FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 H. WALTER WEBB 
 [1852-1900] 
 BEECHWOOD, SCARBOROUGH 
 
 • "■ ' iT r tj i t i I i im i H ill I M I ii jijiM 
 
 THE LIBRARIE 
 
 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 
 
 General Library 
 
"MY NOVEL." 
 
Frontispiece 
 
OVEL 
 
 Oh 
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE 
 
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 Veruni ipsam yitain et mores liominum ostendere.'* 
 
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 VOL, 11. 
 
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 ERNEST MALTRAVERS. 
 ALICE. 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF POMFEEL 
 THE CAXTONS. 
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 HAROLD. 
 PAUL CLIFFORD. 
 A STRANGE STORY. 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 LEILA. AND THE PILGRIMS ON 
 SHE RHINE. 
 
 LUCRETIA. 
 
 MY NOVEL. VOL. t. 
 
 MY NOVEL. VOL. 9. 
 
 RIENZI. 
 
 WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT? 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT? 
 
 Vol. 2. 
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MY NOVEL. 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 THE ABUSE OF INTELLECT. 
 
 There is at present so yehement a flourish of trumpets, and 
 BO prodigious a roll of the drum, whenever we are called upon 
 to throw up our hats, and cry "Huzza" to the "March of 
 Enlightenment,"- that, out of that very spirit of contradiction 
 natural to all rational animals, one is tempted to stop one's 
 ears, and say, " Gently, gently; light is noiseless ; how comes 
 'Enlightenment ' to make such a clatter ? Meanwhile if it be 
 not impertinent, pray, where is Enlightenment marching to ? " 
 Ask that question of any six of the loudest bawlers in the 
 procession, and I'll wager tenpence to California that you get 
 six very unsatisfactory answers. One respectable gentleman, 
 who, to our great astonishment, insists upon calling himself 
 " a slave," but has a remarkably free way of expressing his 
 opinions, will reply — " Enlightenment is marching towards 
 the seven points of the Charter." Another, with his hair a 
 la jeune France, who has taken a fancy to his friend's wife, 
 and is rather embarrassed with his own, asserts that Enlighten- 
 ment is proceeding towards the Rights of Women, the reign 
 of Social Love, and the annihilation of Tyrannical Prejudice. 
 A third, who has the air of a man well to do in the middle 
 class, more modest in his hopes, because he neither wishes to 
 have his head broken by his errand-boy, nor his wife carried 
 off to an Agapemone by his apprentice, does not take En- 
 lightenment a step farther than a siege on Debrett, and a 
 cannonade on the Budget. Illiberal man ! the march that he 
 swells will soon trample Mm under foot. No one fares so ill 
 in a crowd as the man who is wedged in the middle. A 
 fourth, looking wild and dreamy, as if he had coiae out of the 
 
f) 
 
 MY NOVEL; OK, 
 
 cave of Tropiionms, and who Is a mesmeriser and a mystic, 
 lliinks Enlightenment is in full career towards the good old 
 clays of alchemists and necromancers. A fifth, whom one 
 might take for a Quaker, asserts that the march of Enlighten- 
 ment is a crusade for universal philanthropy, vegetable diet, 
 and the perpetuation of peace by means of speeches, which 
 certainly do produce a very coiitrary effect from the Philippics 
 of Demosthenes ! The sixth — {good fellow without a rag 
 on his back) — does not care a straw where the march goes. 
 He can't be worse off than he is ; and it is quite immaterial to 
 him whether he goes to the dog-star above, or the bottomless 
 pit below. I say nothing, however, against the march, while 
 we take it altogether. Whatever happens, one is in good 
 company ; and though I am somewhat indolent by nature, and 
 would rather stay at home with Locke and Burke, (dull dogs 
 though they were,) than have my thoughts set off helter-skelter 
 with those cursed trumpets and drums, blown and dub-a- 
 dubbed by fellows whom I vow to heaven I would not trust 
 with a five-pound note — still, if I must march, I must ; and 
 so deuce take the hindmost. But when it comes to individual 
 marchers upon their own account — privateers and condottieri 
 of Enlightenment — who have filled their pockets with luoifer- 
 matches, and have a sublime contempt for their neighbours' 
 barns and hay-ricks, I don't see why I should throw myself 
 into the seventh heaven of admiration and ecstacy. 
 
 If those who are eternally rhapsodising on the celestial 
 blessings that are to follov^ Enlightenment, Universal Know- 
 ledge, and so forth, would just take their eyes out of their 
 pockets, and look alDout them, I would respectfully inquire if 
 they have never met any very knowing and enlightened 
 gentleman, whose acquaintance is by no means desirable. If 
 not, they are monstrous lucky. Every man must judge by his 
 own experience ; and the worst rogues I have ever encountered 
 were SjUiazingly well-informed clever fellows ! From dunder- 
 heads and dunces we can protect ourselves, but from your 
 shaip-witted gentleman, all enlightenment and no prejudice, 
 we have but to cry, Heaven defend us ! " It is true, that the 
 rogue (let him be ever so enlightened) usually comes to no 
 good himself, (though not before he has done harm enough to 
 his neighbours). But that only shows that the world want^r 
 something else in those it rewards, besides intelligence se 
 and in the abstract ; and is much too old a world to allow any 
 Jack Horner to pick out its plums for his own personal grati- 
 fication. Hence a man of very moderate intelligence, who 
 
VAUTETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 7 
 
 Relieves in God, suffers his heart to beat with human sympa- 
 thies, and keeps his eyes off your strong-box, will perhaps gain 
 a vast deal more power than knowledge ever gives to a rogue. 
 
 Wherefore, thotigh I anticipate an outcry against me on 
 the part of the blockheads, who, strange to say, are the most 
 credulous idolaters of enlightenment, and, if knowledge were 
 power, would rot on a dunghill ; yet, nevertheless, I think all 
 really enlightened men will agree with me, that when one falls 
 in with detached sharpshooters from the general March of 
 Enlightenment, it is no reason that we should make ourselves 
 a target, because Enlightenment has furnished them with a 
 gun. It has, doubtless, been already remarked by the ju dicious 
 reader, that of the numerous characters introduced into this 
 work, the larger portion belong to that species which we call the 
 Intellectual — that through them are analysed and developed 
 human intellect, in various forms and directions. So that this 
 History, rightly considered, is a kind of humble familiar 
 Epic, or, if you prefer it, a long Serio- Comedy, upon the 
 Varieties of English Life in this our Century, set in movement 
 by the intelligences most prevalent. And where more ordinary 
 and less refined types of the species round and complete the 
 survey of our passing generation, they will often suggest, by 
 contrast, the deficiencies which mere intellectual culture leaves 
 in the human being. Certainly, I have no spite against intel- 
 lect and enlightenment. Heaven forbid I should be such a 
 Groth ! I am only the advocate for common sense and fair 
 play. I don't think an able man necessarily an angel ; but I 
 think if his heart match his head, and both proceed in the 
 Great March under the divine Oriflamme, he goes as near to 
 the angel as humanity will permit : if not, if he has but a 
 penn'orth of heart to a pound of brains, I say, " Bon jour ^ mon 
 ange ! I see not the starry upward wings, but the grovelling 
 cloven-hoof." I'd rather be offuscated by the Squire of 
 Hazeldean, than enlightened by Randal Leslie. Every man 
 to his taste. But intellect itself (not in the philosophical 
 but the ordinary sense of the term) is rarely, if ever, one 
 completed harmonious agency : it is not one faculty, but a 
 {compound of many, some of which are often at war with each 
 other, and mar the concord of the whole. Few of us but have 
 some predominant faculty, in itself a strength; but which, 
 usurping unseasonably dominion over the rest, shares the lot 
 of all tyranny, however brilliant, and leaves the empire weak 
 against disaffection within, and invasion from without. Hence, 
 intellect may be perverted in a man of evil disposition, and 
 
8 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 sometimes merely wasted in a man of excellent impulses, foi 
 want of the necessary discipline, or of a strong ruling motive. 
 I doubt if there be one person in tbe world, who has obtained 
 a high reputation for talent, who has not met somebody much 
 cleverer than himself , which said somebody has never obtained 
 any reputation at all! Men like Audley Egerton are con- 
 stantly seen in the great positions of life ; while men like 
 Harley L'Estrange, who could have beaten them hollow in 
 anything equally striven for by both, float away down the 
 stream, and, unless some sudden stimulant arouse their dreamy 
 energies, vanish out of sight into silent graves. If Hamlet 
 and Polonius were living now, Polonius would have a much 
 better chance of being a Cabinet Minister, though Hamlet 
 would unquestionably be a much more intellectual character. 
 What would become of Hamlet ? Heaven knows ! Dr. Arnold 
 said, from his experience of a school, that the difference 
 between one man and another was not mere ability — it was 
 energy. There is a great deal of truth in that saying. 
 
 Submitting these hints to the judgment and penetration of 
 the sagacious, I enter on the fresh division of this work, and 
 see already Randal Leslie gnawing his lips on the back-ground. 
 The German poet observes, that the Cow of Isisis to some the 
 divine symbol of knowledge, to others but the milch cow, only 
 regarded for the pounds of butter she will yield. 0 tendency 
 of our age, to look on Isis as the milch cow ! O prostitutior 
 of the grandest desires to the basest uses ! Gaze on the 
 goddess, Eandal Leslie, and get ready thy churn and thy 
 scales. Let us see what the butter will fetch in the market. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A NEW Reign has commenced. There has been a general 
 election; the unpopularity of the Administration has been 
 apparent at the hustings. Audley Egerton, hitherto returned 
 by vast majorities, has barely escaped defeat — thanks to a 
 majority of five. The expenses of his election are said to have 
 been prodigious. " But who can stand against such wealth as 
 Egerton's — no doubt backed, too, by the Treasury purse ? " 
 said the defeated candidate. It is towards the close of 
 October; London is already full; Parliament will meet in 
 less than €i fortnight. 
 
VAKIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 9 
 
 In one of tlie principal apartments o£ that hotel in wliicli 
 foreigners may discover what is meant by English comfort, 
 and the price which foreigners must pay for it, there sat two 
 persons side by side, engaged in close conversation. The one 
 was a female, in whose pale clear complexion and raven hair 
 — in whose eyes, vivid with a power of expression rarely 
 bestowed on the beauties of the north, we recognise Beatrice, 
 Marchesa di ITegra. Undeniably handsome as was the ItaUan 
 lady, her companion, though a man, and far advanced into 
 middle age, was yet more remarkable for personal advantages. 
 There was a strong family likeness between the two ; buttliere 
 was also a striking contrast in air, manner, and all that stamps 
 on the physiognomy the idiosyncrasies of character. There 
 was something of gravity, of earnestness and passion, in 
 Beatrice's countenance when carefully examined : her smile at 
 times might be false, but it was rarely ironical, never cynical. 
 Her gestures, though graceful, Avere unrestrained and frequent. 
 You could see she was a daughter of the south. Her com- 
 panion, on the contrary, preserved on the fair, smooth face, to 
 which years had given scarcely a line or wrinkle, something 
 that might have passed, at first glance, for the levity and 
 thoughtlessness of a gay and youthful nature ; but the smile, 
 though exquisitely polished, took at times the derision of a 
 sneer. In his manners he was as composed and as free from 
 gesture as an Englishman. His hair was of that red brown 
 with which the Italian painters produce such marvellous effects 
 of colour; and if here and there a silver thread gleamed 
 through the locks, it was lost at once amidst their luxuriance. 
 His eyes were light, and his complexion, though without much 
 colour, was singularly transparent. His beauty, indeed, would 
 have been rather womanly than masculine, but for the height 
 and sinewy spareness of a frame in which muscular strength 
 was rather adorned than concealed by an admirable elegance 
 of proportion. You would never have guessed this man to 
 be an Italian ; more likely you would have supposed him a 
 Parisian. He conversed in French, his dress was of French 
 fashion, his mode of thought seemed French. ISTot that he 
 was like the Frenchman of the present day — an animal, either 
 rude or reserved ; but your ideal of the Marquis of the old 
 regime — ^the roue of the Hegency. 
 
 Italian, however, he was, and of a race renowned in Italian 
 history. But, as if ashamed of his country and his birth, ho 
 affected to be a citizen of the world. Heaven help the world 
 if it hold only such citizens I 
 
10 
 
 MY NOVEL; OB, 
 
 " But, Gfinlio/' said Beatrice di Negra, speaking in Italian, 
 " even granting that jou discover this girl, can jon siippo:^ve 
 that her father will ever consent to jour alliance P Surely 
 you know too well the nature of your kinsman ? " 
 
 Tu te tromjpes, ma soeur,^^ replied Giulio Franzijiij Count di 
 Peschiera, in French, as nsual— " ^'it te irompes ; I knew ifc 
 before he had gone through exile and penury. How can I 
 know it now? Bnt comfort yonrself, my too anxious Beatrice, 
 I shall not care for his consent, till I've made sure of his 
 daughfeer^s." 
 
 But how win that in despite of the father? " 
 
 mordieu!^^ interrupted the Count, with true French 
 gaiety ; " what would become of all the comedies overwritten, 
 if marriages were not made in despite of the father ? Look 
 you,** he resumed, with a very slight compression of his lip, 
 and a still slighter movement in his chair^ — " look you, this is 
 no question of ifs and buts ! it is a question of must and shall 
 — a question of existence to you and to me. When Danton 
 was condemned to the guillotine, he said, flinging a pellet of 
 bread at the nose of his respectable judge— 'ifo?^ individu 
 sera hientSt dans le neant^ — My patrimony is there already ! 
 I am loaded with debts. I see before me, on the one side, 
 ruin or suicide ; on the other side, wedlock and wealth." 
 
 "But from those vast possessions which you have been 
 permitted to enjoy so long, have you really saved nothing 
 against the time when they might be reclaimed at your hands ? 
 
 ^^My sister,*' replied the Count, "do I look like a man who 
 saved ? Besides, when the Austrian Emperor, unwilling to 
 raze from his Lombard domains a name and a house so illus- 
 trious as our kinsman's, and d.esirous, while punishing that 
 kinsman's rebellion, to reward mj adherence, forbore the 
 peremptory confiscation of those vast possessions at which my 
 mouth waters while we speak, but, annexing fchem to the 
 crown during pleasure, allowed me, as the next of male kin, 
 to retain the revenues of one-half for the same very indefinite 
 period — had I not every reason to suppose, that, before long, I 
 could so influence his Imperial Majesty or his minister, as to 
 obtain a decree that might transfer the whole, unconditionally 
 and absolutely, to myself ? And methinks I should have done 
 so, but for this accursed, intermeddling English Milord, who 
 has never ceased to besiege the court or the minister with 
 alleged extenuations of our cousin's rebellion, and proofless 
 assertions that I shared it in order to entangle my kinsman, 
 and beLrayed it in order to profit by his spoils. So that, at 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 n 
 
 last, in return for all my services, and in answer to all my 
 claims, I received from the minister liimself this cold reply — 
 * Count of PescMera, jonr aid was important, and your reward 
 lias been large. That reward it would not be for your honour 
 to extend, and justify the ill opinion of your Italian country- 
 men by formally appropriating to yourself all that vfas f ox^f eited 
 by the treason you denounced. A name so nob^e as your^ 
 should be dearer to you than fortune itself.' " 
 
 " Ah, Giulio," cried Beatrice, her face lighting up, changed 
 in its whole character—'' those were words that might make the 
 demon that tempts to avarice fly from your breast in shame.' 
 
 The Count opened his eyes in great amaze ; then he glanced 
 Vound the room and said, quietly— 
 
 " ISTobody else hears you, my dear Beatrice ; talk common 
 sense. Heroics sound well in mixed society ; but there is 
 nothing less suited to the tone of a family conversation." 
 
 Madame di ISTegra bent down her head abashed, and that 
 sudden change in the expression of her countenance which 
 had seemed to betray susceptibility to generous emotion, faded 
 as suddenly away. 
 
 " But still," she said, coldly, " you enjoy one-half of those 
 ample revenues — why talk, then, of suicide and ruin ? " 
 
 " I enjoy them at the pleasure of the crown ; and what if 
 it be the pleasure of the crown to recall our cousin, and rein- 
 state him in his possessions ? ■' 
 
 There is b, ^rohahility, then, of that pardon P When you 
 first employed me in your researches, you only thought there 
 was possibility.^^ 
 
 There is a great probability of it, and therefore I am here. 
 I learned some little time since that the question of such 
 recall had been suggested by the Emperor, and discussed in 
 Council. The danger to the State which might arise from our 
 cousin's wealth, his alleged abilities — (abilities ! bah !) — and 
 his popular name, deferred any decision on the point ; and, 
 indeed, the difficulty of dealing with myself must have 
 embarrassed the minister. But it is a mere question of time. 
 He cannot long remain excluded from the general amnesty 
 already extended to the other refugees. The person who gave 
 me this information is high in power, and friendly to myself ; 
 and he added a piece of advice on which I acted. ' It was 
 intimated,' said he, ' by one of the partisans of your kinsman, 
 <ihat the exile could give a hostage for his loyalty in the person 
 of his daughter and heiress j tbat she had arrived at mari*iage* 
 able age ; that if she were to wed, with the Emperoi''s Consent, 
 
1% 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 Homo one whose attachment to the Austrian crown wa3 
 :inqnestionable, there wonld be a gnarantee both for the faith of 
 the father, and for the transmission of so important a heritage 
 to safe and loyal hands. Why not ' (continued my friend) 
 * apply to the Emperor for his consent to that alliance for 
 yonrself ? — yon, on whom he can depend ; — you who, if the 
 daughter should die, would be the legal heir to those lands ? * 
 On that hint I spoke." 
 
 " You saw the Emperor ? " 
 
 " And after combating the unjust prepossessions against me, 
 I stated, that so far from my cousin having any fair cause of 
 resentment against me, when all was duly explained to him, I did 
 not doubt that he would willingly give me the hand of his child." 
 
 '* You did ! cried the Marchesa, amazed. 
 
 " And," continued the Count imperturbably, as he smoothed, 
 with careless hand, the snowy plaits of his shirt front — " and 
 that I should thus have the happiness of becoming myself the 
 guarantee of my kinsman's loyalty — the agent for the restora- 
 tion of his honours, while, in the eyes of the envious and 
 malignant, I should clear up my own name from all suspicion 
 that I had wronged him." 
 
 " And the Emperor consented ? " 
 
 ^^Fardieib^ m.y dear sister, what else could his majesty do ? 
 My proposition smoothed every obstacle, and reconciled policy 
 with mercy. It remains, therefore, only to find out what has 
 hitherto baffled all our researches, the retreat of our dear 
 kinsfolk, and to make myself a welcome lover to the demoiselle. 
 There is some disparity of years, I own ; but — unless your sex 
 and my glass flatter me overmuch — I am still a match for 
 many a gallant of five-and-twenty." 
 
 The Count said this with so charming a smile, and looked 
 so pre-eminently handsome, that he carried off the coxcombry 
 of the words as gracefully as if they had been spoken by some 
 dazzling hero of the grand old comedy of Parisian life. 
 
 Then interlacing his fingers, and lightly leaning his hands, 
 thus clasped, upon his sister's shou.lder, he looked into her 
 face, and said slowly — " And now, my sister, for some gentle 
 but deserved reproach. Have you not sadly failed me in the 
 task I imposed on your regard for my interests ? Is it not 
 some years since you first came to England on the mission of 
 discovering these worthy relations of ours ? Did I not entreat 
 you to seduce into your toils the man whom I knew to be my 
 enemy, and who was indubitably acquainted with our cousin's 
 retreat — a secret he has hitherto locked within his bosom ? 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 13 
 
 D.d you not tell me, that though he was then in England, jou 
 could find no occasion even to meet him, but that jou had 
 obtained the friendship of the statesman to whom I directed 
 your attention, as his most intimate associate ? And yet you, 
 whose charms are usually so irresistible, learn nothing from 
 the statesman, as you see nothing of Milord, Nay, baffled and 
 misled, you actually suppose that the quarry has taken refuge 
 in France. You go thither — you pretend to search the capital 
 — the provinces, Switzerland, que sais-je ? — all in vain, — ■ 
 though — 'foi de gentilhomme — ^your police cost me dearly — ^you 
 return to England — the same chace, and the same result- 
 Palsamhleu ma soetir, I do too much credit to your talents not 
 to question your zeal. In a word, have you been in earnest — • 
 or have you not had some womanly pleasure in amusing 
 yourself and abusing my trust ? " 
 
 " Giulio," answered Beatrice, sadly, " you know the influ- 
 ence you have exercised over my character and my fate. Your 
 reproaches are not just. I made such inquiries as were in my 
 power, and I have now cause to believe that I know one who 
 is possessed of this secret, and can guide us to it." 
 
 " Ah, you do ! " exclaimed the Count. Beatrice did not 
 heed the exclamation, and hurried on. 
 
 " But grant that my heart shrunk from the task you im- 
 posed on me, would it not have been natural ? When I first 
 came to England, you informed me that your object in dis- 
 covering the exiles was one which I could honestly aid. You 
 naturally wished first to know if the daughter lived ; if not, 
 you were the heir. If she did, you assured me you desired to 
 effect, through my mediation, some liberal compromise with 
 Alphonso, by which you would have sought to obtain his 
 restoration, provided he would 'leave you for life in possession 
 of the grant you hold from the crown. While these were 
 your objects, I did my best, ineffectual as it was, to obtain the 
 information required." 
 
 " And what made me lose so important, though so ineffectual 
 an ally? " asked the Count, still smiling; but a gleam that 
 belied the smile shot from his eye. 
 
 " What ! when you bade me receive and co-operate with the 
 miserable spies — the false Italians—whom you sent over, and 
 soek to entangle this poor exile, when found, in some rash 
 correspondence to be revealed to the court ; — ^when you sought 
 to seduce the daughter of the Count of Peschiera, the descen* 
 daiit of those who had ruled in Italy, into the informer^ 
 tiio corruptor, and the traitress; No, Giulio — ^then I recoiM^ 
 
J4 
 
 MY NOVEL - 01^^ 
 
 and then, fearful of your own sway over me, I retreated into 
 France. I liaYe answered you frankly.*' 
 
 The Count removed his hands from the shoulder on which 
 they had reclined so cordially. 
 
 " And this," said he, "is your wisdom, and this your grati- 
 tude. You, whose fortunes are bound up in mine — ^you, who 
 subsist on my bounty — ^you, who *' 
 
 " Hold,** cried the Marchesa, rising, and with a burst of 
 emotion, as if stung to the utmost, and breaking into revolt 
 from the tyranny of years-— "hold — 'gratitude! bounty! 
 Brother, brother — ^what, indeed, do I owe to you ? The shame 
 and the misery of a life. While yet a child, you condemned 
 me to marry against my will— against my heart — against jny 
 prayers — and laughed at my tears when I knelt to you for 
 mercy. I was pure then, Giulio — pure and innocent as the 
 flowers in my virgin crown. And now— now- — " 
 
 Beatrice stopped abruptly, and clasped her hands before her 
 face. 
 
 " Now you upbraid me,'* said the Count, unruffled by her 
 sudden passion, "because I gave you in marriage to a man 
 young and noble ? '* 
 
 " Old in vices, and mean of soul ! The marriage I forgave 
 you. You had the right, according to the customs of our 
 country, to dispose of my hand. But I forgave you not the 
 consolations that you whispered in the ear of a wretched and 
 insulted wife*" 
 
 " Pardon me the remark," replied the Count, with a courtly 
 bend of his head, "but those consolations were also conformable 
 to the customs of our country, and I was not aware till now that 
 you had wholly disdained them. And," continued the Count, 
 ^ you were not so long a wife that the gall of the chain should 
 smart still. You were soon left a widow — ^free, childless, 
 young, beautiful." 
 
 " And penniless." 
 
 " True J Di ISTegra was a gambler^ and very unlucky ; no 
 fault of mine* I could neither keep the cards from his hands, 
 nor advise him how to play them." 
 
 "And my own portion? Oh Giulio, I knew but at hia 
 death why you had condemned me to that renegade Grenoese. 
 He owed you money, and, against honour, and 1 believe against 
 law, you had accepted my fortune in discharge of the debt." 
 
 " He had no other way to discharge it — a debt of honour 
 must be paid — old stories these. "W bat matters ? Since then 
 my purse has been open to you." 
 
VARIETIES ENaLTSH LIFE. 
 
 15 
 
 ' " Yes, not as your sister^ but your instrument^ — ycur spy ! 
 \fes, your purse has been open — with a niggard band/' 
 
 " Un jpeu de <ionscienGe, ma chere, you are so extravagant. 
 "Bat come, be plain. What would you ? 
 
 " I would be free from you." 
 
 " That is, you would form some second marriage with one of 
 these rich island lords. Mafoi, I respect your ambition," 
 
 "It is not so high* I aim but to escape from slavery — to 
 be placed beyond dishonourable temptation. I desire," cried 
 Beatrice, with increased emotion — "I desire to re-enter the 
 life of woman." 
 
 " Eno' ! " said the Count, witb. a visible impatience ; is there 
 anything in the attainment of your object that should render 
 you indifferent to mine ? You desire to marry, if I compre- 
 hend you right. And to marry, as becomes you, you should 
 bring to your husband not debts, but a dowry. Be it so. I 
 will restore the portion that I saved from the spendthrift 
 clutch of the Grenoese — the moment that it is mine to bestow 
 — the moment that I am husband to my kinsman's heiress. 
 And now, Beatrice, you imply that my former notions revolted 
 your conscience ; my present plan should content it ; for by 
 this marriage shall our kinsman regain his country, and 
 repossess, at least, half his lands. And if I am not an excellent 
 husband to the demoiselle, it will be her own fault. I have sown 
 my wild oats. Je suis hon prince, when I have things a little my 
 own way. It is my hope and my intention, and certainly it 
 will be my interest, to become cligne Sjjoiix et irreprochable ^ere 
 defamille. I speak lightly — 'tis my way. I mean seriously. 
 The little girl will be very happy with me, and I shall succeed 
 in soothing all resentment her father may retain. Will you 
 9,id me then — yes or no ? Aid me, and you shall indeed be 
 free. The magician will release the fair spirit he has bound to 
 his will. Aid me not, Qna chere, and mark, I do not threaten — 
 I do but warn — aid me not ; grant that I become a beggar, 
 and ask yourself what is to become of you— still young, still 
 beautiful, and still penniless ? I^ay, worse than penniless ; 
 you have done me the honour, (and here the Count, looking 
 on the table, drew a letter from a portfolio emblazoned with 
 his arms and coronet,) you have done me the honour to con- 
 sult me as to your debts." 
 
 " You will restore my fortune ? " said the Marchesa, irreso- 
 lutely — and averting her bead from an odious schedule of figures* 
 
 " When my own, with your aid, is secured." 
 
 " But do you not overrate the value of my aid ? " 
 
16 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Possibly," said tlie Count, with a caressing suavity — ami 
 lie kissed his sister's forehead. " Possibly ; but, by my honour, 
 I wish to repair to you any wrong, real or supposed, I may 
 have done you in past times. I wish to find again my own 
 dear sister. I may over- value your aid, but not the affection 
 from which it comes. Let us be friends, carcu 'Beatrice micu^^ 
 added the Count, for the first time employing Italian words. 
 
 The Marchesa laid her head on his shoulder and her tears 
 flowed softly. Evidently this man had great influence over 
 her — and evidently, whatever her cause for complaint, her 
 affection for him was still sisterly and strong. A nature with 
 fine flashes of generosity, spirit, honour, and passion, was hers 
 — but uncultured, unguided — spoilt by the worst social exam- 
 ples — easily led into wrong — not always aware where the 
 wrong was — ^letting affections good or bad whisper away her 
 conscience or blind her reason. Such women are often far 
 more dangerous when induced to wrong, than those who are 
 thoroughly abandoned — such women are the accomplices men 
 like the Count of Peschiera most desire to obtain. 
 
 " Ah, Giulio," said Beatrice, after a pause, and looking up 
 at him through her tears, " when you speak to me thus, you 
 know you can do with me what you will. Fatherless and 
 motherless, whom had my childhood to love and obey but you ? " 
 
 "Dear Beatrice," murmured the Count tenderly — and he 
 again kissed her forehead. " So," he continued, more care- 
 lessly — " so the reconciliation is effected, and our interests and 
 our hearts re-allied. Now, alas ! to descend to business. You 
 say that you know some one whom you believe to be ac- 
 quainted with the lurking-place of my father-in-law — that is 
 to be ! '\ 
 
 ''I think so. You remind me that I have an appointment 
 with him this day : it is near the hour — I must leave you." 
 
 *' To learn the secret ? — Quick — quick. I have no fear of 
 your success, if it is by his heart that you lead him ! " 
 
 " You mistake ; on his heart I have no hold. But he has a 
 friend who loves me, and honourably, and whose cause he 
 pleads. I think here that I have some means to control or 
 persuade him. If not — ah, he is of a character that perplexes 
 me in all but his worldly ambition ; and how can we foreigners 
 influence him through fhat .^" 
 
 " Is he poor, or is he extravagant ? " 
 
 " l^ot extravagant, and not positively poor, but dependent.*' 
 " Then we have him," said the Count, composedly. "If his 
 assistance worth buying, we can bid high for it. Swr rion 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 L7 
 
 dme, I never yet knew money fail witli any man wlio was both 
 worldly and dependent. I put Mm and myself in your 
 hands." 
 
 Thns saying, tlie Count opened the door, and conducted liia 
 sister with formal politeness to her carriage. He then 
 returned, reseated himself, and mused in silence. As he did 
 so, the muscles of his countenance relaxed. The levity of 
 the Frenchman fled from his visage, and in his eye, as it 
 gazed abstractedly into space, there was that steady depth so 
 remarkable in the old portraits of Florentine diplomatist or 
 Venetian Oligarch. Thus seen, there was in that face, despite 
 all its beauty, something that would have awed back even 
 the fond gaze of love ; something hard, collected, inscrutable, 
 remorseleps. Bat this change of countenance did not last 
 long. Evidently thought, though intense for the moment, 
 was not habitual to the man. Evidently he had lived the life 
 which takes all things lightly — so he rose with a look of 
 fatigue, shook and stretched himself, as if to cast o&, or grow 
 out of, an unwelcome and irksome mood. An hour afterwards, 
 the Coimtof Peschiera was charming all eyes, and pleasing all 
 ears, in the saloon of a high-born beauty, whose acquaintance 
 he had made at Yienna, and whose charms, according to that 
 old and never-truth- speaking oracle. Polite Scandal, were now 
 'laid to have attracted to London the brilliant foreigner. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Marchesa regained her house, which was in Curzon 
 Street, and withdrew to her own room, to readjust her dress, 
 and remove from her countenance all trace of the tears she 
 had shed. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards she was seated in her drawing- 
 room, composed and calm ; nor, seeing her then, could you 
 have guessed that she was capable of so much emotion and so 
 much weakness. In that stately exterior, in that quiet atti- 
 tude, in that elaborate and finished elegance which comes alike 
 from the arts of the toilet and the conventional repose of rank, 
 you could see but the woman of the world and the great 
 lady. 
 
 A knock at the door was heard, and in a few moments 
 there entered a visitor, with the easy familiarity of intimate 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
18 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 acquaintance — a young man, but with, none of tlie bloom of 
 youtli. His bair, fine as a woman's, was tbin and scanty, but 
 it fell low over tbe f orebead, and concealed tbat noblest of our 
 human features. "A gentleman,'^ says Apuleius, " ought to wear 
 his whole mind on his forehead."* The young visitor would 
 never have committed so frank an imprudence. His cheek 
 was pale, and in his step and his movements there was a 
 languor that spoke of fatigued nerves or delicate health. But 
 the light of the eye and the tone of the voice were those of a 
 mental temperament controlling the bodily — vigorous and 
 energetic. For the rest, his general appearance was distin- 
 guished by a refinement alike intellectual and social. Once 
 seen, you would not easily forget him. And the reader, no 
 doubt, already recognises Randal Leslie. His salutation, as I 
 before said, was that of intimate familiarity ; yet it was given 
 and replied to with that unreserved openness which denotes 
 the absence of a more tender sentiment. 
 
 Seating himself by the Marchesa*s side, Randal began first 
 to converse on the fashionable topics and gossip of the day ; 
 but it was observable that while he extracted from her the 
 current anecdote and scandal of the great world, neither 
 anecdote nor scandal did he communicate in return. Randal 
 Leslie had already learned the art not to commit himself, nor 
 to have quoted against him one ill-natured remark upon the 
 eminent. Nothing more injures the man who would rise 
 beyond the fame of the salons, than to be considered backbiter 
 and gossip ; " yet it is always useful," thought Randal Leslie, 
 " to know the foibles — the small social and jDrivate springs 
 by which the great are moved. Critical occasions may arise 
 in which such knowledge may be power." And hence, per- 
 haps, (besides a more private motive, soon to be perceived,) 
 Randal did not consider his time thrown away in cultivating 
 Madame di Negra's friendship. For, despite much that was 
 whispered against her, she had succeeded in dispelling the 
 coldness with which she had at first been received in the 
 London circles. Her beauty, her grace, and her high birth, 
 had raised her into fashion, and the homage of men of the first 
 station, while it perhaps injured her reputation as woman, 
 added to her celebrity as fine lady. So much do we cold 
 English, prudes though we be, forgive to the foreigner what 
 we avenge on the native. 
 
 Sliding at last from these general topics into very well-bred 
 
 * **Hommem liberum et magnificum debere, si queat, in primori fronte, 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 19 
 
 and elegant personal compliment, and reciting various eulogies, 
 wliicli Lord this and the Duke of that had passed on the 
 Marchesa^s charms, Bandal laid his hand on hers, with the 
 license of admitted friendship, and said — 
 
 "But since you have deigned to confide in me, since when 
 (happily for me, and with a generosity of which no coquette 
 could have been capable) you, in good time, repressed into 
 friendship feelings that might else have ripened into those you 
 are formed to inspire and disdain to return, you told me with 
 your charming smile, ' Let no one speak to me of love who 
 does not ofEer me his hand, and with it the means to supply 
 tastes that I fear are terribly extravagant f — since thus you 
 allowed me to divine your natural objects, and upon that 
 understanding our intimacy has been founded, you will pardon 
 me for saying that the admiration you excite amongst these 
 grands seigneurs I have named, only serves to defeat your own 
 purpose, and scare away admirers less brilliant, but more in 
 earnest. Most of these gentlemen are unfortunately married ; 
 and they who are not belong to those members of our aristo- 
 cracy who, in marriage, seek more than beauty and wit — 
 namely, connexions to strengthen their political station, or 
 wealth to redeem a mortgage and sustain a title." 
 
 "My dear Mr. Leslie," replied the Marchesa — and a certain 
 sadness might be detected in the tone of the voice and the droop 
 of the eye — " I have lived long enough in the real world to 
 appreciate the baseness and the falsehood of most of those 
 sentiments which take the noblest names. I see through the 
 hearts of the admirers you parade before me, and know that not 
 one of them would shelter with his ermine the woman to whom- 
 he talks of his heart. Ah," continued Beatrice, with a soft- 
 ness of which she was unconscious, but which might have been 
 extremely dangerous to youth less steeled and self-guarded 
 than was Bandal Leslie's — Ah, I am less ambitious than 
 you suppose, I have dreamed of a friend, a companion, 
 a protector, with feelings still fresh, undebased by the low 
 round of vulgar dissipation and mean pleasures — of a heart so 
 new, that it might restore my own to what it was in its happy 
 spring. I have seen in your country some marriages, the mere 
 contemplation of which has filled my eyes with delicious tears 
 I have learned in England to know the value of home. And 
 with such a heart as I describe, and such a home, I could 
 forget that I ever knew a less pure ambition." 
 
 " This language does not surprise me," said Bandal | " yet 
 it diom BQi^ hu^Tmonim with jouv f om©r answer to me." 
 
20 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " To yon," repeated Beatrice, smiling, and regaining her 
 Hgliter manner : "to you — true. Bnt I never had the vanifcy 
 to think that your affection for me could bear the sacrifices it 
 would cost you in marriage ; that you, with your ambition, 
 could bound your dreams of happiness to home. And then, 
 too," said she, raising her head, and with a certain grave pride 
 in her air — " and then, I could not have consented to share my 
 fate with one whom my poverty would cripple. I could not 
 listen to my heart, if it had beat for a lover without fortune, 
 for to him I could then have brought but a burden, and be- 
 trayed him into a union with poverty and debt. Notv, it may 
 be different. Now I may have the dowry that befits my birth. 
 And now I may be free to choose according to my heart as 
 woman, not according to my necessities, as one poor, harassed, 
 and despairing." 
 
 "Ah," said Randal, interested, and drawing still closer to- 
 wards his fair companion — " ah, I congratulate you sincerely ; 
 you have cause, then, to think that you shall be — rich ? '* 
 
 The Marchesa paused before she answered, and during that 
 pause Randal relaxed the web of the scheme which he had 
 been secretly weaving, and rapidly considered whether, if 
 Beatrice di Negra would indeed be rich, she might answer to 
 himself as a wife ; and in what way, if so, he had best change 
 his tone from that of friendship into that of love. While thus 
 reflecting, Beatrice answered — 
 
 "Not rich for an Englishwoman; for an Italian, yes. My 
 fortune should be half, a million — " 
 
 " Half a million ! " cried Bandal, and with difficulty he 
 restrained himself from falling at her feet in adoration. 
 
 " Of francs ! " continued the Marchesa. 
 
 "Francs! Ah," said Bandal, with a long-drawn breath, 
 and recovering from his sudden enthusiasm, " about twenty 
 thousand pounds ? — eight hundred a-year at four per cent. A 
 very handsome portion, certainly (Genteel poverty! he mur- 
 mured to himself. What an escape I have had ! but I see — I 
 see. This will smooth all difficulties in the way of my better 
 and earlier project. I see) — a very handsome portion," he 
 repeated aloud — " not for a grand seigneior, indeed, but still for 
 a gentleman of birth and expectations worthy of your choice, 
 if ambition be not your first object. Ah, while you spoke with 
 such endearing eloquence of feelings that were fresh, of a heart 
 that was new, of the happy English home, you might guess 
 that my thoughts ran to my friend who loves you so devotedly, 
 and who so realises your idol. Proverbially, with us, happy 
 
VARIETIES IN EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 21 
 
 marriages and liappy liomes are found not in the gay circles of 
 London fashion, bnt at the hearths of our rural nobility — our 
 Tintitled country gentlemen. And who, amongst all your 
 adorers, can offer you a lot so really enviable as the one whom, 
 I see by your blush, you already guess that I refer to ? " 
 
 " Did I blush ? " said the Marchesa, with a silvery laugh. 
 " N'ay, I think that your zeal for your friend misled you. But 
 I will own frankly, I have been touched by his honest in- 
 genuous love — so evident, yet rather looked than spoken. I 
 have contrasted the love that honours me with the suitors that 
 seek to degrade ; more I cannot say. For though I grant that 
 your friend is handsome, high-spirited, and generous, still he 
 is not what — " 
 
 "You mistake, believe me," interrupted Randal. "You 
 shall not finish your sentence. He is all that jou. do not yet 
 suppose him ; for his shyness, and his very love, his very 
 respect for your superiority, do not allow his mind and his 
 nature to appear to advantage. You, it is true, have a taste 
 for letters and poetry rare among your countrywomen. He 
 has not at present — few men have. But what Cimon would 
 not be refined by so fair an Iphigenia ? Such frivolities as he 
 now shows belong but to youth and inexperience of life. 
 Happy the brother who could see his sister the wife of Frank 
 Hazeldean." 
 
 The Marchesa leant her cheek on her hand in silence. To 
 her, marriage was more than it usually seems to dreaming 
 maiden or to disconsolate widow. So had the strong desire 
 to escape from the control of her unprincipled and remorseless 
 brother grown a part of her very soul — so had whatever was 
 best and highest in her very mixed and complex character 
 been galled and outraged by her friendless and exposed posi- 
 tion, the equivocal worship rendered to her beauty, the various 
 debasements to which pecuniary embarrassments had sub- 
 jected her — (not without design on the part of the Count, who 
 though grasping, was not miserly, and who by precarious and 
 seemingly capricious gifts at one time, and refusals of all aid 
 at another, had involved her in debt in order to retain his hold 
 on her) — so utterly painful and humiliating to a woman of 
 her pride and her birfch was the station that she held in the 
 world — -that in marriage she saw liberty, life, honour, self* 
 redemption ; and these thoughts, while they compelled her to 
 co-operate with the schemes, by which the Count, on securing 
 to himself a bride, was to bestow on herself a dower, also dis* 
 
22 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 posed her now to receive witli favour Randal Leslie's pleadings 
 on belialf of his friend. 
 
 The advocate saw that he had made an impression, and with 
 the marvellous skill which his knowledge of those natures that 
 engaged his studj bestowed on his intelligence, he continued 
 to improve his cause by such representations as were likelj to 
 be most effective. "With what admirable tact he avoided 
 panegyric of Frank as the mere individual, and drew him 
 rather as the type, the ideal of what a woman in Beatrice's 
 position might desire, in the safety, peace, and honour of a 
 home, in the trust, and constancy, and honest confiding love 
 of its partner ! He did not paint an elysium ; he described 
 a haven; he did not glowingly delineate a hero of romance — • 
 he soberly portrayed that Representative of the Respectable 
 and the Real which a woman turns to when romance begins 
 to seem to her but delusion. Yerily, if you could have looked 
 into the heart of the person he addressed, and heard him speak, 
 you would have cried admiringly, " Knowledge is power ; and 
 this man, if as able on a larger field of action, should play no 
 mean part in the history of his time." 
 
 Slowly Beatrice roused herself from the reveries which 
 crept over her as he spoke — slowly, and with a deep sigh, and 
 said — 
 
 " Well, well, grant all you say ; at least before I can listen 
 to so honourable a love, I must be relieved from the base and 
 sordid pressure that weighs on me. I cannot say to the man 
 who woos me, * Will you pay the debts of the daughter of 
 Franzini, and the widow of di l!Tegra ? ' " 
 
 " ISTay, your debts, surely, make so slight a portion of your 
 dowry." 
 
 " But the dowry has to be secured ; " and here, turning the 
 tables upon her companion, as the apt proverb expresses it, 
 Madame di ISTegra extended her hand to Randal, and said in 
 fche most winning accents, "You are, then, truly and sincerely 
 my friend ? " 
 
 " Can you doubt it ? " 
 
 " I prove that I do not, for I ask your assistance." 
 *'Mine? How?" 
 
 " Listen ; my brother has arrived in London — -" 
 " I see that arrival announced in the papers." 
 " And he comes, empowered by the consent of the Emperor, 
 fco ask the hand of a relation and countrywoman of his ; an 
 alliance that will hea] long family dissensions, and add to his 
 own fortunes those of an heiress. My brother, like my^telf, has 
 
VAEIETIES IN EISTGLISH LIFE. 
 
 been extravagant. Tlie dowry whicli by law be still owes me it 
 would distress bim to pay till tbis marriage be assured.'^ 
 
 "I understand," said Eandal. "But bow can I aid tbia 
 marriage ? " 
 
 " By assisting us to discover tbe bride. Sbe, witb ber 
 fatber, sougbt refuge and concealment in England." 
 
 " The fatber bad, tben, taken part in some political dis- 
 affections, and was proscribed ? " 
 
 " Exactly ; and so well bas be concealed bimself, tbat be bas 
 baffled all our efforts to discover bis retreat. My brotber can 
 obtain bim bis pardon in cementing tbis alliance — " 
 
 " Proceed." 
 
 " Ab, Randal, E>andal, is tbis tbe frankness of friendsbip ? 
 You know tbat I bave before sougbt to obtain tbe secret of our 
 relation's retreat — sougbt in vain to obtain it from Mr. 
 Egerton, wbo assuredly knows it — " 
 
 "But wbo communicates no secrets to living man," said 
 Randal, almost bitterly ; " wbo, close and compact as iron, is 
 as little malleable to me as to you." 
 
 " Pardon me. I know you so well tbat I believe you could 
 attain to any secret you sougbt earnestly to acquire. Nay, 
 more, I believe tbat you know already tbat secret wbicb I ask 
 you to sbare witb me." 
 
 " Wbat on eartb makes you tbink so ? " 
 
 " Wben, some weeks ago, you asked me to describe tbe per- 
 sonal appearance and manners of tbe exile, wbicb I did partly 
 from tbe recollections of my cbildbood, partly from tbe descrip- 
 tion given to me by otbers, I could not but notice your 
 countenance, and remark its change ; in spite," said the 
 Marcbesa, smiling, and watching Randal while she spoke — ■ 
 " in spite of your habitual self-command. And when I pressed 
 you to own that you bad actually seen some one wbo tallied 
 with that description, your denial did not deceive me. Still 
 more, wben returning recently, of your own accord, to the 
 subject, you questioned me so shrewdly as to my motives in 
 seeking the clue to our refugees, and 1 did not tben an? 7f er you 
 satisfactorily, I could detect — " 
 
 " Ha, ha," interrupted Randal witb tbe low soft laugh by 
 which occasionally he infringed upon Lord Chesterfield's re- 
 commendations to shun a merriment so natural as to be ill- 
 bred — " Ha, ha, you bave the fault of all observers too minute 
 and refined. But even granting tbat I may bave seen som(j 
 Italian exiles^ (wbicb is likely enough,) wbat could be mor^ 
 natural than my seeking to compare your description with 
 
MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 their appearance ; and granting tliat I miglit suspect some one 
 amongst them to be tlie man yon searcli for, wliat more natural 
 also, than that I should desire to know if you meant him harm 
 or good in discovering his 'whereabout?' For ill," added 
 Randal, with an air of prudery — " ill would it become me to 
 "betray, even to friendship, the retreat of one who would hide 
 from persecntion ; and even if I did so — for honour itself is a 
 weak safeguard against yonr fascinations — such indiscretion 
 might be fatal to my future career." 
 "How?" 
 
 " Do yon not say that Egerton knows the secret, yet will 
 not communicate ? — and is he a man who would ever forgive 
 in me an imprudence that committed himself? My dear 
 friend, I will tell yon more. When Audley Egerton first 
 noticed my growing intimacy with you, he said, with his 
 nsual dryness of counsel, ' Randal, I do not ask yon to 
 discontinue acquaintance with Madame di Negra — for an 
 acquaintance with women like her forms the manners, and 
 refines the intellect ; but charming women are dangerous, and 
 Madame di ISTegra is — a charming woman." 
 
 The Marchesa's face flushed. Randal resumed : ' Your fair 
 acquaintance ' (I am still quoting Egerton) ' seeks to discover 
 the home of a countryman of hers. She suspects that I know 
 ib. She may try to learn it through you. Accident may 
 possibly give you the information she requires. Beware how 
 yon betray it. By one such weakness I should judge of your 
 general character. He from whom a woman can extract a 
 secret will never be fit for public life.' Therefore, my dear 
 Marchesa, even supposing I jDOSsess this secret, yon would be 
 no true friend of mine to ask me to reveal what would imperil 
 all my prospects. For as yet," added Randal, with a gloomy 
 shade on his brow — " as yet, I do not stand alone and erect — 
 I lean; — I am dependent." 
 
 " There may be a way," replied Madame di l^egra, per- 
 sisting, " to communicate this intelligence, without the possi- 
 bility .>f Mr. Egerton's tracing onr discovery to yourself; and, 
 though I will not press you farther, I add this — You urge me 
 to accept your friend's hand; yon seem interested in the 
 success of his suit, and you plead it with a warmth that shows 
 how much yon regard what you suppose is his happiness ; I 
 will never accept his hand till I can do so without blush for 
 my penury — till my dowry is secured, and that can only be 
 by my brother's union with the exile's daughter. For your 
 friend's sake, therefore, think well how you can aid me in the 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 25 
 
 first step to that alliance. The young lady once discovered, 
 and my brother has no fear for the success of his suit.'* 
 
 ■ ' And you would marry Frank if the dower was secured ? " 
 
 " Your arguments in his fayour seem irresistible," replied 
 Beatrice, looking down. 
 
 A flash went from Randal's eyes, and he mused a few 
 iftoments. 
 
 Then slowly rising and drawing on his gloves, he said — 
 
 "Well, at least you so far reconcile my honour towards 
 aiding your research, that you now inform me you mean no 
 ill to the exile." 
 
 " 111 ! — the restoration to fortune, honours, his native land." 
 
 " And you so far enlist my heart on your side, that you 
 inspire me with the hope to contribute to the happiness of two 
 friends whom I dearly love. I will, therefore, diligently try 
 to ascertain if, among the refugees I have met with, lurk those 
 whom you seek ; and if so, I will thoughtfully consider how 
 to give you the clue. Meanwhile, not one incautious word to 
 Egerton." 
 
 " Trust me — I am a woman of the world." 
 Randal now had gained the door. He paused, and renewed 
 carelessly — 
 
 " This young lady must be heiress to great wealth, to 
 induce a man of your brother's rank to take so much pains 
 to discover her." 
 
 " Her wealth will be vast," replied the Marchesa; "and if 
 anything from wealth or influence in a foreign state could be 
 permitted to prove my brother's gratitude — " 
 
 " Ah, fie ! " interrupted Randal ; and, approaching Madame 
 di ITegra, he lifted her hand to his lips, and said gallantly — 
 
 " This is reward enough to jour preux chevalier,^* 
 
 With those words he took his leave. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 With his hands behind him, and his head drooping on his 
 breast — slow, stealthy, noiseless, Randal Leslie glided along 
 the streets on leaving the Italian's house. Across the scheme 
 he had before revolved, there glanced another yet more 
 glittering, for its gain might be more sure and immediate. If 
 the exile's daughter were heiress to such wealth, might he 
 
26 
 
 MY novel; on, 
 
 himself liope — — . He stopped short eyen in Ms own 
 soliloquy, and his breath came quick. ISTow, in his last visit 
 to Hazeldean, he had come in contact with Riccabocca, and 
 been struck by the beauty of Yiolante. A vague suspicion 
 had crossed him that these might be the persons of whom the 
 Marchesa was in search, and the suspicion had been confirmed 
 by Beatrice's description of the refugee she desired to dis- 
 cover. But as he had not then learned the reason for her 
 inquiries, nor conceived the possibility that he could have any 
 personal interest in ascertaining the truth, he had only classed 
 the secret in question among those the farther research into 
 which might be left to time and occasion. Certainly the 
 reader will not do the unscrupulous intellecfc of Bandal Leslie 
 the injustice to suppose that he was deterred from confiding 
 to his fair friend all that he knew of Biccabocca, by the 
 refinement of honour to which he had so chivalrously alluded. 
 He had correctly stated Audley Egerton's warning against 
 any indiscreet confidence, though he had forborne to mention 
 a more recent and direct renewal of the same caution. His 
 first vist to Hazeldean had been paid without consulting 
 Egerton. He had been passing some days at his father's 
 house, and had gone over thence to the Squire's. On his 
 return to London, he had, however, mentioned this visit to 
 Audley, who had seemed annoyed and even displeased at it, 
 though Randal knew sufficient of Egerton' s character to guess 
 that such feelings could scarce be occasioned merely by his 
 estrangement from his half-brother. This dissatisfaction had, 
 therefore, puzzled the young man. But, as it was necessary 
 fco his views to establish intimacy vnth the Squire, he did not 
 yield the point with his customary deference to his patron's 
 whims. Accordingly he observed, thab he should be very 
 sorry to do anything displeasing to his benefactor, but that 
 his father had been naturally anxious that he should not 
 appear positively to slight the friendly overtures of Mr. 
 Hazeldean. 
 
 "Why naturally ? " asked Egerton. 
 
 " Because you know that Mr. Hazeldean is a relation of 
 mine — that my grandmother was a Hazeldean." 
 
 *' Ah ! " said Egerton, who, as it has been before said, knew 
 little and cared less, about the Hazeldean pedigree, "I was 
 either not awa,re of that circumstance, or had forgotten it. 
 And your father thinks that the Squire may leave you a 
 legacy ? " 
 
 " Gh, sir, ray father is not so mercenary — such an idea never 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 entered Ms head. But tlie Squire HmseU lias indeed said-— 
 * Why-, if anything happened to Erank, you would be next heir 
 to my lands, and therefore we ought to know each other/ 
 But— 
 
 " Enough," interrupted Egerton. " I am the last man to 
 pretend to the right of standing between you and a single 
 chance of fortune, or of aid to it. And whom did you meet 
 at Hazeldean? " 
 
 " There was no one there, sir ; not even Erank." 
 
 " Hum. Is the Sqaire not on good terms with his parson ? 
 Any quarrel about tithes ? " 
 
 "Ob, no quarrel. I forgot Mr. Dale; I saw him pretty 
 often. He admires and praises you very much, sir." 
 
 " Me — and why ? What did he say of me ? " 
 
 " That your heart was as sound as your head; that he had 
 once seen yoa about some old parishioners of his, and that he 
 had been much impressed with the depth of feeling he could 
 not have anticipated in a man of the world, and a statesman," 
 
 " Oh, that was all ; some affair when I was member for 
 Lansmere ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 Here the conversation had broken off ; but the next time 
 Randal was led to visit the Squire he had formally asked 
 Egerton's consent, who, after a moment's hesitation, had as 
 formally replied, " I have no objection." 
 
 On returning from this visit, Randal mentioned that be 
 had seen Riccabocca : and Egerton, a little startled at first, 
 said, composedly, " Doubtless one of the political refugees ; 
 take care not to set Madame di ISTegra on his track. Re- 
 member, she is suvspected of being a spy of the Austrian 
 government." 
 
 " Rely on me, sir," said Randal; " but I should think this 
 poor Doctor can scarcely be the person she seeks to discover." 
 
 "That is no affair of ours," answered Egerton: "we are 
 English gentlemen, and make not a step towards the secrets 
 of another." 
 
 Now, when Randal revolved this rather ambiguous answer, 
 and recalled the uneasiness with which Egerton had first heard 
 of his visit to Hazeldean, he thought that he was indeed near 
 the secret which Egerton desired to conceal from him and 
 from all — viz., the incognito of the Italian whom Lord 
 L'Estrange had taken under his protection. 
 
 " My cards," said Randal to himself, as with a deep-drawn 
 sigh he resumed his soliloquy, " are become difficult to play. 
 
28 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 On the one hand, to entangle Frank into marriage with this 
 foreigner, the Squire could never forgive him. On the other 
 hand, if she will not marry him without the dowry — and that 
 depends on her brother's wedding this countrywoman — and 
 that countrywoman be, as I surmise, Yiolante — and Yiolante 
 be this heiress, and to be won by me ! Tush, tush. Such 
 delicate scruples in a woman so placed and so constituted as 
 Beatrice di Negra must be easily talked away. Nay the loss 
 itself of this alliance to her brother, the loss of her own dowry 
 — the very pressure of poverty and debt — would compel her 
 into the sole escape left to her option. I will then follow up 
 the old plan ; I will go down to Hazeldean, and see if there be 
 any substance in the new one ; — and then to reconcile both. 
 Aha — the House of Leslie shall rise yet from its ruin — and — " 
 
 Here he was startled from his reverie by a friendly slap on 
 the shoulder, and an exclamation — Why, Randal, you are 
 more absent than when you used to steal away from the 
 cricket-ground, muttering Greek verses, at Eton." 
 
 " My dear Frank," said Randal, you — you are so hnisciue, 
 and I was just thinking of you." 
 
 "Were you? And kindly, then, I am sure," said Frank 
 Hazeldean, his honest, handsome face lighted up with the 
 unsuspecting genial trust of friendship ; " and heaven knows," 
 he added, with a sadder voice, and a graver expression on his 
 eye and lip, — Heaven knows I want all the kindness you can 
 give me ! " 
 
 I thought," said Randal, "that your father's last supply, 
 of which I was fortunate enough to be the bearer, would clear 
 off your more pressing debts. I don't pretend to preach, but 
 really I must say, once more, you should not be so extravagant." 
 
 Feank (seriously). — " I have done my best to reform. I 
 have sold off my horses, and I have not touched dice nor card 
 these six months ; I would not even put into the raffle for the 
 last Derby." This last was said with the air of a man who 
 doubted the possibility of obtaining belief to some assertion of 
 preternatural abstinence and virtue. 
 
 Randal. — " Is it possible ? But, with such self-conquest, 
 how is it that you cannot contrive to live within the bounds 
 of a very liberal allowance ? " 
 
 Frank (despondingly). — "Why, when a man once gets his 
 head under water, it is so hard to float back again on the 
 surface. You see, I attribute all ray embarrassments to that 
 first concealment of my debts from my father, when they 
 
VAUIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 29 
 
 could have been so easily met, and wlien lie came up to town 
 so kindly." 
 
 " I am sorry, then, that I gave yon that advice." 
 
 Oh, yon meant it so kindly, I don't reproach you ; it was 
 all my own fault." 
 
 Why, indeed, I did urge you to pay o& that moiety of 
 your debts left unpaid, with your allowance. Had yon done 
 so, all had been well." 
 
 " Yes ; but poor Borrowell got into such a scrape at Grood- 
 wood — I could not resist him ; a debt of honour — that must 
 be paid ; so when I signed another bill for him, he cou.ld not 
 pay it, poor fellow ! Really he would have shot himself, if I 
 had not renewed it. And now it is swelled to such an amount 
 with that cursed interest, that he never can pay it ; and one 
 bill, of course, begets another — and to be renewed every three 
 months ; 'tis the devil and all ! So little as I ever got for all I 
 have borrowed," added Frank, with a kind of rueful amaze. 
 "l!^ot£1500 ready money; and the interest would cost me 
 almost as much yearly — if I had it." 
 
 Only £1500"'! " 
 
 " Well — besides seven large chests of the worst cigars you 
 ever smoked, three pipes of wine that no one would drink ; 
 and a great bear that had been imported from G-reenland f oi 
 the sake of its grease." 
 
 " That should, at least, have saved you a bill with youi 
 hair-dresser." 
 
 " I paid his bill with it," said Frank, " and very good- 
 natured he was to take the monster off my hands — it had 
 already hugged two soldiers and one groom into the shape of 
 a flounder. I tell you what," resumed Frank, after a short 
 pause, have a great mind even now to tell my father 
 honestly all my embarrassments." 
 
 E.ANDAL (solemnly). — "Hum! '* 
 
 Feank. — "What? don't you think it would be the best 
 way ? I never can save enough — never can pay off what I owe ? 
 and it rolls like a snowball." 
 
 Handal. — "Judging by the Squire's talk, I think that with 
 the first sight of your affairs you would forfeit his favour for 
 ever ; and your mother would be so shocked, especially after 
 supposing that the sum I brought you so lately sufficed to pay 
 off every claim on yon. If you had not assured her of that 
 it might be different ; but she who so hates an untruth, and 
 who said to the Squire, ' Frank says this v/ill clear him ; and 
 with aU his faults, Frank never yet told a lie ! ^ 
 
80 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " oil, my dear motlier ! — I fancy I hear her ! *' cried Frank^ 
 witli deep emotion. " But I did not tell a lie, Randal ; I did 
 not say that that sum would clear me." 
 
 " You empowered and begged me to say so," replied Randal, 
 with grave coldness ; " and don't blame me if I believed yon." 
 
 " ISTo, no ! I only said it would clear me for the moment." 
 
 " I misunderstood you, then, sadly ; and such mistakes in' 
 volve my own honour. Pardon me, Frank ; don't ask my aid 
 in future. You see with the best intentions, I only compro- 
 mise myself.' 
 
 " If you forsake me, I may as well go and throw myself into 
 the river," said Frank, in a tone of despair ; " and sooner or 
 later, my father must know my necessities. The Jews threaten 
 to go to him already; and the longer the delay, the more 
 terrible the explanation." 
 
 "I don't see why your father should ever learn the state of 
 yonr affairs ; and it seems to me that you could pay off these 
 usurers, and get rid of these bills, by raising money on com- 
 paratively easy terms — " 
 
 " How ? cried Frank, eagerly. 
 
 " Why, the Casino property is entailed on you, and you 
 might obtain a sum upon that, not to be paid till the property 
 becomes yours." 
 
 " At my poor father's death ? Oh, no — no ! I cannot bear 
 the idea of this cold-blooded calculation on a father's death. 
 I know it is not uncommon ; I know other fellows who have 
 done it, but they never had parents so kind as mine ; and even 
 in them it shocked and revolted me. The contemplating a 
 father's death, and profiting by the contemplation, — it seems a 
 kind of parricide : it is not natural, Randal. Besides, don't 
 you remember what the Grovernor said — he actually wept 
 while he said it — 'Never calculate on my death; I could not 
 bear that.' Oh, Randal, don't speak of it 1 " 
 
 " I respect your sentiments ; but still, all the post-obits you 
 could raise could not shorten Mr. Hazeldean's life by a day. 
 However, dismiss that idea ; we must think of some other 
 device. Ha, Frank! you are a handsome fellow, and your 
 expectations are great — why don't you marry some woman 
 with money? " 
 
 " Pooh ! " exclaimed Frank, colouring. You know, Randal, 
 that there is but one woman in the world I can ever think of; 
 and I love her so devotedly, that, though I was as gay as most 
 men bef ore^ I really feel as if the rest of her sex had lost ever^' 
 
YARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 3i 
 
 charm. I was passing throngli tlie street now — merely to 
 look up at her windows." 
 
 "You speak of Madame di Kegra? I have just left her. 
 Certainly she is two or three years older than you ; but if you 
 can get over that misfortune, why not marry her ? " 
 
 "Marry her! " cried Frank, in amaze, and all his colour fled 
 from his cheeks. "Marry her ! Are you serious ? " 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " But even if she, who is so accomplished, so admired — even 
 if she would accept me, she is, you know, poorer than myself. 
 She has told me so frankly. That woman has such a noble 
 heart ! and — and — my father would never consent, nor my 
 mother either. I know they would nqti,'* 
 
 " Because she is a foreigner ? " 
 
 "Yes — partly." 
 
 " Yet the Squire suffered his cousin to marry a foreigner." 
 
 " That was different. He had no control over Jemima ; and 
 a daughter-in-law is so different ; and my father is so English 
 in his notions; and Madame di Negra, you see, is altogether so 
 foreign. Her very graces would be against her in his eyes." 
 
 " I think you do both your parents injustice. A foreigner 
 of low birth — an actress or singer, for instance — of course 
 would be highly objectionable; but a woman, like Madame 
 di ISTegra, of such high birth and connexions — " 
 
 Frank shook his head. " I don't think the Grovernor would 
 care a straw about her connexions, if she were a king's 
 daughter. He considers all foreigners pretty much alike. 
 And then, you know" (Frank's voice sank into a whisper)-— 
 " you know that one of the very reasons why she is so dear to 
 me, would be an insuperable objection to the old-fashioneii 
 folks at home." 
 
 don't understand you, Frank." 
 
 " I love her the more," said young Hazeldean, raising his 
 front with a noble pride, that seemed to speak of his descent 
 from a race of cavaliers and gentlemen — " I love her the more 
 because the world has slandered her name— because I believe 
 her to be pure and wronged. But would they at the Hall — ■ 
 they who do not see with a lover's eyes — they who have all 
 the stubborn English notions about the indecorum and license 
 of Continental manners, and will so readily credit the worst ? 
 — Oh, no — I love, I cannot help it — ^but I have no hope." 
 
 "It is very possible that you may be right," exclaimed 
 Randal, as if struck and half convinced by his companion's 
 argument-*-" very possible s and certainly I think that th 
 
82 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 homely folks at tlie Hall would fret and fume at first, if tliey 
 heard you were married to Madame di ISTegra. Yet still, 
 when your father learned tliat you had done so, not from 
 passion alone, but to save him from all pecuniary sacrifice — to 
 clear yourself of debt — to — " 
 
 " What do you mean ? ex(^Iaimed Frank, impatiently. 
 
 " I have reason to know that Madame di ISTegra will have as 
 large a portion as your father could reasonably expect you to 
 receive with any English wife. And when this is properly stated 
 to the Squire, and the high position and rank of your wife fully 
 Dstablished and brought home to him-— for I must think tbat 
 these would tell, despite your exaggerated notions of his preju- 
 dices — and then, when he really sees Madame di Negra, and 
 can judge of her beauty and rare gifts, upon my word, I think, 
 Frank, that there would be no cause for fear. After all, too, 
 you are his only son. He will have no option but to forgive 
 you ; and I know how anxiously both your parents wish to see 
 you settled in life." 
 
 Frank's whole countenance became illuminated. " There is 
 no one who understands the Squire like you, certainly," 
 said he, with lively joy. *'He has the highest opinion of 
 your judgment. Aud you really believe you could smooth 
 matters? " 
 
 " I believe so; but I should be sorry to induce you to run 
 any risk ; and if, on cool consideration, you think that risk is 
 incurred, I strongly advise you to avoid all occasion of seeing 
 the poor Marchesa. Ah, you wince ; but I say it for her sake 
 as well as your own. First you must be aware, that, unless 
 you have serious thougbts of marriage, your attentions can 
 but add to the very rumours that, equally groundless, you so 
 feelingly resent ; and, secondly, because I don't think any 
 man has a right to win the a;ffections of a woman — especially 
 a woman who seems to me likely to love with her whole heart 
 and soul — merely to gratify his own vanity." 
 
 " Yanity ! Good heavens ! can you think so poorly of me ? 
 But as to the Marchesa's affections " continued Frank, with a 
 faltering voice, " do you really and honestly believe that they 
 are to be won by me ? " 
 
 " I fear lest they may be half won already," said Randal, 
 with a smile and a shake of the head ; but she is too proud to 
 let you see any effect you may produce on her, especially 
 when, as I take it for granted, you have never hinted at the 
 hope n)f obtaining her hand." 
 
 " I never till now conceived such a hope. Mv dear Randal, 
 
VAMETJIilS IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 38 
 
 all my cares liave yanislied — I tread upon air — I have a grea^ 
 mind to call on lier at once." 
 
 " Stay, stay," said Randal. "Let me giye yon a cantion. I 
 have jnst informed yon tliat Madame di E'egra will have, what 
 yon snspected not before, a fortune suitable to her birth. Any 
 abrupt change in your manner at present might induce her 
 to believe that you were influenced loj that intelligence." 
 
 "Ah ! " exclaimed Frank, stopping short, as if wounded to 
 the quick. " And I feel guilty— feel as if I ivas influenced by 
 that intelligence. So I am, too, when I reflect," he continued, 
 with a naivete that was half pathetic ; " but I hope she will 
 not be very rich — if so, I'll not call." 
 
 " Make your mind easy, it is but a portion of some twenty 
 or thirty thousand pounds, that would just suffice to discharge 
 all your debts, clear away all obstacle to your union, and in 
 return for which you could secure a more than adequate join- 
 ture and settlement on the Casino property, l^ow I am on 
 that head, I will be yet more communicative. Madame di 
 Negra has a noble heart, as you say, and told me herself, that, 
 until her brother on his arrival had assured her of this dovvry, 
 she would never have consented to marry you — never crippled 
 with her own embarrassments the man she loves. Ah ! with 
 what delight she will hail the thought of assisting you to win 
 back your father's heart! But be guarded meanwhile. And 
 now, Frank, what say you — would it not be well if I ran down 
 to Hazeldean to sound your parents ? It is rather inconvenient 
 to me, to be sure, to leave town just at present ; but I will do 
 more than that to render yon a smaller service. Yes, I'll go 
 to Rood Hall to-niorrow, and thence to Hazeldean. I am sure 
 your father will press me to stay, and I shall have ample 
 opportunities to judge of the manner in Avhich he would be 
 likely to regard your marriage with Madame di ll^Tegra — sup- 
 posing always it were properly put to him. We can then act 
 accordingly." 
 
 " My dear, dear Randal, how can I thank you ? If ever a 
 poor fellow like me can serve you in return — but that's 
 impossible." 
 
 " Why certainly, I will never ask you to be security to a bill 
 of mine," said Randal, laughing. " I practiiSe the economy I 
 preach." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Frank, with a groan, " that is because your 
 mind is cultivated — you have so many resources ; and all my 
 faults have come from idleness. If I had had anything to do on 
 a rainy day, I should n^v^er have got into these scrapes." 
 
 VOL. II. J[> 
 
MY KOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Oil! you will liave eiiGiigli to do some claj irianaglog jonr 
 property. Yi e wlio liaye no property must find one in know- 
 ledge. Adieu, my dear Frank — I must go home now. By tke 
 way, you liave never, by chance, spoken of tlie E/iccaboccas to 
 Madame di I^egra ? 
 
 " The Riccaboccas ? ISTo. That's well thought of. Ifc may 
 interest her to know that a relation of mine has married her 
 countryman. Yery odd that I never did mention it ; but, to 
 say truth, I really do talk bo little to her : she is so superior, 
 and I feel positively shy with her." 
 
 " Do me the favour, Frank," said Eandal, waiting patiently 
 till this reply ended — for he was devising all the time wliat 
 reason to give for his request — " never to allude to the Ricca- 
 boccas either to her or to her brother, to whom you are sure to 
 be presented." 
 
 " Why not allude to them ? " 
 
 Randal hesitated a moment. His invention was still at 
 fault, and, for a wonder, he thought it the best policy to go 
 pretty near the truth. 
 
 "Why, I will tell you. The Marchesa conceals nothing 
 from her brother, and he is one of the few Italians v/ho are in 
 high favour with the Austrian court." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "And I suspect that poor Dr. Riccabocca fled his country 
 from some mad experiment at revolution, and is still hiding 
 from the Austrian police." 
 
 " But they can't hurt him here," said Frank, with an 
 Englishman's dogged inborn conviction of the sanctity of his 
 native island. "I should like to see an Austria^n pretend to 
 dictate to us whom to receive and whom to reject." 
 
 Hum — that's true and constitutional, no doubt ; but Ricca- 
 bocca may have excellent reasons — and, to speak plainly, 1 
 know he Kas (perhaps as affecting the safety of friends in 
 Italy) — for preserving his incognito, and we are bound to 
 respect those reasons without inquiring further." 
 
 " Still I cannot think so meanly of Madame di E'egra," per- 
 sisted Frank (shrewd here, though credulous elsewhere, and 
 both from his sense of honour), " as to suppose that she would 
 decend to be a spy, and injure a poor countryman of her own, 
 who trusts to the same hospitality she receives herself at our 
 English hands. Oh ! if I thought that, I could not love her ! " 
 added Frank, with energy. 
 
 " Certainly you are right. But see in what a false position 
 you would place both her brother and herself. If they knew 
 
VARIETIES IK EKGLISH LIFE. 60 
 
 Bicccibocca's secret, and proclaimed it to tlie Austrian GoTern- 
 ment, as jon saj, it -would be cruel and mean ; but if tbey 
 knew it and concealed it, it might involve them botb in the most 
 serious consequences. You know the Austrian policy is pro- 
 verbipJly so jealous and tyrannical ? 
 
 " Well, tbe newspapers say so, certainly." 
 
 " And, in short, your discretion can do no harm, and your 
 indiscretion may. Therefore, give me your Vv^ord, Frank. I 
 can't stay to argue now." 
 
 "Til not allude to the E;iccaboccas, upon my honour," 
 answered Frank; "still, I am sure thpot they would be as safe 
 witli the Marchesa as with — — " 
 
 "I rely on your honour," interrupted Randal^ hastily, and 
 hurried off. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Towards the evening of the following day, Randal Leslie 
 walked slowly from a village in the main road (about two 
 miles from Rood Hall,) at which he had got out of the coach. 
 He passed through meads and cornfields, and by the skirts of 
 woods which had formerly belonged to his ancestors, but had 
 been long since alienated. He was alone amidst the haunts of 
 his boyhood, the scenes in 'which he had first invoked the 
 grand Spirit of Knowledge, to bid the Celestial Still One 
 minister to the commands o£ an earthly and turbulent ambi- 
 tion. He paused often in his path, especially when the 
 undulations of the ground gave a glimpse of the grey churcli 
 tower, or the gloomy firs that rose above the desolate wastes of 
 Rood. 
 
 " Here," thought Randal, with a softening eye — " here, 
 how often, comparing the fertility of the lands passed avi^ay 
 from the inheritance of my fathers, with the forlorn wilds 
 that are left to their mouldering hall — here, how often have I 
 said to myself — *I will rebuild the fortunes of my house.' 
 And straightway Toil lost its aspect of drudge, and grew 
 kingly, and books became as living armies to serve my 
 thought. Again — again — 0 thou haughty Past, brace and 
 strengthen me in the battle with the Future." His pale lips 
 writhed as he soliloquised, for his conscience spoke to him 
 while he thus addressed his will, and its voice was heard 
 raoro audibly in the quiet af the rural landscape, than amidst 
 
SB 
 
 MY KOTEL; OB, 
 
 tlie turmoil and din of that armed and sleepless camp which 
 we call a citj. 
 
 DoubtleKSS, though Ambition have objects more vast and 
 beneficent than the restoration of a name, — that in itself is 
 high and chivalrous, and appeals to a strong interest in the 
 human heart. But all emotions, and all ends, of a nobler 
 character, had seemed to filter themselves free from every 
 golden grain in passing through the mechanism of RandaFs 
 intellect, and came forth at last into egotism clear and un- 
 alloyed. ^Nevertheless, it is a strange truth that, to a man of 
 cultivated mind, however perverted and vicious, there are 
 vouchsafed gleams of brighter sentiments, irregular percep- 
 tions of moral beauty, denied to the brutal unreasoning 
 wickedness of uneducated villany — which perhaps ultimately 
 serve as his punishment — according to the old thought of the 
 satirist, that there is no greater curse than to perceive virtue 
 yet adopt vice. And as the solitary schemer walked slowly 
 on, and his childhood— innocent at least in deed — came 
 distinct before him through the halo of bygone dreams — ■ 
 dreams far purer than those from which he now rose each 
 morning to the active world of Man — a profound, melancholy 
 crept over him, and suddenly he exclaimed aloud, Then I 
 aspired to be renowned and great — now, how is it that, so 
 advanced in my career, all that seemed lofty in the end has 
 vanished from me, and the only means that I contemplate are 
 those which my childhood would have called poor and vile ? 
 Ah ! is it that I then read but books, and now my knowledge 
 has passed onward, and men contaminate more than books ? 
 But," he continued, in a lower voice, as if arguing with him- 
 self, — " if power is only so to be won — and of what use is 
 knowledge if it be not power — does not success in life justify 
 all things ? And who prizes the wise man if he fails ? " He 
 continued his way, but still the soft tranquillity around rebuked 
 him, and still his reason was dissatisfied, as well as his con- 
 science. There are times when ISTature, like a bath of youth, 
 seems to restore to the jaded soul its freshness — times from 
 which some men have emerged, as if re-born. The crises of 
 life are very silent. Suddenly the scene opened on Randal 
 Leslie's eyes. The bare desert common — the dilapidated 
 church — the old house, partially seen in the dank dreary 
 hollow, into which it seemed to E-andal to have sunken deepei 
 and lowlier than when he saw it last. And on the common 
 were some young men playing at hockey. That old-fashioned 
 game, now very uncommon in England, except at schoolsi 
 
VARIETIES TN EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 3? 
 
 was still preserved in the primitive vicinity of Rood by the 
 young yoemen and farmers. Randal stood by the stile and 
 looked on, for among the players he recognized his brother 
 Oliver. Presently the ball was struck towards Oliver, and 
 the group instantly gathered round that young gentleman and 
 snatched him from Randal's eye ; but the elder brother heard 
 a displeasing din, a derisive laughter. Oliver had shrunk 
 from the danger of the thick clubbed sticks that plied around 
 him, and received some stroke across the legs, for his voice 
 rose whining, and was drowned by shouts of, " Gro to your 
 mammy. That's Noll Leslie — all over. Butter shins." 
 
 Randal's sallow face became scarlet. " The jest of boors — 
 a Leslie ! " he muttered, and ground his teeth. He sprang 
 over the stile and walked erect and haughtily across the 
 ground. The players cried out indignantly. Randal raised 
 his hat, and they recognised him, and stopped the game. For 
 him at least a certain respect was felt. Oliver turned round 
 quickly, and ran up to him. Randal caught his arm firmly, 
 and without saying a word to the rest, drew him away towards 
 the house. Oliver cast a regretful, lingering look behind him, 
 rubbed his shins, and then stole a timid glance towards 
 Randal's severe and moody countenance. 
 
 " You are not angry that I was playing at hocky with our 
 neighbours," said he deprecatingly, observing that Randal 
 would not break the silence. 
 
 " No," replied the elder brother ; " but, in associating with 
 his inferiors, a gentleman still knows how to maintain his 
 dignity. There is no harm in playing with inferiors, but it is 
 necessary to a gentleman to play so that he is not the laughing- 
 stock of clowns." 
 
 Oliver hung his head, and made no answer. They came 
 into the slovenly precincts of the court, and the pigs stared 
 at them from the palings, as their progenitors had stared, 
 years before, at Erank Hazeldean. 
 
 Mr. Leslie senior, in a shabby straw-hat, was engaged ia 
 feeding the chickens before the threshold, and he performed 
 even that occupation with a maundering lack-a-daisical sloth- 
 fulness, dropping down the grains almost one by one from his 
 inert dreamy fingers. 
 
 Randal's sister, her hair still and for ever hanging about 
 her ears, was seated on a rush-bottom chair, reading a tattered 
 novel ; and from the parlour window was heard the querulous 
 voice of Mrs. Leslie, in high fidget and complaint. 
 
 Somehow or other, as the young heir to ail this helpless 
 
88 
 
 MY NOVEL; 
 
 l^ovevty stood in the courtyard, with his isharp, refined, Intel, 
 ligent features, and his strange elegance of dress and aspect, 
 one better comprehended how, left solely to the egotism of his 
 knowledge and his ambition, in snch a family, and without 
 any of the sweet nameless lessons of Home, he had grown np 
 into snch close and secret solitude of soul— how the mind had 
 taken so little nutriment from the heart, and hov/ that aiffec- 
 tion and respect which the warm circle of the hearth usually 
 calls forth had passed with him to the graves of dead fathers, 
 growing, as it were, bloodless and ghoul-like amidst the 
 charnels on which they fed. 
 
 " Ha, Randal, boy," said Mr. Leslie, looking up, lazily, 
 '* how d'y^ do ? Who could have expected you ? My dear 
 ■ — my dear," he cried, in a broken voice, and as if in helpless 
 dismay, here's Eandal, and he'll be wanting dinner, or 
 supper, or something." But, in the meanwhile, Randal's 
 sister Juliet had sprung up and thrown her arms round her 
 brother's neck, and he had drawn her aside caressingly, for 
 Randal's strongest human affection was for this sister. 
 
 " You are growing very pretty, Juliet," said he, smoothing 
 hack her hair ; " why do yourself such injustice — why not 
 £5ay more attention to your appearance, as I have so often 
 begged you to do ? " 
 
 I did not expect you, dear Randal ; you always come vSO 
 suddenly, a^ud catch us en disli-a-hill.^^ 
 
 " Dish-abill! " echoed Randal, with a groan. Dishabilhl 
 — you ought never to be so caught ! " 
 
 " 'No one else does so catch us — nobody else ever comes — - 
 Heigho ! " and the young lady sighed very heartily. 
 
 " Patience, patience ; my day is coming, and then yours, 
 my sister," replied Randal, with genuine pity, as he gazed 
 upon what a little care could have trained into so fair a flower, 
 and what now looked so like a weed. 
 
 Here Mrs. Leslie, in a state of intense excitement — having 
 rushed through the parlour — leaving a fragment of her gown 
 between the yawning brass of the never-mended Brummagem 
 Wx^rk-table — tore across the hall — -whirled out of the door, 
 scattering the chickens to the right and left, and clutched 
 hold of Randal in her motherly embrace. " La, how you do 
 shake my nerves," she cried, after giving him a most hasty 
 and uncomforfcable kiss. " And you are hungry too, and 
 nothing in the house but cold mutton ! Jenny, Jenny — I say, 
 Jenny ! Juliet, have you seen Jenny ? Where's Jenny ? 
 Oat with the odd man, I'll be bound." 
 
VAIUSTIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 39 
 
 am not hungry, motlier/' said Randal; "I wisli for 
 nothing bnt tea." Juliet, scrambling up her hair, darted into 
 the house to prepare the tea, and also to "tidy herself.'* She 
 dearly loved her fine brother, but sho was greatly in awe of 
 him. 
 
 Bandal seated himself on the broken pales. " Take care 
 they don't come down," said Mr. Leslie, with some anxiety. 
 
 "Oh, sir, I am very light ; nothing comes down with me.'* 
 
 The pigs stared up, and grunted in amaze at the stranger. 
 
 " Mother," said the young man, detaining Mrs. Leslie, who 
 wanted to set off in chase of Jenny — "Mother, you should 
 not let Oliver associate with those village booi's. It is time 
 to think of a profession for him." 
 
 " Oh, he eats us out of house and home — such an appetite ! 
 But as to a profession — what is he fit for ! He will never be 
 a scholar." 
 
 Handal nodded a moody assent; for, indeed Oliver had 
 been sent to Cambridge, and supported there out of RandaFs 
 income from his official pay ; and Oliver had been plucked for 
 his Little Go. 
 
 " There is the army," said the elder brother — a gentleman's 
 calling. How handsome Juliet ought to be — but — I left 
 money for masters — and she pronounces French like a 
 chambermaid. ' ' 
 
 " Yet she is fond of her book too. She's always reading, 
 and good for nothing else." 
 
 " fieading ! — those trashy novels ! " 
 
 " So like you — ^you always come to scold, and make things 
 unpleasant," said Mrs. Leslie, peevishly. "You are grown 
 too fine for us, and I am sure we suffer affronts enough from 
 others, not to want a little respect from our own children." 
 
 " I did not mean to affront you," said Randal, sadly. 
 " Pardon me. But who else has done so ? " 
 
 Then Mrs. Leslie went into a minute and most irritating 
 ca»talogue of all the mortifications and insults she had received; 
 the grievances of a petty provincial family, with much pre- 
 tension and small power ; of all people, indeed, without the 
 disposition to please — ^without the ability to serve — who 
 exaggerate every offence, and are thankful for no kindness. 
 Farmer Jones had insolently refused to send his waggon 
 twenty miles for coals. Mr. Griles, the butcher, requesting 
 the-.payment of his bill, had stated that the custom at Hood 
 was too small for him to allow credit. Squire Thornhill, who 
 was the present owner of the fairest slice of the old Leslie 
 
40 
 
 MY kovel; OE3 
 
 domains, had taken tlie liberty to ask permission to shoot 
 over Mr. Leslie's land, since Mr. Leslie did not pri^serve. 
 Lady Spratt (new people from the city, who hired a neigh- 
 bouring country-seat) had taken a discharged servant of 
 Mrs. Leslie's without applying for the character. The Lord- 
 Lieutenant had given a ball, and had not invited the Leslies. 
 Mr. Leslie's tenants had voted against their landlord's wish at 
 the recent election. More than all, Squire Hazeldean and his 
 Harry had called at Rood, and though Mrs. Leslie had 
 screamed out to Jenny, " 'Not afc home," she had been seen at 
 the window, and the Squire had actually forced his way in, 
 and caught the whole family " in a state not fit to be seen." 
 That was a trifle, but the Squire had presumed to instruct 
 Mr. Leslie how to manage his property, and Mrs. Hazeldean 
 had actually told Juliet to hold up her head, and tie up her 
 hair, "as if we were her cottagers! " said Mrs. Leslie, v/ith 
 the pride of a Montfydget. 
 
 All these, and various other annoyances, though Randal 
 was too sensible not to perceive their insignificance, still galled 
 and mortified the listening heir of Rood. They showed, at 
 least, even to the well-meant ofiiciousness of the Hazeldeans, 
 the small account in which the fallen family was held. As 
 he sat still on the moss-grown pales, gloomy and taciturn, 
 his mother standing beside him, with her cap awry, Mr. Leslie 
 shamblingly sauntered up, and said in a pensive, dolorous 
 whin-e — 
 
 " I wish we had a good sum of money, Randal, boy ! " 
 
 To do Mr. Leslie justice, he seldom gave vent to any wish 
 that savoured of avarice. His mind must be singularly 
 aroused, to wander out of its normal limits of sluggish, dull 
 content. 
 
 So Randal looked at him in surprise, and said, " Do you, 
 sir ? — why ? " 
 
 The manors of Rood and Dulmansberry, and all the lands 
 therein, which my great-grandfather sold away, are to be sold 
 again when Squire Thornhill's eldest son comes of age, to cut 
 oS the entail. Sir John Spratt talks of buying them. I 
 should like to have them back again ! 'Tis a shame to seo 
 the Leslie estates hawked about, and bought by Spratts and 
 people. I wish I had a great — great sum of ready money. 
 
 The poor gentleman extended his helpless fingers as he 
 spoke, and fell into a dejected reverie. 
 
 Randal sprang from the paling, a movement which 
 h'ightened the contemplative pigs, and set them off squalling 
 
VAETETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 41 
 
 and scampering, "When does young ThornliLll come oi 
 age ? " 
 
 " He was nineteen last Augnst. I know it, l)e(3au9e tli6 
 day lie was born, I picked np my fossil of tke sea-horse, just 
 by Dnlmansberry chnrch, when the joy-bells were ringing. 
 My fossil sea-horse ! It will be an heirloom, Randal " 
 
 " Two years — nearly tv/o years — yet— ah, ah ! " said Randal ; 
 and his sister now appearing, to announce that tea was ready, 
 he threw his arm round her neck and kissed her. Juliet had 
 arranged her hair and trimmed up her dress. She looked very 
 pretty, and she had now the air of a gentlewoman — something 
 of Randal's own refinement in her slender proportions and 
 well-shaped head. 
 
 "Be patient, patient still, my dear sister,'' whispered 
 Randal, "and keep your heart whole for two years 
 longer." 
 
 The young man was gay and good-humoured over his 
 simple meal, while his family grouped round him. When 
 it was over, Mr. Leslie lighted his pipe, and called for his 
 braiidy-and-water. Mrs. Leslie began to question about 
 London and Court, and the new King and the new Queen, 
 and Mr. Audley Egerton, and hoped Mr. Egerton would leave 
 Randal all his money, and that Randal would marry a rich 
 woman, and that the King would make him a prime-minister 
 one of these days ; and then she should like to see if Farmer 
 Jones would refuse to send his wagon for coals ! And, every 
 now and then, as the word " riches " or " money " caught Mr. 
 Leslie's ears, he shook his head, drew his pipe from his mouth, 
 "A Spratt should not have what belonged to my great- great- 
 grandfather. If I had a good sum of ready money !^ — the old 
 }imily estates ! " Oliver and Juliet sat silent, and on their 
 good behaviour ; and Randal, indulging his own reveries, 
 dreamily heard the words "money," "Spratt," " great- great- 
 grandfather," " rich wife," " family estates ; " and they 
 sounded to him vague and afar off, like whispers from the 
 world of romance and legend — weird prophecies of things 
 to be 
 
 Such was the hearth which warmed the viper that nestled 
 and gnawed at the heart of Randal, poisoning all the aspira- 
 tions that youth should have rendered pure, ambition lofty, 
 and knowledge beneficent and divine. 
 
MY novel; OBj 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When tlie rest of tlie honseliold were in deep sleep, HaBdal 
 stood long at Ms open window, looking over the drearj, com- 
 fortless scene— the moon gleaming from skies half- autumnal, 
 half-wintrj, upon squalid decay, through the ragged fissures 
 of the firs ; and when he lay down to rest, his sleep was 
 feverish, and troubled by turbulent dreams. 
 
 However, he was up early, and with an unwonted colour in 
 iiis cheeks, which his sister ascribed to the country air. After 
 breakfast, he took his way towards Hazeldean, mounted upon 
 a tolerable horse, which he borrowed of a neighbouring 
 farmer who occasionally hunted. Before noon, the garden 
 and terrace of the Casino came in sight. He reined in his 
 horse, and by the little fountain at which Leonard had been 
 wont to eat his radishes and con his book, he saw Riccabocca 
 seated under the shade of the red umbrella. And by the 
 Italian's side stood a form that a Greek of old might have 
 deemed the Naiad of the Fount ; for in its youthful beauty 
 there was something so full of poetry — something at once so 
 sweet and so stately — that it spoke to the imagination while 
 it charmed the sense. 
 
 Randal dismounted, tied his horse to ths gate, and, walking 
 down a trellised alley, came suddenly to the spot. His dark 
 shadow fell over the clear mirror of -the fountain just as 
 Riccabocca had said, All here is so secure from evil ! — the 
 waves of the fountain are never troubled like those of the 
 river! " and Yiolante had answered in her soft native tongue, 
 and lifting her dark, spiritual eyes — "But the fountain would 
 be but a lifeless pool, oh, my father, if the spray did not mount 
 towards the skies ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Randal advanced — " I fear. Signer Riccabocca, that I am 
 guilty of some want of ceremony." 
 
 " To dispense with ceremony is the most delicate mode ol 
 conferring a compliment," replied the urbane Italian, as he 
 recovered from his first surprise at Randal's sudden address, 
 and extended his hand. 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 43 
 
 Violante bowed her graceful liead to tlie jonng man's 
 respectful salutation. " I am on my way to Hazeldean," 
 resumed Randal, " and, seeing yon in the garden, could not 
 resist tliis intrusion." 
 
 RiCCABOCCA.— " You come from London ? Stirring times 
 for you Englislij but I do not ask you the news ? No news 
 can affect us." 
 
 E/ANDAL (softly). — " Perbaps yes." 
 
 EicoABOCOA (startled). — " How P " 
 
 Vioi/ANTE. — " Surely be speaks of Italy, and news from that 
 country affects you still, my fatber." 
 
 EiCCABOCCA. — " ^^ay, nay, notbing affects me like tbi^ 
 country ; its east winds migbfc affect a pyramid ! Draw your 
 mantle round you, cbild, and go in ; tbe air bas suddenly 
 grown cbill." 
 
 Yiolante smiled on ber fatber, glanced uneasily towards 
 Randal's grave brow, and went slowly towards tbe bouse. 
 
 Riccabocca, after waiting some moments in silence, as if 
 expecting Bandal to speak, said, witb a^ffected carelessness, 
 " So you think that you have news that might affect me ? 
 GoTjpo di JBacco ! I am curious to learn what 1 " 
 
 "I may be mistaken — that depends on your answer to one 
 question. Do you know tbe Count of Pescbiera ? " 
 
 Riccabocca winced, and turned pale. He could not baffle 
 tbe watchful eye of tbe questioner. 
 
 " Enougli," said Randal ; "I see that I am right. Believe 
 in my sincerity. I speak but to warn and to serve you. The 
 Count seeks to discover tbe retreat of a countryman and 
 kinsman of his own." 
 
 " And for what end ? " cried Riccabocca, thrown o£E bis 
 j^uard, and bis breast dilated, bis crest rose, and bis ey(? 
 flashed ; valour a^nd defiance broke from habitual caution and 
 self-control. But — pooh ! " he added, striving to regain his 
 ordinary and half -ironical calm, " it matters not to me. I 
 grant, sir, that I know the Count di Pescbiera ; but what has 
 Dr. Riccabocca to do with the kinsman of so grand a 
 personage ? " 
 
 "Dr. Riccabocca — ^nothing. But — "here Randal put his 
 lip close to tbe Italian's ear, and whispered a brief sentence. 
 Then retreputing a step, but laying bis band on tbe exile's 
 shoulder, he added — " Need I say that your secret is safe with 
 me ? " 
 
 Riccabocca made no ansv/er. His eyes rested on the ground 
 musingly. 
 
44 
 
 MY novel: or, 
 
 Ilandal continued — "And I sliall esteem it tlie highest 
 honour jou can bestow on me, to be permitted to assist you in 
 forestalling danger." 
 
 B;ICCAB0CCA (slowly). — "Sir, I thank you; you have my 
 secret, and I feel assured it is safe, for I speak to an English 
 gentleman. There may be family reasons why I should avoid 
 the Count di Peschiera ; and, indeed, he is safest from shoals 
 who steers clearest of his — ^relations.'* 
 
 The poor Italian regained his caustic smile as he uttered 
 that wise villanous Italian maxim. 
 
 Randal. — "I know little of the Count of Peschiera save 
 from the current talk of the world. He is said to hold the 
 estates of a kinsman who took part in a conspiracy against the 
 Austrian power." 
 
 HiCOABOCCA. — " It is true. Let that content him ; what more 
 does he desire? You spoke of forestalling danger; what 
 danger ? I am on the soil of England, and protected by its 
 laws." 
 
 Handal. — "Allow me to inquire if, had the kinsman no 
 child, the Count di Peschiera would be legitimate and natural 
 heir to the estates he holds ? " 
 
 RiCCABOCCA. — " He would — What then ? " 
 
 Randal. — "Does that thought suggest no danger to the 
 child of the kinsman ? " 
 
 Riccabocca recoiled, and gasped forth, " The child ! You 
 do not mean to imply that this man, infamous though he be, 
 can contemplate the crime of an assassin ? " 
 
 Randal paused perplexed. His ground was delicate. He 
 knew not what causes of resentment the exile entertained 
 against the Count. He knew not whether Riccabocca would 
 not assent to an alliance that might restore him to his countrj^ 
 —and he resolved to feel his way with precaution. 
 
 " I did not," said he, smiling gravely, "mean to insinuate 
 so horrible a charge against a man whom I have never seen. 
 He seeks you — that is all I know. I imagine, from his 
 general character, that in this search he consults his 
 interest. Perhaps all matters might be conciliated by an 
 interview ! " 
 
 " An interview ! " exclaimed Riccabocca ; " there is but one 
 way we should meet — foot to foot, and hand to hand." 
 
 " Is it so ? Then you would not listen to the Count if he 
 proposed some amicable compromise — if, for instance, he was 
 a candidate for the hand of your daughter? " 
 
 The poor Italian, so wise and so subtle in his talk, was as 
 
YAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 45 
 
 rasli and blind wlien it came to action, as if lie liad been born 
 in Ireland, and nonrisbed on potatoes and Repeal. He bared 
 bis wbole sonl to tbe merciless eye of Randal. 
 
 " My daugbter ! " be exclaimed. " Sir, your yery question 
 is an insult." 
 
 Randal's way became clear at once. " Forgive me," be 
 said, mildly; "I will tell you frankly all tbat I know. I 
 am acquainted witb tbe Count's sister. I bave some little 
 influence over ber. It was sbe wbo informed me tbat tbe 
 Count bad come bere, bent upon discovering your refuge, and 
 resolved to wed your daugbter. Tbis is tbe danger of wbicb 
 I spoke. And wben I asked your permission to aid in 
 forestalling it, I only intended to suggest tbat it migbt be 
 wise to find some securer bome, and tbat I, if permitted to 
 know tbat bome, and to visit you, could apprise you from 
 time to time of tbe Count's plans and movements." 
 
 " Sir, I tbank you sincerely," said Riccabocca, witb 
 emotion ; " but am I not safe bere ? " 
 
 *' I doubt it. Many people bave visited tbe Squire in tbe 
 sbooting season, wbo will bave beard of you — perbaps seen 
 you, and wbo are likely to meet tbe Count in London, 
 And Frank Hazeldean, too, wbo knows tbe Count's 
 sister " 
 
 " True, true," interrupted Riccabocca. " I see, I see. I 
 will consider. I will reflect. Meanwbile you are going to 
 Hazeldean. Do not say a word to tbe Squire. He knows 
 not tbe secret you bave discovered." 
 
 Witb tbose words Riccabocca turned sligbtly away, and 
 Randal took tbe bint to depart. 
 
 " At all times command and rely on me," said tbe young 
 traitor, and be regained tbe pale to wbicb be bad fastened bis 
 borse. 
 
 As bo remounted, be cast bis eyes towards tbe place wbere 
 be bad left Riccabocca. The Italian was still standing tbere. 
 Presently tbe form of Jackeymo was seen emerging from tbe 
 sbrubs. Riccabocca turned bastily round, recognized bis 
 servant, uttered an exclamation loud enougb to reacb Randal's 
 ear, and tben, catcbing Jackeymo by tbe arm, disappeared 
 witb bim amidst tbe deep recesses of tbe garden. 
 
 It will be indeed in my favour," tbougbt Randal, as be 
 rode on, " if I can get them into tbe neigbbourbood of London 
 — all occasion tbere to woo, and if expedient, to win — tbe 
 beiress." 
 
6 MY NOVEL ; CE, 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 " By the Lord Harry 1 " cried tlie Squire, as he stood wifcli 
 liis wife in tlie park, on a visit of inspection to some first- 
 rate Soutli-Downs just added to his stock — " By the Lord, if 
 that is not Randal LesHe trying to get into the park at the 
 back gate ! Hollo, Randal ! yon must conie round by the 
 lodge, my boy," said he. "Xou see this gate is locked, to 
 keep out trespassers." 
 
 " A pity," said Randal. " I like short cuts, and you haye 
 shut up a very short one." 
 
 " So the trespassers said," quoth the Squire ; " but Stirn 
 insisted on it ; — valuable man, Stirn. But ride round to the 
 lodge. Put up your horse, and yoa'll join us before we can 
 get to the house." 
 
 Randal nodded and smiled, and rode briskly on. 
 
 The squire rejoined his Harry. 
 
 "Ah, William," said she, anxiously, though certainly 
 Randal Leslie means well, I always dread his visits." 
 
 " So do I, in one sense," quoth the Squire, " for he always 
 carries away a bank-note for Prank." 
 
 " I hope he is really Prank's friend," said Mrs. Hazeldean. 
 
 " Who's else can he be ? Not his own, poor fellow, for he 
 vfill never accept a shilling from me, though his grandmother 
 was as good a Hazeldean as I am. But, zounds, I like his 
 jDride, and his economy too. As for Prank — " 
 
 "Hush, William ! " cried Mrs. Hazeldean, and put her fair 
 hand before the Squire's mouth. The Squire was softened, 
 and kissed the fair hand gallantly — perhaps he kissed the 
 lips too : at all events, the worthy pair were walking lovingly 
 arm-in-arm when Randal joined them. 
 
 He did not affect to perceive a certain coldness in the 
 manner of Mrs. Hazeldean, but began immediately to talk to 
 her about Prank ; praise that young gentleman's appearance ; 
 expatiate on his health, his popularity, and his good gifts, 
 personal and mental — and this with so much warmth, that 
 any dim and undeveloped suspicions Mrs. Hazeldean miglU 
 have formed, soon melted away. 
 
 Randal continued to make himself thus agreeable, until 
 the Squire, persuaded that his young kinsman was a first-rate 
 agriculturalist, insisted upon carrying him off to the home 
 fe.rm ; and Harrv turned towards the house, to order Randal's 
 
VARIETIES TN" ENGLISH , LIFE. 
 
 room fco be got ready: " For," said Eandal, " knov/ing that 
 you will excuse my morning dress, I venture to invite myself 
 to dine and sleep at tlie HalL" 
 
 On approacMng the farm-buildings, Randal y/as seized with 
 tbe terror of an impostor; for, despite all tbe theoretical 
 learning on Bucolics and Georgics with, whicli he had dazzled 
 the Squire, poor Frank, so despised, would have beat him 
 hollow when it came to the judging of the points of an ox, or 
 the show of a crop. 
 
 " Ha, ha! " cried the Squire, chuckling, "I long to see how 
 you'll astonish Stirn. Why, you'll guess in a moment where 
 we put the top-dressing ; and when you come to handle my 
 short-horns, I dare swear you'll know to a pound how much 
 oil-cake has gone into their sides." 
 
 Oh, you do me too much honour — ^indeed you do. I only 
 know the general principles of agriculture; the details are 
 eminently interesting, but I have not had the opportunity to 
 acquire them." 
 
 " Stuff ! " cried the Squire. " How can a man know general 
 principles unless he has first studied the details ? You are 
 too modest, my boy. Ho ! there's Stirn looking out for us ! " 
 
 Randal saw the grim visage of Stirn peering out of a 
 cattle-shed, and felt undone. He made a desperate rush to- 
 v/ards changing the Squire's humour. 
 
 " Well, sir, perhaps Frank may soon gratify your wish, and 
 turn farmer himself." 
 
 " Eh ! " quoth the Squire, stopping short: — " what now ? " 
 
 " Suppose he were to marry ? " 
 
 " I'd give him the two best farms on the property rent free. 
 Ha, ha ! Has he seen the girl yet ? I'd leave him free to 
 choose; sir, I chose for myself — every man should. Not but 
 what Miss Sticktorights is an heiress, and, I hear, a very 
 decent girl, and that would join the two properties, and put 
 an end to that lawsuit about the right of way, which began in 
 the reign of King Charles the Second, and is likely otherwise 
 to last till the day of judgment. But never mind her ; let 
 Frank choose to please himself." 
 
 I'll not fail to tell him so, sir. I did fear you might havo 
 some prejudices. But here we are at the farmyard." 
 
 Burn the farmyard ! How can I think of farmyards whe^ 
 you talk of Frank's marriage ? Come on — -this way, Wha 
 were you saying about prejudices ? " 
 
 " Why you might wish him to marry an Englishwoman, for 
 instance/' 
 
MY N"ov£:l; ob, 
 
 " English ' Good heavens, sir, does lie mean to many a 
 Hindoo ? 
 
 l^sbj, I don't know that he means to marry at all : I am 
 only surmising ; but if he did fall in love with a foreigner — '* 
 " A. foreigner ! Ah, then Harrj was — " The Squire stopped 
 short. 
 
 " ^Vho might, perhaps," observed Randal — ^not truly, if he 
 referred to Siadame di E'egra — " who might, perhaps, speak- 
 very little English ? " 
 
 " Lord ha' mercy ? " 
 
 " And a Eoman Catholic — " 
 Worshipping idols, and roasting people who don't worship 
 them." 
 
 " Signer Riccabocca is not so bad as that." 
 
 " Ejickeybockey ! Well, if it was his daughter ! But not 
 speak English ! and not go to the parish church ! By Greorge, 
 if Erank thought of such a thing, I'd cut him off with a 
 shilling. Don't talk to me, sir ; I would. I'm a mild man, 
 and an easy man ; but when I say a tbing, I say it, Mr. Leslie. 
 Oh, but it is a jest — you are laughing at me. There's no such 
 painted good-for-nothing creature in Frank's eye — eh ? " 
 
 " Indeed, sir, if ever I find there is, I will give you notice 
 in time. At present, I was only trying to ascertain what you 
 wished for a daughter-in-law. You said you had no 
 prejudice." 
 
 " IsTo more I have — not a bit of it." 
 
 " You don't like a foreigner and a Catholic ? " 
 
 "Who the devil would?" 
 
 " But if she had rank and title ? " 
 
 " Hank and title ! Bubble and squeak ! !N'o, not half so 
 good as bubble and squeak. English beef and good cabbage. 
 But foreign rank and title ! — foreign cabbage and beef ! — • 
 foreign bubble and foreign squeak! " And the Squire made 
 a wry face, and spat forth his disgust and indignation. 
 
 " You must have an Englishwoman ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Money ? " 
 
 " Don't care, provided she is a tidy, sensible, active lass, 
 with a good character for her dower." 
 
 " Character — ah, that is indispensable ? " 
 
 **I should think so, indeed. A Mrs. Hazeldean of Hazel- 
 dean — You frighten me. He's not going to run off with a 
 divorced woman, or a — '* 
 
 The Squire stopped, and looked so red in the face that 
 
YAHTETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 49 
 
 Randal feared lie miglit be seized with apoplexy before Frank^s 
 crimes bad made bim alter bis will. 
 
 Therefore be hastened to relieve Mr. Hazeldean's mind, and 
 assured bim that be bad been onlj talking at random ; that 
 Frank was in the habit, indeed, of seeing foreign ladies occa- 
 sionally, as all persons in the London world were ; bnt that he 
 was sure Frank wonld never marry without the full consent 
 and approval of bis parents. He ended by repeating bis 
 assurance, that he would warn the Squire if ever it became 
 necessary. Still, however, he left Mr. Hazeldean so disturbed 
 and uneasy that that gentleman forgot all about the farm, and 
 went moodily on in the opposite direction, re-entering the 
 park at its farther extremity. As soon as they approached 
 the house, the Squire hastened to shut himself with 
 bis wife in full parental consultation; and E^andal, seated 
 upon a bench on the terrace, revolved the mischief he had 
 done, and its chances of success. 
 
 While thus seated, and thus thinking, a footstep approached 
 cautiously, and a low voice said, in broken English, " Sare, 
 sare, let me speak vid you." 
 
 E/andal turned in surprise, and beheld a swarthy saturnine 
 face, with grizzled hair and marked features. He recognised 
 the figure that had joined Riccabocca in the Italian's garden. 
 
 " Speak-a you Italian ? resumed Jackeymo. 
 
 Randal, who had made himself an excellent linguist, nodded 
 assent ; and Jackeymo, rejoiced, begged bim to withdraw into 
 a more private part of the grounds. 
 
 Randal obeyed, and the two gained the shade of a stately 
 chestnut avenue. 
 
 ^' Sir," then said Jackeymo, speaking in his native tongue, 
 and expressing himself with a certain simple pathos, I am 
 but a poor man ; my name is Giacomo. You have beard of 
 me ; servant to the Signore whom you saw to-day — only a 
 servant; but he honours me with bis confidence. We have 
 known danger together ; and of all his friends and followers, 
 I alone came with him to the stranger's land." 
 
 " Grood, faithful fellow," said Randal, examining the man's 
 face, " say on. Your master confides in you ? He has con- 
 fided that which I told bim this day ? " 
 
 "He did. Ah, sir; the Padrone was too proud to ask 
 you to explain more — ^too proud to show fear of anotber. 
 But he does fear — he ought to fear — he shall fear," (con- 
 tinued Jackeymo, working himself up to passion) — " for the 
 Padrone has a djAjUghfeer^ and bis enemy is a villain, Ob, 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
10 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OE, 
 
 sii% tell me all that you did not tell to the Padrone. Yon 
 hinted that this man might wish to marry the Signora, 
 Marry her ! — I could cut his throat at the altar ! " 
 
 " Indeed," said Randal ; — I believe that such is his 
 object." 
 
 "Bat why ? He is rich — she is penniless ; — ^no, not quit© 
 that, for we have saved — but penniless, compared to him.'* 
 
 ''My good friend, I know not yet his motives : but I can 
 ■easily learn them. If, however, this Count be your master's 
 enemy, it is surely well to guard against him, whatever his 
 designs and, to do so, you should move into London or its 
 neighbourhood. I fear that, while we speak, the Count may 
 get upon his track." 
 
 " He had better not come here ! " cried the servant, menac- 
 ingly, and pntting his hand where the knife was not. 
 
 " Beware of your own anger, Giacomo. One act of violence, 
 and you would be transported from England, and your master 
 t\^ouM lose a friend." 
 
 Jackeymo seemed struck by this caution. 
 
 " And if the Padrone were to meet him, do you think the 
 Padrone would meekly say, ''Gome std, sa Signoriaf' The 
 Padrone would strike him dead ! " 
 
 " Hush — hush ! You speak of what in England is called 
 murder, and is punished by the gallows. If you really love 
 your master, for Heaven's sake get him from this place — get 
 him from all chance of such passion and peril. I go to town 
 to-morrow ; I will find him a house that shall be safe from all 
 spies — all discovery. And there, too, my friend, I can do— 
 what I cannot at this distance — watch over him, and keep 
 watch also on his enemy." 
 
 Jackeymo seized Bandal's hand, and lifted it towards his 
 lip ; then, as if struck by a sudden suspicion, dropped the 
 hand, and said bluntly, Signore, I think you have seen the 
 Padrone twice. Why do you take this interest in him ? " 
 
 " Is it so uncommon to take interest even in a stranger who 
 is menaced by some peril ? " 
 
 Jackeymo, who believed little in general philanthropy, 
 ehook his head sceptically. 
 
 Besides," continued Randal, suddenly bethinking himself 
 of a more plausible reason — *^ besides, I am a friend and 
 connection of Mr. Egerton ; and Mr. Eger ton's most intimate 
 friend is Lord L'Estrange; and I have heard that Lord 
 -L' Estrange — " 
 
 *'*The good Lord ! 'Oh, n^-sr J unde??stand," interrmated 
 
VAKIETTES IN ENGLISH LtFK 
 
 51 
 
 Jackejmo, and liis brow cleared. " Ah, if he were in En^latid! 
 But you will let us know when he comes ? " 
 
 " Certainly. ISTow, tell me, Q-iacomo, is this Count really 
 unprincipled and dangerous? Remember I know him not 
 personally." 
 
 He has neither heart not conscience." 
 
 " That defect makes him dangerous to men ; perhaps not 
 less so to women. Could it be possible, if he obtained any 
 interview with the Signora, that he could win her affections?" 
 
 Jackeymo crossed himself rapidly and made no answer. 
 
 " I have heard that he is still very handsome." 
 
 Jackeymo groaned. 
 
 Randal resumed — " Enough; persuade the Padrone t5 come 
 to town." 
 
 " But if the Count is in town ? " 
 
 " That makes no difference ; the safest place is always the 
 largest city. Everywhere else, a foreigner is in himself an. 
 object of attention and curiosity." 
 
 " True." 
 
 " Let your master, then, come to London, or rather, into its 
 neighbourhood. He can reside in one of the suburbs most 
 remote from the Count's haunts. In two days I will have 
 found him a lodging and write to him. You trust to mo 
 now ? " 
 
 " I do indeed — I do. Excellency. Ah, if the Signoriiia yfrete 
 married, we would not care ! " 
 
 " Married ! But she looks so high ! " 
 Alas ! not now — not here ! " 
 
 Randal sighed heavily. Jackeymo's eyes sparkled. He 
 thought he had detected a new motive for Randal's interest — 
 a motive to an Italian the most natural, the most laudable 
 of all. 
 
 " Find the house, Signore— write to the Padrone. He 
 shall come. I'll talk to him. I can manage him. Holy San 
 Ciacomo, bestir thyself now — 'tis long since I troubled 
 thee ! " 
 
 Jackeymo strode off through the fading trees, smiling and 
 mutfceriijg as he went. 
 
 The first dinner-bell rang, and on entering fche drawing- 
 room, R,andal found Parson Dale and his wife, who had been 
 invited in haste to meet the unexpected visitor. 
 
 The preliminary greetings over, Mr, Dale took the oppor- 
 tunity afforded by the Squire's absence to inquire after th» 
 health of Mr. Egerton. 
 
 F. 5 
 
52 MY NOVEL ; OE, 
 
 # 
 
 " He is always well," said Randal. " I believe lie is made 
 of iron." 
 
 " His heart is of gold," said the Parson. 
 
 "Ah," said Randal, inquisitiyely, "you toLd me you had 
 come in contact with him once, respecting, I think, some of 
 your old parishioners at Lansmere ? " 
 
 The parson nodded, and there was a moment's silence. 
 
 " Do you remember your battle by the stocks, Mr. Leslie ? " 
 said Mr. Dale, with a good-humoured laugh. 
 
 " Indeed, yes. By the way, now you speak of it, I met my 
 old opponent in London the first year I went up to it." 
 
 " You did ! — where ? " 
 
 " At a literary scamp's — a cleverish man called Burley." 
 " Burley ! I have seen some burlesque verses in Grreek by 
 a Mr. Burley." 
 
 " No doubt, the same person. He has disappeared — gone 
 to the dogs, I dare say. Burlesque Grreek is not a knowledge 
 very much in power at present." 
 
 "Well, but Leonard Eairfield? — you have seen him 
 since ? " 
 
 " JSTo." 
 
 " ISTor heard of him ? " 
 "ISTo!— have you ? " 
 
 " Strange to say, not for a long time. But I have reason 
 to believe that- he must be doing well." 
 "You surprise me ! Why ? " 
 
 " Because two years ago he sent for his mother. She went 
 to him." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " It is enough ; for he would not have sent for her if he 
 could not maintain her." 
 
 Here the Hazeldeans entered, arm-in-arm, and the fat butler 
 announced dinner. 
 
 The squire was unus?ually taciturn — ^Mrs. Haz/f?Mean thought- 
 ful — ^Mrs. Dale languid and headachy. The Parson, who 
 seldom enjoyed the luxury of converse with a scholar, save 
 when lie quarrelled with Dr. Biccabocca, was animated by 
 Bandal's repute for ability, into a great desire for argument. 
 
 " A glass of wine, Mr. Leslie. You were saying, before 
 diTjner, that burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in 
 ))nwer at present. Pray, sir, what knowledge is in power ? '* 
 
 Randal, (laconically.) — " Practical knowledge." 
 
 Paeson.— " What of?" 
 
 Randal.—" Men." 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 53 
 
 Parson, (candidly.) — "Well, I suppose that is the moslj 
 available sort of knowledge, in a wordly point of view. How 
 does one learn it ? Do books help ? " 
 
 B/ANBAL. — "According as they are read, they help or 
 injure." 
 
 PiRSOJsr. — " How should they be read in order to help ? " 
 Randal. — " Read specially to apply to purposes that lead to 
 power." 
 
 . Parson, (very much struck with Randal's pithy and Spartan 
 logic.)— •" Upon my word, sir, you express yourself very well. 
 I must own that I began these questions in the hope of differ- 
 ing from you ; for I like an argument." 
 
 " That he does," growled the Squire ; the most contradictory 
 creature ! " 
 
 Parson. — " Argument is the salt of talk. But now I am 
 afraid I must agree with you, which I was not at all prepared 
 for." 
 
 Randal bowed and answered — " ITo two men of our educa- 
 tion can dispute upon the application of knowledge." 
 Paeson, (pricking up his ears.) — " Eh ? — what to ? " 
 Randal. — "Power, of course." 
 
 Parson, (overjoyed.) — "Power! — the vulgarest application 
 of it, or the loftiest ? But you mean the loftiest ? 
 
 Randal, (in his turn interested and interrogative.) — " What 
 do you call the loftiest, and what the vulgarist ? " 
 
 Parson. — "The vulgarest, self-interest; the loftiest, bene- 
 ficence." 
 
 Randal suppressed the half- disdainful smile that rose to his 
 lip. 
 
 " You speak, sir, as a clergyman should do. I admire your 
 sentiment, and adopt it ; but I fear that the knowledge which 
 aims only at beneficence very rarely in this world gets any 
 power at all." 
 
 Squire, (seriously.) — " That's true ; I never get my own 
 way when I want to do a kindness, and Stirn always gets his 
 when he insists on something diabolically brutal and harsh." 
 
 Parson. — " Pray, Mr. Leslie, what does intellectual power 
 refined to the utmost, but entirely stripped of beneficence, 
 most resemble ? " 
 
 Randal. — Resemble ? — can hardly say. Some very great 
 man — almost any very great man — who has baffled all bis 
 foes, and attained all his ends." 
 
 Parson. — " I doubt if any man has ever become very gieat 
 who has not meant to be beneficent, though he might err in 
 
54 
 
 MY novel; q% 
 
 the means. Ceesar was naturally beneficent, and so was Alex- 
 ander. But intellectual power refined to the utmost, and 
 wholly void of beneficence, resembles only one being, and 
 that, sir, is the Principle of Evil." 
 
 Eandal, (startled.) — " Do you meantlie Devil? " 
 
 Paeson. — " Yes, sir — the Devil ; and even he, sir, did not 
 succeed ! Even he, sir, is what your great men would call a 
 most decided failure." 
 
 Mrs. Dale. — " My dear — my dear! " 
 
 Parson. — " Our religion proves it, my love ; he was an 
 angel, and he fell." 
 
 There was a solemn pause. Randal was more impressed 
 than he liked to own to himself. By this time the dinner was 
 over, and the servants had retired. Harry glanced at Carry. 
 Carry smoothed her gown and rose. 
 
 The gentlemen remained over their wine ; and the Parson, 
 satisfied with what he deemed a clencher upon his favourite 
 subject of discussion, changed the subject to lighter topics, 
 till, happening to fall upon tithes, the Squire struck in, and 
 by dint of loudness of voice, and truculence of brow, fairly 
 overwhelmed both his guests, and proved to his own satis- 
 faction that tithes were an unjust and unchristianlike usurpa- 
 tion on the part of the Church generally, and a most especial 
 and iniquitous infliction upon the Hazeldean estates in par* 
 ticular. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 On entering the drawing-room, Randal found the two ladies 
 seated close together, in a position much more appropriate 
 to the familiarity of their school- days, than to the politeness 
 of the friendship now existing between them. Mrs. Hazel- 
 dean's hand hung affectionately over Carry's shoulder, and 
 both those fair English faces were bent over the same book 
 It was pretty to see these sober matrons, so different from 
 each other in character and aspect, thus unconsciously re- 
 stored to the intimacy of happy maiden youth by the golden 
 link of some Magician from the still land of Truth or Fancy — 
 brought together in heart, as each eye rested on the same 
 thought ; — closer and closer, as sympathy, lost in the actual 
 world, grew out of that world which unites in one bond of 
 feeling the readers of some gentlr book. 
 
TARIETIES IN EIS^GLISH LIFE. 
 
 55 
 
 And whafc work interests jovl so much ? asked Handal, 
 pausing by the table. 
 
 One you have read, of course," replied Mrs. Dale, puttinc^ 
 a book-mark embroidered by herself infco the page, and hand-, 
 ing the volume to Handal. " It has made a great sensation, 
 I believe." 
 
 Eandal glanced at the title of the work. *' True,*' said he, 
 " I have heard much of it in London, but I have not yet had 
 time to read it." 
 
 Mes. Dale. — " I can lend it to you, if you like to look over 
 it to-night, and you can leave it for me with Mrs. Hazel- 
 dean." 
 
 Parsok, (approaching.) — " Oh ! that book ! — yes, you must 
 read it. I do not know a work more instructive." 
 
 B^ANDAL. — " Instructive ! Certainly I will read it then. 
 But I thought it was a mere work of amusement^ — of fancy. 
 It seems soa.s I look over it." 
 
 Parson. — "So is the Vicm- of Wahefield; yet what book 
 more instructive ? " 
 
 Rai^dal.— I should not have said that of the Vicar of 
 Wahefield. A pretty book enough, though the story is most 
 improbable. But how is it instructive ? " 
 
 Parson.—" By its results : it leaves us happier and better. 
 What can any instruction do more ? Some works instruct 
 through the head, some through the heart. The last reach the 
 widest circle, and often produce the most genial influence on the 
 character. This book belongs to the last. You will grant my 
 proposition when yon have read it." 
 
 Randal smiled and took the volume. 
 
 Mrs. Dale.—" Is the author known yet ? " 
 
 Randal.- — "I have heard it ascribed to many writers, but I 
 believe no one has claimed it." 
 
 Parson. — " I think it must have been written by my old 
 college friend. Professor Moss; the naturalist — its descrip- 
 tions of scenery are so accurate," 
 
 Mrs. Dale. — -" La, Charles, dear ! that snu:ffy, tiresome, 
 prosy professor ? ' How can you talk such nonsense ? I am 
 sure the author must be young—- there is so much freshness of 
 feeling." 
 
 Mrs. Hazeldean, (positively.) — "Yes, certainly, young." 
 
 Parson, (no less positively.) — " I should say just the con- 
 trary. Its tone is too serene, and its style too simple, for a 
 young man. Besides I don't know any young man who would 
 Bend me his book, and this book has been sent me — very 
 
56 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 handsomely bound, too, yon see. Depend upon it Moss is tli6 
 nian — quite Ms tnrn of mind.'' 
 
 Mrs. Dale. — "Yon are too provoking, Charles, dear! Mr- 
 Moss is so remarkably plain, too." 
 
 Randal. — " Mnst an author be handsome ? " 
 
 Pakson. — " Ha ! ha ! Answer that if you can, Carry." 
 
 Carry remained mute and disdainful. 
 
 Squiee, (with great naivete.) — "Well, I don't think there's 
 much in the book, whoever wrote it ; for I've read it myself, 
 and understand every word of it." 
 
 Mrs. Dale. — " I don't see why you should suppose it waa 
 written by a man at all. For my part, I think it must be a 
 woman." 
 
 Mrs. Hazeldean. — " Yes, there's a passage about maternal 
 affection, which only a woman could have written." 
 
 Parson. — " Pooh 1 pooh ! I should like to see a woman who 
 could have written that description of an August evening 
 before a thunderstorm; every wildflower in the hedgerow 
 exactly the flowers of August — every sign in the air exactly 
 those of the month. Bless you ! a woman would have filled 
 the hedge with violets and cowslips. ISTobody else but my 
 friend Moss could have written that description." 
 
 Squire. — -"I don't know; there's a simile aboat the waste 
 of corn-seed in hand-sowing, which makes me think he must 
 be a farmer ^ " 
 
 Mrs. Dalji:, (scornfully.) — " A farmer ! In hobnailed shoes, 
 I suppose ! I say it is a woman." 
 
 Mrs. Hazeldean. — "A woman, and a mother ! " 
 
 Parson. — " A middle-aged man, and a naturalist." 
 
 Squire. — "ITo, no, Parson — certainly a young man; for 
 that love-scene puts me in mind of my own young days, when 
 I would have given my ears to tell Harry how handsome T 
 thought her ; and all I could say was, ' Pine weather for the 
 crops, Miss.' Yes, a young man and a farmer. I should not 
 wonder if he had held the plough himself." 
 
 Randal, (who had been turning over the pages.) — "This 
 sketch of JSTight in London comes from a man who has lived 
 the life of cities and looked at wealth with the eyes of poverty. 
 Not bad ! I will read the book." 
 
 " Strange," said the parson, smiling, " that this little work 
 should so have entered into our minds, suggested to all of us 
 different ideas, yet equally charmed all — given a new and 
 fresh current to our dull country life — animated us as with the 
 sight of a world in our breasts we had never seen before save 
 
VARIETIES IN EKCLISH LIFE. 
 
 57 
 
 in dreams : a little work like this by a man we doii't know 
 and never may I "Well, that knowledge is power, and a noble 
 one ! 
 
 " A sort of power, certainly, sir," said Randal, candidly ; 
 and that nigbt, when Randal retired to his own room, he 
 suspended his schemes and projects, and read, as he rarely 
 did, without an object to gain by the reading. 
 
 The work surprised him by the pleasure it gave. Its charm 
 lay in the writer's calm enjoyment of the beautiful. It seemed 
 like some happy soul sunning itself in the light of its 
 own thoughts. Its power was so tranquil and even, that it 
 was only a critic who could perceive how much force and 
 vigour were necessary to sustain the wing that floated aloft 
 with so imperceptible an effort. There was no one faculty 
 predominating tyrannically over the others ; all seemed pro- 
 portioned in the felicitous symmetry of a nature rounded, in- 
 tegral, and complete. And when the work was closed, it left 
 behind it a tender warmth that played round the heart of the 
 reader and vivified feelings which seemed unknown before. 
 Randal laid down the book softly ; and for five minutes the 
 ignoble and base purposes to which his own knowledge was 
 applied, stood before him, naked and unmasked. 
 
 " Tut ! " said he, wrenching himself violently away from 
 the benign influence, " it was not to sympathise with Hector^ 
 but to conquer with Achilles, that Alexander of Macedon kepi 
 Homer under his pillow. Such should be the true use of 
 books to him who has the practical world to subdue ; let 
 parsons and women construe it otherwise, as they may ! " 
 
 And the Principle of Evil descended again upon the intel- 
 lect, from which the guide of Beneficence was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Randal rose at the sound of the first breakfast bell, a.nd or 
 the staircase met Mrs. Hazeldean. He gave her back the 
 book ; and as he was about to speak, she beckoned to him ta 
 follow her into a little morning-room appropriated to herself, 
 ISTo boudoir of white and gold, with pictures by Watteau, but 
 lined with large walnut-tree presses, that held the old heir- 
 loom linen, strewed with lavender — stores for the housekeeper, 
 aod medicines for the poor. 
 
58 
 
 MY novel;; ob^ 
 
 Seating herself on a large cliair in tliis sanctain, M\m. 
 Hazeldean looked formidably at home. 
 
 " Pray/' said the lady, comisg once to the point, with 
 her usual straightfor^^^^rd candour, " what is all this you hav<$ 
 been saying to my husband as to the possibility of Frank's 
 marrying a foreigner? " 
 
 E;ANDAL.=»-" Would you be as averse to such a notion as Mf . 
 Hazeldean is ? " 
 
 Mes. Hazeldean. — ^^You. ask me a question, instead of 
 answering mine." 
 
 Randal was greatly put out in his fence by these rude 
 thrusts. For indeed he had a double purpose to serve — firsfc^ 
 thoroughly to know if Frank's marriage with a woman like 
 Madame di Negra would irritate the Squire sufhciently to 
 endanger the son's inheritance; and, secondly, to prevent 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hazeldean believins: serionslv that such a 
 marriage v/as to be apprehended, lest they should prematurely 
 address Frank on the subject, and frustrate the marriage 
 itself. Yet, withal, he must so express himself, that he could 
 not be afterwards accused by the parents of disguising 
 matters. In his talk to the Squire the preceding day, he had 
 gone a little too far — farther than he would have done but 
 for his desire of escaping the cattle-shed and short-horns. 
 "While he mused, Mrs. Hazeldean observed him with her 
 honest sensible eyes, and finally exclaimed-^ 
 Out with it, Mr. Leslie ! " 
 
 "Out with what, my dear madam ? The Squire has sadly 
 exaggerated the hnportance of what was said mainly in jest. 
 But I will own to you plainly, that Frank has appeared to mo 
 a little smitten with a certain fair Italian." 
 
 ^* Italian ! " cried Mrs. Hazeldean. " Well, I said 
 so from the first. Italian ! — ^that's all, is it ? " and she 
 smiled. 
 
 Randal was more and more perplexed. The pupil of his 
 eye contracted, as it does when we retreat into ourselves, and 
 think, watch, and keep guard. 
 
 "And perhaps," resumed Mrs. Hazeldean, with a very 
 sunny expression of countenance, " you have noticed this in 
 Frank since ho ?^as here ? 
 
 " it is true," murmured Randal ; " but I think his heart or 
 his fancy was touched even before." 
 
 "Very natural," said Mrs, Hazeldean ; "how could he help 
 it ? — such a beautiful creature ! Well, I must not ask you to 
 tell Frank's gecrets ; but I guess the object of attraction ; and 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 59 
 
 though, she will have no fortune to speak of — and it is not 
 such a match as he might form — still she is so amiable, and 
 has been so well brought up, and is so little like one's general 
 notions of a B/Oman Catholic, that I think I could persuade 
 Hazeldean into giving his consent." 
 
 "Ah," said Eandal, drawing a long breath, and beginning 
 with his practised acuteness to detect Mrs. Hazeldean's error; 
 " I am verj much relieved and rejoiced to hear this ; and I 
 may venture to give Frank some hope, if I find him dis- 
 heartened and desponding, poor fellow ! " 
 
 "I think jou may," replied Mrs. Hazeldean, laughing plea- 
 santly. " But you should not have frightened poor Willip.m 
 so, hinting that the lady knew very little English. She has 
 an accent, to be sure ; but she speaks our tongue very prettily. 
 I always forget that she's not English born ! Ha, ha, poor 
 Wilham 1 " 
 
 Eandal. — " Ha, ha ! " 
 
 Mrs. Hazeldean. — " "We had once thought of another match 
 for Frank — a girl of good English family." 
 Eandal. — "Miss Sticktorights ? " 
 
 Mrs. Hazeldean. — " No ; that's an old whim of Hazel- 
 dean's. But I doubt if the Sticktorights would ever merge 
 their property in ours. Bless you, it would be all o&. the 
 moment they came to settlements, and had to give up the 
 right of way. We thought of a very different match ; but 
 there's no dictating to young hearts, Mr. Leslie." 
 
 Eandal. — " Indeed no, Mrs. Hazeldean. But since we now 
 understand each other so well, excuse me if I suggest that 
 you had better leave things to themselves, and not write to 
 Erank on the subject. Young hearts, you know, are often 
 etimulated by apparent difficulties, and grow cool when the 
 obstacle vanishes." 
 
 Mrs. Hazeldean. — "Yery possibly; it was not so with 
 Hazeldean and me. But I shall not write to Frank on tho 
 subject for a different reason — though I would consent to tho 
 natch, and so would William ; yet we both would rather, 
 after all, that Frank married an Englishwoman, and a Pro- 
 testant. We will not, therefore, do anything to encourage 
 fche idea. But if Frank's happiness becomes really at stake, 
 iJien we will step in. In short, we would neither eiicourago 
 uor oppose. You understand ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " And in the meanwhile, it is quite right that Frank should 
 Bee the world, and try to distract his mind, or at least to 
 
60 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 know it. And I dare saj it has been some thonglit of tliat 
 kind wMcli has prevented his coming here." 
 
 Randal, dreading a farther and plainer eclaircissement, now 
 rose, and saying, " Pardon me, but I must hurry over hreak- 
 fast, and be back in time to catch the coach " — offered his 
 arm to his hostess, and led her into the breakfast-parlour. 
 Devouring his meal, as if in great haste, he then mounted his 
 horse, and, taking cordial leave of his entertainers, trotted 
 briskly away. 
 
 All things favoured his project — even chance had befriended 
 him in Mrs. Hazeldean's mistake. She had, not unnaturally, 
 supposed Violante to have captivated Frank on his last visit 
 to the Hall. Thus, while Randal had certified his own mind 
 that nothing could more exasperate the Squire than an alliance 
 with Madame di ISTegra, he could yet assure Frank that Mrs. 
 Hazeldean was all on his side. And when the error was 
 discovered, Mrs. Hazeldean would only have to blame herself 
 for it. Still more successful had his diplomacy proved with 
 the E/iccaboccas : he had ascertained the secret he had come 
 to discover ; he should induce the Italian to remove to the 
 neighbourhood of London; and if Yiolante were the great 
 heiress he suspected her to prove, whom else of her own age 
 would she see but him ? And the old Leslie domains, to be 
 sold in two years — a portion of the dowry might purchase 
 them ! Flushed by the triumph of his craft, all former vacil- 
 lations of conscience ceased. In high and fervent spirits he 
 passed the Casino, the garden of which was solitary and 
 deserted, reached his home, and, telling Oliver to be studious, 
 and Juliet to be patient, walked thence to meet the coach and 
 regain the capital. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Yiolante was seated in her own little room, and looking 
 from the window on the terrace that stretched below. The day 
 was warm for the time of year. The orange- trees had been 
 removed under shelter for the approach of winter ; but where 
 they had stood sate Mrs. Riccabocca at work. In the Bel- 
 videre, Riccabocca himself was conversing with his favourite 
 servant. But the casements and the door of the Belvidere 
 wore open; and where they sat^, both wife and daughter 
 
YAEIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 61 
 
 could see tlie Padrone leaning against tlie wall, witH his arms 
 folded, and his eyes fixed on the floor ; while Jackejmo, with 
 one finger on his master's arm, was talking to him with 
 visible earnestness. And the daughter from the window, and 
 the wife from her work, directed tender, anxious eyes towards 
 the still thoughtful form so dear to both. For the last day or 
 two, Riccabocca had been peculiarly abstracted, even to 
 gloom. Each felt there was something stirring at his heart — 
 neither, as yet, knew what. 
 
 Violante's room silently revealed the nature of the educa- 
 tion by which her character had been formed. Save a sketch- 
 book, which lay open on a desk at hand, and which showed 
 talent exquisitely taught (for in this Riccabocca had been her 
 teacher), there was nothing that spoke of the ordinary female 
 accomplishments. 'No piano stood open, no harp occupied 
 yon nook, which seemed made for one; no broidery-frame, 
 nor implements of work, betrayed the usual and graceful 
 resources of a girl ; but ranged on shelves against the wall 
 were the best writers in English, Italian, and French ; and 
 these betokened an extent of reading, that he who wishes for 
 a companion to his mind in the sweet commune of woman, 
 which softens and refines all it gives and takes in interchange, 
 will never condemn as masculine. You had but to look into 
 Violante's face to see how noble was the intelligence that 
 brought soul to those lovely features. I^othing hard, nothing 
 dry and stern was there. Even as you detected knowledge, 
 it was lost in the gentleness of grace. In fact, whatever she 
 gained in the graver kinds of information, became trans- 
 muted, through her heart and her fancy, into spiritual golden 
 stores. Grive her some tedious and arid history, her imagina- 
 tion seized upon beauties other readers had passed by, and, 
 like the eye of the artist, detected everywhere the Picturesqi^e, 
 Something in her mind seemed to reject all that was mean 
 and commonplace, and to bring out all that was rare and 
 elevated in whatever it received. Living so apart from all 
 companions of her age, she scarcely belonged to the Present 
 time. She dwelt in the Past, as Sabrina in her crystal well. 
 Images of chivalry — of the Beautiful and the Heroic — such 
 aa, in reading the silvery line of Tasso, rise before us, softening 
 force and valour into love and song — ^haunted the reveries of 
 the fair Italian maid. 
 
 Tell us not that the Past, examined by cold Philosophy, 
 was no better and no loftier than the Present : it is not thus 
 Bee;^ by pure and generous eyes. Let the Past perish, when 
 
MY NOVEL ; OB, 
 
 it ceases to reflect on its magic mirror the beautiful Ron;a-no8 
 which is its noblest reality^ though perchance but the shadow 
 of Delusion. 
 
 Yet Yiolante was not merely the dreamer. In her, life v^ns 
 so pnissant and rich, that action seemed necessary to its 
 glorions development — action, but still in the woman's sphere 
 — action to bless and to refine and to exalt all around hei', 
 and to pour whatever else of ambition was left unsatisfi( d 
 into sympathy with the aspirations of man. Despite her 
 fath-er's fears of the bleak air of England, in that air she had 
 strengthened the delicate health of her childhood. Her elastic 
 step — ^^her eyes full of sweetness and light — her bloom, at 
 once soft and luxuriant — all spoke of the vital powers fit to 
 sustain a mind of such exquisite mould, and the emotions of 
 a heart that, once aroused, could ennoble the passions of the 
 South with the purity and devotion of the North. 
 
 Solitude makes some natures more timid, some more bold. 
 Violante was fearless. When she spoke, her eyes frankly 
 met your own ; and she was so ignorant of evil, that as yet 
 she seemed nearly unacquainted with shame. From this 
 courage, combined with afiluence of idea, came a delightful 
 flow of happy converse. Though possessing so imperfectly 
 the accomplishments ordinarily taught to young women, and 
 which may be cultured to the utmost, and yet leave the 
 thoughts so barren, and the talk so vapid — she had that 
 accomplishment which most pleases the taste, and commands 
 the love, of the man of talent ; especially if his talent be not 
 so actively employed as to make him desire only relaxation 
 where he seeks companionship — the accomplishment of facility 
 in intellectual interchange — the charm that clothes in musical 
 words beautiful woniiinly ideas. 
 
 "I hear him sigh at this distance," said Violante, softly, as 
 she still watched her father; "and methinks this is a new 
 grief ; and not for his country. He spoke twice yesterday of 
 that dear English friend, and wished that he were here." 
 
 As she said this, unconsciously the virgin blushed, her 
 hands drooped on her knee, and she fell herself into thought 
 as profound as lier father's, but less gloomy. Erom her 
 arrival in England, Violante had been taught a grateful 
 interest in the name of Harley L'Estrange. Her father, 
 preserving a silence, that seemed disdain, of all his old Italian 
 intimates, had been pleased to converse with open heart of 
 the Englishman who had saved where countrymen had be- 
 trayed. He spoka of the soldier, tlien in the full ibloom of 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLI31I LIFE. 6^ 
 
 joiitli, wlio, iincoBSoIed by fame, liad nursed the memory of 
 Bome hidden sorrow amidst the pine-trees that cast tiieir 
 shadow oyer the snnny Italian lake ; how Riccabocca, then 
 honoured and happy, had courted from his seclusion the 
 English Signore, then the mourner and the Toluntary exile ; 
 how they had grown friends amidst the landscapes in which 
 her ejes had opened to the day; how Harley had vainl_y 
 warned him from the rash schemes in which he had sought to 
 reconstruct in an hour the ruins of weary ages ; how, when 
 abandoned, deserted, proscribed, pursued, he had fled for life 
 —the infant Yiolante clasped to his bosom-— -the English 
 soldier had given him refuge, baffled the pursuers, armed his 
 servants, accompanied the fugitive at night towards the defile 
 in the Apennines, and, when the emissaries of a perfidious 
 enemy, hot in the chase, came near, had said, You have your 
 child to save ! Ely on ! Another league, and you are beyond 
 the borders. We will delay the foes with parley ; they will 
 not harm us." And not till escape was gained did the father 
 know that the English friend had delayed the foe, not by 
 parley, but by the sword, holding the pass against numbers, 
 with a breast as dauntless as Bayard's on the glorious bridge. 
 
 And since then, the same Englishman had never ceased 
 to vindicate his name, to urge his cause ; and if hope yet 
 remained of restoration to land and honours, it was in that 
 untiring zeal. 
 
 Hence, naturally and insensibly, this secluded and musing 
 girl had associated all that she read in tales of romance and 
 chivalry with the image of the brave and loyal stranger. He 
 it was who a.nimated her dreams of the Past, and seemed 
 born to be, in the destined hour, the deliverer of the Euture. 
 Around this image grouped all the charms that the fancy of 
 virgin woman can raise from the enchanted lore of old Heroic 
 Eable. Once in her early girlhood, her father (to satisfy her 
 curiosity, eager for general description) had drawn from 
 memory a sketch of the features of the Englishman — drawn 
 Harley, as he was in that first youth, flattered and idealised, 
 no doulDt, by art, and by partial gratitude — but still resem- 
 bling him as he was then, while the deep mournfulness of 
 recent sorrow yet shadowed and concentrated all the varying 
 expressions of his countenance ; and to look on him was to 
 say — *' So sad, yet so young ! " ISTever did Violante pause to 
 remember that the same |=^ears which ripened herself from 
 infancy into woman, were passing less gently over that smooth 
 cheek and dreamy brow — that the wwld might he alters ncf 
 
64 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 the nature as time tlie aspect. To her tlie liero of tHe I'dr.al 
 remained immortal in bloom and youtli. Bright illusion, 
 common to us all, where Poetry once hallows the human 
 form ! Whoever thinks of Petrarch as the old time-worn 
 man? Who does not see him as when he first gazed on 
 Laura?— 
 
 " Ogni altra cosa ogni pensier va fore ; 
 E sol ivi con voi rimansi Amore I *' 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 And Yiolante, thus absorbed in reverie, forgot to keep 
 watch on the Belvidere. And the Belvidere was now 
 deserted. The wife, who had no other ideal to distract her 
 thoughts, saw Riccabocca pass into the house. 
 
 The exile entered his daughter's room, and she started to 
 feel his hand upon her locks and his kiss upon her brow. 
 
 " Mj child ! " cried Biccabocca, seating himself, " I have 
 resolved to leave for a time this retreat, and to seek the 
 neighbourhood of London." 
 
 "Ah, dear father, that, then, was your thought? But 
 what can be your reason ? Do not turn away ; you know 
 how carefully I have obeyed your command and kept your 
 secret. Ah, you will confide in me." 
 
 " I do, indeed," returned Biccabocca, with emotion. " I 
 leave this place, in the fear lest my enemies discover me. I 
 shall say to others that you are of an age to require teachers, 
 not to be obtained here. But I should like none to know 
 where we go." 
 
 The Italian said these last words through his teeth, and 
 hanging his head. He said them in shame. 
 
 "My mother — (so Yiolante always called Jemima) — -my 
 mother — ^you have spoken to her ? " 
 
 " Not yet. There is the difficulty." 
 
 "No difficulty, for she loves you so well," replied Yiolante, 
 with soft reproach. " Ah, why not also confide in her ? Who 
 go true ? so good ? " 
 
 " Good — I grant it ? " exclaimed Biccabocca. " What then ? 
 Da cattiva Donna guardati, ed alia huona non fidar niente,* 
 (from the bad woman, guard thyself; to the good woman 
 trust nothing). And if you must trust," added the abomin- 
 able man, " trust her with anything but a secret I 
 
YARJETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 65 
 
 " Pie," said Yiolaiite, with, arcli reproacTi, for slie knew her 
 father's hnmoiirs too well to interpret liis horrible sentiments 
 literally — "fie on your consistency, Padre carissimo. Do yon 
 not trust your secret to me ? " 
 
 *' You ! A kitten is not a cat, and a girl is not a woman. 
 Besides, the secret was already known to you, and I kad no 
 choice. Peace, Jemima will stay here for the present. See 
 to what you wish to take with you ; we shall leave to-night." 
 
 Not waiting for an answer, Riccabocca hnrried av/ay, and 
 with a firm step strode the terrace, and approached his 
 wife. 
 
 "J.mmamm," said the pupil of Machiavelli, disguising in 
 the tenderest words the cruellest intentions — for one of his 
 most cherished Italian proverbs was to tke effect, that there 
 is no getting on with a mule or a woman unless you coax 
 tkem, — " Anima mia, soul of my being, you have already seen 
 that Yiolante mopes herself to death here." 
 
 *' She, poor child ! Oh no ! " 
 She does, core of my heart — she does — and is as ignomnt 
 of music as I am of tent-stitch.** 
 
 " She sings beautifully." 
 
 " Just as birds do, against all the rules, and in defiance of 
 gamut. Therefore, to come to the point, 0 treasure of my 
 soul! I am going to take her with me for a short time, 
 perhaps to Cheltenham or Brighton. We shall see." 
 
 "All places with you are the same to me, Alphonso. When 
 shall we go ? " 
 
 " We shall go to-night ; but terrible as it is to part from 
 you — you—" 
 
 " Ah I " interrupted the wife, and covered her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 Riccabocca, the wiliest and most relentless of men in his 
 maxims, melted into absolute uxorial imbecility at the sight 
 of that mute distress. He put his arm round his wife's waist, 
 with genuine affection, and without a single proverb at his 
 Heart — " Garissima, do not grieve so ; we shall be back soon, 
 and travelling is expensive ; rolling stones gather no moss, 
 and there is so much to see to at home." 
 
 Mrs. Biccabocca gently escaped from her husband's arm. 
 She withdrew her hands from her face and brushed away the 
 tears that stood in her eyes. 
 
 "Alphonso," she said, touchingly, "hear me! What you 
 think good, that shall ever be good to me. But do not think 
 that I grieve solely because of our parting. 'No ; I grieve to 
 
 TOLo II. F 
 
66 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 tMnk tliat, despite all these years in wliicli I liave been tlie 
 partner of your heartli, and slept on your breast — all tbese years 
 in wbicli I have bad no thought but, however humbly, to do my 
 duty to you and yours, and could have wished that you had 
 read my heart, and seen there but ye?irself and your child — I 
 grieve to think that you still deem me as unworthy your 
 trust as when you stood by my side at the altar." 
 
 " Trust ! " repeated Riceabocca, st<artled and conscience- 
 stricken : " why do you say * trust ? ' In what have I distrusted 
 yoa? I am sure," he continued, with the artful volubility of 
 guilt, *'that I never doubted your fidelity — hook-nosed, long- 
 visaged foreigner though I be ; never pryed into your letters ; 
 never inquired into your solitary walks r never heeded your 
 flirtations with that good-looking Parson Dale ; never kept 
 the money ; and never looked into the account books ! ^' Mrs. 
 Riccabocca refused even a smile of contempt at theso revolt- 
 ing evasions ; nay, she seemed scarcely to hear them. 
 
 " Can you think," she resumed, pressing her hand on her 
 heart to still its struggles for relief in sobs — can you think 
 that I could have watched, and thought, and taxed my poor 
 mind so constantly, to conjecture what might best soothe or 
 please you, and not seen, long since, that you have secrets 
 known to your daughter — ^your servant — ^not to me ? Fear 
 nofc — ^the secrets cannot be evil, or you would not tell them to 
 your innocent child. Besides, do I not know your nature ? 
 and do I not love you because I know it ? — it is for something 
 connected with those secrets that you leave your home. You 
 think that I should be incautious — impru-dent. You will not 
 take me with you. Be it so. I go to prepare for your depar- 
 ture. Forgive me if I have displeased you, husband." 
 
 Mrs. Biccabocca turned away ; but a soft hand touched the 
 Italian's arm. " 0 father, can you resist this ? Trust her! 
 trust her ! — I am a woman like her ! I answer for her woman's 
 faith. Be yourself — ever nobler than all others, my own 
 father." 
 
 ^'Diavolo! Kever one door shuts but another opens," 
 groaned Biccabocca. " Are you a fool, child ? Don't you 
 see that it was for your sake only I feared — and would be 
 cautious ? " 
 
 " For mine ! 0 then do not make me deem myself mean, 
 and the cause of meanness. For mine ! Am I not your 
 daughter — the descendant of men who never feared ? " 
 
 Yiolante looked sublime while she spoke ; and as she ended 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 67 
 
 slie led her father gentlj on towards tlie door, whicli his wife 
 had now gained. 
 
 " Jemima — ^wife mine !■ — ^pardon, pardon/' cried the Italian, 
 (vhose heart had been yearning to repay such tenderness and 
 devotion, — " come back to my breast — it has been long closed 
 — it shall be open to yon now and for ever." 
 
 In another moment the wife was in her right place — on her 
 husband's bosom ; and Yiolante, beautiful peacemaker, stood 
 smiling awhile at both, and then lifted her eyes gratefully to 
 Heaven, and stole away. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 On Handal's return to town, he heard mixed and contradic- 
 tory rumours in the streets, and at the clubs, of the probable 
 downfall of the Grovernment at the approaching session of 
 Parhament, These rumours had sprung up suddenly, as if in 
 an hour. True that, for some time, the sagacious had shaken 
 their heads and said, Ministers could not last." True, that 
 certain changes in policy, a year or two before, had divided 
 bhe party on which the G-overnment depended, and strength- 
 ened that which opposed it. But still the more important 
 members of that Grovernment had been so long identified with 
 official station, and there seemed so little power in the Opposi- 
 tion to form a cabmet of names familiar to official ears, that 
 the general public had anticipated, at most, a few partial 
 changes. Humour now went far beyond this. Eandal, whoso 
 whole prospects at present were but reflections from the 
 greatness of his patron, was alarmed. He sought Egerton, 
 but the minister vfas impenetrable, and seemed calm, con- 
 fident, and imperturbed. Somewhat relieved, llandal then set 
 himself to work to find a safe home for Riccabocca ; for the 
 greater need to succeed in obtaining fortune there, if he failed 
 in getting it through Egerton. He found a quiet house, 
 detached and secluded, in the neighbourhood of ISTorwood. 
 ISTo vicinity more secure from espionage and remark. He 
 wrote to E/iccabocca, and communicated the address, adding 
 fresh assurances of his own power to be of use. The nest 
 morning he was seated in his office, thinking very little of the 
 details, that he mastered, however, with mechanical precision, 
 when the minister who presided over that department of th'* 
 
68 
 
 MY novel; oh, 
 
 public service, sent for bim into hm private room, and begged 
 bim to take a letter to Egerton, witb wbom be wisbed to 
 consult relative to a very important point to be decided in tbe 
 Cabinet tbat ^ay. I want you to take it," said tbe minister 
 smiling, (tbe minister was a frank bomely man,) " because 
 you are in Mr. Egerton's confidence, and be may give you 
 some verbal message besides a written reply. Egerton is 
 often over cautious and brief in tbe litera scrvpta.^^ 
 
 Randal went first to Egerton's neigbbouring office — Egerton 
 bad not been tbere tbat day. He tben took a cabriolet and 
 drove to Grosvenor Sg^uare. A quiet-looking cbariot was at 
 tbe door. Mr. Egerton was at bome ; but tbe servant said, 
 *' Dr. F. is witb bim, sir ; and perbaps be may not like to be 
 disturbed." 
 
 " Wbat — is your master ill ? " 
 
 " ISTot tbat I know of, sir. He never says be is ill. But be 
 bas looked poorly tbe last day or two." 
 
 Randal besitated a moment ; but bis commission migbt be 
 important, and Egerton was a man wbo so beld tbe maxim, 
 tbat bealtb and all else must give way to business, tbat be 
 resolved to enter ; and, unannounced and unceremoniously, as 
 was bis wont, be opened tbe door of tbe library. He started 
 as be did so. Audley Egerton was leaning back on tbe sofa, 
 and tbe doctor, on bis knees before bim, was applying tbe 
 stetboscope to bis breast. Egerton's eyes were partially closed 
 as tbe door opened. But at tbe noise be sprang up, nearly 
 oversetting tbe doctor. "Wbo's tbat? — How dare you?'^ 
 he exclaimed, in voice of great anger. Tben recognising 
 Randal, be cbanged colour, bit bis lip, and muttered drily, 
 " I beg pardon for my abraptness ; wbat do you want, Mr. 
 Leslie?" 
 
 Tbis letter from Lord ; I was told to deliver it 
 
 immediately into your own bands. I beg pardon-—" 
 
 " Tbere is no cause," said Egerton, coldly. " I bave bad 
 a sligbt attack of broncbitis ; and as Parliament meets so 
 soon, I must take advice from my doctor, if I would be beard 
 by tbe reporters. Lay tbe letter on tbe table, and be kind 
 enougb to wait for my reply." 
 
 Randal witbdrew. He bad never seen a pbysician in tbat 
 bouse before, and it seemed surprising tbat Egerton sbould 
 even take a medical opinion upon a sligbt attack. Wbile 
 waiting in tbe ante-room tbere was a knock at tbe street 
 door, and presently a gentleman, exceedingly well dressed j 
 was sbown in, and bonoured Randal witb an easy and balf- 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 69 
 
 familiar bow. Randal remembered to liaye met ihis personage 
 lit dinner, and afc tlie bouse of a young nobleman of bigb 
 fashion, but bad not been introduced to him, and did not 
 even know him by name. The visitor was better informed. 
 
 " Our friend Egerton is busy, I hear, Mr. Leslie," said he, 
 arranoiii£y the camelia in his button-hole. 
 
 Our friend Egerton!*' It must be a very great man to 
 say, Our friend Egerfcon.'' 
 
 " He will not be engaged long, I dare say,*' returned 
 Eandal, glancing his shrewd inquiring eye over the stranger's 
 person. 
 
 " I trust not ; my time is almost as precious as his own. I 
 was not so for tuna be as to be presented to you when we met 
 afc Lord Spendquick's. Good fellow, Spendquick ; and de- 
 cidedly clever." 
 
 LorJj Spendquick was usually esteemed a gentleman with- 
 out three ideas. 
 
 Randal smiled. 
 
 In the meanwhile the visitor had taken out a card from an 
 embossed morocco case, and now presented it to Kandal, who 
 read thereon, " Baron Levy, ISTo. — , Bruton Sfc." 
 
 The name was not unknown to Handal. It was a name too 
 often on the lips of men of fashion not to have reached the 
 ears of an liabitue of good society. 
 
 Mr. Levy had been a solicitor by profession. He had of 
 late years relinquished his ostensible calling : and not long 
 since, in consequence of some services towards the negotiation 
 of a loan, had been created a baron by one of the German 
 kings. The wealth of Mr. Levy was said to be only equal! i^d 
 by his good nature to all who were in want of a temporary 
 ban, and with sound expectations of repaying it some day or 
 other. 
 
 You seldom saw a finer-looking man than Baron Levy — 
 alKDut the same age as Egerton, but looking younger : so well 
 preserved — ^such magnificent black whiskers — such superb 
 teeth ! Despite his name and his dark complexion, he did 
 not, however, resemble a Jew — at least externally; and, in 
 fa,ct, he was not a Jew on the father's side, but the natural 
 son of a rich English grand seigneur^ by a Hebrew lady of 
 distinction — ^in the opera. After his birth, this lady had 
 married a German trader of her own persuasion, and her 
 husband had been prevailed u]3on, for the convenience of all 
 parties, to adopt his wife's son, and accord to him his own 
 Hebrew name. Mr, Levy, senior, was soon left a widower, 
 
70 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 and then the real father, tlioiigli never actually owning the 
 boy, had shown him great attention — had him frequently at 
 his house — initiated him betimes into his own high-born 
 society, for which the boy showed great taste. But when my 
 Lord died, and left but a moderate legacy to the younger 
 Levy, who was then about eighteen, that ambiguous person 
 was articled to an attorney by his putative sire, who 
 shortly afterwards returned to his native land, and was buried 
 at Prague, where his tombstone may yet be seen. Young 
 Levy, however, contrived to do very well without him. His 
 real birth was generally known, and rather advantageous to 
 him in a social point of view. His legacy enabled him to 
 become a partner where he had been a clerk, and his practice 
 became great amongst the fashionable classes of society. In- 
 deed he was so useful, so pleasant, so much a man of the world, 
 that he grew intimate with his clients — chiefly young men of 
 rank ; was on good terms with botli Jew and Christian ; and 
 being neither one nor the other, resembled (to use Sheridan's 
 incomparable simile) the blank page between the Old and the 
 IS^ew Testament. 
 
 Yulgar, some might call Mr. Levy, from his assurance, but 
 it was not the vulgarity of a man accustomed to low and 
 coarse society — rather the mauvais ton of a person not sure 
 of his own position, but who has resolved to swagger into the 
 best one he can get. When it is remembered that he had 
 made his way in the world, and gleaned together an im- 
 mense fortune, it is needless to add that he was as sharp as a 
 needle, and as hard as a flint. No man had had more friends, 
 and no man had stuck by them more firmly — so long as there 
 was a pound in their pockets ! 
 
 Something of this character had Randal heard of the 
 Baron, and he now gazed, first at his card, and then at him 
 with — admiration. 
 
 met a friend of yours at Borrowell's the other day," 
 resumed the Baron — ^' Young Hazeldean. Careful fellow — • 
 quite a man of the world." 
 
 As this was the last praise poor Frank deserved, "Randal 
 again smiled. 
 
 The Baron went on—" I hear, Mr. Leslie, that you have 
 much influence over this same Hazeldean. His affairs are in 
 a sad state. I should be very happy to be of use to him, as a 
 relation of my friend Egerton's ; but he understands businesa 
 so well that he despises my advice." 
 
 " I am sure you do him injustice," 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 ^' Injustice ! I honour Ms caution. I say to every man, 
 * Don't come to me — I can get you money on much easier 
 terms than any one else ; and what's the result ! You com^ 
 so often that you ruin yourself; whereas a regular usurer 
 without conscience frightens you. " Cent, per cent.," you 
 say ; " oh, I must pull in.'" If you have influence over your 
 friend, tell him to stick to his bill-brokers, and have nothing 
 to do with Baron Levy." 
 
 Here the minister's bell rung, and Randal, looking througli 
 the window, saw Dr. E. walking to his carriage, w^hich had 
 made way for Baron Levy's splendid cabriolet — a cabriolet in 
 the most perfect taste — Baron's coronet on the dark-brown 
 panels — ^horse black, with such action ! — ^harness just relieved 
 with plating. The servant now entered, and requested Randal 
 to step in ; and addressing the Baron, assured him that he 
 would not be detained a minute. 
 
 "Leslie," said the minister, sealing a note, "take this back 
 to Lord , and say that I shall be with him in an hour." 
 
 " ISTo other message — he seemed to expect one." 
 
 "I dare say he did. Well, my letter is official, my message 
 
 is not : beg him to see Mr. before we meet — he will 
 
 understand — all rests upon that interview." 
 
 Egerton then, extending the letter, resumed gravely — " Of 
 course, you will not mention to any one that Dr, F. was with 
 me : the health of public men is not to be suspected. Hum- 
 were you in your own room or the ante-room ? " 
 
 "The ante-room, sir." 
 
 Egerton's brow contracted slightly. " And Mr. Levy waa 
 there, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes—the Baron." 
 
 " Baron ! true. Gome to plague me about the Mexican 
 loan, I suppose. I will keep you no longer." 
 
 Randal, much meditating, left the house, and re-entered 
 his hack cab. The Baron was admitted to the statesman's 
 presence. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Egeeton had thrown himself at full length on the sofa, a 
 position exceedingly rare with him ; and about his whole air 
 and manner, as Levy entered, there was something singularly 
 different from that stateliness of port common to the austere 
 
7^ 
 
 MY KOYEL ; OE, 
 
 legislator. The very tone of his voice was different. It wa3 
 as if tlie statesman — the man of business — had vanished ; it 
 was rather the man of fashion and the idler, who, nodding* 
 languidly to his visitor, said, " Levy, what money ca.n I have 
 for a year ? " 
 
 " The estate will bear very little more. My dear felloAV, 
 that last election was the very devil. You cannot go on thus 
 much longer. 
 
 " My dear fellow ! " Baron Levy hailed Audley Egerton 
 as "my dear fellow." And Audley Egerton, perhaps, saw 
 nothing strange in the words, though his lip curled. 
 
 " I shall not want to go on thus much longer," answered 
 Egerton, as the curl on his lip changed to a gloomy smile 
 
 The estate must, meanwhile, bear 3G5000 more.'* 
 
 " A hard pull on it. You had really better sell." 
 
 " I cannot afford to sell at present. I cannot afford men to 
 say, * Audley Egerton is done up — his property is for sale.' " 
 
 " It is very sad when one thinks what a rich man you have 
 been — and may be yet ! " 
 
 " Be yet ! How ? " 
 
 Baron Levy glanced towards the thick mahogany doors — 
 thick and impervious as should be the doors of statesmen. 
 " Why, you know that, with three words from you, I could 
 produce an effect upon the stocks of three nations, that might 
 give us each a hundred thousand pounds. We would go 
 shares." 
 
 " Levy," said Egerton, coldly, though a deep blush over- 
 spread his face, " you are a scoundrel ; that is your look-out. 
 I interfere with no man's tastes and conscience. I don't 
 intend to be a scoundrel myself. I have told you that long 
 ago." 
 
 The usurer's brows darkened, but he dispelled the cloud 
 with an easy laugh. 
 
 " Well, said he, " you are neither wise nor complimentary, 
 but you shall have the money. But yet, would it not be 
 better," added Levy, with emphasis, " to borrow it without 
 interest, of your friend L'Estrange ? " 
 
 Egerton started as if stung. 
 
 " You mean to taunt me, sir ! " he exclaimed, passionately. 
 " I accept pecuniary favours from Lord L'Estrange ! — I ! " 
 
 " Tut, my dear Egerton, I dare say my Lord would not 
 think so ill now of that act in your life which — " 
 
 " Hold ! " exclaimed Egerton, writhing. " Hold ! " 
 
 He stopped, and paced the room, muttering, in broken 
 
VAEIETIES IN EKGLISII LIFK 
 
 73 
 
 sentences, " To blusb. before tliis man ! Chastisement, clias- 
 tisemeni} ! " 
 
 Levy gazed on liim with hard and sinister ejes. The 
 minister turned abruptly. 
 
 "Look you, Levy," said he, with forced composure—" yon 
 hate me — why, I know not." 
 
 " Hate you ! How have I shown hatred ? Would yon 
 ever have lived in this palace, and ruled this country as one 
 of the most iufluential of its ministers, but for my manage- 
 ment — my whispers to the wealthy Miss Leslie ? Come, but 
 for me what would you have been — perhaps a beggar ? " 
 
 " What shall I be now, if I live ? And this fortune which 
 my marriage brought to me — it has passed for the main part 
 into your hands. Be patient, yon will have it all ere long. 
 But there is one man in the world who has loved me from a 
 boy, and woe to you if ever he learn that he has the right to 
 despise me ! " 
 
 Egerton, my good fellow," said Levy, with great com- 
 posure, " you need not threaten me, for what intercvst can I 
 possibly have in tale-telling to Lord L'Estrange ? Again, 
 dismiss from your mind the absurd thought that I hate you. 
 True, you snub me in private, you cut me in public, yon 
 refuse to come to my dinners, you'll not ask me to your own; 
 still, there is no man I like better, nor would more willingly 
 serve. When do you want the £5000 ? " 
 
 " Perhaps in one month, perhaps not for three or four. Let 
 it be ready when requii*ed." 
 
 "Enough; depend on it. Have yon any other com- 
 mands ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 "I will take my leave, then. By-the-by, what do you 
 suppose the Hazeldean rental is worth — net ? " 
 
 " J don't know, nor care. You have no designs upon that 
 too ? " 
 
 " Well, I like keeping up family connections. Mr. Frank 
 seems a liberal young gentleman." 
 
 Before Egerton could answer, the Baron had glided to the 
 door, and, nodding pleasantly, vanished with that nod. 
 ^ Egerton remained, standing on his solitary hearth. A drear, 
 single man's room it was, from will to wall, despite its fretted 
 ceilings and official pomp of Bramah escritoires and red boxes. 
 Drear and cheerless — no trace of ^.woman's habitation — no 
 vestige of intruding, happy children. There stood the austere 
 
74 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 man alone. AikJ tlien with a deep sigli lie muttered, " Tkan"k 
 heaven, not for long — it will not last long.'* 
 
 Repeating those words, he mechanically locked up his 
 papers, and pressed his hand to his heart for an instant, as if 
 a spasm had shot throngh it. 
 
 " So — I must shun all emotion ! " said he, shaking his head 
 gently. 
 
 In five minntes more, Andley Egerton was in the streets, 
 his mien erect, and his step firm as ever. 
 
 " That man is made of Bronze,'' said a leader of the Oppo- 
 vsition to a friend as they rode past the ministero Wlial 
 irould I not give for his nerves i " 
 
VATIIETIE3 IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 75 
 
 BOOK NINTH. 
 
 , § 
 
 INITIAL CHAPTBB. 
 
 ON PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 How that I am fairly in tlie heart of my story, these pre- 
 iiminary chapters must shrink into comparatively small 
 dimensions, and not encroach upon the space required by the 
 various personages whose acquaintance I have picked up hero 
 and there, and who are now all crowding upon me like poor 
 relations to whom one has unadvisedly given a general invi- 
 tation, and who descend upon one simultaneously about 
 Christmas time. Where they are to be stowed, and what is 
 to become of them all, Heaven knows ; in the meanwhile, the 
 reader will have already observed that the Caxton !Pamily 
 themselves are turned out of their own rooms, sent a-packing, 
 in order to make way for the new comers* 
 
 But to proceed.— STote the heading to the present Chapter 
 
 ON Public Life," — a thesis pertinent to this portion of my 
 narrative, and if somewhat trite in itself, the greater is the 
 stimulus to suggest thereon some original hints for reflection. 
 
 Were you ever in public life, my dear reader ? I don't 
 mean, by that question, to ask whether you were ever Lord 
 Chancellor, Prime Minister, Leader of the Opposition, or even 
 a member of the House of Commons. An author hopes to 
 find readers far beyond that very egregious but very limited 
 segment of the Great Circle. Were you ever a busy man in 
 your vestry, active in a municipal corporation, one of a com- 
 mittee for farthering the interests of an enlightened candidate 
 for your native burgh, town, or shire ? — in a word, did you 
 ever resign your private comforts as men in order to share 
 the public troubles of mankind ? If ever you have so far 
 departed from the Lucretian philosophy, just look back- — was 
 it life at all that you lived ? — were you an individual distinct 
 existence — a passenger in the railway ? — or were you merely 
 an indistinct portion of thafc common ilame which heated the 
 boiler and generated the steam that set olf the monster train? 
 — very hot, very active, very useful, no doabt; but all your 
 identity fused in flame, and all your forces vanishing in §:as. 
 
76 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 And do you think .the people in the railway carriages care 
 for yon ? — do you think that the gentleman in the worsted 
 wrapper is saying to his neighbour with the striped rug on 
 his comfortable knees, " How grateful we ought to be for 
 that fiery particle which is crackling and hissing under the 
 boiler ! It helps us on a fraction of an inch from Yauxhall 
 to Putney ! " Not a bit of it. Ten to one but he is saying 
 — "ISTot sixteen miles an hour ! What the deuce is the matter 
 with the stoker ? " 
 
 Look at our friend Audley Egerton. You have just had a 
 glimpse of the ^ real being that struggles under the huge 
 copper ; — ^you have heard the hollow sound of the rich man's 
 coffers under the tap of Baron Levy's friendly knuckle — 
 heard the strong man's heart give out its dull warning sound 
 
 to the scientific ear of Dr. E . And away once more 
 
 vanishes the separate existence, lost again in the flame that 
 heats the boiler, and the smoke that curls into air from the 
 grimy furnace. 
 
 Look to it, 0 Public Man, whoever thou art, and wha^o- 
 ever thy degree — see if thou canst not compound matters, so 
 as to keep a little nook apart for thy private life ; that is, 
 for thyself I Let the Grreat Popkins Question not absorb 
 wholly the individual soul of thee, as Smith or Johnson. 
 Don't so entirely consume thyself under that insatiable boiler, 
 that when thy poor little monad rushes out from the sooty 
 furnace, and arrives at the stars, thou mayest find no vocation 
 for thee there, and feel as if thou hadst nothing to do amidst 
 the still splendours of the Infinite. I don't deny to thee the 
 uses of " Public Life; " I grant that it is much to have helped 
 to carry that great Popkins Question ; but Private Life, my 
 friend, is the life of thy private soul; and there may be 
 matters concerned with that which, on consideration, thou 
 mayest allow, cannot be wholly mixed up with the Great 
 Popkins Question — and were not finally settled when thou 
 didst exclaim — I have not lived in vain — the Popkins 
 Question is carried at last ! " Oh, immortal soul, for one 
 quarter of an hour per diem — -de-Popkinise thine inimor» 
 talitj 1 
 
YAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 77 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It had not been without mncli persuasion on the part of 
 Jackejmo, that E/iccabocca had consented to settle himself in 
 the house which E-andal had recommended to him. Not that 
 the exile conceived any suspicion of the young man beyond 
 thati which he might have shared with Jackeymo, viz., that 
 Baixdal's interest in the father was increased by a very 
 natural and excusable admiration of the daughter. But the 
 Italian had the pride common to misfortune,-^he did not like 
 to be indebted to others, and he shrank from the pity of 
 those to whom it was known that he had held a higher 
 station in his own land. These scruples gave way to the 
 strength of his affection for his daughter and his dread of 
 his foe. Grood men, however able and brave, who have 
 suffered from the wicked, are apt to form exaggerated notions 
 of the power that has prevailed against them. Jackeymo had 
 conceived a superstitious terror of Peschiera ; and Ricca- 
 bocca, though by no means addicted to superstition, still had 
 a certain creep of the flesh whenever he thought of his foe. 
 
 But Riccabocca — than whom no man was more physically 
 brave, and no man in some respects, more morally timid — 
 Ceared the Count less as a foe than as a gallant. He remem- 
 bered his kinsman's surpassing beauty — the power he had 
 obtained over women. He knew him versed in every art that 
 corrupts, and wholly void of the conscience that deters. And 
 Riccabocca had unhappily nursed himself into so poor an 
 estimate of the female character, that even the pure and 
 lofty nature of taolante did not seem to him a sufficient safe- 
 guard against vLe craft and determination of a practised 
 and remorseless intriguer. But of all the precautions he 
 could take, none appeared more likely to conduce to safety, 
 than his establishing a friendly communication with one who 
 professed to be able to get at all the Count's plans and move- 
 ments, and who could apprise Riccabocca at once should his 
 retreat be discovered. Forewarned is forearmed," said he 
 to himself, in one of the proverbs common to all nations. 
 However, as with his usual sagacity he came to reflect upon 
 the alarming intelligence conveyed to him by Randal, viz., 
 thafc the Count sought his daughter's hand, he divined that 
 there was some strong personal interest under such ambition ^ 
 and what could l)o that interest save the probability of Ricca- 
 bocca's ultimate admission to the Imperial grace, and tha 
 
78 
 
 MY NOTEL; or, 
 
 Com. b's desire to assure himself of tlie heritage to an estate 
 that he might be permitted to retain no more ? Riccabocca 
 was not indeed aware of the condition (not according to nsnal 
 customs in Austria) on which the Count held the forfeited 
 domains. He knew not that thej had been granted merelj 
 on pleasure ; but he was too well aware of Peschiera's nature 
 to suppose that he would woo a bride without a dower, 
 or be moved bj remorse in any overture of reconciliation. 
 He felt assured too—and this increased all his fears — that 
 Peschiera would never venture to seek an interview with 
 himself ; all the Count's designs on Yiolante would be dark, 
 secret, and clandestine. He was perplexed and tormented by 
 the doubt, whether or not to express openly to Yiolante his 
 apprehensions of the nature of the danger to be appre^ 
 hended. He had told her vaguely that it was for her 
 sake that he desired secrecy and concealment. But that 
 might mean anything : what danger to himself would not 
 menace her ? Yet to say more was so contrary to a man 
 of his Italian notions and Machiavellian maxims ! To say 
 to a young girl, There is a man come over to England 
 on purpose to woo and win you. For Heaven's sake take 
 care of him ; he is diabolically handsome ; he never fails 
 where he sets his heart." — " Gosjpetto ! " cried the Doctor, 
 aloud, as these admonitions shaped themselves to speech in 
 the camera-obscura of his brain ; " such a warning would 
 have undone a Cornelia while she was yet an innocent 
 spinster." IsTo, he resolved to say nothing to Yiolante of 
 the Count's intention, only to keep guard, and make himself 
 and Jackeymo all eyes and all ears. 
 
 The house Bandal had selected pleased Riccabocca at first 
 glance. It stood alone, upon a little eminence ; its upper 
 windows commanded the high road. It had been a school, 
 and was surrounded by high walls, which contained a 
 garden and lawn sufficiently large for exercise. The garden 
 doors were thick, fortified by strong bolts, and had a little 
 wicket lattice, shut and opened at pleasure, from which 
 Jackeymo could inspect all visitors before he permitted them 
 to enter. 
 
 An old female servant from the neighbourhood was 
 cautiously hired ; Hiccabocca renounced his Italian name, 
 and abjured his origin. He spoke English sufficiently well to 
 think he could pass as an Englishman. He called himself 
 Mr. Richmouth (a liberal translation of Hiccabocca). He 
 bought a blunderbuss, two pair of pistols, and a huge house- 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 79 
 
 dog. Thus provided for, lie allowed Jackejmo to write a 
 line to Randal and communicate his arrival. 
 
 Randal lost no time in calling. With his usual adaptability^ 
 and his powers o£ dissimulation, he contrived easily to please 
 Mrs. Riccabocca, and to increase the good opinion the exile 
 was disposed to form of him. lie engaged Yiolante in con- 
 versation on Italy and its poets. Ho promised to bring her 
 books. He began, thougb more distantly than he could have 
 desired — for her sweet stateliness awed him — the preliminaries 
 of courtship. He established himself at once as a familiar 
 guest, riding down daily in the dusk of evening, after the 
 toils of office, and retiring at nigbt. In four or five days he 
 thought he had made great progress with all. Riccabocca 
 watched him narrowly, and grew absorbed in thought after 
 every visit. At length one night, when he and Mrs. Ricca- 
 bocca were alone in the drawing-room, Yiolante having retired 
 to rest, he thus spoke as he filled his pipe : — 
 
 Happy is the man who has no children ! Thrice happy 
 he who has no girls ! 
 
 My dear Alphonso ! " said the wife, looking up from the 
 wristband to which she was attaching a neat mother-o'-pearl 
 button. She said no more ; it was the sharpest rebuke she 
 was in the custom of administering to her husband's cynical and 
 odious observations. Riccabocca lighted his pipe with a thread 
 paper, gave three great puffs, and resumed. 
 
 " One blunderbuss, four pistols, and a house-dog called 
 Pompey, who would have made mincemeat of Julius 
 Ca3sar ! '* 
 
 " He certainly eats a great deal, does Pompey ! said Mrs. 
 Riccabocca, simply. " But if he relieves your mind ! 
 
 "He does not relieve it in the least, ma'am," groaned 
 Riccabocca ; " and that is the point I was coming to. This 
 is a most harassing life, and a most undignified life. And 
 I who have only asked from Heaven dignity and repose ! But, 
 if Yiolante were once married, I should want neither blunder- 
 buss, pistol, nor Pompey. And it is that which would relieve 
 my mind, cai^a mia, — Pompey only relieves my larder ! " 
 
 Now Riccabocca had been more communicative to Jemima 
 than he had been to Yiolante. Having once trusted her with 
 one secret, he had every motive to trust her with another ; 
 and he had accordingly spoken out his fears of the Count di 
 Peschiera. Therefore she answered, laying down the work, 
 and taking her husband's hand tenderly— 
 
 " Indeed, my love, since you dread so mudi (though I own 
 
80 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 tbat I must tliink unreasonably) tliis wicked, dangerous man 
 it would be the happiest tiling in the world to see dear Yiolantt 
 well married; because, you see, i£ sbe is married to one person 
 sbe cannot be married to another ; and all fear of tbis Count, 
 as you say, would be at an end.'' 
 
 " You cannot express yourself better. It is a great comfort 
 to unbosom one's-self to a wife, after all ; " quoth Riccabocca 
 
 "But," said the wife, after a grateful kiss — "but, where 
 and bow can we find a husband suitable to the rank of your 
 daughter ? " 
 
 "There — there — there," cried B;iccabocca, pushing back his 
 cbair to the farther end of the room — " that comes of un- 
 bosoming one's-self! Out flies one's secret; it is opening 
 the lid of Pandora's box ; one is betrayed, ruined, undone ! " 
 
 "Why, there's not a soul that can bear us! "said Mrs. 
 Riccabocca, soothingly. 
 
 "That's chance, ma'am! If you once contract the habit 
 of blabbing out a secret when nobody's by, how on earth can 
 you resist it when you have the pleasurable excitement of 
 telling it to all the world ? Yanifcy, vanity — woman's vanity ! 
 Woman never could withstand rank — never 1 " The Doctor 
 went on railing for a quarter of an hour, and was very re- 
 luctantly appeased by Mrs. Hiccabocca's repeated and tearful 
 assurances that sbe would never even whisper to herself that 
 her husband had ever held any other rank than that of Doctor. 
 Riccabocca, with a dubious shake of the head, renewed — - 
 
 " I have done with all pomp and pretension. Besides, the 
 young man is a born gentleman : he seems in good circum- 
 stances; he has energy and latent ambition; he is akin 
 to L'Estrange's intimate friend: he seems attached to 
 Violante. I don't think it probable that we could do better. 
 ISTay, if Peschiera fears that I shall be restored to my country, 
 and I learn the wherefore, and the ground to take, through 
 this young man— why, gratitude is the first virtue of the 
 noble ! " 
 
 " You speak, then, of Mr. Leslie ? " 
 " To be sure — of whom else ? " 
 
 Mrs. Riccabocca leaned her cheek on her hand thought- 
 fally. " 'Now you have told me that, I will observe him with 
 different eyes." 
 
 Aniona mia, I don't see how the difference of your eyes 
 will alter the object they look ujDon ! " grumbled Riccabocca, 
 shaking the ashes out of his pipe. 
 
 " The object alters when we see it in a different point of 
 
YAKIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 81 
 
 view ! " replied Jemima, modestly. " This thread does very 
 well when I look at it in order to sew on a button, but I should 
 ^aj it would never do to tie up Pompey in his kennel.'* 
 
 " Reasoning by illustration, upon my soul ! " ejaculated 
 Riccabocca, amazed. 
 
 "And," continued Jemima, " when I am to regard one who 
 is to constitute the happiness of that dear child, and for life, 
 can I regard him as I would the pleasant guest of an evening ? 
 Ah, trust me, Alphonso ; I don't pretend to be wise like you ; 
 but, when a woman considers what a man is likely to prove 
 to woman — his sincerity — his lionour — his heart — oh, trust 
 me, she is wiser than the wisest man ! " 
 
 Eiiccabocca continued to gaze on Jemima with, unaffected 
 admiration and surprise. And, certainly, to use his phrase, 
 since he had unbosomed himself to his better half — since he 
 had confided in her, consulted with lier, her sense had seemed 
 to quicken — ^her whole mind to expand. 
 
 " My dear," said the sage, " I vow and declare thatMachia- 
 velli was a fool to you. And I bave been as dull as the chair 
 I sit upon, to deny myself so many years the comfort and 
 
 counsel of such a but, corpo di Bacco I forget all about 
 
 rank • and so now to bed. — One must not holloa till one's out 
 of the wood," muttered the ungrateful, suspicious villain, as 
 he lighted the chamber candle. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RiCCABOCCA could not confine himself to the precincts within 
 the walls to which he condemned Yiolante. Resuming his 
 spectacles, and wrapped in his cloak, he occasionally sallied 
 forth upon a kind of outwatch or reconnoitring expedition — • 
 restricting himself, however, to the immediate neighbourhood, 
 and never going quite out of sight of his house. His favourite 
 walk was to the summit of a hillock overgrown with stunted 
 busb-wood. Here he would sit himself musingly, often till 
 the hoofs of Randal's horse rang on the winding road, as the 
 sun set, over fading herbage, red and vaporous, in autumnal 
 skies. Just below the hillock, and not two hundred yards 
 from his own house, was the only other habitation in view — a 
 charming, thoroughly Englisb cottage, though somewhat imi- 
 tated from the Flv/iss — ^with gable ends, thatched roof, and 
 pretty, projecti^tjki casements, opening through creepers and 
 
 YCL. II. ^ 
 
8^ 
 
 Mf kovel; or. 
 
 climbing roses. From his height he commanded the gardena 
 of this cottage, and his eye of artist was pleased, from the 
 first sight, with the beauty which some exquisite taste had 
 given to the ground. Even in that cheerless season of the 
 year, the garden wore a summer smile ; the evergreens were 
 so bright and various, and the few flowers, still left, so hardy 
 and so healthful. Facing the south, a colonnade, or covered 
 gallery, of rustic woodwork had been formed, and creeping 
 plants, lately set, were already beginning to clothe its columns. 
 Opposite to this colonnade there was a fountain which re- 
 minded Riccabocca of his own at the deserted Casino. It was 
 indeed singularly like it ; the same circular shape, the same 
 girdle of flowers around it. But the jet from it varied every 
 day — fantastic and multiform, like the sports of a Kai'ad — - 
 sometimes shooting up like a tree, sometimes shaped as a 
 convolvulus, sometimes tossing from its silver spray a flower 
 of Vermillion, or a fruit of gold — as if at play with its toy 
 like a happy child. And near the fountain was a large aviary, 
 large enough to enclose a tree. The Italian could just catch 
 a gleam of rich colour from the wings of the birds, as they 
 glanced to and fro within the network, and could hear their 
 songs, contrasting the silence of the freer populace of air, 
 whom the coming winter had already stilled. 
 
 Hiccabocca's eye, so alive to all aspects of beauty, luxu- 
 riated in the view of this garden. Its pleasantness had a 
 charm that stole him from his anxious fear and melancholy 
 memories. 
 
 He never saw but two forrias within the demesnes, and he 
 could not distinguish their features. One was a woman, who 
 seemed to hiru of staid manner and homely appearance : she 
 was seen but rarely. The other a man, often pacing to and 
 fro the colonnade, with frequent pauses before the playful 
 fountain, or the birds that sang louder as he approached. 
 This latter form would then disappear within a room, the 
 glass door of which was at the extreme end of the colon- 
 nade ; and if the door weris left open, Hiccabocca could catch 
 a glimpse of the figure 'bending over a table covered with 
 books. 
 
 Always, however, before the sun set, the man would step 
 forth more briskly, and occupy himself with the garden, often 
 working at it with good heart, as if at a task of delight ; and 
 then, too, the woman would come out, and stand by as if 
 talking to her companion. Hiccabocca's curiosity grew aroiised. 
 He bade iTeminla inquire of the old maid-servant who lived 
 
1 
 
 VARfETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 83 
 
 at tlie Goitage, and heard tliat ihs owner was a Mr. Omn-— a 
 quiet gentleman, and fond of liis book. 
 
 While Riccabocca thus amused himself, Randal had not 
 been prevented, either by his official cares or his schemes on 
 Violante's heari3 and fortune, from furthering the project that 
 was to unite Frank Hazeldean and Beatrice di .Sfegra. In- 
 deed, as to the first, a raj of hope was sufficient to fire the 
 ardent and unsuspecting lover. And Randal's artful misre- 
 presentation of his conference with Mrs. Hazeldean, removed 
 all fear of parental displeasure from a mind always too 
 disposed to give itself up to the temptation of the moment. 
 Beatrice, though her feelings for Frank were not those of love, 
 became more and more influenced by Randal's arguments and 
 representations, the more especially as her brother grew 
 morose, and even menacing, as days slipt on, and she could 
 give no clue to the retreat of those whom he sought for. Her 
 debts, too, were really urgent^ As Randal's profound know- 
 ledge of human infirmity had shrewdly conjectured, the 
 Bcraples of honour and pride, that had made her declare she 
 would not bring to a husband her own encumbrances, began 
 to yield to the pressure of necessity. She listened already, 
 with but faint objections, when Randal urged her not to wait 
 for the uncertain discorery that was to secure her dowry, but 
 by a pt^ivate liiarriage with Frank escape at once into freedom 
 and secui^ity. WhilCj though he had first held out to young 
 Hazeldean the inducement of Beatrice's dowry as a reason of 
 self -justification in the eyes of the Squire, it was still easiel* 
 to drop that inducement, w-hich had always rather damped 
 than tired the high spirit and generous heart of the poor 
 Guardsman. And Randal could conscientiously say, that when 
 he had asked the Squire if he expected fortune with Frank's 
 bride, the Squire had replied—" I don't care." Thus encou*- 
 raged by his friend and his own heart, and the softening 
 manner of a woman who might haye charmed many a colder, 
 and fooled many a wdser man, Frank rapidly yielded to the 
 snares held out for his perdition. And though as yet he 
 honestly shrank from proposing to Beatrico or himself a 
 marriage without the consent, and even the Imowledge, of his 
 parents, yet Randal was quite content to leave a nature, how- 
 ever goodj so thoroughly impulsive and undisciplined, to the 
 influences of the first strong passion it had ever known. 
 Meanwhile, it was so easy to dissuade Frank from even giving 
 a hint to the folks at home. " For," said the wily and able 
 traitor, " though we may be sure of Mrs. Hazeldean's consent, 
 
84 
 
 MY novel; oh, 
 
 and h.er power over jour father, when the step is once taken, 
 yet we cannot count for certain on the Squire — he is so 
 choleric and hasty. He might hurry to town — see Madame 
 di Negra, blurt out some passionate, rude expressions, which 
 would wake her resentment, and cause her instant rejection. 
 And it might be too late if he repented afterwards — as he 
 would be sure fco do." 
 
 Meanwhile Bandal Leslie gave a dinner at the Clarendon 
 Hotel, (an exbravagance most contrary to his habits,) and 
 invited Frank, Mr. Borrowell, and Baron Levy. 
 
 But this house- spider, which glided with so much ease 
 after its flies, through webs so numerous and mazy, had yet 
 to amuse Madame di Negra with assurances that the fugitives 
 sought for would sooner or later be discovered. Though 
 Bandal baffled and eluded her suspicion that he was already 
 acquainted with the exiles, (" the persons he had thought of 
 were," he said, " quite different from her description ; and 
 he even presented to her an old singing-master, and a sallow- 
 faced daughter, as the Italians who had caused this mistake,) 
 it was necessary for Beatrice to prove the sincerity of the aid 
 she had promised to her brother, and to introduce Bandal to 
 the Count. It was no less desirable to Bandal to know, and 
 even win the confidence of this man — his rival. 
 
 The two met at Madame di N'egra's house. There is some- 
 thing very strange, and almost mesmerical, in the rapjQort 
 between two evil natures. Bring two honest men together, 
 and it is ten to one if they recognise each other as honest ; 
 differences in temper, manner, even politics, may make each 
 misjudge the other. But bring together two men, unprin- 
 cipled and perverted — men who, if born in a cellar, would 
 have been food for the hulks or gallows — and they understand 
 each other by instant sympathy. The eyes of Franzini, Count 
 of Peschiera, and Bandal Leslie no sooner met, than a gleam 
 of intelligence shot from both. They talked on indifferent 
 subjects — weather, gossip, politics — what not. They bowed 
 and they smiled ; but, all the while, each was watching, 
 plumbing the other *s heart, each measuring his strength with 
 ais companion ; each inly saying, " This is a very remarkable 
 rascal ; am I a match for him ? " It was at dinner they met; 
 and following the English fashion, Madame di IsTegra left them 
 alone with their wine. 
 
 Then, for the first time. Count di Peschiera cauiiously and 
 adroitly mado a ©overed push towards the object ol the 
 meeting. 
 
VARIETIES m moLim life 
 
 85 
 
 " You have never been abroad, my dear sir ? You must 
 contrive to visit me at Yienna. I grant tbe splendour o£ your 
 London world ; but, honestly speaking, it v,^ants tlie freedom 
 of ours — a freedom wbicli unites gaiety witli polish. For as 
 your society is mixed, there are pretension and effort with 
 those who have no right to be in it, and artificial condescen- 
 sion and chilling arrogance with those who have to keep their 
 inferiors at a certain distance. With ub, all being of fixed 
 rank and acknowledged birth, familiarity is at once esta- 
 blished. Hence," added the Count, with his French lively 
 smile — " hence there is no place like Yienna for a young man 
 • — ^no place like Yienna for tonnes fortunes.''^ 
 
 "Those make the paradise of the idle," replied Randal, 
 " but the purgatory of the busy. I confess frankly to you, 
 my dear Count, that I have as little of the leisure which 
 becomes the aspirer to tonnes fortunes as I have the personal 
 graces which obtain them without an effort ; " and he inclined 
 his head as in compliment. 
 
 " So," thought the Count, "woman is not his wea^^ side. 
 What is ? " 
 
 " Mortleu I my dear Mr. Leslie— had I thought as you do 
 some years since, I had saved myself from many a trouble. 
 After all. Ambition is the best mistress to woo ; for with her 
 there is always the hope, and never the possession." 
 
 " Ambition, Count," replied Randal, still guarding himseK 
 in dry sententiousness, " is the luxury of the rich, and the 
 necessity of the poor.'* 
 
 "Aha," thought the Count, "it comes, as I anticipated 
 from the first — comes to the bribe." He passed the wine to 
 Randal, filling his own glass, and draining it carelessly : " 8ur 
 mon dme mon cJier,^^ said the Count, " luxury is ever pleasanter 
 than necessity ; and I am resolved at least to give Ambition a 
 trial — je vais me refiigier dans le sein du tonlieur domestique- — a 
 married life and a settled home. Peste ! If it were not for 
 ambition, one would die of ennui. Apropos, my dear sir, I 
 have to thank you for promising my sister your aid in finding 
 a near and dear kinsman of mine, who has taken refuge in 
 your country, and hides himself even from me." 
 
 " I should be most happy to assist in your search. As yet, 
 however, I have only to regret that all my good wishos are 
 fruitless. I should have thought, however, that a man oi 
 such rank had been easily f oimd, even through the mediura 
 ©f your own ambassador." 
 
 "Our own ambassador is no very warm friend of mine^ 
 
86 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 and tlie rank would be no clue, for it is elear tliat my kins- 
 man has never assumed it since lie quitted liis country." 
 
 " He quitted it, I understand, not exactly from dioice^" 
 said Randal, smiling. " Pardon my freedom and curiosity, 
 but , will you explain to me a little more than I learn from 
 English rumour, (which never accurately reports upon foreign 
 matters still more notorious,) how a person who had so much 
 to lose, and so little to win, by revolution, con Id put himself 
 into the same crazy boat with a crew of hair-bi'ained adven- 
 turers and visionary professors." 
 
 Professors ! " repeated the Count ; " I think you have hit 
 on the very answer to your question ; not but what men of 
 high birth were as mad as the canaille. I am the more 
 willing to gratify your curiosity, since it will perhaps serve to 
 guide your kind search in my favour. You must know, then, 
 that my kinsman was not born the heir to the rank he ob- 
 tained. He was but a distant relation to the head of the 
 house which he afterwards represented. Brought up in an 
 Italian university, he was distinguished for his learning and 
 his eccentricities. There too, I suppose, brooding over old 
 wives' tales about freedom, and so forth, he contracted his 
 carhonarOf chimerical notions for the independence of Italy* 
 Suddenly, by three deaths, he was elevated, while yet young, 
 to a station and honours which might have satisfied any man 
 in his senses. Que diahle ! what could the independence of 
 Italy do for him ! He and I were cousins ; we had played 
 together as boys ; but our Hves had been separated till his 
 succession to rank brought us necessarily together. We 
 became exceedingly intimate. And you may judge how I 
 loved him," said the Count, averting his eyes slightly from 
 Handal's quiet, watchful gaze, "when I add, that I forgave 
 him for enjoying a heritage that, but for him, had been 
 mine." 
 
 " Ah, you were next heir ? " 
 
 " And it is a hard trial to be very neO/r a great fortune, and 
 yet just to miss it." 
 
 " True," cried Bandal, almost impetuously. The Count 
 now raised his eyes, and again the two men looked into each 
 other's souls. 
 
 "Harder still, perhaps," resumed the Count, after a short 
 pause — " harder still might it have been to some men iA 
 forgive the rival as well as the heir." 
 
 " Rival ! how ? " 
 A lady, who had been destined by her parents to myself, 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 87 
 
 thougli we liad never, I own, been formally betrotlied, 
 became tlie wife of my kinsman," 
 
 " Did lie know of your pretensions ? " 
 
 " I do bim tbe justice to say be did not. He saw and fell 
 in loye witb tbe young lady I speak of. Her parents were 
 dazzled. Her fatber sent for me, He apologised — ^be ex- 
 plained ; be set before me, mildly enougb, certain youtbf ul 
 imprudences or errors of my own, as an excuse for bis cbange 
 of mind ; and be asked me not only to resign all bope of bis 
 daugbter, but to conceal from ber new suitor tbat I bad ever 
 ventured to bope." 
 
 " And you consented ? " 
 
 " I consented." 
 
 " Tbat was generous. You must indeed bave been mucb 
 attacbed to your kinsman. As a lover, I cannot comprebend 
 it; perbaps, my dear Count, you may enable me to under- 
 stand it better — as a man of tbe world." 
 
 "Well," said tbe Count, witb bis most roue air, " I suppose 
 we are botb men of tbe world ? " 
 
 ''Both! certainly," replied Randal, just in tbe tone wbicb 
 Peacbum migbt bave used in courting tbe confidence of 
 Lockit. 
 
 ''As a man of tbe world, tben, I own," said tbe Count, 
 playing witb tbe rings on bis fingers, " tbat if I could not 
 marry tbe lady myself, (and tbat seemed to me clear,) it was 
 very natural tbat I sbould wisb to see ber married to my 
 wealtby kinsman." 
 
 " Yery natural; it migbt bring your wealtby kinsman and 
 yourself still closer togetber." 
 
 " Tbis is really a very clever fellow ! " tbougbt tbe Count, 
 but be made no direct reply. 
 
 Unfin, to cut sbort a long story, my cousin afterwards got 
 entangled in attempts, tbe failure of wbicb is bistorically 
 known. His projects were detected — ^bimself denounced. He 
 fled, and tbe Emperoi^, in sequestrating bis estates, was 
 pleased, witb rare and singular clemency, to permit me, as bis 
 nearest kinsman, to enjoy fcbe revenues of balf tbose estates 
 during tbe royal pleasure ; nor was tbe otber balE formally 
 confiscated. It was no doubt bis Majesty's desire not to 
 extinguisb a great Italian name ; and if my cousin and bis 
 cbild died in exile, wby, of tbat name, I, a loyal subject of 
 Austria — I, Franzini, Count di Pescbiera, would become tbe 
 representative. Sucb, in a similar case, bas been sometimes 
 tbe Bussit^n policy towards Polisb insurgent^." 
 
88 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " I comprelieiid perfectly ; and I can also conceive tha^ jou, 
 in profiting so largely, though so justly, by the fall of yonr 
 kinsman, may have been exposed to much unpopularity — even 
 to painful suspicion." 
 
 ^ Untre noiis^ mon cher, I care not a stiver for popularity ; 
 and as to suspicion, who is he that can escape from the 
 calumny of the envious ? But, unquestionably, it would be 
 most desirable to unite the divided members of our house ; 
 and this union I can now effect, by the consent of the Emperor 
 to my marriage with my kinsman's daughter. You see, 
 therefore, why I have so great an interest in this research ? " 
 
 " By the marriage articles you could no doubt secure the 
 retention of the half you hold ; and if you survive your kins- 
 man, you would enjoy the whole. A most desirable marriage; 
 and, if made, I suppose that would suffice to obtain your 
 cousin's amnesty and grace ? " 
 
 "You say it." 
 
 " But even without such marriage, since the Emperor's 
 clemency has been extended to so many of the proscribed, it 
 is perhaps probable that your cousin might be restored ? " 
 
 " It once seemed to me possible," said the Count, reluct- 
 antly ; " but since I have been in England, I think not. The 
 receni revolution in France, the democratic spirit rising in 
 Europe, tend to throw back the cause of a proscribed rebel. 
 England swarms with revolutionists ; my cousin's residence 
 in this country is in itself suspicious. The suspicion is in- 
 creased by his strange seclusion. There are many Italians 
 here who would aver that they had met with him, and that he 
 was still engaged in revolutionary projects." 
 
 " Aver — untruly ? " 
 
 " Mafoi — it comes to the same thing ; les absens ont to'iijours 
 tort. I speak to a man of the world. No ; without some 
 such guarantee for his faith, as his daughter's marriage with 
 myself would give, his recall is improbable. By the heaven 
 above us, it shall be impossible f " The Count rose as he said 
 this — rose as if the mask of simulation had fairly fallen from 
 the visage of crime — rose tall and tovv^ering, a very image of 
 masculine power and strength, beside the slight, bended 
 form and sickly face of the intellectual schemer. And had 
 you seen them thus confronted and contrasted, you would 
 have felt that if ever the time should come when the interest 
 of the one would compel him openly to denounce or boldly 
 to expose the other, the odds were that the brilliant and 
 audacious reprobate would master the weaker nerve but 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 89 
 
 superior wit of tlie furtive traitor. Randal was startled ; 
 but rising also, he said, carelessly— 
 
 "What if this guarantee can no longer be given? — what 
 if. in despair of return, and in resignation to his altered 
 fortunes, your cousin has already married his daughter to 
 some English suitor? " 
 
 "Ah, that would indeed be, next to my own marriage 
 with her, the most fortunate thing that could happen to 
 mysblf." 
 
 " How ? I don*t imderstand ! " 
 
 "Why, if my cousin has so abjured his birthright, and 
 forsworn his rank — if this heritage, which is so dangerous 
 from its grandeur, pass, in case of his pardon, to some 
 obscure Englishman — a foreigner — a native of a country that 
 has no ties with ours — a country that is the very refuge of 
 levellers and Carbonari — mort de ma vie — do you think that 
 such would not annihilate all chance of my cousin's restora- 
 tion, and be an excuse even in the eyes of Italy for formally 
 conferring the sequestrated estates on an Italian ? • No ; 
 unless, indeed, the girl were to marry an Englishman of 
 such name and birth and connection as would in themselves 
 be a guarantee (and how in poverty is this likely ?) I should 
 go back to Vienna with a light heart, if I could say, *My 
 kinswoman is a^n Englishman's wife — shall her children be 
 the heirs to a house so renowned for its lineage, and so 
 formidable for its wealth ? ' ParUeit ! if my cousin were 
 but an adventurer, or merely a professor, he had been par- 
 doned long ago. The great enjoy the honour not to b© 
 pardoned easily." 
 
 Randal fell into deep but brief thought. The Count 
 observed hini, not face to face, but by the reflection of an 
 opposite mirror. " This man knows something ; this man is 
 deliberating; this man can help me," thought the Count. 
 
 But Handal said nothing to confirm these hypotheses. 
 Recovering from his abstraction, he expressed courteoasly 
 his satisfaction at the Count's prospects, either way. "And 
 since, after all," he added, " you mean so well to your cousin, 
 /fc occurs to me that you might discover him by a very simple 
 English process." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Advertise that, if he will come to someplace appointed, 
 he will hear of something to his advantage." 
 
 The Count shook his head. " He w^ould suspect me, and 
 not cora.e." 
 
90 
 
 MY novel; OB, 
 
 " But lie was intimate witli joii. He joined an insniTeC' 
 tion; — ^jon were more prudent. You did not injure Hm, 
 tliougli jou may have benefited yourself. Why should lie 
 slum you ? " 
 
 " The conspirators forgive none who do not conspire ; 
 besides, to speak frankly, he thought I injured him." 
 
 " Could you not conciliate him through his wife — whom — ^ 
 you resigned to him ? " 
 
 " She is dead — died before he left the country." 
 
 " Oh, that is unlucky ! Still I think an advertisement 
 might do good. Allow me to reflect on that subject. Shall 
 we now join Madame la Marquise ? " 
 
 On re-entering the drawing-room, the gentlemen found 
 Beatrice in full dress, seated by the fire, and reading so in- 
 tently that she did not remark them enter. 
 
 What so interests you, Q7ia soeur ? — ^the last novel by Balzac, 
 no doubt ? " 
 
 Beatrice started, and, looking up, showed eyes that were 
 full of tears. " Oh, no ! no picture of miserable, vicious, 
 Parisian life. This is beautiful ; there is soul here." 
 
 Randal took up the book which the Marchesa laid down ; 
 it was the same which had charmed the circle at Hazeldean — • 
 charmed the innocent and fresh- hearted — charmed now the 
 wearied and tempted votaress of the world. 
 
 " Hum," murmured Randal ; " the parson was right. This 
 is power — a sort of a'power." 
 
 " How I should like to know the author ! Who can he be 
 ^can you guess ? " 
 
 " Not I. Some old pe<5ant ta spectacles." 
 
 " I think not — I am svj<j not. — Here beats a heart I have 
 ever sighed to find, and never found." ' 
 
 "Oh, la naive enfant/^' cried the Count; comme son 
 imagination s^ eg are en reves enchantes. And to think that, 
 while you talk like an Arcadian, you are dressed like a 
 princess." 
 
 " Ah, I forgot — the Au.strian ambassador*s. I shall not go 
 to-night. This book unfits me for the artificial world." 
 
 " Just as you will, my sister. I shall go. I dislike the man, 
 and he me ; but ceremonies before men ! " 
 
 " You are going to the Austrian Embassy ? " said Randal. 
 " I, too, shall be there. We shall meet." And he took his 
 leave. 
 
 " 1 like your young friend prodigiously," said the Count, 
 yawning. " I am sure that ho knows of the lost birds^ and 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 SI 
 
 will stand to tlbem like a pointer, if I can but make it Ms in- 
 terest to do so. We sliall see." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Randal arrived at tlie ambassador's before the Count, and 
 contrived to mix with the yonng noblemen attacbed to tlio 
 embassy, and to wbom be was known. Standing among tbese 
 was a young Austrian, on bis travels, of very bigb birth, and 
 with an air of noble grace that suited the ideal of the old 
 Grerman chivalry. Randal was presented to him, and, after 
 some talk on general topics, observed, " By the way. Prince, 
 there is now in London a countryman of yours, with whoni 
 you are, dou.btless, familiarly acquainted — the Count di 
 Peschiera." 
 
 " He is no countryman of mine. He is an Italian. I know 
 him but by sight and by name," said the Prince, stiffly. 
 " He is of very ancient birth, I believe." 
 " Unquestionably. His ancestors were gentlemen." 
 "And very rich." 
 
 "Indeed ! I have understood the contrary. He enjoys, it 
 is true, a large revenue." 
 
 A young attache^ less discreet than the Prince, here ob- 
 served, " Oh, Peschiera ! — Poor fellow, he is too fond of play 
 to be rich." 
 
 " And there is some chance that the kinsman whose revenue 
 he holds may obtain his pardon, and re-enter into possession 
 of his f ortunes^so I hear, afc least," said Randal, artfully. 
 
 " I shall be glad if it be true," said the Prince with decision ; 
 " and I speak the common sentiment at Yienna. That kinsman 
 had a noble spirit, and was, I believe, equally duped and be- 
 trayed. Pardon me, sir ; but we Austrians are not so bad as 
 we are painted. Have you ever met in England the kinsman 
 you speak of ? " 
 
 " Never, though he is supposed to reside here ; and the 
 Count tells me that he has a daughter." 
 
 " The Count — ha ! I heard something of a scheme — a 
 wager of that — that Count's; — -a daughter! Poor girl! I 
 hope she will escape his pursuit ; for, no doubt, he pursues 
 her." 
 
 " Possibly she may already have married an Englishman." 
 
MY novel; or, 
 
 " I trust not, said the Prince, seriously ; " tlaat miglit at, 
 present be a serious obstacle to her father's return." 
 " You think so ? " 
 
 " There can be no doubt of it," interposed the attache, with 
 a grand and positive air ; " unless, indeed, the Englishman 
 were of a rank equal to her own." 
 
 Here there was a slight, well-bred murmur and buzz at the 
 door ; for the Count di Peschiera himself was announced ; 
 and as he entered, his presence was so striking, and his beauty 
 so dazzling, that whatever there might be to the prejudice of 
 his character, it seemed instantly effaced or forgotten in that 
 irresistible admiration which it is the prerogative of personal 
 attributes alone to create. 
 
 The Prince, with a slight curve of his lip at the groups 
 that collected round the Count, turned to Randal, and said, 
 " Can you tell me if a distinguished countryman of yours is in 
 England — Lord L'Estrange ? " 
 
 No, Prince — ^he is not. You know him ? " 
 
 ^'Well." 
 
 "He is acquainted witla the Count's kinsman ; and perhaps 
 from him you have learned to think so highly of that kinS" 
 man ? " 
 
 The Prince bowed, and answered as he moved away, " When 
 one man of high honour vouches for another, he commands the 
 belief of all." 
 
 " Certainly,'* soliloquised Randal, " I must not be precipi- 
 tate. I was very near falling into a terrible trap. If I were 
 to marry the girl, and only, by so doing, settle away her 
 inheritance on Peschiera ! — How hard it is to be sufhciently 
 cautious in this world 1 " 
 
 While thus meditating, a member of Parliament tapped 
 him on the shoulder. • 
 
 " Melancholy, Leslie ! I lay a wager I guess youf 
 thoughts." 
 
 " Gruess," answered Randal. 
 You were thinking of the place you are so soon to lose." 
 Soon to lose! " 
 
 "Why, if ministers go out, you could hardly keep it, I 
 suppose." 
 
 This ominous and horrid member o£ Parliament, Squire 
 Hazeld can's favourite county member, Sir John, was one oi 
 those legislators especially odious to officials — an independent 
 " large-acred " member, who would no more take office him- 
 self than he would cut down the oaks in his park, and who 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 93 
 
 had no bowels of liuman feeling for tliose wlio liad opposite 
 tastes and less magnificent means. 
 
 ^' Hem ! " said Eandal, rather surlily. In the first place. 
 Sir John, ministers are not going out." 
 
 " Oh yes, they will go. You know I vote with them gene- 
 rally, and would willingly keep them in ; but they are men of 
 honour and spirit ; and if they can't carry their measures, 
 they must resign ; otherwise, by Jove, I would turn round 
 and vote them* out myself ! " 
 
 " 1 have no doubt you would, Sir John ; you are quite 
 capable of it ; that rests with you and your constituents. 
 But even if ministers did go out, I am but a poor subaltern 
 in a public office. I am no minister— why should I go out 
 too?" 
 
 "Why? Hang it, Leslie, you are laughing at me. A 
 young fellow like you could never be mean enough to stay 
 in, under the very men who drove out yo.ur friend Eger- 
 ton?" 
 
 "It is not usual for those in the public offices to retire 
 with every change of Government." 
 
 " Certainly not ; but always those who are the relations of 
 dj retiring minister — always those who have been regarded as 
 politicians, and who mean to enter .Parliament, as of course 
 you will do at the next election. But you know that as well 
 as I do — you who are so decided a politician — the writer of 
 that admirable pamphlet ! I should not like to tell my friend 
 HazeldeaUj who has a sincere interest in you, that you evei 
 doubted on a question of honour as plain as your A, B, 0." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir John," said Randal, recovering his suavity, 
 while he inly breathed a dire anathema on his county mem- 
 ber, " I am so new to these things, that what you say never 
 struck me before. Nfo doubt you must be right ; at all events 
 I cannot have a better guide and adviser than Mr. Bgerton 
 liimself." 
 
 Sir John. — " ISTo, certainly — ^perfect gentleman, Egerton ! 
 I wish we could make it up with him and Hazeldean." 
 
 Bandal, (sighing.) — "Ah, I wish we could ! " 
 
 Sir John. — " And some chance of it now ; for the time 
 is coming when all true men of the old school must stick 
 together." 
 
 Bandal. — "Wisely, admirably said, my dear Sir John.. 
 But, pardon me, I must pay my respects to the ambassador." 
 
 Bandal escaped, and passing on, saw the ambassador him- 
 seK in the next room, confer^s^g in a corner 'with Aiidlel 
 
n 
 
 MY NO\rEL; OR, 
 
 figei'tdii. The ambassador seenied very grave— Eger^toii calm 
 End impenetrable, as usual. Presently the Count passed bj, 
 feud the tobassador bowed to him very stiffly. 
 
 As Randal, some time later, was searching for his cloak 
 beildWi Audley Egei*ton unexpectedly joined him. 
 
 "Ah, Leslie," said the minister, with more kindness than 
 HSual, "if you don't think the night air too cold for you, let 
 us walk home together. I have sent away the carriage." 
 
 This condescension in his patron was so singular, that it 
 quite Startled Randal, aiid gave him a presentiment of some 
 evil. When they wei?e in the street, Egerton, after a pause, 
 began— 
 
 " My dear Mr. LesliB, it was my hope and belief that I had 
 provided for you at least a competence ; and that I might 
 open to you, later, a career yet more brilliant. Sush ! I don't 
 doubt your gratitude; let me proceed. There is a possible 
 dhia-nce, after certain decisions that the Government have come 
 to, that we may be beaten in the House of Commons, and of 
 Course iresigh. I tell you this beforehand, for I wish you to 
 have time to consider what, in that case, would be your best 
 course. My power of serving you may then probably be over. 
 It would, no doubtj (seeing our close connection, and my views 
 with regard to your future being sb Well known,) — no doubt, 
 be expected that you shdMd give up the place ydti hold, and 
 follow my fortunes for good or ill. But as I have ho personal 
 fenemies with the opposite parfcy — and as I have sufficient 
 positicjii in the world to uphold and sanction your choice, 
 whatever it may boj if you think it more prudent to retain 
 your place, tell me so openly, and I think I can contrive that 
 you may do it without loss of character and credit. In that 
 case, confine your ambition merely to rising gradually in your 
 office, without mixing in politics. If, on the other hand, you 
 should pref (Sr to take your chahc'e of my return to office, and 
 so resign your present place ; and, f urbhermore, should com- 
 mit yourself to a policy that may then be not only in opposi' 
 tion, but unpopular, I will do my best to introduce you 
 into parliamentary life. I cannot say that 1 advise the 
 latter." 
 
 Randal felt as a man feels after a severe fall — ^-he was lite- 
 rally stunned. At length he faltered out — 
 
 " Can you think, sir, that I should ever desert your for- 
 tunes— your party — your cause ? " 
 
 *' My dear LesliCj" replied the minister, " you are too young 
 to hav^ eom^iiittsd yourself to any men or to any party, 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFEo 
 
 95 
 
 except, indeed, in that niiluGky pamplilet. This mnst not be 
 an affair of sentiment, "biit of sense and reflection. Let ns 
 say no more on the point now ; but by considering the pros 
 and the cons, you can better judge what to do, should the 
 time f Ot option suddenly arrite." 
 
 " But I hope that time may not dome/' 
 
 *' I hope so too, and most sincerely^" said the minister, 
 with deliberate and genuine emphasis. 
 
 " What could be so bad for the country ejaculated E^an- 
 dal. "It does not seem to me possible, in the nature of 
 things, that you and your party should ever go out ! " 
 
 "And when we are once out, there will be plenty of wise- 
 acres to say it is out of the nature of things that we should 
 ever come in again. Here we are at the door,'* 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 Bandal passed tu sleepless iiight ; but^ indeed, he was one 
 of those persbhs #ho neither heed, nor are accustomed to, 
 much sleep. However, towards morning, when d-j^eams iare 
 said to be prophetic, he fell into a most delightful slumber— 
 a slumber peopled by visions fitted to liire on, through laby- 
 rinths of law, predestined chancellors, or wreck upon the 
 rocks of glory the inebriate souls of youthful ensigns — dreams 
 from which Bdod Hall emerged crowned with the towerS of 
 Belvoir or Baby, and looking over subject lands and manors 
 wrested from the nefarious usurpation of Thornhills and 
 Hazeldeans — dreams in which Audley Egerton's gold and 
 power — -rooms in Downing Street, and saloons in Grrosveiior 
 Square — -had passed away to the smiling drea/mer, as the 
 empire of Chaldeea passed to Darius the Median. Why visions 
 so belying the gloomy and anxious thoughts that preceded 
 them should visit the pillow of Bandal Leslie, surpasses my 
 philosophy to conjecture. He yielded, however, passively fco 
 their spell, and was startled to hear the clock strike eleven 
 as he descended the stairs to breakfast. He was vexed at the 
 lateness of the hour, for he had meant to have taken advan- 
 tage of the unwonted softness of Egerton, and drawn there- 
 from some promises or proffers to cheer the prospects which 
 the minister had so chillingly expanded before him the pre- 
 ceding night. Ajid it WaiS only breakfast that he usually 
 
96 
 
 MY i^ovel; ok, 
 
 found tlie opportunity of private conference with his biisj^ 
 patron. But Andley Egerton wonld be sure to have sallied 
 fortli — and so lie liad — only E-andal was surprised to liear 
 tliat lie liad gone out in Ms carriage, instead of on foot, as 
 was his habit. E-andal soon despatched his solitary meal, and 
 with a new and sudden a:ffection for his office, thitherwards 
 bent his way. As he passed through Piccadilly, he heard 
 behind a voice that had lately become familiar to him, and 
 turning round, saw I5aron Levy walking side by side, though 
 not arm-in-arm, with a gentleman almost as smart as himself, 
 but with a jauntier step and a brisker air— a step that, like 
 Diomed' s, as described by Shakespeare — 
 
 ** Kises on the toe ; — that spirit of his 
 In aspiration lifts him from the earth." 
 
 Indeed, one may judge of the spirits and disposition of a man 
 by his ordinary gait and mien in walking. He who habitually 
 pursues abstract thought, looks down on the ground. He who 
 is accustomed to sudden impulses, or is trying to seize upon 
 some necessary recollection, looks up with a kind of jerk. He 
 who is a steady, cautious, merely practical man, walks on 
 deliberately, his eyes straight before him ; and, even in his 
 most musing moods, observes things around sufficiently to 
 avoid a porter's knot or a butcher's tray. But the man with 
 strong ganglions — of pushing, lively temperament, -vfho, 
 though practical, is yet speculative — ^the man who is emulbus 
 and active, and ever trying to rise in life — sanguine, alert, 
 bold — walks with a spring— looks rather above the heads of 
 his fellow-passengers — but with a quick, easy turn of his own, 
 which is lightly set on his shoulders ; his mouth is a little 
 open— his eye is bright, rather restless, but penetrative — his 
 port has something of defiance — his form is erect, but without, 
 stiffness. Such was the appearance Qf the Baron's com- 
 panion. And as Randal turned round at Levy's voice, the 
 Baron said to his companion, A young man in the first 
 ijircles — ^you should book him for your fair lady's parties. 
 How d'ye do, Mr. Leslie ? Let me introduce you to Mr. 
 Richard Avenel." Then, as he hooked his arm into Bandal's, 
 he whispered, Man of first-rate talent — monstrous rich — 
 has two or three parliamentary seats in his pocket — wife givea 
 parties — her foible." 
 
 " Proud to make your acquaintance, sir," said Mr, Avenel, 
 lifting his hat. " Fine day." 
 
 " Rather cold too," said Leslie, who, like all thin persona, 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 97 
 
 witli weak digestions, was cliilly by temperament ; besides, 
 he bad enongb on bis mind to cbS.ll bis body. 
 
 " So much tbe healthier — ^braces the nerves," said Mr. 
 Avenel; "but you young fellows relax the system by hot 
 rooms and late hours. Fond of dancing of course, sir ? " 
 Then, without waiting for Randal's negative, Mr. Richard 
 continued rapidly, " Mrs. Avenel has a soiree dansahte on 
 Thursday — shall be very happy to see you in Eaton Square. 
 Stop, I have a card ; " and he drew out a dozen large invita- 
 tion cards, from which he selected one, and presented it to 
 Kandal. The Baron pressed that young gentleman's arm, and 
 Randal replied courteously that it would give him great 
 pleasure to be introduced to Mrs. Avenel. Then, as he was 
 not desirous to be seen under the wing of Baron Levy, like a 
 pigeon under that of a hawk, he gently extricated himself, 
 and pleading great haste, walked quickly on towards his 
 office. 
 
 " That young man will make a figure some day," said 
 the Baron. " I don't know any one of his age with so few 
 prejudices. He is a connection by marriage to Audley 
 Egerton, who — " 
 
 "Audley Egerton!" exclaimed Mr. Avenel; "a d — d 
 haughty, aristocratic, disagreeable, ungrateful fellow ! " 
 
 " Why, what do you know of him ? " 
 
 *|He owed his first seat in Parliament to the votes of two 
 near relations of mine, and when I called upon him some time 
 ago, in his office, he absolutely ordered me out of the room. 
 Hang his impertinence ; if ever I can pay him off, I guess I 
 shan't fail for want of good will ! " 
 
 " Ordered you out of the room ? That's not like Egerton, 
 who is civil, if formal— at least to most men. You must 
 have offended him in his weak point." 
 
 " A man whom the public pays so handsomely should have 
 no weak point. What is Egerton's ? " 
 
 " Oh, he values himself on being a thorough gentleman — a 
 man of the nicest honour," said Levy, with a sneer. " You 
 must have ruffled his plumes there. How was it ? " 
 
 " I forget," answered Mr. Avenel, who was far too well 
 versed in the London scale of human dignities since his 
 marriage, not to look back with a blush at his desire of 
 knighthood. "No use bothering our heads now about the 
 plumes of an arrogant popinjay. To vG^urn to the subject wa 
 were discussing. You must be sure to let me have this money 
 next week." 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
m mvtt I OE, 
 
 - Eely on it." 
 
 And you'll not let my bills ^et into the market ; keep 
 tliem nnder lock and key." 
 ■ * So we agreed." 
 It is but a temporary dif&eiilty — ^royal mourning, such 
 nonsense— -panic in trade, lest tbese precious ministers go out. 
 I sliall soon float over the troubled waters." 
 
 "By the help of a paper boat," said the Baron, laughing; 
 and the two gentlemen shook hands and parted. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI> 
 
 Meanwhile Audley Egerton's oarriage had de|)osited him 
 at the door of Lord Lansmere's house, at Knightsbridgo; He 
 asked for the Countess, and was shown into the drawing- 
 room^ which was deserted* Egerton wals paler than usual ; 
 and as the door opened, he wiped the unwonted moisture 
 from his forehead, and there was a quiver on his firm lip. 
 The Countess too, on entering, showed an emotion almost 
 equally unusual to her self^controL She pressed Audley 's 
 Ixand in silence, and seating herself by his side> seemed to 
 collect her thoughts. At length she said — 
 
 " It is rarely indeed that We meet, Mr. Egerton, in. spite of 
 your intimacy with Lansmere and Hariey. I so little into 
 your world, and you will not voluntarily come to me." 
 
 " Madam," replied Egerton, " I might evade yotir kind 
 reproach by stating that my hours are not at my disposal ; 
 but 1 answer you with plain truth,— it naust be painful to both 
 of us to meet." 
 
 The Countess coloured and sighed, but did not dispute the 
 assertion. 
 
 Audley resumed. "And therefore, I presume that, in 
 sending for me, you have something of moment to eommuni,* 
 cate ? " 
 
 It relates to Harley," said the Countess, as if in apology; 
 "and I would take your advice." 
 
 " To Harley ! Speak on, I beseech you." 
 
 "My son has probably told you that he has educated and 
 reared a young girl, with the intention to make her Lady 
 L'Esfcrange, and hereafter Countess of Lansmere." 
 
 " Harley has no secrets from me," said Egerton mournfullyi 
 
VARIETiES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 99 
 
 TliiB ybnng ladj lias arrived in England-— is here— iii this 
 house." 
 
 " And Harlej too ? " 
 
 " No, she came over with Ladj 'N— — and her daughters. 
 Harley was to follow shorfclyj afid I fexpedt him dailj. Here 
 is his letter. Obsei've, h^ has never jet communicated his 
 intentions to this yonng person, now intrusted to my care- 
 never spoken to her as the lover." 
 
 Egerton took the letter and read it rapidly, though with 
 attention. 
 
 " True," said he, as he returned the letter : and before he 
 does so he wishes yoli to see Miss Digby and to judge of her 
 yourself— wishes to khd# if you Will approve and sanction 
 his chbibe." 
 
 "It is oil this that I would consult yoti— a girl without 
 i^kiik;-— the father, it is true, ^ gentleman, though almost 
 equivocally one,— but the mother, I know not what. And 
 Harley, f whom I hdped an alliance with the first houses in 
 England 1 " The Countess pressed her hands convulsively 
 together. 
 
 Egeeton.—" He is no more a boy. His talents have been 
 wasted — his life a wanderer's. He presents to you a chance 
 of resettling his mind, of re-arousing his native powers, of 
 a home beside your own. Lady Lansmere, you cannot 
 hesitate ! " 
 
 Ladt Lansmeee. — I do, I do ! After all that I have hoped, 
 after all that I did to prevent — " 
 
 Egeetoit, (interrupting her.) — " You owe him now an 
 atonement ; that is in your -power — it is not in mine." 
 
 The Countess again pressed Altdley's hand, arid the tears 
 gushed f rorii her eyes. 
 
 "It shall be so. I consent — i consent. I will silbnce, I 
 will crush back this proud heart. Alas ! it well-nigh broke 
 his own ! I am glad you speak thus. I like to think he owes 
 iiiy cdiisent to you. In that there is atonement for both." 
 
 " You are too generous, madam," said Egerton, evidently 
 moved, though still, as ever, striving to repress emotion. 
 " And now may I see the young lady ? This conference 
 pains me ; you see even my strong nerves quiver ; and at this 
 time I have much to go through — need of all my strength 
 arid firmness," 
 
 " I hear, indeed, that the Grovernment will probably retire. 
 But it is with horioUr : it will be soon called back by the voico 
 of the nation/' 
 
100 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 " Let me see tLe future wife of Harley L'Estrange," said 
 Egerton, without heed of this consolatory exclamation. 
 
 The Countess rose and left the room. In a few minutes Bhe 
 returned with Helen Digby. 
 
 Helen was wondrously improved from the pale, delicate 
 child, with the soft smile and intelligent eyes, who had sate 
 by the side of Leonard in his garret. She was about the 
 middle height, still slight, but beautifully formed; that 
 exquisite roundness of proportion which conveys so well the 
 idea of woman, in its undulating pliant grace— formed to 
 embellish life, and soften away its rude angles — formed to 
 embellish, not to protect. Her face might not have satisfied 
 the critical eye of an artist — it was not without defects in 
 regularity ; but its expression was eminently gentle and pre- 
 possessing ; and there were few who would not have exclaimed, 
 " What a lovely countenance ! The mildness of her brow 
 was touched with melancholy — her childhood had left its 
 traces on her youth. Her step was slow, and her manner shy, 
 subdued, and timid. 
 
 Audley gazed on her with earnestness as she approached 
 him ; and then coming forward, took her hand and kissed it, 
 
 " I am your guardian's constant friend," said he, and ho 
 drew her gently to a seat beside him, in the recess of a 
 window. With a quick glance of his eye towards the 
 Countess, he seemed to imply the wish to converse with 
 Helen somewhat apart. So the Countess interpreted the 
 glance; and though she remained in the room, she seated 
 herself at a distance, and bent over a book. 
 
 It was touching to see how the austere man of business lent 
 himself to draw forth the mind of this quiet, shrinking girl ; 
 and if you had listened, you would have comprehended how he 
 came to possess such social influence, and how well, some time 
 or other in the course of his life, he had learned to adapt 
 himself to women. 
 
 He spoke first of Harley L' Estrange — spoke with tact and 
 delicacy. Helen at first answered by monosyllables, and then, 
 by degrees, with grateful and open affection. Audley's brow 
 grew shaded. He then spoke of Italy, and though no man 
 had less of the poet in his nature, yet with the dexterity of 
 one long versed in the world, and who had been accustomed 
 to extract evidences from characters most opposed to hi« own, 
 he suggested such topics as might serve to arouse poetry in 
 others. Helen's replies betrayed a cultivated taste, and a 
 charming womanly mind ; but they betrayed, also^ one accus. 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 101 
 
 tomedto take its colourings from another's — to appreciate, 
 admire, reyere tlie Loffcj and the Beautiful, but humbly and 
 meekly. There was no vivid enthusiasm, no remark of 
 striking originality, no flash of the self -kindling, creative 
 faculty. Lastly, Egerton turned to England — to the critical 
 nature of the times — to the claims which the country pos- 
 sessed upon all who had the ability to serve and guide its 
 troubled destinies. He enlarged warmly on Harley's naturaJ 
 talents, and rejoiced that he had returned to England, perhaps 
 to commence some great career, Helen looked surprised, 
 but her face canght no correspondent glow from Audley's 
 eloquence. He rose, and an expression of disappointment 
 passed over his grave, handsome features, and as quickly 
 vanished, 
 
 "Adieu! my dear Miss Digby ; I fear I have wearied you, 
 especially with my politics. Adieu, Lady Lansmere; no 
 doubt I shall see Harley as soon as he returns." 
 
 Then he hastened from the room, gained his carriage, and 
 ordered the coachman to drive to Downino^ Street. He drew 
 down the blinds, and leant back. A certain languor became 
 visible in his face, and once or twice he mechanically put his 
 ziand to his heart. 
 
 " She is good, amiable, docile — will make an excellent 
 wife, no doubt," said he, murmuringly. "But does she love 
 Harley as he has dreamed of love ? 'No ! Has she the power 
 and energy to arouse his faculties, and restore to the world 
 the Harley of old ? No ! Meant by Heaven to be the 
 shadow of another's sun — not herself the sun — this child 
 is not the one who can atone for the Past and illume the 
 Future." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 That evening Harley L'Estrange arrived at his father's 
 house. The few years that had passed since we saw him last 
 had made no perceptible change in his appearance. He still 
 preserved his elastic youthfulness of form, a.nd singular 
 variety and play of countenance. He seemed unaffectedly 
 rejoiced to greet his parents, and had something of the gaiety 
 and tenderness of a boy returned from school. His manner 
 to Helen bespoke the chivalry that pervaded all the com- 
 plexities and curves of his character. It was affectionate, 
 but respectful. Hers to him, subdued — but innocently sweet 
 
103 
 
 and gently cordial Harley "was tlip chief talker, Tho 
 aspect of the times was so critical that he could not avoid 
 questions on politics ; and, indeed, he showed an interest in 
 them which he had never evinced before. Lord Lansmere was 
 delighted. 
 
 " Why, Harley, you love your country after all ? " 
 
 " The moment she seems in danger — ^yes ! " replied the 
 Patrician; and the Sybarite seemed to riae iiatp thiS 
 Athenian. 
 
 Then he asked with eagerness about his old friend Audley ; 
 and, his curiosity satisfied there, he iTiquired the last literary 
 news. He had heard much of a book lately published. He 
 named the one ascidl^ed by Pardon Dale to Professor Moss ; 
 none of his listeners had read it. 
 
 Harley pished afc this, and accused thera all of indolence 
 and stupidity, in his owr^ quaint, metaphorical style. Th.ei\ 
 he said — " And town gossip ? " 
 
 " We never hear it," said Lady Lansmere. 
 
 " There is a new plough much talked of at Boodles/' said 
 Lord Lansmere. 
 
 " Grod speed it. Bat is not there a new man much talked 
 of at White's ? 
 
 " I don't belong to White's." 
 
 " ISTevertheless, you may have heard of him — a foreigner, a 
 Count di Peschiera." 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Lansmere j "he was pointed out to me in 
 the park — a handsome man for a foreigner ; wears his hair 
 properly cut ; looks gentlemanlike find English." 
 
 " Ah, ^h I Hq is here then ! " and llarley rubbed his 
 hands. 
 
 "Which road did you take? Did you pass the 
 Simplon ? " 
 
 "1^0 ; I came straight from Vienna. " 
 
 Then, relating with lively vein his adventures by the way, 
 he continued to delight Lord Lansmere by his gaiety till 
 the time came to retire to rest. As soon as Harley was in 
 his own room, his inother joined him. 
 
 " Well," said he, " .1 need npt ask if you like Miss Digby ? 
 Who would not ? " 
 
 "Harley, my ov^n. ^oii," said the mother, bursting into 
 tears, "be happy jfonr own way; only Ibe happy, that is all 1 
 ask." 
 
 Harley, much affot'ted, replied gratefully and soothingly to 
 this fond ilijnnctigm And then gradually leading his mother 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 103 
 
 on to converse of Helen, asked atenp^ly— " And of the yliance 
 of our happiness — lier happiness as well asniine — w^a-t is jQu? 
 opinion ? Speak frankly.'^ 
 
 Qf Jiev happiness there can be no donbt," r^plie^ the 
 mother proudly. " Of yours, how can ypvt ask me ? Efave 
 you not decided on that yourself? " 
 
 " But still it cheers and encourages one in any experiment,, 
 howeyer well considered, to hear the approval oi another* 
 Helen has certainly a most gentle temper. 
 I should conjecture so. But her mind: — 
 
 "Is yery well stored," 
 
 " She speaks so little — " 
 
 " Yes. I wonder why ? SWs, snrely a woman," 
 Pshaw," said the Countess, smiling, in gpite of herself* 
 " But tell me more of the process of your experiment. Toiii 
 took her as a child,, and resolved to train her according to 
 your own ideal. Was that easy ? " 
 
 "It seemed so. I desired tp instil hahits of truth; sha 
 was already by nature truthful as the d^y ; ^ taste for naturp 
 and all things natural — -that seemed inborn; perceptions of 
 Art as the interpreter of Nature— -those were more difficult to 
 teach. I think they may come. You ha^ve heard her play 
 and sing ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " She will surprise you. She has less talent for drawing ; 
 still, all that teaching could do has been done — in a word, she 
 is accomplished. Temper, heart, mind— these all are excel- 
 lent." Harley stopped and suppressed a sigh. " Certainly I 
 ought to be very happy," said he; and hp began to win4 np 
 his watch. 
 
 " Of course she mus^ love you," said the Countess, after a 
 pause. " How could she fail ? " 
 
 " Love me ! My dear mother, that is the very question I 
 shall have to, ask." 
 
 " Ask ! Jjovp is discovered by a glance j it has np need of 
 asking." 
 
 "I have never discovered it, then, I assure you.. The fact 
 iBj that before her childhood was passed, I removed her, m 
 you ptay suppose, from my roof. She resided with an Italian 
 family, near my usual abode. I visited her often, directed 
 nor studies, watched her improvem,ent — ^" 
 
 " And fell in love with her ? " 
 
 " Fall is such a very violent word. No ; I don't remember 
 to have had a fall. It waa ^11 a smooth inclined plane from 
 
104 
 
 MY novel; OU, 
 
 the first step, tintil at last I said to myself, * Hark 7 
 L'Estrange, thy time has come. The bud has blossomed 
 into flower. Take it to thy breast.' And myself replied to 
 
 myself, meekly, ' So be it.* Then I found that Lady IST 
 
 with her daughters, was coming to England. I asked her 
 ladyship to take my ward to your house. wrote to you, 
 and prayed your assent ; and, that granted, I knew you would 
 obtain my father's. I am here — you give me the approval I 
 Bought for. I will speak to Helen to-morrow. Perhaps, after 
 all, she may reject me." 
 
 " Strange, strange — ^you speak thus coldly, thus lightly; 
 you so capable of ardent love 1 " 
 
 " Mother," said Harley, earnestly, " be satisfied ! I am ! 
 Love, as of old, I feel, alas ! too well, can visit me never 
 more. But gentle companionship, tender friendship, the 
 relief and the sunlight of woman's smile — ^hereafter the 
 voices of children — music that, striking on the hearts of both 
 parents, wakens the most lasting and the purest of all sym- 
 pathies : these are my hope. Is the hope so mean, my fond 
 mother? " 
 
 Again the Countess wept, and her tears were not dried 
 when she left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Oh! Helen, fair Helen — type of the quiet, serene, unno- 
 ticed, deepfelt excellence of woman ! Woman, less as the 
 ideal that a poet conjures from the air, than as the companion 
 of a poet on the earth ! Woman, who, with her clear sunny 
 vision of things actual, and the exquisite fibre of her delicate 
 sense, supplies the deficiencies of him whose foot stumbles 
 on the soil, because his eye is too intent upon the stars 1 
 Woman, the provident, the comforting — angel whose pinions 
 are folded round the heart, guarding there a divine spring 
 unmarred by the winter of the world ! Helen, soft Helen, is 
 it indeed in thee that the wild and brilliant " lord of wanton- 
 ness and ease " is to find the regeneration of his life — ^the 
 rebaptism of his soul? Of what avail thy meek prudent 
 household virtues to one whom Fortune screens from rough 
 trial ? — whose sorrows lie remote from thy ken ? — whose 
 spirit, erratic and perturbed, now rising, now falling, needs 
 a vision more subtle than thine to pursue^ and a strength that 
 
VARIETIES IN EKGLISH LIFE 
 
 105 
 
 can sustain tlie reason, when it droops, on the wings of 
 enthusiasm and passion ? 
 
 And thou, thyself, O nature, shrinking and humble, that 
 needest to be courted forth from the shelter, and developed 
 under the calm and genial atmosphere of holy, happy love — 
 can such affection as Harley L'E strange may proffer suffice 
 to thee? Will not the blossoms, yet folded in the petal, 
 wither away beneath the shade that may protect them from 
 the storm, and yet shut them from the sun? Thou who, 
 where thou givest love, seekest, though meekly, for love in 
 return ; — to be the soul's sweet necessity, the life's household 
 partner to him who receives all thy faith and devotion — • 
 canst thou influence the sources of joy and of sorrow in tbe 
 heart that does not heave at thy name ? Hast thou the 
 charm and the force of the moon, that the tides of that 
 wayward sea shall ebb and flow at thy will? Yet who 
 shall say — who conjecture how near two hearts can become, 
 when no guilt lies between them, and time brings the ties 
 all its own ? Harest of all things on earth is the union in 
 which both, by their contrasts, make harmonious their 
 blending; each supplying the defects of the helpmate, and 
 completing, by fusion, one strong human soul ! Happiness 
 enough, where even Peace does but seldom preside, when 
 each can bring to the altar, if not the flame, still the 
 incense. Where man's thoughts are all noble and generous, 
 woman's feelings all gentle and pure, love may follow, if it 
 does not precede; — and if not — , if the roses be missed 
 from the garland, one may sigh for the rose, but one is safe 
 from the thorn. 
 
 The morning was mild, yet somewhat overcast by the mist 
 which announces coming winter in London, and Helen 
 walked musingly beneath the trees that surrounded the 
 garden of Lord Lansmere's house. Many leaves were yet 
 left on the boughs ; but they were sere and withered. And 
 the birds chirped at times ; but their note was mournful and 
 complaining. All within this house, until Harley's arrival, 
 had been strange and saddening to Helen's timid and sub- 
 dued spirits. Lady .Lansmere had received her kindly, but 
 with a certain restraint; and the loftiness of manner, com- 
 mon to the Countess with all but Harley, had awed and 
 chilled the diffident orphan. Lady Lansmere's very interest 
 in Harley's choice — her attempts to draw Helen out of her 
 reserve — her watchful eyes whenever Helen shyly spoke, or 
 shyly moved, frightened the poor child, and made her unjust 
 to herself. 
 
106 
 
 MY HaVBL J 01, 
 
 The very servants, though sta^M, grave, anel respoetful, as 
 suited a dignified, old-fashioned household, painfullj con- 
 trasted the bright welcoming siniles a/ud free talk of Italian 
 domestics. Her recollections of the happy warm Conti- 
 nental manner, which so sets the bashful at their ease, 
 made the stately and cold precision of all around her 
 doubly awful and dispiriting. Lord Lansmere himself, who 
 did not as yet know the views of Harley, and little dreamed 
 that he was to anticipate a daughter-in-law in the ward, 
 whom he understood Harley, in a freak of generous romance, 
 had adopted, was familiar and courteous, as becanie a host. 
 But he looked upon Helen as a mere child, and naturally lef fc 
 her to the Countess. The dim sense of her equivocal posi- 
 tion — -of her comparative humbleness of birth and fortunes, 
 oppressed and pained her ; and even her gratitude to Harley 
 wBfS made burthensome by a sentiment of helplessness. The 
 grateful long to requite. And what could she ever do for 
 him ? 
 
 Thus musing, she wandered alone through the curving 
 walks; and this sort of mock country landscape— Loixdon 
 loud, and even visible, beyond the high gloomy walls, and 
 no escape from the windows of the square formal house- 
 seemed a type of the prison bounds of B-ank to one whose 
 soul yearns for simple loving Nature. 
 
 Helen's reverie was interrupted by Nero's joyous bark. 
 He had caught sight of her, and came bounding up, and 
 thrust his large head into her hand. As she stooped to 
 caress the dog, happy at his honest greeting, and tears that 
 had been long gathering to the lids fell silently on his face 
 (for I know nothing that more moves us to tears than the 
 hearty kindness of a dog, when something in human beings 
 has pained or chilled us), she heard behind the musical voice 
 of Harley. Hastily she dried or repressed her tears, as her 
 guardian come up, and drew her arm within his own. 
 
 " I had so little of your conversation last evening, my dear 
 ward, that I may well monopolise you now, even to the priva" 
 tion of Nero. And so you are once more im your native 
 land?" 
 
 Helen sighed softly. 
 
 "May I not hope that you return under fairer auspices 
 than those which your childhood knew ? " 
 
 Helen turned her eyes with ingenuous thankfulness to her 
 guardian, and the memory of all she owed to him rushed 
 upon her heart. 
 
 Harley renewed, and with earnest, though melancholy 
 
VAUIETIIS m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 107 
 
 Bweetness—- - Helen, your eyes tliaBk me ; but liear me 
 before your words do. I deserve no thanks. I am about 
 to make to you a strange confession of egotism and 
 selfishness." 
 
 " You 1 — oh, impossible 1 " 
 
 " Judge yourself, and then decide which of us shall have? 
 cause to be grateful. Helen, when I was scarcely your age — ■ 
 a boy in years, but more, methinks, a man at heart, with 
 man's sfcrong energies and sublime aspirings, than I have ever 
 since been — I loved, and deeply — " 
 
 He paused a moment, in evident struggle. Helen listened 
 in mute surprise, but his emotion awakened her own ; hei' 
 tender woman's heart yearned to console. Unconsciously 
 her arm rested on his less lightly. 
 
 " Deeply, and for sorrow. It is a long tale, that may be 
 told hereafter. The worldly would call my love a madness. 
 I did not reason on it then — I cannot reason on it now. 
 Enough : death smote suddenly, terribly, and to me myste- 
 riously, her whom I loved. The love lived on. Fortunately, 
 perhaps, for me, I had quick distraction, not to grief, but to 
 its inert indulgence. I was a soldier ; I joined our armies. 
 Men called me brave. Flattery I I was a coward before the 
 thought of life. I sought death : like sleep, it does not come 
 at our call. Peace ensued. As when the winds fall the sails 
 droop— so when excitement ceased, all seemed to me fiat and 
 objectless. Heavy, heavy was my heart. Perhaps grief had 
 been less obstinate, but that I feared I had causes for self- 
 reproach. Since then I have been a wanderer— a self-made 
 exile. My boyhood had been ambitious — -all ambition ceased. 
 Flames, when they reach the core of the heart, spread, and 
 leave all in ashes. Let me be brief : I did not mean thus 
 weakly to complain — I to whom Heaven has given so many 
 blessings ! I felt, as it were, separated from the common 
 objects and joys of men. I grew startled to see how, year by 
 year, wayward humours possessed me. I resolved again to 
 attach myself to some living heart — ^it was my sole chance to 
 rekindle my own. But the one I had loved remained as my 
 type of woman, and she was di^erent from all I saw. There- 
 fore I said to myself, * I will rear from childhood some young 
 fresh life, to grow up into my ideal.' As this thought began 
 to haunt me, I chanced to discover you. Struck wibh the 
 romance of your early life, touched by your courage, charmed 
 by your alKectionate nature, I said to n^yself , * Here is what I 
 seek.' Holen, in assuming the guardianship of your life, in 
 
108 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 all tlie culture wHcli I liaye sougM to bestow on your docile 
 childhood, I repeat, that I have been but the egotist. And 
 now, when jou have reached that age, when it becomes me to 
 speak, and you to listen — now, when you are under the sacred 
 roof of my own mother — now I ask you, can you accept this 
 heart, such as wasted years, and griefs too fondly nursed, 
 have left it ? Can you be, at least, my comforter ? Can you 
 aid me to regard life as a duty, and recover those aspirations 
 which once soared from the paltry and miserable confines of 
 our frivolous daily being ? Helen, here I ask you, can you 
 be all this, and under the name of — ^Wife ? " 
 
 It would be in vain to describe the rapid, varying, inde- 
 finable emotions that passed through the inexperienced heart 
 of the youthful listener as Harley thus spoke. He so moved 
 all the springs of amaze, compassion, tender respect, sympathy, 
 childlike gratitude, that when he paused and gently took 
 her hand, she remained bewildered, speechless, overpowered. 
 Harley smiled as he gazed upon her blushing, downcast, ex- 
 pressive face. He conjectured at once that the idea of such 
 proposals had never crossed her mind ; that she had never 
 contemplated him in the character of wooer ; never even 
 sounded her heart as to the nature of such feelings as his 
 image had aroused. 
 
 " My Helen," he resumed, with a calm pathos of voice, 
 ** there is some disparity of years between us, and perhaps I 
 may not hope henceforth for that love which youth gives to 
 the young. Permit me simply to ask, what you will frankly 
 answer — ' Can you have seen in our quiet life abroad, or 
 under the roof of your Italian friends, any one you prefer to 
 me?' " 
 
 " 'No, indeed, no ! murmured Helen. " How could I ? — 
 who is like you ? " Then, with a sudden effort — for her innate 
 truthfulness took alarm, and her very affection for Harley, 
 childlike and reverent, made her tremble lest she should 
 deceive him — she drew a little aside, and spoke thus : — 
 
 " Oh my dear guardian, noblest of all human beings, at 
 least in my eyes, forgive, forgive me, if I seem ungrateful, 
 hesitating ; but I cannot, cannot think of myself as worthy 
 of you. I never so lifted my eyes. Your rank, your posi- 
 tion—" 
 
 "Why should they be eternally my curse ? li^orget them, 
 and go on." 
 
 " It is not only they," said Helen, almost sobbing, " though 
 they are much ; but I your type, your ideal ! — ? — impos 
 
VAUIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 109 
 
 sible ! Oh, how can I ever be anything even of nse, of aid, 
 of comfort to one like you ! " 
 
 "You can, Helen — ^you can," cried Harley, charmed by 
 such ingenuous modesty. " May I not keep this hand ? " 
 
 And Helen left her hand in Harley 's, and turned away her 
 face, fairly weeping. A stately step passed under the wintry 
 trees. 
 
 "My mother," said Harley L'Estrange, looking up, "I 
 present to you my future wife." 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 With a slow step and an abstracted air, Harley L'Estrange 
 bent his way towards Egerton's house, after his eventful 
 interview with Helen. He had just entered one of the streets 
 leading into Grrosvenor Square, when a young man, walking 
 quickly from the opposite direction, came full against him, 
 and drawing back with a brief apology, recognised him, and 
 exclaimed, " What 1 you in England, Lord L'Estrange ! Accept 
 my congratulations on your return. But you seem scarcely 
 io remember me." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Leslie. I remember you now by 
 your smile ; but you are of an age in which it is permitted me 
 to say that you look older than when I saw you last." 
 
 " And yet. Lord L'Estrange, it seems to me that you look 
 younger." 
 
 Indeed, this reply was so far true that there appeared less 
 difference of years than before between Leslie and L'Estrange ; 
 for the wrinkles in the schemer's mind were visible in his 
 visage, while Harley's dreamy worship of Truth and Beauty, 
 seemed to have preserved to the votary the enduring youth of 
 the divinities. 
 
 Harley received the compliment with a supreme indiffer- 
 ence, which might have been suitable to a Sfcoic, but which 
 seemed scarcely natural to a gentleman who had just proposed 
 tc a lady many years younger than himself. 
 
 Leslie renewed — " Perhaps you are on your way to Mr. 
 Egerton's. If so, you will not find him at home ; he is at his, 
 office." 
 
 " Thank you. Then to his office I must re-direct my 
 steps." 
 
** I SLTix goifLg to !aim iaiygiBlf," said Randa], hesitatingly i 
 L'Estrange had no prepossessions in favour of Leslie, from 
 the little he had Seen of that yonng gentleman ; but RandaFs 
 remark was an appeal to his habitual Tirb^nitj, and he replied, 
 with well-bred readiheiSSj Let us be companions so far." 
 
 Randal accepted the arm proffered to him ; and Loro 
 L'Estrange, as is usual with one long absent from his native 
 land, bore part as a questioner in the dialogue that 
 ensued. 
 
 " Egerton is always the same man, 1 suppose — too busy for 
 illness, and too firm for sorrow ? " 
 
 " If he ever feel either, lie will never stoop to complain. 
 But, indeed, my dear lord, I should like much to know what 
 you think of his health." 
 
 "How! You alarm me ! '* 
 
 "BTay, I did not mean to do that; and pray do not let 
 him know that I went so far. Bat I have fancied that he 
 looks a little worn and suffering." 
 
 Boor Audley ! said L'Estraiige, in a tone of deep 
 a^ection. I Will sound hiin, and, be assured, without 
 naming you ; fot I know well how little he likes to be 
 supposed capable of humaii ihfirmifcy. I am obliged to you 
 for your hint — obliged to you for your interest in one so dear 
 to me." 
 
 Aiid Harley's voice was more cordial to Randal than it had 
 ever been before. He then began to inquire what Randal 
 thought of the rumours that had reached himself as to the 
 Urobable defeat of the Grovernment, and how far Audley's 
 .spirits were affected by such risks. But Randal here, seeing* 
 that Harley could communicate nothing, was reserved and 
 guarded. 
 
 " Loss of office could not, I think, affect a man like 
 Audley,'' observed Lord L'Estfange. " He would bb .as 
 great in opposition — perhaps greater ; and as to emolu- 
 ments — " 
 
 " The emoluments are good," interposed Randal, with ^ 
 half sigh. 
 
 " Good enough, I suppose, to pay him back about a tenth 
 of wha.t his place costs our magnificent friend — "No, I will say 
 one thing for English statesmen, no man amongst them ever 
 yet Was the richer for place." 
 
 "And Mr. Eger ton's private fortune must be large, I take 
 for granted," said Randal, carelessly. 
 
 " It ought to be, ii h<*. has time to look to iV/' 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 ]]1 
 
 Here tliey passed hf the hotel in Wiiich lodged tile Count 
 di FesBliiera. 
 
 Eandal stopped. "Will |-oii exeiise me for an instant ? 
 As we ai^ passing tMs liotel, i will just leave iny card here." 
 So saying he gave Ills card to ^ Waited? lounging by the door. 
 " For the GoUint di Peschiefa/^ said he atoiM. 
 
 L'Esti^aMge started] and as Eanxlal again took his arm, 
 said—'' 80 that Italito lodges here ? and yon know him ? " 
 
 i know him font slightly, aS one knows any foreigner who 
 makes a sensation." 
 
 " He makes a sensation ? " 
 
 "Katurally : for he is handsohle, witty, atid said to he very 
 rich-— that is, as long as he receives the revenues of his exiled 
 kinsman." 
 
 " I see you are Well informed, Mr. Leslie. And what is 
 supposed to bring hither the Oqunt di Peschiera ? " 
 
 " I did hear something, which I did not quite understand, 
 about a bet of his that he would marry his kinsman's 
 daughter; and so, I conclud<3, secure to himself all the 
 inheritance ; and that he is therefore here to discover the 
 kinsmaai and win the heiress. But probably you know the 
 rights of the story, and can tell nie what credit to give to 
 such gossip." 
 
 " 1 know this at least, that if ho did lay such a wager, I 
 would advise you to take any odds against him that his 
 backers may give," said L'Estrange drily; £ind while his lip 
 quivered with anger, his eye gleamed with arch ironical 
 humour. 
 
 " You think, then, that this poor kinsman will not need 
 such an alliance in order to regain his estates ? " 
 
 " Yes ; for I never yet knew a rogue whom I would not bet 
 against, when he backed his own luck as a rogue against 
 Justice and Providence." 
 
 Randal winced, and felt as if an arrow had grazed his 
 heart ; but he soon recovered. 
 
 "And indeed there is another vague ruinour that tha 
 young lady in question is married already — to some English- 
 man." 
 
 This time it was Harley who winced. " Grood Heavens ! 
 that cannot be true — that would undo all ! An Englishman 
 just at this moment ! But some Englishman of correspondent 
 rank I trust, or at least one known for opinions opposed to 
 what an Austrian would call Bevolutionaiy doctrines ? " 
 
 " I know nothing. But it was supposed, merely a privato 
 
1VIY novel; or, 
 
 gentleman of good family. "Would not that suffice? Can 
 the Austrian Court dictate a marriage to the daughter as a 
 condition for grace to the father ? " 
 
 "No — ^not that!" said Harley, greatly disturbed. "But 
 put yourself in the position of any minister to one of the 
 great European monarchies. Suppose a political insurgent, 
 formidable for station and wealth, had been proscribed, much 
 interest made on his behalf, a powerful party striving against 
 it, and just when the minister is disposed to relent, he hears 
 that the heiress to this wealth and this station is married to 
 the native of a country in which sentiments friendly to the 
 very opinions for which the insurgent was proscribed are 
 popularly entertained, and thus that the fortune to be 
 restored may be so employed as fco disturb the national 
 security — the existing order of things ; — this, too, at the 
 very time when a popular revolution has just occurred in 
 France,* and its effects are felt most in the very land of the 
 exile ; — suppose all this, and then say if anything could be 
 more untoward for the hopes of the banished man, or furnish 
 his adversaries with stronger arguments against the restora- 
 tion of his fortune ? But pshaw — this must be a chimera ! 
 If true, I should have known of it.'* 
 
 " I quite agree with, your lordship — there can be no truth, 
 in such a rumour. Some Englishman, hearing, perhaps, of 
 the probable pardon of the exile, may have counted on an 
 heiress, and spread the report in order to keep off other 
 candidates. By your account, if successful in his suit, he 
 might fail to find an heiress in the bride.'* 
 
 "No doubt of that. Whatever might be arranged, I can't 
 conceive that he would be allowed to get at the fortune, 
 though it might be held in suspense for his children. But 
 indeed it so rarely happens that an Italian girl of high name 
 marries a foreigner, that we must dismiss this notion with a 
 smile at the long face of the hypothetical fortune-hunter. 
 Heaven help him, if he exist ! " 
 
 "Amen ! " echoed Bandal, devoutly. 
 
 "I hear that Peschiera's sister is returned to England, 
 Do you know her too ? " 
 "A little." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Leslie, pardon me if I take a liberty not 
 
 * As there have been so many Ee volutions in France, it may be convenient 
 to suggest that, according to the dates of this story, Ilarley no doubt alludes 
 to that revolution which exiled Charles X. and placed Louis Philippe on tke 
 throne. 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 113 
 
 warranted loj our acquaintance. Against tlie lady I say 
 nothing. Indeed, I have heard some things which appear to 
 entitle her to compassion and respect. But as to Peschiera, 
 all who prize honour suspect him to be a knave — I know him 
 to be one. ISTow, I think that the longer we preserve that 
 abhorrence for knavery which is the generous instinct of youth, 
 why, the fairer will be our manhood, and the more reverend 
 our age. You agree with me ? " And Harley suddenly 
 turning, his eyes fell like a flood of light upon Randal's pale 
 and secret countenance. 
 
 " To be sure," murmured the schemer. 
 
 Harley, surveying him, mechanically recoiled, and withdrew 
 his arm. 
 
 Fortunately for Randal, who somehow or other felt himself 
 slipped into a false position, he scarce knew how or why, he 
 was here seized by the arm ; and a clear, open, manly voice 
 cried, " My dear fellow, how are you ? I see you are engaged 
 now ; but look into my rooms when you can, in the course of 
 the day." 
 
 And with a bow of excuse for his interruption, to Lord 
 I/lSstrange, the speaker was then turning away, when Harley 
 said — 
 
 "E'o, don't let me take you from your friend, Mr. Leslie. 
 And you need not be in a hurry to see Egerton ; for I shall 
 claim the privilege of older friendship for the first inter- 
 view. 
 
 " It is Mr. Egerton's nephew, Frank Hazeldean." 
 
 " Pray, call him back, and present me to him. He has a 
 face that would have gone far to reconcile Timon to Athens." 
 
 Randal obeyed, and after a few kindly words to Frank, 
 Harley insisted on leaving the two young men together, and 
 walked on to Downing Street with a brisker step. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " That Lord L'E strange seems a very good fellow." 
 
 " So-so ; — an effeminate humorist — says the most absurd 
 things, and fancies them wise. Never mind him. You 
 wanted to speak to me, Frank ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am so obliged to you for introducing me to Levy . 
 I must tell you how handsomely he has behaved." 
 
 VOL. n. I 
 
214 
 
 MY hovel; OB, 
 
 " stop ; allow ma to. remind yo.ii tkat I did not introdue^ 
 jOTi to Levy; you bad met Mm "before at Eorrowell'B, I 
 recollect right, and lie dined with, us at the Clarendon — ^that 
 is all I had to do with bringing you together. Indeed I 
 rather cautioned you against; him than not. Pray don't think 
 I introduced you to a man who, however pleasant and perhaps 
 . honest, is still a money-lender. Your father would ba jnstlj' 
 angry with me if I had done so." 
 
 " Oh, pooh ! you are prejudiced against poor Levy. But 
 just hear : I was sitting very ruefully, thinking over those 
 cursed bills, and how the deuce I should renew them, when 
 Levy walked into my rooms ; and, after telling me of his long 
 friendship for my uncle Egerton and his admiration for your- 
 self, and (give me your hand, E^andal) saying how touched he 
 felt by your kind sympathy in my troubles, he opened his 
 pocket-book, and showed me the bills safe and sound in his 
 own possession." 
 
 *'How?" 
 
 " He had bought them up. * It must be so disagreeable to 
 me,' he said, ' to have them flying about the London money- 
 market, and those Jews would be sure sooner or later to apply 
 to my father. And now,' added Levy, * I am in no immediate 
 hurry for the money, and we must put the interest upon fairer 
 terms.' In short, nothing could be more liberal than his tone. 
 And he says, ' he is thinking of a way to relieve me altogether, 
 and will call about it in a few days, when his plan is matured.'^ 
 After all, I must owe this to you, Randal. I dare swear you 
 put it into his head." 
 
 " O no, indeed ! On the contrary, I still say, ■ Be cautious 
 in all your dealings wdth Levy,' I don't know, I'm sure, 
 what he means to propose. Have you heard from the Hall 
 lately ? " 
 
 "Yes — to-day. Only think— the Riccaboccas have dis- 
 appeared. My mother writes me word of it — a very odd ^ 
 letter. She seems to suspect that I know where they are, 
 and reproaches me for ' mystery ' — quite enigmatical. Bat 
 there is one sentence in her letter — see, here it is in the post- 
 script — -which seems to refer to Beatrice : * I don't ask you to 
 tell me your secrets, Frank, but Randal will no doubt have 
 assured you that my first consideration will be for your own 
 happiness, in any matter in which your heart is really 
 engaged.' " 
 
 " Yes," said Randal, slowly ; " no doubt this refers to 
 Beatrice ; but, as I told you, your mother will not intei*ferQ 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 115 
 
 one wa.y or fhe otlaer—sucli interference would weaken hex 
 influence with the Squire. Besides, as she said, she can't 
 wisli you to many a foreigner ; though once niarriecl, she 
 would' — — But how do you stand now with the Marehesa ? 
 Has she consented, to accept you ? " 
 
 "JSTot quite; indeed I h^ive not actually proposed. Her 
 manner, though much softened, has not so far emboldened me; 
 and, besides, before a positive declaration, I certainly must go 
 down, to the Hall and speak at least to my mother.'' 
 
 " Yqi;l must judge for yourself, but don't do anything rash: 
 talk first to me. Here we are at my offiice. Grood-bye ; and 
 —and pray believe that, in whatever you do with Levy, I have 
 no hand in it." 
 
 CHAPTEB XI. 
 
 ToWABPS the evening, Bandal was riding fast on the road 
 to Korwopdr The arrival of Harley, and the conversation 
 that had pass,ed between that nobleman and Bandal, m^de the 
 latter anxious to ascertain how far Biccabocca wasj likely ta 
 learn L'Estrange'a return to England, and to meet with him. 
 For he felt that, should the latter come to know that Bicca* 
 bpcca, in. his movements, had gone by Bandal's advice, Harley 
 would find; that Bandal had spoken to him disingenuously 
 and, on the other hand, Biccabocca, placed under the friendly 
 protection of Lord L'Estrange, would no longer need Bandal 
 Leslie to defend him from the machinations of Peschiera. To 
 a reader happily unaccustomed to dive into the deep and 
 niazy recesses of a schemer's mind, it might seem that 
 Bandal's interest in retaining a hold over the exile's con- 
 fidence would terminate with the assurance^ that had reached 
 him, from more than one quarter, that Yiplante might cease 
 to be an heiress if she married himself. " But perhaps," 
 suggests some candid and youthful conjecturer— " perhaps 
 Bandal Leslie is in love with this fair creature ? " Bandal 
 in love ! — nq ! He was too absorbed by harder passions for 
 that blissful folly. Nor, if he could have fallen in love, was 
 Violante the one to attract that sullen, secret heart; her 
 instinctive nobleness, the very stateliness of her beautyg 
 womanlike though it was, awed him. Men of that kind may 
 love some soft slave — ^they cannot lift their eyes to a queen. 
 Thej ruBj look down—tyey ciannot look up. But, on the one 
 
116 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 hand, Randal could not resign altogether the chance 
 securing a fortune that would realise his most dazzling 
 dreams, upon the mere assurance, however probable, which 
 had so dismayed him ; and, on the other hand, should he be 
 compelled to relinquish all idea of such alliance, though he 
 did not contemplate the base perfidj of actually assisting 
 Peschiera's avowed designs, still, if Frank's marriage with 
 Beatrice should absolutely depend upon her brother's obtain- 
 ing the knowledge of Yiolante's retreat, and that marriage 
 should be as conducive to his interests as he thought he could 
 make it, why, — he did not then push his deductions farther, 
 even to himself — they seemed too black ; but he sighed 
 heavily, and that sigh foreboded how weak would be honour 
 and virtue against avarice and ambition. Therefore, on all 
 accounts, Riccabocca was one of those cards in a sequence, 
 which so calculating a player would not throw out of his 
 hand : it might serve for repique — at the worst it might score 
 well in the game. Intimacy with the Italian was still part 
 and parcel in that knowledge which was the synonym of power. 
 
 While the young man was thus meditating, on his road to 
 Norwood, Riccabocca and his Jemima were close conferring 
 in their drawing-room. And if you could have there seen 
 them, reader, you would have been seized with equal surprise 
 and curiosity : for some extraordinary communication had 
 certainly passed between them. Riccabocca was evidently 
 much agitated, and with emotions not familiar to him. The 
 tears stood in his eyes at the same time that a smile the 
 reverse of cynical or sardonic, curved his lips ; while his wife 
 was leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand clasped in his, 
 and, by the expression of her iace, you might guess that he 
 had paid her some very gratifying compliment, of a nature 
 more genuine and sincere than those which characterised his 
 habitual hollow and dissimulating gallantry. But just at 
 this moment G-iacomo entered, and Jemima, with her native 
 English modesty, withdrew in haste from Riccabocca's shel- 
 tering side. 
 
 " Padrone," said Glacomo, who, whatever his astonishment 
 at the connubial position he had disturbed, was much too 
 discreet to betray it — " Padrone, I see the young Englishman 
 riding towards the house, and I hope when he arrives, you 
 will not forget the alarming information I gave to you this 
 morning," 
 
 "Ah — -ah! " said Riccabocca, his face falling, 
 ^- If the Si^norina were but married ! " 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 117 
 
 "My very thought — my constant thought !** exclaimed 
 Eiccabocca. " And you really believe the young Englishman 
 loves her ? " 
 
 " Why else should he come, Excellency?" asked G-iacomo, 
 with great naivete, 
 
 " Very true ; why, indeed ? " said Eiccabocca. " Jemima, 
 I cannot endure the terrors I suffer on that poor child's 
 account. I will open myself frankly to Eandal Leslie. And 
 now, too, that which might have been a serious consideration, 
 in case I return to Italy, will no longer stand in our way, 
 Jemima." 
 
 Jemima smiled faintly, and whispered something to Eicca- 
 bocca, to which he replied — 
 
 "ISTonsense, anima mia. I know it will be — ^have not a 
 doubt of it. I tell you it is as nine to four, according to the 
 nicest calculations. I will speak at once to Eandal. He is 
 too young — too timid to speak himself." 
 
 " Certainly," interposed Griacomo; "how could he dare to 
 speak, let him love ever so well ? " 
 
 J emima shook her head. 
 
 " Oh, never fear," said Eiccabocca, observing this gesture ; 
 " I will give him the trial. If he entertain but mercenary 
 views, I shall soon detect them. I know human nature pretty 
 well, I think, my love; and, Giacomo, — just get me my 
 Machiavelli ; — that's right. JSTow leave me, my dear ; I must 
 reflect and prepare myself." 
 
 When Eandal entered the house, Griacomo, with a smile of 
 peculiar suavity, ushered him into the drawing-room. He found 
 Eiccabocca alone, and seated before the fire-place, leaning his 
 face on his hand, with the great folio of Machiavelli lying 
 open on the table. 
 
 The Italian received him as courteously as usual ; bufc there 
 was in his manner a certain serious and thoughtful dignity, 
 which was perhaps the more imposing, because but rarely 
 assumed. After a few preliminary observations, Eandal re- 
 marked that Erank Hazeldean had informed him of the 
 curiosity which the disappearance of the Eiccaboccas had 
 excited at the Hall, and inquired carelessly if the Doctor had 
 left instructions as to the forwarding of any letters that might 
 be du'ected to him at the Casino. 
 
 "Letters," said Eiccabocca, simply, "I never receive any; 
 or, at least, so rarely, that it was not worth while to take an 
 event so little to be expected into consideration. ISTo ; if anv 
 letters do reach the Casino, there they will wait." 
 
118 
 
 MY nwel ; oe, 
 
 " Then I can see no possibiHtj of indisGretion ; no eliance 
 ©f a clue to your address*" 
 " Nor I either." 
 
 Satisfied so far, and knowing tliat it was not in Riccaboeca's 
 liabits to read the newspapers, by which he might otherwise 
 hare learnt of L'Estrange's arrival in London, Randal then 
 proceeded to inquire, with much seeming interest, into the 
 health of Yiolante^ — hoped it did not snSer by confinement, 
 &c. Riccabocca eyed him gravely while he spoke, and then 
 snddeiily rising, that air of dignity to which I have before 
 referred, became yet more striking. 
 
 "My young friend," said he, "hear me iattentively, and 
 answer me frankly. I know human nature—" Here a slight 
 smile of proud complacency passed the sage's lips, and his 
 eye glanced toward his Machiavellii 
 
 " I know human nature— at least I have studied it," he 
 renewed more earnestly, and with less evident self-conceit ; 
 " and I believe that when a perfect stranger to me exhibits 
 an interest in my affairs, which occasions him no small trouble 
 — an interest (continued the wise man, laying his hand on 
 Randal's shoulder) which scarcely a son could exceed, he must 
 be under the infiuence of some strong personal motive." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " cried Randal, turning a shade more palcj and 
 with a faltering tone. Riccabocca surveyed him with the 
 tenderness -of a superior being, and pursued his deductive 
 theories. 
 
 " In your case, what is that motive ? Not political ; for I 
 conclude you share the opinions of your government, and 
 those opinions have not favoured mine. Not that of pecuniary 
 or ambitious calculations ; for how can such calculations enlist 
 you on behalf of a ruined exile ? What remains ? Why, 
 the motive which at your age is ever the most natural and the 
 ^strongest. I don't blame you. Maehiavclli himself allows 
 that such a motive has swayed the wisest minds, and over- 
 turned the most solid states. In a word, young man, you are 
 in love, and with my daughter Yiolante." 
 
 Randal was so startled by this direct and unexpected 
 charge upon his own masked batteries, that he did not even 
 attempt his defence. His head drooped on his breast, and. he 
 remained speechless. 
 
 " I do not doubt," resumed the penetrating judge of human 
 nature, " that you would have been withheld by the laudable 
 and generous scruples which characterise your happy age^ 
 from voluntarily disclosing to me the state of your heart. 
 
VARIETIES m mmjm life. 
 
 119 
 
 Toil iiiiglit isTipppse ihsA, proud o£ the positioii I once held, or 
 s^anguiiie in the hope of regaining mj inheritance, I might be 
 over-ambitions in my inatrimohial views for Yiolante ; or that 
 you, anticipating my restoration to honotirs and fortune, 
 might seem actuated by the last motives which influence love 
 and youth ; and, therefore, iny dear young friend, I have de- 
 parted from the ordinary custom in England, and adopted a 
 very common one in my own country. With us, a suitor 
 seldom presents himself till he is assured of the cohsent of a 
 father. I have only to say this — ^if I am fight, and you love 
 my daughter, my first object in lif^e is to see her safe and 
 secure ; and, in a word — -you uhderstaiad me/' 
 
 Now, mightily may it comfort and console us ordinary 
 mbftals, who advance n:o pretence to superior wisdom and 
 ability, to see the huge mistakes made by both these very 
 sagacious personages — Dr. E;iccabocca, valuing himself on his 
 profound acquaintance with character, and Randal Leslie, 
 accustomed to grope into every hole and corner of thought aiid 
 action, wherefrom to extract that knowledge which is power! 
 For whereas the sage, judging not only by his own heart in 
 ^outh, but by the general inSuence of the master passion 
 on the young, had ascribed to E-andal sentiments wholly 
 foreign to that able diplomatist's nature ; so no sooner had 
 Biccabocca brought his speech to a close, than Raildal, judg- 
 ing also by his own. heart, and by the general laws, which in- 
 flaence inen of the mature age aiid boasted worldly wisdom 
 of the pupil of Machiavelli, instantly decided that Riccabocca 
 presumed upon his youth and inexperience, aiid meant most 
 aefariously to take him in. 
 
 The poor youth ! thought Riccabocca, " how unprepared 
 he is for the happiness I give him ! " 
 
 " The cunning old Jesuit ! " thought Randal ; " he has 
 certainly learned, since we met last, that he has no chance of 
 regaining his patrimony, and so he wants to impose on me the 
 hand of a girl without a shilling. What other motive can he 
 possibly have ! Had his daughter'the remotest probability of 
 becoming the greatest heiress in Italy, would he dream of 
 bestowing her on me in this off-hand way ? The thing stands 
 to reason." 
 
 Actuated by his resentment at the trap thus laid for him, 
 Randal was about to disclaim altogether the disinterested and 
 absurd affection laid to his charge, wheii it occurred to him 
 that, by so doing, he might mortally offend the Italian — since 
 the cunning never forgive those who refuse to be duped by 
 
120 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 tliem — and it miglit still be conducive to Hs interest to pre- 
 serve intimate and familiar terms with Riccabocca ; therefore, 
 sabduing his first impulse, he exclaimed, 
 
 " 0 too generous man ! pardon me if I have so long been 
 unable to express my amaze, my gratitude ; but I cannot — no, 
 I cannot, while your prospects remain thus uncertain, avail 
 myself of your — of your inconsiderate magnanimity. Your 
 rare conduct can only redouble my own scruples, if you, as I 
 firmly hope and believe, are restored to your great possessions 
 — you would naturally look so much higher than me. Should 
 these hopes fail, then, indeed, it may be different ; yet even 
 then, what position, what fortune, have I to offer to your 
 daughter worthy of her 
 
 "You are well born! all gentlemen are equals," said 
 Biiccabocca, with a sort of easy nobleness. " You have youth, 
 information, talent — sources of certain wealth in this happy 
 country — powerful connections; and, in fine, if you are 
 satisfied with marrying for love, I shall be contented ; — if not, 
 speak openly. As to the restoration to my possessions, I can 
 scarcely think that probable while my enemy lives. And 
 even in that case, since I saw you last, something has occurred 
 (added Riccabocca, with a strange smile, which seemed to 
 Randal singularly sinister and malignant) that may remove, 
 all difficulties. Meanwhile, do not think me so extravagantly 
 magnanimous — do not underrate the satisfaction I must feel 
 at knowing Yiolante safe from the designs of Peschiera — 
 safe, and for ever, under a husband's roof. I will tell you an 
 Italian proverb — it contains a truth full of wisdom and 
 terror : — 
 
 " * Hai cinquanta Amici? — non basta. — Hai un Nemico ? — e troppo.' *'* 
 
 " Something has occurred ! " echoed Randal, not heeding 
 the conclusion of this speech, and scarcely hearing the pro- 
 verb which the sage delivered in his most emphatic and 
 tragic tone. Something has occurred ! My dear friend, 
 be plainer. What has occurred ? " Riccabocca remained 
 silent. " Something that induces you to bestow your daughter 
 on me ? " 
 
 Riccabocca nodded, and emitted a low chuckle. 
 
 " The very laugh of a fiend," muttered Randal. Some- 
 thing that makes her not w^orth bestowing. He betrays him- 
 self. Cunning people always do." 
 
 * Haye you fifty friends? — it is not enough. — Have you one enemy ?-~it is 
 too muoh, 
 
TARIETIES IN ilNGLISH LIFE. 
 
 121 
 
 " Pardon me," said tlie Italian at last, " if I don't answer 
 yonr question ; you will know later ; but, at present, this is 
 a family secret. And now I must turn to another and more 
 alarming cause for my frankness to you." Here Hiccabocca's 
 face changed, and assumed an expression of mingled rage 
 and fear. You must know," he added, sinking his voice," that 
 Giacomo has seen a strange person loitering about the house, 
 and looking up at the windows ; and he has no doubt — ncr 
 have I — that this is some spy or emissary of Peschiera's." 
 
 " Impossible ; how could he discover you ? " 
 
 " 1 know not ; but no one else has any interest in doing so. 
 The man kept at a distance, and Giacomo could not see his 
 face." 
 
 " It may be but a mere idler. Is this all ? " 
 " No ; the old woman who serves us said that she was asked 
 at a shop * if we were not Italians ' " 
 "And she answered ? " 
 
 " ' ITo ; ' but owned that ^ we had a foreign servant, Gia- 
 como.' " 
 
 " I will see to this. Bely on it that if Peschiera has dis- 
 covered you, I will learn it. Nay, I will hasten from you in 
 order to commence inquiry." 
 
 " I cannot detain you. May I think that we have now an 
 interest in common ? " 
 
 " O, indeed yes ; but — ^but — ^your daughter ! how can I 
 dream that one so beautiful, so peerless, will confirm the hope 
 you have extended to me ? " 
 
 " The daughter of an Italian is brought up to consider that 
 it is a father's right to dispose of her hand." 
 
 " But the heart ? " 
 
 " Gos^etto I " said the Italian, true to his infamous notions as 
 to the sex, " the heart of a girl is like a convent — the holier 
 the cloister, the more charitable the door." 
 
 CHAPTER XIT. 
 
 Bandal had scarcely left the house beforo Mrs. Biccabocca, 
 who was affectionately anxious in all that concerned Yiolante, 
 rejoined her hasbaiid. 
 
 *' I like the young man very well," said the sage — " very 
 well indeed. I find him just what I expected, from my 
 
g^iieral knowledge of Iranian nature; for %s l<3te ordinarily 
 goes Witli yonlli, so inodesty usually accompanies tateiit. 
 is young, eT'go he is in love ; lie lias Ment, ergo he is modBst-^ 
 modosfc and ihgennons." 
 
 "And yon think not in any Way Swayed by interest in Ms 
 affections ? " 
 
 " Quite tlie contrary ; and to pr6ve Mm tlie more, I hays 
 not said a word as to tlie worldly advantages wBicli, in any 
 case, would accrue to Mm from an alliance witii my dangliter. 
 In any case ; for if I regain my country, ber fortune is assured ; 
 and if not, I trust (said the poor exile, lifting his brow with 
 stately and becotoing pride) that I am too well aware of iny 
 child's dignity, as well as my own, to ask any one to marry her 
 to his own worldly injuiy.'^ 
 
 Eh ! I don't quite understand yoii, Alphohso. To be 
 sure, your dear life is insured for he^ marriage portion ; 
 but—" 
 
 " Pa^^^0— stufl! ! said Eiccabocca, petulantly; "her mar- 
 riage portion would be as nothing to a young man of Randal's 
 birth and prospects. I think not of that. But listen ; I have 
 never consented to profit by Harley L'Estrange's friendship 
 for me ; my scruples would not extend to iny son-in-law. This 
 noble friend has not only high rank, but considerable influence 
 — influence with the government — -influence with Unndars 
 patron — who, between ourselves, does not seem to push 
 the young man as he might do; I judge by what Randal 
 says. I should write, therefore, before anything was settled, 
 to L'Estrange, and I should Say to him simply, ' I never asked 
 you to save me from penury, but I do ask you to save a 
 daughter of my house from humiliation. I can give to her no 
 dowry ; can her husband owe to my friend that advance in an 
 lionourable career — that opening to energy and talent— which 
 is more than a dowry to generous ambition ?" 
 
 " Oh, it is in vain you would disguise your rank," cried 
 Jemima, with enthusiasm, "it speaks in all you utter, when 
 your passions arc moved." 
 
 The Italian did not seem flattered by that eulogy. " Pish," 
 said he, " there you are ! rank again ! " 
 
 But Jemima was right. There was something about her 
 husband that was grandiose and princely, whenever he 
 escaped from his accursed Machiavelli, and gave fair play to 
 liis heart. 
 
 And he spent the next hour or so in thinking over all that 
 ho could do for Randal, and devising for his intended son-in- 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 law tlie agreeable surprises, wliieli Randal was at tbat very 
 dine racking his yet cleverer brains to disappoint. 
 
 These plans conned sufficiently, Riccabocca shut Hp his 
 Machiavellij and hunted out of his scanty collection of books 
 Baffon on Man, and various other psychological volumes, in 
 which he soon became deeply absorbed. Why were these 
 works the object of the sage's study ? Perhaps he will let us 
 know soon, for it is clearly a secret known to his wife ; and 
 though she has hitherto kept one secret, that is precisely the 
 reason why Riccabocca would not wish long to overburthea 
 her discretion with another* 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Randal reached home in time to dress for a late dinner at 
 "Baron Levy's. 
 
 The Baron's style of living was of that character especially 
 affected both by the most acknowledged exquisites of that day^ 
 and, it must be owned, also, by the most egregious parvenus, 
 Por it is noticeable that it is your parvenu who always comes 
 nearest in fashion (so far as externals are concerned) to your 
 genuine exquisite. It is jovly parvemi, who is most particular 
 as to the cut of his coat, and the precision of his equipage-, 
 and the minntije of his menage. Those between the parvenu 
 and the exquisite who know their own consequence, and have 
 something solid to rest upon, are slow in following all the 
 caprices of fashion, and obfcuse in observation as to those 
 niceties which neither give fchem another ancestor, nor add 
 another thousand to the account at their banker's ; — as to the 
 last, rather indeed the contrary ! There was a decided elegance 
 ixbout the Baron's house and his dinner. If he had been one 
 of the lawful kings of the dandies, you would have cried, 
 " What perfect taste ! " — but such is human nature, that the 
 dandies who dined with him said to each other, " He pretend 
 to imitate D ! vulgar dog ! " There was little affec- 
 tation of your more showy opulence. The furniture in the 
 rooms was apparently simple, but, in truth, costly, from its 
 luxurious comfort — the ornaments and china scattered about 
 fche commodes were of curious rarity and great value ; and 
 the pictures on the walls were gems. At dinner, no plate was 
 admitted on the table. The Russian fashion, then uncommon, 
 now more prevalent, was adopted — fruit and flowers in old 
 
124 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Sevres dislies of priceless vertu, and in sparkling glass of 
 Bohemian fabric. 'No livery servant was permitted to wait ; ' 
 behind each gnest stood a gentleman dressed so like the guest 
 himself, in fine linen and simple black, that guest and lacquej 
 seemed stereotypes from one plate. 
 
 The viands were exquisite ; the wine came from the cellars 
 of deceased archbishops and ambassadors. The company 
 was select ; the party did not exceed eight. Four were the 
 eldest sons of peers, (from a baron to a duke ; ) one was a 
 professed wit, never to be got without a month's notice, and, 
 where a ^arvemo was host, a certainty of green peas and 
 peaches — out of season ; the sixth, to Randal's astonishment, 
 was Mr. Richard Avenel ; himself and the Baron made up 
 the complement. 
 
 The eldest sons recognized each other with a meaning smile ; 
 the most juvenile of them, indeed, (it was his first year in 
 London,) had the grace to blush and look sheepish. The 
 others were more hardened ; but they all united in regarding 
 with surprise both Randal and Dick Avenel. The former was 
 known to most of them personally, and to all, by repute, as a 
 grave, clever, promising young man, rather prudent than 
 lavish, and never suspected to have got into a scrape. What 
 the deuce did he do there ? Mr. Avenel puzzled them yet 
 more. A middle-aged man, said to be in business, whom they 
 had observed "about town " (for he had a noticeable face and 
 figure) — ^that is, seen riding in the park, or lounging in the 
 pit at the opera, but never set eyes on at a recognized club, or 
 in the coteries of their " set; " a man whose wife gave horrid 
 third-rate parties, that took up half a column in the Morning 
 Fost with a list of " The Company Present," in which a 
 sprinkling of dowagers fading out of fashion, and a foreign 
 title or two, made the darkness of the obscurer names doubly 
 dark. Why this man should be asked to meet the7n, by Baron 
 Levy, too — a decided tuft-hunt and would-be exclusive- 
 called all their faculties into exercise. The wit, who, being 
 the son of a small tradesman, but in the very best society, 
 gave himself far greater airs than the young lords, impertinently 
 solved the mystery. — " Depend on it," whispered he to Spend- 
 quick — " depend on it the man is the X.Y. of the Times who 
 offers to lend any sum of money from £10 to half-a-million< 
 He's the man who has all your bills ; Levy is only 
 jackal." 
 
 " ' Pon my soul," said Spendquick, rather alarmed, " 'd 
 that's the case, one may as well be civil to him." 
 
VAUIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 125 
 
 ^* You, certainly," said tlie wit. " But I never Have found 
 an X. Y. wlio would advance me tlie L. s. ; and therefore, I shall 
 not be more respectful to X.Y. than to any other unknown 
 quantity.'* 
 
 By degrees, as the wine circula,ted, the party grew gay and 
 sociable. Levy was really an entertaining fellow ; had all the 
 gossip of the town at his fingers' ends ; and possessed, more- 
 over, that pleasant art of saying ill-natured things of the 
 absent, which those present always enjoy. By degrees, too, 
 Mr. Richard Avenel came out ; and, as the whisper had circu- 
 lated round the table that he was X.Y., he was listened to 
 with a profound respect, which greatly elevated his spirits. 
 Nay, when the wit tried once to show him up or mystify 
 him, Dick answered with a blu;ff spirit, that, though very 
 coarse, was found so humorous by Lord Spendquick and 
 other gentlemen similarly situated in the money-market, that 
 they turned the laugh against the wit, and silenced him for 
 the rest of the night — a circumstance which made the party 
 go off much more pleasantly. After dinner, the conversation, 
 quite that of single men, easy and debonnaire, glanced from 
 the turf, and the ballet, and the last scandal, towards politics ; 
 for the times were such that politics were discussed every- 
 where, and three of the young lords were county members. 
 
 Randal said little, but, as was his wont, listened attentively ; 
 and he was aghast to find how general was the belief that the 
 Government was doomed. Out of regard to him, and with 
 that delicacy of breeding which belongs to a certain society, 
 nothing personal to Egerton was said, except by Avenel, who, 
 however, on blurting out some rude expressions respecting 
 that minister, was instantly checked by the Baron. 
 
 " Spare my friend, and Mr. Leslie's near connection," said 
 he, with a polite but grave smile. 
 
 Oh," said Avenel, "public men, whom we pay, are public 
 property — aren't they, my lord? " appealing to, Spendquick. 
 
 "Certainly," said Spendquick, with great spirit — "public 
 property, or why should we pay them ? There must be a 
 very strong motive to induce us to do that ! I hate paying 
 people. In fact," he subjoined in an aside, " I never do." 
 
 "However," resumed Mr. Avenel, graciously, "I don't 
 want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Leslie. As to the feelings of 
 our host, the Baron, I calculate that they have got tolerably 
 tough by the exercise they have gone through." 
 
 "Nevertheless," said the Baron, joining in the laugh which 
 any iivelj saying by the supposed X«Y. was sure to excite-— 
 
126 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OH, 
 
 neYertlielesSj Hove me, love my dog/ love me, love my 
 Egerton." 
 
 Randal started, for his quick ear and subtle intelligence 
 canglit something sinister and hostile in the tone with which 
 Levy uttered this equivocal comparison, and his eye darted 
 towards the Baron. But the Baron had bent down his face, 
 and was regaling himself upon an olive. 
 
 By-and-by the party rose from table. The four young 
 noblemen had their engagements elsewhere, and proposed to 
 separate without re-entering the drawing-room . As, in Groethe'a 
 theory, monads which have affinities with each other are irre- 
 sistibly drawn together, so these gay children of pleasur.e had, 
 by a common impulse, on rising from table, moved each to 
 each, arid formed a group round the fireplace. Randal stood 
 a little apart, musing ; the wit examined the pictures through 
 his eye-glass ; and Mr. Avenel drew the Baron towards the 
 sideboard, and there held him in whispered conference. This 
 colloquy did not escape the young gentlemen round the fire- 
 place ; they glanced towards each other. 
 
 " Settling the percentage on renewal," said one, soUo voee. 
 
 **X.Y. does not seem such a very bad fellow,'* said another, 
 
 ■* He looks rich, and talks rich, said a third. 
 A decided independent way of expressing his sentiments ; 
 those moneyed men generally have." 
 
 Good heavens ! " ejaculated Spendquick, who had been 
 keeping his eye anxiously fixed on the pair, *' do look ; X.Y. 
 is actually taking out his pocket-book ; he is coming this way, 
 Depend on it he has got our bills — -mine is due to-morrow ! " 
 
 "And mine too," said another, edging o:^. "Why, it is a 
 perfect giiGUajpens^ 
 
 Meanwhile, breaking away from the Baron, who appearecj 
 anxious to detain him, and failing in that attempt, turned 
 aside, as if not to see Dick's movements — a circumstance 
 which did not escape the notice of the group, and confirmed 
 all their suspicions, Mr. Avenel, with a serious, thoughtful 
 face, and a slow step, approached the group. Isfor did the 
 great Roman general more nervously " flutter the dove-cots 
 in Corioli," than did the advance of the supposed X.Y. 
 agitate the bosoms of Lord Spendquick and his sympathising 
 friends. Pocket-book in hand, and apparently feeling for 
 something formidable within its mystic recesses, step by stew 
 came Dick Avenel towards the fireplace. The group stooa 
 still, fascinated by horror. 
 
 Hum," said Mr. Avenel, clearing his throat. 
 
VARIETIES IN EHGIJSH LIFE. J 21 
 
 " I don't like tliat hum at all/' muttered Spendquick. 
 
 " Proud to liave made your acquaintance, gentlemen/' said 
 13ick, bowing. 
 
 The gentlemen, thus addressed, bowed low in return. 
 
 " My friend the Baron thought this not exactly the time 
 tQ— " Eick stopped a inoment ; you might have knocked 
 down those four young gentlemen, though four finer speci- 
 mens of humanity no ajdstocracy in Europe could produce — 
 you niight have knocked them down with a feather ! But," 
 renewed Avenel, not jjnishing his sentence, "I havo made 
 it a rule in life never to lose securing a good opportunity ; in 
 short, to make the most of the present manient. And," 
 added he, with a smile, which froze the blood in Lord Spend" 
 quipk's veins, "the rule has naade me a very warm man! 
 Therefore, gentlemen, allow me to present you each with one 
 of these " — every hand retreated behind the back of its well- 
 born owner — when, to the inexpressible relief of all, Dick 
 concluded with — " a little soiree dmisante,^^ artd extended four 
 cards of invitation. 
 
 "Most happy!" exclaimed Speiidquiek. ^-I don't danpe 
 in general ; but to oblige X — — I mean to have a better . 
 acquaintance, si^\ with you — wo^uld dance on the tight-* 
 rope," 
 
 Ther« was a, good-humoured, pleasant laugh at Spends 
 quick's enthusiasm, and a general shaking of hands and 
 pocketing of the invitation cards. 
 
 "You don't look like a dancing man," said Avenel, turning 
 to the wit, who was plump and somewhat gouty— as wits 
 who dine out five days in the week generally are ; "but we 
 shall have supper at one o'clock." 
 
 Infinitely ofiended and disgiisted, the wit replied, drily, 
 " that ev^ry hour of his time was engaged for the rest of the 
 season^" an,d, with a stiff salutation to the Baron, took his 
 departure. The rest, in good spirits, hurried away to their 
 respective cabriolets ; and Leslie was following them into the 
 hall, when the Baron, catching hold of him, said, " Sfcaj, I 
 want to talk to you.*^ 
 
128 
 
 MY NOVEL: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER Xr^. 
 
 The Baron turned into liis drawing-room, and Leslie 
 followed. 
 
 "Pleasant young men, those," said Levy, with a slight 
 sneer, as he threw himself into an easy chair and stirred the 
 fire. "And not at all proud ; but, to be sure, they are — under 
 great obligations to me. Yes ; they owe me a great deal. 
 A]jro'pos, I have had a long talk with Frank Hazel dean — fine 
 young man — remarkable capacities for business. I can 
 arrange his a&irs for him. I find, on reference to the Will 
 Office, that you were quite right; the Casino property is 
 entailed on Prank. He will have the fee simple. He can 
 dispose of the reversion entirely. So that there will be no 
 difficulty in our arrangements." 
 
 "But I told you also that Prank had scruples about borrow- 
 ing on the event of his father's death." 
 
 "Ay — ^you did so. Pilial affection ! I never take that into 
 account in matters of business. Such little scruples, though 
 they are highly honourable to human nature, soon vanish 
 before the prospect of the King's Bench. And, too, as you so 
 judiciously remarked, our clever young friend is in love with 
 Madame di Negra." 
 
 " Did he tell you that ? " 
 
 "No ; but Madame di JSTegra did! 
 
 " You know her ? " 
 
 " I know most people in good society, who now and then 
 require a friend in the management of their affairs. And 
 having made sure of the fact you stated, as to Hazeldean's 
 contingent property (excuse my prudence), I have accom- 
 modated Madame di ITegra, and bought up her debts." 
 
 " You have — yon surprise me ! " 
 
 " The surprise will vanish on reflection. But you are very 
 new to the world yet, my dear Leslie. By the way, I have 
 had an interview with Peschiera — ^" 
 
 " About his sister's debts ? " 
 
 " Partly. A man of the nicest honour is Peschiera." 
 i Aware of Levy's habit of praising people for the qualities 
 in which, according to the judgment of less penetrating 
 mortals, they were most deficient, Randal only smiled at this 
 eulogy, wd waited for Levy to resume. But the Baron sate 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIEE. 
 
 129 
 
 Bilept and tlionglitfiil for a minute or two, and tlion wliolly 
 changed the subject. 
 
 " I think your father has some property in shire, and 
 
 yoTi probably can give me a little information as to certain 
 . estates of a Mr. Thornhill, estates which, on examination of 
 the title-deeds, I find once, indeed, belonged to your family." 
 The Baron glanced at a very elegant memorandum-book, — 
 " The manors of Rood and Dulmansberry, with sundry farms 
 thereon. Mr. Thornhill wants to sell them — an old client of 
 mine, Thornhill. He has applied to me on the matter. Do 
 you think it an improvable property ? " 
 
 Handal listened with a livid cheek and a throbbing heart. 
 "We have seen that, if there was one ambitious scheme in his 
 calculation which, though not absolutely generous and heroic, 
 still might win its way to a certain sympathy in the undebased 
 human mind, it was the hope to restore the fallen fortunes of 
 his ancient house, and repossess himself of the long alienated 
 lands that surrounded the dismal wastes of the mouldering 
 hall. And now to hear that those lands were getting into 
 the inexorable gripe of Levy — tears of bitterness stood in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Thornhill," continued Levy, who watched the young 
 man's countenance — " Thornhill tells me that that part of his 
 property — ^the old Leslie lands— produces £2000 a-year, and 
 that the rental could be raised. He would take £50,000 for 
 it — £20,000 down, and suffer the remaining £30,000 to lie on 
 mortgage at four per cent. It seems a very good purchase. 
 What do you say ? " 
 
 "Don't ask me," said Randal, stung into rare honesty; 
 " for I had hoped I might live to repossess myself of that 
 property." 
 
 " Ah 1 indeed. It would be a very great addition to your con- 
 sequence in the world — ^not from the mere size of the estate, 
 but from its hereditary associations. And if you have any idea 
 of the purchase — ^believe me, I'll not stand in your way." 
 
 " How can I have any idea of it ? " 
 
 " But I thought you said you had." 
 
 " I understood that these lands could not be sold till Mr. 
 Thornhiirs son came of age, and joined in getting rid of the 
 entail." 
 
 Yes, so Thornhill himself supposed, till, on examining thd 
 title-deeds, I found he was under a mistake. These lands are 
 not comprised in the settlement made by old Jasper Thornhill^ 
 which ties up the rest of the property. The title will be 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
130 
 
 MY NOVEI,; OB, 
 
 perfect. TbornMll wants to settle the matter at once — lo^mB 
 on tlie turf, yon understand; an immediate pnrcliaser ^onld 
 get still better terms. A Sir Jolin Spratt would give the 
 money; — but the addition of these lands would make the 
 >Spratt property of more consequence in the county than the 
 Thornhill. So my client would rather take a few thousands 
 less from a man who don't set up to be his rival. Balance of 
 power in counties as well as nations.'* 
 Randal was silent. 
 
 "Well," said Levy, with great kindness of manner, "I see 
 T pain you ; and though I am what my very pleasant guests 
 would call a parvenu, I comprehend your natural feelings as a 
 gentleman of ancient birth, Farvenu 1 Ah ! is it not strange, 
 Leslie, that no wealth, no fashion, no fame can wipe out that 
 blot. They call me 2^ parvenu, and borrow my money. They 
 call our friend the wit, a parvenu, and submit to all his 
 insolence — if they condescend to regard his birth at all — 
 provided they can but get him to dinner. They call the best 
 debater in the Parliament of England a parvenu, and will 
 entreat him, some day or other, to be prime minister, and ask 
 him for stars and garters. A droll world, and no wonder the 
 'parvenus want to upset it. 
 
 E-andal had hitherto supposed that this notorious tuft- 
 hunter — this dandy capitalist--this money-lender, whose whole 
 fortune had been wrung from the wants and follies of an 
 aristocracy, was naturally a firm supporter of things as they 
 arc— how could things be better for men like Baron Levy ? 
 But the usurer's burst of democratic spleen did not surprise 
 his precocious and acute faculty of observation. He had 
 before remarked, that it is the persons who fawn most upon 
 an aristocracy, and profit the most by the fawning, who are 
 ever at heart its bitterest disparagers. Why is this ? Because 
 one full half of democratic opinion is made up of envy ; and 
 we can only envy what is brought before our eyes, and what, 
 while very near to us, is still unattainable. E'o man envies an 
 archangel. 
 
 "But," said Levy, throwing himself back in his chair, "a 
 new order of things is commencing; we shall see. Leslie, it 
 is lucky for you that you did not enter parliament under 
 the government ; it would be your political ruin for life.*' 
 
 " You think, then, that the ministry really cannot last ? " 
 
 " Of course I do ; and what is more, I think that a ministry 
 of the same principles cannot be restored. You are a young 
 roan of talent and spirit j your birth is nothing compared to 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 131 
 
 fclie rank of tlie reigning party ; ifc would tell, to a certain 
 degree, in a democratic one. I saj, jou should be more civil 
 ko Avenel; lie could return you to parliament at ibe next 
 election." 
 
 " The next election ! In ^ix years! We liaTe just had a 
 general election,** 
 
 " There will be another before thh year, or half of it, or 
 perhaps a quarter of it, is out/* 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " 
 
 " Leslie, let there be confidence between us ; we can help 
 each other. Shall we be friends ? ^* 
 
 " With all my heart. But though you may help me, how 
 can I help you ? ** 
 
 " You have helped me already to Frank Hazeldean and the 
 Casino estate. All cleyer men can help me. Come, then, we 
 are friends ; and what I say is secret. You ask me why I 
 think there will be a general election so soon ? I will answer 
 you frankly. Of all the public men I ever met with, there is 
 no one who had so clear a vision of things immediately before 
 him as Audley Egerton." 
 
 " He has that character. N"ot/ar-sedmg, but c^ear-sighted 
 to a certain limit." 
 
 "Exactly so. Ko one bette?, therefore, knows public 
 opinion, and its immediate ebb and flow." 
 
 " Granted." 
 
 Egerton, then, counts on ^ general election within three 
 months ; and I have lent him the money for it." 
 
 " Lent him the money ^ Egerton borrow money of you — 
 the rich Audley Egerton ! " 
 
 " Kich ! " repeated Levy in a tone impossible to describe, 
 and accompanying the word with that movement of th© 
 middle linger and thumb, commonly called a " snap," which 
 indicates profound contempt. 
 
 He said no more. B^andal sate stupified. At length the 
 latter muttered, " But if Egerton is really not rich — ^if he lose 
 office, and without the hope of return to it " 
 
 " If so, he is ruined ! " said Levy, coldly ; " and therefore, 
 from regard to you, and feeling interest in your future fate, I 
 say — Eest no hopes of fortune or career upon Audley Egerton. 
 Keep your place for the present, but be prepared at the next 
 election to stand upon popular principles. Avenel shall 
 return ypu to parliament ; and the rest is with luck and 
 energy. And now, I'll not detain you longer," said Levy, 
 rising and rir.ging the bell. Tte servant entered. 
 
 K 2 
 
MY novel; oh, 
 
 " Is my carriage here ? " 
 "Yes, Baron." 
 
 " Can I set you down anywhere ? " 
 " ISTo, thank you, I prefer walking." 
 
 " Adien, then. And mind you remember tlie soiree dansant* 
 at Mrs. Ayeners." Bandal mechanically shook the hand 
 extended to him, and went down the stairs. 
 
 The fresh frosty air roused his intellectual faculties, which 
 Levy's ominous words had almost paralysed. 
 
 And the first thing the clever schemer said to himself was 
 this — 
 
 " But what can be the man's motive in what he said 
 to me ? 
 
 The next was — 
 
 Egerton ruined ! What am I, then ? " 
 And the third was — 
 
 "And that fair remnant of the old Leslie property ! £20,000 
 down — how to get the sum ? Why should Levy have spoken 
 to me of this ? " 
 
 And lastly, the soliloquy rounded back — " The man's 
 motives ! His motives ? 
 
 Meanwhile, the Baron threw himself into his chariot — the 
 most comfortable easy chariot you can possibly conceive — 
 single man's chariot — perfect taste — no married man ever 
 
 had such a chariot ; and in a few minutes he was at 's 
 
 hotel, and in the presence of Giulio Franzini, Count di Pes- 
 chiera. 
 
 " Mon c7i,er," said the Baron, in very good French, and in a 
 tone of the most familiar equality with the descendant of the 
 princes and heroes of grand medigeval Italy — " Mon cher, give 
 me one of your excellent cigars. I think I have put all matters 
 in train." 
 
 " You have found out — " 
 
 "No; not so fast yet," said the Baron, lighting the cigar 
 extended to him. "But you said that you should be perfectly 
 contented if it only cost you £20,000 to marry off your sister, 
 (to whom that sum is legally due,) and to marry yourself to 
 the heiress." . 
 
 "I did, indeed." 
 
 " Then I have no doubt I shall manage both obiects for 
 that sum, if Handal Leslie really knows where the young lady 
 is, and can assist you. Most' promising able man is fiandal 
 Leslie — but innocent as a babe just born." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Innocent ? Que diable I " 
 
VAlllETlES IN ENaLiSH LIFE. . 133 
 
 "Innocent as this cigar, mon clier — strong certainly, but 
 imoked very easily. Soyez tranquille 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Who lias not seen, who not admired, that noble picture by 
 Daniel Maclise, which refreshes the immortal name of my 
 ancestor Caxton! For myself, while with national pride I 
 heard the admiring murmurs of the foreigners who grouped 
 around it (nothing, indeed, of which our nation may be more 
 proud had they seen in the Crystal Palace) — heard, with no 
 less a pride in the generous nature of fellow-artists, the warm 
 applause of living and deathless masters, sanctioning the 
 enthusiasm of the popular crowd; — what struck me more 
 than the precision of drawing, for which the artist has been 
 always renowned, and the just, though gorgeous affluence of 
 colour which he has more recently acquired, was the profound 
 depth of conception, out of which this great work had so 
 elaborately arisen. That monk, with his scowl towards the 
 printer and his back on the Bible over which Ms form casts a 
 shadow — the whole transition between the medieeval Chris- 
 tianity of cell and cloister, and the modern Christianity that 
 rejoices in the daylight, is depicted there, in the shadow that 
 obscures the Book — in the scowl that is fixed upon the Book- 
 difEuser; — that sombre, musing face of Richard, Duke of 
 Crloucester, with the beauty of ISTapoleon, darkened to the 
 expression of a Fiend, looking far and anxiously into futurity 
 as if foreseeing there what antagonism was about to be created 
 to the schemes of secret crime and unrelenting force ; — the 
 chivalrous head of the accomplished Rivers, seen but in pro- 
 file, under his helmet, as if the age when Chivalry must 
 defend its noble attributes, in steel, was already half passed 
 away : and, not least grand of all, the rude thews and sinews 
 of the artisan forced into service on the type, and the ray of 
 intellect, fierce, and menacing revolutions yet to be, strug- 
 gling through his rugged features, and across his low knitted 
 brow ; — all this, which showed how deeply the idea of the dis- 
 covery in its good and its evil, its saving light and its 
 perilous storms, had sunk into the artist's soul, charmed me 
 as e:ffecting the exact union between sentiment and execution, 
 which is the true and rare consummation of the Ideal in Art. 
 But obseive, while in these personages of the group are 
 
134 
 
 MY novel; ok, 
 
 depicted til© deeper and graver agencies implicated in the 
 bright but terrible invention- — observe bow little the light 
 epicures of the hour heed the scowl of the monk, or the resfc- 
 less gesture of Richard, or the troubled gleam in the eyes of 
 the artisan — King Edward, handsome Foco cur ante, delighted 
 in the surprise of a childj with a new toy ; and Clarence, 
 with his curious, yet careless, glance — all the while Oaxton 
 himself, calm, serene, untroubled, intent solely upon the 
 manifestation of his discovery, and no doubt supremely indif- 
 ferent whether the first proofs of it shall be dedicated to a 
 Bivers or an Edward, a Bichard or a Henry, Plantagenet or 
 Tudor—'tis all the same to that comely, gentle-looking man. 
 So is it ever with your Abstract Science !— not a jot cares its 
 passionless logic for the woe or weal of a generation or two. 
 The stream, once emerged from its source, passes on into the 
 great Intellectual Sea, smiling over the wretch that it 
 drowns, or under the keel of the ship which it serves as a 
 slave. 
 
 Now, when about to commence the present chapter on the 
 Varieties of Life, this masterpiece of thoughtful art forced 
 itself on my recollection, and illustrated what I designed to 
 convey. In the surface of every age, it is often that which 
 but amuses, for the moment, the ordinary children of pleasant 
 existence, the Edwards and the Clarences (be they kings and 
 dukes, or simplest of simple subjects), which afterwards 
 towers out as the great serious epoch of the time. When we 
 look back upon human records, how the eye settles upon 
 We-Itees as the main land-marks of the past ! We talk of 
 the age of Augustus, of Elizabeth, of Louis XIY., of Anne-, 
 as the notable eras of the world. Why ? Because it is their 
 writers who have made them so» Intervals between one age 
 of authors and another lie unnoticed, as the flats and common 
 lands of uncultured history. And yet, strange to say, when 
 these authors are living amongst us, they occupy a very small 
 portion of our thoughts, and fill up but desultory interstices 
 in the bitumen and tuf o wherefrom we build up the Babylon 
 of our lives ! So it is, and perhaps so it should be, whether it 
 pleases the conceit of penmen or not. Life is meant to be 
 active ; and books, though they give the action to future gene^ 
 i*ations, administer but to the holiday of the present. 
 
 And so, with this long preface, I turn suddenly from the 
 Bandals and the Egertons, and the Levys, Avenels, and 
 Peschieras — from the plots and passions of practical life, and 
 drop the reader suddenly into one of those obscure retreats 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 135 
 
 wlierein Thouglit weaves, from unnoticed moments, a new 
 link to the cliain that unites the ages. 
 
 Within a small room, the single window of which opened on 
 a fanciful and fairy-like garden, that has been before described, 
 sate a young man alone. He had been writing ; the ink was 
 not dry on his manuscript, but his thoughts had been sud- 
 denly interrupted from his work, and his eyes, now lifted 
 from the letter which had occasioned that interruption, 
 sparkled with delight. "He will come/' exclaimed the 
 young man ; '* come here-— 'to the home which I owe to him, 
 I have not been unworthy of his friendship. And she "—his 
 breast heaved, but the joy faded from his face. " Oh, strange, 
 strange, that I feel sad at the thought to see her again. See 
 lier—^Ah no ! my own comforting Helen — my own Ohild- 
 angel ! Jffe?^ I can never see again ! The grown woman— 
 that is not my Helen. And yet— and yet (he resumed after a 
 pause), if ever she read the pages in which thought flowed 
 and trembled under her distant starry light — if ever she see 
 how her image has rested with me, and feel that, while others 
 believe that I invent, I have but remembered — ^will she not, 
 for a moment, be my own Helen again ! Again, in heart and 
 in fancy, stand by my side on the desolate bridge — ^hand in 
 hand— orphans both, as we stood in the days so sorrowful, 
 yet, as I recall them, so sweet.' — Helen in England, it is a 
 dream ! " 
 
 He rose, half-consciously, and went to the window. The 
 fountain played merrily before his eyes, and the birds in the 
 aviary carolled loud to his ear. "And in this house," ho 
 murmured, " I saw her last ! And there, where the fountain 
 now throws its spray on high — there her benefactor and mine 
 told me that I was to lose her, that I might win— fame. 
 Alas ! " 
 
 At this time a woman, whose dress was somewhat above 
 her mien and air, which, though not without a certain respec- 
 tability, were very homely, entered the room ; and, seeing the 
 young man standing thus thoughtful by the window, paused. 
 She was used to his habits ; and since his success in life, ha-d 
 learned to respect them. So she did not disturb his reverie, 
 but began softly to arrange the room — dusting, with thb 
 corner of her apron, the varions articles of furniture, putting 
 a stray chair or two in its right place, but not touching a 
 single paper. Yirtuous woman, and rare as virtuous 1 
 
 The young man turned at last, with a deep, yet noi 
 altogether painful sigh— 
 
136 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " Mj dear motLer, good day to you. All, you do well to 
 make the room look its best. Happy news ! I expect a 
 visitor ! " 
 
 " Dear me, Leonard, will lie want lunch-— or what ? " 
 
 " ISTay, think not, mother. It is he to whom we owe 
 all — 'floeo otia fcciV Pardon my Latin; it is Lord 
 L'Estrange." 
 
 The face of Mrs. Fairfield (the reader has long since 
 divined the name) changed instantly, and betrayed a nervous 
 twitch of all the muscles, which gave her a family likeness to 
 old Mrs. Avenel. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, mother. He is the kindest — '* 
 
 " Don't talk so ; I can't bear it ! " cried Mrs. Fairfield. 
 
 " 'No wonder you are affected by the recollection of all his 
 benefits. But when once you have seen him, you will find 
 yourself ever after at your ease. And so, pray smile and 
 look as good as you are ; for I am proud of your open honest 
 look when you are pleased, mother. And he must see your 
 heart in your face, as I do." 
 
 With this, Leonard put his arm round the widow's neck 
 and kissed her. She clung to him fondly for a moment, and 
 he felt her tremble from head to foot. Then she broke from 
 his embrace, and hurried out of the room. Leonard thought 
 perhaps she had gone to improve her dress, or to carry her 
 housewife energies to the decoration of the other rooms ; for 
 "the house" was Mrs. Fairfield's hobby and passion; and 
 now that she worked no more, save for her amusement, it 
 was her main occupation. The hours she contrived to spend 
 daily in bustling about those little rooms, and leaving every- 
 thing therein to all appearance precisely the same, were among 
 the marvels in life which the genius of Leonard had never 
 comprehended. But she was always so delighted when Mr. 
 Norreys or some rare visitor came ; and said, (Mr. Norreys 
 never failed to do so,) " How neatly all is kept here. What 
 could Leonard do without you, Mrs. Fairfield ? " 
 
 And, to IS^orreys' infinite amusement, Mrs. Fairfield always 
 returned the same answer. " 'Deed, sir, and thank you 
 kindly, but 'tis my belief that the drawin'-room would be 
 awful dusty." 
 
 Once more left alone, Leonard's mind returned to the state 
 of reverie, and his face assumed the expression that had now 
 become to it habitual. Thus seen, he was changed much 
 since we last beheld him. His cheek was more pale and thin, 
 his lips more firmly compressed, Jiis eye more fixed and 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 187 
 
 abstract. You could detect, if I may borrow a toucbhig 
 Frencli expression, tliat " sorrow bad passed by tbere.'* But 
 tlie melancholy on bis countenance was ineffably sweet and 
 serene, and on bis ample forebead tbere was tbat power, so 
 rarely seen in early youth — tbe power that has conquered, and 
 betrays its conquests but in calm. The period of doubt, of 
 struggle, of defiance, was gone perhaps for ever ; genius and 
 soul were reconciled to human life. It was a face most 
 loveable ; so gentle and peaceful in its character, l^o want 
 of fire : on the contrary, the fire was so clear and so steadfast, 
 that it conveyed but the impression of light. The candour 
 of boyhood ; the simplicity of the villager were still there — • 
 refined by intelligence, but intelligence that seemed to have 
 traversed through knowledge — not with the footstep, but the 
 wing— unsullied by the mire — tending towards the star — 
 seeking through the various grades of Being but the lovelier 
 forms of truth and goodness ; at home as should be the Art 
 that consummates the Beautiful — 
 
 " In den heitern Eegionen 
 Wo die reinen Formen wolmen."* 
 
 From this reverie Leonard did not seek to rouse himself j till 
 the bell at the garden gate rang loud and shrill ; and then 
 starting up and hurrying into the hall, his hand was grasped 
 in Harley's. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 A FULL and happy hour passed away in Harley's questions 
 ftnd Leonard's answers ; the dialogue that naturally ensued 
 between the two, on the first interview after an absence of 
 years so eventful to the younger man. 
 
 The history of Leonard during this interval was almost 
 solely internal, the struggle of intellect with its own difficul- 
 ties, the wanderings of imagination through its own adven- 
 turous worlds. 
 
 The first aim of Norreys, in preparing the mind of his 
 pupil for its vocation, had been to establish the equilibrium of 
 its powers, to calm into harmony the elements rudely shaken 
 by the trials and passions of the old hard outer life. 
 
 * At home — " In tlie serene regions 
 
 "VVliere dwell the pure forms." 
 
138 
 
 MY kovel; or, 
 
 The theory of ISTorrejs was briefly this, The edncatioai of 
 a superior human being is but the development of ideas in 
 one for fche benefit of others. To this endj attention should 
 be directed— 1st, To the value of the ideas collected ; 2ndly, 
 To their discipline ; 3rdly, To their expression. Eor the 
 first, acquirement is necessary ; for the second, discipline ; 
 for the third, art. The first comprehends knowledge, purely 
 intellectual, whether derived from observation, memory, 
 reflection, books or men, Aristotle or Fleet Street. The 
 second demands training^ not only intellectual, but moral ; 
 the purifying and exaltation of motives; the formation of 
 habits ; in which method is but a part of a divine and har- 
 monious symmetry— an union of intellect and conscience. 
 Ideas of value, stored by the first process ; marshalled int6 
 force, and placed under gaidance, by the second ; it is the 
 result of the third, to place them before the world in the 
 most attractive or commanding form. This may be done by 
 actions no less than words ; but the adaptation of means to 
 end, the passage of ideas from the brain of one man into the 
 lives and souls of all, no less in action than in books, requires 
 study. Action has its art as well as literature. Here Norreys 
 had but to deal with the calling of the scholar, the formation 
 of the writer, and so to guide the perceptions towards those 
 varieties in the sublime and beautiful, the just combination of 
 which is at once creation. Man himself is but a combination 
 of elements. He who combines in nature, creates in art. 
 
 Such, very succinctly and inadequately expressed, was the 
 system upon which ISTorreys proceeded to regulate and perfect 
 the great native powers of his pupil ; and though the reader 
 may perhaps say that no system laid down by another can 
 oil her form genius or dictate to its results, yet probably nine- 
 tenths at least of those in whom we recognise the luminaries 
 of oar race, have j^assed, unconsciously to themselves (for 
 'eielf-education is rarely conscious of its phases), through each 
 <jl these processes. And no one who pauses to reflect will 
 deny, that, according to this theory, illustrated by a man of 
 vast experience, profound knowledge, and exquisite taste, the 
 struggles of genius would be infinitely lessened ; its vision 
 cleared and strengthened, and the distance between effort and 
 success notably abridged. 
 
 Norreys, however, was far too deep a reasoner to fall into 
 the error of modern teachers, who suppose that education 
 can dispense with labour. No mind becomes muscular with* 
 out rude and early exercise. Labour should bo strenuous, 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 139 
 
 hui in riglit directions. All that we can do for it is to save 
 the waste of time in blundering into needless toils. 
 
 The master had thus first employed his neophyte in arrange 
 ing and compiling materials for a great critical work in which 
 Korreys himself Was engaged. In this stage of scholastic 
 preparation, Leonard was necessarily led to the acquisition of 
 languages, for which he had great aptitude-— the foundations 
 of a large and comprehensive erudition were solidly con- 
 structed. Ho traced by the ploughshare the walls of the 
 destined city. Habits of accuracy and of generalisation 
 became formed insensibly ; and that precious faculty which 
 seizes, amidst accumulated materials, those that serve the 
 object for which they are explored^ — (that faculty which 
 quadruples all force, by concentrating it on one point) — onco 
 roused into action, gave purpose to every toil and quickness 
 to each perception. But Norreys did not confine his pupil 
 solely to the mute world of a library ; he introduced him to 
 Some of the first minds in arts, science, and letters— and 
 active life. " These,'* said he, " are the living ideas of the 
 present, out of which books for the future will be written : 
 study them ; and here, as in the volumes of the past, dili- 
 gently amass and deliberately compile." 
 
 By degrees ^ovrejs led on that young, ardent mind from 
 the selection of ideas to their assthetic analysis-^from compi* 
 lation to criticism ; but criticism severe, close, and logical — f 
 reason for each word of praise of of blame. Led in this stagfi 
 of his career to examine into the laws of beauty, a new light 
 broke upon his mind ; from amidst the masses of marble he 
 had piled around him, rose the vision of the statue. 
 
 And so, suddenly one day ISTorreys said to him, " I need a 
 compiler no longer — maintain yourself by your own creations." 
 And Leonard wrote, and a work flowered up from the seed 
 deep buried, and the soil well cleared to the rays of the sun 
 and the healthful influence of expanded air. 
 
 That first work did not penetrate to a very wide circle of 
 readers, not from any perceptible fault of its own — there i^ 
 luck in these things ; the first anonymous work of an original 
 genius is rarely at once eminently successful. But the more 
 experienced recognised the promise of the book. Publishers, 
 who have an instinct in the discovery of available talent, 
 which often forestalls the appreciation of the public, volun- 
 teered liberal offers. "Be fully successful this time," said 
 Norreysi; "think not of models nor of style. Strike at once 
 at thv common human heart — throw away the corks^ — swim 
 
140 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 out boldly. One word more — never write a page till you 
 bavo walked from your room to Temple Bar, and, mingling 
 with men, and reading tlie human face, learn why great poets 
 have mostly passed their lives in cities." 
 
 Thus Leonard wrote again, and woke one morning to find 
 himself famous. So far as the chances of all professions 
 dependent on health will permit, present independence, and, 
 with foresight and economy, the prospects of future compe- 
 tence were secured. 
 
 " And, indeed," said Leonard, concluding a longer but a 
 simpler narrative than is here told — " indeed, there is some 
 chance that I may obtain at once a sum that will leave me 
 free for the rest of my life to select my own subjects and 
 write without care for remnneration. This is what I call 
 the true (and, perhaps, alas ! the rare) independence of him 
 who devotes himself to letters. Norreys, having seen my 
 boyish plan for the improvement of certain machinery in the 
 steam-engine, insisted on my giving much time to mechanics. 
 The study that once pleased me so greatly, now seemed du"'l; 
 bat I went into it with good heart ; and the result is, that T 
 have improved so far on my original idea, that my scheme 
 has met the approbation of one of our most scientific engi- 
 neers : and I am assured that the patent for it will be pur- 
 chased of me upon terras which I am ashamed to name tc 
 you, so disproportioned do they seem to the value of so simple 
 a discovery. Meanwhile, I am already rich enough to have 
 realised the two dreams of my heart — ^to make a home in the 
 cottage where I had last seen you and Helen — I mean Miss 
 Digby ; and to invite to that home her who had sheltered my 
 infancy," 
 
 " Your mother, where is she ? Let me see her." 
 
 Leonard ran out to call the widow, but to his surprise and 
 vexation, learned that she had quitted the house before 
 L'Estrange arrived. 
 
 He came back perplexed how to explain what seemed un- 
 gracious and ungrateful, and spoke with hesitating lip and 
 flushed cheek of the widow's natuial timidity and sense of 
 her own homely station. " And so overpowered is she," 
 added Leonard, " by the recollection of all that we owe to 
 you, that she never hears your name without agitation or 
 tears, and trembled like a leaf at the thought of seeing you." 
 
 " Ha ! " said Harley, with visible emotion. " Is it so ? " 
 And he bent down, shading his face with his hand. " And," 
 he renewed, after a pause, but. not looking up — "and you 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 141 
 
 ascribe this fear of seeing me, this agitation at my name, 
 sole]jr to an exaggerated sense of — of the circnmstancea 
 attending my acquaintance "with yourself ? " 
 
 And, perhaps to a sort of shame that the mother of one 
 you have made her proud of is but a peasant.'* 
 
 " That is all," said Harley, earnestly, now looking np and 
 fixing eyes in which stood tears, upon Leonard's ingenuous 
 brow. 
 
 " Oh, my dear lord, what else can it be ? Do not judge 
 her harshly." 
 
 L'Estrange arose abruptly, pressed Leonard's hand, muttered 
 something not audible, and then drawing his young friend's 
 arm in his, led him into the garden, and turned the conversa- 
 tion back to its former topics. 
 
 Leonard's heart yearned to ask after Helen, and yet some- 
 thing withheld him from doing so, till, seeing Harley did not 
 volunteer to speak of her, he could not resist his impulse. 
 "And Helen — Miss Digby — is she much changed ? " 
 
 " Changed, no — yes ; very much/' 
 
 " Very much ! " Leonard sighed. 
 
 " I shall see her again ? " 
 
 *' Certainly," said Harley, in a tone of surprise. "How can 
 you doubt it ? And I reserve to you the pleasure of saying 
 that you are renowned. You blush ; well, I will say that for 
 you. But you shall give her your books." 
 
 " She has not yet read them, then? — not the last ? The first 
 was not worthy of her attention," said Leonard, disappointed. 
 
 " She has only just arrived in England ; and, though your 
 books reached me in Grermany, she was not then with me. 
 When I have settled some business that will take me from 
 town, I shall present you to her and my mother." There was 
 a certain embarrassment in Harley's voice as he spoke ; and, 
 turning round abruptly, he exclaimed, "But you have shown 
 poetry even here. I could not have conceived that so much 
 beauty could be drawn from what appeared to me the most 
 common-place of all suburban gardens. Why, surely, where 
 that charming fountain now plays stood the rude bench in 
 which I read your verses." 
 
 "It is true ; I wished to unite all together my happiest 
 associations. I think I told you, my lord, in one of my letters, 
 that I had owed a very happy, yet very struggling time in 
 my boyhood to the singular kindness and generous instruc- 
 tions of a foreigner whom I served. This fountain is copied 
 ham. one that I made in his garden, and by the margin of 
 
142 
 
 MY KOVEL ; OE, 
 
 wliicH many a summer day I have sat and dreamt of fame and 
 knowledge." 
 
 " True, you told me of that ; and your foreigner will be 
 pleased to hear of your success, and no less so of your grateful 
 recollections. By the way, you did not mention his name." 
 
 "Riccabocca." 
 
 " B/iccabocca ! My own dear and noble friend !— is it 
 possible ? One of my reasons for returning to England is 
 connected with him. You shall go down with me and see 
 him. I meant to start this eyening." 
 
 "My dear Lord," said Leonard, -^I think that you may 
 spare yourself so long a journey. I have reason to suspect 
 that Signer Riccabocca is my nearest neighbour. Two days 
 ago I was in the garden, when suddenly lifting my eyes to 
 yon hillock I perceived the form of a man seated amongst the 
 brushwood ; and, though I could not see his features, there 
 was something in the very outline of his figure and his 
 peculiar posture, that irresistibly reminded me of Riccabocca. 
 I hastened out of the garden and ascended the hill, but he was 
 gone. My supicions were so- strong that I caused inquiry to be 
 made at the different shops scattered about, and learned that 
 a family consisting of a gentleman, his wife, and daughter, 
 had lately come to live in a house that you must have passed 
 in your way hither, standing a little back from the roadj 
 surrounded by high walls ; and though they were said to be 
 English^ yet from the description given to me of the gentle- 
 man's person by one who had noticed it, by the fact of a 
 foreign servant in their employ, and by the very name * Rich- 
 mouth,' assigned to the new comers, I can scarcely doubt that 
 it is the family you seek." 
 
 " And you have not called to ascertain ? " 
 
 " Pardon me, but the family so evidently shunning observa- 
 tion, (no one but the master himself ever seen without the 
 walls,) the adoption of another name too — -led me to infer 
 that Signer Riccabocca has some strong motive for conceal- 
 ment ; and now, with my improved knowledge of life, and 
 recalling all the past, I cannot but suppose that Riccabocca 
 was not what he appeared. Hence, I have hesitated on 
 formally obtruding myself upon his secrets, whatever they 
 be, and have rather watched for some chance occasion to meet 
 him in his walks." 
 
 "You did right, my dear Leonard; but my reasons for 
 seeing my old friend forbid all scruples of delicacy, and I will 
 go at once to his house." 
 
VAitlETIBS IN EKULISH LIFE. 
 
 143 
 
 "You will tell mo, my Lordj if I am right," 
 I hope to be allowed to do so. Pray, stay at home till I 
 return. And now, ere I go, one question more : You indulge 
 conjectures as to Eiccabocca, because he has changed his 
 name — why have you dropped your own ? " 
 
 "I wished to have no name/' said Leonard, colouring 
 deeply, " but that which I could make myself." 
 
 " Proud poet, this I can comprehend. But from what 
 reason did you assume the strange and fantastic name of 
 Oran ? " 
 
 The flush on "^jeonard's face became deeper. " My lord, 
 said he, in a low voice, " it is a childish fancy of mine ; it is au 
 anagram." 
 
 *'Ah!" 
 
 " At a time when my cravings after knowledge were likely 
 much to mislead, and perhaps undo me, I chanced on some 
 poems that suddenly afliected my whole mind, and led me up 
 into purer air ; and I was told that these poems were written 
 in youth, by one who had beauty and genius — one who was in 
 her grave — a relation of my own, and her familiar name was 
 Kora— 
 
 " Ah ! " again ejaculated Lord L'Estrange, and his arm 
 pressed heavily upon Leonard's. 
 
 "So, somehow or other," continued the young author, 
 falteringly, " I wished that if ever I won to a poet's fame, 
 it might be to my own heart, at least, associated with this 
 name of Nora— with her whom death had robbed of the fame 
 that she might otherwise have won — ^with her who — " 
 
 " He paused, greatly agitated. 
 
 Harley was no less so. But, as if by a sudden impulse, the 
 soldier bent down his manly head and kissed the poet's brow ; 
 then he hastened to the gate, flung himself on his horsSj and 
 rode away. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 LoED L'Estrange did not proceed at once to E;iccabo©i5a*s 
 house. He was under the influence of a remembraisi-e too 
 deep and too strong to yield easily to the lukewarm claim of 
 friendsliip. He rode fast and far ; a.nd impossible it would 
 be to define the feelings that passed through a mind so acutely 
 sensitive, gvnd so rootedly tenacious of all affections. When 
 recalliug his duty to the Italian, he once more struck into tho 
 
MY novel; or, 
 
 road to Norwood, tlie slow pace of Ms horse was significant 
 of his own exhausted spirits ; a deep dejection had succeeded 
 to feverish excitement. "Yain task," he murmured, "to 
 wean myself from the dead ! Yet I am now betrothed to 
 another ; and she, with all her virtues, is not the one to — " 
 He stopped short in generous self-rebuke. " Too late to think 
 of that ! Now, all that should remain to me is to insure the 
 happiness of the life to which I have pledged my own. But — 
 He sighed as he so murmured. On reaching the vicinity of 
 Riccabocca's house, he put up his horse at a little inn, and 
 proceeded on foot across the heathland towards the dull 
 square building, which Leonard's description had sufficed to 
 indicate as the exile's new home. It was long before any one 
 answered his summons at the gate. Not till he had thrice 
 rung did he hear a heavy step on the gravel walk within; 
 then the wicket within the gate was partially drawn aside, a 
 dark eye gleamed out, and a voice in imperfect English asked 
 who was there. 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange ; and if I am right as to the person I 
 seek, that name will at once admit me." 
 
 The door flew open as did that of the mystic cavern at the 
 sound of " Open, Sesame and Giacomo, almost weeping 
 wifch joyous emotion, exclaimed, in Italian, " The good Lord! 
 Holy San Giacomo ! thou hast heard me at last ! We are safe 
 now." And dropping the blunderbuss with which he had 
 taken the precaution to arm himself, he lifted Harley's hand 
 to his lips, in the affectionate greeting familiar to his country- 
 men. 
 
 " And the Padrone ? " asked Harley, as he entered the 
 jealous precincts. 
 
 " Oh, he is just gone out ; but he will not be long. You 
 will wait for him ? " 
 
 " Certainly. What lady is that I see at the far end of the 
 garden ?" 
 
 " Bless her, it is our Signorina. I will run and tell her you 
 ai'e come.'' 
 
 " That I am come ; but she cannot know me even by 
 name." 
 
 Ah, Excellency, can you think so ? Many and many a 
 time has she talked to me of you, and I have heard her 
 pray to the holy Madonna to bless you, and in a voice so 
 sweet — " 
 
 " Stay, I will present myself to her. Go, into the house, 
 and we will wait without for the Padrone. I need the 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 air, my friend." Harley, as lie said this, broke from Giacomo, 
 and approaclied Yiolante. 
 
 The poor child, in her solitary walk in the obscurer parts 
 of the dull garden, had escaped the eye of Giacomo when he 
 had gone forth to answer the bell; and she, unconscious of 
 the fears of which she was the object, had felt something of 
 youthful curiosity at the summons at the gate, and the sight 
 of a stranger in close and friendly conference with the unsocial 
 Giacomo. . 
 
 As Ilarley now neared her with that singular grace of 
 movement which belonged to him, a thrill shot through her 
 heart — she knew not why. She did not recognise his likeness 
 to the sketch taken by her father from his recollections of 
 Harley's early youth. She did not guess who he wac ; and 
 yet she felt herself colour, and, naturally fearless thoi: she 
 was, turned away with a vague alarm. 
 
 "Pardon my want of ceremony, Signorina," said Harley, 
 in Italian ; " but I am so old a friend of your f ather*s that I 
 cannot feel as a stranger to yourself." 
 
 Then Violante lifted to him her dark eyes so intelligent 
 *nd so innocent — eyes full of surprise, but not displeased 
 <iurprise. And Harley himself stood amazed, and almost 
 abashed, by the rich and marvellous beauty that beamed upon 
 him. "My father's friend," she said, hesitatingly, "and I 
 never to have seen you ! " 
 
 "Ah, Signorina," said Harley, (and something of its native 
 humour, half arch, half sad, played round his lip,) " you are 
 mistaken there ; you have seen me before, and you received 
 me much more kindly then — " 
 
 "Signer!" said Yiolante, more and more surprised, and 
 with a yet richer colour on her cheeks. 
 
 Harley, who had now recovered from the first effect of her 
 beauty, and who regarded her as men of his years and 
 character are apt to regard ladies in their teens, as more child 
 than woman, suffered himself to be amused by her perplexity ; 
 for it was in his nature, that the graver and more mournful 
 he felt at heart, the more he sought to give play and whim to 
 his spirits. 
 
 " Indeed, Signorina," said he, demurely, " you insisted 
 'then on placing one of those fair hands in mine ; the other 
 (forgive me the fidelity of my recollections) was affectionately 
 thrown around my neck." 
 
 " Signer 1 " again exclaimed Yiolante ; but this time 
 there was anger in her voice as well as surprise, and 
 
146 
 
 KOVIL; m, 
 
 noihing cotiid more ciarming thm her look of pride 
 and resentment. 
 
 Harley smiled again, but with bo mticli kindly sweetness, 
 tliat the anger vanished at once, or rather Yiolante felt angry 
 with herself that she was no longer angiy with him. But 
 she had looked so beautiful in her anger, that Harley wished, 
 perhaps, to see her angry again. So, composing his lips from 
 their propitiatory smile, he resumed, gravely— 
 
 "Your flatterers will tell you, Signorina, that you are 
 much improved since then, but I liked you better as yoU 
 were ; not but what I hope to return some day what you then 
 so generously pressed upon me.'* 
 
 *' Pressed Upon you I— I? Signorj you are under some 
 strange mistake." 
 
 " Alas ! no ; but the fetaale heart is 86 capricious and 
 fickle ! You pressed it upoli me, I assure yoU. I oWn that I 
 was not loath to accept it." 
 
 " Pressed it ! Pi-essed what ?" 
 
 " Your kiss, my child,** Said Harley 5 and then added, with 
 a serious tenderness^ " And 1 again say that I hope to return 
 it some day— ^when I see you, by the side of father and of 
 husband^ in your native land-^the fairest bride on whom the 
 skies of Italy ever smiled ! And now, pardon a hermit and 
 a soldier for his rude jests, and giv^ your hand, in token of 
 that pardon, — to Harley L'Estrange.** 
 
 Violante, who at the first words of his address had recoiled, 
 with a vague belief that the stranger was out of his mind, 
 sprang forward as it closed, and, in all the vivid enthusiasni 
 of her nature, pressed the hand held out to her, with both hei^ 
 own. "Harley L'Sstrange— -the preserver of my father's 
 life ! " she cried ; and her eyes Were fixed on his With such 
 evident gratitude and teverence, that Harley felt at once 
 confused and delighted* She did not think at that instant of 
 the hero of her dreams— she thought but of him who had 
 saved her father* But, as his eyes sank before her own, and 
 his head uncovered, bowed over the hand he held, she recog- 
 nised the likeness to the featnres on wbich she had so often 
 gazed. The first bloom of youth was gone, but enough of 
 youth still remained to soften the lapse of years, and to leave 
 to manhood the attractions Which charm the eye. Instinc* 
 tively she Withdraw her hands froln hiii clasp, and, in hef 
 turn, looked down. 
 
 In this pause of embarrassment to both, Riccabocca let 
 Mmself into the garden by his own latch-key^ and, startlc^l itk 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 1 47 
 
 see a man by the side of Viol ante, sprang forward with an 
 abrupt and angry cry. Harley heard, and turned. 
 
 As if restored to courage and self-possession by the sense 
 of her father's presence, Violante again took the hand of the 
 visitor. " Father," she said, simply, "it is he — lie is come 
 at last." And then, retiring a few steps, she contemplated 
 them both ; and her face was radiant with happiness — as if 
 something, long silently missed and looked for, was as silently 
 found, and life had no more a wantj nor the heart a yoid. 
 
MY novel; OB, 
 
 BOOK TENTH. 
 
 • 
 
 INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 UPON THIS FACT — THAT THE WORLD IS STILL MUCH THE SAME A3 
 
 IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN. 
 
 It is observed loy a very pleasant writer — read now-a-dajs 
 only by the brave pertinacious few wbo still struggle bard ta 
 rescue from tbe House of Pluto tbe souls of departed authors, 
 jostled and chased as those souls are by the noisy footsteps of 
 the living — it is observed by the admirable Charron, that 
 " judgment and wisdom is not only the best, but the happiest 
 portion Grod Almighty hath distributed amongst men ; for 
 though this distribution be made with a very uneven hand, 
 yet nobody thinks himself stinted or ill-dealt with, but he 
 that hath never so little is contented in this respect." * 
 
 And, certainly, the present narrative may serve in notable 
 illustration of the remark so drily made by the witty and 
 wise preacher. For whether our friend Hiccabocca deduce 
 theories for daily life from the great folio of Machiavelli ; or 
 that promising young gentleman, Mr. Randal Leslie, interpret 
 the power of knowledge into the art of being too knowing for 
 dull honest folks to cope with him ; or acute Dick Avenel 
 push his way up the social ascent with a blow for those before, 
 and a kick for those behind him, after the approved fashion 
 of your strong New Man ; or Baron Levy — ^that cynical 
 impersonation of Grold — compare himself to the Magnetic 
 Bock in the Arabian tale, to which the nails in every ship 
 that approaches the influence of the loadstone fly from the 
 planks, and a shipwreck per day adds its waifs to the Rock ; 
 questionless, at least,, it is, that each of those personages 
 believes that Providence has bestowed on him an elder son's 
 inheritance of wisdom. Nor, were we to glance towards the 
 obscurer paths of life, should we find good Parson Dale deem 
 
 * Translation of Charro7i on Wisdom. By Gr. Stanhope, D.D., late Dean 
 of Canterbury (1729.) A translation remarkable for ease, vigour, and (despite 
 that contempt for the strict rules of grammar, \yhich -was common enough 
 amongst writers at the commencement of the last century) for the idiomatic 
 raciness of its English. 
 
VARIETIES m EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 149 
 
 himself worse off tlian the rest of the world in this precious 
 commodity — as, indeed, he has signally evinced of late in 
 that shrewd guess of his touching Professor Moss ; — even 
 plain Squire Hazeldean takes it for granted that he could 
 teach Audley Egerton a thing or two worth knowing in 
 politics ; Mr. Stirn thinks that there is no branch of useful 
 lore on which he could not instruct the Squire ; while Sprott, 
 the tinker, v/ith his bag full of tracts and lucifer matches, 
 regards the whole framework of modern society, from a rick 
 to a constitution, with fche profound disdain of a revolutionary 
 philosopher. Considering that every individual thus brings 
 into the stock of the world so vast a share of intelligence, it 
 cannot but excite our wonder to find that Oxenstiern is 
 popularly held to be right when he said, " See, my son, how 
 litfcle wisdom it requires to govern States;" — ^that is, Men! 
 That so many millions of persons, each with a profound 
 assurance that he is possessed of an exalted sagacity, should 
 concur in the ascendancy of a few inferior intellects, accord- 
 ing to a few stupid, prosy, matter-of-fact rules as old as the 
 hills, is a phenomenon very discreditable to the spirit and 
 energy of the aggregate human species! It creates no 
 surprise that one sensible watch- dog should control the 
 movements of a flock of silly grass- eating sheep; but that 
 two or three silly grass-eating sheep should give the law to 
 whole flocks of such mighty sensible watch- dogs — Diavolo ! 
 Dr. Jiiccabocca, explain that, if you can ! And wonderfully 
 strange it is, that notwithstanding all the march of enlighten- 
 ment, notwithstanding our progressive discoveries in the laws 
 of nature — our railways, steam-engines, animal magnetism, 
 and electro-biology — we have never made any improvement 
 that is generally acknowledged, since men ceased to be trog- 
 lodytes and nomads, in the old-fashioned gamut of flats and 
 sharps, which attunes into irregular social jog-trot all the 
 generations that pass from the cradle to the grave ; still, " tlie 
 desire for something we have not " impels all the energies that 
 keep us in movement, for good or for ill, according to the 
 checks or the directions of each favourita desire. 
 
 A friend of mine once said to a millionaire^ whom he saw 
 for ever engaged in making money which he never seemed to 
 
 have any pleasure in spending, " Pray, Mr. ^ will you 
 
 answer me one question : You are. said to have two millions^ 
 and you spend £600 a- year. In order to rest and enjoy, what 
 will content you ? " 
 
 ''A little more," answered the millionaire. That *4ittle 
 
160 
 
 Kioro '^ is the maiaspring of civilisation. Nobody eyer 
 gets it ! 
 
 " Pliilus,'' saitlx a Latin wrjtei?, was not so rich as LpHiis ; 
 I<89lius was not go rich as Scipio ; Boipio wa^ iiot so^ rich aa 
 Crassns ; and Crassus was not 30 rich— as he wished to 
 be ! " If John Bull were once contented, Manchester might 
 shut up its mills. It is the " little more " that makes a mere 
 trifle of the National Debt ! — Long life to it ! 
 
 Still, mend our law-books as we will, one is forced to 
 confess that knaves are often seen in fine ]inen, and honest 
 men in the most shabby old rags ; and still, notwithstanding the 
 exceptions, knavery is a very hazardous game ; and honesty, 
 on the whole, by far the best policy. Still, most of the Ten 
 Commandments remain at the core of all the Pandects and 
 Institutes that keep our bands off our neighbours* throats, 
 wives, and pockets ; still, every year shows that the Parson*s 
 maxim — non quieta movere-^m as prudent for the health of 
 communities as when Apollo recommended Hs^otariei not 
 to rake up a fever by stirring the Lake Oamarina; still 
 people, thank Heaven, decline to reside in parallelograms, 
 and the surest token that we live under a free government is, 
 when we are governed by persons whom we have a full right to 
 imply, by our censure and ridicule, are blockheads compared 
 to ourselves ! Stop that delightful privilege, and, by Jove ! 
 sir, there is neither pleasure nor honour in being governed at 
 all ! You might as well be-^-^a Frenchman ! 
 
 CHAPTEE IL 
 
 The Italian and his friend are closeted together. 
 " And why have you left your home in — —shire ? and why 
 this new change of name ? " 
 Peschiera is in England." 
 "I know it." 
 
 " And bent on discovering mo 5 and, it is said, of stealing 
 from me my child." 
 
 " He has had the assurance to lay wagers that he will win 
 the hand of your heiress. I know that too ; and therefore T 
 have come to England — first to baffle his design— for I do Dot 
 think your fears altogether exaggerated — and next to learn 
 from you how to follow up a clue which, unless I am too 
 
VARIETIES IN ENaf^ISU LIFE. 
 
 151 
 
 sanguine, may lead to Ms ruin, and your unconditional resto- 
 ration. Listen to me. You ai^e aware that, after the skii'misTi 
 with Peschiera's armed hirelings sent in search of you, I 
 received a polite message from the Austrian government, re« 
 questing me to leave its Italian domains, Now, as I hold it the 
 obvious duty of any foreigner, admitted to the hospitality of a 
 state, to refrain from all participation in its civil disturbances, 
 so I thought my honour assailed at this intimation, and went 
 at once to Vienna to explain to the Minister there (to whom 
 I was personally known), that though I had, as became man 
 to man, aid^d to protect a refugee, who had taken shelter 
 under my roof, from the infuriated soldiers at the command 
 of his private foe, I had not only not shared in any attempt at 
 revolt, but dissuaded, as far as I could, my Italian friends 
 from their enterprise ; and that, because, without discussing 
 its merits, I believed, as a military man and a cool spectator, 
 the enterprise could only terminate in fruitless bloodshed. I 
 was enabled to establish my explanation by satisfactory proof ; 
 and my acquaintance with the Minister assumed something of 
 the character of friendship. I was then in a position to advo- 
 cate your cause, and to state your original reluctance to enter 
 into the plots of the insurgents. I admitted freely that you 
 had such natural desire for the independence of your native 
 land, that, had the standard of Italy been boldly hoisted by 
 its legitimate chiefs, or at the common uprising of its whole 
 people, you would have been found in the van, amidst the 
 ranks of your countrymen ; but I maintained that you would 
 never have shared in a conspiracy frantic in itself, and defiled 
 by the lawless schemes and sordid ambition of its main pro- 
 jectors, had you not been betrayed and decoyed into it by the 
 misrepresentations and domestic treachery of your kinsman — ■ 
 the very man who denounced you. Unfortunately, of this 
 statement I had no proof but your own word. I made, how- 
 ever, so far an impression in your favour, and, it may be, 
 against the traitor, that your property was not confiscated to 
 the State, nor handed over, upon the plea of your civil death, 
 to your kinsman. 
 
 " How ! — I do not understand, Peschiera has the pro- 
 perty ? 
 
 " He holds the revenues but of one half upon pleasure, and 
 they would be withdrawn, could I succeed in establishing the 
 case that exists against him, I was forbidden before to men- 
 tion this to you; the Minister, not inexcusably, submitted you 
 k) the probation of unconditional exile. Your grace might 
 
15£ 
 
 MY kovel; or, 
 
 depend npon your own forbearance from further conspiracies 
 — forgive the word. I need not say I was permitted to return 
 to Lombardy. I found, on my arrival, that> — that your un- 
 happy wife had been to my house, and exhibited great despair 
 at hearing of my departure." 
 
 Riccabocca knit his dark brows, and breathed hard. 
 
 " I did not judge it necessary to acquaint you with this 
 circumstance, nor did it much aiSect me. I believed in her 
 guilt — and what could now avail her remorse, if remorse she 
 felt ? Shortly afterwards, I heard that she was no more.'^ 
 
 " Yes," muttered Riccabocca, " she died in the same year 
 that I left Italy. It must be a strong reason that can excuse 
 n friend for reminding me even that she once lived ! " 
 
 *'I come at once to that reason," said L'Estrange, gently. 
 " This autumn I was roaming through Switzerland, and, in 
 one of my pedestrian excursions amidst the mountains, I met 
 with an accident, which confined me for some days to a sofa 
 at a little inn in an obscure village. My hostess was 
 Italian ; and, as I had left my servant at a town at some 
 distance, I required her attention till I could write to him to 
 come to me. I was thankful for her cares, and amused by 
 her Italian babble. We became very good friends. She told 
 me she had been servant to a lady of great rank, who had 
 died in Switzerland ; and that, being enriched by the generosity 
 of her mistress, she had married a Swiss innkeeper, and his 
 people had become hers. My servant arrived, and my hostess 
 learned my name, which she did not know before. She came 
 into my room greatly agitated. In brief, this woman had 
 been servant to your wife. She had accompanied her to my 
 villa, and . known of her anxiety to see me, as your friend. 
 The government had assigned to your wife your palace at 
 Milan, with a competent income. She had refused to accept 
 of either. Failing to see me, she had set off towards England, 
 resolved upon seeing yourself; for the journals had stated 
 that to England you had escaped." 
 
 " She dared ! — shameless ! And see, but a, moment before, 
 I had forgotten all but her grave in a foreign soil — and these 
 tears had forgiven her," murmured the Italian. 
 
 ** Let them forgive her still," said Harley, with all his 
 exquisite sweetness of look and tone. " I resume. On enter- 
 ing Switzerland your wife's health, which you know was 
 always delicate, gave way. To fatigue and anxiety succeeded 
 fever, and delirium ensued. She had taken with her but this 
 one female attendant — the sole one she could trust — on 
 
VAEIETIES IN EKGLISM Lim 
 
 153 
 
 leaving home. Slio suspected PescMera to have bribed her 
 honsehold. In the presence of this woman she raved of her 
 innocence — ^in accents of terror and aversion, denounced your 
 kinsman — and called on you to vindicate her name and your 
 own." 
 
 " Ravings indeed ! Poor Paulina ! " groaned Riccabocca. 
 covering his face with both hands. 
 
 "But in her delirium there were lucid intervals. In one of 
 these she rose, in spite of all her servant could do to restrain 
 her, took from her desk several letters, and reading them over, 
 exclaimed piteously, ' But how to get them to him ? — whom 
 to trust ? And his friend is gone ! ' Then an idea seemed 
 suddenly to flash upon her, for she uttered a joyous exclama- 
 tion, sate down, and wrote long and rapidly, enclosed what 
 she wrote with all the letters, in one packet, which she sealed 
 carefully, and bade her servant carry to the post, with many 
 injunctions to take it with her own hand, and pay the charge 
 on it. ' For oh ! ' said she (I repeat the words as my 
 informant told them to me) — ' for, oh ! this is my sole chance 
 to prove to my husband that, though I have erred, I am not 
 the guilty thing he believes me; the sole chance, too, to 
 redeem my error, and restore, perhaps, to my husband his 
 country, to my child her heritage.' The servant took the 
 letter to the post ; and when she returned, her lady was asleep, 
 with a smile upon her face. But from that sleep, she woke 
 again delirious, and before the next morning her soul had 
 fled." Here Riccabocca lifted one hand from his face and 
 grasped Harley's arm, as if mutely beseeching him to pause. 
 The heart of the man struggled hard with his pride and his 
 philosophy ; and it was long before Harley could lead him to 
 regard the worldly prospects which this last communication 
 from his wife might open to his ruined fortunes. Not, indeed, 
 till Riccabocca had persuaded himself, and half persuaded 
 Harley (for strong indeed, was all presumption of guilt 
 against the dead), that his wife's protestations of innocence 
 from all but error had been but ravings. 
 
 "Be this as it may," said Harley, "there seems every reason 
 to suppose that the letters enclosed were Peschiera's corre- 
 spondence, and that, if so, these would establish the proof of 
 his influence over your wife, and of his perfidious machinations 
 against yourself. I resolved, before coming hither, to go 
 round by Vienna. There I heard, with dismay, that Pes** 
 chiera had not only obtained the imperial sanction to demand 
 your daughter's hand^ but had boasted to his profligate circle 
 
154 
 
 MY HOV£lLj OE, 
 
 fcliat he should succeed ; and lie was actual!/ on his road to 
 England. I saw at once that could this design, hy any fraud 
 or artifice, be successful with Yiolante, (for of your consent, 
 I need not say, I did not dream,) the discovery of the packet, 
 ^vhatever its contents, would be useless : Peschiera's end 
 would be secured. I saw also that his success would suffice 
 for ever to clear his name ; for his success must imply your 
 consent (it would be to disgrace your daughter, to assei't that 
 she had married without it), and your consent would be his 
 acquittal. I saw, too, with alarm, that to all moans for the 
 accomplishment of his project he would be ux'ged by despair ; 
 for his debts are great, and his character nothing but new 
 wealth can support. I knew that he was able, bold, deter- 
 mined, and that he had taken with him a large supply of 
 money borrowed upon usury ;-^in a word, I trembled for you 
 both, I have now seen your daughter, and I tremble no 
 more. A-Ccomplished seducer as Peschiera boasts himself, the 
 first look upon her face so sweet, yet so noble, convinced me 
 that she is proof against a legion of Peschieras. How, tbeii, 
 return we to this all-important subject— to this packet. It 
 never reached you. Long years have passed since then. 
 Does it exist still ? Into whose hands would it have fallen ? 
 Try to summon up all your recollections. The servant could 
 not remember the name of the person to whom it was addressed ; 
 she only insisted that the name began with a B, that it wa^ 
 directed to jEngland, and that to England she accordingly 
 paid the postage. Whom then, with a name that begins with 
 B, or (in case the servant's memory here mislead her) whom 
 did you or your wife know, duiung your visit to England, 
 with sufficient intimacy to make it probable that she would 
 select such a person for her confidant ? " 
 
 " I cannot conceive,'* said Riccabocca, shaking his head, 
 *'We came to England shortly after our marriage. Paulina 
 was affected by the climate. She spoke not a word of English, 
 and indeed not even French, as might have been expected 
 from her birth, for her fathej? was poor, and thoroughly 
 Italian. She refixsed all society. I went, it is true, some- 
 what into the London world-^enough to induce me to shrink 
 from the contrast that my second visit as a beggared refugee 
 would have made to the reception I met with on my first— 
 but I formed no intimate friendships, I recall no one whom 
 she could have written to as intimate with me." 
 
 " But," persisted Harley, " think again. Was there no 
 lady well acquainted with Italian, and with whom, pei^haps^ 
 for that very reason, your wife became familiar ? " 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 155 
 
 ^■Ah, it is true, Tliere was one old lady of retired habits, 
 but wlio bad been mucb in Italy. Lady — Lady— I remember 
 —Lady Jane Horton." 
 
 " Horton — Lady Jane ! '* exclaimed Harley ; " again ! tbrice 
 in one day — is this wound never to scar over ? " Then, noting 
 Riccabocca's look of surprise, he said, *^ Excuse me, my 
 friend ; I listen to you with renewed interest. Lady J ane 
 was a distant relation of my own ; she judged me, perhaps, 
 harshly— and I have some painful associations with her 
 name ; but she was a woman of many virtues. Your wife 
 knew her ? " 
 
 " l!^ot, however, intimately-— still, better than any one else 
 in London. But Paulina would not have written to her ; she 
 knew that Lady Jane had died shortly after her own depar- 
 ture from England. I myself was summoned back to Italy 
 on pressing business ; she was too unwell to journey with me 
 as rapidly as I was obliged to travel ; indeed, illness detained 
 her several weeks in England. In this interval she might 
 have made acquaintances. Ah, now I see ; I guess. You 
 say the name began with B. Paulina, in my absence, engaged 
 a companion — a Mrs. Bertram. This lady accompanied her 
 abroad. Paulina became excessively attached to her, she 
 knew Italian so well* Mrs. Bertram left her on the road, 
 and returned to England, for some private affairs of her own. 
 1 forget why or wherefore ; if, indeed, I ever asked or learned. 
 Paulina missed her sadly, often talked of her, wondered why 
 she never heard from her. JTo doubt it was to this Mrs. 
 Bertram that she wrote ! " 
 
 " And you don't know the lady's friends, or address P " 
 
 " ISTo." 
 
 " Nor who recommended her to your wife ? " 
 " No." 
 
 " Probably Lady Jane Horton ? *' 
 " Lb may be so. Very likely. ■ ' 
 " I will follow up this track, slight as it is," 
 " But if Mrn. Bertram received the communication, how 
 comes it that it never reached myself— 0, fool that I am, how 
 should it ! I, who guarded so carefully my incognito ! " 
 
 " True. This your wife could not foresee ; she would 
 naturally imagine that your residence in England would be 
 easily discovered. But many years must have passed since 
 your wife lost sight of this Mrs. Bertram, if their acquaint- 
 ance was made so soon after your marriage ; and nov/ it is 
 a long time to retrace-^before even your Violante was born.*' 
 
156 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " Alas ! yes. I lost two fair sons in tlie interval. Violanto 
 vas born to me as the child of sorrow." 
 
 " And to make sorrow lovely ! how beautiful she is ! " 
 The father smiled proudly. 
 
 " Where, in the loftiest houses of Europe, find a husband 
 worthy of such a prize ? " 
 
 " You forget that I am still an exile — she still dowerless. 
 You forget that I am pursued by Peschiera ; that I would 
 rather see her a beggar's wife — than — Pah, the very thought 
 maddens me, it is so foul. Gorpo di Bacco I I have been glad 
 to find her a husband already." 
 
 " Already ! Then that young man spoke truly P " 
 
 " What young man ? " 
 Randal Leslie. How ! You know him ? " Here a brief 
 explanation followed. Harley heard with attentive ear, and 
 marked vexation, the particulars of Riccabocca's connection 
 and implied engagement with Leslie. 
 
 *' There is something very suspicious to me in all this," 
 said he. " Why should this young man have so sounded me 
 as to Yiolante's chance of losing fortune if she marrit^d an 
 Englishman ? " 
 
 " Did he ? 0, pooh ! Excuse him. It was but his natural 
 wish to seem ignorant of all about me. He did not know 
 enough of my intimacy with you to betray my secret." 
 
 " But he knew enough of it — ^must have known enough to 
 have made it right that he should tell you I was in England. 
 He does not seem to have done so." 
 
 " No — that is strange — ^yet scarcely strange ; for, when we 
 last met, his head was full of other things — love and marriage. 
 Basta I youth will be youth." 
 
 "He has no youth left in him!" exclaimed Harley, pas- 
 sionately. " I doubt if he ever had any. He is one of those 
 men who come into the world with the pulse of a centenarian. 
 You and I never shall be as old — as he was in long clothes. 
 Ah, you may laugh ; but I am never wrong in my instincts. 
 I disliked him at the first — ^his eye, his smile, his voice, his 
 very footstep. It is madness in you to countenance such a 
 marriage ; it may destroy all chance of your restoration." 
 
 " Better that than infringe my word once passed." 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed Harley ; "your word is not passed — ' 
 it shall not be passed. Nay, never look so piteously at me. 
 At all events, pause till we know more of this young man. 
 If he be worthy of her without a dower, why, then, let him 
 lose you your heritage, I should have no more to say." 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 157 
 
 " But why lose me my heritage ? There is no law in Aus- 
 iria which can dictate to a father what husband to choose foi? 
 his daughter." 
 
 Certainly not. But you are out of the pale of law itself 
 just at present; and it would surely be a reason for state 
 policy to withhold your pardon, and it would be to the loss 
 of that favour with your own countrymen, which would now 
 make that pardon so popular, if it were known that the 
 representative of your name were debased by your daughter's 
 alliance with an English adventurer — a clerk in a public 
 office ! 0, sage in theory, why are you such a simpleton in 
 action ? " 
 
 Nothing moved by this taunt, Riccabocca rubbed his hands, 
 and then stretched them comfortably over the fire. 
 
 My friend," said he, " the representation of my name 
 would pass to my son." 
 
 " But you have no son?" 
 
 " Hush ! I am going to have one ; my Jemima informed 
 me of it yesterday morning ; and it was upon that informa- 
 tion that I resolved to speak to Leslie. Am I a simpleton 
 now?"^ 
 
 Going to have a son," repeated Harley, looking very 
 bewildered ; " how do you know it is to be a son ? " 
 
 " Physiologists are agreed," said the sage, positively, " that 
 where the husband is much older than the wife, and there 
 has been a long interval without children before she con- 
 descends to increase the population of the world — she (that 
 is, it is at least as nine to four) — she brings into the world a 
 male. I consider that point, therefore, as settled, according 
 to the calculations of statisticians and the researches of 
 naturalists." 
 
 Harley could not help laughing, though he was still angry 
 and disturbed. 
 
 " The same man as ever ; always the fool of philosophy." 
 Cosjpetto said Biccabocca. "I am rather the philo- 
 sopher of fools. And talking of that, shall I present you to 
 my Jemima ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but in turn I must present you to one who remem- 
 bers with gratitude your kindness, and whom your philo- 
 sophy, for a wonder, has not ruined. Some time or other you 
 must explain that to me. Excuse me for a moment ; I will 
 go for him." 
 
 " For him ; — ^for whom ? In my position I must be 
 cautious; and — " 
 
. "I will answer foi? Ms faith atid discreMoii. Mdaliwliile 
 order dinner, and let me and mj friend stay to share it." 
 
 " Dinner ? Oorpo di Bacco ! — ^not that Bacchus can help 
 Us here* What will Jemima sa j F " 
 
 " Henpecked man, settle that with yonr oonniihial tyrant. 
 But dinner it miist be." 
 
 I leave the reader to imagine the delight of Leonard at 
 seeing once more E^iccabocca Tinchanged and Violante m 
 improved ; and the kind Jemima toOi And their wOnder at 
 him and his historyj his books and his fame. He narrated 
 his struggles and adventures with a sinaplicity that removed 
 from a story so personal the character of egotism. But when 
 he came to speak of Helen, he was brief and reserved^ 
 
 Yiolante would have questioned more closely; but, to 
 Leonard's relief, Harley interposed. 
 
 " You shall see her whom he speaks of brfore long, fi-tid 
 question her yourself." 
 
 With these words, Harley turned the young man's Narra- 
 tive into new directions ; and Leonard's words again flowed 
 freely* Thus the evening |)assed away happily to all save 
 E/iccabocca. For the thought of his dead wife rose ever and 
 anon before the exile; but when it did, and becani^ too 
 painful, he crept nearer to Jemima, and looked in heir ^linjile 
 face, and pressed her cordial haiidi And yet the Monster had 
 implied to Harley that his comforter was a fool— so she Was, 
 to love so contemptible a slanderer of herself, and her sex. 
 
 Yiolante was in a state of blissful excitement j she could 
 not analyse her own joy. But her conversation ^as chiefly 
 with Leonard ; and the most silent of all was Harley. He 
 Bate listening to Leonard's warm, yet unpretending eloquence 
 ■ — that eloquence which flows so naturally froifti genius, when 
 thoroughly at its ease^ and not chilled back on itself by hard, 
 unsympathising hearers — listeubd, yet more charmed, to the 
 sentiments less profound, yet no less earnest— Sentiinents so 
 feminine, yet so noble, with which Yiolante's fresh virgin heart 
 rasponded to the poet's kindling soliL Those sentiments of 
 hers were so unlike all he heard in the common world — ^so 
 akin to himself in his gone youth ! Ocdasionally — at some 
 high thought of her own, or some lofty line from Italian song, 
 that she cited with lighted eyes, and in melodious accents— 
 occasionally he reared his knightly head^ and his lip qiiiveredj 
 as if he had heard the sound of a trumpet. The inertness of 
 long years was shaken* The Heroic, that lay deep beneath 
 all tiie humours of his temperament, was reached^ appealed 
 
VARTETTES IN EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 159 
 
 to ; and stirred witMn him, rousing Tip all the bright asso- 
 ciations connected . With it, and long dormant. When he 
 arose to take leave, surprised at the lateness of the hour, 
 Harley said, iii a tone that bespoke the sincerity of the com- 
 plimentj " I thank you for the happiest hours I have known 
 for years." His eye dwelt on Violante as he spoke. But 
 timidity returned to her with his words— at his look * and it 
 was no longer the inspired muse^ but the bashful girl that 
 stood before him. 
 
 " And when shall I see you again ? " asked Riccabocca, dig^ 
 consolateljr, following his guest to the door. 
 
 " Whevi ? Why, of course, to-morrbWi Adieu ! my friend* 
 No wonder yon have borne your exile so patiently,-^with 
 such a child 1 '* 
 
 He took Leonard's artn, and walked with him to the inn 
 where he had left his hoi*i^, Lednal?d ^pdke of Violante with 
 eJithudiasini Harley was sileni* 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The next day a somewhat old-fashioned, but exceedingly 
 patrician^ equipage stopped at Riccabocca*s garden-gate. 
 Giacomo, who, from a bedi^oom window, had canght sight of 
 its winding towards the house, was seized with undefinablo 
 terror when he beheld it pause before their walls, and heard 
 the shrill summons at the portal. He rushed into his master's 
 presence, and implored him not to stir—not to allow any one 
 to give ingress to ther enemies the tuachine might disgorge. 
 *' 1 hav6 heard," said he, " how a town in Italy— -I think it 
 was Bologna — was once taken and given to the Sword, by 
 incautiously admitting a wooden hor^e^ full of thd troops of 
 Barbarossa, and all manner of bombs and Oongreve rockets." 
 
 " The story is differently told in Virgil," quoth Riccabocca, 
 peeping out of the Window. " ^fevert^eless, the m«ichine 
 looks very large and suspicious ; unloose Pompey," 
 
 " Father," said Violante, colouring, " it is your friend, Lord 
 L'Estrange j I hear his voice*" 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Quite. How can I be mistaken ? " 
 
 "Go, then, Giacomo; but take Pompey with thee— and 
 give the alarm, if we are deceived*" 
 
160 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 But Yiolante was right, and in a few moments Lord 
 L'Estrange was seen walking up the garden, and giving the 
 arm to two ladies. 
 
 Ah," said Eiccabocca, composing his dressing-robe round 
 liim, "go, mj child, and summon Jemima. Man to man; 
 but, for Heaven's sake, woman to woman." 
 
 Harley had brought his mother and Helen, in compliment 
 to the ladies of his friend's household. 
 
 The proud Countess knew that she was in the presence of 
 Adversity, and her salute to Riccabocca was onlj less respect- 
 ful than that with which she would have rendered homage to 
 her sovereign. But Riccabocca, always gallant to the sex that 
 he pretended to despise, was not to be outdone in ceremony ; 
 and the bow which replied to the curtsey would have edified 
 the rising generation, and delighted such surviving relics of 
 the old Court breeding as may linger yet amidst the gloomy 
 pomp of the Faubourg St. Grermain. These dues paid to 
 etiquette, the Countess briefly introduced Helen, as Miss 
 Digby, and seated herself near the exile. In a few moments 
 the two elder personages became quite at home with each 
 other ; and, really, perhaps Riccabocca had never, since we 
 have known him, showed to such advantage as by the side of 
 his polished, but somewhat formal visitor. Both had lived so 
 little with our modern, ill-bred age! They took out their 
 manners of a former race, witb a sort of pride in airing once 
 more such fine lace and superb brocade. Riccabocca gave 
 truce to the shrewd but homely wisdom of his proverbs — 
 perhaps he remembered that Lord Chesterfield denounces 
 proverbs as vulgar ; — and gaunt though his figure, and far 
 from elegant though his dressing-robe, there was that about 
 him which spoke undeniably of the grand seigneur — of one to 
 whom a Marquis de Dangeau would have ofiered a fauteuil 
 by the side of the Rohans and Montmorencies. 
 
 Meanwhile Helen and Harley seated themselves a little 
 apart, and were both silent— the first, from timidity; the 
 second, from abstraction. At length the door opened, and 
 Harley suddenly sprang to his feet— Yiolante and Jemima 
 entered. Lady Lansmere's eyes first rested on the daughter, 
 and she could scarcely refrain from an exclamation of 
 admiring surprise ; but then, when she caught sight of Mrs. 
 Riccabocca's somewhat humble, yet not obsequious mien — ■ 
 looking a little shy, a little homely, yet still thoroughly a 
 gentlewoman (though of your plain, rural kind of that genus) 
 —she turned from the daughter, and with the savoir viv^^ 
 
VAUIETIJES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 161 
 
 the fine old scliool, paid her first respects to the wife; respects 
 Jiterallj, for her manner implied respect, — ^bnt it was more 
 kind, simple, and cordial than the respect she had shown to 
 Riccabocca ; — as the sage himself had said, here " it waa 
 Woman to Woman." And then she took Violante's hand in 
 both hers, and gazed on her as if she could not resist the 
 pleasure of contemplating so much beauty. " My son,*' she 
 said, softly, and with a half sigh — " my son in vain told me 
 not to be surprised. This is the first time I have ever known 
 reality exceed description ! " 
 
 Yiolante's blush here made hex still more beautiful ; and as 
 the Countess returned to Riccabocca, she stole gently to 
 Helen's side. 
 
 " Miss Digby, my ward," said Harley, pointedly, observing 
 that his mother had neglected her duty of presenting Helen 
 to the ladies. He then reseated himself, and conversed wifch 
 Mrs. Riccabocca; but his bright, quick eye glanced over at 
 the two girls. They were about the same age- — and youth 
 was all that, to the superficial eye, they seemed to have in 
 common. A greater contrast could not well be conceived; 
 and, what is strange, both gained by it. Violante's brilliant 
 loveliness seemed yet more dazzling, and Helen's fair, gentle 
 face yet more winning. Neither had mixed much with girls 
 of her own age; each took to the other at first sight. 
 Violante, as the less shy, began the conversation, 
 
 " You are his ward — -Lord L'Estrange's ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Perhaps you came with him from Italy?" 
 "No, not exactly. But I have been in Italy for somo 
 years." 
 
 " Ah ! you regret — nay, I am foolish — you return to your 
 native land. But the skies in Italy are so blue — ^here it seems 
 as if nature wanted colours." 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange says that you were very young when 
 you left Italy ; you remember it well. He, too, prefers Italy 
 to England." 
 
 "He! Impossible!"' 
 
 " Why impossible, fair sceptic ? " cried Harley, interrupting 
 himself in the midst of a speech to Jemima. 
 
 Violante had not dreamed that she could be overheard — 
 she was speaking low ; but, though visibly embarrassed, she 
 answered, distinctly — 
 
 " Because in England there is the noblest career for noble 
 minds." 
 
 YOL. I'. M 
 
Ilarley was startled, and replied, witli a slight sigh, " kb 
 jour age I should have said as you do^ But this Englaiid of 
 ours is so crowded with noble naindvS, that they ouly jostlo 
 .each other, and the career is one cloud of dust," 
 
 So, I haye r^d, seenis a brittle to a common soldier, but 
 nx)t to the chief." 
 
 " Yoii haye read good descriptions of battles, I see." 
 
 Mrs. Iliccabocc% who thought this remark a taunt upon 
 her step^daughter's studies, hastened to Yiolaiite's relief. 
 
 " Her papa made her read the history of Italy, and I 
 belieye that is full of battles.'* 
 
 Harley.— " All history is, and all wonien are fond of war 
 and of warriors. I wonder why ? " 
 
 YiOLAjfTE, (turning to Helen, and in a very low voice, 
 resolved that Harley should not hear this time.)-—" We can 
 guess why— can we not ? " 
 
 Harley, (hearing every word, as if it had been spoken in 
 St. Paul's Whispering Grallery.) — If ypu can guess, Helen, 
 pT*ay tell me." 
 
 Helen, (shaking her pretty head, and answering, with a 
 livelier smile than usual.) — " But I am not fond of war and 
 warriors." 
 
 Harlet to Yiolante,— " Then I must appeal at once to you, 
 self -convicted Bellona that you are. Is it from the cruelty 
 natural to the female disposition ? " 
 
 Yiolante, (with a sweet musical laugh.)—" From two pro- 
 pensities still more natural to it." 
 
 Harley, — " You puzzle me : what can they be ? " 
 
 Yiolante. — " Pity and admiration ; we pity the weak and 
 admire the brave." 
 
 Harley inclined his head, and was silent. 
 
 Lady Lansmere had suspended her conversation with Bieca^ 
 bocca to listen to this dialogue. "Charming!" she cried. 
 " You have explained what has often perplexed me. Ah, 
 Harley, I am glad tp see that your satire is foiled : you have 
 no reply to that.'* 
 
 " No ; I willingly own myself defeated, too glad to claim 
 the Signorina's pity, since my cavalry sword hangs on the 
 wall, and I can have no longer a professional pretence to her 
 admiration." 
 
 He then rose, and glanced towards the window. " But I 
 see a more formidable disputant for my conqueror to en- 
 counter is coming into the field— one whose profession it is to 
 substitute some other romance for that of camp and siege," 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGUSH LIFE. 
 
 163 
 
 " Our friend Leonard," said HiocaboGca, turning his eye 
 also towards the window. "True; as Quevedo sajs, wiitilj, 
 * Ever since there has been so great a demand for type, there 
 has been much less lead to spare for cannon-balls.' 
 
 Here Leonard entered. Harley had sent Lady Lansmere'a 
 footman to him with a note, that prepared him to meet Helen. 
 As he came into the room, Harley took him by the hand and 
 led him to Lady Lansmere. 
 
 " The friend of whom I spoke. Welcome him now for my 
 sake, ever after for his own;" and then, scarcely allowing 
 time for the Countess's elegant and gracious response, he 
 drew Leonard towards Helen. Children," said he, with a 
 touching voice, that thrilled through the hearts of both, " go 
 and seat yourselves yonder, and talk together of the past. 
 Signorina, I invite you to renewed discussion upon the 
 abstruse metaphysical subject you have started ; let us see if 
 we cannot find gentler sources for pity and admiration than 
 war and warriors." He ^;Ook Yiolante aside to the window. 
 " You remember that Luonard, in telling you his history last 
 night, spoke, you thought, rather too briefly of the little girl 
 who had been his companion in the rudest time of his trials. 
 When you would have questioned more, I interrupted you, 
 and said, 'You should see her shortly, and question her 
 yourself.' And now what think you of Helen Digby? Hush, 
 speak low. But her ears are not so sharp as mine." 
 
 Yiolante. — Ah ! that is the fair creature whom Leonard 
 called his child-angel ? What a lovely innocent face ! — the 
 angel is there still." 
 
 Harley, (pleased both at the praise and with her who gave 
 it.) — You think so ; and jou are right. Helen is not com- 
 municative. But fine natures are like fine poems — a glance 
 at the first two lines sufiices for a guess into the beauty that 
 waits you if you read on." 
 
 Violante gazed on Leonard and Helen as they sat apart. 
 Leonard was the speaker, Helen the listener ; and though the 
 Former had, in his narrative the night before, been indeed 
 brief as to the episode in his life connected with the orphan, 
 enough had been said to interest Violante in the pathos of 
 their former position towards each other, and in the happiness 
 iihey must feel in their meeting again — separated for year& 
 on the wide sea of life, now both saved from the storm and 
 shipwreck. The tears came into her eyes. " True," she said, 
 Very softly, " there is more here to move pi by and admire fcion 
 than in— v-- She paused. 
 
164 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 Harley. — " Complete tlie sentence. Are yon asliamed to 
 retract ? Fie on yonr pride and obstinacy." 
 
 ViOLANTE. — " No ; but even bere there have been war and 
 heroism — the war of genins Avith adversity, and heroism in 
 the comforter who shared it and consoled. Ah ! wherever 
 pity and admiration are both felt, something nobler than mere 
 sorrow must have gone before : the heroic nmst exist." 
 
 " Helen does not know what the word heroic means," said 
 Harley, rather sadly ; " yon must teach her." 
 
 " Is it possible," thought he as he spoke, "that a E-andal 
 Leslie could have charmed this grand creature ? No ' Heroic ' 
 surely, in that sleek young placeman." " Your father," he 
 said aloud, and fixing his eyes on her face, " sees much, he 
 tells me, of a young man about Leonard's age, as to date ; 
 but I never estimate the age of men by the parish register ; 
 and I should speak of that so-called young man as a contem- 
 porary of my great-grandfather ; — I mean Mr. Randal Leslie. 
 Do you like him ? " 
 
 " Like him ? " said Violante, slowly, and as if sounding her 
 own mind. — "Like him — yes." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Harley, with dry and curt indignation. 
 
 " His visits seem to please my dear father. Certainly I like 
 him." 
 
 " Hum. He professes to like you, I suppose ? " 
 
 Violante laughed unsuspiciously. She had half a mind to 
 reply, " Is that so strange ? " But her respect for Harley 
 stopped her. The words would have seemed to her pert. 
 
 " I am told he is clever," resumed Harley. 
 
 " O, certainly." 
 
 " And he is rather handsome. But I like Leonard's face 
 better." 
 
 " Better — ^that is not the word. Leonard's face is as 
 that of one who has gazed so often upon Heaven ; and Mr. 
 Leslie's — there is neither sunlight nor starlight reflected 
 there." 
 
 " My dear Violante ! " exclaimed Harley, overjoyed ; and 
 ke pressed her hand. 
 
 The blood rushed over the girl's cheek and brow ; her hand 
 trembled in his. But Harley's familiar exclamation might 
 have come from a father's lips. 
 
 At this moment Helen softly approached them, and looking 
 timidly into her guardian's face, said, " Leonard's mother is 
 with him : he asks me to call and see her. May I ? " 
 
 " May you ! A pretty notion the Signorina must form or 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 165 
 
 your enslaved state of pupilage, wlien she hears you ask tliafc 
 question. Of course you may." 
 *' Will you come witli us ? " 
 
 Harley looked embarrassed. He thouglit of tke widow's 
 agitation at his name; of that desire to shun him, which 
 Leonard had confessed, and of which he thought he divined 
 the cause. And so divining, he too shrank from such a 
 meeting. 
 
 " Another time, then," said he, after a pause. 
 
 Helen looked disappomted, but said no more. 
 
 Yiolante was surprised at this ungracious answer. She 
 would have blamed it as unfeeling in another. But all that 
 Harley did was right in her eyes. 
 
 "Cannot I go with Miss Digby ?" said she, "and my 
 mother will go too. We both know Mrs. Fairfield. We shall 
 be so pleased to see her again." 
 
 "So be it," said Harley; "I will wait here with your 
 father till you come back. 0, as to my mother, she will 
 excuse the — excuse Madame Hiccabocca, and you too. See 
 how charmed she is with yow father. I must stay to watch 
 over the conjugal interests of onineJ' 
 
 But Mrs. Riccabocca had too much good old country breed- 
 ing to leave the Countess ; and Harley was forced himself to 
 appeal to Lady Lansmere. When he had explained the case 
 in point, the Countess rose and said — 
 
 " But I will call myself, with Miss Digby." 
 
 "]^o," said Harley, gravely, but in a whisper. "No — I 
 would rather not. I will explain later." 
 
 " Then," said the Countess aloud, after a glance of surprise 
 At her son, " I must insist on your performing this visit, my 
 dear madam, and you Signorina. In truth, I have something 
 to say confidentially to — " 
 
 " To me," interrupted Hiccabocca. " Ah, Madame la 
 Comtesse, you restore me to five-and-twenty. Go, quick — O 
 jealous and injured wife ; go, both of you, quick ; and you, 
 too, Harley." 
 
 " Nay," said Lady Lansmere, in the same tone, " Harley 
 must stay, for my design is not at present upon destroying 
 your matrimonial happiness, whatever it may be later. It is 
 a design so innocent that my son will be a partner in it." 
 
 Here the Countess put her lips to Harley's ear, and 
 whispered. He received her communication in attentive 
 silence ; but when she had done, pressed her hand, and bowed 
 liis head, as if in assent to a proposal. 
 
166 
 
 MY KOVEL; OB, 
 
 In a fewminntes the three ladies and Leonard were on their 
 road to the neighbouring cottage. 
 
 Yiolante, with her usual delicate intuition, thought that 
 Leonard and Helen must have much to say to each other ; 
 and (ignorant, as Leonard himself was, of Helen's engage- 
 ment to Harley) began already, in the romance natural to her 
 age, to predict for them happy and united days in the future. 
 So she took her stepmother's arm, and left Helen and Leonard 
 to follow. 
 
 "I wonder," she said, musingly, " how Miss Bigby became 
 Lord L'Estrange's ward. I hope she is not very rich, nor 
 very high-born." 
 
 "La, my love," said the good Jemima, ''that is not like 
 you ; you are not envious of her, poor girl ? " 
 
 " Envious ! Dear mamma, what a word ! But don't you 
 think Leonard and Miss Digby seem born for each other ? 
 And then the recollections of their childhood — the thoughts 
 of childhood are so deep, and its memories so str^ingely sof fc ! " 
 The long lashes drooped over Yiolante's musing eyes as she 
 spoke. " And therefore," she said, after a pause — "therefore 
 I hoped that Miss Digl3y might not be very rich nor very 
 high-born." 
 
 "I understand you now, Yiolante," exclaimed Jemima, her 
 own early passion for match-making instantly returning to 
 her; "for as Leonard, however clever and distinguished, is 
 still the son of Mark Fairfield, the carpenter, it would &poi] 
 all if MissDigby was, as you say, rich and high-born. I agrco 
 with you — a very pretty match — a very pretty match, indeed 
 I wish dear Mrs. Dale were here now — she is so clever ir 
 settling such matters." 
 
 Meanwhile Leonard and Helen walked side by side a few 
 paces in the rear. He had not offered her his arm. They 
 had been silent hitherto since they left liiccabocca's house. 
 
 Helen now spoke first. In similar cases it is generally the 
 woman, be she ever so timid, who does speak first. And hero 
 Helen was the bolder; for Leonard did not disguise from 
 himself the nature of his feelings, and Helen was engaged to 
 another ; and her pure heart was fortified by the trust 
 reposed in it. 
 
 " And have yon ever heard more of the good Dr. Morgan, 
 who had powders against sorrow, and who meant to be so kind 
 to us^ — though," she added, colouring, " we did not think so 
 then ? " 
 
 " He took my child-angel from me," said Leonard, with 
 
VAUIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 167 
 
 visible emotion ; " and if slie liad not returned, -where and 
 wliat slionld I be now ? But I baye forgiven bim. No, I 
 have never met bim since.*' 
 
 *' And tbat terrible Mr. Burley P '* 
 
 ''Poor, poor Bnrley ! He, too, is vanisbed otit of mj 
 present life. I have made many inquiries after Mm ; all 1 
 can bear is tbat be went abroad, supposed as a correspondent 
 to some jotirnal. I sbonld like so mncb to see bim again, 
 now tbat perhaps I could help bim as he helped me.'' 
 
 " Helped you— ah ! 
 
 Leonard smiled with a beating heart, as he saw again the 
 dear prudent, warning look, and involuntarily drew closer 
 to Helen. She seemed more restored to bim and to her 
 former self. 
 
 " Helped me mtich by his instructions ; more, perhaps, by 
 his very faults. You cannot guess, Helen, — I beg pardon>^ 
 Miss Bigby — ^but I forgot that we are no longer children : yo-a 
 cannot guess how much we men and more than fill, perhapf^^ 
 we writers whose task it is to unravel the web of human 
 actions, owe even to our own past errors ; and if we learned 
 notbing by the errors of others, we should be dull indeed. 
 We must know Where the roads divide, and have marked 
 where tbey lead to, before we can erect our sign-post j and 
 books are the sign-posts in human life." 
 
 "Books! and I have not yet read yours. And Lord 
 L'Estrange tells me you are famous now. Yet you remember 
 me still — the poor orphan- child, whom you first saw weeping 
 at her father's grave, and with whom you burdened your own 
 young life, over-burdened already. No, still call me Helen — 
 you must always be to me — a brother ! Lord L'Estrange 
 feels that ; he said so to me when he told me that we were to 
 meet again. He is so generous, so noble. Brother ! " cried 
 Helen, suddenly, and extending her hand, with a sweet but 
 sublime look in her gentle face — "brother, vfe will never 
 forfeit his esteem ; we will both do our best to repay him ! 
 Will we not ? — say so ! " 
 
 Leonard felt overpowered by contending and unanalysed 
 emotions. Touched almost to tears by the affectionate ad* 
 dress — thrilled by the hand that pressed bis own — and yet 
 with a vague fear, a consciousness that something more tban 
 the words themselves was implied — something tbat checked 
 all hope. And this word "brother," once so precious and so 
 dear, why did he shrink from it now ? — why could he not toa 
 say the sweet word " sister P " 
 
168 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OE, 
 
 She is above me now and evermore ! " he thouglit, mourn- 
 fully ; and the tones of his voice, when he spoke again, were 
 changed. The appeal to renewed intimacy but made him 
 more distant; and to that appeal itself he made no direct 
 answer ; for Mrs. Riccabocca, now turning round, and point- 
 ing to the cottage which came in view, with its picturesque 
 gable- ends, cried out — 
 
 "But is that your house, Leonard ? I never saw anything 
 so pretty." 
 
 "You do not remember it then," said Leonard to Helen, 
 in accents of melancholy reproach — " there where I saw 
 you last ! I doubted whether to keep it exactly as it was, 
 and I said, * No ! the association is not changed because we 
 try to surround it with whatever beauty we can create ; the 
 dearer the association, the more the Beautiful becomes to it 
 natural.' Perhaps you don't understand this — perhaps it is 
 only we poor poets who do." 
 
 "I understand it," said Helen, gently. She looked wist- 
 fully at the cottage. 
 
 " So changed — I have so often pictured it to myself — 
 never, never like this ; yet I loved it, commonplace as it was 
 to my recollection ; and the garret, and the tree in the car- 
 penter's yard." 
 
 She did not give these thoughts utterance. And they now 
 entered the garden. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 Mrs. Fairfield was a proud woman when she received 
 Mrs. Biccabocca and Violante in her grand house ; for a grand 
 house to her was that cottage to which her boy Lenny had 
 brought her home. Proud, indeed, ever was Widow Fairfield ; 
 but she thought then in lier secret heart, that if ever she 
 could receive in the drawing-room of that grand house the 
 great Mrs. Hazeldean, who had so lectured her for refusing 
 to live any longer in the humble tenement rented of iht 
 Squire, the cup of human bliss would be filled, and she could 
 contentedly die of the pride of it. She did not much notice 
 Helen — ^her attention was too absorbed by the ladies who 
 renewed their old acquaintance with he% and she carried 
 them all over the house, yea, into the very kitchen ; and so, 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 169 
 
 some'liow or otTier, tliere was a sliort time when Helen and 
 Leonard found themselves alone. It was in the study. Helen 
 had unconsciously seated herself in Leonard's own chair, and 
 she was gazing with anxious and wistful interest on the 
 scattered papers, looking so disorderly (though, in truth, 
 in that disorder there was method, but method only known to 
 the owner), and at the venerable well-worn books, in all 
 languages, lying on the floor, on the chairs — anywhere. I 
 must confess that Helen's first tidy womanlike idea was a 
 great desire to arrange the litter. "Poor Leonard," she 
 thought to herself — the rest of the house so neat, but no one 
 to take care of his own room and of him ! " 
 
 As if he divined her thought, Leonard smiled and said, " It 
 would be a cruel kindness to the spider, if the gentlest hand 
 in the world tried to set its cobweb to rights." 
 
 Helen. — " You were not quite so bad in the old days." 
 
 Leonard. — "Yet even then, you were obliged to take care 
 of the money. I have more books now, and more money. 
 My present honsekeeper lets me take care of the books, but 
 she is less indulgent as to the money." 
 
 Helen, (archly.) — "Are you as absent as ever ? " 
 
 Leonard. — "Much more so, I fear. The habit is incor- 
 rigible. Miss Higby — " 
 
 Helen. — " ISTot Miss Digby — sister, if you like." 
 
 Leonard, (evading the word that implied so forbidden an 
 affinity.) — " Helen, will you grant me a favour? Your eyes and 
 your smile say, ' yes.' Will you lay aside, for one minute, 
 your shawl and bonnet ? What 1 can you be surprised that 1 
 ask it ? Can you not understand that I wish for one minute 
 to think that you are at home again under this roof ? " 
 
 Helen cast down her eyes, and seemed troubled ; then sh«t 
 raised them, with a soft angelic candour in their dovelike 
 blue, and, as if in shelter from all thoughts of more warm 
 affection, again murmured " brother,^' and did as he asked 
 her. 
 
 So there she sate, amongst the dull books, by his table, 
 near the open window — her fair hair parted on her forehead 
 — ^looking so good, so calm, so happy ! Leonard wondered at 
 his own self-command. His heart yearned to her with such 
 inexpressible love — his lips so longed to murmur — " Ah, as 
 now so could it be for ever ! Is the home too mean ? " But 
 that word " brother " was as a talisman between her and 
 him. * 
 
 Yet she looked so at home — perhaps so at home she felt! — - 
 
iro 
 
 MY JQ-OVEL; OB, 
 
 more certainlj iliaii she liad yet learned to do in tliat stiff 
 stately house in which she was soon to have a daughter's 
 rights. Was she suddenly made aware of this — that she so 
 suddenly arose — and with a look of alarm and distress on her 
 fac0 — 
 
 " But— we are keeping Lady Lansmere too long," she said, 
 falteringly. " We must go Jtovr," and she hastily took up hei 
 ghawl and bonnet. 
 
 Just then Mrs. Fairfield entered with the visitors, and began 
 making excuses for inattention to Miss Digby, whose identity 
 with Leonard's child-angel she had not yet learned. 
 
 Helen received these apologies with her usual sweetness. 
 " IlTay," she said, " your son and I are such old friends, how 
 could you stand on ceremony with me ? " 
 
 ''Old friends! " Mrs. Fairfield stared amazed, and then 
 surveyed the fair speaker more curiously than she had yet 
 done. " Pretty nice spoken thing," thought the widow ; "as 
 nice spoken as Miss Yiolante, and humbler-looking like, — 
 though, as to dress, I neTer see anything so elegant out of a 
 picter." 
 
 Helen now appropriated Mrs. Riccabocca*s arm ; and, after 
 a kind leave-taking with the widow, the ladies returned 
 towards Riccabocca's house. 
 
 Mrs. Fairfield, however, ran after them with Leonard's hat 
 and gloves, which he had forgotten. 
 
 "'Deed, boy," she said, kindly, yet scoldingly, "but there'd 
 be no more fine books, if the Lord had not fixed your head on 
 your shoulders. You would not think it, marrn," she added 
 to Mrs. Biccabocca, "but sin' he has left you, he's not the 
 'cute lad he was ; Tery helpless at times, marm ! " 
 
 Helen coald not resist turning round, and looking at 
 Leonard, with a sly smile. 
 
 The widow saw the smile, and catching Leonard by the 
 arm, whispered, *' But, where before have you seen that prefcty 
 young lady ? Old friends ! " 
 
 "Ah, mother," said Leonard sadly, "it is a long tale; 
 you have heard the beginning — who can guess the end ? " — 
 and he escaped. But Helen still leant on the arm of Mrs. 
 Biccabocca, and, in the walk back, it seemed to Leonard as if 
 the winter had re-settled in the sky. 
 
 Yet he was by the side of Violante, and she spoke to him 
 with such praise of Helen ! Alas ! it is not always so sweet 
 as folks say, to hear the praises of one we love. Sometimes 
 those praises seem to ask ironically, " And what right hast 
 thou to hope because thou lovest? All love herJ' 
 
VARIETIES m CTGLISH LIFE. 
 
 171 
 
 eilAPTEE V. 
 
 So sooner liad Ladj Lansmere fotind herself alone witk 
 Riceabocca and Harley, than she laid her hand on the exile's 
 arm, and, addressing him by- a tifele she had not before given 
 him, and from which he appeared to shrink nervously, said — 
 "Ha»rley, in bringing me to visit you, was forced to reveal to me 
 yonr incognito, for I should h we discovered it. You may not 
 remember me, in spite of you r gallantry. But I mixed more 
 in the world than I do now, d.uringyour first visit to England, 
 and once sate next to you at dinner at Oarlfcon House. I^ay, 
 no compliments, but listen to me. Harley tells me you have 
 cause for some alarm respecting the designs of an audacious 
 and unprincipled adventurer, I may call him ; for adventurers 
 are of all ranks. Suffer your daughter to come to me, on a 
 visit, as long as you please. With me, at least, she will be 
 safe ; and if you too, and the — " 
 
 " Stop, my dear madam,'' interrupted Riccabocca, with 
 great vivacity^ " your kindness overpowers me. I thank you 
 most gratefully for your invitation to my child ; but — 
 
 *']Sray,"in his turn interrupted Harley, '*no buts. I was 
 not aware of my mother's intention when she entered this 
 room. But since she whispered it to me, I have reflected on 
 it, and am convinced that it is but a prudent precaution. 
 Your retreat is known to Mr. Leslie — he is known to Peschiera. 
 Grant that no indiscretion of Mr. Leslie's betray the secret ; 
 still I have reason to believe that the Count guesses Randal's 
 acquaintance with you. Audley Egerton this morning told 
 me he had gathered that, not from the young man himself, 
 but from questions put to himself by Madame di Negra ; and 
 Peschiera might, and would set spies to track Leslie to every 
 house that he visits — might and would, still more naturally, 
 set spies to track myself. "Were this man an Englishman, I 
 should laugh at his machinations ; but he is an Italian, and 
 has been a conspirator. What he could do I know not ; but 
 an assassin can penetrate into a camp, and a traitor can creep 
 through closed walls to one's hearth. With my mother, 
 Violante must be safe ; that you cannot oppose. And why 
 not come yourself ? " 
 
 Riccaboeca had no reply to these arguments, so far as they 
 affected Yiolante ; indeed, they awakened the almost super- 
 BtitioUs terror with which he regarded his enemy, and he con- 
 
172 
 
 MY NOVEL; OE, 
 
 sented at once that Yiolante sbonld accept the invitation 
 proffered. But he refused it for himself and J emima. 
 
 " To saj truth," said he, simply, " I made a secret vow, on 
 re-entering England, that I would associate with none who 
 knew the rank I had formerly held in my own land. I felt 
 that all my philosophy was needed, to reconcile and habituate 
 myself to my altered circumstances. In order to find in my 
 present existence, however humble, those blessings which 
 make all life noble — dignity an i peace — ^it was necessary for 
 poor, weak human nature, wl oily to dismiss the past. It 
 would unsettle me sadly, could I come to your house, renev? 
 awhile, in your kindness and respect — nay, in the very atmo- 
 sphere of your society — the sense of what I have been ; and 
 then (should tile more than doubtful chance of recall from 
 my exile fail me) to awake, and find myself for the rest of 
 life what I am. And though, were I alone, I might trust 
 myself perhaps to the danger — ^yet my wife : she is happy 
 and contented now ; would she be so, if you had once spoiled 
 her for the simple position of Dr. Riccabocca's wife ? Should 
 I not have to listen to regrets, and hopes, and fears that would 
 prick sharp through my thin cloak of philosophy ? Even as 
 it is, since in a moment of weakness I confided my secret to 
 her, I have had ' my rank ' thrown at me — with a careless 
 hand, it is true — but it hits hard nevertheless. No stone 
 hurts like one taken from the ruins of one's own home ; and 
 the grander the home, why, the heavier the stone ! Protect, 
 dear madam — protect my daughter, since her father doubts 
 his own power to do so. But — ask no more." 
 
 Riccabocca was immovable here. And the matter was 
 settled as he decided, it being agreed that Violante should be 
 still styled but the daughter of Dr. Riccabocca. 
 
 " And now, one word more," said Harley. " Do not con- 
 fide to Mr. Leslie these arrangements ; do not let him know 
 where Violante is placed — at least, until I authorise such con- 
 fidence in him. It is sufiicient excuse, that it is no use to 
 know unless he called to see her, and his movements, as T 
 said before, may be watched. You can give the same reason 
 to suspend his visits to yourself. Suffer me, meanwhile, to 
 mature my judgment on this young man. In the meanwhile, 
 also, I think that I shall have means of ascertaining the real 
 nature of Peschiera's schemes. His sister has sought to know 
 me ; I will give her the occasion. I have heard some things 
 of her in my last residence abroad, which make me believe 
 that she cannot be wholly the Count's tool in any schemes 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 173 
 
 nakedly villanons ; that slie lias some finer qualities in her 
 than I once supposed ; and that she can be won from his 
 influence. It is a state of war ; we will carry it into the 
 enemy's camp. You v/ill promise me, then, to refrain from 
 all further confidence in Mr. Leslie." 
 
 " For the present, yes," said Riccabocca, reluctantly. 
 Do not even say that you have seen me, unless he first 
 tell you that I am in England, and wish to learn your resi- 
 dence. I will give him full occasion to do so. Pish ! don't 
 hesitate ; you know your own proverb — 
 
 * Boccha cliiusa, ed occMo aperto 
 Noil fece mai nissuu deserto.' 
 
 * The closed mouth and the open eye,' &c." 
 
 " That's very true," said the Doctor, much struck. "Very 
 true. * In hoccha ohiusa non c^entrano mosche.^ One can't 
 swallow flies if one keeps one's mouth shut. Goiyo di Bacco I 
 that's very true indeed." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ViOLANTE and Jemima were both greatly surprised, as the 
 reader may suppose, when they heard, on their return, the 
 arrangements already made for the former. The Countess 
 insisted on taking her at once, and Riccabocca briefly said, 
 " Certainly, the sooner the better." Yiolante was stunned and 
 bewildered. Jemima hastened to make up a little bundle of 
 things necessary, with many a woman's sigh that the poor 
 wardrobe contained so few things befi-tting. But among the 
 clothes she slipped a purse, containing the savings of months, 
 perhaps of years, and with it a few affectionate lines, begging 
 Violante to ask the Countess to buy her all that was proper 
 for her father's child. There is always something hurried 
 and uncomfortable in the abrupt and unexpected withdrawal 
 of any member from a quiet household. The small party 
 broke into still smaller knots. Yiolante hung on her father, 
 and listened vaguely to his not very lucid explanations. Thf> 
 Countess approached Leonard, and, according to the usual 
 mode with persons of quality addressing young authors, com- 
 plimented him highly on the books she had not read, but 
 which her son assured her were so remark.able. She was a 
 
174 
 
 MY toyel; OB, 
 
 litile anxious to know wkere Harlej kad first met witli Mr. 
 Oran, mhom he called Ms friend ; but she was too high-bred 
 to inquire, or to express any wonder that rank should b(r 
 friends with genius. She took it for granted that thej had 
 formed their acquaintance abroad. 
 
 Harlej conversed with Helen. — You are not sorrj that 
 Violante is coming to us ? She will bo just s-ueh a companion 
 for jou as I could desire ; of your own years too." 
 
 Helen, (ingenuously.)- — "It is hard to think I am not 
 younger than she is." 
 
 Harley. — " Why, my dear Helen ? " 
 
 Helen. — " She is so brilliant. She talks so beautifully. 
 And I-—" 
 
 Harley. — "And you want but the habit of talking, to do 
 justice to your own beautiful thoughts." 
 
 Helen looked at him gratefully, but shook her head. It 
 was a common trick of hers, and always when she was 
 praised. 
 
 At last the preparations were made — the farewell was said. 
 Violante was in the carriage by Lady Lansmere's side. Slowly 
 moved on the stately equipage with its four horses and trim 
 postilions, heraldic badges on their shoulders, in the stylo 
 rarely seen in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, and now 
 fast vanishing even amidst distant counties. 
 
 liiccabocca, J,emima, and Jackeymo continued to gaze after 
 it from the gate, 
 
 " She is gone," said Jackeymo, brushing his eyes with his 
 coat- sleeve. "But it is a load oif one's mind." 
 
 "And another load on one's heart," murmured Biccaboeca. 
 " Don't cry, Jemima ; it may be bad for you, and bad for Mm 
 that is to come. It is astonishing how the humours of the 
 mother may affect the unborn. I should not like to have a 
 son who has a more than usual propensity to tears." 
 
 The poor philosopher tried to smile ; but it was a bad at- 
 tempt. He went slowly in, and shut himself with his books. 
 But he could not read. His whole mind was unsettled. And 
 though, like all parents, he had been anxious to rid himself of 
 a beloved daughter for life, now that she was gone but for a 
 while, a string seemed broken in the Music of Home, 
 
VARUDllIi^ IN ENaUgH LIFE. 
 
 175 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The evening of tlie same day, as Egerton, wlio was to 
 euteribain a, large p^irty at dinner, was changing liis dross, 
 Harley walked into his room. 
 
 Egerton dismissed his valet hj a eign, and continned his 
 toilet. 
 
 " Excuse me, my dear Harlej,, I haya only ten minntes to 
 give you. I expect one of the royal dukes, and punctuality 
 is the stern virtue of men of business, and the graceful 
 courtesy of princes." 
 
 Harloy had usually a jest fior his friend's aphorisms; but he 
 had none now. He laid his hand kindly on Egerton's 
 shoulder — " Before I speak oi mj business, tell me how you 
 are — better ? " 
 
 "Better — nay, I am always well. Pook! I may look a 
 little tired — years of toil will tell on the countenance. But 
 that matters little: the period of life has passed with me 
 when one cares how one looks in the glass." 
 
 As he spoke, ]3gerton completed his dr^ss, and came to the 
 hearth, standing there, erect and dignified as usual, still far 
 handsomer 'than many a younger man, and with a form that 
 seemed to have ample vigour to support for many a year the 
 sad and glorious burthen of power. 
 
 " So now to your business, Harley." 
 
 " In the first place^ I want you to prasent me, at the 
 earliest opportunity, to Madame di Negra. You say sh:Q 
 wished to know me." 
 
 '•Are you serious ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Yi ell, then, she receives this evening. I did not mean to 
 go ; but when my party breaks up — " 
 
 " You can call for me at ' The Travellers.* Do ! " 
 
 " ISText — ^you knew Lady Jane Horton better even than I 
 did, at least in the last year of her life." Harley sighed, and 
 Egerton turned and stirred the fire. 
 
 " Pray, did you ever see at her hoiise, or hear her speak 
 of, a Mrs. Bertram ? " 
 
 " Of whom ? " said Egerton, in a hollow voice, his face 
 still turned towards the fire. 
 
176 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " A Mrs. Bertram ; but Heavens ! mj dear fellow, wliafc is 
 tlie matter ? Are jou ill ? 
 
 "A spasm at the heart, that is all — don't ring — I shall be 
 better presently — go on talking. Mrs. why do you ask 
 
 " Why ? I have hardly time to explain ; but I am, as I told 
 you, resolved on righting my old Italian friend, if Heaven 
 will help me, as it ever does help the just when they bestir 
 themselves ; and this Mrs. Bertram is mixed up in my friend's 
 affairs." 
 
 " His ! How is that possible ? " 
 
 Harley rapidly and succinctly explained. Audley listened 
 attentively, with his eyes fixed on the floor, and still seeming 
 to labour under great difficulty of breathing. 
 
 At last he answered, "I remember something'^of this 
 Mrs. — ^Mrs. — Bertram. But your inquiries after her would 
 be useless, I think I have heard that she is long since dead ; 
 nay, I am sure of it." 
 
 " Dead ! — that is most unfortunate. But do you know any 
 of her relations or friends ? Can you suggest any mode of 
 tracing this packet, if it came to her hands ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And Lady Jane had scarcely any friend that I remember, 
 except my mother, and she knows nothing of this Mrs. 
 Bertram. How unlucky ! I think I shall advertise. Yet, 
 no. I could only distinguish this Mrs. Bertram from any 
 other of the same name, by stating with whom she had gone 
 abroad, and that would catch the attention of Peschiera, and 
 set him to counterwork us." 
 
 ^'And what avails it ?" said Egerton. " She whom you 
 seek is no more — ^no more ! " He paused, and went on 
 rapidly — The packet did not arrive in England till years 
 after her death — was no doubt returned to the post-office — is 
 destroyed long ago." 
 
 Harley looked very much disappointed. Egerton went on 
 in a sort of set mechanical voice, as if not thinking of what he 
 said, but speaking from the dry practical mode of reasoning 
 which was habitual to him, and by which the man of the 
 world destroys the hopes of an enthusiast. Then starting up 
 at the sound of the first thundering knock at the street door, 
 he said, " Hark ! you must excuse me," 
 
 " I leave- you, my dear Audley. But I must again ask— - 
 Are you better now? " 
 
 " Much, much — quite well. I will call for you — ^probabl;;^ 
 between eleven and twelve." 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 177 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 If any one could be more surprised at seeing Lord 
 
 L'Estrange at tlie house of Madame di I^egra that evening 
 than the fair hostess herself, it was Randal Leslie. Some- 
 thing instinctively told him that this visit threatened inter- 
 ference with whatever might be his ultimate projects in regard 
 to Riccabocca and Violante. But Randal Leshe was not one 
 of those who shrink from an intellectual combat. On the 
 contrary, he was too confident of his powers of intrigue, not 
 to take a delight in their exercise. He could not conceive 
 that the indolent Harley could be a match for his own restless 
 activity and dogged perseverance. But in a very few moments 
 fear crept on him. 'No man of his day could produce a more 
 brilliant effect than Lord L'Estrange, when he deigned to 
 desire it. Without much pretence to that |)ersonal beauty 
 which strikes at first sight, he still retained all the charm of 
 countenance, and all the grace of manner, which had made 
 him in boyhood the spoiled darling of society. Madame di 
 !N"egra had collected but a small circle round her, still it was 
 of the elite of the great world ; not, indeed, those more precise 
 and reserved dames de chateau, whom the lighter and -easier of 
 the fair dispensers of fashion ridicule as prudes ; but neverthe- 
 less, ladies were there, as unblemished in reputation, as high 
 in rank ; flirts and coquettes, perhaps — nothing more ; in 
 short, "charming women" — the gay butterflies that hover 
 over the stiff parterre. And there were ambassadors and 
 ministers^ and wits and brilliant debaters, and first-rate 
 dandies (dandies, when first-rate, are generally very agree- 
 able men). Amongst all these various persons, Harley, so long 
 a stranger to the London w^orld, seemed to make himself at 
 home with the ease of an Alcibiades. Many of the less juve- 
 nile ladies remembered him, and rushed to claim his acquaint- 
 ance, with nods and becks, and wreathed smiles. He had 
 ready compliment for each. And few indeed ivere there, men 
 or women, for whom Harley L'Estrange had not appropriate 
 attraction. Distinguished reputation as soldier and scholar 
 for the grave ; whim and pleasantry for the gay ; novelty for 
 the sated ; and for the more vulgar natures was he not Lord 
 L'Estrange, unmarried, possessed already of a large independ- 
 ence, and heir to an ancient earldom, and some fifty thousands 
 a- year ? 
 
 VOL. ri. ^ 
 
178 
 
 MY hovel; oil, 
 
 !N"ot till lie liad succeeded in tlie general effect — ^whicli, it 
 must be owned, lie did his best to create — did Harlej seriously 
 and especially devote himself to his hostess. And then he 
 seated himself by her side ; and, as if in compliment to both, 
 less pressing admirers insensibly slipped away and edged 
 ofP. 
 
 Frank Hazeldean was the last to quit his ground behind 
 Madame di Negra's chair ; but when he found that the two 
 began to talk in Italian, and he could not understand a word 
 they said, he too — ^fancying, poor fellow, that he looked foolish, 
 aiid cursing his Eton education that had neglected, for lan- 
 guages spoken by the dead, of which he had learned little, 
 those still in use among the living, of which he had learned 
 nought— retreated towards Randal, and asked wistfully, 
 " Pray, what age should you say L'Estrange was ? He must 
 be devilish old, iii spite of his looks. Whyj h^ was at 
 Waterloo ! " 
 
 "He is young enough to be a terrible rival," answered 
 Randal, with artful truth. 
 
 Frank turned pale, and begaii to meditate dreadful blood- 
 thirsty thoughts, of which hair-triggers and Lord's Cricket- 
 ground formed the staple. 
 
 Certainly there was apparent ground for a lover's jealousy. 
 For Harley and Beatrice now conversed in a low tone, and 
 Beatrice seemed agitated, and Harley earnest. Randal him- 
 self grew more and more perplexed. Was Lord L'Estrange 
 really enamoured of the Marchesa ? If so, farewell to all 
 hopes of Frank's marriage with her ! Or was he merely 
 playing a part in Riccabocca's interest ; pretending to be the 
 lover, in order to obtain an influence over her mind, rule her 
 through her ambition, and secure an ally against her brother? 
 Was this finesse compatible with Randal's notions of Harley's 
 character ? Was it consistent with that chivalric and sol- 
 dierly spirit of honour which the frank nobleman afected, to 
 make love to a woman in mere ruse de guerre ? Could mere 
 friendship for Riccabocca be a sufficient inducement to a man, 
 who, whatever his v^eaknesses or his errors, seemed to wear 
 on his very forehead a soul above deceit, to stoop to paltry 
 means, even for a worthy end ? At this question, a new 
 thought flashed upon Randal— might not Lord L'Estrange 
 have speculated himself upon winning Yiolanfco ?- — would not 
 that account for all the exertions he had made on behalf ol 
 her inheritance at the coui?t of Vienna— exertions of which 
 Peschiera and Beatrice had both complained ? Those objeO' 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 179 
 
 fions wliicli the Austrian goyernnient might take to Yiolante's 
 toiarriage with some obscure Englishman would probably not 
 exist against a man like Harley L'Estrange, whose family not 
 only belonged to the highest aristocracy of England, but had 
 always supported opinions in vogue amongst the leading 
 governments of Europe. Harley himself, it is true, had never 
 taken part in politics, but his notions were, no doubt, those 
 of a high-born soldier, who had fought, in alliance with 
 Austria, foi* the restoration of the Bourbons. And this 
 immense wealth — -which Yiolatite might lose, if she married 
 one like Randal himself — ^her marriage with the heir of the 
 Lansmeres might actually tend only to secure. Could Harley, 
 with all his own expectations, be indifferent to such a prize ? 
 —and no doubt he had learned Yiolante's rare beauty in his 
 correspondence with Hiccabocca. 
 
 Thus considered, it seemed natural to Randal's estimate of 
 human nature, that Harley's more prudish scruples of honour, 
 as regards what is due to Women, could not resist a temptation 
 So strong; Mere friendship was not a motive powerful enough 
 to shake them^ but ambition was. 
 
 While Randal was thus cogitating, Frank thus su:fferiug, 
 and many a whisper, in comment on the evident flirtation 
 between the beautiful hostess and the accomplished gaest, 
 reached the ears both of the brooding schemer and the jealous 
 lover, the conversation between the two objects of remark 
 and gossip had taken a new turn. Indeed, Beatrice had made 
 an effort to change it. 
 
 *' It is long, my lord," said she, still speaking Italian, since 
 I have heard sentiments like those you address to me ; and H 
 I do not feel myself wholly unworthy of them, it is from iha 
 pleasure I have felt in reading sentiments equally foreign to 
 the language of the world in which I live." She took a book 
 from the table as she spoke : Have you seen this work ? " 
 
 Harley glanced at the title-page. " To be sure I have, and 
 I know the author." 
 
 " I envy you that honour. I should so like also to know 
 one who has discovered to me deeps in my own heart which 
 I had never explored." 
 
 " Charming Marchesa, if the book has done this, believe 
 me that I have paid you no false compliment— formed no 
 overflattermg estimate of your nature ; for the charm of the 
 work is but in its simple appeal to good and generous emo- 
 tions, and it can charm none in whom those emotions ex^isfe 
 not ! " 
 
180 
 
 MY novel; or. 
 
 " N{^>y, that cannot be true, or wliy is it so popular ? 
 " Because good and generous emotions are more common 
 to the human heart than we are aware of till the appeal 
 
 comes." 
 
 " Don't ask me to think that ! I have found the world so 
 base." 
 
 " Pardon me a rude question ; but what do you know ol 
 the world ? " 
 
 Beatrice looked first in surprise at Harley, then glanced 
 round the room with significant irony. 
 
 "As I thought ; you call this little room Hhe world.' Be 
 it so. I will venture to say, that if the people in this room, 
 were suddenly converted into an audience before a stage, and 
 you were as consummate in the actor's art as you are in all 
 others that please and command — " 
 
 ''Well? " 
 
 "And were to deliver a speech full of sordid and base senti- 
 ments, you would be hissed. But let any other woman, with 
 half your powers, arise and utter sentiments sweet and 
 womanly, or honest and lofty — and applause would flow from 
 every lip, and tears rush to many a worldly eye. The true 
 proof of the inherent nobleness of our common nature is in 
 the sympathy it betrays with what is noble wherever crowds 
 are collected. ISTever believe the world is base ; — if it were so, 
 no society could hold together for a day. But you would 
 know the author of this book ? I will bring him to you." 
 
 " Do." 
 
 "And now," said Harley, rising, and with his candid, 
 winning smile, " do you think we shall ever be friends ? " 
 
 " You have startled me so, tliat I can scarcely answer. But 
 why would you be friends with me ? " 
 
 " Because you need a friend. You have none ? *^ 
 
 " Strange flatterer ! " said Beatrice, smiling, though very 
 sadly ; and looking up, her eye caught Randal's. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Harley, " you are too penetrating to believe 
 that you inspire friendship there. Ah, do you suppose that, 
 all the while I have been conversing with you, I have not 
 noticed the watchful gaze of Mr. E-andal Leslie ? What tie 
 can possibly connect you together I know not yet ; but I soon 
 >\iall." 
 
 Indeed ! you talk like one of the old Council of Venice. 
 You try hard to make me fear you," said Beatrice, seeking to 
 fcscape from the graver kind of impression Harley had made 
 on her, by the affectation, partly of coqnetj^y, partly of levity 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 181 
 
 " And I,'* said L'Bstrange, calmlj, tell you already,, tliat 
 I fear you no more." He bowed, and passed through, tho 
 crowd to rejoin Audley, who was seated in a corner whisper- 
 ing with some of his political colleagues. Before Harley 
 reached the minister, he found himself close to Randal and 
 young Hazeldean. 
 
 He bowed to the first, and extended his hand to the last. 
 Randal felfc the distinction, and his sullen, bitter pride was 
 deeply galled — a feeling of hate towards Harley passed into 
 his mind. He was pleased to see the cold hesitation with 
 which Frank just touched the hand offered to him. But 
 Randal had not been the only person whose watch upon 
 Beatrice the keen-eyed Harley had noticed. Harley had seen 
 the angry looks of Erank Hazeldean, and divined the cause. 
 So he smiled forgivingly at the slight he had received. 
 
 " You are like me, Mr. Hazeldean," said he. " You think 
 something of the heart should go with all courtesy that be- 
 speaks friendship — 
 
 < The hand of Douglas is his own.' ' 
 
 Here Harley drew aside Randal. " Mr. Leslie, a word with 
 you. If I wished to know the retreat of Dr. Riccabocca, in 
 order to render him a great service, would you confide to me 
 that secret ? " 
 
 " That woman has let out her suspicions that I know the 
 exile's retreat," thought Randal ; and with quick presence of 
 mind, he replied at once — 
 
 " My Lord, yonder stands a connection of Dr. Riccabocca's. 
 Mr. Hazeldean is surely the person to whom you should 
 address this inquiry." 
 
 " 'Not so, Mr. Leslie ; for I suspect that he cannot answer 
 it, and that you can. Well, I will ask something that it 
 Beems to me you may grant without hesitation. Should you 
 see Dr. Riccabocca, tell him that I am in England, and so 
 leave it to him to communicate with me or not ; but perhaps 
 yoxi have already done so ? " 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange," said Randal, bowing low, with pointed 
 formality, " excuse me if I decline either to disclaim or 
 acquiesce in the knowledge you impute to me. If I am 
 acquainted with any secret intrusted to me by Dr. Riccabocca, 
 it is for me to use my own discretion how best to guard it. 
 And for the rest, after the Scotch earl, whose words your 
 lordship has quoted, refused to touch the hand of Marmion, 
 
182 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 Douglas conld Ficarcely liave called Marmion back in order to 
 give him— a message ! " 
 
 Harley was not prepared for tHs tone in Mr. Egertbn's 
 protege, and bis own gallant nature was rather pleased than 
 irritated by a haughtiness that at least seemed to bespeak 
 independence of spirit. ISTevertheless, L'Estrange's suspicions 
 of Bandal were too strong to be easily set aside, and therefore 
 lie replied, civilly, but with covert taunt — ■ 
 
 " I submit to your rebuke, Mr, Leslie, though I meant not 
 the offence you would ascrilDe to nie. I regret my unlucky 
 quotation yet the more, since the wit of your retort has 
 obliged you to identify yourself with Marmjon, who, though 
 a clever and brave fellow, was an uncommonly — tricky one." 
 And so Harley, certainly having the best of it, moved on, 
 and joining Egerton, in a few minutes more both left the 
 room. 
 
 "What was L'Estrange saying to you?" asked Frank, 
 *' Something about Beatrice I am sure." 
 " 1^0 ; only quoting poetry." 
 
 " Then what made you look so angry, my dear fellow ? I 
 know it was your kind feeling for me. As you say, he is a 
 formidable rival. But that can't be his own hair. Do you 
 think he wears a towpet ? I am sure he was praising Beatrice. 
 He is evidently very much smitten with her. But I don't 
 think she is a woman to be caught by mere rank and fortune! 
 .Do you ? Why can't you speak ? " 
 
 " If yon do not get her consent soon, I think she is lost to 
 you," said Randal, slowly ; and before Erank could recover 
 his dismay, glided from the house. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ViOLANTj]'s first evening at the Lansmeres had passed more 
 liappily to her than the first evening under the same roof had 
 done to Helen. True that she missed her father much— • 
 Jemima somewhat ; but she so identified her father's caus(S 
 with Harley, that she had a sort of vague feeling that it was 
 to promote that cause that she was on this visit to Harley 's 
 parents. And the Countess, it must be owned, was more 
 emphatically cordial to her than she had ever yet been to 
 Captain Digby's orphan. But perhaps the real difference i"G 
 
VAEIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 183 
 
 the heart of either girl was this, that Helen felt awe of Lady 
 "Lansmere, and Violante felt only love for Lord L'Estrange's 
 mother. Violante, too, was one of those persons whom a 
 reserved and formal person, like the Conntess, " can get on 
 with," as the phrase goes. Not so poor little Helen— so shy 
 herself, and so hard to coax into more than gentle monosyl- 
 Jables. And Lady Lansmere's favourite talk was always of 
 Harley. Helen had listened to snch talk with respect and 
 interest. Yiolante listened to it with inqnisitive Eagerness— 
 with blushing delight. The mother's heart noticed the dis- 
 tinction between the two, and no wonder that that heart 
 moved more to Yiolante than to Helen. Lord Lansmere, too, 
 like most gentlemen of his age, clumped all young ladies 
 together, as a harmless, amiable, but singularly stupid class 
 of the genus -Petticoat, meant to look pretty, play the piano, 
 and talk to each other about frocks and sweethearts. There^ 
 fore this animated dazzling creature, with her infinite variety 
 of look and play of mind, took him by surprise, charmed him 
 into attention, and warmed him into gallantry. Helen sate 
 in her quiet corner, at her work, sometimes listening with 
 almost mournful, though certainly unenvious, admiration at 
 Viol ante's vivid, yet ever unconscioi^s, eloquence of word and 
 thought— sometimes plunged deep into her own secret medi- 
 tations, And all the while the work went on the same, under 
 the small, noiseless fingers. This was one of Helen's habits 
 that irritated the nerves of Lady Lansmere. She despised 
 young ladies who were fond of work. She did not compre- 
 hend how often it is the resource of the sweet womanly mind, 
 not from want of thought, but from the silence and the depth 
 of it. Yiolante was surprised, and perhaps disappointed, 
 that Harley had left the house before dinner, and did not 
 return all the evening. But Lady Lansmere, in making 
 excuse for his absence, on the plea of engagements, found so 
 good an opportunity to talk of his ways in general — of his 
 rare promise in boyhood — of her regret at the inaction of his 
 maturity — of her hope to see him yet do justice to his natural 
 powers, that Yiolante almost ceased to miss him. 
 
 And when Lady Lansmere conducted her to her room, and, 
 kissing her cheek tenderly, said, "But you are just the person 
 Harley admires — just the person to rouse him from melan- 
 choly dreams, of which his wild humours are now but the 
 vain disguise *' — ^Yiolante crossed her arms on her bosom, and 
 her bright eyes, deepened into tenderness, seemed to ask, "He 
 melancholy- — and why ? " 
 
184 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OE, 
 
 On leaving Yiolante's room, Lady Lansmere paused before 
 tlie door of Helen's ; and, after mnsing a little while, entered 
 softly. 
 
 Helen liad dismissed lier maid ; and, at the moment Lady 
 Lansmere entered, she was kneeling at the foot of the bed, 
 her hands clasped before her face. 
 
 Her form, thus seen, looked so yonthfnl and child-like — 
 the attitude itself was so holy and so touching, that the proud 
 and cold expression on Lady Lansmere's face changed. She 
 shaded the light involuntarily, and seated herself in silence 
 that she might not disturb the act of prayer. 
 
 When Helen rose, she was startled to see the Countess 
 seated by the fire ; and hastily drew her hand across her 
 eyes. She had been weeping. 
 
 Lady Lansmere did not, however, turn to observe those 
 traces of tears, which Helen feared were too visible. The 
 Countess was too absorbed in her own thoughts ; and as 
 Helen timidly approached, she said — still with her eyes on 
 the clear low fire — " I beg your pardon, Miss Digby, for my 
 intrusion ; but my son has left it to me to prepare Lord Lans- 
 mere to learn the offer yon have done Harley the honour to 
 accept. I have not yet spoken to my lord ; it may be days 
 before I find a fitting occasion to do so ; meanwhile I feel 
 assured that your sense of propriety will make you agree with 
 jne that it is due to Lord L'Estrange's father, that strangers 
 should not learn arrangements of such moment in his family, 
 before his own consent be obtained.'' 
 
 Here the Countess came to a full pause ; and poor Helen, 
 finding herself called npon for some reply to this chilling 
 speech, stammered out, scarce audibly- — 
 
 " Certainly, madam, I never dreamed of — '* 
 
 " That is right, my dear," interrupted Lady Lansmere, 
 rising suddenly, and as if greatly relieved. " I could not doubt 
 your superiority to ordinary girls of your age, with whom 
 these matters are never secret for a moment. Therefore, of 
 course, you will not mention, at present, what has passed 
 between you and Harley, to any of the friends with whom 
 you may correspond." 
 
 " I have no correspondents — no friends. Lady Lansmere/' 
 liaid Helen, deprecatingly, and trying hard not to cry. 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it, my dear ; young ladies never 
 should have. Eriends, especially friends who correspond, are 
 the worst enemies they can have. G-ood night, Miss Bigby. 
 I need not add, by the way, that though we are bound to show 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 185 
 
 all kindness to this young Italian lady, still slie is wholly un- 
 connected with our family ; and you will be as prudent with 
 her as you would have been with your correspondents — had 
 you had the misfortune to have any." 
 
 Lady Lansmere said the last words with a smile, and left an 
 ungenial kiss (the stepmother's kiss) on Helen's bended brow. 
 She then left the room, and Helen sate on the seat vacated by 
 the stately unloving form, and again covered her face with 
 her nands, and again wept. But when she rose at last, and 
 the light fell upon her face, that soft face was sad indeed, but 
 serene — serene, as if with some inward sense of duty — sad, 
 tas with the resignation which accepts patience instead of 
 hope, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The next morning Harley appeared at breakfast. He was 
 ill gay spirits, aiid conversed more freely with Yiolante than 
 he had yet done. He seemed to amuse himself by attacking 
 all she said, and provoking her to argument. Yiolante was 
 naturally a very earnest person ; whether grave or gay, she 
 spoke with her heart on her lips, and her soul in her eyes. 
 She did not yet comprehend the light vein of Harley's irony, 
 so she grew piqued and chafed ; and she was so lovely in 
 anger ; it so brightened her beauty and animated her words, 
 that no wonder Harley thus maliciously teased her. But what 
 perhaps, she liked still less than the teasing — though she 
 150uld not tell why — was the kind of familiarity that Harley 
 ^■ssumed with her — a familiarity as if he had known her all 
 her life — that of a good-humoured elder brother, or a bachelor 
 uncle. To Helen, on the contrary, when he did not address 
 her apart, his manner was more respectful. He did not call 
 her by her Christian name, as he did Yiolante, but " Miss 
 Digby," and softened his tone and inclined his head when he 
 sjioke to her. IMor did he presume to jest at the very few and 
 Liief sentences he drew from Helen, hub rather listened id 
 them with deference, and invariably honoured them with 
 approval. After breakfast he asked Yiolante to play or sing ; 
 and when she franklv owned how little she had cultivated 
 those accomplishments, he persuaded Helen to sit down to 
 the piano, and stood by her side while she did so, turning 
 over the leaves of her music-book with the ready devotion of 
 
186 
 
 MY hovel; or, 
 
 ap. admiring amateiir. Helen always played well, but less 
 well tban nsiial that day, for lier generous natur^ felt 
 abashed. It was as if she were showing off to niortify 
 Violante. But Yiolante, on the other hand, was so pas- 
 sionately fond of music that she had no feeling left for the 
 sense of her own inferiority. Yet she sighed when Helen 
 rose, and Harley thanked Miss Bigby for the delight she had 
 giVen him. 
 
 The day was fine. Lady Lansmere proposed to walk in the 
 garden. While the ladies went up-stairs for their shawls and 
 bonnets, Harley lighted his cigar, and stept from the window 
 upon the lawn. Lady Lansmere joined him before the girls 
 came out. 
 
 " Harley," said she, taking his arm, " what a charming 
 companion you have introduced to us ! I never met with 
 any that both pleased and delighted me like this dear Yiolante. 
 Most girls who possess some power of conversation, and who 
 have dared to think for themselves, are so pedantic, or so 
 masculine ; but she i^ always so simple, ani^ always still the 
 girl. Ah, Harley ! " - 
 
 " Why that sigh, my dear mother ? " 
 
 " I was thinking how exactly she would hqiye suited you-^ 
 how proud I should have been of such a daughter-in-law — ■ 
 and hpw happy you would have been with such a wife." 
 
 Harley started. " Tut," said he, peevishly, " she is a mere 
 child ; you forget my years. ' ' 
 
 " Why," said Lady Lansmere, surprised, "Helen is quite 
 as young as Yiolante." 
 
 " In dates— yes. But Helen's character is so staid ; — 
 what it is now it will be ever ; and Helen, frona gratitude, 
 respect, or pity, condescends to accept the ruins of my 
 heart while this bright Italian has the soul of a Juliet, and 
 would expect in a husband all the passion of a Homeo. Nay, 
 mother, hush. Do you forget that I am engaged — and of 
 my own free will and choice ? Poor dear Helen ! Apropos, 
 have you spoken to my father, as you undertook to do ? " 
 
 Not yet. I must seize the right moment. You know 
 that my lord requires management." 
 
 " My dear mother, that female notion of ma.naging us, 
 men, costs you, ladies, a great waste of time, and occasions us 
 a great deal of sorrow. Men are easily managed by plain 
 truth. We are brought iip to respect it, strange as it may 
 seem to you ! " 
 
 Ij.^dy Lansmere smiled with the air of superior wisdom, and 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 187 
 
 the e:^perieiice of an acqomplislied wife. " Leave it |p ?n.e, 
 Harley, and rely on my lord's consent." 
 
 Harley knew that Lady Lansmere always succeeded in ob- 
 taining her way witL. his father; and he felt that the Earl 
 might naturally he disappointed in such an alliance, and, 
 without due propitiation, evince that disappointment in his 
 manner to Helen. Harley was hound to save her from all 
 chance of such humiliation. He did not wish her to think 
 that she was not welcomed into his family ; therefore he 
 said, " I resign myself to your promise and your diplomacy. 
 Meanwhile, as you love me, be kind to my betrothed.'* 
 
 "Am I not so?" 
 
 " Hem. Are you as kind as if she were the great heiress 
 you believe Yiolante to be ? " 
 
 " Is it," answered Lady Lansmere, evading the qupstion — • 
 "is it because one is an heiress and the other is not that 
 jou make so marked a difference in your own manner to the 
 two ; treating Yiolante as a spoilt child, and Miss Digby 
 as-—" 
 
 " The destined wife of Ijprd L'Estrange, ^nd the daughte?-' 
 in-law of Lgbdy Lansmere — yes." 
 
 The Countess suppressed an impatient exclamation that 
 rose to her lips, for Harley's brow wore that serious aspect 
 which it rarely assumed save when he was in those moods in 
 which men must be soothed, not resisted. And after a pause 
 he went on — "I am going to leave you to-day. I have 
 engaged apartments at the Clarendon. I intend to gratify 
 your wish, so often expressed, that I shoiild enjoy what are 
 called the pleasures of my rank, and the privileges of single- 
 blessedness — celebrate my adieu to celibacy, and blaze once 
 more, with the splendour of a setting sun, upon Hyde Park 
 and May Fair," 
 
 " You are a positive enigma. Leave our house, just when 
 you are betrothed to its inmate ! Is that the natural condijct 
 of a lover f " 
 
 " How can your woman eye3 be so dull, and your woman 
 heart so obtuse?" answered. Harley, half- laughing, half- 
 scolding. " Can you not guess that I wish that Helen and 
 myself should both lose the association of i?aere ward and 
 guardian ; that the very familiai^ity of our intercourse under 
 the same roof almost forbids us to be lovers ; that we lose the 
 joy to meet, and the pang to part. Don't you remember the 
 story of the Frenchman, who for twenty years loved a lady^ 
 and never missed passing hi|^ evenings at her house. She 
 
168 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 became a widow. ^ I wish you joj,' cried liis friend ; * you may 
 now marry tlio woman you have so long adored.* 'Alas,* 
 said the poor Frenchman, profoundly dejected ; * and if so, 
 where shall I spend my evenings ? ' " 
 
 Here Yiolante and Helen vv^ere seen in the garden, v/alking 
 affectionately arm in arm. 
 
 " I don't perceive the point of your witty, heartless anec- 
 dote," said Lady Lansmere, obstinately. " Settle that, how- 
 ever, with Miss Digby. But, to leave the very day after your 
 friend's daughter comes as a guest ! — what will site think 
 of it ? " 
 
 Lord L'Estrange looked steadfastly at his mother. " Does it 
 matter much what she thinks of me ? — of a man engaged to 
 another ; and old enough to be — ** 
 
 " I wish to heaven you would not talk of your age, Harley ; 
 it is a reflection upon mine ; and I never saw you look so 
 well nor so handsome." With that she drew him on towards 
 the young ladies ; and, taking Helen's arm, asked her, aside. 
 
 If she knew that Lord L'E strange had engaged rooms at 
 the Clarendon; and if she understood why?" As, while 
 she said this she moved on, Harley was left by Violante's 
 side. 
 
 " You will be very dull here, I fear, my poor child,** 
 said he. 
 
 " Dull! But why will you call me child? Am I so very 
 • — very child-like ? " 
 
 " Certainly, you are to me — a mere infant. Have I not 
 seen you one ; have I not held you in my arms ? " 
 
 Yiolante. — " But that was a long time ago ! *' 
 
 Harley. — " True. But if years have not stood still for 
 you, they have not been stationary for me. There is the 
 same dilference between us now that there was then. And, 
 therefore, permit me still to call you child, and as child to 
 treat you ! '* 
 
 ViOLANTE. — " I will do no such thing. Do you know that 
 T always thought I was good-tempered till this morning.** 
 
 Harley. — *'And what undeceived you? Did you break 
 your doll ? '* 
 
 Violantb, (with an indignant flash from her dark eyes.) — 
 " There ! — again ! — you delight in provoking me ! " 
 
 Harley. — "It was the doll, then. Don't cry; I will get 
 you another." 
 
 Violante plucked her arm from him, and walked away 
 towards the Countess in speechless scorn. Harley's brow 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 189 
 
 contracted, in thouglit and in gloom. He stood still for a 
 moment or so, and then joined the ladies. 
 
 " I am trespassing sadlj on yonr morning ; but I wait for a 
 visitor whom I sent to before you were up. He is to be here 
 at twelT'8. With jour permission, I will dine with you to- 
 morroWj and you will invite him to meet me." 
 
 " Certainly. And who is your friend. I guess — the young 
 author f ' 
 
 "Leonard Fairfield," cried Violante, who had conquered, 
 or felt ashamed, of her short-lived anger. 
 
 "Fairfield!" repeated Lady Lansmere. "I thought, 
 Harley, you said the name was Oran." 
 
 *' He has assumed the latter name. He is the son of Mark 
 Faivfield, who married an Avenel. Did you recognise no 
 family likeness ? — none in those eyes — mother ? " said Harley, 
 .sii?-king his voice into a whisper. 
 
 '•'N'o," answered the Countess, falteringly. 
 
 Harley, observing that Yiolante was now speaking to 
 Helen about Leonard, and that neither was listening to him, 
 resumed in the same low tone, "And his mother — ISTora's 
 mster, — shrank from seeing me ! That is the reason why I 
 wished you not to call. She has not told the young man why 
 she shrank from seeing me ; nor have I explained it to him as 
 yet. Perhaps I never shall." 
 
 " Indeed, dearest Harley," said the Countess, with great 
 gentleness, " I wish you too much to forget the folly — well, I 
 will not say that word — the sorrows of your boyhood, not to 
 hope that you will rather strive against such painful 
 memories than renew them by unnecessary confidence to ap" 
 one ; least of all to the relation of — " 
 
 "Enough! — don't name her; the very name pains me 
 And as to confidence, there are but two persons in the world 
 to whom I ever bare the old wounds— ^yourself and Egertoa 
 Let this pass. Ha ! — a ring at the bell —that is lie 
 
 CHAPTER XI, 
 
 Leonard entered on the scene, and joined the party in the 
 ^rden. The Countess, perhaps to please her son, was more 
 than civil — she was markedly kind to him. She noticed him 
 more attentively than she had hitherto done j and, with all 
 
190 
 
 My j^OVEL] ofe^ 
 
 lier projadiees of birth, was struck to fiiid tlio son of Mark 
 Fairfield tlie carpenter so tlLorOtighlj tlio gentioman. Ho 
 miglit not liave the exact tone and phrase by "which Oon- 
 rention stereotypes those born and schooled in a certain 
 world ; but the aristocrats of I^atnre can dispense with such 
 trite minutiae. And Leonard had lived, of late at least, in 
 the best society that exists, for the polish of language and the 
 refinement of mannei*s, — the society in which the most 
 graceful ideas are clothed in the most graceful forms— the 
 society which really, though indirectly, gives the law to 
 courts — the society of the most classic authors, in the various 
 ages in which literature has flowered forth from civilizatioui 
 And if there was something in the exquisite sweetness of 
 Leonard's Voice, look, and manner, which the Countess 
 acknowledged to attain that perfection in high breeding, 
 which, under the name of " suavity," steals its way into the 
 heart, so her interest in him was aroused by a certain subdued 
 melancholy which is rarely without distinction, and never 
 without charm. He and Helen exchanged but feW words. 
 There was but one occasion in which they could have spoken 
 apart, and Helen herself contrived to eludo it. His face 
 brightened at Lady Lansmere's cordial invitation, and he 
 glanced at Helen as he accepted it 5 but her eye did not meet 
 his own. 
 
 " And now," said Harley, whistling to ISTero, whom his 
 ward was silently caressing, " I must take Leonard away. 
 Adieu ! all of you, till to-morroW at dinner. Miss Violante, 
 is the doll to have blue eyes or black ? " 
 
 Yiolante turned her own black eyes in mute appeal to Lady 
 Lansmere, and nestled to that lady's side as if in refuge from 
 nn worthy insult. 
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 " Let the carriage go to the Clarendon," said Harley to his 
 servant ; "I and Mr. Oran will walk to town. Leonard, I 
 think you would rejoice at an occasion to serve your old 
 friends. Dr. Riocabocca and his daughter ? " 
 • " Serve them ! O yes." And there instantly returned to 
 Leonard the recollection of Yiolante^s words when, on leaving 
 his quiet village, he had sighed to part from all those he 
 loved; and the little dark-e^ed girl had said, proudly, yet 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 191 
 
 consolingly^ " But to serye those yon lore ! " He turned to 
 L'Estrange, with beaming, inquisitive eyes. 
 
 " I said to our friend," resumed Harley, " that I would 
 vouch for your honour as my owii. I am about to prove my 
 words, and to confide the secrets which your penetration has 
 indeed divined our friend is not what he seems." Harley 
 then briefly related to Leonard the particulars of the exile's 
 history, the rank he had held in his native land, the mWHiet 
 in which, partly through the misrepresentations of a kinsman 
 he had trusted, partly through the influence of a wife he had 
 loved^ he had been drawn into schemes which he believed 
 bounded to the emancipation of Italy froin a foreign yoke by 
 the united exertions of her best and bravest sons. 
 
 "A noble ambition," interrupted Leonard, manfully. "And 
 pardon me, my lord, I should not have thought that you 
 would speak of it in a tone that implies blame." 
 
 " The ambition in itself was noble," answered Harley. 
 *'But the cause to which it was devoted became defiled in its 
 dark channel through Secret Societies. It is the misfortune 
 of all miscellaneous political combinations, that with the 
 purest motives of their more generous members are evef 
 mixed the most sordid interests, and the fiercest passions of 
 mean confederates. When those combinations act openly, 
 and in day- light, under the eye of Public Opinion, the healthier 
 elements usually prevail ; where they are shrouded in mystery 
 —where they are subjected to no censor in the discussion of 
 the impartial and dispassionate — where chiefs working m the 
 dark exact blind obedience, and every man who is at war 
 with law is at once admitted as a friend of freedom — the 
 history of the world tells us that patriotism mbh passes away. 
 Where all is in public, public virtue^ by the natural sympa- 
 thies of the common miM,- and by the wholesome control of 
 shamCj is likely to obtain ascendancy ; where all is in private, 
 an.d shame is but for him "Who refuses the abnegation of his 
 conscience, each man seeks the indulgence of his private vice. 
 And hence, in Secret Societies (from which may yet procei^d 
 gre^at danger to all Europe)^ we find but foul and hateful 
 Eleusinia, affording pretexts to the ambition of the great, to 
 the licence of the penniless, to the passions of the revengeful, 
 to the anarchy of the ignorant. In a word, the societies of 
 these Italian Carbonari did but engender schemes in which 
 the abler chiefs disguised new forms of despotism, and in 
 which the revolutionary many looked forward to the over- 
 throw of all the institutions that staiid befevveeti Law tind 
 
192 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 Chaos. iN'aturally, therefore" (added _ L'Estrange, drily), 
 " when their schemes were detected, and the conspiracy 
 foiled, it was for the silly, honest men entrapped into the 
 league to suffer — the leaders turned king's evidence, and the 
 common mercenaries became — banditti." Harley then pro- 
 ceeded to state that it wa,s just when the 50^-c7isa?^^Riccabocca 
 had discovered the true nature and ulterior views of the 
 conspirators he had joined, and actually withdrawn from 
 their councils, that he was denounced by the kinsman who 
 ]iad duped him into the enterprise, and who now profited by 
 his treason. Harley next spoke of the packet despatched by 
 Biccabocca's dying wife, as it was supposed, to Mrs. Bertram\ 
 and of the hopes he founded on the contents of that packet, it 
 discovered. He then referred to the design which had 
 brought Peschiera to England — a design which that personage 
 had avowed with such effrontery to his companions at Vienna, 
 that he had publicly laid wagers on his snccess. 
 
 " But these men can know nothino^ of Ens^land — of the 
 safety of English laws," said Leonard, naturally. "We take 
 it for granted that Riccabocca, if I am still so to call him, 
 refuses his consent to the marriage between his daughter and 
 his foe. Where, then, the danger ? This Count, even if 
 Violante wei^e not nnder your mother's roof, conld not get an 
 opportunity to see her. Ho could not attack the house 
 and carry her off like a feudal baron in the middle ages." 
 
 "All this is very true," answered Harley. "Yet I have 
 found through life that we cannot estimate danger by external 
 circumstances, but by the character of those from whom it is 
 threatened. This Connt is a man of singular audacity, of no 
 mean natural talents — talents practised in every art of dupli- 
 city and intrigue ; one of those men whose boast it is thai 
 they succeed in whatever they undertake ; and he is, here, 
 urged on the one hand by all that can whet the avarice, 
 and on the other, by all that can give invention to de- 
 spair. Therefore, though I cannot guess what plan he may 
 possibly adopt, I never doubt that some plan, formed with 
 cunning and pursued with daring, will be embraced the 
 moment he discovers Yiolante's retreat, unless, indeed, we 
 can forestall all peril by the restoration of her father, and the 
 detection of the fraud and falsehood to which Peschiera owe© 
 the fortune he appropriates. Thus, while we must prosecute 
 to the utmost our inquiries for the missing documents, so it 
 jhould be our care to possess ourselves, if possible, of such 
 knowledge of the Count's machinations as may enable us to 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 193 
 
 defeat them. Now, it was witH satisfaction that I learned in 
 Germany that Peschiera's sister was in London. I knew 
 enough both of his disposition and of the intimacy between 
 himself and this lady, to make me think it probable he will 
 seek to make her his instrument and accomplice, should he 
 require one. Peschiera (as you may suppose by his audacious 
 wager) is not one of those secret villains who would cut off 
 their right hand if it could betray the knowledge of what was 
 done by the left — rather one of those self-confident vaunting 
 knaves of high animal spirits, and conscience so obtuse that 
 it clouds their intellect — who must have some one to whom 
 they can boast of their a^bilities and confide their projects. 
 And Peschiera has done all he can to render this poor woman 
 so wholly dependent on him, as to be his slave and his tool. 
 But I have learned certain traits in her character that show 
 it to be impressionable to good, and with tendencies to honour. 
 Peschiera had taken advantage of the admiration she excifced, 
 some years ago, in a rich young Englishman, to entice this 
 admirer into gambling, and sought to make his sister both a 
 decoy and an instrument in his designs of plunder. She did 
 not encourage the addresses of our countryman, but she 
 warned him of the snare laid for him, and entreated him to 
 leave the place lest her brother should discover and punish 
 her honesty. The Englishman told me this himself. In fine, 
 my hope of detaching this lady from Peschiera's interests, 
 and inducing her to forewarn us of his purpose, consists but 
 in the innocent, and, I hope, laudable artifice, of redeeming 
 herself — of appealing to, and calling into disused exercise, the 
 better springs of her nature." 
 
 Leonard listened with admiration and some surprise to the 
 singularly subtle and sagacious insight into character which 
 Harley evinced in the brief clear strokes by which he had 
 thus depicted Peschiera and Beatrice, and was struck by the 
 boldness with which Harley rested a whole system of action 
 upon a few deductions drawn from his reasonings on human 
 motive and characteristic bias. Leonard had not expected to 
 find so much practical acuteness in a man who, however accom- 
 plished, usually seemed indifferent, dreamy, and abstracted 
 to the ordinary things of life. But Harley L'Estrange was one 
 of those whose powers lie dormant till circumstance supplies 
 to them all they need for activity — ^the stimulant of a motive. 
 
 Harley resumed — " After a conversation I had with the 
 lady last night, it occurred to me that in this part of our 
 dipiomacy you could render us essential service. Madauie di 
 VOL. IP e 
 
194. 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Negra— "SucTi is the sister's name — lias conceived an admira- 
 tion for your genius, and a strong desire to know you per- 
 sonally. I have promised to present you to her ; and I shfill 
 do so after a preliminary caution. The lady is very hand- 
 some, and very fascinating. It is possible that your heaft and 
 your senses may not be proof against her attractions.** 
 
 " O, do not fear that ! " exclaimed Leonard, with a tone of 
 conviction so earnest that Harley smiled. 
 
 Forewarned is not always forearmed against the might 
 of beauty, my dear Leonard ; so I cannot at once accept your 
 assurance. But listen to me ! Watch yourself narrowly, and 
 if you find that you are likely to be captivated, promise, on 
 your honour, to retreat at once from the field. I have no 
 right, for the sake of another, to expose you to danger ; and 
 Madame di Negra, whatever may be her good qualities, is the 
 last person I should wish to see you in love with." 
 
 " In love with her ! Impossible ! " 
 
 " Impossible is a strong word,'' returned Harley ; " still, I 
 own fairly (and this belief alone warrants me in trusting you 
 to her fascinations) that I do think, as far as one man can judge 
 of another, that she is not the woman to attract you ; and, if 
 filled by one pure and generous object in your intercourse 
 with her, you will see her with purged eyes. Still I claim 
 your promise as one of honour." 
 
 "I give it," said Leonard, positively. "But how can I 
 serve Biccabocca ? How aid in — " 
 
 Thus," interrupted Harley. — "The spell of your writings 
 is, that, unconsciously to ourselves, they make us better and 
 nobler. And your writings are but the impressions struck off 
 from your mind. Your conversation, when you are roused, 
 has the same effect. And as you grow more familiar with 
 i^Iadame di jN'egra, I wish you to speak of your boyhood, your 
 youth. Describe the exile as you have seen him^ — so touchiug 
 amidst his foibles, so grand amidst the petty privations of hisi 
 faJlfen fortunes, so benevolent while poring over his hateful 
 Machiavelli, so stingless in his wisdom of the sferpent, so 
 playfully astute in his innocence of the dove — I leave the 
 picture to your knowledge of humour and pathos. Describe 
 Yiolante brooding over her Italian Poets, and filled with 
 dreams of her fatherland ; describe her with all the flashes of 
 her princely nature, shining forth through humble circum- 
 stance and obscure position ; waken in your listener compas- 
 sion, respect, admiration for her kindred exiles ; — and I think 
 '^ur work is done. She will recognise evidently those whom 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 195 
 
 her brother seeks. She will question you closely where you 
 met with them — where they now are. Protect that Secret ; 
 say at once that it is not your own. Against your descriptions 
 and the feelings they excite, she will not be guarded as against 
 mine. And there are other reasons why your influence over this 
 woman of mixed nature may be more direct and effectual than 
 my own." 
 
 " Nay, I cannot conceive that." 
 
 "Believe it, without asking me to explain,'* answered 
 Harley. 
 
 For he did not judge it necessary to say to Leonard, " I am 
 high-born and wealthy — you a peasant's son, and living by 
 your exertions. This woman is ambitious and distressed. 
 She might have projects on me that would counteract mine 
 on her. You she would but listen to, and receive, through 
 the sentiments of good or of poetical that are in her — ^you sh^ 
 would have no interest to subjugate, no motive to ensnare." 
 
 "And now," said Harley, turning the subject, have 
 another object in view. This foolish sage friend of ours, in 
 his bewilderment and fears, has sought to save Violante from 
 one rogue by promising her hand to a man who^ Unless my 
 instincts deceive me, 1 susj^ect much disposed to be another. 
 Sacrifice such exuberance of life and spirit to that bloodless 
 heart, to that cold and earthward intellect ! By Heaven, it 
 shall not be 1 " 
 
 " But whom can the exile possibly have seen of birth and 
 fortunes to render him a fitting spouse for his daughter ? 
 Whom, my lord, except yourself ? " 
 
 " Me ! " exclaimed Harley, angrily, and changing colour. 
 I worthy of such a creature ? I — with my habits ! I — 
 silken egotist that I am ! And you, a poet, to form such an 
 estimate of one who might be the queen of a poet's dream ! " 
 
 "My lord, when we sate the other night round E»icca- 
 bocca's hearth — when I heard her speak, and observed you 
 listen, I said to myself, from such knowledge of human 
 nature as comes, we know not how, to us poets — I said, 
 * Harley L'Estrange has looked long and wistfully on the 
 heavens, and he now hears the murmur of the wings that can 
 waft him towards them.' And then I sighed, for I thought 
 how the world rules us all in spite of ourselves, and I said, 
 •What pity for both, that the exile's daughter is not the 
 worldly equal of the peer's son ! ' And yoii too sighed, as I 
 thus thought ; and I fancied that, while you listened to the 
 music the wing, you felt the iron of the chain* But the 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 MY NOVEL; OE, 
 
 cxile*s daughter is your equal in birth, and you are her equa; 
 in heart and in soul." 
 
 "My poor Leonard, you rave," answered Harley, calmly. 
 "And if Yiolante is not to be some young prince's bride, she 
 should be some young poet's." 
 
 " Poet's ! 0, no ! " said Leonard, vpith a gentle laugh. 
 " Poets need repose where they lore ! " 
 
 Harley was struck by the answer, and mused over it in 
 silence. "I comprehend," thought he; "it is a new light 
 that dawns on me. What is needed by the man whose whole 
 life is one strain after glory — whose soul sinks, in fatigue, to 
 the companionship of earth — is not the love of a nature like 
 his own. He is right— it is repose ! While I ! — ^it is true — ■ 
 boy that he is, his intuitions are wiser than all my experience ! 
 It is excitement — energy — elevation, that Love should bestow 
 on me. But I have chosen ; and, at least, with Helen, my 
 life will be calm, and my hearth sacred. Let the rest sleep in 
 the same grave as my youth." 
 
 " But," said Leonard, wishing kindly to arouse his noble 
 friend from a reverie which he felt was mournful, though he 
 did not divine its true cause — " but you have not yet told me 
 the name of the Signora's suitor. May I know ? " 
 
 " Probably one you never heard of. Randal Leslie — a 
 placeman. You refused a place ; — ^you were right." 
 
 Randal Leslie ? Heaven forbid ! " cried Leonard, reveal- 
 ing his surprise at the name. 
 
 " Amen ! But what do you know of him ? " 
 
 Leonard related the story of Burley's pamphlet. 
 
 Harley seemed delighted to hear his suspicions of Randal 
 confirmed. " The paltry pretender ! — and yet I fancied that 
 he might be formidable ! However, we must dismiss him for 
 the present ; — we are approaching Madame di ISTegra's house. 
 Prepare yourself, and remember your promise." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII, 
 
 Some days have passed by. Leonard and Beatrice di I^egra 
 have already made friends. Harley is satisfied with his 
 young friend's report. He himself has been actively occupied. 
 He has sought, but hitherto in vain, all trace of Mrs. Bertram; 
 he has put that investigation into the hands of his lawyer, and 
 
VAEIETIES XN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 197 
 
 fiis lawyer lias not been more fortunate tlian himself. More- 
 over, Harley has blazed forth again in the London world, and 
 promises again de faire fiireur ; but he has always found time 
 to spend some hours in the twenty-four at his father's house. 
 He has continued much the same tone with Yiolante, and she 
 begins to accustom herself to it, and reply saucily. His calm 
 courtship to Helen flows on in silence. Leonard, too, has 
 been a frequent guest at the Lansmeres : all welcome and 
 like him. there. Peschiera has not evinced any sign of the 
 deadly machinations ascribed to him. He goes less into 
 fche drawing-room world ; for in that world he meets Lord 
 L'Estrange; and brilliant and handsome though Peschiera 
 be, Lord L'Estrange, like E;ob Roy Macgregor, is "on his 
 native heath," and has the decided advantage over the 
 foreigner. Peschiera, however, shines in the clubs, and plays 
 high. Still scarcely an evening passes in which he and Baron 
 Levy do not meet. 
 
 Audley Egerton has been intensely occupied with affairs. 
 Only seen once by Harley. Harley then was about to deliver 
 himself of his sentiments respecting Randal Leslie, and to 
 communicate the story of Barley and the pamphlet. Egerton 
 stopped him short. 
 
 My dear Harley, don't try to set me against this young 
 man. I wish to hear nothing in his disfavour. In the first 
 place, it would not alter the line of conduct I mean to adopt 
 with regard to him. He is my wife's kinsman ; I charged 
 myself with his career, as a wish of hers, and therefore as a 
 duty to myself. In attaching him so young to my own fate, 
 I drew him necessarily away from the professions in which 
 his industry and talents (for he has both in no common 
 degree) would have secured his fortunes ; therefore, be he 
 bad, be he good, I shall try to provide for him as I best can ; 
 and, moreover, cold as I am to him, and worldly though 
 perhaps he be, I have somehow or other conceived an interest 
 in him — a liking to him. He has been under my roof, he is 
 dependent on me ; he has been docile and prudent, and I am 
 a lone childless man ; therefore, spare him, since in so doing 
 you spare me ; and ah, Harley, I have so many cares on mo 
 noiv, that — *' 
 
 " O, say no more, my dear, dear Audley," cried the 
 generous friend ; " how little people know you ! " 
 
 Audley's hand trembled. Certainly his nerves began to 
 show wear and tear. 
 
 Meanwhile, the object of this dialogue — the type of 
 
19S 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 perverted ijitellect~of mind without heart— of knowledge 
 wliich had no aim but power — ^was in a state of anxious 
 perturbed gloom. He did not know whether wholly to 
 believe Levy's assurance of his patron's ruin. He could not 
 believe it when he saw that great house in Grosvenor Square, 
 its hall crowded with lacqueys, its sideboard blazing with 
 plate ; when no dun was ever seen in the antechamber ; when 
 not a tradesman was ever known to call twice for a bill. Ho 
 hinted to Levy the doubts all these phenomena suggested to 
 him ; but the Baron only smiled ominously, and said,— 
 
 " True, the tradesmen are always paid ; but the Jioiv is the 
 question ! Randal, mon cher, you are too innocent. I have 
 but two pieces of advice to suggest, in the shape of two 
 proverbs — ' Wise rats run from a falling house,' and, ' Make 
 hay while the sun shines.' Apropos, Mr. Avenel likes you 
 greatly, and has been talking of the borough of Lansmere for 
 you. He has contrived to get together a great interest there. 
 Make much of him," 
 
 Randal had indeed been to Mrs. Avenel's soiree dansante, 
 and called twice and found her at home, and been ferj bland 
 and civil, and admired the children. She had two, a boy and 
 a girl, very like their father, with open faces as bold as brass. 
 And as all this had won Mrs. Avenel's good graces, so it had 
 propitiated her husband's. Avenel was shrewd enough to see 
 how clever Randal was. He called him " smart," and said 
 " he would have got on in America," which was the highest 
 praise Dick Avenel ever accorded to any man. But Dick 
 himself looked a little careworn ; and this was the first year 
 in which he had murmured at the bills of his wife's dress- 
 maker, and said with q,n oath, that there was such a thing as 
 going too much ahead." 
 
 Randal had visited Dr. Riccaboccaj and found Violante 
 flown. True to his promise to Harley, the Italian refused to 
 say where, and suggested, as was agreed, that for the present 
 it would be more prudent if Randal suspended his visits to 
 himself. Leslie, not liking this proposition, attempted to 
 make himself still necessary, by working on Riccabocca's 
 fears as to that espionage on his retreat, which had been 
 among the reasons that had hurried the sage into offering 
 Randal Yiolante's hand. But Riccabocca had already learned 
 that the fancied spy was but his neighbour Leonard ; and, 
 without so saying, he cleverly contrived to make the supposi- 
 tion of such espionage an additional reason for the cessatioTi 
 qt Leslie's visits. Randal then, iii his own artful, qiiiet^ 
 
VARIETIES IN El^GLISH LIFE. 
 
 199 
 
 roundabout way, had songlit to find out if any communication 
 had passed between L'Estrange and Riccabocca. Brooding 
 over Harley's words to bim, be suspected there had been such 
 communication, with his usual penetrating astuteness. Ricca- 
 bocca, here, was less on his guard, and rather parried the side- 
 long questions than denied their inferences. 
 
 Ilandal began already to surmise the truth. Where was it 
 likely Yiolante should go but to the Lansmeres ? This con- 
 firmed his idea of Harley's pretensions to her hand. With 
 such a rival what chance had he ? Randal never doubted for 
 a moment that the pupil of Machiavelli would " throw him 
 over," if such an alliance to his daughter really presented 
 itself. The schemer at once discarded from his projects all 
 further aim on Violante ; either she would be poor, and he 
 would not have her ; or she would be rich, and her father 
 would give her to another. As his heart had never been 
 touched by the fair Italian, so the moment her inheritance 
 became more doubtful, it gave him no pang to lose her ; but 
 he did feel very sore and resentful at the thought of being 
 supplanted by Lord L'Estrange, — ^the man who had insiilted 
 him. 
 
 JSTeither, as yet, had Ilandal made any way in his designs 
 on Frank. For several days Madame di ISTegra had not been 
 at home either to himself or young Hazeldean ; and Frank, 
 though very unhappy, was piqued and angry; and Randal 
 suspected, and suspected, and suspected, he knew not exactly 
 what, but that the devil was not so kind to him there as that 
 father of lies ought to have been to a son so dutiful. Yet, with 
 all these discouragements, there was in Randal Leslie so dogged 
 and determined a conviction of hi$ own success — -there was 
 so great a tenacity of purpose under obstacles, and so vigilant 
 an eye upon all chances that could be turned to his favour, 
 that he never once abandoned hope, nor did more than change 
 the details in his main schemes. Out of calculations appa- 
 rently the most far-fetched and improbable, he had con- 
 structed a patient policy, to which he obstinately clung. 
 How far his reasonings and patience served to his ends, 
 remains yet to be seen. But could our contempt for the 
 baseness of Randal himself be separated from the faculties 
 which he elaborately degraded to the service of that baseness, 
 one might allow that there was something one could scarcely 
 despise in this still seK-reliance, this inflexible resolve. Had 
 such qualities, aided as they were by abilities of no ordinary 
 acuteness, been applied to objects commonly honest, one would 
 
200 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OB, 
 
 Lave backed Randal Leslie against any fiffcy picked prize-men 
 from the colleges. But there are judges of weight and metal 
 who do that now, especially Baron Levy, who says to himself 
 as he eyes that pale face all intellect, and that spare form all 
 nerve, " This is a man who must make way in life ; he is worth 
 helping." 
 
 By the words "worth helping,'* Baron Levy meant " wortli 
 getting into my power, that he may help me.'* 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 But Parliament had met. Events that belong to history 
 had contributed yet more to weaken the administration. 
 Randal Leslie's interest became absorbed in politics ; for the 
 stake to him was his whole political career. Should Audley 
 lose office, and for good, Audley could aid him no more ; but 
 to abandon his patron, as Levy recommended, and pin him- 
 self, in the hope of a seat in Parliament, to a stranger — an 
 obscure stranger, like Dick Avenel — that was a policy not to 
 be adopted at a breath. Meanwhile, almost every night, when 
 the House met, that pale face and spare form, which Levy so 
 identified with shrewdness and energy, might be seen amongst 
 the benches appropriated to those more select strangers who 
 obtain the Speaker's order of admission. There, Randal heard 
 the great men of that day, and with the half- contemptuous 
 surprise at their fame, which is common enough amongst 
 clever, well-educated young men, who know not what it is to 
 speak in the House of Commons. He heard much slovenly 
 English, much trite reasoning, some eloquent thoughts, and 
 close argument, often delivered in a jerking tone of voice 
 (popularly called the Parliamentary tivang)y and often accom- 
 panied by gesticulations that would have shocked the manager 
 of a provincial theatre. He thought how much better than these 
 great dons (with but one or two exceptions) he himself could 
 speak — with what more refined logic — with what more polished 
 periods — how much more like Cicero and Burke ! Yery 
 probably he might have so spoken, and for that very reason 
 have made that deadest of all dead failures — a pretentious 
 imitation of Burke and Cicero. One thing, however, he was 
 obliged to own, viz., that in a popular representative assembly 
 it IB not precisely knowledge which is power, or if knowledge^ 
 
VARIETIES II:^ ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 201 
 
 it is but tlie knowledge of that particular assembly, and what 
 will best take witb it; — passion, invective, sarcasm, bold 
 declamation, sbrewd common sense, tbe readiness so rarely 
 found in a very profound mind—be owned that all tbese were 
 tbe qualities that told ; when a man who exhibited nothing 
 but " knowledge,** in the ordinary sense of the word, stood an 
 imminent chance of being coughed down. 
 
 There at his left — last but one in the row of the ministerial 
 chiefs — Handal watched Audley Egerton, his arms folded on 
 his breast, his hat drawn over his brows, his eyes fixed with 
 steady courage on whatever speaker in the Opposition held 
 possession of the floor. And twice Randal heard Egerton 
 speak, and marvelled much at the effect that minister pro- 
 duced. For of those qualities enumerated above, and which 
 E-andal had observed to be most sure of success, Audley Eger- 
 ton only exhibited to a marked degree — the common sense and 
 the readiness. And yet, though but little applauded by noisy 
 cheers, no speaker seemed more to satisfy friends, and com- 
 mand respect from foes. The true secret was this, which 
 Randal might well not divine, since that young person, despite 
 his ancient birth, his Eton rearing, and his refined air, was 
 not one of Nature's gentlemen; — the true secret was, that 
 Audley Egerfcon moved, looked, and spoke like a thorough 
 gentleman of England. A gentleman of more than average 
 talents and of long experience, speaking his sincere opinions 
 — not a rhetorician aiming at effect. Moreover, Egerton was 
 a consummate man of the world. He said, with nervous 
 simplicity, what his party desired to be said, and put what his 
 opponents felt to be the strong points of the case. Calm and 
 decorous, yet spirited and energetic, with little variety of 
 tone, and action subdued and rare, but yet signalised by 
 earnest vigour, Audley Egerton impressed the understanding 
 of the dullest, and pleased the taste of the most fastidious. 
 
 But once, when allusions were made to a certain popular 
 question, on which the premier had announced his resolution 
 to refuse all concession, and on the expediency of which it was 
 announced that the cabinet was nevertheless divided — and 
 when such allusions were coupled with direct appeals to Mr. 
 Egerton, as " the enlightened member of a great commercial 
 constituency,** and with a flattering doubt that " that Right 
 Honourable gentleman, member for that great city, identified 
 with the cause of the Burgher class, could be so far behind 
 the spirit of the age as his officiial chief,'* — Randal observed 
 that Egerton drew his hat still more closely over his brows, 
 
202 
 
 MY n-ovel; or, 
 
 and turned to whisper with one of his colleagues. He oo\iM 
 not be got ujp to speak. 
 
 That evening Randal walked home with Egerton, and inti- 
 mated his surprise that the minister had declined what seemed 
 to him a good occasion for one of those brief, weighty replies 
 hj which Audley was chiefly distinguished — an occasion to 
 which he had been loudly invited by the " hears " of the 
 House. 
 
 " Leslie,'* answered the statesman, briefly, " I owe all my 
 success in Parliament to this rule — T have never spoken 
 against my convictions. I intend to abide by it to the last.^^ 
 
 "But if the question at issue comes before the House, you 
 will vote against it ? " 
 
 " Certainly, I vote as a member of the cabinet. But since 
 I am not leader and mouthpiece of the parfcy, I retain as an 
 individual the privilege to speak or keep silence." 
 
 "Ah, my dear Mr. Egerton," exclaimed Randal, "forgive 
 me. But this question, right or wrong, has got such hold of 
 the public mind. So little, if conceded in time, would give 
 content ; and it is so clear (if I may judge by the talk I hear 
 everywhere I go) that by refusing all concessions, the Grovern- 
 ment must fall, that I wish — " 
 
 "So do I wish," interrupted Egerton, with a gloomy, 
 impatient sigh — " so do I wish ! But what avails it ? If my 
 advice had been taken but three weeks ago — now it is too 
 late — we could have doubled the rock ; we refused, we must 
 split upon it." 
 
 This speech was so unlike the discreet and reserved minister, 
 that Randal gathered courage to proceed with an idea that had 
 occurred to his own sagacity. And before I state it, I must 
 add that Egerton had of late shown much more personal 
 kindness to his protege ; whether his spirits were broken, or 
 that at last, close and compact as his nature of bronze was, 
 he felb the imperious want to groan aloud in some loving ear, 
 the stern Audley seemed tamed and softened. So Randal 
 went on. 
 
 " May I say what I have heard expressed with regard to you 
 and your position — in the streets — in the clubs ? " 
 
 "Yes, it is in the streets and the clubs that statesmen 
 should go to school. Say on." 
 
 " Well, then, I have heard it made a matter of wonder why 
 you, and one or two others I will not name, do not at ones 
 retire from the ministry, and on the avowed ground that yon 
 8ide with the public feeling on this irresistible question." 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 *• It is clear thai} in so doing you would become tlie most 
 popular man in the country — clear that you would be sum- 
 moned back to power on the shoulders of the people. No new 
 cabinet could be formed without you, and your station in it 
 would perhaps be higher, for life, than that which you may 
 now retain but for a few weeks longer. Has not this ever 
 occurred to you ? " 
 
 N"ever," said Audley, with dry composure. 
 
 Amazed at such obtuseness, Randal exclaimed, " Is it pos- 
 sible ! AncL, yet, forgive me if I say I think you are am- 
 bitious, and love power." 
 
 " E'o man more ambitious ; and if by power you mean office, 
 it has grown the habit of my life, and I shall iiot know what 
 to do without it." 
 
 " And how, then, has what seems to me so obvious never 
 occurred to you ? 
 
 " Because you are young, and therefore I forgive you ; but 
 not the gossips who could wonder why Audley Egerton re- 
 fused to betray the fi-iends of his whole career, and to profit 
 by the treason." 
 
 " But one should love one's country before a party," 
 
 "JSTo doubt of that ; and the first interest of a country is the 
 honour of its public men." 
 
 " But men may leave their party without dishonour ! " 
 
 " Who doubts that ? Do you suppose that if I were an 
 ordinary independent member of Parliament, loaded with no 
 obligations, charged with no trust, I could hesitate for a 
 moment what course to pursue ? Oh, that I were but the 
 member for * * * I Oh, that I had the full right to be a 
 free agent ! But if a member of a cabinet, a chief in whom 
 thousands confide, because he is outvoted in a council of his 
 colleagues, suddenly retires, and by so doing breaks up the 
 whole party whose confidence he has enjoyed, whose rewards 
 he has reaped, to whom he owes the very position which he 
 employs to their ruin — own that though his choice may be 
 honest, it is one which requires all the consolations of con- 
 science." 
 
 But you will have those consolations. And," added 
 Randal, energetically, "the gain to your career will be so 
 immense ! " 
 
 That is precisely what it cannot be," answered Egerton, 
 gloomily. " I grant that I may, if I choose, resign office with 
 the present Government, and so at once destroy that Govern- 
 
204 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 ment ; for my resignation on such ground would suiS.ce to do 
 ifc. I grant this ; bat for that very reason I could not thb 
 next day take office with another administration. I could not 
 accept wages for desertion. ITo gentleman could ! and there- 
 fore — " Audley stopped short, and buttoned his coat over 
 his broad breast. The action was significant ; it said that the 
 man's mind was made up. 
 
 In fact, whether Audley Egerton was right or wrong in his 
 theory depends upon much subtler, and perhaps loftier views 
 in the casuistry of political duties, than it was in his character 
 to take. And I guard myself from saying anything in praise 
 or disfavour of his notions, or implying that he is a fit or 
 unfit example in a parallel case. I am but describing the 
 man as he was, and as a man like him would inevitably be, 
 under the influences in which he lived, and in that peculiar 
 world of which he was so emphatically a member. " Ge n*est 
 pas moi quiparle, c^est Marc Aurele,^* 
 
 He speaks, not I. 
 
 E-andal had no time for further discussion. They now 
 reached Egerton's house, and the minister, taking the chamber 
 candlestick from his servant's hand, nodded a silent good-night 
 to Leslie, and with a jaded look retired to his room. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 But not on the threatened question was that eventful cam- 
 paign of Party decided. The Grovernment fell less in battle 
 than skirmish. It was one fatal Monday — a dull question of 
 finance and figures. Prosy and few were the speakers. All 
 the Government silent, save the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
 and another business-like personage connected with the Board 
 of Trade, whom the House would hardly condescend to hear. 
 The House was in no mood to think of facts and figures. 
 Early in the evening, between nine and ten, the Speaker's 
 sonorous voice sounded, " Strangers must withdraw 1 " And 
 Randal, anxious and foreboding, descended from his seat and 
 went out of the fatal doors. He turned to take a last glance 
 at Audley Egerton. The whipper-in was whispering to 
 Audley ; and the minister pushed l3ack his hat from his brows, 
 and glanced round the House, and up into the galleries, as if 
 iJD calculate rapidly the relative numbers of the two armies ia 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 205 
 
 the field ; then he smiled bitterly, and threw himself back into 
 his seat. That smile long haunted Leslie. 
 
 Amongst the strangers thus banished with Randal, while 
 the division was being taken, were many young men, like 
 himself, connected with the administration — some by blood, 
 some by place. Hearts beat loud in the swarming lobbies. 
 Ominous mournful whispers were exchanged. " They say the 
 Government will have a majority of ten." " JSTo ; I hear they 
 
 will certainly be beaten.'* " H says by fifty." " I don't 
 
 believe it," said a Lord of the Bedchamber ; " it is impossible. 
 I left five Government members dining at the ' Travellers.' " 
 " ■N'o one thought the division would be so early." " A trick of 
 the Whigs — shameful." " Wonder some one was not set up 
 
 to talk for time ; very odd P did not speak ; however, he 
 
 is so cursedly rich, he does not care whether he is out or in." 
 " Y^js ; and Audley Egerton too, just such another : glad, no 
 doubt, to be set free to look after his property ; very different 
 tactics if we had men to whom office was as necessary as it is — 
 to me ! " said a candid young placeman. Suddenly the silent 
 Leslie felt a friendly grasp on his arm. He turned and saw 
 Levy. 
 
 " Did I not tell you ? " said the Baron, with an exulting 
 smile. 
 
 "You are sure, then, that the Government will be out- 
 voted ? " 
 
 " I spent the morning in going over the list of members 
 with a parliamentary client of mine, who knows them all as a 
 shepherd does his sheep. Majority for the Opposition at least 
 twenty- five." 
 
 " And in that case must the Government resign, sir ? " 
 asked the candid young placeman, who had been listening to 
 the smart well-dressed Baron, " his soul planted in his ears." 
 
 " Of course, sir," replied the Baron, blandly, and offering 
 his snuff-box, (true Louis Quinze, with a miniature of Madame 
 de Pompadour, set in pearls.) " You are a friend to the 
 present ministers ? You could not wish them to be mean 
 enough to stay in ? " Randal drew aside the Baron. 
 
 " If Audley 's affairs are as you state, what can he do ? " 
 
 " I shall ask him that question to-morrow," answered the 
 Baron, with a look of visible hate. " And I have come here 
 just to see how he bears the prospect before him." 
 
 " You will not discover that in his face. And those absurd 
 scruples of his ! If he had but gone out in time — to come in 
 again with the New Men ! " 
 
106 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 "Oh, of course, our Riglit Honourable is too punGtilioaa 
 for that ! " answered tlie Baron, sneering. 
 
 Suddenly the doors opened— in rushed the breathless ex- 
 pectants. "What are the numbers? What is the divi- 
 sion ? 
 
 "Majority against ministers," said a member of Opposition, 
 peeling an orange, "twenty-nine.'* 
 
 " The Baron, too, had a Speaker's order ; and he came into 
 the House with B;andal, and sate by his side. But, to their 
 disgust, some member was talking about the other motions 
 before the House. 
 
 "What! has nothing been said as to the division? " asked 
 the Baron of a young county member, who was talking to 
 some non-parliamentary friend in the bench before Levy. 
 Thfei county member was one of the Baron's pet eldest sons 
 —had dined often with Levy— was under " obligations " to 
 him. The young legislator looked very much ashamed of 
 Levy's friendly pat on his shoulder, and answered, hurriedly^ 
 " 0 yes ; H — — asked, * if, aftei* such, an expression of the 
 House, it was the intention of ministers to retain their places, 
 and carry on the business of the Grovernment ? ' " 
 
 " Just like H — • — ! Yery inquisitive mind ! And what 
 was the answer he got ? " 
 
 "None," said the county member ; and returned in haste 
 to his proper seat in the body of the House. 
 
 " There comes Egerton," said the Baron. And, indeed, as 
 most of the members were now leaving the House, to talk 
 over affairs at clubs or in saloons, and spread through town 
 the great tidings, Audley Egerton's tall head was seen tower- 
 ing above the rest. And Levy turned away disappointed. 
 Eor not only was the minister's handsome face, though pale, 
 serene and cheerful, but there was an obvious courtesy, a 
 marked respect, in the mode in which that assembly — heated 
 though it was — made way for the fallen minister as he passed 
 through the jostling crowd. And the frank urbane nobleman, 
 who afterwards, fi'om the force, not of talent but of cha- 
 racter, became the leader in that House, pressed the hand 
 of his old opponent, as they met in the throng near the doors, 
 and said aloud, " I shall not be a proud man if ever I live to 
 have office ; but I shall be proud if ever I leave it with as 
 little to be said against me as your bitterest opponents can 
 jsay against you, Egerton." 
 
 " I wonder," exclaimed the Baron aloud, and leaning over 
 the partition that divided him from the throng below, so tha* 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 207 
 
 his voice reached Egerion — and there was a cry from formal, 
 indignant members, " Order in the strangers' gallery ! " "I 
 wonder what Lord L'Estrange will say ! " 
 
 Andley lifted his dark brows, snrveyed the Baron for an 
 instant with flashing eyes, then walked down the narrow 
 defile between the last benches, and vanished from the scene 
 in which, alas ! so few of the most admired performers leave 
 more than an actor's short-lived name ! 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Baron Levy did not execute his threat of calling on 
 Egerton the next morning. Perhaps he shrank from again 
 meeting the flash of those indignant eyes. And indeed 
 Egerton was too bnsied all the forenoon to see any one not 
 upon public a&irs, except Harley, who hastened to console or 
 cheer him. When the House met, it was announced that 
 fche ministers had resigned, only holding their offices till their 
 successors were appointed. But already there was some 
 reaction in their favour ; and when it became generally known 
 that the new administration was to be formed of men, few 
 indeed of whom had ever before held oSice, the common 
 superstition in the public mind that government is like a 
 trade, in which a regular apprenticeship must be served, began 
 to prevail ; and the talk at the clubs was, that the new men 
 could not stand ; that the former ministry, with some modifi- 
 cation, would be back in a month. Perhaps that too might 
 be a reason why Baron Levy thought it prudent not prema- 
 turely to offer vindictive condolences to Mr. Egerton. Bandal 
 spent part of his morning in inquiries, as to what gentlemen 
 in his situation meant to do with regard to their places; 
 he heard with great satisfaction that very few intended to 
 volunteer retirement from their desks. As Bandal himself 
 had observed to Egerton, " their country before theii 
 party ! " 
 
 B^andal's place was of great moment to him ; its duties 
 were easy, its salary amply sufficient for his wants, and 
 defrayed such expenses as were bestowed on the education of 
 Oliver and his sister. Eor I am bound to do justice to this 
 young man— indifferent as he was towards his species in 
 
208 
 
 MY novel; ok, 
 
 general, the ties of family were strong with, him; and ho 
 stinted himself in many temptations most allaring to his age, 
 in the endeavonr to raise the dull honest Oliver and the 
 loose-haired pretfcy Juliet somewhat more to his own level of 
 culture and refinement. Men essentially griping and unscru- 
 pulous, often do make the care for their family an apology for 
 their sins against the world. Even Richard III., if the 
 chroniclers are to be trusted, excused the murder of his 
 nephews by his passionate affection for his son. With the 
 loss of that place, Randal lost all means of support, save 
 what Audley could give him ; and if Audley were in tratli 
 ruined? Moreover, Randal had already established at the 
 office a reputation for ability and industry. It was a career 
 in which, if he abstained from party politics, he might rise to 
 a fair station and to a considerable income. Therefore, much 
 contented with what he learned as to the general determina- 
 tion of his fellow officials, a determination warranted by 
 ordinary precedent in such cases, Randal dined at a club with 
 good relish, and much Christian resignation for the reverse 
 of his patron, and then walked to Grosvenor Square, on the 
 chance of finding Audley within. Learning that he was so, 
 from the porter who opened the door, Randal entered the 
 library. Three gentlemen were seated there with Egerton : 
 one of the three was Lord L'Estrange; the other two were 
 members of the really defunct, though nominally still existing, 
 Government. He was about to withdraw from intruding on 
 this conclave, when Egerton said to him gently, " Come in, 
 Leslie ; I was just speaking about yourself." 
 About me, sir ? " 
 
 "Yes; about you and the place you hold. I had asked 
 
 Sir (pointing to a fellow minister) whether I might not, 
 
 with propriety, request your chief to leave some note of his 
 opinion of your talents, which I know is high, and which 
 might serve you with his successor.'* 
 
 " Oh, sir, at such a time to think of me ! " exclaimed 
 Randal, and he was genuinely touched. 
 
 " But," resumed Audley, with his usual dryness, " Sir , 
 
 to my surprise, thinks that it would better become yon that 
 you should resign. Unless his reasons, which he has not yet 
 stated, are very strong, such would not be my advice." 
 
 "My reasons," said Sir , with official formality, "are 
 
 simply these : I have a nephew in a similar situation ; he wilt 
 resign, as a matter of course. E7cry one in the public offices 
 whose relations and near connections hold high appointments 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 209 
 
 UL the Government, will do so. I do not think Mr. Leslie will 
 like to feel himself a solitary exception.'* 
 
 " Mr. Leslie is no relation of mine — ^not even a near con- 
 nection," answered Egerton. 
 
 " But his name is so associated with yonr own — ^he has 
 resided so long in yonr house — ^is so well known in society, 
 (and don't think I compliment when I add, that we hope so 
 well of him,) that I can't think it worth his while to keep 
 this paltry place, which incapacitates him too from a seat in 
 Parliament." 
 
 Sir — — was one of those terribly rich men, to whom all 
 considerations of mere bread and cheese are paltry. But I 
 must add that he supposed Egerton to be still wealthier than 
 himself, and sure to provide handsomely for Bandal, whom 
 
 Sir rather liked than not ; and for Bandal's own sake, 
 
 Sir thought it would lower him in the estimation of 
 
 Egerton himself, despite that gentleman's advocacy, if he did 
 not follow the example of his avowed and notorious patron. 
 
 " You see, Leslie," said Egerton, checking Randal's medi- 
 tated reply, " that nothing can be said against your honour if 
 you stay where you are ; it is a mere question of expediency ; 
 I will judge that for you ; keep your place." 
 
 Unhappily the other member of the Government, who had 
 hitherto been silent, was a literary man. Unhappily, whili' 
 this talk had proceeded, he had placed his hand upon Handal 
 Leslie's celebrated pamphlet, which lay on the library table ; 
 and, turning over the leaves, the whole spirit and matter of 
 that masterly composition in defence of the administration 
 (a composition steeped in all the essence of party) recurred 
 to his too faithful recollection. He, too, liked Bandal ; ho 
 did more — ^he admired the author of that striking and effective 
 pamphlet. And therefore, rousing himself from the sublime 
 mdifterence he had before felt for the fate of a subaltern, he 
 said, with a bland and complimentary smile, No ; the writer 
 of this most able publication is no ordinary placeman. His 
 opinions here are too vigorously stated ; this fine irony on the 
 very person who in all probability will be the chief in his 
 office, has excited too lively an attention, to allow him the 
 sedet eternmnque sedebit on an official stool. Ha, ha ! this is 
 so good ! Read it, L'Estrange. What say you ? " 
 
 Harley glanced over the page pointed out to him. The 
 original was in one of Burley's broad, coarse, but telling 
 burlesques, strained fine through Randal's more polished 
 fiatire. It was capital. Harley smiled, and lifted his eyes to 
 
 TOL. JI, F 
 
^10 
 
 M¥ novel; or, 
 
 BandaL The tiiilacky plagiarist's face was flushed— -the 
 beads stood on his brow. Harlej was a good hater ; he loved 
 too warmly not to err on the opposite side ; bnt he was one 
 of those men who forget hate when its object is distressed 
 and humbled. He put down the pamphlet and said, " I am 
 no politician ; but Egerton is so well known to be fastidious 
 and over- scrupulous in all points of official etiquette, that Mr. 
 Leslie cannot follow a safer counsellor." 
 
 "Read that yourself, Egerton," said Sir — — ; and he 
 pushed the pamphlet to Audley. 
 
 Now Egerton had a dim recollection that that pamphlet 
 was unlucky ; but he had skimmed over its contents hastily, 
 and at that moment had forgotten all about it. He took up 
 the too famous work with a reluctant hand, but he read 
 attentively the passages pointed out to him, and then said 
 gravely and sadly— 
 
 '*Mr. Leslie, I retract my advice. I believe Sir - — ■— is 
 right ; that the nobleman here so keenly satirised will be the 
 chief in your office. I doubt whether he will not compel your 
 dismissal ; at all events, he could scarcely be expected to 
 promote your advancement. Under the circumstances, I fear 
 you have no option as a — — " Egerton paused a moment, 
 and, with a sigh that seemed to settle the question, concluded 
 with— "as a gentleman." 
 
 Never did Jack Oade, never did Wat Tyler, feel a more 
 deadly hate to that word " gentleman," than the well-born 
 Leslie felt then ; but he bowed his head, and answered with 
 his usual presence of mind— _ 
 
 " You utter my own sentiment." 
 
 " You think we are right, Harley ? " asked Egerton, with 
 an irresolution that surprised all present. 
 
 " I think," answered Harley, with a compassion for Handal 
 that was almost over generous, and yet with an equivoque Oii 
 the words, despite the compassion--—" I think whoever has 
 served Audley Egerton, never yet has been a loser by it ; and 
 if Mr. Leslie wrote this pamphlet, h^ must have well served. 
 Audley Egerton. If he undergoes the penalty, we may safely 
 trust to Egerton for the compensation." 
 
 " My compensation has long since been made," answered - 
 Randal, with grace; " and that Mr. Egerton could thus have 
 cared for my fortunes, at an hour so occupied, is a thought of 
 pride which — ^ 
 
 " Enough Leslie ! enough ! " interrupted Egerton, risings 
 and pressing his protege's hand, See m6 before you go to 
 bpd." 
 
varietie;^. in English life. 
 
 211 
 
 i Then tlie two otber ministers rose also and shook hands 
 with Leslie, and told him he had done the right thing, said 
 that they hoped soon to see him in Parliament ; and hinted, 
 smilingly, that the next administration did not promise to be 
 very long-liyed ; and one asked him to dinner, and the other 
 to spend a week at his country seat. And amidst these con- 
 gratulations at the stroke that left him penniless, the distin- 
 guished pamphleteer left the room. How he cursed big John 
 Burley I 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 It was past midnight when Audley Egerton summoned 
 Handal. The statesman was then alone, seated before his 
 great desk, with its manifold compartments, and engaged on 
 the task of transferring various papers and letters, some to 
 the waste-basket, some to the flames, some to two great iron 
 chests with patent locks, that stood, open-mouthed, at his 
 feet. Strong, stern, and grim, looked those iron chests, 
 silently receiving the relics of power departed ; strong, stern, 
 and grim as the grave. Audley lifted his eyes at Randal's 
 entrance, signed to him to take a chair, continued his task for 
 a few moments, and then turning round, as if by an effort, he 
 plucked himself from his master-passion— Public Life, — he 
 said, with deliberate tones — 
 
 " I know not, Randal Leslie, whether yon thought me 
 needlessly cautious, or wantonly unkind, when I told you 
 never to expect from me more than such advance to your 
 career as my then position could effect — never to expect from 
 my liberality in life, nor from my testament in death — an 
 addition to your private fortunes. I see by your gestuvo 
 what would be your reply, and I thank you for it. I now 
 tell you, as yet in confidence, though before long it can be 
 no secret to the world, that my pecuniary affairs have been 
 so neglected by me in my devotion to those of the state, that 
 I am somewhat like the man who portioned out his capital 
 at so much a day, calculating to live just long enough to make 
 it last. Unfortunately he lived too long." Audley smiled — • 
 but the smile was cold as a sunbeam upon ice — and went on 
 ^ith the Slime firm, unfaltering accents ! "The prospects 
 that face me I am prepared for ; they do not take me by sur- 
 prise. I knew long since how this would end, if I survived 
 
MY novel; or, 
 
 tlie loss of office. I knew it before you came to me, and 
 therefore I spoke to yon as I did, judging it manful and right 
 to guard you against hopes which you might otherwise have 
 naturally entertained. On this head, I need say no more. It 
 may excite your surprise, possibly your blame, that I, esteemed 
 methodical and practical enough in the a:ffairs of the state, 
 should be so imprudent as to my own." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! you owe no account to me." 
 
 " To you, at least, as much as to any one. I am a solitary 
 man ; my few relations need nothing from me. I had a right 
 to spend what I possessed as I pleased ; and if I have spent 
 it recklessly as regards myself, I have not spent it ill in its 
 effect on others. It has been my object for many years to 
 have no Private Life — to dispense with its sorrows, joys, 
 affections ; and as to its duties, they did not exist for me. — 
 I have said." Mechanically, as he ended, the minister's hand 
 closed the lid of one of the iron boxes, and on the closed lid 
 he rested his firm foot. " But now," he resumed, " I have 
 failed to advance your career. True, I warned you that you 
 drew into a lottery ; but you had more chance of a prize fchan 
 a blank. A blank, however, it has turned out, and the ques- 
 tion becomes grave — What are you to do ? " 
 
 Here, seeing that Egerton came to a full pause, Handal 
 answered readily — 
 
 " Still, sir, to go by your advice." 
 
 " My advice," said Audley, with a softened look, would 
 perhaps be rude and unpalatable. I would rather place before 
 you an option. On the one hand, recommence life again. I 
 told you that I would keep your name on your college books. 
 You can return — you can take your degree — after that, you 
 c&.n go to the bar — you have just the talents calculated to 
 succeed in- that profession. Success will be slow, it is true ; 
 but, with perseverance it will be sure. And, iDelieve me 
 Leslie, Ambition is only sweet while it is but the loftier name 
 for Hope. Who would care for a fox's brush if it had not 
 been rendered a prize by the excitement of the chase ? " 
 
 " Oxford — again ! It is a long step back in life," said 
 Kandal, drearily, and little heeding Egerton's unusual indul- 
 gence of illustration. " A long step back — and to what ? To 
 a profession in which one never begins to rise till one's hair \h 
 grey ? Besides, how live iu the meanwhile ? " 
 
 Do not let that thought disturb you. The modest income 
 that suffices for a student at the bar, I trust, at least to insure 
 you from the wrecks of my fortune." 
 
VAKlETlES m ENGLtSH LIFE. 
 
 213 
 
 ** All, sir, I would not burtlien you farther. What right 
 have I to such kindness, save mj name of Leslie ? And iu 
 spite of himself, as Randal concluded, a tone of bitterness, 
 that betrayed reproach, broke forth. Egerton was too much 
 the man of the world not to comprehend the reproach, and 
 not to pardon it. 
 
 " Certainlv." he answered, calmly, *' as a Leslie you are 
 entitled to my consideration, and would have been entitled 
 perhaps to more, had I not so explicitly warned you to the 
 contrary. But the bar does not seem to please you ? " 
 
 " What is the alternative, sir ? Let me decide when I hear 
 it," answered Randal, sullenly. He began to lose respect for 
 the man who owned he could do so little for him, and who 
 evidently recommended him to shift for himself. 
 
 If one could have pierced into Egerton's gloomy heart as 
 he noted the young man's change of tone, it may be a doubt 
 whether one would have seen there, pain or pleasure — pain, 
 for merely from the force of habit he had begun to like 
 Randal — or pleasure, at the thought that he might have 
 reason to withdraw that liking. So lone and stoical had 
 grown the man, who had made it his object to have no private 
 life ! Revealing, however, neither pleasure nor pain, but with 
 the composed calmness of a judge upon the bench, JEgerton 
 replied — 
 
 The alternative is, to continue in the course you have 
 begun, and still to rely on me.*' 
 
 " Sir, my dear Mr. Egerton,'* exclaimed Randal, regaining 
 all his usual tenderness of look and voice, " rely on you ! But 
 that is all I ask ! Only—" 
 
 " Only, you would say, I am going out of power, and you 
 don't see the chance of my return ? " 
 
 " I did not mean that.'* 
 
 " Permit me to suppose that you did ; very true ; but the 
 party I belong to is as sure of return as the pendulum of 
 that clock is sure to obey the mechanism that moves it from 
 left to right. Our successors profess to come in upon a 
 popular question. All administrations who do that are neces- 
 sarily short-lived. Either they do not go far enough to please 
 present supporters, or they go so far as to arm new enemies 
 in the rivals who outbid them with the people. 'Tis the 
 history of all revolutions, and of all reforms. Our own 
 administration in reality is destroyed for having passed what 
 was called a popular measure a year ago, which lost us half 
 our friends, and refusing to propose another popular measure 
 
214 
 
 MY novel; oil, 
 
 this year, in the which We are outstripped by the men who 
 halloo 'd ns on to the last. Therefore, whateyer our successors 
 do, we shall, by the law of reaction, have another experiment 
 of power afforded to ourselves. It is but a question of time ; 
 you can wait for it ; whether I can is uncertaiD. But if I die 
 before that day arrives, I have influence enough still left with 
 those who will come in, to obtain a promise of a better pro- 
 Vision for you than that which you have lost. The promises 
 of public men are proverbially uncertain. But I shall entrust 
 your cause to a man who never failed a friend, and whose 
 rank will enable him to see that justice is done to you — I 
 speak of Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 " Oh, not him ; he is unjust to me ; he dislikes me ; 
 he— ^' 
 
 " May dislike you (he has his whims), but he loves me ; 
 ^nd though for no other human being but you would I ask 
 Harley L'Estrange a favour, yet for you I will," said Egerton, 
 betraying, for the first time in that dialogue, a visible emotion 
 —"for you, a Leslie, a kinsman, however remote, to the 
 wife from whom I received my fortune ! And despite all 
 my cautions?, it is possible that in wasting that fortune I 
 may have wronged you. Enough : You have now before you 
 the two options, much as you had at first ; but you have at 
 present more experience, to aid you in your choice. You are 
 man, and with more brains than most men ; think over it 
 well, and decide for yourself. N'ow to bed, and postpone 
 thought till the morrow. Poor E<andal, you look pale ! 
 ' Audley, as he said the last words, put his hand on RandaFs 
 shoulder, almost with a father's gentleness ; and then suddenly 
 drawing himself up, as the hard inflexible expression, stamped 
 on that face by years, returned, he moved away and resettled 
 to Public Life and the iron box. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Early the next day Randal Leslie was in the luxurious 
 business-room of Baron Levy. How unlike the cold Doric 
 simplicity of the statesman's library ! Axminster carpets, three 
 inches thick, portieres d la Fran^aise before the doors ; Parisian 
 bronzes on the chimney-piece ; and all the receptacles that 
 lined the room, aiid contained title-deeds, and post-obits, an^ 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 £15 
 
 IbillSj and promises to paj, and lawyer-like japan boxes, witli 
 many a noble name written tbereon in large wliite capitals — ^ 
 making ruin pompons "-—all these sepnlchres of departed 
 patrinionies veneered in rosewood that gleamed with French 
 polish, and blazed with ormolu. There was a coquetry, an 
 air oi petit maUre, so diffused over the whole room, that you 
 could not for the life of you, recollect you were with an 
 usurer ! Plutus wore the aspect of his enemy Cupid ; and 
 how realise your idea of Harpagon in that Baron, with his easy 
 French Mon c/^er," and his white, warm hands that pressed 
 yours so genially, and his dress so exquisite, even at the 
 earliest morn? Ko man ever yet saw that Baron in a dressing- 
 gown and slippers ! As one fancies some feudal baron of old 
 (not half so terrible) everlastingly clad in mail, so all one's 
 notions of this grand marauder of civilisation were inseparably 
 associated with varnished boots and a camelia in the button- 
 hole. 
 
 "And this is all that he does for you!" cried the Baron, 
 pressing together the points of his ten taper fingers. Had he 
 but let you conclude your career at Oxford, I have heard 
 enough of your scholarship to know that you would have 
 taken high honours— been secure of a fellowshijD — have 
 betaken yourself with content to a slow and laborious pro- 
 fession, and prepared yourself to die on the woolsack.'* 
 
 ^'He proposes to me now to return to Oxford," said RandaL 
 " It is not too late ! " 
 
 "Yes it is," said the Baron. "Neither individuals nor 
 nations ever go back of their own accord. There must be an 
 earthquake before a river recedes to its source." 
 
 " You speak well," answered Randal, " and I cannot gain- 
 lay you. But now ! " 
 
 " Ah, the noio is the grand question in life — the then is 
 obsolete, gone by— out of fashion ; and novj^ mon cher^ you 
 come to ask my advice ? " 
 
 " ISTo, Baron, I come to ask your explanation." 
 
 " Of what ? " 
 
 " I want to know why you spoke to me of Mr. Egerton''s 
 ruin ; why yoii spoke to me of the lands to be sold by Mr. 
 Thornhill ; and w^hy you spoke to me of Count Peschiera* 
 You touched on each of those points within ten minutes — ^yoil 
 omitted to indicate what link can connect them ? " 
 
 " By Jove," said the Baron, rising, and wdth more admira* 
 tion in his face than you could have conceived that face, so 
 smiling and so cynieal, could exhibit — -"by Jove, Randal 
 
216 
 
 MY :novel; ok, 
 
 Leslie, but jour slirewdness is wonderful. You reallj are the 
 first young man of your day ; and I will * lielp you/ as 1 
 helped Audley Egerton. Perliaps you will be more grateful." 
 
 Randal thought of Egerton's ruin. The parallel implied by 
 the Baron did not suggest to him the rare enthusiasm of 
 gratitude. Hovveyer, he merely said, " Pray, proceed — I 
 listen to you with, interest." 
 
 " As for politics, then," said the Baron, " we will discuss 
 that topic later. I am waiting myself to see how these new 
 men get on. The first consideration is for your private 
 fortunes. You should buy this ancient Leslie property — 
 Rood and Dulmansberry — only £20,000 down ; the rest may 
 remain on mortgage for ever — or at least till I find you a 
 rich, wife — as in fact I did for Egerton. Thornhill wants the 
 £20,000 now — wants them very much." 
 
 " And where," said Randal, with an iron smile, " are the 
 £20,000 you ascribe to me to come from ? " 
 
 " Ten thousand shall come to you the day Count Peschiera 
 marries the daughter of his kinsman with your help and aid 
 — the remaining ten thousand I will lend you. ]N"o scruple — 
 I shall hazard nothing — the estates will bear tliat additional 
 burden. What say you — shall it be so ? " 
 
 "Ten thousand pounds from Conwt Peschiera! " said 
 Randal, breathing hard. " You cannot be serious ? Such a 
 sum — for what? — for a mere piece of information? How 
 otherwise can I aid him ? There must be trick and deception 
 intended here." 
 
 *'My dear fellow," answered Levy, " I will give you a hint. 
 There is such a thing in life as being over-suspicious. If you 
 have a fault, it is that. The information you allude to is, of 
 course, tlie first assistance you are to give. Perhaps more 
 may be needed — perhaps not. Of that you will judge your- 
 self, since the £10,000 are contingent on the marriage afore- 
 said." 
 
 " Over-suspicious or not," answered Randal, " the amount 
 of the sum is too improbable, and the security too bad, for me 
 to listen to this proposition, even if I could descend to — " 
 
 " Stop, mon cher. Business first, scruples afterwards. The 
 security too bad — ^what security ? " 
 
 " The word of Count di Peschiera." 
 
 "He has nothing to do with it — ^he need know nothing 
 about it. 'Tis my word you doubt. I am your security." 
 
 Ptandal thought of that dry witticism in Gibbon, "Abu 
 Rafe says he will be witness for this fact, b^at who will bo 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 217 
 
 witness for Abii Rafe?" but he remained silent, only fixing 
 on Levy those dark observant eyes, with their contracted, 
 wary pupils. 
 
 " The fact is simply this," resumed Levy : " Count di 
 Peschiera has promised to pay his sisfcer a dowry of £20,000, 
 in case he has the money to spare. He can only have it to 
 spare by the marriage we are discussing. On my part, as I 
 manage his affairs in England for him, I have promised that, 
 for the said sum of £20,000, 1 will guarantee the expenses in 
 the way of that marriage, and settle with Madame di ISTegra. 
 ITow, though Peschiera is a very liberal, warm-hearted fellow, 
 I don't say that he would have named so large a sum for his 
 sister's dowry, if in strict truth he did not owe it to her. It 
 is the amount of her own fortune, which, by some arrange- 
 ments with her late husband, not exactly legal, he possessed 
 himself of. If Madame di N^egra went to law with him for 
 it, she could get it back. I have explained this to him ; and, 
 in short, you now understand why the sum is thus assessed. 
 But I have bought up Madame di Negra's debts. I have 
 bought up young Hazeldean's (for we must make a match 
 between these two a part of our arrangements). I shall present 
 to Peschiera, and to these excellent young persons, an account 
 that will absorb the whole £20,000. That sum will come 
 into my hands. - If I settle the claims against them for half 
 the money, which, making myself the sole creditor, I have 
 the right to do, the moiety will remain. And if I choose to 
 give it to you in return for the services which provide Peschiera 
 with a princely fortune — discharge the debts of his sister — and 
 secure her a husband in my promising young client, Mr. 
 Hazeldean, that is my look-out — ^all parties are satisfied, and 
 no one need ever be the wiser. The sum is large, no doubt ; 
 it answers to me to give it to you; does it answer to you to 
 receive it ? " 
 
 E/andal was greatly agitated; but, vile as he was, and 
 systematically as in thought he had brought himself to regard 
 others merely as they could be made subservient to his own 
 interest, still, with all who have not hardened themselves in 
 actual crime, there is a wide distinction between the thought 
 and the act; and though, in the exercise of ingenuity and 
 cunning, he would have had few scraples in that moral 
 swindling which is mildly called " outwitting another," yet 
 thus nakedly and openly to accept a bribe for a deed of 
 treachery towards the poor Italian who had so generously 
 trusted him — he recoiled. He was nerving himself to refuse, 
 
218 
 
 MY kovel; ok, 
 
 wlien Levy, opening Ms pocket-book, glanced OTei' tlie memo- 
 randa therein, and said, as to himself, " Rood Manor — Dili* 
 mansberiy, sold to tlie Thornhills bj Sir Gilbert Leslie, knight 
 of the shire ; estimated present net rental £2250 7s. Od. It is 
 •jhe greatest bargain I ever knew. And with this estate in 
 hand, and your talents, Leslie, I don't see why jou should not 
 rise higher than Andley Egerton. He was poorer than you 
 once ! " 
 
 The old Leslie lands — a positive stake in the country—the 
 j'estoration of the fallen family ; and on the other hand, either 
 long drudgery at the bar, — a scanty allowance on Egerton*s 
 bounty — his sister wasting her youth at slovenly, dismal 
 Bood— Oliver debased into a boor! — or a mendicant's 
 dependence on the contemptuous pity of Harley L'Estrange — • 
 Ilarley who had refused his hand to him — Harley, who 
 perhaps would become the husband of Yiolante! Rage 
 seized him as these contrasting pictures rose before Ms view. 
 He walked to and fro in disorder, striving to recollect his 
 thoughts, and reduce himself from the passions of the human 
 heart into the mere mechanism of calculating intellect. " I 
 cannot conceive," said he, abruptly, "why you should tempt 
 me thus — what interest it is to you ! " 
 
 Baron Levy smiled, and put up his pocket-hook. He saw 
 f J om that moment that the victory was gained. 
 
 " My dear boy," said he, with the most agreeable honliom- 
 mie, " it is very natural that you should think a man would 
 have a personal interest in whatever he does for another. I 
 believe that view of human nature is called utilitarian 
 philosophy, and is much in fashion at present. Let me try 
 and explain to you. In this affair I shan't injure myself. 
 True, you will say, if I settle claims, which amount to £20,000, 
 for £10,000, I might put the surplus into my own pocket 
 instead of yours. Agreed. But I shall not get the £20,000, 
 nor. repay myself Madame di Negra's debts, (whatever I may 
 do as to Hazeldean's,) unless the Count gets this heiress. 
 You can help in this. I want you ; arid I don't think I could 
 get you by a less offer than I make. I shall soon pay myself 
 back the £10,000 if the Count get hold of the lady and her 
 fortune. Brief-— I see my way here to my own interests. 
 Do you want more reasons — ^you shall have them. I am noTV 
 a very rich man. How have I become so ? Through attach- 
 ing myself from the first to persons of expectations, whether 
 from fortune or talent. I have made connections in society, 
 and society has eiiriched me. I hare still a passion for 
 
VAEIETIES IN EKGLTSH LIFE. 
 
 making money. Que voule^ vous ? It is mj prolession, my 
 hobby. It will be useful to me in a thousand ways, to secure 
 as a friend a young man wlio will bave influence witb other 
 young men, heirs to something better than Rood Hall. You 
 may succeed in public life. A man in public life may attain 
 so the knowledge of state secrets that are very profitable to 
 one who dabbles a little in the Funds. We can perhaps 
 hereafter do business together that may put yourself in a way 
 of clearing off all mortgages on these estates — on the encum^- 
 bered possession of which I shall soon congratulate you. 
 You see I am frank ; 'tis the only way of coming to the point 
 with so clever a fellow as you. And now, since the less we 
 rake up the mud in a pond from which we have resolved to 
 drink, the better, let us dismiss all other thoughts but that of 
 securing our end. Will you tell Peschiera where the young 
 lady is, or shall I ? Better do it yourself; reason enough for 
 it, that he has confided to you his hope, and asked you to 
 help him ; why should not you ? Not a word to him about 
 our little arrangement ; he need never know it. You need 
 never be troubled." Levy rang the bell: Order my 
 carriage round." 
 
 Randal made no objection. He was deathlike pale, but 
 there was a sinister expression of firmness on his thin, blood- 
 less lips. 
 
 The next point," Levy resumed, ■ ^ is to hasten the match 
 between Frank and the fair widow. How does that 
 stand ? " 
 
 " She will not see me, no^ receive him." 
 
 " Oh, learn why ! And if you find on either side there is a 
 hitch, just let me know ; I will soon remove it." 
 
 " Has Hazeldean consented to the post-obit?" 
 
 " ISTot yet ; I have not pressed it ; I wait the right moment, 
 if necessary." 
 
 " It will be necessary." 
 
 " Ah, you wish it. It shall be so." 
 
 Randal Leslie again paced the room, and after a silent 
 self- commune came up close to the Baron, and said-— 
 
 " Look you, sir, I am poor and ambitious ; you have 
 tempted me at the right moment, and with the right induce- 
 ment. I succumb. But what guarantee have I that this 
 money will be paid — these estates made mine upon the con* 
 ditions stipulated ? " 
 
 Before anything is settled," replied the Baron, go and 
 ask my character of any of our you tig friends, Borrovvell, 
 
novel; or, 
 
 Spendquick — whom you please ; you will liear me abused, of 
 course ; but they will all say this of me, that when I pass my 
 word, I keep it. If I say, * Mon cher, you shall have the money,' 
 a man has it ; if I say, ' I renew your bill for six months,* it 
 is renewed. 'Tis my way of doing business. In all cases my 
 word is my bond. In this case, where no writing can pass 
 between us, my only bond must be my word. Gro, then, make 
 your mind clear as to your security, and come here and dine 
 at eight. We will call on Peschiera afterwards." 
 
 "Yes," said Randal, "I will at all events take the day to 
 consider. Meanwhile, I say this, I do not disguise from 
 myself the nature of the proposed transaction, but what I have 
 once resolved I go through with. My sole vindication to 
 myself is, that if I play here with a false die, it will be for a 
 stake so grand, as once won, the magnitude of the prize will 
 cancel the ignominy of the play. It is not this sum of money 
 for which I sell myself — it is for what that sum will aid me 
 to achieve. And in the marriage of young Hazeldean with 
 rJie Italian woman, I have another, and it may be a larger 
 interest. I have slept on it lately — I wake to it now. In- 
 sure that marriage, obtain the post-obit from Hazeldean, and 
 whatever the issue of the more direct scheme for which you 
 seek my services, rely on my gratitude, and believe that you 
 will have put me in the way to render gratitude of avail. At 
 eight I will be with you." 
 
 Randal left the room. 
 
 The Baron sate thoughtful. "It is true," said he to him. 
 self, "this young man is the next of kin to the Hazeldean 
 estate, if Frank displease his father sufficiently to lose his in- 
 heritance ; that must be the clever boy's design. Well, in the 
 long-run, I should make as much, or more, out of him than 
 out of the spendthrift Frank. Frank's faults are those of 
 youth. He will reform and retrench. But this man ! ISTo, 
 I shall have h{7rb for life. And should he fail in this project, 
 and have but this encumbered property — a landed proprietor 
 mortgaged up to his ears — why, he is my slave, and I can 
 foreclose when I wish, or if he prove useless ;— no, I risk 
 nothing. And if I did — if I lost ten thousand pounds — what 
 then ? I can afford it for revenge ! — afford it for the luxury 
 of leaving Audley Egerton alone with penury and ruin, 
 deserted, in his hour of need, by the pensioner of his bounty — 
 as he will be by the last friend of his youth — when it so pleases 
 me — me whom he has called * scoundrel ! ' and whom he — ** 
 Levy's soliloquy halted there, for the servant entered to 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 announce tlie carriage. And tlie Baron hurried liis hand 
 over his features, as if to sweep away all trace of the passions 
 that distorted their smiling effrontery. And so, as he took up 
 his cane and gloves, and glanced at the glass, the face of the 
 fashionable usurer was once more as varnished as his boots. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 When a clever man resolves on a villanous action, he hastens, 
 by the exercise of his cleverness, to get rid of the sense of his 
 villany. With more than his usual alertness, Randal employed 
 the next hour or two in ascertaining how far Baron Levy 
 merited the character he boasted, and how far his word might 
 be his bond. He repaired to young men whom he esteemed 
 better judges on these points than Spendquick and Borrow- 
 well — ^young men who resembled the Merry Monarch, inas- 
 much as 
 
 " They never said a foolish thing, 
 ' And never did a wise one." 
 
 There are many such young men about town — sharp and able 
 in all affairs except their own. NTo one knows the world better, 
 nor judges of character more truly than your half-beggared 
 roue. From all these Baron Levy obtained much the same 
 testimonials : he was ridiculed as a would-be dandy, but re- 
 spected as a very responsible man of business, and rather liked 
 as a friendly accommodating species of the Sir Epicure Mammon, 
 who very often did what were thought handsome, liberal things ; 
 and, " in short," said one of these experienced referees, he 
 is the best fellow going-^f or a money-lender ! You may always 
 rely on what he promises, and he is generally very forbearing 
 and indulgent to us of good society ; perhaps for the same 
 reason that our tailors are ; — to send one of us to prison 
 would hurt his custom. His foible is to be thought a gentle- 
 man. I believe, much as I suppose he loves money, he would 
 give up half his fortune rather than do anything for which 
 we cC'uld cut him. He allows a pension of three-hundred 
 
 a-year to Lord S . True ; he was his man of business for 
 
 twenty years, and before then S was rather a prudent 
 
 fellow, and had fifteen thousand a-year. He has helped on, 
 too, many a clever young man ; — the best boroughmonger you 
 ever knew. He likes having friends in Parliament. In fact 
 
MY jswel; or, 
 
 of cotirse, lie is a togm; hut if one wants a rogue, one can'i 
 find a pleasanter. I stionld like to see Mm on the French 
 stage— a prosperous Macaire ; Le Maitre could hit him to 
 the life.'' 
 
 From information in these more fashionable quarters, 
 gleaned with his usual tact, Randal turned to a source less 
 elevated, but to which he attached more importance. Dick 
 Avenel associated with the Baron — Dick Ayenel must be in 
 his clutches. ISTow Randal did justice to that gentleman's 
 practical shrewdness. . Moreover, Ayenel was by profession a 
 man of business. He must know more of Levy that these 
 men of pleasure could ; and, as he was a plain-spoken person, 
 and evidently honest, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, 
 Randal did not doubt that out of Dick Avenel he should get 
 the truth. 
 
 On arriving in Eaton Square, and asking for Mr. Avenel, 
 Randal was at onod ushered into the drawing-room. The 
 apartment was not in such good, solid, mercantile taste as had 
 characterised Avenel's more humble bachelor's residence at 
 Screwstown. The taste now was the Honourable Mrs. 
 Avenel's ; and, truth to say, no taste could be worse. 
 Furniture of all epochs heterogeneously clumped together 
 here a sofa d la renaissance in Gohelin — there a rose- 
 wood Console from Qillow— a tall mock-Elizabethan chair 
 in black oak, by the side of a modern Florentine table of 
 mosaic marbles. All kinds of colours in the room, and all at war 
 with each other. Very bad copies of the best-known pictures 
 in the world, in the most gaudy frames, and impudently 
 labelled by the names of their murdered originals — " Rafnaele," 
 " Oorregio," "Titian," " Sebastian del Piombo." ISTeverthe- 
 less, there had been plenty of money spent, and there was 
 plenty to show for it. Mrs. Avenel was seated on her sofa 
 a> la renaissance, with one of her children at her feet, who 
 was employed in reading a new Annual in crimson silk bind 
 ing. Mrs. Aveuel was in an attitude as if sitting for her 
 portrait. 
 
 Polite society is most capricious in its adoptions or rejec- 
 tions. You see many a very vulgar person firmly established in 
 the heau monde ; others, with very good j)i'etensions as to 
 birth, fortune, &c., either rigorously excluded, or only per- 
 mitted a peep over the pales. The Honourable Afrs. Avenel 
 belonged to families unquestionably noble, both ^-y her own 
 descent and by her first marriage ; and if poverty had kept 
 her down in her earlier career, she now, at least, did not want 
 
VARIETIES IN DJ^GLISH LIFE. 
 
 223 
 
 wealtli to back lier pretensions. Nevertheless, all the dis« 
 pensers of fashion concnrred in refusing their support to the 
 Honourahle Mrs. Ayenel. One might suppose it was solely 
 on account of her plebeian husband ; but indeed it was nof 
 BO. Man J a woman of high family can marry a low-born 
 man not so presentable as Avenel, and, by the help of his 
 nioney, get the fine world at her feet. But Mrs. Avenel had 
 not that art. She was still a very handsome, showy woman ; ■ 
 and as for dress, no duchess could be more extravagant. Yet 
 these very circumstances had perhaps gone against her 
 almbition; for your quiet little plain woman, provoking no 
 envy, slips into the coteries, when a handsome, flaunting lady 
 -^whom, once seen in your drawing-room, can be no more 
 overlooked than a scarlet poppy amidst a violet bed — is pretty 
 sure to be weeded put as ruthlessly as a poppy would be in a 
 similar position. 
 
 Mr. Avenel was sitting by the fire, rather moodily, his 
 hands in his pockets, and whistling to himself. To say truth, 
 that active mind of his was very much bored in London, at 
 least during the fore part of the day. He hailed Eandal's 
 entrance with a smile of relief, and rising and posting him- 
 sbK before the fire— a coat tail under each arm— he scarcely 
 allowed Randal to shake hands with Mr^. Avenel, and pat 
 the child on the head, murmuring, Beautiful creature." 
 (Bandal was ever civil to children— that sort of wolf in 
 sheep's clothing always is— don't be taken in, O you foolish 
 young mothers !) Dick, I say, scarcely allowed his visitor 
 these preliminary courtesies, before he plunged far beyond 
 depth of wife and child, into the political ocean* "Things 
 now were coming right— a vile oligarchy was to be destroyed. 
 British respectability and British talent were to have fair 
 play." To have heard him' you would have thought the da/ 
 fixed for the millennium ! " And what is more," said Avenel, 
 bringing down the fist of his right hand upon the palm of his 
 left, "if there is to be a new parliament, we must have new 
 men— not worn-out old brooms that never sweep clean, but 
 men who understand ho# to govern the country, sir. I intend ' 
 
 TO COME IN MYSELF ! '' ' . ; 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Avenel, hooking in a word at last, "I- 
 am sure, Mr. Leslie^ you will think I did right. I persuaded 
 Mr. Avenel that, with his talents and property, he ought, for 
 the sake of his country, to make, a sacrifice ; and then you 
 know his opinions now are all the fashion, Mr. Leslie; ioT' 
 merly they would have been called shocking and vulgar i 
 
224 
 
 MY NOVEL; OE, 
 
 Thus saying, she looked with fond pride at Dick's comely 
 face, which at that moment, however, was all scowl and 
 frown. I must do justice to Mrs. Avenel ; she was a weak, 
 silly woman in some things, and a cunning [one in others, bat 
 she was a good wife, as wives go. Scotch women generally 
 are. 
 
 " Bother ! said Dick^ " What do women know about 
 politics. I wish you'd mind the child — it is crumpling up, 
 and playing almighty smash with that flim-flam book, which 
 cost me one pound one." 
 
 Mrs. Avenel submissively bowed her head, and removed 
 the Annual from the hands of the young destructive; the 
 destructive set up a squall, as destructives usually do when 
 they don't have their own way. Dick clapped his hand to 
 his ears. " Whe-e-ew, I can't stand this ; come and take a 
 walk, Leslie : I want stretching ! " He stretched himself as 
 he spoke, first half-way up to the ceiling, and then fairly out 
 of the room. 
 
 Randal, with his May Fair manner, turned towards Mrs. 
 Avenel as if to apologise for her husband and himself. 
 
 "Poor Richard ! '' said she, "he is in one of his humours 
 — all men have them. Come and see me again soon. When 
 does Almacks open ? " 
 
 " ]^ay, I ought to ask you that question, you who know 
 everything that goes on in our set," said the young serpent. 
 Any tree planted in " our set," if it had been but a crab- 
 tree, would have tempted Mr. Avenel's Eve to jump at its 
 boughs. 
 
 " Are you. coming, there ? " cried Dick from the foot of 
 the stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " I HAVE just been at our friend Levy's," said Randal, when 
 he and Dick were outside the street door. " He, like you, is 
 full of politics — ^pleasant man — for the business he is said 
 to do." 
 
 "Well," said Dick, slowly, "I suppose he is pleasant, but 
 make the best of it — and still — " 
 
 " Still what, my dear Avenel ? " (Randal here for the first 
 time discarded the formal Mister.) 
 
 Mr. Ayenel.— " Still the thing itself is not pleasant." 
 
rAEIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 225 
 
 Randal, (with his soft hollow laugh.) — " You mean bor- 
 rowing money upon more than five per cent." 
 
 " Oh, curse the per centage. I agree with Bentham on the 
 Usury Laws — no shackles in trade for me, whether in money 
 or anything else. That's not it. But when one owes a fellow 
 money CTen at two per cent., and 'tis not convenient to pay 
 him, why, somehow or other, it makes one feel small ; it takes 
 the British Liberty out of a man ! 
 
 " I should have thought you more likely to lend money than 
 to borrow it." 
 
 " Well, I guess you are right there, as a general rule. But 
 I tell you what it is, sir ; there is too great a mania for com- 
 petition getting up in this rotten old country of ours. I am 
 as liberal as most men. I like competition to a certain extent, 
 but there is too much of it, sir — too much of it." 
 
 Eiandal looked sad and convinced. But if Leonard had 
 heard Dick Avenel, what would have been his amaze ? Dick 
 Avenel rail against competition ! Think there could be too 
 much of it ! Of course, " heaven and earfch are coming 
 together," said the spider, when the housemaid's broom 
 invaded its cobweb. Dick was all for sweeping away other 
 cobwebs ; but he certainly thought heaven and* earth coming 
 together when he saw a great Turk's-head besom poked up at 
 his own. 
 
 Mr. Avenel, in his genius for speculation and improve- 
 ment, had established a factory at Screwstown, tbe first 
 which had ever eclipsed the church spire with its Titanic 
 chimney. It succeeded well at first. Mr. Avenel transferred 
 to this speculation nearly all his capital. "Nothing," quoth 
 he, " paid such an interest. Manchester was getting worn 
 out — time to show what Screwstown could do. E'othing like 
 competition." But by-and-by a still greater capitalist than 
 Dick Avenel, finding out that Screwstown was at the mouth of 
 a coal mine, and that Dick's profits were great, erected a still 
 uglier edifice, with a still taller chimney. And having been 
 brought up to the business, and making his residence in the 
 town, while Dick employed a foreman and flourished in 
 London, this infamous competitor so managed, first to share, 
 and then gradually to sequester, the profits which Dick had 
 hitherto monopolised, that no wonder Mr. Avenel thought 
 competition should have its limits. " The tongue touches 
 where the tooth aches," as Dr. Eircnbocca would tell us. By 
 little and little our Juvenile Taileyrand (I beg the elder great 
 man's pardon) wormed out from Dick this gnevance, and i\i 
 
££6 
 
 My Jstotel; 0S, 
 
 the grievance discoTered the origin of Dick's connection witli 
 the money-lender. 
 
 ''But Levy," ssi-id Ateiiel, candidly, " is a deeentish chap 
 in his Way — friendly too. Mrs. A. finds him nseful ; brings 
 sofitie of your yoniig highflyers to her soirees. To be sure, 
 they ddn't dance — staiid all in a row at the door, like inutes 
 at a f litieral. Not btit what they have beeil uncomnaon civil 
 to me lately — Spendquick particularly. By-the-by, I dine 
 with hiia to-tiiorrow. The aristocracy are behindhand— not 
 smart, sir — not up to the march ; . but when a man knows IdcNt 
 to take 'gmj they beat the Ilsfew Yorkers iii good manners. 
 I'll say that for them. I have no prejudice.'* 
 
 " 1 never saw a iiian with less; no prejudice even against 
 Levy." 
 
 '' 'No, not a bit of it ! Evfery one says hfei's a Jew j he says 
 he's not. I don't care a button what he is. His moiiBf is 
 English^ — that's enough for any rtian of a liberal turn of tnind. 
 His charges, too, are moderate. To be sure, he knows I shall 
 pay them ; only what I don't like in hitn is a sort of way he 
 has of mon-chey-itL^ and my-good-fellow-ing one, to do things 
 quite out of the natural way of that sort of business. He 
 knows I have got Parliamentary influence. I could return a 
 couple of members for Screwstowii, and one, or perhaps two, 
 for Lansmere, where I have of late been cooking up aii 
 interest; and he dictated to— no, not dictatBs—hut tries to 
 hiZnthug me into putting in his own men. Howevfer, in one 
 respect, we are likely to ^gree. He says you Want to come 
 into Parliament. You seem a smart yoUng fellow ; but yon 
 must throw over that stiff red-tapist of yours, and go with 
 Public Opinion, aiid — Myself." 
 
 "Yon are very kind, Avenel ; perhaps when we come to 
 compare opinions we may find that we agree entirely. Still, 
 in EgfertOn's piresent position, delicsicy to him— ho%evel*, We'll 
 not discus^ that now. But you really think I might come in 
 for Lansmere— against the L'Estrange interest, too, which 
 must be strong there ? " 
 
 " It was very strong, but I've ^th^sh^ed it, I calculate." 
 
 " Would a contest there cost very tn hch ? " 
 
 " Well^ I guess ybU thust come down with the ready. But, 
 as you say, time iendugh to discuss that When yon have 
 squared your account with * delicacy ;' comes to me theii, and 
 We'll go into it." 
 
 Randal, having now squeezed his orange dry, had no desire 
 to waste his time in brushing np the rind with his coat-sleeve, 
 
VAUTETIEB IN ENGIilSII LIFE. 
 
 BO he miliooked liis arra from Ayenel's, and, looking at his 
 W^tdhy discovered lie slionld be jnst in time for an ap- 
 pointment of tho most urgent business— hailed a eab^ and 
 drove oK, 
 
 Dick looked Mpped and disconsolate at being left alone ; 
 lie yawned verj londj to the astonishment of three prim old 
 maiden Belgravians who were passing that waj; and then 
 his mind began to turn towards his factory at Screwstown, 
 which had led to his connection with the Baron ; and he 
 thought over a Jotter he had received from his foreman that 
 morning, inf ormiiig him that it was rumoured at Screwstown 
 that Mr. Djce, his rival, was about to have new machinery 
 on an improved principle 5 and that Mr. Dyce had already 
 gone up to town, it was supposedj with the intention of con^* 
 eluding a purchase for a patent discovery to be ap23lied to the 
 new machinery, and which that gentleman had publicly 
 declared in the corn-market " would shut up Mr. Avenel's 
 factory before the year was out.'* As this menacing epistle 
 recurred to him, Dick felt his desire to yawn incontinently 
 checked. His brow grew very dark ; and he walked, with 
 restless sti-ides, on and on, till he found himself in the 
 Strand. He then got into an omnibus^ and proceeded to the 
 city, wherein he spent the rest of the day, looking over 
 machines and foundries, and trying in vain to find out what 
 diabolical invention the over-competition of Mr. Dyce had got 
 hold of. "If," said Dick Avenel to himself, as he returned 
 fretfully homeward—" if a man like me, who has done so 
 much for British industry and go-a-head principles, is to be 
 catawamponsly champed up by a mercenary selfish cormorant 
 of a capitalist like that interloping blockhead in drab breeches,- 
 Tom Dyce, all I can say is, that the sooner this cursed old 
 country goes to the dogs, the better pleased I shall be. I 
 wash my hands of it/' 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 Raddal's mind was made up. All he had learned in regard 
 to Levy had confirmed his resolves or dissipated his scruples. 
 He had started from the improbability that Peschiera would 
 offer, and the still greater improbability that Pe shier a would 
 pay him, ten thousand pounds for such information or aid as 
 he could bestow in furthering the Count's object. But when 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Levy took sucli proposals entirely on himself, tlie main ques- 
 tion to Randal became this — could it be Levy's interest to 
 make so considerable a sacrifice ? Had tbe Baron implied 
 only friendly sentiments as bis motives, Randal would bav^ 
 felt sure be was to be taken in; but tbe usurer's frank 
 assurance tbat it would answer to bim in tbe long-run to 
 concede to Randal terms so advantageous, altered tbe case, 
 and led our young pbilosopber to look at tbe affair witb calm 
 contemplative .eyes. Was it sufficiently obvious tbat Levy 
 counted on an adequate return H Migbt be calculate on 
 reaping belp by tbe busbel if be sowed it by tbe bandful ? 
 Tbe result of Randal's cogitations was, tbat tbe Baron migbt 
 fairly deem bimself no wasteful sower. In tbe first place, it 
 was clear tbat Levy, not witbout reasonable ground, believed 
 tbat be could soon replace, vn.tb exceeding good interest, any 
 sum be migbt advance to Randal, out of tbe wealtb wbicb 
 Randal's prompt information migbt bestow on Levy's client, 
 tbe Count; and, secondly, Randal's self-esteem was immense, 
 and could be iDut succeed in securing a pecuniary inde- 
 pendence on tbe instant, to free bim from tbe slow drudgery 
 of tbe bar, or from a precarious reliance on Audley Egerfcon, 
 as a politician out of power — bis convictions of rapid triumpb 
 in public life were as strong as if wbispered by an angel or 
 promised by a fiend. On sucb triumpbs, witb all tbe social 
 position tbey would secure. Levy migbt well calculate for 
 repayment by a thousand indirect channels. Randal's 
 sagacity detected tbat, through all tbe good-natured or liberal 
 actions ascribed to tbe usurer, Levy bad steadily pursued bis 
 own interests — he saw tbat Levy meant to get him into bis 
 power, and use his abilities as instruments for digging new 
 mines, in which Baron Levy would claim tbe right of large 
 royalties. • But at tbat thought Randal's pale lip curled dis- 
 dainfully; he confided too much in his own powers not to 
 think tbat be could elude the grasp of the usurer, whenever 
 It suited him to do so. Thus, on a survey, all conscience 
 }jushed itself — bis mind rushed buoyantly on to anticipations 
 of the future. He saw the hereditary estates regained — no 
 matter how mortgaged — for tbe moment still his own^ — legally 
 his own — yielding for the present what would suffice foi 
 competence to one of few wants, and freeing his name from 
 that title of Adventurer, which is so prodigally given in rich 
 old countries to those who have no estates but their brains. 
 He thought of Violante but as tbe civilised trader thinks of a 
 trifling coin, of a glass bead, which he exchanges with sono 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 229 
 
 barbarian for gold dust; — he tliongbt of Frank Hazeldeau 
 married to tbe foreign woman of beggared means, and repnte 
 that had known the breath of scandal^^ — married, and living 
 on post-obit instalments of the Casino property ; — he thonght 
 of the poor Squire's resentment ; — his avarice swept from the 
 lands annexed to Rood on to the broad fields of Hazeldean ; — 
 lie thonght of Avenel, of Lansmere, of Parliament; — with 
 one hand he grasped fortune, with the next power. "And 
 yet I entered on life with no patrimony — (save a ruined hall 
 and a barren waste) — no patrimony but knowledge. I have 
 but turned knowledge from books to men; for books may 
 give fame after death, but men give us power in life." And 
 all the while he ibus ruminated, his act was speeding his 
 purpose. Though- it was but in a miserable hack cab that he 
 erected airy scaffoldings round airy castles, still the miserable 
 hack cab was flying fast, to secure the first foot of solid 
 ground whereon to transfer the mental plan of the architect 
 to foundations of positive slime and clay. The cab stopped 
 at the door of Lord Lansmere's house. Randal had suspected 
 Yiolante to be there : he resolved to ascertain. Randal 
 descended from his vehicle and rang the bell. The lodge- 
 keeper opened the great wooden gates. 
 
 "I have called to see the young lady staying here— the 
 foreign young lady." 
 
 Lady Lansmere had been too confident of the security of 
 her roof to condescend to give any orders to her servants 
 with regard to her guest, and the lodge-keeper answered 
 directly — 
 
 "At home, I believe, sir. I rather think she is in the 
 garden with my lady." 
 
 " I see," said Randal. And he did see the form of Yiolante 
 at a distance. " But, since she is walking, I will not disturb 
 her at present. I will call another day." 
 
 The lodge-keeper bowed respectfully, Randal jumped into 
 his cab — " To Ourzon Street — quick ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Haklet had made one notable oversight in that appeal to 
 Beatrice's better and gentler natu.re, which he entrusted to 
 the advocacy of Leonard — a scheme in itself very character- 
 istic of Harlej'e vomantic temper, and either wise or foolish| 
 
M¥ novel; OB, 
 
 according as Ms indulgent theory of liuman idiosyncrasies in 
 general, and of those peculiar to Beatrice di Negra in especial, 
 was the dream of an enthusiast, or the inductive conclusion of 
 a sound philosopher. 
 
 Harley had warned Leonard not to fall in love with the 
 Italian^ — ^he had forgotteii to warn the Italian not to fall in 
 love with Leonard ; nor had he ever anticipated the proba- 
 bility of that event. This is not to be very much wondered 
 at ; for if there be anything on which the most sensible men 
 are dull-eyed, where those eyes are not lighted by jealousy, it 
 is as to the probabilities of another male creature being be- 
 loved. All, the least vain of the whiskered gender, think it 
 prudent to guard themselves against being too irresistible to 
 the fair sex; and each says of his friend, " Grood fellovf 
 enough, but the last man for that woman to fall in love 
 with ! " 
 
 But certainly there appeared on the surface more than 
 ordimiry cause for Harley's blindness in the special instance 
 of Leonard. 
 
 Whatever Beatrice's better qualities, she was generally 
 esteemed Worldly aud ambitious. She was pinched in circum- 
 stances — she was luxuriant and extravagant; how was it 
 likely that she could distinguish any aspirant of the humble 
 birth and fortunes of the young peasant author ? As a 
 coquette, she might try to win his admiration and attract his 
 fancy ; but her own heart would surely be guarded in the 
 triple mail of pride, poverty, and the conventional opinions of 
 ihe world in which she lived. Had Harley thought it possible 
 that Madame di E'egra could stoop below her station, and 
 love, not wisely, but too well, he would rather have thought 
 that the object would be some brilliant adventurer of fashion 
 ■ — some one who could turn against herself all the arts of 
 deliberate fascination, and all the experience bestowed by fre- 
 quent conquest. One so simple as Leonard — so young and so 
 new ! Harley L'Estrange would have smiled at himself, if 
 the idea of that image subjugating the ambitious woman to 
 the disinterested love of a village maid, had once crossed his 
 mind. !N"evertheless, so it was, and precisely from those 
 causes which would have seemed to Harley to forbid the 
 weakness. 
 
 It was that fresh, pure heart— it was that simple, earnest 
 sweetness^it was that contrast in look, in tone, in sentiment, 
 and in reasonings, to all that had jaded and disgusted her in 
 the circle of her admirers—- it was all this that captivated 
 
VARIETIJilS IJf JSN^GLISH LIFE. 
 
 mi 
 
 fhiiifiGQ at the first interyiew^'witli Leonard. Here was what 
 she had ooii£esse.d to the sceptical Randal she had dreained 
 p.nd sighed for. Her earliest youth had passed into ahhorront 
 marriage, without the soft, innocent crisis of human life — 
 virgin love. Manj a wooer might have touched her yanitj, 
 pleased her fancj, excited her ambition — her heart had never 
 been awakened ; it woke now. The world, and the jears that 
 the world had wasted, seemed to fleet awaj as a cloud. 
 She was as if restored to the blush and the sigh of youth — 
 the youth of the Italian maid. As in the restoration of oiir 
 golden age is the spell of poetry with us all, so such was the 
 spell of the poet himself on her. 
 
 Oh, how exquisite was that brief episode in the life of the 
 womstn palled with the hack sights and sounds ^- of worldly 
 life ! How strangely happy were those hours, when, lured on by 
 her silent sympathy, the young scholar spoke of his early strug-, 
 gles between circumstance and impulse, musing amidst the 
 flowers, and hearkening to the fountain ; or of his wanderings 
 in the desolate, lamp-lit streets, while the vision of Chatter- 
 ton's glittering eyes shone dread through the friendless 
 shadows. And as he spoke, whether of his hopes or his fears, 
 her looks dwelt fondly on the young face, that varied between 
 pride and sadness — pride ever so gentle, and sadness over so 
 nobly touching. She was never weary of gazing on that 
 brow, with its quiet power ; but her lids dropped before those 
 eyes, with their serene, unfathomable passion. She felt, as 
 they haunted her, what a deep and holy thing love in such 
 ^ouls must be. Leonard never gpoke to her of Helen — that 
 reserve every reader can comprehend. To natures like his, 
 first love is a mystery ; to confide it is to profane. But he 
 fulfilled his commission of interesting her in the exile and his 
 daughter. And his description of them brought tears to her 
 eyes. She inly resolved not to aid Peschiera in his designs 
 on Violante. She forgot for the moment that her own for- 
 tune was to depend on the success of those designs. — Levy 
 had arranged so that she was not reminded of her poverty by 
 creditors- — she knew not how. She knew nothing of business. 
 She gave herself up to the delight of the present hour, and to 
 vague prospects of a future, associated with that young 
 image—^with that face of a guardian angel that she saw before 
 her, fairest in the moments of absence ; for in those moments 
 eame the life of fairy-land, when we shut our eyes on the 
 world, and see through the haze of golden reverie. Dangerous, 
 indeed, to Leonard would have been the soft society of Beatriee 
 
MY ^tovel; oe, 
 
 dl ITegra^ had not his heart been wholly devoted to one object, 
 and had not his ideal of woman been from that object one 
 sole and indivisible reflection. But Beatrice guessed not this 
 barrier between herself and him. Amidst the shadows that 
 he conjured up from his past life, she beheld no rival form. 
 She saw him lonely in the world as she was herself. And in 
 his lowly birth, his youth, in the freedom from presumption 
 which characterised him in all things (save that confidence in 
 his intellectual destinies, which is the essential attribute of 
 genius), she but grew the bolder by the belief that, even if 
 he loved her, he would not dare to hazard the avowal. 
 
 And thus, one day, yielding, as she had ever been wont to 
 yield, to the impulse of her quick Italian heart — how sho 
 never remembered — ^in what words she could never recall — 
 she spoke — she owned her love — she pleaded, with tears and 
 blushes, for love in return. All that passed was to her as a 
 dream— a dream from which she woke with a fierce sense of 
 agony, of humiliation— woke as the woman scorned." 'No 
 matter how gratefully, how tenderly Leonard had replied — ■ 
 the reply was refusal. For the first time she learned she had 
 a rival; that all he could give of love was long since, from 
 his boyhood, given to another. For the first time in her life, 
 that ardent nature knew jealousy, its torturing stings, its 
 thirst for vengeance, its tempest of loving hate. But, to out- 
 ward appearance, silent and cold she stood as marble. Words 
 that sought to soothe fell on her ear unheeded : they were 
 drowned by the storm within. Pride was the first feeling 
 which dominated the warring elements that raged in her soul. 
 She tore her hand from that which clasped hers with so loyal 
 a respect. She could have spurned the form that knelt at her 
 feet, not for love, but for pardon. She pointed to the door 
 with the gesture of an insulted queen. She knew no more till 
 she was alone. Then came that rapid flash of conjecture 
 peculiar to the storms of jealousy ; that which seems to single 
 from all nature the one object to dread and to destroy ; the 
 conjecture so often false ; yet received at once by our convic- 
 tions as the revelation of instinctive truth. He to whom she 
 had humbled herself loved another ; whom but Yiolante 
 whom else, young and beautiful, hari he named in the record 
 of his life ? — None ! And he had sought to interest her, 
 Beatrice di !Negra, in the object of his love; — ^hinted at dan- 
 gers which Beatrice knew too well ; — implied trust in Bea- 
 trice's will to protect. Blind fool that she had been I This, 
 then, was the reason why he had come, day after day, to 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 233 
 
 Beatrice's house; tHs was the charm that had drawn him 
 thither ; this— she pressed her hands to her burning temples, 
 as if to stop the torture of thought. Suddenly a voice was 
 heard below, the door opened, and Randal Leslie entered. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 i^UNCTUALLY at eight o'clock that eyening, Baron Levy wel- 
 comed the new ally he had secured. The pair dined en tete ^ 
 tete, discussing general matters till the servants left them to 
 their wine. Then said the Baron, rising and stirring the fire 
 — then said the Baron, briefly and significantly — 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 "As regards the property you spoke of," answered Randal, 
 " I am willing to purchase it on the terms you name. The 
 only point that perplexes me is how to account to Audley 
 Egerton, to my parents, to the world, for the power of pur- 
 chasing it." 
 
 " True," sa^id the Baron, without even a smile at the inge- 
 nious and truly Grreek manner in which Randal had contrived 
 to denote his meaning, and conceal the ugliness of it — " true, 
 we must think of that. If we could manage to conceal the 
 real name of the purchaser for a year or so — it might be easy 
 • — you may be supposed to have speculated in the Funds ; or 
 Egerfcon may die, and people may believe that he had secured 
 to you something handsome from the ruins of his fortune." 
 
 " Little chance of Egerton's dying." 
 
 " Humph !" said the Baron. "However, this is a mere 
 detail, reserved for consideration. You can now tell us where 
 the young lady is ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I could not this morning — I can now. I will 
 go with you to the Count. Meanwhile, I have seen Madame 
 di Negra; she will accept Frank Hazeldean if he will but 
 offer himself at once." 
 
 " Will he not ? " 
 
 " ISTo ! I have been to him. He is overjoyed at my repre- 
 sentations, but considers it his duty to ask the consent of his 
 parents. Of course they will not give it ; and if there be 
 delay, she will retract. She is under the influence of passions, 
 on the duration of which there is no reliance." 
 
 " What passions ? Love ? " 
 
 " Love ; but not for Hazeldean. The passions that bring 
 
her to accept his hand are pique and jealousy. SIio helieyes, 
 in a word, that oije, who seems to haye gained the mastery 
 oyer her affections with a strange suddeijnoss, is but blind to 
 her oharm^, because dazzled by Violaufce's. She is prep.^red 
 to aid in all that can giye her rival to Peschiera ; and yet, 
 such is the inconsistency of woman, (added the young philo- 
 sopher, with a shrug of the shoulders,) that she is also 
 prepared to lose all chance of securing him she loyes, by 
 bestowing herself on another ! " 
 
 "Woipan, indeed, all oyer!" said the Baron, tapping his 
 snuff-box (Louis Quinze), and regaling his nostrjls with a 
 scornful pinch. "But who is the man whom the fair 
 Beatrico has thus honoured ? Superb creature ! I had 
 some idea of her myself when I bought up her debts ; but 
 it might have embarrassed me, in more general plans, as 
 regards the Count. All for the best. Who's the man ? Not 
 Lord L'Estrange ? " 
 
 " I do not think it is he ; but I have not yet ascertained. 
 I have told you all I know* I found her in a stsite so excited, 
 so unlike herself, that I had no little difficulty in soothing her 
 into confidence so far. I could not venture more," 
 
 " And she will accept Frank ? " 
 Had he offered to-day she would have accepted him ! " 
 
 "It may be a great help to your fortunes, mon eAer, if 
 Frank Hazeldean married this lady without his father's 
 consent. Perhaps h,e may be disinherited. You are next of 
 kin." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " .asked Randal, sullenly. 
 
 "It is my business to know all about the chances and 
 connections of any one with whoin I do money matters. 1 
 .do money matters with young Mr. Hazeldean ; so I know 
 that the Hazeldean property is not entailed ; and, as the 
 Squire's half-brother has no Hazeldean blood in him, you 
 have excellent expectations." 
 
 " Did Frank tell you I was next of kin ? " 
 
 "I rather think so ; but I am sure yon did.^ 
 
 " I--when? " 
 
 When you told me how important it was to you that 
 Frank should marry Madame di Kegra, Veste I mon cher, do 
 you think I am a blockhead ? " 
 
 " Well, B,aron, Frank is of age, and can marry to please 
 himself. You implied to me that you could help him in this." 
 
 "I will try. See that he call at Madame di ISTegra's 
 to-morrow, at two piecisely." 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 235 
 
 " I woald i-atker keep clear of all apparent interferenee in 
 tliis matter. Will jou not arrange tkat Ee call on her P And 
 do not forget to entangle him in 2b ^ost-ohit." 
 
 " Leave it to me. Any more wkm ? l^o jr^thm let go 
 to the Count's." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 The next morning Frank Hazeldean was sitting aver his 
 solitary breakfast-table. It was long past noon, The young 
 man had risen early, it is trne, to attend his military duties, 
 but he had contracted the habit of breakfasting late. One's 
 appetite does not come early when one lives in London, and 
 never goes to bed before daybreak. 
 
 There was nothing very luxurious or effeminate about 
 Frank^s rooms, though they were in a very dear street, and 
 he paid a monstrous high price for them. Still, to a prac- 
 tised eye, they betrayed an inmate who can get through his 
 money, and make very little show for it. The walls were 
 covered with coloured prints of racers and steeple-chases, in- 
 terspersed with the portraits of operci- dancers^ — ^^all smirk and 
 caper. Then there was a semi-circular recess covered with 
 red cloth, and fitted up fop smoking, as you might perceive 
 by sundry stands fnll of Turkish pipes in cherry-stick and 
 Jessamine, with amber mouthpiece^ ; while a great serpent 
 hookah, from which Frank could no more have smoked than 
 he could have smoked out of the head of a boa constrictor, 
 coiled itself up on the floor > over the chimney-piece was a 
 collection of Moorish arms. What use on earth, ataghan 
 and scimitar, and damasquined pistols, that would not carry 
 straight three yards, could be to an officer in his Majesty's 
 Gruards is more than I can conjecture, or even Frank satis- 
 factorily explain. I have strong suspicions that this valuable 
 arsenal passed to Frank in part payment of a bill to be dis- 
 counted. At all events, if so, it was an improvement on the 
 bear that he had sold to the hair- dresser, '^o books were to 
 be seen anywhere, except a Court Cuide, a Racing Calendar, 
 €tn Army List, the Sporting Magazine complete, (whole bound 
 in scarlet morocco, at ^about a guinea per volume,) and a 
 sm.all book, as small as an Blzevir, on the chimney-piece, b^^ 
 the side .of a^ cigar- ca^e. That mmR book had cost Frank 
 
236 
 
 MY KOVEL; OB, 
 
 more fclian all tlie rest put together ; it was his Own Book, 
 his book par excellence ; hook made np bj himself — -his 
 Betting Book ! 
 
 On a centre table were deposited Frank's well-brnshed hat 
 — a satinwood box, containing kid- gloves, of various delicate 
 tints, from primrose to lilac — a traj full of cards and three- 
 cornered notes — an opera-glass, and an ivorj subscription 
 ticket to his opera stall. 
 
 In one corner was an ingenious receptacle for canes, sticks, 
 and whips — I should not like, in these bad times, to have 
 paid the bill for them; and mounting guard by that re- 
 ceptacle, stood a pair of boots as bright as Baron Levy's — • 
 " the force of brightness could no further go." Frank was 
 in his dressing-gown — very good taste — quite Oriental — ■ 
 guaranteed to be true India cachmere, and charged as such. 
 !N"othing could be more neat, though perfectly simple, than 
 the appurtenances of his breakfast-table: — silver tea-pot, 
 ewer and basin — all fitting into his dressing-box — (for the 
 which may Storr and Mortimer be now praised, and some 
 day paid!) Frank looked very handsome — rather tired, and 
 exceedingly bored. He had been trying to read the Mommg 
 Post, but the effort had proved too much for him. 
 
 Poor dear Frank Hazeldean! — true type of many a poor 
 dear fellow who has long since gone to the dogs. And if, in 
 this road to ruin, there had been the least thing to do the 
 traveller any credit by the way ! One feels a respect for 
 the ruin of a man like Audley Egerton. He is ruined en 
 roi ! From the wrecks of his fortune he can look down and 
 see stately monuments built from the stones of that dis- 
 mantled edifice. In every institution which attests the 
 humanity of England, was a record of the princely botinty of 
 the public man. In those objects of party, for which the 
 proverbial sinews of war are necessary — in those rewards for 
 service, which private liberality can confer — the hand of 
 Egerton had been opened as with the heart of a king. 
 Many a rising member of Parliament, in those days when 
 talent was brought forward through the aid of wealth and 
 rank, owed his career to the seat which Audley Bgerton's 
 large subscription had secured to him; many an obscure 
 supporter in letters and the press looked back to the dajf 
 when he had been freed from the gaol by the gratitude of 
 the patron. The city he represented was embellished at hiy 
 cost ; through the shire that held his mortgaged lands, which 
 he had rarelj ever visited, his gold had flowed as a Pac bolus j 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 237 
 
 all tliat could animate its pnblic spirit, or increase its civili- 
 sation, claimed kindred with his munificence, and neyer had 
 a claim disallowed. Even in his grand, careless household, 
 with its large retinue and superb hospitality, tiiere was some- 
 thing worthy of a representative of that time-honoured 
 portion of our true nobility — ^the untitled gentlemen of the 
 land. The Great Commoner had, indeed, "something to 
 show for the money he had disdained and squandered. 
 But for Erank Hazeldean*s mode of getting rid of the dross, 
 when gone, what would be left to tell the tale ? Paltry 
 prints in a bachelor's lodging ; a collection of canes and 
 cherry-sticks ; half-a-dozen letters in ill-spelt French from a 
 figurante; some long-legged horses, fit for nothing but to 
 lose a race ; that damnable Betting-Book ; and — sic transit 
 gloria — down sweeps some hawk of a Levy, on the wings of 
 an I 0 U, and not a feather is left of the pigeon ! 
 
 Yet Frank Hazeldean has siuE in him — a good heart, and 
 strict honour. Fool though he seem, there is sound sterling 
 sense in some odd corner of his brains, if one could but get 
 at it. All he wants to save him from perdition is, to 
 do what hs has never yet done — viz., pause and think. But, 
 to be sure, that same operation of thinking is not so easy for 
 folks unaccustomed to it, an people who think — ^think ! 
 
 " I can't bear this," said Frank, suddenly, and springing 
 to his feet. " This woman, I cannot get her out of my head. 
 I ought to go down to the governor's ; but then if he gets 
 into a passion, and refuses his consent, where am I ? And 
 he will, too, I fear. I wish I could make out what Randal 
 advises. He seems to recommend that I should marry 
 Beatrice at once, and trust to my mother's influence to 
 make all right afterwards. But when I ask, * Is that your 
 advice ? ' he backs out of it. Well, I suppose he is right 
 there. I can understand that he is unwilling, good fellow, 
 to recommend anything that my father would disapprove. 
 But still—" 
 
 Here Frank stopped in his soliloquy, and did make his first 
 desperate effort to — think ! 
 
 Now, O dear reader, I assume, of course, that thou art one 
 of the class to which thought is familiar ; and, perhaps, thou 
 hast smiled in disdain or incredulity at that remark on the 
 difficulty of thinking which preceded Frank Hazelde?n's3 
 discourse to himself. But art thou quite sure that wheu 
 thou hast tried to tJiinh thou hast always succeeded ? Hast 
 thou not often been duped by that pale visionary simula*- 
 
2m 
 
 Ml OK, 
 
 ttnm of ihoright wMcli goes hj the namo of reverio ? Honest 
 oM Montaigne confessed that lie did not t^nderstand that 
 p^tocess of sitting down to think, on which some folks express 
 themselves so glibly. He* eonld not think unless he had a 
 p^n in his hand, and a sheet of paper before him ; and so, by 
 a mannal operation, seized aiid connected the links of ratio- 
 cination. Yery ofteii has it happened to myself, when I have 
 said to Thought peremptorily, "Bestir thyself — ^a serious 
 ifiatter is before thee — ponder it well — think of it," that that 
 same thought has behaved in the most refractory, rebellious 
 manner conceivable — and, instead of concentrating its rays 
 into a single stream of light, has broken into all the desultory 
 tints of the rainbow, colouring senseless clouds, and running 
 off into the seventh heaven — so that after sitting a good hour 
 by the clock, with brows as knit as if I was intent on squaring 
 the circle, I have suddenly discovered that I might as well 
 have gone conifortably to sleep — I have been doing nothing 
 but dream— and the most nonsensical dreams ! So when 
 Frank Hazeldean, as he stopped at that meditative "But 
 still" — and leaning his arm on the chimney-piece, and resting 
 his face on his hand, felt himself at the grave crisis of life, 
 and fancied he was going "to think on it," there only rose 
 before him a succession of shadowy pictures. Bandal Leslie, 
 with an unsatisfactory countenance, from which he could 
 extract nothing ;— the Squire, looking as black as thunder in 
 his study at Hazeldean ;— his mothet* trying to plead for him, 
 and getting herself properly scolded for her pains ; — and then 
 off went that Will-o'-th^vwisp which pretended to call itself 
 Thought, and began playing round the pale charming face 
 of Beatrice di Kegra, in t^he drawing-room at Ourzon Street, 
 and repeating, with small elfin voice, Bandal Leslie's as- 
 surance of the preceding day, "as to her affection for you, 
 J'rank, there i^ no doubt of that; she only begins io think 
 yoii are trifling with her." And then there was a rapturous 
 -<^^sion of a young gentleman on his knee, and the fair pale 
 face bathed in blushes, and a clergyman standing by the 
 altar, and a carriage-and-four with white favours at the 
 church-door; and of a honeymoon, which would have as- 
 tonished as to honey all the bees of Hymettus. And in the 
 midst of these phantasmagoria, which composed what Erank 
 fondly styled " making up his mind," there came a single 
 man's elegant rat-tat-tat at the street door. 
 
 " One never has a moment for thmldng*^ cried Frank, and 
 he called eat to his valet, "Not at home." 
 
YAEIETIllS IN MGLISH LIFE. 
 
 289 
 
 But it was too la&te. Lo^rd Spendquick Was in ihe hall, 
 and presently witMn the TbbixLi How d*ye do's were ex- 
 Cjbanged and hands siiakeii. 
 
 Ijoud SpENDQtrios:.— " I hate a notd i6t yon, flazeldean." 
 
 Fbine, (lazily.)— "Ftbm Whofii? " 
 
 LoED Spendquige.— " Lety. Just come from hiM— lieter 
 ^aw hini in siich a fidget. He Was going into the city— I 
 suppose to see X. T. Dashed off this note for yon— and 
 would have sent it by a servant, but I said I would bring it." 
 
 Feank, (looking fearfully at the note.)— I hope he does 
 not want his money yet. * Frivate and confidential '—that 
 looks bad.'* 
 
 Spendquioe.— "Devilish bad, indeed." 
 
 Frank opens the note and reads, half aloud, " Dear Hazel- 
 dean." 
 
 Spendquiok, (interru|.w!:ifig.)— " Good sigh ! He always 
 * Spendquieks ' me when he lends ine money ; and 'tis ' My 
 dear Lord ' when he wants it bsLck. Capital sign 1 " 
 
 F^ank reads ouj bttt to hiiilself, and with a ehaiiging coun- 
 tenance— 
 
 " DeIe HazIilbein^— I am very g6r'ry to tell you that, in 
 consequence of the sudden failure of a house at Paris with 
 which I had large dealings, I am pressed on a sudden for all 
 the teady money I can get. I don't want to inconvenience 
 you, but do try and see if you can take up those bills of 
 yOitrs which I hold, and which, as you know^ have fesn due 
 some little time. I had hit on m "vlay of arranging your 
 affairs ; but When I hinted at it, yOu seemed to dislike the 
 idea; and Leslie has since told tne that you have strong 
 objections to giving any security oil your prospective pro- 
 perty. So Ho naore of that, my dedv fellow. I am called out 
 in hsfcste t6 try what I eaii do for a very charming client of 
 mine, who is in great pecuniary distress, though she has for 
 a brother a forelgii Goiint, as rich as a Grcesus. There is an 
 e:leGtLtion in hei* house. I airi going down to the tradesman 
 who put it in, but have lio hope of softening him ; and I fear 
 there will be others before the day is out. Another reason 
 for wanting money, if you can help nie, mon cJier ! — An 
 execution in the house of one of the most brilliant women in 
 London— an e:xecution in Curzon Street, May Fair! It will 
 be all over the town^ if I can't stop it. — -Yours in haste. Levy. 
 
 "P./S'.— Don't let what I have said vex you too much. I 
 should not trouble you if Spendquick and Borrowell would 
 pay me something. Perhaps you can get them to do so." 
 
240 
 
 MY NOVEL; OK, 
 
 Struck by Frank's silence and paleness, Lord Spendquick 
 iiere, in tlie kindest way possible, laid bis band on tbe young 
 Guardsman's sboulder, and looked over tbe note witb tbat 
 freedom wbicb gentlemen in difficulties take witb eacb otber's 
 private and confidential correspondence. His eye fell on tbe 
 postscript. Ob, damn it," cried Spendquick, " but tbat's 
 too bad — employing you to get me to pay bim ! Sucb borrid 
 treacbery. Make yourself easy, my dear Frank ; I could never 
 suspect you of anytbing so unbandsome. I could as soon 
 suspect myself of — paying bim — " 
 
 " Ourzon Street ! Count ! " muttered Frank, as if waking 
 from a dream. " It must be so." To tbrust on bis boots^ 
 cbange bis dressing-robe for a frock-coat — snatcb at bis bat, 
 gloves, and cane — -break from Spendquick — descend tbe stairs 
 — a fligbt at a leap — gain tbe street — tbrow bimself into a 
 cabriolet ; all tbis was done before bis astounded visitor could 
 even recover breatb enougb to ask " Wbat's tbe matter ? " 
 
 Left tbus alone. Lord Spendquick sbook bis bead — sbook 
 it twice, as if fully to convince bimself tbat tbere was notbing 
 in it ; and tben re-arranging bis bat before tbe looking-glass, 
 and drawing on bis gloves deliberately, be walked down stairs, 
 and strolled into Wbite's, but witb a bewildered and absent 
 air. Standing at tbe celebrated bow- window for some 
 moments in musing silence, Lord Spendquick at last tbus 
 addressed an exceedingly cynical, sceptical, old rotie — 
 
 " Pray, do you tbink tbere is any trutb in tbe stories about 
 people in former times selling tbemselves to tbe devil ? " 
 
 " Ugb," answered tbe roue, mucb too wise ever to be sur- 
 prised. " Have you any personal interest in tbe question ? " 
 
 " I ! — no ; but a friend of mine bas just received a letter 
 from Levy, and be flew out of tbe room in tbe most ex-tra- 
 or-di-na-ry manner — just as people did in tbose days wben 
 tbeir time was up ! And Levy, you know, is — " 
 
 " Not quite as great a fool as tbe otber dark gentleman to 
 wbom you would compare bim : for Levy never made sucb 
 bad bargains for bimself. Time up! STo doubt it is. I 
 sbould not like to be in your friend's sboes." 
 
 " Sboes ! " said Spendquick, witb a sort of sbudder ; " you 
 never saw a neater fellow, nor one, to do bim justice, wbo 
 takes more time in dressing tban be does in general. And 
 talking of sboes — ^be rusbed out witb tbe rigbt boot on tbe 
 left*foot, and tbe left boot on tbe rigbt. Yery mysterious." 
 And a tbird time Lord Spendquick sbook bis bead— and a 
 fcbird time tbat bead seemed to bim wondrous empty. 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFF, 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 But Frank liad arrived in Ourzon Street— leapt from tlte 
 cabriolet — ^knocked at tlie door, wHcli was opened by a strange- 
 looking man in a buff waistcoat and corduroj smalls. Frank 
 gave a glance at this personage — ^pnsbed Mm aside — and 
 rushed up stairs. He burst into tbe drawing-room — no Bea- 
 trice was there. A tliin elderly man, with, a manuscript book 
 in bis bands, appeared engaged in examining the furniture 
 and making an inventory, with the aid of Madame di ITegra's 
 upper servant. The thin man stared at Frank, and touched 
 the hat which was on his head. The servant, who was a 
 foreigner, approached Frank, and said, in broken English, 
 that his lady did not receive — that she was unwell, and kept 
 her room. Frank thrust a sovereign into the servant's hand, 
 and begged him to tell Madame di Fegra that Mr. Hazeldean 
 entreated the honour of an interview. As soon as the servant 
 vanished on this errand, Frank seized the thin man by the 
 arm — " What is this ? — an execution ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 For what sum ? " 
 
 "Fifteen hundred and forty-seven pounds. We are the 
 first in possession.'' 
 
 " There are others, then ? " 
 
 " Or else, sir, we should never have taken this step. Most 
 painful to our feelings, sir ; but these foreigners are here to- 
 day, and gone to-morrow. And — " 
 
 The servant re-entered. Madame di N'egra would see Mr. 
 Hazeldean. Would he walk up stairs ? Frank hastened to 
 obey this summons. 
 
 Madame di ISTegra was in a small room which was fitted up 
 as a boudoir. Her eyes showed the traces of recent i4jars, 
 but her face was composed, and even rigid, in its haughty, 
 though mournful expression. Frank, however, did not pause 
 to notice her countenance — ^to hear her dignified salutation. 
 All his timidity was gone. He saw but the woman whom he 
 loved, in distress and humiliation. As the door closed on 
 him, he flung himself at her feet. He caught at her hand— 
 the skirt of her robe. 
 
 " Oh ! Madame di N"egra ! — Beatrice ! " he exclaimed, tears 
 in his eyes, and his voice half -broken by generous emotion ; 
 " forgive me — forgive me ; don't see in me a mere acquaint- 
 
 '^L. II. B 
 
242 
 
 ance* By accident I learned, or, ratlier, guessed — t]iis-~tliis 
 strange insult to wliicli you are so unworthily exposed. I am 
 here. Think of me — but as a friend— the truest friend . Oh ! 
 Beatrice," — and he bent his head oyer the hand he hield — 
 never dared say so before — it seems presuming to say it now — 
 but I cannot help it. I love you — I love you with my whole 
 heart and soul ; — to serve you — if only but to serve you ! — I 
 ask nothing else." And a sob went from his warm, young, 
 foolish heart. 
 
 The Italian was deeply moved, l^or was her nature that of 
 the mere sordid adventuress. So much love and so much con- 
 fidence ! She was not prepared to betray the one, and entrap 
 the other. 
 
 "Rise — rise,'' she said, softly; "I thank you gratefully. 
 But do not suppose that I — " 
 
 Hush — hush ! — you must not refuse me. Hush \ don't 
 let your pride speak." 
 
 "l!^o — it is not my pride. You exaggerate what is occur- 
 ring here. You forget that I have a brother. I have sent 
 for him. He is the only one I can apply to. Ah 1 that is his 
 knock ! But I shall never, never forget that I have found 
 one generous noble heart in this hollow world." 
 
 Frank would have replied, but he heard the Count's voice 
 on the stairs, and had only time to rise and withdraw to the 
 window, trying hard to repress his agitation and compose his 
 countenance. Count di Peschiera entered — entered as a very 
 personation of the beauty and magnificence of careless, luxu- 
 rious, pampered, egotistical wealth. His surtout, trimmed 
 with the costliest sables, flung back from his splendid chest. 
 Amidst the folds of the glossy satin that enveloped his throat, 
 gleamed a turquoise, of such value as a jeweller might have 
 kept for fifty years before he could find a customer rich and 
 frivolous enough to buy it. The very head of his cane was a 
 masterpiece of art^ and the man himself, so elegant despite 
 his strength, and so fresh despite his years ! — It is astonis|L« 
 ing how well men wear wben they think of no one but themf- 
 selves 1 
 
 a ^Y-Yv ! " said the Count, not observing Frank behind the 
 draperies of the window ; " Pr-rr — . It seems to me that 
 you must have passed a very unpleasant quarter of an hour 
 And now — Dieu me clamne — quoi faire /" 
 
 Beatrice pointed to the window, and felt as if she could 
 have sunk into the earth for shame. But as the Count spoke 
 m French, and Frank did not very readily comprehend that 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 243 
 
 language, the words escaped him ; though his ear way shocked 
 by a certain satirical levity of tone. 
 
 Frank came forward. The Count held out his hand, and 
 with a rapid change of voice and manner, said, "One whom 
 my sister admits at such a moment must be a friend to 
 me." 
 
 "Mr. Hazeldean/' said Beatrice, with meaning, would 
 indeed have nobly pressed on me the offer of an aid which I 
 need no more, since you, my brother, are here." 
 
 " Certainly," said the Count, with his superb air of grand 
 seigneur ; " I will go down and clear your house of this imper- 
 tinent canaille. But I thought your affairs were with Baron 
 Levy. He should be here." 
 
 "I expect him every moment. Adieu! Mr. Hazeldean." 
 Beatrice ©xtended lier hmi to her young lover with a frarik- 
 ness which was not without a certain pathetic and cordial 
 dignity. Restrained from farther words by the Count's pre- 
 sence, Fra-nk bowed over the fa^ir hajid in silence, and retiredj. 
 He was on the stairs when he WB.s joined by Peschiera, 
 
 " Mr. Hazeldean," said the latter, in a low tone, " wijl yojji 
 3ome into the drawiug-room ? " 
 
 Fr£ink obeyed- The man employed in his exsimination of 
 the furniture was still at Ms task: but ^ short whisper 
 from the Count he withdrew, 
 
 " My dear sir," said Peschiera, " I am so unacquainted with 
 your English laws^ and your iXLode of settling embarrassxnent^ 
 of this degrading nature, and you havo evidently showed sq 
 kind ^ sympathy in my sister's distress, that I venture to ask 
 you to stay here, and aid me i;p. consulting with Baron 
 Levy." 
 
 Frank was just expressing his unfeigned pleasure to be of 
 the slightest use, when Levy's knock resounded at the street- 
 door, and in another moi^ient the Baron entered. 
 
 "Ouf !" said Levy, wiping his brows, and Binking into a 
 chair as if he had been eiagaged in toils the most exhausting — 
 " Ouf ! this is a very sad business — very j and nothing., my 
 dear Count, jiothing but ready money can save us here." 
 
 "You know my affairs, Levy," replied Peschiera, mourn- 
 fully shaking his head, " and that though in a few montjis, or 
 it may be weeks, I could discharge with ease my sister's debts, 
 whatever their amount, yet at this imoment, and in a strange 
 land, I haye not the power to do so. The money J brou^g'Jit 
 with me is nearly exhausted. Can you not advance the 
 requisite sum ? " 
 
 B 2 
 
244 
 
 MY novel; OB, 
 
 " Impossible ! — Mr. Hazeldean is aware of the distress 
 nnder which I labour myself." 
 
 " In that case," said the Oount, " all we can do to-day is to 
 remove my sister, and let the execution proceed. Meanwhile 
 T will go among my friends, and see what I can borrow from 
 them." 
 
 "Alas ! " said Levy, rising and looking out of the window — 
 " alas ! we cannot remove the Marchesa— the worst is to come. 
 Look ! — you see those three men ; they have a writ against 
 her person : the moment she sets her foot out of these doors 
 she will be arrested."* 
 
 " Arrested ! " exclaimed Peschiera and Frank in a breath. 
 
 " I have done my best to prevent this disgrace, but in vain," 
 said the Baron, looking very wretched. " You see these 
 English tradespeople fancy they have no hold upon foreigners. 
 But we can get bail ; she must not go to prison — " 
 
 " Prison !" echoed Frank. He hastened to Levy and drew 
 him aside. The Count seemed paralyzed by shame and grief. 
 Throwing himself back on the sofa, he covered his face with 
 his hands. 
 
 " My sister ! " groaned the Count — " daughter to a Pes- 
 chiera, widow to a di Negra ! " There was something a:ffect- 
 ing in the proud woe of this grand patrician. 
 
 " What is the sum ? " whispered Frank, anxious that the 
 poor Count should not overhear him ; and indeed the Count 
 seemed too stunned and overwhelmed to hear anything less 
 loud than a clap of thunder ! 
 
 ^'We may settle all liabilities for £5000. Nothing to 
 Peschi-era, who is enormously rich. Entre nous, I doubt his 
 assurance that he is without ready money. It may be so, 
 but—" 
 
 " Five thousand pounds ! How can I raise such a sum ?" 
 
 " You, my dear Hazeldean ? What are you talking about ? 
 To be sure you could raise twice as much with a stroke of 
 your pen, and throw your own debts into the bargain. But— 
 to be so generous to an acquaintance ! " 
 
 " Acquaintance ! — Madame di ITegra ! the height of my 
 ambition is to claim her as my wife ! " 
 And these debts don't startle you ?" 
 
 ^*If a man loves," answered Frank, simply, "he feels it 
 mo^t when the woman he loves is in affliction. And," he 
 added, after a pause, "though these debts are faults, kindness 
 
 * At that date the law of mesne p?'oeess existed still. 
 
VARIETIES IN E^-GLISH LIFE. 
 
 245 
 
 at tliis moment may give me the power to cure for ever both 
 her faults and my own. I can raise this money by a stroke 
 of the pen ! How ? " 
 
 " On the Casino property." 
 
 Frank drew back. 
 
 " No other way ?" 
 
 " Of course not. But I know your scruples ; let us see if 
 they can be conciliated. You would marry Madame di Negra ; 
 she will have £20,000 on her wedding-day. Why not arrange 
 that, out of this sum, your anticipative charge on the Casino 
 property be paid at once ? Thus, in truth, it will be but for 
 a few weeks that the charge will exist. The bond will remain 
 locked in my desk — it can never come to your father's know- 
 ledge, nor wound his feelings. And when you marry (if you 
 will but be prudent in the meanwhile), you will not owe a 
 debt in the world." 
 
 Here the Count suddenly started up. 
 Mr. Hazeldean, I asked you to stay and aid us by your 
 counsel ; I see now that counsel is unavailing. This blow on 
 our house must fall ! I thank you, sir — I thank you. Fare- 
 well. Levy, come with me to my poor sister, and prepare her 
 for the worst." 
 
 " Count," said Frank, " hear me. My acquaintance with 
 you is but slight, but I have long known and — and esteemed 
 your sister. Baron Levy has suggested a mode in which I 
 can have the honour and the happiness of removing this 
 temporary but painful embarrassment. I can advance the 
 money." 
 
 " No — ^no ! " exclaimed Peschiera. " How can you suppose 
 that I will hear of such a proposition ? Your youth and 
 benevolence mislead and blind you. Impossible, sir — im- 
 possible ! Why, even if I had no pride, no delicacy of my 
 own, my sister's fair fame — " 
 
 " Would suffer indeed," interrupted Levy, " if she were 
 under such obligation to any one but her affianced husband. 
 Nor, whatever my regard for you, Count, could I suffer my 
 client, Mr. Hazeldean, to make this advance upon any less 
 valid security than that of the fortune to which Madame di 
 Negra is entitled." 
 
 Ha ! — ^is this indeed so ? You are a suitor for my sister's 
 hand, Mr. Hazeldean ? " 
 
 " But not at this moment — not to owe her hand to tho 
 compulsion of gratitude," answered gentleman Frank. 
 
 " Gratitude ! And you do not know her hearty then ? Ho 
 
S46 
 
 MY NOVEL; Oil, 
 
 hoi kil6#-^*^ the Count interi*apfed iiim^elf, and went oil 
 aftei* a pause. Mr. Hazeldean, I need not saj, tliat w& rani: 
 Among the first houses in Europe. Mj pride led me f orMerly 
 into the error of disposing of my sister's hand to one whom 
 she did not love — merely because in rank he w^s her equal. I 
 will not again commit such an error, nor would Beatrice 
 again obey me if I sought to constrain her. Whei!"e she 
 Marries, there she will love. If, iiideed, she accepts yoii, as I 
 MKeve she will, it will be froin affection solely. If she does, 
 I eaiinot scruple to ^6cept this loan— a loan from a brother- 
 in-law — ^loan to me, and not charged against hel* fortune! 
 That, ^ir, (turning to Levy, with his grand air,) you will take 
 care to arrange. If she do not accept you, Mr. Ha2:eldean, 
 the loan, I repeat, is iio't to be thought of. Pardon me, if I 
 leave yot^. (This, one way or other, niust be decided at once," 
 The Count inclined his head with much stateliness, and 
 then quitted the room. His step was heard ascending the 
 stairs. 
 
 " If," said Levy, in the tone of a niere irian of business-— 
 if the Count pay the debts, and the lady's fortune be onlj^ 
 charged with your own — ' after all it will not be a bad marriage 
 in the world's eye, nor ought it to be in a father's. Trust 
 mcj we shall get M.f. Hazeldean's consent, and cheerfiilly 
 too." 
 
 Frank did not listen; he could only listen to his love, to 
 his heart beating loud with hope and With fear. 
 
 Levy sate down before the table, and drew up a long list of 
 figures in a very neat hand — a list of figures on two accouiits, 
 which the post-obit on the Casino was destined to efface. 
 
 After a lapse of time, which to Frank seemed interminable, 
 the Count re-appeared. He took Frank aside, with a gesture 
 to LeYyy who rose, and retired into the drawing-room. 
 
 " My dear young friend," said Peschiera, " as I suspected, 
 nay sister's heart is wholly yours. Stop ; hear me out. But, 
 unhickily I informed her of your generotis proposal ; it was 
 most unguarded, most ill- judged in me, and that has well-nigh 
 spoiled all ; she has so much pride aiid spirit ; so great a fea? 
 that you may think yourself betrayed into an imprudence 
 which you may hereafter regret, that I am sure she -Will tell 
 you that she does not love you, she cannot accept you, and so 
 forth. Lovers like you are not easily deceived. Bon't go by 
 her words; but you shall see her yourself and judge. Come." 
 
 Followed mechanically by Frank, the Count ascended tlio 
 stairs and threw open the dOor of Beatrice's room. The 
 
VARIETIES IN EKGLISH LIFE. 2W 
 
 Marcliesa's baok -vv'as turned ; but Frank could see tliat sh& 
 was weeping. 
 
 " 1 liave brought my Mend to plead for bimself," said fclie 
 Count, in French; "and take my advice, sister^ and do not 
 throw away all prospect of real and solid happiness for a vain 
 scrnple. Heed me f^^ He retired and left Frank alone wifch 
 Beatrice. 
 
 Then the Marchesa, as if by a violent eifort, so sndden was 
 her movement, and so wild her look, turned her face to her 
 wooer^ and came np to him, where he stood. 
 
 " Oh ! she said, clasping her hands, " is this true ? Yon 
 would save me from disgrace, from a prison— and what can 1 
 give yon in retttrn? My love! l^o, no. I will not deceive 
 you. Young, fair, noble, as you are, I do not love you, as you 
 should be loved. Go ; leav# this house; you do not know my 
 brother. Gro, go— while I have still strength, still vii'feue 
 enough to reject whatever may protect me from him! what- 
 ever—may — Oh— go, go." 
 
 " You do not love me," said Frank. " Well^ I don't wonder 
 at it; you are so brilliant, so superior to me. I will abandon 
 hope— I will le^ve you as you command me. But at least I 
 will iiot part with my privilege to serve you. As for the rest 
 — ^shame on me if I could be mean enough to boast of love, 
 and enforce a suit, afc such a moment/' 
 
 Frauk tiirned his face and stole atvay softly. He did not 
 arrest his steps at the drawing-room; he welit into the 
 parlotir, wrote a brief line to Levy chsirging him quietly to 
 dismiss the exectttion^ and to come* to Frank's rooms with 
 the necessary deeds ; and, above all^ to say nothing to the 
 Count. Then he went out of the house and walked back to 
 his lodgings. 
 
 That evening Levy came to him, and accounts were gone 
 into, and papers signed; Stnd the next morning Madame di 
 If egra was free from debt ; and there was a great claim on the 
 reversion of the Casino estates ; and at the noon of that liext 
 day Randal was closeted with B,eatrice; and before the night, 
 came a note from Madame di ISTegra^ hurried, blurred with 
 tears, summoning Frank to Curzon Streets And when he 
 entered the Marchesa's drawing-room,- Pesehiera was seated 
 beside his sister ; ' and rising at Frank's entrance, said, "My 
 dear brother-in-law ! " and placed Frank's hand in Beatrice's. 
 
 " You accept— you accept me— and of your own free will 
 and choice ? " 
 
 And Beatrice answered, *^Bear with me a little, aiid I will 
 
2i8 
 
 MY KOVEL; or, 
 
 trj to repay yon witli all my — all my- — " She stopped short, 
 and sobbed alond. 
 
 " I never thonght her capable of snch acnte feelings, such 
 strong attachment," whispered the Count. 
 
 Frank heard, and his face was radiant. By degrees Madame 
 di l^egra recovered composure, and she listened with what 
 her young lover deemed a tender interest, bnt what in fact, 
 was monrnful and humbled resignation, to his joyous talk of 
 the future. To him the honrs passed by, brief and bright, 
 like a flash of sunlight. And his dreams when he retired to 
 rest, were so golden ! But, when he awoke the next morning, 
 he said to himself, What — what will they say at the Hall ? 
 
 At that same hour Beatrice, burying her face on her pillow, 
 turned from the loathsome day, and could have prayed for 
 death. At that same hour, Griulio Franzini, Count di Pes- 
 chiera, dismissing some gaunt haggard Italians, with whom 
 he had been in close conference, sallied forth to recon- 
 noitre the house that contained Yiolante. At that same hour. 
 Baron Levy was seated before his desk casting up a deadly 
 array of figures, headed. Account with the Right Hon. Audlej 
 Egerton, M.P., JDr. and Or." — title-deeds strewed around 
 him, and Frank Hazeldean's post-obH peeping out fresh from 
 the elder parchments. At that same hour, Audley Egertoi\ 
 had just concluded a letter from the chairman of his committee 
 in the city he represented, which letter informed him that he 
 had not a chance of being re-elected. And the lines of his 
 face were as composed as usual, and his foot rested as firm on 
 the grim iron box; but his hand was pressed to his heart, and 
 his eye was on the clock; and his voice muttered — " Dr.F — • — 
 should be here ! " And that hour Harley L'Estrange, who the 
 previous night had charmed courtly crowds with his gay 
 humour, was pacing to and fro the room in his hotel with 
 restless strides and many a heavy sigh; — and Leonard was 
 standing by the fountain in his garden, and watching the 
 wintry sunbeams that sparkled athwart the spray ; — and Yio- 
 lante was leaning on Helen's shoulder, and trying archly, yet 
 innocently, to lead Helen to talk of Leonard ;— and Helen 
 was gazing stedfastly on the floor, and answering but by 
 monosyllables; — and Bandal Leslie was walking down to his 
 office for the last time, and reading, as he passed across the 
 Grreen Park, a letter from home, from his sister; and then, 
 suddenly crumpling the letter in his thin pale hand, he looked 
 up, beheld in the distance the spires of the great national 
 Abbey ; and recalling the words of our hero Nelson, he mut« 
 
VAUIETIES IN ENGLISH IIFE. 
 
 249 
 
 tered — " Victory and Westminster, bat not the Abbey ! 
 And Randal Leslie felt tbat, witbin the last few days, be bad 
 made a vast stride in bis ambition; — -bis grasp on tbe old 
 Leslie lands — Frank Uazeldean betrothed, and possibly dis- 
 inherited; and Dick Avenel, in the back ground, opening 
 against tbe bated Lansmere interest, that same seat in Parlia- 
 ment which bad first welcomed into public life RandaFa 
 rained patron. 
 
 But some must laugh, aud some mast w«ep* 
 Tkua runs the world a^feyl " 
 
250 
 
 MY novel; OB, 
 
 BOOK ELEVENTH. 
 
 INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 ON THE IMPORMCE OF HlTii AS AS AG^INT IN CIVILISED LIFB. 
 
 It is not an uncommon crotcliet amongst benevolent men tc 
 maintain that wickedness is necessarily a sort of insanity, and 
 tliat nobody would make a violent start out of tbe straiglit 
 path unless stung to such disorder by a bee in his bonnet. 
 Certainly, when some very clever, well-educated person like 
 our friend, Handal Leslie, acts upon the fallacious principle 
 fchat " roguery is the best policy," it is curious to see how many 
 points he has in common with the insane : what overcunning 
 — what irritable restlessness — what suspicious belief that 
 the rest of the world are in a conspiracy against him, which 
 it requires all his wit to baffle and turn to his own proper 
 aggrandisement and profit. Perhaps some of my readers 
 may have thought that I have represented Randal as unnatu- 
 rally far-fetched in his schemes, too wiredrawn and subtle in 
 his speculations; yet that is commonly the case with very 
 refining intellects, when they choose to play the knave; it 
 helps to disguise from themselves the ugliness of their am- 
 bition, just as a philosopher delights iri the ingenuity of some 
 metaphysical process, which ends in what plain men call 
 
 atheism," who would be infinitely shocked and offended if 
 he were called an atheist. 
 
 Having premised thus much on behalf of the "JSTatural" 
 in Randal Leslie's character, I must here fly off to say a word 
 or two on the agency in human life exercised by a passion 
 rarely seen without a mask in our debonair and civilised age 
 ■ — I mean Hate. 
 
 In the good old days of our forefathers, when plain speaking 
 and hard blows were in fashion — when a man had his heart at 
 the tip of his tongue, and four feet of sharp iron dangling at 
 his side. Hate playing an honest, open part in the theatre of 
 the world. In fact, when we read History, Hate seem.s to 
 have " starred it " on the stage. But now, where is Hate? 
 — who ever sees its face ? Is it that smiling, good-tempered 
 
V4EIETTES m moum life. 
 
 Drearturey tbat presses yon by the hand so eoTdially F or that 
 dignified figure of state that calls yon its " Right Holtottrahle 
 friend ? " Is it that bo wing, grateful depetidei^t f — ^is it that 
 soft-eyed Amaryllis? Ask not, guess fiot: yott will only 
 know it to be hate when the poison is in yonf ctip, or the 
 poinard in your breast. In the G-othic age, gri^n- Hufnour 
 painted "the Dance of Death;" in our polished-century, 
 some sardonic wit should give us "the Masquerade of 
 Hate." 
 
 Certainly, the counter-passion betrays itself with ease to our 
 gaze. Love is rarely a hypocrite. But Hate — how detect, 
 and how guard against it ? It lurks where you least suspect 
 it ; ifc is created by canses that you can the least foresee ; and 
 Civilisation multiplies its varieties, whilst it favours its dis- 
 guise : for Oivilisatioli increases the number of contending 
 interests, and Refinement renders more susceptible to the 
 least irritation the cuticle of Self-liove. But Hate comes 
 covertly forth from some self-interest we have crossed, or 
 some self-love we have wounded; and, dullards that we are, 
 how SeMoni we are aware of our offence ! You inay be hated 
 by a man you have never seen in your life : you may be hated 
 as oftefi by one you have loaded with benefits; — you may so 
 walk as not to tread on a worm ; btit you must sit fast on 
 your easy chair till you are carried out to your bier, if you 
 would be silre not to tread on some snake of a foe. But, 
 then, what harm does the hate do us ? "V'ery often the harm 
 is as titiseen by the world as the hate is unrecognised by ns. 
 Ifc may come on us, lir*awares, in some solitary byway of our 
 life; strike its in our -unsuspecting privacy; thwart us in 
 some blessed hope we have never told to another ; for the 
 momLent the world sees that it is Sate that strikes us, its 
 worst power of mischief is gone. 
 
 We have a great many names for the same passion—- 
 Envy, Jealotisy, Spite, Prejudice, Hivalry-; but they al*e so 
 many synonyms for the one old heathen demon. When the 
 death-giving shaft of Apollo sent the plague to some unhappy 
 Achaean, it did not much Inatter to the victim whether the 
 god were called Ilelios or Smintheus. 
 
 No man you ever met in the world seemed more raised 
 above the malice of Hate than Audley Egerfcon : even in the 
 hot war of politics he had scarcely a personal foe ; and in 
 private life he kept himself so aloof and apart from others 
 that he was little known, save by the benefits the waste of his 
 wealth conferred. That the hate of any one could reach the 
 
252 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 austere statesman on his high, pinnacle of esiteem, — jon 
 would have smiled at the idea ! But Hate is now, as it ever 
 has been, an actual Power amidst " the Varieties of Life ; ** 
 and, in spite of bars to the door, and policemen in the street, 
 no one can be said to sleep in safety while there wakes the 
 eye of a single foe. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 The glory of Bond Street is no more. The title of Bond 
 Street Lounger has faded from our lips. In vain the crowd 
 of equipages and the blaze of shops : the renown of Bond 
 Street was in its pavement— its pedestrians. Art thou old 
 enough, 0 reader! to remember the Bond Street Lounger 
 and his incomparable generation ? For my part, I can just 
 recall the decline of the grand era. It was on its wane when, 
 in the ambition of boyhood, I first began to muse upon high 
 neckcloths and Wellington boots. But the ancient habitues — 
 the magni nominis mnhrce — contemporaries of Brummell in his 
 zenith — ^boon companions of Greorge lY. in his regency — still 
 haunted the spot. Prom four to six in the hot month of 
 June, they sauntered stately to and fro, looking somewhat 
 mournful even then — foreboding the extinction of their race. 
 The Bond Street Lounger was rarely seen alone : he was a 
 social animal, and walked arm in arm with his fellow-man. 
 He did not seem born for the cares of these ruder times ; not 
 made was he for an age in which Pinsbury returns members 
 to Parliament. He loved his small talk ; and never since 
 then has talk been so pleasingly small. Your true Bond 
 Street Lounger had a very dissipated look. His youth had 
 been spent with heroes who loved their bottle. He himself 
 had perhaps supped with Sheridan. He was by nature a 
 spendthrift : you saw it in the roll of his walk. Men who 
 make money rarely saunter; men who save money rarely 
 swagger. But saunter and swagger both united to stamp 
 PRODIGAL on the Bond Street Lounger. And so familiar as he 
 was with his own set, and so amusingly supercilious with the 
 vulgar residue of mortals whose faces were strange to Bond 
 Street. But he is gone. The world, though sadder for hia 
 loss, still strives to do its best without him ; and our young 
 men, now-a-days, attend to model cottages, and incline to 
 Tractarianism. Still the place, to an unreflecting eye, has its 
 
VAUTETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 253 
 
 brilliancy and bnstle. But it is a tliorouglif are, not a lounge. 
 And adown tlie tliorouglifare, somewhat before the hour when 
 the throng is thickest, passed two gentlemen of an appearance 
 exceedingly out of keeping with the place. Yet both had the 
 air of men pretending to aristocracy — an old-world air of 
 respectability and stake in the country, and Church-and- 
 Stateism. The burlier of the two was even rather a beau in 
 his way. He had first learned to dress, indeed, when Bond 
 Street was at its acme, and Brummell in his pride. He still 
 retained in his garb the fashion of his youth ; only what then 
 had spoken of the town, now betrayed the life of the country. 
 His neckcloth ample and high, and of snowy whiteness, set 
 off to comely adyantage a face smooth-shaven, and of clear 
 florid hues ; his coat of royal blue, with buttons in which you 
 might have seen yourself veluti in speculum, was, rather 
 jauntily, buttoned across a waist that spoke of lusty middle 
 age, free from the ambition, the avarice, and the anxieties 
 that fret Londoners into threadpapers ; his small-clothes, of 
 greyish drab, loose at the thigh and tight at the knee, were 
 made by Brummeirs own breeches-maker, and the gaifcers to 
 match (thrust half-way down the calf), had a manly dandyism 
 that would have done honour to the beau-ideal of a county 
 member. The profession of this gentleman's companion was 
 unmistakable — the shovel-hat, the clerical cut of the coat, the 
 neckcloth without collar, that seemed made for its accessory 
 — the band, and something very decorous, yet very mild, in 
 the whole mien of this personage, all spoke of one who was 
 every iuch the gentleman and the parson. 
 
 " 1^0," said the portlier of these two persons — "no, I can't 
 Bay I like Frank's looks at all. There's certainly something 
 on his mind. However, I suppose it will be all out this 
 evening." 
 
 *'He dines with you at your hotel, Squire? Well, you 
 must be kind to him. We can't put old heads upon young 
 Bhoulders." 
 
 "I don't object to his head being young," returned the 
 Squire ; "but I wish he had a little of Randal Leslie's good 
 sense in it. I see how it will end ; I must take him back to 
 the country ; and if he wants occupation, why he shall keep 
 the hounds, and I'll put him into Brooksby farm." 
 
 "As for the hounds," replied the Parson, "hounds 
 necessitate horses ; and I think more mischief comes to a 
 young man of spirit, from the stables, than from any other 
 place in the world. They ought to be exposed from the 
 
£64 
 
 MOTEL; OR, 
 
 pal|)it, thase sfcables !" ^dded Mr. Dale, ittougfctf jilly ,5 see 
 what tjie?f eiitailed upon ISTiiaarodi l^ut Agriciiltnm U b> 
 iieaJtliful a/nd noble purgait, Jiop-Oiired hj sacred nations, a?i4 
 claerislied bj tbe greatest men in Glassical tina.es. For 
 instance, tbe Athenians were—'' 
 
 Bother tbe Atkf^nians 1 " cried tbe )S quire, iriwerontjj ; 
 you need not go so far back for mi oxanipje. It is enough 
 for a Ifaizeldeian that his father, and his grandfather, ap-d his 
 great grandfather all far.n;.ed before him ; apid a devilish deal 
 better, I take it, than any of tho&o musty old Atheni^ins— <no 
 oiffence to them. But I'll tell you one thing, Parson— -^a maoi; 
 to farm well, ap.d liye in the country, shoi^ld hav;e a wife ; it 
 is half the battle." 
 
 "As to a battle, a man who is married i^ pretty fSure ^f 
 half, though not always the better half, of it," answered the 
 Parson, who seemed peculiarly facetious that day. ^'Ah, 
 Squii^ I wish I could think Mrs, flazeldean right ip. her 
 con|ecture ! — you would havo th-e prettiest daughter-in-law in 
 6he three kingdoms. And I do believe that, if I could have 
 a good talk with the youiag lady apart from her father, wp 
 could, remove the only objection I know to the ip.arriag^. 
 Those Popish errors- — " 
 
 ■ ' Ah, very irm I " cried tke Squire ; " that Pope ■sticks 
 hard in my gizzard. I could .excuse her being a foreigner, 
 and not having, I suppose, a shilling in her pocket — bless her 
 handsome face ! — but to be worshipping images in laer room 
 instead of going to the parish .church, that will never do. 
 But you think you eonld talk her out of the Pope, and into 
 the family pew? " 
 
 "Why, I could have tajked her father out ;of the Pope, 
 only, when he had n(>t a word to say for himself, he bolted 
 out of the window. Youth is more ingenuous in confessing 
 its ericors." 
 
 "I own.," ^aid the Squire, "that both Harry and I had a 
 favourite notion of ours till this Italian girl got into our heads. 
 Do you know we bo^ih took a great fancy to Bandal's little 
 .sister— pretty, blushing, English-faced girl as ever you saw. 
 And it went to Harjpy's good heart to see her so neglected by 
 that silly, fidgetty mother of h^rs, her hair hanging about 
 her ears ; and I thought it would be a fine way to bring 
 Ilandal an,d Prank more together, and enable me to do 
 something for B^andal himself; — ^ good boy with ijazeldcan 
 blood in his veins. But Yiolante is so handsome, thai ^ doJJ^'i 
 Wond.er at the boy's choice ,3 ai^d ih^p. it is oi;ir fmlt—wB Jel 
 
YAPJETIES IN ENai^lSH LIFE. 
 
 255 
 
 tliem. see so mncli of eacli otlier as cliildreii. However, 1 
 sliould be TQYj angrj if Eickeybockey had been pkying ^ly, 
 and running away from the Casino in order to give Frank 
 an opportunity to carry on a cland.es tine intercourse witb. bis 
 daughter." 
 
 " I don't think that would be like E»iccabocca ; more like 
 b.im to run away in order to deprive Frank of the best all 
 occasions to court Yiolante, if he so desired ; for where could 
 he see more of her than at the Casino ? " 
 
 Squire. — "That's well put. Considering he was only a 
 foreign doctor, and, for aught we know, once went about in a 
 caravan, he is a gentleman-iike fellow, that Mickeybockey. I 
 speak of people as I find. them. But what is your notion 
 about Frank? I see you. don't think he is in love with 
 Violante, after all. Out with it, man ; speak plain." 
 
 Parson.—- ' Sinco you so urge me, I own I do not think 
 him in love with her ; neither does my Carry, who is un- 
 commonly shrewd in such matters.'' 
 
 Squire.— Your Carry, indeed! — ^as if she were half as 
 shrewd as my Harry. Carry — nonsense 1 " 
 
 Parson, (reddening.) — "I don't want to make invidious 
 remarks ; but, Mr. Hazeldean, when you snoer at my Carry, 
 I should not be a man if I did not say that — " 
 
 Squire, (imterrupting.)— She is a good little woman 
 enough ; but to compare her to my Harry ^! " 
 
 Parson. — "I don't compare her to your Harry; I don't 
 compare her to any woman in England, sir. But you are 
 losing your temper, Mr. Hazeldean ! " 
 
 Squire.— "I!" 
 
 Parson.' — " And people are staring at you, Mr. Hazeldean. 
 For decency's sake, compose yourself, and change tho subject. 
 We are just at the Albany. I hope that we shall not nnd 
 ■poor Captain Higginbothiamas ill as he represents himself in his 
 letter. Ah, is it -possible ? ITo, it cannot be. Look — ^iook i " 
 
 Squire.— " Whero—-what^ — ^where ? Don't pigach so hard. 
 Bless me, do you see a ghost ? " 
 
 Parson.—" There— the gentleman in black >! *' 
 
 Squire. ^ — ^-Gentleman in black I What !— in feroad day- 
 light ! Konsense ! " 
 
 Here the Parson made a spring forward, and, catching the 
 arm of the person in Gjuestion, who himself had stoppe<l, -and 
 was gazing intently on the ppvir, exclaimed — ■ 
 
 " Sir, paid-on me ; but is mot your nam^e Fairfield ? Ah, 
 it i^ Leonard — it is— my dear, dear boy 1 What joy ! 
 
£56 
 
 MY NORTEL; OR, 
 
 altered, so improved, but still the same honest face. Squire 
 come here — ^your old friend, Leonard Fairfield." 
 
 "And he wanted to persuade me," said the Squire, shaking 
 Leonard heartily bv the hand, That you were the Grentlema-n 
 in Black ; but, indeed, he has been in strange humours and 
 tantrums all the morning. Well, Master Lenny; why, you 
 are grown quite a gentleman ! The world thrives with you 
 — eh ! I suppose you are head-gardener to some grandee." 
 
 " Not that, sir," said Leonard, smiling. " But the world 
 has thriyen with me at last, though not without some rough 
 usage at starting. Ah, Mr. Dale, you can little guess how 
 of fcen I have thought of you and your discourse on Know- 
 ledge ; and, what is more, how I have lived to feel the truth 
 of your words, and to bless the lesson." 
 
 Pahson, (much touched and flattered.) — "I expected nothing 
 less from you, Leonard ; you were always a lad of great sense, 
 and sound judgment. So you have thought of my little dis- 
 course on Knowledge, have you ? " 
 
 Squire. — " Hang knowledge ! I have reason to hate the 
 word. It burned down three ricks of mine ; the finest ricks 
 you ever set eyes on, Mr. Fairfield." 
 
 Parson. — " That was not knowledge, Squire ; that was*- 
 ignorance." 
 
 Squire. — Ignorance ! The deuce it was. I'll just appeal 
 to you, Mr. Fairfield. We have been having sad riots in the 
 shire, and the ringleader was just such another lad as you 
 were ! " 
 
 Leonard. — " I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Hazel- 
 dean. In what respect ? " 
 
 Squire. — "Why he was a village genius, and always 
 reading some cursed little tract or other ; and got mighty 
 discontented with King, Lords, and Commons, I suppose, and 
 went about talking of the wrongs of the poor, and the crimes 
 of the rich, till, by Jove, sir, the whole mob rose one day 
 with pitchforks and sickles, and smash went Farmer Smart's 
 thrashing-machines ; and on the same night my ricks were 
 on fire. We caught the rogues, and they were all tried ; but 
 the poor deluded labourers were let off with a short imprison- 
 ment. The village genius, thank heaven, is sent packing to 
 Botany Bay." 
 
 Leonard. — But, did his books teach him to burn ricks and 
 smash machines ? " 
 
 Parson. — " No ; he said quite the contrary, and declared 
 tkat he had no hand in those misdoings." 
 
VARIETIES IN ENaLISH LIFE. 
 
 257 
 
 Squire. — " But he was proved to liave excited, with his 
 wild talk, the boobies who had ! 'Gad, sir, there was a hypo* 
 ci^fcical Quaker once, who said to his enemy, * I can*t shed 
 thy blood, friend, but I will hold thy head under water till 
 thou art drowned.* And so there is a set of demagogical 
 fellows, who keep calling out, ' Farmer, this is an oppressor, 
 and Sqnire that is a vampire ! But no violence ! Don't smash 
 their machines, don't burn their ricks ! Moral force, and a 
 curse on all tyrants ! ' Well, and if poor Hodge thinks moral 
 force is all my eye, and that the recommendation is to be read 
 backwards, in the devil's way of reading the Lord's prayer, 
 1 should like to know which of the two ought to go to Botany 
 Bay — Hodge, who comes ont like a man, if he thinks he is 
 wronged, or 'tother sneaking chap, who makes nse of his 
 knowledge to keep himself out of the scrape ? " 
 
 Paeson. — " It may be very true ; but when I saw that poor 
 fellow at the bar, with his intelligent face, and heard his bold 
 clear defence, and thought of all his hard struggles for know- 
 ledge, and how they had ended, because he forgot that know- 
 ledge is like fire, and must not be thrown amongst flax — 
 why, I could have given my right hand to save him. And, 
 oh. Squire, do you remember- his poor mother's shriek of 
 despair when he was sentenced to transportation for life — I 
 hear it now ! And what Leonard — ^what do you think had 
 misled him? At the bottom of all the mischief was a Tinker's 
 bag. You cannot forget Sprott ? " 
 
 Leonard. — " Tinker's bag ! — Sprott ! " 
 
 Squire. — " That rascal, sir, was the hardest fellow to nab 
 you could possibly conceive ; as full of quips and quirks as an 
 Old Bailey lawyer. But we managed to bring it home to 
 him. Lord 1 his bag was choke-full of tracts against every 
 man who had a good coat on his back ; and as if that was not 
 enough, cheek by jowl with the tracts were lucifers, contrived 
 on a new principle, for teaching my ricks the theory of spon- 
 taneous combustion. The labourers bought the lucifers — " 
 
 Parson. — " And the poor village genius bought the tracts." 
 
 Squire. — " All headed with a motto — * To teach the work- 
 ing classes that knowledge is power.' So that I was right in 
 saying that knowledge had burnt my ricks ; knowledge in- 
 flamed the village genius, the village genius inflamed fellows 
 more ignorant than himself, and they inflamed my stack-yard. 
 However, lucifers, tracts, village genius, and Sprott, are all 
 off to Botany Bay ; and the shire has gone on much the better 
 for it. So no more of your knowledge for me, begging your 
 
 VOL. II. s 
 
258 
 
 MY novel; Oil, 
 
 pardon, Mr. Fairfield. Sucli nneommonly fine ricks as mine 
 were ^oo ! I declare, parson, you are looking as if you felt 
 pity for Sprott ; and 1 saw you, indeed, whispering to him 
 as he was taken out of court." 
 
 Paeson (looking sheepish). — "Indeed, Squire, I was only 
 isking him what had become of his donkey, an unoffending 
 '3reature.'' 
 
 Squire. — " Unoffending ! Upset me amidst a thistle bed 
 in my own village greer/ I remember it. Well, what did 
 he say had become of the donkey ? " 
 
 Parson. — He said but one word ; but that showed all the 
 vindictiyeness of his disposition. He said it with a horrid 
 wink, that made my blood run cold. ' What's become of your 
 poor donkey ? ' said I, and he auswered — 
 
 Squire. — " G-o on. He answered — " 
 
 Parson. — " ' Sausages.' " 
 
 Squire. — " Sausages ! Like enough; and sold to the poor ; 
 and that's what the poor will come to if they listen to such 
 revolutionising villains. Sausages ! Donkey sausages ! — 
 (spitting) — 'Tis ^ eating one another ; perfect 
 
 cannibalism." 
 
 Leonard, nad been thrown into grave thought by the 
 history of Sprott and the village genius, now pressing the 
 Parson's hand, asked permission to wait on him before Mr. 
 Dale quitted London ; and was about to withdraw, when the 
 Parson, gently detaining him, said — No ; don't leave me 
 yot, Leonard — I have so much to ask you, and to talk about. 
 I shall be at leisure shortly. We are just now going to call 
 on a relation of the Squire's, whom you must recollect, I am 
 sure— Captain . Higginbotham— Barnabas Higginbotham. He 
 is very pooi-ly." 
 
 " And I am sure he would take it kind in you to call too," 
 said the Squire, with great good-nature. 
 
 Leonard. — Nay, sir, would not that be a great liberty ? " 
 
 Squire. — Liberty ! To ask a poor sick gentleman how he 
 is ? Nonsense. And I say, sir, perhaps as no doubt you 
 have been living in town, and know more of new-fangled 
 notions than I do — perhaps you can tell us whether or not it 
 is all humbug, that new way of doctoring people.'* 
 
 Leonard. — "What new way, sir. There are so many.'* 
 
 Squire. — "Are there? Polks in London do look i|.ucom- 
 moniy sickly. But my pOor cousin (he was never a Solomon) 
 has got hold, he says, of a homely — homely — ^What's the word^ 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 £59 
 
 Pahson. — " Homoeopatliist.'* 
 
 Squire. — *^ That's it ! You see the Captain went to live 
 with one Sharpe Currie, a relation who had a great deal of 
 money, and verj little liver ; — made the one, and left much of 
 the other in Ingee, jou understand. The Captain had expecta^ 
 Hons of the money. Yery natural, I dare say ; but Lord, sir, 
 what do you think has happened ? Sharpe Currie has done 
 him. Would not die, sir ; got back his liver, and the Captain 
 has lost his own. Strangest thing you ever heard. And 
 then the ungrateful old ISTabob has dismissed the Captain, 
 saying, ^ He can't bear to have invalids about him ; ' and is 
 going to marry, and I have no doubt will have children by 
 the dozen ^ " 
 
 Paeson.— It was in Grermany, at one of the Spas, that Mr. 
 Currie recovered ; and as he had the selfish inhumanity to 
 make the Captain go through a course of waters simulta- 
 neously with himself, it has so chanced that the same waters 
 that cured Mr. Currie's liver have destroyed Captain Higgin- 
 botham's. An J]nglish homoeopathic physician, then staying 
 at the Spa, has attended the Captain hither, and declares that 
 he will restore him by infinitesimal doses of the same chemical 
 properties that were found in the waters which diseased him. 
 Can there be anything in such a theory ? " 
 
 Leonaed. — ^'I once knew a very able, though eccentric 
 homoeopathist, and I am inclined to believe there may be 
 something in the system. My friend went to G-ermany ; it 
 may possibly be the same person who attends the Captain. 
 May I ask his name ? " 
 
 Squire. — " Cousin Barnabas does not mention it. You may 
 ask it of himself, for here we are at his chambers. I say, 
 Parson (whispering slily), if a small dose of what hurt the 
 Captain is to cure him, don't you think the pi'oper thing 
 would be a — legacy ? Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Parson (trying not to laugh). — "Hush, Squire. Poor 
 human nature 1 We must be merciful to its infirmities. 
 Come in, Leonard.^' 
 
 Leonard, interested in his doubt whether he might thus 
 chance again upon Dr. Morgan, obeyed the invitation, and 
 with his two companions followed the woma,n— who " did for 
 the Captain and his rooms " — across the small lobby, into fche 
 presence of the suiferer. 
 
260 
 
 MY novel; Oil, 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 Whatever the disposition towards merriment at liis consin'a 
 expense entertained hj the Sqnire, it vanislied instantly at tlie 
 sight of the Captain's doleful visage and emaciated figure. 
 
 " Yery good in you to come to town to see me — very good 
 in you, cousin ; and in you too, Mr. Dale. How very well 
 you are both looking. I'm a sad wreck. You might count 
 every bone in my body." 
 
 " H vzeldean air and roast beef will soon set you up, my 
 boy," said the Squire, kindly. "You were a great goose to 
 leave them, and these comfortable rooms of yours an the 
 Albany." 
 
 " They are comfortable, though not showy," said the Captain, 
 with tears in his eyes. " I had done my best to make them 
 BO. New carpets — this very chair— (morocco !) — that Japan 
 cat (holds toast and muffins)^ — ^just when — just when — (the 
 tears here broke forth, and the Captain fairly whimpered) — 
 just when that ungrateful, bad-hearted man wrote me word 
 * he was — was dying and lone in the world ; ' and — and — to 
 think what I've gone through for him ; — and to trea,t me so. 
 Cousin William, he has grown as hale as yourself, and — 
 and—" 
 
 " Cheer up, cheer up ! " cried the compassionate Squire. 
 " It is a very hard case, I allow. But you see, as the old 
 proverb says, * 'tis ill waiting for a dead man's shoes ; ' and in 
 future — I don't mean offence — but I think if you would calcu- 
 late less on the livers of your relations, it would be all the 
 better for your own. Excuse me." 
 
 " Cousin William," replied the poor Captain, " I am sure I 
 never calculated; hut still, if you had seen that deceitful 
 man's good-for-nothing face — as yellow as a guinea — and 
 have gone through all I've gone through, you would have 
 felt cut to the heart, as I do. T can't bear ingratitude. I 
 never could. But let it pass. Will that gentleman take a 
 chair? " 
 
 Paeson. — " Mr. Fairfield has kindly called with us, because 
 he knows something of this system of homoeopathy which you 
 have adopted, and may, perhaps, know the practitioner. What 
 is the name of your doctor? " 
 
 Captain (looking at his watch). — "That reminds me 
 (swallowing a globule.) A great relief these little pills — 
 
VARIETIES m EKGLISH LIFE, 
 
 261 
 
 affcer tlie physic IVe taken to please tliat malignant mau. He 
 always tried his doctor's stuff upon me. But there's another 
 world, and a juster 1 " 
 
 With that pious conclusion, the Captain again began to 
 weep. 
 
 " Touched," muttered the Squire, with his forefinger on hig 
 forehead, " You seem to have a good tidy sort of a nurse here, 
 Cousin Barnabas. I hope she's pleasant, and lively, and don't 
 let you take on so." 
 
 " Hist ! — don't talk of her. All mercenary ; every bit of 
 her fawning ! Would you believe it ? I give her ten shillings 
 a week, besides all that goes down of my pats of butter and 
 rolls, and I overheard the jade saying to the laundress that ' I 
 could not last long ; and she'd — expectations ! ' Ah, Mr 
 Dale, when one thinks of the sinfulness there is in this life ! 
 But I'll not think of it. "No — I'll not. Let us change the 
 subject. You were asking my doctor's name. It is — " 
 
 Here the woman with ' expectations ' threw open the door, 
 and suddenly announced — ''Dr. Moegan." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Parson started, and so did Leonard. 
 
 The Homoeopathist did not at first notice either. With an 
 anobservant bow to the visitors, he went straight to the 
 patient, and asked, " How go the symptoms ? " 
 
 Therewith the Captain commenced, in a tone of voice like 
 a schoolboy reciting the catalogue of the ships in Homer. 
 He had been evidently conning the symptoms, and learning 
 them by heart. Nor was there a single nook or corner in his 
 anatomical organisation, so far as tbe Captain was acquainted 
 with that structure, but what some symptom or other was 
 dragged therefrom, and exposed to day. The Squire listened 
 with hprror to the morbific inventory — muttering at each 
 dread interval, "Bless me! Lord bless me! What, more 
 still ! Death would be a very happy release ! " Meanwhile 
 )\lg Doctor endured the recital with exemplary patience, 
 Acting down in the leaves of his pocket-book what appeared 
 to him the salient points in this fortress of disease to which 
 he had laid siege, and then, drawing forth a minu^^e paper, 
 said — 
 
262 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 "Capital — notMng can be better. This powder must be 
 dissolved in eight table-spoonfuls of water j one spoonful 
 every two hours." 
 Table- spoonful ? " 
 
 " Table-spoonful." 
 
 " * Nothing can be better/ did you say, sir ? " repeated the 
 Squire, who in his astonishment at that assertion applied to 
 the Captain's description of his sufferings, had hitherto hung 
 fire — " nothing can be better ? " 
 
 " For the diagnosis, sir I " replied Dr. Morgan. 
 
 ''For the dogs' noses, very possibly," quoth the Squire; 
 '' but for the inside of Cousin Higginbotham, I should think 
 nothing could be worse." 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir," replied Dr. Morgan. "It is not 
 the Captain who speaks here — it is his liver* Liver, sir, 
 though a noble, is an imaginative organ, and indulges in the 
 most extraordinary fictions. Seat of poetry, and love, and 
 jealousy— the liver. Never believe what it says. You have 
 no idea what a liar it is ! But — ahem — ahem. Cott — I 
 think I've seen you before, sir. Surely your name's Hazel- 
 dean ? " 
 
 " William Hazeldean, at your service, Doctor. But where 
 have you seen me ? " 
 
 " On the hustings at Lansmere. Ypu were speaking on 
 behalf of your distinguished brother, Mr. Egerton." 
 
 " Hang it ! " cried the Squire : "I think it must have been 
 my liver that spoke there ! for I promised the electors that 
 that half-brother of mine would stick by the land ; and I 
 never told a bigger lie in my life ! " 
 
 Here the patient, reminded of his other visitors, and afraid 
 he was going to be bored with the enumeration of the Squire's 
 wrongs, and probably the whole history of his duel with 
 Captain Dashmore, turned wdth a languid wave of his hand, 
 and said, "Doctor, another friend of mine, the Rev. Mr. 
 Dale,- — and a gentleman who is acquainted with homooo- 
 pathy." 
 
 "Dale? "What, more old friends!" cried the Doctor^ 
 rising ; and the Parson came somewhat reluctantly from the 
 window nook, to which he had retired. The Parson and the 
 Homoeopathist shook hands. 
 
 "We have met before on a very mournful occasion," said 
 the Doctor, with feeling. 
 
 " The Parson held his finger to his lips, and glanced 
 toT>'ards Leonard. The Doctor stared at the lad, but he did 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 263 
 
 not recognise in tlie person before him trie gaunt, care-worn 
 boY wbom be bad placed witb Mr. Prickett, until Leonard 
 smiled and spoke. And tbe smile and tbe voice sufficed. 
 
 " Cott — and it is tbe poy ! " cried Dr. Morgan ; and be 
 actually caugbt bold of Leonard, and gave bim an affectionate 
 Welcb bug. Indeed, bis agitation at tbese several surprises 
 became so great tbat be stopped sbort, drew fortb a globule 
 — Aconite — good against nervous sbocks! " and swallowed 
 it incontinently. 
 
 " Gad," said tbe Squire, ratber astonisbed, " 'tis tbe first 
 doctor I ever saw swallow bis own medicine ! Tbere must be 
 sometbing in it." 
 
 Tbe Captain now, bigbly disgusted tbat so mucb attention 
 was witbdrawn from bis own case, asked, in a querulous voice, 
 " And as to diet ? Wbat sball I bave for dinner ? " 
 
 " A friend ! " said tbe Doctor, wiping bis eyes. 
 
 " Zounds ! " cried tbe Squire, retreafcing, " do you mean to 
 say, tbat tbe Britisb laws (to be sure tbey are very mucb 
 cbanged of late) allow you to diet your patients upon tbeir 
 fellow-men ? Wby, Parson, tbis is worse tban tbe donkey 
 sausages." 
 
 " Sir," said Dr. Morgan, gravely, " I mean to say, tbat it 
 matters little wbat we eat, in comparison witb care as to 
 wbom we eat witb. It is better to exceed a little witb a 
 friend, tban to observe tbe strictest regimen, and eat alone. 
 Talk and laugbter belp tbe digestion, and are indispensable 
 in affections of tbe liver. I bave no doubt, sir, tbat it was 
 my patient's agreeable society tbat tended to restore to bealtb 
 bis dyspeptic relative, Mr. Sbarpe Ourrie." 
 
 Tbe Captain groaned aloud. 
 
 " And, tberefore, if one of you gentlemen will stay and dine 
 witb Mr. Higginbotbam, it will greatly assist tbe effects of 
 bis medicine." 
 
 Tbe Captain turned an imploring eye, first towards bis 
 cousin, tben towards tbe Parson. 
 
 *' I'm engaged to dine witb my son- — very sorry," said tbe 
 Squire. "Bat Dale, bere — " 
 
 *'If be will be so kind," put in tbe Captain, "we migbt 
 cbeer tbe evening witb a game at wbist — double dummy." 
 
 Now, poor Mr. Dale bad set bis beart on dining witb an 
 old college friend, and baving no stupid, prosy double dummy, 
 in wbicb one cannot bave tbe pleasure of scolding one's 
 partner, but a regular ortbodox rubber, witb tbe pleasing 
 prospeot of scoldir.g all tbe tbree other performers. But as 
 
MY N07EL; OR, 
 
 ills quiet) life forbade him to be a bero in great tbings, the 
 Parson bad made up bis mind to be a bero in small ones. 
 Tberefore, tbougb witb ratber a rueful face, be accepted tbe 
 Captain's invitation, and promised to return at six o'clock to 
 dine. Meanwbile be must burrj off to tbe otber end of tbe 
 to^vn, and excuse bimself from tbe pre- engagement be bad 
 already formed. He now gave bis card, witb tbe address of 
 a quiet family botel tbereon, to Leonard, and not looking 
 quite so cbarmed witb I)r. Morgan as be was before tbat un- 
 welcome prescription, be took bis leave. Tbe Squire too, 
 having to see a new churn, and execute various commissions 
 for bis Harry, went bis way (not, however, till Dr. Morgan 
 bad assured him tbat, in a few weeks, the Captain might 
 safely remove to Hazeldean) ; and Leonard was about to follow, 
 when Morgan booked bis arm in his old protege^ and said, 
 " But I must have some talk with you ; and you have to tell 
 me all about tbe little orphan girl." 
 
 Leonard could not resist the pleasure of talking about 
 Helen ; and he got into tbe carriage, which was waiting at 
 tbe door for the homoeopatbist. 
 
 " I am going in tbe country a few miles to see a patient," 
 said the Doctor; "so we shall have time for undisturbed con- 
 sultation. I have so often wondered what had become of you. 
 Not hearing from Prickett, I wrote to him, and received from 
 bis heir an answer as dry as a bone. Poor fellow, I found 
 that be bad neglected bis globules and quitted the globe. 
 Alas, jpulvis et umhra simms / I could learn no tidings of you. 
 Prickett's successor declared he knew nothing about you. I 
 hoped the best ; for I always fancied you were one who would 
 fall on your legs — bilious-nervous temperament ; such are the 
 men who succeed in their undertakings, especially if they take 
 a vspoonful of chamomilla whenever they are over-excited. So 
 now for your history and the little girl's — pretty little thing 
 — never saw a more susceptible constitution, nor one more 
 suited to pitlsatilla.^' 
 
 Leonard briefly related bis own strr.ggles and success, and 
 informed tbe good Doctor bow they liad at last discovered 
 the nobleman in whom poor Captain Digby had confided, an^ 
 whose care of the orphan had justified the confidence. 
 
 Dr. Morgan opened his eyes at bearing tbe name of Lord 
 L'Estrange. " I remember him very well," said be, " when T 
 practised murder as an allopathist at Lansmere. But to think 
 that wild boy, so full of whim, and life, and spirit, should 
 become staid enough fc:r <w guardian to tbat dear little 
 
VARIETIJE3 IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 265 
 
 cMcl, witli her timid eyes and puIsaMIIa sensibilities. Well, 
 wonders never cease. And lie has befriended you too, yon 
 say. Ah, he knew your family.'* 
 
 " So he says. Do you think, sir, that he ever knew — ever 
 saw — my mother ? " 
 
 **Eh! your mother? — Nfora ? " exclaimed the Doctor, 
 quickly ; and, as if struck by some sudden thought, his brows 
 met, and he remained silent and musing a few moments ; 
 then, observing Leonard's eyes fixed on him earnestly, he x'e- 
 plied to the question : — 
 
 " No doubt he saw her; she was brought up at Lady Lans- 
 mere's. Did he not tell you so ? " 
 
 " 1^0." A vague suspicion here darted through Leonard's 
 mind, but as suddenly vanished. His father ! Impossible. 
 His father must have deliberately wronged the dead mother. 
 And was Harley L'Bstrange a man capable of such wrong ? 
 And had he been Harley 's son, would not Harley have guessed 
 it at once, and so guessing, have owned and claimed him ? 
 Besides, Lord L'Estrange looked so young ; — old enough to 
 be Leonard's father ! — he could not entertain the idea. He 
 roused himself and said, falfceringly — 
 
 " You told me you did not know by what name I should 
 call my father," 
 
 " And I told you the truth, to the best of my belief." 
 
 " By your honour, sir ? " 
 By my honour, I do not know it." 
 
 There was now a long silence. The carriage had long left 
 London, and was on a high road somewhat lonelier, and more 
 free from houses than most of those which form the entrances 
 to the huge city. Leonard gazed wistfully from the window., 
 and the objects that met his eyes gradually seemed to appeal 
 to his memory. Yes ! it was the road by which he had first 
 approached the metropolis, hand in hand with Helen — and 
 hope so busy at his poet's heart. He sighed deeply. He 
 thought he w^ould willingly have resigned all he had won — 
 independence, fame, all — to feel again the clasp of that tender 
 hand — again to be the sole protector of that gentle life. 
 
 The Doctor's voice broke on his reverie. " I am going to 
 see a very interesting patient — coats to his stomach quite worn 
 out, sir — man of great learning, with a very inflamed cere- 
 bellum. I can't do him much good, and ho does me a great 
 deal of harm." 
 
 " How harm ? " asked Leonard, with an effort at somo 
 vejol'uler. 
 
MY KOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Hits me on the heart, and makes mj eyes water ; — rery 
 pathetic case — grand creature, who has thrown himself away. 
 Found him given over by the allopathists, and in a high state 
 of delirium tremens — restored him for a time — took a great 
 h'king to him — could not help it — swallowed a great many 
 globules to harden myself against him-^would not do — brought 
 him over to England with the other patients, who all pay mo 
 well (except Captain Higginbotham). But this poor fellow 
 pays me nothing — costs me a great deal in time and turnpikes, 
 and board and lodging. Thank Heaven I'm a single man, 
 and can afford it ! My poy, I would let all the other patients 
 go to the allopathists if I could but save this poor, big, penny- 
 less, princely fellow. But what can one do with a stomach 
 that has not a rag of its coats left ? Stop — (the Doctor pulled 
 the check- string). This is the stile. I get out here and go 
 across the fields." 
 
 "That stile— those fields — with what distinctness Leonard 
 remembered them. Ah, where was Helen ? Could she ever^ 
 ever again be his child-angel ? 
 
 "1 will go with you, if you permit," said he to the good 
 Doctc/r. " And while you pay your visit, I will saunter 6y a 
 little brook that I think must run by your way." 
 
 " 1'he Brent — ^you know that brook ? Ah, you should hear 
 my poor patient talk of it, and of the hours he has spent 
 angling in it — you would not know whether to laugh or cry. 
 The first day he was brought down to the place, he wanted to 
 go out and try once more, he said, for his old deluding demon 
 ' — a one-eyed perch." 
 
 " Heavens ! " exclaimed Leonard, " are you speaking of 
 John Burley ? " 
 
 " To be sure, that is his name — John Burley." 
 
 " Oh, has it come to this ? Cure him, save him, if it be in 
 human power. For the last two years I have sought his trace 
 everywhere, and in vain, the moment I had money of my own 
 — a home of my own. Poor, erring, glorious Barley. Take 
 me to him. Did you say there was no hope ? " 
 
 I did not say that," replied the Doctor. "But art can 
 only assist nature ; and though nature is ever at work to 
 repair the injuries we do to her, yet, when the coats of a 
 stomach are all gone, she gets puzzled, and so do I. You 
 must tell me another time how you came to know Burley, for 
 here we are at the house, and I see him at the window look- 
 ing out for me." 
 
 The Doctor opened the garden gate of the quiet cottage to 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 267 
 
 whicli poor Burley liad fled from tlie pure presence of Leonard'^ 
 cliild-angeL And witli heavy step, and heayy heart, Leonard 
 mournfully followedj to behold the wrecks of him whose wit 
 had glorified orgy, and " set the table in a roar." Alas, poor 
 Yorick ! 
 
 CHAPTEB V, 
 
 AuDLEt Egeutoh statids on his hearth alone. During the 
 short interval that has elapsed since we last saw him, events 
 had occurred memorable in English history, wherewith we 
 have nought to do in a natrative studiously avoiding all party 
 politics even when treating of politicians. The new Ministers 
 had stated the general programme of their policy, and intro- 
 duced one measure in especial that had lifted them at once to 
 the dizzy height of popular power. But it became clear that 
 this measure could not be carried without a fresh appeal to 
 the people. A dissolution of Parliament, as Audley's sagacious 
 experience had foreseen, was inevitable. And Audley Egerton 
 had no chance of return for his own seat — for the great com- 
 mercial city identified with his name. Oh sad, but not rare, 
 instance of the mutabilities of that same popular favour now 
 enjoyed by his saccessors ! The great commoner, the weighty 
 speaker, the expert man of business, the statesman who had 
 seemed a type of the practical steady sense for which our 
 middle class is renowned — he who, not three years since, 
 might have had his honoured choice of the largest popular 
 constituencies in the kingdom — he, Audley Egerton, knew not 
 one single town (free from the influences of private property 
 or interest) in which the obscurest candidate, who bawled 
 out for the new liberal measure, would not have beaten him 
 hollow. Where one popular hustings, on which that grave 
 sonorous voice that had stilled so often the roar of faction, 
 would not be drowned amidst the hoots of the scornful 
 mob? 
 
 True, what were called the close boroughs still existed-— 
 true, many a chief of his party would have been too proud of 
 the honour of claiming Audley Egerton for his nominee. But 
 the ex-minister's haughty soul shrunk from this contrast to 
 his past position. And to fight against the popular measure, 
 as member of one of the seats most denounced by the people, 
 —he felfc it was a post in the- grand army of jDarties below his 
 
268 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 dignity to occupy, and foreign to liis peculiar mind, wMcli re* 
 quired the sense of consequence and station. And if, in a 
 few montlis, those seats were swept away — were annihilated 
 from the rolls of Parliament — where was he ? Moreover, 
 Egerton, emancipated from the trammels that had bound his 
 will while his party was in office, desired, in the turn of events, 
 to be nominee of no man — desired to stand at least freely and 
 singly on the ground of his own services, be guided by his 
 own penetration ; no law for action, but his strong sense and 
 his stout English heart. Therefore he had declined all offers 
 from those who could still bestow seats in Parliament. Seats 
 that he could purchase with hard gold were yet open to 
 him. And the £5000 he had borrowed from Levy were yet 
 untouched. 
 
 To this lone public man, public life, as we have seen, was 
 the all in all. But now more than ever it was vital to his 
 very wants. Around him yawned ruin. He knew that it 
 was in Levy's power at any moment to foreclose on his mort- 
 gaged lands — to pour in the bonds and the bills which lay 
 within those rosewood receptacles that lined the fatal lair of 
 the sleek usurer — ^to seize on the very house in which now 
 moved all the pomp of a retinue that vied with the valetaille 
 of dukes — to advertise for public auction, under execution, 
 *' the costly effects of the Right Hon. Audley Egerton.'* But, 
 consummate in his knowledge of the world, Egerton felt 
 assured that Levy would not adopt these measures against 
 him while he could still tower in the van of political war — 
 while he could still see before him the full chance of restora- 
 tion to power, perhaps to power still higher than before — 
 perhaps -to power the highest of all beneath the throne. That 
 Levy, whose hate he divined, though he did not conjecture all 
 its causes, had hitherto delayed even a visit, even a menace, 
 seemed to him to show that Levy still thought him one **to 
 be helped," or, at least, one too powerful to crush. To secure 
 his position in Parliament unshackled, unf alien, if but for 
 another year, — new combinations of party might arise, new 
 re-actions take place, in public opinion ! And, with his hand 
 pressed to his heart, the stern firm man muttered, — "If not, 
 I ask but to die in my harness, and that men may not know 
 that I am a pauper, until all that I need from my country is 
 a grave." 
 
 Scarce had these words died upon his lips ere two quick 
 knocks in succession resounded at the street door. In another 
 moment Harlcy entered, and, at the same time, the servant 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 269 
 
 in attendance approaclied Audley, and announced Baron 
 Jjevj. 
 
 " Beg the Baron to wait, nnless lie wonld prefer to name 
 his own hour to call again," answered Egerton, with the 
 slightest possible change of colour. " You can say I am now 
 with Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 " I had hoped you had done for ever with that deluder of 
 youth," said Harley, as soon as the groom of the chambers 
 had withdrawn. "I remember that you saw too much of 
 him in the gay time, ere wild oats are sown ; but now surely 
 you can neyerneed a loan ; and if so is not Harley L'Estrange 
 by your side ? " 
 
 Egeeton. — " My dear Harley ! — doubtless he but comes to 
 talk to me of some borough. He has much to do with those 
 delicate negotiations." 
 
 Harley. — "And I have come on the same business. 1 
 claim the priority. I not only hear in the world but I see by 
 the papers, that Josiah Jenkins, Esq., known to fame as an 
 orator who leaves out his h's, and young Lord Willoughby 
 Whiggolin, who is just made a Lord of the Admiralty, 
 because his health is too delicate for the army, are certain to 
 come in for the city which you and your present colleague 
 will as certainly vacate. That is true, is it not ? " 
 
 Egerton. — " My old Committee now vote for Jenkins and 
 Whiggolin. And I suppose there will not be even a contest. 
 Go on." 
 
 " So my father and 1 are agreed that you must condescend, 
 for the sake of old friendship, to be once more member for 
 Lansmere ? " 
 
 "Harley," exclaimed Egerton, changing countenance far 
 more than he had done at the announcement of Levy's por- 
 tentous visit — " Harley, no, no ! " 
 
 " No ! But why ? Wherefore such emotion ? " asked 
 L'Estrange, in surprise 
 
 Audley was silent. 
 
 Harley. — " I suggested the idea to two or three of the late 
 Ministers ; they all concur in advising you to accede-. In the 
 first place, if declining to stand for the place which tempted 
 you from Lansmere, what more natural than that you should 
 fall back on that earlier representation ? In the second place, 
 Lansmere is neither a rotten borough, to be bought, nor a 
 close borough, under one man's nomination. It is a tolerably 
 large constituency. My father, it is true, has considerable inte- 
 rest in it, but only whit is called the legitimate influence of 
 
270 
 
 MY mYEL; OB, 
 
 property. At ail events, it is more secure tiian a contest for a 
 larger town, more dignified than a seat for a smaller. Hesi- 
 tating still ? Even my mother entreats me to say how sha 
 desires you to renew that connection." 
 
 " Harley/' again exclaimed Egerton ; and fixing upon his 
 friend's earnest face, eyes which, when softened by emotion, 
 were strangely beautiful in their expression—" Harley, if you 
 could but read my heart at this moment, you would — you 
 would—" His voice faltered, and he fairly bent his proud 
 head upon Harley's shoulder ; grasping the hand he had 
 caught 1 nervously, clingingly— " 0 Harley, if I ever lose your 
 love, your friendship, — ^nothing else is left to me in the 
 world." 
 
 " Audley, my dear, dear Audley, is it you who speak to 
 me thus ? You, my school friend, my life's confidant — -you ? " 
 
 I am grown very weak and foolish," said Egerton, trying 
 to smile. " I do not know myself. I, too, whom you have 
 so often called ' Stoic,' and likened to the Iron Man in the 
 poem which you used to read by the river-side at Eton." 
 
 "But even then, my Audley, I knew that a warm human heart 
 (do what you would to keep it down) beats strong under the 
 irpn ribs. And I often marvel now, to think you have gone 
 through life so free imm the wilder passions. Happier so ! 
 
 Egerton, who had turned his face from his friend's gaze, 
 remained silent for a few moments, and he then sought to 
 divert the conversation, and roused himself to ask Harley 
 how he had succeeded in his views upon Beatrice, and his 
 watch on the Count. 
 
 " With regard to Peschiera," answered Harley, " I think 
 we must have overrated the daiiger we apprehended, and 
 th%t hi$ wagers were but an idle boast. He has remained 
 quiet enough, and seems devoted to play. His sister has 
 shut her doors both on myself and my young associate during 
 the last few days. I almost fear that in spite of very sage 
 warnings of mine, she must have turned his poet's head, and 
 that either he has met with some scornful rebuff to incau- 
 tious admiration, or that he himself has grown aware of peril, 
 and declines to face it ; for he is very much embarrassed 
 when I speak to him respecting her. But if the Count is not 
 formidable, why, his sister is not needed ; and I hope yet to 
 get justice for my Italian frieud through the ordiuary channels. 
 I have secured aij ally in a yotxng Austrian pi^ince, who is 
 BOW in Jjondpn, and who has promised to back, with all his 
 influence, a memorial. I shall transmit to Yienna-o Apropos, 
 
VAKIETIES IK EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 27] 
 
 my dear Audley, now t"hat you lia«^e a little breathing time, 
 you must fix an hour for me to present to you my young poet, 
 the son of her sister. At moments the expression of his face 
 is so like hers/' 
 
 *^ Ay, ay,'* answered Bgerton, quickly, " I will see him as 
 you wish, but later. I have not yet that breathing-time you 
 speak of ; bat you say he has prospered ; and, with your 
 friendship, he is secure from fortune. I rejoice to think so." 
 
 "And your own protege, this Handal Leslie, whom you 
 forbid me to dislike— hard task ! — what has he decided ? " 
 
 " To adhere to my fate. Harley, if it please Heaven that I 
 do not live to return to power, and provide adequately for that 
 young man, do not forget that he clung to me in my fall." 
 
 " If he still cling to you faithfully, I will never forget it. 
 I will forget only all that now makes me doubt him. But 
 you talk of not living, Audleyl Pooh! — ^your frame is that 
 of a predestined octogenarian." 
 
 " Nay," answered Audley, " I was but uttering one of those 
 vague generalities which are common upon all mortal lips. 
 And now farewell — I must see this Baron.'- 
 
 " Not yet, until you have promised to consent to my pro- 
 posal, and be once more member for Lansmere. — ^Tut ! don'fc 
 shake your head. I cannot be denied. I claim your promise 
 m right of our friendship, and shall be seriously hurt if you 
 even pause to reflect on it." 
 
 Well, well, I know not how to refuse you, Harley ; but 
 you have not been to Lansmere youpself since — since that 
 $ad event. You must not revise the old wound- — you must 
 not go ; and—and, I own it, Harley ; the remembrance of it 
 pains even me. I would rather not go to Lansmere." 
 
 "Ah, my friend, this is an excess of sympathy, and I 
 cannot listen to it. I begin even to blame my own weakness, 
 and to feel that we have no right to make ourselves the sof fc 
 slaves of the past." 
 
 " You do appear to me of late to have changed," cried 
 Egerton, suddenly, and with a brightening aspect. " Do tell 
 me that you are happy in the contemplation of your new ties 
 — that I shall live to see you once more restored to your 
 former self.'' 
 
 • ■ All I can answer, Audley,' ' said L'Estrange, with a 
 thoughtful brow, " is, that you are right in one thing — I am 
 changed ; and I am struggling to gain strength for duty and 
 for honour. Adieu ! I shall tell my father that you accede 
 to oiiir wishes." 
 
'^19. MY novel; Oft, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When Harley was gone, Egerton sunk back on Ms chair, 
 as if in extreme physical or mental exhaustion, all the lines of 
 his countenance relaxed and jaded. 
 
 " To go back to that place — there — there — ^where — Courage, 
 courage— what is another pang ? 
 
 He rose with an effort, and folding his arms tightl;)p across 
 his breast, paced slowly to and fro the large, mournful, 
 solitary room. Grradually his countenance assumed its usual 
 cold and austere composure — the secret eye, the guarded lip,^ 
 the haughty collected front. The man of the world was 
 himself once more. 
 
 *' Now to gain time, and to baffle the usurer,*' murmured 
 Egerton, with that low tone of easy scorn, which bespoke 
 consciousness of superior power and the familiar mastery 
 over hostile natures. He rang the bell ; the servant entered. 
 
 " Is Baron Levy still waiting ? 
 
 " Yes, sir.;' 
 
 " Admit him." 
 
 Levy entered. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Levy," said the ex-minister, "for 
 having so long detained you. I am now at your commands.*' 
 
 " My dear fellow," returned the Baron, " no apologies 
 between friends so old as we are ; and I fear that my busi- 
 ness is not so agreeable as to make you impatient to discuss it. 
 
 Egerton (with perfect composure). — " I am to conclude, 
 then, that you wish to bring our accounts to a close. When- 
 ever you will. Levy." 
 
 The Baron (disconcerted and surprised).— Pes/^.^ mon cher, 
 you take things coolly. But if our accounts are closed, I fear 
 you will have but little to live upon." 
 
 Egerton. — " I can continue to live on the salary of a 
 Cabinet Minister." 
 
 Baron. — " Possibly ; but you are no longer a Cabinet 
 Minister." 
 
 Egerton. — " You have never found me deceived in a poli- 
 tical prediction. Witliin twelve months (should life be spared 
 to me) I shall be in office again. If the same to you, I wouid 
 rather wait till then, formally and amicably to resign to you 
 my lands and this house. If you grant that reprieve, onr 
 com eciion can thus close, without the eclat and noise, which 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 273 
 
 may be invidious to you, as ifc would be disagreeable $o me. 
 But if that delay be inconvenient, I will appoint a lawyer to 
 examine your acconnts, and adjust my liabilities." 
 
 The Baroin, (soliloqnising.) — '* I don't like this. A lawyer ! 
 That may be awkward." 
 
 Egebton, (observing the Baron, with a curl on his lip.) — 
 " Well, Levy, how shall it be ? " 
 
 The Baron. — " You know, my dear fellow, it is not my 
 character to be hard on any one, least of all upon an old 
 friend. And if you really think there is a chance of your 
 return to office, which you apprehend that an esclandre as to 
 your affairs at present might damage, why, let us see if we 
 can conciliate matters. But, first, mon cher, in order to 
 become a Minister, yon must at least have a seat in Parlia- 
 ment ; and pardon me the question, how the deuce are you to 
 find one ? " 
 
 Egerton. — " It is found." 
 
 The Baron. — "Ah, I forgot the £5000 you last bor- 
 rowed." 
 
 Egerton. — "No ; I reserve that sum for another purpose." 
 
 The Baron, (with a forced laugh.) — " Perhaps to defend 
 yourself against the actions you apprehend from me ? " 
 
 Egerton. — " You are mistaken. But to soothe your sus- 
 picions I will tell you plainly, that finding any sum I might 
 have insured on my life would be liable to debts preincurred, 
 and (as you will be my sole creditor) might thus at my death 
 pass back to you ; and doubting whether, indeed, any office 
 would accept my insurance, I appropriate that sum to the 
 relief of my conscience. I intend to bestow it, while yet in 
 life, upon my late wife's kinsman, Randal Leslie. And it is 
 solely the wish to do what I consider an act of justice, that 
 has prevailed with me to accept a favour from the hands of 
 Harley L' Estrange, and to become again the member for 
 Lansmere." 
 
 The Baron. — " Ha ! — Lansmere ! Yon will stand for Lans** 
 mere ? " 
 
 Egerton, (wincing.) — "I propose to do so." 
 
 The Baron. — " I believe you will be opposed, subjected to 
 even a sharp contest. Perhaps you may lose your election." 
 
 Egerton. — " If so, I resign myself, and you can foreclose 
 on my estates." 
 
 The Baron, (his brow clearing.) — " Look you, Egerton, I 
 sjiSiall be too happy to do you a favour." 
 
 Egerton, (with stateliness.) — " Favour ! No, Baron Levji 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
^74 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 I ask from you no favour. Dismiss all tliouglit, of rendering 
 me one. Ifc is bub a consideration of business on both sides. 
 If you think it better that we shall at once settle our accounts, 
 mj lawyer shall investigate them. If you agree to the delay 
 I request, my lawyer shall give you no trouble ; and all that 
 T have, except hope and character, pass to your hands 
 without a struggle.'' 
 
 The Baron. — "Inflexible and ungracious, favour or not — ■ 
 put it as you will — I accede, provided, first, that you allow 
 me to draw up a fresh deed, which will accomplish your part 
 of the compact ; and, secondly, that we saddle the proposed 
 delay with the condition that you do not lose your election." 
 
 Egertgn. — "Agreed. Have you anything further to say ? " 
 
 The Baron. — "J^To thing, except that, if you require more 
 money, I am still at your service." 
 
 Egertgn. — "I thank you. 'No; I shall take the occasion 
 of my retirement from office to reduce my establishment. I 
 have calculated already, and provided for the expenditure I 
 need, up to the date I have specified, and I shall have no occa- 
 sion to touch the £5000 that I still retain." 
 
 " Your young friend, Mr. Leslie, ought to be very grateful 
 to you," said the Baron, rising. I have met him in the 
 world — a lad of much promise and talent. You should try 
 and get him also into Parliament." 
 
 Egertgn, (thoughtfully.) — "You are a good judge of the 
 practical abilities and merits of men, as regards worldly suc- 
 cess. . Do you really think Randal Leslie calculated for public 
 life — 'for a Parliamentary career ? " 
 
 The Bargn. — " Indeed I do." 
 
 Egertgn, (speaking more to himself than Levy.) — " Parlia- 
 itnent without fortune — 'tis a sharp trial ; still he is prudent, 
 abstemious, energetic, persevering; and at the onset, under 
 my auspices and advice, he might establish a position beyond 
 his years." 
 
 The Baron. — " It strikes me that we might possibly get 
 him into the next Parliament ; or, as that is not likely to last 
 long, at all events, into the Parliament to follow — not for one 
 of the boroughs which will be swept away, but for a perma- 
 nent seat, and without expense." 
 
 Egertgn. — "Ay— and how ? " 
 
 The Bargn. — " Give me a few days to consider. An idea 
 has occurred to me. I will call again if I find it practicable. 
 Good day to you, Egerton, and success your election fo^ 
 Tfansraere." 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIEB, 
 
 276 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PeSCHIERA had not been so inactive as lie bad ap]:>eared to 
 Harley and the reader. On the contrary, be bad prepared 
 tbe way for bis ultimate design, witb all tbe craft and tbe 
 unscrupulous resolution wbicb belonged to bis nature. His 
 object was to compel Riccabocca into assenting to tbe Count's 
 marriage witb Yiolante, or, failing tbat, to ruin all cbance of 
 bis kinsman's restoration. Quietly and secretly be bad sougbt 
 out, amongst tbe most needy and unprincipled of bis own 
 countrymen, tbose wbom be could suborn to depose to Ricca- 
 bocca's participation in plots and conspiracies against tbe 
 Austrian dominion. Tbese bis former connection witb tbe 
 Carbonari enabled bim to track to tbeir refuge in London ; 
 and bis knowledge of tbe cbaracters be bad to deal witb fitted 
 bim well for tbe villanous task be undertook. 
 
 He bad, tberefore, already selected out of tbese desperadoes 
 a sufficient number, eitber to serve as witnesses against bis 
 kinsman, or to aid bim in any more audacious scbeme wbicb 
 circumstance migbt suggest to bis adoption. Meanwbile, be 
 bad (as Harley bad suspected be would) set spies upon 
 Randal's movements ; and tbe day before tbat young traitor 
 confided to bim Violante's retreat, be badj at least, got scent 
 of ber father's. 
 
 Tbe discovery tbat Yiolante was under a roof so honoured, 
 and seemingly so safe as Lord Lansmere's, did not discourage 
 this bold and desperate adventurer. We have seen bim set 
 forth to reconnoitre tbe house at Knigbtsbridge. He had 
 examined it well, and discovered the quarter which he judged 
 favourable to a coiqj- de-main, should that become necessary. 
 
 Lord Lansmere's house and grounds were surrounded by a 
 wall, the entrance being to the high-road, and by a porter's 
 lodge. At the rear there lay fields crossed by a lane or by' 
 road. To these fields a small door in the wall, which was 
 used by the gardeners in passing to and from their work, gavo 
 communication. This door was usually kept locked ; but the 
 lock was of tbe rude and simple description common to such 
 entrances, and easily opened by a skeleton key. So far there 
 was no obstacle which Pescbiera's experience in conspiracy 
 and gallantry did not disdain as trivial. But the Count was 
 not disposed to abrupt and violent means in the first instance. 
 He had a confidence in bis personal gifts, in his address, iix 
 
 T 2 
 
276 
 
 MV novel; ok, 
 
 \is previous triumphs over the sex, which made him naturally 
 desire to hazard the effect of a personal interview ; and on 
 this he resolved with his wonted audacity. E^andal's descrip- 
 tion of Yiolante's personal appearance, and such suggestions 
 a.3 to her character and the motives most likely to influence 
 her actions, as that young lynx-eyed observer could bestow, 
 were all that the Count required of present aid from his 
 accomplice. 
 
 Meanwhile we return to Yiolante herself. We see her now 
 ^seated in the gardens at Knightsbridge, side by side with 
 Helen. The place was retired, and out of sight from the 
 windows of the house. 
 
 ViOLANTE. — " But why will you not tell me more of that 
 early time ? You are less communicative even than Leonard." 
 
 Helen, (looking down, and hesitatingly.) — " Indeed there 
 is nothing to tell you that you do not know ; and it is so long 
 eince, and things are so changed now." 
 
 The tone of the last words was mouraful, and the words 
 ended with a sigh. 
 
 ViOLANTE, (with enthusiasm.) — " How I envy you that past 
 which you treat so lightly ! To have been something, even 
 in childhood, to the formation of a noble nature; to have 
 borne on those slight shoulders h:^f the load of a man's grand 
 labour. And now to see Geniu&r laoving calm in its clear 
 career ; and to say inly, ' Of that genius I am a part ! ' " 
 
 Helen, (sadly and humbly.) — "A part! Oh, no! A 
 part ? I don't understand you." 
 
 Yiolante. — " Take the child Beatrice from Dante's life, and 
 should we have a Dante ? What is a poet's genius but the 
 voice of its emotions ? All things in life and in 2?^ature 
 influence genius ; but what influences it the most are its Cwn 
 sorrows and affections." 
 
 Helen looks softly into Violante's eloquent face, and draws 
 nearer to her in tender silence. 
 
 Yiolante, (suddenly.) — " Yes, Helen, yes — I know by my 
 own heart how to read yours. Such memories are inefface- 
 able. Few guess what strange self- weavers of our own desti- 
 nies we women are in our veriest childhood ! " She sunk her 
 voice into a whisper : " How could Leonard fail to be dear to 
 you — ^-dear as you to him — dearer than all others ? " 
 
 Helen, (shrinking back, and greatly disturbed.) — "Hush, 
 hush 1 you must not speak to me thus ; it is wicked — I can- 
 not bear it. I would not have it be so— it must not be — it 
 vannot 1 " 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 277 
 
 She claKsped her hands oyer her eyes for a moment, ani 
 then lifted her face, and the face was very sad, but very cahn. 
 
 YiOLANTE, (twining her arm round Helen's waist.) — How 
 have I wounded you ? — how offended ? Forgive me — but 
 why is this wicked ? Why must it not be ? Is it because he 
 is below you in birth ? " 
 
 Helen. — " No, no — I never thought of that. And what am 
 I ? Don't ask me — I cannot answer. You are wrong, qui be 
 wrong, as to me. I can only look on Leonard as — as a 
 brother. But — but, you can speak to him more freely than I 
 can. I would not have him waste his heart on me, nor yet 
 think me unkind and distant, as I seem. I know not what 
 I say. But — but — break to him — indirectly — gently — that 
 duty in both forbids us both to — to be more than friends — 
 than—" 
 
 "Helen, Helen!'* cried Violante, in her warm, generous, 
 passion, " your heart betrays you in every word you say. You 
 weep ; lean on me, whisper to me ; why — why is this ? Do 
 you fear that your guardian would not consent? He not 
 consent ? He who—" 
 
 Helen. — " Cease — cease — cease." 
 
 Violante. — "What! You can fear Harley — Lord L'Es- 
 trange ? Fie ; you do not know him." 
 
 Helen, (rising suddenly.) — " Violante, hold ; I am engaged 
 to another." 
 
 Violante rose also, and stood still, as if turned to stone ; 
 pale as death, till the blood came, at first slowly, then with 
 suddenness from her heart, and one deep glow suffused her 
 whole countenance. She caught Helen's hand firmly, and 
 said, in a hollow voice — 
 
 " Another 1 Engaged to another ! One word, Helen — not 
 to him — not to — Harley — to — " 
 
 " I cannot say — I must not. I have promised," cried poor 
 Helen, and as Violante let fall her hand, she hurried away. 
 
 Violante sate down^ mechanically ; she felt as if stunned by 
 a mortal blow. She closed her eyes and breathed hard. A 
 deadly faintness seized her; and when it passed away, it 
 seemed to her as if she were no longer the same being, nor 
 the world around her the same world — as if she were but one 
 sense of intense, hopeless misery, and as if the universe were 
 but one inanimate void. So strangely immaterial are we 
 really — we human beings, with flesh and blood — that if you 
 suddenly abstract from us but a single, impalpable, airy 
 Uiough*^ which our souls have cherished, you seem to. curdle 
 
278 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the air, to extinguish the sun, to snap every link that con- 
 nects us to matter, and to benumb everything into death, 
 except woe. 
 
 And this warm, young, southern nature, but a moment be- 
 fore was so full of joy and life, and vigorous, lofty hope. It 
 never till now had known its own intensity and depth. The 
 virgin had never lifted the veil from her own soul of woman. 
 What till then, had Harley L'Estrange been to Violante ? An 
 ideal — a dream of some imagined excellence — a type of poetry 
 in the midst of the common world. It had not been Harley 
 the man — it had been Harley the Phantom. She had never 
 said to herself, " He is identified with my love, my hopes, my 
 home, my future.'* How could she ? Of such, he himself 
 had never spoken ; an internal voice, indeed, had vaguely, yet 
 irresistibly, whispered to her that, despite his light words, his 
 feelings towards her were grave and deep. O false voice ! 
 how it had deceived her ! Her quick convictions seized the 
 all that Helen had left unsaid. And now suddenly she felt 
 what it is to love, and what it is to despair. So she sate, 
 crushed and solitary, neither murmuring nor weeping, only 
 now and then passing her hand across her brow, as if to clear 
 away some cloud that would not be dispersed ; or heaving a 
 deep sigh, as if to throw off some load that no time hence- 
 forth could remove. There are certain moments in life in 
 which we say to ourselves, "All is over; no matter what 
 else changes, that which I have made my all is gone evermore 
 — evermore." And our own thought rings back in our ears, 
 " Evermore — evermore ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 As Yiolante thus sate, a stranger, passing stealthily through 
 the trees, stood between herself and the evening sun. She saw 
 him not. He paused a moment, and then spoke low, in her 
 native tongue, addressing her by the name which she had 
 borne in Italy. He spoke as a relation, and excused his 
 intrusion : " For," said he, " I come to suggest to the daughtei 
 the means by which she can restore to her father his country 
 and his honours." 
 
 At the word " father " Yiolante roused herself, and all her 
 love for that father rushed back upon her with double force. 
 
VARIETIES IN EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 It does so ever— we love most our parents at tlie moment 
 when some tie less holy is abruptly broken ; and wlien the 
 conscience says, " tliere, at least, is a love that lias never 
 deceived tliee ! 
 
 She saw before her a man of mild aspect and princely form. 
 Pesckiera (for it was he) had banished from his dress, as 
 from his countenance, all that betrayed the worldly levity of 
 his character. He was acting a part, and he dressed and 
 looked it. 
 
 " My father ! " she said, quickly, and in Italian. " What 
 of him ? And who are you, signior ? I know you not." 
 
 Peschiera smiled benignly, and replied in a tone in which 
 great respect was softened by a kind of parental tenderness. 
 
 " Suffer me to explain, and listen to me while I speak." 
 Then, quietly seating himself on the bench beside her, he 
 looked into her eyes, and resumed. 
 
 " Doubtless, you have heard of the Count di Peschiera ? " 
 
 YiOLANTE. — "I heard that name, as a child, when in Italy. 
 And when she with whom I then dwelt (my father's aunt) 
 fell ill and died, I was told that my home in Italy was gone, 
 that it had passed to the Count di Peschiera — my father's 
 foe ? " 
 
 Peschiera. — " And your father, since then, has taught you 
 fco hate this fancied foe ? " 
 
 ViOLANTE. — "J^ay; my father did but forbid me ever to 
 breathe his name." 
 
 Pesghieea. — " Alas ! what years of suffering and exile 
 might have been saved your father, had he but been more just 
 to his early friend and kinsman ; nay, had he but less cruelly 
 concealed the secret of his retreat. Pair child, I am that 
 G-uilio Pranzini, that Count di Peschiera. I am the man you 
 have been told to regard as your father's foe. I am the man 
 on whom the Austrian Emperor bestowed his lands. And 
 now judge if I am, in truth, the foe. I have come hither to 
 seek your father, in order to dispossess myself of my sove- 
 reign's gift. I have come but with one desire, to restore 
 Alphonso to his native land, and to surrender the heritage 
 that was forced upon me." 
 
 YiOLANTE. — " My father, my dear father ! His grand 
 heart will have room once more. Oh ! this is noble enmity, 
 true revenge. I understand it, signior, and so will my fatiier, 
 for such would have been his revenge on you. You havo 
 seen him ? " 
 
 Peschiera. — " No, not yet, I would not see him till I ha/d 
 
280 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 seen jourself; for you, in truth, are the arbiter oi hia 
 destinies, as of mine." 
 
 ViOLANTE. — " I — Count ? I — arbiter of my father's desti- 
 nies ? Is it possible ? " 
 
 Peschiera, (with a look of compassionate admiration, and 
 in a tone yet more emphatically parental.) — " How lovely is 
 that innocent joy; but do not indulge it yet. Perhaps it is a 
 sacrifice which is asked from you — a sacrifice too hard to bear. 
 Do not interrupt me. Listen still, and you will see why 
 I could not speak to your father until I had obtained an 
 interview with yourself. — See why a word from you may 
 continue still to banish me from his presence. You know, 
 doubtless, that your father was one of the chiefs of a party 
 that sought to free Northern Italy from the Austrians. I 
 myself was at the onset a warm participator in that scheme. 
 In a sudden moment I discovered that some of its more 
 active projectors had coupled with a patriotic enterprise plots 
 of a dark nature, and that the conspiracy itself was about to 
 be betrayed to the government. I wished to consult with 
 your father ; but he was at a distance. I learned that his 
 life was condemned. Not an hour was to be lost. I took a 
 bold resolve, that has exposed me to his suspicions, and to 
 my country's wrath. But my main idea was to save him, my 
 early friend, from death, and my country from fruitless mas- 
 sacre. I withdrew from the intended revolt. I sought at 
 once the head of the Austrian government in Italy, and made 
 terms for the lives of Alphonso and of the other more illus- 
 trious chiefs, which otherwise would have been forfeited. I 
 obtained permission to undertake myself the charge of securing 
 my kinsman in order to place him in safety, and to conduct 
 him to a foreign land, in an exile that would cease when the 
 danger was dispelled. But unhappily he deemed that I only 
 sought to destroy him. He fled from my friendly pursuit. The 
 soldiers with me were attacked by an intermeddling English- 
 man ; your father escaped from Italy — concealing his retreat ; 
 and the character of his flight counteracted my efforts to ob- 
 tain his pardon. The government conferred on me half his 
 revenues, holding the other half at its pleasure. I accepted 
 the offer in order to save his whole heritage from confiscation. 
 That 1 did not convey to him, what I pined to do — viz., the 
 information that I held but in trust what was bestowed by the 
 government, and the full explanation of what seemed blame- 
 able in my conduct — was necessarily owing to the secrecy he 
 maintained. I could not discover his refuge ; but I nevei' 
 
VAKIETIES iJST ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 281 
 
 ceased to plead for his recall. TMs year only 1 nave par- 
 tially succeeded. He can be restored to his heritage and 
 rank, on one proviso — a guarantee for his loyalty. That 
 guarantee the government has named : it is the alliance of 
 his only child with one whom the government can trust. It 
 was the interest of all the Italian nobility, that the represen- 
 tation of a house so great falling to a female, should not pass 
 away wholly from the direct line ; — in a word, that you should 
 ally yourself with a kinsman. But one kinsman, and he the 
 next in blood, presented himself. In short — ^Alphonso regains 
 all that he lost on the day in which his daughter gives her 
 hand to Guilio Eranzini, Count di Peschiera. Ah," continued 
 the Count, mournfully, "you shrink — you recoil. He thus 
 submitted to your choice is indeed unworthy of you. You 
 are scarce in the spring of life. He is in its waning autumn. 
 Youth loves youth. He does not asph^e to your love. All 
 that he can say is, love is not the only joy of the heart — it is 
 joy to raise from ruin a beloved father — joy to restore, to a 
 land poor in all but memories, a chief in whom it reverences 
 a line of heroes. These are the joys I offer to you — you, a 
 daughter, and an Italian maid. Still silent ! Oh speak to 
 me ! 
 
 Certainly this Count Peschiera knew well how woman is 
 to be wooed and won ; and never was woman more sensitive 
 to those high appeals which most move all true earnest 
 womanhood, than was the young Yiolante. Fortune favoured 
 him in the moment chosen. Harley was wrenched away from 
 her hopes, and love a word erased from her language. In the 
 void of the world, her father's image alone stood clear and 
 visible. And she who from infancy had so pined to serve 
 that father, who at first learned to dream of Harley as that 
 father's friend ! She could restore to him all for which the 
 exile sighed ; and by a sacrifice of self ! Self-sacrifice, ever 
 in itself such a temptation to the noble ! Still, in the midst 
 of the confusion and disturbance of her mind, the idea of 
 marriage with another seemed so terrible and revolting, that 
 she could not at once conceive it ; and still that instinct of 
 openness and honour, which pervaded all her character, 
 warned even her inexperience that there was something 
 wrong in this clandestine appeal to herself. 
 
 Again the Count besought her to speak, and with an effoi^ 
 she said, irresolutely— 
 
 "If it be as you say, it is not for me to answer you j it is 
 for my father," 
 
^82 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " I*^aj," replied Pescliiera. " Pardon, if I contradict you. 
 Do jou know so little of your father as to suppose that lie 
 will suffer his interest to dictate to his pride ? He would 
 refuse, perhaps, even to receiye my visit — to hear my expla- 
 nations ; but certainly he would refuse to buy back his 
 inheritance by the sacrifice of his daughter to one whom he 
 has deemed his foe, and whom the mere disparity of years 
 would incline the world to say he had made the barter of his 
 personal ambition. But if I could go to him sanctioned by 
 you — if I could say your daughter overlooks what the 
 father might deem an obstacle — she has consented to accept 
 my hand of her own free, choice — she unites her happiness, 
 t'lnd blends her prayers with mine — then, indeed, I could not 
 fail of success ; and Italy would pardon my errors, and bless 
 your name. Ah ! Signorina, do not think of me, save as an 
 instrument towards the fulfilment of duties so high and 
 sacred — think but of your ancestors, your father, your native 
 land, and reject not the proud occasion to prove how you 
 revere them all ! " 
 
 Yiolante's heart was touched at the right chord. Her 
 head rose — the colour came back to her pale cheek- — she 
 turned the glorious beauty of her countenance towards the 
 wily tempter. She was about to answer and to seal her 
 fate, when at that instant Harley's voice was heard at a little 
 distance, and ISTero came bounding towards her, and thrust 
 himself, with rough familiarity, between her and Peschiera. 
 The Count drew back, and Yiolante, whose eyes were still 
 fixed on his face, started at the change that passed there. 
 One quick gleam of rage sufficed in an instant to light up the 
 sinister secrets of his nature — it was the face of the baffled 
 gladiator. He had time but for few words. 
 
 " I must not be seen here,'* he muttered ; " but to-morrow 
 — in these gardens — about this hour. I implore you, for the 
 sake of your father— his hopes, fortunes, his very life, to 
 guard the secret of this interview — to meet me again. 
 Adieu ! 
 
 He vanished amidst the trees, and was gone— noiselessly, 
 mysteriously, as he had come. 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH Lli'E. 
 
 283 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 The last words of Peseliiera were still ringing in Violante's 
 ears wlien Harley appeared in sight, and the sound of his 
 roice dispelled the vague and dreamy stupor which had crept 
 over her senses. At that voice there returned the conscious- 
 ness of a mighty loss, the sting of an intolerable anguish. 
 To meet Harley there, and thus, seemed impossible. She 
 turned abruptly away, and hurried towards the house. Harley 
 called to her by name, but she would not answer, and only 
 quickened her steps. He paused a moment in surprise, and 
 then hastened after her. 
 
 " Under what strange taboo am I placed ? said he, gaily, 
 as he laid his hand on her shrinking arm. " I inquire for 
 Helen — she is ill, and cannot see me. I come to sun myself 
 in your presence, and you fly me as if gods and men had set 
 their mark on my brow. Child ! — child ! — ^what is this ? 
 You are weeping ? " 
 
 " Do not stay me now — do not speak to me,'* answered 
 Yiolante, through her stifling sobs, as she broke from his 
 hand and made towards the house. 
 
 " Have you a grief, and under the shelter of my father's 
 roof ? A grief that you will not tell to me ? Cruel ! " cried 
 Harley, with inexpressible tenderness of reproach in his soft 
 tones. 
 
 Violante could not trust herself to reply. Ashamed of her 
 self-betrayal — softened yet more by his pleading voice— she 
 could have prayed to the earth to swallow her. At length, 
 checking her tears by a heroic effort, she said, almost calmly, 
 *'Koble friend, forgive me. I have no grief, believe me, 
 which — which I can tell to you. I was but thinking of my 
 poor father when you came up ; alarming myself about him, 
 it may be, with vain superstitious fears; and so— even a slight 
 surprise — ^your abrupt appearance, has sufficed to make me 
 thus weak and foolish ; but I wish to see my father ! — to go 
 home — home ! 
 
 " Tour father is well, believe me, and pleased that you are 
 here. No danger threatens him ; and you, here, are safe." 
 " I safe — and from what ? " 
 
 Harley mused irresolute. He inclined to confide to her the 
 danger which her father had concealed; but had he the r%ht 
 to do so against her father's will ? 
 
284 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " Give me," he said, " time to reflect, and to obtain per- 
 mission to intrust jou with a secret which, in my judgment, 
 you should know. Meanwhile, this much I may say, that 
 rather than you should incur the danger that I believe ho 
 exaggerates, your father would have given you a protector — 
 even in Randal Leslie." 
 
 Yiolante started. 
 
 " But," resumed Harley, with a calm, in which a certain 
 deep mournfulness was apparent, unconsciously to himself — 
 " but I trust you are reserved for a fairer fate, and a nobler 
 spouse. I have vowed to live henceforth in the common 
 workday world. But for you, bright child, for you, I am a 
 dreamer still ! " 
 
 Violante turned her eyes for one instant towards the melan- 
 choly speaker. The look thrilled to his heart. He bowed 
 his face involuntarily. When he looked up, she had left his 
 side. He did not this time attempt to follow her, but moved 
 away and plunged amidst the leafless trees. 
 
 An hour afterwards he re-entered the house, and again 
 sought to see Helen. She had now recovered sufficiently to 
 give him the interview he requested. 
 
 He approached her with a grave and serious gentleness. 
 
 " My dear Helen," said he, " you have consented to be my 
 wife, my life's mild companion; let it be soon — soon — fori 
 need you. I need all the strength of that holy tie. Helen 
 let me press you to fix the time." 
 
 " I owe you too much," answered Helen, looking down, 
 " to have any will but yours. But your mother," she added, 
 perhaps clinging to the idea of some reprieve — "your mother 
 has not yet — " 
 
 " My mother — true. I will speak first to her. Yon shall 
 receive from my family all honour due to your gentle virtues. 
 Helen, by the way, have you mentioned to Yiolante the bond 
 between us ? " 
 
 " No — that is, I fear I may have unguardedly betrayed it, 
 against Lady Lans mere's commands too— but — ^but — " 
 
 " So, Lady Lansmere forbade you to name it to Yiolante. 
 This should not be. I will answer for her permission to 
 revoke that interdict. It is due to Yiolante and to you. Tell 
 your young friend all. Ah, Helen, if I am at times cold or 
 wayward, bear with me — bear with me ; for you love mc^ do 
 you not ? " 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 285 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 That same evening Randal lieard from Levy (at whose 
 house he stayed late) of that self-introduction to Yiolante 
 which (thanks to his skeleton-key) Peschiera had contrived 
 to effect ; and the Count seemed more than sanguine — ho 
 seemed assured as to the full and speedy success of his matri- 
 monial enterprise. " Therefore," said Levy, " I trust I may 
 very soon congratulate you on the acquisition of your family 
 estates." 
 
 " Strange!" answered Randal, "strange that my fortunes 
 seem so bound up with the fate of a foreigner like Beatrice di 
 Negra and her connection with Prank Hazeldean." He 
 looked up at the clock as he spoke, and added — 
 
 " Prank by this time has told his father of his engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " Ajid you feel sure that the Squire cannot be coaxed into 
 consent?" 
 
 " No ; but I feel sure that the Squire will be so choleric at 
 the first intelligence, that Prank will not have the self-control 
 necessary for coaxing; and, perhaps, before the Squire can 
 relent upon this point, he may, by some accident, learn his 
 grievances on another, which would exasperate him still 
 more." 
 
 " Ay, I understand — the post-ohit ? " 
 Randal nodded. 
 
 " And what then ? " asked Levy. 
 The next of kin to the lands of Hazeldean may have his 
 day." 
 
 The Baron smiled. 
 
 " You have good prospects in that direction, Leslie : look 
 now to another. I spoke to you of the borough of Lansmere. 
 Your patron, Audley E^erton, intends to stand for it." 
 
 Randal's heart had of late been so set upon other and more 
 avaricious schemes, that a seat in Parliament had sunk into 
 a secondary object ; nevertheless his ambitious and all-grasp- 
 ing nature felt a bitter pang, when he heard that Egerton 
 thus interposed between himself and any chance of advance* 
 tocnt." 
 
 " So ! " he muttered, sullenly — " so. This man, who 
 pretends to be my benefactor, squanders away the wealth of 
 my forgathers— throws me penniless on the world ; and, 
 
286 
 
 MY kovel; or, 
 
 wHle still encouraging me to exertion and public life, robs 
 me Mmself of — 
 
 ^'ISTo!" interrupted Levy— "not robs you; we may 
 prevent tliat. The Lansmere interest is not so strong in the 
 borough as Dick Avenel's." 
 
 " But I cannot stand against Egerton." 
 
 "Assuredly not^ — ^you may stand with him." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Dick Avenel will never suffer Egerton to come in ; and 
 though he cannot, perhaps, carry two of his own politics, he 
 can split his votes upon you." 
 
 E/andal's eyes flashed. He saw at a glance, that if Avenel 
 did not overrate the relative strength of parties, his seat 
 could be secured. 
 
 " But," he said, "Egerton has not spoken to me on such a 
 subject ; nor can you expect that he would propose to me to 
 stand with him, if he foresaw the chance of being ousted by 
 the very candidate he himself introduced." 
 
 "Neither he nor his party will anticipate that possi- 
 bility. If he ask you, agree to stand — ^leave the rest to 
 
 me." 
 
 "You tnust hate Egerton bitterly," said Randal; "for I 
 am not vain enough to think that you thus scheme but from 
 pure love to me." 
 
 "The motives of men are intricate and complicated," 
 answered -Levy, with unusual seriousness. " It suffices 
 to the wise to profit by the actions, and leave the motives 
 in shade." 
 
 There was silence for some minutes. Then the two drew 
 closer towards each other, and began to discuss details in 
 their joint designs. 
 
 Randal walked home slowly. It was a cold moonlit night. 
 Young idlers of his own years and rank passed him by, on 
 their way from the haunts of social pleasure. They were yet 
 in the first fair holiday of life. Life's holiday had gone from 
 him for ever. Graver men, in the various callings of mas- 
 culine labour— professions, trade, the state- — passed him also. 
 Their steps might be sober, and their faces careworn ; but no 
 step had the furtive stealth of his— no face the same con- 
 tracted, sinister, suspicious gloom. Only once, in a lonely 
 thoroughfare, and on the opposite side of the way, fell a 
 footfall, and glanced an eye, that seamed to betray a soul in 
 sympathy with Randal Leslie's. 
 
 And Randalj who had heeded none of the other passengers 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 287 
 
 by the way, as if instinctively, took note of tliis one. His 
 nerves crisped at the noiseless slide of that form, as it stalked 
 on from lamp to lamp, keeping pace with his own. He felt a 
 sort of awe, as if he had beheld the wraith of himself ; and 
 ever as he glanced suspiciously at the stranger, the stranger 
 glanced at him. He was inexpressibly relieved when the 
 figure turned down another street and vanished. 
 
 That man was a felon, as yet undetected. Between him 
 and his kind there stood but a thought — a veil air- spun, but 
 impassable, as the veil of the Image afc Sais. 
 
 And thus moved and thus looked Randal Leslie, a thing of 
 dark and secret mischief — within the pale of the law, but 
 equally removed from man by the vague consciousness that 
 at his heart lay that which the eyes of man would abhor and 
 loathe. Solitary amidst the vast city^ and on through 
 the machinery of Civilization^ went the still spirit of Intel- 
 lectual Evil. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 Early the next morning Randal received two notes — one 
 from Frank, written in great agitation, begging Randal to 
 see and propitiate his father, whom he feared he had 
 grievously offeuded ; and then running off, rather inco^ 
 herently, into protestations that his honour, as well as his 
 affections were engaged irrevocably to Beatrice, and that her, 
 at least, he could never abandon. 
 
 And the second note was from the Squire himself — shorfc, 
 and far less cordial than usual— requesting Mr. Leslie to call 
 on him. 
 
 Randal dressed in haste, and went first to Limmer's hotel. 
 
 He found the Parson with Mr. Hazeldean, and endeavour- 
 ing in vain to soothe him. The Squire had not slept all night, 
 and his appearance was almost haggard. 
 
 " Oho ! Mr. young Leslie, said he, throwing himself back 
 in his chair as Randal entered — "I thought you were a 
 friend — I thought you were Erank's adviser. Explain, sir ; 
 explain." 
 
 Grently, my dear Mr. Hazeldean," said the Parson. "You 
 do but surprise and alarm Mr. Leslie. Tell him more dis- 
 tinctly what ho has to explain.'' 
 
288 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 Squire. — *'Did you or did yon not tell me or Mrs. 
 Hazeldean, that Frank was in love with Yiolante E/ickej- 
 bockey ? " 
 
 Randal, (as in amaze.) — " I ! Never, sir. I feared, on 
 the contrary, that he was somewhat enamoured of a very 
 different person. I hinted at that possibility. I could not 
 do more, for I did not know how far Frank's affections were 
 seriously engaged. And indeed, sir, Mrs. Hazeldean, though 
 not encouraging the idea that your son could marry a 
 foreigner and a Roman Catholic, did not appear to consider 
 such objections insuperable, if Frank's happiness were really 
 at stake. 
 
 Here the poor Squire gave way to a burst of passion, that 
 hivolved in one tempest, Frank, Randal, Harry herself, and 
 the whole race of foreigners, Roman Catholics, and women. 
 While the Squire was still incapable of hearing reason, the 
 Parson, taking aside Randal, convinced himself that the 
 whole affair, so far as Randal was concerned, had its origin 
 in a very natural mistake ; and that while that young gentle- 
 man had been hinting at Beatrice, Mrs. Hazeldean had been 
 thinking of Violante. With considerable difficulty he suc- 
 ceeded in conveying this explanation to the Squire, and 
 somewhat appeasing his wrath against Randal. And the 
 Dissimulator, seizing his occasion, then expressed so much 
 grief and astonishment at learning that matters had gone as 
 far as the Parson informed him — that Frank had actually 
 proposed to Beatrice, been accepted, and engaged himself, 
 before even communicating with his father ; he declared so 
 earnestly, that he could never conjecture such evil — that he 
 had had Frank's positive promise to take no step without the 
 sanction of his parents ; he professed such sympathy with the 
 Squire's wounded feelings, and such regret at Frank's 
 involvement, that Mr. Hazeldean at last yielded up his 
 honest heart to his consoler — and griping Randal's hand, 
 said, " Well, well, I wronged you — beg your pardon. What 
 now is to be done ? " 
 
 " Why, you cannot consent to this marriage — ^impossible," 
 replied Randal ; " and we must hope, therefore, to influence 
 Frank by his sense of duty." 
 
 That's it," said the Squire ; "for I'll not give way. Pretty 
 pass things have come to, indeed ! A widow, too, I hear. 
 Artful jade — thought, no doubt, to catch a Hazeldean of Hazel- 
 dean. My estates go to an outlandish Papistical set of mon- 
 grel brats ! No, no, never ! " 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 289 
 
 " But,'* said tlie Parson, mildlj, " perhaps we maj be un- 
 justly prejudiced against this lady. We should have consented 
 to Yiolante — why not to her ? She is of good family ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Bandal. 
 And good character ? " 
 
 Randal shook his head, and sighed. The Squire caught 
 him roughly by the arm — "Answer the Parson!" cried he, 
 vehemently. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I cannot speak disrespectfully of the character 
 of a woman, — who may, too, become Frank's wife ; and the 
 world is ill-natured, and not to be believed. But you can 
 judge for yourself, my dear Mr. Hazeldean. Ask your brother 
 whether Madame di ISTegra is one whom he Avould advise his 
 nephew to marry." 
 
 " My brother ! " exclaimed the Squire, furiously. " Consult 
 my distant brother on the affairs of my own son ? " 
 
 " He is a man of the world," put in Randal. 
 
 " And of feeling and honour," said the Parson ; " and, 
 perhaps, through him, we may be enabled to enlighten Prank, 
 and save him from what appears to be the snare of an artful 
 woman." 
 
 " Meanwhile," said Randal, " I will seek Prank, and do my 
 best with him. Let me go now — I will return in an hour 
 or so." 
 
 " I will accompany you," said the Parson. 
 
 *' Nay, pardon me, but I think we two young men can talk 
 more openly without a third person, even so wise and kind as 
 you." 
 
 " Let Randal go," growled the Squire. And Randal went. 
 
 He spent some time with Prank, and the reader will easily 
 divine how that time was employed. As he left Prank's 
 lodgings, he found himself suddenly seized by the Squire 
 himself. 
 
 " I was too impatient to stay at home and listen to the 
 i^arson's prosing," said Mr. Hazeldean, nervously. " I have 
 sbaken Dale o£E. Tell me what has passed. Oh ! don't fear 
 —I'm a man, and can bear the worst." 
 
 Randal drew the Squire's arm within his, and led him into 
 tho adjacent park. 
 
 " My dear sir," said he, sorrowfully, " this is very confident 
 tial what I am about to say. I must repeat it to yon, because, 
 without such confidence, I see not how to advise you on tha 
 proper course to take. But if I betray Prank, it is for his 
 good, and to his own father ; — only do not tell him. He 
 
 VOL. II. V 
 
290 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 would never forgive me — ^it would for ever destroy my infiu- 
 ence over him/' 
 
 " Go on, go on/' gasped tlie Squire ; " speak out. I'll 
 never tell the ungrateful boy that I learned his secrets from 
 another." 
 
 " Then," said Randal, " the secret of his entanglement with 
 Madame di ISTegra is simply this — he found her in debt— nay, 
 On the point of being arrested — " 
 
 " Debt ! — arrested ! Jezabel ! " 
 
 "And in paying the debt himself, and saving her from 
 arrest, he conferred on her the obligation which no woman of 
 honour could accept save from an affianced husband. Poor 
 Frank ! — if sadly taken in, still we must pity and forgive 
 him ! " 
 
 Suddenly, to Randal's great surprise, th.e Squire's whole 
 face brightened up. 
 
 " I see, I see ! " he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. " I have it 
 have it. 'Tis an affair of money ! I can buy her off. 
 If she took money from him, the mercenary, painted baggage ! 
 why then, she'll take it from me. I don't care what it costs 
 — half my fortune — all ! I'd be content never to see Hazel- 
 dean Hall again, if I could save my son, my own son, from 
 disgrace and misery ; for miserable he will be, when he knows 
 he has broken my heart and his mother's. And for a creature 
 like that i My boy, a thousand hearty thanks to you. Where 
 does the wench live ? I'll go to her at once." And as he 
 spoke, the Squire actually pulled out his pocket-book, and 
 began turning over and counting the bank-notes in it. 
 
 Randal at first tried to combat this bold resolution on the 
 part of the Squire ; but Mr. Hazeldean had seized on it with 
 all the obstinacy of his straightforward English mind. Ho 
 cut Randal's persuasive eloquence off in the midst. 
 
 " Don't waste your breath. I've settled it ; and if you 
 don't tell me where she lives, 'tis easily found out, I suppose." 
 
 Randal mused a moment. "After all," thought ho, "why 
 not ? He will be sure so to speak as to enlist her pride against 
 himself, and to irritate Frank to the utmost. Let him go." 
 
 Accordingly, he gave the information required ; and, insist- 
 ing with great earnestness on the Squire's promise not to 
 mention to Madame di Negra his knowledge of Frank's 
 pecuniary aid (for that would betray Randal as tlie in- 
 formant) ; and satisfying himself as he best might with the 
 Squire's prompt assurance, " that he knew how to settle 
 matters, without saying why or v^^herefore, as long as he 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 291 
 
 opened bis purse wide enough," ho accompanied Mr'. Hazel* 
 dean back into the street, and thei'e left him — fixing an hour 
 in the evening for an intervie^y at Limnier's, and hinting that 
 it would be best to have that interview without the presencej 
 of the Parson. "Excellent good man," said Eandal, "but 
 not with sufficient knowledge of the world for affairs of this 
 kind, which you understand so well." 
 
 *' I should think so," quoth the Squire^ who had quite 
 recovered his good-humour. " And the Parson is as soft as 
 buttermilk. We must be firm here — firm, sir." And tha 
 Squire struck the end of his stick on the pavement, nodded 
 to Eandal, and went on to May Pair as sturdily and as coUfi^ 
 dently as if to purchase a prize cow at a cattle show. 
 
 CHAPTEPv XII. 
 
 " Bring the light nearer," said John Burley — nearet^ 
 still." 
 
 Leonard obeyed, and placed the candle on a little table by 
 the sick man's bedside. 
 
 Burley's mind was partially wandering; but there Was 
 method in his madness. Horace Walpole said that "his 
 stomach would survive all the rest of him." That which in 
 Burley survived the last was his quaint wild genius. He 
 looked wistfully at the still flame of the candle : " It lives 
 ever in the air ! " said he. 
 
 " What lives ever ? " 
 
 Burley 's voice swelled — " Light ! " He turned from Leo- 
 nard, and again contemplated the little flame. " In the fixed 
 star, in the Will-o*-the-wisp, in the great sun that illumes half 
 a world, or the farthing rushlight by which the ragged stu-« 
 dent strains his eyes — still the same flower of the elements ! 
 Light in the universe, thought in the soul — ay — ay — G-o on 
 with the simile. My head swims. Extinguish the light f 
 You cannot ; fool, it vanishes from your cye^ but it is still 
 in the space. Worlds must perish, suns shrivel up, matter 
 and spirit both fall into nothingness, before the CQmbinations 
 whose union makes that little flame, which the breath of a 
 babe can restore to darknesSj shall lose the power to form 
 themselves into light once more. Lose the power no, the 
 necessity : — it is the one Must in creation. Ay, ay, very dark 
 
 riddles grow clear now— -now when I eould not cast up mx 
 
 %j 2 
 
292 
 
 MY irOVEL ; OR, 
 
 addition sum in the baker's bill ! Wbat wise man denied 
 that two and two made four ? Do thej not make four ? I 
 can't answer him. But I could answer a question that some 
 wise men have contrived to make much knottier." He smiled 
 softly, and turned his face for some minutes to the wall. 
 
 This was the second night on which Leonard had watched 
 by his bedside, and Burley's state had grown rapidly worse. 
 He could not last many days, perhaps many hours. But 
 he had evinced an emotion beyond mere delight at seeing 
 Leonard again. He had since then been calmer, more him- 
 self. " I feared I might have ruined you by my bad 
 example," he said, with a touch of humour that became 
 pathos as he added, " That idea preyed on me." 
 
 " No, no ; you did me great good." 
 Say that — say it often," said Burley, earnestly ; " it 
 makes my heart feel so light." 
 
 He had listened to Leonard's story with deep interest, and 
 was fond of talking to him of little Helen. He detected the 
 secret at the young man's heart, and cheered the hopes that 
 lay there, amidst fears and sorrows. Burley never talked se- 
 riously of his repentance ; it was not in his nature to talk 
 seriously of the things which he felt solemnly. But hio 
 high animal spirits Were quenched with the animal power 
 that fed them. Kow, we go out of our sensual existence 
 only when we are no longer enthralled by the Present, in 
 which the senses have their realm. The sensual being 
 vanishes when we are in the Past or the Future. The 
 Present was gone from Burley ; he could no more be its 
 slave and its king. 
 
 It was most touching to see how the inner character of 
 this man unfolded itself, as the leaves of the outer character 
 fell off and withered — a character no one would have guessed 
 in him — an inherent refinement that was almost womanly ; and 
 he had all a woman's abnegation of self. He took the cares 
 lavished on him so meekly. As the features of the old 
 man return in the stillness of death to the aspect of youth 
 — the lines effaced, the wrinkles gone — so, in seeing Burley 
 now, you saw what he had been in his spring of promise. 
 But he himself saw only what he had failed to be — powers 
 squandered — life wasted. " I once beheld," he said, " a ship 
 in a storm. It was a cloudy, fitful day, and I could see the 
 ship with all ifcs masts fighting hard for life and for death. 
 Then came jiight, dark as pitch, and I coxild only guesp that 
 the ship fought on,— Towards the da^^yn the stars grew visible, 
 
V^AllIETIE'S IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 293 
 
 and once more I saw tlie ship — ^it was a wreck — ^it went down 
 just as the stars slione forth." 
 
 When he had made that allnsion to himself, he sate very 
 still for some time, then he spread out his wasted hands, and 
 gazed on them, and on his shrunken limbs. " Good,'* said 
 he, laughing low; "these hands were too large and rude for 
 handling the delicate webs of my own mechanism, and these 
 strong limbs ran away with me. If I had been a sickly, 
 puny fellow, perhaps my mind would have had fair play. 
 There was too much of brute body here ! Look at this 
 hand now ! You can see the light through it ! Good, 
 good ! " 
 
 Now, that evening, until he had retired to bed, Burley had 
 been unusually cheerful, and had talked with much of his old 
 eloquence, if with little of his old humour. Amongst other 
 matters, he had spoken with considerable interest of some 
 poems and other papers in manuscript which had been left 
 in the house by a former lodger, and which, the reader may 
 remember, that Mrs. Goody er had urged him in vain to read, 
 in his last visit to her cottage. But then he had her husband 
 Jacob to chat with, and the spirit bottle to finish, and the 
 wild craving for excitement plucked his thoughts back to 
 his London revels. Now poor Jacob was dead, and it was 
 not brandy that the sick man drank from the widow's cruise^ 
 And London lay afar amidst its fogs, like a world resolved 
 back into nebulae. So to please his hostess and distra.ct 
 his own solitary thoughts, he had condescended (just before 
 Leonard found him out) to peruse the memorials of a life 
 obscure to the world, and new to his own experience of 
 coarse joys and woes. " I have been making a romance, to 
 amuse myself, from their contents," said he. "They may 
 be of use to you, brother author. I have told Mrs. Goodyer 
 to place them in your room. Amongst those papers is a sort 
 of journal — a woman's journal ; it moved me greatly. A man 
 gets into another world, strange to him as the orb of Sirius, 
 if he can transport himself into the centre of a woman's heart, 
 and see the life there, so wholly unlike our own. Things of 
 moment to us, to it so trivial ; things trifling to us, to it so 
 vast. There was this journal— in its dates reminding me of 
 stormy events in my own existence, and grand doings in the 
 world's. And those dates there, chronicling but the myste- 
 rious, unrevealed record of some obscure, loving heart ! And 
 m that chronicle, O Sir Poet, there was as much genius, 
 vigour of thought, vitality of being, poured and wasted, as 
 
2M 
 
 eyer kind friend will say was lavished on the rude outer 
 world by big Jobn Burleyl Genius, genius; are we all 
 alike, tben, save wben we leash ourselves to some matter- of - 
 fact material, and float over the roaring seas on a wooden 
 plank or a herring tub ? And after he had uttered that 
 cry of a secret anguish, John Burley had begun to show symp- 
 toms of growing fever and disturbed brain ; and when they 
 Lad got him into bed, he lay there muttering to himself, until 
 towards midnight, he had asked Leonard to bring the light 
 nearer to him. 
 
 So now he again was quiet — with his face turned towards 
 the wall ; and Leonard stood by the bedside sorrowfully, and 
 Mrs. Groodyer, who did not heed Burley's talk, and thought 
 only of his physical state, was dipping cloths into iced 
 water to apply to his forehead. But as she approached with 
 these, and addressed him soothingly, Burley raised himself 
 on his arm, and waved aside the bandages. " I do not need 
 thftm,." said he, in a collected voice, "I am better now. I 
 and that pleasant light understand one another, and I believe 
 all it tells me. Pooh, pooh, I do not rave." He looked so 
 smilingly and so kindly into her face, that the poor woman, 
 who loved him as her own son, fairly burst into tears. He 
 drew her towards him, and kissed her forehead, 
 
 ^' Peace, old fool," said he, fondly. "You shall tell anglers 
 hereafter how John Burley came to fish for the one-eyed 
 perch which he never caught ; and how, when he gave it up 
 at the last, his baits all gonQ, and the line broken amongst 
 the weeds, you comforted the baffled man. There are many 
 good fellows yet in the world who will like to know that poor 
 Burley did not die on a dunghill. Kiss me ! Come, boy, you 
 too^ ^Tow, God bless you, I should like to sleep." His 
 cheeks were wet with the tears of both his listeners, and there 
 was a moisture in his own eyes, which, nevertheless, beamed 
 bright through the moisture. 
 
 He laid himself down again, and the old woman, would have 
 withdrawn the light. He moved uneasily. " ISTot that," he 
 murmured — " light to the last ! " and putting forth his wan 
 hand, he drew aside the curtain so that the light might fall 
 full on his face. In a few minutes he was asleep, breathing 
 palmly and regularly as an infant. 
 
 The old woman wiped her eyes, and drew Leonard softly 
 into the adjoining room, in which a bed had been made up 
 for bim. He had not left the house since he had entered it 
 with Dr. Morgan. " You are young, sir," said she with 
 
YAETETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 295 
 
 kiiidnes?^, ^^and the young want sleep. Lie down a hit: I 
 will call yon when he wakes." 
 
 " ISTo, I conld not sleep," said Leonard. " I will watch for 
 you." 
 
 The old woman shook her head. must see the last of 
 
 him, sir; but I know he will be angry when his eyes open on 
 me, for he has grown very thoughtful of others.'* 
 
 " Ah, if he had but been as thoughtful of himself! " mur- 
 mured Leonard ; and he seated himself by the table, on which, 
 as he leaned his elbow, he dislodged some papers placed there. 
 Thej fell to the ground with a dumb, moaning, sighing 
 sound. 
 
 " What is that? " said he, starting. 
 
 The old woman picked up the manuscripts and smoothed 
 them carefully. 
 
 " Ah, sir, he bade me place these papers here. He thought 
 they might keep you from fretting about him, in case you 
 would sit up and wake. And he had a thought of me, too ; 
 for I have so pined to find oat the poor young lady, who left 
 them years ago. She was almost as dear to me as he is; 
 dearer perhaps until now — ^when — ^when I am about to lose 
 him ! " 
 
 Leonard turned from the papers, without a glance at their 
 contents : they had no interest for him at such a moment. 
 The hostess went on — 
 
 " Perhaps she is gone to heayen before him ; she did not 
 look like one long for this world. She left us so suddenly. 
 Many things of hers besides these papers are still here ; but I 
 keep them aired and dusted, and strew lavender over them, 
 in case she ever come for them again. You never heard tell 
 of her, did you, sir ? " she added, with great simplicity, and 
 dropping a half curtsey. 
 
 " Of her — of whom ? " 
 
 "Did not Mr. John tell you her name — dear — dear; Mrs. 
 Bertram." 
 
 Leonard started ; the very name so impre^ased upon his 
 memory by Harloy L'Estrange. 
 
 " Bertram ! " he repeated. Are you sure ? 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir ! And many years after she had left us, ^ind 
 we had heard no more of her, there came a packet addressed 
 to her here, from over sea, sir. We took it in, and kept it, 
 and John would break the seal, to know if it would tell us 
 anything about her ; but it was all in a foreign language like 
 ' — we could not read a word." 
 
296 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 " Have you the packet ? Pray show it to me. It may be 
 o£ tlie greatest value. To-morrow will do — I cannot tMuk of 
 tliat just now. Poor Burley ! " 
 
 Leonard's manner indicated tliat lie wished to talk no more, 
 and to be alone. So Mrs. Goodyer left him, and stole back to 
 Burley's room on tiptoe. 
 
 The young man remained in deep reverie for some moments. 
 " Light," he murmured. " How often * Light ' is the last word 
 of those round whom the shades are gathering ! " * He moved, 
 and straight on his view through the cottage lattice there 
 streamed light, indeed- — not the miserable ray lit by a human 
 hand — but the still and holy effulgence of a moonlit heaven. 
 It lay broad upon the humble floors — ^pierced across the 
 threshold of the death chamber, and halted clear amidst its 
 shadows. 
 
 Leonard stood motionless, his eye following the silvery 
 silent splendour. 
 
 " And," he said inly — "and does this large erring nature, 
 marred by its genial fa,ults — this soul which should have filled 
 a land, as yon orb the room, with a light that linked earth to 
 heaven — does it pass away into the dark, and leave not a ray 
 behind ? Nay, if the elements of light are ever in the space, 
 and when the flames goes out, return to the vital air — so 
 thought once kindled, lives for ever around and about us, a 
 part of our breathing atmosphere. Many a thinker, many a 
 poet, may yet illumine the world, from the thoughts which 
 yon genius, that will have no name, gave forth to wander 
 through air, and recombine again in some new form of light." 
 
 Thus he went on in vague speculations, seeking, as youth 
 enamoured of fame seeks too fondly, to prove that mind never 
 works, however erratically, in vain — and to retain yet, as an 
 influence upon earth, the soul about to soar far beyond the 
 atmosphere where the elements that make fame abide. ITot 
 thus had the dying man interpreted the endurance of light 
 and thought, 
 
 * Every one remembers that Goethe's last woicls are said to have been, 
 *'More Light; " and pcihaps what has occurred in the text may be supposed a 
 plagiarism from those words. But, in fact, nothing is more common than the 
 craving and demand for light a little before death. Let any consult his own 
 sad experience in the last moments of those whose gradual close he has watched 
 and tended. "What more frequent than a prayer to open the shutters and let in 
 the sun ? What complaint more repeated, and more touching, than " that it is 
 growing dark ? " I once knew a sufferer— who did not then seem in immediate 
 danger— suddenly order the sick room to be lit up as if for a gala. When this 
 -wm told to the phygician, he said, gravalv, <*Ko worse sipx," 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. ^97 
 
 Suddenly, in tlie midst of Ms reyerie, a loud cry broke on 
 his ear. He shnddered as he heard, and hastened forebodingly 
 into the adjoining room. The old woman was kneeling by 
 the bedside, and chafing Bnrley's hand — eagerly looking into 
 his face. A glance sufficed to Leonard. All was oyer. Burley 
 had died in sleep — calmly, and withont a groan. 
 
 The eyes were half open, with that look of inexpressible 
 softness which death sometimes leaves ; and still they were 
 turned towards the light; and the light burned clear. 
 Leonard closed tenderly the heavy lids ; and, as he covered 
 the face, the lips smiled a serene farewell. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 We have seen Squire Hazeldean (prond of the contents of 
 his pocket-book, and his knowledge of the mercenary nature 
 of foreign women), set o:ff on his visit to Beatrice di Wegra. 
 Randal thus left, mnsing lone in the crowded streets, revolved 
 with astute complacency the probable results of Mr. Hazel - 
 dean's bluff negotiation ; and, convincing himself that one of 
 his vistas towards Fortune ^was becoming more clear and 
 clear, he turned, with the restless activity of some founder of 
 destined cities in a new settlement, to lop the boughs that 
 cumbered and obscured the others. For truly, like a man in 
 a vast Columbian forest, opening entangled space, now with 
 the ready axe, now with the patient train that kindles the 
 slower fire, this child of civilised life went toiling on against 
 surrounding obstacles, resolute to destroy, but ever scheming 
 to construcfc. And now Randal ha.s reached Levy's dainty 
 business-room, and is buried deep in discussion how to secure 
 to liimself, at the expense of his patron, the representation of 
 Lansmere, and how to complete the contract which shall re- 
 annex to his forlorn inheritance some fragments of its ancient 
 wepJth. 
 
 Meanwhile, Chance fought on his side in the boudoir of 
 I»Tay Fair. The Squire had found the ]\Iarchesa at home — * 
 briefly introduced himself and his business — told her she was 
 mistaken if she had fancied she had taken in a rich heir in 
 his son — that, thank Heaven, he could leave his estates to his 
 ploughman^ should he so please, but that he was willing tx) 
 
MY I^OVEL-, OB, 
 
 do things liberally; and wliateYer slie thouglit Frank was 
 worfili, he was very ready to pay for. 
 
 At another time Beatrice would perhaps have laughed at 
 this strange address ; or she might, in some prouder moment, 
 have fired up with all a patrician's resentment and a woman's 
 pride ; but now her spirit was crushed, her nerves shattered : 
 the sense o£ her degraded position, of her dependence on her 
 brother, combined with her supreme unhappiness at the loss 
 of those dreams with which Leonard had for a while charmed 
 her wearied waking life — all came upon her. She listened, 
 pale and speechless ; and the poor Squire thought he was 
 quietly advancing towards a favourable result, when she sud- 
 vienly burst into a passion of hysterical tears ; and just at that 
 moment Frank himself entered the room. At the sight of 
 his father, of Beatrice's grief, his sense of filial duty gave 
 way. He was maddened by irritation — by the insult offered 
 to the woman he loved, which a few trembling words from 
 her explained to him ; maddened yet more by the fear that 
 the insult had lost her to him — warm words ensued between 
 son and father, to close with the peremptory command and 
 vehement threat of the last. 
 
 " Come away this instant, sir ! Come with me, or before 
 the day is over I strike you out of my will ! '* 
 
 The son's answer was not to his father ; he threw himself 
 at Beatrice's feet. 
 
 " Forgive him — forgive us both — " 
 
 " What ! you prefer that stranger to me — to the inheri- 
 tance of Hazeldean ! " cried the Squire, stamping his foot. 
 
 " Leave your estates to whom you will ; all that I care for 
 ill life is here ! " 
 
 The Squire stood still a moment or so, gazing on his son, 
 with a strange bewildered marvel at the strength of that 
 mystic passion, which none not labouring under its fearful 
 charm can comprehend, which creates the sudden idol that no 
 reason justifies, and sacrifices to its fatal shrine alike the Past 
 and the Future. ISTot trusting himself to speak, the father 
 drew his hand across his eyes, and dashed away the bitter 
 tear that sprang from a swelling indignant heart ; then he 
 uttered an inarticulate sound, and, finding his voice gone, 
 moved away to the d(3or, and left the house. 
 
 He walked through the streets, bearing his head very erect, 
 as a proud man docs when deeply wounded, and striving to 
 shake off some a-ffection that he deems a weakness ; and his 
 fcrembling nervous fingers fumbled at the button of his coat, 
 
VAEIETTES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 299 
 
 fcrjing to tigL.teii tlie garment across Ms cliest, as if to con- 
 firm a resolution tliat still sought to struggle out of tlie 
 revolting heart. 
 
 Thus he went on, and the reader, perhaps, will wonder 
 whither, and the wonder may not lessen when he finds the 
 Squire come to a dead pause in Grosvenor Square, and at the 
 portico of his " distant brother's " stately house. 
 
 At the Squire's brief inquiry whether Mr. Egerton was at 
 home, the porter summoned the groom of the chambers ; and 
 the groom of the chambers, seeing a stranger, doubted 
 whether his master was not engaged, but would take in the 
 stranger's card and see. 
 
 " Ay, ay," muttered the Squire, *' this is true relationship ! 
 —my child prefers a stranger to me. Why should I complain 
 that I am a stranger in a brother's house ? Sir," added the 
 Squire aloud, and very meekly — " Sir, please to say to your 
 master that I am William Hazeldean." 
 
 The servant bowed low, and without another word con- 
 ducted the visitor into the statesman's library, and announcing 
 Mr. Hazeldean, closed the door. 
 
 Audley was seated at his desk, the grim iron boxes still 
 at his feet, but they were now closed and locked. And the 
 ex-minister was no longer looking over official documents ; 
 letters spread open before him, of far different nature ; in his 
 hand there lay a long lock of fair silken hair, on which his 
 eyes were fixed sadly and intently. He started at the sound 
 of his visitor's name, and the tread of the Squire's stalwart 
 footstep ; and mechanically thrust into his bosom the relic of 
 younger and warmer years, keeping his hand to his heart, 
 which beat loud with disease under the light pressure of that 
 golden hair. 
 
 The two brothers stood on the great man's lonely hearth, 
 facing each other in silence, and noting unconsciously the 
 change made in each during the long years in which they had 
 never met. 
 
 The Squire, with his portly size, his hardy sun-burnt 
 cheeks, the partial baldness of his unfurrowed open forehead, 
 looked his full age — deep into middle life. Unmistakeably 
 he seemed the pater familias — the husband and the father — 
 the man of social domestic ties. But about Audley (really 
 some few years junior to the Squire), despite the lines of care 
 on his handsome face, there still lingered the grace of youth. 
 Men of cities retain youth longer than those of the country — ■ 
 a remark which Buff on has not failed to make and to account 
 
800 
 
 MY 2swel: or, 
 
 for. !N"eitlier did Egerton betray tlie air of tlie married man • 
 for ineffable solitariness seemed stamped upon one whose pri« 
 rate life bad long been so stern a solitude. ISTo ray from tlie 
 focus of Home played round tbat reserved, unjoyous, melan- 
 choly brow. In a word, Audley looked still the man for whom 
 some young female heart might fondly sigh ; and not the less 
 because of the cold eye and compressed lip, which challenged 
 interest even while seeming to repel it. 
 
 Audley was the first to speak, and to put forth the right 
 hand, which he stole slowly from its place at his breast, on 
 which the lock of hair still stirred to and fro at the heave of 
 the labouring heart. "William," said he, with his rich deep 
 voice, " this is kind. You are come to see me, now that men 
 say I am fallen. The minister you censured is no more ; and 
 yon see again the brother." 
 
 The Squire was softened at once by this address. He shook 
 heartily the hand tendered to him ; and then, turning away 
 his head, with an honest conviction that Audley ascribed to him 
 a credit which he did not deserve, he said, " ISTo, no, Audley ; 
 I am more selfish than you think me. I have come — have 
 come to ask your advice — no, not exactly that — your opinion. 
 But you are busy ? — " 
 
 " Sit down, William, Old days were coming over me when 
 you entered ; days earlier still return now — days, too, thxit 
 leave no shadow when their suns are set." 
 
 The proud man seemed to think he had said too much. 
 His practical nature rebuked the poetic sentiment and phrase. 
 He re-collected himself, and added, more coldly, " You 
 would ask my opinion ? What on ? Some public matter — 
 some Parliamentary bill that may aliect your property ? " 
 
 " Am I such a mean miser as that ? Property — property ? 
 What does property matter, when a man is struck down at his 
 own hearth ? Property, indeed ! But you have no child — 
 happy brother ! " 
 
 " Ay, ay ; as you say, I am a happy man ; childless ! Has 
 your son displeased you? I have heard him well spoken of, 
 too." 
 
 " Don't talk of him. Whether his conduct be good or ill 
 is my affair," resumed the poor father with a testy voice — ■ 
 jealous alike of Audley's praise or blame of his rebellious son. 
 Then he rose a moment, and made a strong gulp, as if for air ; 
 and laying his broad brown hand on his brother's shoulder, 
 said — " Randal Leslie tells me you are wise — a consummate 
 man of the world. 'No doubt you are so. And Parson Dale 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 301 
 
 tells me that lie is sure you have warm feelings — which I take 
 to be a strange thing for one who has lived so long in London, 
 and has no wife and no child — a widower, and a Member of 
 Parhament — ^for a commercial city, too. Never smile ; it is 
 no smiling matter with me. You know a foreign woman, 
 called Negra or Negro — not a blackjmoor, though, by any 
 means — at least on the outside of her. Is she such a woman 
 as a plain country gentleman would like his only son to marry 
 — ay or no ? 
 
 " No, indeed," answered Audley, gravely ; and I trust 
 your son will commit no action so rash. Shall I see him, 
 or her ? ' Speak, my dear William. What would you have 
 me do?" 
 
 " Nothing ; you have said enough," replied the Squire, 
 gloomily ; and his head sank on his breast. 
 
 Audley took his hand, and pressed it fraternally. " Wil- 
 liam," said the statesman, "we have been long estranged; 
 but I do not forget that when we last met, at — at Lord Lans- 
 mere's house, and when I took you aside, and said ' William, 
 if I lose this election, I must resign all chance of public life ; 
 * my affairs are embarrassed. I would not accept money from 
 you — I would seek a profession, and you can help me there,' 
 you divined my meaning, and said — ' Take orders ; the Hazel- 
 dean living is just vacant. I will get some one to hold it till 
 you are ordained.' I do not forget that. Would that I had 
 thought earlier of so serene an escape from all that then 
 tormented me. My lot might have been far happier." 
 
 The Squire eyed Audley with a surprise that broke forth 
 from his more absorbing emotions. " Happier ! Why, BjU 
 things have prospered with you ; and you are rich enough 
 now ; and — you shake your head. Brother, is it possible ! do 
 you want money? Pooh, not accept money from your 
 mother's son ! — stuff." Out came the Squire's pocket-book. 
 Audley put ib gently aside. 
 
 "Nay," said he, "I have enough for myself; but since 
 you seek and speak with me thus affectionately, I will ask 
 you one favour. Should I die before I can provide for my 
 wife's kinsman, Randal Leslie, as I could wish, will you see to 
 his fortunes, so far as you can, without injury to others — to 
 your own son ? " 
 
 " My son ! He is provided for. He has the Casino estate 
 — much good may it do him. You have touched on the very 
 matter that brought me hei^e. This boy, E-andai Leslie, seems 
 a praiseworthy lad, and has Hazeldean blood in his veins. 
 
802 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 You liave taken him up because he is connected with yoar 
 late wife; 'Whj sliould I not take him up, too, u'lien his 
 grandmother was a Hazeldean ? My main object in calling 
 was to ask what you mean do to for him ; for if you do not 
 mean to provide for him, why, I will, as in duty bound. So 
 your request comes at the rig'ht time ; I think of altering my 
 will. I can put him into the entail, besides a handsome 
 legaoy. You are sure he is a good lad — and it will please you 
 too, Audley ! " 
 
 " But not at the expense of your son. And stay, William 
 ■ — -as to this foolish marriage with Madame di I^fegra, — who 
 told you Frank meant to take such a step ? 
 
 " He told me himself; but it is no matter. Randal and I 
 both did all we could to dissuade him ; and Randal advised 
 me to come to you.'^ 
 
 ^* He has acted generously, then, our kinsman Randal — I 
 am glad to hear it"— said Audley, his brow somewhat clear- 
 ing. " I have no influence with this lady ; bafc, ab least, I can 
 counsel her. Do not consider the marriage fixed because a 
 young man desires it. Youth is ever hot and rash." 
 
 " Your youth never was," retorted the squire, bluntly. 
 " You married well enough, I'm sure. I will say one thing 
 for you : you have been, to my taste, a bad politician — beg 
 pardon — but you were always a gentleman. You would never 
 have disgraced your family and married a — " 
 
 "Hush!" interrupted Egerton, gently. "Do not make 
 matters worse than they are. Madame di ISTegra is of high 
 birfch in her own country ; and if scandal — " 
 
 " Scandal ! " cried the Squire, shrinking and turning pale. 
 " Are you speaking of the wife of a Hazeldean ? At least she 
 shall never sit by the hearth at which now sits his mother ; 
 &nd whatever I may do for Frank, her children shall not 
 succeed. 'No mongrel cross-breed shall kennel in English 
 Hazeldean. Much obliged to you, Audley, for your good 
 feeling — glad to have seen you ; and harkye, you startled mo 
 by that shake of your head, when I spoke of your wealth ; 
 and, from what you say about Randal's prospects, I guess 
 that you London gentlemen are not so thrifty as we are. You 
 shall let me speak. I say again, that I have some thousands 
 quite at your service. And though you are not a Hazeldean, 
 still you are my mother's son; and now that I am about to 
 alter my will, 1 can as well scratch in the name of Egerton as 
 that of Leslie. Cheer up, cheer up : you are younger than I am, 
 and you have no child; so you will live longer than I shall/ 
 
VAPvIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 My dear brofclier," answered Andlej, believ^e me I shall 
 never live to want jour aid. And as to Leslie, add to tlio 
 £5000 I mean to give Mm, an eqnal sum in your ynU, and 1 
 shall feel that he has received justice.*' 
 
 Observing that the Squire, though he listened attentiv^ely, 
 made no ready answer, Audley turned the subject again to 
 Frank ; and with the adroitness of a man of the w^orld, backed 
 by cordial sympathy in his brother's distress, he pleaded so 
 w^ell Frank's lame cause, urged so gently the wisdom of 
 patience and delay, and the appeal to filial feeling rather than 
 recourse to paternal threats, that the Squire grew molified in 
 spite of himself, and left his brother's house a much less 
 angry, and less doleful man. 
 
 Mr. Hazeldean was still in the square, when he came upoE 
 Eandal himself, who w^as walking with a dark-whiskered, 
 showy gentleman, towards Egerton's house. Randal and the 
 gentleman exchanged a hasty whisper, and the former theP 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " What, Mr. Hazeldean, have you just left your brother's 
 house ? Is it possible ? " 
 
 " Why, you advised me to go there, and I did. I scarcely 
 knew what I was about. I am very glad I did go. Hang 
 politics ! hang the landed interest ! what do I care for either 
 now ? " 
 
 " Foiled with Madame di Negra ? " asked Randal, drawing 
 the Squire aside. 
 
 Never speak of her again !" cried the Squire, fiercely. 
 " And as to that ungrateful boy — but I don't mean to behave 
 harshly to him — he shall have money enough to keep her if 
 he likes — keep her from coming to me — keep him, too, from 
 counting on my death, and borrowing post-obits on the 
 Casino — for he'll be doing that next — ^no, I hope I wrong 
 him there ; I have been too good a father for him to count 
 on my death already. After all," continued the Squire, 
 beginning to relax, " as Audley says, the marriage is not yet 
 made; and if tbe w^oman has taken him in, he is young, and 
 his heart is warm. Make yourself easy, my boy. I don't 
 forgot how kindly you took his part ; and before I do any- 
 thing rash, I'll at least consult with his poor mother." 
 
 Randal gnaw^ed his pale lip, and a momentary cloud of 
 disappointment, passed over his face. 
 
 " True, sir," said he, gently ; " true, you must not be rash 
 Indeed, I was thinking of you and poor dear Frank at the 
 very moment 1 met you. It occurred feo me whether 
 
304 
 
 MY KOVEL ; OR, 
 
 might not make Frank's very embarrassments a reason to 
 induce Madame di Isfegra to refuse him ; and I was on mj 
 way to Mr. Egerton, in order to ask his opinion, in company 
 with' the gentleman yonder." 
 
 " Grentleman yonder. Why should he thrust his long nose 
 into my family affairs ? Who the devil is he ? " 
 
 " Don't ask, sir. Pray let me act." 
 
 But the Squire continued to eye askant the dark- whiskered 
 personage thus interposed between himself and his son, and 
 who waited patiently a few yards in the rear, carelessly 
 re-adjusting the camelia in his button-hole. 
 
 " He looks very outlandish. Is he a foreigner too ? " 
 asked the Squire, at last. 
 
 " 'No, not exactly. However, he knows all about Frank's 
 embarrassments ; and — " 
 
 " Embarrassments ! what, the debt he paid for that woman P 
 How did he raise the money ? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Randall, " and that is the reason 
 I asked Baron Levy to accompany me to Egerton' s, that ho 
 might explain in private what I have no reason — " 
 
 "Baron Levy! " interrupted the Squire. "Levy, Levy — 1 
 have heard of a Levy who has nearly ruined my neighbour 
 Thornhill — a money-lender. Zounds ! is that the man who 
 knows my son's affairs ? I'll soon learn, sir." 
 
 Randal caught hold of the Squire's arm : " Stop, stop ; if 
 you really insist upon learning more about Frank's debts, you 
 must not appeal to Baron Levy directly, and as Frank's 
 father : he will not answer you. But if T present you to him 
 as a mere acquaintance of mine, and turn the conversation, as 
 if carelessly, upon Frank — why, since in the London world, 
 such matters are never kept secret, except from the parents 
 of young men — I have no doubt he will talk out openly." 
 
 " Manage it as you will," said the Squire. 
 
 Bandal took Mr. Hazeldean's arm, and joined Levy — " A 
 friend of mine from the country, Baron." Levy bowed pro- 
 foundly, and the three walked slowly on. 
 
 "By-the-by," said Randal, pressing significantly upon 
 Levy's arm, " my friend has come to town upon the some- 
 what unpleasant business of settling the debts of another — a 
 young man of fashion — a relation of his own. No one, sir 
 (turning to the Squire), could so ably assist you in such 
 arrangements as could Baron Levy," 
 
 Baron (modestly, and with a moralising air).—" I have 
 some experience in such matters, and I hold it a duty to 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 805 
 
 assist fbe parents and relations of young men who, from 
 want of reflection, often ruin themselves for life. I hope the 
 young gentleman in question is not in the hands of the Jews? 
 
 Randal. — "Christians are as fond of good interest for their 
 money as ever the Jews can be.'* 
 
 Baron. — " Granted, but they have not always so much 
 money to lend. The first thing, sir, (addressing the Squire,) 
 — the first thing for you to do is to buy up such of your rela- 
 tion's bills and notes of hand as may be in the market. No 
 doubt we can get them a bargain, unless the young man is 
 heir to some property that may soon be his in the course of 
 nature." 
 
 Randal. — " ISTot soon — heaven forbid ! His father is still 
 a young man — a fine healthy man," leaning heavily on Levy's 
 arm ; " and as to. post-obits — " 
 
 Baron. — " Post-obits on sound security cost more to buy 
 up, however healthy the obstructing relative may be." 
 
 Randal. — "I should hope that there are not many sons 
 who can calculate, in cold blood, on the death of their 
 fathers." 
 
 Baron. — "Ha, ha — ^he is young, our friend Randal; eh, sir?" 
 
 Randal. — " Well, I am not more scrupulous than others, I 
 daresay ; and I have often been pinched hard for money, but 
 I would go barefoot rather than give security upon a father's 
 grave ! I can imagine nothing more likely to destroy natural 
 feeling, nor to instil ingratitude and treachery into the whole 
 character, than to press the hand of a pareiji, and calculate 
 when that hand may be dust — than to sit down with strangers 
 and reduce his life to the measure of an insurance table — than 
 to feel difficulties gathering round one, and mutter in fashion- 
 able slang, ' But it will be all well if the governor would but 
 die.' And he who has accustomed himself to the relief of 
 post-obits, must gradually harden his mind to all this." 
 
 The Squire groaned heavily; and had Randal proceeded 
 another sentence in the same strain, the Squire would have 
 wept outright. " But," continued Randal, altering the tone 
 of his voice, " I thiuk that our young friend, of whom we 
 were talking just now. Levy, before this gentleman joined us, 
 has the same opinions as myself on this head. He may 
 accept bills, but he would never sign post-obits." 
 ' Baron, (who with the apt docility of a managed charger to 
 the touch of a rider's hand, had comprehended and complied 
 with each quick sign of Randal' d.) — ^" Pooh ! the young 
 fellow we are talkinj^ off ? Nonsense. He would not be so" 
 
 VOL. II. X 
 
806 
 
 MY novel; oh. 
 
 foolish as to give five times the percentage he otherwise 
 inight, Not sign post-ohits ! Of eonrse he has signed one." 
 
 Randal —"Hist' — yon mistake, jou mistake." 
 
 Squibe), (leaving RandaFs arm and seizing Levy-s.)— 
 Were you speaking of Frank Hazeldean ? " 
 
 Baroh.— * - My dear sir, excuse me ; I never mention names 
 "before strangers/' 
 
 Squibb.—" Strangers again ! Man, I am the boy -s father ! 
 Speak out, sir/* and his hand closed on Levy's arm with the 
 Htrpngth of an iron vice. 
 
 Baroi^.---^' Gently ; you hurt me, sir • but I excuse your 
 feelings. Randal, you are to blame for leading me into this 
 indiscretion ; but I beg to assure Mr. Hazeldean, that though 
 his gon has been a little extravagant—'' 
 
 Randal. — " Owing chiefly to the arts .of an abandoned 
 Yfoman." 
 
 Baron.- — " Of an abandoned woman still he has shown 
 more prudence than you would suppose ; and this very post- 
 obit is a proof of it. A simple act of that kind has enabled 
 him to pay off bills that were running on till they would have 
 ruined even the Hazeldean estate ; whereas a charge on the 
 reversion of the Oasino— " 
 
 SQUiRE.'r- He has done it then? He has signed a post-obit?" 
 
 Randal.-—" 'No, no, Levy must be wrong." 
 
 Baron.—" My dear Leslie, a man of Mr. Hazeldean's time 
 of life cannot have your romantic boyish notions. He must 
 allow that Frank has acted in this like a lad of sense — very 
 good head for business has my young friend Frank ! And 
 the best thing Mr. Hazeldean can do is quietly to buy up the 
 post-obit, and thus he will place his son henceforth in his 
 power.'' 
 
 SQUlEE.tr—" Can I see the deed with my own eyes ? - ' 
 
 Baron.— ^" Certainly, or how could you be induced to buy 
 it up ? But on one condition ; you must not betray me to 
 your son. And, indeed, take my advice, and don't say a 
 word to him on the matter." 
 
 Squire.—^* Let me see it, let me see it with my own eyes. 
 His mother else will never believe it — ^nor will I." 
 
 Baron. — " I can call on you this evening," 
 
 Squire. — " Now — now." 
 
 Baron.— "You can spare me, Randal; and you yourself 
 can open to Mr. Egerton the other affair respecting Lans- 
 mere.. No time should be lost, lest L'Estrange suggest a 
 candidate." 
 
YAKTETXES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 807 
 
 Bandal, (whispering.)— K'ever miiad me. This is more 
 importaiit. (Aloud)— Q-o with Mr. Hazeldean. My dear 
 kind friend, (to the Squire,) do not iet this vex jou so much. 
 After all, it is what nine young men out of ten would do in 
 the same circunistances. And it is best you should know it ; 
 you may save Frank from farther ruin, and prevent, perhaps, 
 this very marriage." 
 
 " We will see," exclaimed the Squire, ha,stily. " Now, Mr. 
 Levy, come." 
 
 Iievy and the Squire W9;lked on, not arm in arm, but side 
 by side. Randal proceeded to Egerton's house. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Jjeslie," said the ex-minister. 
 " What is it I have heard ? My nephew, Frank Hazeldean, 
 proposes to marry Madame di Negra against his father's 
 consent ? How could you suffer him to entertain an idea so 
 wild ? And how never confide it to me ? " 
 
 Randal. — " My dear Mr. Bgerton, it is only to-day that I 
 was informed of Frank's engagement. I have already seen 
 him, and expostulated in vain ; till then, though I knew your 
 nephew admired Madame di Negra, I could never suppose he 
 harboured a serious intention." 
 
 Egerton. — " I must believe yon, Randal. I will myself see 
 Madame di Negra, though J have no power, and no right, to 
 dictate to her. I have but little time for all such private 
 business. The dissolution of Parliament is so close at hand." 
 
 Randal, (looking down.)— "It is on that subject that I 
 wished to speak to you, sir. You think of standing for 
 Lansmere. Well, Bai^on Levy has suggested to me an idea 
 that I could not, of course, even countenance, till I had 
 spoken to you. It seems that he has some acquaintance with 
 the state of parties in that borough I He is informed that it 
 is not only as easy to bring in two of our side, as to carry 
 one ; but that it would make your election still more safe, not 
 to fight single-handed against two opponents ; that if canvass- 
 ing for yourself alone, you could not carry a sufficient number 
 of plumper votes ; that split votes would go from you to one 
 or other of the two adversaries ; that, in a word, it is necessary 
 to pair you with a colleague. If it really be so, you of course 
 will learn best from your own Committee ; bat should they 
 concur in the opinion Baron Levy has formed — do I presume 
 'too much on your kindness — to deem it possible that you 
 might allow me to be the second candidate on your side ? I 
 should not say this, but that Levy told me you had some wish 
 to see me in Parliament, amongst the supporters of you^ 
 
308 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 policy. And wHat other opportunity can occur ? Here the 
 cost of carrying two would be scarcely more than that of 
 carrying one. And Levy says, the party would subscribe for 
 my election ; you, of course, would refuse all such aid for 
 your own ; and indeed, with your great name, and Lord 
 Lansmere's interest, there can be little beyond the strict legal 
 expenses." 
 
 As Randal spoke thus at length, he watched anxiously his 
 patron's reserved, unrevealing countenance. 
 
 Egerton, (drily.) — "I will consider. Ton may safely 
 leave in my hands any matter connected with your ambition 
 and advancement. I have before told you I hold it a duty to 
 do all in my power for the kinsman of my late wife — for one 
 whose career I undertook to forward — for one whom honour 
 has compelled to share in my own political reverses.'' 
 
 Here Egerton rang the bell for his hat and gloves, and 
 walking into the hall, paused at the street door. There 
 beckoning to Randal, he said, slowly, " You seem intimate 
 with Baron Levy ; I caution you against him — a dangerous 
 acquaintance, first to the purse, next to the honour." 
 
 Randal. — " I know it, sir ; and am surprised myself at the 
 acquaintance that has grown up between us. Perhaps its 
 cause is in his respect for yourself." 
 
 Egerton.—" Tut." 
 
 Randal. — "Whatever it be, he contrives to obtain a 
 singular hold over one's mind, even where, as in my case, he has 
 no evident interest to serve. How is this? It puzzles me! " 
 
 Egerton. — " For his interest, it is most secured where he 
 suffers it to be least evident; for his hold over the mind, it 
 is easily accounted for. He ever appeals to two temptations, 
 strong with all men — Avarice and Ambition. Grood day." 
 
 Randal. — " Are you going to Madame di ISTegra's ? Shall 
 1 not accompany you ? Perhaps I may be able to back your 
 own remonstrances." 
 
 Egerton. — "No, 1 shall not require you." 
 
 Randal. — " I trust I shall hear the result of your inter- 
 view ? 1 feel so much interested in it. Poor Prank ! " 
 
 Audley nodded. " Of course, of course." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 On entering the drawing-room of Madame di ITegra, the 
 peculiar charm which the severe Audley Egerton had been 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIEE. 
 
 309 
 
 erer reputed to possess witli women, would have sensiblj 
 struck one wlio had hitherto seen him chiefly in his relations 
 with men in the business-like affairs of life. It was a charm 
 in strong contrast to the ordinary manners of those who are 
 emphatically called " Ladies' men/* No artificial smile, no 
 conventional, hollow blandness, no frivolous gossip, no varnish 
 either of ungenial gaiety or affected grace. The charm was in 
 a simplicity that unbent more into kindness than it did with 
 men. Audley's nature, whatever its faults and defects, was 
 essentially masculine; and it was the sense of masculine 
 power that gave to his voice a music when addressing the 
 gentler sex — and to his manner a sort of indulgent tenderness 
 that appeared equally void of insincerity and presumption. 
 
 Frank had been gone about half-an-hour, and Madame di 
 Negra was scarcely recovered from the agitation into which 
 she had been thrown by the affront from the father and the 
 pleading of the son. 
 
 Egerton took her passive hand cordially, and seated himself 
 by her side. 
 
 " My dear Marchesa," said he, **are we then likely to be 
 near connections ? And can you seriously contemplate mar- 
 riage with my young nephew, Frank Hazeldean ? You turn 
 away. Ah, my fair friend, there are but two inducements to 
 a free woman to sign away her liberty at the altar. I say a 
 free woman, for widows are free, and girls are not. These 
 inducements are, first, worldly position ; secondly, love. Which 
 of these motives can urge Madame di Negra to marry Mr. 
 Frank Hazeldean ? " 
 
 " There are other motives than those you speak of — the 
 need of protection — the sense of solitude — the curse of depend- 
 once — gratitude for honourable affection. But you men never 
 Xnow women 1 
 
 " I grant that you are right there — we never do ; neither 
 d.0 women ever know men. And yet each sex contrives to 
 dupe and to fool the other 1 Listen to me. I have little 
 acquaintance with my nephew, but I allow he is a handsome 
 young gentleman, with whom a handsome young lady in her 
 teens might fall in love in a ball-room. But you who have 
 known the higher order of our species — you who have received 
 the homage of men, whose thoughts and mind leave the small 
 talk of drawing-room triflers so poor and bald — you cannot 
 look me in the face and say that it is any passion resembling 
 love which you feel for my nephew. And as to position, it is 
 right that I should inform you that if he marry you lie will 
 
MY KOYEL ; OE^ 
 
 have none. He may risk his inheritance. Yon will receive 
 no countenance from his parents. Yon will be poor, bnt not 
 free. Yon wil] not gain the independence yon seek for. The 
 sight of a vacant discontented face in that opposite chair will 
 be worse than solitnde. And as to gratefnl affection/' added 
 the man of the world, "it is a polite synonym for tranquil 
 indifference." 
 
 "Mr. Egerton," said Beatrice, "people say yon are made 
 of bi-onze. Did you ever feel the want of a home ? " 
 
 "I answer you frankly," replied the statesman, "if I had 
 not felt it, do you think I should have been, and that I should 
 be to the last, the joyless drudge of public life ? Bronze 
 though you call my nature, it would have melted away long 
 since like wax in the fire, if I had sat idly down and dreamed 
 of a home / " 
 
 "But we women," answered Beatrice, with pathos, "have 
 no pnblic life, and we do idly sit down and dream. Oh/' she 
 continned, after a short pause, and clasping her hands firmly 
 together, " you think me worldly, grasping, ambitious ; how 
 different my fate had been had I known a home ! — known 
 one whom I conld love and venerate — known one whoso 
 smiles would have developed the good that was once within 
 me, and the fear of whose rebuking or sorrowful eye would 
 have corrected what is evil." 
 
 "Yet," answered Andley, "nearly all women in the great 
 world have had that choice once in their lives, and nearly all 
 have thrown it away. How few of your rank really think of 
 home when they marry — how few ask to venerate as well as 
 to love^ — and how many, ol every rank, when the home has 
 been really gained, have wilfully lost its shelter ; some in 
 neglectful weariness — some from a momentary doubt, distrust^ 
 caprice — a wild fancy — a passionate fit — a trifio — a straw — a 
 dream ! Ttue, you women are ever dreamers. Common sense, 
 common earth, is above or below your comprehension." 
 
 Both now are silent. Andley first roused himself with a 
 quick, writhing movement. "We two," said he, smiling half 
 sadly, half cynically — -" we two must not longer waste time in 
 talking sentiment. We know both too well what life, as it 
 has been made for us by our faults or our misfortunes, truly 
 is. And once again, I entreat you to pause before you yield 
 to the foolish suit of my foolish nephew. E-ely On it, you will 
 either command a higher offer for your prudence to accept ; 
 or, if you needs must sacrifice rank and fortune, you, with 
 your beauty and your romantic hearty will see one who, ai 
 
YAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 311 
 
 leusb for a fair holiday season (if lanman love allows no more)) 
 can repay jou for the sacrifice. Frank HazeMean never 
 can." 
 
 Beatrice tiinaed away to conceal the tears thafc fushod to 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Think over this Well," said Audley, in the softest tones 
 of his mellow voice. "Do you remember that when you first 
 came to England, I told you that neither wedlock nor love 
 liad any lures for me. We grew friends upon that rude 
 avowal, and therefore I now Speak to you like some sage of 
 old, wise because standing apart and aloof, from all the affec- 
 fcions and ties that mislead our wisdom. Nothing but real 
 love — (how rare it is ; has one human heart in a million ever 
 known it ?)— nothing but real love can repay us for the loss 
 of freedom— the cares and fears of poverty^the cold pity of 
 the world that we both despise and respect. And all these, 
 and much more, follow the step that you would inconsiderately 
 take — an imprudent marriage." 
 
 " Audley Egerton," said Beatrice, lifting her dark^ moist- 
 ened eyes, "you grant that real love does compensate for an 
 imprudent marriage. You speak as if you had known such 
 love — you ! Can it be possible ? 
 
 " Real love — I thought that I knew it once. Looking back 
 with remorse, I should doubt it now but for one curse that 
 only real love, when lost, has the power to leave evel'more 
 behind it." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 "A void here," answered Egerton, striking his heart. 
 " Desolation ! — Adieu ! " 
 He rose and left the room, 
 
 " Is it," murmured Egerfcon, as he pursued his way through 
 the streets — " is it that, as we approach death, all the first fair 
 feelings of young life' come back to us mysteriously ? Thus I 
 have heard, or read, that in some country of old, children 
 scattering flowers, preceded a funeral bier." 
 
 OHAPTEB XV. 
 
 And so Leonard stood beside his friend's mortal clay^ mA 
 watched, in the ineffable smile of deaths the last gleam which 
 the soul had left there ; and so, after a time, he crept back to 
 
812 
 
 MT kovel; or. 
 
 the adjoining room wi^i a step as noiseless as if he had feared 
 to disturb the dead. W"earied as he was with watching, he 
 had no thought of sleep. He sate himself down by the little 
 table, and leaned his face on his hand, musing sorrowfully. 
 Thus time passed. He heard the clock from below strike the 
 hours. In the house of death the sound of a clock becomes so 
 solemn. The soul that we miss has gone so far beyond the 
 reach of time ! A cold, superstitious awe gradually stole over 
 the young man. He shivered, and lifted his eyes with a starfc, 
 half scornful, half defying. The moon was gone — the grey, 
 comfortless dawn gleamed through the casement, and carried 
 its raw, chilling light through the open doorway into the 
 death-room. And there, near the extinguished fire, Leonard 
 saw the solitary woman, weeping low, and watching still. He 
 returned to say a word of comfort — she pressed his hand, but 
 waved him away. He understood. She did not wish for 
 other comfort than her quiet relief of tears. Again, he re- 
 turned to his own chamber, and his eye this time fell upon 
 the papers which he had hitherto disregarded. What made 
 his heart stand still, and the blood then rush so quickly 
 through his veins ? Why did he seize upon those papers 
 with so tremulous a hand — then lay them down — ^^pause, as if 
 to nerve himself — and look so eagerly again ? He recognised 
 the handwriting — those fair, clear characters — so peculiar in 
 their woman-like delicacy and grace — the same as in the wild, 
 pathetic poems, the sight of which had made an era in his 
 boyhood. From these pages the image of the mysterious 
 ITora rose once more before him. He felt that he was with a 
 mother. He went back, and closed the door gently, as if 
 with a jealous piety, to exclude each ruder shadow from the 
 world of spirits, and be alone with that mournful ghost. For 
 a thought written in warm, sunny life, and then suddenly 
 rising up to us, when the hand that traced, and the heart that 
 cherished it, are dust — is verily as a ghost. It is a likeness 
 struck off of the fond human being, and surviving it. Far 
 more truthful than bust or portrait, it bids us see the tear 
 flow, and the pulse beat. What ghost can the churchyard 
 yield to us like the writing of the dead ? 
 
 The bulk of the papers had been once lightly sewn to each 
 other — they had come undone, perhaps in Burley's rude 
 hands; but their order was easily apparent. Leonard soon 
 saw that they formed a kind of journal — ^not, indeed, a regular 
 diary, nor always relating to the things of the day. There 
 were gaps in time — no attempt at successive narrative. Some 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISn LIEE. 
 
 813 
 
 times, instead of prose, a hasty burst of verse, gusliing evi- 
 dently from the heart — sometimes all narrative was left 
 untold, and yet, as it were, epitomised by a single burning 
 line — a single exclamation — of woe or joy ! Everywhere you 
 saw records of a nature exquisitely susceptible ; and, where 
 genius appeared, it was so artless, that you did not call it 
 genius, but emotion. At the onset the writer did not speak 
 of herself in the first person. The MS. opened with descrip- 
 tions and short dialogues, carried on by persons to whose 
 names only initial letters were assigned, all written in a style 
 of simple innocent freshness, and breathing of purity and 
 happiness, like a dawn of spring. Two young persons, 
 humbly born — a youth and a girl — ^the last still in childhood, 
 each chiefly self-taught, are wandering on Sabbath evenings 
 among green dewy fields, near the busy town, in which labour 
 awhile is still. Few words pass between them. You see at 
 once though the writer does not mean to convey it, how far 
 beyond the scope of her male companion flies the heavenward 
 imagination of the girl. It is he who questions — it is she 
 who answers ; and soon there steals upon you, as you read, 
 the conviction that the youth loves the girl, and loves in vain. 
 All in this writing, though terse, is so truthful ! Leonard, iu 
 the youth, already recognises the rude imperfect scholar — the 
 village bard — Mark Fairfield. Then, there is a gap in de- 
 scription — but there are short weighty sentences, which show 
 deepening thought, increasing years, in the writer. And 
 though the innocence remains, the happiness begins to be less 
 vivid on the page. 
 
 Now, insensibly, Leonard finds that there is a new phase in 
 the writer's existence. Scenes, no longer of humble, work- 
 day rural life, surround her. And a fairer and more dazzling 
 image succeeds to the companion of the Sabbath eves. This 
 image Nora evidently loves to paint — ^it is akin to her own 
 genius — it captivates her fancy — it is an image that she 
 (inborn artist, and conscious of her art) feels to belong to a 
 brighter and higher school of the Beautiful. And yet the 
 virgin's heart is not awakened — no trace of the heart yet 
 there ! The new image thus introduced is one of her own 
 years, perhaps ; nay, it may be younger still, for it is a boy 
 that is described, with his profuse fair curls, and eyes new to 
 grief, and confronting the sun as a young eagle's; with veins 
 so full of the wine of life, that they overflow into every joyous 
 whim ; with nerves quiveringly alive to the desire of glory ; 
 with the frank generous nature, rash in its laughing scorn of 
 
MY NOVEL ; GE, 
 
 the world, which it has not tried. Who wai3 this boj, it per* 
 plexed Leonard* He feared to guess. Soon, less told than 
 implied, yon saw that this companionship, however it chan<;ed, 
 brings fear and pain on the writer. Again (as before)^ with 
 Mark Fairfield, there is love on the one side and not on the 
 other ; — with her there is affectionate, almost sisterly, interest, 
 admiration, gratitude— bnt a something of pride or of terror 
 that keeps back love. 
 
 Here Leonard's interest grew intense. Were there touches 
 by which conjecture grew certainty ; and he recognised, 
 through the lapse of years, the boy-lover in his own generous 
 benefactor ? 
 
 Fragments of dialogue now began to reveal the suit of an 
 ardent impassioned nature, and the simple wonder and strange 
 alarm of a listener who pitied but could not sympathisa 
 Some great worldly distinction of rank between the two 
 became visible— that distinction seemed to arm the virtue 
 and steel the affections of the lowlier born. Then a few 
 sentences, half blotted out with tears, told of wounded and 
 humbled feelings — some one invested with authority, as if 
 the suitor's parent, had interfered, questioned, reproached, 
 counselled. And it was evident that the suit was not one that 
 dishonoured ; — ^it wooed to flight, but still to marriage. 
 
 And now these sentences grew briefer still, as with the 
 decision of a strong resolve. And to these there followed a 
 passage so exquisite, that Leonard wept unconsciously as he 
 read. It was the description of a visit spent at home previous 
 to some sorrowful departure. He caught the glimpse of a 
 proud and vain, but a tender wistful mother — of a father's 
 fonder but less thoughtful love. And then came a quiet 
 soothing scene between the girl and her first village lover, 
 ending thus — " So she put M.'s hand into her sister's, and 
 said : ' You loved me through the fancy, love her with the 
 heart,' and left them comprehending each other, and be- 
 trothed." 
 
 Leonard sighed. He understood now how Mark Fairfield 
 saw, in the homely features of his unlettered wife, the reflec- 
 tion of the sister's soul and face. 
 
 A few words told the final parting — words that were a 
 picture. The long friendless highway, stretching on — on — ' 
 towards the remorseless city. And the doors of borne open* 
 ing on the desolate thoroughfare — and the old pollard tree 
 beside the threshold, with the ravens wheeling round it and 
 calling to their young. He too had watched that threshold 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 from tlio same desolate tliorouglifare. He too liad heafd ihe 
 avj of tbe ravens. Then came some pages covered TPitb 
 snatclies of melancliolj verse, or some reflections of dreamy 
 gloom. 
 
 The writer was in London, in the house of some highborn 
 patroness — that friendless shadow of a friend which the jargon 
 of society calls " companion." And she was looking on the 
 bright storm of the world as throngh prison bars. Poor bird, 
 afar from the greenwood, she had need of song — it was her 
 last link with freedom and nature. The patroness seems to 
 share in her apprehensions of the boy suitor, whose wild rash 
 prayers the fugitive had resisted ; but to fear least the suitor 
 should be degraded, not the one whom he pursues — ^fear an 
 alliance ill-suited to a high-born heir. And this kind of feai 
 stings the writer's pride, and she grows harsh in her judgme^it 
 of him who thus causes but pain where he proffers love. Then 
 there is a reference to some applicant for her hand, who is 
 pressed upon her choice. And she is told that it is her duty 
 so to choose, and thus deliver a noble family from a dread 
 that endures so long as her hand is free. And of this fear, 
 and of this applicant, there breaks out a petulant yet pathetic 
 scorn. After this the narrative, to judge by the dates, pause^3 
 for days and weeks, as if the wriiber had grown weary and 
 listless, — suddenly to re-open in a new strain, eloquent with 
 hopes and with fears never known before. The first person 
 was abruptly assumed — it was the living " t " that now 
 breathed and moved along the lines. How was this? Tbe 
 woman was no more a shadow and a secret unknown to her- 
 self. She had assumed the intense and vivid sense of indi- 
 vidual being. And love spoke loud in the awakened human 
 heart. 
 
 A personage not seen till then appeared on the page. And 
 ever afterwards this personage was only named as '* Bb," as 
 if the one and sole representative of all the myriads that walk 
 the earth. The first notice of this prominent character on 
 the scene showed the restless agitated effect produced on the 
 writer's imagination. He was invested with a romance pro* 
 bably not his own. He was described in contrast to the bril- 
 liant boy whose suit she had feared, pifcied, and now sought 
 to shun — described with a grave and serious, but gentle mien 
 — a voice that imposed respect — an eye and lip that showed 
 collected dignity of will. Alas ! the writer betrayed herself, 
 and the charm was in the contrast, not to the character ot 
 the earlier lover but her own. And now, leaving Leonaid to 
 
316 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 explore and guess his way tLrougli tlie gaps and chasms of 
 the narrative, it is time to place before the reader what the 
 narrative alone will not reveal to Leonard. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Nora Avenel had fled from the boyish love of Harley 
 L'Estrange — recommended by Lady Lansmere to a valetudi- 
 narian relative of her own, Lady Jane Horton, as companion. 
 But Lady Lansmere could not believe it possible that the low- 
 born girl could long sustain her generous pride, and reject 
 the ardent suit of one who could offer to her the prospective 
 coronet of a countess. She continually urged upon Lady 
 Jane the necessity of marrying Nora to some one of rank less 
 disproportioned to her own, and empowered that lady to 
 assure any such wooer of a dowry far beyond Nora's station. 
 Lady Jane looked around, and saw in the outskirts of her 
 limited social ring, a young solicitor, a peer's natural son, who 
 was on terms of more than business-like intimacy with the 
 fashionable clients whose distresses made the origin of his 
 wealth. The young man was handsome, well-dressed, and 
 bland. Lady Jane invited him to her house ; and, seeing him 
 struck with the ra,re loveliness of Nora, whispered the hint of 
 the dower. The fashionable solicitor, who afterwards ripened 
 into Baron Levy, did not need that hint; for, though then 
 poor, he relied on himself for fortune, and, unlike Randal, he 
 had warm blood in his veins. But Lady Jane's suggestions 
 made him sanguine of success ; and when he formally 
 proposed, and was as formally refused, his self-love was 
 bitterly wounded. Vanity in Levy was a powerful passion ; 
 and with the vain, hatred is strong, revenge is rankling. 
 Levy retired, concealing his rage ; nor did he hiniself know 
 how vindictive that rage, when it cooled into malignancy, 
 could become, until the a^rch-fiend OppORTUNITT prompted its 
 indulgence and suggested its design. 
 
 Lady Jane was a.t first very angry with Nora for the rejec- 
 tion of a suitor whom she had presented as eligible. But 
 the pathetic grace of this wonderful girl had crept into her 
 heart, and softened it even against family prejudice ; and she 
 gradually owned to herself that Nora was worthy of some 
 one better than Mr. Levy. 
 
 Now, Harley had ever believed that Nora returned his lo^e, 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 817 
 
 and tliat notliing but her own sense of gratitude to liia 
 parents — own instincts of delicacy, made her deaf to his 
 prayers. To do him justice, wild and headstrong as he then 
 was, his suit would have ceased at once had he really deemed 
 it persecution. ISTor was his error unnatural ; for his conver- 
 sation, till it had revealed his own heart, could not fail to 
 have dazzled and delighted the child of genius ; and her 
 frank eyes would have shown the delight. How, at his age, 
 could he see the distinction between the Poetess and the 
 Woman ? The poetess was charmed wn'th rare promise in a 
 soul of which the very errors were the extravagances of rich- 
 ness and beauty. But the woman — no ! the woman required 
 some nature not yet undeveloped, and all at turbulent, if 
 brilliant strife, with its own noble elements, — but a nature 
 formed and full-grown. Harley was a boy, and ISTora was 
 one of those women who must find or fancy an Ideal that 
 commands and almost awes them into love. 
 
 Harley discovered, not without difficulty, Nora*s new 
 residence. He presented himself at Lady Jane's, and she, 
 with grave rebuke, forbade him the house. He found it 
 impossible to obtain an interview with Nora. He wrote, but 
 he felt sure that his letters never reached her, since they were 
 unanswered. His young heart swelled with rage. He 
 dropped threats, which alarmed all the fears of Lady Lans- 
 mere, and even the prudent apprehensions of his friend, 
 Andley Egerton. At the request of the mother, and equally 
 at the wish of the son, Audley consented to visit at Lady 
 Jane's, and make acquaintance with Nora. 
 
 " I have such confidence in you," said Lady Lansmere, 
 "that if you once know the girl, your advice will be sure to 
 have weight with her. — ^You will show her how wicked it 
 would be to let Harley break our hearts and degrade hia 
 station." 
 
 " I have such confidence in you," said young Harley, " that 
 if you once know my Nora, you will no longer side with my 
 mother. You will recognise the nobility which nature only 
 can create — you will own that Nora is worthy a i^ank more 
 lofty than m.ine : and my mother so believes in your wisdom, 
 that, if you plead in my cause, you will convince even her." 
 
 Audley listened to both with his intelligent, half-incre- 
 dulous smile ; and wholly of the same opinion as Lady Lans- 
 mere, and sincerely anxious to save Harley from an indis- 
 cretion that his own notions led him to regard as fatal, he 
 resolved ^o examine this boa»sted pearl,' and to find out its 
 
858 
 
 MY l^OYEL; OR, 
 
 flaws. Audley Egerton was then in the prime of his earnest, 
 'resolute, ambitions youth. The stateliness of his natural 
 manners had then a suavity and polish which, even in later 
 and busier life, it never wholly lost ; since, in spite of the 
 briefer words and the colder looks by which care and power 
 mark the official man, the Minister had ever enjoyed that 
 personal popularity which the indefinable, external something, 
 that wins and pleases, can alone confer. But he had even 
 then, as ever, that felicitous reserve which Rochefaucault has 
 called the " mystery of the body — that thin yet guardian 
 veil Y\^hich reveals but the strong outlines of character, a.nd 
 excites so much of interest by provoking so much of conjecture. 
 To the man who is born with this reserve, which is wholly dis- 
 tinct from shyness, the world gives credit for qualities and 
 talents beyond those that it perceives ; and such characters are 
 attractive to others in proportion as these last are gifted with 
 the imagination which loves to divine the unknown. 
 
 At the first interview, the impression which this man pro- 
 duced upon ^jTora Avenel was profound and strange. She 
 had heard of him before as the one whom Harley most loved 
 and looked up to ; and she recognised at once in his mien, 
 bis aspect, his words, the very tone of his deep tranquil voice, 
 the power to which woman, whatever her intellect, never 
 attains ; and to which, therefore, she imputes a nobility not 
 always genuine — viz., the power of deliberate purpose, and 
 self-collected, serene ambition. The effect that Nora pro- 
 duced on Egerton was not less sudden. He was startled by 
 a beauty of face and form that belonged to that rarest order, 
 which we never behold but once or twice in our lives. He 
 "vms yet more amazed to discover that the aristocracy of mind 
 lOnld bestow a grace that no aristocracy of birth could sur- 
 pass. He was prepared for a simple, blushing village girl, 
 and involuntarily he bowed low his proud front at the first 
 sight of that delicate bloom, and that exquisite gentleness 
 which is woman's surest passport to the respect of man. 
 Keither in the first, nor the second, nor the third interview, 
 nor, indeed, till after many interviews, could he summon up 
 coiirage to commence his mission, and allude to Harley. 
 Aud when he did so at last his words faltered. But IST era's 
 words were clear to him. He saw that Harley was not 
 loved; and a joy, which he felt as guilty, darted through 
 his whole frame. From that interview Audley returned 
 home greatly agitated, and at war with himself. Often, in 
 the course of this story, ba^ it been hinted that, under all 
 
VAllIETIES m EKGLTSH LIFE. 
 
 319 
 
 Pgorfcorrs external coldness, and measured self-control, laj a 
 nature capable of strong and stubborn passions. Those 
 passions broke forth then. Hs felt that love had already 
 entered into the heart, which the trust of his friend should 
 have sufficed to guard. 
 
 ■'I will go there no more," said he, abruptly, to Harley. 
 But why 
 
 *- The girl does not love yon. Cease then to think of her." 
 
 Harley disbelieved him, and grew indignant. But Audley 
 had every worldly motive to assist his sense of honour. He 
 was poor, though with the repntation of wealth — deeply 
 involved in debt — resolved to rise in life — tenacious of his 
 position in the world's esteem. Against a host of counter- 
 acting influences, love fought single-handed. Audley's was 
 a strong nature ; but, alas ! in strong natures, if resistance to 
 temptation is of granite, so the passions that they admit are 
 of fire. 
 
 Trite is the remark, that the destinies of our lives often 
 date from the impulses of unguarded moments. It was so 
 with this man, to an ordinary eye so cautious and so delibe- 
 rate. Harley one day came to him in great grief ; he had 
 heard that STora was ill: he implored Audley to go once 
 more and ascertain. Audley went. Lady Jane Horton, who 
 was suffering nnder a disease which not long afterward^ 
 proved fatal, was too ill to receive him. He wm shown into 
 the room set apart as l^ora's. Wliile waiting for her entrance, 
 he turned mechanically over the leaves of an album which 
 Nora, suddenly summoned away to attend Lady Jane, had 
 left behind her on the table. He saw the sketch of his own 
 features; he read words inscribed below it — words of such 
 artless tenderness, and such unhoping sorrow — words written 
 by one who had been accustomed to regard her genins as her 
 sole confidant, under Heaven ; to pour out to it, as the solitary 
 poet-heart is impelled to do, thonghts, feelings, the confession 
 of mystic sighs, which it would never breathe to a living ear, 
 and, save at such moments, scarcely acknowledge to itseli 
 Audley saw that he was beloved, and the revelation, with a 
 sudden light, consumed all the barriers between himself and 
 his own love. And at that moment Nora entered. She saw 
 him bending over the book. She uttered a cry — sprang 
 forward — and then sank down, covering her face with her 
 hands. But Audley was at her feet. He forgot his friend — ■ 
 his trust ; he forgot ambition — he forgot the world. It was 
 his own cause that he pleaded — his own love that burst forth 
 
MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 from liis lips. And when tlie two that day parted, tliey were 
 betrothed each to each. Alas for them, and alas for Harlej ! 
 
 And now this man, who had hitherto valued himself as the 
 very type of gentleman — whom all his young contemporaries 
 had so regarded and so revered — had to press the hand of a 
 confiding friend, and bid adieu to truth. He had to amuse, 
 to delay, to mislead his boy-rival — to say that he was already 
 subduing ]S^ora*s hesitating doubts — and that with a little 
 time, she could be induced to consent to forget Harley's rank, 
 and his parent's pride, and become his wife. And Harley 
 believed in Egerton, without one suspicion on the mirror of 
 his loyal soul. 
 
 Meanwhile, Audley, impatient of his own position — impa- 
 tient, as strong minds ever are, to hasten what they have once 
 resolved — to terminate a suspense that every interview with 
 Harley tortured alike by jealousy and shame — to pass out of 
 the reach of scruples, and to say to himself, "Right or wrong, 
 there is no looking back ; the deed is done;" — ^Audley, thus 
 hurried on by the impetus of his own power of will, pressed 
 for speedy and secret nuptials — secret, till his fortunes, then 
 wavering, were more assured — his career fairly commenced. 
 This was not his strongest motive, though it was one. He 
 shrank from the discovery of his wrong to his friend — desired 
 to delay the self-humiliation of such announcement, until, as 
 he persuaded himself, Harley 's boyish passion was over — had 
 yielded to the new allurements that would naturally beset his 
 way. Stifling his conscience, Audley sought to convince him- 
 self that the day would soon come when Harley could hear 
 with indifference that iN'ora Avenel was another's. " The 
 dream of an hour, at his age," murmured the elder friend; 
 "but at mine the passion of a life! " He did not speak of 
 these latter motives for concealment to IsTora. He felt that, 
 to own the extent of his treason to a friend, would lower him 
 in her eyes. He spoke therefore but slightingly of Harley — 
 treated the boy's suit as a thing past and gone. He dwelt 
 only on reasons that compelled self-sacrifice on his side or 
 hers. She did not hesitate which to choose. And so, where 
 Xora loved, so submissively did she believe in the superiority 
 of the lover, that she would not pause to hear a murmur from 
 her own loftier nature, or question the propriety of what he 
 deemed wise and good. 
 
 Abandoning prudence in this arch affair of life, Audley still 
 preserved his customary caution in minor details. And this 
 indeed was characteristic of him throughout all his career — • 
 
YABIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 821 
 
 heedless in large tHngs — ^wary in small. He would not trusfc 
 Lady Jane Horton with his secret, still less Lady Lansmere. 
 He simply represented to the former, that Nora was no longer 
 safe from Harley's determined pursuit under Lady Jane's 
 roof, and that she had better elude the boy's knowledge of 
 her movements, and go quietly away for a while, to lodge 
 with some connection of her own. 
 
 And so, with Lady Jane's acquiescence, Nora went first to 
 the house of a very distant kinswoman of her mother's, and 
 afterwards to one that Egerton took as their bridal home, 
 under the name of Bertram. He arranged all that might 
 render their marriage most free from the chance of prema- 
 ture discovery. But it so happened on the very morning of 
 their bridal, that one of the witnesses he selected (a confi- 
 dential servant of his own) was seized with apoplexy. Con- 
 sidering, in haste, where to find a substitute, Egerton thought 
 of Levy, his own private solicitor, his own fashionable money- 
 lender, a man with whom he was then as intimate as a fine 
 gentleman is with the lawyer of his own age, who knows all 
 his affairs, and has helped, from pure friendship, to make 
 them as bad as they are! Levy was thus suddenly sum- 
 moned. Egerton, who was in great haste, did not at first 
 communicate to him the name of the intended bride ; but he 
 said enough of the impradence of the marriage, and his 
 reasons for secresy, to bring on himself the strongest remon- 
 strances ; for Levy had always reckoned on Egerton's making 
 a wealthy marriage,— -leaving to Egerton the wife, and hoping 
 to appropriate to himself the wealth, all in the natural course 
 of business. Egerton did not listen to him, but hurried him 
 on towards the place at which the ceremony was to be per- 
 formed; and Levy actually saw the bride before he had 
 learned her name. The usurer masked his raging emotions, 
 and fulfilled his part in the rites. His smile, when he con- 
 gratulated the bride, might have shot cold into her heart; 
 but her eyes were cast on the earth, seeing there but a shadow 
 from heaven, and her heart was blindly sheltering itself in the 
 bosom to which it was given evermore. She did not perceive 
 the smile of hate that barbed the words of joy. ISTora never 
 thought it necessary later to tell Egerton that Levy had been 
 a refused suitor. Indeed, with the exquisite tact of love, she 
 saw that such a confidence, the idea of such a rival, would 
 have wounded the pride of her high-bred, well-born husband. 
 
 And now, while Harley L'Estrange, frantic with the news 
 that No]'a had left Lady Jaue's roof, and purposely misled 
 
 VOL. IJ- Y 
 
into wrong directions, was seeking to trace lier refuge in vain 
 — now Egerton, in an assnmed name, in a remote quarter, far 
 from the ckibs, in wliich his word was oracular — far from 
 the pursuits, whether of pastime or toil^ that had hitherto 
 engrossed his actiTe mind, gave himself up, with wonder at 
 his own surrender, to the only vision of fairyland that ever 
 weighs down the watchful eyelids of hard ambition. The 
 world for a while shut out, he missed it not. He knew not 
 of it. He looked into two loving eyes that haunted him ever 
 after, through a stern and arid existence, and said, murmur- 
 ingly, Why, this, then i.-i real happiness ! Often, often, in 
 the solitude of other years, to repeat to himself the same 
 words, save that for is, he then murmured luas I And ISTora, 
 with her grand, full heart, all her luxuriant wealth of fancy 
 and of thought, child of light and of song, did she then never 
 discover that there was something comparatively narrow and 
 sterile in the nature to which she had linked her fate ? ISTot 
 there, could ever be sympathy in feelings, brilliant and shift- 
 ing as the tints of the rainbow. When Audley pressed her 
 heart to his own, could he comprehend one finer throb of its 
 beating ? Was all the iron of his mind worth one grain of 
 the gold she had cast away in Harley's love ? 
 
 Did Nora already discover this ? Surely no. G-enius feels 
 no want, no repining, while the heart is contented. Genius 
 in her paused and slumbered : it had been as th^ ministrant 
 of solitude: it was needed no morOi If a woman loves 
 deeply some one below her own grade in the mental and 
 spiritual orders, how often we see that she unconsciously 
 quits her own rank, comes meekly down to the level of the 
 beloved, is afraid lest he should deem her the superior — she 
 who would not even be the equal. JNTora knew no more that 
 she had genius ; she only knew that she had love. 
 
 And so here, the journal which Leonard was reading, 
 changed its tone, sinking into that quiet happiness which is 
 but quiet because it is so deep. This interlude in the life of a 
 man like Audley Egerfcon could never have been long ; many 
 circumstances conspired to abridge it. His afcirs were in 
 great disorder ; they were all under Levy's management. 
 Demands that had before slumbered, or been mildly urged, 
 grew menacing and clamorous. Harleyj too, returned to 
 London from his futile researches, and looked out for Audley. 
 Audley was forced to leave his secret Eden, and re-appear in 
 the common world an^^ tJaencef orward it was only by stealth 
 that he came to his Imdal home — a visitor, no more tha 
 
VAKTETTES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 323 
 
 inmate. But more load aiid -fierce grew the demands of Ma 
 creditors, now when Egerton had most need of all which 
 respectabilitj, and position, and belief of pecuniary indepen- 
 dence can do to raise the man who has encumbered his arms, 
 and crippled his steps towards fortune. He was threatened 
 with writs, with prison. Levj said "that to borrow more 
 would be but larger ruin — shrugged his shoulders, and even 
 recommended a voluntary retreat to the King's Bench. No 
 place so good for frightening one's creditors into com- 
 pounding their claims •; but why," added Levy, with covert 
 sneer, -'why not go to young L'Estrange— a boy made to be 
 borrowed from ! " 
 
 Levy, who had known from Lady Jane of Harley's pursuit 
 of Nora, had learned already how to avenge himself o**. 
 Egerton. Audley could not apply to the friend he had 
 betrayed. And as to other friends, 3ao man in town had a 
 greater number. And no man in town knew better that he 
 should lose them all if he were once known to be in want 
 oi their money. Mortified, harassed, tortured — shunning 
 Harley — yet ever sought by him — fearful of each knock at 
 his door, Audley Egerton escaped to the mortgaged remnant 
 of his paternal estate, on which there was a gloomy manor- 
 house, long uninhabited^ and there applied a mind, afterwards 
 renowned for its quick comprehension of business^ to the 
 inrestigation of his affairs, with a view to save some wreck 
 from the flood that swelled momently around him* 
 
 And now — to condense as much as possible a record that 
 runs darkly on into pain and sorrow- — now Levy began to 
 practise his vindictive arts ; and the arts gradually prevailed. 
 On pretence of asvsisting Eg'erton in the arrangement of his 
 affairs — which he secretly contrived, however, still moxe to 
 complicate- — he came down frequently to Egerton Hall for a 
 few hours, arriving by the mail, and watching the effect 
 which Nora's almost daily letters produced on the bride- 
 groom, irritated by the practical cares of life. He was thus 
 constantly at hand to iiistil into the mind of the ambitious 
 man a regret for the imprudence of hasty passion, or to em- 
 bitter the remorse which Audley felt for his treachery to 
 L'Estrange. Thus ever bringing before the mind of the 
 harassed debtor images at war with love, and with the 
 poetry of life, he disattuned it (so to speak) for the receptiorj 
 of Nora's letters, all musical as they were with such thoughts 
 as the most delicate fancy inspires to the most earnest love. 
 Egerton was one of those men vfhjO never confide their affairs 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 MY NOVEL ; OE5 
 
 franklj to women. ITora, wlien slie tlius wrote, was ^liolly 
 in the dark as to the extent of his stern prosaic distress. 
 And so — and so — Levy always near — (type of the prose of 
 life in its most cynic form) — so by degrees, all that redundant 
 affluence of affection, with its gushes of grief for his absence, 
 prayers for his return, sweet reproach if a post failed to bring 
 back an answer to the woman's yearning sighs — all this grew, 
 to the sensible, positive man of real life, like sickly romantic 
 exaggeration. The bright arrows shot too high into heaven 
 to hit the mark set so near to the earth. Ah! common fate of 
 all superior natures ! What treasure, and how wildly wasted ! 
 
 " By-the-by," said Levy one morning, as he was about to 
 take leave of Audley and return to town — " by-the-by, I shall 
 be this evening in the neighbourhood of Mrs. Egerton." 
 
 EGERTOiir. — " Say Mrs. Bertram ! " 
 
 Levy. — "Ay; will she not be in want of some pecuniary 
 supplies ? 
 
 Egerton. — "My wife! — 'Not yet. I must first be whollj^ 
 ruined before she can want ; and if I were so, do you think I 
 should not be by her side ? " 
 
 Levy. — " I beg pardon, my dear fellow ; your pride of 
 gentleman is so susceptible that it is hard for a lawyer not to 
 wound it unawares. Your wife, then, does not know the 
 exact state of your affairs ? " 
 
 Egerton. — " Of course not. "Who would confide to a 
 woman things in which she could do nothing, except to tease 
 one the more ? " 
 
 Levy. — " True, and a poetess too ! I have prevented your 
 finishing your answer to Mrs. Bertram's last letter. Can I 
 take it — it may save a day's delay — that is, if you do not 
 object to my calling on her this evening." 
 
 Egerton, (sitting down to his unfinished letter.) — "Object! 
 no." 
 
 Levy, (looking at his watch.) — " Be quick, or I shall lose 
 the coach." 
 
 Egerton, (sealing the letter.) — " There. And I should be 
 obliged to you if you would call ; and, without alarming her as 
 to my circumstances, you can just say that you know I am 
 much harassed about important affairs at present, and so soothe 
 the effects of my very short answers — " 
 
 Levy. — " To those doublv-crossed, very long letters — I 
 fsrill." 
 
 " Poor Nora," said Egerton, sighing, " she will think thii 
 answer brief and churlish enough. Explain my excuses 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 kindly, so tliat they will serve for tlie future. I really liave 
 no time, and no heart for sentiment. The little I ever had is 
 well-nigh worried out of me. Still I love her fondly and 
 deeply." 
 
 Levy. — " You must have done so. I never thought it in 
 you to sacrifice the world to a woman." 
 
 Egerton. — " 'Nov I either ; hut/' added the strong man, 
 conscious of that power which rules the world infinitely more 
 than knowledge — conscious of tranquil courage — " but I have 
 not sacrificed the world yet. This right arm shall bear up 
 her and myself too." 
 
 Levy. — Well said ! but in the meanwhile, for heaven's 
 sake, don't attempt to go to London, nor to leave this place ; 
 for, in that case, I know you will be arrested, and then adieu 
 to all hopes of Parliament — of a career." 
 
 Audley's haughty countenance darkened ; as the dog, in 
 his bravest mood, turns dismayed from the stone plucked 
 from the mire, so, when Ambition rears itself to defy man- 
 kind, whisper " disgrace and a gaol," — and, lo, crestfallen, it 
 slinks away ! That evening Levy called on E"ora, and in- 
 gratiating himself into her favour by praise of Egerton, with 
 indirect humble apologetic allusions to his own former pre- 
 sumption, he prepared the way to renewed visits ; — she was 
 so lonely, and she so loved to see one who was fresh from 
 seeing Audley — one who would talk to her of Jiim I By 
 degrees the friendly respectful visitor thus stole into her con- 
 fidence ; and then, with all his panegyrics on Audley's 
 superior powers and gifts, he began to dwell upon the young 
 husband's worldly aspirations, and care for his career ; dwell 
 on them so as vaguely to alarm Nora — to imply that, dear as 
 ^he was, she was still but second to Ambition. His way thus 
 prepared, he next began to insinuate his respectful pity at her 
 equivocal position, dropped hints of gossip and slander, feared 
 that the marriage might be owned too late to preserve reputa- 
 tion. And then what would be the feelings of the proud 
 Egerton if his wife were excluded from that world, whose 
 opinion he so prized? Insensibly thus he led her on to 
 express (though timidly) her own fear — her OAvn natural 
 desire, in her letters to Audley. When could the marriage be 
 proclaimed ? Proclaimed ! Audley felt that to proclaim such 
 a marriage, at such a moment, would be to fling away his last 
 cast for fame and fortune. And Harley, too — Harley still so 
 uncured of his frantic love ! Levy was Bure to be at hand 
 when letters like these arrived. 
 
3^6 
 
 And now Levy went further still in his determination to 
 alienate these two hearts. He contrived, by means of his 
 various agents, to cirGnlate through Nora's neighbourhood 
 the very slanders at which he had hinted. He contrived 
 that she should be insulted when she went abroad, outraged 
 at home by the sneers of her own servant, and tremble 
 with shame at her own shadow upon her abandoned bridal 
 hearth. 
 
 Just in the midst of this intolerable anguish, Levy re^ 
 appeared. His crowning hour was ripe. He intimated his 
 knowledge of the humiliations JTora had undergone, expressed 
 his deep compassion, offered to intercede with Egerton " to do 
 her justice." He used ambiguous phrases, that shocked her 
 ear and tortured her heart, and thus provoked her on to de- 
 mand him to explain; and then, throwing her into a wild 
 state of indefinite alarm, in which he obtained her solemn 
 promise not to divulge to Audley what he was about to 
 communicate, he said, with villanous hypocrisy of reluctant 
 shame, ^' that her marriage was not strictly legal ; that the 
 forms required by the law had not been complied with ; that 
 Audley, unintentionally or purposely, had left himself free to 
 disown the rite and desert the bride." While ISTora stood 
 stunned and speechless at a falsehood which, with lawyer-lil^e 
 show, he contrived to make truth-like to her inexperience, he 
 hurried rapidly on, to re- awake on her mind the impression 
 of Audley 's pride, ambition, and respect for worldly position. 
 ''These are your obstacles," said he; ''but 1 think I may 
 induce him to repair the wrong, and right you at last." 
 Kighted at last — oh infamy ! 
 
 Then JSTora's anger burst forth. She beHeve such a stain 
 on Audley 's honour ! 
 
 '' But where was the honour when he betrayed his friend ? 
 Did you not know that he was entrusted by Lord L' Estrange 
 to plead for him. How did he fulfil the trust ? " 
 
 Plead for L'Estrange ; JSTora had not been exactly aware 
 of this. In the sudden love preceding those sudden nuptials, 
 so little touching Harley (beyond Audley's first timid 
 allusions to his suit, and her calm and cold reply) had been 
 spoken by either. 
 
 Levy resumed. He dwelt fully on the trust and the breach 
 of it, and then said — " In Eger ton's world, man holds it faf 
 more dishonour to betray a man than to dupe a woman ; and 
 if Egerton could do the one, why doubt that he would do tho 
 other ? But do not look at me with those indignant eyes. 
 
YAEIETIES IN EIS^GLI^H LIFE 
 
 S%1 
 
 Put Mmself to tlie test ; write to him to say tliat tlie suspicions 
 amidst which you liye have become intolerable— thsit they 
 infect even youfself, despite your reason — that the secresy of 
 your nuptials, his prolonged absence, his brief refusal, on 
 unsatisfactory grounds, to proclaim your tie, all distract yon 
 with a terrible doubt. Ask him, at least, (if he will not yet 
 declare your marriage,) to satisfy you that th© lites were 
 legal." 
 
 "I will go to him," cried Nora, impetuously. 
 Go to him! — in his own house! What a scene, what a 
 scandal ! Could he ever forgive you ? " 
 
 " At least, then, I will implore him to come here. I cannoi 
 write such horrible words ; I cannot — I cannot — Go, go." 
 
 Levy left her, and hastened to two or three of Audley's 
 most pressing creditors — men, in fact, who went entirely by 
 Levy's own advice. He bade them instantly surround 
 Audley's country residence with bailifEs. Before Egerton 
 could reach Nora, he would thus be lodged in a gaol. These 
 preparations made. Levy himself went down to Audley, and 
 arrived, as usual, an hour or two before the delivery of the 
 post. 
 
 And, Nora's letter came ; and never was Audley's grave 
 brow more dark than when he read it. Still, with his usual 
 decision, he resolved to obey her wish — rang the bell, and 
 ordered his servant to put up a change of dress, and send for 
 post-horses. 
 
 Levy then took him aside, and led him to the window. 
 Look under yon trees. Do you see those men ? They 
 are bailiffs. This is the true reason why I come to you to- 
 day. You cannot leave this house." 
 
 Egerton recoiled. And this frantic, foolish letter at such 
 a time,-' he muttered, striking the open page, full o£ love in 
 the midst of terror, with his clenched hand. 
 
 O Woman, Woman ! if thy heart be deep, and its chords 
 tender, beware how thou lovest the man with whom all that 
 plucks him from the hard cares of the work- day world is a 
 frenzy or a folly ! He will break thy heart, he will shatter 
 its chords, he will trample out from its delicate framework 
 every sound that now makes musical the common air, and 
 swells into unison with the harps of angels. 
 
 " She has before written to me," continued Audley, pacing 
 the room with angry, disordered strides, " asking me when 
 our marriage can be proclaimed, and I thought my replies 
 would have satisfied any reasonable v/oman. But now, now 
 
8£8 
 
 MY NOYEL; OB, 
 
 this is worse, immeasurably worse — she actually doubts my 
 honour ! I, who Lave made such sacrifices — actually doubts 
 whether I, Audley Egerton, an English gentleman, could 
 Vave been base enough to — " 
 
 "What?" interrupted Levy, "to deceive your friend 
 L'Estrange ? Did not she know that ? " 
 
 " Sir," exclaimed Egerton, turning white. 
 
 "Don't be angry — all's fair in love as in war; and 
 L'Estrange will live yet to thank you for saving him from 
 such a mesalliance. But you are seriously angry : pray, for- 
 give me." 
 
 With some difficulty, and much fawning, the usurer 
 appeased the storm he had raised in Audley's conscience. 
 And he then heard, as if with surprise, the true purport of 
 Nora's letter. 
 
 "It is beneath me to answer, much less to satisfy, such a 
 doubt," said Audley. " I could have seen her, and a look of 
 reproach would have su£6.ced ; but to put my hand to paper, 
 and condescend to write, * I am not a villain, and I will give 
 you the proofs that I am not,' — never." 
 
 " You are quite right ; but let us see if we cannot recon- 
 cile matters between your pride and her feelings. Write 
 simply this : — ' All that you ask me to say or to explain, I 
 have instructed Levy, as my solicitor, to say and explain for 
 me ; and you may believe him as you would myself.' " 
 
 " Well, the poor fool, she deserves to be punished; and T 
 suppose that answer will punish her more than a lengthier 
 rebuke. My mind is so distracted, I cannot judge of these 
 trumpery woman- fears and whims; there, I have written as 
 you suggest. Give her all the proof she needs, and tell her 
 fchat in six months at farthest, come what will, she shall bear 
 the name of Egerton, as henceforth she must share his 
 fate." 
 
 " Why say six months ? " 
 
 " Parliament must be dissolved, and there must be a general 
 election before then. I shall either obtain a seat, be secure 
 from a gaol, have won field for my energies, or — " 
 
 " Or what ? " 
 
 " I shall renounce ambition altogether — ask my brother 
 to assist me towards whatever debts remain when all my 
 property is fairly sold — they cannot be much. He has a 
 living in his gift/ — the incumbent is old, and, I hear, very ill, 
 I can take orders." 
 
 " Sink into a country parson ! 
 
VARIETIES m EKCxLISH LIFE. 
 
 329 
 
 "And learn content. I have tasted it already. Siie was 
 then by my side. Explain all to Her. This letter, I fear is 
 too unkind — But to doubt me thus ! " 
 
 Levy hastily placed the letter in his pocket-book ; and, for 
 fear it should be withdrawn, took his leave. 
 
 And of that letter he made such use, that the day after he 
 had given it to I^ora, she had left the house — the neighbour- 
 hood ; fled, and not a trace 1 Of all the agonies in life, that 
 which is most poignant and harrowing — that which for the 
 time most annihilates reason, and leaves our whole organiza- 
 tion one lacerated, mangled heart — is the conviction that we 
 have been deceived where we placed all the trust of love. 
 The moment the anchor snaps, the storm comes on — the stars 
 vanish behind the cloud. 
 
 When Levy returned, filled with the infamous hope which 
 had stimulated his revenge — the hope that if he could succeed 
 in changing into scorn and indignation ITora's love for 
 Audley, he might succeed also in replacing that broken and 
 degraded idol — his amaze and dismay were great on hearing 
 of her departure. For several days he sought her traces in 
 vain. He w^ent to Lady Jane Horton's — ISTora had not been 
 there. He trembled to go back to Egerton. Surely I^ora 
 would have written to her husband, and, in spite of her pro- 
 mise, revealed his own falsehood ; but as days passed and not 
 a clue was found, he had no option but to repair to Egerton 
 Hall, taking care that the bailiffs still surrounded it. Audley 
 had received no line from 'NoTSb. The young husband was 
 surprised, perplexed, uneasy— but had no suspicion of the 
 truth. 
 
 At length Levy was forced to break to Audley the intelli- 
 gence of Sfora's flight. He gave his own colour to it. Doubt- 
 less she had gone to seek her own relations, and, by their 
 advice, take steps to make her marriage pubhcly known. 
 This idea changed Audley's first shock into deep and stern 
 resentment. His mind so little comprehended Nora's, and 
 was ever so disposed to what is called the common-sense view 
 of things, that he saw no other mode to account for her flight 
 and her silence. Odious to Egerton as such a proceeding 
 would be, he was far too proud to take txpy steps to guard 
 against it. " Let her do her worst," said he, coldly, masking 
 emotion with his usual self-command ; "it will be but a nine 
 days' wonder to the world — a fiercer rush of my creditors on 
 their hunted prey — 
 
 "And a challenge from Lord L'Estrange." 
 
330 
 
 MY KOVEL ; OB, 
 
 ^ ■ So be it," answered Egerton, suddenly placing his liand 
 at his heart. 
 
 " What is the matter ? Are yon ill P " 
 
 "A strange sensation here. My father died of a complaint 
 of the heart, and I myself was once told to guard, through 
 life, against excess of emotion. I smiled at such a warning 
 then. Let us sit down to business." 
 
 But when Levy had gone, and solitude reclosed round that 
 Man of the Iron Mask, there grew upon him more and more 
 ilie sense of a mighty loss. ISTora's sweet loying face started 
 from the shadows of the forlorn walls. Her docile, yielding 
 temper — her generous, self -immolating spirit — came back to 
 his memory, to refute the idea that wronged her. His love, 
 t]iat had been suspended for awhile by busy cares, but which, 
 if without much refining sentiment, was still the master pas- 
 sion of his soul, flowed back into all his thoughts — circum- 
 fused the very atmosphere with a fearful, softening charm. 
 He escaped under cover of the night from the watch of the 
 bailiffs. He arrived in London. He himself sought every- 
 where he could think of for his missing bride. Lady Jane 
 Horton was confined to her bed, dying fast — incapable even 
 to receive and reply to his letter. He secretly sent down to 
 Lansmere to ascertain if ISTora had gone to her parents. She 
 was not there. The Avenels believed her still with Lady Jane 
 Horton. 
 
 He now grew most seriously alarmed ; and in the midst of 
 that alarm. Levy secretly contrived that he should be arrested 
 for debt ; but he was not detained in confinement many days. 
 Before the disgrace got wind, the writs were discharged — • 
 Levy baffled. He was free. Lord L' Estrange had learned 
 from Audley's servant what Audley would have concealed 
 from him out of all the world. And the generous boy, who, 
 besides the munificent allowance he received from the Earl, 
 was heir to an independent and considerable fortune of his 
 own, when he should attain Ms majority — hastened to borrow 
 the money and discharge all the obligations of his friend. 
 The benefit was conferred before Audley knew of it, or could 
 prevent. Then a new emotion, and perhaps scarce less sting- 
 ing than the loss of Nora, tortured the man who had smiled 
 at ihe warning of science ; and the strange sensation at the 
 heart was felt again and again. 
 
 And Harley, too, was still in search, of ISTora — ^would talk 
 of nothing but her — and looked so haggard and grief -worn. 
 The bloom of tlio boy's youth was gone. Could Audley then 
 
VARIETIES IN EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 8S1 
 
 have said, " She you seek is another's ; your love is razed out 
 of your life ; and, for consolation, learn that your friend has 
 betrayed you ? " Could Audley say this ? He did not dare. 
 Which of the two suffered the most ? 
 
 And these two friends, of characters so different, were so 
 singularly attached to each other. Inseparable at school — ■ 
 thrown together in the world, with a wealth of frank confi- 
 dences between them, accumulated since childhood. And 
 now, in the midst of all his own anxious sorrow, Harley still 
 thought and planned for Egerton. And self -accusing remorse, 
 and al] the sense of painful gratitude, deepened Audley*s 
 affection for Harley into a devotion as to a superior, while 
 softening it into a reverential pity that yearned to relieve, to 
 atone ; — but how — oh, how ? 
 
 A general election was now at hand, still no news of JiTora. 
 Levy kept aloof from Audley, pursuing his own silent search. 
 A seat for the borough of Lansmere was pressed upon Audley, 
 not only by Harley, but his parents especially by the Countess, 
 who tacitly ascribed to Audley's wise counsels Nora's myste- 
 rious disappearance. 
 
 Egerton at first resisted the thought of a new obligation to 
 his injured friend ; but he burned to have it, some day, in his 
 power to repay at least his pecuniary debt : the sense of that 
 debt humbled him more than all else. Parliamentary success 
 might at last obtain for him some lucrative situation abroad, 
 and thus enable him gradually to remove this load from his 
 heart and his honour. "No other chance of repayment 
 appeared open to him. He accepted the offer, and went 
 down to Lansmere. His brother, lately married, was asked 
 to meet him ; and there, also, was Miss Leslie the heiress, 
 whom Lady Lansmere secretly hoped her son Harley would 
 admire, but who had long since, no less secretly, given her 
 heart to the unconscious Egerton. 
 
 Meanwhile, the miserable J^ora, deceived by the arts and 
 representations of Levy — acting on the natural impulse of a 
 heart so susceptible to shame — flying from a home which she 
 deemed dishonoured— flying from a lover whose power over 
 her she knew to be so great, that she dreaded lest he might 
 reconcile her to dishonour itself — ^had no thought save to hide 
 herself for ever from Aud ley's eye. She would not go to hef 
 delations — to Lady Jane ; that were to give the clue, and 
 invite the pursuit. An Italian lady of high rank had visited 
 afc liady Jane's — taken a great fancy to Nora — and the lady's 
 husband, having been obliged to precede her return to Italy, 
 
8?2 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 had suggested the notion of engaging some companion — the 
 lady had spoken of this to Kora and to Ladj Lane Horton, 
 who had nrged ITora to accept the offer, elude Harley's 
 pursuit, and go abroad for a tima N"ora then had refused ; 
 for she then had seen Andley Egerton. 
 
 To this Italian lady she now went, and the offer was 
 renewed with the most winning kindness, and grasped at in 
 the passion of despair. But the Italian had accepted invita- 
 tions to English country houses before she finally departed 
 for the Continent. Meanwhile l!^'ora took refuge in a quiet 
 lodging in a sequestered suburb, which an English servant in 
 the employment of the fair foreigner recommended. Thus 
 had she first come to the cottage in which Burley died. 
 Shortly afterwards she left England with her new companion, 
 unknown to all — to Lady Jane as to her parents. 
 
 All this time the poor girl was under a moral delirium — a 
 confused fever — haunted by dreams from which she sought to 
 fiy. Sound physiologists agree that madness is rarest amongst 
 persons of the finest imagination. But those persons are, of 
 all others, liable to a temporary state of mind in which judg- 
 ment sleeps — imagination alone prevails with a dire and awful 
 tyranny. A single idea gains ascendancy — expels all others 
 - — presents itself everywhere with an intolerable blinding 
 glare. Nora was at that time under the dread one idea — ^to 
 fly from shame ! 
 
 But, when the seas rolled, and the dreary leagues inter- 
 posed, between her and her lover — when new images pre- 
 sented themselves — when the fever slaked, and reason 
 returned — doubt broke upon the previous despair. Had she 
 not been too credulous, too hasty ? Fool, fool ! Audley have 
 been so poor a traitor ! How gnilty was she, if she had 
 wronged him ! And in the midst of this revulsion of feeling, 
 there stirred within her another life. She was destined to 
 become a mother. At that thought her high nature bowed ; 
 the last struggle of pride gave way ; she would return to 
 England, see Audley, learn from his lips the truth, and even 
 if the truth were what she had been taught to believe, plead 
 not for herself, but for the false one's child. 
 
 Some delay occurred in the then warlike state of affairs on 
 the Continent, before she could put this purpose into execu- 
 tion ; and on her journey back, various obstructions length- 
 ened the way. But she returned at last, and resought the 
 suburban cottage in which she had last lodged before quitting 
 England. At night, she went to Audley's London house ; 
 
VARIETIES IN EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 833 
 
 (here was only a woman in cTiarge of it. Mr. Egerton was 
 absent — electioneering somewliere — Mr. Levy, his lawyer, 
 called every day for any letters to be forwarded to him. IN^ora 
 shrank from seeing Levy, shrank from writing even a letter 
 that would pass through his hands. If she had been deceived, 
 it had been by him, and wilfully. But Parliament was 
 already dissolved ; the election would soon be over, Mr 
 Egerton was expected to return to town within a week. Nora 
 WGiib back to Mrs. Groodyer's and resolved to wait, devouring 
 her own heart in silence. But the newspapers might inform 
 her where Audley really was ; the newspapers were sent for 
 and conned daily. 
 
 And one morning this paragraph met her eye : — 
 " The Earl and Countess of Lansmere are receiving a dis- 
 tinguished party at their country seat. Among the guests is 
 Miss Leslie, whose wealth and beauty have excited such sensa- 
 tion in the fashionable world. To the disappointment of 
 numerous aspirants amongst our aristocracy, we hear that this 
 lady has, however, made her distinguished choice in Mr. Audley 
 Egerfcon. That gentleman is now a candidate for the borough 
 of Lansmere, as a supporter of the Grovernment ; his success 
 is considered certain, and, according to the report of a large 
 circle of friends, few new members will prove so valuable an 
 addition to the Ministerial ranks ; a great career may indeed 
 be predicted for a young man so esteemed for talent and 
 character, aided by a fortune so immense as that which he 
 will shortly receive with the hand of the accomplished 
 heiress.'* 
 
 Again the anchor snapt — again the storm descended — ■ 
 again the stars vanished. Nora was now once more under 
 the dominion of a single thought, as she had been when she 
 fled from her bridal home. Then, it was to escape from her 
 lo^-er — now, it was to see him. As the victim stretched on 
 the rack implores to be led at once to death, so there are 
 moments when the annihilation of hope seems more merciful 
 than the torment of suspense. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 When the scenes in some long diorama pass solemnly before 
 us, there is sometimes one solitary object, contrasting, perhaps, 
 the view of stately cities or the march of a mighty river, that 
 
334 
 
 MY TOYEL; oh, 
 
 halts on the eye for a moment, and then glides awaj, leaving 
 on the miiid a strange, comfortless, tindefined impression. 
 
 Why was the object presented to ns ? In itself it seemed 
 comparatively insignificant. It may have been but a broken 
 column— a lonely pool with a star-beam on its quiet surface — • 
 yet it awes us. We remember it when phantasmal pictures 
 of bright Damascus, or of colossal pyramids— of bazaars in 
 Stamboul, or lengthened caravans that defile slow amidst the 
 sands of Araby — have sated the wondering gaze. Why were 
 we detained in the shadowy procession by a thing that would 
 have been so commonplace had ifc not been so lone? Some 
 latent interest must attach to it. Was it there that a vision 
 of woe had lifted the wild hair of a Prophet ?— there where 
 some Hagar had stilled the wail of her child on her indignant 
 breast ? We woiild fain call back the pageantry procession 
 —fain see again the solitary thing that seemed so little worth 
 the hand of the artist — and ask, "Why art thou here, and 
 wherefore dost thou haunt us ? 
 
 Rise up — rise up once more — hj the broad great thorough- 
 fare that stretches onward and onward to the remorseless 
 London — Rise up— rise up- — 0 solitary tree with the green 
 leaves on thy bough, and the deep rents in thy heart ; and 
 the ravens, dark birds of omen and sorrow, that build their 
 nest amidst the leaves of the bough, and drop with noiseless 
 plumes down through the hollow rents of the heart — or are 
 heard, it may be in the growing shadows of twilight, callirg 
 out to their young ! 
 
 Under the old pollard tree, by the side of John Avenel's 
 house, there cowered, breathless and listening, John Avenel's 
 daughter Nora. ISTow, when that fatal newspaper paragraph, 
 which lied so like truth, met her eyes, she obeyed the first 
 impulse of her passionate heart — she tore the wedding ring 
 from her finger — she enclosed it, with the paragraph itself, in 
 a letter to Audley — a letter that she designed to convey scorn 
 and pride — alas 1 it expressed only jealousy and love. She 
 could not rest till she had put this letter into the post with 
 her own hand, addressed to Audley at Lord Lansmere's. 
 Scarce had it left her ere she repented. What had she done ? 
 — resigned the birth- right of the child she was so soon to 
 bring into the world — resigned her last hope in her lover's 
 honour — given up her life of life — and from belief in what ? 
 — a report in a newspaper ! ISTo, no ; she would go herself to 
 Lansmere ; to her father's home — she could contrive to see 
 Audley before that letter reached his hand. The thought 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 835 
 
 was scarcely conceiyed before obeyed. Slie found a variant 
 place in a coacli tliat started from London some hours before 
 tlie mail, and went witliin a few miles of Lansmere ; tbose 
 last miles sbe travelled oil foot. Exhausted — fainting — she 
 gained at last the sight of home, and there halted, for in the 
 little garden in front she saw her parents seated. She heard 
 the murmur of their voices, and suddenly she remembered her 
 altered shape, her terrible secret. How answer the question, 
 "Daughter, where and who is thy husband?" Her heart 
 failed her ; she crept under the old pollard tree, tG gather up 
 resolve, to watch and to listen. She saw the rigid face of the 
 thrifty prudent mother, with the deep linos that told of the 
 cares of an anxious life, and the chafe of excitable temper and 
 warm affections against the restraint of decorous sanctimony 
 and resolute pride. The dear stern face never seemed to her 
 more dear and more stern. She saw the comely, easy, indo- 
 lent, good-humoured father ; not then the poor, paralytic 
 sufferer, who could yet recognise S^ora's eyes under the lids 
 of Leonard, but stalwart and jovial — first Ijat in the Cricket 
 Glub, first voice in the Glee Society, the most popular can- 
 vasser of the Lansniere Constitutional True Blue Party, and 
 the pride and idol of the Calvinistical prim wife ; never from 
 those pinched lips of hers had come forth even one pious re- 
 buke to the careless social matii As he sate, one hand in his 
 vest, his profile turned to the road, the light smoke curling 
 playfully up from the pipe, over which lips, accustomed to 
 bland smile and hearty laughter, closed as if reluctant to be 
 closed at all, he was the very model of the respectable retired 
 trader in easy circumstances, and released from the toil of 
 making money whilie life could yet enjoy the delight of spend- 
 ing it. 
 
 " Well, old woman," said John Avenel, " I must be oE pre- 
 sently to see to those three shaky voters in Fish Lane ; they 
 will have done their work soon, iand I shall catch 'em at home. 
 Tbey do say as how we may have an opposition ; and I know 
 that old Smikes has gone to Lonnon in search of a candidate. 
 We can't have the Lansmere Constitutional Blues beat by a 
 Lonnoner ! Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " But you will be home before Jane and her husband 
 Mark come ? How ever she could marry a boiiimon car- 
 penter ! " 
 
 " Yes," said John, " he is a carpenter ; but he has a vote, 
 and that strengthens the family interest. If Dick w&^s not 
 gone to Amerikay, there would be three on us. But Mark ig 
 
MY KOVEL; OE, 
 
 a real good Blue ! A Lonnoner, indeed ! — a Yellow from 
 Lonnon beat my Lord and the Blues ! Ha, lia ! " 
 
 " But, John, this Mr. Egerton is a Lonnoner ! " 
 
 " You don't understand things, talking such nonsense. Mr. 
 Egerton is the Blue candidate, and the Blues are the Country 
 Party ; therefore how can he be a Lonnoner ? An uncommon 
 clever, well- grown, handsome young man, eh ! and my young 
 lord's particular friend." 
 
 Mrs. Avenel sighed. 
 
 " What are you sighing and shaking your head for ? " 
 
 " I was thinking of our poor, dear, dear ISTora 1 '* 
 
 " God bless her ! " cried John, heartily. 
 
 There was a rustle under the boughs of the old hollow- 
 hearted pollard tree. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! Hark ! I said that so loud that I have startled 
 the ravens ! " 
 
 " How he did love her ! " said Mrs. Avenel, thoughtfully. 
 " I am sure he did ; and no wonder, for she looks every inch 
 a lady ; and why should not she be my lady, after all ? " 
 
 " He ? Who ? Oh, that foolish fancy of yours about my 
 young lord ? A prudent woman like you ! — stuff 1 I am glad 
 my little beauty is gone to Lonnon, out of harm's way." 
 
 " John — John — John ! No harm could ever come to my 
 Nora. She's too pure and too good, and has too proper a 
 pride in her, to — " 
 
 " To listen to any young lords, I hope," said John ; 
 " though," he added, after a pause, " she might well be a lady 
 too. My lord, the young one, took me by the hand so kindly 
 the other day, and said, ^ Have not you heard from her— I 
 mean Miss Avenel — lately?' and those bright eyes of his 
 were as full of tears as — as — as yours are now." 
 
 " Well, John, well ; go on." 
 
 " That is all. My lady came up, and took me away to talk 
 about the election ; and, just as I was going, she whispered, 
 ' Don't let my wild boy talk to you about that sweet girl of 
 yours. We must both see that she does not come to disgrace.* 
 * Disgrace ! ' that word made me very angry for the moment. 
 But my lady has such a way with her, that she soon put me 
 right again. Yet, I do think Nora must have loved my young 
 lord, only she was too good to show it. What do you say ? '^ 
 And the father's voice was thoughtful. 
 
 " I hope she'll never love any man till she's married to him ; 
 it is not proper, John," said Mrs. Avenel, somewhat starch ly, 
 though very rriildly. 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 337 
 
 " Ha! ha!" lauglied Jolm, cliucMng his prim wife iiiider 
 the chin, " you did not say that to me when I stole your first 
 kiss under that very pollard tree — no house near it then ! " 
 
 " Hush, John, hush ! " and the prim wife blushed like a 
 girl. 
 
 " Pooh," continued John, merrily, " I don't see why we plain 
 folks should pretend to be more saintly and prudish like than 
 our betters. There's that handsome Miss Leslie, who is to 
 marry Mr. Egerton — easy enough to see how much she is in 
 love with him — could not keep her eyes oE from him even in 
 church, old girl ? Ha, ha 1 What the deuce is the matter 
 with the ravens ? " 
 
 They'll be a comely couple, John. And I hear tell she 
 has a power of money. When is the marriage to be ? " 
 
 Oh, they say as soon as the election is over. A fine 
 wedding we shall have of it I I daresay my young lord will 
 be bridesman. We'll send for our little Kora to see the gay 
 doings ! " 
 
 Out from the boughs of the old tree came the shriek of a 
 lost spirit — one of those strange, appalling sounds of human 
 agony, which, once heard, are never forgotten. It is as the 
 wail of Hope, when She, too, rushes forth from the Coffer of 
 Woes, and vEinishes into viewless space ; it is the dread cry of 
 Heason parting from clay — and of Soul, that would wrench 
 itself from life ! For a moment all was still — and then a 
 dull, dumb, heavy fall ! 
 
 The parents gazed on each other, speechless : they stole 
 close to the pales, and looked over. Under the boughs, at the 
 gnarled roots of the oak, they saw — grey and indistinct — a 
 prostrate form. John opened the gate, and vv^ent round ; the 
 mother crept to the road side, and there stood still. 
 
 " Oh, wife, wife ! " cried John Avenel, from under the 
 green Iboughs, " it is our child ISTora I Our child — our 
 child 1 " 
 
 And, as he spoke, out from the green boughs started the 
 dark ravens, wheeling round and round, and calling to their 
 vouug ! 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 And when they had laid her on the bed, Mrs. Avenel 
 whispered John to withdraw for a moment ; and, with set lips 
 but trembling hands, began to unlace the dress, under the 
 pressure of which Nora^s heart heaved convulsively. And 
 J ohn went out of the room bewildered; and sate himself down 
 
888 
 
 MY NOVEL ; Oii^ 
 
 on tlie landing-place, and wondered whetKur he waa awake or 
 sleeping; and a cold numbness crept over one side of Mm, 
 and his liead felt very heavy, with a loud, booming noise in 
 his ears. Suddenly his wife stood by his side, and said, in a 
 very low voice — 
 
 " John, run for Mr. Morgan— make haste. But mind — ■ 
 don*t speak to any one on the way. Qaick, quick! " 
 
 " Is she dying ? " 
 I don't know. Why not die bebre ? " said Mrs. Avenel, 
 between her teeth. " But Mr. Morgan is a discreet, friendly 
 man." 
 
 " A true blue ! " muttered poor John, as if his mind wan- 
 dered ; and rising with difficulty, he stared at his wife a 
 moment, shook his head, and was gone. 
 
 An hour or two later, a little covered, taxed cart stopped at 
 Mr. Avenel's cottage, out of which stepped a young man with 
 pale face and spare form, dressed in the Sunday suit of a 
 rustic craftsman ; then a homely, but pleasant, honest, face, 
 bent down to him, smilingly ; and two arms emerging from 
 under covert of a red cloak, extended an infant, which the 
 young man took tenderly. The baby was cross and very 
 sickly ; it began to cry. The father hushed, and rocked, and 
 tossed it, with the air of one to whom such a charge was 
 familiar. 
 
 " He'll be good when we get in, Mark," said the young 
 woman, as she extracted from the depths of the cart a large 
 basket containing poultry and home-made bread. 
 
 " Don't forget the flowers that the -Squire's gardener gave 
 us," said Mark the Poet. 
 
 Without aid from her husband, the wife took down basket 
 and nosegay, settled her cloak, smoothed her gown, and said, 
 " Very odd ! — they don't seem to expect us, Mark. How still 
 the house is! Gro and knock; they can't ha' gone to bed yet." 
 
 Mark knocked at the door—no answer. A light passed 
 rapidly across the windows on the upper floor, but still no 
 one came to his summons. Mark knocked again. A gentle- 
 man dressed in clerical costume, now coming from Lansmere 
 Park, on the opposite side of the road, paused at the sound of 
 Mark's second and more impatient knock, and said, civilly — 
 
 " Are you not the young folks my friend John Avmel told 
 me this morning he expected to visit him ? " 
 
 " Yes, please, Mr. Dale," said Mrs. Fairfield, dropping 
 her curtsey. " You remember me ! and this is my dear good 
 man 1 " 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 839 
 
 " What ! Mark tlie Poet ? said the carate of lAiismere, 
 witli a smile. " Come to write squibs for tlie electioii 
 
 " Squibs, sir! cried Mark, indignantly. 
 
 " Burns wrote squibs," said the curate, mildly. 
 
 Mark made no answer, but again knocked at the door. 
 
 This time, a man, whose face, even seen by the starlight^ 
 was much flushed, presented himself at the threshold. 
 
 " Mr. Morgan I " exclaimed the curate, in benevolent alarm ; 
 " no illness here, I hope ? " 
 
 " Cotfc ! it is you, Mr. Dale! — Come in, come in ; I want a 
 v/ord with you. But who the teuce are these people ? " 
 
 " Sir," said Mark, pushing through the doorway, "my 
 name is Fairfield, and my wife is Ml\ Avenel's daughter ! " 
 
 " Oh, Jane — and her baby too ! — Cood — cood 1 Come in ; 
 but be quiet, can't you ? Still, still — still as death ! '* 
 
 The party entered, the door closed ; the moon rose, and 
 shone calmly on the pale silent house, on the sleeping flowers 
 of the little garden, on the old pollard with its hollow core. 
 The horse in the taxed-cart dozed, unheeded; the light still at 
 times flitted across the npper windows. — These were the only 
 signs of life, except when a bat, now and then attracted by 
 the light that passed across the windows, brushed against the 
 panes, and then, dipping downwards, struck np against the 
 nose of the slumbering horse, and darted merrily after tho 
 moth that fluttered round the raven's nest in the old 
 pollard. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 All that day Harley L' Estrange had been more than 
 usually mournful and dejected. Indeed the return to scenes 
 associated with Nora's presence increased the gloom that ]iad 
 settled on his mind since he had lost sight and trace of her. 
 Andley, in the remorseful tenderness he felt for his injured 
 friend, had induced L'Estrange towards evening to leave the 
 Park, and go into a district some miles ofE, on pretence that 
 he required Harley's aid there to canvass certain important 
 outvoters : the change of scene might rouse him from his 
 reveries. Harley himself was glad to escape from the guests 
 at Lansmere. He readily consented to go. He would not 
 refcurn that night. The outvoters lay remote and scattered — 
 
 z 2 
 
340 
 
 MY no^el: OS, 
 
 he migM "be absent for a day or two. When Harley wa^, 
 gone, Egerton himself sank into deep thought. There was 
 rumour of some unexpected opposition. His partisans were 
 alarmed and anxious. It was clear that the Lansmere 
 interest, if attacked, was weaker than the Earl would helieye ; 
 Egerton might lose his election. If so, what would become 
 of him ? How support his wife, whose return fco him he 
 always counted on, and whom it would then become him at 
 all hazards to acknowledge ? It was that day that he had 
 spoken to William Hazeldean as to the family living.— 
 " Peace, at least," thought the ambitious man — *' I shall have 
 peace ! And the Squire had promised him the rectory if 
 needed ; not without a secret pang, for his Harry was already 
 using her conjugal influence in favour of her old school- 
 friend's husband, Mr. Dale ; and the Squire thought Audley 
 would be but a poor country parson, and Dale — if he would 
 only grow a little plumper than his curacy would permit 
 him to be — would be a parson in ten thousand. But while 
 Audley thus prepared for the worst, he still brought his ener- 
 gies to bear on the more brilliant option ; and sate with his 
 Committee, looking into canvass-books, and discussing the 
 characters, politics, and local interests of every elector, until 
 the night was well-nigh gone. When he gained his room, 
 the shutters were unclosed, and he stood a few moments at 
 the window gazing on the moon. At that sight, the thought 
 of ISTora, lost and afar, stole over him. The man, as we 
 know, had in his nature little of romance and sentiment. 
 Seldom was it his wont to gaze upon moon or stars. But 
 whenever some whisper of romance did soften his hard, 
 strong mind, or whenever moon or stars did charm his gaze 
 from earth, !N'ora's bright Muse-like face — Nora's sweet 
 loving eyes, were seen in moon and star-beam — ^ISTora's low 
 tender voice, heard in the whisper of that which we oali 
 romance, and which is but the sound of the mysterious poetry 
 that is ever in the air, would we but deign to hear it ! He 
 turned with a sigh, undressed, threw himself on his bed, and 
 extinguished his light. But the light of the moon would fill 
 the room. It kept him awake for a little time ; he turned 
 his face from the calm, heavenly beam, resolutely towa,rds 
 the dull blind wall, and fell asleep. And, in the sleep, he 
 was with l!^ora; — again in the humble bridal-home. Never 
 in his dreams had she seemed to him so distinct and life-lika 
 --her eyes upturned to his—her hands clasjDed together, and 
 i:^st]ng on his ahoulder, as had been her gracefal wont— he 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 341 
 
 voice murmaring meekly, "Has it, tlien, been my fault tliat 
 we parted ? — forgive, forgive me ! " 
 
 And tlie sleeper imagined that he answered, " 'Never part 
 from me again — never, never ! " and that he bent down to 
 kiss the chaste lips that so tenderly sought his own. And 
 suddenly he heard a knocking sound, as of a hammer — ■ 
 regular, but soft, low, subdued. Did you ever, 0 reader, 
 hear the sound of the hammer on the lid of a coffin in a 
 house of woe, — when the undertaker's decorous hireling fears 
 that tho living may hear how he parts them from the dead ? 
 Such seemed the sound to Audley — the dream vanished ab- 
 ruptly. He woke, and again heard the knock ; it was at his 
 door. He sate up wistfully — the moon was gone — it was 
 morning. " Who is there ? " he cried, peevishly. 
 
 A low voice from without answered, " Hush, it is I ; dress 
 quick ; let me see you." 
 
 Egerfcon recognised Lady Lansmere's voice. Alarmed and 
 surprised, he rose, dressed in haste, and went to the door. 
 Lady Lansmere was standing without, extremely pale. She 
 put her finger to her lip, and beckoned him to follow her. 
 He obeyed mechanicallj' . They entered her dressing room, a 
 few doors from his own chamber, and the Countess closed the 
 door. 
 
 Then laying her slight firm hand on his shoulder, she said, 
 in suppressed and passionate excitement — 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Bgerton, you must serve me, and at once — Harley 
 — Harley — save my Harley — go to him — present his coming 
 back here — stay with him — give up the election — it is but a 
 year or two lost in your life — you will have other opportu- 
 nities — make that sacrifice to your friend." 
 
 " Speak — what is the matter? I can make no sacrifice too 
 great for Harley ! " 
 
 " Thanks — I was sure of it. Go then, I say, at once, to 
 Harley; keep him away from Lansmere on any excuse you 
 can invent, until you can break the sad news to him — gently, 
 gently. Oh, how will he bear it — how recover the shock ? 
 My boy, my boy ! " 
 
 " Calm yourself ! Explain ! Break what news ? — recover 
 what shock ? " 
 
 " True — you do not know — you have not heard. "Nor^ 
 Avenel lies yonder, in her father's house — dead — dead ! " 
 
 Audley staggered back, clapping his hand to his heart, and 
 then dropping on his knee as if bowed down by the stroke 
 of heaven 
 
842 
 
 MT NOVEL; OPv, 
 
 " My bride, my wife ! " he muttered. " Dead— it cannot 
 be!" 
 
 Lady Lansmere was so startled at this exclamation, so 
 sl3Unned by a confession wholly unexpected, that she remained 
 unable to soothe — to explain, and utterly unprepared for the 
 fierce agony that burst from the man she had ever seen so 
 dignified and cold — when he sprang to his feet, and all the 
 sense of his eternal loss rushed upon his heart. 
 
 At length he crushed back his emotions, and listened in 
 apparent calm, and in a silence broken but by quick gasps for 
 breath, to Lady Lansmere 's account. 
 
 One of the guests in the house, a female relation of Lady 
 Lansmere*s, had been taken suddenly ill about an hour or two 
 before ; — the house had been disturbed, the Countess herself 
 aroused, and Mr. Morgan summoned as the family medical 
 practitioner. From him she had learned that Nora Avon el 
 had returned to her father's house late on the previous 
 evening ; had been seized with brain fever, and died in a few 
 hours. 
 
 Audley listened, and turned to the door, still in silence. 
 
 Lady Lansmere caught him by the arm — Where are you 
 going ? Ah, can I now ask you to save my son from the 
 awful news, you yourself the sufferer ? And yet — yet — you 
 know his haste, his vehemence, if he learnt that you were his 
 rival — her husband ; you whom he so trusted ! What, what 
 would be the result ? — I tremble ! " 
 
 " Tremble not— I do not tremble ! Let me go — I will be 
 back soon— and then — (his lips writhed) — then we will talk 
 of Harley." 
 
 Egerton went forth, stunned and dizzy. Mechanically he 
 took his way across the park to John Avenel's house. He 
 had been forced to enter that house, formally, a day or two 
 before, in the course of his canvass ; and his worldly pride 
 had received a shock when the home, the birth, and the man- 
 ners, of his bride's parents had been brought before him. He 
 had even said to himself, " And is it the child of these per- 
 sons that I, Audley Egerton, must announce to the world as 
 v/if e 1 " Now, if she had been the child of a beggar — nay, of 
 a felon — now, if he could but recall her to life, how small and 
 mean would all that dreaded world appear to him 1 Too 
 late — ^too late ! The dews were glistening in the sun- — the 
 birds were singing over head — life waking all around him— - 
 and his own heart felt like a charnel-house. Nothing bub 
 death and the dead there — nothing ! He arrived at the door ; 
 
VARIETIES m EITGLISH M^E. 
 
 343 
 
 It was open : he called ; no one answered : he walked up the 
 narrow stairs, nndistiirbed, nnseen ; he came into the chamber 
 of death. At the opposite side of the bed was seated John 
 Avenel ; bnt he seemed in a heavy sleep. In fact, paralysis 
 had smitten him ; but he knew ifc not ; neither did any one. 
 Who could heed the strong hearty man in snch a moment ? 
 Not even the poor anxious wife ! He had been left there to 
 guard the house, and watch the dead — an unconscious man ; 
 numbed, himself, by the invisible icy ha.nd ! Audley stole to 
 the bedside ; he lifted the coverlid thrown over the pale still 
 face. What passed within him, during the minute he stayed 
 there, who shall say ? But when he left the room, and slowly 
 descended the stairs, he left behind him love and youth, aJl 
 the sweet hopes and joys of the household human life — for 
 ever and ever 1 
 
 He returned to Lady Lansmere, who awaited his coming 
 with the most nervous anxiety. 
 
 "ISTow," said he, drily, "I will go to Harley, and I wil? 
 prevent his returning hither." 
 
 "You have seen the parents, Grood heavens! do they 
 know of your marriage ?" 
 
 "JSTo ; to Harley I must own it first. Meanwhile, silence ?" 
 
 " Silence ! " echoed Lady Lansmere ; and her burning hand 
 rested in Audley's, and Audley's hand was as ice. 
 
 In another hour Egerton had left the house, and before 
 noon he was with Harley. 
 
 It is necessary now to explain the absence of all the Avenel 
 family, except the poor stricken father. 
 
 l^ora had died in giving birth to a child — died delirious. 
 In her delirium she had spoken of shame — of disg7?ace ; there 
 was no holy nuptial ring on her finger ! Through all her 
 grief, the first thought of Mrs. Avenel was to save the good 
 name of her lost daughter — the unblemished honour of all 
 the living Avenels. JSTo matron, long descended from knights 
 or kings, had keener pride in name and character, than the 
 poor, punctilious Calvinistic trader's wife. Sorrow later, 
 honour now ! " With hard dry eyes she mused and mused, 
 and made out her plan. Jane Fairfield should take away the 
 infant at once, before the day dawned, and nurse it with her 
 own. Mark should go with her, for Mrs. Avenel dreaded 
 the indiscretion of his wild grief. She would go with them 
 herself part of the way, in order to command or reason them 
 into guarded silence. But they could not go back to Hazel- 
 dean -with another infant j Jane must go where none knew 
 
MY novel; OEj 
 
 her ; tlie two infants miglit pass as twins. And Mrs. Avenel, 
 though naturally a humane, kindly woman, and with a 
 mother's heart to infants, looked with almost a glad sternness 
 at Jane's puny babe, and thought to herself, "All difficulty 
 would be over should there be only one ! ISTora's child could 
 thus pass throughout life for Jane's ! " 
 
 Fortunately for the preservation of the secret, the Avenels 
 kept no servant — only an occasional drudge, who came a few 
 hours in the day, and went home to sleep. Mrs. Avenel 
 could count on Mr. Morgan's silence as to the true cause of 
 iN'ora's death. And Mr. Dale, why should he reveal the dis- 
 honour of a family ? That very day, or the next at farthest, 
 she could induce her husband to absent himself, lest he should 
 blab out the tale while his sorrow was greater than his pride. 
 She alone would then stay in the house of death until she 
 could feel assured that all else were hushed into prudence. 
 Ay, she felt, that with due precautions, the name was still 
 safe. And so she awed and hurried Mark and his wife away, 
 and went with them in the covered cart — that hid the faces 
 of all three — ^leaving for an hour or two the house and the 
 dead to her husband's charge, with many an admonition, to 
 which he nodded his head, and which he did not hear ■ Do 
 you think this woman was unfeeling and inhuman ? Had 
 ISTora looked from heaven into her mother's heart, IN'ora would 
 not have thought so. A good name when the burial stone 
 closes over dust, is still a possession upon the earth ; on earth 
 it is indeed our only one ! Better for our friends to guard 
 for us that treasure than to sit down and wxep over perish- 
 able clay. And weep ! — Oh ! stern mother, long years were 
 left to thee for weeping ! No tears shed for ISTora made such 
 deep furrows on the cheeks as thine did ! Yet who ever saw 
 them flow ? 
 
 Harley was in great surprise to see Egerton ; more sur- 
 prised when Egerfcon told him that he found he was to be 
 opposed — that he had no chai^ce of success at Lansmere, and 
 had, therefore, resolved to retire from the contest. He wrote 
 to- the Earl to that effect; but the Countess knew the true 
 cause, and hinted it to the Earl ; so that, as we saw at the 
 commencement of this history, Egerton' s cause did not suffer 
 when Captain Dashmore appeared in the borough ; and, thanks 
 to Mr. Hazeldean's exertions and oratory, Audley came in by 
 two votes — the votes of John Avenel and Mark Fairfield. 
 For though the former had been removed a little way from 
 the town, and by medical advice — and though, oji other 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 345 
 
 matters, tlie disease that had smitten Mm left Mm docile aa 
 a child (and he had but vague indistinct ideas of all the cir- 
 cumstances connected with I^ora's return, save the sense of 
 her loss)— jet he still would hear how the Blues went on, 
 and would get out of bed to keep his word : and even his wife 
 said, " He is right ; better die of it, than break his promise ! " 
 The crowd gave way as the broken man they had seen a few 
 days before so jovial and healthful was brought up in a chair 
 to the poll, and said, with his tremulous quavering voice, 
 " I'm a true Blue — Blue for ever ! " 
 
 Elections are wondrous things ! No man who has not seen 
 can guess how the zeal in them triumphs over sickness^ sor- 
 row, the ordinary private life of us ! 
 
 There was forwarded to Audley, from Lansmere Park, 
 Nora's last letter. The postman had left it there an hour or 
 two after he himself had gone. The wedding-ring fell on the 
 ground, and rolled under his feet. And those burning pas- 
 sionate reproaches — all that anger of the wounded dove — 
 explained to him the mystery of her return — ^her unjust sus- 
 picions — the cause of her sudden death, which he still ascribed 
 to brain fever, brought on by excitement and fatigue. For 
 Nora did not speak of the child about to be born ; she had 
 not remembered it when she wrote, or she would not have 
 written. On the receipt of this letter, Egerton could not 
 remain in the dull village district — alone, too, with Harley. 
 He said,' abruptly, that he must go to London — prevailed on 
 L'Estrange to accompany him ; and there, when he heard from 
 Lady Lansmere that the funeral was over, he broke to Harley, 
 with lips as white as the dead, and his hand pressed to his 
 heart, on which his hereditary disease was fastening quick and 
 fierce, the dread truth that Nora was no more. The effect 
 upon the boy's hepJth and spirits was even more crashing 
 than Audley could anticipate. He only woke from grief to 
 feel remorse. "For," said the noble Harley, "had it not been 
 for my passion — my rash pursuit' — would she ever have left 
 her safe asylum — ever even have left her native town ? And 
 then — and then — the struggle between her sense of duty and 
 her love to me 1 I see it all — all ! But for me she were 
 living still ! " 
 
 Oh, no I " cried Egerton — his confession now rushing to 
 his lips. "Believe me, she never loved you as you thinks 
 Nay — nay — hear me ! Rather suppose that she loved anothet 
 — iied with him — was perhaps married to him, and — " 
 
 " Hold ! " exclaim.ed Harley, with a terrible burst of passiou 
 
MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 — "you kill her twice to me if jou say that! I can still 
 feel that she li^es— lives here, in my heart — while I dream 
 that she loved me — or, at least, that no other lip ever knew 
 fche kiss that was denied to mine ! But if you tell me to 
 doubt that; — you — you — " The boy's anguish was too 
 great for his frame ; he fell suddenly back into Audley's 
 arms ; he had broken a blood-vessel. For several days he 
 was in great danger ; but his eyes were constantly fixed 
 on Au.dley's, with wistful intense gaze. " Tell me," he 
 muttered, at the risk of re- opening the ruptured veins, and 
 of the instant loss of life — "tell me — you did not mean 
 that ! Tell me you have no cause to think she loved another 
 — was another's ! '* 
 
 "Hush, hush — no cause — none — none. I meant but to 
 comfort you, as I thought — fool that I was — that is all ! " 
 cried the miserable friend. And from that hour Audiey gave 
 up the idea of righting himself in his own eyes, and sub- 
 mitted still to be the living lie— he, the haughty gentle- 
 man ! 
 
 Now, while Harley was still very weak and suffering, Mr. 
 Dale came to London, and called on Egerton. The curate, in 
 promising secrecy to Mrs. Avenel, had made one condition, 
 that it should not be to the positive injury of ITpra's living 
 son. What if l^ora were married, after all ? And would it 
 not be right, at least, to learn the name of the child's father ? 
 Some day he might need a father. Mrs. Avenel was obliged 
 to content herself with these reservations. However, she 
 implored Mr. Dale not to make inquiries. What could they 
 do ? If jN^ora were married, her husband would naturally, of 
 his own accord, declare himself ; if seduced and forsaken, it 
 would but disgrace her memory (now saved from stain) to 
 discover the father to a child of whose very existence the 
 world as yet knew nothing. These arguments perplexed the 
 good curate. But Jane Fairfield had a sanguine belief in her 
 sister's innocence ; and all her suspicions naturally pointed tc3 
 Lord L'Bstrange. So, indeed, perhaps, did Mrs. AveneFs, 
 though she never owned them. Of the correctness of these 
 suspicions Mr. Dale was fully convinced ; — ^the young lord'v^ 
 admiration. Lady Lansmere's fears, had been too evident to 
 one who had often visited at the Park — Plarley's abrupt; 
 departure just before IST era's return home — Egerton's sudden 
 resignation of the borough before even opposition was declared, 
 in o^der to rejoin his friend, the very day of Nora's death— all 
 confirmed his ideas that Ha-rlej was the betrayer or the 
 
VARIETIES m EKGLTSR LIFE. Si 7 
 
 liusband. Perhaps there might have been a secret marriage 
 ■ — possibly abroad — since Harley wanted some years of his 
 ma^jority. He would, at least, try to see and to sound Lord 
 L'Estrange. Prevented this interview by Harley's illness, the 
 curate resolved to ascertain how far he could penetrate into 
 the mystery by a conversation with Bgerton. There was 
 much in the grave repute which the latter had acquired, and 
 the singular and pre-eminent character for truth and honour 
 with which it was accompanied, that made the curate resolve 
 upon this step. Accordingly, he saw Egerton, meaning only 
 diplomatically to extract from the new member for Lansmero 
 what might benefit the family of the voters who had given 
 him his majority of two. 
 
 He began by mentioning, as a touching fact, how poor 
 John Avenel, bowed down by the loss of his child, and the 
 malady which had crippled his limbs and enfeebled his mind, 
 had still risen from his bed to keep his word. And Audley's 
 emotions seemed to him so earnest and genuine, to show so 
 good a heart, that out by little and little came more ; first, his 
 suspicions that poor Kora had been betrayed ; then his hopes 
 that there might have been private marriage ; and as Audley, 
 with his iron self-command, showed just the proper degree of 
 interest, and no more, he went on, till Audley knew that he 
 had a child. 
 
 " Inquire no further! " said the man of the world. Re- 
 spect Mrs. Avenel's feelings and wishes, I entreat you ; they 
 are the right ones. Leave the rest to me. In my position — ■ 
 I mean as a resident of London — I can quietly and easily 
 ascertain more than you could, and provoke no scandal ! If I 
 can right this — this — poor — (his voice trembled)— ^right the 
 lost mother, or the living child — sooner or later you will hear 
 fiom me ; if not, bury this secret where it now rests, in a 
 grave which slander has not reached. Bat the child — give 
 me the address where it is to be found — in case I succeed in 
 finding the father, and touching his heart." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Egerton, may I not say where you may find that 
 father- — who he is ? " 
 
 " Do not be angry ; and, after all, I cannot ask you to 
 hotTSij any confidence which a friend may have placed in yon. 
 I know what you men of high honour are to each other — even 
 in sin. 'No, no — I beg pardon ; I leave all in your hands. I 
 shall hear from you then I " 
 
 " Or if not — why, then, believe that all search is hopelesia 
 
348 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 My friend ! if you mean Lord L'Estrange, lie is innocent. 1 
 —I — I — (the voice faltered) — am convinced of it." 
 
 The curate sighed, but made no answer, " Oh, ye men of 
 the world ! " thought he. He gave the address which the 
 member for Lansmere had asked for, and went his way, and 
 never heard again from Audley Egerton. He was convinced 
 that the man who had showed such deep feeling had failed in 
 his appeal to Harley's conscience, or had judged it best to 
 leave iJora's name in peace, and her child to her own relations 
 and the care of heaven. 
 
 Harley L'Estrange, scarcely yet recovered, hastened to join 
 our armies on the Continent, and seek the Death which, like 
 its half-brother, rarely comes when we call it. 
 
 As soon as Harley was gone, Egerton went to the village 
 to which Mr. Dale had directed him, to seek for ISTora's child. 
 But here he was led into a mistake which materially a:ffected 
 the tenor of his own life, and Leonard's future destinies. 
 Mrs. Eairfield had been naturally ordered by her mother to 
 take another name in the village to which she had gone with 
 the two infants, so that her connection with the Avenel 
 family might not be traced, to the provocation of inquiry and 
 gossip. The grief an4 excitement through which she had 
 gone, dried the source of nutriment in her breast. She put 
 isTora's child out to nurse at the house of a small farmer, at a 
 little distance from the village, and moved from her first 
 lodging to be nearer to the infant. Her own child was so 
 sickly and ailing, that she could not bear to intrust it to the 
 care of another. She tried to bring it up by hand ; and the 
 poor child soon pined away and died. She and Mark could 
 not endure the sight of their baby's grave ; they hastened to 
 return to Hazeldean, and took Leonard with them. From 
 that time Leonard passed for the son they had lost. 
 
 When Egerton arrived at the village, and inquired for the 
 person whose address had been given to him, he was referred 
 to the cottage in which she had last lodged, and was told that 
 she had been gone some days — the day after her child was 
 buried. Her child buried ! Egerton stayed to inquire no 
 more ; thus he heard nothing of the infant that had been put 
 out to nurse. He walked slowly into the churchyard, and 
 stood for some minutes gazing on the small new mound; 
 then, pressing his hand on the heart to which all emotion had 
 been forbidden, he re-entered his chaise and returned to 
 London. The sole reason for acknowledging his marriage 
 seemed to him now removed. Nora's name had escaped 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 349 
 
 reproacli. Even liad Ms painful position witb regard to 
 Harley not constrained liim to preserve Ms secret, there was 
 tvery motive to the World's wise and haughtj son not to 
 acknowledge a derogatory and foolish, marriage, now that 
 none lived whom concealment conld wrong. 
 
 Andlej mechanically resumed Ms former life, — sought to 
 resettle his thoughts on the grand objects of ambitious men. 
 His poverty still pressed on Mm ; his pecuniary debt to 
 Harley stung and galled his peculiar sense of honour. He 
 saw no way to clear bis estates, to repay his friend, but by 
 some rich alliance. Dead to love, be faced this prospect first 
 with repugnance, then with apathetic indifference. Levy, of 
 whose treachery towards himself and Nora he was unaware, 
 still held over him the power that the money-lender never 
 loses over the man that has owed, owes, or may owe again. 
 Levy was ever urging him to propose to the rich Miss Leslie ; 
 — Lady Lansmere, willing to atone, as she thought, for his 
 domestic loss, urged the same; — Harley, influenced by his 
 mother, wrote from the Continent to the same effect. 
 
 "Manage it as you will," at last said Egerton to Levy, " so 
 that I am not a wife's pensioner." 
 
 " Propose for me, if you. will," he said to Lady Lansmere — 
 " I cannot woo — I cannot talk of love." 
 
 Somehow or other the marriage, with all its rich advantages 
 to the rained gentleman, was thus made up. And Egerton, 
 as we have seen, was the polite and dignified busband before 
 the world — married to a woman who adored him. It is the 
 common fate of men like him to be loved too well ! 
 
 On her death-bed his heart was touched by his wife's 
 melancholy reproach — " jN"othing I could do has ever made 
 you love me ! " "It is true," answered Audley, with tears in 
 his voice and eyes — " Nature gave me but a small fund of 
 what women like you call * love,' and I lavished it all away." 
 And he then told her, though with reserve, some portion of 
 his former history ; and that soothed her ; for when sbe saw 
 that he had loved, and coztld grieve, she canght a glimpse of 
 the human heart she had not seen before. She died, forgiving 
 Mm, and blessing. 
 
 Audley's spirits were much affected by this new loss. He 
 inly resolved never to marry again. Ho had a vague thought 
 at first of retrenching his expenditure, and making young 
 Randal Leslie his heir. But when he first saw the clever 
 Eton boy, his feelings did not warm to him, though bis intel- 
 lect appreciated Randars quick, keen talents. He contented 
 
350 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 himself witli resolving to pusli the boj;— to do what was 
 merely just to the distant kinsman of his late wife. Always 
 careless and layish in money matters, generous and princely 
 not from the delight of serving others, but from a gran(\ / 
 Seigneur^ s sentiment of what was dne to himself and his 
 station, Andley had a monrnful excuse for the lordly waste oi 
 the large fortmie at his control. The morbid functions of the 
 heart had become organic disease. True, he might live many 
 years, and die at last of some other complaint in the course 
 of nature ; but the progress of the disease would quicken with 
 all emotional excitement ; he might die suddenly — any day — ■ 
 in the very prime, and, seemingly, in the full vigour, of 
 life. And the only physician in whom he confided what he 
 wished to keep concealed from the world, (for ambitious men 
 would fain be thought immortal,) told him frankly that it 
 was improbable that, with the wear and tear of political strife 
 and action, he could advance far into middle age. Therefore, 
 no son of his succeeding — ^his nearest relations all wealthy — ■ 
 Egerton resigned himself to his constitutional disdain of 
 money ; he could look into no affairs, provided the balance in 
 his banker's hands were such as became the munificent com- 
 moner. All else he left to his stcAvard and to Levy. Levy 
 grew rapidly rich — very, very rich — and the steward thrived. 
 
 The usurer continued to possess a determined hold over the 
 imperious great man. He knew Audley's secret ; he could 
 reveal that secret to Harley. And the one soft and tender 
 side of the statesman's nature — the sole part of him not 
 dipped in the ninefold Styx of practical prosaic life, which 
 renders man so invulnerable to affection — was his remorseful 
 love for the school friend whom lie still deceived. 
 
 Here then you have the key to the locked chambers of 
 Audley Egerton's character, the fortified castle of his mind. 
 The envied minister — the joyless man; — the oracle on the 
 economies of an empire — the prodigal in a usurer's hands ; — • 
 the august, high-crested gentleman, to whom princes would 
 refer for the casuistry of honour — the culprit trembling lest 
 the friend he best loved on earfch should detect his lie ! Wrap 
 thyself in the decent veil that the Arts or the Graces weave 
 for thee, 0 Human Nature 1 It is only the statue of marble 
 whose nakedness the eje can behold without shame and 
 offence ! 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 351 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 Of the narrative just placed before the reader, it is cleai? 
 that Leonard conld gather only desultory fragments. H@ 
 could but see that his ill-fated mother had been united to a 
 man she had loved v^ith surpassing tenderness ; had been led 
 to suspect that the marriage was fraudulent ; had gone abroad 
 in despair, returned repentant and hopeful ; had gleaned 
 some intelligence that her lover was about to be married to 
 another, and there the manuscript closed with the blisters left 
 on the page by agonising tears. The mournful end .of NTora 
 • — her lonely return to die under the roof of her parents — this 
 he had learned before from the narrative of Dr. Morgan. 
 
 But even the name of her supposed husband was not re- 
 vealed. Of him Leonard could form no conjecture, except 
 that he was evidently of higher rank than Nora. Harley 
 L'Estrange seemed clearly indicated in the early boy-lover. 
 If so, Harley must know all that was left dark to Leonard, 
 and to him Leonard resolved to confide the manuscripts. 
 With this resolution he left the cottage, resolving to return 
 and attend the funeral obsequies of his departed friend. Mrs. 
 Goody er willingly permitted him to take away the papers she 
 had lent to him, and added to them the packet which had 
 been addressed to Mrs. Bertram from the Continent. 
 
 Musing in anxious gloom over the record he had read, 
 Leonard entered London on foot, and bent his way towards 
 Harley 's hotel ; when, just as he had crossed into Bond Street, 
 a gentleman in company with Baron Levy, and who seemed, 
 by the flush on his brow and the sullen tone of his voice, to 
 have had rather an irritating colloquy with the fashionable 
 usurer, suddenly caught sight of Leonard, and, abruptly 
 quitting Levy, seized the young man by the arm. 
 
 Excuse me, sir," said the gentleman, looking hard into 
 Leonard's face ; " but unless these sharp eyes of mine are 
 mistaken, which they seldom are, I see a nephew whom, 
 perhaps, I behaved to rather too harshly, but who still has no 
 right to forgefc Richard Avenel." 
 
 "My dear uncle," exclaimed Leonard, "this is indeed A 
 joyful surprise ; at a time, too, when I needed joy ! No ; I 
 have never forgotten your kindness, and always regretted our 
 estrangement." 
 
 " That is well said give us your fist again. Let me look 
 
852 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OH, 
 
 at jou — quite tlie gentleman, I declare! — still so good-looking 
 too. We Avenels always were a handsome family. Good 
 bye, Baron Levy. !N"eed not wait for me ; I am not going to 
 run away. I sfiall see you again." 
 
 " But," whispered Levy, who had followed Avenel across 
 the street, and eyed Leonard with a quick curious searching 
 glance — " but it must be as I say with regard to the borough; 
 or (to be plain) you must cash the bills on the day they ai^ 
 due." 
 
 " Yery well, sir — very well. So you think to put the screw 
 upon me, as if I were a poor little householder. I imderstand 
 — my money or my borough ? " 
 
 Exactly so," said the Baron, with a soft smile. 
 
 " You shall hear from me. (Aside, as Levy strolled away) 
 — D ^ tarnation rascal ! " 
 
 Dick Avenel then linked his arm in his nephew's and strove 
 for some minutes to forget his own troubles, in the indulgence 
 of that curiosity in the affairs of another which was natural 
 to him, and in this instance, increased by the real affection 
 which he had felt for Leonard. But still his curiosity re- 
 mained unsatisfied ; for long before Leonard could overcome 
 his habitual reluctance to speak of his success in literature, 
 Dick's mind wandered back to his rival at Screwstown, and 
 the curse of " over- competition," — to the bills which Levy 
 had discounted, in order to enable Dick to meet the crushing 
 force of a capitalist larger than himself — and the tarnation 
 rascal " who now wished to obtain two seats at Lansmere, one 
 for Randal Leslie, one for a rich Nabob whom Levy had just 
 caught as a client; and Dick, though willing to aid Leslie, 
 had a mind to the other seat for himself. Therefore Dick 
 soon broke in upon the hesitating confessions of Leonard, 
 with exclamations far from pertinent to the subject, and 
 rather for the sake of venting his own griefs and resentment, 
 than with any idea that the sympathy or advice of his nephew 
 could serve him. 
 
 " Well, well," said Dick, " another time for your history. 
 T see you have thrived, and that is enough for the present. 
 Yery odd ; but just now I can only think of myself. I'm in 
 a regular fix, sir. Screwstown is not the respectable Screws- 
 town that you remember it— -all demoralised and turned topsy- 
 turvy by a demoniacal mo7ister capitalist, with steam-engines 
 that might bring the falls of JSTiagara into your back parlour, 
 sir ! And as if that was not enough to destroy and drive into 
 almighty shivers a d^i^^t fair-play Britisher like myself j I 
 
VAKlETIES m ENaLlSH LIFE. 
 
 S53 
 
 hear he is just in treaty for some patent infernal invention 
 that will make his engines do twice as much work with half 
 as many hands ! That's the way those unfeeling ruffians in- 
 crease our poor-rates ! But I'll get up a riofc against him — I 
 will ! Don't talk to me of the law ! What the devil is the 
 good of the law if it don't protect a man's industry — a liberal 
 man, too, like me 1 " Here Dick burst into a storm of vitu- 
 peration against the rotten old country in general, and Mr. 
 Dyce, the monster capitalist of Screwstown, in particular. 
 
 Leonard started; for Dick now named, in that monster 
 capitalist, the very person who was in treaty for Leonard's 
 own mechanical improvement on the steam-engine. 
 
 " Stop, uncle — stop ! Why, then, if this man were to buy 
 the contrivance you speak of, it would injure you ? " 
 
 ''Injure me, sir! I. should be a bankrupt — that is, if it 
 succeeded ; but I dare say it is all a humbug." 
 
 " ISTo, it luill succeed — I'll answer for that ! 
 
 " You ! You have seen it ? " 
 
 " Why, I invented it." 
 
 Dick hastily withdrew his arm from Leonard's. 
 
 "Serpent's tooth!" he said, falteringly, "so it is you, 
 whom I warmed at my hearth, who are to ruin Richard 
 Avenel ? " 
 
 " Ko — but to save him ! Come into the city and look at 
 my model. If you like it, the patent shall be yours ! " 
 
 " Cab — cab — cab," cried Dick Avenel, stopping a "Hansom ;" 
 " jamp in, Leonard — jump in. I'll buy your patent — that is, 
 if it be worth a straw ; and as for payment — " 
 
 " Payment ! Don't talk of that ! " 
 
 " Well, I won't," said Dick, mildly; "for 'tis not the topic 
 of conversation I should choose myself, just at present. And 
 as for that black- whiskered alligator, the Baron, let me first 
 get out of those rambustious, unchri>tian, filbert-shaped claws 
 of his, and then — But jump in — ^jump in — and tell the man 
 where to drive ! " 
 
 A very brief inspection of Leonard's invention sufficed to 
 show Hi chard Avenel how invaluable it would be to him. 
 Armed with a patent, of vvhich the certain effects in. the 
 increase of power and diminution of labour were obvious to 
 any practical man, Avenel felt that he should have no diffi- 
 culty in obtaining such advances of money as he required, 
 whether to alter his engines, meet the bills disco anted by 
 Levy, or carry on the war with the monster capitalist. It 
 might be necessary to admit into partnership some other 
 
 VOL. II. A A 
 
354 
 
 MY novel; OB, 
 
 monster capitalist — What then? Any partner better thau 
 Levy. ' A bright idea struck him. 
 
 " If I can jnst terrify and whop that infernal intruder on 
 my own ground, for a few months, he may offer, himself, to 
 enter Id to partnership — make the two concerns a joinfcstock 
 friendly comTaination, and then we shall flog the world." 
 
 His gratitude to Leonard became so lively, that Dick 
 offered to bring his nephew in for Lansmere instead of him- 
 self ; and when Leonard declined the offer, exclaimed, " Well, 
 then, any friend of yours j I'm all for reform against those 
 high and mighty right honourable boroughmongers ; and 
 what with loans and mortgages on the small householders, 
 and a long course of * Free and Easies ' with the independent 
 freemen, I carry one seat certain, perhaps both seats of the 
 town of Lansmere, in my breeches pocket.'- Dick then, 
 appointing an interview with Leonard at his lawyer's, to 
 settle the transfer of the invention, upon terms which he 
 declared should be honourable to both parties," hurried off, 
 to search amongst his friends in the city for some monster 
 capitalist, who might be induced to extricate him from the 
 jaws of Levy, and the engines of his rival at Screwstown, 
 *' Mullins is the man, if I can but catch him," said Dick, 
 " You have heard of Mullins ? — A wonderful great man ; you 
 should see his nails ; he never cuts them I Three millions, at 
 least, he has scraped together with those nails of his, sir, 
 And in this rotten old country, a man must have nails a yard 
 long to fight with a devil like Levy !— Grood-bye — good-lye,— 
 GOOD- bye, my dear nephew ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Haeley L'Estrange was seated alone in his apai^tments 
 He had just pnt down a volume of some favourite classic 
 author, and he was resting his hand firmly clenched upon 
 the book. Ever since Harley's return to England, there had 
 been a perceptible change in the compression of his countenance, 
 even in the very bearing and attitudes of his elastic youthful 
 figure. But this change had been more marked since that 
 last interview with Helen which has been recQiided. There 
 was a compressed resolute firmness in the lips^a decided 
 tjharacter in the brow. To the indolent careless grace of his 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 855 
 
 movements had succeeded a certain mdescribable energy, as 
 quiet and self-collected as tliat which distinguished the 
 determined air of Audley Egerton himself. In fact, if you 
 could have looked into his heart, you would have seen that 
 Harley was, for the first time, making a strong effort over his 
 passions and his humours ; that the whole man was nerving 
 himself to a sense of duty. " ISTo," he muttered — " no — I will 
 think only of Helen ; I will think only of real life ! And 
 what (were I not engaged to another) would that dark-eyed 
 Italian girl be to me P — What a mere fool's fancy is this. I 
 love again— I, who through all the fair spring of my life, 
 have clung with such faith to a memory and a grave 1 
 Oome, come, come, Harley L'Estrange, act thy part as man 
 amongst men, at last! Accept regard; dream no more of 
 passion. Abandon false ideals. Thou art no poet— ^ why 
 deem that life itself can be a poem ? " 
 
 The door opened, and the Austrian Prince, whom Harley 
 had interested in the cau.se of Yiolante's father, entered with 
 the familiar step of a friend. 
 
 "Have you discovered those documents yet?'' said the 
 Prince. I must now return to Vienna within a few days. 
 And unless you can arm me with some tangible proof of 
 Peschiera's ancient treachery, or some more unanswerable 
 excuse for his noble kinsman, I fear that there is no other 
 hope for the exile's recall to his country than what lies in the 
 hatyf al option of giving his daughter to his perfidious foe." 
 
 " Alas ! " said Harley, -'as yet all researches have been in 
 vain ; and I know not what other steps to take, without arous« 
 ing Peschiera's vigilance, and setting his crafty brains at work 
 to counteract us. My poor friend, then, must rest contented 
 with exile. To give Yiolante to the Count were dishonour. 
 But I shall soon be married ; soon have a home, not quite 
 unworthy of their due rank, to offer both to father and 
 to child." 
 
 " Would the future Lady L'Estrange feel no jealousy pf a 
 guest so fair as you tell me this young signorina is ? And 
 would you be in no danger yourself, my poor friend ? '• 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Harley, colouring. " My fair guest ^ould 
 have two fathers ; that is all. Pray do not jest on a thing so 
 grave as honour." 
 
 Again the door opened, and Leonard appeared. 
 
 " Welcome," cried Harley, pleased to be no longer alone 
 under the Prince's penetrating eye — "welcome. This is the 
 noble friend who shares our interest for Riccabocca, and who 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 
 
 MY novel; ok, 
 
 could serve Mm so well, if we could but discoyer tlie document 
 of wHcL. I have spoken to you." 
 
 " It is here," said Leonard, simply ; " may it be all tliat you 
 require ! " 
 
 Harley eagerly grasped at tlie packet, which had been sent 
 from Italy to the supposed Mrs. Bertram, and, leaning his 
 face on his hand, rapidly hurried through the contents. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " he cried at last, with his face lighted up, and 
 a boyish toss of his right hand. " Look, look, Prince, here 
 are Peschiera's own letters to his kinsman's wife ; his avowal 
 of what he calls his ' patriotic designs ; ' his entreaties to her 
 to induce her husband to share them. Look, look, how he 
 wields his influence over the woman he had once wooed ; look 
 how artfully he combats her objections ; see how reluctant 
 our friend was to stir, till wife and kinsman both united to 
 urge him." 
 
 " It is enough — quite enough," exclaimed the Prince, look- 
 ing at the passages in Peschiera's letters which Harley pointed 
 out to him. 
 
 " 1^0, it is not enough," shouted Harley, as he continued to 
 read the letters with his rapid sparkling eyes. " More still! 
 
 0 villain, doubly damned ! Here, after our friend's flight, 
 here is Peschiera's avowal of guilty passion ; here, he swears 
 that he had intrigued to ruin his benefactor, in order to 
 pollute the home that had sheltered him. Ah ! see how she 
 answers ; thank Heaven her own eyes were opened at last, 
 and she scorned him before she died. She was innocent ! 
 
 1 said so ! Violante's mother was pure. Poor lady, this 
 moves me ! Has your Emperor the heart of a man ? " 
 
 " I know enough of our Emperor," answered the Prince, 
 warmly, " to know that, the moment these papers reach him, 
 Peschiera is ruined, and your friend is restored to his honours. 
 You will live to see the daughter, to whom you would have 
 given a child's place at your hearth, the wealthiest heiress of 
 Italy — the bride of some noble lover, with rank only below 
 the supremacy of kings ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Harley, in a sharp accent, and turning very 
 pale—'* ah, I shall not see her that ! I shall never visit Italy 
 again ! — never see her more — never, after she has once quitted 
 this climate of cold iron cares and formal duties — never, 
 never ! " He turned his head for a moment, and then camt? 
 with quick step to Leonard. "But you, O happy poet ! No 
 Ideal can ever be lost to you You are independent of real 
 life. Would that I were a poet ! " Ho smiled sadly. 
 
VARIETCES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 857 
 
 " You would not say so, perhaps, my dear lord," answered 
 Leonard, with, equal sadness, " if you knew how little what 
 you call ' the Ideal ' replaces to a poet the loss of one affection 
 in the genial human world. Independent of real life ! Alas ! 
 no. And I have here the confessions of a true poet-soul, 
 which I will entreat you to read at leisure ; and when you 
 have read, say if you would still be a poet ! " 
 
 He took forth fTora's manuscripts as he spoke. 
 
 " Place them yonder, in my escritoire^ Leonard ; I will read 
 them later." 
 
 " Bo so, and with heed ; for to me there is much here that 
 involves my own life — much that is still a mystery, and which 
 I think you can unravel 1" 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Harley ; and he was moving towards the 
 escritoire, in a drawer of which Leonard had carefully de- 
 posited the papers, when, once more, but this time violently, 
 the door was thrown open, and Griacomo rushed into the room, 
 accompanied by Lady Lansmere. 
 
 " Oh, my lord, my lord!" cried Qiacomo, in Italian, "the 
 signorina ! the signorina ! — Yiolante ! " 
 
 " What of her ? Mother, mother 1 what of her ? Speak, 
 speak !" 
 
 She has gone — left our house ! '* 
 
 " Left ! No, no ! " cried Griacomo. " She must have been 
 deceived or forced away. The Count ! the Count ! Oh, my 
 good lord, save her, as you once saved her father ! 
 
 " Hold ! " cried Harley. " Give me your arm, mother. A 
 second such blow in life is beyond the strength of man — at 
 least it is beyond mine. So, so ! — I am better now ! Thank 
 you, mother. Stand back, all of you — give me air. So the 
 Count has triumphed, and Yiolante has fled with him ! Ex* 
 plain all — I can bear it I " 
 
358 
 
 M¥ novel; OEj 
 
 BOOK TWELFTH. 
 
 — i — ^ 
 
 miTIAL CHAPTER* 
 
 WHEREIN THE CAXTON FAMILY REAPPEAB* 
 
 AOAIN,'* quotli my father — " again iDeliold TIS ! We who 
 greeted tlie 'commen cement of your narrative, wlio absented 
 ourselves in tlie midcourse when we could but obstruct the 
 current of events, and jostle personages more important— we 
 now gather round the close. Still, as the chorils to the 
 drama, we circle round the altar with the solemn but dubious 
 chant which prepares the audience for the completion of the 
 appointed destinies ; though still, ourselves, unaware how 
 the skein is to be unravelled, and where the shears are to 
 descend." 
 
 So there they stood, the Family of Oaxton — all grouping 
 round me — all eager ofEciously to question — some over- 
 anxious prematurely to criticise. 
 
 " Yiolante can't have voluntarily gone o& with that horrid 
 Oouiit," said my mother; "but perhaps she was deceived^ 
 like Eugenia by Mr. Bellamy, in the novel of ^ Camilla. ' " 
 
 " Ita ! said my father, " and in that case it is time yet to 
 steal a hint from Clarissa Harlowe, and make Yiolante die less 
 of a broken heart than a sullied honour. She is one of those 
 girls who ought to be killed I All things about her forebode 
 an early tomb ! '* 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " cried Mrs. Caxton, " I hope not ! " 
 
 " Pooh, brother," said the Captain, we have had enough 
 of the tomb in the history of poor ISTora. The whole story 
 grows out of a grave, and if to a grave it must return — if, 
 Pisistratus, you must kill somebody, kill Levy." 
 
 " Or the Count," said my mother, with unusual trucu- 
 lence. 
 
 " Or Eandal Leslie," said Squills. " I should like to have 
 a ;post-mortem cast of his head — it would be an instructive 
 study." 
 
 Here there was a general confusion of tongues, all present 
 conspiring to bewilder the unfortunate author with their 
 
VARTETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 359 
 
 various and discordant counsels how to wind up his story 
 and dispose of his characters. 
 
 " Silence ! " cried Pisistratus, clapping his hands to both 
 ears. " I can no more alter the fate allotted to each of the 
 personages whom yon hononr with yonr interest than I can 
 change your own ; like you, they must go where events lead 
 them, urged on by their own characters and the agencies of 
 others. Providence so pervadingly governs the universe, that 
 you cannot strike it even out of a book. The author may 
 begfet a character, but the moment the character comes into 
 
 * . ■ m -I 
 
 action, it escapes from his hands — plays its own part, and 
 fulfils its own inevitable doom." 
 
 "Besides," said Mr. Squills, "it is easy to see, from the 
 phrenological development of the organs in those several 
 iieads which Pisistratus has allowed us to examine, that wo 
 have seen no creations of mere fiction, but living persons, 
 whose true history has set in movement their various bumps 
 of Amativeness, Consfcructiveness, Acquisitiveness, Ideality, 
 "Wonder, Comparison, &c. They must act, and they must 
 end, according to the influences of their (?rania. Thus we 
 find in Randal Leslie the predominant orgVcUS of Oonstruc- 
 tiveuess, SecretivenesS) Comparison, and Eventuality — while 
 Benevolence, Conscientiousness, Adhesiveness, are utterly nil. 
 !N"ow, to divine how such a man must end, we must first see 
 what is the general composition of the society in which he 
 moves — in short, what other gases are brought into contact 
 with his phlogiston. As to Leonard j and Harley, and Audley 
 Egerton, surveying them phrenologically, I should say 
 that—" 
 
 " Hush said my father, "Pisistratus has dipped his pen 
 in the ink, and it seems to me easier for the wisest man that 
 ever lived to account for what others have done, than to 
 predict what they should do. Phrenologists discovered that 
 Mr. Thurtell had a very fine organ of Conscientiousness, yet, 
 somehow or other, that erring personage contrived to knock 
 the brains out of his friend's organ of Individuality. There- 
 fore I rise to propose a Hesolution — that this meeting be 
 adjourned till Pisistratus has completed his narrative ; Lnd 
 we shall then have the satisfaction of knowing that it ought, 
 according to every principle of nature, science, and art, to 
 have been completed differently. Why should we deprive 
 ourselves of that pleasure ? 
 
 " I second the motion," said the Captain; "but if Levy 
 
S60 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 be not hanged, I sliall say that there is an end of all poetical 
 justice." 
 
 " Take care of poor Helen," said Blanche, tenderly : " not 
 that I would have you forget Yiolante." 
 
 " Pish ! aad sit down, or they shall both die old maids." 
 
 Frightened at that threat, Blanche, with a deprecating 
 look, drew her stool quietly near me, as if to place her two 
 protegees in an atmosphere mesmerised to matrimonial attrac- 
 tions ; and my mother set hard to work — at a new frock for 
 the baby. Unsoftened by these undue female influences, 
 Pisistratus wrote on at the dictation of the relentless Fates. 
 His pen was of iron, and his heart was of granite. He was 
 as insensible to the existence of wife and baby as if he had 
 never paid a house bill, nor rushed from a nursery at the 
 sound of an infant squall. 0 blessed privilege of Authorship ! 
 
 0 testudinis aurese 
 
 Dulcem qua) strepitum, Pieri temperas ! 
 0 niiitis quoque piscibus 
 
 Donatura cycni, si libeat, sonum! '* * 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 It is necessary to go somewhat back in the course of this 
 narrative, and account to the reader for the disappearance of 
 Yiolante. 
 
 It may be remembered that Peschiera, scared by the sudden 
 approach of Lord L'Estrange, had little time for farther words 
 to the young Italian, than those which expressed his intention to 
 renew the conference, and press for her decision. But, the next 
 day, when he re-entered the garden, secretly and stealthily, as 
 before, Yiolante did not appear. And after watching round 
 the precincts till dusk, the Count retreated with an indignant 
 conviction that his arts had failed to enlist on his side either 
 the heart or the imagination of his intended victim. He 
 began now to revolve, and to discuss wdth Levy, the possi- 
 bilities of one of those bold and violent measures, which were 
 favoured by his reckless daring, and desperate condition. 
 But Levy treated with such just ridicule any suggestion to 
 abstract Yiolante by force from Lord Lansmere's house — so 
 scouted the notions of nocturnal assault, with the devices of 
 
 * 0 Muse, who dost temper the sweet sound of the golden sliell of the tor- 
 toise, and couldst also giye, were it needed, to silent fishes the song of the 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIEE. 
 
 361 
 
 scaling windows and rope-ladders — tliat tlie Count reluctantly 
 l.bandoned that romance of villany so unsnited to our sober 
 capital, and which wonld no doubt have terminated in his 
 capture by the police, with the prospect of committal to the 
 House of Correction. 
 
 Levy himself found his invention at fault, and E»andal 
 Leslie was called into consultation. The usurer had con- 
 trived that Randal's schemes of fortune and advancement 
 were so based upon Levy's aid and connivance, that the young 
 man, with all his desire rather to make instruments of other 
 men, than to be himself their instrument, found his superioi? 
 intellect as completely a slave to Levy's more experienced craft, 
 as ever subtle Grenius of air was subject to the vulgar Sorcerer 
 of earth. 
 
 His acquisition of the ancestral acres — ^his anticipated seat 
 in Parliament — ^his chance of ousting Frank from the heritage 
 of Hazeldean — were all as strings that pulled him to and fro, 
 like a puppet in the sleek, filbert-nailed fingers of the smiling 
 showman, who could exhibit him to the admiration of a crowd, 
 or cast him away into dust and lumber. 
 
 Randal gnawed his lip in the sullen wrath of a man who 
 bides his hour of future emancipation, and lent his brain to 
 the hire of the present servitude, in mechanical acquiescence. 
 The inherent superiority of the profound young schemer 
 became instantly apparent over the courage of Peschiera and 
 the practised wit of the Baron. 
 
 " Your sister," said Randal, to the former, " must be the 
 active agent in the first and most difficult part of your enter- 
 prise. Yiolante cannot be taken by force from Lord Lans- 
 mere's — she must be induced to leave it with her own con- 
 sent. A female is needed here. Woman can best decoy 
 woman." 
 
 Admirably said," quoth the Count ; "but Beatrice has 
 grown restive, and though her dowry, and therefore her very 
 marriage with that excellent young Hazeldean, depend on my 
 own alliance with my fair kinswoman, she has grown so 
 indifferent to my success that I dare not reckon on her aid. 
 Between you and me, though she was once very eager to be 
 married, she now seems to shrink from the notion ; and I 
 have no other hold over her." 
 
 " Has she not seen some one, and lately, whom she prefers 
 to poor Frank ? " 
 
 " I suspect that she has ; but I know not whom, unless ifc 
 b<? that detested L'Estraae-e." 
 
363 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OE^ 
 
 " All — well, well. Interfere witli lier no farther yourself, 
 bnt have all in readiness to quit England, as yon liad before 
 23roposed, as soon as Yiolante be in your power.*' 
 
 ^' All is in readiness," said the Count. Levy lias agreed 
 to purchase a famous sailing vessel of one of his clients. I 
 have engaged a score or so of determined outcasts, accustomed 
 to the sea — Genoese, Corsioans, Sardinians — ex- Carbonari of 
 the best sort — no silly patriots, but liberal cosmopolitans, who 
 have iron at the disposal of any man's gold. I have a pries fc 
 to perform the nuptial service, and deaf to any fair lady*s 
 ^ Ko.' Once at sea, and wherever I land, Yiolante will lean 
 on my arm as Countess of Peschiera." 
 
 But Yiolante," said Bandal, doggedly, determined not to 
 yield to the disgust with which the Count's audacious cynicism 
 filled even him — " but Yiolante cannot be removed in broad 
 daylight at once to such a vessel, nor from a quarter so 
 populous as that in which your sister resides." 
 
 "I have thought of that too," said the Count; "my emis- 
 saries have found me a house close by the river, and safe for 
 our purpose as the dungeons of Yenice." 
 
 "I wish not to know all this," answered Randal, quickly ; 
 "you will instruct Madame di Kegra where to take Yiolante — ■ 
 my task limits itself to the fair inventions that belong to 
 intellect ; what belongs to force is not in my province. I will 
 go at once to your sister, whom I think I can influence more 
 eSectually than you can ; though later I may give you a hint 
 fco guard against the chance of her remorse. Meanwhile as, 
 the moment Yiolante disappears, suspicion would fall upon 
 you, show yourself constantly in public surrounded by 
 your friends* Be able to account for every hour of your 
 time — " 
 
 " An alibi V interrupted the ci-devant solicitor. 
 
 " Exactly so, Baron. Complete the purchase of the vessel, 
 and let the Count man it as he proposes. I will communicate 
 with you both as soon as I can pat you into action. To-day 
 T shall have much to do ; it will be done." 
 
 As Randal left the room. Levy followed him. 
 
 " What you propose to do will be well done, no doubt," 
 quoth the usurer, linking his arm in Randal's ; " but take 
 care that you don't get yourself into a scrape, so as to damage 
 your character. I have great hopes oi you in public life ; and 
 in public life character is necessary — that is, so far as honour 
 is concerned." 
 
 " T damage my character ^ — and for a Count Peschiera ! '* 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 863 
 
 said Eandal, opening Ms eyes* " I ! What do you tako me 
 for?" 
 
 The Baron let go his hold. 
 
 " This boy ought to rise very high," said he fco himself, as 
 he turned back to the Connt. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 Randal's acute faculty of comprehension had long since 
 surmised the truth that Beatrice's views and temper of mind 
 had been strangely and suddenly altered by some such revo- 
 lution as passion only can e:Sect; that pique or disappoint* 
 ment had mingled with the motive which had induced her to 
 accept the hand of his rash young kinsman ; and that, instead 
 of the resigned indifference with which she might at one 
 time have contemplated any marriage that could free her from 
 a position that perpetually galled her pride, it was now with 
 a repugnance, visible to E/andal's keen eye, that she shrank 
 from the performance of that pledge which Frank had so 
 dearly bought. The temptations which the Count could hold 
 out to her to become his accomplice in designs of which the 
 fraud and perjfidy Would revolt her better nature, had ceased 
 to be of avail. A dowry had grown valueless, since it would 
 but hasten the nuptials from which she recoiled. Bandal 
 felt that he could not secure her aid, except by working on a 
 passion so turbulent as to confound her judgment. Such a 
 passion he recognised in jealousy. He had once doubted if 
 Harley were the object of her love ; yet, after all, was it not 
 probable ? He knew, at least, of no one else to suspect. If 
 so, he had but to whisper, " Yiolante is your rival. Yiolante 
 removed, your beauty may find its natural effect ; if not, you 
 are an Italian, and you will be at least avenged." He saw 
 still more reason to suppose that Lord L'Estrange was indeed 
 the one by whom he could rule Beatrice, since, the last time 
 lie had seen her, she had questioned him with much eagerness 
 as to the family of Lord Lansmere, especially as to the female 
 part of it. Randal had then judged it prudent to avoid 
 speaking of Yiolante ; and feigned ignoi'ance ; but promised 
 to ascertain all particulars by the time he next saw the Mar- 
 chesa. It was the warmth with which she had thanked him, 
 that had set his busy mind at work to conjecture the cause of 
 her curiosity so earnestly aroused, and to ascribe that cause to 
 
364 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 jealousy. If Harlej loved Violante (as Randal himself liad 
 before supposed), tlie little of passion tliat tlie young man 
 admitted to himself was enlisted in aid of Peschiera's schemes. 
 For though Randal did not love Yiolante, he cordially disliked 
 L'Estrange, and would have gone as far to render that dislike 
 vindictive, as a cold reasoner, intent upon worldly fortunes, 
 will ever suffer mere hate to influence him. 
 
 "At the worst," thought Randal, "if it be not Harley, 
 touch the chord of jealousy, and its vibration will direct me 
 right." 
 
 Thus soliloquising, he arrived at Madame di ISfegra's. 
 
 l^owj in reality, the Marchesa's inquiries as to Lord Lans- 
 mere's family had their source in the misguided, restless, 
 despairing interest with which she still clung to the image of 
 the young poet, whom Randal had no reason to suspect. That 
 interest had become yet more keen from the impatient misery 
 she had felt ever since she had plighted herself to another. 
 A wild hope that she might yet escape — a vague regretful 
 thought that she had been too hasty in dismissing Leonard 
 from her presence — that she ought rather to have courted his 
 friendship, and contended against her unknown rival, at times 
 drew her wayward mind wholly from the future to which she 
 had consigned herself. And, to do her justice, though her 
 sense of duty was so defective, and the principles which 
 should have guided her conduct were so lost to her sight, still 
 her feelings towards the generous Hazeldean were not so hard 
 and blunted but what her own ingratitude added to her tor- 
 ment ; and it seemed as if the sole atonement she could make 
 to him was to find an excuse to withdraw her promise, and 
 save him from herself. She had caused Leonard's steps to 
 be watched ; she had found that he visited at Lord Lans- 
 mere's ; that he had gone there often, and stayed there long. 
 She had learned in the neighbourhood that Lady Lansmere 
 had one or two young female guests staying with her. Surely 
 this was the attraction — here was the rival ! 
 
 Randal found Beatrice in a state of mind that favoured his 
 purpose. And first turning his conversation on Harley, and 
 noting that her countenance did not change, by liffctle and 
 little he drew forth her secret. 
 
 Then said Randal, gravely, " If one whom you honour with 
 a tender thought visits at Lord Lansmere's house, you have, 
 indeed, cause to fear for yourself, to hope for your brother's 
 success in the object which has brought him to England — ^for 
 a girl of surpassing beauty is a guest in Lord Lansmere' @ 
 
VARIETIES TK ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 865 
 
 hotise ; and I will now tell yon tliat tliat girl is slie whom 
 Count PescMera would make Ms bride." 
 
 As Randal tlins spoke, and saw how his listener's brow 
 darkened and her eye flashed, he felt that his accomplice was 
 secured. Yiolante ! Had not Leonard spoken of Yiolante, 
 and with such praise? Had not his boyhood been passed 
 under her eyes ? Who but Yiolante could be the rival ? 
 Beatrice's abrupt exclamations, after a moment's pause, re- 
 vealed to Randal the advantage he had gained. And partly 
 by rousing her jealousy into revenge — partly by fl.attering her 
 love with assurances that, if Yiolante were fairly removed 
 from England, were the wife of Count Peschiera — it would 
 be impossible that Leonard could remain insensible to her 
 own attractions— that he, Randal, would undertake to free her 
 honourably from her engagement to Frank Hazeldean, and 
 obtain from her brother the acquittal of the debt which had 
 first fettered her hand to that confiding suitor — ^he did not 
 quit the Marchesa until she had not only promised to do all 
 that Randal might suggest, but impetuously urged him to 
 mature his plans, and hasten the hour to accomplish them. 
 Randal then walked some minutes musing and slow along the 
 streets, revolving the next meshes in his elaborate and most 
 subtle web. And here his craft luminously devised ifcs master- 
 piece. 
 
 It was necessary, during any interval that might elapse 
 between Yiolante's disappearance and her departure from 
 England, in order to divert suspicion from Peschiera (who 
 might otherwise be detained), that some cause for her volun- 
 tary absence from Lord Lansmere's should be at least assign- 
 able ; it was still more necessary that Randal himself should 
 stand wholly clear from any surmise that he could have 
 connived at the Count's designs, even should their actual 
 perpetrator be discovered or conjectured. To effect these 
 objects, Randal hastened to Norwood, and obtained an inter- 
 view with Riccabocca. In seeming agitation and alarm, he 
 informed the exile that he had reason to know that Peschiera 
 had succeeded in obtaining a secret interview with Yiolante, 
 and he feared had made a certain favourable impression on her 
 mind; and speaking as if with the jealousy of a lover, he en- 
 treated Riccabocca to authorise Randal's direct proposals to 
 Yiolante, and to require her consent to their immediate nuptials. 
 
 The poor Italian was confounded Vv'ith the intelligence con* 
 veyed to him ; and his almost superstitious fears of his bril^ 
 I'miit enemy, conjoined with his opinion of the suscepfcibilitj 
 
B66 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to outward attraeilons coramoii to all tlie female sex, m^de hixa 
 not onlj implicitly credit, but even exaggerate, the clangers 
 tliat Randal intimated, The idea of liis daugliter's marriage 
 with Randal, towards which he had lately cooled, he now 
 gratefully welcomed. 
 
 But his first natural suggestion was to go, or send, for 
 Violante, and bring her to his own house. This, however, 
 Randal artfully opposed. 
 
 " Alas ! I know," said he, " that Peschiera has discovered 
 your retreat, and surely she wQnld be far less safe here than 
 where she is now ! " 
 
 But, diavolo I you say the man has seen her where she is 
 now, in spite of all Lady Lansmere's promises and Harley's 
 precautions.'^ 
 
 '*True. Of this Peschjera boasted tome, He effected it 
 not, of course, openly, but in some disguise. I am sufijciently^ 
 however, in his confidence — (any man may be that with so 
 audacious a braggart) — to deter him from renewing his 
 attempt for some days. Meanwhile, I or yourself will have 
 discovered some surer home than this, to which you can 
 remove, and then will be the proper time to take back your 
 daughter. And for the present, if you will send by me a 
 letter to enjoin her to receive me as her future bridegroom, it 
 will necessarily divert all thought at once from the Count ; I 
 shall be able to detect by the manner in which she receives 
 me, how far the Count has overstated the effect he pretends 
 to have produced. You can give me also a letter to Lady 
 Lansmere, to prevent your daughter coming hither. 0, sir, 
 do not reason with me. Have indulgence for my lover's 
 fears. Believe that I advise for the best. Have I not the 
 keenest interest to do so ? " 
 
 Like many a man who is wise enough with pen and paper 
 before him, and plenty of time wherewith to get up his 
 wisdom, Riccabocca was fl.urried, nervous, and confused, 
 when that wisdom was called upon for any ready exertion. 
 From the tree of knowledge he had taken grafts enough to 
 serve for a forest ; but the whole forest could not spare him a 
 handy walking-stick. The great folio of the dead Machia- 
 velli lay useless before him — the living Machiavelli of daily 
 life stood all puissant by his side. The Sage was as supple 
 to the Schemer as the Clairvoyant is to the Mesmerist. And 
 the lean slight fingers of Randal actually dictated almost the 
 very words that Riccabocca wrote to his child and hot 
 hostess. 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 The philosopher would have liked to consult his wife ; but 
 he was ashamed to confess that weakness. Suddenly he 
 remembered Harlej, and said, as Randal took up the letters 
 which Riccabocca had indited — 
 
 There— that will give us time ; and I will send to Lord 
 L' Estrange and talk to him." 
 
 " My noble friend," replied Randal, mournfully, " may I 
 entreat you not to see Lord L'Estrange until at least I have 
 pleaded my cause to your daughter — until, indeed, she is no 
 longer under his father's roof." 
 
 " And why ? " 
 
 "Because I presume that you are sincere wheu you deign 
 to receive me as a son-in-law, and because I am sure that 
 Lord L'Estrange would hear with distaste of your disposition 
 in my favour. Am I not right ? " 
 
 Riccabocca was silent. 
 
 " And though his arguments would fail with a man of your 
 honour and discernment, they might have more effect on the 
 young mind of your child. Think, I beseech you, the more 
 she is set against me, the more accessible she may be to the 
 arts of Peschiera. Speak not, therefore, I implore you, to 
 Lord L'Estrange till Yiolante has accepted my hand, or at 
 least until she is again under your charge ; otherwise take 
 back your letter — it would be of no avail." 
 
 "Perhaps you are right. Certainly Lord L'Estrange is 
 prejudiced against you; or rather, he thinks too much of 
 what I have been — too little of what I am," 
 
 " Who can see you, and not do so ? I pardon him." After 
 kissing the hand which the exile modestly sought to with- 
 draw from that act of homage, Randal pocketed the letters \ 
 and, as if struggling with emotion, rushed from the house, 
 
 l^ow, O curious reader, if thou wilt heedfully observe to 
 what uses Randal Leslie put those letters — what speedy and 
 direct results he drew forth from devices which would seeni 
 to an honest simple understanding the most round-about, 
 wire- drawn wastes of invention — I almost fear that in thiuo 
 admiration for his cleverness, thou mayest half forget thy 
 contempt for his knavery. 
 
 But when the head is very full, it does not do to havp the 
 heart very emptj ; there is such a thing as being top-heavy ! 
 
S68 
 
 MY kovel; ok 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Helen and Yiolante had been conversing togetlier, and 
 Helen liad obeyed ber guardian*s injunction, and spoken, thongb 
 briefly, of ber positive engagement to Harley. However much 
 Violante bad been prepared for tbe confidence, however 
 clearly sbe bad divined tbat engagement, however before 
 persuaded tbat the dream of her childhood was fled for ever, 
 sfcill the positive truth, coming from Helen's own lips, was 
 attended with that anguish which proves how impossible it is 
 to jprejpare the human heart for the final verdict which slays 
 its future. She did not, however, betray her emotion to 
 Helen's artless eyes ; sorrow, deep-seated, is seldom self- 
 betrayed. But, after a little while, she crept away; and, 
 forgetful of Peschiera, of all things that could threaten 
 danger, (what danger could harm her more !) she glided from 
 the house, and went her desolate way under the leafless wintry 
 trees. Ever and anon she paused — ever and anon she mur- 
 mured the same words : "If she loved him, I could be con- 
 soled ; but she does not ! or how could she have spoken to 
 me so calmly ! how could her very looks have been so sad ! 
 Heartless ! — heartless ! " 
 
 Then there came on her a vehement resentment against 
 poor Helen, that almost took the character of scorn or hate— ^ 
 its excess startled herself. " Am I grown so mean ? " she 
 said ; and tears that humbled her, rushed to her eyes. *^ Can 
 so short a time alter one thus ? Impossible ! " 
 
 Randal Leslie rang at the front gate, inquired for Yiolante, 
 and, catching sight of her form as he walked towards the 
 house, advanced boldly and openly. His voice startled her as 
 she leant against one of the dreary trees, still muttering to 
 herself — forlorn. " I have a letter to you from your father, 
 Signorina," said Randal. "But, before I give it to your 
 hands, some explanation is necessary. Condescend, then, to 
 Dear me." Yiolante shook her head impatiently, and stretched 
 forth her hand for the letter. Randal observed her counte- 
 nance with his keen, cold, searching eye ; but he still withheld 
 the letter, and continued, after a pause — 
 
 ''•^I know that you were born to princely fortunes ; and the 
 excuse for my addressing you now is, that your birthright i» 
 lost to you, at least unless you can consent to an union with 
 the man who has despoiled you of your heritage — an union 
 
V4PJETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 809 
 
 wiiich your f atlier would deem dishonour to yourself and liim. 
 Signorina, I miglii liave presumed to love you ; but I should 
 not have named that love, had your father not encouraged me 
 by his assent to my suit." 
 
 Violante turned to the speaker, her face eloquent with 
 haughty surprise. E^andal met the gaze unmoved. He 
 continued, without warmth, and in the tone of one who 
 reasons calmly, rather than of one who feels acutely — 
 
 " The man of whom I spoke is in pursuit of you. I have 
 cause to believe that this person has already intruded himself 
 upon you. Ah ! your countenance owns it ; you have seen 
 Peschiera ? This house is, then, less safe than your father 
 deemed it. No house is safe for you but a husband's. I 
 offer to you my name — it is a gentleman's ; my fortune, which 
 is small ; the participation in my hopes of the future, which 
 are large. I place now your father's letter in your hand, and 
 await your answer." Randal bowed slightly, gave the letter 
 to Violante, and retired a few paces. 
 
 It was not his object to conciliate Yiolante's affection, but 
 rather to excite her repugnance, or at least her terror — we 
 must wait to discover why ; so he stood apart, seemingly in a 
 kind of self-confident indifference, while the girl read the 
 following letter : — 
 
 "My child, receive with favour Mr. Leslie. He has my 
 consent to address you as a suitor. Circumstances, of which 
 it is needless now to inform you, render it essential to my 
 very peace and happiness that your marriage should be imme- 
 diate. In a word, I have given my promise to Mr. Leslie, and 
 I confidently leave it to the daughter of my house to redeem 
 the pledge of her anxious and tender father." 
 
 The letter dropped from Violante's hand. Randal ap- 
 proached, and restored it to her. Their eyes met. Violante 
 recoiled. 
 
 " I cannot marry you," said she, passionately. 
 " Inde€Mi ? " answered Randal, drily. " Is it because you 
 cannot love me ? " 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I did not expect that you would as yet, and I still persist 
 in my suit. I have promised to your father that I would not 
 recede before your first unconsidered refusal." 
 
 " I will go to my father at once.'* 
 
 " Does he request yop, to do so in his letter ? Look agaiiU 
 
 VOL. II. B B 
 
370 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 Pardon me, but he foresaw jour impetuositj ; and I have 
 anotlier note for Lady Lansmere, in wliicli lie begs lie? 
 ladjsb-ip not to sanction your return to him (should you so 
 wish) until he come or send for you himself. He will do so 
 whenever your word has redeemed his own." 
 
 " And do you dare to talk to me thus, and yet pretend to 
 love me ? " 
 
 Kandal smiled ironically. 
 
 "I pretend but to wed you. Love is a subject on which I 
 might have spoken formerly, or may speak hereafter. I give 
 you some little time to consider* When I next callj let me 
 hope that we may fix the day for our wedding." 
 
 "JNTever!" 
 
 " You will be, then, the first daughter of your house who 
 disobeyed a father ; and you will have this additional crime, 
 that you disobeyed him in his sorrow^, his exile, and his fall." 
 
 Yiolante wrung her hands. 
 
 " Is there no choice — no escape ? " 
 
 "I see none for either* Listen to me. I love youj it is 
 true ; but it is not for my happiness to marry one who dislikes 
 me, nor for my ambition to connect myself with one whose 
 poverty is greater than my own. I marry but to keep my 
 plighted faith with your father, and to save you from a 
 villain you would hate more than myself, and from whom no 
 walls are a barrier, no laws a defence. One person, indeed, 
 might perhaps have preserved you from the misery you seem to 
 anticipate with me ; that person might defeat the plans of your 
 father's foe — effect, it might be, terms which could revoke 
 his banishment and restore his honours ; that person is — " 
 Lord L^JEstrange ? " 
 
 " Lord L^Estrange ! " repeated Ea^ndal-, sharply^ and watch- 
 ing her pale parted lips and her changing colour ; " Lord 
 L'Estrange I What could he do ? Why did you name him ? " 
 
 Yiolante turned aside. " He saved my father once," said 
 she, feelingly. 
 
 ''And has interfered, and trifled, and promisedj Heaven 
 knows what, ever since — ^yet to what end ? Pooh ! The 
 person 1 speak of your father would not consent to see — would 
 not believe if he saw her; yet she is generous, noble — could 
 sympathise with you both. She is the sister of your father's 
 enemy — the Marchesa di !N"egra. I am convinced that she 
 has great influence with her brother — that she has known 
 enough of his secrets to awe him into renouncing all designs 
 on yourself ; but it is idle now to speak of her." 
 
•VAEJETIES m EI^GLISH LIFE. 
 
 871 
 
 " Ko, no,'* exclaimed Yiolante. " Tell me wliere slie lives 
 will see her." 
 
 ''Pardon me, I cannot obey 7011; and, indeed^ lier own 
 pi'ide is now aroused by your fatlier^s unfortunate prejudices 
 against Leri It is too late to count upon her aid. You turn 
 from me — my presence is unwelcome. I rid yoii of it now. 
 But welcome or unwelcome, later you must endure it — and 
 for life." 
 
 Randal again bowed with formal ceremony^ walked towards 
 the housb, and asked for Lady Lansmere. The Gountess was 
 at home. Randal delivered Riccaboeca'^ note, which was 
 very short, implying that he feared Peschiera had discovered 
 liis retrea't; — and requesting Lady Lslnsmere to retain Yiolante, 
 whatever her own desirCj till her ladyship heard from him 
 again. 
 
 The Countess read^ and her lip curled in disdain. Strange ! '* 
 said shcj half to herself. 
 
 ^' Strange ! " said Randal, " that a man like your corre- 
 spondent should fear One like the Count di Peschiera. Is 
 that it?" 
 
 " Sir," said the Countess, a little surprised — " strange thai 
 any man should fear another in a country like ours ! " 
 
 I don't know," said Randal with his low soft laugh; "1 
 fear many men, and I know many who ought to fear me 5 yet 
 at every turn of the street one meets a policeman ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Lansmere. " But to suppose that this 
 profligate foreigner could carry away a girl like Yiolante 
 against her will — a man she has never seen, and whom she 
 must have been taught to hate ! " 
 
 " Be oii your guard j nevertheless^ I pray you, madam ; 
 * where there's a will there's a Way.' " 
 
 Randal took his leave, and returned to Madaihe di ISTegra's, 
 He stayed with her an hour, revisited the Gouhtj and then 
 strolled to Limmer's. 
 
 "Randalj" said the Squire, who looked pale and worUj but 
 who scorned to Confess the weakness with which he still 
 grieved and yearned for his rebellious son — " Randal, you 
 have nothing now to do in London ; can you come and stay 
 with me, and take to farming ? I remember that you showed 
 a good deal of sound knowledge about thin sowing." 
 
 " My dear sir, I will come to you as soon as the general 
 election is over/' 
 
 What the deuce have you got to do witli the general 
 election ? '' 
 
 B B 2 
 
B72 
 
 MY novel; ok, 
 
 "Mr. Egerton lias some wisli tliat I should enter Fai^lia- 
 ment; indeed, negotiations for that purpose are now on foot.** 
 
 The Squire shook his head. " I don't like mj half-brother's 
 politics." 
 
 *'I shall be quite independent of them," cried Randal, 
 loftily; "that independence is the condition for which I 
 stipulate." 
 
 " Glad to hear it ; and if you do come into Parliament, 1 
 hope you'll not turn your back on the land ? " 
 
 " Turn my back on the land ! " cried Randal, with devout 
 horror. " Oh, sir! I am not so unnatural ! " 
 
 " That's the right way to put it," quoth the credulous 
 Squire ; " it is unnatural ! It is turning one's back on one's 
 own mother. The land is a mother — " 
 
 ' " To those who live by her, certainly, — a mother," said 
 Randal, gravely. " And though, indeed, my father star^^es 
 by her rather than lives, and Rood Hall is not like Hazeldean, 
 still— I—" 
 
 "Hold your tongue," interrupted the Squire; "I want to 
 talk to you. Your grandmother was a Hazeldean." 
 
 "Her picture is in the drawing-room at Rood. People 
 think me very like her." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the Squire. " The Hazel deans are generally 
 inclined to be stout and rosy, which you are certainly not. 
 But no fault of yours. We are all as Heaven made us! 
 However, to the point. I am going to alter my will — (said 
 with a choking gulp). " This is the rough draft for the 
 lawyers to work upon." 
 
 " Pray — pray, sir, do not speak to me on such a subject. 
 I cannot bear to contemplate even the possibility of — of — " ^ 
 
 " My death ? Ha ! ha ! Nonsense. My own son calcu- 
 lated on the date of it by the insurance tables. Ha, ha, ha! 
 A very fashionable son — eh ! Ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Poor Prank ! do not let him suffer for a momentary f or- 
 getfulness of right feeling. When he comes to be married to 
 that foreign lady, and be a father himself, he — " 
 
 " Father himself ! " burst forth the Squire. " Father to a 
 Evvarm of sallow-faced Popish tadpoles ! JSTo foreign frogs 
 Bball hop about my grave in Hazeldean churchyard. No, no. 
 Bat you need not look so reproachful — I'm not going to 
 disinherit Frank." 
 
 " Of course not," said Randal, with a bitter curve in the 
 lip that rebelled against the joyous smile which he sought to 
 impose on it. 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 S73 
 
 " — I sliall leave Hm tlie life-interest in the greater part 
 of the property; "but if he marry a foreigner, her children 
 will not sncceed — ^you will stand after him in that case. But 
 — (now don't interrupt me) — but Frank looks as if he would 
 live longer than you — ^so small thanks to me for my good 
 intentions, you may say. I mean to do more for you than 
 a mere barren place in the entail. What do you say to 
 marrying ?" 
 
 " Just as you please," said Randal, meekly. 
 
 " Grood. There's Miss Sticktorights disengaged — great 
 heiress. Her lands run on to Rood. At one time I thought 
 of her for that graceless puppy of mine. But I can manage 
 more easily to make up the match for you. There's a mort- 
 gage on the property ; old Sticktorights would be very glad 
 to pay it ofE. I'll pay it out of the Hazeldean estate, and 
 give up the Right of Way into the bargain. You under- 
 stand ? So come down as soon as you can, and court tho 
 young lady yourself." 
 
 Randal expressed his thanks with much grateful eloquence; 
 and he then delicately insinuated, that if the Squire ever did 
 mean ^to bestow upon him any pecuniary favours, (always 
 without injury to Frank,) it would gratify him more to win 
 back some portions of the old estate of Rood, than to have all 
 the acres of the Sticktorights, however free from any other 
 incumbrance than the amiable heiress. 
 
 The Squire listened to Randal with benignant attention. 
 This wish the country gentleman could well understand and 
 sympathise with. He promised to inquire into the matter, 
 and to see what could be done with old Thornhill. 
 
 Randal here let out that Mr. Thornhill was about to dispose 
 of a large slice of the ancient Leslie estate through Levy, and 
 that he, Randal, could thus get it at a more moderate price 
 than would be natural if Mr. Thornhill knew that his neigh- 
 bour the Squire would bid for the purchase. 
 
 " Better say nothing about it either to Levy or Thornhill." 
 
 "Right," said the Squire. "]^o proprietor likes to sell to 
 another proprietor, in the same shire, as largely acred as 
 himself : it spoils the balance of power. See to the business 
 yourself ; and if I can help you with the purchase, (after that 
 l3oyis married^ — I can attend to nothing before,) why, I will." 
 
 Randal now went to Egerton's. The Statesman was in his 
 library, settling the accounts of his house-steward, and giving 
 brief orders for the the reduction of his establishment to that 
 of an ordinary private gentleman. 
 
571 
 
 MY NOVEL ; 
 
 " I may go abroad if I lose mj election," said Egertoii, 
 condescending to. assign to his servant a reason for his 
 Ijconomy ; " and if I do not lose it, still, now I ani ont of 
 office, T shall live much in private." 
 
 Do I disturb you, sir ? " said Handal, entering, 
 
 " ■ No — I have just done." 
 
 The house- steward withdrew, much surprised and disgusted, 
 and meditating the resignation of his own office — in order, not 
 like Egerton, to- save, but to spend. The house-steward had 
 private dealings with Baron Levy, and was in fact the veritable 
 X.Y. of the Times, for whom Dick Avenel had been mistaken. 
 He invested his wages and perquisites in the discount of bills j 
 and it was part of his own money that had (though unknown 
 to himself) swelled the last five thousand pounds which 
 Egerton had borrowed from Levy. 
 
 ^' I have settled with our committee ; and, with Lord Lans-^ 
 mere's consent," said Egerton, briefly, " you will stand for 
 the borough, as we proposed, in conjunction with myself. 
 And should any accident happen to me — that is, should I 
 vacate this seat from any cause, you may succeed to it— very 
 shortly perhaps. Ingratiate yourself with the electors, and 
 speak at the public-houses for both of us. I shall stand on 
 my dignity, and leave the work of the election to you. 'Eo 
 tkanks-^you know how I hate thanks. Good night." 
 
 " I never stood so near to fortune and to power," said Randal,, 
 XB he slowly undressed. " And I owe it but to knowledge — 
 knowledge of men—life— of all that books can teach us," 
 
 So his slight thin fingers dropped the extinguisher on the 
 candle, and the prosperous Schemer laid himself down to rest 
 in the dark. Shutters closed, curtains drawn — never was rest 
 more quiet, never was room more dark ! 
 
 That evening, Harley had dined at his father's. He spoke 
 much to Helen — scarcely at all to Yiolante. But it so hap- 
 pened that when later, and a little while before he took his 
 leave, Helen, at his request, was playing a favourite air of 
 his ; Lady Lansmere, who had been seated between him and 
 Yiolante, left the room, and Yiolante turned quickly towards 
 Harley. 
 
 " Do you know the Marchesa di Negra? " she askecl, in s 
 hurried voice. 
 
 " A little. Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " That is my secret," answered Yiolante, trying to smile 
 ^ath her old frank, childlike archness. " But, tell me, do 
 fou think better of her than of her brother ? " 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 375 
 
 " Certainly. I belieye lier liearfc to "be good, and tTiat slie is 
 not without generous qualities." 
 
 " Can JO a not induce my father to see her ? Would you 
 not counsel him to do so ? 
 
 " Any wish of yours is a law to me, *' an swelled Harley, 
 gallantly. "You wish your father to see her? I will try 
 and persuade him to do so. IsPow, in return,, confide to me 
 year secret. What is your object ? 
 
 " LeaTO to return to my Italy. I care not for honoiirs — 
 for rank ; and even my father has ceased to regret their loss. 
 But the land, the native land— Oh, to see it once more ! Oh, 
 to die there ! '* 
 
 "Die! You children have so lately left heaven, that ye 
 talk as if ye could return there, without passing through the 
 gates of sorrow, infirmity, and age 1 But I thought you were 
 content with England. Why so eager to leave it ? Yiolante^ 
 you are unkind to us- — to Helen, who already loves yott so 
 well." 
 
 As Harley spoke, Helen rose from the piano,, and approach- 
 ing Yiolante, placed her hand caressingly on the Italian's 
 shoulder. Yiolante shivered, and shrunk away. The eyes 
 both of Harley and Helen followed her. Harley's eyes were 
 very grave and thou.ghtful. 
 
 "Is she not changed — yoiir friend ? " said he, looking down. 
 
 " Yes, lately — ^much changed. I fear there is soraething on 
 her mind— I know not what," 
 
 " Ah ! " muttered Harley, " it may be so ; but at your age 
 and hers, nothing rests on the mind long. Observe, I say the 
 mind — the heart is more tenacious." 
 
 Helen sighed softly, but deeply.. 
 
 "And therefore," continued Harley, half to himself, "wo 
 can detect when something is on the mind — some care, some 
 fear, some trouble. But when the heart closes over its own 
 more passionate sorrow, who cSjU discover! who conjecture! 
 Yet you at least, my pure, candid Helen — you might subject 
 mind and heart alike to the fabled window of glass." 
 
 " Oh, no I " cried Helen, involiintarily. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Do not let me think that you have one secret 
 I may not know, or one sorrow I may not share, For^ in our 
 relationship, that would be deceit." 
 
 He pressed her hand with more than usual tenderness as he 
 spoke, and shortly afterwards left the house. 
 
 And all that night Helen felt like a guilty thing— ^m ore 
 wretched even than Yiolante. 
 
S?6 My JvrovEL; ok. 
 
 CHAPTEE V- 
 
 Earlt tlie next morning, wliile Yiolante was still in he-i? 
 room, a letter addressed to her came by tlie post. The 
 direction was in a strange hand. She opefned it, and read, in 
 Italian, what is thns translated : — 
 
 " I would gladly see yon, but I cannot call openly at the 
 house in which you live. Perhaps I may have it in my power 
 to arrange family dissensions — to repair any wrongs your 
 father may have sustained. Perhaps I may be enabled to 
 render yourself an essential service. But for all this, it is 
 necessary that we should meet and confer frankly. Mean- 
 while time presses — delay is forbidden. Will you meet me, 
 an hour after noon, in the lane, just outside the private gate 
 of your gardens. I shall be alone, and you cannot fear to 
 meet one of your own sex, and a kinswoman. Ah, I so desire 
 to see you ! Come I beseech you. 
 
 " Beatrice." 
 
 Yiolante read, and her decision was taken. She was 
 naturally fearless, and there was little that she would not 
 have braved for the chance of serving her father. And now 
 all peril seemed slight in comparison with that which awaited 
 her in Bandal's suit, backed by her father's approval. Bandal 
 had said that Madame di ITegra alone could aid her in escape 
 from himself. Harley had said that Madame di ITegra had 
 generous qualities; and who but Madame di I^egra would 
 write herself a kinswoman, and sign herself " Beatrice ? 
 
 A little before the appointed hour, she stole unobserved 
 through the trees, opened the little gate, and found herself in 
 the quiet solitary lane. In a few minutes, a female figure 
 came up, with a quick, light step ; -and, throwing aside her 
 veil, said, with a sort of wild, suppressed energy, " It is you ! 
 I was truly told. Beautiful ! — beautiful ! And, oh ! what 
 youth and what bloom 1 " 
 
 The voice dropped mournfully ; and Yiolante, surprised by 
 the tone, and blushing under the praise, remained a moment 
 silent ; then she said, with some hesitation — 
 
 " You are, I presume, the Marchesa di I^egra ? And I have 
 heard of you enough to induce me to trust you." 
 
 " Of me ! Prom whom ? " asked Beatrice, almost fiercely. 
 
 " Prom Mr. Leslie, and — and — " 
 
VARIETIES IN EKGLISH LFiTE. 
 
 877 
 
 Gro on — whj falter ? '* 
 " From Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 From no one else ? " 
 "i^"ot that I remember." 
 
 Beatrice sighed heavily, and let fall her veil. Some foot- 
 passengers now came up the lane ; and seeing two ladies, of 
 mien so remarkable, turned ronnd, and gazed cnriously. 
 
 " We cannot talk here," said Beatrice, impatiently ; and 
 I have so much to say — so much to know/ Trust me yet 
 more ; it is for yourself I speak. My carriage waits yonder. 
 Come home with me — I will not detain you an hour ; and I 
 will bring you back." 
 
 This proposition startled Yiolante. She retreated towards 
 the gate with a gesture of dissent. Beatrice laid her hand on 
 the girl's arm, and again lifting her veil, gazed at her with a 
 look, half of scorn, half of admiration. 
 
 " I, too, wou]d once have recoiled from one step beyond the 
 formal line by which the world divides liberty from woman. 
 Now see how bold I ara. Child, child, do not trifle with your 
 destiny. You may never again have the same occasion oftered 
 to you. It is not only to meet you that I am here ; I must 
 know something of you — something of your heart. Why 
 shrink ? — is not the heart pure ? " 
 
 Violante made no answer ; but her smile, so sweet and so 
 lofty, humbled the questioner it rebuked. 
 
 ^'I may restore to Italy your father," said Beatrice, with 
 an altered voice. " Come ! " 
 
 Yiolante approached, but still hesitatingly. 
 
 *' jN^ot by union with your brother ? " 
 You dread that so much then ? " 
 
 "Dread it? ]^o. Why should I dread what is in my 
 power to reject. But if you can really restore my father, and 
 by nobler means, you may save me for — " 
 
 Yiolante stopped abruptly ; the Marchesa's eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Save you for — ah ! I can guess what you leave unsaid. 
 But come, come — more strangers — see ; you shall tell me all 
 at my own house. And if you can make one sacrifice, why, 
 I will save you all else. Come, or farewell for ever ! " 
 
 Yiolante placed her hand in Beatrice's, with a frank con- 
 fidence that brought the accusing blood into the Marchesa'» 
 cheek. 
 
 "We are women both," said Yiolante, "we descend from 
 the same noble house ; we have knelt alike to the same Yirgin 
 Mother ; why should I not believe and trust you ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " muttered Beatrice, feebly ; and she moved 
 
878 
 
 MY HOTELS OE, 
 
 on, witli her head bowed on her breast, and all the pride of 
 her sfcep was gone. 
 
 They reached a carriage that stood by the angle of the road. 
 Beatrice spoke a word apart to the driver, who was an Italian, 
 in the pay of the Count ; the man nodded, and opened the 
 carriage door. The ladies entered. Beatrice pnlled down 
 the blinds ; the man remounted his box, and drove on rapidly. 
 Beatrice, leaning back, gToaned aloud. Yiolante drew nearer 
 to her side. " Are yon in pain ? " said she, with her tender, 
 melodious voice *, " or can I serve you as you would serve me ? " 
 
 " Child, give me your hand, and be silent while I look at 
 you. Was I ever so fair as this ? Never 1 And what deepa 
 ■^what deeps roll between her and me ! " 
 
 She said this as of some one absent, and again sank into 
 silence ; but continued still to gaze on Yiolante, whose eyes, 
 veiled by their long fringes, drooped beneath the gaze. 
 
 Suddenly Beatrice stai'fced, exclaiming, " Ko, it shall not 
 be ! " and placed her hand on the check-string. 
 
 " What shall not be ? asked Yiolante, surprised by the 
 cry and the action. Beatrice paused — her breast heaved 
 visibly under her dress. 
 
 " Stay," she said, slowly. " As you say, we are both women 
 of the same noble house ; you would reject the suit of my 
 brother, yet you have seen him ; his the form to please the 
 eye — ^his the arts that allure the fancy. He o:ffers to you 
 rank, wealth, your father's pardon and recall. If I could 
 remove the objections which your father entertains — prove 
 that the Count has less wronged him than he deems, would 
 you still reject the rank, and the wealth, and the hand of 
 Qiulio Franzini ? 
 
 Oh yes, yes, v/ere his hand a king's ! " 
 Still, then, as woman to woman — both, as you say, akin, 
 and sprung from the same lineage — still, then, answer me' — ■ 
 answer me, for you speak to one who has loved— Is it not that 
 you love another ? — Speak." 
 
 " I do not know. N^ay, not love — it was a romance ; it is a 
 thing impossible. Bo not question — I cannot answer." And 
 the broken words were choked by sudden tears. 
 
 Beatrice's face grew hard and pitiless. Again she lowered 
 her veil, and withdrew her hand from the check- string ; but 
 the coachman had felt the touch, and halted. ''Drive on," 
 said Beatrice, " as you were directed." 
 
 Both v/ere now long silent — Yiolante with great difficulty 
 recovering from her emotion, Beatrice breathing hard, and 
 her arms folded firmly across her breast. 
 
YAIIIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 379 
 
 Meanwliile the carriage had entered London — it passed the 
 quarter in wliich Madame di Negra's house was situated — it 
 rolled fast over a bridge— it whirled through a broad thorough- 
 fare, then through defiles of lanes, with tall blank dreary houses 
 on either side. On it weat, and on^ till Yiolante suddenly took 
 alarm. Do you live so far ? " she said, drawing up the blind, 
 and gazing in dismay on the strange ignoble suburb. " I shall 
 be missed already. Oh, let us turn back, I beseech you 1 
 
 ' ■ W e are nearly there now. The driver has taken this road 
 in order to avoid those streets in which we might have been 
 seen together— perhaps by my brother himself. Listen to 
 me, and talk of — of the lover whom you rightly associate 
 with a vain romance. ' Impossible,' — yes, it is impossible 1 " 
 
 Yiolante clasped her hands before her eyes, and bowed down 
 her head. "Why are you so cruel?" said she. "This is 
 not w^hat you promised. How are you to serve my father — 
 how restore him to his country ? This is vfhat you promised ! " 
 
 " If you consent to one sacrifice, I will fulfil that promise. 
 We are arrived.'* 
 
 The carriage stopped before a tall dull house, divided from 
 other houses by a high wall that appeared to enclose a yard, 
 and standing at the end of a narrow lane, which was bounded 
 on the one side by the Thames. In that quarter the river 
 was crowded with gloomy, dark-looking vessels and craft, all 
 lying lifeless under the wintry sky. 
 
 The driver dismounted and rang the bell. Two swarthy 
 Italian faces presented themselves at the threshold. 
 
 Beatrice descended lightly, and gave her hand to Yiolante. 
 " Now, here we shall be secure," said she ; " and here a few 
 minutes may suffice to decide your fate." 
 
 As the door closed on Yiolante — who, now waking to sus^ 
 picidn, to alarm, looked fearfully round the dark and dismal 
 nail — Beatrice turned: " Let the carriage wait." 
 
 The Italian who received the order bowed and smiled ; but 
 when the two ladies had ascended the stairs he re^opened the 
 street-door, and said to the driver, " Back to the Count, and 
 say * all is safe.* " 
 
 The carriage drove off. The man who had given this order 
 barred and locked the door, and, taking with him the huge key, 
 plunged into the mystic recesses of the basement and dis- 
 appeared. The hall, thus left solitary, had the grim aspect of 
 a prison ; the strong door sheeted with iron — the rugged stona 
 stairs, lighted by a high window grimed with the dust of years, 
 and jealoiisly barred — -and the walls themselves abutting out 
 rudely here and there, as if against violence even from within. 
 
S80 
 
 KOVSL ; OK, 
 
 CHAPTEE VL 
 
 It was, as we have seen, without taking connsel of the 
 faithful Jemima, that the sage recluse of E'orwood had yiekled 
 to his own fears, and Bandal's subtle suggestions, in the con- 
 cise and arbitrary letter which he had written to Yiolante ; 
 but at night, when churchyards give up the dead, and conjugal 
 hearts the secrets hid by day from each other, the wise man 
 informed his wife of the step he had taken. And Jemima 
 then — who held English notions, very different from those 
 w^hich prevail in Italj, as to the right of fathers to dispose of 
 their daughters without reference to inclination or repugnance 
 — so sensibly yet so mildly, represented to the pupil of Maehi- 
 avelli that he had not gone exactly the right way to work, if 
 he feared that the handsome Count had made some impression 
 on Violante, and if he wished her to turn with favour to the 
 suitor he recommended — that so abrupt a command could 
 only chill the heart, revolt the will, and even give to the auda- 
 cious Peschiera some romantic attraction which he had not 
 before possessed — as effectually bo destroy Riccabocca's sleep 
 that night. And the next day he sent Griacomo to Lady 
 Lansmere's with a very kind letter to Yiolante and a note to 
 the hostess, praying the latter to bring his daughter to Nor- 
 wood for a few hours, as he much wished to converse with 
 both. It was on Giacomo's arrival at Knightsbridge that 
 Yiolante's absence was discovered. Lady Lansmere, ever 
 proudly careful of the world and its gossip, kept Giacomo 
 from betraying his excitement to her servants, and stated 
 throughout the decorous household that the young lady had 
 informed her she was going to visit some friends that morning, 
 and had no doubt gone through the garden gate, smce it was 1 
 found open ; the way was more quiet there than by the high- 
 road, and her friends might have therefore walked to meet 
 her by the lane. Lady Lansmere observed that her only sur- 
 prise was that Yiolante had gone earlieap than she had expected. 
 Having said this with a composure that compelled belief, Lady 
 Lansmere ordered the carriage, and, taking Giacomo with her, 
 drove at once to consult her son. 
 
 ETarley's quick intellect had scarcely recovered from the 
 shock upon his emotions, before Randal Leslie was an 
 nounced. 
 
 " Ah/' said Lady Lansmere, " Mr. Leslie may know some- 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 381 
 
 thing. He came to ner yesterday witli a note from her father. 
 Pray let him enter." 
 
 The Austrian Prince approached Harley. " I will wait in 
 the next room," he whispered. "Yon may want me if you 
 have cause to suspect Peschiera in all this." 
 
 Lady Lansmere was pleased with the Prince's delicacy, and, 
 glancing at Leonard, said, " Perhaps you, too, sir, may kindly 
 aid us, if you would retire with the Prince. Mr. Leslie may 
 be disinclined to speak of affairs like these, except to Harley 
 and myself." 
 
 True, madam, but beware of Mr. Leslie." 
 
 As the door at one end of the room closed on the Prince 
 and Leonard, Kandal entered at the other, seemingly much 
 agitated. 
 
 "I have just been to your house. Lady Lansmere. I 
 heard you were here ; pardon me if I have followed you. I 
 had called at Knightsbridge to see Yiolante — learned that 
 she had left you. I implore you to tell me how or wherefore. 
 I have the right to ask: her father has promised me her 
 hand." 
 
 Harley 's falcon eye had brightened up at Randal's entrance. 
 It watched steadily the young man's face. It was clouded for 
 a moment by his knitted brows at Randal's closing words. 
 But he left it to Lady Lansmere to reply and explain. This 
 the Countess did briefly. 
 
 Randal clasped his hands. "And she not gone to her 
 father's ? Are you sure of that ? " 
 
 " Her father's servant has just come from Norwood.'* 
 
 " Oh, I am to blame for this ! It is my rash suit — her fear 
 of it — her aversion. I see it all ! " Randal's voice was hol- 
 low with remorse and despair. " To save her from Peschiera, 
 her father insisted on her immediate marriage with myself. 
 His orders were too abrupt, my own wooing too unwelcome. 
 I know her high spirit ; she has fled to escape from me. But 
 whither, if not to l^orwood ? — oh, whither .f^ What other 
 friends has she — what relations ? " 
 
 " You throw a new light on this mystery," said Lady Lans- 
 mere ; " perhaps she may have gone to her father's, after all, 
 and the servant may have crossed, but missed her on the way. 
 I will drive to ISTorwood at once." 
 
 " Do so — do ; but if she be not there, be careful not to 
 fiilarm Riccabocca with the news of her disappearance. Caution 
 Giacomo not to do so. He would only suspect Peschiera, and 
 be hurried to some act of violence." 
 
333 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 " Do not von, tlien, siispect Peecliiera, Mr. Leslie P *' asked 
 Harlej, suddenlj, 
 
 " Ha ! is it possible ? Yet, no. I called on liim this morn' 
 ing with Frank Hazeldean, who is to marry his sister. I was 
 with him till I went on to Knightsbridge, at the Tery time oi 
 Yiolante's disappearance. He conld not then hayfe been a 
 party to it." 
 
 " Yon saw Yiolante yesterday. Did yon speak to her of 
 Madame di Negra ? " asked Harley, suddenly recalling the 
 questions respecting the Marchesa which Yiolante had ad- 
 dressed to him. 
 
 In spite of himself, Randal felt that he changed counte- 
 nance. *' Of Madame di ISTegra ? I do not think so. Yet I 
 might. Oh, yes, I remember now. She asked me the 
 Marchesa's address ; I would not give it.'' 
 
 " The address is easily found. Can she have gone to the 
 Marchesa's house ? " 
 
 " I will run there, and see," cried Randal, starting up. 
 
 "And I with you. Stay, my dear mother. Proceed, as 
 you propose, to Norwood, and take Mr. Leslie's advice. Spare 
 our friend the nisws of his daughter's loss — -if lost she be-— 
 till she is restored to him. He can be of no use meanwhile. 
 Let Oiacomo rest here; I may want him." 
 
 Harley then passed into the next room, and entreated the 
 Prince and Leonard to await his return, and allow Griacomo to 
 stay in the same room. 
 
 He then went quickly back to Randal. Whatever might 
 be his fears or emotions, Harley felt that he had need of all 
 his coolness of judgment and presence of mind. The occa- 
 sion made abrupt demand lipon powers which had slept since 
 boyhood, but which now woke with a vigour that would have 
 made even Randal tremble, could he have detected the wit, 
 the courage, the electric energies, masked under that tranquil 
 self-possession. Lord L'Estrange and Randal soon reached 
 the Marchesa's house, and learned that she had been out 
 since morning in one of Count Peschiera's carriages. Randal 
 stole an alarmed glance at Harley 's face. Harley did not 
 seem to notice it. 
 
 1^0 w, Mr. Leslie, what do you advise next ? " 
 
 " I am at a loss. Ah, perhaps, afraid of her father—^ 
 knowing how despotic is his belief in paternal rights, and 
 how tenacious he is of his word once passed, as it has been to 
 ine, she may have resolved to take refuge in the country-- 
 perhaps at the Casino, or at Mrs. Dale's, or Mrs. Hazeldeaii's. 
 
V^^EfETIES m STOLISH LIFE. 
 
 888 
 
 I will lias ten to inqtiire at tlie coach- office. Meanwhile, 
 yon—" 
 
 " ISTever mind me, Mr. Leslie. Do what joii think best. 
 Bnt, if your surmises be just, you must have been a very 
 rude wooer to the high-born lady you aspired to win." 
 
 "Kot so 5 but perha/ps an unwelcome one. If she has 
 indeed fled from me, need I say that my suit will be with- 
 drawn at once ? I am not a selfish lover, Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 " l^or I a vindictive man. Yet, could I discover who has 
 conspired against this lady, a guest under my father's roof, I 
 would crush him into the mire as easily as I set my foot upon 
 this glove. G-ood day to you, Mr. Leslie.'' 
 
 Randal stood still for a few moments as Harley strided on ; 
 then his lip sneered as it muttered — " Insolent 1 Bat does he 
 love her P If so, I sim avenged already." 
 
 CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 Haelbt went straight to Peschiera's hotel. He was told 
 that the Count had walked out with Mr. Frank Hazeldean 
 and some othei* gentlemen who had breakfasted with him. 
 He had left word, in case any one called^ that he had gone to 
 TattersalFs to look at some horses that were foi* sale. To 
 TattersaU's went Harley. The Count was in the yard leaning 
 against a pillar j and surrounded by fashionable friends. Lord 
 L'Estrange paused, and, with a heroic effort at self-mastery^ 
 repressed his rage. "I may lose all if I show that I suspect 
 him ; and yet I must insult and fight him rather than leave 
 his movements free. Ah, is that young Hazeldeaii ? A 
 thought strikes me ! " Prank was standing apart from the 
 group round the Count, and looking very absent and very 
 sad. Harley touched him on the shoulder^ and drew him 
 aside unobserved by the Count. 
 
 " Mr. Hazeldean, your uncle Egerton is my dearest friend. 
 Will you be a friend to me ? I want yoii." 
 
 " My lord— " 
 
 Pollow me. Do not let Count Peschiera see us talking 
 together." 
 
 Harley quitted the y^rd, and entered St. James's Park by 
 the little gate close by. In a very few words he informed 
 Prank of Yiolante's disappearance, and of his reasons for 
 sus|^ting the Count. Prank's first sentinaent was that of 
 
5S4 
 
 MY novel; ok, 
 
 indignant disbelief that the brotlier of Beatrice could be so 
 rile ; but as lie gradually called to mind tbe cynical and 
 corrupt vein of the Count's familiar conversation — the hints 
 to Peschiera's prejudice that bad been dropped by Beatrice 
 herself— and the 'general character for brilliant and daring 
 profligacy which even tbe admirers of the Count ascribed to 
 him — Frank was compelled to reluctant acquiescence in 
 Harley's suspicions ; and he said, with an earnest gravity 
 very rare to him — "Believe me, Lord L'Estrange, if I can 
 assist you in defeating a base and mercenary design against 
 this poor young lady, you have but to sbow me bow. One 
 thing is clear — -Peschiera was not personally engaged in tbig« 
 abduction, since I have been with him all day ; and — ^now I 
 think of it — I begin to hope that you wrong him ; for be has 
 invited a large party of us" to make an excursion with him to 
 Boulogne next week, in order to try his yacbt, wbich he could 
 scarcely do if — 
 
 " Yacht, at this time of the year! a man wbo habitually 
 resides at Vienna — a yacht ! " 
 
 " Spendquick sells it a bargain, on account of tbe time of 
 year and other reasons; and the Count proposes to spend 
 next summer in cruising about tbe Ionian Isles. He bas 
 some property on those isles, which be has never yet visited." 
 
 " How long is it since be bought tbis yacht ? " 
 
 " Why I am not sure that it is already bought — that is, 
 paid for. — Levy was to meet Spendquick this very morning 
 to arrange tbe matter. Spendquick complains that Levy 
 screws bim." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Hazeldean, you are guiding me through the 
 maze, — Where shall I find Lord Spendquick ? " 
 
 "At this hour, probably, in bed. Here is his card." 
 
 " Thanks. And where lies the vessel ? " 
 
 " It was off Black wall the other day. I went to see it— 
 * The Plying Dutchman ' — a fine vessel, and carries guns." 
 
 Enough. E"ow, heed me. There can be no immediate 
 danger to Violante, so long as Peschiera does not meet her — 
 so long as we know his movements. You are about to marry 
 his sister. Avail yourself of that privilege to keep close by 
 his side. Befuse to be shaken off. Make what excuses for the 
 present your invention suggests. I will give yoii an excuse. 
 Be anxious and uneasy to know where you can find Madame 
 di ISTegra." 
 
 " Madame di ISTegra ! " cried Prank. " What of her ? In 
 slie not in Curzon Street ?" 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 385 
 
 " Ko ; slie lias gone out in one of the Count's carriages. 
 In all probability the driver of that carriage, or some servant 
 in attendance on it, will come to the Count in the course of 
 the day ; and, in order to get rid of you, the Count will tell 
 you to see this servant, and ascertain yourself that his sister 
 is safe. Pretend to believe what the man says, but make him 
 come to your lodgings on pretence of writing there a letter 
 for the Marchesa, Once at your lodgings, and he will bo 
 safe ; for I shall see that the officers of justice secure him. The 
 moment he is there, send an express for me to my hotel." 
 
 "But," said Frank, a little bewildered, "if I go to my 
 lodgings, how can I watch the Count ? " 
 
 " It will not then be necessary. Only get him to accom- 
 pany you to your lodgings, and part with him at the door." 
 
 " Stop, stop — you cannot suspect Madame di Negra of 
 connivance in a scheme so infamous. Pardon me. Lord 
 L' Estrange ; I cannot act in this matter — cannot even hear 
 you except as your foe, if you insinuate a word against the 
 honour of the woman I love." 
 
 " Brave gentleman, your hand. It is Madame di N"egra I 
 would save, as well as my friend's young child. Think but 
 of her, while you act as I entreat, and all will go well. I 
 confide in you. !N"ow, return to the Count." 
 
 Frank walked back to join Peschiera, and his brow was 
 thoughtful, and his lips closed firmly. Harley had that gift 
 which belongs to the genius of Action. He inspired others 
 with the light of his own spirit and the force of his own will. 
 Harley next hastened to Lord Spendquick, remained with 
 that young gentleman some minutes, then repaired to his 
 hotel, where Leonard, the Prince, and Giacomo still awaited 
 him. 
 
 " Come with me, both of you. You, too, Qiacomo. I 
 must now see the police. We may then divide upon separate 
 missions." 
 
 " Oh, my dear lord," cried Leonard, " you must have had 
 good news. You seem cheerful and sanguine." 
 
 Seem ! Nay, I am so ! If I once paused to despond — 
 even to doubt — I should go mad. A foe to baffle, and an 
 angel to save ! • Whose spirits would not rise high — whose 
 wits would not move quick to the warm pulse of his heart ? " 
 
 ¥0L. II. 
 
880 
 
 MY HOVEL ; OR 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Twilight was dark in the room to wMcli Beatrice had 
 eondacted Violanfce. A great cliange liad come over Beatrice. 
 Humble and weeping, slie knelt beside Yiolante, hiding her 
 face, and imploring pardon. And Yiolaiite, striving to resist 
 the terror for which she now saw such cause as no woman- 
 heart can defy, still sought to soothe, and still sweetly 
 assured forgiveness. 
 
 Beatrice had learned — after quick aud fierce questions — 
 which at last compelled the answers that cleared away every 
 doubt— that her jealousy had been groundless — that she had 
 no rival in Yiolante. From that moment the passions that 
 had made her the tool of guilt abruptly vanished, and her 
 conscience startled her with the magnitude of her treachery. 
 Perhaps had Yiolante's heart been wholly free, or she had 
 been of that mere commonplace, girlish character, which 
 women like Beatrice are apt to despise, the Marchesa's 
 affection for Peschiera, and her dread of him, might have 
 made her try to persuade her young kinswoman at least to 
 receive the Count's visit — at least to sniffer him to make 
 his own excuses, and plead his own cause. But there had 
 been a loftiness of spirit in which Yiolante had first defied 
 the Marchesa's questions, followed by such generous, ex- 
 quisite sweetness, w^hen the girl perceived how that wild 
 heart was stung and maddened, and such purity of mourn- 
 ful candour when she had overcome her own virgin bash- 
 fuliiess sufficiently to undeceive the error she detected, and 
 confess where her own affections were placed, that Beatrice 
 bowed before her as mariner of old to some fair saint that 
 had allayed the storm, 
 
 " I have deceived you ! " she cried, through her sobs ; 
 
 but I will now save you at any cost. Had you been as 
 I deemed — the rival w^ho had despoiled all the hopes of nay 
 future life — I could, without remorse, have been the accom- 
 plice I am pledged to be. But noio you I — oh, you — so 
 good and so noble — you can never be the bride of Peschiera. 
 Nay, start not : he shall renounce his designs for ever, or I 
 will go myself to our Emperor, and expose the dark secrets 
 of his life. Beturn with me quick to the home from which I 
 ensnared you.'' 
 
 Beatrice's hand was on the door while she spoke. Sud- 
 
VAETETIES IK ENGLISH LIEE. 
 
 .387 
 
 denlj her face fell — her lips greyf.wliite ; tlie door y/as locked 
 from without. She called — no one answered ; the bell-pull 
 in the room gave no sound ; the windows were high and 
 barred— they did not look on the river, nor the street, bnt on 
 a close, gloomy, silent yard — high blank walls all round it — 
 no one to hear the cry of distress, rang it ever so loud and 
 sharp. 
 
 Beatrice divined that she herself had been no less ensnared 
 than her companion ; that Peschiera, distrustful of her firm* 
 ness in evil, had precluded her fropj the power of reparation. 
 She was in a house only tenanted by his hirelings. IMot a 
 hope to save Yiolante, from ^ fate that now appalled her, 
 seemed to remain. Thus, in incoherent self.-reproaches and 
 frenzied tears, Beatrice knelt beside her victim, communi- 
 cating more and more the terrors that she felt, as the hours 
 rolled on, and the room darkened, till it was only by the dull 
 lamp which gleamed through the grimy windows from the 
 yard without, that each saw the face of the other. 
 
 Mght came on; thej^ heard a clock from gome distant 
 church strike the hours. The dim fire had long since burnt 
 out, and the air became intensely cold. ISTo one broke upon 
 their solitude — not a voice was hear^ in the house. They felt 
 neither cold nor hunger^— they felt but the solitude, and the 
 silence, an(J the dread of something that was to come. 
 
 At length, about midnight, a bell rang at the ..street door ; 
 fchen there was the quick sound of steps— of sullen bolts with- 
 drawn — of low, murmured voices. Light streamed through 
 the chinks of the door to the apartment— the door itself 
 opened. Two Italians bearing tapers entered, and th® Count 
 di Peschiera followed. 
 
 Beatrice sprang up, and rushed towards her hpi^^hev, He 
 laid his hand gently on her Hps, and motioned to the Italians 
 to withdraw. They placed the lights on the table, .and 
 vanished without a word. 
 
 Peschiera then, putting aside' his sister, approached 
 Yiolante. 
 
 "Fair kinswoman,' ' said he, with an air of easy but resolute 
 assurance, " there are things which no man can excuse, aud 
 no woman can pardon, unless that love, which is beyond all 
 laws, suggests excuse for the one, and obtains pardon for the 
 other. In a vford, I have sworn to win you, and I have ha{J 
 no opportunities to woo. Pear not ; the worst that cn>n be&ll 
 you is to be my bride ! Stand aside, my sister, stand asi(ie.'- 
 
 "Qiulio, 33.0! Giulio Pr^^jiz-ini, I stand between you anicl 
 
 G C 2 
 
388 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 her : you shall strike me to the earth before you can touoh 
 even the hem of her robe." 
 
 *' What, my sister ! — you turn against me ? " 
 
 " And unless you instantly retire and leaye her free, I will 
 unmask you to the Emperor/' 
 
 " Too late, onon infant/ You will sail with us. The effects 
 you m.ay need for the voyage are already on board. You will 
 be witness to our marriage, and by a holy son of the Church. 
 Then tell the Emperor what you will." 
 
 With a light and sudden exertion of his strength, the 
 Count put away Beatrice, and fell on his knee before Yiolante, 
 who, drawn to her fall height, death-like pale, but untrem- 
 bling, regarded him with unutterable disdain. 
 
 "You scorn me now," said he, throwing into his features 
 an expression of humility and admiration, "and I cannot 
 wonder at it. But, believe me, that until the scorn yield to 
 a kinder sentiment, I will take no advantage of the power I 
 have gained over your fate." 
 
 "Power ! " said Yiolante, haughtily. " You have ensnared 
 me into this house — ^you have gained the power of a day ; but 
 the power over my fate — no ! " 
 
 " You mean that your friends have discovered your disap- 
 pearancCj. and are on your track. Eair one, I provide against 
 your friends, and I defy all the laws and police of England. 
 The vessel that will bear you from these shores waits in the 
 river hard by. Beatrice, I warn you — ^be still—unhand me. 
 In that vessel will be a priest who shall join our hands, but 
 not before you will recognise the truth, that she who flies 
 with Griulio Peschiera must become his wife, or quit him as 
 ■the disgrace of her house, and the scorn of her sex." 
 
 " Oh, villain ! villain ! " cried Beatrice. 
 
 " Peste, my sister, gentler words. You, too, would marry. 
 1 tell no tales of you. Signorina, I grieve to threaten force. 
 Give me your hand ; we rnust be gone." 
 
 Yiolante eluded the clasp that would have profaned her, 
 and darting across the room, opened the door, and closed it 
 hastily behind her. Beatrice clung firmly to the Count to 
 detain him from pursuit. But just without the door, close, 
 as if listening to what passed within, stood a mart wrapped, 
 from head to foot in a large boat cloak. The ray of the 
 lamp that beamed on the man, glittered on the barrel of a 
 pistol which he held in his right hand. 
 
 "Hisb! " whispered the man in Euglish; and passing his 
 arm round her—'' in this house you are in that rufiian's 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 power; out of it, safe. All! I am by your side — ^I, Vio- 
 lante ! *' 
 
 The voice thrilled to Yiolante's heart. She started — ^looked 
 up, but nothing was seen of the man's face, what with the 
 hat and cloak, save a mass of raven curls, and a beard of the 
 same hue. 
 
 The Count now threw open the door, dragging after him 
 his sister, who still clung round him. 
 
 " Ha — that is well T' he cried to the man, in Italian. " Bear 
 the lady after me, gently ; but if she attempt to cry out — • 
 why, force enough to silence her, not more. As for you, 
 Beatrice, traitress that you are, I could strike you to the 
 earth — but — No, this suffices." He caught his sister in his 
 arms as he spoke, and regardless of her cries and struggles, 
 sprang down the stairs. 
 
 The hall was crowded with fierce, swarthy men. The 
 Count turned to one of them, and whispered ; in an instant 
 the Marchesa was seized and gagged. The Count cast a look 
 over his shoulder ; Violante was close behind, supported by 
 the man to whom Peschiera had consigned her, and who was 
 pointing to Beatrice, and appeared warning Yiolante against 
 resistance. Violante was silent, and seemed resigned. Pes- 
 chiera smiled cynically, and, preceded by some of his hire- 
 lings, who held torches, descended a few steps that led to an 
 abrupt landing-place between the hall and the basement 
 story. There, a small door stood open, and the river flowed 
 close by. A boat was moored on the bank,^ round which 
 grouped four men, who had the air of foreign sailors. At the 
 appearance of Peschiera, three of these men sprang into the 
 boat, and got ready th eir oars. The fourth carefully re-adjusted 
 a plank thrown from the boat to the wharf, and offered his arm 
 obsequiously to Peschiera. The Count was the first to enter, 
 and, humming a gay opera air, took his place by the helm. 
 The t'^vo females were next lifted in, and Yiolante felt her 
 band pressed almost convulsively by the man who stood by 
 the plank. The rest followed, and in another minute the 
 boat bounded swiftly over the waves towards a vessel that lay 
 several furlongs adown the river, and apart from all the 
 meaner craft that crowded the stream. The stars struggled 
 pale through the foggy atmosphere ; not a word was heard 
 within the boat — no sound save the regular splash of the oars. 
 The Count paused from his lively tune, and gathering round 
 him the ample fold of his fur pelisse, seemed absorbed in 
 thought. Even by the imperfect light of the stars, Peschiera*a 
 
3S0 
 
 MY KOVEL; or, 
 
 face wore an air of sovereigri triumpli. The result liad 
 justified that careless and insolenfc confidence in himself and 
 in fortune, which was the most prominent feature in the 
 character of the man who, both bravo and gamester, had 
 played against the world, with his rapier in one hand and cog'ged 
 dice in the other. Yiolante, once in a vessel filled by his own 
 men, was irretrievably in his power. Even her father must 
 feel grateful to learn that the captive of Peschiera had saved 
 name and repute in becoming Peschieta's wife. Even the 
 pride of sex in Yiolante herself must induce her to confirm 
 what Peschiera, of course, intended to state, viz., that she 
 was a willing partner in a bridegroom's schemes of flight 
 towards the altar, rather than the poor victim of a betrayer, 
 and receiving his hand but from his mercy. He saw his 
 fortune secured, his success envied, his very character rehabi- 
 litated by his splendid nuptials. Ambition began to mingle 
 with his dreams of pleasure and pomp. What post in the 
 Court or the State too high for the aspirations of one who 
 had evinced the most incontestable talent for active life — the 
 talent to succeed in all that the will had undertaken P Thus 
 mused the Count, half forgetful of the present, and absorbed 
 in the golden future, till he was aroused by a loud hail from 
 the vessel, and the bustle on board the boat, as the sailors 
 caght at the rope flufig forth to them. He then rose and 
 moved towards Violante. But the man who was still in 
 charge of her passed the Count lightly, half -leading, half- 
 carrying hts passive prisoner. Pardon, Excellency," said 
 the man, in Italian, but the boat is crowded, and rocks so 
 much that your aid would but disturb our footing." Before 
 Peschiera could reply, Violante was already on the steps of 
 the Vessel, and the Count paused till, with elated smile, he 
 saw her safely standing on the deck. Beatrice followed, and 
 then Peschiera himself ; but when the Italians in his train 
 also thronged towards the sides of the boat, two of the sailors 
 got before them, and let go the rope, while the other two plied 
 their oars vigorously, and pulled back towards shore. The 
 Italians burst into an amazed and indignant volley of execra- 
 tions. ^' Silence,*' said the sailor who had stood by the plank, 
 we obey orders. If you are not quiet, we shall upset the 
 boat. 1Ve can swim ; Heaven and Monsignore San Griacomo 
 pity you if you cannot 1 " 
 
 Meanwhile, as Peschiera leapt upon deck, a flood of lighi 
 poured upon him from lifted torches. That light streamed 
 full on the face and formof a man of commanding statur^ 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 391 
 
 v;liose arm was around Yiolante, a.nd wliase dark eyes flaslied 
 upon tlie Count more luminously than the torclies. On one 
 side this man stood the Austrian Prince ; on the other side (a 
 cloak, and a profusion of false dark locks, at his feet) stood 
 Lord L'Estrange, his arms folded, and his lips curved by a 
 smile in which the ironical humour native to the man was 
 tempered with a calm and supreme disdain. The Count 
 strove to speak, but his voice faltered. 
 
 All around him looked ominous and hostile. He saw many 
 Italian faces, but they scowL^i. at him with vindictive hate ; in 
 the rear were English mariners, peering cariously over the 
 shoulders of the foreigners, and with a broad grin on their 
 open countenances. Suddenly, as the Count thus stood per- 
 plexed, cowering, stupified, there burst from all the Italians 
 present a hoot of imutterable scorn — '^JZ tmditorel il traditore!^^ 
 —(the traitor ! the traitor !) 
 
 The Count was brave, and at the cry he lifted his head with 
 a certain majesty. 
 
 At that moment Harley, raising his hand as if to silence 
 the hoot, came forth from the group by which he had been 
 hitherto standing, and towards him the Count advanced with 
 a bold stride. 
 
 " What trick is this ? " he said, in French, fiercely. " I 
 divine that it is you whom I can single out for explanation and 
 atonement." 
 
 '^Farddm, Monsieur le Gomte,^^ answered Harley, in the same 
 language, which lends itself so well to polished sarcasm and 
 high-bred enmity — " let us distinguish. Explanation should 
 come from me, I allow ; but atonement I have the honour to 
 resign to yourself. This vessel — " 
 
 " Is mine! cried the Count. ^' Those men, who insult me, 
 should be in my pay." 
 
 " The men in your pay, Monsieur le Gomte, are ofi shore, 
 drinking success to your voyage. But, anxious still to pro- 
 cure you the gratification of being amongst your own country- 
 men, those whom I have taken into my pay are still better 
 Italians than the pirates whose place they supply ^ perhaps 
 not such good sailors ; but then I have taken the liberty to 
 add to the equipment of a vessel, which has cost me too much 
 to risk lightly, some stout English seamen, who are mariners 
 more practised than even your pirates. Your grand mistake. 
 Monsieur le Gomte, is in thinking that the * Flying Dutchman' 
 is yours. With many apologies for interfering with youe 
 intention to purchase it, I beg to inform you that Lord Spend- 
 
892 
 
 MY NOVET. ; OH, 
 
 quick has kindly sold it to me. Nevertheless, Monsieur U 
 Comte, for the next few weeks I place it-— -men and all — at 
 your service." 
 
 Peschiera smiled scornfully. 
 
 " I thank your lordship ; but since I presume that I shall no 
 longer have the travelling companion who alone could make 
 the voyage attractive, I shall return to shore, and will simply 
 request you to inform me at what hour you can receive the 
 friend whom I shall depute to dv^.euss that part of the question 
 yet untouched, and to arrange tn.cb the atonement, whether it 
 he due from me or yourself, may be rendered as satisfactory 
 as you have condescended to make the explanation." 
 
 Let not that vex you. Monsieur le Oomte — the atonement 
 is, in much, made already ; so anxious have I been to forestall 
 all that your nice sense of honour would induce so complete a 
 gentleman to desire. You have ensnared a young heiress, it 
 is true ; but you see that it was only to restore her to the arms 
 of her father. You have juggled an illustrious kinsman out 
 of his heritage ; but you have voluntarily come on board this 
 
 vessel, first, to enable his highness the Prince Yon , of 
 
 whose rank at the Austrian court you are fully aware, to state 
 to your Emperor that he himself has been witness of the 
 manner in which you interpreted his Imperial Majesty's assent 
 to your nuptials with a child of one of the first subjects in his 
 Italian realm ; and, next, to commence by an excursion to the 
 seas of the Baltic, the sentence of banishment which I have 
 no doubt will accompany the same act that restores to the 
 chief of your house his lands and his honours." 
 
 The Count started. 
 
 " That restoration," said the Austrian Prince, who had 
 advanced to Harley's side, " I already guarantee. Disgrace 
 that you are, Giulio Eranzini, to the nobles of the Empire, I 
 will not leave my royal master till his hand strike your name 
 from the roll. I have here your own letters, to prove that 
 your kinsman was duped by yourself into the revolt which 
 you would have headed as a Catiline, if it had not better 
 suited your nature to betray it as a Judas. In ten days from 
 this time, these letters will be laid before the Emperor and his 
 Council." 
 
 Are you satisfied, Monsieur le Oomte,** said ITarley, "with 
 your atoneruent so far ? if not, I have procured you the 
 occasion to render it yet more complete. Before yon stands 
 the kinsman you have wronged. He knows now, that though, 
 for a while, ygu ruined his fortunes, you failed to sully his 
 
VABTETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 893 
 
 heai*tli. His lieart can grant you pardon, and hereafter bis 
 ])and may give you alms. Kneel tlien, Giulio Eranzini — 
 kneel at the feet of Alphonso, Duke of Serrano." 
 
 The above dialogue had been in Erench, which only a few 
 of the Italians present understood, and that imperfectly ; but 
 at the name with which Harley concluded his addrsss to the 
 Count, a simultaneous cry from those Italians broke forth. 
 
 " Alphonso the Good 1 — Alphonso the Good ! Viva — viva 
 ' — the good Duke of Serrano ! " 
 
 And, forgetful even of the Count, they crowded round the 
 tall form of Riccabocco, striving who should first kiss his 
 hand — the very hem of his garments. 
 
 Hiccabocca's eyes overflowed. The gaunt exile seemed 
 transfigured into another and more kingly man. An inexpres- 
 sible dignity invested him. He stretched forth his arms, as if 
 to bless his countrymen. Even that rude cry, from humble 
 men, exiles like himself, consoled him for years of banish- 
 ment and penury. 
 
 " Thanks, thanks," he continued ; " thanks. Some day or 
 other, you will all perhaps return with me to the beloved 
 land!" 
 
 The Austrian Prince bowed his head, as if in assent to the 
 prayer. 
 
 " Giulio Eranzini," said the Duke of Serrano — ^for so we 
 may now call the threadbare recluse of the Casino — "had this 
 last villanous design of yours been allowed by Providence, 
 think you that there is one spot on earth on which the ravish er 
 could have been saved from a father's arm ? But now. 
 Heaven has been more kind. In this hour let me imitate its 
 mercy ; " and with relaxing brow the Duke mildly drew near 
 to his guilty kinsman. 
 
 Erom the moment the Austrian Prince had addressed him, 
 the Count had preserved a profound silence, showing neither 
 repentance nor shame. Gathering himself up, he had stood 
 firm, glaring round him like one at bay. But as the Duke 
 now approached, he waved his hand, and exclaimed, Back, 
 pedant, back ; you have not triumphed yet. And you, prating 
 German, tell your tales to our Emperor. I shall be by his 
 throne to answer — if, indeed, you escape from the meeting to 
 which I will force you by the way." He spoke, and made a rush 
 towards the side of the vessel. But Harley's quick wit had 
 foreseen the Count's intention, and Harley's quick eye had 
 given the signal by which it was frustrated. Seized in the 
 grip© of hii owa watebf til and indignant countrymen, Just as 
 
39^ 
 
 MY HOTEL ; OK, 
 
 be was abonf; to pliitige into the stream, Pesohiefa was draggefl 
 back — ^^pinioned down. Then tlie expression of Ms wlioio 
 countenance eltanged; tlie desperate violence of tlie inborn 
 gladiator broke forth. His great strength enabled him to 
 break loose more than once, to dash more than one man to the 
 floor of the deck ; but at length, overpowered by numbers, 
 though still struggling — all dignity, all attempt at presence of 
 mind gone, uttering curses the most plebeian, gnashing his 
 teeth, and foaming at the mouth, nothing seemed left of the 
 brilliant Lothario but the coarse fury of the fierce natural man. 
 
 Then still preserving that air and tone of exquisite imper- 
 turbable irony which the highest comedian might have sought 
 to imitate in vain, Harley bowed low to the storming Count. 
 
 Adieu, Monsieur le Gomte — adieu! The vessel which you 
 have honoured me by entering is bound to N'orway. The 
 Italians who accompany you were sent by yourself into exile, 
 and, in return, they now kindly promise to enliven you with 
 their society, whenever you feel somewhat tired of your own. 
 Conduct the Count to his cabin. Qently there, gently. Adieu, 
 Monsieur le Gomte, adieu ! et hon voyage.''^ 
 
 Harley turned lightly on his heel, as Peschiera, in spite of 
 his struggles, was now fairly carried down to the cabin. 
 
 " A trick for the trickster," said L'Estrange to the Austrian 
 Prince. " The revenge of a farce on the would-be tragedian." 
 More than that — ^he is ruined." 
 
 " And ridiculous," quoth Harley. I should like to see his 
 look when they land him in ll^orway." Harley then passed 
 towards the centre of the vessel, by which, hitherto partially 
 concealed by the sailors, who were now busily occupied, stood 
 Beatrice. Frank Hazeldean, who had first received her on 
 entering the vessel, standing by her side ; and Leonard, a 
 little apart from the two, in quiet observation of all that had 
 passed around him. Beatrice appeared but little to heed 
 Prank ; her dark eyes were lifted to the dim starry skies, and 
 her lips were moving as if in prayer ; yet her young lover 
 was speaking to her in great emotion, low and rapidly. 
 
 ''No, no: — ^do not think for a moment that we suspect you, 
 Beatrice. I will answer for your honour with my life. Oh, 
 why will you turn from me— why will you not speak ? " 
 
 '* A moment later," said Beatrice, softly. " Give me one 
 moment yet." She passed slowly and falteringly towards 
 Leonard — placed her hand, that trembled, on his arm — and 
 led him aside to the verge of the vessel. Pranlc, startled b;^ 
 her movement, made a step as if to follow, and then stopped 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 395 
 
 sliortj aiid looked ofi, but mih. a clouded and doubtful coun- 
 tenance. Harlej's smile had gone, and Ms eye was also 
 watcliful. 
 
 It was but a few words tiat Beatrice spoke — it was but a 
 sentence or so that Leonard answered; and then Beatrice 
 extended her hand, which the young poet bent over, and 
 kissed in silence. She lingered an instant; and even by the 
 starlight, Harley noted the blush that overspread her face. 
 The blush faded as Beatrice returned to Frank. Lord 
 L'Estrange would have retired — she signed to him to stay. 
 
 " My lord,'* she said, very firmly, " I cannot accuse you of 
 harshness to my sinful and nnhappy brother. His offence 
 might perhaps deserve a heavier punishment than that which 
 you inflict with such playful scorn. But whatever his penance, 
 contempt now or poverty later, I feel that his sister shonld bo 
 by his side to share it. I am not innocent if he be guilty ; 
 and, wreck thongh he be, nothing else on this dark sea of life 
 is now left to me to cling to. Hush, my lord ! I shall not 
 leave this vessel. All that I entreat of you is, to order your 
 men to respect my brother, since a woman will be by his 
 side." 
 
 ''But, Marchesa, this cannot be; and—" 
 
 "Beatrice, Beatrice — and me!— our betrothal? Do you 
 forget me ? cried Frank, in reproachful agony. 
 
 " ISTo, young and too noble lover ; I shall remember you 
 ever in my prayers. But listen. I have been deceived — 
 ^ hurried on, I might saj^, by others, but also, and far more, by 
 my own mad and blinded heart— deceived, hurried on, to 
 wrong you and to belie myself. My shame burns into me when 
 I think that I could have inflicted on you the just anger of 
 your family — linked you to my own ruined fortunes — my 
 own—" 
 
 "Your own generous, loving heart 1 — that is all I asked ! 
 cried Frank. " Cease, cease — that heart is mine still 1 " 
 Tears gushed from the Italian's eyes. 
 
 ^' Englishman, I never loved you ; this heart was dead to 
 you, and it will be dead to all else for ever. Farewell. You 
 will forget me sooner than you think for — sooner than I shall 
 forget you — as a friend, as a brother — if brothers had natures 
 as tender and as kind as yours ! Now, my lord, will you give 
 me your arm ? I would join the Count." 
 
 "Stay — one word, madam e," said Frank, very pale, and 
 through his set teeth, but calmly, and with a pride on his 
 brow which had never before dignified its habitual careless 
 
396 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 expression — " one word. I may not be worthy of yon in any- 
 thing else — but an honest love, that never doubted, never 
 suspected — that would have clung to you though all the world 
 were against ; such a love makes the meanest man of worth. 
 One word, frank and open. By all that you hold most sacred 
 in your creed, did you speak the truth when you said that 
 you never loved me ? *' 
 
 Beatrice bent down her head ; she was abashed before this 
 manly nature that she had so deceived, and perhaps till then 
 nnder valued. 
 
 "Pardon, pardon," she said, in reluctant accents, half- 
 choked by the rising of a sob. 
 
 At her hesitation, Frank's face lighted as if with sudden 
 hope. She raised her eyes, and saw the change in him, then 
 glanced where Leonard stood, mournful and motionless. She 
 shivered, and added firmly — 
 
 " Yes — pardon ; for I spoke the truth ; and I had no heart 
 to give. It might have been as wax to another — it was of 
 granite to you," She paused, and muttered inly — " Granite, 
 and — ^broken ! " 
 
 Frank said not a word more. He stood rooted to the spot, 
 not even gazing after Beatrice as she passed on, leaning on 
 the arm of Lord L'Estrange. He then walked resolutely 
 away, and watched the boat that the men were now lowering 
 from the side of the vessel. Beatrice stopped when she came 
 near the place where Yiolante stood, answering in a,gitated 
 whispers her father's anxious questions. As she stopped, she 
 leaned more heavily upon Harley. "It is your arm that 
 trembles now. Lord L'Estrange," said she, with a mournful 
 smile, and, quitting him ere he could answer, she bowed down 
 her head meekly before Yiolante. " You have pardoned me 
 already," she said, in a tone that reached only the girl's ear, 
 " and my last words shall not be of the past. I see your 
 future spread bright before me under those steadfast stars. 
 Love still ; hope and trust. These are the last words of her who 
 will soon die to the world. Fair maid, they are prophetic ! " 
 
 Yiolante shrunk back to her father's breast, and there hid 
 her glowing face, resigning her hand to Beatrice, who pressed 
 it to her bosom. The Marchesa then came back to Harley, 
 and disappeared with him in the interior of the vessel. 
 
 When Harley again came on deck, he seemed much flurried 
 and disturbed. He kept aloof from the Duke and Yiolante, 
 and was the last to enter the boat, that was now lowered into 
 the water. 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 897 
 
 As lie and his companions readied the land, they saw the 
 vessel in movement, gliding slowly down the river. 
 
 " Courage, Leonard, conrage ! " murmured Harley. "Yon 
 grieve, and nobly. Bnt you have shunned the worst and 
 most vulgar deceit in civilised life ; you have not simulated 
 love. Better that yon poor lady should be, awhile, the suf- 
 ferer from a harsh truth, than the eternal martyr of a flatter- 
 ing lie! Alas, my Leonard! with the love of the poet's 
 dream are linked only the Graces ; with the love of the human 
 heart come the awful Fates ! " 
 
 " My lord, poets do not dream when they love. You will 
 learn how the feelings are deep in proportion as the fancies 
 are vivid, when yon read that confession of genius and woe 
 which I have left in your hands." 
 
 Leonard turned away. Harley' s gaze followed him with in- 
 quiring interest, and suddenly enconntered the soft dark gratefnl 
 eyes of Yiolante. The Fates, the Fates! " murmured Harley. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 We are at Norwood in the sage's drawing-room. Yiolante 
 has long since retii^ed to rest. Harley, who had accompanied 
 the father and danghter to their home, is still conversing with 
 the former. 
 
 "Indeed, my dear Duke," said Harley — 
 
 " Hush, hush ! Diavolo, don't call me Duke yet ; I am at 
 home here once more as Dr. Riccabocca." 
 
 " My dear doctor, then, allow me to assure you that you 
 overrate my claim to your thanks. Your old friends, Leonard 
 and Frank Hazeldean, must come in for their share. !N"or ia 
 the faithful Griacomo to be forgotten." 
 
 " Continne your explanation." 
 
 "In the first place, I learned, through Frank, that one 
 Baron Levy, a certain fashionable money-lender, and general 
 ministrant to the affairs of fine gentlemen, was just about to 
 purchase a yacht from Lord Spendqnick on behalf of the 
 Count. A short interview with Spendqnick enabled me to 
 outbid the usurer, and conclude a bargain, by which the 
 yacht became mine ;-— a promise to assist Spendquick in extri- 
 cating himself from the claws of the money-lender, (which I 
 trust to do by reconciling him v/ith his father, who is a man 
 of liberality and sense,) made Spendqnick readily connive at 
 
398 
 
 MY NOVEL - OB, 
 
 tnj sclieme for ontwitting the enemy. He allowed Leyj 
 to suppose tliat tlae Count might take possession of the vessel ; 
 but affecting an engagement, and standing out for terms, 
 postponed, the final settlement of the purchase-money till the 
 next day. I was thus master of the vessel, which I felt sure 
 was destined to serve Peschiera's infamous design- But it 
 was my business not to alarm the Count's suspicions: I 
 therefore permitted the pirate crew he had got together 
 to come on board. I knew I could gat rid of them when 
 necessary. Meanwhile, Frank undertook to keep close to the 
 Count until he could see and cage within his lodgings the 
 servant whom Peschiera had commissioned to attend his 
 sister. If I could but ai)prehend this servant, I had a san- 
 guine hope that I could discover and free you? daughter 
 before Peschiera could even profane her with his presence. 
 Bufc Frank, alas ! was no pupil of Machiavelli. Perhaps the 
 Count detected his secret thoughts under his open coun^ 
 tenance ; perhaps merely wished to get rid of a companion 
 very much in his way ; but^ at all events, he contrived to 
 elude our young friend as cleverly as you or I could have 
 done — told him that Beatrice herself was at Boehainpton — 
 had borrowed the Count's carriage to go there — volunteered 
 to take Frank to the house — took him. Frank found himself 
 in a drawing-room ; and after waiting a few minutes, while 
 the Count went out on pretence of seeing his sister— in 
 pirouetted a certain distinguished opera-dancer ! Meanwhile 
 the Count was fast back on the road to London, and Frank 
 had to return as he could. He then hunted for the Count 
 everywhere, and saw him no more. It was late in the day 
 when Frank found me out with this news. I became serix)usly 
 alarmed. Peschiera might perhaps learn my counter scheme 
 with the yacht— or he might postpone sailing until he had 
 terrified or entangled Yiolante into some— in short, everything 
 was to be dreaded from a man of the Count's temper. I had 
 no clue to the place to which your daughter was taken — no 
 eseuse to arrest Peschiera — -no means even of learning where 
 he was. He had not returned to Mivart's. The Police 
 wm at fault, and useless, except in one valuable piece of 
 information. They told me where some of your country- 
 men, whom Peschiera's perfidy had sent into exile, were 
 to be found. I commissioned Giacomo to seek these men 
 out, and induce them to man the vessel. It might be 
 necessary, should Peschiera or his confidential servants come 
 aboard, after we had expelled or drawn ths pii-ate crew, 
 
VAUIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 399 
 
 fcliat iliey sliould find Italians wlioni tliey miglit well mis- 
 take for tlieir own hirelings. To these foreigners I added 
 some English sailors who had beforo served in the same 
 vessel, and on whom Spendqnick assured me I oould rely. 
 Btill these precantions only iayailed in case Pesqhiera should 
 resolve to sail, and defer till then all niachinations against 
 his captives. While, amidst my fears and uncertainties, I 
 was struggling still to preserve presence of mind, and rapidly 
 discussing with the Austrian Prince if any other steps could 
 bb taken, or if our sole resource was to repair to the vessel 
 and take the chance of what might ensue, Leonard suddenly 
 and quietly entered my room. You know his countenance, 
 in which joy or sadness is not betrayed sp much by the 
 evidence of the passions as by variations iu tho intellectual 
 expression. It was but by the clearer brow and the steadier 
 eye that I saw he had good tidings to impart," 
 
 "Ah," said Riccabocca — for so, obeying his own request, 
 we will yet call the sage—" ah, I early taught that young 
 man the great lesson inculcated by Helvetius. 'All our 
 errors arise from our ignorance or our passions.' Without 
 ignorance, and without passions, we should be serene, all- 
 penetrating intelligences." 
 
 " Mopsticks," quoth Harley, "have neither ignorance nor 
 passions ; but as for their intelligence — " 
 
 " Pshaw !" interrupted Biccabocca — -" Proceed." 
 
 " Leonard had parted from us some hours beforo, I had 
 commissioned him to call at Madame di I^egra's, and, as he 
 was familiarly known to her servants, seek to obtain quietly 
 all the information he could collect, ^and, at all events, procure 
 (what in my haste I had failed to do) the name and descrip- 
 tion of the man who had driven her out in the morning, and 
 make what use he judged best of every hint he could gather 
 or glean that might aid our researches. Leonard only suc- 
 ceeded in learning the name and description of the coach- 
 man, whom he recognised as one Beppo, to whom ^ho had 
 often given orders in his presence, l^one could say where he 
 then could be found, if not at the Count's hotel. Leonard 
 went next to that hotel. The man had not been there all the 
 day. While revolving what next ha should do, his eye caught 
 sight of your intended son-in-law, gliding across the opposite 
 side of the street. One of those luminous, inspiring con- 
 jectures, which never occur to you philosophers, had from 
 the first guided Leonard to believe that Ba^ndQi IteuUo WB>'i 
 mixed up in this villanous a:ffair,'* 
 
400 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OE, 
 
 Ha ! He ! " cried Riccabocca. " Impossible ! For wliat 
 interest ? — wbat object ! " 
 
 "I cannot tell; neither could Leonard; but we bad both 
 formed the same conjecture. Brief : — Leonard resolved to 
 follow Randal Leslie, and track all his movements. He did 
 then follow him, unobserved; and at a distance — first to 
 Audley Egerton's house — then to Eaton Square — thence to a 
 house in Bruton Street, which Leonard ascertained to be 
 Baron Levy's. Suspicious that, my dear sage ? " 
 
 " Biavolo — ^yes ! " said Riccabocca, thoughtfully. 
 
 " At Levy's, Randal stayed till dusk. He then came out, 
 with his cat-like, stealthy step, and walked quickly into the 
 neighbourhood of Leicester Square. Leonard saw him enter 
 one of those small hotels which are appropriated to foreigners. 
 Wild outlandish fellows were loitering about the door and in 
 the street. Leonard divined that the Count or the Count's 
 confidants were there." 
 
 "If that can be proved,'* cried Riccabocca — "If Randal 
 could have been thus in communication with Peschiera — • 
 could have connived at such perfidy — I am released fr®m my 
 promise. Oh, to prove it ! " 
 
 " Proof will come later, if we are on the right track. Let 
 me go on. While waiting near the door of this hotel, Beppo 
 himself, the very man Leonard was in search of, came forth, 
 and, after speaking a few words to some of the loitering 
 foreigners, walked briskly towards Piccadilly. Leonard here 
 resigned all further heed of Leslie, and gave chase to Beppo, 
 whom he recognised at a glance. Coming up to him, he said, 
 quietly, ' I have a letter for the Marchesa di Negra. She told 
 me I was to send it to her by you. I have been searching for 
 you the whole day.' The man fell into the trap, and the 
 more easily, because — as he since owned in excuse for a 
 simplicity, which, I dare say, weighed on his conscience more 
 than any of the thousand-and-one crimes he may have com- 
 mitted in the course of his illustrious life — he had been em- 
 ployed by the Marchesa as a spy upon Leonard^ and, with an 
 Italian's acumen in affairs of the heart, detected her secret." 
 
 " What secret ? " asked the innocent sage. 
 
 " Her love for the handsome young poet. I botniy that 
 secret, in order to give her some 'slight excuse for becoming 
 Peschiera's tool. She believed Leonard to be in love with 
 your daughter, and jealonsy urged her to treason. Violanfce, 
 no doubt, will explain this to you. Well, the man fell into 
 iho trap. ' Give me the letter, Signorej and quick.' 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 401 
 
 " * It is at a hotel close by ; come there, and yon will have 
 a guinea for yonr trouble.' 
 
 So Leonard walked our gentleman into my hotel ; and 
 having taken him into my dressing-room, turned the key and 
 there left him. On learning this capture, the Prince and 
 myself hastened to see our prisoner. He was at first sullen 
 and silent ; but when the Prince disclosed his rank and name, 
 (you know the mysterious terror the meaner Italians feel for 
 an Austrian magnate,) his countenance changed, and his 
 coarage fell. What with threats, and what with promises, 
 we soon obtained all that we sought to know ; and an offered 
 bribe, which I calculated at ten times the amount the rogue 
 could ever expect to receive from his spendthrift master, 
 finally bound him cheerfully to our service, soul and licdy. 
 Thus we learned the dismal place to which your \ioble 
 daughter had been so perfidiously ensnared. We learned also 
 that the Count had not yet visited her, hoping much from the 
 effect that prolonged incarceration might have in weakening 
 her spirit iad inducing her submission. Peschiera was to go 
 to th^^ house at midnight, thence to transport her to the 
 fesseL Beppo had received orders to bring the carriage to 
 Leicester Square, where Peschiera would join him. The 
 Count (as Leonard surmised) had taken skulking refuge at 
 the hotel in which Handal Leslie had disappeared. The 
 Prince, Leonard, Prank, (who was then in the hotel,) and 
 myself, held a short council. Should we ^ j at once to the 
 house, and, by the help of the police, force an entrance, and 
 rescue your daughter ? This was a very hazardous resource. 
 The abode, which, at various times, had served for the hiding- 
 place of men hunted by the law, abounded, according to our 
 informant, in subterranean vaults and secret passages, and 
 had more than one outlet on the river. At our first summons 
 at the door, therefore, the ruffians within might not only 
 escape themselves, but carry off their prisoner. The door 
 was strong, and before our entrance could be forced, all trace 
 of her we sought might be lost. Again, too, the Prince was 
 desirous of bringing Peschiera's guilty design home to him — 
 anxious to be able to state to the Emperor, and to the great 
 minister, his kinsman, that he himself had witnessed the 
 Count's vile abuse of the Emperor's permission to wed your 
 daughter. In short, while I only thought of Yiolante, the 
 prince thought al^Q OJf her father's recall to his dukedom. 
 Yet still to leave Yiolante in that terrible house, even for an 
 b^ur, a few minutes, subjected to the actual presence of 
 
 VOL. II. i> T> 
 
40E 
 
 Pesohiera, nngiiarded save by the feeble and false woman 
 who bad betrayed, and might still desert her- — how con- 
 template tbat f ear fnl risk ? What might not happen in the 
 interval betv^een Peschiera's visit to the house, and his 
 appearance witb his victim on the vessel ? An idea flashed 
 on me — Beppo was to conduct the Count to the house ; if I 
 could accompany Beppo in disguise— ^enter tbe bouse -^myself 
 be present ? — I rushed back to our informant, now become 
 our agent ; I found the plan still more feasible than I had at 
 first supposed. Beppo had asked the Count's permission to 
 bring with bim a brother accustomed to the sea, and who 
 wished to quit England. I might personate that brother. 
 You know tbat the Italian language, in most of its dialectf! 
 QXid varieties of patois — G-enoesO) Piedmontese, Venetian— is 
 as familiar to me as Addison's English ! Alas ! rather more 
 so. Presto 1 the thing was settled. I felt my beart, from 
 that moment, as ligbt as a feather, and my sense as keen as 
 the dart which a feather wings. My plans now wete f ofmed 
 in a breath, and explained in a sentence. It was right that 
 you sbould be present on board tbe vessel, not only to witness 
 your foe's downfall, but to recei\^e your child in a fatber's 
 arms. Leonard set out to Norwood for you, cautioned not 
 to define too precisely for what object you were wanted, till 
 on board. 
 
 " Frank, accompanied by BeppOj (for there was yet time 
 for these preparations before midnight,) repaired to the yacht, 
 taking Giacomo by the way. There our new ally, familiar to 
 most of that piratical crew, and sanctioned by the presence of 
 Prank, as the Count's friend, and prospective brother-in-law, 
 told Peschiera's hirelings that they were to quit the vessel, 
 and wait on shore under G-iacomo's auspices till further 
 orders j and as soon as the decks were cleared of these 
 ruffians, (save a few left to avoid suspicion, and who were 
 afterwards safely stowed down in the hold,) and as soon as 
 G-iacomo had lodged his convoy in a public housCj where he 
 quitted them, drinking his health over unlimited rations of 
 grog, your inestimable servant quietly shipped on board the 
 Italians pressed into the service, and Prank took charge of the 
 English sailors. 
 
 " The Prince, promising to be on board in due time, the:& 
 left me to make arrangements for his journey to Vienna with 
 the dawn. 1 hastened to a masquerade warehouse, where, 
 with the help of an ingenious stagewright artificer, I disguised 
 myself into a raost thorough-paced-looking Cut- throat, aixJ 
 
VARIETITilS m mOcLim LIFE 
 
 403 
 
 fclien waited tlie return, of my frieiid Beppd with tlie inosfc 
 perfect confidence/* 
 
 Yet, if til at rascal had played falsS, all these precautions 
 were lost. Gos^etto ! you were not wise," said the prudent 
 philosopher. 
 
 " Very likely not. You would have been so wise, that by 
 this time your daughter would have been lost to yoii iot 
 
 ever." 
 
 But why not employ the police ? " 
 
 " First — Because I had already employed them to little 
 purpose. Secondly — Because 1 no longer wanted them. 
 Thirdly — Because to use them for my final catastrophe, would 
 be to drag your name, and your daughter's, perhaps, before a 
 police court ; at all events, before the tribunal of pubHc gossip. 
 And lastly — ^Because, having decided upon the proper punish- 
 pent, it had too much of equity to be quite consistent with 
 law ; and in forcibly seizing a man's person, and shipping him 
 off to l!forway, my police would have been sadly in the way. 
 Certainly my plan rafcher savours of Lope de Vega than of 
 Blackstone. However, you see success atones for all irregu- 
 larities. 1 resume .--^Beppo came back in time to narrate all 
 the arrangements that had been made^ and to inform toe that 
 a servant from the Count had come on board just a^ our new 
 crew were assembled there, to order the boat to be at the 
 place where we found it. The servant, it was deemed prudent 
 to detain and secure. Ciacomo undertook to manage the 
 boat. I am nearly at the close of my story. Sure of my 
 disguise, I got on the coach-box with Beppo. The Count 
 arrived at the spot appointed, and did not even honour myself 
 with a question or glance* ' Your brother ? * he said to 
 Beppo ; ' one might guess that ; he has the family likeness. 
 I^ot a handsome race yours ! Drive on.* 
 
 "We arrived at the house. I dismounted to open the 
 carriage-door. The Count gave me one look. 
 
 " 'Beppo says you have known the sea.' 
 
 " ' Excellency^ yes. I am a Grenoese.* 
 
 " * Ila ! how is that ! Beppo is a LomlDard.' — Admire the 
 readiness with which I redeemed my blunder. 
 
 " ' Excellency, it pleased Heaven that Beppo should be born 
 in Lombardy^ a,nd then to remove my respected parents to 
 Grenoa, at which city they were so kindly treated that my 
 mother, in common gratitude, was liound to increase its popu- 
 lation. It was all she could do, poor woman. You see she 
 did her best.' 
 
404 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 The Count smiled, and said no more. The door opened 
 — I followed him ; your daughter can tell you the rest." 
 
 " And you risked your life in that den of miscreants ! Noble 
 friend ! " 
 
 Eisked my life— no ; but I risked the Count's. There 
 was one moment when my hand was on my trigger, and my 
 soul very near the sin of justifiable homicide. But my tale 
 is done. The Count is now on the river, and will soon be on 
 the salt seas, — though not bound to Norway as I had first 
 intended. I could not inflict that frigid voyage on his sister. 
 So the men have orders to cruise about for six days, keeping 
 aloof from shore, and they will then land the Count and the 
 Marchesa, by boat, on the French coast. That delay will giv^ 
 time for the Prince to arrive at Vienna before the Count could 
 follow him." 
 
 " Would he have that audacity? " 
 
 " Do him more justice ! Audacity, faith ! he does not want 
 for that. But I dreaded not his appearance at Vienna with 
 such evidence against him. I dreaded his encountering the 
 Prince on the road, and forcing a duel, before his character 
 was so blasted that the Prince could refuse it; — and the 
 Count is a dead shot of course ; — all such men are ! " 
 He will return, and you — " 
 
 " I ! — Oh, never fear ; he has had enough of me. And 
 now, my dear friend — now that Violante is safe once more 
 under your own roof — now that my honoured mother must 
 long ere this have been satisfied by Leonard, who left us to go 
 to her, that our success has been achieved without danger, 
 and, what she will value almost as much, without scandal — 
 now that your foe is powerless as a reed floating on the water 
 
 towards its own rot, and the Prince Von is perhaps 
 
 ubout to enter his carriage on the road to Dover, charged with 
 the mission of restoring to Italy her worthiest son — ^let me 
 dismiss you to your own happy slumbers, and allow me to 
 wrap myself in my cloak, and snatch a short sleep on the sofa, 
 till yonder grey dawn has mellowed into riper day. My eyes 
 are heavy, and if you stay here three minutes longer, I shall 
 be out of reach of hearing — in the land of dreams. Buona 
 notte f " 
 
 " But there is a bed prepared for you." 
 
 Harley sho©k his head in dissent, and composed himself at 
 length on the sofa. 
 
 Riecabocca bending, wrapped the cloak round his guest, 
 kissed him on the forehead, and crept out of the room to 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 rejoin Jemima, who still sate up for him, nervously anxious to 
 learn from him those explanations which her considerate 
 affection would not allow her to ask from the agitated and 
 exhausted Yiolante. " Not in bed ! " cried the sage, on seeing 
 her. " Have you no f eelmgs of compassion for my son that 
 is to be ? Just, too, when there is a reasonable probability 
 that we can afford a son ? 
 
 S;iccabocca here laughed merrily, and his wife threw herself 
 on his shoulder, and cried for joy. 
 
 But no sleep fell on the lids of Harley L'Estrange. He 
 started up when his host had left him, and paced the apart- 
 ment, with noiseless but rapid strides. All whim and levity 
 had vanished from his face, which, by the light of the dawn, 
 seemed death-like pale. On that pale face there was all the 
 struggle, and all the anguish of passion.- 
 
 " These arms have clasped her," he murmured ; these 
 lips have inhaled her breath. I am under the same roof, and 
 she is saved — saved evermore from danger and from penury, 
 and for ever divided from me. Courage, courage ! Oh, 
 honour, duty ; and thou, dark memory of the past — thou that 
 didst pledge love at least to a grave — ^support — defend me ! 
 Can I be so weak ! " 
 
 The sun was in the wintry skies, when Harley stole from 
 the house. !N"o one was stirring except Giacomo, who stood 
 by the threshold of the door, which he had just unbarred, 
 feeding the house-dog. " Good day,'' said the servant, 
 smiling. " The dog has not been of much use, but I don't 
 think the Padrone will henceforth grudge him a breakfast. 
 I shall take him to Italy, and marry him there, in the hope 
 of improving the breed of our native Lombard dogs." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Harley, " j ou will soon leave our cold shores. 
 May sunshine settle on you all." He paused, and looked up 
 at the closed windows wistfully. 
 
 The Signorina sleeps there," said Giacomo, -in a husky 
 voice, "just over the room in which you slept." 
 
 " I knew it," muttered Harley. " An instinct told me of 
 it. Open the gate ; I must go home. My excuses to your 
 lord, and to all." 
 
 He turned a deaf ear to Giacomo's entreaties to stay till at 
 least the Signorina was up — the Signorina whom he had 
 saved. Without trusting himself to speak further, he quitted 
 the demesne, and walked with swift strides towards London . 
 
406 
 
 MY ISfOVEL; OB, 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 Harlbt liad not long readied his hotel, and wag still seated 
 before his nntasted breakfpvst, when Mr. Bandal Leslie was 
 announced. E-andal, who was in the firm belief that Yiolante 
 was now on the wide seas with Peschiera, entered, looking the 
 very personation of anxietj and fatigue. For, like the great 
 Cardinal Richelieu, Randal had learned the art how to make 
 good use of his own delicate and somewhat sickly aspect. 
 The Cardinal, when intent on some sanguinary scheme 
 requiriDg unusual vitality and vigour, contrived to make 
 himself look a harmless sufferer at death's door. And Randal, 
 whose nervous energies could at that moment have whirled 
 him from one end of this huge metropolis to the other, with a 
 speed that would have outstripped a prize pedestrian, now 
 sank into a chair with a jaded weariness that no mother could 
 have seen without compassion. He seemed since the last 
 night to have galloped towards the last stage of consumption, 
 
 " Have you discovered no trace, my lord? Speak, speak ! " 
 
 " Speak — certainly. I am too happy to relieve your mind, 
 Mr. Leslie. What fools we were ? Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 "Fools — ^how? " faltered Randal. 
 
 " Of course ; the young lady was at her father's house all 
 the time." 
 
 "Eh? what?'' 
 
 " And is there now." 
 
 " It is not possible ! " said Randal, in the hollow dreamy 
 tone of a somnambulist. "At her father's house —at Kor- 
 wood ! Are you sure? " 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 Randal made a desperate and successfal effort at self- 
 control. "Heaven be praised ! " he cried. And just as I 
 had begun to suspect the Count— the Marchesa ; for I find 
 that neither of them stept at home last night ; and Levy told 
 me that the Count had written to him, requesting the Baron 
 to discharge his bills, as he should be for some time absent 
 from Enfjland." 
 
 "Indeed! Well that is nothing to us — very much to Baron 
 Levy, if he executes his commission, and discharges the bills. 
 What ! are^you going already ? " 
 
 " Do you ask such a question ? How can I stay ? I mast 
 
VARIETIES m maum eiee. 
 
 407 
 
 go to Korwood-— -must see Yiolante witli raj own ejen ! For- 
 give my emotion— I— I — " 
 
 Baiidal snatclied at his hat and hurriec^ away. The low 
 sc-ornfnl laugh of Harley followed hini as h^ went, 
 
 "I have no more doubt of his guilt than Leonard hag. 
 Yiolante at least shall not be the prizo of that thin-lipped 
 knave. What strange fascination can he possess, that he 
 should thus bind to him the two men I value most — ^Audley 
 Egerton, and Alphonso di Serrano ? Both so wise too !-^one 
 in books, oiie in action, And both suspicious men ! While I, 
 so imprudently trustful and frank— Ah ! that is the reason ; 
 our natures are antipathetic ;-^cunning, simulation, falsehood, 
 I have no mercy, no pardtm for these. Woe to all hypocrites 
 if I were a grand Inquisitor ! " 
 
 "Mr. E/ichard Avenel," said the waiter, throwing open the 
 door. 
 
 Harley caught at the arm of the chair on which he sate, 
 and grasped it nervously; while his eyes became fixed intently 
 on the form of the gentleman who now advanced into the 
 room. He rose with an effort. 
 
 "Mr. Avenel!" he said, falteringly. "Did I hear your 
 name aright ? Avenel ! " 
 
 " Richard Avenel, at your service, my lord," answered 
 Dick. " My family is not unknown to you ; and J am not 
 ashamed of my family, though my parents were small Lans- 
 mere tradesfolks. And I am^a^hem ! —a citizen of the 
 world, and well to do ! " added Dick, dropping his kid gloves 
 into his hat, and then placing the hat on the table, with the 
 air of an old acquaintance who wishes to make himself at 
 home. 
 
 Lord L*Estrange bowed, and said, as he reseat^ed himself— 
 (Dick being firmly seated already) — Tou are most welcome, 
 sir; and if there be anything I can do for one of your 
 name—" 
 
 " Thank you, my lord," interrupted Dick. " I want nothing 
 of any man. A bold word to say ; but I say it. ITeverthe- 
 less, I should not have presumed to call on your lordship, 
 unless, indeed, you had done me the honour to call first at my 
 house, Eaton Square, 'No. * * -I should not have presumed 
 to call, if it had not been on business public business, I may 
 say — NATIONAL business! " 
 
 Harley bowed again. A faint smile flitted for a moment 
 to his hp, but, vanishing, gave way to a mournful, absent ex- 
 pression of countenance, as he scanned the handsome features 
 
408 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 before him, and, perhaps, masculine and bold though they 
 were, still discovered something of a family likeness to one 
 whose beauty had once been his ideal of female loveliness ; 
 for suddenly he stretched forth his hand, and said, with more 
 than his usual cordial sweetness, "Business, or not business, 
 let us speak to each other as friends — for the sake of a name 
 that takes me back to Lansmere — to my youth. I listen to 
 you with interest." 
 
 Eichard Avenel, much sarprised by this unexpected kindli- 
 ness, and touched, he knew not why, by the soft and melan- 
 choly tone of Harley's voice, warmly pressed the hand held 
 out to him : and, seized with a rare fit of shyness, coloured, 
 and coughed, and hemmed, and looked first down, then aside, 
 before he could find the words which were generally ready 
 enough at his command. 
 
 ''You are very good, Lord L'Estrange; nothing can be 
 handsomer. I feel it here, my lord," striking his buff waist- 
 Coat — " I do, 'pon my honour. But not to waste your time, 
 (time's money,) I come to the point. It is about the borough 
 of Lansmere. Your family interest is very strong in that 
 borough. But excuse me if I say that I don't think you are 
 aware that I too have cooked up a pretty considerable interest 
 on the other side. No offence — opinions are free. And the 
 popular tide runs strong with us — I mean with me, at the 
 impending crisis — ^that is at the next election. E'dw, I have 
 a great respect for the Earl, your father ; and so have those 
 who brought me into the world ; — my father, John, was always 
 a regular good Blue ; — and my respect for yourself since I 
 came into this room has gone up in the market — a very great 
 rise indeed — considerable. So I should just like to see if we 
 could set our heads together, and settle the borough between 
 us two, in a snug private way, as public men ought to do 
 when they get together — ^nobody else by, and no necessity for 
 that sort of humbug — which is so common in this rotten old 
 country. Eh, my lord ? " 
 
 "Mr. Avenel," said Harley, slowly, recovering himself 
 from the abstraction with which he had listened to Dick's 
 earlier sentences, " I fear I do not quite understand you ; but 
 I have no other interest in the next election for the borough 
 of Lansmere, than as may serve one whom, whatever be your 
 politics, you must acknowledge to be " 
 
 " A humbug! " 
 
 " Mr. Avenel, you cannot mean the person I mean. I speak 
 of one of the first statesmen of our time-—of Mr. Audley 
 Egerton— of " 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 409 
 
 " A stiff-necked, pompons " 
 
 " Mj earliest and dearest friend.'* 
 
 The rebnke, tliongli gently said, snfficed to silence Dick for 
 a moment ; and when he spoke again, it was in an altered tone. 
 
 " I beg yonr pardon, my lord, I am sure. Of course, I can 
 say nothing disrespectful of your friend ; — very sorry that he 
 is your friend. In that case, I am almost afraid that nothing is 
 to be done. But Mr. Audley Egerton has not a chance. Let 
 me convince you of this." And Dick pulled out a little book, 
 bound neatly in red. 
 
 " Canvass book, my lord. I am no aristocrat. I don't pre- 
 tend to carry a free and independent constituency in my 
 breeches' pocket. Heaven forbid ! But, as a practical man of 
 business — ^what I do is done properly. Just look at this book. 
 Well kept, eh ? Names, promises, inclinations, public opinions, 
 and private interests of every individual Lansmere elector ! 
 Now, as one man of honour to another, I show you this book, 
 and I think you will see that we have a clear majority of at 
 least eighty votes as against Mr. Egerton." 
 
 "That is your view of the question," said Harley, taking 
 the book and glancing over the names catalogued and ticketed 
 therein. But his countenance became serious as he recognised 
 many names, familiar to his boyhood, as those of important 
 electors on the Lansmere side, and which he now found trans- 
 ferred to the hostile. " But surely there are persons here in 
 whom you deceive yourself — old friends of my family — staunch 
 supporters of our party." 
 
 " Exactly so. But this new question has turned all old 
 things topsy-turvy. No relying on any friend of yours. No 
 reliance except in this book ! " said Dick, slapping the red 
 cover with calm but ominous emphasis. 
 
 " Now, what I want to propose is this : Don't let the Lans- 
 mere interest be beaten : it would vex the old Earl — go to his 
 heart, I am sure." 
 
 Harley nodded. 
 
 " And the Lansmere interest need not be beaten, if you'll 
 put up another man instead of this red-tapist. (Beg pardon.) 
 You see I only want to get in one man — ^you want to get in 
 another. Why not? Now, there's a smart yoath — connection 
 of Mr. Egerton's — Randal Leslie. I have no objection to 
 him, though he is of your colours. Withdraw Mr. Egerton, 
 and I'll withdraw my second man before it comes to the poll ; 
 and so we shall halve the borough slick betweei) us. That's 
 the way to do business — eh, m.y lord ? " 
 
410 
 
 MY novel; or. 
 
 " E/andal Leslie ! OHj you wish to bring in Mr, Leslie ? 
 But he stands witL. Egerton, not against Mrn." 
 
 " All ! " said Dick, smiling, as if to himself, " so I hear j 
 and we could bring him in over Egerton without saying a 
 word to you. But all onr family respect yours, and so I have 
 wished fco do the thing handsome ana open. Let the Earl and 
 your party be content with yonng Leslie.'* 
 
 *' Young Leslie has spoken to you ? " 
 
 "iSTot as to my coming here. Oh no — ^that's a secret — 
 private and confidential, my lord. And now, to make matters 
 still more smooth, I propose that my man shall be one to your 
 lordship's own heart. I find you have been very kind to my 
 nephew;- — does you credit, my lord; — vl wonderful young 
 man, though I say it. I never guessed there was so much 
 in him. Yet all the time he was in my house, he had in his 
 desk the very sketch of an invention that is now saving me 
 from ruin — from positive ruin — Baron Levy — the King's 
 Bench—and almighty smash! Now, such a young man ought 
 to be in Parliament. I like to bring forward a relation ; that 
 is, when he does one credit ; 'tis human nature and sacred 
 ties— one's own flesh and blood; and besides, one hand rubs 
 the other, and one leg helps on the other, and relations get on 
 best in the world when they pull together ; that is, supposing 
 bhat they are the proper sort of relations, and pull one on, not 
 down, I had once thought of standing for Lansmere myself 
 — thonght of it very lately. The country wants men like me 
 — I know that ; but I have an idea that I had better see to my 
 own business. The country may, or may not, do without me, 
 stupid old thing that she is ! But my mill and my new 
 engines, there is no doubt that they cannot do without me. In 
 short, as we are quite alone, and, as I said before, there's no 
 kind of' necessity for that sort of humbug which exists when 
 other people are present, provide elsewhere for Mr. Egerfcon, 
 whom I hate like poison — I have a right to do that, I suppose, 
 without offence to your lordship — and the two younkers, 
 Leonard Fairfield and E/andal Leslie, shall be members for 
 the free and independent borough of Lansmere ! " 
 
 " But does Leonard wish to come into Parliament ? " 
 
 ^'iSTo; he says not; but that's nonsense. If your lordship 
 will just signify your wish that he should not lose this noblo 
 opportunity to raise himself in life, and get something hand- 
 some out of the nation, I'm sure he owes you too much to 
 hesitate — 'specially when 'tis to his own advantage. And, 
 besides, one of us Avenels ought to be in Parliament, And 
 
VARIETIES IN ETOLISH LIFE. 
 
 41J 
 
 if I liave not ihe time g^nd learning, and so forth, and lie has, 
 whj, it stands to reason that he should be the man. And if 
 he can do something for me one daj — not that I want 
 any.thing — but still a Baronetcy or so would be a compliment 
 to British Industry, and be appreciated as sucli by myself 
 and the public at large— I say, if he could do something of 
 that sort, it would keep up the whole family • and if he can't, 
 why I'll forgiye him." 
 
 " Avenel," said Harley, with that familiar and gracious 
 charm of manner which few ever could resist—" Avenel, if 
 as a great personal favour to myself — to me your fellow- 
 townsman- — (I was born at Lansmere) — if I asked you to 
 forego your grudge against Audley E/gerton, whatever that 
 grudge be, and not oppose his election, while our party would 
 not oppose your nephew's — could you not oblige me ? Come, 
 for the sake of dear Lansmere, and all the old kindly 
 feelings between your family and mine, say 'yes — -so shall 
 it be,'" 
 
 Richard Av^enel was almost melted. He turned away hig 
 face ; but there suddenly rose to his recollection the scornful 
 brow of Audley Egerton, the lofty contempt with which 7ie, 
 then the worshipful Mayor of Screwstown, had been shown 
 out of the Minister'^ office-room ; and, the blood rushing over 
 his cheeks, he stamped his foot on the floor, and exclaimed, 
 angrily, " ISTo ; I swore that Audley Egerton should smart for 
 his insolence to me, as sure as my name be Richard Avenel ; 
 and all the soft soap in the world will not wash out that 
 oath. So there is nothing for it but for you to withdraw 
 that man, or for me to defeat him. And I would do so, ay — 
 and in the way that could most gall him, if it cost me half 
 my fortune. But it will not cost that," said Dick, cooling, 
 " nor anything like it ; for when the popular tide runs in one's 
 favour, 'tis astonishing how cheap an election may be. It 
 will cost Jiim enough though, and all for nothing- — ^worsQ 
 than nothing. Think of it, my lord." 
 
 " I will, Mr Avenel. And I say, in my turn, that my 
 friendship is ap ^-ong as your hate ; and that if it costs me. 
 not half, but mj ^hole fortune, Audley Egerton shall come in 
 without a shilling of expense to himself, should we onco 
 decide that he stand the contest." 
 
 " Very well, my lord — very well," said Dick, stiffly, and 
 drawing on his kid gloves ; " we'll see if the aristocracy is 
 always to I'ide over the free choice of the people in this way. 
 But the people are roused, my lord. The March of Enlighten- 
 
MY novel; ok, 
 
 ment is commenced — the Schoolmaster is abroad, and the 
 British Lion — " 
 
 "^^Tobody here but ourselves, ray dear Avenel. Is not this 
 rather what jou call — Jiumhug ? " 
 
 Dick started, stared, coloured, and then burst out laughing 
 Give us your hand again, my lord. You are a good 
 fellow, that you are. And for your sake — " 
 
 " You'll not oppose Egerton ? 
 
 " Tooth and nail — tooth and nail 1 " cried Dick, clapping 
 his hands to his ears, and fairly running out of the room. 
 
 There passed over Harley's countenance that change so 
 frequent to it — more frequent, indeed, to the gay children of 
 the world than those of consistent tempers and uniform habits 
 might suppose. There is many a man whom we call friend, 
 and whose face seems familiar to us as our own ; yet, could 
 we but take a glimpse of him when we leave his presence, 
 and he sinks back into his chair alone, we should sigh to see 
 how often the smile on the frankest lip is but a bravery of 
 the drill, only worn when on parade. 
 
 What thoughts did the visit of Richard Avenel bequeath 
 to Harley ? It were hard to define them. 
 
 In his place, an Audley Egerton would have taken some 
 comfort from the visit — would have murmured, "Thank 
 Heaven ! I have not to present to the world that terrible 
 man as my brother-in-law." But probably Harley had 
 escaped, in his reverie, from Bichard Avenel altogether. 
 Even as the slightest incident in the daytime causes our 
 dreams at night, but is itself clean forgotten — so the name, 
 so the look of the visitor, might have sufficed, but to influence 
 a vision — as remote from its casual suggester, as what we call 
 real life is from that life much more real, that we imagine, or 
 remember, in the haunted chambers of the brain. For what 
 is real life ? How little the things actually doing around us 
 affect the springs of our sorrow or joy ; but the life which 
 our dulness calls romance — the sentiment, the remembrance, 
 the hope, or the fear, that are never seen in the toil of our 
 hands — never hv>**rd in the jargon on our lips ; — from that 
 Hfe all spin, as the spider from its entrails, the web by which 
 we hang in the sunbeam, or glide out of sight into the shelter 
 of home. 
 
 " I must not think," said Harley, rousing himself with a 
 sigh, " either of past or present. Let me hurry on to some 
 fancied future. * Happiest are the marriages,' said the French 
 philosopher, and still says many a sage, ' iu whiph man asks 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 only tlie mild companion, and woman but tlie calm protector.* 
 ] will go to Helen." 
 
 He rose ; and as lie was abont to lock np bis escritoire, be 
 remembered the papers wbicb Leonard bad requested bim to 
 read. He took tbem from tbeir deposit, witb a careless band, 
 intending to carry tbem witb bim to bis fatber's bouse. But 
 as bis eye fell upon tbe cbaracters, tbe band suddenly trembled, 
 and be recoiled some paces, as if struck by a violent blow. 
 Tben, gazing more intently on tbe writing, a low cry broke 
 from bis lips. He reseated bimself, and began to read. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 Handal — ^witb many misgivings at Lord L'Estrange*s tone, 
 in wbicb be was at no loss to detect a latent irony — ^proceeded 
 to Norwood. He found Riccabocca exceedingly cold and 
 distant. But be soon brougbt tbat sage to communicate tbe 
 suspicions wbicb Lord L'Estrange bad instilled into bis mind, 
 and tbese Randal was as speedily enabled to dispel. He 
 accounted at once for bis visits to Levy and Pescbiera. 
 JS^aturally be bad sougbt Levy, an acquaintance of bis own — 
 nay, of Audley Egerton*s ; but wbom be knew to be profes- 
 sionally employed by tbe Count. He bad succeeded in ex- 
 tracting from tbe Baron, Pescbiera' s suspicious cbange of 
 lodgment from Mivart's Hotel to tbe purlieus of Leicester 
 Square ; — bad called tbere on tbe Count—forced an entrance 
 •—openly accused bim of abstracting Yiolante ; bigb words bad 
 passed between tbem — even a cballenge. Randal produced 
 a note from a military friend of bis, wbom be bad sent to tbe 
 ^ Count an bour after quitting tbe botel. Tbis note stated tbat 
 arrangements were made for a meeting near Lord's Cricket 
 Ground, at seven o'clock tbe next morning. Randal tben 
 submitted to Riccabocca another formal memorandum from 
 tbe same warlike friend — to tbe purport tbat Randal and 
 bimself bad repaired to tbe ground, and no Count been forth- 
 coming. It must be owned that Randal bad taken all suitable 
 precautions to clear bimself. Such a man is not to blame for 
 want of invention, if be be sometimes doomed to fail. 
 
 " I tben, much alarmed," continued Randal, " hastened to 
 Baron Levy, who informed m© tbat tbe Count bad written 
 him word tbat be sboiild iov some time absent from JSng- 
 
414 
 
 MY koyel; oh, 
 
 land. Euglimg tlience, in. despaif, to yoni* Mend Lord 
 L'Estrange, I heard that your daughter Was ^a£e witli you. 
 And though, as I have just pi*oVed, 1 would have risked my 
 life against SO notonous a dufeUist as the Count, on the mere 
 chance of preserving Yiolante from his supposed designs, I 
 am rejoiced to think that she had no need of my unskilful 
 ato. But how and why can the Count have lett England 
 aftei* accepting a challenge ? A man so Sure of his weapon, 
 too — reputed to be as feaflesS of danger as he is blunt in 
 conscience. Es:pMn ;— ^you who know mankind so viell — • 
 
 explain. I cannot." 
 
 The philosopher could not resist the pleasure of narrating 
 the detection and humiliation of his foe — the wit, ingenuity, 
 and readiness of his friend. So Randal learned, by little and 
 little, the whole drama of the pl-eCeding night. He saw, then, 
 that the exile had all reasonable hope of speedy restoration to 
 tank and wealth. Viol ante, indeed, would be a brilliant prize 
 ■ — too brilliant, perhaps, for Randal — but not to be sacrificed 
 without an effort. Therefore wringing convulsively the hand 
 of his meditated father-in-law, and turhlng away his head as 
 if to conceal his emotions^ the ingenuous Jro'ting suitor faltered 
 forth, — That nOW Br. Ridcabocca Was SO soon to vanish into 
 the Duke di Serrano, he — Randal Leslie of Rood, born a 
 gentleman, indeed, but of fallen fortunes— had no right to 
 claim the promise which had been given to him while a father 
 had cause to fear for a daughter's future ; with the fear ceased 
 the promise. Might Heaven bless father and daughter 
 both!'' 
 
 This address touched both the heart and honour of the 
 exile. Randal Leslie knew his man. And though, before 
 Randalls visit, Riccabocca Was not quite So much a philo- 
 sopher, but what he would have been Well pleased to have 
 found nimself released, by proof of the young man's treachery, 
 from an alliance below the rank to which he had all chance of 
 early restoration ; yet no Spaniard WaS ^ver more tenacious 
 of plighted word than tbis inconsistent pUpil of the profound 
 Florentine. And Randal's probity bein^ nOw clear to him, 
 he repeated, with stateJy formalities, his previous oilev of 
 Yiolante' s hand. 
 
 " But," still falteriiigly sighed the provident and far- 
 calculating Randal — " but yOUr only child, your sole heiress ! 
 Oh, might not your consent to such a marriage (if known 
 before your recall) jeopardize your cause ? Your lands, your 
 principalities, to devolve on the child of an humble English- 
 
VAKiETiEs m eKglish life. 415 
 
 man! I dare not believe it. Ali, would "Violante were iiofc 
 your laeiress ! " 
 
 "A noble wish/* said Riccabocca, smiling blandly, " aiid 
 one tliat tbe Fates Will realise. Cheer Up ; Violante will not 
 be my heiress.'' 
 
 "Ah/* cried Eandal, drawing a long breath — "ah, what do 
 I hear 
 
 " Hist ! 1 shall soon a second time be a fathet*. And, to 
 judge bj the unerring researches of writers Upon that most 
 interestmg of all subjects, parturitive science, 1 shall be the 
 father of a son. He will, of coursCj succeed to the titles of 
 Serrano. And Yiolante — " 
 
 " Will have nothing, I suppose ! " exclaimed Randal, trying 
 his best to look overjoyed till he had got his paws out of the 
 trap into which he had so incautiously thrust them. 
 
 " ISTayi her portion by our laws — to say nothing of my 
 aifection-^wouid far exceed the ordinary dower which the 
 daughters of London merchants bring to the sons of British 
 peers. Whoever marries Violante, provided I regain my 
 estates, must submit to the cares which the poets assure us 
 ever attend on wealth*" 
 
 *' Oh ! " groaned Randal, as if already bowed beneath the 
 cares, and sympathising with the poets. 
 
 "And now, let me present you to your betrothed.** 
 
 Although poor Randal had been remorselessly hurried alotig 
 what Schiller calls the " gamut of feeling," during the last 
 three minutes, down to the deep chord ol despair at the abrupt 
 intelligence that his betrothed was no heiress after all ; thence 
 ascending to vibrations of pleasant doubt as to the Unborn 
 usurper of her rights, according to the prophecies of parturi- 
 tive science; and lastly, swelling into a concord of all sweet 
 thoughts at the assurance that, come what might, she would 
 be a wealthier bride than a peer's son could discover ifi the 
 matrimonial Potosi of Lombard Street ; still the tormented 
 lover was not there allowed to repose his exhausted though 
 ravished soul. For, at the idea of j)ersonally confronting the 
 destined bride — whose very existence had almost vanished 
 from his mind's eye, amidst the golden showers that it saw 
 falling diyiuely round her — Randal was suddenly reminded 
 of the exceeding bluntness with which, at their last interview, 
 it had been his policy to announce his suit, and of the neces»- 
 sity of an impromptu falsetto suited to the new variations 
 thiit tossed him again to and fro on the merciless gamut 
 However, he could not recoil from her father's pfttpositioii, 
 
416 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 thougli, in order to prepare Riccabocca for Yiol ante's repre- 
 sentation, lie confessed pathetically that Ms impatience to 
 obtain her consent, and baffle Peschiera, had made him appear 
 % rude and presumptnons wooer. The philosopher who was 
 disposed to believe one kind of courtship to be much the same 
 as another, in cases where the result of all courtships was 
 once predetermined — smiled benignly, patted Randal's thin 
 cheek, with a " Pooh, pooh, /" and left the room to 
 
 summon Yiolante. 
 
 " If knowledge be power," soliloquised Randal, " ability is 
 certainly good luck, as Miss Edgeworth shows in that story of 
 Murad the Unlucky, which I read at Eton ; very clever story 
 it is, too. So nothing comes amiss to me. Yiolante's escape 
 which has cost me the Count's ten thousand ponnds, proves 
 to be worth to me, I dare say, ten times as much. No doubt 
 she'll have a hundred thousand pounds at the least. And 
 then, if her father have no other child, after all, or the child 
 he expects die in infancy, why, once reconciled to his govern- 
 ment and restored to his estates, the law must take its nsual 
 course, and Yiolante will be the greatest heiress in Europe. 
 As to the young lady herself, I confess she rather awes me ; 
 I know I shall be henpecked. Well, all respectable hnsbands 
 are. There is something scampij?h and ruffianly in not being 
 henpecked." Here Randal's smile might have harmonized 
 well with Pluto's " iron tears ; " but, iron as the smile was, 
 the serious young man was ashamed of it. "What am I 
 about," said he, half aloud, " chuckling to myself and wasting 
 time, when I onght to be thinking gravely how to explain 
 away my former cavalier courtship ? Such a masterpiece as 
 I thought it then ! But who could foresee the turn things 
 would take ? Let me think ; let me think. Plague on it, 
 here she comes." 
 
 But Randal had not the fine ear of your more romantic 
 lover; and, to his great relief,, the exile entered the room 
 unaccompanied by Yiolante. Riccabocca looked somewhat 
 embarrassed. 
 
 "My dear Leslie, you must excuse my daughter to-day; 
 she is still suffering from the agitation she has gone through, 
 and cannot see you." 
 
 The lover tried not to look too delighted. 
 
 " Cruel,' said he ; " yet I would not for worlds force myself 
 on her presence. I hope, Duke, that she will- not find it too 
 difficult to obey the commands which dispose of her hand, 
 and intrust her happiness to my grateful charge." 
 
VARIETIES TN ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 417 
 
 ''To be plain witli yon, Randal, slie does at prosent 
 seem to find it more difficult than I foresaw. She even talks 
 of—" 
 
 " Another attachment — Oh, heavens ! " 
 
 "Attachment, joazzie ! Whom has she seen ? No — ^a con- 
 vent ! But leave it to me. In a calmer hour she will com- 
 prehend that a child must know no lot more enviable and 
 holy than that of redeeming a father's honour. Aoid now, if 
 you are returning to London, may I ask you to convey to 
 young Mr. Hazeldean my assurances of undying gratitude 
 for his share in my daughter's delivery from that poor baffled 
 swindler." 
 
 It is noticeable that, now Peschiera was no longer an object 
 of dread to the nervous father, he became but an object of 
 pity to the philosopher, and of contempt to the grandee. 
 
 " True," said Randal, you told me Frank had a share in 
 Lord L'Estrange's very clever and dramatic device. My lord 
 must be by nature a fine actor — comic, with a touch of melo- 
 drame ! Poor Frank ! apparently he has lost the woman he 
 adored — Beatrice di ITegra. You say she has accompanied 
 the Count. Is the marriage that was to be between her and 
 Frank broken o:ffi ?" 
 
 "I did not know snch a marriage was contemplated. I 
 understood her to be attached to another. ISTot that that is 
 any reason why she would not have married Mr. Hazeldean. 
 Express to him my congratulations on his escape." 
 
 "N'ay, he must not know that I have inadvertently be- 
 trayed his confidence ; but you now guess, what perhaps 
 puzzled you before — viz., how I came to be so well acquainted 
 with the Count and his movements. I was so intimate with 
 my relation Frank, and Frank was affianced to the Mar- 
 chesa." 
 
 "I am glad you give me that explanation; it suffices. 
 After all, the Marchesa is not by nature a bad woman — ^that 
 is, not worse than women generally are, so Harley says, and 
 Violante forgives and excuses her." 
 
 " Generous Yiolante! But it is true. So much did the 
 Marchesa appear to me possessed of fine, though ill-regulated 
 qualities, that I always considered her disposed to aid in frus- 
 trating her brother's criminal designs. So I even said, if I 
 remember right, to Violante.*' 
 
 Dropping this prudent and precautionary sentence, in order 
 to guard against anything Violante might say as to that 
 subtle mention of Beatrice which had predisposed her to con- 
 
 VOL. 15. K 
 
418 
 
 My j^ovel ; on. 
 
 fido in tlie MarbliesU-, RandM th'en Kiiri?ied on,— "Bni yon 
 wafi.t repose. I leave you^ tlie happiesi}, tli'e most grateful of 
 men. I will give your courteous message to Frank." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 _ . GcjRious to learn -whati liad passed between Beatrice and 
 Fi*ank, ,and deeply interested in all that conld oust Frank out 
 of the Squire's goodwill, or auglit tliat could injure his own 
 prospects, by tending to unite son and father, Randal was not 
 slow in reaching his young kinsman's lodgings. It might be 
 supposed that having, in all probability, just secured so great 
 a fortune as would accompany Yiolante's hand, Randal might 
 be indifiierent to the success of his scheme on the Hazeldean 
 exchequer. Such a supposition would grievously wrong this 
 profound young man. For, in the first place, Yiolante was 
 not yet won, nor her father yet restored to the estates which 
 Would defray her dower ; and, in the next place, Randal, like 
 lago, loved villany for the genius it called forth in him. The 
 Sole luxury the abstemious aspirer allowed to himself was that 
 which is found in intellectual restlessness. Untempted by 
 wine, dead, to love, unamused by pleasure, indifferent to the 
 arts, despising literature, save as means to some end of power^ 
 Randa-l Leslie was the incarnation of thought, hatched out of 
 the t3orruption of will. At twilight we see thin airy spectral 
 insects, all wing and nipperSj hovering, as if they could never 
 pause, over some sullen mephitic pool. Just so, niethinksj 
 hover over Acheron such gnat-like, noiseless soarers into 
 gloomy air out of Stygian deeps, as are the thoughts of 
 spirits like Randal Leslie's. Wings have they, but only the 
 better tp pounce down— draw their nutriment from unguarded 
 material cuticles ; and just when, maddened, you strike, and 
 exulting exclaim, "Caught by Jove!" wh — irr flies the 
 diaphanous, ghostly larva, and your blow falls on your own 
 twice-offended cheBk. 
 
 . The young men who were acquainted with Randal said he 
 liad not a vice ! The fact being that his whole composition 
 was one epic vice, so elaborately constructed that it had not 
 an episode which a critic could call irrelevant. Grand young 
 man ! 
 
 "But, my dear fellow," said Randal, as soon as he had 
 
VARIETIES IN mC^LlBM LIFE. 
 
 419 
 
 leafned fi-om Franit all thai} had |)gSs'ed on bo^-rd tM f ess el 
 between him and Beatrice, " I cannot bBlieve this. * Never 
 loVe'd you ? ' What was het object, th^u, in deceiTing, hot 
 otilj yotij but myself? I suspect her declaration Was but 
 some heroical refinfement of genero^itj. After her brother's 
 dejection and probable ruiii, ghe might feel that she was ho 
 match for jou. Then^ too, the Sq[uire's digpleusiite. I see it 
 all— jitst like her — -noble^ ullhappiy womati ! 
 
 Frank shook his hl3ad. " TherS ^re nioniehts," said he, 
 with a wisdom that coiiies out of those in^tificts #hich awake 
 from the depths of youth's first great sorrow — ''moments 
 when a woman cannot feign, and there are tones in the voice 
 of a Wdrhah which hieh caiinot misinterpret. She does not 
 Ibve ine — She never did lov6 me ; I can see that her heart has 
 been elsewhere. 'No matter — all is oi^ef. I don't deny that 
 1 d-iii diineHhg an intense grief ; it giiaws like a kind of sullen 
 hiihgef ; ahd 1 feel so broken,, too, as if I had grown old, and 
 there wa'^ libthing left worth living for. 1 don't deny all 
 that.'' 
 
 '' My poor, dear friend, if you Would but believe—" 
 "I doh't want to beliete ahj^thihg, except that I have been 
 a gre^i fool. I dont thiilk I can eVer commit such follies 
 agaih. Biit t'lh a man. 1 shall get the better of this; 1 
 should despise hiyself if t could ndi:. Ahcl now let us talk oi 
 my dear father. Hei& he left tdwii? " 
 
 " Left last iiight by the hiail. Toii can Write, and iell him 
 you have giveh up the Mafchesa, and all will be well again 
 between you." 
 
 " Qive her up ! Fie, Rahdal ! Do ybii think I stolild tell 
 such h> lie?— Shb gd;Ve me up; I can claim no merit out oi 
 
 that." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I can niake th6 Si|uire See all to your advan- 
 tage. Oh, if it wei'e only the Marchesa ! but, aldS ! that 
 cvirsfdd post'OhU ! How could Levy betray you ? [N'ever trust 
 to usurers again ; they cannot resist the temptatioh bf d 
 Speedy profit. They first buy the son, and then sell him to 
 the father. And the Squirb has siioh strange notions bh 
 matters oi this kind." 
 
 " He is right to have them. There, jtlst tead this letter 
 from my mother. It came to mb this morhing. I could 
 hang myself if I were a dog ; but I'm a man, and so I nius j 
 bear it." 
 
 Bandal took Mrs. Hazeldean's letter from Frank's trem* 
 bling hand. — The piobr inbth'er had learned, though but im- 
 
 B E 2 
 
420 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 perfectly, Frank's misdeeds from some hurried lines wliicli 
 the Squire had despatched to her ; and she wrote, as good, 
 mdulgent, but sensible, right-minded mothers alone can write. 
 More lenient to an imprudent love than the Squire, she 
 touched with discreet tenderness on Frank's rash engage- 
 ments with a foreigner, but severely on his own open defiance r 
 of his father's wishes. Her anger was, however, reserved for J 
 that unholy post-obit. Here the hearty genial -wife's love 
 overcame the mother's affection. To count, in cold blood, on 
 that husband's death, and to wound his heart so keenly, just 
 where its jealous, fatherly fondness made it most susceptible 1 
 
 " O Frank, Frank ! " wrote Mrs. Hazeldean, " were it not 
 for this, were it only for your unfortunate attachment to the 
 Italian lady, only for your debts, only for the errors of hasty, 
 extravagant youth, I should be with you now^ — ^my arms round 
 your neck, kissing you, chiding you back to your father's 
 heart. But — ^but the thought that between you and his heart 
 has been the sordid calculation of his death — that is a wall 
 between us. I cannot come near you. I should not like to 
 look on your face, and think how my William's tears fell over 
 it, when I placed you new born, in his arms, and bade him 
 welcome his heir. What ! you a mere boy still, your father 
 yet in the prime of life, and the heir cannot wait till nature 
 leaves him fatherless. Frank, Frank ! this is so unlike you. 
 Can London have ruined already a disposition so honest and 
 affectionate ? — ISTo ; I cannot believe it. There must be some 
 mistake. Clear it up, I implore you ; or, though as a mother 
 I pity you, as a wife I cannot forgive. 
 
 " Haeeiet Hazeldean." 
 
 Even Bandal was affected by the letter ; for, as we know, 
 even K-andal felt in his own person the strength of family 
 ties. The poor Squire's choler and bluffness had disguised 
 the parental heart from an eye that, however acute, had not 
 been willing to search for it ; and Randal, ever affected 
 through his intellect, had despised the very weakness on which 
 he had preyed. But the mother's letter, so just and sensible, 
 (allowing that the Squire's opinions had naturally influenced 
 the wife to take, what men of the world would call a very 
 exaggerated view of the every-day occurrence of loans raised 
 by a son, payable only at a father's death,) — this letter, T say, 
 if exaggerated according to fashionable notions, so sensible if 
 judged by natural affections, touched the dull heart of thf 
 schemer, because approved by the quick tact of his intelligence^ 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 " Frank," said he, with a sincerity that afterwards amazed 
 himself, "go down at once to Hazeldean — see your mother, 
 and explain to her how this transaction really happened. The 
 woman you loved, and wooed as wife, in danger of an arrest 
 — ^your distraction of mind, Levy's counsels — your hope to pay 
 off the debt, so incurred to the usurer, from the fortune you 
 would shortly receive with the Marchesa. Speak to your 
 mother — she is a woman ; women have a common interest in 
 forgiving all faults that arise from the source of their power 
 over ns men ; — I mean love. Gro ! " 
 
 " 1^0 — I cannot go ; — you see she would not like to look on 
 my face. And I cannot repeat what you say so glibly. Be- 
 sides, somehow or other, as I am so dependent upon my 
 father, — and he has said as much — I feel as if it would be 
 mean in me to make any excuses. I did the thing, and must 
 suffer for it. But I'm a m — an — no — I'm not a man here." 
 Frank burst into tears. 
 
 At the sight of those tears, E-andal gradually recovered 
 from his strange aberration into vulgar and low humanity. 
 His habitual contempt for his kinsman returned ; and with 
 contempt came the natural indifference to the sufferings of 
 the thing to be put to nse. It is contempt for the worm that 
 makes the angler fix it on the hook, and observe with com- 
 placency that the vivacity of its wriggles will attract the bite. 
 If the worm could but make the angler respect, or even fear 
 it, the barb would find some other bait. Few anglers would 
 impale an estimable silkworm, and still fewer the anglers 
 who would finger into service a formidable hornet. 
 
 "Pooh, my dear Frank," said Randal ; " I have given you 
 my advice ; you reject it. Well, what then will you do ? " 
 
 "I shall ask for leave of absence, and run away some- 
 where," said Frank, drying his tears. " I can't face London ; 
 I can't mix with others. I want to be by myself, and wrestle 
 with all that I feel here — in my heart. Then I shall write to 
 my mother, say the plain truth, and leave her to judge as 
 kindly of me as she can." 
 
 "You are quite right. Yes, leave town! Why not go 
 abroad? You have never been abroad. I^ew scenes will 
 distract your mind. Run over to Paris." 
 
 " Not to Paris — I don't want gaieties ; but I did intend to 
 go abroad somewhere — any dull dismal hole of a place. 
 Good-bye / Don't think of me any more for the present." 
 
 " But let me know where you go ! and meanwhile I will see 
 the Squire." 
 
MY NO^EL ; OU, 
 
 " Saj as 1 fctle of me as you can to Mm. I know yoxL tnoan 
 most kindly —but oli, how I wish there never had been any 
 third person between me and my father ! There : yon may 
 well snatch away yonr hand. What an nngrateinl wretch to 
 you I am. I do belieye I am the wickedest fellow. What ! 
 yon shake hands with me still. My dear Randal, yon have 
 the best heart — Grod bless yon." Frank turned away, «ind 
 disappeared within his dressing-room. 
 
 *' They must be reconciled now, sooner or later— -Squiro and 
 sou," — said Randal to himself, as he left the lodgings. ''I 
 don't see how I can prevent that — tlie Marchesa being witli- 
 drawn— imless Frank does it for me. Bat it is well he should 
 be abroad — something may be made out of that : meanwhile 
 I may yet do all that I could reasonably hope to do — even if 
 Frank had marrii^d Bea^trice — since be was not to be disr 
 inherited. Get the Squire to advance the money for the 
 Thornhill purchase — complete the affair ; — this marriage with 
 Yiolante will help ; Levy must know tha^t ; secure the 
 borough ; — ^well thought of. I will go to Avenel's. By-the- 
 by — by-the-by — the Squire might as well keep me still in the 
 entail after Frank — supposing Frank die childless. This love 
 aifair may keep him long from marrying. His hand was very 
 hot — a hectic colour ; — those strong-looking fellows often go 
 o:E in a rapid decline, especially if anything preys on their 
 minds — their minds are so very small. 
 
 ^^Ah — the Hazeldean Parson — and with Avenel! That 
 young man, too — who is he ? I have seen him before some- 
 where. My dear Mr. Dale, this is a pleasant surprise. I 
 thought you had returned to Hazeldean with our friend the 
 Squire ? " 
 
 Me. Dale. — The Squire ! Has he left town, and without 
 telling me ? " 
 
 E/ANDAL, (taking aside the Parson.) — He was anxious to 
 get back to Mrs. Hazeldean, who was naturally very uneasy 
 about her son and this foolish marriage ; but I am happy to 
 tell you that that marriage is effectually and perma^iently 
 broken off." 
 
 Mr. Dale. — How, how ? My poor friend told me he had 
 wholly failed to make any impression on Frank — forbade me 
 to mention the subject. I was just going to see Frank my- 
 self. I always had some influence with him. But, Mr. 
 Leslie, explain this very sudden and happy event — the mar- 
 riage broken off 1 " 
 
 Bandal.— Tl is a long story, and T dare not tell you my 
 
VAEIETIES m mGhlSB. LIFE. 
 
 433 
 
 liuml)le stare in it. Nay^ I must keep tliat secret. ¥rank 
 miglifc not forgive me. Suffice it tliat joxi have niy "WPl-d- tlxajt- 
 fclie fair Italian has left England;, and decidedly refused 
 Frank's addresses. But stay— take my adviae— doii't go tO 
 him -yon see it was not only tlie marriage that has oSen^led 
 the Bqnire, but some pecuniary transaationJi~an ^infortTOate 
 ]josi~oiit bond on the Gasino property. Frank ought to. b.e 
 left to his own repentant refl:ections, 0?hey will be mpgt 
 salutary— you know his temper— ke dou't bear reproof ; and 
 yet it is better, on the other hand, not to let him treat too 
 lightly what has passed. Let us leave him to himsell for a 
 few days. He is in an excellent frame of mind.- - 
 
 Me. Bale, (shaking Randal's hand warmly.)-—.^* You speak 
 admirably— a jjos^-oZ)ii5 1 — -so often as he has heard his father^s 
 opinion on such transactions. Ho — I will not see him— I 
 should be too angry- — " 
 
 Handal, (leading the Parson back, resumes, after au ex- 
 change of salutations with Avenel, w^ho, meanwhile, had beeji 
 conferring with his nephew.)— "You should not bp so long 
 away from your rectory, Mr. Pale. What will your parish do 
 without you ? " 
 
 Mr. Dale. — The old fable of the wheel and the fly, I am 
 afraid the wheel rolls on the same. But il I am absent from 
 my parish, I am still in the company of one who does me 
 honour as an old parishioner. You remember Leonard Fair- 
 field, your antagonist in the Battle of the Stocks ? 
 
 Mr. Avenel.—" My nephew, I am proud to say, sir." 
 
 Randal bowed with marked civility— Leonard with a reserve 
 no less marked. 
 
 Mr. Avenel, (ascribing his nephew's reserve to shyness.)— 
 " You should be friends, ypu two youngsters. Who knows 
 but you may run together in the same harness P Ah, that 
 reminds me, Leslie — I have a word or two to say to you. 
 Your servant, Mr. Dale. Sb^all be happy to present you to 
 Mrs. Avenel. My card— Eaton Square— Number *f You 
 will call on me to-morrow, Leonard. And mind I shall be 
 very angry if you porsist in your refusal* Such an opening ! ' ' 
 Avenel took Bandars arm, while the Parson and Le^snard 
 walked on. 
 
 " Any fresh hiDfcs as to Lansmere ? " asked Randal. 
 
 " Yes ; I have now decided on the plan of contest. We 
 must fight two and two— you and Egerton against me an^ 
 (if I can get him to stand, as I hope), my nephew^ 
 Leonard." 
 
424 
 
 NOVEL; OR, 
 
 "What!" said Randal, alarmed; "then, after all, I can 
 hope for no support from you ? " 
 
 " I don't say that ; but I haye reason to think Lord 
 L'Estrange will bestir himself actively in favour of Egerton. 
 If so, it will be a very sharp contest ; and I must manage the 
 whole election on our side, and unite all our shaky votes, 
 which I can best do by standing myself in the first instance, 
 reserving it to after consideration whether I shall throw up at 
 the last ; for I don't particularly want to come in, as I did a 
 little time ago, before I had found out my nephew. "Wonder- 
 ful young man ! — ^with such a head — will do me credit in 
 the rotten old House ; and I think I had best leave London, 
 go to Screwstown, and look to my business. No : if Leonard 
 stand, I must first see to get him in ; and next, to keep 
 Egerton out. It will probably, therefore, end in the return 
 of one and one on either side, as we thought of before. Leonard 
 on our side ; and Egerton shan't be the man on the other. 
 You understand ? " 
 
 " I do, my dear Avenel. Of course, as I before said, I 
 can't dictate to your party whom they should prefer — Egerton 
 or myself. And it will be obvious to the public that your 
 party would rather defeat so eminent an adversary as Mr. 
 Egerton, than a tyro in politics like me. Of course I cannot 
 scheme for such a result; it would be misconstrued, and damage 
 my character. But I rely equally on your friendly promise." 
 
 " Promise ! ISTo — I don't promise. I must first see how 
 the cat jumps ; and I don't know yet how our friends may 
 like you, nor how they can be managed. All I can say 
 is, that Audley Egerton shan't be M.P. for Lansmere. Mean- 
 while, you will take care not to commit yourself in speaking, 
 so that our party can't vote for you consistently : they mast 
 count on having you — when you get into the House." 
 
 " I am not a violent party-man at present," answered 
 Randal, prudently. "And i"? pubHc opinion prove on your 
 side, it is the duty of a statesman to go with the times." 
 
 " Yery sensibly said ; and I have a private bill or two, and 
 some other little jobs, I want to get through the House, which 
 we can discuss later, should it come to a frank understanding 
 between us. We must arrange how to meet privately at 
 Lansmere, if necessary. I'll see to that. I shall go down 
 this week. I think of taking a hint from the free and 
 glorious land of A.merica, and establishing secret caucuses. 
 Nothing like 'em." 
 
 " Cauc-ises ? " 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 425 
 
 " Small sub-committees tliat spy on tlieir men night and 
 day, and don't suffer them to be intimidated to vote the other 
 way." 
 
 " You have an extraordinary head for public affairs, Avenel. 
 You should come into Parliament yourself ; your nephew is so 
 very young." 
 
 " So are you." 
 
 " Yes ; but I know the world. Does he ? " 
 " The world knows him, though not by name, and he has 
 been the making of me." 
 " How ? You surprise me." 
 
 Avenel first explained about the patent which Leonard had 
 secured to him ; and next confided, upon honour, Leonard's 
 identity with the anonymous author whom the Parson had 
 supposed to be Professor Moss. 
 
 Randal Leslie felt a jealous pang. What ! then — had this 
 village boy — this associate of John Burley — (literary vaga- 
 bond, whom he supposed had ]ong since gone to the dogs, and 
 been buried at the expense of the parish) — had this boy so 
 triumphed over birth, rearing, circumstance, that, if Randal 
 and Leonard had met together in any public place, and 
 Leonard's identity with the rising author been revealed, every 
 eye would have turned from Randal to gaze on Leonard ? 
 The common consent of mankind would have acknowledged 
 the supreme royalty of genius when it once leaves its solitude, 
 and strides into the world. What ! was this rude villager 
 the child of Fame, who, without an effort, and unconsciously, 
 had inspired in the wearied heart of Beatrice di Negra a love 
 that Randal knew, by an instinct, no arts, no craft, could ever 
 create for him in the heart of woman ? And, now, did this 
 same youth stand on the same level in the ascent to power as 
 he, the well-born Randal Leslie, the accomplished protegS of 
 the superb Audley Egerton ? Were they to be rivals in the 
 same arena of practical busy life ? Randal gnawed his 
 quivering lip. 
 
 All the while, however, the young man whom he so envied 
 was a prey to sorrows deeper far than could ever find room 
 or footing in the narrow and stony heart of the unloving 
 schemer. As Leonard walked through the crowded streets 
 with the friend and monitor of his childhood, confiding the 
 simple tale of his earliei* trials — when, amidst the wreck of 
 fortune, and in despair of fame, the Child- angel smiled by his 
 side, like Hope — all renown seemed to him so barren, all the 
 future so dark! His voice trembled, and his countenance 
 
bec^-nxe so jscj^d, ih^t Ms benignant listener, divining tliat; 
 arQiind the inaage of Helen fhere clmig some passionate gi^ief 
 that overshadowed all worldly snccess, drew Leonard gently 
 and gently on, till the yonng man, long yearning for gonie 
 confidant, told him all j—liow, faithf nl through, long years to 
 one pure and ardent memory, Helen had been seen once more 
 — the child ripened to woman, and the meniory reyealing 
 itself as love. 
 
 The Parson listene(l with, a mild and thoughtful brow, 
 which expanded into a more cheerful expression as Leonard 
 closed his sbory. 
 
 " T see no reason to despond," said Mr. Dale. " You fear 
 that Miss Lfigby does not return your attacliment ; you dwell 
 upon lier reserve — her distant though kindly manner. Cheer 
 up ! • All young ladies are under the influence of wh^t phreno- 
 logists call the organ of Secretiveness, wheii they are in the 
 society of tbe object of their preference. Just as you 
 describe Miss Ejigby's ma,nnerto you, was my Carry- s manner 
 to myself." 
 
 The Parson here indulged in a very appropriate digression 
 upon female modesty, which he wound tip by asserting, that 
 that estimable virtue became more and more influenced by 
 the secretive organ, in proportion as tliQ favoured suitor 
 approached near and nearer to a definite proposal. It was 
 the duty of a gallant and honourable lover to make that pro- 
 posal in distinct and orthodox form, before it could be 
 expected that a youiig lady should commit herself and the 
 dignity of her sex by the slightest hint as to her own inclina- 
 tions. 
 
 ^'iN'ext," continued the Parson, "you choose to torment 
 yourself by contrasting your own origin and fortunes witb 
 the altered circumstances of Miss Bigby — the ward of Lord 
 L'Estrange, the guesfc of Lady Lansmere. You s§by that if 
 Lord L'Estrange could have counteiianced such, a union, he 
 would have adopted a different tone with you — sounded your 
 heart, encouraged your hopes, and so forth. I view things 
 differerxtly. I have reason" to do sq ; and, from all you bave 
 told me of this nobleman's interest in your fate, I venture to 
 make you this promise, that if Miss Digby would accept your 
 hand. Lord L'Esfcrange gball ratify ber cboice." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Dalq," cried Leonard, transported, " you 
 make me that promise ? - 
 
 " 1 do — from what you bave said, and from what I ip.JS^M 
 know of Lord L'B3tra?ige. Gro, then, at onq^ to itnightsr 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 bridge— see Miss Dighj — sliow l^er jour heart— explain to hei^ 
 if you will, your prospects — -ask her permission to apply to 
 Lord L'Estrange, (since he has constituted himself her 
 guardian ;) and if Lord L'Estrange hesitate — which, if your 
 happiness be set on this union, I think he will not — let me 
 know, and lea,ve the rest to me." 
 
 Leonard yielded himself to the Pargon''s persuasive elo- 
 quence. Indeed, when he recalled to mind those passages in 
 the manuscripts of the ill-fated J^ora, which referred to the 
 love that Harley had once borne to her — (for he felt coiivinced 
 that Harley and the boy suitor of Nora's narrative were one 
 and the same ;) and when all the interest that Harley had 
 taken in his own fortunes wa^ explained by his relationship 
 to her (even when Lord L'Estrange had supposed it less close 
 than he would now discover it to be), the young man, reason- 
 ing by his own heart, could not but suppose that the noble 
 Harley would rejoice to ponfer happiness upon the son of her, 
 so beloved by his boyhood. 
 
 " And to thee, perhaps, 0 my mother ! " thought Leonard, 
 with swipanaing eyes — " to thee, perha,ps, even in thy grave, I 
 shall owe the partner of my life, as to the mystic breath 
 of thy genius I owe the first pure aspirations of niy soul." 
 
 It will be seen that Leonard had not confided to the Parson 
 his discovery of Nora's manuscripts, nor even his knowledge 
 of his real birth ; for the proud son naturally shrank from 
 any confidence that implicated Nora's fair name, until at 
 least Harley. who, it was clear from those papers., piust have 
 intimately known his father, should perhaps decide the 
 question which the papers themselves left so terribly vague — ■ 
 viz., whether he were the offspring of a legal marriage, or 
 Nora had been the victim of some unholy fraud. 
 
 While the Parson still talked, and while Leonard still 
 mused and listened, their steps alniost naechanically took the 
 direction towards Knightsbridge, and paused at the gates of 
 Lord Lansmere's house. 
 
 " Go in, my young friend ; I will wait without to know 
 the issue," said the Parson, cheeringiy. " Gro : and with 
 gratitude to Heaven, learn how to bear the most precious joy 
 that can befall mortal man; or how to submit to youth^s 
 sharpest sorrow, with the humble belief that even sorrow is 
 but kgme mercy concealed." 
 
4^8 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Lkonaed "was sliown into the drawing-room, and it so 
 chanced that Helen was there alone. The girl's soft face was 
 sadly changed, even since Leonard had seen it last ; for tne 
 grief of natures, mild, and nndemonstratiye as hers, gnaws 
 with quick ravages ; but at Leonard's unexpected entrance, 
 the colour rushed so vividly to the pale cheeks that its hectic 
 might be taken for the lustre of bloom and health. She rose 
 hurriedly, and in great confusion faltered out, " that she 
 believed Lady Lansmere was in her room — she would go for 
 her," and moved towards the door, without seeming to notice 
 the hand tremulously held forth to her ; when Leonard ex- 
 claimed in uncontrollable emotions which pierced to her very 
 heart, in the keen accent of reproach — 
 
 " Oh, Miss Digby — oh, Helen — is it thus that you greet me 
 — rather thus that you shun me ? Could I have foreseen this 
 when we two orphans stood by the mournful bridge ; — so 
 friendless — so desolate — and so clinging each to each ? Happy 
 time ! " He seized her hand suddenly as he spoke the last 
 words, and bowed his face over it. 
 
 " I must not hear you. Do not talk so, Leonard — you 
 break my heart. Let me go — let me go." 
 
 " Is it that I am grown hateful to you ; is it merely that 
 you see my love and would discourage it ? Helen, speak to 
 me — speak ! " 
 
 He drew her with tender force towards him ; and, holding 
 her firmly by both hands, sought to gaze upon the face that 
 she turned from him — turned in such despair. 
 
 *' You do not know," she said at last, struggling for com- 
 posure — you do not know the new claims on me — my altered 
 position — ^how I am bound — or you would be the last to speak 
 thus to me, the first to give me courage — and bid me — bid 
 me—" 
 
 " Bid you what ? " 
 
 " Feel nothing here but duty \ " cried Helen, drawing from 
 his clasp both her hands, and placing them firmly on her 
 breast. 
 
 " Miss Digby," said Leonard, after a short pause of bitter 
 reflection, in which he wronged, while he thought to divine, 
 her meaning, " you speak of new claims on you, your altered 
 position — I comprehend. You may retain some tender re- 
 
VAETETTES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 429 
 
 membrance of tlie past ; but } V)ur duty now is to rebuke my 
 presumption. It is as I tbougbt and feared. This vain 
 reputation wbich I bave made is but a hollow sound — it gives 
 me no rank, assures me no fortune. I have no right to look 
 for the Helen of old in the Helen of to-day. Be it so — ^forget 
 what I have said, and forgive me." 
 
 This reproach stung to the quick the heart to which it 
 appealed. A flash brightened the meek, tearful eyes, almost 
 like the flash of resentment — her lips writhed in torture, and 
 she felt as if all other pain were light compared with the 
 anguish that Leonard could impute to her motives which to 
 her simple nature seemed so unworthy of her, and so galling 
 to himself. 
 
 A word rushed as by inspiration to her lip, and that word 
 calmed and soothed her. 
 
 " Brother ! " she said touchingly, " brother 1 " 
 The word had a contrary efEect on Leonard. Sweet as it 
 was, tender as the voice that spoke it, it imposed a boundary 
 to affection — it came as a knell to hope. He recoiled, shook 
 his' head mournfully — " Too late to accept that tie — too late 
 even for friendship. Henceforth — ^for long years to come — ■ 
 henceforth, till this heart has ceased to beat at your name — 
 to thrill at your presence, we two — are strangers.*' 
 
 Strangers ! Well — yes, it is right — it must be so ; we 
 must not meet. 0, Leonard Fairfield, who was it that in 
 those days that you recall to me — who was it that found you 
 destitute, and obscure — who, not degrading you by charity, 
 placed you in your right career — opened to you, amidst the 
 labyrinth in which you were well-nigh lost, the broad road 
 to knowledge, independence, fame. Answer me — answer! 
 Was it not the same who reared, sheltered your sister orphan ? 
 If I could forget what I have owed to him, should I not 
 remember what he has done for you ? Can I hear of your 
 distinction, and not remember it ? Can I think how proud 
 she may be who will one day lean on your arm, and bear the 
 name you have already raised beyond all the titles of an hour ? 
 Can I think of this, and not remember our common friend, 
 benefactor, guardian ? Would you forgive me, if I failed to 
 do so ? 
 
 " But," faltered Leonard, fear mingling with the conjectures 
 these words called forth—" but is it that Lord L'Estrange 
 would not consent to our union ? — or of what do you speak ? 
 Zou bewilder me." 
 
 Helen felt for some moments as if it were impossible to 
 
430 
 
 reply; afid ilie words at leiigfcli were dragged forfcli as if from 
 tlie deptli of lier very soul. 
 
 " He came to me — our iibble friend. I never dreamed of it. 
 He did not tell me that lie loved me. He told me that lie 
 was unhappy, alone ; th^t in me, and only in me, he could 
 find a comforter, a soother — He, he 1 — And I had just arrived 
 in England — was undfer hig mother's roof — had not then once 
 more seen you; and— -and — what could I answer ? Strengthen 
 me — strengthen me, yo'u whom I look up to and revere. Yes, 
 yes — -you are right. W e must see each other no more. I am 
 betrothed to another — to him 1 Strengthen me 1 
 
 All the inherent nobleness of the poet's nature rosS at Once 
 at this appeal. 
 
 " Oh, Helen — sister — Miss Digby, forgive me. You need 
 no strength from me ; I borrow it from you. I cotnprehend 
 you — I respect. Banish all thought of me. Kepay our 
 common benefactor. Be what he asks of you— -his comforter, 
 his soother ; be more — his pride aiid his joy. Hapyiitiess Will 
 come to yoa^ as it conies to those who coiifer happiiless and 
 forget self. G'Od comfort you in the passing struggle ; Grod 
 bless you, in the long years to come. Sister — I accept the 
 holy name now, and will claim it hereafter, when I too caii 
 think more of others than myself.*' 
 
 Helen had covered her face with her hands, sobbing ; but 
 with that soft, womanly constraint which presses Wde back 
 into the heart. A strange sense of utter solitude suddeiily 
 pervaded her whole being, aiid by that sense of solitude she 
 knew that he was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 In another room in that same house sate, solitary a<s Helen, 
 a stern,, gloomy, brooding man, in whom they who had best 
 known him from his childhood could scarcely have recognised 
 a trace of the humane, benignant, trustful, but wayward and 
 varying Harley, Lord L' Estrange. 
 
 He had read that fragment of a memoir, in which, out of 
 all tlie chasms of his barren and melancholy past, there rose 
 two malignant truths that seemed literally to glare upon him 
 with mocking and demon eyes. The woman whose remem- 
 brance had darkened all the sunshine of his life, had loved 
 another. The friend in whom he had confided his whole 
 
VARIETIES m EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 431 
 
 affa3tioiiat-e loyal soul Md been his p'ferfidioiis rival. He liacl 
 read from tlie first Word to the last, as if under a spell that 
 held him breathless ; and when he closed the inamiscript, it 
 was without groan or sigh ; bnt oVer his pale lips there passed 
 that withering smile, which is as sure an index of a heart 
 overcharged v/ith dire and fearful passio^^, as the arrowy 
 Sash of the lightning of the teihpestS that hte gathered 
 vdthin the cloud. 
 
 He then thrust the papers into his bosohi, ah-d, keeping his 
 hand over them, firnily clenched, he left the room, and walked 
 slowly on towards his father's house. With every step by the 
 way, his nature, in the war of its eleniehts, seeined to cha^nge 
 9.nd hai-den into forms of granite. Love, humanity, trust, 
 vanished away. Hate, revenge, misanthropy, suspicion, and 
 scorn of all that could wear thie eyes of affection, or speak 
 with the voice of honour, came fast through the gloom of his 
 thoughts, settling down iii the wilderness, grim and meliacing 
 as the hatpies of ancient song — 
 
 << Uncseque manus, et pallida semper Ora." — * 
 
 Thus the gloomy man had crossed the threshold of his f ather's 
 house, and silently entered the apartments still set apart for 
 him. He had arrived about an hour before Leonard ; and as 
 he stood by the hearth, with his arms folded oil his breast, 
 and his eyes fixed lead- like Oh the ground, his mother came 
 in to welcome and embrace him. He checked her eager 
 inquiries after Yiolante — ^he recoiled from the touch of her 
 hand. 
 
 Hold, madam," said hcj startling her ear with the cold 
 lausterity of his tone. " I cannot heed your questions — I am 
 filled with the question I must put to yourself. You opposed 
 my boyish love for Leonora Avenel. I do Hot blame you— all 
 mothers of equal rank would have done the same. Yet, had 
 you hot frustrated all frank intercourse with her, I might 
 have taken refusal from her own lips — ^^survived that grief, 
 and how been a happy man. Years since then have rolled 
 away — roiled over her quiet slumbers, and my restless waking 
 life. All this time were you aware that Audley Egertoh had 
 been the lover of Leonora Avenel ? " 
 
 " Harley, Harley ! do not speak to me in that cruel voice — 
 do not look at me with those hard eyes ! " 
 
 " You knew it, then — ^you, my mother ! " continued Harley, 
 unmoved by her rebuke ; " and why did you never say, ' Son, 
 
 * Haiida armed ^itit fangs, and Hps for fever pale." 
 
432 
 
 MY KOVEL ; OR, 
 
 you are wasting the bloom and uses of your life in sorrowful 
 fidelity to a lie ! You are layishing trust and friendship on a 
 perfidious hypocrite ? * " 
 
 " How could I speak to you thus — ^how could I dare to do 
 so — seeing you still so cherished the memory of that unhappy 
 girl — still believed that she had returned your affection ? Had 
 I said to you what I knew (but not till after her death), as to 
 her relations with Audley Egerton — " 
 
 " "Well ? — you falter — go on — had you done so ? 
 
 " Would you have felt no desire for revenge ? Might ther« 
 not have been strife between you — danger — ^bloodshed ? 
 Harley, Harley ! Is not such silence pardonable in a mother ? 
 And why deprive you too of the only friend you seemed to 
 prize — who alone had some influence over you — who con- 
 curred with me in the prayer and hope, that some day you 
 would find a living partner worthy to replace this lost delu- 
 sion, arouse your faculties — be the ornament your youth pro- 
 mised to your country ? Eor you wrong Audley — ^indeed 
 you do ! " 
 
 " Wrong him ! Ah ! let me not do that. Proceed," 
 
 " I do not excuse him his rivalship, nor his first conceal 
 ment of it. But believe me, since then, his genuine remorse, 
 liis anxious tenderness for your welfare, his dread of losing 
 your friendship — " 
 
 " Stop — ^it was doubtless Audley Egerton who induced you 
 yourself to conceal what you call his * relations* with her 
 whom I can now so calmly name — Leonora Avenel ? " 
 
 " It was so, in truth — and from motives that — " 
 
 " Enough — let me hear no more." 
 
 " But you will not think too sternly of what is past ; you 
 are about to form new ties. You cannot be wild and wicked 
 enough to meditate what your brow seems to threaten. You 
 cannot dream of revenge — ^risk Audley *s life or your own ? " 
 
 " Tut — tut — ^tut ! What cause here for duels ? Single 
 combats are out of date — civilised men do not slay each other 
 with sword and pistol. Tut ! — ^revenge ! Does it look like 
 revenge, that one object which brings me hither is to request 
 Tiij father's permission to charge myself with the care of 
 Audley Egerton's election? What he values most in the 
 world is his political position ; and here his political existence 
 is at stake. You know that I have had through life the 
 character of a weak, easy, somewhat over-generous man. 
 Such men are not revengeful. Hold ! You lay your hand 
 on my arm — know the magic of that light touch, mother^ 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 433 
 
 but its power over me is gone. Conntess of Lansmere, hear 
 me ! Ever from infancy (save in that frantic passion for 
 which I now despise myself), T have obeyed you, I trust, as a 
 duteous son. 'Now, our relative positions are somewhat 
 altered. I have the right to exact — I will not say to com- 
 mand — the right which w^rong and injury bestow upon all 
 men. Madam, the injured man has prerogatives that rival 
 those of kings. I now call upon you to question me no more 
 — not again to breathe the name of Leonora Avenel, unless I 
 invite the subject ; and not to inform Audley Egerton by a 
 hint — by a breath — that I have discovered — what shall I call 
 it ? — his * pardonable deceit.' Promise me thif?, by your affec- 
 tion as mother, and on your faith as gentlewoman — or I 
 declare solemnly, that never in life will yon look upon my 
 face again." 
 
 Haughty and imperious though the Countess was, her spirit 
 quailed before Harley's brow and voice. 
 
 *' Is this my son — this my gentle Harley ? " she said, falter- 
 ingly. " Oh ! put your arms round my neck — let me feel 
 that 1 have not lost my child ! " 
 
 Harley looked softened, but he did not obey the pathetic 
 prayer ; nevertheless, he held out his hand, and turning away 
 his face, said, in a milder voice, " Have I your promise ? 
 
 "You have — ^you have ; but on condition that there pass 
 no words between you and Audley that can end but in the 
 strife which — 
 
 Strife ! " interrupted Harley. " I repeat that the idea of 
 challenge and duel between me and my friend from our 
 school days, and on a quarrel that we could explain to no 
 seconds, would be a burlesque upon all that is grave in the 
 realities of life and feeling. I accept your promise and seal 
 it thus—'' 
 
 He pressed his lips to his mother's forehead, and passively 
 received her embrace. 
 
 "Hush," he said, withdrawing from her arms, " I hear my 
 Father's voice." 
 
 Lord Lansmere threw open the door widely, and with a 
 certain consciousness that a door by which an Earl of Lans- 
 mere entered ought to be thrown open widely. It could not 
 have been opened with more majesty if a huissier or officer of 
 the Household had stood on either side. The Countess 
 passed by her lord with a light step, and escaped. 
 
 " J w^as occupied with my architect in designs for the new 
 infirmary, of which L shall make a pressent to our county. I 
 
 VOL. i^. F F 
 
431 
 
 MY novel; oh, 
 
 hayo onlj just lieard that you wei^G here, Harlej. What is 
 all this about our fair Itahan guest ? Is she not coming back 
 to us ? Your mother refers me to you for explanations.-' 
 
 " You shall haye them later, my dear father ; at present I 
 can think only of public afliairs." 
 
 " Public affairs ! — -they a.re indeed alarming. I ssm rejoiced 
 to hear you express yourself so worthily. An awful .crisis, 
 Harley ! And, gracious heayen ! I haye heard that a low 
 man, who was born in Lansmere, but made a fortane in 
 America, is about to contest the borough. They tell me he 
 is one of the Avenels— a born Blue— is it possible ? " 
 
 " I haye come here on that business. As a peer you cannot, 
 of course, interfere. But I propose, with your leaye, to go 
 down myself to Lansmere, and undertake the superintendence 
 of the election. It wou.ld be better, perhaps, if you were not 
 present ; it would giye us more liberty of action." 
 
 " My dear Harley, shake hands ; anything you please. 
 You know how I haye haye wished to see you come forward, 
 and take that part in life which becomes your birth." 
 
 " Ah, you think I haye sadly wasted my existence 
 hitherto." 
 
 ^' To be frank with you, yes, Harley," said the Earl with a 
 pride that was noble in its natu.re, and not without dignity in 
 its expression. " The more we take from our country, the 
 more we owe to her. Erom the moment you came into the 
 world, as the inheritor of lands and honours, you were charged 
 with a trust for the benefit of others, that it degra<des one of 
 our order of gentlemen not to discharge." 
 
 Harley listened with a sombre brow, and made no direct reply. 
 
 "Indeed," resumed the Earl, "I would rather you were 
 iii.bout to canyass for yourself than for your friend Egerton. 
 But I grant he is an example that it is neyer too late to 
 follow. Why, who that had seen you both as youths, not- 
 withstanding Audley had the adyantage of being some years 
 your senior — who could haye thought that he was the one to 
 become distinguished and eminent — and you to degenerate 
 into the luxurious idler, ayerse to all trouble and careless of 
 all fame ? You, with such adyantages, not only of higher 
 fortunes, but, as eyery one said, of superior talents — you, who 
 had then so much ambition- — so keen a desire for glory, 
 sleeping with Plutarch's Liyes under your pillow, and only, 
 my wild son, only too much energy. But you are a young 
 man still — it is not too late to redeem the years you haye 
 fiirown away." 
 
VARIETIES IN EKaLISH LIFE. 
 
 435 
 
 The yeai's — are notMng-— mere dates in an almanack ; but 
 t]ie feelings, -wliput can give me back those ?- — the hope, tho 
 enthusiasm, the — +10 matter ! feeHngs do not help men to rise 
 in the world. Egerton's feelings are not too liyelj. What 
 I might have been, leave it to me to remember — let ns talk of 
 the example you set before me— of Audlej Egerton." 
 
 "We must get him in/' said "the Earl, sinking his voice 
 hito a whis|)er. " It is of more importance to him than I even 
 thought for. But you know his secrets. Why did you not 
 confide to me frankly the state of his affairs ? '* 
 
 His afeirs ? Do you mean that they are seriously em^ 
 barrassed ? This interests me much. Pray speak ; what do 
 you know ? " 
 
 " He has discharged the greater part of his establishment. 
 That in itself is natural on quitting office ; but still it set 
 people talking ; and it has got wind that his estates are not 
 only mortgaged for more than they are worth, but that he 
 has been living upon the discount of bills ; in short, he has 
 been too intimate with a man whom we all know by sight — a 
 man who drives the finest horses in London, and they tell me 
 (but that I cannot believe) lives in the familiar society of the 
 young puppies he snares to perdition. What's the man's 
 name ? Levy, is it not ? — yes. Levy." 
 
 ~ "I have seen Levy with him," said Harley ; and a sinister 
 joy lighted up his falcon eyes. Levy— Levy-— it is well." 
 ' " I hear but the gossip of the clubs," resumed the Earl. 
 " But they do say that Levy makes little disguise of his 
 power over our very distinguished friend, and rather parades 
 it as a merit with our party, (and, indeed, with all men — for 
 Egertpn has personal friends in every party,) that he keeps 
 sundry bills locked up in his desk until Egerton is once more 
 safe in Parliament. E"evertheless if, after all, our friend 
 were to lose his election, and Levy were then to sei^e on his 
 effects, and proclaim his ruin — it would seriously damage, 
 perhaps altogether destroy, Audley's political career.'^ 
 
 " So I conclude," said Harley. " A Charles Fox might be 
 a gamester, and a William Pitt be a pauper. But Audley 
 iEgerton is not of their giant stature ;^ — ^he stands so high 
 because he stands upon heaps of respectable gold. Audley 
 Egerton, needy and impoverished — out of Parliament, and, 
 as the vulgar slang has it, out at elbows, skulking from duns 
 — perhaps in the Bench—" 
 
 "E'o, no — our party would never allow that; we would 
 subscribe—" 
 
 ? F 2 
 
436 
 
 My KOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " "Worse than all, living as tlie pensioner of the party ho 
 aspired to lead ! You say truly, his political prospects would 
 be blasted. A man whose reputation lay in his outward 
 respectability 1 Why, people would say that Audley Egerton 
 has been — a solemn lie ; eh, my father ? 
 
 " How can you talk with such coolness of your friend ? 
 You need say nothing to interest me in his election — if you 
 mean that. Once in Parliament, he must soon again be in 
 oj0B.ce — and learn to live on his salary. You must get him to 
 submit to me the schedule of his liabilities. I have a head 
 for business, as you know. I will arrange his affairs for him. 
 And I will yet bet five to one, though I hate wagers, that he 
 will be prime minister in three years. He is not brilliant, it 
 is true ; but just at this crisis we want a safe, moderate, judi- 
 cious, conciliatory man ; and Audley has so much tact, such 
 experience of the House, such knowledge of the world, and," 
 added the Earl, emphatically summing up his eulogies, " he is 
 so thorough a gentleman ! " 
 
 " A thorough gentleman, as you say — the soul of honour ! 
 But, my dear father, it is your hour for riding ; let me not 
 detain you. It is settled, then ; you do not come yourself to 
 Lansmere. You put the house at my disposal, and allow me 
 to invite Egerton, of course, and what other guests I may 
 please ; in short, you leave all to me ? " 
 
 "Certainly ; and if you cannot get in your friend, who can ? 
 That borough, it is an awkward, ungrateful place, and has 
 been the plague of my life. So much as I have spent there, 
 too — so much as I have done to its trade." And the Earl, 
 with an indignant sigh, left the room. 
 
 Harley seated himself deliberately at his writing-table, 
 leaning his face on his hand, and looking abstractedly into 
 space from under knit and lowering brows. 
 
 Harley L'Estrange was, as we have seen, a man singularly 
 tenacious of affections and impressions. He was a man, too, 
 whose nature was eminently bold, loyal, aud candid ; even 
 the apparent whim and levity which misled the world, both 
 as to his dispositions and his powers, might be half ascribed 
 to that open temper which, in its over- contempt for all that 
 seemed to savour of hypocrisy, sported with forms and cere- 
 monials, and extracted humour, sometimes extravagant, some- 
 times profound — from " the solemn plausibilities of the world." 
 The shock he had now received smote the very foundations of 
 his mind, and, overthrowing all the airier structures which 
 fancy and wit had built upon its surface, left it clear as a new 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 437 
 
 "world for tlie operations of tlie darker and more fearful 
 passions. When a man of a lieart so loving, and a nature so 
 irregularly powerful as Harley's suddenly and abruptly dis- 
 covers deceit where lie had most confided, it is not (as with 
 the calmer pupils of that harsh teacher. Experience) the mere 
 withdrawal of esteem and affection from the one offender — ^it 
 is, that trust in everythmg seems gone — it is, that the injured 
 spirit looks back to the Past, and condemns all its kindlier 
 virtues as follies that conduced to its own woe ; and looks on 
 to the Future as to a journey beset with smiling traitors, 
 whom it must meet with an equal simulation, or crush with a 
 superior force. The guilt of treason to men like these is in- 
 calculable — it robs the world of all the benefits they would 
 otherwise have lavished as they passed — it is responsible for 
 all the ill that springs from the corruption of natures, whose 
 very luxuriance, when the atmosphere is once tainted, does 
 but diffuse disease ; — even as the malaria settles not over thin 
 and barren soils, nor over wastes that have been from all time 
 desolate, but over the places in which southern suns had once 
 ripened delightful gardens, or the sites of cities, in which the 
 pomp of palaces has passed away. 
 
 It was not enough that the friend of his youth, the con- 
 fidant of his love, had betrayed his trust — ^been the secret and 
 successful rival — not enough that the woman his boyhood 
 had madly idolised, and all the while he had sought her traces 
 with pining, remorseful heart — believing she but eluded his 
 suit from the emulation of a kindred generosity — desiring 
 rather to sacrifice her own love than to cost to his the sacrifice 
 of all which youth rashly scorns and the world so highly 
 estimates; — not enough that all this while her refuge had 
 been the bosom of another. This was not enough of injury. 
 His whole life had been wasted on a delusion — his faculties 
 and aims — ^the wholesome ambition of lofty minds had been 
 arrested at the very onset of fair existence — his heart corroded 
 by a regret for which there was no cause — ^his conscience 
 charged with the terror that his wild chase had urged a too 
 tender victim to the grave, over which he had mourned. 
 What years that might otherwise have been to himself so 
 serene, to the world so useful, had been consumed in object- 
 less, barren, melancholy dreams ! And all this while to whom 
 had his complaints been uttered ? — to the man who knew that 
 his remorse was an idle spectre, and his faithful sorrow a 
 mocking self-deceit. Every thought that could gall man's 
 natural pride — every remembrance that could sting into 
 
438 
 
 MY NOT EL ; 0% 
 
 reveiige a heart tliat liad loved too deeply not tb be accessible 
 tb liafce— conspired to goad tbbse maddeiiihg Ftiries wlid G6mq 
 iiito everj temple wHich is oiice desecrated by tbe presence oi 
 tlie evil passions. In tliat silllen silence of tbe soul, vengeancd 
 took tbe fdi^ni of justice. CKangfed thdiigliliis feelings to wards 
 Leonora Avenel ■vvei'd, tbe stofy of H'et griet and Mer wroiigs 
 embittfefed still mbre liis wratK against His rival. Tbe frag- 
 ments bf Hbr iiletiioir left naturally on Harley's miiid tHe cbn- 
 victibii tbdit sHe bad been tbe victim of an infamous ffatld — ■ 
 tHe du^e of k false ingLrriage. His idol Had ndt oiily been 
 stolen f rbin tHe altar, it Had bben stillied by tHe sacrifice — - 
 broken witH rbnibrseless Ha,nd, and tlirust into disHonbured 
 clay — mutilated, dbfgLiiied — its very inbiilory h, tHiiig of con* 
 teinpt to HlHi wHo liad tavisHed it froiil #bt&Hip. THb living 
 HMey alid tHb dead Kora— both dalled aloud to their joint 
 despoiler, Jlestbre wHat tHbti Hast taken from lis, or pky tHe 
 fbffeit! " 
 
 THus, then, during tHb iHtei'view bbt^ben HbldH arid Lbti- 
 iaard, tHiis Harley L'Esti?ange diit hloM ! fiiid as ^ rudu 
 irrbgiiMr liimp of steel, wEbii #Heeled round into rajjid 
 motion assumes tHe form- of tHe bitble it described, §b His iron 
 pui-po^e; Hlirried bh by His relentless passion, filled tHe space 
 iHtb wHicH He ga:^ed MtH optical deltisioii^ — -scHeme after 
 scHeirie revolving knd cbnsltllimating tHe circles that clasped 
 ^ fbe. 
 
 CHAPTEK XV. 
 
 . . The entrance of a servant, annotincing a nainb wHicH 
 Harleyj in tHe absorption of His gloomy reverie, did not Hear, 
 was followed by that bf a person on wHbm He lifted His eyes 
 in tHe cold and HaugHtjr gurprige with wHicH a liian, mubll 
 eceupied, greets and rebukes tHe intrusion of an iinwelcomb 
 Btrtinger. 
 
 " It is so long since your IbrdsHip HaS sebii me,*' Said tlib 
 Tisitbr^ witH mild dignity, " tHiit I Cannot wbiider ybu do hot 
 recoghise my person, and Havb forgotten my namb." 
 
 ^' Sir/' answered Sarley, with an iihpatieht rtidehbsSj ill iii 
 Harmony with the urbd^nity for which he was lis it ally distin- 
 guished — " Sir, your persbn is strange to ihe, and your nanie 
 I did not Hear ; but, at all eteiat^, I am not hG# at leisure tt) 
 attend to you.. Excuse my plainness." 
 
VAKTETTES IN fiNGLii^ll LIFE. 
 
 430 
 
 " Yet, pardon me if I ^till linger. Mf nanie is Dale. I vyas 
 fck'ineriy ciirate at Lansmere; and I wonld speak tO your 
 loi'dsHii) in tlie name and tHe memory of one once dear to yoti 
 —-Leonora Avenel." 
 
 Harley (after a short pause.) — Sir, I cannot conjecture 
 ydttr business. Bdt be seated. I reinember ybu now, tHougb 
 years have altered botb, and I baye since heard much in your 
 f^^oiir from Leonard Ea;irfield. Still let me pray that you. 
 wiHbebHef.'' 
 
 Mr. Dale. — " May I assume at once that ybu haye diyined 
 the parentage of the yoiing man yoti. call Fairfield ? When 
 I listened to his grateful praises of yoiir beneficence, and 
 marked Svith melancholy pleasure the reyerbilce in which he 
 holds you, my teart swelled within riie. I acknowledged the 
 mysterious force of nattlre." 
 
 HiiiLEt. — " Force of h&ttii'e ! Yoh talk in riddles." 
 
 Me. Dale, (indignantly.)—" Oh^ iny lord, how can you so 
 disguise yotir better self ? Surely ih Leonard Fairfield you 
 haye long siiice recogiiised the sbh of l^ora Ayenel ? " 
 
 Harley p^tssed hii hand oyer his fabe. " Ah ! " thought he, 
 
 Sh^ liyed to bear a sbhj thbri— a son to Egerfcon ! Leonard 
 is that spii. I should haye knciWii it by the likeness — by the 
 fond fobiish ihiptilse that iiioyed me tb him. This is why he 
 cbiifided td nie theSe f eaff ul memoirs. He seeks his father- 
 he shall find hiih." 
 
 Mpw Dale, (mistakihg the cause of Harley's silence.) — " I 
 honour your compunction, my lord. Oh ! let ybur heart and 
 yoiir conscience cohtinne to Speak tb ybtii* worldly pride." 
 
 HiELEt. — "My compunbtibrij hearfc,- conscience ! Mr. Dale, 
 you iiisillt me ! " 
 
 Mii. t)ALE, (sternly.)— " Not so ♦ I am fulfilling my mission, 
 which bids me rebuke the sinner. Leonara Ayenel speaks in 
 tne, atid comrhands the guilty father to ackrLdwledge the inno- 
 cent child ! " 
 
 Harley half rose, and his eyes literally flashed fire ; but he 
 calmed his anger into irbhy. " Ha ! " s9/id he, with ii sarcastic 
 smile, " so you suppose that I was the perfidious seducer of 
 !N'ora Ayenel— that I am the calloiis father of the child who 
 came into the wbrld without a name. Yery well, sir, taking 
 these asstitiiptions for granted, what is it yoit demand from 
 me on behalf of this young man ? " 
 
 " I ask ftom you his happiness," replied Mr. Dale, implor- 
 ingly ; and yielding to the compassion with which Leonard 
 inspired him, and perstiaded that Lord L'Estfange felt a 
 
MY novel; or, 
 
 father's love for tKe boy whom lie had saved from the whirl- 
 pool of London, and gaided to safety and honourable inde^ 
 pendence, he here, with simple eloquence, narrated all Leo- 
 nard's feelings for Helen — his silent fidelity to her image, 
 though a child's — ^his love when he again beheld her as a 
 woman — the modest fears which the Parson himself had com- 
 bated — the recommendation that Mr. Dale had forced upon 
 him, to confess his affection to Helen, and plead his cause. 
 " Anxious, as you may believe, for his success," continued the 
 Parson, " I waited without your gates till he came from Miss 
 Digby's presence. And oh, my lord, had you but seen his face ! 
 — such emotion and such despair ! I could not learn from him 
 what had passed. He escaped from me and rushed away. 
 All that I could gather was from a few broken words, and 
 from those words I formed the conjecture (it may be erro- 
 neous) that the obstacle to his happiness was not in Helen's 
 heart, my lord, but seemed to me as if it were in yourself. 
 Therefore, when he had vanished from my sight, I took cou- 
 rage, and came at once to you. If he be your son, and Helen 
 Digby be your ward — she herself an orphan, dependent on 
 your bounty — why should they be severed ? Equals in years 
 — united by early circumstance — congenial, it seems, in simple 
 habits and refined tastes — what should hinder their union, 
 unless it be the want of fortune ? — and all men know your 
 wealth — none ever questioned your generosity. My lord, my 
 lord, your look freezes me. If I have offended, do not visit 
 my offence on him- — on Leonard ! " 
 
 "And so/' said Harley, still controlling his rage, "so this 
 boy — whom, as you say, I saved from that pitiless world which 
 has engulfed many a nobler genius — so, in return for all, he 
 has sought to x'ob me of the last affection, poor and lukewarm 
 though it was, that remained to me in life. He presume to 
 lift his eyes fco my affianced bride ! He ! And for aught I 
 know, steal from me her living heart, and leave to me her icy 
 band ! " 
 
 " Oh, my lord, your affianced bride ! I never dreamed of 
 this. I implore your pardon. The very thought is so terrible 
 — so unnatural — the son to woo the father's — ! Oh, what 
 sin have I fallen into ! The sin was mine — I urged and per- 
 suaded him to it. He was ignorant as myself. Forgive him, 
 forgive him ! " 
 
 " Mr. Dale," said Harley, rising, and extenduig his hand, 
 which the poor Parson felt himself unworthy to take — •" Mr. 
 Dale, you are a good man — if, indeed, this universe of liars 
 
VARIETIES IN ENaLTSH LIFE. 
 
 44.1 
 
 containw some man wlio does not cheat our judgment wlien 
 we deem Mm honest. Allow me only to ask why you consider 
 Leonard Fairfield to be my son ? " 
 
 " Was not your youthful admiration for poor !N"ora evident 
 to me ? Remember I was a frequent guest at Lansmore 
 Park; and it was so natural that you, with all your brilliant 
 gifts, should captivate her refined fancy — ^her affectionate 
 heart." 
 
 ISTatural — you think so — go on." 
 
 " Your mother, as became her, separated you. It was not 
 unknown to me that you still cherished a passion which your 
 rank forbade to be lawful. Poor girl ; she left the roof of 
 her pr^oteotress, Lady Jane. jSTothing was known of her till 
 she came to her father's house to give birth to a child, and 
 die. And the same day that dawned on her corpse, you 
 hurried from the place. Ah ! no doubt your conscience smote 
 you — ^you have never returned to Lansmere since." 
 
 Harley's breast heaved — he waved his hand — the Parson 
 resumed — 
 
 " Whom could I suspect but you ? I made inquiries : they 
 confirmed my suspicions." 
 
 " Perhaps you inquired of my friend, Mr. Egerton ? He 
 was with me when — when — as you say, I hurried from the 
 place." 
 
 I did, my lord ? " 
 
 " And he ? " 
 
 " Denied your guilt ; but still, a man of honour so nice, of 
 heart so feeling, could not feign readily. His denial did not 
 deceive me." 
 
 "Honest man ! " said Har]ey ; and his hand griped at the 
 breast over which still rustled, as if with a ghostly sigh, the 
 records of the dead. " He knew she had left a son, too ? " 
 
 " He did, my lord; of course, I told him that." 
 The son whom I found starving in the streets of London ! 
 Mr. Dale, as you see, your words move me very much. I 
 cannot deny that he who wronged, it may be with no common 
 treachery, that young mother — for Nora Avenel was not one 
 to be lightly seduced into error — " 
 
 " Indeed, no i " 
 
 " And who then thought no more of the offspring of her 
 anguish and his own crime — I cannot deny that that man 
 deserves some chastisement — should render some atonement. 
 Am I not right here ? Answer with the plain speech which 
 becomes your sacred calling." 
 
442 
 
 My irdYEL; dH, 
 
 " I canndt saj otHerwisGj inj lord/' replied tlie Parson, 
 pitying wHat appeared to tiM stlcH rendotee. But if lie 
 repent—" 
 
 Eiiongli/' interi*upted Harley, " 1 now invite you to visit 
 me at Lansinere ; give miB yoiir address and I will apprise yon 
 of the day on wMcK I will reqiiest yoiir presdncei. Leonard 
 Fairfield shall find a father — I was about to say^ worthy of 
 himself. For the rest — stay; reseat yourself. For the rest" 
 — and again the sinister sniile broke froiii Harley's eye and 
 lip — " 1 will not yet say wheth(3r I can, or blight to, resign to a 
 younger and fairer suitor the lady who has accepted my own 
 hand. I have no reason yet to believe that she prefers him 
 Biit "What think you, meanwhile^ of this proposal ? Mr. Avenel 
 wishes his nephew td contest the borbtigh of Lansmere — has 
 urged me to dbtaili the yoiing nlan'g consent. True^ that he 
 may thus endanger the seat of Mr. Audley Egerfco'n. What 
 then ? Mr. Audley Egertbn is a great man, and may find 
 anbther seat ; that should not stand in the way. Let Leonard 
 obey his uncle. If he win the election, why, he'll be a more 
 ec[ual ihatbh, in the world's eye, for Miss Digby— that is, 
 should she prefer him to myself ; and if she do not, still, in 
 public life, there is a dltre for all private sorrow. That is 
 a maxim of Mr. Audley Egerton's ; and he^ yoti knoWj is a 
 man not only of the nicest honour, but the deepest worldly 
 widom. Do you like my proposition ? " 
 
 " It seems to me mosi considerate — most generous." 
 
 ^' Then ybti sh^ll take td Leonard the lilies I ant abdii > t^ 
 iVrite.'^ 
 
 LOED L'ESTEANGE TO LEONARD PaIRFIELD. 
 
 " I have read the memoir you intrusted to me. I will 
 follow up all the clues that it gives me. Meanwhile I request 
 you to suspend all questions — forbear all reference to a subject 
 which, as you may well conjecture, is fraught with painful 
 I'ecollections to myself. At this moment, too, I am compelled 
 to concentre my thoughts upon affairs of a public nature, and 
 yet which may sensibly alfect yourself. There are reasons 
 vfhy I urge you to comply with your uncle's wish, and stand 
 for the borough of Lansmere at the approaching election. If 
 the exquisite gratitude of your nature so overrates what I 
 may have done for you, that you think you owe me some obli* 
 gations, you will riclily repay them on the day in which I 
 hear you hailed as member for Lansmere. Relying on that 
 generous principle of self-sacrifice, which actuates all your 
 
VARIETI13S IE m(khmn life. 
 
 443 
 
 condact, I shail count upM ydtir surrendering your preference 
 to private life, and entering fclie arena of that noble ambitioii 
 wMcli lias conferred such dignity oii the natne of niy friend 
 Audley Egertoh. He, it is ttue, will be your opponent ; biit 
 lie is too generous not to pardon, my zeal for the interests of a 
 yduth whose career sunx vain enough to thiiik that I have 
 aided. And as Mr. Ilandal Leslie stands in eoalitioii with 
 Egferton, and Mi*. Avenel believes that two candidates of the 
 same party cannot both succeed, the vesnlb may be to the 
 satisfacfcioii of all the feeliilgs which I entertain for Audley 
 Egertdli, and for you, who, I have reason tt) think, will 
 emulate his titles to iny est^etd.. " Ydurs, 
 
 ''^ There, Mr. Dale;" said Hai4ey, sealing hi§ letter, and 
 givihg it into the Parson's hand's. " There, you shall deliver 
 this note to your friend. Bllt ilo— tipbli Second thoughts,' 
 since he does not yet know of your visit to me, it is best that 
 he should be still in ignorance of it. For should Miss Digby 
 resolve to abide by her present engagements, it were surely 
 kind to save Leonard bhe pain of learning that you had com- 
 municated to me that rivalry he himself had concealed. 
 Let all that has passed between us be kept in strict con- 
 fidence." 
 
 " I will obey ybu, my Idtd,*' answered the PatsoUj iiiedklyj 
 startled to find that he who had come to arrogatfe aiithbi'ity, 
 was lib# ^ubthittirig to commands ; aiid al] at f^itlt what 
 judgment he could Venture to pass upoll the rrian whdiri he 
 Had regarded a btimihal, who had not even denied the 
 crime iiriputdd. to hiiii, yet who liow impressed the accusing 
 priest with something of that respect which Mr. Dale had 
 laevdi* befdrd conceded but to Yirtue. Could he have then 
 but looked into the dark and stbfmy heart, whicii hd twic& 
 misread ! 
 
 " It is well — very well," muttered Harlfey, when the door 
 had closed upon the Parsdn. " The viper aiid the viper's 
 bi*ood ! So it wris this liiriii's son that I led from the dire 
 Slough of Despdiid ; and thd son unconsciously imitates the 
 father's gratitude and honour— Ha — ha ! " Suddenly the 
 bifctdr laugh was arrested; a flash of almost) celestial joy 
 darted through the waiTiiig elements of storm aiid dai-knesB. 
 If Helen returned Leonard's affection, Harley L'Estrange was 
 free ! Aiid through that flash the face of Yiolante shone upon 
 him as an angel's. But the heavenly light and the angel face 
 
44* 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 ranished abruptly, swallowed up in the black abyss of the rent 
 and tortured soul. 
 
 "Fool!" said the unhappy man, aloud, in his anguish — 
 " fool ! what then ? Were I free, would it be to trust my 
 fate again to falsehood ? If, in all the bloom and glory of my 
 youth, I failed to win the heart of a village girl — ^if, once 
 more deluding myself, it is in vain that I have tended, reared, 
 cherished, some germ of woman's human affection in the 
 orphan I saved from penury — ^how look for love in the bril- 
 liant princess, whom all the sleek Lotharios of our gaudy 
 world will surround with their homage when once she alights 
 on their sphere ! If perfidy be my fate — what hell of hells 
 in the thought! — that a wife might lay her head in my 
 bosom — and — oh, horror ! horror ! — No ! — I would not 
 accept her hand were it offered, nor believe in her love were 
 it pledged to me. Stern soul of mine — wise at last, love never 
 more — never more believe in truth ! " 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 As Harley quitted the room, Helen's pale sweet face looked 
 forth from a door in the same corridor. She advanced to- 
 wards him timidly. 
 
 " May I speak with you ? " she said, in almost inaudible 
 accents. " I have been listening for your footstep." 
 
 Harley looked at her steadfastly. Then, without a word, 
 he followed her into the room she had left, and closed the 
 door. 
 
 " I, too," said he, " meant to seek an interview with your- 
 self — but later. You would speak to me Helen — say on. — - 
 Ah ! child, what mean you ? Why this ? " — for Helen was 
 kneeling at his feet. 
 
 " Let me kneel," she said, resisting the hand that sought 
 to raise her. " Let me kneel till I have explained all, and 
 perhaps won your pardon. You said something the other 
 evening. It has weighed on my heart and my conscience 
 ever since. You said ' that I should have no secret from 
 you ; for that, in our relation to each other, would be deceit.* 
 I have had a secret ; but, oh, believe me ! it was long ere it 
 was clearly visible to myself. You honoured me with a suit 
 so far beyond my birth, my merits. You said that I might 
 
VAKIEIIES IN ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 445 
 
 console a ad comfort you. At those words, wliat answer could 
 I give ? — I, who owe you so much more than a daughter's 
 duty ? And I thought that my - affections were free — that 
 they would obey that duty. But — ^but — but — " continued 
 Helen, bowing her head still lowlier, and in a voice far fainter 
 -—"I deceived myself. I again saw hwi who had been all in 
 the world to me, when the world was so terrible — and then — 
 and then — I trembled. I was terrified at my own memories 
 — my own thoughts. Still I struggled to banish the past — • 
 resolutely — firmly. Oh, you believe me, do you not ? And 
 I hoped to conquer. Yet ever since those words of yours, I 
 felt that I ought to tell you even of the struggle. This is the 
 first time we have met since you spoke them. And now — 
 now — I have seen him again, and — and — ^though not by a 
 word could she you had deigned to woo as your bride en- 
 courage hope in another — though there — there where you now 
 stand — he bade me farewell, and we parted as if for ever ; — ■ 
 yet — ^yet — 0 Lord L'Estrange ! in return for your rank, 
 wealth, your still nobler gifts of nature — what should I bring ? 
 — Something more than gratitude, esteem, reverence — at 
 least an undivided heart, filled with your image, and yours 
 alone. And this I cannot give. Pardon me — not for what I 
 say now, but for not saying it before. Pardon me — 0 my 
 benefactor, pardon me ! " 
 
 " Hise, Helen," said Harley, with relaxing brow, though 
 still unwilling to yield to one softer and holier emotion. 
 "Rise ! " And he lifted her up, and drew her towards the 
 light. " Let me look at your face. There seems no guile 
 here. These tears are surely honest. If I cannot be loved, 
 it is my fate, and not your crime. Now, listen to me. If 
 you grant me nothing else, will you give me the obedience 
 which the ward owes to the guardian — the child to the 
 parent? " 
 
 " Yes — oh yes ! " murmured Helen. 
 
 *' Then while I release you from all troth to me, I claim 
 the right to refuse, if I so please it, my assent to the suit of — 
 of the person you prefer. I acquit you of deceit, but I reserve 
 to myself the judgment I shall pass on him. Until I myself 
 sanction that suit, will you promise not to recall in any way 
 the rejection which, if I understand you rightly, you have 
 given to it ? " 
 I promise." 
 
 " And if I say to yon, ' Helen, tbis man is not worthy of 
 you — ' 
 
MY mVEL ; QM, 
 
 ^' JSTo, no ! do not say that— I coiild not believe you/' 
 
 Harlej frowned, but resumed calmlj— ''K, tlicn, I saj, 
 f Ask mo not wlierefore, but I forbid ypii to be tllP wife qf 
 Leonard Fairfield,' wbat would be your answer ? 
 
 M A]i, my lord, if you can but comfort him, do with 
 you will ! but do not command nie to break liis heart." 
 
 " Oh, silly child," cried Harley, laughing scornfully, - hearts 
 are not found in the race from which that man sprang. But 
 I take your promise, with its credulous condition. Helen, I 
 pity you. I have been as weak as you, bearded man though 
 I be. Some day or other, you and I may live to laugh at the 
 follies at which you weep now. I can give you no other 
 comfort, for I know of none." 
 
 He moved to the door, and paused at the threshold. " I shall 
 not see you again for some days, Helen. Perhaps I may 
 request my mother to join me at Lansmere ; if so, I shall pray 
 you to accompany her. Eor the present, let all believe that 
 pur position is unchanged. The time will soon come when I 
 
 Helen looked up wistfully through her tears. 
 
 " I may release you from all duties to me,'- continued 
 Harley, with grave and severe coldness ; "or I may claim 
 your promise in spite of the condition ; for your lover's heart 
 will not be broken. Adieu ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 As Harley entered liondpn, he c^mp suddenly upon Randal 
 Jjeslie, who was hurrying fropa Eaton Square, having not 
 only accompanied Mr. Avenel in his w^lk, but gone iiome 
 with him, and spent half the day in that gentleman's society. 
 He was now on his way to the House of Commons, at which 
 some disclosurq as to the day for the dissolution of Parliament 
 was expected. 
 
 " Jjord L'Sstrange," said Rp;ndal, " I must stop you, J 
 have been to jN"orwood, and seen our noble friend. He has 
 confided to me, of course, all that passed. Ho^v can I express 
 iny gratitude to you ! By what rare talent — with what 
 signal courage — you have saved the happiness — j)-!"^"^^?^' even 
 the honour — of my plighted bride ! " 
 
 " Yorj-r bride ! The Puke, thep, stil} holds to the promise 
 yon were fortunate enough to obtain from Dr. Riccabocca ? " 
 
YAEIETIES IN ENGLISH JAIm U1 
 
 " He confirms tliat promise mora solemnly tli.^ii evc^r. You 
 may '^yell h,e surprised at Ms magnaaiiniity." 
 
 No ; bp is a pliilosoplier — nothipg in Mm can anr prise 
 me. But he seeiiiecL t.Q think, wlien I sav/ him, tliat there 
 were circumstances you might find it hard to explain." 
 
 Hfird ! Nofching so easy. Allow me to tender to you 
 the same explanations which satisfied one whom philosophy 
 itself has made as open to truth as he is clear-sighted to 
 imposture." 
 
 "Another time, Mr. Leslie. If your bride's father he satis- 
 fied, what right have I* to doubt ? By the way, you stand for 
 Jjansmere. Do me the favour to fix your quarters at the 
 Paj*k during the election. You will, of course, accompany 
 Mr. Egerton." 
 
 "You are most kind," answered Randal, greatly surprised. 
 
 " You accept ? That is well. We shall then have ample 
 opportunity for those explanations which you honour me by 
 offering; and, to make your visit still more agreeable, 1 
 may, perhaps, induce our friends at I^orwood to meet you. 
 G-ood day." 
 
 Harley walked on, leaving Randal motionless in amaze, but 
 tormented with suspicion. What could such courtesies in 
 Lord L*Estrange portend ? Surely no good. 
 
 I am about to hold the balance of justice," said Harley to 
 himself. — " I will cast the light-weight of that knave into the 
 scale. Violante never can be mine ; but I did not save her 
 from a Peschiera to leave her to a Randal Leslie. Ha, ha ! 
 Audley Egerton has some human feeling— tenderness for that 
 youth whom he has selected from the world, in which he left 
 Nora's child to the jaws of Famine. Through that side I can 
 reach at his heart, and prove him a fool like myself, v/hero he 
 esteemed and confided ! Grood." 
 
 Thus soliloquising. Lord L'Estrange gained the corner of 
 Bruton Street, when he was again somewhat abruptly accosted. 
 
 " My dear Lord L'Estrange, let me shake you by the hand ; 
 for Heaven knows when I may see you again ; and you have 
 suffered me to assist in one good action." 
 
 " Frank Hazeldean, I am pleased indeed to mpet you. Why 
 do you indulge in that melancholy doubt as to the time whei3 
 I may see you again ? " 
 
 " I have just got leave of absence I am not well, and 
 am rafcher hipped, so I shall go abroad for a few vfeeks." 
 
 In spite of himself, the sombre brooding man felt intere^ 
 and pympnihy in the dejection that was evident h? Frank's 
 
448 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 voice and countenance. " Anotlier dupe to afCection/* tlioughfi 
 he, as if in apology to himself; — ''of course, a dupe; lie is 
 'lonest and artless — at present.'* He pressed kindly on the 
 arm which he had inyoluntarily twined within his own. " I 
 conceive how you now grieve, my young friend,'' said he ; 
 " but you will congratulate yourself hereafter on what this 
 day seems to you an affliction." 
 " My dear Lord—" 
 
 " I am much older than you, hut not old enough for such 
 formal ceremony. Pray call me L'Estrange." 
 
 " Thank you ; and I should indeed like to speak to you as 
 a friend. — There is a thought on my mind which haunts me. 
 I daresay it is foolish enough, but I am sure you will not 
 laugh at me. You heard what Madame di ISTegra said to me 
 last night. I have been trifled with and misled, but I cannot 
 forget so soon how dear to me that w^oman was. I am not 
 going to bore you with such nonsense ; but, from what I can 
 understand, her brother is likely to lose all his fortune ; and, 
 even if not, he is a sad scoundrel. I cannot bear the thought 
 that she should be so dependent on him — that she may come 
 to want. — After all, there must be good in her — good in her 
 to refuse my hand if she did not love me. A mercenary 
 woman so circumstanced would not have done that," 
 
 " You are quite right. But do not torment yourself with 
 such generous fears. Madame di Negra shall not come to 
 want — shall not be dependent on her infamous brother. The 
 first act of the Duke of Serrano, on regaining his estates, will 
 be a suii?iible provision for his kinswoman. I will answer for 
 this." 
 
 " You take a load oE my mind. I did mean to ask you to 
 intercede with Riccabocca — that is, the Duke ; (it is so hard 
 ^o think he can be a Duke !) I, alas ! have nothing in my 
 power to bestow upon Madame di l^ogra. I may, indeed, sell 
 my commission ; but then I have a debt which I long to pay 
 off, and the sale of the commission would not suffice even for 
 that ; and perhaps my father might be still more angry if I 
 do sell it. Well, good-bye. I shall now go away happy — 
 that is, comparatively. One must bear things like — a 
 man!" 
 
 ^' I should like, however, to see you again before you go 
 abroad. I will call on you. Meanwhile, can you tell me the 
 number of one Baron Levy ? He lives in this street, I 
 know ! " 
 
 ^ X^evy ! Oh, have no deaiiugs with him, I advise — I 
 
VAillETlES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 449 
 
 entreat you ! He is tlie most plausible, dangerous rascal ; 
 and, for Heaven'' s sake ! pray be warned by me, and let 
 nothing entangle you into — a post-obit! " 
 
 " Be re-assured, I am more accustomed to lend money tliaii 
 borrow it ; and, as to a post-obit, I bave a foolish prejudice 
 against such transactions.'* 
 
 " Don't call it foolish, Ii'Estrange ; I honour you for it. 
 How I wish I had known you earlier — so few men of the 
 rrorld are like you. Even Randal Leslie, who is so faultless 
 in most things, and never gets into a scrape himself, called 
 my own scruples foolish. However — " 
 
 " Stay — Randal LesHe ! What ! He advised you to borrow 
 on B, post-obit, and probably shared the loan with you ?" 
 
 " O no ; not a shilling." 
 Tell me all about it, Frank. Perhaps, as I see that Levy 
 is mixed up in the affair, your information may be useful to 
 myself, and put me on my guard in dealing with that popular 
 gentleman." 
 
 Prank, who somehow or other felt himself quite at home 
 with Harley, and who, with all his respect for Randal Leslie's 
 talents, had a vague notion that Lord L'Estrange was quite 
 as clever, and, from his years and experience, likely to be a 
 safer and more judicious counsellor, was noways loath to 
 impart the confidence thus pressed for. 
 
 He told Harley of his debts — his first dealings with Levy ; 
 — the unhappy post-obit into which he had been hurried by 
 the distress of Madame di ISTegra ; — his father's anger — ^his 
 mother's letter — his own feelings of mingled shame and pride, 
 which made him fear that repentance would but seem self% 
 interest — his desire to sell his commission, and let its sale 
 redeem in part the post-obit; in short, he made what is 
 called a clean breast of it. Randal Leslie was necessarily 
 mixed up with this recital ; and the subtle cross-questionings 
 of Harley extracted far more as to that young diplomatist's 
 agency in all these melancholy concerns, than the ingenuous 
 narrator himself was aware of. 
 
 " So then," said Harley, " Mr. Leslie assured you of Madame 
 di Negra's affection, when you yourself doubted of it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she took him in, even more than she did me." 
 
 " Simple Mr. Leslie ! And the same kind friend— who is » 
 rekted to you — did you say ? " 
 
 " His grandmof-her was a Hazel dean." 
 
 " Humph. The same kind relation led you to believe that 
 you could pay off this bond with the Marchesa's poi tion, and 
 
MY novel; OBj 
 
 Ofiat he eouH obtain tlie consent of jonr parents to jom 
 marriage with tliat lady ? " 
 
 "I onglit to liave known better; my father's prejndices 
 against foreigners and Papists are so strong.'^ 
 
 And now Mr. Leslie concurs with you, that it is best for 
 yon to go abroad, and trust to his intercession with your 
 father. He has evidently, then^ gained a great influence oyer 
 Mr. Hazeldean." 
 
 My father naturally compares me with him — he so clever, 
 so promising, so regular in his hablics, and. I such a reckless 
 scapegrace." 
 
 ^' And the bulk of your father's property is unentailed — • 
 Mr. Hazeldean might disinherit you ? '* 
 " I deserve it. I hope he will." 
 
 " You have no brothers nor sisters — no relation, perhaps, 
 after your parents, nearer to you than your excellent friend 
 Mr. Randal Leslie?" 
 
 " ]N'o ; that is the reason he is so kind to me, otherwise i 
 am the last person to suit him. You have no idea how well- 
 informed and clever he is," added Frank, in a tone between 
 admiration and awe. 
 
 " My dear Hazeldean, you will take my advice — will you 
 not?" 
 
 " Certainly. You are too good." 
 Let all your family, Mr. Leslie included, suppose you to 
 be gone abroad ; but stay quietly in England, and within a 
 day's journey of Lansmere Park. I am obliged to go thither 
 for the approaching election. I may ask you to come over. 
 I think I see a way to serve you ; and if so, you will soon 
 hear from me. Now, Baron Levy's number ? " 
 
 " That is the house with the cabriolet at the door. How 
 such a fellow can have such a horse ! — 'tis out of all keeping ! " 
 
 ^'jSTot at all; horses are high-spirited, generous, unsus- 
 picious animals. They never knov/- if it is a rogue who drives 
 th^m. I have your promise, then, and you will send me your 
 address ? " 
 
 I will. Strange that I feel more confidence in you than I 
 do even in Handal ! Do take care of Levy." 
 
 Lord L'Estrange and Prank here shook hands, and Frank, 
 with au auxious gr-oan, saw L'Estrange disappear within tlie 
 portals of the sleek destroyer. 
 
VARIETIES m majjim life. 
 
 451 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIIL 
 
 LoED L'EsTiUiSfGB followed the sprupe servant into Baron 
 Leyy'^ lici:surions stndj. 
 
 The Baron looked greatlj amazed at hh nnexpected yisitor ; 
 but Ixe got np^ — kan.ded. .a chair to mj lord with low how. 
 This is an hononr," B.qiid he, 
 
 " Yon have a charming abode here," ^aid Lord L' Estrange, 
 looking ronnd, "Ycry fine bronzes — -excellent taste. Your 
 reception-rooms above are, doubtless, a model to all deco- 
 rators ! " 
 
 " Would your lordship condescend to see them ? " said I^evj, 
 wondering, but flattered. 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure." 
 
 " Lights ! cried Levy, to the servant who answered his 
 bell. " Lights in the drawing-rooms — it is growing dark/' 
 
 Lord L'Estrange followed the usnrer up-stairs; admii^ed 
 everything — pictures, draperies, Sevres china, to the verj" 
 shape of the downy fauteuils, to the very pattern of the 
 Tournay carpets. Reclining then on one of the voluptuous 
 sofa^, Lord L'Bstrange said, smilingly, " You are .a wise man : 
 thei'je is no advantage in being rich, unless one enjoys one's 
 riches." 
 
 " My own maxim. Lord L'Esti^ange." 
 
 " And it is something, too, to have a taste for good society. 
 Small pride would you have, my dear Baron, in these rooms, 
 luxurious though they are, if filled with guests of vulga,r 
 exterior and plebeian manners, It is only in the world in 
 which VJ0 move that we find persons who harmonise, as it 
 were, with the porcelain of Sevres, and these sofas that might 
 have come from Versailles." 
 
 "I own," said Levy, "that I have what some may call a 
 weakness in 2bj)aTvenu like myself. I Kave a love for the heciu 
 monde. It is indeed a pleasure to me when I receive men 
 like your lordship." 
 
 " But why call yourself a ]3arvenu ? Though you ^-ro con- 
 tented to honour the name of Levy, we, in society, all know 
 that you are the son of a long-descended English peer. Child 
 of love, it is true ; but the G-races smile on those over whose 
 birth Yenus presided. Pardon my old-fashioned .mytho- 
 logical similes ^ they go so well with these rooms — Louis 
 
 O Q 2 
 
45g 
 
 &1Y NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 " Since joii touclied on mj birth," said Levy, liis colour 
 rather heightening, not with shame, but with pride, " I don't 
 deny that it has some effect on my habits and tastes in life. 
 In fact— " 
 
 " In fact, own that you would be a miserable man, in spite 
 of all yonr wealth, if the young dandies, who throng to yonr 
 banquets, were to cut you dead in the streets ; — if, when your 
 high-stepping horse stopped at your club, the porter shut the 
 door in your face ; — if, when you lounged into the opera-pit, 
 handsome dog that you are, each spendthrift rake in ' Eop's 
 Alley,' who now waits but the scratch of your pen to endorse 
 billets- doux with the charm that can chain to himself for a 
 month some nymph of the Ballet, spinning round in a whirl- 
 wind of tulle, — would shrink from the touch of your con- 
 descending forefinger with more dread of its contact than a 
 bailiff's tap in the thick of Pail-Mall could inspire ; — if, reduced 
 to the company of city clerks, parasite led-captains — " 
 
 " Oh, don't go on, my dear Lord," cried Levy, laughing 
 affectedly. " Impossible though the picture be, it is reall;^ 
 appalling. Cut me off from May !Fair and St. J ames's, and I 
 should go into my strong closet and hang myself," 
 
 " And yet, my dear Baron, all this may happen if I have 
 the whim just to try; — all this will happen, unless, ere 1 
 leave your house, you concede the conditions I come here to 
 impose." 
 
 " My lord ! " exclaimed Levy, starting up, and pulling down 
 his waistcoat with nervous, passionate fingers, " if you were 
 not under my own roof, I would — " 
 
 " Truce with mock heroics. Sit down, sir — sit down. I 
 will briefly state my threat — more briefly my conditions. You 
 will be scarcely more prolix in your reply. Your fortune I 
 cannot touch — your enjoyment of it I can destroy. Hefuse 
 my conditions — make me your enemy — and war to the knife ! 
 I vrill interrogate all the young dupes you have ruined. 1 
 will learn the history of all the transactions by which you 
 have gained the wealth that it pleases you to spend in court- 
 ing the society and sharing the vices of men who— go with 
 these rooms, Louis Quinze ! jN^ot a roguery of yours shall 
 escape me, down even to your last notable connivance with an 
 Italian reprobate for the criminal abduction of an heiress. 
 All these particulars I will proclaim in the clubs to which 
 you have gained admittance — in every club in London which 
 you yet hope to creep into. All these I will impart to some 
 such authority in the Press as Mr. Henry Eforreys ; — all these 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 i53 
 
 I will upon tlie vonclier of my own name, have sG ^/tiblislied 
 
 in some journals o£ repute, tliat you must either tacitly submit 
 ^o the revelations tliat blast you, or bring before a court of 
 iaw actions that will convert accusations into evidence. It is 
 but by sufferance that you are now in society — you are ex- 
 cluded when one man like me comes forth to denounce you. 
 You try in vain to sneer at my menace — your white lips show 
 your terror. I have rarely in life drawn any advantage 
 from my rank and position ; but I am thankful that they give 
 me the power to make my voice respected and my exposm'e 
 triumphant. ITow, Baron Levy, will you go into your strong 
 closet and hang yourself, or will you grant me my very 
 moderate conditions? You are silent. I will relieve you, 
 and state those conditions. Until the general election, about 
 to take place, is concluded, you will obey me to the letter in 
 all that I enjoin — ^no demur, and no scruple. And the first 
 proof of obedience I demand is, your candid disclosure of all 
 Mr. Audley Egerton's pecuniary affairs." 
 
 " Has my client, Mr. Egerton, authorised you to request of 
 me that disclosure ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, all that passes between us you will con- 
 ceal from your client." 
 
 " You would save him from ruin ? Your trusty friend^ Mr. 
 Egerton ! " said the Baron, with a livid sneer. 
 
 "Wi'ong again, Baron Levy. If I would save him 
 from ruin, yon are scarcely the man I should ask to assist 
 me." 
 
 " Ah, I guess. You have learned how he — " 
 
 " Gruess nothing, but obey in all things. Let us descend 
 to your business room." 
 
 Levy said not a word until he had reconducted his visitor 
 into his den of destruction — all gleaming with spoUaria in 
 rosewood. Then he said this : " If, Lord L'Estrange, you 
 seek but revenge on Audley Egerton, you need not have 
 uttered those threats, I too — hate the man." 
 
 Harley looked at him wistfully, and the nobleman felt a 
 pang that he had debased himself into a single feeling which 
 the usurer could share. Nevertheless, the interview appeared 
 to close with satisfactory arrangements, and to produce 
 amicable understanding. For as the Baron ceremoniously 
 followed Lord L'Estrange through the hall his noble visitor 
 said, with marked affability — 
 
 " Then I shall see you at Lansmere with Mr. Egerton, to 
 assist in conducting hk election* It is a sacrifice of your 
 
MY j^otel; oe. 
 
 iime worthy of jom friendship; ttot a s^ep farther, I heg. 
 Bmrmf I have the hono-ar ta wish yoit good evening." 
 
 the street door opened on Lord L' Estrange he again 
 foiind himself face to fae© with Bandal Leslie, whose hand 
 was already lifted to the knoeker. 
 
 "Hay Mr. Leslie! — ■jo'u too ar client of Baron Levy's j — -a 
 y&¥j nsef al accommodating man." 
 
 Bandal stared and stammered. " I come in haste from the 
 Hotise of Commons oti Mr. Egerton's bnsinessv Pon't yon 
 hmr the newspaper vendors crying ont ' Grreafc news — Disso- 
 fetion of Parliament ? ' " 
 
 " We are prepared. Levy himself consents to give ns the 
 aid of his talents. Kindiy, ohliging — clever person ! *' 
 
 Eandal hurried into Levy's study, to which the ttsurer had 
 shrunk back, and was now wiping his^ Brow with his scented 
 handkerchief, looking heated and haggard, and very indiffe- 
 rent to Bandal Leslie. 
 
 " Plow is this ? " cried Bandal. " I come to tell you first of 
 PeschierB^'s utter failurey the- ridiculous eoxcomb, and I meet 
 at your door the last man I thought to find there — the man 
 who foiled us all,. Lord L'Estrange. What brought him to 
 you ? Ah, perhaps his interest in Egerton's election ? " 
 
 " Yesy" said Levy,, sulkily. " I know all about Peschiera. 
 I cannot talk to you mow j- I must make arrangements for 
 going to- Lansmere." 
 
 But don't forget my purchase from ThornhilL I shall 
 have the money shortly from a surer source than Peschiera," 
 
 "The Squire?" 
 
 " Or a rich father-in-law." 
 
 In the meanwhile, as Lord L'Estrange entered Bond Street, 
 his ears were stunned by vociferous cries from the Steiitors 
 employed by Standard, Sun, and Qhhey — " Great news. Ms- 
 solution of Pariiament — great news !" The gas-lanip^ wero 
 lighted— a brown fog was gatherim'g over the streets, blending' 
 itself with the falling shades of night. The forms of men 
 loomed largo through the mist. The lights from the shops 
 looked red and lurid. Loungers usually careless as to* politics^ 
 were talking eagerly and anxiously of King, Lords, Gom- 
 m'ons, "Constitution at stake" — " Triximph of liberal 
 ©•pinions,"-— according to their several biases. Hearing, and 
 Bcorning— unsocial,, isolated — walked on Harley L'Estrange. 
 With his direr passions had been roused up all the native 
 powers, that made them doubly dangerous-. Ho became 
 proudly eojEfseious of his own great faculfeies, but exulted hi 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 455 
 
 felieiii only so as tliej could minister to tlie purpose whicli 
 had invoked them. 
 
 " I have constituted myself a Fate,'* he said inly ; "let the 
 gods be but neutral — ^while I weave the meshes. Then, as 
 Fate itself when it has fulfilled its mission, let me pass away 
 into shadow, with the still and lonely stride that none may 
 follow. 
 
 ^ Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness/ 
 
 Ho w weary I am of this world of men ! " And again the cry 
 " Great news— JSFational crisis — Dissolution of Parliament- 
 Great news ! " rang through the jostling throng. Three men, 
 arm-in-arm J brushed by Harley, and were stopped at the 
 crossing by a file of carriages. The man in the centre was 
 Audley Egerton. His companions were an ex-minister like 
 himself, and one of those great proprietors who are proud of 
 being above office, and vain of the power to make and 
 iiinmake Governments. 
 
 You are the only man to lead us, Egerton," said this last 
 personage. Do but secure your seat, and as soon as this 
 popular fever has passed aWay, you must be something more 
 bhan the leader of Opposition — you must be the first man in 
 England." 
 
 l^ot a doubt of that,*' chimed in the fellow ex-minister — 
 a worthy man — perfect red-tapist, but inaudible in the re- 
 porters' gallery. " And your election is quite safe, eh ? All 
 depends on that. You must not be thrown out at such a 
 bime, even for a month or two. I hear that you will have a 
 contest-— some townsmen of the borough, I think. But the 
 Lansmere interest must be all-powerful ; and, I suppose 
 L' Estrange will come out and canvass for you. You are not 
 the man to have lukewarm friends ! " 
 
 "Don't be alarmed about my election. I am as sure of 
 that as of L'Estrange's friendship." 
 
 Harley heard, with a grim smile, and passing his hand 
 Vvithin his vest, laid it upon Kora's memoir. 
 
 What could we do in Parliament without youl" said the 
 great pro-pretor, almost piteously. 
 
 " Rather what could I do without Parliament ? Public 
 life is bhe only existence I own. Parliament is all in all to 
 me. But we may cross now." 
 
 Harley's eye glittered cold as it followed the tall form of 
 the statesman towering high above all other passers-by. 
 
 " Ay," he muttered — ay, rest as sure of my frimdship as 
 
456 
 
 MY jstovel; or, 
 
 i was of thine ! And be Lansmere onr field of Phillppi ! 
 There, where thy first step was made in the only life that 
 thoii own'st as existence, shall the ladder itself rot from under 
 thy footing. There, whet'e thy softer victim slunk to death 
 from the deceit of thy love, shall deceit like thine own dig a 
 grave for thy frigid ambition. I borrow thy quiver of fraud ; 
 its still arrows shall strike thee ; and thou too shalt say, when 
 the barb pierces home, * This comes from the hand of a 
 friend.' Ay, at Lansmere, at Lansmere, shall the end crown 
 the whole ! Go, and dot on the canvas the lines for a 
 lengthened perspective, where my eyes note already the 
 vanishing point of the picture." 
 
 Then through the dull fog, and under the pale gas-lights 
 Harley L'Estrange pursued his noiseless way, soon distin- 
 guished no more amongst the various, motley, quick-succeeding 
 groups, with their infinite sub-divisions of thought, care, and 
 passion; while, loud over all their low murmurs, or silent 
 hearts, were heard the tramp of horses and din of wheels, 
 and the vociferous discordant cry that had. ceased to attract 
 an interest in the ears it vexed — " Great jN"ews, Great News — 
 Dissolution of Parliament — Great News ! " 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 The scene is at Lansmere Park — a spacious pile, com- 
 menced in the reign of Charles II. ; enlarged and altered in 
 the reign of Anne. Brilliant interval in the History of our 
 National Manners, when even the courtier dreaded to be dull, 
 and Sir Fopling raised himself on tiptoe to catch the ear of 
 a wit — when the names of Devonshire and Dorset, Halifax 
 and Carteret, Oxford and Bolingbroke, unite themselves, 
 brother-like, with those of Hobbes and of Dryden, of Prior 
 and Bentley, or Arbuthnot, Gay, Pope, and Swift ; and still, 
 wherever we turn, to recognise some ideal of great Lord or 
 fine Gentleman — the Immortals of Literature stand by his 
 side. 
 
 The walls of the rooms at Lansmere were covered with the 
 portraits of those who illustrate that time which Europe calls 
 the Age of Louis XI Y. A L'Estrange, who had lived through 
 the reigns of four English princes, (and with no mean im- 
 portance through all,) had collected those likenesses of noble 
 contemporaries. As you parsed through the chambers — 
 
VAPvlETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 457 
 
 opening one on tlie otber in tliat pomp of parade infToduced 
 with Charles II. from tlie palaces of Erance, and retaining its 
 mode till Versailles and the Trianon passed, themselves, out 
 of date — ^you felt you were in excellent company. What 
 saloons of our day, demeaned to tailed coats and white waist- 
 coats, haye that charm of high breeding which speaks out 
 from the canvas of Kneller and Jervis, Vivien and Rigaud ? 
 And withal, notwithstanding lace and brocade — the fripperies 
 of artificial costume — still those who give interest or charm 
 to that day, look from their portraits like men — raking or 
 dehonnair, if you will — never mincing nor feminine. Can we 
 say as much of the portraits of Lawrence ? Graze there on 
 fair Marlborough — what delicate perfection of features, yet 
 how easy in boldness, how serene in the conviction of power 1 
 So fair and so tranquil he might have looked through the 
 cannon-reek at Ramillies and Blenheim, suggesting to Addison 
 the image of an angel of war. Ah, there. Sir Charles Sedley, 
 the Lovelace of wits ! Note that strong jaw and marked 
 brow ; — do you not recognise the courtier who scorned to ask 
 one favour of the king with whom he lived as an equal, and 
 who stretched forth the right hand of man to hurl from a 
 throne the king who had made his daughter — ^a Countess ? * 
 
 Perhaps, from his childhood thus surrounded by the haunt- 
 ing faces — that spoke of their age as they looked from the 
 walls — that age and those portraits were not without influence 
 on the character of Harley L'Estrange. The whim and the 
 daring — the passion for letters and reverence for genius — the 
 mixture of levity and strength — the polished sauntering in- 
 dolence, or the elastic readiness of energies once called into 
 action — all might have found their prototypes in the lives 
 which those portraits rekindled. The deeper sentiment, the 
 more earnest nature, which in Harley L' Estrange were 
 commingled with the attributes common to a former age — 
 these, indeed, were of his own. Our age so little compre- 
 hended, while it colours us from its atmosphere ! — so full 
 of mysterious and profound emotions, which our ancestors 
 never knew ! — will those emotions be understood by our 
 descendants ? 
 
 In this stately house were now assembled, as Harley's 
 
 * Sedley was so tenacious of his independence, that \t hen his affairs were 
 most embarrassed, he refused all pecuniary aid from Charles II. His hitter 
 sarcasm, in vindication of the part ho took in the deposition of J-ames II., who 
 had corrupted his daughter, aud made her Countess of Dorchcstor, is well 
 known. " As the King has made my daughter a Countess, the least 1 can do^ 
 in common gi-atitude, is to assist in making his majesty's daughter — a Q,')t?e3i I *' 
 
458 
 
 MY HOTEL ; OR, 
 
 grtesfis, mmij 6i the more important personage's wliom tlie 
 s^IoW leiigtli of this gfcory lias made familiar to the reader. 
 The hto candidates for tlie borongli in the Tri^e Bftie interest 
 — Atidley E^gerton and Bandal Leslie;- — smd Le^j-^ chief 
 among the barons to^ whom modern society grants a seignorie 
 ol pillage, which, had a haron of old eter Tentnred to arro- 
 gate, bnrgess and citizen, socman and bocman, tillein and 
 ehnrl, woitld have burned him aliye in his castle ; — the 
 Duke di Serrano, still fondly clinging to his title of Doctor 
 and pet name of Riccabocca Jemima, not yet with the airs 
 of a dttchess, but rohed in very thick silks, as the chrysalis 
 state of a dnchess ; — Yiolante, too, was there,- sadly against 
 her will, and shrinking as mneh as possible into the reiiremeni' 
 of her own chamber. The Coitntess of Lansmere had de- 
 serted her lord, in order to receive the gnests of her son ; my 
 lord himself, ever bent on being of iJse in some part of his 
 conntry, and striving hard to distract his interest from his 
 plagne of a boron gh, had gone down into Cornwall to inqnire 
 into the social condition of certain troglodytes who worked 
 in some mines which the Earl had lately had th'C misfortnne 
 to wring from the Oonrt of Chancery, after a laWsnit com- 
 menced by his grandfather • and a Bine Book, issned in the 
 past session by order of Parliament, had especially qnoted 
 the troglodytes thns devolved on the Earl as bipods who 
 were in considerable ignorance of the snn, and had never 
 been known to wash their feet since the day that they came 
 into the world — their World nndergronnd,- chipped ofi from 
 the Bottomless Pit ! 
 
 With the Conntess came Helen Digby, of course ; and L^^bdy 
 Xianismere, who had hitherto been so civilly cold to the wife 
 elect of her son, had, ever since her interview with Harley at 
 Knightsbridge, clnng to Helen with almost a caressing fond- 
 ness The stern Conntess v/as tamed by fear ;■ she felt that 
 h&t own inflmence over Harley was gone ; she trnsted to the 
 inflnence of Helen — in case of what ? — ay, what ? It was 
 beeanse the danger was not clear to her, that her bold spirit 
 tremWed : snperstitions, like snspicions, are " as bats among 
 birds, and fly by twilight." Harley had ridicnled the idea of 
 challenge and stiife between Andley and himself; bnt still 
 Lady Lansmere dreaded the fiery emotions of the last, and 
 the high spirit and anstere self-respect which were proverbial 
 to the first. Involnntarily she strengthened her intimacy 
 with Helen, In case her alarm shonld appear justified, what 
 mediator coiild be so persnasive in ap^^easing the angrier 
 
VARIETIES IN El^GLISH LIFK 
 
 459 
 
 passion^, as one wliom c'oiirtsliip and "bctrotlial sanctified to the 
 gentlest ? 
 
 On arriving afc Lansmere, tlie Contitess, however, felt soine- 
 wliat relieved. Harley hscd received iiei!^, if with a manner 
 less cordial and tender than had hitherto distinguished it, 
 still with easy kindness and calm self-possession!. His bearing 
 towards Andley Egerton still more reassured he^ t it was not 
 marked by an exaggeration of familiarity or friendship — - 
 which wonld at once have excited her apprehensions of some 
 sinister design — nor, on the other hand, did it betray, by 
 covert sarcasms, an ill-suppressed resentnient. It was exactly 
 what, under the circitmstances. Would have been natural to a 
 man who had received an injury from an intimate friend, 
 which, in generosity or discretion, he resolved to overlook, but 
 which those aware of it could just perceive" had cooled or 
 alienated the former affection. Indefatigably occupying him- 
 self with all the details of the election, Harley had fair pretexb 
 for absenting himself from Audley, who, really looking very 
 ill, and almost worn out, pleaded indisptDsition as an excuse 
 for dispensing with the fatigues of a personal canvass, and, 
 passing much of his time in his own apartments, left all the 
 pteparations for contest to his more* active friends. It was 
 not till he had actually arrived at Lansmere that' Audley 
 became acquainted with the name of his principal opponent. 
 .Richard Avene'l 1 the brother of E'ora ! rising up frottt ob- 
 scurity, thus to stand front to front against him in a contest 
 on which all his fates were cast. Egerton quailed as^ before 
 an appointed avenger, He Would fain have retired frota the 
 field J: — ^he spoke to Harley. 
 
 How can you support all the painful remenaibrances Which 
 the very name of my antagonist must conjure up ? " 
 
 " Bid yon not tell me,'' answered Harley, " to strive against 
 sttch remembrances — to look on them as sickly dreams ? I am 
 |)repared to brave them-. Can you be more sensitive than I ? " 
 
 Egerton durst not say more. He avoided all further refer- 
 ence' to the subject. The strife raged around him,, and he 
 shut himself out from it — shut himself up in solitude with 
 his own heart. Strife enough there ! Once, late at nighty he 
 stole forth and repaired to I^ora's grave. He stood there, 
 amidst the rank grass, and under the frosty starlightj long, 
 and in profound silence. His whole past life seemed to risa 
 before him ; and, when he regained his lonely room, and 
 strove to survey the future, still he could behold (Kily thhk 
 past and that grave.. 
 
4C0 
 
 MY NOVEL : OK, 
 
 In thus aeclining all active care for an election, to his 
 prospects so important, Audley Egerton was considered to 
 Vave excuse, not only in the state of his health, but in his 
 sense of dignity. A statesman so eminent, of opinions so well 
 known, of pnblic services so incontestable, might well be 
 spared the personal trouble that falls upon obscurer candi- 
 dates. And besides, according to current report, and the 
 judgment of the Blue committee, the return of Mr. Egerton 
 was secure. But, though Audley himself was thus indulgently 
 treated, Harley and the Blue Committee took care to inflict 
 double work upon Bandal. That active young spirit found 
 am]3le materials for all its restless energies. Bandal Leslie 
 was kept on his legs from sunrise to starlight. There does 
 not exist in the Three Kingdoms a constituency more fatiguing 
 to a candidate than that borough of Lansmere. As soon aa 
 you leave the High Street, wherein, according to immemorial 
 usage, the Blue canvasser is first led, in order to put him into 
 spirits for the toils that await him — (delectable, propitious, 
 constitutional High Street, in which at least two-thirds of the 
 electors — opulent tradesmen employed at the Park — always 
 vote for "my lord's man," and hospitably prepare wine and 
 cakes in their tidy back-parlours !) — as soon as you quit this 
 stronghold of the party, labyrinths of lanes and defiles stretch 
 away into the farthest horizon ; level ground is found no- 
 where ; it is all up hill and down hill — now rough, craggy 
 pavements that blister the feet, and at the very first tread 
 upon which all latent corns shook prophetically — now deep, 
 muddy ruts, into which you sink ankle-deep — oozing slush 
 creeping into the pores, and moistening the way for catarrh, 
 theum, cough, sore throat, bronchitis, and phthisis. Black 
 »ewers, and drains Acherontian, running before the thresholds, 
 and so filling the homes behind with effluvia, that, while one 
 hand clasps the grimy paw of the voter, the other instinctively 
 guards from typhus and cholera your abhorrent nose. Not in 
 those days had mankind ever heard of a sanitary reform ! and, 
 to judge of the slow progress which that reform seems to 
 make, sewer and drain would have been much the same if 
 they had. Scot-and-lot voters were the independent electors 
 of Lansmere, with the additional franchise of Freemen. 
 Universal suffrage could scarcely more efficiently swamp the 
 franchises of men who care a straw what becomes of Grreat 
 Britain ! With all Randal Leslie's profound diplomacy, all 
 his art in talking over, deceiving, and (to borrow Dick 
 Aveners vernacular phrase) "humbugging" educated men, 
 
¥AKlETlf2S IN EKGLTSH LIFE. 
 
 461 
 
 Ills el ^quence fell flat iTpon minds invulnerable to appeals 
 wlietber to State or to Ohnrcli, to Reform or to Ereedom. 
 To catcli a Scot-and-lot voter hj such frivolous arguments,— 
 Eandal Leslie might as well liave tried to bring down a 
 f binoceros bj a pop-gun charged with split peas ! The young 
 man who so firmly believed that " knowledge was power," 
 was greatly disgusted. It was here the ignorance that foiled 
 him. When he got hold of a man with some knowledge, 
 Kandal was pretty sure to trick him out of a vote. 
 
 ^Nevertheless, Randal Leslie walked and talked on, with 
 most creditable perseverance. The Blue Committee allowed 
 that he was an excellent canvasser. They conceived a liking 
 for him, mingled with pity. For, though sure of Egerton's 
 return, they regarded Randal's as out of the question. He 
 was merely there to keep split votes from going to the 
 opposite side; to serve his patron, the ex-minister; shake 
 the paws, and smell the smells which the ex-minister was too 
 great a man to shake and to smell. But, in point of fact, 
 none of that Blue Committee knew anything of the prospects 
 of the election. Harley received all the reports of each 
 canvass- day. Harley kept the canvass-book, locked up from 
 all eyes but his own, or it might be Baron Levy's, as Audley 
 Egerton's confidential, if not strictly professional adviser ; — 
 Baron Levy, the millionaire, had long since retired from all 
 acknowledged professions. Randal, however — close, obser- 
 vant, shrewd — perceived that he himself was much stronger 
 than the Blue Committee believed. And, to his infinite 
 surprise, he owed that strength to Lord L'Estrange's exertions 
 on his behalf. Eor though Harley, after the first day on 
 which he ostentatiously showed himself in the High Street, 
 did not openly canvass with Randal, yet when the reports 
 were brought in to him, and he saw the names of the voters 
 who gave one vote to Audley, and withheld the other from 
 Randal, he would say to Randal, dead beat as that young 
 gentleman was, " Slip out with me, the moment dinner is 
 over, and before you go the round of the public-houses ; there 
 are some voters we must get for you to-night.'* And sure 
 enough a few kindly words from the popular heir of the 
 Lansmere baronies usually gained over the electors, from 
 whom, though Randal had proved that all England depended 
 on their votes in his favour, Randal would never have ex- 
 tracted more than a "Wu'll, I shall waute gin the Dauy 
 coomes ! " ISTor was this all that Harley did for the younger 
 candidate. If it was quite clear that only one vote could ba 
 
46^ 
 
 MY HOVEL ; OJl, 
 
 won for the Blues, and the other was pledged to the Yellows, 
 Harley would saj, " Then put it down to Mr. Leslie ; "—a 
 request the more readily conceded, since Audley Egerton was 
 considered so safe by the Blues, and alone worth a fear by 
 the Yellows. 
 
 Thus Baudal, who kept a snug little canvass-book of his 
 own, became more and more convinced that he had a better 
 chance than Egerton, even without the furtive aid he expected 
 from Avenel ; and he could only account for Harley's peculiar 
 exertions in his favour, by supposing that Harley, nnpractised 
 in elections, and deceived by the Blue Committee, believed 
 Egerton to be perfectly safe, and sought, for the hojiour of the 
 fawily interest, to secure hoth the seats. 
 
 BandaFs public eares thus deprived him of all opportunity 
 of pressing his courtship on Yiolante ; and, indeed, if ever he 
 did find a moment in which he could .steal to her reluctant 
 side, Harley was sure to seize that very moment to send him 
 off to canvass an hesitating freeman, or harangue in some 
 public-house. 
 
 Leslie was too acute not to detect some motiye hostile to his 
 >yooing, however plaiisibly veiled in the guise of zeal for his 
 election, in this DflB.ciousness of Harley's. But Lord 
 L'Estrange's manner to Yiolante was so little like that of a 
 jealous lover, and he was so well aware of her engagement to 
 Randal, that the latter abandoned the suspicion he had before 
 conceiv;ed, thyat Harley was his rival. And he was soon led to 
 believe that Lord L'Estrange had another, niore disinterested, 
 ^.nd less formidable motive for thu^ stintiiig his opportunities 
 to woo the heiress. 
 
 "Ifr. Leslie," said Lord L'Estrange,, one day, "the Duke 
 has confided to me his regret at his daughter's reluctance to 
 ratify his own promise ; and, knowing the warm interest I 
 take in her welfare — for his sake and her own ; believing, also, 
 that some services to herself, as well as to the father she so 
 loves, gives me a certain influence over her inexperienced 
 judgment, he has even requested me to speak a word to her in 
 your behalf." 
 
 " Ah I if you would ! " said Bandal, surprised. 
 
 " You must give me the power to do so. You were obliging 
 enough to volunteer to me the same explanations which you 
 g^ve to the Duke, his satisfaction with which induced him to 
 renew, or confirm the promise of his daughter's hand. Should 
 those explanations content me, as they did him, I hold the 
 puke bouiid to fulfil his engagement, and I am convinced tlu^t 
 
VARIETIES m EMOLISH LIFE. 
 
 m 
 
 his daiigb(;er would, in tliat €as«, not be inflexible to yonr saiii' 
 But, till such explanations be given, my friendship for tlie 
 father, and my interest in the child, do not allow me to 
 assist a cause which, however, at present, snffer>s little by 
 delay.'' 
 
 ^' Pray, listen at once to those explanations/' 
 Kay, Mr. Leslie, I can now only think of the election. As 
 soon as that is over, rely on it jou shall have the amplest 
 opportunity to dispel any doubts whi<3h your intimacy with 
 Count di Peschiera and Madame di Fegra may have suggested. 
 Apropos of the election — here is a list of voters yon must 
 see at once in Fish Lane. — Don't lose a moment." 
 
 In the meanwhile, Richard Avenel and Leonard had taken 
 np their quarters in the hotel appropriated to the candidates for 
 the Yellows ; and the canvass on that side was prosecuted with 
 all the vigour which might be expected from operations con- 
 ducted by Richard Avenel, and backed by the popular f eeling. 
 
 The rival parties met from time to time, in the streets and 
 lanes, in all the pomp of war — ^banners streaming, fifes re- 
 sounding, (for bands and colours were essential proofs of 
 public spirit, and indispensable items in a candidate's bills, in 
 those good old days.) When they thus encountered, very dis- 
 tant bows were exchanged between the respective chiefs. But 
 Randal, contriving ever to pass close to Avenel, had ever the 
 satisfaction of perceiving that gentleman's countenance con- 
 tracted into a knowing wink, as much as to say, " All right, 
 in spite of this tarnation humbug." 
 
 But now that both parties were fairly in the field, to the 
 private arts of canvassing were added the public g,rts of 
 oratory. The candidates had to speak — at the close of each 
 day's canvass — out from wooden boxes, suspended from the 
 windows of their respective hotels, and which looked like 
 dens for the exhibition of wild beasts. They had to speak at 
 meetings of Committees — meetings of electors — go the nightly 
 round of enthusiastic public-houses, and appeal to the sense 
 of an enlightened people through wreaths of smoke and odours 
 of beer. 
 
 The alleged indisposition of Audley Egerton had spared 
 him the excitement of oratory, as well as the fatigue of jqan- 
 vassing. The practised debater had limited the display qf bis 
 talents to a concise, but clear and masterly exposition of l^is 
 own views on the leading public questions of the day, and the 
 state of parties, which, on the day after his arrival at Jjaos*- 
 mere» was delivered at a meeting of his general Gommitte#rr- 
 
464 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 in tlie great room of tlieir hotel — and wliich was then printed 
 and circulated amongst the voters. 
 
 Randal, though he expressed himself with more fluency and 
 self-possession than are usually found in the first attempts of 
 a public speaker, was not effective in addressing an unlettered 
 crowd ; — for a crowd of this kind is all heart — and we know 
 that Randal Leslie's heart was as small as heart could be. If 
 he attempted to speak at his own intellectual level, he was so 
 subtle and refining as to be incomprehensible ; if he fell into 
 the fatal error — not uncommon to inexperienced orators — of 
 trying to lower himself to the intellectual level of his audience, 
 he was only elaborately stupid. No man can speak too well 
 for a crowd— as no man can write too well for the stage ; but 
 in neither case should he be rhetorical, or case in periods the 
 dry bones of reasoning. It is to the emotions, or to the 
 humours, that the speaker of a crowd must address himself ; 
 his eye must brighten with generous sentiment, or his lip must 
 expand in the play of animated fancy or genial wit. Randars 
 voice, too, though pliant and persuasive in private conversation, 
 was thin and poor when strained to catch the ear of a numerous 
 assembly. The falsehood of his nature seemed to come out, 
 when he raised the tones which had been drilled into deceit. 
 Men like Randal Leslie may become sharp debaters — admirable 
 special pleaders ; they can no more become orators than they can 
 become poets. Educated audiences are essential to them, and 
 the smaller the audience (that is, the more the brain super- 
 sedes the action of the heart) the better they can speak. 
 
 Dick Avenel was generally very short and very pithy in his 
 addresses. He had two or three favourite topics, which 
 always told. He was a fellow-townsman — a man who had 
 made his own way in life — he wanted to free his native place 
 from aristocratic usurpation — it was the battle of the electors, 
 not his private cause, &c. He said little against Randal — 
 " Pity a clever young man should pin his future to two yards 
 of worn-out red tape " — He had better lay hold of the 
 strong rope, which the People, in compassion to his youth, 
 were willing yet to throw out to save him from sinking," &c. 
 But as for Audley Egerton, " the gentleman who would not 
 show, who was afraid to meet the electors, who could only find 
 his voice in a hole-and-corner meeting, accustomed all his venal 
 life to dark and nefarious jobs" — Dick, upon that subject^ 
 delivered philippics truly Demos thenian. Leonard, on the 
 contrary, never attacked Harley's friend, Mr. Egerton ; but 
 he wa-s^ morp^^*)ss agamst the youth who had filched reputation 
 
VARIETFES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 from John Burley, and wliom lie knew that Harley despised as 
 heartily as himself. And Randal did not dare to retaliate, 
 (though boiling over with indignant rage,) for fear of offend- 
 ing Leonard's nncle. Leonard was unquestionably the popular 
 speaker of the three. Though his temperament was a writer's, 
 not an orator's — though he abhorred what he considered the 
 theatrical exhibition of self, which makes what is called 
 " delivery " more effective than ideas — though he had little 
 interest at any time in party politics — though at this time his 
 heart was far away from the Blues and Yellows of Lansmere, 
 sad and forlorn — yet, forced into action, the eloquence that 
 was natural to his conversation poured itself forth. He had 
 warm blood in his veins; and his dislike to Randal gave poig- 
 nancy to his wit, and barbed his arguments with impassio ried 
 invective. In fact, Leonard could conceive no other motjA^e 
 for Lord L'Estrange's request to take part in the election than 
 that nobleman's desire to defeat the man whom they both 
 regarded as an impostor. And this notion was confirmed by 
 some inadvertent expressions which Avenel let fall, and which 
 made Leonard suspect that, if he were not in the field, 
 Avenel would have exerted all his interest to return Randal 
 instead of Bgerton. With Dick's dislike to that statesman, 
 Leonard found it impossible to reason; nor, on the other 
 hand, could all Dick's scoldings or coaxings induce Leonard to 
 divert his siege on Randal to an assault upon the man who, 
 Harley had often said, was dear to him as a brother. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Dick kept the canvass-book of the 
 Yellows as closely as Harley kept that of the Blues ; and, in 
 despite of many pouting fits and gusts of displeasure, took 
 precisely the same pains for Leonard as Harley took for 
 Randal. There remained, however, apparently unshaken by 
 the efforts on either side, a compact body of about a Hundred 
 and Fifty voters, chiefly freemen. Would they vote YeUow r 
 Would they vote Blue ? No one could venture to decide ; 
 but they declared that they would all vote the same way. Dick 
 kept his secret " caucuses," as he called them, constantly 
 nibbling at this phalanx. A hundred and fifty voters 1 — ^they 
 had the election in their hands ! Never were hands so cor- 
 dially shaken — so caressingly clung to — so fondly lingered 
 upon ! But the votes still stuck as firm to the hands as if a 
 part of the skin, or of the dirt — ^which was much the samd 
 thing I 
 
 It 13 
 
GHAPTfeE XX. 
 
 Whenevee Audley jioiiied^ tlie ottier guests of an evenittig-^ 
 wfiile Harfej was perhaps c]'osete<i with Levy and committee- 
 men;, and iiand^al was going the round of the publi<3-iiouses: — 
 the one' with wftom he cliiefly conversed' was Yiolante. 1^ e 
 tad been struck at first, despite his gloom, less perliaps "by 
 tier extraordinary beauty, than by something in the, expression 
 of i-GV couMenunee. which, despite difieren'ces in feature and 
 complexion, reminded him- of No-m ; and' when, by his praises 
 of Harl'ey, he d-rew ter attention,^ and won info ^her liiing, lie! 
 discoveredv perhaps, that the likeness which liad thus impressed 
 him, came from some similarities in character between the 
 living and the lost one— the same charming combination of 
 lofty tiought and ciildlike' innocence— the sanie enthusiasm 
 —the same rich exuberance of iinagihatioii and feeling. 'Two 
 souls tfiat Resemble each oflaer will ^ive liheir lik^ne^s to' the 
 loots from whicfi they beam. Oh the other handy the person 
 with whom Harley most familiarly associated, in his rare 
 intervals of leisure, was Helen Dighj. One day, Audiey 
 figerton, standing mournfully by tte mndow of the- sitting- 
 room appropriated' ^o tis private use, saw the two, whom he 
 believed still' betrothed', take their way across the park, ^ide 
 by side, *^Pfay Heaven, that sfie may a^tqhe.tq hini for all-! " 
 murmured Audley. ^''But ^h, that it had been Yiolante! 
 ■Then I might have felt assurecf th'a^ tie Future would efface 
 iitG Fast — and found me courage to tell him all. And when 
 fast night I spoke of what Harley ought to b^ to England, 
 iiow like were violahte's eyes and' smile to Kora's, when IsTora 
 listened^ in. delighted sympathy to th^ hopes of my own young 
 a.mbition."' With a sigh he turned away, and resoliitely sat 
 down to read and reply, to the voluminous cbrrespohdehcp 
 which cover ed the ^ableoi the busy putliQ man. For, Audley 's 
 ]^eturh to Parliament being considered, by his political party 
 ^s secure, to him were transmi^ied, all &e hopes and fears of 
 the large and influential section of it wliose members looked 
 up to hiih as their futu're chief, and who in that general 
 election,, (unprecedented for .the number of eminent men ii 
 was fated to expel from' Parliament, and the number of ne\^ 
 {politicians it was fated to send into it,) drew their only h?6pea 
 regaining their lost power from Audley's sanguine con- 
 
VARIETtES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 fietene'e iff rea'etion ihsnt PuMao Opinioi^ wMeli he hsbdf. 
 Mthe^io m pfofouind;ly (J^prefce^rded: ; aj^id it was too clearly 
 t&at ih& seas'onaM'e^ adoption' ol liis coniii'sels would have 
 ^i^T^d the e:xi'ste'n^Ge amd p(9f)mlarity oi tke late Admiiiistratio'n, 
 vrfeese laosi diistifigmislied MeMber^ coti'ld now scarcely sbow 
 ihems^el'ves' on tliie hustings. 
 
 MeaniwMle Lord L'Estraage' led- kis young companion 
 towards &, green Mil in the' cemti^e^ of th'e Park, on which stood 
 
 eit'cuJair tem-ple, that' eonmi'anded^ a view of the eoantry 
 ronind f o:r milesi They Bad wM'ked in silence till they gained 
 th0 gtnnmit of the sloped ^d gradual ascent; and tnen, as 
 they stood gtill, side hy giid^^y Hal^ley thus- spoke— 
 
 ^'^ Heien,^ you know th^rfe. Leonard is in the town, though I 
 cannot receive Mm' at the Park, since^ he is standing in oppo- 
 m^fcion to mj guests, Egerton and Leslie." 
 
 Hele-JI. — Binit that' seem'S' to- ine so strange.- How — ^how 
 coiaid Leonard dep anytMbi'g that se^ms hostile to you ? " 
 
 HlBLM.---'^ Woiljld Ms- hostility to Jtiio lower him in your 
 bpi^ni'OM ? II h& know that- I am Ms rival, does* not rivalry 
 incMto h^^te? " 
 
 Hel^)!!^.-— " 0% liord L'Estrainge,- how can you speak thus ? 
 —how so Wrong" youirs^elf ? Hate — hate to you I and from 
 LeoMrd Mrheld I " 
 
 Habile Y. — ^^'You evade' my question . Would Ms hate or 
 hostility to' me affect' your sentiments towards him' ? " 
 
 HmE'N,. (looki^ng* down.) — I eouM not^ force^ myself to 
 Wiev^ in it." 
 
 Hamy.— ^' Why P " 
 
 H2;LE0!T..—- '^Becauso' it would he go' unworthy of Mm." 
 
 Hi-MET.— P0;or cMld ! Yoi^ have' the' delusion! of four 
 yearn Yoil deck a cloud in the^ hwe^ of the rainbo'^, and will 
 Biot' believe that its glofy is botrrowed fi'om the sun of your 
 &WMim.af. Bufit' here,- at least,i'you are not deceived. Leo- 
 Mmcd obieys fai my wishes^ and, I believey against his- 6wa 
 wilL He^ hm- now of man's^ noble^^t attribute-,^ Ambition." 
 
 Heile^^-^" Mo arhbition 1 " 
 
 H^liLEY.-— -'^ It is vanity that- stirs the" poet to toil — if toil 
 way walrd ehgssfe of his own chimeras can be called. Ambi'- 
 imih M a niore niasculine passion." 
 
 Helen shook her hmd gently,* biat made no answer. 
 
 HlEiiEY.— If 1 utte^i? a, word that profanes- one of yoer 
 delusiotns, you shake your head and are iiicrediilous. Pause . 
 listen one moment to my counsels — ^perhaps the lasfe I ittay 
 ever obtrude upon you. Ijif t yon^rr eyes ;< look around-.* Fa? 
 
4G8 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 as jour eye can reach, nay, far beyond tlie line wliicli ih& 
 horizon forms in the landscape, stretch the lands of my 
 inheritance. Yonder you see the home in which my fore- 
 fathers for many generations lived with honour and died 
 lamented. All these, in the course of nature, might one day 
 have been your own, had you not rejected my proposals. I 
 offered you, it is true, not what is commonly called Love ; I 
 offered you sincere esteem, and affections the more durable for 
 their calm. You have not been reared by the world in the 
 low idolatry of rank and wealth. But even romance cannot 
 despise the power of serviag others, which rank and wealth 
 bestow. For myself, hitherto indolence, and lately disdain, 
 rob fortune of these nobler attributes. But she who will 
 share my fortune may dispense it so as to atone for my sina 
 of omission. On the other side, grant that there is no bar to 
 your preference for Leonard Fairfield, what does your choice 
 present to you ? — Those of his kindred with whom you will 
 associate are unrefined and mean. His sole income is derived 
 from precarious labours ; the most vulgar of all anxieties — ' 
 the fear of bread itself for the morrow — must mingle with all 
 your romance, and soon steal from love all its poetry. You 
 think his affection will console you for every sacrifice. Folly! 
 — the love of poets is for a mist — a moonbeam — a denizen of 
 air — a phantom that they call an Ideal. They suppose for a 
 moment that they have found that Ideal in Ckloe or Phyllis 
 — Helen or a milkmaid. Bah ! — the first time you come to 
 the poet with the baker's bill, where flies the Ideal? I knew 
 one more brilliant than Leonard — ^more exquisitely gifted by 
 nature — that one was a woman : she saw a man hard and cold 
 as that stone at your feet — a false, hollow, sordid worldling ; 
 she made him her idol — ^beheld in him all that history would 
 not recognise in a Caesar — that mythology would scarcely 
 grant to an Apollo : to him she was the plaything of an hour 
 — she died, and before the year was out he had married for 
 money ! I knew another instance — I speak of myself. I 
 loved before I was your age. Had an angel warned me then, 
 I would have been incredulous as you. How that ended, no 
 matter: but had it not been for that dream of maudlin 
 delirium, I had lived and acted as others of my kind and my 
 sphere— married from reason and judgment — -been now a 
 nseful and happy man. Pause, then. Will you still reject 
 me for Leonard Fairfield ? For the last time you have the 
 option — me and all the substance of waking life — Leonard 
 Fairfield and the shadows of a fleeting dream. Speak ! Yoa 
 hesitate. Nay, take timo to fl.'^t ide.** 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 469 
 
 Helen. — "Ali! Lord L'Estrange, you wlio liave felt what 
 it is to love, how can jou doubt my answer ? — ^how think that 
 X could be so base, so ungrateful as take from yourself what 
 you call the substance of wakuig life, while my heart was 
 far away — faithful to what you call a dream ? " 
 
 Harlet. — " But, can you not dispel the dream ? " 
 
 Helen, (her whole face one flush.) — " It was wrong to call 
 it dream ! It is the reality of life to me. All things else are 
 as dreams." 
 
 Harlet, (taking her hand and kissing it with respect.)— < 
 Helen, you have a noble heart, and I have tempted you in 
 vain. I regret your choice, though I will no more oppose it. 
 I regret it, though I shall never witness your disappointment. 
 As the wife of that man, I shall see and know you no more." 
 
 Helen. — "Oh, no! — do not say that. Why? — where- 
 fore ? " 
 
 HjlRlet, (his brows meeting.) — ** He is the child of fraud 
 and of shame. His father is my foe, and my hate descends 
 to the son. He, too, the son, filches from me — — but com- 
 plaints are idle. When the next few days are over, think of 
 me but as one who abandons all right over your actions, and 
 is a stranger to your future fate. Pooh ! — dry your tears : 
 so long as you love Leonard or esteem me, rejoice that our 
 paths do not cross." 
 
 He walked on impatiently ; but Helen, alarmed and won- 
 dering, followed close, took his arm timidly, and sought to 
 soothe him. She felt that he wronged Leonard — that he 
 knew not how Leonard had yielded all hope when he learned 
 to whom she was affianced. For Leonard's sake she con- 
 quered her bashfulness, and sought to explain. But at her 
 first hesitating, faltered words, Harley, who with great eifort 
 suppressed the emotions which swelled within him, abruptly 
 left her side, and plunged into the recesses of thick, far- 
 spreading groves, that soon wrapt him from her eye. 
 
 While this conversation occurred between Lord L'Estrango 
 and his ward, the soi-disant Riccabocca and Yiolante were 
 walking slowly through the gardens. The philosopher, un- 
 changed by his brightening prospects — so far as the outer man 
 was concerned — still characterised by the red umbrella, and 
 the accustomed pipe — took the way mechanically towards the 
 sunniest quarter of the grounds, now and then glancing ten- 
 derly at Yiolante's downcast, melancholy face, but not speak* 
 ing ; only, at each glance, there came a brisker cloud from the 
 pipe, as if obedient to a fuller heave of fclic hearf. 
 
At loiigiii, in a spoj^ ■vylaieli laj iOpen towards tla-e -soiath.^ .ajitl 
 g.e.exned to eoUeot all ttie gentlest feeams of tjae J^oyieauber mu, 
 mimene^ from tlie piercing east hj dense .eyergr-eens^ and 
 flaoai^ed from tlie bleak north hj lofty walls, Eieaabocea 
 panBed and seated Mmself. Flowers still Mo.omed on tho 
 sward in front, over wliioli still flmttered tlae wing§ of tlaose 
 latter and more brilliant bntterEi^^ tkat, unseen m tb^e genial 
 ^&^s of our ISnglisb summer, come witb. aninmnal skies, land 
 sport round tlie mournful steps of tlie coming winter— itjpas 
 of tbose tkoijgbts wbicb. visit and deligbt tho .eontemplgbition 
 of age, wbile tbe current yet glides free from tke iiron ice, .-g^nd 
 ftie leaves yet linger on the boughs thoughts that aissociaite 
 the jpaemories of the departed sumn^-cr with messages fr,om 
 suns that shall succeed the v/inter, .aia(J ei^pand /colour-s the 
 most steeped in light and glory, just m the .sides through 
 which they gleam are darkening, and the flowers on which 
 they hover f^de from the surface of tfoe eatcth-^idrepping :Slfcill 
 aee,ds, that sink deep eut of sight bejoi^. 
 
 "Daiughter," ;Said iUccabacca, drawing yiolante to his jsid© 
 with caressing g^rm- — " Daughter J Mark, how they wb.o turn 
 towarsd^ the south -Qan still find the ;S:uniny side of ithe land- 
 scape ! In all the s,eas:ons of life^ how much of chiJJ or of 
 warmth depends on our choice of the .#;Spaet ! Bit .down- — leij; 
 us reason." 
 
 Yiolante ,sa*te down passively, cl$;spiiag her fg/ther^s hand in 
 both her own. E-eason !— hai:sh word to :the e,ars .of Feeling ;! 
 
 " You shrink," resumed JlicQabo^cea, " from eveiji the fCOii^n't' 
 ship, even the presence of the .suitor iu whom mj hoi^'M' 
 binds me to recognise your futnre bridegrepm.'' 
 
 Yiolante drew away her hands, ^aaa^d plaqed them ifef op^e feer 
 eyes, shnddepjjigj-y^ 
 
 " "But," .continued B;icc£tboGe%, rath#r peevishly^ "thiiS ia 
 uot listening to reason. I may object to Mr. Leslie, heeau^se 
 he has not an adequate rank or foirtune to pretend to a, 
 daughter of my house ; that wonjld be what every one would 
 allow to be reasonable in a father '; except, indeed," :add^ the 
 poor sage, trying hard to be .sprightly, ^nd .Qatching hold ;of a 
 proverb to help him — ''except, indeed, those wise enough tc 
 recollect that admoni'liory saying, ' Oasa il ^iglio quaudo v^i-oi, 
 e la hglia quando puoi,'— (Marry your son when you will, 
 your daughter when you can.) Seriously, if. I overloiok 
 jihose objections to Mr. Leslie^ it is no,t natnral for a fowg 
 girl fco enforce them. What is reason in you is quite another 
 thijig from reason in me. Mr. Leslie is young, not ill- looking^ 
 
VARIETIES m EOTLISg LIFE. 
 
 mi 
 
 has the air of a gentleman, is passionately enaanonmd of yon, 
 md. has piroved kis aff section 5by riskiiiiig his life ^igainst tkat 
 viManorias Peschiera — i^hat is^ ke wonld kay^e riskied it had 
 Pesekiera not been skipped ;ont of the way. If, tken^ fQ% 
 will listen to reason, pray what earn reas.oos. isay #gainsl Mif, 
 Leslie?^'' 
 
 Fatker, I detest Mm f 
 
 Gospetto ! ^' persisted Rieeaboeca, testily, " yoa ha^^ no 
 reason to detest kim. If yon kad any reason, child, I am 
 snre ^^i^at I .skonid be tke last persop. to dispute it, How ioan 
 yon know yonr own miind in snek a matter ? It is not as if 
 yon kad seen any one ;else yon oonld prefer, jl^ot ^inotk<er 
 man of yonr own years do yon even know — ^Sscept, indeed, 
 Leonard Fairfield, whom, tkongk I grant ke is kandsomer, 
 and witk more imagination and genins ttmn Mr. Leslie, yo'n 
 still must remember as tke boy wko worked in any gardeim, 
 Ak ! to be snre, tkere is Frank Haz,eldean — fine lad— -bnt kis 
 affections are pre-engaged. In skort,'^ ^ontinned tk-e sagiC, 
 dogmatiGally, " tk^r,e is no ^one else yon by any possible 
 caprice, prefer to Mr. Leslie ; and for a girl, wko has no •one 
 else in ker kead, to talk of detesting a wteli-looking, well- 
 dressed^ clever young m^bii, is — a nonsense- — ' eki laseia il poco 
 per kaver Tassai ne I'uno, ne I'altro avera mai ; ' — which m^ay 
 be thus paraphrased — Tke yonog lady wko refuses a mortal 
 in the kope of obtaining an angel, loses tke <3ne, and wiHl 
 never fall in witk tke -other. S>o n<^w, having tkns skowoi 
 tkat tke darker side of tke qnestion is contrary to reason-— 
 let ns look to tke brighter. In tke first place — " 
 
 "Oh, father, fatkerj " cried Yiolanite, passionately, "yon to 
 wkom I lOnce came for eomf ort in every childish sorrow I Do 
 tiot -talk to me witk tkis cutting levity. See, I iay my ke^d 
 upon your breast — I put my arms around you — ^and now, can 
 you reason me into misery ? " 
 
 " Okild, ckild, do not be so wayward. Strive, at least, 
 against a prejudice tkat you cannot defend. My Violante, 
 my darling, tkis is no trifle. Here I must cease to be tke 
 fond, foolisk fatker, wkom you can do wkat you will with. 
 Here I am Alpkonso, Duke di Berrano ; for here my konour 
 as noble, and my word as man, are involved, I, then, but a 
 helpless exile — no kope of fairer prospects before me — tiem- 
 bling like a coward at tke wiles of my unscrupulous kinsman 
 — grasping at all ckances to save you from kis snares — I 
 myself ofEered yonr kand to Eandal Leslie — offered, promised, 
 pledged it; — land now tkat my fortunes seem assured, my 
 
472 
 
 Mf jsWEl; ok, 
 
 rank in all likelihood restored, my foe crushed, my fears at 
 rest — now, does it become me to retract what I myself had 
 urged ? It is not the noble, it is the parvenu, who has only 
 to grow rich, in order to forget those whom in poverty he 
 hailed as his friends.'* Is it for me to make the poor excuse, 
 never heard on the lips of an Italian prince, * that I cannot 
 command the obedience of my child,' — subject myself to the 
 galling answer — * Duke of Serrano, you could once command 
 that obedience, when, in exile, penury, and terror, you offered 
 me a bride without a dower.' Child — Violante — daughter of 
 ancestors on whose honour never slander set a stain, I call on 
 you to redeem your father's plighted word." 
 
 Father, must it be so ? Is not even the convent open to 
 me ? ^^^ay, look not so coldly on me. If you could but read 
 my heart ! And, oh ! I feel so assured of your own repent- 
 ance hereafter — so assured that this man is not what you 
 believe him. I so suspect that he has been playing throughout 
 some secret and perfidious part." 
 
 " Ha ! " interrupted Riccabocca, " Harley has perhaps in- 
 fected you with that notion." 
 
 " 'No — ^no. But is not Harley — is not Lord L'Estrange one 
 whose opinion you have cause to esteem ? And if he distrust 
 Mr. Leslie—", 
 
 " Let him make good his distrust by such proof as will 
 absolve my word, and I shall share your own joy. I have 
 told him this. I have invited him to make good his suspicions 
 — he puts me off. He cannot do so," added Riccabocca, in a 
 \^ejected tone ; " Handal has already so well explained all that 
 Harley deemed equivocal. Yiolante, my name and my honour 
 rest in your hands. Oast them away if you will ; I cannot 
 constrain you, and I cannot stoop to implore. Nohlesse oblige 
 — With your birth you took its duties. Let them decide 
 between your vain caprice and your father's solemn remon- 
 strance." 
 
 Assuming a sternness that he was far from feeling, and 
 putting aside his daughter's arms, the exile walked away. 
 
 Violante paused a moment, shivered, looked round as if taking 
 a last farewell of joy, and peace, and hope on earth, and then 
 approaching her father with a firm step, she said, — " I never 
 rebelled, father ; I did but entreat. What you say is my law 
 
 * " Quando *1 villano e diveiiuto ricco 
 
 Non lia (t. e.if riconosce) parent ne amico." 
 
 Italian FrovcrK 
 
YAMETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 473 
 
 now, us it lias ever been ; and come wliat may, never shall 
 yoM liear complaint or murmur from me. Poor father, you 
 will suif er more than I shall. Kiss me ! " 
 
 About an hour afterwards, as the short day closed in, Harley, 
 returning from his solitary wanderings, after ho had parted 
 from Helen, encountered on the terrace, before the house, 
 Lady Lausmere and Audley Egerton arm in arm. 
 
 Harley had drawn his hat over his brows, and his eyes were 
 fixed on the ground, so that he did not see the group upon 
 which he came unawares, until Audley's voice started him 
 from his reverie. 
 
 "My dear Harley," said the ex-minister, with a faint smile, 
 " you must not pass us by, now that you have a moment of 
 leisure from the cares of the election. And, Harley, though 
 we are under the same roof, I see you so little." Lord 
 L'Estrange darted a quick glance towards his mother — a 
 glance that seemed to say, " You leaning on Audley's arm ! 
 Have you kept your promise ? " And the eye that met his 
 own reassured him. 
 
 *'It is true," said Harley : " but you, who know that, once 
 engaged in public affairs, one has no heart left for the ties 
 of private life, will excuse me. And this election is so 
 important ! " 
 
 "And you, Mr. Egerton," said Lady Lansmere, "whom 
 the election most concerns, seem privileged to be the only one 
 who appears indifferent to success." 
 
 " Ay — ^but you are not indifferent ? " said Lord L'Estrange, 
 abruptly. 
 
 " STo. How can I be so, when my whole future career may 
 depend on it ? " 
 
 Harley drew Egerton aside. " Therq is one voter you ought 
 at least to call upon and thank. He cannot be made to com- 
 prehend that, for the sake of any relation, even for the sake 
 of Lis own son, he is to vote against the Blues — against you ; 
 I moan, of course, N^ora's father, John Avenel. His vote and 
 bis son-in-law's gained your majority at your first election." 
 
 Egertoi^. — " Call on John Avenel ! Have you called ? " 
 
 Harley, (calmly.) — "Yes. Poor old man, his mind has 
 been affected ever since Nora's death. But your name as the 
 candidate for the borough at that time — the successful candi- 
 date for whose triumph the joy-bells chimed with her funeral 
 knell — your name brings up her memory; and he talks in a 
 breath of her and of you. Coino, K I us walk together to his 
 house 5 it is close by the Park Lodge." 
 
MY MWEL; 0^^ 
 
 The dv-ops stood on Audlej'^ brow! He fixad hia dark 
 hajadsom-e ej.es,^ in mournful ,amazj3, upon Harlej's tranquil 
 face. 
 
 " Harlef 5 last^ ^tlien, y-ou h^aye forgotten tlie Past.''^ 
 ~Mo ; .but the Present is more imjperious.. All my e^orts 
 are ;ieed*ad to requite your friendship . You. stand against lier 
 brother — yet her father yotes for you.. And her motlier says 
 to her rSO?i, ' Jjdt the old mam. alone. Conscience is all that is 
 well aliF;e 13:1 him ; and he thinks if he were to vote against 
 the Blues, he would sin againsfc honour.' ' An electioneering 
 prejudice,' some sceptics would say. But you must be touched 
 by this trait -of human nature — in her father, too — jou, Au,dley 
 Eger-tou^ who are the soul of honour. What ails you ? ^■ 
 
 JSgb^tojj'..- — ^■'^Niothing — -.aiSpasm .at the heart — my old com- 
 plaint. W^qR, I will .call on the poor rftan later, biit not now 
 — not with you. Ifay, nay, I will not — I cannot. Harley, 
 just <as you joined us, I was talking to your mother.^' 
 
 HijR^iEy,— " Ay, B-nd what of ? " 
 
 Egeeton. — " Yourself. I saw you from my windows walkiug 
 with joxL^ hetrothed. After weirds I -observed her coming 
 hospe .alone ; 3nd by the glimpse I caught of her gentle coun- 
 tenance, it seemed sad. Harley, do yo-u deceive us ? 
 
 Haeley. — " Deceive — ^1 ! — How ! 
 
 Egeetoe. — -"Do you i-eally feel that your intended marriage 
 will bestow on you the happiness, which is my prayer, as it 
 must be your mother's ? " 
 
 Haele¥.— ''Happiness — I hoped so. But perhaps — 
 
 Egeeton. — " Perhaps what ? " 
 
 Ha,eley. — " Perhaps the marriage may not take place. 
 Perhaps I have a rival — not an open one — a ,secret, stealthj 
 w.ooer — in one, too, whom I have loved, ;Served, trusted. 
 Question m,e not uow. SiTch instances of treachery make 
 one learn more how to prize a friendship honest, devoted^ 
 faithful -as your own, Audley Egerton. But here comes 
 your protege, released awhile from his -canvass, ,and youi 
 confidential adviser, Baron Levy. He accompanied E^andal 
 through the town to-day. So anxious is he to see that that 
 young inan does not play false, and regard his own inteixjsi 
 bjefore yours. Would that surprise jou ? " 
 
 EGEKTOiir,. — "You are too severe upon Randal Leslie. He 
 is ambitious, worldly — has no surplus of affection at the 
 command of his heart — " 
 
 HAEXiEY. — "Is it Bandal Leslie you describe?** 
 
 Egeeton, (with a languid smile.) — " Yes. you Bee T do not 
 
VARIETIES m m^him life. 
 
 fotifeer. 'Bmk lie is feoria r^iad reas^ed 9^ ^gentlems;®. ; ia«s .siiiA lie 
 .n^oiild .sea^rceiy do aaiytihiii^Lg jnneaia. And, aftej* ail, «it is wiil^h 
 me itjaa^fc fee in,us!fc risgs or fall.. fveity iLiiuteJlej3t aaiiasfb itell 
 
 Jaim th^t. Biiiii ;9^aiii I ask, ,do laot sftriy© ito) p=r-e'pG,ss,es.s me 
 against liim. I mx a maa "who (eoimld limw.^ lored a boji, 
 I laave iaoaie. Bandal, mGk ,as lie is, is a sorj) ,of mmi. He 
 .Gariies -Gja my ojeGts a#id di#e5:\esifc m the w^M. mQU 
 hejom^ the go.al of th^ .tomib." 
 
 Aia^dJie-y ifcwi^ited fciELdly SaiaidoJ. 
 
 " W^U^ IjesJie, whoi ?:^.epo'rt of ihe mT^wm^ f ^' 
 
 " hevf hw Jte foook^ =sir,. I %%iak WQ kwe ^aiaed 
 fiiesli yO'tes for jiOiiii, 'aind perkaps -^e^deji for jme.''' 
 
 ^' fcit m^ iridV^u of four hook, Bui^-on iLeyy," isa-id Hjartef. 
 
 J>^st ^fc .:fclai;S time Euie^Qa-ho^cQa jmd. YiohiB-iid .approacked iim 
 JbLOuse^ botTa slite#. Th^ Iifealiajji i^sb^ght ;sigfet of B^aaadjal, iaaMi 
 iD^ade hiw 3a jsigm to ioin tjiem- T'to yosiasng l-ow^er glamead 
 fearfiijljr toTO^^:^ Hartey, ^ad theu wiik- 'i^ikmwk>j hmumd.<^d. 
 forward, and wM ^00?^ # Yiolaiip^te's ^ide. Biiut sussmee Imd 
 flarley, surprised hf Leslie's :sudd en disappesupwc^., Tmm^ed 
 the canse, than witli jG|(|:ual :^br;uptne^s albaowioja^d tlm 
 wjaispered .e0iiafere3p.ee he ha4- CG^iameni@ed wUM Lerf^ land 
 feai§tenip.g to 38rai?.jdal, la^d hMA the yoiiang maja'^s ^jhoimWer, 
 exiclaiming, Teji thousand pa-j*dGii3(S to ^all tfiriee I Mm-t I 
 Wmok ^}low tWs jsyaste of jasaie^ INfr. Leslie. Xoio. l^a^ie yet aa 
 hoiiir before it grows dark. There me thp^ee oiiiitTOteiFS six 
 miles off, i33y0.nential farmers, whom -ysou mw^t> ^i^amvaes iu 
 person with mj father's stewartd. U^^ten to the stahlesi; 
 choose yonr own horse. T>o.B;addle — to sad-die ! Baron Leyf^ 
 go and oj-der iny lord';^ ^t^warsd^ Mr. Snaart, to jf^rn Ifr. 
 I<asjie at the stQ;btes.^ thien eome back to pie— ^qiaick. Whai^-! 
 — -loitering still, Mr. Leslie 1 Yon will make me throvw np 
 j-onr whole .eanse in sdisgp-st at jow imfcjenee ^and ;^patliy..'^ 
 
 Alarmed at tjm &reat, l^andaj. lifte^d his ,accnsing ej ^ 
 
 heaven, -and withdrew". 
 
 MeajQwhile Aiiidl,ey ha4 dmw^ ?elose to I^dy hsimmem, 
 who was leaning, in thos^ght, ^ver the i>alnstrade ^of th^ 
 terr6;0e. 
 
 "Do you note," said Audley, whispeiL*y3g., ^'how Hartey 
 sprang forwaa^l when tjhe fair Italian ,€ame in sight ? Trust 
 me, I was right, I know Jittle of the young lady, biut I h;ave 
 eony^rsed with her. I hayeg^i^ed on the ehaaag-es in her face. 
 If Hariey Oxyeir love a^g^iu, and if eyar lov^ infliu?e?aie;e ^x^lt 
 his .masa^d, ??srish with im th^it hi^ Gji,oi^ uiay y^t i^ll wheise I 
 believe ^ hat J^is heart iiiGlip.e^ it." 
 
476 
 
 MY KOVEL ; Oli, 
 
 Lady Laitsmere. — " Ah ! tliat it were so. Helen, I own, is 
 charming ; but — ^bnt — ^Yiolante is equal in birth ! Are yon not 
 aware that she is engaged to your young friend, Mr. Leslie ? " 
 
 AuDLEY. — "Randal told me so ; but I cannot believe it. In 
 fact, I have taken occasion to sound that fair creature's in- 
 clinations, and if I know aught of women, her heart is not 
 with Randal. I cannot believe her to be one whose affections 
 are so weak as to be easily constrained ; nor can I suppose 
 that her father could desire to enforce a marriage that is almost 
 a mesalliance, Randal must deceive himself ; and from some- 
 thing Harley just let fall, in our painful but brief conversation, 
 I suspect that his engagement with Miss Digby is broken off. 
 He promises to tell me more, later. Yes,^' continued Audley, 
 mournfully, "observe Yiolante's countenance, with its ever- 
 varying play ; listen to her voice, to which feeling seems to 
 give the expressive music, and tell me whether you are not 
 sometimes reminded of — of — ^In one word, there is one who, 
 even without rank or fortune, would be worthy to replace the 
 image of Leonora, and be to Harley — what Leonora could 
 not ; for sure I am that Violante loves him." 
 
 Harley, meanwhile, had lingered with Riccabocca and 
 Violante, speaking but on indifferent subjects, obtaining short 
 answers from the first, and none from the last — ^when the sage 
 drew him a little aside, and whispered, " She has consented 
 to sacrifice herself to my sense of honour. But, O Harley ! if 
 she be unhappy, it will break my heart. Either you must 
 give me sufficient proof of Randal's unworthiness, to absolve 
 me from my promise — or I must again entrepot you to try 
 and conciliate the poor child in his favour. All you say 
 has weight with her ; she respects you as — a second 
 father." 
 
 Harley did not seem peculiarly fl.attered by that last as- 
 surance, but he was relieved from an immediate answer, by 
 the appearance of a man who came from the direction of 
 the stables, and whose dress, covered with dust, and travel- 
 stained, seemed like that of a foreign courier. No sooner 
 did Harley catch sight of this person, than he sprang for- 
 ward, and accosted him briefly and rapidly. 
 
 "You have been quick; I did not expect you so soon. 
 You discovered the trace ? You gave my letter — " 
 
 "And have brought back the answer, my lord," replied 
 the man, taking the letter from a leathern pouch at hia 
 side. Harley hastily broke open the seal, and glanced over 
 the contents, which were comprised in a few lines. 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 477 
 
 Good. Say not wlience you came. Do not wait here 5 
 •-—return at once to London." 
 
 Harley's face seemed so nnnsually clieerfnl as lie rejoined 
 tlie Italians, that the Duke exclaimed — 
 
 " A despatch from Vienna ! My recall 1 
 
 " From Vienna, my dear friend ? Not possible yet. I 
 cannot calculate on hearing from the Prince till a day or 
 two before the close of this election. But you wish me to 
 speak to Violante. Join my mother yonder. What can 
 she be saying to Mr. Egerton? I will address a few words 
 apart to your fair daughter, that may at least prove the 
 interest in her fate taken by — her second father." 
 
 "Kindest of friends," said the unsuspecting pupil of 
 Machiavelli; and he walked towards the terrace. Violante 
 was about to follow. Harley detained her. 
 
 " Do not go till you have thanked me ; for you are not 
 the noble Violante for whom I take you, unless you ac- 
 knowledge gratitude to any one who delivers you from the 
 presence of an admirer in Mr. Handal Leslie." 
 
 Violante. — " Ought I to hear this of one whom — ^whom — " 
 
 Harley. — " One whom your father obstinately persists in 
 obtruding on your repugnance. Yet, O dear child, you who, 
 when almost an infant, ere yet you knew what snares 
 and pitfalls, for all who trust to another, lie under the 
 sward at our feet, even when decked the fairest with the 
 flowers of spring — you who put your small hands around my 
 neck, and murmured in your musical voice, ' Save us — save 
 my father ; ' you at least 1 will not forsake, in a peril worse 
 than that which menaced you then — a peril which affrights 
 you more than that which threatened you in the snares of 
 Peschiera. Randal Leslie may thrive in his meaner objects 
 of ambition ; — those I fling to him in scorn ; — but you I tho 
 presuming varlet ! " Harley paused a. moment, half stifled 
 with indignation. He then resumed, calmly — " Trust to me, 
 and fear not. I will rescue this hand from the profanation 
 of Randal Leslie's touch ; and then farewell, for life, to every 
 soft emotion. Before me expands the welcome solitude. The 
 innocent saved, the honest righted, the perfidious stricken by 
 a just retribution — and then — what then ? Why, at least I 
 shall have studied Machiavelli with more effect than your 
 wise father ; and I shall lay him aside, needing no philosophy 
 to teach me never again to be deceived." His brow darkened; 
 he turned abruptly away, leaving Violante lost in amaze, 
 fear — and a delight, vague» Yet more vividly felt than aU. 
 
4f8 
 
 CHAPTlfll XXI. 
 
 That night, af fcer' fe labo^^s ishe d!ay,i BMi^al k^fi g^iiied 
 the ^MiKiiw^fQi his ownrO'om, an-d.! seated^ hkBself at' kis^l;a)lDle, 
 feo iMfepaiye i&e Ireads' of 1>]i'e errtica^i s-pee^li he -vromM hsb^e now 
 Yerj soon to delivei? on ih& d^y oii noift/inatron--^eritieal sj)e©eh 
 when, in tlie presence of foes and! firiend% reporters from 
 Lond^on?, and am»Mkt all the j^-trm^g Merests that- he songht to 
 Weave into the sofe seM-intfeei^est Rajn^dal? Lesldey he wo^ld 
 be called upon to' r^aike th« formal esposition* of his political 
 opiiiions:. Bandal Leslie, iMieed, was noi one of those 
 gpealkei?fe whonr either m-odesty^ fastidio-R'snesv^, oi^ conscien- 
 fcions desire of truth predjisposes towards the lateuT of Written 
 Gompositi'on. He hs'd: too- much cleverness to be in "wafflt of 
 faent period; or ready con?imonpMee — the ordinary teiteri^uls 
 of oratorical impromptu— too- little taste for the Beautiful to 
 study what graces of diction} will 1)'est adorn a noble sentim^ent 
 -^too- obtuse a- eon^ieto.ce' to* eai^e if ih@ popular argament 
 were pu-rified from> th-©' di?o'sS' which the careless fl'ow of a 
 speech wholily esteteporane'ous rarely fails to- leave arotoid: it^ 
 B*iii?t thi«' Was no ordrinary occasion.* Elaborate study here 
 Was re'qiUiisitey not for th& orator, but the hypocrites Hard 
 talsky, tO' please' ih& Blues,, and- not offend; th-e yellows;,—- 
 appear to- side with Audley E-gertony yet insinuate symipathy 
 with Dick Atenel confront,! with polite- sm-ile, the you^iger 
 ©ppO'nenft whose- words^ had lodged arrows in his vanity,, which 
 ranMed thte m^ore gallingly becasase they had rais'sd the skm 
 of hi-s conseitence.' 
 
 He had dipped hm pen in'to the- infe and smoothed the paper 
 bt^fore himy when a knock was heard at- the door. 
 
 * ^' Ooirre hi,- ' said h-e, im^patiently . Levy ent ered^ saunteringly . 
 
 " I am eom'@ to' talk over m<atters> with you, mon Gher^^ sa,id 
 the^ Baron, throwing himself on the sofa. " And, first, I wish 
 you joy of your' piwpeets of success." 
 
 Kandal postponed his; meditated composition with a quick 
 s%h, drew his chair towards the- sofa, and lowered his voice 
 intO' a whispers Yoiit thiiaik with me, that the chance of my 
 g-ueeess— is good ? " 
 
 " Ghan?ee !— Why,- it h a- rubber of whist j. in which your 
 partnilr gives youi afU tho winningg, and in which the adversary 
 m almost- sure- tO' revoke. Eithe-r Avenel or his nephew, it m 
 true,' must eom^e in but- lato-t both. Twc^ parvenus? aspiTing 
 
VAHIETIES m fiMLma LIFE. 
 
 "1 beaY from Bi'cea%6cb^\ (<^' raila^^i* Buk^ Serrano) 
 that this same young FairSeM is greatly Mebted to tke'kind- 
 nes^ of Lord L'Estrange. 1^6ry od€^ fc* he should stand 
 again'st the liansm'^re in'Beres^.-" 
 
 " J.m'biiiion, mon chef, Yoii yoiiVsol^ are nnder somo obl^:- 
 gatio!ds ^0^ ]\lr. Egerton. Yet, in^ i^^aMty,' he h^as m^ore to 
 apprehend from you than from Mr. F^ii*field/^ 
 
 I disown oBligatiOiis^ to Mr. Egerton. And if the electors 
 prefer me to him (whom, by-the-by, they once' bnirn^d- in 
 effigy,) it no fault of mine : the fault, if any, will rest with 
 his' Own dearest friend, L'EstrSfti^fe. I to not understand 
 how a maii' of such clear seMe, as L^Estrange undouMedly 
 pOgs^ssBg^ gl'Oiild' be ri^ki^g' E^rton'^ efe^tion m Ms zeal for 
 niiWe. I^or do Ms* forrnal courtesies to myself deceive me. 
 He has 6veii' inipired^ tha?t he sil^pe6ts m& of connivance with 
 PeScM^^ra's ^6h^iM'es= on ¥iblant6. B'nit thorn snspicibns^ ho 
 cannot sui)pbrt-. Eo^ of co^rge,< Levy,* fcm wottld not- betray 
 me?"^ 
 
 " I f What pi^ssife interest 6'ouM' I serve in thut ? " 
 
 *' l!^oile that I can discover', certainly," said Randaly retoing 
 into a smile. " Antf when' I get itoto Parlament, aided by 
 the- social poM^rott.^ which- my naairriage Vi^'ill give^ me, I sh^all 
 h^a^e so many T^alys to- sefve you. I^o, it is certainly your 
 i]fitere§t not to betray me. An'd I shMt count on^ you as a 
 witness, if a witness 6an he re^nid-red." 
 
 ^''Obtait on me, bertainly, my d^ai* fellbw," sarid' th»o BaT?on. 
 ^''And I suppOfeo there will be no witness the' other way. 
 Dbike for' ete^^nally is my pbt^f dear friend PescMera,' wbose 
 eigars, by-the-by, were matchl^ss^ ;— I Wonder if there will be 
 i'ny for sale. And if he were not so' done f or,^ it is' not you, it 
 
 L'Estra-nge, tha't he' woul'd be tenipted to do- for." 
 
 ^' We may bl'ot PescM-era* ol!tt of the map of the futul^e," 
 rejoined Randal. ^' Men from whom henceforth we have no- 
 thing to' hope 6t tO' fear, are to u^' as* the races before the 
 deluge." 
 
 " Ein6 rbtoaark," quoth the Ba-ro^. admiriugly. " PescMera, 
 though not withont brains, was a complete failure. And 
 M'hen' the failtf'rb' of one I have' tri^d to serve' is^ complete, the 
 Me I hOT6' adopted througi li^e is to give Mmnip- altogether." 
 
 '' Of course," said- Bandal. 
 
 " Of course," echoed the Baron. On the other hand,; yo-c 
 Miiow that I like pusliin'g f or#ard jj^oung men of ia^ark and 
 
480 
 
 MY KOVEL ; OE, 
 
 promise. You really are amazingiy clever ; but liow cornea 
 it you don't speak better ? Do you know, I doubt whether 
 you will do in the House of Commons all that I expected from 
 your address and readiness in private life." 
 
 "Because I cannot talk trash vulgar enough for a mob ? 
 Pooh ! I shall succeed wherever knowledge is really power. 
 Besides, you must allow for my infernal position. You know, 
 after all, that Avenel, if he can only return himself or his 
 nephew, still holds in his hands the choice of the candidate 
 upon our side. I cannot attack him — I cannot attack his 
 insolent nephew — " 
 
 "Insolent! — not that, but bitterly eloquent. He hits you 
 hard. You are no match for him, Randal, before a popular 
 audience ; though en petit comite^ the devil himself were hardly 
 a match for you. But now to a somewhat more serions point. 
 Your election you will win — ^your bride is promised fco you ; 
 but the old Leslie lands, in the present possession of Squire 
 Thornhill, you have not gained — and your chance of gaining 
 fchem is in great jeopardy. I did not like to tell you this 
 morning — it would have spoiled your temper for canvassing ; 
 but I have received a letter from Thornhill himself. He has 
 had an offer for the property, which is only £1000 short of 
 what he asks. A city alderman, called J obson, is the bidder ; 
 a man it seems, of large means and few words. The alder- 
 man has fixed the date on which he must have a definite 
 answer ; and that date falls on the — th, two days after that 
 fixed for the poll at Lansmere. The brute declares he will 
 close with another investment, if Thornhill does not then 
 come into his terms. Now, as Thornhill will accept these 
 terms unless I can positively promise him better, and as those 
 funds on which you calculated (had fche marriage of Peschiera 
 with Violante, and Prank Hazeldean with Madame di Negra, 
 taken place) fail you, I see no hope for your being in time 
 with the money — and the old lands of the Leslies must yield 
 their rents to a Jobson." 
 
 " I care for nothing on earth like those old lands oi my 
 forefathers," said Randal, with unusual vehemence — "I 
 reverence so little amongst the living — and I do reverence 
 the dead. And my marriage will take place so soon ; and the 
 dower would so amply cover the paltry advance required." 
 
 " Yes ; but the mere prospect of a marriage to the daughter 
 of a man whose lands are still sequestered, would be no 
 security to a money-lender." 
 
 " Surely,-* said Ilaudal, '"^ jou who once oHercd to nssist mo 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 481 
 
 wten m J fortunes were more precarious, miglit now accommo- 
 date me with this loan, as a friend, and keep the title-deeds 
 of the estate as — 
 
 As a money-lender," added the Baron, laughing plea- 
 santly, " JSTo, mon cher, I will sfcill lend you half the sum 
 required in advance, but the other half is more than I can 
 afford as friend, or hazard as money-lender; and it would 
 damage my character — ^be out of all rule — if, the estates fall- 
 ing, by your default of payment, into my own hands, I should 
 appear to be the real purchaser of the property of my owir 
 distressed client. But, now I think of it, did not Squire 
 Hazeldean promise you his assistance in this matter ? " 
 
 "He did so," answered l^andal, "as soon as the marriage 
 between Frank and Madame di Negra was off his mind. I 
 meant to cross over to Hazeldean immediately after the elec- 
 tion. How can I leave the place till then ? " 
 
 " If you do, your election is lost. But why not write to the 
 Squire ? " 
 
 "It is against my maxim to write where I can speak. 
 However, there is no option ; I will write at once. Mean- 
 while, communicate with Thornhill ; keep up his hopes ; and 
 be sure, at least, that he does not close with this greedy 
 alderman before the day fixed for decision." 
 
 " I have done all that already, and my letter is gone. ITow, 
 do your part : and if you write as cleverly as you talk, you 
 would coax the money out from a stonier heart than poor 
 Mr. Hazeldean's. I leave you now — Goodnight." 
 
 Levy took up his candlestick, nodded, yawned, and went. 
 
 Handal still suspended the completion of his speech, and 
 indited the following epistle : — 
 
 " Mt dear Mr. Hazeldean, — I wrote to you a few hasty 
 lines on leaving town, to inform you that the match you so 
 dreaded was broken off, and proposing to defer particulars 
 till I could visit your kind and hospitable roof, which I trusted 
 to do for a few hours during my stay at Lansmere, since it ia 
 not a day's journey hence to Hazeldean. But I did not cal- 
 culate on finding so sharp a contest. In no election through- 
 out the kingdom do I believe that a more notable triumph, or 
 a more stunning defeat, for the great landed interest can 
 occur. For in this town — so dependent on agriculture — ^we 
 are opposed by a low and sordid manufacturer, of the most 
 revolutionary notions, who has. moreover, the audacity to 
 force his own nephew— that very boy whom I chastised for 
 
 VOL, II, II 
 
MY NOVEL; OB, 
 
 imperfcineiiee on youp village green — son of a common car- 
 penter— actuallj the andaeity, I say, to attempt to force this 
 peasant of a nephew, as well as himself, into the representation 
 of Lansmere, against the Earl's interest, against yonr dis- 
 tinguished brothej" — of myself I say nothing. Yon shonld 
 hear the language in which these two men indulge against all 
 your family ! If we are heaten by such persons in a borough 
 supposed to be so loyal as Lansmere, every one with a stake 
 in- the country may tremble at such a prognostic of the ruin 
 that niust await not only our old English Constitution, but 
 the existence of property itself. I need not say that on such 
 an occasion I cannot spare myself. Mr. Egerton is ill too. 
 All the fatigue of the canyass devolves on me. I feel, my 
 dear and revered friend, that I am a genuine Hazeldean, 
 fighting your battle ; and that thought carries me through 
 all. I cannot, therefore, come to you till the election is over ; 
 and meanwhile you, and my dear Mrs. Hazeldean, niust be 
 anxious to know more about the aft'air that so preyed on both 
 your Jiearts, than I have yet informed you, or can well trust 
 to a letter. Be assured, however, that the worst is over ; the 
 lady has gone abroad. I earnestly entreated Frank (who> 
 showed me Mrs. Hazeldean's most pathetic letter to him) to 
 hasten at once to the Hall and relieve your minds. Unfor- 
 tunately he -would not be ruled by me, but talked of going 
 abroad to o-^not, I trust, (nay, I feel assured,) in pursuit of 
 Madame di Isfegra ; but still — In short, I should be so glajd to 
 see you, and talk over- the whole. Could you not come 
 hither pray do. And now, at the risk of your thinking 
 that in this I am only consulting my own interest, (but no—' 
 5 our noble English heart will never so misjudge me !) I will 
 add with homely frankness, that if you could accommodate 
 me immediately, with the loan you not long since so gene- 
 rously o:ffiered, you would save those lands once in my family 
 from passing away from us foi' ever. A city alderman — one 
 Jobson— is meanly taking advantage of Thornhill's neces- 
 sities, and driving a hard, bargain for those lands. He has 
 fixed the — th inst. for Thornhill's answer, and Levy (who is 
 here assisting Mr. Egerton' s election) informs me that Thpm* 
 hill will accept his o:ffer, unless I am provided with £10,000 
 beforehand ; the other £10,000, to complete the advance 
 required, Levy will lend me. Ho not be surprised at the 
 usurer's liberality ; he knows that I am about shortly to marry 
 a very great heiress^ (jou will be pleased when you learn 
 ^4\om, and will then ^ able to account for my indiference to 
 
VARIETIES m EmialBn LIFE, 
 
 4m 
 
 Miss Stiektoriglits,) and her do.wer will amplj sevre to repay 
 his loaii anii jowr Qwn^ if I may trust to jonv generous 
 a:Eoction for tlae grandsQii of a Hazeldean ! I haTe tho Jess 
 scruple in tMs appeal to jon, for I know how it would grieye you 
 that a Johson, who perhaps never knew a grandmother, should 
 foist you;r own kinsman from the lands of his fathers. Of 
 one thing I am conyinced^ — we squires, and sons of squires, 
 must make eommon cause against those g-reat monied capi- 
 iialists, or they will buy us all out in a few generations. The 
 old race of country gentlemen is already much diminished by 
 the grasping cupidity of such leviathans ; and if the race be 
 once extinct, what will become of the boast and strength of 
 England ! 
 
 " Yours, my dear Mr. Hazeldean, with most a:ffectionate 
 and grateful respect, 
 
 RiiSfDAii Leslie." 
 
 CHAPTEB XXII, 
 
 I^OTHING to Leonard could as yet be more distasteful or 
 oppregsive than his share in this memorable election, In the 
 first place, it chafed the secret sores of his heart tp be com- 
 pelled to resume the name of Fairfield, which was a tacit 
 disavowal of his birth. It had been such delight to him 
 that the same letters which formed the name of Nora, should 
 weave also that name of Gran, to which he had given dis- 
 tinetiQu, which he had associated with ^11 his nobler toils, and 
 all his hopes of enduring fame— a. mystic link between his 
 own career and his mother's obscurer genius. It seemed 
 to him as if it were rendering to her the honoim accorded to 
 himself— subtle and delicate fancy of the affections, of which 
 only poets would be capable, but which others thaia poets may 
 iierhaps comprehend I Thg^t earlier name of J^airfield was 
 ;jonnected in his memory with all the ruder employments, the 
 meaner trials of his boyhood ; — the name of Oran, with 
 poetry and fame. It was his title in the ideal world, amongst 
 all fair shapes and spirits. In receiving the old appellation, 
 the practical world, with its bitterness and strife, returned to 
 him as at the utterance of a spell. But in cpming to Lans- 
 mere he had no choicCf To say nothing of Dick, and Dick's 
 parents, with whom his secret would not be safe, Randal 
 Lpslha knew that he had gone by the name of Fairfield-r-knew 
 
484 
 
 IVIY J^OVEL; OE, 
 
 his supposed parentage, and would be sure to proclaim tliein. 
 How account for tlie later name without -setting curiosity to 
 decipher the anagram it involved, and perhaps guidiog sus- 
 picion to his birth from ISTora, to the injury of her memory, 
 yet preserved from stain ? 
 
 His feelings as connected with Nora — sharpened and deep- 
 ened as they all had been by his discovery of her painful 
 narmtive — were embittered still more by coming in contact 
 with her parents. Old Johu was in the same helpless state 
 of mind and body as before — neither worse nor better ; but 
 waking up at intervals with vivid gleams of interest in the 
 election at the wave of a blue banner — at the cry of " Blud 
 for ever ! It was the old broken-down charger, who, dozing 
 in the meadows, starts at the roll of the drum. JSTo per- 
 suasions Dick could employ would induce his father to promise 
 to vote even one Yellow. You might as well have expected 
 the old Jlonian, with his monomaniac cry against Carthage, to 
 have voted for choosing Carthaginians for consuls. But poor 
 /ohn, nevertheless, was not only very civil, but very humble 
 to Dick — "very happy to oblige the gentleman." 
 
 " Your own son ! " bawled Dick ; " and here is your own 
 grandson." 
 
 " Very happy to serve you both ; but you see you are the 
 wrong colour." 
 
 Then as he gazed at Leonard, the old man approached him 
 with trembling knees, stroked his hair, looked into his face, 
 piteously. "Be thee my grandson?" he faltered. "Wife, 
 wife, ISTora had no son, had she ? Mj memory begins to fail 
 me, sir ; pray excuse it; but you have a look about the eyes 
 that — " Old John began to weep, and his wife led him 
 away. 
 
 " Don't come again," she said to Leonard, harshly, when 
 she returned. " He'll not sleep all night now." And then^ 
 observing that the tears stood in Leonard's eyes, she added, 
 in softened tones — " I am glad to see you well and thriving, 
 and to hear that you have been of great service to my son 
 Richard, who is a credit and an honour to the family, though 
 poor John cannot vote for him or for you against his con- 
 science; and he should not be asked," she added, firing up; 
 " and it is a sin to ask it, and he so old, and no one to defend 
 him but me. But defend him T will while I have life ! " 
 
 The poet recognised woman's brave, loving, wife-like heart 
 here, and would have embraced the stern grrindmother, if sho 
 !aad not drawn back from him ; and, as she turned towards 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIKE. 
 
 485 
 
 the loom to wliicli site had led her husband, she said over her 
 shoulder — 
 
 " I'm not so unkind as I seem, boy ; but it is better for 
 jou, and for all, that you should not come to this house again 
 —better that you had not come into the town." 
 
 Me, mother ! said Dick, seeing that Leonard, bending 
 liis head, silently walked from the room. " You should be 
 prouder of your grandson than you are of me." 
 
 " Prouder of him who may shame us all yet ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Avenel shook her head and vanished. 
 
 " ISTever mind her, poor old soul," said Dick, as he joined 
 Leonard at the threshold ; " she always had her tempers. 
 And since there is no vote to be got in this house, and one 
 can't set a caucas on one's own father — at least in this extra- 
 ordinarily rotten and prejudiced old country, which is quite 
 in its dotage — we'll not come, here to be snubbed any more. 
 Bless their old hearts, nevertheless ! " 
 
 Leonard's acute sensibility in all that concerned his birth, 
 deeply wounded by Mrs. Avenel's allusions which he com- 
 prehended better than his uncle did, was also kept on the 
 edge by the suspense to which he was condemned by Harley's 
 continued silence as to the papers confided to that nobleman. 
 It seemed to Leonard almost unaccountable that Harley 
 should have read those papers — be in the same town with 
 himself — and yet volunteer no communication. At length he 
 wrote a few lines to Lord L'Estrange, bringing the matter 
 that concerned him so deeply before Harley's recollection, 
 and suggesting his own earnest interest in any information 
 that could supply the gaps and omissions of the desultory 
 fragments. Harley, in replying to this note, said, with appa- 
 rent reason, "that it would require a long personal interview 
 to discuss the subject referred to, and that sach an interview, 
 in the thick of the contest between himself and a candidate 
 opposed to the Lansmere party would be sure to get wind, be 
 ascribed to political intrigues, be impossible otherwise to 
 explain — and embarrass all the interests confided to their 
 respective charge. That for the rest, he had not been un- 
 mindful of Leonard's anxiety, which must now mainly be to 
 see justice done to the dead parent, and learn the name, 
 station, and character of the parent yet surviving. And in 
 this Harley trusted to assist him as soon as the close of the 
 poll would present a suitable occasion." The letter was 
 unlike Harley's former cordial tone: it was hard and dry. 
 
4S6 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OE, 
 
 Leonard respected L'Estrange too mucli to own to Mniself 
 that it was unfeeling. With all his rich generosity of nature, 
 he sought excuses for what he declined to blame. Pel'haps 
 something in Helen's manner or words had led Harley to 
 suspect that she still cherished too tender an interest in the 
 eompanion of her childhood ; perhaps under this coldness of 
 expression there lurked the burning anguish of jealousy. 
 And, oh Leonard so well understood, and could so nobly 
 compassionate even in his prosperous rival, that torture of 
 the most agonising of human passions, in which all out* rea- 
 sonings follow the distorted writhings of our paisi. 
 
 And Leonard himself, amidst his otlier causes of dis(^uiet; 
 was at on.oe so gnawed and so humbled by his own jealousy 
 Helenj he knew, was still under the same roof as Harley. 
 They, the betrothed, could see each other daily, hourly. He 
 would soon hear of their marriage. She woqIcI be borne afar 
 from the very sphere of his existence ---carried into a loftier 
 region — accessible only to his dreams. And yet to be jealous 
 of one to whom both Helen and himself were under such 
 obligations, debased hiin in his own esteem — jealousy here 
 was so like ingratitude. But for Harley, what could have 
 become of Helen, left to his boyish charge ? — he who had 
 himself been compelled, in despair, to think of sending her 
 from his side, to be reared into smileless youth in his mother's 
 humble cottage, while he faced famine alone, gazing on 
 the terrible river, from the bridge by which he had once 
 begged for very alms — begged of that Audley Egertonj to 
 whom he was now opposed as an equal ; — or flying from the 
 fiend that glared at him undef the lids of the haunting Chat- 
 terton. J^o, jealousy here was more than agony — it was 
 degradation — it was crime ! But, ah ! if Helen were happy 
 in these splendid nuptials ! Was he sure even of that conso- 
 lation ? Bitter was the thought either way — that she should 
 wholly forget him, in happiness from which he stood excluded 
 as a thing of sin — or sinfully herself remember, and be 
 wretched I 
 
 With that healthful strength of will which is more often 
 proportioned to the susceptibility of feeling than the world 
 suppose, the young man at last wrenched himself for awhile 
 from the iron that had entered into his soul, and forced his 
 thoughts to seek relief in the very objects from which they 
 otherwise would have the most loathingly recoiled. He aroused 
 his imagination to befriend his reason ; he strove to divine 
 some motive not explained by Harley, not to be referred to 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 487 
 
 tlie mere defeat, by counter-scliemej of the sclieming Randal 
 — nor even to be solved, by any service to Andley Egerton, 
 wbich Harley migbt evolve from the complicated meshes of 
 the election — some motive that could more interest his own 
 heart in the contest, and connect itself with Harley 's pro- 
 mised aid in clearing up the mystery of his parentage. If era's 
 memoir had clearly hinted that his father was of rank and 
 station far beyond her own. She had thrown the glow of 
 her glorious fancies over tlie ambition and the destined career 
 of the lover in whom she had merged her ambition as poetess, 
 and her career as woman. Possibly the f ather might be more 
 disposed to own and to welcome the son, if the son could 
 achieve an opening, and give promise of worth, in that grand 
 world of public life in which alone reputation takes prece- 
 dence of rank. Possibly, too, if the son thus succeeded, and 
 became one whom a proud father could with pride acknow- 
 ledge, possibly he might not only secure a father's welcome, 
 but vindicate a mother's name. This marriage, which JSTora 
 darkly hinted she had been led to believe was fraudulent, 
 might, after all, have been legal — the ceremony concealed, 
 even till now, by worldly shame at disparity of rank. But if 
 the son could make good his own footing — there were rank 
 itself owned its chiefs in talent — that shame might vanish. 
 These suppositions were not improbable ; nor were they 
 uncongenial to Leonard's experience of Harley's delicate 
 benignity of purpose. Here, too, the image of Helen allied 
 itself with those of his parents, to support his courage and 
 influence his new ambition. True, that she was lost to him 
 for ever. 'No worldly success, no political honours, could now 
 restore her to his side. But she might hear him named with 
 respect in those circles in which alone she would hereafter 
 movej and in which parliamentary reputation ranks higher 
 than literary fame. And perhaps in future years, when lo7e, 
 retaining its tendetness, was purified from its passion^ they 
 might thus meet as friends* He might without a pang, take 
 her children on his knees, and say, perhaps in their old age, 
 when he had climbed to a social equality even with her high- 
 born lord, " It was the hope to regam the privilege bestowed 
 on our childhood, that sti^engthened me to seek distinction 
 w^ien you and happiness forsook my youth.'* Thus regarded, 
 the election, which had before seemed to him so poor and 
 vulgar an exhibition of vehement passions for petty objects, 
 with its trumpery of banners and its discord of trumpets, 
 suddenly grew into vivid interest, and assumed dignity an4 
 
4^88 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 importance. It is ever thus with, all mortal strife. In pro- 
 portion as it possesses, or is void of, the diviner something 
 that quickens the pulse of the heart, and elevates the wing oH 
 the imagination, it presents a mockery to the philosopher, or 
 an inspiration to the bard. Feel that something^ and no con- 
 test is mean ! Feel it not, and, like Byron, you may class 
 with the slaughter of Cannas that field which, at Waterloo, 
 restored the landmarks of nations ; or may jeer with Juvenal 
 at the dust of Hannibal, because he sought to deliver Carthage 
 from ruin, and free a world from Rome. 
 
 CHA.PTER XXIII 
 
 Once then, grappling manfully with the task he had under- 
 taken, and constraining himself to look on what Riccabocca 
 would have called "the southern side of things," wbatever 
 there was really great in principle or honourable to human 
 nature, deep below the sordid details and pifcifal interests 
 apparent on the face of the agitated current, came clear to 
 his vision. The ardour of those around him began to be con- 
 tagious; the generous devotion to some cause, apart from 
 self, which pervades an election, and to which the poorest 
 voter will often render sacrifices that may be called sublime — 
 the warm personal affection which community of zeal creates 
 for the defender of beloved opinions — all concurred to dispel 
 that indifference to party politics, and counteract that disgust 
 of their baser leaven, which the young poet had first conceived. 
 He even began to look with complacency, for itself, on a 
 career of toil and honours strange to his habitual labours and 
 intellectual ambitioii. He threw the poetry of idea within 
 tim (as poets ever do) into the prose of action to which he 
 was hurried forward. He no longer opposed Dick Avenel 
 when that gentleman represented how detrimental it would 
 be to his business at Screwstown if he devoted to his country 
 the time and the acumen required by his mill and its steam- 
 engine ; and how desirable it would be, on all accounts, that 
 Leonard Fairfield should become the parliamentary repre- 
 sentative of the Avenels. " If, therefore," said Dick, two of 
 tiB cannot come in, and one must retire, leave it to me to 
 arrange with the committee that you shall be the one to 
 persist. Oh, never fear but what all scruples of honour shall 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 489 
 
 be satisfied. I would not for the sake of the Avenels, hare a 
 word said against their representative." 
 
 " But," answered Leonard, "if I grant this, I fear that you 
 have some intention of suffering the votes that your re- 
 signation would release, to favour Leslie at the expense of 
 Egerton." 
 
 " What the deuce is Egerton to you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, except through my gratitude to his friend Lord 
 L'Estrange." 
 
 " Pooh ! I will tell you a secret. Levy informs me privately 
 that L'Estrange will be well satisfied if the choice of Lansmere 
 fall upon Leslie instead of Egerton ; and I think I convinced 
 my Lord — for I saw him in London — that Egerton would 
 have no chance, though Leslie might." 
 
 " I must think that Lord L^Estrange would resist to the 
 utmost any attempt to prefer Leslie — whom he despises — to 
 Egerton, whom he* honours. And, so thinking, I too would 
 resist it, as you may judge by the speeches which have so 
 provoked your displeasure." 
 
 " Let us cut short a yarn of talk which, when it comes to 
 likings and dislikings, might last to almighty crack : I'll ask 
 you to do nothing that Lord L'Estrange does not sanction. 
 Will that satisfy you ? " 
 
 " Certainly, provided I am assured of the sanction." 
 
 And now, the important day preceding the poll, the day in 
 which the candidates were to be formally nominated, and 
 meet each other in all the ceremony of declared rivalship, 
 dawned at last. The town- hall was the place selected for the 
 occasion; and before sunrise, all the streets were resonant 
 with music, and gay with banners. 
 
 Audley Egerton felt that he could not — without incurring 
 some just sarcasm on his dread to face the constituency he 
 had formerly represented, and by the malcontents of which 
 he had been burned in effigy — absent himself from the town- 
 hall, as he had done from balcony and hostel. Painful as it 
 was to confront Nora's brother, and wrestle in public against 
 all the secret memories that knit the strife of the present con- 
 test with the anguish that recalled the first — still the thing 
 must be done ; and it was the English habit of his life to face 
 with courage whatever he had to do. 
 
490 
 
 CHAMEB XXIV. 
 
 The cliiefg of ttie Blue party went in state from Lansniere 
 Park; the two candidates in open carriages, each attended 
 with his proposer and seconder. Other carriages were devoted 
 to Harley and Levy, and the principal members of the com- 
 mittee. Riccabocca was seized with a fit of melancholy or 
 cynicism, and declined to join the procession. Bnt just 
 before they started, as all were assembling without the froni^ 
 door, the postman arrived with his welcome bag. There wer^ 
 letters for Harley, some for Levy, many for Egerton, one for 
 Sandal Leslie. 
 
 Levy, soon hurrying over his D1vn correspondence, looked, 
 in the familiar freedom wherew^itli he tLStlaliy treated his 
 particular friends, over Randal's shoulder. 
 
 **From the Squire?" said he. *'Ah, he has written at 
 last ! What made him delay so long ? Hope he relieves 
 your mind ?" 
 
 " Yes," cried Bandal, giving way to a joy that rarely lighted 
 up his close and secret countenance — " yes, he does not write 
 from Hazeldean — not there when my letter arrived — inLon > 
 don — could not rest at the Hall — the place reminded him too 
 much of Frank- — went again to town, on the receipt of my first 
 letter concerning the rupture of the marriage, to see after his 
 son, and take up some money to pay off his poBt-ohit Read 
 wh^t he says : — ^ So, while I was about a mortgage — (never 
 did 1 guess that I should be the man to encumber the Hazel- 
 dean estate) — I thought I might as Well add £20,000 as 
 £10,000 to the total. Why should you be indebted at all to 
 that Baroii Levy ? Don't have dealings with money-lenders. 
 If our grandmother was a Hazeldean ; and from a Hazeldean 
 you shall have the whole sum required in advance for those 
 Bood lands — good light soil some of them. As to repayment, 
 we^ll talk of that later.' If Frank and I come together again, 
 as we did of old, Why, my estates will be his some day ; and 
 he'll not gl^udge the mortgage, so fond as he always Was of 
 you ; and if we don't come together, what do I care for 
 hundreds of thousands, either more or less ? So I shall bo 
 down at Lansmere the day after to-morrow, just in the thick 
 of your polling. Beat the manufacturer, my boy, and stick 
 up for the land. Tell Levy to have all ready. I shall bring 
 the money down in good bank-notes, and a brace of pistols in 
 
vAPtiETiES m mGLim life. 
 
 491 
 
 my coat pocket to take care of them in case robbers get scenfc 
 of the notes and attack me on the road, as they did my grand- 
 father sixty years ago, come next Michaelmas. A Lansmere 
 election puts one in mind of pistols. I once fought a duel 
 with an -officer in his Ma;iesty's service j R^IST., and had a ball 
 lodged in my right shoulder^ on account of an election at 
 Lansmete; but I have forgiren Audley his share in that 
 transaction. E^emember me to him kind] 5^. Don't get into 
 a duel yourself ; but 1 suppose manufactLirets don't fight ; — ■ 
 not that I blame them for that— far from it." 
 
 The letter then ran on to express siirprisej and hazard con- 
 jecture) as to the wealthy marriage which Bandal had 
 annouiioed as a pleasing surprise to the Squire. 
 
 " Well J " said Levy, returning the letter, "you must have 
 written as t?leveriy as you talk, or the Squite is a booby 
 indeed," 
 
 Bandal smiled, pocketed his letter, and responding to th© 
 impatient call of his proposer, sprang lightly into the 
 carfiage. 
 
 Harley, too, seemed pleased with the letters delivered 
 to himself, and now joined Levy, as the candidates drove 
 slowly off, 
 
 " Has not Mr. Leslie received from the Squire an answer to 
 that letter of which you informed me ? " 
 
 "¥'es, my lord, the Squire will be here to-morrow." 
 
 " To-motrow ? Thank you for apprising me ; his rooms 
 shall be prepared." 
 
 I suppose he will only stay to see Leslie and myself, and 
 pay the money." 
 
 " Aha ( Pay the money. Is it so, then ? " 
 
 " Twice the slim, and, it seems, as a gift, which Leslie only 
 msked a^s a loan. Beally, my lord, Mr. Leslie is a very clevei 
 man ; and though I am at your oommandSj I should not like 
 to injure him. With such matrimonial prospects, he could 
 be a very powerful enemy j and if he succeed in Parliament, 
 still more so." 
 
 " Baroii, thosg g^utlmim are waitii-jg for you, I will 
 follow by myfielfi" 
 
492 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 In til© centre of the raised platform in the town-hall safe fclie 
 Major. On either hand of that dignitary now appeared the 
 candidates of the respective parties. To his right, Andley 
 Egerton and Leslie ; to his left, Dick Avenel and Leonard. 
 The place was as full as it could hold. Rows of grimy faces 
 peeped in, even from the upper windows outside the building. 
 The contest was one that created intense interest, not only 
 from public principles, but local passions. Dick Avenel, the 
 son of a small tradesman, standing against the Right Honour- 
 able Audley Egerton, the choice of the powerful Lansmere 
 aristocratic party — standing too, with his nephew by his side 
 — ^taking, as he himself was wont to say, " the tarnation Blue 
 Bull by both its oligarchical horns ! " There was a pluck and 
 gallantry in the very impudence of the attempt to convert the 
 important borough — for one member of which a great Earl 
 had hitherto striven, " with labour dire and weary woe," — • 
 into two family seats for the house of Avenel and the triumph 
 of the Capelocracy. 
 
 This alone would have excited all the spare passions of a 
 country borough ; but, besides this, there was the curiosity 
 that attached to the long-deferred public appearance of a 
 candidate so renowned as the ex-miiiister — a man whose 
 career had commenced with his success at Lansmere, and who 
 now, amidst the popular tempest that scattered his colleagues, 
 souGrht to refit his vessel in the same harbour from which it 
 had first put forth. New generations had grown up since the 
 name of Audley Egerton had first fluttered the dovecotes in 
 that Oorioli. The questions that had then seemed so import- 
 ant, were, for the most part, settled and at rest. But those 
 present who remembered Egerton in the former day, were 
 struck to see how the same characteristics of bearing and 1 
 aspect which had distinguished his early youth revived their 
 interest in the mature and celebrated man. As he stood up 
 for a few moments, before he took his seat beside the Mayor, 
 glancing over the assembly, with its uproar of cheers and 
 hisses, there was the same stately erectness of form and stead- 
 fastness of look — the same indefinable and mysterious dignity 
 of externals, that imposed respect, confirmed esteem, or 
 stilled dislike. The hisses involuntarily ceased. 
 
 The preliminary proceedings over, the proposers and 
 seconders commenced their office. 
 
VARIETIES IlSr ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 493 
 
 Audley was proposed, of course, by tlie crack raan of the 
 party — a gentleman who lived on his means in a white house 
 in the High Street — had received a University edncation, and 
 was a cadet of a Comity Family." This gentleman spoke 
 much about the Constitution, something about Greece and 
 Rome — compared Egerton with William Pitt, also with 
 Aristides ; and sat down, after an oration esteemed classical 
 by the few, and pronounced prosy by the many. Audley's 
 seconder, a burly and important maltster, struck a bolder 
 key. He dwelt largely upon the necessity of being repre- 
 sented by gentlemen of wealth and rank, and not by " up- 
 starts and adventurers." (Cheers and groans.) Looking at 
 the candidates on the other side, it was an insult to the 
 respectability of Lansmere to suppose its constituents could 
 elect a man who had no pretensions whatever to their notice, 
 except that he had once been a little boy in the town, in 
 which his father kept a shop — and a very noisy, turbulent, 
 dirty little boy he was !" Dick smoothed his spotless shirt- 
 front, and looked daggers, while the Blues laughed heartily, 
 and the Yellows cried " Shame ! " "As for the other candi- 
 date on the same side, he (the maltster) had nothing to say 
 against him. He was, no doubt, seduced into presumption 
 by his uncle and his own inexperience. It was said that that 
 candidate, Mr. Fairfield, was an author and a poet ; if so, he 
 was unknown to fame, for no bookseller in the town bad ever 
 even heard of Mr. Fairfield's works. Then it was i\^plied 
 Mr. Fairfield had written under another name. What would 
 that prove ? Either that he was ashamed of his name, or 
 that the works did him no credit. For his part, he (the 
 maltster) was an Englishman; he did not like anonymous 
 scribblers; there was something not right in whatever was 
 concealed. A man should never be afraid to put his name to 
 what he wrote. But, grant that Mr. Fairfield was a great 
 author and a great poet, what the borough of Lansmere 
 wanted was, not a member who would pass his time in 
 writing- sonnets to Peggy or Moggy, but a practical man of 
 business — a statesman — such a man as Mr. Audley Egerton — 
 Q, gentleman of ancient birth, high standing, and princely 
 fortune. The member for such a place as Lansmere should 
 have a proper degree of wealth." (" Hear, hear ! " from the 
 Hundred and Fifty Hesitators, who all stood in a row at the 
 bottom of the hall ; and " Gammon ! " " Stuff ! " from some 
 revolutionary, but incorruptible Yellows.) Still the allusion 
 to Egorton's private fortune had considerable effect with the 
 
494 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OB, 
 
 bulk of the aitidieiioe, and the maltstei? was n^ueh ehee?ed on 
 concluding, Mr. Avenel's proposer and seconder— -the one a 
 large grocer, the other the proprietor o^ a new sliop for 
 ticketed prints, shawls, blankets, and counterpanes, (a man 
 who, as he boasted, dealt with the People for ready money, 
 and no mistake — at least none that he ever rectified,) next 
 followed. Both said much the same thing. Mr. Avenel had 
 m^de his fortune by honest industry— was a fellow towns- 
 man — must know the interests of the town better than 
 strangers— ^upright public principles — never fawn on govern- 
 inents— wonld see that the people had their rights, and cut 
 down army, navy, and all other jobs of a corr-ujjt aristocracyj 
 (fee. &c. &c. Randal Leslie's proposer, a captain on half-pay, 
 undertook a long defence of army and nayy, from the unpa- 
 triotic aspersions of the preceding speakers ; which defence 
 diverted him from the due praise of Randal, until cries of 
 " Out it short,'- recalled him to that subject ; and then the 
 topics he selected for eulogium were "amiability of character, 
 so conspicuons in the urbane manners of his young fx-iend ; " — 
 coincidence in the opinions of that illustrious statesman 
 with whom he was conjoined early tuition in the best 
 principles — only fault, youth — and that was a fault which 
 would diminish every day." Randal's seconder was a bluff 
 yeoman, an out- voter of weight with the agricultm^al electors. 
 He was too straightforward by half— adverted to Au-dley 
 Egepton's early desertion of questions espoused by the landed 
 interest^— hoped he had had enough of the large towns ; and 
 he (the yeoman) was ready to forgive and forget, but trusted 
 that there would be no chance of burning their membei* 
 again in effigy. As to the young gentleman, whose nomi- 
 nation he had the pleasure to second— did not know much 
 About him ; but the Leslies were an old family in the neigh- 
 bouring county, and Mr. Leslie said he was nearly related to 
 Squire Hazeldean— as good a man as ever stead upon shoe 
 leather. He (the yeoman) liked a good breed in sheep and 
 bullocks ; and a good breed in men he supposed was the same 
 thing. He (the yeoman) was not for abuses— he was for 
 King and Constitution. He should have no objection, for 
 instance, to have tithes lowered, and the malt-tax repealed— 
 not the least objection. Mr. Leslie seemed to him a likely 
 young chap, and uncommon well-spoken ; and, on the whole, 
 for aught he (the yeoman) could see, would do quite as well 
 in Parliament as nine-tenths of the gentlemen sent there." 
 The yeoman sat down, little cheered by the Blues — ^mu(}h by 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 495 
 
 the Yellow- — and witji a dim consciousness that somehow or 
 other he had rather damaged than not the cause of the party 
 he had been chosen to advocate. Leonard was not particn- 
 larlj fortunate in his proposer — a youngish gentleman — who, 
 having tried various earnings, with signal unsuccess, had come 
 into a small independence, and set up for a literary character. 
 This gentleman undertook the defence of poets, as the half- 
 pay captain had undei'taken that of the army and navy ; and 
 after a dozen sentences spoken through the nose, about the 
 ''moonlight of e:^istence," and "the oasis in the desert," 
 suddenly broke down, to tho satisfaction of his impatient 
 listeners. This failure was, however, redeemed by Leonard's 
 seconder — a master tailor — a practised speaker and an earnest, 
 thinking m.an — sincerely liking, and warmly admiring, Leo- 
 nard Fairfield. His opinions were delivered with brief sim- 
 plicity, and accompanied by expressions of trust in Leonard's 
 talents and honesty, that were elfective, because expressed 
 with feeling. 
 
 These preparatory orations over, a dead silence succeeded, 
 and Audley Egerton arose. 
 
 At the first few sentences, all felt they were in the presence 
 of one accustomed to command attention, and to give to 
 opinions the weight of recognised authority. The slowness of 
 the measured accents,, the qomposure of the manly aspect, the 
 decorum of the simple gesture^ — all bespoke and all became 
 the Minister of a gre^^t empire, who had less agitated assem- 
 blies by impassioned eloquence, thap compelled their silent 
 respect to the views of sagacity and experience. But what 
 might have been formal and didactic in another, was relieved 
 in Egerton by that air, tone^,^^ bearing of gentleman, which 
 have a charm for th§ most plebeiap. aiidience. lie had emi- 
 nently these attributes in private life \ bat they became far 
 more conspicuous whenevei' he hjid to appear in public. The 
 " senafoTius decor " seemed a phrase coined for him. 
 
 Audley commenced with notice of his adversg^ries in that 
 language of high courtesy which is so becoming to superior 
 statiori, and which augurs better for victory than the most 
 pointed diatribes of hostile declamation. Inclining his head 
 towards Avenel, he expressed regret that he should be opposed 
 by a gentleman whose birth naturally endeared him to the 
 town, of which he was a distinguished native, and whose 
 bonourable anabition was in itself a proof of the admirable 
 nature of that Constitution,, whicb admitted the lowliest to 
 rise to its distinctions, while it compelled tbe loftiest to labour 
 
496 
 
 MY novel; ok, 
 
 and compete for those hononrs which were the most coveted 
 because thej were derived from the trust of their countrymen, 
 and dignified loj the duties which the sense of responsibility 
 entailed. He paid a passing but generous compliment to the 
 reputed abilities of Leonard Fairfield ; and, alluding with 
 appropriate grace to the interest he had ever taken in the 
 success of youth striving for place in the van of the new 
 generation that marched on to replace the old, he implied 
 that he did not consider Leonard as opposed to himself, but 
 rather as an emulous competitor for a worthy prize with his 
 " own young and valued friend, Mr. Randal Leslie." " They 
 are happy at their years ! said the statesman, with a certain 
 pathos. In the future they see nothing to fear, in the past 
 they have nothing to defend. It is not so with me." And 
 then, passing on to the vague insinuations or bolder charges 
 against himself and his policy proffered by the preceding 
 speakers, Audiey gathered himself up, and paused; for his 
 eye here rested on the Reporters seated round the table 
 pst below him ; and he recognised faces not unfamiliar to his 
 recollection when metropolitan assemblies had hung on the 
 words which fell from lips then privileged to advise a King. 
 And involuntarily it occurred to the ex-minister to escape 
 altogether from this contracted audience — this election, with 
 all its associations of pain — and address himself wholly to 
 that vast and invisible Public, to which those Reporters 
 would transmit his ideas. At this thought his whole manner 
 gradually changed. His eye became fixed on the farthest 
 verge of the crowd ; his tones grew more solemn in their deep 
 and sonorous swell. He began to review and to vindicate his 
 whole political life. He spoke of the measures he had aided 
 to pass — of his part in the laws which now ruled the land. 
 He touched lightly, but with pride, on the services he had 
 rendered to the opinions he had represented. He alluded to 
 his neglect of his own private fortunes ; but in what detail, 
 however minute., in the public business committed to his 
 charge, could ev^n an enemy accuse him of neglect ? The 
 allusion was no aoubt intended to prepare the public for the 
 news, that the wealth of Audiey Egerton was gone. Finally, 
 he came to the questions that then agitated the day ; and 
 made a general but masterly exposition of the policy which, 
 under the changes he foresaw, he should recommend his party 
 to adopt. 
 
 Spoken to the motley assembly in that town-hall, Audley'a 
 speech extended to a circle of interest too wide for their 
 
VARIETIES m EJJGLISH LIFE. 
 
 497 
 
 symptitKj^ But that assembly lie heeded not — ^he forgot it. 
 The reporters understood him, as their flying pens followed 
 words which they presumed neither to correct nor to abridge. 
 Audley's speech was addressed to the nation ; — the speech of 
 a man in whom the nation yet recognised a chief — desiring 
 to clear all misrepresentation from his past career — ^calculat- 
 ing, if life were spared to him, on destinies higher than he 
 had yet fulfilled — issuing a manifesto of principles to be car- 
 ried later into power, and planting a banner round which the 
 divided sections of a broken host might yet rally for battle 
 and for conquest. Or, perhaps, in the deeps of his heart (not 
 even comprehended by reporters, nor to be divined by the 
 public), the uncertainty of life was more felt than the hope of 
 ambition ; and the statesman desired to leave behind him one 
 full vindication of that integrity and honour, on which, 
 
 at least, his conscience acknowledged not a stain. " For 
 more than twenty years," said Audley, in conclusion, " I have 
 known no day in which I have not lived for my country. I 
 may at times have opposed the wish, of the People — I may 
 oppose it now — but, so far as I can form a judgment, 
 only because I prefer their welfare to their wish. And if 
 — as I believe — there have been occasions on which as one 
 amongst men more renowned, I have amended the laws of 
 England — confirmed her safety, extended her commerce, 
 upheld her honour — I leave the rest to the censure of 
 my enemies, and (his voice trembled) to the charity of my 
 friends." 
 
 Before the cheers that greeted the close of this speech were 
 over, Richard Avenel arose. What is called " the more re- 
 spectable part " of an audience — viz., the better educated 
 and better clad, even on the Yellow side of the question — 
 winced a little for the credit of their native borough, wben 
 they contemplated the candidate pitted against the Great 
 Commoner, whose lofty presence still filled the eye, and 
 whose majestic tones yet sounded in the ear. But the vast 
 majority on both sides. Blue a^nd Yellow, hailed the rise of 
 Dick Avenel as a relief to what, while it had awed their 
 attention, had rather strained their faculties. The Yellows 
 cheered and the Blues groaned ; there was a tumultuous din 
 of voices, and a reel to and fro of the whole excited mass of 
 ■unwashed faces and brawny shoulders. But Dick had as 
 much pluck as Audley himself ; and, by degrees, his pluck 
 aud his handsome features, and the curiosifcy to hear what he 
 bad to say, obtained him a hearing ; and that hearing, Dick 
 
 VOL. II, K K 
 
498 
 
 MY hovel; 0% 
 
 having once got, lie contrived to keep. His ^elf-corifideiics 
 was backed bj a grudge against Egerton, that afcfcained to tlie 
 elevation of malignity* He bad armed bimself for this occa* 
 sion with an ^senal of quotations from Audley's speeches, 
 taken out of Hansard's debates ; and, garbling these texts in 
 the unfairest and most ingenious manner, he contrived to 
 split consistency into such fragments of inconsistency — to cut 
 so many harmless sentences into such unpopular, arbitrary, 
 tyrannical segments of doctrine— that he made a very pretty 
 case against the enlightened and incorruptible Egerton, as 
 shuffler and trimmer, defender of jobs, and eulogist of Man* 
 Chester massacres, &c., <fec. And all told the more because it 
 seemed courted and provoked by the ex-minister's elaborate 
 vindication of himself. Having thus, as he decl-ared, "trium- 
 phantly convicted the Hight Honourable Grentleman out of 
 his own mouth," Dick considered himself at liberty to diverge 
 into what he termed " the just indignation of ^ free-born 
 Briton ; " in other words, into every variety of abuse which 
 bad taste could supply to acrimonious feeling. But he did it 
 so roundly and dauntlessly, in such true hustings style, that 
 for the moment, at least, he carried the bulk of the crowd 
 along with him sufficiently to bear down nil the resentful 
 murmurs of the Blue Committee men, and the abashed shakos 
 of the head with which the more aristocratic and well-bred 
 among the Yellows signified to each other that they were 
 heartily ashamed of their candidate. Dick concluded with an 
 emphatic declaration that the Right Honourable Grentlemm's 
 day was gone by ; that the people had been pillaged and 
 plundered enough by pompous red-tapists, who only thought 
 of their salaries, aud never went to their offices except to 
 waste the pen, ink, and paper which they did not pay for ; that 
 the Right Honourable Greaitlema^ had boasted he had served 
 his country for twenty years. Served his country I— he 
 should have said served her out / (Much laughter.) Pretty r 
 mess his country was in now. In short, for twenty years th^ 
 Right Honourable Gentleman had put his hands into his 
 country's pockets. — " And I ask you," bawled Dick, " whether 
 any of you are a bit the better for all that he has taken ou.t 
 of them ! " The Hundred and Fifty Hesitators shook their 
 heads. "Noa, that we ben't ! " cried the Hundred and Fifty, 
 dolorously. " You hear The People ! " said Dick, turning 
 majestically to Egerton, who, with his arms folded on his 
 breast, and his upper lip slightly curved, sat like Atlas un- 
 amoved" — "You hoar The People! They condemn jm 
 
VARIETIE!S IK EKGLtSH LIFE, 
 
 499 
 
 and the whole set of yom. I repeat here Avhat I once vowed 
 on a less public occasion — ^*As sure as m j name is Richard 
 Avenel, you shall smart for' — (Dick hesitated)— ' smart for 
 your contempt of the just rights, honest claims, and 
 enlightened aspirations of your indignant countrymen. The 
 schoolmaster is ^ibroad, and the British Lion is aroused ! 
 
 Dick sat down. The curve of contempc had passed from 
 Bgerton's lip at the name of Avenel, thus harshly spoken, 
 he had suddenly shaded his face with his hand. 
 
 ButE-andal Leslie nest arose, and Audley slowly raised his 
 eyes, and looked towards his protege with an expression of 
 kindly interest. What better dehut could there be for a 
 young man warmly attached to an eminent patron, who had 
 been coarsely assailed — for a political aspirant vindicating the 
 principles which that patron represented ? The Blues, palpi- 
 tating with indignant excitement, all prepared to cheer every 
 sentence that could embody their sense of outrage ; — even the 
 meanest amongst the Yellows, now that Dick had concluded, 
 dimly aware that their orator had laid himself terribly open, 
 and richly deserved (more especially from the friend of 
 Audley Egerton) whatever punishing retort could vibrate 
 from the heart of a man to the tongue of an orator. A better 
 opportunity for an honest young debutant could not exist; — • 
 a more disagreeable, annoying, perplexing, unmanageablo 
 opportunity for Randal Leslie, the malice of the Fates could 
 not have contrived. How could he attack Dick Avenel ! — he 
 who counted upon Dick Avenel to win his election ? How 
 could he exasperate the Yellows, when Dick's solemn injunc- 
 tiou had been — Say nothing to make the Yellows not vote 
 for you ! " How could he identify himself with Egerton's 
 policy, when it was his own policy to make his opponents 
 believe him an unprejudiced, sensible youth, who would come 
 all right and all Yellow one of these days ! Demosthenes 
 himself would have had a sore throat, worse than when he 
 swallowed the golden cup of Harpalus, had Demosthenes been 
 placed in so cursed a fix. Therefore Randal Leslie may well 
 be excused if he stammered and boggled— if he was appalled 
 by a cheer when he said a word in vindication of Egerton — 
 and looked cringing and pitiful when he sneaked out a counter 
 civility to Dick. The Blues were sadly disappointed- 
 damped ; the Yellows smirked and took heart. Audley 
 Egerton's brows darkened. Harley, who was on the plat- 
 form, half ^een behind the front row, a quiet listener^ bent 
 over and whispered drily to Audley—" You should h^ive given 
 
500 
 
 M.t KoVel; or, 
 
 a lesson beforeliaiid to your clever young friend. His 
 affection for you overpowers him ! " 
 
 Audley made no rejoinder, but tore a leaf out of his pocket- 
 book, and wrote, in pencil, these words — ** Say that you may 
 well feel embarrassed how to reply to Mr. Avenel, because I 
 had especially requested you not to be provoked to one angry 
 expression against a gentleman whose father and brother-in- 
 law gave the majority of two by which I gained my first seat 
 in Parliament ; — then plunge at once into general politics." 
 He placed this paper in Kandal's hand, just as that unhappy 
 young man was on the point of a thorough break- down. 
 Randal paused, took breath, read the words attentively, and 
 amidst a general titter ; his presence of mind returned to him 
 — he saw a way out of the scrape — collected himself — • 
 suddenly raised his head — and in tones unexpectedly firm and 
 fluent, enlarged on the text afforded to him — enlarged so well 
 that he took the audience by surprise — pleased the Blues by 
 an evidence of Audley's generosity — and touched the Yellows 
 by so affectionate a deference to the family of their two can- 
 didates. Then the speaker was enabled to come at once to 
 the topics on which he had elaborately prepared himself, and 
 delivered a set harangue — very artfully put together — tem- 
 porising it is true, and trimming, but full of what would have 
 been called admirable tact and discretion in an old stager who 
 did not want to commit himself to anybody or to anything. 
 On the whole, the display became creditable, at least as an 
 evidence of thoughtful reserve, rare in a man so young — too 
 refining and scholastic for oratory, but a very good essay — 
 upon both sides of the question. Randal wiped his pale fore- 
 head and sat down, cheered, especially by the lawyers present, 
 and self-contented. It was now Leonard's turn to speak. 
 Keenly nervous, as men of the literary temperament are — con- 
 stitutionally shy, his voice trembled as he began. But he 
 trusted, unconsciously, less to his intellect than his warm 
 heart and noble temper — -and the warm heart prompted his 
 words, and the noble temper gradually dignified his manner. 
 He took advantage of the sentences which Audley had put 
 into Randal's mouth, in order to efface the impression made 
 by his uncle's rude assault. "Would that the Right 
 Honourable Grentleman had himself made that generous and 
 affecting allusion to the services which he had deigned to 
 remember, for, in that case, he (Leonard) was confident that 
 Mr. Avenel would have lost all the bitterness which political 
 contest was apt to engender in proportion to the earnestness 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIEE 
 
 501 
 
 wifch wbicli political opinions were entertained. Happy it was 
 when some snch milder sentiment as that which Mr. Egerton 
 had instructed Mr. Leslie to convey, preceded the sharp 
 encounter, and reminded antagonists, as Mr. Leslie had so 
 emphatically done, that every shield had two sides, and that 
 it was possible to maintain the one side to be golden, without 
 denying the truth of the champion who asserted the other 
 side to be silver." Then, without appearing to throw over 
 his uncle, the young speaker contrived to insinuate an apology 
 on his uncle*s behalf, with such exquisite grace and good feel- 
 ing, that he was loudly cheered by both parties ; and even Dick 
 did not venture to utter the dissent which struggled to his lips. 
 
 But if Leonard dealt thus respectfully with Egerton, he had 
 no such inducements to spare Randal Leslie. With the 
 intuitive penetration of minds accustomed to analyse character 
 and investigate human nature, he detected the Varnished 
 insincerity of Randal's artful address. His colour rose — his 
 voice swelled — his fancy began to play, and his wit to sparkle 
 — when he came to take to pieces his younger antagonist's 
 rhetorical mosaic. He exposed the falsehood of its affected 
 moderation — ^he tore into shreds the veil of words, with their 
 motley woof of yellow and blue — and showed that not a single 
 conviction could be discovered behind it. "Mr. Leslie's 
 speech," said he, " puts me in mind of a ferry-boat; it seems 
 made for no purpose but to go from one side to the other." 
 The simile hit the truth so exactly, that it was received with 
 a roar of laughter: even Egerton smiled. "For myself," 
 concluded Leonard, as he summed up his unsparing analysis, 
 " I am new to party warfare ; yet if I were not opposing Mr. 
 Leslie as a candidate for your suffrages, if I were but an 
 elector — ^belonging, as I do, to the people by mv condition and 
 my labours — I should feel that he is one of those politicians 
 in whom the welfare, the honour, the moral elevation of the 
 people, find no fittiug representative." 
 
 Leonard sate down amidst great applause, and after a 
 speech that raised the Yellows in their own estimation, and 
 materially damaged Randal Leslie in the eyes of the Blues. 
 Randal felt this, with a writhing of the heart, though a sneer 
 on the lips. He glanced furtively towards Dick Avenel, on 
 whom, after all, his election, in spite of the Blues, mighi 
 depend. Dick answered the furtive glance by an encouraging 
 wink. Randal turned to Egerton, and whispered to him — - 
 " How I wish I had had more practice in speakmg, so that I 
 could have done you more justice 1 " 
 
5ag 
 
 MY novel; oil, 
 
 " Thank you, Leslie ; Mr. Fairfield lias supplied any omis* 
 aion of yours, so far as I am concerned. And yon shonld 
 e:sease liim for his attack on yonrself, because it may serve 
 to convince you where your fault as a speaker lies." 
 
 ^* Where?" asked Leslie, with jealoiis sullenness. 
 
 " In not believing a single word that you say," answered 
 Bgerion, very drily ; and then turning away, he said aloud to 
 his proposer, and with a slight sigh, Mr. Avenel may be 
 proud of his nephew ! I wish that young man were on our 
 side ; I could train him into a great debater." 
 
 And now the proceedings were about to terminate with a 
 sh-ow of hands, when a tall brawny elector in the middle of 
 the hall suddenly arose, and said he had some questions to 
 p-ut. A thrill ran through the assembly, for this elector was 
 the demagogue of the Yellows. — a fellow whom it was impos- 
 sible to put down— a capital speaker, with lungs of brass. 
 "I shall be veiy short," said the demagogue. And therewith, 
 under the shape of questions to the two Blue candidates, he 
 commenced a most furious onslaught on the Earl of Lansmere, 
 and the Earl's son, Lord L'Estrange, accusing the last of the 
 grossest intimidation and corruption, and citing instances 
 ther-eof as exhibited towards various electors in Fish Lane 
 a>nd the Back Slums, who had been turned from Yellow pro- 
 mises by the base arts of Blue aristocracy, represented in the 
 person of the noble lord, whom he now dared to reply. The 
 orator paused, and Harley suddenly passed into the front of 
 the platform, in token that he accepted the ungracious invita- 
 tion, Great as had been the curiosity to hear Andley Egerfcon, 
 yet greater, if jpossible, was the curiosity to hear Lord L' Es- 
 trange. Absent from the place for so many years— hei^ to 
 such imniense possessions— with a vague reputation for talent* 
 that he had never proved---strange, indeed, if Blue and Yellow 
 had not strained their ears and hushed their breaths to listen,. 
 
 It is said that the poet is born, and the orator made— a 
 saying only partially true. Some men have been made poets, 
 and some men have been born orators. Most probably Harley 
 li'Estra-nge had hitherto never spoken in public, and he had 
 not now spoken five minutes before all the passions and 
 humours of the assembly were as much under his command 
 as the keys of the instrument are under the hands of the 
 musician. He had taken from nature a voice capable of infi- 
 nite variety of modulation, a countenance of the most flexik, 
 play of expression; and he was keenly alive (as profound 
 humourists are) equallj' to the ludicrous and tho graver sido 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 503 
 
 of everytlimg presented to Ms vigorous ■anderstaiiding. Leo- 
 nard had the eloquence of a poet — Andley Egerfcon that of 
 a parliamentary debater. But Harlej had the rarer gift of 
 eloquence in itself, apart from the matter it conveys or adorns 
 — that gift "which Demosthenes meant by his triple requisite 
 of an orator, which has been improperly translated " action," 
 but means in reality "the acting,^^' — "the stage-j^lay." Both 
 Leonard and Audley spoke well, from the good sense which 
 their speeches contained ; but Harley could have talked non- 
 sense, and made it more effective than sense — even as a 
 Kemble or Macready could produce effects from the trash 
 talked by " The Stranger,'* which your merely accomplished 
 performer would fail to extract from the beauties of Hamlet. 
 The art of oratory, indeed, is allied more closely to that ol 
 the drama than to any other ; and throughout Harley's whole 
 nature there ran, as the reader may have noted, (though quite 
 unconsciously to Harley himself,) a tendency towards that 
 concentration of thought, action, and circumstance, on a 
 single purpose, which makes the world form itself into a 
 stage, and gathers various and scattered agencies into the 
 symmetry and compactness of a drama. This tendency, 
 though it often produces effects that appear artificially thea- 
 trical, is not uncommon with persons the most genuine and 
 single-minded. It is, indeed, the natural inclination of quick 
 energies springing from warm emotions. Hence the very 
 history of nations in their fresh, vigorous, half- civilised youth, 
 always shapes itself into dramatic forms ; while, as the exer- 
 cise of sober reason expands with civilisation, to the injury of 
 the livelier faculties and more intuitive impulses, people look 
 \o the dramatic form of expression, whether in thought or in 
 taction, as if it were the antidote to truth,, instead of being its 
 abstract and essence. 
 
 But to return from this long and somewhat metaphy- 
 sical digression, whatever might be the cause why Harley 
 L'Estrange spoke so wonderfully well, there could be no 
 doubt that wonderfully well he did speak. He tu-vned the 
 demagogue and his attack into the most felicitous ridicule, 
 and yet with the most genial good-humour; described that 
 virtuous gentleman's adventures in search of corruption 
 through the pure regions of Fish Lane and the Back Slums ; 
 and then summed up the evidence on which the demagogue 
 had founded his charge, with a humour so caustic and original 
 that the audience were convulsed with laughter. From 
 laughter Harley hurried his audience almost to the pathos of 
 
MY novel; or, 
 
 tears — for lie spoke of tlie insinuations against liis father, so 
 tliat every son and every father in the assembly felt moyed as 
 at the voice of Nature. 
 
 A turn in a sentence, and a new emotion seized the assembly. 
 Harley was identifying himself with the Lansmere electors. 
 He spoke of his pride in being a Lansmere man, and all the 
 Lansmere electors suddenly felt proud of him. He talked 
 with familiar kindness of old friends remembered in his 
 schoolboy holidays, rejoicing to find so many alive and pros- 
 pering. He had a felicitous v/ord to each. 
 
 "Dear old Lansmere 1" said he, and the simple exclamation 
 won him the hearts of all. In fine, when he paused, as if to 
 retire, it was amidst a storm of acclamation. Audley graspec 
 his hand, and whispered — " I am the only one here not sur- 
 prised, Harley, Now you have discovered your powers, 
 never again let them slumber. What a life may be yours if 
 you no longer waste it ! " Harley extricated his hand, and 
 his eye glittered. He made a sign that he bad more to say, 
 and the applause was bushed. " My Right Honourable friend 
 chides me for the years that I have wasted. True ; my years 
 have been wasted — no matter bow nor wherefore ! But his- 1 
 — how have they been spent : in such devotion to the public 
 that those who know him not as I do, have said that he had 
 not one feeling left to spare to the obscurer duties and more 
 limited affections, by which men of ordinary talents and 
 humble minds rivet the links of that social order which it is . 
 the august destiny of statesmen — like him who now sits beside 
 me — to cherish and defend. But, for my part, I think that 
 there is no being so dangerous as the solemn hypocrite, who, 
 because he drills his cold nature into serving mechanically 
 some conventional abstraction — whether he calls it ' the Con- 
 stitution ' or ' the Public ' — holds himself dispensed from 
 whatever, in the warm blood of private life, wins attachment 
 to goodness, and confidence to truth. Let others, then, praise 
 my Right Honourable friend as the incorruptible politician. 
 Pardon me if I draw his likeness as the loyal sincere man, 
 ^vho might say with the honest priest, ' that he cOLild not tell 
 a lie to gain Heaven by it ! ' — and with so fine a sense of 
 honour, that he would hold it a lie merely to conceal the 
 truth.'' Harley then drew a brilliant picture of the type of 
 chivalrous honesty — of the ideal which the English attach to 
 the phrase of "a perfect gentleman," applying each sentencvj 
 to his Eight Honourable friend with an emphasis that seemed 
 to burst from his beart. To all of the audiesce, save two, it 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 505 
 
 was an eulogmm wliicli tlie fervent sincerity of tlie enlogist 
 alone saved from hyperbole. But Levy rubbed his hands, 
 and chuckled inly ; and Egerton hung his head, and moved 
 restlessly on his seat. Every word that Harley utfcered lodged 
 an arrow in Audley's breast. Amidst the cheers that followed 
 this admirable sketch of the " loyal man," Harley recognised 
 Leonard's enthusiastic voice. He turned sha^rply towards the 
 young man: "Mr. Fairfield cheers this description of in- 
 tegrity, and its application; let him imitate the model set 
 before him, and he may live to hear praise as genuine as mine 
 from some friend who has tested his worth as I have tested 
 Mr. Egerton's. Mr. Fairfield is a poet : his claim to that 
 title was disputed by one of the speakers who preceded me ! 
 • — unjustly disputed ! Mr. Fairfield is every inch a poet. 
 But, it has been asked, *Are poets fit for the business of 
 senates ? Will they not be writing sonnets to Peggy and 
 Moggy, when you want them to concentrate their divine 
 imagination on the details of a beer bill 1 ' Do not let Mr. 
 Fairfield's friends be alarmed. At the risk of injury to the 
 two candidates whose cause I espouse, truth compels me to 
 say, that poets, when they stoop to action, are not less pro- 
 saic than the dullest amongst us : they are swayed by the 
 same selfish interests — they are moved by thQ same petty 
 passions. It is a mistake to suppose that any detail in 
 common life, whether in public or private, can be too mean to 
 seduce the exquisite pliances of their fancy. N^ay, in public 
 life, we may trust them better than other men ; for vanity is 
 a kind of second conscience, and, as a poet has himself said — 
 
 * Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the nnme, 
 And fi'ee from conscience, is a slave to shame.' 
 
 In private life alone we do well to be on our guard against 
 these children of fancy, for they so devote to the Muse all 
 their treasury of sentiment, that we can no more expect them 
 to waste a thought on the plain duties of men, than we can 
 expect the spendthrift, who dazzles the tov/n, ' to fritter away 
 Lis money in paying his debts.' Bat all the world are agreed 
 to be indulgent to the infirmities of those who are their own 
 deceivers and their own chastisers. Poets have more enthu- 
 siasm, more affection, more heart than others ; but only ioi 
 fictions of their own creating. It is in vain for us to attach 
 them to ourselves by vulgar merit, by a.-ommonplace obliga- 
 tions-^strive and sacrifice as we may. They aro ungrateful 
 
E06 
 
 MY inovel; oh, 
 
 to us, only because gratitude is so very unpoetieal a subject. 
 We J^;>se them the moment we attempt to bind. Their love, 
 
 * Liglit as air, at sight of human tieg. 
 
 Spreads its light wings, and in a moment flies.* 
 
 Thej follow their own caprices — adore their own delusions— 
 and, deeming the forms of humanitj too material for their 
 fantastic affections, conjure up a ghost, and are chilled io 
 death by its embrace ! 
 
 Then, auddenly aware that he was passing beyond the com- 
 prehension of his audience, and touching upon the bounds of 
 his bitter secret, (for here he was thinking, not of Leonard, 
 but of Nora,) Harley gave a new and more homely direction 
 to his terrible irony — -turned into telling ridicule the most 
 elevated sentiments Leonard's speech hsd conveyed — hastened 
 on to a rapid view of political questions in general — defended 
 Leslie with the same apparent earnestness and latent satire 
 with which he had eulogised Audley — and concluded a speech: 
 which, for popular effect, had never been equalled in that hall, 
 amidst a diapason of cheers that threatened to bring down 
 the rafters. 
 
 In a few minutes more the proceedings were closed — a 
 show of hands taken. The show was declared by the Mayor, 
 who was a thorough Blue, in favour of the Right Hon. 
 Audley Bgerton and Bandal Leslie, Esquire. 
 
 Cries of "Fo," Shame," "Pai^tial," &c.— a poll demanded 
 on behalf of the other two candidates— and the crowd began 
 to pour out of the hall. 
 
 Harley was the first who vanished, retreating by the private 
 entrance. .Egerton followed ; Randal, lingering, Avenel came 
 up and shook hands with him o^Denly, but whispered, privately. 
 Meet me to-night in Lansmere Park, in the oak copse, about 
 three hundred yards from the turnstile, at the town end of 
 the park. We must see how to make all right. What a 
 coiafounded hunibus* this has been! 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 If the vigour of Harley's address had taken by sux'prise 
 both friend and foe, not one in that assembly — not even the 
 conscience-stricken Egerton — felt its effect so deeply aa the 
 aasailed and startled Leonard. He was at first perfectly 
 
VARIETIES IN ENaLISH LIFE. 
 
 507 
 
 stuimed by sarcasms wliicli lie so ill deserved; nor was it 
 fcill after th.e assembly bad broken up, tbat Leonard could 
 eren conjecture tbe cause wbicb bad provoked tbe taunt and 
 barbed its dart. Evidently Harley bad learned (but learned 
 only in order to misconceive and to wrong) Leonard's confes- 
 sion of love to Helen Digby, And now tbose implied accnsa- 
 tions of disregard to tbe duties of common life not only galled 
 tbe young man's beart, but outraged bis bonour. He felt 
 the generous indignation of manbood. He must see Lord 
 L'Estrange at once, and vindicate bimself — vindicate Helen ; 
 for thus to accuse one, was tacitly to asperse tbe otber. 
 
 Extricating bimself from bis own entbusiastio partisans, 
 Leonard went straigbt on foot towards Lansmere House. 
 Tbe Park palings touobed close upon tbe tov/n, witb a small 
 turnstile for foot passengers. And as Leonard, availing bim- 
 self of tbis entrance, bad advanced some bundred yards or so 
 tbrougb tbe park, suddenly, in tbe midst of tbat very copse 
 in wbicb Avenel bad appointed to meet Leslie, be found bim- 
 self face to face witb Helen Digby berself. 
 
 Helen started, witb a faint cry. But Leonard, absorbed in 
 bis own desire to justify botb, bailed tbe sigbt, and did not 
 pause to account for bis appearance, nor to sootbe ber 
 ao'itation. 
 
 Miss Dighj ! " be exclaimed, tbrowing into bis voice and 
 manner tbat respect wbicb often so cruelly divides tbe past 
 familiarity from tbe present alienation—*' Miss Digby, I 
 rejoice to see you — ^rejoice to ask your permission to relieve 
 myself from a cbarge, tbat in trutb wounds even you, wbile 
 levelled but at me. Lord L'Estrange bas just implied, in 
 public, tbat I — I — ^wbo owe bim so mucb — wbo bave bonoured 
 bim so truly, tbat even tbe just resentment I now feel, balf 
 seems to me tbe ingratitude witb wbicb be cbarges me — bas 
 implied tbat — ab ! Miss Digby, I can scarcely command 
 words to say wbat it so bumiliates me to bave heard. But 
 you know bow false is all accusation tbat either of us could 
 deceive our common benefactor. Suffer me to repeat to your 
 guardian, wbat I presumed to say to you wben we last met — 
 wbat you answered — and state bowl left your presence." 
 
 " Ob, Leonard ! yes : clear yourself in bis eyes. Go ! 
 Unjust tbat lie is— ungenerous Lord L'Estrange ! " 
 
 Plelen Digby ! " cried a voice, close at band. " Of whom 
 do you speak thus ? " 
 
 At the sound: of tbat voice Helen and Leonard botb turned, 
 anl bebeld Yiolante standing before them, ber jomig beauty 
 
508 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 rendered almost sublime bj fcbe noble anger that lit her ejes, 
 glowed in her cheeks, animated her stately form. I 
 
 " Is it you who thus speak of Lord L'Estrange ? You — • 
 Helen Digby — yo^t / " 
 
 From behind Yiolante now emerged Mr. Dale. Softly, 
 children,** he said ; and placing one hand on Violante's 
 shoulder, he extended the other to Leonard. " What is this 
 Come hither to me, Leonard, and explain." 
 
 Leonard walked aside with the Parson, and in a few sen- 
 tences gave vent to his swelling heart. 
 
 The Parson shared in Leonard's resentment; and having 
 soon drawn from him all that had passed in his memorable 
 interview with Helen, exclaimed — 
 
 " Enough. ! Do not yet seek Lord L'Estrange yourself ; I 
 am going to see him — I am here at his request. His sum- 
 mons, indeed, was for to-morrow; but the Squire having 
 written me a hurried line, requesting me to meet him at 
 Lansmere to-morrow and proceed with him afterwards in 
 search of poor Prank, I thought I might have little time for 
 communications with Lord L'Estrange, unless I forestalled 
 his invitation and came to-day. Well that I did so. I only 
 arrived an hour since — found he was gone to the Town Hall 
 —and joined the young ladies in the Park. Miss Digby, think- 
 ing it natural that I might wish to say something in private to 
 my old young friend Yiolante, walked a few paces in advance. 
 Thus, fortunately, I chanced to be here, to receive your 
 account, and I trust to remove misunderstanding. Lord 
 L'Estrange must now be returned. 1 will go back to the 
 house. You, meanwhile, return to the town, I beseech you. 
 I will come to you afterwards at your inn. Your very appear- 
 ance in these grounds — even the brief words that have passed 
 between Helen and you — ^might only widen the breach be- 
 tween yourself and your benefactor. I cannot bear to antici- 
 pate this. Go back, I entreat you. I will explain all, and 
 Lord L'Estrange shall right you ! That is — that must be his 
 intention ! " 
 
 "Xs' — must be his intention — when he has jast so wronged 
 * It 
 me I 
 
 " Yes, yes," faltered the poor Parson, mindful of his pro- 
 mise to L'Estrange not to reveal his own interview with thai 
 nobleman, and yet not knowing otherwise how to explain of 
 to soothe. But, still believing Leonard to be Harley's sou 
 and remembering all that Harley had so pointedly said oi 
 atonement, in apparent remorse for crime, Mr. Dale was 
 
VAKIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 509 
 
 wholly at a loss himself to understand why Harley should 
 have thus prefaced atonement by an insult. Anxioujs, how- 
 ever, to prevent a meeting between Harley and Leonard while 
 both were nnder the influence of such feelings towards each 
 other, he made an effort over himself, and so well argued in 
 favour of his own diplomacy, that Leonard reluctantly con- 
 sented to wait for Mr. Dale's report. 
 
 "As to reparation or excuse," said he, proudly, "it must 
 rest with Lord L'Estrange. I ask it not. Tell him only this 
 • — that if, the instant I heard that she whom I loved and held 
 sacred for so many years was affianced to him, I resigned even 
 the very wish to call her mine — if that were desertion of 
 man's duties, I am guilty. If to have prayed night and day 
 that she who would have blessed my lonely and toilsome life, 
 may give some charm to his, not bestowed by his wealth and 
 his greatness — ^if that were ingratitude, I am ungrateful ; let 
 him still condemn me. I pass out of his sphere — a thing 
 fchat has crossed it a moment, and is gone. But Helen he 
 must not blame — suspect — even by a thought. One word 
 more. In this election — this strife for objects wholly foreign 
 to all my habits, nnsuited to my poverty, at war with aspira- 
 tions so long devoted to fairer goals, though by obscurer 
 paths — obeyed but his will or whim ; at a moment too when 
 my whole soul sickened for repose and solitude. I had forced 
 myself at last to take interest in what I had before loathed. 
 But in every hope for the future — every stimulant to ambi- 
 tion — Lord L'Estrange's esteem still stood before me. Kow, 
 what do I here longer ? All of his conduct, save his contempt 
 for myself, is an enigma. And unless he repeat a wish, which 
 I would fain still regcird as a law, I retire from the contest he 
 has embittered — I renounce the ambition he has poisoned; 
 and, mindful of those humble duties which he implies that I 
 disdain, I return to my own home." 
 
 The Parson nodded assent to each of these sentences, and 
 Leonard, passing by Yiolante and Helen, with a salutation 
 equally distant to both, retraced his steps towards the town. 
 
 Meanwhile Violante and Helen had also been in close con- 
 ference, and that conference had suddenly endeared each to 
 the other ; for Helen, taken by surprise, agitated, overpowered, 
 had revealed to Yiolante that confession of another attach- 
 ment, which she had made to Lord L'Estrange — the rupture 
 of her engagement with the latter. Yiolante saw that 
 Harley was free. Harley, too, had promised to free herself. 
 By a sudden flash of conviction, recalling his words, looks, 
 
510 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 slie fulfc fhat slie was belorecl — deemGcl tliat lionoiir aloiic 
 ( while eitlier was yet skackled) had forbidden him to own 
 that love. Yiolante stood a being transformedj "blasliing 
 celestial rosj red " — Heaven at ber Heart, Joy in ber eyes 
 she loved so well, and sbe trusted so implicitly ! Then from 
 out tb^ overflow of ber own bope and bliss sbe poured fortb 
 sucb sweet comfort to Helen, tbat Helen's aTni stole around 
 ber— cbeek toucbed cbeek — -tbey were as sisters. 
 
 At another moment, Mr. Dale migbt bave felt somo 
 amazement at the sudden affection wbicb bad sprung up 
 between tbese young persons ; for in bis previous conversation 
 witb Yiolante^ be bacl, as be tbougbt, very artfully, and in a 
 pleasant vein, sounded tbe young Italian as to ber opinion of 
 ber fair friend's various good qualities — and Yiolante bad 
 ratber shrunk from tbe title of " friend ; " and though she had 
 the magnanimity to speak witb great praise of Helen, the 
 praise did not sound cordial. But the good man was at this 
 moment occupied in preparing bis thoughts for his interview 
 witb Harley, — be joined the two girls in silenoe, and, linking 
 an arm of each within bis own, walked slowly towards the 
 bouse. As be approacbod the terrace be observed Riccabocca 
 and Randal pacing the gravel walk side by side. 
 
 Yiolante, pressing his arm, whispered, " Let us go round 
 the other way ; I would speak with you a few minutes undis- 
 turbed," 
 
 Mr. Dale, supposing tbat Yiolante wished to dispense with 
 the presence of Helen, said to the latter, " My dear young 
 lady, perhaps you will excuse me to Dr. Biccabocca — who is 
 beckoning to me, and no doubt very much surprised to see 
 me here — while I finish what I was saying to Yiolante when 
 AVe were interrupted." 
 
 Helen left them, and Yiolante led the Parson round 
 through the shrubbery, towards a side door in another wing 
 of the house. 
 
 " What have you to say to me ?" asked Mr. Dale, surprised 
 that sbe remained silent. 
 
 " You will see Lord L'Estra>nge. Be sure tbat you convince 
 him of Leonard's honour. A doubt of treachery so grieves 
 bis noble heart, that perhaps it may disturb his judgment." 
 
 " You seem to think very highly of the heart of this Lord 
 L'Estrange, child ! " said the Parson, in some surprise. 
 
 Yiolante blushed, but went on firmly, and witli serious 
 earnestness* ' ' Some words which he— that is. Lord L'Estrange 
 —said to me verv lately^ make me so glad tbat you are here — 
 
VARIETIES IN EN<5}LISH LIFE. 
 
 511 
 
 that jou will see Mm ; for I know how good you are, and 
 how wise— dear^ dear Mr. Dale. He spoke as one who had 
 received some grievous wrong, which had abruptlj soured all 
 his views of life. He spoke of retirement— solitude ; he on 
 whom his country has so manj claims. 1 know not what he 
 can mean — unless it be that his — his marriage with Helen 
 Digby is broken off." 
 
 "Broken off! I& that so?" 
 
 " I have it from herself. You may well be astonished 
 that she could even think of another after having known 
 him ! " 
 
 The Parson fixed his eyes very gravely on the young 
 enthusiast. But though her cheek glowed, there was in her 
 expression of face so much artless, open innocence, that Mr. 
 Dale contented himself with a slight shake of the head, and a 
 dry remark : 
 
 " I think it quite natural that Helen Digby should prefer 
 Leonard Fairfield. A good girl, not misled by vanity and 
 ambition; temptations of which it behoves us all to beware — 
 nor least, perhaps, young ladies suddenly brought in contact 
 with wealth and rank. As to this nobleman's merits, I know 
 not yet whether to allow or to deny them; I reserve my 
 judgment till after our interview. This is all you have to say 
 to me ? " 
 
 Violante paused a moment. "I cannot think,*' she said, 
 half smiling— "I cannot think that the change that has 
 occurred in him — for changed he is — that his obscure hints as 
 to injury received, and justice to bo done, are caused merely 
 by his disappointment with regard to Helen. But you can 
 learn that ; learn if he be so very much disappointed. Nay, I 
 think not ! " 
 
 She slipped her slight hand from the Parson's arm, and 
 darted away through the evergreens. Half concealed amidst 
 the laurels, she turnod back, and Mr. Dale caught her eye — 
 half arch — half melancholy ; its light came soft through a 
 tear. 
 
 " I don't half like this," muttered the Parson ; "I shall 
 give Dr. Hiccabocca a caution." So muttering he pushed 
 open tho side door, and finding a servant, begged admittance 
 to Lord L'E strange. 
 
 Harley at that moment was closeted with Levy, and his 
 countenance was composed and fearfully stern. " So, so, by 
 this time to-morrow," said he, " Mr. Egerton will bo tricked 
 out of his election by Mr. Bandal Leslie — good ! By this 
 
51^ 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 time to-morrow his ambition will be blasted bj the treachery 
 of his friends — good! By this time to-morrow the bailiffs 
 will seize his person — ruined, beggared, pauper, and captive — 
 ^11 because he has trusted and been deceived — good ! And if 
 ho blame you, prudent Baron Levy — if he accuse smooth Mr. 
 Randal Leslie — forget not to say, ' We were both but the blind 
 agents of your friend Harley L'Estrange. Ask him why you 
 are so miserable a dupe.' " 
 
 " And might I now ask your lordship for one word of ex- 
 planation ? 
 
 "No, sir! — it is enough that I have spared you. But yon 
 were never my friend ; I have no revenge against a man whose 
 hand I never even touched." 
 
 The Baron scowled, but there was a power about his tyrant 
 that cowed him into actual terror. He resumed, after a 
 pause — 
 
 " And though Mr. Leslie is to be member for Lansmere — 
 thanks to you — ^you still desire that I should — " 
 
 " Do exactly as I have said. My plans now never vary a 
 hair's breadth.'' 
 
 The groom of the chambers entered. 
 
 " My lord, the Reverend Mr. Dale wishes to know if you 
 can receive him." 
 
 "Mr. Dale! he should have come to-morrow. Say that I 
 did not expect him to-day : that I am unfortunately engaged 
 till dinner, which will be earlier than usual. Show him into 
 his room ; he will have but little time to change his dress. 
 By the way, Mr. Egerton dines in his own apartment." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The leading members of the Blue Committee were invited 
 to dine at the Park, and the hour for the entertainment was 
 indeed early, as there might be much need yet of active exer- 
 tion on the eve of a poll in a contest expected to be so close, 
 and in which the inflexible Hundred and Pifty " Waiters 
 upon Providence " still reserved their very valuable votes. 
 
 The party was gay and animated, despite the absence of 
 Audley Egerton, who, on the plea of increased indisposition, 
 had shut himself up in his rooms the instant that he had 
 returned from the Town Hall, and sent word to Harley that 
 he was too unwell to join the party at dinner. 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIEE. 
 
 513 
 
 Bandal was reall j in high spirits, despite the very equivocal 
 success of his speecli. Wliat did it signify if a speech failed, 
 provided the election was secure ? He was longing for the 
 appointment with Dick Avenel, which was to make " all: 
 right 1 The Squire was to bring the money for the purchase 
 of the coveted lands the next morning. Riccabocca had 
 assured him, again and again, of Violante's hand. If ever 
 Randal Leslie could be called a happy man, it was as he sate 
 at that dinner taking wine with Mr. Mayor and Mr. Alder- 
 man, and looking, across the gleaming silver jplateau, down 
 the long vista into wealth and power. 
 
 The dinner was scarcely over, when Lord L'Estrange, in a 
 brief speech, reminded his guests of the work still before 
 them ; and after a toast to the health of the future members 
 for Lansmere, dismissed the Committee to their labours. 
 
 Levy made a sign to Randal, who followed the Baron to 
 his own room. 
 
 "Leslie, your election is in some jeopardy. I find, from 
 the conversation of those near me at dinner, that Egerton has 
 made such way amongst the Blues by his speech, and they 
 are so afraid of losing a man who does them so much credit, 
 that the Committee men not only talk of withholding from 
 you their second votes and of plumping Egerton, but of sub- 
 scribing privately amongst themselves to win over that coy 
 body of a Hundred and Eifty, upon whom, I know that 
 Avenel counts in whatever votes he may be able to transfer to 
 
 " It would be very unhandsome in the Committee, which 
 pretends to act for both of us, to plump Egerton," said 
 Randal, with consistent anger. "Bat I don't think they can 
 get those Hundred and Eifty without the most open and 
 exorbitant bribery — an expense which Egerton will not pay, 
 and which it would be very discreditable to Lord L'Estrange 
 or his father to countenance." 
 
 " I told them flatly," returned Levy, " that, as Mr. Egerton's 
 agent, I would allow no proceedings that might vitiate the 
 election; Iput that I would undertake the management of 
 these men myself ; and I am going into the town in order to 
 do so. I have also persuaded the leading Committee men to 
 reconsider their determination to plump Egerton : they have 
 decided to do as L'Estrange directs ; and I know what he 
 will say. You may rely on me," continued the Baron, who 
 spoke with a dogged seriousness, unusual to his cynical 
 temper, " to obtain for you the preferenee over Audleyj if it 
 
MY NOVEL; OK^ 
 
 be in my power to do so. Meanwlailej you slionld really see 
 Avon el tliis very night." 
 
 "I have an appointment witli him at ten o'clock; and, 
 judging by his speech against Egerton, I cannot donbt on hie 
 aid to me, if convinced by his poll-books that he is not able to 
 return both himself and his imperiinent nephew. My speech, 
 however sarcastically treated by Mr. Fairfield, must at least 
 have disposed the Yellow party to vote rather for me than for 
 a determined opponent like Egerton." 
 
 " I hope so ; for your speech and Fairfield's answer have 
 damaged you terribly with the Blues. However, your main 
 hope rests on my power to keep those Hundred and Fifty 
 rascals from splitting their votes on Egerton, and to induce 
 them, by all means short of bringing myself before a Com- 
 mittee of the House of Commons for positive bribery — which 
 would hurt most seriously my present social position — to give 
 one vote to you. 1 shall tell them, as I have told the Com- 
 mittee, that Egerton is safe, and will pay nothing ; but that 
 you want the votes, and that I — in short, if they can be bought 
 upon tick, I will buy them. Avenel, however, can serve you 
 best here ; for, as they are all Yellows at heart, they make no 
 scruple of hinting that they want twice as much for voting 
 Blue as they will take for voting Yellow. And Avenel being 
 a townsman, and knowing their ways, could contrive to gain 
 tliem, and yet not bribe." 
 
 E/ANDAL (shaking his head incredulously).-—" 'Not bribe ! '■ 
 
 Levy. — Pooh ! ITot bribe so as to be found out." 
 
 There was a knock at the door.- A servant entered and 
 presented Mr. Egerton's compliments to Baron Levy, with a 
 request that the Baron wou.ld immediately come to his rooms 
 for a few minutes. 
 
 Well, "said Levy, when the servant had withdrawn, ''I 
 must go to Egerton, and the instant I leave him I shall repair 
 to the town. Perhaps I may pass the night there." So 
 saying, he left Randal, and took his way to Audley's apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Levy," said the statesman, abruptly, upon the entrance of 
 the Baron, have you betrayed my secret — my first marriage 
 -^to Lord L'Estrange ? " 
 
 E"o, Egerton ; on my honour, I have not betrayed it." 
 " You heard his speech I Did you not detect a fearful 
 irony under his praises ? —or is it but — -but — my conscience ? " 
 added ohe proud man, through his set teeth. 
 
 ''Beally," said Levy, *'Lord L'Estrange seemed to mo to 
 
YAKIETIE^ m LIFII. 
 
 515 
 
 select for his praise precisely those points in your character 
 which any other of your fi^iends would select for panegyric." 
 
 "Ay, any other of my friencls 1 — ^Wh^^t friends ? " jiiuttei'ed 
 Egerton, gloomily. Then, rousing himself, he added, in a 
 voice that had none of its accustomed clear firmness of tone— 
 Your presence here in this house, Levy, surprised me, as I 
 told you at the first ; I could not conceive its necessity 
 Harley urged you to come ? — he with whom jou are no 
 favourite ! Tou and he both said that your acquaintance 
 with Richard Avenel would enable you to conciliate his oppo- 
 sition. I cannot congratulate you on your success." 
 
 " My success remains to be proved. The vehemence of his 
 attack to-day may be but a feint to rover his alliance to-^ 
 morrow," 
 
 Audley went on without notice of the interruption. *' There 
 is a change in Harley — to me and to all ; a change, perhaps, 
 not perceptible to others — but I have known him from a 
 boy." 
 
 " He is occupied for the first time with the practical busi- 
 ness of life. — That would account for a much greater cha/Uge 
 than you remark," 
 
 Do you see him familiarly ? converse with him 
 often ? " 
 
 ]N"o, and only on mattei's connected with the election. 
 Occasionally, indeed, he consults me as to Bandal Leslie, in 
 whom, as your special ^rotegee^ he takes considerable in- 
 terest." 
 
 That, too, surprises me, Wei], I am weary of perplexing 
 myself. — This place is hateful ; after to-morrow I shall leave 
 it, and breathe in peace. You have seen the reports of the 
 canvass ; I have had no heart to inspect them. Is the election 
 as safe as they say ? " 
 
 " If Avenel withdraws his nephew, and the votes thus 
 released split off to you, you are secure," 
 
 And you think his nephew will be withdrawn p Poor 
 young man !— defeat at his age, and with such talents, is hard 
 to bear." Audley sighed. 
 
 I must leave you now, if you have nothing important to 
 say," said the Baron, rising. have much to do, as the 
 election is yet to be won, and— to you the loss of it would 
 be—" 
 
 " Buin, I know. Well, Levy, it is, on the whole, to your 
 
 advantage that I should not lose. There may be more to get 
 
 from me yet. And, judging by the letters J i^eceived this 
 
 h h 2 
 
516 
 
 MY IS^OVEL ; OE, 
 
 morning, my position is rendered so safe by the absolute 
 necessity of my party to keep me np, tliat the news of my 
 pecuniary difficulties will not affect me so mucli as I once 
 feared. Never was my career so free from obstacle — so clear 
 towards the highest summit of ambition — never, in my day 
 of ostentatious magnificence, as it is now, when I am prepared 
 to shrink into a lodging, with a single servant.'* 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, and I am the more anxious to secure 
 your election, upon which, this career must depend, because — 
 nay, I hardly like to tell you — " 
 
 " Speak on." 
 
 " I have been obliged, by a sudden rush on all my re- 
 sources, to consign some of your bills and promissory notes to 
 another, who, if your person should not be protected from 
 arrest by parliamentary privilege, might be harsh and — " 
 
 " Traitor ! interrupted Bgerton, fiercely, all the composed 
 contempt with which he usually treated the usurer giving 
 way, "say no more.' — How could I ever expect otherwise! 
 you have foreseen my defeat, and have planned my destruc- 
 tion. Presume no reply. Sir, begone from my presence ! " 
 
 " You will find that you have worse friends than myself," 
 said the Baron, moving to the door ; " and if you are defeated 
 ■ — if your prospects for life are destroyed — I am the last man 
 you. will think of blaming. But I forgive your anger, and 
 trust that to-morrow you will receive those explanations of 
 my conduct which you. are now in no temper to bear. I go to 
 take care of the election." 
 
 Left alone, Audley's sudden passion seemed to forsake him. 
 
 He gathered together, in that prompt and logical precision 
 which the habit of transacting public business bestows, all his 
 thoughts, and sounded all his fears ; and most vivid of every 
 thought, and most intolerable of every fear, was the belief 
 that the Baron had betrayed him to L'E strange. 
 
 " I cannot bear this suspense," he cried aloud and abruptly. 
 " I will see Harley myself. Open as he is, the very sound of 
 his voice will tell me at once if I am a bankrupt even of 
 human friendship. If that friendship be secure — ^if Harley 
 yet clasp my hand with the same cordial warmth — all other 
 OSS shall not wring from my fortitude one complaint." 
 
 He rang the bell ; his valet, who was waiting in the ante- 
 room, appeared. 
 
 " Gro and see if Lord L'Estrange is engaged. I would speak 
 y^iih. him." 
 
 The servant came back in less than two minutes'. 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENOxLISH LIFE. 
 
 517 
 
 " I find tliat my lord is now particularly engaged, since lie 
 Las given strict orders that he is not to be disturbed." 
 " Engaged ! — on what ?^ — whom with 
 
 " He is in his own room, sir, with a clergyman, who arrived, 
 and dined here, to-day. I am told that he was formerly curate 
 of Lansmere." 
 
 " Lansmere — curate ! His name — his name ! ISfot Dale?'* 
 
 " Yes, sir, that is the name — the Reverend Mr. Dale." 
 
 "Leave me," said Audley in a faint voice. "Dale! the 
 man who suspected Harley, who called on me in London, 
 spoke of a child — my child — and sent me to find but another 
 grave ! He closeted with Harley — ^he ! " 
 
 Audley sank back on his chair, and literally gasped for 
 breath. Few men in the world had a more established repu- 
 tation for the courage that dignifies manhood, whether the 
 physical courage or the moral. But at that moment it was 
 not grief, not remorse, that paralysed Audley — it was fear. 
 The brave man saw before him, as a thing visible and me- 
 nacing, the aspect of his own treachery — that crime of a 
 coward ; and into cowardice he was stricken. What had he 
 to dread ? !N^o thing save the accusing face of an injured 
 friend — nothing but that. And what more terrible ? The 
 only being, amidst all his pomp of partisans, who survived to 
 love him — the only being for whom the cold statesman felt 
 the happy, living, human tenderness of private affection, lost 
 to him for ever. He covered his face with both hands, and 
 sate in suspense of something awful, as a child sits in the 
 dark — ^the drops on Ms brow, and his frame trembling. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Meanwhile Harley had listened to Mr, Dale's vindication 
 oi Leonard with cold attention. 
 
 "Enough," said he, at the close. "Mr. Fairfield (for so we 
 will yet call him) shall see me to-night; and if apology be 
 due to him, I will make it. At the same time, it shall be 
 decided whether he continue this contest or retire. And now, 
 Mr. Dale, it was not to hear how this young man wooed, or 
 shrunk from wooing, my affianced bride, that I availed myself 
 of your promise to visit me at this house. We agreed that 
 the seducer of ISTora Avenel deserved chastisement, and I pro- 
 mised that Nora Avenel's son should find a father. Both 
 
518 
 
 MY fovel; OB, 
 
 tllese assurances sliall be fulfilled to-morrow. And you, sir,** 
 continued Harley, rising, his whole form gradually enlarged 
 by the dignity of passion, " who wear the garb appropriated 
 to the holiest office of Christian charity— you who have pre- 
 sumed to think that, before the beard had darkened my cheek, 
 I could first betray the girl who had been reared under thia 
 roof, then abandon her— sneak like a dastard from the place 
 in which my victim came to die— lec^ve my own son, by the 
 woman thus wronged, without thought, or care, through the 
 perilous years of tempted youth, till I found him, by chance, 
 an outcast in a desert more dread than Hagar's — ^you, sir, 
 who have for long years thus judged of me, shall have the 
 occasion to direct your holy anger towards the rightful head ; 
 and in me, you who have condemned the culprit, shall respect 
 the judge." 
 
 Mr. Dale was at first startled, and almost awed^ by this 
 unexpected burst. But, accustomed to deal with the sternest 
 and the darkest passions, his calm sense and his habit of 
 authority over those whose souls were bared to him, nobly 
 recovered from their surprise. " My lord," said he, " first, 
 with humility I bow to your rebuke, and entreat your pardon 
 for my erring, and, as yon say, my uncharitable opinions. 
 We, dwellers in a village, and obscure pastors of a humble 
 flock'^ — we, mercifully removed from temptation, are too apt, 
 perhaps, to exaggerate its power over those whose lots are 
 cast in that great world which has so many gates ever open 
 to evil. This is my sole excuse if I was misled by what 
 appeared to me strong circumstantial evidence* But forgive 
 me again if I warn you not to fall into an error perhaps little 
 lighter than my own. Your passion, when you cleared your- 
 self from reproach, became you. But ah! my lord, when with 
 that stern brow and those flashing eyes, you launched your 
 menace upon another over whom you would constitute your- 
 self the judge, forgetful of the divine precept, * Judge not,' I 
 felt that I was listening no longer to honest self- vindication— 
 I felt that I was listening to fierce revenge.'' 
 
 " Call it revenge, or what you. will," said Harley, with 
 sullen firmness. " But I have been stung too deeply not to 
 sting. Frank with all, till the last few days, I have ever beeii^ 
 Frank to you, at least, even now, this much I tell you : I pre- 
 tend to no virtue in what I still hold to be justice ; but no 
 declamations nor homilies tending to prove that justice is 
 sinful, will move my resolves. As man I have been outraged^ 
 and as man I will retaliate. The way and the mode — tho 
 
VAEIETIES l^r ENaLISH LIFE. 
 
 519 
 
 true criminal and Ms fitting sentence— jou will soon learn, 
 sii*. I have much to do to-night : forgive me if I adjourn for 
 the present all further conference." 
 
 " ^To, no ; do not dismiss me. There is something, in spite 
 of your present language, which so commands my interest, I 
 see that there has been so much suffering where there is now 
 so much wrath, that I would save you from the suffering 
 worse than all — ^remorse. 0 pause, my dear lord, pause and 
 answer me but two questions ; then I will leave your after 
 course to yourself/' 
 
 " Say on, sir," said Lord L'Estrange, touched, and with 
 respect. 
 
 " First, then, analyse you own feelings. Is this anger 
 merely to punish an offender and to right the living?— for 
 who can pretend to right the dead P Or is there not some 
 private hate that stirs j and animates, and confuses all ? '* 
 
 Harley remained silent. Mr* Dale renewed. 
 
 " You loved this poor girl. Your language even now reveals 
 it. Yoii speak of treachery t perhaps you had a rival who 
 deceived you ; I know not— guess not, whom. But if you 
 Would strike the rival, must you not wound the innocent son ? 
 And, in presenting ]^ora's child to his father, as you pledge 
 yourself to do, can you mean some cruel mockery that, under 
 seeming kindness, implies some unnatural vengeance ? " 
 
 "You read well the heart of man," said Harley ; "and I 
 have owned to you that I am but man. Pass on ; you have 
 another question." 
 
 " And one more solemn and important. In my world of a 
 village, revenge is a common passion ; it is the sin of the un- 
 instructed. The savage deems it noble ! but Christ's religion, 
 which is the sublime Civiliser, emphatically condemns it. 
 Why ? Because religion ever seeks to ennoble man ; and 
 nothing so debases him as revenge. Look into your own 
 heart, and tell me whether, since you have cherished this 
 passion, you have not felt all sense of right and wrong con- 
 fused — ^have not felt that whatever would before have Seemed 
 t) you mean and base, appears now but just means to your 
 heated end. Bevenge is ever a hypocrite — rage, at least, 
 strikes with the naked sWord ; but revenge, stealthy and 
 patient, conceals the weapon of the assassin. My lord, your 
 colour changes. What is your answer to my question ? " 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Harley, with a voice thrilling in its mourn- 
 ful anguish, " it is not since I have cherished the revenge that 
 I am changed—that right and wrong grow dark to me— that 
 
520 
 
 MY NOVEL; OK, 
 
 hypocrisy seems tlie atmospliere fit for earth. No ; it is since 
 the discovery that demands the vengeance. It is useless, sir," 
 he continued, impetuously — " useless to argue with me. Were 
 1 to sit down patient and impotent, under the sense of the 
 wrong which I have received, I should feel, indeed, that de- 
 basement which you ascribe to the gratification of what you 
 term revenge. I should never regain the self-esteem which 
 the sentiment of power now restores to me — I should feel as 
 if the whole world could perceive and jeer at my meek humili- 
 ation. I know not why I have said so much — why I have 
 betrayed to you so much of my secret mind, and stooped to 
 vindicate my purpose. I never meant it. Again I say, we 
 must close this conference." Harley here walked to the door, 
 and opened it significantly. 
 
 "One word more, Lord L'Bstrange — but one. You will 
 not hear me. I am a comparative stranger, but you have a 
 friend, a friend dear and intimate, now under the same roof. 
 Will you consent, at least, to take counsel of Mr. Audley 
 Egerton ? None can doubt his friendship for you ; none can 
 doubt, that whatever he advise will be that which best 
 becomes your honour. What, my lord, you hesitate ? — you 
 feel ashamed to confide fco your dearest friend a purpose which 
 his mind would condemn ? Then I will seek him — I will im- 
 plore him to save you from what can but entail repentance." 
 
 " Mr. Dale, I must forbid you to see Mr. Egerton. What 
 has passed between us ought to be as sacred to you as a priest 
 of Rome holds confession. This much, however, I will say to 
 content you: I promise that I will do nothing that shall 
 render me unworthy of Mr. Audley Egerton's friendship, or 
 which his fine sense of honour shall justify him in blaming. 
 Let that satisfy you." 
 
 " Ah, my lord," cried Mr, Dale, pausing irresolute at the 
 doorway, and seizing Harley's hand, " I should indeed be 
 satisfied if you would submit yourself to higher counsel than 
 mine — than Mr. Egerton's — than man's. Have you never 
 felt the efficacy of prayer ? " 
 
 " My life has been wasted," replied Harley, " and I dare 
 not, therefore, boast that I have found prayer efficacious. But, 
 m far back as I can remember, it has at least been my habit 
 to pray to Heaven, night and morning, until, at least — until 
 
 " The natural and obstinate candour of the man forced 
 out the last words, which implied reservation. He stopped 
 short. 
 
 " Until you have cherished revenge ? You have not dared 
 
VAPJETIES IlSr ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 521 
 
 to pray Bince ? Oh. ! reflect what evil there is within us, when 
 we dare not come before Heaven — dare not pray for what 
 we wish. You are moved — I leave you to your own 
 thoughts/' 
 
 Harley inclined his head, and the Parson passed him by, 
 and left him alone — startled indeed ; but was he softened ? 
 
 As Mr, Dale hurried along the corridor, much agitated, 
 Yiolante stole from a recess formed by a large bay window, 
 and, linking her arm in his, said anxiously, but timidly : "I 
 have been waiting for you, dear Mr. Dale ; and so long ! You 
 have been with Lord L'Estrange ? " 
 
 " Well ! 
 
 *' Why do you not speak ? You have left him comforted — 
 happier ? " 
 
 "Happier! No." 
 
 "What!" said Yiolante, with a look of surprise, and a 
 sadness not unmixed with petulance in her quick tone. 
 " What ! does he then so grieve that Helen prefers another ? " 
 
 Despite the grave emotions that disturbed his mind, Mr. 
 Dale was struck by Yiolante's question, and the voice in 
 which it was said. He loved her tenderly. " Child, child," 
 said he, " I am glad that Helen has escaped Lord L'Estrange. 
 Beware, oh beware! how he excite any gentler interest in 
 yourself. He is a dangerous man — more dangerous for 
 glimpses of a fine original nature. He may well move the 
 heart of the innocent and inexperienced, for he has strangely 
 crept into mine. But Ms heart is swollen with pride, and ire, 
 and malice." 
 
 "You mistake: it is false!" cried Yiolante, impetuously. 
 " I cannot believe one word that would asperse him who has 
 saved my father from a prison, or from death. You have not 
 treated him gently. He fancies he has been wronged by 
 Leonard — received ingi-atitude from Helen. He has felt the 
 sting in proportion to his own susceptible and generous heart, 
 and you have chided where you should have soothed. Poor 
 Lord L'Estrange I And you have left him still indignant and 
 unhappy ! " 
 
 " Foolish girl 1 I have left him meditating sin ; I have left 
 him afraid to pray ; I have left him on the brink of some 
 design — I know not what — but which involves more than 
 Leonard in projects of revenge ; I have left him so, that if his 
 heart be really susceptible and generous, he will wake from 
 wrath to be the victim of long and unavailing remorse. If your 
 father has influence over him, tell Dr. Riccabocca what I say, 
 
MY KOVEL^ OE, 
 
 and bid hiia seek, and in his turn save, tTie man wlio saved 
 himself. He has not listened to religion— lie may be more 
 docile to pbilosopby. I cannot stay here longer — I must go 
 to Leonard." 
 
 Mr. Dale broke from Yiolante and Hurried down the corri- 
 dor ; Violante stood on the same spot, stunned and breathless. 
 Harley on the brink o£ some strange sin— Harley to wake the 
 victim of remorse — Harley to be saved, as he had saved her 
 father ! Her breast heaved — ^her colour went and came—her 
 eyes were raised— her lips murmured. She advanced with 
 soft footsteps up the corridor — she saw the lights gleaming 
 from Harley's room, and suddenly they were darkened, as the 
 inmate of the room shut to the door, with angry and impatient 
 hand. 
 
 An outward act often betrays the inward mind. As Harley 
 had thus closed the door, so had he sought to shut his hearfc 
 from the intrusion of softer and holier thoughts. He had 
 turned to his hearthstone, and stood on it, resolved and 
 hardened. The man who had loved with such pertinacious 
 fidelity for so many years, could not at once part with hate. 
 A passion once admitted to his breast, clung to it with such 
 rooted force ! But woe, woe to thee, Harley L'Estrange if 
 to-morrow at this hour thou stand at the hearthstone, thy 
 designs accomplished, knowing that, in the fulfilment of thy 
 blind will, thou hast met falsehood with falsehood, and decep- 
 tion with deceit ! "What though those designs now seem to 
 consummate so just, so appropriate, so exquisite a revenge- 
 seem to thee the sole revenge v^it can plan and civilised life 
 allow — wilt thou ever wash from thy memory the stain that 
 will sully thine honour ? Thou, too, professing friendship 
 still, and masking perfidy under smiles ! G-rant that the 
 wrong be great as thou deem it— be ten times greater — the 
 sense of thy meanness, 0 gentleman and soldier, will bring 
 the blush to thy cheek in the depth of thy solitude. Thou, 
 who now thinkest others nnworbhy a trustful love, wilt feel 
 thj^self for ever unworthy theirs. Thy seclusion will know 
 not repose. The dignity of man will forsake thee. Thy 
 proud eye will quail from the gaze. Thy step will no longer 
 spurn the earth that it treads on. He who has once done a 
 base thing is never again vfhoUy reconciled to honour. And 
 woe— thrice woe, if thou learn too late that thou hast exag- 
 gerated thy fancied wrong: that there is excuse, where thou 
 secst none ; that tliy friend may have erred, but that hia 
 -error is venial compared to thy fancied retribution ! 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 523 
 
 Tims, however, in tlie superb elation, of conscious power, 
 tKougli lavislied on a miserable object— a terrible example of 
 what changes one evil and hateful thought, cherished to the 
 exclusion of all others, can make in the noblest nature— 
 stood, on the hearth of his fathers, and on the abyss of a 
 sorrow and a shame from which there could be no recall, the 
 determined and scornful man. 
 
 A hand is on the door, he does not hear it ; a fottn. passes 
 the threshold — he does not see it ; a light step pause— a soft 
 eye gazes. Deaf and blind still to both. 
 
 Yiolante came on, gathering courage, and stood at the 
 hearth, by his side. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 " LoED L'BsTMKGE— noble friend ! 
 
 "You!— and here— Violante ? Is it I whom you seek? 
 For what ? Good heavens ! what has happened ? Why are 
 you so pale?— why tremble? " 
 
 " Have you forgiven Helen ? " asked Yiolante, beginning 
 with evasive question, and her cheek was pale no more. 
 
 Helen— the poor child ! I have nothing in her to forgive, 
 much to thank her for. She has been frank and honest." 
 
 "And Leonard— whom I remember in my childhood— you 
 have forgiven him ? " 
 
 " Fair mediator," said Harley, smiling, though coldly, 
 " happy is the man who deceives another , all plead for him. 
 And if the man deceived cannot forgive, no one will sympa- 
 thise or excuse." 
 
 " But Leonard did not deceive you ? " 
 
 " Yes, from the first. It is a long tale, and not to be told to 
 you. But I cannot forgive him." 
 
 " Adieu ! my lord. Helen must, then, still be very dear to 
 you ! " Yiolante turned away. Her emotion was so artless, 
 her very anger so charming, that the love^ against which, in 
 tlie prevalence of his later and darker passions, he had so 
 sternly struggled, rushed back upon Harley's breast ; but it 
 came only in storm. 
 
 " Stay, but talk not of Helen ! " he exclaimed. " Ah ! if 
 Leonard's sole offence had been what you appear to deem it, 
 do you think I could feel resentment? No; I should ha\e 
 
524 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 gratefully hailed tlie liand tliat severed a rasli and Tiiagenial 
 tie. I would liave given my ward to lier lover with such a 
 dower as it suits my wealth to bestow. But his offence dates 
 from his very birth. To bless and to enrich the son of a man 
 who — Violante, listen to me. We may soon part, and for 
 ever. Others may misconstrue my actions ; you, at least, 
 shall know from what just principle they spring. There was 
 a man whom I singled out of the world as more than a 
 brother. In the romance of my boyhood I saw one who 
 dazzled my fancy, captivated my heart. It was a dream of 
 Beauty breathed into waking life. I loved — I believed my- 
 self beloved. I confided all my heart to this friend — ^this 
 more than brother ; he undertook to befriend and to aid my 
 suit. On that very pretext he first saw this ill-fated girl ; — 
 saw — betrayed — 'destroyed her ; — left me ignorant that her 
 love, which I had thought mine, had been lavished so wildly 
 on another; — left me to believe that my own suit she had fled, 
 but in generous self-sacrifice — for she was poor and humbly 
 born ; that — oh, vain idiot that I was ! — the self-sacrifice had 
 been too strong for a young human heart, which had broken 
 in the struggle; — left me to corrode my spring of life in 
 remorse ; — clasped my hand in mocking comfort : — smiled at 
 my tears of agony — not one tear himself for his own poor 
 victim 1 And suddenly, not long since, I learned all this. 
 And, in the father of Leonard Fairfield, you behold the man 
 who has poisoned all the well-spring of joy to me. You 
 weep ! O, Yiolante ! — the Past he has blighted and embittered 
 — that I could forgive ; but the Future is blasted too. For, 
 just ere this treason was revealed to me, I had begun to awake 
 from the torpor of my dreary penance, to look with fortitude 
 towards the duties I had slighted — to own that the pilgrimage 
 before me was not barren. And then, oh then, I felt that all 
 love was not buried in a grave. I felt that you, had fate so 
 granted, might have been all to my manhood which youth 
 only saw through the delusion of its golden mists. True, I 
 was then bound to Helen ; true, that honour to her might for- 
 bid me all hope. But still, even to know that my heart was 
 not all ashes — that I could love again — that that glorious 
 power and privilege of our being was still mine, seemed to 
 me so heavenly sweet. But then this revelation of false- 
 hood burst on me, and all truth seemed blotted from the uni- 
 verse. I am freed from Helen ; ah, freed, forsooth — ^because 
 not even rank and wealth, and benefits and confiding tender- 
 ness, could bind to me one human heart ! Free from her ; but 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 525 
 
 between me and your fresh nature stands Suspicion as an 
 Upas tree. Not a hope tliat would pass through the tainted 
 air, and fly to you, but falls dead under the dismal boughs. 
 I love ! Ha, ha ! I — J, whom the past has taught the impos- 
 sibility to be loyed again. No : if those soft lips murmured 
 ' Yes ' to the burning prayer that, had I been free but two 
 sliort weeks ago, would have rushed from the frank deeps of 
 my heart, I should but imagine that you deceived yourself — 
 a girl's first fleeting delusive fancy — -nothing more ! Were 
 you my bride, Yiolante, I should but debase your bright 
 nature by my own curse of distrust. At each word of tender- 
 ness, my heart would say, ' How long will this last? — when 
 will the deception come ? ' Your beanty, your gifts, would 
 bring me but jealous terror ; eternally I should fly from the 
 Present to the Future, and say, ' These hairs will be grey, 
 while flattering youth will surround her in the zenith of her 
 charms.' Why then do I hate and curse my foe ? Why do I 
 resolve upon revenge ? I comprehend it now. I knew that 
 there was something more imperious than the ghost of the 
 Past that urged me on. Gaziug on you, I feel that it was the 
 dim sense of a mighty and priceless loss ; it is not the dead 
 Nora — it is the living Yiolante. Look not at me with those 
 reproachful eyes ; they cannot reverse my purpose ; they can- 
 not banish suspicion from my sickened soul; they cannot 
 create a sunshine in the midst of this ghastly twilight. Gro, 
 go ; leave me to the sole joy that bequeathes no disappointment 
 — the sole feeling that unites me to social man ; leave me to 
 my revenue." 
 
 "Revenge! Oh, cruel!" exclaimed Yiolante, laying her 
 hand on his arm. " And in revenge, it is your own life that 
 you will risk I " 
 
 " My life, simple child ! This is no contest of life against 
 life. Could I bear to all the world my wrongs for their ribald 
 laughter, I should only give to my foe the triumph to pity m j 
 frenzy — to shun the contest ; or grant it, if I could find a 
 second — and then fire in the air. And all the world would 
 say, ' Grenerous Egerton — soul of honour ! ' " 
 
 "Egerton, Mr. Egerton I He cannot be this foe? It is 
 not on him you can design revenge ? — you who spend all your 
 hours in serving his cause — you to whom he trusts so fondly 
 • — you who leant yesterday on his shoulder, and smiled so 
 cheeringly in his face ? " 
 
 ''Did I ? Hypocrisy against hypocrisy— snare against 
 snare : that is my revenge 1 
 
526 
 
 MY NOYKL; or, 
 
 " Harlej, Harley ! Oease, cease ! " 
 
 The storm of passion ruslied on unlieeding, 
 
 " I seem to promote his ambition, but to crash it into th^ 
 mire. I have deUvered him from the gentler gripe of an 
 usurer, so that he shall hold at my option alms or a prison—" 
 Friend, friend! Hush, hush ! " 
 have made the youth he ha@ reared and fostered into 
 treachery like his own (your father's precious choice— Randal 
 Leslie), mine instrument in the galling lesson how ingratitude 
 can sting. His very son shall avenge the mother, and be led 
 to his father's breast as victor, with Bandal Leslie, in the con- 
 test that deprives sire and benefactor of all that makes life 
 dear to ambitious egotism. And if, in the breast of Audley 
 Egerton, there can yet lurk one memory of what I was to him 
 and to truth, not his least punishment will be the sense that 
 his own perfidy has so changed the man whose very scorn of 
 falsehood has taught him to find in itself fraud the power of 
 retribution.'^ 
 
 If this be not a terrible dream ! murmured Yiolante, 
 recoiling, it is not your foe alone that you will deprive of all 
 that makes life dear. Act thus—and what, in the future, is 
 left to me ? " 
 
 " To you ! Oh, never fear. I may give Bandal Leslie a 
 triumph over his patron, but in the same hour I will unmask 
 his villany, and sweep him for ever from your path. What 
 in the future is left to you ? — your birthright and your 
 native land ; hope, joy, love, felicity. Could it be possible that 
 in the soft but sunny fancy which plays round the heart of 
 maiden youth, but still sends no warmth into its deeps— could 
 it be possible that you had honoured me with a gentler thought, 
 it will pass away, and you will be the pride and delight of 
 one of your own years, to whom the vista of Time is haunted 
 by no chilling spectres— one who can look upon that lovely 
 face, a,nd not turn away to mutter — ^Too fair, too fair for 
 me ! ' '' 
 
 Oh agony!" exclaimed Violante, with sudden passioji. 
 " In my turn hear me. If, as you promise, I am released 
 from the dreadful thought that he, at whose touch I shudder, 
 can claim this hand, my choice is irrevocably made. The 
 altars which await me will not be those of a human love. 
 Bat oh, I implore you^ — ^by all the memories of your own life, 
 hitherto, if sorrowful, unsullied — by the generous interest you 
 yet profess for me, whom you will have twice saved from a 
 danger to which death were mercy — leave, oh leave to me tha 
 
YARIETII^S IN INGLTSB. LIFE. 
 
 587 
 
 riglit to regard your image as I have done from tlie first 
 dawn of cMldliood. Leave me the riglit to honour and revere 
 it. Let not an act accompanied with a meanness — oh that 1 
 should say the word ! — a meanness and a cruelty that give 
 the lie to ygur whole life— make even a grateful remembrance 
 of you an unworthy sin. Whan I kneel within the walls that 
 divide me from the world, oh let me think that I can pray for 
 you as the noblest being that the world contains ! Hear me ! 
 hear me ! " 
 
 "Yiolante!" murmured Harley, his whole frame heaving 
 with emotion, " bear with me. Do not ask of me the sacrifice 
 of what seems to me the cause of manhood itself—- to sit down, 
 meek and patient, under a wrong that debases me, with the 
 consciousness that all my life I have been the miserable dupe 
 to a^ections I deemed so honest-^to regrets that I believed 
 so holy. Ah ! I should feel more mean in my pardon than 
 you can think me in revenge ! Were it an acknowledged 
 enemy, I could open my arms to him at your bidding; but 
 the perfidious friend ! — ask it not. My cheek burns at the 
 thought, as at the stain of a blow. Give me but to-morrow — ■ 
 one day — I demand no more— wholly to myself and to the 
 past, and mould me for the future as you will. Pardon, 
 pardon the ungenerous thoughts that extended distrust to 
 you. I retract them ; they are goue— dispelled before those 
 touching words, those ingenuous eyes. At your feet, Yiolante, 
 I repent and I implore 1 Your father himself shall banish 
 your sordid suitor. Before this hour to-morrow you will be 
 free. Oh then, then! will you not give me this hand to 
 guide me again into the paradise of my youth ? Yiolante, it 
 is in vain to wrestle with myself — to doubt— to reason— to be 
 wisely fearful — I love, I love you. I trust again in virtue and 
 faith. I place my fate in your keeping." 
 
 Jf at times Yiolante may appear to have ventured beyond 
 the limit of strict maiden bashfulness, much may be ascribed 
 to her habitual candour, her solitary rearing, and remoteness 
 from the world — the very innocence of her soul, and the 
 warmth of heart which Italy gives its daughters. But now 
 that sublimity of thought and purpose which pervaded her 
 nature, and required only circumstances to develop, made 
 her superior to all the promptings of love itself. Dreams 
 realised which she had scarcely dared to own — Harley free--^ 
 Harley at her feet ;— all the woman sti^uggling at her heart, 
 mantling in her blushes,- — still stronger than love — stronger 
 than the joy of being loved again—was the heroic w^iU'-^will 
 
528 
 
 MY KOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to save Mm — wlio in all else ruled lier existence — from tho 
 eternal degradation to wliich passion had blinded his own 
 confused and warring spirit. 
 
 Leaving one hand in his impassioned clasp, as he still knelt 
 before her, she raised on high the other, "Ah!" she said, 
 scarce andiblj — " ah ! if Heaven vonchsafe me the proud and 
 bhssful privilege to be allied to your fate, to minister tq* 
 your happiness, never should I know one fear of your distrust. 
 "No time, no change, no sorrow — not even the loss of your 
 affection — could make me forfeit the right to remember that 
 you had once confided to me a heart so noble. But — Here 
 her voice rose in its tone, and the glow fled from her cheek — 
 But, O Thou the Ever Present, hear and receive the solemn 
 vow. If to me he refuse to sacrifice the sin that would debase 
 him, that sin be the barrier between us evermore. And may 
 my life, devoted to Thy service, atone for the hour in which 
 he belied the nature he received from Thee. Harley, release 
 me ! I have spoken : firm as yourself, I leave the choice to 
 you." 
 
 " You judge mo harshly," said Harley, rising, with sullen 
 anger. *' But at least I have not the meanness to sell what I 
 hold as justice, though the bribe may include my last hope 
 of happiness.'^ 
 
 "Meanness! Oh unhappy, beloved Harley!" exclaimed 
 Yiolante, with such a gush of exquisite reproachful tender- 
 ness, that it thrilled him as the voice of the parting guardian 
 angel. " Meanness ! But it is that from which I implore 
 you to save yom*self. You cannot judge, yon cannot see. 
 You are dark, dark. Lost Christian that you are, what worse 
 than heathen darkness to feign the friendship the better to 
 betray — to punish falsehood by becoming yourself so false — 
 to accept the confidence even of your bitterest foe, and then 
 to sink below his own level in deceit ? And oh — ^worse, 
 worse than all — to threaten that a son — son of the woman 
 you professed to love — should swell your vengeance against a 
 father. ISTo I it was not you that said this — it was the 
 Fiend 1 " 
 
 "Enough!" exclaimed Harley, startled, conscience-stricken, 
 and rushing into resentment, in order to escape the sense of 
 shame. " Enough 1 you insult the man you professed to 
 honour." 
 
 "I honoured the prototype of gentleness and valour. I 
 honoured one who seemed to me to clothe with life every 
 grand and generous image ths-t i&, born from the souls of 
 
VARIETIES IN ENaLTSH LIFE. 
 
 529 
 
 oets. Destroy tliat ideal, and you destroy tlie Harley wliom 
 honoured. He is dead to me for oyer. I will mourn for 
 him as Ms widow — faithful to his memory — ^weeping over the 
 thought of what he was.'* Sobs choked her voice ; but as 
 Harley, once more melted, sprang forward to regain her side, 
 she escaped with a yet quicker movement, gained the door, 
 and darting down the corridor, vanished from his sight. 
 
 Harley stood still one moment, thoroughly irresolute — nay, 
 almost subdued. Then sternness, though less rigid than 
 before, gradually came to his brow. The demon had still its 
 hold in the stubborn and marvellous pertinacity with which 
 the man clung to all that once struck root at his heart. With 
 a sudden impulse, that still withheld decision, yet spoke of 
 sore-shaken purpose, he strode to his desk, drew from it 
 Nora's manuscript, and passed from his room. 
 
 Harley had meant never to have revealed to Audley the 
 secret he had gained, until the moment when revenge was 
 consummated. He had contemplated no vain reproach. His 
 wrath would have spoken forth in deeds, and then a word 
 would have sufficed as the key to all. Willing, perhaps, to 
 hail some extenuation of perfidy, though the possibility of 
 such extenuation he had never before admitted, he determined 
 on the interview which he had hitherto so obstinately shunned, 
 and went straight to the room in which Audley Egerton still 
 sate solitary and fearful. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX, 
 
 Egerton heard the well-known step advancing near and . 
 nearer up the corridor — heard the door open and reclose — 
 and he felt, by one of those strange and unaccountable in- 
 stincts which we call forebodings, that the hour he had 
 dreaded for so many secret years had come at last. He 
 nerved his courage, withdrew his hands from his face, and 
 rose in silence. J^o less silent, Harley stood before him. The 
 two men gazed on each other ; you might have heard their 
 breathing. 
 
 " You have seen Mr. Dale ? " said Egerton, at length. 
 
 " You know — " 
 
 "All ! " said Harley, completing the ai-rested sentence. 
 Audley drew a long sigh, " Be it so j but no, Harley ; yon 
 
 vol.. IJ- J^'f M 
 
deceive yourself j you cmuoh know all, from any oiie Utingj 
 save myself." 
 
 My knowledge comes from the dead," answered Harley, 
 and the fatal memoir dropped from his hand upon the table. 
 The leaves fell with a diill, low sound, mournful and faint as 
 might be the tread of a ghost^ if the tread gave sound. They 
 fell, those still confessions of an obsourej uncomprohended 
 lifoj amidst letters and documents eloquent of the strife that 
 was then agitating millions, the fleeting, turbulent fears atid 
 hopes that torture parties and perplex a nation ; the stormy 
 business of practical public lifcj so remote from individual 
 love and individual sorrow, 
 
 Egerton's eye saw them fall. The room was but partially 
 lighted. At the distance where he stood, he did not recognise 
 the characters, but involuntarily he shivered, and involun- 
 tarily drew near, 
 
 " Hold yet awhile," said Harley. " I produce my charge, 
 and then I leave you to dispute the only Witness that I bring. 
 Audley EgertoUj you took from me the gravest tt'Ust one man 
 can confide to anothel*. You knew how I loved Leonora 
 Avenel. I was forbiddeli to See and urge my suit ; you had 
 the access to her presence which was denied to myself. I 
 prayed you to remove scruples that I deemed too generous, and 
 to woo her not to dishonour^ but to be my wife. Was it go ? 
 Answer." 
 
 " It is true," said Audley, his hand clenched at his heart. 
 
 "You saw her whom I thus loved — her thus confided to 
 your honour. You wooed her for yourself. Is it so ? " 
 
 "Harley, I deny it not. Cease here. I accept the penalty; 
 —I resign your friendship j-^I quit yottr roof ; — I submit to 
 your contempt ; — I dare not implore your pardon. Cease ; 
 let me go hence, and soon! ""--The strong man gasped for 
 breath. 
 
 Harley looked at him steiidfastly, then turned away his 
 iyes, and went on. " i^ay," said hOj is that all ? You wooed 
 her for yourself ^you won her. Account to me for that life 
 which you wrenched from mine* You are silent* I will take 
 on myself your task ) you took that life and destroyed it*" 
 
 " Spare me, spare me 1 " 
 
 " What was the fate of her who seemed so fi*eBh froiii 
 hfeave^ When these eyes beheld her last P A broken h^art— -a 
 ?Hshonoured name — an early doom — a forgotten gravestbJie/* 
 
 " 1^0, no— forgotten— no 1 " 
 , " ISTot foi'gotten 1 : Bcaroe a yeay passecl, and yoti Wore 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE, 
 
 531 
 
 Mamed to atiother. I aided jon. to form tbose nuptitils which 
 secured your fortunes. You have bad raiik, and power, and 
 fame. Peers call you tlie type of EnglisL. gentlemen. Priests 
 hold you as a model of Ghristaaii honour* Strip the mask, 
 Audley Egerton ; let the world kiiow you for what you are ! " 
 
 Egerton raised his head, and folded his arms calmly 5 biit 
 he said, with a melancholy humility—" I bear all from you ; 
 it is just. Say on." 
 
 You took from me the heart of Kora Avenel. You aban- 
 doned her^ — ^you destroyed* And her memory cast no shadow 
 over your daily sunshine ; while over my thoughts— over my 
 life— ^oh, Egerton^ — -Audley, Audley— how could you have 
 deceived me thus ! " Here the inherent tenderness under all 
 this hate— the fount imbedded under the hardening stone 
 ^broke out. Harley was ashamed of his weaknesSj and 
 hurried on. 
 
 Deceived— not for an 'hour, a day, but through blighted 
 youth, through listless manhood — you suffered me to nurse 
 the remorse that should have been your own ; — her life slain, 
 min^ wasted ; and shall neither of us have revenge ? " 
 
 Revenge ! Ah, Harley, you have had it ! " 
 " Ko, but I await it ! I^ot in vain from the charnel have 
 come to me the records I produce. And whom did fate select 
 to discover the wrongs of the mother ?— whom appoint as her 
 Avenger P Your son--your own son your abandoned, nami^- 
 less'son ! " 
 " Son— -son ! 
 
 Whom I delivered from famine, or from worse 5 and who, 
 in return, has given into my hands the evidence which pro- 
 tilaims in you the perjured friend of Harley L'Estrange, and 
 the fraudulent seducer, under mock marriage forms — worse 
 than all franker sin — of Leonora Avenel." 
 
 It is false— false ! exclaimed Egerton, all his stateiiness 
 and all his energy restored te him. *' I forbid you to speak 
 thug to me. I f oi^bid you by one word to sully the memory 
 of my lawful wife." 
 
 *^Ah!'^ said Harley, startled. "Ah! false! prov^ that, 
 and revenge is over ! Thank Heaven! " 
 
 "Prove it! What so easy ? And wherefore have I delayed 
 the proof— wherefore concealed, but from tenderness to you 
 •---di^ad, fcoo— a Belfish but human dread^ — to lose in you the 
 Sole esteem that 1 covet ; — the only mourner who would have 
 ^hed one tear over the stone inscribe*d with -some lying epitaph, 
 in which it will suit a party purpose to proclaim the gratitude 
 
532 
 
 MY KOVEL ; OR, 
 
 of a nation. Yain hope. I resign it ! But yon spoke of a 
 eon. Alas, alas ! yon are again deceived. I lieard that I had 
 a son — years, long years ago. I sought him, and found a 
 grave. But bless you, Harley, if you succoured one whom 
 you even erringly suspect to be Leonora's child ! He 
 stretched forth his hands as he spoke. 
 
 " Of your son we will speak later,'* said Harley, strangely 
 softened. " But before I say more of him, let me ask you to 
 explain — let me hope that you can extenuate what — " 
 
 " You are right," interrupted Egerton with eager quickness. 
 ** You would know from my own lips at last the plain tale of 
 my own offence against you. It is due to both. Patiently 
 hear me out." 
 
 Then Egerton told all ; his own love for JTora — his struggles 
 against what he felt as treason to his friend — his sudden dis- 
 covery of Nora's love for him ; — on that discovery, the over- 
 throw of all his resolutions; their secret marriage — their 
 separation ; Nora's flight, to which Audley still assigned but 
 her groundless vague suspicion that their nuptials had not 
 been legal, and her impatience of his own delay in acknow- 
 ledging the rite. 
 
 His listener interrupted him here with a few questions ; the 
 clear and prompt replies to which enabled Harley to detect 
 Levy's plausible perversion of the facts ; and he vaguely 
 guessed the cause of the usurer's falsehood, in the criminal 
 passion which the ill-fated bride had inspired. *• 
 
 " Egerton," said Harley, stifling with an effort his own 
 wrath against the vile deceiver both of wife and husband^. 
 " if, on reading those papers, you find that Leonora had more 
 excuse for her suspicions and flight than you now deem, and 
 discover perfidy in one to whom you trusted your secret, 
 leave his punishment to Heaven. All that you say convinces 
 me more and more that we cannot even see through the cloud, 
 much less guide the thunderbolt. But proceed." 
 
 Audley looked suprised and startled, and his eye turned 
 wistfully towards the papers ; but after a short pause he con- 
 tinued his recital. He came to Nora's unexpected return to 
 her father's house — her death — his conquest of his own grief, 
 that he might spare Harley the abrupt shock of learning hei 
 decease. He had torn himself from the dead, in remorseful 
 sympathy with the living. He spoke of Harley's illness, so 
 nearly fatal — ^repeated Harley's jealous words, "that he would 
 rather mourn Nora's death, than take comfort from the 
 thought that she had loved sir^^ihevJ* He spoke of his jourDey 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 533 
 
 to the village wTiere Mr. Dale had told him ISTora's child was 
 placed — "and, hearing that child and mother were alike gone, 
 whom now could I right loj acknowledging a bond that I 
 feared would so wring your heart ? " Audlej again paused a , 
 moment, and resumed in short, nervous, impressive sentences. 
 This cold, austere man of the world for the first time bared 
 his heart— unconscious, perhaps, that he did so — ^unconscious 
 that he revealed how deeply, amidst state cares and public 
 distinctions, he had felt the absence of affections — how 
 mechanical was that outer circle in the folds of life which 
 is called "a career" — how valueless wealth had grown — 
 none to inherit it. Of his gnawing and progressive disease 
 alone he did not speak ; he was too proud and too masculine 
 to appeal to pity for physical ills. He reminded Harley how 
 often, how eagerly, year after year, month after month, he 
 had urged his friend to rouse himself from mournful dreams, 
 devote his native powers to his country, or seek the surer 
 felicity of domestic ties. " Selfish in these attempts I might 
 be," said Egerton ; "it was only if I saw you restored to 
 happiness that I could believe you could calmly hear my 
 explanation of the past, and on the floor of some happy home 
 grant me your forgiveness. I longed to confess, and I dared 
 not. Often have the words rushed to my lips — as often some 
 chance sentence from you repelled me. In a word, with you 
 were so entwined all the thoughts and affections of my youth 
 — even those that haunted the grave of Nora — that I could not 
 bear to resign your friendship, and, surrounded by the esteem 
 and honour of a world I cared not for, to meet the contempt 
 of your reproachful eye." 
 
 Amidst all that Audley said — amidst all that admitted of 
 no excuse — two predominant sentiments stood clear, in un- 
 mistakable and touching pathos. Remorseful regret for the 
 lost Nora — and self- accusing, earnest, almost feminine tender- 
 ness for the friend he had deceived. Thus, as he continaed 
 to speak, Harley more and more forgot even the remembrance 
 of his own guilty and terrible interval of hate ; the gulf that 
 had so darkly yawned between the two closed up, leaving 
 them still standing, side by side, as in their schoolboy days. 
 But he remained silent, listening — shading his face from 
 Audley, and as if under some soft but enthralling spell, till 
 Egerton thus closed — 
 
 " And now, Harley, all is told. You spoke of revenge?" 
 
 " Hevenge ! " muttered Harley, starting. 
 
 "Ad'I l7!?lieve me," continued Egerton, "were revenge in 
 
MY koyel; on. 
 
 your power, I should rejoice at it as an atonenieut, To receive 
 an injury in return for tbat whicli, first from youtHul passion, 
 and aftex'wards from the infirmity of purpose that concealed 
 the wrong, I have inflicted upon you — why, that would soothe 
 my conscience, and raise my lost self-,esteem. The sole reyenge 
 you can bestow takes the form which most humiliates me ; — - 
 to revenge, is to pardon." 
 
 Harley groaned ; and still hiding his face with one hand, 
 stretched forth the other, but rather with the air of one who 
 entreats than who accords forgiveness. Audley took and 
 pressed the hand thus extended. 
 
 And now, Harley, farewell. With the dawn I leave this 
 house, I cannot now accept your aid in this election. Levy 
 shall announce my resignation. Randal Leslie, if you so 
 please it, may be returned in my stead. He has abilities 
 which, under safe guidance, may serve his country; and I 
 have no right to reject, from vain pride, whatever will pro-^ 
 mote the career of one whom I undertook, and have failed, to 
 serve.'' 
 
 ^'Ay^ ay," muttered Harley ; "think not of Randal Leslie 5 
 think ?mt of your son." 
 
 ''My son! Bat are you sure that he still lives? You 
 smile ; you — you — oh, Harley— I took from you the mother — « 
 give to me the son ; break my heart with gratitude. Your 
 revenge is found ! " 
 
 Lord L'Bstrange rose with a sudden start— -gazed on Audley 
 for a m'^nient — ^irresolute, not from resentment, but from 
 shame. At that moment he was the man humbled 5 he was 
 the man who feared reproach, and who needed pardon, 
 Audley, not divining what was thus passing in Harloy's 
 breast, turned away. 
 
 " You think that I ask too much ; and yet all that I can 
 give to the child of my love and the heir of my name, is the 
 worthless blessing of a ruined man. Harley, I say no more. 
 I dare not add, ' You too loved his mother ! and with a deeper 
 and a nobler love than mine,' " He stopped short, and Harley 
 flung himself on his breast, 
 
 ''Me — me — pardon me, Audley! Your oifence has been 
 slight to mine. You have told me your offence ; never can I 
 name to you my own. Rejoice that wo have both to exchange 
 forgiveness, and in that exchange we arc equal still, Audley— 
 brother still, Look up— look up ; think that we are boys now 
 as we were once ; — boys who have had their wild quart'ol— 
 and who, the moment it is over, feel dearer to each otlier V>mu 
 >erorQ. 
 
VARISTIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 535 
 
 " Oil, Harlej, tliis is revenge 1 It strikes liome," murraurecj 
 Egerton, and tears gushed fast from ejes that could have gazed 
 unwinking on the rack. The clock struck 5 Harley sprang 
 forward. 
 
 " I have time jet," he cried, Much to do and to undo. 
 You are saved from the grasp of Levy — your election will bo 
 won— your fortunes in much may be restored- — you have 
 before you honours not yet achieved— your career as yet is 
 scarce begun— your son will embrace you to-morrow. Let 
 me go— your hand again! Ah, Audley, wo shall be so 
 happy yet ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI, 
 
 " Th^rb is a hitch," said Dick, pithily, when Randal joined 
 h\m in the oak copse at ten o'clock, " Life is full of hitches,'* 
 
 Banpal.— The art of life is to smoothe them away. What 
 bitch is this, my dear Avenel ? " 
 
 Dick.— ^' Leonard has taken huff at certain, expressions of 
 Lord L'Estrange's at the nomination to-day? and talks of 
 retiring from the contest," 
 
 Randal, (with secret glee,)— But bi^ resignation wonld 
 smoothe a hitch — not create one, The votes promised to him 
 would thus be freed, and go to—" 
 
 Dick, — " The Right Honom^able Red=.Tapist! " 
 
 Randal. — " Are you serious ? " 
 
 Dick,—" As an undertaker ! The fact is, there ai'e two 
 parties among the Yellows as there are in the Church— High 
 Fellow and Low Yellow. Leonai'd has made great way with 
 the High Yellows, and has more influence with them than I \ 
 and the High Yellows infinitely preferred Egerton to yourself. 
 Thc5y say ' Politics apart, he would be an honour to the 
 borough.* Leonard is of the same opinion j and if he retires, 
 I don't think I could coax either him or the Highflyers to 
 make yon any the better by his resignation.*' 
 
 Randal.—" But surely your nephew's sense of gratitude to 
 you T\fould indnce him not to go against your wishes H '* 
 
 Digs. — Unluckily, the gratitude is all the other way. It 
 is I who am under obligations to him — not he to me. As for 
 Lord L'Estrange, I can't make head or tail of his real intfii- 
 tions J and why he should have attacked Leonard in that ^aj, 
 
536 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 puzzles me more tlian all, for lie wisliecl Leonard to stand. 
 And Leyy Las privately informed me that, in spite of my 
 lord's^ friendslii]3 for the Right Honourable, yon are the man 
 he desires to secure." 
 
 Randal. — " He has certainly shown that desire throughout 
 the whole canvass." 
 
 Dick. — "I suspect that the borough-mongers have got a 
 seat for Egerton elsewhere ; or, perhaps, should his party 
 come in again, he is to be pitchforked into the Upper House." 
 
 Randal, (smiling.) — "Ah, Avenel, you are so shrewd ; you 
 see through everything. I will also add, that Egerton wants 
 some short respite from public life in order to nurse his 
 health and attend to his affairs, otherwise I could not even 
 contemplate the chance of the electors preferring me to him, 
 without a pang." 
 
 Dick. — " Pang ! — stuff — considerable. The oak trees don't 
 hear us ! You want to come into Parliament, and no mis- 
 take. If I am the man to retire — as I always proposed, and 
 had got Leonard to agree to, before this confounded speech 
 of L'Estrange's — come into Parliamant you will, for the Low 
 Yellows I can twist round my finger, provided the High 
 Yellows will not interfere ; in short, I could transfer to you 
 votes promised to me, but I can't answer for those promised 
 to Leonard. Levy fcells me you are to marry a rich girl, and 
 will have lots of money; so, of course, you will pay my 
 expenses if you come in through my votes." 
 
 Randal. — "My dear Avenel, certainly I will." 
 
 Dick. — " And I have two private bills I want to smuggle 
 through Parliament." 
 
 Randal. — " They shall be smuggled, rely on it. Mr. Fair- 
 jfield being on one side of the House, and I on the other, wo 
 two could prevent all unpleasant opposition. Private bills 
 are easily managed — with that tact which I flatter myself I 
 possess." 
 
 Dick. — "And when the bills are through the House, and 
 you have had time to look about you, I daresay you will see 
 that no man can go against Public Opinion, unless he wants 
 to knock his own head against a stone wall ; and that Public 
 Opinion is decidedly Yellow." 
 
 Randal, (with candour.) — " I cannot deny that Public 
 Opinion is Yellow ; and, at my age, it is natural that I should 
 not commit myself to the policy of a former generation. Blue 
 is fast wearing out. But, to return to Mr. Eairfield — ^you do 
 not speak as if you had no hope of keeping him straight to 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 587 
 
 wliat I Tin derstand to be his agreement with yourself. Surely 
 his honour is engaged to it ? " 
 
 Dick. — I don't know as to honour ; but he has now taken 
 a fancy to public life ; at least so he said no later than this 
 morning before we went into the hall; and I trust that 
 matters will come right/ Indeed," I left him with Parson 
 Dale, who promised me that he would use all his best exertions 
 to reconcile Leonard and my lord, and that Leonard should 
 do nothing hastily." 
 
 Randal. — "But why should Mr. Fairfield retire because 
 Lord L^Estrange wounds his feelings ? I am sure Mr. Fair- 
 field has wounded mine, but that does not make me think of 
 retiring." 
 
 Dick. — " Oh, Leonard is a poet, and poets are quite as 
 crotchety as L'Estrange said they were. And Leonard is 
 under obligations to Lord L'Estrange, and thought that Lord 
 L'Estrange was pleased by his standing : whereas, now — in 
 short, it is all Grreek to me, except that Leonard has mounted 
 his high horse, and if that throws him, I am afraid it will 
 throw you. But still I have great confidence in Parson 
 Dale — a good fellow, who has much influence with Leonard. 
 And though I thought it right to be above-board, and let you 
 know where the danger lies, yet one thing I can promise — if 
 I resign, you shall come in; so shake hands on it." 
 
 RandaTi. — " My dear Avenel ! And your wish is to resign ? " 
 
 Dick. — " Certainly. I should do so a little time after noon, 
 contriving to be below Leonard on the poll. You know 
 Emanuel Trout, the captain of the Hundred and Fifty 'Waiters 
 on Providence,' as they are called ? " 
 
 Eandal. — "To be sure I do." 
 
 Dick. — " When Emanuel Trout comes into the booth, you 
 will know how the election turns. As he votes, all the Hun- 
 dred and Fifty will vote. Now I must go back. Good night. 
 You'll not forget that my expenses are to be paid. Point of 
 honour. Still, if they are not paid, the election can be upset 
 ' — petition for bribery and corruption ; and if they are paid, 
 why Lansmere may be your seat for life." 
 
 IIandal. — " Your expenses shall be paid the moment my 
 marriage gives me the means to pay them — and that must be 
 very soon." 
 
 Dick. — " So Levy says. And my little jobs — the private 
 bills ? " 
 
 E/ANDAL. — " Consider the bills passed and the jobs done." 
 Dick. — " And one must not forget one's country. One 
 
53S 
 
 MY HOTEL ; OR, 
 
 nmsb do ihe best one cfiii for one's prinoiples. Egertoii 
 is infernally Blue. Yon allow Pnblic Opinion— is— 
 
 Randal. — Yellow. Koi a donbt of it." 
 
 Dick. — Grood niglit. Ha — ba — bnmbug, eb ? 
 
 Bandal, — - ■ Humbug ! Between men like us— ob no. Goo ] 
 nigbt, mj dear friend — I rely on you." 
 
 Pick.— Yes; but mind, I promise notbing if Leonard 
 Fairfield does not stand." 
 
 Randal. — "He must stand; keep bim to it. Your affairs 
 — your business — your mill — " 
 
 Dick. — " Yery true. He must stand. I bave great faitb in 
 Parson Dale." 
 
 Randal glided back tbrougb tbe park. Wben be came on 
 tbe terrace, be suddenly encountered Lord L' Estrange. T 
 bave just been privately into tbe town, my dear lord, and 
 beard a strange rumour, tbat Mr. Fairfield was so annoyed by 
 some remarks in your lordsbip's admirable speecb, tbat bo 
 talks of retiring from tbe contest. Tbat would give a new 
 feature to tbe election, and perplex all our calculations. And 
 I fear, in tbat case, tbere migbt be some secret coalition 
 between Avon el's friends and our Committee, wbom, I am 
 told, I displeased by tbe moderate speecb wbiob your lordsbip 
 so eloquently defended— a coalition by wbiob Avenel would 
 come in witb Mr. Egerton, wbereas, if we all four stand, Mr. 
 Egerton, I presume, will be quite safe ; and I certainly tbink 
 I bave an excellent cbance." 
 
 Lord L'Esteange. — " So Mr. Fairfield would retire in con- 
 sequence of my remarks ! I am going into tbe town, and I 
 intend to apologise for tbose remarks, and retract tkem." 
 
 Eandal, (joyously.) — "Noble! " 
 
 Lord L'Estrange looked at Leslie's face, upon wbicb tbe 
 stars gleamed palely, "Mr. Egerton bas tbougbt more of 
 your success tban of bis own," said be, gravely, and bur- 
 ried on. 
 
 Randal continued on tbe terrace. Perbaps Harley's last 
 words gave bim a twinge of compunction. His bead sunk 
 musingly on bis breast, and., be paced to and fro tbe long 
 gravel walk, summoning up all bis intellect to resist every 
 temptation to wbat could injure bis self-interest. 
 
 " Skulking knave ! " muttered Harley. " At least tboro 
 will be notbing to repent, if I can do justice on bim. Tbat is 
 not reveuge. Come, tbat must be fair retribution. Besides, 
 how else can I deliver Yiolante ? "—He lauglied gaily, bis 
 
VAEIETIES IN l^TOLISH LIFE. 
 
 lieart was so liglit ; and liia foot bonaded on as fleet as tlie 
 deer that lie startled amongst tlie fern. 
 
 A few yards from tlie turnstile lie overtook Eicliard Avenel, 
 disguised in a rougli greatcoat and speotaolos. ■ ISTevertbeless, 
 Harley's eye detected the Yellow candidate at the first glance. 
 He caught Dick familiarly by the arm. Well met— -I was 
 g'oirig to you. We have the election to settle." 
 
 On the terms I mentioned to your lordship ? said Dick, 
 startled. I will agree to return one of your candidates ; but 
 it must not be Audley Egerton." Harley whispered close in 
 Avenel's ear. 
 
 Avenel uttsred an exclamation of amazement. The two 
 gentlemen walked on rapidly, and conversing with gi-eat 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Certainly," said Avenel, at length stopping short, " ouo 
 would do a great deal to serve a family connection— and a 
 connection that does a man so much credit ; and how can one 
 go against one's own brother-in-law ? — -a gentleman of such 
 high standing— pull up the whole family ! How pleased Mrs. 
 Richard Avenel will be ! Why the devil did not I Ivnow it 
 before ? And poor— dear- — dear Nora. Ah that she were 
 living! Dick's voice trembled. 
 
 ■ ' Her name will be righted ; and I will explain why it was 
 my fault that Egerton did not before acknowledge his mar- 
 riage, and claim you as a brother. Come, then, it is all fixed 
 and settled." 
 
 " ISTo, my lord ; I am pledged the other way. I don't see 
 how I can get off my word— to Handal Leslie. I'm not over 
 nice, nor what is called Quixotic, but still my word is given, 
 that if I retire from the election, I will do my best to return 
 Leslie instead of Egerton." 
 
 "I know that through Baron Levy. But if your nephew 
 retires ? " 
 
 Oh, that would solve all difficulties. But the poor boy 
 has now a wish to come into Parliament ; and he has done me 
 a service in the hour of need. 
 
 " Leave it to nH\ And as to Randal Leslie, he shall have 
 an occasion himseli: to acquit you and redeem himself j and 
 bappy, indeed, will it be for him if he has yet one spark of 
 gratitude, or one particle of honour." 
 
 The two continued to converse for a few moments— Dick 
 seeming to forget the election itself, and ask questions of 
 more interest to his heart, which Harjey answered so, that 
 Dick wrung L'Estrange's hand with groat emotion — ^aud 
 
540 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 muttered, "Mj poor mother! I understand now wliy slie 
 would never talk to me of Nora. When may I tell her the 
 truth ? " 
 
 " To-morrow evening, after the election, Egerton shall 
 embrace you all." 
 
 Dick started, and saying — " See Leonard as soon as you 
 can — there is no time to lose," plunged into a lane that led 
 towards the obscurer recesses of the town. Harley continued 
 his way with the same light elastic tread which (lost during 
 his abnegation of his own nature) was now restored to the 
 foot, that seemed loath to leave a print upon the mire. 
 
 At the commencement of the High Street he encountered 
 Mr. Dale and Fairfield, walking slowly, arm in arm. 
 
 Harley. — "Leonard, I was coming to you. Grive me your 
 hand. Forget for the present the words that justly stung and 
 offended you. I will do more than apologise — I will repair 
 the wrong. Excuse me, Mr. Dale — I have one word to say 
 in private to Leonard." He drew Fairfield aside. 
 
 "Avenel tells me that if you were to retire from this 
 contest, it would be a sacrifice of inclination. Is it so ? " 
 
 " My Lord, I have sorrows that I would fain forget ; and, 
 though I at first shrunk from the strife in which I have been 
 since engaged, yet now a literary career seems to me to have 
 lost its old charm ; and I find that, in public life, there is a 
 distraction to the thoughts which embitter solitude, that books 
 fail to bestow. Therefore, if you still wish me to continue 
 this contest, though I know not your motive, it will not be as 
 it was to begin it — a> reluctant and a painful obedience to your 
 request." 
 
 " I understand. It was a sacrifice of inclination to begin 
 the contest — it would be now a sacrifice of inclination to with- 
 draw ! " 
 
 " Honestly — yes, my lord." 
 
 "I rejoice to hear it, for I ask that sacrifice; a sacrifice 
 which you will recall hereafter with delight and pride; a 
 sacrifice sweeter, if I read your nature aright — oh, sweeter 
 far, than all which commonplace ambition could bestow ! And 
 when you learn why I make this demand, you will say, * This, 
 indeed, is reparation for the words that wounded my affec- 
 tions, and v/ronged my heart.' " 
 
 My lord, my lord ! " exclaimed Leonard, " the injury is 
 repaired already. You give me back your esteem, when you 
 so well anticipate my answer. Your esteem! — ^life smiles 
 again. I can return to my more legitimate career without a 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 541 
 
 sigli. I have no need of distraction from tlionglit now. You 
 will believe that, whatever my past presumption, I can pray 
 sincerely for your happiness." 
 
 " Poet ! you adorn your career ; you fulfil your mission, 
 even at this moment ; you beautify the world ; you give to 
 the harsh form of Duty the cestus of the Grraces," said 
 Harley, trying to force a smile to his quivering lips. " But 
 we must hasten back to the prose of existence. I accept 
 your sacrifice. As for the time and mode I must select, in 
 /order to insure its result, I will ask you to abide by such 
 instructions as I shall have occasion to convey through your 
 uncle. Till then, no word of your intentions — not even to 
 Mr. Dale. Eorgive me if I would rather secure Mr. Egerton's 
 election than yours. Let that explanation suffice for the 
 present. What think you, by the way, of Audley Egerton ? " 
 
 " I thought when I heard him speak, and when he closed 
 with those touching words— implying that he left all of his life 
 not devoted to his country, ' to the charity of his friends ' — 
 how proudly, even as his opponent, I could have clasped his 
 hand; and if he had wronged me in private life, I should 
 have thought it ingratitude to the country he had so served, 
 to remember the offence." 
 
 Harley turned away abruptly, and joined Mr. Dale. 
 
 " Leave Leonard to go home by himself ; you see that I 
 have healed whatever wounds I inflicted on him." 
 
 Paeson. — " And, your better nature thus awakened, I trust, 
 my dear lord, that you have altogether abandoned the idea 
 of—" 
 
 Haeley. — " Eevenge ? — no. And if you do not approve 
 that revenge to-morrow, I will never rest till I have seen jov 
 — a bishop I " 
 
 Mr. Dale, (much shocked.) — "My lord, for shame ! 
 
 Harley, (seriously.) — "My levity is but lip-deep, my deai 
 Mr. Dale. But sometimes the froth on the wave shows the 
 change in the tide." 
 
 The Parson looked at him earnestly, and then seized him 
 by both hands with holy gladness and affection. 
 
 " Beturn to the Park now," said Harley, smiling ; " and tell 
 i Violante, if it be not too late to see her, that she was even 
 more eloquent than you." 
 
 Lord L'Estrange bounded forward. 
 
 Mr. Dale walked back through the park to Lansmere house 
 On the terrace he found Randal, who was still pacing too and 
 fro, sometimes in the steliiflits sometimes in the shadow 
 
812 
 
 MY mrm ; or, 
 
 Leslie looked Mr* Da^lcj the eloge astuteness 
 
 t>f hig aspect i?etmmed | and stepping oiit of the starlight deep 
 into the shadow, he said — 
 
 " I Was sorry to learn that Mr« FMrfield had been go hurt 
 hj Lord L'Estrange's seyei^e allusions. Pity that political 
 differences should interfere with private friendv^ships ^ but I 
 hear that yoii have been to Mr. Fairfield— and, doubtless, as 
 the peacemaker. Perhaps yon Met Lord L'Estrango by the 
 way P He promised me that he woiild apologise and retract." 
 
 Good young man," said the unsuspeeting Parson, ho has 
 done so." 
 
 " And Mr. Leonard Fairfield will, thereforSj I ptesUme, con- 
 tinue the contest ? " 
 
 " Contest— ah, this election ! I snpposO of course* Bui 
 t grieve that he should stand against yon, who s^em to bo dis- 
 posed towards him so kindly." 
 
 "Oh," said Randal, with a benevolent ^milOj "w© have 
 fought before, yon know^ and I beat him then. 1 may do so 
 again ! " 
 
 And he walked into the houBe, arm-in-arm with tho Parson. 
 Mr. Dale nought Yiolante— Leslie retired to his own room-, and 
 felt his election was secured. 
 
 Lord L^Estrange had gained tho thick of the streets— pas- 
 sing groiipg of roanng enthnsiastg— Bkie and Yellow— now 
 met with a choer-^now followed by a groan. Just by a public- 
 house that formed the angle of a lane with the High^street, 
 and which was all abla^je with light, and all alive with clamour, 
 he beheld the graceful Baron leaning against the threshold, 
 smoking his cigar-, too refined to associate its divine vaponr 
 with the wreaths of shag within, and chatting agreeably with 
 a knot of females, who were either attracted by the general 
 excitement j or waiting to see husband, brother-, father-, or son, 
 who were now joining in the chorus of " Blue for ever ! " 
 that rang from tap-room to attic of the illumined hostelry. 
 Levy, seeing Lord L'Estraiige, withdrew his cigar from his 
 lips, and hastened to join him. " All the Hundred and Fifty 
 are in there," said the Baron, with a backward significant jerk 
 of his thumb towards the inn. I have seen them all pri- 
 vately, in tens at a time ; and I have been telling the ladies 
 without that it will be best for the interest of their families to 
 go home, and let us lock up the Hundred and Fifty safe from 
 thfe Yellows, till we bring them to the poll. But I am afraid," 
 continued Levy-, " that the rascals are not to be relied upon 
 
 beforehand ; a.nd that Would be 
 
VARIEIIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 543 
 
 diBfSpufoible, hlirnoml— aiidj whftt is moro^ it would upset the 
 election. Besides, if thej are paid befor^liand^ ^iierj, is it 
 quite vsure how thej will voiie afterwards ? " 
 
 "Mr, Ayenelj I daresaj, can manage them," said Harley. 
 "Praj do nothing immoral^ and Nothing tliat will upset the 
 ©lection* I thirik joU might as well go hdme*" 
 
 " Home 1 No, pardon me, my lord ; there must bB some 
 head to direct the Committee, and keep our captains at their 
 poBts upon the doubtful electors* A great deal of mischief 
 may be done between this and the morrow i and I would sit 
 up all night-^ay, six nights a-week for the next three months 
 •^to prevent any awkward mistake by which Andley Egerton 
 can be returned." 
 
 " His return would really grieve you so much ? " said 
 Harley* 
 
 " You iiiay judge of that by the zeal with which I enter into 
 all your desiglis." 
 
 Here there was ^ sudden and Wondroiisly lotid shoiat from 
 another inn=^a Yellow inn, far down the lailo, not so luminous 
 M the Blue hostelry; on the contrary, looking rather dark 
 and sinisterj more like a place for Conspirators or felons fchan 
 honest, independent electors.-^" Avenel for <3Vet I— Avene-i and 
 the Yellows!" 
 
 '* Excuse me, my lordj I must go back aild watch ovfer my 
 black sheepj if 1 would have them blue 1 " said Levy ; and he 
 retreated towards the threshold. But at that shout of " Avenel 
 for ever ! " as if at a signal, various electors of the redoubted 
 Hundred and Fifty rushed from the Blue hostelry, sweeping 
 past Levy, and hurrying down the lane to the dark little Yellow 
 ilifii followed by the female stragglers, as small birds follow 
 an owl. It was not, however, very eclsy to get inbo that Yellow 
 inn, Yellow Beformers, emiiient for their zeal on behalf of 
 plirity of election, were stationed outside the door, and only 
 strained in one candidate for admittance at a time, "After 
 all," thought the Baron, as he pasefed ii?to the principal room 
 of the Blue tavern, and proposed the national song of " Rule 
 Britannia " after all, Avenel hates Ege^'ton as much as I 
 do, atid both sides work to the same end." And thrutnming 
 on the table, he joined w^ith a fitie bass, in the famous line, 
 
 For Britons never will be slaves !" 
 
 In the interim, Harley had disappeared within the " Lansmero 
 Arms," which was the head quarters of the Blue Committee. 
 
544 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Kot, however, mounting to tlie room in wliicli a few of tlie 
 more indefatigable were continuing tlieir labours, receiving 
 reports from scouts, giving orders, laying wagers, and very 
 muzzy with British principles and spirits, Harley called asido 
 the landlord, and inquired if the stranger, for whom rooms 
 had been prepared, was yet arrived. An affirmative answer 
 was given, and Harley followed the host up a private stair, to 
 a part of the house remote from the rooms devoted to the pur- 
 poses of the election. He remained with this stranger about 
 half an hour, and then walked into the Committee-room, got 
 rid of the more excited, conferred with the more sober, issued 
 a few brief directions to such of the leaders as he felt he could 
 most rely upon, and returned home as rapidly as he had 
 quitted it. 
 
 Dawn was grey in the skies when Harley sought his own 
 chamber. To gain it, he passed by the door of Yiolante's. 
 His heart suffused with grateful ineffable tenderness, he 
 paused and kissed the threshold. When he stood within his 
 room, (the same that he had occupied in his early youth,) he 
 felt as if the load of years were lifted from his bosom. The 
 joyous divine elasticity of spirit, that in the morning of life 
 springs towards the Future as a bird soars into heaven, per- 
 vaded his whole sense of being. A Grreek poet implies, that 
 the height of bliss is the sudden relief of pain: there is a 
 nobler bliss still — ^the rapture of the conscience at the sudden 
 release from a guilty thought. By the bedside at which he 
 had knelt in boyhood, Harley paused to kneel once more. 
 The luxury of prayer, interrupted since he had nourished 
 schemes of which his passions had blinded him to the sin, but 
 which, nevertheless, he dared not confess to the All-Merciful, 
 was restored to him. And yet, as he bowed his knee, the 
 elation of spirits he had before felt forsook him. The sense 
 of the danger his soul had escaped — the full knowledge of the 
 guilt to which the fiend had tempted — came dread before his 
 clearing vision ; he shuddered in horror of himself. And he 
 who but a few hours before had deemed it so impossible to 
 pardon his fellow- man, now felt as if years of useful and 
 beneficent deeds could alone purify his own repentani". soul 
 from the memory of one hateful passion. 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 But wMle Harlej had thus occupied the hours of night 
 with cares for the living, Audiey Egertoa had been in com- 
 mune with the dead. He had taken from the pile of papers 
 amidst which it had fallen, the record of IsTora's silenced heart. 
 With a sad wonder he saw how he had once been loved. 
 What had all which successful ambition had bestowed on the 
 lonely statesman to compensate for the glorious empire he had 
 lost— such realms of lovely fancy ; such worlds of exquiriite 
 emotion; that infinite v/liich lies within the divine sphere 
 that unites spiritual genius with human love ? His own 
 positive and earthly nature attained, for the first time, and as 
 if for its own punishment, the comprehension of that loftier 
 and more ethereal visitant from the heavens, who had once 
 looked with a seraph's smile through the prison bars of his 
 iron life ; — that celestial refinement of affection, that exube- 
 rance of feeling which warms into such varieties of beautiful 
 idea, tinder the breath of the earth-beautifier, Im pagination ; — ■ 
 all from which, when it was all his own, he had turned half 
 weary and impatient, and termed the exaggerations of a 
 visionary romance — now that the world had lost them ever-* 
 more, he interpreted aright as truths. Truths they were, 
 although, illusions. Even as the philosopher tells us that 
 the splendour of colours which deck the universe is not on 
 the surface whereon we think to behold it, but in our own 
 vision ; yet, take the colours from the universe, and what philo- 
 sophy can assure us that the universe has sustained no loss ? 
 
 But when Audiey came to that passage in the fragment 
 which, though but imperfectly, explained the true cause of 
 Nora's flight ; — when he saw how Levy, for what purpose he 
 was unable fco conjecture, had suggested to his bride the 
 doubts that had offended him — asserted the marriage to be a 
 fraud — drawn from Audley's own brief resentful letters to 
 ISTora, proof of the assertion — misled so naturally the young 
 wife's scanty experience of actual life, and maddened one so 
 sensitively pure into the conviction of dishonour — his brow 
 darkened, and his hand clenched. He rose and went at once 
 to Levy's room. He found it dcRorted — inquired — learned 
 that Levy was gone forth, and had left word he might not bo 
 at home for the night. Fortunate, perhaps, for Audiey — for- 
 
 VOL. 11. HH 
 
513 
 
 MY novel; OjRj 
 
 tunate for tlie Baroi:— fcliat they did not then meet. Bevenge, 
 in spite of his friend's admonition, might at that hour have 
 been as potent an inSmence on Egerton as it had been on 
 Harley, and not, as with the latter, to be tnrned aside. 
 
 Audley came back to his room and finished the tragic record. 
 He traced the tremor of that beloved hand through the last 
 tortures oi doubt and despair ; — ^he saw where the hot tears 
 had fallen, — ^he saw where the hand had paused, the very sen- 
 tence not concluded ; — mentally he accompanied his fatr<.d 
 bl*ide in the dismal journey to her maiden home, and beheld 
 her before him as he had last seen, more beautiful even in 
 dc.fci.th than the face of living woman had ever since appeared 
 to liLiU 5- -and as he bent Over the last words, the blank that 
 they left on the leaf, stretching pale beyond the quiver of 
 the characters and the blister of the tears — pale and blank as 
 the void which departed love leaves behind it — he felt his heart 
 suddenly stand still, its course arrested as the record closed. 
 It beat again, but feebly — so feebly ! His breath became 
 labour and pain, his sight grew dizzy. But the constitutional 
 nrmness and fortitude of the man clung to him in the stub- 
 born mechanism of habit — his will yet fought against his 
 disease — life rallied as the light flickers up in the waning 
 taper. 
 
 The next morning, when Harley came into his friend^ s 
 room, Egerton was asleep. But the sleep seemed much dis- 
 turbed ; the breathing was hard and difficult ; the bed-clothes 
 were partially thrown off, as if in the tossing of disturbed 
 dreams; the sinewy strong arm, the broad athletic breast, 
 were partly bare. Strange that so deadly a disease within 
 should leave the frarne such apparent power that, to the 
 Drdinary eye, the sleeping sufEerer seemed a model of healthful 
 vigour. One hand was thrust with uneasy straining over the 
 pillows — it had its hold on the fatal papers ; a portion of the 
 leaves ^^as visible ; and where the characters had been blurred 
 by Kora*s tears, were th^ traces, yet moistj of tears perhaps 
 more bitter. 
 
 Harley felt deeply aiSected ; and while he still stood by the 
 bed, Egerton sighed heavily and woke. He stared round him, 
 as if perplexed and confused — till his eyes resting on Harley, 
 he smiled and said— 
 
 " So early ! Ah — 1 remember, it is the day for our great 
 boat-race. We shall have the current against us ; but you 
 and I together — when did we ever lose ? 
 ' Audley's mind was wandering ; it had gono feack to the old 
 
VAEIETIJSS IN El^GhlSH LIFE. Ml 
 
 Eton dtijs. Biat Harlej ttotiglit tha,t ke spoke in naetaphorieal 
 allnsion to the present more important contest. 
 
 " Trnej my Andley — ^you and I togethet^when did t3ver 
 lose? But will you rise? I wish you would be at the 
 pt)lling-place to sh^ke hands with your voters as they coire 
 •ap. By four o'clock yoU: Will be released^ tod the election 
 won." 
 
 " The election ! How 1 — what I gaid Egerfeon^ recotei'ing 
 himself i " I i^eCoUeCt now. Yes— 1 at^oept thi^ last kindness 
 fi'om you. I always said I would die in harhes^» Public life 
 —I hay© iio other* Ah, I dreabi agmn ! Oh, Hadey I— liiy 
 soti-^my son!" 
 
 " You ghall see him after four o'clock. You will be prolid 
 of each other* But make haste and dress. Bhstll I ling the 
 bell for your seryant ? " 
 
 Boj" said JSgerton, briefly^ and sinking back-. Harley 
 quitted the room, and joined Randal and some of the more 
 important members of the Blue Oommitteej who Were already 
 hurrying over their breakfast. 
 
 All were anxious and iieryous except Harley^ who dipped his 
 dry toast into his co^eoj according to his ordinary abstemious 
 Italian habit^ with serene cotoposuJ^. Biaiidal in rain tried 
 for an equal tMnquillity. But thotigh sure of his election, 
 there would necessarily follow a scene trying to the nerve of 
 his hypocrisy. He Wotild have to a:Eedt profound chagi*in in 
 the midst of vile joy ; have to act the part of decorous high- 
 minded sorrow, that by some untoWard c3hance---some unac- 
 countable cross^splitting^ Ratidal Leslie's gain should be Audley 
 ligerton's loss. Besides, he Was flurried in the expectation of 
 seeing the Squire, aiid of appro|)riating the money Which Wts 
 to secure the dearest object of his ambitioili Breakfast was 
 sooti despatched'. The Oomniittee nienj bustling for their hats, 
 -and looking at their watches^ gave the signal fol* departure ; 
 yet no Bquire Hazeldean had made his appearance. Harley, 
 stepping from the window upon the terrace, beckoned to 
 Randal, who took his hat and followed. 
 
 Mr. Leslie," said Harley, leaning against the balustrade, 
 and carelessly patting ISTero's rough^ honest head, "you - 
 remembel' that you were good enough to volunteer to me the 
 explanation of ceri3ain circumstances in colmexion with the 
 Count di PeSchiera, which you gave to the Duke di Serrano ; 
 and I replied that my thoughts were at present engaged on 
 the election, biit as soon as that was ovet^ I should be very 
 willing to listen to any communications a:iecting yourself and 
 
548 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR 
 
 my old friend tlie Duke, witK wHcIl jou might be pleased ho 
 favour me/' 
 
 This address took E-andal by surprise, and did not tend to 
 calm his nerves. However, he replied readily. 
 
 " Upon that, as upon any other matter that may influence the 
 judgment you form of me, I shall be but too eager to remove a 
 single doubt that, in your eyes, can rest upon my honour." 
 
 "You speak exceedingly well, Mr. Leslie; no man can 
 express himself more handsomely ; and I will claim your pro- 
 mise with the less scruple because the Duke is powerfully 
 affected by the reluctance of his daughter to ratify the engage- 
 ment that binds his honour, in case your own is indisputably 
 cleared. I may boast of some influence over the young 
 lady, since I assisted to save her from the infamous plot of 
 Peschiera ; and the Duke urges me to receive your explarxa- 
 tion, in the belief that, if it satisfy me, as it has satisfied him, 
 I may conciliate his child in favour of the addresses of a suitor 
 who would have hazarded his very life against so redoubted a 
 duellist as Peschiera." 
 
 "Lord L'Estrange," replied Randal, bowing, " I shall indeed 
 owe you much if you can remove^that reluctance on the part 
 of my betrothed bride, which alone clouds my happiness, and 
 which would at once put an end to my suit, did T not ascribe 
 it to an imperfect knowledge of myself, which I shall devote 
 my life t\3 improve into confidence and affection." 
 
 "1^0 man can speak more handsomely," reiterated Harley, 
 as if with profound admiration ; and indeed he did eye Kandal 
 as we eye some rare curiosity. " I am happy to inform you, 
 too," continued L'Estrange, " that if your marriage with the 
 Duke of Serrano's daughter take place — " 
 
 " If ! " echoed Randal. 
 
 " I beg pardon for making an hypothesis of what you claim 
 the right to esteem a certainty — I correct my expression: 
 wlien your marriage with that young lady takes place, you 
 will at least escape the rock on which many young men of 
 ardent affections have split at the onset of the grand voyage. 
 You will form no imprudent connection. In a word, I received 
 yesterday a despatch from Vienna, which contains the full 
 pardon and formal restoration of Alphonso Duke di Serrano. 
 And I may add, that the Austrian government (sometimes 
 misunderstood in this country) is bound by the laws it admi- 
 nisters, and can in no way dictate to the Duke, once restored, 
 as to the choice of his son-in-law, or as to the heritage that 
 may devolve on his child." 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFB. 
 
 549 
 
 And does the Duke yet know o£ Ms recall?" exclaimed 
 Eandal, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling. 
 
 "1^0. I reserve that good news, with other matters, till 
 after the election is over. But Egerton keeps us waiting 
 sadly. Ah, here comes his valet." 
 
 Audley's servant approached. "Mr. Egerton feels himself 
 rather more poorly than usual, my lord; he begs you will 
 excuse his going with you into the town at present. He will 
 come later if his presence is absolutely necessary." 
 
 " !N"o. Pray tell him to rest and nurse himself. I should 
 have liked him to witness his own triumph — that is all. Say 
 I will represent him at the polling place. Gentlemen, are you 
 ready? We will go on." 
 
 The polling booth was erected in the centre of the market- 
 place. The voting had already commenced ; and Mr. Avenel 
 and Leonard were already at their posts, in order to salute 
 and thank the voters in their cause who passed before them. 
 Randal and L'Estrange entered the booth amidst loud hurrahs, 
 and to the national air of " See the Conquering Hero comes." 
 The voters defiled in quick succession. Those who voted 
 entirely according to principle or colour — which came to much 
 the same thing — and were therefore above what is termed 
 " management," flocked in first, voting straight-forwardly for 
 both Blues or both Yellows. At the end of the first half-hour 
 the Yellows were about ten ahead of the Blues. Then sundry 
 split votes began to perplex conjecture as to the result ; and 
 Randal, at the end of the first hour, had fifteen majority over 
 Audley Egerton, two over Dick Avenel — Leonard Eairfield 
 heading the poll by five. Randal owed his place in the lists 
 to the voters that Harley^s personal efforts had procured for 
 him ; and he was well pleased to see that Lord L'Estrange had 
 not withdrawn from him a single promise so obtained. This 
 augured well for Harley's ready belief in his appointed " ex- 
 planations." In short, the whole election seemed going just 
 as he had calculated. But by twelve o'clock there were some 
 changes in the relative position of the candidates. Dick 
 Avenel had gradually gained ground — passing Randal, passing 
 even Leonard. He stood at the head of the poll by a majority 
 of ten. Randal came next. Audley v,^as twenty behind 
 Randal, and Leonard four behind Audley. 
 
 More than half the constituency had polled, but none of the 
 Committee on either side, nor one of the redoubted corps of a 
 Hundred and Eif ty. 
 
 The poll now slackened sensibly. Randal, looking roand, 
 
550 
 
 MY mY^h ; Oil, 
 
 and longing for an opportunity to ask Biek whether ho really 
 meant to return himself instead qf his iiephew, .?aw that 
 Harley had disappeared ; and presently a note w^ts brought to 
 liim requesting hw pre^ejie^ ift the ComTOtte^^BoOffl. Thither 
 he hastened. 
 
 Ah he foi'e.ei his way thi'ough the bystanders in fhe lobby, 
 towards the threshold of the roQnx, Levy canght hold of him 
 and whispered—-* They begin to f§ar for Kgerton, They 
 vfant a comproinis© m order to geeure hina.. They will propose 
 to you to resign, if Avenel will withdraw Leonard. Don't be 
 enti*apped, L'Estrange t^^J pnt the queatio© ta you \ but^ 
 a ward in yoiir aar-— h© would he glad e^nongh to throw oTey 
 Egerton. Rely upon this, and stand firm." 
 
 Bandal made no answer, bnt, the crowd giving way for him, 
 entered the room, Levy followed. The door§ were instantly 
 eloied. All the Blue Committee were assembled. They looked 
 heated, anxioni, eager, Lord L'jEstrange, alone calm and cool, 
 stood at the head of the long table. Despite his composure, 
 Harley's brow wa§ thoughtful. " Yes," said he to himself, 
 
 I will give this young man the fair occasion to prove grati- 
 tude to hisi benefactor ; and if he here acquit himself, I will 
 ^pare him at least, public exposure of hi^ deceit to others. So 
 young, he must have some gogd in him-^a^t least towards the 
 man to whom he owes all." 
 
 ^'Mr. Leslie," said L'Estrange, alQud» "you see the state of 
 the polh Our Committee believe that, if you continue to stand, 
 Egerton mugt be beaten, They fear that, Leonard Fairfield 
 having little chance, the Yellows will not waste their second 
 votes on him, but will transfer them to you, in order to keep 
 out Egerton, If you retire, Egerton will be safe. There ig 
 reason to suppose that Leonard would, in that case, also be 
 withdrawn." 
 
 " You can hope and fear nothing more from Egerton," 
 whispered Levy, "He is utterly ruined; and, if he lose, will 
 sleep in a prison. The bailiffs aro waiting for him." 
 
 Bandal was still silent, and at that silence an indignant 
 murmur ran through tlie mo^e inflnential members of the 
 Committee. Eor, though Audley wai not personally vory 
 popular, still a candidate so eminent was necessarily their firat 
 object, and they would seem very small to the Yellows if theif 
 great man was defeated by the very candidate intvoduped to 
 aid him----a yo ith unknown. Vanity and patrioti^in both 
 swelled that murmur. " You see, young sir," cried ^ rich 
 blunt master^butchcr, ^'that it wa^ an- houQurabto uivder- 
 
VABIETIES m JDNaUBH LIFE. ^ 55 1 
 
 standing that Mr. Egertoji was to be safe, Toil had uc clmm 
 on lis, except aa fighting second to Mm, And we are ali 
 astonished that you don't say at oncej ' Save Egerton, of 
 course.' Excuse my freedom^ sir, No time for palayer./' 
 
 "Lord L'Kstrange,'' said Randal, turning mildly from, the 
 butcher, ^'do you, as the first here in rank and influence, and 
 a^ Mr-» Egerton'^ especial friend, call upon me to sacrifice my 
 olection, and what appear to be the incUna'tiona of the 
 majority of the constitnents? in order to obtain what is, after 
 all, a doubtful chance of returning Mr. Egerton in my 
 room ? " 
 
 " I do not call upon you, Mr, Leslie. It is a matter of feeling 
 or of honour, which a gentleman can very well decide for 
 himself ? ^' 
 
 " Was any such compact made between your lordship and 
 Piyself, when you first gave me your interest and canvassed 
 fop me in person ? 
 
 " Q^rtiainly not. Gentlemen, be gilent. Uo gueh compact 
 was mentioned by me.'^ 
 
 " E"either was it by Mr. Bgerton. Whatever might b©. the 
 understanding spoken of by the regpeoted elector who ad- 
 dressed me, I was no party to it. I am persuaded that Mr. 
 jEgerton is the last person who would wish to owe his flection 
 to a trick upon the electors in the midst of the ]3olling, and 
 to what the) world would, consider a very unhaudsome treat- 
 ment of myself, upon whom all the toil of the canvass has 
 devolved." 
 
 Again the murmur rose ; but Ha^dal had an air so deter- 
 mined, that it quelled i^sentment, and obtained a continued, 
 though most chilling and half '•contemptuous hearing. 
 
 "Nevertheless," resumed Randal, "I would at once retire 
 were I not under the firm pe^'suasion that I shall convince all 
 present, who now seem to condemn me, that I aPt preoisQly 
 according to Mr» Ugerton's own piivate inclinations, That 
 gentleman, in fact, has never been amongst you— has not 
 canv^^^s^d in pergon™has taken no trouble, beyond a speech, 
 that was evidently meant to be but a general defence of his 
 past political career. What does this mean ? Simply that his 
 standing has been merely a form, to comply with the wish of 
 his pM'ty, against his own desire." 
 
 The Committee men looked at each other amazed ^nd 
 doubtful, Randal saw bo had gained an advantage i he pur- 
 sued it with a tact and ability which showed that, in spite of 
 his mm^ oratorical deficieneies, he had in him th@ @tem§s^t% of 
 
MY NOVEL; OK, 
 
 dexterous debater. " I will be plain with yon, gentlemen. 
 yLj character, my desire to stand well with you all, oblige me 
 to be so. Mr. Egerton does not wish to come into Parliament 
 at present. His health is much broken ; his private affairs 
 need all his time and attention. I am, I may say, as a son to 
 him. He is most anxious for my success ; Lord L'Estrange 
 told me but last night, yery truly, 'more anxious for my 
 success than his own.' Nothing could please him more than 
 to think I were serving in Parliament, however hnmbly, those 
 great interests which neither health nor leisure will, in this 
 momentous crisis, allow himself to defend with his wonted 
 energy. Later, indeed, no doubt, he will seek to return to an 
 arena in which he is so distinguished ; and when the popular 
 excitement, which produces the popular injustice of the day, 
 is over, what constituency will not be proud to return such a 
 man ? In support and proof of what I have thus said, I now 
 appeal to Mr. Egerton's own agent — a gentleman who, in spite 
 of his vast fortune and the rank he holds in society, has con- 
 sented to act gratuitously on behalf of that great statesman. 
 I ask you, then, respectfully, Baron Levy— Is not Mr. Eger- 
 ton's health much broken, and in need of rest 
 
 " It is," said Levy. 
 
 " And do not his affairs necessitate his serious and undivided 
 attention ? " 
 
 " They do indeed/' qu.oth the Baron. " Gentlemen, I have 
 nothing to urge in behalf of my distinguished friend as against 
 the statement of his adopted son, Mr. Leslie." 
 
 " Then all I can say," cried the butcher, striking his huge 
 
 fist on the table, "is, that Mr. Egerton has behaved d d 
 
 unhandsome to us, and we shall be the laughing-stock of the 
 borough." 
 
 " Softly, softly," said Harley. " There is a knock at the 
 door behind. Excuse me." 
 
 Harley quitted the room, but only for a minute or two. 
 On his return he addressed himself to Randal. 
 
 " Are we then to understand, Mr. Leslie, that your intention 
 is not to resign ? " 
 
 " Unless your lordship actually urge me to the contrary, I 
 should say, ' Let the election go on, and all take our chance.' 
 That seems to me the fair, manly, English (great emphasis 
 on the last adjective), honourable course." 
 
 "Be it so," replied Harley; "'let all take their chance.* 
 Mr. Leslie, we will no longer detain you. Go back to the 
 polling pl?vce — one of the candidates should be present ; and 
 
VAETETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 553 
 
 yon, Baron Levy, be good enongli to go also, and return 
 thanks to tliose who may yet vote for Mr. Egerton." 
 Levy bowed, and went out arm-in-arm with RandaL 
 " Capital, capital," said the Baron. " You have a wonderful 
 head." 
 
 "I did not like L'Estrange's look, nevertheless. But he 
 can't hurt me now; the votes he got for me instead of for 
 Egerton have already polled. The Committee, indeed, may 
 refuse to vote for me; but then there is Avenel's body of 
 reserve. Yes, the election is virtually over. When we get 
 back, Hazeldean will have arrived with the money for the 
 purchase of my ancestral property ; — Dr. Biccabocca is already- 
 restored to the estates and titles of Serrano; — what do 1 
 care farther for Lord L'Estrange? Still, I do not like his 
 look." 
 
 "Pooh, you have done just what he wished. I am for- 
 bidden to say more. Here we are at the booth. A new 
 
 Oil 
 
 placard since we left. How are the numbers r Avenel 
 forty ahead of you ; you thirty above Egerton ; and Leonard 
 Fairfield still last on the poll. But where are Avenel and 
 Fairfield ? " 
 
 Both those candidates had disappeared, perhaps gone to 
 their own Committee-Boom. 
 
 Meanwhile, as soon as the doors had closed on Bandal and 
 the Baron, in the midst of the angry hubbub succeeding to 
 their departure, Lord L'Estrange sprang upon the table. The 
 action and his look stilled every sound. 
 
 " Gentlemen, it is in our hands to return one of our candi- 
 dates, and to make our own choice between the two. You 
 have heard Mr. Leslie and Baron Levy. To their statement 
 I make but this reply — Mr. Egerton is needed by the country ; 
 and whatever his health or his affairs, he is ready to respond 
 to that call. If he has not canvassed — if he does not appear 
 before you at this moment, the services of more than twenty 
 years plead for him in his stead. Which, then, of the two 
 candidates do you choose as your member — a renowned states- 
 men, or a beardless boy ? Both have ambition and ability ; — • 
 the one has identified those qualities with the history of a 
 country, and (as it is now alleged to his prejudice) with a 
 devotion that has broken a vigorous frame and injured a 
 princely fortune. The other evinces his ambition by inviting 
 you to prefer him to his benefactor ; and proves his ability by 
 the excuses he makes for ingratitude. Choose between the 
 two — ^an Egerton or a Leslie. 
 
554 
 
 MY I^OYEI^ ; OB, 
 
 Egerton for ever ! " cried all the assembly, as -witli a smgle 
 voice, followed hj a Uss for Leslie. 
 
 " But,^' said a grave and pi^ndent Oanxirtittee-raaii, kave 
 we realljf tlie olioiee ?• -does jxoM tliat rest wx&i: tUe Yellows ? 
 Is not jour lordsMp too sangiTine ? " 
 
 " Open that door beliind ; a deportation from our opponents 
 waits, in the room on th.e other side the paggage* Admit 
 fcliem./' 
 
 The Oommittee were buslied in breatWesg gilertee while 
 Harley's order was obeyed. And soon, to tbeir great surprise, 
 Leonard i'airfield himself, attended by six of tbe prirLeipal 
 vnembers of the Yellow party, entered the room. 
 
 LoBB L'EsTBANQB,— " You bave a proposition to make to uh, 
 Mr. Fairfield, on bebalf of yourself and Mr. Avenel, and with 
 tbe approval of your committee ? " 
 
 Leoi^abd, (advancing to the table.)—" I have. "We, are con- 
 vinced that neither party ean carry botb its caiididates. Mr. 
 Avenel is safe* The only question is, which of tbe two candi- 
 dates on your side it best becomes tbe bonour of this constitu- 
 ency to select. My resignabion, wbicb I am about to tender, 
 will free sufficient votes to give tbe triumph either to Mr. 
 Egerton or to Mr. Leslie.'* 
 
 " Egerton for ever ! " cried once more the excited Blues. 
 
 " Yes-— Egerton for ever I" said Leonard, with a glow upon 
 bis cheek. We may differ from bis politics, but who can tell 
 us those of Mr. Leslie ? We may di€er from the politician, but 
 who would not feel proud of the senator ? A great and incal^ 
 culable advantage is bestowed on that constituency which re- 
 turns to Parliament a distinguished man. His distinction 
 ennobles the place he represents- — it sustains public spirit— ifc 
 augments the manly interest in all that effects the nation. 
 Every time his voice hushes tbe assembled Parliament, it re- 
 minds us of our common country ; and even the discussion 
 amongst his constituents which his voice provokes—clears thoir 
 perceptions of the public interest, and enlightens themselves, 
 from the intellect which commands their interest, and compels 
 their attention. Egerton, then, for ever ! If our party must sub- 
 scribe to the return of one opponent, let all unite to select the 
 worthiest. My Lord L'Estrange, when I quit this room, it 
 mil be to announce my resignation, and to solicit those who 
 have promised me their votes to transfer them to Mr. Audley 
 Egerton." 
 
 Amidst the uproarious huzms which followed this speech, 
 Leonard drew near to Harley! ^'My Lord, I ha^ve obeyed 
 
VAPvIETlES IJSr ENaLlSH LIFE. 
 
 S55 
 
 your wislies, as conYejed to me hj mj unola, wlio m engaged 
 at tMs moment elsewtere in oaxn'yjng tbem iiato eSeot." 
 
 " Leonard," said Harley, in tlie same nndertone, "yon have 
 insured to Audley Egerton what you alone could do — the 
 triumph over a peridious dependent— the continuance of the 
 sole career in which he has hitherto found the solace or the 
 zest of life. He must thank you with his own lij3S. 
 Oome to the Park after the close of the poll. There and 
 then shall the explanations yet needful to both be given and 
 received." 
 
 Here Harley bowed to the assembly and raised his voice : 
 
 Qentlemen, yesterday, at the nomination of the candidates, 
 I uttered remarks that have justly pained Mr, Fairfield. In 
 your presence I wholly retract and frankly apologise for them, 
 in your presenoe 1 entreat his forgiveness, and say, tbfi*t if ha 
 will accord me his friendship, I will place him in mj esteem 
 and atfection- side by side with the statesman wbon^ be has 
 given to his country." 
 
 Leonard grasped the hand extended to him with both Wb 
 own, and then, overcome by his ©motions, hurried from tbo 
 room ; while Blues and Yellows exchanged greetings, 
 rejoiced in th© pompromiae that would dispel all party 
 irritation, secure the peace of the borough, and allow 
 quiet men, who had detested each other the day before, 
 and vowed reciprocal injuries to trade and custom,^ the 
 indulgence of all amiable and fraternal feelings^until the 
 next general election. 
 
 In the meanwhile the polling had gone on slowly as before, 
 but still to the advantasre of E/andal. "IJ^ot two- thirds of the 
 eonstituency will poll," murmured Levy, looking at his watch. 
 ^^ The thing is decided. Ahaj Audley Egerton 1 you who onee 
 tortured me with the unspeakable jealousy that bequeaths such 
 implacable hate— you who scorned my society, and called me 
 * scoundrel *- — ^disdainful of the very power your folly placed 
 within my hands^aha, your time is up !— and the spmt that 
 administered to your own destruction strides within the. circle 
 to seize its prey.** 
 
 " You shall have my first frank. Levy," said Randal, to 
 enclose your letter to Mr. Thornhill's solicitor. This affair of 
 the election is over ; we must now look to what else rests on 
 our hands." 
 
 " What the devil is that placard ? " cried Levy, turning 
 palo. 
 
 Bandal looked, and right up the marketi.plac©, followed by 
 
55G 
 
 UY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 an immense throng, moved, high over the heads of all, a 
 Yellow Board that seemed marching through the air, comet' 
 like : — 
 
 Two o'clocTc ]),in. 
 
 RESiaNATION OF FAIRFIELD. 
 YELLOWS! 
 
 VOTE FOR 
 
 AYEl^EL AlTD EGEI^TOIT! 
 
 (Signed) TIMOTHY ALLJACK. 
 
 Yellow Committee Room, 
 
 " What infernal treachery is this ? " cried Randal, livid with 
 honest indignation. 
 
 " Wait a moment ; there is Avenel ! " exclaimed Levy ; and 
 at the head of another procession that emerged from the 
 obscurer lanes of the town, walked, with grave majesty, the 
 surviving Yellow candidate. Dick disappeared for a moment 
 within a grocer's shop in the broadest part of the place, and 
 then culminated, at the height of a balcony on the first story, 
 just above an enormous yellow canister, significant of the pro- 
 fession and the politics of the householder. ISTo sooner did 
 Dick, hat in hand, appear on this rostrum, than the two pro- 
 cessions halted below, bands ceased, flags drooped round their 
 staves, crowds rushed within hearing, and even the poll-clerks 
 sprang from the booth. Randal and Levy themselves pressed 
 into the throng. Dick on the balcony was the Deus ex Machind, 
 
 " Freemen and electors ! " said Dick, with his most sonorous 
 accents — finding that the public opinion of this independent 
 and enlightened constituency is so evenly divided, that only 
 one Yellow candidate can be returned, and only one Blue has 
 a chance, it was my intention last night to retire from the con- 
 test, and thus put an end to all bickerings and ill-blood — 
 (Hold your tongues there, can't you !) — I say honestly, I should 
 have preferred the return of my distinguished and talented 
 young nephew — honourable relation — to my own ; but he 
 would not hear of it ; and talked all our Committee into the 
 erroneous but high-minded notion, that the town would cry 
 shame if the nephew rode into Parliament by breaking the 
 back of the uncle." (Loud cheers from the mob, and partial 
 cries of We'll have you both ! ") 
 
 " You'll do no such thing, and you know it ; hold your jaw," 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 557 
 
 resumed Dick, witli imperious good humour. " Let me go on, 
 can't jou ? — time presses. In a word, mj nepliew resolved to 
 retire, if, at two o'clock this day, there was no chance of 
 returning both of us ; and there is none. ISTov,', then, the next 
 thing for the Yellows, who have not yet voted, is to consider 
 how they will give their second votes. If I had been the man 
 to retire, why, for certain reasons, I should have recommended 
 them to split with Leslie — a clever chap, and pretty consider- 
 able sharp." 
 
 " Hear, hear, hear ! " cried the Baron, lustily. 
 
 "But I'm bound to say that my nephew has an opinion of 
 his own — as an independent Britisher, let him be twice your 
 nephew, ought to have ^ and his opinion goes the other way, 
 and so does that of our Committee." 
 
 Sold ! " cried the Baron, and some of the crowd shook 
 their heads, and looked grave — especially those suspected of a 
 wish to be bought. 
 
 " Sold ! — Pretty fellow you with the nosegay in your button- 
 hole to talk of selling ! You who wanted to sell your own 
 client — and you know it. (Levy recoiled.) Why, gentlemen, 
 that's Levy the Jew, who talks of selling ! And if he asperses 
 the character of this constituency, I stand here to defend it : — 
 And there stands the parish pump, with a handle for the arm 
 of Honesty, and a spout for the lips of Falsehood 1 " 
 
 At the close of this magniloquent period, borrowed, no 
 doubt, from some great American orator, Baron Levy involun- 
 tarily retreated towards the shelter of the polling-booth, 
 followed by some frowning Yellows with very menacing 
 gestures. 
 
 " But th^ calumniator sneaks away; leave him to the re- 
 proach of his conscience," resumed Dick, with a generous 
 magnanimity. 
 
 " Sold ! — (the word rang through the place like the blast of 
 a trumpet) — Sold ! JSTo, believe me, not a man who votes for 
 Egerton instead of Fairfield will, so f aT as I am concerned, be 
 a penny the better — (chilling silence) — or (with a scarce per- 
 ceivable wink towards the anxious faces of the Hundred and 
 Fifty who ^lled the background) — or a penny the worse. 
 (Loud cheers from the Hundred and Fifty, and cries of 
 'JS^oble! ') I don't like the politics of Mr. Egerton. But I 
 am not only a politician — I am a man ! The arguments of our 
 respected Committee — persons in business^ tender husbands, 
 and devoted fathers — ^have weight with me. I myself am a 
 husband and a father. If a needless contest be prolonged to 
 
558 
 
 MY KOTEL ; ORj 
 
 the last, wit^h all tlie irritations it engenders, wliO suffer?--^ 
 whjj tko tradevsmen and the operative* P^rtialitjj lo^s of 
 €ustom^ tyrannical demands for kouse rfent, notices to qnit^in 
 a word) the screw ! " 
 
 " Hear, hear ! " and " Grive i^s the Ballot ! " 
 
 " The Ballot— with all mj hearty if I had it ahont me ! And 
 if we had the Ballot^ I shonld like to see a man dare to vote 
 Bine. (Lond cheers from the Yellows.) But, as we have not 
 got it, we mnst think of our families. And I maj add, that 
 though Mr. Egerton may come again into office, yet (added 
 Dick, solemnly) I will do my best, as his colleague, to keep him 
 straight ; and your own enlightenment (for the schoolmaster is 
 abroad) will show him that no minister can brave public 
 opinion, nor quarrel with his own bread and butter. (Much 
 cheering.) In these times the aristocracy must endear them- 
 selves to the middle and working class ; and a member in office 
 has much to give away in the Stamps and Excise^ in the Cus- 
 toms, the Post Office^ and other State departments in this 
 rotten mean this magnificent empii%— by which he can 
 
 benefit his constituents, and reconcile the prerogatives of aristo- 
 cracy with the claims of the people — ^more especially in this 
 ca-se, tho people of the borough of Lansmere* (Hear, hear.) 
 
 " And therefore, sacrificing party inclinations (since it seems 
 that I can in no way promote them) on the Altar of Q-enei'al 
 Good Feeling, I cannot oppose the resignation of my nephew 
 — honourable relation— nor blind my eyes to the advantages 
 that may result to a borough so important to the nation at 
 large, if the electors think fife to choose my Bight Honourable 
 broth — I mean the Bight Honourable Blue candidate — as my 
 brother colleague, l^ot that I presume to dictate^ or express 
 a wish one way or the other — only, as a Family Man, I say to 
 you. Electors and Freemen, having served your conntry in 
 returning me^ you have nobly won tho right to think of the 
 \ittle ones at home." 
 
 Dick put his hand to his hearty bowed gracefully, and retired 
 from the balcony amidst unanimous applause. 
 
 In three minutes more Dick had resumed his place in 
 the booth in his quality of candidate* A rush of YelloW 
 electors poured in, hot and fast. Up came Emanuel Trout, 
 and, in a firm voice, recorded his vote—'* AveHel ^.nd Eger- 
 ton.'' Every man of the Hundred and Fifty so polled* To 
 each question^ " Whom do you vote for ? " " Avenel and Eger- 
 ton knelled on the ears of Randal Leslie with " damnable 
 iteration," The young man folded his arms across his breast 
 
v^AKiETiEs in mmim life. 
 
 559 
 
 in dogged dnspaii*. -liBvy had to gllak-e Ibiandg for Mr. Egertofi, 
 witk a rapit^ity that took &)Waj his breath. Se longed to slinV 
 away— longed to get at L'Estrange, whom he gtipposed Woiil^ 
 be as wroth at this turn in the wheel of fortiine as hinigelf. 
 But how, as Egerton's representative, escape froni th'6 con- 
 tinuous gripes of those horny hands ? Besides, there stood 
 Ifche parish pump, right in face of the booth, and isome huge 
 jiriiciilentdooking Yellows loitered round it, as if ready to 
 'pounce on him the instant he quitted his present sanc- 
 tuary* Suddenly the crowd round the booth receded — Lord 
 L'Estrange's carriage drove up to the spot, and Harley, step- 
 ping from it, assisted out of the vehicle an old grey-haired, 
 paralytic man. The old man stared round him, and nodded 
 smilingly to the mob* " I'm here— I'm come ; I'm but a poor 
 Gi*eature, but I'm a good Blue to the last ! " 
 
 " Old John Avenel— fine old John ! " cried many a voice. 
 
 ■And John Avenel, still leaning on Harley's arm, tottered 
 into the booth, and pKimped for *' Egerton." 
 
 " Shake hands, father," said Dick, bending forward, 
 "though you'll not vote for me»" 
 
 " I was a Blue before you were born," answered the old man, 
 tremulously. " But I wish you success all the same, and Grod 
 bless you, my boy ! " 
 
 Even the polUclerks Were touched ; and when Dick, leaving 
 his place, was seen by the crowd assisting Lord L 'Estrange to 
 place poor John again in the carriage — ^that picturO of family 
 love in the midst of political difference — of the prosperous, 
 wealthy, energetic son, who, as a boy, had played at marbles 
 in the very kennel, and who had risen in life by his own exer- 
 tions, and was now virtually M.P. for his native town— tending 
 on the broken-down, aged father, whom even the interests of a 
 son he was so proud of could not win from the colours which 
 he associated with triith and recti tude-^had such an effect 
 upon the rudest of the mob there present, that you might have 
 heard a pin fall — -till the carriage drove away back to John's 
 humble home, and then there rose such a tempest of huzzas I 
 John Avenel's vote for Egerton gave another turn to the vicis- 
 situdes of that memorable election. As yet Avenel had been 
 ahead of Audley ; but a plumper in favour of EgertOn, from 
 Avenel's own father, set an example and gave an excuse to 
 many a Blue who had not yet voted, and could not prevail on 
 himself to split his vote between Dick and Audley: and, there* 
 fore, several leading tradesmen, who, seeing that Egerton was 
 safe, had previously resolved not to vote at all, dame lip in tK** 
 
660 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 last lionr, plumped for Egerton, and carried him to the bead 
 of the poll ; so that poor John, whose vote, involving that of 
 Mark Fairfield, had secured the first opening in public life to 
 the young ambition of the unknown son-in-law, still con- 
 tributed to connect with success and triumph, but also with 
 sorrow, and, it may be, with death, the names of the high-born 
 Egerton and the humble Avenel. 
 
 The great town-clock strikes the hour of four; the returning 
 officer declares the poll closed ; the formal announcement of 
 the result will be made later. But all the town knows that 
 Audley Egerton and Richard Avenel are the members for 
 Lansmere. And flags stream, and drums beat, and men shake 
 each other by the hand heartily ; and there is talk of the chair- 
 ing to-morrow ; and the public-houses are crowded ; and there 
 is an indistinct hubbub in street and alley, with sudden bursts 
 of uproarious shouting ; and the clouds to the west look red 
 and lurid round the sun, which has gone down behind the 
 church tower — behind the yew trees that overshadow the 
 quiet grave of Nora Avenel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Amidst the darkening shadows of twilight, Randal Leslie 
 walked through Lansmere Park towards the house. He had 
 slunk away before the poll was closed — crept through by- 
 lanes, and plunged into the leafless copses of the Earl's stately 
 pasture grounds. Amidst the bewilderment of his thoughts — 
 at a loss to conjecture how this strange mischance had befallen 
 him — inclined to ascribe it to Leonard's influence over Avenel 
 — but suspecting Harley, and half doubtful of Baron Levy, he 
 sought to ascertain what fault of judgment he himself had 
 committed — what wile he had forgotten — what thread in his 
 web he had left ragged and incomplete. He could discover 
 none. His ability seemed to him unimpeachable — totus, teres, 
 atque rotwzdus. And then there came across his breast a sharp 
 pang — sharper than that of baffled ambition — the feeling that 
 he had been deceived and bubbled, and betrayed. For so vital 
 a necessity to all living men is truth, that the vilest traitor 
 feels amazed and wronged — feels the pillars of the world 
 shaken, when treason recoils on himself. That Richard 
 Avenei^ whom I trusted, could so deceive mel" murmured 
 Randal, and his lip quivered. 
 
 He was still in the midst of the Park, when a man with a 
 yellow '^.ockade in his hat, and running fast from the dire(\tion 
 
VAKIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 561 
 
 of the town, overtook liim with a letter, on delivering which 
 the messenger, waiting for no answer, hastened back the way 
 ho had come. Kandal recognised Avenel's hand on the address 
 — broke the seal, and read as follows : — 
 
 (" Private and Gonfidential.') 
 
 "Deae Leslie, — Don't be down-hearted — yon will know 
 lo-night or to-morrow why I have had canse to alter my 
 opinion as to the Hight Honourable ; and yon will see that I 
 conld not, as a Family Man, act otherwise than I have done. 
 Though I have not broken my word to you— for you remember 
 that all the help I promised was dependent on my own resig- 
 nation, and would go for nothing if Leonard resigned instead 
 — yet I feel you must think yourself rather bamboozled. But 
 I have been obliged to sacrifice you, from a sense of Family 
 Duty, as you will soon acknowledge. My own nephew is 
 sacrificed also ; and I have sacrificed my own concerns, which 
 require the whole man of me for the next year or two ai 
 Screwstown. So we are all in the same boat, though you 
 may think you are set adrift by yourself. But I don't mean 
 to stay in Parliament. I shall take the Chiltern Hundreds, 
 pretty considerable soon. And if you keep well with the 
 Blues, I'll do my best with the Yellows to let you walk over 
 the course in my stead. For I don't think Leonard will want 
 to stand agpin. And so a word to the wise — and you may yet 
 be member for Lansmere. — R. A."* 
 
 In this letter, Randal, despite all his acuteness, could not 
 detect the honest compunction of the writer. — He could at 
 first only look at the worst side of human nature, and fancy 
 that it was a paltry attempt to stifle his ju-st anger and ensure 
 his discretion. But, on second thoughts, it struck him that 
 Dick might very naturally be glad to be released to his 
 mill, and get a qidd jpro quo out of Randal, under the com- 
 prehensive title — "repayment of expenses." — Perhaps Dick 
 was not sorry to wait until Randal's marriage gave him the 
 means to make the repayment. Nay, perhaps Randal had been 
 thrown over for the present, in order to wring from him 
 better terms in a single election. Thus reasoning, he took 
 comfort from his belief in the mercenary motives of another. 
 True, it might be but a short disappointment. Before the 
 next Parliament was a month old, he might yet take his seat 
 in it as member for Lansmere. But all would depend on his 
 marriage with the heiress ; he must hasten that. 
 
 Meanwhile, it was necessary to knit and gather up all his 
 
 VOL. II. Q Q> 
 
56a 
 
 MY j^ovel; oe. 
 
 ihougM, courage, and presence of niijacl, How he slinin'k 
 from refcurn to Lansmere I-Jouse — - f ronx facing "Egerton, 
 Harley— all. But tliei^e was no otoice. JJe would have to 
 make it np with the Blues -^to defenel tlie qoRTS^ he had 
 adopted in the Oommittee-Room. — There, no douht, was 
 Squire Hazeldean awaiting him with the purchase- money for 
 the lands of Bood— there was the Puke di Serrano restored to 
 wealth and honour— -there was his promised hride, the great 
 heiress, on whom depended all that could raise the needy 
 gentleman into wealth and position, Gradually, with the 
 elastie temper that is essential to a systematic scheraer, 
 Sandal Leslie plucked himself from the pain of hroodiug 
 over a plot that was defeated, to prepare himself tor cou* 
 summating those that yet seemed so Bear success.-^ Alter 
 all, ghonld he fail hi regaining E.gerton's favour, Egerton 
 was of use no more. He might rear hii head, and face out 
 what some might call ingratitude,'- provided he could hut 
 satisfy the Blue Committee. Dull dogs, how could he fail to 
 do that 1 He could easily talk over the Maehiavelliart sage. 
 He should have small difheiilty in e:^plaining all to the conteut 
 of Audley's distant brother, the Squire, Harley aloue-— hut 
 Levy had so positively assured him that Harley was not 
 sincerely anxious for Egerton ; and as to the more important 
 explanation relative to Peschiera, surely what had satisfied 
 Yiolante's father ought to satisfy a man who had no peculiar 
 right to demand explanations at all; and if these explanatjonig 
 did not satisfy, the onus to disprove them must rest with 
 Harley ; and who or what could contradict Randal's plausible 
 assertions— assertions in support of which he himself could 
 summon a witness, in Baron Levy ? Thus nerving himself to 
 all that could task his powers, Bandal Leslie crossed the threS"- 
 hold of Lansmere House, and in the hall he foimd the Bai'oxi 
 awaiting him. 
 
 I can't account,*^ said Levy, for what has gone so omm 
 in this confounded election. It is L'Estrange that puzzles mo 
 but I know that he hates Egerton. I know that he will prove 
 that hate by one mode of revenge, if he has lost it in another, 
 —Bat it is well, Bandal, that you are secure of Hazeldean's 
 money and the rich heiress's hand ; otherwise—'^ 
 ■* Otherwise, what P 
 
 should wash my hands of you, (mon elier} for, in spite of 
 all your cleverness, and all I have tried to do for you, some- 
 how or other I begin to suspect that your talents will never 
 secure ygur fortune. A carpenter's gon beats you in pubUcj 
 
TAiUETIES m J3HGLISH LIFE 
 
 563 
 
 Bpeakingj aiid a vulgar niill- owner tricks yoix in pri\fat8 nego- 
 tiabion. Peoidedly, as yet, Ea^ndal Leslie, yon are— a failure. 
 And, as you so admirably said, ' a man from whom we b^ve 
 nothing to liope or fear, we must blot out of tli§ naap of the 
 fftttire.' " 
 
 Randal's answer was o^t sliort fey tbe appearance of the 
 groom of tlie chambers, 
 
 ^'My lord is in the saloon, and requests yoi^ and Mr, Ii^sHc 
 will do him the honow to join him there," The two gentle- 
 men followed the servant up the broad stairs. 
 
 The saloon formed the centre room of the suite of apart- 
 ments, From its size, it was rarely used save on state oceagions. 
 It had the chilly and formal aspect of rooms reserved for 
 Gerempny. 
 
 RiccaboGoa, Yiolante, Helen, Mr. Dale, Squire Hazeldean, 
 and Lord L'Estrange, were gi^ouped together by the cold 
 Florentine marble table, not littered with books and female 
 work, and the endearing signs of habitation, that give a living 
 smile to the face of home ; nothing thereon save a great silver 
 candelabrum> that gcarcely lighted the spacious roonij and 
 brought out the portraits on the walls as a part of the aggem- 
 bly, looking, aa portraits do look, with searching curious eyes 
 upon every eye that tui-ns to them. 
 
 But aa soon as Bandal entered, the Squire detached himself 
 from the group, and, coming to the defeated candidate^ shook 
 hands with him heartily, 
 
 Oheer up, my boy ; 'tis no shame to be beaten. Lord 
 L'Estrange says you did your best to win, and man can do 
 no more. And I'm glad, Leslie, that we don't meet for our 
 little business till the election is over ; for, after annoyance, 
 something pleasant is twice aa acceptable. I'v^ the money 
 in my pocket. Hush— and I say, my dear, dear boy, I 
 cannot find out where Frank ia, but it is really all off with 
 that foreign woman — eh ? -' 
 
 ''Yes, indeed, sir, I hope so. 1*11 talk to you about it when 
 we can be alone. We may slip away presently, I trust," 
 
 I'll tell you a secret scheme of mine and Harry's,-' said 
 the Squire, in a still low whisper. We must drive that 
 marchioness, or whatever she is, out of the boy's head, and 
 put a pretty Fnglish girl into it instead. That will settle him 
 in life too. And I must try and swallow that bitter pill of 
 the ^odrohit, Harry raakes worse of it than I do, and is so 
 hard on the poor fellow that I've been obliged to take his 
 piirfc. IVe no idea of beiiig under petticioat gQverir.riont-^-it ia 
 
564 
 
 MY KOVEL; OR, 
 
 not tlie way with the Hazeldeans. Well, but to come Iback to 
 the point — ^whom. do you think I mean by the pretty 
 girl ? " 
 
 " Miss Sticktorights ! " 
 
 "Zonnds, no! — your own little sister, E/andal. Sweet 
 pretty face ! Harry liked her from the first, and then you'll 
 be Frank's brother, and your sound head and good heart will 
 keep him right. And as you are going to be married too, 
 (you must tell me all about that later,) why, we shall have 
 two marriages, perhaps, in the family the same day." 
 
 Randal's hand grasped the Squire's, and with an emotion of 
 human gratitude — for we know that, hard to all else, he had 
 natural feelings for his fallen family ; and his neglected sister 
 was the one being on earth whom he might almost be said to 
 love. With all his intellectual disdain for honest simple 
 Frank, he knew no one in the world with whom his young 
 sister could be more secure and happy. Transferred to the 
 roof, and improved by the active kindness, of Mrs. Hazel- 
 dean — blest in the manly affection of one not too refined 
 to censure her own deficiencies of education — what more could 
 he ask for his sister, as he pictured her to himself, with her 
 hair hanging over her ears, and her mind running into seed 
 over some trashy novel. But before he could reply, Yiolante's 
 father came to add his own philosophical consolations to the 
 Squire's downright comfortings. 
 
 " Who could ever count on popular caprice ? The wise of 
 all ages had despised it. In that respect, Horace and Machia- 
 velli were of the same mind," &c. &c. " But," said the Duke, 
 with emphatic kindness, " perhaps your very misfortune here 
 may serve you elsewhere. The female heart is prone to pity, 
 and ever eager to comfort. Besides, if I am recalled to Italy, 
 you will have leisure to come with us, and see the land where, 
 of all others, ambition can be most readily forgotten, even 
 (added the Italian, with a sigh) — even by her own sons ! " 
 
 Thus addressed by both Hazeldean and the Duke, Handal 
 recovered his spirits. It was clear that Lord L'Bstrange had 
 not conveyed to them any unfavourable impression of his con- 
 duct in the Committee- Room. While Randal had been thus 
 engaged. Levy had made his way to Harley, who retreated 
 with the Baron into the bay of the great window. 
 
 " Well, my lord, do you comprehend this conduct on the 
 part of Richard Avenel ? He secure Egerton's return ! — he !" 
 
 " What so natural, Baron Levy — his own brother-in-b.w f " 
 
 The Baron started, and turiked very pale. 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFl 
 
 565 
 
 " Biiis how did lie know tliat ? I never told him. I meant 
 indeed- — " 
 
 " Meant, perhaps, to shame Egerton's pride at the last, by 
 publicly declaring his marriage with a shopkeeper's daughter. 
 A. very good revenge still left to you ; but revenge for what ? 
 A word with you, now. Baron, that our acquaintance is about 
 to close for ever. Tou knovf why I have cause for resentment 
 against Egerton. I do but suspect yours ; will you make it 
 clear to me ? " 
 
 " My lord, my lord," faltered Baron Levy, " I, too, wooed 
 !N"ora Avenel as my wife ; I, too, had a happier rival in the 
 haughty worldling who did not appreciate his own felicity ; 
 I too — in a word, some women inspire an affection that mingles 
 with the entire being of a man, and is fused with all the cur- 
 rents of his life-blood. ISTora Avenel was one of those women." 
 
 Harley was startled. This burst of emotion from a man so 
 corrupt and cynical arrested even the scorn he felt for the 
 usurer. Levy soon recovered himself. But our revenge is 
 not baffled yet. Egerton, if not already in my power, is still 
 in yours. His election may save him from arrest, but the law 
 has other modes of public exposure and effectual ruin." 
 
 Eor the knave, yes — as I intimated to you in your own 
 house — you who boast of your love to JSTora Avenel, and know 
 in your heart that you were her destroyer — you who witnessed 
 her marriage, and yet dared to tell her that she was dis- 
 honoured ! " 
 
 " My lord — I — ^how could you know — I mean, how think 
 that — that — " faltered Levy, aghast. 
 
 " ISTora Avenel has spoken from her grave," replied Harley, 
 solemnly. " Learn that, wherever man commits a crime, 
 Heaven finds a witness ! " 
 
 " It is on me, then," said Levy, wrestling against a super- 
 stitious thrill at his heart — " on me that you now concentre 
 your vengeance ; and I must meet it as I may. But I have 
 fulfilled my part of our compact. I have obeyed you implicitly 
 —and—" 
 
 " I will fulfil my part of our bond, and leave you undisturbed 
 in your wealth." 
 
 " I knew I might trust to your lordship's honour," exclaimed 
 the usurer, in servile glee. 
 
 " And this vile creature nursed the same passions as my- 
 self ; and but yesterday we were partners in the same purpose, 
 and influenced by the same thought," muttered Harley to 
 himself. " Yes," he said aloud, " 1 dare not, Baron Levyt 
 
S0fl 
 
 MY irOYEL; Oil, 
 
 GOiiBtitute mygelf jour judge. Piirgne yoilr own patli— all 
 roads meet at last before tlie common tribunal. But you are 
 not fet released ftom our conipact ^ you must do some good 
 ia Spite of yourself. Look yonder^ where Eaiidal Leslie 
 stands, gmiliiig seOui^e^ between tlie two dan gel's lielai^s raised 
 up for liimself. And as Bandal Leslie Mmself lia§ in-vited me 
 t(3 be bis judge, and you are aware that be cited yourself this 
 f'ety day as big witness^ berel inust expose tbe guilty-^foi* berci 
 fcbe innocent still live, and need defence." 
 
 Hafley tUriied away, aud took Ms place by tbe table, ^' I 
 ba¥e wisliedj" eaid be, raising bis voic^j "t© eonnect Avitb tbe 
 tbe trium|)b of lily earliest and dearest friend tbe bappiness of 
 otbers in whose welfare I feel an interest, To you, AlpbongOj 
 Duke of Berrano^ I now give tbis despateb, receiyed last 
 evening by a special messenger frem tbe Pi4nGe Yon — 
 ann'Guncing j'ouf l^estoration to your lands and boiiourSi" 
 
 Tbe Sqnire stared witb open moutb-. Eiekeybockey a 
 duke ? Wby, Jemima's a duebegg ! Bless me, sbe is actually 
 dtying ! " And bis good beaft pl'oiapted bim to run to biQ 
 cousin and ebeer ber up a bit. 
 
 Yiolante glanoed at Harley, mid flung berself on ber father's 
 bl^east. Randal involuntalnly rose, and moved to the Duke's 
 chair. 
 
 And you, Mr. Randal Leslie,'' continued Harley, *Hhougb 
 you ha^e lost your election, see before you at this moment 
 such prospects of wealth and happiness, that I shall only bayo to 
 ofer you eongratulations to which those that greet Mr. Audley 
 Egerton may well appear lilkeWM^m and insipid, provided you 
 proire that you haye not forfeited the right to oiaini that 
 promise wbieh tbe Duke di Serrano has accorded to the 
 suitor of his daughter's hand. Some doubts resting on my 
 mind, yOu have volunteered to dispel thetoi I have the 
 duke'g permission to Mdress to you a few questionSj and I 
 now avail myself of your offer to reply to them." 
 
 " Now-^and here, my lord ? *' said Randal, glancing rouna 
 the room, as if deprecating the presence of so many wit. 
 
 " ITow — and here. "Nov are those present SO gti^ange to 
 yOUl^ explanations as your question would imply. Mr. HazeL 
 dean, it so liappens that much of What 1 shall say to 'Mi\ 
 Leslie concerns your son." 
 
 Randal's countenanee felh An uneasy tremor now seised bim. 
 
 ''My ron!--Frank? Oh then^ of course, Randal will 
 Bpeak out. Speak, my boy ! " 
 
VARIETIES m EHGLISE LIFE. 
 
 567 
 
 Randal remamed illent-. The Diike leaked at hm working 
 face, and drew away his claairi 
 
 '* Toung mm-, can jon. laesitat-e ? said he* A donfet ia 
 
 '8deat1i ! " <3ri6d the Squire, ake gaszing oft ila,ndars 
 atiwering eye and quivering lip--" What are jm afmid of ? 
 
 " Afraid ! " said Randal, forced into speech, aud with a 
 hsliow laugh—" afraid ? What off I wag only won- 
 dering what hofd L^Estmnge could mean." 
 
 " I will dispel that Wonder at once. Mr. Hazel dean, your 
 soa displeaied you first by hiM proposals of marriage to the 
 Marchesa di JSTegra against your consent ; secondly by a 
 Obit bond granted to Baron Levy-. Did you understand from 
 Mr. ilandal Leslie that he had opposed or favoured the said mar- 
 
 riag^--that he had countenanced or blamed the said 
 
 " Whjj of course," cried the Squii^^ " that he had opposed 
 bdth the one and the othef 
 Is it so, Mr; Leslie F 
 " My lord — I — — my aSeetion fei* Frank, and my esteem 
 for his i'egpeeted father— (Be netved himself, and 
 went on with firm voice.)— "Of eoui^sej I did all I could to 
 dissuade Frank from the maMag e ; and a^ to the post-dbU, 1 
 know nothing about it." 
 
 *' So much at pregeut fo^ thig matter. I pass On to the 
 mtm om, that affeetg your engagement with the Duke di 
 errano's daughter. I understand from you, Ouke^ that to 
 gave you^ daught-er from the snai^es of Oount di Peschiera, 
 and in the belief that Mr. Leslie shared in your di*ead of the 
 Oount'g designs, you, while in exile aud in povertyj promised 
 to that gentleman your daughter's hand ? When the proba- 
 bilities of restoration to your principalities seemed w^ell-nigh 
 certain, you confirmed that promise on learning from Mr. Leslie 
 that he had, however ine:ffectively, sti*uggled to preserve your 
 heiregg from a perfidious snare. Is it not feo ? " 
 
 "Oertainly. Had I succeeded to a throne, I could not 
 recall the promise that I had given in penury and banishment 
 could not refuse to him who would have sacrificed worldly 
 ambition in wedding a penniless bride, the reward of his own 
 generosity. My daughtei' subscribes to my views." 
 
 Yiolante trembled, and her hands were locked together ; 
 but her gaze was fixed on Hatley. 
 
 Mr. Dale wi^ed hm eyes, and thought of the poof refugee 
 feeding on minnows, and preserving himself from debt 
 amongst the shades of the Oasino. 
 
568 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Tour answer becomes you, Duke/' resumed Harley. " But 
 Rliould it be proved that Mr. Leslie, instead o£ wooing tbe 
 Princess for herself, actually calculated on the receipt of 
 money for transferring her to Count Pescbiera — instead of 
 saving ber from tbe dangers you dreaded, actually suggested 
 the snare from wbicb sbe was delivered — would you still 
 deem your honour engaged to — " 
 
 Such a villain! JN'o, surely not! " exclaimed tbe Duke. 
 "But this is a groundless hypothesis ! Speak, Bandal." 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange cannot insult me by deeming it other- 
 mse than a groundless hypothesis ! " said Eandal, striving to 
 rear his head. 
 
 I understand, then, Mr. Leslie, that you scornfully reject 
 such a supposition ? " 
 
 " Scornfully — yes. And," continued Randal, advancing a 
 step, "since the supposition has been made, I demand from 
 Lord L'Estrange, as his equal, (for all gentlemen are equals 
 where honour is to be defended at the cost of life,) either 
 instant retractation or instant proof." 
 
 " That's the first word you have spoken like a man," cried 
 the Squire. " I have stood my ground myself for a less 
 cause. I have had a ball through my right shoulder." 
 
 " Your demand is just," said Harley, unmoved. " I cannot 
 give the retractation — I will produce the proof." 
 
 He rose and rang the bell ; — the servant entered, received 
 iiis whispered order, and retired. There was a pause painful 
 to all. Bandal, however, ran over in his fearful mind what 
 evidence could be brought against him — and foresaw none. 
 The folding doors of the saloon were thrown open and the 
 servant announced — 
 
 The Count di Peschiera. 
 
 A bombshell descending through the roof could not have 
 produced a more startling sensation. Erect, bold, with all 
 the imposing effect of his form and bearing, the Count strode 
 into the centre of the ring ; and, after a slight bend of 
 haughty courtesy, which comprehended all present, reared up 
 his lofty head, and looked round, with calm in his eye and 
 a curve on his lip — the self-assured, magnificent, high-bred 
 Daredevil. 
 
 " Duke di Serrano," said the Count, in English, turning 
 towards his astounded kinsman, and in a voice that, slow, 
 clear, and firm, seemed to fill the room, " I returned to Eng- 
 land on the receipt of a letter from my Lord L'Estrange, and 
 
VARIETIES IIST ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 569 
 
 with, a view, it is true, of claiming at Ms liands tlie satisfac- 
 tion which men of onr birth accord to each other, where 
 affront, from what canse soever, has been given or received. 
 Nay, fair kinswoman " — and the Count, with a slight but 
 grave smile, bowed to Yiolante, who had uttered a faint cry 
 : — " that intention is abandoned. If I have adopted too lightly 
 the old courtly maxim, that ' all stratagems are fair in love,* I 
 am bound also to yield to my Lord L'Estrange's arguments, 
 that the counter stratagems must be fair also. And, after 
 all, it becomes me better to laugh at my own sorry figure in 
 defeat, than to confess myself gravely mortified by an inge- 
 nuity more successful than my own.'* The Count paused, 
 and his eye lightened with sinister fire, which ill suited the 
 raillery of his tone, and the polished ease of his bearing. 
 " Ma foi / '* he continued, "it is permitted me to speak thus, 
 since at least I have given proofs of my indifference to danger, 
 and my good fortune when exposed to it. Within the last six 
 years I have had the honour to fight nine duels, and the regret 
 to wound five, and dismiss from the world four, as gallant and 
 worthy gentlemen as ever the sun shone upon." 
 " Monster ! '* faltered the Parson. 
 
 The Squire stared aghast, and mechanically rubbed the 
 shoulder which had been lacerated by Captain Dashmore's 
 bullet. Bandal's pale face grew yet more pale, and the eye 
 he had fixed upon the Count's hardy visage quailed and 
 fell. 
 
 But," resumed the Count, with a graceful wave of the 
 hand, " I have to thank my Lord L'Estrange for reminding 
 me that a man whose courage is above suspicion is privileged 
 not only to apologise if he has injured another, but to 
 accompany apology with atonement. Duke of Serrano, it is 
 for that purpose that I am here. My lord, you have signified 
 your wish to ask me some questions of serious import as 
 regards the Duke and his daughter — I will answer them with 
 out reserve." 
 
 ''Monsieur le Comte" said Harley, "availing myself of 
 you]' courtesy, I presume to inquire who informed you that 
 this young lady was a guest under my father's roof ? " 
 
 "My informant stands yonder — Mr. Randal Leslie. And 
 1 call upon Baron Levy to confirm my statement." 
 
 " It is true," said the Baron, slowly, and as if overmastered 
 by the tone and mien of an imperious chieftain. 
 
 There came a low sound like a hiss from Randal's livid 
 lii)s. 
 
m 
 
 "And was Mr^ Leslie acquainted witli yotir pmpat for 
 sedilting tlie person and hand of your young kingwdm^n ? " 
 
 " Oertainly— and Baron Levy knows it.*' The Baron 
 bowed assent. " Permit ine to add — for it is due to a lady 
 nearly related t^ iayself-^that it wasj as I liare feinci learned^ 
 certain erroneous representations made to lier by Mr. 
 Leslie, wbieli alone induced tliat lady^ after my own argu^ 
 ments bad failed, to lend ber ^lid to a project wbicb otherwise 
 sbe would bave condemned as strongly as^ Duke di Serrano, 
 I now witb unfeigned sincerity do mygelf Condemn it»" 
 
 There was about the Count, as he thus Mpoke, so much of 
 that pergonal dignity which, whether natural or artificial, 
 imposes for the moment upon human judgment— a dignity so 
 supported by the singular advantages of his superb stature^ 
 his handsome countenance, his patrician air, that th^ Duke, 
 mcred by his good hearty gxtendtgd his hand to the peridioug 
 kinsman^ tod forgot all the Machiavellian wisdom which 
 should have told him. how little a man of the Count's hardened 
 profligacy was likely to be influenced by aiiy purer motives, 
 whether to frank conf e§iioa or to manly repentance. The Count 
 took the hand thus extended to him, and bowed his face, 
 perhaps to conceal the smile which would h^ve betrayed his 
 gecret soul. Baudal still remained mute, aiid pale ag death. 
 His tongue clove to his mcjuth. He felt that all present were 
 shrinking from hm side. At last, with a tiel^iit efert, he 
 faltered out, in broken sentences — 
 
 " A charge m sudden ma^y well^may well eenf ouM me. 
 But-^but— who can credit it f Both the law a»nd common 
 ^ense pre-suppoae gome motive for a criminal action • what 
 could be my motive here P I— myself the guitor for the hand 
 of the Duke's daughter — I betray her! Absurd— absurd-. Duke 
 •--"^Duke, I put it to your own knowledge of mankind— whoever 
 goes thus against his own interest— and— and his wn heart ? " 
 
 This appeal) howeter feebly madcj was not without effect 
 on the philosopher. " That is true," said the Duke, dropping 
 his kingman's hand ; "I see no motive." 
 
 " Perhaps," Said Harley, " Baron Levy may here enlighten 
 as. Do you know of any motive of self-interest that could 
 have actuated Mr. Leslie in assisting the Count's schemes ? " 
 
 Levy hesitated. The Count took up the word. ^^Fardimin 
 sa^id he, in his" clear toiie of determination and will — ■ 
 " Fardieu ! I Can have no doubt thrown on my assertion^ 
 least ef all by these who know of its trath ; and I call lipou 
 you, BaTon Levy, to state whether, in case of my man^age 
 
VARIETIES m Ll^^E. 5?l 
 
 with tlie Duke's daiigliter, I kad not agreed to prevscufc my 
 sister witli a sum, to wHcli slie alleged some ancient claim, 
 and wMeh wonld have passed through yonr hands ? " 
 
 " Gertainlj) that is true," said the Baron. 
 
 " And wonld Mr. Leslie have benefited loy any portion of 
 that sum ?" 
 
 Levy paused again* 
 
 " Speak, sir," said ih.6 County frowning* 
 
 " The fact is," said the Baron, that Mr* Leslie was anxious 
 to complete a purchase of certain estates that had once be*- 
 longed to his family, and that the Count's marriage with the 
 Signora, and his sigter's marriage With Mr. Hazeldean, would 
 have enabled me to accommodate Mr. Leslie with a loan to 
 effect that piil^Gha^e*" 
 
 What I whatl" exckimed the Squil^e^ hastily buttoning 
 hii breast pocket With one hand^ wMIb he Seized Handars 
 arm with the other — " my son's marriage ! Toil lent yourself 
 to thatj too ? Don't look so like a lasted hound I Speak out 
 like a man^ if man yoli be ! " 
 
 "Lent himself to that, my good sir!" said the CQilnt. 
 " Do you suppose that the Mardhesa di JSTegi^a could have con- 
 descended to an alliance with a Mr-. Hazeldeto— -" 
 
 " Condescended I — a Hazeldean of Ifageldoan ! " exclaimed 
 fche Squire, turning fiercely^ and half choked with indignatitin, 
 
 " Unless," continued the County impertui^bablyj " she had 
 been compelled by circuni stances to do that said Mr. Hazel* 
 dean the honolar to accept a pecuniary aceommodationj which 
 she had no other mode to discharge* And here, sir^ the 
 family of Hazeldcan, I am bound to say, owe a g^eat debt of 
 gratitude to Mr. Leslie ; for it was he who most fot-cibly 
 represented to her the necessity for this misalliance ; and it 
 was he^ I believe, who suggested to my friend, the Baron, the 
 mode by which Mr. Hazeldeaii was best enabled to afford the 
 accommodation iny sistei' deigned to accept." 
 
 ''Model — the po^Uobitr^ ejaculated the Squire^ relin- 
 quishing his hold of Randalj, to lay his gripe upon Levy. 
 
 The Baron shrugged his shoulders* " Any friend of Mr. 
 Frank Hazseldean's would have recommended the same^ as the 
 most economical mode of liaising mon^y." 
 
 Parson DalOj who had at first been more shocked than any 
 one present at these gradual revelations of Randal's treachery, 
 now turning his eyes towai'ds the young man, was so seized 
 with commiseration at the sight of Randal's face, that he laid 
 his hand on Harley's arm, and whispered him — Look, look 
 
572 
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 at tliat countenance t — and one so young ! Spare Mm, spare 
 him ! " 
 
 "Mr. Leslie," said Harlej, in softened tones, "believe me 
 that nothing short of justice to the Duke di Serrano — jnstice 
 even to my yonng friend, Mr. Hazeldean, has compelled me 
 to this painful duty. Here let all inquiry terminate." 
 
 "And," said the Count, with exquisite blandness, " since T 
 have been informed by my Lord L'Estrange, that Mr. Leslie 
 has represented as a serious act on his part, that personal 
 challenge to myself, which I understood was but a pleasant 
 and amicable arrangement in our baffled scheme — let me 
 assure Mr. Leslie, that if he be not satisfied with the regret 
 that I now express for the leading share I have taken in these 
 disclosures, I am wholly at Mr. Leslie's service." 
 
 " Peace, homicide," cried the Parson, shuddering ; and he 
 glided to the side of the detected sinner, from whom all else 
 had recoiled in loathing. 
 
 Craft against craft, talent against talent, treason against 
 treason — ^in all this Randal Leslie would have risen superior 
 to Giulio di Peschiera. But what now crushed him, was not 
 the superior intellect — it was the sheer brute power of auda- 
 city and nerve. Here stood the careless, nnblushing villain, 
 making light of his guilt, carrying it away from disgust itself, 
 with resolute look and front erect. There stood the abler, 
 subtler, profounder criminal — cowering, abject, pitiful ; the 
 power of mere intellectual knowledge shivered into pieces 
 against the brazen metal with which the accident of consti- 
 tution often arms some ignobler nature. 
 
 The contrast was striking, and implied that truth so uni- 
 versally felt, yet so little acknowledged in actual life, that 
 men with audacity and force of character can subdue and 
 paralyse those far superior to themselves in ability and intelli- 
 gence. It was these qualities which made Peschiera Randal's 
 master; nay, the very physical attributes of the Count, his 
 very voice and form, his bold front and unshrinking eye, 
 overpowered the acuter mind of the refining schemer, as in a 
 popular assembly some burly Cleon cows into timorous silence 
 every dissentient sage. But Randal turned in sullen impa- 
 tience from the Parson's whisper, that breathed comfort or 
 urged repentance ; and at length said, with clearer tones than 
 he had yet mustered — 
 
 " It is not a personal conflict with the Count di Peschiera 
 that can vindicate my honour ; and I disdain to defend myself 
 against the accusations of a usurer, and of a man who—" 
 
VARIETIES m EKGLISH LIFE. 
 
 573 
 
 " Monster /" said the Count, drawing himself up. 
 
 " A man wlio," persisted E-andal, though he trembled 
 visibly, " by his own confession, was himself guilty of all the 
 schemes in which he would represent me as his accomplice, 
 and who now, not clearing himself, would jet convict 
 another—" 
 
 Gher petit Monsieur /" said the Count, with his grand air 
 of disdain, " when men like me make use of men like you, we 
 reward them for a service if rendered, or discard them if the 
 service be not done ; and, if I condescend to confess and apo- 
 logise for any act I have committed, surely Mr. E^andal Leslie 
 might do the same without disparagement to his -dignity. 
 But I should never, sir, have taken the trouble to appear 
 against you, had you not, as I learn, pretended to the hand of 
 the lady whom I had hoped, with less presumption, to call 
 my bride ; and in this, how can I tell that you have not 
 tricked and betrayed me? Is there anything in our past 
 acquaintance that warrants me to believe that, instead of 
 serving me, you sought but to serve yourself ? Be that as it 
 may, I had but one mode of repairing to the head of my 
 house the wrongs I have done him — and that was by saving 
 his daughter from a derogatory alliance with an impostor 
 who had abetted my schemes for hire, and who now would 
 filch for himself their fruit.'* 
 " Duke ! exclaimed E-andal. 
 
 The Duke turned his back. Bandal extended his hands to 
 the Squire. " Mr. Hazeldean — what .f^ you, too, condemn mo, 
 and unheard ? " 
 
 " Unheard ! — zounds, no ! If you have anything to say, 
 speak truth, and shame the devil." 
 
 " I abet Frank's marriage ! — I sanction the post-olit ! — 
 Oh!" cried E/andal, clinging to a straw, "If Frank himself 
 were but here ! " 
 
 Harley's compassion vanished before this sustained hypo- 
 crisy. 
 
 "You wish for the presence of Frank Hazeldean. It is 
 just." Harley opened the door of the inner room, and Frank 
 appeared at the entrance. 
 
 " My son — my son ! " cried the Squire, rushing forward, 
 and clasping Frank to his broad, fatherly breast. 
 
 This affecting incident gave a sudden change to the feelings 
 of the audience, and for a moment B;andal himself was for- 
 gotten. The young man seized that moment. Beprievcd, as 
 it were, from the glare of contemptuous, accusing eyes-— 
 
^74 
 
 MY NOVEL; Q% 
 
 slowly lie crept to tlio door, slowlj and noiselesalj, m tHa 
 riper, when it is wounded, dx'ops its crest and glidca writliing 
 fhrough tlio grass. Leyy folloY^ed Mm to th© tbrosliqld, and 
 wMspered in his ear-^ 
 
 could not help it— yon would have done bhe same hy 
 me. Yon see you have failed in everything ; and when a man 
 fails completely, we both agreed that wo must give him up 
 altogether." 
 
 R-andal said not a word, and the Baron marked his shadow 
 fall on the broad stairs, stealing down, down, step after step, 
 till it faded from the stones. 
 
 "But he was of some use,*' muttered Levy. "His treaehery 
 and his exposure will gall the childless Egerton. Some little 
 revenge still ! " 
 
 The Count touched the arm of the musing usurer-— 
 
 *' J^ai bien joue onon rSle^ n'est ce jpas — - (I have well 
 played my part, have I not ?) 
 
 " Your part ! Ah ! but my dear Count, I do not quite 
 understand it." 
 
 ^' Ma /o^'— you are passably dull. I had just been landed 
 iu France, when a letter from L'Estrange reached me. It 
 was couched as an invitation, which I interpreted to— -the 
 dtiello. Such invitations I never refuse. I replied. I came 
 hither — took my lodgings at an inn. My lord seeks me last 
 night. I begin in the tone you may suppose. Fardieu I he is 
 clever, milord ! He shows me a letter from the Prince 
 Yon , Alphonso's recall, my own banishment. He 
 places before me, but with admirable suavity, the option of 
 beggary and ruin, or an honourable claim on Alphonso's 
 gratitude. And as for that fetit Monsieur, do you think I 
 could quietly contemplate my own tool's enjoyment of all I 
 had lost myself ? Nay, more, if that young Harpagon were 
 Alphonso's son-in-law, could the Duke have a whisperer at 
 his ear more fatal to my own interests P To be bi^iefj I saw 
 at a glance my best course. I have adopted it. The diffi- 
 culty was to extricate myself as became a man * de san g et de 
 feu.- If I have done so, congratulate me. Alphonso has 
 taken my hand, and I now leave it to him — to attend to my 
 fortunes, and clear up my repute." 
 
 " If you are going to London," said Levy, " my carriage, 
 ere this, must be at the door, and I shall be proud to offer 
 you a seat, and converse with you on your prospects. But, 
 pes^e, mon cher, your fall has been from a great height^ aiad 
 any other man would havsi broJEen his boues," 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 575 
 
 " Strengili is ever ligTit," said the Coiint, smiling 5 and it 
 does not fall ; it leaps down and rebounds/^ 
 
 Leyy looked at the Oonnt, and blamed Mniself for baving 
 disparaged Pescbiera and overj'ated liandab 
 
 Wbile tbia conference went on, Harley was hj Yiolante's side. 
 I bave kept mj promise to you," said be, with a kind of 
 tender bnmility. Are yo^ still so severo on me ? " 
 
 " Ab ! " answered Yiolante, gazing on bis noble broY/, with 
 all a woman's piide in ber eloquent, admii'ing eyes — '^I have 
 heard from J^r, Dale that you have achieved a conquest over 
 yourself, lybich makes me ashamed to think that I presumed 
 to doubt how your heart would speak wbeu a moment of 
 wrath (though of wrath so just) had passed away," 
 
 " ISTo, Yiolatite-^do iiot acquit me yet ; witness my revenge, 
 (for I hav^ not foregone it,) and then let my heart speak$ aiid 
 breathe its prayer that the angel voice, which it ^QW beats to 
 hear, may still be its guardian monitor." 
 
 " What is this ? " cried an amazed voice ; and Harley, turn-^ 
 ing round, saw that the Duke was by big side ; and, glancing 
 with ludicrous surprise, now to Harley, now to Yiolante, Am 
 I to understaud that you—" 
 
 " Have freed you from one smtor for this dear hand, to 
 beaome, myself, your petitioner! " 
 
 ** Oorjpo di Bacco I " cried the sage, alniost embracing 
 Harley, this, indeed, is joyful news. But I must not again 
 make a rash pledge^not again force my child's inclinations. 
 And Yiolante, you see, is running away," 
 
 The Duke stretched out bis arm, and detained his child. 
 He drew her to hi^ breast, and whispered in her ear. Yiolante 
 blushed crimson, and rested her head on his shoulder, Harjey 
 eagerly pressed forward. 
 
 " There," said the Duka, joining Harley 's band with big 
 dangbter's^" I don't think I shall hear much more of the 
 convent ; but anytbijig of this sort I never suspected, If 
 there be a laiiguage in tbp world for which there is no lexicon 
 nor gramnaar, it \% that which a. woiJian thinks in, but never 
 speaks." 
 
 " It is all that is left of the languago spoken in paradise,' - 
 said Harley, 
 
 "In the dialogue between Sve and tba p^rpent— yes,'^ 
 quotb the incorrigible sage, " But who comes here our 
 friend Leonard." 
 
 Leonard now putered the room \ but Harley could ietW^ij* 
 gs^nc?t liim? befor^^ be was int^smipt^d by the Gounk 
 
b76 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 ^^Milord,^^ said Peschiera, beckoning him aside, "I have 
 fulfilled my promise, and I will now leave your roof. Baron 
 Levy returns to London, and offers me a seat in his carriage, 
 which is already, I believe, at your door. The Duke and his 
 daughter will readily forgive me, if I do not ceremoniously 
 bid them farewell. In our altered positions, it does not be- 
 come me too intrusively to claim kindred ; it became me only 
 to remove, as I trust I have done, a barrier against the claim. 
 If you approve my conduct, you will state your own opinion 
 to the Duke." With a profound salutation the Count turned 
 to depart; nor did Harley attempt to stay him, but attended 
 nim down the stairs with polite formality. 
 
 " Remember only, my lord, that I solicit nothing. I may 
 allow myself to accept. Voila toiiV^ He bowed again, with 
 the inimitable grace of the old regime, and stepped into the 
 Baron's travelling carriage. 
 
 Levy, who had lingered behind, paused to accost 
 L'Estrange. 
 
 ''Your lordship will explain to Mr. Egerton how his 
 adopted son deserved his esteem, and repaid his kindness. 
 For the rest, though you have bought up the more pressing 
 and immediate demands on Mr. Egerton, I fear that even your 
 fortune will not enable you to clear those liabilities, which 
 will leave him, perhaps, a pauper ! " 
 
 " Baron Levy," said Harley abruptly, " if I have forgiven 
 Mr. Egerton, cannot you too forgive ? Me he has wronged — 
 you have v^TPonged him, and more foully." 
 
 " I^o, my lord, I cannot forgive him. You he has never 
 humiliated — ^you he has never employed for his wants, and 
 scorned as his companion. You have never known what it is 
 to start in life with one whose fortunes were equal to your 
 own, whose talents were not superior. Look you. Lord 
 L'Ssti-ange — in spite of this difference between me and 
 Egerton, that he has squandered the wealth that he gained 
 without effort, while I have converted the follies of others 
 into my own ample revenues — the spendthrift in his penury 
 has the respect and position which millions cannot bestow 
 upon me. You would say that I am an usurer, and he is a 
 statesman. But do you know what I should have been, had 
 I not been born the natural son of a peer ? Can you guess 
 what I should have been, if Nora Avenel had been my wife ? 
 The blot on my birth, and the blight on my youth —and the 
 knowledge that he who was rising every year into the rank 
 which entitled him to reject me as a guest at his table-— -he 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 57 7 
 
 wtom tlie world called the model of a gentleman — was a 
 coward and a liar to tlie friend of liis youth : all this made me 
 look on the world with contempt; and, despising Audley 
 Egerton, I yet hated him and envied. Y.ou, whom he wronged, 
 stretch your hand as before to the great statesman ; from my 
 touch you would shrink as pollution. My lord, you may for- 
 give him whom you love and pity ; I cannot forgive him 
 whom I scorn and envy. Pardon my prolixity. I now quit 
 your house." 
 
 The Baron moved a step — then, turning back, said with a 
 withering sneer — 
 
 " But you will tell Mr. Egerton how I helped to expose the 
 son he adopted ! I thought of the childless man when your 
 lordship imagined I was but in fear of your threats. Ha ! 
 ha ! — that will sting." 
 
 The Baron gnashed his teeth as hastily entering the car- 
 riage, he threw down the blinds. The post-boys cracked 
 their whips, and the wheels rolled away. 
 
 "Who can judge," thought Harley, "through what modes 
 retribution comes home to the breast ? That man is chastised 
 in his wealth — ever gnawed by desire for what his wealth 
 cannot buy ! " He roused himself, cleared his brow, as from 
 a thought that darkened and troubled; and, entering the 
 saloon, laid his hand upon Leonard's shoulder, and looked, 
 rejoicing, into the poet's mild, honest, lustrous eyes. " Leo- 
 nard," said he, gently, "your hour is come at last." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 Audley Egeeton was alone in his apartment. A heavy 
 sleep had come over him, shortly after Harley and Handal 
 had left the house in the early morning ; and that sleep con- 
 tinued till late in the day. All the while the town of Lans- 
 mere had been distracted in his cause — all the while so many 
 tumultuous passions had run riot in the contest that was to 
 close or re-open, for the statesman's ambition, the Janus gates 
 of political war — the object of so many fears and hopes, 
 schemes and counter schemes, had slumbered quifjtly as an 
 infant in the cradle. He woke but in time to receive flarley's 
 despatch, announcing the success of his election ; and adding-j 
 " Before the night you shall embrace your son. Do not join 
 us below when I return. Keep calm — we will come to you." 
 
 In fact, though not aware of the dread nature of Audley 's 
 
 VOL. II. V V 
 
678 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 complsdnt, witli its warning symptoms, Lord L'Estrange 
 wished to spare to his friend the scene of Randal's exposure. 
 
 On the receipt of that letter Egerton rose. At the prospect 
 of se€)ing his son — Nora's son — the very memory of his 
 disease vanished. The poor, weary, over-laboured heart 
 indeed beat loud, and with many a jerk and spasm. He 
 heeded it not. The victory, that restored him to the sole life 
 for which he had hitherto cared to live, was clean forgotten. 
 ISTaturo claimed her own — claimed it in scorn of death, and in 
 oblivion of renown. 
 
 There sate the man, dressed with his habitual precision ! 
 the black coat, buttoned across the broad breast ; his coun- 
 tenance, so mechanically habituated to self-control, still reveal- 
 ing little of emotion, though the sickly flush came and went 
 on the bronzed cheek, and the eye watched the hand of the 
 clock, and the ear hungered for a foot- tread along the corridor. 
 At length the sound was heard — steps — many steps. He 
 sprung to his feet — he stood on the hearth. Was the hearth 
 to be solitary no more? Harley entered first. Egerton's 
 eyes rested on him eagerly for a moment, and strained onward 
 across the threshold. Leonard came next — Leonard Fairfield, 
 whom he had seen as his opponent ! He began to suspect — 
 to conjecture — to see the mother's tender eyes in the son's 
 manly face. Involuntarily he opened his arms ; but, Leonard 
 remaining still, let them fall with a deep sigh, and fancied 
 himself deceived. 
 
 "Friend," said Harley, I give to yon a son proved in 
 adversity, and who has fought his own way to fame. Leonard, 
 in the man to w^hom I prayed you to sacrifice your own 
 ambition — of whom you have spoken with such worthy praise 
 — whose career of honour you have promoted — and whose 
 life, unsatisfied by those honours, you will soothe with your 
 filial love — behold the husband of ISTora Avenel ! Kneel to 
 your father ! 0 Audley, embrace your son ! " 
 
 " Here — here," exclaimed Egerton, as Leonard bent his 
 knee — " here to my heart ! Look at me with those eyes ! — 
 kindly, forgivingly : they are your mother's ! " His proud 
 head sunk on his son's shoulder. 
 
 "But this is not enough," said Harley, leading Helen, and 
 placing her by Leonard's side. " You must open your heart 
 for more. Take into its folds my sweet ward and daughter. 
 What is a home without the smile of woman ? They have 
 loved each other from children. Audley^ yours be the hand 
 to join — yours be the lips to bless." 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 579 
 
 Leonard started anxionsly. "Oh, sir! — oh, my father ! — 
 this generous sacrifice may not be ; for he — he who lias saved 
 me for this surpassing joy — he too loves her ! 
 
 "JS^ay, Leonard," said Harley, smiling, "I am not so 
 neglectful of myself. Another home woos you, Audley. He 
 wh.om you long so vainly sought to reconcile to life, exchang- 
 ing mournful dreams for happy duties — he, too, presents you 
 to his bride. Love her for my sake — for your own. She it 
 is, not I, who presides over this hallowed re-union. But for 
 her, I should have been a blinded, vindictive, guilty, repentant 
 man ; and — " Yiolante's soft hand was on his lips. 
 
 " Thus," said the Parson, with mild solemnity, " Man finds 
 that the Saviour's precepts, ' Let not the sun go down upon 
 thy wrath,' and ' Love one another,' are clues that conduct us 
 through the labyrinth of human life, when the schemes o£ 
 fraud and hate snap asunder, and leave us lost amidst the maze." 
 
 Egerton reared his head, as if to answer ; and all present 
 were struck and appalled by the sudden change that bad 
 come over bis countenance. There was a film upon the eye — 
 a shadow on the aspect ; the words failed his lips — he sunk 
 on the seat beside him. The left hand rested droopingly 
 upon the piles of public papers and ofiicial documents, and 
 the fingers played with them, as the bed-ridden dying sufferer 
 plays with the coverlid he will soon exchange for the winding- 
 sheet. But his right hand seemed to feel, as through the 
 dark, for the recovered son; and having touched what it 
 sought, feebly drew Leonard near and nearer. Alas ! that 
 blissful PRIVATE LIFE — that close centre round the core of 
 being in the individual man — so long missed and pined 
 for — slipped from him, as it were, tbe moment it reappeared i 
 hurried away, as the circle on the ocean, which is scarce seen 
 ere it vanishes amidst infinity. Suddenly botb hands were 
 still; the head fell back. Joy had burst asunder the last 
 ligaments, so fretted away in unrevealing sorrow. Afar, 
 their sound borne into that room, the joy-bells were pealing 
 triumph ; mobs roaring out huzzas ; the weak cry of John 
 Avenel might be blent in those shouts, as the drunken zealots 
 reeled by his cottage door, and startled the screaming ravens 
 that wheeled round the hollow oak. The boom whicb is sent 
 from the waves on the surface of life, while the deeps are so 
 noiseless in their march, was wafted on the wintry air into 
 the chamber of the statesman it honoured, and over the grass 
 sighing low upon Nora's grave. But there was one in the 
 chamber, as in the grave, for whom the boom on the wave 
 
 p p 2 
 
580 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 had no sound, and the march of the deep had no tide. Amidst 
 promises of home, and union, and peace, and fame^ Death 
 strode into the household ring, and, seating itself, calm and 
 still, looked life-like ; warm hearts throbbing round it ; lofty 
 hopes fluttering upward ; Love kneeling at its feet j Religion, 
 with lifted finger, standing by its side. 
 
 MISTAL OHAPTEH. 
 
 Scene — The Ball in the Old Toiver of Captain Roland de 
 
 Caxton. 
 
 " But you haye not done ? said Augustine Caxton 
 
 PiSiSTEATUS. — "What remains to do?" 
 
 Mr. Caxton.— "What ! — why the Final Chapter^ ! — the last 
 news you can give us of those whom you have introduced to 
 our liking or dislike." 
 
 PisiSTRATUS. — " Surely it is more dramatic to close the 
 work with a scene that completes the main design of the plot, 
 and leave it to the prophetic imagination of all whose flatter- 
 ing curiosity is still not wholly satisfied, to trace the streams 
 of each several existence, when they branch o:ffi again from the 
 lake in which their waters converge, and by which the sybil has 
 confirmed and made clear the decree, that ' Conduct is Fate.'" 
 
 Me. Caxton. — " More dramatic, I grant ; but you have not 
 written a drama. A novelist should be a comfortable, garru- 
 lous, communicative, gossiping fortune-teller; not a grim, 
 laconical, oracular sibyl. I like a novel that adopts all the 
 old-fashioned customs prescribed to its art by the rules of the 
 Masters, more especially a novel which you style * My ISTovel,' 
 'par emphasis." 
 
 Captain Roland. — " A most vague and impracticable title 
 ' My Novel.' It must really be changed before the work goes 
 in due form to the public." 
 
 Me. Squills. — " Certainly the present title cannot be even 
 pronounced by many without inflicting a shock upon their 
 nervous system. Do you think, for instance, that my friend. 
 Lady Priscilla Graves — who is a great novel- reader indeed, 
 but holds all female writers unfeminine deserters to the 
 standard of Man — could ever come out with, ' Pray, sir, have 
 you had time to look at — My Novel ? ' — ^She would rather die 
 first. And yet to be silent altogether on the latest acquisition 
 to the circulating libraries, would bring on a functional de- 
 
VAUIETiES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 58J 
 
 rangement of lier ladysMp's organs of speecli. Or Low could 
 pretty Miss Dulcet — all sentiment, it is true, but all bashful 
 timidity — appal Captain Smirke from proposing, with, ' Did 
 not you tbink tbe Parson's sermon a little too dry in Mr 
 iN'ovel ? ' It will require a face of brass, or at least a long 
 course of citrate of iron, before a respectable lady or unas- 
 suming young gentleman, witb a proper dread of being taken 
 for scribblers, could electrify a social circle with, * Thr 
 reviewers don't do justice to the excellent things in — 
 IS-ovel.'" ' • ^ 
 
 Captain Eoland. — "Awful consequences, indeed, may arise 
 from the mistakes such a title gives rise to. — Counsellor Dig- 
 well, for instance — a lawyer of literary tastes, but whose 
 c&reer at the bar was long delayed by an unjust suspicion 
 amongst the attorneys that he had written a * Philosophical 
 Essay ' — imagine such a man excusing himself for being late 
 at a dinner of big- wigs, with * I could not get away from — 
 My ISToveL' It would be his professional ruin ! I am not 
 fond of lawyers in general, but still I would not be a party to 
 taking the bread out of the mouth of those with a family ; and 
 Digwell has children — the tenth an innocent baby in arms." 
 
 Mr. Caxton. — " As to Digwell in particular, and lawyers in 
 general, they are too accustomed to circumlocution, to expose 
 themselves to the danger your kind heart apprehends ; but I 
 allow that a shy scholar like myself, or a grave college tutor, 
 might be a little put to the blush, if he were to blurt forth 
 inadvertently with, * Don't waste your time over trash like — 
 Mt Novel.' And that thought presents to us another and 
 more pleasing view of this critical question. The title you 
 condemn places the work under universal protection. Lives 
 there a man or a woman, so dead to self-love as to say, * What 
 contemptible stuff is — My ISTovel ? ' Would he or she not 
 rather be impelled by that strong impulse of an honourable 
 and virtuous heart, which moves us to stand as well as we 
 can with our friends, to say — * Allow that there is really a 
 good thing now and then in — My l^oveL' Moreover, as a 
 novel aspires to embrace most of the interests or the passions 
 that agitate mankind — to generalise, as it were, the details of 
 life that come home to us all — so, in reality, the title denotes 
 that, if it be such as the author may not unworthily call his 
 Novel, it must also be such as the reader, whoever he be, may 
 appropriate in part to himself, representing his own ideas — 
 expressing his own experience — reflecting, if not in full, at 
 least in profile, his own personal identity. Thus, when wo 
 
582 
 
 MY novel; ok, 
 
 glance at tlie looking-glass in another man's room, our like- 
 ness for the moment appropriates the mirror; and according 
 to the humour in which we are, or the state of onr spirits and 
 health, we say to ourselves, ' Bilious and yellow ! — I might as 
 well take care of my diet ! ' Or, ' Well, I've half a mind to 
 propose to dear Jane ; I'm not such an ill-looking dog as I 
 thought for ! ' Still, whatever result from that glance at the 
 mirror, we never doubt that 'tis our likeness we see ; and 
 each says to the phantom reflection, ' Thou art myself,' though 
 the mere article of furniture that gives the reflection belongs 
 to another. It is my likeness if it be his glass. And a narra- 
 tive that is true to the Varieties of Life is every Man's ITovel, 
 no matter from what shores, by what rivers, by what bays, in 
 what pits were extracted the sands, and the silex, the pearl- 
 ash, the nitre and quicksilver which form its materials : no 
 matter who the craftsman who fashioned its form ; no matter 
 who the vendor that sold, or the customer who bought : still, 
 if I but recognise some trait of myself, 'tis my likeness that 
 makes it 'Mt Novel.' " 
 
 Mr. Squills, (puzzled, and therefore admiring.) — " Subtle, 
 sir— very subtle. Fine organ of Comparison in Mr. Caxton's 
 head, and much called into play this evening." 
 
 Mr. Caxton, (benignly.) — "Finally, the author, by this 
 most admirable and much signifying title dispenses with all 
 necessity of preface. He need insinuate no merits — he need 
 extenuate no faults ; for, "by calling his work thus curtly * My 
 Novel,' he doth delicately imply that it is no use wasting talk 
 about faults or merits." 
 
 PisiSTRATUs, (amazed.)—" How is that, sir ? " 
 
 Mr. Oaxton. — " What so clear ? You imply that, though a 
 better novel may be written by others, you do not expect to 
 write a novel to which, taken as a novel, you would more 
 decisively and unblushingly prefix that voucher of personal 
 authorship and identity conveyed in the monosyllable ' My.' 
 And if you have written your best, let it be ever so bad, what 
 can any man of candour and integrity require more from 
 you ? Perhaps you will say that, if you had lived two 
 thousand years ago, you might have called it The Novel, or the 
 Golden Novel, as Lucius called his story * The Ass ; ' and 
 Apuleius, to distinguish his own more elaborate Ass from all 
 Asses preceding it, called his tale ' The Golden Ass.' But 
 living in the present day, such a designation — implying a 
 merit in general, not the partial and limited merit correspond- 
 ing only with your individual abilities — ^would be presump* 
 
ViftlETJES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 583 
 
 fcuons and offensive. True — I liere anticipate tlie observation 
 I see Sqnills is about to make — 
 Squills. — " I, sir ? — 
 
 Mr. Caxton. — " Yon v^ronld say tbat, as Scarron called his 
 work of fiction ' The Oomic l^ovel,' so Pisistratus migbt have 
 called his ' The Serious Novel,' or ' The Tragic ISTovel.' But, 
 Squills, that title would not have been inviting nor appro- 
 priate, and would have been exposed to comparison with 
 Scarron, who being dead is inimitable. Wherefore — to pat 
 the question on the irrefragable basis of mathematics — where- 
 fore as A B ' Mj Novel,' is not equal to B 0 ' The Grolden 
 Novel,' nor to D E ' The Serious or Tragic Novel,' it follows^ 
 that A B ' My Novel ' is equal to P 0 ' Pisistratus Caxton,' 
 and P 0 ' Pisistratus Caxton ' must therefore be just equal, 
 neither more nor less, to A B ' My Novel ' — Which was to bo 
 demonstrated." My father looked round triumphantly, and 
 observing that Squills was dumb-founded, and the rest of his 
 audience posed, he added mildly — 
 
 " And so now, non quieta movere, proceed wdth the Pinal 
 Chapter, and tell us first what became of that youthful Giles 
 Overreach, who was himself his own Marrall ? " 
 
 "Ay!" said the Captain, "what became of Eandal Leslie? 
 Did he repent and reform ? " 
 
 "Nay," quoth my father with a mournful shake of the 
 head, "you can regulate the warm tide of wild passion — you 
 can light into virtue the dark errors of ignorance ; but where 
 the force of the brain does but clog the free action of the 
 heart — where you have to deal, not with ignorance misled, but 
 intelligence corrupted — small hope of reform ; for reform here 
 will need re- organisation. I have somewhere read (perhaps 
 in Hebrew tradition) that of the two orders of fallen spirits — 
 the Angels of Love, and the Angels of Knowledge — the first 
 missed the stars they had lost, and wandered back through 
 the darkness, one by one into heaven ; but the last, lighted on 
 by their own lurid splendours, said, ' Wherever ive go, there is 
 heaven ! ' And deeper and lower descending, lost their shape 
 and their nature, till, deformed and obscene, the bottomless 
 pit closed around them." 
 
 Me. Squills. — "I should not have thought Mr. Caxton, that 
 a book-man like you would be thus severe upon Knowledge." 
 
 Mr. Caxton, (in wrath.) — " Severe upon knowledge ! 0 
 Squills — Squills — Squills! Knowledge perverted, is know- 
 ledge no longer. Yinegar, which, exposed to the sun, breeds 
 small serpents, or at best shmy eels, not comestible, once waa 
 
584 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 wine. If I say to my grandchildren, ' Don't drink tliat sonr 
 stuff, which, the sun itself fills with reptiles ; ' does that prove 
 me a foe to sound sherry ? Squills, if you had but received a 
 scholastic education, you would know the wise maxim that 
 saith, 'All things the worst are corruptions from things 
 originally designed as the best.' Has not freedom bred an- 
 archy, and religion fanaticism ? And if I blame Marat 
 calling for blood, or Dominic racking a heretic, am I severe 
 on the religion that canonised Francis de Sales, or the free- 
 dom that immortalised Thrasybulus ? " 
 
 Mr. Squills, dreading a catalogue of all the saints in the 
 calendar, and an epitome of Ancient History, exclaimed eagerly 
 — " Enough, sir — I am convinced ! " 
 
 Me. Oaxton.- — "Moreover, I have thought it a natural stroke 
 of art in Pisistratus, to keep Randal Leslie, in his progress 
 towards the rot of the intellect unwholesomely refined, free 
 from all the salutary influences that deter ambition from set- 
 tling into egotism. Neither in his slovenly home, nor from 
 his classic tutor at his preparatory school, does he seem to 
 have learned any truths, religious or moral, that might give 
 sap to fresh shoots, when the first rank growth was cut down 
 by the knife ; and I especially noted, as illustrative of Egerton, 
 no less than of Kandal, that though the statesman's occasional 
 hints of advice to his protege are worldly wise in their way, 
 and suggestive of honour as befitting the creed of a gentle- 
 man, they are not such as much influence a shrewd reasoner like 
 Randal, whom the example of the playground at Eton had not 
 served to correct of the arid self-seeking, which looked to 
 knowledge for no object but power. A man tempted by 
 passions like Audley, or seduced into fraud by a cold subtle 
 spirit like Leslie, will find poor defence in the elegant pre- 
 cepts, ' Remember to act as a gentleman.' Such moral em- 
 broidery adds a beautiful scarf to one's armour ; but it is not 
 
 the armour itself! Ten o'clock as I live Push on, 
 
 Pisistratus ! and finish the chapter." 
 
 Mrs. Oaxton, (benevolently.) — "Don't hurry. Begin with 
 that odious Randal Leslie, to oblige your father ; but there are 
 rjthers whom Blanche and I care much more to hear about." 
 
 Pisistratus, since there is no help for it, produces a supple- 
 vientary manuscript, which prov^es that, whatever his doubt 
 as to the artistic e:^ect of a Pinal Chapter, he had foreseen 
 that his audience would not be contented without one. 
 
 Randal Ijeslie, late at noon the day after he quitted Lans- 
 
VARIETIES IK ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 585 
 
 mere Park, arrived on foot at his father's house. He had 
 walked all the way, and through the solitndes of the winter 
 night ; but he was not sensible of fatigue till the dismal home 
 closed round him, with its air of hopeless ignoble poverty ; 
 and then he sunk upon the floor, feeling himself a ruin amidst 
 the ruins. He made no disclosure of what had passed to his 
 relations. Miserable man, there was not one to whom he 
 ^ould confide, or from whom he might hear the truths that 
 connect repentance with consolation ! After some weeks 
 passed in sullen and almost unbroken silence, he left as 
 abruptly as he had appeared, and returned to London. The 
 sudden death of a man like Egerton had even in those excited 
 times created intense, though brief sensation. The par- 
 ticulars of the election, that had been given in detail 
 in the provincial papers, were copied into the London 
 journals ; — among those details, Randal Leslie's conduct 
 in the Committee E/Oom, with many an indignant com- 
 ment on selfishness and ingratitude. The political world of 
 all parties formed one of those judgments on the great man's 
 poor dependant, which fix a stain upon the character, and 
 place a barrier in the career, of ambitious youth. The impor- 
 tant personages who had once noticed fiandal for Audley's 
 sake, and who, on their subsequent and not long- deferred 
 restoration to power, could have made his fortune, passed him 
 in the street-s without a nod. He did not venture to remind 
 Avenel of the promise to aid him in another election for Lans- 
 mere, nor dream of filling up the vacancy which Egerton'a 
 death had created. He was too shrewd not to see that all 
 hope of that borough was over ; — he would have been hooted 
 in the streets and pelted from the hustings. Forlorn in the 
 vast metropolis as Leonard had once been, in his turn he 
 loitered on the bridge, and gazed on the remorseless river. 
 He had neither money nor connections — nothing save talents 
 and knowledge to force his way back into the lofty world in 
 which all had smiled on him before ; and talents and know- 
 ledge, that had been exerted to injure a benefactor, made him 
 but the more despised. But even now. Fortune, that had 
 bestowed on the pauper heir of Kood advantages so numerous 
 and so dazzling, out of which he had cheated himself, gave 
 him a chance, at least, of present independence, by which, with 
 patient toil, he might have won, if not to the highest places, 
 at least to a position in which he could have forced the world 
 to listen to his explanations, and perhaps receive his excuses. 
 The £5000 that Audley designed for him, and which, 
 
586 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 in a private inemorandiiin, tlie statesman had entreated 
 Harlej to see safely rescued from the fangs of toe law, were 
 made over to Randal by Lord L'Estrange's solicitor ; but this 
 sum seemed to him so small after the loss of such gorgeous 
 hopes, and the up-hill path seemed so slow after such short 
 cuts to power, that Randal looked upon the unexjDected bequest 
 simply as an apology for adopting no profession. Stung to 
 the quick by the contrast between his past and his present 
 place in the English world, he hastened abroad. There, 
 9v^hether in distraction from thought, or from the curiosity of 
 a restless intellect to explore the worth of things yet untried, 
 Randal Leslie, who had hitherto been so dead to the ordinary 
 amusements of youth, plunged into the society of damaged 
 gamesters and third-rate roues. In this companionship his 
 very talents gradually degenerated, and their exercise upon 
 low intrigues and miserable projects but abased his social 
 character, till, sinking step after step as his funds decayed, he 
 finally vanished out of the sphere in which even profligates 
 still retain the habits, and cling to the caste, of gentlemen. 
 His father died ; the neglected property of Rood devolved on 
 Randal, but out of its scanty proceeds he had to pay the por- 
 tions of his brother and sister, and his mother's jointure ; the 
 surplus left was scarcely visible in the executor's account. 
 The hope of restoring the home and fortunes of his forefathers 
 had long ceased. What were the ruined hall and its bleak 
 wastes, without that hope which had once dignified the wreck 
 and the desert ? He wrote from St. Petersburg ordering the 
 sale of the property. N'o one great proprietor was a candi- 
 date for the unpromising investment; it was sold in lots 
 among small freeholders and retired traders. A builder 
 bought the Hall for its materials. Hall, lands and name were 
 blotted out of the map and the history of the county. 
 
 The widow, Oliver, and Juliet removed to a provincial town 
 in another shire. Juliet married an ensign in a marching 
 regiment, and died of neglect after childbirth. Mrs. Leslie did 
 not long survive her. Oliver added to his little fortune by 
 marriage with the daughter of a retail tradesman, who had 
 amassed a few thousand pounds. He set up a brewery, and 
 contrived to live without debt, though a large family, and his 
 own constitutional inertness, extracted from his business small 
 profits and no savings. Nothing of Randal had been heard of 
 for years after the sale of Rood, except that he had taken up 
 his residence either in Australia or the United States ; it was 
 not known which, but presumed to be the latter. Still Oliver 
 
VAEIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 587 
 
 had t)een "brouglit tip witli so liigh a veneration of his brother's 
 talents, that he cherished the sanguine heHef that Randal 
 wonld some day appear, wealthy and potent, like the nncle in 
 a comedy ; lift up the sunken family, and rear into graceful 
 ladies and accomplished gentlemen the clumsy little boys and 
 the vulgar little girls who now crowded round Oliver's dinner- 
 table, with appetites altogether disproportioned to the size of 
 the joints. 
 
 One winter day, when from the said dinner- table wife and 
 children had retired, and Oliver sate sipping his half -pint of 
 bad port, and looking over unsatisfactory accounts, a thin 
 terrier, lying on the thread-bare rug by the niggard fire, 
 sprang up and barked fiercely. Oliver lifted his dull blue 
 eyes, and saw opposite to him, at the window, a human face. 
 The face was pressed close to the panes, and was obscured by 
 the haze which the breath of its lips drew forth from the 
 frosty rime that had gathered on the glass. 
 
 Oliver, alarmed and indignant, supposing this intrusive 
 spectator of his privacy to be some bold and lawless tramper, 
 stepped out of the room, opened the front door, and bade the 
 stranger go about his business ; while the terrier still more 
 inhospitably yelped and snapped at the stranger's heels. Then 
 a hoarse voice said, "Don't you know me, Oliver ? I am your 
 brother Randal ! Call away your dog and let me in." Oliver 
 stared aghast — he could not believe his slow senses — he could 
 not recognise his brother in the gaunt grim apparition 
 before him. But at length he came forward, gazed into 
 Randal's face, and, grasping his hand in amazed silence, led 
 him into the little parlour. l!^"ot a trace of the well-bred re- 
 finement which had once characterized Randal's air and person 
 was visible. His dress bespoke the last stage of that terribla 
 decay which is significantly called the "shabby genteel." 
 His mien was that of the skulking, timorous, famished, 
 vagabond. As he took off his greasy tattered hat, he ex- 
 hibited, though still young in years, the signs of premature 
 old age. His hair, once so fine and silken, was of a harsh 
 iron grey, bald in ragged patches ; his forehead and visage 
 were ploughed into furrows ; intelligence were still in the 
 aspect, but an intelligence that instinctively set you on your 
 guard — sinister — gloomy — menacing. 
 
 Randal stopped short all questioning. He seized the small 
 modicum of wine on the table, and drained it at a draught. 
 "Pooh," said he, " have you nothing that warms a man better 
 than this ? " Oliver, who felt as if under the influence of a 
 
588 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 frightful dream, went a cupboard and took out a bottle of 
 brandy three parts-full. Randal snatched at it eagerly, and 
 put his lips to the mouth of the bottle. " Ah," said he, after 
 a short pause, " this comforts ; now give me food." Oliver 
 hastened himself to serve his brother ; in fact, he felt ashamed 
 that even the slip-shod maid-servant should see his visitor. 
 When he returned with such provisions as he could extract 
 from the larder, Randal was seated by the fire, spreading 
 over the embers emaciated bony hands, like the talons of 
 a vulture. 
 
 He devoured the cold meat set before him with terrible 
 voracity, and nearly finished the spirits left in the bottle ; 
 but the last had no effect in dispersing his gloom. Oliver 
 stared at him in fear — the terrier continued to utter a low 
 suspicious growl. 
 
 "You would know my history?*' at length said Randal, 
 bluntly. " It is short. I have tried for fortune and failed — rl 
 am without a penny and without a hope. You seem poor — 
 I suppose you cannot much help me. Let me at least stay 
 with you for a time — I know not where else to look for bread 
 and for shelter." 
 
 Oliver burst into tears, and cordially bade his brother wel- 
 come. Randal remained some weeks at Oliver's house, never 
 stirring out of the doors, and not seeming to notice, though he 
 did not scruple to use, the new habiliments, which Oliver 
 procured ready-made, and placed, without remark, in his 
 room. But his presence soon became intolerable to the mis- 
 tress of the house, and oppressive even to its master. Randal, 
 who had once been so abstemious that he had even regarded 
 the most moderate nse of wine as incompatible with clear 
 judgment and vigilant observation, had contracted the habit 
 of drinking spirits at all honrs of the day ; but though they 
 sometimes intoxicated him into stupor, they never unlocked 
 his heart nor enlivened his sullen mood. If he observed less 
 acutely than of old, he could still conceal just as closely. 
 Mrs. Oliver Leslie, at first rather awed and taciturn, grew 
 cold and repelling, then pert and sarcastic, at last nndis- 
 guisedly and vulgarly rude. Randal made no retort ; but his 
 sneer was so galling that the wife flew at once to her husband, 
 and declared that either she or his brother must leave the 
 house. Oliver tried to pacify and compromise, with partial 
 success ; and, a few days afterwards, he came to Randal and 
 said timidly, ** You see, my wife brought me nearly all I 
 possess, and you don't condescend to make friends with her. 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 YoTir residence here must be as paiuful to you as to me. But 
 I wish to see you provided for ; and I could offer you some' 
 thing — only it seems, at first glance, so beneath — 
 
 " Beneath what? " interrupted Randal, witheringly. "What 
 I was — or what I am ? Speak out ! " 
 
 " To be sure you are a scholar ; and I have heard you say 
 fine things about knowledge and so forth ; and you*ll have 
 plenty of books at your disposal, no doubt; and you are still 
 young, and may rise — and- — " 
 
 " Hell and torments ! Be quick — say the worst or the best!" 
 cried Randal, fiercely. 
 
 " Well then," said poor Oliver, still trying to soften the 
 intended proposal, "you must know that our poor sister's 
 husband was nephew to Dr. Felpem, who keeps a very respect- 
 able school. He is not learned himself, and attends chiefly to 
 arithmetic and book-keeping, and such matters — but he wants 
 an usher to teach the classics ; for some of the boys go to 
 college. And I have written to him, just to sound — I did not 
 mention your name till I knew if you would like it ; but he 
 will take my recommendation. Board — lodging — fifty pounds 
 a-year ; in short, the place is yours if you like it." 
 
 Randal shivered from head to foot, and was long before he 
 answered. " Well, be it so ; I have come to that. Ha, ha 1 
 yes, knowledge is power ! " He paused a few moments. " So, 
 the old Hall is razed to the ground, and you are a tradesman 
 in a small country town, and my sister is dead, and I hence- 
 forth am — John Smith ! You say that you did not mention 
 my name to the schoolmaster — still keep it concealed ; forget 
 that I once was a Leslie. Our tie of brotherhood ceases when 
 I go from your hearth. Write, then, to your head master, 
 who attends to arithmetic, and secure the rank of his usher 
 in Latin and Greek for — John Smith ! " 
 
 Not many days afterwards, the protege of Audley Egerton 
 entered on his duties as usher in one of those large, cheap 
 schools, which comprise a sprinkling of the sons of gentry 
 and clergymen designed for the learned professions, with a 
 far larger proportion of the sons of traders, intended, some 
 for the counting - house, some for the shop and the till. 
 There, to this day, under the name of John Smith, liv^^s* 
 Randal Leslie. 
 
 It is probably not pride alone that induces him to persist in 
 that change of name, and makes him regard as perpetual tha 
 abandonment of the one that he took from his forefathers, 
 pid wifh which. h.Q hd^X once identified his vaulting ambition ; 
 
590 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 for shortly after lie had qnited liis brother's house, Oliver read 
 in the weekly newspaper, to which he bonnded his lore of the 
 times in which he lived, an extract from an American journal, 
 wherein certain mention was made of an English adventurer 
 who, among other aliases, had assumed the name of Leslie — 
 that extract caused Oliver to start, turn pale, look round, and 
 thrust the paper into the fire. From that time he never 
 attempted to violate the condition Randal had imposed on 
 him — -never sought to renew their intercourse, nor to claim a 
 brother. Doubtless, if the adventurer thus signalised was 
 the man Oliver suspected, whatever might be imputed to 
 Bandal's charge that could have paled a brother's cheek, it was 
 none of the more violent crimes to which law is inexorable, 
 but rather, (in that progress made by ingratitude and 
 duplicity, with Need and Necessity urging them on,) some 
 act of dishonesty which may just escape from the law, to 
 sink, without redemption, the name. However this be, there 
 is nothing in Randal's present course of life which forbodes 
 any deeper fall. He has known what it is to want bread, and 
 his former restlessness subsides into cynic apathy. 
 
 He lodges in the town near the school, and thus 'the de- 
 basing habit of unsocial besotment is not brought under the 
 eyes of his superior. The dram is his sole luxury — if it be 
 suspected, it is thought to be his sole vice. He goes through 
 the ordinary routine of tuition with average credit ; his spirit of 
 intrigue occasionally shows itself in attempts to conciliate the 
 favour of the boys whose fathers are wealthy — who are born 
 to higher rank than the rest ; and he lays complicated schemes 
 to be asked home for the holidays. But when the schemes 
 succeed, and the invitation comes, he recoils and shrinks back 
 • — he does not dare to show himself on the borders of the 
 brighter world he once hoped to sway ; he fears that he may 
 be discovered to be — a Leslie! On such days, when his 
 taskwork is over, he shuts himself up in his room, locks the 
 door, and drugs himself into insensibility. 
 
 Once he found a well-worn volume running the round of 
 delighted schoolboys — took it up, and recognised Leonard's 
 earliest popular work, which had, many years before, seduced 
 himself into pleasant thoughts and gentle emotions. He 
 carried the book to his own lodgings — read it again ; and 
 when he returned it to its young owner, some of the leaves 
 were stained with tears. Alas ! perhaps but the maudlin 
 tears of broken nerves, not of the awakened soul — for the 
 leaves smelt strongly of whisky. Yet, after that re-pe].»usal;i 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 591 
 
 Randal Leslie iLirned suddenly to deeper studies than his 
 habitual drudgeries required. He revived and increased his 
 early scholarship ; he chalked the outline of a work of great 
 erudition, in which the subtlety of his intellect found field 
 in learned and acute criticism. But he has never proceeded 
 far in this work. After each irregular and spasmodic effort, 
 the pen drops from his hand, and he mutters, " But to what 
 end ? I can never noiu raise a name. Why give reputation 
 to — John Smith ! " 
 
 Thus he drags on his life ; and perhaps, when he dies, the 
 fragments of his learned work may be discovered in the desk 
 of the usher, and serve as hints to some crafty student, who 
 may filch ideas and repute from the dead Leslie, as Leslie had 
 filched them from the living Bur ley. 
 
 While what may be called poetical justice has thus evolved 
 itself from the schemes in which E-andal Leslie had wasted 
 rare intellect in baffling his own fortunes, no outward signs of 
 adversity evince the punishment of Providence on the head 
 of the more powerful offender. Baron Levy. No fall in the 
 Funds has shaken the sumptuous fabric, built from the ruined 
 houses of other men. Baron Levy is still Baron Levy the 
 millionaire ; but I doubt if at heart he be not more acutely 
 miserable than Randal Leslie, the usher. For Levy is a man 
 who has admitted the fiercer passions into his philosophy of 
 life ; he has not the pale blood and torpid heart which allow 
 the scotched adder to doze away its sense of pain. Just 
 as old age began to creep upon the fashionable usurer, 
 he fell in love with a young opera-dancer, whose light heels 
 had turned the lighter heads of half the elegans of Paris 
 and London. The craft of the dancer was proof against all 
 lesser bribes than that of marriage ; and Levy married her. 
 From that moment his house, Louis Quinze, was more crowded 
 than ever by the high-born dandies whose society he had 
 long so eagerly courted. That society became his curse. The 
 Baroness was an accomplished coquette; and Levy (with 
 whom, as we have seen, jealousy was the predominant passion) 
 was stretched on an eternal rack. His low estimate of human 
 nature — his disbelief in the possibility of virtue — added 
 strength to the agony of his suspicions, and provoked the 
 very dangers he dreaded. His sole self-torturing task was 
 that of the spy upon his own hearth. His banquets were 
 haunted by a spectre ; the attributes of his wealth were as the 
 goad and the scourge of Nemesis. His gay cynic smile 
 changed into a sullen scowl — his hair blanched into white — > 
 
592 
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Ms eyes were hollow witli one consuming care. Suddenly he 
 left his costly house ; left London ; abjured all the society 
 which it had been the joy of his wealth to purchase ; buried 
 himself and his wife in a remote corner of the provinces ; and 
 there he still lives. He seeks in vain to occupy his days with 
 rural pursuits ; he to whom the excitements of a metropolis, 
 with all its corruption and its vices, were the sole sources of 
 the turbid stream that he called " pleasure." There, too, the 
 fiend of jealousy still pursues him: he prowls round his 
 demesnes with the haggard eye and furtive step of a thief ; 
 he guards his wife as a prisoner, for she threatens every day 
 to escape. The life of the man who had opened the prison to 
 so many is the life of a jailer. His wife abhors him, and does 
 not conceal it ; and still slavishly he dotes on her. Accus- 
 tomed to the freest liberty — demanding applause and admira- 
 tion as her rights— wholly uneducated, vulgar in mind, coarse 
 in language, violent in temper — the beautiful Fury he has 
 brought to his home, makes that home a hell. Thus, what 
 might seem to the superficial most enviable, is to their pos- 
 sessor most hateful. He dares not ask a soul to see how he 
 spends his gold — ^he has shrunk into a mean and niggardly 
 expenditure, and complains of reverse and poverty, in order 
 to excuse himself to his wife for debarring her the enjoyments 
 which she anticipated from the Money Bags she had married. 
 A vague consciousness of retribution has awakened remorse, 
 to add to his other stings. And the remorse coming from 
 superstition, not religion, (sent from below, not descending 
 from above,) brings with it none of the consolations of a 
 genuine repentance. He never seeks to atone — never dreams 
 of some redeeming good action. His riches flow around him, 
 spreading wider and wider — out of his own reach. 
 
 The Count di Peschiera was not deceived in the calculations 
 which had induced him to affect repentance, and establish a 
 claim upon his kinsman. He received from the generosity of 
 the Duke di Serrano an annuity not disproportioned to his 
 rank, and no order from his court forbade his return to 
 Vienna. But, in the very summer that followed his visit to 
 Lansmere, his career came to an abrupt close. At Baden- 
 Baden he paid court to a wealthy and accomplished Polish 
 widow ; and his fine person and terrible repute awed away all 
 rivals, save a young Frenchman, as daring as himself, and 
 much more in love. A challenge was given and accepted. 
 Peschiera appeared on the fatal ground, with his customary 
 sang-froidj humming an opera air, and looking so diabolically 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 593 
 
 gay that his opponent's nerves were affected in spite of his 
 courage, and, the Frenchman's trigger going off before he had 
 even taken aim, to his own ineffable astonishment, he shot the 
 Count through the heart, dead. 
 
 Beatrice di N'egra lived for some years after her brother's 
 death in strict seclusion, lodging within a convent, though 
 she did not take the veil, as she at first proposed. In fact, 
 the more she saw of the sisterhood, the more she found that 
 human regrets and human passions (save in some rarely gifted 
 natures) find their way through the barred gates and over the 
 lofty walls. Finally, she took up her abode in Rome, where 
 she is esteemed for a life not only marked by strict propriety, 
 but active benevolence. She cannot be prevailed on to accept 
 from the Duke more than a fourth of the annuity that had 
 been bestowed on her brother ; but she has few wants, save 
 those of charity ; and when chay^Hy is really active, it can do 
 so much with so little gold 1 She is not known in the gayer 
 circles of the city ; but she gathers around her a small society 
 composed chiefly of artists and scholars, and is never so happy 
 as when she can aid some child of genius — more especially if 
 his country be England. 
 
 The Squire and his wife still flourish at Hazeldean, where 
 Captain Barnabas Higginbotham has taken up his permanent 
 abode. The Captain is a confirmed hypochondriac, but he 
 brightens up now and then when he hears of any illness in 
 the family of Mr. Sharpe Currie, and, at such times, is heard 
 to murmur, " If those seven sickly children should go off, I 
 might still have very great — expectations." For the which 
 he has been roundly scolded by the Squire, and gravely 
 preached at by the Parson. Upon both, however, he takes 
 his revenge in a fair and gentlemanlike way, three times 
 a- week, at the whist- table, the Parson no longer having the 
 Captain as his constant partner, since a fifth now generally 
 cuts in at the table — in the person of that old enemy and 
 neighbour, Mr. Sticktorights. The Parson, thus fighting his 
 own battles unallied to the Captain, observes with melancholy 
 surprise that there is a long run of luck against him, and that 
 he does not win so much as he used to do. Fortunately that 
 is the sole trouble — except Mrs. Dale's little tempers," to 
 which he is accustomed — that ever disturbs the serene tenor 
 of the Parson's life. We must now explain how Mr. Stickto- 
 rights came to cut in at the Hazeldean whist- table. Frank 
 has settled at the Casino with a wife who suits him exactly, 
 and that wife was Miss Sticktorights, It was two yeara 
 
 VOL. II. Q Q 
 
594 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 before Frank recoyered tTie disappointment with "which the 
 loss of Beatrice saddened his spirits, but sobered his habits 
 and awoke his reflection. An affection, however misplaced 
 and ill-reqnited, if honestly conceived and deeply felt, rarely 
 fails to advance the self -education of man. Frank became 
 steady and serious ; and, on a visit to Hazeldean, met at a 
 county ball Miss Sticktorights, and the two young persons 
 were instantly attracted towards each otber, perhaps by the 
 very feud that had so long existed between their houses. The 
 marriage settlements were nearly abandoned, at the last mo- 
 ment, by a discussion between the parents as to the Right of 
 "Way. But the dispute was happily appeased by Mr. Dale's 
 suggestion, that as both properties would be united in the 
 children of the proposed marriage, all cause for litigation 
 would naturally cease, since no man would go to law with 
 himself. Mr. Sticktorights and Mr. Hazeldean, however, 
 agreed in the precaution of inserting a clause in the settle- 
 ments, (though all the lawyers declared that it could not be 
 of any legal avail,) by which it was declared, that if, in default 
 of heritable issue by the said marriage, the Sticktorights* 
 estate devolved on some distant scion of the Sticktorights 
 family, the right of way from the wood across the waste land 
 would still remain in the same state of delectable dispute in 
 which it then stood. There seems, however, little chance of a 
 lawsuit thus providently bequeathed to the misery of distant 
 generations — since two sons and two daughters are already 
 playing at hide-and-seek on the terrace where Jackeymo once 
 watered the orange trees, and in the Belvidere where Riccar* 
 bocca had studied his Machiavelli. 
 
 Jackeymo, though his master Ims assessed the long arrears 
 of his wag-es at a sum which would enable him to have 
 orange-groves and servants of his own, still clings to his 
 former duties, and practises his constitutional parsimony. 
 His only apparent deviation into profusion consists in the 
 erection of a chapel to his sainted namesake, to whom he 
 burns many a votive taper ; — the tapers are especially tall, 
 and their sconces are wreathed with garlands whenever a 
 letter with the foreign post-mark brings good news of the 
 absent .Yiolante and her English lord. 
 
 Biccabocca was long before he reconciled himself to the 
 pomp of his principalities and his title of Duke. Jemima 
 accommodated herself much more readily to greatness, but 
 she retained all her native Hazeldean simplicity at heart, and 
 b adore*^ by the villagers around her, especially by the young 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 595 
 
 of botli sexes, wliom she is always ready to many and to 
 portion ; — convinced, long ere this, of the redeemable quali- 
 ties of the male sex by her reverence for the Duke, who con- 
 tinues to satirise women and wedlock, and deem himself — 
 thanks to his profound experience of the one, and his philoso- 
 phical endurance of the other — the only happy husband in 
 the world. Longer still was it before the sage, who had been 
 so wisely anxious to rid himself of the charge of a daughter, 
 could wean his thoughts from the remembrance of her tender 
 voice and loving eyes. 'Not, indeed, till he seriously betook 
 himself to the task of educating the son with whom, according 
 to his scientific prognostics, Jemima presented him shortly 
 after his return to his native land. The sage began betimes 
 with his Italian proverbs, full of hard-hearted worldly wisdom, 
 and the boy was scarce out of the hornbook before he was 
 introduced to Machiavelli. But somehow or other the simple 
 goodness of the philosopher's actual life, with his high- wrought 
 patrician sentiments of integrity and honour, so counteract 
 the theoretical lessons, that the Heir of Serrano is litfcle likely 
 to be made more wise by the proverbs, or more wicked by 
 the Machiavelli, than those studies have practically made the 
 progenitor, whose opinions his countrymen still shame with 
 the title of " Alphonso the Grood." 
 
 The Duke long cherished a strong curiosity to know what 
 had become of Randal. He never traced the adventurer to 
 his closing scene. But once (years before Randal had crept 
 into his present shelter) in a visit of inspection to the hospital 
 at G-enoa, the Duke,^with his peculiar shrewdness of observa- 
 tion in all matters except those which concerned himself, was 
 remarking to the officer in attendance, " that for one dull, 
 honest man, whom fortune drove to the hospital or the jail, 
 he had found, on investigation of their antecedents, three 
 sharp-witted knaves who had thereto reduced themselves "~ 
 when his eye fell upon a man asleep in one of the sick wards, 
 and recognising the face, not then so changed as Oliver had 
 seen it, he walked straight up, and gazed upon Randal 
 Leslie. 
 
 ' " An Englishman,'* said the official. " He was brought 
 hither insensible, from a severe wound on the head, inflicted, 
 as we discovered, by a wellknown chevalier d^industrie, who 
 declared that the Englishman had outwitted and cheated him. 
 That was not very likely, for a few crowns were all we could 
 find on the Ene^lishman's person, and he had been obliged to 
 
596 
 
 MY novel; oe, 
 
 leave his lodgings for debt. He is recovering — but tbere ifir 
 fever still." 
 
 Tbe Duke gazed silently on tbe sleeper, wlio was tossing 
 restlessly on Ms pallet, and muttering to himself ; tben lie 
 placed his purse in the officiars hand. Give this to the 
 Englishman," said he ; " but conceal my name. It is true- 
 it is true — ^the proverb is very true" — resumed the Duke, 
 descending the stairs — " PiiZ jpelU di voljpi die di asini vanno 
 in FeUicciariaJ* (More hides of foxes than of asses find their 
 way to the tanner's.) 
 
 x)r. Morgan continues to prescribe globules for grief, and 
 to administer infinitesimally to a mind diseased. Practising 
 what he prescribes, he swallows a globule of " caustic " when- 
 ever the sight of a distressed fellow- creature moves him to 
 compassion — a constitutional tendency which, he is at last 
 convinced, admits of no radical cure. For the rest, his range 
 of patients has notably expanded ; and under his sage care 
 his patients unquestionably live as long — as Providence 
 pleases. No allopathist can say more. 
 
 The deabh of poor John Burley found due place in the 
 obituary of "literary men." Admirers, unknown before, 
 came forward and subscribed for a handsome monument to 
 his memory in Kensall Green. They would have subscribed 
 for the relief of his widow and children, if he had left any. 
 Writers in magazines thrived for some months on collections 
 of his humorous sayings, anecdotes of his eccentricities, and 
 specimens of the eloquence that had lightened through the 
 tobacco-reek of tavern and club-room. Leonard ultimately 
 made a selection from his scattered writings which found 
 place in standard libraries, though their subjects were either 
 of too fugitive an interest, or treated in too capricious a 
 manner to do more than indicate the value of the ore had it 
 been purified from its dross and subjected to the art of the 
 mint. These specimens could not maintain their circulation 
 as the coined monev of Thought, but they were hoarded 
 by collectors as rare curiosities. Alas, poor Burley ! 
 
 The Pompleys sustained a pecuniary loss by the crash of a 
 railway company, in which the Colonel had been induced to- 
 take several shares by one of his wife's most boasted " con- 
 nections," whose estate the said railway proposed to traverse, 
 on paying £400 an acre, in that golden age when railway 
 companies respected the rights of property. The Colonel was 
 no longer able, in his own country, to make both ends meet 
 at Christmas. He is now straining hard to achiiSTe that feat 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 597 
 
 in Boulogne, and has in the process grown so red in the face, 
 that those who meet him in his morning walk on the pier, 
 bargaining for fish, shake their heads and say, " Old Pompley 
 will go off in a fit of apoplexy ; a great loss to society ; genteel 
 people the Pompley s ! and very highly ' connected.' " 
 
 The vacancy created in the borough of Lansmere by 
 Audley Egerton's death, was filled up by our old acquaint- 
 ance^ Haveril Dashmore, who had unsuccessfully contested 
 that seat on Egerton's first election. The naval officer was 
 now an admiral, and perfectly reconciled to the Constitution, 
 With all its alloy of aristocracy. 
 
 Dick Avenel did not retire from Parliament so soon as he 
 had anticipated. He was not able to persuade Leonard, whose 
 brief fever of political ambition was now quenched in the 
 calm fountain of the Muse, to supply his place in the senate, 
 and he felt that the house of Avenel needed one representa- 
 tive. He contrived, however, to devote, for the first year or 
 two, much more of his time to his interests at Screwstown 
 than to the affairs of his country, and succeeded in baffling 
 the over competition to which he had been subjected, by 
 taking the competitor into partnership. Having thus secured 
 a monopoly at Screwstown, Dick, of course, returned with 
 great ardour to his former enlightened opinions in favour of 
 free trade. He remained some years in Parliament ; and 
 though far too shrewd to venture out of his depth as an 
 orator, distinguished himself so much by his exposure of 
 " humbug " on an important Comm^tee, that he acquired a 
 very high reputation as a man of business, and gradually 
 became so in request amongst all members who moved for 
 *' Select Committees," that he rose into consequence ; and 
 Mrs. Avenel, courted for his sake, more than her own, ob- 
 tained the wish of her heart, and was received as an acknow- 
 ledged liabituee into the circles of fashion. — Amidst these 
 circles, however, Dick found that his home entirely vanished ; 
 and when he came home from the House of Commons, tired 
 to death, at two in the morning, disgusted at always hearing 
 that Mrs. Avenel was not yet returned from some fine lady's 
 ball, he formed a sudden resolution of cutting Parliament, 
 Fashion, and London altogether ; withdrew his capital, now 
 very large, from his business ; bought the remaining estates 
 of Squire Thornhill ; and his chief object of ambition is in 
 endeavouring to coax or bully out of their holdings all the 
 small freeholders round, who had subdivided amongst them, 
 into poles and furlongs, the fated inheritance of Randal Leslie. 
 
598 
 
 MY novel; ok, 
 
 An excellent justice of the peace, though more severe than 
 your old family proprietors generally are ; — a spirited land- 
 lord, as to encouraging and making, at a proper percentage, 
 all permanent improvements on the soil, but formidable to 
 meet if the rent be not paid to the day, or the least breach of 
 covenant be heedlessly incurred on a farm that he could let 
 for more money ; — employing a great many hands in produc- 
 tive labour, but exacting rigorously from all the utmost degree 
 of work at the smallest rate of wages which competition and 
 the poor-rate permit ; — the young and robust in his neigh- 
 bourhood never stinted in work, and the aged and infirm, as 
 lumber worn out, stowed away in the workhouse ; — E/ichard 
 Avenel holds himself an example to the old race of landlords ; 
 and, taken altogether, is no very bad specimen of the rural 
 civilisers whom the application of spirit and capital raise up 
 in the new. 
 
 From the wrecks of Egerton's fortune, Harley, with the 
 aid of his father's experience in business, could not succeed 
 in saving, for the statesman's sole child and heir, more than a 
 few thousand pounds ; and but for the bonds and bills which, 
 when meditating revenge, he had bought from Levy, and 
 afterwards thrown into the fire — paying dear for that de- 
 testable whistle — even this surplus would not have been 
 forthcoming. 
 
 Harley privately paid out of his own fortune the £5000 
 Egerfcon had bequeathed to Leslie; perhaps not sorry, now 
 that the stern duty of exposing the false wiles of the schemer 
 was fulfilled, to afford some compensation even to the victim' 
 who had so richly deserved his fate; and pleased, though 
 mournfully, to comply with the solemn request of the friend 
 whose offence was forgotten in the remorseful memory of his 
 own projects of revenge. 
 
 Leonard's birth and identity were easily proved, and no 
 one appeared to dispute them. The balance due to him as 
 his father's heir, together with the sum Avenel ultimately 
 paid to him for the patent of his invention, and the dowry 
 which Harley insisted upon bestowing on Helen, amounted 
 to that happy competence which escapes alike the anxieties 
 of poverty and (what to one of contemplative tastes and 
 retired habits are often more irksome to bear) the show and 
 responsibilities of wealth. His father's death made a deej 
 impression upon Leonard's mind ; but the discovery that lid 
 owed his birth to a statesman of so great a repute, and occu- 
 pying a position in society so conspicuous, contributed not to 
 confirm, but to stilly the ambition which had for a short ^me 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 590 
 
 diverted him from his more serene aspirations. He liad no 
 longer to win a rank whicli might equal Helen's. He had no 
 longer a parent, whose affections might be best won through 
 pride. The memories of his earlier peasant life, and his love 
 for retirement — in which habit confirmed the constitutional 
 tendency — made him shrink from what a more worldly natnro 
 would have considered the enviable advantages of a name that 
 secured the entrance into the loftiest sphere of our social 
 world. — He wanted not that name to assist his own path to a 
 rank far more durable than that which kings can confer. And 
 still he retained in the works he had published, and still he 
 proposed to bestow on the works more ambitious that he 
 had, in leisure and competence, the facilities to design with 
 care, and. complete with patience, the name he had himself 
 invented, and linked with the memory of the low-born mother. 
 Therefore, though there was some wonder, in drawing-rooms 
 and clubs, at the news of Egerton's first unacknowledged 
 marriage, and some curiosity expressed as to what the son of 
 that marriage might do — and great men were prepared to 
 ' welcome, and fine ladies to invite and bring out, the heir to 
 the statesman's grave repute — ^yet wonder and curiosity soon 
 died away ; the repute soon passed out of date, and its heir 
 was soon forgotten. Politicians who fall short of the highest 
 renown are like actors ; no applause is so vivid while they 
 are on the stage— no oblivion so complete when the curtain 
 falls on the last farewell. 
 
 Leonard saw a fair tomb rise above llsTora's grave, and on the 
 tomb was engraved the word of wife, which vindicated her 
 beloved memory. He felt the warm embrace of Kora's 
 mother, no longer ashamed to own her grandchild ; and even 
 old John was made sensible that a secret weight of sorrow 
 was taken from his wife's stern silent heart. Leaning on 
 Leonard's arm, the old man gazed wistfully on Nora's tomb, 
 and muttering — " Egerton ! Egerton ! ' Leonora, the first 
 wife of the Right Honourable Audley Egerton ! ' Ha ! 1 
 voted for him. She married the right colour. Is that the 
 date ? Is it so long since she died ? Well, well ! I miss her 
 mdlj. But wife says we shall both now see her soon ; and 
 wife once thought we should never see her again — never ; 
 but I always knew better. Thank you, sir. I'm a poor 
 creature, but these tears don't pain me — quite otherwise. I 
 don't know why, but I'm very happy. Where's my old 
 woman ? She does not mind how much I talk about ISlora 
 now. 0\ there she is ! Thank you, sir, humbly ; but I'd 
 
600 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 ratlier lean on my old woman — I'm more used to it ; and— 
 wife, when shall we go to IsTora ? 
 
 Leonard had brought Mrs. Fairfield to see her parents, 
 and Mrs. Avenel welcomed her with nnlooked-for kindness. 
 The name inscribed npon Nora's tomb softened the mother's 
 heart to her surviving daughter. As poor John had said — 
 *' She could noio talk about ISTora ; " and in that talk, she and 
 the child she had so long neglected discovered how much 
 thej had in common. So when, shortly after his marriage 
 with Helen, Leonard went abroad, Jane Fairfield remained 
 with the old couple. After their death, which was within a 
 day of each other, she refused, perhaps from pride, to take 
 up her residence with Leonard, but she settled near the home 
 which he subsequently found in England. Leonard remained 
 abroad for some years. A quiet observer of the various man- 
 ners and intellectual development of living races — a rapt and 
 musing student of the monuments that revive the dead — his 
 experience of mankind grew large in silence, and his per- 
 ceptions of the Sublime and Beautiful brightened into tranquil 
 art under their native skies. 
 
 On his return to England lie purchased a small house 
 amidst the most beautiful scenes of Devonshire, and there 
 patiently commenced a work in which he designed to bequeath 
 to his country his noblest thoughts in their fairest forms. 
 Some men best develop their ideas by constant exercise ; 
 their thoughts spring from their brain ready-armed, and 
 seek, like the fabled goddess, to take constant part in the 
 wars of men. And such are, perhaps, on the whole, the most 
 vigorous and lofty writers ; but Leonard did not belong to 
 this class. Sweetness and serenity were the main characteris- 
 tics of his genius ; and these were deepened by his profound 
 sense of his domestic happiness. To wander alone with 
 Helen by the banks of the murmurous river — to gaze with 
 her on the deep still sea— to feel that his thoughts, even 
 when most silent, were comprehended by the intuition of 
 love, and reflected on that translucent sympathy so yearned 
 for and so rarely found by poets — these were the Sabbaths of 
 his soul, necessary to fit him for its labours : for the Writer 
 has this advantage over other men, that his repose is not 
 indolence. His duties, rightly fulfilled, are discharged to 
 earth and men in other capacities than those of action. If 
 he is not seen among those who act, he is all the while 
 maturing some noiseless influence, which will guide or illu- 
 mine, civilize or elevate, the restless men whose noblest 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 601 
 
 actions are but tlie obedient agencies of the thoughts of 
 writers. Call not, then, the Poet whom we place amidst the 
 Varieties of Life, the sybarite of literary ease, if, returning 
 on Summer eves, Helen's light footstep by his musing side, 
 he greets his sequestered home, with its trellised flowers 
 smiling out from amidst the lonely cliffs in which it is 
 embedded ; — while lovers still, though wedded long, they 
 turn to each other, with such deep joy in their speaking 
 eyes, grateful that the world, with its various distractions 
 and noisy conflicts, lies so far from their actual existence — • 
 only united to them by the happy link that the writer weaves 
 invisibly with the hearts that he moves and the souls that he 
 inspires. JSTo ! Character and circumstance alike unfitted 
 Leonard for the strife of the thronged literary democracy; 
 they led towards the development of the gentler and purer 
 portions of his nature — to the gradual suppression of th6 
 more combative and turbulent. The influence of the happy 
 light under which his genius so silently and calmly grew, 
 was seen in the exquisite harmony of its colours, rather than 
 the gorgeous diversities of their glow. His contemplation, 
 intent upon objects of peaceful beauty, and undisturbed by 
 rude anxieties and vehement passions, suggested only kindred 
 reproductions to the creative faculty by which it was vivified ; 
 so that the whole man w^as not only o, poet, but, as it were, a 
 poem — a living idyl, calling into pastoral music every reed 
 that sighed and trembled along the stream of life. And 
 Helen was so suited to a nature of this kind, she so guarded 
 the ideal existence in which it breathes ! All the little cares 
 and troubles of the common practical life she appropriated 
 so quietly to herself — the stronger of the two, as should be a 
 poet's wife, in the necessary household virtues of prudence 
 and forethought. Thus, if the man's genius made the home 
 a temple, the woman's wisdom gave to the temple the 
 security of the fortress. They have only one child — a girl ; 
 they call her I^^ora. She has the father's soul-lit eyes, and 
 the mother's warm human smile. She assists Helen in the 
 morning's noiseless domestic duties ; she sits in the evening 
 at Leonard's feet, while he reads or writes. In each light 
 grief of childhood she steals to the mother's knee ; but in 
 each young impulse of delight, or each brighter flash of 
 progressive reason, she springs to the father's breast. Sweet 
 Helen, thou has taught her this, taking to thyself the 
 shadows even of thine infant's life, and leaving to thy 
 partner's eyes only its rosy light ! 
 
MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 But not here sliall this picture of Helen close. Even tlie 
 Ideal can only complete its purpose by connection with the 
 E;eal. Even in solitude the writer must depend upon Man- 
 kind. 
 
 Leonard at last has completed the work, which has heen 
 the joy and the labour of so many years — the work which he 
 regards as the flower of all his spiritual being, and to which 
 he has committed all the hopes that unite the creature of 
 to-day with the generations of the future. The work has 
 gone through the press, each line lingered over with the 
 elaborate patience of the artist, loath to part with the thought 
 he has sculptured into form, while an improving touch can 
 be imparted by the chisel. He has accepted an invitation 
 from Norreys. In the restless excitement, (strange to him 
 since his first happy maiden effort,) he has gone to London. 
 Unrecognised in the huge metropolis, he has watched to see 
 if the world acknowledge the new tie he has woven between 
 its busy life and his secluded toil. And the work came out 
 in an unpropitious hour; other things were occupying the 
 public ; the world was not at leisure to heed him, and the 
 book did not penetrate into the great circle of readers. But 
 a savage critic has seized on it, and mangled, distorted, 
 deformed it, confounding together defect and beauty in one 
 mocking ridicule ; and the beauties have not yet found an 
 exponent, nor the defects a defender; and the publisher 
 shakes his head, points to groaning shelves, and delicately 
 hints that the work which was to be the epitome of the sacred 
 life within life, does not hit the taste of the day. Leonard 
 fchinks over the years that his still labour has cost him, and 
 knows that he has exhausted the richest mines of his intellect, 
 and that long years will elapse before he can recruit that capital 
 of ideas which is necessary to sink new shafts and bring to light 
 fresh ore ; and the deep despondency of intellect, frustrated in 
 its highest aims, has seized him, and all he has before done is in- 
 volved in failure by the defeat of the crowning effort. Failure, 
 and irrecoverable, seems his whole ambition as writer ; his 
 whole existence in the fair Ideal seems to have been a profit- 
 less dream, and the face of the Ideal itself is obscured. And even 
 i^'orreys frankly, though kindly, intimates that the life of a 
 metropolis is essential to the healthful intuition of a writer in 
 the intellectual wants of his age; since every great writei 
 supplies a want in his own generation, for some feeling to be 
 announced, some truth to be revealed ; and as this maxim is 
 generally sound, as most great writers have lived, in cities, 
 
VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 603 
 
 Leonard dares not dwell on tlie exception ; it is only success 
 tliat justifies tlie attempt to be an exception to tlie common 
 rule ; and with the blunt manhood of his nature, which is not 
 a poet's, Norrejs sums up with, " What then ? One experi- 
 ment has failed ; fit your life to your genius, and try again." 
 Try again ! Easy counsel enough to the man of ready resource 
 and quick combative mind ; but to Leonard, how hard and 
 how harsh ! " Fit his life to his genius ! — renounce con- 
 templation and i^ature for the jostle of Oxford Street! — ■ 
 would that life not scare away the genius for ever ? Per- 
 plexed and despondent, though still struggling for fortitude, 
 he returns to his home, and there at his hearth awaits the 
 Soother, and there ia the voice that repeats the passages most 
 beloved, and prophesies so confidently of future fame ; and 
 gradually all around smiles from the smile of Helen. And 
 the profound conviction that Heaven places human happiness 
 beyond the reach of the world's contempt or praise, circulates 
 through his system and restores its serene calm. And he feels 
 that the duty of the intellect is to accomplish and perfect itself 
 — to harmonise its sounds into music that may be heard in 
 heaven, though it wake not an echo on the earth. If this be 
 done, as with some men, best amidst the din and the discord, 
 be it so ; if, as with him, best in silence, be it so too. And the 
 next day he reclines with Helen by the sea-shore, gazing 
 calmly as before on the measureless sunlit ocean ; and Helen, 
 looking into his face, sees that it is sunlit as the deep. His 
 hand steals within her own, in the gratitade that endears 
 beyond the power of passion, and he murmurs gently, 
 " Blessed be the woman who consoles." 
 
 The work found its way at length into fame, and the fame 
 sent its voices loud to the poet's home. But the applause of 
 the world had not a sound so sweet to his ear, as, when, in 
 doubt, humiliation, and sadness, the lips of his Helen had 
 whispered " Hope ! and believe." 
 
 Side by side with this picture of Woman the Consoler, 
 let me place the companion sketch. Harley L'Estrange, 
 shortly after his marriage with Violante, had been induced, 
 whether at his bride's persuasions, or to dissipate the 
 shadow with which Egerton's death still clouded his wedded 
 felicity, to accept a temporary mission, half military, hall 
 civil, to one of our colonies. On this mission he had evinced 
 so much ability, and achieved so signal a success, that on his 
 return to England he was raised to the peerage, while his 
 father yet lived to rejoice that the son who would succeed to 
 
604 
 
 MY novel; or, 
 
 his lionoms had achieved the nobler dignity of honours not 
 inherited, but won. High expectations were formed of 
 Harley's parliamentary success; but he saw that such success, 
 to be durable, must found itself on the knowledge of weari- 
 some details, and the study of that practical business, which 
 jarred on his tastes, though it suited his talents. Harley had 
 been indolent for so many years — and there is so much to make 
 indolence captivating to a man whose rank is secured, who has 
 nothing to ask from fortune, and who finds at his home no 
 cares from which he seeks a distraction ; — so he laughed at 
 ambition in the whim of his delightful humours, and the expec- 
 tations formed from his diplomatic triumph died away. But 
 then came one of those political crises, in which men ordinarily 
 indifferent to politics rouse themselves to the recollection, that 
 the experiment of legislation is not made upon dead matter, 
 but on the living form of a noble country. And in both 
 Houses of Parliament the strength of party is put forth. 
 
 It is a lovely day in spring, and Harley is seated by the 
 window of his old room at Knightsbridge — now glancing to 
 the lively green of the budding trees — now idling with Nero, 
 who, though in canine old age, enjoys the sun like his master 
 — now repeating to himself, as he turns over the leaves of his 
 favourite Horace, some of those lines that make the shortness 
 of life the excuse for seizing its pleasures and eluding its 
 fatigues, which formed the staple morality of the polished 
 epicurean — and Yiolante (into what glorious beauty her 
 maiden bloom has matured ! ) comes softly into the room, seats 
 herself on a low stool beside him, leaning her face on her 
 hands, and looking up at him through her dark, clear, spiri- 
 tual eyes ; and as she continues to speak, gradually a change 
 comes over Harley's aspect — gradually the brow grows 
 thoughtful, and the lips lose their playful smile. There is no 
 hateful assumption of the would-be " superior woman — no 
 formal remonstrance, no lecture, no homily which grates upon 
 masculine pride, but the high theme and the eloquent words 
 elevate unconsciously of themselves, and the Horace is laid 
 aside — a Parliamentary Blue Book has been, by some marvel 
 or other been conjured there in its stead — and Yiolante 
 now moves away as softly as she entered. Harley's hand 
 detains her. 
 
 "Not so. Share the task, or T quit it. Here is an extract I 
 condemn you to copy. Do you think I would go through this 
 labour if you were not to halve the success ? — halve the 
 labour as well ! " 
 
VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 605 
 
 And Violaiite, overjoyed, kisses away tHe implied rebuke, 
 and sits down to work, so demure and so proud by his side. I 
 do not know if Harley made mucb way in tbe Blue Book 
 tkat morning ; but a little time after, lie spoke in tbe Lords, 
 and surpassed all tliat tbe most sanguine had hoped from his 
 talents. The sweetness of fame, and the consciousness of 
 utility once fully tasted, Harley's consummation of his proper 
 destinies was secure. A year later, and his voice was one of 
 the influences of England. His boyish love of glory revived ; 
 no longer vague and dreamy, but ennobled into patriotism, 
 and strengthened into purpose. One night, after a signal 
 triumph, he returned home, with his father, who had witnessed 
 it, and "Violante — ^ who all lovely, all brilliant, though she was, 
 never went forth in her lord's absence, to lower among fops 
 and flatterer's, the dignity of the name she so aspired to raise 
 — sprang to meet him. Harley's eldest son — a boy yet in the 
 nursery — had been kept up later than usual ; perhaps Yiolante 
 had anticipated her husband's triumph, and wished the son to 
 share it. The old Earl beckoned the child to him, and laying 
 his hand on the infant's curly locks, said with unusual 
 seriousness — 
 
 " My boy, you may see troubled times in England 
 before these hairs are as grey as mine ; and your stake in 
 England's honour and peace will be great. Heed this hint 
 from an old man who had no talents to make a noise in the 
 world, but who yet has been of some use in his generation. 
 Neither sounding titles, nor wide lands, nor fine abilities will 
 give you real joy, unless you hold yourself responsible for all to 
 your Grod and to your country ; and when you are tempted to 
 believe that the gifts you may inherit from both entail no 
 duties, or that duties are at war with true pleasure, remember 
 how I placed you in your father's arms, and said, ' Let him 
 be as proud of you some day, as I at this hour am of him.' " 
 
 The boy clung to his father's breast, and said manfully, " I 
 will try ! " Harley bent his fair smooth brow over the young 
 earnest face, and said softly, " Your mother speaks in you ! " 
 
 Then the old Countess, who had remained silent and 
 listening on her elbow-chair, rose and kissed the Earl's hand 
 reverently. Perhaps in that kiss there was the repentant 
 consciousness how far the active goodness she had often, 
 secretly undervalued had exceeded, in its fruits, her own cold 
 Linproductive powers of will and mind. Then passing on to 
 Harley, her brow e^rew elate, and the p'j^ide returned to het 
 eye. 
 
606 
 
 MY NOVEL. 
 
 "At last," she said, laying on Hs shoulder that light firm 
 hand, from which he no longer shrunk — " at last, O my noble 
 son, you have fulfilled all the promise of your youth ! " 
 
 " If so," answered Harley, "it is because I have found what 
 I then sought in vain." He drew his arm around Yiolante, 
 and added, with half tender, half solemn eniile — " Blessed is 
 the woman who exalts ! " 
 
 So, symbolled forth in these tvr'm and fair flowers which 
 Eve saved for Earth out of Paradise, each with the virtue to 
 heal or to strengthen, stored under the leaves that give sweets 
 to the air ; — here, soothing the heart when the world brings 
 the trouble — here recruiting the soul which our sloth or our 
 senses enervate, leave we "Woman, at least in the place 
 Heaven assigns to her amidst the multiform "Varieties of 
 Life." 
 
 Farewell to thee, gentle Reader ; and go forth to the world, 
 0 Mt Novel! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 S?ItADBURT, 4GNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WIIITEFRIART,