, and so they hated each other ; and in their words about it Brandon had threatened to horsewhip Tufthunt, and called him a " sneaking, swindling, small -college snob"; and so little Tufthunt, who had not resented the words, hated Brandon far more than Brandon hated him. The latter only had a contempt for his rival, and voted him a profound bore and vul- garian. So, although Mr. Tufthunt did not choose to frequent Mr. Brandon's rooms, he was very anxious that his friend, the young lord, should not fall into his old bear-leader's hands again. and came down to Margate to coun- teract any influence which the arts of Brandon might acquire. " Curse the fellow ! " thought Tuft- hunt in his heart (there was a fine reciprocity of curses between the two men); "he has drawn Cinqbars al- ready for fifty pounds a year, and will have some half of his last remit- tance, if I don't keep a lookout, the swindling thief! " And so frightened was Tufthunt at the notion of Brandon's return to power and dishonest use of it, that he was at the time on the point of writ- ing to Lord Eingwood to tell him of his son's doings, only he wanted some money deucedly himself. Of Mr. Tufthunt's physique and history it is necessary merely to say, that he was the son of a country attorney who was agent to a lord ; he had been sent to a foundation-school, where he distin- guished himself for ten years, by fight- ing and being flogged more than any boy of the five hundred. From the foundation-school he went to college with an exhibition, which was succeed- ed by a fellowship, which was to end in a living. In his person Mr. Tufthunt was short and bow-legged ; he wore a sort of clerico-sporting costume con- sisting of a black straight-cut coat and light drab breeches, with a vast number of buttons at the ankles; a sort of dress much affectioned by sporting gentlemen of the University in the author's time. Well, Brandon said he had some letters to write, and promised to follow his friend, which he did ; but, if the truth must be told, so infatuated was the young man become with his pas- sion, with the resistance he had met with, and so nervous from the vari- ous occurrences of the morning, that he passed the half-hour during which he was free from Cinqbars's society in kneeling, imploring, weeping at Caro- line's little garret-door, which had re- mained piteously closed to him. Ho was wild with disappointment, morti- fication — mad, longing to see her. The cleverest coquette in Europa A SHABBY GENTEEL STOET. 57 could not hare so inflamed him. His first act on entering the dinner- room was to drink off a large tumbler of champagne ; and when Cinqbars, in his elegant way, began to rally him upon his wildness, Mr. Brandon only growled and cursed with frightful yehemency, and applied again to the bottle. His face, which had been quite white, grew a bright red ; his tongue, which had been tied, began to chatter vehemently; before the fish was off the table, Mr. Brandon showed strong symptoms of intoxica- tion : before the dessert appeared, Mr. Tufthunt, winking knowingly to Lord Cinqbars, had begun to draw him out ; and JBrandon, with a num- ber of shrieks and oaths, was narrat- ing the history of his attachment. " Look you, Tufthunt," said he, wildly ; " hang you, I hate you but I must talk ! I 've been, for two months now; in this cursed hole ; in a rick- ety lodging; with a vulgar family; as vulgar, by Jove, as you are your- self!" Mr. Tufthunt did not like this style of address half so much as Lord Cinq- bars, who was langhing immoderately, and to whom Tufthunt whispered rather sheepishly, " Pooh, pooh, he 's drunk ! " "Z)runifc.' no, sir," yelled out Bran- don ; " I 'm mad, though, with the prudery of a little devil of fifteen, who has cost me more trouble than it would take me to seduce every one of your sisters, — ha, ha ! every one of the Miss Tufthunts, by Jove ! Miss Suky Tufthunt, Miss Dolly Tufthunt, Miss Anna-Maria Tufthunt, and the whole bunch. Gome, sir, don't sit scowling at mp., or I '11 brain you with the decanter." (Tufthunt was down again on the sofa.) "I've borne with the girl's mother, and her fa- ther, and her sisters, and a cook in the house, and a scoundrel of a painter, that I 'm going to fight about her ; and for what? — why, for a lettery which says, ' George, I '11 kill myself ! George, I '11 kill myself ! ' — ha, ha ! a little devil like that killing herself. — ha, ha ! and I — I who — who adore her, who am mad for — " " Mad I believe he is," said Tuft- hunt ; and at this moment Mr. Bran- don was giving the most unequivocal signs of madness ; he plunged his head into the corner of the sofa, and was kicking his feet violently into the cushions. " You don't understand him. Tufty my boy," said Lord Cinqbars, with a very superior air. "You ain't up to these things, I tell you ; and I suspect, by Jove, that you never were in love in your life. J know what it is, sir. And as for Brandon, Heaven bless you ! I 've often seen him in that way when we were abroad. When he has an intrigue, he 's mad about it. Let me see, there was the Coun tess Pritzeh, at Baden-Baden ; there was the woman at Pau ; and that girl ^^ at Paris, was it 1 — no, at Tienila'. He went on just so about them all ; but I '11 tell you what, when ive do the thing, we do it easier,, my boy, hay ? " And so saying, my Lord cocked up his little sallow, beardless face into a grin, and then fell to eying a glass of execrable claret across a candle. An intrigue, as he called it, was the little creature's delight ; and until the time should arrive when he could have one himself, he loved to talk of those of his friends. As for Tufthunt, we may fancy how that gentleman's previous affec- tion for Brandon was increased by the latter's brutal addresses to him. Brandon continued to drink and to talk, though not always in the senti- mental way in which he had spoken about his loves and injuries. Grow- ing presently madly jocose as he had before been madly melancholy, he narrated to the two gentlemen the particulars of his quarrel with Fitch, mimicking the little painter's man- ner in an excessively comic way, and giving the most ludicrous account of his person, kept his companions in a roar of laughter. Cinqbars swore that he would see the fun in the 58 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOET. morning, and agreed that if the paint- er wanted a second, either he or Tuft- hunt would act for him. Now my Lord Cinqbars had an excessively clever servant, a merry rogue, whom he had discovered in the humble capacity of scout's assist- ant at Christchurch, and raised to be his valet. The chief duties of the valet were to black his lord's beauti- fiil boots, that we have admired so much, and put his Lordship to bed when overtaken with liquor. He heard every word of the young men's talk (it being his habit, much encour- aged by his master, to join occasion- ally in the conversation) ; and in the course of the night, when at supper with Monsieur Donnerwetter and Mdlle. Augustine, he related every word of the talk above stairs, mimick- ing Brandon quite as cleverly as the latter had mimicked Fitch. When then, after making his company laugh by uescribing Brandon's love-agonies, Mr. Tom informed them how that gentleman had a rival, with whom he was going to fight a duel the next morning, — an artist-fellow with an immense beard, whoso name was Fitch, to his surprise Mdlle. Angus- tine burst into a scream of laughter, and exclaimed, " Feesh, Feesh! c'est notre homme; — it is our man, sarel Saladin, remember you Mr. Fish 1 " Saladin said gravely, " Missa Fis, Missa Fis ! know 'um quite well, Missa Fis ! Painter-man, big beard, gib Saladin bit injy-rubby, Missis lub Missa Fis ! " It was too true, the fat lady was the famous Mrs. Carrickfekgus, and she had come all the way from Eome in pursuit of her adored painter. CHAPTER IX. WHICH THREATENS DEATH, BUT CON- TAINS A GREAT DEAL OP MARRY- ING. As the morrow was to be an event- ful day in the lives of all the heroes and heroines of this history, it will be as well to state how they passed the night previous. Brandon, like the English before the battle of Hast- ings, spent the evening in feasting and carousing ; and Lord Cinqbars, at twelve o'clock, his usual time after his usual quantity of drink, was car- ried up to bed by the ser^'ant kept by his Lordship for that purpose. Mr. Tufthunt took this as a hint to wish Brandon good night, at the same time promising that he and Cinqbars would not fail him in the morning about the duel. Shall we confess that Mr. Bran- don, whose excitement now began to wear off, and who had a dreadful headache, did not at all relish the idea of the morrow's combat ? " If," said he, " I shoot this crack- brained painter, all the world will cry- out, ' Murder ! ' If he shoot me, all the world will laugh at me ! And yet, confound him ! he seems so bent upon blood, that there is no escaping a meeting." " At any rate," Brandon thought, " there will be no harm in a letter to Caroline." So, on arriving at home, he sat do\vn and wrote a very pathetic one ; saying that he fought in her cause, and if he died, his last breath should be for her. So having written, he jumped into bed, and did not sleep one single wink all night. As Brandon passed his night like the English, Fitch went through his like the Normans, in fasting, and mortification, and meditation. The poor fellow likewise indited a letter to Caroline : a very long and strong one, interspersed with pieces of poetry, and containing the words we have just heard him utter out of the win- dow. Then he thought about making his will : but he recollected, and, in- deed, it was a bitter thought to the young man, that there was not one single soul in the wide world who cared for him, — except, indeed, thought he, after « pause, that poor Mrs. Carrickfergus at Rome, who did like me, and was the only person who A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 59 ever bought my drawings. So he made over all his sketches to her, reg- ulated his little property, found that he had money enough to pay his washerwoman ; and so, having dis- posed of his worldly concerns, Mr. 3Fitch also jumped into bed, and speedily fell into a deep sleep. Brandon could hear him snoring all night, and did not feel a bit the more comfortable because his antagonist took matters so unconcernedly. Indeed, our poor painter had no guilty thoughts in his breast, uor any particular revenge against Brandon, now that the first pangs of mortified vanity were over. But, with all his vagaries, he was a man of spirit ; and after what had passed in the morning, the treason that had been done him, and the insults heaped upon him, he felt that the duel was irrevocable. He had a misty notion, imbibed some- where, that it was the part of a gen- tleman's duty to fight duels, and had long been seeking for an opportunity. " Suppose I do die," said he, " what 's the odds ? Caroline does n't care for me. Dr. Wackerbart's boys won't have their drawing-lesson next Wednesday; and no more will be said of poor Andrea." And now for the garret. Caroline was wrapped up in her own woes, poor little soul ! and in the arms of the faithful Becky cried herself to sleep. But the slow hom-s passed on ; and the tide, which had been out, now came in ; and the lamps waxed fainter and fainter; and the watch- man cried six o'clock ; and the sun arose and gilded the minarets of Mar- gate ; and Becky got up and scoured the steps, and the kitchen, and made ready the lodgers' breakfasts ; and at half past eight there came athundering rap at the door, and two gentlemen, one with a mahogany case under his arm, asked for Mr. Brandon, and were shown up to his room by the aston- ished Becky, who was bidden by Mr. Brandon to get breakfast for three. The thundering rap awakened Mr. Fitch, who rose and dressed himself in his best clothes, gave a twist of the curling-tongs to liis beard, and conducted himself throughout with perfect coolness. Nine o'clock struck, and he wrapped his cloak round him, and put under his cloak that pair of foils which we have said he possessed, and did not know in the least how to use. However, he had heard his cam- arades d'aidier, at Paris and Borne, say that they were the best weapons for duelling; and so forth he issued. Becky was in the passage as he passed down ; she was always scrub- bing there. " Becky," said Pitch, in a hollow voice, " here is a letter ; if I should not return in half an hour, give it to Miss Gann, and promise on your honor that she shall not have it sooner." Becky promised. She thought the painter was at some of his mad tricks. He went out of the door saluting her gravely. But ho went only a few steps and came back again. " Becky," said he, "you — you've always been a good girl to me, and here 's something for you ; per'aps we sha' n't — we sha' n't see each other for some time." The tears were in his eyes as he spoke, and he handed her over seven shillings and fourpence halfpenny, being every farthing he possessed in the world. "Well, I'm sure!" said Becky; and that was all she said, for she pocketed the money, and fell to scrubbing again. Presently the three gentlemen up stairs came clattering down. " Lock bless you, don't be in such a 'urry ! " exclaimed Becky; "it's fidl herly yet, and the water 's not biling." " We '11 come back to brcakfest, my dear," said one, a little gentleman in high-heeled boots; "and, I thay, mind and have thum thoda-water." And he walked out, twirling his cane. His friend with the case followed him. Mr. Brandon came last. He too turned back after he had gone a few paces. " Becky," said he, in a grave voice, " if I am not back in half an hour, give that to Miss Gann." Becky was fairly flustered by this, 60 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. and after turning the letters round and round, and peeping into the sides, and looking at the seals very hard, she like a fool determined that she would not wait half an hour, but carry them up to Miss Caroline ; and so she mounted, finding pretty Caroline in the act of lacing her stays. And the consequences of Becky's conduct was that little Carry left off lacing her stays (a sweet little figure the poor thing looked in them; but that is neither here nor there), took the letters, looked at one which she threw down directly; at the other, which she eagerly opened, and having read a line or two, gave a loud scream, and fell down dead in a fainting fit ! * * * * * Waft us, O Muse ! to Mr. Wright's hotel, and quick narrate what chances there befell. Very early in the morn- ing Mdlle. Augustine made her ap- pearance in the apartment of Miss Kunt, and with great glee informed that lady of the event which was about to take place. " Figurez-vous, mad- emoiselle, quo notre homme va se battre — O, but it will be droll to see him sword in hand !" " Don't plague me with your ojous servants' quarrels, Augustine; that horrid courier is always quarrelling and tipsy." " M!on Dieu, qu'elle est bete ! " ex- claimed A\igustine : " but I tell you it is not the courier ; it is he, I'objet, le peintre dont madame s'est amoura- chee. Monsieur Feesh." " Mr. Fitch ! " cried Kunt, jumping up in bed. " Mr. Fitch going to fight ! Augustine, my stockings — quick, my robe-de-chambre — tell me when, how, where ? " And so Augustine told her that the combat was to take place at nine that morning, behind the Windmill, and that the gentleman with whom Mr. Fitch was to go out, had been dining at the hotel the night previous, in company with the little milor, who was to be his second. Quick as lightning flew Runt to the chamber of her patroness. That lady was in a profound sleep ; and 1 leave you to imagine what were her sensations on awaking and hearing this dreadful tale. Such is the force of love, that al- though, for many years, Mrs. Carrick- fergus had never left her bed before noon, although in all her wild wan- derings after the painter she, never- theless, would have her tea and cut- let in bed, and her dose likewise, be- fore she set forth on a journey, — she now started up in an instant, forget- ting her nap, mutton-chops, every- thing, and began dressing with a promptitude which can only be equalled by Harlequin when disguis- ing himself in a pantomime. She would have had an attack of nerves, only she knew there was no time for it ; and I do believe that twenty min- utes were scarcely over her head, as the saying is, when her bonnet and cloak were on, and with her whole suite, and an inn-waiter or two whom she pressed into her service, she was on full trot to the field of action. For twenty years before, and from that day to this, Marianne Carrickfergus never had or has walked so quickly. " Hullo, here 'th a go ! " exclaimed Lord Viscount Cinqbars, as they ar- rived on the ground behind the Wind- mill ; " cuth me there 'th only one man ! " This was indeed the case; Mr. Fitch, in his great cloak, was pacing slowly up and down the grass, his shadow stretching far in the sunshine. Mr. Fitch was alone too ; for the fact is, he had never thought about a second. This ho admitted frankly, bowing with much majesty to the company as they came up. " But that, gents," said he, "will make no difference, I hope, nor prevent fair play from be- ing done." And, flinging off his cloak, he produced the foils, from which the buttons had been taken off. He went up to Brandon, and was for offering him one of the weapons, just as they do at the theatre. Brandon stepped back, rather abashed : Cinq;- A SHABBY GENTEEL STOKY. 61 bars looked posed; Tufthuntdclighted. " Ecod," said he, " I hope the. bearded fellow will give it him." " Excuse me, sir," said Mr. Bran- ilon ; " as the challenged party, 1 de- mand pistols." Mr. Fitch, with great presence of mind and gi-acefiilness, stuck the awords into the grass. " O, pithtolth of courth," lisped my Lord; and presently called, aside Tufthunt, to whom he whispered something in great glee; to which Tufthunt objected at first, . saying, "Ko, d him, let him fight." •'.And your fellowship and living. Tufty my boy ? " interposed my Lord ; and then they walked on. After a couple of minutes, during which Mr. Fitch was employed in examining Mr. Brandon irom the toe upwards to the crown of his head, or hat, just as Mr. Widdicombe does Mr. Cartlich, before those two gentlemen proceed to join in combat on the boards of Astley's Amphitheatre (indeed poor Fitch had no otherstandard of chivalry), tt- when Fitch had concluded thisexamination, of which Brandon did not know what the deuce to make, Loi;d Cinqbars came back to the painter, and gave him a nod. , " Sir," said he, " as yon have come unprovided with, a second, I, with your leave, will act as one. My name is Cinqbars — Lord Cinqbars; and though I had come to the grotmd to act as the friend of my friend here, Mr. Tufthunt will take that duty upon him ; and as it appears to me there can be no other end to this un- happy affair, we will proceed at once." It is a marvel how Lord Cinqbars ever made such a gentlemanly speech. When Fitch heard that he was to have a lord for a second, he laid his hand on his chest, and vowed it was the greatest h- honor of his life ; and was turning round to walk towards his ground, when my Lord, gracefully thrusting his tongue into his cheek, and bringing his thumb up to his nose, twiddled about his fingers for a moment, and said to Brandon, " Gam- mon ! " Mr. Brandon smiled, and heaved a great, deep, refreshing sigh. The truth was, a load was taken off his mind, of which he was very glad to be rid; for there was something in the coolness of that crazy painter that our fashionable gentleman did not at all approve of. "I think, Mr. Tufthunt," said Lord Cinqbars, veiy loud, " that con- sidering the gravity of the case, ■ — threatening horsewhipping, you know, lie on both sides, and lady iu the ease, — I think we must have the barrier- duel." " What 's that ? " asked Fitch. " The simplest thing in the world ; and," in a whisper, "let me add, the best for you. Look here. We shall put you at twenty paces, and a hat between you. You walk forward and fire when you like. When you fire, you stop ; and you both have the lib- erty of walking up to the hat. Noth" ing can be more fair than that." "Very well," said Fitch; and, with a great deal of preparation, the pistols were loaded. " I tell you what," whispered Cinq- bars to Fitch, "if I hadn't chosen this way you were a dead man. If he fires he hits you dead. You must not let him fire, but have him down first." " I '11 try," said Fitch, who was a little pale, and thanked his noble friend for his counseL The hat was placed and the men took their places. "Are you all ready ? " - " Ready," said Brandon. " Advance when I drop my hand- kerchief." And presently down it fell. Lord Cinqbars crying, "Now!" The combatants both advanced, each covering his man. When he had gone about six paces. Fitch stopped, fired, and — missed. He grasped his pistol tightly, for he was very near dropping it ; and then stood biting his lips, and looking at Bran- don, who grinned savagely, and walked up to the bat. 62 A 8HABBT GENTEEL STORY. "Will you retract what you said of me yesterday, you villain?" said Bi'andon. "I can't." " Will you beg for life ? " "No." "Then take a minute, and make your peace with God, for you are a dead man." Pitch dropped his pistol to the ground, shut his eyes for a mo- ment, and flinging up his chest and clinching his fists, said, " Now I 'm I Brandon Jired, — and strange to say, Andrea Fitch, as he gasped and staggered backwards, saw, or thought he saw, Mr. Brandon's pistol flymg up in the air, where it went off, and heard that gentleman yell out an im- mense oath in a very audible voice. When he came to himself, a thick stick was lying at Brandon's feet; Mr. Brandon was capering about the ground, and cursing and shaking a maimed elbow, and a whole posse of eople were rushing upon them. The rst was the great German courier, who rushed upon Brandon, and shook that gentleman, and shouting, "Schelm! spitzbube! blagard! gow- ard ! " in his ear. " If I had not drown my stick and brogen his damt arm, he wod have murdered dat boor young man." The German's speech contained two unfounded assertions ; in the first place Brandon would not have mur- dered ritch ; and, secondly, his arm was not broken, — he had merely re- ceived a blow on that part which anatomists call the funny-bone : a se- vere blow, which sent the pistol spin- ning into the air, and caused the gen- tleman to scream with pain. 'Two waiters . seized upon the murderer, too; a baker, who had been brought from his rounds, a bellman, several boys, — were yelling ronnd him, and shouting out, " Pole-e-eace ! " Next to these came, panting and blo\ving, some women. Could Fitch believe his eyes 1 — that fat woman in red satin ! — yes — no — yes — he was, he was in the arms of Mrs. Car- rickfergus ! * « * * « The particulars of this meeting are too delicate to relate. Sufiice it that somehow matters were explained, Mr. Brandon was let loose, and a fly was presently seen to drive up, into which Mr. Fitch consented to enter with his new-found friend. Brandon had some good movements in him. As Fitch was getting into the carriage, he walked up to him and held out his left hand ; " I can't offer you my right hand, Mr. Fitch, for that cursed courier's stick has maimed it ; but I hope you will allow me to apologize for my shameful conduct to you, and to say that I never in my life met a more gallant fellow than yourself." " That he is, by Jovo ! " said my Lord Cinqbars. Fitch blushed as red as a peony, and trembled very much. " And yet," said he, " you would have mur- dered me just now, Mr. Brandon. I can't take your 'and, sir." " Why, yon great flat," said my Lord, wisely, " he could n't have hurt you, nor you him. There wath no ballth in the pithtolth." " What," said Fitch, starting back, "do you gents call that a joke? O my Lord, my Lord ! " And here poor Fitch actually burst into tears on the red satin bosom of Mrs. Carrickfer- gus : she and Miss Hunt were crying as hard as they could. And so, amidst much shouting and huzzaing, the fly drove away. " What a blubbering, abthurd donkey ! " said Cinqbars, with his usual judgment; "ain't he, Tuf^ hunt ? " Tufthunt, of course, said yes ; but Brandon was in a virtuous mood. " By Heavens ! I think his tears do the man honor. When I came out with him this morning, I intended to act fairly by him. And as for Mr. Tufthunt, who calls a man a coward because he cries, — Mr. Tufthunt knows well what a pistol is, and that A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. 63 some men don't care to face it, brave as they are." Mr. Tuftlmnt understood the hint, and bit his lips and walked on. And as for that worthy moralist, Mr. Brandon, I am happy to say that there was some good fortune in store for him, which, though similar in kind to that bestowed lately upon Mr. Fitch, was superior in degree. It was no other than this, uiat for- getting all maidenly decency and decorum, before Lord Viscount Cinq- bars and his friend, that silly little creature, Caroline Gann, rushed out from the parlor into the passage — she had been at the window ever since she was rid of her fainting fit ! and ah ! what agonies of fear had that little panting heart endured during the half-hour of her lover's absence ! — Caroline Gann, I say, rushed into the passage, and leaped upon the neck of Brandon, and kissed him, and called him her dear, dear, dear, dar- ling George, and sobbed, and laughed, imtil George, taking her round the waist gently, carried her into the little dingy parlor, and closed the door behind him." " Egad," cried Cinqbars, " this is quite a thene ! Hullo, Becky, Polly, what 's your name 1 — bring nth up the breakfatht; and I hope you've remembered the thodarwater. Come along up thtairth, Tufty my boy." # » « « « When Brandon came up st^rs and joined them, which he did in a minute or two, consigning Caroline to Becky's care, his eyes were full of tears : and when Cinqbars began to rally him in his usual delicate way, Brandon said gravely, " No laughing, sir, if you please ; for I swear that that lady be- fore long shall be my wife." " Your wife ! — and what will your father say, and what will your duns say, and what will Miss Goldmore say, with her hundred thousand pounds ■?" cried Cinqbars. " Miss Goldmore be hanged," said Brandon, " and the duns too ; and my father may reconcile it to himself as he can." And here Brandon fell into a revery. " It 's no use thinking," he cried, after a pause. " You see what a girl it is, Cinqbars. I love her — by Heavens, I'm mad with love for her ! She shall be mine, let what will come of it. And besides," he added, in a lower tone of voice, " why need, why need my father know anything about itV " O flames and furies, what a lover it is ! " exclaimed his friend. " But, by Jove, I like your spirit ; and hang all governors say I. Stop r— a bright thought ! If you must marry, why here 's Tom Tufthunt, the very man to do your business." Little Lord Cinqbars was delighted with the ex- citement of the affair, and thought to himself, "By Jove, this is an in- trigue ! " " What, is Tufthunt in orders ? " said Brandon. " Yes," replied that reverend gentle- man : " don t you see my coat ? I took orders six weeks ago, on my fellowship. Cinqbars's governor has promised me a living." " And you shall marry George here, so you shall." " What, without a license ■? " " Hang the license 1 — we won't peach, wUl we, George % " "Her family must know nothing of it," said George," or Iheu would." " Why should they 1 Why should n't Tom marry you in this very room, without any church or stuff at all V Tom said : " You hold me out, my Lord, if anything comes of it ; and, if Brandon likes, why I will. He 's done for if he does," muttered Tuft- hunt, " and I have had my revenge on him, the bullying, supercilious black- And so on that very day, in Bran- don's room, without a license, and by that worthy clergyman the Rev. Thomas Tufthunt, with my Lord Cinqbars for the sole witness, poor Cai-oline Gann, who knew no better, who never heard of licenses, and did 64 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOKY. not know what banns meant, was married in a manner to the person calling himself George Brandon ; George Brandon not being his real name. No writings at all were made, and the ceremony merely read through. Becky, Caroline's sole guardian, when the poor girl kissed her, and, blushing, showed her gold ring, thought all was in order ; and the happy couple set off for DoTer that day, with fifty pounds which Cinqbars lent the bride- groom. Becky received a little letter from Caroline, •which she promised to car- ry to her mamma at Swigby's ; and it was agreed that she was to give warn- ing, and come and live with her young lady. Next morning Lord Cinqbars and Tufthunt took the boat for Lon- don ; the latter uneasy in mind, the former vowing that " he 'd never spent snch an exciting day in his life, and loved an intrigue of all things." Next morning, too, the great travel- ling chariot of Mrs. Carrickfergus rolled away with a bearded gentle- man inside. Poor Fitch had been back to his lodgings to try one more chance with Caroline, and he arrived in time — to see her get into a post- chaise alone with Brandon. Six weeks afterwards Galignani's Messenger contained the following announcement : — " Married, at the British embassy, by Bishop Luscombe, Andrew Fitch, Esq., to Marianne Caroline Matilda, widow of the late Antony Carrickfer- gus, of Lombard Street and Glouces- ter Place, Esquire. The happy pair, after a magnificent dejeung, set off for the south in their splendid carriage- and-four. Miss Runt officiated as bridesmaid ; and we remarked among the company Earl and Countess Crabs, General Sir Rice Curry, K. C. B., Colonel Wapshot, Sir Charles Swang, the Hon. Algernon Percy, Oeuceace and his lady, Count Pun- ter, and othci's of the €lite of the fashionables now in Paris. The bridegroom was attended by his friend Michael Angelo Titmarsh, Esquire; and the lady was given away by the Right . Hon. the Earl of Crtibs. On the departure of the bride and bride- groom the festivities were resumed, and many a sparkling bumper of Meurice's champagne was quaffed to the health of the hospitable and inter- esting couple." And with one more marriage this chapter shall conclude. About this time the British Auxiliary Legion came home from Spain ; and Lieut.- General Swabber, a knight of San Fernando, of the order of Isabella the Catholic, of the Tower and Sword, who, as plain Lieutenant Swabber, had loved Miss Isabella Macai-ty, as a general now actually married her. I leave you to suppose how glorious Mrs. Gann was, and how Gann got tip- sy at the " Bag of Nails " ; but as her daughters each insisted on their £30 a year income, and Mrs. Gann had so only £ 60 left, she was obliged still to continue the lodging-house at Mar- gate, in which have occurred the most interesting passages of this shabby GENTEEL STOKT. Becky never went to her young mistress, who was not heard of after she wrote the letter to her pai-ent, say- ing that she was married to Mr. Bran- don ; but, for partimlar reasons, her dear husband wished to keep his mar- riage secret, and for the present her beloved parents must be content to know she was happy. Gann missed his little Carry at first a good deal, but spent more and more of his time at the ale-house, as his house with only Mrs. Gann in it was too hot for him. Mrs. Gann talked unceasingly of her daughter the squire's lady, and her daughter the general's wife ; but never once mentioned Caroline after the first burst of wonder and wrath at her departure. God bless thee, poor Caroline! Thou art happy now, for some short space at least ; and here, therefore, let us leave thee. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ON ms WAT THBOUOE THE WOULD. WHO ROBBED HIM, WHO HELPED HIM, AND WHO PASSED HIM BY. TO M. I. HIGCtINS, IN GBATEFCL KEMEMBEANCE OP OLD PKIENDSHIP AND KINDNESS. Kemsington, July, 1362. THE ADYENTUEES OF PHILIP. CHAPTER I. DOCTOR FELL. «' "VyOT attend her own son when he ^^ is ill !" said my mother. "She does not deserve to have a son ! " And Mrs. Pendcnnis looked towards her own only darling whilst nttering this indignant exclamation. As she look- ed, I know what passed through her mind. She nursed me, she dressed me in little caps and long-clothes, she attired me in my iirst jacket and trousers. She watched at my bed- side through my infantile and juvenile ailments. She tended me through all my life, she held me to her heart with infinite prayers and blessings. She is no longer with us to bless and pray ; but from heaven, where she is, I know her love pursues me ; and often and often I think she is here, only in- visible. " Mrs. Firmin would be of no good," growled I)r. Goodenough. " She would have hysterics, and the nurse would have two patients to look after." " Don't tell me," cries my mother, with a flush on her cheeks. "Do you suppose if that child " (meaning, of course, her paragon) "were ill, I would not go to him ? " " My dear, if that child were hungry, you would chop off your head to make him broth," says the Doctor, sipping his tea. " Potage a la bonne femme,'' says Mr. Pendennis. " Mother, we have it at the club. You would be done with milk, eggs, and a quantity of vegetables. You would be put to simmer for many hours in an earthen pan, and — " " Don't be horrible, Arthur ! " cries a young lady, who was my mother's companion or those happy days. " And people when they Imew you would like you very much." My uncle looked as if he did not understand the allegory. " What is this you are talking about? potage a fa — what-d'ye-call- 'im ■? " says he. " I thought we were speaking of Mrs. Krmin, of Old Parr Street. Mrs. Firmin is a doosid deli- cate woman," interposed the Major. " All the females of that family are. Her mother died early. Her sister, Mrs. Twysden, is very delicate. She would be of no more use in a sick- room than a — than a bull in a china- shop, begad ! and she might catch the fever, too." " And so might you. Major ! " cries the Doctor. " Are n't you talking to me, who have just come from the boy 1 Keep your distance, or I shall bite yon." The old gentleman gave a little backward movement with his chair. " Gad, it 's no joking matter," says he ; "I 've known fellows catch fevers at — at ever so much past my age. At any rate, the boy is no boy of mine, begad ! I dine at Krmin's house, who has married into a good familv, though he is only a doctor, and — " "And pi"ay what was my hus- band ■? " cried Mrs. Pendennis; " Ofily a doctor, indeed ! " calls out 70 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Goodenough. " My dear creature, I liave a great mind to give him tlie scarlet fever this minute ! " " My father was surgeon and apoth- ecary, I have heard," says the wid- oiv's son. "And what then? And I should like to know if a man of ons of the most ancient families in the kingdom — in the empire, begad ! — has n't a right to pursoo a learned, a useful, an honorable profession. My brother John was — " . " A nisdical practitioner ! " I say, with a sigh. And ray uncle arranges his hair, puts, his handkerchief to his teeth, and says, — " Stuff ! nonsense — no patience with these personalities, begad ! Kr- min is a doctor, certainly, — so are you, — so are others. But Firraiu is a university man, and a gentleman. Firmin has travelled. Firminis inti- mate with some of th3 best people in England, and has married into one of the first fimilies. Gad, sir, do you suppose that a woman bred up in the lap of luxury — in the very lap, sir — at Kingwood and Whip- hara, and at Ringwood House in Walpole Street, where she was abso- lute mistress, begad, — do you suppose such a woman is fit to be nurse-tend- er in a sick-room ! She never was fit for that, or for anything except — " (here the Major saw smiles on the countenances of some of his audience) — " except, I say, to preside at Ring- wood House and — and adorn society, and that sort of thing. And if such a woman chooses to run away with her uncle's doctor, and marry below her rank, — why, 1 don't think it's a laughing matter, hang me if I do." "And so she stops at the Isle of Wight, whilst the poor boy remains at the school," sighs my motlier. " Firmin can't come away. He is in attendance oil the Grand Dook. The prince is never easy without Firmin. Hehas given him hIsOrderofthcSwan. They are moving heaven and earth in high quarters ; and I bet you even, Goodenough, that that boy whom yon have been attending will, be a baronet, — if you don't kill him off with your confounded potions and pills, begad!" Dr. Goodenough only gave a humph and contracted his great eye- brows. My uncle continued, — " I know what you mean. Firmin is a gentlemanly man — a handsome man. I remember his father. Brand Firmin, at Valenciennes with the Dook of York — one of the hand- somest men in Europe. Fu-ebrand Firmin they used to call him — a red- headed fellow — a tremendous duel- list : shot an Irishman — became serious in after life, and that sort of thing — quarrelled with his son, who was doosid wild in early days. Gen- tlemanly man, certainly, Firmin. Black hair: his father had red. So much the better for the doctor; but — but — we understand each other, 1 think, Goodenough? and you and I have seen some queer fishes in our time." And the old gentleman winked and took his snuff graciously, and, as it wore, puffed the Firmin subject away. " Was it to show me a queer fish that you took mo to Dr. Firmin 'a house in Parr Street ? " asked Mr. Pendennis of his uncle. " The houso was not very gay, nor the mistress very wise, but they were all as kind as might be ; and I am very fond of the boy." " So did Lord Ringwood, his mother's uncle, like him," cried Ma- jor Pendennis. " That boy brought about a reconciliation between his mother and his uncle, after her run- away match. I suppose you know she ran away with Firmin, my dear 1 " My mother said "she had, heard soinethitig of the story." And the Miijor once more asserted that Dr. Fir- min was a wild fellow twenty years ago. At the time of which I am writing he was Physician to the Plethoric Hospital, Physician to the Grand TBE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP: 71 Duke of Groningen, and knight of his order of the Black Swan, mem- ber of many learned societies, the husband of a rich wife, and a person of no small consideration. As for his son, whose name figures at the head of these pages, you may suppose he did not die of the. illness about which we had just been talking. A good nurse waited on him, though his mamma was in the country. Though his papa was absent, a very compe- tent physician was found to take charge of the young patient, and. preserve his life for the benefit of, his family, and the purposes of this his- tory. We pursued our talk about Philip Firmin and his father, and his gi-and- ancle the Earl, whom Major Pcnden- nis knew intimately well, until Dr. ' Goodenough's carriage was announc- ed, and our kind physician took leave of ns, and drove back to London. Some who spoke on that summer evening are no longer here to speak or listen. Some who were young then have topped the hill and are de- scending towards the valley of the shadows. "Ah," says old Major Pendennis, shaking his brown curls, as the Doctor went away ; " did you see, my good soul, when I spoke about his confrere, how glum Goode- nough looked? They don't love each other; my dear. Two of a trade don't agree, and besides I have no doubt the other doctor-fellows are jeal- ous of Firmin,because he lives in the hest society. A man of good family, my dear. There has already been a great rapprochement: and if Lord Kingwood is quite reconciled to him, there's no knowing what luck that boy of Firmin's may come to." Although Dr. Goodenough might think but lightly of his confrere, a great portion of the public held him in much higher estimation : and es- pecially in the little community of Greyfriars, of which the kind reader has heard in previous works of the present biographer, Dr. Brand Pirmin was a very great favorite, and received with much respect and honor. When ever the boys at that school were af- flicted with the common ailments of youth, Mr. Spratt, the school apothe- cary, provided for them ; and by the simple, though disgusting remedies which were in use in those times, gene- rally succeeded in restoring his young patients to health. But if young Lord Egham (the Marquis of Ascot's son, as my respected reader very likely knows) happened to be unwell, as was frequently the case, from his Lord- ship's great command of pocket-mon- ey and imprudent fondness for the contents of the pastry-cook's shop ; or if any very grave case of illness oc- curred in the school, then, quick, the famous Dr; Firmin, of Old Parr Street, Burlington Gardens.was sent for; and an illness must have hecn very severe, if he could not cure it. Dr. Firmin had been a school-fellow, and remained a special friend, of the head-master. When young Lord Egham, before mentioned (he was our only lord, and therefore we were a little proud and careful of our dar- ling youth), got the erysipelas, which swelled his head to the size of a pump- kin, the Doctor triumphantly carried him through his illness, and was com- plimented- by the head-boy in his Latin oration on the annual speech- day for his superhuman skill and god- like delight: sa/uiem hominibus dando. The head-master turned towards Dr. Firmin, and bowed : the governors and big-wigs buzzed to one another, and looked at him : the boys looked at him : the physician held his hand- some head down towards his shirt- fiill. His modest eyes would not look up from the spotless lining of the broad-rimmed hat on his knees. A murmur of applause hummed through the ancient hall, a scuffling of young feet, a rustling of new ca«socks among the masters, and a refreshing blowing of noses ensued, as the orator polished off his period, and then passed to some other theme. Amidst the general enthusiasm. 72 THK ADVKNTUBES OF PHILIP. there was one member of the auditory Bcornful and dissentient. This gen- tleman whispered to his comrade at the commencement of the phrase con- cerning the Doctor the, I believe of Eastern derivation, monosyllable " Bosh ! " and he added sadly, look- ing towards the object of all his praise, "He can't construe the Latin, — though it is all a parcel of humbug." "Hush, Phil!'' said his friend; and Phil's face flushed red, as Dr. Pirmin, lifting up his eyes, looked at him for one moment ; for the recipient of all this laudation was no other than Phil's father. The illness of which we spoke had long since passed away. Philip was a school-boy no longer, but in his sec- ond year at the University, and one of half a dozen young men, cx-pupils of the school, who had come up for the annual dinner. The honors of this year's dinner were for Dr. Pirmin, even more than for Lord Ascot in his star and ribbon, who walked with his arm in the Doctor's into chapel. His Lordship faltered when, in his af- ter-dinner speech, he alluded to the inestimable services and skill of his tried old friend, whom he had known as a fellow-pupil in those walls, — (loud cheers), -r- whose friendship had been the delight of his life, — a friend- ship which he prayed might be the inheritance of their children. (Im- mense applause ; after which Dr. Pir- min spoke.) The Doctor's speech was perhaps a little commonplace ; the Latin quota- tions which he used were not exactly novel; but Phil need not have been so angry or iU-behaved. He went on sipping sherry, glaring at his father, and muttering observations that were anything but complimentary to his parent. " Now look," says he, " he is going to ho overcome by his feelings. He will put his handkerchief up to his mouth, and show his diamond ring. I told you so ! It 's too much. I can't swallow this . . . this sherry. I say, you fellows, let us come out of this, and have a smoke somewhere." And Phil rose up and quitted the din- ing-room, just as his father was de- claring what a joy, and a pride, and a delight it was to him to thmk that the friendship with which his noble friend honored him was likely to be trans- mitted to their children, and that when he had passed away from this earthly scene (cries of " No, no ! " " May you live a thousand years ! ") it would be his joy to think that his son would always find a friend and Erotector in the noble, the princely ouse of Ascot We found the carriages waiting out- side Greyfriars' Gate, and Philip Pir- min, pushing me into his father's, told the footman to drive home, and that the Doctor would return In Lord As- cot's carriage. Home then to Old Parr Street we went, where many a time as a boy I had been welcome. And we retired to Phil's private den in the back buildings of the great house : and over our cigars we talked of the Founder's-day Peast, and the speeches delivered ; and of the old Cis- tercians of our time, and how Thomp- son was married, and Johnson was in the army, and Jackson (not red-haired Jackson, pig-eyed Jackson) was first in his year, and so forth ; and in this twaddle were most happily engaged, when Phil's father flung open the tall door of the study. "Here's the governor!" growled Phil; and in an undertone, "What does he want t " " The governor,'' as I looked up, was not a pleasant object to behold. Dr. Pirmin had very white false teeth, which perhaps were a little too large for his mouth, and these grinned in the gaslight very flercely. On his cheeks were black whiskers, and over his glaring eyes fierce black eyebrows, and his bald head glittered like a billiard-ball. You would hardly have known that he was the original of that melancholy philosophic portrait which all the patients admired in the Doctor's waiting-room. " I find, i'hilip, that you took my carriage," said the father; "and THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 73 Lord Ascot and I had to walk ever 60 far for a cab ! " " Had n't ho got his own carriage ? I thought of course he would have his carriage on a State-day, and that you would come home with the lord," said Philip. " I had promised to bring him home, sir ! said the father. " Well, sir, I 'm very sorry," con- tinued the son, curtly. . " Sorry ! " screams the other. " I can't say any more, sir, and I am very sorry," answers Phil; and he knocked the ash of his cigar into the stove. The stranger within the house hardly knew how to look on its master or his son. There was evidently some dire quarrel between them. The old man glared at the young one, who calmly looked his father in the face. Wicked rage and hate seemed to flash from the Doctor's eyes, and anon came a look of wild pitiful supplication towards the guest, which was most painful to bear. In the midst of what dark family mystery was I ? What meant this cruel spectacle of the father's terrified anger, and the son's scorn ? " I ^- 1 appeal to you, Pendennis," says the Doctor, with a choking utter- ance and a ghastly face. " Shall we begin aft ovo, sir 1 " says Phil. Again the ghastly look of terror comes over the father's face. "I — I promise to bring one of the first noblemen in England," gasps the Doctor, " from a public dinner, in my carriage; and my son takes it, and leaves me and Lord Ascot to walk ! — Is it fair, Pendennis ? Is it the conduct of a gentleman to a gentleman ; of a son to a father ■? " "■No, sir," I said, gravely, " noth- ing can excuse it." Indeed I was shocked at the yonng man's obduracy and undutifiilness. " I told you it was a mistake ! " cries Phil, reddening. " I heard Lord Ascot order his own carriage ; I made no doubt he would bring my father home. To ride in a chariot with a footman behind me is no pleasure to me, and I would far rather have a Hansom and a cigar. It was a blunder, and I am sorry for it — there ! And if I live to a hun- dred I can't say more." " If you are sorry, Philip," groans the father, "it is enough. You remember, Pendennis, when — when my son and I were not on this — on this footing," and he looked up for a moment at a picture which was hanging over Phil's head, — a portrait of Phil s mother ; the lady of whom my own mother spoke, on that even- ing when we had talked of the boy's illness. Both the ladies had passed from the world now, and their images were but painted shadows on the wall. The father had accepted an apology, though the son had made none. I looked at the elder Firmin's face, and the character written on it. I re- membered such particulars of his early history as had been told to me ; and I perfectly recalled that feeling of doubt and misliking which came over my mind when I first saw the Doctor's handsome face some few years previously, when my nncle first took me to the Doctor's m Old Parr Street; little Phil being then a flaxen-headed, pretty child, who had just assumed his first trousers, and I a fifth-form boy at school. My father and Dr. Firmin were members of the medical profession. They had been bred up as boys at the same school, whither families used to send their sons from generation to generation, and long before peo- ple had ever learned that the place was unwholesome. Greyfriars was smoky, certainly ; I think in the time of the Plague great numbers of peo- ple were buried there. But had the school been situated in the most picturesque swamp in England, the general health of the boys could not have been better. We boys used to hear of epidemics occurring in other schools, and were almost sorry that they did not come to ours, so that we might shut up, and get longer vaca- 7i THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. tjons. Even that Illness which subsequently befell Phil Firmin him- self attacked no one else, — the boys all luckily going home for the holi- days on the very day of poor Phil's seizure ; but of this illness more anon. When it was determined that little Phil Firmin was to go to Grey- friars, Phil's father bethought him that Major Pendennis, whom he met in the world and society, had a nephew at the place, who might pro- tect the little fellow, and the Major took his nephew to see Dr. and Mrs. Firmin one Sunday after church, and we had lunch at Old Parr Street, and there little Phil was presented to me, whom I promised to take under my protection. He was a simple little man ; an artless child, who had not the least idea of the dignity of a fifth- form boy. He was quite unabashed in talking to me and other persons, and has remained so ever since. • He asked my uncle how he came to have such odd hair. Ho partook freely of the delicacies on the table. I remem- ber he hit me with his little fist once or twice, which liberty at first struck me with a panic of astonishment, and then with a sense of the ridiculous so exquisitely keen, that I burst out into a fit of laughter. It was, you see, as if a stranger were to hit the Pope in the ribs, and call him " Old boy " ; as if Jack were to tweak one of the giants by the nose ; or Ensign Jones to ask the Duke of Wellington to take wine. I had a strong sense of humor, even in those early days, and enjoyed this joke accordingly. " Philip ! " cries mamma, " yon will hurt Mr. Pendennis." " I will knock him down ! " shouts Phil. Fancy knocking me down, — ME, a fifth-form boy ! " The child is a perfect Hercules," remarks the mother. " He strangled two snakes in his cradle," says the Doctor, looking at me. (It was then, as I remember, I felt Dr. Fell towards him.) " La, Dr. Firrain ! " cries mamma, "I can't bear snakes. I remember there was one at Rome, when we were walking one day, a great, large snake, and I hated it, and I cried out, and I nearly fainted ; and my uncle Ring- wood said I ought to like snakes, for one might be an agreeable rattle ; and I have read of them being charming in India, and I dare say yoii have, Mr. Pendennis, for I am told you are very clever; and I am not in the least ; I wish I were ; but my hus- band Is, very, — and so will Phil be. Will you be a very clever boy, dear ? He was named after my dear papa, who was killed at Busaco when 1 was quite, quite a little thing, and we wore mourning, and we went to live with my uncle Ringwood afterwards ; but Maria and I had both our own for- tunes ; and I am sure I little thought I should marry a physician, — la, one of Uncle Ringwood's grooms, I should as soon have thought of marrying him ! — but, you know, my husband is one of the cleverest men in the world. Don't tell me, — you are, dearest, and you know it ; and when a man-is clever, I don't value his rank in life ; no, not if he was that fender ; and I always said to Uncle Ringwood, ' Talent I will marry, for talent I adore ' ; and I did marry you. Dr. Firmin, you know I did, and this child is your image. And you will be kind to him at school," says the poor lady, turning to me, her eyes filling with tears, " for talent is always kind, except Un- cle Ringwood, and he was very — " " A little more wine, Mr. Penden- nis? " said the Doctor, — Dr. Fell stiil, though he was most kind to me. " I shall put my little man under your care, and I know you will keep him from harm. I hope you will do us the favor to come to Parr Street whenever you are free. In my fa- ther's time we used to come home of a Saturday from school, and enjoyed going to the play." And the Doctor shook me cordially by the hand, and I must say, continued" his kindness to me as long as ever I knew him. When we went away, my uncle Pen- dennis told me many stories about THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 75 iihe great earl and family of Rlngwood, and how Dr. Fiimin had made a match — a match of the affections — with this lady, daughter of Philip Kingwood, who was killed at Busaco ; and how she had been a great beauty, and was a perfect grande dame always ; and, if not the cleverest, certainly one of the kindest and most amiable wo- men in the world. In those days I was accustomed to receive the opinions of my informant with such respect that 1 at once ac- cepted this statement as authentic. Mrs. Firmin's portrait, indeed, was beautiful : it was painted by young Mr. Harlowe, that year he was at Rome, and when in eighteen days he completed a copy of the " Transfigu- ration," to the admiration of all the Academy ; but I, for my part, only remember a lady weak, and thin, and faded, who never came out of her dressing-room until a late hour in the afternoon, and whose superannuated smiles and grimaces used to provoke my juvenile sense of humor. She used to kiss Phil's brow ; and, as she held the boy's hand in one of her lean ones, would say, "Who would suppose such a great boy as that could be my son ? " " Be kind to him when I am gone," she sighed to me, one Sunday evening, when I was taking leave of her, as her eyes iilled with tears, and she placed her thin hand in mine for the last time. The Doctor, reading by the fire, turned round and scowled at her from under his tall shining forehead. " You are nervous, Louisa, and had better go to your room, I told you you had," he said, abruptly. " Young gentleman, it is time for you to be off to Greyfriars. Is the cab at the door, Brice ? And he took out his watch, — his great shining watch, by which he had felt the pulses of so many famous person- ages, whom his prodigious skill had rescued from disease. And at parting, Phil flung his arms round his poor mother, and kissed her under the glossy curls ; the borrowed curls ! and he looked his father resolutely in i the face (whose own glance used to fall before that of the boy), and bade him a gruff good-night, ere we set forth for Greyfriars. CHAPTEE II. AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME. I DINED yesterday with three gen- tlemen, whose time of life may be guessed by their conversation, a great part of which consisted of Eton rem- iniscences and lively imitations of Dr. Keate. Each one, as he described how he had been flogged, mimicked to the best of his power the manner and the mode of operating of the fa- mous doctor. His little parenthetical remarks during the ceremony were recalled with great facetiousness : the very hwhisfi of the rods was parodied with thrilling fidelity, and after a good hour's conversation, the subject was brought to a climax by a description of that awful night when the doctor called up squad after squad of hoys from their beds in their respective boarding-houses, whipped through the whole night, and castigated I don't know how many hundred rebels. All these mature men laughed, prat- tled, rejoiced, and became young again, as they recounted their stories; and each of them heartily and eagerly bade the stranger to understand how Keate was a thorough gentleman. Having talked about their floggings; I say, for an hour at least, they apol- ogized to me for dwelling upon a sub- ject which after all was strictly local : but, indeed, their talk greatly amused and diverted me, and I hope, and am quite ready, to hear all their jolly stories over again. Be not angry, patient reader of for- mer volumes by the author of the present history, if I am garrulous about Greyfriars, and go back to th.Tt ancient place of education to find the heroes of our tale. We are young lint once. When we remember that time of youth, wo are still young; 76 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. He over whose head eight or nine lustres have passed, if he wishes to write of boys, must recall the time when he himself was a boy. Their habits change ; their waists are longer or shorter ; their shirt-collars stick up more or less ; but the boy is the boy in King George's time as in that of his royal niece, — once our maiden queen, now the anxious mother of many boys. And young follows are honest, and merry, and idle, and mis- chievous, and timid, and brave, and studious, and selfish, and generous, and mean, and false, and truth-tell- ing, and affectionate, and good, and bad, now as in former days. He with whom we have mainly to do is a gen- tleman of mature age now walking the street with boys of his own. He is not going to perish in the last chap- ter of thesb memoirs, — to die of con- sumption with his love weeping by his bedside, or to blow his brains out in despair, because she has been mar- ried to his rival, or killed out of a gig, or otherwise done fur in the last chapter but one. No, no; we will have no dismal endings. Philip "Fir- min is well and hearty at this min- ute, owes no man a shilling, and can enjoy his glass of port in perfect com- fort. So, my dear miss, if you want a pulmonary romance, the present won't suit you. So, young gentle- man, if you are for melancholy, de spair, and sardonic satire, please to call at some other shop. That Philip shall have his trials is a matter of course, — may they be interesting, though they do not end dismally ! That he shall fall and trip in his course sometimes is pretty certain. Ah, who does not upon this life- journey of ours 1 Is not our want the occasion of our brother's charity, and thus does not good come out of that ovil? When the traveller (of whom the Master spoke) fell among the thieves, his mishap was contrived to try many a heart beside his own, — the Knave's who robbed him, the Levite's and Priest's who passed him by as he lay bleeding, the hum- ble Samaritan's whose hand poured oil into his wound, and held out its pittance to relieve him. So little Philip Ermin was brought to school by his mamma in her car- riage, who entreated the housekeeper to have a special charge of that an- gelic child ; and as soon as the poor lady's back was turned, Mrs. Bunce emptied the contents of the little boy's trunk into one of sixty or seventy lit- tle cupboards, wherein reposed other boys' clothes and haberdashery : and then Mrs. Firmin requested to see the Kev. Mr. X., in whose house Philip was to board, and besought him, and explained many things to him, such as the exceeding delicacy of the child's constitution, &c., &c. ; and Mr. X., who was very good-natured, pat- ted the boy kindly on the head, and sent for the other Philip, Philip Ring- wood, Phil's cousin, who had arrived at Greyfriars an hour or two before ; and Mr. X. told Kingwood to take care of the little fellow; anid Mrs. Firmin, choking behind her pocket- handkerchief, gurgled out a blessing on the grinning youth, and at one time had an idea of giving Master Bingwood a sovereign, but paused, thinking he was too big a boy, and that she might not take such a lib- erty, and presently she was gone ; and little Phil Pirmin was introduced to the long^oom and his school-fellows of Mr. X.'s house ; and having plenty of money, and naturally finding his way to the pastry-cook's, the next day, after school, he was met by his ' cousin Eingwood and robbed of half the tarts which he had purchased. A fortnight afterwards, the hospitable doctor and his wife asked their young kinsman to Old Parr Street, Burling- ton Gardens, and the two boys went ; but Phil never mentioned anything to his pai-ents regarding the robbery of tarts, being deterred, perhaps, from speaking by awful threats of punish- ment which his cousin promised to administer when they got back to school, in case of the little boy's con- fession. Subsequently, Master King- THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 77 wood was asked once in every term to Old Parr Street ; but neither Mrs. Rrmin, nor the Doctor, nor Master Firmin liked the Baronet's son, and Mrs. Fiitnin pronounced him a vio- lent, rude boy. I, for my part, left school suddenly and early, and my little prote'g€ be- hind me. His poor mother, who had promised herself to come for him every Saturday, did not keep her promise. Smithfield is a long way from Piccadilly; and an angry cow once scratched tie panels of her car- riage, causing her footman to spring ii-om his board into a pigpen, and herself to feel such a shock, that no wonder she was afraid of visiting the City afterwards. The circumstances of this accident she often narrated to us. Her anecdotes were not numer- ous, but she told them repeatedly. In imagination, sometimes, I can hear her ceaseless, simple cackle; see her faint eyes, as she prattles on uncon- EcioQsly, and watch the dark looks of her handsome, silent husband, scowl- ing from under his eyebrows and smiling behind his teeth. I dare say he ground those teeth with suppressed rage sometimes. I dare say to bear with her endless volubility must have tasked his endurance. He may have treated her ill, but she tried him. She, on her part, may have been a not very wise woman, but she was kind to me. Did not her housekeeper make me the best of tarts, and keep goodies from the company dinners for the young gentlemen when they came home ? Did not her husband give me of his fees ? I promise you after I had seen Dr. Fell a few times, that first unpleasing impression produced by his darkling countenance and sin- ister good looks wore away. He was a gentleman. He had lived in the great world, of which he told anec- dotes delightful to boys to hear ; and he passed the bottle to me as if I was a man. I hope and think I remembered the injunction of poor Mrs. Firmin to be kind to her boy. As long as we stayed together at Greyfrlars, I was Phil's champion whenever ho needed my protection, though of course I could not always be present to guard the little scapegrace from all the blows which were aimed at his young face by pugilists of his own size. There were seven or eight years' difference between us (he says ten, which is absurd, and which I deny) ; but I was always remarkable for my affability, and, in spite of our disparity of age, would often graciously accept the general invitation I had from his father for any Saturday and Sunday when I would like to accompany Philip home. Such an invitation is welcome to any school-boy. To get away from Smithfield, and show our best clothes in Bond Street, was always a privilege. To strut in the Park on Sunday, and nod to the other fellows who were strutting there too, was better than remaining at school, " doing ' Diates- saron,' " as the phrase used to be, having that endless roasl^beef for dinner, and hearing two sermons in chapel. There may have been more lively streets in London than, Old Parr Street ; but it was pleasanter to be there than to look at Goswell Street over Grey friars' wall ; and so the present biographer and reader's very humble servant found Dr. Firmin's house an agreeable resort. Mamma was often ailing, or, if well, went out into the world with her husband ; in either case, we boys had a good dinner pro- vided for us, with the special dishes which Phil loved; and after dinner wc adjourned to the play, not being by any means too proud to sit in the pit with Mr. Brice, the Doctor's confi- dential man. On Sunday we went to church at Lady Whittlesea's, and back to school in the evening ; when the Doctor almost always gave us a fee. If he did not dine at home ( and I o\vn his absence did not much damp our pleasure), Brice would lay a small enclosure on the young gentlemen's coats, which we transferred to our pockets. I believe school-boys dis- 78 THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. dain fees in the present disinterested times. Everything ia Dr. Pirmin's house was as Iiandsome as might be, and yet somehow the place was not cheer- ful. One's steps fell noiselessly on the faded Turkey carpet; the room was large, and all save the dining- table in the dingy twilight. The picture of Mrs. Firmin looked at us from the wall, and followed us about with wild violet eyes. Philip Firmin had the same violet odd bright eyes, and the same colored hair of an auburn tinge ; in the picture it fell in long wild masses over the lady's back as she leaned with bare arms on a harp. Over the sideboard was the doctor, in a black velvet coat and a fur collar, his hand on a skull like Hamlet. Skulls of oxen, horned with wreaths, formed the cheerful ornaments of the cornice. On the side-table glittered a pair of cups, given by grateful patients, looking like receptacles rather for funereal ashes than for festive flowers or wine. Brice, the butler, wore the gravity and costume of an undertaker. The footman stealthily moved hither and thither, bearing the dinner to us ; we always spoke under our breath whilst we were eating it. "The room don't look more cheerful of a morning when the patients are sitting here, I can tell you," Phil would say ; indeed, we could well fancy th:it it was dis- mal. The drawing-room had a rhu- barb-colored flock paper (on account of the governor's attachment to the shop, Master Phil said), agreat piano, a harp smothered in a leather bag in the corner, which the languid owner now never touched ; and everybody's face seemed scared and pale in the great looking-glasses, which reflected you over and over again into the dis- tance, so that you seemed to twinkle off right through the Albany into Piccadilly. Old Parr Street has been a habita- tion for generations of surgeons and physicians. I suppose the noblemen for whose use the street was intended in the time of the early Georges fled. finding the neighborhood too dismal, and the gentlemen in black coats came and took possession of the gilded, gloomy chambers which the sacred mode vacated. These mutations of fashion have always been matters of profound speculation to me. Why shall not one moralize over London, as over Rome, or Baalbec, or Troy Town ? I like to walk among the Hebrews of "Wardour Street, and fancy the place, as it once was, crowded with chairs and gilt chariots, and torches flashing in the hands of the running footmen. I have a grim pleasure in thinking that Golden Square was once the resort of the aristocracy, and Monmouth Street the delight of the genteel world. What shall prevent us Londoners from musing over the decline and fall of city sovereignties, and drawing our cockney morals? As the late Mr. Gibbon meditated his history leaning against a column in the Capitol, why should not I muse over mine, reclining under an arcade -of the Pantheon ? Not the Pantheon at Rome, in the Cabbage Market by the Piazza Navona, where the immortal gods were worshipped, — the immortal gods who are now dead ; but the Pan- theon in Oxford Street, ladies, where you purchase feeble pomatums, music, glass-ware, and baby-linen ; and which has its histoiy too. Have not Selwjfn, and Walpole, and March, and Carlisle figured there ? Has not Prince Flor- izel flounced through the hall in his rustling domino, and danced there in powdered splendor? and when the ushers refused admission to lovely Sophy Baddeley, did not the young men, her adorers, draw their rapiers and vow to slay the doorkeepers ; and, crossing the glittering blades over the enchantress's head, make a warlike triumphal arch for her to pass under, all flushed, and smiling, and perfumed, and painted ? The lives of streets are as the lives of men, and shall not the street-preacher, if so minded, take for the text of his sermon the stones in the gutter? That jou were, once the tHE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 79 resort of the fashion, O Monmouth Street ! by the invocation of blessed St. Giles shall I not improve that sweet thought into a godly discourse, and make the ruin edifying ? mes freres ! There were splendid thorough- fares, dazzling company, bright illu- minations, in our streets wlien our hearts were young : we entertained in them a noble youthful company of chivalrous hopes and lofty ambitions ; of blushing thoughts in snowy robes spotless and virginal. See, in the embrasure of the window, where you sat looking to the stars, and nestling by the soft side of your first love, hang Mr. Moses' bargains of turned old clothes, very cheap ; of worn old boots, bedraggled in how much and how many people's mud ; a great bargain. See! along the street, strewed with flowers once mayhap — a fight of beg- gars for the refuse of an apple-stall, or a tipsy basket-woman reeling shrieking to the station. me ! O my beloved congregation ! I have preached this stale sermon to you for ever so many years. O my jolly companions, I have drunk many a bout ivith you, and always found vanitas vanitatum written on the bot- tom of the pot ! I choose to moralize now when I pass the place. The garden has run to seed, the walks are mildewed, the statues have broken noses, the gravel is dank with green moss, the roses are withered, and the nightingales have ceased to make love. It {s a funereal street, Old Parr Street, cer- tainly ; the carriages which drive there ought t» have feathers on the roof, and the butlers who open the doors should wear weepers, — so the scene strikes you now as you pass along the spacious empty pavement. You are bilious, my good man. Go and pay a guinea to one of the doctors in those houses ; there are still doctors there. He will prescribe taraxacum for you, or pil : hydrarg : Bless you I in my time, to us gentlemen of the fifth form, the place was bearable. The yellow fogs did n't damp our spirits, — and we never thought them too thick to keep us away from the play : from the chivalrous Charles ICemblo, I tell you, my Mirabel, my Mercutio, my princely Falconbridgo : from his adorable daughter (0 my distracted heart!) from the classic Young: from the glorious Long Tom Coffin : from the unearthly Vanderdecken, — "Return, my love, and we '11 never, never part " : (where art thou, sweet singer of that most thrilling ditty of my youth'!) from the sweet, sweet Vidorine and the Bottle Imp. O to see that Bottle Imp again, and hear that song about the " Pilgrim of Love ! " Once, but — hush ; — this is a secret — we had private boxes, the Doctor's grand friends often sending him these ; and finding the opera rather slow, we went to a concert in M-d-n Lane, near Covent Garden, and heard the most celestial glees, over a supper of fizzing sausages and mashed potatoes, such as the world has never seen since. We did no harm ; but I dare say it was very wrong. Brice, the butler, ought not to have taken us. We bullied him, and made him take us where we liked. We had rum- shrub in the housekeeper's room, where we used to be diverted by the society of other butlers of the neigh- boring nobility and gentry, who would step in. Perhaps it was wrong to leave us so to the company of ser- vants. Dr. Firmin used to go to his grand parties, Mrs. Firmin to bed. " Did we enjoy the performance last night ? " our host would ask at breakfast. " O yes, we enjoyed the performance!" But my poor Mrs. Firm in fancied that we enjoyed Semi- ramide or the Donna del Logo ; where- as we had been to the pit at the Adelphi (out of our own money), and seen that jolly John Keeve, and laughed — laughed till we were fit to drop — and stayed till the curtain wag down. And then we would come home, and, as aforesaid, pass a delightful hour over supper, and hear the anecdotes of Mr. Brice's friends,' 80 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. the other butlers. Ah, that was a time indeed ! There never was any liquor so good as rum-shrub, never ; and the sausages had a flavor of Ely- sium. How hushed we were when Dr. Krmin, coming home from his parties, let himself in at the street- door ! Shoeless, we crept up to our bedrooms. And we came down to breakfast with innocent young faces, — and let Mrs. Firmin, at lunch, prattle about the opera; and there stood Brice and the footman behind us, looking quite grave, the abomina- ble hypocrites ! Then, sir, there was a certain way, out of the study window, or through the kitchen and over the leads, to a building, gloomy indeed, but where I own to have spent delightful hours of the most flagitious and criminal en- joyment of some delicious little Ha- vannahs, ten to the shilling. In that building there were stables once, doubtless occupied by great Flemish horses and rumbling gold coaches of Walpole's time; but a celebrated surgeon, when he took possession of the house, made a lecture-room of the premises, — " And this door," says Phil, pointing to one leading into the mews, " was very convenient for having the bodies in and out," — a cheerful reminiscence. Of this kind of furniture there was now very little in the apartment, except a dilapidated skeleton in a corner, a few dusty casts of heads, and bottles of preparations on the top of an old bureau, and some mildewed harness hanging on the walls. This apartment became Mr. Phil's smoking-room when, as he grew taller, he felt himself too digni- fied to sit in the kitchen regions : the honest butler and housekeeper them- selves pointing out to their young master that Ms place was elsewhere than among the servants. So there, privately and with great delectation, we smoked many an abJminable cigar in that dreary back room, the gaunt walls and twilight ceilings of which were by no means melancholy to us, who found forbidden pleasures the sweetest, after the absurd fashion of boys. Dr. Firmin was an enemy to smoking, and ever accustomed to speak of the practice with eloquent indignation. " It was a low practice, — the habit of cabmen, pot-houso frequenters, and Irish apple-women," the doctor would say, as Phil and his friend looked at each other with a stealthy joy. Phil's father was ever scented and neat, the pattern of hand- some propriety. Perhaps he had a clearer perception regarding manners than respecting morals ; perhaps his conversation was full of platitudes, his talk (concerning people of fashion chiefly) mean and uninstructive, his behavior to young Lord Egham rather fulsome and lacking of dignity. Perhaps, I say, the idea may have entered into young Mr. Pendennis's mind that his hospitable entertainer and friend. Dr. Firmin, of Old Parr Street, was what at the present day might be denominated an old hum-, bug ; but modest young men do not come quickly to such unpleasant con- clusions regarding their seniors. Dr. Firmin's manners were so good, his forehead was so high, his frill so fresh, his hands so white and slim, that for some considerable time we ingenuous- ly admired him ; and it was not without a pang that we came to view him as he actually was, — no, not as he actually was — no man whose early nurture was kindly can judge quite impartially the man who has been kind to him in boyhood. I quitted school suddenly, leaving my little Phil behind me, a brave little handsome boy, endearing himself to old and young by his good looks, his gayety, his courage, and his gentle- manly bearing. Once in a way a letter would come from him, full of that artless affection and tenderness which fills boys' hearts, and is so touching in their letters. It was answered with proper dignity and condescension on the senior boy's part. Ourmodestlittlecountryhomo kept up a friendly intercourse with Dr. Firmin's grand London mansion. THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 81 of which, in his visits to ns, my uncle. Major Pendennis, did not fail to bring news. A correspondence took place between the ladies of each house. We supplied Mrs. Firmin with little countjy presents, tokens of my mother's good-will and grati- tude towards the friends who had been kind to her son. I went my way to the University, having oc- casional glimpses of Phil at school. I took chambers in the Temple, which he found great delight in visiting ; and he likai our homely dinner from Dick's, and a bed on the sofa, better than the splendid entertainments in Old Parr Street and his great gloomy chamber there. He had grown by this time to be ever so much taller than his senior, though he always persists in looking up to me unto the present day. A very few weeks after my poor mother passed that judgment on Mrs. firmin, she saw reason to regret and revoke it. Phil's mother, who was afraid, or perhaps was forbidden, to attend her son in bis illness at school, was taken ill herself. Phil returned to Greyfriars in a deep suit of black ; the servants on the carriage wore black too ; and a cer- tain tyrant of the place, beginning to laugh, and jeer because Firmiu's eyes filled with tears at some ribald re- mark, was gruffly rebuked by Samp- son major, the cock of the whole school ; and with the question, " Don't you see the poor beggar 's in mourning, yon great brute 1 " was kicked about his business. When Philip Firmin and I met again, there was crape on both our hats. I don't think either could see the other's face very well. I went to see him in Parr Street, in the vacant, melancholy house, where the poor mother's picture was yet hanging in her empty drawing-room. " She was always fond of you, Pen- dennis," said Phil. " God bless you for being so good to her. You know what it is to lose — to lose what loves you best in the world. I did n't know how — how I loved her, till I had lost her." And many a sob broke his words as he spoke. Her picture was removed from the drawing-room presently into Phil's own little study, — the room in which he sat and defied his father. What had passed between them ? The young man was very much changed. The frank looks of old days were gone, and Phil's face was haggard and bold. The Doctor would not let me have a word more with his son after he had found us together, but, with dubious appealing looks, fol- lowed me to the door, and shut it upon me. I felt that it closed upon two unhappy men. CHAPTEE III. A CONSTILTATIOlf. Should I peer into Firmin's pri- vacy, and find the key to that secret ? What skeleton was there in the closet? In the CornhUl Magazine,* you may remember, there were some verses about a portion of a skeleton. Did you remark how the poet and present proprietor of the human skull at once settled the sex of it, and determined ofi'-hand that it must have belonged to a woman ? Such skulls are locked up in many gentleman's hearts and memories. Bluebeard, you know, had a whole museum of them, — as that impi-udent little last wife of his found out to her cost. And, on the other hand, a lady, we suppose, would select hers of the sort which had carried beards when in the flesh. Given a neat-locked skeleton cup- board, belonging to a man of a certain age, to ascertain the sex of the original owner of the bones, yon have not much need of a picklock or a blacksmith. There is no use in forcings the hinge, or scratching the pretty panel. We know what is in- side, — we arch rogues and men of the * No. 12 : December, 1860 82 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. ■w^orld. Murders, I suppose, are not many, — enemies and victims of our hate and anger, destroyed and tramp- led out of life by us, and locked out of sight: but corpses of our dead loves, my dear sir, — my dear madam, — have we not got them stowed away in cupboard after cupboard, in bottle after bottle? fio! And young people ! What doctrine is this to preach to them, who spell your book by papa's and mamma's knee 1 Yes, and how wrong it is to let them go to church, and see and hear papa and mamma publicly on their knees, call- ing out, and confessing to the whole congregation, that they are sinners ! So, though I had not the key, I could see through the panel and the glim- mering of the skeleton inside. Although the elder Firmin followed me to the door, and his eyes only left me as I turned the corner of the street, I felt sure that Phil erelong would open his mind to me, or give ma some clew to that mystery. I should hear from him why his bright cheeks had become hollow, why his fresh voice, which I remember so honest and cheerful, was now harsh and sarcastic, with tones that often grated on the hearer, and laughter that gave pain. It was about Philip himself that my anxieties were. The young fellow had inherited from his poor mother a considerable fortune, — some eight or nine hundred a year, we always un- derstood. He was living in a costly, not to say extravagant manner. I thought Mr. Philip's juvenile re- morses were locked up in the skeleton closet, and was grieved to think he had fallen in mischief's way. Hence, no doubt, might arise the anger be- tween him and his father. The boy was extravagant and headstrong : and the parent remonstrant and irri- tated. I met my old friend Dr. Good- enough at the club one evening ; and as we dined together I discoursed with him about his former patient, and recalled to him that day, years back, when the boy was ill at school, and when my poor mother and Phil's own were yet alive. Goodenough looked very grave. " Yes," he said, " the boy was very ill ; he was nearly gone at that time — at that time — when his mother was in the Isle of Wight, and his father dangling after a prince. We thought one day it was all over with him; but — " " J3ut a good doctor interposed between him and pallida mors." "A good doctor? a good nurse! The boy was delirious, and had a fancy to walk out of window, and would have done so, but for one of my nurses. You know her." " What ! the Little Sister ? " " Yes, the Little Sister." " And it was she who nursed Phil through his fever, and saved his life ? I drink her health. She is a good little soul." " Good ! " said the Doctor, with his gruffest voice and frown. — ( He was always most fierce when he was most tender-hearted.) "Good, indeed! Will you have some more of this duck ? — Do. You have had enough already, and it's very unwholesome. Good, sir ? But for women, fire and brimstone ought to come down and consume this world. Your dear mother was one of the good ones. I was attending you when you were ill, at those horrible chambers you had in the Temple, at the same time when young Firmin was ill at Greyfriars. And I suppose I must be answerable for keeping two scapegraces in the world." . "Why didn't Dr. Firmin come to see him ? " " Hm ! his nerves were too delicate. Besides, he did come. Talk of the * * » " The personage designated by aster- isks was Phil's father, who was also a member of our club, and who en- tered the dining-room, tall, stately, and pale, with his stereotyped smile, and wave of bis pretty hand. By the way, that smile of Firmin's was a very queer contortion of the handsomti THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 83 features. As you came up to him, he would draw his lips oyer his teeth, causing his jaws to wrinkle (or dimple if you will) on either side. Meanwhile his eyes looked out fi-om his face, quite melancholy and independent of the little transaction in which the mouth was engaged. Lips said, "I am a gentleman of fine manners and fasci- nating address, and I am supposed to be happy to see you. How do you do 1 " Dreary, sad, as into a great blank desert, looked the dark eyes. I do know one or two, but only one or two faces of men, when oppressed with care, which can yet smile all over. Goodenongh nods grimly to the smile of the other doctor, who blandly looks at our table, holding his chin in one of his pretty hands. - "How do?" growls Goodenongh. "Young hopeful well?" ' ' Young hopeful sits smoking cigars till morning with some friends of his," says Firmin, with the sad smile di- rected towards me this time. " Boys will be boys." And he pensively walks away from us with a friend- ly nod towards me; examines the dinner-card in an attitude of melan- choly grace ; points with the jewelled hand to the dishes which he will have served, and is off, and simpering to another acquaintance at a distant table. " I thought he would take that ta- ble," says Mrmin's cynical confrere. "In the draught of the door? Don't you see how the candle flickers ? It is the worst place in the rbom ! " "Yes; but don't you see who is sitting at the next table? " Now at the next table was a n-blem-n of vast wealth, who was growling at the quality of tlie mut- ton cutlets, and the half-pint of sherry which he had ordered for dinner. But as his Lordship has nothing to do with the ensuing history, of course we shall not violate confidence by mentioning his name. We could see Firmin smiling on his neighbor with his blandest melancholy, and the waiters presently bearing up the dishes which the Doctor hud ordered for his own refection. He was no lover of mutton-chops and of course sherry, as I knew, who had partaken of many a feast at his board. I could see the diamond twinkle on his pret- ty hand,'as it daintily poured out creaming wine from the ice-pail by his side, — the liberal hand that had given me many a sovereign when I was a hoy. " I can t help liking him," I said to my companion, whose scornful eyes were now and again directed towards his colleague. " This port is very sweet. Almost all port is sweet now," remarks the Doctor. "He was very kind to me in my school-days; and Philip was a fine little fellow." • "Handsome a boy as ever I saw. Does he keep his beauty? Father was a handsome man — very. Quite a lady-killer, — I mean out of his practice ! " adds the grim Doctor. " What is the boy doing? " " He is at the University. He has his mother's fortune. He is wild and unsettled, and I fear he is going to the bad a little." "Is he? Should n't wonder!" grumbles Goodenough. We had talked very frankly and pleasantly until the appearance of the other doctor, but with Firmin's arrival Goodenough seemed to button up his conversation. He quickly stumped away from the dining-room to the drawing-room, and sat over a novel there until time came when he was to retire to his patients or his home. That there was no liking between the doctors, that there was a differ- ence between Philip and his father, was clear enough ta me: but tlie causes of these differences I had yet to learn. The stoiy came to me piecemeal; from confessions here, admissions there, deductions of my own. I could not, of course, be pres- ent at many of the scenes which I 84 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. shall have to relate as though I had witnessed them; and the posture, language, and inward thoughts of Philip and his friends, as here related, no doubt are fancies of the narrator in many cases ; but the story is as authentic as many historieSj and the reader need only give such axi amount of credence to it as he may judge that its verisimilitude warrants. Well, then, we must not only revert to that illness which befell when Philip Firmin was a boy at Grey- friars, but go back yet farther in time to a period which I cannot pre- cisely ascertain. The pupils of old Gandish's paint- ing academy may remember a ridicu- lous little man, with a great deal of wild talent, about the ultimate success of which his friends were divided. Whether Andrew was a genius, or whether he was a zany, was always a moot question among the frequent- ers of the Greek Street billiard- rooms, and the noble disciples of the Academy and St. Martin's Lane. He may have been crazy and absurd ; he may have had talent too : such characters are not unknown in art or in literature. He broke the Queen's English; he was ignorant to a won- der; he dressed his little person ih the most fantastic raiment and queer- est cheap finery : he wore a beard, bless my soul ! twenty years before beards were known to wag in Britain. He was the most a8fected little crea- ture, and, if you looked at him, woidd pose in attitudes of such ludi- crous dirty dignity, that if you had had a dun waiting for money in the hall of your lodging-house, or your picture refused at the Academy, — if you were suffering under ever so much calamity, — you could not help laughing. He was the butt of all his acquaintances, the laughing-stock of high and low, and he had as loving, gentle, faithful, honorable a heart as ever beat in a little bosom. He is gone to his rest now ; his palette and easel are waste timber ; his genius, which made some little flicker of brightness, never shone much, and is extinct. In an old album that dates back for more than a score of years, I sometimes look at poor Andrew's strange wild sketches. He might have done something had ho contin- ued to remain poor ; but a rich wid- ow, whom he met at Kome, fell in love with the strange errant painter, pursued him to England, and married him in spite of himself. His genius drooped under the servitude : he lived but a few short years, and died of a consumption, of which the good Goodenough's skill could not cure him. One day, as he was driving with his wife in her splendid barouche through the Haymarket, he suddenly bade the coachman stop, sprang over the side of the carriage before the steps could be let fall, and his aston- ished wife saw him shaking the hands of a shabbily dressed little woman who was passing, — shaking both her hands, and weeping, and gesticulat- ing, and twisting his beard and mus- tachios, as his wont was when agitat- ed. Mrs. Montfitchet (the wealthy Mrs. Carrickfergus she had been, he- fore she married the painter), the owner of a young husband, who had sprung from her side, and out of her carriage, in order to caress a young woman passingin thestreet, might well be disturbed by this demonstration ; but she was a kind-hearted woman, and when Montfitchet, on reascend- ing into the family coach, told his wife the history of the person of whom he had just taken leave, she cried plentifully too. She bade the coachman drive straightway to her own house : she rushed up to her own apartments, whence she emerged, bearing an immense bag full of wear- ing apparel, and followed by a pant- ing butler, carrying a bottle-basket and a pie : and she drove off, with her pleased Andrew by her side, to a court in St. Martin's Lane, where dwelt the poor woman with whom he had just been conversing. It had pleased Heaven, in the midst THE ADVENTDKES OF PHILIP. 85 of dreadiiil calamity, to send her friends and succor. She was suiFer- ing under misfortune, poverty, and cowardly desertion. A man wlio had palled himself Brandon when he took lodgings in her father's house married her, brought her to London, tired of her, and left her. She had reason to think he had given a false name when lie lodged with her father : he fled, after a few months, and his real name she never knew. When he deserted her, she went back to her father, a weak man, married to a domineering woman, who pretended to disbelieve the story of her marriage, and diove her from the door. Desperate, and almost mad, she came back to London, where she still had some little relics of property that her fugitive husband left behind him. He promised, when he left her, to remit her money ; but he sent none, or she refused it — or, in her wildness and despair, lost the dreadM paper which annonnced his desertion, and that he was married before, and that to pursue him would rain him, and he knew she never would do that, — no, however much he might have wronged her. She was penniless then, — deserted by all, having made away with the last trinket of her brief days of love, having sold the last little remnant of her poor little stock of clothing, — alone in the great wilderness of London, when it pleased God to send her succor in the person of an old friend who had known her, and even loved her, in happier days. When the Samaritans came to .this poor child, they found her sick and shuddering with fever. They brought their doctor to her, who is never so eager as when Jie runs up a poor man's stair. And, as he watched by the bed where her kind friends came to help her, he heard her sad little story of trust and desertion. Her father was a humble person who had seen better days ; and poor little Mrs. Brandon had a sweetness and simplicity of manner which exceedingly touched the good doctor. She had little education, except that which silence, long-suffering, seclu- sion, will sometimes give. When cured of her illness, there was the great and constant evil of poverty to meet and overcome. How was she to live ? He got to be as fond of her as of a child of his own. She was tidy, thrifty, gay at times, with a little simple cheerfulness. The little flow- ers began to bloom as the sunshine touched them. Her whole life hither- to had been cowering under neglect, and tyranny, and gloom. Mr. Montfitchet was ibr coming so often to look after the little outcast whom he had succored that I am bound to say Mrs. M. became hysteri- cally jealous, and waited for mm on the stairs as he came down swathed in his Spanish cloak, pounced on him, and called him a monster. Good- enough was also, I fancy, suspicions of Montfitchet, and Montfitchet of Goodenough. Howbeit, the Doctor vowed that he never had other than the feeling of a father towards his poor little prot^g^e, nor could any father be more tender. He did not try to take her out of her station in life. He found, or she found for herself, a work which she could do. " Fapa used to say no one ever nursed him so nice as I did," she said. " I think I could do that better than any- thing, except my needle, but I like to be useful to poor sick people best. I don't think about myself then, sir." And for this business good Mr. Goodenough had her educated and he widow died in course of time whom Mrs. Brandon's father had married, and her daughters refused to keep him, speaking very disrespect- fully of this old Mr. Gann, who was, indeed, a weak old man. And now Caroline came to the rescue of her old father. She was a shrewd little Caroline. She had saved a little m^jiey. Goodenough gave up a country-house, which he did not care to use, and lent Mrs. Brandon the furniture. She thought she could 86 . THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. keep a lodging-house and find lodgers. Montfitchet had painted her. There was a sort of beauty about her which the artists admired. When Ridley the Academician had the small-pox, she attended him, and caught the malady. She did not mind ; not she. " It won't spoil my beauty," she said. Nor did it. The disease dealt very kindly with her little modest face. I don't know who gave her the nick- name, but she had a good roomy house in Thomhaugh Street, an artist on the first and second floor ; and there never was a word of scandal against the Little Sister, for was not her father in permanence sipping gin-and-water in the ground-floor parlor ? As we called her " the Little Sister," her father was called "the Captain," — a bragging, lazy, good-natured old man, — not a repu- table captain, — and very cheerful, though tlic conduct of his children, he said, had repeatedly broken his heart. I don't know how* many years the Little Sister had been on duty when Philip Firmin had his scarlet fever. It befell him at the end of the term, just when all the boys were going liome. His tutor and his tutor's wife wanted their holidays, and sent their own children out of the way. As Phil's father was absent, Dr. Good- enough came, and sent his nurse in. The case grew worse, so bad that Dr. Firmin was summoned from the Isle of Wight, and arrived one evening at Greyfriars, — Greyfriars so silent now, so noisy at other times with the shouts and crowds of the playground. Dr. Goodenough's carriage was at the door when Dr. Firmiu's carriage drove up. " How was the boy t " " He had been very bad. He had been wrong in the head all day, talking and laughing quite wild-like," the servant said. The father ran up the stairs. Phil was in a great room, iu which were several empty beds of boys gone home for the holidays. The windows were opened into Grejffriars Square. Goodenough heard his colleague's carriage drive up, and rightly divined that Phil's father had arrived. He came out, and met Firmin in the anteroom. " Head has wandered a little. Better now, and quiet " ; and the one doctor murmured to the other the treatment which he had pursued. Firmin stepped in gently towards the patient, near whose side the Little Sister was standing. " Who is it 1 " said Phil. " It is I, dear. Your father," said Dr. Firmin, with real tenderness in his voice. The Little Sister turned round once, and fell down like a stone by the bedside. " You infernal villain ! " said Good- enougli, with an oath, and a step forward. " You are the man ! " " Hush ! The patient, if you please, Dr. Goodenongh, " said the other physician. CHAPTER IV. A GENTEEL FAMILY. Hate you made up your mind on the question of seeming and being in the world ? I mean, suppose you are poor, is it right for you to stem to be well ofl^? Have people an honest right to keep up appearances ■? Are you justified in starving your dinner- table in order to keep a caniage ; to have such an expensive house that •you can't by any possibility help a poor relation ; to array your daugh- ters in costly milliners' wares because they live with girls whose parents are twice as rich ? Sometimes it is hard to say where honest pride ends and hj-pocrisy begins. To obtrude your poverty is mean and slavish ; as it is odious for a beggar to ask compas- sion by showing his sores. But to simulate prosperity, — to be wealthy and lavish thrice a year when yoa ask your friends, and for the rest of- What Nathan said unto David. THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 87 the time to munch a crust and sit by one candle, — are the folks who prac- tise this deceit worthy of applause or a whipping 1 Sometimes it is noble pride, sometimes shabby swindling. When I see Eugenia with her dear children exquisitely neat and cheer- ful ; not showing the slightest sem- blance of poverty, or uttering the smallest complaint ; persisting that Squanderfield, her husband, treats her well, and is good at heart ; and denying that he leaves her and her young ones in want; I admire and reverence that noble falsehood, — that beautiful constancy and endurance which disdains to ask compassion. When I sit at poor Jezebella's table, and am treated to her sham bounties and shabby splendor, I only feel an- ger for the hospitality, and that din- ner, and guest, and host, arc humbugs together. Talbot Twysden's dinner-table is large, and the guests most respect- able. There is always a big-wig or two present, and a dining dowager who frequents the greatest houses. There is a butler who offers you wine ; there 's a menu du dtner before Mrs. Twysden ; and to i-ead it you would fancy you were at a good din- ner. It tastes of chopped straw. 0, the dreary sparkle of that feeble champagne ; the audacity of that public-house sheiry ; the swindle of that acrid claret ; the fiery twang of that clammy port 1 I have tried them all, I tell you ! It is sham wine, a sham dinner, a sham welcome, a sham cheerfulness among the guests assembled. I feel that that woman eyes and counts the cutlets as they are carried off the tables ; perhaps watches that one which you try to swallow. She has counted and gradged each candle by which the cook prepares the meal. Does her big coachman fatten himself on pur- loined oats and beans, and Thorley's food for cattle t Of the rinsings of those wretched bottles the butler will have to give a reckoning in the morn- ing. Unless you are of the very great monde, Twysden and his wife think themselves better than you are, and seriously patronize you. They con- sider it is a privilege to be invited to those horrible meals to which they gravely ask the greatest folks in the country. I actually met Winton there, — the famous Winton, — the best dinner-giver in the world, (ah, what a position for man ! ) I watched him, and marked the sort of wonder which came over him as he tasted and sent away dish after dish, glass after glass. " Try that Chateau Margaux, Winton ! " calls out the host. " It is some that Bottleby and I imported." Imported !' I see Win- ton's face as he tastes the wine, and puts it down. He does not like to talk about that dinner, fie has lost a day. Twysden will continue to ask him every year ; will continue to ex- pect to be asked in return, with Mrs. Twysden and one of his daughters ; and will express his surprise loudly at the club, saying, " Hang Winton ! Deuce take the fellow ! He has sent me no game this year ! " When for- eign dukes and princes arrive, Twys- den straightway collars them, and in- vites them to his house. And some- times they go once, — and then ask, " Qui done est ce Monsieur Tvisden, qui est si drole ? " And he elbows his way up to them at the Minister's as- semblies, and frankly gives them liij hand. And calm Mrs. Twysden wriggles, and works, and slides, and pushes, and tramples if need be, her girls following behind her, until she too has come up under the eyes of the great man, and bestowed on him n smile and a courtesy. Twysden grasps prosperity cordially by the hand. • He says to success, " Uravo ! " On the contrary, I never saw a man more resolute in not knowing unfor- tunate people, or more daringly for- getful of those whom ho does not care to remember. If this Levite met a wayfarer, going down from Jerusa- lem, who had fallen among, thieves, do you think he would stop to rescue the fallen man 1 He would neither 88 THE ADVENTURE'S OF PHILIP. give wine, nor oil, noi', money. He would pass on perfectly satisfied with his own virtue, and leave the other to go, as test he might, to Jericho. What is this ? Am I angry be- cause Twysden has left off asking mc to his vinegar and chopped hay % No. I think not. Am I hurt because Mrs. Twysden sometimes patronizes my wife, and sometimes cuts her? Perhaps. Only women thoroughly know the insolence of women towards one another in the world. That is a vary stale remark. They receive and deliver stabs, smiling politely. Tom Sayers could not take punishment more gayly than they do. If you could but see under the skin, you would find their little hearts scarred all over with little lancet digs. I protest I have seen my own wife enduring the imijertinence of this woman, with a face as calm and placid as she wears when old Twysden himself is talking to her, and pouring out one of his maddening long stories. O no ! I am not angry at all. I can see that by the way in which I am writing of these folks. By the way, whilst 1 am giving this candid opinion of the Twysdans, do I som3tim3s pause to consider what they think of me ? What do I care ? Think what you like. Meanwhile wo bow to one another at parties. We smile at each other in a sickly way. And as for the dinners in Beaunash Street, I hope those who eat them enjoy their food. Twysden is one of the chiefs now of" the Powder and Pomatum Office (the Pigtail branch was finally abril- fshed in 1833, after the Reform Bill, with a compensation to the retiring under-secretary), and his son is a clerk in the same office. When they came out, the daughters were very pretty, — even my wife allows that. One of them used to ride in the Park with her father or brother daily ; and knowing what his salary and wife's fortune were, and what the rent of his house in Beaunash Street, everybody Tendered how the Twysdens could make both ends meet. They had horses, carriages, and a great house fit for at least five thousand a year; they had not half as much, as every- body knew; and it was supposed that old Ringwood must make his niece an allowance. She certainly worked hard to get it. I spoke of stabs anon, and poor little breasts and sides scarred all over. No nuns, no monks, no fakirs, take whippings more kindly than some devotees of the world ; and, as the punishment is one for edification, let us hope the world lays smartly on to back and shoulders, and uses the thong well. When old Ringwood, at the close of his lifetime, used to come to visit his dear niece and her husband and children, ho always brought a cat-o'- nine-tails in his pocket, and ad- ministered it to (he whole household. He grinned at the poverty, the pretence, the meanness of the people, as they knelt before him and did him homage. The father and mother trembling brought the girls up for punishment, and, pitoously smilinj, received their own boxes on the ear in presence of their children. " Ah ! " the little French governess used to say, grinding her white teeth, "I lilic milor to come. All day you vip mo. When milor come, ho vip you, and you kneel down and kiss de rod." They certainly knelt and took their whipping with the most exemplary fortitude. Sometimes the lash fell on papa's back, sometimes on mam- ma's : now it stung Agnes, and now it lighted on Blanche's pretty shoul- ders. But I think it was on the heir of the house, young Ringwood Twysden, that my Lord loved best to operate. Ring's vanity was very thin- skinned, his selfishness easily wound- ed, and his contortions under punish- ment amused the old tormentor. As my Lord's brougham drives up — the modest little brown brougham, with the noble horse, the lord chan- cellor of a coachman, and the ineffable footman, — the ladies, who know the whir of the wheels, and m.iy be Mr. Frog requests the Honor of Prince Ox's Company at Dinner. THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 89 quarrelling in the drawing-room, call a truce to the fight, and smooth down their ruifled tempers and raiment. Mamma is writing at her tabic, in that beautiful, clear hand Trhicli we all admire ; Blanche is at her book ; Agnes is rising from the piano quite naturally. A quarrel between those gentle, smiling, delicate creatures ! Impossible ! About your most com- mon piece of hypocrisy how men will blush and bungle : how easily, how gracefully, how consummately, wo- men will perform it ! " Well," growls my Lord, " you are all in such pretty attitudes, I make no doubt you have been spar- ring. I suspect, Maria, the men must know what devilish bad tempers the girls have got. Who can have seen you fighting? Tou 're quiet enough here, you little monkeys. I tell you what it is. Ladies'-maids get about and talk to the valets in the housekeeper's room, and the men tell their masters. Upon my word I believe it was that business last year at Whipham which firightened Green- wood off. Famous match. Good house in town and country. No mother alive. Agnes might have had it her own way, but for that — " " We are not all angels in our family, uncle ! " cries Miss Agnes, reddening. "And your mother is too sharp. The men arc afraid of you, Maria. I 've heard several young men say so. At White's they talk about it quite freely. Pity for the girls. Great pity. Fellows come and tell me. Jack Hall, and fellows who go about everywhere." " I 'm sure I don't care what Cap- tain Hall says about me, — odious little wretch ! " cries Blanche. " There yon go off in a tantrum ! Hall never has any opinion of his own. He only fetches and carries what other people say. And he says, fellows say they ai-e frightened of your mother. La bless you ! Hall has no opinion. A fellow might commit mnrder, and Hall would wait at the door. Quite a discreet man. But I told him to ask about you. And that's what I hear. And he says that Agnes is making eyes at the Doctor's boy." " It 's a shame," cries Agnes, shed- ding tears under her martyrdom. " Older than he is ; but that 's no obstacle. Good-looking boy, I sup- pose you don't object to that t Has his poor mother's money, and his father's : must be well to do. ' A vulgar fellow, but a clever fellow, and a determined fellow, the Doctor, — and a fellow who, I suspect, is capable of anything. Should n't wonder at that fellow marrying some rich dowager. Those doctors get an immense in- fluence over women ; and unless I 'm mistaken in my man, Maria, your poor sister got hold of a — " " Uncle ! " cries Mrs. Twysden, pointing to her daughters, " before these — " " Before those innocent lambs ! Hem! Well, I think Firmin is of the wolf sort " : and the old noble laughed, and showed his own fierce fangs as he spoke. " I grieve to say, my Lord, I agree with you," remarks Mr. Twysden. " I don't think Firmin a man of high principle. A clever man'? Yes. Ah accomplished man ? Yes. A good physician ? Yes. A prosperous man 1 Yes. But what s a man without principle 7 " " You ought to have been a parson, Twysden." "Others have said so, my Lord. My poor mother often regretted that I did n't choose the Church. When I was at Cambridge I used to speak constantly at the Union. I practised. I do not disguise from you that my aim was public life. 1 am free to confess I think the House of Com- mons would have been my sphere ; and, had my means permitted, should certainly have come forward." Lord Kingwood smiled, and wink- ed to his niece, — " He means, my dear, that he would like to wag his jaws at my expense. 90 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. and that I should put him in for Whipham." " There are, I think, worse mem- bers of Parliament," remarked Mr. Twysden. " If there was a box of 'em like you, what a cage it would be ! " roar- ed my Lord. " By George, I 'm sick of jaw. And I would like to see a king of spirit in this country, who would shut up the talking-shops and gag> the whole chattering crew ! " " I am a partisan of order, — but a lover of freedom," continues Twysden. " I hold that the balance of our con- stitution — " I think my Lord would have in- dulged in a few of those oaths with which his old-fashioned conversation was liberally garnished ; but the ser- vant, entering at this moment, an- nounces Mr. Philip Firmin ; and ever so faint a blush flutters up in Agnes's cheek, who feels that the old lord's eye is upon her. " So, sir, 1 saw you at the Opera last night," says Lord Kingwood. " I saw you, too," says downright Phil. The women looked temfied, and Twysden scared. The Twysdons had Lord Ringwood's box sometimes. But there were boxes in which the old man sat, and in which they never could see him. " Why don't you look at the stage, sir, when you go to the Opera, and not at me'i When you go to church you ought to look at the parson, ought n't you ? " growled the old man. " I 'm about as good to look at as the fellow who dances first in the ballet, — and very nearly as old. But if I were you, I should think looking at the'Ellsler better fun." And now you may fancy of what old, o!d times we are writing, — times in which those horrible old male dancers yet existed — hideous old creatures, with low dresses and short sleeves, and wreaths of flowers, or hats and feathers round their absurd old wigs — who ^kipped at the head of the ballet. Let us be thankful that those old apes have almost van- ished off the stage, and left it in pos- session of the beauteous bounders of the other sex. Ah, ray dear young friends, time will be when these too will cease to appear more than mor- tally beautiful ! To Philip, at his age, they yet looked as lovely as houris. At this time the simple young fellow, surveying the ballet from his stall at the Opera, mistook carmine for blushes, pearl-powder for native snows, and cotton-wool for natural symmetry; and I dare say when he went into the world was not more clear-sighted about its rouged innocence, its padded pretensions, and its nainted candor. Old £ord Ringwood had a humor- ous pleasure in petting and coaxing Philip Firmin before Philip's relatives ofBeaunash Street. Even the girls felt a little plaintive envy at the par- tiality which Uncle Ringwood exhibit- ed for Phil ; but the elder Twysdens and Ringwood Twysden, their son, writhed with agony at the preference which the old man sometimes showed for the Doctor's boy. Phil was much taller, much handsomer, much strong- er, much better tempered, and much richer, than young Twysden. He would be the sole inheritor of his father's fortune, and had his mother's thirty thousand pounds. Even when they told him his father would marry again, Phil laughed, and did not seem to care, — "I wish him joy of his new wife," was all he could be got to say : " when he gets one, I suppose I shall go into chambers. Old Parr Street is not as gay as Pall Mall." I am not angry with Mrs. Twysden for having a little jealousy of her nephew. Her boy and girls were the fruit of a dutiful marriage ; and Phil was the son of a disobedient child. Her children were always on their best behavior before their great uncle ; and Phil cared for him no more than for any other man ; and ho liked Phil the best. Her bov was as humble and eager to please as any THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. &1 of his Lordship's humblest henchmen ; and Lord Ringwood snapped at him, browbeat him, and trampled on the poor darling's tenderest feelings, and treated him scarcely better than a lackey. As for poor Mr. Twysden, my Lord not only yawned unreserved- ly in his face — that could not be helped ; poor Talbot's talk set many of his acquaintance asleep — but laughed at him, interrupted him, and told him to hold his tongue. On this day, as the family sat together at the pleasant hour, — the before - dinner hour, — the fireside and tea - table hour, — Lord Eingwood said to Phil,— " Dine with me to-day, sir ? " " Why does he not ask me, with my powers of conversation 1 " thought old Twysden to himself. " Hang him, he always asks that beggar," writhed young Twysden, in his comer. " Very sorry, sir, can't come. Have asked some fellows to dine at the 'Blue Posts,' " says Phil. " Confound you, sir, why don't you put 'em o(F?" cries the old lord. " You 'd put 'em off, Twysden, would n't you ? " " sir ! " the heart of father and son both beat. " You know you would ; and you quarrel with this boy for not throw- ing his friends over. Good night, Firmin, since you won't come." And with this my Lord was gone. The two gentlemen of the house glumly looked from the window, and saw my Lord's brougham drive swiftly away in the rain. " I hate your dining at those hor- rid taverns," whispered a young lady to Philip. "It is better fun than dining at home," Philip remarks. " You smoke and drink too much. You come home late, and you don't live in a proper monde, sir ! " continues the young lady. " What would you have me do ? " " O, nothing. You must dine with those horrible men," cries a' Agnes ; " else you might have gone to Lady Pendleton's to-night." " I can throw over the men easily enough, if you wish," answered tlie young man. " I ? I have no wish of the sort. Have you not already refused Uncle Ringwood '!" "You are not Lord Eingwood," says Phil, with a tremor in his voice. " I don't know there is much I would refuse you." " You silly boy ! What do I ever ask you to do that you ought to re- fuse'? I want you to live in our world, and not with your dreadful wild Oxford and Temple bachelors. I don't want you to smoke. I want you to go into the world of which you have the entrie, — and you refuse your uncle on account of some hoiTid engagement at a tavern ! " "Shall I stop here? Aunt, will you give me some dinner — here 1 " asks the young man. " We have dined : my husband and son dine out," said gentle Mrs. Twysden. There was cold mutton and tea for the ladies; and Mrs. Twysden did not like to seat her nephew, who was accustomed to' good fare and high living, to that meagre meal. " You see I must console myself at the tavern," Philip said. " We shall have a pleasant party there." " And pray who makes it ? " asks the lady. " There is Ridley the painter.'' " My dear Philip ! Do you know that his father was actually — " " In the service of Lord Todmor- den ? He often tells us so. He is a queer character, the old man." "Mr. Eidley is a man of genius, certainly. His pictures are delicious, and he goes everywhere, — but — but you provoke me, Philip, by your care- lessness ; indeed you do. Why should you be dining with the sons of foot- men, when the first houses in the country might be open to you ? You pain me, you foolish boy.'' " For dining in company of a man 92 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. of genius ? Come, Agnes ! " And the young man's brow grew dark. " Besides," he added, with a tone of sarcasm in his voice, which Miss Agnes did not like at all, — " besides, my deal-, you know he dines at Lord Pendleton's." " What is that you are talking of Lady Pendleton, children?" asked watchful mamma from her corner. " Eidley dines there. He is going to dine with me at a tavern to-day. And Lord Halden is coming — and Mr. Winton is coming — having heard of the famous beefsteaks." " Winton ! Lord Halden ! Beefsteaks ! Where? By George! I have a mind to go, too ! Where do you fellows dine ? au cabaret ? Hang me, I '11 be one," shrieked little Twysdcn, to the teiTor of Philip, who knew his uncle's awful powers of conversation. But Twys- den remembered himself in good time, and to the intense relief of young Krmin. " Hang me, I forgot ! Your annt and I dine with the Bladeses. Stupid old fellow, the admiral, and bad wme — which is unpardonable ; bat we must go — on n'a que sa pa- role, hey? Tell Winton that I had meditated joining him, and that I have still some of that Chate&n Mar- gaux he liked. Halden's father I know well. Tell him so. Bring him here. Maria, send a Thursday card to Lord Halden ! You must bring him here to dinner, Philip. That's the best' way to make acquaintance, my boy ! " And the little man swaggers off, waving a bed-candle, as if he was going to quaff a bumper of sparkling spermaceti. The mention of such great person- ages as Lord Halden and Mr. Win- ton silenced the repi-oofs of the pen- sive Agnes. " You won't care for our quiet fire- side whilst you live with those fine people, Philip," she sighed. There was no talk now of his throwing him- self away on bad company. So Philip did not dine with his rel- atives : but Talbot Twysdcn took good caro to let Lord Ringwood know how young Firmin had offered to dine with his aunt that day after refusing his Lordship. And every- thing to Phil's discredit, and every act of extravagance or wildness which the young man committed, did Phil's uncle, and Phil's cousin Ringwood Twysden, convey to the old noble- man. Had not these been the inform- ers, Lord Ringwood would have been angry : for he exacted obedience and servility from all round about him. But it was pleasanter to vex the Twysdens than to scold and browbeat Philip, and so his Lordship chose to laugh and be amused at Phil's insub- ordination. He saw, too, other things of which he did not speak. He was a wily old man, who could afford to be blind upon occasion. What do you judge from the fact that Philip was ready to make or break engagements at a. young lady's instigation ? When you were twenty years old, had no young ladies an in- fluence over you 9 Were they not commonly older than yourself? Did your youthful passion lead to any- tliing, and are you very sorry now that it did not? Suppose you had had your soul's wish and married her, of what age would she be now ? And now when you go into the world and see her, do yon on yonr conscience very much regret that the little affair came to an end ? Is it that (lean, or fat, or stumpy, or tall) woman with all those children whom you once chose to break your heart about ; and do you still envy Jones ? Philip was in love with his cousin, no donbt, but at the University had he not been pre- viously in love with the Tonakinsian professor's daughter, Miss Budd ; and had he not already written verses to Miss Flower, his neighbor's daughter in Old Parr Street? And don't young men always begin by falling in love with ladies older than them- selves ? Agnes certainly was Philip's senior, as her sister constantly took care to inform him. And Agnes might have told stories about Blanche, if she chose, — as you THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. d3 may abont me, and I about you. Not quite true stories, but stories with enough alloy of lies to make them serviceable coin ; stories such ■ as we hear daily in the world ; stories such as we read in the most learned and conscientious history-books, which are told by the most respectable pei> sons, and perfectly authentic until contradicted. It is only our histories that can't be contradicted (unless, to be sure, novelists contradict them- selves, as sometimes they will) . "What we say about people's virtues, failings, characters, you may be sure is all true. And I defy any man to assert that my opinion of the Twysden family is malicious, or unkind, or unfounded in any particular. Agnes wrote verses, and set lier own and other writers' poems to music. Blanche was scientific, and attended the Albemarle Stieet lectures sedu- lously. They are both clever women as times go ; well educated and accomplished, and very well man- nered when they choose to be pleasant. If yon were a bachelor, say, with a good fortune, or a widow- er who wanted consolation, or a lady giving very good parties and belong- ing to the monde, you would find them agreeable people. If you were a little Treasury clerk, or a young barrister with no practice, or a lady, j old or young, not quite of the rr.onde, your opinion of them would not be so favorable. I have seen them cut, and scorn, and avoid, and caress, and kneel down and woi'ship the same person. When Mrs. Lovel first gave parties, don't X remember the shocked countenances of the Twysden family ? Were ever shoulders colder than yours, dear girls ? Now they love her ; they fondle her step - children ; they praise her to her face and be- hind her handsome back ; they take her hand in public ; they call her by her Christian name ; they fall into ecs- tasies over her toilets, and would fetch coals for her dressing-room fire if she but gave them the word. She is not changed. She is the same lady who once was a governess, and no colder and no warmer since then. But you see her prosperity has brought virtues into evidence, which people did not perceive when she was poor. Could people see Cinderella's beauty when she was in rags by the fire, or until she stepped out of her fairy coach in her diamonds ■? How are you to rec- ognize a diamond in a dust-hole? Only very clever eyes can do that. Whereas a lady in a fairy coach and eight naturally creates a sensation; and enraptured princes come and beg to have the honor of dancing with her. In the character of infallible histo- rian, then, I declare that if Miss Twysden at three - and - twenty feels ever so mnch or little attachment for her cousin who is not yet of age, there is no reason to be angry with her. A brave, handsome, blundering, downright young fellow, with broad shoulders, high spirits, and quite fresh blushes on his face, with very good talents (though he has been wofuUy idle, and requested to absent himself temporarily from his Univer- sity), the possessor of a competent fortune and the heir of another, may naturally make some impression on a lady's heart with whom kinsmanship and circumstance bring him into daily communion. When had any sound so hearty as Phil's laugh been heard in Eeaunash Street ? His jolly frank- ness touched his aunt, a clever wo- man. She would smile and say, " My dear Philip, it is not only what you say, but -sdiat you are going to say next, which keeps me in such a per- petual tremor." There may have been a time once when she was frank and cordial herself : ever so long ago, when she and her fister were two blooming girls, lovingly clinging to- gether, and'just stepping forth into the world. But if you succeed in keeping a fine house on a small income ; in showing a cheerful face to the world though oppressed with ever so much care ; in bearing with dutiful rever- ence an intolerable old bore of a hug- 94 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. band (and I vow it is this quality in Mrs. Twysden for which I most ad- mire her) ; in submitting to defeats patiently ; to humiliations with smiles, so as to hold your own in your dar- ling monde; you may succeed, but you must gire up being frank and cordial. The marriage of her sister to the Doctor gave Maria Eingwood a great panic, for Lord Ringwood was furious when the news cams. Then, perhaps, she sacrificed a little private passion of her own : then she set her cap at a noble young neighbor of my Lord's, who jilted her ; then she took up with Talbot Twysden, Esquire, of the Powder and Pomatum Office, and made a very faithful wife to him, and was a very careful mother to his chil- dren. But asfor frankness and cordial- ity, my good friend, accept from a lady what she can give you, — good mau- nen, pleasant talk, and decent atten- tion. If you go to her breakfast-table, don't ask for a roe's egg, but eat that moderately fresh hen's egg which John brings you. When Mrs. Twys- den is in her open carriage in the Park, how prosperous, handsome, and jolly she looks, — the girls how smiling and young (that is, you know, considering all things) ; the horses look fat, the coachman and footman wealthy and sleek ; they exchange bows with the tenants of other car- riages, — well - known aristocrats. .Tones and Brown, leaning over the railings, and seeiag the Twysden equipage pass, have not the slightest doubt that it contains people of the highest wealth and fashion. " I say, Jones, my boy, what noble family has the motto, Wei done Twi/s done? and what clipping girls thei'o were in that barouche '. " B. remarks to J. ; " and what a handsome young swell that is riding the bay mare, and lean- ing over and talking to the yellow- haired girl ! " And it is evident to one of those gentlemen, at least, that he has been looking at your regular flrst-rate tiptop people. As for Phil Firmin on his bay mare, with his geranium in his button-hole. there is no doubt that Philippus looks as handsome, and as rich, and as brave as any lord. And I think Brown must have felt a little pang when his friend told him, " That a lord ! Bless you, it 's only a swell doctor's son." But while J. and B. fancy all thq little party very happy, they do not hear Phil whisper to his cousin, " I hope you liked your partner last night 1 " and they do not see how anxious Mrs. Twysden is under her smiles, how she perceives Colonel Shafto's cab coming up (the dancer in question), and how she would rather have Phil anywhere than by that particular wheel of her carriage ; how Lady Braglands has just passed them by without noticing them, — Lady Braglands, who has a ball, and is determined not to ask that woman and her two endless girls ; and how, though Lady Braglands won't see Mrs. Twysden in her great staring equipage, and the three faces which have been beaming smiles at her, she instantly perceives Lady Lovel, who is passing ensconced in her little brougham, and kisses ,her fingers twenty times over. How should poor J. and B., who are not, vovs comprenez, du ■ monde, understand these mys- teries 1 " That 's young Tirmin, is it, that handsome young fellow t " says Brown to Jones. " Doctor married the Earl of Ring- wood's niece, — ran away with her, you know." " Good practice 'i " " Capitfd. First-rate. All the tip- top people. Great ladies' doctor. Can't do without him. Makes a fortune, besides what he had with his wife." " We 've seen his name — the old man's — on some very queer paper," says B. with a wink to J. By which I conclude they are City gentlemen. And they look very hard at friend Philip, as he comes to talk and shake hands with some pedestrians who are gazing over the railings at the busy and pleasant Park scene. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 95 CHAPTER V. THE NOBLE KINSMAN. Having had occasion to mention a noble earl once or twice, I am sure no polite reader will consent that his Lordship should push through this history along with the crowd of com- moner characters, and without a special word regarding himself. If you are in the least familiar with Burke or Debrett, you know that the ancient family of Ringwood has long been famous for its great possessions, and its loyalty to the British Crown. In the troubles which unhappily agitated this kingdom after the deposi- tion of the late reigning house, the Ringwoods were implicated with many other families, but on the accession of his Majesty George III. these diiFeren- ces happily ended, nor had the monarch any subject more loyal and deyoted than Sir John Ringwood, Baronet, of Wingate and Whipham Market. Sir John's influence sent three Members to Parliament ; and during the dangerous and vexatious period of the American war, this influence was exerted so cordially and consist- ently in the cause of order and the crown, that his Majesty thought fit to advance Sir John to the dignity of Baron Ringwood. Sir John's brother. Sir Francis Ringwood, of Appleshaw, who followed the profession of the law, also was promoted to be a Baron of his Majesty's Court of Exchequer. The first baron, dying A.D. 1786, was succeeded by the eldest of his two sons, — John, second Baron and first Earl of Ringwood. His Lofd- ship's brother, the Honorable Colonel Philip Ringwood, died gloriously, at the head of his regiment and in the defence of his country, in the battle of Busaco, 1810, leaving two daughters, Louisa and Maria, who henceforth lived with the earl their nncle. The Earl of Ringwood had but one son, Charles Viscount Cinqbars, who, unhappily, died of a decline, in his twenty-second year. And thus the descendants of Sir Francis Ringwood became heirs to the earl's great estates of Wingate and Whipham Market, though not of the peerages which had been conferred on the earl and his father. Lord Ringwood had, living with him, two nieces, daughters of his late brother. Colonel Philip Ringwood, who fell in the Peninsular War. Of these ladies, the youngest, Louisa, was his Lordship's favorite; and though both the ladies had consider- able fortunes of their own, it was supposed their nncle would further provide for them, especially as he was on no very good terms with his cousin, Sir John of the Shaw, who took the Whig side in politics, whilst his Lordship was a chief of the Tory party. Of these two nieces, the eldest, Maria, never any great favorite with her uncle, married, 1824, Talbot Twysden, Esq., a Commissioner of Powder and Pomatum Tax; but the youngest, Louisa, incurred my Lord's most serious anger by eloping with George Brand Eirmin, Esq., M.D., a young gentleman of Cambridge Uni- versity, who had been with Lord Cinqbars whc« he died at Naples, and had brought home his body to Wingate Castle. The quarrel with the youngest niece, and the indifference with which he generally regarded the elder (whom his Lordship was in the habit of call- ing an old schemer), occasioned at first a little rapprochement between Lord Ringwood and his heir. Sir John of Appleshaw ; but both gentle- men were very firm, not to say ob- stinate in their natures. They had a quarrel with respect to the cutting off of a small entailed property, of which the earl wished to dispose ; and they parted with much rancor and bad language on his Lordship's part, who was an especially free-spoken nobleman, and apt to call a spade a spade, as the saying is. After this difference, and to spite his heir, it was supposed that the Earl of Ringwood would marry. He 96 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILn". fras little more than serenty years of age, and had once been of a very ro- bust constitution. And though his temper was violent and his person not at aU agreeable (for even in Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture Uis coun- tenance is very ill-favored), there is little doubt he could have found a wife for the asking among the young beauties of his own county, or the fairest of May Fair. But he was a cynical nobleman, and perhaps morbidly conscious of his own ungainly appearance. " Of course I can buy a wife" (his Lord- ship would say). " Do you suppose people won't sell their daughters to a man of my rank and means ? Now look at me, my good sir, and say whether any woman alive could fall in love with me t I have been mar- ried, and once was enough. I hate ugly women, and your virtuous women, who tremble and cry in pri- vate, and preach at a man, bore him. Sir John Kingwood of Appleshaw is an ass, and I hate him ; but I don't hate him enough to make myself mis- erable for the rest of my days, in or- der to spite him. When I drop, I drop. Do you suppose I care what comes after me 1 " And with much sardonical humor this old lord used to play off one good dowager after another who would bring her girl in his way. He would send pearls to Emily, diamonds to Fanny, opera- boxes to lively Kate, books of devo- tion to pious Selinda, and, at the season's end, drive back to his lonely great castle in the west. They were all the same, such was his Lordship's opinion. I fear, a wicked and cor- rupt old gentleman, my dears. But ah, would not a woman submit to some sacrifices to reclaim that unhap- py man ; to lead that gifted but lost being into the ways of right ; to con- vert to a belief in woman's purity that erring soul ? They tried him with high-church altar-cloths for his chapel at Wingate ; they tried him with low-church tracts ; they danced before him ; they jumped fences on horseback; they wore bandeaux or ringlets, according as his taste dic- tated ; they were always at home when he called, and poor you and I were gruffly told they were engaged ; they gushed in gratitude over his bouquets ; they sang for him, and their mothers, concealing their sobs, murmured, " What an angel that Cecilia of mine is ! " Every variety of delicious chaff they flung to that old bird. But he was uncaught at the end of the season : he winged his way back to liis western hills. And if you dared to say that Mrs. Netley had tried to take him, or Lady Trap- boys had set a snare for him, you know you were a wicked, gross ca- lumniator, and notorious everywhere for your dull and vulgar abuse of women. Now, in the year 1830, it happened that this great nobleman was seized with a fit of the gout, which had very nearly consigned his estates to his kinsman the Baronet of Appleshaw. A revolution took place in a neigh- boring State. An illustrious reign- ing family was expelled from its coun- try, and projects of reform (which would pretty certainly end in revolu- tion) were rife in ours. The events in iFrance, and those pending at home, so agitated Lord Ringwood's mind, that he was attacked by one of the severest fits of gout under which he ever suffered. His shrieks, as he was brought out of his yacht at Ryde to a house taken for him in the town, were dreadful ; his language t» all persons about him was frightfully expressive, as Lady Quamley and her daughter, who had sailed with him several times, can vouch. An ill re- turn that rude old man made for all their kindness and attention to him. They had danced on board his yacht; they had been out sailing with him, and cheerfully braved the inconven- iences of the deep in his company. And when they ran to the side of his chair, — as what would they not do to soothe an old gentleman in illness and distress ? — when they ran up to THE ABVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 97 his chair as it was wheeled along the pier, he called mothei- and daughter by the most vulgar and opprobrious names, and roared out to them to go to a place which I certainly shall not more particularly mention. Now it happened, at this period, that Dr. and Mrs. Firmin were at Eyde with their little boy, then some three years of age. The Doctor was already taking his place as one of the most fashionable physicians then in London, and had begun to be cele- brated for the treatment of tliis espe- cial malady. (Firmin on " Gout and Rheumatism" was, you remember, dedicated to his Majesty George IV.) Lord Eingwood's valet bethought him of calling the Doctor in, and mentioned how he was present in the town. Now Lord Eingwood was a nobleman who never would allow his angry feelings to stand in the way of his present comforts or ease. He in- stantly, desired Mr. Firmin's attend- ance, and submitted to his treatment ; a part of which was a hauteur to the fuU as great as that which the sick man exhibited. Firmin's appearance was so tall and grand, that he looked vastly more noble than a great many noblemen. Six feet, a high manner, a polished forehead, a flashing eye, a snowy shirt-irill, a rolling velvet col- lar, a beautiful hand appearing under a velvet cuiF, ^— all these advantages he possessed and used. He did not make the slightest allusion to by- gones, but treated his patient with a perfect courtesy and an impenetrable selfj)Ossession. This defiant and darkling polite- ness did not always displease the old man. He v/as so accustomed to slavish compliance and eager obedi- ence from all people round about him, that he sometimes wearied of their servility, and relished a little inde- pendence. Was it from calculation, or because he was a man of high spirit, that Firmin determined to maintain an independent course with his Lordship ? From the first day of their meeting he never departed from it, and had the satisfaction of meeting with only civil behavior from, his no- ble relative and patient, who was notorious for his i-udeness and brutal- ity to almost every person who came in his way. From hints which his Lordship gave in conversation, he showed the Doctor that he was acquainted with some particulars of the latter's early career. It had been wild and stormy. Fir- min had incurred debts ; had quar- relled with his father; had left the University and gone abroad ; had lived in a wild society, which used dice and cards every night, and pistols sometimes in the morning ; and had shown a fearful dexterity in the use of the latter instrument, which he employed against the person of a famous Italian adventurer, who fell under his hand at Naples. When this century was five-and-twenty years younger, the crack of the pistol- shot might still occasionally be heard in the suburbs of London in the very early morning; and the dice-box went round in many a haunt of pleasure. The knights of the Four Kings travelled from capital to capital, and engaged each other or made prey of the unwary. Now, the times are changed. The cards are cofBned in their boxes. Only sous-offiders, brawl- ing in their provincial cafes over their dominos, fight dnels. "Ah, dear me," I heard a veteran punter sigh the other day at Bays's, " is n't it a melancholy thing to think, that if I wanted to amuse myself with a fifty- pound note, I don't know the place in London where I could go and lose it ? " And he fondly recounted the names of twetity places where he could have cheerfully staked and lost his money in his young time. After a somewhat prolonged ab- sence abroad, Mr. Firmin came back to this country, was permitted to re- turn to the University, and left it with the degree of Bachelor of Medicine. We have told how he ran away with Lord Eingwood's niece, and incurred the anger of that nobleman. Beyond 98 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. abuse and anger his Lordship was powerless. The young lady was free to maiTy whom she liked, and her uncle to disown or receive him ; and accordingly she was, as we have seen, disowned by his Lordship, until he found it convenient to forgive her. What were Lord Kingwood's inten- tions regarding his property, what were his accumulations, and who his heirs would be, no one knew. Mean- while, of course, there were those who felt a very great interest on the point. Mrs. Twysden and her husband and children were hungry and poor. If Uncle Ringwood had money to leave, it would be very welcome to those three darlings, whose father had not a great income like Dr. Firmin. PhUip was a dear, good, frank, amiar ble, wild fellow, and they all loved him. But he had his faults, — that could not be concealed, — and so poor Phil's faults were pretty con- stantly canvassed before Uncle Ring- wood, by dear relatives who knew them only too well. The dear rela- tives ! How kind they are ! I don't think Phil's aunt abused him to my Lord. That quiet woman calmly and gently put forward the claims of her own darlings, and afiectionately dilated on the young man's present prosperity, and magnificent future prospects. The interest of thirty thousand pounds now, and the inher- itance of his father's great accumu- lations ! What young man could want for more ? Perhaps he had too much already. Perhaps he was too rich to work. The sly old peer ac- quiesced in his niece's statements, and perfectly understood the point towards which they tended. " A thousand a year ! What 's a thousand a year ? " growled the old lord. " Not enough to make a gentleman, more than enough to make a fellow idle." "Ah, indeed, it was but a small income," sighed Mrs. Twysden. " With a large house, a good estab- lishment, and Mr. Twysden's salary from his office, — it was but a pit- tance." " Pittance ! Starvation," growls my Lord, with his usual frankness. " Don't I know what housekeeping costs ; and see how you screw ? Butlers and footmen, carriages and job-horses, rent and dinners, — though yours, Maria, are not famous." " Very bad, — I know they are very bad," says the contrite ■ lady. " I wish we could afford any better." " Afford any better ? Of course you can't. You are the crockery pots, and you swim down stream with the brass pots. I saw Twysden the other day walking down St James's Streetwith Rhodes — that tallfellow." (Here my Lord laughed, and showed many fangs, the exhibition of which gave a peculiarly fierce air to his Lordship when in good-humor). " If Twysden walks with a big fellow, ho always tries to keep step with him. You know that." Poor Maria natur- ally knew her husband's peculiarities ; but she did not say that she had no need to be reminded of them. " He was so blown he could hardly speak," continued Uncle Ringwood,- " but he would stretch his little legs, and try and keep up. He has a little body, fe clier mari, but a good pluck. Those httlo fellows often have. I've seen him half dead out shooting, and plunging over the ploughed fields after fellows with twice his stride. Why don't men sink in the world, I want to know? Instead of a fine house, and a parcel of idle servants, why don't you have a maid and a leg of mutton, Maria t You go half crazy in trying to make both ends meet. You know you do. It keeps you awake of nights ; I know that very well. You 've got a house fit for people with four times your money. I lend you my cook and so forth ; but I can't come and dine with you unless I send the wine in. Why don't you have a pot of porter, and a joint, or some tripe ? — tripe 's a famous good thing. The miseries which people entail on themselves in trying to live bej^ond their means are perfectly ridiculous, by George ! Look at tha"t THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 99 fellow who opened the door to me; he's as tall as one of ray own men. Go and live in a quiet little street in Belgravia somewliere, and have a neat little maid. Nobody will think a penny the worse of you, — and you will be just as well off as if yon lived here with an extra couple of thousand a year. The advice I am giving you is worth half that, every shilling of it." " It is very good advice : but I think, sir, I should prefer the thou- sand pounds," said the lady. " Of course yon would. That is the consequence of your false position. One of the good points about that doctor is that he is as proud as Lucifer, and so is his boy. They are not always hungering after money. They keep their independence ; though he'll have his own too, the fellow will. Why, when I first called him in, I thought, as he was a relation he 'd doctor me for nothing ; but he wouldn't. He would have his fee, by George ! and would n't come with- out it. Confounded independent fellow Firrain is. And so is the young one." But when Twysden and his son (perhaps inspirited by Mrs. Twysden) tried once or twice to be independent in the presence of this lion, he roared, and he riished at them, and he rent them, so that they fled from him howling. And this reminds me of an old story I have heard, — quite an old, old story, such as kind old fellows at clubs love to remember, — of my Lord, when he was only Lord Cinq- bars, insulting a half-pay lieutenant, in his own country, who horsewhipped his Lordship in the most private and ferocious manner. It was said Lord Cinqbars had had a rencontre with poachers : but it was my Lord who was poaching and the lieutenant who was defending his own dovecot. I do not say that this was a model noble- man ; but that, when his own passions or interests did not mislead him, he was a nobleman of very considerable acuteness, humor, and good sense ; and could give quite good advice on occasion. If men would kneel down and kiss his boots, well and good. There was the blacking, and you were welcome to embrace toe and heel. But those who would not were free to leave the operation alone. The Pope himself does not demand the ceremony from Protestants ; and if they object to the slipper, no one thinks of forcing it into their moulhs. Phil and his father probably declined to tremble before the old man, not because they knew he was a bully who might be put down, but because they were men of spirit, who cared not whether a man was bully or no. I have told you I like Philip Fir- rain, though it must be confessed that the young fellow had many faults, and that his career, especially his early cai'eer, was by no means exem- plary. Have I ever excused his con- duct to his father, or said a word in apology of bis brief and inglorious university career ? I acknowledge his shortcomings with that candor which my friends exhibit in speaking of mine. Who does not see a friend's weaknesses, and is so blind that he cannot perceive that enonnous beam in his neighbor's eye'? Only a wo- man or two, from time to time. And even they are undeceived some day. A man of the world, I write about my friends as mundane fellow-creatures. Do you suppose there are many angels here 1 I say again, perhaps a woman or two. But as for you and me, my good sir, are there any signs of wings sprouting from our shoulder- blades 1 Be quiet. Don't pursue your snarling, cynical remarks, but go on with your story. As you go through life, stumbling, and slipping, staggering to your feet again, ruefully aware of your own wretched weakness, and praying, with a contrite heart, let us trust, that you may not be led into temptation, have you not often looked at other fellow-sinners, and speculated with an awful interest on their career 1 Some there are on whom, quite in their early 100 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. lives, dark Ahrimanes has seemed to lay his dread mark : children, yet corrupt, and wicked of tongue ; tender of age, yet cruel ; who should be truth-telling and generous yet (they were at their mothers' bosoms yester- day), but are false and cold and greedy before their time. Infants almost, they practise the art and self- ishness of old men. Behind their candid faces are wiles and mckedness, and a hideous precocity of artifice. I can recall such, and in the rista of far-off, uuforgotten boyhood, can see marching that sad little procession of enfans perdus. May they be saved, pray Heaven ! Then there is the doubtful class, those who are still on trial ; those who fall and rise again ; those who are often worsted in life's battle ; beaten down, wounded, im- prisoned ; but escape and conquer sometimes. And then there is the h ippy class about whom there seems no doubt at all : the spotless and white-robed ones, to whom virtue is easy; in whose pure bosoms faith nestles, and cold doubt finds no en- trance ; who are children, and good ; young men, and good ; husbands and fathers, and yet good. Why could the captain of our school write his Greek iambics without an effort, and without an error? Others of us blistered the page with unavailing tears and blots, and might toil ever so and come in lag last at the bottom of the form. Our friend Philip bo- longs to the middle-class, in which you and I probably are, my dear sir, — not yet, I hope, irredeemably con- signed to that awful third class, whereof mention has been made. But, being Iwmo, and liable to err, there is no doubt Mr. Philip exercised his privilege, and there was even no little fear at one time that he should overdraw his account. He went from school to the University, and there distinguished himself certainly, but in a way in which very few parents would choose that their sons should excel. That he should hunt, that he should give parties, that he should pull a good oar in one of the best boats on the river, that he should speak at the Union, ^— all these were very well. But why should he speak such awful radicalism and republican- ism, — he with noble blood in his veins, and the son of a parent whose interest at least it was to keep well with people of high station ? " Why, Pendennis," said Dr. Kr- min to me with tears in his eyes, and much genuine grief exhibited on his handsome pale face, — " why should it be said that Philip Firmin — both of whose grandfathers fought nobly for their king — should be forgetting the principles of his family, and — and 1 have n't words to tell you how deeply he disappoints me. Why, I actually heard of him at that horri- ble Union advocating the death of Charles the First ! I was ivild enough myself when I was at the University, but I was a gentleman." " Boys, sir, are boys," I urged, " They will advocate anything for an argument; and Philip would have taken the other side quite as read- iiy-" "Lord Axminster and Lord St. Dennis told me of it at the club. I can tell you it has made a most pain- ful impression," cried the father. " That my son should be a radical and a republican is a cruel thought for a father ; and I, who had hoped for Lord Ringwood's borough for him, — who had hoped — who had hoped very much better things for him and from him. He is not a comfort to me. You saw how he treated me one night "! A man might live on differ- ent terms, I think, with his only son ! " And with a breaking voice, a pallid cheek, and a real grief at his heart, the unhappy physician moved away. How had the Doctor bred his son, that the young man should bo thus unruly? Was the revolt the boy's fault, or the father's ? Dr. Firmin's horror seemed to be because his noble friends were horrified by Phil's radi- cal doctrine. At that time of my life, THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 101 being young and very green, I had a little mischievous pleasure in infuri- ating Squaretoes, and causing him to pronounce that I was " a dangerous man." Now, I am ready to say that Nero was a monarch with many elegant accomplishments, and consid- erable natural amiability of disposi- tion. I praise and admire success wherever 1 meet it. I make allow- ance for faults and shortcomings, es- pecially in my superiors ; and feel that, did we know all, we should judge them very diflFerently. People don't believe me, perhaps, quite so much as formerly. But I don't of- fend : I trust I don't offend. Have I said anything painful ? Plague on my blunders ! 1 recall the expression. X regret it. I contradict it flat. As I am ready to find excuses for everybody, let poor Philip come in for the benefit of this mild amnesty ; and if he vexed his father, as he certainly did, let us trust — let us be thankfully sure — he was not so black as the old gentleman depicted him. Nay, if I have painted the Old Gentleman himself as rather black, who knows but that this was an error, not of his complexion, but of my vision 1 Phil was unruly because he was bold, and wild, and young. His father was hurt, naturally hurt, because of the boy's extravagances and follies. They will come together again, as father and son should. These little differ- ences of temper will be smoothed and equalized anon. The boy has led a wild life. He has been obliged to leave college. He has given his father hours of anxiety and nights of pain- ful watching. But stay, father, what of you t Have you shown to the boy the practice of confidence, the exam- ple of love and honor ? Did you ac- custom him to virtue, and teach truth to the child at your knee ? " Honor your feather and mother." Amen. May his days be long who fulfils the command : but implied, though un- written on the table, is there not the order, " Honor your son and daugh- ter " t Pray Heaven that we, whose days are already not few in the land, may keep this ordinance too. \Vhat had made Philip wild, ex- travagant, and insubordinate ? Cured of that illness in which we saw him, he rose up, and from school went his way to the University, and there en- tered on a life such as wild young men will lead. From that day of ill- ness his manner towards his father changed, and regarding the change the elder Firmin seemed afraid to question his son. He used the house as if his own, came and .absented himself at will, ruled the soryant,?,! and was spoiled, by them ; speht'the; income which was settled on his moth-; er and her childrenv.and gave of it liberally to poor; acquaintances. To the remonstrances, ofjoldffriends here- plied that he had-a. right to. do as he chose with his .own ;. that. other men who were poor might- work,' but that he had enough to live on, without grinding over classics and mathemat- ics. He was implicated in more rows than one ; his tutors saw him not, but he and the procters became a gi-eat deal too well, acquainted. If I were to give a history of Mr. Philip Pirmin at the University, it would be the story of an Idle Apprentice, of whom his pastors and masters were justified in prophesying evil. He was seen on lawless London excursions, when his father and tutor supposed him unwell in his rooms in college. He made acquaintance with jolly companions, with whom his father grieved that he should be intimate. He cut the as- tonished uncle Twysden in London Street, and blandly told him that he must be mistaken, — he one French- man, he no speak English. He stared the master of his own college out of countenance, dashed back to college with a Turpin-like celerity, and was in rooms with a ready-proved alibi when inquiries were made. I am afraid there is no doubt that Phil screwed up his tutor's door ; Mr. Okes discovered him in the act. He had to go down, the young prodigal. I wish I could say he was repentant. But he 102 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. appeared before his father -vrith the utmost nonchalance ; said that he was doing no good at the University, and should be much better away, and then went abroad on a dashing tour to France and Italy, whither it is by no means our business to follow him. Something had poisoned the generous blood. The once kindly honest lad was wild and reckless. He had money in sufficiency, his own horses and equipage, and free quarters in his father's house. But father and son scarce met, and seldom took a meal together. " I know his haunts, but I don't know his friends, Pendennis," the elder man said. " I don't think they are vicious, so much as low. I do not charge him with vice, mind you ; but with idleness, and a fatal love of low company, and a frantic, suicidal determination to fling his chances in life away. Ah, think where he might be, and where he is ! " Where he was? Do not be alarmed. Philip was only idling. Philip might have been much more industriously, more profitably, and a great deal more wickedly employed. What is now called Bohemia had no name in Philip's young days, though many of us knew the country very well. A pleasant land, not fenced with drab stucco, like Tybumia or Belgravia ; not guarded by a huge standing army of footmen ; not echoing with noble chariots; not replete with polite chintz drawing-rooms and neat tea-tables ; a land over which hangs an endless fog, occasioned by much tobacco ; a land of chambers, billiard-rooms, supper- rooms, oysters; a land of song ; a land where soda-water flows freely in the morning ; a land of tin-dish covers from taverns, and frothing porter ; a land of lotus-eating (with lots of cayenne pepper), of pulls on the river, of delicious reading of novels, maga- zines, and saunterings in many stu- dios ; a land where men call each oth- er by their Christian names ; where most arc poor, where almost all are young, and where, if a few oldsters do enter, it is because they have preserved more tenderly and carefully than otb- er folks their youthful spirits, and the delightful capacity to be idle. I have lost my way to Bohemia now, but it is certain that Prague is the most picturesque city in the world. Having long lived there, and indeed only lately quitted the Bohemian land at the time whereof I am writing, I could not quite participate in Dr. Fir- min's indignation at his son persist- ing in his bad courses and wild asso- ciates. When Firmin had been wild himself, he had fought, intrigued, and gambled in good company. Phil chose his friends amongst a banditti never heard of in fashionable quarters. Per- haps he liked to piny the prince in the midst of these associates, and was not averse to the flattery which a full purse brought him among men most of whose pockets had a meagre lining. He had not emigrated to Bohemia, and settled there altogether. At school and in his brief university career he had made some friends who lived in the world, and with whom he was still familiar. " These come and knock at my front door, my father's door," he would say, with one of his old laughs ; " the Bandits, who have the signal, enter only by the dissect- ing-room. I know which are the most honest, and that it is not always the poor Freebooters who best deserve to be hanged." Like many a young gentleman who has no intention of pursuing legal studies seriously, Philip entered at an inn of court, and kept his terms duly, though he vowed that his con- science would not allow him to prac- tise (I am not defending the opinions of this squeamish moralist, — only stating them). His acquaintance here lay amongst the Temple Bohemians. He had part of a set of chambers in Parchment Buildings, to be sure, and you might read on a door, " Mr. Cas- sidy, Mr. P. Firmin, Mr. Vanjohn " ; but were these gentlemen likely to ad- vance Philip in life '! Cassidy was a newspaper reporter, and young Van- john a betting man who was always THE ADVENTURES OP PmUP. 103 attending races Dr. Firmin had a horror of newspaper-men, and consid- ered they belonged to the dangerous classes, and treated them with a dis- tant affability. " Look at the governor. Pen," Philip would say to the present chron- icler. . " He always watches you with a secret suspicion, and has never got over his wonder at your being a gen- tleman. I like him when he does the Lord Chatham business, and conde- scends towards you, and gives you his hand to kiss He considers he is your better, don't you see ? O, he is a paragon of a pfere noble, the gov- ernor is ! and I ought to be a young Sir Charles Grandison." And the young scapegrace would imitate his father's smile, and the Doctor's man- ner of laying his hand to his breast and putting out his neat right leg, all of which movements or postures were, 1 own, rather pompous and affected. Whatever the paternal faults were, you will say that Philip was not the man to criticise them; nor in this matter shall I attempt to defend him. My wife has a little pensioner whom she found wandering in the street, and singing a little artless song. The child could not speak yet, — only warble its little song ; and had thus strayed away from home, and never once knew of her danger. We kept her for a while, until the police found her parents. Our servants bathed her, and dressed her, and sent her home in such neat clothes as the poor little wretch had never seen until fortune sent her in the way of those good-na- tured folks. She pays them frequent visits. When she goes away from us, she is always neat and clean ; when she comes to ns, she is in rags and dirty : a wicked little slattern ! And pray whose duty is it to keep her clean ? and has not the parent in this case forgotten to honor her daughter ? Suppose there is some reason which prevents Philip from loving his father, — that the Doctor has neglected to cleanse the boy's heart, and by careless- ness and indifference has sent him err- ing ipto the world. If so, woe be to that doctor. If I take my little son to the tavern to dinner, shall I not as- suredly pay ? If I suffer him in ten- der youth to go astray, and hann comes to him, whose is the fault ? Perhaps the very outrages and ir- regularities of which Phil's father complained were in some degree oc- casioned by the elder's own faults. He was so laboriously obsequious to great men, that the son in a rage de- fied and avoided them. He was so grave, so polite, so complimentary, so artificial, that Phil, in revolt at such hypocrisy, chose to be frank, cynical, and familiar. The grave old big-wigs whom the Doctor loved to assemble, bland and solemn men of the ancient school, who dined solemn- ly wilh each other at their solemn old houses, — such men as old Lord 13otIey, Baron Bumpsher, Cricklade (who published " Travels in Asia Mi- nor," 4to, 1804), the Bishop of St. Bees, and the like, — wagged their old beads sadly when they collogued in clubs, and talked of poor Firmin's scapegrace of a son. He would come to no good ; he was giving his good father much pain ; he had been in all forts of rows and disturbances at the University, and the Master of Boni- face reported most unfavorably of him. And at the solemn dinners in Old Parr Street, — the admirable, costly, silent dinners, — he treated these old gentlemen with a familiar- ity which caused the old heads to shake with surprise and choking in- dignation. Lord Botley and Baron Bumpsher had proposed and second- ed Firmln's boy at the Megatherium club. The pallid old boys toddled away in alarm when he made his ap- pearance there. He brought a smell of tobacco smoke with him. He was ca- pable of smoking in the drawing-room Itself They trembled before Philip, who, for his part, used to relish their senile anger ; and loved, as he called it, to tie Si their pigtails together. In no place was Philip seen or heard to so little advantage as in his 104 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. father's house. "I feel like a hum- bug myself amongst those old hum- bugs," he would say to me. " Their old jokes, and their old complipients, and their virtuous old conversation sicken me. Are all old men hum- bugs, I wonder ? " It is not pleasant to hear misanthropy from young lips, and to find eyes that are scarce twenty years old already looking out with distrust on the world. In other houses than his own I am bound to say Philip was much more amiable, and he carried with him a splendor of gayety and cheerfulness which brought sunshine and welcome into many a room which he fre- quented. I have said that many of his companions were artists and jour- nalists, and their clubs and haunts were his own. Ridley the Academi- cian had Mrs. Brandon's rooms in Thomhaugh Street, and Pliilip was often in J. J.'s studio, or in the wid- ow's little room below. Ho had a very great tenderness and affection for her ; her presence seemed to pu- rify him; and in her company the boisterous, reckless young man was invariably gentle and respectful. Her eyes used to fill with tears when she spoke about him ; and when he was present, followed and watched him with sweet motherly devotion. It was pleasant to see him at her homely little iireside, and hear his jokes and prattle, with a fatuous old father, who was one of Mrs. Brandon's lodgers. Philip would play cribbage for hours vAih this old man, frisk about him with a hundred harmless jokec. and walk out by his invalid chair, when the old captain went to sun himself in the New Road. He was an idle fellow, Philip, that 's the truth. He had an agreeable perseverance in do- ing nothing, and woald pass half a day in perfect contentment over his pipe, watching Ridley at his easel. J. J. painted that charming head of JPhilip which hangs in Mrs. Brandon's little room, — with the fair hair, the tawny beard and whiskers, and the bold blue eyes. Phil had a certain after-supper song of " Garryowen na Gloria," which it did you good to hear, and which, when sung at his full pitch, you might hear for a mile round. One niglit I had been to dine in Russell Square, and was brought home in his carriage by Dr. Firniin, who was of the party. As we came through Soho, the windows of a certain club- room called the " Haunt" were open, and we could hear Philip's song boom- ing througli the night, and especially a certain wild-Irish war-whoop with which it concluded, amidst universal applause and enthusiastic battering of glasses. The poor father sank back in the carriage as though a blow had struck him. " Do you hear his voice 1 " he groaned out. " Those are his haunts. My son, who might go anywhere, prefers to be captain in a pot-house, and sing songs in a tap-room ! " I tried to make the best of the case. I knew there was no harm in the place; that clever men of consider- able note frequented it. But the wounded father was not to be con- soled by such commonplaces ; and a deep and natural grief oppressed him in consequence of the faults of his son. What ensued by no means surprised me. Among Dr. Krmin's patients was a maiden lady of suitable age and large fortune, who looked upon the accomplished doctor with favor- able eyes. That he should take a companion to cheer him in his soli- tude was natural enough, and all his friends concurred in thinking that he should marry. Every one had cogni- zance of the quiet little courtship, ex- cept the doctor's son, between whom and his father there were only too many secrets. Some man in a club asked Philip whether he should condole with him or congratulate him on his father's approaching marriage? His what? The younger Ii'irmin exhibited the greatest surprise and agitation on hearing of this match. He ran home : he awaited his fathejr's return, THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 105 When Dr. Finnin came home and betook himself to his study, Philip confronted him there. "This must be a lie, sir, which I hare heard to- day," the young man said, fiercely. " A lie ! what lie, Philip ? " asked the father. They were both very res- olute and courageous men. "That you are going to marry Miss Benson." " Do you make my house so happy that I don't need any other compan- ion ? " asked the father. " That 's not the question," said Philip, hotly. " You can't and mustn't marry that lady, sir." " And why not, sir ? " "Because in the eyes of God and Heaven you are married already, sir. And I swear I will tell Miss Benson the story to-moiTOw, if you persist in your plan." " So you know that story ? " groaned the father. " Yes. God forgive you," said the son. " It was a fault of my youth that has been bitterly repented." "A fault! — a crime!" said Philip. " Enough, sir ! Whatever my fault, it is not for you to charge me with it." "If you won't guard your own honor, I must. I shall go to Miss Benson now." " If yon go out of this house you don't pretend to return to it ■? " " Be it so. Let us settle our ac- counts, and part, sir." "Philip, Philip! you break my heart," cried the father. " You don't suppose mine is very light, sir," said the son. Philip never had Miss Benson for a mother-in-law. But father and son loved each other no better after their dispute. — < — CHAPTER VI. Brandon's. Thoknhaugh Stkeet is but a poor place now, and the houses look as if they had, seen better days : but that house with the cut centre draw- ing-room window, which has the name of Brandon on the door, is as neat as any house in the quarter, and the brass plate always shines like bur- nished gold. Ajbout Easter time many fine carriages stop at that door, and splendid people walk in, intro- duced by a tidy little maid, or else by an athletic Italian, with a glossy black beard and gold ear-rings, who con- ducts them to the drawing-room floor, where Mr. Ridley, the painter, lives, and where his pictures are privately exhibited before they go to the Royal Academy. As the carriages drive up, you will often see a red-faced man, in an olive- green wig, smiling blandly over the blinds of the parlor, on the ground- floor. That is Captain Gann, the father of the lady who keeps the house. I don't know how he came by the rank of captain, but he has borne it so long and gallantly that there is no use in any longer ques- tioning the title. He does not claim it, neither does he deny it. But the wags who call upon Mrs. Brandon can always, as the phrase is, " draw " her father, by speaking of Prussia, Erance, Waterloo, or battles in gen- eral, until the Little Sister says, "Now, never mind about the battle of Waterloo, papa" (she says Pa — her It's are irregular — I can't help it) , — "never mind about Waterloo, papa ; you 've told them all about it. And don't go on, Mr. Beans, don't, please, go on in that way." Young Beans has already drawn "Captain Gann {assisted .by Shaw, the Life-Guardsman) killing twenty- four French cuirassiers at Waterloo." " Captain Gann defending Hougou- mont." " Captain Gann, called upon by Napoleon Buonaparte to lay down his arms, saying, 'A captain of militia dies, but never surrenders.'" " The Duke of Wellington pointing to the advancing Old Guard, and saying, ' Up, Gann, and at them.' '' And these sketches are so droll, that 106 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. eyen the Little Sister, Gann's own daughter, can't help laughing at them. To be sure, she loves fun, the Little Sister ; laughs over droll books ; laughs to herself, in her little quiet corner at work ; laughs over pictures ; and, at the right place, laughs and sympathizes too. Eidley says he knows few better critics of pictures than Mrs. Brandon. She has a sweet temper, a merry sense of humor, that makes the cheeks dimple and the eyes shine ; and a kind heart, that has been sorely tried and wounded, but is still soft and gentle. Fortu- nate are they whose hearts, so tried by suffering, yet recover their health. Some have illnesses from which there is no recovery, and drag through life afterwards, maimed and invalid- ed. But this Little Sister, having been subjected in youth to a dreadful trial and sorrow, was saved out of them by a kind Providence, and is now so thoroughly restored as to own that she is happy, and to thank God that she can be grateful and useful. When poor Montfitchet died, she nursed iiira through his illness as tenderly as his good wife herself. In the days of her own chief grief and misfor- tune, her father, who was under the domination of his wife, a cruel and blundering woman, thrust out poor little Caroline from his door, when she returned to it the broken-hearted victim of a scoundrel's seduction ; and when the old captain was himself in want and houseless, she had found him, sheltered and fed him. And it was from that day her wounds had be- gun to heal, and, from gratitude for this immense piece of good fortune vouch- safed to her, that her happiness and cheerfulness returned. Returned ? There was an old servant of the fam- ily, who could not stay in the house because she was so abominably dis- respectful to the captain, and this woman said she had never known Miss Caroline so cheerfiil, nor so happy, nor so good-looking, as she was now. So Captain Gann came to lira with his daughter, and patronized her with much dignity. He had a very few yearly pounds, which served to pay bis club expenses, and a por- tion of his clothes. His club, I need not say, was at the " Admiral Byng," Tottenham Court Road, and here the captain met frequently a pleasant lit- tle society, and bragged unceasingly about his former prosperity. I have heard that the country-house in Kent, of which he boasted, was a shabby little lodging-house at Mar- gate, of which the furniture was sold in execution ; but if it had been a palace the captain would not have been out of place there, one or two people still rather fondly thought. His daugh- ter, amongst others, had tried to fancy all sorts of good of her father, and especially that he was a man of re- markably good manners. But she had seen one or two gentlemen since she knew the poor old father, — gen- tlemen with rough coats and . good hearts, like Dr. Goodenough ; gentle- men with superfine coats and super- fine double-milled manners, like Dr. Firmin, and hearts — well, never mind about that point; gentlemen of no Ji's, like the good, dear, faithful benefactor who had rescued her at the brink of despair ; men of genius, like Ridley ; great hearty, generous, honest gentlemen, like Philip ; — and this illusion about Pa, I suppose, had vanished along with some other fancies of her poor little maiden youth. The truth is, she had an understanding with the "Admiral Byng": the landlady was instructed as to the supplies to be furnished to the captain; and as for his stories, poor Caroline knew them a great deal too well to believe in them any more. I would not be understood to ac- cuse the captain of habitual inebriety. He was a generous officer, and his delight was, when in cash, to order " glasses round " for the company at the club, to whom he narrated the history of his brilliant early days. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 107 irJien he lived in some of the tiptop society of this city, sir, — a society in which, we need not say, tlie custom always is for gentlemen to treat other gentlemen to rum-aud-water. Never mind, — I wish wo were all as happy as the captain. I see his jolly face now before me-as it blooms through the window in Thornhangh Street, and the wave of the somewhat dingy hand which sweeps me a gracious rec- ognition. The clergyman of the neighboring chapel was a very good friend to the Little Sister, and has taken tea in her parlor; to which circumstance the captain frequently alluded, point- ing out the very chair on which the divine sat. Mr. Ganu attended his ministrations regularly every Sunday, and brought a rich, though somewhat worn, bass voice to bear upon the anthems and hymns at the chapel. His style was more florid than is gen- eral now among church singers, and, indeed, had been acquired in a former age and in the performance of rich Bacchanalian chants, such as delight- ed the contemporaries of our Incle- dons and Brahams. With a very little entreaty, the captain could be induced . to sing at the club ; and I must own that Phil Firmin would draw the captain out, and extract from him a song of ancient days ; but this must be in the absence of his daughter, whose little face wore an air of such extreme terror and dis- turbance when her father sang, that he presently ceased from exercising his musical talents in her hearing. He hung up his lyre, whereof it must be owned that time had brok- en many of the once resounding chords. With a sketch or two contributed by her lodgers, — with a few gimcracks from the neighboring Wardour Street presented by others of her friends, — with the chairs, tables, and bureaus as bright as beeswax and rubbing could make them, — the Little Sister's room was a cheery little place, and received not a little company. She allowed Pa's pipe. " It 's company to him," she said. " A man can't be doing much harm when he is smok- ing his pipe." And sheallowed Phil's cigar. Anything was allowed to Phil, the other lodgers declared, who professed to be quite jealous of Philip Pirmin. She had a very few books. " When I was a girl I used to be al- ways reading novels," she said ; " but, la, they 're mostly nonsense. There 's Mr. Pendennis, who comes to see Mr. fiidley. I wonder how a married man can go on writing about love, and all that stuff! " And, indeed, it is rather absurd for elderly fingers to be still twanging Dan Cupid's toy bow and arrows. Yesterday is gone, — yes, but very well remembered; and we think of it the more now we know that To-morrow is not going to bring us much. Into . Mrs. Brandon's parlor Mr. Eidley's old father would sometimes enter of evenings, and share the bit of bread and cheese, or the modest supper of Mrs. Brandon and the Cap- tain. The homely little meal has al- most vanished out of our life now, but in former days it assembled many a family round its kindly board. A little modest supper-tray, — a little quiet prattle, — a little kindly glass that cheered and never inebriated. I can see friendly faces smiling round such a meal, at a period not far gone, but how distant ! I wonder whether there are any old folks now, in old quarters of old country towns, who come to each other's houses in sedan- chairs at six o'clock, and play at quadrille until supper-tray time 1 Of evenings Ridley and the captain, I say, would have a solemn game at cribbage, and the Little Sister would make up a jug of something good for the two oldsters. She liked Mr. Ridley to come, for he always treated her father so respectful, and was quite the gentleman. And as for Mrs. Ridley, Mr. R.'s "good lady," — was she not also grateful to the Little Sister for having nursed her son during his malady? Through their 108 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. connection they were enaWed to pro- cure Mrs. Brandon many valuable friends ; and always were pleased to pass an evening with the captain, and were as civil to him as they could have been had he been at the very height of his prosperity and splendor. My private opinion of the old captain, you see, is that he was a worthless old captain, but most fortunate in his early ruin, after which he had lived very much admired and comfortable, sufBcient whiskey being almost al- ways provided for him. Old Mr. Ridley's respect for her father afforded a most precious conso- lation to the Little Sister. Ridley liked to have the paper read to him. He was never quite easy with print, and to his last days, many words to be met with in newspapers and else- where used to occasion the good but- ler much intellectual trouble. The Little Sister made his lodgers' bills out for him (Mr. R., a? well as the captain's daughter, strove to increase a small income by the letting of fur- nished apartments), or the captain himself would take these documents in charge ; he wrote a noble mercan- tile hand, rendered now somewhat shaky by time, but still very fine in flourishes and capitals, and very much at worthy Mr. Ridley's service.' Time was, when his son was a boy, that J. J. himself had prepared these ac- counts, which neither his father nor his mother were very competent to arrange. " We were not, in our young time, Mr. Gann," Ridley re- marked to his friend, " brought up to much scholarship ; and very little book-learninij was given to persons in mij rank of life. It was necessary and proper for you gentlemen, of course, sir." " Of course, Mr. Rid- ley," winks the other veteran over his pipe. " But I can't go and ask my son John James to keep his old father's books now as he used to do, — which to do so is, on the part of you and Mrs. Brandon, the part of true friendship, and I value it, sir, and so do my son John James rcckonize and value it, sir." Mr. Ridley had served gentlemen of the bonne dcole. No no- bleman could be more courtly and grave than he was. In Mr. Gann's manner there was more humorous playfulness, which in no way, how- ever, diminished the captain's high breeding. As he continued to be intimate with Mr. Ridley, ho became loftier and more majestic. I think each of these elders acted on the other, and for good; and I hope Ridley's opinion was correct, that Mr. Gann was ever the gentleman. To see these two good fogies together was a spec- tacle for edification. Their tumblers kissed each other on the table. Their elderly friendship brought comfort to themselves and their families. A little matter of money once created 3 coolness between the two old gentle- men. But the Little Sister paid the outstanding account between her father and Mr. Ridley : there never was any further talk of pecuniary loans between them ; and when they went to the " Admiral Byng," each paid for himself. Phil often heard of that nightly meeting at the "Admiral's Head," and longed to be of the company. But even when he saw the old gentle- men in the Little Sister's parlor, they felt dimly that he was making fun of them. The captain would not have boon able to brag so at ease had Pliil been continually watching him. " I have 'ad the honor of waiting on your worthy father at my Lord Tod- morden's table. Our little club ain't no place for you, Mr. Philip, nor for my son, though he 's a good son, and proud me and his mother is of him, which he have never gave us a moment's pain, except when he was ill, since he have came to man's estate, most thankful ani I, and with my hand on my heart, for to be able to say so. But what is good for me and Mr. Gann won't suit you young gentlemen. You ain't a tradesman, sir, else I 'm mistaken in the family, which I thought the Ringwoods one of the best in England, and the The Old Fogies. THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 109 Fimiins a good one likewise." Mr. liidley lored the sound of Iiis own voice. At tlie festive meetings of the club, seldom a night passed in which he did not compliment his brother Byngs and air his own oratory. Under this reproof Phil blushed, and hung his conscious head with shame. " Mr. Kidley," says he, " you shall find I won't come where I am not welcome ; and if I come to annoy you at the 'Admiral Byng,' may I be taken out on the quarter-deck and shot." On which Mr. Eidley pro- nounced Philip to be a "most sing'lar, astrornaiy, and ascentric young man. A good heart, sir. Most generous to relieve distress. Fine talent, sir ; but I fear — I fear they won't come to much good, Mr. Gann — saving your presence, Mrs. Brandon, m'm, which, of course, you always stand up for him." When Philip Krnain had had his pipe and his talk with the Little Sister in her parlor, he would ascend and smoke Ms second, third, tenth pipe in J. J. Kidley's studio. He would pass hours before J. J.'s easel, pouring out talk about politics, about religion, about poetry, about women, about the dreadful slavishness and meanness of the world ; unwearied in talk and idleness, as placid J. J. was in listening and labor. The painter had been too busy in life over his easel to read many books. His ignorance of literature smote him with a frequent shame. He admired book--vvriters, and young men of the University who quoted their Greek and their Horace glibly. He listened with deference to their talk on such matters ; no doubt got good hints from some of them ; was always secretly pained and surprised when the university gentlemen were beaten in argument, or loud and coarse in conversation, as sometimes they would be. "J. J. is a very clever fellow, of course," Mr. Jarman would say of him, " and the luckiest man in Europe. He loves painting, and he . is at work all day. He loves toadying fine people, and he goes to a tea-party every night." You all knew Jarman of Charlotte Street, the miniature- painter'? He was one of the kings of the " Haunt." His tongue spared no one. He envied all success, and the sight of prosperity made him furious ; but to the unsuccessful he was kind ; to the poor eager with help and prodigal of compassion ; and that old talk about nature's noblemen and the glory of labor was very fiercely and eloquently waged by him. His friends admireS him : he was the soul of independence and thought most men sneaks who wore clean linen and frequented gentlemen's society : but it must be owned his landlords had a bad opinion of him, and I have heard of one or two of his, pecuniary transactions which certainly were not to Mr Jarman's credit. Jarman was a man of remarkable humor. He was fond of the widow, and would speak of her goodness, usefiilness, and honesty with tears in his eyes. She was poor and struggling yet. Had she been wealthy and prosperous, Mr. Jarman would not have been so alive to her merit. We ascend to the room on the first floor, where the centre window has been heightened, so as to afford an upper light, and under that stream of radiance we behold the head of an old friend, Mr. J. J. Ridley, the K. Academician. Time has somewhat thinned his own copious locks, and prematurely streaked the head with silver. His face is rather wan ; the eager, sensitive hand which poise? brush and palette, and quivers over the picture, is very thin : round his eyes are many lines of ill healtli and, perhaps, care, hut the eyes arc as bright as ever, and, when they look at the canvas or the model which he transfers to it, clear, and keen, and happy. He has a vei-y sweet singing voice, and warbles ai his work, or whistles at it, smiling. He sets his hand little feats of skill to perform, and smiles with a boyish 110 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. pleasure at his own matchless dexter- ity. I have seeil him, with an old pewter mustard-pot for a model, fashion a splendid silver flagon in one of his pictures ; paint the hair of an animal, the folds and flowers of a bit of brocade, and so forth, with a per- fect delight in the work he was per- forming : a delight lasting from morn- ing till sundown, during which time he was too busy to touch the biscuit and glass of water which was pre- pared for his frugal luncheon. He is greedy of the last minute of light, and never can be got from his darling pictures without a regret. To be a painter, and to have your hand in perfect command, I hold to be one of life's summa bona. The happy mix- ture of hand and head work must render the occupation supremely pleasant. In the day's work must occur endless delightful difficulties and occasions for skill. Over the details of that armor, that drapery, or what not, the sparkle of that eye, the downy blush of that cheek, the jewel on that neck, there are battles to be fought and victories to be won. Each day there must occur critical moments of supreme struggle and triumph, when struggle and victory must be both invigorating and exquisitely pleasing, — as a burst across country is to a fine i-ider perfectly mounted, who knows that his courage and his horse will never fail him. There is the excitement of the game, and the gallant delight in winning it. Of this sort of admi- rable reward for their labor, no men, I think, have a greater shai-e than painters (perhaps a violin-player per- fectly and triumphantly performing his own beautiful composition may be equally happy). Here is occupa- tion : here is excitement : here is struggle and victory : and here is profit. Can man ask more from fortune 1 Dukes and Kothschilds may be envious of such a man. "Though Ridley has had his trials and troubles, as we shall presently learn, his art has mastered them all. Black care may have sat in crupper on that Pegasus, but has never un- horsed tlie rider. In certain minds, art is dominant and superior to all beside, — stronger than love, stronger than hate, or care, or penury. As soon as the fever leaves the hand free, it is seizing and fondling the pencil. Love may frown and be false, but the other mistress never will. She is al- ways true : always new : always the friend, companion, inestimable con- soler. So John James Ridley sat at his easel from breakfast till sundown, and never left his work quite wil- lingly. I wonder are men of other trades so enamored of theirs ; whether lawyers cling to the last to their dar- ling reports ; or writers prefer their desks and inkstands to society, to friendship, to dear idleness t I have seen no men in life loving their pro- fessions so much as painters, except, perhaps, actors, who, when not en- gaged themselves, always go to the play. Before this busy easel Phil would sit for hours, and pour out endless talk and tobacco-smoke. His pres- ence was a delight to Ridley's soul ; his face a sunshine ; his voice a cor- dial. Weakly himself, and almost in- firm of body, with sensibilities trem- ulously keen, the painter most ad- mired amongst men strength, health, good spirits, good breeding. Of these, in his youth, Philip had a wealth of endowment; and I hope these pre- cious gifts of fortime have not left Mm in his maturer age. I do not say that with all men Philip was so popular. There are some who never can pardon good fortune, and in the company of gentlemen are on the watch for of- fence; and, no doubt, in hjs course through life, poor downright Phil trampled upon corns enough of those who met him in his way. " Do you know why Ridley is so fond of Fir- minV asked Jarman. "Because Firmin's father hangs on to the no- bility by the pulse, whilst Ridley, you know, is connected with them through the sideboard." So Jarman had the THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Ill double horn for his adversary : he could despise a man for not being a gentleman, and insult him for being one. I have met with people in the world with whom the latter offence is an unpardonable crime, — a cause of ceaseless doubt, division, and sus- picion. What more common or nat- ural, Bufo, than to hate another for being what you arc nof? The story is as old as frogs, bulls, and men. Then, to be sure, besides your en- viers in life, there are your admirers. Beyond wit, which he understood, — beyond genius, which he had, — Rid- ley admired good looks and manners, and always kept some simple hero whoin he loved secretly to cherish and worship. He loved to be amongst beautiful women and aristocratical men. Philip Firmin, with his repub- lican notions and downright blunt- ness of behavior to all men of rank superior to him, had a grand high manner of his own; and if he had scarce twopence in his pocket, would have put his hands in them with as much independence as the greatest dandy who ever, sauntered on Pall Mall pavement. What a coolness the fellow had ! Some men may, not un- reasonably, have thought it impu- dence. It fascinated Ridley. To be such a man ; to have such a figure and manner; to be able to look so- ciety in the face, slap it on the shoul- der, if you wore so minded, and hold it by the button, — what would not Ridley give for such powers and ac- complishments? You will please to bear in mind, I am not saying that J. J. was right, only that he was as he was. I hope we shall have nobody in this story without his little faults and peculiarities. Jarman was quite right when he said Ridley loved fine company. I believe his pedigree gave him secret anguishes. ■ He would rather have been gentleman than genius ever so great; but let you and me, who have no weaknesses of our own, try and look charitably on this confessed foible of my friend. J. J. never thought of rebuking Philip for being idle. Phil was as the lilies of the field, in the painter's opinion. He was not called upon to toil or spin ; but to take his ease, and grow and bask in sunshine, and bo arrayed in glory. Tlio little clique of painters knew what Pirmin's means were. Thirty thousand pounds of his own. Thirty thousand pounds down, sir; and the inheritance of his fa- ther's immense fortune ! A splendor emanated from this gifted young man. His opinions, his jokes, his laughter, his song, had the weight of thirty thousand down, sir; and &c., &c. What call had lie to work ? Would you set a young nobleman to be an apprentice 'i Philip was free to be as idle as any lord, if he liked. He ought to wear fine clothes, ride fine horses, dine off plate, and drink champagne every day. J. J. would work quite cheerfully till sunset, and have an eightpenny plate of meat in Wardour Street and a glass of porter for his humble dinner. At the " Haunt," and similar places of Bo- hemian resort, a snug place near the fire was always found for Pirmin. Fierce republican as he was, Jarman had a smile for his Lordship, and used to adopt particularly dandified airs when he had been invited to Old Parr Street to dinner. I dare say Philip liked flattery. 1 own that lie was a little weak in this respect, and that you and I, my dear sir, are, of course, far his superiors. J. J., who loved liim, would have had him follow his aunt's and cousin's advice, and live in better company ; but I think the painter would not have liked his pet to soil his hands with too much work, and rather admired Mr. Phil for be- ing idle. 'The Little Sister gave him advice, to be sure, both as to the company ho should keep and the occupation which was wholesome for him. But when others of his acquaintance hinted that his idleness would do him harm, she would not hear of their censure. " Why should he work if he don't 112 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. choose'!" she asked. "He has no call to be scribbling and scrabbling. Yon wouldn't have lam sitting all day painting little dolls' heads on canvas, and vforking like a slave. A pretty idea, indeed ! His uncle will get him an appointment. That 's the thing he should have. He should be secretary to an ambassador abroad, and he will be ! " In fact Phil, at this period, used to announce his wish to enter the diplomatic seiTice, and his hope that Lord Ringwood would far- ther his views in that respect. Mean- while he was the king of Xhoruhaugh Street. He might be as idle as he chose, and Mrs. Brandon had always a smile for him. He might smoke a great deal too much, but she worked dainty little cigar-cases for him. She hemmed his fine cambric pocket- handkerchiefs, and embroidered his crest at the comers. She worked him a waistcoat so splendid that he almost blushed to wear it, gorgeous as he was in apparel at this period, and sumptuous in chains, studs, and haberdashery. I fear Dr. Firmin, sighing out his disappointed hopes in respect of his son, has rather good cause for his dissatisfaction. But of these remonstrances the Little Sister would not hear. "Idle, why nof? Wliy should he work ? Boys will be boys. I dare say his grumbling old Pa was not better than Philip when he was young ! " And this she spoke with a heightened color in her little face, and a defiant toss of her head, of which I did not understand all the significance then ; but attributed her eager partisanship to that admirable injustice which belongs to all good women, and for which let us be daily thankful. I know, dear ladies, you are angry at this statement. But, even at the risk of displeasing you, we must tell the truth. You would wish to represent yourselves as equi- table, logical, and strictly just. So, I dare say, Dr. Johnson would have liked Mrs. Thrale to say»to him, " Sir, your manners are graceful ; your person elegant, cleanly, and em- inently pleasing ; your appetite small (especially for tea), and your dancing equal to the Violetta's " ; which, you perceive, is merely ironical. Women equitable, logical, and strictly just! Mercy upon us ! If they were, pop- ulation would cease, the world would be a howling wilderness. Well, in a word, this Little Sister petted and coaxed Philip Pirmin in such an ab- surd way that every one remarked it, — those who had no friends, no sweethearts, no mothers, no daugh- ters, no wives, and those who were petted, and coaxed, and spoiled at home themselves; as I trust, dearly beloved, is your case. Now, again, let us admit that Phil- ip's father had reason to be angry with the boy, and deplore his son's taste for low company; but excuse the young man, on the other hand, some- what for his fierce revolt and profound distaste at much in his home circle which annoyed him. " By Heaven ! " he would roar out, pulling his hair and whiskers, and with many fierce ejac- ulations, according to his wont, " the solemnity of those humbugs sickens me so, that I should like to crown the old bishop with the soup-tureen, and box Baron Bumpsher's ears with the saddle of mutton. At my aunt's, the humbug is just the same. It 's better done, perhaps ; but O Pendennis ! if you could but know the pangs which tore into my heart, sir, the vulture which gnawed at this confounded liver, when I saw women — women who ought to be pure, — women who ought to be like angels, — women who ought to know no art but that of coaxing our griefs away and soothing our sorrows — fawning, and crin- ging, and scheming; cold to this person, humble to that, flattering to the rich, and indifferent to the humble in station. I tell you I have seen all this, Mrs. Pendennis ! I won't men- tion names, but I have met with those who have made me old before my time — a hundred years old ! The zest of life is passed from mo " (hero Mr. Phil would gulp a bumper from THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 113 the nearest decanter at hand). "But if I like what your husband is pleased to call low society, it is because I have seen the other. I have dangled about at fine parties, and danced at fashion- able balls.' I have seen mothers bring their virgin daughters up to battered old rakes, and ready to sacrifice their innocence for fortune or a title. The atmosphere of those polite drawing- rooms stifles me. I can't bow the knee to the horrible old Mammon. I walk about in the crowds as lonely as if I was in a wilderness ; and don't begin to breathe freely until I get some honest tobacco to clear the air. As for your husband " (meaning the writer of this memoir), " he cannot help himself; he is a worldling, of the earth, earthy. If a duke were to ask him to dinner to-morrow, the parasite owns that he would go. Allow me, my friends, my freedom, my rough com- ? anions, in their work-day clothes, don't hear such lies and flatteries come from behind pipes, as used to pass from above white chokers when I was in the world." And he would tear at his cravat, as though the mere thought of the world's conventionality wellnigh strangled him. ■ This, to be sure, was in a late stage of his career, but I take up the biog- raphy here and there, so as to give the best idea I may of my friend's char- acter. At this time — he is out of the country just now, and besides, if he saw his own likeness staring him in the face, I am confident he would not know it — Mr. Philip, in some things, was as obstinate as a mule, and in others as weak as a woman. He had a childish sensibility for what was tender, helpless, pretty, or pa- thetic ; and a mighty scorn of im- posture, wherever he found it. He had many good purposes, which were often very vacillating, and were but seldom performed. He had a vast number of csil habits, whereof, you know, idleness is said to be the root. Many of these evil propensities he coaxed and cuddled with much care ; and though he roared out peccavi most frankly when charged with his sins, this criminal would fall to peccatiou very soon after promising amendment. What he liked he would have. What he disliked he could with the greatest difficulty be found to do. He liked good dinners, good wine, good horses, good clothes, and late hours ; and in all these comforts of life (or any others which he fancied, or which were within his means) he indulged him- self with perfect freedom. He hated hypocrisy on his own part, and hypo- crites in general. He said everything that came into his mind about things and people ; and, of course, was often wrong and often prejudiced, and often occasioned howls of indignation or malignant whispers of hatred by his fi-ee speaking. He believed everything that was said to him until his inform- ant had misled him once or twice, after which he would believe nothing. And here you will see that his im- petuous credulity was as absurd as the subsequent obstinacy of liis un- belief. My dear young friend, the profitable way in life is the middle way. Don't quite believe anybody, for he may mislead you ; neither dis- believe him, for that is uncompliment- ary to your friend. Black is not so very black ; and as for white, bon Dieu ! in our climate what paint will remain white long 1 If Philip was self- indulgent, I suppose other people uie self-indulgent likewise; and besides, you know, your faultless heroes have ever so long gone out of fashion. To be young, to be good-looking, to be healthy, to be hungry three times a day, to have plenty of money, a great alacrity of sleeping, and nothing to do, — all these, I dare say, are very dan- gerous temptations to a man, but I think I know some who would like to undergo the dangers of the trial. Suppose there be holidays, is there not work-time too 1 Suppose to-day is feast-day; may not tears and re- pentance come to-mDrrow? Such times are «in store for Master Phil, and so please to let him have rest and comfort for a chapter or two. 114 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. CHAPTER VIL IMPLETUK VETERIS BACCHI. That time, that merry time, of Brandon's, of Bohemia, of oysters, of idleness, of smoking, of song at night and profuse soda-water in the morning, of a pillow, lonely and bachelor it is true, but with few cares for bedfellows, of plenteous pocket-money, of ease for to-day and little heed for to-morrow, was often remembered by Philip in after days. Mr. Phil's views of life were not very exalted, were they ? The fruits of this world, which he de- voured with such gusto, I must own were of the common kitdhen-garden sort; and tha lazy rogue's ambition went no further than to stroll along the sunshiny wall, eat his fill, and then repose comfortably in the arbor under the arched vine. Why did Phil's mother's parents leave her thirty thou- sand pounds ? I dare say some mis- guided neople would be glad to do as much fer their sons ; but, if I have ten, I am determined they shall either have a hundred thousand apiece, or else bare bread and cheese. "Man was made to labor, and to be lazy," Phil would affirm with his usual ener- gy of expression. " When the Indian warrior goes on the hunting path, he is sober, active, indomitable. No dan- gers fright him, and no labors tire. Ho endures the cold of the winter ; he couches on the forest leaves ; he sub- sists on frugal roots or the casual spoil of his bow. When he returns to his village, he gorges to repletion ; he sleeps, perhaps, to excess. When the game is devoured, and the fire-water exhausted, again he sallies forth into the wilderness; he outclimbs the 'possum, and he throttles the bear. 1 am the Indian : and this " Haunt " is my wigwam ! Barbara, my squaw, bring me oysters; bring me a jug of the frothing black beer ofthe pale- faces, or I will hang up thy scalp on my tent-pole 1 " And old Barbara, the good old attendant of this " Haunt " of bandits, would say, " Law, Mr. Philip, how you do go on, to be sure ! " Where is the " Haunt " now ? and where are the merry men all who there assembled ? The sign is down ; the song is silent ; the sand is swept from the floor; the pipes arc broken, and the ashes are scattered. A little more gossip about his merry days, and we have done. He, Philip, was called to the bar in due course, and at his call-supper we assembled a dozen of his elderly and youthful friends. The chambers in Parchment Buildings were given up to him for this day. Mr. Vanjohn, I think, was away attending a steeple-chase ; but Mr. Cassidy Wiis with us, and several of Pliilip's acquaintances of school, college, and the world. There was Philip's father, and Philip's uncle Twysden, and I, Phil's revered and respectable school senior, and others of our ancient seminary. There was Burroughs, the second wrangler of his year, great in metaphysics, greater with the knife and fork. There was Stackpole, Eblana's favorite child, — the glutton of all learning, the master of many languages, who stuttered and blushed when he spoke his own. There was Pinkerton, who, albeit an ignoramus at the University, was al- ready winning prodigious triumphs at the Parliamentary bar, and invest- ing in Consols to the admiration of all his contemporaries. There was Kosebury the beautiful, the May Fair pet and delight of Almack's, the cards on whose mantel-piece made all men open the eyes of wonder, and some of us dart the scowl of envy. There was my Lord Egham, Lord Ascot's noble son. There was Tom Dale, who, having carried on his university career too splendidly, hud come to grief in the midst of it, and was now meekly earning his bread in the re- porters' gallery, alongside of Cassidy. There was Macbride, who, having thrown up his fellowship and married his cousin, was now doing a brave battle with poverty, and making literature feed him until law should reward him more splendidly. There was Haythorn, the country gentls- THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 115 man, who ever remembered his old college chums, and kept the memory of that friendship up by constant re- minders of pheasants and game in the season. There were Raby and May- nard from the Guards' Club (May- nard sleeps now under Crimean snows), who preferred arms to the toga ; but carried into their military life the love of their old books, the aflection of their old friends. Most of these must bo mute personages in onr little drama. Could any chroni- cler remember the talk of all of them ? Several of the guests present were members of the Inn of Court (the Upper Temple), which had conferred on Philip the degree of Barrister-at- Law. He had dined in his wig and gown (Blackmore's wig and gown) in the inn-hall that day, in company with other members of his inn ; and, dinner over, we adjourned to Phil's chambers in Parchment Buildings, where a dessert was served, to which Mr. Firmin's friends were convoked. The wines came from Dr. Firmin's cellar. Eis servants were in attend- ance to wait upon the company. Father and son both loved splendid hospitalities, and, so far as creature comforts went, Philip's feast was richly provided. " A supper, I love a supper of all things ! And in order that I might enjoy yours, I only took a single mutton-chop for dinner!" cried Mr. Twysden, as he greeted Philip. Indeed, we found him, as we arrived from Hall, already in the chambers, and eating the young bar- rister's dessert. " He 's been here ever so long," says Mr. Brice, who officiated as butler, " pegging away at the olives and maccaroons. Should n't wonder if he has pocketed some." There was small respect on the part of Brice for Mr. Twysden, whom the worthy butler frankly pro- nounced to be a stingy 'umbug. Meanwhile, Talbot believed that the old man respected him, and always conversed with Brice, and treated him with a cheerful cordiality. The outer Philistines quickly ar- (i rived, and but that the wine and men were older, one might have fancied one's self at a college wine-party. Mr. Twysden talked for the whole com- pany. He was radiant. Ho felt him- self in high spirits. Ho did the hon- ors of Philip's table. Indeed, no man was more hospitable with other folks' wine. Philip himself was silent and nervous. I asked him if the awful ceremony, which he had just under- gone, was weighing on his mind ? He was looking rather anxiously towards the door; and, knowing somewhat of the state of affairs at home, I thought that probably he and his father had had one of the dis- putes which of late days had become so frequent between them. The company were nearly all as- sembled and busy with their talk, and drinking the Doctor's excellent claret, when Brice, entering, announced Dr. Firmin and Mr. Tuflou Hunt. "Hang Mr. Tuftcn Hunt," Philip was going to say ; but he started up, went forward to his father, and greeted him very respectfully. He then gave a how to the gentleman in- troduced as Mr. Hunt, and they found places at the table, the Doctor taking his with his usual handsome grace. The conversation, which had been pretty brisk until Dr. Firmin came, drooped a little after his appearance. "We had an awfiil row two days ago," Philip whispered to me. " Wo shook hands and are reconciled,., as you see. He won't stay long. He will bo sent for in half an hour or so. He will say ho has been sent for by a duchess, and go and have tea at the club." Dr. Firmin bowed, and smiled sad- ly at me, as Philip was speaking. I dare say I blushed somewhat, and felt as if the Doctor knew what his son was saying to me. He presently en- gaged in conversation with Lord Eg- ham ; he hoped his good father was well? " You keep him so, Doctor. You don't give a fellow a chance,' says the young lord. 116 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " Pass the bottle, you young men ! Hey! Wc intend to see you all out ! " cries Talbot Twysden, on pleasure bent and of the frugal mind. " Well said, sir," says the stranger introduced as Mr. Hunt ; " and right good wine. Ha, Firmin ! I think I know the tap ! " and he smaclted Iiis lips over ths claret. " It 's your twen- ty-five, and no mistake." " Tlie red-nosed individual seems a connoisseur," whispered Eosebury at my side. The stranger's nose, indeed, was somewhat rosy. And to this I may add that his clothes were black, his face pale, and not well shorn, his white neckcloth dingy, and his eyes bloodshot. " He looks as if he had gone to bod in his clothes, and cames a plentiful flue about his person. Who is your father's esteemed friend t " continues the wag, in an under voice. " Yoa heard his name, Rosebu- ry," says the young barrister, gloom- ily. " I should suggest that your father is in difficulties, and attended by an officer of the shsriif of London, or perhaps subject to mental aberration, and placed under the control of a keeper." " Leave me alone, do ! " groaned Philip. And here Twysden, who v/as longing for an opportunity to make a speech, bounced up from his chair, and stopped the facetious barrister's further remarks by his own eloquence. His discoarso was in praise of Philip, the new-made barrister. ■ "What! if no one else will give that toast, your uncle will, and many a heartfelt bless- ing go with you too, my boy ! " cried the little man. He was prodigal of benedictions. lie dashed aside the tear-drop of emotion. He spoke with perfect fluency, and for a considerable period. He really made a good speech, and was greeted with de- served clieers-iwhen at length he sat down. Phil stammered a few words in re- ply to his uncle's voluble compli- ments; and then Lord Ascot, a young nobleman of much familiar humor, proposed Phil's father, his health, and song. The physician made a neat speech from behind his ruffled shirt. He was agitated by the tender feelings of a paternal heart, he said, glancing benignly at Phil, who was cracking filberts. To see his son happy ; to see him surrounded by such friends ; to know him embarked this day in a profession which gave, the greatest scope for talents, the no- blest reward for industry, was a proud and happy moment to him. Dr. Pir- min. What had the poet observed ? " Ingenuas didicisse fidditer artes" (hear, hear!) "emollit mores," — yes, "emoUit mores." He drank a bumper to the young barrister (he waved his ring, with a thimbleful of wine in his glass). He pledged the young friends whom he saw assembled to cheer his son on his onward path. He thanked tliem with a father's heart! He passed his emerald ring across his eyes for a moment, and lifted them to the ceiling, from which quarter he re- quested a blessing on his boy. As though " spirits " approved of his in- vocation, immense thumps came from above, along with the plaudits which saluted the Doctor's speech from the gentlemen round the table. But the upper thumps were derisory, and came from Mr. Buffijrs, of the "third floor, who chose this method of mocking our harmless little festivities. I think these cheers from the face- tious Buffers, though meant in scorn of our party, served to enliven it and make us laugh. Spite of all the talking, we were dull; and I could not but allow the force of my neigh- bor's remark, that we were sat upon and smothered by the old man. One or two of the younger gentlemen chafed at the license for tobacco smoking not being yet accorded. Cut Philip interdicted this amusement as yet. "Don't," he said; "ray father don't like it. He has to sea patients THE ADVKNTUEES OF PHILIP. 117 to-night ; and they can't bear the smell of tobacco by their bedsides." The impatient youths waited with their cigar-cases by their sides. They longed for the withdrawal of the ob- stacle to their happiness. " He won't go, I tell you. He '11 be sent for," growled Philip to me. The Doctor was engaged in conver- sation to the right and left of him, and seemed not to think of a move. But, sure enough, at a few minutes after ten o'clock. Dr. Firmin's foot- man entered the room with a note, which Firmin opened and read, as Philip looked at me with a grim hu- mor in his face. I think Phil's father knew that we knew he was acting. However, he went through the com- edy quite gravely. "A physician's time is not his own," he said, shaking his hand- some, melancholy head. " Good by, my dear Lord ! Pray remember me at home! Good night, Philip, my boy, and good speed to yon in your career ! Pray, pray don't move." And he is gone, waving the fair hand and the broad-brimmed hat, with the beautiful white lining. Phil conducted him to the door, and heaved a sigh as it closed upon his father, — a sigh of relief, I think, that he was gone. " Exit Governor. What 's the Latin for Governor 1" says Lord Egharo, who possessed much native humor, but not very profound scholarship. '■' A most venerable old parent, Fir- min. That hat and appearance would command any sum of money." "Excuse me," lisps Rosebury, "but why didn't he take his elderly friend with him, — the dilapidated clerical gentleman who is drinking claret so freely ? And also, why did he not remove your avuncular ora- tor ? Mr. Twysden, your interesting young neophyte has provided us with an excellent specimen of the cheerful produce of the Gascon grape." "Well, then, now the old gentle- man is gone, let us pass the bottle and make a night of^ it. Hey, my Lord?" cries Twysden. "Philip your claret is good ! I say, do you remember some Chateau Margaux I had, which Winton liked sol It must bo good if he praised it, I can tell you. I imported it myself, and gave him the address of the Bordeaux merchant ; and he said he had seldom tasted any like it. Those were his very words, I must get you fellows to come and taste it some day." " Some day ! What day 7 Name it, generous Amphitryon 1 " cries Rosebury. " Someday at seven o'clock. With a plain, quiet dinner, — a clear soup, a bit of fish, a couple of little en- trees, and a nice little roast. That 's my kind of dinner. And we'll taste that claret, young men. It is not a heavy wine. It is not a first-class wine. I don't mean even to say it is a dear wine, but it has a bouquet and a purcncss. What, you iciK smoke, you fellows ? " " We will do it, Mr. Twysden. Better do as the rest of us do. Try one of these." The little man accepts the proffered cigar from the young nobleman's box, lights it, hems and hawks, and lapses into silence. " I thought that would do for him," murmurs the facetious Egham. "It is strong enough to blow his old head oif, and I wish it would. That ci- g.ir," he continues, " was given to my father by the Duke of Medina Sido- nia, v/ho had it out of the Queen of Spain's own box. She smokes a good deal, but naturally likes 'em mild. I can give you a stronger one." '• D no. I dare say this is very fine. Thank you!" says poor Tal- bot. " Leave him alone, can't you ! " says Philip. " Don't make a fool of him before the young men, Egham." Philip still looked very dismal in the midst of the festivity. He was thinking of his differences with his absent parent. Wo might all have been easily con- soled, if the Doctor had taken awar 118 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. with him the elderly companion whom he had introduced to. Phil's feast. He could not have been very welcome to our host, for Phil scowled at his guest, and whispered, " Hang Hunt ! " to Ids neighbor. " Hang Hunt " — the Keverend Tufton Hunt was his name — was in no wise disconcerted by the coolness of his reception. He drank his wine very freely ; addresaed himself to his neighbors affably; and called out a loud " Hear, hear ! " to Twysden, when that gentleman announced his intention of making a night of it. As Mr. Hunt warmed with wine he spoke to the taljle. He talked a great deal about the Eingwood family, had been very intimate at Wingate, in old days, as he told Mr. Twysden, and an intimate friend of poor Cinqbars, Lord Kingwood's only son. Now, thT memory of the late Lord Cinqbars waj not an agreeable recollection to the relatives of the house of Ring- wood. He was in life a dissipated and disreputable young lord. His name was seldom mentioned in his family; never by his father, with whom he had had many quarrels. " You know I introduced Cinqbars to your father, Philip 1 " calls out the dingy clergyman. "I have heard you mention the fact," says Philip. ** They met at a wine in my rooms in Corpus. Brummell Firmin we used to call your father in those days. He was the greatest buck in the Uni- versity, — always a dressy man, kept hunters, gave the best dinners in Cambridge. We were a wild set. There was Cinqbars, Brand Mrrain, Beryl, Toplady, about a dozen of us, almost all noblemen or fellow-com- moners, — fellows who all kept their horses and had their private ser- vants." This speech was addressed to the company, who yet did not seem much edified by the college recollections of the dingy elderly man. " Almost all Trinity men, sir ! V/e dined with each other week about. Many of them had their tandems. Desperate fellow across country your father was. And — but we won't tell tales out of school, hey ? " " No ; please don't, sir," said Philip, clenching his fists and biting his lips. The shabby, ill-bred, swag- gering man was eating Philip's salt ; Phil's lordly ideas of hospitality did not allow him to quarrel with the guest under his tent. " When he went out in medicine, we were all of us astonished. Why, sir. Brand Pirmin, at one time, was the greatest swell in the University," continued Mr. Hunt, " and such a plucky fellow! So was poor Cinq- bars, though he had no stamina. He, I, and Firmin, fought for twenty minutes before Cains' Gate with about twenty bargemen, and you should have seen your father hit out ! I was a handy one in those days, too, with my fingers. We learned the noble art of self-defence in my time, yoiing gentlemen ! We used to have Glover, the boxer, down from London, Avho gave us lessons. Cinqbars was a pretty sparrer, — but no stamina. Brandy killed him, sir — brandy killed him ! Why, this is some of your governor's wine! He and I have been drinking it to-night in Parr Street, and talking over old times." " I am glad, sir, you found the wine to your taste," says Philip, gravely. "I did, Philip, my boy! And when your father said he was coming to your wine, I said I 'd come too." " I wish somebody would fling him out of window," groaned Philip. "A most potent, grave, and rever- end senior,' whispered Rosebury to me. "I read billiards, Boulogne, gambling-houses, in his noble linea- ments. Has he long adorned your family circle, Pirmin ? " "I found him at home about a month ago, in my father's anteroom, in the same clothes, with a pair of mangy mustaches on his face ; and he has been at our house every day since." " Echappg de Toulon," says Hose- THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 119 bnry, blandly looking towards the stranger. " Celasevoit. Homme par- faitement distingue. Yon are quite right, sir. I was speaking of you ; and asking our friend Philip where it was I had the honor of meeting you abroad last year? This courtesy," he gently added, "will disarm tigers." "Iwas abroad, sir, last year," said the other, nodding his head. " Three to one he was in Boulogne jail, or perhaps officiating chaplain at a gambling-house. Stop, I have it ! Baden Baden, sir 1 " " I was there, safe enough," says the clergyman. " It is a very pretty place ; but the air of the Apres kills you. Ha ! ha ! Your father used to shake his elbow when he was a youngster too, Philip ! I can't help calling you Philip. X have known your father these thirty years. We were college chums, you know." " Ah ! what would I give," sighs Bosebury, "if that venerable being would but address me by my Cliris- tian name ! Philip, do something to make your party go. The old gentle- men are throttling if? Sing some- thing, somebody ! or let ns drown our melancholy in wine. You ex- pressed your approbation of this claret, sir, and claimed a previous ac- quaintance with it ? " " I 've drunk two dozen of it in the last month," says Mr. Hunt with a grin. " Two dozen and four, sir," remarks Mr. Brice, putting a fresh bottle on the table. "Well said, Brice! I make the Krmin Arms my head-quarters ; and honor the landlord with a good deal of my company," remarks Mr. Hunt. " The Firrain Arms is honored by having such supporters ! " says Phil, glaring, and with a heaving chest. At each moment he was growing more and more angry with that par- son. At a certain stage of conviviality Phil was fond of talking of his pedi- gree ; and, though a professor of very liberal opinions, was not a little proud of some of his ancestors. " O, come, I say ! Sink the her- aldry ! " cries Lord Eghara. " I am very sorry ! I would do anything to oblige you, but I can't help being a gentleman ! " growls Philip. " 0, 1 say ! if you intend to come King Kichard III. over us — " breaks out my Lord. " Egham ! your ancestors were sweeping counters when mine stood by King Richard in that righteous fight ! " shouts Philip. That monarch had conferred lands upon the Kingwood family. Kichard III. was Philip's battle-horse; when he trotted it after dinner he was splendid in his chivalry. " 0, I say ! If you are to saddle White Surrey, fight Bosworth Keld, and murder the kids in the Tower ! " continues Lord Egham. " Serve the little brutes right ! " roars Phil. " They were no more heirs of the blood royal of England than — " " I dare say ! Only I 'd rather have a song now the old boy is gone. I say, you fellows, chant something, do now ! Bar all this row about Bosworth Field and Kichard the Third ! Always does it when he 's beer on board, — always does it, give you my honor ! " whispers the young nobleman to his neighbor. " I am a fool ! I am a fool ! " cries Phil, smacking his forehead. " There are moments when the wrongs of my race will intervene. It 's not your fault, Mr. Whatd'ye-call-'im, that you allude to my arms in a derisive manner. I bear you no malice! Nay, I ask your pardon ! Nay ! I pledge you in this claret, which is good, though it 's my governor's. In our house everything is n't, hum — Bosh ! it 's twenty-five claret, sir ! Egham's father gave him a pipe of it for saving a life which might be better spent ; and I believe the apothecary would have pulled you through, Egham, just as well as my governor. But 120 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. the wine 's good ! Good ! Brice, some more claret ! A song ! Who spoke of a song ? Warble us some- thing, Tom Dale ! A song, a song, a song ! " Whereupon the exquisite ditty of "Moonlight on the Tiles" was given by Tom Bale with all his accustomed humor. Then politeness demanded that our host should sing one of his songs, and as I have heard him jier- form it many times, I have the privi- lege of here reprinting it : premising that the tune and chorus were taken from a German song-book, which used 10 delight us melodious youth in bygone days. Philip accordingly lifted up his groat voice and sang : — DOCTOa LUTUBS,. " For the soals^ edi&cation Of this deceDb congregation, "Worthy people t by your grant, 1 will sing a holy chant, I will sing a holy chant ir the ditty sound bat oddly, '1' was a father wise and godly, Sang it so long ago. Then sing as Doctor Luther sang. As Doctor Luther sang, Who loves not wine, woman, and song, He is a fool his whole life long. " He by custom patriarchal, Loved to see the beaker sparkle. And he thought the wine improved. Tasted by the wife he loved, By the kindly lips he loved. Friends ! I wish this custom pious Duly were adopted by us, To combine Jove, song, wine ; And sing as Doctor Lutlier sang. As Doctor Luther sang, Who loves not wine, woman, and song, He is a fool his whole life long. " Who refuses this our credo, And demurs to drink as we do, Were he holy as John Knox, I 'd pronounce him heterodox. 1 'd pronounce him heterodox. And from out this congregation. With a solemn commination, Danish quick the heretic. Who would not sing as Luther sang. As Doctor Luther sang, Who loves not wine, woman, and song, He is a fool his whole life long." The reader's humble servant was older than most of the party assem- bled at this symposium, which may have taken place some score of years back ; but as I listened to the noise, the fresh laughter, the songs remem- bered out of old university days, the talk and cant phrases of the old school of which most of us had been disciples, dear me, I felt quite young again, and when certain knocks came to the door about midnight, enjoyed quite a refreshing pang of anxious interest for a moment, deeming the proctors were rapping, having heard our shouts in the court below. The late comer, however, was only a tavern waiter, bearing a supper-tray ; and we were free to speechify, shout, quarrel, and be as young as we liked, with nobody to find fault, except, perchance, the bencher below, who, I dare say, was kept awake with our noise. When that supper arrived, poor Talbot Twysden, who had come so far to enjoy it, was not in a state to partake of it Lord Egham's cigar had proved too much for him : and the worthy gentleman had been lying on a sofa, in a neighboring room, for some time past, in a state of hopeless collapse. He had told us, whilst yet capable of speech, what a love and regiird hj had for Philip ; but be- tween him and Philip's father there was but little love. They had had that worst and most irremediable of quarrels, a difiference about twopence- halfpenny in the division of the prop- erty of their late father-in-law. Firmin still thought Twysden a shabby cur- mudgeon; and Twysden considered Firmin an unprincipled man. When Mrs. Firmin was alive, the two poor sisters had had to regulate their affec- tions by the marital orders, and to be warm, cool, moderate, freezing, ac- cording to their husbands' state for the time being. I wonder are there many real reconciUations ? Dear Tomkins and I are reconciled, I know. We have met and dined at Jones's. And ah ! how fond we are of each other ! 0, very ! So with Firmin and Twysden. They met, and shoak THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 121 hands T/ith perfect animosity. So (lid Twysden junior and ■ Krmjn junior. Young Twysden was the eldoi-, and thrashed and hullied Phil as a boy, until the latter arose and pitched his cousin down stairs. Men- tally, they were always kicking each other down stairs. Well, poor Talbot could not partake of the supper when it came, and lay in a piteous state on the neighboring sofa of the absent Mr. Vanjohn. Who would go home yviih him, where his wife must be anxious about him ■? 1 agreed to convoy him, and the parson said he was going our way, and would accompany us. We supported this senior through the Temple, and put him on the front scat of a cab. The cigar had dis- gracefully overcome him ; and any lecturer on the eyis of smoking might have pointed his moral on the helpless person of this wretched gen- tleman. The evening's feasting had only imparted animation to Mr. Hunt, and occasioned an agreeable abandon in his talk. I had seen the man before in Dr. Firmin's house, and own that his society was almost as odious to me as to the Doctor's son Philip. On all subjects and persons, Phil was ac- customed to speak his mind out a great deal too openly ; and Mr. Hunt had been an object of special dislike to him ever since he had known Hunt. I tried to make the best of the matter. Few men of kindly feeling and good station are without a dependant or two. Men start to- gether in the race of ]if§ ; and Jack wins, and Tom falls by his side. The successful man succors and roaches a friendly hand to the unfortunate competitor. Remembrance of early times gives the latter a sort of right to call on his luckier comrade ; and a man finds himself pitying, then endur- ing, then embracing a companion for whom, in old days, perhaps, he never had had any regard or esteem. A pros- perous man ought to have followers : if he has none he has a hard heart. This philosophizing was all very well. It was good for a man not to desert the friends of his boyhood. But to livevrith such a cad as that, — with that creature, low, servile, swag- gering, besotted. — " How could his father, who had fine tastes, and loved grand company, put up with such a fellow ? " asked Phil . " I don't know when the man is the more odious : when he is familiar, or when he is re- spectful ; when he is paying compli- ments to my father's guests in Pan- Street, or telling hideous old stale stories, as he did at my call-supper." The wine of which Mr. Hunt freely partook on that occasion made him, as I have said, communicative. " Not a bad fellow, our host," he remarked, on his part, when we came away to- gether. "Bumptious, good-looking, speaks his mind, hates me, and I don't care. Ho must be well to do in the world. Master Philip." I said I hoped and thought so. " Brammell Firmin must make four or five thousand a year. He was a wild fellow in my time, I can tell you, — in the days of tlie wild Prince and Poyns, — stuck at noth- ing, spent his own money, mined himself fell on his legs somehow, and married a fortune. Some of us have not been so lucky. I had nobody to pay my debts. I missed my fellow- ship by idling and dissipating with those confounded hats and silver-laced gowns. I liked good company in those days, — always did when I could get it. If you wore to write my adventures, now, you would have to tell some queer stories. I 've been everywhere ; I 've seen high and low, — 'specially lov/. I 've tried school- mastering, bear-leading, newspaper- ing, America, West Indies. I 've been in every city in Europe. I have n't been as lucky as Brummell Fir- min. He rolls in his coach, he does, and I walk in my high-lows. Guineas drop into his palm every day, and are uncommonly scarce in mine, I can tell you ; and poor old Tufton Hunt is not much better oflF at fifty odd 122 THE ADVENTUBES OF PHILIP. than he was when he was an under- graduate at eighteen. How do you do, old gentleman ? Air do you good? Here we are at Beauntisli Street ; hope you 've got the key, and missis won t see you." A large but- ler, too well bred to express- astonish- ment at any event which occurred out of doors, opened Mr. Twysden's, and let in that lamentable gentleman. He was very pale and solemn. He gasped out a few words, intimating his intention to fix a day to ask us to come and dine soon, and taste that wine that Winton liked so. He waved an unsteady hand to us. If Mrs. Twysden was on the stairs to see the condition of her lord, I hope she took possession of the candle. Hunt grumbled as we came out : " Ha might have offered us some re- freshment after bringing him all that way home. It 's only half past one. There 's no good in going to bed so soon as that. Let ns go and have a drink somewhere. I know a very good crib close by. No, you won't 1 1 say" (here he burst into a laugh which startled the sleeping street), " I know what you 've been thinking all the time in the cab. Ton are a swell, — you are, too ! You have been thinking ' This dreary old par- son will try and borrow money from me.' But I won't, my boy. I 've got a banker. Look here ! Fee, faw, fum. You understand. I can get the sovereigns out of my medical swell in Old Parr Street. I prescribe bleeding for him, — I drew him to- night. He is a very kind follow, Brummell Firmin is. He can't deny such a dear old friend anything. Bless him ! " And as he turned away to some midnight haunt of his own, ho tossed up his hand in the air. I heard him laughing through the silent street, and Policeman X, tramp- ing on his beat, turned round and suspiciously eyed him. Then I thought of Dr.^^Krmin's dark melancholy face and (iyes. Was a benevolent remetnbr'ance of old times the bond of union between these men ? All my house had long been asleep, when I opened and gently closed my house-door. By the twink- ling night-lamp I could dimly see child and mother softly breathing. O, blessed they on whose pillow no remorse sits ! Happy you who have escaped temptation ! I may have been encouraged in my suspicions of the dingy clergyman by Philip's own surmises regarding him, which were expressed with the speak- er's usual candor. " The fellow calls for what he likes at the 'Firmin Arms,' " said poor Phil ; " and when my father's big-wigs assemble, I hope the reverend gentleman dines with them. I should like to see him hob- nobbing with old Bumpsher, or slap- ping the bishop on the back. He lives in Sligo Street, round the cor- ner, so as to be close to our house and yet preserve his own elegant in- dependence. Otherwise, I wonder he has not installed himself in Old P\rr Street, where my poor mother's bad- room is vacant. The Doctor does not care to use that room. I remem- ber now how silent they were when together, and how terrified she always seemed before him. What has he done? I know of one affair in his early life. Does this Hunt know of any more ? They have been accom- plices in some conspiracy, sir; I dare say with that young Cinqbars, of whom Hunt is forever bragging : the worthy son of the worthy Ringwood. I say, does wickedness" run in the blood t My grandfathers, I have heard, were honest men. Perhaps they were only not found out ; and the family taint will show in me some day. There are times when I feel the devil so strong within me, that I think some day he must have the mastery. I 'm not quite bad yet : but I tremble lest I should go. Sup- ?ose I were to drown, and go down ? t 's not a jolly thing, Pendennis, to have such a father as mine. Don't humbug me with your charitable pal- liations and soothing surmises. You THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 123 put me in mind of the world then, by Jove, you do ! I laugh, and I drink, and I make merry, and sing, and smoke endless tobacco ; and I tell you, I always feel as if a little sword was dangling over my skull which will fall some day and split it. Old Parr Street is mined, sir, — mined! And some morning we shall be blown into blazes, — into blazes, sir ; mark my words ! That 's why I 'm so careless and so idle, for which you fellows are always bothering and scolding me. There 's no use in set- tling down until the explosion is over, don't you see '! Incedo per ignes sup- positos, and, by George ! sir, I feel my bootsoles already scorching. Poor thing ! poor mother " (he apostro- phized his mother's picture which hung in the room where we were talking), "were you aware of the se- cret, and was it the knowledge of that which made your poor eyes always look so frightened ? She was always fond of you. Pen. Do you remember how pretty and graceful she used to look as she lay on her sofa up stairs, or smiled out of her carriage as she kissed her hand to us boys ? I say, what if a woman marries, and is coaxed and wheedled by a soft tongue, .ind runs off, and afterwards finds her husband has a cloven foot ? " "Ah, Philip!" " What is to be the lot of the son of such a man 1 Is my hoof cloven, too 1 " It was on the stove, as he talked, extended in American fashion. " Suppose there 's no escape for me, and I inherit my doom, as anotlier man does gout or consumption'? Knowing this fate, what is the use, then, of doing anything in particular ? I tell you, sir, the whole edifice of our present life will crumble in and smash." (Here he flings his pipe to the ground with an awful shatter.) "And until the catastrophe comes, what on earth is the use of setting to work, as you call it j You miglit as well have told a fellow, at Pompeii, to select a profession the day before the eruption." , . fi* " If yon know that Vesuvius is go- ing to burst over Pompeii," I said, somewhat alarmed, " why not go to Naples, or farther if you will 1 " " Were there not men in the sentry- boxes at the city gates," asked Philip, " who might have run, and yet re- mained to be burned there ? Suppose, after all,the doom is n't hanging over us, — and the fear of it is only a ner- vous terror of mine'? Suppose it comes, and I survive it t The risk of the game gives a zest to it, old boy. Besides, there is Honor : and some One Else is in the case, from whom a man could not part in an hour of danger." And here he blushed a fine red, heaved a great sigh, and emptied a bumper of claret. CHAPTER VIII. WILL BE PRONOnNCED TO BE CYIT- ICAL BT THE BENEVOLENT. Gentle readers will not, I trust, think the worse of their most obedient humble servant for the confession that I talked to my wife on my return home regarding Philip and his affairs. When I choose to be frank, 1 hope no man can be more open than myself : when I have a mind to be quiet, no fish can bo more mute. I have kept secrets so ineffably, that I have utterly forgotten them, until my memory was refreshed by people who also knew them. But what was the use of hiding this one from the being to whom I open all, or almost all,- — say all, excepting just one or two of the closets of this heart ? So I say to her, " My love ; it is as I suspected. Philip and his cousin Agnes are carrying on together." " Is Agnes the pale one, or the very pale one 1 " asks the joy of my exist- ence. " No, the elder is Blanche. They are both older than Mr. Eirmin : but Blanche is the elder of the two." " Well,' I am not saying anything malicious, or- contrary to the fact, am I, sir'?" 124 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. No. Only I know by her looks, when another lady's name is men- tioned, whether my wife likes her or not. And I am bound to say, though this statement may meet with a de- nial, that her countenance does not vouchsafe smiles at the mention of all ladies' names. " You don't go to the house t You and Mrs. Twysden have called on each other, and there the matter has stopped? O, I know! It is be- cause poor Talbot brags so about his wine, and gives such abominable stuff, that you have such an unchris- tian feeling for him ! " " That is the reason, I dare say," says the lady. " No. It is no such thing. Though you do know sherry from port, I be- lieve upon my conscience you do not avoid the Twysdens because they give bad wine. Many others sin in that Wily, and you forgive them. You like your fellow-creatures better than wine, — some fellow-creatures, — and you dislike some fellow - creatures worse than medicine. You swallow them, madam. You say nothing, but your looks are dreadful. You make wry faces : and when you have taken them, you want a piece of sweet- meat to take the taste out of your mouth." The lady, tlms wittily addressed, shrugs her lovely shoulders. My wife exasperates me in many things; in getting up at insane hours to go to early church, for instance ; in looking at me in a particular way at dinner, when I am about to eat one of those entries which Dr. Goodenongh de- clares disagree with mo ; in nothing more than in that obstinate silence, which she persists in maintaining sometimes when I am abusing people, whom I do not like, whom she does not like, and who abuse me. This reticence miikes me wild. What con- fidence can there be between a man and his wife, if he can't say to her, " Confound So-and-so, I hate him " ; or, " What a prig What-d'ye-call-'im is ! " or, " What a bloated aristocrat Thingamy has become, since he got his place ! " or what you will ? " No," I continue, " I know why you hate the Twysdens, Mrs. Pen- dennis. You hate them because they move in a world which you can only occasionally visit. You envy them because they are hand-in-glove with the great ; because they possess an easy grace, and a frank and noble elegance with which common country- people and apothecaries' sons are not endowed." " My dear Arthur, I do think you are ashamed of being an apothecary's son ; you talk about it so often," says the lady. Which was all very well : but you see slie was not answering my remarks about the Twysdens. " You are right, my dear," I say then. " I ought not to be censorious, being myself no more virtuous than my neighbor." "I know people abuse you, Ar- thur; but I think you are a very good sort of a man," says the lady, over her little tea-tray. " And so are the Twysdens very good people, — very nice, artless, un- selfish, simple, generous, well-bred people. Mr. 'Twysden is all heart : Twysden's conversational powers are remarkable and pleasing : and Philip is eminently fortunate in getting one of those charming girls for a wife." " I 've no patience with them," cries my wife, losing that quality to my great satisfaction : for then I knew 1 had found the crack in Mad- am Pendennis's armor of steel, and had smitten her in a vulnerable little place. " No patience with them 1 Quiet, ladylike young women ! " I cry. "Ah," sighs my wife, " what have they got to give Philip in return for—" " In return for his thirty thousand? They will have ten thousand pounds apiece when their mother dies." " Oh ! I would n't have our boy marry a woman" like one of those, not if she had a milliort. I would n't, my child and my blessing ! " (This THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 125 is addressed, to a little darling ivho happens to te eating sweet cakes, in a high chair, off the little table by his mother's side, and who, though he certainly used to cry a good deal at the period,' shall be ■■•■ mute per- sonage in this history.) " You are alluding to Blanche's little aifair with — " i; " No, I am not, sir ! " '■, " How do you know whicl? one I meant, then 1 — Or that notorious disappointment of Agnes, when Lord Farintosh hecame a widower? If he would n't, she could n't, you know, my dear. And I am sure she tried her best : at least, everybody said so." "Ah! I have no patience with the way in which you people of the world treat the most sacred of subjects, — the most sacred, sir. Do you hear me ? Is a woman's lore to be pledged, and withdrawn every day? Is her faith and purity only to be a matter of barter, and rank, and social con- sideration? I am sorry, because I don't wish to see Philip, who is good, and honest, and genorons, and trae as yet, — however great his faults may be, because I don't wish to see him given up to — Oh ! it 's shocking, shocking ! " Given up to what? to anything dreadful in this world, or the next ? Don't imagine that Philip's relations thouglit they were doing Phil any harm by condescending to marry him, or themselves any injury. A doctor's son, indeed ! Why, the Twysdens were far better placed in the world than their kinsmen of Old Parr Street; and went to better houses. The year's levde and draw- ing-room would have been incomplete without Mr. and Mrs. Twysden. ■There might be families with higher titles, more wealth, higher positions ; but the world did not contain more respectable folks than the Twysdens : of this every one of the family was convinced, from Talbot himself down to his heir. If somebody or some Body of savans would write the history of the harm that has been done in the world by people who be- lieve themselves to be virtuous, what a queer, edifying book it would be, and how poor oppressed rogues might look up ! Who burns Iho Protes- tants ? — the virtuous Catholics, to be sure. Who roasts the Catholics ? the virtuous Beformcrs. Who thinks I am a dangerous character, and avoids mo at the club ? — the virtuous Squaretoes. Who scoriis ? who per- secutes ? who does n't forgive ? — the virtuous Mrs. Grundy. She remem- bers her neighbor's peccadilloes to the third and fourth generation ; and if she finds a certain man fallen in her path, gathers up her affrighted garments with a shriek, for fear the muddy bleeding wretch should con- taminate her, and passes on. I do not seek to create even sur- prises in this modest history, or con-- descend to keep candid readers in suspense about many matters which might possibly interest them. For instance, the matter of love has in- terested novel-readers for hundreds of years past, and doubtlessjwill con- tinue so to interest thcm^ Almost all young people read love books and histories with eagerness, as oldsters read books of medicines, and what- ever it is, — heart complaint, gout, liver, palsy, — cry, " Exactly so, pre- cisely my case ! " Phil's first love- affair, to which we are now coming, was a false start. I own it at once. And in this commencement of his career I believe he was not more or less fortunate than many and many a man and woman in this world. Sup- pose the course of tnie love always did run smooth, and everybody mar- ried his or her first love. Ah ! what 1 would raaniage be ? J A generous young fellow comes to market with a heart ready to leap out of his waistcoat, forever thump- ing and throbbing, and so wild that he can't liave any rest till he has dis- posed of it- What wonder if he falls upon a wily merchant in Vanity Fair, and barters his all for a stale 126 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. bauble not worth sixpence? Phil chose to fall in love with his cousin ; and I warn you that nothinp; will come of that passion, except the in- fluence which it had upon the young man's character. Though my wife did not love the Twysdens, she loves sentiment, she loves love-affairs, — all women do. Poor Phil used to bore me after dinner with endless rodomontades about his passion and his charmer ; but my wire was never tired of listening. " You are a self- ish, heartless, blase man of the world, you are," he would say. " Your own immense and undeserved good fortune in the matrimonial lotterv has ren- dered you hard, cold, crass, indifferent. You have been asleep, sir, twice to- night, whilst I was talking. I will go up and tell madam everything. She has a heart." And presently, engaged with my book or my after- dinner doze, I would hear Phil striding and creaking overhead, and plunging energetic pokers in the drawing-room fire. Thirty thousand pounds to begin with ; a third part of that sum com- ing to th5j lady from her mother ; all the doctor's savings and property ; — here certainly was enough in posses- sion and expectation to satisfy many young couples ; and as Phil is twenty- two, and Agnes ( must I own it ? ) twen- ty-five, and as she has consented to listen to the warm outpourings of the eloquent and passionate youth, and exchange for his fresh, new-minted, golden sovereign heart, that used lit- tle threepenny-pieee, her own, — why should they not marry at once, and so let us have an end of them and this history ? They have plenty of money to pay the parson and the pos;-.;hais3 ; they may drive off to the country, and live on their means, and lead an existence so humdrum and tolerably happy that Phil may grow quite too fat, lazy, and unfit for his present post of hero of a novel. But stay — there are obstacles ; coy, re- luctant, amorous delays. After all, Philip is a dear,, brave, handsome, wild, reckless, blundering boy, tread- ing upon everybody's dress-skirts, smashing the little Dresden orna- ments and the pretty little decorous gimcracks of society, life, conversa- tion ; — but there is time yet. Are you so very sure about that money of his mother's ? and how is it that his father, the Doctor, has not settled accounts with him yet 1 Vest louche. A family of high position and princi- ple must look to have the money mat- ters in perfect order, before they con- sign a darling accustomed to every luxury to the guardianship of a con- fessedly wild and eccentric, though generous and amiable young man. Besides — ah ! besides — besides ! ". . . . It 's horrible, Arthur ! It 's cruel, Arthur ! It 's a shame to judge a woman, or Christian people so ! Oh ! my loves ! my blessings ! would I sell you ? " says this young mother, clutching a little belaced, befurbelowed being to her heart, infan- tine, squalling, with blue shoulder- ribbons, a mottled little arm that has just been vaccinated, and the sweetest red shoes. " Would I sell you ? " says mamma. Little Arty, I say, squalls ; and little Nelly looks up from her bricks with a wondering, whimpering expression. Well, I am ashamed to say what the "besides" is; but the fact is, that young Woolcomb of the Life Guards Green, who has inherited immense West India property, and, we will say, just a teaspoonful of that dark blood which makes a man naturally partial to blonde beauties, has cast his opal eyes very warmly upon the golden-haired Agnes of late ; has danced with her not a little ; and when Mrs. Twysdcn's barouche ap- pears by the Serpentine, you may not unfrequently see a pair of the neatest little yellow kid gloves just playing with the reins, a pair of the prettiest little boots just touching the stirrup, a magnificent horse dancing, and tittnpping, and tossing, and perform- ing the most graceful caracoles and gambadoes, and on the magnificent Laura's Fireside. THK ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 127 horee a neat little man with a blazing red flower in his bosom, and glancing opal eyes, and a dark complexion, and hair so very black and curly, that I really almost think in some of the Southern States of America he would be likely to meet with rude- ness in a railway-car. But in England we know better. In England Grenville Woolcomb is a man and a brother. Half of Arrow- root Island, they say, belongs to him ; besides Mangrove Hall, in Hertford- shire ; ever so much pioperty in other counties, and that line house in Berkeley Square. He is called the Black Prince behind the scenes of many theatres : ladies nod at him from those broughams which, you understand, need not be particular rized. The idea of his immense riches is confirmed by the known fact that he is a stingy Black Prince, and most averse to parting with his money except for his own adornment or amusement. When he receives at his country-house, his entertainments are, however, splendid. He has been flattered, followed, caressed all his life, and allowed by a fond mother to have his own way ; and as this has never led him to learning, it must be owned that his literary acquirements are small, and his writing defective. But in the management of his pecu- niary affairs he is very keen and clev- er. His horses cost him less than any young man's in England who is so well mounted. No dealer has ever been known to get the better of him ; and, though he is certainly close about money, when his wishes have very keenly prompted him, no sura has been known to stand in his way. Witness the purchase of the . But never mind scandal. Let by- gones be bj'gones. A young doctor's son, with a thousand a year for a for- tune, may be considered a catch in some circles, but not, vous concevez, in the upper regions of society. And dear woman, — dear, angelic, highly accomplished, respectable woman, — does she not know how to pardon many failings in our sex ? Age ? psha ! She will crown my bare old poll with the roses of her youth. Complexion ? What contrast is sweeter and more touching than Des- demona's golden ringlets on swart Othello's shoulder? A past life of selfishness and bad company ? Come ont from among the swine, my prodi- gal, and I will purify thee ! This is what is called cynicism, jou know. Then I suppose my wife is a cynic, who clutches her children to her pure heart, and prays gracious Heaven to guard them from selfish- ness, from worldliness, from heartlcss- ness, from wicked greed. CHAPTEE IX. CONTAINS ONE BIDDLE WHICH IS SOLVED, AND PEKHAPS SOME MORE. Mine is a modest muse, and as the period of the story arrives when a description of love-making is justly due, my Mnemosyne turns away from the young couple, drops a little curtain over the embrasure where they are whispering, heaves a sigh from her elderly bosom, and lays a finger on her lip. Ah, Mnemosyne dear ! We will not be spies on the young people. We will not scoM them. We won't talk about their doings much. When we were young, we too, perhaps, were taken in under Love's tent ; we have eaten of his salt : and partaken of his bitter, his deli- cious bread. Now we are padding the hoof lonely in the wilderness, we will not abuse our host, will we ? Wo will couch under the stars, and think fondly of old times, and to-morrow resume the staff and the journey. And yet, if a novelist may chronicle any passion, its flames, its raptures, its whispers, its assignations, its son- nets, its quarrels, sulks, reconcilia- tions, and so on, the history of such a love as this first of Phil's may be excusable in print, because I don't be- lieve it was a real love at all, only a 128 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. little brief delusion of the senses, from which I give you warning that our hero will recover before many chap- ters are over. Whai, I my brave boy, shall we give your heart ?way for good and all, for better or for worse, till death do you part ? What ! my Corydon and sighing swain, shall we irrevocably bestow you upon Phillis, who, all the time you are piping and paying court to her, has Meliboeus in the cupboard, and ready to be pro- duced should he prove to be a more eligible shepherd than t'other 1 I am not such a savage towards my readers or hero, as to make them undergo the misery of such a marriage. Philip was very little of a club or society man. He seldom or ever en- tered the "Megatherium," or when there stared and scowled round him savagely, and laughed strangely at the ways of the inhabitants. He made but a clumsy figure in the world, though in person handsome, active, and proper enough ; but he would for- ever put his great foot through the World's flounced skirts, and she would stare, and cry out and hate hioL He was the last man who was aware of the Woolcomb flirtation, when hundreds of people, I dare say, were simpering over it. " Who is that little man who comes to your house, and whom I sometimes see in the Park, aunt, — that little man with the very white gloves and the very tawny complexion 1 " asks Philip. " That is Mr. Woolcomb, of the Life Guards Green," aunt remembers. " An officer is ho ? " says Philip, turninground to the girls. " I should have thought he would have done better for the turban and cymbals." And he laughs and thinks he has said a very clever thing. 0, those good things about people and against people ! Never, my dear young friend, say them to anybody, — not to a stranger, for he will go away and tell ; not to the mistress of your affec- tions, for you may quarrel with her, and then she will tell; not to your son, for the artless child will return to his school-fellows and say: "Papa says Mr. Blenkinsop is a muflF." My child, or what not, praise everybody : smile on everybody : and everybody will smile on you in return, a sham smile, and hold you out a sham hand ; and, in a word, esteem you as you de- serve. No. I think you and I will take the ups and the downs, the roughs and the smooths of this daily exist- ence and conversation. We wLi} praise those whom wo like, though nobody repeat our kind sayings ; and say our say about those whom we dis- like, though we are pretty sure our words will be carried by tale-bearers, and increased and multiplied, and re- membered long after we have forgot- ten them. We drop a little stone, — a little stone that is swallowed up and disappsars, but the whole pond is set in commotion, and ripples in con- tinually widening circles long after the original little stone has popped down and is out of sight. Don't your speeches of ten years ago — maimed, distorted, bloated it may be out of alFrecognition — come strange- ly back to their author ? Phil, five minutes after he had made the joke, so entirely forgot his saying about the Black Prince and the cymbals, that, when Captain Woolcomb scowled at him with his fiercest eyes, young Firmin thought that this was the natural expression of the captain's swarthy countenance, and gave himself no further trouble regarding it. " By George ! sir," said Phil afterwards, speaking of this officer, " I remarked that he grinned, and chattered and showed his teeth ; and remembering it was the nature of such baboons to chatter and grin, had no idea that this chimpanzee was more angry with me than with any other gentleman. You see. Pen, I am a white - skinned man ; I am pronounced even red-whiskered by the ill-natured. It is not the prettiest color. But I had no idea that I was to have a mulatto for a rival. I am not so rich, certainly, but I hava THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 129 enough. I can read and spell correct- ly, and write with tolerable fluency. i could not, you know, could I, reason- ably suppose that I need fear compe- tition, and that the black horse would best the bay one « Shall I tell you what she used to say to me ? There is no kissing and telling, mind you. No, by George. Virtue and prudence were forever on her lips ! She warbled little sermons to me ; hinted gently that I should see to safe invest- ments of my property, and that no man, not even a father, should bo the sole and uncontrolled guardian of it. She asked me, sir, scores and scores of little sweet, timid, innocent questions about the Doctor's property, and how much did I think it was, and how had lie laid it out ? What virtuous parents that angel had ! How they brought her up, and educated her dear blue eyes to the main chance ! She knows the price of housekeeping, and the value of railway shares ; she invests capital for herself in this world and tlie next. She may n't do right al- ways, but wrong 1 fie, never ! I say. Pen, an undeveloped angel with wings folded under her dress ; not perhaps your mighty, snow-white, flashing pinions that spread out and soar up to the highest stars, but a pair of good, serviceable drab dovo-coloi-ed wings, that will support her gently and equably just over our heads, and help to drop her softly when she con- descends upon us. When I think, sir, that I might have been married to a genteel angel and am single still, — oh ! it 's despair, it 's despair ! " But Philip's little story of disap- pointed hopes and bootless passion must be told in terms less acrimonions and unfair than the gentleman would use, naturally of a sanguine, swag- gering talk, prone to exaggerate his own disappointments, and call out, roar, -^ I dare say swear, — if his own com was trodden upon, as loud- ly as some men who may have a leg taken ofi; This I can vouch for Miss Twys- den, Mrs. Twysden, and all the rest of the family : — that if they, what you call, jilted Philip, they did so without the slightest hesitation or no- tion that they were doing a dirty ac- tion. Their actions never were dirty or mean ; they were necessary, I tell you, and calmly proper. They ato cheese-parings with graceful silence; they cribbed from board-wages ; they turned hungry servants out of doors; they remitted no chance in their own favor ; they slept gracefully under scanty coverlids; they lighted nig- gard fires ; they locked the caddy with the closest lock, and served the teapot with the smallest and least fre- quent spoon. But you don't suppose they thought they were mean, or that they did wrong ? Ah ! it is admirar hie to think of many, many, ever so many respectable families of your ac- quaintance, and mine, my dear friend, and how they meet together and humbug each other ! " My dear, I have cribbed half an inch of pinsh out of James's small-clothes." "My love, I have saved a halfpenny out of Mary's beer. Is n't it time to dress for the duchess's ; and don't von think John might wear that livery of Thomas's, who only had it a year, and died of the small-pox ? It 's a little tight for him, to be sure, but," &c. What is this ■? I profess to be an impartial chronicler of poor Phil's fortunes, misfortunes, friendships, and what nots, and am getting almost as angry with these Twysdcns as Philip ever was himself. " Well, I am not mortally angiy with poor Traviata tramping the pavement, with the gas-lamp flaring on her poor painted smile, else my indignant virtue and squeamish mod- esty would never walk Piccadilly or get the air. But Lais, quite moral, and very neatly, primly, and strait- ly laced; — Phryne, not the least dishevelled, but with a fixature for her hair, and the best stays, fastened by mamma ; — your High Church or Evangelical Aspasia, the model of all proprieties, and owner of all vir- gin-purity blooms, ready to sell her 130 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. cheek to the oldest old fogy who has money, and a title ; — Ihese arc the Unfortunates, my dear brother and sister sinners, whom I should like to see repentant and specially trounced first. Why, some of these are put into refonnatories in Grosvenor Square. They wear a prison dress of dia- monds and Chantilly lace. Their parents cry, and thank Heaven as they sell them ; and all sorts of revered bishops, clergy, relations, dowagers, sign the book, and ratify the ceremony. Come ! let us call a midnight meeting of those who have been sold in marriage, I say, and what a respectable, what a genteel, what a fashionable, what a brilliant, what an imposing, what a multitudi- nous assembly we will have ; and where 's the room in all Babylon big enough to hold them ? Look into that grave, solemn, din- gy, somewhat naked, but elegant drawing-room in Beaunash Street, and with a little fanciful opera-glass you may see a pretty little group or two engaged at different periods of the day. It is after lunch, and before Eotten Row ride time (this story, you know, relates to a period ever so re- mote, and long before folks thought of riding in the Park in the forenoon). After lunch, and before Rotten Row time, saunters into the drawing-room a fair-haired young fellow with large feet and chest, careless of gloves, with auburn whiskers blowing over a loose collar, and — must I confess it 1 — a most undeniable odor of cigars about his person. He breaks out re- garding the debate of the previous night, or the pamphlet of yesterday, or the poem of the day previous, or the scandal of the week before, or up- on tlie street-sweeper at the corner, or the Italian and monkey before the Park, — upon whatever, in a word, moves his mind for the moment. If Philip has had a bad dinner yester- day (and happens to remember it), he growls, grumbles, nay, I dare say, uses the most blasphemous language against the cook, against the waiters. against the steward, against the comr mittee, against the whole society of the club where he has been dining. If Philip has met an organ-girl with pretty eyes and a monkey in the street, he has grinned and wondered over the monkey ; he has wagged his head, and sung all the organ's tunes ; he has discovered that the little girl is the most ravishing beauty eyes ever looked on, and that her scouudtelly Savoyard father is most likely an Al- pine miscreant who has bartered away his child to a pedler of the beggarly chee.sy valleys, who has sold her to a friend qui fait la traite des hwdigurdies, and has disposed of her in England. If he has to discourse on the poem, pamphlet, magazine article, — it is written by the greatest genius, or the greatest numskull, that the world now exhibits. He write ! A man who makes fire rhyme with Marirc ! This vale of tears and world which we inhabit does not contain such an idiot. Or have you seen Dobbins's poem 1 Agnes, mark my words for It, there is a genius in Dobbins which some day will show what I have al- ways surmised, what I have always imagined possible, what I have al- ways felt to be more than probable, what, by George ! I feel to be perfect- ly certain, and any man is a humbug who contradicts it, and a malignant miscreant, and the world is full of fel- lows who will never give another man credit ; and I swear that to rec- ognize and feel merit in poetry, paint- ing, music, rope-dancing, anything, is the greaicst delight and joy of my existence. I say — what was I say- ing ?_ " \ on were saying, Philip, that you love to recognize the merits of all men whom you see," says gentle Agnes, " and I believe you do." " Yes ! " cries Phil, tossing about the fair locks. " I think I do. Thank Heaven, I do. I know fellows who can do many things better than I do, — everything better than I do." " O Philip ! " sighs the lady. " But I don't hate 'em for it." THE ADVENTUKES OF PHIUP. 131 " Yon never hated any one, Bir. Tou are too brave ! Can yon fancy Philip hating any one, mamma ? " Mamma is writing : " Mr. and Mrs. Talbot Twysden request the honor of Admiral and Mrs. Davis Lockbk's company at dinner on Thursday the so-and-so." " Philip what f " says mamma, looking up from her card. " Philip hating anv one ! Philip eat- ing any one ! Philip ! we have a little dinner on the 24th. We shall ask your father to dine. We must not have too many of the family. Come in afterwards, please." " Yes, aunt," says downright Phil, "I '11 come, if you and the girls wish. You know tea is not my line ; and I don't care about dinners, except in my own way, and with — " "And with your o^vn horrid set, sir!" " Well," says Sultan Philip, flinging himself out on the sofa, and lording on the ottoman, " I like mine ease and mine inn." " Ah, Philip ! you grow more self- ish every day. I mean men do," sighed Agnes. You will suppose mamma leaves the room at this juncture. She has that confidence in dear Philip and the dear girls, that she sometimes does leave the room when Agnes and Phil are together. She will leave Reuben, the eldest bom, with her daughters : but my poor dear little younger son of a Joseph, if you suppose she will leave the room and i/ou alone in it, — my dear Joseph, you may just jump down the well at once! Mamma, I say, has left the room at last, bowing with a perfect sweetness and calm grace and gravity ; and she has slipped down the stairs, scarce more noisy than the shadow that slants over the faded carpet (oh ! the faded shadow, the faded sunshine !) — Kamma is gone, I say, to the lower regions, and with perfect good-breed- ing is torturing the butler on his bottle-rack, — is squeezing the house- keeper in her jam-closet, — is watch- ing the three cold cutlets shuddering in the larder behind the wires, — is blandly glancing at the kitchen-maid until the poor wench fancies the piece of bacon is discovered which she gave to the crossing-sweeper, — and calmly penetrating John until he feels sure his inmost heart is revealed to her, as it throbs within his worsted-laccd waistcoat, and she knows about that pawning of master's old boots (beastly old high-lows !) and — and, in fact, all the most intimate circumstances of his existence. A wretched maid, who has been ironing collars, or what not, gives her mistress a shuddering cour- tesy, and slinks away with her laces ; and meanwhile our girl and boy are prattling in the drawing-room. About what? About everything on which Phihp chooses to talk. There is nobody to contradict him but himself, and then his pretty hear- er vows and declares he has not been so very contradictory. He spouts his favorite poems. " Delightful ! Do, Philip, read us some Walter Scott ! He is, as you say, the most fresh, the most manly, the most kindly of poetic writers, — not of the first class, cer- tainly. In fact, he has written most dreadful bosh, as you call it so drolly ; and so has Wordsworth, though he is one of the greatest of men, and has reached sometimes to the very great- est height and sublimity of poetry ; but now you put it, I must confess he is often an old bore, and I certainly should have gone to sleep during the 'Excursion,' only yon read it so nicely. You don't think the new composers as good as the old ones, and love mamma's old-fashioned play- ing ? Well, Philip, it is delightful, so ladylike, so feminine ! " Or, perhaps, Philip has just come from Hyde Park, and says, " As I passed by Aps- ley House, I saw the Duke come out, with his old blue frock and white trou- sers and clear face. I have seen a pic- ture of him in an old European Mag- azine, which I think I like better than all, — gives me the idea of one of the brightest men In the world. The brave eyes gleam at you out of 132 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. the picture ; and there 's a smile on the resolute lips, which seems to in- sure triumph. Agnes, Assaye must have been glorious ! " " Glorious, Philip ! " says Agnes, who had never heard of Assaye before in her life. Arbola, perhaps ; Salamis, Marathon, Agincourt, Blenheim, Bu- saco, — where dear grandpapa was killed, — Waterloo, Armageddon ; but Assaye 1 Que voulez-vous 1 " 1?hink of that ordinarily prudent man, and how greatly he knew how to dare when occasion came ! I should like to have died after winning such a game. He has never done anything so exciting since." " A game ? I thought it was a battle just now," murmurs Agnes in her mind ; but there may be some misunderstanding. " Ah, Philip," she says, " I fear excitement is too much the hfe of all young men now. When will you be quiet and steady, sirV " And go to an office every day, like my uncle and cousin ; and read the newspaper for three hours, and trot back and see you." " Well, sir ! that ought not to be such very bad amusement," says one of the ladies. " What a clumsy wretch I am ! my foot is always trampling on something or somebody ! " groans Phil. "You must come to us, and we will teach you to dance. Bruin ! " says gentle Agnes, smiling on him. I think when very much agitated, her pulse must have gone up to forty. Her blood must have been a light pink. The heart that beat under that pretty white chest, which she exposed so liberally, may have throbbed pret- ty quickly once or twice with waltz- ing, but otherwise never rose or fell beyond its natural gentle undulation. Tt may have had throbs of grief at a disappointment occasioned by the mil- liner not bringing a dress home ; or have felt some little fluttering impulse of youthful passion when it was in short frocks, and Master Grimsby at the dancing-school showed some pref- erence for another young pupil out of the nursery. But feelmgs, and hopes, and blushes, and passions now 1 Pslia ! They pass away like nursery dreams. Now there are only proprieties. What is love, young heart ? It is two thousand a year, at the very lowest computation ; and, with the present rise in wages and house-rent, that calculation can't last very long. Love ? Attachment ? Look at Prank Maythorn, with his vernal blushes, his leafy whiskers, his sunshiny, laughing face, and all the birds of spring carolling in his jolly voice ; and old General Pinwood hob- bling in on his cork leg, with his stars and orders, and leering round the room from under his painted eye- brows. Will my modest nymph go to Maythorn, or to yonder leering Satyr, who totters towards her in his white and rouge? Nonsense. She gives her garland to the old man, to be sure. He is ten times as rich as the young one. And so they went on in Arcadia itself, really. Not in that namby-pamby ballet and idyl world, where they tripped up to each other in rhythm, and talked hexame- ters ; but in the real downright, no- mistake country, — Arcadia, — where Tityrus, fluting to Amaryllis in the shade, had his pipe very soon put out when Meliboeus (the great gra- zier) performed on his melodious, ex- quisite, irresistible cowhorn ; and where Daphne's mother dresssed her up with ribbons and drove her to market, and sold her, and swapped her, and bartered her like any other lamb in the fair. This one has been trotted to the market so long now that she knows the way herself. Her baa has been heard for — do not let us count how many seasons. She has nibbled out of countless hands ; frisked in many thousand dances; come quite harmless away from good- ness knows how many wolves. Ah ! ye lambs and raddled innocents of our Arcadia ! Ah, old Eive ! Is it of your Ladyship this fable is nar- THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 133 rated? T say it is as old as Cad- mus, and man and mutton kind. So, when Philip comes to Beau- nash Street, Agnes listens to him most liindly, sweetly, gently, and af- fectionately. Her pulse goes up very nearly half a beat when the echo of his horse's heels is heard in the quiet street. It undergoes a corresponding depression when the daily grief of parting is encountered and overcome. Blanche and Agnes don't love each other very passionately. If I may say as much regarding those two lambkins, they butt at each other, — they quarrel with each other, — but they have secret understandings. During Phil's visits the girls re- main together, you understand, or mamma is with the young people. Female friends may come in to call on Mrs. Twysden, and the matrons whis- per together, and glance at the cous- ins, and look knowing. "Poor or- phan boy ! " mamma says to a sister matron. " I am like a mother to him since my dear sister died. His own home is so blank, and ours so merry, so affectionate ! There may be inti- macy, tender regard, the utmost con- fidence between cousins, — there may be future and even closer tics between them, — but you understand, dear Mrs. Matcham, no engagement between them. He is eager, hot-headed, im- petuous, and imprudent, as we all know. She has not seen the world enough, — is not sure of herself, poor dear child ! Therefore every circum- spection, every caution is necessary. There must be no engagement, no letters between them. My darling Agnes does not write to ask him to dinner without showing the note to me or her father. My dearest girls re- spect themselves." " Of course, my dear Mrs. Twysden, they are admi- rable, both of them. Bless you. dar- lings ! Agnes, you look radiant ! Ah, Eosa, my child, I wish you had dear Blanche's complexion ! " "And is n't it monstrous keeping that poor boy hanging on until Mr. Woolcomb has made up his mind about coming forward 1 " says dear Mrs. Matcham to her own daughter, as her brougham door closes on the pair. " Here he comes I Here is his cab. Maria Twysden is one of the smartest women in England, — that she is." " How odd it is, mamma, that the beau cousin and Captain Woolcomb are always calling, and never call to- gether ! " remarks the ingdnue. " They might quarrel if they met. They say young Mr. Firmin is very quarrelsome and impetuous ! " says mamma. " But how are they kept apart ? " " Chance, my dear ! mere chance ! " says mamma. And they agree to say it is chance, — and they agree to pre- tend to believe one another. And the girl and the mother know everything about Woolcomb's property, every- thing about Philip's property and ex- pectations, everything about alL the young men in London, and those coming on. And Mrs. Matcham's girl fished for Captain Woolcomb last year in Scotland, at Lock-hookey; and stalked him to Paris ; and they went down on their knees to Lady Banbury when they heard of the theatricals at the Cross ; and pursued that man about until he is forced to say, " Confound me ! hang me ! it 's too bad of that woman and her daugh- ter, it is now, I give you my honor it is I And all the fellows chaff me ! And she took a house in Regent's Park, opposite our barracks, and asked for her daughter to learn to ride in our school, — I 'm blest if she did n't, Mrs. Twysden ! and I thought my black mare would have kicked her off one day, — I mean the daugh- ter, — but she stuck on like grim death ; and the fellows call them Mrs. Grim Death and her daughter. Our surgeon called them so, and a doosid rum fellow, — and they chaff me about it, you know, — ever so many of the fellows do, — and 7 'm not going to be had in that way by Mrs. Grim Death and her daughter ! No, not as I knows, if you please ! " 134 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " You are a dreadful man, and you gave her a dreadful name, Captain Woolcomb ! " says mamma. "It was n't me. It was the sur- geon, you know, Miss Agnes : a doosid funny and witty fellow, Nixon is, — and sent a thing once to Punch, Nixon did. I heard him make the riddle in Albany Barracks and it riled Foker so ! You 'vc no idea how it riled Foker, for he 's in it!" " In it 1 " asks Agnes, with the gentle smile, the candid blue eyes, — the same eyes, expression, lips, that smile and sparkle at Philip. " Here it is ! Capital ! Took it down. Wrote it into my pocket-book at once as Nixon made it. 'All doc- tors like my first, that 's dear! ' Doc- tor Firmin does that. Old Pan- Street party ! Don't you see, Miss Agnes ? Fee ! Don't you see ? " " Fee ! O you droll thing ! " cries Agnes, smiling, radiant, very much puzzled. " ' My second,' " goes on the young officer, — " ' My second gioes us taker's beer!'" " ' My whole 's the shortest month in all the year ! ' Don't you see, Mrs. Twysden t Fee-Bkeweey, dos't TOO SEE '! February ! A doosid good one, is n't it, now ? and I won- der Punch never put it in. And upon my word, I used to spell it Febuary before, I did ; and I dare say ever so many fellows do still. And I know the right way now, and all from that riddle which Nixon made." . The ladies declare he is a droll man, and full of fun. He rattles on, artlessly telling his little stories of sport, drink, adventure, in which the dusky little man himself is a promi- nent figure. Not honey-mouthed Plato would be listened to more kind- ly by those three ladies. A bland, frank smile shines over Talbot Twys- den's noble face, as he comes in from his office, and finds the Creole prat- tling. " What ! yoit here, Wool- comb ? Hay ! Glad to see you ! " And the gallant hand goes out and meets and grasps Woolcomb's tiny kid glove. "He has been so amusing, papa! He has been making us die with laughing ! Tell papa that riddle you made, Captain Woolcomb ? " " That riddle I made ? That rid- dle Nixon, our surgeon, made. ' All doctors like my first, that 's clear,' " &c. And da capo. And the family, as he expounds this admirable rebus, gather round the young officer in a group, and the curtain drops. As in a theatre booth at a fair there are two or three performances in a day, so in Beaunash Street a little genteel comedy is played twice : — at four o'clock with Mr. Firmin, at five o'clock with Mr. Woolcomb; and for both young gentlemen, same smiles, same eyes, same voice, same welcome. Ah, bravo ! ah, encore ! CHAPTER X. IN WHICH WE VISIT "ABMIHAL ETNG." From long residence in Bohemia, and fatal love of bachelor ease and habits. Master Philip's pure tastes were so destroyed, and his manners so perverted that, you will hardly believe it, he was actually indifferent to the pleasures of the refined home we have just been describing ; and, when Ag- nes was away, sometimes even when she was at home, was quite relieved to get out of Beaunash Street. He is hardly twenty yards from the door, when out of his pocket there comes a case ; out of the case there jumps an aromatic cigar, which is scattering fragrance around as he is marching briskly northwards to his next house of call. The jjace is even more lively now than when he is hastening on what you call the wings of love to Beaunash Street. At the house whither he is now going, he .iiid the cigar are always welcome. There is no need of munching orange chips, THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 135 or chewing scented pills, or flinging your weed away half a mile before you reach Thomhaugh Street, — the low, vulgar place. I promise yon Phil may smoke at Brandon's, and find others doing the same. He may set the house on fire, if so minded, such a favorite is he there; and the Little Sister, with her kind, beaming smile, will be there to bid him wel- come. How that woman loved Phil, and how he loved her, is quite a curi- osity ; and both of them used to be twitted with this attachment by their mutual friends, and blush as they ac- knowledged it. Ever since the little nurse had saved his life as a school- boy, it was a la vie a la mart between them. Phil's father's chariot used to come to Thomhaugh Street some- times, — at rare times, — and the Doc- tor descend thence and have colloquies with the Little Sister. She attended a patient or two of his. She was certainly very much better oif in her money matters in these late years, since she had known Dr. Firmin. Do you think she took money from him? As a novelist, who knows everything about his people, I am constrained to say, Yes. She took enough to pay some little bills of her weak-minded old father, and send the bailiffs hand from his old collar. But no more. " I think you owe him as much as that," she said to the Doc- tor. But as for compliments between them, — "Dr. Firmin, I would die rather than bo beholden to you for anjthing," she said, with her little limbs all in a tremor, and her eyes flashing anger. " How dare you, sir, after old days, be a coward and pay compliments tome; I will tell your son of you, sir ! " and the little wo- man looked as if she could have stabbed the elderly libertine there as he stood. And he shrugged his hand- some shoulders : blushed a little too, perhaps : gave her one of his darkling looks, and departed. She had be- lieved him once. She had married him, as she fancied. He had tired of her; forsaken her; left her, — left her even without a name. She had not known his for long years after her trust and his deceit. " No, sir, I wouldn't have your name now, not if it were a lord's, I would n't, and a coronet on your carriage. You are beneath me now, Mr. Brand Pirmin ! " she had said. How came she to love the hoy so ? Years back, in her own horrible ex- tremity of misery, she could remem- ber a week or two of a brief, strange, exquisite happiness, which came to her in the midst of her degradation and desertion, and for a few days a baby in her arms, with eyes like Philip's. It was taken from her, after a few days — only sixteen days. Insanity came upon her, as her dead infant was carried away : — insanity, and fever, and struggle — ah ! who knows how dreadful? She never does. There is a gap in her life which she never can recall quite. But George Brand Firmin, Esq., M. D., knows how very frequent are such cases of mania, and that women who don't speak about them often will cherish them for years after they ap- pear to have passed away. The Lit- tle Sister says, quite gi'avely, some- times, " They are allowed to come back. They do come back. Else what 's the good of little cherubs be- in' born, and smilin', and happy, and beautiful — say, for sixteen days, and then an end '( I 've talked about it to many ladies in grief sim'lar to mine was, and it comforts them. And when I saw that child on his sick-bed, and he lifted his eyes, / knew him, I tell you, Mrs. Ridley. I don't speak about it; but I knew him, ma am; my angel came back again. I know him by the eyes. Look at 'em. Did you ever see such eyes ? They look as if they had seen heaven. His fa- ther's don't." Mrs. Ridley believes this theory solemnly, and I think I know a lady, nearly connected with myself, who can't be got quite to dis- own it. And this secret opinion to women in grief and sorrow over their new-born lost infants Mrs. Brandon 136 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. persists in imparting. " / know a case," the nurse murmurs, " of a poor mother who lost her child at sixteen days old ; and sixteen years after, ou the very day, she saw him again." Philip knows so far of the Little Sister's story, that he is the object of this delusion, and, indeed, it very strangely and tenderly affects him. lie remembers fitfally the illness through which the Little Sister tend- ed him, the wild paroxysms of his fever, his head throbbing on her shoulders, cool tamarind drinks which she applied to his lips, great gusty night shadows flickering through the bare school dormitory, the little figure of the nurse gliding in and out of the dark. He must be aware of the rec- ognition, which we know of, and which took place at his bedside, though he has never mentioned it, — not to his father, not to Caroline. But he clings to the woman, and shrinks from the man. Is it instinc- tive love and antipathy "! The special reason for his quarrel with his father the junior Firmin has never explicitly told me then or since. I have known sons much more confidential, and who, when their fathers tripped and stumbled, would bring their acquaint- ances to jeer at the patriarch in his fall. One day, as Philip enters Thorn- haugh Street, and the Sister's little parlor there, fancy his astonishment on finding his father's dingy friend, the Rev. Tufton Hunt, at his ease by the fireside. " Sui"prised to see me here, eh?" says the dingy gentleman, with a sneer at Philip's lordly face of wonder and disgust. "Mrs. Bran- don and I tarn out to be very old friends." " Yes, sir, old acquaintances," says the Little Sister, very gravely. " The captain brought me homo from thg, club at the ' Byng.' Jolly fellows tiie Byngs. My service to you, Mr. Gann and Mrs. Brandon." And thj two persons addressed by the gentleman, who is " taking some refreshment," as the phrase is, made a bow in acknowledgment of tliis sal- utation. " You should have been at Mr. Philip's call-supper, Captain Gann," the divine resumes. " That was a night ! Tip-top swells — noblemen — first-rate claret. That claret of your father's, Philip, is pretty near- ly drunk down. And your song was famous. Did you ever hear him sing, Mrs. Brandon ? " " Who do you mean by him ? " says Philip, who always boiled with rage before this man. Caroline divines the antipathy. She lays a little hand on Philip's arm. " Mr. Hunt has been iiaving too much, I think," she says. " I did know him ever so long ago, Philip ! " " What does he mean by Him ■? " again says Philip, snorting at Tufton Hunt. " Him ? — Dr. Luther's Hymn ! ' Wein, Weber, und Gesang,' to be sure ! " cries the clergyman, hum- ming the tune. " I learned it in Germany myself — passed a good deal of time in Germany, Captain Gann — six months in a specially shady place — Quod Strasse, in Frankfort on-the-Maine — being per- secuted by some wicked Jews there. And there was another poor English chap in the place, too, who used to chirp that song behind the bars, and died there, and disappointed the Philistines. I 've seen a deal of life, I have ; and met with a precious deal of misfortune ; and borne it pretty stoutly, too, since your father and I were at college together, Philip. You don't do anything in this way t Not so early, eh ? It 's good rum, Gann, and no mistake." And again the chaplain drinks to the captain, who waves the dingy hand of hospi- tality towards his dark guest. For several months past Hunt had now been a resident in London, and a pretty constant visitor at Dr. Fir- mm's house. He came and went at his will. He made the place his house of call ; and in the Doctor's THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 137 trim, silent, orderly mansion, was perfectly free, talkative, dirty, and familiar. Philip's loathing for the man increased till it reached a pitch of frantic hatred. Mr. Phil, theoret- ically a Radical, and almost a Repub- lican (in opposition, perhaps, to his father, who, of course, held the highly respectable line of politics), — Mr. Sansculotte Phil was personally one of the most aristocratic and overbear- ing of young gentlemen ; and had a contempt and hatred for mean people, for base people, for servile people, and especially for too familiar people, wliich was not a little amusing some- times, which was provoking often, but which he never was at the least pains of disguising. His uncle and cousin Twysden, for example, he treated not half so civilly as their footmen. Little Talbot humbled himself before Phil, and felt not always easy in his company. Young Twysden hated him, and did not dis- guise his sentiments at the club, or to their mutual acquaintance behind Phil's broad back. And Phil, for his part, adopted towards his cousin a kick-me-down-stairs manner, which I own must have been provoking to that gentleman, who was Phil's senior by three years, a clerk in a public office, a member of several good clubs, and altogether a genteel member of society. Phil would often forget Ringwood Twysden's presence, and pursue his own conversation entirely regardlessofRingwood's observations. He was very rude, I own. Que voidez-vous ? We have all of us onr little failings, and one of Philip's was an ignorant impatience of bores, par- asites, and pretenders. So no wonder my young gentleman was not very fond of his father's friend, the dingy jail chaplain. I, who am the most tolerant man in the world, as all my friends know, liked Hunt little better than Phil did. The man's presence made me uneasy. His dress, his complexion, his tcelli, his leer at women — Que sais-je ? — everything was unpleasant about this Mr. Hunt, and his gayety and famil- iarity more specially disgusting than even his hostility. The wonder was that battle had not taken place be- tween Philip and the jail clergyman, who, I suppose, was accustomed to be disliked, and laughed with cynical good-humor at the other's disgust. Hunt was a visitor of many tavern parlors ; and one day, strolling out of the " Admiral Byng," he saw his friend Dr. Pirmin's well-known equipage stopping at a door in Thorn- haugh Street, out of which the Doctor presently came ; " Brandon " was on the door. Brandon, Bran- don 1. Hunt remembered a dark transaction of more than twenty years ago, — of a woman deceived by this Pirmin, who then chose to go by the name Brandon. "He lives with her still, the old hypocrite, or he has gone back to her," thought the par- son. you old sinner ! And the next time he called in Old Parr Street on his dear old college friend, Mr. Hunt was specially jocular, and fi-ightfuUy unpleasant and familiar. " Saw your trap Tottenham Court Eoad way," says the slang parson, nodding to the physician. " Have some patients there. Peo- ple are ill in Tottenham Court Road," remarks the Doctor. " Pallida mors ceqvo pede — hay, Doctor'? What used Placrus to say, when we were undergrads ? " " yEquo pede," sighs the Doctor, casting up his iino eyes to the ceiling. " Sly old fox ! Kot a word will he say about her ! " thinks the clergy- man. " Yes, yes, I remember. And, by Jove 1 Gann was the name." Gann was also the name of that queer old man who frequented the " Admiral Byng," where the ale was so good, — the old boy whom thej called the Captain. Yes; it was clear now. That ugly business was patched up. The astute Hunt saw it all. The Doctor still kept up a con- nection with the — the party. And that is her old father, sure enough. "The old fox, the old fox! I've 138 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. earthed him, have 1 1 This is a good game. I wanted a little something to do, and this will excite me," thinlis the clergyman. I am describing what I never could have seen or heard, and can guaran- tee, only verisimilitude, not truth, in my report of the private conversa- tion ot those worthies. The end of scores and scores of Hunt's cx>nversa- tions with his friend was the same, — an application for money. If it rained wlien Hunt parted from his college chum, it was, " I say, Doctor, I shall spoil my new hat, and I 'm blest if I have any money to take a cab. Thank you, old boy. Au revoir." If the day was fine, it was, "My old blacks show the white seams so, that you must out of your charity rig me out with a new pair. Not your tailor. He is too expensive. Thank you, — a couple of sovereigns will do." And the Doctor takes two from the mantel- piece, and the divine retires, jingling the gold in his greasy pocket. The Doctor is going after the few words about pallida mors, and has taken up thjit well-brushed broad hat, with that ever-fresh lining, which we all admire in him, — "0, I say, Firmin ! " breaks out the clergyman. "Before you go out, you must lend me a few sovs, please. They 've cleaned me out in Air Street. That confounded roulette ! It 's a mad- ness witli me." " By George ! " cries the other, with a strong execration, " you are too bad. Hunt. Every week of my life you come to me for money. You have had plenty. Go elsewhere. I won't give it you." " Yes, you will, old boy," says the other, looking at him a terrible look ; "for — " "For what? "'says the Doctor, the veins of his tall forehead gi-owing very full. "For old times' sake," says the clergyman. " There 's seven of 'em on the table in bits of paper, — that '11 do nicely. And ho sweeps the fees with a dirty hand into a dirty pouch. "Halloa! Swearin' and cursin' be- fore a clergyman. Don't cut up rough, old fellow ! Go and take the air. It '11 cool you." " I don't think I would like that fellow to attend me, if I was sick," says Hunt, shuffling away, rolling the plunder in his greasy hand. " I don't think I 'd like to meet him by moon- light alone, in a very quiet lane. Ho 's a determined chap. And his eyes mean niiching malecho, his eyes do. Phew ! " And he laughs, and makes a rude observation about Dr. Firmiu's eyes. That afternoon, the gents who used the "Admiral Byng" remarked the reappearance of the party who looked in last evening, and who now stood glasses round, and made himself un- common agreeable to be sure. Old Mr. Ridley says he is quite the gen- tleman. " Hevident have been in for- ing parts a great deal, and speaks the languages. Probbly have 'ad mis- fortunes, which many 'ave 'ad them. Drinks rum-and-water tremenjous. 'Ave scarce no heppytite. Many get into this way from misfortunes. A plesn man, most well informed on al- most every subjeck. Think he 's a clergyman. He and Mr. Gann have made quite a friendship together, ho and Mr. Gann 'ave. Which they talked of "Watloo, and Gann is veiy fond of that, Gann is, most certny." I imagine Ridley delivering these sen- tences, and alternate little volleys of smoke, as ho sits behind his sober cal- umet and prattles in the tavern parlor. After Dr. Firmin has careered through the to^vn, standing by sick- beds with his sweet sad smile, fondled and blessed by tender mothers who hail him as the savior of their chil- dren, touching ladies' pulses with a liand as delicate as their own, patting little fresh cheeks with courtly kind- ness, — little cheeks that owe their roses to his marvellous skill ; after he has soothed and comforted my Lady, shaken hands with my Lord, looked in at the club, and exchanged courtly salutations with brother big-wigs, and THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. ISO driven away in the handsome carriage with the noble horses, — admired, re- specting, respectful, saluted, salut ing, — so that every man savs, " Ex- cellent man, Eirmin. Excellent doc- tor, excellent man. Safe man. Sound man. Man of good family. Mar- ried a rich wife. Lucky man." And so on. Alter the day's triumphant career, I fancy I see the Doctor driv- ing homeward, with those sad, sad eyes, that haggard smile. He comes whirling up Old Parr Street just as Phil saunters in from Kegent Street, as usual, cigar in mouth. He flings away the cigar as he sees his father, and they enter the house together. "Do you dine at home, Philip ? " the father asks. " Do you, sir 1 I will if you do," says the son, " and if yon are alone." "Alone. Yes. That is, there'll be Hunt, I suppose, whom you don't like. But the poor fellow has few places to dine at. What? D Hunt? That's a strong expression about a poor fellow in misfortune, and your father's old friend." I am afraid Philip had used that wicked monosyllable whilst his father was speaking, and at the mention of the clergyman's detested name. " I beg your pardon, father. It slipped out in spite of me. I can't help it. I hate the fellow." " You don't disguise your likes or dislikes, Philip," says, or rather groans, the safe man, the sound man, the prosperous man, the lucky man, the miserable man. Por years and years he has known that his boy's heart has revolted from him, and de- tected him, and gone from him ; and with shame and remorse, and sicken- ing feeling, he lies awake in the night- watches, and thinks bow he is alone, — alone in the world. Ah! Love your Sarents, young ones ! O Father leneficent ! strengthen our hearts : strengthen and purify them so that we may not have to blush before our children ! " You don't disguise your likes 7 and dislikes, Philip," says the father then; with a tone that smites strange- ly and keenly on the young man. There is a great tremor in Philip's voice, as he says, " No, lather, I can't bear that man, and I can't disguise my feelings. I have just parted from the man. I have just met him." " Where ? " " At — at Mrs. Brandon's, father." He blushes like a girl as he speaks. At the next moment he is scared by the execration which hisses from his father's lips, and the awful look of hate which the elder's face as- sumes, — that fatal, forlorn, fallen, lost look which, man and boy, has often frightened poor Phil. Philip did not like that look, nor indeed that other one, which his father cast at Hunt, who presently swaggered in. " What ! you dine here 1 We rare- ly do papa the honor of dining v, ith him," says the parson, vrith his know- ing leer. " I suppose. Doctor, it is to be fatted-calf day now the prodigal has come home. There 's worse things than a good fillet of veal; eh?" Whatever the meal might be, the greasy chaplain leered and winked over it as he gave it his sinister bless- ing. The two elder guests tried to be lively and gay, as Philip thought, who took such little trouble to dis- guise his own moods of gloom or merriment. Nothing was said re- garding the occurrences of the morn- ing when my young gentleman had been rather rude to Mr. Hunt; and Philip did not need his father's cau- tion to make no mention of his pre- vious meeting with their guest. Hunt, as usual, talked to the butler, made sidelong remarks to the footman, and garnished his conversation with slip- pery double-entendre and dirty old- world slang. Betting-houses, gam- bling-houses, Tattersall's fights and their frequenters, were his cheerful themes, and on these ho descanted as usual. The Doctor swallowed this 140 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. dose, which his friend poured out, without the least expression of dis- gust. On the contrary, he was cheer- ful : he was for an extra bottle of claret, — it never could be in better order than it was now. The bottle was scarce put on the table, and tasted and pronounced perfect, when — Oh ! disappointment ! — tlie butler reappears with a note for the Doctor. One of his patients. He must go. She has little the matter with her. She lives hard by, in May Fair. " You and Hunt finish this bottle, unless I am back before it is done ; and if it is done, we '11 have another," says Dr. Krmin, jovially. " Don't stir, Hunt," — and Dr. Fir- min is gone, leaving Philip alone with the guest to whom he had certainly been rude in the morning. " The Doctor's patients often grow very unwell about claret time," growls Mr. Hunt, some few minutes after. " Never mind. The drink 's good, — good ! as somebody said at your famous call-supper, Mr. Philip, — won't call you Philip, as you don't like it. You were uncommon crusty to me in the morning, to be sure. In my time there would have been bottles broke, or worse, for that sort of treat- ment." " I have asked your pardon," Philip said. " I was annoyed about — no matter what, — and had no right to be rude to Mrs. Brandon's guest." " I say, did you tell the governor that you saw me in Thornhaugh Street ■? " asks Hunt. " I was very rude and ill-tempered, and again I confess I was wrong," said Phil, boggling and stuttering, and turning very red. He remem- bered his father's injunction. " I say again, sir, did you tell your father of our meeting this morning ? " demands the clergyman. " And pray, sir, what right have you to ask me about my private con- versation with my father % " asks Philip, with towering dignity. " You won't tell me ? 'Then you have told him. He 's a nice man, your father is, for a moral man." " I am not anxious for your opinion about my father's morality, Mr. Hunt," says Philip, gasping in a be- wildered manner, and drumming the table. " I am here to replace him in his absence, and treat his guest with civility." " Civility ! Pretty civility ! " says the other, glaring at him. " Such as it is, sir, it is my best, and — I — I have no other," groans the young man. " Old friend of your father's, a uni- versity man, a Master of Arts, a gen- tleman born, by Jove ! a clergyman — though I sink that — " " Yes, sir, you do sink that," says PhUip. "Am I a dog," shrieks out the clergyman, "to be treated by you in this way ? Who are you ? Do you know who you are ? " " Sir, I am striving with all my strength to remember," says Philip. " Come ! I say ! don't try any of your confounded airs on me ! " shrieks Hunt, with a profusion of oaths, and swallowing glass after glass from the various decanters before him. " Hang me, when I was a young man, I would have sent one — two at your nob, though you were twice as tall ! Who are you, to patronize your senior, your father's old pal — a university man : — you confounded, supercili- ous — " " I am here to pay every attention to ray father's guest," says Phil ; " but if you have finished your wine, I shall bo happy to break up the meeting as early as you please." "You shall pay me; I swear you shall," said Hunt. " Mr. Hunt ! " cried Philip, jump- ing up, and clenching his great fists, " I should desire nothing better." The man shrank back, thinking Philip was going to strike him (as Philip told me in describing the scene), and made for the bell, but when the butler came, Philip only asked for coflee; and Hunt, uttering a mad THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 141 oath or two, staggered out of the room after the servant. Brice said he had been drinking before he came. He was often so. And Pliil blessed his stars that he had not assaulted his father's guest then and there, under his own roof-tree. He went out into the air. He gasped and cooled himself under the stars. He soothed his feelings by his customary consolation of tobacco. He remembered that Ridley in Thorn- haugh Street held a divan that night ; and jumped into a cab, and drove to his old friend. The maid of the house, who came to the door as the cab was driving away, stopped it ; and as Phil entered the passive, he found the Little Sister and his father talking together in the hall. The Doctor's broad hat shaded his face from the hall-lamp, which was burning with an extra brightness, but Mrs. Brandon's was very pale, and she had been crying. She gave a little scream when she saw Phil. " Ah 1 is it you, dear 1 " she said. She ran up to him : seized both his hands: clung to him, and sobbed a thousand hot tears on his hand. " I never will. O, never, never, never!" she murmured. The Doctor's broad chest heaved as with a great sigh of relief. He looked at the woman and at his son with a strange smile ; — not a sweet smile. " God bless you, Caroline," he said, in his pompous, rather theatrical way. " Good night, sir," said Mrs. Bran- don, still clinging to Philip's hand, and making the Doctor a little humble courtesy. And when he was gone, again she kissed Philip's hand, and dropped her tears on it, and said, " Never, my dear ; no, never, never ! " CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH PHILIP IS VERT ILL TEMPERED. Philip had long divined a part of his dear little friend's history. An uneducated young girl had been found, cajoled, deserted by a gentle- man of the world. And poor Caro- line was the victim, and Philip's own father the seducer. He easily guessed as much as this of the sad little story. Dr. Firmin's part in it was enough to shock his son with a thrill of dis- gust, and to increase the mistrust, doubt, alienation, with which the father had long inspired the son. What would Philip feci, when all the pages of that dark book were opened to him, and he ceme to hear of a false marriage, and a ruined and out- cast woman, deserted for years by the man to whom he himself was most bound ? In a word, Philip had considered this as a mere case of early libertinism, and no more ; and it was as such, in the very few words which he may have uttered to me respecting this matter, that he had chosen to regard it. I knew no more than my friend had told me of the story as yet; it was only by degrees that I learned it, and as events, now subse- quent, served to develop and explain it. The elder Tirmin, when questioned by his old acquaintance, and, as it appeared, accomplice of former days, regarding the end of a certain intrigue at Margate, which had occurred some four or five and twenty years back, and when Pirmin, having reason to avoid his college creditors, chose to live away and bear a false name, had told the clergyman a number of false- hoods which appeared to satisfy him. What had become of that poor little thing about whom he had made such a fool of himself? O, she was dead, dead ever so many years before. He had pensioned her off. She had married, and died in Canada, — yes, in Canada. Poor little thing ! Yes, she was a good little thing, and, at one time, he had been very soft about her. I am sorry to have to state of a respectable gentleman that he told lies, and told lies habitually and easily. But, you see, if you commit a crime, and break a seventh com- 142 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. mandmcnt let us say, or an eighth, or choose any number yon will, — you will probably have to back the lie of action by the lie of the tongue, and so you are fairly warned, and I have no help for you. If I murder a man, and the policeman inquires, "Pray, sir, did you cut this here gentleman's throat 1 " I must bear false witness, you see, out of self-defence, though I may be naturally a most reliable, truth-telling man. And so with re- gard to mmy crimes which gentle- men commit, — it is painful to have to say respecting gentlemen, bnt they become neither more nor less than habitual liars, and have to go lying on through life to you, to mo, to the servants, to their wives, to their children, to — awful name ! I bow and humble myself. May we kneel, may we kneel, nor strive to speak our falsehoods before Thee ! A.'id so, my dear sir, seeing that after committing any infraction of the moral laws, you must tell lies in order to back yourself out of your scr.ape, let me ask you, as a man of honor and a gentleman, whether you h.id not better forego the crime, so as to avoid the unavoidable, and unpleasant, and daily-recurring ne- cessity of the subsequent perjury ? A poor young girl of the lower orders, cajoled, or ruined, more or lo;s, is of course no great matter. The little baggage is turned out of doors, — Viforse luck for her ! — or she gets a place, or she marries one of her own iclass, who has not the ex- quisitj delicacy belonging to " gentle blood," — and there is an end of her. But if you marry her privately and irregularly yourself, and then throw her off, and then marry somebody else, you are brought to book in all sorts of unpleasant ways. I am ■.vritin^^ of quite an old story, be pleased to remember. The first part of the history I myself printed some twenty years ago ; and if you fancy I allude to any more modern periotl, in.a'iam, you are entirely oat in your ooujeoture. It must have been a most unpleas- ant duty for a man of fashion, honor, and good family, to lie to a poor tipsy, disreputable bankrupt merchant's daughter, such as Caroline Gann, but George Brand Fjrmin, Esq., M. U., had no other choice, and when he lied, — as in severe cases, when he administered calomel, — he thought it best to give the drug free- ly. Thus he lied to Hunt, saying that Mrs. Brandon was long since dead in Canada ; and he lied to Car- oline, prescribing for her the very same pill, as it were, and saying that Hunt was long since dead in Canada too. And I can fancy few more painful and humiliating positions for a man of rank and fashion and reputa- tion, than to have to demean himself so far as to tell lies to a little low-bred person, who gets her bread as a nurse of the sick, and has not the proper use of her h's. " yes. Hunt ! " Firmin had said to the Little Sister, in one of those sad little colloquies which sometimes took place between him and his vic- tim, his wife of old days. " A wild, bad man, Hunt was, — in days when I own I was little better! I have deeply repented since, Caroline ; of nothing more than of my conduct to you ; for you were worthy of a bet- tor fate, and you loved me truly, — madly." " Yes,'' says Caroline. " I was wild then ! I was despe- rate ! I had ruined my fortunes, es- tranged my father from me, was hid- ing from my creditors under an assumed name, — that under which I saw you. Ah, why did I ever come to your house, my poor child ? The mark of the demon was upon me. I did not dare to speak of marriage be- fore my father. You have yours, and tend him with your ever constant goodness. Do you know that my father would not see me when ho died ? 0, it 's a cruel thing to think of!" And the suffering creatm-e slaps his tall forehead with his trem- bling hand; and some of his grief THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 148 about his own father, I dare say, is eincere, for he feels the shame and remorse of being alienated from his own son. As for the marriage, — that it was a most wicked and unjustifiable deceit he owned ; but he was wild when it took place, wild with debt and with despair at his father's estrangement from him, — but the fact was it was no marriage. " I am glad of that I " sighed the poor Little Sister. " Why 1 " asked the other eagerly. His love was dead, but his vanity was still hale and well. " Did you care for somebody else, Caroline ? Did you forget your George whom you used to — " " No ! " said the little woman, bravely. " Bat I could n't live with a man who behaved to any woman so dishonest as you behaved to me. I liked you because I thought you was a gentleman. My poor painter was whom you used to despise and trample to hearth, — and my dear dear Philip is, Mr. Kimin. But gentlemen tell the truth ! gentlemen don't deceive poor innocent girls, and desert 'em without a penny ! " " Caroline ! I was driven by my creditors. I — " " Never mind. It 's over now. I bear you no malice, Mr. Tirmin, but I would not marry you, no, not to be doctor's wife to the Queen ! " This had been the Little Sister's language when there was no thought of the existence of Hunt, the clergy- man who had celebrated their mar- riage ; and I don't know whether Rrmin was most piqued or pleased at the divorce which the little woman pronounced of her own decree. But when the ill-omened Hunt made his appearance, doubts and terrors filled the physician's mind. Hunt was needy, greedy, treacherous, unscrupu- lous, desperate. He could hold this marriage over the Doctor. He could threaten, extort, expose, perhaps in- validate Philip's legitimacy. The first marriage almost certainly was null, but the scandal would be fatal to Firmin's reputation and practice. And the quarrel with his son entailed consequences not pleasant to think of You see George Firmin, Esq., M. D., was a man with a great development of the back head ; when he willed a thing, he willed it so fiercely that he must have it, never mind the conse- quences. And so ho had willed to make liimsclf master of poor little Caroline : and so he had willed, as a young man, to have horses, splendid entertainments, roulette and &art^, and so forth ; and the bill came at its natural season, and George Firmin, Esq., did not always like to pay. But for a grand, prosperous, highly bred gentleman in the best society — with a polished forehead and manners, and universally looked up to — to have to tell lies to a poor little, timid, uncomplaining, sick-room nurse, it ivas humiliating, was n't it 1 And I can feel for Firmin. To have to lie to Hunt was disgust- ing ; but somehow not so exquisitely mean and degrading as to have to cheat a little trusting, humble, house- less creature, over the bloom of whose gentle young life bis accursed foot had already trampled. But then this Hunt was such a cad and ruffian that there need be no scruple about hum- bugging kim ; and if 1 irmin had bad any humor he might have had a grim sort of pleasure in leading the dirty clergyman a dance thoro' bush thoro' briar. So, perhaps (of course I have no means of ascertaining the fact), the Doctor did not altogether dislike the duty which now devolved on him of hoodwinking his old acquaintance and accomplice. I don't like to use such a vulgar phrase regarding a man in Doctor Firmin's high social posi- tion, 03 to say of him and the jail chaplain that it was "thief catch thief" ; but at any rate Hunt is such a low graceless, friendless vagabond, that if he comes in for a few kicks, or is mystified, we need not be very sor- ry. When Mr. Thurtell is hung we don't put on mourning. His is a 144 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. painful position for the moment ; but, after all, he has murdered Mr. Wil- liam "Weare. Firmin was a bold and courageous man, hot in pursuit, fierce in desire, but cool in danger, and rapid in ac- tion. Some of his great successes as a physician arose from his daring and successful practice in sudden emer- gency. While Hunt was only lurch- ing about the town an aimless miscreant, living from dirty hand to dirty mouth, and as long as he could get drink, cards, and shelter, tolerably content, or at least pretty easily appeased by a guinea-dose or two, — Firmin could adopt the palliative system ; soothe his patient with an occasional bounty ; set him to sleep with a composing draught of claret or brandy ; and let the day take care of itself He might die ; he might have a fancy to go abroad again ; he might be transported for forgery or some other rascaldom, Dr. Firmin would console himself; and he trusted to the chapter of accidents to get rid of his friend. But Hunt, aware that the woman was alive whom he had actually, though unlawfully, married to Firmin, became an enemy whom it was necessary to subdue, to cajole, or to bribe, and the sooner tlie Doctor put himself on his defence the better. What should the defence be f Per- haps the most effectual was a fierce attack on the enemy ; perhaps it would be better to bribe him. The course to be taken would be best ascertained after a little previous reconnoitring. " He will try and inflame Caroline," the Doctor thought, " by representing her wrongs and her rights to her. He will show her that, as my wife, she has a right to my name and a share of my income. A loss merce- nary woman never lived than this poor little creature. She disdains money, and, except for her father's sake, would have taken none of mine. But to punish me for certainly rather shabby behavior ; to claim and take her own right and position in tlie world as an honest woman, may she not be induced to declare war against me, and stand by her marriage? After she left home, her two Irish half-sisters deserted her and spat upon her ; and when she would have returned, the heartless women drove her from the door. the vixens ! And now to drive by them in her carriage, to claim a maintenance from me, and to have a right to my honorable name, would she not have her dearest revenge over her sisters by so declaring her marriage t " 'Firmin's noble mind misgave him very considerably on this point. He knew women, and how those had treated their little sister. Was it in human nature not to be revenged'! These thoughts rose straightway in Firmin's mind, when he heard that the much dreaded meeting between Caroline and the chaplain had come to pass. As he ate his dinner with his guest, his enemy, opposite to him, he was determining on his plan of action. The screen was up, and he was laying his guns behind it, so to speak. Of course he was as civil to Hunt as the tenant to his landlord when he comes with no rent. So the Doctor laughed, joked, bragged, talked his best, and was thinking the while what was to be done against the danger. He had a plan which might succeed. Ho must see Caroline immediately. He knew the weak point of her heart, and where she was most likely to be vulnerable. And he would act against her as barbarians of old acted against their enemies, when they brought the captive wives and children in front of the battle, and b.ade the foe strike through them. He knew how Caroline loved his boy. It was through that love he would work upon her. As he washes his pretty hands for dinner, and bathes his noble brow, he arranges his little plan. He orders himself to be sent for soon after the second bottle of claret, — .md it appears the Doc- tor's servants were accustomed to the Nurse and Doctor. THE ADVENTUEES OP PHILIP. 145 delivery of these messages from their master to himself. The plan arranged, now let us take our dinner and our wine, and make ourselves comfortable until the moment of action. In his wild-oats days, when travelling abroad with wild and noble compan- ions, Krmin had fought a duel or two, and was always remarkable for his gayety of conversation and the fine appetite which he showed at breakfast bctbre going on to the field. So, perhaps, Hunt, had he not been stupefied by previous drink, might have taken the alarm by remarking i'irmin's extra courtesy and gayety, as they dined together. It was nunc vinum, eras osquor. When the second bottle of claret was engaged. Dr. Firmin starts. He has an advance of half an honr at least on his adversary, or on the man who may be his adversary. If the Little Sister is at home, he will see her, 1- he will lay' bare his candid heart to her, and make a clean breast of it. The Little Sister was at home. " I want to speak to you very par- ticularly about that case of poor Lady Humandhaw," says he, dropping his voice. " I will step out, my dear, and take a little fresh air," says Captain Gann ; meaning that he will be off to the "Admiral Byng"; and the two are together. " I have had something on my con- science. I have deceived you, Caro- line," says the Doctor, with the beau- tiful shining forehead and hat. "Ah, Mr. Pirmin," says she, bend- ing over her work ; " you 've used me to that." " A man whom you knew once, and who tempted me for his own selfish ends to do a very wrong thing by you, — a man whom I thought dead is alive : — Tufton Hunt, who performed that — that illegal ceremony at Mar- gate, of which so often and often on my knees I have repented, Caro- line!" The beantiful hands are clasped, the beautiful deep voice thrills lowly through the room ; and if a tear or two can be squeezed out of the beau- tiful eyes, I dare say the Doctor will not be sorry. "He has been here to-day. Him and Mr. Philip was hero and quar- relled. Philip has told you, I sup- pose, sir 1 " " Before Heaven, ' on the word of a gentleman,' when I said he was dead, Caroline, I thought he was dead! Yes, I declare, at our college, ■ Max- well — Dr. Maxwell — who had been at Cambridge with ns, told me that our old friend Hunt had died in Can- ada." (This, my beloved friends and readers, may not have been the pre- cise long bow which George Krmin, Esq., M.D., pulled; but *hat he twanged a famous lie out, whenever there was occasion for the weapon, I assure you is an undoubted fact; " Yes, Dr. Maxwell told me our ola friend was dead, — onr old friend': My worst enemy and yours ! But let that pass. It was he, Caroline, who led me into crimes which I have never ceased to deplore." "Ah, Mr. Firmin." siVljs;, the Lil- tle Sister, "since I've known you, you was big enough to take care of yourself in that way." " I have not come to excuse myself, Caroline," says the deep, sweet voice. " I have done you enough wrong, and I feel it here — at this heart. I have not come to speak about myselfj but of some one I love the best of all the world, — the only being I do love, — some one you love, you good and generous soul, — about Philip." " What is it about Philip ? " asks Mrs. Brandon, very quickly. " Do you want harm to happen to him?" " my darling boy, no ! " cries the Little Sister, clasping her little hands. "Would you keep him from harm % " "Ah, sir, you know I would. When he had the scarlet fever, did n't I pour the drink down his poor throaty 146 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. and nurse him, and tend him, as if, as if^as a mother would her own child V " You did, you did, you noble, no- ble woman; and Heaven bless you for it ! A father does. I am not all heartless, Caroline, as you deem me, perhaps." "I don't think it's much merit, your loving him," says Caroline, re- suming her sewing. And, perhaps, she thinks within herself, " What is he a coming tn 1 " You see she was a shrewd little person, when her pas- sions and partialities did not over- come her reason ; and she had come to the conclusion that this elegant Dr. Krmin, whom she had admired so once, was a — not altogether vera- cious gentleman. In fact, I heard her myself say afterwards, " La ! he used to talk so fine, and slap his hand on his heart, you know; but I usjd n't to believe him, no more than a man in a play." " It 's not much merit your loving that boy," says Caroline, then. "But what about him, sir?" Then Firmin explained. This man Ifoat-*=ss~«»}Mihle of any crime for money or revenge. Seeing Caroline was alive . . . " I s'pose you told him I was dead too, SU-," says she, looking up from the work. " Spare me, spare me ! Years ago, ?erhaps, when I had lost sight of you, may, perhaps, have thought ..." "And it's not to you, George Brandon, — it's not to you," cries Caroline, starting up, and speaking with her sweet, innocent, ringing voice, " it 's to kind, dear friends, — it 's to my good God tliat I owe my life, which you had flung it away. And I paid you back by guarding your boy's dear life, I did, under — under Him who giveth and taketh. And bless His name ! " " You are a good woman, and I am a bad, sinful man, Caroline," says the other. "You saved my Philip's — our Philip's life, at the risk of your own. Now I tell you that another immense danger menaces him, and may come upon him any day as long as yonder scoundrel is alive. Sup- pose his character is assailed; sup- pose, thinking you dead, I married another?" "Ah, George, you never thought me dead ; thongh, perhaps, you wished it, sir. And many would have died," added the poor Little Sister. " Look, Caroline ! If I was mar- ried to you, my wife — Philip's moth- er — was not my wife, and he is her natural son. The property he inher- its does not belong to him. The children of his grandfather's other daughter claim it, and Philip is a beggar. Philip, bred as he has been, — Of hilip, the heir to a mother's large fortune." " And — and his father's, too ? " asks Caroline, anxiously. "I dare n't tell you — though, no, by Heavens ! I can trust you .with everything. My own great gains have been swallowed up in specuiar tions which have been almost all fatal. Tliere has been a fate hanging over ras, Caroline, — a righteous pun- ishment for having deserted you. I sleep with a sword over my head which may fall and destroy me. I walk with a volcano under my feet, which may burst any day and annihilate me. And people speak of the famous Dr. Firmin, the rich Dr. Firmin, the prosperous Dr. Firmin ! I shall have a title soon, I believe. I am believed to be happy, and I am alone, and the wretchedest man alive." " Alone, are you ? " said Caroline. "There was a woman once would have kept by you, only you — you flung her away. Look here, George Brandon. It s over with us. Years and years ago it lies where a little cherub was buried. But I love my Philip; and I won't hurt him, no, never, never, never ! " And as the Doctor turned to go away, Caroline followed him wistfully into the hall, and it was there that Philip found them. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 147 Caroline's tender "never, never," rang in Philip's memory as he sat at Ridley^s party, amidst the artists and authors there assembled. Phil was thoughtful and silent. He did not laugh very loud. He did not praise or abuse anybody outrageously, as was the wont of that most emphatic young gentleman. He scarcely con- tradicted a single person ; and per- haps, when Larkins said Scumble's last picture was beautiful, or Bunch, the critic of the Connoisseur, praised Bowman's last novel, contented him- self with a scornful " Ho ! " and a puU at his whiskers, by way of pro- test and denial. Had he been in his usual fine spirits, and enjoying his ordinary flow of talk, he would have informed Larkins and the assembled company not only that Scumble was an impostor, but that he, Larkins, was an idiot for admiring him. He would have informed Bunch that he was infatuated about that jackass Bowman, that cockney, that wretched ignoramus, who did n't know his own or any other language. He would have taken down one of Bowman's stories from the shelf, and proved the folly, imbecility, and crass ignorance of that author. (Ridley has a simple little stock of novels and poems in an old cabinet in his studio, and reads them still with much artless wonder and respect.) Or, to be sure, Phil would have asserted propositions the exact contrary of those here main- tained, and declared that Bowman was !i genius, and Scumble a most accomplished artist. But then, you know, somebody else must have com- menced by taking the other side. Certainly a more paradoxical, and provoking, and obstinate, and contra- dictory disputant than Mr. Phil I never knew. I never met Dr. John- son, who died before I came up to town ; but I do believe Phil Firmin would have stood up and argued even with him. At these Thursday divans the host provided the modest and kindly re- freshment, and Betsy the maid, or 7* Virgilio the model, travelled to and fro with glasses and water. Each guest brought his own smoke, and I promise you there were such liberal contributions of the article, that the studio was full of it ; and new-comers used to be saluted by a roar of laugh- ter as you heard, rather than saw, them entering, and choking in the fog. It was, " Holloa, Prodgers ! is that you, old boy ? " and the beard of Prodgers (that famous sculptor) would presently loom through the cloud. It was, "Newcome, how goes ? " and Mr. Clive Hewcome (a mediocre artist, I must own, but a famous good fellow, with an uncom- monly pretty villa and pretty and rich wife at Wimbledon) would make his appearance, and be warmly greet- ed by our little host. It was " Is that you, F. B. ? would you like a link, old boy, to see you through the fog ■? " And the deep voice of Fred- crick Bayham, Esquire (the eminent critic on Art), would boom out of the tobacco-mist, and would exclaim, " A link? I would like a drink." Ah, ghosts of youth, again ye draw near ! Old figures glimmer through the cloud. Old songs echo out of the dis- tance. What were you saying anon about Dr. Johnson, boys f I am sure some of us must remember him. As for me, I am so old, that I might have been at Edial school, — the other pu- pil along with little Davy Ganick and his brother. We had a bachelor's supper in the Temple so lately that I think we must pay but a very brief visit lo a smoking-party in Thomhaugh Street, or the ladies will say that we are too fond of bachelor habits, and keep our friends away from their chaiming and amiable' society. A novel must not smell of cigars much, nor should its refined and genteel page be stained with too frequent brandy-and-water. Please to imagine, then, the prattle of the artists, authors, and amateurs as- sembled at Ridley's divan. Fancy Jarman, the miniature-painter, drink- ing more liquor than any man present, 148 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. asking Ms neighbor {sub voce) ■why- Ridley does not give his father (the old butler) five shillings to wait ; suggesting that perhaps the old man is gone out, and is getting seven-and- sixpence elsewhere ; praising Ridley's picture aloud, and sneering at it in an undertone; and when a man of rank happens to enter the room, shambUng up to him and fawning on him, and cringing to him with ful- some praise and flattery. When the gentleman's back is turned, Jarman can spit epigrams at it. I hope he will never forgive Ridley, and always continue to hat3 him : for hate him Jarman will, as long as he is pros- perous, and curse him as long as the world esteems him. Look at Pym, the incumbent of Saint Bronze hard by, coming in to join th3 literary and artistic assembly, and choking in his white neckcloth to the diversion of all the company who can see him ! Sixteen, eighteen, twenty men are assembled. Open the windows, or sure they will all be stifled with the smoks ! Why, it fills the whole house so, that the Little Sister has to open her parlor window on the ground-floor, and gasp for fresh air. Phil's head and cigar are thrust out from a window above, and he lolls there, musing about his own af- fairs, as his smoke ascends to the skies. Young Mr. Philip Firmin is known to be wealthy, and his father gives very good parties in Old Parr Street, so Jarman sidles up to Phil and wants a little fresh air too. He enters Into conversation by abusing Ridley's picture that is on the ea- sel. " Everybody is praising it ; what do you think of it, Mr. Firmin? Very queer drawing about those eyes, is n't there ? " " Is there 1 growls Phil. " Very loud color." "Oh!" says Phil. "The composition is so clearly prigged from Raphael" "Indeed!" " I beg your pardon. I don't think you know who I am," continues the other, with a simper. " Yes, I do," says Phil, glaring at him. " You 're a painter and your name is Mr. Envy." " Sir ! " shrieks the painter ; but he is addressing himself to the tails of Phil's coat, the superior half of Mr. Firmin's body is stretching out of the window. Now, you may speak of a man behind his back, but not to him. So Mr. Jarman withdraws, and ad- dresses himself, face to face, to some- body else in the company. I dare say he abuses that upstart, impudent, bumptious young doctor's son. Have I not owned that Philip was often very rude? and to-night he is in a specially bad humor. As he continues to stare into the street, who is that who has just reeled up to the railings below, and is talk- ing in at Mrs. Brandon's window? Whose blackguard voice and laugh are those which Phil recognizes with a shudder ? It is the voice and laugh of our friend, Mr. Hunt, whom Philip left not very long since, near his father's house in Old Parr Street ; and both of those familiar sounds are more vinous, more odious, more impudent than they were even two hours ago. "Holloa! I say!" he calls out with a laugh and a curse. " Pst ! Mrs. What-d'you-call-'em ! Hang it ! don't shut the window. Let a fellow in ! " and as he looks towards the upper window, where Philip's head and bust appear dark before the light. Hunt cries out, " Holloa ! what game's up now, I wonder? Supper and ball. Shouldn't be surprised." And he hiccups a waltz tune, and clatters time to it with his dirty boots. " Mrs. What - d'you - call ! Mrs. B— — ! " the sot then recommences to shriek out. " Must see you — most particular business. Private and confidential. Hear of something to your advantage." And rap, rap, rap, he is now thundering at the door. In the clatter of twenty voices few heat THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 149 Hnnt't) noise except Philip; or, if they do, only imagine that another of Eidley's guests is arriving. At the hall door there is talk and altercation, and the high shriek of a well-known odious voice. Philip moves quickly from his window, shoulders friend Jarman at the studio door, and hustling past him obtains, no doubt, more good wishes from that ingenious artist. Philip is so rude and overbearing that I really have a mind to depose him from his place of hero — only, you see, we are com- mitted. His name is on the page overhead, and we can't take it down and put up another. The Little Sis- ter is standing in her hall by the just- opened door, and remonstrating with Mr. Hunt, who appears to wish to force his way in. "Pooh ! shtuiF, my dear! If he's here I musht see him — particular business — get out of that I" and he reels forward and against little Caro- line's shoulder. " Get away, you brute, you ! " cries the little lady. "Go "home, Mr. Hunt ; you are worse than you were this morning." She is a resolute lit- tle woman, and puts out a firm little arm agjainst this odious invader. She has seen patients in hospital raging in fever : she is not frightened by a tipsy man. "La! is it you, Mr. Philip'? Who ever will take this horrid man ? He ain't fit to go up stairs among the gentlemen ; indeed he ain't" " You said Firmin was here — and it is n't the father. It 's the cub ! I want the Doctor. Where 's the Doc- tor ? " hiccups the chaplain, lurching against the wall ; and then he looks at Philip with bloodshot eyes, that twinkle hate. " Who wantsh you, I shlike to know t Had enough of you already to-day. Conceited brute. Don't look at me in that sortaway ! I ain't afraid of you — ain't afraid anybody. Time was when I was a young man iight you as soon as look «t you. I say, Philip ! " " Go home, now. Do go home. there 's a good man," says the land- lady. " I say ! Look here — hie — hi ! Philip ! On your word as a gentle- man, your father 's not here 1 He 's a sly old boots, Brummell Firmin is — Trinity man — I 'm not a Trinity man — Corpus man. I say, Philip, give us your hand. Bear no malice. Look here — something very particu- lar. After dinner — went into Air Sti-eet — you know — rouge gagne, tt couleur — cleaned out. Cleaned out, on the honor of a gentleman and master of arts of the University of Cambridge. So was your father — no, he went out in medicine. I say, Philip, hand us out five sovereigns, and let 's try the luck again ! What, you won't ! It 's mean, I say. Don't bo mean." " O, here 's five shillings ! Go and have a cab. Fetch a cab for him, Virgilio, do ! " cries the mistress of the house. "That's not enough, my dear!" cries the chaplain, advancing towards Mrs. Brandon, with such a leer and air, that Philip, half choked with passion, runs fon\'ard, grips Hunt by the collar, and ■ crying out, " Yon filthy scoundrel! as this is not my house, I may kick you out of it ! " — in another instant has run Hunt through ■ the passage, hurled him down the steps, and sent him sprawl- ing into the kennel. " Kow down below," says Rose- bury, placidly, looking from above. "Personal conflict. Intoxicated in- dividual — in gutter. Our impetuous friend has floored him." Hunt, after a moment, sits up and glares at Philip. Ho is not hurt. Perhaps the shock has sobered him. He thinks, perhaps, Philip is going to strike again. " Hands ofi'. Bas- tard ! " shrieks out the prostrate wretch. " O Philip, Philip ! He 's mad, he 's tipsy ! " cries out the Little Sis- ter, running into the street. She puts her arms round Philip. " Don't mind him, dear, — he 's mad 1 Police 150 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. man ! Tho gentleman has had too much. Come in, Philip ; come in ! " She took him into her little room. She was pleased with tho gallantry of the boy. She liked to see him just now, standing over her enemy, cour- ageous, victorious, her champion. "La! how savage he did look; and how brave and strong you are ! Bat the little wretch ain't fit to stand be- fore such as you ! " And she passed her little hand down his arm, of which the muscles were all in a quiver from the recent skirmish. " What did the scoundrel mean by calling me bastard '! " said Philip, the wild blue eyes glaring round about with more than ordinary fierceness. "Nonsense, dear! Who minds anything he says, that beast? His language is always horrid; he's not a gentleman. He had had too much this morning when he was here. What matters what he says ? He won't know anything about it to-morr row. But it W£i3 kind of my Philip to rescue his poor little nurse, was n't it ? Like a novel. Come in, and let me make you some tea. Don't go. to no more smoking: you have had enough. Come in and talk to me." And, as a mother, with sweet pious face, yearns to her little children from her seat, she fondles him, she watches him; she fills her teapot from her singing kettle. She talks — talks in her homely way, and on this subject and that. It is a wonder how she prattles on, who is generally rather «ilent. She won't see Phil's eyes, which are following her about very strangely and fiercely. And when again he mutters, " What did he mean by ... " " La, my dear, how cross you are ! " she breaks out. " It 's always so ; you won't be happy without your cigar. Here's a che- root, a beauty ! Pa brought it home from the club. A China captain gave him some. You must light it at the little end. There ! " And if I could draw the picture which my mind sees of her lighting Phil's clie- root for him, and smiUng tho while, the little innocent Delilah coaxing and wheedling this young Samson, I know it would be a pretty picture, I wish Eidley would sketch it for CHAPTER Xn. DAMOCLES. On the next morning, at an hour so early that Old Parr Street was scarce awake, and even the maids who wash the broad steps of the houses of the tailors and medical gentlemen who inhabit that region had not yet gone down on their knees before their respective doors, a ring was heard at Dr. Firmin's night-bell, and when the door was opened by the yawning at- tendant, a htde person in a gray gown and a black bonnet made her appear- ance, handed a note to the servant, and said the case was most urgent and the Doctor must come at once. Was not Lady Humandhaw the noble person whom we last mentioned as the invalid about whom the Doctor and the nurse had spoken a few words on the previous evening ? The Little Sister, for it was she, used the very same name to the servant, who retired grumbling to waken up his master and deliver the note. Nurse Brandon sat awhile in the great gaunt dining-room where hung the portrait of the Doctor in his splen- did black collar and cuffs, and con- templated this master-piece until an invasion of housemaids drove her from the apartment, when she took refuge in that other little room to which Mrs. Firmin's portrait had been consigned. " That 's like him ever so many years and years ago," she thinks. " It is a little handsomer ; but it has his wicked look that I used to think so killing, and so did my sisters, both of them, — they were ready to tear out each other's eyes for jealousy. And that's Mrs. Firmin ! Well, I suppose the painter haven't flattered her. If he have she could have been THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 151 no great things, Mrs. F. could n't." And the Doctor, entering softly by the opened door and over the thick Tur- key carpet, comes up to her noiseless, and finds the Little Sister gazing at the portrait of the departed lady. " O, it 's. yon, is it ■? I wonder whether you treated her no better than you treated me, Dr. F. I 've a notion she 's not the only one. She don't look happy, poor thing," says the little lady. " What is it, Caroline ? " asks the deep-voiced doctor ; " and what brijigs you so early ? " The Little Sister then explains to him. "Last night after he went away Hunt came, sure enough. He had been drinking. Ho was very rude, and Philip would n't bear it. Philip had a good courage of his own and a hot blood. And Philip.tbonght Hunt was insulting her, the Little Sister. So he up with his hand and down goes Mr. Hunt on the pavement. Well, when he was down he was in a dreadful way, and he called Philip a dreadful name." "A name? what name?" Then Caroline told the Doctor the name Mr. Hunt had used ; and if Fii-min's face usually looked wicked, I dare say it did not seem very angelical when he heard how this odious name had been applied to his son. " Can he do Philip a mischief ? " Caroline continued. " I thought I was bound to tell his father. Look here. Dr. F., I don't want to do my dear boy a harm. But suppose what you told me last night is n't true, — as I don't think you much mind ! — mind — saying things as are incorrect you know, when us women are in the case. But suppose when you played the villain, thinking only to take in a poor innocent girl of sixteen, it was you who were took in, and that I was your real wife after all ? There would be a punishment ! " " r should have an honest and good wife, Caroline," said the Doctor with a groan. " This would be a punishment, not for yon, but for my poor Philip," the woman goes on. " What has he done, that his honest name should be took from him, — and his fortune perhaps ? I have been lying broad awake all night thinking of him. Ah, George Brandon ! Why, why did yon come to my poor old father's house, and bring this misery down on me, and on your child unborn ? " " On myself, the worst of all," says the Doctor. " You deserve it. But it 's us in- nocent that has had, or will have, to suffer most. O George Brandon! Think of a poor child, flung away, and left to starve and die, without even so much as knowing your real name ! Think of your boy, perhaps brought to shame and poverty through your fault ! " "Do you suppose I don't often think of my wrong ? " says the Doc- tor. " That it does not cause me sleepless nights, and hours of anguish ? Ah ! Caroline ! " and he looks in the glass ; " I am not shaved, and it 's very unbecoming," he thinks ; that is, if I may dare to read his thoughts, as I do to report his unheard words. " You think of your wrbng now it may he found out, I dare say ! " says Caroline. " Suppose this Hunt turns against you ? He is desperate ; mad for drink and money ; has been in jail, — as he said this very night to me and my papa. He '11 do or say anything. If you treat him hard, and Philip have treated him hard, — not harder than served him right though, — he '11 pull the house down and himself under it ; but he '11 be re- venged. Perhaps he drank so much last night that ne may have forgot. But I fear he means mischief, and I came here to say so, and hoping that vou might be kep' on your guard, Doctor F., and if yon have to quarrel with him, I don't know what you ever will do, I am sure, — no more than if you had to fight a chimney- sweep in the street. I have been awake all night thinking, and as soon 152 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. as over I saw the daylight, I deter- mined I would run and tell you." " When he called Philip that name, did the boy seem much distui'bed 7 " asked the Doetor. " Yes ; he referred to it again and again, — though I tried to coax him out of it. But it was on his mind last night, and I am sure he will think of it the first thing this morn- ing. Ah yes. Doctor ! conscience will sometimes let a gentleman doze : but after discovery ha.s come, and opened your curtains, and said, ' You desired to be called early ! ' there 's little use in trying to sleep much. You look very much frightened. Doc- tor F.," the nurse continues. " You have n't such a courage as Philip has ; or as yoa had when you were a young m m, and came a leading poor girls astray. You used to bs afraid of nothing then. Do you remember that fellow on board the steamboat in Scotland in our wedding-trip, and, la ! I thought you was going to kill him. That poor little Lord Ciniibars told me ever so many stories then about your courage and shooting people. It was n't very courageous, leaving a poor girl without even a name, and scarce a guinea, was it 1 But I ain't come to call up old stories, — only to warn you. Even in old times, when he married us, and I thought he was doing a kindness, I never could abide this horrible man. In Scotland, when you was away shooting with your poor little lord, the things Hunt used to say and look was dreadful. I won- der how ever you, who were gentle- men, could put up with such a fellow ! Ah, that was a sad honeymoon of ours ! I wonder why I 'm a thinking of it now ? I suppose it's from hav- ing seen the picture of the other one, — poor lady ! " " I have told you, Caroline, that I was so wild and desperate at that un- happy time, I was scarcely accounta- ble for my actions. If I left you, it was because I had no other resource but flight. X was a ruined, penniless man, but for my marriage with Ellen Ringwood. You don't suppose the marriage was happy 1 Happy ! wheq have I ever been happy ? My lot ii to be wretched, and bring wretched- ness down on those I love ! On yoxi, on my father, on my wife, on my boy, — I am a doomed man. Ah, that the innocent should suffer for me ! " And our friend looks askance in the glass, at the blue chin, and hollow eyes which make his guilt look the more haggard. " I never had my lines," the Littla Sister continued, " I never knew there were papers, or writings, or anything but a ring and a clergyman, when you married me. But I've heard tell that people in Scotland don't want aclergyman atall; andif they call themselves man and wife, they are man and wife. Now, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Brandon certainly did travel together in Scotland, — witness that man whom you were going to throw into the lake for being rude to your wife, — and .... La ! Don't fly out so ! It was n't me, a poor girl of sixteen, who did wrong. It was you, a man of the world, who was years and years older." When Brandon carried off" his poor little victim and wife, there had been a journey to Scotland, where Lord Cinqbars, then alive, had . sporting quarters. His Lordship's chaplain, Mr. Hunt, had been of the party, which fate very soon afterwards sepa- rated. Death seized on Cinqbars at Naples. Debt caused Eirmin — Brandon, as he called himself then — • to fly the country. The chaplain wandered from jail to jail. And as for poor little Caroline Brandon, I suppose the husband who had mar- ried her under a false name thought that to escape her, leave her, and dis- own her altogether was an easier and less dimgerous plan than to continue relations with her. So one day, fout months after their marriage, the young couple being then at Dover, Caro- line's husband happened to go out for a walk. But he sent away a port- manteau by the back door when ho THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 153 went ont for the walk, and as Caro- line was waiting for her little dinner some hours after, the porter who car- ried the luggage came with a little note from her dearest G. B. ; and it was full of little fond expressions of regard and atfection, such as gentle- men put into little notes ; but dearest G. B. said the bailiffs were upon him, and one of them had arrived that morning, and he must fly ; and he took half the money he had, and left half for his little Carry. And he would be back soon, and arrange matters ; or tell her where to write and follow him. And she was to take care of her little health, and to write a great deal to her Georgy. And she did not know how to write very well then ; but she did her best, and im- proved a great deal ; for, indeed, she wrote a great deal, poor thing. Sheets and sheets of paper she blotted with ink and tears. And then the money was spent ; and the next money ; and no more came, and no more letters. And she was alone at sea, sinking, sinking, when it pleased Heaven to send that friend who rescued her. It is such a sad, sad story, that in fact I don't like dwelling on it ; not caring to look upon poor innocent, trusting creatures in pain. .... Well, then, when Caroline exclaimed, " La ! don't fly out so. Dr. Firmin ! " I suppose the Doctor had been crying out, and swearing fiercely, at the recollections of his Ineud Mr. Brandon, and at the danger which possibly hung over that gentleman. Marriage ceremonies are dimgerous risks in jest or in earnest. You can't pretend to marry even a poor old bank- rupt lodging-house keeper's daughter without some risk of being brought subsequently to book. If you have a vulgar wife alive, and afterwards choose to leave her and marry an earl's niece, you will come to trouble, however well connected you are and highly placed in society. If you have had thirty thousand pounds with wife No. 2, and have to pay it back on a sudden, the payment may be incon- venient. You may bo tried for biga- my, and sentenced, goodness knows to what punishment. At any rate, if the matter is made public, and you are a most respectable man, moving in the highest scientific and social cir- cles, those circles may be disposed to request you to walk out of their cir- cumference. A novelist, I know, ought to have no likes, dislikes, pity, partiality for his characters ; but I declare I cannot help feeling a respect ful compassion for a gentleman who, in consequence of a youthful, and, I am sure, sincerely regretted folly, may be liable to lose his fortune, his place in society, and his considerable prac- tice. Punishment has n't a right to come with such a pede daudo. There ought to be limitations ; and it is shabby and revengeful of Justice to pre- sent her little bill when it has been more than twenty years owing Having had his talk out with the Lit- tle Sister, having a long-past crime suddenly taken down from the shelf; having a remorse, long since supposed to be dead and buried, suddenly starting up in the most blustering, boisterous, inconvenient manner ; having a rage and terror tearing him within ; I can fancy this most respect- able physician going about his day's work, and most sincerely sympathize with him. Who is to heal the physi- cian ? Is he not more sick at heart than most of his patients that day ? He has to listen to Lady Megrim cackling for half an hour atleast, and describing her little ailments. He has to IL'ten, and never once to dare to say, " Confound you, old chatter- box ! What are you prating about your ailments to me, who am suflFer- ing real torture whilst I am smirking in your face % " He has to wear the inspiriting smile, to breathe the gen- tle joke, to console, to whisper hope, to administer remedy ; and all day, perhaps, he sees no one so utterly sick, so sad, so despairing, as himself. The first person on whom he had to practise hypocrisy that day was his own son, who chose to come to 154 THE ADVKNTUEES OF PHILIP. breakfast, — a meal of which son and father seldom now partook in com- pany. " What does he know, and what does ho suspect 1 " are the father's thouglits ; but a lowering gloom is on Philip's face, and the father's eyes look into the son's, hut cannot penetrate their darkness. "Did you stay late last night, Philip ■? " says papa. " Yes, sir, rather late," answers the son. " Pleasant party 1 " " No, sir, stupid. Your friend Mr. Hunt wanted to come in. He was drunk, and rude to Mrs. Bran- don, and I was obliged to put him out of the door. He was dreadfully violent and abusive. " Swore a good deal, I suppose ? " " Fiercely, sir, and called names." I dare say Philip's heart beat so when he said these last words, that they were inaudible : at all events, Philip's father did not appear to pay much attention to the words, for he was busy reading the Morning Post, and behind that sheet of fashionable 3ie\vs hid whatever expression of agony there might be on his face. Philip afterwards told his present biographer of this breakfast meeting and dreary tete-a-tete. " I burned to ask what was the meaning of that scoundrel's words of the past night," Philip said to his biographer ; " but I did not dare, somehow. You see, Pendennis, it is not pleasant to say point-blank to your father, ' Sir, are you a confirmed scoundrel, or are you not f Is it possible that you have made a double marriage, as yonder other rascal hinted ; and that my own legitimacy and my mother's fair fame, as well as poor, harmless Caroline's honor and happiness, have been de- stroyed by your crime ? ' But I had lain awake all night thinking about that scoundrel Hunt's words, and whether there was any meaning beyond drunken malice in what he said." So we find that three people had passed a bad night in con- sequence of Mr. Firmin's evil behav- ior of fire-and-twenty years back, which surely was a most unreasonable punishment for a sin of such old date. 1 wish, dearly beloved brother sinners, we could take all the punishment for our individual crimes on our indi- vidual shoulders : but we drag them all down with us, — that is the fact ; and when Macheath is condemned to hang, it is Polly and Lucy who have to weep and suffer and wear piteous mourning in their hearts long after the dare-devil rogue has jumped off the Tyburn ladder. " Well, sir, he did not say a word," said Philip, recounting the meeting to his friend ; " not a word, at least, regarding the matter both of us had on our hearts. But about fashion, parties, politics, he discoursed much more freely than was usual with him. He said I might have had Lord Ring- wood's seat for Whipham but for my unfortunate politics. What made a Kadical of me, he asked, who was naturally one of the most haughty of men I " (" and that, I think, perhaps I am," says Phil, " and a good many liberal fellows are.") " I should calm down, he was sure, — I should calm down, and be of the politics des hommes du monde." Philip could not say to his father, " Sir, it is seeing you cringe before great ones that has set my own back up." There were countless points about which father and son could not speak ; and an invisible, unexpressed, perfectly unintelligible mistrust al- ways was present when those two were tete-a-tete. Their meal was scarce ended when entered to them Mr. Hunt, with his hat on. I was not present at the time, and cannot speak as a cer- tainty ; but I should think at his ominous appearance Philip may have turned red and his father pale. " Now is the time," both, I dare say, thought ; and the Doctor remembered his stormy young days of foreign gambling, intrigue, and duel, when ho was put on his ground before his adversary, and bidden, at a given THE ADVKNTUEES OF PHILIP. 155 Bignal, to iire. One, two, three ! Each man's hand was armed with malice and mnrder. Pliilip liad plenty of pluck for his part, but I should think on such an occasion might he a little nervous and flut- tered, whereas his father's eye was keen, and his aim rapid and steady. " You and Philip had a difference last night, i'hilip tells me," saidthe Doctor. " Yes, and I promised he should pay me," said the clergyman. " And I said I should desire no bet- ter," says Mr. Phil. " He struck his senior, his father's friend — a sick man, a clergyman," gasped Hunt. " Were you to repeat what you did last night, I should repeat what I did," said Phil. "You insulted a good woman." " It 's a lie, sir," cries the other. " Yon insulted a good woman, a lady in her own house, and I turned you out of it," said Phil. "I say again, it is a lie, sir!" screams Hnnt, with a stamp on the table. " That ^on should give me the lie, or otherwise, is perfectly immaterial to me. But whenever you insult Mrs. Brandon, or any harmless woman in my presence, I shall do my best to chastise you," cries Philip of the red mustaches, curling them with much dignity. " You hear him, Firmin ? " says the parson. "Faith, I do. Hunt!" says the jAysician; "and I think he means what he says, too." " Oh ! you take that line, do you 1 " cries Hunt of the dirty hands, the dirty teeth, the dirty neckcloth. " I take what you call that line ; and whenever a rudeness is offered to that admirable woman in my son's hearing, I shall be astonished if he does not resent it," says the Doctor. " Thank you, Philip ! ^' The father's resolute speech and behavior gave Philip great momentary comfort. Hunt's words of the night before had been occupying the young man's thoughts. Had Krmin been criminal, he could not be so bold. " You talk this way in presence of your soul You have been talking over the matter together before ? " asks Hunt. "We have been talking over the matter before, — yes. We were en- gaged on it when you came in to breakfast," says the Doctor- " Shall wo go on with the conversation where wc left it off?" " Well, do, — that is, if you dare," said the., clergyman, somewhat as- tonished. "Philip, my dear, it is ill for a man to hide his head before his own son ; but if I am to speak, — and speak I must one day or the other, — why not now ? " "Why at aJl, Pirmin?" asks the clergyman, astonished at the other's rather sudden resolve. "Whyl Because I am sick. and tired of you, Mr. Tufton Hunt," cries the physician, in his most lofty manner, " of you and your presence in my house; your blackguard be- havior and your rascal extortions, — because you will force me to speak one day or the other, — and now, Philip, if you like, shall be the day." " Hang it, I say ! Stop a bit ! " cries the clergyman. "I understand you want some more money from me." " I did promise Jacobs I would pay him to-day, and that was what made me so sulky last night ; and, perhaps, I took a little too much. You see my mind was out of order; and what 's the use of telling a story that is no good to any one, Firmin, — least of all to you," cries the parson, darkly. . " Because, you ruffian, I '11 bear with you no more," cries the Dottor, the veins of his forehead swelling as he looks fiercely at his dirty ad- versary. "In the last nine months, Philip, this man has had nine hun- dred pounds from me." " The luck has been so very bad 15G THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. so bad, upon my honor, now,'' grum- bles the parson. " To-morrow he will want more ; and the next day more ; and the next day more ; and, in fine, I won't live with this accursed man of the sea round my neck. You shall have the story ; and Mr. Hunt shall sit by and witness against his own crime and mine. I had been very wild at Cam- bridge, when I was a young man. I had quarrelled with my father, lived with a dissipated set, and beyond my means; and had had my debts paid so often by your grandfather, that I was afraid to ask for more. He was stern to me ; I was not dutiful to him. I own my fault. Mr. Hunt can bear witness to what I say. " I was in hiding at Margate, under a false name. You know the name." " Yes, sir, I think I know the name," Philip said, thinking he liked his father better now than he had ever liked him in his life, and sighing, "Ah, if ho had always been frank and true with me ! " "I took humble lodgings with an obscure family." (If Dr. Firmin had a prodigious idea of his own grandeur and importance, you see I cannot help it, — and he was long held to be such a respectable man.) "And there I found a young girl, — one of the most innocent beings that ever a man played with and betrayed. Betrayed, I own it, Heaven forgive me ! The crime has been the shame of my life, and darkened my whole career with misery. I got a man worse than my- self, if that conld be. I got Hunt for a few pounds, which he owed me, to make a sham marriage between me and poor Caroline. My money was soon gone. My creditors were after me. I fled the country, and I left her." " A sham marriage ! a sham mar- riage!" cries the clergyman. "Did n't you make me perform it by hold- ing a pistol to my throat ■? A fellow won't risk transportation for nothing. But I owed him money for cards, and he had my bill, and he said he would let me off, and that 's why I helped him. Never mind. I am out of the business now, Mr. Brummell Firmin, and you are in it. I have read the Act, sir. The clergyman who per- forms the marriage is liable to pun- ishment, if informed against within three years, and it 's twentj' years or more. But you, Mr. Brummell Pir- min, — your case is different ; and you, my young gentleman, with the fiery whiskers, who strike down old men of a night, — you may find some of us know how to revenge ourselves, though we are down." And with this. Hunt rushed to his greasy hat, and quitted the house, discharging imprecations at his hosts as he passed through the hall. Son and father sat awhile silent, after the departure of their common enemy. At last the father spoke. " Tills is the sword that has always been hanging over my head, and it is now falling, Philip." " What can the man do ? Is the first mari-iage a good marriage 1 " asked Philip, with alarmed face. "It is no marriage. It is void to all intents and purposes. You may suppose I have taken care to learn the law about that. Your legitimacy is safe, sure enough. But that man can ruin me, or nearly so. He will try to-morrow, if not to-day. As long as you or I can give him a. guinea, he will take it to the gambling-house. I had the mania on me myself once. My poor father quarrelled with me in consequence, and died without seeing me. I married your mother — Heaven help her, poor soul ! and for- give me for being but a harsh hus- band to her — with a view of mend- ing my shattered fortunes. I wished she had been more happy, poor thing. But do not blame me utterly, Philip. I was desperate, and she wished for the marriage so much ! I had good looks and high spirits in those days. People said so." (And here he glances obliquely at his own hand- some portrait. ) " Now I am a wreck, a wreck ! " THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 157 "I conceive, sir, that this will an- noy you ; but how can it ruin you 1 " asked Philip. " What becomes of my practice as a family physician ■? The practice is not now what it was, between our- selves, Philip, and the eiyjcnses greater than you imagine. I have made unlucty speculations. If you count upon much increase of wealth from me, my boy, you will be disap- pointed ; though you were never mer- cenary, no, never. But the story bruited about by this rascal, of a phy- sician of eminence engaged in two marriages, do you suppose my rivals won't hear it, and take advantage of it, — my patients hear it, and avoid me?" " Make terms with the man at once, then, sir, and silence him." " To make terms with a gambler is impossible. My purse is always there open for him to thrust his hand into when he loses. No man can with- stand such a temptation. I am glad you have never fallen into it. 1 have quarrelled with yon sometimes for liv- ing with people below your rank : perhaps you were right, and I was wrong. I have liked, always did, I don't disguise it, to live with persons of station. And these, when I was at the University, taught me play and extravagance; and in the world have n't helped me much. Who would? Who would?" and the Doctor relapsed into meditation. A little catastrophe presently oc- curred, after which Mr. Philip Firmin told me the substance of this story. He described his father's long acqui- escence in Hunt's demands, and sud- den resistance to them, and was at a loss to account for the change. I did not tell my friend in express terms, but I fancied I could account for the change of behavior. Dr. Firmin, in his interviews with Caroline, had had his mind set at rest about one part of his danger. The Doctor need no longer fear the charge of a double marriage. The Little Sister resigned her claims past, present, future. If a gentleman is sentenced to be hung, I wonder is it a matter of com- fort to him or not to know beforehand the day of the operation ? Hunt would take his revenge. When and how ? Dr. Firmin asked himself. Nay, possibly, you will have to learn that this eminent practitioner walked about with more than danger hang- ing imminent over him. • Perhaps it was a rope : perhaps it was a sword : some weapon of execution, at any rate, as we frequently may see. A day passes : no assassin darts at the Doctor as he threads the dim opera^ colonnade passage on his way to his club. A week goes by : no stiletto is plunged into his well-wadded breast as he steps from his carriage at some noble patient's door. Philjp says he never knew his father more pleasant, easy, good-humored, and afiable than during this period, when he must have Mt that a danger was hanging over him of which his son at this time had no idea. I dined in Old Parr Street once in this memorable period (memorable it seemed to me from im- mediately subsequent events). Never was the dinner better served : the wine more excellent : the guests and conversation more gravely respectable than at this entertainment ; and my neighbor remarked with pleasure how the father and son seemed to be on much better terms than ordinary. The Doctor addressed Philip pointed- ly^ once or twice ; alluded to his for- eign travels, spoke of his mother's family, — it was most gratifying to see the pair together. Day after day passes so. The enemy • has disap- peared. At least, the lining of his dirty hat is no longer visible on the broad marble table of Dr. Firmin's hall. But one day — it may be ten days after the quarrel — a little messenger comes to Philip, and says, "Philip dear, I am sure there is something wrong ; that horrible Hunt has been here with a very quiet, soft-spoken old gentleman, and they have been going on with my poor pa about mj 158 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. ■n-rongs and his, — his, indeed ! — and they have worked him up to believe that somebody has cheated his daugh- ter out of a {i^-eat fortune ; and who can that somebody be but your father ? And whenever they see me coming, papa and that horrid Hunt go off to the ' Admiral Byng ' : and one night when pa came home he said, ' Bless you, bless you, my poor, innocent, injured child ; and blessed you wiU be, mark a fond father's words ! ' They are scheming something against Philip and Philip's father. Mr. Bond the soft-spoken old gentleman's name is : and twice there has been a Mr. "Walls to inquire if Mx. Hunt was at our house." " Mr. Bond f — Mr. Walls 1 — A gentleman of the name of Bond was Uncle Twysden's attorney. An old gentleman, with a bald head, and one eye bigger than the other ? " " Well, this old man has one smaller than the other, I do think," says Caroline. " First man who came was Mr. Walls, — a rattling young fashionable chap, always laughing, talking about theatres, op- eras, everything, — came home from the 'Byng' along with pa and his new friend, — oh ! I do hate him, that man, that Hunt ! — then he brought the old man, this Mr. Bond. What are they scheming against you, Philip 1 I tell you this nSatter is all about you and your father." Years and years ago, in the poor mother's lifetime, Philip remembered an outbreak of wrath on his father's part, who called Uncle Twysden a swindling miser, and this very Mr. Bond a scoundrel who deserved to be hung, for interfering in some way in the management of a part of the prop- erty which Mrs. Twysden and her sister inherited from tlieir own moth- er. That quarrel had been made up, as such quarrels are. The brothers- in-law had continued to mistrust each other ; but there was no reason why the fend should descend to the chil- dren ; and Philip and his aunt, and one of her daughters at least, were on good t«rms together. Philip's uncle's lawyers engaged with his father's debtor and enemy against Dr. Fir- min : the alliance boded no good. " I won't tell you what I think, Philip," said the father. "You are fond of your cousin 1 " "Oh! forev— " " Forever, of course ! At least until we change our mind, or one of us grows tired, or finds a better mate ! " " Ah, sir ! " cries Philip, but sud- denly stops in his remonstrance. " What were yon going to say, Philip, and why do you pause ? " " 1 was going to say, father, if I might without offending, that I think you judge hardly of women. I know two who have been very faithful to you." " And I a traitor to both of them. Yes ; and my remorse, Philip, my remorse ! " says his father in his deepest tragedy voice, clutching his hand over a heart that I believe beat very coolly. But, psha ! why am I, Philip's biographer, going out of the way to abuse Philip's papa 1 Is not the threat of bigamy and exposure enough to disturb any man's equa- nimity t I say again, suppose there is another sword — a rope, if you will so call it — hanging over the head of oar Damocles of Old Parr Street? . . . . Howbeit, the father and the son met and parted in these days with unusual gentleness and cordiality. And these were the last days in which they were to meet together. Nor could Philip recall without satisfac- tion, afterwards, that the hand which ho took was pressed and given with a real kindness and cordiality. Why were these the last days son and father were to pass together? Dr. Firmin is still alive. Philip is a very tolerably prosperous gentleman. He and his father parted good friends, and it is the biogi-apher's business to narrate how and wherefore. When Philip told his father that Messrs. Bond and Selby, his uncle Tivysden'.« attorneys, were suddenly interested THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 159 ±out Mr. Brandon and his affairs, the father instantly guessed, though the son was too simple as yet to understand, how it was that these gentlemen interfered. If Mr. Bran- don-Firmin's marriage with Miss Ringwood was null, her son was ille- gitimate, and her fortune went to her sister. Painful as such a duty might be to such tender-hearted people as our Twysden acquaintances to dc- priye a dear nephew of his fortune, yet, after all, duty is duty, and a parent must sacrifice everything for justice and his own children. " Had I been in such a case," Talhot Twys- den subsequently and repeatedly de- clared, "I should never have been easy a moment if I thought I pos- sessed wrongfully a beloved nephew's property, i could not have slept in peace; I could not have shown my face at my own club, or to my Dwn conscience, had I the weight of cuch an injustice on my mind." In a word, when he found that there was a chance of annexing Philip's share of the property to his own, Twysden saw clearly that his duty was to stand by his own wife and children. The information upon which Talbot Twysden, Esq., acted, was brought to him at his office by a gentleman in dingy black, who, after a long inter- view with him, accompanied him to his lawyer, Mr. Bond, before men- tioned. Here, in South Square, Grey's Inn, the three gentlemen held a consultation, of which the results began quickly to .show themselves. Messrs. Bond and Selhy had an ex- ceedingly lively, cheerful, jovial, and intelligent confidential clerk, who combined business and pleasure with the utmost affability, and was ac- quainted with a thousand queer things, and queer histories about queer people in this town ; who lent money ; who wanted money ; who was in debt : and who was outrunning the constable ; whose diamonds were in pawn ; whose estates were over- Jttortgaged ; who was over-building himself; who was casting eyes of longing at what pretty opera dancer, — about races, fights, bill-brokers, quicquid agunt homines. This Tom Walls had a deal of information, and imparted it so as to make you die of laughing. The Eeverend Tufton Hunt brought this jolly fellow first to the "Admiral Byng," where his amiability won all hearts at the club. At the " Byng," it was not very difficult to gain Cap- tain Gann's easy confidence. And this old man was, in the course of a very trifling consumption of rum-and- water, brought to see that his daugh- ter had been the object of a very wicked conspiracy, and was the right- ful and most injured wife of a man who ought to declare her fair fame before the world, and put her in pos- session of a portion of his great fortune. A great fortune f How great a fortune ? , . Was it three . hundred thousand, say t Those doctors, many of them, had fifteen thousand a year. Mr. Walls (who perhaps knew better) was not at liberty to say what the fortune was : but it was a shame that Mrs. Brandon was kept out of her rights, that was clear. Old Gann's excitement, when this matter was first broached to him (under vows of profound secrecy) was so intense that his old reason tottered on its rickety old throne. He well- nigh burst with longing to speak upon this mystery. Mr. and IWi's. Oves, the esteemed landlord and lady of the " Byng," never saw him so excited. He had a great opinion of the judgment of his friend, Mr. Rid- ley ; in fact, he must have gone to Bedlam, unless he had talked to somebody on this most nefarious transaction, which might make the blood of every Briton curdle with horror, — as he was free to say. Old Mr. Ridley was of a much cooler temperament, and altogether a more cautious person. The Doctor rich? He wished to tell no secrets, nor to meddle in no gentleman's affairs : but he have heard very differ- 160 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. ent statements regarding Dr. Firmin's affairs. When dark hints about treason, wicked desertion, rights denied, " and a great fortune which you are kep' out of, my poor Caroline, by a ras- cally wolf in sheep's clothing, you are ; and I always mistrusted him, from the moment I saw him, and said to your mother, ' Emily, that Bran- don is a bad fellow, Brandon is ' ; and bitterly, bitterly I 've rued ever receiving him under my roof." When speeches of this nature were made to Mrs. Caroline, strange to say, the little lady made light of them. " 0, nonsense. Pa ! Don't be bringing that sad old story up again. I have suffered enough from it already. If Mr. F. left me, he was n't the only one who flung me away ; and I have been able to live, thank mercy, through it all." This was a hard hit, and not to be parried. The truth is, that when poor Caroline, deserted by her hus- band, had come back, in wretched- ness, to her father's door, the man, and the wife who then ruled him, had thought fit to thrust her away. And she had forgiven them : and had been enabled to heap a rare quantity of coals on that old gentleman's head. When the captain remarked his daughter's indifference and unwilling- ness to reopen this painful question of her sham marriage with Firmin, his wrath was moved, and his suspicion excited. " Ha ! " says he, " have this man been a tampering with you again ? " " Nonsense, Pa ! " once more says Caroline. " I tell you, it is this fine- talking lawyers' clerk has been tam- pering with you. You 're made a tool of. Pa ! and you 've been made a tool of all your lite ! " " Well, now, upon my honor, my good madam," interposes Mr. Walls. " Don't talk to me, sir ! I don't want any lawyers' clerks to meddle in my business ! " cries Mrs. Brandon, very briskly. " I don't know what yon 're come about. I don't want to know, and I 'm most certain it is foi no good." " 1 suppose it was the ill success of his ambassador that brought Mr. Bond himself to Thomhaagh Street; and a more kind, fatherly, little man never looked than Mr. Bond, although he may have had one eye smaller than the other. " What is this, my dear madam, I hear from my confi- dential clerk, Mr. Walls 1 " he asked of the Little Sister. " You refuse to give him your confidence because he is only a clerk 1 I wonder whether you will accord it to me as a princi- pal ? " "She may, sir, she may, — every confidence ! " says the Captain, lay- ing his hand on that snuffy satin waistcoat which all his friends so long admired on him. "She might have spoken to Mr. Walls." " Mr. Walls is not a family man. I am. I have children at home, Mrs. Brandon, as old as you are," says the benevolent Bond. " I would have justice done them, and for you too." " You 're very good to take so much trouble about me all of a sud- den, to be sure," says Mrs. Brandon, demurely. " I suppose you don't do it for nothing." " I should not require ranch fee to help a good woman to her rights; and a lady 1 don't think needs much persuasion to be helped to her advan- tage," remarks Mr. Bond. " That depends who the helper is." " Well, if I can do you no harm, and help you possibly to a name, to a fortune, to a high place in the world, I don't think you need be frightened. I don't look very wicked or very art- ful, do 1 1 " " Many is that don't look so. I 've learned as much as that about you gentlemen," remarks Mrs. Brandon. " You have been Avronged by one man, and doubt all." "Not all. Some, sir!" " Doubt about rae if I can by any possibility injure you. But how and why should I ? Your good father knows what has brought me here. I THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 101 have no seciet from liim. Have I, Mr. GarM, or Captain Gann, as I have heard you addressed 1 " " Mr., sir, — plain Mr. — No, sir; your conduct have been most open, honorable, and like a gentleman. Neither would you, sir, do aught to disparage Mrs. Brandon; neither would I, her father. Noways, I think, would a parent do harm to his own child. May I offer you any re- freshment, sir 1 and ashaky, a dingy, but a hospitable hand is laid upon the glossy cupboard, in which Mrs. Brandon keeps her modest'little store of strong waters. " Not one drop, thank you ! Yon trust me, I think, more than Mrs. Firm — I beg your pardon — Mrs. Brandon, is disposed to do." At the utterance of that monosyl- lable Firm Caroline became so white, and trembled so, that her interlocutor stopped, rather alarmed at the effect of his word — his word ! — his syllable of a word. The old lawyer recovered himself with much grace. "Pardon me, madam," he said: " I know your wrongs ; I know your most melancholy history; I know your name, and was going to use it, but it seemed to renew painful recol- lections to you, which I would not needlessly recall." Captain Gann took out a snuffy pockethandkerchief, wiped two red eyes and a shirt-front, and winked at the attorney, and gasped in a pathetic manner. " You know my story and name, sir, who are a stranger to me. Have you told this old gentleman all about me and my affairs. Pa ? " asks Caro- line, with some asperity. " Have you told hira that my ma never gave me a word of kindness, — that I toiled for you and her like a servant, — and when I came back to you, after being deceived and deserted, that you and ma shut the door in my face ? You did ! you did ! I forgive you ; but a hundred thousand billion years can't mend that injury, father, while you broke a poor child's heart with it that day ! My pa has told you all this, Mr. What's-your-name ? I 'm s'prised he didn't find something pleasanter to talk about, I 'm sure ! " " My love ! " interposed the Cap- tain. "Pretty love! to go and tell a stranger in a public-house, and ever so many there besides, I suppose, your daughter's misfortunes. Pa. Pretty love ! That 's what I 've h^d from yon ! " " Not a soul, on the honor of a gen- tleman, except me and Mr. Walls." " Then what do you come to talk about me at all for t and what scheme on hearth are you driving at? and what brings this old man here ? " cries the landlady of Thornhaugh Street, stamping her foot. " Shall I toll you frankly, my good lady 1 I called you Mrs. Firmin now, because, on my honor and word, I believe such to be your rightful name, — because you are the lawful wife of George Brand Firmin. If such be your lawful name, others bear it who have no right to bear it, — and in- herit property to which they can lay no just claim. In the year 1827, yon, Caroline Gann, a child of sixteen, were married by a clergyman whom you know, to George Brand Firmin, calling himself George Brandon. He was guilty of deceiving you ; but j ou were guilty of no deceit. He was a hardened and wily man , but you were an innocent child out of a schoolroom. And though he thought the marriage was not binding upon him, binding it is by Act of Parlia- ment and judges' decision , and you are as assuredly George Firmin's wife, madam, as Mrs. Bond is mine ! " "You have been cruelly injured, Caroline," says the Captain, wagging his old nose over his handkerchief. Caroline seemed to bo very well versed in the law of the transaction. "You mean, sir," she said slowly, " that if me and Mr. Brandon was married to each other, he, knowing that he was only playing at marriage. 162 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. and me believing that it was all for good, we are really married." " Undoubtedly you are, madam, — my client has — that is, I have had advice on the point." " But if we both knew that it was — was only a sort of a marriage — an irregular marriage, you know t " " Then the Act says that to all in- tents and purposes the marriage is null and void. "But you didn't know, my poor innocent child ! " cries Mr. Gann. " How should you t IIow old was you ■? She was a child in the nursery, Mr. Bond, when the villain inveigled her away from her poor old father. She knew nothing of irregular mar- riages." " Of course she did n't, the poor creature," cries tlie old gentleman, rubbing his hands together with per- fect good-humor. "Poor young thing, poor young thing ! " As he was speaking, Caroline, very pale and still, was sitting looking at Ridley's sketch of Philip, which hung in her little room. Presently she turned round on the attorney, folding her little hands over her work. " Mr. Bond," she said, " girls, though they may be ever so young, know more than some folks fancy. I was more than sixteen when that — that business happened. I wasn't happy at home, and eager to get away. I knew that a gentleman of his rank would n't be likely really to marry a poor Cinderella out of a lodging-house, like me. If the trnth must be told, I — I knew it was no marriage — never thought it was a marriage — not for good, you know." And she folds her little hands to- gether as she utters the words, and I dare say once more looks at Philip's portrait. " Gracious goodness, madam, you must be under some error ! " cries the attorney. " How should a child like you know that the marriage was ir- regular i " " Because I had no lines ! " cries Caroline quickly. " Never asked for none ! And our maid we had then said to me, ' Miss Carry, where 's your lines ? And it 's no good with- out.' And I knew it was n't ! And I 'm ready to go before the Lord Cliancellor to-morrow and say so ! " cries Caroline, to the bewilderment of her father and her cross-exami- nant. " Pause, pause ! my good madam I " exclaims the meek old gentleman, rising from his chair. " Go and tell this to them as sent you, sir ! " cries Cai'olinc, very im- periou.sly, leaving the lawyer amazed, and her father's face in a bewilder- ment, over which we will fling his snuify old pocket-handkerchief. " If such is unfortunately the case, — if you actually mean to abide by this astonishing confession, — which deprives you of a high place in socie- ty, — and — and casts down the hopa we had formed of redressing your in- jured reputation, — I have nothing for it ! I take my leave, madam ! Good morning, Mr. Hum ! — Mr. Gann ! " And the old lawyer walks out of the Little Sister's room. " She won't own to the marriage ! She is fond of some one else, — the little suicide ! " thinks the old lawyer, as he clatters down the street to a neighboring house, where his anxious principal was in waiting. " She's fond of some one else ! " Yes. But the some one else whom Caroline loved was Brand Firmin's son ; and it was to save Philip from ruin that the poor Little Sister chose to forget her marriage to his father. CHAPTER XHL LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG. Whilst the battle is raging, the old folks and ladies peep over the battlements, to watch the turns of the combat, and the behavior of the knights. To princesses in old days, whose lovely hands were to be be- stowed upon the conqueror, it must THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 163 have beea & i>^.Ker of no small inter- • est to know ivnether the slim young champion with the lovely eyes on the milk-white steed should vanquish, or the dumpy, elderly, square - shoul- dered, squinting, caiToty whiskerando of a warrior who was laying about him so savagely ; and so in this bat- tle, on the issue of which depended the keeping or losing of poor Philip's Inheritance, there were several non- combatants deeply interested. Or suppose we withdraw the chivalrous simile (as in fact the conduct and views of certain parties engaged in the matter were anything but what we call chivalrous), and imagine a wily old monkey who engages a cat to take certain chestnuts out of the fire, and pussy putting her paw through the bars, seizing the nut and then dropping it ? Jacko is disap- pointed and angry, shows his sharp teeth, and bites if he dares. When the attorney went down to do battle for Philip's patrimony, some of those who wanted it were spectators of the fight, and lurking up a tree hard by. When Mr. Bond came forward to try and seize Phil's chestnuts, there was a wily old monkey who thrust the cat's paw out, and proposed to gobble up the smoking prize. If you have ever been at the " Ad- miral Byng," you know, my dear madam, that the parlor where the club meets is just behind Mrs. Oves's bar, so that by lifting up the sash of the window which communi- cates between the two apartments, that good-natured woman may put her face into the club-room, and actually be one of the society. Sometimes for company, old Mr. Ridley goes and sits with Mrs. O in her bar, and reads the paper there. He is slow at his reading. The long words puzzle the worthy gentleman. As fie has plenty of time to spare, he does not grudge it to the study of his paper. On the day when Mr. Bond went to persuade Mrs. Brandon in Thom- haugh Street to claim Dr. Firmin for her husband, and to disinherit poor a Philip, a little gentleman wrapt most solemnly and mysteriously in a great cloak appeared at the bar of the "Admiral Byng," and said in an aristocratic manner, "You have a parlor, show me to it." And being introduced to the parlor (where there are fine pictures of Oves, Mrs. , and " Spotty-nose," their fav- orite defunct bull-dog), sat down and called for a glass of sherry and a news- paper. The civil and intelligent potboy of the " Byng " took the party The Ad- vertiser of yesterday (which to-day's paper was in 'and) and when the gentleman began to swear over the old paper, Prederic gave it as his opinion to his mistress that the new- comer was a harbitrary gent, — as, indeed, he was, with the omission, perhaps, of a single letter; a man who bullied everybody who would submit to be bullied. . In fact, it was our friend Talbot Twysdcn, Lsq., Commissioner of the Powder and Pomatum Office ; and I leave those who know him to say whether he is arbitrary or not. To him presently came that bland old gentleman, Mr. Bond, who also asked for a parlor and some sherry- and-water; and this is how Philip and his veracious and astute biog- rapher came to know for a certainty that dear uncle Talbot was the person who wished to — to have Philip's chestnuts. Mr. Bond and Mr. Twysden had been scarcely a minute together, when such a stoiTu of imprecations c.ime clattering through the glass-window which communicates with Mrs. Oves's bar, that I dare say they made the jugs and tumblers clatter on the shelves, and Mr. Ridley, a very mod- est-spoken man, reading his paper, lay it down with a scared face, and say, — " Well, I never." Nor did he often, I dare to say. This volley was fired by Talbot Twysden, in consequence of bis rage at the news which Mr. Bond broughi him. 164 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " Well, Mr. Bond ; well, Mr. Bond ! What does she say ? " he asked of his emissary. " She will hare nothing to do with the business, Mr. Twysden. We can't • touch it ; and I don't see how we can move her. She denies the marriage as much as Firrain does : says she knew it was a mere sham when the ceremony was performed." " Sir, you did n't bribe her enough," shrieked Mr. Twysden. " You have bungled this business ; by George you have, sir." " Go and do it yourself, sir, if you are not ashamed to appear in it," says the lawyer. " You don't suppose I did it because I liked it ; or want to take that poor young fellow's inheritance from him, as yoa do." " I wish justice and the law, sir. If I were wrongfully detaining his property I would give it up. I would be the first to give it up. I desire justice and law, and employ you because you are a law agent. Are you not ? " " And I have been on your errand, and shall send in my bill in due time ; and there will be an end of my con- nection with you as your law agent, Mr. Twysden," cried the old lawyer. " Tou know, sir, how badly Firmin acted to me in the last matter." " Faith, sir, if you ask my opinion as a law agent, I don't think there was much to choose between you. How much is the sherry-and-water 1 — keep the change. Sorry I had no better news to bring you, Mr. T., and as you are dissatisfied, again recommend you to employ another law agent." " My good sir, I — " " My good sir, I have had other dealings with your family, anil am no more going to put up with your highti-tightiness than I would with Lord Ringwood's when I was one of his law agents. I am not going to tell Mr. Philip Firmin that hi^ uncle and aunt propose to ease him of his property; but if anybody else does — that good little Mrs. Brandon — or that old goose Mr. What-d'ye-call-um, her father, — I don't suppose he will be over well pleased. I am speaking- a£ a gentleman now, not as a law agent. You and your nephew had each a half-share of Mr. Philip Fir- min's grandfather's property, and you wanted it all, that s the truth, and set a law agent to get it for you ; and swore at him because he could not get it from its right owner. And so, sir, I wish you a good-morning, and rec- ommend you to take your papers to some other agent, Mr. Twysden." And with this, exit Mr. Bond. And now, I ask you if that secret could be kept which was known through a trembling glass door to Mrs. Oves of the "Admiral Byng," and to Mr. Ridley the father of J, J., and the obsequious husband of Mrs. Ridley ? On that very afternoon, at tea-time, Mrs. Ridley was made acquainted by her husband (in his noble and circum- locutory manner) with the conversa- tion which he had overheard. It was agreed that an embassy should be sent to J. J. on the business, and his advice taken regarding it ; and J. J.'s opinion was that the conversation certainly should be reported to Mr. Philip Fir- min, who might afterwards act upon it as he should think best. What ? His own aunt, cousins, and uncle agreed in a scheme to over- throw his legitimacy, and deprive him of his grandfather's inheritance f It seemed impossible. Big with the tremendous news, Philip came to his adviser, Mr. Pendcnnis, of the Tem- ple, and told him what had occurred on the part of father, uncle, and Little Sister. Her abnegation had been so noble that you may be sure Philip appreciated it ; and a tie of friendship was formed between the young man and the little lady even more close and tender than that which had bound them previously. But the Twysdens, his kinsfolk, to employ a lawyer in order to rah him of his inheritance ! — O, it was dastardly ! Philip bawled, and stamped, and thumped his sense of the wrong in his usual energetic manner. As for THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 165 his cousin, Eingwood Twysden, Phil had often entertained a strong desire to wring his neck and pitch him down stairs. " As for Uncle Talbot : that he is an old pump, that he is a pompous old humbug, and the queer- est old sycophant, I grant you ; but I could n't have believed him guilty of this. And as for the girls — O Mrs. Pendennis, you who are good, you who are kind, although you hate them, I know you do, — you can't say, you won't say, that they were in the conspiracy t " "But suppose Twysden was ask- ing only for what ho conceives to be his rights ? " asked Mr. Pcndennis. " Had your father been manied to Mrs. Brandon, you would not have been Dr. Pirmin's legitimate son. Had you not been his legitimate son, you had no right to a half-share of your grandfather's property. TJnclo Talbot acts only the part of honor and justice in the transaction. He is Brutus, and he orders you off to death with a bleeding heart." " And he orders his family out of the way," roars Phil, " so that they mayn't be pained by seeing the exe- cution ! I see it all now. I wish somebody would send a knife through me at once, and put an end to me. I see it all now. Do yon know that for the last week I have been to Beau- nash Street and found nobody f Ag- nes had the bronchitis, and her moth- er was attending to her; Blanche came for a minute or two, and was as cool — as cool as I have seen Lady Iceberg be cool to her. Then they must go away for change of air. They have been gone these three days: whilst Uncle Talbot and that viper of a Ringwood have been clos- eted with their nice new friend, Mr. Hunt. O conf ! I beg your pardon, ma'am ; but I know you al- ways allow for the energy of my lan- guage." "I should like to see that Little Sister, Mr. Firmin. She has not been selfish, or had any scheme but for your good," remarks my wife. " A little angel who drops her h's, ' — a little heart, so good and tender that I melt as I think of it," says Philip, drawing his big hand over his eyes. " What have men done to get the love of some women ■? We don'tJ* enrn it ; we don't deserve it, perhaps. We don't return it. They bestow it on us. I have given nothing back for all this love and kindness, but I look a little like my father of old days, for whom — for whom she had an attachment. And see now how she would die to sei-ve me ! You are wonderful, womeh are ! your fidelities and your ficklenesses alike marvel- lous. What can any woman have found to adore in the Doctor 1 Do you think my father could ever have been adorable, Mrs. Pendennis ? And yet I have heard my poor mother say she was obliged to marry him. She knew it was a bad match, but she could n't resist it. In what was my father so irresistible? He is not to my taste. Between ourselves, I tliink he is a — well, never mind what." "I think we had best not mind what ! " says my wife with a smile. " Quite right — quite right ; only I blurt out everything that is on my mind. Can't keep it in," cries Phil, gnawing his mnstachios. " If my fortune depended on my silence I should be a beggar, that's the fact. And, you see, if you had such a fa- ther as mine, you yourself would find it rather difficult to hold your tongue about him. But now, tell me : this ordering away of the girls and Aunt Twysden, whilst the little attack upon my property is being camed'on, — is n't it queer ? " " The question is at an end," said Mr. Pendennis. " You are restored to your atoms regibus and ancestral honors. Now that Uncle Twysden can't get the property without you, have courage, my boy, — he may take it, along with the encumbrance." Poor Phil had not known, — but some of us, who are pretty clear-sight- ed when our noble selves are not con- cerned, had perceived that Philip's 166 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. iear aunt was playing fast and loose tvith the lad, and when his back was turned was encouraging a richer suit- or for her daughter. Hand on heart I can say of my <• wife, that she meddles with her neigh- bors as little as any person I ever knew ; but when treacheries in love aifairs are in question, she fires up at once, and would persecute to death almost the heartless male or female criminal who would break love's sa- cred laws. The idea of a man or wo- man trifling with that holy compact awakens in her a flame of indignation. In curtain confidences (of wliich let me not vulgarize the arcana) she had given mo her mind about some of Miss Twysden's behavior with that odious blackamoor, as she chose to call Captain Woolcomb, who, I own had a very slight tinge of complexion ; and when, quoting the words of Ham- let regarding his father and mother, I asked, " Could slie on this fair moun- tain leave to feed, and batten on this Moor ? " Mrs. Pendennis cried out that this matter was all too serious for jest, and wondered how her husband could make word plays about it. Perhaps she has not the exquisite sense of humor possessed by some folks ; or is it that she has more rev- erence 1 In her creed, if not in her church, marriage is a sacrament, and the fond believer never speaks of it without awe. Now, as she expects both parties to the marriage engagement to keep that compact holy, she no more under- stands trifiing with it than she could comprehend laughing and joking in a church. She has no patience with flirtations as they are called. " Don't tell me, sir," says the enthusiast, " a light word between a man and a married woman ought not to be per- mitted." And this is why she is harder on the woman than the man, in cases where such dismal matters happen to fall under discnssion. A look, a word from a woman, she says, will check a libertine thought or word in a man ; and tliese cases might be stopped at once if the woman but showed the slightest resolution. She is thus more angry (I am only men. tioning the peculiarities, not defending the ethics of this individual moralist), — she is, I say, more angrily disposed towards the woman than the man in such delicate cases : and, I am afraid, considers that women are for the most part only victims because they choose to bo so. Now, we had happened during the season to be at several entertainments, routs, and so forth, where poor Phil, owing to his unhappy Bohemian pref- erences and love of tobacco, &c., was not present, — and where we saw Miss Agnes I'wysden carrying on such a game with the tawny Woolcomb as set Mrs. Laura in a tremor of indig- nation. What though Agnes's blue- eyed mamma sat near her blue-eyed daughter and kept her keen clear orbs perfectly wide open and cognizant of all that happened? So much the worse for her, the worse for both. It was a shame and a sin that a Chris- tian English mother should suffer her daughter to deal lightly with the most holy, the most awful of human con- tracts ; should be preparing her child who knows for what after misery of mind and soul. Three months ago, you saw how she encouraged poor Philip, and now see her with this mu- latto ! " Is he not a man, and a brother, my dear 1 " perhaps at this Mr. Pen- dennis interposes. " 0, for shame, Pen, no levity on this — no sneers and laughter on this most sacred subject of all." And here, I dare say, the woman falls to caressing her own children and hug- ging them to her heart as her manner was when moved. Que voulez-vousi There are some women in the world to whom love and truth are all in all here below. Other ladies there are who see the benefit of a good jointure, a town and country house, and so forth, and who are not so very partic- ular as to the character, intellect, or complexion of gentlemen who are in a IHE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 167 position to offer their dear girls these benefits. In fine, I say, that regard- ing this blue-eyed mother and daugh- ter, Mrs. Laura Pendennis was in such a state of mind that she was ready to tear their blue eyes out. Nay, it was with no little difficulty that Mrs. Laura could be induced to hold her tongue upon the matter and not give PhiUp her opinion. "What?" she would ask, " the poor young man is to be deceived and qajoled ; to be taken or left as it suits these people ; to be made miserable for life certainly if she marries him ; and liis friends are not to dare to warn him ? The cowards ! The cowardice of you men. Pen, upon matters of opinion, of you masters and lords of creation, is really despicable, sir ! You dare not have opinions, or holding them you dare not declare them and act by them. You compromise with crime every day because you think it would be of- ficious to declare yourself and inter- fere. You are not afraid of outraging morals, but of inflicting ennui upon so- ciety, and losing your popularity. You are as cynical as — as, what was the name of the horrid old man who lived in the tub — Demosthenes t — well, Diogenes then, and the name does not matter a pin, sir. You are as cynical, only you wear fine ruffled shirts and wristbands, and you carry your lan- tern dark. It is not right to 'put your oar in,' as you say in your jar- gon (and even your slang is a sort of cowardice, sir, for you are afraid to speak the feelings of your heart :) — it is not right to meddle and speak the truth, not right to rescue a poor soul whoisdrowning — of course not. What call have you fine gentlemen of the world to put your oar in ? Let him per- ish ! "What did he in that galley t That is the language of the world, baby, darling. And, my poor, poor child, when yon are sinking, nobody is to stretch out a hand to save you ! " As for that wife of mine, when she sets forth the maternal plea, and appeals to the exuberant school of philosophers, I know there is no reasoning with her. I retire to my books, and leave her to kiss out the rest of the argument over the children. Philip did not know the extent of the obligation which he owed to his little friend and guardian, Caroline; but he was aware that he had no bet- ter friend than herself in the world ; and, I 'dare say, returned to her, as the wont is in such bargains hetween man and woman — woman and man, at least — a sixpence for that pure gold treasure, her sovereign affection. I suppose Caroline thought her sac- rifice gave her a little authority to counsel Philip; for she it was who, I believe, first bid him to inquire whether that engagement which he had virtually contracted with hi? cousin was likely to lead to good, and was to be binding upon him but not on her ? She brought Ridley to add his doubts to her remonstrances. She showed Philip that not only his un- cle's conduct, hut his cousin's, was interested, and set him to inquire into it further. That peculiar form of bronchitis under which poor dear Agnes was suffering was relieved by absence from London. The smoke, the crowded parties and assemblies, the late hours, and, perhaps, the gloom of the house in Beaunash Street, distressed the poor dear child ; and her cough was very much soothed by that fine, cut- ting east wind, which blows so lib- erally along the Brighton cliffs, and which is so good for coughs, as we all know. But there was one fault in Brighton which could not be helped in her bad case : it is too near Lon- don. The air, that chartered liber- tine, can blow down from London quite easily ; or people can come from London to Brighton, bringing, I dare say, the insidious London fog along with them. At any rate, Agnes, if she wished for quiet, poor thing, might have gone farther and fared better. Why, if you owe a tailor a bill, he can run down and present it in a few hours. Vulgar, inconven- ient acquaintances thrust themselves 168 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. upon you at every moment and cor- ner. Was ever such a tohubohu of people as there assembles 1 You can't be tranquil, if you will. Or- gans pipe and scream without cease at your windows. Your name is put down in the papers when you arrive ; and everybody meets everybody ever so many times a day. On finding that his uncle had set lawyers to work, with the charita- ble purpose of ascertaining whether Philip's property was legitimately his own, Philip was a good deal disturbed in mind. He could not appreciate that high sense of moral obligation by which Mr. Twysden was actuated. At least, he thought that these in- quiries should not have been secretly set afoot; and as he himself was perfectly open — a great deal too open, perhaps — in his words and his actions, he was hard with those who attempted to hoodwink or de- ceive him. It could not be; ah! no, it never could be, that Agnes the pure and gentle was privy to this conspiracy. But then, how very — very often of late she had been from home; how very, very cold, Aunt Twysden's shoulder had somehow become. Once, when he reached the door, a fish- monger's boy was leaving a fine salmon at the kitchen, — a salmon and a tub of ice. Once, twice, at five o'clock, when he called, a smell of cooking pervaded the hall, — that hall which culinary odors very seldom visited. Some of those noble Twys- den dinners were on the topi's, and Philip was not asked. Not to be asked was no great deprivation ; but who were the guests 1 To be sure, these were trifles light as air; but Philip smelt mischief in the steam of those Twysden dinners. He chewed that salmon with a bitter sauce as he saw it sink down the area steps (and disappear with its attendant lobster) in the dark kitchen regions. , Yes ; eyes were somehow averted that used to look into his very frank- ly ; a glove somehow had grown over a little hand which once used to Ho very comfortably in his broad palm. Was anybody else going to seize it, and was it going to paddle in that blackamoor's uiiblest fingers ? Ah ! fiends and tortures ! a gentleman may cease to love, but does he like a wo- man to cease to love him f People carry on ever so long for fear of that declaration that all is over. No con- fession is more dismal to make. The sun of love has set. We sit in the dark. I mean you, dear madam, and Corydon, or I and Amaiyllis ; un- comfortably, with nothing more to say to one another ; with the night dew falling, and a risk of catching cold, drearily contemplating the fad- ing west, with " the cold remains of lustre gone, of fire long past away." Sink, fire of love ! Kise, gentle moon, and mists of chilly evening. And, my good Madam Amaryllis, let us go home to some tea and a fire. So Philip determined to go and seek his cousin. Arrived at his hotel, (and if it were the * * I can't con- ceive Philip in much better quarters), he had the opportunity of inspecting those delightful newspaper arrivals, a perusal of which has so often edified us at Brighton. Mr. and Mrs. Pen- fold, he was informed, continued their residence. No. 96 Horizontal Place ; and it was with those guardians he knew his Agnes was staying. He speeds to Horizontal Place. Miss 'Twysden is out. He heaves a sigh, and leaves a card. Has it ever hap- pened to you to leave a card at tmU house — that house which was once THE house — almost your own ; where you were ever welcome; where the kindest hand was ready to grasp yours, the brightest eye to greet you f And now your friendship has dwin- dled away to a little bit of pasteboard, shed once a year, and poor, dear Mrs. Jones (it is with J. you have quar- relled) still calls on the ladies of your family and slips her husband's ticket upon the hall table. 0, life and time, that it should have come to this ! gracious powers ! Do you recall the THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 169 time when Arabella Briggs was Ara- bella Thompson ? You call and talk fadaises to her (at first she is rather nervous, and has the children in) ; you talk rain and fine weather ; the last novel ; the next party ; Thomp- son in the City t Yes, Mr. Thomp- son is in the City. He 's pretty well, thank you. Ah ! Daggers, ropes, and poisons, has it come to this "i You are talking about the weather, and another man's health, and another man's children, of which she is moth- er, to her? Time was the weather was all a burning sunshine, in which you and she basked ; or if clouds gathered, and a storm fell, such a glorious rainbow haloed round you, such delicious tears fell and refreshed you, that the storm was more ravish- ing than the calm. And now another man's children are sitting on her knee — their mother's knee ; and once a year Mr. and Mrs. John Thompson request the honor of Mr. Brown's company at dinner ; and once a year you read in The Times, " In Nursery Street, the wife of J. Thompson, Esq., of a Son." To come to the once-be- loved one's door, and find the knocker tied up with a white kid glove, is hu- miliating, — say what you will, it is humiliating. Philip leaves his card, and walks on to the Cliff, and of course, in three minutes, meets Clinker. Indeed, who ever went to Brighton for half an hour without meeting Clinker 1 "Father preity well ? His old pa- tient. Lady Geminy, is down here with the children ; what a number of them there are, to be sure ! Come to make any stay? See your cousin. Miss Twysden, is here with the Pen- folds. Little party at the Grigsons' last night; she looked uncommonly well ; danced ever so many times with the Black Prince, Woolcomb of the Greens. Suppose I may congratulate you, Six thousand five hundred a year now, and thirteen thousand when his grandmother dies ; but those ne- gresses live forever. I suppose the thing is settled. I saw them on the pier just now, and Mrs. Penfold was reading a book in the arbor. Book of sermons it was, — pious woman, Mrs. Penfold. I dare say they are on the pier still." Striding with hur- ried steps Philip Pirmin makes for the pier. The breathless Clinker can- not keep alongside of his face. I should like to have seen it when Clinker said that " the thing " was settled between Miss T^vysdeu and the cavalrj- gentleman. There were a few nursery govern- esses, maids, and children, paddling about at the end of tlie pier ; and there was a fat woman reading a book in one of the arbors, — but no Agnes, no Woolcomb. Where can they bo ? Can they be weighing each other? or buying those mad pebbles, which people are known to purchase 1 or having their silhouettes done in black ? Ha I ha ! Woolcomb would hardly have his face done in black. The idea would provoke odious comparisons. I see Philip is in a dreadfully bad sar- castic humor. Up there comes from one of those trap-doors which lead down fiom the pier-head to the green sea-waves ever restlessly jumping below, — up there comes a little Skye-terrier dog with a red collar, who, as soon as she sees Philip, sings, squeaks, whines, runs, jumps, flumps up on him, if I may use the expression, kisses his hands, and with eyes, tongue, paws, and tail shows him a thousand marks of welcome and affection. " What, Brownie, Brownie ! " Philip is glad to see the dog, an old friend who has many a time licked his hand and bounced upon his knee. The greeting over. Brownie, wag- ging her tail with prodigious activity, trots before Philip, — trots down an opening, down the steps under which the waves shimmer greenly, and into quite a quiet remote corner just over the water, whence you may command a most beautiful view of the sea, the shore, the Marino Parade, and the "Albion Hotel," and where, were I five-and-twenty say, with nothing else 170 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. to do, I would gladly pass a quarter of an hour talking about " Glaucus, or the Wonders of the Deep " with the object of my affections. Here, amongst the labryinth of piles. Brownie goes flouncing along till she comes to a young couple who are looking at the view just described. In order to view it better, the young man has laid his hand, a pretty little hand most delicately gloved, on the ladjr's hand ; and Brownie comes up and nuzzles against her, and whines and talks as much as to say, " Here 's somebody," and the lady says, " Down Brownie, miss." " It 's no good, Agnes, that dog," says the gentleman (ho has very curly, not to say woolly hair, under his natty little hat). " I '11 give you a pug with a nose you can hang your hat on. ' I do know of one now. My man Rummins knows of one. Do yoii like pugs "i " " I adore them," says the lady. " I '11 give you one, if I have to pay fifty pounds for it. And they fetch a good figure, the real pugs do, I can tell you. Once in London there was an exhibition of 'em, and — " " Brownie, Brownie, down ! " cries Agnes. The dog was jumping at a gentleman, a tall gentleman with a red mustache and beard, who ad- vances through the checkered shade, under the ponderous beams, over the translucent sea. " Pray don't mind. Brownie won't hurt me," says a perfectly well-known voice, the sound of which sends all the color shuddeiing out of Miss Agnes's pink cheeks. " You see I gave my cousin this dog, Captain Woolcomb," says the gentleman ; " and the little slut re- members me. Perhaps Miss Twysden prefers the pug better." " Sir ! " " If it has a nose you can hang your hat on, it must be a very pret- ty dog, and I suppose you intend to hang your hat on it a good deal." " O Philip ! " says the lady ; but an attack of that dreadful coughing stops further utterance. CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINS TWO OP PHILIP 'S MIS- HAPS. You know that, in some parts of India, infanticide is the common custom. It is part of the religion of the land, as, in other districts, widow- burning used to be. I can't imagine that ladies like to destroy either them- selves or their children, though they submit with bravery, and even cheer- fulness, to the decrees of that religion which orders them to make away with their own or their young ones' lives. Now, suppose you and I, as Europeans, happened to drive up where a young creature was just about to roast herself, under the advice of her family and the highest dignitaries of her church; what could we dol Rescue her? No such thing. We know better than to interfere with her, and the laws and usages of her country. We turn away with a sigh from the mournful scene ; we pull out our pocket-handkerchiefs, tell coach- man to drive on, and leave her to her sad fate. • Now about poor Agnes Twysden ; how, in the name of goodness, can we help her ■? You see she is a wcU- brought-up and religious young wo- man of the Brahminical sect. If she is to be sacrificed, that old Brahmin her father, that good and devout mother, that most special Brahmin her brother, and that admirable girl her strait-laced sister, all insist upon her undergoing the ceremony, and deck her with flowers ere they lead her to that dismal altar flame. Sup- pose, I say, she has made up her mind to throw over poor Philip, and take on with some one else 1 What sentiment ought our virtuous bosoms to entertain towards her? Anger'! Hand and Glove. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 171 I have just beeu holding a conversa^ tion with a young fellow in rags and withottt shoes, whose bed is common- ly a dry arch, who has been repeated- ly in prison, whose father and mother we/e thieves, and whose grandfathers were thieves ; — are we to bo angry with him for following the paternal profession ? With one eye brimming with pity, the other steadily keeping watch over the family spoons, I listen to his artless tale. I have no anger against that child ; nor towards thee, Agnes, daughter of Talbot the Brah- mm. For though duty is duty, when it comes to the pinch, it is" often hard to do. Though dear papa and mamma say that hero is a gentleman with ever so many thousands a year, an undoubted part in So-and-So-shire, and whole islands in the western main, who is wildly in love with your fair skin and blue eyes, and is ready to fling all his treasures at your feet ; yet after all, when you consider that he is very ignorant, though very cun- ning ; very stingy, though very rich ; very ill-tempered, probably, if faces and eyes and mouths can tell truth : and as for Philip Firmin — though actually his legitimacy is dubious, as we have lately heard, in which case his maternal fortune is ours, — and as for his paternal inheritance, we don't know whether the doctor is worth thirty thousand pounds or a shilling ; — yet, after all — as for Philip — he is a man ; he is a gentleman ; he has brains in his head, and a great honest heart of which he has offered to give the best feelings to his cousin : — I say, when a poor girl has to be off with that old love, that honest and iiiir love, and be on with the new one, the dark one, I feel for her; and though the Brahmins are, as we know, the most genteel sect in Hin- dostan, I rather wish the poor child could have belonged to some lower and less rigid sect. Poor Agnes ! to think that he has sat for hours, with mamma and Blanche or the govern- ess, of course, in the room (for, yon 8* know, when she and Philip wers quite wee wee things dear mamma had little amiable plans in view) ; has sat for hours by Miss Twysden's side pouring out his heart to her ; has had, mayhap, little precious moments of confidential talk, — little hasty whis- pers in cori'idors, on stairs, behind window-curtains, and — and so forth in fact. She must remember all this past ; and can't, without some pang, listen on the same sofa, behind the same window-curtains, to her dark suitor pouring out his artless tales of barracks, boxing, horseflesh, and the tender passion. He is dull, he is mean, he is ill-tempered, he is igno- rant, and the other was . . . . ; but she will do her duty : O yes ! she will do her duty ! Poor Agnes ! C'est a fendre le ccair. I declare I quite feel for her. When Philip's temper was roused, I have been compelled, as his biogra^ pher, to own how very rude and disa- greeable he could be ; and you must acknowledge that a young man has some reason to be displeased, when he finds the girl of his heart hand-in-hand with another young gentleman in an occult and shady recess of the wood- work of Brighton Pier. The green waves are softly murmuring : so is the ofiBcer of the Life Guards Green. The waves are kissing the beach. Ah, agonizing thonght! I will not pursue the simile, which may be but a jealous man's mad fantasy. Of this I am sure, no pebble on that beach is cooler than polished Agnes. But, then, Philip drunk with jealousy is not a reasonble being like Philip so- ber. "He had a dreadful temper," Philip's dear aunt said of him after- wards, — "I trembled for my dear gentle child, united forever to a man of that violence. Never, in my secret mind, could I think that their union could be a happy one. Besides, you know, the nearness of their relation- ship. My scruples on that score, dear Mrs. Candor, never, never could be quite got over." And these scruples came to weigh whole tons, when 172 THE ADVENTDEES OF PHILIP. Mangrove Hall, the house in Berke- ley. Square, and Mr. Woolcomb's West India island were put into the scale along with them. Of course there was no good in re- maining amongst those damp, reeking timbers, now that the pretty little tete- a-tete was over. Little Brownie hung fondling and whining round Philip's ankles, as the party ascended to the upper air. " My child, how pale you look ! " cries Mrs. Penfold, putting down her volume. Out of the Cap- tain's opal eyeballs shot lurid flames, and hot blood burned behind his yel- low cheeks. In a quarrel, Mr. Philip Firmin coald be particularly cool and self-possessed. When Miss Agnes rather piteously introduced him to Mrs. Penfold, he made a bow as po- lite and gracious as any performed by liis royal father. "My little dog knew me," he said, caressing the ani- mal. " She is a faithful little thing, and she led me down to my cousin ; and — Captain Woolcomb, I think, is your name, sir 1 " As Philip curls his mustache and smiles blandly. Captain Woclcomh pulls his and scowls fiercely. " Yes, sir," he mutters, " ray name is Woolcomb." Another bow and a touch of the hat from Mr. Firmin. A touch ? — a gracious wave of the hat; acknowledged by no means so gracefully by Captain Woolcomb. To these remarks Mrs. Penfold says, " Oh ! " In fact, " Oh ! " is about the best thing that could be said un- der the circumstances. " My cousin. Miss Twysden, looks so pale because she was out very late dancing last night. I hear it was a very pretty ball. But ought she to keep such late hours, Mrs. Penfold, with her delicate health ? Indeed, you ought not, Agnes ! Ought she to keep late hours. Brownie 1 There — don't, you little foolish thing ! I gave my cousin the dog : and she 's very fond of me — the dog is — still. You were saying. Captain Woolcomb, when I came up, that you would give Miss Twysden a dog on whoso nose you could hang your .... I beg pardon ? " Mr. Woolcomb, as Philip made this second allusion to the peculiar nasal formation of the pug, ground his little white teeth together, and let slip a most improper monosyllable. More acute bronchial suffering was manifested on the part of Miss Twys- den. Mrs. Penfold said, " The day is clouding over. I think, Agnes, I will have my chair, and go home." " May I be allowed to walk with you as far as your house ? " says Philip, twiddling a little locket which he wore at his watch-chain. It was a little gold locket, with a little pale hair inside. Whose hair could it have been that was so pale and fine 1 As for the pretty, hieroglyphical A. T- at the back, those letters might indi- cate Alfred Tennyson, or Anthony Trollope, who might have given a look of their golden hair to Philip, for I know he is an admirer of their works. Agnes looked guiltily at the little locket. Captain Woolcomb pulled his mustache so, that you would have thought he would have pulled it off; and his opal eyes glared with fearful confusion and wrath. " Will you please to fall back and let me speak to you, Agnes ? Pardon me. Captain Woolcomb, I have a pri- vate message for my cousin ; and J came from London expressly to deliv- er it." " If Miss Twysden desires me to withdraw, I fall back in one mo- ment," says the Captain, clenching the lemon-colored gloves. "My cousin and I have lived to- gether all our lives, and I bring her a family message. Have you any par- ticular claim to hear it, Captain Woolcomb t " " Not if Miss Twysden don't want me to hear it D the, little brute." " Don't kick poor little harmless Brownie ! He sha' n't kick you, shall he. Brownie ? " " If the brute comes between my THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 173 shins, I'll kick her!" shrieks the Captain. " Hang her, I'll throw her into the sea ! " " Whatever you do to my dog, I swear I will do to you I " whispers Philip to the Captain. " Where are you staying 1 "shrieks the Captain. " Hang you, you shall hear from me." " Quiet — ' Bedford Hotel.' Easy, or I shall think you want the ladies to overhear." " Your conduct is horrible, sir," says Agnes, rapidly, in the French language. "Mr. does not compre- hend it." " it ! If you have any secrets to talk, I 'Jl withdraw fast enough. Miss Agnes," says Othello. " O Grenville ! can I have any secrets from you ? Mr. Firmiu is my first-cousin. We have lived together all our lives. Philip, I — I don't know whether mamma announced to you — my — my engagement with Captain Grenville Woolcomb." The agitation has brought on another se- vere bronchial attack. Poor, poor little Agnes ! What it is to have a delicate throat ! The pier tosses up to the skies, as though it had left its moorings, — the houses on the cliiF dance and reel, as though an earthquake was driving them, — the sea walks up into the lodging-houses, — and Philip's legs are failing from under him : it is only for a moment. When you have a large, tough double tooth out, does n't the chair go up to the ceiling, and your head come off too 1 But in the next instant, there is a grave gen- tleman before you, making you a bow, and concealing something in his right sleeve. The crash is over. You are a man again. Philip dutches hold of the chain-pier for a minute : it does not sink under him. The houses, after reeling for a second or two, re- assume the pei-pendioular, and bulge their bow-windows towards the main. He can see the people looking from the windows, the carriages passing, Professor Spurrier riding on the cliff with eighteen young ladies, his pupils. In long after-days he remembers those absurd little incidents with a curious tenacity. "This news,'' Philip says, "was not — not altogether unexpected. I congratulate my cousin, I am sure. Captain Woolcomb, had I known this for certain, I am sure I should not have interrupted you. You were going, perhaps, to ask me to your hos- pitable house, Mrs. Penfold ? " " Was she though ? " cries the Captain. , " I have asked a iiiend to dine with me at the ' Bedford,' and shall go to town, I hope, in the morning. Can I take anything for you, Agnes? Good by " : and he kisses his hand in quite a d^gage manner, as, Mrs. Pen- fold's chair turns eastward and he goes to the west. Silently the tall Agnes sweeps along, a fair hand laid upon her friend's chair. It 's over I it 's over ! She has done it. He was bound, and kept his hon- or, but she did not : it was she who forsook him. And I fear very much Mr. Philip's heart leaps with pleasure and an immense sensation of relief at thinking he is free. He meets half a dozen acquaintances on the cliff. He laughs, jokes, shakes hands, invites two or three to dinner in the gayest manner. He sits down on that green, not very far from his inn, and is laughing to himself, when he suddenly feels something nestling at his knee, — rubbing, and nestling, and whining plaintively. " What, is that you ? " It is little Brownie, who has followed him. Poor little rogue ! Then Philip bent down his head over the dog, and as it jumped on him, with little bleats, and whines, and innocent caresses, he broke out into a sob, and a great refreshing rain of tears fell from his eyes. Such a little illness! Such a mild fever! Such a speedy cure ! Some people have the complaint so mildly that they arc scarcely ever kept to their beds. Some bear its scars forever. Philip sat resolutely at the hotel 174 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. all night, having given special orders to the porter to say that he was at homo, in case any gentleman should call. . He had a faint hope, he after- wards owned, that some friend of Captain Woolcomb might wait on him on that officer's part. He had a faint hope that a letter might come explaining that treason, — as people will have a sick, gnawing, yearning, foilish desire for letters, — letters which contain nothing, which never did contain anything, — letters which, nevertheles.s, you — . You know, in fact, about those letters, and there is no earthly use in asking to read Philip's. Have we not all read those love-letters which, after love-quarrels, come into court sometimes ? We have all read them ; and how many have written themi Nine o'clock. Ten o'clock. Eleven o'clock. No challenge from the Captain ; no ex- planation from Agnes. Philip de- clares he slept perfectly well. But poor little Brownie the dog made a piteous howling all night in the stables. She was not a well-bred dog. Tou could not have hung the least hat on her nose. We compared anon our dear Agnes to a Brahmin lady, meekly oifering herself up to sacrifice according to the practice used in her highly re- spectable caste. Did wc speak in anger or in sorrow 1 — surely in terms of re- spectful grief and sympatliy. And if we pity her, ought wo not likewise to pity her highly respectable parents 1 When the notorious Brutns ordered his sons to execution, you can't sup- pose he was such a brute as to be pleased 1 All three parties suffered hy the transaction ; tlie sons, proba- bly, even more than their austere father ; but it stands to reason that the whole trio were very melancholy. At least, were I a poet or musical composer depicting that business, I certainly should make them so. The sons, piping in a vei^ minor key indeed ; the father's manly basso, ac- companied by deep wind instruments, and interrupted by appropriate sobs. Though pretty fair Agnes is being led to execution, I don't suppose she likes it, or that her parents are hap- py, who are compelled to order the tragedy. That the rich young proprietor of Mangrove Hall should be fond of her was merely a coincidence, Mrs. Twys- den afterwards always averred. Not for mere wealth — ah no ! not for mines of gold — would they sacrifice their darling child. But when that sad Firmin affair happened, you see it also happened that Captain Woolcomb was much struck by dear Agnes, whom he met everywhere. Her scapegrace of a cousin would go no- where. He preferred his bachelor asso- ciates, and horrible smoking and drinking habits, to the amusements and pleasures of more refined society. He neglected Agnes. There is not the slightest doubt he neglected and mortified her, and his wilful and fre- quent absence showed how little he cared for her. Would you blame the dear girl for coldness to a man who himself showed such indifference to her ? " No, my good Mrs. Candor. Had Mr. Firmin been ten times as rich as Mr. Woolcomb, I should have counselled my child to refuse him. / take the responsibility of the meas- ure entirely on myself, — I, and her father, and her brother." So Mrs. Twysden afterwards spoke, in circles where an absurd and odious rumor ran, that the Twysdens had forced their daughter to jilt young Mr. Fir- min in order to marry a wealthy quadroon. People will talk, you know, de me, de te. If Wooleomb's dinners had not gone off so after his marriage, I have little doubt the scandal would have died away, and he and his wife might have been pretty generally respected and visited. Nor must you suppose, as we have said, that dear Agnes gave up her first love without a pang. That bronchitis showed how acutely the poor thing felt her position. It broke out very soon after Mr. Wooleomb's attentions became a little particular ; THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 175 and she actually left London in con- sequence. It is true that he could follow her without difficulty, but so, for the matter of that, could Philip, as we have seen when he came down and behaved so rudely to Captain Woolcomb. And before Philip came, poor Agnes could plead, " My father pressed me sair," as in the case of the notorious Mrs. Kobin Gray. Father and mother both pressed her sair. Mrs. Twysden, I think I have mentioned, wrote an admirable letter, and was aware of her accom- plishment. She used to write reams of gossip regularly every week to dear uncle Ringwood when he was in the country : and when her daughter Blanche married, she is said to have written several of her new son's ser- mons. As a Christian mother, was she not to give her daughter her ad- vice at this momentous period of her life ? That advice went against poor Philip's chances with his cousin, who was kept acquainted with all the cir- cumstances of the controversy of which we have just seen the issue. I do not mean to say that Mrs. Twysden gave an impartial statement of the case. What parties in a lawsuit do speak impartially on their own side or their adversaries' ■? Mrs. Twys- den's view, as I have learned subse- quently, and as imparted to her daughter, was this : — That most un- principled man. Dr. Firmin. who had already attempted, and unjustly, to deprive the Twysdens of a part of their property, had commenced in quite early life his career of outrage and wickedness against the Ring- wood family. He had led dear Lord Ringwood's son, poor dear Lord Cinqbars, into a career of vice and extravagance which caused the pre- mature death of that unfortunate young nobleman. Mr. Firmin had then made a marriage, in spite of the tears and entreaties of Mrs. Twj'sden, with her late imhappy sister, whose whole life had been made wretched by the Doctor's conduct. But the climax ef outrage and wickedness was, that when he — he, a low, penniless ad- venturer — married Colonel Ring- wood's daughter, he was man-ied al- ready, as could be sworn by the re- pentant clergyman who had been forced, by threats of punishment which Dr. Firmin held over him, to perform the rite ? " The mind " — Mrs. Talbot Twysden's fine mind — '' shuddered at the thought of such wickedness." But most of all (for to think ill of any one whom she had once loved gave her pain) there was reason to believe that the unhappy Philip Firmin was his father's accom- plice, and that he knew of his own illegitimacu, which he was determined to set aside by a.ny fraud or artifice — (she trembled, she wept to have to say this : O Heaven ! that there should be such perversity in thy creatures !) And so little store did Pliilip set by his mother's honor, that he actually visited the abandoned woman who acquiesced in her own infamy, and had brought such unspeakable dis- grace on the Ringwood family ! The thought of this crime had caused Mrs. Twysden and her dear husband nights of sleepless anguish, — had made them years and years older, — had stricken their hearts with a giief which must endure to the end of their days. With people so unscrupulous, so grasping, so artful as Dr. Firmin and (must she say f) his son, they were bound to be on their guard; and though they had avoided Philip, she had deemed it right, on the rare occa- sions when she and the young man whom she must now call her illegiti- mate nephew met, to behave as though she knew nothing of this most dreadful controversy. "And now, dearest child" . . . Surely the moral is obvious. The dearest child " must see at once that any foolish plans which were formed in childish days and under _/brr/icr de- lusions must be cast aside forever as impossible, as unworthy of a Twys- den — of a Ringwood. Be not con- cerned for the young man himself," wrote Mrs. Twysden, — "I blush 176 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. that he should bear that deaf father's name who was slain in honor on Busaco's glorious field. P. F has associates amongst whom he has ever been much more at home than in our refined circle, and habits which will cause him to forget you only too easily. And if near you is one whose ardor shows itself in his every word and action, whose wealth and proper- ty may raise you to a place worthy of my child, need I say, a mother's, a father's blessing go with you." This letter was brought to Miss Twysden, at Brighton, by a special messenger; and the superscription announced that it was "honored by Captain Grenville Wooleomb." Now when Miss Agnes has had a letter to this effect (I may at some time tell you how I came to be ac- quainted with its contents) ; when she remembers all the abuse her brother lavishes against Philip as. Heaven bless some of them! dear relatives can best do : when she thinks how cold he has of late been, — how he will come smelling of cigars, — how he won't conform to the usages du monde, and has neglected all the decencies of society, — how she often can't understand his strange rhapso- dies about poetry, painting, and the like, nor how he can live with such associates as those who seem to de- light him, — and now how he is show- ing himself actnally unprincipled and abetting his horrid father; when we consider mither pressing sair, and all these points in mither's favor, I don't think we can order Agnes to instant execution for the resolution to which she is coming. She will give him up — she will give him up Good by, Pliilip. Good by, ihe past. Be for- gotten, be forgotten, fond words spok- en in not unwilling ears ! Be still and breathe not, eager lips, that have trembled so near to one another! Unlock, hands, and part forever, that seemed to be formed for life's long journey ! Ah, to part forever is hard ; but harder and more humil- iating still to part without regret ! That papa and mamma had influ. eneed Miss Twysden in her behavior my wife and I could easily imagine, when Philip, in his wrath and grief, came to us and poured out the feel- ings of his heart. My wife is a re- positary of men's secrets, an un- tiring consoler and comforter; and she knows many a sad story which we are not at liberty to tell, like this one of which this person, Mr. Fir- min, has given us possession. "Fat'ner and mother's orders," shouts Philip, " I flare say, Mrs. Pen- dennis; but the wish was father to the thought of parting, and it was for the blackamoor's parks and acres that the girl jilted me. Look here. I told you just now that I slept per- fcctlj' well on that infernal night after I had said farewell to her. Well, I didn't. It was a lie. I walked evei so many times the whole length of the cliff, from Hove to Kottingdean almost, and then went to bed after- wards, and slept a little out of sheer fatigue. And as I was passing by Horizontal Terrace ( — I happened to pass by there two or three times in the moonlight, like a great jackass — ) you know those verses of mine which I have hummed here some- times ■?" (hummed! he used to roar them!) "'When the locks of bur- nished gold, lady, shall to silver turn ! ' Never mind the rest. You know the verses about fidelity and old age? She was singing them on that night, to that negro. And I heard the beg- gar's voice say, ' Bravo ! ' through the open windows." "Ah, Philip! it was cruel," says my wife, heartily pitying our friend's anguish and misfortune. " It was cruel indeed. I am sure we can feel for you. But think what certain misery a marriage with such a per- son would have been ! Think of your warm heart given away forever to that heartless creature." " Laura, Laura, have you not often warned me not to speak ill of people ? " says Laura's husband. " I can't help it sometimes,'' cries THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 177 Laura in a transport. " I try and do my best not to speak ill of my neigh- bors ; but the worldlincss of those peo- ple shocks me so that I can't boar to be near them. They are so utterly tied and bound by conventionalities, so perfectly con vinced of their own exces- sive high-breeding, that they seem to me more odious and more vulgar than quite low people ; and I 'm sure Mr. Philip's friend, the Little Sister, is in- finitely more ladylike than his dreary aunt or either of his supercilious cous- ins ! " Upon my word, when tliis lady did speak her mind, there was no mis- taking her meaning. I believe Mr. Firmin took a consid- erable number of people into his con- fidence regarding this love-affair. He is one of those individuals who can't keep their secrets ; and when hurt he roars so loudly that all his friends can hear. It has been remarked that the sorrows of such persons do not endure very long ; nor surely was there any great need in this instance that Phil- ip's heart should wear a lengthened mourning. Erelong he smoked his pipes, he played his billiards, he shout- ed his songs ; he rode in the Park for the pleasure of severely cutting his aunt and cousins when their open car- riage passed, or of riding down Cap- tain Woolcomb or his cousin Ring- wood, should either of those worthies come in his way. One day, when the old Lord King- wood came to town for his accustomed spring visit, Philip condescended to wait upon him, and was announced to hisLordship just as Talbot Twys- den and Ringwood his son were tak- ing leave of their noble kinsman. Philip looked at them with a flashing eye and a distended nostril, according to his swaggering wont. I dare say they on their part bore a very mean and hangdog appearance; for my Lord laughed at their discomfiture, and seemed immensely amused as they slunk out of the door when Philip came hectoring in. " So, sir, there has been a family row. Heard all about it : at least, their side. Your father did me the favor to marry my niece, having another wife already ? " " Having no other wife already, sir, — though my dear relations were anx- ious to show that he had." " Wanted yonr money ; thirty thou- sand pound is not a trifle. Ten thou- sand apiece for those children. And no more need of any confounded pinching and scraping, as they have to do at Beaunash Street. Affair off between you and Agnes ? Absurd af- fair. So much the better." " Tcs, sii', so much the better." " Have ten thousand apiece. Would have twenty thousand if they got yours. Quite natural to want it." " Quite." " Woolcomb a sort of negro, I un- derstand. Fine property here; be- sides the West India rubbish. Violent man, — so people tell me. Luckily Agnes seems a cool, easy-going wo- man, and must put up with the rough as well as the smooth in marrying a property like that. Very lucky for yon that that woman persists there was no marriage with your father. Twysden says the Doctor bribed her. Take it he's not got much money to bribe, unless you gave some of yours." " I don't bribe people to bear false witness, my Lord, — and if — " " Don't be in a huff; I did n't say so. Twysden says so, — perhaps thinks so. When people are at law they believe anything of one another." "I don't know what other people may do, sir. If I had another man's money, I shotdd not be easy until I had paid him back. Had iuy share of my grandfather's property not been lawfully mine, — and for a few hours I thought it was not, — please God, I would have given it up to its rightful owners, — at least, my father would." " Why, hang it all, man, you don't mean to say your father has not set- tled with you t " Philip blushed a little. He had been rather surprised that there had been no settlement between him aiui his fathpr. 178 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " I am only of age a few months, sir. I am not under any apprehen- sion. I get my dividends regularly enough. One of my grandfather's trustees, General Baynes, is in India. He is to return almost immediately, or we should have sent a power of at- torney out to him. There 's no hurry about the business." Philip's maternal grandfather, and Lord Hingwood's brother, the late Colonel Philip Ringwood, had died possessed of but trifling property of his own ; but his wife had brought him a fortune of sixty thousand pounds, which was settled on their children, and in the names of trustees, — Mr. Briggs, a lawyer, and Colonel Baynes, an East India officer, and friend of Mrs. Philip Ringwood's family. Colonel Baynes had been in England some eight years before ; and Philip rcmembei'ed a kind old gentleman coming to see him at school, and leaving tokens of his bounty behind. The other trustee, Mr. Briggs, a lawyer of considerable county reputation, was dead long since, having left his affairs in an in- volved condition. During the trus- tee's absence and the son's minority, Philip's father received the dividends on his son's property, and liberally spent them on the boy. Indeed, I be- lieve that for some littletime at college, and during his first journeys abroad, Mr. Philip spent rather more than the income of his maternal inher- itance, being freely supplied by his father, who told him not to stint him- self He was a sumptuous man. Dr. Firmin, — open-handed, — subscrib- ing to many charities, — a lover of solemn good cheer. The Doctor's dinners and the Doctor's equipages were models in their way ; and I re- member the sincere respect with which my uncle the Major (the family guide in such matters) used to speak of Dr. Kirmin's taste. " No duchess in Lon- don, sir," he would say, " drove bet^ ter horses than Mrs. Firmin. Sir George Warrender, sir, could not give a better dinner, sir, than that to which we sat down yesterday." And for the exorcise of these civic virtues the Doctor had the hearty respect of the good Major. " Don't tell me, sir," on the other hand. Lord Ringwood would say ; " I dined with the fellow once, — a swaggering fellow, sir ; but a servile fellow. The way he bowed and flat- tered was perfectly absurd. Those fellows think we like it, — and we may. Even at my age, I like flat- tery, — any quantity of it ; and not what you call delicate, but strong, sir. I like a man to kneel down and kiss my shoestrings. I have my own opinion of him afterwards, but that is what I like, — what all men hke ; and that is what Firmin gave in quantities. But you could see that his house was monstrously ex- pensive. His dinner was excellent, and you saw it was good every day, — not like your dinners, my good Maria ; not like your wines, Twys- den, which, hang It, I can't swallow, imless I send 'em in myself. Even at my own house, I don't give tbat kind of wine on common occasions which Firmin used to give. I drink the best myself, of course, and give it to some who know ; but I don't give it to common fellows, who come to hunting-dinners, or to girls and boys who are dancing at my balls." " Yes ; Mr. Firmin s dinners were very handsome, — and a pretty end came of the handsome dinners ! " sighed Mrs. Twysden. " That 's not the question ; I am only speaking about the fellow's meat and drink, and they were both good. And it 's my opinion, that fellow will have a good dinner wherever he goes." I had the fortune to be present at one of these feasts, which Lord Ring- wood attended, and at which I met Philip's trustee. General Baynes, who had just arrived from India. I re- member now the smallest details of the little dinner, — the brightness of the old plate, on which the Doctor prided himself, and the quiet comfort, THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP, 179 not to Bay splendor, of the entertain- ment. The General seemed to take a great liking to Philip, whose grand- father had been his special friend and comrade in arms. He thought he saw something of Philip Riugwood in Philip Firmin's face. " Ah, indeed ! " growls Lord Ring- wood. " You ain't a bit like him," says the downright General. " Never saw a handsomer or more open-looking fellow than Philip Uingwood." " Oh ! I dare say I looked pretty open myself forty years ago," said my Lord ; " now I 'm shut, I suppose. I don't see the least likeness in this young man to my brother." " That is some sherry as old as the century," whispers the host; "it is the same the Prince Regent liked so at a Mansion House dinner, five-and- twenty years ago." " Never knew anything about wine; was always tippling liquors and punch. What do you give for this "iherry. Doctor ? " The Doctor sighed, and looked up to the chandelier. "Drink it while it lasts, my good lord ; but don't ask aie the price. The fact is, I don't like to say what I gave for it." " You need not stint yourself in the price of sherry, Doctor," cries the General gayly; "you have but one son, and he has a fortune of his own, as I happen to know. You have n't dipped it. Master Philip ? " " I fear, sir, I may have exceeded my income sometimes, in the last three years ; but my father has helped me." " Exceeded nine hundred a, year ! Upon my word ! When I was a sub, my friends gave me fifty pounds a year, and I never was a shilling in debt! What are men coming to now ? " " If doctors drink Prince Regent's sherry at ten guineas a dozen, what can you expect of their sons. General Baynes 1 " grumbles my Lord. " My father gives you his best, my Lord,' says Philip, gayly; "if you know of any better, he will get it for you. Si non his utere mecum I Please to pass mo that decanter, Pen ! " 1 thought the old lord did not seem ill pleased at the young man's free- dom ; and now, as I recall it, think I can remember that a peculiar silence and anxiety seemed to weigh upon our host, — upon him whose face was commonly so anxious and sad. The famous sherry, which had made many voyages to Indian climes before it acquired its exquisite flavor, had travelled some three or four times round the Doctor's polished table, when Brice, his man, entered with a letter on his silver tray. Perhaps Philip's eyes and mine exchanged glances in which ever so small a scin- tilla of mischief might sparkle. The Doctor often had letters when he was entertaining his friends ; and his pa- tients had a knack of falling ill at awkward times. " Gracious Heavens ! " cries the Doctor, when he read the despatch — it was a telegraphic message. " The poor Grand Duke ! " "What Grand Duke?" asks the surly lord of Ringwood. " My earliest patron and friend, — the Grand Duke of Grbningen ! Seized this morning at eleven at Pot- zendorfF I Has sent for me. I prom- ised to go to him if ever he had need of me. I must go ! I can save the night-traiu yet. General! our visit to the City must be deferred till my return. Get a portmanteau, Brice; and call a cab at once. Philip will entertain my friends for the evening. My dear lord, you won't mind an old doctor leaving you to attend an old patient f I will write from Gron- ingen. I shall be there on Friday morn- ing. Farewell, gentlemen ! Brice, an- other bottle of that sherry ! I pray, don't let anybody stir ! God bless you, Philip, my "boy ! " And with this the Doctor went up, took his son by the hand, and laid the other very kindly on the young man's shoulder. Then ho made a bow round the table to his guests, — one of his graceful 180 THE ADVENTUEES OE PHILIP. bows, for which he was famous. I can see the sad smile on his face now, and the light from the chandelier over the dining-table glancing from his shining forehead, and casting deep shadows on to his cheek froin his heavy brows. The departure was a little abrupt, and, of course, cast somewhat of a gloom upon the company. " My carriage ain't ordered till ten, — must go on sitting here, I suppose. Confounded life doctor's must be ! Called up any hour in the night! Get their fees ! Must go ! " growled the great man of the party. "People are glad enough to have them when they are ill, my Lord. I think I have heard that once when you were at Ryde ..." The great man started back as if a little shock of cold water had fallen on him ; and then looked at Philip with not unfriendly glances. " Treat- ed for gout, — so he did. Very well, too ! " said my Lord ; and whis- pered, not inaudibly, " Cool hand, that boy." And then his Lordship fell to talk with General Baynes about bis campaigning and his early ac- quaintance with his own brother, Philip's grandfather. The General did not care to brag about his own feats of arms, but was loud in the praises of his old comrade. Philip was pleased to hear his grand- sire so well spoken of. The General had known Dr. Firmin's father also, who likewise had been a colonel in the famous old Peninsular army. " A Tartar that fellow was, and no mis- take ! " said the good officer. " Your father has a strong look of him ; and you have a glance of him at times. But you remind me of Philip King- wood not a little ; and you could not belong to a better man.'"' " Ha ! " says my Lord. There had been differences between him and his brother. He may have been think- ing of days when they were friends. Lord Eingwood now graciously asked if General Baynes was staying in London ■? But the General had only come to do this piece of business, which must now be delayed. Ho was too poor to live in London. He must look out for a country place, where he and his six children could live cheaply. " Three boys at school, and one at college, Mr. Philip, — you know what that must cost ; though, thank my stars, my college boy does not spend nine hundred a year. Nine hundred ! Where should we be if he did ? " In fact, the days of nabobs are long over, and the General had come back to his native country with only very small means for the sup- port of a great family. When my Lord's carriage came, he departed, and the other guests pres- ently took their leave. The General, who was a bachelor for the nonce, remained awhile, and we three prat- tled over cheroots in Philip's smok- ing-room. It was a night like a hun- dred I have spent there, and yet how well! remember it ! We talked about Philip's future prospects, and he communicated his intentions to us in his lordly way. As for practising at the bar : " No, sir," ho said, in reply to General Baynes's queries, "he should not make much hand of that ; should n't if he were ever so poor. He had his own money, and his fa- ther's " ; and he condescended to say that " he might, perhaps, try for Par- liament should an eligible opportu- nity offer." " Here 's a fellow born with a silver spoon in his mouth," says the General, as we walked away together. " A fortune to begin with ; a fortune to inherit. My fortune was two thousand pounds, and the price of my two first . commissions ; and when I die my children will not be quite so well off as their father was when he began ! " Having parted with the old officer at his modest sleeping-(iuarters near bis club, I walked to my own home, little thinking that yonder cigar, of which I had shaken some of the ashes in Philip's smoking-room, was to be the last tobacco I ever should smoke there. The pipe was smoked out- THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 181 The wine was drank. When that door closed on me, it closed for the last time, — at least was never more to ad- mit me as Philip's, as Ur. Krmin's, guest and friend. I pass the place often now. My youth comes back to me as I gaze at those blank, shining windows. I see myself a boy and Philip a child; and' his fair mother; and his father, the hospitable, the melancholy, the magnificent. I wish I could have helped him. X wish somehow he had borrowed money. He never did. He gave me his often. I have never seen him since that night when his own door closed upon him. On thesecond day after the Doctor's departure, as I was at breakfast with my family, I received the following letter : — " My deae 1'endennis, — Could I have seen you in private on Tues- day night, I might have warned you of the calamity which was hanging over my house. But to what good end ? 'That you should know a few weeks, hours, before what all the world will ring with to-morrow? Neither you nor I, nor one whom we both love, would have been the hap- pier for knowing my misfortunes a few hours sooner. In four-and-twen- ty hours every club in London will be busy with talk of the departure of the celebrated Dr. rirmin, — the wealthy Dr. Firmin ; a few months more and (I have strict and confidential reason to believe) hereditary rank would have been mine, but Sir George Fir- min would have been an insolvent man, and his son Sir Philip a bcg- gai-. Perhaps the thought of this honor has been one of the reasons which has determined me on expatri- ating myself sooner than I otherwise needed to have done. " George Fiimin, the honored, the wealthy physician, and his son a beg- gar? I see you are startled at the news ! You wonder how, with a great practice, and no great ostensible expenses, such ruin should have come upon me — upon him. It has seemed as if for years past Fate has been de- termined to make war upon George Brand Firmin ; and who can battle against Fate? A man universally admitted to be of good judgment, I have embarked in mercantile specula- tions the most promising. Every- thing upon which I laid my hand has crumbled to ruin ; but I can say with the Boman bard, ' Impamdum ferient ruincB.' And, almost penniless, al- most aged, an exile driven from my country, I seek another where I do not despair, — I even have a firm beliej that I shall be enabled to repair my shattered fortunes! My race has never been deficient in courage, and Philip and Philip's fiither must use all theirs, so as to be enabled to face the dark times which menace them. Si celeres guatit pennas Fortuna, we must resign what she gave us, and bear our calamity with unshaken hearts ! " There is a man, I own to you, whom I cannot, I must not face. General Baynes has just come from India, with but very small savings, I fear ; and these are jeopardized by his imprudence and my most cruel and unexpected misfortune. I need not tell you that my all would have been my boy's. My will, made long since, will be found in the tortoise-shell sec- retaire standing in my consulting- room under the picture of Abraham offering up Isaac. In it you will sec that everything, except annuities to old and deserving servants and a leg- acy to one excellent and faithful wo- man whom I own I have wronged, — my all, which once was considerable, is left to my boy. " I am now worth less than noth- ing, and have compromised Philip's property along witli my own. As a man of business. General Baynes, Colonel Ring\vood's old companion in arms, was culpably careless, and I — alas ! that I must own it — de- ceived him. Being the only surviv- ing trastee (Mrs. Philip Eingwood's other trustee was an unprincipled at- torney who has been long dead), Gen- 182 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. eral B. signed a paper authorizing, as he imagined, my bankers to receive Philip's dividends, but, in fact, giv- ing me the power to dispose of the capital sum. On my honor, as a man, as a gentleman, as a father, Pendennis, I hoped to replace it ! I took it ; I embarked it in sneculations in which it sank down with ten times the amount of my own private prop- erty. Half-year after half-year, with straitened means and with the greatest difficult!/ *" ^H^df) ™y poor boy has had his dividend ; and «c at least has never known what was want or anx- iety until now. Want? Anxiety? Pray Heaven he never may suffer the sleepless anguish, the racking care which has pursued me ! ' Posteguitem sedet atra cara' our favorite poet says. Ah ! how truly, too, does he remark, 'Patrice quis exul se quoque Jugitf Think you where I go grief and re- morse will not follow me? They will never leave me until I shall re- turn to this country, — for that I shall return, my heart tells me, — until I can reimburse General Baynes, who stands indebted to Philip through his incautiousness and my overpowering necessity ; and my heart — an ening but fond _^Aer's heart — tells me that my boy will not eventually lose a penny by my misfortune. " I own, between ourselves, that this illness of the Grand Duke of Groningen was a pretext which I put forward. You will hear of me ere- long from the place whither for some time past I have determined on bend- ing my steps. I placed ^ 100 on Sat- urday, to Philip's credit, at his bank- er's. I take little more than that sum with me ; depressed, yet fall of hope ; having done wrong, yet deter- mined to retrieve it, and vowing that ere I die my poor boy shall not have to blush at bearing the name of " Geokge Brand Firmin. " Good by, dear Philip ! Your old ft-iend will tell you of my misfoi-tunes. When I write again, it will be to tell you where to address me ; and wher- ever I am, or whatever misfortunes oppress me, think of me always as your fond " Father.'' I had scarce read this awful letter when Philip Firmin himself came into our breakfast-room looking very much disturbed. CHAPTER XV. SAMAEITANS. The children trotted up to their friend with outstretched hands and their usual smiles of welcome. Phil- ip patted their heads, and sat down with very woe-begone aspect at the family table. " Ah, friends," said he, " do you know all ? " " Yes, we do," said Laura, sadly, who has ever compassion for others' misfortunes. " What ! is it all over the town already ? " asked poor Philip. " We have a letter from your father this morning." And we brought the letter to him, and showed him the affectionate special message for himself. " His last thought was for yon, Philip ! " cries Laura. " See here, those last kind words ! " Philip shook his head. " It is not untrue, what is written here : but it is not all the truth." And Philip Firmin dismayed us by the intelli- gence which he proceeded to give. There was an execution in the house in Old Parr Street. A hundred clamorous creditors had already ap- peared there. Before going away, the Doctor had taken considerable sums from those dangerous financiers to whom he had been of late resorting. They were in possession of number- less lately signed bills, upon which the desperate man had raised money, He had professed to share with Philip, but he had taken the great share, and left Philip two hundred pounds of his own money. All the rest was gone. All Philip's stock had been sold out THE ADVENTUUES OF PHILIP. 183 The father's fraud had made him master of the trustee's signature: and Philip Firmin, reputed to be so wealthy, was a beggar, in my room. Luckily he had few, or very trifling, debts. Mr. Philip hod a lordly im- patience of indebtedness, and, with a good bachelor income, had paid for all his pleasures as he enjoyed them. Well ! He must work. A young man ruined at two-and-twenty, with a couple of hundred pounds yet in his pocket, hardly knows that he is ruin- ed. He will sell his horses, — live in chambers, — has enough to go on for a year. " When I am very hard put to it," says Philip, " I will come and dine with the children at one. I dare say you have n't dined much at Williams's in the Old Bailey ? You can get a famous dinner there for a shilling, — beef, bread, potatoes, beer, and a penny for the waiter." Yes, Philip seemed actually to enjoy his discomfiture. It was long since we had seen him in such spirits. " The weight is off my mind now. It has been throttling me for some time past. Without understanding why or wherefore, I have always been look- ing out for this. My poor father had ruin written in his face : and when those bailiffs made their appearance in Old Parr Street yesterday, 1 felt as if I had known them before. I had seen their hooked beaks in my dreams." •' That unlucky General Baynes, when he accepted your mother's trust, took it with its consequences. If the sentry falls asleep on his post, ho must pay the penalty," says Mr. Pen- dennis, very severely. " Great powers, you would not have me come down on an old man with a large family, and ruin them all ? " cries Philip. " No : I don't think Philip will do that," says my wife, looking exceed- ingly pleased. "If men accept tnists they must fulfil them, my dear," cries the master of the house. "And I must make that old gen- tleman suffer for my father's wrong t If I do, may I starve ! there ! " cries Philip. " And so that poor Little Sister has made her sacrifice in vain ! " sighed my wife. "As for the father — O Arthur ! 1 can't tell you how odious that man was to me. There wag something dreadful about him. And in his manner to women — oh ! — " " If he had been a black draught, my dear, you could not have shud- dered more naturally." " Well, he was horrible ; and I know Philip will be better now he is gone." Women often make light of ruin. Give them but the beloved objects, and poverty is a trifling sorrow to bear. As tor Pliilip, he, as we have said, is gayer than he has been &r years past. The Doctor's flight oc- casions not a little club talk: but, now he is gone, many people see quite well that they were aware of hii in- solvency, and always knew it must end so. The case is told, is canvassed, is exaggerated as such cases will be. I dare say it forms a week's talk. But people know that poor Philip is his father's largest creditor, and eye the young man with no unfriendly looks when he comes to his club after his mishap, — with burning cheeks, and a tingling sense of shame, imagining that all the world will point at and avoid him as the guilty fugitive's son. No: the world takes very little heed of his misfortune. One or two old acquaintances are kinder to him than before. A few say his ruin, and his obligation to work, will do him good. Only a very very few avoid him, and look unconscious as ho passes them by. Amongst these cold countenances, you, of course, will rec- ognize the faces of the whole Twys- den family. Three statues, with marble eyes, could not look more stony-calm than Aunt Twysdcn and her two daughters, as they pass in Iho stately barouche. The gentlemen turn red when they see Philip. It is rather late times for Uncle Twysden to begin blushing, to be sure. " Hang 184 THE ADVENT UEES OF PHILIP. the fuUow ! he will, of course, be coming for money. Dawkins, I am not at home, mind, when young Mr. Firmin calls." So says Lord King- wood, regarding Philip fallen among thieves. Ah, thanks to Heaven, travellers find Samaritans as well as Levites on life's hard way ! Philip told us with much humor of a rencon- tre which he had had with his cousin, Eingwood Twysden, in a public jjlace. Twysden was enjoying hini- self with some young clerks of his office; but as Philip advanced upon him, assuming his fiercest scowl and most hectoring manner, the other lost heart, and fled. And no wonder. "Do you suppose," says Twysden, " I will willingly sit in the same room with that cad, after the manner in which he has treated my family ! No, sir ! " And so the tall door in Beaunash Street is to open for Philip Firmin no more. The tall door in Beaunash Street flies open readily enough for another gentleman. A splendid cab-horse reins up before it every day. A pair of varnished boots leap out of the cab, and spring up the broad stairs, where somebody is waiting with a smile of genteel welcome, — the same smile, — on the same sofa, — the same m imma at her table writing her let- tcr.i. And beautiful bouquets from Covent Garden decorate the room. And after half an hour mamma goes out to speak to the housekeeper, vous comprenez. And there is nothing par- ticularly new under the sun. It will shine to-morrow upon pretty much the same flowers, sports, pastimes, &c., which it illuminated yesterd.iy. And when your love-making days are over, miss, and you are married, and advantageously established, shall not your little sisters, now in the nursery, trot down and play their little games ? Would you, on your conscience, now, — you who are rather inclined to consider Miss Agnes Twysden's conduct as heartless, — would you, I say, have her cry her pretty eyes out about a young man who does not care much for her, for whom she never did care much her- self, and who is now, moreover, a beggar, with a ruined and disgraced father and a doubtful legitimacy ? Absurd! That dear girl is like a beautiful fragrant bower-room at the " Star and Garter " at Richmond, with honeysuckles mayhap trailing round the windows, from which you behold one of the most lovely and pleasant of wood and river scenes. The tables are decorated with flow- ers, rich wine-cnps sparkle on the board, and Captain Jones's party have everything they can desire. Their dinner over, and that company gone, the same waiters, the same flowers, the same cups and crystals, an-ay themselves for Mr. Brown and his party. Or, if you won't have Agnes Twysden compared to the " Star and Garter Tavern," which must admit mixed company, liken her to the chaste moon who shines on shepherds of all complexions, swarthy or fair. When oppressed by superior odds, a commander is forced to retreat, we like him to show his skill by carry- ing off his guns, treasure, and camp equipages. Doctor Firmin, beaten by fortune and compelled to fly, showed quite a splendid skill and coolness In his manner of decamping, and left the very smallest amount of spoils in the hands of the victorious enemy. His wines had been famous amongst the grave epicures with whom he dined : he used to boast, like a worthy hon vivant who knows the value of wine-conversation after dinner, of the quantities which he possessed, and the rare bins which he had in store ; but when the execu- tioners came to arrange his sale, there w.os found only a beggarly account of empty bottles, and I fear some of the unprincipled creditors put in a great quantity of bad liquor which they endeavored to foist off' on tlie public as the genuine and carefully selected stock of a well-known con- noisseur. News of this dishonest pro- ceeding reached Dr. Firmin presently ' Good Samarita^is.''' THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 185 in his retreat ; and he showed by his letter a generous and manly indigna- tion at the manner in which his cred- itors had tampered with his honest name and reputation as a bon vivant. He have bad wine! For shame! He had the best from the best wine- merchant, and paid, or rather owed, the best prices for it; for of late years the Doctor had paid no bills at all : and the wine-merchant appeared in quite a handsome group of figures in his schedule. In like manner his books were pawned to a book- auctioneer; and Brico, the butler, had a bill of sale for the furniture. Firmin re- treated, we will not say with the hon- ors of war, but as little harmed as possible by defeat. Did the enemy want the plunder of his city? He had smuggled almost all his valuable goods over the wall. Did they desire his ships ? He had sunk them : and when at length the conquerors poured into his stronghold, he was far be- yond the reach of their shot. Don't we often hear still that Nana Sahib is alive and exceedingly comfortable ? We do not love him; but we can't help having a kind of admiration for that slippery fugitive who has escaped from the dreadful jaws of the lion. In a word, when Firmin's furniture came to be sold, it was a ma\Tel how little his creditors benefited by the sale. Contemptuous brokers de- clared there never was such a shab- by lot of goods. A friend of the house and poor Philip bought in his mother's picture for a few guineas; and as for the Doctor's own state por- trait, I am afraid it went for a few shillings only, and in the midst of a roar of Hebrew laughter. I saw in Wardour Street, not long after, the doctor's sideboard, and what dealers cheerfully call the sarcophagus cel- laret! Poor Doctor! his wine was all drunken ; his meat was eaten up ; but his own body had slipped out of the reach of the hook-beaked birds of prey. We had spoken rapidly in under- tones, innocently believing that the young people round about us were tak- ing no heed of our talk. But in a lull of the conversation, Mr. Pendennis junior, who had always been a friend to Philip, broke out with, — " Philip ! if you are so very poor, you'll be hun- gry, yon know, and you may have my piece of bi-ead and jam. And I don't want it, mamma," he added; "and you know Philip has often and often given me things." Philip stooped down and kissed this good little Samaritan. "I'm not hungry, Arty my boy," he said ; "and I 'm not so poor but I have got — look here — a fine new shilling for Arty!" "0 Philip, Philip!" cried mam- ma. "Don't take the money, Arthur," cried papa. And the boj', with a rueful face but a manly heart, prepared to give back the coin. "It's quite a new one; and it 's a very pretty one : but I won't have it, Philip, thank yon," he said, turning very red. "If he won't, I vow I will give it to the cabman," said Philip. "Keeping a cab all this while? O Philip, Philip ! " again cries mam- ma the economist. ' ' Loss of time is loss of money, my dear lady," says Philip, very gravely. " I have ever so many places to go to. When I am set in for being ruined, you shall see what a screw I will be- come ! I must go to Mrs. Brandon, who will be very uneasy, poor dear, until she knows the worst." "O Philip, I should like so to go with you!" cries Laura. "Pray, give her our very best regards and respects. " "Merci!" said the young man, and squeezed Mrs. Pendennis's hand in his own big one. "I will take your message to her, Laura. J'aime gu'on I'aime, savez-vous f" "That means, I love those whs love her," cries little Laura; "but, I don't know," remarked this little per- son afterwards to her paternal confi- dant, "that I like all people to love 186 THE ADVEKTUKES OF PHILIP. my mamma. That is, I don't like her to like them, papa, — only you may, papa, and Ethel may, and Ar- thur may, and, I think, Philip may, now ho is poor and quite, quite alone, — and we will take care of him, won't we? And, I tliinlc, I'll buy him something with my money which Aunt Ethel gave me." " And I '11 give liim my money," cries a boy. "And I '11 div him my — my — " Psha ! what matters what the little sweet lips prattled in their artless kindness ? But the soft words of love and pity smote the mother's heart ■with an exquisite pang of gratitude and joy ; and I know where her thanks were paid for those tender words and thoughts of her little ones. Mrs. Pendennis made Philip prom- ise to come to dinner, and also to re- member not to take a cab, — which promise Mr. Firmin had not much difficulty in executing, for he had but a few hundred yards to walk across the Park from his club ; and I must say that my wife took a special care of our dinner that day, preparing for Philip certain dishes which she knew he liked, and enjoining the butler of the establishment (who also happened to be the owner of the house) to fetch from his cellar the very choicest wine in his possession. I liavo previously described our friend and his boisterous, impetuous, generous nature. When Philip was moved, he called to all the world to witness his emotion. When he w.is angry, his enemies were all the rogues and scoundrels in the world. He vowed he would hare no mercy on them, and desired all his acquaintances to participate in his anger. How could such an open - mouthed son have had such a close-spoken father 7 I dare say you have seen very well- bred young people, the children of vulgar and ill-bred parents ; the swag- gering father have a silent son; the loud mother a modest daughter. Our friend is not Amadis or gir Charles Grandison ; and I don't set him up for a moment as a person to be revered or imitated; but try to draw him faithfully, and as nature made him. As nature made him, so he was. I don't think he tried to improve him- self much. Perhaps few people do. They suppose they do; and you read, in apologetic memoirs, and fond biographies, how this man cured his bad temper, and t'other worked and strove until he grew to be almost faultless. Very well and good, my good people. You can learn a lan- guage ; you can master a science ; I have heard of an old square-toes of sixty who learned, by study and in- tense application, very satisfactorily to dance; but can you, by taking thought, add to your moral stature ? Ah mo ! the doctor who preaches is only taller than most of us by the height of the pulpit: and when he steps down, I dare say he cringes to the duchess, growls at his children, scolds his wife about the dinner. All is vanity, look you : and so the preacher is vanity, too. Well, then, I must again say that Philip roared his griefs : lie shouted his laughter: he bellowed his ap- plause ; he was extravagant in his humility as in his pride, in his ad- miration of his friends and contempt for his enemies : I dare say not a just man, but I have met juster men not half so honest ; and certainly not a faultless man, though I know better men not near so good. So, I believe, my wife thinks : else why should she bo so fond of him ? Did we not know boys who never went out of bounds, and never were late for school, and never made a false concord or quanti- ty, and never came under the ferule ; and others who were always playing truant, and blundering, and being whipped ; and yet, somehow, was not Master Naughtyboy better liked than Master Goodchild? When Master Naughtyboy came to dine with us on the first day of his ruin, he bore a face of radiant happiness, — he laughed, he bounced about, he ca- ressed the children ; now he took a THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 187 couple on his knees ; now he tossed the haby to the ceiling ; now he sprawled over a sofa, and now he rode upon a chair ; never was a penniless gentleman more cheerful. As for his dinner, Phil's appetite was always fine, but on this day an ogre could scarcely play a more terrible knife- and fork. He asked for more and more, until his entertainers wondered to behold him. " Dine for to-day and to-morrow too ; can't expect such fare a.9 this every day, you know. This claret, how good it is ! May I pack some up in paper, and take it home with me?" The children roared with laughter at this admiror ble idea of carrying home wine in a sheet of paper. I don't know that it is always at the best jokes that chil- dren laugh : — children and wise men too. When we three were by ourselves, and freed from the company of ser- vants and children, our friend told us the cause of his gayety. "By Greorge ! " he swore, " it is worth be- ing ruined to find such good people in the world. My dear, kind Lanra," — here the gentleman brushes his eyes with his fist, — " it was as much as I could do this morning to prevent my- self from hugging you in my arms, you were so generous, and — and so kind, and so tender, and so good, by George. And after leaving you, where do you think I went ? " " I think I can guess, Philip," says Laura. " Well," says Philip, winking his eyes again, and tossing off a great bumper of wine, " I went to her, of course. I think she is the best friend I have in the world. The old man was out, and I told her about every- thing that had happened. And what do you think she has done f She says she has been expecting me — she has ,- and she has gone and fitted up a room with a nice little bed at the top of the house, with everything as neat and trim as possible; and she begged and prayed I would go and stay with her, — and I said I would, 9 to please her. And then she takes me down to her room ; and she jumps up to a cupboard, which she unlocks ; and she opens and takes three-and- twenty pounds out of a — out of a tea — out of a tea-caddy, — confound me ! — and she says, ' Here, Philip,' she says, and — Boo ! what a fool I am!" and here the orator fairly broke down in his speech. CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH PHILIP SHOWS HIS METTLE. When the poor Little Sister prof- fered her mite, her all, to Philip, I dare say some sentimental passages occurred between them which are much too trivial to be narrated. No doubt her pleasure would have been at that moment to give him not only that gold which she had been saving up againstrrent-day, but the spoons, the furniture, and all the valuables of the house, inchiding, perhaps, J. J.'s bricabrac, cabinets, china, and so forth. To perform a kindness, an act of self-sacrifice ; — are not these the most delicious privileges of female tenderness f Philip checked his little friend's enthusiasm. He showed her a purse full of money, at which sight the poor little soul was rather dis- appointed. He magnified the value of his horses, which, according to Philip's calculation, were to bring him at least two hundred pounds more than the stock which he had al- ready in hand ; and the master of such a sum as this, she was forced to confess, had no need to despair. In- deed, she had never in her life pos- sessed the half of it. Her kind dear little offer of a home in her house he would accept sometimes, and with gratitude. Well, there was a little consolation in that. In a moment that active little housekeeper saw the room ready; flowers on the mantel- piece ; his looking-glass, which her fa- ther could do quite well with the little 188 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. one, as he was always shaved by the barber now ; the quilted counterpane, which she had herself made : — I know not what more improvements she devised; and I fear that at the idea of having Philip with her, this little thing was as extravagantly and unreasonably happy as we have just now seen Philip to be. What was that last dish wiiich Psetns and Arria shared in common 1 I have lost my Lempi-iere's dictionary (that treasury of my youth), and forget whether it was a cold dagger au naturd, or a dish of hot coals a la Romaine, of which they partook ; but, whatever it was, she smiled, and delightedly received it, happy to share the beloved one's fortune. "Yes : Philip would come home to hisLittle Sister sometimes : sometimes of a Saturday, and they would go to church on Sunday, as he used to do when he was a boy at school. " But then, you know," says Phil, " law is law; study is study. I must devote ray whole energies to my work, — get up very early." " Don't tire your eyes, my dear," intei-poses Mr. Philip's soft judicious friend. " There must be no trifling with work," says Philip, with awful gravity. " There 's Benton the Judge : Benton and Burbage, you know." " O, Benton and Burbage ! " whispers the Little Sister, not a little bewildered. " How do you suppose ho became a judge before forty ? " Before forty who t law bless me ! " " Before he was forty, Mrs. Carry. When he came to work, he had his own way to make : just like me. He had a small allowance from his father : that 's not like me. He took chambers in the Temple. He went to a pleader's office. He read fourteen, fifteen hours every day. He dined on a cup of tea and a mutton-chop." " La, bless me, child ! I would n't have you to do ihat, not to be Lord Chamberlain — Chancellor what 's his name 1 Destroy your youth with reading, and your eyes, and go with- out your dinner ? You 're not used to that sort of thing, dear ; and it would kill yon ! " Philip smoothed his fair hair off his ample forehead, and nodded his head, smiling sweetly. I think his ihward monitor hinted to him that there was not much danger of his killing himself by overwork. " To succeed at the law, as in all other professions," he continued, with much gravity, "re- quires the greatest perseverance, and industry, and talent ; and then, per- haps, you don't succeed. Many have failed who have had all these quali- ties." " But they have n't talents like my Philip, I know they have n't. And I had to stand up in a court once, and was cross-examined by a vulgar man before a horrid deaf old judge ; and I 'm sure if your lawyers are like them I don't wish you to succeed at all. And now, look ! there 's a nice loin of pork coming up. Pa loves roast pork ; and you must come and have some with us ; and every day and all days, my dear, I should like to see you seated there." And the Little Sister frisked about here, and bustled there, and brought a cunning bottle of wine from some comer, and made the boy welcome. So that, you see, far from starving, he actually had two dinners on that first day of his ruin. Caroline consented to a compromise regarding the money, on Philip's solemn vow and promise that she should be his banker whenever neces- sity called. She rather desired his poverty for the sake of its pi-ecious reward. She hid away a little bag of gold for her darling's use whenever he should need it. I dare say she pinched and had shabby dinners at homo, so as to save yet more, and so caused the captain to grumble. Why, for that boy's sake, I believe she would have been capable of shaving her lodgers' legs of mutton, and levy- ing a tax on their tea-caddies and baker's stuff. If you don't like un- principled attachments of this sort. THE ABVENTUEES OP PHILIP. 189 and only desire that your womankind should love you for yourself, and ac- cording to your deserts, I am your very humble servant. Hereditary bondswomen ! you know, that were yon free, and did you strike the blow, my dears, you were unhappy for your pain, and eagerly would claim your bonds again. What poet has uttered that sentiment ■? It is perfectly true, and I know will receive the cordial approbation of the dear ladies. Philip has decreed in his own mind that he will go and live in those chambers in the Temple where we have met him. Vanjohn, the sport- ing gentleman, had determined for special reasons to withdraw from law and sport in this country, and Mr. jFirmin took possession of his vacant sleeping-chamber. To famish a bach- elors bedroom need not be a matter of much cost; but Mr. Philip was too good-natured a fellow to haggle about the valuation of Vanjohn's bedsteads and chests of drawers, and generously took them at twice their value. He and Mr. Cassidy now divided the rooms in equal reign. Ah, happy rooms, bright rooms, rooms near the sky, to remember you is to be young again ! for I would have yon to know that when Philip went to take posses- sion of his share of the fourth floor in the Temple, his biographer was still comparatively juvenile, and in one or two very old-fashioned families was called " young Pendennis." So Philip Firmin dwelt in a garret ; and the fourth part of a laundress and the half of a boy now foi-med the do- mestic establishment of him who had been attended by housekeepers, but- lers, and obsequious liveried menials. To be freed from that ceremonial and etiquette of plush and worsted lace was an immense relief to Pirmin. His pipe need not lurk in crypts or back closets now : its fragrance breathed over the whole chambers, and rose up to the sky, their near neighbor. The first month or two after being rained, Philip vowed, was an uncom- monly pleasant time. He had still plenty of money in his pocket ; and the sense that, perhaps, it was impru- dent to take a cab or drink a bottle of wine, added a zest to those enjoy- ments which they by no means pos- sessed when they were easy and of daily occurrence. I am not certain that a dinner of beef and porter did not amuse our young man almost as well as banquets much more costly to which he had been accustomed. He laughed at the pretensions of his boyish days, when he and other solemn young epicures used to sit do^vn to elaborate tavern banquets, and pretend to criticise vintages, and sauces, and turtle. As yet there was not only con- tent with his dinner, but plenty there- with ; and I do not vrish to alarm you by supposing that Philip will ever have to encounter any dreadful extremities of poverty and hunger in the course of his history. The wine in the jug was verj' low at times, but it never was quite empty. This lamb was shorn, but the wind was tempered to him. So Philip took possession of his rooms in the Temple, and began act- ually to reside there just as the long vacation commenced, which he in- tended to devote to a course of seri- ous study of the law and private preparation, before he should venture on the great business of circuits and the bar. Nothing is more necessary for desk-men than exercise, so Philip took 9, good deal ; especially on the water, where he pulled a famous oar. Nothing is more natural after exer- cise than refreshment ; and Mr. Fir- min, now he was too poor for claret showed a great capacity for beer. After beer and bodily labor, rest, of course, is necessary ; and Firmin slept nine hours, and looked as rosy as a girl in her first season. Then such a man, with such a frame and health, must have a good appetite for breakfast. And then every man who wishes to succeed at the bar in the senate, on the bench, in the House of, Peers, on the Woolsack, must know 190 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. the quotidian history of his country ; so, of course, Philip read the newspa- per. Thus, you see, his hours of study were perforce curtailed by the necessary duties which distracted hira from his labors. It has been said that Mr. Firmin's companion in chambers, Mr. Cassidy, was a native of tlie neighboring king- dom of Ireland, and engaged in litera- ry pursuits in this country. A merry, shrewd, silent, observant little man, he, unlike some of his compatriots, always knew how to make both ends meet ; feared no man alive in the character of a dun ; and out of small earnings managed to transmit no small comforts and subsidies to old parents living somewhere in Munster. Of Cassidy's friends was Finucane, now editor of the Pall Mall Gazette : he married the widow of the late ec- centric and gifted Captain Shandon, and Cass himself was the fashionable correspondent of the Gazette, chron- icling the marriages, deaths, births, dinner-parties of the nobility. These Irish gentlemen knew other Irish geur tlemen connected with other newspa- pers, who formed a little literary society. They assembled at each other's rooms, and at haunts where social pleasure was to be purchased at no dear rate. Philip Firmin was known to many of them before his misfortunes occurred, and when there was gold in plenty in his pocket, and never-failing applause for his songs. When Pendennis and his friends wrote in this newspaper, it was im- pertinent enough, and many men must have heard the writers laugh at the airs which they occasionally thought proper to assume. The tone which they took amused, annoyed, tickled, was popular. It was continued, and, of course, caricatured by their succes- sors. They worked for very moderate foes : but paid themselves by imper- tinence, and the satisfaction of assail- ing their betters. Three or four persons were reserved from their abuse ; but somebody was sure every r.eek to be tied up at their post, and the public made sport of the victim's contortions. The writers were ob- scure barristers, ushers, and college men, but they had omniscience at their pen's end, "and were ready to lay down the law on any given subject, — to teach any man his business, were it a bishop in his pulpit, a Min- ister in his place in the House, a cap- tain on his quarter-deck> a tailor on his shopboard, or a jockey in his saddle. Since those early days of the Pall Mall Gazette, when old Shandon wielded his truculent tomahawk, and Messrs. W-rr-ngt-n and P-n-d-n- n-s followed him in the war-path, the Gazette had passed through sev- eral hands ; and the victims who were immolated by the editors of to- day were very likely the objects of the best puffery of the last dynasty. To be flogged in what was your own school-room, — that, surely, is a queer sensation ; and when ray Report was published on the decay of the seal- ing-wax trade in the three kingdoms (owing to the prevalence of gummed envelopes, — as you may see in that masterly document), I was horsed up and smartly whipped in the Gazette by some of the rods which had come out of pickle since my time. Was not good Dr. Guillotin executed by his own neat invention 1 I don't know who was the Monsieur Samson who operated on me; but have al- ways had my idea that Digges, of Corpus, was the man to whom my flagellation Wiis intrusted. His father keeps a ladies' school at Hackney; but there is an air of fashion in every thing which Digges writes, and a chivalrous conservatism which makes me pretty certain that D. was my scarifier. All this, howevef, is naught. Lot us turn away from the author's private griefs and ego- tisms to those of the hero of the story. Does any one remember the ap- pearance some twenty years ago of a little book called " Trumpet Calls," — a book of songs and poetry, dedi- THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 191 cated to his brother officers by Comet Cantertou f His trumpet was very tolerably melodious, and the cornet played some small airs on it with some little grace and skill. But this poor Canterton belonged to the Life Guards Green, and Philip Firmin would have liked to have the lives of one or two troops at least of that corps. Entering into Mr. Cassidy's room, Philip found the little volume. He set to work to exterminate Can- terton. He rode him down, trampled over his face and carcass, knocked the " Trumpet Calls " and all the teeth out of the trumpeter's throat. Never was such a smashing article as he wrote. And Mugford, Mr. Cassidy's chief and owner, who likes always to have at least one man served up and hashed small in the Pall Mall Gazette, happened at this very junc- ture to have no other victim ready in his larder. Philip's review appeared there in print. He rushed off with immense glee to Westminster, to show us his performance. Noth- ing must content him but to give a dinner at Greenwich on his suc- cess. O Philip ! We wished that this had not been his first fee; and that sober law had given it to him, and not the graceless and fickle muse with whom he had been flirting. For, truth to say, certain wise old heads which wagged over his performance could see but little merit in it. His style was coarse, his wit clumsy and savage. Never mind characterizing either now. He has seen the error of his ways, and di- vorced with the muse whom he never ought to have wooed. The shrewd Cassidy not only could not write himself, but knew he could not, — or, at least, pen moi-e than a plain paragraph, or a brief sentence to the point, but said he would carry this paper to his chief. " His Excellency " was the nickname by which this chief was called by his familiars. Mugford — Frederick Mugford was his real name, — and putting out of sight that little defect in his character, that he committed a sys- tematic literary murder once a week, a more worthy good-natured little mur- derer did not live. He came of the old school of the press. Like French marshals, he had risen from the ranks, and retained some of the man- ners and oddities of the private soldier. A new race of writers had grown up since he enlisted as a print- er's boy, — men of the world, with the manners of other gentlemen. Mugford never professed the least gentility. He knew that his young men laughed at his peculiarities, and did not care a fig for their scorn. As the knife with which he conveyed his victuals to his mouth went down his throat at the plenteous banquets which he gave, he saw his young friends wince and wonder, and rather rel- ished their surprise. Those lips never cared in the least about placing his h's in right places. They used bad language with great freedom (to hear him bullying a printing-office was a wonder of eloquence), — but they betrayed no secrets, and the words which they uttered you might trust. He had belonged to two or three parties, and had respected them all. When he went to the Under- Secretary's office he was never kept waiting ; and once or twice Mrs. Mugford, who governed him, ordered him to attend the Saturday reception of the Ministers' ladies, where he might be seen, with dirty hands, it is true, but a richly embroidered waist- coat and fancy satin tie. His heart, however, was not in these entertain- ments. I have heard him say that he only came because Mrs. M. would have it ; and he frankly owned that he "would rather 'ave a pipe, and a drop of something 'ot, than all your ices and rubbish." Mugford had a curious knowledge of what was going on in the world, and of the affairs of countless people. When Cass brought Philip's article to his Excellency, and mentioned the author's name, Mugford showed him- self to be perfectly familiar wifi th>, 192 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. histories of Philip and his father. " The old chap has nobbled the young fellow's money, almost every shilling of it, I hear. Knew he nev- er would carry on. His discounts would have killed any man. Seen his paper about this ten year. Young one is a gentleman, — passionate fel- low, hawhaw fellow, but kind to the poor. Father never was a gentle- man, with all his fine airs and fine waistcoats. I don't set up in that line myself, Cass, but I tell you I know 'em when I see 'em." Philip had friends and private pa- trons whose influence was great with the Mugford family, and of whom he little knew. Every year Mrs. M. was in the habit of contributing a Mugford to the world. She was one of Mrs. Brandon's most regular cli- ents ; and year after year, almost from his first arrival in London, Kid- ley, the painter, had been engaged as portrait painter to this worthy family. Philip and his illness ; Philip and his horses, splendors, and entertain- ments ; Philip and his lamentable downfall and ruin, had formed the subject of many an interesting talk between Mrs. Mugford and her friend the Little Sister ; and as we know Caroline's infatuation about the young fellow, we may suppose that his good qualities lost nothing in the description. When that article in the Pall Mall Gazette appeared. Nurse Bx-andon took the omnibus to Haverstock Hill, where, as you know, Mugford had his villa ; — an-ived at Mrs. Mugford's, Gazette in hand ; and had a long and delight- ful conversation vrith that lady. Mrs. Brandon bought I don't know now many copies of that Pall Mall Gazette. She now asked for it re- peatedly in her walks at sundry gin- ger-beer shops, and of all sortsof news- venders. I have heard that when the Mugfords first purchased the Gazette, Mrs. M. used to drop bills from her pony-chaise, and distribute placards setting foi'th the excellence of the journal. " We keep our car- riage, but we ain't above our bnii- ness, Brandon," that good lady would say. And the business pros- pered under the management of these worthy folks ; and the pony-chaise unfolded into a noble barouche ; and the pony increased and multiplied, and became a pair of horses ; and there was not a richer piece of gold lace round any coachman's hat in London than now decorated John, who had grown with the growth of his master's fortunes, and drove the chariot in which his worthy employ- ers rode on the way to Hampstead, honor, and prosperity. " Ail this pitching into the poet is very well, you know, Cassidy," says Mugford to his subordinate. " It 's like shooting a butterfly with a blunderbuss ; but if Firmin likes that kind of sport, I don't mind. There won't be any difficulty about taking his copy at our place. The duchess knows another old woman who is a friend of his " (" the duchess" was the title which Mr. Mugford was in the playful habit of conferring upon his wife). " It 's my belief young F. had better stick to the law, and leave the writing rubbish alone. But he knows his own affairs best, and, mind you, the duchess is determined we shall give him a helping hand." Once, in the days of his prosperity, and in J. J.'s company, Philip had visited Mrs. Mugford and her family, — a circumstance which the gentle- man had almost forgotten. The painter and his friend were taking a Sunday walk, and came upon Mug- ford's pretty cottage and garden, and were hospitably entertained there by the owners of the place. It has dis- appeared, and the old garden has long since been covered by terraces and villas, and Mugford and Mrs. M., good souls, where are they ■? But the lady thought she had never seen such a fine-looking young fellow as Philip ; cast about in her mind which of her little female Mugfords should marry him ; and insisted upon offer- ing her guest champagne. Poor THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 193 Phil ! So, you see, whilst, perhaps, he was rather pluming himself upon his literary talents, and imagining that he was a clever fellow, he was only the object of a job on the part of twQ or three good folks, who knew his history, and compassionated his misfortunes. Mugford recalled himself to Phil- ip's recollection, when they met after the appearance of Mr. Phil's first performance in the Gazette. If he still took a Sunday walk, Hamp- stead way, Mr. M. requested him to remember that there was a slice of beef and a glass of wine at the old shop. Philip remembered it well enough now : the ugly room, the ugly family, the kind worthy people. Erelong he learned what had been Mrs. Brandon's connection with them, and the young man's heart was softened and grateful as he. thought how this kind, gentle crea- ture had been able to befriend him. She, we may be sure, was not a lit- tle proud of her prot^gS. I believe she grew to fancy that the whole news- paper was written by Philip. She made her fond parent read it aloud as she worked. Mr. Ridley, senior, pronounced it was remarkably fine, really now ; without, I think, entirely comprehending the meaning of the sentiments which Mr. Gann gave forth in his rich loud voice, and often dropping asleep in his chair during this sermon. In the autumn, Mr. Krmin's friends, Mr. and Mrs. Pendennis, selected the romantic seaport town of Boulogne for their holiday residence ; and haying roomy quarters in the old town, we gave Mr. Philip an invitation to pay us a visit whenever he could tear him- self away from literature and law. He came in high spirits. He amused us by imitations and descriptions of his new proprietor and master, Mr. Mugford, — his blunders, his bad lan- guage, his good heart. One day, Mugford expected a celebrated liter- ary character to dinner, and Philip and Cassidy were invit«d to meet him. The great man was ill, and was un- able to come. "Don't dish up the side-dishes," called out Mugford to his cook, in the hearing of his other guests. " Mr. Lyon ain't a coming." They dined quite sufficiently without the side-dishes, and were perfectly cheerful in the absence of the lion. Mugford patronized his young men with amusing good-nature. " Firmin, cut the goose for the duchess, will you ? Cass can't say Bo ! to one, he can't. Eidley, a little of the stuffing. It'll make your hair curl." And Philip was going to imitate a fright- ful act with the cold steel (with which I have said Philip's master used to convey food to his mouth), but our dear innocent third daughter uttered a shriek of terror, which caused him to drop the dreadful weapon. Our darling little Florence is a nervous child, and the sight of an edged tool causes her anguish, ever since our darling little Tom nearly cut his thumb off with his father's razor. Our main amusement in this de- lightful place was to look at the sea- sick landing from the steamers ; and one day, as we witnessed this phe- nomenon, Philip sprang to the ropes which divided us from the arriving passengers, and with a cry of " How do you do, General ? " greeted a yellow-faced gentleman, who started back, and, to my thinking, seemed but ill inclined to reciprocate Philip's friendly greeting. The General was fluttered, no doubt, by the bustle and interruptions incidental to the land- ing. A pallid lady, the partner of his existence probably, was calling out, "Noof et doo domestiqucs, ' Doo ! " to the sentries who kept the line, and who seemed little interested by this family news. A governess, a tall young lady, and several more male and female children, followed the pale lady, who, as I thought, looked strangely frightened when the gentleman addressed as General com- municated to her Philip's name. " Is that him f " said the lady in questionable grammar ; and the tall 194 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. young lady tamed a pair of large eyes upon the individual designated as " him," and showed a pair of dank ringlets, out of which the envious sea-nymphs had shaken all the curl. The general turned out to be General Baynes ; the pale lady was Mrs. General B. ; the tall young lady was Miss Charlotte Baynes, the General's eldest child ; and the other six, forming nine, or " noof," in all, as Mrs. General B. said, were the other members of the Baynes family. And here I may as well say why the General looked alarmed on seeing Philip, and why the General's lady frowned at him. In action one of the bravest of men, in common life General Baynes was timorous and weak. Specially he was afraid of Mrs. General Baynes, who ruled him with a vigorous authority. As Philip's trustee, he had allowed Philip's father to make away with the boy s money. He learned with a ghastly terror that he was answerable for his own re- missness and want of care. For a long while he did not dare to tell his commander-in-chief of this dread- ful penalty which was hanging over liim. When at last he ventured upon this confession, I do not envy him the scene which must have ensued between him and his com- manding officer. The morning after the fatal confession, when the chil- dren assembled for breakfast and prayers, Mrs. Baynes gave their young ones their porridge : she and Charlotte poured out the tea and cof- fee for the elders, and then addressing her eldest son Ochterlony, she said, " Ooky, my boy, the General has an- nounced a charming piece of news this morning." " Bought that pony, sir 1 " says Ocky. " O, what jolly fun ! " says Moira, the second son. " Dear, dear papa ! what 's the matter, and why do you look so ? " cries Charlotte, looking behind her father's paper. That guilty man would fain have made a shroud of his Morning Herald, He would have flung the sheet over his whole body, and lain hidden there from all eyes. " The fun, my deai-s, is that your father is ruined : that 's the fun. Eat your porridge now, little ones. Char- lotte, pop a bit of butter in Carrick's porridge ; for you may n't have any to-morrow." " O, gammon," cries Moira. " You'll soon see whether it is gammon or not, sir, when you '11 be staiTing, sir. Your father has rained us, — and a very pleasant morning's work, I am sure." And she calmly rubs the nose of her youngest child who is near her, and too young, and innocent, and care- less, perhaps, of the world's censure as yet to keep in a strict cleanliness her own dear little snub nose and dappled cheeks. " We are only rained, and shall be starving soon, my dears, and if the General has bought a pony, — as I dare say he has ; he is quite capable of baying a pony when we are starv- ing, — the best "thing we can do is to eat the pony. M'Grigor, don't laugh. Starvation is no laughing matter. When we were at Dumdum, in '36, we ate some colt. Don't you remem- ber Jubber's colt, — Jubber of the Horse Artillery, General? Never tasted anything more tender in all my life. Charlotte, take Jany's hands out of the marmalade ! We are all ruined, my dears, as sure as our name is Baynes." Thus did the mother of the family prattle on in the midst of her little ones, and announce to them the dreadful news of impending star- vation. " General Baynes, . by his carelessness, had allowed Dr. Krmin to make away with the money over which the General had been set as sen- tinel. Philip might recover from the trustee, and no doubt would. Per- haps ho would not press his claim f My dear, what can you expect from the son of such a father } Depend on it, Charlotte, no good fruit can come from a stock like that. Tha THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 195 son is a bad one, the father is a bad one, and your father, poor dear soul, is not fit to be trusted to walk the street without some one to keep him from tumbling, Wliy did I allow him to go to town without me? We were quartered at Colchester then : and I could not mOTe on account of your brother M'Grigor. ' Baynes,' 1 said to your father, ' as sure as I let you go away to town without me, you will come to mischief.' And go he did, and come to mischief he did. And through his folly I and my poor chil- dren must go and beg our bread in the streets, — I and my seven poor, robbed, penniless litlle ones. O, it 's cruel, cruel ! " Indeed, one cannot fancy a more dismal prospect for this worthy moth- er and wife than to see her children without provision at the commence- ment of their lives, and her luckless husband robbed of his life's earnings, and ruined just when he was too old to work. What was to become of them ? Now poor Charlotte thought, with pangs of a keen remorse, how idle she had been, and how she had snubbed her governesses, and how little she knew, and how badly she played the piano. O neglected opportunities ! O remorse, now the time was past and irrecoverable ! Does any young lady read this who, perchance, ought to be doing her lessons 1 My dear, lay down the story-book at once. Go up to your school-room, and practise your piano for two hours this mo- ment ; so that you may be prepared to support your family, should ruin in any case fall upon yim. A great girl of sixteen, I pity Charlotte Baynes's feelings of anguish. She can't write a very good hand ; she can scarcely answer any question to speak of in any educational books ; her pianoforte ? laying is very very so-so indeed, f she is to go out and get a living for the family, how, in the name of good- ness, is she to set about it? What are they to do with the boys, and the money that has been put away for 9* Ochterlony when he goes to college, and for Moira's commission '( " Why we can't afford to keep them at Dr. Pybus's where they were doing so well ; and they were ever so much bet- ter and more gentlemanlike than Colo- nel Chandler's boys ; and to lose the army will break Moira's heart, it will. And the little ones, my little blue- eyed Carrick, and my darling Jany, and my Mary, that I nursed almost miraculously out of her scarlet fever. God help them ! God help us all ! " thinks the poor mother. No wonder that her nights are wakeful, and her heart in a tumult of alarm at the idea of the impending danger. And the father of the family 1 — the stout old General whose battles and campaigns are over, who has come home to rest his war-worn limbs, and make his peace with Heaven ere it calls him away, — what must be his feelings when he thinks that he has been entrapped by a villain into com- miting an imprudence which makes his children penniless and himself dis- honored and a beggar f When he found what Dr. Firmin had done, and how he had been cheated,he went away, aghast, to his lawyer, who could give him no help. Philip's mother's trus- tee was answerable to Philip for his property. It had been stolen through Baynes's own carelessness, and the law bound him to replace "it. Gen- eral Baynes's man of business could not help bin) out of his perplexity at all ; and I hope my worthy reader is not going to be too angry with the General for what I own he did. You never would, my dear sir, I know. No power on earth would induce you to depart one inch from the path of rectitude ; or, having done an act of imprudence, to shrink from bearing the consequence. The long and short of the matter is, that poor Baynes and his wife, after holding agitated, stealthy councils together, — after believing that every strange face they saw was a bailiff's coming to arrest them on Philip's account, — ; after horrible days of remorse, misery, 196 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. guilt, — I say the long and the short of the matter was that these poor people deterrained to run away. They would go and hide themselves any- where, — in an impenetrable pine forest in Norway, — up an inaccess- ible mountain In Switzerland. They would change their names ; dye their mustachios and honest old white hair ; fly with their little ones away, away, away, out of the reach of law and Philip ; and the first flight lands them on Boulogne Pier, and there is Mr. Philip holding out his hand and actually eying them as they got out of the steamer ! Eying them t It is the eye of Heaven that is on those criminals. Holding out his hand to them t It is the hand of fate that is on their wretched shoulders. No wonder they shuddered and turned pale. That which I took for sea-sick- no " There were gallant fellows round that table who would have drunk corked black dose, had his Lordship professed to like senna. The old host was tickled and amused. " Your mother was a quiet soul, and your father used to bow like a dancing-master. You ain't much like him. I dine at home most days. Leave word in the morning with my people, and come when you like, Philip,' he growled. A part of this news Philip narrated to us in his letter, and other part was given ver- bally by Mr. and Mrs. Mugford on their return to London. " I tell you, sir," says Mugford, " he has been taken by the hand by some of the tip- 10* top people, and I have hooked him at three guineas a week for a letter to the Pall Mall Gazette." And this was the cause of my wife's exultation and triumphant " Did n't I tell you "i " Philip's foot was on the ladder ; and who so capable of mounting to the top'? When hap- piness and a fond and lovely girl were waiting for him there, would he lose heart, spare exertion, or be afraid to climb ? He had no truer well-wisher than myself, and no friend who liked him better, though, I dare say, many admired him much more than I did. But these were women for the most part ; and women become so absurdly unjust and partial to persons whom they love, when these latter are in misfortune, that I am surprised Mr. Philip did not quite lose his head in his poverty, with such fond iiatterers and sycophants round about him. Would you grudge him the consola- tion to be had from these sweet uses of adversity ? Many a heart would be hardened but for the memory of past griefs ; when eyes, now averted, perhaps, were full of sympathy, and hands, now cold, were eager to soothe and succor. CHAPTER XIX. QU'ON EST EIEN i VIKGT AKS. A PAIR correspondent — and I would parenthetically hint that all cor- respondents are not fair — points out the discrepancy existing between the text and the illustrations of our story ; and justly remarks that the story dat- ed more than twenty years, ba&, while the costumes of the actors of our little comedy arc of the fashion of to- day. My dear madam, these anachron- isms must be, or you would scarcely be able to keep any interest for ou* characters. What would bo a woman without a crinoline petticoat, for ex- ample ■? an object ridiculous, hateful, I suppose hardly proper. What would you think of a hero who wore 220 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. a large high black-satin stock cascad- ing over a figured silk waistcoat; and a blue dress-coat, with brass but- tons, mayhap ? If a person so attired came up to ask you to dance, could you refrain from laughing 1 Time was when young men so decorated fouaj fiiYor in the eyes of damsels who had never beheld hooped petti- coats, except in their grandmother's portraits. Persons who flourished in the first part of the century never thought to see the hoops of our ances- tors' age rolled downwards to our con- temporaries and children. Did we ever imagine that a period would ar- rive when our young men would part their hair down the middle, and wear a piece of tape for a neckcloth 1 As soon should we have thought of their dyeing their bodies with woad, and arraying themselves like ancient Brit- ons. So the ages have their dress and unilross; and the gentlemen and laJies of Victoria's time are satisfied with tlieir manner of raiment; as no. doubt in Boadicea's court they looked charming tattooed and painted blue. The times of which we write, the times of Louis Philippe the king, are 60 altered from the present, that when Philip Firmin went to Paris it was absolutely a cheap place to live in ; and he has often bragged in subse- quent days of having lived well during a month for five pounds, and bought a neat waistcoat with a part of the mon- ey. " A capital bedroom, au premier, for a franc a day, sir," he would call all persons to remark, "a bedroom as good as yours, my Lord, at Meu- rlce's. Very good tea or coffee break- fast, twenty francs a month, with lots of bread and butter. Twenty francs a month for washing, and fifty for dinner and pocket-money, — that 's about the figure. The dinner, I own, is shy, unless I come and dine with my friends ; and then I make up for ban- yan days." And so saying Philip would call out for more trutfled par- tridges, or affably filled his goblet with my Lord Ringwood's best Sillery. " At those shops," he would observe. " where I dine, I have beer : I can't stand the wine. And you see, I can't go to the cheap English ordinaries, of which there are many, because Eng- lish gentlemen's servants are there, you know, and it 's not pleasant to sit with a fellow who waits on you the day after." " Oh ! the English servants go to the cheap ordinaries, do they ? " asks my Lord, greatly amused, " and you drink Here de Mars at the shop where you dine ? " " And dine very badly, too, I can tell you. Always come away hungry. Give me some champagne, — the dry, if you please. They mix very well together, — sweet and dry. Did you ever dine at Elicoteau's, Mr. Pecker?" " I dine at one of your horrible two- franc houses ? " cries Mr. Pecker, with a look of terror. " Do you know, my Lord, there are actually houses where people dine for two francs ? " " Two francs ! Seventeen sous ! " bawls out Mr. Firmin. " The soup, the beef, the roti, the salad, the des- sert, and the whitey-brown bread at discretion. It 's not a good dinner, certainly, — in fact, it is a dreadful bad one. But to dine so would do some fellows a great deal of good." " What do you say. Pecker '! Fli- coteau's ; seventeen sous. We 'II make a little party and try, and Eirmin shall do the honors of his restau- rant," says ray Lord, with a grin. " Mercy ! " gasps Mr. Pecker. " I had rather dine here, if you please, my Lord," says theyoungman. " This is cheaper, and certainly bet- ter." My Lord's doctor, and many of the guests at his table, my Lord's hench- men, flatterers, and led - captains, looked aghast at the freedom of the young fellow in the shabby coat. If theij dared to be familiar with their host, there came a scowl over that no- ble countenance which was awful to face. They drank his corked wine in meekness of spirit. They laughed at his jokes trembling. One after an- other, they were the objects of his THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 221 satire; and each grinned pitcously, as lie took his turn of punishment. Some dinners are dear, though they cost nothing. At some great tables are not toads served along with the entries ? Yes, and many, amateurs are exceedingly fond of the dish. How do Parisians live at all t is a. question vi-hich has often set me won- dering.' How do men in public offices, with fifteen thousand francs, let us say, for a salary, — and this, for a French official, is "a high salary, — live in handsome apartments ; give genteel entertainments ; clothe themselves and their families with much more sump- tuous raiment than English people of the same station can afford ; take their country holiday, a six weeks' so- journ, aux eaux ; and appear cheerful and to want for nothing ? Paterfa- milias, with six hundred a year in London, knows what a straitened life his is, with rent high, and beef at a shilling a pound. Well, in Paris, rent is higher, and meat is dearer ; and yat madame is richly dressed when you see her; monsieur has always a little money in his pocket for his club, or his cafe ; and something is pretty surely put away every: year for the marriage portion of the young folks. " Sir," Philip used to say, describing this period of his life, on which and on most subjects regarding himself, by the way, he was wont to be very elo- quent, " when my income was raised to five thousand francs a year, I give you my word I was considered to be rich by my French acquaintance. I gave four sous to the waiter at our dining- place : — in that respect I was always ostentatious : — and I believe they called me Milor. I should have been poor in the Rue de la Paix : but X was wealthy in the Luxembourg quarter. Don't tell me about poverty, sir ! Poverty is a bully if you are afraid of her, or truckle to her. Poverty is good-natured enough if you meet her like a man. Yousawhowmypoorold father was afraid of her, and thought the world would come to an end if Dr. Firmin did not keep his bntler. and his footman, and his fine house, and fine chariot and horses ? He was a poor man, if you please. He must have suffered agonies in his struggle to make both ends meet. Everything he bought must have cost him twice the honest price ; and when I think of nights that must have been passed without sleep, — of that proud man having to smirk and cringe before creditors, — to coax butchers, by George, and wheedle tailors, — I pity him : 1 can't be angry any more. That man has suffered enough. As for me, have n't you remarked that since I have not a guinea in the world, I swagger, and am a much greater swell than before ? " And the truth is that a Prince Eoyal could not have called for his gens with a more mag- nificent air than Mr. Philip when he summoned the waiter, and paid for his petit verre. Talk of poverty, indeed! That period, Philip vows, was the happiest of his life. He liked to tell in after days of the choice acquaintance of Bohemians which he had formed. Their jug, he said, though it contained but small beer, was always full. Their tobacco, though it bore no higher rank than that of caporal, was plentiful and fragrant. He knew some admirable medical students : some artists who only wanted talent and industry to be at the height of their profession : and one or two of the magnates of his.own calling, the newspaper correspondents, whose houses and tables were open to him. It was wonderful what se- crets of politics he learned and trans- mitted to his own paper. He pursued French statesmen of those days with prodigious eloquence and vigor. At the expense of that old king he was wonderfully witty and sarcastical. He reviewed the affairs of Europe, settled the destinies of Russia, de- nounced the Spanish marriages, dis- posed of the Pope, and advocated the Liberal cause in France with an un- tiring eloquence. " Absinthe used to be my drink, sir," so he was good enough to tell his friends. " It makes 222 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. the ink run, and imparts a fine elo- quence to the style. Mercy upon us, how I would belabor that poor king of the French under the influence of absinthe, in that caf^ opposite the Bourse where I used to make my let- ter ! Who knows, sir, perhaps the influence of those letters precipitated the fall of the Bourbon dynasty ! Be- fore I had an office, Gilligan, of the Century, and I, used to do our let- ters at that cafe ; we compared notes and pitched into each other ami- cabljr.'' GiUigan of the Century, and Tir- tnin of the Pall Mall Gazette, were, however, very minor personages amongst the London newspaper cor- respondents. Their seniors of the daily press had handsome apartments, gave sumptuous dinners, were clos- eted with ministers' secretaries, and entertained members of the Chamber of Deputies. Philip, on perfectly easy terms with himself and the world, swaggering about the embassy balls, — Philip, the friend and rela- tive of Lord Ringwood, — was viewed by his professional seniors and supe- riors with an eye of favor, which was not certainly turned on all gentlemen following his calling. Certainly poor Gilligan was never asked to those din- ners, which some of the newspaper ambassadors gave, whereas Philip was received not unhospitably. Gil- ligan received but a cold shoulder at Mrs. Morning Messenger's Thurs- days ; and as for being asked to din- ner, " Bedad, that fellow, Rrmin, has an air with him which will carry him through anywhere ! " Phil's brother correspondent owned. " He seems to patronize an ambassador when he goes up and speaks to him ; and he says to a secretary, ' My good fellow, tell your master that Mr. Firmin, of the Pall Mall Gazette, wants to see him, and will thank him to step over to the Caf^ de la Bourse.' " I don't think Philip, for his part, would have seen much matter of surprise in a Minister stepping over to speak to him. To him all folk were alike, I great and small ; and it is recorded of him that when, on one occasion. Lord Ringwood paid him a visit at his lodgings in the Faubourg St. Ger- main, Philip affably offered his Lord- ship a cornet of fried potatoes, with which, and plentiful tobacco of course, Philip and one or two of his friends were regaling themselves when Lord Ringwood chanced to call on his kinsman. A crust and a carafon of small beer, a correspondence with a weekly pa- per, and a remuneration such as that we have mentioned, — was Philip Firmin to look for no more than this pittance, and not to seek for more permanent and lucrative employ- ment ? Some of his friends at home were rather vexed at what Philip chose to consider his good fortune ; namely, his connection with the news- paper, and the small stipend it gave him. , He might qiiarrel with his em- ployer any day. Indeed no man was more likely to fling his bread-and- butter out of window than Mr. Philip. He was losing precious time at the bar ; where he, as hundreds of other poor gentlemen had done before him, might make a career for himself. For what are colonies made ? Why do bankruptcies occur? Why do people break the peace and quarrel with policemen, but that barristers may be employed as judges, commis- sioners, magistrates ? A reporter to a newspaper remains all his life a newspaper reporter. Philip, if he would but help himself, had friends in the world who might aid effectual- ly to advance him. So it was we pleaded with him in the language of moderation, urging the dictates of common sense. As if moderation and common sense could be got to move that mule of a Philip Finnin ; as if any persuasion of ours could induce him to do anything but what he liked to do best himself I " That you should be worldly, my poor fellow" (so Philip wrote to his present biographer), — " that you should be thinking of money and the THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 223 main chance, is no matter of surprise to me. You have suifered under that curse of manhood, Ihat destroj'er of generosity in the mind, that parent of selfishness,-— a little fortune. You have 3'our wretched hundreds " (my candid cori'espondent stated the sum correctly enough ; and I wish it were double or treble ; but that is not here the point) ." paid quarterly. The miserable pittance numbs your whole existence. It prevents freedom of thought and action. It makes a screw of a man who is certainly not without generous impulses, as I know, my poor old Harpagon : for hast thou not ofiFered to open thy purse to me ? I tell you I am sick of the way in which people in London, especially good people, think about money. You live up to your income's edge. You are miserably poor. You brag and flatter j ourselves that you owe no man anything ; but your estate has creditors upon it as insatia- ble as any usurer, and as hard as any bailiff, ion call me reckless, and prodigal, and idle, and all sorts of names, because I live in a single room, do as little work as I can, and go about with holes in my boots : and you flatter j-ourself you are pru- dent, because you have a genteel house, a grave flunkey out of livery, and two green-grocers to wait when you give your half-dozen dreary din- ner-parties. Wretched man ! You are a slave : not a man. You are a pauper, with a good house and good clothes. You are so miserably pru- dent, that all your money is spent for you, except the few wretched shillings which you allow yourself for pocket-money. You tremble at the expense of a cab. I believe you act- ually look at half a crown before you spend it. The landlord is your master. The livery-stable keeper is your master. A train of ruthless, useless servants are your pitiless creditors, to whom you have to pay exorbitant dividends every day. I, with a hole in my elbow, who live upon a shilling dinner, and walk on. cracked boot-soles, am called extrav- agant, idle, reckless, I don't know what ; while you, forsooth, consider yourself prudent. Miserable delu- sion ! You are flinging away heaps of money on useless flunkeys, on use- less maid-servants, on useless lodg- ings, on useless finely, — and you say, ' Poor Phil ! what a sad idler ho is ! how he flings himself away ! in what a wretched, disreputable man- ner he lives ! ' Poor Phil is as rich as you arc, for he has enough, and is content. Poor Phil can afford to be idle, and you can't. You must work in order to keep that great hulking footman, that great rawboned cook, that army of babbling nursery-maids, and I don't know what more. And if you choose to submit to the slavery and degradation inseparable from your condition ; — the wretched in- spection of candle-ends, which you call order ; — the mean self-denials, which you must daily practise, — I pity you, and don't quarrel with you. But I wish you would not be so in- sufferably virtuous, and ready with your blame and pity for me. If I am happy, pray need you be disquieted ? Suppose I prefer independence, and shabby boots ? Are not these better than to be pinched by your abomina- ble varnished conventionalism, and to be denied the liberty of free ac- tion ? My poor fellow, I pity you from my heart ; and it grieves me to think how those fine, honest children — honest, and hearty, and frank, and open as yet — are to lose their natu- ral good qualities, and to be swathed, and swaddled, and stifled out of health and honesty by that obstinate world- ling, their father. Don't tell me about the world ; I know it. People sacrifice the next world to it, and are all the while proud of their prudence. Look at my miserable relations, steeped in respectability. Look at my father. There is a chance for him, now he is down and in poverty. I have had a letter from him, con- taining more of that dreadfiil worldly advice which yon Pharisees give. If 224 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. it were n't for Laura and the children, sir, I heartily wish you were ruined like your affectionate — P. ¥. "N. B., P. S. — Pen ! I am so happy ! She is such a little darling ! I bathe in her innocence, sir ! I strengthen myself in her purity. I kneel before her sweet goodness and unconsciousness of guile. I walk from my room, and see her every morning before seven o'clock. I see her every afternoon. She loves you and Laura. And you love her, don't you 1 And to think that six months a"0 I was going to marry a woman without a heart ! Why, sir, blessings be on the poor old father for spending our money, and rescuing me from that horrible fate ! I might have been like that fellow in the ' Arabian Nights,' who married Amina, — the respectable woman, who dined upon grains of rice, but supped upon cold dead body. Was it not worth all the money I ever was heir to to have es- caped from that ghoul t Lord Ring- wood says he thinks I was well out of that. He calls people by Anglo- Saxon names, and uses very expres- sive monosyllables ; and of Aunt Twysden, of Uncle Twysden, of the girls, and their brother, he speaks in a way which makes me see he has come to just conclusions about them. "P. S. No. 2.— Ah, Pen ! She is such a darling. I think I am the happiest man in the world." And this was what came of being ruined ! A scapegrace, who, when ha had plenty of money in his pocket, was ill-tempered, imperious, and dis- contented, now that h3 is not worth twopence, declares himself the happi- est fellow in the world ! Do you re- member, my dear, how he used to grumble at our claret, and what wry faces he made when there was only cold meat for dinner ? The wretch is absolutely contented with bread and cheese and small beer, even that bad beer which they have in Paris ! Now and again, at this time, and as our mutual avocations permitted, I saw Philip's friend, the Little Sister. He wrote to her dutifully from time to time. He told her of his love-af- fair with Miss Charlotte; and my wife and I could console Caroline, by assuring her that this time the young man's heart was given to a worthy mistress. I say console, for the news, after all, was sad for her. In the lit tie chamber which she always kept ready for him, he would lie awake, and think of some one dearer to him than a hundred poor Carolines. She would devise something that should be agreeable to the young lady. At Christmas time there came to Miss Baynes a wonderfully worked cam- bric pocket-handkerchief, with " Char- lotte" most beautifully embroidered in the corner. It was this poor wid- ow's mite of love and tenderness, which she meekly laid down in the place where she worshipped. " And I have six for him, too, ma'am," Mrs. Brandon told my wife. "Poor feU low ! his shirts was in a dreadful way when he went away from here, and that you know, ma'am." So you see this wayfarer, having fallen among undoubted thieves, yet found many kind souls to relieve him, and many a good Samaritan ready with his twopence, if need were. The reason why Philip was the happiest man in the world of course you understand. Prench people are very early risers ; and, at the little hotel where Mr. Philip lived, the whole crew of the house were up hours before lazy English masters and servants think of stirring. ■ At ever so early an hour Phil had a fine bowl of coffee and milk and bread for his breakfast ; and he was striding down to the Invalides, and across the bridge to the Champs Elysdes, and the fumes of his pipe preceded him with a pleas- ant odor. And a short time after passing the Rond Point in the Elvs- ian fields, where an active fountain was flinging up showers of diiunonds to the sky, — after, I say, leaving the Morning- Greetings^ THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 225 Bond Point on his right, and passing under umbrageous groves in the di- rection of the present Castle of Flow- ers, Mr. Philip would see a little per- son. Sometimes a young sister or brother came with the little person. Sometimes only a blush fluttered on her cheek, and a sweet smile beamed in her face as she came forward to greet him. For the angels were scarce purer than this young maid ; and Una was no more afraid of the lion, than Charlotte of her companion with the loud Toice and the tawny mane. 1 would not have envied that repro- bate's lot who should have dared to say a doubtful word to this Una : but the truth is, she never thought of danger, or met with any. The work- men were going to their labor; the dandies were asleep ; and considering their a and whistle a toothless old solo. " These are our quiet nights," whispers M. de Clanci to the Baynes ladies, when the evening draws to an end. " Madame's Thursdays are, I promise ye, much more fully attend- ed." Good night, good night. A squeeze of a little hand, a hearty hand-shake from papa and mamma, and Philip is striding through the dark Elysian fields and over the Place of Concord to his lodgings in the Faubourg St. Germain. Or, stay! What is that glowworm gleaming by the wall opposite Madame de Smo- lensk's house? — a glowworm that wafts an aromatic incense and odor? J do believe it is Mr. Philip's cigar. And he is watching, watching a window by which a slim figure flits now and again. Then darkness falls on the little window. The sweet eyes are closed. O blessings, blessings be upon them ! The stars shine over- head. And homeward stalks Mr. Firmin, talking to himself, and bran- dishing a great stick. 228 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. I wish that poor Madame Smolensk could sleep as well as the people in her house. But care, with the cold foet, gets under the coverlid, and says, " Here I am ; you know that bill is coming due to-morrow." Ah, atra cura ! can't you leave the poor thing a little quiet 1 Has n't she had work enough all day "i CHAPTER XX. COUKSE OF TRUE LOVE- Wb beg the gracious reader to remember that Mr. Philip's business at Paris was only with a weekly London paper as yet ; and hence that he had on his hands a groat deal of leisure. He could glance over the state of Europe; give the latest news from the salons, im- parted to him, I do believe, for the most part, by some brother hireling .scribes ; be present at all the the- atres by deputy ; and smash Louis Philippe or Messieurs Guizot and Thiers in a few easily turned par- agraphs, which cost but a very few hours' labor to that bold and rapid pen. A wholesome though humiliating thought it must be to great and learned public writers, that their eloquent sermons are but for the day ; and that, having read what the philosophers say on Tues- day or Wednesday, we think about their yesterday's sermons or essays no more. A score of years hence, men will read the papers of 1861 for the occurrences narrated, — births, marriages, bankruptcies, elections, murders, deaths, and so forth ; and not for the leading articles. " Though there were some of my letters," Mr. Philip would say, in after times, " that I fondly fancied the world would not willingly let die. I wanted to have them or see them reprinted in a volume, but I could find no pub- lisher willing to undertake the risk. A fond being, who fancies there is genius in everything I say or write, would have had me reprint my letters to the Pall Mall Gazette ; but I was too timid, or she, perhaps, was too confident. The letters never were republished. Let them pass." They haoe passed. And he sighs, in men- tioning this circumstance ; and I think tries to persuade himself, rather than others, that he is an unrecognized genius. " And then, you know," he pleads, " I was in love, sir, and spending all my days at Omphale's knees. I did n't do justice to my powers. If I had had a daily paper, I still think I might have made a good public writer ; and that I had the stuff in me, — the stuff in me, sir ! " The truth is that, if he had had a daily paper, and ten times as much work as fell to his lot, Mr. Philip would have found means of pursu- ing his inclination, as he ever through life has done. The being whom a young man wishes to see, he sees. What business is superior to that of seeing her ? 'T is a little Helles- pontine matter keeps Leander from his Hero f He would die rather than not see her. Had he swum out of that difficulty on that stormy night, and carried on a few months later, it might have been, " Beloved ! my cold and rheumatism are so severe that the doctor says I must not think of cold bathing at night " ; or, " Dear- est ! we have a party at tea, and you must n't expect your ever fond Lamb- da to-night," and so forth, and so forth. But in the heat of his pas- sion water could not stay him ; tem- pests could not frighten him ; and in one of them he went down, while poor Hero's lamp was twinkling and spending its best flame in rain. So Philip came from Sestos to Abydos daily, — across one of the bridges, and paying a halfpenny toll very likely, — and, late or early, poor lit- tle Charlotte's virgin lamps were lighted in her eyes, and watching for him. Philip made many sacrifices, mind you : sacrifices which all men ara THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 229 not in the habit of making. When Lord Kingwood was in Paris, twice, thrice he refused to dine with his Lordship, until that nobleman smelt a rat, as the saying is, — and said, " Well, youngster, I suppose you are going where thei'e is metal more attractive. When yon come to twelve lustres, my boy, you'll find vanity and vexation in that sort of thing, and a good dinner better, and cheaper, too, than the best of them." And when some of Philip's rich col- lege friends met him in his exile, and asked him to the " Kocher " or the " Trois Freres," he would break away from those banquets ; and as for meeting at those feasts doubtful com- panions, whom young men will sometimes invite to their entertain- ments, Philip turned from such with scorn and anger. His virtue was loud, and he proclaimed it loudly. He expected little Charlotte to give him credit for it, and told her of his self-denial. And she believed anything he said ; and delighted in everything he wrote ; and copied out his articles for the Pall Mall Gazette ; and treas- ured his poems in her desk of desks : and there never was in all Sestos, in all Abydos, in all Europe, in all Asia IMinor or Asia Major, such a noble creature as Leander, Hero thought; never, never ! I hope, young ladies, you may all have a Leander on his way to the tower where the light of your love is burning steadfastly. I hope, young gentlemen, you have each of you a beacon in sight, and may meet with no mishap in swim- ming to it. IVom my previous remarks regard- ing Mrs. Baynes, the reader has been , made aware that the General's wife was no more faultless than the rest of her fellow-creatures ; and having al- ready candidly informed the public that the writer and his family were no favorites of this lady, I have now the pleasing duty of recording my own opinions regarding her. Mrs. General B. was an early riser. She was a fru- gal woman ; fond of her young, or, let us say, anxious to provide for their maintenance ; and here, with my best compliments, I think the cata- logue of her good- qualities is ended. She had a bad, violent temper ; a disa- greeable person, attired in very bad taste ; a shrieking voice ; and two manners, the respectful and the pat- ronizing, which were both alike odious. When she ordered Baynes to marry her, gracious powers ! why did he not run away ? Who dared first to say that marriages arc made in heav- en ? We know that there are not only blunders, but roguery in the marriage office. Do not mistakes oc- cur every day, and are not the wrong people coupled ? Had heaven any- thing to do with the bargain by which young Miss Blushrose was sold to old Mr. Hoarfrost % Did heaven order young Miss Tripper to throw over poor 'Pom Spooner, and marry the wealthy Mr. Bung 1 You may as well say that horses are sold in heav- en, which, as you know, are groomed, are doctored, are chanted on to the market, and warranted by dexterous horse-venders as possessing every quality of blood, pace, temper, age. Against these Mr. Greenhorn has his remedy sometimes ; but against a mother who sells you a warranted daughter, what remedy is there? You have been jockeyed by false rep- resentations into bidding for the Ce- cilia, and the animal is yours for life. She shies, kicks, stumbles, has an in- fernal temper, is a crib-biter, — and she was warranted to you by her mother as the most perfect, good-tem- pered creature, whom the most timid might manage ! You have bought her. She is yours. Heaven bless you ! Take her home, and be miser- able for the rest of your days. You have no redress. You have done the deed. Marriages were made in heav- en, you know ; and in yonrs you were as much sold as Moses Primrose was when he bought the gross of green spectacles. I don't think poor General Baynes ever had a proper sense of his sitna- 230 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. tion, or knew how miserable he ought by rights to have been. He was not uncheerful at times ; a silent man, lik- ing his rubber and his glass of wine ; a very weak person in the common affairs of life, as his best friends must own ; but, as I have heard, a very tiger in action. ■' I know your opin- ion of the General," Philip used to say to me, in his grandiloquent way. " You despise men who don't bully their wives ; you do, sir ! You think the General weak, I know, I know. Other brave men were so about wo- men, as I dare say you have heard. This man, so weak at home, was mighty on the war-path ; and in liis wigwam are the scalps of countless warriors." " In his wig what ? " say I. The truth is, on his meek head the General wore a little curling chestnut top-knot, which looked very queer and out of place over that wrinkled and war-worn face. " If you choose to laugh at your joke, pray do," says Phil, majestically. " I make a noble image of a warrior. You prefer a barber's pole. Bon ! Pass me the wine. The veteran whom I hope to salute as father erelong, — the soldier of twenty battles ; — who saw my own brave grandfather die at his side, — die at Busaco, by George ; you laugh at an account of his wig. It 's a capital joke." And here Phil scowled and slapped the table, and passed his hand across his eyes, as though the death of his grandfather, v/hich occurred long before Philip was born, caused him a very serious pang of grief. Philip's newspaper busi- ness brought him to London on oc- casions. I think it was on one of these visits that we had our talk about General Baynes. And it was at the same time Philip described the boarding-house to us, and its inmates, and the landlady, and the doings there. For that struggling landlady, as for all women in distress, our friend had a great sympathy and liking; and she returned Philip's kindness by being very good to Mademoiselle Charlotte, and very forbearing with the General's wife and his other children. The appetites of those little ones were frightful, the temper of Madame la Ge'ne'rale was almost intolerable, but Charlotte was an angel, and the General was amutton, — a true mutton. Her own father had been so. The brave are often mut tons at home. I suspect that, though madame could have made but little profit by the General's family, his monthly payments were very welcome to her meagre little ex- chequer. " Ah ! if all my locataires were like him ! " sighed the poor lady. " That Madame Boldero, whom the Generaless treats always as Hon- orable, I wish I was as sure of her ! And others again ! " I never kept a boarding-honse, but I am sure there must he many pain- ful duties attendant on that profes- sion. What can you do if a lady or gentleman does n't pay his bill t Turn him or her out ■? Perhaps the very thing that lady or genlieman would desire. They go. Those trunks which you have insanely de- tained, and about which you have made a fight and a scandal, do not contain a hundred francs' worth of goods, and your creditors never come back again. You do not like to have a row in a boarding-house any more than you would like to have a party with scarlet fever in your best bed- room. The scarlet-fever party stays, and the other boarders go away. What, you ask, do I mean by this mystery ■? I am sorry to have to give up names, and titled names. I am sorry to say the Honorable Mrs. Boldero did not pay her bills. She was waiting for remittances, which the Honorable Boldero was dreadfiil- ly remiss in sending. A dreadful man ! He was still at his Lordship's at Gaberlunzie Castle, shooting the wild deer and hunting the roe. And though the Honorable Mrs. B.'s heart was in the Highlands, of course how could she join her Highland THE ADVENTUBES OF. PHILIP. 231 chief without the money to pay madame I The Highlands, indeed ! One dull day it came out that the Honorable Boldero was amusing himself in the Highlands of Hesse Homburg; and engaged in the dan- gerous sport which is to bo had in the green plains about Loch Baden- badenoch ! "Did you ever hear of such de- pravity ? The woman is a desperate and unprincipled adventuress ! I wonder madame dares to put me and my children and my General down at table with such people as those, Philip ! " cries Madame la Geneiale. "I mean those opposite, — that wo- man and her two daughters who have n't paid madame a shilling for three months, — who owes me five hundred francs, which she borrowed until next Tuesday, expecting a re- mittance — a pretty remittance in- deed — from Lord Strongitharm, Lord Strongitharm, I dare say! And she pretends to be most intimate at the embassy.; and that she would introduce us there, and at the Tuiler- ies : and she told me Lady Gartei-ton had the small-pox in the house ; and when I said all ours had been vac- cinated, and I did n't mind, she fobbed me off with some other excuse ; and it's my belief the woman 's a hum- bug. Overhear me! I don't care if she does overhear me. No. You may look as much as you like, my Honorable Mrs. Eoldero ; and I don't care if you do ovei'hear mc. Ogoost ! Pomdytare pour le Genc'ral ! Kow tough Madamc's hoof is, and it 's hoof, boof, boof every day, till I 'm sick of boof Ogoost ! why don't you attend to my children ? " And so forth. By this report of the worthy woman's conversation, you will see that the friendship which had sprung up between the two ladies had come to an end, in consequence of painful pecuniary disputes between them ; that to keep a boarding-house can't be a very pleasant occupation; and that even to dine in a boarding-house must be only bad fun when the com- pany is frightened, and dull, and when there are two old women at table ready to fling the dishes at each other's fronts. At the period of which I now write, I promise yon, there was very little of the piano-duet business going on after dinner. In the first place, everybody knew the girl's pieces ; and when they began, Mrs. General Baynes would lift up a voice louder than the jingling old instru- ment, thumped Minna and Brenda ever so loudly. " Perfect strangers to mc, Mr. Clancy, I assure you. Had I known her, you don't suppose I would have lent her the money. Honorable Mrs. Boldero, Indeed! Five weeks, she has owed me five hundred frongs. Bong swor. Mon- sieur Bidois ! Sang song frong pas payy encor! Prommy, pas payy ! " Fancy, I say, what a dreary life that mnst have been at the select boarding- house, where these two parties were doing battle daily after dinner! Fancy, at the select soirees, the Gen- eral's lady seizing upon one guest after another, and calling out her wrongs, and pointing to the wrong; doer; and poor Madame Smolensk, smirking, and smiling, and flying from one end of the salon to the other, and thanking M. Pivoine for his charming romance, and M. Erumm for his admirable perform- ance on the violoncello, and even asking those poor Miss Bolderos to perform their duet, — for her heart melted towai-ds them. Not ignorant of evil, she had learned to succor the miserable. She knew what poverty was, and had to coax scowling duns, and wheedle vulgar creditors. " To- nez. Monsieur Philippe," she said, " the Ge'n^rale is too cruel. There are others here who might complain, and are silent." Philip felt all this ; the conduct of his - future mother-in-law filled him with dismay and horror. And some time after these remarkable eircnmstanoes, he told me, blushing as he spoke, a humiliating secret. " Do you know, sir," says he, " that 232 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. that autumn I made a pretty good thing of it with one thing or another. I did my worli for the Pall Mall Gazette: and Smith of the Daily In- telligencer, wanting a month's holi- day, gave mo his letter and ten franes a day. And at that very time I mst Redman, who liad owed me twenty pounds ever since we were at college, and who was just coming back flush from Hombourg, and paid me. Well, now. Swear you won't tell. Swear on your faith as a Christian man ! With this money I went, sir, privily to Mr.<. Boldero. I said if sh3 would pay the dragon, — I moan Mrs. Bjynes, — I would lend her the money. And I did lend her the money, and the Boldero never paid baclt Mrs. Baynes. Don't mention it. Promise me you won't tell Mrs. Baynes. I never expected to get Redman's money, you know, and am no worse off than before. One day of the Grandes Eaux we went to Veisailles, I think, and the Honorable Mrs. Boldero gave us the slip. She left the poor girls behind lier in pledge, who, to do them justice, cried and were in a dreadful way; and when Mrs. Baynes, on our re- turn, began shrieking about her ' sang song frong,' Madame Smolensk fa: V lost patience for once, and said, ' M lis, madams, vous nous fiitiguez avej vos cinj cent francs ' ; on which th3 other muttered something about 'Ansolong,' but was briskly taken up by her husband, who said, ' By Greorge, Eliza, madamo is quite right. And I wish th3 five hundred francs were in the sea.' " Thus, you understand, if Mrs. Gen- eral Bajmes thought some people were " stuck-up people," some people can — and hereby do by these pres- ents — pay off Mrs. Baynes, by fur- nishing th3 public with a candid opinion of that lady's morals, man- nor3, and character. How could such a shrewd woman be dazzled so re- peatedly by ranks and titles ? There used to dine at Madame Smolensk's boarding-house a certain German bar- on, with a large flnger-ring, upon a dingy finger, towards whom the lady was pleased to cast the eye of favor, and who chose to fall in love with her pretty daughter ; young Mr. Clancy, tlie Irish poet, was also smitten with the charms of the fair young lady ; and this intrepid mother encouraged both suitors, to the unspeakable ago- nies of Philip Firmin, who felt often that whilst he was away at his work these inmates of Madame Smolensk's house were near his charmer, — at her side at lunch, ever handing her the cup at breakfast, on the watch for her when she walked forth in the gar- den ; and I take the pangs of jealousy to have formed a part of those un- speakable sufferings which Philip said he endured in the house whither he came courting. Little Charlotte, in one or two of her letters to her friends in Queen Square, London, meekly complained of Philip's tendency to jealousy. "Does he think, after knowing him, I can think of these horrid men?" she asked. "I don't understand what Mr. Clancy is talking about, when he comes to me with his ' pomes and potry ' ; and who can read poetry like Philip himself! Then the Ger- man baron — who does not call even himself baron : it is mamma who will insist upon calling him so — has such very dirty things, and smells so of cigars, that I don't like to como near him. Philip smokes too, but his cigars are quite pleasant. Ah, dear friend, how could he ever think such men as these were to be put in comparison with him ! And he scolds so ; and scowls at tlie poor men in the evening when he comes ! and his temper is so liigh ! Do say a word to him — quite cautiously and gently, you know — in behalf of your fondly attached and most happy — only ho will make me unhappy sometimes ; but you '11 prevent him, won't you ? — Charlotte B." I could fancy Philip hectoring through the part of Othello, and his poor young Desdemona not a little THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 233 frightened at his black humors. Such sentiments as Mr. Philip felt strongly, he expressed with an uproar. Char- lotte's correspondent, as usual, made light of these little domestic confi- dences and gi-ievances. " Women don't dislike a jealous scolding," she said. " It may be rather tiresome, but it is always a compliment. Some husbands thinly so well of themselves, that they can't condescend to bo jealous." " Yes," I say, " women prefer to have tyrants over them. A scolding you think is a mark of atten- tion. Had n't you better adopt the Kussian system at once, and go out and buy me a whip, and present it to me with a courtesy, and your compli- ments; and a meek prayer that I s.hould use it." " Present you a whip ! present you a goose ! " says the lady, who encourages scolding in other husbands, it seems, but won't suffer a word from her own. Both disputants had set their senti- mental hearts on the marriage of this young man and this young woman. Litttle Charlotte's heart was' so bent on the match, that it would break, we fancied, if she were disappointed ; and in her mother's behavior we felt, from the knowledge we had of the woman's disposition, there was a serious cause for alarm. Should a better offer present itself, Mrs. Baynes, we feared, would fling over poor Philip : or it was in reason and nature, that he would come to a quarrel with her, and in the course of the pitched battle which must ensue between them, he would fire off expressions mortally in- jurious. Are there not many people, in every one's acquaintance, who, as soon as they have made a bargain, repent of it ? Philip, as " preserver " of General Baynes, in-the first fervor of family gratitude for that act of self-sacrifice on the young man's part, was very well. But gratitude we4rs out ; or suppose a woman says, " It is my duty to my child to recall my word ; and not allow her to fling her- self away on a beggar." Suppose that you and I, strongly inclined to do a mean action, get a good, available, and moral motive for it ? I trembled for poor Philip's course of true love, and little Charlotte's chances, when these surmises crossed my mind. There was a hope still in the honor and gratitude of General Baynes. He would not desert his young friend and benefactor. Now General Baynes was a brave man of war, and so was John of Marlborough a brave man of war ; but it is certain that both were afraid of their wives. We have said by whose invitation and encouragement General Baynes was induced to bring his family to the boarding-house at Paris ; the instiga- tion, namely, of his friend and com- panion in arms, the gallant Colonel Bunch. When the Baynes family amved, the Bunches were on the steps of madame's house, waving a welcome to the new-comers. It was, "Here we are. Bunch my hoy." " Glad to see you, Baynes. Right well you 're loolcing, and so 's Mrs. B." And the General replies, " And so are you, Bunch ; and so do you, Mrs. B." " How do, boys ? How d'you do. Miss Charlotte ? Come to show the Paris fellows what a pretty girl is, hey? Blooming like a rose, Baynes!" " I 'm telling the General," cries the Colonel to the General's lady, " the girl 's the very image of her mother." In this case poor Charlotte must have looked like a j'ellow rose, for Mrs. Baynes was of a bilious temperament and complexion, whereas Miss Char- lotte was as fresh pink and white as — what shall we say T — as the very freshest strawberries mingled with the very nicest cream. The two old soldiers were of very great comfort to one another. They toddled down to Galignani's together daily, and read the papers there. They went and looked at the reviews in the Carrousel, and once or twice to the Champ de Mars : — recognizing hero and tbei'e the numbers of the regiments against which they had been engaged in the famous ancient wars. They did not brag in the least about.their 234 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. achieTements, they winked and under- stood each other. They got their old uniforms out of their old boxes, and took a voiture de remise, by Jove ! and went to be presented to Louis Phi- lippe. They bought a catalogue, and went to the Louvre, and wagged their honest old heads before the pictures ; and, I dare say, winked and nudged each other's brave old sides at some of the nymphs in the statue gallery. They went out to Versaillea with their families ; loyally stood treat to the ladies at the restaurateur's. (Bunch had taken down a memorandum in his pocket-book from Benyon, who had been the duke's aide-de-camp in the last campaign, to " go to Beau- villier's," only Beauvillier's had been shut up for twenty years. ) They took their families and Charlotte to the ThiSatre Franfais, to a tragedy ; and they had books : and they said it was the most confounded nonsense they ever saw in their lives; and I am bound to say that Bunch, in the back of the box, snored so, that, though in retirement, he created quite a sensa- tion. " Comeal," he owns, wiis too much for hira ; give him Shakespeare : give him John Kemble : give him Mrs. Siddons : give him Mrs. Jordan. But as for this sort of thing ? "I think our play days are over, Baynes, — hey?" And I also believe that Miss Charlotte Baynes, whoso, knowledge of the language was imperfect as yet, was very much bewildered during the tragedy, and could give but an imper- fect account of it. But then Philip Firminwasin theorchestrastalls ; and had he not sent three bouquets for the three ladies, regretting that he could not come to see somebody in the Champs Flysees, because it was his post day, and he must write his letter for the Pall Mall Gazette. There he was, her Cid ; her peerless champion : and to give up father and mother for him ? our little Chimfene thought such a sacrifice not too difficult. After that dismal attempt at the theatre, the experiment was not repeated. The old gentlemen preferred their whist to those pompous Alexandrines sung through the nose, which Colonel Bunch, a facetious little colonel, used to imitate, and, I am given to under- stand, very badly. The good gentlemen's ordinary amusement was a game at cai'ds after dinner ; and they compared madame's to an Kast Indian ship, qnari'els and all. Sarah went on just in that way on board the " Burrumpooter." Al- ways rows about precedence, and the services, and the deuce knows what. Women always will. Sarah Bunch went on in that way: and Eliza Baynes also went on in that way; but I should think, from the most trustworthy information, that Eliza was worse than Sarah. "About any person with a title, that woman will make a fool of her- self to the end of the chapter," re- marked Sarah of her friend. " You remember how she used to go on at Barraekpore about that little shrimp, Stoney Battersby, because he was an Irish viscount's son ? See how she flings herself at the head of this Mrs. Boldero, — with her airs, and her paint, and her black fi-ont! I can't bear the woman ! I know she has not paid madame. I know she is no better than she should bo — and to see Eliza Baynes coaxing her, and sidling up to her, and flattering her ; it 's too bad, that it is ! A woman who owes ever so much to madame ! a woman who does n't pay her washer- woman ! " " Just like the ' Burrumpooter ' over again, my dear," cries Colonel Bunch. " You and Eliza Baynes were always quarrelling, that's the fact. Why did you ask her to come here? I knew you would begin again, as soon as you met." And the truth was, that these ladies were always fighting and making up again. "So you and Mr. Bunch were old acquaintances ?" asked Mrs. Boldero of her new friend. " My dear Mrs. Baynes ! I should hardly have thought it: your manners are so different! Your friend, if I may be so free as to THE ABVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 235 Speak, has tlie camp manner. Yon have not the cainp manner at all. I shonld have thought you — excuse me the phrase, but I 'm so open, and always speak my mind out — you haven't the camp manner at all. You seem as if you were one of us. Minna ! does n't Mrs. Baynes put you in mind of Lady Hm 1 (The name is inaudible, in consequence of Mrs. Boldero's exceeding shyness in mentioning names, — but the girls see the likeness to dear Lady Hm at once.) "And when you bring your dear girl to London you 'U know the lady I mean, and judge for yourself. I assure yon, I am not disparaging you, my dear Mrs. Baynes, in com- paring you to her ! " And so the conversation goes on. If Mrs. Major MacWhirter at Tours ohose to betray secrets, she could give extracts from her sister's letters to show how profound was the impres- sion created in Mrs. General Baynes's mind by the professions and conver- sations of the Scotch lady. "Didn't the General shoot, and lore deer-stalking? The dear Gen- eral must come to Gaberliinzie Castle, where she would promise him a High- land welcome. Her brother Strong- itharm was the most amiable of men ; adored her and her girls : there was talk even of marrying Minna to the Captain, but she, for her part, could not endure the marriage of first-cous- ins. There was a tradition against such marriages in their family. Of three Bolderos and Strongitharms who married their llrst-couBins, one was drowned in Gaberlunzie Lake three weeks after the marriage ; one lost his wife by a galloping consump- tion, and died a monk at Borne ; and the third married a fortnight before the battle of CuUoden, where he was slain at the head of the Strongi- tharms. Mrs. Baynes had no idea of the splendor of Gaberlunzie Castle; seventy bedrooms and thirteen com- pany-rooms, besides tlie picture-gal- lery! In Edinburgh, the Strongi- tharm had the riglit to wear his bon- n net in the presence of his sovereign." "A bonnet ! how very odd, my dear ! But with ostrich plimies, I daro say it may look well, especially as the Highlanders wear frocks, too." " Loi'd Strongitharm had no house in Lon- don, having almost ruined himself in building his princely castle in the North. Mrs. Baynes must come there and meet their noble relatives and all the Scottish nobility." "Nor do I care about these vanities, pay dear, but to bring my sweet Charlotte into the world : is it not a mother's duty ? " Not only to her sister, but likewise to Charlotte's friends df Queen Square, did Mrs. Baynes impart these delight- ful news. But this is in the first ardor of th6 friendship which arises between Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. Boldero, and before (hose unpleasant money-dis- putes of which we; have spoken. Afterwards, when the two ladies have quarrelled regarding the mem- orable "sang song frong," I think Mrs. Bunch came round to Mrs. Boldero's side. " Eliza Baynes is too hard on her. It is too cruel to insult her before those two unhappy daugh- ters. The woman is an odious woman, aild a vulgair woman, and a schemer, and I always said so. But to box her ears before her daughters, — her honorable friend of last week ! it 's a shame of Eliza ! " " My dear, you'd better tell her so ! " says Bunch, diyly. " But if you do, tell her when 1 'm out of the way, please ! " And accordingly, one day when the two old officers return from their stroll, Mrs. Bunch informs the Colonel that she has had it out- with Eliza; and Mrs. Baynes, with a heated face, tells the General that she and Mrs. Colonel Bunch have quar- relled ; and she is detennined it shall he for the last time. So that poor Madame de Smolensk has to inter- pose between Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. Boldero; between Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. Bunch; and to sit surrounded by glaring eyes, and hissing innuen- does, and in the midst of feuds un- healahlo. Of course, from the women 236 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. the quarrelling will spread to the gen- tlemen. That always happens. Poor madame trembles. Again Bunch Rives his neighbor his word that it is like the " Burrumpooter " East In- diaman, — the " Burrumpooter " in very bad weather, too. " At any rate, we won't be lugged into it, Baynes, my boy ! " says the Colonel, who is of a sanguine tem- perament, to his friend. "Hey, hey! don't be too sure, Bunch ; don't be too sure," sighs the other veteran, who, it may be, is of a more desponding turn, as, after a bat- tle at luncheon, in which the Amazons were fiercely engaged, the two old warriors take their walk to Galig- nani's. Towards his Charlotte's relatives poor Philip was respectful by duty and a sense of interest, perhaps. Before marriage, especially, men are very kind to the relatives of the be- loved object. They pay compliments to mamma; tliey listen to papa's old stories, and laugh appositely; they bring presents for the innocent young ones, and let the little brothers kick their shins. Philip endured the juvenile Bayneses very kindly : he took the boys to Franconi's, and made his conversation as suitable as he could to the old people. He was fond of the old General, a simple and worthy old man; and had, as wc have said, a hearty sympathy and respect for Madame Smolensk, admir- ing her constancy and good-humor under her manjr trials. But those who have perused his memoirs are aware that Mr. Firmin could make himself, on occasions, not a little dis- agreeable. When sprawling on a sofa, engaged in conversation with his charmer, he would not budge when other ladies entered the room. He scowled at them, if he did not like them. He was not at the least trouble to conceal his likes or dislikes. He had a manner of fixing his glass in his eye, pnttino; his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and talk- ing and laughing very loudly at his own jokes or conceits, which was not pleasant or respectful to ladies. " Your loud young friend, with the cracked boots, is very mauvais ton, my dear Mrs. Baynes," Mrs. Boldero re- marked to her new fHend, in the first ardor of their friendship. "A rela- tive of Lord Eingwood's, is he? Lord Ringwood is a very queer per- son. A son of that dreadful Dr. Firmin, who ran away after cheating everybody ? Poor young man ! He can't help having such a father, as you say, and most good, and kind, and generous of you to say so. And the General and the Honorable Philip Eingvvood were early companions to- gether, I dare say. But, having such an unfortunate father as Dr. Firmin, I think Mr. Firmin might be a little less pronancf; don't you ? And to see him in cracked boots, sprawling over the sofas, and hear him, when my loves are playing their duets, laugh- ing and talking so very loud, — I confess isn't pleasant to me. I am not used to that kind of monde, nor are my dear loves. You are under great obligations to him, and he has behaved nobly, you say ? Of course. To get into your society an unfor- tunate young man will be on his best behavior, though he certainly does not condescend to be civil to us. But .... What! that young man engaged to that lovely, innocent, charming child, your daughter ? My dear creature, you frighten me! A man, with such a father ; and, excuse me, with such a manner ; and with- out a penny in the world, engaged to Miss Baynes ! Goodness, powers ! It must never be. It shall not be, my dear Mrs. Baynes. Why, I have written to my nephew Lenox to come over, Strongitharm's favorite son and my favorite nephew. I have told him that there is a sweet young creature here, whom he must and ought to see. How well that dear child would look presiding at Strongitharm Castle? And you are going to give her to that dreadful young man with the loud voice and" the cracked boots, — that THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 237 smoky young man, — O, impossi- ble!" Madame had, no doubt, given a very favorable report of her new lodgers to the other inmates of her house ,- and she and Mrs. Boldero had conclndcd that all general officers returning from India were immensely rich. To think that her daugh- ter might be the Honorable Mrs. Strongitharm, Baroness Strongi- tharm, and walk in a coronation in robes, with a coronet in her hand! Mrs. Baynes yielded in loyalty to no woman, but I fear her wicked desires compassed a speedy royal demise, as this tlionght passed through her mind, of the Honorable Lenox Strongitharm. She looked him out in the Peerage, and found that young nobleman designated as the Captain of Strongitharm. Charlotte might be the Honorable Mrs. Captain of Strongitharm ! When poor Phil stalked in after dinner that evening in his shabby boots and smoky paletot, Mrs. Baynes gave him but a grim welcome. He went and prattled unconsciously by the side of his little Charlotte, whose tender eyes dwelt upon his, and whose fair cheeks flung out their blushes of welcome. He prattled away. He laughed out loud whilst Minna and Brenda were thumping their duet. " Taisez-vous done. Monsieur Phi- lippe," cries madame, putting her fin- ger to her lip. The Honorable Mrs. Boldei-o looked at dear Mrs. Baynes, .and shrugged her shoulders. Poor Philip ! would he have laughed so loudly (and so rudely, too, as I own) had he known what was passing in the minds of those women 7 Treason was passing there : and before that glance of knowing scorn, shot from the Honorable Mrs. Boldero's eyes, dear Mrs. General Baynes faltered. How very curt and dry she was with Philip ! how testy with Charlotte ! Poor Philip, knowing that his charm- er was in the power of her mother, was pretty humble to this dragon ; and attempted, by uncouth flatteries, to soothe and propitiate her. She had a queer, dry humor, and loved a joke; but Phil's fell very flat this night. Mrs. Baynes received his pleasantries with an " 0, indeed ! She was sure she heard one of the children crying in their nursery. Do, pray, go and see, Charlotte, what that child is crying about." And away goes poor Charlotte, having but dim presentiment of misfortune as yet. Was not mamma often in an ill humor ; and were they not all used to her scoldings ? As for Mrs. Colonel Bunch, I am sorry to say that, up to this time, Philip was not only no favorite with her, but was heartily disliked by that lady. I have told you our friend's faults. He was loud : he was abrupt ; he was rude often : and often gave just cause of annoyance by his laughter, his disrespect, and his swaggering manner. To those whom he liked he was as gentle as a wo- man; and treated them with an extreme tenderness and touching rough respect. But those persons about whom he was indifferent, he never took the least trouble to con- ciliate or please. If they told long stories, for example, he would turn on his heel, or interrupt them by observations of his own on some qxiite different subject. Mrs. Colonel Bunch, then, positively disliked that young man, and I think had very good reasons for her dislike. As for Bunch, Bunch said to Baynes, " Cool hand, that young fellow ! " and winked. And Baynes said to Bunch, " Queer chap. Fine fellow, as I have reason to know pretty well. I play a club. Ko club? I mark honors and two tricks." And the game went on. Clancy hated Philip: a meek man whom Firmin had yet managed to offend. " That man," the pote Clancy remarked, " has a manner of treading on me corrans which is intolerable to me ! " The truth is, Philip was always putting his foot on some other foot, and trampling it. And as for the 238 THE ADVKNTUEES OF PHILIP. Boldero clan, Mr. Firmin treated them with the moat amusing inso- lence, and ignored them as if they were out of existence altogether. So you see the poor fellow had not with his poverty learned the least lesson of humility, or acquired the very earliest rudiments of the art of making friends. I think his best friend in the house was its mistress, Madame Smolensk. Mr. Philip treated her as an equal : which mark of affability he was not in the habit of bestowing on all persons. Some great people, some rich people, some would-be-fine people, he would patron- ize with an Insufferable audacity. Bank or wealth do not seem some- how to influence this man, as they do common mortals. He would tap a bishop on the waistcoat, and con- tradict a duke at their first meeting. I hive seen him walk out of church during a stupid sermon, with an audible remark perhaps to that effect, and as if it were a matter of course that he should go. If the company bored him at dinner, he would go to sleep in the most unaffected manner. At home we were always kept in a pleasant state of anxiety, not only by what he did and said, but by the idea of what he might do or say next. He did not go to sleep at madame's boarding-house, preferring to keep his eyes open to look at pretty Charlotte's. And were there ever such sapphires as his? she thought. And hers? Ah ! if they have tears to shed, I hope a kind fate will dry them quickly ! CHAPTER XXI. XBEAT3 OP DANCING, DINING, DY- ING. Old school-boys remember how, when pious JEneas was compelled by painful circumstances to quit his country, he and his select band of Trojans founded a new Troy, where thoy landed; raising temples to the Trojan gods ; building streets with Trojan names; and endeaToring to the utmost of their power to recall their beloved native place. In like manner, British Trojans and French Trojans take their Troy every- where. Algiers I have only seen from the sea ; but New Orleans and Leicester Square I have visited ; and have seen a quaint old France still lingering on the banks of the Mississippi ; a dingy modern France round that great Grlobe of Mr. Wyld's, which they say is coming to an end. There are French cares, billiards, estaminets, waiters, markers, poor Frenchmen, and rich Frenchmen, in a new Paris, — shabby and dirfy, it is true, — but offering the emigrant the dominos, the chopine, the petit-verre of the patrie. And do not British Trojans, who emigrate to the conti- nent of Europe, take their Troy with them ■? You all know the quarters of Paris which swarm with us Tro- jans. From Peace Street to the Arch of the Star are collected thou- sands of refugees from our Ilium. Under the arcades of the Rue de Ki- voli you meet, at certain hours, as many of our Trojans as of the nar lives. In the Trojan inns of " Meu- rice," the " Louvre," &c., we swarm. We have numerous Anglo-Trojan doctors and apothecaries, who give us the dear pills and doses of Pergamus. We go to Mrs. Guerre or kind Mrs. Colombiu, and can purchase the sand- wiches of Troy, the pale ale and sher- ry of Troy, and the dear, dear muf- fins of home. We live for years, nev- er speaking any language but our native Trojan ; except to our servants, whom we instruct in the Trojan way of preparing toast for breakfast ; Tro- jan bread-sauce for fowls and par- tridges ; Trojan corned beef, &c. We have temples where we worship ac- cording to the Trojan rites. A kind- ly sight is that which one beholds of a Sunday in the Elysian fields and the St. HonoriS quarter, of processions of English grown people and chil- dren, stalwart, red-cheeked, marching to their churches, their gilded prayer- TSE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 239 books in hand to sing in a stran- gefs land the sacred songs of their Zioin. I am sure there are many Eng- lish in Paris who never speak to any native above the rank of a waiter or shopman. Not long since I was lis- tening to a Frenchman at Folke- stone, speaking English to the waiters and acting as interpreter for his par- ty. He spoke pretty well and very qnickly. He was irresistibly comical. 1 wonder how we maintained onr gravity. And you and I, my dear friend, when we speak French, I dare say we are just as absurd. As ab- surd ! And why not ? Don't you be discouraged, young fellow. Coiimge, tmtt jeune ami ! Remember, Trojans have a conquering way with them. When .^neas landed at Carthage, I dare say he spoke Carthaginian With a ridiculous Trojatt accent ; hut, for all that, poo* Dido fell desperately in love with him. Take example by the son of Anchises, my boy. Never mind the grammar or the pixmnncia- tion, hut tackle the lady, and speak your mind to her as best you can. This is the plan which the Vicomte de Loisy lised to adopt. He was fol- lowing a cours of English according to the celebrated rnMode Jobson. The cours assembled twice a week: and the "Vicomte, with laudable assiduity, went to all English parties to which he could gain an introduction, for the purpose of acquiring the English lan^u^e, and marrying une Anglaise. This industrious young man even went au Temple on Sundays for the purpose of familiarizing himself with the English language ; and as he sat under Doctor MuWogh Macmanus of T. C. D., a very eloquent preacher at Paris in those days, the Vicomte ac- quired a very iSne pronunciation. At- tached to the cause of unfortunate monarchy all over the world, the Vi- comte haa fought in the Spanish Carl- ist armies. He waltzed well: and madame thought his cross looked nice at her parties. Will it be believed that Mrs. General Baynes took this gentleman into special favor ; talked with him at soiree after soiree ; never laughed at his English ; encouraged her girl to waltz with him (which he did to perfection. Whereas poor Philip was but a hulking and clumsy per- former) ; and showed him the very greatest favor, until one day, on go- ing into Mr. Bonus's, the house-agent (who lets lodgings, and sells Bntish i^ickles, tea, sherry, and the like), she tbnnd the Vicomte occupying a stool as clerk in Mr. Bonus s establish- ment, where for twelve hundred francs a year he gave his invaluable services during the day! Mrs. Baynes took poor madame severely to task for ad- mitting such a man to her assemblies. Madame was astonished. Monsiem was a gentleman of ancient family who had met with misfortunes. He was earning his maintenance. To sit in a bureau was not a dishonor. Knowing that boutique meant shop and gar^ meant boy, Mrs. Baynes made use of the words boutique gargon the next time she saw the Vicomte. The little man wept tears of rage and mortification. There was a veiy painful scene, at which, thank mercy, poor Charlotte thought, FhUip was not present. Were it not ioi the General's checeux btancs (by which phrase the Vicomte very kindly desig- nated General Baynes's chestnut top- knot), the Vicomte would have had reason from him. " Charming miss," he said to Charlotte, " yonr respect- able papa is safe from my sword ! Madame your mamma has addressed me words which I qualify not. But you — you are too 'andsome, too good, to despise a poor soldier, a poor gentleman ! " I have heard the Vi- comte still dances at boarding-houses and is still in pursuit of an Anglaise. He must be a wooer now almost as elderly as the good General whose scalp he respected. Mrs. Baynes was, to be sure, a heavy weight to bear for poor madame, but her lean shoulders were accus- tomed to many a burden ; and if the General's wife was quarrelsome and odious, he, as madame said, was as 240 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. soft as a mutton ; and Charlotte's pretty face and manners were the ad- miration of all. The yellow Miss Bolderos, those hapless elderly or- phans left in pawn, might bite their lips with envy, but thejr never could make them as red as Miss Charlotte's smiling mouth. To the honor of Madame Smolensk be it said that never by word or hint did she cause those unhappy young ladies any need- less pain. She never stinted them of any meal. No full-priced pensioner of uiadame's could have breakfast, luncheon, dinners served move regu- larly. The day after their mother's flight, that good Madame Smolensk took early cups of tea to the girls' rooms, with her own hands ; and I believe helped to do the hair of one of them, and otherwise to soothe them in their misfortune. They could not keep their secret. It must be owned that Mrs. Baynes never lost an oppor- tunity of deploring their situation and acquainting all new-comers with their mother's flight and transgres- sion. But she was good-natnred to the captives in her grim way : and ad- mired madame's forbearance regard- ing them. The two old officers were now especially polite to the poor things : and the General rapped one of his boys over the knuckles for say- ing to Miss Brenda, " If your nude is a lord, why does n't he give you any money 1 " " And these girls used to hold their heads above mine, and their mother used to give herself such airs ! " cried Mrs. Baynes. "And Eliza Baynes used to flatter those poor girls and their mother, and fancy they were going to make a woman of fashion of her ! " said Mrs. Bunch. " We all have our weak- nesses. Lords are not yours, my dear. Faith, I don't think you know one," says stout little Colonel Bunch. "I would n't pay a duchess such court as Eliza paid that woman ! " cried Sarah ; and she made sarcastic inquiries of the General, whether Eliza had heard from her friend, the Hon- orable Mrs. Bolderol But for all this Mrs. Bunch pitied the young la- dies, and I believe gave them a little supply of coin from her private purse. A word as to their private history. Their mamma became the terror of boarding-house keepers : and the poor girls practised their duets all over Eu- rope. Mrs. Boldero's noble nephew, the present Strongitharm (as a friend who knows the fashionable world in- forms me) was victimized by his own uncle, and a most painful affair oc- curred between them at a game at "blind hookey." The Honorable Mrs. Boldero is living in the pre- cincts of Holyrood ; one of her daugh- ters is happily married to a minister ; and the other to an apothecary who was called in to attend her in quinsy. So I am inclined to think that phrase about " select " boarding-houses is a mere complimentary term ; and as for the strictest references being given and required, I certainly should not lay out extra money for printing that expression in my advertisement, were I going to set up an establishment myself. Old college friends of Philip's vis- ited Paris from time to time ; and re- joiced in caiTying him off to " Bo- rel's" or the "Trois Ereres," and hospitably treating him who had been so hospitable in his time. Yes, thanks be to Heaven, there are good Samari- tans in pretty large numbers in this world, and hands ready enough to succor a man in misfortune. I could name two or three gentlemen who drive about in chariots and look at people's tongues and write queer figures and queer Latin on note-paper, who occultly made a purse contain- ing some seven or ten score fees, and sent them out to Dr. Firmin in his banishment. The poor wretch had behaved as ill as might be, but he was without a penny or a friend. I dare say Dr. Goodenough, amongst other philanthropists, put his hands into his pocket. Having heartily disliked and mistrusted Eirmin in prosperity, in adversity he melted towards the poor fugitive wretch : ha even could THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 241 believe that Pinnin had some skill in his profession, and in his practice was not quite a quack. Philip's old college and school cro- nies laughed at hearing that, now his ruin was complete, he was thinking about marriage. Such a plan was of a piece with Mr. Firmin's known prudence and foresight. But they made an objection to his proposed union, which had struck us at home previously. Papa -in -law was well enough, or at least inoffensive : but ah, ye powers ! what a mother-in- law was poor Phil laying up for his future days ! Two or three of our mutual companions made this remark on returning to work and chambers after their autumn holiday. We never had too much charity for Mrs. Baynes; and what Philip told us about her did not serve to increase our regard. About Christmas Mr. Firmin's own affairs brought him on a brief visit to London. We were not jealous that he took up his quarters with his little friend of Thomhaugh Street, who was contented that he should dine with us, provided she could have the pleasure of housing him under her kind shelter. High and mighty peo- ple as we were, — for under what humble roofs does not Vanity hold her sway t — we, who knew Mrs. Brandon's virtues, and were aware of her early story, would have conde- scended to receive her into our soci- ety ; but it was the little lady herself who , had her pride, and held aloof. " My parents did not give me the ed- ucation you have had, ma'am," Car- oline said to my wife. " My place is not here, I know very well; unless you should be took ill, and then, ma'am, you '11 see that I will be glad enough to come. Philip can come and see me; and a blessing it is to me to set eyes on him. But I should n't be happy in your drawing-room, nor you in having me. The dear children look surprised at my way of talking; and no wonder: and they laugh sometimes to one another, God bless 'em ! I don't mind. My edu- cation was not cared for. I scarce had any schooling but what I taught myself. My pa had n't the means of learning me much ; and it is too late to go to school at forty odd. I 've got all his stockings and things darned ; and his linen; poor fellow ! — beautifiil : I wish they kep' it as nice in France, where he is ! You '11 give my love to the young lady, won't you, ma'am ? and oh ! it 's a blessing to me to hear how good and gentle she is ! He has a high temper, Philip have : but them he likes can easy manage him. . You have been his best kind friends ; and so will she be, I trust ; and they may be happy though they 're . poor. But they ve time to get rich, haven't they ? And it 's not the richest that 's the happi- est, that I can see in many a line house where Nurse Brandon goes and has her eyes open, though she don't say much, you know." In this way Nurse Brandon would prattle on to us when she came to see us. She would share our meal, always thank- ing by name the servant who helped her. She insisted on calling our children " Miss " and " Master," and I think those young satirists did not laugh often or unkindly at her pecu- liarities. I know they were told that Nurse Brandon was very good ; and that she took care of her father in his old age; and that she had passed through very great griefs and trials ; and that she had nursed Uncle Philip when he had been very ill indeed, and when many people would have been afraid to come near him ; and that her life was spent in tending the sick, and In doing good to her neighbor. One day during Philip's stay with us we happen to read m the paper Lord Ringwood's arrival in London. My Lord -had a grand town-house of his own which he did not always in- habit. He liked the cheerfulness of a hotel better. Ringwood House was too large and too dismal. He did not care to eat a solitary mutton-chop in a great dining-room surrounded by 242 THE ADVENTtJEES OP PHILIP. ghostly images of dead Eiugwoods, — his dead son, a boy who had died in his boyhood ; his dead brother attired in the uniform of his day {in which pic- ture there was no little resemblance to Philip Finnin, the Colonel's grand- son) ; Lord Kingwood's dead self, finally, as he appeared still a young man, when Lawrence painted him, and when he was the companion of the Regent and his friends. "Ah! that 's the fellow I least like to look at," the old man would say, scowling at the picture, and breaking out into the old-fashioned oaths which gar- nished many conyersations in his young days. " That fellow could ride all day ; and sleep all night, or go without sleep, as he chose ; and drink his four bottles, and never hare a headache ; and break his collar- bone, and see the fox killed three hours after. That was once a man, as old Marlborough said, looking at his own picture. Now my doctor 's my master; my doctor and the in- fernal gout over him. I live upon ?ap and puddens, like a baby ; only 've shed all my teeth, hang 'em. If I drink three glasses of sherry, my butler threatens me. You young fel- low, who haven't twopence in your pocket, by George, I would like to change with you. Only you would n't, hang you, you would n't. Why, I don't believe Todhunter would change with me : would you, Tod- hunter 1 — and you 're about as fond of a great man as any feUow I ever knew. Don't tell me. Tou are, sir. Why, when I walked with you on Eyde sands one day, I said to that fellow, 'Todhunter, don't you think I could order the sea to stand still ? ' I did. And you had never heard of King Canute, hanged if you had, and never read any book except the Stud- book and Mrs. Glasse s Cookery, hanged if you did." Such remarks and conversations of his relative has Philip reported to me. Two or three men about town had very good imi- tations of this toothless, growling, blasphemous old cynic. He was splen- did and penurious ; violent and eas- ily led ; surrounded by flatterers and utterly lonely. He had old-world no- tions, which, I believe, have passed out of the manners of great folks now. He thought it beneath him to travel by railway, and his post-chaise was one of the last on the road. The tide rolled on in spite of this old Ca- nute, and has long since roUed over him and his post-chaise. Why, al- most all his imitators are actually dead ; and only this year, when old Jack Mummers gave an imitation of him at " Bays's " (where Jack's mim- icry used to be received with shouts of laughter but a few years since), there was a dismal silence in the cof- fee-room, except from two or three young men at a near table, who said, " What is the old fool mumbling and swearing at now? An imitation of Lord Ringwood, and who was he ? " So our names pass away, and are for- gotten : and the tallest statues, do not the sands of time accumulate and overwhelm them ? I have not forgot- ten my Lord ; any more than I have forgotten the cock of my school, about whom, perhaps, you don't care to hear. I see my Lord's bald head, and hooked beak, and bushy eye- brows, and tall velvet collar, and brass buttons, and great black mouth, and trembling hand, and trembling parasites around him, and I can heair his voice, and great oafhs, and laugh- ter. You parasites of to-day are bowing to other great people; and this great one, who was aiive only yesterday, is as dead as George IV. or Kebuchadnezzar. Well, we happen to read that Philip's noble relative Lord Ring- wood has arrived at Hotel, whilst Philip is staying with us ; and I own that I counsel my fnend to go and wait upon his Lordship. He had been very kind at Paris : he had evi- dently taken a liking to Philip. Firmin ought to go and see him. Who knows? Lord Ringwood might be inclined to do something for his brother's grandson. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 243 This was just the point which any one who knew Pliilip should have hesitated to urge upon him. To try and make him bow and smile on a great man with a view to future fa- vors was to demand the impossible from Firmin. The king's men may lead the king's horses to the water, but the king himself can't make them drink. I own that I came back to the subject, and urged it repeatedly on my friend. "1 have been," said Philip sulkily. " I have left a card upon him. If he wants me, he can Bend to No. 120 Queen Square, West- minster, my pt^sent hotel. But if you think he will give me anything beyond a dinner, I tell you you arc mistaken." We dined that day with PhHip's employer, worlJiy Mr. Mugford, of the Pall Mall Gazette, who was pro- fuse in his hospitalities, and especial- ly gracious to PhiUp. Mugford was pleased with Firmin's letters; and you may be sure that severer critics did not contradict their friend's good- natured patron. We drove to the suburban villa at Hampstead, and steaming odors of soup, mutton, onions, rvished out into the hall to give us welcome, and to warn us of the good cheer in store for the party. This was not one of Mugford's days for countermanding side-dishes, I promise yon. Men in black with noble white-cotton gloves were in waiting to receive us ; and Mrs. Mug- ford, in a rich blue satin and feathers, a profusion of flounces, laces, mara- bouts, jewels, and eau-de-Cologne, rose to welcome us from a stately sofa, where she sat surrounded by her children. These, too, were in brilliant dresses, with shining new- combed hair. The ladies, of course, instantly began to talk about their children, and my wife's unfeigned ad- miration for Mrs. Mugford's last baby I think won that worthy lady's good- will at once. I made some remark regarding one of the boys as being the picture of his father, which was not lucky. I don't know why, but 11* I have it from her husband's own admission, that Mrs. Mugford always thinks I am " chaffing " her. One of the boys frankly informed me there was goose for dinner; and when a cheerful cloop was heard from a neighboring room, told me that was Pa drawing the corks. Why should Mrs. Mugford reprove the outspoken child and Say, " James, hold your tongue, do now ? " Better wine than was poured forth, when those corks were drawn, never flowed from bottle. — I say, 1 never saw better wine nor more bottles. If ever a table may be said to have groaned) that expression might with justice be applied to Mug- ford's mahogany. Talbot Twysden would have feasted forty people with the meal here provided for eight by our most hospitable entertainer. Though Mugford's editor was pres- ent, who thinks himself a very fine fellow, I assure you, but whose name I am not at liberty to divulge, all the honors of the entertainment were for the Paris Correspondent, who was specially requested to take Mrs. M. to dinner. As an earl's grand- nephew, and a lord's great-grandson, of course we felt that this place of honor was Firmin's right. How Mrs. Mugford pressed him to eat! She carved, — I am very glad she would not let Philip carve for her, for he might have sent the goose into her lap, — she carved, I say, and I really think she gave him more stuffing than to any of us, but that may have been mere envy on my part. Allusions to Lord Ringwood were repeatedly made during .dinner. "Lord E. has come to town, Mr. F., I perceive," says Mugford, winking. " You 've been to See him, of course ? " Mr. Firmin glared at me very fiercely, he had to own he had been to call on Lord Ringwood. Mugford led the conver- sation to the noble lord so frequently that Philip madly kicked my shins under the table. I don't know how many times I had to suffer from that foot which in its time has trampled on so many persons : a kick for each 244 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. time Lord Eingwood's name, houses, parks, properties, were mentioned was a firiglitful allowance. Mrs. Magford would say, "May I assist you to a little pheasant, Mr. Firmin '> 1 dare say they are not as good as Lord Eingwood's" (a kick from Philip) ; or Mugford would exclaim, " Mr. F., try that 'ock ! Lord Eing- wood has n't better wine than that." (Dreadful punishment upon my tibia under the table.) "John! Two 'ocks, me and Mr. Firmin. Join us, Mr. P.," and so forth. And after dinner, to the ladies, — as my wife, who betrayed their mysteries, in- formed me, — Mrs. Mugford's conver- sation was incessant regarding the Ringwood family and Firmin's rela- tionship to that noble house. The meeting of the old lord and Firmin in Paris was discussed with immense interest. "His Lordship called him Philip most affable ! he was very fond of Mr. Firmin." A little bird had told Mrs. Mugford that some- body else was very fond of Mr. Fir- rain. She hoped it would be a match, and that his Lordship would do the handsome thing by his nephew. What ? My wife wondered that Mrs. Mugford should know about Philip's affairs? (and wonder indeed she did.) A little bird had told Mrs. M., a friend of both ladies, that dear, good little nurse Brandon, who was en- gaged — and here the conversation went off into mysteries which I cer- tainly shall not reveal. Suffice it that Mrs. Mugford was one of Mrs. Brandon's best, kindest, and most constant patrons, — or might I be permitted to say matrons 1 — and had received a most favorable report of us from the little nurse. And here Mrs. Pendennis gave a verbatim report not only of our hostess's speech, but of her manner and accent. "Yes, ma'am," says Mrs. Mugford to Mrs. Pendennis, " our friend Mrs. B. has told me of a certain gentleman whose name shall be nameless. His manner is cold, not to say 'aughty. He seems to be laughing at people some- times, — don't say No; I saw him once or twice at dinner, both him and Mr. Firmin. But he is a true friend, Mrs. Brandon says he is. And when you know him, his heart is good." Is if? Amen. A distinguished writer has composed, in not very late days, a comedy of which the cheerful moral is, that we are " not so bad as we seem." Aren't we? Amen, again. Give us thy hearty hand, lago ! Tartuffe, how the world has been mistaken in you ! Macbeth ! put that little affair of the murder out of your mind. It was a momentary weakness ; and who is not weak at times 1 Blifil, a more maligned man than you does not exist ! O human- ity! how we have been mistaken in you ! Let us expunge the vulgar expression "miserable sinners" out of all prayer-books ; open the port- holes of all hulks ; break the chains of all convicts ; and unlock the boxes of all spoons. As we discussed Mr. Mugford's en- tertainment on our return home, I improved the occasion with Philip ; I pointed out the reasonableness of the hopes which he might entertain of help from his wealthy kinsman, and actually forced him to promise to wait upon my Lord the next day. Now, when Philip Firmin did a thing against his will, he did it with a bad grace. When he is not pleased, he does not pretend to be nappy ; and when he is snlky, Mr. Firmin is a very disagreeable companion. Though he never once reproached me afterwards with what happened, I own that I have had cruel twinges of conscience since. If I had not sent him on that dutiful visit to his grand- uncle, what occurred might never, perhaps, have occurred at all. I acted for the best, and that I aver; however I may grieve for the conse- quences which ensued when the poor fellow followed my advice. If Philip held aloof from Lord Ring- wood in London, you may be sure Philip's dear cousins were in waiting on his Lordship, and never lost an op- THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 245 portunity of showing their respectful sympathy. Was Lord Ringwood ail- ing ? Mr. Twysden, or Mrs. Twys- den, or the dear girls, or Ringwood their brother, were daily in his Lord- ship's antechamber, asking for news of his health. They bent down re- spectfully before Lord Ringwood's ma^ jor-domo. They would have given him money, as they always averred, only what sum could they give to such a man as Rudge ? They actually of- fered to bribe Mr. Rudge with their wine, over which he made horrible faces. They fawned and smiled before him always. I should like to have seen that ceilm Mrs. Twysden, that serene, high-bred woman, who would cut her dearest friend if misfortune befell her, or the world turned its back; — I should like to have seen, and can see her in my mind's eye, simpering and coaxing, and wheedling this footman. She made cheap presents to Mr. Rudge : she smiled on him and asked after his health. And of course Tal- bot Twysden flattered him too in Tal- bot's jolly way. It was a wink, and nod, and a hearty " How do yon do 'i " — and (after due inquiries made and answered about his Lordship) it would be, " Rudge ! I think my housekeeper has a good glass of port wine in her room, if you happen to be passing that way, and my Lord don't want you ! " And with a grave courtesy, I can fan- cy Mr. Rudge bowing to Mr. and Mrs. 'twysden, and thanking them, and de- scending to Mrs. BlenMnsop's skinny room where the port-wine is ready, — and if Mr. Rudge and Mrs. Blenkin- sop are confidential, I can fancy their talking over the characters and pecu- liarities of the folks up stairs. Servants sometimes actually do ; and if master and mistress are humbufrs, these wretched menials sometimes find ihem out. Now, no duke could be more lord- ly and condescending in his bearing than Mr. Philip Firmin towards the menial throng. In those days, when ho had money in his pockets, he gave Mr. Rudge out of his plenty ; and the man remembered his generosity when he was poor; and declared — in a se- lect society, and in the company of the relative of a person from whom I have the information — declared in the pres- ence of Captain Gann at the " Admiral B-ng Club " in fact, that Mr. Heff was always a swell ; but since he was done, he, Rudge, " was blest if that young chap warn't a greater swell than hever." And Rudge actually liked this poor young fellow better than the family in Beaunash Street, whom Mr. R. pronounced to be "a shabby lot." And in fact it was Rudge as well as myself, who advised that Philip should see his Lordship. When at length Philip paid his sec- ond visit, Mr. Sudge said, " My Lord will see you, sir, I think. He has been speaking of you. He 's very unwell. He 's going to have a fit of the gout, I think. I '11 tell him you are here." And coming back to Philip, after a brief disappearance, and with rather a scared face, he repeated the permission to enter, and again cautioned him, say- ing, that " my Lord was very queer." In fact, as we learned afterwards, through the channel previously indi- cated, my Lord, when he heard that Philip had called, cried, " He has, has he ? Hang him, send him in " ; us- ing, I am constrained to say, in place of the monosyllable " hang," a much stronger expression. " O, it 's you, is it ? " says ray Lord. " You have been in London ever so long. Twysden told me of you yes- terday." "I have called before, sir," said Philip, very quietly. " I wonder you have the face to call at all, sir ! " cries the old man, glaring at Philip. His Lordship's counte- nance was of a gamboge color: his no- ble eyes were bloodshot and starting ; his voice, always very harsh and stri- dent, was now specially unpleasant ; and from the crater of his mouth, shot loud exploding oaths. " Face, my Lord ? " says Philip, still very meek. " Yes, if you call that a face which 246 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. is covered over with hair like a ba- booa ! " growled my Lord, showing his tusks. " Twysden was here last night, and tells me some pretty news about you." Philip blushed ; he knew what the news most likely would be. " Twysden says that now you are a pauper, by George, and liviu;; by breifldng stones in the. street, — yau have been such an infernal, drivelling; hanged fool, as to engage yourself to another pauper ! " Poor Philip turned white from red ; and spoke slowly : " I beg your par- don, my Iiord, you said — " "I said you were a hanged fool, sir ! " roared the old man ; " can't you hear ? " " I believe I am a member of your family, my Lord," says Philip, rising up. In a c[narrel, he would some- times lose his temper, and speak out his mind ; or sometime^, and then he was most dangerous, he would be especially calm and Grandisonian, " Some hanged adventurer, think- ing you were to get money from me, has hooked vou for his daughter, has he?" "I have engaged myself to a young lady, and I am the poorer of the two," says Philip. " She thinks you will get money from me," contanues his Lordship. " Does she 1 I never did ! " replied Philip. "By Heaven, you sha'n't, unless you give up this rubbish." " I sha' n't give her up, sir, and I shall do without: the money," said Mr. Firmin very boldly. " Go to Tartarus ! " screamed the old man. On which Philip told us, " I said ' Se- niorespriores,myLord,' and turned oti my heel. So you see if he was going to leave me something, and he nearly said he was, that chance is passed now, and I have made a pretty morn- ing's work." And a pretty morn- ing's work it was : and it was I who had set him upon it! My brave Philip not only did not rebuke me for having sent him on this errand, but took the blame of the business on himself. " Since I have been en- gaged," he said, "I am growing dreadfully avaricious, and am almost as sordid about money as those Twys- dens. I cringed to that old man : I crawled before his gouty feet. Well, I could crawl from here to Saint James's Palace to get some money for my little Charlotte." Philip cringe and crawl! If there were no posture-masters more supple than Philip Firmin, kotowing would be a lost art, like the Menuel de la Cow. But fear not, ye great ! Men's backs were made to bend, and the race of parasites is still in good repute. WheU our friend told us how his brief interview with Lord Ringwood had begun and ended, I think those who counselled Philip to wait upon his grand-uncle felt rather ashamed of their worldly wisdom and the ad- vice which tkej had given. We ought to have known our Huron sufficiently to be aware that it was a dangerous experiment to set him bow- ing ia lords antechambers. Were not his elbows sure to break some courtly china, his feet to trample and tear some lace train ? So all the good we had done was to occasion a quarrel between him and his patron. Lord Ringwood avowed that he had intended to leave PhUtp money ; and by thrusting the poor fellow into the old nobleman's sick-chambor, we had occasioned a quarrel between the relatives, who parted with mutual threats and anger. " O dear me ! " I groaned in connubial colloquies. "Let us get him away. He will be boxing Mugford's ears next, and tell- ing Mis. Mugford that she is vulgar, and a bore.' He was eager to get back to his work, or rather to his lady-love at Paris. We did not try to detain him. For fear of further accidents we were rather anxious that he should be gone. Crestfallen and sad, I accompanied him to the Bou- logne boat. He paid for his place in the second cabin, and stoutly bade ui A Qi^rrel. THE ADVKNTURES OF PHILIP. 247 adieii. A rough night : a wet, slip- pery deck : a crowd of frowzy fellow- passengers : and poor Philip in the midst of them in a thin cloak, his yellow hair and beard blowing about : I see the steamer now, and left her with I know not what feelings of con- trition and shame. Why had I sent Philip to call upon that savage, over- bearing old patron of his t Why compelled him to that bootless act of submission ? Lord Eingwood's brutalities were matters of common notoriety. A wicked, dissolute, cyni- cal old man : and we mast try to make friends with this mammon of nnrighteoosness, and set poor Philip to bow before him and flatter him! Ah, mea culpa, mea culpa ! The wind blew hard, that winter night, and many tiles and chimney-pots blew down : and as I thought of poor Philip tossing in the frowzy second- cabin, I rolled about my own bed very uneasily. I looked into " Bays's Club '' the day ^ter, and there fell on both the Twysdens. The parasite of a father was clinging to the button of a great man when I entered : the little reptile pf a son came to the club in Captain Woolcomb's brougham, and in that distiagaished mulatto ofScer's compa^ ny. They looked at me in a peculiar way. I was sure they did. Talbot Twysden, pouring his loud, braggart talk in the ear of poor Lord Lepel, eyed me with a glance of triumph, and talked and swaggered so that I should hear. Eingwood Twysden and Woolcomb, drinking absinthe to whet their noble appetites, exchanged glances and grins. Woolcomb's eyes were of the color of the absinthe he swallowed. I did not see that Twys- den tore off one of Lord Lepel's but- tons, but that nobleman, with a scared countenance, moved away rapidly from his little persecator. " Hang liim, throw him over, and come to me ! " I heard the generous Twysden say. " I expect Eingwood and one or two more." At this proposition, IJord Lepel, in a tremulous way, mut- tered that he could not break his en- gagement, and fled out of the club. Twysdeu's dinners, the polite read- er has been previously informed, were notorious ; and he constantly bragged of having the company of Lord Eingwood. Now it so hap- pened that on this very evening. Lord Eingwood, with three of his follow- ers, henchmen, or led-captains, dined at Bays's club, being determined to isee a pantomime in which a very pretty young Columbine figured: and some one in the house iok^ with his Lordship, and said, "Why, yOtt are going to dine with Talbot Twys- den. He said, just now, that he ex- pected yon." "Did. he?" said his Lordship. " Then Talbot Twysden told a hanged lie ! " And little i'om Eaves, my in- formant, remembered these remark- able words, because of a circumstance which now almost immediately fol- lowed. A very few days after Philip's de- parture, our friend, the Little Sister, came to us at our breakfast-table, wearing an expression of much trouble and sadness on her kind little face ; the causes of which sorrow she explained to us, as soon as our chil- dren had gone away to their school- room. Amongst Mrs. Brandon's friends, and one of her father's con- stant companions, was the worthy Mr. Eidley, father of the celebrated painter of that name, who was him- self of much too honorable and noble a nature to be ashamed of his humble paternal origin. Companionship be- tween father and son could not be very close or intimate ; especially as in the younger Eidley's boyhood, his father, who knew nothing of the fine arts, h^ looked upon the child as a sickly, half-witted creature, who would be to his parents but a grief and a burden. But when J. J. Eid- ley, Esq., began to attain eminence in his profession, his father's eyes were opened ; in place of neglect and con- tempt, he looked up to his boy with a sincere, nulve adimration, and often. 243 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. with tears, has narrated the pride and pleasure which he felt on the day when he waited on John James at his master Lord Todmorden's table. Ridley senior now felt that he had been unkind and unjust to his boy in the latter's early days, and with a Tery touching humility the old man acknowledged his previous injustice, and tried to atone for it by present respect and affection. Though fondness for his son, and delight in the company of Captain Gann, often drew Mr. Ridley to Thornhangh Street, and to the "Ad- miral Byng" Club, of which both were leading members, Ridley senior belonged to other clubs at the West End, where Lord Todmorden's butler consorted with the confidential but- lers of others of the nobility : and I am informed that in those clubs Rid- ley continued to be called " Todmor- den" long after his connection with that venerable nobleman had ceased. He continued to be called Lord Tod- morden, in fact, just as Lord Popin- jay is still called by his old friends Popinjajr, though his father is dead, and Popinjay, as everybody knows, is at present Earl of Pintado. At one of these clubs of their order, Lord Todmorden's man was in the constant habit of meeting Lord Ring- wood's man, when their Lordships (master and man) were in town. These gentlemen had a regard for each other; and, when they met, communicated to each other their views of society, and their opinions of the characters of the various noble lords and influential commoners whom they served. Mr. Rudgo knew everything about Philip Firmin's af- fairs, about the Doctor s flight, about Philip's generous behavior. "Gene- rous ! / call it admiral ! " old Ridley remarked, while narrating this trait of our friend's, — and his present po- sition. And Rudge contrasted Phil- ip's manly behavior with the conduct of some sneaks which he would not name them, but which they were al- ways speaking ill of the poor young fellow behind his back, and sneaking up to my Lord, and greater skinflints and meaner humbugs never were: and there was no accounting for tastes, but he, Rudge, would not marry his daughter to a black man. Now : that day when Mr. Firmin went to see my Lord Ringwood was one of my Lord's very worst days, when it was almost as dangerous to go near him as to approach a Bengal tiger. When he is going to have a fit of gout, his Lordship (Mr. Rudge re- marked) was hawful. He curse and swear, he do, at everybody ; even the clergy or the ladies, — all 's one. On that very day when Mr. Firmin called he had said to Mr. Twysden, " Get out, and don't come slandering, and backbiting, and bullying that poor devil of a boy any more. It 's black- guardly, by George, sir, — it's black- guardly." And Twysden came out with his tail between his legs, and he says to me, — "Rudge," says he, " my Lord 's uncommon bad to-day." Well, he had n't been gone an hour when pore Philip comes, bad luck to him, and my Lord, who had just heard from Twysden all about that young woman — that party at Paris, Mr. Ridley — and it is about as great a piece of folly as ever I heard tell of — my Lord turns upon the pore young fellar and call him names worse than Twysden. But Mr. Fir- min ain't that sort of man, he is n't He won't suffer any man to call him names ; and I suppose he gave my Lord his own back again, for I heard my Lord swear at him tremendous, I did, with my own cars. When my Lord has the gout flying about I told you he is awful. When he takes his colchicum he 's worse. Now, we have got a party at Whipham at Christmas, and at Whipham we must be. And he took his colchicum night before last, and to-day he was in such a tre- mendous rage of swearing, cursing, and blowing up everybody, that it was as if he was red-hot. And when Twysden and Mrs. Twysden called that day (if you kick that fellar out THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 249 at the hall door, I 'm blest if he won't come smirkin' down the chimney), — and he wouldn't see any of them. And he bawled out after me, ' If Fir- min comes, kick him down stairs, — do you hear'?' with ever so many oaths and curses against the poor fel- low, while he rowed he would never see his banged impudent face again. But this was n't all, Eidley. He sent for Bradgate, his lawyer, that very day. He had back his will, which I signed myself as one of the witnesses, — me and Wilcox, the master of the hotel, — and I know he had left Fir- min something in it. Take my word for it. To that poor young fellow he means mischief." A fall report of this conversation Mr. Eidley gave to his little friend Mrs. Brandon, know- ing the interest which Mrs. Brandon took in the young gentleman; and with these unpleasant news Mrs. Brandon came off to advise with those who — the good nurse was pleased to say — were Philip's best friends in the world. We wished we could give the Little Sister comfort : but all the world knew what a man Lord Bingwood was, — how arbitrary, how revengeful, how cruel ! I knew Mr. Bradgate the lawyer, with whom I bad business, and called upon him, more anxious to speak about Philip's affairs than my own. I suppose 1 was too eager in coming to my point, for Bradgate saw the meaning of my questions, and de- clined to answer them. " My client and I are not the dearest friends in the world," Bradgate said, " but I must keep his counsel, and must not tell you whether Mr. Krmin's name is down in his Lordship's will or not. How should I know 1 He may have altered his will. He may have left Kr- min money; he may have left him none. I hope young Firmin does not count on a legacy. 'That 's all. He may be disappointed if he does. Why, you may hope for a legacy from Lord Kingwood, and you may be disap- pointed. I know scores of people who do hope for something, and who won't get a penny." And this was all the reply I could get at that time from the oracular little lawyer. I told my wife, as of course every dutiful man tells everything to every dutiful wife : — but, though Bradgate discouraged us, there was somehow a lurking hope still that the old noble- man would provide for our friend. Then Philip would maiTy Charlotte. Then he would earn ever so much more money by his newspaper. Then he would be happy ever after. My wife counts eggs not only before they are hatched, but before they are laid. Never was such an obstinate hope- fulness of character. I, on the other hand, take a rational and despondent view of things ; and if they turn out better than I expect, as sometimes they will, I affably own that I have been mistaken. But an early day came when Mr. Bradgate was no longer needfiil, or when he thought himself released from the obligations of silence with regard to his noble client. It was two days before Christmas, and I took my accustomed afternoon saun- ter to " Bays's," where other Iwhilu^s of the club were assembled. There was no little buzzing and excitement among the frequenters of the place. Talbot Twysden always arrived at " Bays's " at ten minutes past four, and scuffled for the evening paper, as if its contents were matter of great importance to Talbot. He would hold men's buttons, and discourse to them the leading article out of that paper with an astounding emphasis and gravity. On this day, some ten minutes after his accustomed hour, he reached the club. Other gentle- men were engaged in perusing the evening journal. The lamps on the tables lighted up the bald heads, the gray heads, dyed heads, and the wigs of many assembled fogies, — murmurs went about the room : " Very sud- den." " Gout in the stomach." "Dined here only four days ago." " Looked very well." " "Very well 1 No ! Never saw a fellow look worse 250 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. in my life." " Yellow as a guinea." " Oould n't eat." " Swore dreadfully at tlie waiters, and at Tom Eaves who dined with him." " Seventy-six, I see. — Bom in the same year with the Duke of York." " Forty thou- sand a year." " Forty? fifty-eight thousand three hundred, I tell you. Always been a saving man." " Es- tate goes to his cousin, Sir John Bingwood; not a member here, — member of ' Boodle's.' " " Hated each other furiously. Very violent temper, the old fellow was. Never got over the Beform Bill, they used to say." " Wonder whether he '11 leave any- thing to old bow-wow Twys — " Here enters Talbot Twysden, Esq. — "Ha, Colonel! How are you? What 's the news to-night ? Kept late at my office, making up accounts. Going down to Whipham to-morrow to pass Christmas with my wife's uncle, — Ringwood, you know. Al- ways go down to Whipham at Christ- mas. Keeps the pheasants for us. No longer a hunting man myself. Lost my nerve, by George." Whilst the braggart little creature indulged in this pompous talk, he did not see the significant looks which were fixed upon him, or, if he remarked them, was perhaps pleased by the at- tention which he excited. " Bays's " had long echoed with Twysden's ac- count of Bingwood, the {feasants, his own loss of nerve in hunting, and the sum which their fiimily would in- herit at the death of their noble rela- tive. " I think I have heard you say Sir John Bingwood inherits after your rel- ative ? " asked Mr. Hookham. " Yes ; the estate, not the title. The earldom goes to my Lord and his heirs, — Hookham. Why shouldn't he marry again ? I often say to him, ' Bingwood, why don't you marry, if it 's only to disappoint that Whig follow. Sir John ? You are fresh and hale, Bingwood. You may live twen- ty years, five-and-twenty years. If you leave your niece and my children anything, wo 're not in a hurry to in- herit,' I say ; ' why doni yon mar. ry ■? ' " " Ah ! Twysden, he 's past marry- ing, " groans Mr. Hookham. "Not at all. Sober man, now. Stout man. Immense powerful man. Healthy man, but for gout. I often say to him, 'Bingwood! I say — '" " 0, for mercy's sake, stop this ! " groans old Mr. Tremlett, who always begins to shudder at the sound of poor Twysden's voice. " Tell him, some- body." "Haven't you heard, Twysden? Have n't you seen ? Don't you know ? " asks Mr. Hookham, solemn- ly- " Heard, seen, known — what ? " cries the other. " An accident has happened to Lord Bingwood. Look at the paper. Here it is." And Twysden pulls ont his great gold eyeglasses, holds the paper as far as his little arm will reach, and — and merciful Powers ! — but I will not venture to depict the agony on that noble face. Like Timanthes the painter, I hide this Agamemnon with a veil. I cast the Globe newspaper over him. Iltabatur arbis: and let imagination depict our Twysden un- der the ruins. What Twysden read in the Globe was a mere curt paragraph ; but in next morning's Times there was one of those obituary notices to winch no- blemen of eminence must submit from the mysterious necrographer eng^ed by that paper. CHAPTEB XXII. PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS. The first and only Earl of Ring- wood has submitted to the fate which peers and commoners are alike des- tined to undergo. Hastening to his magnificent seat of Whipham Market, where he proposed to entertain an il- lustrious Christmas party, his Lord- ship left London scarcely recovered from an attack of gout to which he THE ADVENTURES OV PHILIP. 251 has been for many years a martyr. The disease must have flown to his stomach, and suddenly mastered him. At Turreys Begnm, thirty miles from his own princely habitation, where he had been accustomed to dine on his almost royal progresses to his home, he was already in a state of dreadful suffering, to which his attendants did not pay the attention which his condi- tion ought to have excited ; for when laboring nnder this most painfiil mala- dy his outcries were loud, and his lan- guage and demeanor exceedingly vio- lent. He angrily reftised to send for medical aid at Turreys, and insisted on continniJig his journey homewards. He was one of the old school, who never would enter a railway (though his fortune was greatly increased by the passage of &e railway through his property) ; and his own horses al- ways met Mm at "Popper's Tavern," an obscure hamlet, seventeen miles irom his princely seat He made no sign on arriving at " Popper's," and spoke no word, to the now serious alarm of his servants. When they came to light his carriage-lamps, and look into his post-chaise, the lord of many thousand acres, and, according to report, of immense wealth, was dead. The journey from Turreys had been the last stage of a long, a prosperous, and, if not a famous, at least a notorious and magnificent ca- reer. " The late John George, Earl and Baron Ringwood and Viscount Cinq- bars, entered into public life at the dangerous period before the French Revolution; and commenced his ca- reer as the friend and companion of the Prince of Wales. When his Roy- al Highness seceded from the Whig party. Lord Ringwood also joined the Tory side of politician^, and an earldom was the price of his fidelity. But on the elevation of Lord Steyne to a marquisate. Lord Ringwood quarrelled for a while with his royal patron and friend, deeming his own services unjiistly slighted, as a like digility was not conferred on him- self. On several occasions he gave his vote against Government, and caused his nominees in the House of Commons to vote with the Whigs. He never was reconciled to his late Majesty George IV., of whom he was in the habit of speaking with charac- teristic bluntness. The approach of the Reform Bill, however, threw this nobleman definitively on the Tory side, of which he has ever since re- mained, if not an eloquent, at least a violent supporter. He was said to be a liberal landlord, so lon^ as his ten- ants did not thwart him m his views. His only son died early ; and his Lord- ship, according to report, has long been on ill terms with his kinsman and successor, Sir John Ringwood, of Appleshaw, Baronet. The Barony has been in this ancient family since the reign of Gfcorge I., when Sir John Ringwood was ennobled, and Sir Francis, his brother, a Baron of the Exchequer, was advanced to the dig- nity Of Baronet by the first of our Hanoverian sovereigns." This was the article which my wife and I read on the morning of Christ- mas eVe, as our children were decking lamps and looking-glasses with holly and red berries for the approaching festival. I had despatched a hurried note, containing the news, to Philip on the night previous. We were painfully anxious about his fate now, when a few days would decide h. Agaiiimy business or curiosity took me to see Mr. Bradgate, the lawyer. He was in possession of the news of course. He was not averse to talk about it. The death of his client un- sealed the lawyer's lips partially; and I must say Bradgate spoke in a manner not flattering t» his noble de- ceased Client. The brutalities of the late nobleman had been very hard to bear. On occasion of their last meet- ing his oaths and disrespectfiil behav- ior had been specially odious. He had abused almost every one of his relatives. His heir, he said, was a prating, republican humbug: He had a relative (Triioln Bradgate said 252 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. he would not name) who was a schem- ing, swaggering, swindling lickspittle parasite, always cringing at his heels and longing for his death. And he had another relatiyC, the impudent son of a swindling doctor, who had insulted him two hours before in his own room ; — a fellow who was a pau- per, and going to propagate a breed for the workhouse ; for, after his be- havior of that day, he would be con- demned to the lowest pit of Acheron, before he. Lord Ringwood, would give that scoundrel a penny of his money. " And his Lordship desired me to send him back his will," said Mr. Bradgate. And he destroyed that will before lie went away: it was not the first he had burned. " And I may tell you, now all is over, that he had left his brother's grandson a handsome legacy in that will, which your poor friend might have had, but that he went to see my Lord in his unlucky fit of gout." Ah, mea culpa! mea culpa! And who sent Philip to see his rela- tive in that unlucky fit of gout? Who was so worldly-wise, — so Twys- den-like, as to counsel Philip to flat- tery and submission? But for that advice he might be wealthy now ; he might be happy ; he might be ready to marry his young sweetheart. Our Christmas turkey choked me as I ate of it. The lights burned dimly, and the kisses and laughter under the mis- tletoe were but melancholy sport. But for my advice, how happy might my friend have been ! I looked ask- ance at the honest faces of my chil- dren. What would they say if they knew their father had advised a friend to cringe, and bow, and humble him- self before a rich, wicked old man? I sat as mute at the pantomime as at a burial ; the laughter of the little ones smote me as with a reproof. A burial ? With plumes and lights, and upholsterers' pageantry, and mourning by the yard measure, they were burying my Lord Ringwood, who might have made Philip JTirmin rich but for me. Alllingering hopes regarding our friend were quickly put to an end. A will was found at Whipham, dated a year back, in which no mentiion was made of poor Philip Firmin. Small legacies — disgracefully shabby and small, Twysden said — were left to the Twysden family, with the full- length portrait of the late Earl in his coronation robes, which, I should think, must have given but small satisfaction to his surviving relatives ; for his Lordship was but an ill-favor- ed nobleman, and the price of the carriage of the large picture from Whipham was a tax which poor Tal- bot made very wry faces at paying. Had the picture been accompanied by thirty or forty thousand pounds, or fifty thousand, — why should he not have left them fifty thousand? — how difierent Talbot's grief would have been ! Whereas when Talbot counted up the dinners he had given to Lord Ringwood, all of which he could easily calculate by his cunning ledgers and journals in which was noted down every feast at which his Lordship attended, every guest assem- bled, and every bottle of wine drunk, Twysden found that he had absolute- ly spent more money upon my Lord than the old man had paid back in his will. ' But all the family went into mourning, and the Twysden coachman and footman turned out in black-worsted epaulettes in honor of the illustrious deceased. It is not every day that a man gets a chance of publicly bewailing the loss of an Earl his relative. I suppose Twysden took many hundred people into his confidence on this matter, and be- wailed his uncle's death and his ow« wrongs whilst clinging to many scores of button-holes. And how did poor Philip bear the disappointment ? He must have felt it, for I fear we ourselves had encour- aged him in the hope that his grand- uncle would do something to relieve' his necessity. Philip put a bit of crape round his hat, wrapped himself in his shabby old mantle, and de- clined any outward show of grief »*■ THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 253 all. If the old man had left him money, it had heen well. As he did not, — a puff of cigar, perhaps, ends the sentence, and our philosopher gives no further thought to his disap- pointment. Was not Philip the poor as lordly and independent as Philip the rich ? A struggle with poverty is a wholesome wrestling-match at three or five and twenty. The sinews are young, and are braced by the contest. It is upon the aged that the battle falls hardly, who are weakened by failing health, and perhaps enervated by long years of prosperity. Firmin's broad back could carry a heavy biirden, and he was glad to take all the work which fell in his way. Phipps, of the Daily Intelli- gencer, wanting an assistant, Philip gladly sold four hours of his day to Mr. Phipps : translated page after page of newspapers, French and Ger- man ; took an occasional turn at the Chamber of Deputies, and gave an account of a sitting of importance, and made himself quite an active lieutenant. He began positively to save money. He wore dreadfully shabby clothes, to be sure : for Char- lotte could not go to his chamber and mend his rags as the Little Sister had done : but when Mrs. Baynes abused him for his shabby appearance, — and indeed it must have been mortifying sometimes to see the fellow in his old clothes swaggering about in Madame Smplensk's apartments, talking loud, contradicting, and laying down the law, — Charlotte defended her ma- ligned Philip. " Do you know why Monsieur. Philip has these shabby clothes "! " she asked of Madame de , Smolensk. " Because he has been sending money to his father in Amer- ica." And Smolensk said that Mon- sieur Philip was a brave young man, and that he might come dressed like an Iroquois to her soirfe, and he should . be welcome. And Mrs. Baynes was rude to Philip when he was present, and scornful in her re- marks when he was absent. And Philip trembled before Mrs. Baynes ; and he took her boxes on the ear with much meekness ; for was not hia Charlotte a hostage in her mother's hands, and might not Mrs. General B. make that poor little creature suffer? One or two Indian ladies of Mrs. Baynes's acquaintance happened to pass this winter in Paris, and these persons, who had furnished lodgings in the Faubourg St. Honore', or the Champs Elys&s, and rode in their carriages with, very likely, a footman on the box, rather looked down upon Mrs. Baynes for living in a boarding- house, and keeping no equipage. Ko woman likes to be looked down upon by any other woman, especially by such a creature as Mrs. Batters, the lawyer's wife, from Calcutta, who was not in society, and did not go to Government House, and here was driving about in the Champs Elys^es, and giving herself such airs, indeed ! So was Mrs. Doctor Macoon, with her lady's-maid, and her man-cook, and her open carriage, and her close car- riage. (Pray read these words with the most withering emphasis which you can lay upon them.) And who was Mrs. Macoon, pray ? Madame Beret, the French milliner's daugh- ter, neither more nor less. And this creature must scatter her mud over her betters who went on foot. " I am telling my poor girls, madame," she would say to Madame Smolensk, " that if I had been a milliner's girl, or their father had been a pettifog- ging attorney, and not a soldier, who has served his sovereign in every quarter of the world, they' would be better dressed than they are now, poor chicks ! — we might have a fine apart- ment in the Faubourg St. Honord, — we need not live at a boarding-house." "And if / had been a milliner, Madame la Gdndrale," cried Smo- lensk, with spirit, " perhaps I should not have had need to keep a board- ing-house. My father was a general officer, and served his emperor too. But what will you t We have all to do disagreeable things, and to live with disagreeable people, madame!" 254 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. And with this Smolensk makes Mrs. General Baynes a fine courtesy, and goes offto other affairs or guests. She was of the opinion of many of Philip's friends. " Ah, Monsieur Philip," she said to him, " when you are married, you will live far from that woman ; is It not i " Hearing that Mrs. Batters was going to 3ie Tuileries, I am sorry to say a violent emulation inspired Mrs. Baynes, and she never was easy until she persuaded her General to take her to the ambassador's, and to the en- tertainments of the citizen king who governed France in those days. It would cost little or nothing. Char- lotte must he bronght out. Her aunt, MacWhirter, from Tours, had sent Charlotte a present of money for a dress. To do Mrs. Baynes justice, she spent very little money upon her own raiment, and extracted from one of her trunks a costume which had done duty at Barraekpore and Cal- cutta. "After hearing that Mrs. Batters went, 1 knew she never would be ea^y," (Jeneral Baynes said, with a sigh. His wife denied the accusa- tion n^ an outrage ; said that men al- ways imputed the worst motives to women, whereas her wish. Heaven knows, was only to see her darling child properly presented, and her hus- band in his proper rank in the world. And Charlotte looked lovely, upon the evening of the ball ; and Madame Smolensk dressed Charlotte's hair very prettily, and offered to lend Augoste to accompany the General's carriage; but O^ost revolted, and said, "Nou, merci! hewould do any- thing for the General and Miss Char- lotte, — but for the Gen^rale, no, no, no ! " and he made signs of violent abnegation. And though Charlotte looked as sweet as a rosebud, she had little pleasure in her ball, Philip not being present. And how could he be present, Ivho had but one old coat, and holes in his boots ? So you see, after a sunny autumn, a cold winter comes, when the wind is bad for delicate chests, and muddy for little shoes. How could Charlotte come out at eight o'clock through mud or snow of a winter's morning, if she had been out at an evening party late overnight f Mrs. General Baynes began to go out a good deal to the Paris evening-parties, — I mean to the parties of us Trojans, — parties where there are forty English people, three Frenchmen, and a German who plays the piano. Charlotte was very much admired. The fame of her good looks spread abroad. I promise yon that there were persons of much more importance than the poor Yi- comte de Garfonboutique who were charmed by her bright eyes, her bright smiles, her artless, rosy beauty. Why, little Hely, of the Embassy, actually invited himself to Mrs. ]>oc- tor Macoon's, in order to see this young beauty, and danced with her without ceasing : Mr. Hely, who was the pink of fashion, yon know ; who danced with the royal princesses ; and was at all the grand parties of the Faubourg St. Germain. He saw her to her carriage (a very shabby fly, it must be confessed ; but Mrs. Baynes told him they had been accustomed to a very different kind of equipage in India). He actnally called at the boarding-house, and left his card, M. Wahingham Hely, attache a PAmbas- sade de S. M. Britannigue for General Baynes and his lady. To what balls would Mrs. Baynes like to go? to the Tuileries 1 to the Embassy ? to the Faubourg St. Germain? to the Faubourg St. Honor^ ? I could name many more persons of distinction who were fascinated by pretty Miss Char- lotte. Her mother felt more and more ashamed of the shabby fly, in which our young lady was conveyed to and from her parties ; — of the shabby fly, and of that shabby cava- lier who was in waiting sometimes to put Miss Charlotte into her carriage. Charlotte's mother's ears were only too acute when disparaging remarks were made about that cavalier. What? engaged to that queer red- bearded fellow, with the ragged shirt* THE ADVENTURES OF PfllUP. 256 collars, ■who trod upon everybody in the polia ? A newspaper writer, was he? The son of that Doctor who ran away after cheating everybody ? What a very odd thing of General Baynes to thin): of engaging his daughter to such a person ! So Mr. Krmin was not asked to many distinguished houses, where his Charlotte was made welcome ; where there was dancing in the saloon, very mild negus and cakes in the sailed- manger, and cards in the lady's bed- room. And he did not care to be asked ; and he made himself very ar- rogant and disagreeable when he was asked ; and he would upset teartrays, and burst out into roars of laughter at all times, and swagger about the drawing-room as if he were a man of importance, — he indeed, — giving himself such airs because his grand- father's brother was an «arl! And what had the earl done for him, pray t And what right had he to burst out laughing when Miss Crackley sang a little out of tune? What could General Baynes mean by selecting such a hus- band for that nice, modest young girl 1 The old General sitting in the best bedroom, placidly playing at whist with the other British fogies, does not hear these remarks, perhaps, but little Mrs. Baynes with her eager eyes and cars sees and knows everything. Many people have told her that Philip is a bad match for her daughter. She has heard him contradict calmly quite wealthy people. Mr. Hobday, who has a house in Carlton Terrace, London, and goes to the first houses in Paris, — Philip has contradicted him point-blank, until Mr. Hobday turned quite red, and Mrs. Hobday didn't know where to look. Mr. Peplow, a clergyman and a baronet's eldest son, who will be one day the Rev. Sir Charles Peplow of Peplow Manor, was praising Tomlinson's poems, and offered to read out at Mr. Badger's, — and he reads very finely, though a little perhaps through his nose, — and when he was going to begin, Sfr. Firmin said, "My dear Peplow, for Heaven's sake don't give us any of that rot. I would as soon hear one of your own prize poems." Rot, indeed ! What an expression ! Of course Mr. Peplow was very much annoyed. And this from a mere newspaper writer. Never heard of such rudeness ! Mrs- Tuffin said she took her line at once after seeing this li/ii. Firmin. " He may be an earl's grand-nephew, for what I care. He may have been at college : he has not learned good manners there. He may be clever, — I don't profess to be a judge. But he is most overbearing, clumsy, and disagreeable. I shall not ask him to my Tuesdays ; and, S^mma, if he asks you to dance, I beg you will do no such thing ! " A bull, you understand, in a meadow, or on a prairie with a herd of other buffa^ loes, is a noble animal : but a bull in a china-shop is out of place j and even so was Philip amongst the crockery of those little simple tea- parties, where his mane, and hoofs, and roar caused endless disturbance. These remarks concerning the ac- cepted son-in-law Mrs. Baynes heard and, at proper moments, repeated. She ruled Baynes ; but was very caur tious, and secretly afraid of him. Once or twice she had gone too far in her dealings with the quiet old man, and he had revolted, put her down and never forgiven her. Be- yond a certain point, she dared not provoke her husband. She would say, "Well, Baynes, marriage is a lottery ; and I am afraid our poor Charlotte has not pulled a prize " : on which the General would reply, " No more have others, my dear ! " and so drop the subject for the time being. On another occasion it would be, " You heard how rude Philip Pirmin was to Mr. Hobday ? " and the Gen- eral would answer, " I was at cards, my dear." Again she might say, " Mrs. Tufiin says she will not have Philip Pirmin to her Tuesdays, my dear : and the General's rejoinder would be, " Begad, so much the bet. ter for him!" "Ah," she groans, 256 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " he 's always offending some one ! " "I don't think he seems to please you much, Eliza ! " responds the Greneral : and she answers, " No, he don't, and that I confess; and I don't like to think, Baynes, of my sweet child given np to certain poverty, and such a man ! " At which the General with some of his garrison phrases would break out with a " Hang it, Eliza, do you suppose I think it is a very- good match ? " and turn to the wall, and, I hope, to sleep. As for poor little Charlotte, her mother is not afraid of little Charlotte, and when the two are alone the poor child knows she is to be made wretch- ed by her mother's assaults upon Philip. Was there ever anything so bad as his behavior, to burst out laugh- ing when Miss Crackley was singing f Was he called upon to contradict Sir Charles Peplow in that abrupt way, and as good as tell him he was a fool ? It was very wrong certainly, and poor Charlotte thinks, with a blush perhaps, how she was just at the point of ad- miring Sir Charles Peplow's reading very much, and had been prepared to think Tomlinson's poems delightful, until Philip ordered her to adopt a contemptuous opinion of the poet. " And did you see how he was dressed t a button wanting on his waistcoat, anil a hole in his boot ? " " Mamma," cries Charlotte, turning very red. " He might have been bet- ter dressed, — if — if — " " That is, you would like your own father to he in prison, your mother to beg her bread, your sisters to go in rags, and your brothers to starve, Charlotte, in order that we shouldpay Philip Firmin back the money of which his father robbed him ! Yes. That 's your meaning. Tou need n't explain yourself. I can understand quite well, thank you. Good night. I hope you '11 sleep well ; / sha' n't after this conver- sation. Good night, Charlotte ! " Ah me. O course of true love, didst thou over run smooth ? As we peep into that boarding-house ; whereof I have already described the mistress as wakeful with racking care regarding the morrow; wherein lie the Miss Bolderos, who must naturally be very uncomfortable, being on sufferance and as it were in pain, as they lie on their beds ; — what soitows do we not perceive brooding over the nightcaps ? There is poor Charlotte who has said her prayer for her Philip ; and as she lays her young eyes on the pillow, they wet it with their tears. Why does her mother forever and forever speak against him ? Why is her father so cold when Philip's name is mentioned? Could Charlotte ever think of any but him ? O, never, never ! And so the wet eyes are veiled at last ; and close in doubt and fear and care. And in the next room to Charlotte's, a little yellow old woman lies stark awake ; and in the bed by her side an old gentleman can't close his eyes for thinking, — my poor girl is promised to a beggar. All the fine hopes which we had of his getting a legacy from that lord are over. Poor child, poor child, what will become of her ■? Now, Two Sticks, let us fly over the river Seine to Mr. Philip Firmin's quarters : to Philip's house, who has not got a penny ; to Philip's bed, who has made himself so rude and disa- greeable at that tea-party. He has no idea that he has offended anybody. He has gone home perfectly well pleased. He has kicked off the tat- tered boot. He has found a little fire lingering in his stove by which he has smoked the pipe of thought. Ere he has jumped into his bed he has knelt a moment beside it ; and with all his heart — oh! with all his heart and soul — has committed the dearest one to Heaven's loving protection ! And now he sleeps like a child. CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH WE STILI, HOVEK ABOUT THE ELTSIAN FIELDS. The describer and biographer of my friend Mr. Philip Firmin has THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 257 tried to extenuate nothing; and, I hope, has set down nanght in malice. If Philip's boots had holes in them, I have written that he had holes in his boots. If he had a red beard, there it is red in this story. I might have oiled it with a tinge of brown, and painted it a rich auburn. Towards modest people he was very gentle and tender ; but I must own that in gen- eral society he was not always an agreeable companion. He was often haughty and arrogant : he was im- patient of old stories : he was intole- rant of commonplaces. Mrs. Baynes's anecdotes of her garrison experiences in India and Europe got a very im- patient hearing from Mr. Philip ; and though little Charlotte gently re- monstrated with him, saying, "Do, do let mamma tell her story out ; and don't turn away and talk about some- thing else in the midst of it ; and don't tell her you have heard the sto- ry before, you rude man ! If she is not pleased with you, she is angry with me, and I have to suffer when you are gone away." Miss Charlotte did not say bow much she had to suf- fer when Philip was absent; how constantly her mother found fault with him ; what a sad life, in conse- quence of her attachment to him, the young maiden had to lead ; and I fear that clumsy Pliihp, in his selfish thoughtlessness, did not take enough count of the sufferings which his be- havior brought on the girl. You see I am acknowledging that there were many faults on his side, which, per- haps, may in some degree excuse or account for those which Mrs. General Baynes certainly committed towards him. She did not love Philip natural- ly ; and do you suppose she loved him because she was under great ob- ligations to him ■? Do you love your creditor because you owe him more than you can ever pay "! If I never paid my tailor, should I be on good terms with him 1 I might go on ordering suits of clothes from now to the year nineteen hundred ; but I should hate him worse year after year. I should find fault with his cut and his cloth : I dare say I should end by thinking his bills extortionate, though I never paid them. Kindness is very indigestible. It disagrees with very proud stomachs. I wonder was that traveller who fell among the thieves grateful afterwards to the Samaritan who rescued him ? He gave money certainly ; but he did n't miss it. The religious opinions of Samaritans are lamentably hetero- dox. brother! may we help the fallen still thoiigh they never pay us, and may we lend without exacting the usury of gratitude ! Of this I am determined, that whenever I go courting again, I will not pay my addresses to my dear crea- ture, — day after day, and from year's end to year's end, very likely, with the dear girl's mother, father, and half a dozen young brothers and sisters in the room. I shall begin by being civil to the old lady, of course. She is flattered at first bjr having a young fellow coming courting to her daugh- ter. She calls me " dear Edward " ; works me a pair of braces ; writes to mamma and sisters, and so forth. Old gentleman says " Brown my boy " (I am here fondly imagining myself to be a young fellow named Edward Brown, attached, lot us say, to Miss Kate Thompson), — Thomp- son, I say, says, " Brown my boy, come to dinner at seven Cover laid for you always." And of course, de- licious thought ! that cover is by dear- est Kate's side. But the dinner is bad sometimes. Sometimes I. come late. Sometimes things are going badly in the City. Sometimes Mrs. Thompson is out of humor ; — she always thought Kate might have done better. And in the midst of these doubts and delays, suppose Jones appears, who is older, but of a better temper, a better family, and — plague on him ! — twice as rich ? What are engagements ? What are promises ? It is sometimes an affectionate moth- er's DHTT to break her promise, and that duty the resolute matron will do- 258 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILQ". Then Edward is Edwand no more, but Mr. Brown ; or, worse still, name- less in the house. Then the knife and fork are removed from poor liate's side, and she swallows her own sad meal in tears. Then if one of the little Thompsons says, artless- ly, "Papa, I met Teddy Brown in Regent Street; he looked so — " "Hold your tongue, unfeeling wretch ! " cries mamma. " Look at that dear child ! " Kate is swooning. She has sal-volatile. The medical man is sent for. And presently — Charles Jones is taking Kate Thomp- son to dinner. Long voyages are dangerous; so are long courtships. In long voyages passengers perpetu- ally quan-el (for that Mrs. General could vouch) ; in long courtships the same danger exists; and how much the more when in that latter ship you have a mother who is forever putting in her oar ! And then to think of the annoyance of that love voyage when you and the beloved and beloved's papa, mamma, half a dozen brothers and sisters, are all in one cabin! For economy's sake the Bayneses had no sitting-room at madame's, — for you could not call that room on the second floor a sitting-room which had two beds in it, and in which the young ones practised the piano, with poor Charlotte as their mistress. Philip's courting had to take place for the most part before the whole family ; and to make love under such difficul- ties would have been horrible and maddening and impossible almost, only we have admitted that our young friends had little walks in the Champs Elys^es ; and then you must own that it must have been delightful for them to write each other perpetual little notes, which were delivered occultly under the very nose of papa and mamma, and in the actual presence of the other boarders at madame's, who, of course, never saw anything that was going on. Yes, those sly monkeys actually made little post- offices about the room. There was. for instance, the clock on the mantel- piece in the salon on which was carved the old French allegory, " Le temps faH passer I'aimur." One of those artful young people would pop a note into Timers boat, where you may be sure no one saw it. The trictrac board was another post-office. So was the drawer of the music- stand. So was the Sevres china flower-pot, &c., &c. ; to each of which repositories in its turn the lovers confided the delicious secrets of their wooing. Have you ever looked at your love- letters to Darby, when you were courting, dear Joan? "They are sacred pages to read. You have his tied up somewhere in a faded ribbon. You scarce need spectacles as you look at them. The hair grows black; the eyes moisten and brighten; the cheeks fiU and blush again. 1 pro- test there is nothing so beautiful as Darby and Joan in the world. I hope Philip and his wife will be Darby and Joan to the end. I tell you they are married ; and don't want to make any mysteries about the business. I disdain that sort of artifice. In the days of the old three-volnmc novels, did n't you always look at the end, to see that Louisa and the earl (oryonng clergyman, as the case might be) were happy? If they died, or mot with other grief, for my part I put the book away. This pair, then, are well ; are married ; are, I trust, happy : but before they married and afterwards, they had great griefs and troubles ; as no doubt you have had, dear sir or madam, since you under- went that ceremony. Married ? Of course they are. Do you suppose I would have allowed little Charlotte to meet Philip in the Champs Elys&s with only a giddy little boy of a brother for a companion, who would turn away to see Punch, Guignol, the soldiers marching by, the old woman's gingerbread and toffy stall and so forth f Do you, I say, suppose I would have allowed those two to go out together, unlesi THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 259 flicy were to be married afterwards 1 Out walking together they did go; and, once, as they were arm-in-arm in the Champs Elys&s, whom should they see in a fine open carriage but young Twysden and Captain and Mrs. Woolcomb, to whom, as they passed, Philip doffed his hat with a profound bow, and whom he farther saluted with a roar of immense laughter. Woolcomb must have heard the peal. I dare say it brought a little blush into Mrs. Woolcomb's cheek ; and — and so, no doubt, added to the many attractions of that elegant lady. I have no secrets about my characters, and speak my mind about them quite freely. They said that Woolcomb was the most jealous, stingy, osten- tatious, cruel little brute ; that he led his wife a dismal life. Well 1 ■ If he didf I'm sure, I don't care. " There is that swaggering bankrupt beggar Krmin ! " cries the tawny bridegroom, biting his mustache. " Impudent ragged blackguard," says Twysden minor, " I saw him." " Had n't you better stop the car- riage, and abuse him to himself, and not to meV says Mrs. Woolcomb, languidly, flinging herself back on her cushions. " Go on, hang you ! Ally ! Vite ! " cry the gentlemen in the carriage to the Inguais de place on the box. " I can fancy you don't care about seeing him," resumes Mrs. Woolcomb. " He has a violent temper, and I would not have you quarrel for the world." So I suppose Woolcomb again swears at the laquais de place : and the happy couple, as the saying is, roll away to the Bois de Boulogne. " What makes you laugh so 1 " says little Charlotte, fondly, as she trips along by her lover's side. " Because I am so happy, my dear- est ! " says the other, squeezing to his heart the little hand that lies on his arm. As he thinks on yonder woman, and then looks into the pure eager face of the sweet girl beside him, the scornful laughter occasioned by the sudden meeting which is just over 12 hushes ; and an immense feeling of thankfulness fills the breast of the young man : — thankfulness for the danger from which he has escaped, and for the blessed prize which has fallen to him. But Mr. Philip's walks were not to be all as pleasant as this walk ; and we are now coming to a history of wet, slippery roads, bad times, and winter weather. All I can promise about this gloomy part is, that it shall not be a long story. You will acknowledge we made very short work with the love-making, which I give yoa my word I consider to be the very easiest part of the novel-writer's business. As those rapturous scenes between the captain and the heroine are going on, a writer who knows his business may be thinking about anything else, — about the ensuing chapter, or about what he is going to have for dinner, or what you will; therefore, as we passed over the raptures and joys of the courting so very curtly, you must please to gratify me by taking the grief in a very short measure. If our young people are going to suffer, let (he pain be soon over. " Sit down in the chair. Miss Baynes, if you please, and yon Mr. Firmin, in this. Allow me to examine you; just open your mouth, if you please ; and — 0, O, my dear Miss — there it is out ! A little eau-de-Cologne and water, my dear. And now, Mr. Krmin, if you please, we will — what fangs ! what a big one ! Two guineas. 'Thank you. Good morning. Come to me once a year. John, show in the next party." About the ensuing painful business, then, I protest I don't intend to be much longer occupied than thehumane and dexterous operator to whom I have made so bold as to liken myself. If my pretty Charlotte is to have a tooth out, it shall be removed as gently as possible, poor dear. As for Philip, and his great red-bearded jaw, I don't care so much if the tug makes him roar a little. And yet they remain,' they remain and throb in after life, those wounds of early days. Have I 260 THE ADVENTUKES OP PHILIP. not said how, as I chanced to walk with Mr. Firmiu in Paris, many years after the domestic circumstances here recorded, he paused before the window of that house near the Champs Elysees where Madame Smolensk once held her pension, shook his fist at a, Jalousie of the now dingy and dilapidated mansion, and intimated to , me that he had undergone severe sufferings in the chamber lighted by yonder win- dow ? So have wo all suffered ; so, very likely, my dear young Miss or Master who peruses this modest page, will you have to suffer in your time. You will not die of the operation, most probably : but it is painful : it makes a gap in the mouth, voyez-vous ? and years and years, maybe, after, as you think of it, the smart is renewed, and the dismal tragedy enacts itself over again. Philip liked his little maiden to go out, to dance, to laugh, to be admired, to be happy. In her artless way she told him of her balls, her tea-parties, her pleasures, her partners. In a girl's first little season nothing escapes her. Have you not wondered to hear them tell about the events of the evening, about the dresses of the dowagers, about the compliments of the young men, about the behavior of the girls, and what not ? Little Charlotte used to enact the overnight's comedy for Philip, pour- ing out her young heart in her prattle as her little feet skipped by his side. And to hear Philip roar with laughter ! It would have done you good. You might have heard him from the Obelisk to the Etoile. People turned round to look at him, and shrugged their shoulders wonderingly, as good- natured French folks will do. How could a man who had been lately ruined, a man who had just been dis- appointed of a great legacy from the Earl his great-uncle, a man whose hoots were in that lamentable con- dition, laugh so, and have such high spirits ■? 'lo think of such an impu- dent ragged blackguard, as Eingwood Twysden called his cousin, daring to be happy ! The fact is, that clap of laughter smote those three Twysden people like three boxes on the ear, and made all their cheeks tingle and blush at once. At Philip's merriment clouds which had come over Char- lotte's sweet face would be chased away. As she clung to him doubts which throbbed at the girl's heart would vanish. When she was acting those scenes of the past night's enter- tainment, she was not always happy. As she talked and prattled, her own spirits would rise ; and hope and natural joy would spring in her heart again, and come flushing up to her cheek. Charlotte was being a hypo- crite, as, thank Heaven, all good women sometimes are. She had griefs : she hid them from him. She had doubts and fears : they fled when he came in view, and she clung to his strong arm, and looked in his honest blue eyes. She did not tell him of those painful nights when her eyes were wakeful and tearful. A yellow old woman in a white jacket, with a nightcap and a night-light, would come, night after night, to the side of her little bed; and there stand, and with her grim voice bark against Philip. That old woman's lean finger would point to all the rents in poor Philip's threadbare paletot of a char- acter, — point to the holes and tear them wider open. She would stamp on those muddy boots. She would throw up her peaked nose at the idea of the poor fellow's pipe, — his pipe, his great companion and comforter when his dear little mistress was away. She would discourse on the partners of the night ; the evident attentions of this gentleman, the politeness and high breeding of that. And when that dreary nightly tor- ture was over and Charlotte's mother had left the poor child to herself, sometimes Madame Smolensk, sitting up over her ledgers and bills, and wakeful with her own cares, would steal up and console poor Charlotte ; and bring her some tisane, excellent for the nerves ; and talk to her about THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 261 — about the subject of which Char- lotte best hked to hear. And though Smolensk was civil to Mrs. Baynes in the morning, as her professional duty obliged her to be, she has owned that she often felt a desire to strangle Madame la G^n^rale for her conduct to her little angel of a daughter; and all because Monsieur Philippe smells the pipe, parbleu ! " What t a family that owes you the bread which they eat ; and they draw back for a pipe! The cowards, the cowards! A soldier's daughter is not afraid of it. Merci ! Tenez, M. Philippe," she said to our friend when matters came to an extremity. " Do yon know what in your place I would do t To a Frenchman I would not say so; that understands itself. But these things make themselves otherwise in ^England. I have no money, but I have a cachemire. Take him ; and if I were you, I would make a little voyage to Gretna Grin." And now, if you please, we will quit the Champs Elys^es. We will cross the road from madame's board- ing-house. We w^iU make our way into the Faubourg St Honord, and actually enter a gate over which the lAon, the Un-c-m, and the R-y-l Cr-wn and A-ms of the Three K-ngd-ms are sculptured, and going under the porte-cochfero, and turning to the right, ascend a little stair, and ask of the attendant on the landing, who is in tlic chan- cellerie 1 The attendant says, that several of those messieurs y sont. In fact, on entering the room, you find Mr. Motcomb, — let us say, — Mr. Lowndes, Mr. Halkin, and our young friend Mr. Walsingham Hely, seated at their respective tables in the midst of considerable smoke. Smoking in the midst of these gentlemen, and bestriding his chair, as though it were his horse, sits that gallant young Irish chieftain, The O'Rourke. Some of the gentlemen are copying, in a large handwriting, despatches on foolscap paper. I would rather be torn to pieces by O'Rourke's wildest horses, than be understood to hint at what those despatches, at what those despatch - boxes contain. Perhaps they contain some news' from the Court of Spain, where some intrigues are carried on, a knowledge of which would make your hair start off your head ; perhaps that box, for which a messenger is waiting in a neighboring apartment, has locked up twenty-four yards of Chantilly lace for Lady Belweather, and six new French farces for Tom Tiddler of the Foreign Office, who is mad about the theatre. It is years and years ago ; how should I know what there is in those de- spatch-boxes ? But the work, whatever it may be, is not very pressing, — for there is only Mr. Chesham, — did I say Ches- ham before, by the way ? You may call him Mr. Sloanestrectif you like. There is only Chesham (and he al- ways takes things to the grand serious) who seems to be much en- gaged in writing ; and the conversa- tion goes on. " Who gave it ? " asks Motcomb. " The black man of course, gave it. We would not pretend to compete with such a long purse as his. You should have seen what faces he made at the bill ! Thirty francs a bottle for Rhine wine. He grinned with the most horrible agony whefi he read the addition. He almost turned yellow. He sent away his wife early. How long that girl was hanging about London ; and think of her hooking a millionnaire at last ! Othello is a frightful screw, and diabolically jeal- ous of his wife." "What is the name of the little man Avho got so dismally di-unk, and began to cry about old Eing- wood ? " " Twysden, — the woman's brother. Don't you know Humbug Twysden, the father? The youth is more of- fensive than the parent." "A most disgusting little beast Would come to the Vari^tfe, because we said we were going: would go to Lamoignon's, where the Russians 262 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. gave a dance and a lansquenet. Why- did n't you come, Hely 1 " Mr. Hely. I tell you I hate the whole thing. Those painted old ac- tresses give me the horrors. What do I want with winning Motcomb's money who hasn't got any? Do you think it gives me any pleasure to dance with old Caradol? She puts me in mind of my grandmother, — only she is older. I)o you think I want to go and see that insane old Boutzoif leering at Corinne and Pal- myrine, and making a group of three old women together ! 1 wonder how you fellows can go on. Are n't you tired of truffles and ecrevisses \ la Bor- delaise; and those old opera people, whose withered old carcasses are stuffed with them ? The O'R. There was C^risette, I five ye me honor. Ye never saw. he fell asleep in her cheer — Mr. Loiondes. In her hwhat, O'R. ■? The O'R. Well, in her chair then ! And Figaroff smayred her feeee all over with the craym out of a Char- lotte Roosc. She's a regular bird and mustache, yoa know, C^risette has. Mr. Hely. Charlotte, Charlotte! Oh ! (He dutches his hair madly. His elbows are on the table.) Mr. Lowndes. It's that girl he meets at the tea-parties, where he goes to be admired. . Mr. Hely. It is better to drink tea than, like you fellows, to muddle what brains you have with bad cham- pagne. It is better to look, and to hear, and to see, and to dance with a modest girl, than, like you fellows, to be capering about in taverns with painted old hags like that old Ce'ri- sette, who has got a face like a pomme cuite, and who danced before Lord Malmesbury at the Peace of Amiens. She did, I tell you; and before Na- poleon. Mr. Chesliam. {Looks up from his writing.) There was no Napoleon then. It is of no consequence, bnt — ■ Lowndes. Thank you, I owe you one. You're a most valuable man, Chesham, and a credit to your father and mother. Mr. Chesliam. Well, the First Con- sul was Bonaparte. Lowndes. I am obliged to you. I say I am obliged to you, Chesham, and if you would like any refresh- ment order it meis sumptibus, old boy, — at my expense. Chesham. These fellows will never be serious. (He r&mmes his writing.) Hely. (Iterum, but very low.) Charlotte, Char Mr. Lowndes. Hely is raving about that girl, — that girl with the horrible old mother in yellow, don't you re- member ? and old father, — good old military party, in a shabby old coat, — who was at the last ball. What was the name? O'Rourko, what is the rhyme for Baynes ? The O'R. Pays, and be hanged to you. You 're always makin' fun on me, you little cockney ! Mr. Motcomb. Hely was just as bad about the Danish girl. You know, Walse, you composed ever so many versos to her, and wrote home to your mother to ask leave to marry her ! The O'R. I 'd think him big enough to marry without anybody's leave, — only they would n't have him because he 's so ugly. Mr. Hely. Very good, O'Rourko. Very neat and good. You were di- verting tlie company with an anec- dote. Will you proceed ? The O'R. Well, then, the Cdrisetto had been dancing both on and off the stage till she was dead tired, I sup- pose, and so she fell dead asleep, and Figaroff, taking the what-d'ye-call-'em out of the Charlotte Roose, smayred her face all — Voice without. Deet Mosho Ring- wood TwYSDEN, sivoplay, poor I'honorable Moshoo Lownds ! Servant. Monsieur Twysden ! Mr. Twysden. Mr. Lowndes, how are you ? Mr. Lowndes. Very well, thank you ; how are you ? THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 263 Mr.Hdy. Lowndes is uncommonly brilliant to-day. Mr. Twysden. Not the worse for last night ? Some of ns were a little elevated, I think ! Mr. I/mmks. Some of us quite the reverse. (Little cad, what does he want? Elevated ! he could n't keep his little legs !) Mr. Twysden. Eh! Smoking, I see. Thank you. I very seldom do, — but as you are so kind, — puff. Eh, — uncommonly handsome per- son that, eh, — Madame C^risette. The ffR. Thank ye for telling us. Mr. Lowndes. If she meets with your applause, Mr. Twysden, I should think Mademoiselle Cerisette is all Tight. The O'R. Maybe they d raise her salarv if ye told her. Mr. Twysden. Heh, — I see you 're chaffing mc. We have a good deal of that kind of thing in Somerset, — in our — in — hem ! This tobacco is a little strong. I om a little shaky this morning. Who, by the way, is that Prince BoutzofF who played lansquenet with us ? Is he one of the Livonian BoutzoSs, or one of the Hessian Boutzoffs ? I remember at my poor uncle's. Lord Eingwood, meeting a Prince Blucher de Bout- ^off, something like this man, by the way. You knew my poor uncle t Mr. Loumdes. Dined with him here three months ago at the " Trois Ereres." Mr. Twysden. Been at Whipham, I dare say 1 I was bred up there. It was said once that I was to have been his heir. He was very fond of me. He was my godfather. The O'R. Then he gave you a mug, and it was n't a beauty (sotto voce). Mr. Twysden. You said some- thin' ? I was speaking of Whipham, Mr. Lowndes, — one of the finest places in England, I should say, ex- cept Chatsworth, you know, and that sort of thing. My grandfather built it, ^I mean my ^co« grandfather, for I 'm of the Eingwood family. Mr. Lowndes. Then was Lord Eingwood your grandfather, or your grand-godfather ? Mr. Twysden. He! he! My moth- er was his own niece. My grand- father was his own brother, and I am — Mr. Lowndes. Thank you. I see now. Mr. Hdtkin. Das ist sehr interes- sant. Ich vcrsicherc ihnen das ist SEHE interessant. Mr. Twysden. Said somethin' % (This cigar is really — I '11 throw it away, pleaSe.) I was saying that at Whipham, where I was bred up, we would be forty at dinner, and as many more in the upper servants' hall. Mr. Lowndes. And you dined in the — you had pretty good dinners ? Mr. Twysden. A French chef. Two aids, besides turtle from town. Two or three regular cooks on the establishment, beside's kitchen-maids, roasters, and that kind of thing, you understand. How many have you here now t In Lord Estridge's kitchen you can't do, I should say, at least without — let me see — why, in our small way — and if you come to London my father will be dev'lish glad to see you, — we — Mr. Lowndes. How is Mrs. Wool- comb this morning ? That was a fair dinner Woolcomb gave us yesterday. Mr. Twysden. He has plenty of money, plenty of money. I hope, Lowndes, when you come to town, — the first time you come, mind, — to give you a hearty welcome and some of my father's old por-^ Mr. Hdy. Will nobody kick this little beast out ? Servant. Monsieur Chesham peut- il voir M. Eirmiu ? Mr. Chesham. Certainly. Come in, Eirmiu ! Mr. Twysden, Mr. Eearmang, — Mr. Fir— Mr. who? You don't mean to say you receive thai fellow, Mr. Chesham 1 Mr. Chesham. What fellow I and what do you mean, Mr. Whatd'ye. call-'im ? 264 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Mr. Twysden. Thai blackg — that is, I — I beg yonr — Mr. Firmin (entering and going up to Mr. Chesham). — I say, gire me a bit of news of to-day. What were you saying about that — hum and hum and haw, — may n't I have it ■? {He is talking confidentially with Mr. Chesham, when lie sees Mr. Tviysden. ) What ! you have got that little cad here? Mr. Lowndes. You know Mr. Twys- den, Mr. Firmin. He was just speak- ing about you. Mr. Firmin. Was he ? So much the worse for me. Mr. Twysden. Sir ! We don't speak. You 've no right to speak to me in this manner ! Don't speak to me: and I won't speak to you, sir, — there ! Good morning, Mr. Lown- des! Remember your promise to come and dine with us when you come to town.' And — one word, — (he holds Mr. Lowndes by the hut- ton. By the wall, lie has very curious resemblances to Twysden senior), — we shall be here for ten days certainly. I think Lady Estridge has something next week. I have left our cai-ds, and — Mr. Lowndts. Take care. He will be there (pointing to Mr. Firmin). Mr. Twysden. What? That beg- gar? You don't mean to say Lord Estridge will receive such a fellow as — Good by, good by! (Exit Mr. Twysden.) Mr. Firmin. I caught that little fellow's eye. He 's my cousin, you know. We have had a quarrel. I am sure he was speaking about me. Mr. Lowndes. Well, now you men- tion it, he was speaking about you. Mr, Firmin. Was he ? Tlien don't believe him, Mr. Lowndes. That is my advice. Mr. Hdy (at his desk composing). " Maiden of the blushing cheek, maid- en of tlio — Charlotte, Char " he bites his pen and dashes off rapid rhymes on government paper. Mr. Firmin. What does he say 1 Ho said Charlotte. Mr. Lowndes. He is always in love and breaking his heart, and he puts it into poems ; he wraps it up in paper, and falls in love with some- body else. Sit down and smoke a cigar, won't you ? Mr. Firmin. Can't stay. Must make up my letter. We print to- morrow. Mr. Lowndes. Who wrote that ar- ticle pitching into Peel ? Mr. Firmin. Family secret — can't say — good by. (Exit Mr. Firmin.) Mr. Chesham. In my opinion a most ill-advised and intemperate ar- ticle. That journal, the Fall Mall Gazette, indulges in a very needless acrimony, I think. Mr. Lowndes. Chesham does not like to call a spade a spade. He calls it a horticultural utensil. You have a great career before you, Chesham. You have a wisdom and gravity beyond your years. You bore us slightly, but wo all respect you, — we do indeed. What was the text at church last Sunday? O, by the way, Hely, you little miscreant, you were at church ! Mr. Chesham. You need not blush, Hely. I am not a joking man ; but this kind of jesting does not strike me as being particularly amusing, Lowndes. Mr. Lowndes. You go to church because you are good, because your aunt was a bishop or something. But Hely goes because he is a little' miscreant. You hypocritical little beggar, you got yourself up as if you were going to a dejeuner, and you had your hair curled, and you were seen singing out of the same hymn-book with that pretty Miss Baynes, you little wheedling sinner ; and you walked home with the family — my sisters saw you — to a boarding- house where they live — by Jove! you did. And I '11 tell your mother ! Mr. Chesham. I wish you would not make such a noise, and let me do my work, Lowndes. Ifou — Here Asmodeus whisks us ont of the room, and we lose the rest of the THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 265 young men's conversation. But enough has been overheard, I think, to show what direction young Mr. Hely's thoughts had taken. Since he vras seventeen years of age (at the time when we behold him he may be twenty-three), this romantic youth lias been repeatedly in love : with his elderly tutor's daughter, of course ; with a young haberdasher at the Uni- versity ; with his sister's confidential friend ; with the blooming young Danish beauty last year ; and now, 1 very much fear, a young acquaint- ance of ours has attracted the atten- tion of this imaginative Don Juan. Whenever Hely Is in love, he fancies his passion will last forever, makes a confidant of the first person at hand, weeps plenteously, and writes reams of verses. Do you remember how in a previous chapter we told you that Mrs. Tuffin was determined she would not ask Philip to her soirees, and declared him to be a forward and disagreeable young man ? She was glad enough to receive young Wal- singham Hely, with his languid air, his drooping head, his fair curls, and his flower in his button-hole; and Hely, being then in hot pursuit of one of the tall Miss Blacklocks, went to Mrs. Tnffin's, was welcomed there with all the honors ; and there, flut- tering away from Miss Blacklock, our butterfly lighted on Miss Baynes. Now Miss Baynes would have danced with a mopstick, she was so fond of dancing : and Hely, who had prac- tised in a thousand Chaumieres, Mabilles (or whatever was the public dance-room then in vogue), was a most amiable, agile, and excellent partner. And she told Philip next day what a nice little partner she had foimd, — poor Philip, who was not asked to that paradise of a party. And Philip said that he knew the little man ; that he believed he was rich; that he wrote pretty little verses: — in a word, Philip, in his leonine ways, regarded little Hely as a lion regards a lapdog. ■Now this' little Slyboots had a thousand artful little ways. He had a very keen sensibility and a fine taste, which was most readily touched by innocence and beauty. He had tears, I won't say at command; for they were under no command, and gushed fi:om his fine eyes in spite of himself. Charlotte's innocence and freshness smote him with a keen pleasure. Bon Dieu ! What was that great tall Miss Blacklock who had tramped through a thousand ball-rooms, compared to this artless, happy creature ? He danced away from Miss Blacklock and after Char- lotte the moment he saw our young friend ; and the Blacklocks, who knew all about him, and his money, and his mother, and his expectations, — who had his verses in their poor album, by whose carriage he had capered day after day in the Bois de Bou- logne, — stood scowling and deserted, as this young fellow danced oif ^ith that Miss Baynes, who lived in a boarding-house, and came to parties in a cab with her horrid old mother ! The Blacklocks were as though they were not henceforth for Mr. Hely. They asked him to dinner. Bless my soul, he utterly forgot all about it! He never came to their box on their night at the opera. Not one twinge of remorse had he. Not one pang of remembrance. If he did re- member them, it was when they bored him, like those tall tragic women in black who are always coming in their great long trains to sing seimons to Don Juan. Ladies, your name is down in his Lordship's catalogue ; his servant has it ; and you. Miss Anna, are number one thousand and three. But as for Miss Charlotte, that is a different affair. What innocence ! What a fraicheur! What a merry good - humor ! Don Slyboots is touched, he is tenderly interested : her artless voice thrills through his frame ; ho trembles as he waltzes with her ; as his fine eyes look at her, psha ! what is that film coming over them ■? O Slyboots, Slyboots ! And, as she has nothing to conceal, she 266 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. has told him all he wants to know hefore long. This is her first win- ter in Paris : her first season of coming out. She has only been to two balls before, and two plays and an opera. And her father met Mr. Holy at Lord Trim's. That was her father playing at whist. And they lived at Madame Smolensk's board- ing-house in the Champs Elysdes. And they had been to Mr. Dash's, and to Mrs. Blank's, and she believed they were going to Mrs. Star's on Friday. And did they go to church ? Of course they went to church, to the Bue d'Aguesseau, or wherever it might be. And Slyboots went to church next Sunday. You may per- haps guess to what church. And he went the Sunday after. And he sang his own songs, accompanying himself on the guitar, at his lodgings. And he sang elsewhere. And he had a very pretty little voice, Slyboots had." I believe those poems under the common title of " Gretchen " in our Walsingham's charming volume were all inspired by Miss Baynes. He began to write about her and himself the very first night after see- ing her. He smoked cigarettes, and drank green tea. He looked so pale — so pale and sad that he quitepitied himself in the looking-glass in his apartments in the Rue Miromeail. And he compared himself to a wrecked mariner, and to a grave, and to a man entranced and brought to life. And he cried quite freely and satisfactorily by himself. And he wont to see his mother and sister next day at the "Hotel de la Tcr- rasse," and cried to them and said he was in love this time forever and over. And his sister called him a goose. And after crying he ate an uncommonly good dinner. And he took every one into his confidence, as he always did whenever he was in love : always telling, always making vorses, and always crying. As for Miss Blacklock, he buried the dead body of that love deep in the ocean of his soul. The waves engulfed Miss B. The ship rolled on. The storm went down. And the stars rose, and the dawn was in his soul, &c. Well, well ! The mother was a vulgar woman, and I am glad yon are out of it. And what sort of peo- ple are General Baynes and Mrs. Baynes ? " O, delightful people ! Most dis- tinguished officer, the father ; modest — does n't say a word. The mother, a most lively, brisk, agreeable woman. You must go and see her, ma'am. I desire you'll go immediately." " And leave cards with P. P. C. for the Miss Blacklocks ! " says Miss Hely, who was a plain, lively person. And both mother and sister spoiled this young Hely; as women ought always to spoil a son, a brother, a father, husband, grandfather, — any male relative, in a word. To see this spoiled son married was the good-natured mother's fond prayer. An eldest son had died a rake ; a victim to too much money, pleasure, idleness. The widowed mother would give anything to save this one from the career through which the other had passed. The young man would be one day so wealthy that she knew many and many a schemer would try and en- trap him. Perhaps she had been made to marry his father because he was rich; and she remembered the gloom and wretchedness of her own union. O that she could see her son out of temptation, and the husband of an honest girl ! It was the young lady's first season ? So much the more likely that she should be un- worldly. " The Greneral — don't you remember a nice old gentleman — in a — well, in a wig — that day we dined at Lord Trim's, when that hor- rible old Lord Ringwood was there ? That was General Baynes ; and ho broke out so enthusiastically in de- fence of a poor young man, — Dr. Firmin's son, — who was a bad man, I believe ; but I shall never have con- fidence in another doctor again, that I sha' n't. And we '11 call upon these THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 267 people, Fanny. Yes, in a brown wig, — the General, I perfectly well re- member him, and Lord Trim said he was a most distinguished officer. And I hare no doubt Ms wife will be a most agreeable person. Those generals' wires who have travelled over the world must have acquired a quantity of delightful information. At a boarding-house, are they? I dare say very pleasant and amusing. And we '11 drive there and call on them immediately." On that day, as MacGrigor and Moira Baynes were disporting in the little front garden of Madame Smo- lensk's, I think Moira was just about to lick MacGrigor, when his fratrici- dal hand was stopped by the sight of a large yellow carriage, — a large Lon- don dowager family carriage, — from which descended a largo London fam- ily footman, with side-locks begrimed with powder, with calves such as only belong to large London family footmen, and with cards in his hand. " Ceci Madame Smolensk '! " says the large menial. "Oui," says the boy, nodding his head ; on which the footman was puzzled, for he thought from his readiness in the use of the French language that the boy was a Frenchman. " Ici demure General Bang 1 " con- tinued the man. " Hand us over the cards, John. Not at home," said Moira. " Who ain't at 'ome ? " inquired the menial. " General Baynes, my father, ain't at home. He shall have the paste- board when he comes in. 'Mrs. Hely ? ' Mac, it 's the same name as that young swell who called the other day ! Ain't at home, John. Gone out to pay some visits. Had a fly on purpose. Gone out with my sister. 'Pon my word, they have, John." And from this accurate re- port of the boy's behavior, I fear that the young Baynes must have been brought up at a classical and commercial academy, where economy was more studied than politeness. 12* Philip comes trudging up to din- ner, and as this is not his post day, arrives early ; he hopes, perhaps, for a walk with Miss Charlotte, or a coze in Madame Smolensk's little private room. He finds the two boys in the forecourt ; and they have Mrs. Hely's cards in their hands ; and they nar- rate to him the advent and departure of the lady in the swell carriage, the mother of the young swell with the flower in his button-hole, who came the other day on such a jolly horse. "Yes. And he was at church last Sunday, Philip, and he gave Char- lotte a hymn-book. And he sang : he sang like the piper who played before Moses, Pa said. And Ma said it was wicked, but it wasn't: only Pa's fun, you know. And Ma said you never came to church. Why don't you ? " Philip had no taint of jealousy in his magnanimous composition, and would as soon have accused Charlotte of flirting with other men as of steal- ing madame's silver spoons. " So yon have had some fine visitors," he says, as the fly drives np. " I remember that rich Mrs. Hely, a patient of my father's. My poor mother used to drive to her house." " O, we have seen a great deal of Mr. Hely, Philip ! " cries Miss Char- lotte, not heeding the scowls of her mother, who is nodding and beckon- ing angrily to the girl. " You never once mentioned him. He is one of the greatest dandies about Paris : <5uite a lion," remarks Philip. " Is he ? What a funny little lion ! I never thought about him," says Miss Charlotte, quite simply. in- gratitude ! ingratitude ! And we have told how Mr. Walsingham was crying his eyes out for l:er. " She never thought about him ? " cries Mrs. Baynes, ^uite eagerly. " The piper, is it, you 're talking about V asks papa. "I called him piper, you see, because he piped so sweetly at ch Well, my love 1 " Mrs. Baynes was nudging her Gen- eral at this moment. She did not 268 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. ■wish that the piper should form the subject of conversation, I suppose. " The piper's mother is very rich, and the piper will inherit after her. She has a fine house in London. She gives very fine parties. She drives in a great carriage, and she has come to call upon you, and ask you to her balls, I suppose." Mrs. Baynes was delighted at this call. And when she said, " I 'ra sure /don't value fine people, or their fine parties, or their fine, carriages, but I wish that my dear child should see the world," — I don't believe a word which Mrs. Baynes said. She was much more pleased than Charlotte at the idea of visiting this fine lady ; or else, why should she have coaxed, and wheedled, and been so particularly gracious to the General all the even- ing 1 She wanted a new gown. The truth is, her yellow was very shabby; whereas Charlotte, in plain white muslin, looked pretty enough to be able to di^pense with the aid of any French milliner. I fancy a con- sultation with madame and Mrs. Bunch. I fimcy a fly ordered, and a visit to the milliner's the next day. And when the pattern of the gown is settled with the milliner, I fancy the terror on Mrs. Baynes's wizened face when she ascertains the amount of the bill. To do her justice, the Gen- eral's wife had spent little upon her own homely person. She chose her gowns ugly, but cheap. There were so many backs to clothe in that fam- ily that the thrifty mother did not heed the decoration of her own. CHAPTER XXIV. NEC DOLCES AMOKES SPERNE, PtJEE, NEQUE Ttl CHOEEAS. "Mr dear," Mrs. Baynes said to her daughter, " you are going out a great deal in the world now. You will go to a great number of places where poor Philip cannot hope to be admitted." " Not admit Philip, mamma ! then I 'm sure I don't want to go," cries the girl. " Time enough to leave off going to parties when you can't afibrd it and marry him. When I was a lieu- tenant's wife, I did n't go to any par- ties out of the regiment, my dear ! " " O, then, I am sure I shall never want to go out I " Charlotte declares. " You fancy he will always stop at home, I dare say. Men are not all so domestic as your papa. Very few love to stop at home like him. In- deed, I may say that I have made his home comfortable. But one thing is clear, my child. Philip can't always expect to go where we go. He is not in the position in life. Recollect, your father is a general ofBcer, C.B., and may be K. C. B. soon, and your mother is a general officer's lady. We may go anywhere. I might have gone to the drawing-room at home if I chose. Lady Biggs would have been delighted to present me. Your aunt has been to the drawing-room, and she is only Mrs. Major Mac- Whirter ; and most absurd it was of Mac to let her go. But she rules him in evervthing, and they have no children. 1 have, goodness knows! I sacrifice mj'self for my children. You little know what I deny myself for my children. I said to Lady Biggs, ' No, Lady Biggs ; my hus- band may go. He should go. He has his uniform, and it will cost him nothing except a fly and a bouquet for the man who drives ; but / will not spend money on myself for the hire of diamonds and feathers, and, though I yield in loyalty to no person, I dare say my Sovereign won't miss me.' And I don't think her Majesty did. She has other things to think of besides Mrs. General Baynes, I suppose. She is a mother, and can appreciate a mother's sacrifices for her children." If I have not hitherto given you detailed reports of Mrs. General Baynes's conversation, I don't think, my esteemed reader, you will be very angry. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 2G9 " Now, child," the General's lady continued, " let me warn you not to talk much to Philip about those places to which you go without him, and to wliich his position in life does not al- low of his coming. Hide anything from him 1 dear, no ! Only for his own good, you understand. I don't tell everything to your papa. I should only worrit him and vex him. When anything will please him and make him happy, then I tell him. And about Philip 'i Philip, I must say it, my dear, — I must as a mother say it — has his faults. He is an en- tjjousman. Don't look shocked. He thinks very well of himself; and hav- ing been a great deal spoiled, and made too much of in his unhappy father's time, he is so proud and haughty that he forgets his position, and thinks he ought to live with the highest society. Had Lord King- wood left him a fortune, as Philip kd us to expect when we gave our consent to this most unlucky match, — for that my dear child should marry a beggar is most unlucky and most de- plorable; I can't help saying so, Charlotte, — if I were on my death- bed I could n't help saying so ; and I wish with all my heart we had never seen or heard of him. — There ! Don't go off in one of your tantrums ! What was I saying, pray? I say that Philip is in no position, or rather in a very humble one, which — a mere newspaper-writer and a subaltern too — everybody acknowledges to be. And if he hears us talking about our parties to which we have a right to go, — to which you have a right to go with your mother, a general offi- cer's lady, — why he'll Reoffended. He won't like to hear about them and think he can't be invited ; and j'ou had better not talk about them at all, or about the people you meet, you dance with. At Mrs. Hely's you may dance with Lord Ilcadbury, the ambassador's son. And if you tell Philip he will be offended. He will say that you boast about it. When I was only a lieutenant's wife at Bar- rackpore, Mrs. Captain Capers used to go to Calcutta to the Government House balls. I didn't go. But I was offended, and I used to say that Flora Capers gave herself airs, and was always boasting of her intimacy with the Marchioness of Hastings. We don't like our equals to be better off than ourselves. Mark my words. And if yon talk to Philip about the people whom you meet in society, and whom he can t from his unfortunate station expect to know, you will offend him. That was why I nudged you to-day when you were going on about Mr. Hely. Anything so ab- surd ! I saw Philip getting angry at once, and biting his mustaches, as he always does when he is angry, — and swears quite out loud, — so vul- gar ! There ! you are going to be angry again, my love ; I never saw anything like you ! Is this my Charly who never was angry? I know the world, dear, and you don't. Look at me, how I manage your papa, and I tell you don't talk to Philip about things which offend him ! Now, dearest, kiss your poor old mother who loves you. Go up stairs and bathe your eyes, and come down happy to dinner." And at dinner Mrs. General Baynes was un- commonly gracious to Philip : and when gracious she was especially odious to Philip, whose magnanimous . nature accommodated itself ill to the wheedling artifices of an ill-bred old woman. Following this wretched mother's advice, my poor Charlotte spoke scarcely at all to Philip of the parties to which she went, and the amuse- ments which she enjoyed without him. I dare say Mrs. Baynes was quite happy in thinking that she was " guiding her child rightly. As if a coarse woman, because she is mean, and greedy, and hypocritical, and fifty years old, has a right to lead a guileless nature into wrong ! Ah ! if some of ns old folks were to go to school to our children, I am sure, madam, it would do us a great deal 270 THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILlPi of good. There is a fund of good sense and honorable feeling about my great-grandson Tommy, which is more valuable than all his grand- papa's experience and knowledge of the world. Knowledge of the world forsooth 1 Compromise, selfishness modified, and double dealing. Tom disdains a lie : when he wants a peach, he roars for it. If his mother wishes to go to a party, she coaxes, and wheedles, and manages, and smirks, and courtesies for months, in order to get her end; takes twenty rebuffs, and comes up to the scratch again smiling ; — and this woman is forever lecturing her daughters, and preach- ing to her sons upon virtue, honesty, and moral behavior I Mrs. Holy's little party at the " Hotel de la Terrasse " was very pleasant and bright ; and Miss Char- lotte enjoyed it, although her swain was not present. But Philip was pleased that his little Charlotte should be happy. She beheld with wonder- ment Parisian duchesses, American millionnaires, dandies from the em- bassies, deputies and peers of France with large stars and wigs like papa. She gayiy described her party to Philip; described, that is to say, everything but her own success, which was undoubted. There were many beauties at Mrs. Haly's, but nobody fresher or prettier. 'I'he Miss Black- locks retired very early and in the worst possible temper. Prince Sly- boots did not in the least heed their going away. His thoughts were all lixed upon little Charlotte. Char- lotte's mamma saw the impression which the girl made, and was filled with a hungry joy. Good-natured Mrs, Hely complimented her on her daughter. " Thank God, she is as good as she is pretty," said the mother, I am sure speaking sejriously this, time regarding her daughter. Prince Slyboots danced with scarce anybody else. He raised a perfect whirlwind of compliments round about Charlotte. She was quite a simple person, and did not under- stand one tenth part of what he said to her. He strewed her path with roses of poesy : he scattered garlands of sentiment before her all the way from the antechamber down stairs, and so to the fly which was in wait- ing to take her and parents home to the boarding-honse. " By George, Charlotte, I think you have smitten that fellow," cries the General, who was infinitely amused by young Hely, — his raptures, his affectations, his long hair, and what Baynes called his low dress. A slight white tape and a ruby button confined Hely's neck. His hair waved over his shoul- ders. Baynes had never seen such a specimen. At the mess of the stout 120tli, the lads talked of their dogs, horses, and sport. A young civilian, smattering in poetry, chattering in a dozen languages, scented, smiling, perfectly at ease with himself and the world, was a novelty to the old officer. And now the Queen's birthday ar- rived, — and that it may arrive for many scores of years yet to come is, I am sure, the prayer of all of us, — and with the birthday his Excellency Lord Estridge's grand annual fete in honor of his sovereign. A card for their ball was left at Madame Smolensk's, for General, Mrs. and Miss Baynes; and no doubt Mon- sieur Slyboots Walsingham Hely was the artful agent by whom the in- vitation was forwarded. Once more the General's veteran uniform came out from the tin-box, with its dingy epaulets and little cross and ribbon. His wife urged on him strongly the necessity of having a new wig, wigs being very cheap and good'at Paris, — but Baynes Said a new wig would make his old coat look very shabby, and a new uniform would cost more money than he would like to afford. So shabby he went de cap a pied, with a moulting feather, a threadbare suit, a tarnished wig, and a worn-out lace, sibi constans. Boots, trousers, sash, coat, were all old and worse for wear, and " Faith," says he, " my face follows suit." A brave, silent THE ADVENTURES OF PHaiP. 271 man was Baynes ; with a twinkle of humor in his lean, wrinkled face. And if General Baynes was shab- bily attired at the Embassy ball, I think I know a friend of mine who was shabby too. In the days of his pros- perity, Mr. Philip was parous alitor et infrequens of balls, routs, and ladies' company. Perhaps because his father was angered at Philip's neglect of his social advantages and indifference as to success in the world, Philip was the more neglectful and indifterent. The elder's comedy - smiles, and solemn, hypocritical politeness caused scorn and revolt on the part of the younger man. Philip despised the humbug, and the world to which such humbug could be welcome. He kept aloof from tea-parties then : his even- ing-dress clothes served him for a long time. I cannot say how old his dreSs-coat was at the time of which we are writing. But he had been in the habit of respecting that gar- ment and considering it new and handsome for many years past. Meanwhile the coat had shrunk, or its wearer had grown stouter; and his grand embroidered, embossed, illuminated, carved and gilt velvet dress waistcoat, too, had narrowed, had become absurdly tight and short, and I dare say was the laughing-stock of many of Philip's acquaintances, whilst he himself, poor simple fellow, was fancying that it was a most splendid article of. apparel. You know in the Palais Koyal they hang out the most splendid reach-me-down dressing-gowns, waistcoats, and so forth. " No,'' thought Philip coming out of his cheap diniug-house, and swaggering along the ai-cades, and looking at the tailors' shops, with his hands in his pockets. "My brown velvet dress waistcoat with the gold sprigs, which I had made at college, is a much more tasty thing than these gaudy ready-made articles. And my coat is old certainly, but the brass buttons are still very bright and handsome, and, in fact, it is a most Jjecoming and gentlemanlike thing." And under this delusion the honest fellow dressed himself in his old clothes, lighted a pair of candles, and looked at himself with satisfaction in the looking-glass, drew on a pair of cheap gloves which he had bought, walked by the Quays, and over the Deputies' Bridge, across the Place Louis XV., and strutted up the Faubourg St. Honors to the Hotel of the British Embassy. A half-mile queue of carriages was formed along the street, and of course the entrance to the hotel was magnificently illum- inated. A plague on those cheap gloves ! Why had not Philip paid three francs for a pair of gloves, instead of twenty- nine sons ? Mrs.. Baynes had found a capital cheap glove shop, whither poor Phil had gone in the simplicity of his heart ; and now as he went in under the grand illuminated porte- cochere, Philip saw that the gloves had given way at the thumbs, and that his hands appeared through the rents, as red as raw beefsteaks. It is wonder^ ful how red hands will look through holes in white gloves. " And there 's that hole in my boot, too," thought Phil ; but he had put a little ink over the seam, and so the rent was impercep- tible. The coat and waistcoat were tight, and of a past age. Never mind. The chest was broad, the anus were muscular and long, and Phil's face, in ihe midst of a halo of fair hair and flaming whiskers, looked brave, hon- est, and handsome. For a while his eyes wandered fiercely and restlessly all about the room from group to group; but now — ah! now — they were settled. They had met another pair of eyes, which lighted up with glad welcome when thoy beheld him. Two young cheeks mantled with a sweet blush. These were Charlotte's cheeks : and hard by them were mam- ma's of a very diflferent color. But Mrs. General Baynes had a knowing turban on, and a set of garnets round her old neck, like gooseberries set in gold. They admired the rooms : they heard 272 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. the names of the great folks who ar- rived, and beheld many famous per- sonages. They made their courtesies to the ambassadress. Confusion ! With a great rip, the thumb of one of those cheap gloves of Philip's parts company from the rest of the glove, and he is obliged to wear it crumpled up in his hand : a dreadful mishap, — for he is going to dance with Char- lotte, and he will have to give his hand to the vis-it-vis. Who comes up smiling, with a low neck, with waving curls and whiskers, pretty little hands exquisitely gloved, and tiny feet? 'T is Walsingham Hely, lightest in the dance. Most affably does Mrs. General Baynes greet the young fellow. Very brightly and happily do Charlotte's eyes glance towards her favorite partner. It is certain that poor Fhil can't hope at all to dance like Hely. "And see what nice neat feet and hands he has got," says Mrs. Baynes. " Comme il est bien ganttS ! A gentleman ought to be always well gloved." " Why did you send me to the twenty-nine-sous shop ? " says poor Phil, looking at his tattered hand- shoes and red obtrusive thumb. "O you!" — (here Mrs. Baynes shrugs her yellow old shoulders.) " Your hands would burst through any gloves ! How do you do, Mr. Hely ? Is your mamma here 1 Of course she is ! What a delightful party she gave us ! The dear ambas- sadress looks quite unwell, — most pleasing manners, I am sure ; Lord Estridge, what a perfect gentleman ! " The Bayneses were just come. For what dance was Miss Baynes disen- gaged t " As many as ever you like ! " cries Charlotte, who, in fact, called Hely her little dancing-master, and never thought of him except as a partner. " O, too much happiness ! O that this could last forever ! " sighed Hely, after a waltz, polka, mazurka, I know not what, and fixing on Charlotte the full blaze of his beauteous blue eyes. " Forever "> " cries Charlotte, laughing. "I 'm very fond of dancing, indeed; and you dance beautifully :• but I don't know that I should like to dance for- ever." Ere the words are over, he is whirling her round the room again. His little feet fly with surprising agility. His hair floats behind him. He scatters odors as he spins. The handkerchief with which he fans his pale brow is like a cloudy film of muslin, — and poor old Philip sees with terror that his pocket-handker- chief has got three great holes in it. His nose and one eye appeared through one of the holes whilePhil was wiping his forehead. It was very hot. He was very hot. He was hotter, though standing still, than young Hely who was dancing. " He ! he ! I compli- ment you on your gloves, and your handkerchief, X 'm sure," sniggers Mrs. Baynes, with a toss of her tur- ban. Has it not been said that a bull is a strong, courageous, and noble animal, but a bull in a china-shop is not in his place ? " There you go. Thank you ! I wish you'd go some- where else," cries Mrs. Baynes in a fury. Poor Philip's foot has just gone through her flounce. How red is he ! how much hotter than ever ! There go Hely and Charlotte, whirling round like two opera-dancers I Philip grinds his teeth, he buttons his coat across his chest. How very tight it feels ! How savagely his eyes glare ! Do young men still look savage and solemn at balls ? An ingenuous young Englishman ought to do that duty of dancing, of course. Society calls upon him. But I doubt whether he ought to look cheerful during ths performance, or flippantly engage in so grave a matter. As Charlotte's sweet round face beamed smiles upon Philip over He- ly's shoulders, it looked so happy that he never thought of grudging her her pleasure : and happy he might have remained in this contem- plation, regarding not the circle of dancers, who were galloping and whirling on at their usual swift rate, but her, who was the centre of all Miss Charlotte and her Partners. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 273 joy and pleasure for him; — when suddenly a shrill voice was heard be- hind him, crying, " Get out of the way, hang you ! " and suddenly there bounced against him Ringwood Twy s- den, pulling Miss Flora Trotter round the room, one of the most powerful and intrepid dancers of that season at Paris. They hurtled past Philip ; they shot him forward against a pil- lar. He heard a screech, an oath, and another loud laugh from Twys- den, and beheld the scowls of Miss Trotter as that rapid creature bumped at length into a place of safety. I told you about Philip's coat. It was very tight. The daylight had long been struggling to make an entry at the seams. As he staggered up against the wall, crack ! went a great hole at his back ; and crack ! one of his gold buttons came off, leaving a rent in his chest. It was in those days when gold buttons still lingered on the breasts of some brave men, and we have said simple Philip still thought his coat a fine one. There was not only a rent of the seam, there was not only a burst but- ton, but there was also a rip in Phil- ip's rich cut-velvet waistcoat, with the gold sprigs, which he thought so handsome, — a great heart-rending scar. What was to be done ? Re- treat was necessary. He told Miss Charlotte of the hurt he had received, whose face wore a very comical look of pity at his misadventure, — he covered part of his wound with his gibus hat, — and he thought he would try and make his way out by the gar- den of the hotel, which, of course, was illuminated, and bright, and crowded, but not so very bright and crowded as the saloons, galleries, supper-rooms, and halls of gilded light in which the company, for the most part, assembled. So our poor wounded friend wan- dered into the garden, over which the moon was shining with the most blank indifference at the fiddling, feasting, and party-colored lamps. He says that his mind was soothed by the as- pect of yonder placid moon and twinkling stars, and that he had altogether forgotten his trumpery lit- tle accident and torn coat and waist- coat : but I doubt about the entire truth of this statement, for there have been some occasions when he, Mr. Philip, has mentioned the subject, and owned that he was mortified and in a rage. Well. He went into the garden, and was calming himself by contem- templating the stars, when, just by that fountain where there is Pradier's littlo statue of — Moses in the Bulrushes, let us say, — round which there was a beautiful row of illuminated lamps, lighting up a great coronal of flowers, which my dear readers arc at liberty to select and arrange according to their own exquisite taste ; — near this little fountain he found three gentle- men talking together. The high voice of one Philip could hear, and knew from old days. King- wood Twysden, Esquire, always liked to talk and to excite himself with other persons' liquor. He had been drink- ing the Sovereign's health with great assiduity, I suppose, and was exceed- ingly loud and haj^y. With Ring- wood was Mr. Woolcomb, who^e countenance the lamps lit up in a fine lurid manner, and whose eyeballs gleamed in the twilight : and the third of the group was our young friend Mr. Lowndes. " I owed him one, you see, Lowndes," said Mr. Rinywood Twys- den. " I hate the fellow ! Hang him, always did! I saw the great hulkin' brute standin' there. Couldn't help myself. Give you my honor, could n't help myself. I just drove Miss Trotter at him, — sent her elbow well into him, and spun him up against the wall. The buttons cracked off the beggar's coat, begad ! What business had he there, hang him f Gad, sir, he made a cannon off an old woman in blue, and went into . . . ." Here Mr. Ringwood's speech came to an end ; for his cousin stood before him, grim and biting his mustache. 274 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " Hullo 1 " piped the other. " Who wants you to overliear my conversa- tion ? Dammy, I say ! I .... " Piiilip put out that hand with the torn glove. The glove was in a dreadful state of disruption now. He worked the hand well into his kins- man's neck, and twisting Ringwood round into a proper position, brought that poor old broken boot so to bear upon the proper quarter, that King- wood was discharged into the little font, and lighted amidst the flowers, and the water, and the oil-lamps, and made a dreadful mess and splutter amongst them. And as for Philip's coat, it was torn worse than ever. I don't know how many of the brass buttons had revolted and parted company from the poor old cloth, which cracked and split, and tore under the agitation of that beating angry bosom. I blush as I think of Mr. Firmin in this ragged state, a great rent all across his back, and his prostrate enemy lying howling in the water, amidst the sputtering, crash- ing oil-lamps at his feet. When Cinderella quitted her first ball, just after the clock struck twelve, we all know how sliabby she looked. Philip was a still more disreputable object when he slunk away. I don't know by what side door Mr. Lowndes elim- inated him. He also benevolently took charge of Philip's kinsman and antagonist, Mr. Ringwood Twysden. Mr. Twysden's hands, coat-tails, &c., were very much singed and scalded by the oil, and cut by the broken glass, which was all extracted at the Beaujon Hospital, but not without much suffering on the part of the pa- tient. But though young Lowndes spoke up for Philip, in describing the scene (I fear not without laughter), his Excellency caused Mr. Pirmin's name to be erased from his party lists : and I am sure no sensible man will defend Philip's conduct for a mo- ment. Of this lamentable fracas which oc- curred in the Hotel Garden, Miss Baynes and her parents had no knowledge for a while. Charlotte was too much occupied with her dancing, which she pursued with all her might ; papa was at cards with some sober male and female veterans, and mamma was looking with delight at her daughter, whom the young gentlemen of many embassies were charmed to choose for a partner. When Lord Headbury, Lord Est- ridge's son, was presented to Miss Baynes, her mother was so elated that she was ready to dance too. I do not envy Mrs. Major MacWhirter, at Tours, the perusal of that immense manuscript in which her sister re- corded the events of the ball. "Here was Charlotte, beautiful, elegant, ac- complished, admired everywhere, with young men, young noblemen of im- mense property and expectations, wild about her; and engaged by a promise to a rude, ragged, presumptuous, ill- bred young man, without a penny in the world, — was n't it provoking ? Ah, poor Philip ! How that little sour, yellow mother-in-law elect did scowl at him when he came with rather a shamefaced look to pay his duty to his sweetheart on the day after the ball ! Mrs. Baynes had caused her daughter to dress with ex- tra smartness, had forbidden the poor child to go out, and coaxed her, and wheedled her, and dressed her with I know not what ornaments of her own, with a fond expectation that Lord Headbury, that the yellow young Spanish attache, that the sprightly Prussian secretary, and Walsingham Hely, Charlotte's partners at the ball, would certainly call ; and the only equipage that appeared at Madame Smolensk's gate was a hack cab, which drove up at evening, and out of which poor Philip's well-known tattered boots came striding. Such a fond mother as Mrs. Baynes may well have been out of humor. As for Philip, he was unusually shy and modest. He did not know in what light his friends would regard his escapade of the previous evening. He had been sitting at home all the THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 275 morning in state, and in company with a Polish colonel, who lived in his hotel, and whom Philip had se- lected to be his second in case the I)attle of the previous night should have any suite. He had left that colonel in company with a hag of tobacco and an order for unlimited beer, whilst he himself ran up to catch a glimpse of his beloved. The Bayneses had not hoard of the battle of the previous night. They were full of the ball, of Lord Estridge's affability, of the Golconda ambassa- dor's diamonds, of the appearance of the royal princes who honored the fete, of the most fashionable Paris talk in a word. Philip was scolded, snubbed, and coldly received by mam- ma ; but he was used to that sort of treatment, and greatly relieved by finding that she was unacquainted with his own disorderly behavior. He did not tell Charlotte about the quarrel : a knowledge of it might alarm the little maiden ; and so for once our friend was discreet, and held his ton|;ue. But if he had any influence with the editor of Galignani's Messenger, why did he not entreat the conductors of that admirable journal to forego all mention of the fracas at the Embassy ball f Two days after the fgte, I am sorry to say, there appeared a para- graph in the paper narrating the circumstances of the fight. And the guilty Philip found a copy of that pa- per on the table before Mrs. Baynes and the General when he came to the Champs Elysees according to his wont. Behind that paper sat Major- General Baynes, C. B., looking con- fused, and beside him his lady frown- ing like Ehadamanthus. But no Char- lotte was ig the room. CHAPTEE XXV. INFAKDl DOLORES. Philip's heart beat very quickly at seeing this grim pair, and the guilty newspaper before them, on which Mrs. Baynes s lean right hand was laid. " So, sir," she cried, "you still honor us with your company : after distin- guishing yourself as you did the night before last. Fighting and boxing like a porter at his Excellency's ball. It 's disgusting ! I have no other word for it : disgusting ! " And here I suppose she nudged the General, or gave him some look or signal bv which he knew he was to come into action ; for Baynes straightway advanced and de- livered his fire. " Faith, sir, more bub-ub-black- guard conduct I never heard of in my life ! That 's the only word for it : the only word for it," cries Baynes. " The General knows what black- guard conduct is, and yours is that conduct, Mr. Firmin ! It is all over the town : is talked of everywhere : will be in all the newspapers. When his Lordship heard of it, he was furi- ous. Never, never, will you be ad- mitted into the Embassy again, after disgracing yourself as you have done," cries the lady. "Disgracing yourself, that's the word. — And disgraceful your con- duct was, begad ! " cries the officer second in command. " You don't know my provoca- tion," pleaded poor Philip. "As I came up to him Twysden was boast- ing that he had struck me, — and — and laughing at me." " And a pretty figure you were to come to a ball. Who could help laughing, sir ? " " He bragged of having insulted me, and I lost my temper, and struck him in return. The thing is done and can't be helped," growled Philip. " Strike a little man before ladies ! Very brave indeed ! " cries the lady. " Mrs. Baynes ! " " I call it cowardly. In the army we consider it cowardly to quarrel before ladies," continues Mrs. Gen- eral B. " I have waited at home for two days to see if he wanted any more," groaned Philip. 276 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " yea ! After insulting and knocking a little man down, you want to murder him ! And you call that the conduct of a Christian, — the conduct of a gentleman ! " " The conduct of a ruffian, hy George ! " says General Baynes. " It was prudent of you to choose a very little man, and to have the ladies within hearing ! " continues Mrs. Baynes. " Why, I wonder you have n't beaten my dear children next. Don't you. General, wonder he has not knocked down our poor boys 1 They are quite small. And It is evident that ladies being present is no hindrance to Mr. Firmin's box- ing-matches." " The conduct is gross and un- worthy of a gentleman," reiterates the General. " You hear what that man says, — that old man, who never says an un- kind word ? That veteran, who has been in twenty battles, and never struck a man before women yet ? Did you, Charles t He has given you his opinion. He has called you a name which I won't soil my lips with repeating, but which you de- serve. And do you suppose, sir, that I will give my blessed child to a man who has acted as you have acted, and been called a 7 Charles ! General ! I will go to vay grave rather than sec my daugh- ter given up to such a man ! " " Good Heavens ! " said Philip, his knees trembling under him. " You don't moan to say that you intend to go from your word, and — " " Oh ! you threaten about money, do you t Because your father was a cheat, you intend to try and make us suffer, do you?" shrieks the lady. " A man who strikes a little man be- fore ladies will commit any act of cowardice, I dare say. And if you wish to beggar my family, because your father was a rogue — " " My dear ! " interposes the Gen- eral. " Was n't he a rogue, Baynes 'i Is there any denying it? Haven't you said so a hundred and a hundred times ■? A nice family to marry in- to ! No, Mr. Firmin ! You may insult me as you please. You may strike little men before ladies. You may lift your great wicked hand against that poor old man, in one of your tipsy fits : but I know a mother's love, a mother's duty, — and I desire that we see you no more." " Great Powers ! " cries Philip, aghast. "You don't mean to — to separate me from Charlotte, General ? I have your word. You encouraged me. I shall break my heart. I'll go down on my knees to that fellow. I '11 — oh ! — you don't mean what you say ! " And, scared and sob- bing, tlie poor fellow clasped his strong hands together, and appealed to the General. Baynes was under his wife's eye. " I think," he said, " your conduct has been confoundedly bad, disorder- ly, and ungentlemanlike. You can't support my child, if you marry her. And if you have the least spark of honor in you, as you say you have, it is you, Mr. Firmin, who will break off the match, and release the poor child from certain misery. By George, sir, how is a man who fights and quarrels in a nobleman's ball-room to get on in the world ? How is a man, who can't afford a decent coat to his back, to keep a wife ? The more I have known you, the more I have felt that the engagement would bring misery upon ray child ! Is that what you want ? A man of honor — " ("Honor!" in italics, from Mrs. Baynes. ) " Hush, my dear ! — A man of spirit would give her up, sir. What have you to offer but beggary, by George ■? Do you want my girl to come home to your lodgings, and mend your clothes ? " — "I think I put that point pretty well. Bunch, my boy," said the General, talking of the matter afterwards. "I hit him there, sir." The old soldier did indeed strike his adversary there with a vital stab.' THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 277 Philip's coat, no donbt, was ragged, and his purse but light. He had sent money to his father out of his small stock. There were one or two ser- vants in the old house in Parr Street, who had been left without their wages, and a part of these debts Philip had paid. He knew his own violence of temper, and his unruly independence. He thought very humbly of his talents, and often doubted of his capacity to get on in the world. In his less hopeful moods, he trembled to think that he might be bringing poverty and unhappiness npon his dearest little maiden, for whom he would joyfully have sacri- ficed his blood, his life. Poor Philip sank back sickening and fainting almost under Baynes s words. " Yon '11 let me — you 'II let me see her ? " he gasped out. "She's unwell. She is in her bed. She can't appear to-day ! " cried the mother. "0 Mrs. Baynes! I must — I must see her," Philip said, and fairly broke out in a sob of pain. " This is the man that strikes men before women ! " said Mrs. Baynes. " Very courageous, certainly ! " " By George, Eliza ! " the General cried out, starting up, " it 's too bad — " "Infirm of purpose, give me the daggers ! " Philip yelled out, whilst describing the scene to his biographer in after days. "Macbeth would never have done the murders but for that little quiet woman at his side. When the Indian prisoners are killed, the squaws always invent the worst tortures. You should have seen that fiend and her livid smile, as she was drilling her gimlets into my heart. I don't know how I offended her. I tried to like her, sir. I had humbled myself before her. I went on her er- rands. I played cards with her. I sat and listened to her dreadful sto- ries about Barrackpore and the Gov- ernor-General. I wallowed in the dust before her, and she hated me. I can see her face now, — her cruBl yellow face, and her sharp teeth, and her gray eyes. It was the end of August, and pouring a storm that day. I suppose my poor child was cold and suffering up stairs, for I heard thepoking of a fire in her little room. When I hear a fire poked overhead now, — twenty years after, — the whole thing comes back to me ; and I suffer over again that infernal agony. Were I to live a thousand years, I could not forgive her. I never did her a wrong, but I can't forgive her. Ah! my Heaven, how that woman tortured me ! " " I think I know one or two simi- lar instances," said Mr. Firmin's bi- ographer. " You are always speaking ill of women," said Mr. Firmin's biogra- pher's wife. " No, thank Heaven ! " said the gentleman. " I Ihink I know some of whom I never thought or spoke a word of evil. My dear, will you give Philip some more tea?" and with this the gentleman's narrative is re- sumed. The rain was beating down the avenue as Philip went into the street. He looked up at Charlotte's window : but there was no sign. There was a flicker of a fire there. The poor girl had the fever, and was shuddering in her little room, weeping and sobbing on Madame Smolensk's shoulder. " Que c'e'tait pitie a voir," madame said. Her mother had told her she must break from Philip ; had in- vented and spoken a hundred calum- nies against him; declared that ho never cared for her; that he had loose principles, and was forever haunting theatres and bad company. " It 's not true, mother, it 's not true ! " the little girl had cried, flam- ing up in revolt for a moment; but she soon subsided in tears and misery, utterly broken by the thought of her calamity. Then her father had been brought to her, who had been made to believe some of the stories against poor Philip, and who was commanded by his wife to impress them upon iha 278 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. girl. And Baynes tried to obey or- ders ; but he was scared and cruelly pained by the sight of his little maid- en's grief and suffering. He attempted a weak expostulation, and began a speech or two. But his heart failed him. He retreated behind his wife. Slie never hesitated in speech or reso- lution, and her language became more bitter as her ally faltered. Philip was a drunkard ; Philip was a prod- igal; Philip was a frequenter of dis- solute haunts and loose companions. She had the best authority for what she said. Was not a mother anxious for the welfare of her own child? ("Begad, you don't suppose your own mother would do anything that w.as not for your welfare, now 1 " broke in the General, feebly. ) "Do you think if he had not been drunk he would have ventured to commit such an atrocious outrage as that at the Embassy ? And do you suppose I want a drunkard and a beggar to marry my daughter ? Your ingrati- tude, Charlotte, is horrible ! " cries mamma. And poor Philip, charged with drunkenness, had dined for seventeen sous, with a carafon of beer, and had counted on a supper that night by little Charlotte's side : bo, while the child lay sobbing on her bed, the mother stood over her, and lashed her. For General Baynes — a brave man, a kind-hearted man — to have to look on whilst this torture was inflicted, must have been a hard duty. He could not eat the boarding- house dinner, though he took his place at the table at the sound of the dismal bell. Madame herself was not present at the meal ; and you know poor Charlotte's place was vacant. Her father went up stairs, and paused by her bedroom door, and listened. He heard murmurs within, and ma- dame's voice, as he stumbled at the door, cried harshly, " Qui est lii ? " He entered. Madame was sitting on the bed, with Charlotte's head on her lap. The thick brown tresses were falling over the child's white night- dress, and she lay almost motionless, and sobbing feebly. "Ah, it is yon. General ! " said madame. " You have done a pretty work, sir ! " " Mamma says, won't you take something, Charlotte dear?" faltered the old man. "Will you leave her tran- quil ? " said madame, with her deep voice. The father retreated. When madame went out presently, to get that panacea, une tasse de th€, for her poor little friend, she found the old gentleman seated on a portmanteau at his door. " Is she — is she a little better now ? " he sobbed out. Ma- dame shrugged her shoulders, and looked down on the veteran with su- perb scorn. " Vous n'etes qu'un pol- tron, Gene'ral ! " she said, and swept down stairs. Baynes was beaten in- deed. He was suifering horrible pain. He was quite unmanned, and tears were trickling down his old cheeks as he sat wretchedly there in the dark. His wife did not leave the table as long as dinner and dessert lasted. She read Galignani resolutely after- wards. She told the children not to make a noise, as their sister was up stairs with a bad headache. But she revoked that statement, as it were (as she revoked at cards presently), by asking the Miss Bolderos to play one of their duets. I wonder whether Philip walked up and down before the house that night ? Ah ! it was a dismal night for all of them : a racking pain, a cruel sense of shame, throbbed under Baynes's cotton tassel; and as for Mrs. Baynes, I hope there was not much rest or comfort under her old nightcap. Madame passed the great- er part of the night in a great chair in - Charlotte's bedroom, where the poor child heard the hours toll one after the other, and found no comfort in the dreary rising of the dawn. At a very early hour of the dismal rainy morning, what made poor little Charlotte fling her arms round madame, and cry out, "Ah, que ja vous aime ! ah, que vous etes bonne, madame ! " and smile almost happily through her tears ? In the flrst place, THK ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 279 madamo went to Charlotte's dressing- table, whence she took a pair of scissors. Then the little maid sat up on her bod, with her brown hair clustering over her shoulders; and madame took a lock of it, and cut a thick curl; and kissed poor little Char- lotte's red eyes ; and laid her pale cheek on the pillow, and carefully covered her ; and bade her, with many tender words, to go to sleep. " If you are very good, and will go to sleep, he shall have it in half an hour," madame said. " And as I go do«-n stairs, I will tell Fran^oise to have some tea ready for you when you ring." And this promise, and the thought of what madame was going to do, comforted Charlotte in her misery. And with many fond, fond prayers for Philip, and consoled by thinking, " Now she must have gone the greater part of the way ; now she must be with him ; now he knows I will never, never love any but him," she fell asleep at length on her moistened pillow : and was smiling in her sleep, and I dare say dreaming of Philip, when the noise of the fall of a piece of fumitnre roused her, and she awoke out of her dream to see the grim old mother, in her white nightcap and white dressing-gown, rtanding by her side. Never mind. " She has seen him now. She has told him now," was the child's very first thongbt as her eyes fairly opened. " He knows that I never, never will think of any but him." She felt as if she was actually there in Philip's room, speaking herself to him ; murmuring vows which her fond lips had whis- pered many and many a time to her lover. And now he knew she would never break them, she was consoled and felt more courage. " You have had some sleep, Char- lotte ? " asks Mrs. Bayncs. " Yes, I have been asleep, mamma." As she speaks, she feels under the pillow a little locket containing — what? I suppose a scrap of Mr. Philip's lank hair. " I hope you are in a less wicked frame of mind than when I left yon last night," continues the ma- tron. " Was I wicked for loving Philip ? Then I am wicked still, mamma ! " cries the child, sitting up in her bed. And she clutches that little lock of hair which nestles under her pillow. " What nonsense, child ! This is what you get out of your stupid novels. I tell you he does not think about yon. He is quite a reckless, careless libertine." " Yes, so reckless and careless that we owe him the bread we cat. He does n't think of me ! Does n't he ? Ah — " Here she paused as a clock in a neighboring chamber began to strike. " Now,' she thought, " he has got my message!" A smile dawned over her face. She sank back on her pillow, turning her head from her mother. She kissed the locket, and murmured ; " Not think of me ! Don't you, don't you, my dear ! " She did not heed the wo- man by her side, hear her voice, or for a moment seem aware of her presence. Charlotte was away in Philip's room ; she saw him talking with her messenger; heard his voice so deep and so sweet; knew that the promises ' he had spoken he never would break. With gleam- ing eyes and flushing cheeks she looked at her mother, her enemy. She held her talisman locket and pressed it to her heart. No, she would never be untrue to him ! No, he would never, never desert her ! And as Mrs. Eaynes looked at the honest indignation beaming in the child's face, she read Charlotte's revolt, defiance, perhaps victory. The meek child who never before had questioned an order or formed a wish which she would not sacrifice at her mother's order, was now in arms asserting independence. But I should think mamma is not going to give up the command after a single act of revolt ; and that she will try more 280 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. attempts than one to cajole or coerce her rebel. Meanwhile let Fancy leave the talisman locket nestling on Char- lotte's little heart (in which soft shel- ter methinks it were pleasant to lin- ger). Let her wrap a shawl round her, and affix to her feet a pair of stout goloshes ; let her walk rapidly through the muddy Champs Elys&s, where, in tliis inclement season, only a few pDlicemen and artisans are to be found moving. Let her pay a half- penny at the Pont des Invalides, and so march stoutly along the quays, by the Chamber of Deputies, where as yet deputies assemble: and trudge along the river-side, until she reaches Seine Street, into which, as you all know, the Rue Poussin debouches. This was the road brave Madame Smolensk took on a gusty, rainy au- tumn morning, and on foot, for five- franc pieces were scarce with the good woman. Before the " Hotel Poussin " {ah, qix'on y etait bien a vinfft ans!) is a little painted wicket which opensj ringing, and then there is the passage, you know, with the stair leading to the upper regions, to Monsieur Philippe s room, which is on the first floor, as is that of Bouchard, the painter, who has his atelier over tlie wny. A bad painter is Bouchard, but a worthy friend, a cheery com- panion, a modest, amiable gentleman. And a rare good fellow is Laberge of the second floor, the poet from Car- cassonne, who pretends to be study- ing law, but whose heart is with the Muses, and whose talk is of Victor Hugo and Alfred de Mnsset, whose verses he will repeat to all comers. Near Laberge (I think I have heard Philip say) lived Escasse, a Southern man too, — a capitalist, — a elerk in a bank, quoi!) — whose apartment was decorated sumptuously with his own furniture, who had Spanish wine and sausages in cupboards, and a bag of dollars for a friend in need. Is Escasse alive still % Philip Firmin wonders, and that old Colonel, who lived on the same floor, and who had been a prisoner in England ? What wonderful descriptions that Colonel Dujarret had of fes Meess Anglaises and their singularities of dress and behavior ! Though conquered and a prisoner, what a conqueror and en- slaver he was, when in our country ! You see, in his rough way, Philip used to imitate these people to his friends, and we almost fancied we could see the hotel before us. It was very clean ; it was very cheap ; it was very dark ; it was very cheerful ; — capital coffee and bread-and-butter for breakfast for fifteen sous ; capital bedroom an premier for thirty francs a month, — dinner if you would for I forget how little, and a merry talk round the pipes and the grog after- wards, — the grog, or the modest eau sucr^e. Here Colonel Dujarret recorded his victories over both sexes. Here Colonel Tymowski sighed over his enslaved Poland. Tymowski was the second who was to act for Philip, in case the Ringwood Twysden affair should have come to any violent con- clusion. Here Laberge bawled poetry to Philip, who no doubt in his turn confided to the young Frenchman his own hopes and passion. Deep into the night he would sit talking of his love, of her goodness, of her beauty, of her innocence, of her dreadful mother, of her good old father. Que sais-je ? Have we not said that when this man had anything on his mind, straightway he bellowed forth his opinions to the universe 1 Philip, away from his love, would roar out her praises for hours and hours to Laberge, until the candles burned down, until the hour for rest was come and could bo delayed no longer. Then he would hie to bed with a prayer for her ; and the very instant tie awoke begin to think of her, and bless her, and thank God for her love. Poor as Mr. Philip was, yet as the possessor of health, content, honor, and that priceless pure jewel the girl's love, I think we will not pity him much ; though, on the night when ho received his dismissal from Mrs, THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 281. Baynes, he must have passed an aw- ful time, to be sure. Toss, Philip, on your bed of pain, and doubt, and fear. Toll, heavy hours, from night till dawn. Ah ! 't was a weary night through which two sad young hearts heard you tolling. At a pretty early hour the various occupants of the crib at the Rue Poussin used to appear in the dingy little sallo-k-manger, and partalse of the breakfast there provided. Mon- sieur Menou, in his shirt-sleeves, shared and distributed the meal. Madame Menou, with a Madras handkerchief round her grizzling head, laid down the smoking coffee on the shining oil-cloth, whilst each guest helped himself out of a little museum of napkins to his own particular towel. The room was small; tlie breakfast was not fine; theguestswho partook of it were certainly not re- markable for the luxury of clean lin- en ; but Philip — who is many years older now than when he dwelt in this hotel, and is not pinched for money at all you will be pleased to hear (and between ourselves has become rather a gourmand) — declares he was a very happy youth at this hum- ble "Hotel Poussin," and sighs for the days when he was sighing for Miss Charlotte. Well, he has passed a dreadful night of gloom and terror. I doubt that he has bored Laberge very much with his tears and despondency. And now morning has come, and, as he is having his breakfast with one or more of the before-named worthies, the little hoy- of-all-work enters, grinning, his plumet under his arm, and cries " Uno dame pour M. Philippe ! " " Une dame I " says the French colonel, looking up from his paper. " AUez, mauvais snjet ! " " Grand Dieu ! what has happen- ed ? " cries Philip, running forward, as he recognizes madame's tall figure in the passage. They go up to his room, I suppose, regardless of the grins and sneers of the little boy with the plumet, who aids the maidservant to make the beds ; and who thinks Monsieur Philippe has a very elderly acquaintance. Philip closes the door upon his visitor, who looks at him with so much hope, kindness, confidence in her eyes, that the poor fellow is en- couraged almost ere she begins to speak. " Yes, you have reason ; I come from the little person," Madame Smolensk said. " The means of re- sisting that poor dear angel ! She has passed a sad night ? What ? You, too, have not been to bed, poor youngman!" Indeed Philip had only thrown himself on his bed, and had kicked there, and had groaned there, and had tossed there ; and had tried to read, and I dare say, remembered afterwards, with a strange interest, the book he read, and that other thought which was throbbing in his brain all the time whilst he was read- ing, and whilst the wakeful hours went wearily tolling by. " No, in effect," says poor Philip, rolling a dismal cigarette ; " the night has not been too fine. And she has suffered too t Heaven bless her ! " And then Madame Smolensk told how the little dear angel had cried all the night long, and how the Smolensk had not succeeded in comforting her, until she promised she would go to Philip, and tell him that his Charlotte would be his forever and ever ; that she never could think of any man but him ; that he was the best, and the dearest, and the bravest, and the truest Philip, and that she did not believe one word of those wicked stories told against him by — "Hold, Monsieur Philippe, I suppose Madame la GSnc- rale has been talking about you, and loves you no more," cried Madame Smolensk. " We other women are assassins — assassins, see you ! But Madame la GtSn^rale went too far with the little maid. She is an obedient little maid, the dear Miss! — trem- bling before her mother, and always ready to yield, — only now her spirit is roused ; and she is yours and yours only. The little dear, gentle child I 282 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Ah, how pretty she was, leaning on my shoulder. I held her there, — yes, there, my poor garden, and I cat this from her neck, and brought it to thee. Como, embrace me. Weep ; that does good, Philip. I love thee well. Go — and thy little — it is an angel ! " And so, in tlie hour of their pain, myriads of manly hearts have found woman's love ready to soothe their anguish. Leaving to Philip that thick curling lock of brown hair (from a head where now, mayhap, there is a line or two of matron silver), this Samar- itan plods her way bacic to her own house, where her own cares await her. But tliough the way is long, madame's step is lighter now, as she thinks how Charlotte at the journey's end is wait- ing for news of Philip ; and I suppose there are more kisses and embraces, when the good soul meets with the little suffering girl, and tells her how Philip will remain forever true and faitliful ; and how true love must come to a happy ending ; and how she, Smolensk, will do all in her power to aid, comfort, and console her young friends. As for the writer of Mr. Philip's memoirs, you see I never try to make any concealments. I have told you, all along, that Charlotte and Philip are married, and I believe they are happy. But it is certain that they suffered dreadfully at this time of their lives ; and my wife says that Charlotte, if she alludes to the period and the trial, speaks as though they had both undergone some hideous op- eration, the remembrance of which forever causes a pang to the memory. So, my young lady, will yon have your trial one day, to be borne, pray Heaven, with a meek spirit. Ah, how surely the turn comes to all of us ! Look at Madame Smolensk at her luncheon-table, this day after her visit to Philip at his lodging, after com- forting little Charlotte la her pain. How brisk she is ! How good-na- tured 1 How slio smiles ! How she speaks to all her company, and carves for her guests ! You do not suppose she has no griefs and cares of her own 1 You know better. I dare say she is thinking of her creditors ; of her poverty ; of that accepted bill which will come due next week, and so forth. The Samaritan who rescues you, most likely, has been robbed and has bled in his day, and it is a wounded arm that bandages yours when bleeding. If Anatole, the boy who scoured the plain at the " Hotel Poussin," with his tdumet in his jacket-pocket, and his slippers soled with scrubbing brashes, saw the embrace between Philip and his good friend, I believe, in his experience at that hotel, he never witnessed a transaction more honora- ble, generous, and blameless. Put what construction you will on the business, Anatole, you little imp of mischief! your mother never gave you a kiss more tender than that which Madame Smolensk bestowed on Philip — than that which she gave Philip — than that which she carried back from him and faithfully placed on poor lit- tle Charlotte's pale round cheek. The world is full of love and pity, I say. Had there been less suffering, there would have been less kindness. I, for one, almost wish to be ill again, so that the fiiends who succored me might once more come to my rescue. "To poor little wounded Charlotte in her bed, our friend the mistress of the boarding-house brought back in- expressible comfort. Whatever might betide, Philip would never desert her ! " Think you I would ever have gone on sucli an embassy for a French girl, or interfered between her and her par-' ents?" Madame asked. "Never, never I But you and Monsieur Phi- lippe arc already betrothed before Heaven ; and I should despise you, Charlotte, I should despise him, were cither to draw back." This little point being settled in Miss Charlotte's mind, I can fancy she is immensely soothed and comforted ; that hope and couragesettle in her heart ; thatthe col- or comes back to her young cheeks ; that she can come and join her family ai she did yesterday. " I told you ske THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. never cared about him,'' says Mrs. Baynes to her husband. " Faith, no, she tan't have cared much," says Baynes, with something of a sorrow that bis girl should be so light-minded. But you and I, who have been behind the scenes, who have peeped into Phil- ip's bedroom and behind poor Char- lotte's modest curtains, know that the girl had revolted from her parents ; and so children will if the authority exercised over them is too tyrannical or unjust. Gentle Charlotte, who scarce ever resisted, was aroused and in rebellion : honest Charlotte, who used to speak all her thoughts, now hid them and deceived father and mother ; — yes, deceived : — what a confession to make regarding a young lady, the prima donna of our opera ! Mrs. Baynes is, as usual, writing her lengthy scrawls to Sister MacWhirter at Tours, and informs the Major's lady that she has very great satisfac- tion in at last being able to announce "that that most imprudent and in all respects ineligible engagement be- tween her Charlotte and a certain young man, son of a bankrupt London physician, is come to an end. Mr. t-'s conduct has been so wild, so gross, so disorderly, and ungentkmanlike, that the General (and you know, Maria, how soft and sweet a tempered man Baynes is) has told Mr. Firmin his opinion in unmistakable words, and forbidden him to continue his visits. After seeing him every day for six months, during which time she has accustomed herself to his peculiarities, and his often coarse and odious ex- pressions and conduct, no wonder the separation has been a shock to dear Char, though I believe the young man feels nothing who has been the cause of all this grief. That he cares but little for her has been my opinion all along, though she, artless child, gave him her whole affection. He has been accustomed to throw over women ; and the brother of a young lady whom Mr. F. had courted and lefi (and who has made a most excellent match since) showed his indignation J3 at Mr. F.'s conduct at the Embassy ball the other night, on which the young man took advantage of his greatly superior size and strength to begin a vulgar boxing-match, in which both parties were severely wounded. Of course you saw the paragraph in Galignani about the whole affair. I sent our dresses, but it did not print them, though our names appeared as amongst the company. Anything more singular than the appearance of Mr. F. you cannot well imagine. I wore my garnets; Charlotte (who attracted universal admiration) was in, &c. &c. Of course, the separation has occasioned her a good deal of pain; for Mr. F. certainly behaved with much kindness and forbearance on a previous occasion. But the Gen- eral will not hear of the continuance of the connection. He says the young man's conduct has been too gross and shameful ; and when once roused, you know, I might as well attempt to chain a tiger as Baynes. Our poor Char will suffer no doubt in conse- quence of the behavior of this brute, but she has ever been an obedient child, who knows how to honor her father and mother. She bears up ivon- derfidly, though, of course, the dear child suffers at the parting. I think if she were to go to you and Mac Whiiier at Tours for a month or two, she would be all the better for change of air, too, dear Mac. Come and ietch her, and we will pay the dawk. She would go to certain poverty and wretchedness did she many this most violent and disreputable young man. The Gen- eral sends regards to Mac, and I am," &c. That these were the actual words of Mrs. Baynes's letter I cannot, as a veracious biographer, take upon my- self to say. I never saw the docu- ment, though I have had the good fortune to peruse others from the same hand. Charlotte saw the letter some time after, upon one of those not unfrequent occasions, when a quarrel occurred between the two-si.s- ters, — Mrs. Major and Mrs. General, !84 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. — and Charlotte mentionecl the con- ents of the letter to a friend of mine rho has talked to me about his affairs, md especially his love-affairs, for nany and many a long hour. And hrewd old woman as Mrs. Baynes nay be, you may see how utterly she fa3 mistaken in fancying that her laughter's obedience was still secure. The little maid had left father and nother, at first with their eager sane- ion ; her love had been given to Fir- nin ; and an inmate — a prisoner if rou will — under her- father's roof, ler heart remained with Pliilip, how- svcr time or distance might separata hem. And now, as we Imve the command )f Philip's desk, and are free to open ind read the private letters which re- ate to his history, I take leave to put n a document which was penned in lis place of exile by his worthy fa^ her, upon receiving the news of the [uarrcl described in the last chapter )f these memoirs : — " AsTOB IIonsB, New York, " September 27. "Dear Philip, — I received the lews in your last kind and affection- ite letter with not unmingled pleas- iie : bat ah, what pleasure in life iocs not carry its ainari aliquid along vith it ! That you are hearty, cheer- 'ul, and industrious, earning a small jompetence, I am pleased Indeed to :hink : that you talk about being narried to a penniless girl I can't say jives me a very sincere pleasure. With your good looks, good manners, attainments, you might have hoped Tor a better match than a half-pay jfficer's daughter. But 'tis useless ipeculating on what miffht have been, we are puppets in the hands of fete, most of us. We are carried along by 1 power stronger than ourselves. It lias driven me, at sixty years of age, 'rom competence, general respect, bigh position; to poverty and exile. So bo it! laudo mnnentem, as my de- lightful old friend and ■ philosopher E^ichcs rae, — 67 celebs guatit pennas^ ^- you know the rest. Whatever our fortune may be, I hope that my Philip and his father will bear it with the courage of gentlemen. " Our papers have announced the death of your poor mother's uncle. Lord Eingwood, and I had a fond lingering hope that he might have left some token of remembrance to his brother's grandson. He has not. You have probam pauperiem sine dote. You have courage, health, strength, and talent. I was in greater straits than you are at your age. My father was not as indulgent as yours, I hope and trust, has been. From debt and dependence I worked myself up to a proud position by my own efforts. That the storm overtook me and en- gulfed me afterwards, is true. But .1 am like the merchant of my favor- ite poet : I still hope — ay, at sixty.: three ! — to mend my shattered ships, indocilis pauperiem pali. 1 still hope to pay back to my dear boy that for- tune which ought to have been his, and which went down in my own shipwreck. Something tells me I must, — I will! . " I agree with you that your escape from Agnes Twysden has been a piece of good fortune for you, and am much diverted by your account of her dusky innamorato! Between ourselves, the fondness of the Twysdens for money amounted to meanness. And though I always received Twysden in dear old Parr Street, as I trust a gentle- man should, his company was insuf- ferably tedious to me, and his vulgar loquacity odious. His son also was little to my taste. Indeed I was heartily relieved when I found your connection with that fomily was over, knowing their rapacity about money, and that it was your fortune, not you, they were anxious to secure for Agnes. " You will be glad to hear that I am in not inconsiderable practice already. My reputation as a physician had pre- ceded me to this counlry. My work on Gout was favorably noticed here, and in Philadelphia, and in Boston, by the scientific journals of. those THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 285 great cities. People are more gene- rous and compassionate towards mis- fortune here than in our cold-hearted island. I could mention several gen- tlemen of New York who have suf- fered shipwreck like myself, and are now prosperous and respected. 1 had the good fortune to he of considerable professional service to Colonel J. B. Koglc, of New York, on our voyage out ; and the Colonel, who is a lead- ing personage here, has shown him- self not at all ungrateful. Those who fancy that at New York people cannot appreciate and understand the manners of a gentleman, are not a lit- tle mistaken; and a man who, like myself, has lived with the best society in London, has, I flatter myself, not lived in that society quite in vain. The Colonel is proprietor and editor of one of the most brilliant and influ- ential journals of the city. You know that arms and the toga are often worn here by the same individ- ual, and — "I had actually written thus far when I read in the Colonel's paper — the New York Emerald -— an account of your battle with your cousin at the Embassy ball ! you pugnacious Philip! Well, young Twysdenwas very Vulgar, very rude and overbear- ing, and, I have no doubt, deserved the chastisement you gave him. By the way, the correspondent of the Em- erald makes some droll blunders re- garding you in his letter. We are all fair game for publicity in this coun- try, where the press is free with a ven- geance; and yonr private aifairs, or mine, or the President's, or our gra- cious Queen's, for the matter of that, are discussed with a freedom which certainly amounts to license. The Colonel's lady is passing the winter in Paris, where I should wish you to pay your respects to her. Her hus- band has been most kind to me. I am told that Mrs. E. lives in the very choicest Fiench society, and the friendship of this family may be use- ful to you as to your affectionate fa- tter, G. B. F. "Address as-nsoal, until you hear further from me, as Dr. Brandon, New York. I wonder whether Lord Estridge has asked you after his old college friend ? When he was Head- bury and at Trinity, he and a certain pensioner whom men used to nick- name Brummell Eirmin were said to be the best-dressed men in the Uni- versity. Estridge has advanced to rank, to honors! Yon may rely on it, that he will have one of the v^ next vacant garters. What a differr ent, what an unfortunate career, has been his quondam friend's I — an ex- ile, an inhabitant of a small room in a great hotel, where I sit at a scram- bling public table with all sorts of coarse people! The way in which they bolt their dinner, often with a knife, shocks me. Your remittance was most welcome, small as it was, It shows my Philip has a kind heart. Ah ! why, why are you thinking of marriage, who are so poor ? By the way, your encouraging account of your circumstances has induced me to draw upon you for 100 dollars. The bill will go to Europe by the packet which carries this letter, and has kindly been cashed for me by my friends, Messrs. Plaster and Shinman, of Wall: Street, respected bankers of this city. Leave your card with Mrs. Fogle. Her husband himself may be useful to you and your ever attached " Fatheb." We take the New York Emerald at " Bays's," and in it I had read a very amusing account of our friend Philip, in an ingenious correspondence en- titled "Letters from an Attache," which appeared in that journal. I even copied the paragraph to show to my wife, and perhaps to forward to our friend. " I promise you," wrote the at- tachd, " the new country did not dis- grace the old at the British Embassy ballon Queen Vic's birthday. Colo- nel Z. B. Hoggins'a lady, of Albany, and the peerless bride of Elijah J. Dibbs, of Twenty-ninth Street in 286 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. your city, were the observed of all observers for splendor, for elegance, for refined native beauty. The Roy- al Dukes danced with nobody else ; and at the attention of one of the Princes to the lovely Miss Dibbs, I observed his Royal Duchess looked as black as thunder. Supper handsome. Back Delmonico to heat it. Cham- pagne so-so. By the way, the young fellow who writes here for the Pall Mall Gazette got too much of the champagne on board, — as usual, I am told. The Honorable R. Twys- dcn, of London, was rude to my young chap's partner, or winked at him offensively, or trod on his toe, or I don't know what, — but j'oung F. followed him into the garden ; hit out at him ; sent him flying like a spread eagle info the midst of an il- lumination, and left him there sprawl- ing. Wild, rampageous fellow this yoiing F. ; has already spent his own fortune, and ruined his poor old fa- ther, who has been forced to cross the water. Old Louis Philippe went away early. He talked long with our Minister about his travels in our country. I was standing by, but in course ain't so ill-bred as to say what passed between them." In this way history is written. I dare say about others besides Philip, in English papers as well as Ameri- can, have fables been narrated. CHAPTER XXVI. CONTAINS A TUG OP WAK. Who was the first to spread the report that Philip was a prodigal, and had ruined his poor confiding father ? I thought I knew a person who might be interested in getting under any shelter, and sacrificing even his own son for his own advantage. I thought I knew a man who had done as much already, and surely might do so again ; but my wife flew into one of her tempests of indignation, when I hinted something of this, clutched her own children to her heart, according to her maternal wont, asked me was there any power would cause me to belie thanf and sternly rebuked me for daring to be so wicked, heartless, and cynical. My dear creature, wrath is no answer. You call me heartless and cynic, for saying men are false and wicked. Have you never heard to what lengths some bankrupts will go ? To appease the wolves who chase them in the winter forest, have you not read how some travellers will cast all their provisions out of the sledge ? then, when all the provisions are gone, don't you know that they will fling out perhaps the sister, perhaps the mother, perhaps the baby, the little dear tender inno- cent ? Don't you see him tumbling among the howling pack, and the wolves gnashing, gnawing, crashing, gobbling him up in the snow? horror — horror ! My wife draws all the young ones to her breast as I utter these fiendish remarks. She hugs them in her embrace, and says, " For shame ! " and that I am a monster, and so on. Go to ! Go down on your knees, woman, and acknowledge the sinfulness of onr humankind. How long had our race existed ere murder and violence began ■? and how old was the world ere brother slew brother 'i Well, my wife and I came to a compromise. I might have ray opinion, but was there any need to communicate it to poor Philip ? No, surely. So I never sent him the extract from the New York Emerald ; though, of course, some other good- natured friend did, and I don't think my magnanimous friend cared much. As for supposing that his own father, to cover his own character, would lie away his son's, — sucli a piece of artifice was quite beyond Philip's comprehension, who has been all his life slow in appreciating roguery, or recognizing that there is meanness and double-dealing in the world. When he once comes to understand the fact ; when he once comprehends THE ADATENTUEES OF PHILIP. 287 that Tartuffe is a humbug and swell- ing Bufo is a toatly ; then my friend becomes as absurdly indignant and mistrustful as before he was admiring and confiding. Ah, Philip! Tartufte has a number of good, respectable qualities ; and Bufo, though an under- ground odious animal, may have a precious jewel in his head. 'T is you are cynical. I see the good qualities in these rascals whom you spurn. I see. I shrug my shoulders, i. smile : and you call me cynic. It was long before Philip could comprehend why Charlotte's mother turned upon him, and tried to force her daughter to forsake him. "I have offended the old woman in a hundred ways," he would say. " My tobacco annoys her ; my old clothes offend her; the very English I speak is often Greek to her, and she can no more construe my sentences than I can the Hindostanee jargon she talks to her husband at dinner." "My dear fellow, if you had ten thousand a year she would try and construe your sentences, or accept them even if not understood," I would reply. And some men, whom you and I know to be mean, and to be false, and to be flatterers and parasites, and to be inexorably hard and cruel in their own private circles, will surdy pull a long face to-morrow, and say, " Oh ' the man 's so cynical." I acquit Baynes of what ensued. I hold Mrs. B. to have been the crimi- nal, — the stupid criminal. The hus- band, like many other men extremely brave in active life, was at home timid and irresolute. Of two heads that lie side by side on the same pillow for thirty years, one must contain the stronger power, the more enduring resolution. Baynes, away from his wife, was shrewd, courageous, gay at times ; when with her he was fasci- nated, torpid under the power of this baleful superior creature. " Ah, when we were subs together in camp in 1803, what a lively fellow Charley Baynes was ! " his comrade, Colonel Bunch, would say. " That was before he ever saw his wife's yellow face ; and what a slave she has made of him!" After that fatal conversation which ensued on the day succeeding the ball, Philip did not come to dinner at madarae's according to his custom. Mrs. Baynes told no family stories, and Colonel Bunch, who had no special liking for the young gentle- man, did not trouble himself to make any inquiries about him. One, two, three days passed, and no Philip. At last the Colonel says to the Gen- eral, with a sly look at Charlotte, " Baynes, where is our young friend with the mustache 1 We have not seen him these three days." And hi.' gives an arch look at poor Charlotte. A burning blush flamed up in little Charlotte's pale face, as she looked at her parents and then at their old friend. " Mr. Pirmin does not come, because papa and mamma have for- bidden him," says Charlotte. " I suppose he only comes where he is welcome." And, having made this audacious speech, I suppose the little maid tossed her little head Tip ; and wondered, in the silence which en- sued, whether all the company could hear her heart thumping. Madame, from her central place, where she is carving, sees, from the looks of her guests, the indignant flushes on Charlotte's face, the confu- sion on her father's, the wrath on Mrs. Baynes's, that some dreadful words are passing ; and in vain en- deavors to turn the angry cui-rent of talk. " Un petit canard delicieux, gofltcz-en, madame ! " she cries. Honest Colonel Bunch sees the little maid with eyes flashing with anger, and trembling in every limb. The offered duck having failed to create a diversion, he, too, tries a. feeble commonplace. "A little difference, my dear," he says, in an under voice. " There will be such in the best-regu- lated families. Canard sauvage tres bong, madame, avec — " but he is al- lowed to speak no more, for — " What would you do. Colonel THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Bunch," little Charlotte breaks out nrith her poor little ringing, trembling roice, — " that is, if you were a young man, if another young man struck (fou, and insulted you 1 " I say she litters this in snch a clear voice, that Franijoiso, the femme-de-chanibre, that A.uguste, the footman, that all the quests hear, that all the knires and forks stop their clatter. " Faith, my dear, I 'd knock him down if i coald," says Bunch ; and he catches hold of the little maid's sleeve, and would stop her speaking if he could. "And that is what Philip did," cries Charlotte aloud ; " and mamma has turned him out of the house, — yes, out of the house, for acting like a man of honor ! " " Go to your room this instant. Miss ! " shrieks mamma. As for old Baynes, his stained old uniform is not more dingy-red than his wrinkled face and his throbbing temples: He blushes under his wig, no doubt, could we see beneath that ancient artifice. " What is it 1 madame your moth- er dismisses you of my table 1 I will come with you, my dear Miss Char- lotte ! " says Madame, with much dignity. " Serve the sugared plate, Auguste ! My ladies, you will ex- cuse me ! I go to attend, the dear miss, who seems to me ill." And she rises up, and she follows poor little blushing, burning, weeping Char- lotte : and again, I have no doubt, takes her in her arms, and kisses, and cheers, and caresses her, — at the threshold of the door, — there by the staircase, among the cold dishes of the dinner, where Moira and Mac- grigor had one moment before been marauding. " Courage, ma fillo, courage, mon enfant ! Tenez ! Behold something to console thee ! " and madame takes out of her pocket a little letter, and gives it to the girl, who at sight of it kisses the superscription, and then, in an anguish of love, an(} joy, and grief, falls on the neck of the kind woman, who consoles her in her misery. Whose writing is it Charlotte kisses ' Can you guess by any means ? Upon my word, Madame Smolensk, I never recommend ladies to take daughters to your boarding-house. And I like you so much, I would not tell of you, but you know the house is shut up this many a long day. Oh ! the years slip away fugacious ; and the grass has grown over graves ; and many and many joys and sorrows have been born and have died since then for Charlotte and Philip : but that grief aches still in their bosoms at times ; and that sorrow throbs at Charlotte's heart again whenever she looks at a little yellow letter in her trinket-box : and she says to her children, " Papa wrote that to me before we were mar- ried, my dears." There are scarcely half a dozen words in the little let- ter, I believe ; and two of them are " for ever." I could draw a ground-plan of ma- darae's house in the Champs Elysees if I liked, for has not Philip shown me the place and described it to me many times ? In front, and facing the road and garden, were madame's room and the salon ; to the back was the salle-arraanger ; and a stair ran up the house (where the dishes used to be laid during dinner-time, and where Moira and Macgrigor fingered the meats and puddings). Mrs. (Jen- eral Baynes's rooms were on the first floor, looking on the Champs Elyse'es, and into the garden-court of the house below. And on this day, as the din- ner was necessarily short (owing to unhappy circumstances), and the gen- tlemen were left alone glumly drink- ing their wine or grog, and Mrs. Baynes had gone up stairs to her own apartment, had slapped her boys and was looking out of window, — was it not provokmg that of all days in the world young Hcly should ride up to the house on his capering mare, with his flower in his button-hole, with his little varnished toe-tips just touch- ing his stirrups, and after performing various caracolades and gambadoes in the garden, kiss his yellow-kidded Com/ort ill Grief. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 289 hand to Mrs. General Baynos at the ■window, hope Miss Baynes was quite well, and ask if he might come in and take a cup of teal Charlotte, lying on madame's bod in the ground-floor room, heard Mr. Hely's sweet voice asking after her health, and the crunching of his horse's hoofs on the gravel, and she could even catch glimpses of that little form as the horse capered about in the court, though of course he could not see her where she was lying on the bed with her letter in her hand. Mrs. Baynes at her window had to wag her with- ered head from the casement, to groan out, "My daughter is lying down, and has a bad headache, I am sorry to say," and then she must have had the mortification to see Hely caper ofi', after waving her a genteel adieu. The ladies in the front salon, who as- sembled after dinner, witnessed the transaction, and Mrs. Bunch, I dare say, had a grim pleasure at seeing EUzaBaynes-s young sprig of fashion, of whom Eliza was forever bragging, come at last, and obliged to ride away, not bootless, certainly, for where were feet more beautifully ehaussis ? but after a bootless errand. Meanwhile the gentlemen sat awhile in the dining-room, after the British custom which such veterans liked too well to give up. Other two gentle- men boarders went away, rather alarmed by that storm and outbreak in which Charlotte had quitted the dinner-table, and left the old soldiers together, to enjoy, according to their after-dinner custom, a sober glass of "something hot," as the saying is. In trath, madame's wine was of the poorest; but what better could you expect for the money ? Baynes was not eager to be alone with Bunch, and I have no doubt be- gan to blush again when he found himself tete-a4ete with his old friend. But what was to be done ? The General' did not dare to go up stairs to his own quarters, where poor Char- lotte was probably crying, and her mother in one of her tantrums. Then in the salon there were the ladies of the boarding-house party, and there Mrs. Bunch would be sure to be at him. Indeed, since the Baynes were launched in the great world, Mrs. Bunch was untiringly sarcastic in her remarks about lords, ladies, attache, ambassadors, and fine people in general; So Baynes sat with his friend, iit the falling evening, in much silence, dipping his old nose in the brandy-and-water. Little square-faced, red-faced, whis- ker-dyed Colonel Bunch sat opposite his old companion, regarding him .not without scorn. Bunch had a wife. Bunch had feelings. Do you suppose those feelings had not been worked upon by that wife in private collo- quies ■? Do you suppose, — when two old women have lived together in pretty much the same rank of life, — if one suddenly gets promotion, is carried off to higher spheres, and talks of her new friends, the countesses, duchesses, ambassadresses, as of course she will, — do you -suppose, I say, that the unsuccessful woman will be pleased at the succesfful woman's success? Your knowledge of your own heart, my dear lady, must tell you the truth in this matter. I don't want you to acknowledge that you are angry because your sister has been staying with the Duchess of Fitzbat- tleaxe, but you are, you know. You have made sneering remarks to your husband on the subject, and , such re- marks, I have no doubt, were made by Mrs. Colonel Bunch to her hus- band, regarding her poor friend Mrs. General Baynes. During this parenthesis we have left the General dipping his nose in the brandy-and-water. He can't keep it there forever. He must come up for air presently. His face must come out of the drink, and sigh over the table. " What 's this business, Baynes 1 " says the Colonel. " What 's the matter with poor Charley 1 " "Family affairs, — differences will happen," says the General. 290 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " I do hope and tmst nothing has gone wrong with her and young Fir- mln, Baynes ? " The General does not like those fixed eyes staring at him under those bushy eyebrows, between those bushy, blackened whiskers. " Well, then, yes, Bunch, some- thing has gone wrong ; and given me and — and Mrs. Baynes — a deuced deal of pain too. The young fellow has acted like a blackguard, brawling and fighting at an ambassador's ball, bringing us all to ridicule. He 's not a gentleman ; that 'a the long and short of it, Bunch; and so let's change the subject." " Why, consider the provocation he had ! " cries the other, disregard- ing entirely his friend's prayer. " I heard them talking about the business at Galignani's this very day. A fel- low swears at Firmin ; runs at him ; brags that he has pitched him over ; and is knocked down for his pains. By George ! I think Firmin was quite right. Were any man to do as much to me or you, what should we do, even at our age ? " " Wc are military men. I said I did n't wish to talk about the subject. Bunch," says the General, in rather a lofty manner. " You mean that Tom Bunch has no need to put his oar in ? " "Precisely so," says the other, curtly. " Mum's the word ! Let ns talk about the dukes and duchesses at the ball. That 's more in your line, now," says the Colonel, with rather a sneer. " What do you mean by duchesses and dukes 1 " What do you know about them, or what the deuce do I care ? " asks the General. " O, they are tabooed too ! Hang it, there 's no satisfying you," growls the Colonel. " Look here, Bunch," the General broke out ; " I must speak, since you won't leave me alone. I am unhap- py. You can see that well enough. For two or three nights past I have had no rest. This engagement of my child and Mr. Firmin can't coma to any good. You see what he is, — an overbearing, ill-conditioned, quar- relsome fellow. What chance has Charlev of being happy with such a fellow ? " " I hold my tongue, Baynes. You told me not to put my oar in," growls the Colonel. " O, if that 's the way you take it. Bunch, of course there 's no need for me to go on any more," cries General Baynes. " If an old friend won'tgive an old friend advice, by George, or help him in a strait, or say a kind word when he 's unhappy, I have done. I have known you for forty years, and I am mistaken in you, — that 's all." " There 's no contenting you. You say, ' Hold your tongue,' and I shut my mouth. I hold my tongue, and you say, ' Why don't you speak ? ' Why don't I? Because you won't like what I say, Charles Baynes : and so what 's the good of more talking ? " " Confound it ! " cries Baynes, with a thump of his glass on the table, " but what do you say? " " I say, then, as you will have it," cries the other, clenching his fists in his pockets, — "I say you are want- ing a pretext for breaking off this match, Baynes. X don't say it is a good one, mind; but your word is passed, and your honor engaged to a young fellow to whom you are under deep obligation." " What obligation ? Who has talked to you about my private affairs ? " cries the General, redden- ing. " Has Philip Firmin been brag- ging about his — I " " You have yourself, Baynes. When you arrived here, you told me over and over again what the young fellow had done : and you certainly thought he acted like a gentleman then. If you choose to break your word to him now — " " Break my word ! Great powers, do you know what you are saying, Bunch ? " " Yes, and what you are doing, Baynes." THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 291 "Doing'? and what?" " A damned shabby action ; that 's what you are doing, If you want to know. Don't tell me. Why, do you suppose Sarah — do you suppose ev- erybody does n't see what you are at 1 You think you can get a better match for the girl, and you and Eliza are going to throw the yoang fellow over : and the fellow who held his hand, and might have ruined you, if he liked. I say it is a cowardly action ! " " Colonel Bunch, do you dare to use such a word to me ? " calls out the General, starting to his feet. " Dare be hanged ! I say it 's a shabby action ! " roars the other, rising too. " Hush ! unless you wish to disturb the ladies! Of course you know what your expression means. Colonel Bunch ? " and the General drops his voice and sinks back to his chair. " I know what my words mean, and I stick to 'em, Baynes," growls the other ; " which is more than you can say of yours." " I am dee'd if any man alive shall use this language to me," says the General, in the softest whisper, " with- out accounting to me for it." " Did you ever find me backward, Baynes, at that kind of thing?" growls the Colonel, with a face like a lobster and eyes starting from his head. " Very good, sir. To-morrow, at your earliest convenience. I shall be at Galignani's from eleven till one. With a friend, if possible. — What is it, my love 1 A game at whist ? Well, no, thank you ; I think I won't play cards to-night." It was Mrs. Baynes who entered the room when the two gentlemen were quarrelling; and the bloodthirsty hypocrites instantly smoothed their ruffled brows and smiled on her with perfect courtesy. "Whist,— no! I was thinking should we send out to meet him ? He has never been in Paris." " Never been in Paris ? " said the General, puzzled. 13* "He will be here to-night, you know. Madame has a room ready for him." " The very thing, the very thing ! " cries General Baynes, with great glee. And Mrs. Baynes, all unsuspicious of the quarrel between the old friends, proceeds to inform Colonel Bunch that Major MacWhirtcr was expected that evening. And then that tough old Colonel Bunch knew the cause of Baynes's delight. A second was pro- vided for the General, — the very thing Baynes wanted. We have seen how Mrs. Baynes, after taking connsel with her General, had privately sent for MacWhirter. Her plan was that Charlotte's uncle should take her for a while to Tours, and make her hear reason. Then Charley's foolish passion for Philip would pass away. Then, if he dared to follow her so far, her aunt and un- cle, two dragons of virtue and circum- spection, would watch and guard her. Then, if Mrs. Hely was still of the same mind, she and her son might easily take the post to Tours, where, Philip being absent, young Walsing- ham might plead his passion. The best part of the plan, perhaps, was the separation of our young couple. Char- lotte would recover. Mrs. Baynes was sure cf that. The little girl had made no outbreak until that sudden insurrection at dinner which we have witnessed ; and her mother, who had domineered over the child all her life, thought she was still in her power. She did not know that she had passed the bounds of authority, and that with her behavior to Philip her child's al- legiance had revolted. Bunch then, from Baynes's look and expression, perfectly understood what his adversary meant, and that the General's second was found. His own he had in his eye, — a tough little old army surgeon of Peninsular and Indian times, who lived hard by, who would aid as second and doctor too, if need were, — and so kill two birds with one stone, as they say. The Col- onel would go forth that very instant 292 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. and seek for Dr. Martin, and be hanged to Baynes, and a plague on the whole transaction and the folly of two old friends burning powder in such a quarrel. But he knew what a blood-thirsty little fellow that hen- pecked, silent Baynes was when roused ; and as for himself, — a fellow use that kind of language to me ? By George, Tom Bunch was not going to balk him ! Whoso was that tall figure prowl- ing about madame's house in the Champs Elysees when Colonel Bunch issued forth in quest of his friend ; who had been watched by the police and mistaken for a suspicious chai'ac- ter ; who had been looking up at ma- dame's windows now that the evening shades had fallen 1 O you goose of a Philip ! (for of course, my dears, you guess that the spy was P. F.^Esq.) you look up at the premier, and there is the Beloved in madame's room on tlie ground floor; — in yonder room, where a lamp is burning and casting a famt light across the bars of the jalousie. If Philip knew she was there he would be transformed into a clem- atis, and climb up the bars of the window, and twine round them all night. But you see he thinks she is on the first floor ; and the glances of his passionate eyes are taking aim at the wrong windows. And now Colo- nel Bunch comes forth in his stout strutting way, in his little military cape, — quick march, — and Philip is startled like a guilty thing surprised, and dodges behind a tree in the ave- nue. The Colonel departed on his murder- ous errand. Philip still continues to ogle the window of his heart (the wrong window), defiant of the police- man, who tells him to cirader. He has not watched here many minutes more, ere a hackney-coach drives up with portmanteaus on the roof and a lady and gentleman within. You see Mrs. MacWhirter thought she, as well as her husband, might have a peep at Paris. As Mao's coach- hire was paid, Mrs. Mac could aflTord a little outlay of money. And if they were to bring Charlotte back, — Char^ lotto in grief and agitation, poor child, — a matron, an aunt, would be a much fitter companion for her than a major, however gentle. So the pair ofMacWhirtersjourneyed from Tours, — a long journey it was before rail- ways were invented, — and after four- and-twenty hours of squeeze in the diligence, presented themselves at nightfall at Madame Smolensk's. The Baynes boys dashed into the garden at the sound of wheels. "Mamma — mamma! it's Uncle Mac ! " these innocents cried, as they ran to the railings. " Uncle Mac ! what could bring him ? Oh ! they are going to send me to him! they are going to send me to him ! " thought Charlotte, starting on her bed. And on this, I dare say, a certain locket was kissed more vehemently than ever. " I say. Ma ! " cries the ingenuous Moira, jumping back to the house; "it's Uncle Mac, and Annt Mac, too ! " " What ? " cries mamma, with any- thing but pleasure in her voice ; and then turning to the dining-room, where her husband still sat, she called out, " General ! here 's MacWhirter and Emily ! " Mrs. Baynes gave her sister a very grim kiss. " Dearest Eliza, I thought it was such a good opportunity of coming, and that I might he so useful, you know ! " pleads Emily. " Thank you. ftow do you do, MacWhirter ? " says the grim Gdnd- rale. " Glad to see you, Baynes my boy ! " " How d'ye do, Emily ? Boys, bring your uncle's traps. Didn't know Emily was coming, Mac. Hope there 's room for her ! " sighs the General, coming forth from his par- lor. The Major was struck by the sad looks and pallor of his brother-in-law. "By George^ Baynes, you look as THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 293 fellow as a guinea. How's Tom feunch ? " " Come into this room along with me. Have some brandy-and-water, Mac. Auguste ! Odevie sho!" calls the General ; and Auguste, who out of the new-comer's six packages has daintily taken one very small mackintosh cushion, says " Com- ment 1 encore du grog. General ? " and, shrugging his shoulders, disap- pears to procure the refreshment at his leisure. The sisters disappear to their em- braces ; the brothers-in-law retreat to the salle-a-manger, where General Baynes has been sitting, gloomy and lonely, for half an hour past, think- ing of his quarrel with his old com- rade. Bunch. He and Bunch have been chums for more than forty years They have been in action together, and honorably mentioned in the same report. They; have had a great re- gard for each other ; and each knows the other is an obstinate old mule, and, in a quarrel, will die rather than give way. They have had a dispute out of which there is only one issue. Words have passed which no man, however old, by George ! can brook from any friend, however intimate, by Jove ! No wonder Baynes is grave. His family is large; his means are small. To-morrow he may be under fire of an old friend's pistol. In such an extremity he knows how each will behave. No wonder, I say, the General is solemn. , " What 's in the wind now, Baynes 1 " asks the Major, affer a little drink and a long silence. " How is poor little Char 7" "Infernally ill — I mean behaved infernally ill," says the General, bit- ing his lips. " Bad business ! Bad business ! Poor little child ! " cries the Major. " Insubordinate little devil ! " says thepale General, grinding his teeth. " We '11 see which shall be master ! " " What ! you have had words ? " " At this table, this very day. She eat here and. defied her mother and me, by George ! and flung out of tfc? room like a tragedy queen. She must be tamed, Mac, or my name's not Baynes." MacWhirter knew his relative o( old, and that this quiet, submissive man, when angry, worked up to a white heat as it were. " Sad affair ; hope you '11 both come round, Bay- nes," sighs the Major, trying bootless commonplaces ; and seeing this last remark had no effect, he bethought him of recurring to their mutual friend. " How 's Tom Bunch ? " the Major asked, cheerily. Atthis question Baynes grinned in suchja-ghastly way that MacWhirter eyed5 hiin with wonder. " Colonel Bunch is very well," the General said, in dismal voice ; " at least, he was half an hour ago. He was sitting there " ; and he pointed to an empty spoon lying in an empty beaker, whence the spirit-and-water had de- parted. " What has been the matter, Baynes ? " asked the Major. " Has anything happened between you and Tom ? " " I mean that, half an hour ago, Colonel Bunch used words to mc which I '11 bear from no man alive; and you have arrived just in the nick of time, MacWhirter, to take my message to him. Hush! here's the drink." " Voici, Messieurs ! " Auguste at length has brought up a second sup- ply of brandy-and-water. The vete- rans mingled their jorums ; and whilst his brother-in-law spoke, the alarmed MacWhirter sipped occasionally in- tentvsque ora tenmat. CHAPTER XXVII. I CHAEGE YOU, DROP yOHR DAGGEKS ! General Baynes began the story which you and I have heard at length. He told it in his own way. He grew very angry with himself whilst de- 294 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. fending himself. He had to abuse Philip very fiercely, in order to ex- cuse his own act of treason. He had to show that his act was not his act ; that, after all he never had promised, and that, if he had promised, Philip's atrocious conduct ought to absolve him from any previous promise. I do not wonder that the General was abusive, and out of temper. Such a. crime as he was committing can't be performed cheerfully by a man who is habitually gentle, genei-ous, and hon- est. I do not say that men cannot cheat, cannot lie, cannot inflict torture, cannot commit rascally actions, with- out in the least losing their equanim- ity ; but these are men habitually false, knavish, and cruel. They are accus- tomed to break their promises, to cheat their neighbors in bargains, and what not. A roguish word or action more or less is of little matter to them : their remorse only awakens after detection, and they don't begin to repent till they come sentenced out of the dock. But here was an ordi- narily just man withdrawing from his promise, turning his back on his benefactor, and justifying himself to himself by maligning the man whom he injured. It is not an uncommon event, my dearly beloved brethren and esteemed miserable sister sinners ; but you like to say a preacher is " cynical " who admits this sad truth, — and, perhaps, don't care to hear about the subject on more than one day in the week. So, in order to make out some sort of case for himself, our poor good old General Baynes chose to think and declare that Philip was so violent, ill-conditioned, and abandoned a fel- low, that no faith ought to be kept with him; and that Colonel Bunch had behaved with such brutal inso- lence that Baynes must call him to account. As for the fact that there was another, a richer, and a much more eligible suitor, who was likely to offer for his daughter, Baynes did not happen to touch on this point at all; preferring to speak of Philip's hopeless poverty, disreputable con- duct, and gross and careless behavior. Now MacWhirter, having, I sup. pose, little to do at Tours, had read Mrs. Baynes's letters to her sister Emily, and remembered them. In- deed, it was but very few months since Eliza Baynes's letters had been full of praise of Philip, of his love for Char- lotte, and of his noble generosity in foregoing the great claim which he had upon the General, his mother's careless trustee. Philip was the first suitor Charlotte had had : in her first glow of pleasure, Charlotte's mother had covered yards of paper with compliments, interjections, and those scratches or dashes under her words, by which some ladies arc accustomed to point their satire or emphasize theb delight. He was an admirable young man, — wild, but generous, handsome, noble! He had forgiven his father thousands and . thousands of pounds which the Doctor owed him, — all his mother's fortune ; and he had acted most nobly by her trustees, — that she must say, though poor dear weak Baynes was one of them! Baynes who was as simple as a child. Major Mae and his wife had agreed that Philip's forbearance was very gene- rous and kind, but after all that there was no special cause for rapture at the notion of their niece marrying a strug- gling young fellow without a penny in the world ; and they had been not a little amused with the change of tone in Eliza's later letters, when she began to go out in the great world, and to look coldly upon poor, penni- less Eirmin, her hero of a few months since. Then Emily remembered how Eliza had always been fond of great people ; how her head was turned by going to a few parties at Government House ; how absurdly she went on with that little creature Fitzrickets (because ho was an Honorable, for- sooth) at Dumdum. Eliza was a good wife to Baynes ; a good mother to the children ; and made both ends of a narrow income meet with surpris- ing dexterity ; but Emily was bound THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 295 to say of ber sister Eliza, that a more, &c., &c., &c. And when the news came at length that Philip was to be thrown overboard, Emily clapped her hands together, and said to her hns- band, "Now, Mac, didn't I always tell yon so ? If she could get a fash- ionable husband for Charlotte, I knew my sister would put the Doctor's son to the door ! " That the poor child would suffer considerably, her aunt was assured. Indeed, before her own union with Mac, Emily had under- gone heart-breakings and pangs of sep- aration on her own account. The poor child would want comfort and companionship. She would go to fetch her niece. And though the Ma- jor said, " My dear, you want to go to Paris, and buy a new bonnet," Mrs. MacWhirter spumed the insinuation, and came to Paris from a mere sense of duty. So Baynes poured out his history of wrongs to his brother-in-law, who marvelled to hear a man, ordinarily chary of words and cool of demeanor, so angry and so voluble. If he had done a bad action, at least, after do-, ing it, Baynes had the grace to be very much out of humor. If I ever, for my part, do anything wrong in my family, or to them, I accompany that action with a furious rage and blustering passion. I won't have wife or children question it. No querulous Nathan of a family friend (or an incommodious conscience, maybe,) shall come and lecture me about my ill doings. No — no. Out of the house with him ! Away, you preach- ing bugbgar, don't try to frighten me ! Baynes, I suspect, to browbeat, bully, and outtalk the Nathan pleading in his heart, — Baynes will outbawl that prating monitor, and thrast that in- convenient preacher out of sight, out of hearing, drive him with angry words from our gate. Ah ! in vain we expel him ; and bid John say, not at home ! There he is when we wake, sitting at our bed-foot. We throw him overboard for daring to put an oar in our boat. Whose ghastly head is that looking up from the wa- ter and swimming alongside us, row we never so swiftly 1 Eire at him. Brain him with an oar, one of you, and pull on ! Flash goes the pistol. Surely that oar has stove the old skull in ? See ! there comes the awful companion popping up out of wa- ter again, and ciring, " Kemember, remember, I am here, I am here ! " Baynes had thought to bully away one monitor by the threat of a pistol, and hero was another swimming alongside of his boat. And would you have it otherwise, my dear reader, for you, for me ? That you and I shall commit sins, in this, and ensu- ing years, is certain; but I hope — I hope they won't be past praying for. Here is Baynes, having just done a bad action, in a dreadfully wicked, murderous, and dissatisfied state of mind. His chafing, bleeding temper is one raw ; his whole soul one rage, and wrath, andfever. CharlesBaynes, thou old sinner, I pray that Heaven may turn thee to a better state of mind. I will kneel down by thy side, scatter ashes on my own bald pate, and we will quaver out Peccavimus together. " In one word, the young man's conduct has been so outrageous and disreputable that I can't, Mac, as a father of a family, consent to my girl's marrying him. Out of a re- gard for her happiness, it is my duty to break off the engagement," cries the General, finishing the story. "Has he formally released you from that trust business 1 " asked the Major. " Good Heavens, Mac ! " cries the General, turning very red. " You know I am as innocent of all wrong towards him as you are ! " "Innocent — only you did not look to your trust — " " I think ill of hira, sir. I think he is a Avild, reckless, overbearing young fellow," calls out the General, very quickly, " who would make my child miserable ; but I don't think he is such a blackguard as to come down 296 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. cm a retired elderly man with a poor family, — a numerous family ; a man who has bled and fought for his sov- ereign in the Peninsula, and in India, as the ' Army List ' will show you, by George! I don't think Firmin will be such a scoundrel as to come down on me, I say ; and I must say, MacWhirter, I think it most unhand- some of you to allude to it, — most unhandsome, by George ! " " Why, yon are going to break off your bargain with him ; why should he keep his compact with you ? " asks the gruff Major. " Because," shouted the General, " it would be a sin and a shame that an old man with seven children, and broken health, who has served in wery place, — yes, in the West and ■East Indies, b^ George ! — in Canada — in the Peninsula, and at New Or- 'eans; — because he has been deeeiv- ■?d and humbugged by a miserable scoundrel of a doctor into signing a sham paper, by George ! should be Tulaed, and his poor children and wife driven to beggary, by Jove ! as you seem to recommend young Fir- min to do. Jack MacWhirter ; and I '11 toll you what. Major MacWhir- ter, I take it dee'd unfriendly of j'ou ; and I '11 trouble you not to put your oar into my boat, and meddle with my affairs, that 's all, and I '11 know who s at the bottom of it, by Jove ! It 's the gray mare, Mac, — it 's your bet- ier-fmlf, MacWhirter ^- it 's that con- founded, meddling, sneaking, backbit- ing, domineering — " " What next ? " roared the Major. " Ha, ha, ha ! Do you think I don't know, Baynes, who has put you on doing what I have no hesitation in calling a most sneaking and rascally action, — yes, a rascally action, by George ! I am not going to mince matters ! Don't come your Major- General or your Mrs. Major-General over me! It's Eliza that has sot you on. And if Tom Bunch has been telling you that you have been breaking from your word and are act- ing shabbily, Tom is right ; and you may got somebody else to go out vrith you. General Baynes, for, by George, I won't !" " Have you come all the way from Tours, Mao, in order to insult me t " asks the General. " I came to do yon a friendly, turn; to take charge of your poor girl, up- on whom you are being very hard, Baynes. And this is the reward I get ! Thank you. No more grog ! What I have had is rather too strong for me already." And the Major looks do\vn with an expression of scorn at the emptied bealcer, the idle spoon before him. As the warriors were quarrelling over their cups, there came to them a noise as of brawling and of female voices without. " Mais, madame ! " pleads Madame Smolensk, in her grave way. " Taisez-vous, madame, laissez - moi tranquille, s'iL vous plait!" exclaims the well-known voice of Mrs. General Baynes, which I own was never very pleasant to me, either in anger or good-humor. " And your Little — who tries . to sleep in my chamber ! " again pleads the mistress of the boarding-house. " Vous n'avez pas droit d'appeler Mademoiselle Baynes petite ! " calls out the General's lady. And Baynes, who was fighting and quarrelling himself just now, trembled when he heard her. His angry face assumed an alarmed expression. He looked for means of escape. He appealed for protection to MacWhirter, whose nose he had been ready to pull anon. Samson was a mighty man, but he was a fool in the hands of a woman. Hercules was a brave man and a strong, but Omphale twisted him round her spindle. Even so Bayftes, who had fought in India, Spain, America, tremljled before the partner of his bed and name. It was an unlucky afternoon. Whilst the husbands had been quart, relling in the dining-room over bran^ dy-and-water, the wives, the sisters, had been fighting over their tea in the salon I don't know what the othel THE ADVENTURES OF PHaiP. 297 boatders were about. Philip never told me. Perhaps they had left the room to give the sisters a free opportu- nity for embraces and confidential communication. Perhaps there were no lady boarders left. Howbeit, Em- ily and Eliza had tea ; and before that refreshing meal was concluded, those dear women were fighting as hard as their husbands in the adjacent cham- ber. Eliza, in the first place, was very angrjr at Emily's coming without in- vitation. Emily, on her part; was angry with Eliza for being angry. " I am sure, Eliza," said the spirited and injured Mac Whirter, " that is the third time you have alluded to it since we have been here. Had you and all your family come to Tours, Mac and I would have made them welcome, — children and all ; and I am sure yours make trouble enough in a house." "A private house is not like a boarding-house, Emily. Here ma- dame makes us pay frightfully for ex- tras," remarks Mrs. Baynes. "I am sorry I came, Eliza. Let us say no more about it. I can't go away to-night," says the other. " And most unkind it is that speech to make, Emily. Any more tea % " " Most unpleasant to have to make that speech, Eliza. To travel a whole day and night, — : and I never able to sleep in a diligence, — to has- ten to my sister because I thought she was in trouble, because I thought a sister might comfort her ; and to be received as you re — as you — 0, O, O — boh! How stoopid I am!" A handkerchief dries the tears : a smell- ing-bottle restores a little composure. " When you came to us at Dumdum, with two — — o children in the whooping-cough, I am sure Mac and I gave you a very different wel- come." The other was smitten with a re- morse. She remembered her sister's kindness in former days. " I did not mean, sister, to give you pain," she said. " But I am very unhappy my- self, Emily. My child's conduct ia making me most unhappy." " And very good reason you have to be unhappy, Eliza, if woman ever had," says the other. " 0, indeed, yes 1 " gasps the Gen- eral's lady. " If any woman ought to feel re- morse, Eliza Baynes, I am sure it 's you. Sleepless nights! What was mine in the diligence, compared to the nights you must have ? I said so to myself ' I am wretched,' I said, ' but what must she be ? ' " " Of course, as a feeling mother, I feel that poor Charlotte is unhappy, my dear." " But what makes her so, my dear 1 " cries Mrs. MacWhirter, who presently showed that she was mis- tress of the whole controversy. " No wonder Charlotte is unhappy, dear love! Can a girl be engaged to a young man, a most interesting young man, a clever, accomplished, highly educated yonng man — " " What ? "^ries Mrs. Baynes. " Have n't I your letters'? I have them all in my desk. They are in that hall now. Didn't you tell me so over and over again ; and rave about him, till I thought you were in love with him yourself almost ? " cries Mrs. Mac. " A most indecent observation ! " cries out Eliza Baynes, in her deep, awful voice. " No woman, no sister, shall say that to me ! " " Shall I go and get the letters ? It used to be, ' Dear Philip has just left us. Dear Philip has been more than a son to me. He is our pre- server ! ' Did n't you write all that over and over again ? And because you have found a richer husband for Charlotte, you are going to turn your preserver out of doors ! " "Emily MacWhirter, am I to sit here and be accused of crimes, uninvit- ed, mind, — uninvited, mind, by my sister t Is a general oflBcer'a lady to be treated in this way by a brevet- major's wife? Though you are my senior in age, Emily, I am yours in 298 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. rank. Out of any room in England, but this, I gp before you ! And if you have come uninvited all the way from Tours to insult me in my own house — " " House, indeed ! pretty house ! Everybody else's house as well as yours ! " " Such as it is, I never asked yon to come into it, Emily ! " " O yes ! You wish me to go out in the night. Mac ! I say ! " " Emily ! " cries the Generaless. " Mac, I say ! " screams the Major- ess, flinging open the door of the salon, " my sister wishes me to go. Do you hear me t " " An nom de Dieu, madame, pen- sez a cette pauvre petite, qui souffre a c6t6," cries the mistress of the liouse, pointing to her own adjoining cham- ber, in which, we have said, our poor little Charlotte was lying. " Nappley pas Madamaselle Baynes petite, sivoplay ! " booms out Mrs. Baynes's contralto. " MacWhirter, I say. Major Mac- Whirter ! " cries Emily, flinging open the door of the dining-room where the two gentlemen were knocking their own heads together. " Mac- Whirter! My sister chooses to in- sult me and say that a brevet-major's wife — " " By George I are you fighting, too t " asks the General. "Baynes, Emily MacWhirter has insulted me ! " cries Mrs. Baynes. " It seems to have been a settled thing beforehand," yells the General. " Major MacWhirter has done- the same thing by me ! He has forgotten that he is a gentleman, and that I am." " He only insults you because ho thinks you are his relative, and must boar everything from him," says the General's wife. " By George ! I will not bear everything from him ! '- shouts the General. The two gentlemen and their two wives are squabbling in the" hall. Madame and the servants are feering up from the kitchen-regions, dare say the boys from the topmost banisters are saying to each other, " Row between Ma and Aunt Mac ! " I dare say scared little Charlotte, in her temporary apartment, is, for a while, almost forgetful of her own grief; and wondering what quarrel is agitating her aunt and mother, her father and uncle 1 Place the remain- ing male and female boarders about in the corridors and on the landings, in various attitudes expressive of in- terest, of satiric commentary, wrath at being disturbed by unseemly do- mestic quarrel : — in what posture you will. As for Mrs. Colonel Bunch, she, poor thing, does not know that the General and her own Colonel have entered on a mortal quarrel. She imagines the dispute is only between Mrs. Baynes and her sister as yet ; and she has known this pair quarrelling for a score of yeai-s past. " Toujours comme 9a, fighting vous savez, et puis make it up again. Qui," she explains to a French friend on the landing. In the very midst of this storm Colonel Bunch returns, his friend and second. Dr. Martin, on his arm. He does not know that two battles have been fought since his own Combat. His, we will say, was Ligny. Then came Quatre-Bras, in which Baynes and MacWhirter were engaged. Then came the general action of Waterloo. And here enters Colonel Bunch, quite unconscious of the great engagements which have taken place since his temporary retreat in search of reinforcements. "How are you, MacWhirter?" cries the Colonel of the purple whiskers. "My friend. Dr. Mar- tin ! " And as he addresses himself to the General, his eyes almost start out of his head, as if they would shoot themselves into the breast of that officer. "My dear, hush! Emily Mac- Whirter, had we not better defer this most painful dispute? The whole house is listening to us ! " whispers the General, in a rapid low voice. "Doctor — Colonel Bunch — Major THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 299 MacWhirter, had we not better go into the dining-room ? " The General and the Doctor go first, Major MacWhirter and Colonel Bunch pause at the door. Says Bunch to MacWhirter : " Major, you act as the General's friend in this affair t It 's most awkward, but, by George! Baynes has said things to me that I won't bear, were he my own flesh and blood, by George ! And I know him a deuced deal too well to think he will ever apologize ! " " He has said things to me. Bunch, that I won't bear from fifty brother- in-laws, by George ! " growls Mac- Whirter. " What ? Don't you bring me any message from him t " " I tell you, Tom Bunch, I want to send a message to him. Invite me to his house, and insult me and Emily when we come ! By George, it makes my blood boil ! Insult us after trav- elling twenty-four hours in a con- founded diligence, and say we 're not invited ! He and his little catama- ran." " Hush ! " interposed Bunch. " I say catamaran, sir ! don't tell me ! They came and stayed with us four months at Dumdum, — the chil- dren ill with the pip, or some con- founded thing, — went to Europe, and left me to pay the doctor's bill ; and now, by — " Was the Major going to invoke George, the Cappadocian champion, or Olympian Jove ? At this moment a door, by which they stood, opens. You may remember there were three doors, all on that landing ; if you doubt me, go and see tfhe house (Avenue de Valmy, Champs Elysecs, Paris). A third door opens, and a young lady comes out, looking very pale and sad, and her hair hanging over her shoulders ; — her hair, which hung in rich clusters generally, but I suppose tears have put it all out of curl. " Is it you, Uncle Mac f I thought I knew your voice, and I heard Aunt Emily's/' says the little person. " Tes, it is I, Charley," says Uncla Mac. And he looks into the round face, which looks so wild and is so full of grief unutterable that Uncle Mae is quite melted, and takes the child to his arms, and says, "What is it, my dear '! " And he quite for- gets that he proposes to blow her father's brains out in the morn- ing. "How hot yonr little hands are ! " " Uncle, uncle ! " she says, in a swift febrile whisper, "you're come to take me away, I know. I heard you and papa, I heard mamma and AnntEmily speakingquiteloud! But if I go — I'll — I'll never love anv but him ! " "But whom, dear?" "But Philip, uncle." "By George, Char, no more you shall ! " says the Major. And here- with the poor child, who had been sit- ting np on her bed whilst this quar- relling of sisters, — whilst this brawl- ing of majors, generals, colonels, — whilst this coming of hackney- coaches, — whilst this arrival and de- parture of visitors on horseback, — had been taking place, gave a fine hysterical scream, and fell into her uncle's arms laughing and crying wildly. This outcry, of course, brought the gentlemen from their adjacent room, and the ladies from theirs. "What are you making a fool, of yourself about ? " growls Mrs. Baynes, in her deepest bark. "By George, Eliza, you are too bad ! " says the General, quite white. "Eliza, you are a brute!" cries Mrs. MacWhirter. " So SHE IS I " shrieks Mrs. Bunch from the landing-place overhead, where other lady-boarders were as- sembled looking down on this awful family battle. Eliza Baynes know she had gone too far. Poor Charley was scarce conscious by this time, and wildly screaming, " Never, never ! " . . . , When, as I live, who should burst i.-. to the premises but a young man with 300 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. fair hair, with flaming whiskers, with flaming eyes, who calls out, " What is it ? I am here, Charlotte, Char- lotte ! " Who is that young man 1 AVe had a glimpse of him, prowling about the Champs Elysces just now, and dodg- ing behind a tree when Colonel Bunch went out in search of his second. Then the young man saw the Mac- Whirter hackney-coach approach the house. Then he waited and waited, looking to that upper window behind which we know his beloved was not reposing. Then he beheld Bunch and Doctor Martin arrive. Then he passed through the wicket into the garden, and hoard Mrs. Mac and Mrs. Baynes fighting. Then there came from the passage — where, you see, this battle was going on — that ringing dreadful laugh and scream of poor Charlotte; and Philip Krmin burst like a bombshell into the midst of the hall where the battle was raging, and of the family circle who were fighting and screaming.. Here is a picture I protest. We have — first, the boarders on the first landing, whither, too, the Baynes children have crept in their night- gowns. Secondly, we have Au^uste, ITranfoise tlie cook, and the assistant coming up from the basement; And, third, we have Colonel Bunch, Doc- tor Martin, Major MacWhirter, with Charlotte in his arms ; Madame, Gen- eral B., Mrs. Mac, Mrs. General B., all in the passage, when our friend the bombshell bursts in amongst them. " What is it ? Charlotte, I am here ! " cries Philip, with his great Toice; at hearing which, little Char gives one final scream, and, at the next moment, she has fainted quite dead, — but this time she is on Philip's shoulder. "lou brute, how dare you do this ■? " asks Mrs. Baynes, glaring at the young man. "It is you who have done it, Eliza ! " says Aunt Emily. " And so she has, Mrs. MacWhir- ter ! " calls out Mrs. Colonel Bunch, from the landing above. And Charles Baynes felt he had acted like a traitor, and hung down his head. He had encouraged his daughter to give her heart away, and she had obeyed him. When he saw Philip I think he was glad : so was the Major, though Firmin, to be sure, pushed him quite roughly up against the waU. " Is this vulgar scandal to go on in the passage before the whole house ? " gasped Mrs. Baynes. "Bunch brought me here to pre- scribe for this young lady," says little Doctor Martin, in a very courtly way. " Madame, will yon get a little sal-volatile from Anjubeau's in the Faubourg ; and let her be kept very quiet ! " " Come, Monsieur Philippe, it is enough like that!" cries Madame, who can't repress a smile. " Come to your chamber, dear little ! " " Madame ! " cries Mrs. Baynes, " une mfere — ■_ " Madame shrugs her shoulders. "Une mfere, une belle miire, ma foi ! " she says. " Come, mademoi- selle ! " There were only very few people in the boarding-house : if they knew, if they saw, what happened, how can we help ourselves? But that they had all been sitting over a powder- magazine, which might have blown up and destroyed one, two, three, five people, even Philip did not know, until afterwards, when, laughing, Major MacWhirter told him how that meek but most savage Baynes had first challenged Bunch, had then chal- lenged his brother-in-law, and how all sorts of battle, murder, sudden death might have ensued had the quarrel not come to an end. Were your humble servant anxious to harrow his reader's feelings, or display his own graphical powers, you understand that 1 never would have allowed those t*o gallant officers to quarrel and threaten each other's very noses, without having the insult THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP, 301 vriped out in Mood. The Bois de Boulogne is hard by the Avenue de Valmy, with plenty of cool iighting- ground. The octroi officers never stop gentlemen going out at the neighboring barrier upon duelling business, or prevent the return of the slain victim in the hackney-coach when the dreadful combat is over. From my knowledge of Mrs. Baynes's character, I have not the slightest doubt that she would have encouraged her husband to fight ; and, the Gen- eral down, would have put pistols into the hands of her boys, and bid- den them cany on the vendetta; but as I do not, for my part, love to see brethren at war, or Moses and Aaron tugging white handfuls out of each other's beards, I am glad there is going to be no fight between the veterans, and that either's stout old breast is secure from the fratricidal bullet. Major MacWhirter forgot all about bullets and battles when poor little Charlotte kissed him, and was not in the least jealous when he saw the little maiden clinging on Philip's arm. He was melted at the sight of that grief and innocence, when Mrs. Baynes still continued to bark out her private rage, and said : " If the General won't protect me from insult, I think I had better go." " By Jove, I think yon had ! " exclaimed MacWhirter, to which remark the eyes of the Doctor and Colonel Bunch gleamed an ap- proval. " AUons, Monsieur Philippe. Enough like that, — let me take her to bed again," Madame resumed. " Come, dear miss ! " What a pity that the bedroom was but a yard from where they stood ! Philip felt strong enough to carry his little Charlotte to the Tuileries. The thick brown locks, which had fallen over his shoulders, are lifted away. The little wounded heart that had laid against his own parts from him with a reviving throb. Madame and her mother carry away little Charlotte. The door of the neighboring chamber closes on her. The sad little vision has disappeared. The men, quarrelling anon in the passage, stand there silent. " I heard her voice outside," said Philip, after a little pause (with love, with grief, with excitement, I sup- pose Ills head was in a whirl) . "I heard her voice outside, aiid I could n't help coming in." " By George; I should think not, young fellow I " says Major Mac- Whirter, stoutly taking the young man by the hand. " Hush, hush ! " whispers the Doctor ; " she must be kept quite quiet. She has had quite excite- ment enough for to-night. There must be no more scenes, my young ifeUow." And Philip says, when in this agony of grief and doubt he found a friendly hand put out to him, he him- self was so exceedingly moved that he was compelled to fly out of the company of the old men, into the night, where the rain was pouring, — the gentle rain. While Philip, without Madame Smolensk's premises, is saying his tenderest prayers, offering up his tears, heart-throbs, and most passion- ate vows of love for little Charlotte's "benefit, the warriors assembled: with' in once more retreat to a colloquy in the salfc-armanger ; and, in conse- quence of the rainy state of the night, the astonished Auguste has to bring a third supply of hot water for the four gentlemen attending the con- gi'ess. The Colonel, the Major, the Doctor, ranged themselves on one side the table, defended, as it were, by a line of armed tumblers, flanked by a strong brandy-bottle and a stout earthwork, irom an embrasure in which scalding water could be dis- charged. Behind these fortifications the veterans awaited their enemy, who, after marching up and down the room for a while, takes position finally in their front and prepares to attack. The General remounts his 302 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. cheval de hatailhy but cannot bring tbe animal to charge as fiercely as before. Charlotte's white apparition has come amongst them, and flung her fair arms between the men of war. In vain Baynes tries to get up a bluster, and to enforce his passion with by Greorges, by Joves, and words nangh- tier still. That weak, meek, quiet, henpecked, but most blood-thirsty old General found himself forming his own minority, and against him his old comrade Bunch, whom he had in- sulted and nose-pulled ; his brother-in- law MacWhirter, whom he had nose- pulled and insulted ; and the Doctor, who had been called in as the friend of the former. As they faced him, shoulder to shoulder, each of those three acquired fresh courage from his neighbor. Each, taking his aim, deliberately poured his fire into Baynes. To yield to such odds, on the other hand, was not so distaste- ful to the veteran as to have to give up his sword to any single adversary. Before he would own himself in the wrong to any individual, he would cat that individual's ears and nose : but to be surrounded by three ene- mies, and strike your flag before such odds, was no disgrace ; and Baynes could take the circumbendi- bus way of apology to which some proud spirits will submit. Thus he could say to the Doctor, " Well, Doctor, perhaps I was hasty in ac- cusing Bunch of employing bad language to mo. A bystander can see these things sometimes when a principal is too angry; and as you go against me — well — there, then, I ask Bunch's pardon." That busi- ness over, the MacWhirter reconcilia- tion was very speedily brought about. " Fact was, was in a confounded ill- temper, — very much disturbed by events of the day, — did n't mean anything but this, that, and so forth." If this old chief had to eat humble- pic, his brave adversaries were anx- ious that he should gobble up his portion as quickly as possible, and turned away their honest old heads as | he swallowed it. One of the party told his wife of the quarrel which had arisen, but Baynes never did. "I declare, sir," Philip used to say, " had she known anything about the quar- rel that night, Mrs. Baynes would have made her husband turn out of bed at midnight, and challenge his old friends over again ! " But then there was no love between Philip and Mrs. Baynes, and in those whom he hates he is accustomed to see little good. Thus, any gentle reader who ex- pected to be treated to an account of the breakage of the sixth command- ment will close this chapter disap- pointed. Those stout old rusty swords which were fetched off their hooks by the waniors, their owners, were returned undrawn to their flan- nel cases. Hands were shaken after a fashion, — at least no blood was shed. But, though the words spoken between the old boys were civil enough. Bunch, Baynes, and the Doctor could not alter their opinion that Philip had been hardly used, and that the benefactor of his family merited a better treatment from Gen- eral Baynes. Meanwhile, that benefactor strode home through the rain in a state of perfect rapture. The rain refreshed him, as did his own tears. The dear- est little maiden had sunk for a mo- ment on his heart, and, as she lay there, a thrill of hope vibrated through his whole frame. Her fa- ther's old friends had held out a hand to him, and bid him not despair. Blow wind, fall autumn rains! In the midnight, under the gusty trees, amidst which the lamps of the rioer- beres are tossing, the young fellow strides back to his lodgings. He is poor and unhappy, but he has Hope along with him. He looks at a cer- tain breast-button of his old coat ere he takes it off to sleep. " Her cheek was lying there," he thinks, — "just there." My poor little Charlotte! what could she have done to the breast-button of the old coat 1 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 303 CHAPTER XXVIII. IK WHICH MBS. MACWHIETEK HAS A NEW BONNET. Now though the unhappy Philip slept quite soundlj, so that his boots, those tramp-woru sentries, remained en faction at his door until quite a late hour next morning ; and though little Charlotte, after a prayer or two, sank into the sweetest and most re- freshing girlish slumber, Charlotte's father and mother had a bad night ; and, for my part, I matntain that they did not deserve a good one. It was very well for Mrs. I3aynes to de- clare that it was MacWhirter's snor- ing which kept them awake (Mr. and Mrs. Mac being lodged in the bed- room over their relatives), — I don't say a snoring neighbor is pleasant, — but what a bedfellow is a bad con- science ! Under Mrs. Baynes's night- cap the grim eyes lie open all night ; on Baynes's pillow is a silent, wake- ful head that hears the hours toll. "A plague upon the young man ! " thinks the female honnet de nuit; " how dare he come in and disturb everything? How pale Charlotte will look to-morrow when Mrs. Hely calls with her son ! When she has been crying she looks hideous, and her eyelids and nose are quite red. She may fly out, and say something wicked and absurd, as she did to-day. I wish I had never seen that insolent young man, with his caiToty beard and vulgar blucher boots ! If my boys were grown up, he should not come hectoring about the house as he does ; they would soon find a way of punishing his impudence ! " Balked revenge and a hungry disappoint- ment, I think, are keeping that old woman awake ; and, if she hears the hours tolling, it is because wicked thoughts make her sleepless. As for Baynes, I believe that old man is awake because he is awake to the shabbincss of his own conduct. His conscience has got the better of him, which he has been trj'ing to bully out of doors. Do what he will, that reflection forces itself upon him. Mac, Bunch, and the Doctor all saw the thing at once, and went dead against him. He wanted to break his word to a young fellow, who, whatever his faults might be, had acted most nobly and generously by the Baynes family. He might have been ruined but for Philip's forbear- ance; and showed his gratitude by breaking his promise to the young fellow. He was a henpecked man, — that was the fact. He allowed his wife to govern him : that little old plain, cantankerous woman asleep yonder. Asleep was she ? No. He knew she was n't. Both were lying quite still, wide awake, pursuing their dismal thoughts. Only Charles was owning that he was a sinner, whilst Eliza his wife, in a rage at her last defeat, was meditating how she could continue and still win her battle. Then Baynes reflects how persever- ing his wife is ; how, all through life, she has come back and back and back to her point, until he has ended by an almost utter subjugation. He will re- sist for a day : she will fight for a year, for a life. If once she hates people, the sentiment always remains with her fresh and lively. Her jeal- ousy never dies ; nor her desire to rule. What a life she will lead poor Charlotte now she has declared against Philip ! The poor child will be subject to a dreadful tyranny": the father knows it. As soon as he leaves the house on his daily walks the girl's torture will begin. Baynes knows how his wife can torture a woman. As she groans out a hollow cough from her bed in the midnight, the guilty man lies quite mum under his own counterpane. If she fancies him awake, it will be his turn to re- ceive the torture. Ah, Othello moa ami ! when you look round at mar- ried life, and know what you know, don't you wonder that the bolster is not used a great deal more freely on both sides ? Horrible cynicism 1 Yes, — I know. These propositions served raw are savage, and shock j-onr sea. 304 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. sibility ; cooked with a, little piquant sauce, they are welcome at quite po- lite tables. " Poor child ! Yes, by George ! What a life her mother will lead her! " thinks the General, rolling un- easy on the midnight pillow. " No rest for her, day or night, until she marries the man of her mother's choosing. And she has a delicate chest, — Martin says she has ; and she wants coaxing and soothing, and pretty coaxing she will have from mamma ! " Then, I dare say, the past rises up in that wakeful old man's uncomfortable memory. His Uttlc Charlotte is a child again, laughing on his knee, and playing with his accoutrements as he comes home from parade. He remembers tlie fever which she had, when she would take medicine from no other hand; and how, though silent with her mother, with him she would never tire of prattling, prattling. Guilt- stricken old man ! are those tears trickling down thy old nose ? It is midnight. We cannot see. When you brought her to the river, and parted with her to send her to Eu- rope, how the little maid clung to you, and cried, " Papa, papa ! " Staggering up tlie steps of tlie ghaut, how you wept yourself, — yes, wept teari of passionate, tender grief at parting with the darling of your soul. And now, deliberately, and for the sake of money, you stab her to the heart, and break your plighted honor to your child. "And it is yonder cruel, shrivelled, bilious, plain old woman who makes me do all this, and trample on my darling, and tor- ture her ! " he thinks. In Zoffany's famous picture of Garrick and Mrs. Pritcliard as Macbeth and Lady Mac- beth, Macbeth stands in an attitude hideously contorted and constrained, while Lady Mac is firm and easy. Was this the actor's art, or the poet's device^ Baynes is wretched, then. He is wrung with remorse, and shame, and pity. Well, I am glad of it. Old man, old man ! how darest thou to cause that child's tender little bosom to bleed ? How bilious ho looks the next morning ! I declare, as yellow as his grim old wife. When Mrs. General B. hears the chil- dren their lessons, how she will scold them 1 It is my belief she will bark through the morning chapter, and scarce understand a word of its mean- ing. As for Charlotte, when she apr pears with red eyes, and ever so little color in her round cheek, there is that in her look and demeanor which warns her mother to refrain from too familiar abuse or scolding. The girl is in rebellion. All day Char was in a feverish state, her eyes flashing war. There was a song which Philip loved in those days : the song of Euth. Char sat down to the piano, and sang it with a strange energy. " Thy people shall be my people " — she sang with all her heart — " and thy God my God I " The slave had risen. The little heart was in arms and mutiny. The mother was scared by her defiance. As for the guilty old father : pur- sued by the fiend remorse, he fled early from his house, and read all the papers at Galignani's without comprehending them. Madly regardless of expense, he then plunged into one of those luxurious restaurants in the Palais Royal, where you get soup, three dishes, a sweet, and a pint of delicious wine for two frongs, by George! But all the luxuries there presented to him could not drive away care, or create appetite. Then the poor old wretch went off, and saw a ballet at the Grand Opera. In vain. The pink nymphs had not the slightest fascina- tion for him. He hardly was aware of their ogles, bounds, and capers. He saw a little maid with round, sad eyes ; — his Iphigenia whom he was stabbing. Ho took more brandy-and- water at cafes on his way home. In vain, in vain, I tell you ! The old wife was sitting up for him, scared at the unusual absence of her lord. She dared not remonstrate with him when he returned. His face was pale. His THE ADVENTURES OF PHIUP. 305 eyes were fierce and bloodshot. When the General had a particular look, Eliza Bay nes cowered in. silence. Mac, the two sisters, and, I think, Colonel Bunch (but on this point my infor- mant, Philip, cannot be sure), were having a dreary rubber when the General came in. Mrs. B. knew by the General's face that he had been having recourse to alcoholic stimulus. But she dared not speak. A tiger in a jungle was not more savage than Baynes sometimes. " Where 's Char ■? " he asked in his dreadful, his Bluebeard voice. " Char was gone to bed," said Mamma, sorting her trumps. " Hra ! Augcost, Odevee, Osho ! " Did Eliza Baynes interfere, though she knew he had had enough'? As soon interfere with a tiger, and tell him he had eaten enough Sepoy. After Xady Macbeth hadinduced Mac to go through that business with Dun- can, depend upon it she was very deferential and respectful to her gen- eral. No groans, prayers, remorses could avail to bring his late Majesty back to life again. As for you, old man, though yonr deed is done, it is not past recalling. Though you have withdrawn from your word on a sordid money pretext ; made two hearts miserable, stabbed cruelly that one which you love best in the world ; acted with wicked ingratitude towards a young man, who has been nobly forgiving towards you and yours ; and are suffering with rage and remorse, as you own your crime to yourself; -r- your deed is not past recalling as yet. You may soothe that anguish, and dry those tears. It is -but an act of resolution on your part, and a firm resumption of your marital authority. Mrs. Baynes, after her crime, is quite humble and gentle. She. has half murdered her child, and stretched Philip on an infernal rack of torture ; bub she is quite civil to everybody at madame's house. Not one word does she say respecting Mrs. Colonel Bunch's outbreak of the night before. She talks to sister Emily about Paris, tiie fashions, and Emily's walks on the Boulevard and the Palais Royal with her Major. She bestows ghastly smiles upon sundry lodgers at table. She thanks Angoost when he serves her at dinner, — and says, " Ah, ma- damo, quele boof est bong aujourdhui,- rien que j'aime comme le potofou." O you old hypocrite ! But you know I, for my part, always disliked the wo- man, and said her good-humor was more detestable than her anger. You hypocrite ! I say again : — ay, and avow that there were other hypocrites at the table, as you shall presently hear. Wlicn Baynes got an opportunity of speaking unobserved, as ho thought, to madame, you may be sure the guilty wretch asked her how his little Charlotte was. , Mrs. Baynes trumped her partner's best heai't at that moment, but pretended to ob- serve or overhear nothing. " She goes better, — she sleeps," Madame said. "Mr. the Doctor Martin has commanded her a calming potion." And what if I were to tell you that somebody had taken a little letter from Charlotte, and actually had given fifteen sous to a Savoyard youth to convey that letter to some- body CISC'? What if I were to tell you that the party to whom that' let- ter was addressed straightway wiote an answer, — directed to Madame de Smolensk, of course 1 I know it Mas very wrong ; but I suspect Philip's prescription did quite as much good as Doctor Martin's, and don't intend to be vciy angry with madame for consulting the unlicensed practitioner. Don't preach to me, madam, about morality, and dangerous examples- set to young people. Even at your present mature age, and with your dear daughters around you, if your ladyship goes to hear the " Barber of Seville," on which side, are your sympathies, — on Dr. Bartolo's, or Miss Rosina's ? Although, then, Mrs. Baynes was most respectful to her husband,,and by many grim blandishments, hum- ble appeals, and forced humiliations. 306 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. strove to conciliate and soothe him, the General turned a darlt, lowering face upon the partner of his existence ; her dismal smiles were no longer pleasing to him : he returned curt "Oh's!" and "All's! "to her re- marks. When Mrs. Hely and her son and her daughter drove up in their family coach to pay yet a sec- ond visit to the Baynes family, the General flew in a passion, and cried, "Bless my soul, Eliza, you can't think of receiving visitors, with our poor child sick in the next room ? It 's inhuman ! " The scarod wo- man ventured on no remonstrances. She was so frightened that she did not attempt to scold the younger chil- dren. She took a piece of work, and sat amongst them, furtively weeping. Their artless queries and unseason- able laughter stabbed and punished the matron. You see people do wrong, though they are long past fifty years of age. It is not only the schol- ars, but the ushers, and the head- master himself, who sometimes de- serve a chastisement. I, for my part, hope to remember this sweet truth, though I live into the year 1900. To those other ladies boarding at madame's establishment, to Mrs. Mae and Mrs. Colonel Bunch, though they had declared against him, and expressed their opinions in the frankest way on the night of the battle royal, the General was provok- ingly polite and amiable. They had said but twenty-four hours since, that the General was a brute ; and Lord Chesterfield could not have been more polite to a lovely young duchess than was Baynes to these matrons next day. You have heard how Mrs. Mac had a strong desire to possess a new Paris bonnet, so that she might appear •with proper lustre among the ladies on the promenade at Tours 1 Major and Mrs. Mac and Mrs. Bunch talked of going to the Palais Royal (where MacWhirter said he had remarked some uncommonly neat things, by George ! at the corner shop under the glass' gallery). On this, Baynes started up, and said he would accom- pany his friends, adding, " You know, Emily, I promised you a hat ever so long ago ! " And those four went away together, and not one offer did Baynes make to his wife to join the party ; though her best bonnet, poor thing, was a dreadfully old perform- ance, with moulting feathers, rum- pled ribbons, tarnished flowers, and lace bought in St. Martin's Alley months and months before. Emily, to be sure, said to her sister, " Eliza, won't you be of the party ? Wo can take the omnibus at the corner, which will land us at the very gate." But as Emily gave this unlucky invita- tion, the General's face wore an ex- pression of ill-will so savage and ter- rific, that Eliza Baynes said, "No, thank you, Emily ; Charlotte is still unwell and I — I may bo wanted at home." And the party went away without Mrs. Baynes ; and they were absent I don't know how long : and Emily MacWhirter came back to the boarding-house in a bonnet, — the sweetest thing you ever saw ! — green pique velvet, with a ruche full of rose- buds, and a bird of paradise perched on the top, peeking at a bunch of the most magnificent grapes, poppies, ears of com, barley, &e., all indica- tive of the bounteous autumn season. Mrs. General Baynes had to see her sister return home in this elegant bonnet ; to welcome her ; to acqui- esce in Emily's remark that the Gen- eral had done the genteel thing ; to hear how the party had further been to Tortoni's and had ices ; and then to go up stairs to her own room, and look at her own battered, blowzy old chapeau, with its Hmp streamers, hanging from its peg. This humilia- tion, I say, Eliza Baynes bad to bear in silence, without wincing, and, if possible, with a smile on her face. In consequence of circumstances before indicated, Miss Charlotte was pronounced to be very much better when her papa returned from his Pa- lais Royal trip. He found her seated on madame's sofa, pale, but vrith the. THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 307 wonted sweetness in her smile. He kissed and caressed her with many tender words. I dare say he told her there was nothing in the world he loved so much as his Charlotte. He would never willingly do anything to give her pain, never ! She had been his good girl, and his blessing, all his life ! Ah ! that is a prettier little pic- ture to imagine — that repentant man, and his child clinging to him — than the tableau overhead, viz. Mrs. Baynes looking at her old bonnet. Not one word was said about Philip in the talk between Baynes and his daughter, but those tender paternal looks and car&sses carried hope into Charlotte's heart ; and when her papa went away (she said afterwards to a female friend), "I got up and followed him, intending to show him Philip's letter. But at the door I saw mam- ma coming down the stairs ; and she looked so dreadful, and frightened me so, that I went back." There arc some mothers I have heard of, who won't allow their daughters to read the works of this humble homilist, lest they should imbibe " dangerous " notions", &c., &c. My good ladies, give them " Goody Twoshoes," if you like, or whatever work, combining in- struction and amusement, you think most appropriate to their juvenile un- derslandin<;s ; but I beseech you to be gentle with them. I never saw peo- ple on better terms with each other, more frank, affectionate, and cordial, than the parents and the grown-up young folks in the United States. And why f Because the children were spoiled, to be sure ! I say to you, get the confidence of yours, — before the day comes of revolt and in- dependence, after which love retum- cth not. Now, when Mrs. Baynes went in to her daughter, who had been sitting pretty comfortably kissing her father on the sofa in madame'a chamber, all those soft tremulous smiles and twink- ling dewdrops of compassion and forgiveness which anon had come to •oothe the little maid, fled from cheek U and eyes. They began to flash again with their febrile brightness, and her heart to throb with dangerous rapid- ity. " How are you now 1 " asks mamma with her deep voice. " I am much the same," says the girl, begin- ning to tremble. " Leave the child ; you agitate her, madam," cries the mistress of the house, coming in after Mrs. Baynes. That sad, humiliated, deserted mother goes out from her daughter's presence, hanging her head. She put on the poor old bon- net, and had a walk that evening on the Champs Elys^es with her little ones, and showed them Guignol : she gave a penny to Guignol's man. It is my belief that she saw no more of the performance than her husband had seen of the ballet the night previ- ous, when Taglioni, and Noblet, and Duvernay, danced before his hot eyes. But then, you see, the hot eyes had been washed with a refreshing water since, which enabled them to view the world much more cheerfully and brightly. Ah, gracious Heaven gives us eyes to see our own wrong, how- ever dim age may make them ; and knees not too stiff to kneel in spite of years, cramp, and rheumatism ! That stricken old woman, then, treated her children to the trivial comedy of Guig- nol. She did not cry out when the two boys climbed up the trees of the Elysiaii Fields, though the guardians bade them descend. She bought pink sticks of barley-sugar for the young ones. Withdrawing the glistening sweetmeats from their lips, they point- ed to Mrs. Hely's splendid barouche as it rolled citywards from the Bois de Boulogne. The gray shades were falling, and Auguste was in the act of ringing the first dinner-bell at Ma- dame Smolensk's establishment, when Mrs. General Baynes returned to her lodgings. Meanwhile Aunt MacWhirter had been to pay a visit to little Miss Char- lotte, in the new bonnet which the General, Charlotte's papa, had bought for her. This elegant article had fur- nished a subject of pleasing conversa 308 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. tion between niece and aunt, who held each other in very Isindly regard, and all the details of the bonnet, the blue flowers, scarlet flowers, grapes, sheaves of corn, lace, &c., were examined and admired in detail. Charlotte remem- bered the dowdy old English thing which Aunt Mac wore when she went outi Charlotte did remember the bonnet, and laughed when Mrs. Mac described how papa, in the hackney- cuach on their return home, insisted upon taking the old wretch of a bon- net, and flinging it out of the coach window into the road, where an old chiffonnier, passing, picked it up with his iron hook, put it on his own head, and walked ."iway grinning. I declare, at the recital of this narrative, Char- lotte laughed as pleasantly and happily as in former days; and no doubt, there were more kisses between this poor little maid and her aunt. Now, you will remark, that the General and his party, though they returned from the Palais Royal in a hackney-coach, went thither on foot, two and two, — viz. Major MacWhir- ter leading, and giving his arm to Mrs. Bunch (who, I promise you, knew the shops in the Palais Eoyal well), and the General following at some distance, with his sister-in-law for a partner. In that walk a conversation very important to Charlotte's interests took place between her aunt and her father. " Ah, Baynes ! this is a sad busi- ness about dearest Char," Mrs. Mac broke out with a sigh. "It is, indeed, Emily,'' says the General, with a very sad groan on his part. "It goes to my heart to see yon, Baynes ; it goes to Mac's heart. "VVe talked about it ever so late last niglit. You were suffering dreadfully; and all the brandy-pawnee in the world won't cure yon, Charles." " No, faitli," says the General, with a dismal screw of the mouth. " You see, Emily, to see that child suffer tears my heart out, — by George, it does. She has been the best child, and the most gentle, and the merriest, and the most obedient, and I never had a word of fault to find with her; and — poo-ooh ! " Here the General's eyes, which have been winking with extreme rapidity, give way; and at the signal pooh! there issue out from them two streams of that eye' water which we have said is. som^ times so good for the sight " My dear kind Charles, you were always a good creature," says Emily, patting the arm on which hers rests. Meanwhile Major-General Baynes, C. B., puts his bamboo cane undei his disengaged arm, extracts from his hind pocket a fine large yellow ban- danna pocket-handkerchief, and per- forms a prodigious loud obligate,— just under the spray of the Eond- point fpuntain, opposite the Bridge of the Invalides, over which poor Phihp has tramped many and many a day and night to see his little maid. " Have a care with your cane, then, old imbecile!" cries an approaching foot-passenger, whom the General meets and charges with his iron ferule. "Mllle pardong, mosoo; je vous demande mille pardong," says the old man, quite meekly. " You are a good soul, Charles," the lady continues; "and my little Char is a darling. You never would have done this of your own accord. Mercy ! And see what it was coming to! Mac only told mc last night. You horrid, blood-thirsty creature! Two challenges, — and dearest Mac as hot as pepper ! Charles Baynes, I tremble when I think of the danger from which you have all been res- cued I Suppose you brought home to Eliza, — suppose dearest Mae brought home to me killed by this arm on which I am leaning. O, it is dread- ful, dreadful ! We are sinners all, that we are, Baynes ! " "I humbly ask pardon for having thought of a great crime. I ask par. don," says the General, very pale and solemn. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 309 " If you had killed dear Mac, would you ever have had rest again, Charles?" " No ; I think not. I should not deserve it," answers the contrite Bayncs. " You have a good heart. It was not you who did this. I know who it was. She always had a dreadful temper. The way in which she used to torture our poor dear Louisa who is dead, I can hardly forgive now, Baynes. I'oor suiFering angel ! Elira was at her bedside nagging and tor- turing her up to the very last day. Did you ever see her with nurses and servants in India ? The way in which she treated them was — " " Don't say any more. I am aware of my wife's faults of temper. Heaven knows it has made me suffer enough ! " says the General, hanging his head down. " Why, man, — do you intend to give way to her altogether ? I said to Mac last night, ' Mac, does he in- tend to give way to her altogether? The " Army List " does n't contain the name of a, braver man than Charles Bayncs, and is my sister Eliza to rule him entirely, Mac ! ' I said. No, if you stand up to Eliza, I know from experience she will give way. We have had quarrels, scores and hundreds, as yOu know, Baynes." "Faith, I do," owns the General, with a sad smile on his countenance. "And sometimes she has had the best and sometimes I have had the best, Bayncs ! But I never yielded, as you do, without a fight for my own. No, never, Baynes ! And me and Mac are shocked, I tell you fairly, when we see the way in which you give up to her I " " Come, come ! I think you have told me often enough that I am hen- pecked," says the General. " And you give up not yourself only, Charles, but your dear, dear child,: — poor little suffering love ! " " The young man 's a beggar ! " cries the General, biting his lips. " What were you, what was Mac and me when we married! Wa hadn't much beside our pay, had we ? we rubbed on through bad weather and good, managing as best we could, loving each other, God be praised ! And hero wc arc, owing nobody anything, and me going to have a new bonnet ! " and she tossed np her head, and gave her companion a good - natured look through her twinkling eyes. " Emily, you have a good heart ! that 's the truth," says the General. "And you have a good heart, Charles, as sure as my name's Mac- Whirtcr; and I want yon to act up- on it, and I propose — " "What?" "Well, I propose that — " But now they have reached the Tuilcries garden gates, and pass through, and continue their conversation in the midst of such a hubbub that we can- not overhear them. They cross the garden, and so make their way into the Palais Eoyal, and the purchase of the bonnet takes place; and in the midst of the excitement occasioned by that event, of course, all discus- sion of domestic affairs becomes unin- teresting. But the gist of Baynes's talk with his sister-in-law may be divined from the conversation which presently oc- curred between Charlotte and htr aunt. Charlotte did not come in to the public dinner. She was too weak for that; and "un bon bouillon" and a wing of fowl were served to her in the private apartment, where she had been reclining all day. At dessert, however, Mrs. MacWhirter took a fine bunch of grapes and a plump rosy peach from the table, and carried them to the little maid, and their in terview may be described with suifl cicnt accuracy, though it passed with- out other witnesses. From the outbreak on the night of quarrels, Charlotte knew that her aunt was her friend. The glances of Mrs. MacWhirter's eyes, and the ex- pression of her bonny, homely face, told her sympathy to the girl. There 310 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. were no pallors now, no angry glances, no heart-beating. Miss Char could even make a little joke when her aunt appeared, and say, " What beautiful grapes ! Why, aunt, you must have taken them out of the new bonnet." " You should have had the bird of paradise, too, dear, only I see you have not eaten your chicken. She is a kind woman, Madame Smolensk. I like her. She gives very nice din- ners. I can't think how she does it for the money, I am sure ! " " She has been very, very kind to me ; and I love her with all my heart ! " cries Chai'lotte. " Poor darling ! We have all our trials, and yours have begun, my love ! " " Yes, indeed, aunt ! " whimpers the young person ; upon which oscu- lation possibly takes place. ■■ My dear ! when your papa took me to buy the bonnet, we had a long talk, and it was about you." " About me, aunt ? " warbles Miss Charlotte. " He would not take mamma ; he would only go with mo, alone. I knew he wanted to say something about yon ; and what do you think it was ? My dear, you have been very much agitated here. You and your poor mamma are likely to disagree for some time. She will drag you to those balls and fine parties, and bring you those yine partners." " 0, I hate them I " cries Charlotte. Poor little Walsingham Hely, what had be done to be hated ? " Well. It is not for me to speak of a mother to her own daughter. But you know mamma has a wai/ with her. She expects to be obeyed. She will give you no peace. She will come back to her point again and again. You know how she speaks of some one — a certain gentleman '! If ever she sees him, she will be rude to liim. Mamma can be rude at times, — that I must say of my own sister. As long as you remain here — •' " O aunt, aunt ! Don't take me away, don't take me away ! " cries Charlotte. " My dearest, are you afraid of your old aunt, and your uncle Mac, who is so kind, and has always loved yon ■? Major MacWhirter has a will of his own, too, though of course I make no allusions. We know how admirably somebody has behaved to your family. Somebody who has been most ungratefully treated, though of course I make no allusions. If you have given away your heart to your father s greatest benefojctor, do you sup- pose I and Uncle Mac will quarrel with you 1 When Eliza married Baynes (your father was a penniless subaltern, then, my dear, — and my sister was certainly neither a fortune nor a beauty) didn't she go dead against the wishes of our father? Certainly she did ! But she said she was of age, — that she was, and a great deal more, too, — and she would do as she liked, and she made Baynes marry her. Why should you be afraid of coming to us, love 1 You are nearer somebody here, but can you see himi Your mamma will never let you go out, but she will follow you like a shadow. You may write to him. Don't tell me, child. Haven't I been young myself; and when there was a difficulty between Mac and poor papa, did n't Mac write to me, though he jiates letters, poor dear, and certainly is a stick at them 1 And, though we wore forbidden, had we not twenty ways of telegraphing to each other ? Law ! your poor dear grandfather was in such a rage with me once, when he found one, that he took down his great buggy- whip to me, a grown girl ! " Charlotte, who has plenty of hu. mor, would have laughed at this con- fession some other time, but now she was too much agitated by that invita- tion to quit Paris, which her aunt had just given her. Quit Paris ? Lose the chance of seeing her dearest friend, her protector ? If he was not with her, was he not near her ? Yes, THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 3U near her always ! On that horrible night, when all was so desperate, did not her champion burst tbrward to her rescue? the dearest and bravest ! O the tender and true ! " You are not listening, you poor child ! " said Aunt Mac, surveying her niece with looks of kindness. " Now listen to me once more. Wliisper ! " And sitting down on the settee by Charlotte's side, Aunt Emily first kissed the girl's round cheek, and then whispered into her ear. Never, I declare, was medicine so efficacious, or rapid of effect, as that wondrous distUment which Aunt Emily poured into her niece's ear ! " O you goose ! " she began by say- ing, and the rest of the charm she whispered into that pearly little pink shell round which Miss Charlotte's soft brown ringlets clustered. Such a sweet blush rose straightway to the cheek ! Such sweet lips began to cry "O you dear, dear aunt," and then began to kiss aunt's kind face, that, I declare, if I knew the spell, I would like to pronounce it right off, with such a sweet young patient to practise on. "When do we go? To-morrow, aunt, n'est-ce pas ? O, I am quite strong ! never felt so well in my life ! I '11 go and pack up this instant," cries the young person. " Doucement ! Papa knows of the plan. Indeed, it was he who pro- posed it." " Dearest, best father ! " ejaculates Miss Charlotte. " But mamma does not ; and if you show yourself very eager, Char- lotte, she may object, you know. Heaven forbid 'iha.t I should counsel dissimulation to a child; but under the circumstances, my love — At least I own what happened between Mac and me. Law ! / did n't care for papa's buggy-whip ! I knew it would not hurt ; and as for Baynes, I am sure he would not hurt a "fly. Never was man more sorry for what he has done. He told me so whilst we walked away from the bonnet-shop, whilst he was carrying my old yellow. We met somebody near the Bourse. How sad he looked, and how hand- some, too ! / bowed to him, and kissed my hand to him, that is, the knob of my parasol. Papa could n't shake hands with him, because of my bonnet, you know, in the brown-pa- per bag. He lias a grand beard, in- deed! Ho looked like a wounded lion. I said so to papa. And I said, ' It is you who wound him, Charles Baynes ! ' 'I know that,' papa said. ' I have been thinking of it. I can't sleep at night for thinking about it : and it makes me dee'd unhappy.' You know what papa sometimes says ? Dear me! You should have heard them, when Eliza and I joined the army, years and years ago ! " For once, Charlotte Bajmes was happy at her fatlier's being unhappy. The little maiden's heart had been wounded to think that her father could do his Charlotte a wrong. Ah ! take warning by him, ye graybeards ! And however old and toothless, if you have done wrong, own that you have done so ; and sit dovni and say grace, and mumble your humble-pie ! The General, then, did not sliake hands with Philip ; but Major Mac- Whirter went up in the most marked way, and gave the wounded lion his own paw, and said, " Mr. Firmin, glad to see you ! If ever you come to Tours, mind, don't forget my wife and me. Fine day. Little patient much better ! Bon courage, as they say ! " I wonder what sort of a bungle Philip made of his coiTespondeuce with the Pall Mall Gazette that night ? Every man who lives by his pen, if by chance he looks back at his writings of former years, lives in the past again. Our griefs, our pleasures, our youth, our sorrows, our dear, dear friends, resuscitate. How we tingle with shame over some of those fine passages ! How dreary are those disinterred jokes! It was Wednes- day night. Philip was writing off at home, in his inn, one of his grand 312 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. tirades, dated " Paris, Thursday " — so as to be in time, you understand, for the post of Saturday, when the little waiter comes and says, wink- ing, "Again that lady. Monsieur Philippe ! " " Wiiat lady ? " asks our own in- telligent correspondent. "That old lady who came the other day, you know." " C'est moi, nion ami ! " cries Madame Smolensk's well - known grave voice. "Here is a letter, d'- abord. But that says nothing. It was written before the grand nouvelle — the great news — the good news ! " " What good news 1 " asks the gen- tleman. " In two days miss goes to Tours with her aunt and uncle, — this good Macvirterre. They have taken their places by the diligence of Lafitte and Caillard. Tliey are thy friends. Papa encourages her going. Here is their card of visit. Go thou also ; they will receive thee with open arms. What hast thou, my son ? " Philip looked dreadfully sad. An injured and unfortunate gentleman at New York had drawn upon him, and he had paid away everything he had but four francs, and he was living on credit until his next remittance ar- rived. " Thou hast no money ! I have thought of it. Behold of it! Let him wait — the proprietor!" And she takes out a bank-note, which she puts in the young man's hand. " Tiens, il I'embrasse encor c'te vieille ! " says the little knife-boy. " J'aimerai pas 9a, moi, par examp ! " CHAPTER XXrX. IN THE DEPARTMENTS OF SEINE, LOIRE, AND STYX (INFERIEUR). Our dear friend Mrs. Baynes was suffering under the influence of one of those panics which sometimes seized her, and during which she re- mained her husband's most obedient Eliza and vassal. When Baynes wore a certain expression of counte- nance, we have said that his wife knew resistance to be useless. That expression I suppose he assumed, when he announced Charlotte's de- parture to her mother, and ordered Mrs. General Baynes to make the necessary preparations for the girl. " She might stay some time with her aunt," Baynes stated. " A change of air would do the child a great deal of good. Let everything necessary in the shape of hats, bonnets, winter clothes, and so forth, be got ready." " Was Char, then, to sbiy away so long?" asked Mrs. B. "She has been so happy here that you want to keep her, and fancy she can't be hap- py without you ! " I can fancy tiie (General grimly replying to the part- ner of his existence. Hanging down her withered head, with a tear may- hap trickling down her cheek, I can fancy the old woman silently depart- ing to do the bidding of her lord. She selects a trunk out of the store of Baynes's baggage. A young lady's trunk was a trunk in those days. Now it is a two or three storied edifice of wood, in which two or three fall- grown bodies of young ladies (without crinoline) might be packed. I saw a little old countrywoman at the Folke- stone station last year with her travel- ling baggage contained in a bandbox tied up in an old cotton handkerchief hanging on her arm ; and she surv'eycd Lady Knightsbridge's twenty-three black trunks, each wellnigh as large as her Ladyship's opera-box. Before these great edifices that old woman stood wondering dumbly. That old lady and I had lived in a time when crinoline was not ; and yet, I think, women looked even prettier in that time than they do now. Well, a trunk and a bandbox were fetched out of the baggage heap for little Charlotte, and I dare say her little brothers jumped and danced on the box with much energy to make the lid shut, and the General brought out his hammer and nails, and nailed a ,iiiiri.i;vi.i!: Mir,"t : ■i}ii;f'i'!^gs;^^^(^\:? ■ '-' Tie Poor helping ihe Poor. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 313 card on the box with " Mademoiselle Bay nes " thereon pri uted . And mam- ma had to look on and witness those preparations. And Walsingham He- fy had called; and he would n't tall again, she knew; and that fair chance for the establishment of her diifd was lost by the obstinacy of her self-willed, reckless husband. That woman had to water her soup with her furtive tears, to sit of nights be- hind hearts and spades, and brood over her crushed hopes. If I contem- plate that wretched old Niobe much longer, I shall begin to pity her. Away, softness ! Take out thy ar- rows, the poisoned, the barbed, the rankling, and prod me the old crea- ture well, god of the silver bow ! Eliza Baynes had to look on, then, and see the trunks packed ; to see her own authority over her own daughter wrested away from her ; to see the undutiful girl prepare with perfect delight and alacrity to go away, without feeling a pang at leav- ing a mother who had nursed her through adverse illnesses, who had scolded her for seventeen years. The General accompanied the party to the diligence office, tittle Char was very pale and melancholy indeed when she took her place in the coupe. " She should have a corner : she had been ill, and ought to have a corner," Uncle Mac said, and cheerfully consented to be bodkin. Our three special friends are seated. The other passengers clamber into their places. Away goes the clatter- ing team, as the General waves an adieu to his friends. "Monstrous fine horses those gray Normans; famous breed, indeed," he remarks to his vvife on his return. "Indeed," she echoes. "Pray, in what part of the carriage was Mr. Rnnin t " she presently asks. " In no part of the carriage at all ! " Baynes answers fiercely, turning beet- root red. And thus, though she had been silent, obedient, hanging her head, the woman showed that she was aware of her master's schemes, and why her girl had been taken away. She knew; but she was beaten. It remained for her but to be silent and bow her head. I dare say she did not sleep one wink that night. She followed the diligence iu its journey. " Char is gone," she thought. " Yes ; in due time he will take from me the obedience of my other children, and tear them out of my lap." He — that is, the General — was sleeping meanwhile. He had had in the last few days four aw- ful battles, — with his child, with his friends, with his wife, — in which latter combat he had been conqueror. No wonder Baynes was tired, and needed rest. Any one of those en- gagements was enough to weary the veteran. If we take the liberty of looking into double-bedded rooms, and peer- ing into the thoughts which are pass- ing under private nightcaps, may we not examine the coupe of a jingling diligence with an open window, in which a young lady sits wide awake by the side of her uncle and aunt ? These perhaps are asleep ; but she is not. Ah ! she is thinking of another journey ! that blissful one from Bou- logne, when he was there yonder in the imperial, by the side of the con- ductor. When the MacWhirter party had come to the diligence office, how her little heart had beat ! How she had looked under the lamps at all the people lounging about the court! How she had listened when the clerk called out the names of the passen- gers ; and, mercy, what a fright she had been in, lest he should bo there after all, while she stood yet leaning on her father's arm ! But there was no — well, names, I think, need scarcely be mentioned. There was no sign of the individual in question. Papa kissed her, and sadly said, good by. Good Madame Smolensk came with an adieu and an embrace for her dear Miss, and whispered, " Courage, mon enfant," and then said, " Hold, I have brought you some bonbons." They were in a little packet. Little 314 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Charlotte put the packet into her little basket. Away goes the dili- gence, but the individual had made no sign. Away goes the diligence ; and every now and then Chai'lotte feels the little packet in her little basket. What docs it contain — O, what ? If Char- lotte could but read with her heart, she would see in that little packet — the sweetest bonbon of all perhaps it might be, or, ah me ! the bitterest almond ! Through the night goes the diligence, passing relay after re- lay. Uncle Mac sleeps. I think I have said he snored. Aunt Mac is quite silent, and Char sits plaintively with her lonely thoughts and her bon- bons, as miles, hours, relays pass. " These ladies will they descend and take a cup of coffee, a cup of bou- illon t " at last cries a waiter at the coupe door, as the carriage stops in Oilcans. "By all means a cup of coffee," says Aunt Mac. " The little Orleans wine is good," cries Uncle Mac. " Descendons ! " " This way, madame," says the waiter. " Char- lotte my love, some coffee 1 " " I will — I will stay in the car- riage. I don't want anything, thank you," says Miss Charlotte. And the instant her relations are gone, enter- ing the gate of the " Lion Noir," where, you know, are the Bureaux des Messageries Lafitte, Caillard ct C" — I say, on the very instant when her relations have disappeared, what do you think Miss Charlotte does 1 She opens that packet of bonbons with fingers that tremble — tremble so I wonder how she could undo the knot of the string (or do you think she had untied that knot under her shawl in the dark ? I can't say. We never shall know). Well ; she opens the packet. She does not care one fig for the lollipops, almonds, and so forth. She pounces on a little scrap of paper, and is going to read it by the light of the steaming stable lan- terns, when — 0, what made her start so ? In those old days there used to be two diligences which travelled night, ly to Tours, setting out at the same hour, and stopping at almost the same relays. The diligence of La- fitte and Caillard supped at the " Lion Noir," at Orleans, — the diligence of the Messageries Royales stopped at the " Ecu de France," hard by. Well, as the Messageries Royales are supping at the " Ecu de France," a passenger strolls over from that coach, and strolls and strolls until he comes to the coach of Lafitte, Caillard, and Company, and to the coupe window where Miss Baynes is trying to decipher her bonbon. He comes up, — and as the night- lamps fall on his face and beard, — his rosy face, his yellow beard — oh! — what means that scream of the young lady in the coupe of Lafitte, Caillard, et Compagnie! I declare she has dropped the letter whiih she was about to read. It has dropped into a pool of mud under the dili- gence off fore-wheel. And he with the yellow beard, and a sweet happy laugh, and a tremble in his deep voice, says, " You need not read it. It was only to tell you what you know." Then the coupe window says, " Philip! O my— " My what ? You cannot hear the words, because the gray Norman horses come squealing and clattering up to their coach pole with such ac- companying cries and imprecations from the horsekeepers and postilions, that no wonder the little warble is lost. It was not intended for you and me to hear ; but perhaps you can guess the purport of the words. Per- haps in quite old, old days, you may remember having heard such little whispers, in a time when the song- birds in your grove carolled that kind of song very plea-santly and freely. But this, my good madam, is writ- ten in February. The birds are gone : the branches are bare : the gardener has actually swept the leaves off the walks : and the whole affair is an affair of a past year, you understand. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 316 Well ! caipe dim, fugii horn, &c., &c. There, for one minute, for two min- utes, stands Philip over the diligence off fore-wheel, talking to Charlotte at the window, and their heads are quite close — quite close. What are those two pairs of lips warhling, whis- pering? "Hi! Gare! Oh^!" The horsekcepers, I say, quite prevent you from hearing; and here come the passengers out of the " Lion Noir, Aunt Mac still munching a great slice of bread-and-butter. Char- lotte is quite comfortable, and does not want anything, dear aunt, thank you. I hope she nestles in her cor- ner, and has a sweet slumber. On the journey the twin diligences pass and repass each other. Perhaps Charlotte looks out of her window sometimes and towards the other carriage. I don't know. It is a long time ago. What used you to do in old days, ere railroads were, and when diligences ran? They were slow enough : but they have got to their journey's end somehow. They were tight, hot, dusty, dear, stuffy, and uncomfortable ; but, for all that, travelling was good sport sometimes. And if the world would have the kindness to go back for five and twenty or thirty years, some of us who have travelled on the Tours and Orleans Kailway very comfort- ably would like to take the diligence journey now. Having myself seen the city of Tonrs only last year, of course I don't remember much about it. A man remembers boyhood, and the first sight of Calais, and so forth. But after much travel or converse with the world, to see a new town is to be introduced to Jones. He is like Brown ; he is not unlike Smith. In a little while you hash him up with Thompson. I dare not be par- ticular, then, regarding Mr. Firmin's life at Tours, lest I should make typographical errors, for which the critical schoolmaster would justly in- flict chastisement. In the last novel I read about Tonrs there were blunders 14* from the eflfect of which you know the wretched author never recovered. It was by one Scott, and had young Quentin Durward for a hero, and Isa- bel de Croye for a heroine ; and she sat, in her hostel, and sang, "Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh." A pretty ballad enough : but what ignorance, my dear sir! What de- scriptions of Tours, of Li(5ge, are in that fallacious story ! Yes, so falla- cious and misleading, that I remem- ber I was sorry, not because the description was unlike Tours, but because Tours was unlike the descrip- tion. So Quentin Firniin went and put up at the snug little hostel of the "Faisan"; and Isabel de Baynes took up her abode with her uncle the Sire de MacWhirter; and I believe Master Firmin had no more money in his pocket than the Master Dur- ward whose story the Scottish novel- ist told some forty years since. And I cannot promise you that our young English adventurer shall marry a noble heiress of vast property, and engage the Boar of Ardennes in a hand-to-hand combat; that sort of Boar, madam, docs not appear in our modem drawing-room histories. Of others, not wild, there be plenty. They gore you in clubs. They seize you by the doublet, and pin you against posts in public streets. They run at you in parks. I have seen them sit at bay after dinner, ripping, gashing, tossing, a whole company. These our young adventurer had in good sooth to encounter, as is the case with most knights. Who escapes them? I remember an eminent per- son talking to me about bores for two hours once. O you stupid eminent person ! You never knew that you yourself had tusks, little eyes in your hwe ; a bristly mane to cut into tooth-brushes ; and a curly tail ! 1 have a notion that the multi- tude of bores is enormous in the world. If a man is a bore himself, when he is bored, — and you can't deny this statement, — then what am 31G THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. I, what are you, what your father, grandfather, son, — all your amiable acquaintance in a word ? Of this I am sure. Major and Mrs. MacWhir- ter were not brilliant in conversation. "What would you and I do, or say, if we listen to the tittle-tattle of Tours. How the clergyman was certainly too fond of cards, and going to the cafe ; how the dinners those Popjoys gave were too absurdly ostentatious ; and Popjoy, we know, in the Bench last year. How Mrs. Flights, going on with that Major of French Carabi- niers, was really too, &e., &c. " How could I endure "those people f " Philip would ask himself, when talking of that personage in after days, as he loved, and loves to do. " How could I endure them, I say ? Mae was a good man ; but I knew secretly in my heart, sir, that he was a bore. \Vell . 1 loved him. I liked his old stories. I liked his bad old dinnei's : tliare is a very comfortable Toaraine win3, by th3 way, — a very warming little wine, sir. Mrs. Mae you never saw, my good Mrs. Pendennis. Be sure of this, you never would have liked her. Well, I did. I liked her house, though it was damp, in a damp garden, frequented by dull people. I should like to go and see that old house now. I am perfectly happy with ray wife, but I sometimes go away from her to enjoy the luxury of living over our old days again. With nothing in the world but an al- lowance which was precarious, and had been spent in advance ; with no particular plans for the future, and a few five-franc pieces for the present, — by Jove, sir, how did I dare to be so happy 1 What idiots we were, my love, to be happy at all ! We were mad to marry. Don't tell me : with a purse which didn't contain three months' consumption, would we dare to marry now 1 We should be put into the mad ward of the work- house : that would be the only place for us. Talk about trusting in Heav- en. Stuff and nonsense, ma'am ! I have as good a right to go and buy a house in Belgrave Square, and trust to Heaven for the payment, as I had to marry when I did. We were paupers, Mrs. Char, and you know that very well ! " "0 yes. We were very wrong: very ! " says Mrs. Charlotte, looking up to her chandelier (which, by the way, is of very handsome Venetian old glass). " We were very wrong, were not we, my dearest ■? " And herewith she will begin to kiss and fondle two or more babies that dis- port in her room, — as if two or more babies had anything to do with Philip's argument, that a man has no right to marry who ha? no pretty well-assured means of keeping a wife. Here, then, by the banks of Loire, although Philip had but a very few francs in his pocket and was obliged to keep a sharp lookout on his ex- penses at the Hotel of the " Golden Pheasant," he passed a fortnight of such happiness as I, for my part, wish to all young folks who read his veracious history. Though he was so poor, and ate and drank so modest- ly in the house, the maids, waiters, the landlady of the " Pheasant," were as civil to him, — yes, as civil as they were to the gouty old Marchioness of Carabas herself, who stayed here on her way to the south, occupied the grand apartments, quarrelled with her lodging, dinner, breakfast, bread- and-butter in general, insulted the landlady in bad French, and only paid her bill under compulsion. Philip's was a little bill, but he paid it cheerfully. He gave only a small gratuity to the servants, but he was kind and hearty, and they knew he was poor. He was kind and hearty, I suppose, because he was so happy. I have known the gentleman to be by no means civil ; and have heard him storm, and hector, and browbeat land- lord and waiters, as fiercely as the Marquis of Carabas himself But now Philip the Bear was the most gentle of bears, because his little Charlotte was leading him. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 317 Away with trouble and doubt, with squeamish pride and gloomy care ! Philip had enough money for a fort- night, during which Tom Glazier, of the Monitor, promised to supply Phil- ip's letters for the Pall Mall Gazette. All the designs of Prance, Spain, Kussia, gave that idle "own corre- spondent " not the slightest anxiety. In the morning it was Miss Baynes ; in the afternoon it was Miss Baynes. At six it was dinner and Charlotte ; at nine it was Charlotte and tea. "Anyhow, love-making does not spoil his appetite," Major Mac Whirter correctly remarked. Indeed, Philip had a glorious appetite; and health bloomed in Miss Charlotte's cheek, and beamed in her happy little heart. Dr. Firmin, in the height of his prac- tice, never completed a cure more skilfully than that which was per- formed by Dr. Firmin, junior. "I rah the thing so close, sir," I remember Philip bawling out, in his usual energetic way, whilst describ- ing this period of his life's greatest happiness to his biographer, " that I came back to Paris outside the dili- gence, and had not money enough to dine on the road. But I bought a sausage, sir, and a bit of broad, — and a brutal sausage it was, sir, — and I reached my lodgings with ex- actly two sous in my pocket." Roger Bontemps himself was not more con- tent than our easy philosopher. So Philip and Charlotte ratified and scaled a treaty of Tours, which they determined should never be broken by either party. Marry with- out papa's consent ? O, never ! Many anybody but Philip ? O, never — never ! Not if she lived to be a hundred, when Philip would in consequence be in his hundred and ninth or tenth year, would this young Joan have any but her present Dar- by. Aunt Mac, though she may not have been the most accomplished or highly bred of ladies, was a warm- hearted and a6fectionate aunt Mac. She caught in a mild form the fever from these young people. She had not much to leave, and Mac's relations would want all he could spare when he was gone. But Charlotte .should have her garnets, and her teapot, and her India shawl, — that she should.* And with many blessings this en- thusiastic old lady took leave of her future nephew-in-law when he re- turned to Paris and duty. Crack your whip and scream your Ai/ and he off quick, postilion and diligence ! I am glad we have taken Mr. Firmin out of that dangerous, lazy, love-making place ! Nothing is to me so sweet as sentimental writing. I could have written hundreds of pages describing Philip and Charlotte, Charlotte and Philip. But a stern sense of duty intervenes. My modest Muse puts a finger on her lip, and says, •' Hush about that business ! " Ah, my worthy friends, you little know what soft-hearted people those cynics are ! If you could have come on Diogenes by surprise, I dare say you might have found him reading sentimental novels and whimpei-ing in his tub. Philip shall leave his sweetheart and go back tohis business, and wc will not have one word about tears, promises, raptures, parting. Never mind about these sentimentalities, but please, rather, to depict to yourself our young fellow so poor that when the coach stops for dinner at Orleans ho can only afford to purchase a penny-loaf and a sausage for his own hungiy cheek. When he reached the " Ho- tel Poussin " with his meagre carpet- bag, they sensed him a supper which he ate to the admiration of all he- holders in the little coffee-room. Ho was in great spirits and gayety. He did not care to make any secret of his poverty, and how he had been un- able to afford to pay for dinner. Most of the guests at "Hotel Poussin" knew what it was to be poor. Often * I am sorry to say that in later days, after Mrs. Major MacWhirter's decease, it was found tliat she had promised these treas- ures in writing to several members of her husband's family, and that much heart-burn- ing arose in consequence. But our story lias nothing to do with tliese painful disputes. 318 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. and often they had dined on credit when they put back their napkins into their respective pigeon-holes. But njy landlord knew his guests. They were poor men, — honest men. They paid him in the end, and each could help his neighbor in a strait. After Mr. Firmin's return to Paris, he did not care for a while to go to the Elysian Fields. They were not Elysian for him, except in Miss Charlotte's company. He resumed his newspaper correspondence, which occupied but a day in each week, and he had the other six, — nay, he scribbled on the seventh day likewise, and covered immense sheets of letter- paper with remarks upon all man- ner of subjects, addressed to a certain Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle Buynes, chez M. le Major Mac, &c. On these sheets of paper Mr. Firmin could talk so long, so loudly, so fervently, so eloquently to Miss Baynes, that she was never tired of hearing, or he of holding forth. He began imparting his dreams and his earliest sensations to his beloved before breakfast. At noonday he gave her his opinion of the contents of the morning papers. His packet was ordinarily full and brimming over by post-time, so that his expressions of love and fidelity leaked from under the cover, or were squeezed into the queerest corners, where, no doubt, it was a delightful task for Miss Baynes to trace out and detect those little Cupids which a faithful lover despatched to her. It would be, " I have found this little comer unoccupied. Do you know what I have to say in it ? O Char- lotto, I," &c., &c. My sweet young lady, you can guess, or will one day guess, the rest ; and will receive such dear, delightful, nonsensical double letters, and will answer them with that elegant propriety which I have no doubt Miss Baynes showed in her replies. Ah! if all who are writing and receiving such letters, or wlio have written and received such, or who remember writing and receiving such letters, would order a copy of this novel from the publishers, what reams, and piles, and pyramids of paper our ink would have to blacken ! Since Charlotte and Philip had been engaged to each other, he had scai-ce- ly, except in those dreadful, ghastly days of quarrel, enjoyed the luxury of absence from his soul's blessing, — the exquisite delights of writing to her. lie could do few things in moderation, this man, — and of this delightful privilege of writing to Char- lotte he now enjoyed his heart's fill. After brief enjoyment of the weeks of this rapture, when winter was come on Paris, and icicles hung on the bough, how did it happen that one day, two days, three days passed, and the postman brought no little letter in the well-known little handwriting for Monsieur, Monsieur Philip Firmin a Paris ? Three days, four days, and no letter. O torture, could she be ill ? Could her aunt and uncle have turn- ed against her, and forbidden her to write, as her father and mother had done before ? grief, and sorrow, and rage ! As for jealousy, our leonine friend never knew such a passion. It never entered into his lordly heart to doubt of his little maiden's love. But still four, five days have passed, and not one word has come from Tours. The little " Hotel Poussin" was in a commotion. I have said that when our friend felt any passion very strongly he was sure to speak of it. Did Don Quixote lose any opportunity of declaring to the world that Dulcinea del Toboso was peerless among women f Did not Antar bawl out in battle, " I am the lover of Ibla ? " Our knight had taken all the people of the hotel into his confidence somehow. They all knew of his condition, — all, the painter, the poet, the half-pay Polish officer, the landlord, the hostess, down to the little knife-boy who used to come in with, " The factor comes of to pass, — no letter this morning." No doubt Philip's political letters became, under this outward pressure, very desponding and gloomy. One THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 319 day, as he sat gnawing his mustaches at his desk, the little Anatole enters his apartment and cries, " Tcncz, M. Philippe. That lady again I " And the faithful, the watchful, the active Madame Smolensk once more made her appearance in his chamber. Philip blushed and hung his head for shame. " Ungrateful brute that I am," he thought; "I have been back more than a week, and never thought a bit about that good, kind soul who came to my succor. I am an awful egotist. Love is always so." As he rose up to greet his friend, she looked so grave, and pale, and sad, that he could not but note her demeanor. " Bon Dieu ! had any- thing happened ? " " Ce pauvre G^ne'ral is ill, very ill, Philip, Smolensk said, in her grave voice. He was so gravely ill, madame said, that his daughter had been sent for. "Had she cornel" asked Philip, with a start. " You think but of her, — you care not for the poor old man. You arc all the same, you men. All egotists, — all. Go ! I know you ! 1 never knew one that was not," said Ma- dame. Philip has his little faults : perhaps egotism is one of his defects. Perhaps it is yours, or even mine. " You have been here a week since Thursday last, and you have never written or sent to a woman who loves Sou well. Go! It was not well, [onsjeur Philippe." As soon as he saw her, Philip felt that he had been neglectful and un- grateful. We have owned so much already. But how should madame know that he had returned on Thurs- day week? AVhen they looked up after her reproof, his eager eyes seemed to ask this question. " Could she not write to mo and Mil me that you were come back? Perhaps she knew that you would not do so yourself. A woman's heart teaches her these experiences early," continued the lady, sadly ; then she added : " I tell you, you are good-for- nothings, all of you ! And I repent me, see yon, of having had the bCtiso to pity you ! " " I shall have my quarter's pay on Saturday. I was coming to you then," said Philip. " Was it that I was speaking of? What ! you are all cowards, men all ! O, that 1 have been beast, beast, to think at last I had found a man of heart ! " How much or how often this poor Ariadne bad trusted and been for- saken, I have no means of knowing, or desire of inquiring. Perhaps it is as well for the polite reader, who is taken info my entire confidence, that we should not know Madame do Smolensk's history from the first page to the last. Granted that Ari- adne was deceived by Theseus : but then she consoled herself, as we may all read in " Smith's Dictionary " ; and then she must have deceived her father in order to run away with The- seus. I suspect — I suspect, I say, that these women who are so very much betrayed, are — but we are speculating on this French lady's an- tecedents, when Charlotte, her lover, and her family are the persons with whom we have mainly to do. These two, I suppose, forgot self, about which each for a moment had been busy, and Madame resumed : — " Yes, you have reason ; Miss is here. It was time. Hold ! Here is a note from her." And Philip's kind mes- senger once more put a paper into his hands. " My dearest father is very, very ill. O Philip ! I am so unhappy ; and he is so good, and gentle, and kind, and loves me so ! " "It is true," Madame resumed. " Before Charlotte came, ho thought only of her. When his wife comes up to him, he turns from her. I have not loved her much, that lady, that is true. But to see her now, it is navrant. He will take no medicine 320 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. from her. He pushes her away. Bo- fore Charlotte came, he sent for me, and spoke as well as his poor throat would let him, this poor General ! His daughter's arrival seemed to com- fort him. But he says, ' Not my wife ! not my wife ! ' And the poor thing has to go away and cry in the chamber at the side. He says — in his French, you know — he has never been well since Charlotte went away. He has often been out. He has dined but rarely at our table, and there has always been a silence between him and Madame la Generale. Last week he had a great inflammation of the chest. Then he took to bed, and Monsieur the Docteur came, — the lit- tle doctor whom you know. Then a quinsy has declared itself, and he now is scarce able to speak. His condition is most grave. He lies sutfering, dy- ing, perhaps, — yes, dying, do you he.ir ? And yoa are thinking of your little school-girl! Men are all the same. Monsters ! Go ! " Philip, who, I have said, is very fond of talking about Philip, surveys his own faults with great magnanim- ity and good-humor, and acknowl- edges tliem without the least intention to correct them. "How selfish we are ! " I can hear him say, looking at himself in the glass. " By George ! sir, when I heard simultaneously the news of that poor old man's illness, and of Charlotte's return, I felt that I wanted to see her that instant. I must go to her, -and speak to her. The old man and his suffering did not seem to affect me. It is humili- ating to have to own that we are self- ish beasts. But we are, sir, — we are brutes, by George ! and nothing else." — And "he gives a finishing twist to the ends of his flaming mustaches as he surveys them in the glass. Poor little Charlotte was in such affliction that of course she must have Philip to console her at once. No time was to be lost. Quick ! a cab this moment : and, coachman, you shall have an extra for drink if yon go quick to the Avenue de Valmy ! Madame puts herself into the carriage, and as they go along, tells Philip more at length of the gloomy occur- rences of the last few days. Pour days since the poor General was so bad with his quinsy that he thought ho should not recover, and Charlotte was sent for. He was a little better on the day of her arrival ; but yester- day the inflammation had increased ; he could not swallow ; he could not speak audibly ; he was in very great suffering and danger. He turned away from his wife. The unhappy Generalcss had been to Madame Bunch in her tears and grief, com- plaining that after twenty years' fidel- ity and attachment her husband had withdrawn his regard from her. Baynes attributed even his illness to his wife; and at other times said it was a just punishment for his wicked conduct in breaking his word to Philip and Charlotte. If lie did not see his dear child again he must beg her for- giveness for having made her suffer so. He had acted wickedly and un- gratefully, and his wife had forced him to do what he did. He prayed that Heaven might pardon him. And he had behaved with wicked injustice towards Philip, who had acted most generoasly towards liis family. And he had been a scoundrel, — he knew he had, — and Bunch, and MacWhir- ter, and the Doctor all said so, — and it was that woman's doing. And he pointed to the scared wife as he pain- fully hissed out these words of anger and contrition : — " When I saw that child ill, and almost made mad, be- cause I broke my word, I felt I was a scoundrel, Martin ; and I was ; and that woman made me so ; and I de- serve to be shot ; and I sha' n't re- cover ; I tell you I sha' n't." Dr Martin, who attended the General, thus described his patient's last talk and behavior to Philip. It was the doctor who sent ma. dame in quest of the yonng man. He found poor Mrs. Baynes with hot, tearless eyes and livid face, a wretched sentinel outside the sick - chamber. At the Sick Matis Door. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 321 " You will find General Baynes very ill, sir," she said to Philip with a ghastly calmness, and a gaze he could scarcely face. " My daughter is in the room with him. It appears I have offended him, and he refuses to see me." And she squeezed a dry handkerchief which she held, and put on her spectacles again, and tried again to read the Bible in her lap. Philip hardly knew the meaning of Mrs. Baynes's words as yet. He was agitated by the thought of the General's illness, perhaps by the no- tion that the beloved was so near. Her hand was in his a moment after- wards ; and, even in that sad chara- her, each could give the other a soft pressure, a fond, silent signal of mu- tual love and faith. The poor man laid the hands of the young people together, and his own upon them. The suffering to which he had put his daughter seemed to be the crime which specially af- fected him. He thanked Heaven he was able to see he was wrong. He whispered to his little maid a prayer forpardon in one or two words, which caused poor Charlotte to sink on her knees and cover Ms fevered hand with tears and kisses. Out of all her heart she forgave him. She had felt that the parent she loved and was accustomed to honor had been mer- cenary and cruel. It had wounded her pure heart to be obliged to think that her father could be other than generous, and just, and good. That he should humble himself before her smote her with the keenest pang of tender commiseration. I do not care to pursue this last scene. Let us close the door as the children kneel by the sufferer's bedside, and to the old man's petition for forgiveness, and to the young girl's sobbing vows of love and fondness, say a reverent Amen. By the following letter, which he wrote a few days before the fatal ter- mination of his illness, the worthy General, it would appear, had already despaired of his recovery : — My dear Mac, — I speak and breathe with such difficulty as I write this from my bed, that I doubt whether I shall ever leave it. I do not wish to vex poor Eliza, and in my state cannot enter into dis- putes which I know would ensue regarding settlement of property. When 1 left England there was a claim hanging over me (young Eir- min's) at which I was needlessly frightened, as having to satisfy it would swallow up much mare than everything I possessed in the world. Hence made arrangements for leaving everything in Eliza's name and the children after. Will with Smith and Thompson, Raymond Buildings, Gray's Inn. Think Char won't be happy for a long time with her mother. To break from F., who has been most generous to ns, will break her heart. Will you and Emily keep her for a little ? I gave F. my promise. As you told me, I have acted ill by him, which I own and deeply lament. If Char raaiTies, she ought to have her share. May God bless her, her father prays, in case he should not see her again. And with best love to Emily, am yours, dear Mac, sincerely, — Chakles Baynes. On the receipt of this letter, Char- lotte disobeyed her father's wish, and set forth from Tours instantly, un- der her worthy uncle's guardianship. The old soldier was in his comrade's room when the General put the hands of Charlotte and her lover together. He confessed his fault, though it is hard for those who ex- pect love and reverence to have to own to wrong and to ask pardon. Old knees are stiff to bend : brother reader, young or old, when our last hour comes, may ours have grace to do so. CHAPTER XXX. KETUKKS TO OLD PEIENDS. The three old comrades and Philip formed the little mourning procession 322 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. which followed the General to his place of rest at Montmartre. When the service has been reail, and the last volley has been tired over the buried soldier, the troops march to quarters with a quiclc step, and to a lively tune. Our veteran has been laid in the grave with brief ceremonies. We do not even prolong his obsequies with a sermon. His place knows him no longer. There are a few who re- member him : a very, very few who grieve for him, — so few that to think of them is a humiliation almost. The sun sets on the earth, and our dear brother has departed off its face. Stars twinkle; dews fall; children • go to sleep in awe and maybe tears ; the sun rises on a new day, which he has never seen, and children wake hungry. They are interested about their new black clothes, perhaps. They are presently at their work, plays, quarrels. 'JThey are looking forward to the day when the holidays will be over, and the eyes which slione here yesterday so kindly are gone, gone, gone. A drive to the cemetery, followed by a coach with four acquaint- ances dressed in decorous black, who separate and go to their homes or clubs, and wear your crape for a few days after, — can most of us expect much more t The thought is not en- nobling or exhilarating, worthy sir. And, pray, why should we be proud of ourselves ? Is it because we have been so good, or are so wise and great, that we expect to be beloved, lamented, re- membered ? Why, great Xerxes or blustoi-ing Bobadil must know in that last hour and resting-place how abject, how small, how low, how lonely they are, and what a little dust will cover them. Quick, drums and fifes, a lively tune! Whip the black team, coachman, and trot back to town again, — to the world, and to busi- ness, and duty ! I am for saying no single unkind- ness of General Baynes which is not forced upon me by my story-teller's office. We know from Marlbor- ough's story that the bravest man and greatest military genius is not always brave or successful in his bat- tles with his wife ; that some of the greatest warriors have committed er- rors in accounts and the distribution of meum and tuum. We can't dis- guise from ourselves the fact that Baynes permitted himself to be mis- led, and had weaknesses not quite consistent with the highest virtue. When he became aware that his carelessness in the matter of Mrs. Firmin's trust-money had placed him in her son's power, we have seen how the old General, in order to avoid be- ing called to account, fled across the water with his family and all his lit- tle fortune, and how terrified he was on landing on a foreign shore to find himself face to face with this dread- ful creditor. Philip's renunciation of all claims against Baynes soothed and pleased tlie old man wonderfully. But Philip might change his mind, an adviser at Baynes's side repeatedly urged. To live abroad was cheaper and safer than to live at home. Ac- cordingly Baynes, his wife, family, and money, all went into exile, and remained there. What savings the old man had I don't accurately know. He and his wife were very dark upon this subject with Philip: and when the General died, his widow declared herself to be almost a pauper ! It was impossible that Baynes should have left much money; but that Charlotte's share should have amounted to — that sum which may or may not presently be state^ — was a little loo absurd I You see Mr. and Mrs. Firmin are travel- ling abroad just now. When I wrote to Firmin, to ask if I might mention the amount of his wife's fortune, he gave me no answer ; nor do I like to enter upon these matters of calcula- tion without his explicit permission. He is of a hot temper ; he might, on his return, grow angry with the friend of his youth, and say, " Sir, how dare you to talk about my private afiairs 1 and what has the public to do with Mrs. Firmin's private fortune? " THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 823 When, the last rites over, good- natured uncle Mac proposed to take Charlotte back to Tours her mother made no objection. The widow had tried to do the girl such an injury, that perhaps the latter felt for- giveness was impossible. Little Char loved Philip with all her heart and strengtli; had been authorized and encouraged to do so, as we have seen. To give him up now, because a richer suitor presented himself, was an act of treason from which her faith- ful heart revolted, and she never could pardon the instigator. You see, in this simple story, I scarcely care even to have reticence or secrets. I don't want you to understand for a moment that Walsinghara Hely was still cry- ing his eyes out about Charlotte. Goodness bless you ! It was two or three weeks ago, — four or five weeks ago, that he was in love with her 1 He had not seen the Ducbesse d'lvry then, about whom you may remember he had the quarrel with Podichon, at the club in the Eue de Grammont. (He and the Duchesse wrote poems to each other, each in the other's native language.) The Charlotte had long passed out of the young fellow's mind. That butterfly had fluttered off from our English rosebud, and had settled on the other elderly flower ! I don't know that Mrs. Baynes was aware of young Hely's fickleness at this present time of which we are writing; but his visits had ceased, and she was angry and disappointed; and not the less angry because her labor had been in vain. On her part, Charlotte could also be resolutely unforgiving. Take her Philip from her ! Never, never ! Her mother force her to give up the man whom she had been encouraged to lovel Mamma should have de- fended Philip, not betrayed him ! If I command my sou to steal a spoon, shall he obey me ! And if he do obey and steal, and be transported, will he love me afterwards 1 I think I can hardly ask for so much filial affection. So there was strife between mother and daughter; and anger not the less bitter, on Mrs. Bayncs's ]jart, because her husband, whose cupidity or fear had, at first, induced him to take her side, had deserted her and gone over to her daughter. In the anger of that controversy Baynes died, leaving the victory and right with Charlotte. He shrank from his wife: would not speak to her in his last moments. The widow had these injuries against her daughter and Philip : and thus neither side forgave the other. She was not averse to the child's going away to her uncle : put a lean, hungry face against Charlotte's lip, and received a kiss which I fear had but little love in it. I don't envy those children who remain under the widow's lonely com- mand ; or poor Madame Smolensk, who has to endure the arrogance, the grief, the avarice of that grim wo- man. Nor did madame suffer under this tyranny long. Galignani's Mes- senger very soon announced that she had lodgings to let, and I remember being edified by reading one day in the Pall Mall Gazette, that elegant apartments, select society, and an ex- cellent table, were to be found in one of the most airy and fashionable quar- ters of Paris. Inquire of Madame la Baronne de S sk, Avenue de Valmy, Champs Elys&s. We guessed without diiBculty how this advertisement found its way to the Pall Mall Gazette ; and very soon after its appearance Madame de Smolensk's friend, Mr. Philip, made his appearance at our tea-table in London. He was always welcome amongst us elders and children. He wore a crape on his hat. As soon as the young ones were gone, you may be sure he poured his story out ; and enlarged upon the death, the burial, the quarrels, the loves, the partings we have narrated. How could he be put in a way to earn three or four hundred a year ? That was the pres- ent question. Ere he came to see us, he had already been totting up ways and means. He had been with our friend Mrs. Brandon: was staying with her. The Little Sister thought 324 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. three hundred would be sufficient. They could have her second floor, — not for nothing; no, no, but at a moderate price, which would pay her. They could have attics, if more rooms were needed. They could have her kitchen fire, and one maid for the present would do all their work. Poor little thing! She was very young. She would be past eighteen by the time she could marry; the Little Sister was for early marriages, against long courtships. "Heaven helps those as helps themselves," she said. And Mr. Philip thought this excellent ad- vice, and Mr. Philip's friend, when asked for his opinion, — " Candidly now, what's your opinion '!" — said, " Is she in the next room ? Of course you mean you ai-e married al- ready." Philip roared one of his great laughs. No, he was not married al- ready. Had he not said that Miss Baynes was gone away to Tours to her aunt and uncle'! But that he wanted to be married; but that he coald never settle down to work till he married; but that he could have no rest, peace, health, till he married that angel, he was ready to confess. Keadyl AH the street might hear him calling out the name and ex- patiating on the angelic charms and goodness of his Charlotte. He spoke so loud and long on this subject that my wife grew a little tired ; and my wife alwai/s likes to hear other women praised, that (she says) I know she does. But when a mangoes on roar- ing for an hour about Dulcinea 1 You know such talk becomes fulsome at last ; and, in fine, when he was gone, my wife said, " Well, he is very much in love; so were you, — I mean long before my time, sir ; hut does love pay the housekeeping bills, pray "! " " No, my dear. And love is always controlled by other people's advice : — always," says Philip's friend ; who, I hope, you will perceive was speak- ing ironically. Philip's friends had listened not impatiently to Philip's talk about Philip. Almost all women will give a sympathizing hearing to men who are in love. Be they ever so old, they grow young again with that conversation, and renew their own eai-ly times. Men are not quite so generous : Tityrus tires of hearing Corydon discourse endlessly on the charms of his shepherdess. And yet egotism is good talk. Even dull biographies are pleasant to read : and if to read, why not to hear? Had Master Philip not been such an egotist, he would not have been so pleasant a companion. Can't you like a man at whom you laugh a little ? I had rather such an open-mouthed conver- sationist than your cautions jaws that never unlock without a careful applica- tion of the key. As for the entrance to Mr. Philip's mind, that door was always open when he was awake, or not hungry, or in a friend's company. Besides his love, and his prospects in life, his poverty, &c., Philip had other favorite topics of conversation. His friend the Little Sister was a great theme with him ; his father was an- other favorite subject of his talk. By the way, his father had written to the Little Sister. The Doctor said he was sure to prosper in his newly adopted country. He and another physician had invented a new medi- cine, which was to effect wonders, and in a few years would assuredly make the fortune of both of them. He was never without one scheme or another for making that fortune which never came. Whenever he drew upon Philip for little sums, his letters were sure to be especially mag- niloquent and hopeful. " Whenever the Doctor says he has invented the philosopher's stone," said poor Philip, " I am sure there will be a postscript to say that a little bill will be presented for so much, at so many days' date." Had he drawn on Philip lately? Philip told us when, and how often. We gave him all the benefit of our virtuous indignation. As for my wife's eyes, they gleamed with anger. What a man : what a father 1 0, he THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 325 was incorrigible ! "Yes, I am afraid lie is," says poor Phil, comicalljr, with his hands roaming at ease in his pockets. They contained little else than those big hands. " My father is of a hopeful turn. His views re- garding property are peculiar. It is a comfort to have such a distinguished parent, is n't it ? I am always sur- prised to hear that he is not married again. I sigh for a mother-in-law," Philip continued. "0, don't, Philip!" cried Mrs. Laura, in a pet. " Be generous : be forgiving : be noble : be Christian ! Don't be cynical, and imitating — you know whom ! " Whom could she possibly mean, I wonder 1 After flashes there came showers in this lady's eyes. Prom long habit I can understand her thoughts, although she does not utter them. She was thinking of those poor, noble, simple, friendless young people ; and asking Heaven's protec- tion for them. I am not in the habit of over-praising my friends, goodness knows. The foibles of this one I have described honestly enough. But if I write down here that he was courageous, cheerful in adversity, generous, simple, truth-loving, above a scheme, — after having said that he was a noble young fellow, — dixi ; and I won't cancel the words. Ardent lover as he was, our friend was glad to be back in the midst of the London smoke, and wealth, and bustle. The fog agreed with his lungs, he said. He breathed more freely in our great city than in that little English village in the centre of Paris which he had been inhabiting. In his hotel, and at his caf^ (where he composed liis eloquent "own correspondence"), he had occasion to speak a little French, but it never came very trippingly from his stout English tongue. " You don't suppose I would like to be taken foraPrench- man," he would say, with much gravity. I wonder who ever thought of mistaking friend Philip for a frenchman % As for that faithful Little Sister, her house and heart were still at the young man's service. We have not visited Thornhaugh Street for some time Mr. Philip, whom we have been bound to attend, has been too much occupied with his love-making to bestow much thought on his affec- tionate little friend. She has been trudging meanwhile on her humble course of life, cheerful, modest, la- borious, doing her duty, with a help- ing little hand ready to relieve many a fallen wayfarer on her road. She had a room vacant in her house when Philip came : — a room, indeed ! Would she not have had a house va- cant, if Philip wanted it? But in the interval since we saw her last, the Little Sister, too, has had to assume black robes. Her father, the old Cap- tain, has gone to his rest. His place is vacant in the little parlor: his bed- room is ready for Philip, as long as Philip will stay. She did not profess to feel much aiBiction for the loss of the captain. She talked of him con- stantly as though he were present; and made a supper for Philip, and seated him in her Pa's chair. How she bustled about on the night when Philip arrived ! What a beaming welcome there was in her kind eyes ! Her modest hair was touched with silver now ; but her cheeks were like apples ; her little figure was neat, and light, and active : and her voice, with its gentle laugh, and little sweet bad grammar, has always seemed one of the sweetest of voices to me. Very soon after Philip's arrival in London, Mrs. Brandon paid a visit to the wife of Mr. Pirmin's humble ser- vant and biogi-aphcr, and the two women had a fine sentimental con- sultation. All good women, you know, are sentimental. The idea of young lovers, of match-making, of amiable poverty, tenderly excites and interests them. My wife, at this time, began to pour off fine long let- ters to Miss Baynes, to which the latter modestly and dutifiilly replied, with many expressions of fervor and 326 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. gratitude for the interest which hor friend in London was pleased to take in the little maid. I saw by these answers that Charlotte's union with Philip was taken as a received point by these two ladies. They discussed the ways and means. They did not talk about broughams, settlements, town and country houses, pin-moneys, trousseaux : and my wife, in comput- ing their sources of income, always pomted out that Miss Charlotte's for- tune, though certainly small, would give a very useful addition to the young couple's income. " Fifty pounds a year not much ! Let me tell you, sir, that fifty pounds a year is a very pretty little sura : if Philip can but make three hundred a year himself, Mrs. Brandon says they ought to he able to live quite nicely." You ask, my genteel friend, is it pos- sible that people can live for four hundred a year ? How do they man- age, ces pauvres gens? They eat, they drink, they are clothed, they are warmed, they have roofs over their heads, and glass in their windows; and some of them are as good, happy, and well-bred as their neighbors who are ten times as rich. Then, besides this calculation of money, there is the fond woman's firm belief that the day will bring its daily bread for those who work for it and ask for it in the proper quarter ; against which reason- ing many a man knows it is in vain to argue. As to my own little ob- jections and doubts, my wife met them by reference to Philip's former love-affair with his cousin, Miss Twys- den. " You had no objection in that case, sir," this logician would say. " You would have had him take a creature without a heart. You would cheerfully have seen him made mis- erable for life, because you thought there was money enough and a gen- teel connection. Money indeed ! Very happy Mrs. Woolcorab is with her money. Very creditably to all sides has lliat marriage turned out ! " I need scarcely remind my readers of the unfortunate result of that mar- riage. "Woolcomb's behavior to his wife was the agi'eeable talk of London society and of the London clubs very soon after the pair were joined to- gether in holy, matrimony. Do we not all remember how Woolcomb was accused of striking his wife, of starv- ing his wife, and how she took refuge at home and came to her father's house with a black eye? The two Twysdens were so ashamed of this transaction, that father and son left off^ coming to " Bays's," where I never heard their absence regretted but by one maii^ who said that Tal- bot owed him money for losses at whist, for which he could get no settlement. Should Mr. Firmin go and see his aunt in her misfortune ? Bygones might be bygones, some of Philip's advisers thought. Now Mrs. Twys- den was unhappy, hor heart might re- lent to Philip, whom she certainly had loved as a boy. Philip had the magnanimity to call upon her ; and found her carriage waiting at the door. , But a servant, after keeping the gentleman waiting in the dreary, well-remembered hall, brought him word that his mistress was out, smiled in his face with an engaging insolence, and proceeded to put cloaks, court-guides, and other female gear into the carriage in the presence of this poor deserted nephew. This visit, it must be owned, was one of Mrs. Laura's romantic efforts at rec- onciling enemies : as if, my good crea- ture, the Twysdens ever let a man into their house who was poor or out of fashion ! They lived in a constant dread lest Philip should call to bor- row money of them. As if they ever lent money to a man who was in need ! If they ask the respected read- er to their house, depend upon it they tliink he is well to do. On the other hand, the Twysdens made a very handsome entertainment for the new Lord of Whipham and Eingwood who now reigned after his kinsman's death. They affably went and passed Christmas with him in the country ; THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 327 and they cringed and bowed before Sir John Eingwood as they had bowed and cringed before the earl in his time. The old earl had been a Tory in his latter days, when Talbot Twysden's vievrs were also very con- servative. The present Lord of Ring- wood was a Whig. It is sui-prising how liberal the Twysdens grew in the course of a fortnight's' after-din- ner conversation and pheasant-shoot- ing talk at Ilingwood. "Hang it! you know," young Twysden said, in his office afterwards, " a fellow must go with the politics of his family, you know!" and he bragged about the dinners, wines, splendors, cooks, and preserves of Ringwood as freely as in the time of his noble grand-uncle. Any one who has kept a house-dog in London, which licks your boots and your platter, and fawns for the bones in your dish, knows how the animal barks and flies at the poor who come to the door. The Twys- dens, father and son, were of this ca- nine species : and there are vast packs of such dogs here and elsewhere. If Philip opened his heart to us, and talked unreservedly regarding his hopes and his plans, you may be sure he had his little friend, Mrs. Brandon, also in his confidence, and that no person in the world was more eager to sciTe him. Whilst we were talking about what was to bo done, this little lady was also at work in her favorite's behalf. She had a firm ally in Mrs. Mugford, the proprie- tor's lady of the Pall Mall Gazette. Mrs. Mugford had long been inter- ested in Philip, his misfortunes and his love-affairs. These two good wo- men had made a sentimental hero of him. Ah ! that they could devise some feasible scheme to help him ! And such a chance actually did very soon pre- sent itself to these delighted women. In almost all the papers of the new year appeared a brilliant advertise- ment, announcing the speedy ap- pearance in Dublin of a new paper. It was to be called The Shamrock, and its first number was to be issued on the ensuing St. Patrick's day. I need not quote at length the adver- tisement which heralded the advent of this new periodical. The most famous pens of the national party in Ireland were, of course, engaged to contribute to its columns. Those pens would be hammered into steel of a different shape when the oppor- tunity should offer. Beloved prel- ates, authors of world-wide fame, bards, the bold strings of whose lyres had rung through the isle already, and made millions of noble hearts to beat, and, by consequence, double the number of eyes to fill ; philoso- phers, renowned for science; and illustrious advocates, whose manly voices had over spoken the language of hope and freedom to an, &c., &c., would be found rallying round the journal, and proud to wear the sym- bol of The Shambock. Pinaily, Michael Cassidy, Esq., was chosen to be the editor of this new journal. This was the M. Cassidy, Esq., who appeared, I think, at Mr. Firmin's call-supper; and who had long been the sub-editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. If Michael went to Dame Street, why should not Philip be sub-editor at Pall Mall ? Mrs. Brandon argued. Of course there would be a score of can- didates for Michael's office. The ed- itor would like the patronage. Bar- net, Mugford's partner in the Gazette, would wish to appoint his man. Cas- sidy, before retiring, would assuredly intimate his approaching resignation to scores of gentlemen of his nation, who would not object to take the Saxon's pay until they finally shook his yoke off, and would eat his bread until the happy moment arrived when tliey could knock out his brains in fair battle. As soon as Mrs. Brandon heard of the vacant place, that mo- ment she determined that Philip sliould have it. It was surprising what a quantity of information our little friend possessed about artists, and press-men, and their lives, fami- lies, ways and means. Many gentle- men of both professions came to Mr 328 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Ridley's chambers, and called on the Little Sister on their way to and fro. How Tom Smith had left the Herald, and gone to the Post ; what price Jacls Jones had for his picture, and who sat for tlie principal figures. — I promise you Madam Brandon had all these interesting details by heart ; and I tliiiik I have described this little person very inadequately if I have not made you understand that she was as intrepid a little jobber as ever lived, and never scrupled to go any length to serve a friend. To be Archbishop of Canterbury, to be professor of Hebrew, to be teacher of a dancing-school, to be organist for a church : for any conceivable place or function this little person would have asserted Pliilip's capability. " Don't tell me ! He can dance or preach (as the case may be), or write beautiful ! And as for being unfit to be a sub- editor, I want to Itnow, has he not as good a head and as good an educa- tion as that Cassidy, indeed f And is not Cambridge College the best college in the world 1 It is, I say. And he went there ever so long. And he might have taken the very best prize, only money was no object to him then, "dear fellow, and he did not like to keep the poor out of what he did n't v/ant ! " Mrs. Mugfqrd had always consid- ered the young man as very haughty, but quite tlie gentleman, and speedily was infected by her gossip's enthusi- asm about him. My wife hired a fly, packed several of the children into it, called upon Mrs. Mugford, and chose to be delighted with that lady's gar- den, with that lady's nursery, — with everything that bore the name of Mugford. It was a curiosity to re- mark in what a flurry of excitement these women plunged, and how they schemed, and coaxed and caballed, in order to get this place for their pro- tegd. My wife thought — she mere- ly happened to surmise : nothing more, of course — that Mrs. Mug- ford's fond desire was to shine in the world. " Could we not ask some people — with — with what you call handles to their names, — I think I before heard you use some such term, sir — to meet the Mugfords 1 Some of Philip's old friends, who I am sure would be very happy to serve him." Some such artifice was, I own, prac- tised. We coaxed, cajoled, fondled the Mugfords for Philip's sake, and Heaven forgive Mrs. Laura her hypocrisy. We had an entertainment then, I own. We asked our finest company, and Mr. and Mrs. Mug- ford to meet them : and we prayed that unlucky Philip to be on his best behavior to all persons who were in- vited to the feast. Before my wife this lion of a Fir- min was as a lamb. Rougli, captious, and overbearing in general society, with those whom he loved and es- teemed Philip was of all men the most modest and humble. He would never tire of playing with onr chil- dren, joining in their games, laugh- ing and roaring at their little sports. I have never had such a laugher at my jokes as Philip Firmin. I think my wife liked him for that noble guffaw with which he used to salute those pieces of wit. He arrived a little late sometimes with his laughing chorus, but ten people at table were not so loud as this faithful friend. On the contrary, when those people for whom he has no liking venture on a pun or other pleasantry, I am bound to own that Philip's acknowledgment of their waggery must be anything but pleasant or flattering to them. Now, on occasion of this important dinner, I enjoined him to be very kind, and very civil, and very much pleased with everybody, and to stamp upon nobody's corns, as, indeed, why should he, in life t Who was he to be censor morumf And it has been said that no man could admit his own faults with a more engaging candor than our friend. Wo invited, then, Mugford, the proprietor of the Pall Mall Gazette, and liis wife ; and Bickerton, the edit- or of that periodical ; Lord Egham, THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 329 Philip's old College friend ; and one or two more gentlemen. -Our invita- tions to the ladies were not so fortu- nate. Some were engaged, others away in the country keeping Christ- mas. In fine, we considered oui'selves rather lucky in securing old Lady Hixie, who lives hard by in West- minster, and who will pass for a lady of fashion when no person of greater note is present. My wife told her that the object of the dinner was to make our friend Firmin acquainted with the editor and proprietor of the Pall MaU Gazette, with whom it was important that he should be on the most amicable footing. Oh ! very well. Lady Hixic promised to be quite gracious to the newspaper gentleman and his wife ; and kept her promise most graciously during the evening. Our good friend Mrs. Mugford was the first of our guests to arrive. She drove " in her trap " from her villa in the suburbs; and after putting up his carriage at a neighboring livery-stable, her groom volunteered to help our servants in waiting at dinner^ His zeal and activity were remarkable. China smashed, and dish-covers clanged in the passage. Mrs. Mugford said that " Sam was at his old tricks " ; and I hope the hostess showed she was mistress of herself amidst that fall of china. Mrs. Mugford came before the appointed hour, she said, in order to see our children. " "With our late London dinner-hours," she remarked, " children was never seen now. At Hampstead, hers always appeared at the dessert, and enlivened the table with their innocent outcries for oranges and struggles for sweetmeats. In the nursery, where one little maid, in her crisp long nightgown, was saying her prayers; where another little person, in the most airy costume, was standing before the great barred fire ; where a third Liliputian was sitting up in its nightcap and surplice, surveying the scene below from its crib; — the ladies found our dear Little Sister installed. She had come to see her little pets (she had known two or three of them from the very earliest times). She was a great favorite amongst them all; and, I believe, conspired with the cook down below in preparing certain delicacies for the table. A fine conversation then ensued about our children, about the Mugford children, about babies in general. And then the artful women (the house mistress and the Little Sister) brought Philip on the tapis, and discoui'sed, a qui mieux, about his virtues, his misfortunes, his engagement, and that dear little creature to whom he was betrothed. This conversation went on until carriage-wheels were heard in the square, and the knocker (there were actually knockers in that old-fash- ioned place and time) began to peal. " 0, bother ! There 's the company a-comin'," Mrs. Mugford said; and arranging her cap and flounces, with neat-handed Mrs. Brandon's aid, came down stairs, after taking a tender leave of the little people, to whom she sent a present next day of a pile of fine Christmas books, which had come to the Pall Mall Gazette for review. The kind woman had been coaxed, wheedled, and won over to our side, to Philip's side. He had /ler vote for the sub-editorship, whatever might ensue. Most of our guests had already ar- rived, when at length Mrs. Mugford was announced. I am bound to say that she presented a remarkable ap- pearance, and that the splendor of her attire was such as is seldom be- held. Bickerton and Philip were pre- sented to one another, and had a talk about French politics before dinner, during which conversation Philip be- haved with perfect discretion and po- liteness. Bickerton had happened to hear Philip's letters well spoken of, — in a good quarter, mind; and his cordiality increased when Lord Eg- ham entered, called Philip by his surname, and entered into a perfectly free conversation with him. Old 330 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Lady Hixie went into perfectly good society, Bickerton condescended to ac- knowledge. " As for Mrs. Miigford," says he, with a glance of wonderino; compassion at that lady, " of course I need not tell you that she is seen nowhere, — nowhere." This said, Mr. Bickerton stepped forward, and calmly patronized my wife, gave me a good-natured nod for my own part, reminded Lord Egliam that he had had the pleasure of meeting him at Egham ; and then fixed on Tom I'age, of the Bread-and-Butter Office (who, I own, is one of our most gen- teel guests), with whom he entered into a discussion of some political matter of that day, — I forget what : but the main point was that he named two or three leading public men with whom he had discussed the question, whatever it might be. He named very great names, and led us to understand that with the proprie- tors of those very great names he was on the most intimate and confidential footing. With his owners, — with the proprietor of the Pall Mall Ga- zette, he was on the most distant terms, and indeed I am afraid that his behavior to myself and my wife was scarcely respectful. I fancied I saw Philip's brow gathering wrinkles as his eye followed this man strutting from one person to another, and patronizing each. The dinner was a little late, from some reason best known in the lower regions. " I take it," says Bickerton, winking at Philip, in a pause of the conversation, " that our good friend and host is not much used to giving dinners. The mistress of the liouse is evidently in a state of perturbation." Philip gave such a horrible grimace that the other at first thought he was in pain. " You, who have lived a great deal with old Ringivood, know what a good dinner is," Bickerton continued, giving Firmin a knowing look. "Any dinner is good which is ac- companied with such a welcome as I get here," said Philip. " Oh ! very good people, very good people, of course ! " cries Bicker- ton. I need not say he thinks he has perfectly succeeded in adopting the air of a man of the world. He went ofl' to Lady Hixie and talked with her about the last great party at wliich ho had met her ; and then he turned to the host, and remarked that my friend, the Doctor's son, was a fierce- looking fellow. In five minutes he had the good fortune to make him- self hated by Mr. Firmin. He walks through the world patronizing his betters. " Our good friend is not much used to giving dinners," — is n't he ? I say, what do you mean by continuing to endure this man ■? Tom Page, of the Bread-and-Butter Office, is a well-known diner-out ; Lord Egham is a peer ; Bickerton, in a pretty loud voice, talked to one or other of these during dinner and across the table. He sat next to Mrs. Mugford, but he turned his back on that bewildered woman, and never condescended to address a word to her personally. "Of course, I under- stand you, my dear fellow," he said to me when, on the retreat of the la- dies, we approached within whisper- ing distance. " You have these peo- ple at dinner for reasons of state. You have a book coming out, and want to have it noticed in the paper. I make a point of keeping these peo- ple at a distance, — the only way of dealing with them, I give you my word." Not one offensive word had Philip said to the chief writer of the Pall Mall Gazette; and I began to con- gratulate myself that our dinner would pass without any mishap, when some one unluckily happening to praise the wine, a fresh supply was ordered. "Very good claret. Who is your wine-merchant 1 Upon my word, I get better claret here than I do in Paris, — don't you think so, Mr. Fermor ? Where do you gen- erally dine at Paris?" " I generally dine for thirty «ous. .THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 331 and three francs on grand days, Mr. Bcckerton," growls Philip. " My name is Bickerton. " (What a vulgar thing for a fellow to talk bout his thirty.-sous dinners ! " mur- rjured my neighbor to me.) " Well, ."here is no accounting for. tastes! When I go to Paris, ■ I dine at the ' Trois Fr&res. ' Give me the Bur- gundy at ' Trois Freres. ' " " That is because you great leader- writers are paid better than poor correspondents. I shall be delighted to be able to dine better." And with this Mr. Firmln smiles at Mr. Mugford, his master and owner. " TSothing so vulgar as talking shop," says Bickerton, rather loud. " I am not ashamed of the shop I keep. Are: you , of yours, Mr. Bickerton ? " growls Philip. "F. had him there," says Mr. Mugford. Mr. Bickerton got up from table, turning quite pale. " Do you mean to be offensive, sir? " he asked. "Offensive, sir? No, sir. Some men are offensive without meaning it. You have . been several times to- night ! " says Lord Philip. " I don't see that I am called upon to bear this kind of thing at any man's tabic ! " cried Mr. Bickerton. " Lord Egham, I wish you good night ! " "I say, old boy, what's the row about ? " asked . his Lordship. And wo were all astonished as my guest rose and left the table in great wrath. " Serve him right, Firmin, I say ! " said Mr. Mugford, again drinking off a glass. " Why, don't you know ? " says Tom Page. "His father keeps a haberdasher's shop at Cambridge, and sent him to Oxford, where he took a good degree." And this had come of a dinner of conciliation, — a dinner which was to advance Philip's interest in life ! " Hit him again, I say, " cried Mugford, whom wine had rendered eloquent. " He 's a supercilious beast that Bickerton is, and I hate him, and so does Mrs..M.'' 15 CHAPTJER XXXI. NAKKATES THAT FAMOUS JOKE ABOUT MISS GRIGSBY. For once Philip found that he had offended without giving general of- fence. In the confidence of female intercourse, Mrs. Mugford : had al- ready, in her own' artless but power- ful language, confinned her husband's statement regarding Mr. Bickerton, and declared that B. was a beast, and she was only sorry that Mr. F. had not hit him a little harder. So differ- ent arc the opinions which different individuals entertain i of .'the same event ! I happen to know, that Bick- erton, on his side, went away, aver- ring that we were quarrelsome, un- der-bred people; and that a man of any refinement had best avoid that kind of society. He does really and seriously believe himself our superior, and will lecture almost any gentle- man on the art of 1 eing one. '1 Ms assurance is not at all uncommon with your parvenu. Proud of his newly acquired knowledge of the art of exhausting the contents of an egg, the well-known little hoy of the apo- logue rushed to impart his knowledge to his grandmother, who.had been for many years familiar with the process vphich the, child had just discovered. Which of us has not met with some such instructors 1 I know men who would be ready to step forward and teach Taglioni how. to dance, Tom Sayers how to box, or the Chevalier Bayard how to be a gentleman. We most of us know such men, and un- dergo, from time to time, the ineffable benefit of their patronage. Mugford went away from our littlo entertainment vowing, by George, that Philip should n't want for a friend at the proper season ; and this ? roper season veiy speedily arrived, laughed one day, on going to the Pall Mall Gazette office, to find Philip installed in the sub-editor's , room, with a provision of scissors, -wafers,, and paste-pots, snipping paragraphs from this paper and that, altering, 332 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. condensing, giving . titles, and so forth ; and, in a word, in regular har- ness. The three-headed . calves, the great prize gooseberries, the old maiden ladies of wonderful ages who at length died in country places, — it was wonderful (considering his little experience) how Finnin hunted out these. He entered into all the spirit of his business. He prided himself on the clever titles which he found for his paragraphs. When his paper was completed at the week's end, he surveyed it fondly, — not the leading articles, or those profound and yet brilliant literary essays which ap- peared in the Gazette, — but the births, deaths, marriages, markets, trials, and what not. As a shop-boy, having decorated his master's win- dow, goes into the street, and pleased surveys his work ; so the fair face of the Pall Mall Gazette rejoiced Mr. Firmin, and Mr. Bince, the printer of the paper. They looked with an honest pride upon the result of their joint labors. Nor did Firmin relish pleasantry on the subject. Did his friends allude to it, and ask if he had shot any especially fine canard that week ■? Mr. Philip's brow would cor- rugate and his cheeks redden. He did not like jokes to he made at his expense : was not his a singular antipathy 1 In his capacity of sub-editor, the good fellow had the privilege of tak- ing and giving away countless theatre ordei's, and panorama and diorama tickets : the Pall Mall Gazette was not above accepting such little bribes in those days, and Mrs. Mugford's familiarity with the names of opei'a singers, and splendid appearance in an opera-box, was quite remarkable. Friend Philip would bear away a heap of these cards of admission, delighted to carry off our young folks to one exhibition or another. ■ But once at the diorama, where our young people sat in the darkness, very much fright- ened as usual, a voice from out the midnight gloom cried out : " Who has come in with orders from, the Pall Mall A lady, two scared chil- dren, and Mr. Sub-editor Philip, all trembled at this dreadful summons. I think I should not dare to print the story even now, did I not know that Mr. Firmin was travelling abroad. It was a blessing the place was dark, so that none could see the poor sub- editor's blushes. liather than cause any mortification to this lady, I am sure Philip would have submitted to rack and torture. But, indeed, her annoyance was very slight, except in seeing her friend annoyed. The hu- mor of the scene surpassed the annoy- ance in the lady's mind, and caused her to lijugh at the mishap ; but I own our little boy (who is of an aris- tocratic turn, and rather too sensitive to ridicule from his school - fellows) was not at all anxious to talk upon the subject, or to let the world know that he went to a place of public amusement " with an order." As for Philip's landlady, the Little Sister, she, you know, had been famil- iar with the press, and pressmen, and orders for the play for years past. She looked quite young and pretty, with her kind smiling Sice and neat tight black dress, as she came to the theatre — it was to an Easter piece— r on Philip's arm one evening. Our children saw her from their cab, as they, too, were driving to the same performance. It was, ; " Look, mam- ma ! There 's Philip and the Little Sister ! " And then came such smiles, and nods, and delighted recognitions from the cab to the two friends on foot ! Of course I have forgotten what was the piece which we all saw on that Easter evening. But those chil- dren will never forget ; no, though they live to be a hundred years old, and though their attention was distracted from the piece by constant observation of Philip and his companion in the public boxes opposite. Mr. Firmin s work and pay were both light, and he accepted both very cheerfully. He saved money out of his little stipend. It was surprising how economically he could live wim THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 333 fiis little landlady's aid and counsel. He would come to us, recounting his feats of parsiroony with a childish de- light; he Ipved. to contefliplate his sovereigns, as week by week the little pile accnmulated. He kept a sharp eye upon sales, and purchased now and again articles of furniture. In this way he brought home a piano to his lodgings, on which he could no more play than he could on the tight- rope ; but he was given to understand that it was a very fine instrument; and my, wife played on it one day when we went to visit him, and he sat listening, with his great hands on his knees, in ecstasies. He was thinking how one day, please Heaven, he should see other hands touching the keys, — and player and instrument disappeared in a mist before, his hap- py eyes. His purchases were not al- ways lucky. For oxampie, he was sadly taken in at an auction about a little pearl ornament. Some artful Hebrews at the sale conspired and "ran him Up," as the phrase is, to a price more than equal to the value of the trinket. " But you know who it was for, iha'am/'one of Philip's apolo- gists, said. "If she would like to wear his ten fingers he would cut 'em off and send 'em to her. But he keeps 'em to write her letters and verses,' — and most beautiful they are too." "And tho dear fellow, who was bred up in splendor and luxury, Mrs. Mugford, as you, ma'am, know too well, -7 he won't drink no wine now. A little whiskey and a glass of beer is all he takes. And his clothes — he who used to be so grand — you see how he is now, ma'am. Always the gentleman, and, indeed, , a finer or grander looking gentleman never en- tered a room ; but he is saving, — you know for what, ma'am." And indeed, Mrs. Mugford did know; and so did Mrs. Pendennis and Mrs. Brandon. And these three ■women worked themselves into a.per- fect fever, interesting themselves for BIr. Firmin. And Mugford, in his rough, funny way, Used to say, " Mr. P., a certain Mr. Heff has come and put our noses out of joint. He has, as sure as my name is Hem. And I am getting quite jealous of our sub- editor, and that is the long and short of it. But it 's good to see him haw- haw Bickerton if ever they, meet in the ofBce, that it is ! Bickerton won't bully him any more, I promise you ! " ■The conclaves and conspiracies of these women were endless in Philip's behalf. One day, I let the Little Sis- ter out of my house with a handker- chief to her eyes, and in a great state of flurry and excitement, which per- haps communicates itself to the gen- tleman who passes her at his own door. The gentleman's wife is. on her part, not a little moved and ex- cited. " What do you think Mrs. Brandon says ? Philip is learning short-hand. He says he does not think he is clever enough to be a writer of any mark ; — but he can he a report- er, and with this, and his place - at Mr. Mugford' 8, he thinks he can earn enough to — 0, he is a fine fellow I " I suppose feminine emotion stopped the completion of this speech. But when Mr. Philip slouched in to din- ner that day, his hostess did homage before him ; she loved him ; she treat- ed him with a tender respect and sym- pathy which her like are ever wont to bestow upon brave and honest men in misfortune. Why should not Mr. Philip Fii- min, harrister-at-law, bethink him that he belonged to a profession which has helped veiy many men to com- petence, and not a few to wealth and honors? A barrister might surely hope for as good earnings as could be made by a newspaper reporter. We all know instances of men who, having commenced their careers as writers for the press, had carried on the legal profession simultaneously and attained the greatest honors of the bar and the bench. " Can I sit in a Pump Court garret waiting for attorneys 1 " asked poor Phil ; " I shall break my heart before they 334 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. come. My brains are not worth much : I should addle them altogeth- er in poring over law books. I am not at all a clever fellow, you see ; and I have n't the ambition and obstinate will to succeed which carry on many s man with no greater capacity than my own. I may have as good brains as Bickerton, for example : bat I am not so bumptious as he is. By claim- ing the first place wherever he goes, he gets it very often. My dear friends, don't you see how modest I am ? There never was a man less likely to get on than myself, — you must own that ; and I tell you that Charlotte and I must look forward to a life of poverty, of cheese-parings, and second-floor lodgings at Penton- ville or Islington. That 's abont my mark. I would let her off, only I know she would not take me at my word, — the dear little thing! She hai set her heart upon a hulking pauper ; that 's the truth. And I tell you what I am going to do. I am going seriously to learn the profession of poverty, and make myself master of it. What 's the price of cowheel and tripe t You don't know. I do ; and the right place to buy 'em. I am as good a judge of sprats as any man in JLondon. My tap in life is to be small-beer henceforth, and I am grow- ing quite to like it, and think it is brisk, and pleasant, and wholesome." There was not a little truth in Philip's account of himself, and his capacities and incapacities. Doubtless, he was not born to make a great name for himself in the world. But do we like those only who are famous 1 As well say we will only give our regard to men who have ten thou- sand a year, or are more than six feet high. While of his three female friends and advisers, my wife admired Phil- ip's humility, Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. Mugford were rather disappointed at Ills want of spirit, and to think that he aimed so low. I shall not say which side Firmin's biographer took in this matter. Was it my business to applaud or rebuke him for being humble-minded, or was I called upon to advise at all 1 My amiable reader, acknowledge that you and I in life pretty much go our own way. We eat the dishes we like because we like them, not because our neighbor rel- ishes them. We rise early, or sit up late ; we wori, idle, smoke, or what not, because we choose so to do, not because the doctor orders. Philip, then, was like you and me, who will have our own way when we can. Will we not "! If you won't, you do not deserve it. Instead of hungering after a stalled ox, he was accustoming himself to be content with a dinner of herbs. Instead of braving the tem- pest, he chose to take in sail, creep along shore, and wait for calmer weather. So, on Tuesday of every week let us say, it was this modest sub-editor's duty to begin snipping and pasting paragraphs for the ensuing Satur- day's issue. He cut down the par- liamentary speeches, giving due fa- voritism to the orators of the Pall Mall Gazette party, and meagre out- lines of their opponent's discourses. If the leading pulilie men on the side of the Pall Mall Gazette gave enter- tainments, you may be sure they were duly chronicled in the fashionable intelligence ; if one of their party wrote a book it was pretty sure to get praise from the critic. I am speaking of simple old days, you un- derstand. Of course there is no puff- ing, or jobbing, or false praise, or un- fair censure now. Every critic knows what he is writing about, and writes with no aim but to tell truth. Thus Philip, the dandy of two years back, was content to wear the shabbiest old coat ; Philip, the Phi- lippus of one-and-twenty, who rode showy horses, and rejoiced to display his horse and person in the park, now humbly took his place in an omnibus, and only on occasions indulged in a cab. From the roof of the larger vehicle he would salute his friends with perfect affability, and stare down THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 335 on his aunt as she passed in her ba- rouche. He never could be quite made to acknowledge that she purposely would not see him ; or he would at- tribute her blindness to the quarrel which they had had, not to his pov- erty and present position. As for his cousin Ringwood, " That fellow would commit any baseness," Philip acknowledged ; " and it is I who have cut him," our friend averred. A real danger was lest our friend should in his poverty become more haughty and insolent than he had been in his days of better fortune, and that he should make companions of men who were not his equals. Wheth- er was it better for him to be slighted in a fashionable club; or to swagger at the head of the company in a tav- ern parlor I This was the danger we might fear for Firmin. It was im- possible not to confess that he was choosing to take a lower place in the world than that to which he had been born. " Do you mean that Philip is low- ered, because he is poor ■? " asked an angry ladyi to whom this remark was made by her husband, — man and wife being both very good friends to Mr. Krmin. "My dear," replies the worldling of a husband, " suppose Philip were to take a fancy to buy a donkey and sell cabbages? He would be doing no harm; but there is no doubt he would lower himself in the world's estimation. "Lower himself!" says the lady, with a toss of her head. " No man lowers himself by pursuing an honest calling. No man!" " Very good. There is Grundsell, the green-grocer, outof Tuthill Street, who waits at our dinners. Instead of asking him to wait, we should beg him to sit down at table ; or perhaps we should wait, and stand with a nap- kin behind Grundsell." " Nonsense ! " " Grundsell's calling is strictly hon- est, unless he abuses his opportuni- ties, and smuggles away — " — Smuggles away stuff and non- sense ! " " Very good ; Grundsell is mo< a fit- ting companion, then, for us, or the nine little Grundsells for our children. Then why should Philip give up the friends of his youth, and forsake a club for a tavern parlor ? You can't say our little friend, Mrs. Brandon, good as she is, is a fitting companion for him ? " "If he had a good little wife, he would have a companion of his own degree; and he would be twice as happy; and he would be out of all danger and temptation, — and the best thing he can do is to marry directly ! '■ cries the lady. "And, my dear, I think I shall write to Charlotte and ask her to come and stay with us." There was no withstanding' this ar- gument. As long as Charlotte was with us we were sure that Philip would be out of harm's way, and seek for no other company. "There was a snug little bedroom close by the quarters inhabited by our own chil- dren. My wife pleased herself by adorning this chamber, and Uncle Mac happening to come to London on business about this time, the young lady came over to us under his con- voy, and I should like to describe the meeting between her and Mr. Philip in our parlor. No doubt it was very edifying. But my wife and I were not present, vous con^evez. We only heard one shout of surprise and de- light from Philip as he went into the room where the young lady was wait- ing. We had but said, " Go into the parlor, Philip. You will find your old friend Major Mac there. He has come to London on business, and has news of — " There was no need to speak, for here Philip straightway bounced into the room. And then came the shout. And then out came Major Mac, with such a droll twinkle in his eyes! What artifices and hypocrisies had we not to practise previously, so as to keep our secret from our children, who as- suredly would have discovered it I I 336 THE ADVENTURES OE PHILIP. must tell yon that the paterfamilias had guarded against the innocent prattle and iuqniries of the children regarding the preparation of the little bedroom, by informing them that it was intended for Miss Grigsby, the governess, with whoso advent they had long been threatened. And one of our gills, when the unconscious Philip arrived, said, "Philip, if you go into the parlor, you will find Miss Grigsby, the governess, there." And then Philip entered into that parlor, and then arose that shout, and then out came Uncle Mac, and then, &c., &c. And we called Charlotte Miss Grigsby all dinner-time ; and we called her Miss Grigsby next day ; and the more we called her Miss Grigs- by the more we all laughed. And the baby, who could not speak plain yet, called her Miss Gibby, and laughed loudest of all; and it was such fun. But I think Philip and Charlotte had the best of the fun, my dears, though they may not have langhed quite so loud as we did. As for Mrs. Brandon, who, you may be sure, speedily came to pay us a visit, Charlotte blushed, and looked quite beautiful when she went up and kissed the Little Sister. "He Jiave told you about me, then ! " she said, in her soft little voice, smoothing the young lady's brown hair. "Should I have known him at all but for you, and did yon not save his life for me when he was iM'i" asked Miss Baynes. " And may n't I love every- body who loves him t " she asked. And we left these women alone for a quarter of an hoar, during which they became the most intimate friends in the world. And all our household, great and smaU, including the nurse (a woman of a most jealous, domi- neering, and uncomfortable fidelity), thought well of our gentle young guest, and welcomed Miss Grigsby. Charlotte, you see, is not so exceed- ingly handsome as to cause other wo- men to perjure themselves by protest- ing that she is no great things after all. At the period with which we are I concerned, she certainly had a lovely complexion, which her black dress set off, perhaps. And when Philip used to come into the room, she had al- ways a fine garland of roses ready to otfer him, and growing upon her cheeks, the moment he appeared. Her manners are so entirely unaf- fected and simple that they can't be otherwise than good : for is she not grateful, truthful, unconscious of self, easily pleased and interested in oth- ers? Is she very witty'? I never said so, — though that she appreciated some men's wit (whose names need not be mentioned) I cannot doubt. " I say," cries Philip, on that memo- rable first night of her arrival, and when she and other ladies had gone to bed, " by Greorge ! is n't she glori- ous, I say ! What can I have done to win such a pure little heart as that? Non sum dignus. It is too much happiness, ^- too much, by George ! " And his voice breaks be- hind his pipe, and he squeezes two fists into eyes that are brimful of joy and thanks. Where Fortune bestows such a bounty as this, I think we need not pity a man for what she with- draws. As Philip walks away at midnigfit (walks away ? is turned out of doors; or surely he would have gone on talking till dawn), with the rain beating in his face, and fifty or a hundred pounds for all his fortune in his pocket, I think there goes one of the happiest of men, — the happiest and richest. For is he not possessor of a treasure which he could not buy, or would not sell, for all the wealth of the world ? My wife may say what she will, but she assuredly is answerable for the invitation to Miss Baynes, and for all that ensued in consequence. At a hint that she would be a wel- come guest in our house, in London, where all her heart and treasure lay, Charlotte Baynes gave up straightway her dear aunt at Tours, who had been kind to her ; her dear uncle, her dtear mamma, and all her dear brothers,^ following that natural law which or- THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 337 dains that a woman, under certain circumstances, sliall resign home, parents, brothers, sisters, for the sake of that one individual who is hence- forth to he dearer to her than all. Mrs. Baynes, the widow, growled a complaint at her daughter's ingrati- tude, but did not. refiise her consent. She may have known that little He- ly, Charlotte's volatile admirer, had fluttered off to another flower by this time, and that a pursuit of that but- terfly was in vain ; or she may have heard that he was going to pass the spring -r- the butterfly season — in London, and hoped that he per- chance might again light on her girl. Howbeit, she was glad enough that her. daughter should accept an invita^ tion to our house, and owned that as yet the poor child's share of this life's pleasures had been but small. Char- lotte's modest little trunks were again packed, then, and the poor child was sent off, I won't say with how small a provision of pocket-money, by her mother. But the thrifty woman had but little, and of it was determined to give as little as she could. " Heaven will provide for my child," she would piously say ;- and hence interfered very little with those agents whom Heaven sent to befriend her .children. " Her mother told Charlotte that she would send her some money next Tuesday," the Major told us ; " but, between ourselves, I doubt whether she will. Between ourselves, my sister-in-law is always going to give money next Tuesday : but somehow Wednesday comes, and the • money has not arrived. I could not let the little maid be without a few guineas, and have provided her out of a half- pay purse ; but mark me, that pay- day 'Tuesday will never come." Shall I deny or confirm the worthy Major's statement ? Thus far I will say, that Tuesday most certainly came ; and a letter from her mamma to Charlotte, which said that one of her brothers and a younger sister were going to stay with Aunt- Mac ; and that as Char was so happy with her most hospitable and kind friends, : a fond widowed mother, who had. given up all pleasures for herself, would not interfere to prevent a darling child's happiness. It has been said that three women, whose names have been given up, were conspiring in the behalf of this young person and the young man her sweetheart. Throe days after Char- lotte's arrival at our house, my wife persists in thinking that a drive into the country would do the child good, orders a brougham, dresses Charlotte in her best, and trots away to see Mrs. Mugford at Hampstead. , Mrs. Bran- don is at Mrs. Mugford's, of course quite by chance . and I feel sure that Charlotte's "friend compliments Mrs. Mugford upon her garden, upon her nursery, upon her luncheon, upon everything that is hers. ," Why, dear me," says Mrs. Mugford (as the ladies discourse upon a certain subject), what does it matter t Me and Mug- ford married on two pound a week ; and on two pound a week my dear eldest children were born. It was a hard sti'uggle sometimes, but we were all the happier for it ; and I 'm sure if a man won't risk a little he don't deserve much. I know /would risk, if X were a man, to marry such a pretty young dear. And I should take a young man to be but a mean-spirited fellow who waited and went shilly- shallying when he had but to say the word and be happy. I thought Mr. F was a brave, courageous gentleman, I did, Mrs. Brandon. Do you want me for to have a bad opinion of him ? My dear, a little of that cream. It 's very good. We 'ad a dinner yester- day, and a cook down from town, on purpose." This speech, with appro- priate imitations of voice and gesture, was repeated to the present biogra- pher by the present biographer's wife, and he now began to see in what webs and meshes of conspira- cy these artful women had enveloped the subject of the present biography Like Mrs. Brandon, and the other matron, Charlotte's friend, Mrs 338" THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. Mugford became interested in the gentle young creature, and kissed her kindly, and made lier a present on going away. It was a broocli in the shape of a thistle, if I remember aright, set with amethysts and a lovely Scottish stone called, I believe, a carumgorum. " She ain't no style about her ; and I confess, from a general's daughter, brought up on the Continent, I should have expected better. But we '11 show her a little of the world and the opera, Brandon, and she '11 do very well, of ithat I make no doubt." And Mrs. Mug- ford took Miss Baynes to the opera, and pointed out the other people of fashion there assembled. And de- lighted Charlotte was. I make no doubt there was a young gentleman of our acquaintance at the back of the box who was very happy too. And this year, Philip's kmsman's wife. Lady Eingwood, had a box, in which Philip saw her and her daughters, and little Ringwood Twys- den paying assiduous court to her Ladyship. They met in the crush- room by chance again, and Lady Ringwood looked hard at Philip and the blushing young lady on bis arm.' And it happened that Mrs. Mugford's carriage, — the little one-horse trap which opens and shuts so conveniently, — and Lady Ringwood's tall, embla- zoned chariot of state, stopped the way together. And from the tall em- blazoned chariot the ladies looked not unkindly at the trap which contained the beloved of Philip's heart : and the carriages departed each on its way ; and Ringwood Twysden, seeing his cousin advancing towards him, turned very pale, and dodged at a double- quick down an arcade. But he need not have been afraid of Philip. Mr. Pirmin's heart was all softness and benevolence at that time. He was thinking of those sweet, sweet eyes that had just glanced to him a tender good-night ; of that little hand which a moment since had hung with fond pressure on his arm. Do you sup- pose in such a frame of mind he had leisure to think of a nauseous little reptile crawling behind him? He was so happy that night, that Philip was King Philip again. And ho went to the " Haunt," and sang his song of Garri/owen na gloria, and greeted the boys assembled, and spent at least three shillings over his supper and drinks. But the next day being Sunday, Mr. Finnm was at Westminster Abbey, listening to the sweet church chants, by the side of the very same young person whom he had escorted to the opera on the night before. They sat -together so close that one must have heard exact- ly as well as the other. I dare say it is edifying to listen to anthems a deux. And how complimentary to the cler- gyman to have to wish that the ser- mon was longer ! Through the vast cathedral aisles the organ notes peal gloriously. Ruby and topaz and amethyst blaze from the great church windows. Under the tall arcades the young people went together. Hand in hand they passed, and thought no ill. Do gentle readers begin to tire of this spectacle of billing and cooing ? I have tried to describe Mr. Philip's love-affairs with as few words and in as modest phrases as may be, — '■ omit- ting the raptures, the passionate vows, the reams of correspondence, and the usual commonplaces of his situation. And yet, my dear madam, though you and I may be past the age of billing and cooing, though your ringlets, which I remember a lovely auburn, are now — well — are now a rich purple and green black, and my brow may be as bald as a caunon-baU ; — I say, though we are old, we are not too old to forget We may not care about the panto- mime much now, but we like to take the young folks, and see them re joicing. From the window where! write, I can look down into the gfS' den of a certain square. In thifc garden I can at this moment see a young gentleman and lady of my ac- quaintance pacing up and down. They are talking some such talk as THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 339 Milton imagines our first parents engaged in ; and yonder garden is a paradise to my young friends. Did they choose to look outside the rail- ings of the square, or at any other objects than each other's noses, they might see — the tax-gatherer we will say, — with his book, knocking at one. door, the doctor's brougham at a second, a hatchment over the win- dows of a third mansion, the baker's boy discoursing with the house-maid over the raUings ' of a fourth. But what to them are these phenomena of life? Arm in arm my young folks go pacing up aijd down their Eden, and discoursing about that happy time which I suppose is now drawing near, about that charming little snug- gery for which the furniture is or- dered, and to which, miss, your old friend and very humble servant will take the liberty of forwarding his best regards and a neat silver teapot. I dare say, with these young people, as with Mr. Philip and Miss Charlotte, all occurrences of life seem to have, reference to that event which forms the subject of their perpetual longing and contemplation. There is the doctor's brougham driving away, and Imogene says to Alonzo, " What anguish I shall have if you are ill ! " Then there is the carpenter putting up the hatchment. "Ah, my love, if you were to die, I think they might put np a hatchment for both of us," says Alonzo with a killing sigh. Both sympathize with Mary and the baker's boy whispering over the rail- ings. Go to, gentle baker's boy, we also know what it is to love ! The whole soul and strength of Charlotte and Philip being bent upon marriage, I take leave to put in a document which Philip received at this time; and can imagine that it occasioned no little sensation : — " AsTOR House, New York. " And so you are returned to the great city, — to the fumum, the strepi- tum, and I sincerely hope the opes of our Home ! Your own letters arc ] 5* but brief; but I have an occasional correspondent ( there are few, alas ! who remember tlie exile I ) who keeps mc au courant of my Philip's history, and tells me that yon are industrious, that you are cheerful, that you pros- per. Cheerfulness is the companion of Industry, Prosperity their offspring. That that prosperity may attain the fullest growth is an absent father's fondest prayer ! Perhaps erelong I shall be able to announce to you that I too am prospering. I am engaged in pursuing a scientific discovery here (it is medical, and connected with my own profession), of which the results ought to lead to Fortune, unless the jade has forever deserted George Brand Firmin ! So you have em- barked in the drudgery of the press, and have become a member of the fourth estate. It has been despised, and pressman and poverty were for a long time supposed to be synonymous. But the power, the wealth of the press are daily developing, and they will increase yet further. I confess I should have liked to hear that my Philip was pursuing his profession of the bar, at which honor, splendid competence, nay, aristocratic rank, are the prizes of Hie hold, the industrious, and the deserving. Why should you not ? — should I not still hope that you may gain legal eminence and posi- tion t A father who has had much to suffer, who is descending the vale of years alone and in a distant land, would be soothed in his exile if he thought his son would one day bo able to repair the shattered fortunes of his race. But it is not yet, I fondly think, too late. You may yet qualify for the bar, and one of its prizes may fall to you. I confess it was not with- out a pang of grief I heard from our kind little friend Mrs. B., you were studying short-hand in order to be- come a newspaper reporter. And has Fortune, then, been so relentless to me that my son is to be compelled to follow such a calling ? I shall try and be resigned. I had hoped higher things for you — for me. 340 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " My dear boy, with regard to your romantic attacliment for Miss Bayncs, wliich our good little Brandon narrates to me, in her peculiar ortho- graphj, bat with much touching simpli- citi/, — I make it a rule not to say a word of comment, of warning, or re- monstrance. As sure as you are your father's son, you will take your own line in any matter of attachment to a ivoman, and all the fathers in the world won't stop you. In Philip of four-and- twenty 1 recognize his father tliirty years ago. My father scolded, entreat- ed, quarrelled with ma, never forgave me. I will learn to be more generous towards my son. I may grieve, but I bear you no malice. If ever I achieve wealth again, you shall not be de- prived of it. I suffered so myself from a harsh father, that I will never be one to my son ! " As you have put on the livery of the Muses, and regularly entered yourself of the Fraternity of the Press, what say you to a little addition to your income by letters addressed to my friend, the editor of the new .ioamal, called here the Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand. It is the fashionable journal published here ; and your qualifications are precisely those which would make your services valuable as a contributor. Doctor Geraldine, the editor, is not, I believe, a relative of the Leinster family, but a self-made man, who arrived in this country some years since, poor, and an exile from his native country. He advocates Repeal politics in Ireland ; but with these of course you need have nothing to do. And he is much too liberal to expect these from his contributors. I have been of service professionally to Mrs. Geraldine and himself. My friend of the Emerald in- troduced me to the Doctor. Terrible enemies in print, in private they are perfectly good friends, and the little passages of arms between the two journalists serve rather to amuse than to irritate. ' The grocer's boy from Ormond Quay' (Geraldine once, it appears, engaged in that useful but humble calling) and the 'miscreant from Cork — theeditoroftheEmerald comes from that city — assail each other in public, but drink whiskey-and- watcr galore in private. If you write for Geraldine, of course you will say nothing disrespectful about grocers' boi/s. His dollars are good silver, of that you may bo sure. Dr. G. knows a part of your history : he knows that you are now fairly engaged in literary pursuits ; that you are a man of education, a gentleman, a man of the world, a man of courage. I have answered for your possessing all these qualities. CThe Doctor, in his droll, humorous way, said that if you were a chip of the old block yon would be just what he called ' the grit.') Politi- cal treatises are not so much wanted as personal news regarding the nota- bilities of London, and these, I assured him, you were the very man to be able to furnish. You, who know everybody ; who have lived with the great world, — the world of lawyers, the world of artists, the world of the University, — have already had an experience which few gentlemen of the press can boast of, and may turn that experience to pi'ofit. Suppose you were to trust a little to your imagination in composing these let- ters ? there can be no harm in being poetical. Suppose an intelligent corre- spondent writes that he has met the D-ke of W-U-ngt^n, had a private interview with the Pr-m-r, and so forth, who is to say him nay ? And this is the kind of talk oar gobemouches of New York delight in. My worthy friend. Doctor Gferaldine, for example, —between ourselves his name is Finnigan, but his private history is strictly entre nous, — when he first came to New York astonished the people by the copiousness of his anecdotes regarding the English aristocracy, of whom he knows as much as he does of the Court of Pekin. He was smart, ready, sarcastic, amusing; he found readers : from one success he advanced to another, and the Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand is likely to make THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 341 this toorthy man's foriune. You really may be serviceable to him, and may justly earn the liberal rermmeration which he offers for a weekly letter. Anecdotes of men and women of fashion — the more gay and lively the more welcome — the quicquid agunt homines, in a word — should be thefanaffo hbdli. Who are the reign- ing beauties of London ? and Beauty, you know, has a rank and fashion of . its own. Has any one lately won or lost on the tuif or at play ? What are the clubs talking about ? Are there any duels ? What is the last scandal ? Does the good old Duke keep his health? Is that affair over between the Duchess of This and Captain That ? " Such is the information which our badauds here like to have, and for which my friend the Doctor will pay at the rate of dollars per letter. Your name need not appear at all. The remuneration is certain. C'est a prendre ou a laisser, as our lively neighbors say. Write in the first place in confidence to me ; and in whom can you confide more safely than in your father ? " You will, of course, pay your re- spects to your relative the new Lord of EingAvood. For a young man whose family is so powerful as yours, there can surely be no derogation in entertaining some feudal respect, and who knows whether and how soon Sir John Bingwood may be able to help his cousin? By the way. Sir John is a Whig, and your paper is a Conservative. But you are, above all, homme da monde. In such a sub- ordinate place as you occupy with the Pall Mall Gazette, a man's private politics do not surely count at all. If Sir John Bingwood, your kins- man, sees any way of helping you, so much the better, and of course your politics will be those of your family. I have no knowledge of him. He was a very quiet man at college, where; I regret to say, yaur father's friends were not of the quiet sort at all. I trust I have repented. I have sown my wild oats. And ah ! how pleased I shall be to hear that my Philip has bent his proud head a little, and is ready to submit more than he used of old to the customs of the world. Call upon Sir John, then. As a Whig gentleman of large estate, I need not tell you that he will ex- pect respect from you. He is your kinsman; the representative of your grandfather's gallant and noble race. He bears the name your mother bore. To her my Philip was always gentle; and for her sake you vdli comply with the wishes of " Your affectionate father, " G. B. F." " I have not said a word of compli- ment to mademoiselle. I wish her so well that I own I wish she were about to mari-y a richer suitor than my dear son. Will fortune ever permit me to embrace my daughter-in-law, and take your children on my knee ? You will speak kindly to them of their grandfather, will you not ? Poor General Baynes, I have heard, used violent and unseemly language regarding me, which I most heartily pardon. I am grateful when I think that I never did General B. an injury : grateful and proud to accept benefits from my own son. These I treasure up in my heart ; and still hope I shall be able to repay with something more substantial than my fondest prayers. Give my best wishes, then, to Miss Charlotte, and try and teach her to think kindly of her Philip's father." Miss Charlotte Baynes, who kept the name of Miss Grigsby, the govern- ess, amongst all the roguish children of a facetious father, was with us one month, and her mamma expressed great cheerfulness at her absence, and at the thought that she had found such good friends. After two months, her uncle, Major MacWhirter, return- ed fi'om visiting his relations in the North, and offered to take his niece back to France again. He made this proposition with the jolliest air in the 342 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. world, and as if his niece would jump for joy to go back to her mother. Bat to the Major's astonishment, Miss Baynes turned quite pale, ran to her hostess, flung herself into that lady's arms, and then there began an osculatory performance which perfect- ly astonished the good Major. Char- lotte's friend, holding Miss Baynes tight in her embrace, looked fiercely at the Major over the girl's shoulder, and defied him to take her away from that sanctuary. " O you dear, good dear friend ! " Charlotte gurgled out, and sobbed I know not what more expressions of fondness and gratitude. But the truth is, that two sisters, or mother and daughter, could not love each other more heartily than these two personages. Mother and daughter forsooth ! You should have seen Charlotte's piteous look when sometimes the conviction would come on her that she ought at length to go home to mamma ; such a look as I can fancy Iphigenia casting on Aga- memnon, when, in obedience to a painfal sense of duty, he was about to — to use the sacrificial knife. No, we all loved her. The children would howl at the idea of parting with their Miss Grigsby. Charlotte, in return, helped them to very pretty lessons in music and French, — served hot, as it were, from her own recent studies at Tours, — and a good dailjr governess operated on the rest of their education to everybody's satisfaction. And so months rolled on and our young favorite still remained with ns. Mamma fed the little maid's purse with occasional remittances ; and begged her hostess to supply her with all necessary articles from the milliner. Afterwards, it is true, Mrs. General Baynes * * But why enter upon these painful family disputes in a chapter which has been devoted to sentiment 1 As soon as Mr. Firmin received the letter above faithfully copied (with the exception of the pecuniary offer, which I do not consider myself at liber- ty to divulge,) he hurried down from Thornhaugh Street to Westminster. He dashed by Buttons, the page ; he took no notice of my wondering wife at the drawing-room door ; he rushed to the second floor, bursting open the school-room door, where Charlotte w!is teaching our dear third daughter to play "In my Cottage near a Wood." " Charlotte ! Charlotte ! " he cried out. "La, Philip! don't you see Miss Grigsby is giving us lessons?" said the children. But he would not listen to those wags, and still beckoned Charlotte to him. That young woman rose up and followed him out of the door, as, indeed, she would have followed him out of the window ; and there, on the stairs, they read Doctor Firmin's let- ter, with their heads quite close to- gether, you understand. " Two hundred a year more," said Philip, his heart throbbing so that he could hardly speak; " and your fifty, — and two hundred the Gazette, — and — " "O Philip!" was all Charlotte could say, and then — There was a pretty group for the children to see, and for an artist to draw ! CHAPTER XXXn. WATS AND MEAKS. Op course any man of the world, who is possessed of decent prudence, will perceive that the idea of mar- rying on fonr hundred and fifty pounds a year, so secured as was Master Phil- ip s income, was preposterous and ab- surd. In the first place, you can't live on four hundred and fifty pounds a year, that is a certainty. People do live on less, I believe. But a life without a brougham, without a decent house, without claret for dinner, and a footman to wait, can hardly be called existence. Philip's income might fail any day He might not please f liii'! J' A Letter from New York. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 343 the American paper. He might quar- rel with the Pall Mall Gazette. And then what would remain to him? Only poor little Charlotte's fifty pounds a year ! So Philip's most in- timate male friend — a man of the world, and with a good deal of expe- rience — argued. Of course I was not surprised that Philip did not choose to take my advice ; though I did not expect he would become so violently angry, call names almost, and use most rude expressions, when, at his express desire, this advice was tendered to him. If he did not want it, why did he ask for it ? The ad- vice might be unwelcome to him, but why did he choose to tell me at my own table, over my own claret, that it was the advice of a sneak and a world- ling? My good fellow, that claret, though it is a second growth, and I can afford no better, costs seventy-two shillings a dozen. How much is six times three hundred and sixty-five '! A bottle a day is the least you can cal- culate (the fellow would come to my house and drink two bottles to him- self, with the utmost nonchalance). A bottle per diem of that light claret — of that second-growth stuff" — costs one hundred and four guineas a year, do you understand? or, to speak plainly with you, one hundred and nine pounds four shillings ! " "Well," says Philip, " apres ? We 11 do without. Meantime I will take what I can get ! " and he tosses off' about a pint as he speaks (these mousseline glasses are not only enor- mous, but they break by dozens.) He tosses off a pint of my Larose, and gives a great roar of laughter, as if he had said a good thing ! Philip Firmin is coarse and offen- sive at times, and Bickerton in holding this opinion is not altogether wrong. " I 11 drink claret when I come to you, old boy," he says, grinning; "and at home I will have whiskey- tnd-water." " But suppose Charlotte is ordered daret ? " " Well, she can have it," says this liberal lover; " a bottle will last her a week." " Don't you see," I shriek out, " that even a bottle a week costs something like — six by fifty-two — eighteen pounds a year ! " (I own it is really only fifteen twelve; but, in the hurry of argument, a man mai/ stretch a figure or so.) "Eighteen pounds for Chai-lotte's claret; as much, at least, you great boozy toper, for your whiskey and beer. Why, you actually want a tenth part of your income for the liquor you con- sume ! And then clothes ; and then lodging; and then coals; and then doctor's bills; and then pocket- money ; and then sea-side for the little dears. Just have the kindness to add these things up, and you will find that you have about two-and-ninepence left to pay the grocer and the butcher." "What you call prudence," says Philip, thumping the table, and, of course, breaking a glass, " 1 call cowai-dicc, — I call blasphemy ! Do you mean, as a Christian man, to tell me that two young people and a family, if it should please Heaven to send them one, cannot subsist upon five hundred pounds a year ? Look round, sir, at the myriads of God's creatures who live, love, are happy and poor, and be ashamed of the wicked doubt which you utter ! " And he starts up, and strides up and down the dining-room, curling his fiaming mustache, and rings the bell fiercely, and says, "Johnson, I 've broke a glass. Get me another." In the drawing-room, my wife asks what we two were fighting about? And, as Charlotte is up stairs, telling the children stories as they are put to bed, or writing to her dear mamma, or what not, our friend bursts out with more rude and violent expressions than he had used in the dining-room over my glasses which he was smash- ing, tells my own wife that I am an atheist, or at best a miserable sceptic and Sadducee ; that I doubt of the goodness of Heaven, and am not thankful for my daily bread. And, 344 THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. with one of her kindling looks directed towards the young man, of course my wife sides with him. Miss Char presently came down from the young folks, and went to the piano, and played us Beethoven's " Dream of Saint Jerome," which always soothes me, and charms me, so that Ifancy it is a poem of Tennyson in music. And our children, as they sink off to sleep overhead, like to hear soft music, which soothes them into slumber, Miss Baynes says. And Miss. Char- lotte looks very pretty at her piano : and Philip lies gazing at her, with his great feet and hands tumbled over one of our arm-chairs. And the music, with its solemn cheer, makes us all very happy and kind-hearted, and ennobles us somehow as we listen. And my wife wears her benedictory look whenever she turns towards these young people. She has worked her- self up to the opinion that yonder couple ought to marry. She can give chapter and verse for her belief. To doubt about the matter at all is wicked according to her notions. And there are certain points upon which, I humbly own, that I don't dare to argue with her. When the women of the house have settled a matter, is there much use in man's resistance ? If my harem orders that I shall wear a yellow coat and pink trousers, I know that, before three months are over, I shall be walking about in rose-tendre and canary-colored garments. It is the perseverance which conquers, the daily return to the object desired. Take my advice, my dear sir, when you see your womankind resolute about a matter, give up at once, and have a quiet life. Perhaps to one of these evening entertainments, where Miss Baynes played the piano, as she did very pleasantly, and Mr. Philip's great clumsy fist turned the leaves, little Mrs. Brandon would come tripping in, and as she surveyed the young couple, her remark would be, " Did you ever see a better-suited couple ? " When I came home from chambers, and passed the dining-room door, my eldest daughter with a knovring face would bar the way and say, "You must n't go in there, papa ! Miss Grigsby is there, and Master Philip is not to be disturbed at his lessons! Mrs. Mugford had begun to arrange marriages between her young people and ours from the very first day she saw us ; and Mrs. M.'s ch. filly Toddles, rising two years, and our three-year-old colt Billyboy, were re- hearsing in the nursery the endless little comedy which the grown-up persons were performing in the draw- ing-room. With the greatest frankness Mrs. Mugford gave her opinion that Phil- ip, with four or five hundred a yearj would be no better than a sneak if he delayed to marry. How much had she and Mugford when tliey married, she would like to know? "Emily Street, Pentonville, was where we had apartments," she remarked ; " we were pinched sometimes ; but we owed nothing : and our house-keep- ing books I can show yon." I be- lieve Mrs. M. actually brought these dingy relics of her honeymoon for my wife's inspection. I tell you, my house was peopled with these friends of matrimony. Flies were forever in requisition, and our boys were very sulky at having to sit for an hour at Shoolbred's while certain ladies lin- gered there over blankets, table-cloths, and what not. Once I found my wife and Charlotte flitting about Wardour Street, the former lady much interested in a great Dutch cab- inet, with a glass cupboard and cor- pulent drawers. And that cabinet was, erelong, carted off to Mrs. Bran- don's, Thornhaugh Street; and in that glass cupboard there was pres- ently to be seen a neat set of china for tea and breakfast. The end was approaching. That event, with which the third volume of the old novels used to close, was at hand. I am afraid our young people can't drive off from St. George's in a chaise and four, and that no noble relative will lend them THE ADVENTUBES OF PHILIP. 345 llis castle for the honeymoon. Well : some people cannot drive to happiness, even with four horses ; and other folks can reach the goal on foot. My ven- erable Muse stoops down, unlooses her cothm-nus with some difficulty, and pi-epares to fling that old shoe after the pair. Tell, venerahle Muse! what were the marriage gifts which friendship provided for Philip and Charlotte? Philip's cousin, Kingwood Twysden, came simpering up to me at " Bays's Club" one afternoon, and said: "I hear my precious cousin is going to marry. I think I shall send him a broom to sweep a crossin'." I was nearly going to say, " This was a piece of generosity to he expected from your father's son " ; but the fact is, that I did not think of this wither- ing repartee until I was crossing St. James s Park on my way home, when Twysden of course was out of ear-shot. A great number of my best witticisms have been a little late in making their appearance in the world. If we could but hear the M7!spoken jokes, how we should all laugh ; if we could but speak them, how witty we should be ! When you have left the room, you have no notion what clever things I was going to say when you halked me by going away. Well, then, the fact is, the Twysden's family gave Philip nothing on his marriage, being the exact sum of regard which they professed to have for him. Mks. Majoe MacWhirtek gave the bride an Indian brooch, represent- ing the Taj Mahal at Agra which Gen- eral Baynes had given to his sister-in- law in old day?. At a later period, it is true, Mrs. Mac asked Charlotte for the brooch back again;, but this was when many family quarrels had raged between the relatives, — quar- rels which to describe at length would be to tax too much the writer and the readers of this history. Mks. Muoford presented an ele- gant plated coifee-pot, six drawing- room almanacs (spoils of the Pall Mall Gazette), and fourteen richly cut jelly-glasses, most useful for ne- gus if the young couple gave evening parties, which dinners they would not be able to afford. Mes. Bkandon made an offering of two table-cloths and twelve dinner napkins, most beautifully worked, and I don't know how much house linen. The Lady of the Pkesent Writer — Twelve teaspoons in bul- lion, and a pair of sugar-tongs. Mrs. Baynes, Philip's mother-in-law, sent him also a pair of sugar-tongs, of a light manufacture, easily broken. He keeps a tong to the present day, and speaks very satirically regarding that relic. Philip's Inn op Court — A bill for commons and Inn taxes, with the Treasurer's compliments. • And these, I think, formed the items of poor little Charlotte's mea- gre trousseau. Before Cinderella went to the ball she was almost as rich as our little maid. Charlotte's mother sent a grim consent to the child's mar- riage, hut declined herself to attend it. She was ailing and poor. Ilcr year's widowhood was just over. She had her other children to look after. My impression is that Mrs. Baynes thought that she could be out of Phil- ip's power so long as she remained abroad, and that the General's savings would be secure from him. So she delegated her authority to Philip's friends in London, and sent her daughter a moderate wish for her happiness, which may or may not have profited the young people. " Well, my dear, you are rich, com- pared to what I was, when I married," little Mrs. Brandon said to her young friend. " You will have a good hus- band. That is more than I had. You will have good ' friends ; and I was almost alone for a time, until it pleased God to befriend me." It was not without a feeling of awe that we saw these young people commence that voyage of life on which hence- forth they were to journey together; and I am sure that of the small coni' 846 tHE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. pany who accompanied them to the silent little chapel where they were joined in marriage there was not one who did not follow them with tender good wishes and heartfelt prayers. They had a little purse provided for a month's holiday. They had health, hope, good spirits, good friends. I have never learned that life's trials were over after marriage ; only Ijicky is he who has a loving companion to share them. As for the lady with whom Charlotte had stayed before her maiTiage, she was in a state of the most lachrymose sentimentality. . She sat on the bed in the chamber which the little maid had vacated. Her tears flowed copiously. She knew not why, she could not tell how the girl had wound herself round her ma- ternal heart And I think if Heaven had decreed this young creature should be poor, it had sent her many blessings and treasures in compensa- tion. Every respectable man and woman in London will, of course, pity these young people, and reprobate the mad risk which they were running, and yet by the influence and example of a sentimental wife probably, so madly sentimental have I become, that I own sometimes I almost fancy these misguided wretches are to be envied. A melancholy little chapel it is where they were married, and stands hard by our house. We did not deco- rate the church with flowers, or adorn the beadles with white ribbons. We had, I must confess, a dreary little breakfast, not in the least enlivened by Mugford's jokes, who would make a speech de circonstance, which was not, I am thankful to say, reported in the Pall Mall Gazette. " We sha' n't charge you for advertising the mar- riage there, my dear," Mrs. Mugibrd said. " And I 've already took it myself to Mr. Burjoyce." Mrs. Mug- ford had insisted upon pinning a large white favor upon John, who drove her from Hampstead : but that was the only ornament present at the Buptial ceremony, much to the dis- appointment of the good lady. There was a very pretty cake, with two doves in sugar, on the top, which the Little Sister made and sent, and no other hymeneal emblem. Our little girls as bridesmaids appeared, to be sure, in new bonnets and dresses, but everybody else looked so quiet and demure, that when we went into the church, three or four street urchins knocking about the gate, said, " Look at 'em, they 're going to be 'ung." And so the words are spoken, and the indissoluble knot is tied. Amen. For better, for worse, for good days or evil, love each other, cling to each other, dear friends. Fulfil your course, and accomplish your life's toil. In sorrow soothe each other ; in illness, watch and tend. Cheer, fond wife, the husband's struggle ; lighten his gloomy hours with your tender smiles, and gladden his home with your love. Husband, father, whatso- ever your lot, be your heart pure, your life honest. For the sake of those who bear your name, let no bad action sully it As you look at those innocent faces which ever tenderly gi-eet you, be yours, too, innocent, and your conscience without reproach. As the young people kneel before the altar-railing, some such thoughts as these pass through a friend's mind who witnesses the ceremony of their marriage. Is not all we hear in that place meant to apply to ourselves, and to be carried away for every-day cogitation f After the ceremony we sign the book, and walk back demurely to breakfast. And Mrs. Mugford does not conceal her disappointment at the small preparations made for the re- ception or the marriage party. " I call it shabby, Brandon ; and I speak my mind. No favors. Only your cake. No speeches to speak of. No lobster-salad : and wine on the side- board. 1 thought your Queen Square friends knew how to do the thing better I When one of 7111/ gurls is married, I promise you we sha' n't let her go out of the back door; and at THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 847 least we shall have the best four grays that Newman's can fnrnish. It 's my belief your young friend is getting too fond of money, Brandon, and so I have told Mugford." But these, you sec, were only questions of taste. Good Mrs. Mugford's led her to a green satin dress and a pink turban, when other ladies were in gray or quiet colors. The intimacy be- tween our two families dwindled im- mediately after Philip's marriage ; Mrs. M., I am sorry to say, setting us down as shabby-genteel people, and she could n't bear screwing, — never could ! Well : the speeches were spoken. The bride was kissed, and departed with her bridegroom ; thejr had not even a valet and lady's-maid to bear them company. The route of the hap- py pair was to be Canterbury, Folke- stone, Boulogne, Amiens, Paris, and Italy perhaps, if their little stock of pocket-money would serve them so far. But the very instant when half was spent, it was agreed that these young people should turn their faces home- ward again ; and meanwhile the prin- ter and Mugford himself agreed that they would do Mr. Sub-editor's duty. How much had they in the little purse for their pleasure journey 'i That is no business of ours surely ; but with youth, health, happiness, love, amongst their possessions, I don't think our young friends had need to be discontented. Away then they drive in their cab to the railway sta- tion. Farewell, and Heaven bless you, Charlotte and Philip! I have said how I found my wife crying in her favorite's vacant bedroom. The marriage table did coldly furnish forth a funeral kind of dinner. The cold chicken choked us all, and the jelly was but a sickly compound to my_ taste, though it was the Little Sister's most ardiil manufacture. I own for one I was quite miserable. I found no comfort at clubs, nor could the last new novel fix my attention. I saw Philip's eyes, and heard the warble of Charlotte's sweet voice. I walked off from " Bays's, " and through Old Parr Street, whcro Philip had lived, and his parents entertained me as a boy; and then tramped to Thomhaugh Street, rather ashamed of myself. The maid said mistress was in Mr. Philip's rooms, the two pair, — and what was that I heard on the piano as I entered the apartment ? Mrs. Brandon sat there hemming some chintz window-cur- tains, or bed-curtains, or what not : by her side sat my own eldest girl stitching away very resolutely ; and at the piano — the piano which Phil- ip had bought — there sat my own wife picking out that " Dream of Saint Jerome," of Beethoven, which Charlotte used to play so delicately. We had tea out of Philip's tea-things, and a nice hot cake, which consoled some of us. But I have known few evenings more melancholy than that. It felt like the first night at school after the holidays, when we all used to trj' and appear cheerful, you know. But ah ! how dismal the gayety was ; and how dreary that lying awake in the ni^ht, and thinking of the happy days just over ! The way in which we looked for- ward for letters from our bride and bridegroom was quite a curiosity. At length a letter arrived from these personages : and as it contains no secret, I take the liberty to print it in "Amiens, Friday. Pakis, Saturday. "Dearest Fkiends, — (For the dearest friends you are to us, and will continue to be as long as we live) — We perform our promise of writing to you to say that we are well, and safe, and happy! Philip says I must n't use dashes, but I can t hmp it! He says, he supposes I am dashing off a letter. You know his joking way. 0, what a blessing it is to see him so happy. And if he is happy I am. I tremble to think how happy. He sits opposite me, smoking his cigar, look- ing so noble ! / like it, and I went to our room and brought him this one. 348 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. He says, ' Char, if I were to say bring me your head, you would order a waiter to cut it off.' Pray, did I not promise tlu-ee days ago to love, hon- or, and obey him, and am I going to break my promise already t I hope not. I fray not. All my life I hope I shall be trying to keep that promise of mine. XVe liked Canterbury al- most as much as dear Westminster. We had an open carriage and took a glorious drive to Folkestone, and in the crossing Philip was ill, and I was n't. And he looked very droll ; and he was in a dreadful bad humor; and that was my first appearance as nurse. I think I should like him to be a little ill sometimes, so that I may sit up and take care of him. We went through the cords at the cus- tom-house at Boulogne ; and I re- member how, two years ago, I passed through those very cords with my poor papa, and he stood outside, and saw us ! We went to the ' Hotel des Bains.' We walked about the town. We went to the Tintelleries, where we used to live, and to your house In the Haute Ville, where I remember eoerythiruj as if it was yesterday. Don't you remember, as we were walking one day, you said, ' Charlotte, there is the steamer coming ; there is the smoke of his funnel*; and I said, ' What steamer ■? ' and you said, ' The Philip, to be sure.' And he came up, smoking his pipe ! We passed over and over the old ground where we used to walk. We went to the pier, and gave money to the poor little hunchback who plays the guitar, and he said, ' Merci, madame.' How droll it sounded ! And that good kind Marie at the 'Hotel des Bains' re- membered us, and called us 'mes enfans.' And if you were not the most good-natured woman in the world, I think I should be ashamed to write such nonsense. " Think of Mrs. Brandon having knitted me a purse, which she gave me as we went away from dear, dear Queen Square ; and when I Opened it, there were five sovereigns in it ! When we found what the purse con- tained, Philip used one of his great jurons (as he always does when he is most tender-hearted), and he said that woman was an angel, and that wo would keep those five sovereigns, and never change them. Ah ! I am thankful my husband has such friends ! I will love all who love him, — you most of all. For were not you the means of bringing this noble neart to me ? I fancy I have known bigger people, since I have known you, and some of your friends. Their talk is simpler, their thoughts are greater than — those with whom I used to live. P. says, Heaven has given Mrs. Brandon snch a great heart, that she must have a good in- tellect. If loving my Philip be wis- dom, I know some one who will be very wise ! " If I was not in a very great hurry to see mamma, Philip said we might stop a day at Amiens. And we went to the Cathedral, and to whom do you think it is dedicated ? to my saint : to Saint Firmin ! and oh ! I prayed to Heaven to give me strength to devote my life to my saint's service, to love him always, as a pure, true wife : in sickness to guard him, in sorrow to soothe him. I will try and learn and study, not to make my in- tellect equal to bis, — very few women can hope for that, — but that I may better comprehend him, and give him a companion more worthy of him. I wonder whether there are many men in the world as clever as our hus- bands ? Though Philip is so modest. He says he is not clever at all. Yet I know he is, and grander somehow than other men. I said nothing, hut I used to listen at Queen Square ; and some who came who thought best of themselves seemed to me pert, and worldly, and small ; and some were like princes somehow. My Philip is one of the princes. Ah, dear friend ! may I not give thanks where thanks are due, that I am chosen to he the wife of a trtie gen- tleman f Kind, and brave, and loyal THE ADVENTUEES OP PHILIP. 349 Philip ! Honest and generous, — above deceit or selfish scheme. Oh ! I hope it is not wrong to be so happy 1 " Wa wrote to mamma and dear Madame Smolensk to say wo were coming. Mamma finds Madame de Valentinois' boarding-house even dearer than dear Madame Smolensk's. I don't mean a pun ! She says she has found out that Madame de Valen- tinois' real name is Cornichon ; that she was a person of the worst charac- ter, and that cheating at &artf was practised at her house. She took up her own two francs and another two- franc piece from the card-table, say- ing that Colonel Boulotte was cheat- ing, and by rights the money was hers. She is going to leave Madame de Valentinois at the end of her month, or as soon as our children, who have the measles, can move. She desired that on no account I would come to see her at "Madame V.'s; and she brought Philip £12 10 s. in five-franc pieces, which she laid down on the table before him, and said it was my first quarter's payment. It is not due yet, I know. ' But do you think I will be beholden,' says she, ' to a man like you ! ' And P. shrugged his shoulders, and put the rouleau of silver pieces into a drawer. He did not say a word, but, of Course, I saw he was ill pleased. 'What shall we do with your fortune. Char V he said, when mamma went away. And a part we spent at the opera and at Very's restaurant, where we took our dear kind Madame Smolensk. Ah, how good that woman was to me ! Ah, how I suffered in that house when mamma wanted to part me from Philip ! We walked by and saw the windows of the room where that horrible, hon'ible tragedy was performed, and Philip shook his fist at the green jalmisies. ' Good Heavens ! ' he said : ' how, my dar- ling, how I was made to suffer there ! ' I Irear no malice. I will do no injury. But I can never forgive: never! I can forgive mamma, who made my husband so unhappy ; but can I love her again ? Indeed and indeed I have tried. Often and often in my dreams that horrid tragedy is acted over again ; and they are taking him from me, and I feel as if I should die. When I was with you I used often to be afraid to go to sleep for fear of that dreadful dream, and I kept one of his letters under my pillow so that I might hold it in the night. And now! No one can part us! — O, no one ! — until the end comes ! " He took me about to all his old baclielor haunts ; to the ' Hotel Pous- sin,' where he used to Jive, which is very dingy but comfortable. And he introduced me to the landlady, in a Madras handkerchief, and to the landlord (in ear-rings and with no coat on), and to the little boy who frottes the floors. And he said, ' Tiens' and ' merci, madame!' as we gave him a five-franc piece out of my fortune. And then we went to the cafe opposite the Bourse, where Philip used to write his letters ; and then we went to the Palais Koyal, where Madame de Smolensk was in waiting for us. And then we went to the play. And then we went to Tor- toni's to take ices. And then we walked a part of the way hotae with Madame Smolensk under a hundred million blazing stars ; and then we walked down the Champs ElysfSes avenues, by which Philip used to come to me, and beside the plashing fountains shining under the silver moon. And, O Laura! I wonder under the silver moon was anybody so happy as your loving and grateful " c. r. "P. S." [In the handwriting of Philip Pirmin, Esq.] , — " My dear Pkiends, — I 'in so jolly that il seems like a dream. I have been watching Charlotte scribble, scribble for an hour past ; and wondered and thought is it actually true ? and gone and convinced myself of the truth by looking at the paper and the dashes which she will put under the 350 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. words. My dear friends, what have 1 done in life that I am to be made a present of a little angel ^ Once there was so much wrong in me, and my heart was so black and revenge- ful, that I knew not what might hap- pen to me. She came and rescued me. The love of this creature puri- fies me, — and — and I think that is all. I think I only want to say that I am the happiest man in Europe. That Saint Firmin at Amiens ! Did n't it seem like a good omen ? By St. George! I never heard of St. F. until I lighted on him in the cathedral. When shall we write next? Where shall we tell you to direct? We don't know where we are going. We don't want letters. But we are not the less grateful to dear kind friends ; and our names are P. and C. F." CHAPTER XXXIII. DESCRIBES A. SIIUATIOJT INTEK- ESTING HUT NOT UNEXPECTED. Only very wilful and silly children cry after the moon. Sensible people who have shed their sweet tooth can't be expected to be very much inter- ested about money. We may hope Mr. and Mrs. Philip Firmin enjoyed a pleasant wedding tour and that sort of thing : but as for chronicling its delights or adventures, Miss Sowerby and I vote that the task is altogether needless and immoral. Young people are already much too sentimental, and inclined to idle, maudlin reading. Life is earnest, Miss Sowerby re- marks (with a strong inclination to spell " earnest " with a large E). Life is labor. Life is duty. Life is rent. Life is taxes. Life brings its ills, bills, doctor's pills. Life is not a mere calendar of honey and moon- shine. Very good. But without love Miss Sowerby, life is just death, and 1 know, my dear, you would eo more care to go on with it, than witli a new chapter of — of our dear friend Boreham's new story. Between ourselves, Philip's hu- mor is not much more lightsome than that of the ingenious con- temporary above named ; but if it served to amuse Philip himself, why balk him of a little sport? Well then : he wrote us a great ream of lumbering* pleasantries, dated Paris, Thursday ; Geneva, Saturday. Sum- mit of Mont Blanc, Monday ; Tim- buctoo, Wednesday. Pekin, Friday, — ^^vith facetious descriptions of those spots and cities. He said that in the last-named place, Charlotte's shoes being worn out, those which she purchased were rather tight for her, and the high heels annoyed her. He stated that the beef at Tlmbuctoo was not cooked enough for Charlotte's taste, and that the Emperor's attentions were becoming rather marked, and so forth ; where- as poor little Char's simple post- scripts mentioned no travelling at all; but averred that they were staying at Saint Germain, and as happy as the day was long. As happy as the day was long? As it was short, alas ! Their little purse was very slenderly furnished; and in a very, very brief holiday, poor Philip's few napoleons had almost aU rolled away. Luckily, it was pay- day when the young people came back to London. They were almost reduced to the Little Sister's wedding present : and surely they would rathor work than purchase a few hours' more ease with that poor widow's mite. Who talked and was afraid of pov- erty ? Philip, with his two newspa- pers, averred that he had enough ; more than enough ; could save ; could put by. It was at this time that Kidley, the Academician, painted that sweet picture. No. 1,976, — of course you re- member it, — 'Portrait of a Lady.' He became romantically attached to the second-floor lodger; would have no noisy parties in his rooms, or smok- ing, lest it should annoy her. Would Mrs. Firmin desire to give entertain- ments of her own ? His studio and THE ADVENTURES OF PHILlP. 351 Bitting-room were at her orders. He fetched and carried. He brought pres- ents, and theatre-boxes. He was her slave of slaves. And she gave him back in return for all this romantic adoration a condescending shalce of a soft little hand, and a kind look from a pair of soft eyes, with which the painter was fain to be content. Low of stature, and of misshapen form, J. J. thought himself naturally outcast from marriage and love, and looked in with longing eyes at the paradise which ho was forbidden to enter. And Mr. Philip sat within this Palace of Delight ; and lolled at his case, and took his pleasure, and Charlotte ministered to him. And once in a way, my lord sent out a crumb of kindness, or a little cup of comfort, to the outcast at the gate, who blessed his benefactress, and my lord his benefactor, and was thankful. Char- lotte had not twopence : but she had a little court. It was the fashion for Philip's friends to come and bow before her. Very fine gentlemen who had known him at college, and forgot him, or sooth to say, thought him rough and overbearing, now suddenly remembered him, and his young wife had quite fashionable assemblies at her five o'clock tea-table. All men liked her, and Miss Sowerby of course says Mrs. Firmin was a good-natured, quite harmless little woman, rather ])rctty, and — you know, my dear — such as men like. Look you, if I like cold veal, dear Sowerby, it is that my tastes are simple. A fine tough old dry camel, no doubt, is a much nobler and more sagacious animal, — and perhaps 3-ou think a double hump is quite a delicacy. Yes : Mrs. Philip was a success. She had scarce any female friends as yet, being too poor to go into the world : but she had Mrs. Pendennis, and dear little Mrs. Brandon, and Mrs. Mugford, whose celebrated trap repeatedly brought delicacies for the bride from Hampstead, whose chaise was once or twice a week at Philip's door, and who was very much exer- cised and impressed by tht, fine com- pany whom she mot in Mrs. Firmin's apartments. " Lord Thingambury's card ! what next, Brandon, upon my word ■? Lady Slowby at home 1 well, I never, Mrs. B. ! " In such artless phrases Mrs. Mugford would express her admiration and astonishment during the early time, and when Charlotte still retained the good lady's favor. That a state of things far less agreeable ensued, I must own. But though there is ever so small a cloud in the sky even now, let.us not heed it for a while, and bask and be content and happy in the sunshine. " Laura, I tremble when I think how happy I am ! " was our little bird's perpetual warble. " How did I live when I was at home with mam- ma ? " she would say. " Do you know that Philip never even scolds me ? If he were to say a rough word I think I should die ; whereas mamma was barking, barking from morning till night, and I did n't care a pin." This is what comes of injudicious scolding, as of any other drug. The wholesome medicine loses its effect. The inured patient calmly takes a dose that would frighten or kill a stranger. Poor Mrs. Baynes's crossed letters came still, and 1 am not pre- pared to pledge my word that Char- lotte read them all. Mrs. B. offered to come and superintend and take care of dear Phihp when an interest- ing event should take place. But Mrs. Brandon was already engaged for this important occasion, and Charlotte became so alarmed lest her mother should invade her, that Philip wrote curtly, and positively forbade Mrs. Baynes. You remember the picture " A Cradle " by J. J. f the two little rosy feet brought I don't know how many hundred guineas apiece to Mr. Ridley. The mother herself did not study babydom more fondly and devotedly than Kidley did in the ways, looks, features, anatomies, attitudes, baby-clothes, &c. of this first- born infant of Charlotte and Philip Firmin. Mj wife ia very angry be> 352 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. cause I have forgotten, whether the first of the young Firmin brood was a boy or a girl, and says I shall forget the names of my own children next. Well ■? " At this distance of time, I tUiik it was a boy, — for their boy is very tall, you know, — a great deal taller — Nat a boy ? Then, between ourselves, I have no doubt it was a — " "A goose," says the lady, which is not oven reasonable. This is certain, we all thought the young mother looked very pretty, with her pink cheeks and beaming eyes, as she bent over the little infant. J. J. says he thinks there is some- thing heaven!;/ in the looks of young mothers at that time. Nay, ho goes so far RS to declare that a tigress at the Zoological Gardens looks beauti- ful and gentle as she bends her black nozzle over her cubs. And if a tigress, why not Mrs. Philip ? O ye Sowers of sentiment, in what a state . J. was about this young woman ! There is a brightness in a young mother's eye : there are pearl and rose tints on her cheek, which are sure to fascinate a painter. This art- ist used to hang about Mrs. Bran- don's rooms, till it was droll to see him. I believe he took off his shoes in his own studio, so as not to dis- tnr') by his creaking the lady over- heal. He purchased the most pre- posterous mug, and other presents for the infant. Philip went out to his club or his newspaper as he was ordered to do. But Mr. J. J. could not be got away from Thornhaugh Street, so tha? little Mrs. Brandon laughed at him : — absolutely laughed at him. During all this while Philip and his wife continued in the very greatest favor with Mr. and Mrs. Mugfbrd, and were invited by that worthy couple to go with their infant to Mugford's villa at Hampstead, where a change of air might do good to dear baby and dear mamma. Philip went to this village retreat. Streets and terraces now cover over the house and grounds which worthy Mugford inhabited, and which people say he used to call his Russian Irby. He had amassed in a small space a heap of country pleasures. Ho had a little garden ; a little paddock ; a little greenhouse; a little cucumber- frame; a little stable for his little trap ; a little Guernsey cow ; a little dairy ; a little pigsty ; and with this little treasure the good man was not a little content. He loved and prais- ed everything that was his. No man admired his own port more than Mugford, or paid more compliments to his own butter and home-baked bread. He enjoyed his own happi- ness. He appi-eciated his o^vn worth. He loved to talk of the days when he was a poor boy on London streets, and now — " Now try that glass of port, niy boy, and say whether the Lord Mayor has got any better," he would say, winking at his glass and his company. To be virtuous, to be lucky, and constantly to think and own that yovt are so, — is not this true happiness ■? To sing hymns in praise of himself is a charming amuse- ment, — at least to the performer ; and anybody who dined at Mugford's table was pretty sure to hear some of this music after dinner. I am sorry to say Philip did not care for this trumpet-blowmg. He was frightfully bored at Haverstock Hill ; and when bored, Mr. Philip is not altogether an agreeable companion. Ho will yawn in a man's face. He will contrau'ot you freely. He will say the mutton is tough, or the wine not fit to drink ; that such and such an orator is over- rated, and such and such a politician is a fool. Mugford and his guest had battles after dinner, had actually high words. " What-hever is it, Mugford ? and what were you quarrelling about in the dining-room T " asks Mrs. Mugford. "Quarrelling? It's only the sub-editor snoring," said the gentleman, with a flushed face. " My wine ain't good enough for him ; and now my gentleman must . put his boots upon a chair and go to sleep under my nose. He is a cool hand, Mugford's Favorite. THK ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 353 and no mistake, Mrs. M." At this juncture poor little Char would gently glide down from a visit to her baby : and would play something on the piano, and sootfie the rising anger; and thus Philip would come in from a little walk in the shrubberies, where he had been blowing a little cloud. Ah ! there was a little cloud rising indeed : — quite a little one, — nay, not so little. When you consider that Pliilip's bread depended on the good-will of these people, you will allow that his friends might bo anxious regarding the future. A word from Mngford, and Philip and Charlotte and the child were adrift on the world. And these points Mr. Firmin would freely admit, while he stood discoursing of his own afftiirs (as ho loved to do), his hands in his pockets, and his back warming at our fire. " My dear fellow," says the candid bridegroom, "these things are con- stantly in my head. I used to talk about 'cm to Char, but I don't now. They disturb her, the poor thing; and she clutches hold of the baby ; and — and it tears my heart out to think that any grief should come to her. I try and do my best, my good people, — but when X 'm bored I can't help showing I 'm bored, don't you see? I can't bo a hypocrite. No, not for two hundred a year, or for twenty thousand. You can't make a silk purse out of that sow's-ear of a Mugford. A very good man. I don't say no. A good father, a good hus- band, a generous host, and a most tremendous bore, and cad. Be agree- able to him? How can I be agree- able when I am being killed? He has a story about Leigh Hunt being put into Newgate, where Mugford, bringing him proof, saw Lord Byron. I cannot keep awake during that story any longer; or, if awake, I grind my teeth, and swear inwardly, so that I know I'm dreadful to hear and see. Well, Mugford has yellow satin sofas in the ' droaring-room ' — " "O Philip!" says a lady; and two or three circumjacent children set up an insane giggle, which is speedily and sternly silenced. " I tell you she calls it ' droaring^ room.' You know she does, as well as I do. She is a good woman : a kind woman : a hot-tempered woman, I hear her scolding the servants in the kitchen with immense. vehemence, and at prodigious length. But how can Char frankly bethe friend of a woman who calls a drawing-room a droaring- room ? With our dear little friend in Thomhaugh Street, it is different. She makes no pretence even at equal- ity. Here is a patron and patroness, don't you see ? When Mngford walks me round his paddock and gardens, and says, 'Look year, Krmin'; or scratches one of his pigs on the back, and says, ' We '11 'ave a cut of tliis fellow on Saturday'" — (explosive attemps at insubordination and deris- ion on the part of the children. again are severely checked by the parental authorities) — " ' we '11 'ave a cut of this fellow on Saturday,' I feel inclined to throw him or myself into the trough over the palings. Do you knQw that that man put that hand into his pocket and, offered me some fil- berts?" Here I own the lady to whom Philip was addressing himself turned pale and shuddered. "I can no more be that man's friend que celui du domestique qui vient d'apporter Ic whatd'yon-call- 'em ? le coal-scuttle," — (John, entered the room with that useful article during Philip's oration, — and we allowed the elder children to laugh this time, for the fact is, none of us knew the French for coal-scuttle, and I will wager there is no such word in Chambaud). " This holding back is not arrogance," Philip went on. " This reticence is not want of humil- ity. To serve that man honestly is one thing ; to make friends with him, to laugh at his dull jokes, is to make friends with the mammon of un- righteousness, is subserviency and hypocrisy on my part. I ought to 354 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. say to him, Mr. Mngford, I will give you my worlc for your wage ; I will compile your paper, I will produce an agreeable miscellany containing prop- er proportions of news, politics, and scatidal, put titles to your paragraphs, see the Pall Mall Gazette ship-shape through the press, and go home to my wife and dinner. You are my employer, but you are not my friend, and — bless my soul-! there is five o'clock striking!" (The timepiece in our drawing-room gave that an- nouncement as he was speaking.) " We have what Mugford calls a white-choker dinner to-day, in honor of the pig ! " And with this Philip plunges out of the house, and I hope reached Hampstead in time for the entertainment. Philip's friends in Westminster felt no little doubt about his prospects, and the Little Sister shared their alarm. " They are not fit to bo with those folks," Mrs. Brandon said, "though as for Mrs. Philip, dear thing, I am sure nobody can ever quar- rel with her. With me it 'a different. I never had no education, you know, — no more than the Mugfords, but I don't like to see my Philip sittin' down as if he was the guest and equal of that fellar." Nor indeed did it ever enter "that fellar's" head that Mr. Frederick Mugford could be Mr Philip Firmin's equal. With our knowledge of the two men, then, we all dis- mally looked forward to a rupture be- tween Firmin and his patron. As for the New York journal, we were more easy in respect to Philip's success in that quarter. Several of his friends made a vow to help him. We clubbed club-stories ; we begged from our polite friends anecdotes ( that would bear sea-transport) of the fash- ionable world. We happened to over- hear the most remarkable conversa- tions between the most influential pub- lie characters who had no secrets from us. We had astonishing intelligence at most European courts; exclusive reports of the Emperor of Russia's last joke, — his last t his next, very likely. We knew the most secret de- signs of the Austrian Privy Council ; the views the Pope had in his eye; who was the latest favorite of the Grand Turk, and so on. The Upper Ten Thousand at New York were supplied with a quantity of informa- tion which I trust profited them. It was " Palmerston remarked yesterday at dinner," or, " The good old Duke said last night at Apsley House to the French Ambassador," and the rest. The letters were signed " Phila- Icthes " ; and, as nobody was wounded by the shafts of our long bow, I trust Mr. Philip and his friends may be pardoned for twanging it. By infor- mation procured from learned female personages, we even managed to give accounts, more or less correct, of the latest ladies' fashions. We were mem- bers of all the clubs : we were present at the routs and assemblies of the political leaders of both sides. We had little doubt that Philalethes would be successful at New York, and looked forward to an increased pay- ment for his labors. At the end of the first year of Philip Firmin's mar- ried life, we made a calculation by which it was clear that he had actual- ly saved money. His expenses, to be sure, were increased. There was a baby in the nurserj' ; but there was a little bag of sovereigns in the cup- board, and the thrifty young fellow hoped to add still more to his store. Wo were relieved at finding that Fir- min and his wife were not invited to re- peat their visit to their employer's house at Hampstead. An occasional invitation to dinner was still sent to the young people ; but Mugford, a haugh- ty man in his way, with a proper spirit of his own, had the good sense to see that much intimacy could not arise between him and his sub-editor, and magnanimously declined to be an- gry at the young fellow's easy super- ciliousness. I think that indefatigable Little Sister was the peacemaker be- tween the houses of Mugford and Fir- min junior, and that she kept both Philip and his master on their good THE ADVENTURES OF PfflLIP. 855 behavior. At all events, and when a quarrel did arise between them, I yrievo to have to own it was poor Philip who was in the wrong You know in the old, old days the young king and queen never gave any christening entertainment without neglecting to invite some old fairy who was iiirious at the omission. I am sorry to say Charlotte's mother was so angry at not being appointed godmother to the new baby, that she omitted to make her little quarterly payment of £12 10 s., and has alto- gether discontinued that payment from that remote period up to the present time ; so that Philip says his wife has brought him a fortune of £ 4.5, paid in four instalments. There was the first quarter paid when the old lady " would not be beholden to a man like him." Then there came a second quarter, — and then — but I dare say I shall be able to tell when and how Philip's mamma-in-law paid the rest of her poor little daughter's fortune. Well, Eegent's Park is a fine healthy place for infantine diversion, and I don't think Philip at all de- meaned himself in walking there with his wife, her little maid, and his baby on his arm. " He is as mdc as a bear, and his manners are' dreadful but be has a good heart, that I will say for him," Mugford said to me. In his drive from London to Hamp- stcad Mugford once or twice met the little family group, of which his sub- editor formed the principal figure; and for the sake of Philip's young wife and child Mr. M. pardoned the young man's vulgarity, and treated him with long-suffering. Poor as he was, this was his hap- piest time, my friend is disposed to think. A young child, a young wife, whose whole life was a tender caress of love for child and husband, a young husband watching both: — I recall the group, as we used often to see it in those days, and see a some- thing sacrod in the homely figures. On the wife's bright face what a la radiant happiness there is, and what a rapturous smile! Over the sleep- ing infant and the happy mother the father looks with pride and thanks in his eyes. Happiness and gratitude fill his simple heart, and prayer invol- untary to the Giver of good, that he may have strength to do his duty as father, husband; that he may be enabled to keep want and care from those dear innocent beings; that he may defend them, befriend them, leave them a good name. I am bound to say that Philip became thrifty and saving for the sake of Char and the child ; that he came home early of nights ; that he thought his child a wonder; that he never tired of speaking about that infant in our house, about its fatness, its strength, its weight, its wonderful early taJents and humor. He felt himself a man now for the first time, he said. Life had been play and folly until now. And now especially he regretted that he had been idle, and had neglected his opportunities as a lad. Had he studied for the bar, ho might have made that profession now profitable, and a source of honor and competence to his family. Our friend estimated his own powers very humbly : I am sure he was not the less amiable on account of that hu- mility. O fortunate lie, of whom Love is the teacher, the guide and master, the reformer, and chastcner ! Where was our friend's former arro- gance, self-confidence, and boisterous profusion ? He was at the feet of his wife and child. He was quite hum- bled about himself; or gi-atified him- self in fondling' and caressing these. They tanght him, he s.iid ; and as he thought of them his heart turned in awful thanks to the gracious Heaven which had given them to him. As the tiny infant hand closes round his fingers, I can see the father bending oyer mother and child, and inter- pret those maybe unspoken blessings which he asks and bestows. Happy wife, happy husband ! However poor his little home may be, it holds treas. 356 THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. ures and wealth inestimable ; what- ever Btorms may threaten without, the home fireside is brightened with the welcome of the dearest eyes. CHAPTER XXXIV. IN WHICH I OWN THAT PHILIP TELLS AN USTBtTTH. . Chaklotte (and the usual little procession of nurse, baby, &c.) once made their appearance at our house in Queen Square, where they were ever welcome by the lady of the man- sion. The young woman was in a great state of elation, and when we came to hear the cause of her de- light, her friends too opened the eyes of wonder. She actually announced that Dr. Firmin had sent over a bill of forty pounds (I may be incorrect as to the sum) from New York. It had arrived that morning, and she had seen the bill, and Philip had told her that his father had sent it ; and was it not a comfort to think that poor Doctor Firmin was endeav- oring to repair some of the evil which he had done ; atid that he was repenting, and, perhaps, was going to become quite honest and good ? This was indeed an astounding piece of intelligence : and the two women felt joy at the thought of that sinner repenting, and some one else was ac- cused of cynicism, scepticism, and so forth, for doubting the correctness of the information. " You believe in no one, sir. You are always incred- ulous about good," &c., &c., &c; was the accusation brought against the reader's very humble servant. Well, about the contrition of this sinner I confess I still continued to have doubts ; and thought a present of forty pounds to a son, to whom he owed thousands, was no great proof of the Doctor's amendment. And oh! how vexed some people were when the real story came out at last ! Not for the money's sake, — not because they were wrong in ar- gument, and I turned out to be right O no ! But because it was proved that this unhappy doctor had no present intention of repenting at all. This brand would not come out of the burning, whatever we might hope ; and the Doctor's supporters were obliged to admit as much when they came to know the real story. " O Philip," cries Mrs. Laura, when next she saw Mr. Firmin. " How pleased I was to hear of that let- ter!" " What letter 1 " asks the gentle- man. " That letter from your father at New York," says the lady. " O," says the gentleman address- ed, with, a red face. " What then % Is it not —"is it not all true ? " we ask. "Poor Charlotte does not under- stand about business," says Philip; "I did not read the letter to her. Here it is." And he hands over the document to me, and I have the liberty to publish it. "New York, " And so, my dear Philip, I may congratulate myself on having achiev- ed ancestral honor, and may add grandfather to my titles ? How quickly this one has come! I feel myself a young man still, in spite of the blows of misfortune, — at least I know I was a young man but yester- day, when I may say with our dear old poet, Non sine gloria militavi. Suppose I too were to tire of solitary widowhood and re-enter the married state? There are one or two ladies here who would still condescend to look not unfavorably on the retired English gentleman. Without vanity I may say it, a man of birth and posi- tion in England acquires a polish and refinement of manner which dol- lars cannot purchase, and many a Wall Street miUionary might envy ! " Your wife has been pronounced to be an angel by a little correspondeta of mine, who gives me much fuller in- telligence of my family than my son THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 357 condescends to famish. Mrs. Philip I hear is gentle ; Mrs. Brandon says she is beautiful, — she is all good- humored. I hope you have taught her to think not renj badly of her husband's father ? I was the dupe of villains vflio lured mo into their schemes; who robbed me of a life's earnings ; who induced me by their false representations to have such con- fidence in them, that I embarked all ray own property, and yours, my poor boy, alas ! in their undertakings. Your Charlotte will' take the liberal; the wise, the just view of the case, and pity rather than blame my. mis- fortune. Such is the view, I am hap- py to say, generally adopted in tMs city : where there are men of the world who know the vicissitudes of a mercantile career, and can make allowances for misfortune! What made Borne at first great and pros- perous? Were its first colonists all wealthy patricians t Nothing can be more satisfactory than the disregard shown here to mere pecuniary diffiadty. At the same time to be a gentleman is to possess ho trifling privilege in this society, where the advantages of birth, respected name, and early edu- cation always tell in the possessor's favor. Many persons whom I Visit here have certainly not these advan- tages, — and in the highest society of the city I could point out individuals who hava had pecuniary misfortunes like myself, who have gallantly re- newed the combat after their fall, and are now /«% restored to compe- tence, to wealth, and the respect of thewbrld! I was in a house in Fifth Avenue last night. Is Washington White shunned by his fellow-men because he has been bdnkrnpt three times 1 Anything more elegant or profuse than his entertainment I have not witnessed on this continent. His lady' had diamonds which a duchess might envy. The most costly wines, the most magnificent supper, and myriads of canvas-backed ducks covered his board. Dear Charlotte, my friend Captain Colpoys brings you over three brace of these from your father-in-law, who hopes they will furnish your little dinner-table. We eat currant-jelly with them here, but I like an old English lemon and cayenne sauce belter. " By the way, dear Philip, I trust you will not be inconvenienced by a little financial operation, which, neces- sity (alas !) has compelled mo to per- form. . Know-ing that your quarter with the Upper 'Tfen Thousand Gazette was now due, I have made, so bold as to request Colonel to pay it over to me. Promises to pay must be met here as with us, — an obdurate holder of an unlucky acceptance of mine (I am happy to say there are very few such) would admit of no (May; and I have been compelled to appropriate my poor Philip's earnings. 1 have only put you off for ninety days : with your credit and wealthy friends yon can easily negotiate the bill enclosed, ,and I promise you that when presented it shall be honored by my Philip's ever aifectionate father, " G. B. F. " By the way your Philalethes let- ters are not quite spicy enough, my worthy friend the Colonel says. Thi'y are elegant and gay, buf the public here desires to have more personal news ; a little scandal nbout Queen Elizabeth, you understand? Can't you attack somebody? Look at the letters and articles published by my respected friend of the New York Emerald! The readeis here like a high-spiced ar- ticle : and I recommend P. F. to put a little more pepper in his dishes. What a eoinfort to me it is to think that I have procured this place for you, and have bqen cna:bled to help my son and his yoiing family ! " G. B. P." Enclosed in this letter was a slip of paper which poor Philip supposed to be a check when he first beheld it, but -which turned out to be his papa's promissory note, payable at New York four months after date And 358 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. this document was to represent the money which the elder Krmin had received in his son's name ! Philip's eye met his friend's when they talked about this matter. Firmin looked almost as much ashamed as i( he himself had done the wrong. " Does the loss of this money an- noy you ? " asked Philip's friend. "The manner of the loss does,',' said poor Philip. " I don't care about the money. But he should not have taken this. He should not have taken this. Think of poor Charlotte and the child being in want possibly ! friend, it 's hard to bear, is n't it ? 1 'm an honest fellow, ain't I ? I think I am. I pray Heaven I am. In any extremity of poverty could I have done this? Well. It was my father who introduced me to these people. I suppose he thinks he has a rijrht to my earnings : and if he is in want, you know, so ho has." " Had you not better write to the New York publishers and beg them henceforth to remit to you directly ? " asks Philip's friend. " That would be to tell them that he has disposed of the money," groans Philip. " I can't tell them that my father is a — " " No ; but you can thank them for having handed over such a sum on your account to the Doctor: and warn them that you will draw on them from this country henceforth. They won't in this case pay the next quarter to the Doctor." " Suppose he is in want, ought I not to supply him 1 " Firmin said. " As long as there are four crusts in the house, the Doctor ought to have one. Ought I to be angry with him for helping himself, old boy ? " and ho drinks a glass of wine, poor fellow, with a rueful smile. By the way, it is my duty to mention here, that the older Firmin was in the habit of giv- ing very elegant little dinner-parties at New York, where little dinner-par- ties are much more costly than in Europe, — "in order," he said, " to es- tablish and keep up his connection as a physician." As a bon-vivant, I am informed, the Doctor began to be celebrated in his new dwelling-place, where his anecdotes of the British aristocracy were received with pleas- ure in certain circles. But it would be as well henceforth that Philij) should deal directly with his American correspondents, and not employ the services of so very ex- Eensive a broker. To this suggestion could not but agree. Meanwhile, — and let this be a warning to men never to deceive their wives in any the slightest circumstances; to tell them everything they wish to know, to keep nothing hidden from those dear and excellent beings, — you must know, ladies, thatwhenPhilip'sfamous ship of dollars arrived from America, Firmin had promised his wife that baby should have a dear delightful white cloak trimmed with the most lovely tape, on which poor Charlotte had often cast a longing eye as she passed by the milliner and curiosity shops in Hanway Yard, which, I own, she loved to frequent. Well ; when Philip told her that his father had sent home forty pounds, or what not, thereby deceiving his fond wife, the little lady went away straight to her darling shop in the Yard (Hanway Yard has become a street now, but ah! it is always delightful), — Char- lotte, I say, went off, ran off to Han- way Yard, pavid with fear lest the darling cloak should be gone, found it — O joy ! — still in Miss Isaacson's window ; put it on baby straightway then and there ; kissed the dear in- fant, and was delighted with the effect of the garment, which all the young ladies at Miss Isaacson's pronounced to be perfect ; and took the cloak away on baby's shoulders, promising to send the money, five pounds, if you please, next day. And in this cloak baby and Charlotte went to meef papa when he came home; and » don't know which of them, mamma or baby, was the most pleased and absurd and happy baby of the two. On his way home from his newsp*. THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 359 per, Mr. Philip had orders to pursue a certain line of streets, and when his accustomed hour for returning from his business drew nigh, Mrs. Char went down Thornhaugh Street, down Charlotte Street, down Eathbone Place, with Betsy the nursekin and baby in the new cloak. ■ Behold, he comes at last — papa — striding down the street. Ho sees the figures : he sees the child, which laughs, and holds out its little pink hands, and crows a recognition. And "Look — look, papa, cries the happy mother. (Away ! I cannot keep up the mys- tery about the baby any longer, and though I had forgotten for a moment the child's sex, remembered it the in- stant after, and that it was a girl to be sure, and that its name was Laura Caroline.) "Look, look, papa!" cries the happy mother. " She has got another little tooth since the morning, such a beautiful little tooth, — and look here, sir, don't you ob- serve anything f " " Any whaf? " asks Philip. "La! sir," says Betsy, giving Laura Caroline a great toss, so that her white cloak floats in the air. " Is n't it a dear cloak ? " cries mamma ; " and does n't baby look like an angel in it ? I bought it at Miss Isaacson's to-day, as you got your money from New York ; and O my dear, it only cost five guineas." " Well, it's a week's work," sighs poor Philip ; " and I think I need not grudge that to give Charlotte pleasure." And he feels his empty pockets rather ruefully. " God bless you, Philip," says my wife, with her eyes fiill. " They came here this morning, Charlotte and the nurse and the baby in the new — the new — " Here the lady seized hold of Philip's hand, and fairly broke out into tears. Had she embraced Mr. Firmin before her hus- band's own Byes, I should not have been surprised. Indeed she confessed that she was on the point of giving way to this most sentimental out- break. And now, my brethren, see how one crime is the parent of many, and one act of duplicity leads to a whole career of deceit. In the first place, you see, Philip had deceived his wife, — with the pious desire, it is true, of screening his father's little peculiar- ities, — but, ruat caelum, . we must tell no lies. No : and from this day forth I order John never to say Not at , home to the greatest bore, dun, dawdle of my acquaintance. It Philip's father had not deceived him. Philip would not have deceived his wife ; if he had not deceived his wife, she would not have given five guineas for that cloak for the baby. If she had not given five guineas for the cloak, my wife vrould never have en- tered into a secret correspondence with Mr. Firmin, which might, but for my own sweetness of temper, have bred jealousy, mistrust, and the most awful quarrels — nay, duels — be- tween the heads of the two families. Fancy Philip's body lying stark upon Hampstead Heath with a bullet through it, despatched by the hand of his friend ! Fancy a cab driving up to my own house, and fi'om it — un- der the eyes of the children at the parlor windows — their father's bleed- ing corpse ejected ! — Enough of this dreadful pleasantry ! Two days after the affair of the cloak, I found a let- ter in Philip's handwriting addressed to my wife, and thinking that the note had reference to a matter of din- ner then pending between our fami^ lies, I broke open the envelope and read as follows ! — "Thornhaugh Stbebt, Thursday. " Mt deak, kind Godmamma, — As soon as ever I can write and speak, I will thank you for being so kind to me. My mamma says she is very jealous, and as she bought my cloak she can't think of allowing you to pay for it. But she desireJ me never to forget your kindness to us, and though I don't know anything about it now, she promises to tell mo when I am old enough. Meanwhile 360 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. I am your grateful and affectionate little goddaughter, L. C. F." Philip was persuaded by his friends at homo to send out the request to his New York employers to pay his salary henceforth to himself; and I remember a dignified letter came from his parent, in which the matter was spoken of in sorrow i-ather than in anger ; in which the Doctor point- ed out that this precautionary measure seemed to imply a doubt on Philip's side of his father's honor ; and surely, surely he was unhappy enough and un- fortunate enough already without mer- iting this mistrust from his son. The duty of a son to honor his father and mother was feelingly pointed out, and the Doctor meekly trusted that Philip's children would give him more confidence than he seemed to be in- clined to award to his unfortunate father. Never mind. He should bear no malice. If Fortune ever smiled on him again, and something told him she would, he would show Philip that he could forgive; although he might not perhaps be able to for- get that in his exile, his solitude, his declining years, his misfortune, his own child had mistrusted him. This he said was the most cruel blow of all for his susceptible heart to bear. This letter of paternal remon- strance was enclosed in one from the Doctor to his old friend the Little Sis- ter, in which he vaunted a discovery which he and some other scientific gentlemen were engaged in perfect- ing, — of a medicine which was to be extraordinarily efficacious in cases in which Mrs. Brandon herself was often specially and professionally engaged, and he felt sure that the sale of this medicine would go far to retrieve his shattered fortune. He pointed out the complaints in which this medicine was most efficacious. He would send some of it, and details regarding its use, to Mrs. Brandon, who might try its efficacy upon her patients. He was advancing slowly, but steadily, in his medical profession, he said; though of course, he had to suffer from the jealousy of his professional brethren. Never miiid. Better times, he was sure, were in store for all ; when his son should see that a wretched matter of forty pounds more should not deter him from paying all just claims upon him. Amen ! We all heartily wished for the day when Philip's father should be able to set- tle his little accounts. Meanwhile, the proprietors of the Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand were instructed to write directly to their London cor- respondent. Although Mr. Firmin prided him- self, as we have seen, upon his taste and dexterity as sub-editor of the Pall Mall Gazette I must own that he was a very insubordinate officer, with whom his superiors often had cause to be angry. Certain people were praised in the Gazette, — cer- tain others were attacked. Very dull books were admired, and very lively works attacked. Some men were praised for everything they did; some others were satirized, no matter what their works were. " I find," poor Philip used to say with a groan, " that in matters of criticism especial- ly there are so often private reasons for the praise and blame administered, that I am glad, for my part, my only duty is to see the paper through the press. For instance, there is Har- rocks, the tragedian, of Drury Lane : every piece in which he appears is a masterpiece,, and his performance the greatest triumph ever witnessed. Very good. Harrocks and my ex- cellent employer are good friends, and dine with each other; and it is natural that Mugford should like to have his friend praised, and to help him in every way. But Balderson, of Covent Garden, is also a very fine actor. Why can't our critic see his merit as well as Harrocks's. Poor Balderson is never allowed any merit at all. He is passed over with a sneer, or a curt word of cold com- mendation, while columns of flattery are not enough for liis rival." THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 361 "Why, Mr. F., what a flat you must be, askin' your pardon," re- marked Mtigford, in reply to his sub- editor's simple remonstrance. " How can we praise Balderson, when Har- rocks is our friend ? Me and liar- rocks are thick. Our wives are cfose friends. If I was to let Balderson be praised, I should drive Harrocks mad. I can't praise Balderson, don't you see, out of justice to Harrocks ! " Then there was a certain author whom Bickerton was forever attack- ing. They had had a private quarrel, and Bickerton revenged himself in this way. In rtply to Philip's out- cries and remonstrances, Mr. Mug- ford only laughed : " The two men are enemies, and Bickerton hits him whenever he can. Why, that 's only human nature, Mr. F.," says Philip's employer. " Great Heavens ! " bawls out Fir- min, " do you mean to say that the man is base enough to strike at his private enemies through the press 1 " "Private enemies! private gam- mon, Mr. Firmin ! " cries Philip's employer. " If I have enemies, — and I have, there's no doubt about that, — I serve them out whenever and wherever I can. And let me tell you I don't half relish having my conduct called base. It 's only nat- ural; and it's right. Perhaps you would like to praise your enemies, and abuse your friend 1 If that's your line, let me tell you you won't do in the noospapcr business, and had better take to some other trade." And the employer parted from his subordinate in some heat. Mugford, indeed, feelingly spoke to me about this insubordination of Philip, " What does the fellow mean by quarrelling with his bread- and-butter T " Mr. Mugford asked. " Speak to him, and show him what 's what, Mr. P., or we shall come to a quarrel, mind you, — and I don't want that, for the sake of his little wife, poor little delicate thing. What- ever is to happeii to them, if we don't stand by them t " What was to happen to them, in- deed ? Any one who know Philip's' temper as we did was aware how little advice or remonstrance were likely to affect that gentleman. " Good Heavens ! " he said to me, when I endeavored to make him adopt a con- ciliatory tone towards his employer, " do you waut to make me Mugford's galley - slave t I shall have him standing over me and swearing at me as he does at the printers; He looks into my room at times when he is in a passion, and glares at me as if he would like to seize me by the throat ; and after a word or two he goes off, and I hear him curse the boys .in ' the passage. One day it will be on me that he will turn, I feel sure of that. I tell you the slavery is beginning to be awful. I wake of a nightand groan and chafe, and poor Char, too, wakes and asks, 'What is it, Philip?' I say it is rheumatism. Rheumatism ! " Ofconrse to Philip's malady his friends tried to apply the cominonplace ano- dynes and consolations. He must be gentle in his bearing. He must re- member that his employer had not been bred agentleman, and that though rough and coarse in language; Mug- ford had a kind heart. " There is no need to tell me he isnot a gentleman, I know that," says poor Phil. " He is kind to Char and the child, that is the truth, and so is his wife. I am a slave for all that. He is ray driver. He feeds me. He has n't beat me yet. When I was away at Paris I did not feel the chain so much. But it is scarcely tolerable now when I have to see my jailer foin- or five times a week. My poor little Char, why did I drag you into this slavery ? " " Because you wanted a consoler, I suppose," remarks one of Philip's comforters. "And do you suppose Charlotte would be happier if she were away from you ? Though you live up two pair of stairs, is any home happier than yours, Philip 1 You often own as much, when you arc in happier moods. Who has not his work to do, and his burden to bear ? 362 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. You say sometimes that you are im- perious and hot-tempered. Perhaps your slavery, as you call it, may be good for you." " I have doomed myself and her to it," saysPhilip, hanging do wnhis head. " Does she ever repine 1 " asks his adviser. " Does she not think her- self the happiest little wife in the world f See here, Philip, here is a note from her yesterday in which she says as much. ~ Do you want to know, what the note is about, sir 1 " says the lady with a smile. " Well, then, she wanted a receipt for that dish which you liked so much on Friday, and she and Mrs. Brandon will make it for you." "And if it consisted of minced Charlotte," says Philip's other friend, " you know she would cheerfully chop herself up, and have herself served with a little cream sauce and sippets of toast for your honor's dinner.' This was undoubtedly true. Did not Job's friends make many true re- marks, when they visited him in his affliction 1 Patient as he was, the patriarch groaned and lamented, and why should not poor Philip be al- lowed to grumble, who was not a model of patience at all ? He was not broke in as yet. The mill-horse was restive and- kicked at his work. He would chafe not seldom at the daily drudgery, and have his fits of revolt and despondency. Well ? Have others not had to toil, to bow the proud head, and carry the daily burden ? Don't you see Pegasus, who was going to win the plate, a weary, broken-knee'd, broken-down old cab-hack shivering in the rank; or a sleek gelding, mayhap, pac- ing under a corpulent master in Rotten Kow t Philip's crust began to be scanty, and was dipped in bitter waters. I am not going to make a long story of this part of his ca- reer, or parade my friend as too hun- gry and poor. He is safe now, and out of all peril, Heaven bo thanked ! but he had to pass through hard times, and to look out very wistfully lest the wolf should enter at the door. He never laid claim to be a man of genius, nor was he a successful quack who could pass as a man of genius. When there were French prisoners in England, we know how stout old officers who had plied their sabres against Mamelouks, or Russians, or Germans, were fain to carve little gimcracks in bone with their pen- knives, or make baskets and boxes of chipped straw, and piteously sell them to casual visitors to their prison. Philip was poverty's prisoner. He had to make such shifts, and do such work, as he could find in his captiv- ity. I do not think men who have undergone the struggle and served the dire task-master like to look back and recall the grim apprenticeship. When Philip says now, " What fools wo were to marry. Char," she looks up radiantly, with love and happiness in her eyes, — looks up to heaven, and is thankful ; but grief and sadness come over her husband's face at the thought of those days of pain and gloom. She may soothe him, and he may be thankful too ; but the wounds are still there which were dealt to him in the cruel battle with fortune. Men are ridden down in it. Men are poltroons and run. Men maraud, break ranks, are guilty of meanness, cowardice, shabby plunder. . Men are raised to rank and honor, or drop and perish unnoticed on the field. Happy he who comes from it with his honor pure ! Philip did not win crosses and epaulets. He is like us, my dear sir, not a heroic genius at all. And it is to be hoped that aU three have behaved with an average plnck, and have been guilty of no meanness, or treachery, or desertion. Did you behave otherwise, what would wife and children say ■? As for Mrs. Phil- ip, I tell you she thinks to this day that there is no man like her hus- band, and is ready to fall down and worship the boots in which he walks. How do men live ? How is rent paid? How does the dinner come day after day? As a rule there is THE ADVENTURES OF tHILIP. 363 dinner. You might live longer with less of it, but you can't go without it and live long. How did my neigh- bor 23 earn his carriage, and how did 24 pay for his house 1 As I am writ- ing this sentence, Mr. Cox, who col- lects the taxes in this quarter, walks in. How do you do, Mr. Cox ? We are not in the least afraid of meeting one another. Time was — two, three years of lime — when poor Philip was troubled at the sight of Cox ; and this troublous time his biogra^ pher intends to pass over in a very few pages. At the end of six months the Up- per Ten Thousand of New York heard with modified wonder that the editor of that fashionable journal had made a retreat from the city, carry- ing with him the scanty contents of the till ; so that the contributions of Philalethes never brought our poor friend any dollars at all. But though one fish is caught and eaten, are there not plenty more left in the sea ? At this very time when I was in a natu- ral state of despondency about poor Philip's affairs, it struck Tregarvan, the wealthy Cornish Member of Par- liament, that the Government and the House of Commons slighted his speeches and his views on foreign polities ; that the wife of the Foreign Secretary had been very inattentive to Lady Tregarvan ; that the designs of a certain Great Power were most menacing and dangerous, and ought to be exposed and counteracted ; and that the peerage which he had long desired ought to be bestowed on him. Sir John Tregarvan applied to cer- tain literary and political gentlemen with whom he was acquainted. He would bring out the European Re- view. He would expose the designs of that Great Power which was men- acing Europe. He would show up in his proper colors a Minister who was careless of the country's honor, and forgetful of his own : a Minister whose arrogance ought no longer to be tolerated by the country gentlemen of England. Sir John, a little man in 16* brass buttons, and a tall head, who loves to hear his own voice, came and made a speech on the above topics to the writer of the present biography ; that writer's lady was in his study as Sir John expounded his views at some length. She listened to him with the greatest attention and re- spect. She was shocked to hear of the ingratitude of Government ; as- tounded and terrified by his exposi- tion of the designs of — of that Great Power whose intrigues were so men- acing to European tranquillity. She was most deeply interested in the idea of establishing, the Review. He would, of course, be himself the ed- itor; and — and — (here the woman looked across the table at her husband with a strange triumph in her eyes) — she knew, they both knew, the very man of all the world who was most suited to act as sub-editor under Sir John, — a gentleman, one of the truest that ever lived, — a university man ; a man remarkably versed in the European languages, — that is, in French most certainly. And now the reader, I dare say, can gness who this individual was. "I knew it at once," says the lady, after Sir John had taken his leave. " I told you that those dear children would not he forsaken." And I would no more try and persuade her that the European Review was not ordained of all time to afford maintenance to Philip, than I would induce her to turn Mormon, and accept all the consequences to which ladies must submit when they make profession of that creed. " You see, my love," I say to the partner of my existence, " what other things must have been ordained of all time as well as Philip's appointment to be sub-editor of the European Review. It must have been decreed aj initio that Lady Plinlimmon should give evening-parties, in order that she might offend La^y Tregarvan by not asking her to those parties. It must have been ordained by fate that Lady Tregarvan should he of a jealous dis- position, so that she might hate Lady 364 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Plinlimraon, and was to work upon her husband, and inspire him with anger and revolt against his chief. It must have been ruled by destiny that Tre- garvan should he rather a weak and wordy personage, fancying that he had a talent for literary composition. Else he would not have thought of setting, up the Review. Else he would never have been angry with Lord Fhnlimmon for not inviting him to tea. Else he would not have engaged Philip as sub-editor. So, you see, in order to bring about this event, and put a couple of hundred a year into Philip Pirmin's pocket, the Tregar- vans have to be born from the earliest times : the Plinlimmons have to spring up in the remotest ages, and come down to the present day : Doc- tor Firmin has to be a rogue, and undergo his destiny of cheating his son of money : — all mankind up to tlie origin of our race are involved in your proposition, and we actually arrive at Adam and Eve, who are but fulfilling their destiny, which was to be the ancestors of Philip Firmin." "Even in our first parents there was doubt and scepticism and misgiv- ing," says the lady, with strong em- phasis on the words. " If you mean to say that there is no such thing, as a Superior Power watching over us, and ordaining thhigs for our good, you are an atheist, — and such a thing as an atheist does not exist in the world, and I would not believe you if you said you were one twenty times over." I mention these points by the way, and as samples of ladylike logic. I acknowledge that Philip himself, as he looks back at his past career, is very much moved. " I do not deny," he says gravely, " that these things hap- pened in the natural order. 1 say I am grateful for what happened ; and look back at the past not without awe. In great gri.efiand danger may- be, I have had timely rescue. Under great suffering I have met- with su- preme consolation. When the trial has seemed almost too hard for me it has ended, and our darkness has been lightened. Ut vivo et vcUeo — si valeo, I know by whose permission this is, — and would you forbid me to be thankful f to be thankful for my life; to be thankful for my children ; to be thankful for the daily bread which has been granted to me, and the temptation from which I have been rescued ? As I think of the past and its bitter trials, I bow my head in thanks and awe. I wanted succor, and I found it. I fell on evil tiiiies, and good friends pitied and helped me, — good friends like yourself, your dear wife, many another I could name. In what moments of depres- sion, old friend, have you not seen me, and cheered me ? Do you know in the moments of our grief the inex- pressible value of your sympathy? Your good Samaritan takes out only twopence maybe for the wayfarer whom he has rescued, but the little timely supply saves a life. You re- member dear old Ned St. George, — dead in the West Indies years ago ? Before he got his place Ned was hanging on in London, so utterly poor and ruined, that he had not often a shUling to buy a dinner. He used often to come to us, and my wife and our children loved him; and I used to leave a heap of shillings on my study table, so that he might take two or three as he wanted them, Of course you remember him. You were at the dinner which we gave him on his getting his place. I forget the cost of that dinner ; but I remem- ber my share amounted to the exact number of shillings which poor Ned had taken off my table. He gave me the money then and there , at the tavern at Blackwall. He said it seemed providential. But for .those shillings, and the constant welcome at our poor little table, he said he thought he should have made away with his life. I am not bragging of the twopence which I gave, but thanking God for sending me there to give it. Benedico benedictus. I won- der sometimes am I the I of twenty THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 865 years ago 3 before our heads were bald, friend, and when the little ones reached up to our knees? Before dinner you saw me in the library reading in that old European Review which your friend Tregarvan estab- lished. I came upon an article of my own, and a rery dull one, on a sub- jfeot which I knew nothing about. •Persian politics, and the intrigues at the Court of Teheran.' It was done to order. Tregarvan had some special interest about Persia, or want- ed to vex Sir Thomas Nobbles, who was minister there. I breakfasted with Tregarvan in the 'Albany,' the facts (we will call them facts) and papers were supplied to me, and I went home to point out the delin- quencies of Siir Thomas, and the atrocious intiigues of the Russian Court. Well, sir, . Nobbles, - Tregarr van, Teheran, all disappeared as I looked at the text in the old volume qf the Review. I saw a deal table in a little room, and a reading-lamp, and a young fellow writing at it, with a sad heart, and a dreadful apprehen- sion torturing him. One of our children was ill in the adjoining room, and I have before me the figure of my wife coming in from time to time to my room and saying, ' She is asleep now, and the fever is much lower.' " Here our conversation was inter- rupted' by the entrance of a tall young lady, who says, " Papa, the coffee is quite cold : and the carriage will be here very soon, and both mamma and my godmother say they are growing very angiy. Do you know you have been talking here for two hours % " . Had two hours actually slipped away as we sat prattling about old times? As I narrate them, I prefer to give Mr. Krmin's account of his adventures in his own words, where I can recall or imitate them. Both of us are graver and more reverend seigniors than we were at the time of which I am vrriting. Has not Fir- min's girl grown up to be taller than her godmother ? Veterans both, we love to prattle about the merry days when we were young, -^ (the merry days ? no, the past is never merry), — about the days when we were young ; and do we grow young in talking of them, or only indulge in a senile cheerfulness and prolixity ? Tregarvan sleeps with his Cornisb fathers : Europe for many years has gone on without her Review : but it is a certainty that the estabhshment of that occult organ of opinion tended very much to benefit Philip Pirmin, and helped for a while to supply him and several innocent people dependent on him with their daily, bread. Oi course, as they were so poor, this worthy family increased and multi- plied ; and as they increased, and. as they multiplied, my wife insists that I should point out how support was found for them. When there was a second child in Philip's, nursery, he would have removed from his lodgings in Thornhaugh Street, but for the prayers and commands of the affec- tionate Little ; Sister, who insisted that there was plenty of room in the house for everybody, and who sai4 that if Philip went away she would cut off her little godchild with a shilling. And then indeed it was discovered for the first time, that this faithful and affectionate creature had endowed Philip with all her little property. These are the rays of sun- shine in the dungeon. These are the drops of water in the desert. And with a full heart our friend acknowl- edges how comfort came to him in his hour of need. Though Mr. Pirmin has a very grateM heart, it has been admitted that he was a loud, disagreeable Pir- min at times, impetuous in his talk, and violent in his behavior : and we are now come to that period of his history, when he had a quarrel in which I am sorry to say Mr. Philip •was in the wrong. Why do we con- sort with those whom we dislike? Why is it that meh ioiU try and asso^ ciate between whom no love is? I think it was the ladies who tried to reconcile Philip and his master; who 366 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. brought them together, and stroTC to ■make them friends ; but the more they met the more they disliked each other ; and now the Muse has to re- late their final and irreconcilable rupture. Of Mugford's wrath the direful tale relate, O Muse ! and Philip's pitiable fate. I have shown how the men had long been inwardly envenomed one against the other. " Because Firmin is as poor as a rat, that 's no reason why he should adopt that hawhaw manner, and them high and mighty airs towards a man who gives him the bread he eats," Mugford argued not unjustly. " What do / care for his being a university man ? I am as good as he is. I am better than his old scamp of a father, who was a college man too, and lived in fine company. I made my own way in the world, independent, and supported myself since I was fourteen years of age, and helped my mother and brothers too, and that's more than my sub-editor can sav, who can't sup- port himself yet. 1 could get fifty sub-editors as good as he is, by calling out of window into the street, I could. I say, hang Firmin ! I 'm a losing all patience with him." On the other hand, Mr. Philip was in the habit of speaking his mind with equal candor. " What right has that person to call me Firmin ? ". he asked. " I am Firmin to my equals and friends. I am this man's laborer at four guineas a week. I give him his money's worth, and on every Sat- urday evening we are quits. Call me Philip indeed, and strike me in the side ! I choke, sir, as I think of the confounded familiarity ! " " Con- found his impudence ! " was the cry, and the not unjust cry, of the laborer and his employer. 'The men should have been kept apart : and it was a most mistaken Christian charity and female conspiracy which brought them together. " Another invitation from Mugford. It was agreed that I was never to go again, and I won't go," says Philip to his meek wife. "Write and say we are engaged, Charlotte." " It is for the 18th of next month, and this is the 23d," said poor Char- lotte. "We can't well say that we are engaged so far off." "It is for one of his grand cere- mony parties," urged the Little Sis- ter. " You can't come to no quarrel- ling there. He has a good heart. So have you. There's no good quar- relling with him. •. Philip, do for- give, and be friends ! " Philip yielded to the remonstrances of the women, as we all do; and a letter was sent to Hampstead, announcing that Mr. and Mrs. P. F. would have the honor of, &c. In his quality of newspaper pro- prietor, musical professors and opera singers paid much court to Mr. Mug- ford ; and he liked to entertain them at his hospitable table ; to brag about his wines, cookery, plate, garden, pros- perity, and private virtue, during dinner, whilst the artists sat respect- fully listening to him ; and to go to sleep, and snore, or wake up and join cheerfully in a chorus, when the pro- fessional people performed' in the drawing-room. Now, there was alady who was once known on the theatre by the name of Mrs. Ravenswing, and who had been forced on to the stage by the misconduct of her hus- band, a certain Walker, one of the greatest scamps who ever entered a jail. On Walker's death, this lady married a Mr. Woolsey, a wealthy tailor, who retired from his business, as he caused his wife to withdraw from hers. Now, more worthy and honorable Eeople do not live than Woolsey and is wife, as those know who were ac- quainted with their history. Mrs. Woolsey is loud. Her h's are by no means where they should be ; her knife at dinner is often where it should not be. She calls men aloud by their names, and without any prefix of courtesy. She is very fond of porter, and has no scruple in asking for it. She sits down to play the piano and to THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 567 sing with perfect good-nature, and if you look at her hands as they wander over the keys,' — well, I don't wish. to say anything unkind, but I am forced to ownahat those hands are not so whiteas the ivory which they thump. Woolsey sits in perfect rapture listen- ing to his wife. Mugford presses her to take a glass of " somethink " after- wards ; and the good-natured soul says she will take "something 'ot." She sits and listens ..with infinite patience. and good-huinor whilst the little Mugfords go through their hor- rible little musical exercises ; and these over, she is ready to go back to the piano again, and sing more songs, and drink more " 'ot." I do not say that this was an elegant woman, or a fitting companion for Mrs. Philip; but I know that Mrs. Woolsey was a good, clever, and kindly woman, = and . that Philip be- haved rudely'to her. ■ He never meant to be rude to her, he said ; but the truth is, he treated her, her husband, Mugford, and Mrs. Mugford, with a haughty ill-humor which utterly ex- asperated and perplexed them. About this poor lady, who was modest and innocent as Susannah, Philip had heard some wicked elders at wicked clubs tell wicked stories in old times. There was that old Trail, for instance, what woman escaped from his sneers and slander ? There were others who could be named, and whose testimony was equally untruthful. On an ordinary occasion Philip would never have cared or squabbled about a question of precedence, and would have taken any place assigned to him at any table. But when Mrs. Woolsey in crumpled satins and blowsy lace made her appearance, and was eagerly and respectfully saluted by the host and hostess, Philip rememhered those early stories about the poor lady : his eyes flashed wrath, and his breast beat with an indignation which almost choked him. Ask that woman to meet my wife ? he thought to himself and looked so ferocious and desperate that the timid little wife gazed with alarm at her Philip, and crept iip to him and whispered, " What is it, dear ^ " Meanwhile, Mrs. Mugford and Mrs. Woolsey were in full colloquy about the weather, the nursery, and so forth, — and Woolsey and Mugford giving each other the hearty grasp of friend- ship. Philip, then, scowling at the newly arrived guests, turning his great hulking back upon the com- pany, and talking to his wife, presented a not agreeable figure to his enter- tainer. " Hang the fellow's pride ! " thought Mugford. " He chooses to turn his back . upon . my . company , because Woolsey was a tradesman. An honest tailor is better than a bankrupt, swindling doctor, I should think. Woolsey need not be ashamed to show his face, I suppose. Why did you make me ask that fellar again, Mrs. M. ? Don't you see, our society ain't good'enough for him ? " Philip's conduct, then, so irritated Mugford, that when dinner was an- nounced, he stepped forward and oflfered his. arm to Mrs. Woolsey; having intended in the first instance to confer that honor upon Charlotte. " I '11 show him," thought Mugford, " that an honest tradesman's lady who pays his way, and is not afraid of any- body, is better than ray sub-editor's wife, the daughter of a bankrupt swell." Though the dinner was il- luminated by Mugford's grandest plate, and accompanied by his very best wine, it was a gloomy and weary repast to several people, present, and Philip and Charlotte, and I dare say Mugford, thought- it never would be done. Mrs. Woolsey, to be sure, placidly ate her dinner, and drank her wine ; whilst, remembering these wicked legends against her, Philip sat before the poor unconscious lady, silent, with glaring eyes, insolent and odious ; so much so, that Mrs. Wool sey imparted to Mrs. Mugford her surmise that the tall gentleman must have got out of bed the wrong leg foremost. 368 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. ■Well, Mrs. Woolsey's carriage and Mr. Fii-min's cab were announced at the same moment; and immediately Philip started up and beckoned his wife away. But Mrs. Woolsey's car- riage and lamps of course had the precedence ; and this lady Mr. Mug- ford accompanied to her carriage step. He did not pay the same attention to Mrs. Mrmin. Most liliely he for- got. Possibly he did not think eti- quette required he should show that sort of politeness to a sub-editor's wife : at any rate, he was not so rude as Philip himself had been during the evening, but he stood in the hall look- ing at his guests departing in their cab, when, in a sudden gust of pas- sion, Philip stepped out of the car- riage, and stalked up to his host, who stood there in his own hall confront- ing him, Philip declared, with a most impudent smile on his face. " Come back to light a pipe, I sup- pose ? Nice thing for your wife, aiu t It t " said Mngford, relishing his own joke. " I am come back, sir," said Philip, glaring at Mugford, " to ask how you dared invite Mrs. Philip Firmin to meet that woman ? " Here, on his side, Mr. Mugford lost his temper, and from this mo- ment his wrong begins. When he was in a passion, the language used by Mr. Mugford was not, it appears, choice. We have heard that, when angry, he was in the habit of swear- ing freely at his subordinates. He broke out on this occasion also with many oaths. He told Philip that he would stand his impudence no longer ; that he was as good as a swindling doctor's son ; that though he hadn't been to college he could buy and pay them as had ; and that if Philip liked to come into the back yard for ten minutes, he'd give him one — two, and show him whether he was a man or not. Poor Char, who, indeed, fan- cied that her husband had gone back to light his cigar, sat awhile uncon- scious in her tab, and supposed that the two gentlemen were engaged on newspaper business. When Mugford began to pull his coat off, she sat wondering, but not in the least under- standing the meaning of the action. Philip had described his employer as walking about his office without a coat and using energetic language. But when, attracted by the loud- ness of the talk, Mrs. Mugford came forth from her neighboring drawing- room, accompanied by such of her children as had not yet gone to roost, — when, seeing Mugford pulling off his dress-coat, she began to scream, — when, lifting his voice over hers, Mug- ford poured forth oaths, and franti- cally shook his fists at Philip, asking how that blackguard dared insult him in his own house, and proposing to knock his head off at that moment, — then poor Char, in a wild alarm, sprang out of the cab, ran to her hus- band, whose whole frame was throb- bing, whose nostrils were snorting with passion. Then Mrs.- Mugford, springing forward, placed her ample form before her husband's, and call- ing Philip a great cowardly beast, asked him if he was going to attack that little old man ? Then Mugford, dashing his coat down to the ground, called with fresh oaths to Philip to come on. And, in fine, there was a most unpleasant row, occasioned by Mr. Philip Pirmin's hot temper. CHAPTER XXXV. KES ANOUSTA DOMI. To reconcile these two men was im- possible, after such a quarrel as that described in the last chapter. The only chance of peace was to keep the two men apart. If they met, they would fly at each other. Mugford al- ways persisted that he could have got the better of his great hulking sub-ed- itor, wlio did not know the use of his fists. _ In Mugford's youthful time, bruising was a fashionable art ; and the old gentleman still believed in his Pate7'fajitilias. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 369 own skill and prowess. "Don't teU me," he would say ; " though the fel- \ar is as big as a life-guardsman, I \voa!d have doubled him up in two minutes." I am very glad, for poor Charlotte's sake and his own, that Philip did not undergo the doubling- up process. He' himself felt such a wrath and surprise at his employer as, I suppose, a lion does when a little dog attacks him. I should not like to be that little dog ; nor does my mod- est and peaceful nature at all prompt and impel me to combat with lions. It was mighty well Mr, Philip Fir- min had known his spirit, and quar- relled with his bread-and-butter ; hut when Saturday came, what philanr thropist would, hand four sovereigns and faur sliillings over to Mr. F., as Mr. Burjoyce, the publisher of the Fall Mall Gazette, had been ac- customed to do ? I will say for my friend that a still keener remorse than -hat which he felt about money thrown away attended him when he found that Mrs. Woolsey, towards whom he had cast a sidelong stone of persecution, was a most respectable and honorable lady. " I should like to go, sir, and grovel before her," Philip . said, in his energetic way. " If I see that tailor, I will request him to put his foot on my head, and trample on me with his highr lows. 0, for shame ! for shame ! Shall I never learn charity towards my neighbors, and always go on believing in the lies which people tell me? When I meet that scoundrel Trail at the club, I must chastise him. How dared he take away the reputation of an honest woman ? " Philip's friends besought him, for the sake of society and peace, not to carry this quarrel farther. " If," we said, " every woman whom Trail has maligned had a champion who should box 'Trail's ears at the club, what a vulgar, quarrel- some place that club would become ! My dear Philip, did you ever know Mr. Trail say a good word of man or woman ? " and by these or similar entreaties and arguments, we succeed- ed in keeping the Queen's peace. Yes : but how find another Pall Mall Gazette f Had Philip possessed seven thousand pounds in the three per cents, his income would have been no greater than that which he drew from Mugford's faithful bank. Ah ! how wonderful ways and means are ! When I think how this very line, this very word, which I am writing repre- sents money, I am lost in a respectful astonishment. A man takes bis own case, aa he says his own prayers, on behalf of himself and his family. I am. paid, we will say, for the sake of illustration, at the rate of sixpence per line. With the words, " Ah, how wonderful," to the words " per line," I can buy a loaf, a piece of butter, a jug of milk, a modicum of tea, — act- ually enough to make breakfast for the family j and the servants of the house ; and the charwoman, Iheir ser- vant, can shake up the tea-leaves with a fresh supply of water, sop the crusts, and get a meal tant bim que mal. Wife, children, guests, servants, char- woman, we are all actually making a meal ofif Philip Firmin's bones as it were. And my next-door neighbor, whom I see marching away to cham- bers,, umbrella in hand? And next door but one the City man ? And next door .but two the doctor ! — I know the baker has left loaves at ev- ery one of (heir doors this morning,, that all their chimneys are smoking, and they will all have breakfast. Ah, thank God for it ! I hope, friend, you and I are not too proud to ask for our daily bread, and to be grate- ful for getting it ? Mr. Philip had to work for his, in care and trouble, like other children of men : — to work for it, and I hope to pray for it, too. It is a thought to me awful and beaur tiful, that of the daily prayer, and of the myriads of fellowmen uttering it, in care and in sickness, in doubt and in poverty, in health and in wealth. Panem nostrum da nobis hodie. Philip whispers it by the bedside where wife and child lie sleeping, and goes to his early labor with a stouter heart : as he creeps to his rest when the day's 370 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. labor is over, and the quotidian bread is earned, and breathes his hushed thanks to the bountiful Giver of the meal. All over this world vt'hat an endless chorus is singing of love, and thanks, and prayer. Day tells to day the wondrous story, and night re- counts it unto night. — How do I come to think of a sunrise which I saw near twenty years ago on the Nile, when the river and sky flushed and glowed with the dawning light, and as the luminary appeared, the ioatmen knelt on the rosy deck, and adored Allah t So, as thy sun rises, friend, over the humble housetops round about your home, shall you wake many and many a day to duty and labor. May the task have been honestly done when the night comes ; and the steward deal kindly with the laborer. So two of Philip's cables cracked and gave way after a very brief strain, and the poor fellow held by nothing now but that wonderful European Review established by the mysterious Tregarvan. Actors, a people of su- perstitions and traditions, opine that Heaven, in some mysterious way, makes managers for their benefit. In like manner; Review proprietors are sent to provide the pabulum for us men of letters. With what complar cency did my wife listen to the some- what long-winded and pompous ora- tory of Tregarvan ! He pompons and commonplace 1 Tregarvan spoke with excellent good sense. That wily woman never showed she was tired of his conversation. She praised him to Philip behind his back, and would not allow a Avord in his dispar- agement. As a doctor will punch your chest, your liver, your heart, listen at your lungs, squeeze your pulse, and what not, so this practi- tioner studied, shampooed, ausculta- ted Tregarvan. Of course he allowed himself to be operated upon. Of course he had no idea that the lady was flattering, wheedling, humbug- ging him ; but thought that he was a very well-informed, eloquent man. who had seen and read a great deal, and had an agreeable method of im- parting his knowledge, and that the lady in question was a sensible wo- man, naturally eager for more infor- mation. Go, Delilah ! I understand your tricks ! I know many another Omphale in London who will coax Hercules away from his club to come and listen to her wheedling talk. One great difiiculty we had was to make Philip read Tregarvan's own ar- ticles in the Review. He at first said he could not, or that he could not remem- ber them ; so that there was no use in reading them. And Philip's new mas- ter used to make artful allusions to his own writings in the course of conversa- tion so that onr nnwary friend would find himself under examination in any casual interview with Tregarvan, whose opinions on free-trade, ' malt- tax, income-tax, designs of Russia, or what not, might be accepted or denied, but ought at least to be known. We actually made Philip get up his owner's articles. We put questions to him, privily, regarding them, — " coached him, according to the university phrase. My wife humbugged that wretched Member of Parliament in a way which makes jne shudder, when I think of what hypocrisy the sex is capable. Those arts and dissimulations with which she wheedles others, suppose she exercise them on me? Horrible thought! No, angel! To others thou mayest be a coaxing hypocrite ; to me thou art all candor. Other men may have been humbugged by other women ; but I am not to be taken in by that sort of thing ; and thou art all candor ! We had then so much per annum as editor. We were paid, besides, for our articles. We had really a snug little pension out of this Review, and we prayed it might last forever. We might write a novel. We might con- tribute articles to a daily paper ; get a little parliamentary practice as a barrister. We actually did get Philip into a railway case or two, and my THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 871 ■wife must be coaxing and hugging solicitors' Ijidies, as she had wheedled and coaxed Members of Parliament. Why, I do believe my Uelilah set up a flirtation with old Bishop Crossticks with an idea of getting her prMg£ a living ; and though the lady indig- nantly repudiates this charge, will she be pleased to explain how the bishop's sermons were so outrageously praised in the ]{eview 1 Philip's roughness and frankness did not displease Tregarvan, to the wonder of us all, who trembled lest he should lose this as he had lost his ibrmer place. Tregai-van had more country-houses than one, and at these not only was the editor of the Keriew made welcome, but the editor's wife and children whom Tregarvan's wife took into especial regai-d. In London Lady Mary had assemblies where our little friend Charlotte made her ap- pearance ; and half a dozen times in the course of the season the wealthy Cornish gentleman feasted his retain- ers of the Review. His wine was ex- cellent and old ; his jokes were old, too ; his table pompous, grave, plen- tiful. If Philip was to eat the bread of dependence, the loaf was here very kindly prepared for him ; and he ate it humbly, and with not too much grumbling. This diet chokes some proud stomachs and disagrees with them ; but Philip was very hum- ble now, and of a nature gratrful for kindness. He is one who requires the help of friends, and can accept benefits without losing independence, — not all men's gifts, but some men's, whom he repays not only with coin, but with an immense affection and gratitude. How that man did laugh at my witticisms ! How he wor- shipped the ground on which my wife walked ! He elected himself our champion. He quarrelled with other people, who found fault ivith our characters, or would not see our per- fections. There was something affect- ing in the way in which this big man took the humble place. We could do no wrong in his eyes ; and woe betide the man who spoke disparagingly of us in his presence ! One day, at his patron's table, Philip exercised his valor and cham- pionship in our behalf by defending us against the evil-speaking of that Mr. 'Trail, who has been mentioned before as a gentleman difficult to please, and credulous of ill regarding his neighbor. The talk happened to fall upon the character of the reader's most humble servant, and Trail, as may be imagined, spared me no more than the rest of mankind. Would you like to be liked by all people ? That would be a reason why 'Trail should hate you. Were you an angel fresh dropped from the skies, he would espy dirt on your robe, and a black feather or two in your wing. As for me, I know I am not angelical at all ; and in walking my native earth, can't help a little mud on my trousers. Well : Mr. Trail began to paint my portrait, laying on those dark shad- ows which that well-known master is in the habit of employing. I was a parasite of the nobility ; I was a heart- less sycophant, house-breaker, drunk- ard, murderer, returned convict, &c., &c. With a little imagination, Mrs. Candor can fill up the outline, and arrange the colors so as to suit her amiable fancy. Philip had come late to dinner ; — of this fault, I must confess, he is guil- ty only too often. The company were at table ; he took the only place var cant, and this happened to be at the side of Mr. Trail. On Trail's other side was a portly individual, of a heal- thy and rosy countenance and volumi- nous white waistcoat, to whom Trsul directed much of his amiable talk, and whom he addressed once or twice as Sir John. Once or twice already we have seen how Philip has quarrelled at table. He cried mea culpa loudly and honestly enough. He made vows of reform in this particular. He suc- ceeded, dearly beloved brethren, not much worse or better than you and I do, who confess our faults, and go on promising to improve, and stumbling 372 THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. and picking onrselves up every day. The pavement of life is strewed with orange-peel ; and who has not slipped on the flags t " He is the most conceited man in London," — Trail was going on, " and one of the most worldly. Ho will throw over a colonel to dine with a general. He wouldn't throw over yoa two baronets, — he is a great deal too shrewd a fellow for that. He would n't give you np, perhaps, to dine with a lord ; but any ordinary bar- onet he would." "And why not ua as well as the rest t " asks Tregarvan, who seemed amused at the speaker's chatter. " Because you are not like common baronets at all. Because your estates are a great deal too large. Because, I suppose, you might either of you go to the Upper House any day. Be- cause, as an author, he may be sup- posed to be afraid of a certain Re- view," cries Trail, with a loud laugh. " Trail is speaking of a friend of yours," said the host, nodding and smiling, to the new-Comer. " Very lucky for my friend," growls Philip, and eats his soup in silence. " By the way, that article of his on Madame de S^vign^ is poor stuff. No knowledge of the period. Three gross blunders in French. A man can't write of French society unless he has lived in French society. What does Pendennis know of if! A man who makes blunders like those can't understand French. A man who can't speak French can't get on in French society. Therefore he can't write about French society. All these propositions are clear enough. Thank yon. Pry champagne, if you please. He is enormously overrated, I tell you ; and so is his wife. They used to put her forward as a beauty : and she is only a dowdy woman out of a nursery. She has no style about " She is only one of the best women in the world," Mr. Firmin called out, turning very red; and hereupon en- tered into a defence of our characters, and pronounced a eulogium upon both and each of us, in which I hope there was some little truth. How- ever, he spoke with great enthusiasm, and Mr. "Trail found himself in a minority. "You are right to stand up for your friends, Firmin ! " cried the host. "Let me introduce you to — " "Let me introduce myself," said the gentleman on the other side of Mr. Trail. '. " Mr. Firmin, you and I are kinsmen, — I am Sir John Bing- wood." And Sir John reached a hand to Philip across Trail's chair. They talked a great deal together in the course of the evening : and when Mr. Trail found that the great county gentleman was friendly and familiar with Philip, and claimed a relation- ship with him, his manner towards Firmin altered. He pronounced af- terwards a warm eulogy upon Sir John for bis frankness and good-nar ture in recognizing his unfortunate relative, and charitably said, " Philip might not be like the Doctor, and could not help having a rogue for a father." In former days, 'Irail had eaten and drunken freely at that rogue's table. But we must have truth, you know, before all things: and if your own brother has com- mitted a sin, common justice requires that you should stone him. In former days, and not long after Lord Ringwood's death, Philip had left his card at this kinsman's door, and Sir John's butler, driving in his master's brougham, had left a card upon Philip, who was not over well pleased by this acknowledgment of his civility, and, in fact, employed abusive epithets when he spoke of the transaction. Bnt when the two gen- tlemen actually met, their intercourse was kindly and pleasant enough. Sir John listened to his relative's talk — and it appears, Philip comported himself with his usual free and easy manner — with interest and curios- ity; and owned afterwards that evil tongues had previously been busy with the young man's character, and THE ADVENTUEES OF fHILIP. 373 that slander and untruth had been spoken regarding- him. In this re- spect, if Philip is worse off than his neighbors, I can only say his neigh' bors are fortunate. Two days after the meeting of the cousins, the tranquillity of Thorn.- haugh Street was disturbed by the appearance of a magnificent yellow chariot, with crests, hammercloths, a bewigged coachman, and a powdered footman. Betsy, the nurse, who was going to take baby out for a wajk, encountered this giant on the thresh- old of Mrs. Brandon's door : and a lady within the chariot delivered three cards to the tall menial, who trans- ferred them to Betsy. And Betsy persisted in saying that the lady in the carriage admired baby very much, and asked its age, at which baby's mamma was not in the least sur- prised. In due course, an invitation to dinner followed, and our friends became acquainted with their kins- folk. If you have : a good memory for pedigrees — find in my youthful time every man de bonne maison studied genealogies, and had his English fam- ilies in his memory — you know that this Sir John Ringwood, who suc- ceeded to the principal portion of the estates, but not to the titles of the late Earl, was descended from a mu- tual ancestor, a Sir John, whose elder son was ennobled (temp. Geo. I.), whilst the second son, following the legal profession, became a. judge, and had a son, who became a. baronet, and who begat that present Sir John who has just been shaking Jiands with Philip across Trail's back.* Thus the two men were cousins; and in right of the heiress, his poor mother, Philip might quarter the Ringwood arms on his carriage, whenever he drove out. These, you know, are ar- gent, a dexter sinople on a fesse wavy of the first, ^- or pick put, my dear friend, any coat you like out of the whole heraldic wardrobe, and accom- modate it to our friend Mrmin. When he was a young man at col- * Copied, by perinisaion of P. Firmin, Esq., from the Genealogical Tree in his posaesslon. Sir J. BingWood, Bart., of Wingate and Whipliam. b. 1649 i ob. 1»25. Sir J., Bart., 1st Baron Ringwood: Ob. 1770. n, 2(11 John, 2d Baron, created Earl of Kingwood and Tisct. Ginqbars. Charles, Visct. Ginqbars b. 1302 ; Ob. 1824 Maria, b. 1801, mi Talbot Twyaden, and had igsue. hilip, Phil.. a Colonel ia tHe Army. ob. 1803. Louisa, b. 1802, m^ G. B. Firmin, Esq., H. n. Philip, b. 1825, subject of the present Memoir. Sir Philip, Knt., Baron of the Exchequer Sir John, Bart., of the Hajrs. Sir John of the Hays, and now of Wingate and Whtpham, has issue. ir, Ph Oliver, Philip, Hampden, Frankli^ and daughters. 374 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. lege, Philip had dabbled a little in this queer science of heraldry, and used to try and believe the legends about his ancestry, which his fond mother imparted to hiin. He had a great book-plate made for himself, with a prodigious number of quarter- ings, and could recite the alliances by which such and such a quartering came into his shield. His father rather confirmed these histories, and spoke of them and of his wife's noble family with much respect : and Phil- ip, artlessly whispering to a vulgar boy at school that he was descended from King John, was thrashed very unkindly by the vulgar upper boy, and nicknamed King John for many a long day after. I dare say many other gentlemen who profess to trace their descent from ancient kings have no better or worse authority for their pedigree than friend Philip. When our friend paid his second visit to Sir John Ringwood, he was introduced to his kinsman's library; a great family-tree hung over the mantel-piece, surrounded by a whole gallery of defunct Ringwoods, of whom the Baronet was now the rep- resentative. He quoted to Philip the hackneyed old Ovidian lines (some score of years ago a great deal of that old coin was current in conversation). As for family, he said, and ancestors, and what we have not done ourselves, these things we can hardly call ours. Sir John gave Philip to understand that he was a stanch Liberal. Sir John was for going with the age. Sir John had fired a shot from the Paris barricades. Sir John was for the rights of man everywhere all over the world. He had pictures of Frank- lin, Lafayette, Washington, and the first Consul Buonaparte, on his walls along with his ancestors. He had lithograph copies of Magna Charta, the Declaration of American Inde- pendence, and the Signatures to the Death of Charles I. He did not scruple to own his preference for re- publican institutions. He wished to know what right had any man — the late Lord Ringwood, for example — to sit ill a hereditary House of Peers and legislate over him? That lord had had a son, Cinqbars, who died many years before, a victim of his own follies and debaucheries. Had Lord Cinqbars survived his father, he would now be sitting an earl in the House of Peers, — the most ignorant young man, the most unprincipled young man, reckless, dissolute, of the feeblest intellect, and the worst life. Well, had he lived and inher- ited the Ringwood property, that creature would have been an earl: whereas he, Sir John, his superior in morals, in character, in intellect, his equal in point of birth (for had they not both a common ancestor f ) was Sir John still. The inequalities in men's chances in life were monstrous and ridiculous. He was determined, henceforth, to look at a man for him- self alone, and not esteem him for any of the absurd caprices of fortune. As the republican was talking to his relative, a servant came into the room and whispered to his master that the plumber had come with his bill as by appointment ; upon which Sir John rose up in a fury, asked the servant how he dared to disturb him, and bade him tell the plumber to go to the lowest depths of Tartarus. Nothing could equal the insolence and rapacity of tradesmen, he said, except the insolence and idleness of servants ; and he called this one back, and asked him how he dared to leave the fire in that state ■? — stormed and raged at him with a volubility which aston- ished his new acquaintance ; and, the man being gone, resumed his pre- vious subject of conversation, viz. natural equality and the outrageous injustice of the present social system. After talking for half an hour, during which Philip found that he himself could hardly find an opportunity of uttering a word, Sir John took out his watch, and got up from his chair ; at which liint Philip too rose, not sorry to bring the interview to an end. And herewith Sir John accom- THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. 375 panied his kinsman into the hall, and to tho street door, before which the Baronet's groom was riding, leading his master's horse. And Philip heard the Baronet using violent language to the groom as ho had done to the servant within doors. Why, the army in Manders did not swear more terri- bly than this admirer of republican institutions and advocate of the rights of man. Philip was not allowed to go away without appointing a day when he and his wife would partake of their kinsman's hospitality. On this occa- sion, Mrs. Philip comported herself with so much grace and simplicity, that Sir John and Lady Bingwood pronounced her to be a very pleasing and ladylike person ; and I dare say wondered how a person in her rank of lifecould have acquired manners that were so refined and agreeable. Lady Bingwood asked after the child which she had seen, praised its beauty ; of course, won the mother's heart, and thereby caused her to speak with per- haps more freedom than she would otherwise have felt at a first interview. Mrs. Philip has a dainty touch on the piano, and a sweet singing voice that is charmingly true and neat. She performed after dinner some of the songs of her little r^peiloire, and pleased her audience. Lady Ring- wood loved good music, and was her- self a fine performer of tiie ancient school, when she played Haydn and Mozart under the tuition of good old Sir George Thrum. The tall and handsome beneficed clergyman who acted as major-domo of Sir John's establishment placed a parcel in the carriage when Mr. and Mrs. Phihp took their leave, and announced with much respectful deference that the cab was paid. Our friends no doubt would have preferred to dispense with this ceremony; but it is ill looking even a gift cab-horse in the moutb, and so Philip was a gainer of some '^o shillings by his kinsman's liber- ality. When Charlotte came to open the parcel which major-domo, with his lady's compliments, had placed in the cab, I fear she did not exhibit that elation which we ought to feel for the . favors of our friends. A couple of little frocks, of tlie cut of George IV., some little red shoes of the same period, some crumpled sashes, and other small articles of wearing-ap- parel, by her Ladyshi])'s order by her Ladyship's lady's-maid; and Lady Bingwood, kissing Charlotte at her departure, told her that she bad caused this little packet to be put away for her. " H 'm," says Philip, only half pleased. " Suppose Sir John had told his butler to put up one of his blue coats and brass but- tons for me, as well as pay the cab "! " " If it was meant in kindness, Philip, we must not beangry,"plead- ed Philip's wife ; — " and I am sure if you had heard her and the Miss Bing- woods speak of baby, you would like them, as I intend to do." But Mrs. Philip never put those mouldy old red shoes upon baby ; and as for tiie little frocks, children's frocks are made so much fuller now that Lady Bingwood's presents did not answer at all. Charlotte managed to furbish up a sash, and a pair of epaulets for her child, — epaulets are they called ? Slioulder-knots, — wliat you will, ladies ; and with tlicsc orna- ments Miss Firmin was presented lo Lady Bingwood and some of her family. 'The good-will of these new-found relatives of Philip's was laborious, was evident, and yet I must say was not altogether agreeable. At the first period of their intercourse — lor this, too, I am sorry to say, came lo an end, or presently snftered inter- ruption — tokens of afl'eciion in the shape of farm produce, country but- ter and poultry, and actual butcher's meat, came from Berkeley Square to Thomhaugh Street. The Duke of Double-glo'ster I know is much rich- er than you are; but if he were to offer to make you a present of half a crown, I doubt whether you would b9 376 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIf. quite pleased. And so with Philip and his relatives. A hamper brought in the brougham, containing hot- house grapes and country butter, is very well, bat a leg of mutton I own was a gift that was rather tough to swallow. It MJos tough. That point we ascertained and established amongst roars of laughter one day when we dined with our friends. Did Lady Ringwood send a sack of turnips in the brougham too ? In a word, we ate Sir John's mutton, and wo laugh- ed at him, and bo sure many a man has done the same by you and me. Last Friday, for instance, as Jones and Brown go away after dining with your humble servant. " Did you ever see such profusion and extrava- gance 1 " asks Brown. " Profusion and extravagance ! " cries Jones, that well-known epicure. "I never saw anything so shabby in my life. What does the fellow mean by asking me to such a dinner ■?" "True, says the other, " it was an abomina- ble dinner, Jones, as you justly say ; but it was very profuse in him to give it. Don't you see ? " and so both our good friends are agreed. Ere many days were over the great yellow chariot and its powdered at- tendants again made their appearance bcf.irc Mrs. Brandon's modest door in Thornhaugh Street, and Lady Ring- wood and two daughters descended from the carriage and made their way to Mr. Philip's apartments in the second floor, just as that worthy gen- tleman was sitting down to dinner with his wife. Lady Ringwood, bent u]3on being gracious, was in ecstasies with everything she saw — a clean house, — a nice little maid, — pretty picturesque rooms, — odd rooms, — and what charming pictures ! Sever- al of these were the work of the fond pencil of poor J. J., who, as has been told, had painted PhiUp's beard and Charlotte's eyebrow, and Charlotte's baby a thousand and a thousand times. " May we come in ? Are we disturbing you T What dear little bits of china! What a beautiful rang, Mr. Firmin ! " This was poor J. J.'s present to his goddaughter. "How nice the luncheon looks! Dinner, is it ? How pleasant to dine at this hour ! " The ladies were de- termined to be charmed with every- thing round about them. " We are dining on your poultry. May we offer some to you and Miss Ringwood," says the master of the house. " Why don't you dine in the din- ing-room? Why do you dine in a bedroom ? " asks Franklin Ringwood, the interesting young son of the Baron of Ringwood. " Somebody else lives in the par- lor," says Mrs. Philip. On which the boy remarks, " We have two dining- rooms in Berkeley Square. I mean for us, besides papa's study/which I mustn't go into. And the ser- vants have two dining-rooms and^" " Hush ! " here cries mamma, with the usual remark regarding the beauty of silence in little boys. But Franklin persists in spite of the "Hushes!" " And So we have at Ringwood ; and at Whipham there 's ever so many dining-rooms, — ever so many, — and I like Whipham a great deal better than Ringwood, because my pony is at Whipham. You have not got a ponv. You are too poor." "Franklin"!" " You said he was too poor ; and you would not have had chickens if we had not given them to you. Mamma, you know you said they were very poor, and would like them. And here mamma looked red, and I dare say Philip's cheeks and ears tingled, and for once Mrs. Philip was thankful at hearing her baby cry, for it gave her a pretext for leaving the room and flying to thenursery. whither the other two ladies accompanied her. " Meanwhile Master Franklin went on with his artless conversation, " Mr. Philip, why do they say you are wicked T You do not look wick- ed ; and I am sure Mrs. Philip doe? not look wicked, — she looks very good." THE ADVENTUBES OP PHILIP. 377 "Who says I am wicked?" asks Mr. Firmin of his candid young rel- atiye. " 0, ever so many ! Cousin Ring- wood says so ; and Blanche s^s so ; and Woolcomb says so ; only jl don't like him, he 's so very brown. And when they heard you had been to din- ner, ' Has that beast been here ? ' Eingwood says. And I don't like him a bit. But I like you, at least I think I do. You only have oranges for dessert. Wo always have lots of things for dessert at home. You don't, I suppose, because you've got no money, — only a very little." " Well : I have got only a veiy little," says Philip. " I have , some, — ever so much. And I 'U buy something for your wife ; and I shall like to have you better at home than Blanche, and Ringwood, and that Woolcomb ; and they never give me anything. You can't, you know ; because you are so very poor, — you are ; but we '11 often send you things, I dare say. And I'll have an orange, please, thank you. And there 's a chap at our school, and his name is Sucklmg, and he ate eighteen oranges, and would n't give one away to anybody. Was n't he a greedy pig? And I have wine with my oranges, — I do : a glass of wine, — thank you. That's jolly. But you don't have it often, I suppose, because you 're so very poor." I am glad Philip's infant could not understand, being yet of too tender age, the compliments which Lady Ringwood and her daughter passed upon her. As it was, the compli- ments charmed the mother, for whom indeed they were intended, and did not inflame the unconscious baby's vanity. . What would the polite mamma and sister have said, if they had heard that unlucky Franklin's prattle ? The boy's simplicity amused his tall cous- in. " Yes," says Philip, " we are very poor, but we are very happy, and don't mind, —that's the truth." " Mademoiselle, that 's the German governess, said she wondered how you could live at all ; and I don't think you could if you ate as much as she did. You should see her eat ; she is such a oner at eating. Fred, my broth- er, that 's the one who is at college, one day tried to see how Mademoiselle Wallfisch could eat, and she had twice of soup, and then she said sivoplay; and then twice offish, and she said sivo- play for more ; and then she had roast mutton, — no, I think, roast beef it was ; and she eats the peas with her knife; and then she had raspberry- jam pudding, and ever so much beer, and then — " But what came then we never shall know; because while young Franklin was choking with laughter (accompanied with a large piece of orange) at the ridiculous rec- ollection of Miss Wallfisch's appetite, his mamma and sister came down stairs from Charlotte's nursery^ and brought the dear boy's conversation to an end. The ladies chose to go home, delighted with Philip, baby, Charlotte. Everything was so proper. Everything was so nice. Mrs. Fir- min was so ladylike. The fine ladies watched her, and her behavior, with that curiosity which the Brobdingnag ladies displayed when they held up little Gulliver on their palms,.and saw him bow, smile, dance, drawhissword, and take oH his hat, just like a man. CHAPTER XXXVL IN WHICH THE DnAWIITG-ROOMS AKE NOT PUENISUED AFTER ALL. We cannot expect to be loved by a relative whom we have knocked into an illuminated pond, and whose coat-tails, pantaloons, nether limbs, and best feelings we have lacerated with ill treatment and broken glass. A man whom you have so treated behind his back will not bp sparing of his punishment behind yours. Of course all the Twysdens, male and female, and Woolcomb, the dusky 378 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. husband of Philip's former love, hated , and feared, and maligned him ; and were in the habit of speaking of him as a truculent and reckless savage and monster, coarse and brutal in his language and behavior, ragged, dirty and reckless in his personal appear- ance ; reeking with smoke, perpetual- ly reeling in drink, indulging in oaths, actions, langhter which ren- dered him intolerable in civilized so- ciety. The Twysdens, during Phil- ip's absence abroad, had been very respectful and assiduous in courting the new head of the Ringwood family. They had flattered Sir John, and paid court to my Lady. Ttey had been welcomed, at Sir John's houses in town and country. They had adopted his politics in a great meas- ure, as they had adopted the politics of the deceased peer. They had never lost an opportunity of abusing poor Philip and of ingratiating them- selves. They had never refused any invitation from Sir John in town or country, and had ended by utterly boring him and Lady Bingwood and the Ringwood family in general. Lady Ringwood learned somewhere how pitilessly Mrs. Woolcomb had jilted her cousin when a richer suitor appeared in the person of tlio West- Indian. Then news came how Phil- ip had administered a beating to Woolcomb, to young Twysdon, to a dozen who set on him. The early prejudices began to pass away. A friend or two of Philip's told Ring- wood how he was mistaken in the young man, and painted a portrait of him in colors much more favorable than those which Iiis kinsfolk em- ployed. Indeed, dear relations, if the public wants to know our little faults and errors, I think I know who will not grudge the requisite information. Dear aunt Candor, are you not still alive, and don't you know what we had for dinner yesterday, and the amount (monstrous extravagance!) of the washerwoman's bill ? Well, the Twysden family so be- spattered poor Philip with abase, and represented him as a monster of such hideous mien, that no wonder the Ringwoods avoided him. They then began to grow utterly sick and tired of his detractors. And then Sir John, happening to talk with his brother Member of Parliament, Tregarvan, in the House of Commons, heard quite a different story regarding our friend to that with which the Twysdens had regaled him, and, with no little sur- prise on Sir John's part, was told by Tregarvan how honest, rough, worthy, affectionate, and gentle this poor maligned fellow was, how he had been sinned against by his wretch of a father, whom he had forgiven and actually helped outof his wretch- ed means, and how he was making a brave battle against poverty, and had a sweet little loving wife and child, whom every kind heart would willing- ly strive to help. Because people are rich they are not of necessity ogres. Because they are born gentlemen and ladies of good degree, are in easy cir- cumstances, and have a generous edu- cation, it doss not follow that they are heartless and will turn their back on a friend. Moi qui vous park, — I have been in a great strait of sickness near to death, and the friends who came to help me with every coraforf, succor, sympathy, were actually gen- tlemen, who lived in good houses, and had a good education. They did n't turn away because I was sick, or fly from mo because they thought I was poor; on the contrary, hand, purse, succor, sympathy were ready, and praise be to Heaven. And so too did Philip find help when he needed it, and succor when he was in poverty. Tregarvan, we will own, wiis a pom- pous little man, his House of Com- mons speeches were dull, and his written documents awfully slow ; but he had a kind heart : he was touched by that picture which Laura drew of the young man's poverty, and hon- esty, and simple hopefulness in the midst of hard times : and we have seen how the European Review was thus intrusted to Mr. Philip's man- THE ADVENTUBES OF PHILIP. 379 Hgement. Thei; some artful friends of Philip's determined that he should be reconciled to his relations, who were well to do in the world, and might serve him. And I wish, dear reader, that your respectable relatives and mine would bear this little para- graph in mind and leave us both handsome legacies. Then Tregarvan spoke to Sir John Kingwood, and that meeting was brought about, where, for once at least, Mr. Philip quarrelled with nobody. And now came another little piece of good luck, which, I suppose, must be attributed to the same kiad friend who had been scheming for Philip's benefit, and who is never so happy as when her little plots for her friends' benefit can be made to succeed. Yes : when that arch-jobber — don't tell me ; — I never knew a woman worth a pin who was n't ^— when that arch- jobber, I say, has achieved a job by which some friend is made happy, her eyes and cheeks brighten with tri- umph. Wliether she has put a sick man into a hospital, or got a poor woman a family s washing, or made a sinner repent and return to wife, husband, or what not, that woman goes off and pays her thanks, where thanks are due, with such fervor, with such lightsomeness, with such happiness, that I assure you she is a sight to behold. Hush ! When one sinner is saved, who are glad ? Some of us know a woman or two pure as angels, — know, and are thankful. When the person about whom I have been prattling has one of her be- nevolent jobs in hand, or has com- pleted it, there is a sort of triumph and mischief in her manner, which I don't know otherwise how to describe. She does not understand my best jokes at this period, or answers them at random, or laughs very absurdly and vacantly. She embraces her chil- dren wildly, and, at the most absurd moments, is utterly unmindful when they are saying their lessons, prattling their little questions and so forth. I recall all these symptoms (and put 17 this and that together, as the saying is) as happening on one especial day, at the commencement of Easter Teriii; eighteen hundred and never mind what, — as happening on one especial morning when this lady had been as- toundingly distraite and curiously ex- cited. I now remember, how during her children's dinner-time, she sat looking into the square out of her window, and scarcely attending to the little innocent cries for mutton which the children were offering up. At last there was a rapid clank over the pavement, a tall figiire passed the parlor windows, which our kind friends know look into Queen Square, and then came a loud ring at the bell, aiid I thought the mistress of the house gave an ah — a sigh — as though her heart was reh'evcd. The street door was presently opened, and then the dining-room door, and Philip walks in with his hat on, his blue eyes staring before him, his hair flamiiig ^bout, and " La, Uncle Philip ! " cry the children. " What have you done to yourself? You have shaved off your mustache." Ai)d so he had, I declare ! ' "I say. Pen, look here ! This has been left at chambers; and Cassidy has sent it on by his clerk," our friend said. I forget whether it has been stated that Philip's name still re- mained on the door of those chambers in Parchment Buildings, where wc once heard his song of " Doctor Lu- ther," and were present at his call- supper. The document which Philip pro- duced was actually a brief. The pa- pers were superscribed, "In Parlia- ment, Polwheedle and Tredyddlum Railway. To support bill, Mr. Fir- min ■ retaine^ five guineas ; brief, fifty guineas ; consultation, five guin- eas. With you Mr. Armstrong, Sir J. Whitworth, Mr. Pinkerton." Here was a wonder of wonders ! A shower of gold was poured out on my friend. A light dawned upon me. The proposed bill was for a Cornish line. Ou^ friend Tregarvan was con- 380 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. cemed in it, the line passing through his property, and my wife had can- vassed him privately, and by her wheedling and blandishments had persuaded Tregarvan to use his inter- est with the agents and get Philip this welcome aid. Philip eyed the paper with a queer expression. He handled it as some men handle a baby. He looked as if he did not know what to do with it, and as if he should like to drop it. I believe I made some satirical remark to this etfcct as I looked at our friend with his paper. " Ho holds a child beautifully," said my wife with much enthusiasm; " much better than some people who laugh at him." " And he will hold this no doubt much to his credit. May this be the father of many briefs. May you have bags full of them ! " Philip had all our good wishes. They did not cost much, or avail much, but they were sincere. I know men who can't for the lives of them give even that cheap coin of good-will, but hate their neigh- bors' prosperity, and are angry with them when they cease to be dependent and poor. We have said how Cassidy's aston- ished clerk had brought the relief from chambers to Firmin at his lodg- ings at Mrs. Brandon's in Thorn- haugh Street. Had a bailiff served him with a writ, Philip could not have been more surprised, or in a greater tremor. A brief? Grands Dieux ! What was he to do with a brief ? He thought of going to bed, and being ill, or flying from home, country, family. Brief? Charlotte, of course, seeing her husband alarmed, began to quake too. Indeed, if liis Worship's finger aches, does not her whole body suffer t But Charlotte's and Philip's constant friend, the Lit- tle Sister, felt no such fear. "Now there 's this opening, you must take it, my dear," she said. " Suppose you don't know much about law — " " Much ! nothing," interposed Philip. " You might ask me to play the piano; but as I never happened to have learned — " " La, — don't tell mo ! You must n't show a faint heart. Take the business, and do it best you can. You '11 do it better next time, and next. The Bar 's a gentleman's business. Don't I attend a judge's lady, which I remember her with her first in a little bit of a house in Ber- nard Street, Russell Square ; and now have n't I been to her in Eaton Square, with a butler and two foot- men, and carriages ever so many? You may work on at your newspa- pers, and get a crust, and when you 're old, and if you quarrel, — and you have a knack of quarrelling, — he has, Mrs. Firmin. I knew him before you did. Quarrelsome he is, and he will be, though you think him an angel, to be sure. — Suppose you quarrel with your newspaper masters, and your reviews, and that you lose your place? A gentleman like Mr. Philip ought n't to have a master. I could n't bear to think of your going down of a Saturday to the publish- ing ofBce to get your wages like a workman." " But / am a workman," interposes Philip. " La ! But do yon mean to remain one forever ? I would rise, if I was a man ! " said the intrepid little woman ; "I would rise, or I 'd know the reason why. Who knows how many in family yon 're going to be ? I 'd have more spirit than to live in a second floor, — I would!" And the Little Sister said this, though she clung ronnd Philip's child with a rapture of fondness which she tried in vain to conceal ; though she felt that to part from it would be to part from her life's chief happiness ; though she loved Philip as her own son : and Charlotte — well, Charlotte for Philip's sake — as women love other women. Cliarlotte came to her friends in Queen Square, and told us of the resolute Little Sister's advice and con- versation. She knew that Mrs. Bran- THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 381 don only loved her as something be- longing to Philip. She admired this Little Sister; and trusted her; and could afford to bear that little some- what scornful domination which Brandon exercised. " She does not love me, because Philip does," Char- lotte said. "Do you think I could like her, or any woman, if I thought Philip loved them ? I could kill them, Laura, that I could ! " And at this sentiment I imagine dag- gers shooting out of a pair of eyes that were ordinarily very gentle and bright. Not having been engaged in the case in which Philip had the honor of first appearing, I cannot enter into particulars regarding it, but am sure that case must have been uncommon- ly strong in itself which could sur- vive such an advocate. He passed a frightful night of torture before ap- pearing in committee-room. During that night, he says, his hair grew gray. His old college friend and comrade Pinkerton, who was with him in the case, "coached" him on the day previous ; and indeed it must be owned that the work which he had to perform was not of a nature to im- pair the inside or the outside of his skull. A great man was his leader ; his friend Pinkerton followed ; and all Mr. Philip's business was to ex- amine a half-dozen witnesses by ques- tions previously arranged between them and the agents. When you hear that, as a reward of his services in this case, Mr. Fir- min received a sum of money suffi- cient to pay his modest family ex- penses for some four months, I am sure, dear and respected literary friends, that you will wish the lot of a parliamentary barrister had been yours, or that your immortal works could be paid with such a liberality as rewards the labors of these law- yers. "Nimmer erscheinen die GSUer allein." After one agent had era- ployed Philip, another came and se- cured his valuable services : him two or three others followed, and our friend positively had money in bank. Not only were apprehensions of pov- erty removed for the present, but we had every reason to hope that Fir- min's prosperity would increase and continue. And when a little son and heir was born, which blessing was conferred upon Mr. Philip about a year after his daughter, onr godchild, saw the light, we should have thought it shame to have any misgivings about the future, so chcerfnl did Philip's prospects appear. "Did I not tell you, said my wife, with her usual kindling romance, " that comfort and succor would be found for these in the hour of their need t " Amen. Wo were grateful that comfort and succor should come. No one, I am sure, was more humbly thankful than Philip himself for the fortunate chances which befell him. He was alarmed rather than elated by his sudden prosperity. " It can't last," he said. " Don't tell me. The attorneys must find me out be- fore long. "They cannot continue to give their business to such an igno- ramus : and I really think I must re- monstrate with them." You should have seen the Little Sister's indigna- tion when Philip uttered this senti- ment in her presence. " Give up your business t Yes, do ! " she cried, tossing up Philip's youngest born. "Fling this baby out of window, why not indeed, which Heaven has sent it yon ! You ought to go down on yonr knees and ask pardon for having thought anything so wicked." Philip's heir, by the way, immediate- ly on his entrance to the world, had become the prime favorite of this un- reasoning woman. The little daugh- ter was passed over as a little person of no account, and so began to enter- tain the passion of jealousy at almost the very earliest age at which even the female breast is capable of enjoy, ing it. And though this Little Sister loved all these people with an almost ferocious passion of love, and lay awake, I believe, hearing their infan. 382 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. tine cries, or crept on stealthy feet in darkness to their mother's chamber door, behind which they lay sleeping ; though she had, as it were, a rage for these infants, and was wretched out of their sight, yet, when a third and a fourth brief came to Philip, and he was enabled to put a little money aside, nothing would content Mrs. Brandon bat that he should go into a house of his own. "A gentleman," she said, " ought not to live in a two- pair lodging ; he ought to have a house of his own." So, you see, she hastened on the preparations for her own execution. She trudged to the brokers' shops and made wonderful bargains of furniture. She cut chintzes, and covered sofas, and sewed, and patched, and fitted. She found a house and took it, — Milman Street, Guildford Street, opposite the Fond- ling (as the dear little soul called it), a most genteel, quiet little street, " and quite near for me to come," she said, " to see my dears." Did she speak with dry eyes 1 Mine moisten sometimes when I think of the faith, of the generosity, of the sacrifice, of that devoted, loving creature. I am very fond of Charlotte. Her sweetness and simplicity won all our hearts at home. No wife or mother ever was more attached and affec- tionate ; but I own there was a time wlien I hated her, though of course that highly principled woman, the wife of the author of the present me- moirs, says that the statement I am making here is stuff and nonsense, not to say immoral and irreligious. Well, then, I hated Charlotte for the horrible eagerness which she showed in getting away from this Little Sister, who clung round those chil- dren, whose first cries she had heard. I hated Charlotte for a cruel happiness which she felt as she hugged the children to her heart : her own chil- dren in their own room, whom she would dress, and watch, and wash, •ind tend ; and for whom she wanted no aid. No aid, entetidez-vous 1 O, it was a shame, a shame ! In the new house, in the pleasant little trim new nursery (fitted up by whose fond hands we will not say), is the mother glaring over the cot, where the little, soft, round cheeks are pillowed ; and yonder in the roams in Thomhaugh Street, where she has tended them tor two years, the Little Sister sits lone- ly, as the moonlight streams in. God help thee, little suffijring faithful heart! Never but once in her life before had she known so exquisite a pain. Of course, wo had an entertainment in the new house ; and Philip's friends, old and new, came to the house-warming. The family coach of the Eingwoods blocked up that astonished little street. The powder on their footmen's heads nearly brushed the ceiling, as the monsters rose when the guests passed in and out of the hall. The Little Sister merely took charge of the tea-room. Philip's "library" was that usual little cupboard beyond the dining- room. The little drawing-room was dreadfully crowded by an ex-nursery piano, which the Eingwoods bestowed upon their friends ; and somebody was in duty bound to play upon it on the evening of this soiree: though the Little Sister chafed down stairs at the music. In fact her very words were "Rat that piano!" She "ratted" the instrument, because the music would wake her little dears up stairs. And that music did wake them ; and they howled melodiously, and the Little Sister, who was about to serve Lady Jane Tregarvan with some tea, dashed up stairs' to the nursery : and Charlotte had reached the room already : and she looked angry when the Little Sister came in: and she said, " I am sure, Mrs. Brandon, the people down stairs will be wanting their tea " ; and she spoke with some asperity. And Mrs. Brandon went down stairs without one word ; and, happening to be on the landing, con versing with a friend, and a little out of the way of the duet whicli the Miss Eingwoods were performing, — THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 383 riding their great old horse, as it were, and putting it through its paces in Mrs. Krmin s little paddock ; — happening, I say, to bo on the laud- ing when Caroline passed, I took a hand as cold as stone, and never saw a look of grief more tragic than that worn by her. poor little face as it passed. "My children cried," she said, " and I went up to the nursery. But she don't want me there now." Poor Little Sister! She humbled herself and grovelled before Char- lotte. You could not help trampling upon her then, madam ; and I hated you, — and a great number of other women. Ridley and I went down to her tea-room, where Caroline resumed her place. She looked very nice arid pretty, with her pale sweet face, and her neat cap and blue ribbon. Tor- tures I know she was suffering. Charlotte had been stabbing her. Women will use the edge sometimes, and drive the steel in. Charlotte said to me, some time afterwards, " I ioas jealous of her, and you were right ;, and a dearer, more faithftil creature never lived." But who told Charlotte I said she was jealous 1 fool ! I told Ridley, and Mr. Ridley told Mrs. Krmin. If Charlotte stabbed Caroline, Car- oline could not help coming back again and again to the knife. On Sundays, when she was free, there was always a place for her at Philip's modest table; and when Mrs. Philip went to church, Caroline was allowed to reign in the nursery. Sometimes Charlotte was generous enough to give Mrs. Brandon this chance. When Philip took a house, — a whole house to himself, — Philip's mother- in-law proposed to come and stay with him, and said that, wishing to be be- holden to no one, she would pay for her board and lodging. But Philip declined this treat, representing, just- ly, that his present house was no big- ger than his former lodgings. " ]Vty poor love is dying to have me," Mrs. Baynes remarked on this. " But her l^sbadd is so cruel to her, and keeps her under such terror, that she dares not call her life her own." Cruel to her ! Charlotte was the happiest of the happy in her little house. In consequence of his parliamentary suc- cess, Philip went regularly to cham- bers now, in the fond hope that more briefs might come. At chambers ho likewise conducted the chief business of his Review : and, at the accustomed hour of his return, that usual little procession of mother and child and nurse would be seen on the watch for him ; and the young woman — the happiest young woman in Christen- dom — would walk back clinging on her husband's arm. All this while letters came from Philip's dear father at New York, where, it appeared, he was engaged not only in his profession, but in var rious speculations, with which he was always about to make his fortune. One day Philip got a newspaper ad- vertising a new insurance company, and saw, to his astonishment, the announcement of " Counsel in Lon- don, Philip Pirmin, Esq., Parch- ment Buildings, Temple." A pater- nal letter promised Philip great fees but of this insurance company, but I never heard that poor Philip was any the richer. In fact his friends ad- vised him to have nothing to do with this insurance company, and to make no allusion to it in his letters. " They feared the Danai, and the gifts they brought," as old Pirinin would have said. They had to impress upon Philip an abiding mistrust of that wily old Greek, his father. Firmin senior always wrote hopefully and magnificently; and persisted'^ in be- lieving or declaring that ere very long he should have to announce to Philip that his fortune was made. He speculated in Wall Street, I don't know in what shares, inventions, mines, railways. One day, some few months' after his migration to Milman Street, Philip, blushing and hanging down his head, had to tell me thathis father had drawn upon him again. Had he not paid np his 384 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. shares in. a certain mine, they would have been forfeited, and he and his son after him would have lost a cer- tain fortune, old Danaus said. ■ I fear an artfnl, a long-bow-pulling Danaus. What, shall a man have birth, wealth, friends, high position, and end so that we dare not leave him alone in the room with our spoons t " And you have paid this bill which the old man drew ? " we asked. Yes, Philip had paid the bill. He vowed he would pay no more. But it was not difficult to see that the Doctor wonld draw more bills upon this accommodating banker. "I dread the letters which begin with a flourish about the fortune which he is just going to make," Philip said. He knew that the- old parent pref- aced his demands for money in that way. Mention has been made of a great medical discovery which he had an- nounced to his correspondent, Mrs. Brandon, and by which the Doctor declared as usual that he was about to make a fortune. In New York and Boston he had tried experiments which had been attended with the most astonishing success. A remedy was discovered, the mere sale of which in Europe and America must bring an immense revenue to the fortunate inventors. For the ladies whom Mrs. Brandon attended, the remedy was of priceless value. He would send her some. His friend, Captain Morgan, of the Southampton packet-ship, would bring hor some of this astonishing medicine. Let her try it. Let her show the accompanying cases to Doc- tor Goodenough, — to any of his brother physicians in London. Though himself an exile from his country, he loved it, and was proud in being able to confer upon it one of the greatest blessings with which sci- ence had endowed mankind. Goodenough, I am sorry to say, had such a mistrust of his confrere that he chose to disbelieve any statement Firmin made. " I don't believe, my good Brandon, the fellow has nous enough to light upon any scientific discovery more useful than a new sauce for cutlets. He invent any- thing but fibs, never ! " You see this Goodenough is an obstinate old hea- then ; and when he has once found rea- son to mistrust a man, he forever after declines to believe him. However, the Doctor is a man forev- er on the lookout for more knowledge of his profession, and for more reme- dies to benefit mankind ; he hummed and ha'd over the pamphlet, as the Little Sister sat watching him in his study. He clapped it down after a while, and slapped bis hands on his little legs as his wont is. " Brandon," he says, " I think there is a great deal in it, and I think so the more because it turns out that Firmin has nothing to do with the discovery, which has been made at Boston." In fact. Dr. Firmin, late of London, had only been present in the Boston hospital, where the experiments were made with the new remedy. He had cried " Halves," and proposed to sell it as a secret rem- edy, and the bottle which he forward- ed to our friend the Little Sister was labelled " Firmin's Anodyne." What Firmin did, indeed, was what he had been in the habit of doing. He had taken another man's property, and was endeavoring to make a flourish with it. The Little Sister returned home, then, with her bottle of Chloro- form, — for this was what Dr. Firmin chose to call his discovery, and he had sent home a specimen of it; as he sent home a cask of petroleum from Virginia; as he sent proposals lor new railways upon which he promised Philip a munificent commission, if his son could but place the shares amongst his friends. And with regard to these valuables, the sanguine doctor got to believe that he really was endowing his son with large sums of money. " My boy has set up a house, and has a wife and two children, the young jackanapes ! " he would say to people in New York ; " as if he had not been extravagant enough in former days ! When I THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 385 married, I had private means, and married a nobleman's niece with a large fortune. Neither of these two young folks has a penny. Well, well, the old father must help them as well as he can ! " And I am told there were ladies who dropped the tear of sensibility and said, " What a fond father this doctor is ! How he sacrifices himself for that scapegrace of a son ! Think of the dear doctor at his age, toiling cheerfully for that young man, who helped to ruin him ! " And Firmin sighed ; and passed a beautiful white handkerchief over his eyes with a beautiful white hand ; and, I believe, really cried ; and thought himself quite a good, affec- tionate, injured man. Ife held the plate at church ; he looked very hand- some and tall, and bowed with a charming melancholy grace to the la- dies as they put in their contributions. The dear man ! His plate was fuller than other people's, — so a traveller told us who saw him in New York ; and described a very choice dinner whichthe Doctor gave to afewfriends, at one of the smartest hotels just then opened. With all the Little Sister's good management Mr. and Mrs. Philip were only able to install themselves in their new house at a considerable ex- pense, and beyond that great Ring- wood piano which swaggered in Philip's little drawing-room, I am con- strained to say that there was scarce any furniture at all. One of the rail- way accounts was not paid as yet, and poor Philip could not feed upon mere paper promises to pay. Nor was he inclined to accept the offers of private friends, who were willing enough to be his hankers. • " One in a family is enough for that kind of business,' he said, gloomily ; and it came out that again and again the interesting exile at New York who was deploring his son's extravagance and foolish mar- riage had drawn bills upon Philip which our friend accepted and paid, — bills, who knows to what amount? He has never told ; and the engaging parent who robbed him — must I use a word so unpolite ? — will never now tell to what extent he helped himself to Philip's small means. This I know, that when autumn came — when Sep- tember was past — we in our cosey little retreat at the seaside received a, letter from the Little Sister, in her dear little bad spelling (about which there used to be somehow a pathos which the very finest writing does not possess) ; there came, I say, a letter from the Little Sister in which she told us, with many dashes, that dear Mrs. Philip and the children were pining and sick in Lo.ndon, and " that Philip, he had too much pride and sperit to take money from any one ; that Mr. Tregarvan was away travel- ling on the Continent, and that wretch — that monster, you know who — liavo drawn upon Philip again for money, and again he have paid, and the dear, dear children can't have fresh air." " Did she tell you," said Philip, brushing his hands across his eyes when a friend came to remonstrate with him, " did she tell you that she brought me money herself, but we would not use it ? Look ! I have her little marriage gift yonder in my desk, and pray God I shall be able to leave it to my children. The fact is, the Doctor has drawn upon me as usual ; he is going to make a fortune next week. I have paid another hill of his. The parliamentary agents are out of town, at their moors in Scotland, I suppose. The air of Rus- sell Square is uncommonly whole- some, and when the babies have had enough of that, why, they must, change it for Brunswick Square. Talk about the country ! what coun- try can be more quiet than Guildford Street in September ? . I stretch out of a morning, and breathe the moun- tain air on Ludgate Hill." And with these dismal pleasantries and jokes our friend chose to put a good face upon bad fortune. The kinsmen of Ringwood offered hospitality kindly enough, but how was poor Philip to pay railway expense? for servants. 586 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. babies, and wife ? In this strait Tre- garvau from abroad, having found out some monstrous designs of Russ , of the great Power of which he stood in daily terror, and whicli, as we are in strict amity with that Power, no other Power shall induce me to name, — Tregarvan wrote to his editor, and communicated to him in confidence a most prodigious and nefarious plot against the liberties of all the rest of Europe, in which the Power in ques- tion was engaged, and in a postscript added, " By the way, the Michaelmas quarter is due, and I send you a check," &c., &c. O precious post- script. "Didn't I tell you it would be so f " said ray wife, with a self-satis- fied air. " Was I not certain that succor would come 1 " And succor did come, sure enough ; and a very happy little party went down to Brighton in a second-class carriage, and got an extraordinarily cheap lodging, and the roses came back to the little pale cheeks, and mamma was wonderfully invigorated and refreshed, as all her friends could have seen when the little family came back to town, only there was such a thick dun fog that it was impossible to see complexions at all. When the shooting-season was come to an end, the parliamentary agents who had employed Philip came back to London ; and, I am happy to say, gave him a check for his little ac- count. My wife cried, "Did I not tell you so 1 " more than ever. " Is not everything for the best ? I knew dear Philip would prosper ! " Everything was for the best, was it ? Philip was sure to prosper, was he? What do you think of the next news which the poor fellow brought to us ? One night in December he came to us, and I saw by his face that some event of importance had befallen him. " I am almost heart-broken," he said, thumping on the table when the young ones had retreated from it. " I don't know what to do. I have not told yon all. I have paid four bills for him already, and now he has — he has signed my name." " Who has 1 " " He at New York. You know," said poor Philip. " I tell you he has put my name on a bill, and without my authority. " " Gracious Heavens ! You mean your father has for " I could not say the word. " Yes," groaned Philip. " Here is a letter from him " ; and he handed a letter across the table in the Doctor's well-known handwriting. " Dearest Philip,'' the father wrote, " a sad misfortune has befallen me, which I had hoped to conceal, or at any rate, to avert from my dear son. For you, Philip, are a partici- pator in that misfortune through the imprudence — must I say if? — of your father. Would I had struck off the hand which has done the deed, ere it had been done ! But the fault has taken wings and flown out of mv reach. Immeritus, dear boy, you have to suffer for the delicta tnajorum. Ah, that a father should have to own his fault ; to kneel and ask pardon of his son ! " I am engaged in many specular tions. Some have succeeded beyond my wildest hopes : some have taken in the most rational, the most pru- dent, the least sanguine of our cap- italists in Wall Street, and promising the greatest results have ended in the most extreme failure 1 To meet a call in an undertaking which seemed to offer the most cektain peospects of success, which seemed to promise a fortune for me and my boy, and your dear children, I put in amongst other securities which I had to realize on a sudden, a bill, on which I used your name. I dated it as drawn six months back by me at New York, on you at Parchment Buildings, Tem- ple ; and I wrote your acceptance, as though the signature were yours. I give myself up to you. I tell you what I have done. Make the matter THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 387 public. Give my confession to the world, as here I write, and sign it, and your father is branded forever to the world as a — Spare me the word ! " As I live, as I hope for your for- giveness, long ere that bill became due, ^ it is at five months' date, for £386is.3d. value received, and dated from the Temple, on the 4th of July, — I passed it to one who promised to keep it until I myself should redeem it! The commission which he charged me was enonnous, rascally; and not content with the immense interest which he extorted from me, the scoundrel has passed the bill away, and it is in Europe, in the hands of an enemy. "You remember Tufton Hunti Yes. You most Justly chastised him. The wretch lately made his detested appearance in this city, associated with the lowest of the base, and endeav- ored to resume his old practice of threats, cajoleries, and extortions ! In a fatci hour the villain heard of the bill of which I have warned you. He purchased it from the gambler to whom it had been passed. As New York was speedily too' hot to hold him (for the mJiappy man has even left me to pay his hotel score) he has fled, — and fled to Europe, — taking with him that fatal bill, which he says he knows you will pay. Ah I dear Philip, if that bill were but once out of the wretch's hands ! What sleepless hours of agony should I be spared ! I pray yon, I implore you, make every sacrifice to meet it! Yon will not disown it ? No. As yon have chil- dren of your own, — as you love them, — you would not willingly let them leave a dishonored " Fathee. ' I have a share in a great medical coven/,* regarding which I have written to our friend, Mrs. Brandon, and which is sure to realize an im- * Mther was first employed, I believe, in America,; and I hope the reader will excuse the substitution of Chloroform in this in- stame. — W. M. T. 17* mense profit, as introduced into England by a physician so well known — may I not say professionally? re- spectea as myself. The very first profits resulting from that discoveiy I prom- ise, on my honor, to devote to you. They will very soon far more than repay the loss which my imprudence has brought on my dear boy. Fare- well ! Love to your wife and little ones. — G. B. E." CHAPTER XXXVI. NEC PLENA CKUOKIS HIBUDO. The reading of this precious letter filled Philip's friend with an inward indignation which it was very hard to control or disguise. It is no pleas- ant task to tell a gentleman that his father is a rogue. Old Eirmin would have been hanged a few years earlier, for practices like these. As you talk with a very great scoundrel, or with a madman, has not the respected reader sometimes reflected, with a grim self-humiliation, how the fellow is of our own kind ; and homo est 1 Let us, dearly deloved, who are out- side, — I mean outside the hulks or the asylum, — be thankful that we have to pay a barber for snipping our hair, and are intrusted with the choice of the cut of our own jerkins. As poor Philip read his father's letter, my thoiight was : " And I can re- member the soft white hand of that scoundrel, which has just been forging his own son's name, putting sover- eigns into my own palm, when I was a school-boy." I always liked that man : — but the story is notefe me, — it regards Philip. " You won't pay this bUl ? " Phil ip's friend indignantly said, then. " What can I do ■? " says poor Phil, shaking a sad head. " You are not worth five hundred pounds in the world," remarks the friend. " Who ever said I was ? I am 388 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. worth this bill : or my credit is," answers the victim. " If you pay this, he will draw more." " I dare say ho will " : that Pirmin admits. " And ho will continue to draw as long as there is a drop of blood to be had out of you." "Yes," owns poor Philip, putting a finger to his lip. He thought I might be about to speak. His artless wife and mine were conversing at that moment upon the respective merits of some sweet chintzes which they had seen at Shoolbred's, in Tot- tenham Court Koad, and which were so cheap and pleasant, and lively to look at ! Really those drawing-room curtains would cost scarcely any- thing ! Our Regulus, you see, before stepping into his torture-tub, was smiling on his friends, and talking upholstery v/ith a cheerful, smirking countenance. On chintz, or some other household errand, the ladies went prattling off : but there was no care, save for husband and children, in Charlotte's poor little innocent heart just then. "Nice to hear her talking about sweet drawing-room chintzes, is n't it ? " says Philip. " Shall we try Shoolbred's or the other shop ? " And then he laughs. It was not a very lively laugh. " You mean that you are deter- mined, then, on — " " On acknowledging my signature f Of course," says Philip, " if ever it is presented to me, I would own it." And having formed and announced tills resolution, I knew my stubborn friend too well to think that he ever would shirk it. The most exasperating part of the matter was, that however generously Philip's friends might be disposed towards him, they could not in this case give him a helping hand. The Doctor would draw more bills and more. As sure as Philip supplied, the parent would ask ; and that de- vouring dragon of a doctor had stomach enough for the blood of all of us, were we inclined to give it. In fact, Philip saw as much, and owned everything with his usual can- dor. " I see what is going on in your mind, old boy," the poor fellow said, " as well as if you spoke. You mean that I am helpless and irreclaimable, and doomed to hflpeless ruin. So it would seem. A man can't escape his fate, friend, and my father has made mine for me. If I manage to struggle through the payment of this bill, of course he will draw another. My only chance of escape is, that he should succeed in some of his specula- tions. As he is always gambling, there may be some luck for him one day or another. He won't benefit me, then. That is not his way. If he makes a coup he will keep the money, or spend it. He won't give me any. But he will not draw upon me as he does now, or send forth fancy imitations of the ^lial autograph. It is a blessing to have such a father, isn't it? I say. Pen, as I think from whom I am descended, and look at your spoons, I am astonished I have not put any of them in my pocket. You leave me in the room with 'em quite un- protected. I say, it is quite affecting the way in which, you and your dear wife have confidence in me." And with a bitter execration at his fate, the poor fellow pauses for a moment in his lament. His father was his fate, he, seemed to think, and there were no means of averting it. "You remember that picture of Abraham and Isaac in the Doctor's study in Old Parr Street t " he would say. " My patriarch has tied me up, and had the knife in me repeatedly. He does not sacrifice me at one operation ; but there will be a final one some day, and I shall bleed no more. It's gay and amusing, is n't ? Especially when one has a wife and children." I, for my part, felt so indignant, that I was minded to advertise in the papers that all acceptances drawn in Philip's name were forgeries ; and let his father taka THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 389 the consequences of his own act. But the consequences would have been life imprisonment for the old man, and almost as ranch disgrace and ruin for the young one as were actually impending. He pointed out this clearly enough; nor could we altogether gainsay his dismal logic. It was better, at an/ rate, to meet his bill, and give the Doctor warning for the future. Well : perhaps it was ; only suppose the Doctor should take the warning in good part, accept the rebuke with perfect meekness, and at an early opportunity commit anoth- er forgery ? To this Philip replied, that no man could resist his fate : that he had always expected his own doom through his father : that when the elder went to America he thought possibly the charm was broken ; " But you see it is not," groaned Philip, "and my father's emissaries reach me, and I am still under the spell." The bearer of the bowstring, we know, was on his way, and would deliver his grim message erelong. Having frequently succeeded in ex- torting money from Dr. Krmin, Mr. Tufton Hunt thought he could not do better . than follow his hanker across the Atlantic ; and we need not describe the annoyance and rage of the Doctor on finding this black care still behind his back. He had not much to give ; indeed the sum which he took away with him, and of which he robbed his son and his other cred- itors, was but small : but Hunt was bent upon having a portion of this ; and, of course, hinted that if the Doctor refused, he would carry to the New York press the particulars of Krmin's early career and latest de- falcations. Mr. Hunt had been under the gallery of the House of Com- mons half a dozen times, and knew our public men by sight. In the course of a pretty long and disrepu- table career he had learned anecdotes regarding members of the aristocracy, turfmen, and the like ; and he offered to sell this precious knowledge of his to more than one American paper, as other amiable exiles from our country have done. But Hunt was too old, and his stories too stale for the New York public. They dated from George IV., and the boxing and coaching times. He found but little market for his wares ; and the tipsy parson reeled from tavern to bar, only the object of scorn to younger reprobates who despised his old- fashioned stories, and (ould top them with blackguardism of a much more modem date. After some two years' sojourn in the United States, this worthy felt the passionate longing to revisit his native country which generous hearts often experience, and made his way from Liverpool to London ; and when in London directed his steps to the house of the Little Sister, of which he expected to find Philip still, an in- mate. Although Hunt had, been once kicked out of the premises, he felt little shame now about re-enter- ing them. He had that in his pocket which would insure him respectful behavior from Philip. What were the circumstances under which that forged bill was obtained ? Was it a specula- tion between Hunt and Philip's father? Did Hunt suggest that, to screen the elder Finnin from disgrace and ruin, Philip would assuredly take the bill up? That a forged signature was, in fact, a better document than a genuine acceptance ? We shall never know the truth regarding this trans- action now. We have but the state- ments of the two parties concerned ; and as both of them, I grieve to say, are entirely unworthy of credit, we must remam in ignorance regarding this matter. Perhaps Hunt forged Philip's acceptance : perhaps his un- happy father wrote it: perhaps the Doctor's story that the paper was ex- torted from him was true, perhaps false. What matters? Both the men have passed away from amongst us, and will write and speak no more lies. Caroline was absent from home when Hunt paid his first visit after 890 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP^ his return from America. Her ser- vant described the man, and his ap- pearance. Mrs. Brandon felt sure that Hunt was her visitor, and fore- boded no good to Philip from the parson's amval. In former days we have seen how the Eittle Sister had found favor in the eyes of this man. The besotted creature, shunned of men, stained with crime, drink, debt, had still no little vanity in his com- position, and gave himself airs in the tavern parlors which he frerjiiented. Because he had been at the University thirty years ago, his idea was that he was superior to ordinary men who had not had the benefit of an education at Oxford or Cambridge ; and that the " snobs," as ho called them, re- spected him. He would assume grandiose airs in talking to a trades- man ever so wealthy ; speak to such a man by his surname ; and deemed that he honored him by his patronage and conversation. The Little Sis- ter's grammar, I have told you, was not good ; her poor little h's were sad- ly irregular. A letter was a painful task to her. She knew how ill she performed it, and that she was for- ever making blunders. She would invent a thousand funny little pleas and excuses for her faults of writing. With all the blunders of spelling, her little letters had a pa- thos which somehow brought tears into the eyes. The Rev. Mr. Hunt be- lieved himself to be this woman's su- perior. He thought his university education gave him a claim upon her respect, and draped himself and swag- gered before her and others in his dingy college gown. He had paraded his Master of Arts degree in many thousand tavern parlors, where his Greek and learning had got him a kind of respect He patronized land- lords, and strutted by hostesses' bars with a vinous leer or a tipsy solemnity. He must have been very far gone and debased indeed when he could still think that he was any liv- ing man's better : — he, who ought to have waited on the waiters, and blacked Boots's own shoes. When he had reached a certain stage of liquor he commonly began to brag about the University, and recite the titles of his friends of early days. Never was kicking more righteously administered than that which Philip once bestowed on this miscreant. The fellow toot to the gutter as naturally as to his bed, Firmin used to say; and vowed that the washing there was a novelty which did him good. Brandon soon found that her snr- mises were correct regarding her nameless visitor. Next day, as she was watering some little flowers in her window, she looked from it into the street, where she saw the sham- bling parson leering up at her. When she saw him he took oif his greasy hat and made her a bow. At the moment she saw him, she felt that he was come upon some errand hostile to Philip. She knew he meant mis- chief as he looked up with that sod- den face, those bloodshot eyes, those unshora, grinning lips. She might have been inclined to faint, or disposed to scream, or to hide herself from the man, the sight of whom she loathed. She did not faint, or hide herself, or cry out : but she instantly nodded her head and smiled in the most engaging manner on that unwelcome, dingy stranger. She went to her door ; she opened it (though her heart beat so that you might have heard it, as she told her friend afterwards). She stood there a moment archly smiling at him, and she beckoned him into her house with a little gesture of welcome. " Law bless us" (these, I have reason to be- lieve, were her very words) — "Law bless us, Mr. Hunt, where ever have you been this ever so long t " And a smiling face looked at him resolute^ ly from under a neat cap and fresh ribbon. Why, I know some women can smile, and look at ease, when they sit down in a dentist's chair. " Law bless me, Mr. Hunt," then says the artless creature, " who ever THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 391 would have thought of seeing you, I do declare ! " And she makes a nice cheery little courtesy, and looks quite gay, pleased, and pretty ; and so did Judith look gay, no doubt, and smile, and prattle before Holofernes ; and then of course she said, "Won't you step in?" And then Hunt swaggered up the steps of the house, and entered the little parlor, into which the kind reader has often been conducted, with its neat little ornaments, its pictures, its glistening corner cupboard, and its well-scrubbed, shining furniture. " How is the captain V asks the man (alone in the company of this Little Sister, the fellow's own heart began to beat,andhis bloodshot eyes toglisten). He had not heard about poor Pa ? " That shows how long you have been away ! " Mrs. Brandon remarks, and mentions the date of her father's fatal illness. Yes: she was alone now, and had to care for herself; and straightway, I have no doubt, Mrs. Brandon asked Mr. Hnnt whether he would " take " anything. Indeed, that good little woman was forever pressing her friends to " take " some- tiling, and would have thought the laws of hospitality violated unless she had made this offer. Hunt was never known to refuse a proposal of this sort. He vxndd take a taste of something — of something warm. He had had fever and ague at New York, and the malady hung about him. Mrs. Brandon was straightway very much interested to hear about Mr. Hunt's complaint, and knew that a comfortable glass was very efficacious in removing threatening fever. Her nimble, neat little hands mixed him a cup. He could not but see what a trim little housekeeper she was. "Ah, Mrs. Brandon, if I had had such a kind friend watching over me, I should not be such a wreck as I am ! " he sighed. He must have advanced to a second, nay, a third glass, when he sighed and became sentimental regarding his own unhappy condition ; and Brandon owned to her friends after- wards that she made those glasses very strong. Having " taken something," in considerable quantities, then. Hunt condescended to ask how his hostess was getting on, and how were her lodgers 'i How she was getting on ? Brandon drew the most cheerful pic- ture of herself and her circumstances. The apartments let well, and were never empty. Thanks to good Dr. Goodenough and other friends, she had as much professional occupation as she could desire. Since you know who has left the country, she said, her mind had been ever so much easier. As long as he was near, she never felt secure. But he was gone, and bad luck go With him ! said this vin- dictive Little Sister. "Was his son still lodging up stairs 1 " asked Mr. Hunt. On this, what does Mrs. Brandon do but begin a most angry attack upon Philip and his family. Se lodge there ? No, thank goodness ! She had had enough of him and.his wife, with her airs and graces, and the children crying all night, arid the furniture spoiled, and the bills not even paid ! " I wanted him to think that me and Philip was friends no longer; and Heaven forgive me for telling stories ! I know this fellow means no good to Philip ; and before long I will know what he means, that I will," she vowed, For, on the very day when Mr. Hunt paid her a visit, iMrs. Brandon came to see Philip's friends; and ac- quaint them with Hunt's arrival. We could not be sure that he was the bearer of the forged bill with which poor Philip was threatened. As yet Hunt had made no allusion to it. But, though we are far from sanction- ing deceit or hypocrisy, we own that we were not very angry with the Little Sis- ter for employing dissimulation in the present instance, and inducing Hunt to believe that she was by no means an accomplice of Philip. If Philip's wife pardoned her, ought his friends to be less forgiving? To do right, 392 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. you know you must not do wrong ; though I own this was one of the cases in which 1 am inclined not to deal very hardly with the woU-mean- ing little criminal. Now, Charlotte had to pardon (and for this fault, if not for some others, Charlotte did most heartily pardon) our little friend, for this reason, that Brandon most wantonly maligned her. When Hnnt asked what sort of wife Philip had maiTied "! Mrs. Bran- don declared that Mrs. Philip was a pert, odious little thing ; that she gave herself airs, neglected her children, bullied her husband, and what not ; and, finally, Brandon vowed that she disliked Charlotte, and was very glad to get her out of the house : and that Philip was not the same Philip since he married her, and that he gave him- self airs, and was rude, and in all things led by his wifo ; and to get rid of them was a good riddance. Hunt gracefully suggested that quarrels between landladies and ten- ants were not unusual ; that lodgers sometimes did not pay their rent punctually ; that others were unrea- sonably anxious about the consump- tion of their groceries, liquors, and so forth ; and little Brandon, who, rather than steal a pennyworth from her Philip, would have cut her hand off, laughed at her guest's joke, and pro- tended to be amused with his know- ing hints that she was a rogue. There was not a word he said bufrshe received it with a gracious acquies- cence : she might shudder inwai-dly at the leering familiarity of the odious tipsy wretch, but she gave no outward sign of disgust or fear. She allowed him to talk as much as he would, in hopes that he would come to a sub- ject which deeply interested her. She asked about the Doctor, and what he was doing, and whether it was likely that he would ever be able to pay back any of that money which he had taken from his son ? And she spoke with an indifferent tone, pre- tending tD be very busy over some work at which she was stitching. " O, you are still hankering after him," says the Chaplain, winking a bloodshot eye. "Hankering after that old manl What should I care for him 1 As if he haven't done me harm enough already ! " cries poor Caroline. ' " Yes. But women don't dislike a man the worse for a little ill-usage," suggests Hunt. No doubt the fellow had made his own experiments on woman's fidelity. " Well, I suppose," says Brandon, with a toss of her head, " women may get tired as well as men, may n't they? I found out that man, and wearied of him years and years ago. Another little drop out of the green bottle, Mr. Hunt ! It 's very good for ague-fever, and keeps the cold fit off wonderful!" And Hunt drank, and he talked a little more, — much more : and he gave his opinion of the elder Fu-min, and spoke of his chances of success, and of his rage for speculations, and doubted whether he would ever be able to lift his head again, — though he might, he might still. He was in the country where, if ever a man could retrieve himself, he had a chance. And Philip was giving him- self airs, was lie? He was always an arrogant chap, that Mr. Philip. And he had left her house ? and was gone ever so long 1 and where did ho live now 1 Then I am sorry to say Mrs. Bran- don asked, how should she know where Philip lived now ? She be- lieved it was near Gray's Inn, or Xiincoln's Inn, or somewhere; and she was for turning the conversation away from this subject altogether: and sought to do so by many lively remarks and ingenious little artifices which I can imagine, but which she only in part acknowledged t» me, — for you must know that as soon as her visitor took leave, — to turn into the " Admiral Byng " public-house, and renew acquaintance with the worthies assembled in the parlor of that tav- ern, Mrs. Brandon ran away to a cahj THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 393 drove in it to Philip's house in Mil- man Street, where only Mrs. Philip was at home, — and after a banale conversation with her, which puzzled Charlotte not a little, for Brandon would not say on what errand she came, and never mentioned Hunt's arrival and visit to her, — the Little Sister made her way to another cab, and presently made her appear- ance at the house of Philip's friends in Queen Square. And here she informed me, how Hunt had arrived, and how she was sure he meant no good to Philip, and how she had told certain — certain stories which were not founded in fact — to Mr. Hunt ; for the telling of which fibs I am not about to endeavor to excuse her. Though the interesting clergyman had not said one word regarding that bill of which Philip's father had warned him, we believed that the docu- ment was in Hunt's possession, and that it would be produced in due sea- son. We happened to know where Philip dined, and sent him word to come to us. " What can he mean ? " the people asked at the table, — a bachelors' table at the Temple (for Philip's good wife actually encouraged him to go abroad from time to time, and make merry with his friends). "What can this mean f " and they read out the scrap of paper which he had cast down as he was summoned away. Philip's correspondent wrote :" Dear Philip, — I believe the beakee of THE BOWSTRING has arrived; and has been with the L. S. this very day." The L. S. ? the bearer of tlie bow- string'! Not one of the bachelors din- ing in Parchment Buildings could read the riddle. Only after receiving the scrap of paper Philip had jumped up and left the room ; and a friend of ours, a sly wag and Don Jnan of Pump Court, ottered to take odds that there was a lady in the case. "At the hasty little council which was convened at our house on the re- ceipt of the news, the Little Sister, whose instinct had not betrayed her, was made acquainted with the precise nature of the danger wMch menaced Philip; and exhibited a fine hearty wrath when she heard how he pro- posed to meet the enemy. He had a certain sum in hand. He would borrow more of his friends, who knew that he was an honest man. This bill he would meet, whatever might come; and avert at least this disgrace irom his father. AVhat ? Give in to those rogues ? Leave his children to starve, and his poor wife to turn drudge and house- soi-vant, who was not fit for anything but a fine lady t (There was no love lost, you see, between these two la- dies, who both loved Mr. Philip.) ■ It was a sin and a shame ! Mrs. Bran- don aven-ed, and declared she thought Philip had been a man of more spirit. Philip's friend has before stated his own private sentiments regarding the calamity which menaced Pirmin. To pay this bill was to bring a dozen more down upon him. Philip might as well resist now as at a later day. Such, in fact, was the opinion given by the reader's very humble servant at command. My wife, on the other hand, took Philip's side. She was very much moved at his announcement that he would forgive his father this once at least, and endeavor to cover his sin. "As you hope to be forgiven your- self, dear Philip, I am sure you are doing right," Laura said ; " I am sure Charlotte will think so." " O, Chariotte, Charlotte ! " inter- poses the Little Sister, rather peevish- ly ; " of course, Mrs. Philip thinks whatever her husband tells her ! " " In his own time of trial Philip has been met with wonderful succor and kindness," Laura urged. " See how one thing after another has con» tributed to help him ! When ho wanted, there were friends always at his need. If he wants again, I am sure my husband and I will share with him." (I may have made a wiy face at this ; for, with the best feet 394 THE ADVENTUBES OF PHILIP. inga towards a man, and that kind of thing, you know it is not always con- venient to be lending him five or six hundred pounds without security.) " My dear husband and I will share with him," goes on Mrs. Laura; " won't we, Arthur 3 Tes, Brandon, that we will. Be sure, Charlotte and the children shall not want because Philip covers his father's wrong, and hides it from the world ! God bless you, dear friend ! " and what does this woman do next, and before her husband's face? Actually she goes up to Philip ; she takes his hand — and — Well, what took place be- fore my own eyes, I do not choose to write down. " She 's encouraging him to ruin the children for the sake of that — that wicked old brute ! " cries Mrs. Brandon. " It 's enough to provoke a saint, it is ! " And she seizes up her bonnet from the table, and claps it on her head, and walks out of our room in a little tempest of wrath. My wife, clasping her hands, whis- pers a few words, which say : " For- give us our trespasses, as we forgive them who trespass against us." "Yes," says PhiUp, very much moved. "It is the Divine order. You are right, dear Laura. I have had a weary time ; and a terrible gloom of doubt and sadness over my mind whilst I have been debating this matter, and before I had determined to do as you would have me. But a great weight is off my heart since I have been enabled to see what my conduct should be. What hundreds of struggling men as well as myself have met with losses, and faced them ! I will pay this bill, and I will warn the drawer to — to spare me for the future." Now that the Little Sister had gone away in her fit of indignation, you see I was left in a minority in the council of war, and the opposition was quite too strong for me. I began to be of the majority's opinion. I dare say I am not the only gentle- man who has been led round by a woman. We men of great strength of mind very freqnentljr are. Yes, my wife convinced me with passages from her text-book, admitting of no contradiction according to her judg- ment, that Philip's daty was to for- give his father. " And how lucky it was we did not buy the chintzes that day ! " says Laura, with a laugh. " Do you know there were two which were so pretty that Charlotte could not make up her mind which of the two she would take t " Philip roared out one of his laughs, which made the windows shake. He was in great spirits. For a man who was going to ruin himself, he was in the most enviable good-humor. Did Charlotte know about this — this claim which was impending over him % No. It might make her anxious, — poor little thing! Philip had not told her. He had thought of conceal- ing the matter from her. What need was there to disturb her rest, poor innocent child ? You sec, we all treated Mrs. Charlotte more or less like a child. Philip played with her. J. J., the painter, coaxed and dandled her, so to speak. The Little Sister loved her, but certainly with a love that was not respectful ; and Charlotte took everybody's good-will with a pleasant meekness and sweet smiling content. It was not for Laura to give advice to man and wife ; (as if the woman was not always giving lectures to Philip and his young wife !) but in the present instance she thought Mrs. Philip certainly ought to know what Philip's real situation was ; what danger was menacing ; " and how ad- mirable and right, and Christian — and you wUl have your reward for it, dear Philip ! " inteijects the enthusi- astic lady ' — " your conduct has been ! " When we came, as we straightway did in a cab, to Charlotte's house, to expound the matter to her, goodness bless us ! she was not shocked, or anxious, or frightened at all. Mrs. Brandon had just been with her, and THE ADVENTURES OF l^HILIP. 895 (old her of what was happenin;!, and she had said, " Of course, Philip ought to help his father ; and Bran- don had gone away quite in a tantrum of anger, and had really been quite nidc ; and she should not pardon her, only she knew how dearly the Little Sister loved Philip ; and of course they must help Dr. Firmin ; and what dreadful, dreadful distress he must have been in to do as he did ! But he had warned Philip, you know," and so forth. " And as for the chint- zes, Laura, why I suppose we must go on with the old shabby covers. You know they will do very well till next year." This was the way in which Mrs. Charlotte received the news which Philip had concealed from her, least it should terrify her. As if a loving woman was ever very much frightened at being called upon to share her husband's misfortune ! As for the little case of forgery, I don't believe the young person could ever be got to sec the heinous nature of Dr. Firmin's offence. The des- perate little logician seemed rather to pity the father than the son in the business. "How dreadfully pressed he must have been when he did it, poor man ! " she said. " To be sure, he ought not to have done it at all ; but think of his necessity ! That is what I said to Brandon. Now there 's little Philip's cake in the cupboard which you brought him. Now suppose papa was veij hungry, and went and took some without asking Philly, he would n't be so very wrong, I think, would he 1 A child is glad enough to give for, his father, is n't he ? And when I said this to Brandon, she was so rude and violent, I really have no patience with her ! And she forgets that I am a lady, and," &c., &c. So it appeared the Little Sister had made a desperate attempt to bring over Charlotte to her side, was still minded to rescue Philip in spite of himself, and had gone off in wrath at her defeat. We looked to the Doctor's letters, and ascertained the date of the bill. It had crossed the water and would be at Philip's door in a veir few days. Had Hunt brought if? The rascal would have it presented through some regular channel, no doubt ; and Philip and all of us totted iip ways and means, and strove to make the slender figures look as big as possible, as the thrifty housewife puts a patch here and a darn there, and cuts a little slice out of this old garment, so as to make the poor little frock serve for winter wear. Wc had so much at the banker's. A friend might help with a little ad- vancoj We would fairly ask a loan from the Beyiew. We were in a scrape, but we would meet with it. And BO with resolute hearts, we would prepare to receive the Bearer of the Bowstring. CHAPTER XXXVin. THE BEABEB OF THE BOWSTRING. The poor Little Sister trudged away from Milman Street exasper- ated with Philip, with Philip's wife, and with the determination of the pair to accept the hopeless ruin impending over them. " Three hundred and eighty-six pounds four and three- pence," she thought, " to pay for that wicked old villain ! It is more than poor Philip is worth, with all his sav- ings and his little Sticks of furniture. I know what he will do : he will bor- row of the money-lenders, and give those bills, and renew them, and end by ruin. When he have paid this bill, that old villain will forge another, and that precious wife of his will tell him to pay that, I suppose ; and those little darlings will be begging for bread, unless they come and eat mine, to which — God bless them ! — they are always welcome." She calcu- lated — it was a sum not difficult to reckon — the amount of her own little store of saved ready money. To pay four hundred pounds out of such an income as Philip's, she felt, was an attempt vain and impossible. " And he must u't have my poor little stock- 396 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. ing now," she argued ; " they will want that presently when their pride is broken down, as it will be, and my darlings are hungering for tlieir din- ner ! " Revolving this dismal matter in her mind, and scarce knowing where to go for comfort and counsel, slie made her way to her good friend. Dr. Goodenough, and found that worthy man, who had always a wel- come for his Little Sister. She found Goodenough alone in his great dining-room, taking a very slender meal, after visiting his hos- pital and his fifty patients, among whom I think there were more poor than rich : and the good sleepy doctor woke up with a vengeance, when he heard his little nurse's news, and fired off^ a volley of angry language against Philip and his scoundrel of a father ; " which it was a comfort to hear him," little Brandon told us afterwards. Thea Goodenough trotted out of the dining-room into the adjoining library and consulting-room, whither his old friend followed him. Then he pulled out a bunch of keys and opened a secretaire, from which he took a parchment-covered volume, on which J, Goodenough, Esq., M: D., was writ- ten in a fine legible hand, — and which, in fact, was a banker's book. The inspection of the MS. volume in question must have pleased the wor- thy physician ; for a grin came over his venerable features, and he straight- way drew out of the desk a slim vol- ume of gray paper, on each page of which were inscribed the highly re- spectable names of Messrs. Stumpyand llowdy and Co., of Lombard Street, Bankers. On a slip of gray paper the Doctor wrote a prescription for a draught, statim sumendus — (a draught — mark my pleasantry) — which he handed over to his little friend. " There, you little fool ! " said he. " The father is a rascal,but the boy is a fine fellow ; and you, you little silly thing, I must help in this business my- self, or you will go and ruin yourself; I know you will! Offer tHis to the fellow for his bill. Or, stay ! How much money is there in the house 1 Perhaps the sight of notes and gold will tempt hira more than a check." And the Doctor emptied his pockets of all the fees which happened to be therein, — I don't know how many fees of shining shillings and sover- eigns, neatly wrapped up in paper ; and he emptied a drawer in which there was more silver and gold ; and he trotted up to his bedroom, and came panting, presently, down stairs with a tat little pocket-book, containing a bundle of notes, and with one thing or another, he made up a sum of — I won't mention what ; but this sum of money, I say, he thrust into the Little Sister's hand, and said, '.' Try the fellow with this. Little Sister; and see if you can get the bill from him. Don't say it 's my money, or the scoundrel will be for having twenty shillings in the pound. Say it 's yours, and there 's no more where that came from ; and coax him, and wheedle him, and tell him plenty of lies, my dear. It won't break your heart to do that. What an immortal scoundrel Brummel Firmin is, to be sure ! Though, by the way, in two more cases at the hospital I have tried that — " And here the Doctor went off into a professional conversation with his favorite nurse, which I could not presume to repeat to any non-med- ical men. The Little Sister bade God bless Doc- tor Goodenough, and wiped her glis- tening eyes with her handkerchief, and put away the notes and gold with a trembling little hand, and trudged off with a lightsome step and a happy heart. Arrived at Tottenham Court Road, she thought, shall I go home, or shall I go to poor Mrs. Philip and take her this money ? No. Their talk that day had not been very pleasant: words, very like high words, had passed between them, and our Little Sister had to own to herself that she had been rather rude in her late col- loquy with Charlotte. And she was a proud Little Sister : at least she did not care for to own that she had been . THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 397 Iiasty or disrespectful in her conduct to tlvai young woman. She had too much spirit for that. Have we ever said that our little friend was exempt from the prejudices and vanities of this wiclced world'? Well, to rescue Philip, to secure the fatal bill, to go with it to Charlotte, and say, " There, Mrs. Philip, there 's your husband's liberty." It would be a rare triumph, that it would ! And Philip would promise, on his honor, that this should be the last and only bill he would pay for that wretched old father. With these happy thoughts swelling in her little heart, Mrs. Brandon made her way to the familiar house in Thomhaugh Street, and would have a little bit of supper, so she would. And laid her own lit- tle cloth ; and set forth her little forks and spoons, which were as bright as rubbing could make them ; and I am authorized to state that her repast consisted of two nice little lamb-chops, which she purchased from her neigh- bor, Mr. Chump, in Tottenham Court Road, after a pleasant little conversa- tion with that gentleman and his good lady. And, with her bit of sup- per, after a day's work, our little friend would sometimes indulge in a glass — a little glass — of some- thing comfortable. The case-bottle was in the cupboard, out of which her poor Pa had been wont to mix his tumblers for many a long day. So, having prepared it with her own hands, down she sat to her little meal tired and happy ; and as she thought of the occurrences of the day, and of the rescue which had come so oppor- tunely to her beloved Philip and his children, I am sure she said a grace before her meat. Her candles being lighted and her blind up, any one in the street could see that her chamber was occupied ; and at about ten o'clock at night there came a heavy step clinking along the pavement, the sound of which, I have no doubt, made the Little Sister start a little. The heavy foot paused be- fore her window, and presently clat- tered up the steps of her door. Then, as her bell rang, — I consider it is most probable that her cheek flushed a little, — she went to her hall door and opened it herself. " Lor', is it yon, Mr. Hunt ? Well, I never ! that is, I thought you might come. Really, now, — and with the moonlight behind him, the dingy Hunt swaggered in. " How comfortable yon looked at your little table," says Hunt, withJiis hat over his eye. " Won't you step in and sit down to it, and take something ? " asks the smiling hostess. Of course Hunt would take some- thing. And the greasy hat is taken off his head with a flourish, and he struts into the poor Little Sister's lit- tle room, pulling a wisp of grizzling hair, and endeavoring to assume a careless, fashionable look. The din- gy hand had seized the case-bottle in a moment. " What ! you do a little in this way, do you T " he says, and winks amiably at Mrs. Brandon and the bottle. She takes ever so little, she owns ; and reminds him of days which he must remember, when she had a wineglass out of poor Pa's tumbler. A bright little kettle is singing on the fire, — will not Mr. Hunt mix a glass for himself ■? She takes a bright beaker from the comer cupboard, which is near her, with her keys hanging from it. " O — ho ! that 's where wc keep the ginnims, is it ■? " says the grace- ful Hunt with a laugh. " My papa always kept it there," says Caroline meekly. And whilst her back is turned to fetch a canister from the cupboard, she knows that the astute Mr. Hunt has taken the opportunity to fill a good large meas- ure from the square bottle. " Make yourself welcome," says the Little Sister, in her gay, artless way; " there 's more where that camo from ! " And Hunt drinks his hos- tess's health : and she bows to him, and smiles, and sips a little from her own glass : and the little lady looks 398 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. quite pretty, and rosy, and bright. Her cheeks are like apples, her figure is trim and graceful, and always attired in the neatest-fitting gown. By the comfortable light of the can- dles on her sparkling tables, you scarce see the silver lines in her light hair, or the marks which time has made round her eyes. Hunt gazes on her with admiration. " Why," says he, " I vow you look younger and prettier than when — when I saw you first." " Ah, Mr. Hunt ! " cries Mrs. Bran- don, with a flush on her cheek, which becomes it, " don't recall that time, or that — that wretch who served me so cruel ! " " He was a scoundrel, Caroline, to treat as he did such a woman as you ! The fellow has no principle ; he was a bad one from the beginnmg. Why, he ruined me as well as you : got me to play ; run me into debt by introducing me to his fine companions. I was a simple young fellow then, and thoughtit was a fine thing to live with fellow-commoners and noblemen who drove their tandems and gave their grand dinners. It was he that led me astray, I tell you. I might have been Fellow of my college, — had a living, — married a good wife, — risen to be a bishop, by George ! — for I had great talents, Caroline ; only I was so con- founded idle, and fond of the cards and the bones." " The bones 1 " cries Caroline, with a bewildered look. " The dice, my dear ! ' Seven 's the main ' was my ruin. ' Seven 's the main ' and eleven 'e the nick to seven. That used to be the little game ! " And he made a graceful gesture with his empty wine|;lass, as though he were tossing a pair of dice on the ta- ble. "The man next to me in lec- ture is a bishop now, and I could knock his head off in Greek iambics and Latin hexameters too.. In my sec- ond year I got the Latin declamation prize, I tell you — " "Brandon always said you were one of the cleverest men at the college. He always said that, I remember," remarks the lady, very respectfully. "Did he? He did say a good word for me then? Brummell Fir- min was n't a clever man ; he was n't a reading man. Whereas I would back myself for a Sapphic ode against any man in my college, — against any man ! Thank you. You do mix it so uncommon hot and well, there 's no saying no ; indeed, there ain't! Though I ; have had enough, — upon my honor, I have." " Lor' ! I thought you men could drink anything ! And Mr. Brandon — Mr. Firmin you said ? " " Well, I said Brummell Firmin was a swell somehow. He had a sort of grand manner with him — " " Yes, he had," sighed Caroline. And I dare say her thoughts wan- dered back to a time long, long ago, when this grand gentleman had cap- tivated her. " And it was trying to keep up with him that ruined me. I quarrelled with my poor old governor about money, of course; grew idle, and lost my Fellowship. Then the bills came down upon me. I tell you, there are some of my college ticks ain't paid now." "College ticks? Law!" ejacu- lates the lady. "And — " " Tailors' ticks, tavern ticks, livery- stable ticks, — for there were famous hacks in our days, and I used to hunt with the tip-top men. I was n't bad across country, I wasn't. But we can't keep the pace, with those rich fellows. We try, and they go ahead, — they ride us down . Do you think, if I hadn't been very hard up, I would have done what I did to yon, Caroline ? You poor little innocent suiFering thing. It was a shame. It was a shame ! " " Yes, a shame it was," cries Car- oline. " And that I never gainsay. You did deal. hard with a poor gid, both of you." " It was rascally. But Firmin was the worst. He had me in his power. It was he led me wrong. It was ha THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 399 drove me into debt, and then abroad, and then into qn — into jail, per- haps : and then into this kind of thing. ("This kind of thing" has before been explained elegantly to signify a tumbler of hot grog.) "And my father wouldn't see mo on his death-bod ; and my brothers and sis- ters broke with me ; and I owe it all to Brummell Firmin, — all. Do you think, after ruining me, he ought n't to pay me 1 " and again he thumps a dusky hand upon the table. It made dingy marks on the poor Little Sister's spotless table-cloth. It rubbed its owner's forehead, and lank, grizzling hair. "And me; Mr. Hunt? "What do he owe me ? " asks Hunt's hostess. " Caroline ! " cries Hunt, , " I have made Brummell Mrmin pay me a good bit back already, but 1 '11 have more " ; and he thumped his brea.st, and thrust his hand into bis breast- pocket as he spoke, and clutched at something wiimn. "It is there ! " thought Caroline. She might turn pale ; but he did not remark her pallor. He was all intent on drink, on vanity, on revenge. " I have him," I say. " He owes me a good bit ; and he has paid mo a good bit ; and he shall pay me a good bit more. Do you think I am a felr low who will be ruined and insulted, and won't revenge myself? You should have seen his face when I turned up at New York at the ' As- tor House,' and said, 'Brummell, old fellow, here I am,' 1 said : and he turned as white — as white as this table-cloth. '/ 'U never leave you, my boy,' I said. ' Other fellows may go from you, but old Tom Hunt will stick to you. Let 's go into the bar and have a drink!' and he was obliged to come. And I have him now in my power, I tell you. And when I say to him, ' Brummell, have a drink,' drink he must. His bald old head must go into the pail!" And Mr. Hunt laughed a laugh which I dare say was not agreeable. After a pause he went on : " Caro- line! Do you hate him, I say? or do you like a fellow who deserted you and treated you like a scoundrel? Some women do. I could tell of wo- men who do. I could tell you of other fellows, perhaps, but I won't. Do you hate Brummell Firmin, that bald-headed Brum — hypocrite, and that — that insolent rascal who laid his hand on a clergyman, and an old man, by George, and hit me-r-and hit me in that street. Do you hate him, I say? Hoo! hoo! hick! I've got 'em both ! — here, in my pocket — both!" , " You have got — what ? " gasped Caroline. "I have got their — hallo! stop, what 's that to yoii what I 've got? " And he sinks baqk in his chair, and grins, and leers, and triumphantly tosses his glass; ' "Well, it ain't much to me ; I — I never got any good out of either of 'cm yet," sg,ys poor Caroline, with a sinking heart. "Let's talk about somebody else than them two plagues. Because you were a little merry one night, — and I don't mind what a gentleman says when he has had a glass, — for a great big strong man to hit an old one — " " To strike a clergyman ! " yells Hunt. "It was a Shame, — a cowardly shame ! And 1 gave it him for it, I promise you ! " cries Mrs. Brandon. " On your honor, now, do you hate 'em ? " cries Hunt, starting up, and clenching his fist, and dropping again into his chair. "Have I any reason to love 'em, Mr. Hunt? Do sit down and have a little—" "No: you have no reason to like 'em. You hate 'em,^I hate 'em. Look here. Promise — 'pon j'our honor, now, Caroline — I 've got 'em both, I tell you. Strike a clerjgy- man, will he ? What do you say to that?" And starting from his chair onca more, and supporting himself against the wall (where hung one of J. J.^s 400 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. pictures of Philip), Hunt pulls out tlie greasy pocket-book once more, and fumbles amongst the greasy con- tents : and as the papers flutter on to the floor and the table, he pounces down on one with a dingy hand, and yells a laugh, and says, " I 'vo cotched you ! That 's it. What do you say to that? — 'London, July 4th. — Five months after date, I prom- ise to pay to — ' No, you don't." " La ! Mr. Hunt, won't you let me look at it 1 " cries the hostess. "Whatever is it? A bill? My Pa had plenty of 'em." " W hat ? with candles in the room ? No, you don't, I say." "What is it? Won't you tell mo ? " " It 's the young one's acceptance of the old man's draft," says Hunt, hissing and laughing. " For how much ? " "Three hundred and eighty-six four three, — that 's all ; and I guess I can get more where that came from ! " says Hunt, laughing more and more cheerfully. " What will you take for it ? I '11 buy it of you," cries the Little Sister. "I — I've seen plenty of my Pa's bills ; and I '11 — I '11 discount this, if you like." " What ! are you a little dis- counter ? Is that the way you make your money, and the silver spoons, and the nice supper, and everything delightful about you? A little dis- countcss, are you, — you little rogue ? Little discountess, by George ! How much will you give, little discount- ess ? " And the reverend gentleman laughs and winks, and drinks and laughs, and tears twinkle outof his tip- sy old eyes, as he wipes them with one hand, and again says, " How much will you give, little discountess ? " When poor Caroline went to her cupboard, and from it took the notes and the gold which she had had we know from whom, and added to these out of a cunning box a little heap of her own private savings, and with trembling hands poured the notes, and the sovereigns, and the shillings into a dish on the table, I never heard accurately how much she laid down. But she must have spread out every- thing she had in the world ; for she felt her pockets and emptied them; and, tapping her head, she again ap- plied to the cupboard, and took from thence a little store of spoons and forks, and then a brooch, and then a watch ; and she piled these all up in a dish, and she said, "Now, Mr. Hunt, I will give you all these for that bill." And she looked np at Philip's picture, which hung over the parson's bloodshot, satyr face. " Take these," she said, " and give me that ! There 's two hundred pound, I know ; and there 's thirty- four, and two eighteen, thirty-six eighteen, and there's the plate and watch, and I want that bill." " What ? have you got all this, you little dear ? " cried Hunt, dropping back into his chair again. " why, you 're a little fortune, by Jove, — a pretty little fortune, a little discount- ess, a little wife, a little fortune. I say, I 'm a University man ; I could write alcaics once as well as any man. I 'm a gentleman. I say, how much have you got ? Count it over again, my dear." And again she told him the amount of the gold, and the notes, and the silver, and the number of the poor httle spoons. A thought came across the fellow's boozy brain ; " If you offer so much," says he, " and you 're a little discount- ess, the bill 's worth more ; that fel- low must be making his fortune ! Or do you know about it ? I say, do you know about it? No. I'll have my bond. I 'II have my bond ! " And he gave a tipsy imitation of Shylock, and lurched back into his chair, and laughed. " Let 's have a little more, and talk about things," said the poor Little Sister ; and she daintily heaped her little treasures and aiTanged them in her dish, and smiled upon the parson laughing in his chair. " Caroline," says he, after a pause, THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 401 " yon are still fond of that old bald- headed scoundrel ! That 's it ! Just like you women, — just like, but I won't tell ! No, no, I won't tell ! You are fond of that old swindler still, I say 1 Wherever did you get that lot of money ? Look here now, — with that, and this little bill in my pocket, there's enough to carry us on for ever so long. And when this money's gone, I tell you I know who '11 give us more, and who can't refuse us, I tell you. Look here, Caroline, dear Caroline ! I' m an old fellow, I know ; but I 'm a good fellow : I 'm a classical scholar : and I 'm a gentleman." The classical scholar and gentle- man bleared over his words as he ut- tered them, and with his vinous eyes and sordid face gave a leer which must have frightened the poor little lady to whom he proffered himself as a suitor, for she started back with a pallid face, and an aspect of such dis- like and terror, that even her guest remarked it. " I said I was a scholar and gentle- man," he shrieked again. " Do you doubt it ? I am as good a man as Brummell Firmin, I say. I ain't so tall. But I '11 do a copy of Latin alcaics or Greek iambics against him or any man of my weight. Do yon moan to insult me ? I)on't I know who you are t Arc you better than a Master of Arts and a clergyman 1 He went out in medicine, Firmin did. Do you mean, when a Master of Arts and classical scholar offers you his hand and fortune, that you 're above him and refuse him, by George 1 " The Little Sister was growing be- wildered and frightened by the man's energy and horrid looks. " O Mr. Hunt ! " she cried, " see here, take this! See, — there are two hundred and thirty — thirty-six pounds and all these things ! Take them, and give me that paper." " Sovereigns, and notes, and spoons, and a watch, and what I have in my pocket, — and that ain't much, — and Firmin's bill ! Three hundred and eighty-six four three. It's a fortune, my dear, with economy ! I won't have you going on being a nurse and that kind of thing. I 'm a scholar and a gentleman, — I am, — and that place ain't fit for Mrs. Hunt. We '11 first spend your money. No : we '11 first spend my money, — three hundred and eighty-six and — and hang the change, — and when that's gone, we '11 have another bill from that bald-headed old scoundrel : and his son who struck a poor cler Wo will, I say, Caroline, — we — " The wretch was suiting actions to his words, and rose once more, ad- vancing towards his hostess, who shrank back, laughing half-hysteri- cally, and retreating as the other neared her. Behind her was that cupboard which had contained her poor little treasure and other stores, and appended to the lock of which her keys were still hanging. As the brute approached her, she flung back the cupboard door smartly upon him. The keys struck him on the head ; and bleeding, and with a curse and a cry, he fell back on his chair. In the cupboard was that bottle which she had received from America not long since ; and about which she had talked with Goodenough on that very day. It had been used twice or thrice by his direction, by hospital surgeons, and under her eye. She suddenly seized this bottle. As the ruffian before her uttered his impre- cations of wrath, she poured out a quantity of the contents of the bottle on her handkerchief. She said, " Oh ! Mr. Hunt, have I hurt you ? I didn't mean it. But you should n't — you should n't frighten a lonely woman so ! Here let me bathe you. Smell this ! It will — it will do you — good — it will — it will, indeed." The handkerchief was over his face. Bewildered by drink before, the fumes of the liquor which he was absorbing served almost instantly to overcome him. He struggled for a moment or two. " Stop — stop ! you '11 be better in a moment," she whispered. " yes ! 402 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. better, quite better ! " She squeezed more of the liquor from the bottle on to the handkerchief. In a minute Hunt was quite inanimate. > Then tlie little pale woman leant over him, and took the pocket-book out of his pocket, and from it the bill which bore Philip's name. As Hunt lay in stupor before her, she now squeezed more of the liquor over his head ; and then thrust the bill into the lire, and saw it burn to ashes. Then she put back the pocket-book into Hunt's breast. She said after- wards that she never should have thought about that Chloroform, but for her brief conversation with Dr. Goodenough that evening, regarding a case in which she had employed the new remedy under his orders. How long did Hunt lie in that stu- por ? It seemed a whole long night to Caroline. She said afterwards that the thought of that act that night made her hair grow gray. Poor lit- tle head I Indeed, she would have laid it down for Philip. Hunt, I suppose, came to himself when the handkerchief was with- drawn, and the fumes of the potent liquor ceased to work on his brain. He was very much frightened and bewildered. " What was it ? Where am I ? " he asked, in a husky voice. " It was the keys , struck you in the cupboard door when you — yon ran against it," said pale Caroline. " Look ! you are all bleeding on the head. Let me dry it." "No; keep off!" cried the terrified man. " Will yon have a cab to go home ? The poor gentleman hit himself against the cupboard door, Mary. You remember him here before^ don't you,- one night ■?" And Caroline, with a shrug, pointed out to her maid, whom she had summoned, the great square bottle of spirits still on the table, and indicated that there lay the cause of Hunt's bewilderment. "Are you better now? Will you — will you — take a little more re- freshment ? " asked Caroline. " No ! " he cried with an oath, and with glaring, bloodshot eyes ho lurched towards his hat. " Lor', mum ! whatever is it ? And this sigiell in the room, aiid all this here heap of money and things on the table 7^' Caroline flung open her window. " It 's medicine, which Dr. Goode- nough has ordered for one of lis pa- tients. I must go and see her to- night," she said. And at midnight, looking as pale as death, the Little Sister went to the Doctor's house, and roused him up irom his bed, and told him the story here narrated. " I offered him all you gave me," she said, " and all I fiad in the world be- sides, and he would n't — and — " Hero she broke into a fit of hysterics. The Doctor had to ring up his serr vants ; to administer remedies to his little nurse ; to put her to bed in his own house. " By the immortal Jove," he said afterwards, " I had a great mind, to beg her never to leave it ! But that my housekeeper would tear Caroline's eyes ont, Mrs. Brandon should be welcome to stay forever. Except her h's, that woman has every virtue ; constancy, gentleness, generosity, cheerfulness, and the courage of a lioness ! To think of that fool, that dandified idiot, that triple ass, Fir- min " (there were few men in the world for whom Goodenough enter- tained a greater scorn than for his late confrere, Firmin of Old Parr Street), — "think of the villain having pos- sessed such a treasure, — let alone his having deceived and deserted her, — of his having possessed such a treas- ure and flung it away ! Sir, I always admired Mrs. Brandon ; but I think ten thousand times more highly of her, since her glorious crime, and most righteous robbery. If the vil- lain had died, dropped dead in the street, — the drjnken miscreant, for- ger, housebreaker, assassin, — so that no punishment could have fallen upon poor Brandon, I think I should have respected her only the more ! " Judith and Holo/emes. THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 403 At an early hour Dr. Gpodenongh had thought proper to send off mes- Bcagers to Philip and myself, and to make us acquainted with the strange adventure of the previous night. We both hastened to him. I myself was summoned, no doubt, in consequence of my profound legal knowledge, which might be of use in poor lit- tle Caroline's present trouble. And Philip came because she longed to see him. By some instinct she knew when he arrived. She crept down from the chamber where the Doctor's housekeeper had laid her on a bed. She knocked at the Doctor's study, where we were all in consultation. She came in quite pale, and tottered towards Philip, and flung herself into his arms, with a burst of tears that greatly relieved her excitement and fever. Firmin was scarcely less moved, " You '11 pardon me for what I have done, Philip," she sobbed. " If they, — if they take me up, you won't for- sake me ? " " Forsake you ? Pardon you ? Come and live with ns, and never leave us ! " cried Philip. " I don't think Mrs. Philip would like that, dear," said the little woman sobbing on his arm ; " but ever since the Grey friars school, when you was so ill, you have been like a son to me, and somehow I could n't help doing that last night to that villain, — I could n't. " Servo the scoundrel right Nev- er deserved to come to life again, my dear," said Dr. Goodenough. " Don't you be exciting yourself, little Bran- don ! I must have you sent back to lie down on your bed. Take her up, Philip, to thelittleroomnextmin?; and order her to lie down and be as quiet as a mouse. You are not to move till I give you leave, Brandon, — mind that, and come back to us, Firmin, or we shall have the patients coming." So Philip led away this poor Little Sister; and trembling, and clinging to his arm, she returned to the room assigned to her. 18 " She wants to be alone with him," the Doctor said ; and he spoke a brief word or two of that strange delusion under which the little woman labored, that this was her dead child come back to her. " I know that is in her mind," Good- enough said ; " she never got over that brain fever in which I found her. If I were to swear her on the took, and say, 'Brandon, don't you believe ho is your son alive again ? ' she would not dare to say no. She will leave him everything she has got. I only gave her so much less than that scoun- drel's bill yesterday, because I knew she would like to contribute her own share. It would have offended her mortally to have been left out of the subscription. They like to sacrifice themselves. Why, there are women in India who, if not allowed to roast with their dead husbands, would die of vexation." And by this time Mr. Philip came striding back into tho room again, rubbing a pair of very red CTCS. "Long ere this, no doubt, that drunken ruffian is sobered, and knows that the bill is gone. He is likely enough to accuse her of the robbery, says the Doctor. " Suppose," . says Philip's other friend, " I had put a pistol to your head, and was going to shoot you, and the Doctor took the pistol out of my hand, and flung it into the sea, would you help me to prosecute the Doctor for robbing me of the pis- tol ? " " You don't suppose it will be a pleasure to me to pay that bill ? " said Philip. " I said, if a certain bill were presented to me, purporting to be accepted by Philip Fii-min, I would pay it. But if that scoundrel. Hunt, only says that he had such a bill, and has lost it, I will cheerfully take my oath that I have never signed any bill at all, — and they can't find Brandon guilty of stealing a thing which never existed." "Let us hope, then, that the bill was not in duplicate ! " 404 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. And to this wish all three gentle- men heartily said Amen ! And now the Doctor's door-bell be- Ran to be agitated by arriving patients. His dining-room was already full of them. The Little Sister must lie still, and the discussion of her affairs must be deferred to a more convenient hour ; and Philip and his friend agreed to reconnoitre the house in Thornhaugh Street, and see if anything had hap- pened since its mistress had left it. Yes : something had happened. Mrs. Brandon's maid, who ushered us into her mistress's little room, told us that in the early morning that hor- rible man who had come overnight, and been so tipsy, and behaved so ill, — the very same man who had come there tipsy afore once, and whom Mr. Philip had flung into the street, — had come battering at the knocker, and pulling at the bell, and swearing and cursing most dreadful, and calling for " Mrs. Brandon ! Mrs. Brandon ! Mrs. Brandon ! " and frightening the whole street. After he had rung, he knocked and battered ever so long. Mary looked out at him from her up- per window, and told him to go along home, or she would call the police. On this the man roared out that he would call the police himself if Mary did not let him in ; and as he went on calling " Police ! " and yelling from the door, Mary came down stairs, and opened the hall door, keeping the chain fastened, and asked him what he wanted 1 Hunt, from the steps without, be- gan to swear and rage more loudly, and to demand to be let in. He must and would see Mrs. Brandon. Mary, from behind her chain bar- ricade, said that her mistress was not at home, but that she had been called out that night to a patient of Dr. Goodenough's. Hunt, with more shrieks and curses, said it was a lie : and that she was at home ; and that ho would see her ; and that he must go into her room ; and that he had left something there ; that he had lost something ; and that he would have it. "Lost something hereV cried Mary. " Why here '! when you reeled out of this house, you could n't scarce walk, and you almost fell into the gutter, which I have seen you there before. Get away, and go home ! You are not sober yet, yon horrible man I " On this, clinging on to the area- railings, and demeaning himself like a madman. Hunt continued to call out, " Police, police ! I have been robbed, I 've been robbed ! Police ! " until astonished heads appeared at various windows in the quiet street, and a policeman actually came up. When the policeman appeared, Hunt began to sway and pull at the door, confined by its chain : and he fran ticallyreiteratedhis charge, thathe had been robbed and hocussed in that house, that night, by Mrs. Brandon. The policeman, by u, familiar ex- pression, conveyed his utter disbelief of the statement, and told the dirty, disreputable man to move on, and go to bed. Mrs. Brandon was known and respected all round the neighbor- hood. She had befriended numerous poor round about; and was known for a hundred charities. She attend- ed many respectable families. In that parish there was no woman more esteemed. And by the word " Gam- mon," the policeman expressed his sense of the utter absurdity of the charge against the good lady. Hunt still continued to yell out that he had been robbed and hocussed ; and Mary from behind her door re- peated to the officer (with whom she perhaps had relations not unfriendly) her statement that the beast had gone reeling away from the house the night before, nnd if he had lost anything, who knows where he might not have lost it f " It was taken out of this pocket, and out of this pocket-book," howled Ilnnt, clinging to the rail. , " I give her in charge. I give the house in charge ! It 's a den of thieves ! " THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 405 During this shouting and turmoil, the sash of a window in Kidley's stu- dio was thrown up. The painter was going to his morning work. He had appointed an early model. The sun could not rise too soon for Ridley ; and as soon as ever it gave its light found him happy at his labor. He had heard from his bedroom the brawl going on about the door. " Mr. Kidley ! " says the policeman, touching the glazed hat with much respect (in fact, and out of uniform, Z 2.5 has figured in more than one of J. J.' s pictures), — " Here 's a fellow disturbing the whole street, and shouting out that Mrs. Brandon have robbed and hocussed him ! " Ridley ran down stairs in a high state of indignation. He is nervous, like men of his tribe ; quick to feel, to pity, to love, to be angry. He un- did the chain, and ran into the street. " I remember that fellow drunk here before," said the painter ; " and lying in that very gutter." " Drunk and disorderly ! Come along ! " cries Z 25 ; and his hand was quickly fastened on the parson's greasy collar, and under its strong grasp Hunt is forced to move on. He goes, still yelling out that he has been robbed. " Tell that to his Worship," says the incredulous Z. And this was the news which Mrs. Brandon's friends received from her maid, when they called at her house. CHAPTER XXXIX. L» WHICH SEVERAL PEOPLB HATE THEIR TKIALS. If Philip and his friend had happened to pass through High Street, Marylebone, on their way to Thornhaugh Street to reconnoitre the Little Sister's house, they would have seen the Reverend Mr. Hunt, in a very dirty, battered, crestfallen and unsatisfactory state, marching .to Marylebone from the station, where the reverend gentleman had passed the night, and under the custody of the police. A convoy of street boys followed the prisoner and his guard, making sarcastic remarks on both. Hunt's appearance was not improved since we had the pleasure of meeting him on the previous evening. With a grizzled beard and hair, a dingy face, a dingy shirt, and a countenance mottled with dirt and drink, we may fancy the reverend man passing in tattered raiment through the street to make his appearance before the magistrate. You have no doubt forgotten the narrative which appeared in the morning papers two days after the Thornhaugh Street incident, but my clerk has been at the pains to hunt up and copy the police report, in which events connected with our his- tory are briefly recorded. " Maryleeonb, Wednesday. — Thomas Tufton Hunt, professing to be a clergyman, but wearing an ap- pearance of extreme squalor, was brought before Mr. Beaksby at this office, charged by Z 25 with being drunk and very disorderly on Tuesday se'nnight, and endeavoring by force and threats to effect his rc-entrancc into a house in Thornhaugh Street, from which he had been previously ejected in a most unclerical and in. ebriated state. "On being taken to the station- house, the reverend gentleman lodged a complaint on his own side, and averred that he had been stupefied and hocussed in the house in Thornhaugh Street by means of some drug, and that, whilst in this state, he had been robbed of a bill for £ 386 4 s. 3 d., drawn by a person in New York, and accepted by Mr. P. Firmin, barrister, of Parchment Buildings, Temple. "Mrs. Brandon, the landlady of the house, No. — Thonihaugh Street, has been in the habit of letting lodg- ings for many years past, and several of her friends, including Mr. Firmin Mr. Ridley, the Rl. Acad., and other gentlemen, were in attendance to 406 THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. speak to her character, which is most respectable. After Z 25 had given evidence, the servant deposed that Hunt had been more than once disor- derly and drunk before that house, and had been forcibly ejected from it. On the night when the alleged rob- bery was said to have taken place, he had visited the house in Thomhaugh Sti-eet, had left it in an inebriated state, and returned some hours after- wards, vowing that he had been robbed of the document in question. " Mr. P. Firmin said : ' I am a barrister, and have chambers at Parch- ment Buildings, Temple, and know the person calling himself Hunt. I have not accepted any bill of ex- change, nor is my signature affixed to any such document.' " At this stage the worthy magis- trate interposed, and said tliat this on'y went to prove that the bill w^s not completed by Mr. P.'s acceptance, and would by no means conclude the case set up before him. Dealing with it, however, on the merits, and look- ing at the way in which the charge had been preferred, and the entire ab- sence of sufficient testimony to warrant him in deciding that even a piece of paper had been abstracted in that house, or by the person accused, and believing that if he were to commit, a conviction would be impossible, he dismissed the charge. " The lady left the court with her friends, and the accuser, when called upon to pay a fine for drunkenness, broke out into very unclerical lan- guage, in the midst of which he was forcibly removed." Philip Pirmin's statement, that he had given no bill of exchange, was made not without hesitation on his part, and indeed at his friends' strong entreaty. It was addressed not so much to the sitting magistrate, as to that elderly individual at New York, who was warned no more to forge his son's name. I fear a cool- ness ensued between Philip and his Jjarent in consequence of the younger man's behavior. The Doctor had thought better of his boy than to suppose that, at a moment of necessity, Philip would desert him. He for- gave Philip, nevertheless. Perhaps sincS his mamage other influences were at work upon him, &c. The parent made further remarks in this strain. A man who takes your money is naturally offended if you remonstrate ; you wound his sense of delicacy by protesting against his putting his hand in your pocket. The elegant doctor in New York con- tinued to speak of his unhappy son with a mournful shake of the head ; he said, perhaps believed, that Philip's imprudence was in part the cause of his own exile. " This is not the kind of entertainment, to which I would have invited you at my own house in England, he would say. "I thought to have ended my days there, and to have left my son in com- fort, — nay, splendor. I am an ex- ile in poverty : and he — but I will use no hard words." And to his female patients he would say : " No, my dear madam ! — not a syllabic of reproach shall escape tiiese Uto regard- ing that misguided boy 1 But you can feel for me ; I know you can feel for me." In the old days, a high- spirited highwayman, who took a coach-passenger's purse, thought himself injured, and the traveller a shabby fellow, if he secreted a guinea or two under the cushions. In the Doctor's now rare letters, he breathed a manly sigli here and there, to think that he had lost the confidence of his boy. I do believe that certain ladies of our acquaintance were inclined to think that the elder Firrain had been not altogether well used, however much they loved and admired the Little Sister for her lawless act in her boy's defence. But this main point we had won. The Doctor at New York took the warning, and wrote his son's signature upon no more bills of exchange. The good Goodenough's loan was carried liack to him in the very coin which he had supplied. He said that his little nurse Brandon THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 407 was splendide mendax, and that her robbery was a sublime and courageous act of war. In so far, since his mariiago, Mr. Philip had been pretty fortunate. At need, friends had come to him. In moments ofperil he had had succorand relief. Though he had married with- out money, fate had sent him a suf- ficiency. His flask had never been empty, and there was always meal in his bin. But now hard trials were in store for him : hard trials which we have said were endurable, and which he has long since lived through. Any man who has played the game of life or whist knows how for one while he will have a series of good cards dealt him, and again will get no trumps at all. After he got into his house in Milman Street and quitted the Lit- tle Sister's kind roof, our friend's good fortune seemed to desert him. "Perhaps it was a punishment for my prid^ because I was haughty with her, and — and jealous of that dear good little creature," poor Char- lotte afterwards owned in conversation with other friends, — " hut our for- tune seemed, to change when we were away from her, and ths(t I must own." Perhaps, when she was yet under Mrs. Brandon's roof, the Little Sis- ter's provident care had done a great deal more for Charlotte than Char- lotte knew. Mrs. Philip had the most simple tastes in the world, and upon herself never spent an unneces- sary shilling. Indeed, it was a won- der, considering her small expenses, how neat and nice Mrs. Philip ever looked. But she never could deny herself when the children were in question ; and had them aiTayed in all sorts of fine clothes ; and stitched and hemmed all day and night to decorate their little persons ; and in reply to the remonstrances of the matrons her friends, showed how it was impossible children could be dressed for less cost. If anything ailed them, qnick, the doctor must be sent for. Not worthy Goodenough, who came without a fee, and pooh- poohed her alarms and anxieties ; but dear Mr. Bland, who had a feel- ing heart, and was himself a father of children, and who supported those children by the produce of the pills, draughts, powders, visits, which he bestowed on all families into Whose doors he entered. Bland's sympa- thy was very consolatory ; but it was found to be very costly at the end of the year. " And, what then ? " says Charlotte, with kindling cheeks. " Do you suppose we should grudge that money, which was to give health to our dearest, dearest babies i No. You can't have such a bad opiniou of mo as that ! " And accordingly Mr. Bland received a nice little an- nuity from our friends. Philip had a joke about his vrife's housekeeping which perhaps may apply to other young women who are kept by over- watchful mothers too much in statu pupillari. When they were married, or about to be married, Philip asked Charlotte what she would order for dinner f She promptly said she would order leg of mutton. " And after, leg of mutton '! " "Leg of beef, to be sure ! "says Mrs. Char- lotte, looking very pleased, and know- ing. And the fact is, as this little housekeeper was obliged demurely to admit, their household bills increased prodigiously attev they left Thomhaugh Street. " And I can't understand, my dear, how the grocer's book should mount up so ; and the butter-man's, and the beer," &c., &c. Wo have often seen the pretty little head bent over the dingy volumes, puzzling, puzzling : and the eldest child; would hold up a warning finger to ours, and t«ll them to be very quiet, as mamma was at her " atounts." And now, I grieve to say, money became scarce for the payment of these accounts ; and though Philip fancied ho hid his anxieties from his wife, be sure she loved him too much to be deceived by one of the clumsiest hypocrites in the world. Only, being a much cleverer hypocrite than her 408 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. husband, she pretended to be deceived, and acted her part bo well that poor Philip was mortified with her gayety, and chose to fancy his wife was in- different to their misfortunes. She ought not to be so smiling and happy, he thought ; and, as usual, bemoaned his lot to his friends. " I come home racked with care, and think- ing of those inevitable bills ; I shud- der, sir, at every note that lies on the hall table, and would tremble as I dashed them open as they do on the stage. But I laugh and put on a jaunty air, and humbug Char. And I hear her singing about the house and laughing and cooing with the children, by Jove. She 's not aware of anything. SAe does not know how dreadfully the res domi is squeezing me. But be/ore marriage she did, I tell you. Then, if anything annoyed me, she divined it. If I felt ever so little unwell, you should have seen the alarm on her face! It was, 'PhiHp flear, how pale you are ' ; or, ' Philip, how flushed you are'; or, 'I am sure you have had a letter from your father. Why do you conceal any- thing from me, sir? You never should, — never!' And now when the fox is gnawing at my side under my cloak, I laugh and grin so natu- rally that she beUeves I am all right, and she comes to meet me flouncing the children about in my face, and wearing an air of consummate hap- piness ! I would not deceive her for the world, you know. But it's mortifying. Don't tell me! It is mortifying to be tossing awake all night, and racked with care all day, and have the wife of your bosom chattering and singing and laughing, as if there were no cares, or doubts, or duns in the world. If I had the Kout and she were to laugh and sing, I should not call that sympathy. If I were arrested for debt, and she were to come grinning and laughing to the sponging-house, I should not call that consolation. Why does n't she feel? She ought to feel. There 's Betsy, our parlor-maid. There 's the old fellow who comes to clean the boots and knives. The)/ know how hard up I am. And my wife sings and dances whilst I am on the verge of ruin, by Jove ; and giggles and laughs as if life was a pantomime I " 'rhen the man and woman into whose ears poor Philip roared out his confessions and griefs hung down their blushing heads in humbled si- lence. They are tolerably prosper- ous in life, and, I fear, are pretty well satisfied with themselves and each other. A woman who scarcely ever does any wrong, and rules and gov- erns her own house and family as my , as the wife of the reader's hum- ble servant most notoriously does, of- ten becomes — must it be said? — too certain of her own virtue, and is too sure of the correctness of her own opinion. We virtuous people give advice a good deal, and set a consid- erable value upon that advice. We meet a certain man who has fallen among thieves, let us say. We suc- cor him readily enough. We take him kindly to the inn, and pay his score there ; but we say to the land- lord, "You must give this poor man his bed ; his medicine at such a time, and his broth at such another. But, mind you, he must have that physic, and no other; that broth when we order it. We take his case in hand, you understand. Don't listen to him or anybody else. We know all about everything. Good by. Take care of him. Mind the medicine and the broth !" and Mr. Benefactor or Lady Bountiful goes away, perfectly self- satisfied. Do you take this allegory ? When Philip complained to us of his wife's friskmess and gayety; when he bit- terly contrasted her levity and care- lessness with his own despondency and doubt, Charlotte's two principal friends were smitten by shame. " O Philip! dear Philip!" his female ad- viser said (having looked at her hus- band once or twice as Firmin spoke, and in vain endeavored to keep her guilty eyes down on her work^. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 40D " Charlotte has done this, because she is humble, and because she takes the advice of friends who are not. She knows everything, and more than everything ; for her dear tender heart is filled with apprehension. But we told her to show no sign of care, lest licr husband should be disturbed.- And she trusted in us ; and she puts her trust elsewhere, Philip ; and she has hidden her own anxieties, lest yours should be increased; and has met you gayly when her heart was full of dread. We think she has done wrong now ; but she did so be- cause she was so simple, and trusted in us who advised her wrongly. Now we see that there ought to have been perfect confidence always between you, and that it is her simplicity and faith in us which have misled her." Philip hung down his head for a moment, and hid his eyes ; and we knew, during that minate when his face was concealed from us, how his grateful heart was employed. "And you know, dear Philip — " says Laura, looking at her husband, and nodding to that person, who cer- tainly understood the hint. "And I say, Fii-min," breaks in the lady's husband, " you understand, if you are at all — that is, if you — that is, if we can — " "Hold your tongue!" shouts Fir- min, with a face beaming" over with liappiness. "Iknow whatyoumean. You beggar, you are going to offer me money ! I see it in your face ; bless you both ! But we '11 try and do without, please Heaven. And — and it 's worth feeling a pinch of pov- erty to find such friends as I have had, and to share it with snch a — dash — dear little thing as I have at home. And I won't try and humbug Char any more. I'm bad at that sort of business. And good night, and I '11 never forget your kindness, never !" And he iS off a moment af- terwards, and jumping down the steps of our door, and so into the park. And though there were not five pounds in the poor little house in Milman Street, there were not two happier people in lK>ndon that night than Charlotte and Philip Firmin. If he had his troubles, our fi-icnd had his immense consolations. Fortu- nate he, however poor, who has friends to help, and love to console him in his trials. CHAPTER XL. IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES VERT MnCH AGAINST VS. Evert man and woman amongst us has made his voyage to Liliput, and his tour in the kingdom of Brob- dingnag. When I go to my native country town, the local paper an- nounces our arrival; the laborers touch their hats, as the pony-chaise passes, the girls and old women drop courtesies ; Mr. Hicks, the grocer and hatter, comes to his door and makes a bow, and smirks and smiles. When our neighbor Sir John arrives at the hall, he is a still greater personage ; the bell-ringers greet the hall family with a peal ; the rector walks over on an early day, and pays his visit ; and the farmers at market press round for a nod of recognition. Sir John at home is in Liliput: in Belgrave Square he is in Brobdingnag, where almost everybody we meet is ever so much taller than ourselves. " Which do you like best, to be a giant amongst the pygmies, or a pygmy amongst the giants ?" I know what sort of com- pany I prefer myself: but that is not the point. What I would hint is, that we possibly give ourselves pat- ronizing airs before small people, as folks higher placed than ourselves give themselves airs before us. Pat- ronizing ail's ? Old Miss Mumbles, the half-pay lieutenant's daughter, who lives over the plumber's with her maid, gives herself in her degree more airs than any duchess in Bel- gravia, and would leave the room if a tradesman's wife sat down in it. Now it has been said that few men 410 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. in this city of London are so simple in their manners as Philip Firmin, and that he treated the patron whose bread he ate, and the wealthy relative who condescended to visit him, with a like freedom. He is blunt but not familiar, and is not a whit more po- lite to my Lord than to Jack or Tom at the coffee-house. He resents fa- miliarity from vulgar persons, and those who venture on it retire maimed and mortified after coming into col- lision with him. As for the people he loves, he grovels before them, wor- ships their boot-tips, and their gown- hems. But he submits to them, not for their wealth or rank, but for love's sake. He submitted very magnani- mously, at first, to the kindnesses and caresses of Lady Ringwood and her daughters, being softened and won by the regard which they showed for his wife and children. Although Sir John was for the Kights of Man everywhere, all over the world, and had pictures of Frank- lin, Lafayette, and Washington in his library, he likewise had portraits of his own ancestors in that apartment, and entertained a very high opinion of the present representative of the Ringwood family. The character of the late chief of the house was noto- rious. Lord Ringwood's life had been irregular and his morals loose. His talents were considerable, no doubt, but they had not been devoted to se- rious study or directed to useful ends. A wild man in early life, he had only changed his practices in later life in consequence of ill health, and became a hermit as a Certain Person became a monk. He was a frivolous person to the end, and was not to be con- sidered as a public man and states- man ; and this light-minded man of pleasure had been advanced to th& third rank of the peerage, whilst his successor, his superior in intellect and morality, remained a baronet still. How blind tlie Ministry was which refused to recognize so much talent and worth ! Had there been public virtue or common sense in the gov- ernors of the nation, merits like Sir John's never could have been over- looked. But Ministers were notori- ously a family clique, and only helped each other. Promotion and patron- age were disgracefully monopolized by the members of a very few families who were not better men of business, men of better character, men of more ancient lineage (though birth, of course, was a mere accident) than Sir John himself. In a word, until they gave him a peerage, he saw very little hope for tlie cabinet or the country. In a very early page of this history mention was made of a certain Philip Ringwood, to whose protection Philip Pirmin's mother confided her boy when he was first sent to school. Philip Ringwood was Firmin's senior by seven years ; he came to Old Pan- Street twice or thrice during his stay at school, condescended to take the " tips," of which the poor doctor was liberal enough, but never deigned to take any notice of young Firmin, who looked up to his kinsman with ;\\ve and trembling. From school Philip Ring^vood speedily departed to col- lege, and then entered upon public life. He was the eldest son of Sir John Ringwood, with whom our friend has of late made acquaintance. Mr. Ringwood was a much greater personage than the Baronet his father. Even when the latter succeeded to Lord Ringwood's estates and came to London, he could scarcely be said to equal his son in social rank ; and the younger patronized his parent. What is the secret of great social suc- cess 1 It is not to be gained by beau- ty, or wealth, or birth, or wit, or val- or, or eminence of any kind. It is a gift of Fortune, bestowed, like that goddess's favors, capriciously. Look, dear madam, at the most fashionable ladies at present reigning in London. Are they better bred, or more amiable, or richer, or more beaiitiful than yourself? See, gfiod su-, the men who lead the fashion, and stand in the bow-window at " Black's " ; are they wiser, or wittier, or more agree- THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 411 able people than yon f And yet you know what your fate would be if you were put up at that club. Sir John Eingwood never dared to be proposed there, even after his great accession of fortune on the Earl's death. His son did not encourage him. People even said that Kingwood would blackball liis father if he dared to offer himself as a candidate. I never, I say, could understand the reason of Philip Ringwood's success in Hfe, though you must acknowledge that he is one of our most eminent dandies. He is affable to dukes. He patronizes marquises. He is not witr ty. He is not clever. He does not give good dinners. How many baron- ets are there in the British empire 1 Look to your book, and see. I tell you there are many of these whom Philip Eingwood would scarcely ad- mit to wait at one of his bad dinners. By calmly asserting himself in life, this man has achieved his social emi- nence. We may hate him ; but we acknowledge his superiority. For in- stance, I should as soon think of ask- ing him to dine with me, as I should of slapping the Archbishop of Canter- bury on the back. Mr. Eingwood has a meagre little house in May Fair, and belongs to a public office, where he patronizes his citef. His own family bow down be- fore him ; his mother is humble in his company; his sisters are respectful; his father does not brag^ of his own liberal principles, and never alludes to the rights of man in the son's pres- ence. He is called " Mr. Eingwood " in the family. The person who is least in awe of him is his younger brother, who has been known to make faces behind the elder's back. But he is a dreadfully headstrong and ignorant child, and respects nothing. Lady Eingwood, by the way, is Mr. Ringwood's step-mother, flis own motjier was the daughter of a noble house, and died in giving birth to this paragon. Philip Firmin, who had not set eyes upon his kinsman since they 18* were at school together, remembered some stories which were current about Eingwood, and by no means to that eminent dandy's credit, — stories of intrigue, of play, of various liber- tine exploits on Mr. Ringwood's part. One day, I^hilip and Charlotte dined with Sir John, who was talk- ing and chirping, and laying down the law, and bragging away accord- ing to his wont, when his son entered and asked for dinner. He had ac- cepted an invitation to dine at Gar- terton House. The Duke had one of his attacks of gout just before dinner. The dinner was off. If Lady Ring- would give him a slice of mutton, he would be very much obliged to her. A place was soon found for him. "And, Philip, this is your namesake, and our cousin, Mr. Philip Firmin," said the Baronet, presenting his son to his kinsman. " Your father used to give me sov- ereigns, when I was at school. I have a faint recollection of you, too. Little white-headed boy, were n't you? How is the Doctor, and Mrs. Firmin ■? All right V " 'Why, don't you know his father ran away?" calls out the youngest member of the family. " Don't kick me, Emily. He did run away." Then Mr. Eingwood remembered, and a faint blush tinged his face. " Lapse of time, I know. Should n't have asked, after such a lapse of time." And he mentioned a case in which a duke, who was very forget- ful, had asked a marquis about his wife who had run away with an carl, and made inquiries about the mar- quis's son, who, as everybody knew^ was not on terms with his father. " This is Mrs. Firmin, — Mrs. Philip Firmin," cried Lady Eingr wood, rather nervously ; and I supr pose Mrs. Philip blu.shed, and -the blush became her ; for Mr. Eingwood afterwards condescended to say to one of his sisters, that their new-found rel- ative seemed one of your rough-andr ready sort of gentlemen, but hia wife was really very well bred, and quite 412 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. a pretty young woman, and present- able anywhere, — really anywhere. Charlotte was asked to sing one or two of her little songs after dinner. Mr. Ringwood was delighted. Her voice was perfectly true. What she sang, she sang admirably. And he was good enough to hum over one of her songs (during which performance he showed that his voice was not ex- empt from little frailties), and to say he had heard Lady Philomela Shaker- ley sing that very song at Glenmavis, last autumn ; and it was such a favor- ite that the Duchess asked for it every night, — actually every night. When our friends were going home, Mr. Ringwood gave Philip almost the whole of one finger to shake; and while Philip was inwardly raging at his impertinence, believed that he had entirely fascinated his humble rela- tives, and that he had been most good-natured and friendly. I cannot tell why this man's patron- age chafed and goaded our worthy friend so as to drive him beyond the bounds of all politeness and reason. The artless remarks of the little boy, and the occasional simple speeches of the young ladies, had only tickled Philip's humor, and served to amuse him when he met his relatives. I sus- pect it was a certain free-and-easy manner which Mr. Ringwood chose to adopt towards Mrs. Phihp, which annoyed her husband. He had said nothing at which offence could be taken : perhaps he was quite uncon- scious of offending; nay, thought himself eminently pleasing : perhaps he was not more impertinent towards her than towards other women ; but, in talking about hira, Mr. Firmin's eyes flashed very fiercely, and ho spoke of his new acquaintance and relative, with hia usual extreme can- dor, as an upstart, and an arrogant conceited puppy whose ears he would like to pull. How do good women learn to dis- cover men who are not good t Is it by instinct ? How do they learn those stories about men "! I protest I never told my wife anything good or bad regarding this Mr. Ringwood, though, of course, as a man about town, 1 have heard — who has not T — little anecdotes regarding his ca- reer. His conduct in that affair with Miss Willowby was heartless and cruel ; his behavior to that unhappy Blanche Painter nobody can defend. My wife conveys her opinion regard- ing Philip Ringwood, his life, prin- ciples, and morality, by looks and silences which are more awful and killing than the bitterest words of sar- casm or reproof. Philip Firmin, who knows her waj's, watches her features, and, as I have said, humbles himself at her feet, marked the lady's awful looks, when he came to describe to us liis meeting with his cousin, and the magnificent patronizing airs which Mr. Ringwood assumed. " What ? " he said, " you don't like him any more than I do ? I thought you would not ; and I am so glad." Philip's friend said she did not know Mr. Ringwood, and had never spoken a word to him in her life. " Yes ; but you know of hira," cries the impetuous Pirmin. " What do you know of him with his mon- strous puppyism and arrogance 1 " 0, Mrs. Laura knew very little of him. She did not believe — she had much rather not believe — what the world said about Mr. Ringwood. " Suppose we were to ask the Wool- combs their opinion of your charac- ter, Philip ? " cries that gentleman's biographer, with a laugh. " My dear ! " says Laura, with a yet severer look, the severity of which glance I must explain. 'The differ- ences of Woolcomb and his wife were notorious. Their unhappiness was known to all the world. Society was beginning to look with a very, very cold face upon Mrs. Woolcomb. Af- ter quarrels, jealousies, battles, recon- ciliations, scenes of renewed violence and furious language, had come indif- ference, and the most reckless gayety on the woman's ijart. Her home was splendid, but raean and miserar THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 413 ble; all sorts of stories were rife re- garding her husband's brutal treat- ment of poor Agnes, and her own imprudent behavior. Mrs. Laura was indignant when this unhappy woman's name was ever mentioned, except when she thought how our warm, true-hearted Philip had escaped from the heartless creature. " What a blessing it was that you were ruined, Philip, and that she deserted you ! " Laura would say. " What fortune would repay you for marrying such a woman 1 " " Indeed it was worth all T had to lose her," says Philip, " and so the Doctor and I are quits. If he had not spent my fortune, Agnes would have married me. If she had married me, I might have turned Othello, and have been hung for smothering her. Why, if I haid not been poor, I should never have been married to little Char, — and fancy not being married to Char ! " The worthy fel- low here lapses into silence, and in- dulges in an inward rapture at the idea of his own excessive happiness. Then he is scared again at the thought which his own imagination has raised. " I say ! Fancy being without the kids and Char ! " he cries with a blank look. " That horrible father — that dread- ful mother — pardon me, Philip; but when I think of the worldliness of those unhappy people, and how that poor unhappy woman has been bred in it, and ruined by it, — I am so, so, so enraged, that I can't keep my tem- per ! " cries tlie lady. " Is the woman answerable, or the parents, who hard- ened her heart, and sold her — sold her to that — O!" Our illustrious friend Woolcomb was signified by " that 0," and the lady once more paused, choked with wrath as she thought about that 0, and that O's wife. " I wonder he has not Othello'd her,'' remarks Philip, with his hands in his pockets. " I should, if she had been mine, and gone on as they say she is going on. " "It is dreadful, dreadful to con- template ! " continues the lady " To think she was sold by her own parents, poor thing, poor thing ! The guilt is with them who led her wrong." " Nay," says one of the three Inter- loeutors. " Why stop at poor Mr. and Mrs. Twysden ? Why not let them off, and accuse Iheir parents ? who lived worldly too in their genera- tion Or stay; they descend from William the Conqueror. Let us ab- solve poor Weldone Twysden and his heartless wife, and have ihe Nor- man into court." " Ah, Arthur ! Did not our tin be- gin with the beginning," cries the la- dy, " and have we not its remedy ? 0, this poor creature, this poor creature ! May she know where to take refuge from it, and learn to repent in time ! " The Georgian and Circassian girls, they say, used to submit to their lot very complacently, and were quite eager to get to market at Constanti- nople and be sold. Mrs. Woolcomb wanted nobody , to tempt her away from poor Philip. She hopped away from the old love as soon as ever the new one appeared with his bag of money. She know quite well to whom she was selling herself and for what. The tempter needed no skill, or arti- fice, or eloquence. He had none. But ho showed her a purse, and three fine houses, — and she came. Inno- cent child, forsooth ! She knew quite as much about the world as papa and mamma ; and the lawyers did not look to her settlement more warily, and coolly, than she herself did. f)id she not live on it afterwards'? I do not say she lived reputably, but most com- fortably; as Paris, and Kome, and Naples, and Florence can tell you, where she is well known ; where she receives a great deal of a certain kind of company ; where she is scorned and flattered, and splendid, and lone- ly, and miserable. She is not misera- ble when she sees children ; she does not care for other persons' children, as she never did for her own, even when they were taken from her. 414 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. She is of course hurt and angry, when quite common, vulgar people, not in society, you understand, turn away from her, and avoid her, and won't come to her parties. She gives ex- cellent dinners which jolly fogies, rattling bachelors, and doubtful latlies frequent : but she is alone and unhap- py, — unhappy because she does not see parents, sister, or brother ? Allans, man ban Monsieur! She never cared for parents, sister, or brother ; or for baby; or for man (except once for Philip a little, little bit, when her heart would sometimes go up two beats in a minute at his appearance, j But she is unhappy, because she is losing her figure, and from tight lac- ing her nose has become very red, and the pearl-powder won't lie on it some- how. And though yon may have thought Woolcomb an odious, igno- rant, and underbred little wretch, you must own that at least he had red blood in his veins. Did he not spend a great part of his fortune for the possession of this cold wife. For whom did she ever make a sacrifice, or feel a pang ? I am sure a greater misfortune than any which has befall- en friend Philip might have happened to him, and so congratulate him on his escape. Having vented his wrath upon the arrogance and impertinence of this solemn puppy of a Philip Ringwood, our friend went away somewhat soothed to his club in St. James's Street. The "Megatherium Club" is only a very few doors from the much more aristocratic establishment of "Black's." Mr. Philip Ring^vood and Mr. Woolcomb were standing on the steps of " Black's." Mr. Ring- wood waved a graceful little kid- gloved hand to Philip, and smiled on him. Mr. Woolcomb glared at our friend out of his opal eyeballs. Philip had once proposed to kick Woolcomb into the sea. He somehow ielt as if he would like to treat Ringwood to the same bath. Meanwhile, Mr. Ringwood labored under the notion that he and his new-found acquaint- ance were on the very beat possible terras. At one time poor little Woolcomb loved to be seen with Philip Ring- wood. He thought he acquired dis- tinction from the companionship of that man of fashion, and would hang on Ringwood as they walked the Pall Mall pavement. " Do )^ou know that great hulking, overbearing brute t " says Woolcomb to his companion on the steps of " Black's." i'erhaps somebody over- heard them from the bow-window. (I tell you everything is overheard in London, and a great deal more too.) " Brate, is he ? " says Ringwood ; " seems a rough, overbearing sort of chap." " Blackguard doctor's son. Bank- rupt. Father ran away," says the dusky man with the opal eyeballs. " I have heard he was a rogue, — the Doctor ; but I like him. Remem- ber he gave me three sovereigns when I was at school. Always like a fellow who tips you when you are at school." And here Ringwood beckoned his brougham which was in waiting. " Shall we see you at dinner ■? Where are you going ? " asked Mr. Woolcomb. " If you are going to- wards — " " Towards Gray's Inn, to see my lawyer ; have an appointment there ; be with you at eight ! " And Mr. Ringwood skipped into his little brougham and was gone. Tom Eaves told Philip. Tom Eaves belongs to "Black's Club," to " Bays's," to the " Megatherium," I don't know to how many clubs in St. James's Street. Tom Eaves knows everybody's business, and all the scandal of all the clubs for the last forty years. He knows who has lost money and to whom ; what is the talk of the opera^box and what the scandal of the co«//sses; who is mak- ing love to whose daughter. What- ever men and women are doing in May Fair is the farrago of Tom's libel. He knows so many stories. More Free than M'elccnie. THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP. 415 that of course he makes mistakes in names sometimes, and says that Jones is on the verge of ruin, when he is thriving and prosperous, and it is poor Brown who is in difficulties ; or informs us that Mrs. Fanny is flirting with Captain Ogle when both are as innocent of a flirtation as you and I are. Tom certainly is mis- chievous, and often is wrong, but when he speaks of our neighbors he is amusing. "It is as good as a play to see Singwood and Othello together," says Tom to Philip. " How proud the black man is to be seen with him ! Heard him abuse you to Bingwood. Bingwood stuck up for you and for your poor governor, — spoke up like a man, — like a man who sticks up for a fellow who is down. How the black man brags about having Bingwood to dinner! Always having him to dinner. You should have seen Bing- wood shake him off! Said he was going to Gray's Inn. Heard him say Gray's Inn Xiane to his man. Don't believe a word of it." Now I dare say you are much too fashionable to know that Milman Street is a little eul de sac of a street, which leads into Guildford Street, which leads into Gray's Inn Lane. Philip went his way homewards, shaking off Tom Eaves, who, for his part, trotted off to his other clubs, telling people how he had just been talking with that bankrupt doctor's son, and wondering how Philip should get money enough to pay his club subscription. Philip then went on his way, striding homewards at his usual manly pace. Whose black brougham w^ks that ■? — the black brougham with the chest- nut horse walking up and down Guildford Street. Mr. Eingwood's crest was on the brougham. When Philip entered his drawing-room, hav- ing opened the door with his own key, there sat Mr. Bingwood, talking to Mrs. Charlotte, who was taking a cup of tea at five o'clock. She and the children liked that cup of tea. Sometimes it served Mrs. Char fo« dinner when Philip dined from home. " If I had known you were coming here, you might have brought me home and saved me a long walk," said Philip, wiping a burning fore- head. " So I might, — so I might I " said the other. "I never thought of it. I had to see my lawyer in Gray's Inn J and it was then I thought of coming on to see you, as I was telling Mrs. Firmin ; and a very nice quiet place you live in ! " This was very well. But for the first and only time of his life, Philip was jealous. "Don't drub so with your feet! Don't like to ride when you jog so on the floor," said Philip's eldest dar- ling, who had clambered on papa's knee. " Why do yon look so ? Don't squeeze my arm, papa!" Mamma was utterly unaware that Philip had any cause for agitation. " You have walked all the way from Westminster, and the club, and you are quite hot and tired !" she said. "Some tea, my dear ?" Philip nearly choked with the tea. From under his hair, which fell over his forehead,' he looked into Jus wife's face. ; It wore such • a sweet look of innocence and wonder, that, as he re- garded her, the spasm of jealousy passed off. No : there was no look of guilt in those tender eyes. Philip could only road in them the wife^ tender love and anxiety for himself. But what of Mr. BingAvood's face ? When the first little blush and hesi- tation had passed away, Mr. Eing- wood's pale countenance reassumed that calm self-satisfied smile, which it customarily wore. " The coolness of the man maddened me," said Philip, talking about the little occurrence afterwards, and to his usual confi- dant. " Gracious powers," cries the other. " If I went to see Charlotte and the children, would you be jealous of me, you bearded Turk? Are you pre- pared with sack and bowstring for 416 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. • every man who visits Mrs. Firmin I If you are to come out in this charac- ter, you will lead yourself and your wife pretty lives. Of course you quarrelled with Lovelace then and there, and threatened to throw him out of window then and there t Your custom is to strike when you are hot, witness — " " dear, no ! " cried Philip, inter- ruptinjf me. " 1 have not quarrelled with him yet." And he ground his teeth, and gave a very fierce glare with his eyes. " I sat him out quite civilly. I went with him to the door ; and I have left directions that he is never to pass it again, — that's all. But I have not quarrelled with him in the least. Two men never be- haved more politely than we did. We bowed and grinned at each other quite amiably. But I own, when he held out his hand, I was obliged to keep mine behind my back, for they felt very mischievous, , and inclined to — Well, never mind. Perhaps it is, as you say ; and he meant no sort of harm." Where, I say again, do women learn all the mischief they know ? Why should my wife have such a mistrust and horror of this gentle- man t She took Philip's side en- tirely. She said she thought he was quite right in keeping that person out of his house. What did she know about that person '! Did I not know myself? He was a libertine, and led a bad life. He had led young men astray, and taught them to gamble, and helped them to ruin themselves. We have all heard stories about the late Sir Philip Eingwood ; that last scandal in which he was engaged, three years ago, and which brought his career to an end at Naples, I need not, of course, allude to. But four- teen or fifteen years ago, about which time this present portion of our little story is enacted, what did she know about Eingwood's misdoings ? No : Philip Firmin did not quarrel with Philip Eingwood on this occa- sion. But he shut his door on Mr. Eingwood. He refused all invita, tions to Sir John's house, which, of course, came less frequently, and which then ceased to come at all. Eich folks do not like to be so treated by the poor. Had Lady Eingwood a notion of the reason why Philip kept away from her house '! I think it is more than possible. Some of Philip's friends knew her; and siie seemed only pained, not surprised or angry, at a quarrel which somehow did tako place between the two gentlemen not very long after that visit of Mr. Eingwood to his kinsman in Milman Street. " Your friend seems Very hot- headed and violent tempered," Lady Eingwood said, speaking of that very quarrel. " I am sorry he keeps that kind of company. I am sure it must be too expensive for bim." As luck would Iiave it, Philip's old school-friend. Lord Egham, met us a very few days after the meeting and parting of Philip and his cousin in Milman Street, and invited us to a bachelor's dinner on the river. Our wives (without whose sanction no good man would surely ever look a white- bait in the facej gave us permission to attend this entertainment, and re- mained at home, and partook of a tea-dinner (blessings oh them ! ) with the dear children. Men grow young again when they meet at these par- ties. We talk of flogging, proctors, old cronies ; we recite old school and college jokes. I hope that some of us may carry on these pleasant enter- tainments until we are fourscore, and that our toothless old gums will mumble the old stories, and will laugh over the old jokes with ever- renewed gusto. Does the kind read- er remember the account of such a dinner at the commencement of this history ? On this afternoon, Egham, Maynard, Burroughs (several of the men formerly mentioned), reassem- bled. I think we actually like each other well enough to be pleased to hear of each oOier's successes. 1 know that one or two good fellows, THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 417 upon whom fortune has frowned, have found other good fellows in that company to help and aid them ; and that all are better for that kindly freemasonry. Before the dinner was served, the guests met on the green of the hotel, and examined that fair landscape, which surely does not lose its charm in our eyes because it is commonly seen before a good dinner. The crested elms, the shining river, the emerald meadows, the painted par- terres of flowers around, all wafting an agreeable smell of fritwe, of flowers and flounders exquisitely commin- gled. Who has not enjoyed these de- lights ? May some of us, I say, live to drink the '58 claret in the year 1900 ! I have no doubt that the survivors of our society will still laugh at the jokes which we used to relish when the present century was still only middle-aged. Egham was going to be mai'ried. Would he be allowed to dine next year? Frank Berry's wife would not let him come. Do you remember his tremendous fight with Biggs t Kcmember f who didn't? Marston was Berry's bot- tle-holder; poor Marston, who was killed in India. And Biggs and Ber- ry were the closest friends in life ever after. Who would ever have thought of Brackley becoming serious, and being made an archdeacon ? Do you remember his fight with Ringwood ? What an infernal bully he was, and how glad we all were when Brackley thrashed him. What different fates await men ! Who would ever have imagined Nosey Brackley a curate in the mining districts, and ending by wearing a rosette in his hat ? Who would ever have thought of Bing- wood becoming such a prodigious swell and leader of fashion ? He was a very shy fellow ; not at all a good- looking fellow : and what a wild fel- low he had become, and what a lady- killer 1 Is n't he some connection of yours, Krmin ? Philip said yes, but that he had scarcely met Ringwood at all. And one man after another told anecdotes of Ringwood ; how he had young men to play in his house ; how he had played in that very " Star and Garter " ; and how he always won. You must please to remember that our story dates back some six- teen years, when the dice-box still rattled occasionally, and the king was turned. As this old school gossip is going on. Lord Egham arrives, and with him this very Ringwood about whom the old school-fellows had just been talking. He came down in Egham's phaeton. Of course, the greatest man of the party always waits for Ring- wood. " If we had had a duke at Greyfriars," says some grumbler, "Ringwood would have made the duke bring him down." Philip's friend, when he beheld the arrival of Mr. Ringwood, seized Fir- min's big arm and whispered, — " Hold your tongue. No fighting. No quarrels. Let bygones be by- gones. Remember, there can be no earthly use in a scandal." "Leave me alone," says Philip, " and don't be afraid." I thought Ringwood seemed to start back for a moment, and perhaps fancied that he looked a little pale, but he advanced with a gracious smile towards Philip, and remarked, " It is a long time since we have seen you at my father's." Philip grinned and smiled too. "It was a long time since he had been in Hill Street." But Philip's smile was not at all pleasing to be- hold. Indeed, a worse performer of comedy than our friend does not walk the stage of this life. On this the other gayly remarked he was glad Philip had leave to join the bachelor's party. "Meeting of old school-fellows very pleasant. Hadn't been to one of them for a long time : though the ' Friars ' was an abominable hole : that was the truth. Who was that in the shovel- hat ? a bishop ? what bishop ? " It was Brackley, the Archdeacon, who turned very red on seeing Ring- 418 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. wood. For the fact is, Brackley was talking to Pennystone, the little boy about whom the qaarrel and fight had taken place at school, when Kingwood had proposed forcibly to take I'enny- stone's money from him. " I think, Mr. Eingwood, that Pennystone is big enough to hold his own now, don't you 1 " said the Archdeacon ; and with this the Venerable man turned on his heel, leaving Ringwood to face the little Pennystone of former years ; now a gigantic country squire, with health ringing in his voice, and a pair of great arms and fists that would have demolished six Ring- woods in the field. The sight of these quondam ene- mies rather disturbed Mr. Ringwood's tranquillity. " 1 was dreadfully bullied at that school," he said, in an appealing manner, to Mr. Pennystone. " I did as others did. It was a horrible place, and I hate the name of it. I say, Egham, don't you think that Barnaby's motion last night was very ill timed, and that the Chancellor of the Exchequer answered him very neatly 1 " Thi-i became a cant phrase amongst some of us wags afterwards. When- ever we wished to change a conver- sation, it was, " I say, Egham, don't you think Barnaby's motion was very ill timed ; and that the Chancellor of the Exchequer answered him very neatly ? " You know Mr. Ringwood would scarcely have thought of coming amongst such common people as his old school-fellows, but seeing Lord Egham's phaeton at " Black's," he condescended to drive down to Rich- mond with his Lordship, and I hope a great number of his friends in St. James's Street saw him in that noble company. Windham was the chairman of the evening, — elected to that post because he is very fond of making speeches to which he does not in the least expect you to listen. All men of sense are glad to hand over this office to him : and I hope, for my part, a day will soon arrive (but I own, mind yon, that I do not carve well) when we shall have the speeches done by a skilled waiter at the side-table, as we now have the carving. Don't you find that you splash the gravy, that you mangle the meat, that you can't nick the joint in helping the company to a dinner-speech 1 I, for my part, own that I am in a state of tremor and absence of mind before the opera- tion; in a condition of imbecility during the business ; and that I am sure of a headache and indigestion the next morning. What then? Have I not seen one of the bravest men in the world, at a City dinner last year, in a state of equal panic ? — I feel that I am wandering from Philip's adventures to his biograph- er's, and confess I am thinking of the dismal fiasco I myself made on this occasion at the Richmond dinner. You see, the order of the day at these meetings is to joke at everything, — to joke at the chairman, at all the speakers, at the army and navy, at the venerable the legislature, at the bar and bench, and so forth. If we toast a barrister, we show how admirably he would have figured in the dock : if a sailor, how lamentably sea-sick he was; if a soldier, how nimbly he ran away. For example, we drank the Venerable Archdeacon Brackley and the army. We deplored the perverseness which had led him to adopt a black coat instead of a red. War had evidently been his vocation, as he had shown by the frequent battles in which he had been engaged at school. For what was the Mia- great warrior of the age famous ? for that Roman feature in his face, which distinguished, which gave a name to, our Brackley, — a name by which we fondly clung (cries of "Nosey, Nosey ! ") Might that feature orna- ment erelong the face of — of one of the chiefs of that army of which he was a distinguished field-officer! Might — Here I confess I fairly broke down, lost the thread of my joke, — at which Brackley seemed to THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 419 loot rather severe, — and finished the speech with a gobble about regard, esteem, everybody respect you, and good health, old boy, — which answer- ed quite as well as a finished oration, however the author might be discon- tented with it. The Archdeacon's little sermon was very brief, as the discourses of sensible divines sometimes will be. He was glad to meet old friends, — to make friends with old foes (loud cries of " Bravo, Nosey ! ") In the battle of life, every man must meet with a blow or two; and every brave one would take his facer with good- humor. Had he quarrelled with any old school-fellow, in old times ? He wore peace not only on his coat, but in his heart. Peace and good- will were the words of the day in the army to which he belonged ; and he hoped that all officers in it were animated by one esprit de corps. A silence ensned, during which men looked towards Mr. Kingwood, as the " old foe " towards whom the Arch- deacon had held out the hand of amity; but Kingwood, who had lis- tened to the Archdeacon's speech with an expression of great disgust, did not rise from his chair, — only remarking to his neighbor Egham, " Why should I get up 1 Hang him, I have nothing to say. I say, Egham, why did you induce me to come into this kind of thing?" Fearing that a collision might take flace between Philip and his kinsman, had drawn Philip away from the place in the room to which Lord Egham beckoned him, saying, " Nev- er mind, Philip, about sitting by the lord," by whose side I knew perfectly well that Mr. Kingwood would find a place. But it was our lot to be separ- ated from his Lordship by merely the table's breadth, and some intervening vases of flowers and fruits through which we could see and hear our opposite neighbors. When Kingwood spoke " of this kind of thing," Philip glared across the table, and started as if he was going to speak; but his neighbor pinched him on the knee, and whispered to him, " Silence, — no scandal. Remember ! " The other fell back, swallowed a glass of wine, and made me far from comfortable by performing a tattoo on my chair. The speeches went on. If they were not more eloquent they were more noisy and lively than before. Then the aid of song was called in to enliven the banquet. The Arch- deacon, who had looked a little un- easy for the last half-hour, rose up at the call for a song, and quitted the room. "Let us go too, Philip," said Philip's neighbor. " You don't want to hear those dreadful old college songs over again 1 " But Philip sulkily said, " You go, I should like to stay." Lord Egham was seeing the last of his bachelor life. He liked those last evenings to be merry; he lingered over them, anddid not wish them to end too quickly. His neighbor was long since tired of the entertainment, and sick of our company. Mr. Kingwood had lived of late in a world of such fashion that ordina^ mortals were despicable to him. He had no affec- tionate remembrance of his iarly days, or of anybody belonging to them. Whilst Philip was singing his song of " Doctor Luther," I was glad that he could not see the face of surprise and disgust which his kinsman bore. Other vocal performances followed, including a song by Lord Egham, which, I am bound to say, was hide- ously out of tune ; but was received by his near neighbor complacently enough. The noise now began to increase, the choruses were fuller, the speeches were louder and more incoherent. " I don't think the company heard a speech by little Mr. Vanjohn, whoso health was drunk as representative of the British Turf, and wno said that he had never known anything about the turf or about play, imtil their old school-fellow, his dear friend, — his swell friend, if he might be permit- ted the expression, — Mr. Bingwobd, 420 THE ADVENTUKES OF PHILIP. taught him the use of cards ; and once in his own house, in May Fair, and once in this very house, the " Star and Garter," showed him how to play the noble game of Blind Hookey. " The men are drunk. Lot us go away, Egham. I did n't come for this kind of thing ! " cried Ringwood, furious, by Lord Egham's side. This was the expression which Mr. Ringwood had used a short time before, when Philip was about to in- terrupt him. He had lifted his gun to fire then, but his hand had been held back. The bird passed him once more, and he could not help taking aim. "This kind of thing is very dull, is n't it, Ringwood "! " he called across the table, pulling away a flower, and glaring at the other through the little open space. " Dull, old boy t I call it doosed good fun," cries Lord Egham, in the height of good-humor. "Duin What do you mean?" asked my Lord's neighbor. " I mean you would prefer having a couple of packs of cards, and a little room, where you could win three or four hundred from a young fellow? It 's more profitable and more quiet than 'this kind of thing.' " " I say, I don't know what you moan ! " cries the other. " What ! You have forgotten al- ready 1 Has not Vanjohn just told you, how you and Mr. Deuceace brought him down here, and won his money from him ; and then how you gave him his revenge at your own house in — " " Did I come here to be insulted by that fellow ? " cries Mr. Ringwood, appealing to his neighbor. " If that is an insult, you may put it in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Ringwood ! " cries Philip. " Come away, come away, Egham ! Don't keep me here listening to this bla " " If you say another word," says Philip, " I '11 send this (^f^canter at your head ! " " Gpme, come, — nonsense ! No quarrelling ! Make it up ! Every- body has had too much! Get the bill, and order the omnibus round ! " A crowd was on one side of the table, and the other. One of the consins had not the least wish that the quar- rel should proceed any further. When, being in a quarrel, Philip Firmin assumes the calm and stately manner, he is perhaps in his most dangerous state. Lord Egham's phaeton (in which Mr. Ringwood showed a great unwillingness to take a seat by the driver) was at the hotel gate, an omnibus and a private car- riage or two were in readiness to take home the other guests of the feast. Egham went into the hotel to light a, final cigar, and now Pliilip springing forward, caught by the arm the gen- tleman sitting on the front seat of the phaeton. "Stop!" he said. "You used a word just now — " " What word ? I don't know any- thing about words ! " cries the other, in a loud voice. " You said ' insulted,' " murmured Philip, in the gentlest tone. " I don't know what I said," said Ringwood, peevishly. " I said, in reply to the words which you forget, 'that I would knock you down,' or words to that efifect. If you feel in the least aggrieved, you know where my cham- bers are, — with Mr. Vanjohn, whom you and yonr mistress inveigled to play cards when he was a boy. Yon are not fit to come into an honest man's house. It was only because I wished to spare a lady's feelings that I re- frained from turning you out of mine. Good night, Egham I " and with great majesty Mr. Philip returned to his companion and the Hansom cab which was in waiting to convey these two gentlemen to London. I was quite correct in ray surmise that Philip's antagonist would take no further notice of the quarrel to Philip personally. Indeed, he affect- ed to treat it as a drunken brawl, re- garding which no man of sense would THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 421 allow himself to be seriously dis- turbed. A quarrel between two men of the same femily : — between Philip and his own relative who had only- wished him well ? — it was absurd and impossible. What Mr. Ring- wood deplored was the obstinate ill temper and known violence of Philip, which were forever leading him into these brawls, and estranging his fam- ily from him. A man seized by the coat, insulted, threatened with a de- canter ! A man of station so treated by a person whose own position was most questionable, whose father was a fugitive, and who himself was struggling for precarious subsistence ! The arrogance was too great. With the best wishes for the unhappy young man, and his amiable (but empty- headed) little wife, it was impossible to take further notice of them. Let the visits cease. Let the carriage no more drive from Berkeley Square to Milman Street. Let there be no presents of game, poultry, legs of I mutton, old clothes, and what not. Henceforth, therefore, the Ringwood 1 carriage was unknown in the neigh- borhood of the Foundling, and the Eingwood footmen no more scented with their powdered heads the Pir- mins' little hall ceiling. Sir John said to the end that he was about to procure a comfortable place for Philip, when his deplorable violence obliged Sir John to break off all re- lations with the most misguided yonng man. Nor was the end of the mischief here. We have all read how the gods never appear alone, — the gods bring- ing good or evil fortune. When two or three little pieces of good luck had befallen our poor friend, my wife triumphantly cried out, " I told you so ! Did I not always say that Heaven would befriend that dear in- nocent wife and children ; that brave, generous, imprudent father 't " And now when the evil days came, this monstrous logician insisted that pov- erty, sickness, dreadful doubt and terror, hunger and want almost, were all equally intended for Philip's ad- vantage, and would work for good in the end. So that rain was good, and sunshine was good ; so that sickness was good, and health was good ; that Philip ill was to be as happy as Philip well, and as thankful for a sick house and an empty pocket as for a warm fireside and a comfortable larder. Mind, I ask no Christian philosopher to revile at his ill fortunes, or to despair. I will accept a toothache (or any evil of life), and bear it with- out too much grumbling. But I cannot say that to have a tooth pulled out is a blessing, or fondle the hand which wrenches at my jaw. " They can live without their fine relations, and their donations of mutton and turnips," cries my wife with a toss of her head. " The way in which those people patronized Philip and dear Charlotte was per- fectly intolerable. Lady Ringwood knows how dreadful the conduct of 1 that Mr. Ringwood is, and — and I have no patience with her ! " How, I repeat, do women know about men 1 How do they telegraph to each other their notices of alarm and mistrust ? and fly as birds rise up with a rush and a skurry when danger appears to be nearl All this was very well. But Mr. Tregarvan heard some ac- count of the dispute between Philip and Mr. Ringwood, and applied to Sir John for further particulars ; and Sir John — liberal man as he was and ever had been, and priding him- self little, Heaven knew, on the priv- ilege of rankj which was merely ad- ventitious — was constrained to con- fess that this young man's conduct showed a great deal too much laissez aUer. He had constantly, at Sir John's own house, manifested an independence which had bordered on rudeness ; he was always notorious for his quarrelsome disposition, and lately had so disgraced himself in a scene with Sir John's eldest son, Mr. Ringwood, — had exhibited such bru- tality, ingratitude, and — and inebri- ation, that Sir John was free to con- 422 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. fes3 he had forbidden the gentleman his door. " An insubordinate, ill-conditioned fellow, certainly ! " thinks Tregarvan. (And I do not say, though Philip is my friend, that Tregarvan and Sir John were altogether wrong regard- ing their prMgi. ) Twice Tregarvan had invited him to breakfast, and Philip had not appeared. More than once he had contradicted Tregarvan about the Beview. He had said that the Review was not getting on, and if you asked Philip his candid opinion, it would not get on. Six numbers had appeared, and it did not meet with that attention which the public ought to pay to it. The public was careless as to the designs of that Great Pow- er which it was Tregarvan's aim to defy and confound. He took counsel with himself. He walked over to the publisher's, and inspected the books ; and the result of that inspec- tion was so disagreeable, that he went home straightwajf and wrote a letter to Philip Firmm, Esq., New Milman Street, Guildford Street, which that poor fellow brought to his usual advisers. That letter contained a check for a quarter's salary, and bade adieu to Mr. Pirmin. The writer would not recapitulate the causes of dissatisfac- tion which he felt respecting the con- duct of the Review. He was much disappointed in its progress, and dis- satisfied with its general management. He thought an opportunity was lost which never could be recovered for exposing the designs of a Power which menaced the liberty and tran- quillity of Europe. Had it been directed with proper energy that Re- view might have been an segis to that threatened liberty, a lamp to lighten the darkness of that menaced free- dom. It might have pointed the way to the cultivation honarum, literarum; it might have fostered rising talent, it might have chastised the arrogance of so-called critics; it might have served the cause of truth. Tregar- van's hopes were disappointed : he would not say by whose remissness or fault. He had done his utmost in the good work, and, finally, would thank Mr. Firmin to print off the articles already purchased and paid for, and to prepare a brief notice for the next number announcing the dis- continuance of the Review ; and Tregarvan showed my wife a cold shoulder for a considerable time after- wards, nor were we asked to his tea-parties, I forget for how many seasons. This to us was no great loss or subject of annoyance : but to poor Phil- ip ? It was a matter of life and almost death to him. He never could save much out of his little pittance. Here were fifty pounds in his hand, it is true ; but bills, taxes, rent, the hun- dred little obligations of a house, were due and pressing upon him ; and in the midst of his anxiety, our dear little Mrs. Philip was about to present him with a third ornament -to- his nursery. Poor little Tertius arrived duly enough; and, such hypocrites were we, that the poor mother was absolutely thinking of calling the child Tregarvan Pirmin, as a com- pliment to Mr. Tregarvan, who had been so kind to them, and Tregarvan Firmin would be such a pretty name, she thought. We imagined the Little Sister knew nothing about Philip's anxieties. Of course, she attended Mrs. Philip through her troubles, and we vow that we never said a word to her regarding Philip's ovni. But Mrs. Brandon went in to Philip one day, as he was sitting very grave and sad with his two first- born children, and she took both his hands, and said, " You know, dear, I have saved ever so much : and I always intended it for — you know who." And here she loosened one hand from him, and felt in her pocket for a purse, and put it into Philip's hand, and wept on his shoulder. And Philip kissed her, and thanked God for sending him such a dear friend, and gave her back her purse, though indeed he had. but five pounds left in THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 423 his own when this benefactress came to him. Yes, but there were debts owing to him. There was his wife's little portion of fifty pounds a year, which had never been paid since the second quarter after their marriage, which had happened now more than three years ago. As Philip had scarce a guinea in the world, ho wrote to Mrs. IJaynes, his wife's mother, to explain his extreme want, and to re- mind her that this money was due. Mrs. General Baynes was living at Jersey at this time in a choice society of half-pay ladies, clergymen, cap- tains and the like, among whom I have no doubt she moved as a great lady. She wore a large medallion of the deceased General on her neck. She wept dry tears over that interest- ing cameo at frequent tea-parties. She never could forgive Philip for taking away her child from her, and if any one would take away others of her girls, she would be equally un- forgiving. Endowed with that won- derful log^c with which women are blessed, I believe she never admitted, or has been able to admit to her own mind, that she did Philip or her daughter a wrong. In the tear-parties of her acquaintance she groaned over the extravagance of her son-in-law and his brutal treatment of her bless- ed child. Many good people agreed with her and shook their respectable noddles when the name of that prod- igal Philip was mentioned over her muffins and Bohea. He was prayed for ; his dear widowed mother-in-law was pitied, and blessed with all the comfort reverend gentlemen could supply on the spot. "Upon my honor, Firrain, Emily and I were made to believe that you were a monster, sir," the stout Major Mac- Whirter once said ; " and now I have heard your story, by Jove, I think it is you, and not Eliza Baynes, who were wronged. She has a deuce of a tongue, Eliza has : and a temper, — poor Charles knew what that was!" In fine, when Philip, re- duced to his last guinea, asked Charlotte's mother to pay her debt to her sick daughter, Mrs. General B. sent Philip a ten-pound note, open, by Captain Swang, of the Indian army, who happened to be coming to England. And that, Philip says, of all the hard knocks of fate, has been the very hardest which he has had to endure. But the poor little wife knew noth^ ingof this cruelty, nor, indeed, of the veiy poverty which was hemming round her curtain ; and in the midst of his griefs, Philip Firmin was im- mensely consoled by the tender fidel- ity of the friends whom God had sent him. Their griefs were drawing to an end now. Kind readers all, may your sorrows, may mine, leave us with hearts not imbittered, and hum- bly acquiescent lo the Great Will ! CHAPTER XLI. IN WHICH WE KEACH THE LAST STAGE BUT ONE OF THIS JOUK- KEY. Although poverty was knocking at Philip's humble door, little Char- lotte in all her trouble never knew how menacing the grim visitor had been. She did not quite understand that her husband in his last necessity sent to her mother for his due, and that the mother turned away and refused him. " Ah," thought poor Philip, groaning in his despair, "I wonder whether the thieves who attacked the man in the parable were robbers of his own family, who knew that he carried money with him to Jerusalem, and waylaid him on the journey t " But again and again he has thanked God, with grateful heart, for the Samari- tans whom he has met on life's road, and if he has not forgiven, it must be owned he has never done any wrong to those who robbed him. Charlotte did not know that her husband was at his last guinea, and a prey to dreadful anxiety for her deat 424 THK ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. gake, for after the birth of her child a fever came upon her ; in the delirium consequent upon which the poor thing was ignorant of all that happened round her. A fortnight with a wife in extremity, with crying infants, with hunger menacing at the door, passed for Philip somehow. The young man became an old man in this time. Indeed, his fair hair was streaked with white at the temples afterwards. But it must not be imagined that he had not friends dur- ing his affliction, and he always can gratefully count up the names of many persons to whom he might have applied had he been in need. He did not look or ask for these succors from his relatives. Aunt and Uncle Twysden shrieked and cried out at his extravagance, imprudence, and folly. Sir John Ringwood said he must really wash his hands of a young man who menaced the life of his own son. Grenville Woolcomb, with many oaths, in which brother-in- law Ringwood joined chorus, cursed Philip, and said he did n't care, and the beggar ought to be hung, and his father ought to he hung. But I think I know half a dozen good men and true who told a different tale, and who were ready with their sympathy anl succor. Kid not Mrs. Flanagan, the Irish laundress, in a voice broken by sobs and gin, offer to go and chare at Philip's house for nothing, and nurse the dear children? Bid not Goodenough say, " If you arc in need, my dear fellow, of course yon know where to come " ; and did he not actually give two prescriptions, one for poor Charlotte, and one for fifty pounds to he taken immediately, which he handed to the nurse by mis- take 1 You may be sure she did not appropriate the money, for of course you know that the nurse was Mrs. Brandon. Charlotte has one re- morse in her life. She owns she was jealous of the Little Sister. And now when that gentle life is over, when Philip's poverty trials are ended, ■when the children go sometimes and look wistfully at the grave of theif dear Caroline, friend Charlotte leans her head against her husband's shoul- der, and owns humbly how good, how brave, how generous a friend Heaven sent them in that humble defender. Have you ever felt the pinch of pov- erty? In many cases it is like the dentist's chair, more dreadful in the contemplation than in the actual suf- fering. Philip says he never was fairly beaten, but on that day when, in reply to his solicitation to have his due, Mrs. Baynes's friend, Captain Swang, brought him the open ten- pound note. It was not much of a blow; the hand which dealt it made the hurt so keen. " I remember," says he, " bursting out crying at school, because a big boy hit me a slight tap, and other boys said, ' you coward.' It was that I knew the boy at home, and my parents had been kind to him. It seemed to me a wrong that Bumps should strike me," said Philip ; and he looked, while telling the story, as if he could cry about this injury now. I hope he has revenged himself by presenting coals of fire to his wife's relations. But this day, when he is enjoying good health, and compe- tence, it is not safe to mention mothers-in-law in his presence. Ho fumes, shouts, and rages against them, as if all were like his ; and his, I have been told, is a lady perfectly well satis- fied with herself and her conduct in this world ; and as for the next — but our story does not dave to point so far. It only interests itself ahout a little clique of people here below, — their griefs, their trials, their weak- nesses, their kindly hearts. People there are in our history who do not seem to me to have kindly hearts at all ; and yet, perhaps, if a biography could be written from their point of view^, some other novelist might show how Philip and his biographer were a pair of selfish worldlings unworthy of credit : how Uncle and Aunt Twys- den were most exemplary people, and so forth. Have I not told you how many people at Now York shook THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 425 their heads when Philip's name was mentioned, and intimated a strong opinion that he used his father very illl When he fell wounded and bleeding, patron Tregarvan dropped him oif his horse, and Cousin Eing- wood did not look behind to see how he fared. But these, again, may hare had their opinion regarding our friend, who may have been misrepre- sented to them — I protest as I look back at the past portions of tliis his- tory, I begin to have qualms, and ask myself whether the folks of whom we have been prattling have had justice done to them ; whether Agnes Twys- den is not a suffering martyr justly offended by Philip's turbulent behav- ior, and whether Philip deserves any particular attention or kindness at all. He is not transcendently clever ; he is not gloriously beautiful. He is not abont to illuminate the darkness in which the people grovel, with the flashing emanations of his truth. He sometimes owes money, which he cannot pay. He slips, tumbles, blun- ders, brags. Ah ! he sins and re- pents — pray Heaven — of faults, of vanities, of pride, of a thousand short- comings ! This I say — Ego — as my fHend's biographer. Perhaps I do not understand the other charac- ters round abont him so well, and have overlooked a number of their merits, and caricatured and exagger- ated their little defects. Among the Samaritans who came to Philip's help in these his straits, he loves to remember the name of J. J., the painter, whom he found sitting with the children one day making drawings for them, which the good painter never tired to sketch. Now if those children would but have kept Ridley's sketches, and waited for a good season at Christy's, I have no doubt they might have got scores of pounds for the drawings ; but then, you see, they chose to im- prove the" drawings with their own hands. They painted the soldiers yellow, the horses blue, and so forth. On the horses they put soldiers of their own construction. Ridley's landscapes were enriched with repre- sentations of " omnibuses," which the children saw and admired in the neighboring New Road. I dare say, as the-fever left her, and as she came to see things as they were, Charlotte's eyes dwelt fondly on the pictures of the omnibuses inserted in Mr. Rid- ley's sketches, and she put some aside and showed them to her friends, and said, " Does n't our darling show ex- traordinary talent for drawing ? Mr. Ridley says he does. He did a great part of this etching." But, besides the drawings, what do you think Master Ridley offered to draw for his friends'! Besides the Srescriptions of medicine, what drafts id Dr. Goodenough prescribe'? When nurse Brandon came to Mrs. Philip in her anxious time, we know what sort of payment she proposed for her services. Who says the world is all cold t There is the sun and the shadows. And the Heaven which ordains poverty and sickness sends pity, and love, and succor. During Charlotte's fever and ill- ness, the Little Sister had left her but for one day, when her patient was quiet, and pronounced to be mending. It appears that Mrs. Charlotte was very ill indeed on this occasion ; so ill that Dr. Goodenough thought she might have given us all the slip : so ill that, but for Brandon, she would, in all probability, have escaped out of this troublous world, and left Philip and her orphaned little ones. Char- lotte mended then : could take food, and liked it, and was specially pleased with some chickens which her nurse informed her were " from the coun- try." "From Sir John Ringwood, no doubt ? " said Mrs. Firmin, re- membering the presents sent from Berkeley Square, and the mutton and the turnips. " Well, eat and be thankful ! "says the Little Sister, who was as gay as a little sister could be, and who had prepared a beautiful bread sauce for the fowl ; and who had tossed the 426 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. baby, and who showed it to its ad- miring brother and sister ever so many times ; and who saw that Mr. Philip had his dinner comfortable ; and who never took so much as a drop of porter, — at home a little glass sometimes was comfortable, but on duty, never, never ! No, not if Dr. Goodenougli ordered it! she vowed. And the Doctor wished he could say as much, or believe as much, of all his nurses. Milman Street is such a quiet little street that our friends had not carpet- ed it in the usual way; and three days after her temporary absence, as nurse Brandon sits by her patient's bed, powdering the back of a small pink infant that makes believe to swim upon her apron, a rattle of wheels is heard in the quiet street, — of four wheels, of one horse, of a jing- ling carriage, which stops before Philip's door. " It 's the trap," says nurse Brandon, delighted. " It must be those kind liingwoods," says Mrs. Philip. " But stop, Brandon. Did not they, did not we f — O, how kind of them ! " She was trying to recall the past. Past and present for days had been strangely mingled in her fevered brain. " Hush, my dear ! you are to be kep' quite still," says the nurse, — and then proceeded to finish the polishing and powdering of thepink frog on her lap. 'The bedroom window was open to- wards the sunny street : but Mrs. Philip did not hear a female voice say, " 'Old the 'orse's 'ead, Jim," or she might have been agitated. The horse's head was held, and a gentle- man and a lady with a great basket containing pease, butter, greens, flowers, and other rural produce, descended from the vehicle and rang at the bell. Philip opened it ; with his little ones, as usual, trotting at his knees. " Why, my darlings, how you air grown ! " cries the lady. "Bygones be bygones. Give us your 'and, Pirmin : here 's mine. My missus has brought some country butter and things for your dear good lady. And we hope you liked the chickens. And God bless yoa, old fellow, how are you ? " The tears were rolling down the good man's cheeks as he spoke. And Mrs. Mug- ford was likewise exceedingly hot, and very much affected. And the children said to her, " Mamma is better now : and we have a little brother, and he is crying now up stairs." "Bless you, my darlings!" Mrs. Mugford was ofif by this time. She put down her peace-offering of car- rots, chickens, bacon, butter. She cried plentifully. " It was Brandon came and told us," she said ; " and when she told us how all your great people had flung you over, and you 'd been quarrelling again, you naughty fellar, I says to Mugford, ' Let 's go and see after that dear thing, Mug- ford,' I says. And here we are. And year 's two nice cakes for your children " (after a forage in the cor- nucopia), "and, lor', how they are grown ! " A little nurse from the up-stairs re- gions here makes her appearance, holding a bundle of cashmere shawls, part of which is removed, and dis- closes a being pronounced to be rav- ishingly beautiful, and "jest like Mrs. Mugford's Emaly I " " I say," says Mugford, " the old shop's still open to you. T'other chap would n't do at all. He was wild when he got the drink on board. Ilirish. Pitched into Bickerton and blacked 'is eye. It was Bickerton who told you lies about that poor lady. Don't see 'im no more now. Bor- rowed some money of me ; have n't seen him since. We were both wrong, and we must make it up, — the mis- sus says we must." " Amen ! " said Philip, with a grasp of the honest fellow's hand. And next Sunday he and a trim little sister, and two children, went to an old church in Queen Square, Blooms- bury, Avhich was fashionable in the reign of Queen Anne, when Uichard THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 427 Steele kept house, and did not pay rent, hard by. And when the clergy- man in the thanksgiving particular- ized those who desired now to " ofFer up their praises and thanksgivings for late mercies vouchsafed to them," once more Philip Firmin said " Amen," on his knees, and with all his heart. CHAPTER XLn. THE BEALMS OF BLISS. You know — all good boys and girls at Christmas know — that, before the last scene of the pantomime, when the Good Fairy ascends in a blaze of glory, and Harlequin and Columbine take hands, having danced through all their tricks and troubles and tumbles, there is a dark, brief, seemingly mean- ingless, penultimate scene, in which the performers appear to grope about perplexed, whilst the music of bas- soons and trombones, and the like, groans tragically. As the actors, with gestures of dismay and out-stretched arms, move hither and thither, the wary frequenter of pantomimes sees the illuminators of the Abode of Bliss and Hall of Prismatic Splendor nim- bly moving behind the canvas, and streaking the darkness with twinkling fires, — fires which shall blaze out presently in a thousand colors round the Good Fairy in the Eevolving Temple of Blinding Bliss. Be hap- py, Harlequin ! Love and be happy and dance, pretty Columbine ! Chil- dren, mamma bids you put your shawls on. And Jack and Mary (who are young and love panto- mimes) look lingeringly still over the ledge of the box, whilst the fairy tem- ple yet revolves, whilst the fireworks play, and ere the Great Dark Cur- tain descends. My dear young people, who have sat kindly through the scenes during which our entertainment has lasted, be it known to you that last chapter was the dark scene. Look to your eloaks, and tie up your little throats, 19 for I tell you the great baize will soon fall down. Have I had any se- crets from you all through the piece ? I tell you the house will be empty and 3'ou will be in the cold air. When the boxes have got their night- gowns on, and you arc all gone, and I have turned off the gas, and am in the empty theatre alone in the dark- ness, 1 promise you I shall not be merry. Never mind I We can make jokes though we are ever so sad. We can jump over head and heels, though I declare the pit is half emptied al- ready, and the last orange-woman has slunk away. Encore une pirou' ette. Columbine ! Saute, Arlequin, mon ami! Though there are but five bars more of the music, my good people, we must jump over them briskly, and then go home to supper and bed. Philip Firmin, then, was immense- ly moved by this magnanimity and kindness on the part of his old em- ployer, and has always considered Mugfprd's arrival and friendliness as a special interposition in his favor. He owes it all to Brandon, he says. It was she who bethought herself of his condition, represented it to Mug- ford, and reconciled him to his enemy. Others were most ready with their money. It was Brandon who brought him work rather than alms, and en- abled him to face fortune cheerfully. His interval of poverty was so short, that he actually had not occasion to borrow. A week more, and he could not have held out, and poor Brandon's little marriage present must have gone to the cenotaph of sovereigns; — the dear Little Sister's gift which Philip's family cherish to this hour. So Philip, with a humbled heart and demeanor, clambered up on his sub-editorial stool once more at the Pall Mall Gazette, and again bran- dished the paste-pot and the scissors. I forget whether Bickerton still re- mained in command at the Pall Mall Gazette, or was more kind to Philip than before, or was afraid of him. 428 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. having heard of his exploits as a fire- cater ; but certain it is,' the two Sid not come to a quarrel, giving each other a wide berth, as the saying is, and each doing his oWn duty. Good by. Monsieur Bickerton. Except, mayhap, in -the final gi'oap, round the Faikt Chakiot (when, I promise you, there will be such a blaze of glory that he will be invisible), we shall never see the little spiteful en- vious creature more. Lot him pop down his appointed trap-door; and, quick,- fiddles! let the brisk music jig on. Owing to the coolness which had arisen between Philip and his father on account of their different views re- garding the use to be made of Phil- ip's signature, the old gentleman drew no further bills in his son's name, and our friend was spared from the unpleasant persecution. Mr. Hunt loved Dr. Firmin so ar- dently that he could not bear to be separated ' from the Doctor long. Without the Doctor, London was a dreary wilderness to Hunt. Unfor- tunate remembrances of past pecu- niary transactions haunted him here. We were all of us glad when he final- ly retired fi^m the Covent Garden taverns and betook himself to the Bowery once more. And now friend Philip was at work again, hardly earning a scanty meal for «elf, wife, servant, children. It was indeed a meagre meal, and a small wage. Charlotte's illness, and other mishaps, had swept away poor Philip's little savings. It was deter- mined that 'we would let the elegant- ly furnished apartments on the first floor. Yoii might have fancied the proud Mr. Firmin rather repugnant to sueh a measure. And so he was on the score- of eonVeillence, but of dignity, not a whit. To this day, if necessity called, Philip would turn a mangle with perfect -gravity.' I be- lieve the thought of Mrs. General Baynes's horror at the idea of her son-in-law letting -lodgings greatly soothed- and comforted-'PhiHp. The lodgings were absolutely taken by our country acquaintance, Miss Py- bus, who was coming up for the May meetings, and whom we persuaded (Heaven be good to us!) that she would find a most desirable quiet resi- dence in the house of a man with three squalling children. Miss P. came, then, with my wife to look at the apartments ; and we allured her by describing to her the delightful musical services at the Foundling hard by; and she was very much pleased with Mrs. Philip, and did not even wince at the elder children, whose pretty faces iron the kind old lady's heart : and I am ashamed to say we were mum about the baby: and Pybus was going- to elose for the lodgings, when Philip burst out of his little room, without his coat, I be- lieve, and objurgated a little printer's boy, who was sitting in the hall, waiting for some " copy " regarding which he had made a blunder; and Philip used such violent language to- wards the little lazy boy, that Pybus said she " never could think of taking apartments in that house," and hur- ried thence In a panic. When Bran- don heard of this ^oject of letting lodgings, she was m -a- fury. She might let lodgin's, but it was n't for Philip to do so. " Let lodgin's, in- deed! Buy a broom, and sweep a crossln' i " Brandon always thought Chariotte- a poor-spirited creature, and the way she scolded Mrs. Firmin about this transaction was not a Kttle amusing. Charlotte was not angry. She liked the scheme as little as Brandon. -No other person ever asked for lodgings in Charlotte's house. May and - its meetings came to an end. The old ladies went back to their country towns. The mission- aries returned to Gaffraria. (Ah! where are the pleasant- looking Quakeresses of our youth,- with their comely faces, and pretty dove-colored robes? They say the goodly sect is dwindling, dwindling.) - The Quakw- esses went out of town : then the fashionable world began to move: THE ADVENTURES Of PHILIP. 429 the Parliament went put of town. In a word, everybody . who could made away for a noliday, whilst poor PJiilip remained at ihis work, snip- ping and pasting his paragraphs, and doing his humble drudgery, i. I A- sojourn on the,, sea-shore was prescribed by Dr. Goodenough, as absolutely necessary for Charlotte and her. young ones, and when Philip pleaded certain cogent reasons why the family conldnot take the medicine prescrlbed.by Ihe Doctor, that eccen- Mte^jphysieian had recourse to the same pocket-book which we, haye kaOwniihiin to. produce oa a former! occasion ; and took ftomi it, fer what J; know, some of the very same notes which he had formerly given to. the Little. Sister. "I suppose, you may as-. Tvell have them, as .that,, rascal Hunt? "said the.- Doctor, scowling very fiercely. " Don't tell m*. Sti^ «id nonsense. • Pooh! Pay me when you lare * i inch, man ! " . And , thi,s Samaritan had jumped into his car- jriage, and was gone, -before Philip or Mrs. Philip could say a word, of! tihankss .Look athim aS-Jhe is going^ off. ' Sea ,the- green .brougham dHv^ away,.and turn westward, and mark it well. A shoe. go. after thee, John Goodenough; we shall see thee no more in this, story. You are not in the. secret, good reader : hut I, who have been living with certain people for many months past, and have a hearty liking for some of them, grow very soft when the hour for shaking hands comes, to think we are to meet no more. Go to ! when this tple be- gan, and for some mo^iths after, a pair of kind old eyes used to read these pages, which, are now closed in the sleep appointed for all of us. - And so 'page is turned after page, and behold tonis and the volume's end. . So Philip and his young folks came down, to- Periwinkle Bay, where we wsre;Staying, and the girls, in the two families nursed the baby, and the ch9d and mothergot health and com- fort from the fresh air, and Mr, Mug- ford, -s who believes himself to be the finest sub-editor in the world, and I can ,tell yovi there ,is a great art in sub-editing a paper, — ifi. Mugford, I say, took Philip's scissors and paste- pot, whilst tl)e latter enjoyed his holiday. And J. J. Eidley, R.A., came and joined, us presently, and we had many sketching-parties, and my drawings of the various points about the bay, viz.rLobster Head,, the Mol- lusc Socks, &c., &c., ,are cconside^'ed to be, very spirited, though my little boy (5f ho certainly has not his father's taste for art) mistook for the rock a really capital . portrait of Philip, in, ■» giay that 3,ndi paletot, sprawling on the sand. , Some twelve miles inland from the hay is the little town of Vhipham Market, aui-Whipham skirti the park palings of that castle .where Lord, Kingwood had lived, and where Philip's, mothei; was horn and bred. There is a statue of the. late lord in Whlpham market-place. Could hp have had his will, the borough would have continuedto return two Members to Parliament, as in the good old times. befpre.us! In that ancient and grass-grown little place, where your footsteps echo as yon pass through the street, where you hear distinctly the creaking of the sign of the '.' Ring- wood. Arms " hotel and postin j-house, and the opposition creaking of the " Ram Inn " over the way, -^ where the half-pay captain, the curate, and the medical man stand before the fly- blown window-blind of the " Ring- wood Institute " and survey the strangers, — there is still a respect felt for the memory of the great lord who dwelt behind' the oaks in yonder hall. He had his faults. His Lord- ship's life was not that of an anchorite. The company his Lordship kept, es- pecially in his latter days, was not of that select description which a nobleman of his , Lordship's rank might command. But he was a good friend to Whipham. He was a good landlord to a good tenant. , If he had his will, Whipham would have kept its own. His Lordship paid half th« 430 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. expense after the burning of the town- hall. He was an arbitrary man, cer- ts'inly, and he flogged Alderman iJuffle before his own shop, but he apologized for it most handsome after- wards. Would the gentleman like port or sherry f Claret not called for in Whipham ; not at all : and no fish, because all the fish at Periwinkle Bay is bought up and goes to London. Such were the remarks made by the landlord of the " Eingwood Arms " to three cavaliers who entered the hos- telry. And you may be sure he told US about Lord Bingwood's death in the post-chaise as he came from Tur- reys Regum ; and how his Lordship went through them gates (pointing to a pair of gates and lodges which skirt the town), and was drove up to the castle and laid in state ; and his Lordship never would take the rail- way, never ; and he always travelled like a nobleman, and when he came to a hotel and changed horses, he al- ways called for a bottle of wine, and only took a glass, and sometimes not even that. And the present Sir John has kept no company here as yet; and they say he is close of his money, they say he is. And this is certain, Whipham have n't seen much of it, Whrnlj^m have n't. We went into the inn yard, which may have been once a stirring place, and then sauntered up to the park gate, surmounted by the supporters and armorial bearings of the King- woods. " I wonder whether my poor mother came out of that gate when she eloped with my father ? " said Philip. " Poor thing, poor thing ! " The ^reat gates were shut. The westermg sun cast shadows over the sward where here and there the deer were browsing, and at some mile dis- tance lay the house, with its towers and porticos and vanes flaming in the sun. The smaller gate was open, and a girl was standing by the lodge door. Was the house to be seen t "Yes," says a little red-cheeked girl, with a courtesy. " No ! " calls out a harsh voice from within, and an old woman comes out from the lodge and looks at us fiercely. " Nobody is to go to the house. ■ The family is a coming." That was provoking. Philip would have liked to behold the great house where his mother and her ancestors were born. " Marry, good dame,'' Philip's companion said to the old beldam, " this goodly gentleman hath a right of entrance to yonder castle, which, 1 trow, ye wot not of. Heard ye never tell of one Philip Kingwood, slain at Busaco's glorious fi " "Hold your tongue, and don't chaff her, Pen," growled Finuin. "Nay, and she knows not Philip Ringwood's grandson," the other wag continued, in a softened tone. " This will convince her of our right to en- ter. Canst recognize this image of your queen ?" "Well, I suppose 'ee can go up," said the old woman, at the sight of this talisman. ' ' There 's only two of them staying there, and they're out a drivin'." . Philip was bent on seeing the halls of his ancestors. Gray and ■ huge, with towers, and vanes, and porticos, they lay before us a mile ofi^, separated from us by a streak of glistening river. A great chestnut avenue led up to the river, and in the dappled grass the deer were browsing. You know the house of course There is a picture of it in Watts, bearing date 1783. A gentleman in a cocked hat and pigtail is rowing a lady in a boat on the shining river. Another nobleman in a cocked hat is angling in the glistening river from the bridge, over which a post-chaise is passing. " Yes, the place is like enough," said Philip ; " but I miss the post, chaise going over the bridge, arid the lady in the punt with the tall parasol. Don't you remember the print in our housekeeper's . room in Old , Parr Street 1 My poor mother used to tell me about the house, and I ima. gined it grander than the palace of THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 431 Aladdin. It is a very handsome house," Philip went on. " ' It ex- tends two hundred and sixty, feet by seventy-five, and consists of a rustic basement and principal story, with an attic in the centre, the whole executed in sWne. The grand front towai-ds the park is adorned with a noble por- tico of the Corinthian order, and may with propriety be considered one of the finest elevations in the — .' I tell you I am quoting out of Watts's 'Seats of the Nobility and Gentry,' Snblished by John and Josiah Boy- ell, and lying in our drawing-room. Ah, dear me ! I painted the boat and the lady and gentleman in the dravr- ing-room copy, and my father boxed my cars, and my mother cried out, poor dear soul! And this is the river, is it ? And over this the post- chaise went with the club-tailed horses, and here was the pig-tailed gentleman fishing. It gives me a queer sensation," says Philip, stand- ing on the bridge, and stretching out his big arms. " Yes, there are the two people in the punt by the rushes. I can see them, but you can't ; and I hope, sir, you will have good sport." And here he took off his hat to an imaginary gentleman snpposed to be angling from the balustrade for ghostly gudgeon. We reach the house presently. We ring at the door in the basement under the por- tico. The porter demurs, and says some of the family is down, but they are out, to be sure. The same half- crown argument answers with him which persuaded the keeper at the lodge. We go through the show- rooms of the stately but somewhat faded and melancholy palace. In the cedar dining-room there hangs the grim portrait of the late Earl; and that fair-haired officer in red'? that must be Philip's grandfather. And those two slim girls embracing, surely those are his mother and his aunt. Philip walks softly through the va- cant rooms. He gives the porter a gold piece ere he goes out of the great hall, forty feet cuoe, ornamented with statnes brought from Rome, by John first Baron, namely, Heliogabalus, Nero's mother, a priestess of &is, and a river god; the pictures over the doors by Pedimento ; the ceiling by Leotardi, &c. ; and in a window in the great hall there is a table with a visitors' book, in which Philip writes his name. As we went away, we met a carriage which drove rapidly to- wards the house, and which no doubt contained the members of the Eing- wood ' family, regarding whom the porteress had spoken. After the fam- ily differences previously related, we did not care to face these kinsfolks of Philip, and passed on quickly in twi- light beneath the rustling umbrage of the chestnuts. J. J. saw a hundred fine pictorial effects as we walked; the palace reflected in the water ; the dappled deer under the checkered shadow of the trees. It was, "O what a jolly bit of color," and, "I say, look, how well that old woman's red cloak comes in ! " and so forth. Painters never seem tired.' of their work. At severity they are students still, patient, docile, happy. May we too, my good sir, live for fourscore years, and never be too old to learn ! The walk, the brisk accompanying conversation, amid stately scenery around, brought us with good.' appe- tites and spirits to our inn, where we were' told that dinner would be sen'cd when the omnibus aiTived from the railway. At a short distance from the "Ringwood Arms," and on the op- ?osite side of the street, is the " Ram nn," neat post-chaises and farmers' ordinary ; a house, of which the pre- tensions seemed less, though the trade was somewhat more lively. When the tooting of the horn announced the arrival of the omnibus from the railway, I should think a crowd of at least fifteen people assembled at various doors of the High Street and Market. The half-pay captain and the curate came out from the " Ringwood. Athenssum." ' The doc- tor's apprentice stood on the step of 432 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. the surgery door, and the surgeon's lady looked out from the first floor. We shdred the general curiosity. We and the waiter stood at the door of ithe " Ringwood Arms." We were mortified to see that of the five per- sons conveyed by the 'bus, one was a tradesman, who descended at his door (Mr. Packwood, the saddler, so the waiter informed us), three travellers were discharged at the "Bam," and only one came to ns. " Mostly bagmen • goes to the ' Bam,' " the waiter said, with a scornful air ; and these bagmen, and their bags, quitted the omnibus. Only one passenger remained for the "Ringwood Arms Hotel," and ho presently descended under the parte cochere; and the omnibus — •! own,' with regret, it was but a one- horse machine, — drove rattling into the court-yard, where the bells of the "Star," the "George," the "Rod- ney," the " Dolphin,"- and so on, had once been wont to jingle, and the court had echoed vrith the noise and clatter of hoofs and hostlers, and the cries of " First and second, turn out." Who was the merry-faced little gentleman in black, who got out of the omnibus, and cried, when he saw us, " What, you here'! " It was Mr. Bradgate, that lawyer of Lord Ring- wood's with whom we made a brief acquaintance just after his Lordship's death. "What, you here?" cries Bradgate, then, to Philip. " Come down about this business, of course ? Veiy glad that you and — and certain parties have made it up. Thought you were n't friends." What business ? What parties ? We had not heard the news? We had only come over from Periwinkle Bay by chance, in order to see the house. " How very singular ! Did you meet the — r the people who were stay- ing there?" we said we had seen a carriage pass, but did not remark who was in it. What, however, was the news ? Well. It would ■i& kndwn immedii ately, and would appear in Tuesday's Gazette. The news was that Sir John Ringwood was going to take a peerage, and that the seat for Whip- ham would be vacant. And here- with our friend produced from his travelling bag a proclamation, which he read to us, and^whieh was ad- dressed ' — I • • - , "To the worthy and independent Electors of the Borough of Ring-' wood. ."liOHOOH, Wednesday. ■ "Gentlemen, — ^A gracious Sover- ei^ having been pleased to order that the family of Ringwood should con- tinue to be represented in the House of Peers, I take leave of my friends and constituents who have given me their kind confidence hitherto, and promise them that my regard for them will never cease, or my interest in the town and neighborhood where my family have dwelt for many eentnrjesj The late lamented Lord Blngwood's brother died in the service of his Sovereign in Portugal, following the same flag under which his ancestors for centuries have fought and bled. My own son serves the Crown in- a ci-nl capacity. It was natural that one of our name and family should continue the relations which so long have subsisted between us and this loyal, affectionate,- but indepen- dent borough. Mr. Ringwood's on- erous duties ■ in the ofiSce which he holds are sufficient to occupy his time. A gentleman united to our family by the closest ties will ofier himself as a candidate for your suffrages — " " Why, who is it ? He is not go- ing to put in Uncle T-wysden, or my sneak of a eousin ? " " No," says Mr. Bradgate. " Well, bless my soul ! he can't mean me," said Philip. '?Wbo is the dark'horse he has in his stable ?" Then Mr, Bradgate , laughed- " Dark horse you may call him< The new Member is to:b« Grenvilla THE. ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP. 433 Woolcomb, Esqi, your West India relative, and no other." Those who know the extreme en- ergy of Mr. "P. Firmin's language when hes is excited may imagine the explosion of Philippine wrath which ensued as onr iriend heard this name, " That , miscreant : . that skinflint : that wealthy crossing-sweeper: that ignoramus who scarce could do more than sign bis name ! 0, it was hor- rible, ^ameful! Why, the man is on such ill terms with bis wife that they -say he strikes her. When I see him I feel inclined to choke him, and murder him. Thai brute going into Parliament, and the republican Sir John Ringwood sending him there ! It 's monstrous ! " • , " Family arrangements. Sir John, or, I should say, my JL<)rd Kingwood, is one of the most affectionate of parents," Mr. JBradgate remarked. "rBehss a large family by his second marriage, and lus estates go to his ddest son. We must not quarrel with Lord Ringwood for wishing to provide for bis young ones. I don't say that be quite acts up to the exr treme Liberal principle of which be was once rather fond of boasting. But if you were offered a peerage; what would you do ; what would I do ? If you wanted money for your young ones, and could get it, would you not take it ? Come, come, don't let us have too much of this Spartan virtue! If we were tried, my good friend, we should not be much worse or better than onr neighbors: Is my fly coming, waiter ? " We asked Mr. Bradgate to defer bis -departure, and to share our dinner. But he declined, and said he must go up to the great house, where he and his client bad plenty of business to arrange, and where no doubt he would stay for the night. He bade the inn servants put his portmanteau into his carriage when it came. " The old Lord had some 'famous port-wine,'' he said-; " I hope my fneuds have the key of the cellar." The waiter was just .putting our meal on the table, as we stood in the bow-window of the " Ringwood Arms "coffee-room, engaged in this colloquy. Hence we could see the street, and the opposition inn of the " Ram," where presently a groat pla- card was posted. At least u dozen street-boys, shopmen, and rustics were ,. quickly gathered round this manifesto, and we ourselves went^ut to examine it. The " Ram '.' placard denounced, in terms of unmeasured wrath, the impudent attempt; from the Castle to dictate to the free and independent electors of the borough. Freemen were iavited not to prom- ise their votes ;, to show them- selves Wfortby-of their name ; to submit to no Castle dictation. Acountry geuT tleman. of property, of influence, -of liberal principles, — no West-Indian, no C4.STLE Flunkey, but a True English Gentleman, would come forward to rescue them from the ty- ranny under which they labored. On this-■ ■ ' " A shilling is offered for that pic- ture ! " shouts Philip with a red face, and wild with, excitement* " Who will take a whole shilling for that beauty?" ■ : On which Woelcomb began to scream, curse, anduBvile more bitterly than before. " You ■ here ? Hang you, why are you here ? Don't come buUyin' me. Take that fellah away, some of you fellahs. Bradgate, come to my committee-room.' I won't stay here, I say. Let 's have the beast -of a carriage, and — Welly what 's up now?" . ■ While he was talking, shrieking, and swearing, half a dozen shoulders in the crowd-had raised 'the carriage up on its three wheels. The panel which had fallen towards the ground had split against a stone, and a great gap was seen in the side. A lad was about to thrust his hand into the or- ifice, when Woolcomb turned upon him. I . "Hands oiF, you little beggar!'' he cried, 'f no priggin' ! BriTe aWay some of these fellahs, you post- boys I Don't, stamd rubbin' your knee there, you.great fool. What's this ? " and he thrusts his own hand into the place where the boy had just been marauding. ■ •: In the old travelling carriages there used to be a well or sword-case, in which travellers used to put swords and pistols in days when such weap- ons of defence were needful on the road. Out of this sword-^iase of Lord Eingwood's old post-chariot^ Wool- comb did not draw a sword, but a foolscap paper folded and tied with a red tape. And he began to read the superscription, — " Will of the Eight Honorable John, Earl of Ringwood. Bradgate, Smith, and Burrows." " God bless my soul ! It 's the will he had back &bm my office, and which I thought he had destroyed.. My dear fellow, I congratulate you with all my. heart ! " And herewith Mr, Bradgate the lawyer began to shake Philip's hand with much warmth. "Allow me to look at that paperi Yes, this is in my handwriting. - Xe^ us come into the ' Kingwood Arms ' — the ' Earn ', — anywhere, and read it toyou ! " . . . Here we looked up to the bal- cony of the "iJingwoad: Arms," and beheld a great placard announcing the state of the poll at 1 o'clock. WbOLCOMB . ■ . . 216 ' HOKNELOW ... 92 "We are beaten, " said Mr. Horn- blow, very good-naturedly. "We may take our flag down. Mr. Wool- comb, . I congratulate you.", "I knew we should do it, " jai4 Mr. Woolcomb, .putting out a little yellow-kidded hand. "Had all the votes beforehand, — iknew we should do the trick, I say^. Hi ! you— r What? do-you-call-'im —Bradgate ! What is it about, that will? It does not do any good to that beggar, does it ? " and with laughter and -shouts, and cries of ".Woolcomb forever," and "Give us something ito drink, your honor,'' the successful candidate marched into his hotel. And was the tawny Woolcomb the fairy who was to rescue Philip from grief, debt, , and poverty ? Yea. And the old- post-chaise of the late Lord Eingwood was the fairy cha- riot. You have read in a past chap- ter how the old lord, being trans- ported with anger against Philip, desired his lawyer to bring back a will in which he had left a hand- some legacy to the young man, as his mother's son. My Lord had in- tended to make a provision for Mrs: Pirmin, when she was his dutiful niece, and yet under his roof. When she eloped with Mr. Firmin, Lord Ringwood vowed he would give his niece nothing. But he was pleased with the independent and forgiving THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. 441. spirit cxliibited by her son; and being a person of much grim hu- mor, I dare say chuckled inwardly at thinking how furious the Twysdens would bej when they found Philip was the old lord's favorite. Then Mr. Philip chose to be insubordinate, and to excite the wrath of his great> uncle, who desired to have his will back again. He put the document into his Carriage, in the secret box, as he drove away on that last jour- ney, in the midst of which death seized him. Had he survived, would he have made another will, leaving out aU mention of Philip'? Who shall say ? , JMy Lord made and can- celled many wills. This certainly, duly drawn and witnessed, was the last he ever signed ; and by it Philip is put in possession of a sum of money which is sufficient to insure a provis- ion for those whom ho loves. Kind readers, I know not whether the fairies be rife now, or banished from this work-a-day earth, but Philip's biographer wishes you some of those blessings which never forsook Philip in his trials : a dear wife and chil- dren to love you, a true friend or two to stand by you, and in health or sick- ness a clear conscience, and a kindly heart. If you fall upon the way, may succor reach you. And may you, in your turn, have help and pity in store for the unfortunate whom you over- take on life's journey. Would you care to know what hap- pened to the other personages of our narrative ? Old Twysden is still bab- bling and bragging at clubs, and though aged is not the least venera- ble. He has quarrelled with his son for not calling Woolcomb out, when that unhappy difference arose between the Black Prince and his wife. He says his family has been treated with cruel injustice by the late Lord King- wood, but as soon as Philip had a little fortune left him he instantly was reconciled to his wife's nephew. There are other friends of Pirmin's who were kind enough to him in his evil days, but cannot pardon his pros- perity.- Being in that benevolent mood which must accompany . any leave-taking, we vrill not name these ill-wishers of Philip, but wish that all readers of his story may have like reason to make some of their acquaint- ances angry. Our dear Little Sister would never live with Philip and his Charlotte, though the latter especially and with all her heart besought Mrs. Brandon to come to them. That pure and useful and modest life ended a few years since. She died of a fever caught from one of her patients. She would not allow Philip or Charlotte to come near her. She said she was justly punished for being so proud as to refuse to live with them. All her little store she left to Philip. He has now in his desk the five guineas which she gave him at his marriage ; and J. J. has made a little picture of her, with her sad smile and her sweet face, which hangs in Philip's drawing- room, where father, mother, and chil- dren talk of the Little Sister as though she were among them still. She was dreadfully agitated when the news came from New York of Doctor Pirmin's second marriage. " His second ? His third "! " she said. "The villain, the villain!" That strange delusion which we have de- scribed as sometimes possessing her increased in intensity after this news. More than ever, she believed that Philip was her own child. She came wildly to him; and cried that his father had forsaken them. It was only when she was excited that she gave utterance to this opinion. Doe- tor Goodenough says that though generally silent about it, it never left her. Upon his marriage Dr. Firmin wrote one of his long letters to his son, announcing the event. He de- scribed the wealth of the lady (a widow from Norfolk, in Virginia) to whom he was about to be united. He would pay back, ay, with interest, every pound, every dollar, every cent he owed his eon. Was the lady 442 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. wealthy t "We had only the poor doctor's word. Three months after his marriage he died of yellow fever, on his wife's estate. It was then the Little Sister came to see us in widow's monming, very wild and flushed. She bade our servant say, " Mrs. Firmin was at the door " ; to the astonishment of the man, who knew her. She had even caused a mouming-card to be printed. Ah, there is rest now for that little fevered brain, and peace, let us pray, for that fond faithful heart. The mothers in Philip's household and mine have already made a match between our children. We had a great gathering the other day at Boe- hampton, at the house of our friend, Mr. Clive Newcome (whose tall boy, my wife says, was very attentive to our Helen), and, having been edu- cated at the same school, we sat ever so long at dessert, telling old stories, whilst the children danced to piano music on the lawn. Dance on the lawn, young folks, whilst the elders talk in the shade! What? The night is falling : we have talked enough over our wine : and it is time to go home 1 Good night. Good night, friends, old and young ? The night will fall : the stories must end : and the best friends must part. THE END. 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