LI B RAFIY 
 
 OF THL 
 U N I VERSITY 
 or ILLl NOI5 
 
 M555 tr 
 
 <(3 \b iw t brra C titi^ c^mix nn 

 
 ■A 
 
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 r^\
 
 THE TRIUMPHS 
 
 OF TIME. 
 
 BY THE ALTHOR OF 
 
 "TWO OLD MEN'S TALES." 
 
 " For Ijeauty, \vit, 
 
 High birth — desert in service— 
 
 Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
 
 To en\'ious and inexorable Time." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1844.
 
 i.oNnoN : 
 
 Printed by S. & .1. Be\tlev, WtLso.v, and Flrt, 
 
 Banjfor House. Shoe Lane.
 
 u5 
 
 V5 
 
 iT'l 
 
 TO 
 
 JAMES STAMFORD CALDWELL, Esq. 
 
 OF LINLEY WOOD, 
 
 :M Y DEAR AND KIND 
 
 BROTHER. 
 
 -T 
 
 't. 
 

 
 THE 
 
 TRIUMPHS OF TIME. 
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 This story was translated in the year 1838, and 
 has remained in the Old Man's drawer ever since. — 
 He publishes it, because he still retains his opinion 
 of its extreme beauty, — and would fain hope, that 
 he has rendered it rather more justice, than is 
 always shown to French, done into English.
 
 SEALED ORDEES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ROAD TO LILLE. 
 
 The great road leading from Artois into 
 Flanders is long and melancholy enough ; it 
 extends in one undeviating straight line over 
 a bed of stiff yellow clay, and through wide 
 extending downs ; unbroken by tree, hedge, 
 or ditch, on either side. 
 
 It so happened, in the month of March 
 1815, that I was travelling upon this road, 
 and I there met with an adventure which I 
 have not since found it easy to forget. 
 
 I was on horseback, and alone ; wrapped in 
 my heavy military cloak ; my black helmet 
 upon my head, my pistols in my belt, and my 
 large sabre by my side. It had been raining 
 pitilessly, and without intermission, for four 
 whole days and nights ; and yet, in spite of 
 
 B 2
 
 4 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 it all, I dashed along, and was singing, as I 
 remember, a gay French song. 
 
 I was young enough then ! 
 
 La Maison du Roi in 1814 was, in fact, 
 almost entirely composed of old grey beards 
 or mere children — the empire had consumed 
 all the men. 
 
 My comrades were marching before me, 
 somewhat in advance ; following the King, 
 Louis the Eighteenth, as he slowly retired 
 to the frontiers, before the triumphant return 
 of his great rival : their white cloaks and 
 scarlet uniforms might still be perceived in 
 the horizon, as they slowly plodded their 
 way through the mud and rain; while on 
 the extreme verge of the distance behind me, 
 the lancers of Napoleon were beginning to 
 make their appearance, hovering on our rear, 
 their streaming tri-coloured pennons flaunt- 
 ing from time to time upon the air. My 
 horse had cast a shoe, so that I had fallen 
 some little way behind my companions ; but 
 he was young and powerful, and I urged him 
 along at a high dashing trot, thinking it was 
 time to be rejoining my company. I gaily 
 breasted the pelting rain, the iron sheath of
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 5 
 
 my good sword rattled against my booted 
 heel ; I put my hand to my belt, it was well 
 stuffed with gold Napoleons ; I was young, 
 ardent, happy — a mere boy, yet a soldier ; 
 what on earth could I desire more ? 
 
 It continued, however, to rain pitilessly 
 and unremittingly, and for some time I con- 
 tinued to sing as perseveringly ; but at last I 
 got weary of hearing no sound but my own 
 voice, the ceaseless pattering of the rain, and 
 the plashing of my horse's feet, as he strug- 
 gled through the sludge and clay. My song 
 gradually sank into silence ; I paused, and 
 listened — no sound but the ceaseless drip and 
 patter of the rain, and the plash, plunge, and 
 struggle of the determined animal ! The road 
 became deeper and deeper, the clay stiffer 
 and more tenacious, at every step the plunges 
 and efforts of the poor animal more heavy 
 and violent. At last we were forced both of 
 us fairly to give it up, and continue our jour- 
 ney at a foot's pace. 
 
 My large military boots were speedily 
 crusted over with a thick sticky clay, as yel- 
 low as ochre, while the rain poured into them 
 as if they had been buckets. I looked at my
 
 b SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 epaulettes — my pride and consolation in every 
 disaster ; alas ! huge drops were falling from 
 the rich gold lace, its glories already dingy 
 and tarnished — This was the unkindest cut 
 of all for a lad of sixteen. I began to look 
 as dismal as the sky, and as crest-fallen as 
 my poor horse, who, with dripping mane and 
 drooping head, ploughed through the blind- 
 ing rain and stiff clogging clay. 
 
 It was thus, that left to my own medita- 
 tions, without a single object to divert my 
 attention, I began, perhaps for the first time 
 in my life, to reflect — to ask myself whither 
 I was going ? — and why ? 
 
 I had no answer to give ; and yet I soon 
 reconciled my mind to this blank and utter 
 ignorance — It was enough, my regiment was 
 there before me, and where my regiment 
 was, there it was my duty to be. This re- 
 flection at once satisfied my mind as far as 
 the question regarded myself; and expe- 
 riencing that delightful sense of repose which 
 such satisfaction gives, I blessed the ineffable 
 sentiment, that sense of duty, which pro- 
 duced it. 
 
 Continuing my ruminations — I began to
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 7 
 
 reflect upon this sense of duty, and to ask 
 myself in what it properly and really con- 
 sisted. '^^ 
 
 And next, considering the numbers at that 
 moment before me — heads wrinkled and 
 grey with old age, or bright with the golden 
 curls of eighteen; all alike enduring, with 
 uncomplaining patience, fatigues and hard- 
 ships which, under other circumstances, 
 would have been thought absolutely in- 
 tolerable — men, who, with every prospect 
 before them that could render life valuable, 
 were risking it, without the slightest hesi- 
 tation, and with the utmost sang froid, 
 merely from a sense of duty, I felt how 
 large a share I might myself claim in 
 that sentiment of composed submission 
 which men feel when obepng implicitly the 
 laws of honour and duty, and I began to 
 think that this self-devotion, this abnegation 
 de soi, must be a much more universal 
 matter than I had at first imagined. 
 
 I asked myself, whether this self-devotion 
 were not, in fact, an innate sentiment — a 
 part of ourselves — of the nature born with 
 us; and from that I proceeded to inquire
 
 8 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 what the precise nature of this instinct, if 
 instinct it were, might be : an instinct 
 which seemed to urge mankind, as by a 
 kind of necessity, to seek pleasure in obe- 
 dience, and to feel a desire to depose, as it 
 were, their free agency, and consequent re- 
 sponsibility, in other hands; as if thereby a 
 burden was laid down too weighty to be vo- 
 luntarily supported — and how this sensa- 
 tion of relief seemed to give a secret feeling 
 of complacency, and a freedom to the act 
 of obedience, which reconcile it to the pride 
 of human nature. 
 
 I saw this powerful and mysterious in- 
 stinct acting upon human society, and bind- 
 ing families and nations into immense and 
 powerful bodies — but in no form of society 
 did I see it exercising an influence so incalcu- 
 lable as upon our modern armies. — Nowhere 
 is the renunciation of individual action, word, 
 desire, almost thought, so complete as here. 
 The obedience of the citizen has its limits — 
 in every region of the earth, he takes a right 
 to reflect and discriminate before he obeys — 
 The child reasons on the command and re- 
 monstrates — even the tender submission of
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 9 
 
 the wife ceases where error and crime be- 
 gin, and the law countenances her in re- 
 sistance to viciously exercised authority ; 
 but military obedience, at once active and 
 passive, receives its orders, — obeys, executes, 
 strikes, blind as the destinies of the antique 
 world ! 
 
 I now paused, and began to follow out 
 into its remote consequences this military 
 self abnegation ; this unlimited obedience to 
 orders, sans retour et sans o^eproche, demon- 
 strated by the unhesitating sacrifice of every 
 individual feeling and opinion, — and calling, 
 at times, for actions, so entirely out of the 
 usual line of proceeding .... 
 
 Thus, I mused and pondered, allowing my 
 horse, meanwhile, to choose his own path 
 and his own pace ; the long undeviating way 
 lengthening out in one unbroken line be- 
 fore me, neither house, tree, nor living ob- 
 ject breaking tfee melancholy plain which 
 stretched to the horizon. 
 
 The road traversed this dusky landscape 
 like a long, narrow, yellow stripe, upon a 
 blackish, greenish, grey ground ; only varied, 
 where the clay had melted into an actual 
 
 b5
 
 10 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 morass, by splashes of liquid mud gleaming 
 at a distance in that cold watery light which 
 severed at intervals the heavy wandering 
 clouds. 
 
 I was looking along this stripe of yel- 
 low road, with a sort of vague hope to 
 see an object of some sort or other which 
 might break the intolerable monotony, when 
 about a quarter of a league in advance I 
 discovered, what appeared to me, a small 
 dark point, slowly travelling along it in the 
 same direction as myself. Even this object, 
 trifling as it might be, Avas some little relief 
 in the dismal solitude around me; and I 
 continued to watch its progress, as the little 
 black point kept moving before me in the 
 direction of Lille, in that sort of zigzag 
 irregular manner which bespeaks ways heavy 
 and difficult. 
 
 I now pressed my horse forward, and 
 gained upon the object ; and the road mend- 
 ing a little, put him upon a trot, which 
 soon brought me near enough to discover it 
 to be a small covered cart. I was hungry 
 and thirsty, so thinking it a sutler's cart, I 
 made all sail for this fortunate island in the
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 11 
 
 desert ; but, arrived within a hundred yards, 
 I perceived my mistake ; it was no sutler's 
 equipage. 
 
 A little cart of white wood, covered with 
 three wooden hoops, over which was stretched 
 a piece of black oil-cloth, was swinging on 
 springs like a cradle, between two large 
 wheels, at that moment axle deep in mud ; 
 and was drawn painfully along by a white 
 mule, who went staggering and straining 
 through the mire. A man on foot walked 
 upon one side of this little carriage. 
 
 The man was a large, strongly-built, mili- 
 tary man ; he might be about fifty years of 
 age ; his back a little rounded, as may be ob- 
 served in old infantry officers who have in 
 their time carried the knapsack ; his hair 
 and moustaches grey. His uniform and the 
 epaulette of a chef de bataillon were visible 
 under a short threadbare blue cloak which 
 he wore. His countenance was severe, but 
 had an air of goodness in it — sevhre mais hon, — 
 (harsh, but kind) the true expression of the 
 old soldier's face. He looked askance at me 
 as I rode up, and drawing a musket briskly 
 out of the cart, presented it, passing at the
 
 12 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 time to the other side of the mule, as if to 
 put his beast between us. I had observed 
 that he wore the white cockade, so I con- 
 tented myself with merely lifting up my arm 
 and displaying my scarlet uniform; upon 
 which he replaced his musket, saying, — 
 
 " Right ! — I took you for one of those grey- 
 hounds there, behind us. — Will you drink?" 
 
 He had a cocoa-nut, mounted in silver, 
 hanging round his neck, in which, by the 
 by, he seemed to take some little pride ; he 
 presented it to me, and I swallowed a few 
 mouthfuls of very ordinary white wine, with 
 very extraordinary pleasure. 
 
 Having returned him his cocoa-nut : 
 
 "To the King's health !'^ said he, pledging 
 me. " It has seemed good to his Majesty 
 to make me a chevalier of the Legion of 
 Honour, so I can do no less than conduct 
 him to the frontiers. That done, as I have 
 no bread-winner but my sword, I shall re- 
 turn to my battalion — 'tis my duty." 
 
 And having said this rather in the way of 
 a soliloquy than as addressing me, he gave 
 his poor white mule a poke, adding, that he 
 had no time to lose ; and I being much of
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 13 
 
 the same opinion, resumed my march at the 
 same time, and followed three or four paces 
 in the rear. 
 
 I kept examining him in silence. I hate 
 questionings and questioners ; and so we 
 continued our advance for some little time, 
 without speaking, till having made about a 
 quarter of a league, he stopped to allow his 
 poor little staggering mule to take breath ; 
 and I did the same for the sake of my 
 horse; trying as I did so, to squeeze the 
 water out of my large military boots, which 
 were literally brimming over. 
 
 " Your boots are like sponges," said he. 
 
 " They have not been off my legs these 
 four nights ! " 
 
 " Bah ! And in eight more much you 
 will care about that. It's a fine thin or in 
 these days to have only oneself to look to. 
 Do you know what I have got in that thing 
 there?'' 
 
 " No." 
 
 " A woman ! " 
 
 " So, ho ! " was all I said, quietly enough, 
 and resumed my march at a foot pace ; he 
 following with his little cart and mule.
 
 14 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 Presently he resumed : 
 
 " This wheelbarrow did not cost me 
 much, nor the poor beast neither ; but they 
 do my business well enough — though the 
 road is none of the best." 
 
 That was true indeed ; and I stopped 
 here, and offered him a turn upon my horse. 
 The offer was made in sincerity ; and he, 
 seeing that it was so, and that I did not 
 seem disposed to amuse myself at the ex- 
 pense either of him or his equipage — a little 
 fear of ridicule having evidently embar- 
 rassed him at first — seemed suddenly set at 
 his ease, and coming up to my stirrups, he 
 struck me slightly- on the knee, saying, 
 
 " 1 see you are a good fellow after all, 
 though you are one of the lobsters.'' 
 
 Something in the tone with which he thus 
 alluded to the four " compagnies rouges,'' be- 
 trayed the bitterness with which the army 
 in general regarded the privileges of these 
 favoured regiments. 
 
 " However,^' he continued, " I will not 
 trouble your horse, for one good reason 
 among others, that I don't know how to 
 ride — horsemanship not being my business."
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 15 
 
 " How SO ? — Officers of your rank are 
 mounted." 
 
 " Bah ! — Once a year, and upon a hired 
 horse ; but I am a seaman, if the truth 
 must out. — A sailor turned into a foot sol- 
 dier ! — What business should I have on 
 horseback ? " 
 
 And haAing said this, he walked on silently 
 a few paces, eyeing me askance as if he ex- 
 pected to be questioned ; but I, pursuing my 
 way, and nothing coming, he resumed his 
 discourse of himself. 
 
 " You are not particularly curious, I see. — 
 What I said just now must have surprised 
 you rather.'* 
 
 " I am not easily surprised." 
 
 " Oh ! that's it, is it ? — But I fancy, if I 
 were to tell you why I left the navy, you 
 might be surprised for once in a way." 
 
 "Well! and why should you not? It 
 might serve to keep you warm, and make 
 me forget this rain, which pelts in at my 
 collar and runs out at my heels." 
 
 The old officer now seemed to prepare 
 himself for a recital with great solemnity 
 and gravity, like a child commencing some
 
 16 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 most important narration. — He took off his 
 schakos, which was covered with oil-cloth, 
 shook it, replaced it — gave that peculiar 
 twitch of the shoulder which marks the man 
 who has served in the infantry, and risen 
 from the ranks — the hitch which a foot sol- 
 dier gives to his knapsack, — a habit in the 
 soldier which becomes a tic in the officer. 
 He then put his cocoa flagon to his mouth, 
 swallowed two or three drops, gave his little 
 mule an encouraging kick under the ribs, 
 and thus began.
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE THREE RED SEALS. 
 
 " In the first place, you must know, young 
 man, that I was born at Brest. — I began by 
 gaining my half ration as enfant de troupe, 
 my father being a lifeguardsman. This lasted 
 till I was nine years old — But I loved the 
 sea ; so, one fine night, while we were quar- 
 tered at Brest, I hid myself in the hold of a 
 merchant vessel bound for the Indies, and 
 when she had lost sight of land, lo ! and be- 
 hold ! there was I — The captain had his 
 choice, either to fling me overboard or make 
 a ship's boy of me : he chose the latter, so 
 cabin-boy I became. 
 
 " Before the Revolution broke out I had 
 made my way ; and by that time I had be- 
 come captain in my turn — master of a smart 
 little merchant vessel — having been then at 
 sea about fifteen years — the Ea;mari?ie royale —
 
 18 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 a good marine that, faith ! after all. — Well, 
 as the Exmarine royale happened in those 
 days — you know why — to be rather short of 
 officers, they picked up commanders how and 
 where they could — here and there, among 
 merchant ships — anywhere, as they came to 
 hand. I had had one or two pretty smart 
 affairs with smugglers — I'll tell you about 
 that some other time — so they picked me up 
 among the rest, and gave me the command 
 of a brig of war named the Marat. 
 
 " It was on a certain day, the 28th Fructi- 
 dor, 1797, that I received orders to put my- 
 self in readiness to sail for Cayenne. I was 
 to transport sixty soldiers, and a deporte, one 
 remaining out of one hundred and ninety- 
 three which the frigate la Decade had taken 
 on board a few days before. I had orders to 
 treat this individual well, and the letter I 
 received from the Directory upon the subject 
 enclosed another sealed with three red seals 
 — the centre one being of a most extravagant 
 size — which I was not to open until we made 
 the first degree north latitude, between 27° 
 and 28° west longitude ; that is, just before 
 we should be about to cross the line.
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 19 
 
 " The letter was a great long packet, so well 
 closed upon every side that it was impossible 
 to catch the slightest glimpse of its contents. 
 It was, as I said, a long, thin, scrawling-look- 
 ing letter, with three red seals. — I am not na- 
 turally superstitious, but there was something 
 in the look of the letter that I did not al- 
 together like, though I could give no reason 
 why — however, I carried it into my cabin, and 
 stuck it under the glass of a little shabby 
 English clock which was fastened above my 
 bed. 
 
 " This bed was a true sea-bed — you know 
 the sort of thing — No, no, you are only six- 
 teen, you have seen nothing as yet — you 
 know nothing about the matter. 
 
 " Well — without boasting then, nothing 
 on earth — a queen's bed-chamber even, is 
 not neater or nicer than a seaman's cabin. 
 Everything in its place — a hook or a nail for 
 everything ! The vessel rolls like a dolphin — 
 nothing rolls out of order. The lockers fit 
 into the sides of the cabin — not an inch is 
 lost. My bed was a chest, when it was open 
 I slept in it, when it was shut I sat or lay 
 upon it ; it was my sofa — I lay upon it and
 
 20 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 smoked my pipe — sometimes my table — and 
 then people sat upon two little round stools 
 that were in my cabin. Oh ! that cabin was 
 a perfect baby-house — and my brig such a 
 pretty thing too ! We made it out well 
 enough within her ; the voyage would have 
 been pretty pleasant but for . . . 
 
 However, we had a fair wind, N.N.W., 
 and I was busy fixing my letter under my 
 clock glass — when who should come into 
 my cabin, but my depwte for the first time. 
 He had a pretty little creature hanging upon 
 his arm, might be seventeen years old or 
 thereabouts. As for him, he was, as he told 
 me afterwards, upwards of nineteen ; a fine 
 young fellow, rather pale — too pale, mayhap, 
 for a man — but he was a man, nevertheless, 
 — and a man who knew as well what it be- 
 came a man to do upon occasion as many 
 more daring-looking fellows. 
 
 " You shall hear — Well, he had, as I said, 
 his little wife hanging upon his arm — Pretty ! 
 pretty creature! — Young, merry, and pretty 
 as a little bird : they looked, indeed, like a 
 pair of turtle doves — It was a pleasure to 
 see them together — So I turned and I said,
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 21 
 
 " ' Well, my young ones, so ye are come to 
 pay your respects to the old captain, are ye ? — 
 That 's very pretty, I must say, of ye both. — 
 I am going to carry you a long journey — so 
 much the better, we shall have time enough 
 to get acquainted — I am sorry to receive 
 Madame in this mess, but you see I was nail- 
 ing up this great beast of a letter — Will 
 you be pleased to lend a hand ?' 
 
 " They were such dear little things ! — The 
 young fellow took the hammer, and the little 
 wife the nails, handing them as I wanted 
 them ; she laughing and crying out, ' Now 
 this way, Captain — now a little that way, 
 Captain — now a little to the right — now a 
 thought to the left.' Making game of me 
 because the vessel swung me to and fro, and 
 I could not rightly fix the letter. I think I 
 see her now — with her sweet little smilinor 
 eyes, and her merry voice — 'This way. Cap- 
 tain — no ; that way. Captain — a little to the 
 left — a thought to the right.' 
 
 " She was making a fool of me all the time. 
 
 " * Ah ! you little wicked thing,' said J, 
 * I'll get you well scolded by your husband, 
 that I will.' And then she sprang up, and
 
 22 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 ran, and flung her pretty arms round his 
 neck. 
 
 " They were sweet creatures ! that 's the 
 truth .... and in this way our acquaintance 
 began, and we were soon excellent friends. . . 
 
 " We had a prosperous voyage ; the weather 
 was charming, and I had never had such 
 pretty company on board with me before. I 
 made my lovers dine with me every day. It 
 amused me to watch them. 
 
 " When we had dined — maybe on nothing 
 but salt fish and biscuit — the young fellow and 
 his little wife would sit gazing, gazing upon 
 each other, as if it were the first time they had 
 ever met in their lives — and I would laugh and 
 make fun of them. Then they would laugh 
 at themselves. — We used to laugh like three 
 fools at nothing at all. — But it was enough 
 to make a cat laugh to see how those two 
 loved one another. 
 
 " Everything was as it should be — nothiag 
 came amiss to them ; they had nothing bet- 
 ter than the common ship-fare, and that in 
 those days was poor enough — little cared 
 they. I used to give them a little drop of 
 cherry brandy as a treat when they dined
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 23 
 
 with me — half a glass or so — just to sweeten 
 their mouths — that was all thej ever got. 
 They had no better bed than their hammock, 
 and they rolled together like these two pears 
 which you see here in my wet pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. But they were always cheerful 
 and contented. I was like you, I asked no 
 questions — what mattered their names or 
 their history to me? I had nothing to do 
 with that — I a mere sailor — nothin^r but to 
 carry them safe over the waves, like two 
 birds of Paradise as they were. 
 
 " Before a month had passed over our heads, 
 I looked upon them and loved them both as 
 if they had been my own children. Every 
 morning I used to call them into my cabin. 
 The young fellow would sit writing at my 
 table, that is to say, at my chest, which was 
 my bed. He would often help me with 
 my reckoning, and soon learned to do it 
 better than I could. I was astonished at 
 him — His young wife would sit upon one of 
 the round stools in my cabin, working at her 
 needle. 
 
 " One day we were all three sitting in this 
 way, and I said, ' Do you know, my young
 
 24 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 ones, as it seems to me, we make a very pretty 
 family picture here— Mind, I don't mean to 
 ask questions — but, maybe, you have not 
 much money to spare, and you are, both of 
 you, as I think, a deuced deal too pretty and 
 too delicate to dig and delve in the burning 
 sun of Cayenne, like many a poor devil of a 
 deporte before you. It's a bad country — a bad 
 country, take my word for it. — I, who have 
 roughed it through sun and wind till I have 
 the skin of a crocodile, might do well enough 
 there — faith, I should live like a lord ! — So if 
 you should happen to have — mind, I ask no 
 questions — but if you should chance to have 
 a bit of a foolish friendship for your poor 
 old captain here, why, I'll tell you what I'll 
 do; I'll get rid of this old brig — she's not 
 much better than a wooden shoe after all — 
 so I'll get rid of her as fast as I can — and 
 I'll settle myself down there with you, if you 
 like. You see I have not a soul in the living 
 world to care for, or that cares for me. I 
 want relations — I want a home — I want a 
 family. I should like to make a family and a 
 home with you, my pretty young ones. You 
 see, I might serve you in many ways — I've got
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 25 
 
 something pretty in that old chest there ; we 
 should have wherewith to make a good fight 
 of it; and when the old fellow was under 
 the moulds, as they say, you know all that 
 was left would be for you and yours. — Well, 
 what say ye?' 
 
 " They said nothing at all, but kept looking 
 first at each other, and then at me — and then 
 at each other again — almost as if they doubt- 
 ed whether they heard me rightly. At last the 
 young one — it was what she often did — flew 
 like a little bird as she was, and flino^inof her 
 arms round the neck of the other, threw her- 
 self upon his knee, all red and blubbering 
 like a little child. — He pressed her in his 
 arms, and the tears stood in his eyes too, but 
 he held out his hand to me, looking still 
 paler than usual. She kept muttering and 
 murmuring to him in a low voice, while her 
 fair silken hair, which hung down in long, 
 floating curls, as it was the fashion to wear it 
 then, fell all over his breast and shoulders, — 
 if you had seen them ! — It was like a flood of 
 gold showered over him. Well, for some time 
 they kept murmuring to one another in a low 
 voice ; he kissing her from time to time on 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 the forehead, and she crying like — 
 
 At last I could stand it no longer, so I said,, 
 
 " * Well, well I — will you never have done ? 
 What's it all about?' 
 
 " ' But — but Captain,' said the young fellow 
 at last, * you are too good. But — but — you 
 cannot make a family and a home with dt- 
 partes,'' and he looked down. 
 
 "'Can't!' cried I; 'why not? I don't 
 know what you have done to be dqyortts, and 
 I don't care neither — You may tell me all 
 about it some day, or let it alone, just as you 
 like — You don't look to me like a fellow 
 with a very heavy load upon his conscience — 
 I wish every body else may have as little to 
 answer for, that 's all — Come, come, poor 
 young creatures, take courage — ... But yet let 
 us understand one another — while I have the 
 keeping of you, you must expect no favours 
 from me ; and if you were to try to flyaway, 
 I would wring both your necks just as readily 
 as if ye were two pigeons — Ay, but I would 
 though — But once let me be fairly rid of my 
 epaulettes, and I know neither admiral nor 
 Directory — I am my own man again then.' 
 
 " ' But,' said the young gentleman, shaking
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 27 
 
 his brown hair, which was slightly powdered, 
 as was the fashion of the time, * I fear. 
 Captain, it might be disadvantageous, nay, 
 dangerous for you, to seem to know or to 
 take .interest in us — We laugh — for we are 
 both of us young and giddy ; we look happy, 
 because we love one another a little — but 
 I own it goes hard enough with me at mo- 
 ments, when I think of the future — and of 
 w^hat will become of my poor Laure — ' .... 
 
 " He pressed the head of his young wife 
 against his bosom : ' That was what you 
 wished to have said, is it not, my dear- 
 est? — Is not that what you meant to say 
 too?' 
 
 " I had recourse to my pipe ; I felt an odd 
 swelling in my throat, and my eyes were 
 twinkling. 
 
 " ' Come, come,' I said, * we shall see — If 
 the pipe incommodes Madame, let her go 
 away.' 
 
 " She got up ; her pretty face all red, and 
 blurred over wdth her tears like a child that 
 has been crying. 
 
 " * But,' said she, rallying like, and looking 
 more cheerfully as she turned to the clock, 
 
 c 2
 
 28 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 but — * you neither of you ever seem to look 
 at the letter.' 
 
 " I felt a strange creeping come over my 
 flesh as she said this ; I felt a strange, odd 
 sensation, like pain in every hair of my 
 head. 
 
 " * The deuce,' said I, * I had almost for- 
 gotten it ; that would have been a pretty 
 commence — Suppose we had passed the 
 first degree — I should have had nothing left 
 for it but to throw myself overboard — It is 
 lucky enough, child, that you recollected 
 that great beast of a letter.' 
 
 " I went directly to my chart to look where 
 we were. I found we had a week before us 
 at least; it was a great relief. Yet my 
 heart was heavy ; I could not tell why. 
 
 " The Directory does not understand tri- 
 fling, thought I. It's deuced lucky it's not 
 too late — ^I really had forgotten all about it. 
 
 " Well, sir, there we stood, all three of us, 
 looking up at the letter, as if it could have 
 spoken to us. As it happened, the sun was 
 shining full upon the glass of the clock-case, 
 and fell upon the great staring red seal of 
 the letter— I could not help fancying it
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 29 
 
 looked something like a great big monster, 
 an ogre's face, grinning from the middle of 
 the fire — it looked horrid ! — 
 
 " ' Could not one fancy,' said I, to make 
 them laugh, ' its great big eyes were start- 
 ing out of its head?' 
 
 "' Ah, my love!' said the wife, * it looks 
 like blood!'— 
 
 " ' Pooh, pooh !' said her husband, taking 
 her arm under his ; ' it looks like a letter of 
 invitation to a wedding. — Come, come ! let 
 the letter alone; it's time to go to bed.' 
 
 " And away they went. They went upon 
 deck, and left me alone with this great beast 
 of a letter. I remember that I kept look- 
 ing at it as I smoked my pipe ; it seemed to 
 fix its great red eyes upon mine, fascinating 
 like the eyes of a serpent. — Its great long 
 face, its third seal just in the middle— larger 
 than the two others — red — wide — raw — star- 
 ing like the maw of a fierce wolf ! I could not 
 endure the sight of it. I took my great 
 coat, and hung it over both clock and letter — 
 I went upon deck to finish my pipe. 
 
 " We were in the latitude of the Cape de 
 Verd islands ; the Marat was running before
 
 30 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 a fair wind, at the rate of ten knots an hour. 
 It was a splendid tropical night — the stars 
 bright, large, and shining; the moon rising 
 upon the horizon big as a sun of silver, the 
 line of the ocean parting it, and a long 
 stream of pale shimmering light falling upon 
 the waves, which, as they broke, sparkled like 
 diamonds — I sat upon deck smoking my pipe 
 and looking at them. 
 
 " All was quite still, except the footfall of 
 the officer on watch, as he paced the deck ; 
 gazing, as I did, upon the shadow of the 
 vessel, stealing over the silent waters. 
 
 " I love silence and order — I hate noise, 
 and I hate confusion — The lights should all 
 have been extinguished by this time ; but 
 when I looked upon the deck, I thought I 
 saw a little red line of light just below my 
 feet. At another time and place this would 
 have made me angry ; but knowing the light 
 came from the cabin of my little deportes, I 
 determined to see what they were about. 
 
 " I had only to look down ; I could see 
 into the cabin through the skylight. 
 
 " The young girl was upon her knees ; she 
 was saying her prayers. A lamp swinging
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 31 
 
 from the ceiling lighted the room. She had 
 on a long white night-dress, and her fair 
 ofolden shinino^ hair floated over her shonl- 
 ders, and almost touched two little bare 
 feet, which were peeping from under her 
 white dress ! so pretty — I was turning away — 
 but pshaw ! said I, — an old soldier ! — What 
 matters it ? — so I stayed. — 
 
 " The husband was sitting upon a little 
 trunk, his head resting between his hands, 
 looking at her as she prayed — She raised her 
 face to heaven, and then I saw that her 
 large blue eyes were filled with tears. She 
 looked like a Magdalene, that she did ! — He 
 took up the end of her long hair, and silently 
 pressed it to his lips. 
 
 " When she had done, she made the sign 
 of the cross, smiling so softly — like an angel 
 of heaven, as she was — I saw he made the 
 sign of the cross too, half as if he were 
 ashamed of himself^ — It was droll enouofh 
 to see a man do it at all in those days, was 
 not it ? Then she rose from her knees, and 
 he kissed her, and lifting her in his arms, laid 
 her in her cot, just as a nurse lays a little 
 baby in its cradle. — It was dreadfully hot,
 
 32 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 and the swinging motion of the cot seemed 
 to please her ; and there she lay, her little 
 bare feet crossed, her long white night-dress 
 folded round her, swinging, — swinging, — 
 and looking as if she were smiling herself to 
 sleep, just like a rosy innocent child, — pretty, 
 pretty creature ! — At last, half-asleep herself, 
 she said, 
 
 ^' ' Are you not sleepy ? what are you think- 
 ing about ? Why do you keep sitting there, 
 my love V 
 
 " He was still sitting, with his head resting 
 upon his hands, and he made no answer. 
 The good little thing seemed uneasy at this, 
 and she stretched her pretty head out of 
 the hammock — like a bird peering out of 
 its nest, and looked at him, her little cherry 
 lips half open, but seeming afraid to disturb 
 him by saying more ; at last, he said, 
 
 " ' Ah ! my sweet Laure, as we approach 
 America I cannot help being anxious — I do 
 not know wliy — but I feel that this voyage 
 has been the happiest part of our lives.' 
 
 " * So it seems to me,' said she ; ' and I 
 wish it could but last for ever.' — 
 
 " He glanced up at her, suddenly clasping
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 33 
 
 his hands in a transport of love and affection 
 that is quite indescribable : ' And yet, my 
 angel — you cannot help crying when you say 
 your prayers — and that goes to my heart — 
 for I know what vou are thinkino^ of — and 
 then — I fear you must repent of what you 
 have done ' — .... 
 
 " * Repent ! ' said she, looking very sorry : 
 ' Repent ! — Repent having come with you I — 
 What ! do you think that because I had 
 been yours only such a very, very short time 
 that I should not love you ? — Was I not your 
 wife ? — Has a wife no duties to perform be- 
 cause she is only seventeen? — Does that make 
 the difference ? — Did not my mother herself, 
 did not my sisters say that I ought to go with 
 you to Guiana? — Did they see anything 
 very wonderful in that ? — I only wonder you 
 think so much about it, my love ; it was so 
 natural that I should come with you . . . How 
 can you be sorry that I should be with you 
 — To live with you, if you are to live, and to 
 die with you, if you are to die ? ' — ... 
 
 " She said this with such a tone, so low, so 
 soft, so kind ; it was like the sweetest music 
 you ever heard in your whole life. — I was 
 
 c 5
 
 34 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 quite affected. I said to myself — * You good 
 little thing !' 
 
 " The young man began to sigh, striking 
 the floor impatiently with his feet, while he 
 kissed repeatedly the little hand and arm 
 which she was holding out. 
 
 "'Ah, Laurette! my Laurette ! — When I 
 think that if our marriage had only been de- 
 layed four days, — only four days ! — that then 
 I should have been arrested and transported 
 alone — I cannot forgive myself.' . . . 
 
 " At this the little one leaned out of her 
 hammock, stretched out her pretty white 
 arms, clasped his head, pressed his forehead, 
 his hair, his eyes, smiling like a cherub, and 
 murmuring all sorts of little fond woman's 
 things — I never saw anything so pretty in my 
 whole life — Then she shut his mouth with 
 her pretty soft fingers, and she said, while 
 she took her long hair and wiped his eyes 
 with it — 
 
 " * But is it not much better to have vour 
 little wife with you ? — I am sure I like going 
 to Cayenne very much — I shall like to see 
 savages, and have cocoa-nut trees, like Paul 
 and Virginia — We shall each of us plant one,
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 35 
 
 and water it, and see which grows the fast- 
 est — and we will build a little hut, and I will 
 work day and night for you, if you like — I 
 am a very very strong little thing ; look, what 
 stout little arms I have got ; you see T can 
 almost lift you, — don't laugh. — I can work 
 and embroider ; and there will be a town, 
 and they will want embroidery ; and then I 
 can teach music and drawing ; and if they 
 know how to read, you can write books, you 
 know.' 
 
 " I remember the poor young fellow seemed 
 to wince at this last, as if he were in great 
 pain, and he cried out in a piteous voice, 
 ' Write ! write ! ' — . . . 
 
 "And then he pressed the clenched fist of 
 one hand with violence, against the palm of 
 the other. 
 
 " ' Ah ! write ! — Why did I ever write ? — 
 What business had I to write? — Write! — It 
 is the vocation of a fool — I believed in their 
 liberty of the press — Was I mad — And what 
 did I write for — To publish half-a-dozen 
 common-place notions, to be read by those 
 who thought as I did, to be flung at the back 
 of the fire by those who did not — of no use
 
 36 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 on earth but to injure myself. Myself ! — little 
 matter — but thou, my angel ! — my sweet, beau- 
 tiful, beautiful angel ! — My wife of four days, 
 what hadst thou done ? — Tell me, how could 
 I have the heart to let thee do it? — How 
 could I suffer it? — Thou dost not even know 
 poor little thing, whither thou art going. 
 Dost thou know, poor child, that thou wilt be 
 sixteen hundred leagues from thy mother and 
 sisters ? — And all for my sake — my sake !' . . . 
 
 " She hid her head one moment in her pil- 
 low — and I who was above could see that she 
 was crying, but he from below could not see 
 her face ; and when she uncovered it again, 
 she was smiling to make him smile — and she 
 said, 
 
 " ' And, besides, we are so excessively rich 
 — Look!' said she, bursting out laughing, 'Look 
 at my purse ! — my whole worldly treasure — 
 one gold louis d'or, — all my worldly wealth !' 
 
 " He began to laugh too. 
 
 " ' By heaven ! and I have spent my last 
 half-crown — I gave it to the fellow who 
 carried your trunks on board.' 
 
 ** ' Ah, pooh ! ' cried she ; ' what matters 
 it V clicking her white fingers like castanets ;
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 37 
 
 * nobody so merry as those who have no- 
 thing at all ! besides, I have my two dia- 
 mond rings that my mother gave me, they 
 are good for something, all the world over — 
 we can sell them when you like — and be- 
 sides, I am sure that good, worthy captain 
 means kindly by us — and I suspect that 
 he knows very well what 's in the letter. — 
 It is a recommendation to the Governor of 
 Cayenne.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps,' said he ; ' who knows ? ' 
 
 '*' ' To be sure it is,' continued the little 
 wife. ' You are so good — I am sure the 
 government has only banished you for a 
 short time — they can have no feeling against 
 you.' 
 
 "This seemed so probable, — and, pretty 
 creature ! calling me that good, worthy cap- 
 tain, — I was quite touched. I began too, to 
 hope that she had guessed rightly ; however, 
 it was time the light should be put out, 
 so I struck the deck with my foot, and said, 
 
 " ' Hallo ! my young ones, fire and candle 
 out, — Put out your lamp, if you please.' 
 
 " They blew out their lamp ; and I heard 
 them afterwards laughing and chattering in
 
 38 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 their hammock like two little school-fellows, 
 while I continued to walk the deck smoking 
 my pipe. All the stars of the tropics were 
 at their posts, large as moons, the wind 
 was blowing softly ; how quiet and beautiful 
 every thing seemed that night ! 
 
 " As I walked I kept reflecting, that in all 
 probability the dear little thing had, indeed, 
 guessed rightly. It was very likely that one 
 of the five directors might have thought 
 twice, and recommended this poor young 
 fellow to me — I did not, indeed, quite 
 comprehend why — but I never attempt to 
 understand their fine state affairs; and in 
 short, I began to think it might very well 
 be so, and pleased and happy the thought 
 made me. 
 
 " I went into my cabin, lifted down my 
 old coat, and looked again at the letter. It 
 had quite a different appearance — the great 
 mouth seemed to smile, the seals looked like 
 roses, and I gave it a friendly nod. Yet I 
 hung my coat over it again. After all, I was 
 as well pleased not to see it. — However, we 
 thought no more about the matter, and Ave 
 seemed as merry as ever; but as we ap-
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 39 
 
 proaclied the Line, we began, some of us, 
 not to be quite so comfortable. 
 
 One fine morning when I wakened, I was 
 surprised not to feel the slightest motion of 
 the vessel. I jumped up. 
 
 Latitude, one degree north. Longitude, 
 between 27° and 28° west. 
 
 I went upon deck — the sea was as smooth 
 as glass, the sails clinging idly round the 
 masts. — It was a dead calm. — I looked ask- 
 ance at the letter, ' I shall have time enough 
 to open thee,' I said. 
 
 I waited until evening. I w^atched the 
 sun slowly sinking into the ocean. Then 
 it w^as necessary to break open the letter. 
 
 I opened the clock-glass, and with a sharp, 
 hasty, irritated sort of feeling — pulled out 
 mv Sealed Orders. — 
 
 " Well, my dear, I held the paper in my 
 hand a quarter of an hour, at least, before I 
 could find courage to open it. At last, * This 
 is too absurd,' I said, and tore open the three 
 seals. I remember that in doino^ so I o-round 
 the large, red, grinning one with my thumb 
 into a thousand pieces.
 
 40 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 I read the letter. — I rubbed my eyes, I 
 could not believe what I saw — I read the 
 letter over again — I read it again — I began 
 at the lowest line and read it backwards 
 from one end to the other. I could not 
 believe my senses — My knees knocked to- 
 gether. I sat down — I had a sort of cold 
 feeling all over the skin of my face — I 
 rubbed my cheeks and the palms of my 
 hands with rum — I despised myself for my 
 weakness. 
 
 " At last I felt a little better : I went 
 upon deck, and there they were. 
 
 " Laurette looked so excessively pretty at 
 that moment, that I dared not go near her. 
 She had on a little simple white dress, the 
 sleeves looped up, as they wore them then, 
 her pretty white arms bare to the shoulders 
 — her long fair hair curling round her. She 
 was amusing herself with dipping her other 
 gown, fastened at the end of a piece of cord, 
 into the sea ; and she was laughing as she 
 tried to catch some of those bunches of tro- 
 pical seaweed, which look so like bunches of 
 grapes, and which float upon the surface of 
 the waves.
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 41 
 
 " * Grapes, grapes ! who '11 have some 
 grapes ? ' 
 
 " Her lover was hanging over her — he did 
 not look at the water, he was looking at her 
 with inexpressible fondness. — I signed to the 
 young man, to come to me upon the poop. 
 She turned suddenly round ; I do not know 
 how I was looking, but she let fall her 
 cord, and seizing him quickly by the arm, 
 cried out, 
 
 " ' Don't go to him ; see how pale he 
 looks.' 
 
 " Like enough I looked pale ! 
 
 " He came, however, to me upon the poop 
 — while she remained gazing at us, leaning 
 against the mast. We walked up and down 
 for some time, in perfect silence, both of us. — 
 I smoked a cigar, but it seemed to stifle me, 
 and I spat it out into the water, he watching 
 me. At last I took hold of his arm, but I 
 was choking, I give you my honour, I was 
 actually choking — 
 
 " At last I said, 
 
 " * Will you never tell me, young gentle- 
 man, what you did. — Am I never to know 
 what you did — to offend those rascally petty-
 
 42 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 foggers, sitting there in state like five scraps 
 of one king? They seem to be devilishly 
 enraged. — It 's a pretty business ! ' 
 
 "He shrugged his shoulders, and shook 
 his head — so gently — poor fellow ! — and then 
 he said, 
 
 " * No great thing, Captain. — Three coup- 
 lets of a vaudeville on the Directory. — 
 Neither more nor less.' — 
 
 " ' Impossible !' cried I. 
 
 " * Neither more nor less — .... and the 
 couplets were wretched enough too. — I was 
 arrested on the 15th Fructidor, and carried 
 to La Force — tried the 16th — condemned to 
 death — and the sentence mercifully remitted 
 to deportation.' — 
 
 " ' It 's a strange business,' — repeated I. 
 ' The Directory must consist of very sus- 
 ceptible gentlemen. — For, would you believe 
 it ? — This order which I hold in my hand — 
 is — is — is — an order — that you are to be ... . 
 shot!!!' 
 
 He made no reply, except by a slight smile. 
 
 " He preserved his composure wonderfully 
 for a young fellow only nineteen. — But he 
 glanced at his young wife, and then he wiped
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 43 
 
 two or three large drops from his forehead. 
 As for me, my face was bathed with sweat, 
 and my eyes were brimfull. 
 
 I went on. 
 
 " * It seems these good citizens did not 
 choose to finish your business there. — They 
 thought it better to have it done a few- 
 leagues off. — A little more out of sight, per- 
 haps — but it is an ugly sight for the child ! — 
 Yet I see no remedy. — There is the sentence 
 of death — all en regie, — Here is the order 
 for execution signed, countersigned, sealed- — 
 nothino^ foro-otten.' 
 
 " He bowed politely, colouring a very 
 little. 
 
 " ' I ask nothing. Captain!' he said, with 
 his usual gentle tone of voice. — ' No man 
 can be expected to swerve from his duty. 
 — I only wish to speak a few w^ords to my 
 Laure — and to entreat of you to take care 
 
 of her, if she should survive me but 
 
 I hardly think she w^ilL' 
 
 " ' All that is but fair, my good fellow,' 
 said I. * If you wish it, I will carry her 
 back to France — to her family — I will never 
 leave her, till she wishes to be rid of me.
 
 44 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 But it is of no use talking of that — you 
 need not flatter yourself. — She will never 
 recover this, poor little thing!' 
 
 " He took my hands in both his, and 
 pressed them. 
 
 " ' My excellent Captain, I see you suffer 
 more than I do in this business — but there 
 is no help for it. — I trust you will preserve 
 what little property of mine is left, for her 
 sake — and that you will take care she gets 
 possession of what her poor old mother may 
 leave her. — I trust to you to protect her life 
 — her honour — and also to take care of her 
 health. She is, said he, lowering his voice, 
 ' a delicate little creature — her chest is 
 often affected ; she must keep it warm ; 
 it must be w^ell covered — always. — In short, 
 you will be father, mother, everything to 
 her .... I know you will — and if she could 
 keep the two diamond rings her mother 
 gave her, I should be glad — but, of course, 
 if the money is wanted, they must go. 
 My poor Laurette — how pretty she looks !' 
 
 " It was rather too much for me — I could 
 hardly stand it ; so I began to knit my 
 brows. I had spoken as lightly as I could.
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 45 
 
 to keep up my own spirits, but I could 
 bear it no longer. 
 
 " * One word is as good as a thousand,' 
 said I. ' We understand one another — go 
 to her.' 
 
 " I squeezed his hand ; he looked wistfully 
 at me ; and I said, ' Stay a moment — let me 
 give you a word of advice. Don't say a word 
 to her about it. We will settle the thino- 
 for her — be easy — that 's my business. — It 
 shall all be managed in the best manner/ 
 
 "' Ah!' said he, * I did not understand 
 — yes — much better. Besides, this leave- 
 takino^ ! — this leave-takino^ I' 
 
 " * Yes, yes,' said I ; ' don't behave like a 
 child — much better — much better. — Xo leave- 
 taking, if you can help it, or you are lost.' 
 
 " I wrung his hand, and he went away. 
 
 " It w^ent hard enough with me too. — . . . 
 
 " It seems that he kept his secret. I saw 
 them walking arm-in-arm upon the deck for 
 about a quarter of an hour ; and then they 
 went back to the place where the cord lay ; 
 one of the ship's boys had picked it out of 
 the water. 
 
 " The night fell suddenly.
 
 46 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 " This was the moment I had determined 
 upon. But this moment — this one moment 
 — it has been a moment that has lasted me 
 for my life. — I have carried it within me, 
 like a musket-ball, ever since." — 
 
 Here the old commander was obliged to 
 pause. I was silent; what could I say? 
 
 He struck hard upon his breast, and 
 went on. 
 
 " I tell you I cannot understand it yet. 
 I felt myself in a rage, a bitter rage, my 
 very finger-ends tingled. Yet something 
 seemed to urge me on, and force me to 
 
 obey. 
 
 " So I called an officer, and I said, ' Man 
 a boat ; and as we are to be murderers, put 
 the little creature into it, and carry her out 
 to sea : when you hear the volley, then you 
 may come back again.' 
 
 " To obey a morsel of paper !" — for it was 
 but a morsel of paper after all. — Something 
 in the very air must have driven me on. — 
 I saw him. — I saw the young man kneel
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 47 
 
 down before his Laure — kiss her knees ! her 
 feet ! her gown ! — Do you think it was terri- 
 ble or not? 
 
 " I cried out, like a madman, — 
 
 " ' Part them ! part them this instant ! 
 Part them — curse the republic— curse the 
 Directory ! the Directors ! I quit the service ! 
 — I care not for these accursed lawyers ! — 
 You may tell them, if you will ! — I curse 
 them all ! — what care I !' — 
 
 " Ah ! I cared little enough for them ; 
 I could have strangled them all five — 
 Scoundrels ! I care for them no more 
 than I do for the rain that 's now pouring 
 down upon us .... I defied them all ! — ... 
 My poor life ! — Such a miserable wretch as 
 I was ! — well — well — well !" 
 
 And his voice faltered — sank by degrees — 
 and he walked on in silence, biting his lips, 
 while an expression of fierce, terrible anguish 
 was upon his brows ; his arms twitched with 
 slight convulsions, and he struck his poor lit- 
 tle mule fiercely from time to time. His face 
 had changed from its usual dark yellow to 
 a deep cloudy red ; he kept opening his 
 waistcoat violently, as if he could hardly
 
 48 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 breathe — baring his breast to the wind and 
 rain. 
 
 We proceeded some time in dead silence ; 
 at last, seeing he would say no more unless 
 1 spoke first, I said, 
 
 " I understand " — as if I thought his story 
 ended. — "After such an affair, a man detests 
 his profession ? " 
 
 " Oh ! the profession ! — Are you mad ? " — 
 said he, impatiently ; " It is not the pro- 
 fession. — Who ever heard of the Captain of 
 a brig of war being made into a common 
 executioner ? — Never, except when there is a 
 government of assassins and scoundrels, who 
 take advantage of the habit a poor devil has 
 of obeying orders — obeying like a blind idiot, 
 like a piece of dead clock-work — in spite of 
 himself." 
 
 And he took a red pocket-handkerchief 
 out of his pocket, covered over his face, 
 and began to cry like a child. I stopped 
 a moment behind, as if to tighten my 
 stirrups, and let him advance a few paces. 
 I felt there was impropriety — a want of re- 
 spect — in witnessing these floods of tears. 
 He understood my forbearance, as it would
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 49 
 
 seem, for in about a quarter of an hour he 
 came behind the little cart, and asked me 
 whether I had any razors in my portman- 
 teau. I only said that I had no razors — 
 not having as yet a beard. It was a mere 
 excuse to enter into conversation again, 
 and I soon perceived that he returned to his 
 story. 
 
 " You never saw a ship in your life ? " he 
 began. 
 
 " Only at the Panorama — and I should 
 suppose I got no very accurate conception of 
 one there." 
 
 " You don't know, then, what we call the 
 bossoir f " 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " It is a kind of terrace which projects 
 from the head of the ship, and from which 
 they heave anchor — When a man is to be 
 shot — they put him there." — 
 
 " That he may fall into the water — . . . . 
 I understand ?". ... 
 
 He made no answer, but went on to 
 describe all the sorts of boats that can be 
 conceived of, as belonging to a brig; and 
 their different positions on board ; and then, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 without any apparent connection in his ideas, 
 he continued his relation with that air of 
 affected indifference which men acquire in 
 the service; because they are incessantly 
 called upon to exhibit to their inferiors con- 
 tempt of danger, contempt of human life, 
 contempt of human nature ; concealing, most 
 often under this harsh exterior, a strong and 
 acute sensibility. 
 
 The severity of a military man is like an 
 iron mask over a noble countenance ; a stone 
 dungeon hiding an illustrious captive. 
 
 " These boats hold six men each. . . .The 
 boat was manned — they put her in — so 
 softly, that she had not time to cry out, or 
 to utter a word — . . . . 
 
 " There are things which a man never for- 
 gets — There are things which last a man his 
 life. When a thing is done — it's fine talking — 
 a man never does forget — . . . . 
 
 " How confoundedly it rains! — What cursed 
 weather ! — Why the devil did I begin to 
 tell you this story ! When I once begin 
 I can't help it — I can't stop — I must come 
 to an end — that history gets into my head 
 — it makes me drunk — It 's like brandy —
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 51 
 
 What cursed weather — My cloak is like a 
 wet blanket — . . . . 
 
 " I was telling you of that poor little 
 Laurette, I think. Poor little thing ! — 
 What stupid blockheads there are in the 
 world ! The officer was idiot enough to row 
 towards the head of the vessel — and — one 
 cannot think of everything at once, you 
 know — I had calculated on the darkness 
 of the night to cover the hellish business ; 
 — I forgot the light of a dozen muskets 
 firing at once — and so — and so — and so — 
 Great God of heaven ! — She — she — from the 
 boat ! — She — saw her husband fall into the 
 water — 
 
 " God knows how the rest came to pass, 
 but as sure as there is a God in heaven, 
 what I am going to tell you is true. 
 
 " I know nothing about it — I never could 
 make it out — but it is as true as that you 
 sit there. 
 
 "The moment they fired she clapped her 
 hand to her forehead, as if a ball had struck 
 her, and then she sat down in the boat 
 again ; she neither fainted, nor cried out, 
 nor spoke a word. 
 
 D 2 
 
 y. or iLL UB.
 
 52 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 " She came back to the ship how they 
 would — and as they would. 
 
 " I went to her ; I spoke to her in the 
 best way such a poor devil as I was able ; 
 she seemed to listen, for she looked me in 
 the face, rubbing her forehead all the time, 
 but she understood nothing. 
 
 " Her forehead was red ; — the rest of her 
 face was deadly pale, — and she trembled in 
 every joint, as if she was afraid of every- 
 body. 
 
 " She has been in the same way ever since. 
 She is just in the same way still. .. .Poor 
 little thing ! — Idiot — fool — mad — what you 
 like — one never gets a word out of her, 
 except now and then she complains of her 
 head — 
 
 " From that moment I was as changed a 
 creature as herself; something within me 
 seemed to say, Keep her hy thee to the end 
 of thy days, and take care of her. 
 
 " And I have kept her. 
 
 " When I came back to France, I asked 
 permission to pass without losing rank into 
 the land service ; I detested the sea ; — The
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 53 
 
 sea ! where I had shed innocent blood, I 
 detested the very sight of it. — 
 
 " I found out the family of poor Laure. 
 Her mother was dead ; her sisters, when 
 they saw her condition, offered to send 
 her to the hospital of Charenton ; I turned 
 my back upon them, and have kept her ever 
 since. 
 
 " Would you like to see her ? — you may 
 if you will. Hola ! — whoa ! — hey ! "
 
 54 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LAURETTE. 
 
 He stopped his poor little mule, and 
 lifting up one end of the dark oilcloth 
 which covered his little cart — as if he wanted 
 to shake up the straw with which it was 
 almost stuffed full, displayed the piteous 
 spectacle. 
 
 Two large blue eyes — most beautiful both 
 in form and colour, but standing out as it 
 were, from a long head and pale thin face, 
 almost buried in an immense profusion of 
 long fair hair — It seemed, at first, as if no- 
 thing remained alive of this poor creature 
 but these large blue eyes ; the rest was dead 
 — Her forehead was crimson, her cheeks hol- 
 low, and perfectly colourless, except round 
 the eyes, where there was a circle of bluish 
 black.
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 55 
 
 She had on a little blue cloak, tied round 
 her neck, so that the rest of her dress could 
 scarcely be seen ; for she was crouching down 
 in the straw, and little was visible of her 
 figure except her two knees, on which she 
 was playing by herself at dominos. 
 
 She looked up at us — first trembled exces- 
 sively, then smiled slightly, and returned to 
 her play again. She seemed intent upon 
 making her left hand victorious over her 
 right. 
 
 " Do you see, she has been a whole month 
 at that one game," said the Commander. 
 «' To-morrow, perhaps, it will be something 
 else— Droll, isn't it! — " 
 
 And so saying, he took off his schakos, 
 which was dripping with the rain, and began 
 to arrange the oilskin covering that was 
 over it. 
 
 " Poor Laurette," said I, " thou hast lost 
 thy game." 
 
 I brought my horse close up to the cart 
 and held out my hand ; she gave me hers, 
 mechanically as it seemed ; smiling at the 
 same time with the utmost softness. I 
 remarked that the two diamond rings were
 
 56 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 still upon her long wasted fingers : I recol- 
 lected the rings which her mother had given 
 her, and wondered how in the midst of so 
 much misery he had contrived to preserve 
 them. But for the universe I would not 
 have made the remark to the Commander. 
 His eyes, however, followed mine, and seeing 
 them fixed upon the fingers, he said, with 
 some little pride — 
 
 "Rather fine diamonds, hey? — Something 
 might have been got for them, but, poor 
 child, I could not find in my heart to take 
 them from her. She cried so if I only 
 touched them. She held them fast, — she 
 will not part with them. — In other things 
 she is quiet enough. — She never complains. 
 — Now and then she sews a little. — I have 
 kept my word to the poor young fellow, and 
 have never repented that I passed it. I 
 have never once been parted • from her since. 
 I carry her wherever I go. — I give out that 
 she is my daughter, and that she is crazy. 
 Every one respects us both — Things can be 
 more easily arranged following the army, 
 than people at Paris imagine. 
 
 " She has made all our campaigns with
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 57 
 
 the Emperor. I have always been able to 
 carry her through — I always made a point 
 of keeping her warm ; it was easy enough in 
 those days ; she had a pretty, smart little 
 carriage, and plenty of wrappers and straw. 
 She was very comfortable, I assure you. 
 I had good pay then ; — my pension of the 
 legion of honour, and other odd things, — so 
 we were famously off. I wanted for nothing, 
 no more did she ; — I took quite a pleasure in 
 it. It was pretty to see w^hat a pet she was 
 made of by all the officers of the 7th Che- 
 vaic-legers ; I assure you she was." 
 
 And then he went up to her, and 
 tapped her gently upon the shoulder. 
 
 " Come, my dear, won't you say a lit- 
 tle word or two to the lieutenant here ? — 
 Come, come — just a little word, or a 
 little nod — won't you?" 
 
 But she kept to her dominos. 
 
 " Oh !" said he, " she is rather cross 
 to-day because it rains ; she cannot bear 
 rain — Yet she never catches cold — they 
 say mad people never fall sick — that 's 
 lucky enough for her. ... At the Beresina, 
 and the retreat from Moscow it was all
 
 58 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 the same. — Well, well, dear, do as you 
 please, then — mind your game ; never 
 heed us. Do just as you like, my pretty 
 Laurette." 
 
 She took his hand, which lay upon her 
 shoulder, a large black, wrinkled hand, 
 and carrying it to her lips, kissed it. 
 
 This I could hardly stand, and turned 
 my horse hastily away. 
 
 " Come," I cried, " shall we march ? the 
 night is coming on fast; we shall never 
 be at Bethune." 
 
 He first took his sabre, and carefully 
 scraped the yellow mud off his boots, 
 then he mounted into the cart, and threw 
 the hood of the little cloak which Lau- 
 rette wore, over her head ; then he took 
 off his own black silk cravat, and tied 
 it carefully round the throat of his adopt- 
 ed daughter — shook up the straw, arranged 
 it around her — descended — closed the oil- 
 cloth accurately — gave his mule a kick, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and continued his 
 march. 
 
 It rained pitilessly, the heavens above 
 one deep gloomy grey — the earth beneath
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 59 
 
 wet, and dingy, the road muddy, and, 
 seemingly, endless, — In the west a dim» 
 pale light broke through the dusky clouds, 
 and just fell upon some windmills which 
 terminated the horizon. We journeyed on 
 in profound silence. 
 
 I looked at the old officer; he walked 
 vigorously forw^ards, while his little mule 
 struggled through the mire, and my poor 
 horse, with drooping head, followed as best 
 he might. From time to time the old 
 soldier took off his schakos and wiped 
 his bald front, and a few grey hairs which 
 encircled his head, now, with his white 
 moustaches, dripping with the rain, which 
 fell into his bare, unprotected neck. 
 
 He seemed quite indifferent as to the 
 effect his story might have produced upon 
 me — He had not condescended to paint 
 himself either as better or worse than he 
 really was. And at the end of about 
 half-an-hour he began another long history 
 of his campaign under Massena ; how- 
 he had formed his battalion into a hol- 
 low square, &c., &c., a recital, of which 
 I heard little enough, though he became
 
 60 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 excited in the course of his narrative, 
 which tended to demonstrate the supe- 
 riority, upon some occasions, of infantry 
 over cavalry. 
 
 The night came on ; we slackened our 
 pace ; the mud seemed thicker and deeper 
 than ever, the road more solitary and 
 dreary. Nothing on either side — Nothing 
 in the horizon — no house, barn, nor 
 hedge! — We halted at last under a dead 
 tree ; the only tree of any description upon 
 the road. 
 
 He then proceeded to make his ar- 
 rangements for a bivouac. 
 
 He took his little mule out of the 
 cart, and bestowed upon it his first atten- 
 tion. This done, he looked into his cart, 
 as a mother looks into her infant's cra- 
 dle, and I heard him say, 
 
 " Here, my dear, put this great coat over 
 your feet, and try to go to sleep. — Come, 
 all's right, she has not got a drop of 
 rain — dry as a toast. Oh! the devil! — 
 she has broken my watch all to pieces — 
 My poor silver watch that I hung round
 
 SEALED ORDERS* 61 
 
 her neck — Oh, my poor old watch! — Never 
 mind it, dear child, try to go to sleep, 
 the rain will soon be over — It's droll 
 certainly, she always is in a fever — they 
 say mad people always are. — There, my 
 dear, is a little bit of chocolate for you ; 
 It 's very nice ; — eat it and go to sleep, 
 that 's a good child." — 
 
 He placed the cart under the tree, 
 sheltering it as well as he could from the 
 pelting rain ; and then divided his own 
 supper, which consisted of a morsel of 
 dry bread, with me. 
 
 " I am sorry that I have nothing better 
 to offer you," said he ; " but it is at least 
 as good as horseflesh seasoned with gun- 
 powder, which we were glad enough of 
 in Russia — Poor little woman, you see, 
 I must keep something a little nice for 
 her; she must be served first, you know — 
 She's as delicate and tender as a little 
 child, always so nice and tidy too. She 
 has never forgotten her old habits — that 's 
 droll, isn't it? hem !*' 
 
 As he was speaking I heard her sigh, 
 and say, in a plaintive voice,
 
 62 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 '* Otez moi ce plomb. — Otez moi ce 
 plomb." ^' 
 
 I rose to get further off. 
 
 " Sit down again," said he ; " it 's nothing 
 at all — she is always saying that because 
 she thinks, you see, she has got the ball 
 in her head — But that does not prevent 
 her doing anything I ask her — and always 
 as sweetly and gently as possible." 
 
 I said no more ; I began sorrowfully to 
 calculate that from the year 1797 to 
 1815, it was eighteen years ! — Eighteen 
 years that this man had passed in this 
 manner ! I remained for some time silent, 
 pondering upon such a character, and 
 upon such a fate — At last, d propos de rien, 
 I stretched out my hand, took his, pinched 
 it, and said. 
 
 " You are an excellent fellow."- 
 
 He answered : 
 
 " Why? — what, on account of this poor 
 little thing ? — But do you not see it was 
 only my duty?" 
 
 And he began again to talk of Massena. 
 
 Take out the ball.
 
 SEALED ORDERS. 63 
 
 The next day we arrived at Bethune, a 
 wretched little fortified place. 
 
 There, all was in confusion ; the inhabi- 
 tants were pulling down their white flags, 
 and sewing pieces of red, blue and white 
 together, to hang out of their windows. 
 The drums were beating la generale^ the 
 trumpets sounding to horse, by order of 
 Monseigneur le Due de Berri. 
 
 The long carts of Picardy were coming in, 
 loaded with the cent Suisses and their bag- 
 gage ; the carriages of the Princes, cannon, 
 squadrons of the compagnies rouges, blocking 
 up the streets. 
 
 The sight of my comrades made me for- 
 get my friend and his little cart for a mo- 
 ment, for I lost sight of him in the crowd, 
 and, to my great regret, could never meet 
 with him again. 
 
 I remained long in ignorance of the fate 
 of my poor chef de bataillon, for he had not 
 even told me his name. One day, however, 
 about the year 1825 I think it was, as I 
 was waiting in a coffee-house till it was 
 time for parade, I met with an old infantry 
 officer, to whom 1 described him.
 
 64 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 " Oh par Dieu ! my dear fellow, I knew 
 the poor devil perfectly well — he was 
 knocked on the head at Waterloo. True 
 enough, he left among his baggage a sort 
 of natural, a poor crazy girl — his daughter 
 they said — who knows? We put her into 
 the hospital at Amiens as we passed through 
 to join the army of the Loire, but she went 
 stark mad, and died in three days." 
 
 " I can easily believe that. — She had lost 
 her nursing father, poor thing," — said I.
 
 THE LONG STORY. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE PREVISIONS OF LADY EVELYN 
 
 VOL. I. D 9
 
 THE 
 
 PREVISIONS OF LADY EVELYN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 You ask me after that adventure of 
 my life to which I owe what you call my 
 peculiar and happy way of thinking. I 
 could, indeed, dear Fanny, say, with St. 
 Paul, " I would you were not almost, but 
 altogether, such as I am, except these 
 bonds." 
 
 You know what a gay, wild creature I 
 was in those days, when my father wedded 
 me to Mr. Brudenel, almost as gay and wild 
 as myself. He went one way, I another; 
 happy when we met, we laughed at life 
 together ; happy when separated, for we were 
 not passionate lovers either. I was in every 
 mad prank of my time — balls, festivals, elec- 
 tions, masquerades, water-parties to Vaux-
 
 68 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 hall, all came alike to me. I believe I was 
 very pretty — I may own it now, when I am 
 almost like the shade of poor Margaret — 
 "my face like an April morn hid in a wintry 
 cloud," and I was thoughtless, wild, and gay, 
 as the veriest child. 
 
 I need not trouble you with the why, or 
 the wherefore, but, among some of my mad 
 pranks^ I had laid a wager against time, that 
 I, in my new landau, just then come into 
 fashion, would travel a certain distance, and 
 be in at a certain ball in full dress by a 
 certain hour — two footmen behind, and my- 
 self inside, and four horses as gay and spi- 
 rited as myself — . . . . 
 
 Well, my dear, away went we. We burnt 
 the ground under our feet, as the French 
 say — full gallop, as hard as four spirited 
 horses could go — When lo and behold ! at the 
 town of F — , what should we meet, but a 
 contested election in all its horrors. The 
 streets were swarming with the greasy so- 
 vereign people in full glory; ribbons red, 
 blue, yellow, floating from hats, and top- 
 knots, and bosoms ; banners flying, boys 
 hallooing, women screeching, children cla-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 69 
 
 mouring; the mob yelling and swearing, as 
 my postilions, despite of it all, in honour 
 of me and mine, dashed through this ocean 
 of human beings — yielding, swaying, opening, 
 closing, like sw^elling waves around us. A 
 turn in a very narrow street brought us 
 suddenly into the square, exactly in front of 
 the town-hall, and opposite to the hustings. 
 
 There stood the candidates, hat in hand, 
 bowing, waving, gesticulating, speechifying, 
 and doing all due observance to the excited 
 multitude below. He of the red ribbons is 
 received with hisses and groans ; when lo ! 
 he of the blue appears, he of the popular 
 side, he for the rights of man ! And oh ! 
 the shouts, cries, huzzas, that rend the 
 air ; hats throw^n up, handkerchiefs waving, 
 cheers and acclamations, a perfect ecstacy of 
 applause. He is first on the poll, it is just 
 declared ; and to this wild uproar do we 
 present ourselves, turning suddenly as I said, 
 out of the narrow street. 
 
 Our horses fretted already, and taken by 
 surprise, began to prance, rear, and show 
 manifest signs of ill-humour ; the people 
 scream the louder, the horses become more
 
 70 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 and more unruly ; at last, as the successful 
 candidate opened his ugly, wide mouth to 
 speak — I have it before me to this very 
 hour, and it was the last thing I remem- 
 bered, Mr. B.'s great, wide mouth and Ian- 
 thorn jaws — such a deafening shout arose, 
 that away started my horses, full gallop, 
 dashing the landau after them, and tram- 
 pling men, women, and children like grass 
 under their feet. 
 
 I just recollect springing up and scream- 
 ing with terror, and that is all — I suppose 
 if I had sat still I might have been safe ; as 
 it was, I was dashed out upon the stones — 
 What a blessed thing it is, that one may 
 take such a flying leap as that, and never 
 know it. Only think of the horrible sensa- 
 tion of finding oneself flying through the air, 
 with a prospect of being dashed upon the 
 pavement, and being immediately trampled 
 under foot— just what I was, but I knew 
 nothing at all about it. I wakened as from 
 a dull, hideous dream of indistinct terror, and 
 opening my eyes, just looked up into the face 
 of a pale, thin man, on whose breast I was 
 leaning — I felt so sick that I closed them
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 7l 
 
 immediately. Some one was carrying my 
 feet : I heard a voice say, " The inns are too 
 full and noisy up there — To my house — it 
 will at least be quiet." 
 
 I just opened my eyes again ; they were 
 carrying me up a little dark alley ; I caught 
 a glimpse of poor, honest Joseph, his cheeks 
 as white as his powdered toupie, holding my 
 feet, or trying to hold them ; his white livery 
 spotted with blood, and the tears rolling 
 down his face, — a shocking spectacle; I 
 shut my eyes again and, I suppose, fainted. 
 
 When I came to myself once more, such 
 a dreadful oppression hung upon me, such a 
 horrid, miserable feeling — an impossibility to 
 breathe or to live, as it were. Some one 
 was cutting my laces, and the moment that 
 was done, the relief was instantaneous, and 
 I began to think and to perceive with dis- 
 tinctness. 
 
 A lady, of rather small size, dressed with 
 a primitive neatness and precision, scarcely in 
 accordance with her pretty, smart features, 
 and a pair of the liveliest black eyes I ever 
 beheld — was taking off my dress ; a clean, 
 linen bed-gown, not bedizened, it is true.
 
 72 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 with lace like one of my own, was put 
 over me, and with the assistance of a stout, 
 honest-faced woman, dressed in a mob-cap, 
 blue-striped bedgown, and wollen petticoat, 
 I was laid in a very clean, neat bed. 
 
 The lady perceiving I was about to begin 
 speaking and exclaiming, said, 
 
 " My dear madam, it is of the utmost 
 consequence that you should remain per- 
 fectly still for some hours ; the slightest 
 exertion might be dangerous — I will sit by 
 you, and take care you are not disturbed. 
 Is there anything you would like to 
 taker 
 
 " A little cold water," was all I could say. 
 I was obliged to drink a little out of a tea- 
 pot spout, for I felt as if I could not lift my 
 head from the pillow. 
 
 This somewhat refreshed me, and I think 
 I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes again 
 it was growing dusk, and I found myself 
 sadly confused, I felt hot, feverish, and 
 oppressed. On making a little stir, my good 
 Samaritan was bending over me. 
 
 " Will you allow the doctor to come in
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 7S 
 
 now, madam ? it will be better. — Your arm 
 should be looked to." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said I, "where am I ? and 
 what has happened ?" 
 
 " You have had an accident." 
 
 " Why did that man open his great, ugly 
 mouth at that unfortuate moment ? — nobody 
 wanted to hear him." 
 
 My hostess smiled. " The doctor is wait- 
 ing," said she. 
 
 " I don't want a doctor ; I am not hurt 
 in the least, thank you, madam — Do pray 
 tell me all about it." 
 
 " Indeed, madam, you must see the 
 doctor." 
 
 " I hate the whole tribe ; I am not hurt, 
 I assure you." But I tried to lift my 
 hand, and I found that I could not move it. 
 
 " It's broken, I believe," I said. 
 
 " I hope not — but we had better know the 
 worst at once ; I will tell Dr. John you are 
 ready to see him." 
 
 And she got up and stepped out of the 
 room. She soon returned, followed by a 
 large fat man, with one of those unaccount- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE PREVISIONS. 
 
 able mountains before him which all our 
 middle-aged gentlemen make a point of 
 acquiring, when they are not as lean as Will 
 Honeycomb — thanks to their turning the 
 women out after dinner, and sitting at their 
 potations, I verily believe ! 
 
 However, in he came, and though he was 
 a doctor, and I do hate them, there was 
 something so simple, frank, sensible, and 
 good-humouredly sarcastic in his face, that I 
 quite took a fancy to him. 
 
 " Well, madam," he began, " you have 
 taken rather a serious leap of it — enough to 
 unsettle the steadiest brains for a while. Let 
 us see whether any other mischief has been 
 done. I suspect your arm is hurt." 
 
 " It begins to hurt me very much, sir." 
 
 He turned down the cover of the bed, and 
 there the poor helpless member lay, such 
 a smash ! Having with much care ascer- 
 tained that my poor frame had received no 
 other serious injury, he said, 
 
 " You are fortunate, madam, after such an 
 affair, that there is no other injury of the 
 least importance : your face — "
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 75 
 
 " Oh ! my poor, poor beauty — " 
 
 " Will just be as mischievous as ever it 
 was. Be easy on that score. Now for 
 the arm." 
 
 But when he touched it, he hurt me so 
 horribly, that I screamed aloud, and told him 
 to let it go, I could not bear to have it 
 handled. 
 
 "Indeed, indeed you must be patient," 
 said the lady, endeavouring to hold me still, 
 with a gentle, but pretty firm grasp, I can 
 tell you, small as she was, and small as was 
 her hand. I struggled vehemently. 
 
 " He hurts me excessively, and I can't 
 bear to have him touch it ; he tortures me 
 dreadfully," said the passionate child. 
 
 " Your arm is very much hurt indeed," 
 said the doctor, " and you must let me 
 examine it.'' 
 
 Must to me, who never heard the word in 
 my life before ! 
 
 " But I won't. Let it alone. — It did not 
 hurt me half so much till you moved it. 
 Only let it be, it will get well of itself" 
 
 " It will not get well of itself; you are 
 
 E 2
 
 76 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 very much hurt ; you must be patient, or 
 you will disturb your head." 
 
 " I will be quiet, if you will let me alone." 
 
 " I will not let you alone, and you must 
 be quiet." 
 
 Must again ! The altercation grew warm. 
 I felt the colour fly into my face. My head 
 seemed all confusion ; but I was obstinate. 
 He should not touch my arm. He made an 
 impatient cluck with his tongue, and looked 
 at the lady. 
 
 " What is to be done ?" 
 
 " Fetch Mr. James," whispered she. 
 
 " Ay," said he, with a little laugh, " fetch 
 Mr. James ; he is of course not to be 
 resisted — Better, however, try him." 
 
 She left the room, and soon returned with 
 a gentleman dressed in black. His hair, 
 scanty and grey, lay smooth round his noble 
 forehead, his dark, deep eye lying half hid in 
 the cave of his hollow eyebrow. The expres- 
 sive, but somewhat extenuated features ! the 
 sweet, feeling mouth ! — It was the same face 
 I had seen looking upon me so benignly in 
 my dream, as I lay supported by his breast,
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 77 
 
 on rousing to dim sensation from the terrible 
 chaos of my accident. 
 
 He sat down upon the chair by my side, 
 which his wife — for the lady was his wife — 
 had occupied, and she and the doctor drew 
 back a little. My arm hurt me dreadfully ; 
 I could not help groaning. 
 
 " You are in great pain," he said. 
 
 "Dreadful!" 
 
 " And in some danger." 
 
 " Oh ! no danger ! I do hope ! Good hea- 
 ven ! What shall I do !" 
 
 " Be patient," said he, gently, yet firmly, 
 laying his hand upon me so as to prevent me 
 starting up, which, in the agony of my ter- 
 ror, I was about to do. " We must submit 
 to the suffering imposed upon us — it is vain 
 to resist — a mighty hand is upon us, we mmt 
 submit." 
 
 I was surprised and awe-struck. 
 
 " Your life — a life most precious to many 
 I am sure — depends upon your submission. 
 After an accident of this kind, there is always 
 reason to apprehend a certain effect upon 
 the brain, to avert which the most perfect
 
 78 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 quiet is necessary. Unhappily, in your case, 
 this necessity is combined with that of sub- 
 mission to a painful, but very brief operation. 
 If your arm is neglected, you may lose it — 
 if you are impatient under the necessary 
 treatment, you may produce a most injurious 
 effect upon the brain — You cannot escape 
 the necessity laid upon you — but you can be 
 patient, reasonable, and good — and you will 
 be patient, reasonable, and good," said he, 
 with a look of inexpressible kindness. 
 ** Doctor, the young lady is ready ; put your- 
 self on that side, Jane.'* 
 
 He pressed his beautiful, thin, white hand, 
 so firmly on my well-arm as he spoke that I 
 could not move. The lady held my head, 
 begging me to close my eyes, which she 
 shaded with her white handkerchief, and 
 then — oh, heaven ! but I was determined to 
 submit. 
 
 " Borne like a heroine !'' said the doctor, 
 raising himself from the bed, and wiping the 
 big drops that stood upon his forehead. 
 
 " Like an angel !" whispered the gentle- 
 man.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 79 
 
 "God in heaven be thanked !" said the 
 lady. 
 
 " Thank you — thank you — thank yoa all." 
 
 Tears stood in their eyes ; they rolled 
 down the doctor's good round cheek ; they 
 trembled on the eyelashes of the lady. The 
 gentleman's face I could not see ; but I ob- 
 served the doctor reach him a glass of 
 water. 
 
 They gave me a composing-draught, and 
 I soon fell asleep again.
 
 80 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The next morning I woke with the plea- 
 sant feeling of languor which one experi- 
 ences when, having suffered incredible tor- 
 ture, relief at length is found. I opened 
 my eyes, and looked round me. The room 
 I was in was low and small ; the w^alls were 
 covered with a little cheap paper of a pretty, 
 cheerful colour, a pretty little border of 
 roses, lilies, and blue convolvulus, finishing 
 it. How fond, like a child, I grew of that 
 pretty, tasteful little pattern! The floor, 
 scrupulously white, was covered here and 
 there with small squares of bedside carpet ; 
 the bed itself was an old-fashioned blue-and- 
 white chintz, — great-great-grandmother's 
 time. How I have laid and looked at it ! 
 Robin Hood and his life in merry Sherwood 
 was the subject-matter of it. The spreading 
 oaks, the thistles, and burrs, and docks ; the
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 81 
 
 cony or the hare crouching beneath ; the 
 stag with branching-horns ; the bold fo- 
 resters ; the sylvan scenes ; all there ! It 
 was expressive in all its grotesqueness ; but 
 you will perceive, and you will not wonder, 
 I was inclined to be in love with everv- 
 thing. 
 
 Don't you like a casement window? — a 
 casement window, with a vine, and currant- 
 trees, and rose-trees, all mingled together, 
 trained round it ! Such w^as the window ; 
 when it was open, and the sun was shining 
 through the leaves, and the busy bees hum- 
 ming, and the little robin singing his merry 
 note ! The sun was at that moment shining, 
 and through the scanty window-curtains, 
 which would not, and could not meet, I 
 caught a glimpse of that pretty Teniers win- 
 dow. Then there were such droll old- 
 fashioned-looking chairs ; and a chest of old 
 carved walnut-wood, with grotesque silver 
 locks and trimmings ; and by the window a 
 table, with those dear Dutch twisted legs; 
 and at it, just where the sun glanced upon 
 her sweet, reverend head, her lawn cap, and 
 hair as white as snow, sat an old lady read- 
 
 E 5
 
 82 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 ing ; a plain black gown, a lawn handker- 
 chief pinned in the most primitive manner 
 across her breast; spectacles with silver 
 rims — Such was the figure. She was read- 
 ing an old clasped Bible. The casement 
 was partly open, and the delicious air came 
 in, just scented by the mignionette which 
 grew below; the bees were humming; the 
 birds singing, as I said. Was it not a pretty 
 interior ? 
 
 I lay a long time quietly gazing upon it ; 
 it seemed to me such a pleasant contrast to 
 all the purple and fine linen of my life — 
 and, to be plunged into the midst of such a 
 scene, as it were by enchantment; and to 
 have that soft, indolent languor upon me, 
 that made this still life so pleasant ! 
 
 As I lay thus, a low, solemn chant rose at 
 a short distance, first very soft and low, then 
 louder and louder ; men's and women's voices 
 mingling together : no organ, no instrument, 
 but a solemn strain of human tones rising 
 and falling. "• At length a low and solemn 
 breathing sound rose on the air." You 
 remember the lines. 
 
 It was the old hundredth psalm — I am
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 83 
 
 become learned in psalm-tunes — Perhaps 
 you don't know the old hundredth ; it is in 
 music, with reverence be it spoken, what 
 the Lord's prayer is in prayer — I knew little 
 of prayer then, and less of psalm-tunes, but 
 the solemn tones soothed me, I did not 
 know why. When it ceased, 
 
 "What is that?" said I. 
 
 " They are at chapel," said the old lady, 
 rising. " I hope, madam, you have had a 
 little comfortable sleep ? " 
 
 I thanked her, and said I had, and asked 
 what o'clock it was, and what the day. 
 
 " Sunday, and about eleven o'clock, and 
 would I have some tea?" 
 
 You will be wearied to death of my de- 
 scriptions, but oh, that tea ! Such china 
 cups ! such little tiny cups, as transparent as 
 silver-paper, and almost as thin, with rich 
 red and brown pattern ! You know it ; we 
 have a pair of splendid jars of it at S — . The 
 fine pale tea pouring from such a darling, 
 droll, little, hunchbacked teapot, with the 
 silver strainer swinging to its beak ; the 
 mahogany waiter, with its Chinese pattern 
 of open-work round it ; no doubt it came
 
 84 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 from China : and the napkin spread on my 
 bed of the finest damask ; and the tiny, tiny 
 bits of double-refined sugar, taken up with 
 the old silver tongs — a crane, which opened 
 her long beak to take up the morsel — and a 
 little, silver-chased cream-pot, with its fat 
 little stomach, and short, crooked little legs ! 
 Dear little, honest-looking mug, how I loved 
 it ! and the rich, sweet cream, and the china 
 dish — and tiny, tiny slices of bread-and- 
 butter. 
 
 That was not the way they lived in com- 
 mon — oh ! do not think their grave simpli- 
 city was so fancifully clothed — but these 
 were their best, and my good Samaritans 
 gave their mry best to the unfortunate being 
 thus fallen, as it were, from the very skies 
 among them. 
 
 They saw I was used to delicacy, and they 
 gave all they had most delicate, from pity — 
 not from pride. Oh no ! Here was no pride 
 of receiving, no arrogance of display. True 
 pity — kind hospitality — unsparing, and sin- 
 cere to the hapless stranger — and may the 
 God they serve bless them for ever — and 
 ever — and ever — for it !
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 85 
 
 Soon after there was a still, smothered 
 sound of whispering voices, and softly-tread- 
 ing footsteps ; hushed as it rose, and then 
 doors were shut, and all was silent. 
 
 They had gone out of chapel — all hushed 
 and still, out of regard to the unfortunate one 
 whom he had recommended to them from 
 his holy place ; and now my host and his 
 wife entered the house. 
 
 The house, as I found afterwards, stood in 
 a little back court, communicating by a nar- 
 row alley with the principal street of the 
 respectable market and borough town in 
 which it was situated. At the end of the 
 court stood the chapel, to this modest tem- 
 ple the court forming a sort of chapel-yard. 
 The building was, indeed, modest, in the 
 plainest taste of those puritan fathers to 
 whom the present congregation owed their 
 origin : it was of brick- work, ornamented with 
 a little freestone, the front being wha^ always 
 reminded me of two owls'eyes. The back lay 
 towards the fields, and the minister's garden 
 surrounded the chapel and the minister's 
 house ; so the air was very sweet and plea- 
 sant. The vines and pear-trees were trained
 
 86 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 against the chapel-windows, much, I should 
 fear, to the temptation of the little urchins 
 in chapel-time, when the fruit would dangle 
 most provokingly against the glass. 
 
 The modest mansion of the most pious 
 and gifted minister — surrounded by a prim 
 little flower-garden and white palings — was 
 all that the quiet court contained. 
 
 The minister's wife, my hostess, returned 
 from chapel, and soon entered my chamber : 
 a smart, compact, neatly-made figure, the 
 very picture of activity. Such small, deli- 
 cate feet, such small, delicate white hands, 
 a face of so much spirit and meaning, — a 
 gesture so active and energetic, — habits so 
 frugal, orderly, and exact, — ready wit, quick 
 perceptions, some reading — and proud be- 
 yond all measure of her husband ! She might 
 well be proud of him. He was a gifted being, 
 — " oil la vertu va4-elle se nicker J"" He was a 
 priceless jewel, buried in this little obscure 
 court, of this insignificant borough town. 
 
 " He ought to have been a bishop.'' 
 
 There were no bishops in his church — In 
 this remnant of the old puritan church of 
 days gone by — To become the ill-paid pastor
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 87 
 
 of a few scanty flocks, that was the sole pre- 
 ferment ! But he ought not to have been 
 a bishop, begging your pardon ; nothing in 
 the least like it. He ought to have been 
 what he was, and he was perfectly con- 
 tented. 
 
 When I got better, — how we used to 
 talk! 
 
 I, in my wild, giddy way, began — you 
 know what a vain creature I was once. My 
 poor father, you know, had strange humours. 
 He studied Hobbes and Tindal, and he was 
 proud, alas ! too proud of my wit and 
 sprightly parts ; and he taught me to laugh 
 at and despise all the humbugs of this 
 world, as he called them, the science of 
 medicine, and the practices of religion, — 
 or rather doctors and priests, — being the 
 objects of his most supreme contempt and 
 most especial ridicule. 
 
 I think, if my memory serves, in some 
 place in the Bible, contempt of the physician 
 is marked as the characteristic of the scoffer 
 at religion. It seems, at first, an odd asso- 
 ciation ; but T really believe there is some- 
 thing in it. It may be, perhaps, that con-
 
 88 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 tempt of the physician, who, if he be indeed 
 a physician, must be at least much better 
 informed in his dark, mysterious science 
 than ourselves, marks a presumptuous, dar- 
 ing, unreasonable sort of character, — a cha- 
 racter wanting reverence, — which I once 
 heard a very wise man enlarge upon as both 
 a quality and a virtue, — wanting revei^ence 
 for that which its own ignorance renders it 
 incapable of appreciating. I am sure, at 
 least, it was so at one time with me — With 
 my father, however, it certainly had a more 
 rational foundation — it arose from his having 
 seen so much of the world. He had seen so 
 much pompous pretence to knowledge, where 
 knowledge was not, that he had become dis- 
 trustful of all pretension whatsoever ; and a 
 gold-headed cane, or a gown and white 
 bands, were always enough to excite his 
 bile, and arouse his sarcastic humour. 
 
 Had he been thrown by accident into an 
 interior such as this, he would, I believe, 
 have felt as I learned to do. 
 
 Ah, my dear ! what should I have done in 
 this long, long, wearisome illness, which it 
 has pleased the Almighty to lay upon me,
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 89 
 
 had I not been supported by those consola- 
 tions which this good, pious, and most gifted 
 man first opened up to me. 
 
 Thej made me, when I was getting bet- 
 ter, a sort of bed upon a low couch, in their 
 little parlour ; this parlour opened upon their 
 pretty garden. I must give you another pic- 
 ture or two. You never saw anything so 
 pretty as this little garden, and in such a 
 place, too ! — surrounded by dead walls and 
 the backs of houses, or by thick, clipped 
 privet hedges separating it from the neigh- 
 bouring fields. 
 
 The walls were covered with vines and 
 pear, currant, and other fruit-trees, which 
 made them look pleasant. The garden was 
 laid out in vegetables, fruits, and neat beds 
 of such beautiful flowers ! JNIy dearest host- 
 ess was a little vain of her flowers — such ra- 
 nunculuses, hyacinths, and anemones ! — such 
 lilacs, roses, and lilies ! — yellow day-lilies, 
 jessamines, honeysuckles, and lilies of the 
 valley ! — the bees and butterflies seemed so 
 to delight in these flowers — such a sweet 
 hum of life and happiness ! 
 
 Well, the casement opened upon all this
 
 90 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 — it might be one foot from the ground only 
 — and there was a little narrow border, with 
 roses and lilies of the valley under it, and 
 then a grass plat, and then flowers, and then 
 cherry trees, and so on ; and the mantling 
 vine that hung over it, and the sun shining 
 through the green leaves of it, with that 
 rich golden yellow transparency, and the 
 pretty window itself! 
 
 Well, this parlour had a large open sort 
 of fire-place, almost like that in a Dutch 
 kitchen, and it had a brick floor, but there 
 was a carpet over most part of that ; and my 
 couch was put at right angles with the fire- 
 place, my feet to the window, so that I 
 looked out upon this pretty busy garden. 
 
 Sometimes I could see the old lady, 
 (she was the old mother of the pastor,) in 
 her black hood, and white clear-starched 
 apron and handkerchief, tying up carnations ; 
 sometimes my lively hostess trotting about, 
 her peg heels clattering merrily upon the 
 gravel walk, gathering her fruit for her 
 preserves, or for her delicious pies; some- 
 times the minister himself, walking up and 
 down in thought; and sometimes the maid
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 91 
 
 getting vegetables for dinner. It was so 
 cheerfully quiet ! 
 
 They made a sort of circle at this win- 
 dow; the minister had his own chair and 
 writing-table; I had a little claw-table of 
 my own by my couch; the two ladies an- 
 other for their work between them. The 
 ladies were often busied at their household 
 occupations, for we had no finery here ; the 
 preparation of our meals was inspected by 
 the busy hostess herself, the delicate jellies, 
 the sweet broth, those bread puddings — not 
 to be got out of a housekeeper's room, were 
 all from her hands. With what gratitude do 
 I recollect all these pains to make the poor 
 stranger easy! Pious Christian, dear, excel- 
 lent, valuable woman, wife, and mother ! 
 
 Yes, she was a mother — the Lord had 
 given to her a son. 
 
 He was a boy then about thirteen or four- 
 teen years old, or so : the most beautiful 
 interesting creature that ever these eyes 
 beheld ; tall of his age and forward ; his 
 dark large soul-speaking eyes, almost hid- 
 den among the masses of rich hair, which 
 his mother kept so beautifully nice. A
 
 92 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 silent, thoughtful, reserved boy, he had 
 little of the child about him; indeed he 
 lived so entirely with his parents that the 
 noisy amusements of children seldom came 
 in his way, and when they did, he did not 
 seem to like them. He read a vast deal, 
 and when his father and I were talking, he 
 would stand in the corner of the window, 
 his large eyes fixed intently upon us, follow- 
 ing what we said with an appearance of 
 interest very uncommon at his years. 
 
 His mother, in the pride and joy of her 
 heart, used to tell me of his wonderful 
 acquisitions for his age ; his father would 
 smile at her enthusiasm, but add, in his 
 quiet calm manner, 
 
 " I believe he really is a remarkable boy ; 
 but what is that to Lady Evelyn?"
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 93 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When first I came down stairs I used to 
 he horridly tired of Sunday. 
 
 Two services to which I could not go, and 
 would not if I could ; a few of the congre- 
 gation, the plainest, most homely citizens, 
 you have often seen, dropping in or stop- 
 ping to chat with the minister in the chapel 
 yard — a quiet Sunday walk, a quiet cup of 
 tea, chat, and in the evening the Bible 
 and prayers ! Other days I could amuse my- 
 self by playing at cards, or solitaire by myself ; 
 but I found my cards and solitaire board 
 put away upon the Sunday. I would not 
 inquire for them, but yawned most expres- 
 sively; and at last, in my flippant way, 
 asked ]\Ir. James whether he could possibly 
 think that it mattered to the Almighty 
 whether I played at patience, or dislocated 
 my jaws with ^?;^patience on a Sunday.
 
 94 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 To ray surprise, he answered with a sort 
 of smile, " that perhaps it might." 
 
 I stared with eyes as large as saucers. 
 I had been taught so differently in my 
 poor father s school — taught to look upon 
 the Deity, if I acknowledged him at all, as 
 something infinitely too august to interfere 
 with or regard the paltry matters of this world. 
 " No ! — Can you possibly believe such — " 
 " Such stuff, do you mean ? — yes, I can." 
 " That what I ; such a poor, little, insig- 
 nificant atom as I am — can do, or feel, — 
 that Omnipotence can regard it ? — pooh ! 
 pooh ! " And I laughed contemptuously, as 
 I felt. 
 
 " I am afraid it signifies a good deal to 
 the insignificant atom you are pleased to 
 consider yourself, what it can suffer," — and he 
 glanced at my arm. " What such an insig- 
 nificant atom does and suffers, may matter 
 very much to the atom itself — and if it be an 
 influential atom, to other atoms like it. To 
 the Infinite benevolence, nothing can be too 
 small ; the infinitely little, as the infinitely 
 great, in him is comprehended — why should 
 you exclude yourself, and this little parlour
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 95 
 
 from the sphere of his care, or from the circle 
 of his judgments — Depend upon it, my dear 
 Lady Evelyn, this is all false this fine-sound- 
 ing philosophy — God is everywhere, or he 
 is nowhere ; and his wisdom measures things, 
 not as they import to him, the all-sufficient, 
 but as they import to us — It has pleased 
 him, in his wisdom, to lay down laws for our 
 guidance and government, and it has pleased 
 him that they should be observed. And as he 
 is good, and loves goodness — obedience — 
 which is goodness — and respect for the faith 
 and feeling of others, which is goodness — and 
 attention on the part of the great and the 
 fair to set a good example — which is good- 
 ness — are regarded by him . . . and, therefore, 
 as you are both of the great and also of the 
 very fair — I conceive that you should not 
 play at cards upon the sabbath day." 
 
 " But yawning — and stretching — and mur- 
 muring — and longing for Monday, is a horrid 
 way of spending one's time." 
 
 " But why yawn — and stretch — and mur- 
 mur — and long for Monday ? " 
 
 " Because I have nothing else on earth 
 to do."
 
 96 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Oh, Lady Evelyn ! " 
 
 " Why, what would you have me do ? " 
 said I, a little impatiently. '' I was naughty 
 and cross ; there were no story books upon 
 his little book-shelves, and besides, I never 
 could much bear that sort of reading ; with a 
 few exceptions our novels are such wretched 
 trash !" 
 
 " Ah, dear Lady Evelyn ! are you not 
 awake even to the comprehension of the in- 
 numerable wants in which you live ? — Is your 
 mental eye, like eyes one has read of, so 
 accustomed to darkness, that you do not 
 even know that there is light ? — Are you 
 as one born blind ? — Alas ! can you not per- 
 ceive the deep ignorance — the moral blind- 
 ness — the utter destitution of spiritual food 
 in which you are content to live ?" — 
 
 I stared ; astonished, and half angry. 
 
 " What can you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean — can you not even imagine a 
 purpose, by which the sabbath of God may 
 be rendered interesting and useful ?" 
 
 " Oh, going to church — which my father 
 considered a most utter waste of time ; but al- 
 ways insisted upon our doing, and indeed I do
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 97 
 
 think, whatever you may say, most utter 
 waste of time — It is such drowsy work ! — 
 Our chaplain had such a twang ; he was 
 always half asleep himself; and then his ser- 
 mons ! — Life like a journey — I think that 
 was his staple idea — A horrid bare bit of the 
 road when one sat listening to him !" 
 
 " Did it never suggest itself to you, that 
 there were other purposes, besides going to 
 church, to be answ^ered by the Sunday?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — dining early, that the servants 
 might have their evenings." 
 
 " Nothing else ? " 
 
 " Sacred music — but my father hated sa- 
 cred music, so we never had any. The even- 
 ings would have been intolerable, but we 
 played cards : my father would not allow 
 dancing, or billiards, he thought them too 
 noisy — so we played cards ; and we read, 
 too, on a Sunday." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Oh, anything — newspapers, or anything 
 — the day got on well enough — and I am sure 
 I cannot see any harm we did — less than on 
 any other day ; if enjoyment be harm — We 
 had always less oip that, to be sure." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " And may I ask, what day of the week, 
 or what hour of the day, did you in prefer- 
 ence devote to those reflections, and to that 
 knowledge ; to which, I suppose you cannot 
 pretend to be indifferent?" 
 
 " What knowledge ? — What reflections ?'' 
 
 " The knowledge of yourself, and whither 
 this said journey of yours was leading you," 
 said he, with a smile. 
 
 "Knowledge of myself? and whither? — 
 no, indeed, I never have thought of it. — My 
 father used to say, philosophy was not in- 
 tended for women."* 
 
 " Women are not then to suffer and die ? " 
 
 " Suffer ! alas the pity !— but die ? — Why 
 the less one thinks about that the better.'' 
 
 "Are you quite sure of that V 
 
 " I am quite sure it is very awful — very 
 disagreeable — quite inevitable — and what 
 good can thinking of it do ?" 
 
 " Render it, perhaps, a little less awful 
 and disagreeable." 
 
 " Oh impossible ! — My father used to say 
 the beyond is one dark impenetrable mystery 
 — inscrutable to the human understanding —
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 99 
 
 untried by human experience — of which we 
 do know nothing and can know nothing." 
 
 " That I call begging the question." 
 
 " I beg your pardon — what is begging 
 the question?" 
 
 *' Assuming the fact which remains to be 
 proved — We have not yet decided that man 
 can know nothing, and does know nothing. 
 Men have been found who professed to know 
 a great deal." 
 
 " Oh yes ! the Bible — but that is quite 
 another thing." 
 
 " Quite another thing ! — another from 
 what thing?" 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know— but the Bible— oh 
 why ! — it is not like other books, you know." 
 
 " Yes, there we agree at last — I do think 
 the Bible is not like other books." 
 
 "One does not think of going to it to 
 learn much, I believe — I mean, my father 
 used to treat it with a sort of affectionate 
 kind of contempt — I believe he thought 
 some parts of it very good reading for poor 
 people — for the ignorant vulgar." 
 
 " I think that opinion was a just one. 
 
 F 2
 
 100 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 We cannot deny there is viery good reading 
 in it for poor people." 
 
 " But for such as we are — for such as you ! 
 Indeed, you are a minister of religion ; that is 
 different — but for other people ? — I suppose 
 we all know our duty, and there is not much 
 to be learned there." 
 
 " Pardon me ; I cannot agree with you at 
 all. I doubt about all of us knowing our 
 duty, and I think there is much to be learned 
 there." 
 
 *' Well, really, now what should I learn ? 
 I think I know the commandments well ; let 
 me see — I honoured my father — dear good 
 man, indeed I did — Murder? very innocent 
 murder with these eyes ! — The next — oh my 
 dear Brudenel, T am innocent of that. 
 Theft ? — steal only hearts ! Covet ? — I covet 
 nothing but Mrs. James' share in your's." 
 
 " I do indeed believe you are an innocent, 
 guileless creature," said he, with tenderness; 
 " but, sweet Lady Evelyn, this w orld is full of 
 temptation, — but we will pass that by ; but 
 it is also full of sorrow — full of suffering — we 
 have to support ourselves — we have to com- 
 fort others : there is a better country, shall
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 101 
 
 we not accustom ourselves to look to 
 it?" 
 
 " Ah that country ! — all dark, vague, un- 
 satisfactory." 
 
 " There is a better country," he repeated. 
 
 '* But dear me ! how little do we know." 
 
 " Ay, how little do we know — but whose 
 fault is that?" 
 
 " The fault of the subject." 
 
 " Or the fault of not considering the sub- 
 ject? — Of spending Sundays in cards, yawn- 
 ings, and murmuring, instead of employing 
 it in directing our thoughts, our hearts, our 
 hopes, to that future which must and will 
 come ; and preparing ourselves in this present 
 for that future ? In short, dear Lady Evelyn, 
 the Sunday was evidently intended to be 
 given to other thoughts than those of this 
 world — intended, by repeated interruptions 
 of the regular business of life, to prevent 
 our attention being too exclusively engaged 
 in it — to be the means, in fine, of training 
 us for that higher and spiritual life, so con- 
 sonant to our nature — that it is the only life 
 in which that nature can find rest or peace." 
 
 I will not, for indeed I have neither
 
 102 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 strength nor ability left, — I will not endea- 
 vour to lay before you, dear Fanny, the steps 
 by which this good man gradually led me 
 into that course of thinking which has been 
 a source to me, of such inexpressible sup- 
 port and comfort. ■ His teachings were con- 
 tinued and earnest, till he brought me to 
 a sense of those relations, and those duties, 
 which had scarcely ever before been the 
 subject of my thoughts. 
 
 He loved especially to shew, how the 
 teaching of his divine Master applied itself 
 to those hidden mysteries of being, on which 
 all our well-being depends; how the Christ- 
 ian life, in its perfection, is the perfection of 
 our nature, and the perfection of our happi- 
 ness ; how duty, faith, disinterested virtue, and 
 affectionate love, are the only true happi- 
 ness and excellence of man. He would call 
 duty the salt of life ; and then shew, by his 
 example, how sweet and animated a life de- 
 voted to duty was. 
 
 He was certainly a very clever man ; and 
 to see him buried in this obscure corner of an 
 obscure town, was to me provoking and pain- 
 ful. But he had his good reasons for that
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 103 
 
 too. Indeed, his whole life was planned 
 upon his own convictions. Most lives are 
 merely the result of accident — people, in 
 general, I think, have neither wills nor con- 
 victions of any kind ; like the animals, they go 
 as they are led ; but with some rarer spirits it 
 is not so — Life with them is a beautiful poem, 
 an epic, or a pastoral, as it may be ; but it is 
 a plan, it has a beginning, a middle, and an 
 end ; it has a purpose, an aim — and it has a 
 result. 
 
 I fancied he might, after all, have too 
 much of that sort of indolence and indiffer- 
 ence, which makes many characters accept 
 contentedly an obscurity for which they were 
 not intended by nature; because it spares 
 them the pains and exertions of a more 
 animated sphere. 
 
 I felt provoked to see the tranquillity 
 with which this rarely-gifted creature fleeted 
 away the time among people so far below 
 him in every respect, as they all, even his 
 clever wife included, were. 
 
 " You talk of duties, and of being ac- 
 countable for talents," said I to him, one 
 day, " and here are you hiding your talent
 
 104 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 in a napkin, slumbering away life in con- 
 tented obscurity, with abilities to dictate to 
 a senate, or to rule a diocese. How can you 
 be satisfied to do this — to throw away such 
 gifts as yours V 
 
 " Granting the gifts, for the sake of ar- 
 gument; but their extent remains to be 
 proved," said he cheerfully ; " I deny that I 
 am throwing them away." 
 
 " It is throwing them away to pass life in 
 this corner of the world — or rather corner 
 out of the world — I am persuaded it is the 
 greatest mistake in the world for men to do 
 nothing at all, and then think that they do 
 very greatly, because, forsooth, they have no 
 ambition — No ambition ! — a mere excuse for 
 indolence, or for the indulgence of a certain 
 delicate morality ; which I believe to be no 
 morality at all, inasmuch as it is far too fine 
 for every-day use. If all the gifted men in 
 the world acted in this way, and forsook the 
 world, because the world was not good 
 enough for them — where would the world 
 be?" 
 
 " I quite agree with you." 
 
 " You do ? — How inconsistent ! "
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 105 
 
 " I do not see the inconsistency. — If you 
 mean that I am one of those over-delicate 
 moralists ; I beg to assure you I am no such 
 thing. — I would have gone into the world of 
 which you speak, if that world had wanted 
 me ; or, indeed, had offered me a place in it, 
 which it never did — and if I had not found — 
 besides, a world here. Are men, then, who 
 happen to live out of that great world of 
 yours, of so infinitely little value, that their 
 very souls are beneath the attention of a 
 man of sense and vigour ? — I do not see, and 
 I do not believe, that these good people who 
 surround me, are not as capable of feeling, 
 suffering, understanding or misunderstanding 
 their relations and duties, as the finest ladies 
 and gentlemen in the world." 
 
 " Oh ! but the influence, the power of 
 doing good — had you filled an eminent sta- 
 tion, as you certainly might have done, in 
 the Church ! " 
 
 " You forget — that Church is closed to 
 me — I do not say — for it would not be true, 
 that had the course of my thoughts and edu- 
 cation made me a member of that Church ; 
 and had a place of influence and dignity been 
 
 F 5
 
 106 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 offered by circumstances to me, that I would 
 not have accepted it ; and perhaps I should 
 have found a natural pleasure in performing 
 the duties of an eminent, rather than of an 
 obscure station — but it was not oifered to me. 
 — Very serious convictions on my part ren- 
 dered it impossible for me to minister in 
 that Church ; and yet to be a minister of 
 Christ has always been the ambition of my 
 character — I have very early been impressed 
 with a profound sense of the truth of this 
 great revelation ; of its immense importance 
 to mankind, even in this world. And I felt 
 myself singled out from among the young 
 men of my acquaintance for this particular 
 task. Some of them went one way, some 
 another — they have mostly done well in their 
 more worldly callings ; and, in serving them- 
 selves, have not forgotten to serve others. 
 Mine was a higher vocation ; I chose it de- 
 liberately, as the best and highest purpose 
 to which I could devote my faculties — The 
 extent of the field in which it was given me 
 to labour was not mine to choose ; but the 
 purpose of my labours was — I have not had 
 reason to think those labours thrown away."
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 107 
 
 I was silent a moment ; then — 
 " Yet to see you so lost /" 
 " I deny that I am lost.'" 
 " And your boy ! — that beautiful boy ! — is 
 he too — do forgive me — is he, too, to be no- 
 thing but a dissenting minister ?" 
 
 The mother's head was suddenly raised 
 from the stocking she was mending — an ear- 
 nest, sharp, quick glance, first at her hus- 
 band, then at me — her eyes were then bent 
 on the stocking again. 
 He did not see it ; I did. 
 " It is a high vocation," said he to him- 
 self. 
 
 " What is ?" 
 
 " That of endeavouring to diffuse import- 
 ant truth — To diffuse important truth," con- 
 tinued he, as if speaking to himself. " What 
 is that ? — It is to carry light into the dark 
 chambers of the human mind, — to carry 
 balm into the sore places of the human 
 heart, — to bestow upon man more than 
 food, more than raiment, more than health, 
 more than gold, — order, system, justice, good- 
 ness — comprehension, understanding, hope, 
 and peace. — To assist in the grand purpose —
 
 108 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 the education of the race ; not the A, B, C, 
 education merely of science and literature, 
 but the higher education of the soul. . .That 
 education which elevates man to the hero, 
 to the angel, almost to the god, — to be a 
 creature blest and blessing, — full of light, 
 and radiant of light, — full of heaven, and 
 diffusive of heaven, — restoring the lost image 
 of that paradise of the soul, which was in- 
 deed no cunningly devised fable — ... I can- 
 not, and I do not think, that a life should 
 be called lost, w^hen devoted to a purpose 
 such as this — ... Though he be nothing but 
 a poor dissenting minister" . . . 
 
 He smiled with a sweet, arch expression 
 of the eye, which shewed he was not the 
 least in the world offended. 
 
 " But yet," — said his wife, and the stocking 
 now fell with her arms on her lap, as she 
 looked at him steadily and consideringly, 
 " all may not find their happiness in it." 
 
 " For those who do not, it is not the vo- 
 cation." 
 
 "And the boy — if he should not — would 
 you condemn him ?" said I. 
 
 " Condemn ! — most certainly, and certainly
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 3 09 
 
 not. I condemn no one to be as happy and 
 contented as I have been myself." 
 
 " But if he should not find that happiness 
 for him which was happiness for you ?" 
 
 " I am inclined to think and to hope that 
 he will." 
 
 " Hope ! — oh, do not say you hope it !" 
 
 " Well, I expect it." 
 
 " But if he should not ?" said the wife 
 anxiously. 
 
 " My dear Jane, he is only fourteen years 
 of age. A few more years will settle this 
 matter of itself." 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and the 
 subject of our conversation, this beautiful, 
 lovely boy, himself appeared, book in hand : 
 — some difficulty in his lesson. 
 
 " I will go with you into the study," said 
 his father ; " you must get your lexicon." 
 And father and son left the apartment. 
 
 The mother sighed. 
 
 " Nothing will ever convince me," said I, 
 in answer to her sigh, " nothing will ever 
 make me value all these negatives — this 710 
 reputation, no advancement, no appreciation, 
 — this village Hampdenism, and silent, mute,
 
 110 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 inglorious Miltonism. Oh, if I had such a 
 son ! it would break my heart, in spite of all 
 this fine talking." 
 
 The mother sighed again, and then said, 
 " I think a good deal as you do, I con- 
 fess." 
 
 " You do ? — You are right, a thousand 
 times right." 
 
 " But what career is open to him ?" 
 She can talk like a rational creature, at 
 least, thought I. 
 
 " Why, there are a good many careers, 
 even with the disadvantage he labours un- 
 der. The law, diplomacy, or to be attached 
 to some noble family as private secretary, or 
 — many are pushed forward in that way to 
 distinction. But to languish away life here 
 — oh ! it never, never will do." 
 
 " A good education, which he is receiving, 
 will be the necessary condition of all suc- 
 cess," said the mother, half to herself ; " and 
 so far Mr. James is quite right ; and time 
 will perhaps assist us in coming to a deter- 
 mination as to his future destiny." 
 
 " Yes, true ; and depend upon me, dearest 
 madam, we will, when the time conies, find
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. Ill 
 
 some path or other for him. I only wish to 
 see the seeds of an honest ambition scattered 
 in your, and his mind. — Indeed, this indif- 
 ference is the only fault your delightful 
 husband has." 
 
 " Perhaps we must not call it a fault," 
 said the faultless wife ; for to hear him 
 blamed in the least degree, without defend- 
 ing him, was to her impossible. " A fault 
 it must not be called — I have known many 
 people, as you, madam, justly said, who mis- 
 took indolence for philosophy ; but this is 
 indeed not the case here. No one labours 
 more strenuously or more usefully than my 
 husband — You cannot imagine the change 
 he has made here since we came — How 
 he has raised the tone of society in every 
 class ; how he has contrived to inspire pure 
 tastes and pure morals, among an eating, 
 drinking, card-playing, scandal-mongering 
 set, as were the better sort — and a spirit of 
 order, sobriety, and good-housewifery, among 
 the alehouse frequenters ! He is respected 
 by high and low, rich and poor — The very 
 Church people themselves honour and prize 
 him. Mr. Lambert comes to him for advice
 
 112 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 frequently ; they act cheerfully together — 
 No, indeed, we must not call Mr. James 
 thrown away." 
 
 " A great distinction, truly ! for a man like 
 Mr. James to be condescended to by a man 
 like Mr. Lambert — not worthy, as the vulgar 
 say, to hold the candle to him — a great 
 distinction, truly, to be allowed to advise Mr. 
 Lambert ! " 
 
 " Well," said she good-humouredly, " one 
 must confess it is the highest honour he has 
 ever arrived at." 
 
 '^ If he must be only an adviser, he ought 
 to advise a King upon his throne," said I, 
 vulgarly enough. " And your son must and 
 shall do something better than this, at 
 least." 
 
 " We will hope so," said the mother. 
 
 And from this conversation dated in the 
 mother's mind completely new views and 
 wishes with respect to this cherished son. 
 
 Have I done wrong? Have I done right 
 thus to scatter the seeds of ambition in her 
 mind ? 
 
 The end must shew. My brother, in love 
 for me, and in respect for the gratitude I
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 113 
 
 owed them, — you know how he does love 
 me, — has determined to protect and forward 
 this young man in his career. 
 
 Luckily, you know, we are not in the 
 least of the strait-laced school with respect 
 to the Church, so his being a dissenter is 
 rather an advantage than otherwise in the 
 eyes of my brother.
 
 114 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A YOUNG man and a young woman were 
 walking under the rocks together. 
 
 The young man was dressed as men of 
 fashion dress when engaged in shooting or 
 fishing-excursions. The young woman wore 
 a very simple dress of printed cotton, and a 
 small round cap ; the make of the dress was 
 rustic ; the excessive delicacy and neatness of 
 it were most remarkable. She was weeping ; 
 his arm was round her waist, and he pressed 
 her head kindly and fondly to his bosom. 
 
 "The child will be better!" 
 
 " The child — poor little thing ! — but will 
 you, must you go away ? " 
 
 "Indeed, my love! my lily!" bending 
 down his head, and kissing her eyes, — " in- 
 deed, my darling, I cannot help it. If I 
 were to stay longer, my father would never
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 115 
 
 be satisfied. He has written most urgently ; 
 he has commanded me home ; and if I did 
 not obey; and that pretty promptly too, I 
 should have the devil and all about my ears — 
 So dry those pretty, pretty eyes, and let us 
 go in, and look at your baby." 
 
 They stood over the humble cradle, under 
 that humble roof; she, her arms clasped 
 round his, clinging, as it were, for support ; 
 gazing first on him, then on her child. He 
 evinced more curiosity than tenderness, as 
 men do when they gaze upon their firstborn. 
 
 " You must take care of the shaver," said 
 he. " Ay, innocent as he lies there, he 
 will be heir to thirty thousand good pounds 
 a-year, and castles, and so on. JNIy father 
 will be more surprised than pleased, I sus- 
 pect, with all his liberal ideas, when he finds 
 the heir he makes such a fuss about, already 
 alive and kicking.'' 
 
 " Well, when I do introduce you — I wish 
 to heaven I could do it at this moment/' said 
 he, as she raised the newly-awakened and 
 smiling infant in her arms, and pressing it 
 fondly to her bosom, looked upon it with all
 
 116 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 a mother's love, and more than a mother's 
 pride. " Oh ! you sweetest of heaven's crea- 
 tures ! " said he. 
 
 Such were the bewitching words that had 
 won this bewitching young creature's heart. 
 She had been for twelve months his wife, 
 the happiest of human beings ; as she was 
 the loveliest and the tenderest. 
 
 Six months more ! and she might be seen, 
 like a cropped lily, faded and discoloured, 
 weeping over the little bed on which lay her 
 dead little infant. Six months more ! and 
 her poor widowed mother was braiding the 
 golden hair over those stiff, cold, motionless 
 features ; beautiful in their waxen impression 
 of heavenly rest, after the choaking struggle 
 of a death of despair. Six months more ! 
 and the poor widow herself was lying under 
 the turf, by the side of the little green 
 mound that marked the daughter's grave. 
 And this was the end of the young man's 
 pedestrian tour. 
 
 One only relic remained of all this, one 
 paper inclosed in a letter, the last she had 
 ever written, so artless and touching that 
 he could not destroy it. He had put it into
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 117 
 
 a little letter-case of black satin, beautifully 
 stitched, the very picture of simple, humble 
 art, the workmanship and the gift of his de- 
 serted wife in happier days ; and this letter- 
 case he had put into the secret drawer of his 
 writing-case ; a writing-case without which 
 he never travelled ; and this was all the feel- 
 ing he shewed upon the occasion, for he was 
 busy about other things. 
 
 He had been summoned home to marry a 
 Countess in her own rio-ht, the verv first 
 match in England ; a haughty, fanciful, dis- 
 dainful young woman, who thought the very 
 earth she trod on not good enough to hold 
 her ; who thought herself degraded by the 
 very eyes that only gazed upon to admire 
 her. He became a very important man in 
 everybody's eyes but his own and his wife's. 
 He was, in truth, a man of a simple, affec- 
 tionate character, and possessed a very com- 
 mon-place, not to say feeble, understanding, 
 quite the reverse of his clever, sarcastic 
 father — as described by Lady Evelyn, whose 
 brother he was. He had, like his sister, re- 
 ceived a most imperfect education ; for the 
 pains now taken with the children of the
 
 118 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 higher classes were almost unknown in those 
 days. Men grew up much as nature had 
 formed them ; and, in general, with the most 
 careless ideas, or no ideas at all with respect 
 to the duties and the relations in which they 
 stood to society. He did not, like most 
 young men of fashion of his day, lose himself 
 in the vortex of the world, for his tastes 
 were in some respects peculiar, and the very 
 reverse of what the vulgar call aristocratic ; 
 he loved botany, conchology, chemistry, better 
 than courts or politics ; sketching better than 
 haranguing ; and a country home, and a park 
 of deer, and a garden of plants, more than 
 levies, ambassadors' or ministers' dinners, 
 &c. And for this, his wife despised him 
 from the very bottom of her haughty, ambi- 
 tious heart. The stronger character of the 
 two, she forced him into the career which 
 she liked and he hated, in which he cut, 
 even according to his own ideas, a very poor 
 figure — and all the splendour of his dazzling 
 fortunes could hardly conceal this truth from 
 others. 
 
 One daughter alone blessed the union of 
 this ill-matched pair; a bitter disappoint-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 119 
 
 ment at first ; but soon, when there appear- 
 ed no chance of any other heir, the Countess 
 began to appropriate the little daughter, and 
 the child was reared in all the pride, pomp, 
 and circumstance in which her mother de- 
 lighted ; and the seeds of arrogance and sel- 
 fishness were sown in a heart violent, daring, 
 and self-willed by nature. Before the time, 
 when the daughter, no longer a child, should 
 have become the rival, instead of the idol of 
 her domineering mother, and the contentions 
 of two such characters might have taught 
 them both a few of those lessons which no 
 one else on earth could teach either of them, 
 the mother died, and the child was left the 
 heiress of all her titles, all her wealth, and 
 all her pride. 
 
 The father married again. 
 
 This time, he chose a pretty, good-hu- 
 moured young lady, who also in due time 
 died, leaving him a son and a daughter; 
 and after this he did not feel inclined to try 
 his luck any more ; but retiring to a country- 
 seat, in a most remote part of the country, 
 among his shells, his lizards, his hortus siccus, 
 his crucibles, he continued to pass away
 
 120 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 what some might call a very innocent life. 
 But that life little merits the name, which is 
 passed in the selfish indulgence of tastes, 
 however harmless, to the neglect of all the 
 graver duties. That life cannot be called in- 
 nocent, which merely permits evil, and sel- 
 dom does it. 
 
 Such was the brother of Lady Evelyn 
 Brudenel, who, her arm shattered, and her 
 delicate frame much shaken by the terrible 
 accident, still lay at the good minister's ; 
 there her young and fashionable husband 
 had been to visit her ; but, fearing to in- 
 commode the kind host and hostess, his visit 
 had been short. 
 
 It had, however, been sufficient to excite 
 in his gay and thoughtless, but kind and 
 feeling heart, sentiments of the warmest 
 gratitude, and he shared with his lovely 
 wife the desire to benefit, in some impor- 
 tant manner, those to whom she had become 
 so warmly attached. 
 
 Accustomed to the world, to its scenes of 
 splendour and excitement, much as these 
 young people admired, it was impossible for 
 them to comprehend the true circumstances
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 121 
 
 of Mr. James and his family. To them an 
 obscurity so complete appeared the greatest 
 of misfortunes ; to be endured, with patience, 
 if unavoidable, but to be avoided by every 
 means in one's power. The tranquil con- 
 tentment they witnessed in Mr. James him- 
 self, to them seemed the most unaccountable 
 apathy; an apathy which, in spite of their 
 respect and admiration for the minister, 
 they could not help secretly blaming. 
 
 With the common prejudices of those 
 who live in the great world, they could 
 not conceive of interests out of that w^orld ; 
 they forgot that mankind is everywhere, and 
 that man is everywhere interesting to man — 
 that the storv is much the same, whether 
 bound in velvet and gold, or in yellow can- 
 vass — nay, they did not know that there is 
 a truth and reality in its more simple pages, 
 too often hidden in the glitter and false 
 lights of a more splendid life. Mr. James 
 had looked at life with a sober and steadv 
 eye. He did not despise the advantages 
 which wealth and station may procure ; the 
 large " working circle," as the Germans 
 would say, which they open to their pos- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 sessors. But of what avail the extent of 
 the circle to those who will not work in 
 it ; and how few of those surrounded by all 
 the temptations to which wealth and station 
 expose us, have the wisdom and virtue to 
 resist the syren voice of pleasure and in- 
 dolence, and to fill their own working circle 
 with the efforts of wisdom and virtue ! 
 
 He believed that the extent of the sphere 
 w^as a trifling matter, in comparison with the 
 manner in which the task appointed was ful- 
 filled ; that there is work enough everywhere 
 and for every one, and for every one satisfac- 
 tion in performing it w^ell. 
 
 Appointed to preside over this little ob- 
 scure dissenting congregation, he had ap- 
 plied himself to the task w^th unremitting 
 assiduity. He had likewise, in his tranquil 
 retirement, devoted much time to letters 
 and learning. His inquiries had been pro- 
 found, and his meditations had led to the 
 illumination of subjects, in his opinion, vital 
 to the happiness and advancement of man. 
 His publications had made noise enough in 
 the world to gratify the ambition, even of 
 his wife ; but in those days literature was
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 123 
 
 not the golden mine it has since become ; 
 men got fame rather than money for their 
 pen and ink. He remained, what most 
 people might call, poor, but what he felt to 
 be rich; for he had enough to gratify his 
 wife's simple taste, enough for his mother, 
 enough for his child, enough for himself; 
 and enough for the exercise of the delicate, 
 and to them, expensive hospitality, which 
 they offered to the Lady Evelyn. 
 
 The Lady Evelyn's appearance, in this 
 simple circle, exercised upon Mr. James's 
 life some such an effect as we might 
 fancy to have resulted, when the divinities 
 of Olympus are said to have descended 
 among the habitations of men ; or rather 
 such as the Angel visit produced upon 
 Adam in paradise. 
 
 Had Mr. James been a man of modern 
 times, a man as too many men are now — 
 when religion, sound principle, strict mo- 
 rality, fidelity to duties and obligations, 
 long-considered sacred, is looked upon as 
 a mistake rather than as a virtue ; when 
 all is questioned, all disputed ; had he been 
 a German, or a Frenchman of sentiment, 
 
 G 2
 
 124 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 instead of an Englishman of rectitude and 
 simple principle, what consequences might 
 not this adventure have produced ? — When 
 he, the most refined of human beings, gifted 
 with the most exquisite sense of beauty, with 
 the most delicate perception of all that was 
 graceful, lovely, and fair, held this angelic 
 being in his arms — saw those transcendently 
 lovely eyes open to meet his, that long silken 
 hair falling in profusion over his breast ; or in 
 the dangerous intimacy of that little parlour, 
 beheld that form, than which the Paphean 
 goddess herself did not possess one more 
 faultless, wrapped in folds of the fairest lawn ; 
 those delicate, yet most sweetly expressive 
 features turned to him ; that sweet eye bent 
 on him, or bent on earth, in tender musing 
 as he taught, and that voice of sweetest 
 harmony, giving forth her playful contra- 
 dictions, or yet sweeter acquiescence in what 
 he said ! — 
 
 Here was sympathy ! here was the mag- 
 netic election of souls ! — for his wisdom, re- 
 finement, and goodness, proved as enchant- 
 ing to her — as all her world of enchantments 
 could possibly prove to him.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 125 
 
 Let US for a moment picture the insidi- 
 ous flame of passion, lighted from the small 
 spark of imagination in this little paradise. 
 What torments ! what agonies ! what horrors ! 
 where all had been peace and harmony. 
 The man, so calm, so contented, so useful, 
 so good, — his days a prey to tormenting 
 wishes, to intoxicating reveries, to delicious 
 imaginations; his nights, a fever of restless 
 passion ! 
 
 Where are his peaceful and useful labours, 
 his calm and earnest philanthopy, his intel- 
 lectual efforts and meditations, his cheerful 
 and happy rest at home ? And she ; where 
 is her innocent gaiety, her childish purity, 
 her simple carelessness ? — .... 
 
 Devoured by new sensations, unaccounta- 
 ble to herself and ill understood ; a prey to 
 vehement imaginations, and yet alive to all 
 she is doing and has done ! — For what has 
 she done? how has she repaid the tender 
 care she has received ? — Alas the wife ! the 
 useful, the devoted wife ! whose heart and 
 whose life was bound up in him — the hus- 
 band of her virgin love — the bone of her 
 bone — the flesh of her flesh — linked, alas !
 
 126 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 as she thought, indissolubly, for time and for 
 eternity, by all the daily, never-ceasing cha- 
 rities of domestic love — what shall she do? 
 How shall she, with her simple ability, her 
 native spirit, her every-day useful wisdom — 
 how shall she compete with this angel from 
 the spheres? — Her plain sense, her active 
 earnest temper, her warm and devoted 
 heart, her little precise figure, the very 
 personification of comfort and home — what 
 are they before all that imagination can 
 picture of passion, sweetness, loveliness, 
 and love — alas ! alas ! what a ruin is here! 
 
 And is this heaven ? — And is this her 
 gratitude to this good Samaritan, to rob 
 her of her treasure, that priceless, that 
 inestimable treasure, her husband's heart, 
 and abandon her to the howling fiends 
 of deathless interminable despair? — Is this 
 emancipation ? Is this bliss, ineffable and 
 only pure ? — .... 
 
 And did these dire consequences ensue 
 from the accidental meeting of two gifted 
 beings formed to love and to estimate one 
 another ? — No. — 
 
 Not the slightest approach to any one
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 127 
 
 of these evil consequences, in the slightest 
 degree ! 
 
 For he was a christian husband and a 
 christian man. — He was an English husband 
 and an English man — when he received at 
 the altar and took to his arms the woman 
 his youthful heart had selected, and received 
 the vows of her virgin heart in return; he 
 took her fw ever, — From that instant ima- 
 gination roved no more. She was his, and 
 he was hers, — husband and wife ; strong 
 holy bond ! knit by habit as well as by prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 The idea even of infidelity never crossed 
 his mind ; it was a thing impossible, out of 
 the circle even of his thoughts. The vir- 
 tuous man is clad in the panoply of heaven 
 — he bears a charmed life ; for him there 
 is not even temptation ; the wily tempter 
 looks askance and passes on^ — he cannot 
 enter into the holy temple of unsullied 
 thought. 
 
 And, therefore, ^Ir. James and the lovely 
 Lady Evelyn could receive the most exqui- 
 site delight from each other's society, with- 
 out its ever entering into their heads to be
 
 128 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 in love with one another — though they did 
 love one another most sincerely — and, there- 
 fore, it never entered into the heads of any 
 one of the party to fear or to doubt either 
 themselves or others — because their princi- 
 ples were so sound, their conjugal fidelity 
 so perfect, that it was a matter of course, — 
 it was their life. They had not in those 
 days heard questions debated, which now 
 occupy all mankind. — I do not mean that 
 Mr. James was ignorant of such questions ; 
 but they were as speculations, quite remote 
 from the course of real life. The sanctity 
 of marriage was, as I said before, not only 
 a principle but a habit ; and superior man 
 as he was, a virtuous habit, no doubt, ex- 
 ercised a most excellent influence even on 
 him. 
 
 Most true it was, not one thought, but 
 what heaven itself might have witnessed, 
 ever stained, for one single instant of time, 
 the bosom of any one of this happy little 
 company. 
 
 He led her willing and most docile mind 
 into those paths of peace which he himself 
 was treading. As she got better, and was
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 129 
 
 able to walk out on the Sabbath-day, she 
 would join the pious services of this little 
 humble congregation. In the corner of ]Mrs. 
 James' pew, upon the plain oaken bench lean- 
 ing against the oaken wainscot of which it 
 was composed — for there were no paddings, 
 and linings, and velvets, and cloths in this 
 simple conventicle — a fair vision might now 
 be seen ; very pale she was, and most exceed- 
 ing fair, and the eyes of all the congregation 
 were fixed upon her. 
 
 They were not a little proud, too, these 
 good people, of having so fine a lady attend- 
 ing their chapel. There was ]\Ir. Plowden, 
 the tea-dealer ; Mr. Redcross, the mercer ; 
 Mrs. Jones ; Mrs. Harrison, and her three 
 dauofhters also — those dauo^hters who se- 
 cretly did so long to go to church — for all 
 Mr. Moneypenny's clerks, and Mr. Rhu- 
 barb's young men, and jNIr. Scribe's young 
 men, too, (though Mr. Scribe himself was a 
 chapel man,) went to church ; and the Miss 
 Harrisons in secret repined — but their mo- 
 ther was a good stiff old puritan, and she 
 would not hear of it. 
 
 It is astonishing what a consolation it was 
 
 G 5
 
 ISO THE PREVISIONS 
 
 to the Miss Harrisons to have it to say that 
 the Lady Evelyn had been at chapel ; and to 
 be able to relate to the JMiss Rhubarbs, and 
 to the Miss Moneypennys, how very lovely 
 she was, and what sort of a bonnet she had on. 
 " Something quite unlike any fashion you 
 ever saw in your lives ! I do wish you could 
 only see her, but that, my dear, I am afraid 
 is impossible. — I believe she will go away 
 as soon as ever she is recovered enough, and 
 in the meanwhile, she goes nowhere in the 
 world, but to chapel." 
 
 Mr. Plowden was he who gave out the 
 psalms ; he had a queer little sort of tuning 
 instrument to give the pitch to the voices, 
 and that day he pitched and pitched before 
 he could please himself; and then he open- 
 ed his wide mouth wider than ever. Poor, 
 good man, — he, like others, not much accus- 
 tomed to see people out of, or especially 
 above their own sphere, was smitten, in 
 spite of his sixty years, with the fatal desire 
 to distinguish himself — even here, in his 
 chapel, of which he thought so much. — 
 Childish, but simple and innocent vanity ! 
 
 Lady Evelyn, little conscious of the effect
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 181 
 
 she was producing, sang her old hundredth 
 and her St. James's, and all the psalms they 
 gave out ; her sweet, clear voice thrilling 
 like that of the nightingale, among the 
 rest.
 
 132 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 At length the parting came. Lady Evelyn 
 could travel, and Lady Evelyn must go 
 home. Mr. Brudenel was in London, so he 
 did not come to fetch her; there came her 
 carriage and her maid. 
 
 The tears stood in the pretty eyes, as once 
 in those of Titania. 
 
 " I must go — I must go — but when may 
 I come to you again ? — When will you have 
 me again, and when will you come to see 
 me?" 
 
 " Never, sweet Lady Evelyn ! " said Mr. 
 James decisively. 
 
 " Never ! — you do not mean to be so 
 unkind." 
 
 " You must come to us," said he ; " you 
 know you have four horses, and we have not 
 one. — You must come to us, we cannot come 
 to you."
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 133 
 
 " But my four horses shall come and fetch 
 you." 
 
 " No, my dear young lady, we are much 
 better where we are. — You would not like us 
 so well as you do if you saw us looking very 
 shy and very uncomfortable — or trying to 
 make ourselves extremely agreeable among 
 people of habits so different from our own. 
 You have made yourself happy with us, but 
 we could not make ourselves happy with you. 
 — It is the tax upon greatness, you must 
 submit to it, and come to us."" 
 
 And so she did ; many weeks of every 
 year were spent with those she loved so 
 dearly. 
 
 She used to leave" her carriage and her 
 horses at the entrance to the little alley, and 
 trip up on foot, followed by her tall pow- 
 dered footman, who carried all the little 
 baggage she ever wanted here ; throw her 
 arms round Mrs. James's neck — kiss her ; 
 shake hands with the minister ; kiss reve- 
 rently the cheek of the old mother, and 
 giving a laughing salute to the young boy, 
 ensconce herself in a comfortable arm-chair 
 by the fire, her feet on the fender, and begin
 
 134 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 the cordial flow of talk, which they all 
 equally loved. 
 
 The powdered footman went away ; the 
 carriage and four returned, trotting down 
 the street, empty of its fair mistress ; and 
 here she would stay, waiting upon herself, 
 giving no trouble, simple as Mrs. James 
 herself could be. 
 
 But I hear some of my readers, who have 
 a turn for calculations, and know something 
 of what is the usual income of a dissenting 
 minister in a small town, say — this must have 
 been rather a burden upon Mr. and Mrs. 
 James. — I never heard that it was. — 
 
 They made no pretence to entertaining 
 their high-bred visitor expensively ; an extra 
 chicken and a delicate pudding were all 
 Mrs. James added to her table. Lady Evelyn 
 did not, could not, dared not, offer anything 
 the least like a present by way of com- 
 pensation for the trouble she had given, or 
 intended to give. The only thing she dared 
 to oiFer were articles of her own needle- 
 work or manufacture. She had hated needle- 
 work and manufactures in former days, but 
 now no slave ever laboured more assiduously
 
 OE LADY EVELYN. 135 
 
 than did she to embroider a most comfort- 
 able arm-chair for the good mother ; and 
 slippers for Mr. James without end, and 
 mits, and purses, and all she could think of 
 for Mrs. James. She dared to offer these, 
 she felt she had earned the right to present 
 them. — But she respected, honoured, loved, 
 her friends, and anything the least like a 
 pecuniary return for what they had done, 
 would have been as unworthy of their senti- 
 ments as of hers. — But, upon the doctor, she 
 lavished all sorts of gifts ; his were good of- 
 fices that could be repaid — and by this very 
 liberality she signified, how far above pay- 
 ment she estimated, the services of her other 
 friends. 
 
 I must, however, say, that she took ex- 
 traordinary pains to procure rare flowers 
 and roots for their garden, which she often 
 planted with her own hands — she had gar- 
 dening gloves and a garden apron, and she 
 used to weed, and to water, and to dig, and 
 to slave away, at Mrs. James' flower-beds. 
 
 No child at play was happier than she. — 
 Having no children, her husband for ever in 
 London ; her health too delicate for dissipa-
 
 136 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 tion ; her time was much her own, and here 
 she delighted to spend it. And she loved to 
 go to chapel too ; she loved these pious, 
 simple Sundays which she had once found 
 so tiresome ; her innocent heart had, as it 
 were, found her Maker. — Under the sense 
 of his Providence, in the confidence of his 
 goodness, in that peace which passeth show ; 
 her tender heart reposed— sheltered from 
 many a temptation and from many a danger 
 — by this simple, singular, and most tender 
 friendship. 
 
 The subject of the boy was again and 
 again renewed. On this the friends could 
 not agree. Mr. James was steady in his opi- 
 nion ; Lady Evelyn would not abandon hers ; 
 the mother's ambition sided with her. 
 
 All that they could obtain from Mr. James 
 was, that when his son was a couple of years 
 older; at the time it would be proper for 
 
 him to proceed to the academy of 
 
 the Alma Mater in those days to jieople of 
 Mr. James' opinions — the subject should be 
 laid before him, and he should then decide 
 for himself. 
 
 The time came, and the boy did decide
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 137 
 
 for himself; he decided as his father wished. 
 He said that he had no desire to be a greater 
 man than his father ; that his father to his 
 eyes was above all the grandeurs of the 
 earth ; and that to follow in his footsteps, 
 and emulate his ^drtues, was all he desired.. 
 
 He went to Academy to prepare for 
 
 the ministry. 
 
 He was still more remarkable as a youth 
 than he had been as a boy ; the sensibility of 
 his temper, and a something akin to the 
 fiuest character of genius in his intellect, had 
 moulded, as it were, the beautiful features 
 he inherited from nature. His form was 
 exquisitely proportioned, every motion was 
 graceful and calm. A more polished young 
 man never issued from the most accom- 
 plished seminary of the aristocracy than was 
 this singular boy. Lady Evelyn, with all 
 her aptitude for better things, had that va- 
 lue for externals which seems to belong 
 to her rank ; and which must not be so 
 much called a defect, as the natural conse- 
 quence of the very great refinement of taste 
 which arises from uninterrupted habits of 
 elegance. — It is not so much that people in
 
 138 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 this condition of life set an undue value 
 upon excellence in this matter, as that the 
 contrary is very painful and oppressive to 
 them. The vulgar among them — for the vul- 
 gar are of no condition — acquire a mere taste 
 for external beauty; and the more refined an 
 exquisite sense of that higher beauty, which 
 may be called the essence or ideal of the 
 other. 
 
 Be this as it may, a great value for this 
 kind of excellence they certainly have, and 
 Lady Evelyn, when she saw how peculiarly 
 adapted was this youth for that higher life 
 which she aspired to for him, had, as I said, 
 no patience at the idea of his continuing a 
 dissenting minister — thinking as she did that 
 with due patronage, he might have risen to 
 be a minister plenipotentiary. 
 
 I don't think she was altogether wrong in 
 this. It is not a good thing for people to be 
 without ambition ; and to confine oneself or 
 others to a circle too narrow for their abilities, 
 is neither good for individuals nor for the 
 world. — But patronage, that word which ex- 
 pressed to her only the kind eftbrts of her 
 good-natured brother; conveyed to the mind
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 139 
 
 of Mr. James, a very different impression. 
 He knew what it must be to depend upon 
 the great — to have all to receive and nothing 
 to return — he divined in what jeopardy the 
 nobler faculties of the mind are placed ; 
 when favour, not worth, is the standard of 
 success. 
 
 Independence was the jewel he prized 
 above all this world has to bestow : and 
 there are but two ways of reaching in- 
 dependence, that of supereminent power, 
 which attains eminence by triumphing over 
 all opposition — or that of supereminent mo- 
 deration, which does not seek it. — The man, 
 who is contented with what he has, is in- 
 dependent everywhere. 
 
 Things, however, turned out so as to over- 
 rule the destiny of the son. The father's 
 wisdom was fruitless, the mother's wish pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 Even in this world, wisdom and virtue 
 seldom fail to produce their proper conse- 
 quences ; but there are at times mysterious 
 arrangements of circumstances which seem 
 as if combined by the dark author of evil 
 to overthrow the best determined purpose.
 
 140 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 We shake and tremble when instances of 
 this kind come within our experience ; we 
 cast almost a despairing eye to the omnipo- 
 tent Author of good ; we almost doubt his 
 providence when such things are. — But the 
 end is not here — we must wait the denouement 
 before we judge of the story.
 
 or LADY EVELYN. 141 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 We have described Lady Evelyn as weed- 
 ing and watering in Mrs. James' flower-gar- 
 den, but we should have said, that she never 
 moved her shattered arm with perfect free- 
 dom ; and she never entirely recovered the 
 violent shock her delicate frame had re- 
 ceived. 
 
 In her fragment, addressed to her friend 
 Lady Fanny, we have seen, that she speaks 
 of a state of health, which had rendered the 
 teaching she had received from Mr. James 
 a living and refreshing portion — the support 
 of a soul sinking under the weariness of a 
 painful, depressing illness; and all the terrors 
 of approaching death. 
 
 Yes ! Lady Evelyn, the lovely, and the 
 good, must go — she, too, must disappear, and
 
 142 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 leave the world, widowed of her aogelic 
 sweetness and beauty. 
 
 It was a long, long struggle — abscesses 
 formed in the injured arm; restless nights, 
 painful days succeeded ; and that slow 
 decline began — which is not consumption, 
 which is not fever — but which seems to 
 be like a gradual diminution of the my- 
 sterious vital powers ; exhausted, as it were, 
 in the endeavour, through some obscure 
 chymistry of nature, to cast off the evil 
 in the form of abscess — a process to which, 
 in this case, their delicacy was totally 
 unequal. In the struggle the fair temple 
 was shattered and decayed, and she lay, 
 at length, hollow-eyed, thin-cheeked — her 
 hair hanging weak and unelastic round 
 her face — her wasted hand traversed like 
 network with its blue veins — sinking step 
 by step into the mournful grave. 
 
 He did not refuse to visit her then, nor 
 did his wife. 
 
 She ministered those kindly cares, which 
 all the wealth of the Indies cannot buy, 
 cares which often hover round the flock- 
 bed, and too often forsake the canopy of
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 143 
 
 velvet. And he, strengthened in faith, and 
 soothed to patience, the trembling, ques- 
 tioning, doubting soul. 
 
 And let those deny the power who have 
 never witnessed its effects. — Submission, pa- 
 tience and genuine, simple fervent prayer, 
 confidence in the truth and mercv of a 
 Creator, as revealed through the living 
 type of goodness and wisdom in the Son, 
 did produce, all it has promised to us 
 here — not exemption from suffering — not 
 pleasure, not success, not ease or joy — 
 but the peace of God which passeth all 
 understanding, and the sting of death with- 
 drawn. 
 
 She lay on her sofa one day — she had 
 been very ill, and was now reposing in 
 that state of comfort which in the worst 
 maladies attends a little remission of suf- 
 fering ; and helps the pilgrim, by an inter- 
 val of rest, during his painful journey. 
 
 She seemed to be asleep, for her eyes 
 were closed ; the hair, which the damps 
 of torturing pain had plastered round her 
 forehead, fell in disorder on her pillow — 
 her countenance was more sunk than ever,
 
 144? THE PREVISIONS 
 
 but round her pallid lips a smile of in- 
 effable sweetness hung. A smile it should 
 not be called, it was a beaming expres- 
 sion of peace and rest. 
 
 Mr. James sat beside her head, his eyes 
 fixed upon her: his wife was a little 
 lower down, still holding the hand which 
 had grasped hers in the agonies of pain. 
 The tears were in Mrs. James's eyes ; those 
 of her husband were fixed tenderly and 
 mournfully on the sufferer. 
 
 She sighed gently, and then opened her 
 eyes. 
 
 " My dear friends," said she, " are you 
 both there?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear Lady Evelyn." 
 
 *' And no one else?" 
 
 " No one else." 
 
 " Then suffer me once more to speak 
 of that boy, of your son. — Perhaps, dear 
 Mr. James, you will almost be shocked to 
 see, that, standing as I do, upon the very 
 confines of this world, I should still look 
 upon human affairs, with the prejudices, as 
 you will think, of former years." 
 
 " My dear, if you saw human affairs
 
 OP LADY EVELYN. 145 
 
 justly, then, there is no reason why your 
 view of them should alter now. As you ap- 
 proach the Fountain of all truth, what is 
 erroneous will doubtless change its aspect; 
 what is true will remain." 
 
 " Then I still think you are wrong." 
 " My dear Lady Evelyn — again !'' 
 " Again — I cannot leave this world in 
 peace, if I may not have my own way in 
 this." 
 
 "Nay, my dear," said Mr. James — " this 
 is surely not acting with your usual con- 
 sideration — to endeavour, by the affecting 
 circumstances of your situation, to influ- 
 ence my feelings, and stay my judgment. 
 If it were not wise to do as you would 
 have me a year ago, nothing has happened 
 to render it wiser now." 
 
 '' I do not mean that — I would not in- 
 fluence you wrongly for worlds; but I am 
 soon going away, and you will, perhaps, 
 when it is too late, regret that you re- 
 jected all my prayers upon this subject — 
 I do not feel as if I had set my house 
 quite in order," said she, faintly smiling, 
 " till I have done something more in this 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 matter — My brother, you know, is coining 
 to see me to-night ; it will probably be 
 his last visit ; you must let me speak to 
 him of this ; and you must receive from 
 my hands a letter — which, should that 
 hour ever come when your sentiments on 
 this matter will change, may remind him 
 of me." 
 
 " I should be very, very sorry — ". . . . said 
 Mr. James. 
 
 But the wife was silent ; Lady Evelyn 
 pressed her hand. 
 
 " Trust to me, it shall be done/' was what 
 that pressure expressed. A gentle return from 
 the hand of Mrs. James, replied, " I do trust 
 to you.'' 
 
 No more was said, and Lady Evelyn 
 closed her languid eyes again. 
 
 She dosed and slept, and opened her eyes, 
 and languidly looked round the room, and 
 closed them again, and breathed softly and 
 easily ; there was a repose, but there was no 
 refreshment in her rest — there was no hope 
 of return, it was only a pause in the descent. 
 
 Suddenly the noise of horses, carriages, 
 human voices, human footsteps, broke the
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 147 
 
 peaceful silence in which the whole castle 
 seemed wrapped. 
 
 The hall-bell rang loudly ; doors were 
 opened and shut, bustle, noise, and confusion, 
 succeeded to the before unliwoken stillness. 
 
 " It is my brother," said the sufferer. 
 
 Her maid entered. 
 
 " My lord, madam, and the young coun- 
 tess ! Will you be pleased to receive them ; 
 my lord is rather pressed for time — he must 
 be back to-night, and wishes dinner to be 
 hastened." 
 
 " Give orders," said her mistress. 
 
 "Don't go," — said she to Mr. and Mrs. 
 .James, who were rising. " Help me to en- 
 tertain my niece. I will see my brother in 
 quiet after dinner ; at present we must do a 
 little company. Pray, stay, you will oblige 
 me very much. Felicia, make me a little 
 tidy." The hair was smoothed, the pillow 
 arranged, and with a bright colour flushing 
 the cheek, the instant before so wan and 
 pale, she awaited her niece and her brother. 
 
 She loved her brother — there was much 
 about him to love : he was coarse and 
 homely, but he was not false ; in his narrow 
 
 H 2
 
 148 THE PREVISIONS' 
 
 circle of intellect and feeling he was simple 
 and true, and his sweet sister had taste to 
 penetrate and love this under the roughest 
 outside — but she did not, and could not love 
 her niece ; she could only just tolerate the 
 young Countess. 
 
 In walked the lordly young lady. She 
 was not very tall, but was fully formed for 
 her age, had a beautiful face, fine eyes, and a 
 most lofty and commanding port and car- 
 riage. She took not the slightest notice of 
 any one in the room, though Mr. and Mrs. 
 James both rose, upon her entrance, and con- 
 tinued standing, she walked up to the sofa, 
 with, 
 
 " I hope we find you better. Lady Evelyn ?" 
 
 A languid smile was Lady Evelyn's an- 
 swer, as she extended her hand to the 
 haughty young lady, who, taking Mr. James's 
 chair without the least apology, sat down by 
 the side of the pillows. 
 
 The Earl came bustling in. 
 
 " Dear sister ! I do hope you are better. 
 How do you do, sir ? — Your servant, madam, 
 — pray, do not let us disturb you, pray, be 
 seated — Dear sister, how do you go on ?
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 149 
 
 How is your arm ? — Pain you yet ? — Look 
 much better than the last time I was 
 here? — Soon out in your phaeton — lovely 
 weather ! When does Brudenel come down ? 
 — When will you both come to me ? I 've 
 got something to shew you both — something 
 in the stable worth Brudenel's notice, I can 
 tell you ! And for you, do you know the Sta- 
 pelia has at last flowered, and it is the most 
 curious flow^er you ever saw in your life — the 
 first time it has flowered in England. Fur- 
 gusson is certainly admirable ; the Strelitzia 
 too, really well worth coming all the way to 
 see that alone! You must make haste, 
 though, or the show will all be over. Splen- 
 did flower ! The length of the scarlet petals 
 alone — nay, I forget, but I took the mea- 
 surement yesterday ; however, it is really 
 superb. — Do you know, too, that I am in 
 expectation of a treasure, that will delight 
 you, a box of seeds and bulbs from the 
 Western Archipelago? A man has been col- 
 lecting there, offered me the refusal — it is 
 mine. Ha, Madam Evelyn, I know what 
 you will be at — steal a few for that dear 
 friend of your's, that Madam James."
 
 150 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Will you give me leave to introduce 
 my friends, Mr. and Mrs. James, to you, my 
 dear brother? — Mr. James, Mrs. James, — 
 Lord Glenmore, the Countess of Lodore." 
 
 The Countess half rose, and responded 
 with a motion hardly perceptible ; resuming 
 her seat, and turning away her head towards 
 the sofa; as if, the introduction over, her new 
 acquaintance had vanished into thin air, and 
 ceased to exist. 
 
 Not so the Earl — " Happy to have the 
 pleasure of making your acquaintance, sir; 
 happy to see you here, madam ! — My sis- 
 ter was under the greatest obligations to 
 your kindness and hospitality. — She always 
 declares she never shall forget, nor shall I, 
 the care and attention she received — to 
 which she is indebted"^ — 
 
 '' For her present situation, probably ?" 
 dropped, sotto voce, from the scornful lips of 
 the young Countess. 
 
 " We were favoured in being allowed to 
 be of the slightest service to Lady Evelyn 
 Brudenel," said Mr. James, politely and quiet- 
 ly, and then, with a short reverence, retiring 
 to a recess in a distant window, he took up a
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 151 
 
 book ; while -Mrs. James, having arranged the 
 eider-down quilt about the feet of her pa- 
 tient, went to a table, where was her work- 
 basket, and began quietly to backstitch a 
 shirt-collar for her husband. 
 
 " Well," continued the Earl, seating him- 
 self comfortably, and settling himself in his 
 chair ; " I was telling you of this box of 
 plants — I have been thinking that my col- 
 lection is really becoming a matter of some 
 value — of a certain importance to the world 
 of science, and I have been a good deal dis- 
 satisfied with the arrangement — You and I, 
 dear sister Evelyn, after all, being not — parti- 
 cularly you — very profound botanists, have 
 consulted our eyes a little too much in the 
 arranging of my houses, parterres, and so on : 
 I mean in the plants we have put into them 
 — I am dissatisfied with this now ; the thing 
 becomes really of some moment, and ought 
 to take a certain form — I think we must 
 alter the whole thing de fond en comble, but I 
 want you to help me — Indeed, my dear," 
 pressing her hand ; " it seems as if these 
 things can hardly give me any pleasure, 
 when you are not with me — Tell me, when
 
 152 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 do you think you shall be well enough to 
 come?" 
 
 A faint convulsion passed over the face of 
 Lady Evelyn. She could not immediately 
 speak; but she fixed her lovely eyes upon 
 her brother's face. He did not understand 
 their language — he went on. 
 
 " I think there might be two ways of doing 
 this, and I want to consult you — One might 
 arrange them by a botanical, scientific ar- 
 rangement, or by a geographical one — by 
 genera, or by climates — This last pleases me 
 best, and for one reason — because I think it 
 will please you best — by climates — by coun- 
 tries, a sort of natural arrangement, capable of 
 much beauty; don't you think so? — But 
 when shall you be well enough to come ? 
 When will you get the better of this cursed 
 illness?" 
 
 " I will tell you that after dinner," said 
 Lady Evelyn. 
 
 " Ay, dinner ! I took the liberty, my dear, 
 to ask for your maitre d'hotel, and to solicit, 
 as an especial favour — a little relaxation of 
 the ordinary discipline — dinner as soon as it 
 could be had, for I must be home to-night ;
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 153 
 
 there is no moon, and that bit of road by 
 Henley bottom is still confoundedly bad. — I 
 wonder Brudenel does not indict it — he really 
 ought — When did you say you expected 
 him?" 
 
 " I don't know exactly — but soon," said 
 the wife. 
 
 " Well, well, don't plague or worry your- 
 self about these things — when he comes 
 we will talk about it. — Your business now is 
 to get well as fast as you can, for there is no 
 living without you — I have thought my place 
 a desert, since you have given up coming to 
 us. It seems as if the divinity of the place 
 had forsaken us. Does it not, daughter ?" 
 
 " I never found any divinity in the place 
 — You know I hate the very sight of Kil- 
 verton," was the answer. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said her father, good- 
 humouredly, " I am sorry for it ; that is all I 
 can say — I wish you were as happy there as I 
 am — and as your dear aunt used to be, and I 
 hope will again be — Eh, Evelyn ? " 
 
 Lady Evelyn answered by a faint, tender 
 smile. 
 
 Dinner was announced — presently after- 
 
 H 5
 
 154 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 wards. Upon which, the Countess arose and 
 took her father's arm, leaving Mr. and Mrs. 
 James to follow, like Darby and Joan, to- 
 gether. 
 
 As her brother rose. Lady Evelyn said, 
 " My dear Glenmore, you will come and sit 
 half an hour with me alone, will you not, 
 after dinner?" 
 
 " To be sure I will ; I shall not sit over 
 my wine, at this hour of the day. I will 
 come to you as soon as it is set on the table." 
 
 And the company went down stairs to the 
 common meal, leaving the invalid to the 
 silence of her own chamber. 
 
 It is as a sort of foretaste of death, this 
 exclusion from the usual family hours of 
 meeting — "Free among the dead, like as to 
 those that go down unto the graves" — There 
 they lie, imprisoned, as it were, in the help- 
 less and feeble body, chained to the dreary bed 
 of pain — and the company go down stairs, 
 chatting and laughing ; and the dining-room 
 door opens, and the cheerful sound of mirth 
 and conversation reaches the ear of one who 
 is looking upon that dark curtain which hides 
 all of the future to her— to her, for whom in
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 155 
 
 this world there is no longer a future — 
 Pondering the deep secrets of that dead 
 silence, she is already separated from those 
 she loves ! They are as another race of 
 beinors — still flutterinor in the sunshine of 
 life — children in pursuit of the glittering, 
 fleeting bubbles of existence, which can 
 cheat her sense no more. The bitter, bitter 
 tears of affection, shed over her bv those 
 whose life is bound up in hers alone, unite 
 her to life. 
 
 And of those that die, how many receive 
 this sincere tribute? — How many have earned 
 it ? — How many deserved it ? — How many 
 are there whose loss is really a loss, with 
 whom the happiness of others will really 
 depart ? — How many ? — Alas, how few? But 
 it is a painful speculation ; let us not indulge 
 it — let us Avith remitting patience smooth 
 the bed of weariness, and disease, and con- 
 sole, by gentle offices, the drear heart in 
 the solitude of its parting hours. 
 
 But she was not alone. His spirit was 
 around her — There was a calm, a holv trust — 
 a rational, steady, firm belief and confidence 
 in the eternal Father of her being — a faith-
 
 156 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 ful rest upon the promises of his Christ ; 
 and death had lost its sting ! — 
 
 Lord Glenmore came up, as he promised, 
 from dinner, with his napkin still in his hand. 
 He had swallowed one glass of wine, and 
 left the table immediately upon the dessert 
 being placed. 
 
 " Well, my dear Evelyn, I was all impa- 
 tience to come — we can have one of our 
 peaceful little confidential chats together." 
 
 The young Countess always acted as 
 somewhat of a restraint upon her father, 
 over whom she, nevertheless, exercised an 
 influence most detrimental to a character 
 such as that of the Earl ; by him the vio- 
 lence of her temper was mistaken for force, 
 and the decision with which she announced 
 her opinions, for clearness of understanding: 
 a mistake not unfrequently made, both by 
 individuals themselves, and the world around 
 them. 
 
 " My brother," — said Lady Evelyn, holding 
 out her hand, which he took, " Sit down 
 there, close by me, my brother." — 
 
 " Yes," said he, tenderly, " I love to do so 
 — Do you know, my pretty Evelyn, I some-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 157 
 
 times think, father as I am of three chil- 
 dren, I love you best of anything in the 
 wide world." 
 
 " You must not do that," said she gently 
 — " you must not love me better than your 
 pretty little Clarinda ; she wants love as 
 much as I do." 
 
 '•' Ah, yes ! — Well, but she is so young, and 
 seems to me almost like a stranger — But it 
 is a strong tie that knits us together, my 
 Evelyn; and please God I may never live to 
 see it broken!" 
 
 " Ah, Glenmore !'' — fixing her eyes in 
 serious earnestness on his. 
 
 " Why, what would you have me believe? 
 — Not that there is anything dangerous in 
 this d — d illness of yours — why, it 's only 
 your arm." — 
 
 " Stop, stop," said she, endeavouring to 
 raise the painful arm to press his lips, and 
 avert language most painful to her ears. 
 In her present solemn mood of mind, such 
 light use of dread expressions was as blas- 
 phemy; but the motion of her arm caused 
 exquisite pain. She groaned, and turned 
 pale and sick.
 
 158 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " What's the matter? — How ill you look 
 Good God!" cried he. 
 
 " A little water ! " 
 
 He gave it her. She drank it, composed 
 herself, and then began again : 
 
 " My brother, your love for me makes 
 you blind. — Do you not see, dear Glenmore, 
 that I am about to leave you ?" 
 
 He gazed on her mournfully — his heart 
 swelled — he could not speak — then large 
 round tears, drop by drop, swelled over his 
 brimming eyelids, and carried one another 
 slowly down his cheeks. 
 
 She was affected — sweetly touched — his 
 tenderness soothed her. She lifted his 
 hand, which she held, and kissed it. 
 
 " My Glenmore, w^e must part. You will 
 miss your poor Evelyn, wdll you not ? — But 
 I will tell you what you must do. You 
 must tend and cherish another delicate, little 
 plant — you must take great care of your 
 pretty Clarinda. Promise me," earnestly 
 looking at him — " promise to take care of 
 her — you are her only friend." 
 
 " I will, I will," sobbing. " I will be 
 kind to the poor little girl, for your sake.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 159 
 
 She is something a little like you, Evelyn ; 
 depend upon it, I will look after her." 
 
 " You promise me ? — Whenever you think 
 of me, think of that promise — I exact it 
 from you, dear Glenmore, in the most solemn 
 manner — shield the happiness of that child." 
 
 " I will — I will. Anything else ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I have a request to make for my- 
 self ; a favour for myself to ask." 
 
 "Oh ! only name it ! — only name it !" as 
 a ray of pleasure shot through his eyes. 
 
 " My dear friends, the Jameses, — you know 
 what they have been to me — I have not had 
 it in my power to shew the deep gratitude I 
 feel ; it is a debt I leave undischarged. Will 
 you, my brother, discharge it ? — They have a 
 son — I leave in his mother's hands a letter 
 for you — Should that son ever require your 
 protection, that letter will be delivered. You 
 will do for him, then, what your poor Evelyn, 
 if living, would have wished, — will you not ?" 
 
 " Anything ; everything ; all — whatever 
 you require." 
 
 " You will by your interest forward his 
 views in life as if he were a connection of 
 your own, — will you not ?— Not in a com-
 
 160 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 mon way, not with a common interest, my 
 Glenmore ? — The boy is a rare creature ; 
 these are rare people ; you will remember 
 your Evelyn, and you will push him forward 
 in that career which he may choose — where 
 honour and reputation — not mere common 
 success, may be his ?" 
 
 " I will — I will — I will look upon him as 
 belonging to myself — Do you think a re- 
 commendation from you, my Evelyn, will be 
 ineffectual ? — How little you know me," 
 sobbed Lord Glenmore, — "how little, my 
 love ! Have no anxiety on this subject. 
 But you must and will get better." 
 
 " Let us talk no more of that now," said 
 she, more cheerfully ; *' and, indeed, I feel 
 tired, and disposed to sleep — You have re- 
 lieved my mind much, dearest brother. 
 Will you go down to the company ? — ]3ut 
 come up, and give me another kiss before 
 you go away." 
 
 She pulled the silken tassel that hung by 
 her hand ; her maid appeared. Lord Glen- 
 more retired to the dining-room. 
 
 In about an hour from this time, his coach 
 and four, with out-riders, and the bustle of
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 161 
 
 great state, came to the door; and, while 
 the horses pawed and pranced in obsequious 
 waiting, he stole once more to that scene 
 which levels all earthly grandeur. 
 
 She was lying perfectly still ; but un- 
 closed her eyes, and smiled when he en- 
 tered. He bent down, and kissed her ten- 
 derly. She again fixed those lovely dark- 
 blue eyes on his — seriously and earnestly 
 pressed his hand, and said with sweet so- 
 lemnity — ''Remember me, Glenmore!" then 
 again kissed his hand — and, while the tears 
 stole down her cheek, turned her face to the 
 wall, and closed her eyes. 
 
 He, sobbing behind his pocket-handker- 
 chief, went down to his carriage, and buried 
 himself in a corner. His daughter entered 
 it after him, drew up the glass — settled her 
 dress — placed her feet comfortably — opened 
 a book she had with her, and began to read ; 
 the horses sprang forward, and they were 
 whirled home. 
 
 The existence of Lady Evelyn fleeted 
 gently away ; the agonizing throes of her 
 disorder seemed to have subsided with the 
 decline of her vital powers. She lay tran-
 
 162 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 quilly composed while life ebbed from her ; 
 her hand often in that of her firm and kind 
 friend, Mrs. James. She spoke little; some- 
 times her eyes were closed ; at others fixed 
 in tender seriousness on the faces of her 
 two beloved friends. 
 
 Her husband was expected every moment 
 from London ; but before he arrived those 
 eyes were closed for ever, and the form 
 which had inclosed the once- lovely Lady 
 Evelyn was a heap of insensible clay. 
 
 Before she died, she had given Mrs. James 
 a sealed letter, which she long had kept pre- 
 pared, and which was directed to Lord Glen- 
 more. The friends had had a long, serious 
 conversation together at the time — It was 
 the last conversation any one had with Lady 
 Evelyn in this world. 
 
 She died a few days after the visit of 
 Lord Glenmore, and did not see him again. 
 
 Thus died this young and beloved crea- 
 ture, deserted in this, the hour of her strong 
 necessity, by every human being except the 
 two friends she had so accidentally made, 
 and whom her sweet, bewitching qualities
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 163 
 
 had attached so closely to her. But for 
 them, abandoned to the care of interested 
 menials, struggling alone with the agonies of 
 pain, and overcast by the dark shadows of 
 approaching death, she might, surrounded 
 with all that pomp and luxury could give, 
 have envied the poorest cottager on her 
 husband's large estates, who closed his eyes 
 amid the tears and tender cares of those who 
 loved him. 
 
 Mr. Brudenel, a very handsome young 
 man of fashion — a sort of dandy-statesman, 
 a complete, but not vicious man of the 
 world — though too late to be present at 
 her last moments, hurried down upon re- 
 ceiving the intelligence of his wife's death. 
 
 Lady Evelyn had been so regularly edu- 
 cated in an artificial system of life, that his 
 absence had passed with her as a matter of 
 course. He was always kind when with her, 
 and this was all she thought it reasonable 
 to expect ; so that the engagements which 
 prevented him from leaving London had 
 neither hurt nor fretted her. Near her 
 brother, and with Mr. and Mrs. James, she 
 died content and happy.
 
 164 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. James returned to their 
 quiet home ; but a shadow had fallen upon 
 their life. The world seemed to them no longer 
 the same, robbed of its brightest ornament ; 
 she felt this much, but he far more. 
 
 It was not until she was really gone, that 
 he perceived what a source of happiness 
 Lady Evelyn had been to him ; his feelings 
 upon this occasion were nearly as acute as 
 those of a tender father deprived of a beloved 
 child, the delight of his eyes, and idol of his 
 heart — and he found it difficult to return to 
 the society where he had been formerly so well 
 content to dwell; and to recover the benevolent 
 interest he used to take in the doings and the 
 w^elfare of a very ordinary set of people. 
 
 But he had not long to endure the sense 
 of listless vacuity against which he strug- 
 gled. New events, in this ever-changing 
 world, call back the mourner from those
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 165 
 
 ideal regions in which he loves to dwell ; 
 actual life presses upon us — and urges for- 
 wards. 
 
 It was about this time that a most extra- 
 ordinary person appeared in the world, one 
 who without the slightest violence, with very- 
 few assisting circumstances, merely by the 
 effect of his extraordinary zeal, activity, ad- 
 mirable good sense, and knowledge of human 
 nature, brought about, one of the greatest 
 revolutions that has perhaps ever affected 
 mankind. This man was John Wesley — 
 
 On the peculiar view he took of some 
 of the mvsteries of Christianitv — and his 
 dealing with subjects so far above human 
 comprehension, that men never can demon- 
 strate the truth of their own notions — and 
 never can hope to agree — till they agree to 
 differ — it is not intended here to touch. 
 It is enough, that a most genuine Christian 
 he undoubtedly was ; and that the great 
 change he wrought was from nominal to real 
 Christianity — a change as great, perhaps, as 
 that worked by the Reformers — though a 
 less palpable one. 
 
 In his day, a careless formality had crept
 
 166 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 over society. There were few infidels, or, as 
 they were then called, free-thinkers : every- 
 body professed, as a matter of course, to 
 believe : men and women went regularly to 
 Church and said their prayers, coming home 
 to lead as utterly thoughtless and inconsistent 
 a life as that of any Spanish bravo, who tells 
 his beads, and goes forth to rob and murder. 
 
 They held the truths for truths — but never 
 for one moment seemed to trouble their 
 heads about the consequences to which such 
 truths ought inevitably to lead. The very 
 pastors of the Church seem to have been in- 
 fected with the same lukewarm indifference. 
 Nay — to such an extent had this feeling 
 spread, that when Wesley at Oxford began 
 to ask seriously if there be a heaven and a 
 hell? — If there be a salvation? — What shall 
 I do to be saved ? — people stared and won- 
 dered as at the wildest enthusiasm. 
 
 But Wesley was no wild enthusiast; he was 
 only a good logician, which very few people 
 in their conduct are — he carried out princi- 
 ples to their consequences, and laid the 
 foundation of that spirit of seriousness, which 
 is now almost universally diffused through
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 167 
 
 all of every sect, who preteud to any religion 
 whatsoever. His appearance in the world was 
 an event of which the consequences are still 
 benefiting us. 
 
 But in the train of this great man, and as 
 a consequence of some of his doctrines — too 
 easily perverted — appeared numbers and num- 
 bers of enthusiasts, of every rank and grade 
 of understanding : they had their mission, 
 they carried the light of Christianity into those 
 dark corners, till then quite unvisited by its 
 beams, regions — in a country Christianised for 
 centuries, where the torch of truth had never 
 shone — among the miners, among the colliers, 
 amid the wild mountains, into the deep val- 
 leys, they went. — Under the cope of heaven, 
 their pulpit some aged tree, their Bible their 
 only library, did they lift up their voices and 
 proclaim the glad tidings to thousands and 
 thousands as ignorant, and more depraved 
 than the wildest savages. The hymn of 
 praise succeeded to the songs of licentious- 
 ness, and heart-rending prayers, and the 
 shriek of remorse, and of a heart-searching 
 sense of sin, to the dissolute cries of drunken 
 debauchery.
 
 168 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Let not enlightened men look with con- 
 tempt upon this spectacle ; it was a verj 
 noble one, rightly considered. The wild re- 
 ligious excitement that succeeded, what was 
 it but the transports of the immortal spirit, 
 intoxicated with the glorious realities then 
 first presented ! These bowlings, these hys- 
 terics, these wailings, these raptures that fill- 
 ed the excited crowds ; these fainting women, 
 these half-delirious men — what were they but 
 the first rude outbreaks of enraptured joy, 
 or deep, soul-piercing woe — when the curtain 
 was drawn up before their eyes ; and the 
 world beyond the grave, with all its bliss and 
 all its terrors, presented to their view ? 
 
 Were they beasts because they rushed for- 
 ward passionately to claim their better share 
 in that vast future — passionately to howl 
 and to weep over it, if forfeited — passionately 
 to cry to the Saviour, now made known, to 
 descend once more and save them ? — When 
 chapel upon chapel was to be seen in the 
 busy street, in the silent field, on the dreary 
 moor, and crowning the wild mountain-top, 
 what did all this testify? But that they were 
 men, and not brutes — that they did hunger
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 169 
 
 after the bread of life, and not alone after 
 the bread which perisheth — and that they 
 cheerfully flung down the scanty fruits of 
 their toil, to purchase for themselves and for 
 their children, the privilege of hearing the 
 everlasting word ! 
 
 Calm and wise, thus had Mr. James long 
 looked upon this event. His own opinions 
 were, in many respects, diametrically oppo- 
 site to those of ^Ir. Wesley ; yet he could 
 not but rejoice in his success. He had a 
 latent suspicion, that the more refined view 
 he took of the divine truths of the Gospel 
 was not formed to excite sufficiently the 
 rude, uncultivated mind. He could not have 
 laboured in the Wesleyan field, his vocation 
 was different — to watch the pure, undefiled 
 image behind the veil— before which, Mr. 
 Wesley, as another Moses, proclaimed the 
 more rudimental principles. 
 
 It was for Wesley to proclaim the utter 
 abominableness of sin ; the necessary justice 
 of God ; the horrors of a future condem- 
 nation — the absolute necessity of a saving 
 faith ; it was for INIr. James to see the still 
 higher truths of which these doctrines were 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 as the veil and covering. He quietly fol- 
 lowed the path marked out for him ; he 
 steadily advocated, both in speech and writ- 
 ing, the truth in which he believed ; and he 
 rejoiced in the grand diffusion of the true 
 religious feeling which he saw around him. 
 
 The little borough-town in which he lived 
 lay upon the edge of a wild, upland coun- 
 try, in which were iron and coal-mines, and 
 in consequence large manufactories ; and the 
 population was in the last degree savage, 
 ignorant, and depraved, when Whitfield ap- 
 peared among them. 
 
 Whitfield was a man eminently gifted for 
 the task which he undertook. A zealous, 
 fervent, truthful heart — an imagination of 
 fire, but with reasoning faculties somewhat 
 less powerful, — he seized upon the truths of 
 religion in their first, and, if we may so speak, 
 cruder form ; he troubled himself with no 
 refinements ; that philosophy which belongs 
 to the higher comprehension of the divine 
 teacher was not for him. Hell w^as yawn- 
 ing before his eyes; a darkened, ignorant 
 multitude were hurrying blindly into the 
 bottomless pit — the everlasting doom — the
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. l7l 
 
 unquenchable Hell fire ! with all its dire hor- 
 rors, — Hell eternal — an irreversible sentence ! 
 
 He was not one who could calmly sit bj 
 his fire-side, content to believe that — rescued 
 himself — thousands, and thousands, and thou- 
 sands of his fellow-creatures were daily being 
 swept down the dreadful descent, and sinking 
 into the pit before his eyes. He could not 
 console his mind wuth the glorious redemp- 
 tion of the elect, and resign, without a sigh, 
 the millions to perish. He saw the terrible 
 sentence hanging over his lost brethren, and 
 he flew to rescue them. 
 
 He wanted no Church, he wanted no funds, 
 he wanted no roofed walls. The cope of hea- 
 ven was the arch of his temple, and the wide 
 air, wide as his honest heart, his chamber — 
 He began his field- preaching. 
 
 As another Baptist, he made ready the way 
 of the Lord ; and called to this ignorant, bru- 
 talized, darkened multitude to repent. He 
 was as that one to whom the angel flew and 
 touched his lips with a coal from the altar — 
 and his words were of fire. — With all the 
 force of his wondrous imagination, did he 
 draw up the dark curtain of the future — and 
 
 I 2
 
 172 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 reveal the dread spectacle within — ; . . . And 
 he called upon men to repent; and when 
 their souls were broken with remorse, and 
 their imairinations distracted with terror ; 
 w^ien they cried to the mountains, hide us ! 
 — and to the hills, cover us — then he shewed 
 to them the Son of Man coming in the clouds 
 of heaven. — He told them of a Saviour, in 
 whose name, and for whose dear sake, the 
 mighty chains of sin should be loosened, and 
 the insupportable burden taken aw^ay. 
 
 Can we wonder that they flew to the 
 Cross he held out, in ecstasies, and raptures 
 of thankfulness and love ? 
 
 Whitfield did not preach the absolute ne- 
 cessity of good works ; he was so far in 
 error ; for in giving the truth, he did not give 
 the whole truth ; and his error, like other 
 errors, produced its fruits. But this error 
 was, after all, the error of a burning zeal and 
 ardent faith. Preach but Christ, and all will 
 follow of itself; so he argued, and he was not 
 entirely mistaken. But had he followed the 
 divine pattern in his teaching more implicit- 
 ly, he would have avoided much which really 
 did impair the moral effect he produced upon
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 173 
 
 his disciples, and which served to alienate 
 and scandalise the rest of the world. 
 
 Mr. James, as we have said, had returned 
 home. He had suffered much : the death 
 of Lady Evelyn had been the event of his 
 life which had struck the deepest ; he said 
 little even to his beloved wife — he went 
 about his duties much as usual, but the zest 
 of existence seemed gone. 
 
 He however resumed his peaceful habits, 
 his studies and his writinof ; the ofood Doctor 
 came to drink tea as usual, to talk politics 
 and theology. Mrs. Harrison called in to 
 discuss the affairs of that society in which 
 she took so deep an interest — to settle school 
 matters, to talk of Betty Green, whose 
 children did not come regularly to school — 
 of Betty White, who only came once to 
 chapel on a Sunday — and on her reprobate 
 husband, Peter, who often did not come at 
 all. 
 
 Then there were many debates about the 
 introduction of some new psalm tune. Mr. 
 Plowden, the gentleman of musical talents, 
 who attended his shop all the week, and on 
 Sunday led the psalm, had a daughter who
 
 174 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 had a cousin married in the county town; 
 and this cousin she went to see. There was 
 a large flourishing congregation in that 
 place, and they had introduced several im- 
 provements, as they thought, into their ser- 
 vice. Among others, they had purchased 
 an organ, and they had several new psalm 
 tunes, of which Mrs. Harrison, who loved 
 only those songs of Zion, remnant of the 
 days of her puritan fathers, would not hear — 
 " Such new-fangled chimes," as she called 
 them. Poor woman ! every one was against 
 her except Mrs. James, — her very daughters ; 
 who, it must be owned, loved new-fangled 
 ways in more things than one, — every one 
 but Mrs. James, who had no ear for music, 
 and Mr. James's mother, who was too old to 
 change. 
 
 To a lover of moral beauty it was an in- 
 teresting thing to see the gentle patience 
 with which the gifted Mr. James listened to 
 all these little worrying matters. 
 
 He was a philosopher in the best sense of 
 the word ; one to whose genius it was given 
 to discern the hidden truth of things ; and 
 who used that discernment to improve his
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. l75 
 
 own candour and indulgence. He well knew 
 that the magnitude of objects depends upon 
 the medium through which they are viewed ; 
 that little things are great to little men ; 
 and he could take interest in pacifying dis- 
 putes about a psalm tune, as others might 
 take interest in healing the jealousies of 
 nations. Peace was the blessing he ever 
 aspired to maintain ; if he had a weakness, it 
 was that he loved peace only too well. 
 
 In these matters they were all busied and 
 interested, when the earthquake came which 
 shattered their little society to pieces. 
 
 " Mr. Whitfield has been preaching to 
 the colliers at Beckenfield," was the news 
 that set all the little borough-town of 
 Brough into confusion. 
 
 The Methodists were come so near them ; 
 the Methodists ! Church and conventicle 
 w^ere equally scandalised and alarmed. . Mr. 
 Lambert spoke with serious apprehension ; 
 the Doctor with contempt ; the rest of the 
 society with dismay. Mr. Plowden, who was 
 a man of science, thought he had a right to 
 be as contemptuous upon this occasion as 
 Dr. John himself. Mr. Rhubarb, and Mr.
 
 176 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Scribe's young men, spoke, as men of the 
 world should do, of anything so weak and 
 superstitious. The Miss Harrisons and Plow- 
 dens would not hear him for all that could 
 be offered them — Good Mrs. Harrison was 
 very much shocked indeed at his doctrine. — 
 Mrs. James did everything but censure it — 
 Mr. James alone said nothing. 
 
 " But is it not shocking?" said one lady, 
 as they were drinking tea with the Doctor. 
 
 It was one of Dr. John's great parties, 
 and Mr. Lambert, and Mr. James, Mrs. 
 Harrison, and her daughters, were there, as 
 well as Rhubarbs, Scribes, Plowdens, and 
 their young men. 
 
 " I am sure it quite shocks me ! Why, 
 would you believe it, sir, he preaches in the 
 fields ? — Only think, sir, in the fields ! And 
 there are the people, a perfect mob, I am 
 told — Of course a mob it must be ! " 
 
 " And he,'' interrupted the head young 
 man at ]Mr. Rhubarb's, Mr. Pullen was his 
 name, " and he, bawling and roaring like a 
 bull — you may hear him a mile off! And the 
 people groaning and screeching ! The men 
 mad, as if they were drunk, and the women
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 177 
 
 in hysterics — one falling down here, another 
 springing up there, shouting, and screaming, 
 and cryino- like mad ! — Sir, I was cominsf 
 down Felberds Lane yesterday, on the white 
 mare, and I stopped a little and looked over 
 the gate — there must have been two thou- 
 sand people in the field, if there was a 
 man !" 
 
 " What do you say to it, jNlr. Lambert ? " 
 said the Doctor. 
 
 Mr. Lambert shook his head. " A very 
 threatening aspect it wears for our Church ; 
 I am astonished nobody interferes — the 
 bishops — " 
 
 "Oh!" said Dr. John, "you would only 
 give them consequence by persecution — let 
 it alone and the insanity will die of itself; 
 what do you think of it, James?" 
 
 "That I am not sure that it will die — and 
 that I am not sure that I wish it to die." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! minister, none of your 
 double sentences. — You cannot desire the 
 spread of such a gross superstition as this," 
 said Dr. John. 
 
 " It may be at least as good as your free- 
 thinking. Doctor ! " 
 
 I 5
 
 178 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Plowden ; " I am aston- 
 ished at you, Mr. James — you, whose intellect 
 is enlightened, and who may be said to be 
 really up to the age in which you live — that 
 is to say, the march of intellect in which we 
 are situated — you, to tolerate such idiotic 
 enthusiasm — such vulgar comprehension of 
 things ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Harrison ; " Mr. James, 
 he preaches faith without works— absolutely 
 without works ! " 
 
 " Filthy rags are they ! " said the philoso- 
 phical Rhubarb. 
 
 " Oh !" said Miss Emma Harrison. " Oh ! 
 Mr. James, if you were to hear such doc- 
 trine ! — The greater sinner the greater saint ! 
 And such a world of stuff about being con- 
 vinced of sin, and all sorts of things ! — I am 
 sure if I were such a dreadful sinner as he 
 says we all are, I — I — I — should not know 
 what to do." 
 
 Mr. James smiled. 
 
 " Surely, James," said Mr. Lambert, " how- 
 ever much you and I disagree on some points, 
 we must be one in this — in our reprobation 
 of this religious fever."
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 179 
 
 " I have heard of some diseases," said Mr. 
 James, " which destroyed maladies more fatal 
 than themselves — am I right, John ? " 
 
 The Doctor nodded. 
 
 " I should like to goodness to hear him for 
 once," said Miss Charlotte Harrison, who was 
 a dasher, a wit, and a beauty. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried the other young 
 ladies, as if she had said the most shocking 
 thing in the whole world. " Would you 
 really? — What, go to a field-meeting?" 
 
 " Why not ? It must be a vastly amusing 
 sight." 
 
 " To see your fellow-creatures in the ago- 
 nies of terror and despair ?" said Mr. James. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," broke in Tom Scribe ; 
 " howling and yelling like mad things — cry- 
 ing and screaming for mercy, as if they were 
 being devoured alive — It made my hair stand 
 on end — I would not have sister go for the 
 world." 
 
 " As if / would go," quoth Miss Scribe, 
 turning her back upon her brother, with a 
 contemptuous elevation of the shoulder. 
 
 " And pray, my dear, what harm would it 
 do you ?" said the Doctor.
 
 180 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Oh ! such a vulgar, low, mob !" 
 
 " Well, Miss Scribe," said a modest-look- 
 ing young man, who had not yet spoken ; he 
 was sickly and pale-looking, and his eyes 
 were melancholy, not to say gloomy ; " You 
 may call it low and vulgar, and all that, and 
 so I dare say it is — but last Saturday after- 
 noon, when I was there — " 
 
 " La !" laughing affectedly ; "Mr. Wilson, 
 are you really going to turn ^lethodist ? Only 
 think, the good young man was at preach- 
 ing on a Saturday ! " 
 
 " If every body thought as ill of their 
 soul's health as I do of mine," he replied 
 gloomily, " there would be more people, per- 
 haps, seeking for help on a Saturday." 
 
 This silenced everybody for a time. 
 
 By and by the Doctor began : " Well 
 Wilson, so you went last Saturday, and what 
 did you see ? Come, sir, describe — describe." 
 
 '' I heard, sir," said the young man ; " I 
 did not go there to see.'' 
 
 "Well, what did'st hear?" said old Mr. 
 Scribe. 
 
 " Of Hell! Whither we are all journeying !" 
 said he, fiercely, and rose and left the room.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 181 
 
 There was another pause ; the Doctor 
 shook his head, so did !Mr. Lambert. Mr. 
 James looked grave, ]\Irs. James a little 
 angry ; the rest, some frightened, some scan- 
 dalised, and some as if they would not 
 have been guilty of saying such a shocking- 
 thing for the world. One young lady, Miss 
 Phillis Harrison, who was suspected of being 
 in love secretly with young JMr. Wilson, 
 looked really aghast, and shook wdth a 
 sudden tremor. 
 
 This was all that was said at this tea- 
 party ; coffee and tea, crumpets and cakes, 
 succeeded, handed about by Mrs. John's two 
 dapper little maids — a delicious repast for 
 those who love Mocha coffee — fine hyson, 
 rich cream, old china, buttered muffins, 
 almond cakes and macaroons, of whom I 
 profess myself most sincerely to be one !^ 
 
 Cards followed. Mr. James did not play 
 cards; not that he thought it in the least 
 degree wrong, but that he never did, or 
 could, find the slightest amusement in play- 
 ing at any game ; so Mr. Lambert, the Doc- 
 tor, Mrs. James, and Mrs. Harrison sat down 
 to a pool at preference ; the young people
 
 182 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 to a pool at commerce ; and Mr. Whit- 
 field and his fearful denunciations were for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Mr. James sat by the fire, as was his w^ont, 
 musing and dwelling with pleasure on the 
 busy and innocent scene. With all his re- 
 finement there was something in human hap- 
 piness, however simple, provided it was free 
 from grossness or vice, that he could never 
 witness without a secret sympathy. He 
 smiled to see the little manoeuvres of the 
 young ladies to attract to their side the 
 favourites among the young men ; the lit- 
 tle awkward, well-meant gallantries of the 
 young men themselves, who had none of 
 them learned manners, assurance, and vice 
 together — for, thanks to the exertions of 
 Mr. James, the well-directed assistance of 
 Mr. Lambert, and the excellent example 
 of the only wealthy man in the society — 
 old Mr. Scribe, vice was banished from this 
 comfortable little coterie. 
 
 The young men neither gloried in low 
 intrigues, nor in drunkenness, nor in gam- 
 ing, nor in any of the vices — which cor- 
 rupt little societies as well as great, — when
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 188 
 
 either are left unregulated by virtue, prin- 
 ciple, and religion. 
 
 It was a very beautiful night, and the par- 
 lour where they sat looked into a pleasant 
 garden, in which there was a broad gravel- 
 walk up the centre and on the outer edge, 
 narrow shaded ones running through the 
 nuttery and other little shrubberies. The 
 moon was very bright, shining upon the 
 glittering dewy flowers ; an owl hooting in a 
 distant wood. Mr. James looked out from 
 where he sat and longed for a quiet walk, 
 so he stole out of the room softly and en- 
 tered the garden. 
 
 He passed once or twice up and down the 
 broad gravel- walk — the vast cope of the 
 swelling sky, the fair round moon that hung 
 unclouded aloft — the quiet whispering of a 
 falling leaf from time to time, and the dis- 
 tant hootings of the bird of night — these 
 were w^hat he loved ; and that peace fell 
 upon his heart which those who love such 
 scenes well know. 
 
 The recollection of all that was fair, and 
 lovely, and good, mingled with the scene ; 
 while higher thoughts, which swelled to the
 
 184 THE TREVISIONS 
 
 fountain of all that was lovely, true, and 
 good, were not wanting. 
 
 He had taken two or three turns when 
 he was aware of a dark figure slowly moving 
 among the trees of the nuttery ; he took 
 that path, and advancing, perceived young 
 Wilson. Reflections upon the situation of 
 this young man had been mingling w4th his 
 other thoughts. 
 
 " You here, Wilson V he said. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And what are you doing here, when 
 all the rest are so merrily employed within ? 
 — It is very well for me to love the moon 
 better than other company — but it is not 
 so well for boys of your age — unless indeed 
 you are in love." 
 
 "In love!'' cried Wilson disdainfully. 
 
 " And why not ? — What harm would there 
 be in that?" 
 
 "Harm! — but pray don't talk to me," 
 said the young man rudely. 
 
 " Not talk to you, friend — and pray 
 why may I not?'' said jNIr. James. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! I beg your pardon, that is 
 to say, I scorn to beg your pardon for
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 185 
 
 what means no offence — but sir ! when hell 
 is yawning for my soul, it is no time for 
 idle ceremonies." 
 
 " No, indeed it is not," said ^Nlr. James 
 gravely. 
 
 They walked in silence a short time, and 
 then Wilson passionately burst forth. 
 
 " But do you think, sir, that I can be, 
 that I am d — d for everlasting?" 
 
 " You !'' cried Mr. James. " What can 
 have put such a thought into your head?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, if you did but know, — but 
 what 's the use of talking to you^' cried he, 
 passionately interrupting himself; " to you, 
 who have been leadino- us all alonof the 
 easy, broad, flowery way that leads to ever- 
 lasting destruction— to you, who ought to 
 have been earnest, in season and out of 
 season, to save our perishing souls — to 
 you, who have covered the mouth of the 
 bottomless pit with green branches — lest 
 we should be ' shocked,' forsooth ! at the 
 horrors it conceals — who, to spare us the 
 painful truth Jiere^ have given up our 
 souls to everlasting destruction there I — oh, 
 dreadful! dreadful!"
 
 186 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Dreadful indeed — but what is all this? 
 I don't understand why you surrender your 
 imagination to terrors so insupportable as 
 these; or why you reproach me in this 
 manner. Consider a little — is all this rea- 
 sonable ? " 
 
 " Oh, reason — reason — reason !" said the 
 young man, striking his forehead; " don't talk 
 to me of reason, sir ; we have had too much 
 of human reason — When our souls are 
 perishing, it is no time to talk of reason ! 
 What," shuddering, " what if I be — as I fear 
 I am — an alien from the mercies of God — 
 cast out, and reprobate — what is to be done ? 
 But I don't ask you, sir," turning almost 
 fiercely to Mr. James, who stood, grieved and 
 dismayed — " why should I ask you ? What 
 will you preach to me, but vain philosophy 
 and carnal reason? — These are no waters of 
 Jordan : you cannot bid me w^ash and be 
 cleansed — You are perishing yourself, and 
 leading hundreds and hundreds with you 
 down to everlasting destruction." 
 
 Mr. James sighed. 
 
 " I am very sorry for you, Wilson," said 
 he ; "I think you are falling into a very dan-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 187 
 
 gerous way of thinking upon matters of the 
 most serious importance. — But if you refuse 
 to make use of the understanding which it 
 has pleased your great Creator to give you, 
 I do not see to what I can address myself." 
 
 " Neither do I want it," said the other 
 roughly. "His grace is sufficient for us — 
 We want no lights from man's dark and 
 corrupted understanding ! — By faith ye are 
 saved — and not by such wretched rags of 
 human wisdom as you have been treating us 
 with for this last ten years" — . . . 
 
 " I have done the best for you all, Wilson, 
 that was in my power, according to such light 
 as I had received — I doubt whether you will 
 find your happiness or your usefulness in- 
 creased by this, new manner of thinking — 
 But I have done — good night — the card- 
 tables must be broken up by this time." 
 
 And he went away. 
 
 " Happiness ! Usefulness ! " cried the young 
 man. " Wretched delusions of Satan — card- 
 playing, gormandizing, drinking, dancing, and 
 fiddling down the broadway which leads to 
 the burning fires of Tophet — Those fires 
 that never shall be quenched !"
 
 188 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Mr. James was a good deal disturbed. 
 Self-love he had none — To be irritated by the 
 rude and almost brutal return for the anxi- 
 ous services of so many years ! But he was 
 perplexed and almost confounded. He could 
 not deny that the preaching of Mr. Whit- 
 field had produced effects which he had not 
 anticipated. The wild enthusiasm of the 
 barbarous population of the hills appeared 
 to him a natural consequence of their previ- 
 ous darkness and depravity. He looked 
 upon it, as he said, in the light of a power 
 working some vast and beneficial change in 
 the constitution: but to see one .of those 
 whom he had himself so carefully trained in 
 habits of rational piety and solid principle, 
 thus carried away — was unexpected, and 
 was painful. 
 
 He determined, however, to attend at one 
 of these field-preachings, and to hear and 
 judge for himself of the mighty Orator.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 189 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mr. James was not singular in his deter- 
 mination ; the enthusiasm of vouno- Wilson 
 had already begun to produce an effect in 
 the little society, and many of the young 
 people had resolved to attend Mr. Whit- 
 held's preaching on the following Sunday. 
 
 Mr. Whitfield, not to disturb the services 
 of the church at Brough, had fixed his hour 
 for six o'clock, on a fine July evening. He 
 had, during the whole day, from four or 
 five o'clock in the morning, been occupied 
 among the hills, visiting the different villages 
 around, and preaching to and exhorting 
 the colliers ; and after taking his simple 
 meal in a hedge alehouse, had prepared him- 
 self to be at the Red Knoll, about half a 
 mile from the town of Brough, at the time 
 appointed.
 
 190 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 It was a delicious evening — The sun now 
 declining after the fervours of the day, was 
 casting his slant beams on tree and field — 
 and that stillness prevailed which hangs 
 upon an English country scene, upon an 
 English Sunday — When the week-day sound 
 of wheel or busy hammer ; or flail in barn, 
 or ploughman whistling to his team ; is suc- 
 ceeded by the chime of distant bell, — the 
 stilly sound of distant human voices in quiet 
 discourse — or the yelp of shepherds' dog ! — 
 when the influence of soft quiet steals upon 
 the soul, calming every unruly thought and 
 passion and preparing the way for the re- 
 ception of those heavenly graces, for the 
 cultivation of which this day of rest is 
 intended. 
 
 But on this Sunday there was a stir and 
 bustle, more than usual, in the surrounding 
 country. The causeways that, on each side 
 of the high roads, led into the fields, were 
 thronged with people, all proceeding one 
 way. Any one who, standing upon the 
 highest point of the Red Knoll, had looked 
 over the adjacent country, would have seen 
 the pathways in the fields, dotted with
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 191 
 
 black, white, red and blue, — as white gown 
 coloured chintz, black bonnets — passed 
 along. There was the old man resting on 
 his staff, the young mother with her infant 
 in her arms ; youth, age, childhood — all were 
 proceeding one way. 
 
 The Red Knoll was a sort of rough cliff, 
 of red sand-stone, half-concealed by tan- 
 gled brushwood, and rose abruptly from the 
 plain below ; the last rock of the chain of 
 hills, which rose in long succession behind 
 the town of Brough, and constituted the coal 
 and iron district, of which we have spoken. 
 From it gently declined the champaign coun- 
 try, a rich and beautiful plain, in the centre 
 of which stood the town ; the spire of its 
 ancient church rising from among the trees, 
 which grew in Mr. Lambert's parsonage 
 garden. A river meandered through this 
 plain, and near the Red Knoll its course 
 inclosed a large field, or rather portion of 
 the common — it was but poor land, used for 
 sheep-grazing : to which the broom, the 
 furze, the pink, centaury, the jasione, the 
 blue-bell, the wild thyme, and the short 
 sweet grass, bore testimony.
 
 192 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Sucli a place could not be injured by the 
 tread of the multitude, and admitted ample 
 room for the thousands who were now crowd- 
 ing to it. The innumerable dry hillocks 
 into which it was broken, furnished seats for 
 all the world ; while just under the Red 
 Knoll a fallen fragment of rock, surrounded 
 by festoons of natural foliage, afforded an 
 excellent pulpit for the preacher. 
 
 The sun declining to the west, cast his 
 beams sidewards upon the scene, and shed a 
 bright glory upon the top of the rock. 
 
 There was a subdued, stilly hum rising 
 from the assembled multitude, and the beat 
 of many feet ; but there was no obtrusive 
 noise, no cough, no shout, no discordant 
 tone ; every one seemed impressed with a 
 secret awe. Men spoke below their breath, 
 women hushed their prattling babes, and 
 youths and maidens sat wdiispering. 
 
 Near the pulpit rock, half hidden by a 
 large straggling bush of travellers' joy and 
 mountain ash, sat young Wilson, and by 
 him the three Miss Harrisons, all attired 
 in their best ; their nice clean white gowns
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 193 
 
 and straw bonnets, contrasting with the dark 
 russet dresses of five or six gigantic and 
 swarthy colliers, who were standing near 
 them. 
 
 Old Mr. Scribe had found a comfortable 
 place under the shade of a little oak tree ; 
 Mr. Plowden and the Doctor — for even he 
 was there — were walking up and down a 
 smooth sort of grass plat, between some 
 yellow broom-bushes. Mr. Potts, and his 
 friend, young William Gillies, were present, 
 looking very smart, with smooth-brushed 
 hats, gay watch-ribbons, and seals hanging 
 from their fobs. Everybody was present, 
 in short, parading at a little distance from 
 the Miss Harrisons, but Mv. Lambert, j\Irs. 
 James, and jNIrs. Harrison, and those unfor- 
 tunate maids, whose turn it was to stay at 
 home, and sit dozing with the cat by the 
 kitchen fire, that Sundav. 
 
 Mr. James was sitting, like Mr. Scribe, by 
 himself, in a nook he had found a little 
 behind the pulpit, and somewhat elevated, 
 so as to command the wide scene upon 
 which his large, clear, earnest, blue eye 
 was fixed attentivelv. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 The field was entirely covered with people, 
 the inhabitants of Brough, and its neighbour- 
 hood, all arrayed in their smartest Sunday 
 chintzes, silk scarfs, velveteens, and new 
 beavers, mingled with the hill folk ; the men 
 in dark clothes, and the women in black 
 quilted petticoats, open gowns of red and 
 black chintz, and white mob caps, sur- 
 mounted by black gipsy hats. Some were 
 standing in knots, others sitting upon the 
 little hillocks, or reclining upon the turf; 
 children sporting about from one party to 
 another. 
 
 The clock of Brough steeple struck six, 
 and in an instant all was hushed attention. 
 
 About half a dozen men were now seen 
 descending the Red Knoll hill, and in a 
 second or two Mr. Whitfield appeared in 
 his rustic pulpit. 
 
 He was a striking-looking man. The 
 outline of his countenance was ordinary 
 enough — but there was a fire gleaming from 
 his large black eye, a beam bespeaking so 
 much energy, zeal, and love, that no one 
 could fail to be impressed by it. 
 
 His gestures, as he rose to the view of his
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 195 
 
 innumerable audience, were simple and calm ; 
 there was a something peculiarly real about 
 him : he had that which Irving, and many 
 other great masters of pulpit eloquence have 
 wanted, reality — Here was no poetic deco- 
 ration, no artistical calculation of effect ; 
 all was plain, straight-forward — common 
 daily bread. It was their daily bread, the 
 bread of their life he came there to ad- 
 minister. — For the hungry, no imaginative 
 preparation is necessary to render that ac- 
 ceptable. 
 
 The service began with a hymn — it was 
 given out in a loud voice by one of the 
 assistants, a grave middle-aged man ; he 
 named the hymn — one of the few useless 
 ceremonies which attended this meeting, 
 as nobody had books. 
 
 jMr. Whitfield then, in a voice sonorous, 
 distinct, and clear — a voice which might 
 be heard to the very farthest limits of the 
 congregation, repeated the whole hymn ; 
 then the man, who officiated as precentor, 
 a single line — and the whole assembly, 
 joining as he sung, swelled into one burst 
 of Sound: — we must not call it harmony. 
 
 K 2
 
 196 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 but it was something more than harmony ; 
 that loud burst of human voices in the green 
 fields of earth, and swelling to the blue 
 vault of heaven. 
 
 The psalm concluded, the sound hushed — 
 the silence of a moment succeeded, and 
 " Let us pray ; " and the vast multitude, 
 with uncovered heads, bending towards the 
 earth, were humbled before the Lord and 
 Father of them all. 
 
 The still, calm, awe-struck voice of him 
 who led their supplications was heard in 
 solemn cadence, swelling, as it were, and 
 diffusing itself in the air, above the deeply 
 devotional crowd. His prayer was indeed a 
 prayer ; it was the address of one who, filled 
 with the vast idea of the Being he ad- 
 dressed, opened in reverend, heart-struck 
 simplicity — low and deep, calm and slow, 
 the prayer began ; but as he proceeded, 
 wrought upon, as it were, by the majesty 
 of the subject, the gravity of reverence 
 warmed into more vehement expression. 
 To calm adoration succeeded pathetic sup- 
 plications, heart-rending deprecations, groan- 
 ings not to be uttered — fierce wrestlings
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 197 
 
 with that mighty woe — that anguish and 
 bitterness of soul, which poured forth loud 
 cries for mercy from the depths and dark- 
 ness of its despair — a mercy which it seemed 
 as if he w^ould rend from the mighty Spirit, 
 whose wrath the dark sins of man had sum- 
 moned forth. 
 
 As he cried aloud, the infection spread — 
 the multitude, at first so still, became ex- 
 cited ; groan answered to groan, wailing to 
 wailing, shriek to shriek, cry to cry — like 
 the waves of a dark tumultuous sea, the 
 mighty mass heaved from side to side — they 
 shouted, they screamed, they cast them- 
 selves to the earth, lamenting their sins ; 
 they cried to the mountains to cover them, 
 and the hills to hide them, before that great 
 and terrible day of the Lord. 
 
 The teacher ceased, and again all was 
 still ; they rose from their knees, wiped the 
 tears and sweat from their faces ; and 
 flushed, and agitated, resumed their seats, 
 every nerve thrilling and in disorder, to 
 hear the outpourings of the mighty preacher. 
 
 " Who shall separate us from the love of 
 Christ ? — Shall tribulation, or distress, or
 
 198 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, 
 or the sword ? — As it is written, for thy sake 
 we are killed all the day long, we are ac- 
 counted sheep for the slaughter ; nay, in all 
 these things, we are more than conquerors 
 through Him that loved us — for I am per- 
 suaded that neither death, nor life, nor 
 angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor 
 things present, nor things to come, nor 
 height nor depth, shall be able to separate 
 us from the love of God, which is in Christ 
 our Lord." 
 
 This was his theme. 
 
 We dare not attempt to follow him, as, 
 with the glowing fire of that Apostle whom 
 he endeavoured to imitate, he led onward 
 his trembling followers — his rude, hard, igno- 
 rant, sordid, sensual followers — lifting their 
 hearts, rousing their imaginations, and call- 
 ing forth the mighty universal spirit, which 
 is hidden within the souls of all. 
 
 He warmed their frozen tempers, now like 
 melting wax in his hands, till one cry of mighty 
 enthusiasm — one passionate sense of love, 
 adoration, and devotion, burst from the 
 heart- struck throng; love of the goodness.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 199 
 
 adoration of the Greatness he painted — gen- 
 erous aspirations, remorseful agonies, ardent 
 resolutions to adhere to this their Master, 
 through trials, temptation, and death itself ! 
 He worked them up to the highest pitch 
 of which human nature is capable ; and then, 
 alas — then ! 
 
 When the heart was warm, ready to re- 
 ceive the stamp from his hand, what did that 
 powerful hand impress ? — " Who shall lay 
 anything to the charge of God's elect ? " — He 
 lost himself in the depths of Calvinistic meta- 
 physics, and a confused image of truth and 
 duty was all he left behind. He led these 
 willing followers, not into the clear light of 
 e very-day working usefulness and love ; but 
 led them into that dark, intricate labyrinth, 
 which the human eye would vainly pene- 
 trate — Great and fatal error ! 
 
 But it was not his own preaching that pro- 
 duced the mischief. Others followed in that 
 field ; the crudeness of their opinions unmi- 
 tigated by his bright intelligence and never- 
 dying love ; and the result was such, as we 
 have all, more or less, lamented and seen. 
 
 The discourse was ended ; the crowd began
 
 200 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 to disperse, beating their breasts — full of 
 compunctious visitings, and of warm and 
 loving devotion. Mr. Whitfield descended 
 from his pulpit, pale and exhausted, and with 
 his trusty attendants slowly retired among the 
 hills. The party with whom we are ac- 
 quainted still remained in their places ; the 
 evening was warm and beautiful, and they 
 were in no hurry to depart from the spot. 
 
 Under the shade of the mountain-ash, 
 Wilson, and his three fair friends, sat, dis- 
 cussing, in a low voice, what they had 
 heard. Wilson was evidentlv in some deo^ree 
 disappointed. 
 
 Human nature is a strange thing! This 
 young man was disappointed because the dis- 
 course of the day had rather treated of love 
 than of terror, of never-dying gratitude for 
 benefits received, than of heart-rending hor- 
 ror at impending inflictions. The Saviour 
 rather than the judge, had been the theme 
 of the discourse ; and the stimulant wanted 
 strength for his diseased appetite. 
 
 " He is very grand," said Miss Phillis. 
 
 " Oh ! but if you had but heard him this 
 last Sabbath ! when he enlarged upon the
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 201 
 
 mighty terrors of Him whose arrows are 
 swift and piercing, who hath power to cast 
 us into the never-dying fire ! " 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Wilson, will he preach again ?" 
 
 " I don't know whether he will, but there 
 
 will be preaching every Sunday at the New 
 
 Mount Zion Chapel, at Beckonsfield ; and I, 
 
 for one, shall go regularly." 
 
 " Dear me ! and leave Mr. James V 
 Mr. James ! indeed ! — Ah, Miss Phillis ! — ah, 
 my dear, dear friends ! " — looking round at the 
 three young ladies, " I must go where Christ 
 is preached, and a thirsting soul can drink of 
 the well of life." 
 
 "But do you really think — . . ." they began. 
 We need not enlarge upon Mr. Wilson's 
 arguments. It will be easily supposed that 
 they were sufficient for the conversion of 
 three girls, who sadly wanted a little excite- 
 ment; all but Miss Phillis being without 
 lovers, and she, of course, inclined to fol- 
 low her lover's lead — very little reasoning 
 or eloquence on his part, in both of which 
 commodities he was but slenderly furnished, 
 was sufficient to induce them to look upon 
 Mr. James as little better than an infidel; 
 
 K 5
 
 202 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 and to determine them on forsaking* father 
 and mother — or, in other words, their more 
 obvious duties — to walk with Mr. Wilson, 
 Sundays and Thursdays, to the New Chapel, 
 which had been built. 
 
 The Doctor and Mr. Plowden walked 
 home together : the Doctor had been a good 
 deal struck with the scene — he had expected 
 to feel nothing but contempt for excited 
 emotions and hysterical passions, as people 
 are pleased to call such feelings — he had 
 found something more — something that had 
 struck a chord or two in his tough heart ; but, 
 such is the power of habit, the strings soon 
 ceased to vibrate, and by the time he en- 
 tered his own door he was just the same man 
 as before. 
 
 He told Mrs. John, however, that Mr. 
 Whitfield was certainly a real orator, perhaps 
 the finest he had ever heard. 
 
 Mr. Plowden, a man of much feebler 
 intellect than the Doctor, was, of course, in 
 exact proportion, the more disgusted, with 
 the feeble intellect displayed by the super- 
 stitious and enthusiastic multitude around 
 him. He, like men of his range of per-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 203 
 
 ception, just carried his ideas to a place, to 
 — carry them back again — he always saw 
 things as he expected to see them — he went 
 prepared to find a great deal of fanatical stuff, 
 and a great deal of fanatical stuff he found — 
 he had no patience with James and the 
 Doctor for giving it a moment's attention. 
 " Such ranting trash !" 
 
 With great aspirations for the honour of 
 being an infidel, or free-thinker, as was the 
 term then, Mr. Plowden found himself a 
 little nearer attaining this desired object 
 after he had heard Mr. Whitfield. 
 
 Mr. James sat quietly ensconced in his 
 niche till everybody was gone away, and he 
 then walked through the lanes home ; — the 
 wild roses and honeysuckles were hanging 
 in clusters in the hedges ; the thrushes 
 singing in the copses ; — the sun was sink- 
 ing in the west in all his glory, of gold and 
 purple ; — the moon slowly rising in the full ; 
 the pale star of evening, which he loved, 
 hanging as it were in the eye of day. The man 
 of genius, his soul yet thrilling with the mighty 
 eloquence he had heard, walked home in a 
 state rather of reverie than of reflection ; he
 
 204 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 was one who loved, at times, rather to yield 
 to than to analyse his feelings. He had been 
 touched in a way he had not expected. It 
 was a grand and moving spectacle which he 
 had witnessed : he gave himself up to the 
 tide of sensations excited within him ; to 
 arrange them and reason on them should be 
 for another day.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 205 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was, perhaps^ upon the whole, rather 
 unfortunate that the sermon Mr. James had 
 heard was of the nature we have described ; 
 there was so much in it that he really ad- 
 mired and approved, that it rather put him 
 off his guard with respect to the effect these 
 new doctrines might exercise upon his own 
 little flock. 
 
 He saw plainly the infinite good these 
 zealous teachers might do, the vast diffusion 
 of Christian light which they were capable 
 of effecting ; perhaps he doubted whether 
 opinions, such as his own, could have been 
 of equal efficacy. At all events, he was too 
 persuaded and sincere a Christian, not, like 
 St. Paul, to rejoice, that anyhow or in any 
 manner Christ was preached. Besides, it is 
 the nature of very candid and reasonable 
 tempers, upon such subjects of disagree- 
 ment which must, after all, rest a good deal
 
 206 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 upon opinion, to be less anxious about the 
 diffusion of their particular views than cha- 
 racters of a more positive and less enlarged 
 turn of mind, — such as not only embrace their 
 own impression of the truth with the most 
 fervent persuasion; but feel inclined to repro- 
 bate and despise all who differ from them. 
 
 Whatever any one's opinion, however, 
 upon the particular doctrines taught by 
 these different schools of Christianity, may 
 be, one thing all must agree in regretting 
 — however much with Mr. James they may 
 rejoice in the rapid conversion to Christianity 
 of the rude, deserted, ignorant multitude — 
 no one can help feeling sorry when that 
 elevated view of the subject, which the 
 cool decision of the highest faculties of 
 the mind occasions; mingled with a warm, 
 liberal love for all, (whether of their own 
 sect, or not,) which he had endeavoured, and 
 successfully, to cherish in his little congre- 
 gation — was exchanged for a state of trou- 
 bled, passionate excitement, combined, as it 
 too soon was, with a bitter contempt, 
 amounting almost to hatred, for all who 
 held their walk in another way.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 207 
 
 The peaceful community of Brough was 
 soon rent into schism ; the little congrega- 
 tion at Mr. James's chapel gradually melted 
 away. Mrs. Harrison, staunch and stiff, as 
 old women of a good sterling character are 
 wont to be, adhered to her opinions and her 
 minister; but her daughters went to the 
 Zion Chapel — where a fanatical young man, 
 was now established ; one who hesitated 
 not to tamper, in the most daring manner, 
 with the secrets and mysteries of our rela- 
 tions towards oar jNlaker, and who preached 
 four times every Sunday, and twice in the 
 week beside. 
 
 He had no measure in his zeal — whether 
 urged by strong persuasion alone — or, in 
 part, by those secret stirrings of vanity 
 which insinuate themselves so often into 
 hearts such as these, we will not pretend 
 to say ; — but he was not delicate in the 
 means he applied to detach the flocks from 
 their former pastors. He boldly and openly 
 attacked Mr. Lambert, as being a lukewarm 
 rationalist, incapable of leading his flock 
 to the pool of Siloam — but of ^Ir. James 
 he spoke with absolute horror. He was not
 
 208 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 only to be neglected as a mistaken, but he 
 was to be abhorred as the worst and most 
 dangerous of men. No infidel, no atheist, 
 no daring blasphemer, no cruel despiser 
 of the law of God and man was spoken of as 
 he was spoken of. His late, loving, docile 
 flock were taught to look upon him almost 
 with detestation, or a sort of pitying con- 
 tempt. I have seen the once affectionate 
 young people cross the street not to walk 
 on the same side with him. They seceded 
 from his chapel — they seceded from his 
 Sunday school — all save two or three old 
 people, who were tottering on the brink of 
 the grave. 
 
 He found himself deserted ; his vocation 
 was gone. 
 
 His high-spirited wife felt all this keenly, 
 and resented it warmly; he expressed no 
 resentment ; he smiled with his usual gentle 
 dignity, and met it all witli calm composure : 
 but it struck — . 
 
 We are not stocks and stones ; we are 
 not faultless and passionless images of virtue ! 
 Man is but man; and he responds, alas ! some- 
 times, too sensibly, to the feelings of the
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 209 
 
 fellow-men around him. Contempt is diffi- 
 cult to bear — desertion hard — ingratitude 
 worst of all. 
 
 He had trained his flock, as he fondly hoped, 
 for better things ; and now, when an inunda- 
 tion of illiberality, spiritual pride, fierce dis- 
 sensions, cruel misunderstandings, harsh 
 judgments, and perverted ideas of duty, 
 spread like a flood over the community — 
 IVIr. Lambert groaned and remonstrated — 
 The Doctor shrugged his shoulders — Mr. 
 Plowden smiled contemptuously — Mr. James 
 said nothing ; but it had got at his heart. 
 
 The death of Lady Evelyn had cut at the 
 main spring of life, by destroying that which 
 made life enchanting. He had, therefore, 
 previously suffered a good deal. When his 
 son returned from the academy, he started 
 at seeing his father's face. 
 
 "Father, what is the matter? you don't 
 look like yourself." 
 
 " I don't feel remarkably well, but it is a 
 mere nothing." 
 
 The mother entered — she ran to clasp her 
 son — ^he was in black — he was a member of 
 the ^linistry ; with what pride had she anti-
 
 210 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 cipated that moment ! To hear him preach — 
 her son — her beautiful, gifted son — in his 
 father's pulpit ! Now she stroked down the 
 sleeve of his black coat, and turned away 
 with a heavy sigh. 
 
 " Mother," he said, taking her in his arms, 
 and kissing her ; " my mother, what is the 
 matter?" 
 
 " So you are a Minister at last ?" was the 
 reply. 
 
 " Yes, dearest mother, and here I am to 
 assist my father — and not before he wants it — 
 You don't look well — indeed you don't. Sir," 
 said he, anxiously. 
 
 "He doesn't look well, you think?" said 
 Mrs. James, turning to her husband, with an 
 anxiety she had never felt before. The most 
 tender observants rarely mark the symptoms 
 of a gradual decay stealing insidiously over the 
 frame of one they are in daily communication 
 with. " Ah ! Mr. James, I cannot wonder 
 that you feel it." 
 
 " I don't deny that I feel it very much," 
 he said; "more than, perhaps, I ought" — he 
 added. 
 
 "What ? Feel what ?"— cried the son, turn- 
 ing round.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 211 
 
 " He has lost his congregration, said the 
 mother. 
 
 " Lost what !" 
 
 " Mj dear boy," said the JNIinister, laying 
 his hand upon his son's shoulder, " you are 
 come to assist a shepherd whose flock have 
 forsaken him. — Mr. Harrison, Mr. Plowden, 
 Mr. Scribe, their maids, and ours, composed 
 my congregation last Sunday — and the poor 
 maids were so sorry to come, that I shall beg 
 their attendance may be dispensed with in 
 future." 
 
 It was even so ; to this was the little com- 
 munity reduced — and Mrs. Harrison's attend- 
 ance was so fiercely opposed by her daughters 
 that had not the old lady possessed a treble 
 portion of resistive spirit, she must have 
 yielded to those — of course, so much better 
 able to judge than herself — for it was part of 
 their new creed to believe, that everybody 
 who did not think like themselves, was 
 unquestionably, and most grievously wrong, 
 and were to be despised, hated, or argued 
 with, as the case might be. IMr. James 
 was treated with the two first, and JNIrs. 
 Harrison with the latter member of the 
 alternative.
 
 212 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Gerald James had returned from the aca- 
 demy, intending to assist his father in the 
 pulpit; to live in his father's house, and, for 
 the present, to devote the principal part of 
 his time to further improvement and study. 
 But the entrance to his father s pulpit was 
 now closed. 
 
 Mr. James felt it as something ridiculous 
 to add another teacher to such unwilling 
 hearers. Mrs. James could not endure the 
 idea of her son appearing under such cir- 
 cumstances ; and as to the vounof man him- 
 self, the object of being a preacher at all, 
 was one he regarded with great indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 He had yielded to what he believed to be, 
 in his father's judgment, the best plan of life 
 that he could adopt ; rather out of reverence 
 for that judgment, than out of absolute acqui- 
 escence or deliberate choice — for he loved and 
 honoured his father beyond measure — But he 
 was not altogether like him ; there was a fire : 
 a passion in his temper, a daring boldness 
 in his imagination, subdued, it is true, but 
 only in part, by the excellent education he 
 had received — For the Latin, homely proverb.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 213 
 
 concerning nature being expelled with a 
 pitchfork, is a substantive truth. 
 
 At the first announcement of the true 
 state of things, a new field of action seemed 
 suddenly revealed to his fancy, as a wide 
 extent of darkened landscape might be by 
 a flash of lio-htnino:. He looked indicrnant, 
 but yet bright and excited. 
 
 Gerald had been lately living with young 
 men of his own ao-e. The then laro^e and 
 flourishing society, in which he had finished 
 his education, contained, of course, a vast 
 variety of characters ; and the liberal way 
 of thinking, there upheld and advocated, 
 allowed of the free discussion of all sorts 
 of opinions. Men, in spite of themselves, 
 must be in great measure the children of 
 their age. That earnest Christian spirit in 
 which the father's youth had been reared ; 
 that old puritan tradition of simple, un- 
 worldly devotion to a Lord and ]\Iaster, 
 whose service was to be deemed the true 
 end of life — that strong, manly, logical faith, 
 of which we have before spoken — as the 
 element which had nourished in Mr. James 
 a calm, steady spirit of Christian philoso-
 
 214 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 phy, the ground and foundation of his charac- 
 ter and actions — had now given way to other 
 modes of thought. 
 
 By the side of the warm, enthusiastic de- 
 votion, which flourished under the auspices 
 of Mr. Wesley, Mr. Whitfield, other ways 
 of thinking arose. These teachers differed, 
 they differed from the devout puritans of the 
 Revolution in many ways — did this new 
 school of philosophy from the old free-think- 
 ers of Addison's time. In his day free- 
 thinking, as it was called, was, perhaps, the 
 fine gentleman air of a young Templar, or of 
 a court beau ; put on with their lace ruffles, 
 bag, and sword, and with them laid aside — 
 there was nothing real in it. These young 
 gentlemen, when sick or weary, were just as 
 much afraid of the hereafter as the rest of 
 the world. Or free-thinking was the pro- 
 fession of faith of a few dry, grave, book- 
 worm philosophers, whose opinions had 
 nothing to do with the generality of man- 
 kind. In all this the imagination of people 
 in general was little enlisted — a few young 
 ladies were shocked and attracted by the 
 manly contempt which their beaux shewed
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 215 
 
 for religion ; and while they tapped them 
 with their fans, and vowed they were "mon- 
 strous" wicked, they secretly admired that 
 daring, which, under any form, is so attract- 
 ive to women. But this was pretty nearly 
 the extent of the evil ; indeed, the general 
 lukewarmness upon all subjects relating to 
 religion, which succeeded to the accession 
 of our second Charles, and lasted during the 
 first thirty years of the following century, 
 prevented the plague of infidelity from 
 taking root. 
 
 But with the more earnest generation 
 now rising, things were beginning to take 
 a new form ; men began to reason, and to 
 follow principles to their consequences. 
 
 A violent reaction on the continent, against 
 the gloomy devotion of the last years of the 
 great Louis, had been followed by the univer- 
 sal diffusion of a spirit of bold, daring in- 
 quiry — which was well — had it been a spirit 
 of imprejudiced inquiry — but that it was not. 
 
 Mankind rush from one extreme to the 
 other; and the blind confidence which the 
 Catholic Church had exacted on matters of 
 faith and religion, was succeeded by a spirit
 
 216 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 of unmitigated contempt, not only for her 
 form of religion, but for every form of reli- 
 gion in the world. 
 
 The sort of calm, philosophical acquies- 
 cence in ignorance upon subjects of this 
 nature, which Lady Evelyn has described 
 as belonging to her father, was changed for 
 openly declared scepticism, biting sarcasm, 
 cutting accusations, vehement and unsparing 
 enmity. 
 
 Voltaire, a brilliant, but certainly shallow 
 genius, led the attack. 
 
 The absurdities, and barbarities, of which 
 the Catholic church had lately been guilty, — 
 from Louis le Grand and De Maintenon, 
 seriously occupied in their sacred dramas at 
 St. Cyr — while the Cevennes were being de- 
 solated by fire and sword — to Louis le Bien- 
 aim6, sank in the lowest depths of vice, yet 
 never forsaken by his confessor; — from the 
 Flagellants parading through the streets of 
 Paris — to Calas, the innocent victim of the 
 most barbarous religious prejudice — all had 
 excited his utter contempt, and abhorrence, 
 — presenting themselves to his volatile and 
 brilliant fancy, in figures the most ridiculous
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 2l7 
 
 or the most repulsive. And he loved to 
 hold up his clever caricatures to mankind, 
 and in mingled vanity and conviction, to batter 
 down, before the flying artillery of his wit, 
 everything which the barbarous ignorance 
 of those, unfortunate enough to live before 
 he was born, had considered venerable or 
 sacred. With him, a philosophic king, a 
 great soldier, an indefatigable and successful 
 statesman, a very clever and lively private 
 man, laboured among his other labours, at 
 the same cause. The first personage of his 
 day was a declared infidel, if not an atheist. — 
 Rousseau threw the magic delusions of his 
 fancy over the dreary, desolation of the 
 prospect ; while Diderot, Helvetius, and 
 others innumerable, enlisted all the sensual 
 passions in the cause. 
 
 Such were the two extremes of the pic- 
 ture, when Gerald James stepped upon the 
 arena of life — on one side Wesley, on the 
 other Voltaire — in the centre, a dull, lifeless 
 figure of dying Christianity, with withered, 
 inexpressive features, and lack-lustre eyes ; on 
 the one hand Wesley endeavouring to animate 
 the faded form by the most rousing restora- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 tives ; on the other, a set of brilliant, merry, 
 pleasure-loving wits, pointing with sneering 
 finger to the faded image, and crying, "These 
 be thy gods, oh Israel !" 
 
 They little dreamed of the vitality within, 
 — of the self-renovation that existence pos- 
 sessed; — but let that pass; and let those be 
 thankful, who have lived to have their 
 faith confirmed by seeing that sick figure — 
 sick, but with a sickness not unto death — 
 cast far from her all these signs of decay, 
 and start forward radiant in renewed and 
 purer beauty upon her glorious and eternal 
 course. — But to return to Gerald James. 
 
 At the Academy almost every young man 
 was, more or less, a convert to this new and 
 brilliant way of thinking ; perhaps there was 
 not one who was not secretly persuaded that 
 Hume was the greatest philosopher the 
 world had ever seen ; and that all who dared 
 to think for themselves, and to look at things 
 as they really were, must think with him. 
 There seemed to be a general impression 
 pervading society, that all men of any pre- 
 tensions to intellect were unbelievers in 
 Christianity, and that, except the Metho-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 219 
 
 dists — a set apart — every one professed it 
 only out of condescension to the wants and 
 weaknesses of the vulgar. 
 
 Gerald James was not a rejecter — but he 
 was a doubter — and it may be remarked, as 
 the first deviation from the simple upright- 
 ness of his father's character, that he intended 
 to preach that upon which his convictions 
 were far from being established. Certainly 
 from no sordid motive — fi'om an idea, doubt- 
 less, that it was good for the mass still to be 
 so persuaded ; but what a decline from his 
 father's clear perception and unflinching ad- 
 hesion to sincerity and truth ! 
 
 The scene now acting upon the little stage 
 of Brough had also a very injurious effect 
 upon his mind. To doubt of virtue — not only 
 of its actual, but of its absolute existence, 
 was one of the notions of the times. Men 
 did not ask merely : is there such a thing as 
 disinterested virtue on earth ; but, is there 
 such a thing as virtue at all? What is vir- 
 tue ? What do you mean by virtue f Such 
 was their talk ; metaphysical definitions, 
 casuistical distinctions — all were brought 
 into play ; till Astrea, with her train, at 
 
 L 2
 
 220 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 length threatened to forsake a world in 
 which her nature was so falsified and mis- 
 understood ; a world in which her very 
 existence was often denied ! The subtle, 
 penetrating intellect, and the lively imagi- 
 nation of Gerald James, had not suffered 
 his thoughts to lie idle. He, too, had asked 
 himself where the precious essence lay. He, 
 too, had analysed human action, seeking for 
 that life which, like the actual life of the 
 body, by such a process shall never be dis- 
 covered. And now, what was the experience 
 presented to him ? — The utter impotence of 
 truth and virtue before passionate, and, to 
 his mind, most fanatical excitement ! 
 
 His father, the being he worshipped as of 
 a nature superior to the children of humanity 
 — his father, his intellectual, virtuous, lofty- 
 minded, admirable father, forsaken for a low, 
 ranting methodist — for such he called and 
 thought the man ; and such, in truth, the 
 young man pretty much was, who conducted 
 the services at Zion Chapel, drawing crowds 
 and crowds to his ministrations — while Mr. 
 Harrison, Mr. Plowden, Mrs. James, poor 
 paralytic John Grainger, and a couple of
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 221 
 
 deaf old women, continued to wait upon Mr. 
 James. For the very maids were gone 
 happy and gay, in new red ribbons and new 
 striped gowns, to Zion Chapel. 
 
 Everybody walked there twice, or three 
 times every Sunday ; nobody was ever tired, 
 nobody ever got cold going thither or coming 
 away — it is a fact, nobody ever did ! It is true 
 some of the elders made complaints after a 
 time; duties were less regularly performed at 
 home, parents less reverenced, their comforts 
 less regarded, their advice less consulted; but 
 nobody remembered that these things had not 
 occurred under the sway of ]Mr. Lambert and 
 Mr. James. Few people trace mischiefs to 
 their source, or try to remedy them ; the mass 
 of mankind submit patiently to evil as in- 
 evitable, — it probably was inevitable here ! 
 The course of opinion was sweeping the 
 generation onwards, as the river whirls for- 
 w^ard the leaves that rest upon its bosom. 
 
 One inconvenience, which might have 
 arisen from the secession, JNIr. James escaped. 
 The chapel had been maintained from two 
 sources, a little land, purchased at its original 
 foundation, and by the contributions of the
 
 222 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 several members of the congregation. It 
 happened, that old Mr. Scribe, Mrs. Harrison, 
 and Mr. Plowden — particularly Mr. Scribe, 
 were the richest people of the community ; 
 so they took care, particularly the worthy 
 old banker, that Mrs. James should not feel 
 any pecuniary loss. 
 
 The good old man had always made the 
 collections, and managed the funds himself; 
 handing the balance, without naming parti- 
 culars, to Mrs. James, and he continued to 
 do so. Mrs. James asked, however, some 
 questions, surj)rised that there was no dimi- 
 nution. 
 
 " Tell James, while I live there will be 
 none," said he, "except to a very trifling 
 amount — these young people, you know, 
 were of no account in this matter." 
 
 Mrs. James submitted ; but she and her 
 son had some anxious talk about it. "When 
 old Mr. Scribe dies, what will become of 
 your father ?" 
 
 " I must do something to maintain you 
 both," said Gerald. 
 
 "But what?' — That was the question. 
 
 Mr. James, however, began to shew, that,
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 223 
 
 as far as he was concerned, there was little 
 cause for apprehension as to his surviving Mr. 
 Scribe. 
 
 A slight, low fever, a gradual decline of 
 strength, a pallid countenance, a loss of appe- 
 tite, an inclination to sit silent in his chair, to 
 close his eyes and to dose ; these symptoms in 
 one, all gentle as he was, yet habitually so 
 cheerful, active, and energetic, confirmed the 
 alarm of the son, and excited the terrors of 
 the wife. She besought him to apply to his 
 good friend the Doctor. 
 
 " I do not think, my dear Jane, that you 
 need terrify yourself about me. — It is true 
 that I do feel a certain irresistible languor 
 stealing, as it were, over my faculties, and 
 every endeavour to shake it off only seems 
 to increase it — so I believe it is not idleness, 
 as I have been sometimes tempted to think 
 it might be. — But I feel sure that if there 
 were anything much amiss, nature would 
 
 speak more decidedly However, as that 
 
 foolish son of yours seems fairly to have 
 frightened you, I will talk to our good friend 
 about it." 
 
 The good Dotor called in, one afternoon :
 
 224 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 and after the usual social cup of tea, Mr. 
 James asked him to take a turn with him in 
 the garden. It was yet early spring, and all 
 Mrs. James's crocuses and snowdrops were in 
 flower, garlanding the pretty flower-beds, 
 with their golden, white, and purple blos- 
 soms. 
 
 " Rather cold work now — '" said the Doc- 
 tor, " walking in gardens at five o'clock in the 
 afternoon — and not particularly prudent for 
 you, my good friend ; but as the sun is still 
 shining upon the two round eyes of the old 
 chapel, I suppose I must not object — So come 
 along, and let me have a look at the polyan- 
 thuses." 
 
 They went out and walked together for 
 some time, up and down the middle walk of 
 the garden. They seemed in very serious 
 discourse ; certainly the good Doctor never 
 once noticed the flowers. Presently the two 
 friends shook hands and parted. Mr. James 
 returned to the parlour, but the Doctor, his 
 head hanging over his breast, in an attitude 
 quite unlike his usual erect, cheerful manner 
 of carrying himself, instead of re-entering 
 the house, passed through the little side-gate
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 225 
 
 of the garden, and walked away through the 
 chapel-yard. 
 
 Mr. James looked serious when he came 
 in, but calm, composed, and gentle, as ever. 
 As his busy wife plied her usual cheerful 
 tasks, and moved about the room in the per- 
 formance of her active duties, his eye, as he 
 sat in that chair, the gift of the much-loved 
 Lady Evelyn, followed her about with an 
 expression of affection more tender than 
 ever. His gaze, too, was often fixed upon 
 his son, who sat at the table engaged in his 
 studies. Both wife and son had eagerly in- 
 quired what Dr. Johns had said. 
 
 " Why, that I must not be petted too 
 much by either of you," was the half-playful 
 reply. 
 
 But he had that evening received his 
 death-warrant — and he and Dr. Johns had 
 settled that it would be best, for the happi- 
 ness of all parties, that the inevitable sen- 
 tence should be withheld from the know- 
 ledge of those he loved, till things approached 
 nearer to their termination. And so a week 
 or two more passed on. But the decline was 
 more rapid than even the good Doctor had 
 
 l5
 
 226 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 anticipated, and Mr. James felt that the 
 hour had at length arrived when the truth 
 must no longer be concealed from his son. 
 His worldly affairs, little complicated as 
 they were, must be settled before this good 
 man could compose his spirit to the bed of 
 his rest ; and he opened himself one evening 
 to Gerald upon the subject. 
 
 " My son — " he said, after some discourse 
 of other things, " we have not yet talked 
 together over the new state of affairs which 
 this defection of my flock must occasion. 
 But I believe — " said he, correcting himself, 
 '' that need not much affect what I have 
 to say; for what I could do for my wife and 
 my mother has already been done — and even 
 if the means were to be continued, the time 
 would be wanting to do more/^ 
 
 "Ah, sir! — " said the son, understanding 
 his meaning. But it was all he said ; he had 
 not been unobservant of the silent decav : 
 he, too, had been preparing himself; and he 
 would not now disturb his father's serenity 
 by the indulgence of his deep and poignant 
 sorrow. 
 
 " You see it, Gerald — and I thank you for
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 227 
 
 the fortitude which spares to me the pain of 
 witnessing that grief which I know you, my 
 good and pious son, will feel. — But we will 
 not talk of the pangs of our own separation ; 
 we must think of those two dear and pre- 
 cious women who depend upon us — The whole 
 I have been able to save in the course of my 
 long life," said he, " amounts to just one thou- 
 sand pounds — and I have been a practiser of 
 various miserly little habits to save even that. 
 Your mother must sink the thousand pounds 
 in an annuity upon her own life and that of 
 my poor mother, who I think will survive 
 me. — You must live upon this little salary, 
 as your father did before you, and manage 
 to make a trifling provision out of it for 
 those you love, as I have tried to do for 
 mine ; I had better write upon the subject 
 to-night." 
 
 " No, father, thank you," said Gerald, 
 "—not to-night." 
 
 " It is not well to delay matters of this 
 nature, where no further deliberation can be 
 of any use." 
 
 " I do not at present feel inclined to be a 
 preacher," said Gerald.
 
 228 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " And yet you are a member of the mi- 
 nistry ! " 
 
 " True, but had 1 known six months ago 
 what I know now — I never should have been." 
 
 " You are disheartened by what you have 
 seen." 
 
 "Say, rather, deeply alienated and dis- 
 gusted." 
 
 " Disgusted !" 
 
 " I have lost my faith in man, and my in- 
 terest in my race — and I am no longer fit to 
 be a preacher." 
 
 " Gerald — this is a very strange sentence 
 to come from your lips. — Your interest in 
 your race ! — What did you take your race 
 for ? A race of angels ? — Can you be inte- 
 rested only by excellence ? Can you feel no 
 interest for error and weakness ? — Then, in- 
 deed, you say rightly — You are not fit for a 
 preacher." 
 
 " So it is, father, with me — there is a 
 divine compassion in your soul, to which 
 it seems mine cannot attain. — You look 
 down from the godlike heaven of your 
 own nature, with a benign aiit pity, upon 
 that, which fills me with bitter disappoint- 
 ment and indignation."
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 229 
 
 " You are wrong, Gerald." 
 
 " I know that, sir — but, till my heart is 
 changed, till I can see things with other 
 feelings, I am not, indeed, fit to be a 
 preacher. — And one thing I never will be, 
 a pretender and a hypocrite ! " 
 
 Mr. James looked anxiously at his son, 
 whose colour was mantling, and his nos- 
 tril dilating ; he saw evidences of a temper 
 widely different from his own ; a something 
 he could not help secretly admiring ; so sub- 
 lime is force of character in all its varied 
 forms. Yet he felt, and he knew, that to 
 usefulness and peace like his such a cha- 
 racter was never destined to attain. 
 
 Perhaps it was the first moment that 
 all this had been distinctly perceived : 
 such had been the sweetness and docility 
 of Gerald's temper from a child, and such 
 the judicious tenderness of both his parents, 
 that the real character of his feelings had 
 never been called into display. 
 
 His bitter resentment of what he thought 
 his father's wrongs, was the first thing 
 that had led even himself, to suspect of 
 what stuff his nature was made.
 
 230 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " But you must live!" — said Mr. James 
 after a short pause. 
 
 " JNIost certainly I do see that necessity," 
 said Gerald, smiling, " and that of no longer 
 being a burden upon you and my mother — 
 I assure you, sir, I have been seriously 
 reflecting upon what I ought to do. This 
 black coat is now an impediment." 
 
 " There lie before you tuition or lite- 
 rature. As for trade, it is true many have 
 laid aside the ministry and taken to that, 
 but whether reasonably, or not, I have a 
 dislike to such a measure ; — trade, however, 
 is recommended by its independence, and 
 its usefulness." 
 
 " I feel as you do, sir, about the minis- 
 try; and at present I think my best 
 course would be to endeavour to recom- 
 mend myself as tutor at the Academy — that 
 seems to me a useful and honourable career " 
 
 " It is so, my son; and you are well quali- 
 fied for it. This conversation has been a 
 relief to me," he said, rising, and sighing 
 gently as one relieved from a great weight. 
 
 " Jane, my dear," as she entered the room, 
 " have you a little of that jelly ? " 
 
 She w^ent to fetch it.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 231 
 
 " Good, excellent, faithful wife ! — My son, 
 when I am no more, you must take your 
 mother home to you, — And, Gerald, you are 
 a young man ; you will be sometime or 
 other the slave of love — but remember, 
 my son, you must be like the good men 
 of old, you must reverence and cherish 
 your mother. — You must not let a young, 
 saucy wife, irritate the temper, and destroy 
 the self-respect of my Jane." 
 
 " Never!" said Gerald earnestly. 
 
 " I impose more in asking this, than 
 you think, young man — youthful passions 
 are high ; you will love ; and when you 
 love you will be like other men ; — as 
 other men ought to be — and your wife will 
 justly claim, and ought to possess your 
 pre-eminent love. But this is a peculiar 
 case ; your mother is quite alone in the 
 world — Such a wife ! such a mother too ! 
 She is high-tempered; she will not bear 
 what many a poor worn out creature in this 
 world is forced to bear, and does bear — 
 You vnW think of these things, Gerald !" 
 
 " I promise solemnly,'' he began. 
 
 " No promises ! — ' said Mr. James. " Rash
 
 232 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 is the man, who binds his future by oaths — 
 But you will think of these things, and 
 to thine excellent heart, and the rectitude 
 of thy strong understanding, I bequeath 
 her, my son !" 
 
 She entered at the moment ; he tasted 
 the jelly, and then tried to rise, but sat 
 down and leaned back ; it seemed as if 
 the anxiety he had felt had helped to ex- 
 cite and keep in action this strange in- 
 fluence which we call life ; for that even- 
 ing he seemed more than usually lan- 
 guid. 
 
 When the evening came, his wife placed 
 him in the arm-chair ; wdiile she, as usual, 
 attended the old lady to bed ; her son 
 wheeled it to the fire, and sat at his 
 little table, — that table Lady Evelyn describes 
 as hers — busy with his mathematical stu- 
 dies ; the large tortoiseshell cat lay sleep- 
 ing on the hearth carpet ; the kettle kept 
 humming its song upon the fire. 
 
 From time to time, the young man 
 lifted his head from his studies, to gaze 
 with more than his usual admiration upon 
 the beautiful countenance of his father.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 233 
 
 The eyes of Mr. James were closed, his 
 mouth appeared composed, a sort of holy 
 calm played like a glory round his mild 
 and beautiful brow. This repose was un- 
 disturbed ; the old lady above had occu- 
 pied Mrs. James longer than usual. When 
 she returned to the parlour, she listened 
 at the door, and finding all so still, de- 
 termined not to enter and disturb her hus- 
 band, who was probably asleep. She went 
 into her kitchen to put in preparation a 
 light supper for him, and after some time 
 returned. 
 
 The same still scene ! — The little parlour, 
 dimly lighted by the candle, which throwing 
 into shade the corners of the room, cast 
 a sort of Rembrandt concentration of light 
 upon the beautiful head of her son, as 
 he bent to his book — and fell, faint and 
 soft, upon the face and figure of the reposing 
 father. The kettle was humming, the cat 
 sleeping, — all quiet as peace itself! 
 
 She stepped gently up to her husband, 
 looked in his face — his face no more — he 
 had quietly departed ! —
 
 234 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 — And lie too is gone ! — Oh hungry, ra- 
 venous grave ! — And hast thou swallowed 
 up in thy unholy, greedy maw the two, the 
 transcendently lovely, the best and most 
 beautiful of earth's creatures ? — 
 
 Where are ye gone? — Oh, father, where 
 art thou ? — In what region of the universe, 
 to me invisible, is now thy dwelling ? — I call 
 upon thee ; dost thou hear me ? — I gaze 
 upon this insensible clay, now cold marble, 
 lying before me ; I see still those divinely 
 moulded features, that brow sublime, in its 
 peaceful grandeur; that mouth of ineffable 
 sweetness ! — Still rests the holy calm upon 
 that face ! but it is thy image, thy sculp- 
 tured image alone — 
 
 Alas ! frail as the passing flower ; a fleet- 
 ing form, that to-morrow, yes, even to-mor-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 235 
 
 row, shall be sinking into dissolution. — Each 
 atom, no longer held together by the myste- 
 rious supernatural bond of life, shall obey 
 the law of its nature, and seek its fellow — 
 thy very image, the shrine in which thou 
 didst dwell, shall disappear like a dream. — 
 And where art thou ? 
 
 Reflection, consideration — action, purpose, 
 self-devotion, virtue, and religion — love of all 
 that is great, excellent, or good — that wast 
 thou ! — and whither is it fled ? 
 
 My father, my father ! where now shall 
 I turn ? — To whom unlock the secrets of 
 my heart ? — Who shall counsel, guide, and 
 strengthen ? Father ! friend ! true, earnest, 
 wise, sympathising friend ! who shall give 
 me back my friend? — Alas! all is a dreary 
 chaos of dark confused mystery to me — 
 He was here, he is gone ! that rounds the 
 brief, inexplicable tale. — Father ! father ! 
 friend ! — 
 
 He stood — that tall, beautiful, manly figure, 
 gazing upon the bed where the mortal re- 
 mains of the fine, intellectual being, so 
 lamented, now lay stretched in the grave- 
 clothes. — The coflfin ! that dark chest in
 
 236 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 human proportions, at which human weak- 
 ness cannot look without shuddering, was 
 placed beside the body. It was midnight. 
 The next morning the son was, with his 
 own hand, to consign to its last tenement 
 the precious relics of him whom he had so 
 fondly loved and deeply honoured. 
 
 He had persuaded his poor mother, wea- 
 ried with sorrow, to go to her bed and sleep 
 a little ; to prepare herself for the next 
 awful day of final separation. They had, 
 together, with pious hands, composed the 
 limbs, and had left undisturbed upon the 
 finger a small seal-ring, the gift of Lady 
 Evelyn. A slight temptation had seized 
 Gerald, a desire to appropriate this little 
 treasure, which united recollections so in- 
 finitely dear, as the images of his father and 
 Lady Evelyn ; but, with that fond supersti- 
 tion, which attends the very ashes of the 
 dead, he would not defraud his father of it. 
 A white, embroidered piece of fine lawn, the 
 work of Mrs. James's subtle fingers, in ear- 
 lier days, was laid over the face. 
 
 Gerald and his mother had together, in 
 solemn tenderness, arranged all these little
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 237 
 
 things ; and he had piously watched by the 
 dead; sometimes sitting by the bed-side, 
 gazing earnestly at the features, searching, as 
 it were, for the hidden meaning of the in- 
 explicable change ; sometimes pacing the 
 apartment in deep musing, or standing, while 
 the tears filled his large eyes, at the foot of 
 the coffin. 
 
 Their grief had not been clamorous on 
 either side ; silent showers of tears had 
 rained from the eyes of the wife, eyes so 
 little used to weeping; and a tenderness, 
 such as a mother would shew to a new-born 
 infant, had been lavished upon the poor 
 grandmother, — caresses such as Mrs. James 
 was not wont to lavish on any one. 
 
 But violent lamentation, or paroxysms of 
 sorrow would ill have become that Christian 
 wife ! Her husband had fought the good 
 fight — had finished his course — and now to 
 that Lord and Master was he gone, whom 
 he had served so faithfully, to receive the 
 crown which had been promised. He was 
 gone to a better country ; he of whom the 
 world was not worthy — that nature of 
 an order above that of the common
 
 238 THE PREVISIONS. 
 
 world which surrounded him — was gone to 
 his own country, to a better world — to the 
 heavenly Canaan, to the presence of the 
 Divine — to see even as he was seen. 
 
 Was there cause for lamentation ? Natural 
 tears of tenderness she shed ; but she had 
 loved him too devotedly, too generously, to 
 mourn that he was departed, and she left 
 alone. 
 
 She was not alone ; her duties lay before 
 her — The wholesome habit of daily duty 
 was her protection and support ! She turned 
 with a sort of cheerful gravity from her 
 husband's grave, to pursue alone that path 
 which must end by reuniting them. 
 
 But the son felt it differently. He could 
 not be said to have loved his father more 
 devotedly than the wife had loved him ; but 
 it was a different love. — His enthusiastic 
 temper and high intelligence, the excessive 
 refinement of his perceptions, his exquisite 
 sense of excellence, moral and physical, had 
 given him a perception of the peculiar 
 beauty of his father's character, of which 
 others had only a dim notion. 
 
 Here, and here alone, had his love of
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 239 
 
 excellence, and his nice sense of ^yllat was 
 real excellence, found satisfaction. All 
 others appeared to him but marred or im- 
 perfect sketches of the ideal in his soul ; in 
 his father alone he found it living and ex- 
 isting — a being loving, and to be loved. 
 
 Great had been the happiness of Mr. 
 James in the docility and early promise of 
 his son, and in the pious affection he had 
 ever evinced for him ; but even he, had no 
 idea of the depth — the passion — with which 
 his image lay impressed within that young- 
 man's heart. 
 
 With Gerald, however, as with his mother, 
 pity found no vent in lamentation. To no 
 one was his sorrow confided ; it lay there 
 within his breast a deep, changeless regret — 
 a loss irreparable — a world stripped of its 
 endearments, the glory and excellence of 
 his existence for ever shorn away. His 
 mind, as we have said, was wide and excur- 
 sive ; the ideas of the times in which he lived 
 were unsettled and vague. Much had been 
 cleared away — little at present substituted — 
 a field of endless speculation lay open to his 
 contemplations. He wanted his father —
 
 240 THE PREVISIONS. 
 
 the wide, comprehensive, yet fixed and stable 
 intellect of his father — his sympathy and his 
 assistance. He had hoped so to walk from 
 truth to truth, till his wide, searching soul 
 had arrived at fixed principles and land-marks. 
 Now all this was gone ! He stood alone, 
 the vast horizon stretching to infinity around 
 him ; life, all untried, unknown, before him : 
 and his guide was gone — gone in a moment 
 — vanished — dissolved ; what had been the 
 strongest actuality of his life's life, the most 
 real of all realities to him, was changed ! 
 and nothing remaining but a recollection — 
 a mental — fading image — a dream ! 
 
 There were many, many honest tears shed 
 at Mr. James's simple funeral. Tears were 
 running down cheeks that had seldom 
 known tears before. The robust chest of 
 good Dr. Johns heaved with sobs and groans, 
 as the earth rattled on the coffin of his 
 friend — as the earth yawned to receive into 
 its dark bosom the man he had so loved 
 and honoured. 
 
 Mr. Plowden was crying like a child ; 
 good old Mr. Scribe wiping his aged eyes ; 
 the Doctor's chest heaved like a huge moun-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 241 
 
 tain, with deep heavy sobs ; the whole man 
 — the whole robust iron man, was shaken 
 to the centre. The son stood, dark, calm, 
 composed — the Avife wept silently — good 
 old JNIrs. Harrison cried aloud. 
 
 He was laid in the open churchyard, in a 
 small vault, which his son had ordered to be 
 prepared ; and which should in future con- 
 tain the other individuals of this little family. 
 His firm friend, Mr. Lambert, the good, 
 simple-hearted clergyman, read the solemn, 
 beautiful service for the dead with falter- 
 ing voice. It was a calm day, mourn- 
 ful and still as the last days of autumn 
 are, which talk to us so softly and kindly of 
 decay, change, and death. There was a 
 general silence in the streets ; the little 
 boys and girls who had assembled in the 
 churchyard were hushed by reverend feel- 
 ings, and crept about as if in a sick- 
 room. 
 
 The grave closed, the mourners dispers- 
 ed, the mother and son walked slowly and 
 quietly home ; they found the grandmother 
 dosing in her arm-chair, dressed neatly in 
 her new mourning, with her clean lawn 
 
 VOL. I, M
 
 242 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 cap, and beautiful clear lawn handkerchief 
 pinned with the usual care over it; the 
 good old servant in her black gow^n and 
 white cap, attending upon her. 
 
 In a pious and well-disciplined household 
 there is a sort of calm repose pervading after 
 the last duties to the dead have been per- 
 formed ; the members of the family draw 
 tenderly and affectionately together; and the 
 day, so awfully begun, is usually ended in 
 affectionate and healing communion. 
 
 Mrs. James and her son walked softly 
 into the little parlour. She stepped to the 
 old lady's side and imprinted a reverend and 
 tender kiss upon her pale cheek. And in that 
 kiss how did her secret heart promise in- 
 violable gentleness, unwearied patience, with 
 the waywardness of this precious relic of the 
 departed ! The son follow^ed with a tender 
 kiss ; then she kissed the old servant, and 
 so did he, and then mother and son kissed 
 each other, — and in that kiss — we are all 
 in all to one another now — was expressed; 
 then they went into the beloved garden, and 
 paced silently till dinner-time. 
 
 The Doctor went straight out of the
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 243 
 
 churchyard to his o^^^l door ; took off his 
 hatband and scarf, gave them to the maid, 
 without saying a single word, and then 
 walked away by himself into the fields. 
 
 Dinner-time came — no Doctor ! — Mrs. 
 Johns was forced to sit down to dinner 
 by herself; dinner was put aside for him, 
 as usual, when he was out ; — tea-time the 
 same. About ten o'clock he came in, put 
 his hat down on the hall table, and wiping 
 his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, 
 walked into his parlour. Mrs. Johns was 
 sitting by the fire ; she had not even had 
 the candles lighted. She started up. 
 
 " My dear Dr. Johns ! I have been so 
 stupid — no candles lighted — nothing com- 
 fortable — I really am quite ashamed of my- 
 self — but somehow I am so sad and un- 
 comfortable to-day, that I seem as if I 
 could do nothing but sit moping by the 
 fire — but what will you have ? " 
 
 " Thank you, my dear," said he in a voice 
 very much softer than usual, " nothing in 
 the world — but I am, as you say, very tired 
 — and the best thing I can do is, I believe, 
 to go to bed." 
 
 M 2
 
 244 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " You are cold," said she, " I will fetch 
 the eider-down quilt to lay over your feet." 
 
 *' Do so," said he, and he went to bed. 
 
 Mr. Scribe went home, dosed in his chair 
 all the evening ; and having once glanced 
 over the newspaper, took off his spectacles, 
 sighed — laid both down again upon the table 
 — sighed again — rang for a candle, and went 
 to bed too. 
 
 Mr. Plowden went home, his eyes quite 
 red with crying, looked into his shop as he 
 passed through; scolded one of the appren- 
 tices for having left the drawer with white 
 sugar open to the flies, and then went up 
 to his wife ; settled himself comfortably in 
 his arm-chair, stirred the fire, put on some 
 fresh coals, settled himself again — and then 
 taking out of his pocket a paper of biscuits, 
 such as it was the fashion then to distribute 
 at funerals, laid it on the table, and began — 
 
 " It was a very neat and pretty funeral, 
 and Mr. Lambert read the service remark- 
 ably well — a little too low in some parts, 
 I thought — but really he was himself very 
 much affected. I suppose he will preach a 
 funeral sermon next Sunday, and as there
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 24i5 
 
 is no service at meeting, I shall go — Nay, 
 I think I shall in all probability take a pew 
 there regularly for ourselves, for it is not 
 pleasant to have to thank strangers for a 
 sitting — The poor old meeting-house must 
 now be shut up, for old Scribe will not 
 think it worth while to go to all the ex- 
 pense and trouble he has been at for you 
 and me — and him, and !Mrs. Harrison — And 
 really Lambert has a very rational view 
 of Christianity — Don't you think so, my 
 dear ? " 
 
 " I think, and always did think jMr. Lam- 
 bert a very nice, gentlemanly man" — . . . . 
 
 But iSIrs. Harrison returned in no such 
 peaceful mood. — Irritation and indignation 
 were mino^lino^ with her tears — the tears she 
 would shed ; — for not to cry, and abundantly, 
 at a death, or a funeral, would have been, ac- 
 cording to her ideas, the most unnatural want 
 of decorum. She had cried plentifully, and 
 she now came home prepared to be very much 
 out of humour. She came into her house, 
 went up stairs, took off her new black cloak 
 and bonnet, smoothed the one, dusted and 
 laid by the other ; put on her stiff muslin
 
 246 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 starched cap, and then came down into her 
 parlour, with a " Hum, you Ve there, as usual, 
 no doubt." 
 
 He was there as usual, sitting with her 
 three daughters; on the table before them 
 lay several tracts, but they were not reading 
 but talking; or rather, he was sitting among 
 the girls, leaning back in his chair, his legs 
 stretched out, laying down the law, as one 
 might say. 
 
 " Ay ! very well ! listen away — no doubt 
 Mr. Wilson at his years, knows better than 
 he that 's gone all how and about it — Ay, 
 fine preaching, I '11 be sworn ! — But your 
 Christian charity, forsooth, broke his heart !" 
 
 " Broke his heart, mother ! — What do you 
 mean ? " began the girls at once. 
 
 " Mr. James was too much of a philoso- 
 pher," sneered Wilson, " to break his heart, 
 I should hope, about anything." 
 
 " He was as good a Christian, and better 
 than you, sir, will ever be, with all your fine 
 talk," — retorted the old lady ; ** and he 
 was also a wise, good, sensible man, 
 which you'll, none of you all four, ever be, 
 with all your fine, new-fangled religions;
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 247 
 
 — break his heart was a strong word ; he was 
 too o^ood and too wise to break his heart 
 about such rubbish — But he felt your ways, 
 all you young people, — ay, he felt it, I 
 know he did." 
 
 " I 'm sure," the girls began, " we had a 
 great respect for Mr. James — but the Lord 
 hath commanded : Thou shalt leave father 
 and mother — " 
 
 " And cut off thy right hand, and cast out 
 thy right eye," reiterated Wilson. 
 
 " Don't take Ids name in vain, girls — 
 don't dare take Jiis name in vain, — quot- 
 ing scripture to me, who knew more of 
 it before you were bom, I '11 warrant, than 
 ever you '11 know before you die — with your 
 rubbishing tracts," pushing them indignantly 
 across the table. — " Didn't I see you all — yes, 
 all four of you, cross the street, not ten days 
 ago, to avoid speaking to and meeting the 
 man who christened you — Didn't you af- 
 front him openly at the school — not you 
 alone, but your whole set, by begging he 
 would not come into the room again — tell- 
 ing him he was out- voted ? — Oh, I know your 
 ways ! — However, he 's gone to his Heaven,
 
 248 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 that 's certain — we shall see who '11 go there 
 after him." 
 
 Wilson groaned, and cast down his eyes in 
 a sanctified manner. 
 
 " Well, sir — do you mean to doubt whe- 
 ther that good Christian is gone to his 
 heaven ? " 
 
 " Christian ! " — repeated Wilson. 
 
 Such were the altercations between hard- 
 headed and hot-tempered Mrs. Harrison and 
 her daughters, and future son-in-law. 
 
 Much as she respected JNIr. James, it will 
 be seen how little of his spirit she had im- 
 bibed ; and how little likely she was to be- 
 come a means of counteracting the fanati- 
 cism of her young people. In dissensions 
 like these was her life passed away, till all 
 her three daughters married, and separation 
 gave peace.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN 249 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 One thousand pounds to purchase an an- 
 nuity upon two lives ! Such was the extent 
 of the minister s little savings out of his 
 narrow stipend ; and with his liberal and 
 generous way of thinking, it was astonishing 
 he had been able to save so much. 
 
 In those days, many of the inventions for 
 diminishing the action of chance (if chance 
 be the word), upon human life ; or, to speak 
 more properly, for enlarging the circle and 
 influence of the wisdom and forethought of 
 man upon his own affairs, were as yet un- 
 known. Insurance offices were not esta- 
 blished ; the much more imperfect action of 
 tontines supplied their place. To insure his 
 life (the means now indispensably resorted 
 to by common prudence by every man, 
 in his circumstances, who has not the 
 most selfish disregard to the happiness of 
 others,) w'as not possible ; a little sum re- 
 
 M 5
 
 250 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 maining at the end of each year, had, 
 therefore been added to the hoard in the 
 hands of Mr. Scribe, and the interest there- 
 on allowed to accumulate. Twenty years' 
 persevering frugality had produced one thou- 
 sand pounds — so little money circulated in 
 that small society. 
 
 This thousand pounds, Mr. Scribe informed 
 Gerald, would produce on the two lives an 
 annuity of 70/. a-year ; for Mrs. James was 
 young, not above the age of forty-two or 
 three. On this, however, she would contrive 
 to live, especially as the trustees for the 
 now abandoned chapel, took upon them- 
 selves to offer her the minister's house, rent 
 free ; on condition of keeping the little pre- 
 mises in repair until such time as the con- 
 ofre^ation should be reconstituted, and some 
 new minister appointed. 
 
 Gerald promised himself by dint of his 
 own exertions to add something to this slen- 
 der provision, which, however, in those days, 
 under the admirable skill in domestic eco- 
 nomy possessed by Mrs. James, would be 
 found sufficient to maintain herself, the mo- 
 ther, and their old servant, above want.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 251 
 
 Things were then, not only positively much 
 cheaper than they are now, but so many 
 articles, now deemed indispensable to the 
 most ordinary comfort, were then never 
 thought of, that life Avas much less tram- 
 melled than it is at present, and on much 
 smaller means mankind were content and 
 happy. Still, I do not mean to say that 
 this was any very positive advantage, rather, 
 after all, the reverse. As far as I can re- 
 collect of the simple life I am describing, 
 people were actually not nearly so comfortable 
 as they are now ; the relation between salary 
 and expenses in every circumstance kept 
 much the same relative proportion. jNIen 
 wanted less to make them respectable, and 
 obtain that sort of place and consideration in 
 society which attaches to a certain ease in 
 pecuniary circumstances. Still, they really 
 had less — they had less of all that consti- 
 tutes ease and comfort : their rooms were 
 less roomy and lofty ; their dress less abund- 
 ant and wholesome ; their means of obtain- 
 ing intellectual excitement and variety very 
 much restricted. They were a more hardy 
 race, and actually wanted these things less
 
 252 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 than the more excitable chiklren of our present 
 refinement. But this was not a complete com- 
 pensation — numbers of the sick, the delicate, 
 the sensitive, suffered extremely without 
 complaint, as from inevitable evils ; numbers 
 were victims of nervous disorders in their 
 very worst form, whose descendants altoge- 
 ther, or almost altogether, escape that dread- 
 ful evil ; and the calculation of averages 
 proves indisputably, that life in the mass 
 has been prolonged, and therefore in the 
 mass, that life is happier, at the present 
 time, — for happiness is undoubtedly the ele- 
 ment of life. 
 
 Had Mr. James lived now, without ques- 
 tion his pecuniary compensation would at 
 least have borne an equal, if not superior 
 proportion, to the advance in luxury of the 
 little society in which he lived. A man of 
 his powers, indeed, would at this day have 
 been enabled to provide for his wife more 
 plentifully, and for his son too, in some 
 degree. 
 
 However, so it was then ; and Gerald, two 
 days after his father's funeral, wrote to the 
 head of the Academy in which he had re-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 253 
 
 ceived bis education, to propose himself as a 
 tutor. The answer was unsatisfactory. The 
 Academy was at present provided, and many 
 other young men, with claims equal to his 
 own, were on the head-master's list ; he 
 feared it might be a year or two before he 
 should have any place to oifer to Gerald, 
 equal to his talents and merits. 
 
 It was a narrow field of action opened to 
 Gerald, by the confined little sect of which 
 he made a part. The failure of one single 
 scheme seemed to check at once all hopes, 
 not only of independence and advancement, 
 but even of bread. 
 
 He sat by the fire, his head leaning upon 
 his hand, reflecting upon the strange, desti- 
 tute helplessness of his situation : he, a 
 young man of unquestioned powers, healthy 
 both in body and mind, desirous to labour 
 usefully in any field, and finding none ! To 
 return to the ministry was impossible to him. 
 We have said that he had returned from 
 the Academy with somewhat loose notions 
 upon the subject of ministerial duties. But 
 a few weeks spent with his father, and passed 
 communion with that clear, sincere, upright.
 
 254 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 and sterling mind, had sufficed to renew his 
 better self— and to preach to others that, on 
 which he himself was a questioner and a 
 doubter — would now have been to him as 
 impossible as it would have been to JNIr. 
 James. 
 
 He thought of medicine — of the useful 
 and respectable career of Dr. Johns — but 
 the education necessary to take the higher 
 branches of that profession, at his time of day, 
 held in very high consideration — rendered 
 it quite beyond him ; and as for the inferior 
 walks, they were then far below the present 
 place they hold in society — and it was as im- 
 possible for a man like Gerald to stand 
 behind a counter parcelling drugs with the 
 most vulgar and ignorant of men — as it would 
 have been for him to sweep the streets. 
 
 There are characters that cannot descend — 
 they must rise. It is as impossible to repress 
 the mounting gas, that springs upwards above 
 the baser material elements, as to bind down 
 those aspiring spirits on whom nature has 
 bestowed powers that will and must strug- 
 gle to attain their true level. 
 
 He sat by the fire gazing listlessly into the
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 255 
 
 red cinders, tracing now a castle, now a fur- 
 nace, now a fiery salamander's cave, now a 
 bright and yawning abyss in the glowing ele- 
 ment — in that exhaustion of the faculties 
 which follows deep, painful, and fruitless ru- 
 mination — when his mother came in. 
 
 She sat down by him in the dim twilight, 
 and took his hand. 
 
 " Well, my dear Gerald, what have you 
 resolved upon?" 
 
 " Upon nothing, mother — I see no possible 
 course before me — I am lost in perplexity. 
 It seems as if I were barred in within a 
 magic circle of impossibilities — Wherever 
 I attempt to break forth, some insurmount- 
 able obstacle bars my way — It is a very 
 singular concomitance of circumstances that 
 makes it impossible for a youth of my age 
 to obtain his daily bread ! "" 
 
 " Have you very well reflected upon these 
 things, Gerald?" said she, after a pause ; — 
 " Let us review these circumstances — Let us 
 walk round this magic circle of which you 
 speak, and try whether there be indeed no 
 point at which the impenetrable wall, as you 
 consider it, may be broken. The IVIinistry — "
 
 ^o6 THE TREVISIONS 
 
 "I have already explained it to you, my dear 
 mother — that I can 7iot undertake — I do not 
 think mine is an overscrupulous nature, per- 
 haps, for my father's son^ I am not sufficiently 
 absolute in my ideas upon the imperative ne- 
 cessity of an undeviating simplicity — * Thou 
 requirest truth in the inward parts.' — Shall 
 you — can I — ever forget the masterly dis- 
 course he gave us upon that subject, the very 
 first Sunday after my return from the 
 Academy ?" — 
 
 He went on. " There is a discursive way 
 of talking there — a sort of casuistical habit 
 of trying the limitations of every question, 
 by the standard of utility and expediency, 
 that had a good deal perplexed my mind — I 
 don't say does not yet perplex it — but my 
 father's discourse upon sincerity, at least, 
 settled my principles upon that subject — I 
 never will — under any vain pretence of utility 
 or expediency, belie the convictions of my 
 own mind — Upon those peculiar views of a 
 most wide and far-stretching subject, which 
 my father entertained, I have not been able 
 to come at convictions so decided as his. I 
 cannot teach to others that which I am
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 257 
 
 secretly questioning myself — convinced 
 though I am of the utility of such views. JNIo- 
 ther, on this matter I will be upright and sin- 
 cere — If I cannot be like my father, yet will I, 
 where I can, walk uncompromisingly in his 
 footsteps — and, as the first step, the ministry 
 is closed to me/* 
 
 " Literature ?" said the mother. 
 
 " Alas ! my mother ! What a broken reed 
 is that ! — What a cruel dependence does it 
 imply upon a patron — Without a patron, what 
 is to be done there ; and luith a patron, 
 what a feeble, futile avocation ! Excellent 
 slaves, but bad masters, say they of the ele- 
 ments — so say I, in another form, of the 
 cultivation of our higher faculties — divine as 
 ends, cursed as means — excellent as the aim 
 of being — wretched, as daily bread — No, 
 mother! the time may come, when these 
 things may be different — but a garret, a tat- 
 tered garment, and the JNIuse, now live in in- 
 separable association — Something, however, 
 in this way, I may attempt and succeed in ; but 
 it will not do as the expedient of the present 
 moment." 
 
 " Law?"
 
 258 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Alas ! my mother ! again — years and 
 years too late — For a Templar s education, I 
 have not — and never had the means — Even as 
 clerk to a pettifogging attorney in a little 
 town ; it is too late — and, besides, my en- 
 trance into the ministry — " 
 
 " Fatal error !" whispered the mother's 
 heart, but she said nothing. 
 
 "Trade?" 
 
 " Dearest mother ! the same reply to that, 
 and to all ! In short, Othello's occupation 
 is gone, and I really do not know what 
 upon earth to do," said he, with a bitter 
 sigh. 
 
 The mother paused ; again ruminated long 
 and deeply ; at length she lifted up her head 
 and spoke. 
 
 " Then, I think the time is come to pro- 
 pose that, which nothing but absolute neces- 
 sity should ever have led me to mention 
 — You remember Lady Evelyn." 
 
 * Remember her !" said Gerald, "Remem- 
 ber her ! — I shall never, never, never forget 
 her, — She still fills my memory, the sweetest 
 thing that I have ever known, — Remember 
 her, mother!"
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 259 
 
 " She loved you, Gerald — she expected 
 great things from you !" 
 
 " Then I am glad she is not here to be so 
 miserably disappointed." 
 
 " Nay, she would not have been disap- 
 pointed — She never could bear the idea of 
 your entering into the ministry." 
 
 " She could not?" repeated he, visibly 
 brio'htenino^. 
 
 " She thought you promised to be worthy 
 of better things !" 
 
 " Had I been worthy to succeed my fa- 
 ther, I had indeed sought no better thing of 
 which to be worthy — She could not think 
 otherwise than that." 
 
 " She always lamented the position of 
 your father; her previsions were just." 
 
 " But my father—" 
 
 " He did not think with her — and in re- 
 verence and respect for his judgment, I 
 never have mentioned the subject to you — 
 but now it seems as if I were forced into it. 
 Lady Evelyn, before she died, talked with me 
 very much upon this, in which both our 
 hearts were deeply interested. She wished 
 you to be launched at once into a more im-
 
 260 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 portant career; and though, in deference to 
 your father's opinion, we both waived the 
 matter for that time, she left to me the 
 means of accomplishing her wishes, if ever 
 circumstances should so far change as to make 
 those wishes and your father s judgment one. 
 I think that time is come — I believe if your 
 father were now here, he would agree with 
 me, that the only thing left for you to do is, 
 to make use of this letter of the Lady 
 Evelyn." 
 
 She gave it to him. He took it, kissed 
 it, and holding it to the embers, by the 
 faint light spelled out " To the Earl of 
 Glenmore." " To the Earl of Glenmore ! " re- 
 peated he. 
 
 " Her brother — " 
 
 " Her brother he may be — but what is 
 the Earl of Glenmore to us?" 
 
 " She told me that she had on that last 
 evening which they passed together, spoken 
 unreservedly to him — that she had obtained 
 from him a solemn promise, that if applied 
 to by me, he would forward her views for 
 you — not by a common every-day patronage, 
 but by using his efforts as if you had been
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 261 
 
 his own son, to launch you into some career 
 where your abilities would have full scope 
 for their exercise — where, if you really 
 proved to be — that which she believed you to 
 be — you might live to serve your race far 
 more eminently than in the narrow circle of 
 this little congregation." 
 
 " And did my father not approve of 
 this ?" — said the young man, his eye brighten- 
 ing and a glow of enthusiasm mounting to 
 his face ; — *' Could my father disapprove of 
 such a career, and for such an object?" 
 
 " You know his opinions — On this point 
 alone. Lady Evelyn and he differed ; on this 
 point, alone, he and I differed — on this point, 
 alone, you and he w^ould probably have dif- 
 fered — I intended to have introduced the 
 subject once more in consequence of your 
 last conversation with him, that you might 
 yourself have had the benefit of comparing 
 his ideas with your own — That advantage 
 has been denied to us ; we must now — I am 
 sure that is what he would have approved 
 of — we must now act as appears best to our 
 own understandings, without a superstitious 
 regard for opinions, which probably, would
 
 262 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 altogether have changed in the position in 
 which we stand." 
 
 " I think with you, that what my father 
 would most approve in me now — would be a 
 manly determination to act for myself, ac- 
 cording to the best estimate I can form of 
 the circumstances." 
 
 " Then you will deliver this letter to Lord 
 Glenmore?" 
 
 " Pardon me, mother, I will consider 
 about it — I will take a night for reflection. 
 It is a great deviation from my father's prin- 
 ciples of action — Independence was written 
 on his banner. Shall I begin my course by 
 inscribing dependence upon mine?" 
 
 " Dependence, child ? — Is that what Lady 
 Evelyn promised you ? — Dependence !"" pur- 
 sued she, " and what is this boasted inde- 
 pendence? It has left you without the means 
 of gaining your bread — but, my child, to 
 profit by the generous assistance of a grate- 
 ful heart ; for this is, after all, an affair of 
 gratitude, son, must not be styled depend- 
 ence — Lady Evelyn justly estimated the 
 almost inappreciable advantages she had 
 derived from the father : she wished to
 
 OF LADY EVELYN, 263 
 
 repay them, where she alone could best repay 
 them, to the son. She offered you no place, 
 no pension — she wished you not to eat the 
 bread of idleness ; she would not affront 
 either the father or the son by such a pro- 
 posal — She offered to unlock the gate for 
 you, to launch you into the great career. 
 Once there — she intended, and she believed 
 that you should suffice to yourself — She 
 was no weak over-indulgent friend, the 
 Lady Evelyn !" 
 
 The young man made no answer, but his 
 very form seemed to dilate as his mother 
 spoke ; dignity seemed already seated on his 
 brow, and command spoke in his large dark 
 eye; it was the enthusiasm of the moment. 
 Then calm reason resumed her sway; and 
 he said, quietly, " Well, dearest mother, 
 give me one night of reflection." He 
 kissed her, got up from his seat, and left 
 the room.
 
 264 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "And why should I hesitate? Why? Why 
 am I, alone, to reject what every other 
 young man in my situation would embrace 
 with rapture — The occasion to step from 
 a poor miserable obscurity, to distinction, 
 usefulness, and honour — for I need not be 
 a hypocrite in my own heart. — I do hope, 
 and I do think, if the opportunity were once 
 offered to me, I could achieve something 
 — There is that stirring within me, that tells 
 me I was born to mark my path in some 
 manner or other ; and not to rise and fall, 
 glitter and subside, like a bubble upon the 
 vast stream, which is sweeping us forward to 
 eternity. 
 
 " An honest ambition ! — And why am I to 
 be debarred from the enjoyment of an honest 
 ambition ? — And why am I to refuse to myself 
 the means of exertion and the fruits of exer-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 265 
 
 tion ? — Why, indeed? Would my father have 
 counselled such a weak, unnatural part? 
 Certainly not — He loved spirit, energy, en- 
 terprise, as well as any man ; he was the 
 last person in the world to counsel a young 
 man to a sort of indolent, philosophical in- 
 difference. 
 
 " He loved all that was natural and whole- 
 some in the human mind ; and, above all, 
 he loved, that the man should shew himself 
 by action. — Action, said he, when we read 
 together of the great orator, and his re- 
 ply, action, again — action, again — action, 
 Action, my son, is to the life of man more 
 than its image signified to the orator — the 
 result, the aim, the end of all the rest — 
 wise, useful, energetic action ! Let us, 
 above all things, do something. 
 
 " Tanto buon che val niente. Too good 
 to be worth anything ! that was never my 
 father — He was the most indefatio^able la- 
 bourer in existence. — Then, why, let me ask 
 myself the question, candidly and honestly, 
 why did he differ so much from my mother 
 and Lady Evelyn, as to accepting the good 
 services of Lord Glenmore ? He was a man 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 of experience — a wise, observing man, my fa- 
 ther ; what had he seen of the evils of depen- 
 dence, which gave him almost a superstitious 
 horror of it ? 
 
 " Oh that I could have talked of this matter 
 with him — dear mother, you did surely WTong 
 to delay for a day the important communi- 
 cation. If he could have known this heart, 
 how it plants for emancipation, pants to spring 
 forward into the great world of living men, 
 to know myself and them; to leave this 
 peaceful corner, and to struggle and con- 
 quer in the great arena — ' That is thy voca- 
 tion, my son,' he would surely have said ; 
 ' go forward, and wrestle bravely/ 
 
 " It is impossible to resist the impulse ; 
 as impossible, this impulse once given, 
 to return to what I was even this morning, 
 as to become a child again. — For better or 
 for worse. Fate, I accept thy call. 
 
 It will be seen that there was a sort of 
 vague, unreasoned expectation in all this, 
 an enthusiasm that will be hardly thought 
 worthy of Gerald's understanding ; but it 
 must be remembered, that he was a very 
 young man, had seen the world under only
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 267 
 
 one of its many aspects, and that a very 
 narrow one ; that he had great abilities, 
 strong passions, and that he absolutely 
 panted, as he said, to stretch forward and 
 strain his faculties in the unkno^vn race. 
 
 What that race, exactly, was to be, he 
 did not even ask himself; he knew too little 
 of things, to have in the least defined what 
 he thought Lord Glenmore was to do for 
 him ; but he remembered Lady Evelyn ; she 
 seemed to him like a descended inhabitant 
 of quite a different world from that in which 
 he existed — where faculties were more emi- 
 nent, sentiments more refined, and actions 
 far more dignified and noble, than in his 
 own. To live and exert his energies in such 
 a world was his ambition ; how or where, 
 he as yet knew not — that must depend upon 
 Lord Glenmore. 
 
 He signified cheerfully to his mother the 
 next morning his acquiescence in her view 
 of the subject, and his determination to ad- 
 dress himself to Lord Glenmore, who was 
 expected, in a week's time, to come down 
 to his country seat, about sixteen miles 
 from Brough. 
 
 N 2
 
 268 THE TREVISIONS 
 
 The mother and son spent after this se- 
 veral days very comfortably; the future 
 Mas dressed in those gay colours, which the 
 future so often puts on, while all is anticipa- 
 tion, and we have not as yet begun to determine 
 upon the measures we are to take, in order 
 to accomplish our purposes. It is then, that 
 the imperfection, which — as Hooker remarks, 
 clings to every form and circumstance be- 
 longing to humanity, first makes itself felt 
 — and the actual, with all its drawbacks, 
 takes place of the enchanting ideal. Gerald 
 mentioned his plans to Dr. Johns, the 
 only man in the circle of Brough, on 
 whose understanding he could place the 
 slightest reliance ; the Doctor pondered a 
 little, but, after brief reflection, told Gerald 
 that he had decided wisely; and advised him 
 to ask his mother to write to Lord Glenmore, 
 and request permission for her son to call, 
 and present, in person, the letter of Lady 
 Evelyn. 
 
 This was accordingly done, a letter was 
 dispatched, and in due time answered.
 
 of lady evelyn. 269 
 
 " Dear Madam, 
 
 " I shall be happy to see your son, and to 
 receive from his hands my poor sister's letter. 
 I pretty well guess at the contents, having a 
 recollection of something passing upon the 
 subject the last sad visit I paid to that de- 
 parted excellence. I am usually at leisure 
 to receive applications from twelve to two, 
 A.M. every day but Thursdays and Saturdays — 
 but I hope to see your son on so special an 
 occasion, when more at leisure ; I will name 
 one o'clock on Thursday morning, the 25th. 
 " I have the honour to be, 
 
 " Madam, your obedient servant, 
 
 " Glenmore." 
 
 Gerald tossed the letter upon the table, 
 and felt thus early what his father meant 
 by dependence and independence — He was 
 tempted here to terminate all doings with 
 the great man ; but he felt thus early 
 another disagreeable truth — that it is not 
 allowed to us to alter a pre-determined 
 course at the first disgust we receive ; and 
 that, having chosen our path, we cannot 
 recede exactly when we will. Unpleasant as
 
 270 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 this letter was to his feelings, there was no- 
 thing in it at which he could justly take 
 offence ; and having declared himself the de- 
 positor of a letter of Lady Evelyn's, address- 
 ed to her brother — to withhold it was im- 
 possible — and to refuse to deliver it in per- 
 son when an appointment had been made 
 for that express purpose, because, forsooth, 
 the appointment was not exactly conveyed 
 in terms to suit his taste, he felt would be 
 unmanly and ridiculous. 
 
 Go he must — but it was with the secret 
 determination to accept nothing that Lord 
 Glenmore should offer, unless, indeed, Lord 
 Glenmore should prove a very different per- 
 son from what he had reason to anticipate. 
 But how to go — On horseback, evidently ; 
 he must borrow a horse; Mr. Scribe had 
 one, and Mr. Scribe would perhaps lend it ; 
 To Mr. Scribe he went. 
 
 " Well, my dear young fellow, you are 
 heartily welcome to that," said the good old 
 man, and to anything else I can offer — Your 
 father's son will never have a boon refused 
 by me — But I would rather it were to carry 
 you anywhere than to Glenmore Court. I
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 271 
 
 am an old fellow, and I come of an old, 
 sound root. — My forefathers never much 
 liked courts, or them things — we liked a man 
 to stand on his own foundation — belike mat- 
 ters are altered now — it's a new-fangled 
 world." 
 
 " And besides, sir, in all worlds, men must 
 maintain themselves, and their widowed mo- 
 thers too," said Gerald. 
 
 " Ay, ay; but why dost thou not go into the 
 ministry, young man? — Thy father thought 
 it a profession good enough for him — what 
 ails it that it is not good enough for thee ? " 
 
 " I wonder, sir, after what I saw of the 
 last year of my father s life — ". . . . 
 
 " Ay, ay, — true, true, it 's natural — But 
 I 'd rather lend thee Sampson on any other 
 errand, howsoever." 
 
 Sampson was a large, and solid, and very 
 steady animal, upon which good Mr. Scribe 
 was wont to ride ; his port well suited the 
 square figure of the good old man, but Ge- 
 rald's slight and elegant form looked ill- 
 adapted with his round, substantial steed — 
 there was something incongruous to the in- 
 experienced but sharp eyes of Mrs. James.
 
 272 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 She had dressed her son Avith extraordi- 
 nary care, in a riding dress, which, slender 
 as was her purse, she had ordered for this 
 especial occasion ; for in those days men 
 could not ride on horseback in their house- 
 hold suits. 
 
 He looked so handsome when he came 
 down to breakfast that she was prouder of 
 him than ever, and felt sure no better recom- 
 mendation than his appearance was wanting 
 to render him acceptable to all the world. — 
 
 They had just done breakfast when a lit- 
 tle incident occurred, which changed the 
 whole current of Gerald's thoughts and de- 
 terminations, and decided, probably, upon the 
 course of his whole future existence. 
 
 He w^as in his little bed-room, the window 
 of which was open, and as the room was 
 exactly over the parlour, the window of 
 which was likewise open — Gerald, without 
 intending it, shared in a confidence that to 
 him was as sad as unexpected. 
 
 " Well, Goody, and what do you w^ant 
 with me ? " 
 
 It was Mrs. Harrison's voice, coming in, 
 as if in haste.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 273 
 
 " My dear iNIrs. Harrison,'' his mother be- 
 gan, in a hurried, agitated voice ; " Gerald 
 is gone to Mr. Scribe's to fetch the horse, 
 and he will be back in a moment — forgive 
 me, I am very much hurried — but here is a 
 bill, just this moment sent in, and the man 
 says he waits to be paid — I have been 
 foolish, perhaps, to order this riding dress ; 
 but how could he ride without one — and six- 
 teen miles on foot ! and then to present him- 
 self — but the money I have not. I shall 
 receive the first quarter of ,my annuity, next 
 iNlonday but one ; Mr. Scribe has engaged to 
 pay it for me, the first year, a little in ad- 
 vance — but I have only just enough to get 
 on till then — He has been so kind to me, 
 I could not go to him — Can you — will you, 
 lend an old friend the money ? It is a large 
 sum, 71. but my distress is great." 
 
 " Don't distress yourself about the matter, 
 Goody — the money is yours for as long as you 
 like to use it — But your annuity in advance ! 
 that 's a bad beginning — I hope Gerald \\\\\ 
 do something, or you will be in debt directly, 
 and be starved at last." 
 
 " I am sure he will not be long upon my
 
 274 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 hands ; he has too much goodness and spirit 
 for that, never fear him, dear Mrs. Harrison — 
 but just at this moment I am particularly 
 anxious to hide this from him — lest it should 
 influence him more than my comfort ought, 
 in a most important decision.'* 
 
 " Well, well, gossip, you must not spoil 
 him — My fine young gentleman must come 
 down upon his marrow-bones, sooner or 
 later, and condescend to get his bread like 
 other people. — However, I am not going 
 to preach to you^ who are so much cleverer 
 and better than I am — and those who live 
 in glass-houses should not throw stones ; when 
 1 can shew you a well-ordered, obedient, 
 rational household, it will be time enough 
 to go tutoring you about your way of man- 
 aging one of the sweetest lads I ever set 
 my eyes on. — So here's your money, and 
 God bless that, and everything, to you for the 
 sake of him that's here — and still more for 
 the sake of him that's gone." 
 
 Gerald heard no more ; he stole softly 
 down the stairs through the open door, and 
 was back again — mounted upon Sampson, 
 before his mother had dismissed her dun.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 275 
 
 She was in the kitchen paying the money 
 as he rode up the little entry, and presented 
 himself before the window. 
 
 " Farewell, mother — God speed me ! " 
 said he. 
 
 " Farewell, my son," running out ; " here, 
 give me your hat : and here is the least bit 
 of white on your coat-sleeve " — There stand 
 still old Sampson! — "Why, Gerald, you ride 
 so like a gentleman, it is a pity you have 
 not a prettier horse to ride.'^ 
 
 " Never mind that, dear mother ; he'll 
 carry me bravely to my journey's end — De- 
 pend upon it I shall find something there to 
 repay us for all the trouble you have taken. 
 God bless you, mother ; I shall be back late 
 — don't sit up for me — I must not tire 
 old Sampson." 
 
 He turned his horse, and rode down the 
 little entrv. What he had overheard had 
 shocked him much, but, strange to say, 
 it had relieved him — it had relieved his 
 heart from a load of uncertainty, his nerves 
 from all sorts of shy, disagreeable feeling ; 
 there was no alternative — nothing else to 
 be done : his mother must be relieved.
 
 276 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 and whatever Lord Glenmore proposed, ac- 
 ceded to. 
 
 He rode through the town, and then 
 over the fine fresh open common, command- 
 ing a cheerful view of the neighbouring 
 county, and covered with furze bushes in 
 golden flower, and little black-nosed nibbling 
 sheep. The wind blew fresh and rousingly 
 in his face, stirring the young blood within 
 him ; he longed to strain forward upon a 
 fresh and active steed, to fly over the ex- 
 panse, to measure his force and courage 
 against the force and courage of the animal 
 he bestrode ; once or twice he bent forward 
 to the breeze in the attitude of one who 
 urges forward his bold and spirited horse, 
 and bows himself to the energetic career — 
 Alas ! poor fellow, Sampson, as sturdy and 
 steady as a chancellor, continued his round, 
 regular, trot swinging his rider up and down 
 as if he were mounted on a churn-stafl*, 
 indifferent to the urging heel — which was 
 applied insensibly by Gerald — who, however, 
 soon recalled to himself, sighed a boyish 
 sigh, and, settling himself to the tradesman's 
 pace, jogged on as Sampson willed it.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 277 
 
 The common traversed, he entered a deep, 
 sandy, shady lane, overarched by trees ; the 
 rich golden green of the oak spreading trans- 
 parently to the sun ; the stitchwort and 
 lychnis peeping among the bushes — a little 
 dimpling brook murmuring softly by the 
 side of the way. He would fain have here 
 walked and refreshed himself by quiet mu- 
 sing in this pretty glady lane ; — but no mat- 
 ter, Sampson could not walk ; good ]Mr. 
 Scribe's round trot continued ; it was all 
 one to the worthy beast, he never walked 
 except up and down hill — on all level ground 
 he knew and practised no pace but his trot. 
 
 At last, they had to ascend the steep hills 
 which belonged to the coal and iron district, 
 or rather, to skirt one projecting branch of 
 the hill country, which separated the plain, 
 in which lay Brough, from the rich cham- 
 paign in which Glenmore Court was situ- 
 ated. He ascended slowly to the top of the 
 hill; then entered a hollow way, which carried 
 him to the other side of the cop, and suddenly 
 displayed to his view, spread as a picture 
 under his feet, one of the most enchanting 
 scenes in England. A rich Claude Lorraine
 
 278 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 landscape, under a steaming softness, rising 
 to the midday sun, the hills softly breaking 
 down and skirting the nether side ; while 
 blue mountains terminated the distance — 
 where wood behind wood, glade behind 
 glade, rich pasture, towers of churches, 
 smoke of distant towns, all mingled in rich 
 confusion, lay before him. About five miles 
 further — forming, as it were, a centre to this 
 glorious landscape — the white extended front 
 of Glenmore Court might be seen ; seated 
 on an eminence, the rich lawns gently de- 
 scending from it, and backed by a deep 
 amphitheatre of tufted woods. A broad 
 river, or rather meandering lake, lay at the 
 foot of the hill ; and on all sides, as I have 
 said, the magnificent landscape spread its 
 varied treasures around, till wood, and tower, 
 pasture and corn-field, melted into one sweet 
 tone of blue distance. 
 
 Here he checked Sampson, and perforce 
 the indefatigable animal must stop. — There 
 he sat gazing long and earnestly ; there was 
 one burst of delighted admiration, and then 
 he ruminated long upon the exciting picture 
 spread before him. It was as the type of
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 279 
 
 that new world on which he was entering, — 
 magnificence ! affluence ! a world of wealth 
 and beauty ! That lordly mansion was to 
 receive him perhaps as its future inmate. 
 He had crossed the Rubicon ; behind him lay 
 Brouofh — its homeliness and its meanness 
 — and its ugly, and unpleasing commu- 
 nity, its gross and distasteful life — before 
 him lay the world, the real actual world, in 
 which he was now to take a part — The 
 world of the great, the lordly, the beautiful, 
 the refined — the world of Lady Evelyn — the 
 proper world of his long exiled father — but he 
 was not to be exiled, it was to be his world. 
 He now urged Sampson forward, who, 
 with a caution worthy of his character, 
 began to descend slowly the steep declivity. 
 Such a descent ! — One of the most wonderful 
 things, of our incomprehensible race, is their 
 infatuation, for 1760 years, in the apparently 
 simple art of road-making. Less than a cen- 
 tury ago, and what roads there were still in 
 England ! Deep narrow lanes, buried between 
 high banks, where the rain ran down like a 
 water-course, sweeping the materials away 
 faster than they could be accumulated ;
 
 280 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 while the more important roads were carried, 
 with scarcely turn or deviation, right up the 
 precipitous faces of the hills. Travelling in a 
 post-chaise was then, indeed, a service of dif- 
 ficulty and danger. Painfully and slowly toiled 
 the wearied steeds up the steep ascent, the 
 postilion walking, whistling by the side, 
 plucking the wild flowers and putting them 
 in his mouth to beguile the way ; the pas- 
 sengers, if they were humane, walking too, 
 — not sorry to stretch their limbs ; perhaps, 
 cramped five together in a little chaise, or 
 chariot at the best ; for only great folks had 
 the heavy, expensive, roomy coach, which 
 required four horses, and desired six. Then 
 came the descent on the other side, the shud- 
 dering, frightened women and children with- 
 in, looking with terror on the limbs of the 
 poor sliding, staggering horses, their carriage 
 hanging over the poor creatures' very backs. 
 How people did get up and down, is marvel- 
 lous; to be sure, adventures were for ever 
 happening. — Horses refused to pull, and lives 
 were saved at the moment, by the happy in- 
 tervention of some chance traveller on horse- 
 back ; or horses refused to go steadily, and
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 281 
 
 whirled the carriage with frightful rapidity 
 to the very brink of a precipice — for in these 
 days it was quite a rare precaution to guard 
 a precipice on the side of one of those steep 
 descents by a wall or hedge. All these ad- 
 ventures made life animated, and certainly 
 were more romantic and not quite so terrible, 
 as the smash of a whole train of second class 
 carriages, behind their snorting, roaring 
 smoking propellator. 
 
 Sweet scenes of my childish fancy ! Let an 
 old man be indulged with a desultory wan- 
 dering. Return we to those romantic hours 
 when nature lay so near the human heart 
 and life in all its ways — when a journey was 
 a wandering pilgrimage, when we sometimes 
 walked, sometimes were carried, between 
 tangled, rough hedges, covering the waste 
 breadth of half a furlong, a straggling wilder- 
 ness of wild flowers ; or over bare uninclosed 
 heaths, full of dreamy horror, where the black 
 gibbet told a tale that sent the shivering 
 blood back to the childish heart; or sometimes 
 suddenly startled by the clamour of the dark 
 wily gipsy, whose fire, and kettle, and dogs, 
 and paniers, and asses, and half-robed child-
 
 282 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 ren reposing in the warm sun — told of man in 
 his primeval state. Nor can we forget the 
 sweet common with purple thyme, and yellow 
 cistus, and black, round, little, unprofitable 
 sheep ; nor the fields all covered with purple 
 orchis, and buttercups, and strawberries, and 
 other unagricultural charmers. How we walk- 
 ed over the rutty bad road, and then got in 
 again, and then walked again; sometimes 
 terrified at the deep heavy sand, sometimes 
 trotting merrily away over the hard rattling 
 pavement, which made our young bones 
 shake till we laughed again, while Andrew — 
 old, long, lanky Andrew, on horseback, fol- 
 lowed as best he might. Everybody then 
 was attended by a servant on horseback, and 
 the driver rode on the horses, so that one 
 saw everything well ; vile dickeys were un- 
 known — some great ones, it was ti*ue, had 
 the dignity of a hammer-cloth, and they saw 
 as little as their fortunate descendants — The 
 dignity of a hammer-cloth shuts out the face 
 of nature, in more things than a chaise. 
 
 Then the huge London waggon slowly clam- 
 bering over the heights, exercised a great in- 
 fluence over my childish fancy — that team of
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 283 
 
 eight or ten majestic horses, slow and pon- 
 derous as so many elephants, gravely tread- 
 ing in measured pace the dusty way — the vast 
 towering edifice behind piled and packed in 
 such strange mystery — the open curtain 
 displaying the heaped straw in which, 
 perched on high, some travelling soldier's 
 ^vife, with her little babies nestled, and 
 peeped out. Where hast thou been, oh 
 patient waggoner, slowly following over hill 
 and dale thy pacing team? what strange 
 wonders hast thou known and seen, oh grave, 
 and steady, and reflecting man ! But let 
 those who loved that world as it was then, 
 go to Bewick's vignettes, in his earliest publi- 
 cations, and find it preserved with a never- 
 dying truth. 
 
 Sampson descended the hill, resumed his 
 trot, and soon brought his rider to the entree 
 of the Park — A splendid entree, — a sort of 
 castellated archway, lofty and imposing, with 
 iron gates below, through which the lawns 
 and woods might be seen, clustered with 
 groups of reposing deer, and stretching as 
 far as the eye could reach. 
 
 The gate was flung open with a loud jar-
 
 284 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 ring noise by the porter at the lodge. But the 
 equanimity of Sampson was not to be dis- 
 turbed — on he trotted through all this gran- 
 deur, with undeviating composure ; he might 
 have been the apothecary's horse, he kept 
 his pace so perseveringly. Jog he might, for 
 even his jog could not now bring down the 
 imagination of Gerald — His heart was swelling ; 
 he was as it were in his own element — this 
 was his proper world — this was the world in 
 which his feelings, fettered by more sordid 
 circumstances, could now expand — his bosom 
 dilated, he breathed more freely ; at last he 
 arrived at the head of the avenue, and pulled 
 at the bell. 
 
 Such a clang ! it was as if he had pulled 
 some vast cathedral bell ! — Servants in rich 
 liveries from all sorts of outlets came forth at 
 the summons. They looked rather surprised 
 when they saw a young man on an old horse, 
 utterly unattended, sitting at the grand en- 
 trance ; and most of them as suddenly disap- 
 peared as they had burst into day, without 
 taking further notice : but a grave gentle- 
 man, who appeared at the door of the great 
 hall, beckoned to an understrapper with his
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 285 
 
 finger, and told him to tell the young man he 
 had better go round to the back front — and 
 to shew him the wav. 
 
 Gerald made no answer to this annuncia- 
 tion, and the servant, taking hold of Samp- 
 son's bridle, led the docile beast a circuit of 
 gravel-road of about a quarter of a mile, 
 through various shrubberies and plantations, 
 till they arrived at an arched door, which 
 opened into a large flagged court, surrounded 
 by the offices — seeming like so many royal 
 palaces. 
 
 " What does the young man want?" said 
 a lad, a sort of under footman, in an undress 
 livery. *' The butler, Mr. Wenlock, or per- 
 haps, the steward, Mr. Bingham — that's the 
 steward's room, sir," added he — in deference 
 to Gerald's new riding-dress. 
 
 " I am here by appointment, to wait upon 
 Lord Glenmore, at one o'clock," said Ge- 
 rald, looking at the large clock face which 
 ornamented the centre of one side of the 
 quadrangle. " It is just upon the stroke of 
 one. — Will you please to tell me who is to 
 introduce me to his Lordship? — I ought to 
 be punctual."
 
 286 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Mr. Richard," cried the boy, to a servant 
 who stood at one of the numerous doors, 
 " here's a young man says he has an appoint- 
 ment with my Lord." 
 
 "Are you very sure, young man?" — said 
 Mr. Richard ; now descending in white silk 
 stockings, powdered toupee and bag. " Are 
 you very sure, my young man, that there is no 
 mistake ? — With my Lord, himself ? — I can 
 hardly think it ; you should have gone to the 
 other door." 
 
 " I have been at the other door, and could 
 not get admitted." 
 
 " If he means the grand entrance !" quoth 
 the understrapper, "he rode straight up 
 there, and rang the bell — he ! he ! he ! and 
 then he sat as fine as fivepence, expecting to 
 be introduced like the Duke himself, I wis." 
 
 " Not that door, young man" — said Mr. 
 Richard, with the most condescending polite- 
 ness, for he was too well bred to laugh at 
 this rustic ignorance. — " My Lord has his 
 own private door, to his own private apart- 
 ments — where he admits gentlemen philoso- 
 phers, and such like, as he honours with his 
 countenance, and — "
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 287 
 
 "Will you do me the favour, sir," then 
 said Gerald, somewhat haughtily, " to tell me 
 where the door to Lord Glenmore's private 
 apartments is to be found. — My appointment 
 is for one o'clock, I have been kept waiting 
 till Lord Glenmore's hour will be past, and 
 I shall keep him waiting." 
 
 " Keep him waiting ! " — retorted the foot- 
 man, with an insolent laugh ; " oh ! make 
 yourself quite easy, young man." — He w^on't 
 be kept waiting by such as you, signified the 
 accompanying sneer; for his good-breeding 
 had yielded to ill-humour at being addressed 
 with something like authority, by a young 
 man without a servant. 
 
 Gerald turned away, and, addressing the 
 understrapper, " My lad," said he, " shew me 
 the way to the private door directly, and I 
 will give you half-a-crown." 
 
 ]\Ir. Richard pricked up his ears when he 
 heard money stirring, and came forward. 
 " I do assure you, sir — ". . . . 
 
 "This way, is it ?" said Gerald to the un- 
 derstrapper. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the other ; " but you 
 had better get down from your horse here —
 
 288 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Will, hold the gentleman's horse,'* with an 
 air of authority to a little sweeper, who was 
 sweeping the court, " an' he'll give you six- 
 pence — eh ! sir." 
 
 " Yes," said Gerald, and getting off his 
 horse, which was consigned to the child to 
 walk round to the stable gate, he followed 
 his guide through more shrubberies, till they 
 came to a flight of steps leading to another 
 door, at which the understrapper rang, and a 
 servant appearing, he said, " The young man 
 has an appointment with my Lord, for one 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Mr. — Mr. — Mr. — "said the gentleman in 
 livery. 
 
 ".James," said Gerald. 
 " I beg your pardon — your name, sir." 
 " James." 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, I beg your pardon ; one 
 o'clock, w^as it not ?— My Lord expects you, 
 you say ? — Please to walk in." He led the 
 way down a low arched passage, then fling- 
 ing open a door, announced, in a loud voice, 
 " Mr. James— an appointment with my Lord 
 Glenmore — one o'clock."
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 289 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 Gerald found himself in a vast lofty 
 apartment, surrounded from the floor to the 
 ceiling with glazed cases, in which were as- 
 sembled every possible variety of objects ; 
 down the centre was a large table covered with 
 books, vases, bones of strange animals, anti- 
 que statues, Chinese gardens, Indian idols, 
 &c., &c., — a vast confusion of objects of cu- 
 riosity or virtu — all heaped together in a 
 strange but rich confusion. 
 
 An old grey-haired little man was busily 
 employed at one end of the room examining 
 a butterfly's egg with a large microscope. 
 He raised his head as the servant clattered 
 forth the announcement, and seeing a young 
 man dressed in black, he arose, and with a 
 very kind expression of face and gesture, 
 came up to him. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Young gentleman, you have an appoint- 
 ment with Lord Glen more, you say/' 
 
 "Yes," said Gerald, " I have a letter from 
 his late sister, the late Lady Evelyn, to 
 deliver — and he appointed one o'clock on 
 this day for the purpose of receiving it." 
 
 " My lord must, I think, have forgotten 
 the appointment, young gentleman," said 
 the old man ; " but I will tell his lordship 
 you are here. — Wait one moment, I will be 
 back with you directly. — Please to wait just 
 one little moment, while I go to my lord 
 and tell him your name, Sir — may I ask the 
 favour of your name V 
 
 " James, sir — Gerald James." 
 
 " And with a letter from the late Lady 
 Evelyn ? — Oh, sir, everybody has not for- 
 gotten that young lady — and your name 
 Gerald, sir ? — Your ancestor, was it. Sir ? — 
 old Gerald of Nantwicb, famous for his 
 botanical researches ? 
 
 " It was at your father's house my Lady 
 Evelyn lay after her accident, sir. — I have 
 but a poor memory now — but I remember 
 all about it — but my lord ! — certainly my
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 291 
 
 lord must have forgotten the appointment — 
 for he is, to tell the truth, sir, just at this 
 moment very particularly engaged — would 
 another time do ? " — 
 
 " As my Lord Glenmore, himself, made 
 the appointment, I should not take the 
 liberty to change the hour without at least, 
 hearing his wishes upon the subject/' said 
 Gerald. 
 
 " No — well I suppose it would not be 
 right — Good — well — yes, I think so — Shall I 
 go and say so?" — said the old man, in a 
 hesitating way. 
 
 " Indeed I should be very much obliged 
 to you, sir — though I am very sorry to give 
 you the trouble — but really Lord Glenmore 
 seems as difficult to get at as the Grand 
 Lama himself." 
 
 " The Grand Lama! — ha ! — very difficult 
 subject that ! — the Boodhist idols — very little 
 known of them — one specimen we have — 
 all unintelligible traces of a very ancient, 
 possibly antediluvian religion ; much ques- 
 tion too, as to that — reasons for believing it 
 may have been a modern heresy — a modern 
 
 o2
 
 292 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 heresy two or three thousand years old ! — 
 ha, ha, modern ! — but terms are merely re- 
 lative." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," said Gerald gravely, " what 
 you say is most perfectly true — but if you 
 would do me the great favour — " 
 
 " To do what, sir, — what were we talking 
 of — the Grand Lama?" 
 
 " No sir, begging your pardon — of Lord 
 Glenmore, for whom I have a letter." 
 
 " Oh, dear me! — dear me, what a poor 
 head I have — in a moment ! — in a moment !" 
 
 And he hobbled to a small door at the 
 other end of the apartment — he entered and 
 spoke a few words in a low voice, inaudible 
 to Gerald — not so the answer. 
 » " Bless my soul, and so I did !" burst forth 
 in a loud cheering tone ; — " only think of my 
 forgetting, all, how, and about it ! — Come in, 
 by all means — let the young gentleman come 
 in — here, Fenton, reach me the towel, I've 
 made a confounded mess here — oh ! by all 
 means, come in young gentleman." 
 
 The old man now appeared, holding the 
 door open, and signed to Gerald to approach 
 — he did so, and entered the room.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 293 
 
 It was hardly to be called a room, after 
 the large apartment he had quitted, it 
 seemed more like a roomy closet ; it was 
 almost quite destitute of furniture, but there 
 was a lonof white deal table down the mid- 
 die, covered with baskets and packages ; — at 
 the top sat my lord on one chair, and what 
 seemed a respectable man-servant on another, 
 with two large earthenware basins before 
 them, busily employed in washing shells. 
 
 My lord was in a flowered chintz dressing- 
 gown, and had a black velvet nightcap stick- 
 ing on one side of his head; over his fair 
 round body a coarse linen apron was tied, 
 which covered his knees. He leaned back 
 in his chair at the entrance of the stranofer — 
 a Buccinum in one hand, and his brush in 
 the other. 
 
 " Sir, your servant — " 
 
 The tall, graceful young man in his black 
 riding dress, whom nothing, it seemed, 
 could that day discompose, advanced to 
 the top of the room — followed as if by 
 a squire, by the little grey headed, old 
 gentleman, who might have figured in a 
 Dutch picture as an alchymist. — Gerald
 
 294 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 bowed to the earl with as much respect as 
 if he had found him covered with velvet, 
 stars and garters, and said, " I did myself 
 the honour to attend upon your lordship, 
 according to the appointment you were 
 pleased to make with my mother." 
 
 " Your mother, bless my soul — yes ! — I re- 
 collect all about it now — your mother, Mrs. 
 James, was it not ? " 
 
 " The same, my lord. — She desired me to 
 deliver a letter to you." 
 
 " Oh ! ay, ay ; but stop a little— not just, 
 now. There Fenton, take off my apron ; 
 give me the towel ! let me wipe my hands ; 
 there, give me my coat. — I beg your pardon, 
 sir, we will step into my study ; keep your 
 letter a moment longer. — There, — Avhat a 
 plague ! Fenton, wdll you never have done — 
 that will do — Ods bud man, do you see where 
 you have put the paper nautilus, just upon 
 the edge of the table ? — 'Slife, man, if you 
 had broken that — I should have broken three 
 of your teeth — and, Fenton, you may go on 
 with those shells — there — a little aqua regia 
 will do them no harm, — but don't touch that 
 basket from Madagascar till I come back —
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 295 
 
 I shan't be long — don't look into it, you dog, 
 do you hear — let me have the first peep, 
 and be hanged to you ! — Now, sir, please to 
 follow me." 
 
 And with his coat of dark pompadour vel- 
 vet, with glittering star on his breast, his velvet 
 cap exchanged for his peruque, the earl 
 seemed to feel himself something of an earl 
 — and waving, with a certain dignity, to 
 the young man to follow, he traversed the 
 library, where a lofty door of mahogany, 
 moulded with gold, being opened by a foot- 
 man, he entered what he was pleased to call 
 his study. 
 
 It was a beautiful room, of fine propor- 
 tions, not very large, filled up with book- 
 shelves, in rich carved mahogany cases, and 
 adorned with several first-rate pictures ; the 
 chairs were of dark green velvet, the cur- 
 tains of rich dark green damask, the carpet 
 a thick velvet Wilton, on which the foot fell 
 noiselessly. In the centre of the room stood 
 one of those large, unwieldy tables, with 
 drawers on both ends, which one sees in old 
 houses. It was of fine inlaid wood, and 
 covered with green velvet, instead of green
 
 296 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 baize ; papers, docketted, and marshalled, 
 with all the precision of an attorney's office, 
 were ranged upon it : at one end stood the 
 earPs desk, and his writing apparatus, and 
 opposite to it, a huge comfortable arm-chair, 
 of green velvet, with a gouty stool of the 
 same material before it. 
 
 Seated there, in his pompadour coat and 
 star, silk waistcoat, black satin breeches, silk 
 stockings, diamond-buckled shoes, and pe- 
 ruque, and in all the dignity of the gouty 
 stool, Gerald could hardly believe the being 
 of five minutes ago was before him. 
 
 "Oh Sartor!" 
 
 The earl waved with dignity the young 
 man to a chair. Before he seated himself, 
 however, Gerald advanced, and with a re- 
 spectful inclination, presented the letter ; 
 he then sat down on the chair the earl had 
 pointed to, just opposite, and not far distant 
 from him. 
 
 The earl took the letter, gazed upon the 
 direction — sighed — turned it — looked at the 
 seal — tried to break it, desisted, irresolute — 
 turned the letter again — again gazed at the 
 direction, — " Poor dear Evelyn !"
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 297 
 
 At last he broke the seal, and opening the 
 letter, turned away towards the light to 
 read it. 
 
 He read it, sighed — " Poor, poor thing !" 
 read it again, sighed again, folded it up, and 
 turned to Gerald, holding it still in his hand. 
 
 " Sir, this letter — hem — poor thing — hem 
 sir, she was — poor thing — a very charming 
 creature. You know perhaps, sir, the pur- 
 port of this letter ? " 
 
 " I believe I do, my lord." 
 
 " Well — poor thing — poor dear — she 
 wished me to do something for you. No, 
 no, that's not her way of putting it; but 
 every body has not her pretty way of saying 
 things — I mean as kindly as any body ; and, 
 sir,*' resuming a little of his dignity again — 
 " if sir, you could name any way in which 
 I could serve you — " 
 
 " Any way, my Lord, in which you could 
 forward my desire to earn my own bread, and 
 cease to be dependent upon my mother — will 
 fulfil my washes." 
 
 " Modest, very modest — Any way, said 
 you ? Well — well, we must think what can 
 be done."
 
 298 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Any way, my lord," said Gerald, cor- 
 recting himself, " consistent with your 
 dignity to offer, and mine to accept." 
 
 " Very fairly put — like one of poor Evelyn's 
 prettily termed phrases — Mine to offer, yours 
 to accept. Ay, ay — very well ! This letter 
 speaks highly of your qualifications, sir." 
 
 " Lady Evelyn, I am afraid, in her friend- 
 ship to the parents, did more than justice 
 to the son." 
 
 " Very likely — very likely — sweet soul ! 
 She was apt to be a little exaggerated 
 in her notions — above all w^hen her heart 
 was touched — but I dare say you will do 
 mighty well — * See my son, said the Chan- 
 cellor Overstein, with how little wisdom 
 the world is governed !' — he was prime 
 minister to the late king of Sweden, you 
 must know, and upon his son — a youth, 
 may be of your own age, expressing his 
 wonder at the slender abilities ; . . .no, that is 
 not quite the right way of telling the story ; 
 but his reply was — ' see, my son with how 
 little wisdom the world is governed.' — Now, 
 though I suppose your ambition does not 
 quite aspire to govern the world ; — yet to
 
 ii 
 
 a 
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 299 
 
 govern somethings that have their import- 
 ance too — see my son — however we shall 
 do well — where were you educated?" 
 
 At academy." : 
 
 Well — the education there is, as I have 
 heard my father often say, sound and good — 
 young men learn something more there, he 
 would say, than at our old decrepit, tooth- 
 less alma maters — Classics?" 
 
 Gerald bowed. 
 
 " General literature ?" — Gerald bowed. 
 
 " Mathematics ? " — Gerald bowed. 
 
 " Science — Chymistry?" 
 
 Gerald shook his head. 
 
 " The more the pity — Conchology, Natural 
 History?" 
 
 Gerald shook his head. 
 
 " I must reflect a little upon what is 
 to be done," said the earl, pointing with 
 his index to the place where the organ 
 of consideration ought to have been de- 
 posited. 
 
 He seemed to be rather perplexed, fid- 
 geted about, crossed and uncrossed his 
 legs. 
 
 " There is the Duke — he muttered to
 
 300 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 himself, pooh — pooh — he'll never do any- 
 thing/' 
 
 " Really, Mr. James," at last he began, " I 
 am very sorry to say, nothing just at this 
 moment presents itself to me, — such as I 
 think you would quite like. — My dear 
 Evelyn in her letter, bless her soul ! seems 
 to aim at something in a political way. 
 Now, really my political influence is none 
 at all — Perhaps you will think my near 
 connection with the duke — but I assure 
 you, I don't know exactly why — he and 
 I don't draw exactly together. He is a 
 man — well I don't exactly like to ask 
 favours from, and besides, he looks in 
 these things very high .... 
 
 " I have really nothing else to offer you, 
 but I have just lost my private secretary, 
 and librarian, for the office was one — it was 
 held by a young gentleman, who has lately left 
 me for the American colonies — a sort of fa- 
 natic for Franklin and so forth — you under- 
 stand me — not altogether what I liked, 
 nor altogether what I disliked — for I am 
 a man of liberal ideas myself. However,
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 301 
 
 this young gentleman read philosophy and 
 history with my children — my son, and my 
 daughters — not as a tutor exactly^ you un- 
 derstand me ; tutors and governesses they 
 have — but being a gentleman of liberal 
 education and views, something above the 
 common herd of instructors, I was anxious 
 my son and daughters should profit by 
 his communications. — A couple of hours in 
 the morning was all that w^as required, 
 the rest of his time was pretty much his 
 owTi ; he had my private secretaryship — no 
 very onerous matter — for my scientific wri- 
 tings I commit to Mr. Green, — though 
 poor fellow — he gets old and a little deaf — 
 so something more may fall to your share. 
 He too assists my son and daughters, and 
 teaches them science — botany especially; 
 so you see I do my best to secure for 
 thera a liberal education — However, to 
 end this long speech, the salary is 200/. 
 a-year, and the duties pretty much what 
 I have described. Would this meet your 
 views — en attendent mieuj?? — for mind, I am 
 not a man to interfere with my depen-
 
 302 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 dants' — I beg your pardon — adherents' views 
 in life. If any better prospect opens, — why 
 you know you can pursue it." 
 
 Gerald had time during this long harangue, 
 to recover from his first surprise and dis- 
 appointment ; with his usual quick pene- 
 tration he divined exactly the position in 
 which he stood; he saw that the choice 
 lay between this and nothing : 200/. a-year 
 was a very large sum, and would enable 
 him immediately to make his mother com- 
 fortable ; he would be in no w^ay fettered by 
 the acceptance of the offer, if he found the 
 situation onerous he would at any time resign 
 it, it might open a way to better things; 
 though what those better things were to 
 be, it would have been hard for him if 
 asked to have answered. 
 
 The truth was, it was the pressing neces- 
 sities of his mother which decided him. 
 
 He bowed, thanked the earl, said that a 
 situation with duties so light, was not 
 exactly what, at his age, he should have 
 desired, but that he would accept it with 
 the condition, that should he find the
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 803 
 
 thing not exactly suited to his views, he 
 should be at liberty to resign. 
 
 The earl looked very much surprised, 
 and not half pleased at the decided, though 
 perfectly modest and respectful tone in which 
 all this was uttered. He felt a little afraid 
 — afraid that he might be taking a master, 
 and not a servant into his private apartments, 
 and that far from having a dependent, he 
 might find very little of an adherent in this 
 young gentleman, unless their views should 
 happen to coincide. When Gerald ceased, 
 the earl was silent for a second or two, 
 and then he said. 
 
 " Be it so, sir — But I suppose I may rely 
 upon a fair warning, if it should be your 
 pleasure to throw up your commission." 
 
 " I hope your lordship will never find 
 reason to fear ingratitude or unfairness on 
 my part. — I shall do my best to prove my- 
 self worthy of the protection I have re- 
 ceived." 
 
 This, which Gerald meant of Lady Evelyn, 
 the earl took very comfortably to himself ; 
 the word 'protection' flattered his pride, and, 
 with a complacent nod, he said —
 
 304 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Ay, ay, we shall do famously together ; 
 but when will you come ? the 25th to-day — 
 Saturday — say Tuesday next, will you? 
 Things are getting into disorder, letters ac- 
 cumulating, and so on : if you could be here 
 to dinner at four o'clock — we dine rather 
 late, you dine at my table, not at the second 
 table." 
 
 Gerald did not look so surprised and gra- 
 tified at this distinction as the earl had 
 expected ; he had, in fact, never anticipated 
 anything else. 
 
 — " For you must know, I love to have 
 people of education about me ; my ideas 
 are liberal, as I said. — Man to me is in the 
 mind — intellect marks the degrees by which 
 men should be classed : the man of educa- 
 tion — the man of lofty and noble ideas and 
 sentiments— that is the true nobility. All 
 the men of genius, who form part of my 
 household, find their place at my own table.' 
 
 " My son's tutor, Mr. Powel/' he conti- 
 nued, after a short pause : " my little with- 
 ered old philosopher, Mr. Green — the very 
 accomplished French lady, who is charged 
 with the care of my daughters, and my do-
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 305 
 
 mestic chaplain — all find a place at my own 
 table, where you will likewise dine every 
 day. I wish you now good morning, sir. 
 I shall see you at four, in my dining-room, 
 on Tuesday — by the by — I must give you 
 a little carte du pays. When you arrive, go 
 to the second door, ask for Mr. Phillips, the 
 house-steward, he will tell you where your 
 future apartment is to be — your castle — 
 the room you will call your own — where you 
 
 will admit no one you don't choose A great 
 
 privilege, denied to us poor magnates, who 
 are bored six hours out of the twenty-four, 
 doing duty with those we don't like. Vive la 
 liberie ! say I — However, good morning now, 
 sir, and my compliments to your mother. . . . 
 That way, sir — through the museum is 
 the exit : that door leads to the great 
 library, which is the communication with 
 the rest of the house, opening into the 
 saloon. — Well, you will learn the geography 
 in time, and Wednesday morning w^e will 
 introduce you to those children of your 
 future care — Ha, ha ! a pretty numerous 
 flock you will find mine — and some rare
 
 306 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 things among them, as old pottering Green 
 will tell you ! — Good morning, sir." 
 
 Gerald rose, made his bow, and retired. 
 He entered the museum, in which was no 
 one except the old gentleman, Mr. Green, 
 who was creeping about among the cu- 
 riosities. 
 
 Gerald went up to the door by which, as 
 he thought, he had entered, but opening it, 
 found his mistake ; it opened into a splendid 
 library, the walls of which were covered with 
 book-cases of fine old mahogany, fitted with 
 glittering rows of well-bound volumes ; the 
 lofty windows of stained glass threw a warm 
 yet dim and solemn light upon the whole. 
 The old gentleman came up to him. 
 
 " Through the library, sir ? Mj lord does 
 not like it should be made a passage room, 
 though it does lead to the saloon.'' 
 
 " I was finding my way out," said Gerald, 
 " and mistook the door ; I thought this was 
 the one by which I came in." 
 
 He paused, however, and looked into the 
 magnificent room — the object of his future 
 superintendence — with a feeling of pleasure. 
 
 *' Perhaps, young gentleman,'* said the old
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. S07 
 
 man, " I am not mistaken — perhaps you are 
 the young gentleman selected to fill the 
 place left vacant by JNIr. Reynolds." 
 
 " I believe I am, for the present, to offi- 
 ciate as librarian, or something of that sort," 
 said Gerald. 
 
 The old man surveyed him from head to 
 foot, and then slowly shook his head. 
 
 " It's very well for me — " .... at last he 
 said, rather mournfully. 
 
 Gerald started, and looked at him. Was 
 this the expression of jealousy or disappoint- 
 ment ? Was he taking the place the little 
 old man had aspired to ? 
 
 " I hope, sir," he said, " my appointment 
 has not interfered with your expectations or 
 views." 
 
 "Not at all — not at all; you're a good 
 young gentleman for thinking of that — I 
 took a liking to that gracious face and form 
 of yours as soon as I saw you come in. 
 Very pretty to think of the poor old grey 
 haired man — very pretty ! — Oh no, young 
 gentleman, not that at all — but may I ask 
 are you really going to be librarian and 
 private secretary, as Mr. Reynolds was — ....
 
 308 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 and may I ask to read history with the 
 young folks too?" 
 
 " I believe that is to be part of my of- 
 fice." 
 
 " Lack-a-daisy — well !" 
 
 And he again with his slow, grey, sunken 
 eyes regarded him from head to foot. 
 
 " Well, well — things are all changed I 
 suppose since I was young ! — Did you ever 
 see Mr. Reynolds, sir?'' 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Didn't you — well-a-day ! How different he 
 was from you — Well-a-day, well-a-day, that's 
 the door you were asking for. — Good-bye, 
 young gentleman, I hope we shall see some- 
 thing more of you; the museum and the 
 library lie hard by — Good bye, God bless your 
 young heart ! — it was very pretty of you to 
 repiember the grey-haired old man — Ay,'' 
 mumbled he, when Gerald had departed, as 
 he returned to his fossils, " he is as handsome 
 as was that Alcibiades — but a more graceful 
 youth — more grace in him — Ay, ay, more 
 grace in him — and I will be his Socrates — 
 poor old withered shell as I am, there is a 
 little good stuff — may be, left yet. — But to
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 309 
 
 set such a lad as that to teach the children — 
 Well-a-day, well-a-day, what a world we live 
 in, — what a world it is !" — .... Thus he 
 kept mumbling on for hours to himself, while 
 busied in endeavouring to form some system, 
 by which to arrange a very large collection 
 of fossil plants lately added to the Earl's 
 museum.
 
 310 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Gerald and Sampson pursued their way 
 together on their return, in much better 
 sympathy of feeling. 
 
 The young rider was too much lost in his 
 own thoughts to interfere in the least with 
 his monture ; and Sampson had it as com- 
 pletely his own way, as with good old Mr. 
 Scribe. 
 
 It would have been difficult for Gerald to 
 say, whether he was pleased or displeased, 
 gratified or disappointed. He certainly was 
 disappointed to find himself, after all, nothing 
 but a household dependent of a great man ; 
 but then the place seemed one that hardly 
 could be called dependent, one where he 
 should enjoy the full liberty of his mind, and 
 be under no more, nor indeed nearly so much, 
 restraint, as every quill-driver in an office 
 submits to. Then the rest, it gave to his
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. Sll 
 
 heart to feel that his mother was so amply 
 provided for ; and himself, in money matters, 
 an independent man. 
 
 Then the vision of that library — that still, 
 monastic, dim, solemn library — that wealth 
 of books, that world of varied knowledge — 
 that room was to be his, would be his, for 
 he guessed pretty accurately already how 
 much the earl would occupy it. — Two hours 
 in the day to read with the children, perhaps 
 two hours employed in writing for the earl, 
 and the rest of the day his own ! How would 
 his mind expand under the culture he would 
 give it? How should this second education 
 be still better than the first, — and prepare 
 him for a more active and energetic exist- 
 ence by-and-by ! 
 
 He rode cheerfully up to Mr. Scribe's 
 door, delivered his horse, walked home, 
 and came into the little parlour, where 
 his mother and grandmother were sitting ; 
 the old lady dosing in the arm-chair, the 
 mother busy at her needle. 
 
 " Well, my son," — rising and meeting him, 
 " well, you don't look tired at all. — There, 
 sit down, comfortably, by the window.
 
 312 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Matty, Mr. Gerald's supper — bring it up — 
 there, on the little round table — Mr. Gerald 
 will sit there — make haste, good woman ! " 
 
 " Mother, I am afraid you will be dis- 
 appointed ;" began Gerald, " and yet, on 
 the whole, " 
 
 " Has he promised you anything?" 
 
 " He has offered me a place, and I have 
 accepted it." 
 
 " He has ! — how could you say I should be 
 disappointed, you naughty boy?"' 
 
 " I don't know whether it is exactly such 
 a place as you expected and wished for me, 
 mother — . . . . Now, do tell me, what did you 
 exactly expect, and wish for." 
 
 *' Why, to say the truth, Gerald, I don't 
 know exactly what I did expect — I really 
 know so little of these things, that I do not 
 even exactly understand the first steps by 
 which a young man is launched into a career 
 in the great world. — But, as far as I could 
 understand Lady Evelyn's views for you, it 
 was her wish, through Lord Gleumore's in- 
 fluence with the duke — who has very great 
 political power — to place you as private se- 
 cretary about some man, high in the political
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 31 
 
 o 
 
 world. — I believe, in some of the pub- 
 lic offices ; and there, she said, your talents 
 would soon make you known and valued — 
 and that you would probably, by means of 
 some of their private boroughs, be intro- 
 duced into the House of Commons — and 
 then you might be anything — everything, 
 a man of first-rate talent could aspire to." 
 
 " C)h, my dearest mother ! was that in- 
 deed your castle? — Were your views and her 
 views so clearly defined as all that? — Then 
 you svill, indeed, be miserably disappointed." 
 
 " Oh, my son! you terrify me; — what has 
 happejied?" 
 
 " He has offered me the place of his pri- 
 vate secretary and librarian — and to read 
 with his children." 
 
 " And is that all?" 
 
 " That is all ; and I have accepted it." 
 
 "Miserable delusion ! — Oh, my beloved and 
 honoured husband ! how right you were ! — . . . 
 That all ! In return for Lady Evelyn's urgent 
 entreaties ! — Why, it is a place hardly good 
 enough for you, if you had had no interest at 
 all ! — To treat you as a child of his own, as he 
 promised her — and through her, me — should 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 I ever apply to him — yes, my dear and re- 
 verend Mr. James ! I am rightly punished — 
 I dared to pride myself on my superior 
 spirit and energy, and the sweet deluder 
 flattered me in my folly — .... Better be 
 anything than a servant of servants." 
 
 " My mother, now you take things too 
 strongly; lam to be no servant of servants — 
 ])ut master of my ow^n domain — of my own 
 time — and of my own thoughts. My duties 
 will be slight and easy, my recompense abund- 
 ant and handsome." 
 
 " Your duties slight ! — Yes, Gerald ; and 
 it is that which is the very essence of de- 
 pendence. — To eat the bread of one who 
 asks only dependence, and not usefulness in 
 return, is to be doubly dependent. — What 
 are you to return, let me ask, for his bread 
 and his salary, if not subservience — what 
 then?" 
 
 " If that is what he expects, he will never 
 get it," said her son indignantly. 
 
 " And do you mean to do nothing, then, 
 for your salary?" asked the mother. 
 
 " I mean to perform scrupulously the 
 duties of my situation, such as they are ; I 
 shall take o-reat care of his books, and I
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 315 
 
 shall write bis letters in a good legible band 
 — and to satisfy my own sense of right, I 
 shall take infinite pains in that part of my 
 task which belongs to the instruction of his 
 children. — There I can serve him at least." 
 
 The mother was silent, and Gerald ate his 
 supper — or rather did not eat it — his mind 
 was perplexed, yet his resolution wavered 
 not : the necessity of his mother's circum- 
 stances was what bad really decided him, 
 and the motive ennobled bis choice, and en- 
 nobled his position in his own eyes. Any 
 employment, embraced for such a motive, 
 seemed to him a worthy one. 
 
 But Mrs. James was deeply troubled. 
 She now saw, stripped of all the vain de- 
 lusions in which she had clothed the future, 
 what it is to seek for fortune through de- 
 pendence. Dependence, as she had justly 
 defined it — not the exchange of obligations 
 or benefits between one man and another — 
 which is no dependence on either side — but 
 obligations and benefits conferred by one, 
 when no adequate return could be expected 
 from the other. Gratitude, which she felt 
 had given her a sort of claim upon the 
 
 p 2
 
 316 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Lady Evelyn, she saw justly gave her little 
 claim upon the Earl. The sister's letter had 
 not influenced him, it was plain, but in the 
 very slightest degree. It was probable, that 
 to forward or benefit the young man, was 
 little in his thoughts ; he had been glad to 
 embrace the opportunity to attach to his 
 service a clever youth, whose only real 
 business it seemed probable, would prove, to 
 minister to his daily amusement, and to 
 flatter his self-conceit and pride — for, as to 
 the active services required, they amounted 
 in her eyes, almost to nothing. 
 
 However, the fatal step was taken ; Gerald 
 M^ould not go back ; and, indeed, the poor 
 mother, in her hidden anxieties, dared 
 scarcely attempt to persuade him to re- 
 fuse the Earl's offer — having nothing to 
 substitute in its place. 
 
 He was to go next Tuesday — short time 
 for preparation, indeed, but preparation 
 must be made. To prepare his linen, to 
 get everything in order, how impossible ! 
 She must do what she could, and the rest 
 must follow him afterwards. 
 
 She was so busily employed the remainder 
 of the time which her son passed with her,
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 317 
 
 that they had little communication, except 
 on the Sunday evening — the last Sunday 
 they were to spend together. Gerald read 
 prayers to his mother and Mrs. Harrison — 
 who still persisted in not going to Church, 
 where the little remains of Mr. James's con- 
 gregation were already attending. So she 
 came to her friend Mrs. James, and there 
 they had a service after their own wishes 
 and feelings : after this, the mother and sou 
 had a long and rather melancholy walk in 
 the fields. They could talk with but little 
 pleasure of that which was uppermost in 
 both their hearts ; so they said little. The 
 pleasant communion of thought was over for 
 this time. But Gerald did not quite sym- 
 pathize in his mother's severe disappoint- 
 ment : he was young, and there was some- 
 thing, after all, in the prospect before him 
 exciting and gay to his imagination. 
 
 It is so delightful to the young to have 
 their imagination occupied and excited ! 
 Nothing is so fatal — so deathly to their 
 very existence as dulness and monotony. 
 Adventure — change — to try their faculties, 
 • no matter how or where ! It is like exercise, 
 lay, and noise to children — the very ele-
 
 SI 8 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 ment in which they live — pain, privation, 
 toil, danger — anything but rest ! 
 
 Once more were Sampson's services put 
 in requisition to carry Gerald to his destina- 
 tion ; a boy was to be the bearer of his little 
 portmanteau, and to lead Sampson back. 
 
 In this humble guise he was to begin his 
 acquaintance with the great : he, an aspiring, 
 clever youth, full of refined imaginations 
 and dignified feelings — here, where the very 
 footman, who carried his little property up 
 stairs, would sneer at its insignificance ; and 
 despise the poor proud beggar, who pre- 
 tended to be better than himself. 
 
 The doctor and Mr. Scribe were both a 
 good deal vexed and disappointed when the 
 result of Gerald's journey was communicated 
 to them. Yet upon the whole they thought 
 he had done right in accepting, and at least, 
 determining to try the situation. For they 
 both felt like plain matter-of-fact men, that 
 200/. a-year was a sum wdiich it would be 
 long before Gerald could realize in any 
 other w^ay ; and that 200/. a-year was very 
 much wanted by a youth with two helpless 
 women belono'insr to him.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. SI 9 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Gerald stood in the EarPs drawing-room, 
 or saloon, as it was then called ; a large, lofty 
 apartment, splendidly furnished — all gold, 
 crimson, and mirrors, fine china, and objects 
 of virtu : the taste for these things, parti- 
 cularly for the china, was soon to disappear ; 
 but as yet it prevailed, and gave the same 
 richness to the interiors then, which it ob- 
 tains now. 
 
 The windows were thrown up, giving a 
 pleasant coolness to the air, and presenting 
 the view of the slopes, lake, woods, and fine 
 distance. Gerald was standing in one win- 
 dow—in another, little Mr. Green was read- 
 ing from a large folio, which rested upon the 
 window-seat: — Mr. Powel, and his pupil 
 Lord Canham, were playing chess in another 
 corner; the chaplain was dosing and winking 
 in a chair, with the newspaper in his hand ;
 
 320 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 the Earl walking up and down the apart- 
 ment, splendidly dressed, with his star and 
 solitaire, and looking as dignified as usual, 
 when en grande tenue. 
 
 Lord Canham, a pale, sickly boy, slightly 
 deformed, had just entered with his tutor ; a 
 long-faced, grave, formal looking young man 
 — and had peevishly asked when dinner 
 would be ready. 
 
 " It wants a quarter to four, my lord," 
 replied the footman who opened the door. 
 
 " A quarter to four ! — and they are never 
 punctual ; — they always keep us wait- 
 ing — .... What shall I do till dinner- 
 time?" 
 
 " Will your lordship please to finish the 
 game at chess?" said the tutor obsequiously. 
 
 " Chess ! — you have never anything to pro- 
 pose but that odious chess." 
 
 "Backgammon — trictrac, or solitaire?" 
 
 " Backgammon — trictrac — solitaire ! — A 
 pretty tutor you are," said the boy, yawning. 
 *' It was better when Reynolds was here ; he 
 had always something or other at least lo 
 set a-going. — Well, chess, if you will; — Any- 
 thing on earth to kill time."
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 321 
 
 The door opened again. " Sir Charles 
 Selwyn and Mr. Poyntz." 
 
 " Ha ! Sir Charles ! — How are you, INIr. 
 Poyntz ? — Your most obedient," said the 
 Earl, as they advanced. 
 
 Nothinof could be more different than the 
 appearance of the two guests. Sir Charles 
 was no longer a young man; he w^as pale, 
 thin, and wrinkled, and had the appearance 
 of a worn-out man of fashion. He dressed, 
 however, gaily, and contrived to make him- 
 self up so as to insure a youthful appearance ; 
 but there was something artificial, not to 
 say vicious, in his countenance and manner, 
 which a still handsome form and person could 
 not disguise ; altogether he was a disagree- 
 able man ; but evidently on terms of familiar 
 intimacy with the Earl. Mr. Poyntz was a 
 pale, tall, serious looking man ; his manner 
 composed and dignified, with an air of much 
 benignity and goodness. He was the rector 
 of the parish. 
 
 Sir Charles entered with the careless air 
 of a very fine gentleman, saluted the Earl 
 with an easy bow, and lolled up to Lord 
 Canham with a "How do?" answered by a 
 
 P
 
 322 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " Oh, well enough," without his lordship 
 raising his head from the chess-table. He 
 then sauntered to the window, and throwing 
 himself carelessly upon a settee, seemed to 
 await the appearance of the young ladies. The 
 rector walked up to Mr. Green, shook him 
 cordially by the hand — then to the chaplain, 
 who started, rubbed his eyes, dropped his 
 newspaper, and with a hurried — " Bless my 
 soul, sir, I beg your pardon,'' — returned the 
 greeting of the rector. 
 
 '^No pardon!" said the rector; "I beg 
 yours, for you seemed very comfortably 
 asleep.'' 
 
 "Oh!" said the chaplain, "I assure you, 
 sir, I was not asleep ; only reading the last 
 day's paper ; — have you read it, sir?" 
 
 " Yes, I have. — Who is that young gentle- 
 man standing close by the further window- 
 seat?" 
 
 " Only the new librarian." 
 " In the place of Reynolds ?" 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Will you introduce me to him ?" 
 " I protest, sir, I know nothing of him. 
 I have not asked to be introduced myself. — 
 I have nothing to do with him."
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 323 
 
 " Nor with his department," said the rec- 
 tor, drily. 
 
 He then went up to Mr. Green. 
 
 " I have something in my pocket for you, 
 Mr. Green." 
 
 " Oh, dear, sir," said the old man, scuttling 
 about and bowing. " Oh, dear, sir, you are 
 so kind to me. — What is it ?" 
 
 " A new veronica and a new beetle." 
 
 " Have at them," said the delighted little 
 philosopher. 
 
 The rector drew them from his pocket. 
 
 " No veronica,"— said the old man. — " The 
 veronicas they have agreed to distinguish by 
 the irregular petal — .... Irregular is not 
 the word — at least a plainer one ought to 
 be used ; Irregular ! — I should call a colum- 
 bine irregular. — I don't know this plant ; 
 what is its habitat? — Where does it grow, 
 sir?" 
 
 " I found it last night upon the high point 
 of Ribblestone Moor." 
 
 "Ah !" quoth the old man, " there I shall 
 never see it. — I shall never cross Ribblestone 
 again — poor old bones ! But, sir — " 
 
 " Who is that young gentleman who is in-
 
 324 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 stalled as librarian ?" said the rector, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " His name is Gerald James." 
 
 " Son of the late Mr. James of Brough ?" 
 
 " I 'm sure I don't know, sir ; but a good, 
 gracious young gentleman is he, that I do 
 know. — Would not have taken the place 
 from me if I had wished for it — Pretty, was 
 it not? — And so prettily said !" 
 
 " Then, you can introduce me, and pray 
 do." 
 
 " Oh, dear sir, come along," and, careless 
 of etiquette, he led the rector across the 
 room to present him to the lowly young 
 man. 
 
 The rector, it must be known, was a man 
 very high in the Church ; related to a noble 
 family, and holding several livings, every 
 body expected him to be the next bishop. 
 Little as the cloth was respected in the per- 
 son of the chaplain, much was it respected 
 in the person of the rector; who was, more- 
 over, a learned, pious, and excellent man. 
 He was very much struck with Gerald's ap- 
 pearance and manner, and immediately en- 
 tered into conversation with him ; while ]Mr.
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 325 
 
 Green tottered back to his window, his 
 beetle, and his veronica. 
 
 The door again opened, and a young 
 lady, followed by two others, swam into 
 the room. The young Countess came first, 
 very handsomely dressed, her fan in her 
 hand, and looking, as she was, a remarkably 
 fine vouno^ woman. She was followed bv a 
 tall, stiff figure, elaborately dressed, with a 
 high, powder toupee, a rich brocade gown, 
 profusion of rouge, her fan in her hand also — 
 a delicate-looking and plain girl was at her 
 side — about fifteen, but looking younger — 
 dressed still in her frocks, and with her hair 
 unpowdered, and hanging in pale and rather 
 shabbv-lookino^ tresses round her neck. 
 
 Everybody rose except Lord Canham, who 
 continued to study his move, without even 
 turning his head. The Earl and Sir Charles 
 advanced to meet the ladies. The rector 
 left Gerald and came forward for the same 
 purpose. The chaplain and the tutor made 
 two profound bows and continued standing 
 in their places. jNIr. Green rose, bowed, and 
 sat down again to his beetle. Gerald bowed 
 and resumed his attitude of silent observa-
 
 326 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 tion. He thought the young Countess one of 
 the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. 
 
 She was of moderate height, with a finely 
 formed tliroat and shoulders, and carried her 
 head high and gracefully ; her features were 
 noble and regular, her eyes full, dark, and 
 expressive; her abundant hair — arranged so as 
 to give an air of aristocratic dignity to her 
 head, which he thought infinitely becoming. 
 The way she carried her fan, the easy, swim- 
 ming motion with which she passed along 
 the apartment, had in it something peculiarly 
 graceful in his eyes. He now felt, for the 
 first time, what was meant by female beauty. 
 
 The tall, splendid-looking lady who fol- 
 lowed did not please him so well. She, too, 
 had been handsome, and by some might have 
 still been admitted to the claim in which she 
 persisted in, of being handsome still ; but her 
 high sharp features, her thin lips, her angular 
 figure, and the haughty stiffness of her whole 
 deportment were infinitely displeasing and 
 disagreeable — on the young lady by her side 
 he hardly made an observation. She looked 
 very plain, rather sickly, very quiet, and very 
 demure. As the young ladies passed to their
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 327 
 
 seats, they went by the chess table. Canham 
 never lifted up his head, but he passed his 
 hand to his young sister, gave her a glance, 
 as it were under his eyelids ; she slid her 
 finofers into his, and then went and sat down 
 by her governess — for the grand lady was no 
 other than her governess, Madame Fonte- 
 verault. 
 
 The young Countess placed herself on a 
 sofa, ^ladame by her side, with the younger 
 sister on the other hand — and Sir Charles 
 and her father seating themselves before 
 her. She soon began an animated discourse, 
 talkino^ readilv and cleverly, thouo^h her 
 voice was a little louder, and her tone more 
 decisive than w^as quite agreeable. Her 
 father seemed a little afraid of, and shy 
 of contradicting her. Sir Charles seemed 
 not one wit in awe of either her talents or 
 her beauty. 
 
 From time to time ]Madame mingled 
 in the conversation — from time to time 
 I say, for she was for the most part en- 
 gaged in answering for the young lady by 
 her side, near whom the rector had seated 
 himself.
 
 828 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 He was trying to engage her in conver- 
 sation, but the young lady only gave mon- 
 osyllabic answers; looking up every time 
 she spoke at her governess, who did all 
 the conversation part of the dialogue for 
 her pupil. As thus — 
 
 The Rector. — Has the Lady Clarinda been 
 out upon her pretty Arabian to-day? 
 
 Lady Clarinda. — " No sir," — looking up at 
 her governess. 
 
 Madame Fonteveraidt. — " We went out in 
 the coach ; the Countess had some visits 
 to pay — a beautiful ride, INIr. Poyntz, by 
 Eastnor! — Mere and woods, and lac — . . . . 
 mere, I think you call them. — Such a sweet 
 view !" 
 
 The Rector. — " Does your ladyship like 
 that view?" 
 
 Lady Clarinda^, looking up at her gover- 
 ness, " Yes, very much, sir." — 
 
 Madame Fonteverault. — " It is quite worthy 
 of a Claude Lorraine. — That second distance, 
 that paysage, be so delightful — in all my 
 travels in Italy I have never seen anything 
 more richly delightful." 
 
 The Countess. — " Oh ! Are you talking
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 829 
 
 of that view by Eastnor, ]\Ir. Poyntz ? — Oh ! 
 come here, and tell me what you mean to 
 do with the old church — You cannot — will 
 not — dare not, pull it down — They tell me 
 it cannot be true — That you are talking of 
 bringing it down." 
 
 The Rector. — " They talk of its coming 
 down upon the heads of my congregation, 
 if I don't bring it down soon." 
 
 Madame. — " But, so beautiful as it is — so 
 sublime — so picturesque, so solemn, so an- 
 tique with those ancient trees ! — Oh, barba- 
 rian that you are !" 
 
 Lady Clarinda looks up at the Rector. 
 
 The Rector. — " And what says the Lady 
 Clarinda ? — Must it come down ?" 
 
 Lady Clarinda. — " If it will hurt the 
 people, sir." — 
 
 The Countess. — " But surely it cannot be 
 necessary to pull it down — Cannot you find 
 some architect or other, who will invent 
 some means of saving people and church — 
 tower together?" 
 
 The Rector. — " We must see about that ; 
 but I think as Lady Clarinda seems to think 
 too — we must take care of the people — "
 
 330 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Countess. — " Oh, Clarinda !'* scornfully, 
 " what can she know about the matter ?" — 
 
 Madame, — " Lady Clarinda, young ladies 
 of your age should have rather too much 
 modesty to express such decided opin- 
 ions — .... but, as I was saying, my re- 
 verend sir — my dear Mr. Poyntz — after that 
 we passed your beautiful house, and sweet 
 garden. Such a paradise of Eden ! " 
 
 Countess, — " Oh, have you seen it. Sir 
 Charles ? — A divine thing, indeed — Such 
 trees, such a view, and such a charming 
 flower-garden ! Oh, my lord,'' (to her father) 
 " your roses are not to be compared to 
 those of Mr. Poyntz; he has a double- 
 austrian rose covered with flowers — " 
 
 " Have you ?" said Lady Clarinda, timidly. 
 
 Madame looked sharply at her ; she cast 
 her eyes upon the ground, and was again 
 silent. 
 
 The Rector. — " Do you love roses, Lady 
 Clarinda V 
 
 No answer this time, unless her eyes 
 raised to her governess might stand for one. 
 
 " Did you hear Mr. Poyntz, Lady Cla- 
 rinda ?"
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 331 
 
 " Yes, Madame." 
 
 " Then why are you so rude as to give no 
 answer ?" 
 
 " I do love roses, dearly." 
 
 " Dearly, is that English ? — I appeal to IMr. 
 Poyntz." 
 
 " Very good simple English, I assure you, 
 Madame — such as the Lady Clarinda ahvays 
 uses." 
 
 The young lady's eyes were this time cast 
 up gratefully to INlr. Poyntz. 
 
 " Enchanted to hear you say that ! — I have 
 taken pains, inexpressible, to make her 
 speak correct and elegant English. — Per- 
 haps," added Madame, justly proud of her 
 own English — which, for a French woman, 
 certainly was very good, " as they once said 
 of a foreigner — he was detected at Athens by 
 the perfection of his Attic Greek — I may be 
 more exact than a native would be. — I stand 
 reproved, Mr. Poyntz." 
 
 " Oh," said Sir Charles, " Madame, you 
 certainly do speak confoundedly well — your 
 English is perfectly astonishing to me, who 
 have, when on travels, heard the horrid mess 
 your countrywomen usually make of it —
 
 332 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Madame de B , your lordship remem- 
 bers her at my lord duke's ; she was a great 
 favourite of his — a woman of unquestionable 
 talent — but what English she did speak !'' 
 
 AVhile this was going on, Lord Canham 
 had risen from his chess-table, and had come 
 round, and placed himself behind JVlr. 
 Poyntz's chair, so as to be close to his sister : 
 nobody, however, seemed to be aware of this 
 movement. She, who moved neither to one 
 side nor to the other — sitting perfectly still 
 and straight, with her feet in the first po- 
 sition, and only moving her head and eyes — 
 could hardly, it would seem, be aware of 
 this ; and yet, as by some secret sympathy, 
 she seemed to know who was there — she 
 stole her hand, as it were, to that side, 
 glanced with her eyes ; and a faint streak 
 of colour passed over her cheek. 
 
 The rector saw it, and was rising from his 
 chair to offer it to Lord Canham, when the 
 boy, with a quick, imperative motion, signi- 
 fied to him to be seated, and to leave him 
 standing as he was, leaning unnoticed on the 
 back of the sofa. 
 
 " And all this time I have forgotten to
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 333 
 
 ask after the little Arabian, your ladyship 
 was so fond of. — How is he ?" 
 
 " He — he ! — he's gone away, sir." — 
 
 The boy gave a passionate start. 
 
 " What, your pretty white Arabian ? — I'm 
 sorry for that ; and what does your ladyship 
 ride now ?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir." 
 
 The boy again gave a sort of convulsive 
 bound, as if some one had lashed him. 
 
 ]Madame was busy talking with Sir Charles 
 and the Countess ; for the Earl having paid 
 the proper obeisance to his daughter, had 
 moved away, and resumed his walk : but at 
 this she turned. 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Poyntz, we all thought 
 riding an improper exercise for the Lady 
 Clarinda. — She is dreadfully timid, not fit 
 to be trusted on horseback, and the Arabian 
 Lord John gave her was more than she could 
 manage — she never went off a foot^s pace ; 
 and what pleasure could there be in that ? — 
 She does not want horses to ride." 
 
 Here the girl, from under her eyes, as it 
 were, shot a quick, bright glance at her bro- 
 ther — then dropped her eyelids as before.
 
 334 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 " And, indeed, who was there to attend 
 upon her — I am but a poor horsewoman, 
 and the Countess, you know, likes, when she 
 rides — .... and in short, we all thought it 
 better it should be given up — .... and as 
 Lady Clarinda chose to fret about it, I 
 thought it proper that the cause of so much 
 fretting should be sent away — for how could 
 she ride when my lord seemed to expect 
 that her sister or I should ride with her. — 
 It was an absolute impossibility — and be- 
 sides, sir, I am sure you — who are a teacher 
 of morality, will agree with me — that young 
 people must be taught to subdue their in- 
 clinations." 
 
 To this Mr. Poyntz made no further reply; 
 he leaned back in his chair, his eyes bent 
 upon Lady Clarinda, who sat motionless as a 
 statue by his side. The quick, indignant 
 breathings of the boy were heard. jNIadame 
 looked back. 
 
 " Oh, my Lord Canham, I beg your par- 
 don — we will not take your place on the 
 sofa ;" rising, and taking Lady Clarinda by 
 the hand. 
 
 " It 's not my place — " said the boy — " Sit
 
 oo; 
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. ooo 
 
 still, madame — I choose to stand, and I 
 choose to stand here." 
 
 " Weil, I am really tired of sitting so 
 long," said she. " Come, Lady Clarinda, let 
 us move to another place, nearer the window." 
 
 And taking her hand, she led the young- 
 creature from her brother and Mr. Poyntz, 
 to the distant window-seat, and there beofan 
 in a low voice her strictures upon forward- 
 ness upon taking a place in society, which 
 no young lady of the least modesty, would 
 assume at her age, and so forth. To all 
 which the young lady listened, her eyes 
 bent to the ground, but with a varying colour 
 chasing one another over her pale, sickly- 
 looking cheeks. 
 
 Dinner was announced; the Earl, in much 
 state, handed out his elder daughter. Sir 
 Charles offered his attendance upon Lady Cla- 
 rinda — she hesitated, and seemed waiting 
 for her brother. 
 
 " Alas !" said Sir Charles, " she hates to 
 go with me. — You belong to me for this day 
 at least, fair indignant." 
 
 The young girl looked vexed ; but her 
 father's head was turned towards her when
 
 336 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 this was passing, and a very intelligible frown 
 compelled her, it would appear, to follow, 
 though reluctantly. 
 
 " Well, Lady Clarinda," said Madame, 
 impatiently; "what's the matter — what are 
 you waiting for ?" 
 
 Madame, nothing loath, was handed down 
 by Mr. Poyntz, and in a most attractive atti- 
 tude, and with the sweetest of smiles, ac- 
 cepted the rector's — if truth must be told, 
 not very willing hand. Lord Canham had 
 followed Clarinda; the tutor, the chaplain, 
 Mr. Powel, the little botanist and the libra- 
 rian, closed the procession. The chaplain 
 taking upon himself to do the honours ; 
 which he performed by slapping Gerald, 
 who was standing quietly by himself, fami- 
 liarly on the back, and saying, in a very 
 irreverend manner, 
 
 " Praise the Lord ! young man, for thy 
 soul shall eat of the venison." 
 
 The Earl sat at the head of his table— on 
 each side a daughter — by the Countess, Sir 
 Charlas — by him, Lord Canham — by Lady 
 Clarinda, Madame— by her, JMr. Poyntz— 
 next, Mr. Green— opposite to him, an empty
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 337 
 
 chair — the librarian and tutor sat on each 
 side the chaplain, who officiated as croupier. 
 
 The table was loaded with plate, and 
 covered with delicious viands — the art of 
 cookery was quite as well understood in those 
 days, if not better, than it is now — and men 
 were fully as sensual animals, and still more 
 devoted to the pleasures of the table. 
 
 The Earl, his napkin tucked into his but- 
 ton hole, ate, and drank, and tasted of this, 
 and discussed that — almost the whole of his 
 conversation being directed to his maitre 
 d'hotel, who stood behind him. The Countess 
 condescended to put a few delicate morsels 
 into her noble mouth, much as if she dis- 
 dained the vulgar occupation of eating. 
 Poor Lady Clarinda was condemned to the 
 observance of a dietary, directed by Madame, 
 — who between her care that her pupil should 
 not spoil her shape by eating too much — and 
 that she herself should improve her own by 
 eating enough, was too busy even to attend 
 to Mr. Poyntz — who, sitting silently by her 
 side, ate a little dry bread and sala:d, after 
 he had discussed one plate of soup, and 
 swallowed a glass of water. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 THE PREVISIONS 
 
 Mr. Green was eating all dinner-time, yet 
 so slowly that he got but a poor meal. Lord 
 Canham tasted of everything upon the table, 
 in succession — seemed entirely absorbed in 
 his plate, and rejecting with disgust almost all 
 he tried — till at last he fastened upon some 
 rich, heavy, and unwholesome dish, and de- 
 voured it voraciously. The tutor ate silently 
 and still, as tutors should eat — but the chap- 
 lain — he was like the country mouse in the 
 fable, he stuffed, and stuffed, and stuffed 
 again — his red rosy gills grew redder and 
 rosier ; his eyes twinkled, as glass after glass 
 of rich madeira was poured out by the but- 
 ler — with whom there seemed to be a secret 
 understanding — for Mr. Powel in vain said, 
 " Mr. Bucklersbury, I will thank you for a 
 little wine — A glass of wine, if you please, 
 sir;" — to a saucy footman, " Some wine, if 
 you please, Mr. Richard," holding up his 
 glass — till Lord Canham, suddenly raising 
 his head from his plate, said imperiously, 
 " Did you not hear my tutor call for 
 wine?" — and then he got some. 
 
 " Some wine, Mr. James?" said the chap- 
 lain, with amenity. Gerald nodded assent —
 
 OF LADY EVELYN. 889 
 
 and then the butler condescended to give him 
 a glass. 
 
 In other respects he was not very ill pro- 
 vided for. — The chaplain, while he swilled 
 away from time to time, turned to him with : 
 " Try this, James — Give Mr. James some 
 eel pie" — and so on. To which some of the 
 footmen attended, and some did not — how 
 ever, he got dinner enough. 
 
 The ladies retired soon after dinner — and 
 then Mr. Green rose and left the room — and 
 then Lord Canham strolled out at the win- 
 dow, and his tutor followed — and then the 
 chaplain swallowed a brimming bumper of 
 madeira, and punched a huge piece of rich 
 plum-cake into his mouth ; and while he 
 was munching, whispered to Gerald, that it 
 was expected they should also go away — for, 
 said he, winking at Mr. Poyntz, whose back 
 was turned — " It will not be proper con- 
 versation for good little boys like you and 
 me." 
 
 Gerald walked to his library — the chaplain 
 to his study ; whence, after a while, he ad- 
 journed to the steward's room, and ended the 
 evening very jovially.
 
 340 THE PREVISIONS OF LADY EVELYN. 
 
 Those who chose came into the saloon to 
 tea ; those who did not, had what they liked 
 in their own rooms. — Gerald had had enough 
 of society, for one day, at least ; so he went 
 up to his own room, read till twelve o'clock, 
 a^d then went to bed. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by S. & J. Bentley, Wilson, and Flet, 
 
 Bangor House, Shoe Lane. 
 
 /
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUN0I9-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 051353784