I I u Wssm llmBm BA-DKINSACO. / fe Binder! Pnnt :hmokd. va. */ THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD; SHOWING WHO BOBBED BIS. WHO HELPED III J. AW) WHO PASSED HIM BY. W. M. THACKERAY, AUTHOR of " VANITY ! riTP NEWCOMESy' 'THE VIRGINIANS," « PENDKN. M>." • TBE ENGLISH HUMORISTS OB THE EIGHTEENTH ;RY," 'THi; Jt'OUIt GORGES,'' etc., etc., » V TT* l#'V WITH TLLUiST .RATIONS. COLUMBIA, S. C. I : V A N S A N 13 C O G S W E I , L . 1864. jr/AYr mtt COLUMBIA.!. C WILLIAM MAK E PEAC E THACKERAY the ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD ; SHOWING WHO BOBBED HIM, WHO HELPED HIM, AND WHO PASSED HII BY. W. M. THACKERAY, 'AUTHOR OP " VANITY FAIR," "THE NEWCOMES," "THE VTRGINTANS," " PENDEN- EIS," "THE ENGLISH HUMORISTS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY/' " THE FOUR GEORGES," etc., etc., WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. COLUMBIA, S. C. • EVANS AND COGSWELL 1864. BVAN3 & COGSWELL, PRINTERS, COLUMBIA, S. C. Ikk. •#;: CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Page. Doctor Fell CHAPTER II. At School and at Home 17 CHAPTER III. A Consultation , 25 CHAPTER IV. A Genteel Family 32 CHAPTER V. The Nodle Kinsman 43 CHAPTER VI. Brandon's 57 CHAPTER VII. Impletdr veteris Bacchi 68 CHAPTER VIII. Will be pronounced to be Cynical by the Benevolent 81 CHAPTER IX. Contains one Riddle which is solved, and perhaps some more 87 CHAPTER X. In which we visit "Admiral Bvng" 90 CHAPTER XI. In which Philip is very ill-tempered.. 105 CHAPTER XII. Damocles "• m \ i CONTENTS. CHAPTER XIII. Pago. mi; LoVl MY I>0(; ' 133 CHAPTER XIV. C . ; ns-1 w «• oi Philip's Mishaps 143 CHAPTER XV. Samaritans 159 CHAPTER XVI. [■ w iih ii Philip shows mis Mettle * 165 CHAPTER XVII. l'.i:, flS MM [lABOBO 182 CHAPTER XVIII. I»UI M JMT'.s So WOHL Mill IN DH9 WeLT 191 CHAPTER XIX. i,ii 'oh bst Bun a xisc.t ans 207 CHAPTER XX. H of Thus Love 218 CHAPTER XXL Tki:ats of 1> anci.no, Dinino, Dying 231 CHAPTER XXII. i'i i.\ is i.t Umbra Sumcs 247 CHAPTER XXIII. In wiik n wm still bothb about the Elysian Fields 255 CHAPTER XXIV. \i . DULOHl amoiikh Si-erne, Puer, Xeqce tu Choreas 271 CHAPTER XXV. Inkandi Doloiu:h 280 CHAPTER XXVI. Cohtai:<8 a Tito ov War 294 CHAPTER XXVII. I 0HAROM vor, j. no !• rouH Daggers ! 804 CHAPTER XXVIII. In which Mrs. Macwiurter has a new Punnet 316 CONTENTS. Vii CHAPTER XXIX. Page. In the Departments of Seine, Loire, and Styx (inferieur). . 328 CHAPTER XXX. Returns to old Friends « ; . 341 CHAPTER XXXI. Narrates that famous Joke about JVIiss Grigsby . . 361 CHAPTER XXXII. Ways and Means 3GS CHAPTER XXXIII. Describes a Situation interesting but not unexpected 377 CHAPTER XXXIV. In which I own that Philip tells an Untruth 385 CHAPTER XXXV. Res Angusta Domi 401 CHAPTER XXXVI. In which Philip wears a "\V;g 413 CHAPTER XXXVII. Nice plena Cruoris Hirudo 425 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Tun bearer of Tnn Bow-String » 436 CHAPTER XXXIX. In which several People have their Trials 449 CHAPTER XL. In which the Luck goes very much against is 454 CHAPTER XLI. In which we reach the Last Stage but onii of this Journey. 173 CHAPTER XLII. Thi Realms of. Bliss 177 I> THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. CHAPTER I. DOCTOR FELL "Not atteud her own son when he is ill!" said my mother. "She does not deserve to, have a. son!" And Mrs. Pendennis looked toward her own only darling while uttering this indig- nant exclamation. As she looked I know what passed through her mind. She nursed me,' she dressed me in little caps and long-clothes, she attired me in my first jacket and trowsers. She watched at my bedside through my infantile and juvenile ail- ments. 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 invisible. " Mrs. Firmin would be of no good," growled Dr. Good- enough. " 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 para- gon) " 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 of those happy days. " And people, when they knew 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 la — what d' ye call 'em V" says he. " I thought we were speaking of Mrs. Firmin ■, of Old Parr street. Mrs. Firmin is a doosid delicate woman," interposed the major. " All the females of that family are. Her mother died early. Her sister, Mrs. Twy'sden, is very delicate. 2 10 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 ? Keep your distance, or I shall bite you." • The old gentleman gave a little backward movement with his chair. « Gad, it 's no joking matter," says he ; " I 've known fehows catch fevers at — at ever so much past my age. At any rate, the boy is no boy of mine, begad ! I dine at Firmin's house, who has married into a good family, though he is only a doctor, and—" " And pray what was my husband ?" cried Mrs. Pendenms. " Only a doctor, indeed!" calls out Goodenough. " My dear creature, I have a great mind to give him the scarlet-fever this minute !" " My father was a surgeon and apothecary, I have heard," says the widow's son. " And what then ? And I should like to know. if a man of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom— in the empire, begad ! — has n't a right to pursoo a learned, a useful, an hotoora-. ble profession. My brother John was — " " A medical practitioner !" I say, with a sigh. And my uncle arranges his hair, puts his handkerchief to his teeth, and says — " Stuff! nonsense — no patience with these personalities, be- gad ! Firmin is a doctor, certainly — so are you — so are others. But Firmin is a university man, and a gentleman. Firmin has travelled. Firmin is intimate with some of the best people in England, and has married into one of the first families. Gad, sir, do you suppose that a woman bred up in the lap of luxury — in the very lap, sir — at Ringwood and Whipham, and at Ringwood House, in Walpole street, where she was absolute mistress, begad — do you suppose such a woman is fit to be nurse- tender in a sick-room ? She never ivas fit for that, or for any thing except — " (here the major saw smiles on the countenances of some of his audience) " except, I say, to preside at Ringwood 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, / don't think it 's a laughing matter, hang me if I do." " And so she stops at the Isle of Wight, while the poor boy remains at the school," sighs my mother. "Firmin can't come away. He is in attendance on the Grand Dook. The prince is never easy without Firmin. He has given him his Order of the Swan. They are moving heaven and earth in high quarters ; and I bet you even, Goodenough, that that boy whom vou have been attending will be a baronet— if you ON UIS WAY THilOUGH THIS WORLf). H don't kill him off with your confounded potions and pills, begad I l ' Dr. Goodenough only gave a humph and contracted his creafc eyebrows. My uncle continued — • "I know what you mean. Firmin is a gentlemanly man— a handsome man. I remember his father, Brand Firmin, at Val- enciennes, with the Dook of York— one of the handsomest men m Europe. Firebrand Firmin, they used to call him— a red- headed fellow — a tremendous duelist ; shot an Irishman be- came serious in after-life, and that sort of thing — quarrelled with his son, who was doosid wild in early days. Gentlemanly man, certainly, Firmin. Black hair ; his father had red. So much the better for the doctor; but — but — we understand each other, I 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 were, puffed the Firmin subject away. " Was it to show me a queer fish that you took me to Dr. Fir- ming house m Parr street ?" asked Mr. Pendennis of his uncle. " lhe house 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 Major Pendennis. « That boy brought about a reconciliation between his mother and her uncle, after her runaway match. I suppose you know she ran away with Firmin, my dear ?" My mother said « She had heard something of the story " And the major once more asserted that Dr. Firmin 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 - Duke of Groningen, and knight of his Order of the Black Swan, member 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 pao-es, you may suppose he did not die of the illness about which°we had just been talking. A good nurse waited on him, though Ins mamma was 'in the country. Though his papa was absent, a very competent 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 history. We pursued our talk about Philip Firmin and his father, and his granduncle the earl, whom Major Pendennis knew inti- mately well, until Dr. Goodenough's carriage was announced, and our kind physician took leave of us and drove back to Lon- don. Some who spoke on that summer evening are no longer here to speak or listen. Some who were young then have top- ped the hill and are descending toward the valley of the 12 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ahadpws. " Ah," says old Major Pendennis, shaking bis brown curls, as the doctor went away ; " did you see, ray good soul, when I spoke about his confrere, how glum Goodenough looked V They don't love each other, my dear. Two of a trade don't a»ree, and besides I have no doubt the other doctor-fellows are jealous of Firmin, because he lives in the best society. A man of good family, my dear. There has already been a great rap- prochement; and if Lord Ringwood is quite reconciled to him, then; '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 especially in the little community of Grey Fri- ars, of which the kind reader has heard in previous works of the present biographer, Dr. Brand Firmin was a very great favorite, and received with much respect and honor. Whenever the boys at that school were afflicted with the common ailments of youth, Mr. Sprat, the school apothecary, provided for them, and by the simple though disgusting remedies which were in use in those times, generally 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 lordship's great command of pocket-money and imprudent fondness for the con- tents of the pastry-cook's shop ; or if any very grave case of illness occurred in the school, then quick the famous Dr. Fir- min, of Old Parr street, Burlington Gardens, was sent for; and an illness must have been 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 darling youth), got the erysipelas, which swelled his head to the size of a pumpkin, the doctor tri- umphantly carried him through his illness, and was compliment- ed by the head-boy in his Latin oration on the annual speech-day for his superhuman skill and godlike delight salutem hominibus dando. The head master turned toward Dr. Firmin, and bowed ; the governors and bigwig? buzzed to one another, and looked at him ; the boys looked at him ; the physician held his hand- some head down toward his shirt-frill. His modest eyes would not look up from the spotless lining of the broad-brimmed hat on his knees. A murmur of applause hummed through the ancient hall, a scuffling of youn"; feet, a rustling of new cassocks among the masters, and a refreshing blowing of noses ensued, as the ora- tor polished off his period, and then passed to some other theme. Amidst the general enthusiasm, there was one member of the ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 13 auditory scornful and dissentient. This gentleman whispered to his comrade at the commencement of the phrase concerning the doctor the — I believe of Eastern derivation — monosyllable " Bosh 1" and he added, sadly, looking toward the object of all this praise, " He can't construe the Latin — though it is all a par- cel of humbug." a Hush, Phil!" said his friend ; and Phil's face flushed red as Dr. Firmin, 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 second year at the university, and one of half-a-dozen young men, ex -pupils of the school, who had come up for the annual dinner. The honors of this year's dinner were for Dr. Firmin, 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 after-dinner speech, he alluded to the inestimable services and skill of his tried old friend, whom he had known as a fellow- pupil in t those walls — (loud cheers) — whose friendship had been the delight of his life — a friendship which he prayed might be the inheritance of their children. (Immense applause; after which Dr. Firmin spoke.) The doctor's speech was perhaps a little commonplace ; the Latin quotations which he used were not exactly novel ; but Phil need not have been so angry or ill-behaved. He went on sipping sherry, glaring at his father, and muttering observations tli at were anything but complimentary to his parent. " Now, look," says he, " he is going to be 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 dining- room just as his father was declaring .what a joy, and a pride, and a delight it was to him to think that the friendship with which his noble friend honored him was likely to be transmitted 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 protector in the noble, the princely house of Ascot. We found the carriages waiting outside Grey Friars' Gate, and Philip Firmin, pushing me into his father's, told the foot- man to drive home, and that the doctor would return in Lord Ascot'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 Feast, and the 14 oi I'Hii.ir speeches delivered ; and of the old Cistercians of our time, and mpson v.as married, and Johnson was in the army, and Jackson (not red-haired Jackson, pig-eyed Jackson) was first in and so forth ; and in this twaddle were most happily . .'d when Phil's father flung open the tall door of the study. " Here 'a the governor!" growled Phil; and, in an under-tonc, " what docs he want ?" "The governor," as I looked up, was not a pleasant object to behold. l>r. Firmln had very white false teeth, which perhaps Aver.- a little too large for his mouth, and these grinned in the gas-light very fiercely. On his checks were black wlmkei's, and over his glaring eyes fierce black eyebrows, and his bald head glittered like a billiard-ball. You would hardly have known that lu- was the original of that melancholy philosophic portrait which all the patients admired in the doctor's waiting- room. " 1 find, Philip, that you took my carriage," said the father ; u and Lord Ascot and 1 had to walk ever so far lor a cab !" " Had n't he 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. " 1 had promised to bring him home, sir!" said the father. " Well, sir, I'm very sorry," continued the son, curtly. " Sorry !" screams the other. " 1 can't say any more, sir, amd 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 be- •i 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 toward 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 • i) V " I — 1 appeal to you, Pendennis," says the doctor, with a choking utterance and a ghastly face. "Shall we begin ab ovo, sir V" 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 •'' public dinner, in my carriage; and my son t;dint of sherry which he had ordered for his dinner. But as his ordship 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 melan- choly, and the waiters presently bearing up the dishes which the doctor had ordered for his own refection. He was no lover of mutton-chops and coarse sherry, as I knew, who had partaken of many a feast at his board. I could see the diamond twinkle on his pretty 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 boy. "I can't help liking him," I said to my companion, whose scornful eyes were now and again directed toward his colleague. " THis port is very sweet. Almost all port is sweet now," re- marks 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 appear- ance 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 sate 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 difference between Philip and his father, was clear enough to me ; but the causes of these differences I had yet to learn. The story came to me piecemeal ; from confessions here, admissions there, deductions of my own. I could not, of course, be present at many of the scenes which I 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 authen- tic as many historic*, and the reader need only give such an amount of credence to it as he may judge that its verisimilitude warrants. Well, then, we must not only revert to that illness which be- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THB WORLD. 29 fell when Philip Firmin was a boy at Grey Friars, but go back yet further in time to a period which I can not precisely ascertain. The pupils of old Gandish's painting academy may remember a ridiculous little man, with a great deal of wild talent, about the ultimate success of which his friends were divided. Wheth- er Andrew was a genius, or whether he was a zany, was always a moot question among the frequenters 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 wonder ; he dressed his little person in the most fantastic raiment and queerest cheap finery ; he wore a beard, bless my soul ! twenty years before beards were known to wag in Britain. He was the most affected little creature, and, if you looked at him, would pose in attitudes of such ludicrous dirty dignity, that if you had had a dun waiting for money in the hall of your lodg- ing-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 laugh- ing-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 pallet and easel are waste timber ; his genius, which made some little flicker of brightness, never shown 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 he continued to remain poor ; but a rich widow, whom he met at Rome, 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 con- sumption, of which the good Goodenough's skill could not cure him. One day, as he was. driving with his wife in her splendid ba- rouche through the Hayinarket, he suddenly bade the coachman stop, sprang over the side of the carriage before the steps could^ be let fall, and his astonished wife saw him shaking the hands of a shabbily-dressed little woman who was passing — shaking both her hands, and weeping, and gesticulating, and twisting his beard and mustache, as his wont was when agitated. Mrs. Montfitchet (the wealthy Mrs. Carricidergus she had been, be- 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 passing in the street, might well be dis- turbed by this demonstration ; but she was a kind-hearted woman, and when Montfitchet. on reascending into the family 80 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP coach, told his wife the history of the person of whom he had just taken leave, she cried plentifully too. She bade the coach- man drive straightway to her own house ; she rushed up to her own apartments, whenee she emerged bearing an immense bag full of wearing apparel, and followed by a panting butler, carry- ing a bottle-basket and a pie; and she drove off, with her pleased Andrew by her side, to a court in Saint Martin's lane, where dwelt the poor woman with whom he had just been con- versing. It had pleased Heaven, in the midst of dreadful calamity, to send her friends and succor. She was suffering under misfor- tune, poverty, and cowardly desertion. A man who had called himself Brandon when he took lodgings in her father's house, had married her, brought her to London, tired of her, and left her. She had reason to think he had given a false name when he 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 drove 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 prom- ised, when he left her, to remit her money ; but he sent none, or she refused it — or, in her wildness and despair, lost the dreadful paper which announced his desertion, and that he was married before, and that to pursue him would ruin 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 he 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 bad little education, except that whjch 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. Hoav 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 sim- ON HIS WAY THROUGH $HE WORLD. 81 pie cheerfulness. The little flowers began to bloom as the sun- shine touched them. Her whole life hitherto had been cowering under neglect, and tyranny, and gloom. Mr. Montfitchet was for coming so often to look after the little outcast whom he had succored that I am bound to say Mrs. M. became hysterically jealous, and waited for him on the stairs as he came down swathed in his Spanish cloak, pounced, on him, and called him a monster. Goodenough was also, I fancy, sus- picious of Montfitchet, and Montfitchet of Goodenough. How- Deit, the doctor vowed that he never had other ttian the feeling of a father toward his poor little proetg^ 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. " Papa used to say no one ever nursed him so nice as I did," she said. " I think I could do that better than anything, 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 employed. The widow died in course of time whom Mrs. Brandon's father had married, and her daughters refused to keep him, speaking very disrespectfully 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 money. Goodenough gave up a country-house, which he did not care to use, and lent Mrs. Brandon the furni- ture. She thought she could keep a lodging-house and find lodg- ers. Montfitchet had painted her. There was a sort of beauty about her which the artists admired. When Ridley, the Acade- mician, 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 Thornhaugh 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 per- manence 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 the 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 home. 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. Goodenough 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 Grey Friars — Grey Friars so 32 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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. Firmin's carriage drove up. " How was the boy ?" " 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, in which were several empty beds of boys gone home for the holidays. The windows were opened into Grey Friars' 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 ante-room. " 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 toward the patient, near whose side the Little Sister was standing. " Who is it ?" asked Phil. " It is I, dear. Your father," said Dr. Firmin, with real ten- derness in his voice. The Little Sister turned round once, and fell down like a stone by the bedside. " You infernal villain !" said Goodenough, with an oath and a step forward. " You are the man !" " Hush ! The patient, if you please, Dr. Goodenough," said the other physician. CHAPTER IV. A GENTEEL FAMILY. t Have 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 seem to be well off? Have people an honest right to keep up appearances ? Are you justified in starving your dinner- table in order to keep a carriage ; to have such an expensive house that you can't by any possibility help a poor relation ; to array your daughters 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 hypocrisy begins. To ob- trude your poverty is mean and slavish; as it is odious for a beggar to ask compassion by showing his sores. But to simulate prosperity — to be wealthy and lavish thrice a year when you ask your friends, and for the rest of the time to" munch a crust and sit by one candle — are the folks who practice this deceit *3j - m £*■ '^fEsBS . •ajBj HW/fr A/ATHAN SAID UNTO DAV/D ON HIS WAT THROUGH THE WORLD. 33 worthy of applause or a whipping? Sometimes it is noble pride, sometime shabby swindling. When I see Eugenia with her dear children exquisitely neat and cheerful; not showing the slightest semblance of poverty, or uttering the smallest com- plaint; 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 dis- dains to ask compassion. When I sit at poor Jezebella's table, and am treated to her sham bounties and shabby splendor, I only feel anger for the hospitality, and that dinner, and guest, and host, are humbugs together. Talbot Twysden's dinner-table is large, and the guests most respectable. There is always a bigwig 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 diner before Mrs. Twysden ; and to read it you would fancy you were at a good dinner. It tastes of chopped straw. Oh, the dreary sparkle of that feeble champagne ; the audacity of that public-house sherry; the swindle of that acrid claret; the fiery twang of that clammy port ! 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 grudged each candle by which the cook prepares the meal. Does her big coachman fatten himself on purloined oats and beans, and Thorley's food for cattle ? Of the rinsings ofcthose wretched bottles the butler will have to give a reckoning in the morning. Unless you are of the very great monde, Twysden and his wife think themselves better than you are, and seriously patronize you. They consider 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 Win- ton — the best dinner-giver in the world (ah, what a position for a 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 Chfiteau Margaux, Winton !" calls out the host. " It is some that Bottleby and I imported." Im- ported! I see Winton's face as he tastes the wine, and puts it down. He does not like to talk about that dinner. He has lost a day. Twysden will continue to ask him every year ; will continue to expect 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 foreign dukes and princes arrive, Twysden straightway collars them, and invites them to his house. And sometimes they go once — and then ask 4 34 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Qui done est ce Monsieur Tvisden, qui est si drole V And he elbows bis way up to tbem at the Minister's assemblies, and frankly gives them his 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 a smile and a courtesy. Twysden grasps prosperity cordially by the hand. He says to success, " Bravo !" On the contrary, I never saw a man more resolute in not knowing unfortunate people, or more daringly forgetful of those whom he does not care to remember. If this Levite met a wayfarer, going down from Jerusalem, who had fallen among thieves, do you think he would stop to rescue the fallen man ? He would neither give wine, nor oil, nor money. He would pass on perfectly satisfied with his own virtue, and leave the other to go, as best he might, to Jericho. What is this ? Am I angry because Twysden has left off asking me to his vinegar and chopped hay ? No. I think not. Am 1 hurt because Mrs. Twysden sometimes patronizes my wife, and sometimes cuts her ? Perhaps. Only women thoroughly know the insolence of women toward one another in the worW. That is a very 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 imperti- nence 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. Oh 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, while I am giving this candid opinion of the Twysdens, do I sometimes pause to consider what they think of me? What do I care '? Think what you like. Mean- while we 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 no\* of the Powder and Poma- tum office (the pigtail branch was finally abolished in 1833, after the Reform Bill, with a compensation to the retiring under- secretary), and his son is a clerk m 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, every- body wondered 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 everybody knew ; and it was supposed that old Ringwood must make his niece an allowance. She certainly worked hard to get it. I ON HIS WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 35 spoke of stabs anon, and poor little breasts and sides scarred all oyer. No nuns, no monks, no fakeers 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, he always brought a cat-of-nine-tails in his pocket, and administered it to the 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 piteously smiling, received their own boxes on the ear in presence of their children. " A1i !" the little French governess used to say, grinding her white teeth, " I like milor to come. All day you vip me. When niilor come he 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 mamma's ! now it stung Agnes, and now it lighted on Blanche's pretty shoulders. 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 wounded, and his contortions under punishment amused the old tormentor. As my lord's brougham drives up'— the modest little brown brougham, with the noble horse, the lord chancellor of a coach- man, and the ineffable footman — the ladies, who knew the whirr of the wheels, and may be quarreling in the drawing-room, call a truce to the fight, and smooth down their ruffled tempers and raiment. Mamma is writing at her table, in that beautiful, clear hand which we all admire; Blanche is at her book; Agnes is rising from the piano quite naturally. A quarrel betAveen those gentle, smiling, delicate creatures! Impossible! About your most common piece of hypocrisy how men will blush and bungle ; how easily, how gracefully, how consummately, women will per- form it ! " Well," growls my lord, " you are all in such pretty attitudes I make no doubt you have been sparring. I suspect, Maria, the men must know what devilish bad tempers the girls have got. Who can have seen you fighting ? You '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 frightened Greenwood 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 !" cried Miss Agnes, reddening. 36 THE ADVENTURES OF THILIP M And your mother is too sharp. The men are 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 Captain Hall says about me — odious little wretch !" cries Blanche. " There you 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 are frightened of your mother. La bless you ! Hall has no opinion. A fellow might commit mur- der, 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," cried Agnes, shedding tears under her mar- tyrdom. " Older than he is ; but that 's no obstacle. Good-looking boy ; I suppose you don't object to that? 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 influence over women ; and unless lam mistaken in my man, Maria, your poor sister got hold of a — " " Uncle !" cries Mrs. Twysden, pointing to her daughters, " before these — " " Before these 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. An accomplished man ? Yes. A good physician ? Yes. A prosperous man ? Yes. But what 's a man without principle T* " You ought to have been a parson, Twysden." " Others have said so, my lord. My poor mother often re- f retted that I didn't choose the Church. When I was at Cam- ridge Iused to speak constantly at the Union. I practised. I do not disguise from you that my aim was public life. I am free to confess I think the House of Commons would have been my sphere; and, had my means permitted, should certainly have come forward." Lord Ringwood smiled, and winked to his niece — " He means, my dear, that he would like to wag his jaws at my expense, and that I should put him in for Whipham." " There are, I think, worse members of Parliament," remark- ed Mr. Twysden. "If there was a box of 'em like you, what a cage it would ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 87 be!" roared 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" " I am a partisan of order— but a lover of freedom," contin- ues Twysden.. " I hold that the balance of our constitution—" I think my lord would have indulged in a few of those oaths with which his old-fashioned conversation was liberally garnish- ed ; but the servant, entering at this moment, announces Mr. Philip Firmin ; and ever so faint a blush flutters up in Agnes' cheek, who feels that the old lord's eye is upon her. " So, sir, I saw you at the opera last night," says Lord Rin*r- wpod. "I saw you, too," says downright Phil. The women looked terrified and Twysden scared. The Twysdens had Lord Ringwood's box sometimes. But there were boxes in which the old man sate, 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 ? When you go to church you ought to look at the parson, ought n't you ?" growled the old man. ki 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, old times we are writ- ing-— 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 skipped at the head of the ballet. Let us be thank- ful that those old apes have almost vanished off the stage, and left it in possession of the beauteous bounders of the other sex. Ah, my dear young friends, time will be when these too will cease to appear more than mortally beautiful 1 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 painted candor. Old Lord Ring wood had a humorous pleasure in petting and coaxing Philip Firmin before Philip's relatives of Beaunash street. Even the girls felt a little plaintive envy at the partiali- ty which uncle Ringwood exhibited 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 stronger, much better-tempered, and much richer than young Twysden. He would be the sole inheritor of his father's fortune, 58 THE ADVENTURES OV PHILIP 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 he liked Phil the best. Her boy was as humble and eager to please as any of his lordship's humblest henchmen ; and Lord Ringwood snapped at him, browbeat him, and trampled on the poor darling's ten- derest 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, inter- rupted 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 Rinjjwood said to Phil: " Dine with me to-day, sir ?" " Why does he not ask me, with my powers of conversation ?" thought old Twysden to himself. " Hang him, he always asks that beggar !" writhed young Twysden, in his corner. " 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 'emoff?" cries the old lord. " You 'd put 'em off, Twysden, would n't you ?" " Oh, sir !" the heart of father and son both beat. " You know you would ; and you quarrel with this boy for not throwing 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 win- dow, and saw my lord's brougham drive swiftly away in the rain. " I hate your dining at those horrid 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 ?" " Oh, nothing. You must dine with those horrible men," cries Agnes; "else you might have gone to Lady Pendleton's to- night." "I can throw over the men easily enough, if you wish," an- swered the young man. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 39 " I ? I have no wish of the sort. Have you not already refused uncle Ringwood ?" " You are not Lord Ringwood," 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 refuse ? 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 entree — and you refuse your uncle on account of some horrid engagement at a taiern !" " Shall I stop here? Aunt, will you give me some dinner— here ?" 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. Twys- den did not like to seat her nephew, who was accustomed to good fare and high living, to that meagre meal. u 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 actu- ally—" "In the service of Lord Todmorden? He often tells us so. He is a queer character, the old man." " Mr. Ridley is a man of genius, certainly. His pictures are delicious, and he goes everywhere — but — but you provoke me, Philip, by your carelessness ; indeed you do. Why should you be dining with the sons of footmen, 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 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 1 -" besides, my dear, you know he dines at Lord Pendle- ton's." " What is that you are talking of Lady Pendleton, children ?" asked watchful mamma from her corner. " Ridley dines there. He is going to dine with me at a tavern to-day. And Lord Halden is coming — and Mr. Winton is com- ing — 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 ? at* caba- ret t Hang me, I'll be one," shrieked little Twysden, to the terror of Philip, who knew his uncle's awful powers of conversation. But Twysden remembered himself in good time, and to the in- tense relief of young Finnin. " Hang me. I forgot ! Your aunt and I dine with the Bladeses*. Stupid old fellow, the admiral, and bad wine — which is unpardonable ; but we must go— on n'a que 40 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP saparole^ey^ Tell Winton that I bad meditated joining him, and that 1 have still some of that Chateau Margaux he liked. Hal-. den'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 L" And the little, man swaggers off, waving a bed-eandle, as if he was going to quaff a bumper of sparkling spermaceti. The mention of such great personages as Lorcf Halden and Mr. Winton silenced the reproofs of the pensive Agnes. "You won't care for our quiet fireside while you live with those fine people, Philip," she sighed? There was no talk now of his throwing himself away on bad company. So Philip did not dine with his relatives ; but Talbot Twysden took good care to let Lord Ringwood know how young Firmin had offered to dine with his aunt that day after refusing his lord- ship. And everything to Phil's discredit, and every act of ex- travagance or wildness which the young man committed, did Phil's uncle, and Phil's cousin, Ringwood Twysden, convey to the old nobleman. Had not these been the informers, 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 choose to laugh and be amused at Phil's insubordi- nation. He saw, too, other things of which he did not speak. He was a wily old man, who could afford to be blind upon occa- sion. "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 influence over you ? Were they not commonly older than yourself? Did your youthful passion lead to anything, 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 you on your conscience very much re- gret 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 eousin, no doubt, but at the university bad he not been previously in love with the Tomkinsian profes- sors daughter, Miss Budd ; and had be 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 themselves V 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 may about 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 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 41 we read in the most learned and conscientious history-books, •which are told by the most respectable persons, and perfectly au- thentic until contradicted. It is only our histories that can't be contradicted (unless, to be sure, novelists contradict themselves, 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 her own and other writers' poems to music. Blanche was scientific, and attended the Albemarle street lectures sedu- lously. They are both clever women as times go ; well-educated and accomplished, and very well mannered when they choose to be pleasant. If you were a bachelor, say, with a good fortune, or a widower who wanted consolation, or a lady giving very good parties and belonging to the monde, you would find them agree- able people. If you were a little Treasury clerk, or a young bar- rister with no practice, or a lady, old or young, not quite of the monde, your opinion of them would not be so favorable. I have seen them cut, and scorn, and avoid, and caress, and kneel down and worship the same person. When Mrs. Lovel first gave par- ties, don't I 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 behind her handsome back ; they take her hand in public ; they call her by her Christian name ; they fall into ec- stacies 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 ? IJow are you to recognize a diamond in a dust-hole V 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 historian, then, I declare that if Miss Twysden at three-and-twenty feels ever so much or little attachment for' her cousin who is not yet of age, there is no rea- son to be angry with her. A brave, handsome, blundering, down- right young fellow, with broad shoulders, high spirits, and quite fresh blushes on his face, with very good talents ((hough he has been woefully idle, and requested to absent himself temporarily from his university), 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 42 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Beaunash street ? His jolly frankness touched his aunt, a clever woman. She would smile and say, "My Hear Philip, it is not only what you say, but what you are going to say next, which keeps me in such a perpetual tremor." There may have been a time once when she was frank and cordial herself: ever so long ago, when she and her sister were two blooming girls, lovingly clinging together, 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 oppress- ed with ever so much care; in bearing with dutiful reverence an intolerable old bore of a husband (and I vow it is this quality in Mrs. Twysden for which I most admire her) ; in submitting to defeats patiently ; to humiliations with smiles, so as to hold your own in your darling monde — you may succeed, but you must give up being frank and cordial. The marriage of her sister to the doctor gave Maria Ringwood a great panic, for Lord Ring- wood was furious when the news came. 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 children. But as fou, frankness and cordiality, my good friend, accept from a lady what she can give you — good manners, pleasant talk, and decent attention. If you go to her breakfast-table, don't ask for a roc's egg, but eat that moderately fresh hen's egg which John brings you. When Mrs. Twysden 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 carriages — well known aristo- crats. Jones and Brown, leaning over the railings, and seeing 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 Twys don f and what clipping girls there were in that barouche !" B. remarks to J., " and what a handsome young swell that is riding the bay mare, and leaning 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 first-rate tip - top 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 Jones 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 the little party very happy, they do not hear Phil whis- per to his cousin, "I hope you liked your -partner last night?" ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 43 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 any where 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 Brag- lands won't see Mrs. Twysden in her great staring equipage, and the three faces which have been beaming smiles at her, she in- stantly perceives Lady Lovel, who is passing ensconced in her little brougham, and kisses her ringers twenty times over. Plow should poor J. and B., who are not, vous comprenez, du monde, understand these mysteries? " That 's young Firrain, is it, that handsome young fellow ?" says Brown to Jones. ''Doctor married the. Earl of Ring wood's niece — ran away with her, you know." " Good practice ?" "Capital. 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*va«een 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 lie comes to talk and shake hands with some pedestrians who are gazing over the railings at the busy and pleasant Park scene. 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 commoner 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 deposition of the late reigning house, the Ringwoods were implicated with many other families; but on the accession of his Majesty George III these differences happily ended, nor had the monarch any subject more loyal and devoted than Sir John Ringwood, Baronet, of Wingate and Whipham Market. Sir 44 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 consistently 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 profes- sion 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 lordship's brother, the Honor- able Colonel Philip Ringwood, died gloriously, at the head of his regiment and in the defence of his country, in the Battle of Bu- sacp, 1810, leaving two daughters, Louisa and Maria, who henceforth lived with the earl their uncle. 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 Whip- ham Market, though not of the peerages which had been con- ferred on the earl and his father. Lord RingAvood had, living with him, two nieces, daughters of his late brother, Colonel Philip Ringwood, who fell in the Penin- sular war. Of these ladies, the youngest, Louisa, was his lord- ship's favorite ; and though both the ladies had considerable fortunes of their own, it was supposed their uncle 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, while his lordship was a chief of the Tory party. Of these two nieces, the eldest, Maria, never any great favor- ite with her uncle, married, 1824, Talbot Twysden, Esq., a Com- missioner of Powder and Pomatum Tax; but the youngest, Louisa, incurred my lord's most serious anger by eloping with George Brand Firmin, Esq., M.D., a young gentleman of Cam- bridge University, who had been with Lord Cinqbars when 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 calling an old schemer), occasioned at first a little rapprochement between Lord Ringwood and his heir, Sir John of Appleshaw ; but both gentlemen were very firm, not to say obstinate, 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 was a little more ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 45 than seventy years of age, and had once been of a very robust constitution. And though his temper was violent and his person not at all agreeable (for even in Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture his countenance is very ill-favored), there is little doubt he could have found a wife for the asking among the young beauties of his own country, or the fairest of May Fair. But he was a cynical nobleman, and perhaps morbidly con- scious of his own ungainly appearance. " Of course I can buy a wife" (his lordship 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 ? I have been married, and once was enough. I hate ugly women, and your virtuous women, who tremble and cry in private, and preach at a man, bore me. Sir John Ringwood, of Appleshaw, is an ass, and I hate him ; but I don't hate him enough to make myself miserable for the rest of my days, in order to spite him. When I drop, I drop. Do you suppose I care what comes after me V" And with much sardoni- cal humor this old lord used to play off one ^ood 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 devotion to pious Selinda, and, at the season's end, drive back to his lonely great castle in jthe 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 sub- mit to some sacrifices to reclaim that unhappy man ; to lead that gifted but lost being into the ways of right ; to convert to a belief in woman's purity that erring soul ? The$' 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 dictated; they were always at home when he called, and poor you and I were gruffly told they were en- gaged ; they gushed in gratitude over his bouquets ; they sang for him, and their mothers, coricealing their sobs, murmured, " What an angel that Cecilia of mine is !" Every variety of de- licious chaff they flung to that old bird. But he was uncaught at the end of the season ; he winged his way back to his western hills. And if you dared to say that Mrs. Netley had tried to take him, or Lady Trapboys had set a snare for him, you know you were a wicked, gross calumniator, and notorious everywhere for your dull and vulgar abuse of women. Now, in the year 1880, it happened that this great nobleman was seized with a fit of the gout, whieh had very nearly con- signed his estates to his kinsman, the Baronet of Appleshaw. A revolution took place in a neighboring state. An illustrious reigning family was expelled from its country, and projects of reform (which would pretty certainly end in revolution) were 46 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP rife in ours. The events in France, 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 to all persons iibout him was frightfully expressive, as Lady Quamley and her daughter, who had sailed with him several times, can vouch. An ill return that rude old man made for all their kind- ness and attention to him. They had danced on board his yacht ; they had dined on board his yacht ; they had been out sailing with him, and cheerfully braved the inconveniences 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 his chair as it was wheeled along the pier, he called mother 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 Ryde with their little boy, then some three years of age. The doctor was already talcing his place as one of the most fash- ionable physicians then in London, and had begun to be cele- brated for the treatment of this especial malady. (Firmin on " Gout and Rheumatism " was, you remember, dedicated to his Majesty George IV.) Lord Ringwood's valet bethought him of calling the doctor in, and mentioned how he was present in the town. Now Lord Ringwood was a nobleman who never would allow his angry feelings to stand in the wa) r of his present com- forts or ease. He instantly desired Mr. Firrnin's attendance, and submitted to his treatment ; a part of which was a hauteur to the full as great as that which the sick man exhibited. Fir- min's appearance was so tall and grand, that he looked vastly more noble than £ great many noblemen. Six feet, a high man- ner, a polished forehead, a flashing eye, a snowy shirt-frill, a rolling velvet collar, a beautiful hand appearing under a velvet cuff — 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 self-possession. This defiant and darkling politeness did not always displease the old man. He was so accustomed to slavish compliance and eager obedience from all people round about him, that he some- times wearied of their servility, and relished a little independence. 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 noble relative and patient, who was noto- rious for his rudeness and brutality to almost every person who came in his way. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 4 7 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 hadlieen wild and stormy. Firmin had incurred debts ; had quarrelled with his father : had left the uni- versity 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 tearful dexterity in the use of the latter instrument, which he employed against the person of a fa- mous 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 Jn 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 coffined in their boxes. Only sous-officiers, brawling in their provincial cafes over their dominoes, fight duels. " Ah, dear me !" I heard a veteran punter sigh the other day, at Bays', " 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 twenty places where he could have cheerfully staked and lost his money in his young time. After a somewhat prolonged absence abroad, Mr. Firmin came back to this country, was permitted to return to the university, and left it with the degree of Bachelor of Medicine. We have told how he ran away with Lord Ringwood's niece, and incurred the anger of that nobleman. Beyond abuse and anger his lord- ship was powerless. The young lady was free to marry whom she liked, and her uncle to disown or receive him ; and accord- ingly she was, as we have seen, disowned by his lordship, until he found it convenient to forgive her. What were Lord Ring- wood's intentions regarding his property, what were his accumu- lations, and who his heirs would be, no one knew. Meanwhile, 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. Philip was a dear, good, frank, amiable, 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 constantly canvassed before Uncle Ringwood, by dear relatives who knew them only too well. The dear relatives ! 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 affectionately dilated on the young man's present prospei ity anc( magnificent future pro?p ( The interest of thirty thousand pounds now, and the inheritance 48 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP of his father's great accumulations ! What young man could want for more r Perhaps he had too much already. Perhaps he was too rich to work. The sly old peer acquiesced in his niece's statements, and perfectly understood the point toward which they tended. " A thousand a year! What's a thousand a year ?" giowled the old lord. u Not enough to make a gentle- man ; 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 establishment, and Mr. Twysden's salary from his office — it was but a pittance." "Pittance ! Starvation," growls my lord, with his usual frank- ness. " 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." " Afibrd any better ? Of course you can't. You are the crock- ery pots, and you swim down stream with the brass pots. I saw Twysden the other day walking down St. James' street with Rhodes — that tall fellow." (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, he always tries to keep step with him. You know that." Poor Maria naturally 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, le cher mari, but a good pluck. Those little fellows often have. I 've seen him half dead out shooting, and plunging over the plowed fields after fellows with twice his stride. Why don't men s'ink in the world, I want to know ? In- stead of a fine house, and a parcel of idle servants, why don"t you have a maid and a leg of mutton, Maria ? You go half crazy in trying to make both ends meet. You know you do. It keeps you awake of nights ; / 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 V — tripe 's a famous good thing. The mis- eries which people entail on themselves in trying to live beyond their means are perfectly ridiculous, by George 1 Look at that fellow who opened the door to me ; he 's as tall as one of my own men. Go and live in a quiet little street in Belgravia somewhere, 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 you lived here with an extra couple of thousand a year. The advice I am giv- ing you is worth half that, every shilling of it." PI. 1 -J m* r/roo ft£p „„,„. THI HCHO^ Of ».»c, .« '»»»"* T " '""'*■ ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 49 "It is very good advice; but I think, sir, I should prefer the thousand pounds," said the lady. " Of course you 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 '11 have his own, too, the fellow will. Why, when I first called hira in, I thought, as he was a relation, he 'd doctor me for noth- ing ; but he would n't. He would have his fee, by George ! and would n't come without it. Confounded independent fellow Fir- min is. And so is the young one." But when Twysden and his son (perhaps inspirited by Mrr». Twysden) tried once or twice to be independent in the presence of this lion, he roared, and he rushed at them, and he rent them, so that they fled from hira 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 ray lord, when he was only Lord Cinqbars, insulting a half-pay lieutenant, in his own coun- try, who horsewhipped his lordship in the most private and fero- cious 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 dove-cot. I do not say that this was a model nobleman ; but that, when his own pas- sions 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 mouths. 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 buMy or no. I have told you I like Philip Firmin, though it must be con- fessed that the young fellow had many faults, and that his career, especially his early career, was by no means exemplary. Have I ever excused his conduct to his father, or said a word in apology of his 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 can not perceive that enormous beam in his neighbor's eye ? Only a woman or two, from time to time. Ami 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 ? I say again, perhaps a wom- an or two. But as for you and me, my good sir, are there any 5 50 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP signs of wings sprouting from our shoulder-blades ? Be quiet. Don't pursue your snarling, cynical remarks, out go on with your story. As you go through life, stumbling, and slipping, and stagger- ing 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 ? Some there are on whom, quite in their early lives, dark Ahrimanes has seemed to lay his dread mark; children, yet corrupt, and wicked of tongue ; ten- der of age, yet cruel ; who should be truth-telling and generous yet (they were at their mothers' bosoms yesterday), but are false, and cold, and greedy before their time. Infants almost, they practice the art and selfishness of old men. Behind their can- did faces are wiles and wickedness, and a hideous precocity of artifice. I can recall such, and in the vista of far-off, unforgot- ten boyhood, can see marching that sad little procession of en- fans 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, imprisoned ; but escape and conquer sometimes. And then there is the happy 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 entrance ; 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 hard and come in lag last at the bottom of the form. Our friend Philip belongs to the middle class, in which you and I probably are, my dear sir — not yet, I hope, irredeemably consigned to that awful third class, whereof mention has been made. But, being homo, 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 re- publicanism — 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. Firmin to me with tears in his eyes, and much genuine grief exhibited on "his handsome pale ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 51 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, I have n't words to tell you how deeply he disappoints me. Why, I actually heard of him at that horrible Union advocating the death of Charles the First ! I was wild enough myself when I was at the university, but I was a gentleman." "Boys, sir, are boys," I urged. " They will advocate any thing for an argument ; and Philip would have taken the other side quite as readily." " Lord Axminster and Lord St. Dennis told me of it at the club. I can tell you it has made a most painful impression," cried the father. " That my son should be a radical and a re- publican, 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 different 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 be 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 radical doctrine. At that time of my life, being young and very green, 1 had a little mischievous pleasure in infuriating 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 disposition. I praise and admire success wherever I meet it. I make allowance for faults and shortcomings, especially in my superiors ; and feel that, did we know all, we should judge them very differently. People don't believe me, perhaps, quite so much as formerly. But I don't of- fend ; I trust 1 don't offend. Have I said anything painful ? Plague on my blunders ! I recall the expression. I 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? Phil was unruly because he was bold, and wild, and young. His father was hurt, naturally hurt, because of the boy's extravagancies and follies. They will come together again, as father and son should. These little differences 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 52 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP hours of anxiety and nights of painful watching. But stay, father, what of you ? Have you shown to the boy the practice of confidence, the example of love and honor? Did you accustom him to virtue, and teach truth to the child at your knee ? " Honor vour father and mother." Amen. May his days be long who fulfils the command ; but implied, though unwritten on the table, is there not the order, " Honor your son and daughter ?" Pray Heaven that we, whose days are already not few in the land, may keep this ordinance too. What had made Philip wild, extravagant, 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 entered on a life such as wild young men will lead. From that day of illness his manner toward 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 servants, and was spoiled by them ; spent the income which was settled on his mother and her children, and gave of it liber- ally to poor acquaintances. To the remonstrances of old friends he replied 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 mathematics. He was implicated in more rows than one ; his tutors saw him not, but he and the proctors became a great deal too well ac- quainted. If I were to give you a history of Mr. Philip Firmin 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 astonished Uncle Twys- den in London street, and blandly told him that he must be mistaken — he one Frenchman, 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 dis- covered him in the fact. He had to go down, the young prodi- gal. I wish I could say he was repentant. But he appeared before his father with 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 ON HI8 WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 53 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 determina- tion 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 wa»-only idling. Philip might have been much more industriously, more profita- bly, 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 Tyburnia 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 to- bacco ; a land of chambers, billiard-rooms, supper-rooms, oysters ; a land of song ; a land where soda-water flows freely in the morn- ing; a land of tin-dish covers from taverns, and frothing porter ; a land of lotos-eating (with lots of cayenne-pepper), of pulls on the river, of delicious reading of novels, magazines, and saun- terings in many studios; a land where men call each other by their Christian names; where most are poor, where almost ail , are young, and where if a few oldsters do enter, it is because they have preserved more tenderly and carefully than other 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. Firmin's indignation at his son persisting in his bad courses and wild associates. When Firmin had been wild himself, he had fought, intrigued, and gambled in good com- pany. Phil chose his friends among a banditti never heard of in fashionable quarters. Perhaps he liked to play 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 dissecting-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 pur- suing legal studies seriously, Philip entered at an inn of court, and kept his terms duly, though he vowed that his conscience would not allow him to practice (I am not defending the opinions 54 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP of this squeamish moralist — only Btating them). His acquaintance here lav among 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. Cassidy, Mr. P. Firmin, Mr. Van John;" but were these gentlemen likely to advance Philip in life ? Cas- sidy was a newspaper reporter, and young Vanjohn a betting man who was always attending races. Dr. Firmin had a horror of newspaper men, and considered ttfey belonged to the danger- ous classes, and treated them with a distant affability. " Look at the governor, Pen," Philip would say to the present chronicler. "He always watches you with a secret suspicion, and has never got over his wonder at your being a gentleman. I like him when he does the. Lord Chatham business, and con- descends toward you, and gives you his hand to kiss. He con- siders he is your better, don't you see ? Oh, he is a paragon of a pere noble^ the governor is! and I ought to be a young Sir Charles (Jrandison." And the young scapegrace would imitate his father's smile, and the doctor's manner of laying his hand to his breast and putting out his neat right, leg, all of which move- ments or postures were, I 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 at- tempt 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 siM'ii until fortune sent her in the way of those good-natured folks. She' pays them frequent visits. When she goes away from us she is always neat and clean ; when she comes to us she is in rags and dirty. A wicked little slattern ! And, pray, whose duty is.it 10 keep her clean V and has not the parent in this case forgotten to honor her daughter ? Suppose there 1s some reason which prevents Philip from loving his father — that the doctor has neglected to cleanse; the boy's heart, and by carelessness and in- difference has sent him erring into the world. If so, woe be to that doctor ! If I take my little son to the tavern to dinner, shall I not assuredly pay ? If I suffer him in tender youth to go astray, and harm comes to him, whose is the fault ? Perhaps the very outrages and irregularities of which Phil's father complained were in some degree occasioned by the elder's own faults. He was so laboriously obsequious to great men that the son in a rage defied 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 bigwigs whom the doctor loved to assemble, bland and ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLO. 55 solemn men of the ancient school, who dined solemnly with each other at their solemn old houses — such men as old Lord Botley, Baron Bumpsher, Cricklade (who published " Travels in Asia Minor," 4to, 1804), the Bishop of St. Bees, and the like — wag- ged their old heads 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 sorts of rows and disturbances at the university, and the master of Boniface reported most unfavorably of him. And at the solemn dinners in Old Parr street — the admirable, costly, 6ilent dinners — he treated these old gentlemen with a familiarity which caused the old heads to shake with surprise and choking indignation. Lord Botley and Baron Bumpsher had proposed and seconded Firmin's boy at the Megatherium club. The pal- lid old boys toddled away in alarm when he made his appearance there. He brought a smell of tobacco-smoke with him. lie was capable 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 all their pigtails together. In no place was Philip seen or heard to so little advantage as in his father's house. " I feel like a humbug myself among those old humbugs, " he would say to me. " Their old jokes, and their old compliments, and their virtuous old conversation sickened me. Are all old men humbugs, 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 frequented. I have said that many of his com- panions were artists and journalists, and their clubs and haunts were his own. Ridley the Academician had Mrs. Brandon's rooms in Thornhaugh street, and Philip was often in J. J.'s studio, or in the widow's little room below. He had a very great tender- ness and affection for her; her presence seemed to purify him; and in her company the boisterous, reckless young man was in- variably 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-oflffFmothcrly devotion. It was pleasant to see him at her homely little fireside, and hear bis jokes and prattle with a fatuous old father, who was one of Mrs. Brandon's lodgers. Philip would play cribbage for hours with this old man, frisk about him with a hundred harmless jokes, 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 *t the truth. He had an agreeable perseverance in doing nothing, and would pass half a day in perfect contentment over his pipe, watching 56 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Ridley at bis easel. J. J. painted that charming head of Philip which hangs in Mrs. Brandon's little room — with the fair hair, the tawny beard and whiskers, and the bold blue eye. 'Phil had a certain after-supper song of " Garryo'wen 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 night I had been to dine in Russell square, and was brought home in his carriage by Dr. Firmin, 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 booming through 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 '?" he groaned out. " Those are his haunts. My son, who might go anywhere, pre- fers 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 considerable note frequent- ed it. But the wounded father was not to be consoled 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. Fir- min's parents was a maiden lady of suitable age and large for- tune, who looked upon the accomplished doctor with favorable eyes. That he should take a companion to cheer him in his sol- itude was natural enough, and all his friends concurred in think- ing that he should marry. Every one had cognizance of the quiet little courtship, except 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 on his father's approaching marriage ? His what ? The younger Firmin exhibited the greatest surprise and agitation on hearing of this match. He ran home ; he await- ed his father's return. When Dr. Firmin came home and be- took himself to his study, Philip confronted him there. " This must be a lie, sir, which I have heard to-day," the young man said, fiercely. "A lie ! what lie, Philip ?" asked the father. They w\ire both very resolute and courageous men. " That you are going to marry Miss Benson ?" " Do you make my house so happy that I don't need any oth- er companion V" asked the father. " That 's not the question," said Philip, hotly. " You can't and must n'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- morrow, if you persist in your plan. " ON HIS WAY THROUGH THIC WORLD. 57 " So you know that story ?" groaned the father. " Yes. God forgive you," said the son. " It was a fault of ray 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 goto Miss Benson now." "If you go out of this house you don't pretend to return to it ?" " Be it so. Let us settle our accounts and part, sir." 14 Philip, Philip ! you break my heart," cried the father. "You don't suppose mine is vevy 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. brandox's. Thornhaugh street is but a poor place now, and the houses look as if they had seen better days ; but that house with the cut centre drawing-room window, which has the name of Bran- don on the door, is as neat as any house in the quarter, and the brass plate always shines like burnished gold. About Easter time many fine carriages stop at that door, and splendid peo- ple walk in, introduced by a tidy little maid, or else by an ath- letic Italian with a glossy black beard and gold ear-rings, who conducts them to the drawing-room floor, where Mr. Ridley, the painter, lives, and where his pictures are privately exhibited befpre 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 par- lor 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 questioning the title. He docs not claim it, neither does he deny it- But the wags who call upon ?Jrs. Brandon can always, as the phrase is 7 "draw" her father by speaking of Prussia, France, Waterloo, or battles in general, until the Little Sister says. " Now, never mind aboil*, the Battle of Waterloo, papa " (she says pa — her h's are irregu- lar — 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 Bean? has already dra^'n 4< Captain Gaun (astvtvd by 6 58 THE ADVENTURES OF PJULIT Shaw, i) '■■ Life Guardsman) killing twenty-four French cuiras- siers at Waterloo.** " Captain Garni cult inline Hougoumont." " Cantain Gann, called,; upon by Napoleon Bonaparte to lay down his arms, saying-, A captain of militia dies, but never sur- renders.' " '*■ The Duke of Wellington pointing to the advanc- ing Old Guard, and saying, ' Up, Gann, and at them.'" And these sketches are so di oil that even 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 sympathises too. Ridley says he knows lew better critics of pictures than Mrs. Brandon. She has a sweet temper, a merry sense of humor, that makes the cheeks dimple and the eye shine ; and a kind heart, that has been sorely tried and wounded, but is still soft and gentle. Fortunate are' they whose hearts, so tried by suffering, yet re- cover their health, Some have illnesses from which there is no recovery, and drag through Hie afterward maimed and invalid. But this Little Sister, having been subjected in youth to a dreadful trial and sorrow, was saved out of it 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 him through his illness as ten- derly as his good wife herself. In the days of her own chief grief and misfortune her father, who was under the domination of his wife, a cruel and blundering woman, thrust our poor little Caroline from his door, when she. returned to it, the broken-heart- ed 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 begun to heal, and, from gratitude for this immense piece of good fortune vouchsafed to her, that her happiness and cheerfulness returned. Returned V There was an old servant of the family, who could not stay in the house because she was so abominably disrespect- ful to the captain, and this woman said she had never known Miss Caroline so cheerful, nor so happy, nor so good-looking, as she was now. So Captain Gann came to live with his daughter, and patron- ized her with much dignity. He had a very few yearly pounds, which served to pay his club expenses, and a portion of his clothes. His club, 1 need not say, was at the "Admiral Byng," Tottenham Court Road, and here the captain met frequently a pleasant little 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 Margate, 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 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. . 59 people still rather fondly thought His daughter, among others, had tried to fancy all sorts of good of her father, and especially that he was a man of remarkably good manners. But she Lad seen one or two gentlemen since she knew the poor old father — gentle- men with rough coats and good hearts, like Dr. Goodenough ; gentlemen with superfine coats and superfine double-milled man- ners, like Dr. Firmin, and hearts — well, never mind about that point : gentlemen of no h's, like the good, dear, faithful benefac- tor 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 accuse 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, when he lived in some of the tip-toe society of this city, sir — a' society in which, we need not say, the custom always is for gentlemen to treat other gentlemen to rum-and-water. Never mind — I wish we were all as happy as the captain. I see his jolly face now before me as it blooms fhroimh the window in Thornhaugh street, and the wave of the somewhat dingy hand which sweeps me a gracious recognition. The clergyman of the neighboring chapel' was a very good friend of the Little. Sister, and has taken tea in her parlor; to which circumstance the captain frequently alluded, pointing out the very chair on which the divine sate. Mr. Gann attended his ministrations regularly every Sunday, and brought a rich, though somewhat worn, buss voice to bear upon the anthems and hymns at the chapel. His style was more florid than is general now among church singers, and, indeed, had been ac- quired in a former age and in the performance of rich Baccha- nalian chants, such as delighted the contemporaries of our ln- cledons and Brahams. Witha 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 disturbance when her father sang, that he presently ceased from exercising his musical talents in her hearing, lie hungup his lyre, whereof it must be owned that time bad broken many of the once resounding chords. With a sketch or two contributed by her lodgers — with a few guncracks from the neighboring Wardour street presented by 60 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 smoking his pipe." And she allowed Phil's cigar. Anything was allowed to Phil, the other lodgers declared, who professed to be quite jealous of Philip Firmin. She had a very few books. " When I was a girl I used to be always reading novels," she said ; " but la, they 're mostly nonsense. There 's Mr. Pendennis, who comes to see Mr. Ridley. 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 Cu- pid'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. Ridley'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 captain. The homely little meal has almost 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 lit- tle 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 ? 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 grate- ful to the Little Sister for having nursed her son during his malady ? Through their connection they were enabled 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, sufficient whiskey being almost always provided for him. Old Mr. Ridley's respect for her father afforded a most pre- cious consolation 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 elsewhere used to occasion the good butler much' intellectual ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 61 trouble. The. Little Sister made his lodger's bills out for him (Mr. R., as well as the captain's daughter, strove to increase a small income by the letting of furnished apartments), or the captain himself would take these documents in charge; he wrote a noble mercantile hand, rendered now somewhat shaky by time, but stiil very line 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 accounts, which neither his father nor his mother were very competent to ar- range. " We were not in our young time, Mr. Gann," Ridley remarked to his friend, " brought up to much scholarship ; and very little book learning was given to persons in my rank of life. It was necessary and proper for you gentlemen, of course, sir." " Of course, Mr. Ridley," 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 J value it, sir, and so do my son John James reckonize and val- ue it, sir." Mr. Ridley had served gentlemen of the bonne e'cole. No nobleman could be more courtly and grave than he was. In Mr. Gann's manner there was more humorous playfulness, ■which in no way, however, diminished the captain's high-breed- ing. As he continued to be intimate with Mr. Ridley, he be- came 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 spectacle 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 a coolness between the two old gentlemen. But the Little Sister paid the outstanding ac- count 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 longe'd to be of the company. But even when he saw the old gentlemen in the Little Sister's parlor, they felt dimly that he was making fun of them. The captain would not have been able to brag so at ease had Phil been continually watching him. " I have 'ad the honor of waiting on your worthy father at my Lord Todmorden's table. Our little club ain't no place for you, Mr. Philip, nor for my soil, though he 's a good son, and proud me and his mother is of him, which he have nev- er gave us a moments pain, except when he Avas ill, since he have came toman's estate, moat thankful am I, and withuiy 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 62 THE ADVENTURES U¥ PHILTP thought the Ringwoods one of the best in England, and the Firmins a good one likewise." Mr. Ridley loved the sound of his own voice* At the festive meetings of the club seldom a night passed in which he did not compliment ids brother ByngS and air his own oratory. Under this reproof Phil blushed, and hung his conscious head with shame. "Mr. Ridley,*' says he, 4i you shall find ! won't com,.' where I am n tf welcome- ; and if I come to annoy you at the 'Admiral B.vng,' may I be taken out on the quarter-deck and shot.'" On which Mr. Ridley pro- nounced Philip to be a "must singular, astrornary, and asentrie voung mm. A good heart, sir. Most generous to relieve dis- tress. Fine talent, sir; but I fear — I fear they won't come to much good, Mr, Gann — saving your presence, Mrs. Brandon, in'm. which, of course, you always stand up for him." When Philip Firmin had had his pipe and his talk with the Little Sister in her parlor, he would ascend and smoke his second, third, tenth pipe in J. J. Ridley'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 paint- er 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-writers, 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 envjed all success, and the sight of prosperity made him furious: but to the unsuccess- ful 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 admired 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 pecu-:" niary transactions which certainly were not to Mr. Jarman's credit Jai man wis a man of remarkable humor. He was fond of the widow, una would speak of her goodness, usefulness, and honesty with teai'd 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. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 63 We ascend to the room on the first floor, where the centre window has been heigthened so as to afford an uppsr light, and under that stream of radiance vis behold the head of an old friend, Mr. J. J. Ridley, the R. Academician. Time has sdtrie- what thinned his own copious locks, and prem iturely streaked the head with silver. ' II's face is rather win: the eager, sensi- five hand which poises brush and pallet, and quivers over the picture, is very thin: round his eyes are many lines of ill-health and, perhaps, eare, but the eyes are 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 very sweet singing voice, and warbles at. his work, or whistles at it, smiling. II ■ sets his hand little feats of skill to perform, and smiles with a boyish pleasure at his own matchless dexterity. I have; seen 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 perfect delight in the work he was performing: a delight lasting from morning till sundown, during which time he was too bu y t> touch the biscuit and glass of water which was prepared i')f his frugal luncheon. He i- greedy of the last minute of light, arid never can be got from his darling pictures without a regret. To be a painter, and to have your hind in perfect command, I hold to be one of life's summit bona. Tbe bappy mixture of hand and head work must render the occupation supremely pleasant. In the day's work must occur endless delightful difficulties and occa- sions 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 victo- ries to be won. Each day there must occur critical moments' of supreme struggle and ir. tmph, when struggle and victory must be both invigorating and exquisitely pleasing — -as a burst across country is to a fine rider perfectly mounted, who knows that his courage and his horse will never fail him. There is the excite- ment of the game, ami the g tlhnt delight in winning it. Of this sort of admirable reward for their labor, no men, I think, have a greater share than paint *rs (perhaps a violin-player, per- fectly and triumphantly performing his own beautiful composi- tion, may be equally happy). Here is occupation : here is ex- citement : here is struggle and victory : and here is profit. Can man ask more from fortune? Dukes and Rothschilds maybe 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* Lave sal in crupper on that Pegasus, but has never unhor^d the rider. In certain mind I i.uiuant and superior to all be- sides — stronger than lov *erthan hate, or care, or penury. As soon as the tever leaves the hand i've-- ir is seizing an i fond- 64 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ling the pencil. Love may frown and be false, but the other mistress never will. She is always true, always new, always the friend, companion, inestimable consoler. So John James Ridley sat at his easel from breakfast till sundown, and never left his work quite willingly. I wonder are nun of other trades so enamored of theirs; whether lawyers cling to the last to their darling reports ; or writers prefer their desks and inkstands to society, to friendship, to dear idleness? ] have seen no men in life loving their profession so much as painters, except, perhaps, actors, who, when not engaged themselves, always go to the play. Before this busy easel Phil would sit for hours, and pour out endless talk and tobacco-smoke. His presence was a delight to Ridley's soul; his face a sunshine ; his voice a cordial. Weakly himself, and almost infijm of body, with sensibilities tremulously keen, the painter most admired among men strength, health, good spirits, good-breeding. Of these, in his youth, Philip had a wealth of endowment; and I hope these precious gifts of fort- une have not left him in his maturer age. I do not say that with all men Philip was so popular. There are some who never can pardon good iortune, and in the company of gentlemen are on the watch for offence ; and, no doubt, in his 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 Firmin ?" asked Jarman. " Because Firmin's father hangs on to the nobility by the pulse, while Ridley, you know, is con- nected with them through the sideboard." So Jarman had the 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 un- pardonable crime — a cause of ceaseless doubt, division, and sus- picion. What more conrmtm or natural, Bufo, than to hate another for being what you are not? The story is as old as frogs, bulls, and men. Then, to be sure, besides your enviers in life, there are your admirers. Beyond wit, which he understood — beyond genius, which he had — Ridley admired good looks and manners, and always kept some simple hero whom he loved secretly to cherish and worship. He loved to be among beautiful women and aris- tocratical men. Philip Firmin, with his republican notions and downright bluntness of behavior to all men of rank superior to him, had a grand high manner of his own ; and if he had scarce two-pence 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 unreasonably, have thought it impudence. It fascinated Ridley. To be such a man ; to have such a figure and manner; to be able to look society in the face, slap it on the shoulder, if you were so minded, and hold it by the button — ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 65 what would not Ridley give for such powers and accomplish- ments V 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 peculiari- ties. Jarman was quite right when he said Ridley loved fine company. I believe his pedigree gave him secret anguishes. He would rather have been genth-man 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 be arrayed in glory. The little clique of painters knew what Firmin's means were. Thirty thousand pounds of his own. Thirty thousand pounds down, sir; and the inheritance of his father's immense fortune! A 'splendor ema- nated from this gifted young man. His opinions, his jokes, his laughter, his song, had the weight of thirty thousand down, sir;' and etc., etc. What call had he to work? Would you set a young nobleman to be an apprentice V 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 eight- penny plate of meat in Wai dour street and a glass of porter for his humble dinner. At the Haunt, and similar places of Bohe- mian resort, a snug place near the fire was always found for Firmin. 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. I own that he 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 him, 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 being idle. The Little Sister gave him advice, to be sure, both as to the com- pany he (should keep and the occupation which was wholesome for him. But when others of his acquaintance hint<^ that his idleness would do him harm, she would not hear of th#r censure. "Why should he work if he don't choose?" she asked. " He has no call to be scribbling and scrabbling. You would n't have him sitting all day painting little dolls' heads on canvas, and working like a slave. A pretty idea, indeed ! His uncle will get him an appointment. That's the thing he should have. lie should be secretary to an ambassador .-.broad, and he will be I" In fact, Phil, at this period, used to announce bis wish to enter the diplomatic service, and bis hope that Lord RingwooH would further his views in that respect. Meanwhile he was the king THE ADVKNTT7RK9 OP PHILIP of Thornhaugh street. He might be as idle as lie' chose, and Mrs. Brandon had always a smile for him. He might smoke a great deal too inueh, but she worked dainty little cigar-oases for him. She hemmed him fine cambric pocket-handkerchiefs, and embroidered his crest at the corners. 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. 1 fear Dr. Firmin, sighing out his dis- appointed hopes in respect of his sou, has rather good cause for his dissatisfaction. But of these remonstrances the Little Sister would not hear. u Idle, why not ? Why should lie 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 at- tributed her e:iger partisanship to that admirable injustice which belongs to all den,and I, Phil's revered and respectable school senior, and others of our ancient semina- ry. There was Burroughs, the second wrangler of his year, great in metaphysics, greater with the knife and fork. There was Staekpole, Eblana's favorite child — the glutton of all learn- ing, 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 already winning prodigious triumphs at the parliamentary bar, and investing in consols to the admiration of all his contemporaries. There was Rosebury 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 Ascot, Lord Egham's noble son. There was Tom Dale, who having carried on his university career too splendidly, had come to grief in the midst of it, and was now meekly earning his bread in the reporter's gallery, alongside of Cassidy. There was Macbride, who having thrown up his fel- lowship and married his cousin, was now doing a brave battle with poverty, and making literature feed him uutil law should reward him more splendidly. There was Haythorn, the country gentleman, who ever remembered his old college chums, and kept the memory of that friendship up by constant reminders of pheasants and game in the season. There were Raby and Maynard from the Guards' Club (Maynard sleeps now under Crimean snows), who preferred arms to the toga, but carried 70 THE ADVEXTUiii'tJ OF riliLII' into their military life Lhq love of their old books, tlie affection of their old friends. Most of these musi be mule personages in our little drama. Could any chronicler 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. His servants were in attendance to wait upon the company. Father and son both loved splendid hospitalities, and as 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 the hall, already in the chambers, and eating the young barrister's dessert. " He's been here ever so long," says Mr. Brice,who of- ficiated as butler, '• pegging away at the olives and macaroons. Shouldn't wonder if" he has pocketed some." There was small respect on the part of Brice for Mr, Twysden, whom the worthy butler frankly pronounced 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 arrived, and but that the wine and men were older, one might have fancied one's self at a col- lege wine-party. Mr. Twysden talked for the whole company. He was radiant. He felt himself in high spirits. He did the honors of Philip's table. Indeed, no man was more hospitable with other folks' wine. Philip himself was silent and nervous. 1 asked him if the awful ceremony which he had just undergone was weighing on his mind V He was looking rather anxiously toward the door ; and, know- ing somewhat of the state of affairs at home, I thought that prob- ably he and his father had had one of the disputes which, of late days, had become so frequent between them. The company were nearly all assembled, and busy with their talk, and drinking the doctor's excellent claret, when Brice en- tering announced Dr. Firmin and Mr. Tufton Hunt. u Hang Mr. Tufton Hunt!" Philip was going to say ; but he started up, went forward to his father, and greeted him very re- spectfully. He then gave a bow to the gentleman introduced 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. Fir- min came, drooped a little after his appearance. " We had an ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 7 1 awful row two days ago," Philip whispered tqjjne. " Wd shook bands and are. reconciled, as you see. He won't stay long, lit; will be sent for in half an hour or so. lie will say he has been sent for by a duchess, and go and have tea at tie,' club." Dr. Firmin bowed, and smiled sadly at me, as Philip was speak- ing. I dare say I blushed somewhat, and felt as it" the doctor knew what his son was saying to me. He presently engaged in conversation with Lord Aseoi ; he hoped his cood father was well ? " You keep him so, doctor. You don't give a fellow a chance," says the young lord. " Pass the bottle, you young men ! Hey ! We, intend to see you all out 1" 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. smacked his lips over the claret. " It 's your twenty-five, and no mistake." " The red-nosed individual seems a connoisseur," whispered llosebury 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. 11 He looks as if he had gone to bed in his clothes, and carries a plentiful Hue about his person. Who is your father's esteemed friend V" continues the wag, in an under voice. " You heard his name, llosebury," says the young hamster, gloomily. " I should suggest that your father is in difficulties, and attend- ed by an officer. of the sheriff of London, or perhaps subject to mental aberration, and placed under the control of a keeper." u Leave me alone, do !" groaned Philip. And here Twysden, who was 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 discourse 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 blessing go with you, too, my boy I" cried the little man. He was prodigal of benedictions. He 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 deserved cheers when at length he sat down. Phil stammered a few words in reply to his uncle's voluble compliments; 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 rufllcd 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 72 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 noblest reward for industry, was a proud and happy moment to him, Dr. Firmin. What had the poet observ- ed ? '-Ingcnuas didicisse fideliler artes" [hear, hear!] " emollit mares " — yes, "emollit 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 them 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 (of whom, per- haps, you have read in the columns of this magazine) approved of his invocation, immense thumps came from above, along with the plaudits which saluted the doctor's speech from the gentle- men round the table. But the upper thumps were derisory, and came from Mr. Buffers, of the third floor, who chose this method of" mocking our harmless little festivities. I think these cheers from the facetious 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 neighbor's remark, that we were sate upon and smothered by the old men. One or two of the younger gentle- men chafed at the license for tobacco-smoking not being vet ac- corded. But Philip interdicted this amusement as yet. " Don't," he said ; " my father don't like it. He has to see patients 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 obstacle to their happiness. 41 He won't go, I tell you. He '11 be sent for," growled Philip to me. The doctor was engaged in conversation 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 footman entered the room with a note, which Firmin opened and read, as Philip looked at me, with a grim humor in his face. I think Phil's father knew that we knew he was acting. However, he went through the comedy quite gravely. "A physician's time is not his own," he said, shaking his hand- some, melancholy head. " Good-by, my dear lord ! Pray re- member rae at home 1 Good-night, Philip, my boy, and good- speed to you 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. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 73 " Exit governor. What 's the Latin for governor ?" says Lord Ascot, who possessed much native humor, but not very profound scholarship. "A most, venerable old parent, Firmin. That hat and appearance -would command any sum of money." " Excuse me," lisps Rosebury, " but why did n'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 orator ? 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 gentleman 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 so V It must be 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 sel- dom 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 ? Name it, generous Amphitryon !" cries Rosebury. " Some day, at seven o'clock. With a plain, quiet dinner — a clear soup, a bit offish, a couple of little entreVs, and a nice little roast. That 's my kind of dinner. And we '11 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 pureness. What, you will smoke, you fellows?" u 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 As- cot. " It is strong enough to blow his old head off, and I wish it would. That cigar,'' he continues, " was given to my father by the Duke of Medina Sidonia, who 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." " Oh, no. I dare say this is very fine. Thank you !" says poor Talbot. " Leave him alone, can't you ?" says Philip. " Don't make a fool of him before the young men, Ascot." Philip still looked very dismal in the midst of the festivity. He was thinking of his differences with his absent parent. We might all have been easily consoled, if the doctor had tak- en away with him the elderly companion whom he had introduced to Phil's f'raM. II • COttld not have been very welcome to our host, for Phil scowled at his guest, and whispered, " Hang Hunt," to his neighbor. 11 Hanc Hunt" — the Rev. Tufton Hunt was his name — was in 7 74 THK ADVENTURES OK PHILIP « no wise disconcerted by the coolness of Lis reception. He drank his wine very freely; addressed 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 table. He talked a great deal about the Ringwood family ; had been very intimate at Wingate, in old days, as he told Mr. Twydsen, and an intimate friend of poor Cinqbars, Lord Ringwood's only son. Now, the memory of the late Lord Cinqbars was not an agreeable recollec- tion to the relatives of the house of Ringwood. 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?" calls out the dingy clergyman. . u I have heard you mention the fact," says Philip. " They met at a wine in my rooms in Corpus. Brummell Fir- inin we used to call your father in those days. He was the great- est buck in the university — always, a dressy man, kept hunters, gave the best dinners in Cambridge. We were a wild set. There was Cinqbars, Brand Firmin, Beryl, Toplady, about a dozen of us, almost ncblemen or fellow-commoners — fellows who all kept their horses and had their private servants." 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 1 We 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 ?" i '_' No ; please don't, sir," said Philip, clenching his fists and biting his lips. The shabby, ill-bred, swaggering 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 Firmin, at one time, was the greatest swell in the university," continued Mr. Hunt, " and such^a plucky fellow 1 So was poor Cinqbars, though he had no stamina, He, I, and Firmin fought for twenty minutes before Caius' 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, young gentle- men ! We used to have Glover, the boxer, down from "London, who gave us lessons. Cinqbars was a pretty sparref— but no stam- ina. 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 ana glad, sir, you found the wine to your taste," says Philip, gravely. J r ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOKLDV 75 " T did, Philip, my boy ! And when your father said he wag coming to your wine, I said T 'd come too." " I wish somebody would fling him out of the window," groaned! Philip. " A most potent, grave, and reverend senior," whispered Rose- bury to me. " I read billiards, Boulogne, gambling-houses in his noble lineaments. Has he long adorned your family eircle, Fir- mih ?" " I found him at home about a month ago, in my father's ante- room, in the same clothes, with a pair of mangy rnustaehes on his face ; and he has been at our house every day since." u Echappe de Toulon" says Rosebury, blandly, looking toward the stranger. "Cela se volt. Homme parfaitemeni distingue. You are quite right, sir. I was speaking oi' } ou ; and asking our friend Philip where it was L had the honor of meeting you abroad last year ? This courtesy," he gently added, " will disarm tigers." \ " T tvas 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 V" " 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. I 've known your father these thirty years. We were college chums, vou know." " Ah ! what would I give," sighs Rosebury, " if that venerable being would but address me by my Christian name ! Philip, do something to make your party go. The old gentlemen are throttling it V Sing something, somebody! or let us drown our melancholy in wine. You expressed your approbation of this claret, sir, and claimed a previous acquaintance 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 afresh bottle on the table. "Well said, Brice! I make the Firmin Arms my head-quar- ters; and honor the landlord with a good deal of my company," remarks Mr. Hunt. " The Firmin Arms are honored by having such supporters !" says Phil, glaring, and with a heaving chest. At each moment he was growing more and more anofrv with that'paison. At a certain stage of conviviality Phil was fond of talking of his pedigree ; and, though a professor of very liberal opinions, was not a little proud of some of his ancestors. " Oh, come, 1 say ! Sink the. heraldry !" cries Lord Ascot. " I am very sorry ! I would do anything to oblige, you, but I can't help being a gentleman !" growls Philip. 76 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Oh, I say ! If you intend to come King Richard III over us — " breaks out my lord. " Ascot ! your ancestors were sweeping counters when mine stood by King Richard in that righteous fight !" shouts. Philip. • That monarch had conferred lands upon the Ringwood family. Richard III was Philip's battle-horse ; when he trotted it after dinner he was splendid in his chivalry. " Oh, I say ! If you are to saddle White Surrey, fight Bos- worth Field, and murder the kids in the Tower ! ' continues Lord Ascot. " 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 Richard 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 mv race toill intervene. It's not your fault, Mr. What-d'ye-call-'em, that you alluded 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 housse everything is n't bum — Bosh! it's twenty-five claret, sir ! Ascot'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, Ascot, just as well as my governor. But the wine 's good ! Good ! Brice, some more claret ! A song ! Who spoke of a song ! Warble us something, Tom Dale ! A song, a song, a song !" Whereupon the exquisite ditty of " Moonlight on the Tiles" was <*iven by Tom Dale with all his accustomed humor. Then politeness demanded that our host should sing one of his songs, and as I have heard him perform 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 to delight us melodious youth in by-gone days. Philip accordingly lifted up his great voice and sang : DOCTOR LUTHER. " For the souls' edification Of tins decent congregation, Wiirthy peopl»l by your grant, 1 will sing a holy chant, I will sinj; a holy chant. Tf the ditty Bound but odly, 'Twas a father, wise and godly, Sang it so long ago. Then King as Doctor Luther sang, As Doctor Luther sang, Who loves not wine, woman, and song, lie is a fool his whole life long. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 77 " He by custom patriarchal, Lovecl 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 pioua Duly were adopted by us. To combine love, song, wine ; And sing as Doctor Luther sang, As Doctor Luther sang, Who loves not wine, woman, and song, He is a fool his whole life long. u Who refuses this our credo, And demurs to drink as we do, Were ho holy as .T>->hn Knox, I 'd pronounce him heterodox. I 'd pronounce him heterodox. And from out this congregation, With a solemn commination, Banish 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 assembled 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 remembered 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 cer- tain knocks came to the door about midnight, enjoyed quite a re- freshing pang of anxious interest for a moment, deeming the proctors were rapping, having heard our shouts in the court be- low. The late comer, however, was only a tavern-waiter, bear- ing 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 Ascot's cigar had proved too much for him : and the worthy gen- tleman had been lying on a sofa, in a neighboring room, for some time past, in a state of hopeless collapse. He had told us, while yet capable of speech, what a love and regard he had for Philip ; but between him and Philip's father there was but little love. They had had that worst and most irremediable of quarrels, a difference about two-pence half-penny in the division of the property of their late father-in-law. Firmin still thought Twys- den a shabby curmudgeon; and Twysden considered Firmin an unprincipled man. When Mrs. Firmin was alive the two poor sisters had had to regulate their affections by the marital orders, and to be warm, cool, moderate, freezing, according to their hus- bands' state for the time being. I wonder are there, many real 78 TliK AJ)VENllKE8 OF PHILIP reconciliations? l)e:\v Tomkins and I are reconciled, I know. We have met and dined at Jones'. And ah ! how fond we are of each other ! Oh, very ! So with Firmin and Twysdeii. They met and shook hands with perfect animosity. So did Twysden junior and Firmin junior. Young Twysden was the elder, and thrashed and bullied Phil as a boy, until the latter arose and pitched his cousin down stairs. Mentally, they were always kicking each other down stairs. Well, poor Talbot could "hot partake, of the sapper when it came, and lay in a piteous state on the neighboring sofa of the absent Mr. Van John. Who would go. home with him, where his wife must be anxious about him ? T 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 seat of a cab. The cigar had disgracefully overcome him; and any lect- urer on the evils of smoking might have pointed his moral on the helpless person of this wretched gentleman. ' 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. Firming house, and own that his so- ciety was almost as odious to me as to the doctor's son Philip. On all subjects and persons Phil was accustomed 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. 1 tried to make the best of the matter. Few men of kindly feel- ing and good station are without a dependent or two. Men start together in the race of life ; and Jack wins, and Tom falls by his side. The successful man sucCors and reaches a friendly hand to the unfortunate competitor. Remembrance of early times gives the latter a sort of right to call on his luckier com- rade ; and a man finds himself pitying, then enduring, then em- bracing a companion for whom, in old days, perhaps, he never had had any regard or esteem. A prosperous man ought to have ibllowers; 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 live with such a cad as that — with that creature, low, servile, swaggering, be- sotted — " 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 famil- iar or wfcen he is respectful; when he is paying compliments to my father's guests in Parr 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," be remarked, on his part, when we came away to- gether. " Bumptious, good-looking, speaks his mind, hates me, and 1 don't care. He must be well-to-do in the world, Master Philip." on Mia way. Through thk world. 79 I said I hoped afrflj thought so. - u Brnmmell Ffrmin must mnke four or five thousand a year. He was a wild fellow in my time, I can tell you — in the days of the wild Prince and Foyns — stuck at nothing, spent his own money, ruined 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 fellowship 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 were to write my adventures now, you would have to tell some queer stories. I've been everywhere; I've seen high and low — 'specially low. I 've tried schoohnastering, bear- leading, newspapering, America, West Indies. I 've been in every city in Europe. I have n't been as lucky as Brummcll Firmin. He rolls in his coach, he does, and I walk in my high- lows. Guineas drop into his palm every day, and ate uncom- monly scarce in mine, I can tell you ; and poor old Tuft on Hunt is not much better off at fifty odd than he was when he was an undergraduate at eighteen. How do you do, old gentleman ? Air do you good V Here we are at Beaunash street; hope you 've got the key, and missis won't see you." A large butler, too well-bred to express astonishment at any event which oc- curred out of doors, opened Mr. Twysden's and let in that la- mentable gentleman. Pie 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: ki He might have offered us some refreshment 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 us go and have a drink somewhere. I know a very good crib close by. No, you won't ? I 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. You are a swell — you are, too! You have been thinking, i This dreary old parson will try and borrow money from me.' But I won't, my boy. I've got a banker. Look here! Fee. taw, 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 fellow, Brummell Firmin is. He can't deny such a dear old friend anything. Bless him I" And as he turned away to some midnight haunt of his own, he tossed up his hand in the air. I heard him laughing through the silent street, and policeman X, tramping on his beat, ruined round and suspiciously eyed him. Then I thought of Dr. Firmin \s dark, melancholy face and eyes. Was a benevolent remembrance of old times the bond of 80 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP 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 breath- ing. Oh, 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 speaker's usual candor. " The fellow calls for what he likes at the Firmin Arms," said poor Phil ; " and when my father's bigwigs assemble I hope the reverend gentle- man dines with them. I should like to see him hobnobbing with old Bumpsher, or slapping the bishop on the back. He lives in Sligo street, round the corner, so as to be close to our house and yet preserve his own elegant independence. Other- wise, I wonder he has not installed himself in Old Parr street, where my poor mother's bedi'oom is vacant. The doctor does not care to use that room. I remember now how silent they were when together, and how terrified she always seemed be- fore him. What has he done ? ] know of one affair in his early life. Does this Hunt know of any more V They have been ac- complices in some conspiracy, sir ; I dare say with that young Cinqbars of whom Hunt is for ever bragging — the worthy son of the worthy Ringwood. I say, does wickedness run in the blood? My grandfathers, I have heard, were honest men. Per- haps 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. 1 'm not quite bad yet; but I tremble lest I should go. Suppose I were to drown, and go down ? It 's not a jolly thing, Pendennis, to have such a father as mine. Don't humbug me with your charitable palliations and soothing surmises. You put me in mind of the world then, by Jove, you do ! I laugh, and J diink, 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 ignea suppositoa, and, by George! sir, I feel my boot soles 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 secret, 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 remem- ber 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 ON HIS WAY TI1I10UGII THE WORLD. 81 hand to us boys ? I say, what if a woman marries, and is coaxod and wheedled by a soft tongue, and runs off, and afterward finds her husband has a cloven foot ?" " Ah, Philip !" " What is to be the lot of the son of such a man? Is my hoof cloven, too?" It was on the stove, as he talked, extended in American fashion. u Suppose there 's no escape for me, and I inherit my doom, as another 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 ? You might as well have told a fellow at Pompeii to select a profession the day before the eruption." 44 If you know that Vesuvius is going to burst over Pompeii," I said, somewhat alarmed, " why not go to Naples, or farther, if you will ? ' " Were there not men in the sentry-boxes at the city gates," asked Philip, " who might have run, and yet remained to be burned there ? Suppose, after all, the doom is n't hanging over us, and the fear of it is ouly a nervous terror of mine ? Suppose it comes, and I survive it ? 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 emp- tied a bumper of claret. CHAPTER VIII. WILL BE PRONOUNCED TO BE CYNICAL BY 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 aud his affairs. When I choose to.De frank, I hope no man can be more open thau myself : when I have a mind to be quiet, no fish can be 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, 44 My love, it is as I suspected. Philip and his cousin Agnes are carrying on together." 44 Ja Agnes the pale one, or the very pale one?" asks the joy of mv existen 8 82 THE ADVENTURES OF PIIILTP 44 No, the elder is Blanche. They are both older than Mr. Firmin : but Blanche is the elder of the two." 4 ' \yell, J am not saying anything malicious, or contrary to the fact, am I, sir?" " No. Only I know by her looks, when another lady's name is mentioned, whether my wife likes her or not. And I am bound to say, though this statement may meet with, a denial, that her countenance does not vouchsafe smiles at the meuiion of all ladies' names." " Yon don't, go to the house ? You and Mrs. Twysden have called on each other, and there the* matter has stopped? Oh, I know ! It is because poor Talbot brags so about his wine, and gives sncfi abominable stuff", that you have such an unchristian feeling tor him !" 41 That is the reason, T dare say," says the lady. " No. It is no such thing. Though you do know sherry from port, I believe, upon my conscience you do not avoid the Tws- dens because they give bad wine. Many others sin in that way, and you forgive them. You like your feliow-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 sweetmeat to take the taste out of your mouth." The lady, thus wittily addressed, shrugs her lovely shoulders. My wife exasperates me in many things; in getting up at in- sane 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 entrees which Dr. Goodenough declares disagree with me ; 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 reti- cence makes me wild. What confidence can there be between a man and his wife if he can't say to her, u Confound So-and-So, I hate, him !" or, " What a prig What-d'-you-ca!l-em is !" or, 44 What a bloated aristocrat Thingamy has become since he got his place !" or what you will. 44 No," I continue, 4t 1 "know why yon hate the Twysdens, Mrs. Pendennis. Y r ou 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 thev possess an easy grace", and a frank and noble elegance with which com- mon country people and apothecaries' sons are not endowed." 44 My dear Arthur, I do think you arc ashamed of being an apothecary's son. You talk about it so often," says the lady. Which was all very well: but you see she was not answering my remarks about the Twysdens. 44 You are right, my dear," I say then. 44 1 ought not to ba ccnsorii • - >- : ' OX HIS WAV THROUGH THE WOULD. S3 "I know people abuse y»U, Arthur; but I think you area very good sort of man," says the lady, over her little tea-tray. u And so are the Twysdens very good people — very niee, art- less, unselfish, simple, generous", well-bred people. Mr. Twys- den is all heart : Twysden's conversational po\vers are remark- able and pleasing: and Philip is eminently fortunate in getting one of those charming girls for a wife." u I 've no patience with them," cries my wife, losing that quality to my great satisfaction : for then I knew I had found the crack in Madam Pendennis' armor of steel, and had smitten her in a vulnerable little place. " No patience with them ? Quiet, lady-like young women !" 1 cry. u 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 apieee when their mother dies." " Oh! 1 would n't have our boy marry a woman like one of those, not if she had a million. I would n't, my child and my blessing !" (This is addressed to a little darling who happens to be 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 a mute personage in this his- tory.) " You are alluding to Blanche's little affair with — " '* No, I am not, sir !'' " How do you know which one I meant, then ? Or that noto- rious disappointment of Agnes, when Lord Farintosh became a widower? If he wouhd 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 love to be pledged and withdrawn every day ? Is her faith and purity only to be a matter of barter, and rank, and social consideration ? I am sor- ry, because I don't wish to see Philip, who is good, and honest, and generous, and true as yet — however great his faults may be — because I don't wish to see him given up to — Oil 1 it 's shock- ing, shocking !'* Given up to what ? to any thing dreadful in this world, or the next? Don't imagine that Philip's relations thought 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 kins- men of Old Parr street; and went to better houses. The year's levee and dravin ifr-mom 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 con- 84 TFIK ADVENTURES OF PHILIP tain more respectable folks than the Twysden3 : 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 believe themselves to be virtuous, what a queer, edifying book it would be, and how poor oppressed rogues might look up ! Who burns the Protestants V — the virtuous Catholics, to be sure. Who roasts the Catholics ? — the virtuous Reformers. Who thinks I am a dangerous character, and avoids me at the club? — the virtuous Squarctoes. Who scorns ? who persecutes? who does n't forgive ? — the virtuous Mrs. Grundy. She remem- bers her neighbor's pecadilloes to the third and fourth genera- tion; 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 contaminate her, and passes on. I do not seek to create even surprises in this modest history, or condescend to keep candid readers in suspense about many matters which might possibly interest them. For instance, the matter of love has interested novel-readers for hundreds of years past, and doubtless will continue so to interest them. Almost all young people read love books and histories with eagerness, as oldsters read books of medicine, and whatever it is — heart complaint, gout, liver, palsy — cry, " Exactly so, precisely 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 commence- ment of his career I believe he was not more or less fortunate than many and many a man and woman iu this world. Sup- pose the course of true love always did run smooth, and every- body married his or her first love. Ah ! what would marriage be? A generous young fellow comes to market with a heart ready to leap out of his waistcoat, for ever thumping and throbbing, and so wild that he can't have any rest till he has disposed of life What wonder if he falls upon a wily merchant in Vanity Fair, and barters his all for a stale bauble not worth sixpence?- Phil chose to fall in love with his cousin ; and I warn you that noth- ing will come of that passion, except the influence 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 end- less rhodomontades about his passion and his charmer ; but my wife was never tired of listening. " You are a selfish, heartless blase man of the world, you are," he would say. "Your own immense and undeserved good fortune in the matrimonial lot- tery has rendered you hard, cold, cross, indifferent. You have been asleep, sir, twice to-night, while I was»talking. I will go up and tell Madam everything. She has a heart." And pres- ently, engaged with my book or my after-dinner doze, I would ON Hlfe WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. S€ hear Phil striding and creaking overhead, and plunging ener- getic pokers in the drawing-room fire. Thirty thousand pounds to begin with ; a third part of that sum coming to the lady from her mother ; all the doctor's savings and property ; here certainly was enough in possession and ex- pectation to satisfy many young couples ; and as Phil is twenty- two, and Agnes (must I own it V) twenty-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 little threepenny-piece, 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 post-chaise ; they may drive off to the country, and live on their means, and lead an existence so hum- drum 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, reluctant, amorous delays. After all, Philip is a dear, brave, handsome, wild, reckless, blundering boy, treading upon everybody's dress skirts, smashing the little Dresden ornaments, and the pretty little decorous gimcracks of society, life, conversation — 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? C'est louche. A family of high position and principle must look to have the money matters in perfect order, before they consign a darling accustomed to every luxury to the guardianship of a confessedly 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 V says this young mother, clutch- ing a little belaced, befurbelowed being to her heart, infantine, squalling, with blue shoulder-ribbons, a mottled little arm that has just been vaccinated, and the sweetest red shoes. u Would I sell you V 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 natu- rally 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. Twysden's barouche appears by the Serpentine, you may not unfrequently see a pair of the neat- est 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 tittupping, and tossing, and performing the ; . . 01 l'Mil.n: most graceful caracoles and gambadoes, and on the magnificent a neat little man with a blazing red flower in Ins 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, South- ern States of America he would be likely to meet with rudeness in a railway car. But in England we know better. In England Grenville Woolcomb is a man and a brother. Half of Arrowroot island, they say,. belongs to him ; besides Mangrove Hall, in Hertford- shire; ever so much property in other counties; and that hue house in Berkeley Square, lie is called the Black Prince be- hind the scenes oi'many theatres; ladies nod at him from those brou shams which, you understand, need not be particularized. 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 pecuniary affairs he is very keen and clever. His horses cost him less than any young man's in Eng- land 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 sum has been known to stand in his way. Witness the purchase of the — .But never mind scandal. Let by-gones be by-gones. A young doctor's son, with a thousand a year for a fortune, may be considered a catch in some circles, but not, votes 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 ? pshaw ! She will crown my bare old poll with the roses of her youth!. Complexion? What contrast is sweeter and more touching than Desdemona's golden ringlets on swart Othello's shoulder ? A past life of selfishness and bad company ? Come out from among the swine, my prodigal, and I will purify thee ! , ' This is what is called cynicism, you 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 selfishness, from worldliuess, from heartlessness, from wicked greed. on ma \\ a v . uiuix <■!( iiii-. wuisi.D. s; CHAPTER IX. CONTAINS ONE IUDDLE WHICH IS ' SOLVED, AND PERHAPS OME MDl'K. Mine is a modest muse, and as the period of the story arrive! when a description of Love-making ia 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 scold them. We won't talk about their doings much. \Vjicii we were young, we too, perhaps, were taken in under Love's tent; we have eaten of his salt, and partaken of his bitterj his delicious bread, Now we are padding the hoof lon'ely in the wil- derness we Avill not abuse- our host, will we? We will couch under the stats, and think fondly of old times, and to-morrow re- sume the staff and the journey. And yet. if a novelist niay chroniolo any passion — its flames, it* raptures, its whispers its assignations, its sonnets, its quarrels* sulks, reconciliations, and so oa — the history of such a love as this first of Phii's may be excusable in print, because I don't be- lieve it was.a real love al all, only a little brief delusion of the senses, from which' I give you warning that our hero will recover before many chapters .are over. What! my brave boy, shall we give your heart away for good and-all, for better or for worse, till de itli do yon part V What ! my Cory don and sighing swain, shall we irrevocably bestow you upon Phyllis, who, all the time you are piping and pajdng court to her, has Mclihoeus in the cup- board, and ready to be produced should he prove to be a more eligible shepherd than t' other? I am not such a savage toward my readers or hero as to make them undergo tfie misery of such a marrie. Philip was very little of a club or society man. lie seldom or ever entered the Megatherium, or when there stared and scowled round him savagely, and laughed strangely at the ways of the inhabitant.-'. He made but a clumsy figure in the world, though in person handsome, active, and proper enough ; but he would er put his greal fopt through the World's flounced skirts, and she would stare, and cry out, and hate him. lie was the las! man who was aware of the Woolcomb flirtation, when hun- dreds of people, I dare say, were simpering over it. " Who is that little man who comes to your house, and whom I sometimes sen- in'the park, aunt — that little man with the very white gloves and the very lawny complexion V" asks Philip. 4 - THal is Mr. Woolcomb, of the Lite Guards Green," aunt re- members. is he '.'" - iy Philip, turning round to the girl?. 8* THE Al>VEXTl.f| OF FH«.ff *« I should have thought he would have done better for the tur- ban and cymbals." And he laughs, and thinks he has said a very clever thing. Oh, those good things about people and against people ! Never, my dear young friend, say them to any- body — not to a stranger, for he will go away and tell ; not to the mistress of your affections, for you may quarrel with her, and then she will tell; not to your son, for the artless child will re- turn to his school-fellows and say, " Papa says Mr. Blenkinsop is a mull'." 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 ; aud, in a word, esteem you as you deserve. 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 will praise those whom we like, though nobody repeat our kind sayings; and say our say about those whom we dislike, though we are pretty sure* our words will be carried by tale-bearers, and increased, and multiplied, and remembered long after we have forgotten them. We drop a little stone — a little stone that is swallowed up, and disappears, but the whole pond is set in commotion, and ripples in continu- ally-widening circles long after the original little stone has pop- ped down and is out of sight. Don't your speeches often years ago— maimed, distorted, bloated, it may be out of all recognition — come strangely back to their author ? Phil, five minutes after he had made the joke, so entirely for- got 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 afterward, speaking of this officer, "I remarked that he grinned, and chat- tered, and showed his teeth ; and remembering it was the nature of such baboons to chatter and grin, had no idea that this chim- panzee was more angry with me than with any other gentleman. You see, Pen, I am a white-skinned man ; 1 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. 1 am not so rich, certainly, but I have. enough. I can read and spell correctly, and write with tolerable fluency. I could not, you know, could I, reasonably suppose that ] need fear competition, and that the black horse would beat the bay one V Shall 1 tell you what she used to say to me ? There is'no kissing and tell- ing, mind you. No, by George ! Virtue and prudenee were for ever on her lips! She warbled little sermons to me; hinted gently that I should see to safe investments of my property, and that no man, not even a father, should be the sole and uncon- trolled guardian of it. She asked me, sir, scores and scores of little sweet, timid, innocent questions about the doctor's proper- ON HIS WAY THKOUGM TliK \VOKI,J>. &£ ty, and how much did I think it was, and how had he 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 the next. She may n't do right always, but wrong ? O fie, never ! I say, Pen, an undeveloped angel with wings folde^l- 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, service- able, drab, dove-colored wings, that will support her gently and equably just over our heads, and help to drop her softly when she condescends 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 disappointed hopes and bootless passion must be told in terms less acrimonious and unfair than the gentleman would use, naturally of a sanguine, swaggering talk, prone to exaggerate his own disappointments, and call out, roar — I dare say swear — if his -own corn was trodden upon, as loudly as some men who may have a leg taken off. This I can vouch for Miss Twysden, 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 notion that they were doing a dirty action. Their actions never were dirty or mean : they were necessary, I tell you, and calmly proper. They ate 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 coverlets; they lighted niggard fires; they locked the caddy with the closet lock, and served the teapot with the smallest and least frequent spoon. But you don't suppose they thought they were mean, or that they did wrong? Ah! it is admirable to think of many, many, ever so many respectable families of your acquaintance and mine, my dear friend, and how they meet to- gether and humbug each other ! " My dear, I have cribbed half an inch of plush out of James' smallclothes." " My love, I have saved a half-penny out of Mary's beer. Is n't it time to dress for the duchess'; and don't you think John might wear that livery of Thomas', who only had it a year, and died of the small- pox V It 's a little tight for him to be sure, but," etc. What is this ? I profess to be an impartial chronicler of poor Phil's fort- unes, misfortunes, friendships, and what-nots, and am getting almost as angry with these Twysden 8 as Philip ever was himself. Well, 1 am not mortally angry with poor Traviatta tramping the pavement, with the gas-lamp flaring on her poor painted smile, else my indignant virtue and squeamish modesty would never walk Piccadilly or get the air. But Lais, quite moral, and very neatly, primly, and straitly laced — Phryne, not the least yo . i>yk.\ i > uk.- in i iiii.ir dishevelled, but with a fixature for her hair, and the best stays, fastened by mamma — your High Church or Evangelical Aspasia; the model of oil proprieties, and owner of ail virgin purity bloom-;, ready to sell her cheek to the oldest old fogy who has money and a title — these are the Unfortunates, my dear brother and s'sier sinners, whom I should like to see repentant and spe- cially trounced first. Why. some of these are put into reforma- tories in Grosvenor Square. They wear a prison dress of diamonds and Chantilly bee. Their parents cry. and thanlc Heaven as they sell them ; and all sorts of revered bishops, clergy, relations, dowagers, si<_ r n the book, and ratify the ceremony. Come ! let us call a midnight meeting of those who have been sold in mar- riage, I say; and what a respectable, what a genteel, what a fashionable, what a brilliant, what an imposing, what a multi- tudinous assembly we will have; and "where 's the room in all Babylon big enough to hold them? Look into that grave, solemn, dingy, somewhat naked, "but elegant drawing-room, in Beau n ash street, and with a little fan- ciful opera-glass you may see a pretty little group or two engaged at different periods of the day. It is after lunch, and before Rotten Row ride time (this story, you know, relates to a period ever so remote, and long before folks thought ol' riding in the park in the forenoon). After lunch, and before Rotten Row time, saunters into the drawiug-room a fair-haired young fellow with large feet and chest, careless of gloves, with auburn whisk- ers blowing over a loose collar, and — must I confess it? — 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 upon the s'reet-swee.per 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 din- ner yesterday (and happens to remember it), he growls, grum- bles, nay, I dare say, Uses the most blasphemous language against the cook, against the waiters, 'against the steward, against the committee, against the whole society of the club where he has been dining. If Philip has met an organ-jirl 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 eves ever looked on. and 'that her scoundrelly Savoyard father is most likely an Alpine miscreant who has bartered iVway his child to a pedler of the beggarly cheesy valleys, who has sold her to a friend qui fait la traile ties hurdJgurdies, and has dis- posed of her in England. If he has to discourse on the poem, pamphlet, magazine article — it is written by the. greatest geniusy or the gee nest numskull, that the world now exhibits. He write ! A man who makes fire rhyme with Marire ! This vale ON HliS. WAV THKoi:i;U 1IIK WORLD. !il of tears and world which we inhabit does not contain such an idiot. Or have you seen Dobbins' poem'/ Agnes, mark my words for it — there is a genius in Dobbins which some day will show what i have. always surmised, what I have always imagined possible, what I ha* e always felt 10 be more than probable, what, by George 1 I fee] to bo perfectly certain; and any man is a humbug who contradicts it, and a malignant miscreant, and the. world is full of fellows who will never give another man credit, and I swear that to recognize and feel merit in poetry, painting, music, rope-dancing, anything, is the greatest delight and joy of my existence. 1 say — what was I saying-? "You were saying, Philip, that you love to recognize the merits of all men whom you see,*' says gentle Agnes, u 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 tilings better than I do — everything better than I do." " Oh, Philip!" sighs the lady. " But 1 don't hate 'em for it" " You never hated any one, sir. You are too brave ! Can you fancy Philip hating any one, mamma ?" Mamma is writing, " Mr. and Mrs. Talbot Twysdkn request the honor of Admiral and Mrs. Davis Lockkr's company at dinner on Thursday, the so-and-so." "Philip what V" says mam- ma, looking up from her card. " Philip hating any one ! Philip eating anyone! Philip 1 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 afterward, please." " Yes, aunt," says downright Phil, " I '11 come, if you and the girls wish. You know tea is not in my line ; and I don't care about dinners, except in my own way, and with — " • "And with your owndiorrid set, sir!" . " Well," says Sultan Philip, flinging himself out an the sofa, and lording on the ottoman, " I like mine ease and mine inn." " Ah, Philjp ! you grow more selfish 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 to- gether. She will leave RjfiUBEN, the eldest born, with her (laughters: but my poor dear little younger son of a Joseph, if you suppose she will leave the room and you alone in it — O my dear Joseph, you .may just jump down the well at once! Mamma, 1 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 — (ph\ the I'-Mlnl shadow, the faded sun- shine!) — mamma is gone, I Bay, to the lower regions, and with 93 THi: ADVENTURES OF PHILIP . perfect good-breeding is torturing the butler on his bottle-rack — is squeezing the housekeeper in her jam-closet — is watching the three cold cutlets shuddering in the larder behind the wires — is blandly glancing at the kitchen-maid until the poor wench fan- cies the piece of bacon is discovered which she gave to the cross- ing-sweeper — and calmly penetrating John until he feels sure his inmost heart is revealed to her, as it throbs within his worsted- laced 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 shud- dering courtesy, and slinks away with her laces; and meanwhile our girl and boy are prattling in the drawing-room. About what V About everything on which Philip chooses to talk. There is nobody to contradict him but himself, and then- his pretty hearer vows and declares he has not been so very con- tradictory. He spouts his favorite poems. " Delightful ! Do, Philip, read us some Walter Scott 1 He is, as you say, the most fresh, the most manly, the most kindly of poetic writers — not of the first-class, certainly ; 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 greatest 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 you read it so nicely. You don't think the new composers as good as the old ones, and love mamma's old-fashioned playing ? Well, Philip, it is delightful, so lady-like, 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 trowsers and clear face. I have seen a picture of him in an old European Magazine, 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 the picture ; and there 's a smile on the resolute lips which seems to insure triumph. Agnes, Assaye must have been glorious!" " Glorious ! Philip 1" says Agnes, who had never heard of As- saye before in her life. " Arbela, perhaps; Salamis, Marathon, Agincourt, Blenheim, Busaco — where dear grandpapa was kill- ed — Waterloo, Armageddon ; but Assaye ? Que voulez-vous ?" " Think 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. lie has never done anything so exciting since." " A game V 1 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 life of all young men now. When will you be quiet and steady, sir V" ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 93 " 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 1" 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 pretty quickly once or twice with waltzing, but otherwise never rose or fell beyond its natural gentle undula- tion. It may have had throbs of grief at a disappointment occa- sioned by the milliner 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 preference for another young pupil out of the nursery. But feelings, and hopes, and blushes, and passions now ? Pshaw 1 They pass away like nursery dreams. Now there are only proprieties. What is love, young heart ? It is two thou- sand a year at the very lowest computation ; and with the pres- ent rise in wages and house-rent, that calculation can't last very long. Love V Attachment ? Look at Frank May thorn, with his vernal blushes, his leafy whiskers, his sunshiny, laughing face, and all the birds of spring caroling in his jolly voice ; and old General Pin wood hobbling in on his cork-leg, with his stars and orders, and leering round the room from under his painted eyebrows. Will my modest nymph go to May thorn, or to yon- der leering Satyr, who totters toward her in his white and rouge ? Nonsense. She gives her garland to the old man, to bo sure. He is ten times as rich as the young one. And so tiiey went on in Arcadia itself, really. Not in that namby-pamby ballet and idyll world, where they tripped up to each other in rhythm, and talked hexameters; 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 Melibeeus (the great grazier) performed on his melodious, exquisite, irre- sistible cow-horn ; and where Daphne's mother dressed 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 ways 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 goodness knows how many wolves. Ah ! ye lambs and raddled innocents of our Arcadia! Ab, old Eve I Is it of your 94 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ladyship 'this fable k narrated ? I say it is as old as Cadmu^, and man and mutton kind. So when Philip comes to Beaunasli street Agnes listens to him most kindly, sweetly, gently, and affectionately. Her pulse goes up very nearly half a beat when the echo of his horse's heels is heard in the quiet street. It nnVlergoes a corresponding depression when the daily grief of parting is encountered and overcome. Blanche and Agnes don't love each other very pas- sionately. If I may say as ranch regarding those two lambklfcs, they butt at each other — they quarrel with each other — but they have secret understandings. During Phil's visits the girls remain together, you understand, or mamma is with the young people. Female friends may come in to call on Mrs. Twysden, and the matrons whisper together, and glance at the cousins, and look knowing. "Poor orphan boy 1" 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 intimacy, tender regard, the utmost confidence between cousins — there may be future and even closer ties be- tween them — but you understand, dear Mrs. Matcham, no en- gagement between them. He is eager, hot-headed, impetuous, and imprudent, as we all know. She has not seen the world enough — is not sure of herself, poor dear child. Therefore, every circumspection, every caution, is necessary. There must be no en- gagement — 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 respect themselves." u Of course, my dear Mrs. Twysden, they are admirable, both of them. Bless you, darlings ! Agnes, you look radiant! Ah, Rosa, my child, I wish you had dear Blanche's complexion !" " And is n't it monstrous keeping, that poor boy banging on until Mr. Woolcomb has made up his mind about coming for- ward r"' says dear Mrs. Mate bam to her own daughter, as her brougham-door closes on the pair. "Here he comes! Here is his cab ! Maria Twysden is one of the smartest women in Eng- land — that she is." " How odd it is", mamma, that the beau cousin and Captain Woolcomb are always calling, and never call together!" re- marks the ingenue. " They might quarrel if they met. They say young Mr. Fir- min is very quarrelsome and impetuous!" says mamma. 1 But, how an; they kept apart V" " Chance, my dear! mere chance!" says mamma. And they agree to say it is chance — and. they agree to pretend to believe One another. And the girl and the mother know everything about Woolcomb's property, everything about Philip's property and expectations, everything about all the young men in Lon- don, and those coining on. And Mrs. Matcham's girl fished for ox urs WAY THKOUnil TirK WOULD. $5 Captain Woblcortib lasfyear.in Scotland, at rjoeh-hookey ; and stalked him to Paris; and they went dWn on their knees to Lady Banbury when they heard of the theatricals atihe. Oross; asd-jpUr sued that man about until he is forced to say, "Con- found me ! hang me ! it 's too bad of that woman and her daugh- ter; it is now, I give you my honor it is h And all the fellows chaff me ! And she took a house in Regent's Park, opposite our baj racks, and asked for her daughter to learn to ride in our school — [ 'm blest if she did n't, Mrs. Twysden ! and I thought my black mare would have kicked her oft* one de\y — I mean the daughter — but she stuck on like grind death ; and the fellows cad them Mrs. Grim Death ami her daughter. Our surgeon called them so. and a. dooeid rum follow — and they chaff* me about it, you know — ever so many of* the fellows do — and I'm not going to be had in that way by Mrs. Grim Death and her daughter ! No, not as I knows, if you please !' " You are a dreadful man, and you gave her a dreadful name, Captain Woolcomb !" says mamma. " It was n't me. It was the surgeon, you know, Miss Agnes; a dooeid funny and witty fellow, Nixon is — and sent a thing once to Punch, Nixon did. 1 heard him make the riddle in Al- bany Barracks, and it riled Foker so ! You've no idea how it riled Fokcr, for he's in it!" u In it?" asks Agues, with the gentle smile, the candid blue eves — the same eves, expression, lips, that smile and sparkle at Philip. " Here it is ! Capital ! Took it clown ! Wrote it into my pock- et-book at once as Nixon made it. k All tfoctors like my firsts that 's clear !' Doctor Firmin does that. Old Parr street party 1 Don't you see, Miss Agnes V Fkk ! Don't you see ?" " Fee ! Oh, you droil thing !"' cries Agnes, smiling, radiant, very much puzzled. •■ ■ My second^ " goes on the young officer — " ' My second gives us Foker $ beer.'' " il ' My whole, 's the shortest month in all ike year /' Don't you Mrs. Twyeden? Fee-Brjcwkry, don't you ski: V Februa- ry! A dooeid good cm-, isn't it now ? and I wonder Punch never put it in. And upon my word, 1 used to spell it Febua- ry before, 1 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 mad' The ladies declare he is a droll man, and full- of fun. lie rat- tles on, artlessly telling his little stories of sport, drink, advent- ure, in which the dusky little man himself is a prominent figure. Not honey-mouthed "Plato would be listened to more kindly by those three ladies. A bland, frank smile shines over Talbot Twysden's noble face as he comes in from his office and finds the Creole prattling. "What I you here, "Woolcomb ? Hey I Glad 0(3 THE ADVENTURE9 OF PniLIP to see you I w And the gallant hand goes out and meets and grasps Woolcomb's tiny kid glove. 11 He lias been so amusing, papa '. lie lias been making us die with laughing ! Tell papa that riddle you made, Captain Wool- comb." " That riddle I made? That riddle Nixon, our surgeon, made. * All doctors like my first, that 's clear,' " etc. And da capo. And the family, as he expounds this admirable rebus, gather round the young officer in a group, and the curtain drops. A^ in a theatre booth at a fair there are two or three perform- ances 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 the same smiles, same eyes, same voice, same welcome. Ah, bravo ! ah, encore 1 CHAPTER X. IN WHICH WE VISIT " ADMIRAL BYXG." 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 Agnes 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 northward to his next house of ♦•all. The pace is even more lively now than when he is hasten- ing on what you call the wings of love to Beaunash street.. At the house whither he is now going he and the cigar are always welcome. There is no need of munching orange chips, or chew- ing scented pills, or flinging your weed away half a mile before you reach Thornhaugh street — the low, vulgar place 1 1 promise, you Phil may smoke at Brandon's, and find others doing the same. He may set the house on fire if so minded, such a favor- ite is he there ; and the Little Sister, with her kind, beaming smile, will be there to bid him welcome. How that woman loved Phil, and how he loved her, is quite a curiosity ; and both of them used to be twitted with this attachment by their mutual friends, and blush as they acknowledged 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 Thornhaugh street sometimes — at rare times — and the doctor ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 97 descend thence and have colloquies with the Little Sister. She attended a patient or two of his. She was certainly very much better off 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 con- strained to say Yes. She took enough to pay some little bills of her weak-minded old father, and send the bailiff's hand from his t old collar. But no more. " I think you owe him as much as that," she said to the doctor. But as for compliments between them — " Dr. Firmin, I would die rather tham be beholden to you for anything," sho 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 to me ? I will tell your son of you, sir !" and the little woman looked as if she could have stabbed the elderly libertine there as he stood. And he shrugged his handsome 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 would n'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 Firmin !" she had said. How came she to lov.e the boy so V Years back, in her own horrible extremity of misery, she could remember 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 — all! 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 appear to have passed away. The Little Sister says quite gravely, sometimes, " They are "allowed to come back. They do come back. ^ Else what 's the good of little cherubs bein' 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 side 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 'era. Did you ever Bee such eves? They look as if they had seen Heaven. His father'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 disown it And this secret opinion to women $g THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP in grief and sorrow over their new-born lost infants Mrs. Bran- don 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, on 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. He remembers fitfully the illness through which the Little Sister tended 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 recog- nition which we know of, and which took place at his bedside, though he has never mentioned it — not to his father, not to Caro- line. But he clings to the woman, ami shrinks from the man. Is it instinctive love and antipathy ? The special reason for his quarrel with his father the junior Firmin has never explicitly told me then or since. 1 have known sons much more confi- dential, and who, when their fathers tripped and stumbled, would bring their acquaintances to jeer at the patriarch in his fall. One day, as Philip enters Thornhaugh street, and the Sister's little parlor there, fancy his astonishment on finding his father's dingy friend, the Rev. Tuft on Hunt, at his ease by the fireside. 44 Surprised to see vie here, eh ?" says the dingy gentleman, with a sneer at Philip's lordly face of wonder and disgust. "Mrs. Brandon and I turn out to be very old friends." " Yes, sir, old acquaintances," says the Little Sister, very gravely. 44 The captain brought me home from the club at the Byngs. Jolly fellows the Byngs. My service to you, Mr. Gann and Mrs. Brandon/' And the two persons addressed by the gentleman, who is " taking some refreshment," as the phrase is, make a bow, in acknowledgment of this salutation. " 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 nearly drunk down. And your song was famous. Did you ever hear him sing, Mrs. Brandon?" - u 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 having too much, I think," she says. " I did know him ever so long ago, Philip !" 44 Whas does he mean by HiniV" again says Philip, snorting at Tufton Hunt. " Him V— Dr. Luther's Hymn ! « Wein, Weiber. und G.sang,' to be sure !" cries the clergyman, humming the tune. " I learned ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 99 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-Main — being persecuted 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 ? 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 hospitality toward his dark guest. For several months past Hunt had now been a resident in London, and a pretty constant visitor at Dr. Firmin's house. He came and went at his will. He made the place his house of call ; and in the doctor's 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, theoretically a Radical, and almost a Republican (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 overbearing of young gentlemen ; and had a contempt and hatred for mean people, for base people, for servile people, and especially for too familiar people, which was not a little amusing sometimes, 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 disguise his sentiments at the club, or to their mutual acquaintance behind Phil's broad back. And Phil, for his part, adopted toward his cousin a kick-me-down-stairs man- ner, 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 mem- ber of society. Phil would often forget Ringwood Twysden's resence, and pursue his own conversation entirely regardless of .lingwood's observation. He was very rude, I own. Que voulez- vousf We have all of us our little failings, and one of Philip's was an ignorant impatience of bores, parasites, 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 tol- erant 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 teeth, his leer at women — Que sais-je ? — every thing was unpleasant about this Mr. Hunt, and his gayety and familiarity more specially disgusting than even his hostility. The wonder was that battle had not taken place 1 100 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP between Philip and the jail clergyman, who, I suppose, was ac- customed 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. Fir- ming well-known equipage stopping at a door in Thornhaugh street, out of which the doctor presently came. " Brandon " was on the door. Brandon, Brandon ! Hunt remembered a dark transaction of more than twenty years ago — of a woman deceiv- ed by this Firmin, who then chose to go by the name of Brandon. He lives with her still, the old hypocrite, or he has gone back to her, thought the parson. Oh 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 frightfully unpleasant and familiar. "£aw your trap Tottenham Court Road way," says the slang parson, nodding to the physician. " Have some patients there. People are ill in Tottenham Court Road," remarks the doctor. " Pallida mors azquo pede — hey, doctor? What used Flaccus to say when we were undergrads ?" " jEquo pede," sighs the doctor, casting up his fine eyes to the ceiling. " Sly old fox 1 Not a word will he say about her !" thinks the clergyman. " Yes, yes, I remember. And, by Jove ! Gann was the name." Gann was also the name of that queer old man who frequent- ed the " Admiral Byng," where the ale was so good — the old boy whom they 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 connection with the — the party. And that ♦is her old father, sure enough. " The old fox, the old fox 1 I 've earthed him, have I ? This is a good game. I wanted a little something to do, and this will excite me," thinks the clergyman. I am describing what I never could have seen or heard, and can guarantee only verisimilitude, not truth, in my report of the private conversation of these worthies. The end of scores and scores of Hunt's conversations with his friend was the same — an application for money. If it rained when Hunt parted from his college chum, it was, " I say, doctor, I shall spoil my new hat, and I am 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 expen- sive. Thank you — a couple of sovereigns will do." And the doctor takes two from the mantle-piece, and the divine retires, jingling the gold in his greasy pocket. The doctor is going after the few words about pallida mors, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 101 and has taken up that well-brushed broad hat with that ever-fresh lining, which we all admire in him — " Oh, 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 madness with me." u 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 ter- rible look ; " for — " " For what ?" says the doctor, the veins of his tall forehead growing very full. " For old times' sake," says the clergyman. " There 's seven of 'em on the table in bits of paper — that 'II do nicely." And he sweeps the fees with a dirty hand into a dirty pouch. " Halloa ! Swearin' and cursin' before 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 moonlight alone, in a very quiet lane. He 's a determined chap. And his eyes mean miching ?7ialecho, his eyes do. Phew !" And he laughs, and makes a rude observation about Dr. Firmin's eyes. That afternoon the gents avIio used the " Admiral Byng" re- marked the reappearance of the party who looked in last even- ing, and who now stood glasses round, and made himself uncom- mon agreeable to be sure. Old Mr. Ridley says he is quite the gentleman. " Hevident have been in foring parts a great deal, and speaks the languages. Probbly have 'ad misfortunes, which many 'av '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 almost every subjeek. Think he 's a clergyman. He and Mr. Gann have made quite. a friendship together, he and Mr. Gann 'ave. Which they talked of Watloo, and Gann is very fond of that, Gann is.most certnv. ' I imagine Ridley delivering these sentences, and alternate little volleys of smoke, as he sits behind his sober calumet and prattles in the tavern parlor. After Dr. Firmin has careered through the town, standing by sick-beds with his sweet sad smile, fondled and blessed by tender mothers who hail him as the saviour of their children, touching ladies' pulses with a hand as delicate as their own, patting little fresh cheeks with courtly kindness — 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 bigwigs, and driven away in the handsome carriage with the noble horses — admired, 102 THE AD VENTURES OF PHILIP respecting, respectful, saluted, saluting — so that every man says, " Excellent man, Firmin. Excellent doctor, excellent man. Safe man. Sound man. Man of good family. Married. a rich wife. Lucky man." And so on. After the day's triumphant career, I fancy I see the doctor driving homeward, with those sad, sad eyes, that haggard smile. He comes whirling up Old Parr street just as Phil saunters in from Regent street, as usual, cigar in mouth. He flings away the cigar as he sees his father, and they enter the house to- gether. " Do you dine at home, Philip ?" the father asks. " Do you, sir ? 1 will if you do," says the son, " and if you are alone." " Alone. Yes. That is, there '11 be Hunt, I suppose, whom you don't like. But the poor fellow lias 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 while his father was speaking, and at the mention of the clergyman's de- tested 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. For years and years he has known that his boy's heart has revolted from him, and detected him, and gone from him ; and with shame, and remorse, and sickening feeling, he lies awake in the night-watches, and thinks how he is alone — alone in the world. Ah ! Love your parents, young ones ! O Father Beneficent ! strengthen our hearts : strengthen and purify them so that we may not have to blush be- fore our children ! " You don't disguise your likes and dislikes, Philip," says the father then, with a tone that smites strangely and keenly on the young man. There is a great tremor in Philip's voice as he says, " No, father, 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 bate which the elder's face assumes — that fatal, forlorn, fallen, lost look which, man and boy, has often frightened poor Phil. Philip did not like that look, npr indeed that other one, which his father east at Hunt, who presently swaggered in. " What! you dint* here V We rarely do papa the honor of din- ing with him," says the parson, with his knowing leer. " J sup- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 103 pose, 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 T* Whatever the meal might be, the greasy chaplain leered and winked over it as he gave it his sinister blessing. The two elder guests tried to be lively and gay, as Philip thought, who took such little trouble to disguse his own moods of gloom or merriment. Nothing was said regarding the occurrences of the morning when my young gentleman had been rather rude to Mr. Hunt; and Phinp did not need his father's caution to make no mention of his previous meeting- with their guest. Hunt, as usual, talked to the butler, made sidelong remarks to the footman, and garnished his conversation with slippery double-entendre and dirty old- world slang. Betting-houses, gambling-houses, Tattersall's, fights, and their frequenters, were his cheerful themes, and on these he descanted as usual. The doctor swallowed this dose, which his friend poured out, without the least expression of disgust. On the contrary, he was cheerful : 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 pro- nounced perfect, when — oh ! disappointment ! — the butler reap- pears 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'll have another," says Dr. Firmin, jovially. " Don't stir, Hunt" — and Dr. Firmin 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 treatment." " I have asked your pardon," Philip said. a 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 Thorn- haugh street ?" asks Hunt. " I was very rude and ill-tempered, and again I confess I was wrong," says Phil, boggling and stuttering, and turning very red. lie remembered his father's injunction. " I say again, sir, did you tell your father of our meeting this morning?" demands the clergyman. M And pray, sir, what right, have you to ask me about ray pri- vate conversation with my father?" asks Philip, with towering dignity. kl You won't tell me ? Then you have told him. He '9 a nice man, your father i>. C-r a moral man." 104 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP I " I am not anxious for } r our opinion about my father's morality, Mr. Hunt," says Philip, gasping in a bewildered 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- 4 — I have no other," groans the young man. " Old friend of your father's, a university man, a Master of Arts, a gentleman born, by Jove ! a clergyman — though I sink that— "^ " Yes, sir, you do sink that," says Philip. " Am I a dog," shrieks out the clergyman, " to be treated by you in this way V Who arc 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 con- founded, supercilious — " " I am here to pay every attention to my fathers guest," says Phil ; " but if you have finished your wine, I shall be happy to break up the meeting as early as you please." " You shall pay me ; I swear you shall !" said Hunt. " Oh, Mr. Hunt !" cried Philip, jumping 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 coffee ; and Hunt, uttering a mad 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 Phil blessed his'stars that he had not as- saulted his father's g'test then and there, under his own roof- tree. He went out into the air. He gasped and cooled himself un- der the stars. He soothed his feelings by his customary conso- lation of tobacr-o. Me remembered that Ridley, in Thornhaugh 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 passage, 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 crave a little scream when she saw Phil. "Ah! is it yon, dear V she said She ran up to him : seized both his hands : ON R18 WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 105 clung to him, and sobbed a thousand hot tears on his hand. " I never will. Oh, 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 s^eet smile. ".God bless you, Caroline," he said, in his pompous, rather theatrical, way. " Good-night, sir," said^Mrs. Brandon, 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 XL * IN WHICH PHILIP IS VERY 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 gentleman of the world. And poor Caroline was the victim, and Philip's own father the seducer. He easily guessed as much as this of the sad little story. Doctor Firmin's part in it was enough to shock his son with a thrill of disgust, and to increase the mistrust, doubt, alienation, with which the father had long inspired the son. What would Philip feel when all the pages of that dark book were opened to him, and he came to hear of a false marriage, and a ruined and outcast 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 libertin- ism, 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 subsequent, served to develop and explain it. The elder Firmin, 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 Firmin, having reason to avoid his college creditors, chose to live away and bear a false name, had told the clergyman a number of falsehoods, which ap- peared to satisfy him. What had become of that poor little thing, about whom he had made such a fool of himself? Oh, 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 1 Yes, she was a good little thing, and, at one time, he had been very soft about her. I am sorry to have' to 10 106 THF, ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 commandment let us say, or an eighth, or choose any*number you will — you -will probably have to back the He '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 V" 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 regard to many crimes which gentlemen commit — it is painful to have to say respecting gentlemen, but they become neither more nor less than habitual liars, and have to go lying on through life to you, to me, to the servants, to their wives, to their children, to O awful name ! 1 bow and humble myself. May we kneel, may we kneel, nor strive to speak our falsehoods before Thee! * And so, my dear sir, seeing that after committing any infrac- tion of the moral laws, you must tell lies in order to back your- self out of your scrape, let me ask you, as a man of honor and a gentleman, wtiether you had not better forego the crime, so as to avoid the unavoidable, and unpleasant, and daily recurring ne- cessity of the subsequent perjury V A poor young girl of the low- er orders, cajoled, or ruined, more or less, is of course no great matter. The little baggage is turned out of doors — worse luck for her— or she gets a place, or. she marries one of her own class, who has not the exquisite xlelicacy 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 writing of quite an old story, be pleased to remem- ber. The first part of the history I myself printed some twenty years ago ; and if you fancy J allude to any more modern period, madam, you are entirely out in your conjecture. It must have been a most unpleasant duty for a man of fash- ion, honor, and good family, to lie to a poor tipsy, disreputable bankrupt merchant's daughter such as Caroline Gann ; but George Brand Firmin, Esq., M.D., had no other choice : and * when he lied — as in severe cases, when he administered calomel — he thought it best to give the drug freely. Thus he lied to Hunt, saying that Mrs. Brandon was long since dead in Canada; and he lied to Caroline, 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 reputation, 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 ^'s. • " Ob, yes, Hunt !" Firmin had said to the Little Sister, in one ON HIS WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 107 of those sad little colloquies which sometimes took place between him and his victim, his wife of old days; "a wild, bad man, Hunt was — in days when I own I was little better! I have deep- ly repented since, Caroline ; of nothing more than of my conduct to you ; for you were worthy of a better fate, and you loved me truly — madly." " \ r es," says Caroline. " I was wild, then ! I- was desperate ! I had ruined my fort- unes, estranged my father from me, was hiding from my credi- tors 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 before my father. You have yours, and tend him with your ever constant goodness. Do you know that my father would not see me when he died? Oh, it 's a cruel thing to think ofl" And the suffering creaturcslaps his tall forehead with his trembling hand ; and some of his grief about his own father; I dare say, is sincere, 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 unjustifia- ble 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," sighed the poor Little Sister. 11 Why '/" 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. " But I could n't live with a man who behaved to any woman so dishonest as you be- haved to me. Hiked yon because I thought you was a gentle- man. My poor painter was, whom you used to despise and tram- ple to hearth — and my dear, dear Philip is, Mr. Firmin. But gentlemen tell the truth 1 Gentlemen don't deceive poor inno- cent girls, and desert 'em without a penny !" " Caroline 1 I was driven by my creditors. I — " " Never mind. It 's over now. J bear you no malice, Mr. Firmin ; but I would n't marry you — no, not to be doctor's wife to the queen !" 9 This had been the Little Sister's language when there was no thought of the existence of Hunt, the clergyman who had celebrat- ed their marriage ; and I don't know whether Firmin was most piqued or pleased at the divorce which the little woman pro- nounced 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, unscrupulous, des- perate. He could hold this marriage over the doctor. He could threaten, extort, expose, perhaps invalidate Philip's legitimacy. 108 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP The first marriage, almost certainty, was null, but the scandal -would be fatal to Firrnin'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 consequences. And so he had willed to make himself master of poor little Caro- line : and so he had willed, as a young man, to have horses, splendid entertainments, roulette, and ecarte, 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 was humiliat- ing, was n't it ? And I can feel for Firmin. To have to lie to Hunt was disgusting; but somehow not so exquisitely mean and degrading as to have to cheat a little, trust- ing, humble, houseless creature, over the bloom of whose gentle young life his accursed foot had already trampled. But then this Hunt was such a cad and ruffian that there need be no scru- ple about humbugging him; and if Firmin had had any humor, he might have had a grim sort of pleasure in leading the dirty clergyman a dance thro' bush, thro' brier. 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 hood-winking his old acquaintance and accomplice. I don't like to use such a vulgar phrase regarding a man in Doctor Firmin's high social position, as 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 sorry. When Mr. Thurteli is hung we don't put on mourning. His is a painful position for the moment ; but, after all, he bas murdered Mr. William Weare. Firmin was a bold and courageous man, hot in pursuit, fierce in desire, but cool in danger, and rapid in action. Some of his great successes as a physician arose from his daring and success- ful practice in sudden emergency. 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 ON HTS WAV THROUGH THE WORLD. 109 unlawfully, married to Firmin, became an enemy whom it was necessary to subdue, to cajole, or to bribe, and the sooner the doctor put hjmself on his defence the better. What should the defence be ? Perhaps 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 rec- onnoitring. " 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 less mercenary 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 the 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 de- serted her and spat upon her ; and when she would have return- ed, the heartless women drove her from the door. Oh, the vixens I And now to drive bv 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 ?" 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 V 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 determined 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. He must see Caroline immediately. He knew the weak point of her heart, and whero 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 bade 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, lie orders "himself to be sent for soon after the second bottle of claret — and it appears the doctor's servants were accustomed to the delivery of these messages from their master to himself. The plan arranged, now HO THE M'VKNTtfKKrf OF. PHI UP let us take our dinner and our wine, and make ourselves com- fortable until the moment of action. In his wild-oats days, •when travelling abroad with wild and noble companions, Firmin had fought a duel or two, and was always remarkable for his gayety of conversation, and the fine appetite which he showed at breakfast before going on to the field. So, perhaps, Hunt, had he not been stupefied by previous drink, might have taken the alarm by remarking Firmin's extra courtesy and gayety as they dined together. It was nunc vinum, eras ce/juor. When the second bottle of claret was engaged Dr. Firmin starts. He has an advance of half an hour at least on his ad- versary, or on the man who may be his adversary. If the Little Sister is at home, he will see her — 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 particularly about that case of poor Lady Humandhaw," says he, dropping his voice. " I wili 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 conscience. I have deceived you, Caroline," says the doctor, with the beautiful shining fore- head and hat. "Ah, Mr. Firmin," says she, bending 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 Margate, of which so often and often on my knees I have repented, Caroline !" The beautiful hands are clasped ; the beautiful deep voice thrills lowly through the room ; and if a tear or two can be squeezed out of the beautiful eyes, I dare say the doctor will not be sorry. " He has been here to-day. Him and Mr. Philip was here and quarrelled. Philip has told you, I suppose, sir ?" " 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, Maxwell — Dr. Maxwell — who had been at Cam- bridge with us, told me that our old friend Hunt had died in Canada." (This, my beloved friends and readers, may not have been the precise long bow which George Firmin, Esq., M.D., pulled; but that 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 old friend was dead — our 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." OH HIS WAY IHKife, Caroline," said the doctor, with a groan. » " This would be a punishment, not for you, 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 you 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. u You deserve it. But it's us innocent that has had, or will have, to suffer most. Oh, 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 I" " Do you suppose I don't often think of my wrong ?" says the doctor. " 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 wrong now it may be 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 be said this very night to me and my pa. He '11 do or say ON HIS WAY THROLTrU THE WORLD. 119 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 revenged. Per- haps he drank so much last night that he may have forgot. But I fear he means mischief, and I came here to say- so, and hoping that you might be kept on your guard, Doctor R, and if you 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 as ever as I saw the daylight I determined I would run and tell you." u When he called Philip that name, did the boy seem much dis- turbed V" asked the doctor. ' '•' 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 morning. Ah yes, doc- tor ! "conscience will sometimes let a gentleman doze ; but after discovery, has come, and opened your curtains, and said, 4 You desired to be called early 1' there 's little use in trying tb sleep much. You look very much frightened, Doctor P.," the nurse continues. " You have n't such a courage as Philip has ; or as you had when you were a young man, and came a leading poor girls astray. .You used to be 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 Cinqbarstold 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 fl ? 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 do- ing a kindness, I never could abide this horrible man. In Scot- land, when you was away shooting with your poor little lord, the things Hunt used to say and look was dreadful. I wonder how ever you, who were gentlemen, could put up with such a fellow ! Ah, that was a sad honey-moon of ours! I wonder why I'm a thinking of it now ? I suppose it 's from having seen the picture of the other 'one — poor lady !" " I have told you, Caroline, that I was so wild and desperate at that unhappy time, I was scarcely accountable for my actions. If I left you, it was because I had no other resource but flight. I was a ruined, penniless man but for my marriage with Louisa Ringwood. You don't suppose the marriage was happy? Hap- py 1 when have I ever been happy '? My lot is to be wretched, and bring wretchedness down on those I love ! On you, on my father, on my wife, on myboy — I am a doomed man ! Ah that the innocent should suffer for me 1" And our friend looks askance in the glass at the blue chin and hollow eyes which make his guilt look the more haggard. M I never had my lines," the Little Sister continued ; " I never 120 THE AD VENTURES OF PHILIP knew there were papers, or writings, or anything bnt a ring and a clergyman, when you married me. But I've heard tell that people in Scotland don't want a clergyman at all ; and if 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 mall 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 olf 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 afterward separated. Death seized on Cinqbars at Naples. Debt caused Firmin — Brandon, as he called himself then — 4o fly the country. The chaplain wandered from jail to jail. And as for poor little Caro- line Brandon, I suppose the husband who had married her under a false rtame thought that to escape her, leave her, and disown her altogether, was an easier and less dangerous plan than to con- tinue relations with her. * So one day, four months after their marriage, the young couple being then at Dover, Caroline's hus- band happened to go out for a walk. But he sent away a port- manteau by the back door when he went out for the walk, and as Caroline was waiting for her little dinner some hours after, the porter who carried the luggage came with a little note from her clearest G. B. ; and it was full of little fond expressions of regard and affection, such as gentlemen put into little notes ; but dear- est 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 Jiim. 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 improved 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 little story, that in fact I don't like dwell- ing on it; not caring to look upon poor, innocent, trusting creat- ures 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 friend Mr. Bran- don, and at the danger which possibly hung over that gentleman. Marriage ceremonies are dangerous risks in jest or in earnest. You can't pretend to marry even a poor old bankrupt lodging- Fl: S C A/£//?S£ C OAXf N G . ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 121 house keeper's daughter without some risk of being brought sub- sequently to book. If you have a vulgar wife alive, and afterward choose to leave her and marry an earl's niece, you will come to trouble, however well connected you are and highly placed in so- ciety. If you have had thirty thousand pounds with wife No. 2, and have to pay it back on a sudden, the payment may be in- convenient. You inay be tried for bigamy, 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 circles, those circles may be dis- posed to request you to walk out of their circumference. A nov- elist, I know, ought to have no likes, dislikes, pity, partiality for his characters ; but I declare I can not help feeling a respectful 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 practice. Pun- ishment has n't a right to come with such a pede claudo. There ought to be limitations, and it is shabby and revengeful of Jus- tice to present her little bill when it has been more than twenty years owing Having hafl his talk out with the Little Sister, having a long past crime suddenly taken down from the shelf; having a remorse, long since supposed to be dead and buried, sud- denly starting up in the most blustering, boisterous, inconvenient manner ; having a rage and terror tearing him within ; I can fancy this most respectable physician going about his day's work, and most sincerely sympathize with him. Who is to heal the physician V 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 at least, and describing her little ailments. He has to listen, and never once to dare to say, " Confound you, old chatter-box ! What are you prating about your ailments to me, who am suffer- ing real torture while I am smirking in your face ?" He has to wear the inspiriting smile, to breathe the gentle 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 practice hypocrisy that day was his own son, who chose to come to breakfast — a meal of which son and father seldom now partook in company.' " What does he know, and what does he suspect?" are the father's thoughts ; but a lowering gloom is on Philip's face, and the father's eyes look into the son's, but can not penetrate their darkness. " Did you stay late last night, Philip ?" says papa. " Yes, sir, rather late," answers the son. " Pleasant party ?" "No, sir; stupid. Your friend Mr. Hunt wanted to come in. He was drunk, and rude to Mrs. Brandon, and I was obliged to put him out of the door. He was dreadfully violent and abusive." 11 122 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " 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 read- ing the Mornintf-Post, and behind that sheet of fashionable news hid whatever expression of agony there might be on his face. Philip afterward 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, 4 Sir, are you a confirmed scoundrel, or are you not ? Is it pos- sible 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 destroyed 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 conse- quence of Mr. Firmin's evil behavior of five-and-twenty years back, which surely was a most unreasonable punishment for a sin of such old date. I wish, dearly beloved brother sinners, we could take all the punishment for our individual crimes on our individual 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 mourn- ing 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, art least, regarding the mat- ter both of us had on our hearts. But about fashion, parties, and politics, he discoursed much more freely than was usual with him. He said I might have had Lord Ringwood's seat for Whip- ham but for my unfortunate politics. What made a Radical of me, he asked, who was naturally one of the most haughty of men (and that, I think, perhaps I am, says Phil, and a good many liberal fellows are) V I should calm down, he was sure — I should calm down, and be of the politics des hoinmes du mondc? 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, always was present when those two were tete-a-tete. Then- meal was scarce ended when entered to them Mr. Hunt, with his hat on. I was not present at the time, and can not speak as a certainty ; but I should think at his ominous appear-' ance Philip may have turned red and his father nale. " Now is ON HIS WAT THROUGH THE WORLD. 123 the time," both, I dare say, thought ; and the doctor remembered his stormy young days of foreign gambling, intrigue, and duel, when he was put on his ground before his adversary, and bidden, at a given signal, to fire. One, two, three 1 Each man's hand was armed with malice and murder. Philip had plenty of pluck for his part, but I should think on such an occasion might tje a little nervous and fluttered, whereas his father's eye was keen, and his aim rapid and steady, " You and Philip had a difference last night, Philip tells me"," said the doctor. " Yes, and I promised he should pay me," said the clergyman. "And I said 1 should desire no better," says Mr. Phil. " He struck his senior, his father's friend — a sick man, a cler- gyman," gasped Hunt. " Were you to repeat what you did last night, I should repeat what I did," said Phil. " You insulted a good woman." " Jt 's a lie, sir !" cries the other. " You insulted a good woman, a lady in her own house, and I turned you out of it," said Phil. M I say, again, it is a lie, sir!" screams Hunt, with a stamp on the table. " That you 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 chas- tise 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 physician; "and I think he means what he says, too." "Oh ! you take* that line, do you?" cries Hunt of the dirty hand?, the dirty teeth, the dirty neckcloth. " I take what you call that line; and whenever a rudeness is ofTered 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 groat. momentary comfort. Hunt's words of the night before had been occupying' the young man's thoughts. Had Firmin been crimi- nal he could not be so bold. " You talk this way in presence of your son ! You have been talking over the matter* together before?'' asks Hunt. M We have been talking over the matter before — yes. We were engaged on it when you came into breakfast," said the doctor. " Shall we go on with the conversation where we left it off?" " Well, erate, and she wished for the marriage so much ! I had good ooks and high spirits in those days. People said so. [ And here he glances obliquely at his own handsome portrait.] Now I am a wreck — a wreck !" " I can conceive, sir, that this will annoy you ; but how can it ruin you?" asked Philip. " What becomes of my practice as a family physician ? The practice is not now what it was, between oui-selves, Philip, and the expenses greater than you imagine. I have made unlucky speculations. If you count upon much increase of wealth from me, my boy, you will be disappointed; though you were never mercenary — no, never. But the story bruited about by this ras- cal, of a physician 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 mau at once, then, sir, and silence him." 126 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " 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 withstand such a temptation. I am glad you have never fallen into it. I have quarrelled with you sometimes for Jiving 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 uni- versity, 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 occurred, after which Mr. Philip Firmin told me the substance of this story. He described his father's long acquiescence in Hunt's demands, and sudden resist- ance 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 dan- ger. 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 comfort to him or not to know beforehand the day of the oper- ation ? 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 hanging imminent over him. Perhaps it was a rope : perhaps it was a sword: some weapon of execution, at any rate, as we fre- quently 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-wad- ded breast as he steps from his carriage at some noble patu nt's door. Philip says he never knew his father more pleasant, easy, good-humored, and affable than during this period, when he must have felt 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 pointedly once or twice ; alluded to his foreign 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, J am sure there is something wrong ; that horrible Hunt has been here with ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 127 .a very quiet, soft-spoken old gentleman, and they have been going on with my poor pa about my wrongs and his — his, indeed 1 — and they have worked him up to believe that somebody has cheated his daughter out of a great 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 luill be: mark a fond father's words !' They are scheming something against Philip and Philip's father. Mr- Bond the soft-spoken old gentle- man's name is: and twice there has been a Mr. Walls to inquire if Mr. Hunt was at our house." " Mr. Bond ? — Mr. Walls ? 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, operas, 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 schemiug against you, Philip ? I tell you this matter is all about you and four father." Years and years ago, in the poor mother's lifetime, Philip re- membered 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 property which Mrs. Twys- den and her sister inherited from their own mother. That quar- rel 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 feud should descend to the children ; and Philip and his aunt, and. one of her daughters at least, were on good terms together. Philip's uncle's lawyers engaged with his father's debtor and enemy against Dr. Firmin : the alliance boded no good. 14 1 won't tell you what I think, Philip," said the father. ''You are fond of your cousin ?" " Oh 1 for ev— " " For ever, 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 suddenly stops in his remonstrance. " What were you going to say, Philip, and why do you pause ?" " I 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, 128 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP clutching his hand over a heart that I believed beat very coolly. But, pshaw ! why am I, Philip's biographer, going out of the way to abuse Philip's papa ? Is not the threat of bigamy and exposure enough to disturb any man's equanimity ? I say again, suppose there is another sword — a rope, if you will so call it — hanging over the head of our Damocles of Old Parr street? Howbcit, 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 satisfaction, afterward, that the hand which he took was pressed and given with a real kindness and cordiality. Why were these the last days son and father were to pass to- gether? Dr. Firmin is still alive. Philip is a very tolerably prosperous gentleman. lie and his father parted good friends, and it is the biographer's business to narrate how and wherefore. When Philip told his father that Messrs. Bond and Walls, his uncle Twysden's attorneys, were suddenly interested about 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. Brandon Firmin's marriage with Miss Ringwood was null, her son was illegitimate, and her fort- une went to her sister. Painful as such a duty might be to such tender-hearted people as our Twysden acquaintances to deprive 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," Talbot Twysden subsequently and repeatedly declared, "I should never have been easy a moment if I thought I possessed 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 own conscience, had I the weight of such 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 interview with him, accompanied him to his lawyer, Mr. Bond, before mentioned. Here, in South Square, Gray's Inn, the three gentlemen held a consultation, of which the re- ■ suits began quickly to show themselves. Messrs. Bond and Selby had an exceedingly lively, cheerful, jovial, and intelligent confi- dential clerk, who combined business and pleasure with the utmost affability, and was acquainted 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- mortgaged : who was over-building him- self; who was casting eyes of longing at what pretty opera dan- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 120 cer— about races, fights, bill-brokers, quicqnid ar/unt homines. This Tom Walls had a deal of information, and imparted it so as to make you die of laughing. The Reverend Tufton Hunt brought this jolly fellow first to the "Admiral Byng," when 1 ', his amiability won all hearts at the club. At the Byngs it was not very difficult to gain Captain 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 liis daughter had been the object of a wicked conspiracy, and was the rightful and most injured wife of a man who ought to declare her fair fame before the world, and put her in posses- sion of a portion of his great fortune. A great fortune"? How great a fortune ? Was it three hun- dred thousand, say ? Those doctors, many of them, had fifteen thousand a year. Mr. Walls (who perhaps knew better) was not at liberty to say wliat 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 his rickety old throne. He well-nigh burst with longing to speak upon this mystery. Mr. and Mrs. Oves, the esteemed landlord and lady of the u Byng," never saw him so excited. He had a great opinion of the judgment of his friend, Mr. Ridley ; in fact, lie must have gone to Bedlam unless he had talked to somebody on this most nefarious transaction, which might make the blood of every Britpn curdle with hor- ror — as he was free to say. Old Mr. Ridley was of a much cooler temperament, and alto- gether 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 different statements regarding Dr. Firmin's affairs." When dark hints about treason, wicked desertion, rights de- nied, " and a great fortune which you are kept out of, my poor Caroline, by a rascally wolf in sheep's clothing, you arc ; and I always mistrusted him, from the moment I saw him, and said to your mother, • Emily, that Brandon 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. Caro- Htte, strange to say, the little lady made light of them. " Oh, aonsense, pa! Don't be bringing that sad, old story up again. I have Buffered enough from it already. If Mr. F. left me, he tt't tin- only one who flung me away ; and I have been able to live, thank mercy, through it all." Thi- vrai a hard hit. and not to be parried. The truth is, that when ]x»or Caroline, deserted by her husband, had come back, in wretchedness, to her father's door, the man, and (he wife who then ruled him, had thought fit to thrust her awav. And she 12 130 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP had forgiven them: and had been enabled to heap a rare quan- tity of coals on that old gentleman's head. When the captain remaiked his daughter's indifference and unwillingness to reopen this painful question of her sham mar- riage •with Firmin, his wrath was moved, and his suspicion ex- cited. " Ha !" says he, " have this man been a tampering with you again ?" " Nonsense, pa 1" once more says Caroline. "I tell you it is this fine-talking lawyer's clerk has been tampering with you. You 're made a tool of, pa ! and you 've been made a tool of all your life !" " Well, now, upon my honor, my good madam I" interposes Mr. Walls. " Don't talk to me, sir ! I don't want any lawyers' clerk to meddle in my business !" cries Mrs. Brandon, very briskly. " I don't know what you 're come about. I don't want to know, and J 'm most certain it is for no good." I suppose it was the ill success of his embassador that brought Mr. Bond himself to Thornhaugh 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 confidential clerk, Mr. Walls?" he asked of the Little Sister. " You refuse to give him your confidence because he is only a clerk ? I wonder whether you will accord it to me, as a principal ?" " She may, sir, sh£ may — jevery confidence I" says the captain, laying his hand on that snuffy satin waistcoat which all his frienfls 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 sudden, to be sure," says Mrs. Brandon, demurely. *" I suppose you don't do it for nothing." ' " I should not require much fee to help a good woman to her rights; and a lady I don't think needs much persuasion to be helped to her advantage," 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,doI?" ° ' y " Many is that don't look so. I 've learned as much as that about you gentlemen," remarks Mrs. Brandon. " You have been wronged by one man, and doubt all." " Not all. Some, sir 1" " Doubt about me if I can by any possibility injure you. But how and why should I ? Your good father knows what has ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 131 brought me here. I have no secret from him. Have I, Mr. Gann, or Captain Gann, as I have heard you addressed ?" "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. No ways, I think, would a parent do harm to his own child. May I offer you any refreshment, sir ?" and a shaky, a dingy, but a hospitable hand, is laid upon the glossy cupboard in which Mrs. Brandon keeps her mow est little store of strong waters. " Not one drop, thank you ! You trust me, 1 think, more than Mrs. Firm — I beg your pardon — Mrs. Brandon is disposed to do." At the utterance of that monosyllable 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 recollections to you, which I would not needlessly recall." Captain Gann took out a snuffy pocket-handkerchief, wiped two red eyes and a shirt-front, and winked at the attorney, and gasp'ed 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 af- fairs, pa ?" asks Caroline, with some asperity. " Have you told him that my ma never gave mo 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 1 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 did l t find something pleasanter to talk about, I'm sure 1" " My love !" interposed the captain. " Pretty love ! to go and tell a stranger in a public house, and ever so many there besides, I suppose, your daughter's misfort- unes, pa. Pretty love ! That 's what I 've 'ad from you !" " Not a soul, on the honor of a gentleman, except me and Mr. Walls." '.' Then what do you come to talk about me at all for ? and what scheme on hearth are you driving at? and what brings this old man here V" cries the landlady of Thornhaugh street, stamp- ing her foot. , " Shall J tell you frankly, my good lady ? 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 132 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP bear it who have no right to bear it — and inherit property to which they can lay no just claim. In the year 1827 you, Caro- line 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 you were guilty of no deceit. He was a hardened and wily man ; but 3*ou were an innocent child out of a school-room. And though he thought the marriage was not binding upon him, binding it is by Act of Parliament 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 be 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, 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 mar- riage — an irregular marriage, you know ?" " Then the Act says that, to all intents and purposes, the mar- riage is null and void." " But you did n't know, my poor innocent child !" cries Mr. Gann. " How should you ? How 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 marriages." " Of course she did n't, the poor creature !" cries the old gen- tleman, rubbing his hands together with perfect 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 six- teen when that — that business happened. I was n'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 truth 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 together 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 irregular ?" ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 133 " Because I had no lines I" cries Caroline, quickly. u Never asked for none ! And our maid we had then said to me, ' Miss Carry, where 's your lines ?' And it's no good without. And I knew it was n't ! And I — I'm ready to go before the Lord Chan- cellor to-morrow and say so !" cries Caroline, to the bewilder- ment of her father and her cross-examinant. " Pause, pause ! my good madam !" exclaims the meek old gentleman, rising from his chair. " Go and tell this to them as sent you, sir !" cries Caroline, very imperiously, leaving the lawyer amazed, and her father's face in a bewilderment, over which he will fling his snuffy 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 society — and — and casts down the hope we had formed of redressing your injured 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 prin- cipal 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 XIII. LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG. While the battle is raging, the old folks and ladies peep over the battlements to watch the turns of the combat and the be- havior of the knights. To princesses in old days, whose lovely hands were to be bestowed upon the conqueror, it must have been a matter of no small interest to know whether the slim young champion with the lovely eyes on the milk-white steed should vanquish, or the dumpy, elderly, square-shouldered, squint- ing, carroty whiskerando of a warrior who was laying about him so savagely ; and so in this battle, on the issue of which de- pended 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 put- ting her paw through the bars, seizing the nut, and then drop- 134 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ping it ? Jackois disappointed 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 specta- tors 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 "Admiral Byng," you know, my dear madam, that the parlor where the club meets is just behind Mrs. Oves' bar, so that by lifting up the sash of the window which communicates between the two apartments that good-na- tured woman may put her face into the club-room, and actually be one of the society. Sometimes, for company, old Mr. Ridley foes and sits with Mrs. O. in her bar, and reads the paper there. Ie is slow at his reading. The long words puzzle the worthy gentleman. As he 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 Thornhaugh street to claim Dr. Firmin for her husband and to disinherit poor Philip, a little gentleman wrapped most sol- emnly 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. O., and Spotty-nose, their favorite defunct bull-dog), sat down and called for a glass of sherry and a newspaper. The civil and intelligent pot boy of the " Byng " took the party The Advertiser of yesterday (which to-day's paper was in 'and), and when the gentleman began to swear over the old paper, Frederick 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 Twysden, Esq., Commissioner of the Powder and Pomatum Office ; and I leave those who know him to say whether he is ar- bitrary 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 biographer 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 to- gether when such a storm of imprecations came clattering through the glass-window which communicates with Mrs. Oves' bar, that I dare say they made the jugs and tumblers clatter on the shelves, and Mr. Ridley, a very modest-spoken man, reading his paper, lay it down with a scared face, and say, " Well, I never !" Nor did he often, I dare say. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 1S5 This volley was fired by Talbot Twysden, in consequence of his rage at the news which Mr. Bond brought him. " Well, Mr. Bond ; well, Mr. Bond ! What does she say V he asked of his emissary. " She will have nothing to do with the business, Mr. Twysden. We can't touch it; and 1 don't see how we can move her. She denies the marriage as much as Firmin does : says she knew it was a mere sham when the ceremony was performed." " Sir, you didn't bribe her enough," shrieked Mr. Twysden. " You have bungled this business ; by George you have, sir !" u 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 you do V" " I wish justice and the law, sir. If I were wrongfully detain- ing 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 1 have been on your errand, and sliall send in my bill in due time ; and there will be an end of my connection with you as your law agent, Mr. Twysden !'■ cried "the old lawyer. " You ktiow, 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 sher- ry-and-water ? — keep the change. Sorry I 'd no better^news to bring you, Mr. T., and as you are dissatisfied, again recommend you to employ another law agent." u My good sir, I — " « My good sir, I have had other dealings with your family, and 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 his 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. WhatTd'ye- eallum, her father — I don't suppose he will be over well pleased. I am speaking as a gentleman now, no~, as a law agent,. You and your nephew had each a half share of Mr. Philip Firmin'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 recommend you to take your papers to some oilier 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. Ovcs 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 1^6 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and circumlocutory' manner) with the conversation 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 Firmin, who might afterward act upon it as he should think best. What? His own aunt, cousins, and uncle agreed in a scheme to overthrow his legitimacy, and deprive him of his grandfather's inheritance ? It seemed impossible. Big with the tremendous news, Philip came to his adviser, Mr. Pendennis, of the Temple, 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 wa3 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 rob him of his inheritance ! — Oh, it was dastardly ! Philip bawled and stamped, and thumped his sense of the wrong in his usual ener- getic manner. As for his cousin Ringwood Twysden, Phil had often entertained a strong desire to wring his neck and pitch him down stairs. " As for ancle Talbot : that he is an old pump, that he is a pompous old humbug, and the queerest old sycophant, I grant you ; but I could n't have believed him guilty of this. And as for the girls — oh, 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 ?" " But suppose Twysden was asking only for what he conceives to be his rights ?" asked Mr. Pendennis. " Had your father been married to Mrs. Brandon, you would not have been Br. Firmin's legitimate son. Had you not been his legitimate son, you had no right to a half share of your grandfather's property. Uncle Talbot acts only the part of honor and justice in the trans- action. 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 may n't be pained by seeing the execution ! 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 you know that for the last week I have been to Beaunash street, and found nobody,? Agnes had the bronchitis, and her mother 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 : while uncle Talbot and that viper of a Ringwood have been closeted with their nice new friend, Mr. Hunt. O conf ! I beg your pardon, ma'am ; but I know you always allow for the energy of my language." M I should like to see that Little Sister, Mr. Firmin. She has ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 137 "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 man done to get the love of some women ? A\ T e don't earn it ; we don't deserve it, perhaps. We don't return it. They bestow it on us. I have given noth- ing 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 serve me ! You are wonder- ful, women are ! your fidelities and your ficklenesses alike mar- vellous. What can any woman have found to adore in the doc- tor? 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 think 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 tlvat is on my mind. Can't keep it in !" cries Phil, gnawing his mus- taches. " If my fortune depended on my silence I should be a beggar, that 's the fact. And, you see, if you had such a father 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, while the little a i tack upon my property is being carried on — is n't it queer V" " The question is at an end," said Mr. Pendennis. " You are restored to your alavis regibus and ancestral honors. Now that uncle Twysden can't get the property without you, have cour- age, my boy — he may take it, along with the encumbrance." Poor Phil had not known — but some of us, who are pretty clear-sighted when our noble selves are not concerned, had per- ceived that Philip's dear aunt was playing fast and loose with the lad, and when his back was turned was encouraging a richer suitor for her daughter. Hand on heart I can say of my wife that she meddles with her neighbors as little as any person I ever knew ; but when treach- eries in love affairs 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 sacred laws. The. idea of a man or Avoman trifling with that holy compact awakens in her a fiame of indignation. Jn curtain confidences (of* which let me not vul- garize the arcana} she had given me her mind about some of Miss Twjsdcn's behavior with that odious blackamoor, £s she chose to call Captain Woolcomb, who, I own, had a very slight tinge of complexion ; and when, quoting the words of Hamlet regarding 138. THE, ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Lis father and mother, I asked, " Could she on this fair mountain leave to feed, and batten on this Moor ?" Mrs. Pendennis cried out that Uiis 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 reverence ? la 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 understands trifling 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 permitted." And this is why she is harder on the woman than the man in cases where such dismal matters liappen to fall under discussion. A look, a word from a woman, she says, will cheek a libertine thought or word in a man ; and these cases might be stopped at once if the woman but showed the slightest resolution. She is thus more angry — (I am only mentioning the peculiarities, not defending the ethics of this individual moralist) — she is, I say, more angrily disposed toward 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 be so. Now we had happened during this season to be at several en- tertainments, routs, and so forth, where poor Phil, owing to his unhappy Bohemian preferences and love of tobacco, etc., was not present — and where we saw Miss Agnes Twysden carrying on such a game with the tawny Woolcomb as set Mrs. Laura in a tremor of indignation. What though Agnes' blue-eyed mamma sat near her blue-eyed daughter, and kept her keen clear orbs perfectly wide open and cognizant of all that happened V So much the worse for her — the worse for both. It was a shame and a sin that a Christian 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 mulatto ! " Is he not a man, and a brother, my dear ?" perhaps at this Mr. Pendennis interposes. " Oh, for shame, Pen ! no levity on this — no sneers aud laugh- ter on this the most sacred subject of all." And here, I dare say, the woman falls to caressing her own children, and hugging them to her heart as her manner was when moved. Que voulez vous f 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 counGry house, and so forth, and who are not so very particular as to the character, intellect, or ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WO*RLD. 139 complexion of gentlemen who are in a position to offer theirdear girls these benefits. In fine, I say that, regarding this blue-eyed mother and daughter, 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 Philip her opinion. "What?" she would ask, " the poor young man is to be deceived and cajoled ; to be taken or left as it suits these people; to be made miserable for life certainly if she marries- him ; and his friends are not to dare to warn him ? The cowards 1 The cowardice of you men, Pen, upon matters of opinion, of you masters and lords of creation, is really despisable, sir ! You dare not have opinions, or holding them you dare not declare them, and act by them. You compromise with crime every day, be- cause you think it would be offioious'to declare yourself and in- terfere. You are not afraid of outraging morals, but of indicting ennui upon society, 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 ? — 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 lantern dark. It is not right to ' put your oar in,' as you say in your jargon (and even your slang is a sort of cowardice, sir, foi> 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 who is drowning — of course not. What call have you fine gen- tlemen of the world to put your oar in ? Let him perish ! What did he in that galley ? That is the language of the world, baby darling. And, my poor, poor child, when you are sinking, no- body 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 better friend than herself in the world ; and, I dare say, returned to her, as the wont is in such bargains between man and woman — woman and man, at least — a sixpence for that pure gold treasure, her sovereign affection. I suppose Caroline thought her sacrifice gave her a little authority to coun- sel Philip; for she it was who, I believe, first bid him to inquire whether that engagement which he had virtually contracted with his 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 shewed Philip that not only his uncle's conduct, but his cousin's, was interested, and set him to inquire into it further. 140 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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, cutting east wind which blows so liberally 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 London. 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 insidi- ous 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, inconvenient acquaintances thrust themselves upon you at every moment and corner. Was ever such a lohubohu of people as there assembles ? You can't be tranquil, if you will. Organs 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 charitable 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 leas,t, he thought that these inquiries 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 attempt- ed to hoodwink or deceive 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 fishmonger'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 Twysden dinners were on the tapis, and Philip was not asked. Not to be asked was no great deprivation ; but who were the guests V To be sure, these were trifles light as air ; but Philip smelled mischief in the steam of those Twysden din- ners. He chewed that salmon with a bitter sauce as he saw it sink down the area steps (and disappear with its attendant lob- ster) in the dark kitchen regions. Yes ; eyes were somehow averted that used to look into his very frankly ; a glove somehow had grown over a little hand which once used to lie very comfortably in his broad palm. Was ON niS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 141 anybody else going to seize it, and was it going to paddle in that blackamoor's unblessed fingers ? Ah, fiends and tortures ! a gentleman may cease to love, but does he like a woman to cease to love him V People carry on ever so long for fear of that dec- laration that all is over. No confession 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 Amaryllis; uncomfortably, with nothing more to say to one another; with the night-dew falling, and a risk of catching cold, drearily contemplating the fading west, with " the cold remains of lustre gone, of fire long passed away." Sink, fire of love ! Rise, 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 conceive Philip in much better quarters), he had the opportunity of inspecting those delightful newspaper arrivals, a perusal of which has so often edified us 1 at Brighton. Mr. and Mrs. Penfold, 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 happened to you to leave a card at that 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 ? And now your friendship has dwindled away to a little bit of pasteboard, shed once a year, and poor dear Mrs. Jones (it is with J. you have quarrelled) still calls on the ladies of your family and slips her husband's ticket upon the hall table. Oh life and time, that it should have come to this ! Oh gracious powers 1 • Do you recall the time when Arabella Briggs was Arabella 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 ; Thompson in the City ? Yes, Mr. Thompson is in the City. He 's pretty well, thank you. Ah ! Daggers, ropes, and poisons, has it come to this ? You are talking about the weather, and another man's health, and another man's children, of which she is mother, 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 ravishing 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 oncc-bcloved one's door, and find the knocker tied up with a 142 THE .'.DVEN1CRE8 OF PHILIP white kid-glove, is humiliating — say what you will, it is humiliat- ing. 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? " Father pretty well ? His old patient, 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 Twys- den, 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, Woolccmb, of the Greens. Sup- pose I may congratulate you. Six thousand five Jmndred a y^ar now, and thirteen thousand when his grandmother dies ; but those n egresses live for ever. 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 hurried steps, Philip Firmin 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 Twysden and the cavalry gentleman. There were a few nursery-governesses, maids, and children paddling about at the end of the pier ; and there was a fat wom- an reading a book in one ofthe arbors — but no Agnes, no Wool- comb. Where can they be ? Can they be weighing each other? or buying those mad- pebbles, which people are known to pur- chase ? or having their silhouettes done in black ? Ha ! ha ! Woolcomb would hardly have his face done in black. The idea would provoke odious comparisons. I see Philip is in a dread- fully bad sarcastic humor. Up there comes from one of those trap-doors which lead down from the pier head to the green sea-waves ever restlessly jump- ing 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, y?mftjDS up on him, if I may use the expression, kisses his hands, and with ayes, 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, wagging 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 com- mand a most beautiful view of the sea, the shore, the Marine Parade, and the Albion Hotel, and where, were I five-and-twen- ty say, with nothing else to do, I would gladly pass a quarter of an hour talking about Glaucus or the Wonders ofthe Deep with the object of my affections. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 143 Here, among the labyrinth of piles. Brownie goes flouncing alorvg 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 lady'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 I" " It *s no good, Agnes, that dog," says the'gentleman (he has very curly, not to tay 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 llummins knows of one. Do you like pugs'?" " 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 red mustaches and beard, who advances 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 colors shud- dering out of Miss Agnes' pink cheeks. " You see I gave my cousin this dog, Captain Woolcomb," says the gentleman; "and the little slut remembers me. Per- haps Miss Twysden prefers the pug better." " Sir 1" " If it has a nose you can hang your hat on, it must be a very pretty dog, and I suppose you intend to hang your hat on it a good deal." " Oh, Philip!" says the lady; but an attack of that dreadful coughing stops further utterance. CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINS TWO OF PHILIP'S MISHAPS. You know that, in some parts of India, infanticide is the com- mon 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-themselves or their children, though they submit with bravery, and even cheerfulness, 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, hap- Eened to drive up where a young creature was just about to roast erself, under the advice of her family and the highest dignita- 144 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP rics of her church : what could we do V 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 good- ness, can we help her ? You see she is a well brought up and re- ligious young woman 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 admira- ble 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. Suppose, I say, she has made up her mind to throw over poor Philip, and take on with some one else ? What sentiment ought our virtuous bosoms to entertain toward her? Anger V I have just been holding a conversation with a young fellow in rags and without shoes, whose bed is commonly a dry arch, who has been repeatedly in prison, whose father and moth- er were thieves, and whose grandfathers were thieves ; are we to be 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 an- ger against that child ; nor toward thee, Agnes, daughter of Tal- bot the Brahmin. For though duty is duty, when it comes to the pinch it is often hard to do. Though dear papa and mamma say that here 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 treasure at your feet ; yet, after all, when you consider that he is very ignorant, though very cuuning; very stingy, though very rich ; very ill-tempered, probably, if faces, and eyes, and mouth can tell truth : and as for Philip Fir- min — 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 fair love, and be on with the new one, the dark one, I feel for her ; and though the Brahmins are, as we kr\pw, the most genteel sect in Hindostan, 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 mam- ma, and Blanche, or the governess, of course, in the room (for, you know, when she and Philip were quite wee wee things dear mamma had little amiable plans in view) ; has sat for hours by ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 145 Miss Twysden's side pouring out his heart to her, has had, may- hap, litlle precious moments of confidential talk — little hasty ■whispers in corridors, 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 game sofa, behind the same •window-curtains, to her dark suitor pouring out his artless tales of barracks, boxing, horse-ilcsh, and the tender passion. He is dull, he is mean, he is ill-tempered, he is ignorant, and the other was.... ; but she will do her duty; oh, yes! she will do her duty ! Poor Agnes ! C'est afendre le cetur. I declare I quite feci for her. When Philip's temper was roused, I have been compelled, as his biographer, to own how very rude and disagreeable 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 officer of the Life Guards Green. The waves are kissing the beach. Ah, agonizing thought ! I will not pursue the simile, which may be but a jealous man's mad fantasy. 01' this I am sure, no pebble on that beach is cooler than polished Agnes. But, then, Philip drunk with jealousy is not a reasonable being like Philip sober. " He had a dreadful temper," Philip's dear aunt said of him afterward — " I trembled for my dear, gentle child, united for ever to a man of that vio- lence. Never, in my secret mind, could I think that their union could be a happy one. Besides, you know, the nearness of their relationship. My scruples on that score, dear Mrs. Candor, nev- er, never could be got quite over." And these scruples came to weigh whole tons when Mangrove Hall, the house in Berkeley Square, and Mr. Wook'omb's'West India island, were put into the scale along with them. Of course there was no good in remaining among those damp, reeking timbers, now that the pretty little tete-a-tete Avas 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 captain's opal eyeballs shot lurid flames, and hot blood burned behind his yellow cheeks. In a quarrel Mr. Philip Fir- min could be particularly cool and self-possessed. When Miss Agues rather piteously introduced him to Mrs. Penfold, he made a bow as polite and gracious as any performed by his royal fa- ther. " M>- little dog knew me/' he said, caressing the animal. " She is a faithful liitle thing, and she led me down to my cousin; and— Captain Woolcomb, I think, is your name, sir !" As Philip curls his mustache and smiles blandly, Captain Wool- comb pulls his and acowls fiercely. " Yes, sir," he mutters, " my name is Wooieomb." Another bow and a touch of tbe hat from 13 HQ THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Mr. Firmin. A touch ? — a gracious wave of the hat ; acknowl- edged by no means so gracefully by Captain Woolcomb. To these remarks Mrs. Penfold says, " Oh !" In fact, » Oh I" is about the best thing that could be said under the circum- stances. " 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 deli- cate health? Indeed, you ought not, Agnes! Ought she to keep late hours, Brownie ? There — don't, you little foolish thing ! I o-ave my cousin the dog : and she 's very fond of me— the dog is — s tiH. You were saying, Captain Woolcomb, .when I came up, that you would give Miss Twysden" a dog on whose nose you could hang your I beg pardon V" Mr. Woolcomb, as Philip made this second allusion to the pe- culiar nasal formation of the pug, ground his little white teeth ton-ether,' and let slip a most improper monosyllable. More acute bronchial suffering was manifested on the part of Miss Twysden. 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 ? As for the pretty, hieroglyphical A. T. at the back, those letters might indicate Alfred Tennyson, or Anthony Trollope, who might have given a lock 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 confu- sion and wrath. " Will you please to fall back and let me speak to you, Agnes ? Pardon me, Captain Woolcomb, I have a private message for my cousin ; and I came from London expressly to deliver it." "If. Miss Twysden desires me to withdraw, I fall back in one moment," says the captain, clenching the little lemon-colored gloves. " My cousin and I have lived together all our lives, and I bring her a family message. Have you any particular claim to hear it, Captain Woolcomb ?" " Not if Miss Twysden don't-want me to hear it ..•'... J) the little brute !" "Don't kick poor little harmless Brownie! He shan't kick you, shall he, Brownie ?•" " If the brute comes between my shins, I '11 kick her !" shrieks the captain. " Hang her, I '11 throw her into the sea !" " Whatever you dp to my dog I swear I will do to you !" whis- pers Philip to the captain. * OS HIS WAY THROUGH TTtB WORLD. WW " Where are you staying ?" 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 comprehend it." " — It! If you have any secrets to talk, I'll withdraw fast enough, Miss Agnes," says Othello. " Oh, Gren ville ! can I have any secrets from you ? Mr. Firmin 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 severe bronchial attack. Poor little Agnes ! What it is to have a delicate throat ! The pier tosses up to the skies, as though it had left its moor- ings — the houses on the cliff dance and reel, as though an earth- quake 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 havt) a large, tough double tooth out, does n't the chair go up to the ceiling, and your head come oil too ? But in the next instant there is a grave gentleman before you making you a bow, and concealing something in his right sleeve. The crash is over. You are a man again. Philip clutches hold of the chain-pier for a minute ; it does not sink under him. The houses, after reeling for a second or two, resume the per- pendicular and bulge their bow-windows toward the main. He can see the people looking from the windows, the carriages pass- ing, 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 unexpect- ed. I congratulate my cousin, I am sure. Captain Woolcomb, had I known this for certain, I am sure I should not have inter- rupted you. You were going, perhaps, to ask me to your hos- pitable, house, Mrs. Penfold ?" " Was she, though ?" cries the captain. "IJiave asked a friend 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 de'(/age manner, as Mrs. Penfold'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 ! it 's over ! She has done it. lie was bound, and kept his honor, but she did not: it was she who forsook him. And \ 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 14 8 THE ADVENTTRES OF PHILIP sits down on that green, not very far from his inn, and is laugh- ing 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 jump- ed 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 are scarcely ever kept to their beds. Some bear its scars for ever. Philip sate resolutely at the hotel all night, having given spe- cial orders to the porter to say that he was at home, in case any gentleman should call. He had a faint hope, he afterward 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, foolish desire for letters — letters which contain nothing, which never did contain anything — letters which, nevertheless,' 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 writ- ten them ? Nine o'clock. Ten o'clock. Eleven o'clock. No challenge from the captain ; no explanation from Agnes. Philip declares 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. You could have hung the least hat on her nose. We compared anon our dear Agnes to a Brahmin lady, meekly offering herself up to sacrifice according to the practice used in her highly respectable caste. Did we speak in anger or in sor- row ? — surely in terms of respectful grief and sympathy. And if we pity her, ought we not likewise to pity her highl) r respect- able parents ? When the notorious Brutus ordered his sons to execution, you can't suppose he was such a brute as to be pleas- ed ? All three parties suffered by the transaction : the sons, probably, 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 cer- tainly should make them so. The sons, piping in a very minor key indeed ; the father's manly basso, accompanied 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 happy, who are compelled to order the tragedy. That the rich young proprietor of Mangrove Hall should be ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 140 fond of her was merely a coincidence, Mrs. Twysden afterward 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 Cap- tain Woolcomb was much struck by dear Agnes, whom he met everywhere. Her scapegrace of a cousin would go nowhere, lie preferred his bachelor associates, and horrible smoking and drinking habits, to the amusements and pleasures of more re- fined society. He neglected Agnes. There is not the slightest doubt he neglected and mortified her, and his wilful and frequent absence showed how little, he cared for her. Would you blame the dear girl for coldness to a man who himself showed such in- difference to her? "No, my good Mrs. Candor. Had Mr. Fir*- min been ten times as rich as Mr. Woolcomb, I should have coun- selled my child to refuse him. / take the responsibility of the measure entirely on myself — I, and her father, and her brother." So Mrs. Twysden afterward spoke, in circles where an absurd and odious rumor ran, that the Twysdens had forced their daughter to jilt young Mr. Firmin in order to marry a wealthy quadroon. People will talk, you know, <1e me, de te. If Wool- comb'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 tiling felt her position. It broke out very soon after Mr. WoolcombVattentions became a little particular; and she actually left London in consequence. 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. llobin Gray. Father and mother both pressed her sair. Mrs. Twysden, I think I have mentioned, wrote an admirable letter, and was aware of her accomplishment. She used to write reams of gos- sip regularly every week to dear uncle Ring wood when he was in the country; and when her daughter Blanche married, she is said to have written several of her new son's sermons.. As a Christian mother, was she not to give her daughter her advice at this momentous period of her life V That. advice went against poor Philip's chances with his cou:-in, who was kept acquainted with all the circumstances 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 ease. What parties in a lawsuit do speak impartially on their own side or their adver- saries? Mrs. Twysden's view, as I have teamed subsequently, and as imparted to her daughter, was this: That most unprinci- 150 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP pled man, Dr. Firmin, who had already attempted, and unjustly, to deprive the Twysdens of a part of their property, had com- menced in quite early life his career of outrage and wickedness against the Ringwood family. He had led dear Lord Ringwood's son, poor dear Lord Cinqbars, into a career of vice and extrava- gance which caused the premature death of that unfortunate young nobleman. Mr. Firmin had then made a marriage, in spite of the tears and entreaties of Mrs. Twysden, with her late unhappy sister, whose whole life had been made wretched by the doctor's conduct. But the climax of outrage and wickedness was, that when he — he, a low, penniless adventurer — married Colonel Ringwood's daughter he was married already, as could be sworn by the repentant clergyman who had been forced, by threats of punishment which Dr. Firmin held over him, to per- form 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 accomplice, and that he knew of his own illegitimacy, which he was determined to set aside by any 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 Philip set by his mother's honor, that he actually visited the abandoned woman who acquiesced in her own infamy, and had brought such unspeakable disgrace 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 grief which must endure to the end of their days. With peo- ple so unscrupulous, go 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 occasions when she and the young man whom she must now call her illegitimate 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 former delusions must be cast aside for ever as impossible, as unworthy of a Twysden — of a Ringwood. Be not concerned for the young man himself," wrote Mrs. Twysden — " I blush that he should bear that dear father's name who was slain in honor on Busaco's glorious field. P. F. has associates among 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 property 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 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THIS WOULD. 15] bought to Miss Twysden, at Brighton, by a special messenger- J^m^Sl^ ftP"! hM had a letter t0 ""' 3 eff~« (I may at, tents} Vhi U? ° W I K Came ,, t0 be a <^ai„ted with its co" an&rt Ph iin JaSS w ra a " " ,e ? buse her brot, '« lavishes best s rife i H s !: w srhf h' ™f',a 1 t: a oe r :„ a,i r r w^ » u „ 'J'i, " n s r,y ' a - d ab ? tting his iior, - id ^ n,i(!er\-ftvo nn I" l 1 ' r0S3mgSan ;* amI a11 ( ^se points in - ;• is",:;;: to bu ? fr-r" , ' or 1 ' i, '°' s ■?* *"»* " RSiTS out r'pct , ' b " f b8rder aml more l'«miliating still to part with- That papa and mamma had influenced Miss Twysden in her be- heart hh^P • ™ aml ' ,oured ont tbe flings of his ueai t. M } wife is a repository of men's aearets, an untkliu. eon soler and comforter; and she knows many a sa 1 s to y w fh we x Hiiun, naa given us possession. Penin t ,dT. a h'' t m 1 T k '''- S , '' " ou - ust now >"at I slew perfectly well on that mfcroa! n,ght after J had said farewell to £r. AVcM I leu "th of Lew r r Walk< ' d ?, ver so man - v *■«• «.e wl 1 .' •en tr, h, i ft' '," IIove to Rottii'^'lcnn almost, and then Ana a 3 l * , ls pasnugty Horizoatal Terrace— I happened to pas, -- von k™w',! ll,V ° * in, " S ll ; "•"-• "" >0,lli " bt . Bk." pea, jaT ' When .1,, look, of burnished gold, lady, shall to silver ,un, !' mZ^^T:- •' ou V 10W u,c T*™ »''<><" «««»» -a oi.i ag« . .She w„s singing the n that night, to thai negro, 152 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP And I heard the beggar's voice say, ' Bravo !' through the open windows." " Ab, 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 mar- riage with such a person would have been ! Think of your warm heart given away for ever 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 Laura, in a transport. " I try and do my best not to speak ill of my neighbors ; but the wurldliness of those people shocks me so that I can't bear to be near them. They are so utterly tied and bound by convention- alities, so perfectly convinced of their own excessive high-breed- ing, that they seem to me more odious and more vulgar than quite low people ; and I am sure Mr. Philip's friend, the Little Sister, is infinitely more lady-like than his dreary aunt or either of his supercilious cousins !" Upon my word, when this lady did speak her mind, there was no mistaking her meaning. I believe Mr. Firmin took a considerable number of people into his confidence regarding this love affair. He is one of those in- dividuals 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 Philip's heart should wear a lenghtened mourning. Ere lon£ he smoked his pipes, he played his billiards, he shouted his songs ; he rode in the park for the pleasure of severely cutting his aunt and cousins when their open carriage passed, or of riding down Cap- tain Woolcomb or his cousin Ringwood, should either of those worthies come in his way. One day, when the old Lord Ringwood came to town for his accustomed spring visit, Philip condescended to wait upon him, and was announced to his lordship just as Talbot Twysden and Ringwood his son were taking 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 hang-dog 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 V" " Having no other wife already, sir — though my dear relations were anxious-to show that he had." " Wanted your money ; thirty thousand pounds is not a trifle. Ten thousand apiece for those children. And no more need of any confounded pinching* and scraping, as they have to do at ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 153 Beaunash street. Affair off between you and Agnes ? Absurd aifair. So much the better." " Yes, sir, so much the bettor." " Have ten tliousand apiece. Would have twenty thousand if they got yours. Quite natural to want it." ' l Quite." 41 Woolcomb a sort of negro, I understand. Fine property here, besides the West India rubbish. Violent man — so people tell me. Luckily Agnes seems a cool, easy-going woman, and must put up with the rough as well as the smooth in marryin-* a property like that. Very lucky for you that that woman persfsts there was no marriage with your father. Twysden says the doc- tor bribed her. Take it he 's not got much money to bribe, un- less you gave some of yours." "I don't bribe people to bear false witness, my lord — and if—" 44 Don't be in a huff; I did n't say so. Twysden says so — per- haps 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 an- other man's money, I should not be easy until I had paid him back. Had my share of my grandfather's property not been law- fully 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 settled with you ?" Philip blushed a little. He had been rather surprised that there had been no settlement between him and his father. " I am only of age a few months, sir. I am not under any ap- prehension. I get my dividends regularly enough. One of my grandfather's trustees, General Baynes, is in India. He is to re- turn 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 Ringwood's brother, the late Colonel Philip Ringwood, had died possessed of but tri- fling property of histown ; 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 Ring- wood's family. Colonel Baynes had been in England some eight years before; and Philip remembered a kind old gentleman com- ing 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 trustee's absence and the son's minority Philip's father received the dividends on his sou's prop- erty, and liberallv spent .them on the boy. Indeed, I believe 14 154 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP that for some little time at college, and during his first journeys abroad, Mr. Philip spent rather more than the income of his ma- ternal inheritance, being freely supplied by his father, who told him not to stint himself. He was a sumptuous man, Dr. Firinin — open-handed — subseribingto many charities — a lover of solemn good cheer. The doctor's dinners and the doctor's equipages were models in their way ; and 1 remember the sincere respect with which my uncle the major (the family guide in such mat- ters) used to speak of Dr. Firmin's taste. " No duchess in Lon- don, sir," he would say, " drove better 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 exer- cise 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 flattered was per- fectly absurd. Thc*se fellows think we like it — and we may. Even at my age, I like flattery — any quantity of it; and not what you call delicate, but strong, sir. I like a man to kneel down and kiss my shoe-strings. 1 have my own opinion of him afterward, but that is what 1 like — what all men like ; and that is what Firmin gave in quantities. But you could see that his house was monstrously expensive. His dinner was excellent, and you saw it was good every day — not like your dinners, my food Maria ; not like your wines, Twysden, which, hang it, I can't swallow, unless I send 'em in myself. Even at my own house, I don't give that 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 dan- cing 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 fel- low's meat and drink, and they were both good. And it 's my opinion that fellow will have a good dinner wherever he goes." 1 had the fortune to be present at one of these feasts, which Lord Ringwood attended, and at which I met Philip's trustee, General Baynes, who had just arrived from India. 1 remember now the smallest details of the little dinner — the brightness of the old plate, on which the doctor prided himself, and the quiet comfort, not to say splendor, of the entertainment. The general seemed to take a great liking to Philip, whose grandfather had been his special friend and comrade in aims. He thought he saw something of Philip Ringwood in Philip Firmin's face. " Ah, indeed !" growls Lord Ringwood. " You ain't a bit like him," says the downright general. "Never ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 155 saw a handsomer or more open-looking fellow than Philip tling- wood." " Oh ! I dare say I looked pretty open myself for^y 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 the Mansion House dinner, five-and-twentv years ago.'" * "Never knew anything about wine; was always tippling liqueurs and punch. What do you give for this sherry, doctor ?" The doctor sighed, and looked up to the chandelier. "Drink it while it lasts, my good lord ; but don't ask me 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 tlie general, gayly : "you have but one son, and he has a fortune of his own, as J 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 1 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 ?" 4 - If doctors drink Prince Regent's sherry at ten guineas a dozen, what can you expect of their sons, General Baynes?" 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 ! Please to pass me that decanter, Pen !" I thought the old lord did not seem ill pleased at the young man's freedom ; and now, as I recall it, think I can remember that a peculiar silence and anxiety seemed to weigh upon our ho:>t — upon him whose face was commonly so anxious aud 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 Phil- ip's eyes and mine exchanged glances in which ever so small a scintilla of lUi^hief might sparkle. The doctor often had letters when he was entertaining his friends; and his patients had a knack of falling ill at awkward times. " Gracious Heavens !" cries the doctor, when he read the dis- patch — it was a telegraphic message. " The poor Grand Duke !" " What Grand Duke V asks the surly lord of Ringwood. " My earliest patron and friend — the Grand Duke of Gronin- gen ! Seized this morning at eleven at Potzendorff! Has sent for me. I promised to go to him if ever he had need of me. I must go ! I can save the night-train yet. General ! our visit to the city must be deferred till my return. Get a portmanteau, 166 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP 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 ? I will write from Grbnin- gen. I shall be there on Friday morning. Farewell, gentle- men ! Brice, another bottle of that sherry ! I pray, don't let anybody stir ! God bless you, Philip, my boy I" Arfd 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 he made a bow round the table to his guests — one of his graceful 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 bis cheek from his heavy brows. The departure was a little abrupt, and of course cast some- what of a gloom upon the company. " My carriage ain't ordered till ten — must go on sitting here, I suppose. Confounded life doctors' 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. " Treated for gout — so he did. Very well, too ! : ' said my lord ; and whispered,, not i.naudily, " Cool hand, that boy !" And then his lordship fell to talk with General Baynes about his campaigning, and his early acquaintance with his own brother, Philip's grandfather. The general did not care to brag about his own feats of arms, but was loud in praises of his old comrade. Philip was pleased to hear his grandsire 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 mistake !" 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 Ringwood not a little ; and you could not belong to a better man." " Ha j" says my lord. There had been differences between •«. him and his brother. He may have been thinking of days when ikey. were friends. Lord Ringwood 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 de- layed. He 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 col- lege boy does not spend nine hundred a year. Nine hundred I Where should we be if he did ?" ' In fact, the days of nabobs ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 157 are long over, and the general had come back to his native country with only very small means for the support of a great family. When my lord's carriage came he departed, and the other guests presently took their leave. The general, who was a bachelor for the nonce, remained a while, and we three prattled over cheroots in Philip's smoking-room. It was a night like a hundred I have spent there, and yet how well I remember it ! We talked about Philip's future prospects, and he communicated his intentions to us in his lordly way. As for practicing at the bar : " No, sir ! ' he said, in reply to General Baynes' 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 father's, and he con- descended to say that he might, perhaps, try for Parliament should an eligible opportunity oirer. " 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 quarters near his club, I walked to my own home, little thinking that yonder cigar, off 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 wine was drunk. When that door closed on me, it closed for the last time — at least was never more to admit me as Philip's, as Dr. Firmin'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. I 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 the -second day after the doctor's departure, as I was at breakfast witji my family, I received the following letter : My dear Pendennis : Could I have seen you in private on Tuesday 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 wo both love, would have been the happier for knowing my misfortunes a few hours sooner. In four-and- tw< nty hours every club in London will be bttsy with talk of the de- parture of the celebrated Dr. Firniin— 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 Firmin would have been an insolveut man, and his son Sir Philip a beggar. .Perhaps the thought of this honor has been one of the reasons which has deter- mined me on expatriating myself sooner than I otherwise needed to have done. 158 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ire Firmin, the honored, the wealthy physician, and hip son a beggar? 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 determined to make war upon G-eorge Brand Firmin ; and who can battle against Fate ? A man universally admitted to be of good judg- ment, I have embarked in mercantile speculations the most promising. Everything upon which I laid my hand has crumbled to ruin; but I can say with the Roman bard, *' Impavidum ferient ruinse." And, al- most penniless, almost aged, an exile driven from my country, I seek another where I do not despair — I even have a firm belief that I shall be enabled to repair my shattered fortunes! My race has never been deficient in courage, and Philip and Philip's father must use all theirs, so as to be enabled to face the dark times which menace them. Si celeres quatit 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 can not, 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 secretaire standing in my consulting-room under the picture of Abraham offering up Isaac. In it you will see that everything, except annuities to old and deserving servants and a legacy to one excellent and faithful woman whom I own I have wronged — my all, which once was considerable, in left to my boy. T am now worth less than nothing, aud have compromised Philip's property along with my own. As a man of business, General Baynes, Colonel Ringwood's old companion in arms, was culpably careless, and I — alas! that I must own it — deceived him. Being the only sur- viving trustee (Mrs. Philip Ringwood's other trustee was an unprin- cipled attorney who has been long dead), General B. signed a paper, authorizing, as he imagined, my bankers to receive Philip's dividends, but in fact giving 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 speculations in which it sank down with ten times the amount of my own private property. Half- year after half-year, with straitened means and with the greatest diffi- culty to myself, my poor boy has had his dividend ; and he at least has never known what was want or anxiety until now. Want? Anxie- ty? Pray Heaven he may never sudor the sleepless anguish, the racking care which has pursued me ! " Post equitem sedet atra cwira," our favorite poet says. Ah ! how truly, too, does he remark, "Pat-rise quia exul se quoque fugit. . ? " Think you where I go grief and remorse will not follow me? They will never leave me until I shall return 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 erring but fond father'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 timepast I have determined on bending my steps. I placed £100 on Saturday to Philip's credit, .at his banker's. I take little more than that sum with me ; depressed, yet full of hope ; having done wrong, yet determined to retrieve it, and % ON HTS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. „ 15i> r/npmjf that ere I die my poor hoy shall not have to blush at beating the name of Oeorgk iRrand Firmin. Good-by, dear riu'lip! Your old friend will tell yon of my misfort- unes. When I wrile again, it will be to tell you where to address me ; and wherever \ am, or whatever misfortunes oppress me, till nit of me always as your fon.d Father. I had scarce, road- this awful letter when Philip Firmin himself came into our breakfast-room looking very much disturbed. CHAPTER XV. SAMARITANS. The children trotted up to their friend with outstretched hands and their usual smiles of welcome. Philip patted their heads, and sate down with very woebegone aspect at the family table. "Ah, friends," said he, u 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. u His last thought was for you, 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 intelligence which he proceeded to give. There was an execution in the house in Old Parr street. A hundred clam orous creditors had already appeared there. Before going away, the doctor had taken considerable sums from those danijerou i financiers to whom he had been of late resorting. They were 'n possession of numberless lately-signed bills, upon which the des- perate 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 bis own money. All the rest was gone. All Philip's stock had been sold out. The father's fraud had made him master of the trustee's signature: and Philip Firmin, reputed to bo so wealthy, was a beggar, in my room. Luckily he had few, or very trilling, debts. Mr. Philip had a lordly impatience 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-aud- tvveuty. with a couple of hundred pounds yet in his pocket, hard- ly knows that he is ruined. II •• will Bell his horses — live in chambers — has enough to go on for a year. " When I am very 160 - THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP bard put to it," says Philip, " J will come and dine with the ( dren at one. I dare say vou have n't dined much at Willi? chil- ly you Have n't timed much at Williams' 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 looking out for this. My poor father had ruin written in his face : and when those bailiff's made their appearance in Old Parr street yesterday, I 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,- he must pay the penalty," says Mr. Pendem* nis, 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 exceedingly pleased. "If men accept trusts they must fulfil them, my dear," cries the master of the house. "And I must make that old gentleman suffer for my father's wrong? 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 — oh, Arthur ! I can't tell you how odious that man was to me. There was something dreadful about him. And in his manner to women — oh — " " If he had been a black draught, my dear, you could not have shuddered 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 for Philip, he, as we have said, is gayer than he has been for years past. The doctor's flight occasions not a little club talk ; but, now he is gone, many people see quite well that they were aware of his insolvency, 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 unfriend- ly looks when he comes to his club alter his mishap — with burn- ing 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 mislbrtune. 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 lew avoid him, and look unconscious as he passes PI: e J ! . ■ix'il ■ ; - • PHILIPS COMFORTERS ON HIB WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 161 them by. Among those cold countenances, you, of coutsc, will recognize tlie faces of the whole Twysden family. Three statues, with marble eyes, could not look more stony-calm than aunt Tw-ysden and her two daughters, as they pass in the stately ba- rouche. The. gentlemen turn red when they see Philip. It is rather late times lor uncle Twysden to begin blushing, to be sure. " Hang the fellow! he will, of course, be .coming for money. Dawkins, I am not at home, mind, when young Mr. Firmin calls." So says Lord Bingwood, regarding Philip fallen among thieves. Ah, thanks to Heaven, travellers find Samari- tans as well as Levites on life's hard way! Philip told us with much humor of a rencontre which he had had with his cousin, Ilingwood Twysden, in a public place. Twysden was enjoying himself with some young clerks of his office; but as Philip ad- vanced upon him, assuming his fiercest scowl and most hectoring manner, the other lost heart, and fled. And no wonder. "Do you suppose," says Twysden, "Twill 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 mamma at her table writing her letters. And beauti- ful "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 particularly, new under the sun. It will shine to-morrow upon pretty much the same flow- ers, sports, pastimes, etc., which it illuminated yesterday. . And when your love-making days are over, miss, and you are mar- ried and advantageously established, shall not your little sisters, now in the nursery, trot down and play their little games? AYould you, on your conscience, now — you who are rather in- clined 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 herself, and who is now,* moreover, a beggar, with a ruined and disgraced father and a doubtful legitimacy V Absurd ! That dear gijl is like a beautiful fragrant bower-room at. the. Star and (Jailer at Richmond, with honey-suckles mayhap trailing round the windows, from which you behold one of the most love- ly and pleasant of wood and river scenes. The tables are deco- rated with flowers, rich wine-cups sparkle on the board, and Cap- tain Jones' party have everything they can desire. Their dinner over, and that company gone, the same waiters, the same flowers, 162 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ' the same cups and crystals, array themselves for Mr. Brown and Ms 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 eonv plexions, swarthy or fair. When, oppressed by superior odds, a commander is forced to retreat, we like him to show his skill by carrying off his guns, treasure, and camp equipages. Doctor Firmin, beaten by fort- une and compelled to fly, showed quite a splendid skill and cool- ness 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 among the grave epicures with whom he dined; he used to boast, like a worthy bon vivant who knows the value of wine-conversation after dinner, of the quantities which he pos- sessed, and the rare bins which he had in store; but when the executioners came to arrange his sale, there was found only a beggarly account of empty bottles, and I fear some of the unprin- cipled creditors put in a great quantity of bad liquor which they endeavored to foist off on the public as the genuine and carefully selected stock of a well-known connoisseur. News of this dis- honest proceeding reached Dr. Firmin presently in his retreat ; and he showed by his letter a generous and manly indignation at the manner in which his creditors 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 doc- tor had paid no bills at all ; and the wine-merchant appeared in quite a handsome group of figures in his schedule. In like man- ner his books were pawned to a book auctioneer ; and Brice, the butler, had a bill of sale for the furniture. Firmin retreated, we will not say with the honors of war, but as little harmed as pos- sible 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 slip- pery 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 marvel how little his creditors benefited by the sale. Contemptu- ous brokers declared there never was such a shabby lot of goods. A friend of the house and poor Philip bought in his mother's pict- ure for a few guineas ; and as for the doctor's own state portrait, I am afraid it went for a i'ew 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 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 103 sarcophagus cellaret. 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 undertones, innocently believing that the young people round about us were taking 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 '11 be hungry, you know, and you may have my piece of bread 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 !" " Oh, Philip, Philip !" cried mamma. " Don't take the money, Arthur," cried papa. And the boy, 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 you," 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 ? Oh, Philip, Philip !" again cries mamma 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 yery uneasy, poor dear, until she knows the worst." " Oh, 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' hand in his own big one. " I will take your message to her, Laura. J ''aim?, qu\m I'aime, savez-vous V " That means, I love those who love her," cries little Laura ; " but I don't know," remarked this little person afterward to her paternal confidant, "that I like all people to love ray mamma. That is, I don't like her to like them, papa — only you may, papa, and Ethel may, and Arthur may, and I think, Philip may, now he is poor and quite, quite alone — and we will take care of him, won't we ? And, I think, I'll buy him something with my money which Aunt Ethel gave me." " And I '11 give him my money," cries a boy. " And I '11 div him my — my — " Pshaw ! 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 ex- quisite 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 promise to come to dinner, and 164 THK ADVENTURES OF PHILIP also to remember not to take a cab — which promise Mr. Firmin had not much difficulty in executing, for he had but a few hun- dred 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, pre- paring 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 have previously described our friend and his boisterous, im- petuous, generous nature. When Philip was moved, he called to all the- world to witness his emotion. When he was angry, his enemies were all the rogues and scoundrels in the world. He vowed he would have no mercy on them, and desired all his acquaintances to participate in his anger. How could such an open-mouthed, son have had such ariose-spoken father? I dare say you have seen very well-bred young people the children of vulgar and ill-bred parents ; the swaggering father have a silent son ; the loud mother a piodest daughter. Our friend is not Amadis or Sir 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^ himself 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 an*d strove until he grew to be almost faultless. Very well and good, my good people. You can learn a language ; you can master a science ; I have heard of an old squaretoes of sixty who learned, by study and intense application, very satisfactorily to dance ; but can you, by taking thought, add to your moral stature ? Ah me 1 the doctor who preaches is only taller than most of us by the height of the pul- pit : and when he sleps down 1 dare say he cringes to the duch- ess, 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 : he shouted his laughter : he bellowed his applause : he was extrava- gant in his humility as in his pride, in his admiration 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 fault- less man, though I know better men not near so good. So, I be- lieve, my wife thinks: else why should she be 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 quantity, 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 Good child ? When Master Naughtyboy came to dine with us on the first day of his ruin, he bore a face of radiant happiness — he ON HIS WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 165 laughed, he bounce/1 about, he caressed the children ; now he took a couple on his .knees; now he tossed the baby to the ceil- ing; now he sprawled over a sofa, and now he rode upon a chair ; never was a penniless gentleman more cheerful. As for his din- ner, 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 as 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 admirable idea of carrying homo wine in a sheet of paper. I don't know that it is always at the best jokes that children laugh — children and wise men too. When we three were by ourselves, and freed from the company of servants and children, our friend told us the cause of his gayety. u By George !" he swore, " it is worth being ruined to find such good people in the world. My dear, kind Laura" — here the gentleman brushes his eyes with his fist — " it was as much as I could do this morning to prevent myself 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 ?" 44 1 think I can guess, Philip," says Laura. M Well," says Philip, winking his eyes again, and tossing off a great bumper of wine, " I went to her, of course. I think she i9 the best friend I have in the world. The old man was out, and I told her about everything that had happened. And what do you think she has done ? 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 {)ossible; and she begged and prayed I would go ana* stay with ler— and I said I would, 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 Phifip,' she says, and — Boo ! what a fool I am 1" and here the orator fairly broke down in his speech. CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH PHILIP SHOWS HIS METTLE. When the poor Little Sister proffered 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 saying up against rent-day, but the 166 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP spoons, the furniture, and all the valuables of the house, includ- ing, perhaps, J. J.'s brieabrac, cabinets, china, and so forth. To perform a kindness, an act of self-sacrifice ; are not these the most delicious privileges of female tenderness ? Philip checked his little friend's enthusiasm. He showed her a purse full of money, at which sight the poor little soul was rather disappointed. 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 already in hand ; and the master of such a sum as this, she was forced to confess, had no need to , despair. Indeed, she had never in her life possessed the half of it. Pier 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 father could do quite well with the little one, as he was always shaved hy the barber now ; the quilted counter- pane, which she had herself made : I know not what more im- provements she devised : and 1 fear that at the idea of having Philip with her, this little thing was as extravagantly and un- reasonably happy as we have just now seen Philip to be. What was that last dish which Psetus and Arria shared in common? I have lost my Lempiiere's dictionary (that treasure of my youth), and forget whether it was a cold dagger au naturel, or a dish of hot coals a la Ilomaine, of which they partook ; but, what- ever it was, she smiled, and delightedly received it, happy to share the beloved one's fortune. Yes : Philip would come home to his Little Sister sometimes : sometimes of a Saturday, and they would go to church on Sun- day, 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 de- vote my whole energies to my work — get up very early." " Don't tire your eyes, my dear," interposes Mr. Philip's soft judicious friend. " There must be no trifling with work," says Philip, with aw- ful gravity. " There's Benton the Judge : Benton and Burbage, you know." " Oh, Benton and Burbage !" whispers the Little S : ster", not a little bewildered. M How do you suppose he became a judge before forty ?" " Before forty who V 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 al- lowance from his father : that 's not like me. He took chambers in the Temple. He went to a pleader's office. He read four- teen, 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 do that, not to be ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 167 Lord Chamberlain — Chancellor what 's his name ? Destroy your youth with reading, and your eyes, and go without your dinner? You 're not used to that sort of thing, dear ; and it would kill you !" Philip smoothed his fair hair off his ample forehead, and nodded his bead, smiling sweetly. ] think his inward 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, " requires the greatest persever- ance, and industry., and talent; and then, perhaps, you don't succeed. Man)" have failed who have had all these qualities." " Bui 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 suc- ceed at all. And now, look! there 's a nice loin of pork coming up. Pa loves roast pork ; and aou 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 corner, 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 necessity called. She rather desired his poverty for the sake of its precious 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 home, 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 levying a tax on their tea-caddies and baker's stuff. If you don't like unprincipled attachments of this sort, and only desire that your womankind should love you for yourself, and according to your deserts, I am your very hum- ble servant. Hereditary bondswomen ! you know, that were you free, and did you strike the blow, my dears, you were un- happy 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. Van- jehn, the sporting gentleman, had determined for special reasons to withdraw from law and sport in this country, and Mr. Firmin took possession of his vacant sleeping chamber. To furnish a bachelor's bedroom need not be a matter of much cost ; but Mr. Philip was too good-natured a fellow to haggle about the valua- tion of Vanjohn's bedsteads and chests of drawers, and generously 168 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 you to know, that when Philip went to take possession 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 ; aud the fourth part of a laundress and the half of a boy now formed the domestic estab- lishment 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 im- mense relief to Firmin. 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 ruined, Philip vowed, was an uncommonly pleasant time. He had still plenty of money in his pocket; and the sense that, perhaps, it was imprudent to take a cab or drink a bottle of wine, added a zest to those enjoy- ments which they by «no means possessed 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 ban- quets much more costly to which he had been accustomed. Ho laughed at the pretensions of his boyish days, when he and other solemn young epicures used to sit down to elaborate tavern ban- quets, and pretend to criticise vintages, and sauces, and turtle. As yet there was not only content with his dinner, but plenty therewith ; and I do not wish to alarm you by supposing that Philip will ever have to encounter any dreadful extremities of poverty or hunger in the course of his history. The wine in the jug was very 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 be- gan actually to reside there just as the long vacation commenced which he intended to devote to a course of serious study of the law and private preparation, before he should venture on the great business of circuits and the bar. Nothing is more necessa- ry for desk-men than, exercise, so Philip took a good deal ; es- pecially on the water, where he pulled a famous oar. Nothing is more natural after exercise than refreshment ; and Mr. Firmin, 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 the quotidian his- tory of his country ; so, of course, Philip read the newspaper. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 169 Thus, you see, his hours of study were perforce curtailed by the necessary duties which -distracted him from his labors. It has been said that Mr. Firmin's companion in chambers, Mr. Cassidy, was a native of the neighboring kingdom of Ireland, and engaged in literary pursuits in this country. A merry, shrewd, silent, observant little man, he, unlike some of his com- patriots, 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 par- ents living somewhere in Munster. Of Cassidy's friends was Finucane, now editor of the Pall Mall Gazette ; he married the widow of the late eccentric and gifted Captain Shandon, and Cass, himself was the fashionable correspondent of the Gazette, chronicling the marriages, deaths, births, dinner-parties of the nobility. These Irish gentlemen knew other Irish gentlemen, connected with other newspapers, 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 iu his pocket, and never-failing applause for his songs. When Pendennis and his friends wrote in this newspaper, it was impertinent 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 successors. They worked for very moderate fees ; but paid themselves by impertinence, and the satisfaction of assail- ing their betters. Three or four persons were reserved from their abuse ; but somebody was sure every week to be tied up at their post, and the public made sport of the victim's contor- tions. The writers were obscure barristers, ushers, and college men, but they had omnisicence 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 Minister in his place in the House, a captain on his quarter-deck, a tailor on his shopboard, or a jockey in his saddle. Since those early days of the PaU Mall Gazette, when old Shandon wielded his truculent tomahawk, and Messrs. W — rr — ngt, — n and P — nd — nn — s followed him in the war- path, the Gazette had passed through several 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 (togged in what was your own school-room — that, surely, is a queer sensation ; and when my Report was published on the de- cay of the sealing-wax tra
>> THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP pleasure of meeting him at Egham ; and then fixed on Tom Page, of the Bread-and-Butter office (who, I own, is one of our most genteel 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 pro- prietors of those very great names he was on the most intimate and confidential footing. With his owners — with the proprietor of the Pall Mall Gazette — 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 inwh used to giving din- ners. The mistress of the house is evidently in a state of pertur- bation." Philip gaye such a horrible grimace that the other at first thought he was in pain. u You, who have lived a great deal with old Ringwood, know what a good dinner is," Bickerton continued, giving Firmin a knowing look. "Any dinner is good w-hich is accompanied with such a wel- come as I get here," said Philip. " Oh ! very good people, very good people, of course !" cries Bickerton. ^ I need not say he thinks he has perfectly succeeded in adopt- ing the air of a man of the world. He went off to Lady Hixie, and talked with her about the last great party at which he had met her; and then he turned to the host and remarked that my friend, the doctor's son, was a fine-looking fellow. In five minutes he had the good fortune to make himself hated by Mr. Firmin. He walks through the world patronizing his betters. " Our £ood friend is not much used to giving dinners — is n't heV" I say, what do we mean by continuing to endure this man ? Tom Page, of the Bread-and-Butter office, is a well-known diner- out; Lord Ascot is an earl's son ; Bickerton, in a pretty Joud 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 understand you, my dear fellow," he said to me when, on the retreat of the ladies, we ap- proached within whispering distance. " You have these people 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 keep- ing these people at a distance— the only way of dealing with them, I give you my word." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 353 Not one offensive word had Philip said to the chief writer of the Pall Mall Gazette ; and 1 began to congratulate myself that our dinner would pass without any mishap, when some one unluckily happening to praise the wine, a fresh supply was order- ed. " Very good claret. Who is your wine-merchant ? Upon my word, I get better claret here than I do in Paris — don't you think so, Mr. Fermor? Where do you generally dine at Paris?" " I generally dine for thirty sous, and three francs on grand days, Mr. Beckerton," growls Philip. "My name is Bickerton." (" What a vulgar thing for a fel- low to talk about his thirty-sous dinners !" murmured my neigh- bor to me.) " Well, there is no accounting for tastes ! When I go to Paris I dine at the Troij? Freres. Give me the Burgundy 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. Firmin smiles at Mr. Mugford, his master and owner. "Nothing so vulgar as talking shop," says Bickerton, rather loud. " I am not ashamed of the shop I keep. Are you of yours, Mr. Bickerton V" 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. U *I don't see that I am called upon to bear this kind of thing at any man's table !" cried Mr. Bickerton. " Lord Ascot, I wish you good-night !" " I say, old boy, what 's the row about ?" asked his lordship. And we 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, 1 say," cried Mugford, whom wirie had ren- dered eloquent. " He 's a supercilious beast, that Bickerton is, and I hate him, and so does Mrs, M." 354 TIIE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP CHAPTER XXXI. NARRATES THAT FAMOUS JOKE ABOUT MISS GRIGSBY. For once Philip found that he had offended without giving general offence. In the confidence of female intercourse Mrs. Mugford had already, in her own artless but powerful language, confirmed 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 different are the opinions which different individuals entertain of the same event ! I happen to know that Bickerton, on his side, went away averring that we were quarrelsome, under-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 gentleman on the art of being one. This assurance is not at all uncommon with your parvenu. Proud of his newly- acquired knowledge of exhausting the contents of an egg, the well-known little boy of the apologue rushed to impart his knowl- edge to his grandmother, who had been for many years familiar with the process which the child had just discovered. Which of us has not met with some such instructors ? 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 undergo, from time to time, the ineffable benefit of their patronage. Mugford went away from our little entertainment vowing, by George, that Philip should n't want for a friend at the proper season ; and this proper season very speedily arrived. I 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, condensing, giving titles, and so forth; afid, in a word, in regular harness. 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 Firmin 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 appeared in the Gazette — but the births, deaths, marriages, markets, trials, and what not. As a shop-boy, haviog decorated his master's window, 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 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THIS WORLD. 355 his friends allude to it, and ask if he had shot any especially fine canard that week ? Mr. Philip's brow would corrugate and his cheeks redden. He did not like jokes to be made at his expense : was not his a singular antipathy ? In his capacity of sub-editor the good fellow had the privilege of taking and giving away countless theatre orders, and pano- rama 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 opera-singers, and splendid appear- ance 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 frightened as usual, a voice from out the midnight gloom cried out, " Who has come in with orders from the Pall Mall Gazette?" A lady, two scared children, 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. Rather 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 humor of the scene surpassed the annoyance in the lady's mind, and caused her to laugh at the mishap ; but I own our little boy (who is of an aristocratic 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." t As for Philip's landlady, the Little Sister, she, you know, had been familiar with the press, and pressmen, and orders for the play, for years past. She looked quite young and pretty, with her kind smiling face and neat tight black dress, as she came to the theatre — it was to an Easter piece — 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, mamma ! 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 wC 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 jfhilip and his companion in the public boxes opposite. Mr. Firmiivs 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 with his little landlady's aid and* counsel. He would come to us, recounting 856 THK ADVENTURES OF PHILIP his feats of parsimony with a childish delight ; he loved to con- template his sovereigns, as week by week the little pile accumu- lated. He kept a noble 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 ecstacies. 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 happy eyes. His purchases were not always lucky. For example, 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, ma'am," one of Philip's apologists 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 the dear fellow, who was bred up in splendor and luxury, Mrs. Mugford, as you, ma'am, know too well — 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 entered a room ; but he is saving — you know for what, ma'am." And, indeed, Mrs. Mugford did know; and so did Mrs. Pen- dennis and Mrs. Brandon. And these three women worked themselves into a perfect fever, interesting themselves for Mr. 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 office, that it is 1 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 Sister out of my house, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and in a great state of flurry and excitement, which perhaps communicates itself to the gentleman who passes her at his own door. The gentleman's wife is, on her part, not a little moved and excited. ''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 be a reporter, and with this and his place at Mr. Mugford 's, he thinks he can earn enough to — Oh, he 's a fine feliow !" I suppose feminine emotion stopped the comple- tion of this speech. But when Mr. Philip slouched in to dinner OH HIS WAV THROUGH THE WORLD. 867 that day his hostess did homage before him : she loved him ; she treated him with a tender respect and sympathy which her like are ever wont to bestow upon brave and honest men in misfort- une. Why should not Mr. Philip Firmin, barrister-at-law, bethink him that he belonged to a profession which has helped very many men to competence, and not a few to wealth and honors V 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 oeneh. " Can I sit in a Pump-court garret waiting for attorneys ?" asked'poor Phil ; u I shall break my heart before they come. My brains are not worth much : I should addle them all together in poring over law- books. I am not at all H clever fellow, you see ; and I have n't the ambition and obstinate will to succeed which carry on many a man with no greater capacity than my own. I may have as good brains as Bickerton, for example ; but I am not so bumptious as he is. By claiming 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-paring^ and second-floor lodgings at Pentonville or Islington. That 's aoout my mark. I would let her off', only I know she would not take me at my word — the dear little thing ! She has set her heart upon a hulk- ing 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 cow-heel and tripe ? You don't know. I do ; and the right place to buy 'em. I am as good a judge of sprats as any mau in London. My tap in life is to be small-beer henceforth, and I am growing 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 ? As well say we will only give our regard to men who have ten thousand a year, or are more than six feet high. While of his three female friends and advisers, my wife admired Philip's humility, Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. Mugford were rather disappointed at his 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 ?„ My amiable reader, acknowledge that you and I in life pretty much go our own way. We eat the dishes we like 858 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP because we like them, not because our neighbor relishes them. We rise early, or sit up late ; we work, 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 tempest he chose to take in sail, creep along shore, and wait lor 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 Saturday's issue. Hi' cut down the. parliamentary' Bpeeches, giving due favoritism to the orators of the Pall Mall Gazette party, and meagre outlines of their opponents' dis- courses. If the leading public men on the side of the Pali Matt le gave entertainments, you maybe 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. 1 am speaking of simple old days, you understand. Of course there, is no puffing, or jobbing, or false praise, or unfair censure now. Every critic knows what he is writing about, and writes with -no aim but to tell the truth. Thus Philip, the dandy of two years back, was,content to wear the shabbiest oldxioat; Philip, the Philippus of one-and-twenty, who rode showy horses, and rejoiced to display his horse and per- son 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 on his aunt as she passed in her barouche. He never could be quite made to acknowledge that she purposely would not see him ; or he would attribute her blindness to the quarrel which they had had, not to his poverty 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 he4iad been in his days of better fortune, and that he should make companions of men who were not his equals. Whether was it better for him to be slighted in a fashionable club, or to swagger at the head of the company in. a tavern parlor V This was the danger we might fear for Firmin. It was impossible not to confess that he was choosing to take a lower place in the world than that to which he had been born. Xi Do you mean that Philip is lowered because he is poor ?" asked an angry lady, to whom this remark was made b); her husband — man and wife being both very good friends to Mr. Firmin. " My dear," replies v the worldling of a husband, " suppose Philip OK HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 359 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, out of 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 napkin behind Grundsell." " Nonsense !" " Grundsell's calling is strictly honest, unless he abuses his opportunities and smuggles away — " " — smuggles away stuff and nonsense I" " Very good ; . Grundsell is not a fitting 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. Bran- don, good as she is, is a fitting companion for him?" M 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 argument. As long as Char- lotte was with us we were sure 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 children. My wife pleased herself by adorning this chamber, and uncle Mae happen- ing to come to London on business about this timo, the young lady ' ame over to us under his convoy, and I should like to de scribe the meeting between her and Mr. Philip in our parlor. No doubt it was very edifying. But my wife and I wen* not "present, vnus conpevez. We only heard one shout of surprise aud delight from Philip as he went into the room where the young lady was waiting. We had but said, l> Go into the parlor, Philip. You will find your old friend, Major Mae, 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. Aud then came the shout. And then out came Major Mae, with such a droll twinkle in his eyes! What artifices and bypOC- risies had we not to practice previously, so as to keep our secret. from our children, who assuredly would have discovered it! 1 must tell you that the paterfamilias had guarded against the innocent prattle and inquiries of the children regarding the prep- aration of the little bedroom, by informing them thai it was intended tor Mi-.- Grigsby, the governess; with whose advert I had long U*^* J LETTER FROM NEW YORK ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. S65 ".My dear boy, with regard to your romantic attachment for Miss Baynes, which our good little Brandon narrates to me in her peculiar orthography, but with much touching simplicity, I make it a rule not to say a word of comment, of warning, or remonstrance. As sure as you are your father's son, you will take yonir own line in any matter of attachment to a woman, and all the fathers in the world won't stop you. In Philip of four-and-twenty I recognize his father thirty years ago. My father scolded, entreated, quarrelled with me, never forgave me. I will learn to be more generous toward my son. I may grieve, but I bear you no malice. If ever I achieve wealth again, you shall not be deprived 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 journal called her? tho Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand. It is the fashionable journal published hero; and your qualifications are precisely those which would make your services valuable as a contribu- tor. Doc.tor 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 t contributors. I have been of service professionally to Mrs. Geraldine and himself. My friend of tho Emerald introduced 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 ' — the editor of the Emerald comes from that city — assail each other in public, but drink whiskey-and-water galore in private. If you write for Geraldine, of course you will say ^nothing disrespectful about grocers' 1 boys. His dollars are good silver, of that you may be 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. (The doctor, in his droll, humorous way, said that if you were a chip of the old block you would be just what he called 'the grit,') Politi- cal treatises are not so much wanted as personal news regarding the notabilities of London, and these, I assured him, 3*ou 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 profit. Suppose you were to trust a little to your imagination in com- posing these letters ? There can be no harm in being poetical. Sup- pose an intelligent correspondent writes that he has met the D-ke of W-11-ngt-n, had a private interview with the Pr-rn-r, and so forth, who is to say him nay? And this is the kind of- talk our gobemouehea of New York delight in. My worthy friend- Dr. Geraldine, 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: 386 , THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP » from one success he advanced to another, and the Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand is likely to make this worthy man's fortune. You really may be serviceable to him, and may justly earn, the liberal remunera- tion which he offers for a weekly letter. Anecdotes of men and women of fashion — the more gay and lively the more welcome — the qtricqnid agunt homines, in a word — should be the farrago libelli. Who are the reigning beauties of London? and Beauty, you know, has a rank and fashion A its own. Has any one lately won or lost on the turf 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. O'eat a prendre on 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 respects to your relative, the new Lord of Ringwood. For a young man whose family is so powerful as yours, there con surely be no derogation in entertaining some feudal respect, and who knows whether and how soon Sir John Ringwood 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 du monde. In such a subordinate place as you occupy with the Pall Mall Gazette, a man's private politics do not surely count at all. If Sir John Ring-* wood, your kinsman, sees any waj' 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, your father's friends were not of the quiet sort at all. 1 trust I have repented. I have sown my wild oats. And ah ! how pleased I shall be to hear that my Philip has b*ent 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 expect 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 will comply with the wishes of . . " Your affectionate father, G. B. F, "I have not said a word of compliment to Mademoiselle. I wish her so well that I own I wish she were about to rharry 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 U. 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 facher." Miss Charlotte Baynes, who. kept the name of Miss Grigsby, the governess, among all the roguish children of a facetious fa- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THF WORLl>. 38 7 ther, 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, Majpr MacWhirter, returned from visiting; his relations in the North, and offered to take his niece back to France again. He made his proposition with the jolliest air in the world, and as if his niece would jump for joy to go hack to her mother. But, to the major's astonishment, Miss Baynes turned quite pale, ran to her hostess, Hung herself into that lady's arms, and then there began an oscillatory performance which perfectly astonished the. good major. Charlotte's friend, holding Miss Baynes tight in her em- brace, looked fiercely at the major over the girl's shoulder, and defied him to take her away from that sanctuary. " Oh, you dear, good dear friend 1" Charlotte gurgled out, and sobbed I know not what more expressions of fondness and grati- tude. , But the. truth is, that two sisters, or mother and daughter, could not love each other more heartily than these two person- ages. 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 Clytemnestra casting on Agamemnon, when, in obedience to a painful 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 daily governess operated on the rest of their education to everybody's satisfaction. And so months rolled on, and our young favorite still remained with us. Mamma fed the little maid's purse with occasional remittances; and begged her hostess to supply her with all nec- essary articles from the milliner. Afterward, it is true, Mrs. Gen- eral Baynes But why enter upon these painful family disputes in a chapter which has been devoted to sentiment ? 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 liberty 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 was teaching our dear third daughter to play In my Cottage near a Wood. " Charlotte ! Charlotte I" 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 368 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP out of the door, as, indeed, she would have followed him out of the window ; and there on the stairs they read Dr. Firmin's letter, with their heads quite close together, you understand. " Two hundred a year more," said Philip, his heart throbbing so that he could hardly speak ; " and youi fifty — and two hun- dred the Gazette — and — " " Oh, Philip !" was all Charlotte could say, and then — There was a pretty group for the children to see, and for Mr. Walker to draw ! CHAPTER XXXl'L WAYS AND MEANS. Of course any man of the world who is possessed of decent prudence will perceive that the idea of marrying on four hun- dred and fifty pounds a year so secured as was Mr. Philip's income, was preposterous and absurd. 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 home, 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 the American paper. He might quarrel 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 intimate male friend — a man of the world, and with a good deal of experience — 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 advice 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 worldling ? 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 calculate (the fellow would come to my house and drink two bottles to himself, 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 under- stand ? or, to speak plainer with you, one hundred and nine pounds four shillings ! " Well," says Philip, " aprhf 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 enormous, but they ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 36f) break by dozens). He tosses oft" a pint of my Larose, and gives a great roar of laughter, as if lie. had said a good thing ! Philip Firmin is coarse and offensive 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, grin-"* ning ; " and at home I will have w.hiskey-and -water." " But suppose Charlotte is ordered claret V" " Well, she can have it," says this liberal lover; " a boltle will last her a week." " DrcTt 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 argu- ment a man may stretch a figure or so ) " Eighteen pounds for Charlotte'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 consume! 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 all 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, "I call cowardice — 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, can not 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 flaming 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 arid violent expressions than he had used in the dining-room over my glasses which he was smashing, tells my own wife that I am an atheist, or at best a miserable skeptic and Sadducee : that I doubt of the goodness of heaven, and am not thankful for my dafty bread. And, with one of her kindling looks directed toward 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 1 fancy 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 Charlotte looks very pretty at her piano; and Philip 82 870 THE ADVENTTJKES OF PHILIP t lies gjrziffg at her, ■with his great feet and hands tumbled over one of cur aim-chairs. And the music, with its solemn cheer, makes us all very happy and kind-hearted, and ennobles us some- how as we listen. And my wife wears .her benedictory look whenever she turns toward these young people. She has worked herself up to the opinion that yonder couple ought to marry She can give chapter and verse lor her belief. To doubt about the matter at all is wicked, according to her notions. And there are certain points upon which, 1 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, 1 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 knowing 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. Mug- ford bad begun to arrange marriages between her young people and ours from the very first day she saw us; and Mrs.. M.'s eh. filly Toddles, rising two vears, and our three-year old colt Billy- boy, were rehearsing in the nursery the endless little comedy which the grown-up young persons ware performi ^in the draw- ng-room. With the greatest frankness Mrs. Mwgford gave her opinion that Philip, with four or five hundred a year, would be no better than a sneak if he delayed to marry. How much had she and Mugford when they 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 housekeeping books I can show you." I believe 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 for ever in requisition, and Our boys were very sulky at having to sit for an hour at Shoolbred's, while certain ladies lingered 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 cabinet, with a glass cupboard and corpulent drawers. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 371 And that cabinet wag, ere long, carted off to Mrs. Brandon's, Thornhaugh ftreet ; 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 his castle for the honeymoon. Well : some people can not drive to happiness even with four horses; and. other folks can reach the goal on foot. My venerable Muse stoops down, unlooses her cothurnus with some difficulty, and prepares to fling that old shoe alter the pair. Tell, venerable Muse! what were the marriage- gifts which friendship provfded for Philip and Charlotte ? Philip's cousin, Ringwood Twysden, came simpering up to me at Bays' Club one afternoon, and said : " I Bear 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 be expected from your father's son;" but the fact is, that I did not. think of thfs withering repartee until I was crossing St. James' 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 ?mspoken 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 balked me by going away. Well, then, the fact is, the Twysden family gave Philip nothing on his marriage, being the exact sum of regard which they professed to have for him. Mrs. Major MacWhirter gave the bride an Indian brooch, representing the Taj Mahal at A^ra, which General Baynes had given to his sister-in-law in old days. 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 — quarrels which to describe at length would be to tax too much the writer and the readers of this history. Mrs. Mugford presented an elegant plated coffee-pot, six drawing-room almanacs (spoils of the Pall Mall Gazette), and fourteen richly-cut jelly-glasses, most useful for negus, if the young couple gave evening-parties, which dinners they would not be able to afford. Mrs. Brandon made an offering of two table-cloth? and twelve dinner-napkins, most beautifully worked, and I don't know how much house-linen. The Lady of the Present Writer — .Twelve teaspoons in bullion, 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, 372 THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP easily broken. He keep3 a tong to the present day, and speaks very satirically regarding that relic. Philip's Inn of 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 meagre trousseau. Before Cinderella went to the ball she was almost as rich as qui* little maid. Charlotte's mother sent a grim consent to the child's marriage, but declined herself to attend it. She was ailing and poor. Her year's widowhood was just over. She had her other children to look after. l\^y impression is that Mrs. Baynes thought that she could be out of Philip'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 compared to what I was when I married," little Mrs. Brandon said to her young friend. " You will have a good husband. That is more than I had. You will have good friends ; and 1 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 henceforth they were to journey together ; and I am sure that of the small company 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 heart-felt 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 lucky is he who has a loving companion to share them. As for the lady with wiom Charlotte had staid before her marriage, she was in a state of the most lachrymose sentimen- tality. She sate 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 around her maternal heart. And I- think if heaven had decreed this young creature should be poor, it had sent her many blessings and treasures in compensation. 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 sen- timental 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 decorate the church with flowers, or adorn the beadles with white ribbons. We had, I ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 378 must confess, a dreary little breakfast, not in the least enlivened by Mugford 's jokes, who would make a speech de circonslance, which was not, I am thankful to say, reported in the Pall Mall Gazette. " We shan't charge you for advertising the marriage there, my dear," Mrs. 'Mugford said. "And I 've already took it .myself to Mr. Burjoyce." Mrs Mugford had insisted upon pin- ning a large white favor upon John, who drove her from Harnp- stead ; but that was the only ornament present at the nuptial ceremony, much to the disappointment of t"he 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 by menial emblem. Our little girls as bridesmaids appeared, to be sure, in new bon- nets 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 husbaad's.. •struggle; lighten his gloomy hours with your tender smiles, and gladden his home with your love. Husband, father, whatsoever 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 greet 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 forevery-day cogitation t After the ceremony Ave sign the book, and walk back demure- ly to breakfast. And Mrs. Mugford does not conceal her disap- pointment at the small preparations made for the reception of the marriage party. " I call it shabby, Brandon ; and 1 speak my mind. No favors. Only your cake. No speeches to speak of. No lobster-salad ; and wine on the sideboard. I thought your Queen square friends knew how to do the thing better ! When one of my gurls is married, I promise you we shan't let - her go out of the back-door ; and at least we shall have the best four grays that Newman's can furnish. It 's ray belief your young friend is getting too fond of money, Brandon, and so I have told Mugford." But these, you see,' 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 between our two families dwindled imme- diately after Philip's marriage ; Mrs. M., I am sorry to say, set- 374 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ting ns 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 : they had not even a valet and lady's-maid to bear them company. The route of the happy pair was to be .Canterbury, Folkestone, 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 homeward again; and meanwhile the printer and Mugford himself agreed that they would do Mr. Sub-editor's duty. How much had they in the little parse for their pleasure-journey ? That is no business of ours, surely; but with youth, health, happiness, love, among their possessions, I don't think our young friends had need to be discontented. Away, then, they drive in their cab to the railway station. Farewell, and heaven bless you, Charlotte and Philip ! I have said 4iow 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 artful manu-» facture. I own for one T 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 oft from Bays' and through Old Parr street, where Philip had lived, and his parents entertained me as a boy ; and then tramped to Thornhaugh 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-curtains, or bed-curtains, or what not ; by her side sate my own eldest girl stitching away very resolutely ; and at the piano — the piano which Philip had bought — there sate 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 feels like the first night at school after the holidays, when we all used to try and appear cheerful, you know. But ah! how dismal the gayety was; and how dreary that lying awake in the night, and thinking of the happy days just over ! The way in which we looked forward for letters from our bride and bridegroom was quite a curiosity At length a letter arrived from these personages; and as it co'ntains no secret, I take the liberty to print it in exlenso: * ON HIS WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 3 75 "Amtrxs, Friday. Paris, Saturday. "Dkarest Friends — (For the dearest .friends yon an to us, and will 'continue bo bj as long as tor, line) — Wo performs oar promise of wririug to you to say that we are loetlf aad sa/e, and happy ! Philip says I must n't use dashes* but I can't help it. Ho says lr> supposes I am (It-thing off a letter. Yoii kno.v his joking way. Oh, what a bloat- ing it is to see him so happy ! And if he is happy, I am. I tremble to think hoiv happy. Ho aits opposite me, smoking his se,.jar, looking so noble! I like it, and X went to our room and brought hir.i thin on*. Hs says, ' Char, if I were to say bring me your heal, you would order a waiter to out it off.' Pray, did I not promise three days ago to love, honor, and obey him. and am I going to break my promise already r I hope not. I pray not. All my life L hopo I shall bo trying to keep that promiso of mine. We like .1 Canterbury almost as m ich a3 dear Westminster. We hail an open carriage, and took a glorious drive to Folkestone, and in the erossing Philip was ill. and I was u't. "And ho looked very droll: and he was in a dreadful b"a*d 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 wont through the cords at the custoaf-house at Boulogne; and I remembered how, two years ago, I passed through those very cords, with my poor papa, and lie 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 flouso in the Haute Ville, whero I remember everything an it' it mas yesterday. Don't you remember, M we were walking one day, you said* ' Charlotte, there is the sieamor coming ; there is the smoke of his funnel ;' and I said, ' What steam er V and j'ou said, ' The Philip, to' be sure.' And he came up, smoking his pipe ! We passed over and over the old grouad where we used to walk. We went to the pier, and gave money to'the poor little hunch back who plays the guitar, aud he said, ' Merci, madam •.' How d%dl it sounded ! And that good, kind Marie at the Hotel des Bains re- membered us, and called us 'men enfant.' 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 mo a purse, which she gave me as we went away from dear, dear Queen square; and when I open- ed it, there were five sovereigns in it! When we found what tho purse contained, Philip used one of his great jnrons (as he always does when he is most tender-hearted), and he'said that woman was an angel, and that we would keep those five sovereigns, and never change them. Ah ! I am thankful my husband has such friejadsl I will love all who love him — yoq most of all. For were not you the means of bringing this noble heart 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 such a great heart that she must have a good intellect. If loving my Philip bo wisdom, I know some one who will be very wise ! k< If I was not in a very great harry to see mamma, Philip said wo niighjfestop a day at Amiens. And we went to'the cathedral, and to whom, do you think, it is dedicated? to my saint: to S.VINi' Fikui* ! and oh ! Iprayed to heaven to give me si reugth todevote my life :<> toy Sainton xrrrirc, to love him always, as a pure, true wife : i:i sickness to guard him, in sorrow to soothe him. I will try und learn and */ facetious descriptions of those spots and cities. He «aid that in the last-named place, Charlotte's shoes being worn-out, those which she purchased were rather flight for her, and the high heels annoyed- her. He stated that the beef at Timbuetoo was not cooked enough for Charlotte's taste, and that the emperor's atten- tions were becoming rather marked, and so forth ; wherea:s poor little Char's simple postscripts 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 ha'd almost all rolled away. Luckily, it was pay-day ^hen the young people came back to London. They were almost reduced to the Little Sister's wedding present : and surely they would rather work than purchase a few hours' more ease with that poor widow's mite. Who talked and was afraid of poverty? Philip, with his two newspapers, averred that he had enough ; more tlmn enough ; could save; could put by. It was at this time that Ridley, th^ Academician, painted that sweet picture, No. 1,970 — of course you remember it — "Portrait of a Lady." He became romanti- cally attached to the second-floor lodger ; would have no noisy parties in his rooms, or -smoking, lest it should annoy her. Would Mrs. Firmin desire to give entertainments of her own ? HU studio and sitting-room were at her orders. He fetched and carried. He brought presents and theatre-boxes, and would have cut off his head had she demanded, and laid it at the little bride's feet, so tenderly did he regard her. And she gave him back in return for all this romantic adoration a condescending shake 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 he was forbidden to enter. And Mr. Philip sit within this Palace of Delight, and lolled at his ease, 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 bene- factress, and my lord his benefactor, and was thankful. Charlotte had not two-pence ; 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 fashion- able assemblies at her five oidoek tea-table. Ail men liked her, and Miss Sowerby of course says Mrs. Firmin was a good-natured, quite harmless little woman, rather pretty, and — you know, my dear — such as men like. Look you, if I like cold veal, dear ON HI8 WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 3 79 Sowerby, it is that my tastes are simple. A fine tough old dry camel, no doubt, a a nuu'h nobler and more sagacious animal — and perhaps you 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. Mug- ford, 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 exercised and impressed by the fine company whom she met in Mrs. Firmin's apartments. " Lord Thingambury's card ! what next, Brandon, upon my word? Lady Slowby at home? well, I never, Mrs. B. 1" In such artless phrases Mrs. Mugford would express her admiration and astonishment during the early time, and when Charlotte s f ill retained the good lady's ftivor. 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. u Oh, Laura, 1 tremble when I think how happy 1 am !" was our little bird's perpetual warble. " How did I live when I was at home with mamma?" 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 injudi- cious 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' crossed letters came still, and I am not prepared to pledge my word that Charlotte read them all. Mrs. B. offered to come and superin- tend and take care of dear Philip when an interesting 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 posi- tively forbade Mrs. Baynes. You remember the picture, "A Cradle," by J. J. ? the two little rosy feet brought I don't know how many hundred guineas a piece to Mr. Ridley. Tihe mother herself did not study babydom more fondly and devotedlv than Ridley did in the ways, looks, features, anatomies, attitudes, baby- clothes, etc., of this first-born iutant of Charlotte and Philip Firmin. My wife is very angry because 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 think it was a boy — for their boy is very tall, you know — a great deal taller — Not a boy ? Then, between ourselves, I have no doubt it was a — j "A goose,"»says the lady, which is not even reasonable. This is cert am, we all thought the young mother looked very pretty, with her pink cheeks and beaming eyes, as she bent over 380 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the little infant. J. J. says he thinks there is something heavenly in the looks of young mothers at that time. Nay, he goes so far as to declare that a tigress at the Zoological Gardens looks beautiful and gentle as she bends her black nozzle over her cubs. And if a tigress, why not Mrs. Philip ? O ye powers of sentiment, rn what a state J. 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 artist used to hang about Mrs. Brandon's rooms till it was droll to see him. I believe he took oif his shoes in his own studio, so as not to disturb by his creaking the lady overhead. He purchased the most preposterous 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 that 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. Mugford, and were invited by that worthy couple' to go with their infant to Mug- ford'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. He had a little garden, a little pad- dock, a little greenhouse, a little cucumber-frame, a little stable for his little trap, a little Guernsey cow, a little dairy, a little pig-sty — and with this little treasure the good man was not a little content. He loved and praised 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 happiness. He appreciated his own worth. He loved to talk of the days when he was a poor boy on London streets, and now, " now try that glass of part, my boy, and say whether the Lord Mayor has got any better," he would say, winking •> his glass and his company. To be virtuous, to be lucky, and constantly to think and own that you are so — is not this true happiness V To sing hymns in* praise of himself is a charming amusement — at least to the performer ; and anybody who dined at Mugtbrd's table was pretty sure to h'ear some of this music after dinner. I am sorry to say Philip did not care for this trumpet-blowing. He was frightfully bored at Haver- stock Hill ; and when bored, Mr. Philip is not altogether an agreeable companion. He will yawn in a man's face. He will contradict you freely. He will say the mutton is tough, or the wine not fit to drink ; that such and such an orator is overrated, and such and such a politician is a fool. Mugford and his guest had battles after dinner, had actually high words. " What-hever ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 381 is it, Mugford ? and what we^e you two quarrelling about in the dining-room ?" asks Mrs. Mugford. " Quarrelling i it 'sonly 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, 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 soothe the rising anger; and thusJPhilip* would come in from a little walk in the shrubberies, where he had been blowing a little cloud. Ah 1 there was a little cloud rising indeed — quite a little one — nay, not so little. When you consider that Philip's brVad depended on the good-will of- these people, you will allow that his friends might be anxious regarding the future. A word from Mugford, 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 affairs (as he 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 constantly in my head. I used to talk about 'em 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, ray good people — but when I 'm bored I can't help showing I 'm bored, don't you see ? I can't be 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 husband, a generous host, and a most tremendous bore and cad. Be agreeable to him ? How can I be agreeable when I am being killed? He has a story about Leigh Hunt being put into Newgate, where Mug- ford, bringing him proofs, saw Lord Byron. I can not 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.' " u Oh, Philip !;' says a lady ; and two or three circumjacent children set up an insane giggle, which is speedily and sternly silenced. " 1 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 be the friend of a woman who calls a drawing-room a droaring-room ? With our dear little friend in Thornhaugh street it is different. She makes no pretence even at equality. Here is a patron and patroness, don't you see V When Mugford walks me round his paddock and gardens, 382 ._ THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and says, ' Look ye'ar. Firmin ;' or^scratches one of Lis pigs on the back, and sajs, ' We '11 'ave a cut of this fellow on Satur- day' — (explosive attempts at insubordination and derision 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 felt inclined to throw him or myself into the trough over the palings. Do you know that that man put that-hand into his pocket and offered me some filberts ?" 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 cehci du domestique qui vient d'apporler le what-d'you-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 hold* ing back is not arrogance," Philip went on. " This reticence is not want of humility. 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 unrighteousness, is subserviency and hypocrisy on my part. I ought to say to him, Mr. Mugford, I will give you my wOrk for your wage ; I will compile your pa- per, I will produce an agreeable miscellany containing proper proportions of news, politics, and scandal, put titles to your par- agraphs, 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 time-piece in our drawing-room gave that announcement 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 1 hope reach- ed 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 be with those folks," Mrs. Brandon said, "though, as for Mrs. Philip, dear thing, I am sure nobody can ever quarrel with her. With me it 's 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 fellow's" head that Mr. Robert Mugford could.be Mr. Philip Firmin's equal. With our knowledge of the two men, then, we all dismally looked forward to a rupture between 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 fashionable world. We happened to overhear the most re- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORlfD. 383 mark able conversations between the most influential public characters, who had no secrets from us. We had astonishing intelligence at. most European courts; exclusive leports of the Emperor of Russia's last joke — his last ? his next, very likely. We knew the most secret designs of the Austrian Privy Council; the views which the Pope had in his eye; who was the latest favorite of the Grand Turk, and so on. The Upper Ten Thou- sand at New York were supplied with a quantity of information 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 Embassador," and the rest. The letters were signed u Philalethes;' 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 information procured from learned female personages, we even managed to give accounts, more or less correct, of the latest ladies' fashions. We were members 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 payment for his labors. At the end of the first year of Philip Firmin's married life we made a calculation by which it was clear that he had actually saved money. His expenses, to be sure, were increased. There was a baby in the nursery ; but there was a little bag of sovereigns in the cupboard, and the thrifty young fellow hoped to add still more to his store. We were relieved at finding that Firmin and his wife were not invited to repeat their, visit to their employer's house at Hampstead. An occasional invitation to dinner was still sent to the young people ; but Mugford, a haughty 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 angry at the young fellow's easy suptreiliousness. I think that indefatigable Little Sister was the peace-maker between the houses of Mugford and Firmin junior, and that she kept both Philip and his master on their good behavior. At all events, and when a quarrel did arise be- tween them, I grieve 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 furious at the omission. I am sorry to say Charlotte's mother was so angry at not being ap- pointed godmother to the new baby, that she omitted to make her little quarterly payment of £12 10s.; and has altogether discontinued that pay ment from that remote period up to the* present time ; so that Philip sa>s his wife has brought, him a fort- une of £45, paid in four instalments There was the first quar- 384 * THE ADVENTURES OP PHILIP ter 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- fn-law paid the rest of her poor little daughter's fortune. Well, Regent's park is a fine healthy place for infantine diver- sion, and I don't think Philip at all demeaned himself in walking there with his wife, her little maid, and his baby on his arm. " He is as rude as a bear, and his manners are dreadful ; but he has a good heart, that I will say for him," Mugford said to me. In his drive from London to Hampstead 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 happiest time, my friend is disposed to think. A young child, a young wife, whose whole life was a ten- der caress of love for child and husband, a young husband watch- ing both: I recall the, group, as we used often to see it in those days, and see a something sacred in the homely figures. .On the wife's bright face what a radiant happiness there is, and what a rapturous smile ! Over the sleeping infant and the happy mother the father looks with pride and thanks in his eyes. Hap- piness and gratitude fill his simple heart, and prayer involuntary 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 became home early of nights ; that bethought his child a wonder ; that he never tired of speaking about that in- fant in our house — about its fatness, its strength, its weight, its wonderful early talents 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, he 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 ; and I am sure he was not the less amiable on account of that humility. O fortunate he, of whom Love is the teacher, the guide and master, the reformer and chastener ! Where was our friend's former arrogance, self- confidence, and boisterous profusion ? He was at the feet of his wife and child. He was quite humbled about himself; or grati- fied himself in fondling and caressing these. They taught him, he said ; 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 over mother and child, and interpret those maybe un- ON HI8 WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 385 spoken blessings which he asks and bestows. Happy wife, happy husband ! However poor his little home may be, it holds treas- ures and wealth inestimable; whatever storing may threaten without, the home fireside js brightened with the welcome of tii". dearest eyes. CHAPTER XXXIV. IN WHICH I OWN THAT PHILIP TELLS AN UNTRUTH. Charlotte (and the usual* little procession of nurse, baby, etc.) once made then' appearance at our house in Queen square, where they were ever welcome by the lady of the mansion. The young woman was in a great state of elation, and when we came to hear the cause of her delight, her friends too opened the eyes of wonder. She actually announced that Dr. Firmin had sent over a oill 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, avd Philip had told her that his father had sent it; and was it not, a comfort to think that popr Doctor Firmin was en- deavoring to repairsoyne of the evil which he had done ; and 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 accused of cynicism, skepticism, and so forth, for doubting the correctness of the infor- mation. "You believe .in no one, sir. You are always incred- ulous about good," etc., etc., etc., was the accusation brought against the reader's very humble servant. Well, about the con- trition of this -sinner, I confess I still continued to have doubts ; and thought a pres'ent of forty pounds to a son, to whom he owed thousands, was no great proof of the doctor's amendment. And oh ! how vexec^ some people were when the real story came out at last ! Not for the money's sake ; not because they were wrong in argument, and I turned out to be right. Oh, 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 doc- tor's supporters were obliged to admit as much when they came to know the real story. "Oh, Philip," cries Mrs. Laura, when next she saw Mr Firmin, " how pleased I was to hear of that letter !" • • " That letter?" asks the gentleman. " That letter from your father at New York," says the lady. " Oli," says the gentleman addressed* with a red face. " What then ? Is it not — is it not all true V" we ask. 83 386 - THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Poor Charlotte does not understand about business," says Philip ; " I did not read the letter to her. 'Here it is." And he hands over the document to me, and 1 have the liberty to publish it : " New York, . "And so, my dear Philip, I may congratulate myself ou having achieved 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 hloirs of misfortune — at least, I know I was a young man hut yesterday, when I. may say with our dear old poet, Non sine gloria milituri. Suppose I too were to tire of solitary widoAvhood 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 aentleman. Without vanity I may say it, a man of hirth and position. in England acquires a polish and refinement of manner which dollars can not pur- chase, and many a Watt street millionary might envy ! " Your wife has been pronounced to be an angel by a little eorrespond- i it.' of mine, who gives me much fuller intelligence of my family than my son condescends, to furnish. 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 nr?/ badly of her husband's father. I was the dupe of villains who lured me into their schemes ; who robbed me of a life's earnings ; who induced me, by their false representations, to have such confidence in them that I embarked all my ow£ property, and jours, 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 misfortune. Such is the view, I am happy to say, gen- erally adopted in this citj^, where there are men of the world who know the vicissitudes of a mercantile career, and can make allowances for misfortune ! What made Home at first great and prosperous ? Were its first colonists all wealthy patricians ? Nothing can be more satisfactory than the- disregard shown here to mere pecuniary difficulty. At the same time to be a gentleman is to possess no trifling privilege in this society, where the advantages of birth, respected name, and early education, always tell in the possessor's favor. Many'persons whom I visit here have certainly not these advantages; and in the - highest society of the city I could point out individuals who have had * pecuniary misfortunes like myself, who have gallantly renewed the combat after their fall, and are now fully restored to competence, to wealth,, and the respect of the world ! I was in a house in Fifth avenue last night. Is Washington White shunned by his fellow-men because ho has been a bankrupt three times ? Anj'thing more elegant or profuse than his entertainment I have not witnessed on this conti- nent. 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 3'our father-in-law, who hopes they will furnish your little dinner-table! We cat currant je^ly with them here, but I like an old English lemon and cayenne sauce better. # • " By the way, dear Philip, I trust you will not be inconvenienced by a little financial operation, which necessity (alas !) has compelled me to perform. Knowing that your quarter with the Upper Ten 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 — ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 387 an obdurate holder of an unlucky acceptance of mine (I am happy to say there are very few such) would admit of no delay] and I have been compelled to appropriate" my poor Philip'.-' earnings* I have only put you off foV ninety days: with year credit arid wealthy friends you can raxi/i/ negotiate the bitl inclosed, and I p rati /■•■< y >u thai when presented it shall be honored by my Philip's ever aifeetionate father. ^ . » "G. B. F. "By the way. your Philalcthes' letters are not . high-spiced article: and I recommend P. P. to put a little more pepper in his dishes. What a comfort to me it is to think that I have- procured this place for you, and have been enabled to help my son and his young family. "G. £. F." Inclosed 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 this document was to repre- sent the money which the elder Firmin had received in his son's name ! Philip's eyes met his friend's when they talked about this matter. Firmin looked almost as much ashamed as if he himself had done the wrong. " Does the loss of this money annoy 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 ! Oh, friend, it '■ hard to bear, isn't it? I'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 right to my earn- ings: and if he is in want, you know, so he" has." " Had you not better write to the New York publishers and beg them henceforth to remit to you directly V" 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 ove'r 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 nofto supply him ?" Firmin said. u 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 388 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP himself, old boy ?" and he drinks a glass of wine, poor fellow, with a rueful smile. By the way, it is my 'duty to mention here that the elder Eirirjin was in the h*bit of giving wry elegant little dinner-parties at New York, where little dinner-parties are much more costly than in Europe — "in order," he said, "to establish and keep up his connection as a ptiysician." As a bon- viiiant, I am informed, the doctor began to' be celebrated in his new dwelling-place, where his anecdotes of the British aris- tocracy were received with pleasure in certain circles. But it would be as well henceforth that Philip should deal di- rectly with American correspondents, and not employ the services of so very expensive a broker. To this suggestion he could not 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, that when Philip's famous ship of dollars arrived from America, Fir- min had promised his wife that baby should have a dear delight- ful 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) — Charlotte, I say, went off, ran off to Hanway Yard, pavid with fear lest tke darling cloak should be gone, found it — oh, joy — still in Miss Isaacson's window ; put it on baby straightway then and there : kissed the dear infant, 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 meet papa when he came home ; and I don't know which of them, mamma or baby, was the most ph-ased, and absurd, and happy baby of the two. On his way home from his newspaper, 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 Rathbone place, with Betsy the nursekin and baby in the new cloak. Behold, he comest at last — papa— striding down the street. He sees the figures: he sees the child, which laughs, and holds out its little pink hands, and crows a recognition. And, u Look — look, papa''' cries the happy mother. (Away ! I can not keep up the mystery about the baby an-y longer, and though I had forgotten for a moment the child's sex, remembered it the instant after, and that it was a girl, to be sur«, and that its name was Laura Caroline.) " Look, look, ON HIS WAY THROUGH. THE WORLD. - 389 papa !"- erics the happy mother. " She has got another littte tooth since the morning — such a beautiful little tooth ! — and look here, sir ! don't you observe anything V " Any what V" asks Philip. u La! sir," says Betsy, uri vinften private reasons lor the praise and the blame admin- istered t that I am glad, for my part, my only duty is to see the paper through the press. For instance, there is Harroeks, the tragedian, of Drury Lane : every piece in which i e appears is a masterpiece, and his performance the greatest triumph ever wit- nessed. Very good. Harroeks and my excellent 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 line actor. Why can't our critic see his merit as well as Har- roeks' V Poor Balder son is never allowed any merit at all. He is passed over with a sneer, or a curt word of cold commendation, while columns of flattery are not enough for his rival. ' " Why, Mr. F., what a flat you must be ! — askin' your, pardon," remarked Mugford, in reply to Ids sub-editor's simple remon- strance. " How can we praise Balderson when Harroeks is our friend ? Me and Harroeks are thick. Our wives are close friends. If J was to let Balderson be praised I should drive liar- rocks mad. I can't praise Balderson, don't you see, out of justice to Harroeks !'' Then t\\eve was a certain author whom Bickerton was for ever attacking. They had had a private quarrel, and Bickerton re- venged himself in this way. Jn reply to Philip's outcries and remonstrances Mr. Mugford 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 Firmin, "do you mean to siy that the man is base enough to strike at his private enemies through the press V" " Private enemies ! private gammen, 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 natural ; and it 's right. Perhaps you would like to praise your enemies and abuse your friend ? \i' that's your line, let me tell you you won't do'iu the noospaper 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 insubordina- tion of Philip. " Wbat.does the fellow mean by quarrelling with his bread-and-butter?" Mr. Mugford asked. " Speak to him, and show him what's what, Mr. P., or wi- shall come to a (jiiarrcl, mind you ; and I don't want that, for the sake of his little wife — poor little drlicate thing ! "Whatever is to happen to them if we don't stand by them ?" What was to happen to them, indeed? Any one who knew 392 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Philip's temper as we did was aware how little ad-vice or remon- strance were likely to affect that gentleman. '• Good heavens !" he said to me, warn I endeavored to make him adopt a concilia- tory tone toward his employer, " do you want to make me Mug- ford's galley-slave? I shall have him standing over me and swearing at mre as he does at the printers. He looks into my room at tim^s when he is in a passion, and glares at me as if he would like to^eize me by the throat; and after a word or two he goes off, and I hear him curse the boye 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 night.and groan and chafe ; and poor Char, too, wakes and asks, ' What is it, Philip ?' I say it is rheumatism. Rheumatism !" Of course to Philip's malady his friends tried to apply the commonplace anodynes and consolations. He must be gentle in his bearing. He must remember that his employer had not been bred a gen- tleman, and that though rou^h and coarse in language, Mugford had a kind heart. " There is no need to tell me he is not a gen- tleman ; 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 my driver. He feeds me. PjLe has n't beat me yet. When 1 was away at Paris I did not feefthe chain so much. Bat it is scarcely tolerable now. when I have to see my jailer four or five times a week. My poor little Char, why did I drag you into this slavery ?" " Because you wanted a consoler, T 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 ? You often own as much when you are in happier moods. Who has not his work to do, and his burden to bear "? You say sometimes that you are imperious and hot-tempered. Perhaps your slavery, as you call it, may be good for you." % '• I have doomed myself and her to it," says Philip, hanging down .hit head. " Does she ever repine ?" asks his adviser. " Does she not think herself the happiest little wife, in the world? 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 V ' 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 cfiop 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 friend's make many true remarks when they visited him in his affliction*? ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 39S Patient, as lie was, the patriarch groaned and lamented, and why should not poor Philip be allowed to grumble, who was not a model of patience at all ? He was not bro*ke 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 ha'd 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-kneed, broken-down old cab hack shivering in the rank ; or a sleek gelding, mayhap, pacing under a corpulent master in Rotten Kow ? 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 career, or parade my friend as too hungry aud poor. He is safe now, and out of all peril, heaven be thanked 1 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 gpnius, 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 Mamelukes, or Russians, or Germans, were fain to carve little jimcracks in bone with their penknives, 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 captivity. I do not think men who have undergone the struggle and served the dire taskmaster like to look back and recall the grim apprenticeship. When Philip says now, " What fools we were to marry, Char 1" 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 mav soothe him, and he may be thankful too ; but the wounds arc 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 an/1 epaulets. He is like you and me, my dear sir, not a heroic genius at all. And it is to be hoped that all three have behaved with an average plu^k, and have been guilty of no meanness, or treachery, or desertion. Did you behave otherwise, what would wife and children say ? As for Mrs. Philip, I tell you she thinks to this day that there is no man like her husband — is ready to fail down and worship the boots in which he walks. How do men live ? How is re|t paid ? How does the dinner come day after day?" As a rul^ there is dinner. You might live longer with less of it. but you can't go without it and live 394 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP long. How did my neighbor 23 earn his carriage, and how did 24 pay for his house ? As I am writing this sentence Mr. Cox, -who collects the faxes 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 time — when poor Philip was troubled at the sight of Cox .; and this troublous time his biographer intends to pass over in a very few pages. At the end of six months the Upper Ten Thousand of New York heard with modified wonder that the editor of that fash- ionable journal had made a retreat from the city, carrying with him the scanty contents of the till ; so the contributions of Pbilalethes never brough 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, ihe wealthy Cornish member of Parliament, that the Government and the House of Commons slighted his speeches and his views on foreign politics ; 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 certain literary and political gentlemen with whom he was acquainted. He would bring out the European Review. He would expose the designs of that Great Power which was menacing 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 ou»ht no longer to be tolerated by the country gentlemen of England. Sir John, a little man in 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 respect. She was shocked to hear of the ingratitude of Government ; astounded and terrified by his exposition of the designs of — of that Great Power whose intrigues were so menac- ing to European tranquillity. She was most deeply interested in the idea of establishing the Review. He would, of course, be himself the editor ; 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 ihe world who was most suited to act as sub-editor under Sir John — a gentle- man, 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 guess who this individual was. " I knew it at once," says the lady, after ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 395 Sir John had taken his leave. " I told you that those dear chil- dren would not be 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 1 would induce her to turn Mormon, and accept all the consequences to which ladles 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 ab initio that Lady Plinlimmon should give evening-parties, in order that she might offend Lady Tre- garvan by not asking her to those parties. It must have been ordained by fate that Lady Tregarvan should be of a jealous disposition, so that she might hate Lady Plinlimmon, 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 be 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 Plinlimmon 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 Firmin's pocket, the Tre- garvans have to be born from the earliest times : the PJinlim- mons have to spring up in the remotest ages, and come down to the present day : Doctor Firmin has to be a rogue, and undergo his destiny of cheating his ?on of money : all mankind up to the 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 skepticism and misgiving," says the lady, with strong emphasis on the words. " U you moan to say that there is no such thing as a Superior Power watching over us, and ordaining things 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 wayf and as samples of lady-like logic. I acknowledge that Philip himself, as he looks back at his past career, is xtry much moved. "I do not deny," he says, gravely, "that these things happened in the natural order. I say I am grateful for what happened ; and look back at the past not without awe. In great grief and danger maybe, I have had timely rescue. Under great sufferirg I have met with supreme consolation. When the trial has seemed almost too hard for me it has ended, and our darkness has been lightened. Ut vivo et valeo — si valeo, I know by Whose permission this is — and would you forbid me to be thankful ? to be thankful for my life ; to be 396 THE ADVENTURES OF THILIP 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, 1 bow my head in thanks and awe. I wanted succor, and 1 found it. I fell on evil times, and good friends pitied and helped me — good friends like j ourself, your dear wife, many another I could name. In what moments of depression, old friend, have you not seen me and cheered me? Do you know in the mo- ments of our grief the inexpressible value of your sympathy ? Your good Samaritan takes out only two-pence maybe for the wayfarer whom he has rescued, but the little timely supply saves a life. You remember dear old Ned St. George — dead in the West Indies years ago? Before he got his place Ned was hang- in^ on in London, so utterly poor and ruined that he had not often a shilling 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 fche cost of that dinner; but I remember my share amounted to the exact number of shillings which poor Ne£l 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 two-pence which I gave, but thanking God for sending me there to give it. Benedico bene- dictus. I wonder sometimes am I the I of twenty years ago ? 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 very dull one on a subject 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 wanted 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 delinquencies of Sir Thomas, and the atrocious intrigues of the Russian Court. Well, sir, Nobbles, Tregarvan, Teheran, all disappeared as I looked at the text in the old volume of 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 dread- ful apprehension torturing him. One of our children was ill in the adjoining roou, 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." ON HIS WAY THROUGH TUK WORLD. 397 Here our conversation was interrupted 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 srowing very angry. Do you know you have been talking here for two "hours ?." Had two hours actually slipped away as we sate prattling about old times? As I narrate them, I prefer to give Mr. Firmin's account of his adventures in his own words, where I can recall or imitate them. Both of us are graver and more reverend seign- iors than we were at the time of which I am writing. Has not Firmin's girl grown up to be taller than her godmother V Veter- ans both, we love to prattle about the merry days when we were young— (the merry days ? no, the past is never merrv)— about the days when we were young ; and do we grow young in talk- ing of them, or only indulge in a senile cheerfulness and pro- lixity ? Tregarvan sleeps with his Cornish fathers : Europe for many years has gone on without her Review ; but it is a certainty that the establishment of that occult organ of opinion tended very much to benefit Philip Firmin, and helped for a while to supply him and several innocent people dependent on him with their daily bread. Of course, as they were so poor, this worthy family increased and multiplied ; 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 Thornhau<*h street but for .the prayers and commands of the affectionate Little Sister, who insisted that there was plenty of room in the house for everybody, and who said 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 affec- tionate creature had endowed Philip with all her little property. These are the rays of sunshine in the dungeon. These are the drops of water in the desert. And with a full heart our friend acknowledges how comfort came to him in his hour of need. Though Mr. Firmin has a very grateful heart, it has been ad- mitted that he was a loud disagreeable Firmin at times, impetu- ous in his talk and violent in his behavior : and we are now come to that period of bis 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 men will try and associate between whom no love is? I think it was the ladies who tried to reconcile Philip and his master; who brought them together, and strove to make them friends; but the more they met the more they disliked each other; and now the Muse lias to relate their final and irreconcilable rupture. Of Mu^ford's wrath the direful tale relate, O Muse ! and Philip's pitiable fate. I have shown how the men had long been 39b' THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP inwardly envenomed one against another. "Because Firmin is as poor as a rat, that's no reason why he should adopt that haw- haw manner, and them high and mighty airs toward a man who gives him the bread he eats," Mugford argued not unjustly. " What do / care for his being a university man V 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 say, who can't sup- port himself yet. I 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 V" 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 Saturday evening we are quits. Call me Philip indeed, and strike me in the side. I choke, sir, as I think of the confounded familiarity !" " Confound 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," said Philip to his meek wife. " Write and s*y we are engaged, Charlotte." " It is for the 18th of next month, and this is the 23d," said poor Charlotte. " We can't well say that we are engaged so far off." " It is for one of his grand ceremony parties," urged the Little Sister. " You can't come to no quarrelling there. He has a good heart. So have you. There 's no good quarrelling with him. Oh, Philip, do forgive, and be friends !" Philip yielded to the remon- strances 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, etc. In his quality of newspaper proprietor, musical professors and opera singers paid much court to Mr. Mugford ; and he liked to entertain them at his hospitable table ; to brag about his wines, cookery, plate, garden, prosperity, and private virtue, during dinner, while the artists sate respectfully listening to him ; and to go to sleep and snore, or wake up and join cheerfully in a cho- rus when the professional people performed in the drawing room. Now, there was a lady 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 husbaud, 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 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 399 retired from his business, as he caused his wife to withdraw from hers. Now, more worthy and honorable people do not live than Woolsey and his wife, as those know who were acquainted with their history. Mrs. Woolsey is loud. Her It's are by no means where they should be ; her knife at dinuer 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 scru- ple in asking for it. She sits down to play the piano and to sing with perfect good-nature, ami 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 own that those hands are not so white as the ivory which they thump. Woolsey sits in perfect raptur3 listen- ing to his wife. Mugford presses her to take a glass of" some- think " afterward ; and the good-natured soul says she will take something 'ot. She sits and listens with infinite patience and good-humor while the little Mugfords go through their horrible 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 com- panion for Mrs. Philip ; but I know that Mrs. Woolsey was a good, clever, and kindly woman, and that Philip behaved rudely to her. He never meant to be rule 4 o her, he said; but the truth is, he treated her, her husband, Mugford, and Mrs. Mug- ford, with a haughty ill-humor which utterly exasperated and perplexed them. About this poor lady, who was modest and innocent as Susan- nah, Philip had heard some wicked elders at wicked clubs tell wicked stories in old times. There was that old Trail, for in- stance ; 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 remembered 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 up to him and whispered, u What is it, dear V" Meanwhile, Mrs. Mugford and Mrs. Woolsey were in full col- loquy about the weather, the nursery, and so forth — and Wool- sey and Mugford giving each other the hearty grasp of friend- ship. Philip, then, scowling at the newly-arrived guests, turn- ing, his great hulking back upon the company and calking to his wife, presented a not agreeable figure to his entertainer. " Hang the fellow's pride !" thought Mugford. " He chooses 400 THE ADVENTURES OF PHIL11- to turn his back upon my company because Wookey was a tradesman. An honest tailor is better than a bankrupt, swin- dling doctor, 1 should think. Woolsey need not be ashamed to show his face, 1 suppose. Why did you make me ask that fellar again, Mrs. M. ? Don't you see, our society ain't good enough for him ?" rhilip's conduct, then, so irritated Mugford, that when dinner was announced he stepped forward and offered his arm to Mrs. Woolsey ; having intended in the first instance to con r tr that honor upon Charlotte. " I '11 show him," thought Mugford, " that an honest trademan's lady who pay6 his way,. and is not afraid of anybody, is better than my sub-editor's wife, the daughter of a bankrupt swell." Though the dinner was illuminated by Mug- foi\-'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 din- ner, and drank her wine ; while, remembering these wicked legends against her, Philip sate before the poor unconscious lady, silent, with glaring eyes, indolent and odious; so much so, that Mrs. Woolsey imparted to Mrs. Mugford her surmise that the tall gentleman must have got out of bed the wrong leg foremost. Well, Mrs. Woolsey's carriage and Mr. Firmin's cab were announced at the same moment; and immediately Philip started up a*nd beckoned his wife away. But Mrs. Woolsey's carriage and lamps of course had the precedence ; and this laely Mr. Mug- ford accompanied to her carriage step. He did not pay the same attention to Mrs. Firmin. Most likely he forgot. Possibly he did not think etiquette 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 looking at his guests departing in their cab, when, in a sudden gust of passion, Philip stepped out of the carriage, and stalked up to his host, who siood there in his own hall confronting him, Philip declared, with a most impudent smile on his face. " Come back to light a pipe, I suppose ? Nice thing for your wife, ain't it?" said Mugfoid, 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 r* Here, on his side, Mr. Mugford lost his temper, and from this moment Ms wrong begins. When he was in a passion, the lan- guage used by Mr. Mugford was not, it appears, choice. We have heard that when angry he was in the habit of swearing freely at his subordinates. He broke out on this occasion also with many oaths. He told Philip that he -would stand his im- pudence no longer; that he was as good as a swindling doctors- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 401 son ; that though he had n'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, fancied that her husband had gone back to light his cigar, sat a while unconscious in her cab, and supposed that the two gen- tlemen were engaged on newspaper business. When Mugford began to pull his coat oil', she sit wondering, but not in the least understanding the meaning of the action. Philip had described his employer as walking about his office without a coat ajid using energetic language. But when, attracted by the loudness of the talk, Mrs. Mug- ford came forth from her neighboring drawing-room, accom- panied by such of her children as had not yet gone to roost — when seeing Mugford pulling oft" his dress-coat, she began To scream — when, lifting his voice over hers, Mugford poured forth oaths, and frantically 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 husband, whose whole frame was throbbing, whos^ nostrils were snorting with passion. Then Mrs. Mugford, springing forward, placed her ample form before her husband's, and calling 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 Firmin's hot temper. CHAPTER XXXV. RE8 AN G.U HTA DOMI, To reconcile these two men was impossible after such a quar- rel 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 always persisted that he could have got the better of his great hulking sub-editor, who did not know the use of his fists. Jn Mugford 's youthful time bruising was a fashionable art, and the old gentleman still believed in his own skill and -prowess. " Don't uA\ me," be would say; " though the fellar is as big as a life-guardsman, I would have doubled him up in two minutes." 1 am very glad, lor 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 em- ployer as, I suppose, a lion does when a little dog attacks him. 1 should not like to be that little dog, nor does my* modest and peaceful nature at all prompt and 'impel me to combat with lions. 402 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP It was mighty well Mr. Philip Firmin had shown his spirit and quarrelled with his bread-and-butter; tout when Saturday came what philanthropist would hand four sovereigns and four shillings over to Mr. F., as Mr. Burjoyee, the publisher of the Pall Mall Gazette, had been accustomed to do ? I will say for my friend that a still keener remorse than that which he felt about money thrown away attended him when he found that Mrs. Woolsey, toward whom he had east 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 anif trample on me with his highlows. Oh, for shame ! for shame ! Shall I never learn charity toward 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 V" and by these or similar entreaties and arguments we succeeded in keeping the Queen's peace. Yes; but how find another Pall. Mall Gazette? 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 Imw this very line, this very word, which I am writing represents money, I am lost in a respectful astonishment. A man takes his own case, as 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 "Ab, how wonderful," to the words " per line," I can buy a loaf, a piece of butter, a jug of milk, a modicum of tea — actually enough to ma]ie breakfast for the family ; and the servants of the house ; and the char-woman, their servant, can shake up the tea-leaves" with a fresh supply of water, sop the crusts, and get a meal, tant lien que mal. Wife, children, guests, servants, char-woman, we arc all actually making a meal off Philip JFirrnin's bones as it were. And my next-door neighbor, whom I see spinning away to chambers, 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 every one of their 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 gratefill for getting it ? Mr. Philip had to work for his, in care and trouble, like other children of men : Ox\ HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 403 to work for it, and I hope to pray for it too. It is a thought to me awful and beautiful, that of the daily prayer, and of the myriads pf fel low-men uttering it, in eare and in sickness, in doubt and fh poverty, in health and in wealth. Partem nostrum da nobis liodie. 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 labor is over, an I the quotidian bread is earned, and breathes his hushed thank3 to the bountiful Giver of the meal. All over this world what an endless chorus is singing of love, and thanks, and prayer! Day tells to day the woudrous story, and night recounts it into night. How do I come to ^^hinlc 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 ap- peared the boatmen knelt on the rosy deck and adored Allah ? 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 Tre- garvan. Actors, a people of superstitions 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 complacency did my wife listen to the somewhat long-winded and pompous oratory of Tregarvan ! He pompous and commonplace ? Mr. 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 word in his disparagement. As a doctor will punch your chest, your liver, your heart, listen at your lungs, squeeze your pulse, and what not, so this wily woman studied, shampooed, auscultated Tregarvan. Of course he allowed himself to be operated upon. Of course he had no idea that the lady was flattering, wheed- ling, humbujjsing 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 imparting his knowledge, and that the lady in question was a sensible woman, naturally eager for more information. Go, Delilah ! I understand your tricks ! I know many another Omphale in London who will coax Her- cules away from his club to come and listen to her wheedling talk. One great difficulty we had was to make Philip read Tregar- van 's own articles in the Revieio. . He at first said he could not, or that he could not remember them ; so that there was no use in reading them. And Philip's new master used to make artful allusions to his own writings in the course of conversation, so that our unwary friend would find himself under examination in 404 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 b/i known. We actually made Philip get up his owner's article. We put questions to him privily regarding them — "coached" him, ac- cording to the university phrase. My wife humbugged that wretched member of Parliament in a way which makes me shudder when I think of what hypocrisy the sex is capable. Those arts and dissimulations with which she wheedles others ; suppose she exercised 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 jandor ! We bad 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 for ever. We might write a novel. We might contribute 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 wife must be coaxing and hugging solicitors' ladies, as she had whee- dled and coaxed members of Parliament. Why, I do believe my Delilah set up a flirtation with old Bishop Crossticks, with an idea Ql getting her prote'ge' a living ; and though the lady indignantly repudiates this charge, will she be pleased to explain how the bishop's sermons were so outrageously praised in the Review ? 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 former place. Mr. Tregarvan had more country- houses than one, and at these not only was the editor of the Review made welcome, but the editor's wife and children, whom Tregarvan's wife took in especial regard. In London Lady Mary had assemblies, where our little friend Charlotte made her appearance ; and half a dozen times in the course of the season the wealthy Cornish gentleman feasted his retainers of the Review. His wine was excellent and old ; his jokes were old too ; his table pompous, grave, plentiful. 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 humble now, and of a nature grateful for kindness. He is one who recfuires 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 worshipped the ground on which my wife walked ! He elected himself our champion. He quarrelled with other people who found fault with our characters or would not see ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 405 our perfections. There was something affecting 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 dispar- agingly of us in his presence 1 One day, at his patron's table, Philip exercised his valor and championship 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 raav 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 shadows which that well-known master is in the habit of employing I was a parasite of the nobility ; I was a heartless sycophant, house-breaker, drunkard, munUrer, returned convict, etc., etc. 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 guilty only too often. The company were at table ; he took the only place vacant, and this happened to be at the side of Mr. Trail. On Trail's other side was a portly individual, of a healt\y and rosy countenance and voluminous white waistcoat, to whom Trail 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 ha? quarrelled at table. He cried mca culpa loudly and honestly enough. He made vows of reform in this par- ticular. He succeeded, dearly beloved brethren, not much worse or better than you or 1 do, who confess our faults, and go on promising to improve, and stumbling and picking ourselves up everyday. The pavement of life is strewn with orange-peel, and who has not slipped on the flags ? " He is the most conceited man in London," Trail was going on, " and one of the most worldly. He will throw over a colonel to dine with a general. He would n't. throw over you two baron- ets — he is a great deal too shrewd a fellow for that. He would not give you up, perhaps, to dine with a lord, but any ordinary baronet he would." " And why not us as well as the rest?" asks Trevar^an, 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, 1 suppose, you might, either of you go to the Upper House any day. Because, as an juithor, he may be supposed to be afraid of a certain Review*' cries Trail, with a loud laugh. 406 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Trail is speaking of a friend of yours," cried Sir John, nod- ding 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 Sevigne' 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 it ? 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 prop- ositions are clear enough. Thank you. Dry 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 her." " She is only one of the best women in the world," Mr. Firmin called out, turning very red, and hereupon entered into a defence of our characters, and pronounced an eulogium upon both and each of us, in which I hope there was some little truth. However, 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 Ringwood." 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 northern baronet was friendly and familiar with Philip, and claimed relationship with him, his manner toward Firmin altered. He pronounced afterward a warm eulogy upon Sir John for his frankness and good-nature in recognizing his unfortunate rela- tive, and charitably said, " Philip might not be like the doctor, and could not help having a rogue for a father." In former days Trail 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 committed a sin, common justice requires that you should stone bim. 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 bis 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. But when the two gentlemen actually met, their intercourse was kindly and pleasant enough. Sir John listened to his relative's talk — and it appears Philip com- ported himself with his usual free and easy manner — with inter- est and curiosity ; and owned afterward that evil tongues had previously been busy with the young man's character, and that ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 407 slander and untruth had been spoken regarding him. In this respect, if Philip is worse off than his neighbors, I can only say his neighbors are fortunate. Two days after the meeting of the cousins, the tranquillity of Thornhaugh street was disturbed by the appearance of a mag- nificent yellow chariot, with crests, hammer-cloths, a bewigged coachman, and a powdered footman. Betsy, the nurse, "who was going to take baby out for a walk, encountered this giant on the threshold of Mrs. Brandon's door, and a lady within the chariot delivered three cards to the tall menial, who transferred 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 surprised. In due course an invitation to dinner followed, and our friends became acquainted with their kinsfolk. If you have a good memory for pedigrees — and in my youth- ful time every man de fa.nne maison studied genealogies, and had his English families in his memory — you know that this Sir John Ringwood, who succeeded to the principal portion of the estates, but not to .the titles of the late earl, was descended from a mutual ancestor, a Sir John, whose elder son was ennobled (temp. Geo. I), while thf second son, following the legal profes- sion, became a judge, and had a son, who became a baronet, and who begat that present Sir John who has just been shaking hands with Philip across Trail's back.* Thus the two men were * Copied, by permission of P. Firmin, Esq., from the Genealogical Tree in his possession. Sir J. Ringwood, Cart., of Wing.ato and Whipham. b. 1649; ob. 1725. Sir J.. Bart., 1st Baron Ringwood. ob. 1770. John, 2d Baron, created Earl of Ringwood and Visct. Cinqbars. I Charles, Visct. Cinqbars, b. 1802; ob. 1824. Philip, a Colonel in the Array ob. 1808. Sir Philip. Knt., a Baron of the Exchequer. Sir John. Bart., of the Hays. Sir John of the Hays, and now of Wing-ate and Whipham, has issue. Maria, b. 1801, md. Talbot Twysden, and had wane. Louisa, b. 1802. md. G. B. Firmin, Esq., M.D. Philip, b. iS2f>, aubjeel of the present Memoir. Oliver. Ircton, Hampden, Franklin, and daughters. 408 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILTP 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 argent, a dexter sinople on a fesse wavy of the first — or pick out, my dear friend, any coat you like out of the whole heraldic wardrobe, and accommodate it to our friend Firmin. When he was a young man at college Philip had dabbled a little in this queer science of heraldry, and used to try and be- lieve the legends about his ancestry which his fond mother im- parted to him. He had a great book-plate made for himself, with a prodigious number of quarterings, 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 Philip, 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 mantle-piece, surrounded by a whole gallery of defunct Ringwoods, of whom the baronet was now the repre- sentative. He quoted to Philip the hack-neyed old Horatian 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 hard- ly call ours ! Sir John gave Philip to understand that he was a stanch liberal. Sir John had fired a shot from the Paris bar- ricades. Sir John was for the rights of man everywhere all over the world. He had pictures of Franklin, Lafayette, Washington, aud the First Consul Bonaparte on his walls along with his ancestors. He had lithograph copies of Magna Charta, the Declaration of American Independence, and the Signatures to the Death of Charles f. He did not scruple to own his pref- erence for republican institutions. He wished to know what right had any man — the late Lord Ringwood, for example — to sit in 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 un- principled young man, reckless, dissolute, of the feeblest intel- lect and the worst life. Well, had he lived and inherited the Ringwood property, that creature would have been an earl ; whereas he, Sir John, bis superior in morals, in character, in intellect, his equal in point of birth (for had they not both a Pi: /J PAT BR FA Ml LI AS. 6N his way through the world. 409 common ancestor?) 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 himself 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, Tie 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 asionished his new acquaintance; and, the man being gone, resumed his previous subject of conversation, viz., natural equality and the outrageous' injustice of the present social system. After talking for half an hour, during which 1 hihp found that he himself could hardly find an opportunity of utter- in My children cried," she said, " and I went up to the misery. But she don't want me there now." Poor Little Sister ! She humbled herself and grovelled before Charlotte. You could not 420 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP help trampling upon her then, Madame ; and I hated you — and a great number of other women. Ridley and I went down to her tea-room, where Carol ifte resumed her place. She looked very nice and pretty, with her^ale sweet face, and her neat cap and blue ribbon. Tortures I know she was «uffering. Charlotte had been stabbing her. Women will use the edge sometimes, and drive the steel in. Charlotte said to me, some time after- ward, " I was jealous of her, and you were right ; and a dearer, more faithful creature never lived." But who told Charlotte I said she was jealous ? O treble bestia ! I told Ridley, and Mr. Ridley told Mrs. Firmin. If Charlotte stabbed Caroline, Caroline 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 beholden to no one, she would pay for her board and lodging. But Philip declined this treat, representing, justly, that his present house was no bigger than his former lodgings. " My poor love is dying to have me," Mrs. Baynes remarked on this. " But her husband 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 success Philip went regularly to chambers now, in the fond hope that more briefs might come. At cham- bers he 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 Christendom — 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 pro- fession but in various speculations with which he was always about to make his fortune. One day Philip got a newspaper advertising a new insurance company, and saw, to his astonish- ment, the announcement of " Counsel in London, Philip Firmin, Esq., Parchment Buildings, Temple." A paternal letter prom- ised Philip great fees out of this insurance company, but I never .heard that poor Philip was any the richer. In fact, his friends advised him to have nothing to do with this insurance company, and to make no allusion to it in his letters. il They feared the Danai, and the gifts they brought," as old Firmin 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 believing or declar- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 421 ing 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 dav, some few months after his miration to Milinan street, Philips blushing and hanging down his head, had to tell me that his father had drawn upon him again. Had he not paid up his shares in a certain mine they would have been forfeited, and he and his son after him would have lost a certain fortune, old Da- naus said.* I fear an artful, a long-bow pulling Danaus. What, shall a man have birth, wealth, friends, high position, and end so that we dare not le^ve him alone in the room with our spoons ? " And you have paid this bill which the old man drew V" 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 would 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 prefaced his demands for money in that way. Mention has been made of a great medical discovery which he had announced 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 invent- ors. 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 brin* her some of this astonishing medicine. Let her try it. Let her show the accompanying cases to Doctor 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 science had en- dowed mankind. Goodenough, I am sorry to say, had such a mistrust of his conjrere that he chose to disbelieve any statement Firmin made " 1 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 anything but fibs, never 1" You see this Goodenough is an obstinate old heathen ; and when he has once found reason to mistrust a man, he for ever after declines to believe him. However, the doctor is a man for ever on the lookout for more knowledge of his profession, and for more remedies to benefit mankind : he hummed and ha'd over the pamphlet, as the Little feister sat watching him in his study. He clapped it down after a while, and slapped his hands on his little legs as his wont is. * Brandon, he says, "I think there is a great deal in it, and I 422 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 I Boston hospital where the experiments were made with the new remedy. He had cried " Halves," and proposed to sell it as a secret remedy, and the bottle which he forwarded to our friend the Little Sister was labelled "'Firmin's Anodyne." What Fir- min did, indeed, was what ho 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 chloroform — 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 for new railways upon which he promised Philip a munificent commission, if his son could but place the shares among 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 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, affectionate, injured man. He held the plate at church ; he looked very .handsome and tall, and bowed with a charming melancholy grace to the ladies 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 which the doctor gave to a few friends at one of the smartest hotels just then opened. With all the Little Sister's good management Mr. and Mrs. Philip were onlv able to install themselves in their new house at a considerable expense, and beyond that great Rtngwood piano which swaggered in Philip's little drawing-room, I am constrained to say that there was scarce any furniture at all. One of the railway 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 bankers. " One in a family is enough for that kind of business," he said, gloomily: and it came out that again and ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 423 again tho interesting exile at New York, who was deploring his son's extravagance ami foolish marriage, 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 wqrd so unpolite?— : will never now tell to what extent lie helped himself to Philip's small means. This I know, that when autumn came — when September was past — we in our cozy little retreat at the sea-side received a let- ter 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 London, . and that Philip, he had too much pride and sperit to take nnaey from any one ; that Mr. Tregarvan was away travelling on the continent, and that wretch — that monster, you know who — have 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 aoing to make a fortune next week. I have paid another bill of his. The parliamentary agents are out of town, at their moors in ' Scotland, I suppose. The air of Russell square is uncommonly wholesome, and when the babies have had enough of that, why, they must change it for Brunswick square. Talk about the country ! what country can be more quiet than Guildford street in September? I stretch out of a morning and breathe the mountain air on Ludgate Hill." And with these dismal pleas- antries and jokes our friend chose to put a good face upon bad fortune. The kinsmen of Ring wood offered hospitality kindly enough, but liow was poor Philip to pay railway expenses for servants, babies, and wife ? In this strait Tregarvan from abroad, having found out some monstrous design of Russ of the Great Power of which he stood in daily terror, and which, as we are in strict amity with that Power, no other Po^er 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 question was engaged, ami in a postscript added, w By the way, the Michaelmas quarter is due, and I send you a check," etc., etc. O precious postscript ! •' Did n't I tell you it would be so ?" said my wife, with a self- satisfied air. " Was I not certain that succor would come V" /Vnd succor did come, sure enough; and a very happy little 4 24 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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 foe that it was impossible to see complexions at all. When the shooting seaspn was come to an end the parliamen- tary agents who had employed Philip came back to London, and, ] am happy to say, gave him a check lor his little account. My wife cried, " Did I not tell )ou so?'* more than ever. "Is not everything lor the best? I knew dear Philip would prosper!" Everything was for the best, was it ? Philip was sure to prosper, was be ? 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. fct 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. 1 have not told you all. I have paid four bills for him already, and now he has — he has signed my name." "Who has?" " 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. " De atiest Philip " — the father wrote — " a sad misfortune has befallen nie, which I>bad hoped to conceal, or, at any rate, to avert from my dear son. For you, Philip, are a participator in that misfortune through the imprudence — must 1 say it? — of your father. Would I had struck off the band which has done the deed ere it had been done! But the fault has taken wings and flown out of my reach. Immeritus, dear boy, you have to suffer for the delicto inajorum. Ah, that a father should have to own his fault — to kneel and ask pardon of his son ! " I am engaged in many speculations. Some have succeeded beyond my wildest hopes : some have taken in the most rational, the most pru- dent, the least sanguine of our capitalists in Wall street, and promising the greatest results have ended in the most extreine'failure ! To meet a call in an undertaking which seemed to offer the most certain pros- pects of success, which seemed to promise a fortune for me ai*d my boy, and your dear children, I put in among other securities .which I had to realize on a'suddeu, 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, Temple; and 1 wrote your acceptance as though the signa- ture were yours. I give myself up to you. I tell you what I have done. Make the matter public. Give my confession to the world, as here I write and sign it, and your father is branded for ever to the world as a . Snare me the word. • ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 425 " As I live, as I hope for your forgiveness — long ere that bill became due — it is at five months' date for £386 4*. ?xL, 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 enormous 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 Hunt? Yes. You moat justly chastised him. The wretch lately made hi^ detested appearance in this city, associated with the lowest of the base, and endeavored to resume his old practice of threats, cajoleries, and extortions! In a fated I/our the villain heard of the bin of which I have warned you. He purchased it from the gam- bler to whom it had been passed. As New York was speedily too hot to hold him (for the Unhappy man has eren left me to pem." " What? with candles in the room ? No you don't, 1 say." " What is it ? Won't you tell me ?" <# Jt '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, laugh- ing more and more cheerfully. "What will you take for it? I'll 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 discounter? Is that the way you make your money, and the silver spoons, aud the nice supper, and everything delightful about you? A little discountess, are you, you little rogue ? - Little discountess, by George ! How much will you give, little discountess ?" And the reverend gen- tleman laughs, and winks, and drinks, and laughs, aird tears twinkle out of his tipsy old eyes as he wipes them with one hand, and again says, " How much will you give, little discountess?" W T hen poor Caroline went to her cupboard, and from it took the notes and the gold which she had had we know from whom, and addend to these out of a cunning box a little heap of her own private savings, and with trembling bands 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 everything she had in the world ; for she felt her pockets and emptied them; and, tapping her head, she again applied 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 up 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-fcur, and two eighteen, thirty-six eighteen, and there 's the plate and watch, and J want that bill." . 41 What ? Have you got all this, you little dear ? ' cried Hunt, dropping back into his chair again. " Why, you 're a little fort- une, by Jove— a pretty little fortune, a little discountess, 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." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 443 And again she told him the amount of the gold, and the notes, and the silver, and the number of the poor little spoons. A thought came across the fellow's boozy brain : " If you offer so much," says he, " and you 're a little discounter the bill's worth more; that fellow must be making his fortune! Or do you know about it? I say, do you know about it ?. No. I '11 have my bond." And he gave a tipsy imitation of Shyloek, 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 arranged them in her dish, and smiled upon the parson laughing in his chair. " Caroline," says he, after a pause, " you 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,.! say ! 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 gentleman bleared over his words as lie uttered them, and with his vinous eyes and sordid face gave a leer, must have frightened the poor little lady to whom he prolFered himself as a suitor, for she started back with a pallid face, and an aspect of such dislike and terror that even her guest remarked it. " I said I was a scholar and gentleman," he shrieked again. " Do you doubt it ? I 'm as good a man as Brummell Firmin, I say. 1 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 you mean to insult me I Don't 1 know who you are ? Are you bet- ter than a Master of Arts and » clergyman? 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?" The Little Sister was growing bewildered and frightened by the man's energy and horrid looks. " Oh, Mr. Hunt," she cried, " see here, take this ! See — there are two hundred and thirty — thirty-four 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 lour three. It's a fortune, my dear, with economy ! 1 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 444 THU ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 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— We will, I say, Caroline — we — " The wretch was suiting actions to his words, and rose once more, advancing toward his hostess, who shrank back, laughing half-hysterically, 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, under her eye. She sud- denly seized this bottle. As the ruffian before .her uttered his imprecations 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 V I did n'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, in- deed ! ' 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. " Oh yes ! better, quite better .!" She squeezed more of the liquor from the bottle on to the handkerchief. In a minute Hunt was quite inanimate. Then the little pale woman leaned 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 fire, and saw it burn to ashes. Then she put back the pocket-book into Hunt's breast. She said afterward 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 stupor? It seemed a whole long night to Caroline. She said afterward that the thought of that act that night made her hair grow gray. Poor little head !. Indeed she would have laid it down for Philip. I- Hunt, I suppose, came to himself when the handkerchief was withdrawn, 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. on his way through: thb world. 445 " It was the keys struck you in the cupboard-door when you — you 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 you 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 refreshment ?" asked Caroline. " No 1 he cried, with an oath, arid with"glaring, bloodshot eyes he lurched toward his hat. " Lor, mum ! whatever is it ? And this smell in the room, and all this here heap of money and things on the table r" Caroline flung open iter window. " It 's medicine which Dr. Goodenough has ordered for one of his patients. 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 from his bed and^told him the story here narrated. u I offered him all you gave me," she said, " and all I had in the world besides, and he would n't — and — " Here she broke out into a fit of hysterics. The doctor had to ring up his servants ; to administer remedies to his little nurse ; to put her to bed in his own house. " By the^immortal Jove," he""said afterward, " I had a great mind to beg her never to leave it ! But that my housekeeper would tear Caroline's eyes out, Mrs. Brandon should be welcome to stay for ever. Except her A'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, Fifmin " (there were few men in the world for whom Goodenough entertained a greater scorn than for his late confrere, Firmin, of Old Parr street) — u think of the villain having pos- sessed such a treasure — let alone his having deceived and desert- ed her — of his having possessed such a treasure and flung it away ! Sir, I always admired Mrs. Brancton ; but I think ten thousand times more highly of her since her glorious crime and most righteous robbery. If the villain had died, dropped dead in the street — the drunken miscreant, forger, house-breaker, assassin — so that no punishment could have fallen upon poor Brandon, I think I should have respected her only the more 1" At an early hour Dr. Goodenough had thought proper to send off messengers to Philip and myself, and to make us acquainted with the strange adventure of the previous nignt. We both hastened to him. I myself was summoned, no doubt, in conse- THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIl' quince of my profound legal knowledge, which uaisrht be of use in poor little Caroline's present trQuble. 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 toward Philip, and flung herself into his arms, with a burst of tears that greatly relieved her excite- ment 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 forsake me ¥" " Forsake^ you V Pardon you V Come and live with us, 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." " Serve the scoundrel right. Never deserved to come to life .again, my dear," said Dr. Goodenough. " Don't you be exciting yourself, little Brandon I I must have you sent back to lie down on your bed. Take her up, Philip, to the little room next mine, 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. " She wants to be alone with him," the doctor said ; and he spoke a biief 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," Goodenough said ; " she never got over that brain-fever in which I found her. If I were to swear her on the book, and say, * Brandon, don't you believe he 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 scoundrel's bill yesterday, because I knew she would like to contribute her own share. It would have offended her mortally to have beenfleft out of tlie 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 the room again, rubbing a pair of very red eyes. " 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 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 447 your head, and was going to shoot you, and the doctor took the pistol out of raj hand and flung it into the sea ? would you help me to prosecute the doctor for robbing me of the pistol '?" " You don't suppose it will be a pleasure to me td*pay that bill !" said Philip. " I said if a certain bill was presented to me, purporting ^o be -accepted by Philip Firmin, 1 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." And to this wish all three gentlemen heartily said Amen ! And now the doctor's door-bell began to be agitated by arriv- ing patients. His dining-room was already full of them. The Little Sister must lie still, and the discussion of her aiFairs must be deferred to a more convenient hour ; and Philip aud his friend agreed to reconnoitre the house in Thornhaugh street and see if anything had happened since its mistress had left it. Yes ; something had happened. Mrs. Brandon's maid, who ushered us into her mistress' little room, told us that in the early morning that horrible man who had come overnight, and been so tipsy, and behaved so ill — the very same man who had come there tip^y 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 frighten- ing the whole street. After he had rung he knocked and bat- tered ever so long. Mary looked out at him from her upper window, and told him to go along home, or she would call the police. On this the man roared ou: 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 V Hunt, from the steps without, began 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 barricade, said that her mistress was not at home, but that she had been called out that night to a patient of Dv. Goodenough's. « Hunt, with more shrieks" and curses, said it was a lie ; and that she was at home ; and that he 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 here?" cried Mary. " Why here? jien you reeled out of this house you could n't scarce walk, an^^ou almost fell into the gutter; which I have seen you there before. 448 THK ADVENTURES OF PIIILIP Get away, and go home ! You are not sober yet, you horrible man .. !' 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 frantically reiterated his charge that he had been robbed and hocussed in that house, that night, by Mrs. Brandon. The policeman, by a familiar expression, conveyed his utter disbelief of the statement, aud told the dirty, disreputable man to move on, and go**to bed. Mrs. Brandon was known and respected all round the neighborhood. She had befriended numerous poor round about, and was known for a hundred charities. She attended many respectable families. In that parish there was no woman more esteemed. And by the word "Gammon" the policeman expressed his sense of ihe utter absurdity pf 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- repeated to the officer (with whom she perhaps had relations not unfriendly) her state- ment that the beast had gone reeling away from the house the night before, and if he had lost anything, who knows where he might not have lost it ? , 41 It was taken out. of this pocket, and out of this pocket- book," howled Hunt, clinging to'ihe rail. " I give her in charge. I es, 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. IN WHICH SKVKRAL PEOPLE HAVE THEIR TRIALS. If Philip and his friend had happened to pass through High street, Marylcbone, on their way to Thornhaugh street to recon- noitre the Little Sister's house, they would have seen the Rev- erend 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 be- fore the magistrate. * You have no doubt forgotten the narrative which appeared in the morning papers two days after the Thornhaugh street inci- dent, but my clerk has been at the pains to hunt up and copy the police report, in which events connected with our history are briefly recorded. - "Marylebonk, Wr(l/?fS(!a)/. — Thomas Tufton Hunt, professing to be a clergyman, but wearing an appearance 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 re-entrance into a house in Thornhaugh street, from which he had been previously ejected in a most unclerieal and inebriated state. " On being taker, to the station-house the reverend gentleman lodged a complaint on his own side, and averred that he had been stupefied and bocusscd in the house in Thornhaugh street by means of some drug, and that while in this state he had been robbed of a bill for £?>S3, drawn by a person in New York, and accepted by Mr. P. Firmin, Bar- rister, of Parchment Buildings, Temple. " Mrs. Brandon, the landlady of the house, No. — Thornhaugh street, has been in the habit of letting lodgings for many years past, and sev- eral of her friends, including Mr. Firmin, Mr. Ridley, the RI. Acad., and other gentlemen were in attendance to speak to her character, which is most respectable. After Z 25 had given evidence the servant deposed that Hunt had been more than once disorderly 7 and drunk before that, house, and had been forcibly ejected from it. On the night 450 THK AP VENTURES OF PHILIP when the alleged robbery was said to have taken place ho had visited the house in Thornhaugh street, had left it in an inebriated state, and re.urued some hours afterward vowing that he had been robbed of the document in question. "Mr. P. Firmin said: 'I am a barrister, and have chambers at Parchment Buildings, Temple, and know the person calling himself Hunt. I have not accepted any bill of exchange, nor is my signature affixed to any such document.' " At4his stage the worthy magistrate interposed, and said that this only went to prove that the bili was not completed by Mr. F.'s accept- ance, and would by no means conclude the case set up before him. Dealing with it, however, on the merits, and looking at the way in which the charge had been preferred, and the entire absence of suffi- cient testimony to warrant him in deciding that even a piece of paper had been abstracted in that house, or by the person accused, and believ- ing that if he were to commit a conviction would be impossible, he dis-* missed the charge. " The lady left the court with her friends, and the accuser, when called upon to pay a fine for drunkenness, broke out in,very unclerical language, in the midst of which he was forcibly removed." Philip Firmin'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 coolness ensued between Philip and his parent 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 forgave Philip, nevertheless. Perhaps since his marriage other influences were at work upon him, etc. The par- ent 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 continued 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 entertain- ment 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 comfort, nay splendor. I am an exile 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 syllable of reproach shall escape these lips regarding that misguided boy ! 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 sigh here and there, to think that he had lost the confi- dence of his boy. I do believe that certain ladies of our acquaint- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 451 ance were inclined to think that the elder Firmin 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 ex- change. The good Goodenough's loan was carried back to him in the very coin which he had supplied. lie said that His little nurse. Brandon was splehtfide menaax, and that her robbery was a sublime and courageous act of war. In so far, since his marriage, Mr. Philip had been pretty fort- unate. At need, friends had come to him. In moments of peril he had had succor and relief. Though he had married without money, fate had sent him a sufficiency. His flask had never been empty, and there was always meal in his bin. But now hard trials were in store 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 Little Sister's kind roof, our friend's good fortune seemed to desert him. "Perhaps it was a punishment for my pride, because I was haughty with her and — and jealous of that dear good little creature," poor Charlotte afterward owned in conversation with other friends : " but our fortune seemed to change .when we were away from her, and that I must own." Perhaps, when she was yet under Mrs. Brandon s roof, 'the Little Sister's provident care had done a great deal more for Charlotte than Charlotte knew. Mrs. Philip had the most sim- ple tastes in the world, and upon herself never spent an unnec- essary shilling. Indeed, it was a wonder, 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 arrayed 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, quick, 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 feeling heart, and was himself a father of children, and who supported those children by the produee of the pills, draughts, powders, visits, which he bestowed on all families into whose doors he entered. Bland's sympathy was very consolatory; but it was found to be very costly at the end of the year. u And, what then V" says Charlotte, with kindling cheeks. ' k Do you sup- pose we should grudge that money which was to give health to our dearest, dearest babies ? No. You can't have such a bad opinion of me as that I" And accordingly Mr. Bland received 452 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP a nice little annuity from our friends. Philip had a joke about his wife's housekeeping which perhaps may apply to other j^oung women v/ho are kept by overwatchful mothers too much in statu pupillari. When they were married, or about to be married, Philip asked Charlotte what she would order for dinner ? She promptly said she would order leg of mutton. " And after leg of mutton?" "Leg of beef, to be sure!" says Mrs. Charlotte, looking very pleased and knowing. And the fact is, as this little housekeeper was obliged demurely to admit, their household bills increased prodigiously after they left Thorn haugh street. " And I can't understand, my dear, how the grocer's book should mount up so; and the butterman's, and the beer," etc., etc. We 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 tell them to be very quiet, as mamma was at her " atounts." And now, I grieve to say, money became scarce for the pay- ment of these accounts; and though Philip fancied he hid his anxieties from his wife, be sure she loved him too much to be de- ceived by one of the clumsiest hypocrites in the world. Only r being a much cleverer hypocrite than her husband, she pretended to be deceived, and acted her part so well that poor Philip was mortified with her gayety, and chose to fancy his wife was indif- ferent 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 wifh care, and thinking of those inevita- ble bills ; I shudder, 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. She does not know how dreadfully the res di.ini is squeezing me. But be- fore 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 in her face ! It was 4 Philip, dear, 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 anything 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 naturally that she believes I am all right, and she comes to meet me flouncing the children about in my face, and wearing an air of consummate happiness ! 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 1 bad the gout, and she were to laugh and sing, I should not call that sympathy. If I were arrested for debt, and ON HIS WAY THROUGH TUK WOULD. 453 she were to come grinning and laughing to the sponging -house, I should not call that consolation. Why docs n't she feel ? She ought to fefel. There 's Betsy, our parlor- maid. There s the old fellow who comes to clean the boots and knives. They know how hard up I am. And my wife sings and dances while I am on the verge of ruin, by Jove ; and giggles and laughs as if life was a pantomime !" Then the man and woman into whose ears poor Philip roared out his confessions and griefs hung down their blushing heads in humble silence. - They are tolerably prosperous in life, and, I fear, are pretty well satisfied with themselves and each other. A woman who searcely ever does any wrong, and rules and gov- erns her own house and family, as my — , as the wife of the reader's humble servant most notoriously does, often 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 considerable value upon that advice. We meet a certain man who has fallen among thieves, let us say. We succor him readily enough. We take him kindly to the inn and pay his score there; but we say to the landlord, " 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 havp. that physic, and no other; that broth when Ave order it. We take his case in hand, ycni 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 friskiness and gayety ; when he bitterly contrasted her levity and carelessness with his own despondency and doubt, Charlotte's two principal friends were smitten by shame. u Oh, Philip ! dear Philip !" his female adviser said (having looked, at her husband once or twice as Firmin spoke, and in vain endeav- ored to keep her guilty eyes down on her work), u 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 apprehen- sion. But we told her to show no sign of care, lest her husband should be disturbed. And she trusted in us ; and she puts her trust elsewhere, Philip ; and she has hidden her own anxieties, lfcst yours should be increased ; and has met you gaily when her heart was full of dread. We think she has done wrong now ; but she did so because 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 sim- plicity and faith in us which have misled her." Philip hung down his head for a moment and hid his eyes ; 454 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and we knew, during that, minute 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 certainly understood the hint. "And I say, Firmin/' breaks in the lady's husband, "you understand, if you are at all — that is, if you — that is, if we can — " " Hold your tongire !" shouts Firmin, with a face beaming over with happiness. " I know what you mean. You beggar, you are going to oifer 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 poverty to find such friends as I have had, and to share it with such a — such 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 neve? forget your kindness — never!" And hf is off a moment afterward, 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 London that night than Charlotte and Philip Firmin. If he had his troubles, ourTriend had his immense consolations. Fortunate he, however poor, who has friends to help, and love to console him in bis trials. CHAPTER XL. IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES VERY MUCH AGAINST US. Every man and woman among us has made his voyage to Liliput, and his tour in the kingdom of JBrobdingnag. When I go to my native country town the local paper announces 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 recog- nition. Sir John at home is in Liliput: in Belgrave square he is in Brobdingnag, where almost everybody we meet is ever^o much taller than ourselves. " Whieh do you like best, to be a giant among the pigmies, or a pigmy among the giants ?" I know what sort of company I prefer myself: but that is- not the point. What I would hint is, tjiat we possibly give ourselves patronizing airs before small people, as folks higher placed than ourselves give themselves airs before us. Patronizing airs? ON HIS WAT THROUGH THE WORLD. 455 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 Belgravia, and would leave the room if a tradesman's wife sat 'down in it. Now it has been said that few men in this City of London are so simple in their manners as Philip Firmin,aml that he treated the. patron whose bread he ate, and the wealth v relative who eondescended to visit him, with a like freedom. He is blunt but not familiar, and is hot a whit more polite, to my lord than to Jack or Tom at the coffee-house. He resents familiarity from vulgar persons, and those who venture, on it retire maimed and mortified after coming into collision with him. As for the people, he loves, he grovels before them, worships 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 magnanimously at first to the kindnesses and caresses of Ladv Ring wood and her daughters, being softened and won by the regard which they showed for his wife and children. Although Sir John was for the lights of man everywhere all over the world, a>.d had pictures of Franklin, 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 tile late chief of the house was notorious. Lord Ringwood's life had been irregular and his morals loose. His talents were considerable, no doubt, but they had not been devoted to serious 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 considered as a public man and statesman ; and this light-minded man of pleasure had been advanced to the third rank of the peerage, while bis successor, his superior in intellect and morality, remained a baronet still. How blind the ministry was which refused to recognize so much talent and worth! Had there been public virtue or common sense in the governors of the nation, merits like Sir John's m-ver could have been overlooked. But ministers were notoriously a family clique, and only helped each other. Promotion and patronage 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 the cabinet or the country. In a xery early page of this history mention was made of a certain Philip Ringwood, to whose protection Philip Firmiu's mother confided her boy when he was first sent to school. Philip 456 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Ringwood was Firmin's senior by seven years; lie came to Old Parr street twice or thrive during bis 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 awe and trembling. From school Philip Ringwood speedily departed to college, and then entered upon public life. He was the eldest son of Sir John Ringwood, with whom our friend has oflate made acquaintance. Mr. Ringwood was a much greater personage than the baronet his father. Even when the latter succeeded to Lord Riugwood'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 success ? It is not to be gained by beauty, or wealth, or birth, or wit, or valor, or eminence of any kind. It is a gift of Fortune, bestowed, like that goddess' favors, capriciously. Look, de'ar madam, at the most fashionable ladies at present reigning in London. Are they better bred, or more amiable, or richer, or more beautiful, than yourself? See, good sir, the men who lead the fashion, and stand in the bow- window at Black's ; are they wiser, or wittier, or more agreeable people than you? Arid yet you know what your fate would be if you were put up at that club. Sir John Ringwood 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 Ringwood would blackball his father if he dared to offer himself as a candidate. I never, I say, could understand the reason of Philip Ring- wood's success in life, though you must acknowledge that he is one of our most eminent dandies. He is affable to dukes. He patron- izes marquises.- He is not witty. He is not clever. He does not give good dinners. How many baronets are there in the British empire ? Look to your book and see. I tell you there are many of these*whom Philip Ringwood would scarcely admit to wait at one of his bad dinners. By calmly asserting himself in life, this man has achieved his social eminence. We may hate him ; but we acknowledge his superiority. For instance, 1 should as soon think or asking him to dine with me as I should of slap- ping the Archbishop of Canterbury on the back. Mr. Ringwood has a meagre little house in May Fair, and be- longs to a public office, where he patronizes his chef. His own family bow down before him ; his mother is humble in his com- pany ; 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 presence. He is called " Mr. Ringwood " 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 Ringwood, by the way, is Mr. Riugwood's step- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THK WOULD. 457 mother. His own mother 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 were at school together, remembered some stories which were current about Ringwood, and by no means to that eminent dandy's credit — stories of intrigue, of p! ly, of various libertine* exploits on Mr. Ringwood's part. One day Philip and Charlotte' dined with Sir John, who was talking, and chirping, and laying down the law, and bragging away according to his wont, when his son entered and as-ked for dinner. lie had accepted an invi- tation to dine at Garlertoii House. The duke hail one of his attacks of gout just before dinner. The dinner was oft*. If Lady Ringwood would give him a slice of mutton he would be very much obliged to her. A plaee was soon found for him. " And, Philip, this is your namesake and our cousin, Mr. Philip Firmin," said the baronet, presenting his son to li Is kinsman. 11 Your father used to give me sovereigns when I was at school. I have a faint recollection of you, too. Little white-headed boy, were n't you V How is the doctor and Mrs. Firmin ? All right ?" M 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. Ringwood 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 ease in which a duke, who was very forgetful, had asked a marquis about his wife, who had run away with an earl, and made inquiries about the duke's son, who, as everybodv knew, was not on terms with his father; " This is Mrs. Firmin — Mrs. Philip Firmin !" cried Lady Ring- wood, rather nervously; and I suppose Mrs. Philip blushed, and the blush became her; for Mr. Ringwood afterward condescended to say to one of his sisters that their new-found relative seemed one of your rough-and-ready sort of gentlemen, but his wife was really very well bred, and quite a pretty young woman, and presentable anywhere — really anywhere. Charlotte was asked to sing one or two of her little songs after dinner. Mr. Ring- wood 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 /its voice was not exempt from little frailties), and to say he had heard Lady Philomela Shakerley sing that very song at Glen- mavis last autumn; and it was such a favorite 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 relatives, and that he had been most good-natured and friendly. 33 458 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP I. can not tell why this man's patronage chafed and goaded our worthy friend so as to drive him beyond the bounds of all polite- ness 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 suspect it was a certain free-and-easy m inner which Mr. Ring- wood chose to adopt toward Mrs. Philip which annoyed her hus- band. He had said nothing at which offence could be taken : perhaps he was quite unconscious of offending; nay, thought himself eminently pleasing : perhaps he was not more impertinent toward her than toward other women : but in talking about him Mr. Firmin's eyes flashed very fiercely, and he spoke of his new acquaintance and relative with his usual extreme candor, as an upstart, and an arrogant conceited puppy whose ears he would like to pull. How do good women learn to discover men who are not good ? 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, I have heard — who has not? — little anecdotes regarding his career. 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 regarding Philip Ringwod, his life, principles, and morality, by looks and silences which are more awful and killing than the bitterest words of sarcasm or reproof. Philip Firmin, who knows her ways, watches her feat- ures, and, as I have said, humbles himself at her feet, marked the lady's awful looks when he came to describe to us his meet- ing 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 him," cries the impetuous Firmin. "What do you know of him, with his monstrous puppyism and arrogance ?" Oh, 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 Woolcombs their opinion of your character, 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 differences of Woolcomb and his wife were notorious. Their unhappiness was known to all the world. Society was beginning to look with a^ery, very cold face upon Mrs. Woolcomb. After quarrels, jealousies, bat- tles, reconciliations, scenes of renewed violence and furious ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 459 language, had come indifference and the most reckless gayety on the woman's part. Her home was splendid, but mean and miser- able : all sorts of stories were rife regarding her husband's brutal treatment 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 V" " Indeed it was worth all I 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 had not been poor, I should never have been married to little Char — and fancy not being married to Char!" The worthy fellow here lapses into silence, and indulges 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. U I say! Fancy being without the kids and Char!" he cries, with a blank look. " That horrible father — that dreadful 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 temper !" cries the lady. " Is the woman answerable, or the parents, who hardened her heart, and sold her — sold her to that — !" Our illustrious friend Woolcomb was signified by " that, ' O," and the lady once more paused, choked with wrath as she thought about that O, and that O's wife. " I wonder he has not Othcllo'd her," remarks Philip, with his hands in his pockets. " I should, if she had been mine, and gone on cs they say. she is going on." " It is dreadful, dreadful to contemplate !" 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 .interlocutors. " Why stop at poor Mr. and Mrs. Twysden V Why not let them off, and accuse their parents ? who lived worldly too in their generation. Or, stay ; they descend from William the Conqueror. Let us absolve poor Weldone Twysdone, and his heartless wife, and have the Norman into court." '•Ah, Arthur ! Did not our sin begin with the beginning," cries the lady, "and have we not its remedy? Oh, this poor creature, this poor creature! May she know where to take refuge from it, atid learn to repent in time." The Georgian and Circassian girls, they say, used to submit 460 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP to their lot very complacently, and were quite eager to get to market at Constantinople 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 knew quite well to whom she was selling herself, and for what. The tempter needed -no skill, or artifice, or eloquence* He had none. But he showed her a purse and three fine houses — and she came. Innocent 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. Did she not live on it afterward ? I do not say she. lived reputably, but most comfort- ably : as Paris, and Rome, 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 flat- tered, and splendid, and lonely, and miserable. She is not miserable when she roes children : she does not care for other persons' children, as she never did for her own, even when they were taken from her. She is. of course, hint 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 par- ties. She gives excellent dinners which jolly fo^ys, rattling bachelors, and doubtful ladies frequent; but she is alone and un- happy — unhappy because she does not see parents, sister, or brother? Alhms, mon 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 pulse would sometimes go up two beats in a minute at his appearance). But she is unhappy, because she is losing her figure, and from tight lacing her nose has become very red, and the pearl powder won't lie on it; somehow. And though you may have thought Woolcomb an odious, ignorant, 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 befallen friend Philip might have happened to him, and so congratulate him on his escape. Having vented his wrath up/)n the arrogance and impertinence of this solemn puppy of a Philip Ringwood, our friend went away somewhat soothed ttf his club in St. James' street. The Me- gatherium club is only a very few doors from the much more aristocratic establishment of Black's. Mr. Philip Ringwood 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 eye- balls. Philip had once proposed to kick Woolcomb into the sea. He somehow felt as if he would like to treat Ringwood to the same bath.- Meanwhile Mr. Ringwood labored under the notion ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 461 that ho and his new-found acquaintance were on the very best possible tenuis. At one time poor little Woolcomb loved to be seen with Phi- lip Ringwood. He thought he acquired distinction from the companionship of that man of fashion, and would ham? on Ring- Good as they walked the Pall Mall pavement. " Do you know that great hulking, overbearing brute ?" savs "Woolcomb to Ins companion on the steps of Black's. Perhaps somebody overheard them from the bow-window. (T tell you everything js overheard in London, and a great deal more too.) " Brute, is he ?" says Ringwood ; "seems a rough, overbearing sort of chap." '• Blackguard doctor's son. Bankrupt, Father ran awav," says the dusky man with the opal eyeballs. "I have heard he was a rogue—the doctor; but T like him. "Remember he gave me three sovereigns when I was at school. Always like a fellow who tips you when you are at school.'' And here Uingwood beckoned his brougham, which was in waiting. " Shall we see you at dinner? "Where are you going?" asked Mr. WoolcomH. " If yon are going toward—" "Toward Gray's Ten, to sec my lawyer; have an appointment, there ; be with you at eight !" And Mr. Uingwood skipped into his little brougham and was rrooe. Tom Eaves told Philip. Tom Eaves belongs to Black's club, to Bays', to the Megatherium, I don't know to how. many clubs in St. James' 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 coulisses; who is making love to Whose daughter. Whatever men and women are doing in May Fair is the farrago of Tom's libel. lie knows so many stories 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 win h both. are as innocent of a flirtation as you and I are. Tom cer- tainly is mischievous, and often is wrong ; but when he speaks of our neighbors he is amusing. 11 It is as good as a play to see Ringwood and Othello together," says Tom to Philip. " How proud the black man is toT>e seen with him ! Heard him abuse you to Ringwood. Ringwood 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 Ringwood to dinner! Always having him to dinner. You should have seen Ringwood shake him off! Said he was going to Gray's Inn. Heard him say Gray's Inn lane to his man. Don't believe a word of it.'' 462 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Now I dare say you are much too fashionable to know that Milman street is. a little cul-de-sac of a street which leads into Guildford street, which leads into Gray's Inn lane. Philip went his way homeward, shaking off Tom Eaves, who, for his part, trolled 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 homeward at his usual manly pace. Whose black brougham was that? — the black brougham with the chestnut horse walking up and down Guildford street. Mr. Ringwood's crest was on the brougham. When Philip entered his drawing-room, having opened the door with his own key, there sat Mr. Ring wood, 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 for 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 forehead. " So I might — so I might !" said the other. "I never thought of it. I had to see my lawyer in Gray's Inn; 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. u Don't drub so with your feet! Don't like to ride when you jog so on the floor," said Philip's eldest darling, who had clam- bered on papa's knee. " Why do you look so V 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. u . Some tea, my dear?" Philip nearly choked with the tea. From under his hair, which fell over his forehead, he looked into his wife's face. It wore such a sweet look of innocence and wonder that, as he regarded her, the spasm of jealousy passed off. No : there was no look of guilt in those tender eyes. Philip could only read in them the wife's tender love and anxiety for himself. But what of Mr. Ringwood's face ? When the first little blush and hesitation had passed away Mr. Ringwood'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 occurrence* afterward, and to his usual con- fidant. , # " Gracious Powers !" cries the other. " If I went to see Charlotte and the children would you be jealous of me, you bearded Turk ? ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 463 Are you prepared with sack and bow-string for every man who visits Mrs. Firmin ? If you are to come out in this character, 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? Your custom is to strike when you are hot; witness — " " Oh, dear no!" cried Philip, interrupting me. "I 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 behaved more politely than we did. We bowed and grinned at each other quite amia- bly. 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 means no sort of harm." Where, I say again, do women learn all the mischief they know ? Why should my wile have such a mistrust and horror of this gentleman V She took Philip's side entirely. 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. lie 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 Ringwood; 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 fourteen or fifteen years ago, about which time this present portion of our little story is enacted, what did she know about Ringwood's misdoings? No: Philip Firmin did not quarrel with Philip Ringwood on this occasion. But he shut his door on Mr. Ringwood. He refused all invitations to Sir John's house, which, of course, came less frequently, and which then ceased to come at all. Rich folks do not like to be so treated by the poor. Had Lady Ringwood 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 she seemed only pained, not surprised or angry, at a quarrel which somehow did take place between the two gentlemen not very long after that visit of Mr. Ringwood to his kinsman in Milman street. "Your friend seems very' hot-headed and violent-tempered," Lady Ringwood said, speaking of that very quarrel. "I am sorry he keeps that kind of company. I am sure it must be too expensive for him." As luck would have it, Philip's old school friend, Lord Ascot, 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 4C,l THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP dinner on the river. Our wives (without whose sanction no good- man would surely ever look a whitebait in the face) gave us permission to attend this entertainment, iand remained at home, and partook of a tea-dinner (blessings on 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 entertainments until we are fcfarscore, 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 reader remember the account of such a dinner at the commence- ment of this history ? On this afternoon, Ascot, Maynard, Bur- roughs (several of the men formerly mentioned) reassembled. T think we actually like each other well enough to be pleased to hear of each other's successes. I know that one or two good fellows, 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 parterres of flowers around, all wafting an agreeable smell of friture, of flowers and flounders exquisitely commingled. Who has not enjoyed these delights ? May some of us, T 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-a . ■■«■ *•'■'•■ I ■ " MORE FREE THAN WELCO M E. ON HIS WAY ^THROUGH THK WORLD. 465 must please to remember that our story dates back some sixteen years, when the dice-box still rattled occasionally, and the king- was turned. - As this old school-gossip is going on. Lord Ascot arrives, and with him this very Ringwood about whom the old school-fellows had just been talking. He came down in Ascot's phaeton. Of course, the greatest man of the party always waits for Ringwood. " If we had had a dnke at Grey Friars," says some grumbler, "Ringwood would have made the duke bring him down." Philip's friend, when he beheld the arrival of Mr. Ringwood, seized Firmin's big arm and whispered — " Hold your tongue. No fighting. No quarrels. Let by- gones 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 toward Philip, and remarked, "It is a long time since we have seen you at my father^." 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 behold. 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. Had n't been to one of them for a long time : though the u Friars ' was an abominable hole: that was the truth. Who was that in the shovel-hat? a bishop ? what bishop? It was Bracklcy, the archdeacon, who turned very red on seeing Ringwood. For the fact is, Braekiey was talking to Pen- nystone, the little boy about whom the quarrel and light had taken place at school, when Ringwood had proposed forcibly to take Pe.nnystone's money from him. '' I think, Mr. Ringwood, that Pennystone is big enough to hold his own now, don't you ?" said the archdeacon ; and with this the venerable man turned on his heel, leaving Ringwood to face the little Pennystone o£ former years, now a gigantic country squire, with health ringing in his voice, and a pair of oreat arms and fists that would have demolished six Ring woods in the field. The sight of these quondam enemies 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, Ascot, 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 ?" This became a cant phrase among some of us wags afterward 40 466 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Whenever we ■wished to change a conversation, it was, "I say, Ascot, don't you think Barnaby's motion was very ill-timed, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer answered him very neatly ?" You know Mr. Ringwood would scarcely have thought of coming among such common people as his old school-fellows, but seeing " Lord Ascot's phaeton at Black's, he condescended to drive down to Richmond with his lordship, and I hope a great number of his friends in St. James' street saw him in thai 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 m G n 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 you, 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 V I, for my part, 'own that I am in a state of tremor and absence of mind before the operation ; 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 ?. . . .1 feel that I am wandering from Philip's adventures to his biographer's, and confess I am thinking of the dismal Jiasco 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 admi- rably he would have figured in the dock : if a sailor, how lamen- tably sea-sick he was : if a soldier, how nimbly he ran away. For example, we drank the venerable Archdeacon Brackiey and the army. We deplored the perverseness which had led jiim 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 other great warrior of the age famous ? for that Roman feature in his face, which distinguished, which gave a name to, our Brackiey — a name by which we fondly clung. (Cries of "Nosey, Nosey!") Might tha"t feature ornament ere long the face of — of one of the chiefs of that aimy of which he was a distinguished field-officer! Might — Here I confess I fairly broke down, lost the thread of my joke — at which Brackiey seemed to look rather severe — and finished the speech wi:h a gobble about regard, esteem, every- body respect you, and good health, old boy — which answered quite as well as a finished oration, however the author might be discontented with it. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THK WORLD. 467 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 ensued, during which men looked toward Mr. Ring- wood as the "old foe" toward whom the archdeacon had held out the hand of amity : but llingwood, who had listened to the arch- deacon's speech with an expression of great disgust, did not rise from his chair — otily remarking to his neighbor, Ascot, " Why should I get up ? Hang him, I have nothing to say. I say, Ascot, why did you induce me to come into this kind of thing*?" Fearing that a collision might take place between Philip and his kinsman, I had drawn Philip away from the place in the room to which Lord Ascot beckoned him, saying, " Never mind, Philip, about sitting by the lord," by whose side I knew per- fectly well tjaat Mr. llingwood would find a place. But it was our lot to be separated from his lordship by merely the table's breadth, and some intervening vases of Howers and fruits through which we could see and hear our opposite neighbors. When llingwood 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 tat- too 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 archdeacon, who had looked a little uneasy 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 '?" But Philip sulkily said, " You go ; I should like to stay." Lord Ascot was seeing the last of his bachelor life. He liked those last evenings to be merry ; he lingered over them, and did not wish them to end too quickly. His neighbor was long since tired of the entertainment, and sick of our company. Mr. Ring- wood had lived of late in a world of such fashion that ordinary mortals were despicable to him. He had no affectionate remem- brance of his early days, or of anybody belonging to them. While Philip was singing his song of Doctor Luther I was glad that he could not see the face of surprise and disgust which his 468 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP kinsman bore. Other vocal performances followed, including a song by Lord Ascot, which, I am bound to say, was hideously 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, whose health was drunk as representative of the British Turf, and who said that he had never known anything aboijt the turf or about play, until their old school-fellow, his dear friend — his swell friend, if he might be permitted the expression — Mr. Ringwood, taught him the use of cards ; and once, in bis 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. Let us go away, Ascot. I did n't come for this kind of thing!" cried Ringwood, furious, by Lord Ascot's s-id^. This was the expression which Mr. Ringwood had used a short time before, when Philip was about to interrupt him. Pie had lifted his Twys den shrieked and cried out at his .f^^S^S?^Si and folly. Sir John Ringwood said he must really wash his hands ox a young man who menaced the bfe* Njij^ Grenville Woolcomb, with many oaths in which biot | law Ringwood joined chorus, cursed Philip, and sa d he did _ n t care and the bUar ought to be hung, and Ins father ought to b'hung But llink f know half a do.ugood-a,^ who told a different tale, and who were ready with t er rsyn pa thv and succor. Did not Mrs. Flanagan, the n h laumb^ , m a -voice broken by sobs and gin, offer to go and chare at I Mgi house for nothing, and nurse thedear AUndT Did n Good enouffh sav, " If you are in need, my dear fellow, of coarse you know" wnere to cW' and did he not actua y give two ££ trcintintti one for poor Charlotte, one for fifty pounds to De S'^nXX*^ be handed * the nurse testate Yon may be sure she did not appropriate > the money, tor ot course your know that the nurse was Mrs Brandon. Chariot te haTo e ) remorse in her life. She owns she was jealous ot the 474 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Little Sister. And now, when that gentle life is over, when Philip's poverty trials are ended, when the children go some- times and look wistfully at the grave of their dear Caroline, friend Charlotte leans her head against her husband's shoulder, and owns humbly how good, how bravo, how generous a friend heaven sent them in that humble defender. Have you ever felt the pinch of poverty ? In many cases it is like the dentist's chair, more dreadful in the contemplation than in the actual suffering. Philip says he never was fairly beaten but on that day when, in reply to his solicitation to have his due, Mrs. Baynes' 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, ' Oh, you coward!' It was that I knew the boy at home, aud 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 competence, it is not safe to mention mothers-in-law in his presence. He fumes, shouts, and rages against them as if all were like his ; and his, I have been told, is a lady perfectly well satisfied with herself and her conduct in this world ; aud as for the next — but our story does not dare to point so far. It only interests itself about a little clique of people here below — their griefs, their trials, their weaknesses, 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 Twysden were most exemplary people, and so forth. Have I not told you how many people at New York shook their heads when Philip's name was mentioned, and intimated a strong opinion that he used his father very ill ? When he fell wounded and bleeding, patron Tregarvan dropped him off his horse, and cousin King- wood did not look behind to see how he fared. Bat these, again, may have had their opinion regarding our friend, who may have been misrepresented to them. I protest, as 1 look back at the nineteen past portions of this history, I begin to have qualms, and ask myself whether the folks of whom we have been prat- tling have had justice done to them; whether Agnes Twysden is not a suffering martyr justly offended by Philip's turbulent behavior; and whether Philip deserves any particular attention or kindness at all. He is not trauscendently clever; he is not gloriously beautiful. He is not about to illuminate the darkness in which the peoples grovel with the flashing emanations of his ON HI8 WAT THROUGH THE WOKf,D. 4 75 truth. He sometimes owes money which he can not pay. He slips, stumbles, blunders, brags. Ah ! he sins and repents — pray heaven — of faults, of vanities, of pride, of a thousand short- comings ! This I say — Ego — as my friend's biographer. Per- haps I do not understand the other characters round about him so well, and have overlooked a number of their merits, and caricatured and exaggerated 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 improve the drawings with they* own hands. They painted the soldiers yellow, the horses blue, and so forth. On the horses they put soldiers of their own construc- tion. Ridley's landscapes were enriched with representations of " omnibuses " which the children saw and admired in the neighboring New Road. I dare say, as the fever left her, and as she canie to see things as they were, Charlotte's eyes dwelt fondly on the pictures of the omnibuses inserted in Mr. Ridley's sketches, and she put some aside and showed them to her friends, and said, " Does n't our darling show extraordinary 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 prescriptions of medicine, what drafts did 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 ? There is the suu and the shadows. And the heaven which ordains poverty and sickness sends pity, and love, and succor. During Charlotte's fever and illness, 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 in- deed on this occasion ; so ill th^t 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. Charlotte mended then ; could take food, and liked it, and was specially pleased with some chickens which her nurse informed her were " from the country." " From Sir John Ringwood, no doubt ?" said Mrs. Firmin, remembering 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 beauti- ful bread sauce for the fowl ; and who had tossed the baby, and 476 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP who showed it to its admiring 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. Goodenough 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 carpeted 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 iufant 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 jingling carriage, which stops before Philip's door. " It 's the trap," says nurse Bran- don, (flighted. " It must be those kind Ringwoods," says Mrs. Philip. M But stop, Brandon. Did not they, did not we ? — oh, 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 powder- ing of the pink frog on her lap. The bedroom window was open toward the sunny street: but Mrs. Philip did not hear a female voice say, " 'Old the 'ors^s 'ead, Jim," or she might have been agitated. The horse's head was held, and a gentleman and a lady with a great basket containing peas, 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. " By-gones be by-gones. Give us your 'and, Firmiu : 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 you, old fellow, how are you ?" The tears were rolling down the good man's cheeks as he spoke. And Mrs. Mugford 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 off by this time. She put down her peace-offering of carrots, 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, Mugford,' I says. And here we are. And year 's two nice cakes for your children " (after a forage in the cornu- copia), " and, 'lor, how they are grown !" A little nurse from the up stairs regions here makes her appearance, holding a bundle of cashmere shawls, part of which ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. * 477 is removed, and discloses a being pronounced to be ravishingfy beautiful, and "jest like Mrs. Mugford's Emaly !" "I say"," says Mugford, u the old shop 's still open to you. T' other cliap would 'nt do at all. He was wild when he got the drink on board. Hirisli. Pitched into Bickerton, and black' d 'is eye. It was Bickerton who told you lies about that poor lady. Don't see J iin no more now. Borrowed some money of me; have 'nt seen him since. We were both wrong, and 'we must make it up — the missus says *we must." "Amen I" 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, Bloomsbury, which was fashionable in the reign of Queen Anne, when Richard Steele kept house, and did not pay rent, hard by. And when the clergyman in the Thanksgiving particularized those who desired now to " offer up their praises and thanksgiving for late mercies vouchsafed to them," once more Philip Firinin said "Amen," on his knees, and with all his heart. CHAPTER XLII. THE REALMS OF BLISS. You know — all good boys and girls at Christmas know — that, before the last scene of the pantomime, when the Good Fairy as- cends 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 meaningless penulti mate scene, in which the performers appear to grope about perplexed, while the music of bassoons and trombones, and the like, groans tragically. As the actors, with gestures of dismay and outstretched arms, move hither and thither, the wary fre- quenter of pantomimes sees the illuminators of the Abode of Bliss and Hall of Prismatic Splendor moving nimbly behind the canvas, and streaking the darkness with twinkling fires — flres which shall blaze out presently in a thousand colors round the .Good Fairy in the Revolving Temple of Blinding Bliss. Be happy, Harlequin ! Love and be happy and dance, pretty Columbine! Children, mamma bids you put your shawls on. And Jack and Mary (who are young and love pantomimes) look lingeringly still over the ledge of the box, while the fairy tempfe yet revolves, while the fireworks play, and ere the Great Dark Curtain descends. My dear young people, who have sate 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 cloaks, and tie up your little throats, for I tell you the great blaze will soon fall down. Have I had any secrets from you all through the 4T8 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP pfece ? I tell you the house -will be empty, and you will be in the. cold air. When the boxes have got their night-gowns on, and you are all gone, and I have turned off the gas, and am in the empty theatre alone in the darkness, I promise you I shall not be merry. Never mind ! 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 already, and the last orange- woman has slunk away. Encore une pirouette, 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 immensely moved by this magna- nimity and kindness on the part of his old employer, and has always considered Mugford'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 Mugford, and reconciled him to his enemy. Others were most ready with their money. It was Brandon who brought him work rather than alms, and enabled him to face fortune cheer- fully. '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 thisjiour. So Philip, with an humbled heart and demeanor, clambered up on his. sub-editorial stool once more at the Pall Mall Gazette, and again brandished the paste-pot and scissors. I forget whether Bickerton still remained in command at the Pall Mail Gazette, or was more kind to Philip than before, or was afraid of him, having heard of his exploits as a fire-eater; but certain it is, the two did 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 group round the Fairy Chariot (when, I promise you, there will be such a blaze of glory that he will be invisible), we shall never see the little spiteful, envious creature any more. Let him pop down his appointed trap-door; and, quick, fiddles ! let the brisk music jig on. Owing to the cpolness which had arisen between Philip and his father on account of their different views regarding the use to be made of Philip's signature, the old gentleman drew no farther bills in his son's name, and our friend was spared from the unpleasant persecution. Mr. Hunt loved Dr. Firmin so ardently that he could not bear to be separated from the doctor long. Without the doctor, London was a dreary wilderness to Hunt. Unfortunate remembrances of past pecuniary transac- tions haunted him here. We were all of us glad when he finally retired from the Covent Garden taverns and betook himself to the Bowery once more. ON HIS WAY THBOUGH THE WORLD. * 479 And now friend Philip was at work again, hardly earning a scanty meal for sol f, -wife, servant, children. It was indeed a meagre meal and a small wage. Charlotte's illness, and others mishaps, had swept away poor Philip's little savings. Jt was determined that we would let the elegantly furnished apartments on the first floor. You might have fancied the proud Mr. Firmin rather repugnant to such a measure. And so he was on the score of convenience, but of dignity, not a whit. To this day, if necessity called, Phi- lip would turn a mangle, with perfect gravity.' I believe the thought of Mrs. General liay ties' horror at the idea of her son- in-law letting lodgings greatly soothed and comforted Philip. The lodgings were absolutely taken by our country acquaintance, Miss Pybus, 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 residence in the house of a man with three squall- ing children. Miss P. came, then, with my wife to look at the ^apartments ; and we allured her by describing to her the delight- ful 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 won the kind old lady's heart: and I am ashamed to say we were mum about the baby; and Pybus was going to close for the lodgings, when Philip burst out of his little room, without his coat, I believe, 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 toward the. little lazy boy, that Pybus said " she never could think of taking apartments in that house," and hurried thence in a panic. When Brandon heard of this project of letting lodgings, she was in a fury. She might let lodgin's, but it w«s n't for Phjlip to do so. " Let lodgin's, indeed ! Buy a broom, and sweep a crossin' !*' Brandon always thought Charlotte -a poor-spirited creature, and the way she scolded Mrs. Firmin about this transaction was not a little 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 missionaries returned to CafTraria. (Ah ! where are the pleasant-looking Quakeresses of our youth, with their comely faces and pretty dove-colored robes V They say the goodly sect is dwindling — dwindling.) The Quakeresses went out of town : then the fashionable world began to move : the Parliament went out of town. In a word, everybody who could made away for a holiday, while poor Philip remained at his work, snipping and pasting his paragraphs, and doing his humble drudgery. 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 could not take the medicine prescribed by the doctor, that eccentric 480 • THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP physician had recourse to the same pocket-book which we have known him to produce on a former occasion ;-and took from it, for what I know, some of the very same notes which he had for- merly given to the Little Sister. " I suppose you may as well have them as that rascal Hunt ?'-' said the doctor, scowling very fiercely. " Don't tell me. Stuff and nonsense. Pooh ! Pay me when you are a rich man !" And this Samaritan had jumped into his carriage and was gone before Philip or Mrs. Philip could say a word of thanks. Look at him as he is going off. See the green brougham drive away, an4 turn westward, and mark it wejl. A shoe go after thee, John Goodenough ; we shall see thee no more in this story. You are not in the secret, good reader ; but 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 v/e are to meet no more. Go to ! when this tale began, and for some months 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 Finis and the volume's end. So Philip and his young folks came down to Periwinkle bay, where we were staying, and the girls in the two families nursed the baby, and the child and mother got health and comfort frdm the fresh air, and Mr. Mugford — who believes himself to be the. finest sub-editor ic the world — and I can tell you there is a great art in sub-editing a paper — Mr. Mugford, I say, took Philip's scissors and paste-pot, while the latter enjoyed his holiday. And J. J. Ridley, R.A., came and joined us presently, and we had many sketching parties, and my drawings of the various points about the bay, viz., Lobster Head, the Moiluso%Rocks, etc, etc., are considered to be very spirited, tnough my little boy (who cer- tainly has not his father's taste for art) mistook for the rock a really capital portrait of Philip, in a gray hand paletot, sprawl- ing on the sand. Some twelve miles inland from the bay is the little Town of Whipham Market, and Whipham skirts the park paiiirigs of that castle where Lord Ringwood had lived, and where Philip's mother was born and bred.' There is a statue of the late lord in Whipham market-place. Could he have had his will, the borough would have continued to return two members to Par- liament, as in the good old times before us. In that ancient and grass-grown little place, where your footsteps echo as they pass through the street — where you hear distinctly the creaking of the sign of the " Ringwood Arms" hotel and posting-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 " Ringwood Institute 1 and survey the strangers — there is still a respect felt for the memory of the great lord who dwelt behind the oaks in yonder ON HTS- VAT THROUGH THE WORLD. 48 ball. He bad bis faults. His lordship's life was not. that of an anchorite. The company his lordship kept, especially 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 waft a pood landlord to a good tenant. If he had his will Whipham would have kept its own. His lord- ship paid half the expense after the burning of the town-hall. He was an arbitrary man, certainly, and he flogged Alderman Duffle before bis own shop, but he apologised for it most, hand- somely afterward. Would the gentlemen like port or sherry? Claret not called for in Whiphant ; not at all : and no fish, be- cause all the fish at Periwinkle bay is bought up and goes to London. Such were (he remarks made by the landlord of the Ringwood Arms to three cavaliers who entered that hostelry. And you may be sure he told us about Lord Ring wood's death in the post-chaise as he came from Turreys R>gum ; 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 cas- tle? and laid in state; and his lordship never would take the rail- way, never; and he always travelled like a nobleman, and when lie came to a hotel and changed horses, he always 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 be is. And this is certain, Whipham have n't seen much of it, Whipham 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, sur- mounted by the supporters and armorial bearings of the Ring- woods. •* I wonder whether my poor mother came out of that gate when she eloped with my fat her V said Philip. " Poor thing, poor thing [" The great gates were shut. The wester- ing sun cast shadows over the sward where here and there the deer were browsing, and at some mile distance lay the house, with its towers an/1 porticoes and vanes flaming the sun. The smaller gate was open, and a girl was standing by the lodge- door. Was the house to be seen ? "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. 4t Nobody is to go to the house. The family is a-eoming." That was provoking. Philip would have, liked to b^iold the great house where his mother and her ancestors were born. "Marry, good dame," Philip's companion said to the old bel- dam, " this goodly gentiemau hath a right of entrance to yon- der castle, which,' 1 trow, ye wot not of Heard ye never tell of one Philip Ringwood, siain at Bunco's glorious li — " " Hold your tongue, and dont chaff her, Pen," growled Firmin. -11 482 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " 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 enter. Canst recognise 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 porticoes, they lay before us a mile off, 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 mips the post-chaise going over the bridge, and the lady in the punt w*ith the tall parasol. Don't you remember the print in our house- keeper's room in Old Parr street V My poor mother used to tell me about the house, and I imagined it grander than the palace of Aladdin. It is a very handsome house," Philip went on. " ' It extends 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 stone. The grand front toward the park is adorned with a noble portico of the Corinthian order, and may with propriety be considered one of the finest elevations in the — .' j 1 tell you I am quoting out of Watts' ' Seats of the Nobility and Gentry,' published by John and Josiah Boydell, and lying in our drawing-room. Ah, dear me ! I painted the boat and the lady and gentleman in the drawing-room copy, and my father boxed my ears, 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 pigtailed gentleman fishing. It gives one a queer sensation," says Philip,, standing 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 oft' his hat to an imaginary gentleman supposed to be angling from the balustrade for ghostly gudgeon. We reach the house presently. We ring at a door in the bast ment under the portico. 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 sCatery but somewhat faded and melan- choly palace. In the cedar dining-room there hangs the grim ON HIS WAY TIIROUGH THE WORLD. 488 portrait of the late earl ; and that fair-haired officer in red ? that must be Philip's grandfather. ■ And those two slim girls embrac- ing, surely those are his mother and his aunt. Philip walks.softly through the vacant rooms. He gives the porter a gold piece ere he goes out of the great hall, forty feet cube, ornamented with statues brought from Rome by John, first Baron, namely : Heliogabalus, Nero's mother, a priestcps of Isis, and a river god; the pictures over the doors by Pedimento; the ceiling by Leo- tardi, etc.; 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 toward the house, and which no doubt contained the members of the Ring- wood family, regarding whom the porteress had spoken. After the family differences previously related we did not care to face these kinsfolks of Philip, and passed on quickly in twilight be- neath the rustling umbrage of the chestnuts. J. J. saw a hun- dred fine pictorial effects as we walked : the palace reflected in the water ; the dappled deer under the checkered shadow of the trees. It was, " Oh, what a jolly bit of color 1" and, "I say, look, how well that old woman's red cloak comes in 1" and so forth. Painters never seem tired of their work. At seventy they are students still — patient, docile, happy. May we, too, my good but, live for fourscore years, and never be too old to learn ! The walk, the brisk accompanying conversation, amidst stately scenery around, brought us with good appetites and spirits to our inn, where we were told that dinner would be served when the omnibus arrived from the railway. At a short distance from the Ringwood Arms, and on the op- posite side of the street, is the Ram Inn, neat post-chaises, and farmers' ordinary; a house of which the pretensions seemed less, though the trade was somewhat more lively. When the tooting of the horn announced the arrival of the omnibus trom the railway, I should think a crowd of at least fifteen people as- sembled at various doors of the High street and Market. The half-pay captain and the curate came out from the Ringwood Athenseum. The doctor's apprentice stood on the step* of the surgery door, and the surgeon's lady looked out from the first floor. We shared the general curiosity. We and the waiter stood at the door of the Ringwood Arms. We were mortified to see that of the five persons conveyed by the 'bus, one was a tradesman, who descended at his door (Mr. Packwood, the sad- dler, so the waiter informed us), three travellers were discharged* at the Ram, and only one came to us. " Mostly bagmen goes to the Ram," the waiter said, with a scornful air ; and these bagmen and their bags quitted the om- nibus. ' Only one passenger remained for the Ringwood Arms hotel, .and he presently descended under the parte cochere ; and the omnibus — I own, with regret, it was but a one-horse machine — 484 THR ADVENTURES OF PHILIP drove rattling into the court-yard, where the bells of the " Star," the "George," the "Rodney," the "Dolphin," and so on, had once been wont to jingle, and the court had echoed with 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 Ringwood's with whom we made a brief acquaintance just after his lord- ship's death. " What ! you here ?" cries Bradgate then to Philip. " Come down about this business, of course ? Very 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 — the people who were staying there V" We said we had seen a carriage pass, but did not remark who was in it. What, however, was the news? Well. It would be known immediately, and would appear in Tuesday's Gazette. The news was that Sir John Rintiwood was going to take a peerage, and that the seat for Whiphain would be vacant. And herewith our friend produced from his travelling-bag a procla- mation, which he read to us, and which was addressed : "TO THE WORTHY AND INDEPENDENT ELECTORS OF THE BOROUGH OF RINGWOOD. " London, Wednesday. " Gentlemen : A gracious Sovereign having been pleased to ordt* r that the family of Ringwood should continue to be rep- resented 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 centuries. The late lamented Lord Ring- wood'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 civil capacity. It was natural that one of our name and family should continue the relations which so long have subsisted be- tween us and this loyal, affectionate, but independent borough. Mr. Ringwcod's onerous duties in the office which he holds are sufficient to occupy his time. A gentleman united to our family by the closest ties will oiler himself as a candidate for your suffrages — " " Why, who is it ? He is not going to put in uncle Twysden, or my sneak of a cousin ?" " No," gave Mr. Bradgate. Olf HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 485 " Well, bless my soul ! he can't mean me," said Philip. "Who is the dark horse he has in his stable V" Then Mr. Bradgrate laughed. " Dark horse you may call him. The new member is to be Grenville Woolcomb, Esq., your West Indian relative, and no other." Those who know the extreme energy of Mr. P. Firmin's lan- guage when he is. excited, may imagine the explosion of Philip- pine wrath which ensued as our friend heard this name. " That miscreant: that skinflint: that wealthy crossing-sweeper: that ignoramus, who scarce could do more than sign his name! Oh, it was horrible, shameful ! Why, the man is on such ill terms with his 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 Ilingwood send- ing him there ! It 's monstrous !" M Family arrangements. Sir John, or, I should say, my Lord Ilingwood, is one of the most afl'ectionate of parents," Mr. Brad- gate remarked. ** He Gas a large family by his second marriage, aud his estates goto his eldest son. We must not quarrel with Lord Ilingwood for wishing to provide for his young ones. I don't say that he quite acts up to the extreme Liberal principles of Avhich he was once rather fond of boa>ting. But if you were offer, d a peerage, what would you do V what would I do ? If you wanted money for your young ones* and could get it, would you not take it V 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 our neighbors. Is my fly com- ing, waiter'?" We asked Mr. Bradgate to defer his departure, and to share our dinner. But he declined, and said he must <*o up to the great house, where he and his client had plenty of business to arrange, and whe.re 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 mv friends have the key of the cel- lar." The waiter was just putting our meal on the table, as we stood in the bow-window of the Ilingwood Arms coffee-room, engaged in this colloquy. Hence we could see the street, and the oppo- sition inn of the Ham, where presently a great placard was posted. At least a dozen street boys, shopmen, and rustics were quickly gathered round this manifesto, and we ourselves went out 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 invited not to promise their votes; to show them- se.lres worthy of their name ; to submit to no Castle dictation. A county gentleman of property ? of influence, of liberal prin- ciples—no West Indian, no Castle Flunky, but a True English Gentleman, would come forward to rescue them 486 THE ADVENTURES OF PI1ILIP from the tyranny under which they labored. On this point the electors might rely on the word of A Briton. " This was brought down by the clerk from Bedloe's. He and a newspaper man came down in the train with me ; a Mr. — " As he spoke, there came forth from the u Ram" the newspa- per man of whom Mr. Bradgate, spoke — an old friend and com- rade of Philip, that energetic man and able reporter, Phipps, of the Daily Intelliycncer, who recognized Philip, and cordially greeting him, asked what he did down here, and supposed he had come to support his family. Philip explained that we were strangers, had come, from a neighboring watering-place to see the home of Philip's ances- tors, and was not ev^n aware until then that an electioneering contest was pending in the place, or that Sir John Ring wood was about to be promoted to the peerage. Meanwhile, Mr. Bradgate's fly had driven out of the hotel-yard of the .Ring- wood Arms, and the lawyer running to the house for a bag of papers, jumped into the carriage and called to the coachman to drive to the castle. u Bon appetit .'" says he, in a confident tone, and he was gone. " Would Phipps dine with us ?" Phipps whimpered, " I am on the other side, and the Ratal is our house." We, who were on no side, entered info the Ringwood Arms, and sat down to our meal — to the mutton and the catsup, cauli- flower and potatoes, the copper-edged side-dishes, and the wa- tery melted butter, with which strangers are regaled in inns in declining towns. The town harfdiuh, who had read the placard at the Ram, now came to peruse the proclamation in our win- dow. 1 dare say thirty pairs of clinking boots stopped before the one window and the other the while we ate tough mutton and drank fierv sherry. And J. J., leaving his dinner, sketched some of the figures of the townsfolk staring at the manifesto, with the old-fashioned Ram Inn for a background — a pictu- resque gable enough. Our meal was just over, when, somewhat to our surprise, our friend Mr. Bradgate, the lawyer, returned to the Ringwood Arms. He wore a disturbed countenance. He asked what he could have for dinner ? Mutton, neither hot nor cold. Hum ! That must do. So he had not been invited to dine at the Park? We rallied him with much facetiousness on this disappointment. Litile Bradgate's eyes started with wrath. " What a churl the little black fellow is !" he cried. " 1 took him his papers. I talked with hiai till dinner was laid in the very room where we were. French beans and neck of venison — I saw the house- keeper and his man bring them in ! And Mr. Woolcomb did not so much as ask me to sit down to dinner — but told me to come, again at nine o'clock. Confound this mutton — it 's neither hot nor cold ! The. little ekinftint !" The glassea of fiery sherry ON IJI8 WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 487 which Bradgate now swallowed served rather to choke than appease the lawyer. We laughed, and this jocularity angered him more. M Oh,'' said he, * J am not the only person Wool- comb was rude to. He was in a dreadful ill-temper. He abused his wife : and when he read somebody's name in the strangers 1 book, I promise you, Firmin, he abused yo4». I had a mind to say to him, k Sir, Mr. Firmin is dining at the Ring- wood Arms, and I will tell him what you say of him.' What India-rubber mutton this is ! What villanons sherry ? Go back to him at nine o'clock, indeed ! Be hanged to his impu- dence. !" " You must not abuse Woolcomb before Firmin." said one of our party. " Philip is so fond of his cousin's husband that he can not bear to hear the black man abused." This was not a very brilliant joke, but Philip grinned at it with much savage satisfaction. "Hit Woolcomb as hard as you please, he has no friends here, Mr. Bradgate,' growled Philip. 41 So he is rude to his lawyer, is he V" " J tell you he is worse than the old earl," cried the indignant Bradgatc. " At least the old man was a Peer or England, and could be a gentleman when he wished. But to be bullied by a fellow who might be a black footman, or ought to be sweeping a crossing ! It 's monstrous !" 4i Don't speak ill of a man and a brother, Mr. Bradgatc. Woolcomb can't help his complexion." " But he can help his confounded impudence, and shan't practice it on toe/" the attorney cried. As Bradgate called out from his box. puffing and fuming, friend J. J. was scribbling in the little sketch-book which he always carried. He smiled over his work. " I know," he said, " the Black Prince well enough. I have often seen him driving his chestnut mares in the Park, with that bewildered white wife by his side. I am sure that woman is miserable, and, poor thing !— " il> Serve her right ! What did an English lady mean by mar- rying such a fellow !" ci ies Bradgate. " A fellow who does not ask his lawyer to dinner !" remarks one of the company; perhaps the reader's very humble servant. "But what an imprudent lawyer he has chosen — a lawyer who speaks his mind." " 1 have spoken my mind to his betters, and be hanged to him ! Do you think I am going to be afraid of him ?" bawls the irascible solicitor. " Contempsi Catilince gladios — do you remember the old quo- tation at school, Philip ?" And here there was a break in our conversation, for, chancing to look at friend J. J.'s sketch-book", we saw that he had made a wonderful little drawing, represent- ing 'Woolcomb and Woolcoinb ? s wife, grooms, phaeton, and 488 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP chestnut mares, as they were to be seen any afternoon in Hyde Park during the London season. Admirable ! Capital! Everybody at once knew the likeness of the du.«ky charioteer. Jracundus himself smiled and snig- gered over it. " Unless you behave yourself, Mr. Bradgate, Ridley will make a picture of you'' says Philip. Bradgrate made a comical face and retreated into his box, of which he pretended to draw the curtain. But the sociable little man did not Ion*; remain in his retirement ; he emerged from it in a short time, his wine decanter in his hand, and joined our little party ; and then we fell to talking of old times; and we all remembered a famous drawing by H. B., of the 'late Earl of Ringwood, in the old-fashioned swallow-tailed coat and tight trowsers, on the old-fashioned horse, with the old-fashioned groom behind him, as he used to be seen pounding along Rotten Row. 44 1 speak my mind, do I V" says Mr. Bradgate, presently-. " I know somebody who spoke his mind to that old man, and who would have been better off if he had held his tongue." 44 Come, tell me, Bradgate," cried Philip. " It is all over and past now. Had Lord Ringwood left me something? 1 declare J thought at one time that he intended to do so." 44 Nay, has not your friend here been rebuking me for speak- ing my mind V 1 am going to be as mum as a mouse. Let us talk about the election," and the provoking lawyer would say no more on a subject possessing a dismal interest for poor Phil. 41 I have no more right to repine," said that philosopher, u than a man would have who drew number x in the lottery, when the winning ticket was number y. Let us talk, as you say, about the election. Who is to oppose Mr. Woolcomb V" Mr. Bradgate believed a neighboring squire, Mr. Hornblow, was to be the candidate put forward against the Ringwood nom- inee. 44 Hornblow T what, Hornblow of Grey Friars ?" cries Philip. " A better, k-llow never lived. In this case he shall have our vote and interest ; and I think we ought to go over and take another dii ner at the ' Ram.' " The new candidate actually turned out to be Philip's old school and college friend, Mr. Hornblow. After dinner we met him with a staff of canvassers on the tramp through the little town. Mr. Hornblow was paying his respects to such trades- men as had their shops yet open. Next day being market-day, he proposed to canvass Xhe market-people. t4 L( I meet the black niii-. Finnin." said. the burly squire, 44 1 think I can chalf him off his legs. He is a bad one at speaking, 1 am told." As if the tongue of Plato would have prevailed in Whipham and against the nominee of the great house! The hour was late, to be sure, but the companions of Mr. Hornblow on his can- vass argued ill ot' his success after halt an hour's walk at his heels. Baker Jones would not promise no how: that meant ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 489 Jones would vote for the Castle, Mr. Hornblow's legal aide-de- camp, Mr. Batlev, was forced to allow. Butcher Brown was having his tea— his shrill-voiced wife told us, looking out from her cr&zed back parlor : Brown would vote for the Castle. _ Sad- dler^Briggs would see about it. Grocer Adams fairly said he . would vote against us— against wsf— against Hornblow, whose part we were taking already. I fear the flattering promises of support of a great body of free and unbiassed electors, which had induced Mr. Hornblow to come forward and, etc., were but inventions of that little lawyer, Batley, who found his account in havinn- a contest in the borough. When the polling-day came —you see, I disdain to make any mysteries in this simple and veracious story— Mi*. Grenviele Woolcomb, whose solicitor and a^ent spoke for him— Mr. Grenville Woolcomb, who could not spell or speak two sentences of decent English, and whose character for dulness, ferocity, penuriousness, jealousy, almost fatuity, was notorious to all the world— was returned by an im- mense majority, and the country gentleman brought scarce a hundred votes to the poll. We, who were in nowise engaged in the contest, nevertheless found 'amusement from it in a quiet country place where little else was stirrin*. We came over once or twice from Periwin- kle bay. We mounted Hornblow's colors openly. We drove up ostentatiously to the Ram, forsaking the Fvingwood Arms, where Mr. Grenvilee Woolcomr's committee-room was now established in that very coffee-room where we have dined in Mr. Bradgatfc's company. We warmed in the contest. We met Bradoate and his principal more than once, and our Mon> tar'iL r u rs sprang down stairs to obey hia orders*. Clear the road there ! make way ! was heard from the crowd below us. The uates of our inn court-yard, which had been closed, were suddenly flung open, and amidst the roar of the multitude there issued out a cart, drawn by two donkeys and driven by a negro, beasts and man all wearing Wooleomb's colors. In the cart was fixed a placard, on which a most undeniable likeness of Mr. Woolcomb was designed, who was made to say, " Vote for mk ! Am I not a Max a\d a Bkudder V" This cart trotted out of the yard of the Ram, and, with a cortege of shouting boys, advanced into the market- place, which Mr. Wooleomb's carriage was then crossing. t x Before the market-house stands the statue of the late earl, whereof mention lias been made. In his peer's robes, a hand extended, he points toward his park gates. An inscription, not more mendacious than many other epigraphs, records his rank, age, virtues, and the esteem in which the people of Whipham held him. The mulatto who drove the team of donkeys was an itinerant tradesman, who brought fish from the bay to the little town ; a jolly wag, a fellow of indiflerent character, a frequenter of all the ale-houses in the neighborhood, and rather celebrated for his skill as a bruiser. He and his steeds streamed with Woolcomb ribbons. With ironical shouts df " Woolcomb for ever !" Yellow Jack urged his cart toward the chariot with the white horses. He took off his hat with mock respect to the can- didate sitting within the green chariot. From the balcony of the Ram we could see the two vehicles approaching each other; and Yellow .lack waving his ribboned hat, kicking his bandy legs here and there, and urging on his donkeys \\ hat with the ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 493 roar of the people and the banging and trumpeting of the rival bands, we could hear but little ; but I saw Woolcomb thrust his yellow head out of his chaise-window — he pointed toward that impudent donkey-cart, and urged, seemingly, his postilions to ride it down. Plying their whips, the post-boys galloped toward Yellow Jack and his vehicle, a yelling crowd scattering from before the horses, and rallying behind them, to utter execrations at Woolcomb. His horses were frightened, no doubt: for just as Yellow Jack wheeled nimbly round one side of the Ringwood statue, Woolcomb's horses were all huddled together and plung J ing in confusion beside it, the fore-wheel came in abrupt collision with the stone- work of the statue-railing; and then we saw the vehicle turn over altogether, one of the wheelers down with its rider, and the leaders kicking, plunging, lashing out right and left, wild and maddened with fear. Mr. Philip's countenance, I am bound to sav, wore a most guilty and queer expression. This accident, this collision, this injury, perhaps death of Wool- comb and his lawyer, arose out of our fine joke about the Man and the Brother. We dashed down the stairs from the Ram — Hornblow, Philip, and half a dozen more — and made a way through. the crowd toward the carriage, with its 'prostrate occupants. The mob made way civilly for the popular candidate — the losing candi- date. When we reached the chaise the traces had been cut, the horses were free, the fallen postilion was up and rubbing his leg, and as soon as the wheelers were taken out of the chaise Woolcomb emerged from it. He had said from within (accom- panying his speech with many oaths, which need not be repeated, and showing a just sense of his danger), " Cut the traces, hang you! And take the horses away; I can wait until they 're gone. J 'm sittin' bn my lawyer; I "ain't goin' to have my head kicked oil' by those wheelers." And just as we reached the fallen post- cbaise he emerged from it, laughing, and saying, " Lie still, you old beggar !" to Mr. Bradgate, who was writhing underneath him. His issue from the carriage was received with shouts of laughter, which increased prodigiously when Y"ellow Jack, nimbly clam- bering up fhe statue-railings, thrust the outstretched arm of the statue through the picture of the Man and the Brother, and left that cartoon flapping in the. air over Woolcomb's head. Then a shout arose, the like of which has seldom been heard in that quiet little town. Then Woolcomb, who had been quite good-humored as he issued out of the broken post-chaise, began to shriek, curse, and revile more shrilly than before ; and was heard, in the midst of his oaths and wrath, to say, " He would give any man a shillin' who would bring him down that con- founded thing!" Then scared, bruised, contused, confused, poor Mr. Bradgate came out of the carriage, his employer taking not the least notice of him. Hornblow hoped Woolcomb was not hurt, on which the little 494 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP m gentleman turned round, and said, " Hurt? no ; who are you ? Is no fellah goin' to bring me down that confounded thing? I '11 give a shillin', I say, to the fellah who does !" ■ A shilling is offered for that picture !" shouts Philip, with a red face, and wild with excitement. " Who will take a whole shilling for that beauty ?" On which Woolcomb began to scream, curse, and revile more bitterly than before. " You here ? Hang you, why are you here ? Don't come bullyin' 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 — Well, 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 toward 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 orifice when Woolcomb turned upon him. " Hands off, you little beggar !" he cried, " no priggin'! Drive away some of these fellahs, you post-boys! Don't stand rubbin' your knee there, you great fool. What 's this V" and he thrust his own hand into the place where the boy had just been ma- rauding. In the old travelling carriages there used to be a well or sword- <\im\ in which travellers used to put swords and pistols in days when such weapons of defence were needful on the road. Out of this sword-case of Lord llingwood'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 Right Honorable John, Earl of Kingwood. Brad- gate, Smith, and Burrows." "God bless my soul! It's the will he had back from 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. M Allow me to look at that paper. Yes, this is in my handwriting. Let us come into the Kingwood Arms — the Ram — anywhere, and read it to you !" . . . Here we looked up to the balcony of the Ringwood Arms, and beheld a great placard announcing the state of the poll at 1 o'clock. Woolcomb 216 Horn blow 92 M We are beaten," said Mr. Hornblow, very good-naturedly. M We may take our flag down. Mr. Woolcomb, I congratulate you." M I knew we should do it," said Mr. Woolcomb; putting out a little yellow-kidded hand. " Had all the votes beforehand — knew we should do the trick. I say. Hi ! you — Whatdyoucall- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD- 495 em — Bradgate ! What re it about, that will ? It does not do any good to that beggar, does it?" and with laughter and shouts, and cries of " Woolcomb for ever !" and " Give us something to drink, your Honor I" the successful candidate marched into his hotel. And was the tawny Woolcomb the fairy who was to rescue Philip from grief, debt, and poverty ? Yes. And the old post- chaise of the late Lord Ringwood was the fairy chariot. You have read in a past chapter how the old lord, being transported with anger against Philip, desired his lawyer to bring back a will in which he had left a handsome legacy to the young man, as his mother's soi*. My lord had^ intended to make a provision for Mrs. Firmin, 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 spirit exhibited by her son; and, being a person of much grim humor, I dare say cbfcckled inwardly at thinking how furious the Twysdens would be 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 journey, in the midst of which death seized him. Had he survived, wduld he have made another will, leaving out all mention of Philip? W T ho shall say? My lord made and cancelled 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 provision for those whom he 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 children to love you, a true friend or two to stand by you, and in health or sickness 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 1 Would you care to know what happened to the other person- ages of our narrative ? Old Twysden is still babbling and bragging at clubs, and though aged is not the least venerable. 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 Ringwood, 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 Firmin's who were kind enough to him in his evil days, but can not pardon his prosperity. Being in that benevolent mood which must accompany any leave-taking, we will not name thes$ ill-wishers of Philip, but 496 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP wish that all readers of*his story may have like reason to -make some of their acquaintances angry. Our dear Little SistSf would never live with Philip and his Charlotte, though the latter specially, and with all her heart, be- sought Mrs. Brandon to come to them. That pure, and useful, and modest life ended a t'evf year,* .since. She died of a fever caught from one of her patients. She would not allow Philip or Charlotte to come near be* 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 children 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 Firmin's second inarriiL r «'- " His second ? His third !* she said. " The villain, the villain !" That strange de- lusion which we have described 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 excised i hat she gave utterance to this opinion. Doctor 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, lb- described the wealth of the lady (a widow from Norfolk, in Virginia) to whom he was about to be united. He wouid pay back, ay, with interest, every pound, every dollar, every cent he owed hisson* Was the lady wealthy V 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 mourning, very wild and flushed. She bade our servant say, M Mrs. Firmin was at the door," to the astonishment of the man, who knew her. She had even caused a mourning-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 Roehampton> at the house of our friend, Mr. Clive Newcome (whose tall boy, my wife says, was very attentive to our Helen), and, having been educated at the same school, we ever so long at dessert telling old stories, while the children danced to piano-music on the lawn. Dance on tUj$,lawn, young folks, while the elders talk in the shade ! What ? i/The night is falling: we have talked enough over our wine; and it is time to go home? tiood-night. GoodVnight, friends, old and young! The night will fall: the stories must end: and the best frieods must part. » NEW^PTJB] A.TIONS. NOW HEAD C4rneral Oi-«i. . Ajadre\v»' M.< fill! liddlxxx'mmh vis J - ( illustrate*!, i J >rill, id full bound i ■ - Xln * The t iniil> and >lil2U 90, 1804. EVANS & COGSYvELL, ■