L I B R.A FLY 
 
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 Of ILLINOIS 
 
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 30, Welbeck Street, Feb. 1852. 
 
 POPULAR MEW MOVERS. 
 
 In Three Volumes. 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. 
 
 By the Author of " Lady Granard's Nieces," " Sir Arthur 
 Bouverie," &c. 
 
 " The Great Koh-i-noor diamond of fiction for 1851, is decidedly the 
 brilliant novel ' The Young Doctor,' by the author of ' Sir Arthur Bouverie.' 
 Like the Great Exhibition it should be seen and studied by all grades of 
 society." — Yorkshire Times. 
 
 " Full of absorbing interest." — Dispatch. 
 
 " The story is well told." — Weekly Chronicle 
 
 In Three Volumes. 
 
 EERNLEY MANOR. 
 
 By Mrs. MACKENZIE DANIELS, Author of " My Sister 
 " Minnie," &c. 
 
 " It is a rare combination of talent and taste." — Britannia. 
 
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 A Second Edition, in Three Volumes. 
 
 MASTERS AND WORKMEN. 
 
 A Novel By Lord B 
 
 " It is a very clever novel." — Spectator. 
 
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 In Three Volumes. 
 
 CONVICTION. 
 
 A Tale. By B. CLARKE, Esq. 
 
 " These volumes contain many scenes of great power, and on the whole 
 sustain the general high character of Mr. Newby's publications." — British 
 Army Dispatch. 
 
 " Pictures of the horrors of the civil war are forcibly drawn." — Morning 
 Advertiser.
 
 OF THE 
 
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 IMPORTANT CAUTION. 
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 SOLD BY 
 
 A, Rowland & Sons, 20, Hatton Garden, London.
 
 THE 
 
 FAKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 % loM. 
 
 BY LORD b******* 
 
 Author of " Masters and Workmen." 
 
 • We are so hound and shackled by all manner of prejudices, national, party, ec- 
 clesiastical, individual, that we can hardly move a limb freely." — Archdeacon J. C. 
 If (t re. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1852.
 
 8£-5 
 v. a. 
 
 THE FAROE OF LIFE. 
 
 or 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Love thy mother, little one ! 
 Kiss and clasp her neck again, — 
 Hereafter she may have a son 
 Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
 
 Love thy mother, little one ! 
 Gaze upon her living eyes, 
 And mirror back her love for thee. 
 
 Hood. 
 
 It was a cold, damp evening in December ; 
 and a small rain haying fallen without in- 
 termission the whole day, the streets of 
 London were covered with a thick, black 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 ^
 
 2 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 inud, from which the light of the gas 
 lamps was reflected in mournful rays. 
 
 Even in populous, busy London, there 
 is something inexpressibly desolate in 
 such an evening. To the thin-shod, 
 houseless, half-famished wanderer, it is 
 fraught with fever and with death ; and 
 the delicate lady of fashion seems to re- 
 coil from touching the ground, as she 
 springs from her carriage to the open hall- 
 door, where obsequious lacqueys are 
 awaiting to usher her to the halls of 
 luxury. 
 
 Few foot passengers were abroad in 
 the streets at the west end of the town, 
 and the silence was only occasionally 
 broken by the rumbling of a cab, with a 
 wet driver in a shining hat, and a still 
 w T etter horse plodding on with bent down 
 head, and a dripping halter on its neck ; 
 or by the heavy roll of an omnibus filled 
 almost to suffocation. 
 
 It was about six o'clock, when one of 
 these vehicles stopped at the corner of a
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 3 
 
 street crossing Portland Place ; and a 
 woman, dressed in deep mourning, and 
 carrying a child in her arms, stepped out 
 and paid her fare in silence. 
 
 " All right," cried the conductor, and the 
 carriage rolled away, whilst the lady, for 
 such she was, remained standing, and 
 looked anxiously around her, as if bewil- 
 dered by the strangeness of her position, 
 and uncertain which way to proceed. But 
 she did not long hesitate. She wrapped 
 her shawl closer round her sleeping infant, 
 and walked up to the door of the 
 house nearest to her, to ascertain the 
 number. It was not that she sought, but 
 it served her as a guide, aud she then 
 proceeded quickly, for some distance, 
 down the street. 
 
 A bright light was streaming from the 
 drawing-room windows, and music sounded 
 gaily from the mansion, where she at 
 length paused, and, though with a trem- 
 bling hand, gave a double knock. The 
 door was almost immediately afterwards 
 B 2
 
 4 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 flung open by a smart footman in livery, 
 who evidently expected a very different 
 guest, and gazed for a moment with con- 
 sternation and surprise on the figure be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " Show me to Mr. Elsmere," said the 
 lady, taking advantage of the man's con- 
 fusion, and advancing several steps into 
 the well-lighted passage. 
 
 " It is quite impossible," answered the 
 footman, holding the door in his hand. 
 " My master is just going to dinner, and 
 there is a large party expected." 
 
 " I must see him," was the reply ; and 
 it was spoken with such a quiet firmness 
 that the domestic looked again at the in- 
 truder from head to foot ; and this time, 
 came to the conclusion that she was no 
 common beggar. 
 
 " Who shall I say has enquired for 
 him T he demanded in a civiler tone of 
 voice, as he closed the front door, and 
 came close up to her. 
 
 " Give him that card, and say I shall not
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 5 
 
 detain him long," she returned ; and she 
 put a card, with a name written on it, into 
 his hand. 
 
 Whilst the footman stood reading it in 
 the lamp-light, the door of a back dining- 
 room opened, and a tall, handsome man 
 about five and thirty, in full dress, came 
 out. 
 
 " With whom are you talking there, 
 James, at this unseasonable hour V he 
 said, casting an angry glance at the 
 stranger. " Such people ought to go to 
 the other door when company is ex- 
 pected." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, but this person 
 is no acquaintance of mine. She says 
 she wishes to speak with you," was the 
 servant's submissive reply. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Elsmere, you must hear me 
 at last, though it be only for five minutes," 
 said the stranger, in a feeble but decided 
 tone, as she advanced close to the master 
 of the house. 
 
 Mr. Elsmere looked at her with an in-
 
 6 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 quisitive and searching gaze, till suddenly 
 an expression of the most withering and in- 
 sulting contempt distorted his handsome 
 features. 
 
 The lady did not shrink beneath it, but 
 she felt that she was recognized, and she 
 was not surprised when Mr. Elsmere sternly 
 demanded, by what right she had pre- 
 sumed to intrude into his house. 
 
 " In right of your brother's child," she 
 calmly, and distinctly replied. " In right 
 of his last dying petition, that you would 
 extend your regard and protection to his 
 orphan, and his — " 
 
 " This audacity is not to be borne ; and 
 in the presence of servants too," said the 
 gentleman. " Have you no sense of de- 
 cency, or delicacy. I am engaged, I ex- 
 pect company, and your visit is an annoy- 
 ance beyond measure at such an hour." 
 
 " I have travelled from Clifton to-day," 
 was the soft reply, "and as, perhaps, it 
 may be the last opportunity I may ever 
 have of seeing you, I wished to recommend
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 7 
 
 my boy to your protection, which I trusted 
 your sense of justice alone would have 
 sufficed to secure for him." 
 
 A carriage at this moment drew up be- 
 fore the hall door, and a thundering knock 
 quickly echoed through the house. 
 
 " Come into this room, till my visitors 
 have passed, madam, and then I request 
 that you leave my house, at once and for 
 ever," said Mr. Elsmere, sternly ; and as he 
 spoke, he re-opened the door from whence 
 he had issued, and followed the lady, who 
 silently obeyed him, into a back parlour. 
 
 Almost immediately afterwards, three 
 elegant and fashionable women glided, in full 
 dress, up the softly carpetted stairs, in the 
 pleasing flutter of conscious beauty and ex- 
 pected triumph. 
 
 The poor lady in the back parlour, un- 
 bidden took a chair before a glowing fire, and 
 held up her infant's chubby feet to its 
 warmth. 
 
 " Mr. Elsmere," she said, bursting into 
 tears after the gentleman had walked once
 
 8 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 or twice, with hurried steps, in angry 
 silence up and down the room, " you pro- 
 mised poor Edward, w T hen he was dying, 
 you would be a brother to me, and a 
 father to his child." 
 
 " Yes, madam/' he replied, stopping 
 suddenly before her, and regarding her 
 with cold, stern disdain ; " but I was then 
 in ignorance of the truth ; circumstances 
 have changed ; and after all that has come 
 to light since my brother's death, I wonder 
 at your audacity in intruding on me in this 
 manner/' 
 
 " It is the last time I shall trouble you," 
 she said, calmly; " but I do not deserve 
 such treatment, Mr. Elsmere, and whatever 
 you may assert, you are well aware, that I 
 do not — you degrade yourself and not me, 
 by conduct so unworthy of a gentleman 
 and a Christian. You have made me shed 
 bitter tears, very bitter tears ; but I could 
 have pardoned all, had your treatment of 
 me not been an insult to the memory of 
 him, whom I loved and honoured. '
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. V 
 
 " You have no cause to complain of my 
 treatment, madam/' was the quiet reply. 
 " I have provided for your wants, and those 
 of your child, and certainly you must admit, 
 that in your position, you had no right to 
 expect so much from me. If your object in 
 coming hither be to obtain money, here 
 are twenty pounds at your service, on con- 
 dition that for the future I am troubled by 
 no further applications of the kind." 
 
 " My object is not to obtain money," said 
 the lady, arising without casting a look on 
 the bank notes Mr. Elsmere held towards 
 her ; " money, however much you may 
 value it, cannot heal such wounds as are 
 bleeding in my heart." 
 
 At this moment the door was thrown 
 open, and a girl, about ten years old, 
 sprang gaily into the room. She was pale 
 and sickly ; but most elegantly dressed in 
 pink silk, whilst a profusion of well ordered 
 flaxen ringlets fell around her neck and 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Papa — papa," she cried, and then, 
 B 5
 
 10 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 
 
 perceiving that Mr. Elsmere was not alone, 
 she stopped short, and gazed with curiosity, 
 for a moment, at the lady and her child, 
 before she glided softly up to her father, 
 and, taking his hand, said in a low voice, 
 " Mamma sent me to say, you must come 
 to dinner. Everybody has arrived, and 
 they are all waiting for you." 
 
 " Go, Mr. Elsmere, I will no longer de- 
 tain you/' said the lady, arising as she 
 spoke. " Go to your company ; and may 
 no remembrance of the desolate woman, 
 and the orphan nephew, you now turn from 
 your door, ever intrude upon your memory, 
 to dim the brightness of your revels. May 
 God accomplish your dearest washes, as 
 you have fulfilled your promises to your 
 dying brother. Providence may one day 
 bring this hour bitterly to your remem- 
 brance. " 
 
 •'Papa, who is that lady ?" demanded 
 the little girl, who had listened, with 
 wonder and anxious curiosity, to this pas- 
 sionate appeal.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 1 1 
 
 Mr. Elsmere made no reply. In spite of 
 his assumed tranquillity, many conflicting 
 feelings agitated his breast, and something, 
 almost amounting to remorse, stung his 
 heart, as he contemplated the calm, 
 elevated, and unearthly beauty of his 
 visitor, who, with her babe folded in her 
 arms, stood erect in the middle of the room; 
 the light of a pendant lamp falling full 
 upon her sorrowful countenance. Her 
 widow's mourning could not conceal the 
 perfection of her figure, nor the dazzling 
 fairness of her complexion. A hectic 
 colour glowed on her transparent cheeks, 
 and gave an unnatural brightness to her 
 large, soft, black eyes, where tears still 
 glistened ; and the expression of her coun- 
 tenance sufficed to prove, that the soul of 
 this fair and graceful woman, was as 
 beautiful and pure as the shrine it ani- 
 mated. 
 
 Mr. Elsmere knew her merits, and the 
 injustice of her sufferings well, but it was 
 contrary to his interest to acknowledge 
 them, and he made no effort to detain her.
 
 12 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 As soon as he heard the hall door closed 
 after her, as she went out into the street, 
 he took his little daughter by the hand, and 
 telling her that the stranger was only a 
 troublesome beggar, whom she was to say 
 nothing more about, he proceeded to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " But, Papa, the lady said the baby was 
 your nephew! what could she mean by 
 that?" enquired the girl, eagerly. 
 
 " She was mad, my dear; and the sooner 
 you forget such nonsense, the better," re- 
 plied the gentleman; and with the blandest 
 smiles, he then joined the large party 
 assembled to celebrate the birth- day of his 
 only son and heir. 
 
 But the little girl never forgot either the 
 strange lady, or the words she had uttered. 
 The language of the heart, so seldom heard 
 in the polished monotony of fine society, 
 makes an indelible impression on children, 
 whenever it breaks, by accident, on their 
 unaccustomed ears.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 13 
 
 Three years afterwards, Mr. Elsmere 
 lost, by a painful and lingering disease, the 
 only male heir of his fortunes and his 
 name; and his daughter then remembered, 
 with a feeling of superstitious awe, the 
 widow's parting malediction. 
 
 Other hours awaited her in life, when it 
 was yet more forcibly to be brought back 
 to her mind. 
 
 Whilst the splendid and vain hospitality, 
 by which Mr. Elsmere sought the gratifi- 
 cation of his vanity, was accepted without 
 gratitude, as a thing of every-day occur- 
 rence, by the fashionable votaries of 
 pleasure, who were his guests, the poor 
 widow proceeded as fast as her almost ex- 
 hausted strength enabled her, towards 
 Oxford-Street. 
 
 She was fortunately not unacquainted 
 with London, although it was the first 
 time she had ever trodden its streets at 
 such an hour, alone. But the partner of 
 her life was in the grave, and the feeling
 
 14 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 that it was her duty to supply his place, to 
 the babe she carried in her arms, gave her 
 renewed courage and resolution. She was 
 a mother, and in that lay a power far be- 
 yond her mere bodily strength. All her 
 hopes and wishes upon earth were centred 
 in her infant. Happily he slept on, even 
 in the noisy bustle of the busy streets, and 
 it was not till the lady had again entered 
 an omnibus, proceeding towards the city, 
 that he awoke with a fretful cry for food. 
 She soothed him as she best could, and 
 when she quitted the vehicle in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the Mansion House, he again 
 slept soundly. Her feeble arms were now 
 almost unable to sustain the burthen she 
 carried ; and her limbs tottered, as she 
 turned down a narrow street at the back 
 of the Poultry. 
 
 She was here no longer certain of her 
 way, and she stopped to ask an old apple 
 woman, who sat at her poor fruit stall, 
 with her feet in a sack, and a farthing 
 candle burning in a paper screen before
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 15 
 
 her, if she could direct her to Rose Court. 
 It was fortunately very near, and in less 
 than rive minutes the lady passed under 
 a gateway into a silent, gloomy court, 
 from whence there was no other opening. 
 The houses around were quiet and respec- 
 table, but old and smoke-stained ; and 
 man}' generations had passed away since 
 they had been the dwellings of the wealthy 
 merchants by whom they were built. They 
 were now mostly offices and warehouses ; 
 and as they were all closed for the night, 
 the stillness and solitude, contrasted with 
 the noise and bustle of the neighbouring 
 streets, like the dead with the living. 
 
 A tall, dingy house, closed up the end of 
 the narrow alley, and to this the lady at 
 once proceeded. Her hand trembled as 
 she raised the bright, brass knocker, and 
 she remembered the reception she had so 
 recently met with ; but here no dashing 
 footman came to drive her from the door. 
 Several minutes elapsed before an old wo-
 
 16 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 man, with a tallow candle in her hand, 
 slowly and cautiously lifted the latch. 
 
 '* Mary, is your master at home ?" in- 
 quired the wanderer, in a feeble voice. 
 
 " Lord love you, ma'am, is that you ? It 
 is so late we had quite given up expecting 
 you !" was the jo} r ful reply, by which she 
 was welcomed, " and carrying the babe, 
 your own self ! Give the pretty dear to 
 me, and come up stairs, ma am, for master 
 will be right glad to see you. But Lord 
 love you, ma'am, how tired you look ! and 
 no wonder, carrying this heavy boy, and 
 you never used to the like." 
 
 " Who is it, Mary 1 Is my sister come 
 at last V was the demand hastily made by 
 a male voice, at the door of a room on 
 the first floor, to which they were ascend- 
 ing. 
 
 M Yes sir, yes, Mrs. Elsmere is coming 
 up, sir." 
 
 " My dearest sister, you are heartily 
 welcome," said a tall, thin man, in black, 
 about forty years of age, who now advan-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 17 
 
 ced, and after kissing the widow with 
 fatherly affection, led her by the hand into 
 the small room from whence he had come 
 to receive her. 
 
 She did not speak, but she turned aside 
 her head, to conceal the tears she shed. 
 The furniture of the apartment they en- 
 tered was old-fashioned, and by the taste- 
 ful and the luxurious, would have been 
 called shabby, for taste begets many wants. 
 But it was well preserved, scrupulously 
 clean, and sufficed for the necessities of 
 the proprietor of the dwelling. That even- 
 ing, the red stuff window curtains looked 
 bright and comfortable in the light of the 
 glowing fire, and the old china tea things, 
 arranged on a mahogany table, were re- 
 flected from its polished surface. A 
 kettle was singing on the fire, and a cat 
 lay asleep on the rug. 
 
 The n. aster of the house and his faithful 
 servant had prepared everything with love 
 and affection, for the reception of the poor 
 widow.
 
 18 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 The lady understood this, the moment 
 she entered the room, and she turned to 
 thank her brother, the Rev. Mr. Marston, 
 with a look of unutterable gratitude ; she 
 murmured a few broken words, and then, 
 resting her head upon his shoulder, she wept 
 convulsively. 
 
 u Poor child! I thank God you are here 
 at last," said the clergyman kindly pressing 
 her hand, " but this must not be, I cannot 
 bear to see you weep, my own Lucy !" 
 
 " She is exhausted by her journey, sir, 
 and wants rest and nourishment," said old 
 Mar}', "I will lay the child or the sofa, and 
 get tea ready in a minute." 
 
 This, she quickly performed, whilst Mr. 
 Marston placed his sister in a large easy 
 chair near the fire. Without checking her 
 grief, he spoke so tenderly to her, that her 
 first burst of sorrow was soothed, by de- 
 grees ; and she was, before long, able to 
 answer his affectionate enquiries, and to 
 thank him for his kindness. 
 
 Old Mary thenremoved her hat and shawl,
 
 THE FAKCE OP LIFE. 19 
 
 changed her wet shoes, and insisted on her 
 drinking the tea she had prepared for her. 
 This greatly revived her; but more than ail, 
 the consciousness that she was watched by 
 loving eyes, and served by loving hands 
 cheered her heart; for, once the object of 
 the most ardent attachment and devotion, 
 she had suffered the great trial of being- 
 left suddenly alone amongst strangers, to 
 endure the most heart-rending grief with- 
 out sympathy and without pity. 
 
 "You got my letter, dearest brother," 
 said the lady as soon as the old servant 
 had left them alone. " I have nothing new 
 to tell you, except that I went to Duchess 
 Street, on my way hither, and was received 
 most cruelly." 
 
 " Poor child! why did you venture to go 
 there, after all that has passed?" enquired 
 Mr. Marston. 
 
 " I went for my boy's sake, not my own," 
 she replied. " I knew it was the last ef- 
 fort I could make in his behalf; but I went 
 in vain. The rich have cast him off! You
 
 20 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 only will protect him when I am in the 
 grave." 
 
 "Talk not of death, Lucy" said the curate; 
 " with God's blessing, you will be well and 
 strong again before long. We must all 
 have trials, and though you are afflicted 
 now, you will have happy days again, when 
 your boy will supply his father's place, and 
 reward your anxious cares by his gratitude 
 and love." 
 
 " I have known happy days," replied the 
 widow, whilst tears filled her eyes. " I 
 have known sunny days — days it is pain- 
 ful to think are for ever gone ! yet, oh 
 God, they are past, and I am for ever alone, 
 till I rejoin my own lost one in heaven. 
 Indeed brother, death has no longer terrors 
 forme!" 
 
 " You are not alone as long as you have 
 his boy, Lucy," said the curate gently 
 taking her hand. 
 
 11 Better he had never been born, than 
 live to be called the child of shame," she 
 exclaimed, bursting into a passionate fit of 
 weeping. '* Oh brother ! brother! what
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 21 
 
 would my poor husband have suffered 
 on his death-bed, had he known that 
 his cruel relatives would deny the right of 
 his widow and his child to bear his name, 
 and turn them with dishonour from their 
 roof! A loss such as mine is hard to bear, 
 but when shame and insult are added to 
 it, the heart must break." 
 
 u The innocent should never despair of 
 God's mercy," said Mr. Marston. " When 
 the heart is pure, no matter what the world 
 may say. Insult cannot reach you under 
 my roof, and my income is sufficient for 
 our simple wants." 
 
 " But my boy — my poor boy ! must he 
 be for ever robbed of his birth-right?" 
 
 " The law must yet do him justice, if 
 there be a possibility of producing the 
 necessary evidence," said Mr. Marston, 
 gently. 
 
 " The law is too dear for the widow and 
 the orphan," was the bitter reply. " Neither 
 you nor I have the means to undertake a 
 law-suit, even though the wealthy and the
 
 22 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 powerful rob us of thousands. The lawyer 
 at Clifton laughed at me, when I talked of 
 ray son's rights, and said if I attempted to 
 proceed farther by law, 1 should only bring 
 myself to starvation and a prison." 
 
 "At the worst then, Lucy, we can bring 
 your boy up to be an honest and industrious 
 man," was the reply. " He will not be 
 less happy, though he be compelled to earn 
 his own living. You know, my child, I 
 am a great advocate for the necessity of 
 labour to secure happiness.. I have 
 worked hard enough myself." 
 
 " Yes, dearest brother, and very ill have 
 your zealous toils been paid." 
 
 " That is true," answered the curate with 
 a sigh. " A house in this dark alley, with 
 eighty pounds a year, as curate to a large, 
 poor parish, is a small requital for the 
 costly studies of a school and a college — 
 for the labours and the hopes of youth — 
 above all, when a man has taken a double 
 first, as I did. But then you know, Lucy," 
 and he passed his hand over his brow to
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 23 
 
 conceal a blush. "Tou know I never was 
 a flatterer. When I had pupils I made 
 them work. I was no cringer to nobility. 
 T was no worshipper of the rights of wealth, 
 and so I had no patrons. If a man value 
 his independence, and his christian prin- 
 ciples, above all the prizes which the proud 
 and powerful can offer, he must be content 
 to remain a poor curate, in our aristocrati- 
 cal Episcopal Church, till the end of his 
 days. I was too poor to marry. — I felt 
 that bitterly once — but it is long ago — and 
 now I am concent — and I ought to be, for 
 did not Christ come to preach against the 
 princes of the church. Let us remember 
 Him, Lucy, and do our duty meekly — our 
 reward will come at last." 
 
 " God will bless you, my dear brother, 
 for you have done much good, with your 
 small means," answered the widow, kissing 
 the curate's hand, with holy reverence ; 
 " I can never be grateful enough for the 
 unspeakable peace your kindness this night 
 has brought to my harassed and troubled
 
 24 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 heart. If affording consolation to the 
 afflicted, can bestow joy, you must indeed 
 be happy, even on earth." 
 
 " Yes, Lucy, I should be happy, if it 
 were in my power to assist even a small 
 portion of the suffering I see around me, 
 in this great city/' answered the curate ; 
 " but the wretched are thronged together 
 in such masses, that an individual is help- 
 less to comfort, or to serve ; and the state 
 of the poor is getting worse every day, 
 though poor rates may have somewhat 
 diminished. Charity, is almost powerless to 
 aid or solace ; but I am glad you have come 
 to help me, Lucy, for we must all do as 
 much as we can for our fellow creatures, 
 and I am sure you will feel your own sor- 
 row lighter, when you can contribute to 
 lessen the miseries of others." 
 
 " I know it by experience," answered 
 the lady softly. 
 
 " Yet, my child, I often see things too 
 frightful for you to witness. The soul is 
 dragged down by the perdition of the body,
 
 THE FAECE OF LIFE. 25 
 
 and want, when it does not kill, degrades 
 most fearfully." 
 
 " Dear brother, you make me shudder," 
 murmured the widow, gazing anxiously in 
 her brother's face. 
 
 " Yet what I say is true. When I 
 talk to my rector of the misery in his 
 parish, and he is a rich Prebend, who has 
 money enough for a fine house, and fine 
 dinners, he laughs and calls me a visionary. 
 The parish officers say I am a soft-hearted 
 fool, ever ready to be imposed upon; but it 
 is true, Lucy, nevertheless, that our Episco- 
 pal Church, with all its existing abuses, and 
 enormous wealth, is utterly inadequate for 
 the moral and religious instruction of the 
 enormous population of our great cities; and 
 yet, fearful that others, by bestowing on the 
 people a simple and honest education, 
 should emancipate them from its orthodox 
 authority, the clergy resist every plan for 
 secular education, with all their might. 
 But we will not talk more of this now, my 
 child. You are fatigued. Your little 
 
 vol I. c
 
 26 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 room is ready for you, as in days gone by 
 — and you will sleep tranquilly, now you 
 are again at home. May God guard you 
 and your babe." 
 
 The lady kissed, and thanked her bro- 
 ther for all his kindness; and then followed 
 old Mary, who carried the little boy 
 from the sofa to the bed prepared for 
 him. 
 
 She prayed with tranquillity, and she 
 rested her head in peace on the pillow, 
 for she had no more fears on earth. 
 Neither had she any more hope.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 27 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 sweet and strange it seems to me, that, ere this day 
 
 is done, 
 The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun 
 For ever and for ever with those just souls and true, 
 And what is life, that we should moan? why make so 
 
 much ado. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 The wishes of Mr. Marston, for his sis- 
 ter's amendment, were not fulfilled. The 
 day after her arrival, the widow was too 
 ill to leave her bed. During the whole of 
 the following week she became gradually 
 more feeble, and the medicines prescribed 
 for her, failed to arrest the progress of her 
 malady. At the end of a fortnight, the 
 c 2
 
 28 THE FAECE OF LIFE. 
 
 physician who had been called in, pro- 
 nounced her case hopeless, and candidly 
 confessed, that nothing could be done, save 
 to smooth her passage to the grave. 
 
 Her afflicted brother and his faithful 
 servant fulfilled this task to the utmost. 
 The Curate was gratified that he possessed 
 a small patrimony, which enabled him to 
 afford his widowed sister all the comforts 
 that money could procure, but of far 
 greater value to her, was the parental and 
 holy love, with which he watched over her 
 and imparted consolation and hope to her 
 last days upon earth. 
 
 Though tears sometimes filled her eyes, 
 when she gazed, with maternal anxiety, on 
 her unconscious infant, the good man's 
 words of promise never failed to restore 
 her to tranquillity. Except on her child's 
 account, she rejoiced at the approach of 
 death ; for full of hope of an eternal re-union 
 with her lost husband, she w r as impatient to 
 depart from a world, where she had known
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 29 
 
 little happiness, except in his affection, and 
 very much sorrow. 
 
 . The day came before long, when the 
 heart of the widow was at rest. Her 
 death was serene and painless. The Curate 
 mourned for her, as if she had been his 
 own child, and tears choked his utterance, 
 as he read the burial service above her 
 grave, in the little narrow, dark burying- 
 ground which, surrounded by black brick 
 buildings, divided the back of his dwelling- 
 house from the Church. Yet he rejoiced 
 that he could see the last resting-place of 
 his beloved sister, from the window of his 
 study ; and such is the force of habit — he 
 marked not its squalid gloom. It was as 
 dear to him as if the daisy-bespangled turf 
 of a village church-yard had covered the 
 sterile mound. 
 
 Mr. Marston wrote immediately after 
 the funeral, to acquaint Mr. Elsmere with 
 the death of his brother's widow, and to 
 inform him that she had appointed her 
 own brother to be the guardian of her or-
 
 30 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 
 
 phan child. No answer was ever returned 
 to this letter. At the end of a month, the 
 worthy Curate was convinced that the boy 
 was completely abandoned by his wealthy 
 relatives, and left entirely to his care. He 
 rejoiced, for his own sake, that it was so; 
 for he had already become so much at- 
 tached to him, that it would have afflicted 
 him greatly, to have been obliged to give 
 the boy into the hands of persons, by whom 
 he felt certain, he would have been ill 
 educated, and probably neglected. 
 
 Time passed on, and the orphan boy 
 grew and prospered, even in that dark 
 and smoky city court, for he was cherished 
 by loving hearts on earth, and w T ho could 
 say what guardian spirits kept watch over 
 him in heaven. 
 
 Two years had elapsed since the arrival 
 of the desolate widow at her brother's 
 dwelling, and it was again December, 
 when on a cold stormy evening, as the snow 
 was falling fast, old Mary came into her 
 master's study with tea. Instead of find-
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 31 
 
 ing him bending over his books, as had 
 been formerly always the case, he was 
 sitting by the fire-side with his nephew on 
 his knee — showing him pictures, and tel- 
 ling him stories, which made the little 
 fellow ever and anon clap his dimpled 
 hands, and laugh with childish glee. 
 
 '' Go on uncle — what next," he cried 
 every moment, when the curate made a 
 pause, and he looked up in his face with 
 such bright, eager eyes, of awakened intel- 
 lect and love, that Mr. Marston bent down 
 and kissed him, with the proud hope that 
 he might be able to train him, so as one 
 day to be an honour to his country, and 
 a benefactor to mankind. 
 
 a Bless him," said old Mary, her eyes 
 filling with tears, as she gazed on this 
 homely picture. " I often think, sir, he is 
 a spirit come down from heaven to comfort 
 our old age." 
 
 u And his spirit has come down from 
 heaven — and is confided to our care," 
 answered the curate solemnly. " Woe to
 
 32 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 them who neglect such a trust. God give 
 iue strength and ability to train it, to all 
 that is noble,, and just, and true — God 
 give me a life long enough to prepare him 
 to pass without contamination through the 
 vanities, the follies, and the corruptions of 
 this trying world." 
 
 And these words of the good curate 
 w r ere no momentary ebullition of feeling, to 
 be forgotten as soon as uttered. From 
 the hour that his little nephew was left 
 under his guardianship, his education was 
 the principal object of his existence. He 
 felt that a talent had been committed to 
 his care, for whose improvement he was 
 accountable. No doubt many parents 
 would have disapproved of the method he 
 followed in the fulfilment of this task, and 
 those whose whole conduct and ideas are 
 in obedience to established rules, would 
 certainly have considered Mr. Marston's 
 ideas on the subject of education exceed- 
 ingly eccentric and objectionable. But 
 the curate was a man who judged for him-
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 33 
 
 self, in all things. He was capable of 
 original thought, and his actions were the 
 result of his thoughts. 
 
 This independence influenced the whole 
 tenour of his life, and some of his parish- 
 ioners were of opinion that it influenced 
 also his religion. In fact, he was no bigot. 
 He did not limit his charities to the fre- 
 quenters of his church ; he inquired into 
 no man's belief on scholastic points of faith ; 
 and had he preached to a more fashionable 
 and numerous congregation, he would 
 probably have been speedily called by his 
 rector to account for his unorthodox 
 doctrines, and for sermons which enforced 
 no particular articles of belief, and pleaded 
 more in favour of universal charity and 
 love, than against heresies and sects. 
 
 But as it was, his rector knew very 
 little about what he preached, and only 
 occasionally gave him a reprimand, when 
 he complained, that with his best endea- 
 vours, his labour was inadequate to per- 
 c 5
 
 34 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 form the duties of so large and so poor a 
 parish. 
 
 " You waste too much time in the school," 
 he was told, — " You meddle too much 
 with the concerns of other people. The 
 more you do for beggars and paupers the 
 more they require of you. 1 am told you 
 spoil them, Mr. Marston, and I should be 
 better pleased if you limited your atten- 
 tion to christenings, marriages, and fune- 
 rals, after the performance of your Sunday 
 duties. Now and then, perhaps, it may be 
 as well to visit the school, to be certain 
 that the children are properly taught the 
 catechism, and a due respect for the church, 
 but that is quite sufficient, when the master 
 is under your direction." 
 
 " But the poor do not always know the 
 value of education," answered the curate, 
 '• and many of their children would never 
 be sent to school at all, if I did not visit 
 the parents, and pay some attention to the 
 matter."
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 35 
 
 " So much the better," answered the 
 rector. " It is not our fault, when schools 
 are there, if the people won't profit by them; 
 and — between ourselves — the less they 
 learn, the better. A little knowledge only 
 unsettles their minds, and makes them dis- 
 contented. Education has made the middle 
 classes almost all sectarians." 
 
 Mr. Marston might have answered, that 
 the true reason of this apostacy would be 
 found in the abuses of the Church ; but he 
 knew it was in vain to reply, and quietly 
 resolved to do what he considered his duty, 
 as far as his strength permitted, without 
 attending to his rector's objections. 
 
 Amongst Mr. Marston's poor parishioners, 
 was a silk weaver, named James D'Arcy. 
 This man lived with his wife in a back 
 room of a house looking into the church- 
 yard, immediately opposite the study 
 window of the curate. He had come there 
 on his marriage with a fresh, pretty, country 
 girl, whose blooming, fair, English beauty 
 contrasted strongly with the fine, but some-
 
 36 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 what sallow features of her husband, who 
 sprung from a family of French refugees, 
 still retained the dark complexion, and 
 black hair and eyes of his forefathers. The 
 lonely curate insensibly became interested 
 in the little household concerns of his neigh- 
 bours. It was evident that affection and 
 good feeling enlivened their humble dwelling, 
 and though poor, yet as long as their in- 
 dustry sufficed to procure them the neces- 
 saries of life, they were happy, and the 
 young wife, at least, was gay. He loved 
 to hear her sing, as she sat at her loom, he 
 loved to hear her cheerful voice, as she 
 tended her canary, and the flower that 
 stood at her window, and whenever he 
 met the weaver and his wife, neatly dressed, 
 returning arm-and-arm from their house of 
 prayer, he never failed to salute them. 
 And thus a tacit acquaintance, and a sort 
 of neighbourly love sprung up between 
 them, in spite of what worldly people 
 would call their difference of station. 
 
 But the innocent happiness of these poor
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE, 37 
 
 people was not of long duration. Owing 
 to a stagnation in the silk trade, the man 
 was long out of work. He had saved 
 nothing ; for his earnings previously had 
 scarcely sufficed for the maintenance of his 
 wife and her three young babes, who had 
 followed each other rapidly into the world, 
 during the first four year- of their marriage ; 
 and the sufferings of the poor man were 
 very keen, when he saw the strength and 
 bloom of his young wife wasting away from 
 actual want of food. He shruuk from the 
 humiliation of seeking parish relief; neither 
 could he beg, but he went out into the 
 streets, and earned a few pence daily by 
 carrying parcels, or some other chance em- 
 ployment. Fortunately, Mr. Marston ob- 
 served, before long, the alteration in the 
 poor woman's appearance ; he observed 
 also, that James D'Arcy no longer worked 
 at his loom all day as he had formerly done ; 
 but was often out or sat reading, sad and 
 silent, for hours together ; and the good 
 curate, conjecturing the reason for these
 
 38 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 changes, went at once to ascertain from 
 the weaver himself the real state of the 
 case, and offer all the assistance in his 
 power. 
 
 He saw much in the character of these 
 poor people during their affliction, which 
 added respect to the pity he had pre- 
 viously felt for them. On their side, the 
 curate's kindness was never forgotten. 
 He had not only relieved them from the 
 pinching severity of want, but he had 
 rendered, the man especially, a great 
 moral benefit, by his benevolent ministry, 
 and had softened a heart becoming stern 
 and morose, from suffering, and lack of 
 sympathy. 
 
 The weaver again obtained work, and 
 he was able once more to supply the wants 
 of his family by his industry ; but affliction 
 does not lightly depart fro?n the house 
 where it has once spread the shadow of 
 its wings. His two elder children soon 
 afterwards sickened and died — probably 
 in consequence of the deprivations they
 
 THE FAECE OF LTFE. 39 
 
 had undergone, and when the curate's 
 little nephew was five years old, the family 
 of the D'Arcys was reduced to one girl, 
 about two years younger. 
 
 Kate D'Arcy was a pretty little delicate 
 creature, with black eyes, so large, and 
 lashes so long, that they seemed out of all 
 proportion with the rest of her face. She 
 was very pale and thin, for the air of the 
 narrow London streets was the purest at- 
 mosphere she ever breathed, and her food 
 was at the best of times scanty and poor. 
 But the very feebleness of the gentle, 
 quiet, little creature, won the love of Mr. 
 Marston and his nephew. The strong, 
 healthy boy delighted to feel himself the 
 aider and protector of the girl ; and when 
 his lessons were over, he tormented his 
 uncle and old Mary perpetually, to let 
 Kate come and play with him. The house- 
 keeper seconded his petition, for she was 
 glad to have him amused, and the D'Arcys, 
 she said, were honest people, whose child 
 could teach him no harm. So the silk
 
 40 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 weaver's little daughter came every morn- 
 ing to the curate's, and when the weather 
 was fine, the two children played all day 
 together, on the graves in the old church- 
 yard. The happiness of both was then 
 complete, and unlike the happiness of after 
 life, knew neither past, nor future. The 
 shadow of death had not extended its chill- 
 ing influence to the pure and fearless souls 
 of those little ones. 
 
 When Mr. Marston began to teach the 
 boy to read and write, little Kate shared 
 his lessons, and in their play hours he 
 helped her with her tasks, or she sang to 
 him in the sweet voice of childhood, little 
 ballads which she had learnt from her 
 mother. In the long winter evenings, 
 they delighted to sit by old Mary's spin- 
 ning-wheel, in the curate's kitchen, lis- 
 tening to a fairy tale, or some marvellous 
 history of departed giants, and on a 
 Sunday afternoon, they were allowed 
 to go together to the weaver's, where 
 D'Arcy read to them such stories from
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 41 
 
 the Bible as they were able to under- 
 stand. 
 
 It was one of Mr. Marston's principles, 
 that his nephew should be taught to love 
 his neighbours, whatever might be their 
 rank ; and that he should learn in boy- 
 hood, thoroughly to understand, and sym- 
 pathize with the poor. He believed it was 
 the only method to make him acquainted 
 with the lower classes, and insure his 
 growing up to manhood, with a true feel- 
 ing of Christian love, and Christian equality. 
 But at the same time, he carefully pre- 
 vented his associating with those, whom 
 poverty, or vice, had morally degraded. 
 D'Arcy he knew to be a man gifted, by 
 nature, with the noblest faculties, and who 
 had taken advantage of every leisure hour 
 to make up for the deficiencies of a neg- 
 lected education, and his scanty means of 
 obtaining knowledge ; and he was quite 
 convinced that under his roof, the boy 
 could learn nothing evil. 
 
 The intimacy of the children gradually
 
 42 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 brought the curate and his industrious 
 neighbour, more frequently in contact 
 with each other ; and Mr. Marston found 
 pleasure, not only in supplying D'Arcy 
 with books, when he had time to read, 
 but also in sitting with him an hour, 
 from time to time, and discussing the 
 opinions and facts contained in these vol- 
 umes. 
 
 This friendly intercourse opened a new 
 existence to the weaver. 
 
 " Oh, sir/' he said one evening to the 
 curate as they sat together. "I cannot 
 tell you what a debt of gratitude I owe 
 you." 
 
 "It is little I can do for you, James," 
 was the reply. 
 
 u You have done more than any living 
 man ever did, sir. You have taught me 
 to understand and enjoy the strength of 
 my own mind. Before I knew you, sir, 
 my thoughts were a burthen and a torment 
 to me. I had no one to speak to, who 
 understood me; I had no one to explain
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 43 
 
 what I did not understand. It is hard, 
 sir, for a man to feel that he has some- 
 thing in his heart and his head, that de- 
 serves better than contempt and starvation, 
 and jet in this great intellectual city to be 
 disabled by poverty, from exchanging a 
 thought, or even a word, with those, who 
 enjoy the advantages of knowledge and 
 education ; my mind has been starved 
 almost to madness — it consumed my body, 
 but now it has healthy food, and I thank 
 you, Mr. Marston. You have done a noble 
 act — you have saved a fellow creature here 
 and hereafter, and though my creed is not 
 that of your Episcopal Church, I respect 
 you, sir, with my whole soul, as a true and 
 pious christian/' 
 
 "You are a good man, James, and 
 if I have done you any service, I 
 have my reward," answered the curate 
 simply. 
 
 ht Mr. Marston," returned the weaver, 
 " I know the full value of the condescension 
 of a man of learning and virtue, such as
 
 44 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 
 
 yours, when he sits down and converses 
 like a brother, with a poor, unlettered 
 labourer, like myself. Yes, sir, and it is 
 for that I love you, if you will excuse my 
 using the expression ; for it convinces me 
 that you not only profess, but practise the 
 doctrines of Christ, who came to raise 
 the spirits of the pour and lowly, and 
 proclaim the knowledge of all good 
 things to the slaves, as well as to their 
 masters/' 
 
 " In the sight of God, we are indeed all 
 equal," said the curate, " but even in the 
 most perfect state of society, knowledge 
 can only be equalized, in proportion to the 
 abilities of men. — Equality of rights, may 
 exist, but all other equality is chimerical, 
 as long as men are born with unequal 
 endowments. No distinction of classes 
 has ever sufficed to raise fools to the level 
 of the wise, and never will, whatever the 
 proud may think. " 
 
 " I doubt if our rector would acknow- 
 ledge the same," said the weaver with a
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 45 
 
 sly smile," for I verily believe he acknow- 
 ledges no wisdom except in lawn sleeves. 
 No — no Mr. Marston — such men as you, 
 are very rare, and it is well not only for 
 me and my little girl, but also for your 
 own nephew, that Providence placed us 
 within the influence of your beneficent 
 knowledge." 
 
 " The boy's misfortunes placed him 
 under my care," returned Mr. Marston. 
 " He was born to great riches, but per- 
 haps it was heaven s pleasure, to save him 
 from the dangers attendant on their pos- 
 session. For my part, I rejoice exceed- 
 ingly that he has not been exposed to the 
 noxious influence of luxurious schools and 
 private tutors, where the rich commonly 
 imbibe all the prejudices of their class, and 
 the miserable rivalries of money and fashion, 
 even before they arrive at man's estate. 
 I trust now, he may become an active and 
 useful member of society, and his educa- 
 tion, and the new hopes it has awakened 
 in my heart, afford me indescribable
 
 46 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 pleasure. I am, what many men consider 
 poor — and have been so, all my life ; but 
 as the contempt and pity of the rich 
 does not wound me, I have a vast 
 store of happiness within my reach. The 
 pleasures of the mind are not costly, 
 James." 
 
 " You have never known want, sir, and 
 your conscience has never reproached you," 
 returned D'Arcy, with a deep sigh. " You 
 have thus escaped the two severest of 
 earthly trials. May you never experience 
 them." 
 
 The good curate felt the truth of this 
 reply ; yet the allusion to the pangs of 
 conscience, somewhat surprised him from 
 the lips of his worthy neighbour ; but he 
 did not then question him further, for his 
 mind had wandered from the subject of 
 their discourse, to vague reflections on the 
 existing state of society, and the inequali- 
 ties which he clearly saw, were becoming 
 daily more marked and unhealthy.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 47 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Thrice blessed, rather, is the man with whom 
 The gracious prodigality of nature, 
 The balm, the bliss, the beauty and the bloom, 
 The bounteous Providence in every feature, 
 Recall the high Creator to his creature. 
 
 Hood. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary for us to inform 
 our readers, that Mr. Marston was gene- 
 rally considered a very eccentric man. Few 
 men can live alone in seclusion, as he had 
 done, till near the age of fifty, without 
 contracting habits, different from those of 
 ordinary mortals, in the observance of 
 which, their happiness in some measure 
 depends. His little nephew's residence
 
 48 THE FARCE OF LIFE, 
 
 with him, had happily snapped asunder 
 some of his self-imposed chains of custom ; 
 but still there were sundry points of differ- 
 ence between the old housekeeper and her 
 master, which even the boy's influence did 
 not suffice to remove. 
 
 The worthy woman had an indomitable 
 love of cleaning and putting things in 
 order, whilst her master, with an utter 
 contempt of dust and cobwebs, would not 
 allow a paper, nor a book to be touched in 
 his study. He would not submit, he said, 
 to have a broom thrust in his face, every 
 time he put his head out of his own room, 
 on Saturday ; so old Mary was at last 
 obliged to submit to her masters whims, 
 and be content to scrub and clean, only 
 when he was from home. In other points 
 the old woman sometimes gained the vic- 
 tory. She insisted on the curate's buying 
 a new coat, before the old one was abso- 
 lutely out at the elbows. She took care 
 that he had clean linen, and a respectable 
 suit for Sunday; and she never allowed him
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFF. 49 
 
 to go unshaved, more than two successive 
 days. Though Mr. Marston would fre- 
 quently have deprived himself almost of 
 the necessaries of life, in order to relieve 
 the poor, in times of great want, she took 
 care that his table was sufficiently, though 
 simply supplied, and that a pint of porter 
 was regularly placed beside his plate. Wine 
 never entered the curate's dwelling, ex- 
 cept in case of sickness. Old Mary's ser- 
 vice was iu truth a labour of love, and the 
 wel'are of her master and his nephew was 
 all that interested her upon earth. And 
 thus this little household lived on in love, 
 year after year, offering a strange contrast, 
 in its peaceful simplicity, to the whirl of 
 ambitious speculation, of dissipation and of 
 vice, in its immediate neighbourhood ; and 
 the lives of the curate and his family glided 
 away as calmly and as unknown, in the 
 midst of the most stirring city in the world, 
 as if they had dwelt in some secluded 
 valley of the Alps. 
 
 Yet time was silently working changes 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 in them all, though at the end of ten years 
 it was in the youngest, that the greatest 
 alteration was apparent. Little Kate no 
 longer had a companion in the lessons 
 which the curate still continued to give 
 her, for her playfellow Leonard, had been 
 sent as a scholar to St. Paul's school, when 
 he was ten years old. But the children's 
 affection for each other was not interrupted 
 by this separation. Though Kate felt it as 
 a lasting sorrow, the spirits of the boy, on 
 the contrary, were gladdened by an asso- 
 ciation with others of his own age ; but 
 still, when evening came, he was impatient 
 to recount to the weaver's little daughter, 
 all that had passed during their separation, 
 or to carry her some little present, to con- 
 sole her for his absence. 
 
 In his studies, Leonard made rapid 
 progress, and the active sports of his com- 
 panions were, for a time, a joy beyond ex- 
 pression to his buoyant spirit. But the 
 charm soon wore off. When they were no 
 longer a novelty, they did not suffice to
 
 THE FAllCE OF LIFE. 51 
 
 content his imagination. He had, even at 
 this early age, the need of something more 
 to occupy his mind, than the mere exercise 
 of healthy strength, which the games of his 
 school-fellows afforded, and before many 
 weeks had passed, he absented himself 
 frequently from their play-ground. 
 
 But he did not return home — he 
 wandered away to the British Museum, to 
 gaze on the old marbles, which, to his 
 young fancy, recounted the marvels and 
 the mysteries of the buried past ; or, in 
 summer, he strolled to Kensington Gardens, 
 and sat motionless, for hours, beside the 
 water, watching the reflection of the an- 
 cient trees, or of the flying clou Is, as the 
 wind varied their shadows and their forms. 
 He generally held a book of poetry in his 
 hand, endeavouring to learn some passage 
 by heart ; but there his talent was at fault, 
 for his brain was too fully occupied by his 
 own crowding and ever changing ideas, to 
 leave him capable of retaining the images 
 or the words of another. 
 D 2 
 
 UNI ^RSIT Y OF 
 lLL,N °lS LIBRARY
 
 52 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 But nevertheless he was not a mere idle 
 dreamer. However his imagination might 
 assert its supremacy at times, it was in 
 useful activity, that the full energy of his 
 character was displayed. Once aroused, 
 and thoroughly inspired by the object he 
 had in view, and it was always a noble one, 
 he was capable of accomplishing in one 
 day, what it would have cost other boys 
 of his age a week to perform, whether 
 the task was one of mental or bodily 
 labour, He was slow to begin, for he 
 doubted his powers ; but this modesty 
 once overcome, he forgot himself in the 
 ardour of activity, and he was dismayed 
 by no difficulties, he was retarded by no 
 fear of trouble or danger. If a fire oc- 
 curred in London before the close of night, 
 he was sure to be there ; the might and 
 majesty of the roaring element gave him 
 an indefinite pleasure, long before he un- 
 derstood the nature of his feelings, or knew 
 that he was impressed by the same sublime 
 power of the elements which gives their
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 53 
 
 glory to the Alps, and its grandeur to the 
 Ocean. 
 
 Sometimes, Mr. Marston was uneasy at 
 the long absences of his nephew ; but 
 when the boy, on his return, related to 
 him where he had been, and he discovered, 
 from a few earnest expressions, the impres- 
 sion which the sights and sounds he had 
 witnessed had made on his young mind, 
 the curate had no longer any fears of his 
 being led astray, even when wandering 
 alone in the great labyrinths of London. 
 
 And Leonard also saw and marked 
 much of the under currents of human life, 
 during these prolonged rambles ; and his 
 knowledge of human life, even at an early 
 age, was very different from that of a 
 youth, who had been bred either in green 
 fields or splendid drawing-rooms. He was 
 well acquainted with the daily deprivations 
 of the thousands of human beings, who seem 
 born only to toil and suffer ; he saw how 
 frequently want, misery, and despair, 
 degrade to vice ; and though he shrunk
 
 54 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 from the crimes he ofter, involuntarily, wit- 
 nessed, with horror, he felt, too truly, the 
 causes from which the demoralization of 
 society sprang, not to regard its victims 
 with sorrow and commiseraticn. 
 
 The worthy curate, with certain pre- 
 judices derived from his own university 
 education, did not fail to impart to his 
 nephew an extensive and clear knowledge 
 both of the Greek and Latin classics. He 
 justly regarded this as the best foundation 
 for a pure and correct taste. But it was 
 not w ? ith the past only that the boy was 
 content to deal. He had been too largely 
 initiated into the literature of his time, 
 and the spirit of action was too strong 
 within him, for him to remain for ever con- 
 tent to peruse the thoughts, or to admire 
 the creations of others. His busy imagina- 
 tion sought restlessly to reproduce and to 
 give a form to the ideas which crowded 
 on his brain, in colours, or in words. 
 
 The curate marked the struggle that was 
 going on in his pupil's mind. He saw,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 55 
 
 that he felt the consciousness of mental 
 strength, and the desire for mental activity, 
 without knowing how, or in what manner, 
 to exercise his powers. But the old man 
 looked on for a time in silence. He had 
 trained and strengthened his nephew's 
 mind, and he now waited with the exult- 
 ing anticipation, that, true to the principles 
 in which he had been educated, he would 
 finally choose an honourable and a noble 
 pursuit. Of the boy's idleness he had no 
 dread; and he rejoiced that, though his for- 
 tune was small, he yet possessed the means 
 to aid him in the studies necessary for a 
 profession. 
 
 To the church, the youth decidedly ob- 
 jected. His imagination was too vivid, 
 and his desire of activity too great for the 
 monotonous life of a curate to have any 
 charms for him. From the idea of the 
 law, or the labour of a merchant's office, 
 he shrunk with absolute horror. He had 
 read too much poetry in the old church- 
 yard ; and his uncle had too faithfully ful-
 
 56 THE FARCE OF LIF.:. 
 
 filled his task of awakening and exalting 
 his youthful mind to an admiration for all 
 things true and noble and beautiful in the 
 moral and physical world, for the drudgery 
 of law, or commerce, to be supportable to 
 him. His feelings and ways of thinking 
 were all, as his education had been, totally 
 different from those of others of his own 
 age. He was entirely free from every taint 
 of prejudice — whether of class or party 
 — the rarest of all qualities to be found in 
 England — he had neither vanity nor pride, 
 nor paltry personal ambition. There was 
 nothing either selfish or little in his mind, 
 though at the same time he was neither 
 dreaming nor fastidious. Happily forlnm, 
 he had not been pampered by indulgence 
 nor luxury ; but trained and disciplined by 
 poverty, the labour of hard study, and 
 daily association with strong and healthy 
 thinkers of more advanced age, and greater 
 experience than himself. 
 
 Largely gifted with imagination, the dis- 
 tinguishing characteristics of his mind were
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 57 
 
 truth, keenness of observation, and an 
 almost intuitive insight into the characters 
 of those with whom he came in contact. 
 With a different education, and under 
 other circumstances, he might have be- 
 come a distinguished politician — but destiny 
 had given his mind another direction, and 
 he decided to be a painter. 
 
 Mr. Marston, whose life had been one 
 of practical utility, had some doubts as to 
 the wisdom of his nephew's choice ; but 
 Leonard talked with so much enthusiasm, 
 of the influence of the arts on the morals 
 and social progress of nations, that the 
 curate hoped he was right, and did not 
 take time narrowly to consider whether 
 they were not rather a consequence than a 
 cause of civilization. 
 
 He was conscious that his nephew was 
 endowed with a far more vivid imagination 
 than himself, and that it was necessary for 
 his happiness, that this faculty should be 
 exercised on noble objects; and though well 
 aware, that the pursuit of money as a law- 
 D 5
 
 58 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 yer or a merchant, would have assured 
 him a more honourable position in society, 
 than he could ever hope to attain as a 
 painter, he did not oppose his wishes. He 
 trusted, the education he had given him, 
 would render him independent of the world 
 as regarded his mere social position; but on 
 this point, he thought it necessary to speak 
 to him clearly and explicitly. He did not 
 however, then think it advisable to reveal 
 to him the mysterious circumstances con- 
 nected with his birth; for he still hoped 
 that, by the repentance of his relatives, or 
 some other unforseen occurrence, he might 
 be spared the humiliation of knowing he 
 had ever been supposed to be the offspring 
 of dishonour. On this account he had hi- 
 therto always called him by his mother's 
 name, and no one knew whether Leonard 
 Marston was the son of a brother or a sister 
 of the curate. 
 
 Mr. Marston had been intimate in early 
 life with one of the most distinguished ar- 
 tists of the day; and to this gentleman, he
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 59 
 
 applied for counsel, as to the direction ot 
 his nephew's studies. By his advice, du- 
 ring the four following years, Leonard 
 profited by all the best artistic instruction 
 which London afforded. At the end of 
 that period, he was pronounced, by compe-- 
 tent judges, to possess talents likely to 
 place him at the summit of his art. 
 
 During all this time, Mr. Marston had 
 not neglected little Kate. When Leonard no 
 longer shared her lessons, he still allowed 
 her to come to him for a couple of hours 
 daily; and he continued to give her such 
 useful instruction, as he considered best 
 calculated to strengthen her character, and 
 her principles, as a preparation to meet 
 the dangers and difficulties, to which, in 
 her station, she was likely to be exposed. 
 He took care, likewise, that she should 
 learn all female works, whilst, by her mo- 
 ther, she was taught the art of weaving 
 velvet in perfection. 
 
 She grew up to be the delight of her 
 father's life; pretty, modest, industrious;
 
 60 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 and with so healthy, pure and cultivated 
 a mind, that the weaver regarded his child 
 almost as a superior being. 
 
 She and Leonard still loved each other, 
 like a brother and a sister, as they had 
 done in childhood; and as the youth was 
 to go, when he had reached his nineteenth 
 year, to complete his studies in Italy, 3ir. 
 Marston had no apprehension of this inno- 
 cent attachment being replaced by any 
 warmer feeling. 
 
 As Leonard became expert in the use of 
 his pencil, his uncle allowed him to appro- 
 priate a high garret as a painting-room; 
 and both the Curate and his old house- 
 keeper were compelled to endure with 
 patience, the trial of sitting for their por- 
 traits, which when finished, by the hand 
 of their darling, were pronounced to be 
 perfect wonders of art, Xo one, then, 
 remained to paint, but little Kate ; 
 and though James D'Arcy, more pru- 
 dent than Mr. Marston, was somewhat 
 unwilling that she should be ex osed to
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 61 
 
 such an ordeal, his objections were not 
 listened to, and he was obliged to accept 
 half a sovereign, to indemnify him for 
 the loss of the girl's work, whilst she 
 came every day, for a week, to sit to the 
 young artist. It had never occurred to 
 Leonard's mind before, to observe whether 
 or not Kate D'Arcy were pretty; but when 
 she sat in what he called his chair of exe- 
 cution, blushing and smiling, half pleased 
 and half ashamed, he was struck, at once, 
 by the tine contour of her features, and the 
 charming expression of her innocent coun- 
 tenance. She was not fresh and blooming 
 like most girls of her age — and many 
 would have called her complexion sallow ; 
 but her skin was fine and soft, and a colour 
 mounted to her cheeks witli every change 
 of emotion. Her hair was jet black, and 
 her large eyes and long eye-lashes, no 
 longer appeared disproportioned to her 
 face, but whenever she looked up, gave a 
 lustrous charm, by no means of an English 
 character, to her whole face.
 
 62 THE FAIiCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Gradually as Leonard pursued his work, 
 he became perfectly inspired by the un- 
 common beauty of his model. As the 
 light fell from the high window on her 
 drooping head, he was aware, for the first 
 time, of the charming lines of the nose 
 and forehead, the sweetness which seemed 
 to hover around the curved lips; and, 
 above all, of the expression perpetually 
 changing from mournful and earnest 
 thought, to a timid and blushing gaiety. 
 He felt that he had now not only to paint 
 matter, but mind ; and though the tatk 
 was difficult, it was one of infinite service 
 to him in his art. It opened to him far 
 wider and nobler views, than any other 
 lesson could have imparted to him. 
 
 Happily for him, though he regarded 
 his model, at the conclusion of her picture, 
 with very different feelings from those he 
 had enter ained for her at the commence- 
 ment, yet his enthusiasm for his art. made 
 him often, during its progress, forget all 
 beside, and no lasting passion was awakened
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE, 63 
 
 by his prolonged contemplation of the 
 weaver's daughter. The heart of the 
 poor girl unconsciously received a deeper 
 impression, and often, in after years, did 
 she look back to those hours as the hap- 
 piest of her existence. 
 
 These new feelings of the maiden greatly 
 enhance 1 her pain when the hour arrived 
 for her separation from Leonard, on the 
 morning of his departure for Italy ; and 
 though she wished him farewell with ap- 
 parent composure, her mother was terrified, 
 by her wild burst of passionate weeping, 
 after she returned to their own dwelling. 
 The good woman understood the cause of 
 this sorrow, and it pained her greatly; but 
 she gave no utterance to her suspicions ; 
 she trusted that time and absence would 
 obliterate such a hopeless attachment ; and 
 she carefully avoided any mention of the 
 young painter for the future. 
 
 Leonard departed, unconscious of the 
 love he had left behind, and grieving 
 most, to leave the uncle who had so ten-
 
 64 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 derly and judiciously supplied to him the 
 loss of his parents. The feelings of Mr. 
 Marston were naturally of a more melan- 
 choly hue. At his age, he foresaw the 
 possibility of death rendering their sepa- 
 ration eternal. Their last break fast to- 
 gether passed in almost total silence. The 
 mind of the old man had wandered back 
 to the evening when Leonard had been 
 brought, by his dying mother, beneath his 
 roof. 
 
 "My dear boy," he said at length, 
 solemnly, '•' we are about to part — it may 
 be for ever. God pardon me, if T have 
 failed in any way in my duty towards 
 
 you." 
 
 " You have been more than a father to 
 me, sir," returned the youth, in agitated 
 accents, " and, believe me, I love you as a 
 son. I can ill express my feelings." 
 
 * You need not," said the curate. " We 
 understand each other, and that is enough. 
 Remember the lessons I have given you, 
 and never forget, in the pursuit of honours,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 65 
 
 or wealth, that your first duty is to live 
 and die an honest man." 
 
 With an impulse of feeling he could not 
 master, the curate then clasped his nephew 
 to his heart, whilst tears moistened his 
 furrowed cheeks. 
 
 Leonard warmly returned his embrace, 
 and thus they parted. The young man 
 went forth full of energy, and hope, and 
 imagination, to pursue the journey of life, 
 where all glowed bright before him. The 
 old man returned to his dim study, to gaze 
 upon the old church-yard, and to meditate 
 on the time when he should be laid there 
 to rest, beside his sister's grave. 
 
 Four years elapsed before Leonard 
 Marston returned to England. He had 
 resided in Rome ; he had visited Athens, 
 Constantinople, and the south of Spain ; 
 and he had won, not only the reputation of 
 being a rising artist of very remarkable 
 talent, but an accomplished gentleman. He 
 had been received with favour into the 
 most distinguished circles of foreign society;
 
 66 THE FiKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 he had been presented at many courts — 
 yet he contrived to defray his expenses 
 almost entirely by the sale of the produc- 
 tions of his pencil, and had felt a proud 
 satisfaction ill making very small demands 
 on the generosity of his kind old uncle.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 6 7 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 With sweet, kind natures, as in honey d cells, 
 Religion lives, and feels herself at home ; 
 But only on a formal visit dwells 
 Where wasps, instead of bees, have formed the comb. 
 
 Hool. 
 
 It was a light morning, very early in 
 Spring, and the hawthorn hedges of old 
 England Were scarcely tinged with green. 
 But in a narrow lane, in a midland county, 
 the vegetation was further advanced than 
 in all the surrounding neighbourhood. It 
 was sheltered by high hills to the north 
 and east, and the light chalky soil was like
 
 68 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 a hot -bed for the spring flowers. There 
 the woodbine was already green, and prim- 
 roses werd peeping out upon the banks ; 
 a brook ran gurgling under a line of old 
 gnarled willows on the left of the road, 
 which wound on, about a mile in the vale, 
 past one noble mansion, and several tall, 
 brown -roofed, old farm houses, towards a 
 little village, at the foot of the eastern 
 hills, where a church spire, surrounded by 
 about a dozen cottages, arose in an open 
 space between the wide spreading woods. 
 
 No railway had yet penetrated this 
 secluded spot ; but still it was not exempt 
 from the influence of this grand invention. 
 The foot passenger wdio approached the 
 village that morning, with rapid strides, 
 had been left, about two hours before, at 
 the nearest station by the train from 
 London. 
 
 He was a tall, handsome young man, 
 about three and twenty, although, his com- 
 plexion having been rendered unusually 
 dark, by long and frequent exposure to the
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 69 
 
 heat of foreign climates, he might have 
 been supposed to be somewhat older. 
 Athletic and well formed, there was yet a 
 certain grace in his vigorous and elastic 
 movements, and his dark eyes shone with 
 high intelligence, as he glanced, from time 
 to time, around over the landscape. It 
 was not connected in his mind with any 
 youthful remembrances, for he believed 
 that he visited it for the first time ; but 
 still it gave him pleasure, for to every 
 native of Britain, who has been long absent 
 in foreign climes, English scenery conveys 
 the feeling of home ; and though the place 
 was unknown to him, he was returning to 
 re-visit the friend and protector of his 
 youth. 
 
 Full of hope, and youth, and health, 
 with a spirit unbroken by misfortune, he 
 hurried on, and having crossed a stream, 
 at the skirts of the village green, by a sin- 
 gle plank, he enquired of an old man, who 
 was working in his garden, which was the 
 curate's house. He was directed to an old
 
 70 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 building, very much like the surrounding 
 farm-houses, under the shadow of the 
 church- yard trees, and thither he, at once, 
 proceeded. 
 
 Ere he had passed the little garden 
 before it, the front door was opened from 
 within, and the clergyman himself ad- 
 vanced to give him a joyous welcome. 
 
 It was Mr. Marston. During the ab- 
 sence of his nephew, he had lost his city 
 curacy by the death of his rector, and, 
 houseless in his old age, had accepted the 
 curacy of Brookdale with fifty pounds a 
 year. 
 
 With inexpressible delight, the old man 
 led his nephew into the little parlour, 
 which he had made his study, whither old 
 Mary, as soon as she heard his voice, 
 rushed in from the kitchen, w T ith her hands 
 covered with flour, and laughed and cried 
 with pleasure, when her young master 
 shook hands with her in contempt of this 
 impediment. 
 
 That day was the happiest of the old
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 71 
 
 curate's existence. As he gazed on his 
 noble and handsome nephew, he no longer 
 felt alone upon earth, but exulted with the 
 same pride in the young man's success, as 
 if he h:id been his own son. With eager 
 delight he listened to his narratives of his 
 various adventures in foreign lands, and 
 his descriptions of Italy and Greece, in the 
 perusal of whose historians, philosophers, 
 and poets, he had passed the greatest part 
 of his life. 
 
 He could hardly persuade himself that 
 the little boy, he had nursed on his knee, 
 had actually trodden the plains of Mara- 
 thon, had seen the prison of Socrates, and 
 dined on the Forum of Pompey. But 
 when the young artist spread before the 
 secluded student the drawings he had 
 made upon the spot, of the perishing relics 
 of Roman and Grecian antiquities, he 
 seemed transported to another world. 
 
 It would be vain to say they realized 
 his pre-conceived ideas; on the contrary, 
 they upset the whole fabric of creations he
 
 72 THE FARCE OF UFE. 
 
 had been erecting for above fifty years. 
 Imagination, even when aided by descrip- 
 tions, can form no true pictures, unless 
 memory spreads the canvass, and a world 
 was at once opened to the curate's view, 
 of which he had previously only vague 
 ideas. Here was the reality before him — 
 the Roman Forum — the Acropolis of 
 Athens, desolate and perishing, but still 
 majestic in their ruins, and peopled with 
 the undying spirits of antiquity, and still 
 glowing in the same brilliant sunshine, 
 which inspired the sculptors of Athens 
 and the poets of Rome. 
 
 Mr. Marston felt as if two thousand 
 years had actually been added to his exis- 
 tence, and it was greatly to his annoyance, 
 that old Mary dispelled his illusions, by 
 summoning him and his nephew to the 
 dinner, which she had prepared with not 
 less delight, in celebration of her boy's 
 return. 
 
 " Come, dear Leonnrd," said the old 
 man, when they were seated at table, " we
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 73 
 
 can at least talk over our plates, and we 
 can open jour portfolios, and return to 
 Greece another day." 
 
 " Yes, my dear uncle, when you please," 
 was the reply, " but for the present, let me 
 hear a little about yourself. First of all, 
 how do you like your change of abode V 
 
 n I cannot say much about that," 
 answered the curate, brushing his hand 
 across his brow. " The place is very dull, 
 but no doubt it will be better, now you 
 are come." 
 
 " Dull, uncle !" exclaimed Leonard, with 
 some surprise. " I thought it was exactly 
 such a retreat, as you had been sighing for 
 all your life ! with hills and lanes, and 
 running brooks, like the village where you 
 were born, of which you always talked 
 with such regret." 
 
 " Yes, I must confess to that," answered 
 Mr.. Marston, with some embarrassment ; 
 <' but, I suppose, we change as we grow 
 older. The place is very pretty and rural, 
 and so forth ; but, to speak truth, I miss 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 the bustle of Cheapside. I was quiet 
 enough in my old court, and I had the 
 blessed hope of resting one day by your 
 mother's grave: and then, when I was 
 weary of solitude, I had only to open the 
 door, and I found myself in all the amusing 
 variety of busy, active London." 
 
 " Tou used to complain of the fogs, sir 
 — and the beggars, and the crowded popu- 
 lation." 
 
 c< Yes, I suppose we all complain, 
 wherever we may be — but I had got ac- 
 customed to all those annoyances — and 
 habit you know is second nature. Sheep 
 and cows, and meadows and daisies, are 
 pretty dreams ; but now I have been forced 
 to return to them in reality, I must con- 
 fess, 1 prefer London fogs, and London 
 noise, and London bustle, for every-day 
 life. I feel here, sometimes, as if I was 
 buried alive for the remainder of my 
 existence. Rather an uncomfortable feel- 
 ing, Leonard, you must allow." 
 
 "I understand it quite, sir! you have
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. *?5 
 
 been too much alone. But have you no 
 neighbours V 9 
 
 " None like our old friend, James 
 D'Arcy, the silk weaver," answered the 
 curate, " at least as he was, when we first 
 knew him. I know not what came over 
 him, but he changed sadly after his wife's 
 death. He was a wise man, who was 
 greedy of learning ; but the people of 
 that class here are all unlettered boors, 
 excepting a pragmatical sexton, who fancies 
 himself a very Solomon. The poverty of 
 London sharpens men's wits, but here it 
 stultifies them." 
 
 " But you find innocence at least," said 
 the artist. 
 
 " Innocence ! Take it as a rule, inno- 
 cence can rarely exist with ignorance, and 
 poverty, and abject servitude. The worst 
 crimes have commonly occurred in the 
 most miserable agricultural districts, where 
 the poor are not excited to improvement 
 by the companions of their own class, as 
 is the case in our great towns. The 
 E 2
 
 76 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 peasantry are no better educated than in 
 the time of Henry the Eighth. The village 
 schools in this neighbourhood are a dis- 
 grace to the country. The clergy insist 
 on keeping them in their power ; and 
 
 thev either don't understand the wants of 
 
 «/ 
 
 a great and progressing people, or they 
 endeavour, systematically, to keep them 
 back, by an education which is worse than 
 none at all." 
 
 " Popular education is best understood 
 in Switzerland," said the artist, earnestly. 
 " Yes, there the government directs and 
 compels it. And it is marvellous how 
 well, in some Cantons, the whole system 
 is conducted at little cost/' 
 
 " Here, on the contrary, the poor are 
 only corrupted, not enlightened by civili- 
 zation/' answered the curate. " The 
 great aim of all Church of England in- 
 struction is, to keep them ignorant of their 
 real position in society ; and with a be- 
 coming reverence for all who have money 
 in their purse. They thank the Squire
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 77 
 
 for a shilling, and his wife for a bottle of 
 physic, as if the labourer had no right to 
 his hire. Poor souls, they are the proper 
 slaves for gentlemen farmers, who live 
 well, and pay high rents; and fine land- 
 lords who have a station to keep up in 
 society, and to live in London, and Paris, 
 and elsewhere, at twice the expence their 
 fathers did, with daughters to marry, and 
 younger sons to provide for, without 
 diminishing the family estate." 
 
 " You draw a sad picture, sir," returned 
 Leonard. 
 
 " But not an untrue one ! The gentle- 
 men who wish to keep corn dear, and rents 
 up, are particularly fond of a half starved 
 peasantry — for then they can complain of 
 bad times, and poor rates; whereas, if 
 rents were lowered, so that the farmers 
 could pay their workmen, as all human 
 beings have a right to be paid, justly — 
 the poor rates would be nearly at an end. 
 I asked a proud gentleman, whose house 
 stands round the corner of the hill, when
 
 78 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 he was calling out for a duty on corn, how 
 much higher his rents now were, than 
 was paid before the war. He has never 
 asked me to euter his house since/ 5 
 
 " I don't wonder, sir I" rejoined the 
 young man, with a smile. 
 
 " The abuses here are worse than in 
 London," pursued the curate, with warmth. 
 " The better classes all understand and 
 favour each other. The parish officers are 
 well paid; eat well, drink well, and make 
 a good thing of their charge. That is 
 their first object. The old story — it is 
 luxury which robs the poor of their just 
 hire. Parish expenses are all paid by the 
 poor man's labours, and parish expenses 
 are a job in this remote village, as well as 
 in the populous towns, where a small fry 
 of respectable citizens picks the public 
 pocket. Gas-works, water- works, drainage, 
 road cess, and heaven knows what besides, 
 are all made jobs, so that gold may stick 
 to somebody's fingers." 
 
 " But modern progress has made such
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 79 
 
 things absolutely necessary," returned 
 Leonard. 
 
 " Perhaps so ! but the progress would 
 be far greater, if they were justly, simply, 
 and economically conducted. Why I read, 
 sir, of a town, the other day, which had a 
 dispute about new water- works, before the 
 House of Commons, which cost twenty 
 thousand pounds, before a single pipe was 
 laid. Now who was the better for that, 
 but the lawyers ; and who paid for it, but 
 the poor V 9 
 
 " And so, sir, you are quite without 
 society," enquired the artist, anxious to 
 turn the current of his uncle's thoughts. 
 
 a There is a Hall, half a mile distant 
 from the village," said the curate, " but 
 the family has never been there since I 
 came. They have been abroad, spending 
 the produce of the broad acres, for miles 
 around. Squire Blunt and his lady called 
 on me ; but I have offended him, as I told 
 
 you." 
 
 " There is a pretty house in the planta-
 
 80 TFIE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 tions to the right, as I came up the lane V 
 persisted Leonard. 
 
 "That belongs to a London merchant, 
 Mr. Lesley, who has made his money by 
 trade. He has a son, a barrister, who took 
 high honour sat Oxford, and who, from what 
 I have heard, is a very great puppy. A 
 mental puppy. One of the new England 
 clique, who wishes to be an aristocrat with- 
 out the essentials of ancient family, and 
 inherited prejudices. He would suit neither 
 of us, Leonard. " 
 
 " Not by your description, certainly, 
 sir," answered the young man, laughing. 
 " I wish you could remain a few weeks 
 with me," pursued his uncle. " It seems 
 to give me new life, to look into your 
 bright face, and enjoy a little rational con- 
 versation." 
 
 " I will return in the summer, when the 
 London season is past." 
 
 " Aye! do, my dear boy, and I wish, 
 with all my heart, I could go back again 
 with you, You cannot think how during
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 81 
 
 the long evenings last winter, I missed the 
 muffin man's bell; and then the postman — 
 the ever welcome postman — in the old 
 times I loved to hear his bell tinkling, just 
 as the shutters were closed, and the fire 
 made up for the evening. I hear nothing 
 but the owls here on such nights, and I am 
 not used to them, Leouard, that is the truth 
 of it." 
 
 " I regret I must leave you in a couple 
 of days," said his nephew. " I expect 
 my packages from Italy, and must enter 
 the lodgings I have engaged in Newman 
 Street. L shall have a capital piin ting- 
 room, though somewhat darker than my 
 Atelier in Rome." 
 
 " In two days !" echoed the curate, 
 " that is sad news ! but you must go — 
 you must go — I must not make you neglect 
 your profession." 
 
 " I have two pictures to send to the Ex- 
 hibition, and I hope I shall soon have work 
 as a portrait painter, for I have brought 
 many letters of introduction from families
 
 82 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 of distinction, who were in Koine last 
 winter; and those with whom I was ac- 
 quainted there, have invited me to call on 
 them on my return to England/' 
 
 " Don't trust too much to introductions 
 and professions." answered the old man, 
 with a sly nod. " Many who were mighty 
 glad to be assisted by the young artist on 
 the Continent, will know nothing at all 
 about him when they are home again in 
 their fine, exclusive society. They don't 
 consider an artist a gentleman. But don't 
 let that make you unhappy. You have 
 chosen your profession, and you must take 
 the consequences. No false pride must 
 embitter your life ; rather be thankful that 
 God has been pleased to bless you with 
 talents, with pure and noble ideas, and 
 the wish, and the power, to communicate 
 them." 
 
 ■•' 1 am often astonished, uncle," answered 
 Leonard, " how you have learnt to know 
 the world, so justly as you do. I must 
 confess that even my short experience has
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 83 
 
 taught me the truth of every word you 
 have uttered. I have left cards, at three 
 houses in London, of people to whose 
 service I had devoted much time when in 
 Naples and Rome ; but no visit has been 
 returned, nor has the least notice been 
 taken of me, in any way." 
 
 " Perhaps it is all for the best," answered 
 Mr. Marston, " you will thus be preserved 
 from the enervating influence of fine 
 society, and the mortifications to which it 
 would inevitably expose you. You will 
 now be thrown entirely on the resources of 
 your own genius ; and, excited by this very 
 neglect, devote your whole mind and 
 talents to attain a high place in your art ; 
 to command that attention and respect by 
 your works, which, in your profession, no 
 moderate efforts can attain. Courage, my 
 boy — courage — there is good stuff in you, 
 and the reward of perseverance will, one 
 day, be yours." 
 
 " I do not lack courage, and I hope, not 
 strength," answered Leonard, whilst his
 
 84 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 dark eyes flashed with the consciousness, 
 and the enthusiasm of genius/' and no 
 petty slights can mortify me. I thank you, 
 my dear uncle, every hour of my life, that 
 you brought me up, independent of . all 
 social prejudices, and taught me early to 
 pay no regard to opinion, which estimates 
 a man's worth by his cla-s. You have 
 thus spared me the unutterable pangs of 
 discontented pride and vanity. The pride 
 of honesty, I trust I possess, and that can 
 neither be mortified nor humbled, by the 
 empty pride of position and wealth." 
 
 " Right — right ! You have returned 
 from the corruptions of Italy, with a 
 healthy mind and a strong frame; and you 
 fill my old heart with gladness and re- 
 joicing. God bless you, Leonard, I am 
 proud I have lived to sec you thus," said 
 the old man in tremulous accents, and he 
 brushed away the tears which dimmed his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Now tell me," said his nephew, hastily 
 changing the subject, " what has become
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 85 
 
 of the D'Arcys. I went to the old house, 
 when I was in London, but I could learn 
 no tidings of them." 
 
 k ' I am quite unable to give you any in- 
 formation concerning their present abode," 
 replied the curate. 
 
 " Mrs. D'Arcy died about three years 
 ago, and after that, James got in a very 
 excited state, particularly on political sub- 
 jects. The times were very hard, and I 
 suspect he was drawn into certain associ- 
 ations of a dangerous tendency. Kate 
 maintained both him and herself, poor 
 girl, by working at a milliner's in St. Paul's 
 church -yard. But she had much that 
 was unpleasant to bear, and I sometimes 
 repented that I had been the means of 
 giving her an education superior to her 
 station in life, for it made her more keenly 
 feel the hardships, and perhaps the insults, 
 to which she was exposed. ' 
 
 " Pretty Kate ! she was a modest, inno- 
 cent creature, when I left," returned Leo- 
 nard.
 
 86 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 " Yes, but she was never cheerful after- 
 wards/' said the old gentleman. " She 
 was never like other girls. She never 
 decked herself out on Sundays, to look 
 after sweethearts ; but she was pale and 
 sad, though she grew prettier every day. 
 I often thought she half-starved herself, 
 that her father might feel no want. After 
 her mother died, she dined once a week 
 with old Mary, but she drooped sadly. I 
 never more heard her merry songs across 
 the old church-yard. At last she got 
 some velvet to weave, for which she was 
 better paid, but that did not last long, and 
 she was obliged to go to the milliner's 
 again." 
 
 " That was no place for her," replied 
 the artist. 
 
 " So said her father, but what was to be 
 done; they wanted bread, and the girl was 
 well principled, so that there was little 
 danger of her being led astray, which was 
 what James dreaded. Poor child she had 
 no vanity."
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 87 
 
 "Do you know for what shops he worked?" 
 inquired the young man without looking 
 up. M I will inquire for her there, when I 
 return to London/' 
 
 u I have inquired, but in vain. She had 
 quitted that employment, and no one knew 
 anything about her. In fact, James and 
 I had a foolish quarrel, about some 
 political point, of no importance, and he 
 behaved very strangely — I believe it was 
 from illness — but he never entered my 
 house again, and he very soon removed to 
 another part of the town. I soon after- 
 wards left London, and have heard no more 
 of them." 
 
 Leonard made no answer, but he arose, 
 and after walking once or twice up and 
 down the room in silence, he gave his 
 hand to his uncle and wished him a good 
 night.
 
 88 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 — I heard my days before me, and the tumult 
 of my life ; 
 
 Yearning for the large excitement that the com- 
 ing years would yield. 
 
 ''Locksley Hall." Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 Leonard MaBSTON arose soon after the 
 sun appeared above the horizon, on the 
 morning following his arrival at Brookdale. 
 Glad to escape from the close air of cities, 
 he gazed with delight from his window, 
 over the beautiful landscape, where nature 
 was re-awakening after the long slumber 
 of winter, and leaves and blossoms ex- 
 panding every hour in the warm beams of 
 Spring. The spirit of reviving life breath-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 89 
 
 ing over all, thrilled like an inspiration 
 through his brain ; and not content to en- 
 joy the restless desire to re-create, the 
 artist's impatient longing to embody his 
 brightest thoughts entirely engrossed him, 
 till he forgot the scenery before him, in 
 contemplating the bright images which 
 imagination re-created. 
 
 Active and ingenious, he occupied great 
 part of the forenoon in making little ar- 
 rangements to add to his uncle's comfort 
 in various ways, and the remaining hours 
 of the day fled rapidly, whilst they dis- 
 coursed on various subjects of public and 
 private interest. 
 
 The story of Leonard's parents, and the 
 facts connected with his birth, were the 
 only secrets which the worthy curate had 
 ever concealed from his nephew. On all 
 other subjects, notwithstanding the differ- 
 ence of their years, he spoke to him with 
 the openness and simplicity of a child; and 
 if on this one important point he had been 
 o-uilty of deception, it was only to save the
 
 90 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 young man pain, but still he sometimes 
 doubted the rectitude of his judgment in 
 thus, for the first time in his life, acting in 
 opposition to the principle, that all deceits 
 are bad. The secret more than once 
 trembled on his lips that morning, as he 
 paced with his nephew, up and down be- 
 neath the sunny garden wall, defending a 
 narrow terrace from the east winds on one 
 side, whilst a stone balustrade, covered 
 with budding honeysuckles, and crowned 
 by an old sun-dial, fenced it on the other 
 from a kitchen garden, which sloped below 
 down to the quiet brook. 
 
 Here stood the bee-hives, which the old 
 curate delighted to tend, — here his pigeons 
 flew down to be fed, as soon as he appeared 
 under the old stone porch. 
 
 " Cardinal de Retz fed his pigeons," said 
 Mr. Marston, as he scattered his last hand- 
 ful of corn, u that he might learn to have a 
 resource in their companionship, should he 
 ever be deprived, by imprisonment, of the 
 society of his fellow creatures; and for
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 91 
 
 those who love the Creator in all His 
 works, and in whom old age has laid the 
 passions to rest, there is an inexpressible 
 charm, in taming and attracting the beasts 
 of the field, and the birds of the air, by 
 little acts of lore. But it is not enough, 
 Leonard, when we know that so much 
 misery exists on the face of the earth ! 
 We need the consciousness of being useful 
 to our suffering fellow creatures, to fill the 
 heart. It is mighty pretty to hear the 
 bees murmur, and see the pigeons flutter 
 round us ; but to support one sinking 
 spirit under the trials of affliction, to wipe 
 the tears of one child of sorrow, to elevate 
 and purify one soul by the knowledge of 
 truth, above the degradation of vice — has 
 a worth surpassing all ; and these are the 
 tasks we must fulfil, if we would earn 
 peace on earth, and joy in eternity. Re- 
 member that, my dear boy." 
 
 " Your whole life has been devoted to 
 these tasks," said the young man, regard- 
 ing the benevolent countenance of the
 
 92 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 grey-haired curate, with inexpressible ven- 
 eration and admiration. 
 
 " 1 have done what little I could," he 
 answered simply, "and I wish you to 
 profit by my experience. Your youthful 
 ambition may be disappointed — your love 
 — for with your character, you must, and 
 v. ill love ardently — maybe blighted — your 
 brightest hopes may one day be as shadows 
 of the past — you may be solitary as I am, 
 were it not for you ; but let neither disap- 
 pointment nor solitude embitter you, against 
 your fellow creatures. They may love 
 themselves better than they love you ; but 
 weary not of kindly thoughts and friendly 
 deeds. Your heart's benevolence will be 
 your best reward. Every little study and 
 labour is a joy, when the heart and con- 
 science have the feeling of healthy activity. 
 Do what is right — set not too much value 
 upon opinion, and then I have little fear 
 for your happiness. Beware, Leonard, 
 mortified vanity is the disease of which 
 many artists die, and I implore you nourish
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 93 
 
 not this ulcer in your heart, or all your 
 gifts will become curses. It is the only 
 danger, I dread for you, my son !" 
 
 " Then be from henceforth tranquil, my 
 dear uncle," answered Leonard, laughing, 
 " the world has hitherto smiled on me." 
 
 " But its smiles are fickle, even for those 
 who most struggle to deserve them. Ah ! 
 Leonard — Leonard — you are sanguine !" 
 
 " Without that, sir, no difficulty was 
 ever overcome; so do not damp my cou- 
 rage, on the very eve of battle. I will 
 struggle, depend upon it, to the utmost, and 
 if, by ill forcune, the fight is lost, then I 
 will turn to you in the hour of trouble, for 
 consolation. But now, sir, pardon me, if 
 I see the future bright before me, and dash 
 on without fear, to snatch the prizes it 
 awards to courage and success." 
 
 " No, my boy, no ! you are right, I will 
 not damp your courage. You are not born 
 to follow the tranquil path where T have 
 found peace; and he who has a high and 
 noble inspiration, will not sink even under
 
 94 THE FABCE OF LIFE. 
 
 bitter trials. I will try not to be anxious 
 about you, Leonard. I know you will never 
 do wrong ; but you must promise to come 
 back as soon as your professional engage- 
 ments will permit." 
 
 " Yes, I will come, without fail !" an- 
 swered Leonard. "I shall find subjects 
 enough for study in this neighbourhood, 
 and 1 shall be delighted to spend a fortnight 
 at home ; but I grieve to say I must 
 leave you this very afternoon." 
 
 The curate heard this announcement 
 with consternation ; but he was soon con- 
 vinced of the necessity for his nephew's 
 departure, and consoled by the hope of his 
 speedy return. 
 
 The day was fine, and aft r an early 
 dinner, they set off together on foot, to the 
 railway station, where they parted ; the one 
 to be whirled away to the busy metropolis 
 of the world, to bear a part in the rushing 
 and struggling of the great ocean of human 
 passions ; the other to the passionless re- 
 tirement of old age, and a solitude only
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 95 
 
 broken by a communion of love and charity 
 with the poor. 
 
 But still the old man sighed for London, 
 sighed for the dirt and the din, and the 
 bustle of the great Babylon. Such is the 
 force of habit. We see it exemplified 
 every day. Men who have been brought 
 up from childhood in the dim obscurity 
 of accredited falsehood and prejudice, 
 cannot support, in their maturity, the pure 
 air of reality, and the freshness of nature. 
 They regard truth as the most dangerous 
 of modern innovators. 
 
 " If I had my handful of truths," said 
 one of these benevolent philanthropists of 
 a foregone generation, " I would not so 
 much as open my little finger to let one 
 escape to the people." 
 
 Such was the morality of the people's 
 anc ; ent friends ; but it is evident their 
 ignorance of all the great principles of 
 social life was as great, as that of the vile 
 multitude whose ignorance they con- 
 sidered it their interests to prolong. But
 
 9 6 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 their reign is over ! truth is no longer 
 to be imprisoned by their little fin- 
 gers, nor monopolised for the benefit 
 nor the enlightenment of a privileged 
 class. 
 
 "When Leonard Marston reached London, 
 his first business was to have his luggage 
 and furniture conveyed to his new' apart- 
 meiic in Newman Street. Though he had 
 only engaged a first and second floor un- 
 furnished, at the house of a land-agent, 
 the rent he had to pay was very consider- 
 able, in proportion to his uncle's small 
 allowance, but it was neither from vanity 
 nor a love of luxury, that he incurred this 
 expense. He well knew that if he desired 
 fashionable men and women to sit to him 
 for their pictures ( the surest way for him 
 at the commencement of his career to make 
 money) he must assume, at least, the ap- 
 pearance of wealth, and risk the expense 
 of a handsome apartment, in order to earn 
 his daily bread. Genius is a power; but 
 even genius, at the present clay, needs the
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 97 
 
 aid of that greater power, money, to as- 
 sure its success. 
 
 In every station of life, it is one of 
 the happiest epochs, when the young 
 first commence housekeeping for themsel- 
 ves. There is a pride and an exultation in 
 the sense of power and independence which 
 the first consciousness of being master of a 
 house and home confers, however humble 
 both may be, not to be surpassed by the 
 future attainment of a palace. 
 
 Leonard Marston enjoyed this pleasure 
 with almost bovish glee. His zest for sini- 
 pie comforts had not been palled and spoilt 
 by an early surfeit of luxury; and every 
 article of homely furniture he saw placed 
 in his rooms, filled him with exultation, for 
 he felt it was his own. He was all activity; 
 all bustle- all energy; he did as much as 
 two other men would have done, in the 
 course of a day, in hanging and arranging 
 the numerous pictures he then first un- 
 packed, since his return; and when the 
 workmen had all departed, he actually sat 
 
 VOL I. F
 
 98 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 down at his easel, and began to paint, in 
 the last clear gleam of the bright spring 
 evening. He could not wait till the mor- 
 row, to try the capital light in his new 
 painting-room. 
 
 Then came an old woman he had engaged 
 as his servant, with his tea ; and, need we 
 blush to confess it, he actually forgot his 
 art, to admire his own new cups and saucers. 
 
 Yes; good, warm-hearted Leonard ! ad- 
 mire them with all your soul ! It is the 
 poetry of your own beautiful feelings which 
 confers a charm and a worth on that blue 
 crockery, which gilded Sevres does not 
 possess for the spoilt child of luxury. 
 Enjoy the elasticity of your own pure spi- 
 rit, before the world crushes it with its 
 leaden grasp; before opinion robs the 
 simple and the true of the freshness of 
 their attractions. Such are the untarnished 
 joys of childhood; and happy they who can 
 prolong them even to old age. 
 
 When the young artist's rooms were 
 finally arranged; and he sat in an easy
 
 THE PAECE OP LIFE. 99 
 
 chair, and gaaed around on his own works, 
 with which the walls were covered, he had 
 indeed just cause for honest exultation. 
 Although he was still far from having 
 arrived at that manual dexterity in the use 
 of colours, to which even the greatest 
 painters have only attained by long and 
 patient toil; his pictures already possessed 
 the charm of facility, truth of drawing, and 
 purity of colouring; and were, above all, 
 redolent of genius and imagination. They 
 were not mere dead copies of flesh and 
 blood, but the mind of the artist had 
 inspired them as with a soul. All, who 
 looked at them felt this, though many 
 could not define the feeling, nor understand 
 why they lingered on their memory, when 
 others, perhaps of far higher reputation, 
 were forgotten. But to Leonard, each 
 picture was as a part of his own being. 
 Each awoke exulting thoughts and bright 
 imaginations, long past away ; and yet 
 with the pleasure, there was a touch of 
 pain, for as his eye wandered from group 
 F 2 *
 
 100 THE FAKCE OF LIFfl. 
 
 to group, and from feature to feature, he 
 felt how far the execution fell short of the 
 ideal he had striven to pourtray. He had 
 no vanity — his perception of the beautiful 
 was too just. He knew well how long and 
 diligently he must labour, before he could 
 express even his own thoughts. He knew 
 that it was not by a mere assemblage of 
 pretty forms, or colours, laid on by a skil- 
 ful hand, that the lofty mission of the true 
 artist can be fulfilled. He felt that it is 
 not by a mere appeal to the senses that 
 an artist performs his duty towards man- 
 kind ; but, that if his own soul be exalted, 
 and purified by art and knowledge, he 
 must strive to exalt and purify the souls 
 of others, by the creations of his genius. 
 His thoughts, therefore, must be worthy 
 of a visible expression in painting, calcu- 
 lated to excite noble and generous aspira- 
 tions in others, and then only could he be 
 useful to his fellow-creatures, and a teacher 
 in his generation. 
 
 He was endowed with the poet's feelings;
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 101 
 
 colour and form were his language. He 
 was convinced, therefore, that he had not 
 only to paint, but to study, to enlarge his 
 knowledge of history and of man's moral 
 nature, and of society. He wished to be 
 no imitator. He was not ambitious to 
 re-plunge into the obsolete forms and 
 quaint, affected ignorance, or half-know- 
 ledge of the old German school, or 
 of any age, whose feelings were obsolete. 
 He wished to paint for the people, and the 
 era in which he lived. He felt that art, 
 like literature, must express and ennoble 
 the spirit of the existing generation ; it 
 must be fresh, vigorous and original, and 
 go before, rather than linger behind the 
 time, if it is to retain and increase its 
 spiritual power, by which alone it can be 
 of utility. But all these ideas (which 
 some of our readers think no doubt very 
 high flown) were forgotten, as his eyes 
 rested on a picture which hung somewhat 
 in obscurity, it having been one of his 
 first performances.
 
 102 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 It was poor Kate D'Arcy's portrait, and 
 as he looked at the fine and delicate face, 
 the long black lashes of the downcast eyes, 
 the dimples at the corners of her half- 
 laughing mouth, and remembered how she 
 sat blushing, half-delighted, and half- 
 ashamed before him, the remembrance of 
 his boyhood, and his sports in the old 
 church-yard, with his young companion, 
 came back like a vivid picture to his mind. 
 
 " Poor Kate/' he thought, " I wonder 
 what has been your lot ! We neither of 
 us dreamt in those days, what struggles 
 lay before us ; and if 1 have found it diffi- 
 cult to pursue my way amidst the snares 
 of corruption with honesty and purity, 
 what must your struggles have been, poor 
 child, with poverty to increase your 
 danger." 
 
 With this thought, the young painter 
 lay down in his new bed, with a grateful 
 heart for the comforts he possessed, with 
 bright hopes for the future, and certain 
 entrancing visions concerning a Roman
 
 THE FAROE OF LIFE. 103 
 
 acquaintance, whom he expected to meet 
 in London before long. On this point, all 
 the wise advice of his uncle was already 
 forgotten. 
 
 Marston pursued his way steadily and 
 ardently. His mind was daily enlarged, 
 his talents developed, and his health pre- 
 served, by his laborious, and well-regulated 
 life ; and he felt, with all the energy of 
 youth and health, that all he had yet pro- 
 duced in his art, was but an early trial of 
 the strength that was in him. Happy in 
 the unfettered exercise of his talents, and 
 in the pursuit of a noble object, (albeit an 
 artist is regarded by a fine gentleman as 
 little above a mechanic) he had in his 
 humble station no cause to envy the idle 
 and dissipated loungers, in our army and 
 universities, who possess, without labour, 
 the honours of nobility, or the power of un- 
 bounded wealth. How many young men 
 at his age, who are destined to take the 
 highest places in aristocratical society, are 
 morally, and physically ruined, by these
 
 104 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 apparent advantages, and after passing a 
 youth of vicious indulgence, or reckless 
 debauchery and dissipation, drag on a 
 vapid life of luxurious idleness, without sti- 
 muluos, without hope, and without content. 
 
 The poor when they can obtain a just 
 remuneration for their toil, have reason to 
 pity, not envy, these miserable victims of 
 disproportioned wealth, and the corruptions 
 of old institutions.
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE, 105 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 What spirits were his, what wit, and what whim. 
 Now breaking a jest — 
 
 Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball 
 Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all. 
 
 Leonard had two pictures, which he des- 
 tined for the Spring Exhibition at the 
 National Gallery, and which he laboured 
 hard to finish, before the time of sending 
 in the works of art. But he did not mean- 
 while forget the D'Arcys, and he had one 
 afternoon put aside his pencils, and pre- 
 pared to go into the city once more in 
 search of them, when his old servant
 
 106 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ushered a gentleman into his room, wjiom 
 she announced as Mr. Cosway. 
 
 Leonard had met him frequently in 
 society in Rome and Paris. 
 
 " Ah, my dear fellow," he exclaimed, as 
 soon as the young painter had entered the 
 outer drawing-room, " delighted to see 
 you. It is not my fault we have not met 
 sooner. I need not tell you, I am an 
 ardent admirer of genius! — are all your 
 works arrived safe, and in good order? 
 — busy, eh 9 — mean to exhibit, no doubt — 
 quite right! — push your way — talent like 
 yours must create a sensation. But you 
 have a patron? — nothing can be done with- 
 out a patron — talent is a drug till a great 
 man passes his fiat on it— Ah! charming 
 things, charming things, upon honour !" 
 And Mr. Cosway, after surveying Leonard's 
 pictures on the easel through his eye-glass 
 for a moment, continued to move round 
 the room, with light and easy grace, asking 
 his host a thousand questions, and leaving 
 him no time to answer them.
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 107 
 
 " But has merit no chance of success, in 
 this great city, without a patron V en- 
 quired Leonard, at length, when his visitor 
 paused in a trance of admiration before 
 the portrait of Gracia, a celebrated model, 
 whom he remembered to have seen in 
 Rome. 
 
 " None, my dear fellow — none in the 
 world — Raphael could sell nothing, unless 
 he were the fashion. There is a rage for 
 talking about art, and all that kind of 
 thing, from the Court downwards; but 
 take my word for it, not one person in ten 
 thousand can distinguish what is clever, 
 and what is not. But get a great patron to 
 tell them you are a wonder, and echo will 
 soon establish your fame. How can you 
 expect that Mr. Jackson, who has made 
 twenty -thousand a-year by cotton spinning, 
 or Mr. Thomas, who receives ditto from his 
 patent nails, or the Mr. Smiths, or Mr. 
 Brown, who have all become enormously 
 rich, nobody knows how, should have any 
 more idea of a picture, than a milliner in
 
 108 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Cranbourne Alley, and yet all, when they 
 have got a fine house, must have the walls 
 covered with them." 
 
 * But cannot you help me to the protec- 
 tion, you think so indispensable T de- 
 manded the artist, smiling. 
 
 " I help you, my good fellow ! I should 
 be glad to help myself. The pursuit of my 
 life is a patron. A briefless barrister as I 
 am, with certain tastes and habits, which 
 make the law a bore, must get an office 
 under government, or starve. Without a 
 patron, his position is almost as bad as an 
 unknown artist." 
 
 ' ; That cannot be your case," answered 
 his host, "you are connected with the 
 Duke of Bellaney, who is now in the 
 ministry, and ministers do not commonly 
 forget their kindred, when places are to be 
 disposed of." 
 
 " True, true, but ministers have also, 
 
 commonly, a swarm of scions of their 
 
 noble house, who assert a claim on their 
 
 elation ship," returned Cos way, smiling to
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 109 
 
 show his teeth. " I am only the grandson 
 of a younger son of some former Duke, but 
 still, I confess, I think it gives me a claim, 
 particularly as I have missed no occassion 
 of advocating the liberal measures of 
 government. I have a claim, also, on the 
 Home-office, and the Home-office feels it ; 
 I wrote a pamphlet, at a critical moment 
 last year. It told. Upon my soul it 
 turned the balance in favour of the minis- 
 ters, or they must have retired." 
 
 U I had no idea you were an author," 
 said Leonard, " or I should have made a 
 point of reading your pamphlet." 
 
 " I flatter myself it is remembered, and 
 in fact, my dear fellow, I have reason to 
 believe, that I am booked for a snug ap- 
 pointment, in one of those charming Com- 
 missions, which provide so delightfully for 
 the zealous supporters of a liberal govern- 
 ment. They are a most laudable invention, 
 for upon my soul, how are we poor scions 
 of a noble stock to maintain the respecta- 
 bility of our families, if we are not pro- 
 vided for, by the nation I"
 
 110 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 " And I have no doubt the nation re- 
 joices, in being taxed for such an object," 
 returned the artist, laughing, " particularly 
 the poor wretches, who pay double for 
 their ounce of tea, and their pot of beer, in 
 consequence." 
 
 "They don't feel it," answered Cosway, 
 shrugging his shoulders. u But it is devil- 
 ish hard upon us, who are brought up as 
 scions of nobility, and compelled to live in 
 single blessedness all our lives, because we 
 cannot afford to keep a wife, in a manner 
 suitable to our rank." 
 
 " Why don't you work ?" demanded the 
 artist gravely. 
 
 " I have worked V was the reply. 
 " Read hard at Cambridge, 'pon honour — 
 but detest drudgery, detest law ; genius 
 scorns such trammels, and my pamphlet 
 must make my fortune. Till then, I shall 
 be happy, if 1 can assist in pushing yours. 
 You knew people at Home. You mean to 
 call on them, I suppose 1" 
 
 " I have called on several."
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. Ill 
 
 " Ah ! visit not returned ! I read it in 
 your face. Mr. Marston, the artist, in 
 London, a very different person from Mr. 
 Marston, in Rome ! the way of the world — 
 of the great world. I cannot conceive why 
 a handsome fellow like you, of respectable 
 family, good education, and extraordinary 
 general abilities, should lower himself in 
 the scale of society, by adopting such a 
 doubtful profession as that of an artist — 
 which, plainly speaking, many people re- 
 gard as little better than an upholsterer — 
 a sort of fancy house painter. Artists 
 are monstrously conceited, I know, and 
 think great things of themselves, when 
 they get an order from a crowned head, 
 and so forth; but though it is an unpleasant 
 truth to tell you, my dear fellow, they are 
 not estimated in England, as men of real 
 genius ought to be. There are only three 
 professions, which give the position of a 
 gentleman ; the law, the church, and the 
 army and navy." 
 
 " If that were the opinion of all men of 
 talent, the vast discoveries and marvellous
 
 112 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 erections of modern times, would not have 
 aided the civilization and comfort of man- 
 kind." 
 
 " Oh my dear Marston, if you mean to 
 speak of engineers, and chemists, and those 
 sort of people — I have only to say, they 
 are notgeutlem en. They are very clever, 
 no doubt, and all that, but they belong to 
 one another, they belong essentially to the 
 people. They are utterly ignorant of the 
 manners and feelings of good society." 
 
 " They want nothing from what you 
 call good society, and deny its right to 
 confer an order of merit/' answered 
 Leonard, whilst the blood mounted to his 
 temples. 
 
 " But an artist does/' answered Mr. 
 Cosway, with a smile. " An artist works 
 to please the fancy of a select few, not to 
 supply the necessities of mankind; there- 
 fore, Mr. Marston, I am surprised, that 
 with your proud spirit, you chose such a 
 profession. 1 ' 
 
 " I chose it as a means of giving ex- 
 pression to my thronging thoughts, with
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 113 
 
 the firm belief, that it may be directed to 
 nobler aims than those to which you limit 
 its influence." 
 
 " Oh, yes, no doubt ; I quite under- 
 stand," rejoined the careless barrister, 
 laughing with negligent grace, " young 
 enthusiasm, which would reform society, 
 exalt the public feeling rfom material 
 indulgences to spiritual grandeur, and all 
 that: most young men feel and think thus, 
 till they learn to know the world. But 
 it is all nonsense, believe me. High 
 aims — spiritual grandeur — soul-expression 
 — mere humbug — cant ! Iago's is the 
 only true inspiration now a-days — put 
 money in your purse; and for that, as I 
 said before, you must have a patron. You 
 know Lord Basset, I think V 
 
 " Yes ! He visited me frequently, in 
 Eome. He returned my visit here, also/' 
 
 u Ah ! but he wont do — he is an ama- 
 teur — talks about art like a parrot — and 
 amateurs are too vain of their own works, 
 to do justice to those of artists."
 
 114 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 " I had a letter of introduction from a 
 noble personage to the Marquis of Car- 
 ville." 
 
 " He is a miser — buys nothing but bar- 
 gains — old trumpery painted up to be 
 original — he will accept your presents of 
 drawings, but order nothing." 
 
 " I have been recommended to apply to 
 Mr. Carstairs, an art dealer, who has the 
 ear of many wealthy purchasers," rejoined 
 Leonard. 
 
 "Do that, if you are prepared to slip 
 half the value of your picture into his 
 hand, beforehand: otherwise it will stand 
 in his drawing-room, with the face against 
 the wall, till you bring it home again. No, 
 no — no such patrons. I do not advise you 
 to flatter, nor to bribe such people — the fair 
 sex, charming creatures, will serve you bet- 
 ter. You are a good-looking fellow, 
 Marston — upon my soul you are — without 
 flattery;" continued the light-hearted Cos- 
 way, casting a well satisfied glance at the 
 full length reflection of his own carefully
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 115 
 
 attired person, in a swing mirror at the fur- 
 ther end of the room, as he spoke, " you 
 are out of the pale of matrimony, as much 
 as such a poor devil of a younger brother 
 as I am; so the women may admire and flirt 
 with you with impunity. Flatter — flatter 
 — don't spare soft looks — judicious compli- 
 ments—they have done me much service. 
 By the by, you know the Trentons; you 
 were rather a favourite there, at Rome, 
 if I remember right." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know them well — very well 
 I may say," returned Leonard, and he lifted 
 up a picture, and carried it to the further 
 end of the room. 
 
 " That is a good house ! their beautiful 
 ward and cousin came out in full splendour 
 at the last drawing-room. She is pronoun- 
 ced the fashion, it being well known that 
 she is heiress to Lady Trenton's estates. 
 There is an admirable patroness for you — 
 worth ten patrons. You must paint the 
 fair Emily's portrait ; make her as lovely as
 
 116 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 
 
 an angel; get it well hung at the exhibi- 
 tion; and your future triumph is secure." 
 
 Mr. Cosway was so fully engaged in the 
 contemplation of his own dear person, that 
 he did not perceive the embarrassment of 
 Leonard, when these names were mentioned, 
 till at length, the young artist, perceiving 
 he was unobserved, recovered his compo- 
 sure, and replied that he intended calling 
 on Sir Charles Trenton, on the morrow. 
 
 " Why not to-day, my good fellow 1" an- 
 swered Cosway, starting up and looking at 
 the elegant little watch in his waistcoat 
 pocket. " You are prepared to go out, I 
 see, and we have no time to lose, if we 
 wish to find the ladies at home. Take your 
 hat, and let us be off." 
 
 To this proposal, Leonard not only 
 readily, but joyfully agreed. He had 
 delayed this visit from a sort of nervous 
 dread of going alone, which he had not felt 
 on any other occasion; and the company of 
 Mr. Cosway gave him peculiar satisfaction.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 117 
 
 The thoughtless Barrister talked in- 
 cessantly, during their walk; sometimes 
 amusing the painter, by his witty sarcasms 
 on society; at others, betraying uncon- 
 sciously, the prejudices of his class; and 
 whilst he professed liberolity, and called 
 himself an ardent friend of the people, and 
 a popular administration, showing the ut- 
 most horror of all upstarts, and everything 
 which his education had taught him to 
 consider vulgar; vulgarity was worse in his 
 eyes than crime; and, to do him justice, it 
 was not the mere vulgarity of manners, but 
 the vulgarity of soul, from which he shrunk 
 with abhorrence. Money gave no man va- 
 lue in his eyes, whatever rank might do — 
 neither did he despise any man because he 
 was poor. Manners, and certain modes of 
 thought and habits of feeling had the 
 greatest worth in his estimation ; and yet, 
 after all, he judged men by the prejudices 
 of a class, and a very exclusive class, not 
 by the just views of a wise philanthropy, or 
 philosophy. He was fully persuaded that
 
 1 I 3 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 he belonged to the elite of society — to the 
 privileged people, who are born great ; 
 and he had not the slightest doubt of the 
 extreme liberality of his views. lie was 
 good-natured, vain, inquisitive, and busy; 
 incapable of great things, but restlessly ac- 
 tive in little ones, and it was in many respects 
 fortunate for Marston, that he had taken him 
 under his protection, for it flattered his vanity 
 to be acquainted with authors and artists 
 of distinguished talents; and wherever he 
 dined that season, it was certain he would 
 never fail to give himself the air of a 
 patron, by talking of his friend Marston — a 
 young artist of extraordinary genius — good 
 family — received in the best society, &c, 
 and other accessaries, which, however, they 
 may be despised by great minds, are very 
 necessary to bring genius into favour with 
 that little clique, which calls itself the 
 fashionable world.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Young, ardent soul, grac'd with fair Nature's truth, 
 Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind, 
 And still a large, late love of all thy kind, 
 Spite of the world's cold practice and Time's tooth 
 For all these gifts, I know not, in fair sooth 
 Whether to give thee joy, or bid thee blind 
 Thine eyes with tears. 
 
 Hood. 
 
 When Mr. Cosway and Leonard Marston 
 entered the drawing-room of Lady Trenton 
 in Fark Lane, they found a young lady 
 there alone, sitting drawing at a small 
 table in the recess of a bow-window, 
 nearly surrounded by flowering shrubs. 
 As she arose to receive them, she cast a
 
 120 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 timid and hasty glance at Marston, but 
 her eyes were withdrawn, almost as soon 
 as she met his ardent gaze, and she first 
 shook hands with Mr. Cosway, before she 
 returned the salutation of the artist, in a 
 somewhat more embarrassed manner. 
 
 " I rejoice that we are so fortunate as 
 to find you at home," said Cosway, " for I 
 have talked to Marston so much about the 
 beautiful sketches you made on your way 
 home from Italy, that he is impatient to 
 admire them." 
 
 " Mr. Marston is too much conversant 
 with works of real merit, to find any 
 pleasure in my poor efforts, and understands 
 your talent for compliment too well, to be 
 deceived by it," replied the young lady, 
 laughing, and again glancing at the artist, 
 
 " Pardon me," returned Leonard, " but 
 I have already seen too many of your 
 drawings in Rome, to doubt Mr. Cosway's 
 commendations of your more recent works. 
 AY ill you allow me to look at that with 
 which you are now engaged V
 
 THE FAROE OF LIFE. 121 
 
 "With pleasure," answered Miss Car- 
 rington, and with perfect simplicity, she 
 uncovered the drawing. It was a single 
 figure of a child drinking at a well, and so 
 prettily executed, that, as Marston assured 
 her, even an artist might admire it without 
 flattery. 
 
 She raised her eyes to his face, to ob- 
 serve its expression, whilst he examined 
 her work, before she believed his words. 
 What she saw there, apparently satisfied 
 her, for she then replied, that she was 
 proud of having the approbation of so com- 
 petent a judge, and with a bright smile 
 she took the drawing from Marston's hands, 
 and laid it aside. 
 
 " Now let me enquire," she said, " how 
 long you have been in London — how you 
 left all our friends in Rome, and talk about 
 a hundred things of more worth than my 
 poor labours % Ever since I heard you 
 had returned, I have been plaguing Lady 
 Trenton to bring me to see your pictures, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 
 
 for I hear you have brought superb works 
 for the Exhibition." 
 
 " I should have been greatly flattered by 
 your visit," said Marston bowing slightly. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I shall come, certainly," con- 
 tinued Miss Carrington. " Lady Trenton 
 is very angry with me, that I am so mad 
 about art." 
 
 " I fancied she pretended to taste, when 
 she was in Italy," rejoined Cos way, laugh- 
 ing ; " but a little taste for art goes a 
 great way in London — you will soon dis- 
 cover that, Marston." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; people have not time for it," 
 returned the young lady. " They are too 
 busy with visiting and fashion — and fashion 
 and good taste, you know, are often far 
 divided. Lady Trenton is always in the 
 fashion." 
 
 'Then I must not expect that she will 
 call on me in my unfashionable dwelling," 
 answered Leonard. 
 
 " Oh, yes, if you are talked about ! You
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 123 
 
 must go to the Marquis of Norwood's par- 
 ties — you must get an invitation to Lady 
 Charlotte Delmar's select soirees — and then 
 she will visit and invite you, for she only 
 follows, she does not make the fashion. I 
 think I can manage the latter for you ; she 
 was my mother's cousin, and calls me her 
 spoilt child. She shall positively send 
 you a card, or, with your permission, I 
 will persuade her to bring me to see your 
 pictures." 
 
 " That is an excellent idea, Miss Carring- 
 ton," said Cosway. " Marston must posi- 
 tively be the fashion — and let me insinuate 
 that the surest way to make him so, is to 
 let him paint your portrait. It w T ould be 
 certain of a good place at the Exhibition, 
 and his fortune would be made at once."' 
 
 "Mr. Marston has been accustomed to 
 paint from such perfect models, I should 
 feel quite nervous to sit to him," answered 
 the girl, looking up with an arch and cap- 
 tivating smile, and though slightly em- 
 G 2
 
 124 THE FABCE OF LIFE. 
 
 barrassed herself, evidently enjoying the 
 idea. 
 
 "I have never had the pleasure of 
 painting any model so charming, both in 
 colour and expression," answered the 
 young artist, and his countenance, even 
 more than his words, , betrayed his admira- 
 tion of the beautiful creature before him. 
 
 Miss Carrington laughed. She was so 
 accustomed to be admired — she was so ac- 
 customed to please — to fascinate — that it 
 was her highest pleasure to be assured of 
 being charming. 
 
 By nature, she was of a sweet, tender, 
 affectionate character, delighting to be 
 loved; and a certain portion of vanity and 
 coquetry, which had been cherished by the 
 flattery of all who approached her, though 
 they gradually corroded the purity of her 
 heart, added an irresistible fascination to 
 her manner. She was arch without affec- 
 tation, and playful without silliness. But 
 though Marston admired her beauty, and
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 125 
 
 her manners, the charm by which she most 
 attracted him, was her warm, genuine, and 
 unsophisticated admiration for all that was 
 beautiful, and generous, and true. 
 
 She was only nineteen ; she had not yet 
 become the slave of society, and she was 
 yet impatient of the trammels of station 
 and appearances, with which its votaries 
 are enslaved, to the utter destruction of 
 all pure and genuine feeling. She was 
 not yet so proud as many others would 
 have been in her position. She was rich, 
 and had great expectations — she believed 
 she was charming, and she yet delighted 
 to be followed, and flattered by handsome 
 and agreeable men, without considering, 
 as a portionless girl might have done, 
 whether they were eligible matches, or 
 not. She admired talent by an instinct 
 of her nature. 
 
 She had always met Leonard Marston in 
 good society, she thought him very hand- 
 some — his uncompromising independence 
 of spirit gave him a certain influence,
 
 126 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 which she felt without seeking to analyse it, 
 and a glance, or a word of admiration from 
 him had, during the latter weeks of her 
 residence at Home, been of much more 
 value to her, than all the extravagant flat- 
 tery of her more wealthy admirers. She 
 had impatiently expected his visit in Lon- 
 don, and when in his presence that morn- 
 ing, she had never, in her life, felt more 
 anxious to please. 
 
 A certain coldness, and almost reserve 
 in the manner of the painter towards 
 her, seemed to pique her to exert her 
 utmost abilities to shine in her conversa- 
 tion with Cosway, in which, for a time, 
 Leonard took little part. Cosway was de- 
 lighted, both with her and with himself; 
 he began to think he had made a conquest, 
 and he more than once glanced at an 
 opposite mirror, and looked down with 
 complacency on his exquisite tight boots, 
 in which he w r as suffering agony. 
 
 He little knew that Miss Carrington, 
 who had a fine perception of the ridiculous, 
 if she had then thought of him at all, would
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 127 
 
 have been more inclined to quiz him, than 
 to admire ; but while she talked to him, her 
 whole mind was engaged by Leonard 
 Marston, and it was him alone whom she 
 desired to please. 
 
 By degrees she drew him on, to take 
 also an animated share in the conversation, 
 and then she listened with the most pleased 
 and flattering attention. 
 
 Half-an-hour thus passed away, during 
 which she was as perfectly and thought- 
 lessly happy, as a child who has obtained 
 a toy it had long ardently desired to pos- 
 sess ; and under the influence of such feel- 
 ings, her beauty and manners were so irre- 
 sistibly charming, that Leonard himself 
 forgot the gulf which divided the fashion- 
 able heiress, from tjie poor and almost un- 
 known artist, and was scarcely less happy 
 and unreserved than she was. 
 
 One of her arts of pleasing was to draw 
 out the powers of those with whom she 
 conversed, and to make them satisfied with 
 themselves, by exciting them to the full
 
 128 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 and open expression of their thoughts, and 
 the inspiration of their genius. In such 
 conversation, Marston felt, that he was not 
 unworthy of her, and that to win the love 
 of a being so charming, was worth the 
 labour of a life. 
 
 He was dazzled and excited, and like 
 one who has gazed on the sun, nothing 
 but brightness was for a while before his 
 eyes. 
 
 The entrance of Sir Charles Trenton 
 first interrupted the conversation of this 
 happy little party. 
 
 The guardian, and cousin by marriage, 
 of Miss Carrington, was a man about forty 
 years of age, tall, well-proportioned, and 
 still handsome. There was something not 
 always pleasing in the expression of his 
 finely cut features, and dark eyes. His 
 presence threw a sudden chill over the 
 whole party, yet he smiled very blandly as 
 he held out his hand to Cosway, and with 
 great politeness, expressed his pleasure 
 at seeing Mr. Marston in London.
 
 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 129 
 
 u Emily," he then said, to Miss Carring- 
 ton, u where is Lady Trenton % I under- 
 stood she intended to remain at home to- 
 day." 
 
 " She suddenly remembered some pur- 
 chases she had to make," was the careless 
 reply, and the young lady arose and walked 
 towards the window. 
 
 Cosway, after exchanging a few short 
 sentences about the weather, and the 
 approaching session of Parliament, with 
 Sir Charles, now took his leave, and 
 Marston followed his example. 
 
 Miss Carrington wished them good 
 morning, without advancing more than a 
 few steps from the window ; a strange re- 
 serve had suddenly replaced her former 
 cheerfulness. Sir Charles, on the contrary, 
 was more friendly than before, assured 
 Marston he should soon come to look at 
 his works, and hoped he should have the 
 pleasure of seeing him to dinner, before 
 long. But no sooner had the drawing-
 
 130 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 room door closed upon his visitors, than 
 his smiles disappeared, and advancing close 
 to his ward, who had resumed her painting, 
 he drew a chair, and sat down close at her 
 side. 
 
 " Emily !" he said, in a soft and pene- 
 trating voice, whilst his eyes wandered 
 over the beautiful creature at his side with 
 an expression that would have terrified 
 her, had she seen, or understood it, " I 
 think I have expressed my opinion to you 
 already about your receiving the visits of 
 gentlemen, when you are alone \" 
 Emily made no reply. 
 " I have spoken to you, as I would speak 
 to a sister. I understand the world better 
 than you do, and I have no wish, bat to 
 guard you, as I would a precious treasure 
 confided to my care." 
 
 " You had better put me under lock and 
 key/' replied the girl, looking up with a 
 mischievous glance in his face. 
 
 The strange look had passed from his
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 131 
 
 eyes, and she only saw a smile of tender 
 indulgence, as he replied, in a low, thrilling 
 voice : 
 
 " Perhaps I should be very glad to do 
 so." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you," answered 
 Emily, blushing, she knew not wherefore ; 
 " but I am not in Turkey. I prefer the en- 
 joyment of agreeable society, whenever I 
 have an opportunity." 
 
 " Gentlemen's society," responded Tren- 
 ton, with a marked emphasis. " Take 
 care, Emily, take care ! I would not have 
 you become a theme for light tongues, 
 whilst you are my ward, for anything the 
 world could offer me." 
 
 rt Of that, sir, I trust there is no danger ; 
 except the scandal originates with your- 
 self," said Emily, with a haughty indigna- 
 tion, which altered the expression of her 
 whole person 
 
 Trenton was surprised, and for a mo 
 regarded her with silent admiration, till her
 
 132 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 flashing eyes sunk beneath his glance. He 
 then laughed. 
 
 " No, no, dear Emily, you know very 
 well I love you too tenderly to breathe a 
 word to your disadvantage," he said. 
 " Were you my own daughter, I could not 
 be more fondly attached to you ; and it is 
 that love, which makes me brave your anger, 
 by speaking plainly, when I see anything 
 in your conduct of which I do not entirely 
 approve. You are too innocent — too con- 
 fiding; you treat the worthless moths, who 
 flutter round the brightness of your beauty 
 — (and pardon me — the lustre of your for- 
 tune likewise has its attractions) — you treat 
 these vain fools with too much indulgence 
 — too much good nature. They believe 
 you encourage them, and they boast of 
 your favour. They lay wagers which shall 
 win you before the end of the season — 
 they put off their debtors with hopes of 
 your fortune ! You must confess, Emily, 
 that as your guardian, and your friend, I
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 133 
 
 have a right to be pained, grieved — annoyed 
 when I hear such stories." 
 
 " It is all the women's envy," answered 
 the girl, laughing carelessly. " They wish 
 to have it understood, that I am worthy 
 of no attention from the men, except for 
 my money. But you must forgive me, Sir 
 Charles, I have a little vanity, and 1 don't 
 quite believe the whole of these stories." 
 
 " But you may believe me," returned 
 the baronet. ' : In all things you may be- 
 lieve me." 
 
 " Sometimes, perhaps, when it suits me," 
 answered Emily, but without looking up. 
 
 " I confess such truths are not agree- 
 able," pursued her guardian; " when, 
 therefore, I compel myself to utter them, 
 you ought the more readily to believe them ; 
 as you must be sure, that no one is less 
 inclined than myself to give you pain. 
 But I cannot forget, Emily, that I am your 
 guardian." 
 
 " I cannot imagine what makes you think
 
 134 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 it necessary, to speak to me in this earnest 
 manner, at present," returned the girl, 
 with evident annoyance. 
 
 " I was vexed to find that Cosway had 
 been here, during Lady Trenton's absence, 
 more than an hour," said Sir Charles, 
 
 " Oh, surely you cannot pretend to 
 think that my heart is in any danger 
 there," was Emily's laughing reply. 
 
 " He is proud — founds pretensions on 
 his family — and pretensions on his talents ; 
 he is in want of fortune, and evidently be- 
 lieves that you admire him exceedingly. 
 It is dangerous to go too far with such a 
 man." 
 
 "I am very sorry, if his vanity is so 
 great ; but he will find out his mistake be- 
 fore long, no doubt; and you may talk of 
 prudence for a month, Sir Charles, but I 
 cannot help listening to him, and smiling, 
 perhaps he thinks, graciously ; but his 
 foibles amuse me ; I am entertained by his 
 conversation, and under no constraint in
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 135 
 
 his company. He is just the very person 
 with whom the idea of marriage never 
 comes into my head." 
 
 " With you very probably, but with him 
 it may be quite the contrary. There is 
 exactly the mistake of which I wish to 
 make you aware." 
 
 " Oh, I have no wish, nor intention to 
 become a prude, Sir Charles," replied Miss 
 Carrington, more seriously, than she had 
 before spoken. 
 
 " My only object in life, at present, is 
 amusement ; but with your prudent pre- 
 cautions, and foregone conclusions, there 
 would be an end of all light heartedness 
 and unconstraint. Have more confidence 
 in my discretion and modesty. I trust my 
 dearest mother lived long enough to in- 
 struct her daughter, not to disgrace the 
 family from which she springs, I am not 
 so much a child as you seem to suppose, 
 and well know how to maintain the proper 
 dignity of my sex and station, when neces- 
 sary."
 
 136 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 c< Still, Emily," persisted Sir Charles, 
 " I must repeat, that it is not my wish, 
 that you should receive young men about 
 town alone." 
 
 "Mr. Cosway was not alone," replied 
 Emily, slightly blushing. 
 
 "Ah, you mean that young fellow, 
 Marston, was with him," said her guardian. 
 " So much the worse ; it was evident he 
 brought him merely as an excuse for re- 
 peating his visit so quickly. But now I 
 have told you my opinion on this subject, 
 let us speak of something else. Did 
 Cosway leave his companion time to tell 
 you if he had any pictures for the Exhibi- 
 tion r 
 
 (t Yes, three," replied Emily, resuming 
 her drawing with the utmost diligence. 
 
 " The young fellow has talent," added 
 Sir Charles, "and good introductions. If 
 he become the fashion, which I have no 
 doubt will be the case, his works, before 
 the end of the season, will bring double the 
 price he can ask at present. The walls of
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 137 
 
 the green drawing-room at Trenton Hall 
 sadly lack covering, and I am greatly in- 
 clined to ask him down into the country 
 with us, to paint two large pictures." 
 
 " Your reputation for taste, would render 
 such an order of great advantage to him, 
 at the commencement of his career," said 
 Emily. 
 
 " Perhaps so ! but I hope your judg- 
 ment does not differ from mine, in this 
 case, otherwise, I should beg you to select 
 some one else for the work." 
 
 " No doubt Mr. Marston has talent," she 
 coldly replied, " but do as you please, for 
 it is impossible that my opinion can have 
 any weight with a connoisseur like Sir 
 Charles Trenton." 
 
 " Emily ! Emily ! will you never place 
 any confidence in my assurances," mur- 
 mured the baronet in a mortified tone, and 
 then turned away from her, and walked 
 impatiently up and down the room. 
 
 Miss Carrington was so annoyed, by
 
 J 38 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 the contemptuous impertinence with which 
 Sir Charles had spoken of employing 
 Marston, that she resolved not to give him 
 the slightest hint of her intention of sit- 
 ting to him for her portrait. She knew 
 that an artist, in his estimation, was rated 
 no higher that a house decorator, and 
 though, whatever might be her usual 
 modes of thought on the subject, she at 
 present made an exception in Leonard's 
 favour, she had not the courage to dis- 
 pute the point ; she had not courage to 
 express her enthusiastic admiration for the 
 genius and high poetic feeling and indepen- 
 dent character of the painter, which, she 
 felt, would only have excited the ridicule 
 of her guardian. She was herself, perhaps, 
 in some measure, ashamed of it. It is dif- 
 ficult for the most generous and innocent 
 heart, when in daily association with the 
 proud and rich and great, to maintain its 
 respect for genius and nobility of soul, 
 when not sanctioned by their admiration.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 139 
 
 The conversation was now interrupted, 
 by the entrance of Lady Trenton. 
 
 She was a delicate looking woman, about 
 three or four and thirty, whom Sir Charles 
 had married, for her money and good fa- 
 mily. She had soon discovered that her 
 passionate attachment to him was unre- 
 turned; and she sought to forget the 
 anguish and weariness of her heart, in the 
 distractions of society. But, whilst she was 
 outwardly the devotee of fashion, her 
 health was ruined and her life rapidly 
 wasting away, under the consciousness of 
 her husband's indifference, and the bitter 
 pangs of secret jealousy. 
 
 A new cause of uneasiness had been 
 added to those by which she had been 
 long afflicted, when her cousin and heir- 
 ess, Emily Carrington, had, about a twelve- 
 month before, been left to her husband's 
 guardianship, and became an inmate of their 
 dwelling. She loved the girl for her affec- 
 tionate and artless nature, in which it was 
 impossible for the eye, even of a jealous
 
 140 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 wife to detect the slightest cause for sus- 
 picion. But the manner of Sir Charles 
 towards his ward, had latterly given her 
 much pain. She could scarcely define to 
 herself, in what way it was displeasing to 
 her; and yet she felt that it betrayed feel- 
 ings on his part, very different from the 
 fatherly solicitude of which he made open 
 profession. The blood suddenly mounted to 
 her pale face, when, on her return from her 
 drive, she found them in the drawing-room 
 alone together. Yet she came forward, and 
 held out her hand, with a smile, to her 
 husband, whom she saw, that morning, for 
 the first time. 
 
 He was too high-bred to fail in the slight- 
 est mark of politeness towards her; yet 
 his quick eye had marked her hurried 
 glance and blush, on her entrance, and well 
 knew the cause. 
 
 "I came up to ask you, if you intend 
 going to Lady Carter's this eveningl" he 
 said, with careless grace. " By the by, I 
 found Cosway here, and I have been giving
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 141 
 
 our ward a lecture, on the frequency of his 
 visits." 
 
 " He is so far from being a favourite 
 with Miss Carrington, that there is little 
 necessity for your taking that trouble/' 
 said the lady, very coldly, and she seated 
 herself at an embroidery frame, and began 
 to work very industriously, without uttering 
 another syllable. 
 
 Sir Charles stood with his back to the 
 chimney, appearing to busy himself with 
 his nails; till, pretending suddenly to recol- 
 lect an engagement, he hastily left the 
 room.
 
 142 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Wondrous it is to see in diverse mindes 
 How diversely love doth his pageants play, 
 
 And shows his power in variable kinds... 
 In brave sprite it kindles goodly fire 
 
 That to all high desire and honour doth aspire 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 The breaking down of the old system of 
 monopoly and favouritism had already ex- 
 tended its influence to the arts, when 
 Leonard Marston began his career. 
 
 The decoration of a public building, in- 
 stead of being kept by interest, in the hands 
 of a favoured few, was thrown open for 
 general competition. Cartoons were to be 
 sent in for exhibition and selected 
 anonymously, and the prizes were to be 
 awarded, before the names of the artists
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 143 
 
 were disclosed to the committee of judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Marston ardently seized this opportu- 
 nity of proving the extent of his abilities, 
 and zealously worked in secret, at a com- 
 position, in which, for the first time, he 
 found full scope for his genius. His correct 
 knowledge of anatomy, and strong recollec- 
 tion of form, united with the maturity of 
 his thoughts, and his vivacity of imagina- 
 tion, enabled him to proceed with extreme 
 rapidity, and his cartoon was finished and 
 sent to its place of destination, before the 
 opening cf the academy. With one voice 
 the judges pronounced it worthy of the 
 first prize, and the surprise was univer- 
 sal, when, on opening the letter of the 
 artist, it was found to be the production of 
 a painter, whose name w T as almost un- 
 known. 
 
 Two days afterwards, Leonard was 
 called from his easel, to receive a gentle- 
 man, whom his old servant said, was 
 looking at his pictures in the front room,
 
 144 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 and had inquired for him. He had given 
 no name she said. Though annoyed by 
 the interruption, he at once laid his pencils 
 aside, and proceeded to meet his visitor. 
 
 He found a little, thin, elderly gentleman, 
 so attentively examining one of his pictures 
 through an eye-glass, that he appeared, at 
 first, unconscious of the entrance of the 
 artist. 
 
 But as Leonard approached, he turned 
 suddenly round, regarded him with a scru- 
 tinizing glance, and slightly bowed. 
 
 " Mr. Mars ton, I presume," he said in a 
 very mild voice. 
 
 The painter was at once struck by the 
 noble forehead, and the intellectual and be- 
 nevolent expression of the thin, wrinkled 
 face of his visitor. 
 
 He returned his salutation with a feeling 
 of involuntary respect. 
 
 " I fear I have disturbed you," said the 
 old gentleman mildly, " but you would ex- 
 cuse me if you knew the gratification I 
 feel in making the acquaintance of the
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 145 
 
 artist who has executed such works as I 
 am now admiring." 
 
 " You are polite, and indulgent," said 
 Leonard modestly. " Could I have given 
 the form I wished to my ideas, I might 
 perhaps have merited your praise ; but I 
 feel with sorrow how incompletely I have 
 done so." 
 
 " Yet it is exactly the ideas which these 
 pictures express, which most please me," 
 said the old gentleman. a You love your 
 fellow creatures, and pity their sufferings, 
 young man, or you could not have produced 
 such paintings. Your mind has a different 
 bias, and your thoughts are of a different 
 character, from those of the hacknied young 
 men, who, vain of their talents, regard them 
 only as a means of making money, by flat- 
 tering the pampered fancies of luxurious 
 ignorance. You seem to know the world 
 in an extraordinary manner for your 
 age, and the feelings of man in every sta- 
 tion." 
 
 "I have seen something of the sufferings 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 
 
 poor, as well as of the pastimes of the rich/' 
 answered Leonard, glancing at the picture of 
 poor Kate, and thinking of his boyhood, 
 "and I am persuaded that the time has 
 come when all art and literature ought to 
 be employed to arouse the upper classes to 
 an active sense of their duties, towards 
 their less fortunate fellow creatures." 
 
 " I am rather of opinion/' answered the 
 old man, smiling on his youthful com- 
 panion, "that it is now the business of 
 art, to elevate the working classes in the 
 moral scale of social life — to give them the 
 power of knowledge — to teach them to use 
 it by association for the advancement of 
 their material interests and moral progress. 
 The people must be raised ; amidst them 
 is the strength and intellect found, which 
 maintains the greatness of the nation, and 
 progresses in spite of the aristocracy, which, 
 were it not recruited from the lower ranks, 
 would be in time, utterly enfeebled by 
 idleness and luxury. But the people are 
 now aware that gold, and knowledge, and
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 147 
 
 virtue, make the only distinctions between 
 man and man — the soul of the nation is ex- 
 panding like a lotus on the face of the waters. 
 It is no longer a select few, but the people, 
 as in the old republics of Greece, who are 
 to be addressed by literature and art. The 
 writer and the artist have thus a fresh 
 and vigorous public ; whilst new worlds 
 of thoughts and feelings are opened to 
 their use. You have felt this, and your 
 works have, therefore, the merit of origin- 
 ality and vigour. Even that girl's head, 
 you have hung so far in the shade, is very 
 different from the trumpery beauties which 
 disgrace our Albums. Jt tells a story of 
 poverty and suffering ; it is full of nature 
 and character ; there is evidently a noble 
 soul within, which gives a bright intel- 
 ligence to the eyes and forehead, though 
 the mouth smiles so sadly. It is a young 
 work, Mr. Marston, that is evident. You 
 were yourself, perhaps, scarcely aware what 
 your work expressed 1" 
 H 2
 
 148 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 " It is a portrait," answered Leonard, 
 simply. 
 
 The door was at this moment thrown 
 open, and the Marquis of Carville w r as an- 
 nounced. 
 
 The old gentleman immediately with- 
 drew to the further end of the room, and 
 turning to examine a picture, left Leonard 
 at liberty to receive his new guest. 
 
 The manner of the Marquis toward the 
 artist was very different from that of the 
 old gentleman. Tt was courteous ; but it 
 was the courteous condescension of a 
 superior, who thinks it his duty to set an 
 inferior at his ease. 
 
 The old gentleman, though he did not 
 look round, felt, as quickly as Leonard 
 Marston himself, the impertinence of the 
 man of fashion and rank. He smiled in- 
 ternally at the weakness of human nature, 
 and the false value which the distinctions 
 of modern society confer upon men. 
 
 The Marquis looked at Marston's finished
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 149 
 
 pictures with an air of elegant indifference, 
 and then, with his glass at his eye, glanced 
 round the walls, as if he had seen so many 
 fine things in his life, that one look suf- 
 ficed to convince him that there was no- 
 thing there worth observing. He then 
 began to criticise the picture on the easel, 
 and having shown his own taste by proving 
 it full of faults, he enquired if it were sold, 
 and when Leonard answered in the nega- 
 tive, demanded the price. 
 
 The old gentleman listened acutely, as 
 Marston replied, that the picture had 
 been valued, by a Connoisseur, at eighty 
 guineas. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," said the Mar- 
 quis, raising his shoulders. " It is often 
 the fault of such injudicious friends, that 
 the works of young artists remain upon 
 their hands. They forget that merit alone 
 cannot command such prices, without an 
 established reputation. Fifty guineas, Mr. 
 Marston, I could have offered you. You 
 must excuse me, if I remind you, we are
 
 150 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 no longer in Rome. You have your way 
 to make against an enormous competition, 
 and time and practice are necessary, to 
 mature the brightest genius. May I pre- 
 sume that the picture is mine for fifty 
 guineas V 
 
 The heart of Leonard, for the first time 
 in his life, swelled with the honest indig- 
 nation of insulted pride, as the nobleman 
 thus addressed him ; but he remembered 
 his uncle's warnings, and mastered his 
 indignation, so far as to be able to reply 
 with apparent composure, that he could 
 not give the picture for less than the price 
 he had named. 
 
 " My dear sir, you make a mistake," re- 
 turned the Marquis, " with fifty guineas 
 the thing is well paid ; as your friend, I 
 assure you, it is not worth more. It 
 betrays genius, certainly ; but both in 
 colouring and drawing, there is much to 
 criticise. Unfortunately, friends, in general, 
 are more apt to flatter, than to tell judi- 
 cious truths. Think again, Mr. Marston,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 15 J 
 
 and if you decide to take fifty guineas, I 
 will, at once, order two others of a similar 
 size, of which I leave to you the choice of 
 the subject." 
 
 " I am very sorry, my lord," returned 
 the artist, in a quiet, but most decided 
 tone, " I can neither dispose of this pic- 
 ture at such a price, nor accept your 
 order. You are, apparently, not aware 
 of the thought and labour necessary for 
 the creation of such works. I have named 
 the lowest price, and by that I must 
 abide." 
 
 " Three pictures, Mr. Marston V 
 
 " I would not change my decision, were 
 you to order a dozen, my lord !" 
 
 " Should you be induced hereafter to 
 do so, I trust you will let me know," said 
 the Marquis, and he sauntered away to 
 examine a copy of a Raphael, near the 
 window. 
 
 He felt fully convinced that the young 
 artist was only endeavouring to make the
 
 152 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 best bargain in his power, and would be- 
 fore he allowed him to leave the house 
 finally agree to accept the price he had 
 offered, although he well knew that even 
 what Marston had asked was far beneath 
 the real worth of the picture. He had 
 quite overlooked the old gentleman at the 
 further end of the room, and whilst pre- 
 tending to examine a Madonna, hung 
 against the wall, he was greatly surprised 
 to hear a soft voice behind him, say — 
 
 " Eighty guineas. I think you said, was 
 your price, Mr. Marston V 
 
 "Eighty guineas!'' repeated Leonard, 
 somewhat abruptly, for he was still smart- 
 ing under the insolence of the noble con- 
 noisseur, and was annoyed at the idea of 
 bargaining for the sale of works, in the 
 creation of which all the highest feelings 
 of his soul had been excited and em- 
 ployed. 
 
 He then first really learnt that genius 
 is not all the artist requires to secure bus
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 153 
 
 success in life, but that to struggle with 
 less gifted men he must be a man of busi- 
 ness. 
 
 The old gentleman seemed perfectly to 
 understand what was passing in his mind, 
 for he smiled benevolently at him, as he 
 replied — 
 
 " Then the picture is mine. After the 
 Exhibition, you will send it to me, and I 
 shall be obliged if you will devote your 
 first leisure; to paint me a companion to 
 it. Your time will, for the future, be of 
 more value than it has hitherto been ; you 
 will allow me to pay you a hundred guineas 
 for the second." 
 
 "That I cannot accept," said Leonard, 
 earnestly. " I should be sorry to take ad- 
 vantage of your generosity, and I am 
 satisfied with the price I have demanded." 
 
 " That is my affair. I will write you 
 an order on my banker, to be drawn at 
 sight." 
 
 And the old gentleman, after writing at 
 a side table, in a small book he took from
 
 154 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 his pocket, tore out a leaf, and put it into 
 the artist's hand. 
 
 " I hope we shall very shortly meet 
 again, Mr. Marston," he said, " I wish you 
 a very good morning," and without taking 
 the slightest notice of the Marquis, he then 
 left the room. 
 
 The nobleman was in utter astonishment, 
 and mortified beyond expression. He felt 
 that he had exposed himself, and incurred 
 the contempt of the stranger, whoever he 
 might be ; worse than that, he had lost 
 the bargain he anticipated, for under a 
 hundred guineas he could no longer expect 
 that he could obtain the pictures he had 
 resolved to have for fifty. Yet concealing 
 his vexation under an air of indifference, 
 he was mean enough to ask Leonard the 
 name of his patron. 
 
 Marston replied that he was himself 
 ignorant of it, 
 
 " Some dealer, I presume, by his appear- 
 ance," said Lord Carville, with a sneer. 
 " Those people will make any temporary
 
 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 155 
 
 sacrifice to keep up prices, and make us 
 
 pay." 
 
 Leonard looked at the paper the old 
 gentleman had given him. It was an order 
 on a city banker for two hundred guineas, 
 signed, Charles Westbrook. 
 
 " Good heavens ! is it possible V 9 ex- 
 claimed the Marquis, when he heard the 
 name. " The vulgar, purse-proud, old 
 fellow ! He has the finest gallery of 
 modern art in England, and it is strange I 
 never met him before to my knowledge. 
 These fellows, who have made money by 
 trade, have so few wants, and no station 
 to maintain, that they can w r ell afford to 
 pay better than we can, and it is. clear, his 
 vanity was piqued, and he was resolved 
 not to allow me to have your pictures. 
 But don't be deluded — it is only a com- 
 bination of accidents, and I have no doubt, 
 before long, you will let me have something 
 at a reasonable price. I came this morn- 
 ing, it appears, just half an hour too late,"
 
 156 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 He then, with ill-concealed auger, ab- 
 ruptly took his leave. 
 
 The pain which he had inflicted on Mar- 
 ston, was entirely obliterated by the noble 
 conduct of Mr. Westbrook, and when the 
 artist was left alone, he thought only of the 
 benevolent old man, and the generous 
 kindness with which he had so promptly 
 come to his aid. He was grateful to him, 
 beyond expression, not for the money alone, 
 he had so nobly advanced, though that was 
 of great importance to him at the com- 
 mencement of his London life ; but he was 
 grateful for his sympathy, and for the 
 proofs he had given, that whilst he ad- 
 mired art, he did not despise the artist, 
 but had rejoiced to give a reproof to the 
 impertinent presumption of nobility, which 
 he w r as himself disabled, by his position. 
 from resenting. The happy consciousness, 
 that his genius was understood and esti- 
 mated, gave him new inspiration, and car- 
 ried away by his own enthusiasm, he
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 157 
 
 quickly forgot all the pains which the arti- 
 ficial slavery of social life is capable of 
 inflicting. 
 
 But not for long. Although the visit of 
 the Marquis of Carville had caused Leonard 
 bitter mortification, it had a salutary effect 
 on his mind, when he had time for more 
 mature reflection. 
 
 The fancies, which he had very foolishly 
 begun to indulge, concerning Emily Car- 
 rington, were, for the time, dispelled. The 
 Marquis had made him feel, that though 
 he had been admitted into the house of Sir 
 Charles Trenton at Rome, they belonged to 
 a totally different class of society in Eng- 
 land ; and his first resolution was, to avoid 
 altogether the company of fine people, 
 where, even though he were tolerated, he 
 was secretly despised. He very valiantly 
 determined to work out, by his industry and 
 talent, a place for himself in society, which 
 must command even their respect. Poor 
 young man ! — he little knew, that none of 
 these great people would ever care more
 
 158 THE FA.RCB OF LIFE. 
 
 about him, nor his reputation, than as one 
 who, by the works of his hands, adminis- 
 tered to their pleasure, or their vanity. 
 
 He from time to time sought distraction 
 and amusement in the society of other 
 artists and celebrated authors of the day ; 
 and with a select few, whose minds were 
 as expansive, and whose principles were as 
 humane and independent as his own, he 
 enjoyed the high pleasure of unconstrained 
 mental intercourse. These were men con- 
 scious of their high mission, and resolved 
 to aid the progress of man towards univer- 
 sal civilization, equality of education and 
 political rights, and adequate remuneration 
 for labour, with the whole strength of the 
 talents which Heaven had conferred on 
 them. The false halo of rank and wealth, 
 gave no deceptive dimensions in their eyes, 
 to the proud littleness, which the institu- 
 tions of past ages, and the prejudices of 
 the present, had contributed to endow with 
 conventional importance ; and relying on 
 their own powers, and their own noble
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 159 
 
 aims, they did not make art subservient to 
 the pleasure of the great ; but appealed to 
 the people for inspiration, and for sym- 
 pathy. But Leonard Marston grieved to 
 see, that many others, brought up in ser- 
 vile admiration of all above them, devoid 
 of all respect for the dignity of their art, 
 crouched with fawning servility before all 
 whom they considered either fashionable 
 or great, and seemed actually to feel, as if 
 their aristocratic patrons were beings of a 
 different race, whose notice alone con- 
 ferred real honour, whose judgments were 
 infallible, and whose patronage was the 
 summit of ambition. Such men despise all 
 as if beneath them, who are unhonoured 
 by the favour of the great; yet these syco- 
 phants of a Court, these creatures of a 
 monarchy, are, when revolutions disturb 
 their fountains of gain, the first to turn, 
 and revenge their former humiliation, by 
 wreaking a bitter vengeance, on the very 
 class which they formerly worshipped. 
 But Marston soon found that these are
 
 160 THE FAECE OF LIFE. 
 
 commonly no true sons of genius ; they 
 have a certain portion of talent, but are 
 deficient in that grasp of mind, which 
 alone confers immortality ; class literature, 
 and class art, fostered by fashion, and 
 cherished by luxury, have never survived 
 their century. 
 
 But much as the young painter's incli- 
 nation prompted him to keep aloof from 
 fashionable society, his profession did not 
 leave him at liberty to withdraw himself 
 from what is called the world. 
 
 In the height of the season, whilst he 
 was one afternoon busily occupied, the 
 silence of his apartment was suddenly in- 
 terrupted by a tremendous knock at the 
 house-door, and a few minutes afterwards 
 Miss Carrington glided into his painting- 
 room, followed by a little, thin, elderly 
 lady, whom she presented to him as Lady 
 Charlotte Del mar. 
 
 The old lady was slightly deformed, 
 and her dark complexion nearly hidden 
 by rouge, so thickly laid on, that it re-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 161 
 
 semblecl two red patches on her withered 
 cheeks, whilst her large, gipsy eyes burnt 
 above it, with the fire of keen, strong in- 
 tellect and wit, which even the dissipation 
 of her long life had nourished, not 
 quenched. She was an old maid of 
 quality, who, though she had been a great 
 flirt, had, in consequence of pride and 
 family pretensions, failed to make a bar- 
 gain in the market of matrimony, and 
 struggling through life alone, was con- 
 demned to maintain her becoming position 
 in society, with infinite difficulty, no one 
 exactly knew how, on a very small in- 
 come. 
 
 Had she been usefully and morally 
 educated, and taught to pursue a noble 
 aim in life, or had poverty compelled her 
 to earn her bread by the honourable exer- 
 cise of her talents, she would, no doubt, 
 have been a woman of distinguished 
 abilities, and respectable conduct ; but as 
 it was, she was only a petty and dangerous 
 intriguer for vain notoriety, for paltry in-
 
 162 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 terests, and vapid amusements ; nothing 
 but her powers of sarcasm, prevented her 
 juvenile airs being ridiculous. She had 
 two weapons of attack and defence, flat- 
 tery and insolence, and as best suited her 
 purpose, she made use of these unsparingly. 
 She professed an enthusiastic fondness for 
 young people ; to make her house agree- 
 able to them, appeared the dearest object 
 of her life, and her success was so com- 
 plete, that an appearance at her soirees, 
 was as necessary to establish the fashion 
 of a young beauty as an introduction at 
 Almacks. 
 
 She had her secret reasons for giving 
 herself so much trouble, which w 7 ere far 
 from being so benevolent, as she wished 
 the world to believe, though most people 
 regarded her as a good-natured, clever, 
 busy old woman, and nothing more. 
 
 Emily Carrington had too much pleasure 
 in being loved, and was too much accus- 
 tomed to flattery, to doubt the truth of 
 Lady Charlotte's warmly expressed affec-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 16'3 
 
 tion and admiration. No confidence existed 
 between her and Lady Trenton, and she 
 had no other female relatives to whom she 
 could turn for advice and support in the 
 trying circumstances attending the entrance 
 of a young and beautiful heiress into life. 
 Lady Charlotte might at first sight have 
 appeared little calculated to supply these 
 deficiencies, but the jealousy of Lady 
 Trenton aided her schemes, and before the 
 end of a few months, the wily old woman 
 had completely established her power over 
 the unsuspicious Emily. 
 
 She had listened with extreme interest 
 to the girl's account of Leonard Marston, 
 and as she liked to be surrounded by clever 
 young men, and to have the drawings of 
 distinguished artists in her album, without 
 payiug for them, she agreed to visit him, 
 that she might ascertain, by her own keen 
 observation, whether, or not, he was worthy 
 of her valuable patronage. 
 
 Marston's heart beat violently, when 
 Miss Carr'mgton, so unexpectedly, entered
 
 164 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 his painting-room, and advancing towards 
 him, after she had presented her friend, 
 held out her small hand to shake hands 
 with him, as an old acquaintance. 
 
 Lady Charlotte saw his embarrassment, 
 and immediately began to chatter. 
 
 " My dear friend, Miss Carrington, has 
 told me so much of Mr. Marston's abilities," 
 she began, " that I have been quite im- 
 patient to make his acquaintance." 
 
 " Miss Carrington has done me too much 
 honour," said the artist, looking with grate- 
 ful admiration at Emily. 
 
 " Not at all !— not at all P cried Lady 
 Charlotte ; " her praises are fully justified 
 by the works I see around me. That 
 finished picture, I presume is for Exhibi- 
 tion \ I hope it may be hung as it 
 deserves, and you may be assured I will 
 do everything in my power to recommend 
 you purchasers." 
 
 u It is already sold," returned Leonard, 
 quietly. 
 
 " Indeed ! you are fortunate," she re-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIEE. 165 
 
 plied. " To some family friend, I pre- 
 sume." 
 
 " To Mr. Westbrook !" 
 
 " What ! the great collector ?" de- 
 manded the old lady, with an expression 
 of astonishment, as she, for the first time, 
 raised her glass, and examined the picture, 
 at which she had previously scarcely 
 glanced. 
 
 ;< Admirable, indeed," she murmured. 
 " Fifty guineas, I presume, as a beginner. 
 At that price, you will be sure of orders, 
 when Mr. Westbrook's name transpires 
 as a purchaser. A lucky hit, Mr. Marston." 
 
 " Mr. Westbrook has already paid me 
 two hundred guineas for that, and a com- 
 panion picture, he has desired me to paint 
 for him," said the artist. 
 
 Lady Charlotte was, for a moment, pro- 
 voked to find that her patronage was so 
 little wanted — but Leonard Marston, at the 
 same time, became a very different person 
 in her estimation. The patronage of the 
 well-known connoisseur, Mr. Westbrook, at
 
 166 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 once convinced her, that his talents were 
 above mediocrity — that he was worthy of 
 some attention — that he might be admitted, 
 without danger, into her select society as a 
 rising young man of talent — and that there 
 was no danger of her judgment being 
 compromised, should she honour him with 
 her protection. 
 
 All this passed quickly through her 
 mind, whilst Emily was exchanging a few 
 lowly spoken words with Marston, con- 
 cerning the sketches which she had remem- 
 bered to have previously seen ; and he 
 complimented her in turn, on her excellent 
 memory. 
 
 %i Ah.1 those were happy days," said the 
 girl. " I am sure you must regret Rome, 
 Mr. Marston, in this foggy city." 
 
 " I regret it on many accounts," he re- 
 plied, without looking up. 
 
 " It must, indeed, possess a thousand 
 charms for a man of your taste," rejoined 
 the lady. 
 
 " It had, indeed, many charms," was the
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 167 
 
 soft reply, and Marston, who stood close at 
 Emily's side, fixed his large, earnest, 
 penetrating eyes, for a moment, on her 
 beautiful, animated face. 
 
 She did not meet the glance, or perhaps 
 she might not have proceeded with un- 
 changing gaiety. 
 
 "Do you remember our visit by torch- 
 light to the Colosseum, when we lost our 
 party in the gigantic building, and our walk 
 to the lovely fountain of Egeria 1 I have 
 the sketch you made me amongst my 
 choicest treasures." 
 
 " And I — " began Marston, whilst an 
 expression of extraordinary emotion passed 
 over his fine face ; but the sentence was 
 not concluded, and he turned away to place 
 a picture in a more advantageous position. 
 
 Lady Charlotte remarked that his hand 
 trembled as he did so. The keen old 
 intriguer had not lost a word of the young 
 people's conversation, and she had rapidly 
 drawn her own conclusions from it. She
 
 168 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 considered it high time to interrupt them, 
 for the present, at least. 
 
 " My dear child/' she said, to Miss Car- 
 rington, " we are intruding on Mr. Mar- 
 ston's valuable time, without informing 
 him of the object of our visit." 
 
 " We are old friends," answered Emily, 
 glancing with a captivating smile at the 
 painter. " I know by experience Mr. Mar- 
 ston's colours do not dry very quickly." 
 
 " He is very good to have so much 
 patience," answered the old lady. 
 
 " I beg you to believe, that I am happy 
 to be eo delightfully interrupted," said the 
 artist, with infinite courtesy. 
 
 " You are very good ; but we are really 
 not so inconsiderate, as we appear. Miss 
 Carrington will explain to you, that she is 
 anxious to have her portrait painted by 
 you, for the ensuing Exhibition, if you 
 have still sufficient time at \our disposal." 
 
 " I shall be delighted — charmed," re- 
 plied Leonard, with rather more animation 
 than it was necessary for him, as an artist,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 169 
 
 to express, but in another moment, as if 
 conscious of his mistake, and of the feel- 
 ings he had betrayed, he assumed a re- 
 served coldness of manner, and added, 
 that the time was certainly very short ; 
 but that every other work must give place 
 to such a command, and that if Miss Car- 
 rington would have the kindness to grant 
 him frequent sittings, he doubted not he 
 should be able to finish the picture in 
 time. 
 
 " Oh, that will be delightful of you," 
 said Emily, gaily. " Sir Charles and Lady 
 Trenton are to know nothing about it, till 
 it is ready ; and Lady Charlotte has pro- 
 posed for me to be painted at her house, 
 if that suits you, Mr. Marston ?" 
 
 " Perhaps Lady Charlotte will allow me 
 to call, to ascertain if the light is favour- 
 able," answered the artist, in a quiet manner. 
 
 Lady Charlotte looked at him narrowly, 
 with her keen, eagle eyes. She, who ail 
 her life had been an admirer of male 
 beauty, could not fail to remark his hand- 
 
 vol. I.
 
 170 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 some person ; but she admired still more 
 his mastery over his feelings, which the 
 keen old observer already thoroughly under- 
 stood. She felt he was no common person, 
 and she liked him. She gave a little short 
 sigh to the memory of some long past 
 event of her youth — when that hacknied 
 old heart was fresh and natural — whose re- 
 membrance had passed unbidden across her 
 brain, like a flash of lightning over a grave, 
 and then she laughed, as she told the 
 young man, she would positively not allow 
 the picture to be painted anywhere else 
 than at her house. 
 
 " I have taken Miss Carrington for the 
 time under my protection, and we cannot 
 come here every day, although I am an 
 old woman — we should none of us be at 
 our ease — but the sittings at my house will 
 be delightful. You must come early, and 
 lunch with us, and stay each day as long- 
 as you please." 
 
 " But the light V persisted Marston. 
 
 " Oh, the light is admirable ! Sir
 
 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 171 
 
 Thomas Lawrence told me so, a dozen 
 times !" 
 
 " And in what dress would Miss Car- 
 rington wish to be painted V 
 
 " Not in the fashion, at all events," said 
 Emily, blushing. rt The picture will have 
 value as a work of art, and I should wish 
 the dress to bear no date." 
 
 " You leave it, then, to me V 
 
 l< Entirely." 
 
 " I will think of it before to-morrow, if 
 I may venture to hope, that I can com- 
 mence so soou," rejoined the artist. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly ! — the sooner the 
 better," answered Emily, eagerly. u Come 
 to-morrow morning, at eleven, and you 
 shall find everything prepared for your 
 work." 
 
 So saying, with a beaming smile, which, 
 in spite of all his prudent resolutions, awoke 
 a thousand pleasing fancies in the heart of 
 the painter, she made a slight sign to Lady 
 Charlotte, and they both arose to depart. 
 
 As they were about to leave the room, 
 i 2
 
 172 THE FAECE OF LIFE. 
 
 the eyes of Miss Carrington fell on the por- 
 trait of Kate D'Arcy. Its soft, earnest ex- 
 pression, at once fixed her attention. She 
 stopped to gaze on it, with a mingled feel- 
 ing of curiosity and pleasure. The large, 
 dark, expressive eyes, awoke an interest in 
 her heart, as if she returned the gaze of 
 a living person, fixed searchingly upon 
 her. 
 
 " If that be from nature, you had a most 
 beautiful model," she said, turning to the 
 artist. " She is very young to have so sad 
 an expression." 
 
 " It was one of my first attempts at 
 painting from nature," answered Leonard. 
 
 "Is she still so beautiful V inquired Miss 
 Carrington. 
 
 " I have not seen her since my return 
 to England," was the reply. 
 
 " Ah, then she is not an Italian. I felt 
 sure there was too much soul in her face, 
 for one of those Roman models." 
 
 " She was the playfellow of my child- 
 hood," said Leonard, and he turned away,
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 173 
 
 as if he wished to be no further ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 The curiosity of Miss Carrington was 
 now so powerfully excited, that without re- 
 marking Marston's manner, she would have 
 pursued the subject, had not Lady Char- 
 lotte, with the quick feeling of an experi- 
 enced woman of the world, hastily pre- 
 vented her, by requesting Mr. Marston to 
 ring for her carriage. 
 
 When the artist, after handing the ladies 
 down stairs, returned to his easel, he was 
 so intoxicated by the charming coquetry 
 of Emily Carrington, that although he took 
 his brushes in his hand, he actually forgot 
 to pursue his work. The smiles of his fair 
 visitor seemed ever before him, thrilling 
 through his heart. But they did not inspire 
 him ; they dazzled and agitated his mind. 
 He thought he was distractedly in love; but 
 gratified vanity had undoubtedly a share 
 in exciting the throbbing pulses of his 
 heart. He thought of the delight awaiting 
 him, on the morrow, when he should com-
 
 174 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 mence her picture, till suddenly conscious 
 of the folly of the dreams he was indul- 
 ging, he sprang from his chair, and pacing 
 his room with hurried strides, strove to 
 regain the mastery over his feelings and 
 his imagination. He felt that he was only 
 preparing mortification and disappointment 
 for himself, by presuming to indulge any 
 warmer sentiment than admiration, for a 
 lady of Miss Carrington's position, and that 
 to betray the slightest love for his beautiful 
 sitter, would be ruin to all his future pros- 
 pects as a portrait painter. He resolved 
 therefore to be prudent ; to enjoy the 
 present, and found no extravagant hopes 
 on the innocent amiability of Miss Car- 
 rington : a woman educated in the luxuri- 
 ous habits of the aristocracy, with no con- 
 sciousness of the reality of ordinary life, 
 was no wife for a poor painter. He said 
 this to himself, again and again, and re- 
 solved to be insensible to her charms. 
 
 Strong in his exalted devotion to his art, 
 his clear, uncontaminated, and unprejudiced 
 mind, and noble principles, he rushed for-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 175 
 
 ward with headlong enthusiasm into the 
 battle of society, where a man, in his dubi- 
 ous position, must indeed possess a healthy 
 energy, not to be tormented to madness, 
 by the thousand Lilliputian stings of con- 
 descending pride, and patronising imper- 
 tinence.
 
 176 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I love thee — I love thee, 
 'Tis all that I can say ; 
 
 It is my vision in the night, 
 My dreaming in the day ; 
 
 The very echo of my heart, 
 The blessing when I pray. 
 
 Hood, 
 
 At eleven o'clock on the following day, 
 Marston entered the drawing-room of 
 Lady Charlotte Delmar. Miss Carrington 
 was already there, and both ladies received 
 him with the most cordial politeness. 
 
 He made the arrangements necessary 
 for the commencement of the portrait, with 
 I 5
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 177 
 
 a suitable appearance of tranquillity ; but 
 he was far from being so composed, and 
 indifferent, as he appeared. Conscious of 
 his passionate admiration of the fair crea- 
 ture, whose beauty it was his task to scru- 
 tinize, with the narrowest attention, in 
 order to recreate her charms, and even 
 personify the very expression of her soul 
 on the canvass, he strove with all the force 
 of his strong mind, to govern his glances, 
 so as to express nothing but the calm atten- 
 tion of the artist. 
 
 The young coquette seemed determined, 
 however, to be assured, at least, of his ad- 
 miration, whilst treating him with the 
 entrancing familiarity of an old friend. One 
 moment their hands came in contact, in 
 arranging the drapery; at another, she sud- 
 denly changed her position, so as to 
 display one of her beautiful arms to the 
 best advantage; or the scarf fell from her 
 shoulders, and they both jumped up to 
 replace it; and then she laughed and blush- 
 ed, and thanked the painter, with such
 
 178 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 animated, yet timid glances, that he must 
 have had a heart of stone, to remain an 
 unmoved spectator of her fascinations. 
 
 Though Emily shot flying glances, at 
 the eyes of Leonard, it was almost impos- 
 sible to persuade her to regard him steadily 
 for two minutes together, and when she 
 did so, her expression was so different from 
 the character she wished to pourtray, that 
 he more than once, felt tempted, during 
 the first hours, to lay down his pencils in 
 despair. 
 
 Lady Charlotte, whilst seated at a dis- 
 tance, with her embroidery, narrowly 
 observed what was going on ; and at the end 
 of a certain time, she thought it very ne- 
 cessary to call her young friend to order. 
 She did not believe, as Marston did, that 
 Miss Carrington's manner was entirely in- 
 nocent and natural. She understood the 
 arts of coquetry better than he did; and 
 though she thought it was all very excu- 
 sable that she should amuse herself, to a 
 certain point, and please her vanity, by
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 179 
 
 counting this rising artist amongst the list 
 of her admirers, she had powerful reasons 
 for wishing the matter not to become serious, 
 especially under her roof. 
 
 She brought her chair to Marston's side, 
 under the pretence of observing him work; 
 and whilst her keen old eyes narrowly 
 watched Miss Carrington, the young lady 
 was compelled to sit with becoming tran- 
 quillity, in the position the painter required 
 
 At one o'clock, they adjourned to lunch, 
 and there, relieved, from all feeling of re- 
 straint, Emily conversed with charming 
 vivacity; the effect of which which was 
 heightened by the old-fashioned costume 
 in which she had chosen to be painted. 
 
 When Marston returned home, he felt 
 he had passed one of the happiest days of 
 his life. The past and the future had 
 been alike forgotten, in the enjoyment of 
 the present; a present in which everything 
 had united to charm his taste and his 
 imagination. That night, he thought less 
 of consequences, and more of Miss Car-
 
 180 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 rington than he had done the day before; 
 and it was with the utmost impatience, that 
 he counted the hours of the morning, till 
 the time arrived, when he could return to 
 the presence of his charming model. 
 
 With a tremulous sort of anxiety, to 
 which he had hitherto been a stranger, 
 Miss Carrington had awaited his arrival; 
 and old lady Charlotte began to repent the 
 assistance she had afforded to the portrait- 
 painting, when she observed the blushes 
 which covered her young friend's face, 
 when the name of Mr. Marston was 
 announced. 
 
 " This must not go too far ! the young 
 man must be kept in his proper place," she 
 thought, as she arose and received her 
 handsome guest, with every appearance of 
 cordiality. 
 
 Such is the hypocrisy of society. False- 
 hood, hatred and malice, all go smoothly 
 on, under the appearance of politeness, and 
 no one in fashionable life considers these to 
 be sins, or even faults, when they are
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 131 
 
 adroitly covered and only exercised for the 
 advancement of self-interest. 
 
 Marston, though he flattered himself 
 that he possessed considerable knowledge 
 of what is called the world, suspected 
 nothing of the old lady's duplicity ; and he 
 was less prepared to withstand the soft 
 tenderness which, in Miss Carrington's 
 manner, had, almost unconsciously to her- 
 self, replaced her former animation and 
 vivacity. In a sort of delirium he painted 
 like one inspired, and the lady's unusual 
 tranquillity, favouring his enthusiasm, he 
 had already sketched in her whole figure, 
 and given an expression to the head, with 
 which he was himself almost satisfied, when 
 Lady Charlotte was called away to receive 
 a visitor. 
 
 An embarrassed silence for several 
 minutes followed her departure, Miss 
 Carrington looked down upon her large 
 Indian fan, and quite forgot she was sit- 
 ting for her picture. Marston still held his 
 pencil in his hand, but he gazed with un-
 
 182 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 disguised admiration for several minutes 
 on his beautiful model, and then heaved a 
 deep sigh. 
 
 Miss Carrington heard it, and looked 
 up, but Marston had averted his eyes, and 
 was very properly busy with his work. 
 By a strange association of ideas, whilst 
 surveying with admiration the beautiful 
 being before him, the image of poor Kate, 
 as she had formerly sat for her portrait, 
 in his boyish days, arose before him. Her 
 simple, subdued gaiety of temper, and 
 earnest feeling, were as different as her 
 poor garments, and pale face, from the 
 brilliant beauty and attire of the child of 
 fashion. 
 
 " Why, ' he thought, " has Providence 
 made such a wide difference between 
 them." 
 
 And he sighed as a brother might have 
 done, at the remembrance of poor Kate's 
 former bitter struggle with her hard des- 
 tiny, and the trials to which she had pro- 
 bably been more recently exposed.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 183 
 
 Miss Carrington accepted the sigh as an 
 offering to herself, and her vanity was 
 flattered. 
 
 " You are very amusing, Mr. Marston," 
 she said, after she had for some time 
 vainly expected the artist to address her. 
 " I hope you are not painting my eyes, 
 for I feel they express nothing but weari- 
 ness and stupidity." 
 
 " If Miss Carrington is fatigued," re- 
 plied Leonard, with the most distant 
 politeness, " I should be sorry to intrude 
 a moment longer on her patience. We 
 had better, perhaps, conclude the sitting 
 for to-day." 
 
 " Oh, no — no — you must not take what 
 I say so seriously," she hastily replied. " I 
 am positively not in the least tired, and 
 you will never get the picture ready in 
 time, if we do not profit by every oppor- 
 tunity. Perhaps you don't know I am to 
 go into the country at Easter, with Sir 
 Caarles and Lady Trenton ; and when I
 
 1S4 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 return, it will be too late for you to re- 
 commence." 
 
 " There is still a fortnight till Easter," 
 replied the artist, quietly. 
 
 At this moment Lady Charlotte entered 
 from the front drawing-room. Marston 
 looked up, and saw she was accompanied 
 by a gentleman, entirely unknown to him. 
 He was of a tall, slender figure, and pro- 
 bably about eight-and-twenty. Though 
 not handsome, his features were regular, 
 and his forehead high. His dress and his 
 manner were equally simple, but it was 
 the studied simplicity of one who aimed 
 at being a very fine gentleman. The 
 cold rigidity which seemed to encase his 
 countenance like a mask, the calm indiffer- 
 ence of his carriage, and the even, quiet 
 tone of his voice were very refined, but 
 not natural, although they had been so 
 long affected, they had become habitual. 
 A cutting sarcasm was the only variation 
 to this monotony, b\ which Mr. Lesley
 
 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 185 
 
 betrayed his sense of superiority from time 
 to time, in general society; but men of 
 his own standing knew that he had been 
 a very gay fellow at college, and that even 
 now, in some secret and select circles, he 
 was not particularly refined in the choice 
 of his amusements. It was even said 
 that he could be witty and eloquent when 
 it suited his purpose. 
 
 But, in the aristocratical and fashionable 
 world, where it was his miserable ambition 
 to make his way, he was cliieny remark- 
 able for his fastidiousness. In fact, his 
 mind was radically and inveterately dis- 
 eased. He felt bitterly, every hour of his 
 life, that though the son of a wealthy trader 
 and highly educated, he was of very low 
 extraction, compared to the people with 
 whom it was his delight to associate, and 
 he was always struggling to make others 
 forget this, although he could not forget it 
 
 himself. 
 
 » 
 
 Aware of the vulgarity of affectation, he 
 avoided the appearance of it with horror,
 
 J 86 THE FARCE OF LIFE 
 
 yet, at the same time, there was nothing 
 natural about him. He was always play- 
 ing the part of the cold, indifferent, 
 supercilious, fine gentleman, whilst his^heart 
 was glowing with passion, and the very 
 fountains of his existence were dried up by 
 his burning ambition for social and 
 political distinction, and the labours this 
 imposed. 
 
 His father had an estate joining Sir 
 Charles Trenton's ; and as the Baronet 
 wished to secure his votes for the county, 
 he invited the young man occasionally to 
 dinner. On these invitations Lesley 
 grounded a hope of getting, at some future 
 day, into Parliament, by the Baronet's influ- 
 ence, as they both belonged to the party of 
 the Protectionists. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Lesley," exclaimed Emily, de- 
 scending from the elevation on which she 
 had been sitting and holding out her hand 
 with a slight air of embarrassment, as she 
 advanced to meet the gentleman, " I de- 
 clare it is quite abominable of Lady Char-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 187 
 
 lotte to make you an exception to ray law 
 of exclusion." 
 
 " Lady Charlotte had too much charity, 
 to extend the exercise of your law to its 
 utmost extreme," returned Lesley, in a soft 
 tone, but with 'a certain coldness which 
 was best calculated to pique the vanity of 
 the fair coquette. She never knew whe- 
 ther he admired her or not; and he flattered 
 himself that this uncertainty was better 
 calculated to excite an interest for him in 
 her heart, than the most devoted attention. 
 He regarded her as a pretty toy, no more; 
 but he had resolved, if possible, to marry 
 her for her fashion and for her fortune. 
 
 "Mr. Lesley — Mr. Marston," said the 
 lady of the house, and the two gentlemen 
 bowed to each other, as slightly as possible. 
 
 The former, with the feeling that an ar- 
 tist was scarcely worthy of being bowed to 
 at all; and the latter with the calm pride, 
 which was a part of his nature, and the 
 sensitiveness, which, at once, felt and des- 
 pised the impertinence of the man of the
 
 188 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 world. A slight tinge of jealousy and 
 discontent at the interruption, might also 
 have some influence in predisposing the 
 artist to have no friendly feeling towards 
 the stranger. 
 
 " I am delighted, Mr. Lesley, you have 
 given us an opportunity of hearing your 
 opinion of Emily's portrait," said Lady 
 Charlotte, " before it is too far advanced to 
 be altered. Mr. Marston, I am sure, can 
 have no objection to your seeing it in its 
 present unfinished state." 
 
 " If it is Miss Carrington's wish," said 
 Marston very gravely. 
 
 " Oh, certainly," cried Emily, who was 
 eager to force Mr. Lesley to compliment 
 her, although, behind his back, she pitied 
 him for being the son of a city merchaut, 
 and had been heard to declare he was too 
 good for such a position, with something 
 almost amounting to contempt. " You are 
 a decided connoisseur, and I hope you will 
 tell us frankly what you think of the 
 likeness."
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 189 
 
 Mr. Lesley smiled. 
 
 " You may rely upon my candour, at all 
 times," he replied; and though possessing a 
 yery small knowledge, either of paintings 
 or pictures, he advanced, in a most unmer- 
 ciful spirit, to criticise the artist's work. 
 
 He had heard the name of Marston; but 
 it had 'escaped his memory, that he had 
 recently been the successful candidate for 
 the cartoon prize; he was even more un- 
 conscious, than the Marquis of Carville, that 
 his talent had been recognized and patron- 
 ized by distinguished collectors, men of the 
 finest taste in England; and after a careless 
 survey of the young artist, he concluded he 
 was some unknown votary of art, to whom 
 Miss Carrington was sitting, by way of 
 encouragement. 
 
 Though, according to the received pre- 
 scriptions of literary fashion, he was a 
 devoted admirer of Goethe and Wordsworth, 
 he was incapable of perceiving poetry in 
 anything but words. He was incapable of 
 feeling, that genius has also a language in
 
 190 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 colour, and form, and music, for those to 
 whom eloquence has L been denied, as the 
 means of expressing their exalted percep- 
 tions of the eternal and the true ; and he 
 looked upon all painters, whom the stamp 
 of fashion had not distinguished, as mere 
 workmen for the amusement of the fanciful 
 and luxurious. He was, however, well ac- 
 quainted with the cant of pretenders to 
 taste, and a knowledge of art ; and he had 
 words at command. * 
 
 Marston arose as Mr. Lesley approached 
 the easel, and Miss Carrington playfully 
 resumed her former position. 
 
 " You must find the likeness exact/' 
 said Lady Charlotte, with her glass at her 
 eye. 
 
 " I am somewhat difficult in such mat- 
 ters," said Lesley, with a contemptuous 
 sneer on his face, as he glanced carelessly 
 at the picture. " It is not by lines and 
 colour alone that a resemblance of Miss 
 Carrington can be given. Her true portrait 
 painter must belong to the highest order ;
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 191 
 
 his heart must be capable of comprehend- 
 ing, and his hand of delineating the soul 
 as well as the features/' 
 
 " Tou must admit," rejoined the old 
 lady, "the expression of the eyes is exactly 
 that of Emily." 
 
 " You have a happier faculty of per- 
 ceiving likenesses than I have, perhaps; or 
 I am unusually blind this morning," an- 
 swered the barrister; " but it appears to me, 
 it is exactly expression which is wanting." 
 
 An answer trembled on the lips of 
 Marston ; but he mastered himself, for he 
 felt that one of the trials was now come, 
 which his uncle had foretold, and that if he 
 desired not to mar his fortunes by his in- 
 dependence and his pride, he must quietly 
 sacrifice his feelings to the fancies and im- 
 pertinence of those, whose superior position 
 in the scale of society, and an opinion, that 
 he was their hired workman, made utterly 
 insensible, or unmindful, whether he had 
 feelings or not. " I am to be paid, and I 
 must submit," he thought, and the thought
 
 1 92 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 came, happily, quick enough to check the 
 caustic reply, which hovered on his lips. 
 
 " It appears to me, also, that the position 
 of the head is by no means advantageously 
 chosen," pursued Lesley, in his usual quiet 
 tone ; " but really you should not ask my 
 opinion — I detest finding fault. 1 would 
 gladly see your portrait painted by Grant, 
 Miss Carrington ; there might, then, be 
 some hope of seeing justice done you." 
 
 Marston had turned away to busy him- 
 self with his colours at a side table, so that 
 no one saw the indignant expression of his 
 countenance, as he heard this insolent ob- 
 servation. Miss Carrington hoped it had 
 not reached his ears. Before he resumed 
 his place at his easel, he had fully mastered 
 his anger, and felt only contempt for a 
 man so devoid of all noble feeling, and 
 thorough good breeding, as to be capable 
 of insulting where no redress was open. 
 
 " It is really unfair to pass judgment on 
 a picture which is scarcely begun/' said 
 Lady Charlotte ; and anxious to change
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 193 
 
 the subject which had taken a turn she 
 did not expect, she proposed that, as it was 
 nearly two o'clock, they should adjourn to 
 the dining-room. 
 
 Marston endeavoured to excuse himself, 
 under the plea of another engagement ; 
 but Miss Carrington insisted on his remain- 
 ing till four o clock, as he had previously 
 promised, and her manner was so flatter- 
 ing and bewitching, that he could not 
 refuse her request. It must be confessed, 
 likewise, that a feeling of vanity made him 
 not unwilling to show Lesley, that he was 
 considered and treated as a gentleman by 
 others, whatever might be his opinion of him. 
 
 Lady Charlotte was an admirable hostess, 
 and as she sat at the head of her table, 
 endeavoured to bring her guests into perfect 
 harmony with each other. Miss Carring- 
 ton, in her quaint old garments, and with 
 her pretty coquetry, was more charming 
 than ever, and even Marston could not 
 detect the slightest shade of difference in 
 her manner towards Lesley and himself. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Both gentlemen exerted their utmost 
 conversational powers ; but for the exclu- 
 sive benefit of the ladies. Neither addressed 
 a syllable to the other, and Lesley affected 
 a perfect unconsciousness of any other man 
 being in company. When they arose to 
 return up stairs, he took his leave, and 
 even when about to depart, the bow was 
 almost imperceptible, with which he saluted 
 the painter. Marston did not return it, 
 and the fine gentleman was somewh at as- 
 tonished, when, by a momentary glance, 
 he perceived the expression of quiet con- 
 tempt, with which the artist regarded him. 
 It was the triumph of pride over vanity ; of 
 calm, good sense over impertinence and 
 folly. For that clay, the quiet tone of easy 
 familiarity, which at the commencement of 
 the portrait painting had pervaded the little 
 party in Lady Charlotte's drawing-room, 
 was entirely at an end, and Leonard, awa- 
 kened to a full sense of his position, was 
 studiously cold and reserved. 
 
 He returned home with a feeling of 
 
 o
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 195 
 
 bitter mortification, such as he had never 
 before experienced, and which his strong 
 and manly spirit, for several hours, vainly 
 struggled to subdue. He could not work, 
 he could not distract his attention from 
 corroding thoughts ; but he conquered 
 them at last, and he felt the full measure 
 of his folly, and his weakness, in being 
 thus disturbed, by the empty impertinence 
 of a man whom he neither knew nor es- 
 teemed. He began to think that his 
 change of manner at Lady Charlotte's had 
 been too abrupt, and had probably caused 
 the ladies to suppose he was offended ; 
 but he resolved, if possible, to do away 
 with this impression. 
 
 On the following day, he was gay aud 
 unembarrassed, as before Mr. Lesley's 
 visit ; and old Lady Charlotte was perfectly 
 astonished by the brilliancy and varied 
 powers of his conversation. Miss Carring- 
 ton had sense enough to appreciate his ex- 
 traordinary abilities and natural character, 
 whose strength, originality, and truth, 
 K 2
 
 196 THE FARCE OE LIFE. 
 
 slightly mingled with romance, totally 
 differed from those of the men she habitu- 
 ally met, and fascinated her imagination, if 
 her heart remained untouched. Flattered 
 by the admiration he at times involuntarily 
 betrayed, she was equally piqued by his 
 assumed reserve; and though certainly no 
 thought of marrying a poor painter had 
 ever crossed her imagination, he had re- 
 solved, before the end of the third days' 
 sitting, that, in spite of all his prudence, 
 Mr. Marstou should be desperately in love 
 with her. The spoilt child of fortune and 
 fashion, surrounded by admirers whom she 
 believed to be all sighing for her fortune 
 and not for herself, she felt there would be 
 an agreeable excitement in such an affair, 
 which the affected smoothness of mere 
 fashionable society could never afford. 
 
 Utterly ignorant of the force of passion 
 in a man of noble and earnest character, 
 like Marston, she ventured on this danger- 
 ous pastime with reckless carelessness, 
 like a child over the treacherous ice, which
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 197 
 
 glittering in the sunshine, is thinly spread 
 above a dark, fathomless, and deadly abyss. 
 She took no thought of the misery she 
 might inflict by this gratification of her 
 vanity. 
 
 So true it is that the finer feelings of 
 the soul are dulled and almost deadened 
 by the false ideas of their own superiority 
 and worth, in which the children of wealth 
 and luxury are educated. Surrounded by 
 an atmosphere of lies, they see all things 
 through a distorting medium, and the fer- 
 vent affections of the heart, in which self 
 is forgotten; the devoted love which finds 
 its joy in sacrifice, are utterly unknown. 
 The cant of feeling, and the reckless pur- 
 suit of admiration and dissipation, are all 
 which supply their place. 
 
 Time was, when this was limited to the 
 upper classes in England. But it is a 
 plague spot which has now spread far and 
 wide, over the whole body of social life. 
 Almost all our women of the middle clas- 
 ses, in great towns, have become slaves of
 
 198 THE FAECE OF LIFE. 
 
 fashion. Some pretend to pursue know- 
 ledge, some religion ; some are devoted to 
 dress, others to scandal ; but all employ 
 more than half their lives in visiting, 
 and receivin g company. Honest indus- 
 try is looked upon as a disgrace, even 
 in the mother of a family, and daugh- 
 ters, who may perhaps be cast upon 
 the world by their parent's extravagance, 
 learn nothing but the love of dress, and 
 a few useless accomplishments, and whilst 
 unable to darn their father's stockings, or 
 hem him a pocket-handkerchief, are inca- 
 pable after an expensive, but superficial 
 education, of any higher accomplishment. 
 But female education is the rage of the 
 day, and the proper care of a household, 
 and even the health v, solid instruction of 
 the mind, is considered waste of time. 
 Moral discipline, the training of the soul 
 to high and noble aims, is totally lost sight 
 of. 
 
 Miss Carrington, indeed, by her birth 
 and fortune, was placed above all mer-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 199 
 
 cenary cares. No one had ever trained 
 and developed the higher feelings of her 
 soul ; and after the loss of her mother she 
 only knew love by name. Marriage she 
 had been always taught to regard under 
 the form of a lace veil, a carriage and 
 four, and a presentation at Court, with 
 ten thousand a year, and a title, — 
 it had peculiar charms. 
 
 But of all this, Marston had no sus- 
 picion. He never thought that so lovely a 
 being, whose varying countenance seemed 
 to express all the finest and tenderest 
 feelings of the soul, knew nothing of them, 
 but as passing emotions, cherished for 
 effect, but incapable of permanently in- 
 fluencing her actions, or her tastes. She 
 quoted poetry to him, and as her eyes 
 flashed with enthusiasm, in giving utter- 
 ance to the loftiest thoughts, he forgot his 
 assumed reserve, and poured forth his own 
 admiration for all that is beautiful in 
 nature and art, with a fervour which she 
 felt, as she would the declamation of an
 
 200 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 actor, which excited for the moment, but 
 was forgotten on the morrow. 
 
 At another time, she questioned Leonard 
 about his relatives, and sighed deeply when 
 she heard that he was an orphan. 
 
 '• I too, am alone in the world/' she said, 
 with another sigh. " I only remember my 
 mother, to grieve for her loss. I have 
 often wished for a sister — for something 
 to love. Did you never wish for a sister, 
 Mr. Marston V she enquired in the softest, 
 and most touching voice. 
 
 Marston replied, with ill-assumed com- 
 posure — 
 
 " Little Kate, whose picture you admired 
 in my painting-room, engrossed my 
 brotherly affection when a boy. I wanted 
 no one else." 
 
 " Did you really love her so much V 
 inquired the young lady, with a feeling 
 approaching to jealousy. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I loved her tenderly," he 
 said, with more tranquillity, for he forgot 
 the present, as his thoughts wandered
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 201 
 
 back to the -past, "she was such a gentle, 
 sensible little creature. Everybody loved 
 her, she was so patient, and good. And 
 I know now how much deprivation she 
 must have suffered as a child, thougli no 
 complaint ever passed her lips. She 
 sought no pleasure, but in serving those 
 she loved." 
 
 " And you were one of them i" inquired 
 Emily, in a low voice. 
 
 Leonard did not reply to this question. 
 He did not hear it. He was thinking of 
 one of little Kate's plaintive songs. 
 
 "Do you know that song, Miss Car- 
 rington 1 I never heard any one sing it 
 but little Kate." 
 
 " To what song do you allude V* in- 
 quired the lady, in a tone of pique which 
 accorded ill with the artist's feelings. 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon," he replied, 
 suddenly aroused to a consciousness of his 
 inattention. " I was thinking of the songs 
 the poor child sung to me, when a boy, in 
 my uncle's old church-yard." 
 K 5
 
 202 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 " How poetical and pretty/' exclaimed 
 Emily, " was it a romantic church- yard 1 
 all ivy and flowery graves T 
 
 " Oh, no, it was between smoky brick 
 houses, in the very heart of the City of 
 London." 
 
 " How horrible !" cried the fine lady, 
 with an affected shudder. 
 
 " It was a paradise to us," answered 
 the painter ; and he gazed with a kind of 
 startled curiosity at her he addressed, as 
 if to read the secrets of her heart. "Poetry, 
 Miss Carrington, exists everywhere, when 
 the scene is hallowed by love. Affection 
 can diffuse a charm over the most squalid 
 reality." 
 
 " Oh ! that is really being too poetical 
 for me, to find charms in a city burying- 
 ground! the most disgusting nuisance in 
 our modern Babylon," she returned, laugh- 
 ing. " I should as much think of looking 
 for poetry in Cranbourne Alley, or New- 
 port Market." 
 
 a The poetry of real life may no doubt
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 203 
 
 be found in both," answered Marston, 
 gravely, " it is happy for you, Miss Car- 
 rington, that your experience has hitherto 
 only made you acquainted with the poetry 
 of imagination." 
 
 The lady looked down ; she felt she 
 scarcely knew why, that she had made a 
 mistake, and she rejoiced when her em- 
 barrassment was interrupted, by the ar- 
 rival of Mr. Lesley, who, in consequence 
 of an order given by Lady Charlotte, was 
 at once shewn into the painting-room. 
 
 This time he took not the slightest 
 notice of Marston, nor did the artist give 
 any sign of his being aware of his en- 
 trance. Yet they felt each other's pre- 
 sence in every nerve, and they hated each 
 other, w r ith bitter hatred — the one for his 
 contempt — the other for his defiance. 
 
 The keen- sighted Lady Charlotte looked 
 for a few moments earnestly from one to 
 the other. Marston was mixing colours 
 on his palette, with the utmost tranquillity, 
 whilst a slight smile played about his hand-
 
 204 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 
 
 some mouth. Lesley was standing leaning 
 against an old cabinet, quietly stroking his 
 hat, and talking to Miss Carrington, with 
 the simplicity which peculiarly distin- 
 guished him. A greater contrast could 
 not have been found than that of the 
 healthy, vigorous-minded, independent, 
 spirited man of genius, and the sophisti- 
 cated, false, and dissatisfied man of the 
 world. 
 
 The old lady was not deceived by ap- 
 pearances ; she understood at once, that 
 the less these two men were left together 
 the better ; and declaring that she had a 
 beautiful print in the next room, of which 
 she wanted Mr. Lesley's opinion, she led 
 him away thither. 
 
 No sooner were they gone, than Marston 
 arose, and begged he might no longer de- 
 tain Miss Carrington, as he had an engage- 
 ment, which compelled him to shorten that 
 clay's sitting. 
 
 " You dine at Sir Charles Trenton's 
 to-morrow, do you not t" she inquired.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 205 
 
 " I received an invitation yesterday," be 
 replied, * and shall have that honour." 
 
 " I shall be prevented sitting to you in 
 the morning, so I am delighted to hear we 
 shall meet in the evening. You will not 
 fail to come," said the girl, with a smile. 
 
 " It would be impossible for me to do 
 so, now I know you desire it," replied the 
 artist, with the conventional manner of a 
 man of the world; and, hastily taking- 
 leave, he left the house. 
 
 For a moment, after he disappeared, the 
 young lady stood considering the words he 
 had last uttered. They were flattering, 
 but the tone in which they had been uttered 
 did not content her. She felt that Mar- 
 ston did not seek her favour, and she was 
 mortified and vexed ; she resolved to 
 triumph over his proud indifference, cost 
 what it might. Had she known the 
 painful struggle of passion and principle 
 she had already excited in the painter's 
 breast, she would, perhaps, have desisted from 
 this cruel sporting with the happiness of a
 
 206 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 noble and generous heart, for the mere 
 gratification of her vanity. 
 
 The remainder of the afternoon she 
 passed, or we may say wasted, in taking a 
 German lesson from Mr. Lesley, who knew 
 \ery little more about the language than 
 herself. This gentleman's quiet manner 
 was said to have been peculiarly successful 
 with women ; it is what is called pene- 
 trating. It piqued their vanity, and old 
 Lady Charlotte, who for some mysterious 
 consideration, had engaged to assist his 
 matrimonial speculation with Miss Carring- 
 ton, had warned him not to flatter her. 
 She was already too much accustomed to 
 the hacknied language of admiration, she 
 said, to be influenced by it, in the slightest 
 degree. And she was quite right ; there 
 was much ground to be gained, before 
 Emily was likely to be won to think, for a 
 moment, of sacrificing all her high-wrought 
 hopes of a coronet, by marrying the son 
 of a dry-salter, whose money had been 
 made in Thames Street.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 207 
 
 Sir Charles Trenton, who looked upon 
 Lesley as an impossible alliance for his 
 fair relative, and who had his own reasons 
 for wishing her to remain unmarried, 
 rather encouraged his coming about the 
 house, considering that he kept more 
 dangerous suitors at a distance. But he 
 was not fully aware of the boundless 
 ambition, which lurked beneath the bar- 
 rister's calm exterior ; not the noble am- 
 bition of a generous soul ; but the miser- 
 able, narrow-minded ambition of a college, 
 a club, and a clique, which seeks distinc- 
 tion in extravagance, in money, in political 
 partizanship, and in fashion, whilst it 
 despises all men of different principles and 
 opinions. 
 
 He knew not what truth was ; his whole 
 mind wus a tissue of prejudices, and he 
 was unconscious of it. He looked on the 
 world through a distorting glass, and was 
 convinced that three-fourt lis of mankind 
 were doomed to ill-requited labour, and 
 suffering, and deprivation, in order that
 
 208 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 
 
 such men as lie, with minds blinded by the 
 pretensions and prejudices of a class to 
 which they either belong, or are struggling 
 to attain, may enjoy wealth, honour, and 
 ease, and indulge all the vanities and 
 selfishness of their diseased minds. 
 
 He was of Burke's opinion, that the 
 rights of the people were pretended rights, 
 to be settled by convention, for the con- 
 venience of certain possessors of property, 
 and inheritors of honours. Burke was, 
 therefore, his idol, as well as that of many 
 other young aristocrats of the same stamp.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 209 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Ours is a degrading and dwarfing system of society ; 
 the middle classes are veneered instead of being 
 heart of oak. 
 
 Southeys Letters. 
 
 When Marston entered Sir Charles Tren- 
 ton's drawing-room, on the following day, 
 he found no one there but his host and 
 hostess. The gentleman received him with 
 polite condescension ; but the lady gave 
 him a more friendly welcome, and seemed 
 pleased to talk of the agreeable days they 
 had spent in Italy together.
 
 210 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Lady Trenton was amiable and gentle, 
 and had she been born in a humbler 
 station, she might have been a happy and 
 a useful woman ; but married to a man 
 who despised her, her wealth had been a 
 curse to her, and she was compelled to 
 lead a useless life amongst persons who 
 seemed as if they scarcely heeded the fact 
 of her existence. 
 
 She was Lady Trenton — wore fine 
 clothes — went to fine parties — and was 
 envied by some, but laughed at by others, 
 as a silly little woman. But she was per- 
 fectly indifferent to all this ; her soul felt 
 it not ; she had need of something higher 
 and holier to occupy and support her, and 
 amidst all the luxury which surrounded 
 her, no voice spoke sympathy to the loving 
 woman's heart. 
 
 At first, Sir Charles was only indifferent; 
 but since his hopes of children had been 
 disappointed, his indifference had deepened 
 into hate. He had sought amusement and 
 excitement from others, and she felt this
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 21 1 
 
 with a bitter pain, that was wearing away 
 her life. Yet she smiled, and a slight tinge 
 of rouge covered the paleness of her cheek. 
 Nevertheless, her wasted and slender 
 figure, although attired with the most 
 studied elegance, offered a sad contrast to 
 the fresh and graceful Miss Carrington, who 
 soon afterwards entered, blooming in all 
 the conscious beauty of nineteen. She 
 held out her hand in the prettiest manner 
 in the world to Mr. Marston, and she 
 glanced, for a moment, in his face ; the 
 next, she turned away, and took a place 
 near the window. 
 
 Sir Charles Trenton went up to her, and 
 enquired what she had been doing all the 
 morning, in a careless voice, but with an im- 
 pressive look and manner, which Marston 
 observed with astonishment. Lady Tren- 
 ton's back was towards them ; but, as her 
 husband continued his conversation with 
 his ward, in the intimate and playful tone 
 of a lover, rather than of a relative, the 
 young artist observed, that she listened to
 
 212 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 the words, he addressed to her, without 
 comprehending them, and that her manner 
 every moment became more restless and 
 uneasy. 
 
 The arrival of guests, fortunately, soon 
 engaged the attention both of Sir Charles and 
 herself. The party was not large. It was 
 merely what is called a family dinner, to 
 which certain persons were invited, who 
 were not producible on grand occasions. 
 
 A county member of parliament, with a 
 proud and stately lady of good family, but 
 country habits and education; a mercantile 
 member of the same honourable assembly, 
 with an ambitious and vulgar wife, whom 
 political interests made it necessary to in- 
 vite once a year, were the principal 
 personages. Lady Charlotte came to help 
 to amuse them, in charity to Lady Trenton, 
 and to flatter them, by somebody with a 
 title being there to meet them, for they 
 were all most rigid aristocrats. 
 
 Marston was enjoying the delight of an 
 animated conversation with Miss Carring-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 213 
 
 ton, when the name of Mr. Lesley was 
 announced. She saw a slight colour pass 
 over the artist's face, but he very quietly 
 finished what he was saying; nor did he 
 move away, till a minute or two after the 
 barrister had come up to address her. 
 He then conversed with Lady Trenton as if 
 unconscious that he had ever met him before. 
 
 Lesley wasgreatly astonished to find the 
 painter a guest in a house, where, with all 
 his pretensions, he thought it an honour to 
 be invited; andwhere he considered the rest 
 of the company of a class immeasurably 
 superior to an artist, being men of wealth 
 and political position. He felt half offen- 
 ded that Sir Charles Trenton had asked 
 such a man to meet him; and his vanity 
 was first soothed by the arrival of Mr. 
 Cos way, who was universally acknowledged 
 to be a man of family and fashion. 
 
 But who could picture the astonishment 
 of this rising young man, who piqued him- 
 self on a slight acquaintance with Cos way, 
 when the latter, after speaking a few
 
 214 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 words with Sir Charles and Lady Trenton, 
 addressing a compliment to Miss Carring- 
 ton, and slightly bowing to himself, went 
 up to Marston, and shook him cordially by 
 the hand. 
 
 " My dear fellow, what have you been 
 doing with yourself, lately?" he enquired, 
 "I hare been three several times to your 
 rooms, and always found them empty. 
 Your guardian Sybil promised to deliver 
 my cards, so 1 presume you know I have 
 not been unfaithful. When shall I find 
 you at home, that I may repeat ray visit !3 
 
 " To-morrow at two o'clock — should you 
 be disengaged." 
 
 " Exactly ! I will be punctual to a mi- 
 nute. Miss Carrington, allow me the 
 honour," he said, gliding with easy assu- 
 rance between that young lady and Mr. 
 Lesley, the moment dinner was announced 
 so as to leave him no time to offer to con- 
 duct her to table. 
 
 In a few minutes, the whole party had 
 adjourned to the dining-room.
 
 THE F,\RCE OF LIFE. 215 
 
 Trenton was an elegant man of the 
 world, with such ordinary abilities, as 
 when high polished and accompanied by 
 rank and wealth, pass for talents of a su- 
 perior order. One faculty he certainly 
 possessed ! he could talk with easy fluency 
 remarkably well about nothing; and he was 
 admirable at the foot of his own dinner- 
 table, when pretty women supported him 
 on either side, to whom he could murmur 
 his soft witticisms about the scandal of the 
 fashionable world. But with the two mem- 
 bers' ladies, this was quite impossible. 
 They were not of the initiated, and lacked 
 totally the beauty to inspire him; so, after 
 he had said something about the Opera to 
 the county lady, he knew not what topic 
 to introduce. It is a horrid bore to such 
 gentlemen, to be out of their set. 
 
 The lady was evidently in a very bad 
 humour. She was indignant that a wo- 
 man of old count}' family, who was perfectly 
 worshipped in her own neighbourhood, and 
 visited on quite an intimate footing at the
 
 216 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Duke's, who was Lord Lieutenant of the 
 County, should be asked to dinner in Lon- 
 don to meet Mr. and Mrs. "White the wool- 
 merchant and his wife, to whom she would 
 not have bowed at a race ball. 
 
 She looked daggers at Mrs. White, who 
 returned them empoisoned. 
 
 Nobody had been introduced, and all 
 those of the company who were unacquain- 
 ted seemed to think each other unworthy 
 to be spoken to. Poor Trenton had 
 nothing to say; Lesley was too fine to 
 speak a word above his breath; and Miss 
 Carrington only conversed in a half whisper 
 with Marston, who sat next her, so had it 
 not been for Cosway and Lady Char- 
 lotte, a dead silence would shortly have 
 pervaded the whole party. But Cosway 
 was never afraid of committing himself, like 
 aspirants to fashion, such as Lesley, whose 
 pretensions did nut impose upon him, and 
 whose fastidiousness he delighted in shock- 
 ing. He sought amusement and infor- 
 mation wherever they were to be found; and
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 21 7 
 
 to the utter horror of some of the company 
 who were of less consideration, he had very 
 soon engaged Mr. White in a discussion 
 concerning the duty on tallow ; which he 
 talked about as learnedly as if he had been 
 himself an importer. 
 
 Lesley, with a slight air of disgust, 
 meantime endeavoured to get up a con- 
 versation with Lady Trenton, about Mr, 
 Disraeli's last novel, 
 
 *' It was too political for her taste," she 
 said, "she likedjLady Fullarton's sweet tales 
 much better. She felt quite inclined to 
 become a Roman Catholic, whilst she was 
 reading them; and for her part, she some- 
 times suspected they must be written by 
 some pale, interesting, father confessor. 
 I like Dickens too," she added, " he is 
 quite in a different style to be sure; but 
 little Florence and Paul Dornbey, made me 
 remember my own childhood," 
 
 " I once looked into the Pickwick 
 Papers," he replied, " but I positively could 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 not get through three pages. He is steeped 
 to the very elbows in vulgarity." 
 
 " But his children are charming." per- 
 sisted Lady Trenton. " I had a little brother 
 once, who died like little Paul. I absolutely 
 could not lay down the book, till I had come 
 to the poor little boy's death. Dickens must 
 love children, and have an excellent heart." 
 
 " I have not read his works," answered 
 Lesley, with unmoved tranquillity, as if he 
 pitied her ladyship's want of taste. 
 
 " Mr. Lesley," said Mr. White, in a very 
 distinct voice, across the table, "I shall 
 be very happy to take a glass of wine with 
 you, sir." 
 
 Mr. Lesley bowed and looked exceed- 
 ingly astonished. 
 
 u I had the pleasure of knowing your 
 father," pursued the member, " some twenty 
 years ago, of the house of Smith, Lesley, 
 and Co., Thames- Street. I am told you 
 are the son of Lesley, who was my friend 
 from a boy, and is now, I hear, a very 
 warm man."
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 219 
 
 Lesley bowed, sipped his wine, and made 
 no reply. 
 
 " Lesley was a shrewd, sensible fellow, 
 I assure you, whom no son need be 
 ashamed of," continued White; ''a clear- 
 headed, honest-hearted man, who detested 
 all affectation and impertinence. " I was 
 not in the wool trade then, and we had 
 some little dealings together, about sending 
 red herrings to Naples." 
 
 Cos way was highly amused ; but he 
 began to eat the wing of a chicken as if he 
 had not heard a word that had been said. 
 
 There was a dead silence. 
 
 " Oh, there must positively be some mis- 
 take, my dear sir," said Miss Carrington, 
 addressing Mr. White. " I am quite posi- 
 tive, Mr. Lesley does not even know what 
 such a vulgar thing as a red herring is," 
 and she laughed in her silvery voice, in 
 the prettiest manner imaginable. 
 
 " Charming — charming," whispered Cos- 
 way in her ear, and he too smiled ; but 
 her wit was only an excuse. He smiled 
 L 3
 
 220 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 at the folly of ridiculous pretension, with 
 the pride of a man of family. 
 
 " I beg pardon, really, if I am mistaken." 
 said Mr. White, who began to think that 
 such might be the case, "but the Mr. 
 Lesley with whom I was acquainted, knew 
 very well what a red herring was, for he 
 made his fortune by them, and it is very 
 considerable. I inquired about him lately, 
 and you were pointed out to me in the 
 gallery of the House of Commons, as his 
 son." 
 
 " I was not aware my father had the 
 honour of your acquaintance," said Lesley, 
 very coldly.^ 
 
 A look from Sir Charles Trenton, which 
 Cosway understood, made him now inter- 
 fere, so as to render the conversation more 
 general. He spoke to Marston concerning 
 the ball at the French President's, where 
 they had been together, in passing through 
 Paris, and he chose the subject expressly 
 to mortify Lesley, who considered himself 
 a man of conversation, and who, not hav-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 221 
 
 ing been recently abroad, could bear no 
 part in it. He could not conceal his 
 astonishment and mortification at discover- 
 ing that though Marston was an artist, he 
 was a very different person from what he 
 had at first imagined, and was on an inti- 
 mate footing, with a man whose acquaint- 
 ance it had long been his ambition to 
 attain. 
 
 The only person from whom he now 
 found support, was old Lady Charlotte, who 
 had her private reasons for being an- 
 noyed at his discomfiture, in the presence 
 of Miss Carrington, whose husband she 
 had resolved he should be. 
 
 When the ladies withdrew, he found 
 his position far from agreeable, and followed 
 to the drawing-room as soon as possible. 
 
 The rest of the evening passed as such 
 evenings usually pass, with a little indif- 
 ferent music, in turning over certain books 
 of prints of very questionable merit, and 
 affected sentiment, and which have been
 
 222 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 turned over all the season, till even the 
 sight of the binding has become wearying. 
 These occupations were seasoned by a little 
 very insipid conversation, in which language 
 fulfils what has been said to be its real use, 
 — con ceals the th ough ts instead of expressing 
 them ; and then the equipages came, and 
 the company went away, to the infinite 
 delight both of host and hostess. Cosway 
 and Marston alone remained a few minutes 
 after every one else had departed. 
 
 " Thank heaven it is over ! M exclaimed 
 Sir Charles, as soon as the last carriage 
 drove away, " it is a perfect horror to be 
 compelled to be civil to such people. The 
 Keform Bill has made it a positive bore 
 to be a member of parliament." 
 
 " Oh, for my part, I find such new im- 
 portations delightful/ 5 said Emily laughing, 
 " they are so perfectly natural. I thought 
 I should have expired when Mr. White 
 accused Lesley of being the son of a red 
 herring merchant."
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 223 
 
 " Considering it a very respectable pro- 
 fession, no doubt/' said Lady Trenton, with 
 her soft smile. 
 
 " I was rejoiced to see the affected 
 puppy get a lesson," rejoined Cosway, " I 
 can bear any vulgarity better than the 
 affectation of extreme elegance. His arro- 
 gance at the club has become quite insup- 
 portable, and imposes on some goocLnatured 
 fellows, who absolutely worship him. He 
 is so insufferably quiet that he gives no 
 man a hold on him, and has hitherto 
 escaped taking down ; but this story of the 
 red herrings is admirable. It is too good 
 to be lost." 
 
 " Have a little mercy, Cosway ! don't be 
 too witty at the expense of my friend," 
 said Sir Charles. " His father may have 
 sold red herrings twenty years ago ; but 
 his tenants' voices are not less sweet, and 
 are very necessary to me now, to bring 
 me in for the county. Remember, the affair 
 happened at my house." 
 
 " White is an admirable fellow, what-
 
 224 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ever may be his trade," rejoined the bar- 
 rister, " and deserves to be Purveyor Ge- 
 neral of tallow and red herrings to Her 
 Majesty's forces. Come, Marston, it is late, 
 we must be going." 
 
 The two gentlemen then took a hasty 
 leave, and departed. 
 
 " And this is the society in which you 
 were anxious I should push my way," 
 said the painter to his companion, as soon 
 as they had gained the street. 
 
 " Not exactly," returned Cos way, laugh- 
 ing, u it is a good house ; but I admit the 
 company was not perfectly select to-day. 
 You will probably never meet such people 
 as those Whites there again." 
 
 " I complain of no man's manners." an- 
 swered Marston. " Mr. White appeared to 
 me a plain-spoken, kind-hearted man. But 
 the thing is an utter waste of existence." 
 
 "I differ from you there, my dear fellow," 
 was Cosway's reply. "I cannot consider 
 eating turtle soup and venison a waste of 
 existence. 1 find it, on the contrary, most
 
 THE FARCE OF LItfE. 225 
 
 agreeable pastime, and exceedingly nou- 
 rishing." 
 
 '■ But think of the time and money ex* 
 pended on one of these dinners," persisted 
 Marston, " for the host and hostess to re- 
 joice when it is over, and they are rid of 
 their guests. I can understand, Cosway, 
 that you, who are accustomed to that 
 wretched waste of existence, called a 
 fashionable life, cannot regard it with the 
 same feeling as I do, to whom it is com- 
 paratively novel. You cannot feel all its 
 vanity, heartlessness, and falsehood. But 
 I am astonished that w 7 ith your active 
 mind and fancy, you are not disgusted by 
 its inanity and stupidity, and those rules of 
 etiquette, which for the benefit of common- 
 place folly, proscribe every animated ex- 
 pression of wit, feeling, or even talent. I 
 have always felt as if my faculties were be- 
 numbed by the frozen atmosphere of a 
 fine dinner." 
 
 " It is only your want of habit," replied 
 Cosway, " I am a privileged person, and 
 L 5
 
 226 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 I rattle on at all times, I like a good din- 
 ner, and I am very happy that rich people 
 feel themselves obliged to give them, 
 though I confess I never could exactly dis- 
 cover why, except it be for the pleasure of 
 us poor bachelors, who have a predilection 
 for champagne, without the money to pay 
 for it, and who must otherwise die of 
 club chops and Temple pork, before we 
 are called to the bar. I am at the same 
 time convinced that all fine dinner givers 
 are under an infinite obligacion to an un- 
 exceptionable fellow like myself, who ven- 
 tures to talk above his breath. But here 
 we are, at your lodgings, so good night 
 and don't dream too much of Emily Car- 
 rington, for 1 have a slight fancy for her 
 myself." 
 
 But in spite of this injunction, it must 
 be confessed that Marston thought and 
 dreamt of nothing else, till he returned to 
 Lady Charlotte's, to continue his painting, 
 on the morrow. 
 
 Obstacles however occurred to retard
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 227 
 
 the progress of the portrait, or perhaps 
 they were intentionally invented by Miss 
 Carrington, to prolong her intercourse with 
 Marston. The day, nevertheless, came at 
 last, when his charming model was seated 
 before him, more captivating than ever. 
 
 There was a soft, bewitching, tenderness 
 in her countenance, that morning, such as 
 he had never seen before; for Emily, in 
 spite of all her coquetry, was beginning to 
 feel something more than admiration for 
 the handsome painter. 
 
 He had, as Cos way had foreseen, become 
 the fashion that season, and she had had 
 frequent opportunities of meeting him in 
 society, where his whole bearing had 
 pleased her greatly. She had heard every 
 one admire him, and she was mortified, 
 nay almost pained, that he paid her no 
 devoted attention. 
 
 Aware that her portrait would speedily 
 be terminated, an uneasy anxiety took 
 possession of her, when she considered that 
 there would probably, for the remainder of
 
 228 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 that year, be few opportunities for their 
 meeting. She never thought of marrying 
 him ; she could not expect that he would 
 make her any declaration of attachment, 
 and when once again in his presence, she 
 desired nothing but to render herself as 
 charming to him as possible. Old Lady 
 Charlotte knew better than the young lady 
 herself, that she was playing a very dangerous 
 game, for she had still some remembrance 
 of having been in love in her youth ; but 
 as she thought it possible she might be able 
 to make a better arrangement with Mars- 
 ton, in case of his obtaining the hand of 
 the heiress by her assistance, than with 
 Lesley under similar circumstances, she 
 looked on, and pretended to observe no- 
 thing. 
 
 Marston was absent and silent ; he was 
 even more uneasy than Miss Carrington, 
 under the conviction that their pleasant 
 intercourse was drawing to a close. 
 
 *'I hope I do not too long trespass on 
 your patience," he said, after his model,
 
 THE FAECE OF LIFE. 229 
 
 contrary to her usual wont, had remained 
 more than five minutes without speaking, 
 with an expression of vexation on her face, 
 which the artist did well not to copy. 
 
 " Oh, dear no/' she replied, with an in- 
 voluntary start, " I hope I don't look 
 wearied. I would sit a dozen times more 
 with pleasure, if you required it, were I 
 not going into the country to-morrow. It 
 is really very provoking." 
 
 " When are you likely to return V in- 
 quired Marston, in a voice not quite so 
 tranquil as he desired, 
 
 " Oh, not till next spring," she replied. 
 "Sir Charles talks of Brighton or Paris, for 
 the winter. It is far too soon to leave 
 London now — it is so delightful in fine 
 weather, when one can dance half the 
 night with open windows, without fear of 
 taking cold." 
 
 u Are you not fond of summer flowers V* 
 inquired the artist. 
 
 11 Oh, yes, in drawing-rooms, or in a con-
 
 230 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 servatory. Flowers are most beautiful by 
 lamp- light." 
 
 " Then you don't admire them in their 
 own free homes — the woods and meadows." 
 
 " Oh, yes, when [ have nothing more in- 
 teresting to admire, and London is quite 
 empty," answered the girl with one of her 
 pretty laughs, which made the admirers of 
 her beauty, think all she uttered charming, 
 " but you must acknowledge that at this 
 time of year, there is far more pleasure to 
 be found in London — and that at all seasons, 
 — agreeable conversation and society are 
 necessary to enhance the charms of the 
 country." 
 
 " But you draw, Miss Carrington ; I fully 
 imagined, you were a devoted admirer of 
 nature." 
 
 " Oh. yes," she quickly returned, " I ad- 
 mire every thing beautiful in nature and 
 art. I was enchanted with the shores 
 of Italy ; but that only makes me more 
 weary of the eternal green trees and
 
 THE FAROE OF LIFE. 231 
 
 meadows, round Sir Charles Trenton's 
 gloomy mansion — all is in such dull order. 
 There is nothing incomplete — no difficulties 
 — no adventures to be h. ped for, to vary 
 the scene." 
 
 " You will have the house full of com- 
 pany, and no doubt will find amusement 
 enough." 
 
 " Yes, we shall have the charming Mr. 
 Lesley, and Cosway, and one or tv\o others. 
 You must positively find something to 
 paint in the neighbourhood, Mr. Marston." 
 
 " i have an uncle who is now curate of 
 Brookdale, the parish, I believe, in which 
 Sir Charles Trenton's house is situated." 
 
 " Oil, delightful ! and you will come 
 down there, during the summer! That is 
 a charming piece of information." 
 
 *' Emily, my dear, Lady Trenton's car- 
 riage is at the door, to take us to the con- 
 cert, so if Mr. Marston can spare you, you 
 had better change your dress directly," 
 cried the shrill voice of Lady Charlutte, at 
 this instant.
 
 232 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 " I am sorry to say the picture is so far 
 advanced that I have no further excuse for 
 troubling Miss Carrington," said Marston, 
 arising, and laying aside his pencils. " With 
 your ladyship's permission, I will send for 
 it this afternoon, and finish it at my own 
 house." 
 
 With a slight delay, and an agitation he 
 could not entirely conceal, the artist then 
 took his leave. 
 
 " You charming, naughty creature," 
 said the mistress of the house, to her young 
 companion, as soon as Marston had dis- 
 appeared, " how could you fascinate that 
 poor young man, so unmercifully. You 
 forget that painters, like poets, are all fire 
 and imagination. Love, with them, is a very 
 serious matter." 
 
 " So much the better," answered the 
 girl, laughing. " I should like to see some 
 one seriously, desperately in love with me 
 — so as to forget to admire their own little 
 feet when they are making tender speeches, 
 as Mr. Conway does ; or to calculate a
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 233 
 
 girl's pretensions to fortune and fashion, as 
 Mr. Lesley does, before he compromises his 
 dignity by handing her down to her car- 
 riage. Oh, I should like a romantic lover 
 of all things, were it only for the novelty 
 and rarity of such an adventure." 
 
 " It might prove a very dangerous 
 amusement," returned the knowing old 
 lady ; but remember, I have warned 
 you \" 
 
 They then left the room to prepare for 
 the concert. Marston's mind was in a 
 state of strange confusion when he quitted 
 the house of Lady Charlotte. He ad- 
 mired Miss Carrington ; his imagination 
 was excited by the charms of her person, 
 and her bewitching manners ; and he fan- 
 cied he was in love ; but he had still reason 
 enough left to feel, that to think of her as 
 a wife, was madness; and there were mo- 
 ments when he suspected that this spoilt 
 child of fortune, beautiful and fascinating 
 as she was, was only a vain, helpless, use- 
 less fine lady, incapable of appreciating, or 
 returning the earnest and passionate love
 
 234 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 of a man of sincere and ardent nature, 
 and equally incapable of being the sym- 
 pathising wife, and help-mate of a man of 
 lofty aims, and animated by the noble 
 ambition of contributing to the social pro- 
 gress of his country. 
 
 " We have started on the journey of 
 life from such distant stations," he thought, 
 " that we see all things in a different point 
 of view; and yet, perchance, a true and 
 devoted love might teach her the folly of 
 much which dazzles her now, and render 
 her capable of fulfilling nobly her duties 
 as a wife and a mother — but not for me ! 
 not for the poor and humble painter, who 
 has nothing to offer her in return for the 
 sacrifice of all the cherished prejudices of 
 her class. No ! she is nothing more to me 
 than a beautiful model, and to my art 
 must my mind be devoted; for by a divided 
 service can no success be won." 
 
 And with this resolution, the painter 
 again worked hard, and labour had its 
 usual happy influence, in calming the agita- 
 tion of his passions.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 235 
 
 CHArTER XI. 
 
 Work — work — work ! 
 
 My labour never flags ; 
 And what are its wages ? a bed of straw — 
 
 A crust of bread and rags. 
 
 Hood. 
 
 About a fortnight had elapsed after the 
 departure of Miss Carrington and the 
 Trentons from London, and Marston had, 
 in a great measure again, become the master 
 of his own passions and thoughts, or at 
 least he believed so, when he passed, one 
 evening, in the twilight, down the street 
 where the house of the Baronet was situated. 
 He hardly acknowledged to himself, that he
 
 236 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 did so intentionally, and, truth to say, he 
 felt drawn thither by one of those mysteri- 
 ous influences, which, whatever philosophers 
 may assert to the contrary, sometimes 
 direct our will, as by a magnetic power. 
 A thousand agreeable remembrances of the 
 happy hours he had passed in Miss Car- 
 rington's company thronged upon his 
 mind as he advanced, and he involuntarily 
 sighed deeply, when he thought that such 
 a charming intercourse would, in all proba- 
 bility, never more be renewed. All his 
 wise resolutions could not prevent him re- 
 gretting the past. 
 
 It was getting dusk, yet he could see that 
 the windows of the house were all closed; 
 and its deserted and mournful appearance 
 communicated a feeling of loneliness and 
 desolation to his heart, such as he, with his 
 vigorous and buoyant spirit, had never 
 before experienced. 
 
 As he approached the door, there was 
 still light enough for him to distinguish 
 a neatly dressed young woman who came
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 237 
 
 out and descended the steps, whilst the 
 porter stood looking after her for a minute 
 or two before he re-closed the door. 
 
 She was a few paces in advance of 
 Marston, but before they had proceeded 
 above a hundred yards, she stopped, aid 
 putting a handkerchief to her face, turned 
 as if to look into a stationer's window ; but 
 she saw nothing, she only endeavoured to 
 conceal from the passers by, the tears she 
 could not restrain. 
 
 Marston looked at her with curiosity and 
 pity; and at that moment, she again turned 
 to resume her way, and he saw her face 
 distinctly in the gas-light. 
 
 It was changed ; it was dimmed by 
 tears and sorrow; and yet he knew it 
 instantly. 
 
 " Kate D'Arcy," he suddenly exclaimed 
 holding out his hand towards her. 
 
 " Mr. Marston ! can it be possible, and at 
 such a moment as this," she cried, her 
 whole sad countenance suddenly lighting 
 up with inexpressible joy. "Never more
 
 238 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 will I despair of God's mercy !" and she 
 seized his extended hand with both of hers, 
 pressed it fervently , for an instant, and then, 
 letting it fall, hid her face in her handker- 
 chief, and wept afresh. 
 
 " Kate," he said " this is no place for 
 giving way to such sorrow. Whatever has 
 distressed you, try for a while to be calm — 
 and I will accompany you home, if you 
 have a home." 
 
 " Yes, you are right, Mr. Mars ton, I am 
 foolish, very foolish !" she said, drying her 
 tears. " I was not always so weak — but 
 I am worn out — you must pardon me." 
 
 " i r ou have often dried my tears, when I 
 was a boy," said Marston, " it is my turn 
 to comfort you now. So take my arm, 
 Kate, and tell me which way we are to go." 
 
 " I must return to my father," answered 
 the girl, simply. 
 
 " Then he is still alive V 
 
 u Yes, he lives — " she said with a deep 
 sigh, " but he is ill, very ill; I fear he wont 
 know you. Oh, Mr. Marston, I have
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 23.9 
 
 gone through heavy trials, since I saw you 
 last." 
 
 " If you have had need of assistance, why 
 have you never informed my uncle that 
 you were in difficulties." 
 
 " My father would not allow me," an- 
 swered Kate, " they disagreed about some 
 political point, and my father gave up 
 going to Mr. Marston's before we left the 
 neighbourhood. I thought it very strange 
 of -him to do so; but he could not bear con- 
 tradiction, and I did not then understand 
 all the extent of the calamity which 
 threatened me. When we fell, afterwards, 
 into the worst difficulties, your uncle had 
 left the parish; and even had I ventured to 
 write to him, I knew not his address." 
 
 " Where, then, are you living now ¥' 
 
 " In a court near Spital Fields. It is a 
 terrible long way for you to go, Mr. Leonard." 
 
 " Take my arm, Kate, as I told you be- 
 fore," replied the artist, drawing the timid 
 girl's hand through his arm, as he spoke,
 
 240 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 " no distance is too great for me to go, if I 
 can help so old a friend as you are." 
 
 " You are very kind, sir." 
 
 " Don't say sir to me, Kate. I have been 
 so used to hear vou call me Leonard, I 
 don't understand it/' 
 
 " But we are both changed since then, 
 Mr. Marston," answered the girl, and then 
 she remained silent for some time, as she 
 walked along by the artist's side. "I hope 
 you have been successful with your paint- 
 ing, Mr. Leonard," she said, at length, 
 timidly. 
 
 " More so, in truth, than I deserve," re- 
 turned Marston," but we will talk of that 
 at another time. We will get into an 
 omnibus now, instead of walking all the 
 way into the city." 
 
 With this arrangement Kate readily 
 complied, for she had much anxiety to 
 return to her father as soon as possible; 
 in less than half an hour, they had ar- 
 rived at the weaver's dwelling, in a small,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 241 
 
 narrow court in the vicinity of Spital-fiel Js. 
 Kate led the way up the narrow, miserable 
 stairs to the back room on the second floor. 
 She paused a moment anxiously to listen 
 what was passing within, before she opened 
 the door. 
 
 " He was asleep when I left," she whis- 
 pered, " but I hear him astir now." 
 
 " Is that his voice singing V enquired 
 Marston, regarding the girl with an in- 
 describable feeling of affection and com- 
 passion; for her eyes filled with tears, as a 
 feeble voice was audible from within, chant- 
 ing, in a monotonous tone, a psalm-like 
 melody. The words they heard were 
 these : 
 
 Oh, Father, leave the rich and great 
 The joys of earth to prove ; 
 They need not change their prosperous state 
 To learn thy boundless love. 
 
 But take, in pity, first to rest, 
 The poor and toil-worn man, 
 For, unto him that life is best, 
 Which lasts the shortest span ! 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 '• He has never sung a cheerful song 
 since my mother died," said the girl. 
 " But come in, Mr. Leonard, you will see 
 him sadly changed." 
 
 With a feeling of awe and respect, which 
 suffering ever inspires in the heart of one 
 who loves his fellow creatures with sincere 
 and honest benevolence, Marston entered 
 the little chamber. 
 
 James D'Arcy was sitting at the window, 
 with his hands folded on his knees, and his 
 large dark eyes fixed, with a look of half 
 bewildered thought, on the little speck of 
 sky, where a star was shining brightly 
 between the dark chimneys of the opposite 
 house. 
 
 He was indeed changed ; his black hair 
 had become nearly grey ; his cheeks were 
 sunken and deeply furrowed, and the bones 
 of his ample forehead seemed almost to 
 protrude from the thin transparent skin. 
 His beard was only shorn, not shaved, for 
 poor Kate had long performed this service 
 with her scissars. He had an old black
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 243 
 
 cravat round his neck, and his clothes, 
 though much patched, were scrupulously 
 clean. 
 
 He looked round with alarm when they 
 entered ; but though he stared vacantly 
 at Marston, he smiled when his eyes fell 
 upon Kate. It was a smile of ineffable 
 confidence and love. 
 
 " Dear Kate — God bless her," he said; 
 and then he began to murmur the same 
 song once more, but, in so low a tone, that 
 the words were inaudible. "You must 
 not leave me so long again, my child," he 
 then said, in a low, tender voice, /'for I am 
 going away soon, where you will see me no 
 more. Your mother is waiting for me." 
 
 " Has he been long in this state V en- 
 quired Marston, in a whisper, after he had 
 stood for several minutes regarding the 
 poor weaver with profound commisera- 
 tion. 
 
 " He has never been the same as for- 
 merly since he had the typhus fever ; but 
 for the last six months, his mind has be- 
 at 3
 
 244 THE PAECB OF LIFE. 
 
 come daily weaker He is sometimes 
 rational for hours together, and then a 
 cloud appears to come over his faculties, 
 and he is quite lost again. At first, he 
 was often violent ; but now he is very 
 gentle — but desponding and sad. No one 
 but myself can know what I have suffered, 
 Mr. Leonard," she added, almost inaudibly, 
 and then she turned away to conceal her 
 tears. " It is a terrible thing to watch 
 the ruin of a mind — and such a mind as 
 my poor father's. It was always above his 
 station." 
 
 " I know it," said the artist ; " my uncle 
 thought him a very remarkable man, who 
 might have done great things, had his 
 genius been properly cultivated." 
 
 " He often said he had many thoughts 
 he could not tell my mother and me, for 
 we should not understand them; and some- 
 times, when be had no work, he got very 
 irritable and restless. It was during one 
 of these attacks, that he quarrelled with 
 your uncle, and after that, he grew every
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 245 
 
 day worse. He had nobody to talk to, and 
 his faculties seemed to destroy themselves. 
 His imagination became over excited, and 
 now, as if worn out, he is as you see him, 
 for days together." 
 
 H And what have you done all this 
 while, poor girl, under this very great 
 affliction V demanded Leonard, with deep 
 interest. 
 
 " God has been kind, and given me more 
 than my usual strength," she replied. 
 
 "But how have you tried to exist V 
 enquired the artist, and tears filled his 
 eyes as they rested on the pale and care- 
 worn features of the uncomplaining girl. 
 
 " When my father fell into this state, I 
 could no longer leave him," she replied, 
 " so I was obliged to give up working at a 
 milliner's, and take to velvet weaving again, 
 and with this, I was able, for some time, 
 to earn nine-pence a day." 
 
 " And that was enough to maintain you 
 
 both r 
 
 " I made it do," answered Kate, simply
 
 246 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ' I was certain, that if my father had 
 known all, he would rather have died than 
 have sought parish relief, and so I worked 
 on. We sometimes had little enough to 
 eat ; but you know, Mr. Leonard, I was 
 used to that in old times." 
 
 '* This is terrible," said the painter, and 
 he shuddered when he remembered how, 
 whilst Kate was thus suffering he had 
 participated in scenes of luxurious extra- 
 vagance ; and had yet murmured at his 
 low estate; and felt it as a keen pain, 
 when his pride was in the slightest degree 
 wounded by men of wealth and station. 
 Bitterly was he now conscious of the sin 
 of discontent with his lot ; possessed as he 
 was, with the means of earning sufficient 
 for his wants; with a heart full of poetry, 
 and a hand to give it expression, for he 
 felt, as he listened to the poor girl's simple 
 confession, how many thousands of his 
 fellow creatures daily had to endure the 
 same, and even far greater deprivations 
 than she had done.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 247 
 
 " We were very badly off," pursued 
 Kate, "when a great ball was given for 
 the benefit of the silk weavers, and many 
 of the fine ladies at the west end of the 
 town, ordered dresses to be woven ex- 
 pressly for the occasion. I thought my- 
 self very lucky when I got one of the 
 orders. As T was known to be a steady 
 worker, I got the silk upon credit. It 
 was considerably dearer than if I could 
 have paid for it, but I knew not where to 
 borrow the money. I hoped to get it 
 back from the lady, for whom 1 wove the 
 velvet, in three months at least ; and as 
 she had ordered it for charity, it was 
 possible she might pay me immediately 
 after she had received her dress. But, 
 oh! Mr. Leonard, I had far better never 
 have undertaken it, for it is six months 
 since then, and I have never received a 
 sixpence of the money, and if I cannot 
 pay my debt to-morrow, the merchant 
 threatens to keep back the payment of 
 my work, and our landlord to seize our
 
 248 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 little furniture, and ray loom for rent. I 
 know then, my father must starve, or* go 
 to the work-house, and that made me 
 shed tears for the first time for many 
 months/' 
 
 "Indeed, it is a cruel thing, when a 
 man like your father, who has worked 
 hard all his youth," replied Leonard, 
 " should be at all times so ill paid, that 
 he and his family must live on short 
 allowance, one half their lives, without 
 having the means to save a farthing, to 
 keep them from the parish in sickness and 
 old age." 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Marston," returned the girl, 
 " I never envied the rich their fine houses 
 and carriages. They belong to them, and 
 let them keep them. But it is hard, that 
 in addition to their property, they should 
 profit by the labour of the poor indus- 
 trious man, and yet not pay him a just 
 price for the employment of his whole 
 life." 
 
 " Yes, Kate, it is hard," said the artist,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 249 
 
 " but luxury has created so many arti- 
 ficial' wants, and the middle classes are 
 so bent on imitating those above them, in 
 all outward show, that to content their 
 vanity, they must have everything cheap, 
 and make large profits to support their 
 costly modes of life." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, that is very true," replied 
 Kate. " The milliner where I worked, 
 was paid more than double the value of 
 her silks and ribons ; and yet, whilst she 
 made a profit of twelve hundred a-year, 
 we girls had to work day and night for a 
 mere pittance. But she was the fashion, 
 and she could flatter old and young, till I 
 was often ashamed to hear her. The 
 lady for whom I wove the velvet, was one 
 of her best customers, and always paid 
 her bills regularly." 
 
 " Do you remember her name V de- 
 manded Leonard, 
 
 •'- Lady Trenton," was the reply. 
 
 " Lady Trenton ! can it be possible,"
 
 250 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 
 
 exclaimed Marston ; and he started, as if 
 he had received an electric shock. 
 
 " Yes, that is her name; do you know 
 her, Mr. Marston V 
 
 " Yes/' answered Marston, "and am 
 astonished to hear that she has behaved 
 so cruelly towards you. She is rich, and 
 I had hitherto supposed her to be most 
 amiable, and kind-hearted." 
 
 " I have never seen her but once" 
 answered Kate, "her maid brought the 
 order, and the footman told me he sup- 
 posed Lady Trenton had forgotten me, 
 for that all the other bills had been settled 
 before she went out of town" 
 
 " It is very likely she forgot it altogether; 
 she could not intentionally mean to de- 
 fraud you, nor to expose you to embarrass- 
 ment ; but she lives in such a whirl of 
 dissipation, that no doubt such trifles make 
 slight impression on her mind/' 
 
 " Ah, but it is no trifle to me," answered 
 the girl, with a deep sigh. " If she knew
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 251 
 
 how I have suffered for the last month, even 
 were she hard-hearted, she could not have 
 allowed me to be turned unpaid from her 
 door. But though the rich may sometimes 
 hear of the sufferings of the poor, they do 
 not feel them, Mr. Leonard — they do not 
 understand them. But I must not weary 
 you with my complaints. I am only one 
 of a million, and perhaps better off than 
 thousands who are forced to receive parish 
 relief. I see the misery of such as we, and 
 the idle, worthless lives of many of those 
 who despise us because we are poor! 
 There was scarcely a girl at the milliner's 
 where I worked, that was not led into evil, 
 by some of the idle fine gentlemen of 
 the west end. It is a bad state of things, 
 Mr. Leonard." 
 
 " Do many of the work-people think 
 thus V demanded Marston gravely. 
 
 " Far more than formerly," said the girl. 
 " The more they see their earnings wasted 
 by the upper classes, in vice and folly, the 
 more discontented they become. There has
 
 252 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 been a great change amongst them, lately. 
 I have heard my father say, that when 
 many of the masters lived in the city, there 
 was a more friendly feeling between them 
 and their people; but now, when they are 
 greatly left to themselves, and worse paid 
 than ever, they are not only discontented, 
 but well nigh desperate." 
 
 " I have heard something of this," said 
 Leonard, " yet when I asserted it, the poli- 
 ticians of the day, all laughed at my folly, 
 and talked about commercial prosperity 
 and national prosperity — and progress — 
 and wealth." 
 
 "The workmen see the masters and 
 everybody in the upper classes, living far 
 liner every year than they did before; 
 they read in the papers about the won- 
 derful progress of society— and there they 
 are, worse off in every way, than they 
 were before, and then they make compa- 
 risons — and their minds get excited, and I 
 sometimes fear it cannot end well. If 
 there were to be a stagnation in the manu-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 253 
 
 factories, even for a month, there are evil 
 spirits afloat, which misery would soon 
 concentrate." 
 
 " What is all that, you are talking about 
 Kate'?" enquired old D'Arcy, who had been 
 for some time listening to his daughter, 
 with an eager but perplexed gaze, as if his 
 brain were too feeble fully to comprehend 
 her. "And who is that you are talking 
 to? " 
 
 " It is Mr. Leonard Marston, father," an- 
 swered the girl, taking his hand in hers, 
 " you have not forgotten him?" 
 
 " No — no, I knew him, when a boy — a 
 fine boy," he replied, for his memory still 
 remained as clear as ever. " His uncle 
 treated me as if I were mad, but the boy 
 is not to blame for that. I am glad to see 
 you, Mr. Leonard, for I wanted to speak to 
 a gentleman like you, about a plan I am 
 going to lay before the Secretary of State 
 for bettering the working man's condition. 
 1 shall want funds to put it in execution, 
 and you can help me, sir. We are on the
 
 254 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 eve of great changes, Mr. Leonard, and if 
 Ministers won't listen to me, it will be worse 
 for the nation. We workmen have been 
 brooding and thinking — and suffering long, 
 sir, but that cannot last for ever — and it 
 won't last—" I 
 
 " You have been ill, D'Arcy, and you 
 should try to think of something more 
 cheerful. I am glad to find you have not 
 forgotten me; for I have often thought 
 of you and your kindness to me when I 
 was a boy." 
 
 " Ah, we had better times, then; there 
 was less riches — but less poverty. Some 
 think French silks are our ruin — but that 
 is only the narrow-minded old men who 
 thought trade could not exist without pro- 
 tection, and who know more about the 
 past than the present. No — no— Mr. 
 Mars ton, that is only one of the bubbles 
 that float on the surface of the deep; if 
 we would find the true sources of poor 
 men's troubles — "■ 
 
 " And have you found them, D'Arcy?"
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 255 
 
 enquired the artist, deeply interested in the 
 extraordinary thoughts of the old weavers 
 half-bewildered mind. 
 
 " I think I have/' was the reply. " It 
 has cost me many sleepless nights ; but if 
 such thoughts bring a worthless being like 
 me to the grave, what matter for that, 
 provided they have added one grain to the 
 future welfare of the poor and oppressed 
 children of labour. We must first remember, 
 Mr. Leonard, that it is no partial evil which 
 is necessary to be taken into consideration ; 
 but the mighty mass of general want and 
 suffering which is driving millions to mad- 
 ness. I was a contented man once, but 
 that day is past with me, and many others 
 now; when we have seen our labourers 
 the wonder and admiration of the world, 
 and our employers taking the credit, and 
 the honours, and the triumph, and the 
 profit of our manufactures to themselves; 
 and feasting, and dancing, and basking 
 in the sunshine of prosperity; whilst we 
 poor slaves, like the captives in a proces-
 
 256 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 sion, create the splendour by which we 
 gain nothing. It is the middle men who 
 are eating us up, sir, as they have done 
 the Irish poor. Workmen must make 
 themselves independent of them by as- 
 sociation, and that will be one step 
 gained." 
 
 " But now I have found you and your 
 daughter, D'Arcy," said the artist, "I 
 trust I shall be able to assist you, and 
 that you will soon regain your peace of 
 mind. 
 
 " Oh, sir, my trouble is not for myself/' 
 answered the weaver. " One sufferer 
 more or less matters little, and my opinion 
 is, an industrious man ought to have no 
 need of assistance, as long as he can work. 
 I mean to tell the Secretary of State this, 
 at once. It is time that these fine gentle- 
 men in the government knew a little what 
 such poor devils as we are thinking about. 
 If the great won't help us, wc must help 
 ourselves. Some good men think the old 
 coat only wants a little stretching to make
 
 THE FARCE OP LIEE. 267 
 
 it fit comfortably ; but it won't do, sir. 
 Man's knowledge has grown too large for 
 it. We are freemen, and we know we are 
 freemen, and it is not model lodging houses, 
 nor baths, nor wash-houses, nor any such 
 benevolent speculation, which will make us 
 content without our rights. We must be 
 represented. All our social antagonists 
 are represented, and if they won't redress 
 the evils they have themselves inflicted on 
 us, we must try to get the means to do it 
 ourselves. The workmen are a great 
 power, sir. All the idle classes owe their 
 living to them ; they could break up their 
 whole vile credit system, by one month's 
 rebellion ! Let the rich remember that ; 
 for the time has come when the workmen 
 are determined to have a just share of the 
 profits of their own labour. Kate, dearest, 
 you will be ready to go with me to the 
 minister, to-morrow/' he said, pressing the 
 girl's hand in his; and then, sitting down in 
 his accustomed place, he sunk into pro-
 
 258 THE FAECE OF LTFE. 
 
 found thought, and was apparently uncon- 
 scious of all visible objects. 
 
 " Does he often burst forth in this way V 
 murmured Leonard, anxiously regarding 
 the poor man's silent daughter. 
 
 " Oh, yes. I believe all his thoughts are 
 about bettering the condition of the peo- 
 ple. Oh, Mr. Leonard, I often think it 
 would have been better both for him and 
 for me, if he had never known your uncle. 
 The books the curate sent him, and the 
 conversations they had together, made him 
 feel the trials of his humble state more bit- 
 terly, till his mind has got so excited since 
 my mother's death, that I sometimes fear 
 he will never be calm and contented again. 
 Whilst the education I received from the 
 old gentleman— but no, no, I will not be 
 so ungrateful, as to regret that I" she cried, 
 with sudden emotion, " though it made my 
 sufferings keener, it taught me better how 
 to bear them." 
 
 " Yes, dear Kate," said the young man,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 259 
 
 regarding the quiet, patient, noble simpli- 
 city of the young girl, with earnest admi- 
 ration, a widely different admiration from 
 that which was forced from him, by the 
 charms.of Miss Carrington, " do not reproach 
 my uncle that he averted from you the 
 curse of ignorance, the lowest of all de- 
 gradation ; do not reproach him that 
 he formed you to be the single guiding 
 light of your father's noble mind, when 
 the shadows of affliction have half ob- 
 scured it. The real worth of human crea- 
 tures, even on earth, Kate, is not to be 
 rated by their possessions, but by their 
 qualities, and their fulfillment of those 
 duties which God assigns them. Re thank- 
 ful for the well trained, gentle feelings, 
 and clear, cultivated understanding, which 
 have enabled you to be a guardian angel 
 to the object of your filial love, under the 
 heaviest calamity which can fall to the lot 
 of man, to soothe his mental irritation by 
 patient love, and to supply his wants by 
 your frugal industry."
 
 260 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Kate made no answer. She bent down 
 her head, and wept silent tears of mingled 
 pain and pleasure. Often had the image 
 of Leonard, and the remembrance of their 
 childish days, passed across her mind, in 
 the midst of the past years of sorrow and 
 deprivation ; but it had only been to 
 awaken regret ; and she had never hoped 
 that the artist would retain the slightest 
 affection for the poor weaver's daughter, 
 or that she should ever hear words of 
 praise pronounced by his lips. Poor girl ! 
 her sole intimate communion had long 
 been with God and her own heart, and 
 words of human affection and approbation 
 from one she loved so deeply, were almost 
 more than she could bear. 
 
 "But tell me," said Leonard, after a 
 brief pause, " what may be the amount of 
 Lady Trenton's debt V 
 
 " Ten pounds," replied Kate ; " little to 
 her but a fortune to us." 
 
 " Have no farther uneasiness on that 
 point ; I know the lady well, and will,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 261 
 
 with pleasure, advance you the money. 
 I have, fortunately, sufficient with me to 
 do so, now." 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Leonard — you are too 
 good — too noble," returned the girl, at the 
 same time, putting away the note which 
 the artist offered. 
 
 " If not for yourself, for your father, you 
 must accept it/' he rejoined. " Call it a 
 loau, if that pleases you best." 
 
 " Then as a loan, I take it," answered 
 Kate. u You can never know, Mr. Leonard, 
 the greatness of the obligation you con- 
 fer." 
 
 The girl's voice trembled — she could not 
 utter more. 
 
 Marston then arose. 
 
 rt I must now leave you," he said ; " but 
 J will return in a day or two. We will 
 then consider if anything can be done to 
 relieve your father's malady, for I feel 
 certain he is suffering as much from bodily 
 as mental disease." 
 
 " Heaven bless you, Mr. Leonard," re-
 
 262 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 turned the girl ; " I will live in hope till 
 you come back ; the sight of such a true 
 and kind friend has revived the strength 
 of my spirit, which was well nigh broken." 
 
 Old D'Arcy got up, and saluted the 
 artist civilly as he left the room ; but no 
 sooner had the door closed upon him, than 
 he came close up to his daughter, and said, 
 with an anxious and troubled counte- 
 nance, 
 
 u Kate, who was that man V 1 
 
 " Mr. Leonard Marston, whom you knew 
 when a boy, my dear father. Don't you 
 remember him V 
 
 u Don't deceive me, Kate," returned the 
 weaver. " Poor girl, how the fellow has 
 imposed upon you. He is a spy — a spy 
 sent by the Government. We are lost! 
 we shall both be sent to prison. Oh, the 
 wretches, I understand all their intrigues. 
 But they cannot know where the papers 
 are hid, and they may kill me before I will 
 tell. Poor Kate — poor Kate — what will 
 you do when I am taken from you V he
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 263 
 
 murmured, in a low, dejected voice ; and 
 then starting up, he continued, for several 
 hours, to pace the room, lost in his troubled 
 thoughts. 
 
 He remained in this excited state till 
 a late hour of the night, and his daughter 
 sat anxiously watching him, as she plied 
 her shuttle; and trying, from time to time, 
 by soothing words and gentle caresses, to 
 dispel his illusions. But she felt no im- 
 patience under this painful task. Her 
 love for her father was too great for her to 
 repine at any toil, by which she could serve 
 him ; and if, for one moment, she could 
 recall a smile to his lips, or awaken a feel- 
 ing of pleasure in his heart, she was amply 
 repaid for long endeavours. 
 
 Alone with him in that solitary room, 
 she was as unprotected in that populous 
 house, as if they had been in a wilderness 
 together. But she knew not that thoughts 
 of self-destruction often flitted over the 
 bewildered brain of poor D'Arcy; and for 
 herself, she felt no terrors — so true is it,
 
 264 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 that perfect love casteth out fear. Nor, 
 indeed, had Kate ever been so unhappy, 
 as might have been supposed, under such 
 painful circumstances ; for high moral 
 courage, and disinterested self-devotion, 
 bring with them, when in full activity, a 
 noble excitement, which exalts the soul 
 above the sense of personal suffering. But 
 that night, when she remembered the re- 
 cent presence of Leonard Marston, and 
 the words of kind encouragement he had 
 spoken, a peaceful calm took possession of 
 her heart, and the assurance that she and 
 her father had now a friend, able and will- 
 ing to assist them, removed a heavy load 
 of care from her heart. Leonard was to 
 her a superior being, whose remembrance, 
 even w r hen afar off, had stood like a 
 guardian angel between her and despair ; 
 and now, when she was again under his 
 protection, she no longer regarded her 
 existence, as an aimless monotony of 
 sorrow. 
 
 On the following morning, Kate dis-
 
 THE FAKCE OF LIFE. 265 
 
 charged all her debts, and having procured 
 her father a book, which for a time en- 
 gaged his attention, she sat down to her 
 loom with a more cheerful spirit, than she 
 had known for many months. 
 
 But how often are such calms, on the 
 troubled ocean of existence, the foregoers 
 of the whirlwind and the tempest. 
 
 VOL I. N
 
 266 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Thou soul of earth's best earthly mould, 
 Thou happy soul, and can it be 
 That this — 
 Is all that must remain of thee 1 
 
 . Wordsworth. 
 
 When the London season drew towards a 
 close, the efforts of Marston, as a painter, 
 had proved successful, in a pecuniary point 
 of view, far beyond his most sanguine 
 hopes. Nevertheless, the delusions of 
 youthful enthusiasm had been considerably 
 dispelled, and he had learnt the truth of 
 many of his uncle's warnings.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 267 
 
 He had been made to feel that he was 
 admitted as an inferior, not received as a 
 friend, or even an acquaintance, into the 
 houses of the aristocracy ; and the more 
 he knew of his brother artists, he was the 
 less astonished at the barrier which had 
 thus divided them, even from the highest 
 professional classes. 
 
 Many sprung from the people, without 
 genius, education, or manners ; possessed 
 the mere technicalities of their art, and 
 were manufacturers of pretty pictures, in 
 order to earn a livelihood. Some endowed 
 with higher talents were victims of in- 
 ordinate vanity, which prevents all pro- 
 gress, and disgusts all patrons ; whilst 
 many, with genius surpassing their powers 
 of execution, irritated against themselves, 
 and the society which neglected them, 
 sought to forget their mortifications and 
 disappointments, by plunging into the 
 vilest debauchery. A certain set, perhaps 
 ol inferior genius, but more endowed with 
 worldly talents, and witty and amusing in 
 
 n 2
 
 268 THE FAECE .OF LIFE. 
 
 society, sunk still lower, by becoming des- 
 pised associates in the vices of the great, 
 in order to exalt themselves ; imagining, 
 that their fame and fortune was established 
 when they could recount that they had 
 
 dined with my Lord C , or kept it up 
 
 till three in the morning, with the Earl of 
 
 H . 
 
 Such men, whatever their facility in the 
 management of colours, and the arrange- 
 ment of a picture, are essentially vulgar ; 
 and their works can never belong to the 
 immortal creations of art. Leonard's ex- 
 perience soon convinced him that as long 
 as an artist is regarded as a dependent on 
 the aristocracy — a mere minion of their 
 pleasures — and a contributor to their 
 magnificence ; as long as genius confers 
 less honour than wealth, no school of 
 art, and no artist can arise in England, 
 capable of influencing the spirit of the age, 
 and exciting that influence to exalt and 
 purify the national mind, by directing it to 
 the contemplation of the beautiful, the
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 269 
 
 noble, and the true. He felt also, that as 
 long as such artists and such art are want- 
 ing in England, the most successful achieve- 
 ments of her wealth aud her industry] will 
 soar no higher that to produce the most 
 feeble and paltry imitations of the Dutch, 
 Italian, or French, or German masters ; 
 or the more miserable originals of affected 
 ignorance, who flatter themselves it is a 
 proof of genius to do something that has 
 never been done before, whether bad or 
 good. 
 
 But Marston, whilst he listened to all 
 the ridiculous theories of his associates, 
 was convinced that it is in the simplicity of 
 knowledge, and not of ignorance, where 
 the highest beauty and the highest truth is 
 to be found, and to attain this, he pursued 
 his studies with indefatigable industry. 
 
 Towards the end of September his 
 labours were unexpectedly interrupted by 
 a letter from Sir Charles Trenton, inviting 
 him to come down in a few days, on a visit 
 to his country house, Easton Court. He
 
 270 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 should be delighted, he added, if Mr. Mar- 
 ston could make it convenient to paint two 
 pictures for his gallery, during his stay. 
 
 Of course Marston could have no hesita- 
 tion in accepting an invitation, and an order 
 given in so handsome a manner ; and it 
 must be confessed, that the idea of again 
 seeing Miss Carrington, and living for some 
 weeks under the same roof with her, 
 somewhat disturbed his studies during the 
 remainder of the day. 
 
 But even with this brilliant prospect be- 
 fore him, the artist did not forget his pro- 
 mise of repeating his visit to the poor 
 weaver. He found D'Arcy much in the 
 same state as when he had last seen him, 
 but he was struck by the alteration for the 
 better in Kate's appearance. The expres- 
 sion of despair had passed from her beau- 
 tiful features, and her whole countenance 
 beamed with pleasure, as soon as Leonard 
 entered the room. 
 
 She now recountedtohim the complicated 
 difficulties from which his loan had rescued
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 271 
 
 her, and yet she thanked him more by 
 looks, than by words. 
 
 " I am going to Sir Charles Trenton's 
 to-morrow," he said, " and I shall make no 
 scruple of recalling your story to Lady 
 Trenton's mind. I cannot believe that she 
 has so bad a heart, as wilfully to have 
 neglected your claims. Should you have 
 any need of farther aid, Kate, I will leave 
 you my address. I shall probably visit my 
 uncle before my return ; for Easton Court 
 is not above a mile from his village." 
 
 "Easton Court! — what do you know 
 about Easton Court?" said D'Arcy, sud- 
 denly waking up from apparent sleep, and 
 coming up with hurried steps towards 
 them. " Easton Court is in the parish 
 of Brookdale. Kate, who is that strange 
 man % what does he know about such 
 places V 
 
 " It is young Mr. Marston, father," 
 answered the girl, softly. 
 
 " Marston — Marston — ah ! Mr. Leonard 
 Marston. It is very odd, sir, — often when
 
 272 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 yon were a boy, I wondered who your 
 father was. I once heard of a gentleman 
 — but, no! — his name was not Marston 
 either — it was a shameful business — I don't 
 remember it clearly ; for you must observe, 
 Mr. Leonard, that my head is rather con- 
 fused at times. I must get away from this 
 place — for I can get no work — people all 
 think I am mad. But they are quite mis- 
 taken — I am not mad; but ill — very ill, 
 sir. I am wasting away like a candle, and 
 when I die, poor Kate! what will she 
 do?" 
 
 ." But you will not die, father — you will 
 not go, and leave me," said the poor girl, 
 whilst tears filled her eyes. " AYe shall 
 soon be well and happy, now Mr. Leonard 
 has come to help you." 
 
 " Poor child, you hope, do you 1 God 
 bless you \" said the old weaver, shaking 
 his head, and regarding his daughter with 
 a touching and mournful look of compas- 
 sion, and then he turned from her, and 
 walked to the window.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 273 
 
 There was a profound silence for several 
 minutes, interrupted only by the broken 
 sobs of poor Kate. Leonard also was too 
 much moved to speak. 
 
 " Did you ever hear your father allude 
 to Brookdale before V he enquired of the 
 girl, at length, in a low voice. 
 
 "Never — except when my mother was 
 dying," she replied ; " but T did not like to 
 listen, for I believed there was some secret 
 between them. Her last words were, 
 ' Never give your papers up, James, except 
 to those who have been wronged — if you 
 can find them/ I never knew what she 
 meant. My father was no more what ho 
 used to be, after my mother's death ; and 
 often, when he has been thinking long and 
 silently, he reproaches himself bitterly ; 
 but I cannot believe that he ever did any- 
 thing very wrong. He is too goo.l a man, 
 Mr. Leonard." 
 
 " Hush — hush, he is looking at us.'' re- 
 turned the painter, in a whisper. 
 
 " When is that man going away, Kate V 
 N 5
 
 274 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 enquired D'Arcy, after watching Leonard 
 with sharp glances, for several minutes. 
 " Don't believe him, if he tells you any 
 stories. It is all a conspiracy. Do you 
 hear me? Take care what you say to 
 such people. Oh! Kate, Kate, I have 
 ruined you, as well as myself, and I cannot 
 mend it now — it is too late." 
 
 " What is too late, father V 
 
 " Nothing ! nothing ! — ask no questions 
 child. Don't you see that fellow — that 
 spy is listening to us. I must go to the 
 Secretary of State — he ought to care for 
 the poor. It is very hard for them to be 
 left to do everything for themselves, when 
 they have no means, half paid as they are. 
 Ah ! if we were justly paid, we should be 
 less tempted to do evil. When the rich 
 commit so many sins, how can they wonder 
 at us, if we are led astray by the tempter; 
 who comes when we are starving, and 
 those also are starving who are dearer 
 to us than life. Poor Jane — poor wife ! It 
 it a sad world, Kate ; but you will come to
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 275 
 
 me, before long, in a better, where much 
 will be forgiven, or the rich would never 
 get there." 
 
 u Let us be at peace with ourselves, 
 father," answered the girl, taking his hand 
 in hers. a We will be industrious, and envy 
 no one their luxuries." 
 
 " They may keep all their luxuries ; I 
 never envied them, for 1 don't see that 
 they make them either better or hap- 
 pier ; but the labourer should be justly 
 paid, not driven to work for starving 
 prices. It gets worse every day ; I don't 
 understand why, for every body seems to 
 be finer, and richer, and idler, except we, 
 who are stigmatized as the labouring 
 classes. Capital carries off the profit, and 
 robs labour of its due portion. 1 must find 
 some way to mend this ; but my head is 
 getting confused/' 
 
 D'Arcy uttered all this in a sharp, eager 
 voice, and then, covering his face with his 
 hands, sunk into apparent unconsciousness. 
 
 Marston soon afterwards took, his leave,
 
 7 6 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 having promised Kate to visit her again, 
 as soon as he returned to London. 
 
 All that week, old D'Arcy was restless 
 and uneasy. He murmured often, half 
 aloud, a few disjointed words, of which 
 Kate understood but little ; but from that 
 little she was led to suppose, that he was un- 
 easy about certain papers, and thought 
 his death was so rapidly approaching, 
 that he would be unable to accomplish some 
 project, which he reproached himself for 
 having too long delayed. All this grieved 
 her deeply. She could not think, for an in- 
 stant, of the probability of her father's dying 
 without the most acute agony. In spite of 
 the difficulty she found in earning his sup- 
 port, even by the hardest labour; in spite of 
 the terrible sorrow she daily experienced in 
 witnessing the gradually progressing ruin 
 of his once noble mind, she clung to him 
 with a love which his infirmities and entire 
 dependence on herself, had rather increased 
 than diminished. Young as she was, it 
 appeared to her, that the future, without
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 277 
 
 her father, would be a blank to her, and her 
 pure and beautiful love excluded every 
 feeling of selfishness, or vanity, or worldly 
 ambition, from her heart. It had long 
 imparted to her a quiet strength, which 
 suppressed all tears — but that evening she 
 wept. She had not felt so heart-stricken, 
 since Leonard Marston's return. 
 
 It was getting dark, and she had lighted 
 a slender candle to pursue her work, whilst 
 her father slumbered in his chair, when 
 she was startled by a sharp rap at the 
 door. 
 
 She arose to open it, but before she could 
 do so, it was unclosed, and greatly to her 
 astonishment, a tall, handsome man, with 
 the dress and appearance of a man of 
 fashion, stood upon the threshold. 
 
 He was not young, but still very hand- 
 some, and surveyed Kate with evident 
 astonishment and admiration. He then 
 glanced inquisitively round the poor apart- 
 ment, before he replied to her enquiry, as 
 to whom he sought, that he had been told,
 
 278 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 that a man of the name of James D'Arcy 
 lived there. 
 
 " He does," returned the girl, simply. 
 " He is my father. Have you any com- 
 mands for him V 
 
 u I wish particularly to speak a few 
 words with him in private, on a business of 
 some importance," answered the stranger. 
 
 " May I inquire whom I have the honour 
 of addressing V asked Kate, with a slight 
 feeling of anxiety, least any new misfor- 
 tune awaited her father. 
 
 " Were I to tell you my name, it would 
 be of little use," was the haughty reply, . 
 " my business is not with you ; but, as I 
 have already told you, with your father i" 
 
 " Speak softly, sir, I beg of you. My 
 father is there asleep. I cannot have him 
 disturbed, for his mind is in a troubled and 
 excited state, and it is of great importance 
 for him to be kept perfectly quiet. He is 
 incapable of business." 
 
 " Very probable," returned the intruder, 
 with the most callous indifference. " never-
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 279 
 
 theless, I must put a few questions to him. 
 It is very often the case, that when old men 
 lose some of their faculties, their memories 
 of things long past remain clear and 
 strong. I must positively ascertain, if this 
 old man can give me the information I re- 
 quire or not. I cannot be troubled to 
 come a second time to such a place as 
 this." 
 
 As he ceased speaking, he took the 
 candle in his hand, and turned towards 
 the window, where old D'Arcy sat sleep- 
 ing. 
 
 " For pity's sake, do not startle him out 
 of his sleep, sir," said Kate, in a quick, 
 eager whisper, "it is the first time he has 
 slept so softly, for more than a month." 
 
 But the gentleman still advanced towards 
 the poor weaver, without, in the slightest 
 degree, heeding her entreaties. 
 
 " Sir — you shall not — the doctor said 
 any surprise or agitation might upset his 
 faculties for ever," persisted Kate, in a low 
 imploring voice, as she laid her hand on
 
 280 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 the stranger's arm, and endeavoured to 
 hold him back. " For mercy's sake don't 
 disturb him ! it might kill him, sir, if you 
 give him a sudden fright." 
 
 " No fear, my good girl," answered the 
 stranger, in a clear, contemptuous tone. 
 " He will be very glad to see me, I have no 
 doubt of it. See he is awake already, and 
 looking at us." 
 
 " Shame on you, sir," cried Kate, with 
 a burst of honest indignation, " you can be 
 no real gentleman, to intrude yourself on 
 a poor man's privacy, in this unfeeling 
 manner." 
 
 " Who is that you are talking to, Kate, 
 at this time of night V exclaimed D'Arcy, 
 starting from his chair, and looking wildly 
 at the unknown gentleman. 
 
 " Dear father, don't be frightened," 
 answered the girl, gently taking his hand. 
 " He is a stranger ; but he can do us no 
 harm." 
 
 "A stranger! what do strangers come 
 here for 1 1 want no strangers to come
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 281 
 
 watching me like spies, and then to go and 
 tell everybody in the neighbourhood that 
 I am mad. Send him away directly. 
 And the fellow is dressed like a gentleman, 
 too ! It is such as he who can afford to 
 mock a poor man's misery — but let him 
 carry his charity elsewhere. I want none 
 of his Bible reading ; let him understand 
 and obey it himself, before he thrusts it 
 down the throats of the poor ; I want none 
 of his half-crowns, nor his sovereigns 
 either. I am no beggar ! sir," he con- 
 tinued, regarding the unknown with a 
 half bewildered expression of pride and 
 indignation, " I have worked hard for a 
 long life — and now I have my Kate to 
 work for me ! my pretty Kate, she will 
 never leave her father to eat the bread 
 of charity. My own dear Kate, don't cry, 
 I can't bear it," and the perplexed, and 
 anxious look vanished from the old man's 
 eyes ; and was followed by an expression 
 of confiding love, as he gazed for a mo- 
 ment on his daughter, and then bent down
 
 282 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 and kissed her forehead. " What brings 
 you here at this time of night, sir, to dis- 
 tress my poor child in this way V he de- 
 manded, suddenly looking up, and fixing 
 a glance of fierce enquiry on the intruder. 
 
 There was a grandeur, and a deep 
 pathos in the old man's futile indignation, 
 to which even the hard man of the world, 
 he addressed, could not be utterly insen- 
 sible. But it was probably the remem- 
 brance of the business for which he came 
 thither, and in which his own interest was 
 deeply implicated, which caused him to 
 assume a friendly and soothing manner 
 towards poor D'Arcy, when he again ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 " I have no evil intentions against you, 
 nor your daughter," he said. " I should, 
 in fact, be exceedingly sorry to distress 
 you in any way. I should feel exceedingly 
 obliged by your answering me certain 
 questions of very great importance to me, 
 concerning certain secrets connected with 
 the early history of a gentleman, long
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 283 
 
 since dead ; that is the only reason why I 
 am now here T 
 
 " What should I know about your 
 affairs V 9 inquired the weaver, abruptly. 
 " I am only a poor workman, and have 
 nothing to do with fine gentlemen like you. 
 I never saw you in my life before." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but I am certain you 
 have frequently heard me spoken of. 
 You cannot have forgotten Sir Charles 
 Trenton." 
 
 Kate was terrified by the sudden change 
 of her father's countenance, when he heard 
 the name of his visitor. It expressed not 
 only surprise and curiosity, but terror. As 
 if to justify the Baronet's assertion, that 
 his mind was more likely to be clear and 
 collected concerning subjects connected 
 with the past than with the present, he 
 quickly replied, with a sharp look of re- 
 awakened intelligence — 
 
 " And what does Sir Charles Trenton 
 want with me V 
 
 " Your father, Mr. D'Arcy, once lived
 
 284 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 in the village of Brookdale," returned the 
 baronet. 
 
 " Never," answered the weaver, sternly. 
 
 " Then your wife's father did, which 
 amounts to the same thing." 
 
 " And if he did, what concern is that 
 of yours ¥' demanded the old man, fiercely. 
 " He was left to end his days in the work- 
 house, when you and your rich wife were 
 spending the rents of her estates in 
 foreign parts ; though, if every one had got 
 their own, not a shilling of them would 
 ever have come into your purse. There 
 were some could have told fine tales, if 
 they had only had the courage to speak 
 the truth." 
 
 "Ah! then you remember something 
 about this old man, it seems," answered 
 Sir Charles, after watching the agitated 
 countenance of the weaver, with a most 
 searching and inquisitive eye. " You re- 
 member also, perhaps, the contents of a 
 letter you wrote me, about three years 
 ago V
 
 THE FAECE OF LIFE. 285 
 
 " I wrote you a letter % I never wrote 
 you, nor any other gentleman a letter, in 
 the whole course of my life," said the 
 weaver, disdainfully. " I knew better. 
 Why what do you pretend to say that I 
 wrote to you about V 
 
 " About the secret, I have already al- 
 luded to." 
 
 u It is clear you don't know me, if you 
 suppose so ! I would scorn to profit by 
 another man's crime, though I might be 
 weak enough to be persuaded to conceal it." 
 
 " You may deny it, as you please," said 
 the baronet, " but I tell you I received a 
 letter, three years ago, signed J. D'Arcy. 
 You cannot convince me that this is not 
 your name V 
 
 " I never wrote to you ; I have said it; 
 you may believe it or not, as you please ;" 
 answered the old man doggedly. 
 
 " The letter was addressed to me, at 
 Easton Court, during my absence in Italy ; 
 but having all the appearance of a begging 
 epistle, was thrown aside by my man of
 
 286 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 business, and only reached me a few 
 months ago, on my return from abroad. 
 It spoke of poverty and suffering, and 
 offered to give up certain papers, on the 
 payment of a handsome sum of money. I 
 sought for you immediately, but you had 
 left the street from whence the letter was 
 dated, and I have only recently been able 
 to discover any trace of you." 
 
 " I tell you I never wrote to you, nor 
 any one concerning papers, and not the 
 proudest gentleman in England has ever 
 yet dared to call me a liar to my face/' 
 returned D'Arcy with proud indignation. 
 
 " Here is the letter," said the baronet, 
 unfolding a paper which he took from his 
 pocket. " You will not surely persist in 
 this denial, when I shew you your own 
 signature," and he held it towards the 
 weaver, pointing at the same time to 
 the name of J. D'Arcy, at its conclusion. 
 
 The old man gazed anxiously at it, and 
 then smiled sadly. 
 
 " Poor Jane/' he said, " I always told
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 287 
 
 her not to write ; but she confessed on her 
 death-bed that she had this once deceived 
 me, when she thought I was dying of the 
 typhus fever, and knew not where to turn 
 for help. It was very wrong no doubt ; 
 but by God's mercy no harm came of it, so 
 I forgave her, and her spirit departed in 
 peace, and no doubt she was forgiven in 
 heaven ; for when a wife sees the husband 
 she loves perishing for want of help and 
 nourishment, and finds a way to end their 
 troubles, even though that way be evil, the 
 temptation, to a loving heart is very great. 
 She repented sorely, and I forgave her. — 
 Poor Jane. God have mercy on us both !" 
 
 "And you knew the history of these 
 papers, then, it appears, as well as your 
 wife V demanded Sir Charles, with the 
 most eager anxiety to take advantage of 
 the weaver's re-awakened recollection of the 
 past. 
 
 " It would be well, if all married folks 
 had as few secrets from one another, as 
 Jane and I had," answered the old man.
 
 288 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 "But the papers! I was speaking of 
 certain family papers. Have you them 
 still in your keeping ¥' 
 
 The weaver shook his head, but made 
 no reply. 
 
 " Do you think he understands me 1" in- 
 quired Sir Charles Trenton, turning to 
 Kate, who, full of astonishment, had stood 
 listening to this conversation, with the 
 greatest anxiety on her father's account. 
 She saw that the sight of her mother's 
 hand- writing had excited him greatly, and 
 the sad experience she had already had, of 
 his malady, made her now more than ever 
 dread the consequence of this melancholy 
 recurrence to subjects which were exactly 
 those the most likely to agitate his mind. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, it is all no use," she there- 
 fore replied. " I never heard of my father's 
 having any papers of any description, and 
 it is very wrong to torment him. It may 
 be very dangerous." 
 
 D'Arcv looked at his daughter, and the
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 289 
 
 baronet, as they spoke thus in a low voice 
 together, and laughed bitterly. 
 
 " So you are trying what you can get 
 out of that poor child," he said sarcastically, 
 " but she knows nothing, so you may as 
 well spare yourself the trouble/'' 
 
 " Then you do know something, I pre- 
 sume," said Trenton. " Now, D'Arcy, let 
 me speak to you like a reasonable man. If 
 you have these papers, you will do wisely 
 to profit by them, when you have an op- 
 portunity. After to-day I shall not trouble 
 myself to make you any further offers, for 
 after all, these documents are not of that 
 vast importance you seem to imagine." 
 
 " Yet you have taken a good deal of 
 trouble to look after them, it appears," re- 
 joined the old man keenly. 
 
 " To come to the point," continued Sir 
 Charles, without noticing this interruption, 
 ' k I promise you, on the honour of a gen- 
 tleman, to pay you five hundred pounds 
 down, when you deliver me the papers of 
 which your wife speaks in this letter." 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 290 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 
 
 " They are worth paying for, no doubt," 
 said the weaver, " can't you offer a little 
 more than that V 
 
 u No doubt they are of more value to 
 me than any one else," answered Trenton, 
 encouraged by this reply, u and to con- 
 clude this business, I promise you an an- 
 nuity of fifty pounds a year for your own 
 and your daughter's life, from the moment 
 I receive the documents, which your wife 
 informed me, in her letter, were still in ex- 
 istence." 
 
 " My wife, and all she loved, were arv- 
 ing, when she wrote to you ; two of her 
 children, in former years, had perished of 
 want before her eyes, and in a moment of 
 weakness, she sought to avert the same 
 fate from her husband, by confessing the 
 secret of her father's crime ; but you are 
 mistaken, sir, if you think that all poor 
 men are to be bought. Your own sins, 
 and love of money, no doubt, make you 
 think that others, who are without gold, are 
 capable of any degradation to obtain it.
 
 THE- FARCE OP LIFE. 291 
 
 But you are mistaken, sir. Thank God, 
 there are very honest men amongst the 
 poor. There are many hard-working 
 labourers, whom no gold could tempt to 
 crime, even in this great city of luxury, 
 where the trials of poverty are redoubled 
 by the insulting splendour, and the dis- 
 dainful pride of wealth. Keep your money, 
 sir, and I will keep my conscience. It is 
 worth more to me." 
 
 " This is very annoying- —very provo- 
 king," said Sir Charles, turning again to 
 Kate. "It is evident your father has some 
 remembrance of the business, which brought 
 me hither, although his state of mind 
 makes it impossible to reason with him, or 
 to discuss this subject quietly. You are 
 sure you never saw any papers in his pos- 
 session, nor has he ever spoken to you on 
 such a subject V 
 
 " Never," replied Kate. 
 
 " You appear an intelligent girl," con- 
 tinued the Baronet. " In your father's 
 present unsettled state of mind, he may,
 
 292 THE FAECE OF LIFE. 
 
 perhaps, allude to this matter at some future 
 time; and, if this occurs, you shall be hand- 
 somely remunerated, if you carefully 
 remark any disclosures he may make, and 
 report them faithfully to me. Such hints 
 may direct me to further discoveries/' 
 
 " It is worthy of the usurper of another 
 man's rights and property, to suborn the 
 child to become a spy on her own father/' 
 exclaimed the weaver, in a loud and indig- 
 nant voice, as he started from his chair, and 
 with a strength for which the Baronet was 
 little prepared, he seized him by the 
 shoulder, and whirled him towards the 
 door. 
 
 " Go !" he cried, " contemptible and cor- 
 rupt slave of selfishness and vice. Go, and 
 shine amongst the worthless creatures 
 whom gold and power have made as base 
 and unscrupulous as yourself. Go, and 
 treat all honest men who earn their bread 
 by the sweat of their brow, as if they were 
 born only to be the abject slaves of your 
 class, to work for your profit and pleasure,
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 293 
 
 and to think and act at jour command. 
 But learn, that there are those amongst us 
 workmen, who know that they are God's 
 creatures as well as you, who return your 
 scorn with contempt, and laugh at the pre- 
 sumption of empty puppies who have 
 nothing but their money and their pride to 
 sustain their affected superiority over the 
 strong-minded, strong-bodied labourers, 
 who are battling daily with the world, and 
 will battle, until their rights are won. But 
 the whole system is rotten ! It is only 
 those who are sitting in the light of pros- 
 perity: who are ignorant how the masses 
 are progressing, who dwell beyond the 
 glare of its corruption. But it won't last ! 
 It cannot last ! The glittering images 
 which mankind have long, in ignorance, 
 adored, will be swept away, as by a whirl- 
 wind; and truth and justice will all hold 
 equal rule over all. But when, Kate, 
 when? There is no perfection nor peace 
 ever to be found on earth, whilst the pas- 
 sions of men exist ! It is in heaven only,
 
 294 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 that they hold dominion, and thither, my 
 child, we shall depart, before long." 
 
 " I beg of you, sir," said Kate, laying 
 her hand on Sir Charles's arm, " I do im- 
 plore you, sir, to say no more to my father, 
 but leave him. You will learn nothing, for 
 he is lost now to all passing things; and 
 cannot understand your questions." 
 
 "I will see you again," answered the 
 Baronet, endeavouring to slip a guinea into 
 Kate's hand; and regarding her with the 
 most audacious admiration. 
 
 •'Keep your' money," she said, pushing 
 back the gold; and she opened the door, 
 with all haste, for the great man to 
 depart. 
 
 Sir Charles laughed, as if he thought she 
 w T ould not always be such a fool; and 
 telling her he should return in a week, 
 left the room. Kate eagerly closed and 
 locked the door, as soon as he was gone. 
 Her experience at the milliner's had taught 
 her to have a horror of these handsome 
 men of pleasure —educated gentlemen they
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 295 
 
 call one another — though in what their 
 education consists, it would be a very diffi- 
 cult matter to discover ; certainly not in 
 observing the ten commandments.
 
 296 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 What equal torment to the griefe of mind 
 And pyning anguish hid in gentle heart. 
 That inly feeds itself with thoughts unkinde; 
 And nourisheth her own consuming 3mart. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 Old D'Arcy did not observe what his 
 daughter had done, when she locked Sir 
 Charles Trenton out of the room. When 
 she returned to her work in silence, the 
 bewildered and excited expression of his 
 countenance greatly alarmed her, and be- 
 fore long, he arose and began to walk up 
 and down the room, with long and hurried 
 strides.
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 297 
 
 " Kate/' he said, " come here, my child, 
 and attend to what I am going to say to 
 you. It is a bad, hard world, and the one 
 half of its inhabitants is always trying to 
 deceive the other half. But you love me, 
 Kate — my own dear child ! you don't de- 
 ceive me. If I thought you could, I should 
 go mad. It would break my heart — and 
 yet, perhaps, I had better die ; for I am a 
 sad burthen to you, Kate, I know it some- 
 times." 
 
 " Don't say so, dearest father," answered 
 the girl, whilst tears flowed down her 
 cheeks. I love nothing on earth, as I love 
 you." 
 
 "God bless you, my child, say that 
 again," returned the weaver, with a look 
 of love, such as no language can express. 
 
 u Yes, dearest father, 1 love you very 
 dearly," murmured the girl, and she kissed 
 his withered hand. 
 
 " 1 believe you, darling I" he said, " and 
 your love is all I have left now. Kate you 
 will never leave me?"
 
 29S THE FARCE OP LIFE, 
 
 " Never, father/' she returned, and tears 
 prevented her adding more. 
 
 " Then I will lie down and sleep now, 
 for you have made me very happy — hap- 
 pier than I have been for long:' 
 
 D'Arcy then took a light, and, after 
 kissing and blessing his daughter, went 
 into the adjoining little room, where his 
 bed stood. When the girl went in for his 
 candle, about half an hour afterwards, he 
 was sleeping ; but his sleep was evidently 
 disturbed by troubled dreams, and as she 
 bent anxiously over him, she heard him 
 murmur her mother's name. 
 
 Though Kate's curiosity and w T onder 
 had been strongly excited by the visit of 
 Sir Charles Trenton, she was too much 
 fatigued by the labours of the day, and 
 many nights of broken rest, to think long 
 even of this strange occurrence ; but quickly 
 lay down, on her own little bed, still partly 
 dressed, which had become her habit since 
 her father's illness. In five minutes she 
 slept soundly.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 299 
 
 The early sun had not yet arisen, when 
 Kate was suddenly disturbed by some one 
 stirring close beside her, and when she 
 looked up, still scarcely conscious where 
 she was, the first object she beheld, was 
 her father, completely dressed, bending 
 over her, with an anxious and troubled 
 look. 
 
 " Get up, my girl," he said, in a whisper, 
 " we must be off from this place as soon 
 as possible, without that man, or anybody 
 else seeing us. I have long thought it 
 must come to this, and now there is no 
 time to be lost/' 
 
 •' Where are we to go, father V en- 
 quired the girl, with wonderful composure, 
 for it had long been her wont to humour 
 the old man when in these excited moods, 
 and she was not alarmed by them. 
 
 " Don't ask me now/' he answered, 
 somewhat impatiently. " Did I not tell 
 you there was no time to lose, or that man 
 might be before us. If you don't get ready 
 quickly, I must go without you."
 
 300 THE FAECE OE LIFE. 
 
 " You won't leave me, father ! — you 
 cannot leave me," she said, whilst a new 
 terror thrilled through her heart "Where 
 you go, I go likewise ; you know I have 
 nobody but you, father, in the wide 
 world." 
 
 "It is a weary world, Kate," said the 
 weaver, with a deep sigh. "There are 
 many misdeeds done in it the law never 
 punishes — and I know one — and I have 
 been a cowardly rascal — and I have sinned, 
 Kate — greatly sinned." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I can never believe you have 
 done any wrong intentionally," was the girl's 
 reply. 
 
 " God bless you, for saying so, my child/' 
 cried the old man. " I am not quite clear 
 about it, Kate ; but there has been great 
 injustice somewhere, and I was over cau- 
 tious, for your mother's sake, and I never 
 told what I knew." 
 
 " It is all past, and you must try to for- 
 get it." 
 
 " I cannot forget. I ought not to forget
 
 THE FATtCE OF LIFE. 301 
 
 it, and I won't be tempted further by that 
 bad mam," persisted D'Arcy. " It is all 
 part of a conspiracy, by which he is trying 
 to bring me to the gallows. He will tell 
 every body what I did, and then we shall 
 be both ruined; my poor child, you will 
 curse the parent who has dishonoured 
 
 you." 
 
 " No, no, father," said the girl, who had 
 now arisen, " I shall always love you, 
 happen what may; so think no more about 
 the strange man, and help me to turn 
 up my bed, and get breakfast ready." 
 
 u Kate, I tell you, we must get away 
 without loss of time," returned D'Arcy, 
 quietly. " Don't talk any more ; but 
 put on your bonnet, and come at once." 
 
 Kate, dreading what was to follow, con- 
 trived to conceal her father's hat, whilst 
 putting on her own shawl ; but she gained 
 nothing by this little stratagem. He be- 
 came very angry when it was not to be 
 found, and declared that he was persecuted 
 by thieves, who stole everything he valued ;
 
 302 THE FARCE OF LTFE. 
 
 but it was no matter, he would go without 
 it. The poor girl, fearful of opposing him 
 further, then produced it. With a feeling 
 of inexpressible apprehension, she saw 
 him, with trembling hands, unlock the 
 chamber door ; but she did not lose her 
 presence of mind, and passing her arm 
 through his, glided down the stairs at his 
 side, without his appearing conscious of her 
 presence. 
 
 Not a creature, save themselves, was 
 astir in the house, and only a dim light 
 penetrated through the dirty windows of 
 the staircase, down which the poor wearer 
 groped his way. Kate made no further at- 
 tempt to detain him. She knew that the 
 strength of his will, no longer under the 
 control of his reasoning faculties, was too 
 strong to be resisted, yet though she looked 
 quietly on, as with eager feebleness he un- 
 barred the house door, she still hoped that 
 his fancy might suddenly take another 
 direction, or that some unexpected inter- 
 ruption might occur to detain them.
 
 THE FARCE OF LIfE. 308 
 
 It was only when the house door was 
 again closed behind then), and they stood 
 alone in the street, with a drizzling rain 
 falling on them, and increasing the mourn- 
 ful obscurity of the morning twilight, that 
 she felt, with despair, the danger of her 
 position, and her own utter helplessness. 
 She looked at her father ; his wild and 
 wandering eyes had an expression of strong 
 and eager desire, which increased her 
 dread, and, for the first time, the horrible 
 idea flashed upon her mind, that he was 
 intent on suicide ! 
 
 She felt that Leonard Marston was the 
 only being upon earth, who could have 
 assisted her at this terrible moment. Her 
 father looked at her, and saw that she 
 was weeping bitterly. 
 
 " Kate — Kate I" he said, chidingly, 
 " this is too much — Let me go quietly — I 
 must go, and you only pain me by your 
 tears." 
 
 " Father, where do you want to go? —
 
 304 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 You do not surely wish to leave your own 
 poor child, alone iu the wide world ¥' 
 
 " Kate, I tell you, this is too much. I 
 cannot bear it," answered the old man, 
 looking mournfully at his daughter, who 
 now, instead of supporting him, hung im- 
 ploringly to his arm. 
 
 " But let us wait till daylight, father," 
 she said. 
 
 " There is no time to lose," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " But where must we go 1 there is no 
 one astir but ourselves, and the rain is 
 falling very fast. Don't you feel it, 
 father V 
 
 But the old man felt it not. 
 
 " Come on, Kate," he said, " we must 
 get to the church, before that man reaches 
 it. Such as he, sleep late, so we shall 
 have the start of him." 
 
 The girl looked around her for help ; 
 but there was none. The tall houses 
 stood around her like monuments, ghastly
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 305 
 
 and still; not a sound of living creature 
 disturbed their solemn gloom. A dim star 
 still gleamed through a rent in the cold 
 grey clouds, so mournfully, that even the 
 aspect of heaven made her feel more 
 desolate and forlorn. As they advanced, a 
 feeble light appeared at a high window at 
 the far end of the street, as if some work- 
 man w T as arising to commence thus early 
 his long task of daily toil — but still not a 
 human being was to be seen. 
 
 The agony in Kate's heart was so great 
 that she was incapable of thought, and 
 she walked on, clinging to poor D'Arcy's 
 arm, without questioning him further. 
 When she afterwards looked back to that 
 terrible hour, she remembered nothing, 
 but the grey, cheerless sky, and her father's 
 mournful countenance. Of herself, and of 
 her own feelings, she knew nothing, but 
 the fear which had distracted her, of losing 
 him for ever. 
 
 Day came, and the weaver and his 
 daughter still wandered on ; and when
 
 306 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 they had left London far behind them, and 
 they had passed many deep streams and 
 lonely ponds, Kate's dread, that her father 
 was bent on self-destruction, began to sub- 
 side. The rain ceased, a light breeze 
 wafted the clouds away, and the sun shone 
 upon them as they pursued their way along 
 a high road, about ten miles to the north 
 of the great Metropolis. It was then past 
 noon, and the strength of the poor wea- 
 ver had evidently, for some time, begun to 
 fail. The excitement which had so long 
 supported him, had not subsided ; but he 
 was exhausted by fatigue and want of 
 food, and his thoughts took another direc- 
 tion. He remembered his child. 
 
 " Kate," he said, " you must be weary 
 and hungry ; why have you never told 
 me 1 Poor Kate, you never complain ; but 
 I am very cruel. Yet, you ought to speak 
 plainly — I forget. My head is not quite 
 right, I believe. I forget. But I don't 
 mean to be unkind, my poor child/' 
 
 " No, no ; I know you love me too well,"
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 307 
 
 answered the girl, delighted by the return 
 of calm intelligence. 
 
 11 We roust find some place where we 
 can get food and rest," continued the old 
 man, " for it would be impossible for us 
 to reach our journey's end without." 
 
 " Have we far to go yet, father V J en- 
 quired Kate, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes — we have a long way to walk." 
 
 " Where are we going to ? I should like 
 to know," said Kate 
 
 " Have I not told you ?" answered the 
 weaver. " To your mother's birth-place." 
 
 " That is more than a hundred miles 
 distant — we can never reach it on foot ! 
 and why should we go so far ?" 
 
 " I know why," answered D'Arcy, "and 
 that is enough. Oh, I have been a weak 
 fool, to keep silence so long about this 
 affair; for I was quite sure there must be 
 some great w r rong done, and all I can do 
 now, is to try to make amends for my folly 
 before I die. Poverty made me a coward ; 
 your poor mother's prayers made me a
 
 308 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 coward ; but she is gone, and I ara past 
 caring for this world, and its trials now ; 
 only my Kate — my poor Kate, what will 
 become of you !" and he bent down and 
 and hid his face in his hands. He tried 
 to think. But his brain, weakened by long 
 disease, was like a feeble hand, which en- 
 deavours, but is too weak, to grasp an object 
 near ; his thoughts were like shadows, in- 
 complete and complexing ; only one was 
 distinct, amidst the confusion, and that 
 was, that his journey must be accomplished 
 before he died. 
 
 Kate saw a little public house, at no 
 great distance from them, by the side of 
 the road, and thither she led her father. 
 Food was there set. before them, and after 
 the old man had partaken of it, be sunk 
 into a state of stupor, resembling sleep, 
 and forgot, for a time, the engrossing idea 
 which had induced him to wander so far 
 from home. Night came, and to Kate's 
 unspeakable satisfaction, he went to bed 
 without opposition ; she had no resting
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 309 
 
 place, but a mattrass laid down at his 
 door ; and often did she arise in the night 
 to ascertain if he still slept. 
 
 During the first hours of the night she 
 never heard him move, and she too slept, 
 though her sleep was broken, as it had 
 been for many nights, by anxiety. But 
 the strength of her devoted affection made 
 service for her father light to her. She 
 took no account of it. Her only desire 
 was, if possible, to alleviate his sufferings. 
 
 The traveller arose with the sun ; but 
 though the weaver's mind was much 
 calmer than on the previous day, his re- 
 membrance of Sir Charles Trenton's visit, 
 and the papers he wished to obtain, had 
 distinctly returned, and he was as anxious 
 as ever to continue his journey. 
 
 The landlord of the house where they 
 had passed the night, was a kind-hearted 
 man, and, having learnt from Kate whither 
 they were going, he advised her, by no 
 means, to continue their way on foot. It 
 was plain, he said, her father was not equal
 
 310 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 to it. The railroad, which passed within a 
 mile of the house, would take them, in five 
 hours, to a station only three miles from 
 the place they wanted to go to. It was 
 only seven o'clock now, and if they would 
 wait till ten, he would go down with them, 
 and see them safe off by a train, which 
 would pass at that hour. 
 
 Kate hesitated, till she had ascertained 
 what the expense was likely to be, and had 
 counted the contents of her purse. Thanks 
 to Leonard Marston's generosity, she had 
 more than was necessary, and she there- 
 fore decided to follow the landlord's advice. 
 Her father, with that strange variability 
 which characterised his state of mind, 
 seemed to understand the advantages of 
 this arrangement, when she explained it to 
 him, and L readily accompanied her to the 
 railroad. 
 
 When seated in one of the carriages, 
 he more than once expressed his exulta- 
 tion at being whirled so rapidly along, and 
 poor Kate felt, for a time, as if she had
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 311 
 
 been rescued from an abyss of despair, 
 wisely endeavouring not to anticipate the 
 trials which might await her at the end of 
 that day's journey. 
 
 When the girl stood alone with her old 
 father, in the bright morning sun, at the 
 end of the road leading to the little Tillage, 
 which had been her mother's birth-place, 
 and the hum of the rushing steam car- 
 riages became fainter and fainter, as they 
 whirled rapidly away, she felt, for a few 
 minutes, even more desolate and deserted 
 than when she had first left her home. 
 But she had strength of mind sufficient to 
 chide herself for the feeling ; she remem- 
 bered how wonderfully she had been led on 
 through all her troubles and trials as by 
 an invisible though a sustaining power, 
 and ennobled by the consciousness that she 
 was her father's sole guide and support, 
 and was fulfilling, with her utmost strength, 
 her duty towards him, she brushed away 
 her tears, and told poor D'Arcy to be of
 
 312 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 good cheer, for they would be at the end 
 of their journey in less than an hour. 
 
 But even this hope was destined to be 
 disappointed. The rain began suddenly 
 to pour down in torrents, before they had 
 proceeded above a mile ; and Kate soon 
 found that her father, exhausted by pre- 
 vious fatigue, was quite unable to walk 
 under such circumstances, as far as the 
 village. With difficulty she got along the 
 muddy road, about half a mile further ; 
 and as she had still some money left, she 
 determined to ask for a night s lodging at 
 a house by the road-side. 
 
 It was a poor place ; one of those old 
 brick cottages, which may still be seen in 
 some parts of England, where small farms 
 have not been entirely done away with. 
 Yet it was out of repair, as if the land- 
 lord took little heed of his tenant's com- 
 forts. 
 
 A middle-aged woman opened the door, 
 and when she heard the girl's petition, 
 looked at her and her father with a sus-
 
 THE FARCE OP LIFE. 313 
 
 picious eye, before she replied. When, 
 however, Kate added that she was willing 
 to pay whatever she demanded, for her 
 father was unable to get further that 
 night, she asked them to walk in, and 
 rest themselves by the fire awhile, till 
 her husband came from the fields, when 
 he would be able to say if they had a bed 
 to spare. 
 
 Most gladly did the poor wanderers 
 accept this offer, though made in a some- 
 what sullen manner. The farmer came 
 in before long, and his wife took him 
 quietly aside, to explain the presence of 
 the unknown guests at the fire-side. 
 Farmer Eobson, apparently of a less sus- 
 picious character than his wife, told her 
 at once to send the lads to spread some 
 hay for them in the loft. He then turned, 
 and after looking at old D'Arcy inquis- 
 itively for a minute, shook him heartily 
 by the hand, and said he was glad to find 
 him and his daughter there, for it was not 
 a night for either old or young to be 
 
 VOL. i. P
 
 314 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 abroad. Kate thanked him, and glancing 
 at her father, said he was rather unsettled, 
 and was very anxious to get to the village. 
 The farmer understood her at once. 
 
 " Poor man," he said, " wife shall make 
 you both a warm cup of tea, and you must 
 be content to stay here till to -morrow." 
 
 The weaver seemed to understand that 
 this delay was inevitable, for after going 
 once or twice to the door, and looking 
 out at the rain, he muttered something 
 about a church — and getting the papers 
 in the morning ; and then sat down and 
 spread out his damp, cold, feeble hands, 
 before the fire. Once he murmured — 
 "Too late — too late," in those sad, des- 
 ponding accents, which ever seemed to 
 pierce Kate's heart, and then he spoke no 
 more. He took the food his daughter 
 offered him, he lay down on the rough 
 bed provided for him in the loft, and then 
 after long silently watching her, as she 
 sat near him, he sunk into a quiet sleep. 
 
 Kate felt, as those eyes, full of love and
 
 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 315 
 
 compassion, rested upon her, that no lan- 
 guage could interpret that expression, nor 
 reveal the mysteries of the half-bewildered 
 mind, to which it was possible the secrets 
 of a higher existence were already partly 
 unveiled ; and a holy awe crept over her, 
 as she sat in that desolate garret, in the 
 feeble light of a rushlight, watching the 
 old man's sleep. 
 
 Much did she then think of the past, 
 and of the future, and of the w r onderful 
 secrets of spiritual life, which can never 
 become clear to us, on this side the grave. 
 
 Though, perhaps, upon earth, there is no 
 greater trial for a feeling heart, than to 
 watch the ruin of a beloved and noble 
 mind, above all, when aggravated by the 
 deprivations of poverty, the poor girl found 
 some consolation in the recollection of the 
 subjects by which her father's thoughts 
 were occupied. In a state such as hip, 
 when the inmost secrets of the soul are un- 
 consciously betrayed, no word had ever 
 escaped his lips, save what was pure and
 
 316 THE FARCE OF LIFE. 
 
 benevolent. The wandering of his dis- 
 turbed faculties, showing that his mind 
 had ever been, and was still, actively em- 
 ployed, even in disease, in plans and wishes 
 for the welfare and improvement of his 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 Kate at length lay down on a bed of hay, 
 at the further end of the loft. With hum- 
 ble prayers, she soothed her soul to rest, 
 till half believing, half dreaming that her 
 mother's spirit hovered over her, and mur- 
 mured words of consolation and hope, she 
 fell asleep. 
 
 EXD OF vol. I, 
 
 1 . C. Newby, Printer, .'JO, VVelbeck Street, Cavendish Square 
 
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