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 UNIVERSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
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FATHERS 
 
 SONS. 
 
 V O L. I. 
 
CHEAPER EDITIONS OF 
 
 MR. THEODORE HOOK'S WORKS. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY MR. COLBURN. 
 
 To be had of all Booksellers. 
 
 I. 
 
 SAYINGS AND DOINGS, 
 
 FIRST SERIES : 
 
 Comprising, Danvers, The Friend of the Family, Merton, &c. 
 1 Vol. with illustrations. 6s. Bound. 
 
 II. 
 
 SAYINGS AND DOINGS, 
 
 SECOND SERIES: 
 
 Comprising, The Sutherlands, The Man of Many Friends, 
 
 Doubts and Fears, and Passion and Principle. 
 
 1 Vol. with illustrations. 6s. Bound. 
 
 ill. 
 
 SAYINGS AND DOINGS, 
 THIRD SERIES: 
 
 Comprising, Cousin William, and Gervase Skinner. 
 1 Vol. with fine Portrait of the Author, &c. 6s. Bound. 
 
 IV. 
 
 GURNEY MARRIED, 
 
 A Sequel to " GILBERT GURNEY." 
 
 1 Vol. with illustrations. 6s. Bound. 
 
 V. 
 
 PRECEPTS AND PRACTICE. 
 
 3 Vols, post 8vo. 
 
 With Portrait of the Author, and numerous Illustrations by Phiz. 
 
 15s. Bound. 
 
 VI. 
 
 PASCAL BRUNO, A SICILIAN STORY. 
 
 Edited by Theodore Hook, Esq. 
 1 Vol. 55. 
 " Mr. Theodore Hook's Works are the most lively, and at the 
 same time, the truest pictures of life we have yet met with among 
 late writers." — Atlas. 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
-^u- 
 
 p. ^^ 
 
 
FATHERS 
 
 SONS 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 THEODORE E. HOOK, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 " SAYINGS AND DOINGS," " GURNEY MARRIED," &C. &C. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1842. 
 
London: 
 
 GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 ST. JOHN*S SQUARE. 
 
3^2 
 V.I 
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ. 
 
 The work now presented to the reader comes 
 before him with peculiar claims on his attention 
 as the last production of one of the most popular 
 novelists of his age — an age peculiarly fruitful in 
 works of the class to which it belongs. The 
 author was engaged upon its revision, when he 
 was seized with the illness which so suddenly 
 terminated his long and distinguished literary 
 career. It is under these circumstances — circum- 
 stances that have caused a loss to society altoge- 
 ther irreparable, in the deprivation of the great 
 and various talents the author possessed, that the 
 Editor of these volumes has been induced to 
 introduce them to his numerous admirers with 
 a short biographical memoir. 
 
 a 
 
VI MEMOIR OF THE LATE 
 
 If genius and talent be hereditary, Theodore 
 Edward Hook unquestionably derived a consi- 
 derable portion from his parents, both of whom 
 were persons of superior abilities and acquire- 
 ments. His father, James Hook, was a com- 
 poser of much celebrity in his day, and his 
 pleasing and popular strains delighted the preced- ' 
 ing generation. He married Miss Madden, who 
 on her father and mother's side was well, indeed 
 highly connected ; she was a woman of very supe- 
 rior qualities and attainments, and was distin- 
 guished for her refined taste, her wit, and varied 
 talents. They had only two sons, James and 
 Theodore ; the latter was born fifteen years after 
 his brother, the late Dean of Worcester, who was 
 greatly distinguished in the profession of his 
 choice, to which he zealously devoted his superior 
 talents. 
 
 After receiving a tolerable home education, 
 Theodore was sent to Harrow, where he made a 
 profitable use of his time, distinguishing himself 
 no less in the eyes of his masters, than in those 
 of the scholars ; for he was the very model of a 
 Harrow boy — daring, clever, and fertile in re- 
 sources, whether for mischief or mirth. He was 
 afterwards for a short period at Oxford, where he 
 was matriculated and nearly rejected at the same 
 time, from his over-willingness to subscribe to the 
 Thirty-Nine Articles — he having answered the 
 
THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ. Vll 
 
 question put to him on the subject, with " Oh, 
 ah, to forty if you choose ;" — a latitudinarianism 
 that somewhat shocked the grave Master of St. 
 Mary's Hall. 
 
 It was the misfortune of Theodore Hook to lose 
 his mother in his sixteenth year, a period when 
 the influence of such a parent would have been of 
 the greatest benefit to a youth of his disposition. 
 Possessed of an extraordinary fund of animal spi- 
 rits, it is not surprising that he, left uncontrolled 
 at this period, should have committed many irre- 
 gular and extravagant escapades : but these were 
 far from being his only distinction. The society 
 of his father's friends, most of whom were in some 
 way connected with the Theatre, probably fostered 
 an inclination towards the Drama ; for at the early 
 age of seventeen, he produced his first dramatic 
 attempt, a comic operetta, called the a Soldier's 
 Return," and which was represented at the Hay- 
 market in 1805. For this piece as the first instal- 
 ment of his literary gains, he received a banker's 
 check of 50/. He is represented at this time as a 
 tall thin fashionable-looking youth, with a fine 
 figure, black clustering curls hanging about his 
 animated face, every line of which was full of 
 intelligence and genius ; and without being hand- 
 some, he was extremely good looking, with pecu- 
 liarly dark and lustrous eyes. Soon afterwards 
 he produced a farce, called (e Catch him who 
 a2 
 
Till MEMOIR OF THE LATE 
 
 Can/' and " Tekeli, or the Siege of Montgatz 5" 
 and having by the success of these pieces esta- 
 blished his reputation as a dramatic writer, he 
 continued for the next five years to draw the chief 
 part of his income from the same source. His 
 other productions during this period were, " The 
 Invisible Girl/' a sort of Monologue intended to 
 display to advantage the powers of the unrivalled 
 Jack Bannister — a Melodrama called " The For- 
 tress"— " Music Mad"—" The Siege of St. 
 Quintin"— « Killing no Murder"—" Safe and 
 Sound" — " Ass-assination" — and " The Will and 
 the Widow." He afterwards added to this 
 list, " Trial by Jury," and " Darkness Visible." 
 A controversy with the Deputy Licenser, who 
 opposed the performance of " Killing no Mur- 
 der," afforded the town some amusement — but 
 the farce was ultimately produced, the cause of 
 quarrel, a Methodist Parson, being converted into 
 the Apollo Belvi, so well known to the admirers of 
 Liston. 
 
 It was during the performance of these pieces 
 that Hook naturally became a constant frequenter 
 of the green-rooms of the different theatres ; and 
 those who had then the privilege of the entree to 
 the coulisses must well remember the fun which 
 his presence produced. The entertainment behind 
 the curtain was fully equal, if not superior, to 
 that enjoyed by the audience before it. Never 
 
THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ. IX 
 
 shall we forget the effect produced upon Dowton 
 and the other actors on the stage during one of 
 the serious scenes of a sentimental comedy of the 
 day, by Hook's possessing himself of the livery 
 coat of one of the under-performers, and with a 
 tragedy strut marching on to the stage to present 
 a letter to Dowton, who, taken by surprise at the 
 sight of the new performer, could not utter a 
 word, while the rest of the actors were convulsed 
 with laughter. We remember likewise one night 
 during the performance of Monk Lewis's melo- 
 drama of ee One o'clock, or the Wood Demon," 
 that Hook having found that there was a second 
 speaking-trumpet in the property-room, possessed 
 himself of it, and placed himself in the flies. 
 When the demon roared into speaking-trumpet 
 No. 1, " My prey — my prey" Hook, with speak- 
 ing-trumpet No, 2, continued the speech and the 
 same voice, ei For I am devilish hungry" to the 
 great astonishment of the audience. This freak, 
 however, drew down the serious anger of the 
 manager, who threatened to expel the delinquent, 
 but contented himself with locking up the second 
 trumpet as aparticeps criminis. 
 
 On another occasion, where a gigantic orator 
 had to give out some awful communication, he 
 possessed himself of the tube intended to convey 
 it with the proper melo-dramatic effect to the 
 demon-hero of the piece, when he suddenly elec- 
 a3 
 
X MEMOIR OF THE LATE 
 
 trifled the whole of a crowded house during a 
 period of the most intense political excitement, by- 
 shouting, (e Burdett for ever." But one of the 
 most amusing of his pranks consisted in secretly 
 accompanying Liston, when singing a particularly 
 quaint song in the " Finger Post/ 5 with a penny- 
 trumpet, from which, at the end of every line, he 
 elicited such odd sounds, that at the conclusion, 
 the audience rapturously encored the performance. 
 This he repeated in conjunction with the singer : 
 the latter all the while completely mystified as 
 to the character and whereabouts of his unknown 
 coadjutor. 
 
 Mr. Hook's memory at an early age was singu- 
 larly retentive. At about the age of eighteen, he 
 for a wager undertook to repeat the names in 
 their proper succession, of all the shops passed 
 by him along one side of Oxford-street, and upon 
 his failing in one only, he offered, after perusing 
 the advertisements in one side of " The Times" 
 newspaper, to repeat them as they were printed, 
 and went through every column without missing 
 a word. 
 
 In the meantime the Dramatist mixed exten- 
 sively in society, which he carefully studied, and 
 thus obtained that knowledge of its various phases, 
 and the insight into character which he has since 
 displayed so effectively in his numerous publica- 
 tions. He also cultivated his musical talents with 
 
THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ. XI 
 
 such assiduity and success, that he could sit down 
 at the piano and extemporise any kind of vocal 
 performance, from a sentimental ballad to a bur- 
 lesque opera. With such accomplishments, a 
 prepossessing exterior, unbounded confidence and 
 inexhaustible spirits, it is not surprising that his 
 company was almost universally courted. In fact, 
 by the brilliancy of his wit, his convivial powers, 
 and his agreeable manners, he quickly enjoyed a 
 position in society that few literary men, by pro- 
 fession, have ever obtained. 
 
 Several of his earliest literary efforts were in the 
 shape of contributions to Magazines, and he pub- 
 lished in 1809 a novel under an assumed name, 
 which was a failure, and had no sale. Little did 
 the reviewer who condemned it imagine the 
 future fame of the author, as a novelist. The 
 story was afterwards embodied in the principal 
 tale of the first series of " Sayings and Doings." 
 
 For these highly popular works, the publica- 
 tion of which placed the author in the front rank 
 of our modern novelists, Mr. Colburn, on seeing 
 the first series, agreed to give the author 600/. 
 for the copyright. The success of the book, how- 
 ever, was so great, that the publisher afterwards 
 increased the sum to 1000/., and agreed for the 
 two other series at the same price. 
 
 The following is, we believe, a -correct list of 
 
Xll MEMOIR OF THE LATE 
 
 Mr. Hook's works, and the dates of their pub- 
 lication: — "Sayings and Doings," first series, 
 February 21, 1824; second series, January 26, 
 1825; third series, January 29, 1828; "Max- 
 well," November 15, 1830; "Parson's Daughter," 
 May 2, 1833; "Jack Brag," March 15, 1837; 
 " Births, Deaths, and Marriages," March 18, 
 1839; "Love and Pride," November 24, 1833; 
 " Gilbert Gurney," November 30, 1835 ; " Gur- 
 ney Married," 1839. 
 
 The latter was written as a sequel to " Gilbert 
 Gurney ;" the author having been induced by the 
 great popularity that very clever and amusing 
 novel obtained, to continue this subject. In no 
 one of his productions was Theodore Hook at a 
 loss for appropriate and effective materials ; but in 
 the development of the conception he entertained 
 under the title of "the Gurney Papers," there 
 could be no doubt he had them in such abundance 
 that the only difficulty attendant on their use 
 existed in their selection, for in this particular in- 
 stance Mr. Hook thought proper to draw almost 
 exclusively upon his own personal experience; 
 and they who knew any thing of his history, 
 habits, and associates, were well aware of the 
 inexhaustible source of entertainment they would 
 furnish. The character of Gilbert Gurney and 
 that of Daly owe their chief attractions to the 
 
THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ, Xlll 
 
 writer's reminiscences of his early adventures ; he 
 having at that period of his literary career, when 
 his animal spirits were most exuberant, and his 
 appetite for the humorous too eager to endure 
 control, as we have already afforded a few in- 
 stances, distinguished himself by several practical 
 jokes, and experienced several extraordinary ad- 
 ventures, differing only in a very slight degree 
 from those which are given in the novel to the 
 imaginary autobiographer and his waggish com- 
 panion. Long before they appeared in print, 
 Theodore Hook was known as the hero of most 
 of the droll anecdotes, the honour of which he 
 confers on one or other of these fictitious person- 
 ages. He was the inventor of the famous Berners- 
 street hoax. " I am the man," Daly is repre- 
 sented, saying, a I did it ; sent a Lord Mayor in 
 state to release impressed seamen — philosophers 
 and sages to look at children with two heads apiece 
 — piano-fortes by dozens, and coal-waggons by 
 scores — two thousand five hundred raspberry-tarts 
 from half a hundred pastry-cooks — a squad of sur- 
 geons — a battalion of physicians, and a legion of 
 apothecaries — lovers to see sweethearts, ladies to 
 find lovers — upholsterers to furnish houses, and 
 architects to build them — gigs, dog-carts, and 
 glass-coaches enough to convey half the free- 
 holders of Middlesex to Brentford. Nay, I des- 
 
XIV MEMOIR OF THE LATE 
 
 patched even royalty itself on an errand to a re- 
 spectable widow lady, whose concourse of visitors, 
 by my special invitation, choked up the great ave- 
 nues of London, and found employment for half 
 the police of the metropolis/' He was paid the 
 respect due to the Prince of Orange by the obse- 
 quious and attentive landlord of one of the first 
 hotels at Portsmouth, in consequence of his wear- 
 ing a pair of misfit boots which had been made for 
 his highness, whose name and rank were legibly 
 written in the lining. He, at another country inn, 
 under certain restrictions, was cajoled into attempt- 
 ing to take his night's rest in a double-bedded 
 room, where lay the corpse of a woman recently 
 deceased, who was represented to him, by his 
 watchful hostess, not only as alive, but as pecu- 
 liarly interesting : and he was the deputy-surveyor 
 who, trespassing on the lawn before the pretty 
 villa of a city knight situated on the banks of the 
 Thames, succeeded into frightening him and his 
 family into the belief that he was measuring a 
 projected new line of canal, intended to pass 
 through his handsome conservatory. In short, 
 the best source of information for a biography of 
 our popular novelist is to be found in " the Gurney 
 Papers." 
 
 In " Gurney Married" the author takes up the 
 story where he had left off at the conclusion of 
 
THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ. XV 
 
 " Gilbert Gurney," and carries it out with a 
 breadth of effect for which the reader is scarcely 
 prepared. The old characters come before him 
 with stronger claims on his attention, and new 
 ones are introduced, which in striking individuality 
 are superior to those he is already acquainted with. 
 Of the latter, Mrs. Brandyball deserves to be 
 placed in the front rank. She is one of the cle- 
 verest examples of this style of portraiture we 
 have ever met with — drawn in a free bold outline, 
 and every feature expressive of character, with 
 nothing beyond the slight tendency to exaggera- 
 tion allowable in such creations. Her hopeful 
 pupil, Kate Falwasser, comes out of the canvas 
 almost as prominently, and with a similar regard 
 to consistency and nature. Of the old friends, 
 with if not new faces, certainly with some new 
 features, Cuthbert Gurney is an admirably sus- 
 tained character. His helplessness, indolence, and 
 credulity, are portrayed in a light at once ludi- 
 crous and pitiable ; and his everlasting recurrence 
 to the only story he ever attempts to tell, the point 
 of which consists in its very " lame and impotent 
 conclusion," is one of the most skilfully employed 
 bits of humour in the author's works. Daly too 
 appears with additional attractions; his African 
 travels being about as ingenious a specimen of 
 quizzing as any with which we are acquainted. 
 Besides affording some capital sketches of him- 
 
XVI MEMOIR OF THE LATE 
 
 self, there is little doubt the author has with similar 
 talent and fidelity hit off the peculiarities of several 
 of his most intimate associates. Among the Gur- 
 ney coterie there are two worthies who are sure to 
 be readily recognised as portraits after life of indi- 
 viduals, each, in his proper sphere, a star of some 
 magnitude. Hall, in his wholesale way of talking, 
 his assumed knowledge of every thing and every 
 body, and his unanswerable " I happen to know/* 
 cannot fail of bringing before the mind of any one 
 who has been " about town" his great original, the 
 late Thomas Hill, who was for many years con- 
 nected with literature, and during his career was no 
 less remarkable for his talents than for his eccen- 
 tricities ; whilst in Nubley, one of the most ori- 
 ginal and amusing characters to be found in fiction, 
 in his uncontrollable habit of thinking aloud, and 
 in, as Theodore Hook expresses it, " stubbling his 
 dear old chin;" all who have been in his lord- 
 ship's society, towards the close of his life, must 
 call to mind the late Lord Dudley and Ward, 
 whose notorious absence of mind was exhibited 
 under very similar circumstances. The author of 
 " Gurney Married," who was a frequent guest at 
 this eccentric nobleman's hospitable table, wit- 
 nessed many of the laughable scenes which arose 
 out of his lordship's inability to conceal reflections 
 he never intended should be uttered, and has 
 turned them to excellent account. Nubley is also 
 
THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ. XY11 
 
 represented as possessed of a peculiarly generous 
 mind and kind hearty which brings the resemblance 
 to his noble prototype still closer; for a more 
 generous nature than that of the late Lord Dudley 
 has seldom, if ever, existed. 
 
 To the list of Theodore Hook's works, given in 
 a preceding page, we have now to add " Precepts 
 and Practice," and " Fathers and Sons." He also 
 edited " Pascal Bruno," « The French Stage," 
 u Peter Priggins," and a work of fiction, very re- 
 cently published, by the same author, called * The 
 Parish Clerk." To biographical literature he con- 
 tributed * The Life of Sir David Baird," Nov. 6, 
 1832, and " Memoirs of Michael Kelly" (edited 
 by him), 1826. But in a projected " History of 
 the House of Hanover," we believe he made no 
 progress ; he liked better to create than to seek 
 for materials ready-made. Latterly, indeed, he 
 was loth to engage in any undertaking which was 
 likely to require much literary labour. 
 
 In the John Bull newspaper, which he started in 
 conjunction with several influential men of his 
 own party, he became one of the most powerful 
 advocates of the Conservative cause, and continued 
 to conduct the Journal with unwearied spirit and 
 energy till attacked by his fatal illness. His in- 
 fluence as a political writer concurred, with his 
 fame as a novelist and his reputation as a wit and 
 humourist, to enlarge the circle of his acquaintance, 
 
XV111 MEMOIR OF THE LATE 
 
 and from his habits of intimacy with many cele- 
 brated contemporaries, his conversation teemed 
 with interesting anecdotes and clever observation. 
 At the tables of the great he was therefore a wel- 
 come guest, and the best dinner-parties and soirees 
 of the season lost more than half their attractions 
 in the absence of Theodore Hook. 
 
 In the course of this pleasant and brilliant ca- 
 reer, he received, as compliments and presents, a 
 great variety of snuff-boxes — so many indeed of 
 every kind and quality, as to fill a tolerably large 
 drawer. One of these tokens arrived late at night, 
 in a case, and accompanied by a letter, which he 
 did not give himself the trouble to read, whilst the 
 case was carelessly tossed in the drawer with the 
 rest. The next morning, however, he felt curiosity 
 just sufficient to induce him to inspect his new 
 present, and was agreeably surprised, on opening 
 the case, at discovering a magnificent gold box, 
 richly set with large diamonds of the purest water ! 
 It had formerly been given by the Pacha of Egypt 
 to Sir David Baird, whose widow, in turn, had 
 presented it to her husband's biographer. 
 
 Mr. Hook was a Fellow of the Antiquarian 
 Society, and a Member of the " Garrick" and the 
 " Athenaeum," from their first establishment. At 
 both of these clubs he was a frequent visiter, his 
 convivial powers making him excellent society for 
 some, whilst his amusing conversation ensured him 
 
THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ. XIX 
 
 a hearty welcome from others. He was likewise 
 an eccentric, in the day when the society so called 
 was in its zenith, and was made a member of that 
 then celebrated society the same evening with 
 Sheridan, Lord Petersham, and many others who 
 were busy in the Westminster election, when She- 
 ridan was opposed to Mr. Paul. But let him pre- 
 sent himself where he would, the jest was always 
 ready on his lips ; and he was not only " witty 
 himself, but the cause of wit in others." He had 
 only to enter a circle which the moment before 
 had been as dull as a funeral, and instantly the 
 whole party were inspired with new life, and jest 
 followed jest, till the subject was exhausted — when 
 the punster would give the idea quite a different 
 turn, and continue the skirmish in a new direc- 
 tion. 
 
 We will venture to assert that no ten wits of the 
 present day ever said so many things worthy of 
 remembrance as Hook. Had he been blessed with 
 a Boswell friend, what a book might be made of the 
 good things which fell from his lips to create bursts 
 of admiration, or roars of laughter, and to be de- 
 tailed by the hearers at other tables on succeeding 
 days. All Hookas early days were not however 
 passed in fun — some of them were devoted to sen- 
 timent. He had two serious attachments — and if 
 either of them had ended as he wished them to end, 
 Hook might have been a different man in some 
 
XX MEMOIR OF THE LATE 
 
 points, and still the delight of his numerous friends. 
 One of them was the beautiful daughter of a retired 
 actor, whose suppers in those days were celebrated 
 for the wit which sparkled at the table — and the 
 other was the daughter of a gallant deceased 
 general whom he had met during a visit at Taun- 
 ton. The former was afterwards married to a 
 member of a noble house, and still lives the orna- 
 ment of the circle in which she moves ; and the 
 latter became the wife of one of our celebrated 
 legal characters, who has since been solicitor- 
 general and a judge, and has now been dead some 
 years. Taunton will long remember the period of 
 this courtship ; for his mad pranks and his face- 
 tious sallies kept the whole town alive during the 
 time he was one of its denizens. 
 
 Theodore Hook was born in Charlotte-street, 
 Bedford-square — our first acquaintance with him 
 began there, when he was a youth, making the 
 whole neighbourhood familiar with his practical 
 jokes and jests of every colour and quality. He 
 was born on September the 22nd, 1788, and died 
 at his house at Fulham, on August the 24th, 1841. 
 For some months before his decease, it was evident 
 to his friends that his constitution was rapidly 
 breaking up. He occasionally exhibited symptoms 
 of impatience and irritation ; yet in his worst 
 moods there would often escape a flash of merri- 
 ment, such as " set the table in a roar." But the 
 
THEODORE EDWARD HOOK, ESQ. xxi 
 
 case at last became too serious for a jest, — and the 
 genius which had illumined so wide an horizon, 
 set in darkness for ever ! Peace be with him ! 
 The gibes, the gambols, the songs are hushed — but 
 his works will keep his name in remembrance, and 
 survive long after tongues shall have ceased to 
 talk of Theodore Hook. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Well, I declare, I don't see why not," said 
 Colonel Bruff. 
 
 " I don't," replied Sir George Grindle. 
 
 " She is a good girl, and a pretty girl," 
 said the colonel, " although I say it that 
 shouldn't." 
 
 " And my son George is a perfect lady's 
 man," said Sir George. 
 
 " That'll do," said the colonel. 
 
 " A bit of a dandy I admit," continued 
 the baronet ; " and never the worse for that : 
 better be a dandy than like his half-brother 
 Frank, who, with all his mawkish sentimen- 
 tality, can't say boh to a goose." 
 
 vol. I. B 
 
*l FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " Half-brother ?" interrupted the colonel. 
 " What have you"— 
 
 " Yes, I have," said Sir George. " I have 
 been twice married — a circumstance I thought 
 you were aware of. I married for money 
 when I was young, and for love when I was 
 older- eh?" 
 
 " That'll do. That'll do," said the colonel. 
 " And how did you find it answer V 
 
 " First the best," said Sir George. " My 
 first wife was — " 
 
 " Oh, every body knows," interrupted the 
 colonel, " the rich Miss Simpkins — the great 
 heiress — the — " 
 
 " Exactly so," said the baronet, " Good 
 soul — amiable, kind, and all that, eh? She 
 died soon after George was born. Still, entre 
 nous, I never cared for her, nor she for me. 
 I wanted her money, she wanted to be ' my 
 lady.' — All done by friends. So, don't you 
 see, colonel, having married her to please 
 my family, — why, when she popped off the 
 perch, I married my next to please myself — 
 eh ? I speak plainly — truth between friends 
 —that's the fact." 
 
 " That'll do. That'll do," said the colonel. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 3 
 
 " Poor dear," continued Sir George, " she 
 died in three years after Frank was born — 
 this younger son of mine." 
 
 " That, I never heard," said Colonel Bruff. 
 
 " Ay, I dare say," replied Sir George, 
 " you were abroad fighting our country's 
 battles." 
 
 "That'll do. That'll do," said Bruff, 
 " you've hit it, no doubt ; and the boys take 
 after their mothers ?" 
 
 " Thereabouts," answered Sir George ; " the 
 eldest one — you must have seen him about 
 town — a deucedly good-looking fellow — was 
 in a crack cavalry regiment, just getting his 
 troop, when they were ordered to India. 
 George went to his doctor — discovered he 
 had a touch of the liver — couldn't go — " 
 
 " That'll do," said the colonel. " Wanted 
 to be a liver at home, eh? — Gad, that's not 
 so bad — so I suppose exchanged — " 
 
 " No," said Sir George, " not that ; sold 
 out — retired altogether — full of domestic 
 feelings and love of country." 
 
 " That'll do," said the colonel, who seemed 
 exceedingly well pleased to establish a con- 
 nexion for his daughter with the eldest son 
 b2 
 
4 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 of a wealthy baronet — the title having of 
 course its weight for as much, at least, as it 
 was worth. 
 
 But th.ere was a stronger reason for this 
 anxiety in Colonel Bruff's case than might 
 have occurred in many others. The colonel 
 had a housekeeper — a most equivocal head to 
 his establishment — who appeared to manage 
 all his affairs with the unhesitating decision 
 of a mistress rather than a servant : and his 
 consciousness of the extraordinary influence 
 which this functionary possessed, induced 
 him to keep his daughter Jane as much as 
 possible engaged at the country-houses of 
 his different friends, so that she might be 
 preserved from coming too much in contact 
 with Mrs. Smylar (so was the lady-lieutenant 
 of the house in Harley-street, where the gal- 
 lant and disagreeable colonel resided, named) ; 
 and accordingly Jane, the pretty, the dear 
 Jane, was, in order to ensure the comforts 
 of domestic life, kept away from home as 
 long in fact as there was any body of her 
 father's acquaintance in the country to re- 
 ceive or keep her. 
 
 In consequence of this arrangement, the 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 5 
 
 colonel's house in Harley-street could scarcely 
 be considered ?nontee, except for a short period 
 of the year, during which its gallant owner 
 held it necessary to give a certain round of 
 dinners, and afford the gentle Jane an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing a little of society, and of doing 
 the honours at one or two assemblies, inter- 
 spersed and illustrated with harmony, vocal 
 and instrumental, imported for the occasion 
 from the Italian Opera-house. 
 
 This being the case, the colonel, in what 
 is called the dead time of the year, dined 
 regularly and invariably at one of the clubs 
 to which he belonged ; and, as sure as seven 
 o'clock came, marched up the coffee-room, 
 with his rosy countenance erect, in a mascu- 
 line and military manner, to his own favou- 
 rite table ; whereupon it was his custom to 
 make as serious an impression upon the 
 " passing" joint, as it had been in the earlier 
 part of his life his pride and glory to make 
 upon an advancing column of the enemy. 
 The gallant officer had an appetite, and his 
 use of small arms in his attacks upon the 
 haunches, and saddles, and sirloins, has often 
 excited the envy of surrounding guests, and 
 b3 
 
6 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 the painful anxiety of those who were to 
 come after him, to the piece de resistance. 
 
 For such a Castor, where could a fitter 
 Pollux be found than Sir George Grindle? 
 They were a pair 
 
 " Justly formed to meet, by nature ;" 
 
 inasmuch as the worthy baronet — as every 
 baronet is indiscriminately styled — had no 
 comfortable settled household establishment 
 of his own. Of the two sons he had, the 
 one he liked was never at home, and the one 
 he did not like, was always at home. George 
 was ever to be found where fashion and gaiety 
 called. White's he had not yet achieved, 
 but his head was invariably to be seen over 
 one of the blinds of the morning-room at 
 Crocky's — his cab a fixture on the outside, 
 until some of the numerous pursuits with 
 which young men of a particular school kill 
 time and keep themselves alive, attracted 
 him to a more distant part of town. With 
 the shades of evening he returned home, 
 dressed, and proceeded to dine ; finishing his 
 daily career at night, in the bright fane where 
 he had begun it in the morning. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 7 
 
 Frank — the half-brother of this agreeable 
 roue, was as little like his relation as possible 
 — or, as somebody says — " so far from it, quite 
 the reverse," Frank had read much — taken 
 honours at Oxford — was generally accom- 
 plished — rigidly just, and honourable in the 
 highest degree. From his earliest youth up- 
 wards, he had felt conscious of the difference 
 which existed between his father's feelings 
 towards him, and those which he entertained 
 for George. This consciousness had the effect 
 of depressing him, and increasing his natural 
 shyness ; and while George was revelling and 
 sparkling in all the best parties of the season, 
 Frank was either employed in scientific pur- 
 suits, to which he was enthusiastically de- 
 voted, or passing his evening in the domestic 
 circle of some quiet family, in the studio of 
 an artist, or the museum of a naturalist : in 
 fact, they were, in person, mind, character, 
 and manner, as dissimilar as light from dark- 
 ness ; or (not to waste time upon similes), as 
 any one thing in the world can be from an- 
 other. 
 
 This is a brief outline of the families of 
 the two club friends, whose acquaintance, 
 B 4 
 
8 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 begun in the club, was maintained in the 
 club, and who, heretofore, as the reader may 
 have gathered by the brief colloquy with 
 which the narrative opens, had never visited 
 each other domestically ; nor, indeed, had 
 they come to confession with regard to the 
 actual state of their affairs, so intimately con- 
 nected with the settlement of the fate of 
 two persons, dear to each of the principals, 
 but neither of whom, at the time the dia- 
 logue just recorded took place, was conscious 
 of the other's existence. 
 
 " Now, Frank," said Sir George to the 
 colonel, " is a mere humdrum fellow ; calls 
 himself a man of science ; knows better than 
 the Bible tells us when the world was made, 
 and how it was made ; gives every thing its 
 classical definition, and calls a tittlebat by a 
 name which, when written, is half-an-inch 
 longer than the fish itself; travels all over 
 the world with a wallet and hammer, and 
 last year began to chip down the Alps to see 
 what they are made of, and brought home 
 some of the bits in his pocket." 
 
 " That'll do," said Bruff; " wallet and 
 hammer — ninny-hammer you mean — no, no, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 9 
 
 my girl is rather too good for such a chipper 
 as that." 
 
 " Now as to fortune," said Sir George, 
 " the boys are, as they say in the city, ' much 
 of a muchness.' George will have all my 
 property, but Frank is nearly as well off, 
 barring the baronetcy ; a relative of his, who 
 admires all the ologies and ographies, and 
 thinks Frank a wonder, has said as much as 
 that he will inherit all his ' worldly goods,' 
 when he dies. All that may be, but 
 George — " 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel ; 
 " nevertheless, the elder is the man for me, 
 and although, my dear Sir George, this con- 
 versation originally began more in jest than 
 in earnest, I repeat what I said before, I 
 declare I don't see why not, eh ?" 
 
 " Nor I," replied the baronet ; " we are 
 both in some degree similarly placed — 
 widowers, with large, cold, empty houses — 
 no thought of marrying again ; and if we 
 could mend our condition by filling those 
 houses with merry hearts and laughing faces, 
 
 or else get rid of them altogether, I think we 
 
 © © 
 
 should do wisely." 
 
 b 5 
 
10 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " But," said Colonel Bruff, " there is one 
 thing which requires a little consideration." 
 
 " What is that ?" said Sir George ; " nature 
 of the property ? quid pro quo'' 
 
 " Not exactly," said the colonel. " I mean 
 the agreement to our plans on the part of 
 the young people themselves." 
 
 " I'll answer for George," said the baronet. 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," replied the colo- 
 nel. " As for my Jane, she knows enough 
 of her father to rely upon his judgment, and 
 too little of the world, to be able to question 
 his motives; so, as the ice is broken, the 
 sooner we really talk the matter over 
 seriously and more in detail, the better 
 pleased I shall be." 
 
 " Suppose," said Sir George, " I was to 
 hint at the affair to-morrow, if I catch sight 
 of my elder boy. I know he is inclined 
 to marry, so I think I shall easily be able 
 to ascertain his feelings in a talk of ten 
 minutes." 
 
 " That'll do," said the colonel. 
 
 " ' Happy's the wooing 
 That's not long a doing.' " 
 
 In this, and many similar apophthegms, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 11 
 
 touching the importance and value of speedy 
 completions of matrimonial arrangements 
 (which, by the way, had their views and ob- 
 jects been different, they would have been 
 the forwardest to reprehend), until the small 
 "pint each" gave way to a second double 
 pint, in the shape of a bottle of claret be- 
 tween them, over which they fully intended 
 to discuss at a greater length, and with more 
 of detail, the project they had in view, had 
 it not been that Mr. Snob — a regular club 
 bore, — who by some fatality had once acci- 
 dentally met Sir George Grindle somewhere 
 at dinner, where he was not introduced to 
 him, claimed him as his friend ; brought his 
 pint of Bucellas, or Marsala, or some such 
 stuff, to the common stock, and, of course, 
 destroyed completely the opportunity of 
 talking over matters, of which the two elder- 
 lies were most anxious to avail themselves. 
 
 Never, perhaps, was a mere casual ac- 
 quaintance so speedily or strangely ripened 
 into that sort of give and take intimacy, the 
 spirit of which appeared to be, the giving a 
 daughter by one, and the taking her by an- 
 other ; but the few vague observations which 
 B 6 
 
12 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 we have made on the disagreeableness of 
 both their establishments, may perhaps ac- 
 count, in some trifling degree for the sym- 
 pathy by which two bowing and speaking 
 associates in a large society were so suddenly 
 transformed into bosom friends. 
 
 As the communication is perfectly confi- 
 dential and will go no further, there is but 
 little difficulty in describing this great, tall, 
 swaggering Colonel Bruff, one of the " high 
 contracting parties" to the league offensive 
 and defensive, which was on the point of 
 being entered into, as a kind of human 
 monster. He was a big animal, and thence 
 seemed to derive an impression that he was 
 of consequence. He was a hard-headed man, 
 not by any means in the complimentary ac- 
 ceptation of the phrase ; he was coarse and 
 overbearing in his manners, and, as far as his 
 daughter Jane was concerned, a tyrant of 
 the first water. 
 
 When she, at his express command, sat at 
 the head of his table, she was subjected to a 
 constant " fire" of reprehension and sarcasm. 
 When for the sake of his " own position," as 
 he called it, she yielded to his wish to receive 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 13 
 
 small parties of his friends (dignified into 
 soirees by the pastrycooks who furnished the 
 nastiness, and swelled into concerts by the 
 voices of the second-rate screamers of the 
 Opera-house), every thing went wrong, and 
 poor Jane, commanded by her father to dress 
 her countenance in smiles, too often found her 
 eyes suffused with tears. 
 
 Now Jane, as we have seen, had no mother- 
 in-law ; but Jane was perhaps worse off than 
 if she had had one. A mother-in-law would 
 at least have been a responsible person — she 
 might even have loved her for her father's 
 sake — she might have been an agreeable 
 companion — she might have been a mistress 
 of the house, calculated to draw round her 
 husband an agreeable circle of acquaintance, 
 who might have rendered that house at least 
 a comfortable home for him ! But no — in- 
 stead of such a person, bearing his name, and 
 filling an equal place in society, Jane had — 
 when she was under her father's roof — to 
 endure the half-enduring, half-patronizing, 
 pertness and presumption of Mrs. Smylar, 
 who endeavoured to combine in the attri- 
 butes of her character, the meritorious pre- 
 
J 4 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 tensions of an affectionate governess, with 
 those of a zealous and prudential house- 
 keeper ; always contriving, if any family dis- 
 cussions or dissensions arose, to take part — 
 very deferentially — with the daughter against 
 the father, and vice versa, with the father 
 against the child. 
 
 It cannot be for a moment doubtful to the 
 reader, that however desirous Colonel Bruff 
 might feel to keep Jenny as much apart as 
 possible from this third estate, which had 
 sprung up in his establishment, Jenny herself 
 was scarcely less so. It is true that the girl 
 was as pure and as innocent as well-bred 
 girls of her age in England generally are ; 
 but purity and innocence must have degene- 
 rated into something much lower in the scale 
 of human nature, if common observation and 
 the natural intellect of nineteen — female 
 nineteen — did not discover in the pert, flip- 
 pant manner of such a person as Mrs. Smylar, 
 especially associated with the good-natured 
 acquiescence of her " master," something 
 more than the ordinary relation between 
 them established by the rules of society. 
 Besides, if Colonel Bruff's head ached, Mrs. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 15 
 
 Smylar was always ready to bathe his temples 
 with eau de Cologne; if any thing had dis- 
 agreed with him, Mrs. Smylar prepared the 
 curative remedy. In fact, Jane saw enough 
 to convince her that Mrs. Smylar had more 
 influence over her father than she ought 
 to have ; and Colonel Bruff was — as was 
 Mrs. Smylar too — perfectly satisfied that she 
 was aware of the state of things as they 
 existed. 
 
 As for Mrs. Smylar, she was a sharp, 
 clever person — pretty, but passee. She be- 
 gan life as a sort of half-scholar, half- 
 teacher, at a " ladies' boarding-school ;" but 
 having been suspected of a too great inti- 
 macy with a respectable young hairdresser 
 employed, in the presence of some matured 
 authority, to cut, curl, and friz the young 
 ladies, thought it expedient to leave the 
 seminary, as they call these establishments, 
 and join a company of actors somewhere in 
 the West of England. There she learned 
 all the superficial trickery which she after- 
 wards employed so much to her advantage ; 
 and although a " dead failure" on the stage, 
 picked up just enough of the school and 
 
16 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 system to become a remarkably good actress 
 off of it ; to which skill might, in no small 
 degree, be attributed the extraordinary influ- 
 ence which she had contrived to establish 
 over the gallant and distinguished Colonel 
 Braff. 
 
 This pertinacious and persevering person- 
 age had, it seems quite evident, one great 
 object in view — an object of which she never 
 lost sight. The reader may, without much 
 difficulty, guess what it was — the attainment, 
 at some future period, of the hand, as she 
 felt conscious she already possessed the heart, 
 of the colonel. From this point she never 
 permitted her thoughts to wander, or her 
 eyes to stray. The only obstacle which 
 struck her as insurmountable, was the pre- 
 sence and position of his daughter. If site 
 were once married, the necessity for the 
 great inconvenient house in Harley-street 
 would cease. Jane would be established 
 somewhere — where, what cared she? And 
 then the dear colonel would secure his hap- 
 piness by marrying her, and setting up — or 
 sitting down — in the country, all snug and 
 comfortable, reposing on his laurels, — which, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 17 
 
 to say truth, would have afforded no full- 
 sized bed. 
 
 It must be quite evident that this " state 
 of things," as we have just called it, could 
 not fail naturally and of course to predispose 
 Jane for any change of circumstances which 
 could produce a change of events ; and 
 therefore the colonel, who knew the world, 
 as he said, and moreover, as we believe, 
 never had the slightest intention of marry- 
 ing Mrs. Smylar, felt assured that he could 
 make Jane " my lady" with her own free 
 will and consent ; get rid of his rickety 
 establishment ; and compress Mrs. Smylar's 
 abilities as a housekeeper into a smaller 
 sphere of action, and so go on dining at 
 his club, in the full enjoyment of all essen- 
 tial comforts at home, free from the almost 
 perpetual storms which occurred when Jane, 
 as things now stood, happened to be under 
 the paternal roof. 
 
 Now, per contra, as the merchants say, 
 what was Sir George Grindle about when he 
 so innocently and accidentally fell into the 
 conversation with Colonel Bruff ? What 
 object had he, to be so soon seduced or 
 
18 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 induced into an acquaintance with the bald- 
 headed soldier-officer ? He knew nothing of 
 him, beyond the intercourse, which seldom 
 takes place casually or accidentally, or even 
 incidentally, in a large community of the 
 extent and character of the re-unions of mo- 
 dern London. But then he had observed 
 him as his neighbour, at his favourite table, 
 squabbling about trifles — doubting the vera- 
 city of the waiters— talking loud about impo- 
 sitions " in regard" of something which he 
 had ordered, or there being more bone than 
 there ought to be in a cutlet, or something 
 of the sort ; — which, knowing the world a 
 little, induced him to believe that the grum- 
 bler must be rich. He soon found out some 
 of the leading facts of his case ; and having 
 himself a son who had run through all his 
 disposable property, and who was anxious to 
 pull up and retrieve during his father's life- 
 time, by securing a fortune in return for the 
 feather which his title would confer, — he 
 naturally thought that the one would be 
 desirable in the eye of a swaggerer with cash, 
 whom, as he thought, might be seasonably 
 supplied with the commodity in demand, by 
 7 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 19 
 
 a still greater swaggerer without any. And 
 so began, and, so far as we have yet seen, 
 progressed, the acquaintance of Sir George 
 Grindle and Colonel Bruff. 
 
 It might perhaps please the reader, and 
 save him some trouble hereafter, if he were 
 now to get a little more insight into the 
 relative positions in society which these wor- 
 thies actually held, than he has been enabled 
 to gain from the few broken bits of the dia- 
 logue in which he found them indulging 
 when he first opened the book. Moreover, 
 we may be expected to say something of the 
 gentle Jane, and how and in what degree 
 the curious contrivances and strange machi- 
 nations in progress as to her settlement for 
 life affected, and were likely to be received 
 by, that really amiable and interesting girl. 
 
 What she would have felt or said had she, 
 thirty miles away from the scene of the dia- 
 logue, been aware of its leading, sole subject, 
 it is not for us either to imagine or antici- 
 pate ; but supposing — which, considering she 
 was turned nineteen, was by no means an 
 impossible or improbable case — she happened 
 to be in love, and had pledged her affections 
 
20 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 to some fond and favoured lover, — all that 
 these excellent performers of the prose duet, 
 of which we have extracted only a little to 
 serve as notes for the reader, could say or do, 
 might, and the chances are would, turn out 
 to be "mere moonshine;" inasmuch as if 
 Love gets into the heart, it wall get out some- 
 where; and with one of your quiet, silent, 
 meek-looking girls, like Miss Bruff, the case 
 is hopeless. You might as well wash Mount 
 Etna with Gowland's Lotion, in the hopes of 
 preventing an eruption, as expect to extin- 
 guish the steady flame smouldering in such a 
 bosom. 
 
 But of Jane hereafter ; — unconscious as 
 she was w 7 hen these worthies talked the matter 
 over, so let her for the present remain ; and 
 if any of my readers quarrel with Jane Bruff 
 in the end, why then I must quarrel with my 
 readers. 
 
 As regards the paternity, Bruff — Papa 
 Bruff — the colonel, was the founder of his 
 own fortune. From a reverential dislike to 
 do that which a Frenchman of great wit and 
 power once said he was in the habit of doing 
 when he found himself getting too fonvard 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 21 
 
 in company, too exuberant and too lively — 
 " dans ce cas-la,je pense toujours de monpauvre 
 pere qui est mort" — Bruff never mentioned 
 directly or indirectly his excellent sire. Of 
 a grandfather it appears that, in the general 
 acceptance of the word, he had a sort of faint 
 cloudy idea in the abstract ; but as to the 
 embodying or identification of any such rela- 
 tion, relatively to himself, he was as far from 
 doing it as Adam would have been, if his wife 
 had pressed him on the subject. 
 
 He was, as we have already said, a large, 
 stupid, noisy man, and must in the outset of 
 his career have been a little, stupid, noisy 
 boy ; but he was a brave beast, and having 
 entered the army — nobody exactly traced the 
 beginning — he worked his way gallantly, and 
 being, according to James Smith's version, a 
 "fireman," was not "afraid of bumps," and 
 so went cutting, and slashing, and storming, 
 and doing all sorts of things, which if he bad 
 attained a higher rank earlier in his career, 
 might have decorated and even ennobled 
 him. But some four years after the Wel- 
 lington-peace of Europe was concluded, a 
 lady — plain, but genteel, and very rich withal 
 
 
22 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 — fell in with the captain, and moreover fell 
 in love with him. " De gustibus" and all 
 that. She was a little, delicate creature, and 
 thought that this Bruff — Brevet-major Bruff 
 — she never could understand the military 
 distinction — would make a very agreeable 
 husband, and so, much to the astonishment 
 of his gallant comrades, their large companion 
 in arms became hers. 
 
 Their wonder it must be confessed was 
 soon deeply tinged with envy, when they 
 discovered that in his case, the shafts of 
 Cupid were tipped with gold : a metal which 
 so used, has the wonderful quality of imme- 
 diately healing where it wounds ; whence, 
 as we have been informed, the acknowledged 
 assuasive qualities of gold-beaters' skin have 
 been derived. 
 
 Mrs. Bruff, as the reader has already 
 gathered, died fourteen months after her 
 union with the powerful field-officer, leav- 
 ing Jane at an age, equally unconscious of a 
 mother's care and a mother's love. Bruff 
 behaved in the best possible manner — was 
 devoted to his child — maintained the estab- 
 lishment in Harley-street, to which the wife 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 23 
 
 had not only taken a liking, but in which 
 she died, and of which by means of her large 
 property he had become possessed : thus re- 
 taining it as the memorial of his lady's taste, 
 and the sanctuary for her daughter's educa- 
 tion. 
 
 And all this went on; and BrufF, as a 
 widower, did remarkably well, and little 
 Jane grew up ; and then at the persuasion 
 of several of his friends, who represented 
 that during her childhood, so large an estab- 
 lishment, unless he married again, was use- 
 less, he placed her under the care of a rela- 
 tion of his late wife, Mrs. Amersham, who, 
 with her husband, having no children of their 
 own, were delighted to receive her and her 
 governess, — in the first instance, a nursery 
 bonne of the Windsor soap and bread-and 
 butter school, thence ascending to Miss Some- 
 body, was, in due time, succeeded by Made- 
 moiselle Somebody much finer. During this 
 period Bruff let his house, furnished, for a 
 term of years, and having, by some careless- 
 ness of the well-wishers of the club to which 
 he belonged, become a member of it, he be- 
 
24 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 came an habitue of the society in which the 
 reader was first introduced to him. 
 
 When Jane came out — which she did, 
 all mild and modest like the opening lily — 
 gentle, tender, and unassuming — Mrs. Amer- 
 sham presented her ; and with her sixty thou- 
 sand pounds she became "the belle of the 
 season." At that period Bruff resumed the 
 occupation of his residence, and for the last 
 two years it had been placed under the sur- 
 veillance of Mrs. Smylar. 
 
 Sir George Grindle was of a different 
 caste; their association, therefore, accidental 
 in the first instance, was somewhat remark- 
 able. Sir George, as the reader knows, had 
 been tw T ice married ; and as he has already ad- 
 mitted, married first for money, and secondly 
 for love — a sort of inversion of the ordinary 
 course of things, for which one is not gene- 
 rally quite prepared. Of his first marriage 
 his son George was the fruit. 
 
 George was his idol. Spoiled as a child 
 — humoured as a boy — and almost obeyed 
 by his father as a man — he had, even before 
 he was of age, cost his fond parent nearly 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 25 
 
 thirty thousand pounds. It was this, and 
 perceiving what desperate inroads these juve- 
 nile indiscretions were making upon Sir 
 George's property, that induced the maternal 
 uncle of Frank — the half-brother of George — 
 to hint to that most worthy, excellent, and 
 amiable young man, that he was not to per- 
 mit himself to be depressed or borne down 
 by apprehensions for the future, — which it 
 must be admitted with his prudential fore- 
 sight he seriously entertained, not only for 
 himself, but for George, who despised him ; 
 inasmuch as he, the aforesaid maternal uncle, 
 would take care that at his death Frank 
 should find even the nominal advantages of 
 the elder brother — "barring "the title" — not 
 in any degree injurious to him. 
 
 Having traced the matter and the motives 
 thus far, we will relieve the reader, and begin 
 afresh in the next chapter. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
26 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 There is not, perhaps, in the whole cata- 
 logue of cant words which have either been 
 adopted into, or made up expressly under 
 peculiar circumstances for, the English lan- 
 guage, one so frequently used, and so little 
 understood, as the word Dandy. It is in 
 every body's mouth ; but what does it mean? 
 it is the definition of an object, which none 
 of the people who talk about it can positively 
 define ; simply, because every individual who 
 attempts to do so, erects in his or her own 
 mind a standard of dandyism, precisely in 
 relation to the sphere iiu which he or she 
 respectively and individually moves. 
 
 There is no better mode of illustrating 
 this position, and exhibiting the difficulty of 
 coming to any thing like a fixed point of 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 27 
 
 dandyism, than by quoting a portion of the 
 prologue written by the elder Colman to 
 Garrick's two-act comedy of " Bon Ton." 
 The various and varying opinions as to what 
 Bon Ton really is, or rather was, described 
 in the following lines, will serve admirably 
 well to regulate the very vague and numerous 
 popular ideas of what a " dandy" is in the 
 present day. 
 
 The lines to which we beg attention are 
 these : 
 
 " Fashion in ev'ry thing bears sov'reign sway, 
 And words and periwigs have had their day ; 
 Each have their purlieus too, are modest each, 
 In stated districts ; wigs as well as speech. 
 The Tyburn scratch, thick club, and Temple tie, 
 The parson's feather-top, frizz'd broad and high, 
 The coachman's cauliflower, tiers on tiers, 
 Differ not more from bags and brigadiers 
 Than great St. George's, or St. James's styles, 
 From the broad dialect of broad St. Giles. 
 
 " What is bon ton ? — * Oh ! dim it,' cries a buck, 
 Half drunk — ' ask me, my dear, and you're in luck : 
 Bon ton's to swear, break windows, beat the watch, 
 Kick up a row, drink healths, and roar a catch. 
 Keep it up, keep it up, let us take our swing, 
 Bon ton is life, my boys — bon ton's * the thing.' ' 
 C2 
 
28 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 { Ah ! I loves life, and all the joys it yields/ 
 
 Says Madame Fussok, fresh from Spitalfields ; 
 
 * Bone tone's the space 'twixt Saturday and Monday, 
 
 And riding in a one-horse chay on Sunday ; 
 
 In drinking tea on summer afternoons 
 
 At Bagnigge Wells, with china and gilt spoons ; 
 
 'Tis laying by our stuffs, red cloaks, and pattens, 
 
 To dance cowtillions, dress'd in silks and satins.' 
 
 " ' Vulgar!' cries Miss, ' observe in higher life, 
 The feather'd spinster, and three-feather'd wife ; 
 The club's bon ton — bon ton's a constant trade 
 Of rout, festino, ball, and masquerade ; 
 'Tis plays and puppet-shows. — 'Tis something new ; 
 'Tis losing thousands every night at loo. 
 Nature it thwarts ; it contradicts all reason ; 
 'Tis stiff French stays, and fruit when out of season ; 
 A rose, when half a guinea is the price, 
 1 A set of bays scarce bigger than six mice ; 
 To visit friends you never wish to see ; 
 Marriage 'twixt those who never can agree ; 
 Old dowagers, dress'd, painted, patched, and curl'd, — 
 This is bon ton, and this, we call ' the World !' " 
 
 It is impossible, as we have already said, 
 better or more forcibly to exemplify the dif- 
 ferent views taken of the same subject in 
 different classes of society, than Colman the 
 elder has done in this jeu d'esprit. Nor is 
 the extract valueless on its own account, as 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 29 
 
 exhibiting what really were the notions of 
 bon ton in the best circles in the year 1775, 
 when Garrick wrote the comedy, and Colman 
 furnished the prologue. 
 
 But, putting the variety of opinions of the 
 people of 1775 as to bon ton in juxtaposition 
 with the opinions of the people of the pre- 
 sent age as to dandyism, affords us the 
 opportunity of pointing to the mistakes 
 which so generally occur as to the genus 
 Dandy. 
 
 Taking the subject from the base — begin- 
 ning at the beginning — let us merely recall 
 the reader's attention to that best of all pos- 
 sible songs that ever was primarily written, 
 and subsequently improved in an emine it 
 degree by a modern Mantuan bard — "The 
 Dog's-meat Man." 
 
 In that poem — and poem it strongly claims 
 and richly deserves to be called — the he- 
 roine, ill-used, deceived, and deluded as she 
 eventually proves to be, when in the pleni- 
 tude of her admiration, not only for the 
 mental, but personal qualities of her beloved, 
 she beholds him 
 
 11 In a jacket and breeches of velveteen," 
 
 c3 
 
30 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 is so completely overcome by the effect of 
 his appearance in a garb to the attainment of 
 which she herself had largely contributed, 
 that she exclaims, with all the " naturalness" 
 of a mind pre-eminently distinguished by 
 " viridity," 
 
 " My eyes ! what a dandy of a dog's-meat man !" 
 
 thereby convincing the auditor or the rea- 
 soner upon the matter, that to her, " a jacket 
 and breeches of velveteen," were the attri- 
 butes and essentials of dandyism ; in her 
 class, that was the standard — the point — the 
 ultima Thule of tripe-ography. 
 
 Go a little higher. Among the dollymops 
 and spider-brushers, a red-fisted, knock-kneed 
 footboy, who curls his hair and frizzles it on 
 the top of his head, and whose cotton stockings 
 are not more than ordinarily splashed in 
 running of errands, is held to be a dandy. 
 
 Higher still ; in the steward's or house- 
 keeper's room, the word scarcely occurs, 
 because the progression of knowledge, and 
 the upward march of intellect proscribes the 
 use of a term, which seldom or never is heard 
 reproachfully up-stairs. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 31 
 
 The milliners' shopboys, with bunches of 
 ringlets under their hats, cocked on one side, 
 dirty paste studs in the daily fronts of their 
 weekly shirts ; who, when the shutters are 
 up, strut about with cigars in their mouths 
 in the streets, and frequent what are called 
 the saloons of the playhouses ; are " regular 
 dandies" in the eyes of their female friends 
 — not in those of their casual associates in 
 the lobby or oyster-shop, who, wretched as is 
 their lot, have sense enough, poor creatures ! 
 to despise the " things" to whom " their 
 poverty, but not their will," drives them to 
 be civil and engaging. 
 
 Then the city clerks, the juniors of the 
 less prominent public departments, young 
 gentlemen in solicitors' offices, and medical 
 students (peculiar in their style), are all 
 dandies with the Misses of their own circle, 
 and wear figured stocks, and double pins of 
 mosaic gold, siamesed together by a little 
 chain of some equally equivocal metal. They 
 dance quadrilles fatiguingly, and (/dope as if 
 they were going to fly out of the windows, 
 amidst the tender glances of their admiring 
 dowdies, who look forward to a three- and- 
 c 4 
 
32 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 sixpenny ball in the very identical rooms, in 
 which the assemblies called " Almack's" (for 
 no other reason than that the rooms are the 
 same), by virtue of the potent spells of the 
 ladies-patronesses, become tabooed ground, 
 the moment the banner of aristocracy .is 
 hoisted there. 
 
 Then there are military dandies — after 
 their fashion — not guardsmen, life-guards- 
 men, blues, lancers, or any thing of the 
 kind ; but minor stars, who establish them- 
 selves like the late mischievous Smith of 
 Halifax, 
 
 " A captain bold, 
 Who lived in country quarters." 
 
 and flourish upon the reputation of a pair of 
 French- polished boots in the provinces for 
 six months ; — leaving, wherever they go, 
 with the most unqualified satisfaction, im- 
 putations of dandyism, cast upon them by 
 the wistful spinsters of all ages, ranged 
 against the walls of the low-ceiling'd draw- 
 ing-rooms of the rural dowagers, who, in 
 such communities, dispense black tea and 
 buttered toast at seven o'clock in the after- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 33 
 
 noon, in the sanguine expectation of taking 
 the expense out of the company by dint of a 
 round game played with dingy cards, bearing 
 on their backs certain marks ready for 
 domestic recognition. 
 
 Then there are sadly vulgar dandies of a 
 higher class, who entirely overdo the thing — 
 overshoot the mark, and fail in their efforts 
 to be any thing but objects of ridicule and 
 contempt. But they are all called dandies ; 
 whereas, in point of fact, the dandy is a man 
 who, dressing exceedingly well, without any 
 thing particularly outre about him, is well 
 informed, perfectly au fait of what is going 
 on, accomplished, unaffected, gay, and agree- 
 able ; whose appointments, whether of person 
 or equipage, are resplendently fresh, and who, 
 with all these attributes of wealth and taste 
 about him, appears unconscious of any parti- 
 cular excellence or peculiarity in any point 
 connected with himself. Moreover, of later 
 years, the cultivation of taste and accom- 
 plishments in art and science, heretofore con- 
 sidered either unworthy the care, or beneath 
 the notice, of the graceful and the gay, has 
 been added to the pursuits of men, who are 
 c 5 
 
34 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 supposed by those who know literally nothing 
 about them, to do nothing but lounge about, 
 " staring modest women out of countenance" 
 (the universal charge of the 01 7roAAoi against 
 dandyism), flirting with other men's wives all 
 day, talking nonsense all the evening, and 
 gambling all night. 
 
 That, to a certain extent, some of these 
 things do happen, perhaps there is no posi- 
 tively denying ; but that what may really and 
 truly be called a dandy, resembles, in the 
 slightest degree, the wretched things who 
 get a reputation amongst their own folks for 
 dandyism, is most strenuously and earnestly 
 to be denied. 
 
 Now, after this exordium, come we to Mr. 
 George Grindle, the elder son and heir of the 
 worthy baronet, with whom and whose inte- 
 resting dialogue with Sandy Bruff the reader 
 is already acquainted. George Grindle — this 
 idol of his sire — was certainly of the good 
 school of dandies ; but not a sixth form boy. 
 If dandies were merchant-ships, George would 
 have been in class B at Lloyd's. There was 
 all the forwardness and pretension requisite 
 to give him a first-class degree, but there 
 3 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 35 
 
 was something about him which kept him 
 down ; little stories and anecdotes, not told 
 by himself, of himself, or against himself, but 
 which he did not particularly like to hear 
 spoken of, were going about ; and although 
 he made every effort to outdo, as far as ap- 
 pearance went, those who were far above him 
 in every point of character, rank, and quality, 
 still there was always something, a kind of 
 alloy, for which nobody could exactly account, 
 but which hung round him, and kept him out 
 of certain sets, unless, indeed, he made such 
 efforts to get into them, even temporarily, 
 that a rejection of his advances would have 
 rendered the matter " personal." 
 
 In fact, George, although qualified by sta- 
 tion and fortune to be the intimate associate 
 of all the men with whom he mixed, was 
 popular with nobody. The principle of his 
 conduct seemed to be selfishness ; his whole 
 life appeared to be one continued effort to 
 " get the better" of those with whom he 
 lived ; making a sharp bet, with the certainty 
 of winning ; selling a horse to a dear friend, 
 with a reversionary lameness ; exhibiting his 
 capacity for learning sleight-of-hand from a 
 c 6 
 
36 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 professed conjurer, by cutting kings at ecarte, 
 without making his adversary aware of the 
 nature of his education, or his aptitude for 
 attainments in that particular science. These, 
 and a few other " points," brought him into 
 that position which many other gentlemen of 
 his standing occasionally occupy, and which 
 placed him — and we mention it without the 
 remotest approach to any appropriation of the 
 initial letter, except as to graduation — in class 
 B of Dandyism. 
 
 Still George was immaculate in the worthy 
 baronet's eyes. He saw in all his shirkings, 
 jests ; in all his shufflings, drollery ; and at 
 breakfast, whenever the hopeful heir honoured 
 the " governor" with his company, the great 
 delight of Sir George was to hear his elder 
 son recount (in a manner not belonging to 
 class A), certain cunning things he had 
 achieved during the preceding day, and the 
 extraordinary effect his dexterity had pro- 
 duced during the evening. 
 
 It so happened, that on the morning im- 
 mediately succeeding the club conversation 
 between Sir George and Colonel Bruff, the 
 heir-apparent not only breakfasted at home, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 37 
 
 but at or about the same hour as the " gover- 
 nor ;" a circumstance which, to a gentleman 
 disposed as the worthy baronet was, to think 
 every thing for the best, appeared an exceed- 
 ingly happy coincidence, the felicity of which 
 was considerably enhanced by the rarity of 
 the association between himself and his be- 
 loved son at their matutinal meal. 
 
 No time was to be lost ; the iron was to 
 be stricken while it was hot ; the hay was to 
 be made while the sun shone ; and Sir George 
 resolved that he would not part with the 
 " hopes of the family," until he had fully ex- 
 plained to him the occurrences of the pre- 
 ceding evening, and taught him to appreciate 
 the advantages immediately derivable from 
 his marriage with Miss Bruff. But there 
 was a drawback — a let — a hindrance, which, 
 with any thing like delicacy or decency, the 
 worthy baronet could not get rid of. A third 
 person partook of the breakfast — Frank, 
 equally the son of Sir George, but not equally 
 the brother of Sir George's eldest son. In 
 his presence the partial father did not think 
 it seasonable or convenient to open the pro- 
 
38 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 ceedings, or indeed even glance at the favou- 
 rite subject of the passing time. 
 
 Why he should maintain this strange re- 
 serve, it would be difficult to guess ; because, 
 as the reader may already have discovered, 
 the inclinations, views, and pursuits of the 
 half-brothers, were entirely at variance ; and 
 although Frank treated "the dandy" with 
 affection and kindness, they were returned 
 with hauteur, and a sneer of superiority which, 
 in spite of his efforts to rally, invariably pro- 
 duced the intended and desired effect of 
 damping his spirits and silencing his conver- 
 sation. Yet the reason why Sir George de- 
 clined touching upon the affair in Frank's 
 presence, was his belief — most ill-founded — 
 that Frank, with all his show of gentleness 
 and mildness, was bitterly jealous of what the 
 father considered his half-brother's superior 
 success in the world, and that if made aware 
 of any project for George's aggrandizement 
 or advantage, he would immediately apply 
 the whole force of his " sly cunning" to its 
 subversion or frustration. 
 
 Sir George might have rested quite satis- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 39 
 
 fied that honest Frank would have done no 
 such thing ; and, to say truth, even if he did 
 occasionally feel — not jealousy — but mortifi- 
 cation, when he saw George preferred before 
 him upon all occasions, and even if his senti- 
 ments were not to be characterized so highly 
 as we are disposed to think them, the very 
 fact that such a step in life as that which his 
 father was about to propose, would inevitably 
 either remove him from the paternal estab- 
 lishment in Grosvenor-street, or transfer it to 
 the young couple, or, which seemed more 
 probable still, break it up altogether, would 
 have been in itself a strong reason for his 
 favouring the plan, inasmuch as in any one 
 of the three cases Frank would be forthwith 
 relieved from an association in which, by 
 constant comparison with his more favoured 
 relation, he was always sure to come off, as 
 the phrase goes, " second best," in the domes- 
 tic circle. 
 
 " Governor, shall I give you some of this 
 pie?" said George, proceeding to the side 
 table. " Slow coach, our cook, governor — 
 deuced shy of truffles — have a bit ?" 
 
 " None, dear George," said the fond father. 
 
40 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 "No use asking you, Frank," continued 
 the heir-apparent. " You don't do this sort 
 of thing. I find it nourishing and cherishing, 
 although, I must say, we don't shine here. 
 However, there's no getting on without a 
 woman at the head. Governor, why don't 
 you marry again ? You have tried it twice, 
 with the most satisfactory results — hasn't he, 
 Frank ? — at him again, Ginger — try the third 
 time. That's the luckiest. We are all right 
 and snug — you can do us no manner of harm 
 whatsoever, governor, and you may do us 
 a great deal of good. I'll go a hunting for 
 you ; and see if I don't start you in the con- 
 nubial line uncommon comfortable." 
 
 The unexpectedly curious turn the conver- 
 sation had taken — and of which George's 
 speech, considered as a specimen of the re- 
 spectful tone and spirit in which he was in 
 the habit, ordinarily, of addressing the pater- 
 nity, is rather remarkable — had nearly thrown 
 the worthy baronet off his guard, and led him 
 into, what he would afterwards have consi- 
 dered, the perilous indiscretion of instantly 
 imparting the whole of his favourite scheme 
 to his amiable and respectful son ; and of 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 41 
 
 suggesting to him the infinitely more reason- 
 able and feasible plan of procuring a head to 
 the family on his own account, by winning 
 the heart and gaining the hand of Miss Jane 
 Bruff, and taking possession of the house, 
 from which he and the half-brother would be 
 prepared consequently to depart. But Sir 
 George was in the habit of doing what the 
 celebrated Mr. Broster's pupils ought always 
 to do — he thought twice before he spoke 
 once ; and, therefore, all he said in answer to 
 the filial suggestion was, 
 
 " My dear George, how can you talk such 
 nonsense ?" 
 
 " Nonsense, governor," said George ; " no 
 nonsense at all. I'll point you out half a 
 score of old ones who have started later than 
 you would if you took my advice, and see 
 how snug and steady they go, and what com- 
 fortable houses they keep for the children of 
 their earlier days." 
 
 " Well," said Sir George. " I will talk this 
 over with you by and by. Perhaps I may 
 have something to say upon the subject which 
 will not displease you." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said George, " Bring 
 
42 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 whom you like — old — young — tall — short — 
 fat — lean — all the same to me. Only don't 
 give us a blue mother — don't cram the 
 house with " ologies" of all sorts ; and don't 
 give us a singing mother, who will crowd us 
 with signors and signoras, and stun us with 
 their infernal noise ; — give us somebody that 
 understands the thing, and will keep the 
 house going, and I for one shall be uncommon 
 delighted." 
 
 This flourishing speech of George's, which 
 meant nothing in itself, was intended to ex- 
 press by a side wind the contempt which he 
 felt for Frank's addiction to science, art, and 
 accomplishments, for which he had himself 
 no taste or fancy. But Frank was too well 
 accustomed to the character and object of 
 George's hypothetical observations to take 
 any notice of the attack. 
 
 " Rely upon it," said Sir George, " if any 
 lady assumes the government of this estab- 
 lishment she will be neither very learned, nor 
 very highly accomplished." This was an asser- 
 tion thrown out for the purpose of extracting a 
 more detailed expression of George's opinion 
 upon the point, inasmuch as from the little 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 43 
 
 that his new old friend, Sandy Bruff, had said 
 concerning his daughter Jane, he had been 
 induced to believe, that however amiable her 
 disposition might be, or however estimable 
 her qualities, she was neither remarkably 
 handsome in person, nor highly cultivated in 
 mind. 
 
 " I'm not particular, governor," said George; 
 " please yourself and you'll please me. I say, 
 governor, you recollect those fellows — I name 
 no names, because perhaps Frank will be 
 shocked at our showing up our friends, and 
 show us up in turn — but those fellows at 
 Crocky's — what I call the Dando-dandies, 
 who have no money, but lots of appetite — 
 who pitch in at supper like any thing, and 
 never take a box in their hands, while the 
 chaps who don't eat are losing their money 
 like smoke." 
 
 " To be sure," said Sir George. 
 
 " Well, the fellows there," said George, 
 " out of that have got up a deuced good joke, 
 and mean some night to put up over the 
 supper-room door, this — Stop," added he, " I 
 — don't recollect it exactly — but I wrote it 
 down — I've got it here — ah ! here it is — 
 
44 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " * He hath filled the hungry with good 
 things, but the rich he hath sent empty- 
 away.' " 
 
 " George, George," said Frank, seeing, 
 moreover, his father burst into a fit of im- 
 moderate laughter, " for heaven's sake con- 
 sider what you are doing ! — this may be witty, 
 — perhaps is witty, and apposite too, — but 
 recollect the crime, the sin of applying these 
 words of Holy Writ, recorded in its sacred 
 pages with reference to the Deity, to the 
 keeper of a St. James's-street club-house." 
 
 " Holy Writ !" said George, staring with 
 his eyes wide open, and his mouth screwed up 
 into a minute circle. " I did not know any 
 thing about that — I thought it was an uncom- 
 mon good hit at Crocky, so I booked it." 
 
 " I know my dear brother George," said 
 Frank, rising from the breakfast-table, " that 
 any efforts of mine to draw your attention to 
 subjects of the highest importance here and 
 hereafter, are not only vain, but are received 
 as intrusions and impertinences ; but, forgive 
 me when I say that your use of this sacred 
 quotation, criminal as it appears to me in 
 the first instance, is aggravated in its heinous- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 45 
 
 ness by the palliation which, unhappily for 
 yourself, you have attempted, on the score 
 of ignorance of its source. I know I shall 
 be laughed at, and abused for this burst of 
 feeling. But, George, the day may come 
 when the course you are pursuing may lose its 
 charms, and you may remember with regret 
 the efforts vainly made, even by a younger 
 and a half-brother, to show you its delusions 
 and its dangers." 
 
 Saying which, Frank gratified his worldly 
 parent infinitely more than it was generally 
 his good fortune to do, by walking out of 
 the room, and leaving the two members of 
 Crocky's to discuss the favourite proposition 
 of the elder one of the pair. 
 
 " That's a pretty go, governor !" said 
 George, as his wounded and indignant rela- 
 tion closed the door. " I meant no harm — 
 however, it is quite clear to me that Frank 
 ought to be a parson." 
 
 " Never mind, George," said the father, 
 " what he is to be, or what he is — think of 
 yourself, George." 
 
 " Why," replied the son, " I am rather in 
 that line already, only I'm getting stumped." 
 
46 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " The road to emancipation is plain, 
 straight, and open to you," said Sir George. 
 
 " But," said the son, " it seems to me that 
 according to modern practice, emancipation, 
 as you call it, costs a sight of money." 
 
 " Yours is free — " 
 
 " What free, gratis for nothing, as the 
 fellow in the Harlequin farce says V 
 
 " Saddled with but one condition," said 
 Sir George. 
 
 " Ah ! but one condition, governor, in my 
 state," replied the hopeful youth, " may be 
 something like the last feather that breaks 
 the nag's back." 
 
 " What do you think it is V asked Sir 
 George. 
 
 " A tie-up by trustees," said George, 
 " or perhaps some infernal appointment 
 abroad." 
 
 " No ; guess again, and nearer home," said 
 Sir George. 
 
 " Can't," replied, George, junior. 
 
 "What d'ye think of the head to the 
 establishment of which you have just been 
 talking?" said the baronet. 
 
 " I have told you that before, governor," 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 47 
 
 said George. " I think it would suit uncom- 
 mon well." 
 
 " Yes," said Sir George ; " but the head 
 to be differently put on — don't you compre- 
 hend? — instead of my furnishing the head, 
 furnish it yourself — get a wife." 
 
 " Whose ?" said George, evidently borrow- 
 ing an old joke, which, like many others, is 
 handed down traditionally, through certain 
 classes of society. 
 
 " Whose but your own ?" said his father. 
 
 " My own !" said George, starting back, 
 evidently shocked at the notion of incurring 
 such a responsibility. 
 
 " Your own," replied the baronet. " A 
 charming, unaffected girl, with sixty thou- 
 sand pounds, given her out and out, with 
 her father's free will and consent." 
 
 " I like the sound of it, governor," said 
 George ; " but I take it to be no go." 
 
 "Why?" said Sir George. 
 
 " Why, I don't know," said the young 
 gentleman ; " but I don't think, you see, 
 that I am by any means what the world calls 
 a marrying man." • 
 
 " Consider, George," said the anxious 
 
48 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 father, " this fortune will put you — and me 
 — both of us at our ease — and — " 
 
 " Yes," interrupted the prudent — when- 
 ever self was concerned — youth ; " but de- 
 pend upon it, whoever the respectable fogy 
 may be, whom you have raked out some- 
 where, he'll want a tie-up, and then you 
 know the thing's of no manner of use what- 
 soever." 
 
 " I doubt that," said Sir George, " he has 
 his reasons for marrying his daughter, as we 
 have ours that she should be married into 
 our family." 
 
 " Who's the sire ?" said George. 
 " His name is Bruff," was of course the 
 answer. 
 
 " Unknown," replied George ; " can't cal- 
 culate upon consequences." 
 
 " He is a colonel in the army, and wishes 
 to see his only child well established in the 
 world," said Sir George. 
 
 " Good !" replied the son, " and so means 
 to marry her to me — that's not a bad notion — 
 sixty thousand pounds would certainly come 
 in well just now, governor; but have you 
 ever seen her — had her trotted out — what is 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 49 
 
 she like — plain, pretty, passable, or passee f 
 — not that it strikes me that matrimony suits 
 my book." 
 
 " I have not seen her," said Sir George, 
 " but from her father's account of her — " 
 
 " Oh ! is that all, governor ? That's no go," 
 said George ; " hear you speak of me, and 
 hear any body else do the same thing — you 
 can't think what an uncommon dissimilarity 
 there exists between the reports. I dare 
 say, Mr. Bruff, or Gruff, or whatever his 
 name is, thinks his daughter a queen of 
 beauty, and may make you believe her so — 
 but I—" 
 
 " Ay," interrupted the anxious parent, 
 " but sixty thousand pounds down — " 
 
 " Does," continued George, " I confess, 
 make a very considerable alteration in the 
 state of affairs. But perhaps you would be 
 good enough just to let me a little into the 
 secret. To begin with, who is BrufF by him- 
 self Bruff?" 
 
 " I have told you ; a very distinguished 
 officer," said Sir George. 
 
 " That's no clue," answered the dandy ; 
 " there are plenty of those. Where did 
 
 VOL. i. D 
 
50 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 you light upon him — at the United Ser- 
 vice?" 
 
 " No," said Sir George, who, by virtue of 
 the silver epaulettes of a deputy lieutenant, 
 was enrolled in that gallant and distinguished 
 society. " I have been in the habit of meet- 
 ing him constantly at the Do] drum." 
 
 " What is his line, — guardsman ?" asked 
 George. 
 
 " No," said Sir George ; " but none the 
 worse for that; since, if he had had an op- 
 portunity of finishing his work before the 
 Duke had finished the work altogether at 
 Waterloo, Bruff might have been a general, 
 titled and decorated." 
 
 " I don't care, governor," said George, 
 fc ' general or corporal, it comes much to the 
 same point if the girl has the stumpy, and is 
 something decent to look at." 
 
 " There," said the solicitous parent, " I am 
 myself in the dark, and therefore unable to 
 enlighten you. I tell you I have never seen 
 her." " Nor (he might have added) did I 
 ever hear of her till within four-and-twenty 
 hours of the moment when I concluded that 
 she would make an excellent wife for you." 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 51 
 
 This, however, he only " mentally ejaculated," 
 and left his darling son to conjure up some 
 bright image of beauty, calculated at once to 
 dazzle, charm, and fix him. 
 
 " But, governor," said George, " there are 
 two parties to all bargains — how d'ye know 
 she'll have me ?" 
 
 " How ?" said Sir George. " Because she 
 is an amiable, well-regulated daughter, and 
 obeys orders. My friend, the colonel, says 
 he can depend upon her immediate acquies- 
 cence in any proposal of his upon such a 
 point." 
 
 " What is her name, governor?" said 
 George. 
 
 " Jane," was the reply. 
 
 " Jenny Bruff don't sound aristocratic," 
 said George ; " not that I care for that — 
 Jane itself is a deuced pretty name — but 
 Bruff— eh !" 
 
 " What's in a name, George?" said the 
 governor. " Besides, that annoyance is soon 
 got rid of by marrying her." 
 
 " True — but then," said George, contract- 
 ing his brows, and passing his hand across his 
 d2 
 
52 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 forehead, " there is something serious in 
 having a wife, governor." 
 
 " But something exceedingly agreeable in 
 having her fortune," said the provident 
 parent. 
 
 " Upon my life," said George, " now, 
 really, joking apart, I know the money is an 
 immense hit — a regular go — but, I declare, 
 even if she would accept me, I don't think — 
 I don't, upon my "life, think I could under- 
 take the responsibility. In fact, marrying — 
 I don't know — I wish you would marry her 
 yourself, which would answer all my pur- 
 poses, governor." 
 
 " But perhaps not hers," said Sir George. 
 " I don't exactly understand what you mean 
 about responsibility ; you will be more 
 respectable as a married man ; you will have 
 your house, your establishment, your place in 
 society, and your debts paid." 
 
 " I admit that, governor," said George, 
 " and being out of debt, would be an un- 
 common nice thing, even for the novelty of 
 the feeling. But then, marrying Miss Bruff, 
 governor — taking a wife for life to clear off 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 53 
 
 temporary incumbrances — is like putting 
 on a perpetual blister to cure the tooth- 
 ache." 
 
 " Well, George," said his father, " will 
 you do me one favour?" 
 
 " A thousand, governor," replied the son, 
 " if they don't involve a disbursement of 
 stumpy." 
 
 " Then have you any objection to be pre- 
 sented to the young lady ?" said Sir George ; 
 " see her — make her acquaintance, and that 
 without her being in the slightest degree 
 aware of the object of the visit. Say ' yes '' 
 and I am sure, from the anxiety which my 
 friend Bruff has expressed on the point, he 
 will speedily make some arrangement to 
 make up the party." 
 
 " Where is Jenny Bruff, now, governor ?" 
 said George. 
 
 " She is in the country," said Sir George. 
 
 " At boarding-school, or in a respectable 
 lunatic asylum ?" asked the son. 
 
 " Neither," said Sir George ; " she is 
 staying, as it is her custom to do for a con- 
 siderable part of the year, at the house of 
 some relations of her late mother — most 
 d3 
 
54 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 excellent people — highly respectable, and 
 full of—" 
 
 " Never mind, governor," interrupted 
 George, "I am prepared to go all lengths, 
 let the end be what it may ; for that which 
 every man wants, I want more than any man 
 wants it on earth ; and so commend me to a 
 gentleman who wishes to perpetuate baronets 
 through the female line of his family. I am 
 entirely at your service ; and although I may 
 break a heart or two by turning Benedick, 
 picking up and living pretty, I dare say I 
 can make amends out of the ' military chest,' 
 — eh, governor?" 
 
 With very few further remarks, retorts, 
 observations, or suggestions, the dialogue 
 between the father and son terminated, and 
 they parted for the morning, under a sort of 
 implied engagement to meet again during 
 the course of the evening. 
 
 Frank, who really and truly had received 
 a severe shock from the unqualified levity — 
 blasphemy it must be called — of George, and 
 was even more excited by the grounds of his 
 apology for using words, of the sacred origin 
 of which he avowed himself, by way of justi- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 55 
 
 fication, so utterly and blindly ignorant, had 
 retired to his study, a sanctum rarely, if ever, 
 invaded by either his father or his brother, 
 whose tastes and pursuits, as we have said, 
 and seen, were of a character so entirely op- 
 posed to his, that it would have cost them 
 almost as much annoyance to make a descent 
 upon his retreat, as it would have caused 
 him to sustain it. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that Sandy Bruff, 
 the colonel, had on his side, as one of the 
 high contracting parties to the projected 
 treaty, gone thus far with the preliminaries 
 without the fact having, somehow or other, 
 reached the well-ringed ears of Mrs. Smylar. 
 The pert old thing (and though old in face, 
 she was still young in figure, quick in motion, 
 and active in all her turnings and twistings) 
 was the first, and indeed the only person to 
 whom Sandy Bruff communicated the steps 
 he had taken. In furtherance of the great 
 object she had constantly in view, she pressed 
 their speedy completion upon her gallant 
 master (if he might be her master called, 
 whose mistress she was) in every possible 
 way, and with every possible apparent mo- 
 d4 
 
56 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 tive, except those by which she was really 
 and truly actuated. Nor is it to be imagined, 
 that such being the case, she left any argu- 
 ment unbroached, any suggestion unmade, to 
 strengthen his resolution, and urge him to 
 immediate proceedings to bring about the 
 match ; pointing out to him especially what 
 a capital thing it would be for him to get 
 rid of all the worry of a large, cold, empty 
 house in Harley-street, by living in which he 
 was at a needless expense, and taking a small 
 villa in the vicinity of town, or perhaps a 
 snug house at Brighton, which she could 
 entirely manage and make comfortable for 
 him, with not more than three or four 
 servants. 
 
 " That'll do, that'll do," said Bruff, as the 
 assiduous wasp-waisted verd antique brought 
 him his hot white-wine-whey, after he was 
 in bed. " That'll do, Smylar— eh !— I think 
 you are right about Jenny, eh ! — so am 
 I— eh !" 
 
 During which little pithy observation, in- 
 terrupted only by sips from the gentle dia- 
 phoretic prescribed and prepared by herself, 
 for a cold which the gentle giant thought lie 
 
 7 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 57 
 
 had caught in a draught of air at the Dol- 
 drum, Mrs. Smylar, with a readiness and con- 
 descension far below her sphere in the esta- 
 blishment, performed the operation of " tuck- 
 ing him up" in the most comfortable manner, 
 taking leave of him (as we presume for the 
 night) by saying, 
 
 " Rely upon it, colonel, the happiest day 
 you will ever have will be that upon which 
 Miss Jane is married." 
 
 "That'll do, that'll do," said Bruff; " I 
 quite agree with you — good night, old wo- 
 man ; for the present — eh ! — that'll do." 
 
 And so, for the present, Mrs. Smylar 
 retired. 
 
 And now that we have got sufficiently for- 
 ward in our history, to see that all the four 
 persons to whom the matrimonial scheme, by 
 which Jane Bruff is to be settled for life, are 
 unanimously agreed upon the wisdom and 
 propriety of the arrangement, it becomes 
 necessary for us to look at and examine the 
 character and qualities of the intended and 
 predestined bride herself, in order to ascer- 
 tain in what degree the important fifth cha- 
 racter in our dramatis persona? may agree 
 d 5 
 
58 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 with the others ; two of whom, be it under- 
 stood, she had never heard of in her life, and 
 one of whom, with all her affectionate regard 
 for him, she felt conscious was entirely under 
 the control of another. 
 
 Jane BrufF was — but what she was, must 
 form the subject of another chapter. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 59 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It is no easy matter, whatever people may 
 think of it, to describe the heroine of a sim- 
 ple story. To authors who deal largely in 
 silken tresses and melting eyes, soul-fraught 
 intelligence of expression, and a gentle mix- 
 ture of roses and lilies by way of complexion, 
 cherries for lips, and pearls for teeth, it may 
 be a work of equal facility and felicity : but 
 to plain speaking, or rather plain-writing per- 
 sons, who endeavour to describe with some- 
 thing like accuracy, scenes and circumstances 
 as they occur, and put down upon paper the 
 impressions which they themselves receive 
 from the works of nature and art, it is far 
 different. These poor creatures seldom or 
 ever fall in with the ethereal beings whose 
 " every action is grace," whose features 
 d 6 
 
60 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " eclipse the chiselled beauties" of Praxiteles 
 or Phidias ; whose " ivory foreheads, scarce 
 ever ruffled with a frown of anger, rival the 
 driven snow, over whose dazzling pile, the 
 raven locks twine and cluster like silken 
 meshes to ensnare the hearts of venturous 
 swains," " the qualities of whose minds emu- 
 late the beauties of their persons," " whose 
 cerulean eyes, upturned to Heaven, are over- 
 flowed with pearly tears, bright heralds of the 
 feelings of the heart," who " deem their lovers 
 perfect," whose " lips are devoid of guile," 
 who never do " aught" but good ; who mi- 
 nister to the sick and aged poor, like " angels 
 of light," and are dressed (according to the 
 descriptions which are given of them) much 
 after the hypothetical and apocryphal illus- 
 trations of the milliners and mantua-makers' 
 magazines. Writers like ourselves, are there- 
 fore thrown back on resources only to be 
 found in the usual routine of worldly life. 
 
 It is to be hoped that the reader by this 
 time has become more deeply interested in 
 the personal appearance and mental qualities 
 of Jane Bruff, than either the father or son, 
 whom we left discussing what they consider 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 61 
 
 other more important points connected with 
 her, appeared to be ; because, in a blind bar- 
 gain, like that which had been struck between 
 the worthy baronet and her father, the nature 
 and character, conditions and effects, of such 
 a negotiation, must necessarily be more or 
 less affected by the beauties and merits of 
 the object to be so strangely provided for. 
 
 There are, in the world, ladies, some of 
 whom we have ourselves known, who would 
 fare much better by being so disposed of 
 without a previous view ; and who stand a 
 better chance of being loved, as they say, 
 " unsight, unseen," than after a personal ex- 
 hibition ; and others there are who, if even- 
 tually destined for display, are so cried up 
 and so bepraised by their admiring friends 
 and relations, that when the veil is actually 
 withdrawn, and the object appears in propria 
 persona, the effect produced very much re- 
 sembles that of the sudden disclosure of 
 Mokanna's features ; 
 
 " He raised the veil —the maid turn'd slowly round, 
 Look'd at him — shriek'd— and sank upon the ground." 
 
62 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 Now Jane Bruff was one of those girls 
 who need not fear the piercing eyes of the 
 most searching scrutineer. She certainly 
 was not beautiful ; but she was ten times 
 more delightful than if she had been ten 
 times as handsome. In the work which we 
 have just quoted, there is a description 
 which might well be applied to her, which 
 runs thus : 
 
 " There's a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright, 
 Like the long sunny lapse of a summer's daylight ; 
 Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, 
 Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour. 
 This was not the beauty — oh ! nothing like this — 
 That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss ; 
 But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
 Like the light upon Autumn's soft shadowy days ; 
 Now here, and now there, giving warmth as it flies 
 From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes; 
 Now, melting in mist, and now breaking in gleams, 
 Like the glimpses a saint has of Heav'n in his dreams. 
 Then pensive it seem'd, as if that very grace, 
 That charm of all others was born with her face ; 
 And when angry — for e'en in the tranquillest climes 
 Light breezes will ruffle the flowers, sometimes — 
 The short passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
 New beauty, like flow'rs that are sweetest when 
 shaken. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 63 
 
 If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye 
 At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye, 
 From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings, 
 From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings. 
 Then her mirth — oh ! 'twas sportive as ever took wing, 
 From the heart with a burst, like the wild bird in Spring ; 
 Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages, 
 Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages. 
 While her laugh, full of life, without any control, 
 But the sweet one of gracefulness, rang from her soul ; 
 And where it most sparkled, no glance could discover- 
 In lip, cheek, or eyes — for she brighten'd all over, 
 Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 
 When it breaks into dimples, and laughs in the sun." 
 
 That this is beautifully poetical, who shall 
 deny ? — that it is not calculated to raise the 
 expectations of the reader far above their 
 probable fulfilment in the mind and person 
 of Jane Bruff, who shall assert ? but that it 
 is descriptive, in an eminent degree, of the 
 character and qualities of that most amiable, 
 accomplished, and delightful girl — I, for one, 
 will maintain. 
 
 Perhaps in wit, she might not presume to 
 emulate the " Light of the Harem ;" but 
 there was a well-tempered, well-regulated 
 
64 FATHERS AND SONS, 
 
 playfulness in her conversation, which could 
 not fail to charm and delight, provided al- 
 ways she was away from the paternal roof. 
 The colonel was a powerful officer, but neither 
 amiable nor gentle ; his daughter, if she pos- 
 sessed his affections, certainly received none 
 of his attentions. She feared him with a 
 fear which chilled the natural feelings of her 
 heart ; and when, as we have before said, he 
 considered it necessary to give a few parties, 
 in hopes mainly of getting her off his hands 
 by a marriage after his own taste, she was 
 destined to a sort of martyrdom during the 
 whole season, from the querulous, or rather 
 abrupt manner in which, even in the presence 
 of those whom he wished to admire her, he 
 corrected, lectured, and even scolded her, 
 while doing the honours of his house really 
 and truly in the best and most graceful pos- 
 sible manner. 
 
 Upon points of much graver importance 
 Jane was all that could be wished; the 
 harshness of the parent had never alienated 
 the fondness of the child, and although suf- 
 fering silently from a severity which she was- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 65 
 
 justly conscious she did not deserve, she 
 would have died rather than hear any human 
 being traduce the fair fame of her father. 
 She was pious without pretension, and cha- 
 ritable without ostentation. Perfectly well 
 versed in all that is now considered absolutely 
 essential to the education of a young lady, 
 she was fully competent as a scholar, a lin- 
 guist, an artist, a musician, and even if it 
 came to that, as a " philosopher," to take her 
 place amongst any girls of her age or position 
 in society. And all this without one grain 
 of affectation or conceit ; bearing all the 
 praises that were lavished upon her every 
 where (except at home) with a mildness and 
 meekness, which the colonel set down as shy- 
 ness and awkwardness — he himself being the 
 controlling influence, colloquially called a 
 " wet blanket," by which her spirits were sub- 
 dued, and her mental powers almost para- 
 lyzed. 
 
 How much of the paternal acerbity — as 
 people fond of fine words would call it — was 
 attributable to the influence of the dear half- 
 governess, half-actress, part-housemaid, Mrs. 
 
66 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 Smylar, it would, perhaps, be difficult to as- 
 certain ; but it was curious enough that the 
 disposition of Colonel Bruff towards Jane, 
 and that of Sir George Grindle towards 
 Frank, were singularly sympathetic, with the 
 one exception, that the baronet had two sons 
 to choose a favourite from, and the colonel 
 had but one daughter. 
 
 Nothing upon earth can be more natural, 
 than the supposition that Jane, finding home 
 so exceedingly uncomfortable, when there 
 was a home to receive her, was infinitely 
 happier with friends and relations, where the 
 playfulness of her disposition, and buoyancy 
 of her character, might have their scope — 
 
 " without any control, 
 
 But the sweet one of gracefulness," 
 
 of which we have before treated. And cer- 
 tainly in all the circle of her father's acquaint- 
 ance, relations, and connexions, there was no 
 resting-place she loved so much as the happy, 
 hospitable house of the Amershams. 
 
 Oh ! such people — such nice, comfortable, 
 happy people ! Yet even they had discovered 
 
FATHERS AND SONS K 67 
 
 one source of unhappiness; they had found 
 an alloy to their gold, a dark spot upon their 
 bright sun ; they had no family ; a circum- 
 stance, which however distressing to them- 
 selves, was fraught with the most beneficial 
 results to their friends and acquaintance, who 
 were thereby exempted from the kill-joy 
 infliction of little pets, magnified into great 
 wonders by their parents, and foisted into 
 what else would be agreeable society, to talk 
 nonsense suitable enough to their own ages 
 and intellects, but to no other; and who, 
 having dirtied their mouths and chins with 
 sweetmeats and trash, which they never 
 should swallow, scream themselves into hys- 
 terics when the said mouths and chins are 
 wiped ; and who having utterly marred the 
 comfort of some hour or so, during which 
 they have been let loose, are borne off to 
 their nursery, internally and heartily anathe- 
 matizing, in their small way, the hideous 
 Glumdalca who has been summoned to re- 
 lieve the party by carrying them away. 
 
 Well do I remember seeing the greatest 
 genius of our day, suddenly stopped after 
 dinner, in one of his most splendid descrip- 
 
68 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 tions of an interesting — magnificently inte- 
 resting scene, by the petulant cry of a little 
 urchin for some orange-chips in the dessert. 
 His father, who, of course, was master of the 
 house, sharply corrected the child for inter- 
 rupting; and consequently made him cry 
 louder than he had cried before. 
 
 " Poor bairn," said the Immortal, smilingly, 
 " it is not Ms fault." 
 
 I never see a dose of dear little damp-nosed 
 darlings administered after dinner, without 
 thinking of this. 
 
 There is, however, something wanting to 
 matrimonial happiness — in its perfect degree 
 — where the connecting link with another 
 generation is absent ; and therefore Mr. and 
 Mrs. Amersham were not perfectly happy. 
 But barring this slight qualification, they 
 were, perhaps, as enviable a pair as ever 
 existed. He was the best-tempered, kindest- 
 hearted man that ever lived, she the kindest- 
 hearted, best-tempered woman. Their house 
 was always gay, always agreeable ; the people 
 who visited them were universally pleasant, 
 inasmuch, as if they had no qualification that 
 way, they had no admission ; and there was 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 69 
 
 always something going on — parties— excur- 
 sions — little reunions — snuggeries — &c. &c 
 Every body who has known such people, and 
 such a house, will appreciate their delights 
 and attractions, and will therefore easily un- 
 derstand why Jane Bruff felt no repugnance, 
 not only in preferring it to such a home as 
 her own, with Mrs. Smylar for vicegerent, 
 but to any of the houses within her reach, 
 belonging to her other friends and con- 
 nexions. 
 
 To describe the villa — place it could not 
 be called — of this agreeable couple would be 
 quite superfluous ; they who know the world 
 can as perfectly appraise the country-house 
 of an agreeable small family, of some four or 
 five thousand a year, as Mr. George Robins 
 can value a real property. 
 
 Chintz, cotton, comfort ; snug rooms full 
 of furniture ; books, harps, pianofortes, baga- 
 telle-tables, backgammon-boards, chess-boards, 
 guitars, kaleidoscopes, sofas, squabs, cushions, 
 ottomans ; corners, recesses, little oriel win- 
 dows, flowers, Eau de Cologne bottles, scat- 
 tered books, albums, drawings, H. B.'s 
 sketches (no matter what visitor suffers), 
 
70 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 little absurd work-boxes, which nobody uses, 
 portfeuilles, pincushions, fire-boxes, snuff- 
 boxes, bonbonnieres, miniatures of distant 
 relations, in cases, lying on the tables, varie- 
 ties of inkstands, peerages, directories; low 
 chairs, long chairs, footstools, folding screens, 
 a bright blazing fire, a snow-white poodle 
 on the shaggy hearthrug, and a long-eared 
 "Charley" in the lady's lap. That sounds 
 snug, and is something like the way in which 
 they 6k carried on the war," or rather enjoyed 
 domestic peace, at Mr. Amersham's. 
 
 It was here, then, that Jane Bruff enjoyed 
 the happiness which, as a motherless girl, 
 was all in all to her ; and although the dif- 
 ference of age between Jane and her cousin, 
 the kind mistress of this agreeable home, was 
 such as rather to make them feel like sisters 
 than any other relation to each other, still, 
 from their relative positions in society, all 
 her kindnesses came as it were maternally 
 to the gentle sensitive heart of dear Jane. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that a being so 
 fair, so gentle, so lively, so good as Miss 
 Bruff, had made so much progress in life and 
 in society without having been addressed in 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 71 
 
 terms of admiration, or assailed in those of 
 flattery. Had she been homely and coarse, 
 dowdy and vulgar, short of an eye, or shorter 
 in one leg than the other, the effect of the 
 gallant colonel's fortune (or rather the report 
 of it), would have been quite sufficient to 
 give her a pair of those cerulean orbs of 
 which mention has been previously made, or 
 convert her hitchisism of gait into a step 
 sylph-like enough to make Taglioni jealous. 
 Think, then, with the grace, the sweetness, 
 the gentleness, the innocent playfulness, and 
 the graver talents and sterling virtues of Jane, 
 what must be the effect upon the herd of 
 aspirants to fortune when they saw her, what 
 she really was. 
 
 There was a man — one out of the flock 
 that followed her — to whom she had more 
 attended than to the rest — a clever man, and 
 a plausible man; and, moreover, not ill re- 
 ceived by the Amershams. He had a high 
 white forehead, and crisp black hair, and a 
 goodish nose, and sly grey eyes, with arched 
 black brows over them ; and he had teeth 
 w r hich he thought he might upon every suit- 
 able, or even unsuitable occasion show ; and 
 
72 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 he could talk, and he could laugh, and he 
 could sing. 
 
 This made him agreeable to Mrs. Amer- 
 sham. 
 
 Then he was a sportsman of much preten- 
 sion — had flushed two woodcocks together, 
 and killed them both — never missed his 
 double shot in ordinary matters. As for 
 fishing, show him a trout that had been bask- 
 ing and rubbing his white waistcoat on the 
 gravel, and correspondently waggling his tail 
 in a river for the last seven years — he would 
 have him out, nolens volens, in half a minute's 
 time. Then for hunting, — fences, ditches, 
 double ditches, stone walls, five-barred gates, 
 and all the rest of it, were mere trifles ; to- 
 gether with other accomplishments in cours- 
 ing, badger-baiting, ferreting, &c. And all 
 this, made him extremely agreeable to Mr. 
 Amersham. 
 
 But, asks the reader, what made him agree- 
 able to the gentle Jenny Bruff? 
 
 Why, the reader shall know. Miles 
 Blackmore, Esq. — such were his name and 
 description— had, besides the certain knacks 
 and trickeries already described, a power far 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 73 
 
 superior to powers ordinarily possessed by 
 the inveterate out-and-out sportsman — that 
 of accommodating himself marvellously well 
 to the society in which he mixed ; of adapt- 
 ing himself to its manners and customs, and 
 of gaining wherever he went the reputation 
 of being " a very delightful person." 
 
 It is unquestionably true that Jane Bruff 
 exhibited no decided inclination to record 
 her dissent from this general dictum. She 
 listened to his conversation with interest, 
 and to his songs with pleasure ; for, uncon- 
 genial as might be the pursuits of the field, 
 and their incidental and inevitable cruelties, 
 to a mind so full of tenderness as hers, it 
 would be disingenuous to deny, that she felt 
 less pity for a woodcock killed by Miles 
 Blackmore at a long shot, than she would 
 for any meaner bird slaughtered by some 
 bungling hand : and as to her sympathy for 
 the sufferings of a " poor innocent fish," strug- 
 gling with all its power for emancipation 
 from the hook which was tearing its mouth 
 to pieces — truth bids me confess that it was 
 overcome by the pleasure she felt in hearing 
 Amersham describe the skill and dexterity 
 
 vol. I. E 
 
74 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 with which Miles landed his trout after more 
 than an hour's " play." 
 
 " Jane," said Mrs. Amersham to the young 
 lady, one day, after the party had started for 
 the field, " I have made a discovery — a very 
 important discovery too, and that of some- 
 thing concerning yourself, but which with 
 all your discernment you have not yet found 
 out." 
 
 " What in the name of wonder, may that 
 be?" said Miss Bruff. 
 
 " You will some fine morning be made 
 aware of it, dearest," answered Mrs. Amer- 
 sham, " and perhaps will be at first very much 
 surprised at it ; but then, Jane, it will be too 
 late." 
 
 " I am still in the dark," said the young 
 lady. 
 
 " Well then," said Mrs. Amersham, " I 
 will enlighten you in seven words — you are 
 in love with Miles Blackmore." 
 
 " Emma, my dear Emma !" said Jane 
 colouring crimson, " what are you talking 
 about?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Amersham, " no- 
 thing in the world, but that which seems 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 75 
 
 exceedingly natural, and in my eyes, at least, 
 not particularly blameable." 
 
 " But do tell me," said Jane, " what have 
 I done — how have I behaved — what have I 
 said, to induce your belief of that which 
 really has no foundation ?" 
 
 " You have done nothing," said Mrs. 
 Amersham, " you have said nothing to in- 
 duce that belief; on the contrary, as far as 
 Mr. Blackmore is concerned, you say less to 
 him than to any body else. As for your 
 behaviour, you seem under more restraint 
 when you do talk to him than when you talk 
 to any body else ; you always avoid him when 
 there seems a probability of your being left 
 alone with him, even for a moment ; nay, 
 sometimes I could almost be angry with you 
 for the way in which you cut him short, when 
 he addresses himself particularly to you, and 
 abruptly turn the conversation to some sub- 
 ject which must inevitably become general." 
 
 " There now," said Jane, " that is the case ; 
 and is there any thing in that like being in 
 love with him ?" 
 
 " A very great deal indeed, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Amersham. " Why should you not 
 E 2 
 
76 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 listen to what Mr. Blackmore has to say, 
 with the ease and unreserve with which you 
 listen to George Grey, or Francis Belmore, 
 or any other of the men who are here? Why 
 shrink from a stroll in the grounds with 
 Blackmore, and not hesitate to take the arm 
 of Charles Harvey for a ramble ? Why 
 invariably walk out of a room by one door 
 the moment he walks in at another, and yet 
 immediately afterwards volunteer to exhibit 
 your skill at billiards in a contest with Colo- 
 nel Strickland?" 
 
 " Why, because," said Jane, " because — 
 I—" 
 
 " Because," said Mrs. Amersham, " you 
 feel differently towards him. If he did not 
 interest you more than any of the others I 
 have mentioned, why treat him differently — 
 why exhibit towards him a diffidence and 
 coldness, which never affect you upon other 
 occasions ? I ask you why, and I will tell you 
 why — it is for fear that he should discover 
 the impression he has made upon you, and 
 the influence he possesses over you." 
 
 " On the contrary," said Jane, " I stu- 
 diously avoid him." 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 77 
 
 "I have told you so," said Mrs. Amer- 
 sham ; " you want, my dear girl, to personify 
 indifference, but you overact your part." 
 
 " No," said Jane, " I certainly think Mr. 
 Blackmore an exceedingly agreeable person 
 — he is remarkably good-humoured." 
 
 " And good-looking, Jane ?" said Mrs. 
 Amersham. 
 
 " For personal appearance in a man I care 
 nothing," said Jane, "that you know — so 
 there you may spare me. I like to listen 
 to his singing." 
 
 " And to his conversation, Jane ?" said 
 Mrs. Amersham. 
 
 " Yes," replied Jane, " and to his conversa- 
 tion. He has seen a great deal of the world 
 and society, and tells what he knows of them 
 well and agreeably; and I see no harm in 
 being informed and instructed." 
 
 " None — none in the least," said Mrs. 
 Amersham ; " nor do / see any harm in any 
 part of the business — under your circum- 
 stances, with an ample fortune, in point of 
 fact, at your command ; — for I presume, 
 without some great imprudence on your part, 
 as might regard the choice of a husband, of 
 e3 
 
78 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 which I certainly do not suspect you, and 
 which, in the case of which we are speaking, 
 would most assuredly not be displayed, papa 
 would not hesitate to give his consent." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Amersham," said Jane, 
 " what my father would do, or how he would 
 act towards me under any circumstances, 
 involving so serious a step as my marriage, I 
 cannot form the smallest conjecture. That 
 he wishes me out of his way I really believe ; 
 and therefore I should not be surprised at his 
 acceding to any tolerably-reasonable propo- 
 sition which might produce the desired effect. 
 However, rely upon it, I am not likely to 
 try the experiment, most especially in (as 
 you say) ' the case we are now speaking 
 of.' Mr. Miles Blackmore is, as I have 
 already said, an exceedingly agreeable person, 
 and I—" 
 
 " There, my dear, there," said Mrs. Amer- 
 sham, " do not exert yourself so heroically 
 in the denial ; go your own way ; only if you 
 really do not feel something more than com- 
 mon-place friendship for him let him be 
 aware of the nature of your preference ; for 
 at present my belief is, that he is very much 
 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 79 
 
 in love with you, and flatters himself that 
 his affection is not entirely unrequited." 
 
 " If men choose to be vain and conceited, 
 how can I help that f " said Jane. 
 
 " If women choose to be coquettish and 
 tormenting, how can he help that f* answered 
 Mrs. Amersham. 
 
 " I am neither tormenting nor coquettish," 
 replied Jane ; " and if there is a difference 
 in my manner towards him from my manner 
 to other people, it is assumed, because I wish 
 to discourage his particular attentions." 
 
 " Poor dear girl !" said Mrs. Amersham, 
 " you are very much to be pitied : first of all 
 you deny that you are in love with a gentle- 
 man who is in love with you ; then you deny 
 that he is in love with you ; and then wind 
 up the history by confessing that you know 
 he is in love with you, and therefore exhibit 
 to him the most unequivocal signs of diffi- 
 dence and alarm, in order to repress his 
 attentions. And yet, Jane, with all this, you 
 listen to him with mute attention when he 
 talks, and look at him whenever you think 
 his eyes are turned another way, with an ex- 
 pression of interest which never shows itself 
 e 4 
 
80 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 towards any other of the coated animals of 
 our party." 
 
 " Surely, my dear Emma," said Jane, " one 
 may listen to agreeable conversation, or sweet 
 singing, without being in love. You might 
 as well say I was in love with an artist I 
 admire, and whose talents I worship, or 
 charge me with the loss of my heart to a 
 statesman whose speeches I read with enthu- 
 siastic delight." 
 
 " All this is excellent reasoning, Jane," 
 said Emma; "but there is a certain some- 
 thing — an outward token of what is fancied 
 to be a hidden feeling — which no eloquence 
 can gainsay, no argument overcome. And 
 remember, dear, that the unconsciousness of 
 that deciding ' look,' is the strongest possible 
 proof of its value and importance. My dear 
 child, I know more of the world than you 
 do, and / know — " 
 
 " Oh, dear Emma," said the charming 
 Jane, " you are indeed an oracle — a vener- 
 able matron — some six or seven years my 
 senior; but rely upon it you are wrong — 
 wrong — wrong. I have never yet seen the 
 man who could interest me so far as to make 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 81 
 
 me think what my father would say, if I 
 mentioned a preference. To that kind, 
 strange, cruel, affectionate, and violent father, 
 all my feelings are deferred ; and depend 
 upon it, my dear friend, so long as he does 
 not force me to marry somebody I can not 
 love, I will not trouble him by presenting to 
 him any body whom I fancy I can." 
 
 Strange to be sure it was — but strange 
 things will happen — that this dialogue should 
 have taken place on the very day, the iden- 
 tical day, upon which the gallant and exceed- 
 ingly disagreeable colonel had written the 
 following letter to his very delightful Jane 
 — or, as he called her, Jenny — which, by the 
 way, is printed and published in the diction- 
 aries as an " abbreviation " of the former 
 monosyllabic appellation : — 
 
 " Harley-street, Friday. 
 
 " Dear Jenny, 
 " Whenever I make a promise I like to 
 keep it — sometimes we cannot do exactly 
 what we like — I promised that you should 
 stay with our good friends till the autumn — 
 that must not be, inasmuch as I want you in 
 town. 
 
 E 5 
 
82 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " I shall send the carriage off this evening 
 so as to bring you up to-morrow. Give my 
 kind regards to the Amershams, and tell 
 them that if they will come, too, I shall be 
 glad to see them. — I do not wait for your 
 answer before I send for you, because the 
 only answer I expect is your personal ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " Your affectionate, 
 
 " Alex. Bruff." 
 
 " Now what can this mean ?" said Jane to 
 herself, when she had read this brief " order" 
 for change of quarters. " Is it possible that 
 what I have more than once seriously appre- 
 hended, is really going to take place, and that 
 my father has been deluded or betrayed into 
 the rashness and cruelty of exalting his ser- 
 vant into the character of mother-in-law to 
 his daughter ? It must be something deciding 
 and important that can have induced such a 
 peremptory command. 
 
 " Dear Emma," exclaimed the agitated 
 girl, as Mrs. Amersham entered the room, 
 " read that, and tell me what you think it 
 means." 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 83 
 
 Mrs. Amersham did as she was asked to 
 do, and having concluded the perusal of the 
 dispatch, declared her incapability of com- 
 prehending its object, and contented herself 
 by proclaiming the utter impossibility of obe- 
 dience to its commands. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes," said Jane, " I must go — " 
 
 "Go!" said Mrs. Amersham. "What, 
 when the gayest ball of our county and sea- 
 son is fixed for Monday ? when I have your 
 father's written promise that we are to have 
 you here till September? No, no, I shall 
 settle that, my dear love — I will write to him 
 and tell him — " 
 
 " No, no," said Jane, " it is my duty to go, 
 and go I must. Besides, the carriage will be 
 down this evening to carry me off in the 
 morning." 
 
 " But it can be driven back without you," 
 said Mrs. Amersham. 
 
 " No !" said Jane, " that must not be. Be- 
 sides, even if I could make up my mind to 
 consent to your kind proceeding, I should be 
 wretched : first, in the fear of my father's 
 anger; — and you, who have sometimes seen 
 him angry, can pretty well judge how it must 
 
84 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 affect me ; — then, in the thought that I was 
 opposing his will, which ought to be law to 
 his daughter ; and, moreover, in the suspense 
 in which I should exist as to the true and 
 real cause and object of my sudden recal from 
 the only place in the world where I am truly 
 happy." 
 
 Strange to say, the same thought flashed 
 into Mrs. Amersham's mind, as had just be- 
 fore startled and alarmed Jane. She thought 
 it savoured of a marriage between the gallant 
 and disagreeable officer, and the sly, mis- 
 chievous, and influential woman, whose ulte- 
 rior object nobody, aware of the state of the 
 case, could doubt, and whose artfulness and 
 insidiousness seemed exceedingly well calcu- 
 lated for its attainment. 
 
 Little did the ladies anticipate the real 
 motives of the colonel — little did Jane think 
 that within an hour of her fervent hope, that 
 let what might happen, as to her father's 
 refusal of his consent to a lover favoured by 
 her, he would never force her to accept a 
 lover whose affections she could not recipro- 
 cate — a mandate so ominous and so awful as 
 this brief letter would arrive. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 85 
 
 " Jane," said the matron, after a few mo- 
 ments' consideration, "it strikes me that 
 whether that odious woman, Smylar, is con- 
 nected with this summons or not, there must 
 be a lover in the question — and I am not 
 sorry for it." 
 
 " Not sorry to lose me ?" said Jane ; " not 
 sorry to have me tormented?" 
 
 " No, not a bit sorry, Jane," said Emma ; 
 " you ought to be tormented a little, because, 
 to return to the old subject, you delight in 
 tormenting others ; and, moreover, you dear 
 conceited little thing, it will drive you into a 
 determination about Miles Blackmore." 
 
 "Miles Blackmore !" said Jane. " What 
 Miles Blackmore again ? Indeed, indeed I 
 shall be angry — yes, you need not look so 
 much surprised Emma — I shall be really, 
 truly, and seriously angry if you ever make 
 another allusion to the subject." 
 
 "Ha! ha !" said Mrs. Amersham, "then is 
 it indeed more serious than I thought it. 
 Angry are you ? Come, come, Jane, I own 
 I am interested in his fate — perhaps he has 
 made me a confidante — don't break his heart 
 — don't go before our ball." 
 
86 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " Emma," said Jane, looking infinitely 
 more serious than she usually did, " do con- 
 sider the reflection you cast upon my con- 
 duct, and even my character, by not only 
 implying, but by charging me with deliberate 
 coquetry and missishness in my conduct to- 
 wards this man. Surely, surely, unless the 
 world is much more wicked than I have yet 
 learned to think it, a young woman, admiring 
 genius when she finds it, and appreciating 
 talent where it exists, may so far gratify an 
 innocent, and not even questionable taste, by 
 enjoying the conversation of the man whose 
 intellectual qualities she respects and es- 
 teems. I do deny, Emma, solemnly deny, 
 the existence of any feeling of regard towards 
 Mr. Blackmore, which might not exist be- 
 tween us were he my brother. I plead 
 guilty — positively guilty to liking him ex- 
 ceedingly, and being very happy in his so- 
 ciety, and even admiring him, if you will ; 
 but as to love, if love be what the poets tell 
 us of it, and about which my dear friend, you 
 must, of course, know a great deal more than 
 I do, I, with equal sincerity, truth, and firm- 
 ness, plead not guilty." 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 87 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Amersbam, ' ; I shall 
 press you to no further confession; but I 
 must, if you please, refer the history of your 
 departure to my excellent husband, who, I 
 think, will agree with me, that an embargo 
 must be laid upon you." 
 
 " That is out of the question," said Jane. 
 " Profiting by your good advice, and by that 
 which probably is more effective, your good 
 example, I have learned obedience, and go I 
 must. But if you love me, do what my 
 father asks you to do — go up to town with 
 me ; then I shall have your society, your 
 advice, your sympathy." 
 
 " That, dear child," said Mrs. Amersham, 
 " is wholly out of the question ; our house is 
 already half full, and we expect the Durntons 
 and the Slaters, and half the country to come 
 to us to-morrow, for the ball." 
 
 " Then must I wend my weary way alone," 
 said Jane. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Amersham, " as you 
 are resolved, I cannot deny that you are 
 right ; whatever freak or fancy your father 
 may have taken into his head, it is, as you so 
 properly say, your duty to obey ; therefore I 
 
88 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 must be silent ; but when my dear George 
 comes to know it, I am certain he will 
 be furious ; and as for poor Miles Black- 
 more — " 
 
 " Emma," interrupted Jane, colouring 
 deeply, whether with consciousness, anger, 
 or any other feeling or passion, it is not for 
 us to determine — " pray, pray do not." 
 
 The appeal so genuine, so earnest, and 
 coming from a pair of lips, to which the most 
 eloquent heroine-describers would be puzzled 
 to do justice, accompanied by a playful ges- 
 ture of intimidation, silenced her companion, 
 more especially as " dear George," and Mr. 
 Miles Blackmore at that precise moment 
 made their appearance. 
 
 The moment the beaux were informed of 
 the gallant colonel's mandate, with the " nil 
 rescribas, attamen ipsa veni" clause in the 
 dispatch, they both, as must naturally be 
 expected, burst into the loudest denunciation 
 of the paternal tyranny. Mr. Amersham 
 vowed that he would himself go up to town 
 with Jane, and force her imperious parent to 
 permit her to return — a proposition which 
 seemed by no means agreeable to his lady- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 89 
 
 wife, and infinitely less palatable to Mr. Miles 
 Blackmore. 
 
 " No, no," said Jane, " rely upon it I am 
 the best judge of what I ought to do. My 
 father is, as you know, cross, petulant, and 
 angry, and snubs me, and scolds me ; thinks 
 me a foolish girl, and calls me so; charges 
 me with being ill-tempered, and with all 
 sorts of enormities ; but I am bound by the 
 most sacred ties to filial obedience. Don't 
 think I am preaching — I speak exactly what 
 I feel — so go I must, dearest friends, and go 
 I will !" 
 
 " And when to return, Miss Bruff?" said 
 Mr. Miles Blackmore, in a tone of greater 
 earnestness than he was accustomed to 
 assume. 
 
 " Oh," said Jane, her heart full of anxiety 
 and wretchedness as to the real object of her 
 summons, " I suppose in a day or two. 
 Most probably I shall be back for the ball, 
 because papa can't want me to stay long in 
 town." 
 
 And then again her thoughts reverted to 
 the hateful, dreaded degradation which she 
 
90 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 fancied her father must be involved in, as 
 she seriously dreaded his surrender to the 
 fascinations of the well-painted, black ring- 
 leted siren of his household. 
 
 A girl like Jane Bruf£ in a country-house, 
 is like a bright star in the firmament. A 
 well-educated accomplished creature of her 
 age, sufficiently of the world to understand 
 its usages, and so thoroughly well-bred as to 
 be perfectly unaffected — showing by every 
 word and action a disposition the most 
 amiable, a general desire to please without 
 the slightest effort or strain after popularity 
 — kind and goodnatured to all, without diffe- 
 rence or distinction — wholly divested of the 
 absurd squeamishness which under-bred misses 
 think fine — ready at all times, and on all occa- 
 sions, to join, frankly and freely, in whatever 
 is going on, conscious of the purity of her own 
 heart and mind, and equally confident in the 
 genuine feelings of friendship and affection of 
 those with whom she is associated — such a 
 girl becomes essential and indispensable to 
 the happiness and pleasure of such a circle. 
 Where is there upon the face of the earth 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 91 
 
 to be found a being so charming, so winning, 
 so influential, as a young Englishwoman of 
 this class and character? 
 
 The moment it was known that the car- 
 riage had actually arrived, and that Jane 
 Bruff was positively to leave the Amershams 
 in the morning, a gloom fell over the evening 
 circle ; her gayest song sounded like a dirge ; 
 her sweetest smile, subdued by the thought 
 of the morrow, was watched with painful 
 interest by those who had scarcely approached 
 her, till they were on the eve of losing her. 
 Nor, amongst those who gazed upon her 
 sweet countenance (perhaps for the last time), 
 was Miles Blackmore the least affected. 
 
 To hearts that keenly feel, the most trifling 
 incidents are sometimes the most deeply 
 affecting ; and when the gentle, genuine 
 Jane, carefully covered up the harp 
 
 " She used to touch," 
 
 there was something in the doing it, that 
 involved a leave-taking which brought tears 
 into more eyes than those of one of the 
 party. 
 
 If Jane Bruff had not been by a thousand 
 
92 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 degrees as charming as she was, her very 
 position in the world could not have failed 
 to make her an object of deep and thrilling 
 interest. It was once well said to me, by a 
 most accomplished nobleman, whose per- 
 sonal and mental qualities could not fail to 
 command the regard and esteem of men, 
 and the admiration and affection of women, 
 that, placed as he was in an enviable position 
 in life, with high rank and large fortune, he 
 felt diffident of himself, and doubtful whether 
 the favourable reception he every where met 
 with, from the belles of the season, arose from 
 their appreciation of his personal qualifica- 
 tions, or the Earldom and fortune which he 
 possessed. 
 
 Certain it is, that Jane BrufTs father, and 
 Jane BrufF's fortune, damped the ardour of 
 several admirers, who, long before the period 
 of which we are now treating, would, as the 
 dowagers say, have " come forward." But 
 Love is careless of gold; and he that had 
 nothing himself to offer, did not venture to 
 aspire to the wealth of the heiress, assured 
 of a rejection from the gallant dragon (not 
 dragoon) who watched with the most assi- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 93 
 
 duous care and vigilance, the golden apples 
 he had gathered during his profitable cam- 
 paigns. 
 
 How much happiness in this world is 
 marred by some slight obstacle, which after 
 all might, perhaps, by a little explanation, 
 have been easily overcome. But as Love is 
 not mercenary, so is it timid ; and the feeling 
 which induced the noble earl just mentioned 
 to doubt whether he was loved for himself 
 alone, had sealed the lips of many a man who, 
 poor himself, feared that bur gentle Jane 
 would think him an interested wooer. 
 
 Of this class Mr. Miles Blackmore certainly 
 was not one. As we have already heard, he 
 was a gentleman and a man of fortune. He 
 certainly neither had a title nor the remotest 
 expectation of one ; and as rank was a great 
 point with Sandy Bruff, he might have met 
 with a repulse. But — why not try? If he 
 loved Jane, we know she liked him. Why 
 not, while yet her foot was on the threshold, 
 prefer his suit ? Why not avow himself? 
 
 Jane was sufficiently aware of the temper 
 of his mind to expect, and even to dread 
 the event. His manner was distrait He 
 
94 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 was evidently agitated — excited. — He begged 
 her to sing once again the song he loved so 
 much. She unhesitatingly complied — it was 
 her nature to oblige. The words were of 
 parting — of a desponding lover. Still she 
 repeated it firmly and steadily, although 
 Mrs. Amersham's look was fixed upon her 
 countenance. 
 
 When it was ended, the party, except 
 Miles Blackmore, were loud in their ap- 
 plauses. He rose from his chair, and walked 
 to the windows which opened into the con- 
 servatory. He did not return for some time, 
 and when he did, he looked pale and dis- 
 turbed — the very reverse of the picture of 
 healthful gaiety, which till this evening his 
 countenance had exhibited. 
 
 A slight repast brought the evening's re- 
 creations to a close. Nobody tasted any of 
 the accustomed supper which, till to-night, 
 had served to collect the guests about the 
 sociable round table, and gave, as it were, 
 the tone to playful conversation, and that 
 agreeable sort of foolery which wisdom frowns 
 at, as being " very frivolous," and vulgarity 
 condemns as being " exceedingly low." 
 3 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 95 
 
 When Mrs. Amersham and Jane retired, 
 a host of enquiries assailed the ears of the 
 latter, as to when she was to go, — that is to 
 say, if she must go ; and then came a discus- 
 sion, somewhat energetic, as to the positive 
 humanity of letting the paternal horses rest 
 at least till after luncheon — if she got to 
 town by dinner-time she would do quite well 
 — the colonel could not expect her earlier ; 
 and then what was the use of going sooner ? 
 and so on. During all these discussions and 
 exclamations Miles Blackmore stood in a 
 dark recess of the hall, watching the charm- 
 ing girl, who (why, after her ingenuous decla- 
 ration of perfect indifference about him to 
 Mrs. Amersham, we could not, if we did not 
 know something about what girls are made 
 of, guess) was excessively surprised to miss 
 the said Miles Blackmore from the little 
 circle of petitioners who were so earnest in 
 praying her not to go away immediately after 
 breakfast. 
 
 Miles Blackmore waited till she had given 
 her consent to stay; and, after all the rest 
 of the party had shaken hands with her, he 
 
96 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 came forth and took his leave, shaking hands 
 with her too. He might have pressed the 
 hand he took. If he did, the pressure cer- 
 tainly was not returned. But mark ! — she 
 is not to go till after luncheon. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 97 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Well, Smylar," said Colonel Alexander 
 Bruff to his Circean aide, "Jenny will be 
 home to-day — eh ? She does not think, per- 
 haps, what we have got in store for her. 
 She is a foolish, poking, blushing thing, with 
 no more idea of the world than a babby." 
 
 " I am not quite so sure of that, colonel," 
 said Mrs. Smylar. M Miss Jane is quiet and 
 gentle in manner and behaviour, 'specially 
 before you ; but I have seen a good deal of 
 the world one way and another, and I think 
 those meek young ladies before company, 
 are not always the steadiest. You know the 
 proverb, colonel, ' the deepest stream runs 
 quietest.' " 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel ; 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " therefore, and in that case, the sooner we 
 settle her the better — that is, if George will 
 take her. Who knows? It doesn't strike 
 me that she is likely to catch many people. 
 She is so shy — so silly — so — eh — not a word 
 to say, Smylar." 
 
 " You know her less than any body," said 
 Smylar. " If you only could hear how she 
 talks to me, when you are away, you wouldn't 
 think it was the same person. Somehow, 
 colonel, I don't know what you have done, 
 or how you have frightened her, but she is 
 afraid of you. The minute you go, she be- 
 comes what I should call unstarched. Just 
 the same as a lady I once lived with, whose 
 husband was as jealous a green-eyed monster 
 as ever lived. When he was present, there 
 she sat, poor thing, bolt upright, like a 
 maypole in muslin, with downcast eyes and 
 screwed-up mouth, which, as the saying goes, 
 was made to look as if butter wouldn't melt 
 in it. The moment my master retired, the 
 ice thawed ; smiles lighted up her intelligent 
 countenance, and she seemed perfectly at her 
 ease, just as if she had got rid of the night- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 99 
 
 "That'll do, Mrs. Smylar," said the colo- 
 nel. " So you compare me with a night- 
 mare, eh ?" 
 
 " On the contrary, sir," said Mrs. Smylar, 
 " if the newspapers speak truly, you are 
 more likely soon to become a Knight Com- 
 mander." 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff, " I 
 believe the newspapers are right, and you 
 are deuced sharp and quick, and know the 
 world a great deal more than I do — upon my 
 life I think so — and I am sure you know 
 more of the character and disposition of my 
 child than I do — eh ? She is all shamabram 
 and humbug before me — so meek and so 
 modest and so mild — and then, as you say, 
 when my back is turned, chatters away like 
 a bird-clapper in a cherry-tree, and does what 
 she calls thinking for herself." 
 
 " That's true enough," said Smylar. 
 
 " Why don't you sit down, Smylar ?" said 
 the colonel. 
 
 " Why sir, I — perhaps — " 
 
 " Do as I order you, Smylar — who cares if 
 they do come in ?" said the colonel. " Haven't 
 I a right to do as I like in my own house ? 
 f2 
 
100 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 Besides, you must obey orders ; so down with 
 you." 
 
 Mrs. Smylar seated herself. 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel. 
 " Now go on — you were saying something 
 about Jenny's thinking for herself." 
 
 " I was, colonel," said Mrs. Smylar, " and 
 perhaps if you don't exercise a little of your 
 authority shortly, she may choose for herself, 
 and then there would be a pretty business !" 
 
 " Business — business, do you call it ?" said 
 the colonel. " Id cut off her legs if she 
 dared to think of such a thing." 
 
 " If you did, colonel," said Mrs Smylar, 
 " she would emulate the heroes of your cloth, 
 and fight upon her stumps." 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do, Smylar," said the 
 colonel, tickled exceedingly by the facetious, 
 yet as he thought complimentary allusion to 
 military valour, " I'd be bound for it she 
 would ; but she couldn't so well run away." 
 
 " I think, colonel," continued the insinu- 
 ating siren, " that the course you have adopted 
 is the very wisest in the world. What can 
 she want more, than a finished gentleman, 
 with a fine person and a title. To be sure 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 101 
 
 baronetcies are not much nowadays. Why 
 colonel, you buy your candles of one baronet ; 
 you have left off dealing for your writing- 
 paper with another ; you have quarrelled 
 with your brewer for buying his drugs from 
 a third ; and you have in your gin for the 
 servants' hall from a fourth: so being my 
 lady in that way isn't much." 
 
 " That'll do," said the colonel, " you have 
 hit the mark, but keep that to yourself; 
 things always find their level. Grindle is a 
 baronet of 1682 — that'll do — gad you see 
 things in a minute. What do you think of 
 the fact, Smylar, that the same appellation 
 which devolves upon a hero who has risked 
 his life a hundred times over, is covered with 
 wounds, and has lost a limb or two in the 
 service of his country, is neither more nor 
 less, better nor worse, than that bestowed 
 upon a lottery-office-keeper, or a mad-house- 
 keeper, or any shopkeeper you like, who 
 happens to go up to court with an address 
 upon some auspicious occasion as it is called 
 — the only campaign in which he has ever 
 engaged being a march from Guildhall to St. 
 James's ?" 
 
 f3 
 
102 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " I don't wonder at your indignation," said 
 the accommodating Smylar ; " there should be 
 some distinction made in the title which, as 
 I began by saying, puts the oldest baronet 
 upon a footing, at least in a newspaper para- 
 graph, with the last beknighted booby of the 
 tagrag and bobtail." 
 
 "That'll do, Smylar," said the colonel, 
 " and it is all very well here, snug and tiled 
 as we masons say. But don't indulge in this 
 sort of talk to Jenny. My idea is that the 
 match is a great one for her. Persuade her 
 to it by all means, my dear Smylar — paint 
 George Grindle perfection — you have never 
 seen him — but that don't matter — when 
 you are zealous I know your power to be 
 serviceable to us. He is fair, with curly hair, 
 and a long nose — that will guide you as to 
 how to describe, his features. His figure is 
 uncommon genteel, and if I had him at drill 
 for a fortnight I could set him up remark- 
 ably well. But never mind his face or his 
 figure — talk of his fortune, his place and 
 station, and instead of running down the 
 baronetcy, make it out as a title of nobility. 
 Why, when carriages are called up, Lady 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 103 
 
 Grin die, the baronet's wife, sounds as well 
 as Lady Stonehenge, the oldest countess 
 extant. In fact, Smylar, I rely upon you 
 entirely." 
 
 "But, sir," said Smylar, "suppose she 
 should have anticipated your choice ?" 
 
 " Can't — can't have done any such thing," 
 said the colonel. " How should she ? — never 
 could have dreamt of it — never dreamt of 
 it myself three days ago." 
 
 " You misunderstand me," said Smylar, " I 
 don't mean that she has anticipated your 
 choice of this particular lover ; but suppose 
 she should have anticipated your choice by 
 having, as I ventured just now to fancy pos- 
 sible, given her heart to somebody else?" 
 
 "Her heart," said the colonel, "what's 
 that ? Give her heart without my leave 
 and licence ? that'll do — that'll do, Smylar — 
 you are getting silly. No, no, she hasn't 
 spirit enough to be disobedient ; and if she 
 had, what then? She may give her heart, 
 as you call it, and a pretty gift it would be. 
 Her hand holds the money, Smylar, and that 
 she cannot give without my consent. So 
 now no tampering with her, or asking her 
 f 4 
 
104 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 questions, or hearing any of her nonsense. 
 She is to marry George Grindle. She knows 
 nearly as much of him at this minute as I 
 do. Persuade her that he is an Adonis, and 
 convince her that he is a very great man 
 — soothe her with promises of my affection 
 beyond measure if she gives in to the scheme, 
 and alarm her with threats of my severest 
 anger if she resists." 
 
 " It would be much easier for me to do all 
 this if I had seen Mr. Grindle myself," said 
 Mrs. Smylar, who seemed to think that she 
 might as well make friends with the affianced 
 husband, since such he appeared to be. 
 
 " Oh," said the colonel, " you'll see enough 
 of him soon : he is to dine here on Monday 
 with his father ; quite an unexpected meeting 
 for Jane ; and before that, the less you say 
 the better on the subject — indeed nothing 
 will be best. She will merely receive them 
 as ordinary visitors, and you can take the 
 opportunity of acquainting yourself with the 
 personal qualities of the young heir — a mighty 
 fine gentleman, as I think, although I must 
 say I was not in his company more than ten 
 minutes, yesterday afternoon." 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 105 
 
 " I understand, colonel," said Mrs. Smylar, 
 "lam not to know why Miss Jane has been 
 sent for — that is right — because, while she 
 is at dinner with you, I can avail myself of 
 the opportunity of talking with Miss Harris, 
 her maid, who ten to one, under the influence 
 of my kindness, in giving her coffee and a 
 chasse in my room, will let out some little 
 history of the proceedings at Mrs. Amersham's, 
 from which I can gather the state of our 
 young lady's feelings and prepossessions con- 
 nected with the party there. Of the result, 
 colonel, of course you will be informed." 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the Colonel. 
 " Come, come, Smylar, one glass of good 
 claret will do you no harm, and I am so sel- 
 dom at home, that when I am, it is absolutely 
 necessary you should help me to finish my 
 bottle." 
 
 " But suppose, colonel — " 
 
 "That'll do— that'll do," said Sandy, " who 
 cares what people suppose — eh ? " 
 
 " No, colonel, of course to you it is nothing," 
 
 said Mrs. Smylar, " but I — I, you know, have 
 
 nothing but my good character to live upon, 
 
 and really the constant apprehension which I 
 
 f 5 
 
106 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 labour under, lest it should seem that I am 
 too much in your confidence, and too con- 
 stantly with you — " 
 
 " That'll do," said the colonel, " finish your 
 wine and go, and mind what I have said — all 
 will be right if Jenny marries this man — it 
 will settle her and make me happy ; but if it 
 fails — if she refuses, she shall see how an 
 angry and injured father can act." 
 
 "Trust to me, colonel," said Mrs. Smylar, 
 "to do my best to forward your excellent 
 paternal intentions ; only consider that, I do 
 run a risk in putting myself so forward ; and 
 the first people of your acquaintance to find 
 fault would be those Amershams, of whom 
 Jane is so fond." 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to point out the 
 free-and-easy manner, in which Mrs. Smylar 
 talked to the colonel of "Jane," and the 
 "Amershams;" but it may be as well to 
 notice it, lest the style might be supposed to 
 be that of the narrator rather than the " per- 
 former." 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel, 
 " never mind them — you remain faithful to 
 my interests in this affair, as you have in all 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 107 
 
 others, and you may snap your fingers at my 
 dear friends, the Amershams, and at all my 
 other dear friends ; and if you catch them in 
 a conspiracy to thwart me, and if they suc- 
 ceed, Miss Jenny will go the same way." 
 
 Here, at the suggestion of Mrs. Smylar, 
 the conference ended ; and after her depar- 
 ture, the gallant and disagreeable colonel rang 
 his bell for coffee, which was accordingly 
 brought; and nobody, from the appearance 
 of the distinguished officer, would have 
 imagined it possible that any dialogue, like 
 that which has just been detailed, had oc- 
 curred in the sanctum in which he had dined 
 (Smylar having with her intuitive caution 
 and prevoyance rinsed the glass from which 
 she had sipped her chateau margot) had it 
 not unfortunately happened that a small patch 
 of court-plaster which had entered the room 
 on Smylar's upper lip, made its appearance 
 when the butler brought in the coffee, upon 
 the under lip of the gallant colonel ; an ex- 
 change which, however remarkable, possessed 
 certainly more of a civil than a military cha- 
 racter. Whatever the cause might have been, 
 F 6 
 
108 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 the circumstance had no effect upon the ser- 
 vant, who did his duty and retired. 
 
 And now what was the colonel to do, in 
 order to kill time, as he said ; a thing the 
 most desirable no doubt, to a veteran, who 
 finds the old gentleman with the forelock (or 
 as the worthy Mrs. Rambottom calls it, fire- 
 lock) running away so exceedingly fast as he 
 proverbially does run, and still the faster as 
 he nears the bottom of the hill ? Should he 
 go to the Doldrum? — a worthy, excellent 
 association, as every body knows, but at 
 which evening society is scarce. In fact, it 
 is an established truth, that where there is 
 no play — not what the world calls gaming, 
 but card-playing— nobody can expect an 
 evening reunion at a club. At the Doldrum, 
 the coffee-room (as the dining-room of a club 
 is universally called, it being the room in 
 which, except as a tail to one's dinner, coffee 
 is never taken) was by ten o'clock at night 
 as dark as Erebus, and as still and gloomy as 
 if Trophonius were house-steward of the es- 
 tablishment ; the waiters being instructed to 
 diminish (for economy's sake) the number of 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 109 
 
 lamps by which it was earlier in the day en- 
 lightened, at the rate of from six to one, — 
 thus reducing any kind of refreshment which 
 after a prescribed hour in the afternoon might 
 be required by members who venture to dine 
 late or sup early, to a mere matter of taste 
 and feeling — ocular demonstration being 
 wholly out of the question; much to the 
 disparagement, as a punster would say, of the 
 ancient proverb (somewhat musty) touching 
 the advantage of light suppers. 
 
 The Doldrum, however, possessed all the 
 advantages of fine rooms, and every thing 
 else that should seem to conduce to socia- 
 bility and that interesting exchange of senti- 
 ment and opinion, and all that sort of thing, 
 which to people who are rich and senti- 
 mental, and have none of the cares and wor- 
 ries of every day life to annoy and agitate 
 them, is no doubt exceedingly agreeable. 
 But no — a dead solemn silence prevailed 
 throughout the rooms in the evening, and 
 the objects most probably presented to view 
 were, — one man dozing over a book at the 
 side of one fireplace, another man fast asleep 
 over another book at another fireplace ; two 
 
 
110 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 men equally lost in slumber, one on either 
 side of a table (the books having fallen from 
 their hands), and another gentleman awake, 
 turning over a file of last month's news- 
 papers. 
 
 In the library, the same dead solemn still- 
 ness reigned. There, at the farthest possible 
 distance from each other, sat the bitterest 
 enemies, advocates of two different systems, 
 culling extracts from huge volumes till their 
 eyes ached, each unconscious of the object 
 of his fellow Doldrumite ; — one, he that had 
 the worst of it, imbibing, regardless of ex- 
 pense, a glass of cold water; and he that 
 would probably eventually triumph in the 
 contest, having disbursed sixpence for a cup 
 of tea (toast, butter, sugar, cream, &c.) which 
 by dint of enterprising speculation, and a 
 small jug of hot water, he had diluted into 
 two. 
 
 The late Lord Dudley, whose superior 
 qualities of mind, and powers of expressing 
 his thoughts, were overlaid and lost by a 
 manner in society which gave him an air of 
 frivolity and even weakness, but which proved 
 too truly (as those who best knew him, always 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. Ill 
 
 thought and feared) a constitutional malady, 
 under which he at last sunk ; in one of his 
 letters to his most-esteemed and highly-gifted 
 friend, the Bishop of Llandaff, describes the 
 Alfred club — a club which some quarter of a 
 century since, clubs being at that time (at 
 least the Alfred class of clubs) rarities, was 
 much distinguished — in these words. 
 
 " I am glad you mean to come into the 
 Alfred this time. We are the most abused 
 and most envied, most laughed at and most 
 canvassed society, that I know of, and we 
 deserve neither the one nor the other distinc- 
 tion. The club is not so great a resource as 
 many respectable persons believe, nor are we 
 by any means such quizzes or such bores as 
 the wags pretend. I have passed many quiet 
 comfortable hours there. I perhaps have not 
 been very much amused, but I never was in 
 the smallest degree annoyed." 
 
 This negative praise might justly have been 
 appropriated to the Doldrum, only that as the 
 numbers of the Doldrum exceeded consider- 
 ably those of the Alfred (or, as " the wags" 
 called it, the " half-read"), the bores naturally 
 bore an equal proportion to the community, 
 
112 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 and were consequently more numerous. To 
 Sandy Bruff, who himself was Princeps Bo- 
 reorum, there could be little attraction at 
 the Doldrum. Still, when a man is about to 
 take a deciding step in his family affairs, and 
 has not within him the quality of thinking 
 matters over by himself, the very considera- 
 tion of the subject makes him restless ; and 
 so the colonel rang the bell, imparted the 
 intention to his servant of walking forth, and 
 having enveloped himself in his cloak, began 
 his march on foot, because exercise was sure 
 to do him good. 
 
 During his progress towards the club what 
 was Mrs. Smylar about ? — not bodily but 
 mentally — what were her views and opinions 
 touching the proposed alliance between Miss 
 Bruff — " our Jane," as she permitted herself, 
 or rather was permitted by the colonel to call 
 her — and the elder son of the baronet ? It 
 does not appear possible for us yet to divine. 
 She has admitted that she proposes to exa- 
 mine and cross-examine Miss Harris, as to 
 the state of her young lady's heart, and take 
 measures in accordance with the knowledge 
 
 o 
 
 she derives from the process of extraction ; 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 113 
 
 but neither we, nor the gallant and disagree- 
 able colonel, can be at all prepared for the 
 course which she may propose to adopt when 
 she has gained her information. One thing 
 ought, however, to be kept constantly in 
 mind : the object nearest and dearest the 
 heart of this designing woman ; which was, 
 as we must all be aware by this time, to be- 
 come, coute qui coute, (or, as people liberally 
 translate it, by Hook or by Crook), Mrs. 
 Colonel Bruff. 
 
 Establishing this as the fact, the only 
 doubt as to Mrs. Smylar's future conduct 
 arises on the question as to what she may 
 consider the likeliest means of achieving her 
 great end, or rather her great beginning, as 
 far as the stage of real life is concerned. If 
 ever there did exist a Mr. Smylar, he had 
 long since been called to his fathers ; but 
 those who remembered our dapper house- 
 keeper in her bloom, recollected little more 
 than her transition to Mistress Smylar from 
 Miss Stote — a change which, as the scandal 
 of a provincial greenroom went, occurred 
 almost imperceptibly, just previous to her 
 paying a month's visit to her aunt twenty 
 
114 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 miles off, from which she returned consider- 
 ably reduced by the illness under which she 
 had laboured, but from which she eventually 
 recovered. . 
 
 That this vivacious gentlewoman would be 
 at all scrupulous or delicate in her proceed- 
 ings, nobody can expect. In flattering Sandy 
 to the highest pitch of fulsomeness, she felt 
 certain of success. The language of deference 
 and approbation amounting almost to admi- 
 ration, was as agreeable as it was strange to 
 his ears ; he grew happy on her praise, and 
 looking back upon his past life, began to 
 think either that the rest of the world were 
 vastly inferior to Mrs. Smylar, in the percep- 
 tion and appreciation of talent, or that his 
 own qualities, like those of wine, had im- 
 proved proportionably with his age. 
 
 Swift sets down flattery as an instance of 
 ill manners; because, if you flatter all the 
 company, you please none; if you flatter 
 only one or two, you affront the rest. The 
 flattery with which Mrs. Smylar had won the 
 affections of Colonel Bruff, was not obnox- 
 ious to these objections — it could never be 
 practised except when they were tete-a-t&e. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 115 
 
 Besides, it must be confessed that the mop- 
 pet had tact ; and in all her advances towards 
 the heart of the hero, she proved herself an 
 exceedingly skilful engineer. Nothing offen- 
 sive — nothing ludicrous — nothing positively 
 unswallowable, was presented to his appetite 
 for laudation ; her respect and admiration 
 were implied rather than expressed ; she car- 
 ried on her works cautiously and systemati- 
 cally, forming her parallels, and advancing 
 her trenches, under cover of a battery of two 
 eyes, which she never intended should slacken 
 their fire, till she considered the breach in 
 the colonel's heart practicable. 
 
 But meanwhile, perhaps, we ought to cast 
 a look towards Jane. The morning has 
 already dawned, the bright sun is high, and 
 the sweet birds are singing round her win- 
 dow as if in mockery of her sorrow — at least 
 so she felt it. The very fact of quitting a 
 house which was more to her than home, 
 would at any time have caused her a pang ; 
 but upon this occasion her too-justly formed 
 suspicions that something more than ordina- 
 rily trying was at hand, excited, beyond the 
 negative feeling of not liking to quit the 
 
116 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 Amershams, a positive dread of proceed- 
 ing to town. Still the course was straight 
 and plain — a duty was to be performed, and 
 performed it must, it should be. 
 
 And now that we are invisibly present in 
 her dressing-room, and unsuspectedly pos- 
 sessed of her inmost thoughts, let us see 
 whether, in all the regrets she endured, or 
 rather in the one great regret which oppressed 
 her, the separation from Miles Blackmore had 
 any share ? We are now in her confidence, 
 although she thinks alone, or even speaks to 
 herself. The answer is " Yes" — but only in 
 the degree to which she has already confessed 
 and admitted to Emma Amersham. Jane 
 was all candour — all truth ; and if she had 
 felt more than a friendly affection for Black- 
 more, why should she conceal the truth from 
 Emma Amersham h — then why make the dis- 
 tinction, the remarkable distinction in her 
 manner towards him — a distinction " with a 
 difference" from that which she observed 
 towards every other man of the party ? 
 
 Why should we doubt that it Was the re- 
 sult of an anxiety to prevent his pursuing 
 what she felt would be an unavailing course, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 117 
 
 and to discourage (which she might have 
 apprehended) a declaration that, according 
 to the rules of society, must have abruptly 
 terminated their agreeable friendly inter- 
 course. 
 
 There might have been some other reason. 
 Whether there were or not, it would be hypo- 
 crisy to deny that when Jane Bruff left her 
 room, it was not with her usual mildness and 
 calmness ; nor did she complete her journey 
 down stairs towards the breakfast-parlour, 
 until she had ascertained by the sound of 
 voices, that several of the party had assem- 
 bled there, and that there was no chance of 
 finding herself tete-a-tete with Mr. Miles 
 Blackmore. 
 
 There are certain persons in what is called 
 the world, who are distinguished as lions : 
 gentlemen afflicted by what those who are 
 secure from the infliction consider enviable 
 — notoriety ; a sort of celebrity in a small 
 way, which has rendered their names familiar 
 to the public, and who are talked of by every 
 body, as if every body was their friend, and 
 to whose patronymics nobody would any more 
 
118 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 think of prefixing the word Mister, than they 
 would of calling Julius Csesar, General Caesar, 
 or of speaking of our common parent as Mr. 
 Adam. Of these " lions," as they are called, 
 it is the fashion for ladies of moderate minds, 
 and second-rate manners, to affect to be 
 " dreadfully afraid." One lion is so satirical, 
 another lion is so exceedingly refined, and a 
 third lion draws such dreadful caricatures ; 
 and so on in their several degrees. — Jane 
 Bruff, like Spenser's Una in all her purity 
 and naturalness (as the cockneys call it), was 
 not a lion-dreader, nor, indeed, was Miles 
 Blackmore a lion ; but still there was about 
 the otherwise attractive Miles something 
 repellant as regarded Jenny. Yet that she 
 did like him we know — we have heard what 
 she said about him — we are bound to believe 
 her; and so for the present, to use the signifi- 
 cant phraseology of her gallant and unplea- 
 sant parent, " that'll do." 
 
 Jane ate nothing at breakfast — the want 
 of appetite seemed infectious — Amersham 
 alone threw in provision for the day with his 
 usual alacrity and resolution. All the rest 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 119 
 
 of the party partook more or less of the uni- 
 versal regret at Jane's abstraction — departure 
 it could scarcely be called. 
 
 During the ill-relished meal, Mrs. Amers- 
 ham, who, as mistress of the house, had esta- 
 blished her seat with her back to the huge 
 window, through which the whole blaze of 
 the bright sunshine poured upon the rest of 
 the party, was scarcely less agitated and flut- 
 tered than Jane had been when she quitted 
 her room. Knowing, as she pretty well did, 
 the character of Colonel Bruff, and appre- 
 ciating equally with his daughter the inflexi- 
 bility of his paternal temper, and almost as 
 much dreading the anger which she was sure 
 he would feel and fulminate upon her, if 
 Jenny's acquaintance with Miles Blackmore 
 should that day wind up with some serious 
 result (although in discussing the subject 
 with her, she had expressed her real and 
 genuine opinion of his merits), she was kept 
 in a continued and continuous flutter, which 
 was not a little excited by an observation 
 of Amersham's, after they had retired the 
 previous evening, who (in reply to a half- 
 doubt and half-interrogatory of hers, ex- 
 
 
120 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 pressed to him as to the character of Black- 
 more's feelings towards Jane, and Jane's 
 towards him) declared that knowing Bruff 
 as he did, he wouldn't have such a thing 
 happen in his house for the world. 
 
 Having very frequently expressed an opi- 
 nion upon the inevitable gaucherie and unso- 
 ciability at breakfast, and the absolute neces- 
 sity for solitude to make it a comfortable 
 meal, I do not intend here to enlarge upon 
 the discomforts of the present party ; but it 
 may be just and right to say, that of ail the 
 disagreeable exhibitions of the sort, the one 
 in question was the most unpleasant. Mrs. 
 Amersham could not divest herself of the 
 belief that a denouement must take place 
 before Jane's departure. Jane felt that she 
 was watched by her dear friend ; and Amers- 
 ham having been put on the qui vim by his 
 " better half," took especial care to beckon 
 Miles Blackmore to his side, in order to pre- 
 vent any approaches to such a result, and 
 assiduously kept him in earnest conversation 
 — at least as far as his own earnestness was 
 concerned — on the subject of a trout of the 
 most respectable character and appearance, 
 
 7 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 121 
 
 which had been seen the day before by one 
 of the keepers, and which Amersham recom- 
 mended to the special notice and immediate 
 attention of his sporting friend. 
 
 The contrarieties and contradictions which 
 exist in the best regulated minds of the best 
 bred and best educated women, are very ex- 
 traordinary. The declaration of her feelings 
 towards Miles Blackmore, which Jane had 
 made the day before to her friend and hostess, 
 was plain, true, and sincere. We know that 
 whatever had been the reason of her unwil- 
 lingness to be left alone with him, or indeed 
 to encourage his particular attention or con- 
 versation, it was as strong as ever it had 
 been w 7 hen she came down to breakfast ; and 
 yet she was surprised — aye, and disappointed 
 too — to find him late in making his appear- 
 ance at table, and, when he did arrive, to see 
 him seated far from her, and engaged at the 
 side of Amersham in the piscatory conversa- 
 tion which we have just noticed. 
 
 It certainly appeared strange, that Miles 
 Blackmore seemed — and if he were acting, 
 he did it remarkably well — to be entirely oc- 
 cupied with the subject proposed to him, and 
 
 VOL. i. G 
 
122 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 did, what no man in love, unless strategically, 
 would or could do ; namely, talk of what his 
 proceedings would be about the trout the 
 next day, if he did not succeed in haling him 
 out after breakfast — the one event involving 
 the period of Jane's departure, and the other 
 pointing to a time when she would be gone. 
 
 Amersham took great praise to himself for 
 the way in which he was "playing" his 
 friend ; but Mrs. Amersham felt convinced 
 that she had been all along right with regard 
 to Jane's partiality, from watching the result 
 of his success in engrossing to himself all 
 Blackmore's conversation. 
 
 The breakfast-party broke up ; and while 
 the members of it were standing in groups, 
 listlessly waiting for some " start," and Mrs. 
 Amersham and Jane were agreeing to have 
 an hour's cause to themselves before luncheon, 
 Amersham and Blackmore came up to her, 
 both evidently prepared for a speech. Jane 
 was agitated, she scarcely knew why. 
 
 " My dear Jane," said Amersham, " you 
 are, I suppose, resolved to leave us to-day?" 
 
 " Oh ! fixed as fate," said Jane. 
 
 "I feel that I ought not to murmur at 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 123 
 
 your decision," said Amersham, " since it is 
 founded upon your own good judgment ; but 
 as it must be so, I hate leavetaking even for 
 a few days, to which our loss of you will, I 
 hope, be limited ; and so Blackmore (who 
 sympathizes with me) and I, have agreed to 
 make our parting conditional — that is to say, 
 we are going down to the river to look after 
 a trout, which is honouring us with a visit, 
 and if we can be back by luncheon-time we 
 will ; if not, we will shake hands and say 
 good bye, now." 
 
 There was something so odd, so hurried, 
 and so abrupt in Amersham's manner, that 
 Jane was quite startled by it. This he saw 
 and added, 
 
 — " Because by this condition we have to 
 look forward to saying good bye again, and if 
 not—" 
 
 — "I see," said Jane, recovering herself, 
 " I understand what you mean — it is not a 
 positive leavetaking — I accept the offer ; and 
 so good bye." 
 
 "Good bye, Miss Bruff," said Miles Black - 
 more, extending his hand, which she unaf- 
 g2 
 
124 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 fectedly took, " I dare say we shall be back 
 before you go." 
 
 "I think not," said Jane, colouring with 
 something like anger at the quiet arrange- 
 ment of the affair ; " for I believe neither 
 you nor Mr. Amersham ever eat luncheon." 
 
 " Oh ? " said Emma, construing Jane's ani- 
 mation into a "proof as strong as holy writ" 
 of the justice of all her suspicions, " they will 
 be back, my dear girl — if Mr. Blackmore is 
 not gallant enough to be in time to make his 
 adieuw, I am sure my husband is." 
 
 Amersham looked rather cross — Black- 
 more rather foolish ; however, the mutual 
 hand-shaking was repeated, and the sportsmen 
 took their leave. 
 
 It would probably be unfair, even if it were 
 possible, to detail the dialogue which took 
 place between Mrs. Amersham and Miss 
 Bruff, in the boudoir of the former. The 
 tone of the "matron," however, was much 
 less austere than that of the maiden; for 
 although she advocated obedience to the 
 colonel in all reasonable measures, she with 
 equal force and energy deprecated a complete 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 125 
 
 subjection to his will, provided his commands 
 involved any thing like the endurance of 
 Mrs. Smylar's continuance in the same house 
 with his daughter, in the capacity of mother- 
 in-law ; and it was to this point the thoughts 
 of both ladies were directed; Jane herself 
 being conscious that no human being of their 
 not very extensive acquaintance could have 
 been selected by her father as a suitable 
 match for her, and most assuredly never sus- 
 pecting that she was to be disposed of, in the 
 way of bargain and barter, to a man whom 
 she had never seen, and whose name she had 
 never heard ; or, indeed, thinking that a man 
 could be found, in the sphere of gentlemen, 
 who would be induced to accept such a con- 
 dition himself. 
 
 Soon, too soon, indeed, as we know, were 
 all these doubts destined to be dispelled, and 
 poor Jane doomed to the infliction of a hate- 
 ful lover ; a calamity which she so specially 
 and sensitively dreaded. 
 
 Time flew — luncheon came, and was not 
 eaten — neither Amersham nor Blackmore 
 made his appearance — the clock struck two 
 g 3 
 
126 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 — punctual to the moment the colonel's car- 
 riage, drawn by a pair of veteran horses, of 
 which he was so chary and careful that Mrs. 
 Amersham had nicknamed them Sugar and 
 Spice, was drawn to the door. Miss Harris 
 was already in the rumble, which had been 
 especially fixed to the rear of the vehicle, for 
 the joint accommodation of herself and a 
 man-servant, — an association which in all 
 probability might lead to a premature de- 
 velopment of the colonel's proposed proceed- 
 ings — that is to say, if Mrs. Smylar had con- 
 descended to impart the secret to the colonel's 
 own man, who was supposed to be in her 
 confidence, and fully aware of her influence 
 over his master. 
 
 If the reader thinks with Mrs. Amersham 
 and Mr. Blackmore, he will, perhaps, not be 
 displeased at being spared a description of 
 the sweet yet sorrowful separation of our 
 heroine — if so she must be — from her affec- 
 tionate friends. A few minutes over, and 
 the family coach was moving at a reasonable 
 old-fashioned pace through the grounds — park 
 it could not be called ; and in less than half 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 127 
 
 an hour Jane found herself on the high-road 
 to London, her heart beating and her head 
 aching. 
 
 Just as the carriage was ascending a small 
 hill, which commanded a view of the meads 
 through which the pretty rippling river 
 Yarrell runs, she caught sight of Amersham 
 and Blackmore, attended by a keeper and a 
 boy or two, all intent on the sport. She 
 fixed her eyes upon them, as the last objects 
 of interest which were likely to present them- 
 selves to her on her road homewards. One 
 of the boys had turned and seen the carriage ; 
 he mentioned the fact, and Amersham and 
 his friend instantly saluted the departing fair 
 one. Amersham waved his hat gaily in the 
 air, as if cheering and encouraging her. 
 Blackmore bowed more quietly, and then 
 stood immovable by the side of his friend, till 
 a turn in the road put an end to the scene. 
 
 Jane threw herself back in the carriage 
 and wept — poor thing ? 
 
 Meanwhile Colonel Bruff and Sir George 
 were by no means inactive in arranging mat- 
 ters connected with their notable project, 
 and, indeed, the more disclosures they mu- 
 g 4 
 
128 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 tually made, the more they appeared pleased 
 with the prospect before them. 
 
 One person of the party, to do him jus- 
 tice, seemed rather to quail at the awful 
 responsibility, as he before called it, in which 
 the perfection of the arrangement must ne- 
 cessarily involve him. That person was the 
 hero of the drama. But his father, who was 
 even more perilously placed by his favourite 
 son's indiscretions and embarrassments than 
 the son himself, repeated all the arguments 
 he had previously advanced, in order to con- 
 vince him how essential, not only to his 
 respectability and position, but, in fact, to 
 his existence, the matrimonial measure was ; 
 although George could not, as he said, make 
 up his mind at a moment's notice, nor, in- 
 deed, finally pledge himself to the completion 
 of ftie scheme, until he had seen the lady ; 
 adding, with a kind of confident anticipation 
 to " the governor," " Nor, perhaps, till she 
 has seen me would she be more willing." 
 
 " You are mighty particular," said " the 
 governor," " as far as you yourself are con- 
 cerned, and extremely punctilious as regards 
 the girl ; but just listen to reason. Our 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 129 
 
 position is desperate. Bruff is a blockhead. 
 Manage him — and he — and he is positive 
 upon the point — will manage his daughter. 
 See her, of course you will. See you, will 
 she ; for, having sent for her up from the 
 country, we are invited to dine with him on 
 Monday." 
 
 " Monday ?" said George, " rather short 
 notice. To be sure the season is wearing 
 out ; but the idea of an eight-and-forty hours' 
 invitation, governor, except for a fight, seems 
 short. I hope somebody else will be there 
 —eh ?" 
 
 " I foresaw your dislike to the tete-a-tete 
 system," said Sir George, " and in order to 
 break through the formality, and to set you 
 off well, I got him to invite your brother 
 Frank." 
 
 " My half-brother, governor, if you please," 
 said George. " Well, that is something ; — 
 but will he go ?" 
 
 " He has promised," said Sir George. 
 
 u And will fulfil his promise," said the son, 
 
 " unless Mrs. Blueskin, or Professor Tarra- 
 
 diddle, or the marvellous Dr. Bobblewobble, 
 
 happens to invite him to some delightful 
 
 g5 
 
130 FATHERS AND SONS* 
 
 party at which wonders are to be exhibited, 
 tigers to be shown, or mummies unrolled; 
 and then there will be no getting him ; and 
 I should like to have somebody on my staff 
 just to break the ice, and keep the thing 
 going — eh, governor?" 
 
 " I am sure he will go," said Sir George. 
 " Upon his principle of what he calls mo- 
 rality, and from a feeling of fraternal affec- 
 tion, he would wish to go — just to see how 
 you were about to dispose of your frail tene- 
 ment, as he calls it ; and mark me, George, 
 if he does go, the chances are that he will 
 say grace before dinner." 
 
 " I should like, governor, to tell you some- 
 thing," said George, " something connected 
 with this business, which hangs a little on 
 my mind." 
 
 " By Jove, George," said the juvenile pa- 
 rent, " I really don't know what you need 
 hesitate to tell me. We live, I think, like 
 friends. You have your indiscretions — I 
 have mine. I assure you I am exceedingly 
 merciful, and if you don't — " 
 
 " Trust me, governor," interrupted George. 
 " I know what you mean. Be quite at your 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 131 
 
 ease on that subject — every man his own 
 range. No, no, that's not it — but I have 
 — a particular feeling towards a particular 
 person." 
 
 " No news to me, George," said the worthy 
 baronet ; " the bow- window at White's com- 
 mands enough of town, to show up young 
 gentlemen even more cautious than you are ; 
 besides, that affair has been a secret with me 
 these two years." 
 
 " Well, governor, that's the bore ;" said 
 George. " one cannot get rid of that sort of 
 attraction at a moment's notice." 
 
 " Can't one ?" said Sir George, raising his 
 eyebrows to a gothic elevation, and taking a 
 huge pinch of snuff. " Oh !" 
 
 " I must do something in the way of set- 
 tlement," said George ; " annuity, eh ?" 
 
 " That will all come as a matter of course," 
 said Sir George, " when you have got it." 
 
 " True," said George, " ex nihilo nihil fit — 
 that's it." 
 
 " If she is a reasonable person she'll wait 
 the event," said Sir George, " if she is 
 not — * ? 
 
 " Ah !" said George ; " but she is — she is 
 g6 
 
132 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 reasonable, and what is so remarkably un- 
 comfortable, is exceedingly attached to 
 me? 
 
 " Any results, George V said the baronet. 
 
 " Why, governor," said George, " I sup- 
 pose this is the time to be candid — there is 
 one, a little thing with flaxen hair, which 
 she calls a pledge — a boy." 
 
 " Well," said Sir George, " all that must 
 be taken care of — only nothing of the sort 
 can be done, till you have actually the means 
 of doing it." 
 
 " No," said George, " but it seems odd — 
 sounds odd even to the girl herself, that I 
 should be indebted to the fortune of my new 
 wife, for the means of settling her? 
 
 " Those things are as common as daylight," 
 said Sir George. " If there's any doubt upon 
 her mind as to the stability of the means, 
 send her to me" 
 
 " I'd rather not, governor," said George. 
 
 " Well, well, pacify her," said Sir George, 
 " pacify her any how." 
 
 " Ah !" replied the son, " that's easy to 
 say, and much easier to say than to do ; 
 there never was a sweeter-dispositioned crea- 
 3 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 133 
 
 ture in the world when things go well, and 
 she is pleased ; but by Jove, governor, when 
 she's up — as they say — it takes more than 
 you think for, to get her down again." 
 
 " I have almost always through life," said 
 Sir George, " found women disinterested and 
 considerate. She must be aware — in fact, I 
 presume she is — that some strong measure is 
 absolutely necessary to prop your falling for- 
 tunes, and rescue you from more uncomfort- 
 able embarrassments. Rely upon it, her 
 care for you will induce her to accede to 
 the change of circumstances. You are not 
 her constant companion now — other engage- 
 ments keep you frequently from her, and if 
 you marry — why — " 
 
 — " I understand perfectly," interrupted 
 the son and heir, " we shall not be eternally 
 separated — we may chance to see each other 
 occasionally. Upon my word, governor, you 
 were born to be a Mentor to such a Tele- 
 machus as I am. There are difficulties ne- 
 vertheless — great difficulties — but they must 
 be overcome. Upon my life it is a horrid 
 bore to have a woman so attached to one as 
 my Calypso is to me." 
 
134 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " Is Frank aware of this connexion of 
 yours ?" asked the worthy baronet. 
 
 " Why," replied George, " he is, and he is 
 not — he has, amongst other strange propen- 
 sities, a fancy for looking at giraffes, and 
 feeding bears in the Zoological Gardens, 
 early in the summer-mornings ; and that 
 period of the day suiting me exceedingly 
 well for giving my young woman a trot 
 out, I have more than once met him while 
 occupied in his favourite pursuit. He has 
 asked me two or three questions, which I 
 have answered so as to avoid a lecture from 
 a junior, and which, considering that junior 
 to be one's own younger brother, is rather 
 more than flesh and blood can stand." 
 
 " True," said Sir George, " but now going 
 a little farther into the question of Frank's 
 likings and dislikings ; have you any reason 
 to believe or suspect that lie has formed any 
 attachment — any liaison f 
 
 " Unquestionably not," said George ; " his 
 friends are saints and sages, and the women 
 he worships are ' valuable remains' — curiosi- 
 ties qualified to take the places of the wax- 
 work in Westminster Abbey, at which I 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 135 
 
 remember screaming myself into a fit in my 
 nurse's arms, when I was a baby." 
 
 " He will marry," said Sir George, " and 
 settle, and be respectable, and nothing 
 more ; satisfied with a cold mediocrity, he 
 will slumber away his peaceful life, till in a 
 state of almost lethargic inanition, he drops 
 asleep altogether. I never saw a young man 
 so provokingly apathetic in his manner, or so 
 steadily dictatorial in his monitory and even 
 minatory language. And yet his uncle thinks 
 him a wonder." 
 
 " And / wonder," said George, " what his 
 uncle thinks of me ?" 
 
 " Why that you a reprobate and a roue" 
 said Sir George, " and have not a soul to be 
 saved. However, the genius is hereditary — 
 the talent for dulness and gloom descends to 
 Frank from his poor mother, who shared it 
 with her exemplary brother. No matter — it 
 is quite right that tastes should differ, and 
 the benefit is especially great in the case of 
 Frank, who, through that uncle's avowed 
 liberality, will not cramp you in your pro- 
 ceedings hereafter." 
 
 How much farther this dialogue might 
 
136 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 have continued, it is impossible to surmise, 
 had not visiters to Sir George broken it 
 off like 
 
 " The story of the bear and riddle," 
 
 and sent George away to his Calypso's grot, 
 upon one of those " country banks" in the 
 Regent's-park (which never fail), full of 
 anxiety to soothe its fair tenant. Her story 
 was an interesting one — their association 
 extraordinary. It may be hereafter neces- 
 sary to recur to it more particularly ; at 
 present, as it is the duty of a historian to 
 give all the personages involved in his narra- 
 tive, the benefit of his knowledge of their 
 different characters, suffice it to say, that as 
 George had been the cause of her misfortune 
 — fault must be the word — so was he the 
 sole object of her undivided affection. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 137 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The arrival of Jane Bruff in Harley-street, 
 must be considered by those who take an 
 interest in her fate, an " event" in her life. 
 They who have begun to care for her will 
 not fail to turn over in their minds the 
 combinations of ills, miscalculated by the 
 " elders" as advantages, awaiting her. The 
 full stop of her father's favoured horses at 
 the door brings her to a " period," and the 
 tripled and quintupled knock at the street- 
 door of her paternal home, is in fact the most 
 grievous assault upon her heart and feelings 
 that has ever yet been made upon them ; 
 it is the heralding sound of her coming 
 sorrows. 
 
 The moment, however, has arrived — the 
 blow has been struck, and our poor dear girl 
 
138 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 is already in the dingy, dusty atmosphere of 
 a London drawing-room, in which the cased 
 furniture and canvassed lamps proclaimed the 
 dulness of the season, and the unfrequency of 
 those sociable meetings, to which Jane had 
 during her happy association with the hos- 
 pitable Amershams become habituated. 
 
 " Where is papa?" said Jane to the ser- 
 vant who ushered her up stairs. 
 
 " The colonel is not come in yet, miss," 
 was the answer. 
 
 Jane staid but a minute in the drawing- 
 room, and then hurried up the precipitous 
 ladder which, in second-rate houses with lofty 
 salons, is dignified with the name of " stairs," 
 to seek refuge in her own accustomed room, 
 where she remained alone and unattended 
 until the process of unpacking the carriage, 
 and getting down Miss Harris, — who almost 
 shrieked at the chance of showing her legs in 
 pirouetting off the step of the rumble ; Miss 
 Harris being rather of the heavy-heeled order 
 of Christians ; to witness which disembarka- 
 tion of the baggage, sundry little boys, and 
 one or two " children of a larger growth," in 
 the shape of men and women, drew them- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 139 
 
 selves up, near and round about the door of 
 the colonel's residence. And this circum- 
 stance (one of every-day occurrence) cer- 
 tainly does afford matter for speculation. 
 Such things happen nowhere out of England, 
 rarely out of London ; — but so it is, that a 
 man cannot call a hackney-coach from a 
 stand and get into it, without attracting an 
 assembly of spectators ; a carriage driving up 
 to a house, transfixes to the spot the occu- 
 pants of the trottoir, who remain staring, and 
 wondering, and waiting, to see a dandy lord, 
 or a dowdy dowager, make the brief trajet 
 from the steps of the equipage to those of 
 the hall. 
 
 They who have suddenly returned to an 
 empty house, from one full of all possible 
 agremens, need not be awakened to a sense 
 of poor Jane's situation. Even the unusual 
 absence of the generally- officious Smylar, 
 added to her dissatisfaction ; inasmuch as, 
 besides the amusement which, in spite of 
 her ordinary dislike of her, her flippant 
 descriptions of " things in general" afforded 
 her, the circumstance of her non-appearance 
 seemed to a certain extent to justify the 
 
140 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 apprehensions which she had previously en- 
 tertained, that she was destined shortly to 
 assume a new character in the establishment. 
 Under these circumstances it is not to be 
 wondered at, that Jane felt a sinking in her 
 heart, and anxiety of mind which only found 
 relief in tears. 
 
 While the poor girl remained in this state 
 of agitation, the gallant and disagreeable 
 colonel was in consultation with his intended 
 connexion, Sir George Grindle, who was 
 nearly as nervous as Jane herself, lest by 
 some unforeseen accident or incident, the 
 golden opportunity of repairing his circum- 
 stances should be lost, and he therefore re- 
 solved scarcely to lose sight of Bruff, during 
 the brief period which was to intervene, as 
 Carey says, 
 
 " between 
 
 The Saturday and Monday," 
 
 and such was the gracefulness and plausibi- 
 lity of the worthy baronet's conversation and 
 manner, that as the time approached for the 
 introduction of the principal, the distinguished 
 officer became gradually more and more de- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 141 
 
 lighted with the projected union between 
 the families ; which nevertheless seemed to 
 threaten all parties concerned with more 
 or less misery and distress in their different 
 degrees. 
 
 Having completed her descent from the 
 hinder part of the carriage, Miss Harris 
 having moreover ascertained that the par- 
 cels, and boxes, and trunks, &c. were safely 
 arrived, that modest, retiring young person, 
 the very model of a lady's maid, waited on 
 Jane to take her orders with regard to dress- 
 ing, inasmuch as the day was waning, and 
 the colonel was expected home to dinner. 
 Still Mrs. Smylar did not make her appear- 
 ance, and Jane, magnifying all her fears as 
 time wore on, inquired where that usually 
 bustling and officious gentlewoman was. 
 
 She was out, but expected home before 
 dinner-time. 
 
 Jane felt what vulgar people call " above" 
 asking any more questions on the subject; 
 but there was something in the expected 
 date of Mrs. Smylar's return, too sympa- 
 thetic with that of the colonel to please 
 
142 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 her, or even tranquillize her apprehensions ; 
 and before she did go to dress, she had firmly 
 made up her mind, that she must have been 
 sent for to hear the announcement of her 
 father's marriage, or perhaps to be an early 
 witness of the domestic happiness which its 
 previous celebration had secured to the par- 
 ties concerned. Nor was it till long after 
 dinner that she became fully aware of the 
 real state of the case, except, indeed, that 
 the absence from table of the dreaded 
 object, satisfied her that the worst she 
 had anticipated had not actually taken 
 place. 
 
 Thus encouraged, she inquired after the 
 lady, of her father, who chuckled and gave 
 one of his significant looks and said, she was 
 out upon business, shopping, and doing little 
 odd jobs : and then the distinguished officer 
 chuckled again. 
 
 His reception of Jane was more than 
 usually cordial, and at dinner — a meal to 
 which he devoted all his energies — he talked 
 infinitely more than was his wont. Of course, 
 while the servants remained in waiting, nei- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 143 
 
 ther she could ask, nor lie impart, that which 
 she most longed to hear. 
 
 " Hope you didn't misbehave, Miss Jenny, 
 at the Amershams ?" said the colonel. 
 
 " I think not," said Jane ; " if I"— 
 
 "That'll do— that'll do," interrupted her 
 father. " Give Miss Bruff some champagne 
 — sweet of course, Jane — eh ! it will do you 
 good after your drive — eat luncheon — eh ?" 
 
 " No," said Jane, " I had no appetite for 
 luncheon ; parting with friends like the Amer- 
 shams, is not likely, to mend my spirits or—-" 
 
 —"That'll do," said Bruff; " bore coming 
 home — eh? Dull work in Harley-street with 
 papa — however, that's not for long." 
 
 And so by degrees the dialogue assumed 
 a business air ; and by the time the dessert 
 was put down, and Bruff and his daughter 
 were left alone, their mutual explanations 
 came in, just in their proper place and season. 
 
 " Jenny," said the colonel, filling Jane's 
 glass with claret and his own with port, 
 " your health, Jenny — glad to see you, my girl 
 — health and happiness to you :" saying which, 
 he took her hand and kissed it. 
 
 Jane was so overcome by this very unex- 
 
144 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 pected mark of kindness that her eyes tilled 
 with tears. 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff, " don't 
 cry, that's silly— what you have come up 
 about is no crying matter." 
 
 " I am only too happy," said Jane, " to 
 receive any mark of your affection, my dear 
 father, now — " 
 
 " That'll do," interrupted Bruff as usual ; 
 " but tell me — to be sure you are not over- 
 wise — not what I call long-sighted — have 
 you any guess — any suspicion why I sent for 
 you ?" 
 
 " No," said Jane ; " all I thought about it 
 was, that as it was your wish that I should 
 come, it was my duty to obey." 
 
 "That'll do, my girl," said the colonel; 
 " stick to that notion and we shall agree 
 capitally — do as I bid you, and I shall never 
 complain of your conduct — rely upon that" 
 
 " And I," said Jane, " have such confi- 
 dence in your goodness, that I am sure you 
 will never bid me do that which I cannot do 
 agreeably to myself." 
 
 " Ah !" said Bruff, " that, Jenny, is quite 
 another affair, because I might require you 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 145 
 
 to do some things which you might not like. 
 However, in the present instance, what I 
 have to ask is no great matter." 
 
 " Well, what is it, papa ?" said Jane, rather 
 comforted by the way in which the sacrifice 
 at hand was characterized. 
 
 " Why, Jenny," said the colonel, " as I grow 
 older, I feel the want of a head to my estab- 
 lishment." 
 
 — " Ye-s," said Jane, tremblingly. 
 
 " I find that without a lady at the head 
 (or at the side as she best chooses) of my 
 table, things go wrong — and I can't re- 
 ceive lady visiters — and — so — you won't be 
 angry — " 
 
 — " No, no," said Jane. 
 
 " I have sent for you — " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I have sent for you to do the honours of 
 a little dinner which I give on Monday." 
 
 The relief which this, so different an an- 
 nouncement from that which she had antici- 
 pated, afforded to the anxious daughter, is 
 indescribable. 
 
 " Oh !" cried she, " I shall be too happy 
 and too delighted." 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel ; 
 " I relied upon your being here, so I wrote 
 ■ — at least Mrs. Smylar did, in your name — 
 to ask old Lady Gram and Miss Pheezle, 
 and they are coming — and our old friend the 
 doctor. And — then — let me see — oh — Sir 
 George Grindle, and perhaps his son or sons, 
 and I'll see if I can pick up Tom Jaccus, who 
 will sing and play, and make a fool of himself 
 in the evening." 
 
 " All this sounds very gay for you, my dear 
 father," said Jane, who saw nothing indicative 
 of Mrs. Smylar's promotion ; " but who is 
 Sir George Grindle — have I ever seen him 
 here?" 
 
 " No," said Bruff, " no — not here — of course 
 you must have met him about, because he is 
 every where — he is an exceedingly agreeable 
 man — like myself, a widower — and — a great 
 friend of mine — I want you to like him — 
 very much indeed." 
 
 " I am sure," said Jane, " any friend of 
 yours — " 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff. " And 
 so you see there is the whole of my plot 
 against you? 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 147 
 
 This Jane, with all her apparent simpli- 
 city, and what her unpleasant parent called 
 " know-nothingness," did not exactly believe. 
 In the first place, at that season of the year, 
 Colonel Bruff would not give a dinner with- 
 out some specific object. In the next place, 
 if that specific object had not been somehow 
 connected with herself, she would not have 
 been sent for ; inasmuch as notwithstanding 
 all that Bruff said about female society, he 
 had given half-a-dozen small dinners to 
 men, and never cared for a lady, or ever 
 thought of sending for his daughter ; and 
 therefore, however relieved from her worst 
 fears, the young lady felt perfectly assured 
 that something " more was meant than met 
 the ear." 
 
 "lam all obedience," said Jane, " and will 
 behave my very best." 
 
 " That'll do," said Bruff. 
 
 " And then," continued she, " T may write 
 to Emma to say she may expect me back on 
 Tuesday, because their great county-ball will 
 be—" 
 
 — " No, no," said Bruff, " that won't do— 
 I shall want you much longer than that — 
 h2 
 
148 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 I shall have more dinners — and you can 
 always have balls yourself in the season — 
 and — no — no — if the Amershams wish for 
 your society, they must come to you — eh ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Jane, " but this is not the 
 season for balls — nor for dinners — and — " 
 
 — " That'll do— that'll do," said the colo- 
 nel ; " we'll talk that over to-morrow ; but, 
 in the meanwhile, I want you to like the 
 Grindles — excellent people ; Sir George quite 
 a trump. However, tell me, who have you 
 had at the Amershams ?" 
 
 " A very agreeable party," said Jane ; and 
 in her mind's eye was conjured up the gay 
 and jovial circle, where care or sorrow never 
 joined in the melee. 
 
 " Beaux, I suppose, in plenty," said the 
 colonel, filling his glass. " Lost your heart 
 yet?— eh?— no." 
 
 " Indeed—" 
 
 " That'll do— that'll' do," said Bruff ; " so 
 much the better — I hope you have it now — 
 hope you'll lose it soon." 
 
 Then flashed into Jane's mind the dreadful 
 truth — not, however, after all, the most 
 dreadful one ; for the Smylar business was 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 149 
 
 the point of horror — to become the daughter- 
 in-law of the tawdry, trumpery squeezed-in 
 and poked-out veteran doll, at once the un- 
 virtuous menial and virtual mistress of the 
 house, and (in the authoritative sense of the 
 word — at least) of its master, would have 
 been more than she could endure; but the 
 next degree in the scale of misery, seemed 
 to be indicated by her father's observation as 
 to the disposition of her affections. 
 
 Now we have strong evidence — the strong- 
 est that the sternest judge can require — the 
 ingenuous declaration of a girl like Jenny 
 Bruff — that Miles Blackmore had never 
 established any serious influence over her, or 
 touched her heart ; and, excepting Miles 
 Blackmore, there was no man at the Amer- 
 shams who, at any period of the visit, ever 
 approached to any thing beyond an ordinary 
 acquaintance with her. As has been before 
 remarked, her sweet, playful, yet ladylike 
 manner, engaged and enchained all who 
 knew her; yet, from the unaffected gene- 
 rality of her kindness, none but the errantest 
 coxcomb in the world would have ventured 
 to attribute to himself that which, to the 
 h 3 
 
150 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 experienced eye and well-regulated mind, 
 was evidently the grace of good-breeding and 
 sweetness of disposition. 
 
 " I think," said Bruff, " I think— you will 
 like my friends — my new friends the Grin- 
 dies — Sir George is of a good family, and an 
 old baronet." 
 
 Jane, taking the antiquity of the baronetcy 
 as the standard of Sir George's standing in 
 life, merely nodded her head in acquiescence. 
 
 " He is prepared to admire you" said 
 Bruff. 
 
 The word preparation sounded odd, consi- 
 dering she was not conscious of ever having 
 seen him. 
 
 " And — even," said Bruff, " if he should 
 look in this evening, which is not improba- 
 ble, you must make yourself amiable. He is 
 a man of the world, and all that sort of 
 thing, so none of your awkward speeches, if 
 you please ; and, above all, don't affect to be 
 shocked — " 
 
 " Really, my dear father, I — " 
 
 "That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff; "I 
 don't know that he will look in; but if he 
 does— eh?— " 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 151 
 
 U I think it is time for me to go," said 
 Jane. 
 
 To which her father, who had been coun- 
 selled by Mrs. Smylar to try the " leading" 
 rather than the " driving " system with Jane 
 upon the present occasion, (Mrs. Smylar 
 having, with her natural sharpness, or tact, 
 or cunning, or whatever it might be called, 
 convinced herself that Jenny, in spite of her 
 quiet, unassuming manner and bearing, was 
 by no means the " silly child " the colonel 
 set her down for), immediately assented, and 
 pulling the bell-rope, ordered lights up stairs, 
 and in a few minutes Jane retired to the 
 small half-dusty, half-dusky back drawing- 
 room, convinced that she was destined to be 
 the future wife of Sir George Grindle, whose 
 chiefest claim to her affection was founded 
 upon the remoteness of his creation. 
 
 Harley-street houses, taking the general 
 run of them, are not furnished with what 
 used to be called back-stairs, but which have 
 latterly been called secondary staircases. 
 Now it so happened, that in Bruff's house 
 this almost indispensable feature did exist, 
 and scarcely had Jane thrown herself upon 
 h 4 
 
152 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 the cottoned-up sofa, to think and ruminate 
 upon her present position, before x Mrs. 
 Smylar, insinuating herself through the back- 
 room, made her appearance in the dining- 
 parlour. 
 
 Bruff was rather startled at her appear- 
 ance, and not quite pleased ; for the gallant 
 and disagreeable officer, however much he 
 was really governed by his housekeeper, was 
 exceedingly desirous that Jane should not be 
 aware of the extent of her influence. Of 
 course it was wholly out of the question that 
 Jane should return to the dining-room ; but 
 some servant might come in. Even Sir 
 George Grindle might make his appearance ; 
 and, therefore, when she came waggling her 
 little elderly body close up to him, he seemed 
 rather inclined to check the advance. 
 
 " Never fear, colonel," said she, seeing by 
 the roll of his eye, and hearing by a sort of 
 a snort, which he gave with his nose, that 
 her presence was not altogether agreeable, 
 — " never fear, I won't stop a minute. I 
 haven't seen our Jane yet, and I'll go to her 
 now. But I haven't left a secret in Miss 
 Harris's whole mind. As I told you, my 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 153 
 
 coffee and curacoa have done it. I know 
 every thing. Jane is heart-whole. There 
 was a Mr. Miles Blackmore down at the 
 Amershams', and Harris sa) r s every body 
 thought he was over head and ears. Don't 
 you see, colonel — " 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel. 
 " Well, and who is Miles Blackmore ?" 
 
 " A gentleman of good fortune," said 
 Smylar, " and all that ; but Harris knows 
 that Jane cares no more for him than she 
 does for any body else." 
 
 " That'll do," said the colonel ; " she will 
 never care for any body. Silly girl. How- 
 ever, she seems well inclined at least to 
 listen to my proposal. She knows nothing 
 about it — nothing about the person to be 
 produced. But it will all depend upon you. 
 You can work the matter well." 
 
 " Any thing I can do," said Smylar, " I 
 will. The moment you tell me she is aware 
 of the real object, then I will come in as we 
 proposed, with a flourishing description of 
 his fine qualities and personal pretensions." 
 
 " Ah," said the colonel, " but hadn't you 
 better wait till you have seen him ?" 
 h 5 
 
154 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said Smylar. " I know 
 enough. You have given me the outline, I 
 can finish the sketch, and I think you ought 
 to be rather obliged to me for finding out so 
 soon that we have no predilection to contend 
 with." 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel. 
 
 " One glass of claret — eh, Smylar ? Do 
 you good." 
 
 " No, colonel," said Smylar. " After coffee 
 and chasse I don't think it correct ; besides, 
 I had better go up stairs and present myself 
 with all due humility to my young mistress." 
 
 " Your mistress !" said the colonel, giving 
 Mrs. Smylar a half-friendly and half-reproach- 
 ful poke in the side. 
 
 " You are a sad creature, colonel," said 
 Mrs. Smylar, giving him a gentle pat on the 
 side of his head in return. " I will take one 
 glass of wine — only do make haste, for I — " 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff. " Here, 
 this is a clean glass. Claret ?" 
 
 " No," said Smylar, " sherry, sherry — but 
 I'll take it in a claret glass." 
 
 The colonel filled her a bumper ; she raised 
 it to her lips with one hand, the other being 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 155 
 
 engaged by the colonel, who considered it 
 necessary to press it, as a mark of his grati- 
 tude for the lady's exertions in the character 
 of spy upon the actions and affections of his 
 charming, amiable daughter. 
 
 The glass was deposited upon the table, 
 and Mrs. Smylar was preparing for one or two 
 more observations upon things in general, 
 when the sound of a carriage rapidly driven 
 to the house-door, and suddenly " pulled up," 
 was followed by a thundering peal upon 
 the knocker, which in the brown-paper-and- 
 paste habitations of that quarter made the 
 edifice shake, and was heard in every part 
 of the building, 
 
 " Up stairs, down stairs, 
 And in my lady's chamber." 
 
 Smylar was caught. To fly was useless — 
 the hall as it was called was filled with servants, 
 and the retreat by the back-stairs was entirely 
 cut off. Footsteps were heard close at hand. 
 
 " By Jove it's Sir George !" said the colo- 
 nel ; " they'll show him in here." 
 
 " Trust to me!" said Smylar, with a melo- 
 dramatic air; and in one instant she was 
 h6 
 
156 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 lost to sight behind one of the dining-room 
 window-curtains. The trick was not, how- 
 ever, executed with as much theatrical skill 
 or success as might have been anticipated ; 
 for the servants had left the chair in the 
 recess of the window behind the drapery, 
 which the enterprising Smylar in her energe- 
 tic activity unfortunately upset, and notwith- 
 standing that her temper was sufficiently elas- 
 tic to permit her to remain, as Pope says, 
 
 " Mistress of herself though china fall," 
 
 she did not quite so philosophically endure 
 the sharp bruise which she received upon 
 one of her spider-like ankles from the more 
 sternly resisting mahogany, and it required the 
 strongest efforts of her philosophy to remain 
 where she was. 
 
 As Bruff had foreseen, Sir George Grindle 
 was announced, and with an air and manner 
 much more juvenile than those of either of 
 his sons, seated himself in the chair opposite 
 to the colonel, which had been so recently 
 vacated by Jane, — much, it must be confessed 
 to the horror of the gallant officer, whose 
 apprehensions of what the worthy baronet 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 357 
 
 might say, while the grand inquisitor was 
 behind the curtain, were of the most serious 
 character ; and when Sir George refused his 
 host's invitation to go up stairs and see Jane, 
 on the ground that he had some few things 
 to talk over previously, he became infinitely 
 more fidgetty. He saw with dismay his visiter 
 help himself to a huge glass of sherry, having 
 selected Jane's untouched goblet, apparently 
 determined to have a parley ; and when he 
 considered that in addition to the certainty 
 that Smylar must hear all that was said, 
 there was a chance that Sir George might, 
 en passant, open the curtain behind which the 
 fair inquisitor was hidden, his " last state was 
 less gracious than the first." In fact, the 
 positive and probable evils of her conceal- 
 ment rendered him almost unconscious of 
 the exordium of Sir George's speech, his 
 faculty of hearing being mainly exerted in 
 ascertaining whether Smylar's breathing could 
 be heard, sharpened by the recollection that 
 she was labouring under a cold, and a conse- 
 quent apprehension that she might happen 
 to sneeze. 
 
 " Now, my dear colonel," said Sir George, 
 
158 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 coaxing his chair up to the table, "just listen, 
 Here we are — snug — tiled, as we masons say 
 — you are a mason ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Bruff, exceedingly fidgetty, 
 " — an old mason." 
 
 " Well then," said Sir George, " you know 
 what the great secret is — eh ?" 
 
 " That'll do — that'll do," said the conscious 
 and terrified colonel. " You have named 
 masonry — but — " 
 
 " No, no," said Sir George, " I don't care 
 about masonry, because you know, my dear 
 friend, in point of fact — " 
 
 " Never mind the fact," said the colonel, 
 stopping him ; " take some more sherry, and 
 let us go up stairs." 
 
 " Wait a moment," answered Sir George ; 
 " here we are, tete-a-tete, toe to toe ; no eye 
 to watch ; no ear to listen ; and, therefore, 
 as I said when I talked about masonry, and 
 being tiled, I want just to make a confidence 
 with respect to George, which I think due 
 to you under the circumstances." 
 
 " My dear friend," said the colonel, " I am 
 so entirely convinced and satisfied with your 
 perfect integrity — eh? — and all that sort of 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 159 
 
 thing — that really at this stage of the busi- 
 ness I do not require one word more." 
 
 " But," exclaimed the baronet, " this is 
 the particular and precise stage of the busi- 
 ness at which the communication ought to be 
 made; and rely upon it, colonel, there is 
 nothing like candour ; concealment is always 
 mean, as well as dangerous." 
 
 Now in that axiom the gallant and dis- 
 agreeable officer, no doubt, would at any 
 other period of his life have fully concurred ; 
 but at a moment when under peculiar cir- 
 cumstances the candour of one person and 
 the concealment of another, might in con- 
 nexion produce some untoward results, he 
 certainly wished to hear as little as possible 
 of Sir George Grindle's otherwise interesting 
 detail. 
 
 "That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff; "help 
 yourself to some more sherry, and let us go." 
 
 " My dear colonel," said Sir George, " you 
 are positively inhospitable. I dined early 
 and in a hurry, and I want a glass or two of 
 your excellent wine, to brace me up for the 
 first interview with my future daughter-in- 
 law. Don't you find now and then that you 
 
160 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 want some little stimulus to action ? By Jove 
 I do." 
 
 " Ha, ha !" said Bruff, pushing away his 
 plate and his glasses, washing out his mouth 
 for the third time, and rubbing and scrubbing 
 himself with his napkin, all these being 
 merely signals for departure repeated. Not 
 a bit of it ; Sir George was literally anchored, 
 to the horror of the colonel, and every drop 
 of wine he swallowed seemed to add to his 
 anxiety. 
 
 " I say, colonel," said Sir George, " you 
 haven't yet shown me your factotum." 
 
 " No, no," said Bruff, " it's— that is it's — 
 eh ? — that'll do." 
 
 " It," said Sir George, " what do you mean 
 by it? I mean the lively lady — the — eh, 
 colonel? — the fair housekeeper — what do 
 you call her? — Mrs. — what the deuce is her 
 name ? — with the eyes and the curls — " 
 
 "The — the, — " said Bruff, "your house- 
 keeper — eh ?" 
 
 " No, my dear friend, your housekeeper," 
 said Sir George. " Don't deny the fact ; 
 and, above all, don't call her ' it.' I give you 
 my word your account of her — her — her — 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 161 
 
 Oh,- Sraylar ; that ever I should forget her 
 name — and such a name ! — I must see her 
 to-night ; because, nearly as we are about to 
 be connected, I hope I am interested in every 
 thing concerned with your establishment." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! that'll do," said the colonel. 
 
 "Come, come, colonel, she is pretty," said 
 Sir George. 
 
 " Why, why," said Bruff, and casting his 
 eyes towards the window-curtain behind which 
 she was eclipsed, he saw it waggle, " I — must 
 say — she is very pretty." 
 
 " And a great comfort to you, in her way," 
 said Sir George. 
 
 " Yes," said Bruff. " A faithful servant is 
 always a great comfort to any body." 
 
 " Ah," said the baronet, " but from what 
 you hinted to me — " 
 
 "That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff, "no 
 tales out of school." 
 
 " No," replied Sir George, " but we are in 
 school now, and that is the reason, as you 
 made no scruple to tell me certain particulars 
 with regard to this spider-brusher of yours — " 
 
 Bruff coughed, and the window-curtain 
 waggled exceedingly. 
 
162 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " I wished to tell you of a little affair of 
 George's ; of course entirely between our- 
 selves — he has behaved very fairly and hon- 
 ourably about it — but it should be kept a 
 profound secret, entre nous" 
 
 What to do at this particular moment 
 puzzled BrufF most seriously. To permit Sir 
 George to explain matters " limited to two," 
 within ear-shot of the wily housekeeper, was 
 ruin. To affect sudden illness, which might 
 induce his persevering guest to ring the bell 
 and call for assistance, seemed to be the most 
 likely mode of avoiding the communication 
 which he seemed thoroughly determined to 
 make. Still, however, he delayed the " ex- 
 plosion" to the latest possible moment, in 
 hopes that he might still contrive to get rid 
 of him playfully, and so prevent any unneces- 
 sary confusion, which might have the effect 
 of alarming Jane. 
 
 " You see, my dear colonel," continued the 
 worthy baronet, " youth is full of indiscretion 
 — naturally so. Old heads upon young 
 shoulders are objects of much greater scarcity 
 than young heads upon old ones — we all 
 know that by experience. Even you your- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 163 
 
 self, as you were saying the other night — 
 you—" 
 
 "That'll do- that'll do," said Bruff; "I 
 remember I told you some particular points 
 of my early life." 
 
 " That affair in Canada," said Sir George. 
 
 "Yes, yes — about the fox-hunting," said 
 Bruff. 
 
 " Not a bit about fox-hunting," exclaimed 
 the baronet ; " the history of the ladder, and 
 the waterfall, and the girl turning round and 
 saying, * Yes, captain, you — ' " 
 
 — "That'll do— that'll do, Sir George," 
 again interposed the gallant colonel, con- 
 tinuously stimulated in his exertions to stop 
 his friend's tongue, by the waggling of the 
 curtain, which increased proportionably with 
 the disclosures of the colonel's youthful vaga- 
 ries. 
 
 " And the mistake of the room," said Sir 
 George, filling himself another glass of sherry, 
 and cracking a biscuit into halves with the 
 determined air of a man resolved to sit, " and 
 the young lady's dialogue with the looking- 
 glass, and the noise, and the — " 
 
164 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 — " There, there," said Bruff, " never mind 
 all that." 
 
 " I had no idea, my dear colonel," said Sir 
 George, "that you were sore upon these 
 points — you certainly haven't given up your 
 pranks — eh ? — Mrs. Smylar — come, come, no 
 tricks upon travellers — I must have a peep 
 at the housekeeper this very night." 
 
 At this juncture, the "housekeeper" her- 
 self, poked her head from between the cur- 
 tains, and motioned with her hand to the 
 colonel to take away his friend. 
 
 Bruff saw the indication, and nodded assent 
 — Sir George saw the nod. 
 
 " My dear colonel," said the baronet, " what 
 the deuce are you nodding at — eh ?" 
 
 " Not nodding," said Bruff, " it is a sort 
 of affection of the head to which I am sub- 
 ject, if I remain too long in a dining-room 
 after dinner — the smell of the meat — the 
 wine — " 
 
 "Well," said Sir George, " let us go up 
 stairs ; but before we go — it won't take five 
 minutes to tell you the secret which you 
 ought to know, and which I repeat, in justice to 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 165 
 
 George, you should understand, it is by his de- 
 sire I impart. Some two or three years ago — " 
 
 " My dear Sir George," said Bruff, resolved, 
 sink or swim, that Mrs. Smylar should not 
 get a hold of him, by being made mistress of 
 this mysterious affair, " I feel very ill — very 
 ill indeed—" 
 
 And suiting the word to the action, he 
 threw himself back in his chair and gave a 
 huge grunt, which terrified his guest, who 
 rang the bell violently. In an instant the 
 butler made his appearance, in another mi- 
 nute came a footman. 
 
 " Your master is taken suddenly ill," said 
 Sir George ; " is he subject to this sort of 
 thing ?" 
 
 " No, sir," said the butler, " I never saw 
 ■ — eh — dear — " 
 
 " Let me throw some water in his face," 
 said Sir George, forthwith flinging over his 
 ample countenance and waistcoat the con- 
 tents of an overflowing tumbler. 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel, 
 shaking his head and ears like an unponded 
 poodle. 
 
 " Run for Mr. Phlebot, James," said the 
 
166 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 butler to the footman, " let him bring his 
 lancelots — and call Mrs. Smylar — and mind 
 Miss isn't frightened — and — " 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff, forced 
 to recover ; " I am all quite well again — 
 — quite well — there, go — go away — get 
 coffee up stairs — tell Miss Bruff we are 
 coming." 
 
 " Hadn't he better get the medical man ?" 
 asked Sir George. 
 
 " No, no," said the colonel, " that'll do — 
 that'll do — there go — go — say we shall be up 
 directly — don't say any thing to Miss Bruff 
 of my illness." 
 
 And thus directed the man retired. 
 
 " You say," said Sir George, with real 
 solicitude, " you are rather subject to these 
 attacks." 
 
 " Not often," said Bruff, " only when 
 the room gets close and the atmosphere 
 heated—" 
 
 " By Jove !" exclaimed the active baronet, 
 leaping from his chair, " I'll open the win- 
 dow — the room is hot — that's the best thing 
 upon earth — " 
 
 M No, no," exclaimed Bruff, " don't let in 
 7 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 167 
 
 the London air — oh, no — not that window — 
 up stairs — " 
 
 " Well, well," said the baronet, " we'll just 
 undraw the curtains — that will make a vast 
 difference in the climate, without any chance 
 of mischief." 
 
 Saying which, the worthy gentleman 
 whisked away the crimson drapery and exhi- 
 bited to his wondering eyes, the exemplary 
 Mrs. Smylar, seated on the chair before men- 
 tioned, with her face buried in her hands, a 
 position which she had chosen upon the 
 ostrich-like principle of security. 
 
 " Halloo, colonel !" cried Sir George ; 
 " what, have I unearthed your fox ? I beg 
 a thousand pardons for poaching, but really 
 —is— this— eh? Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 " Smylar," said the colonel, " beat a retreat 
 — run for your life." 
 
 " Mrs. Smylar," said Sir George, " down 
 with those fair hands, and permit me to make 
 myself known to you." 
 
 " Sir," said Mrs. Smylar, " you are a gen- 
 tleman — " 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel ; 
 
168 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " get along with you — accidents will happen 
 in the best-regulated families." 
 
 " Coffee is ready up stairs, sir," said the 
 butler, throwing open the door at the same 
 moment, and thus adding a fourth to the 
 somewhat whimsical group. 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel. 
 
 " This is most painful," said Mrs. Smylar, 
 melting into tears, which might have pro- 
 duced a sympathetic weeping on the part of 
 the tender-hearted baronet, had not the 
 butler wound up the scene, by saying, in a 
 tone of the greatest satisfaction at having 
 found the housekeeper in due season, 
 
 " Mrs. Smylar, if you please, I want the 
 sugarcandy." 
 
 This was too much for Sir George, who 
 burst into a loud fit of laughter, under cover of 
 which Mrs. .Smylar rushed out of the room, 
 looking pitchforks and marline-spikes at the 
 butler : first, for intruding himself at so critical 
 a moment ; and secondly, for bringing the 
 sensibility and sentiment of the other actors 
 in the farce down to the matter-of-fact level 
 of a jar of sugarcandy. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 169 
 
 This denouement prevented Sir George 
 from making Miss Bruff's acquaintance that 
 evening. It seemed that having waited much 
 longer than she had expected to wait for her 
 father, and hearing that he had company, she, 
 tired with her journey and the excitement of 
 parting with her favourite friends, had retired 
 to rest. Having discovered this fact, and the 
 colonel's drapery having received considerable 
 damage by the active application of the resto- 
 rative water, the coffee was ordered down to 
 the dining-room, the atmosphere of which no 
 longer was found oppressive by the gallant 
 host, who, finding himself in a scrape, bound 
 the baronet down in a promise to say nothing 
 of what had occurred ; and as to the butler, 
 at the period of his arrival, the little woman 
 had so far emerged from her concealment, 
 that but for the laughter of the Marplot, 
 nobody would have thought or suspected that 
 she was doing more than receiving the com- 
 mands of her master. 
 
 While all this performance was going on 
 below stairs, the thoughts and reflections of 
 Jane were, as may easily be conceived, any 
 thing but agreeable or consolatory ; nor did 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
170 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 the unusual and protracted absence of Mrs. 
 Smylar, whose officious activity near her had 
 always hitherto been unpleasantly remarkable 
 to her, conduce to calm or soothe her appre- 
 hension for the future. According to Mrs. 
 Smylar's programme, she h&d feted Miss Harris 
 with a regale of coffee and cura^oa ; but after 
 that she had disappeared, having, as we know 
 — but as Jane did not — proceeded to commu- 
 nicate to the colonel all the intelligence she 
 had extorted or expressed from his daughter's 
 maid. 
 
 Jane could not help fancying that Mrs. 
 Smylar was engaged with her father ; and not 
 being aware of the cause of her involuntary 
 detention, felt naturally exceedingly annoyed 
 and agitated, still fearing that the event she 
 had so much dreaded had actually taken 
 place, and that Monday was the day intended 
 for the first public avowal of the fact. 
 
 When women are distressed or pleased, it 
 is a wonderful relief to them to sit down and 
 write Ion of letters about themselves and their 
 feelings ; and although, it being Saturday 
 night, her letter could not be dispatched 
 before the Monday morning, Jane " did her- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 171 
 
 self good," as the children say, by filling four 
 sides of paper with beautiful parallel lines, 
 of about three words each, in which she 
 expressed to Mrs. Amersham the state of 
 perilous uncertainty in which she was living ; 
 promising to let her hear more about her 
 views and prospects when she came to know 
 any thing about them herself. And this 
 pretty transcript of her thoughts, with two 
 lines of postscript to inquire whether Mr. 
 Blackmore had killed the trout, she carefully 
 folded up and placed in her writing desk — 
 an article of portable furniture which may 
 justly be compared with a powder-magazine, 
 the contents of which a single spark may 
 explode, and a match destroy altogether. 
 
 Sir George, however, carried his point ; 
 which it must be confessed he generally was 
 in the habit of doing, and eventually suc- 
 ceeded in giving his friend a brief but effec- 
 tive outline of the history of his son and the 
 youthful mother of his boy. To us it would 
 be useless, and worse than useless; for be- 
 sides preferring the young lady's version of 
 the story to that of the worthy, yet worldly 
 baronet, his statement, repeated from that of 
 i 2 
 
172 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 his heir, would anticipate certain points of 
 our narrative, which it is important to all 
 parties concerned, to conceal till a more 
 fitting opportunity arrives for their develop- 
 ment. 
 
 It was late before these worthies parted ; 
 for Sir George, with the grace and softness 
 of the new school, retained some of the 
 grosser and more sensual habits of an older 
 one ; and amongst them, a hankering after 
 wine-bibbing, a negative dislike of coffee, 
 and an utter and implacable hatred of tea. 
 To be candid, Bruff's inclinations and pro- 
 pensities were not altogether uncongenial; 
 and, under all the circumstances of Smylar's 
 awkward discovery, had the worthy baronet 
 asked for nectar instead of bran dy-and- water, 
 which (hear it with horror ye modern beaux) 
 he did ask for, he would have procured it 
 for him, so that he might conciliate him, and, 
 above all, keep the little historiette out of 
 the bay-window at White's, of which semi- 
 circular circle Sir George was one of the 
 brightest ornaments. 
 
 It might probably keep the reader up too 
 late if we were even to hint at the proba- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 173 
 
 bility of any recriminatory dialogue between 
 the colonel and Mrs. Smylar, subsequent to 
 the worthy baronet's departure. But certain 
 it is, that whatever opinions Sir George 
 might have formed from his brief initiation 
 into the secrets of Harley-street, 'Bruff was 
 perfectly secure — at least for the present — 
 from the shafts of his wit, or the stings of 
 his satire ; his immediate object was to " put 
 up" Bruff, and to represent, or to misrepre- 
 sent him to his friends and acquaintance, as 
 a distinguished soldier and an agreeable com- 
 panion. In charity, we must imagine that 
 no opportunity could have occurred for an 
 explanation on the part of the colonel to the 
 housekeeper, after Sir George was gone. No 
 doubt, as early as possible next morning, he 
 made a confidence as to his pretended indis- 
 position, which turned out so ill and so con- 
 trary to his expectations. However, she 
 must have been satisfied that the civilian 
 out-generalled the colonel; for he hindered 
 the retreat she was so anxious to make, and 
 actually captured his baggage. 
 
 Leave we for the moment the contending, 
 combining, conflicting, and conjoining parties 
 i3 
 
174 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 to their sweet repose; Jane to dream of 
 Emma Amersham and the trout-fisher; 
 Colonel Bruff of a title for his daughter ; 
 Sir George an extrication from his financial 
 difficulties; and Mrs. Smylar of a bruised 
 ankle, a mahogany chair, and a white jar of 
 sugar-candy. 
 
175 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It is universally remarked by foreigners, and 
 as generally admitted by natives, that a Sun- 
 day in London is one of the dullest imagin- 
 able affairs, more especially out of the season, 
 during which the sun and dust of Hyde 
 Park, or the flirtations of monkeys and the 
 screamings of cockatoos in the Zoological 
 Gardens, attract the " world " to either or 
 both of those fashionable localities. The 
 Sunday which Jane was destined to pass 
 before the appearance of her expected 
 visitors, was to her the dullest she ever 
 remembered. 
 
 On her return from church, the gloom of 
 
 her paternal home, and the stillness of the 
 
 long dull street in which it was located ; the 
 
 closed shutters and newspapered blinds of 
 
 i 4 
 
176 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 the opposite houses ; the silence, broken only 
 by the shrill cry of a milkman, or the unfre- 
 quent rattle of a physician's chariot, attuned 
 her mind to melancholy; and the luncheon 
 which her father, who was engaged more im- 
 portantly at Sir George's, had left her to 
 " enjoy " alone, remained untasted. 
 
 This was, as premeditated, the period at 
 which Mrs. Smylar was to make her ap- 
 proaches, in order to ascertain, as she 
 thought, by her knowledge of life and her 
 theatrical strategy, she should be perfectly 
 able to do, whether Miss Harris's notice of 
 her young lady's views with regard to Mr. 
 Miles Blackmore, were such as that unso- 
 phisticated " young person " apprehended. 
 A platonic affection does not generally enter 
 into the mind or comprehension of a person 
 educated, trained, and practised as Mrs. 
 Smylar, nee Stote, had been ; the thoughts 
 and habits of such people lead them to doubt 
 the possibility of believing the constant asso- 
 ciation of a lady arid gentleman to be the 
 result of a congeniality of pursuits, an accord- 
 ance of taste, or a mere matter of feeling. 
 Mrs. Smylar, having collected from the less 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 177 
 
 acute, and perhaps more sincere Miss Harris, 
 sufficient materials for an examination of her 
 " young lady," felt apprehensive that, after 
 all, the way in which the soubrette put the 
 affair, was merely the consequence of an 
 ignorance of the ways of the world, or, per- 
 haps, the reception literally of what her mis- 
 tress said; — a course of belief, it must be 
 owned, most dangerous to follow; for inge- 
 nuous as girls are naturally, the very spirit 
 and principle of their education, and the 
 formation of their characters, induce hypo- 
 crisy and insincerity. By nature they are 
 the most candid creatures in the world ; but 
 art destroys their minds, as much as the 
 freaks of fashion distort their bodies, until 
 at last their avowed likings and hidden dis- 
 likes, their declared nays, and their reserved 
 yeas — all the fruits of a system — render 
 their thoughts and their words so much at 
 variance, that, to use a very old simile, they 
 remind one of the waterman who, when most 
 skilful, looks one way while he pulls the 
 other. 
 
 Jane was far from all such trickery ; she 
 was as fair in heart as she was in face; as 
 i5 
 
178 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 candid in mind as she was in countenance ; 
 and although unprepared, of course, for 
 Mrs. Smylar's investigation into the state of 
 her feelings, the very openness of her cha- 
 racter and disposition was of itself best cal- 
 culated to counteract and defeat the vulgar 
 nigglings and nibblings of the patched, 
 painted, and periwigged demirep. 
 
 " I can't think, miss," said Smylar, enter- 
 ing the room with a little jerk and wriggle 
 of her painfully screwed-in body, " where 
 your dear 'pa is — he promised to be home by 
 two, and here it is half-past — so I thought I 
 would just come and see whether you liked 
 your luncheon, or had ordered the carriage, 
 or—" 
 
 " No," said Jane ; " after their journey 
 yesterday, I should not venture to have the 
 horses out without papa's leave." 
 
 " Oh, dear," said Smylar, " why not, miss ? 
 the colonel would not care what you ordered, 
 or what you did. I never saw a parent so 
 devoted to a child as he is to you. He used 
 sometimes to scold, I know, and snub, but 
 that is his way. Still I hear — for of course 
 I know nothing but what I do hear — that 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 179 
 
 the way he speaks of you now is something 
 quite charming, and his whole anxiety is to 
 secure your happiness." 
 
 " Well," said Jane, smiling, " I feel I 
 justly deserve his love and solicitude ; for I 
 cannot, during my whole life, charge myself 
 with having consciously incurred his anger 
 or reproof; but I must confess, however 
 affectionate and fond of me he may be, and 
 doubtless is in his heart, his manner towards 
 me when we are alone together, has never 
 proved to our friends or visitors the extent 
 of his good feeling." 
 
 " Ah," said Smylar, " everybody, Miss 
 Jane, is odd at times ; and I am sure I have 
 sometimes cried to hear him say sharp things 
 to you, even before me. But he is quite an 
 altered man — forgive me, Miss Jane — but I 
 must speak the truth, even though it may 
 make you think me vain — for truth is above 
 all things, and before all things — as I remem- 
 ber repeating when a child ; and my dear 
 father — " and here she threw her sparkling 
 dark eyes towards the ceiling, with a sweet- 
 ness of expression which would have done 
 i 6 
 
]80 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 honour to Dunstable, " used to make us 
 recite, 
 
 ' Truth, though sometimes clad 
 
 In painful lustre — yet is always welcome ; 
 Dear as the light that shows the lurking rock, 
 'Tis the fair star, that ne'er into the main 
 Descending, leads us safe through stormy life.' 
 
 I must so far commit myself to your conside- 
 ration, as to confess, whenever taking the 
 colonel's orders for any arrangements in the 
 house, I have invariably sought, in my hum- 
 ble way, to induce him to appreciate your 
 character, and to soften that which, however 
 excellent one knows he is, cannot fail to 
 appear to you, and even those who hear 
 it, something like harshness of language 
 and manner." 
 
 " I am sure," said Jane, feeling the blood 
 mount to her cheeks, and affecting a smile, 
 " I am exceedingly obliged to you for the 
 mediation — I am only sorry you feel that it 
 was required." 
 
 " Don't misunderstand me, Miss," said 
 Smylar ; " my present situation does not per- 
 haps justify the expression of feelings such 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 181 
 
 as I am imbued with — feelings cannot always 
 suit themselves to circumstances. I am sure 
 I meant for the best, and your own conscious- 
 ness of the abruptness to which I allude, 
 proves that I was not wrong in my observa- 
 tion, even if I were in my humble attempts 
 to soften it." 
 
 " My father," said Jane, " seems to have 
 profited by your intervention — he was kinder 
 than ever I remember him, yesterday — so I 
 suppose I am indebted to you for the agree- 
 able change." 
 
 " Me !" said Mrs. Smylar, shaking her 
 poodly head ; " oh, no ; as I have just said, 
 whenever I have an opportunity of recalling 
 you to his mind, and endeavouring to give 
 him a true sense of your goodness and kind- 
 ness, I do it ; but then my opportunities are 
 few ; the colonel, when you are away, lives 
 entirely at his different clubs, and we see but 
 little of him here." 
 
 " Now," said Jane, " as you have been 
 good enough to do me justice with my father, 
 perhaps you will add to the favour by telling 
 me why he has sent for me up to town, to do 
 
182 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 the honours, as he says, of a dinner-party 
 which he gives to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I haven't the slightest idea," said 
 Smylar. " I know thus much — he has 
 made an acquaintance with a Sir George 
 Grindle— " 
 
 " Yes," said Jane, " so he told me yester- 
 day." 
 
 " And Sir George dines here to-morrow," 
 said Smylar ; " and Sir George, I hear, is a 
 most agreeable gentleman. I can't say I 
 ever saw him ; because, although he has 
 called here once or twice, I have never hap- 
 pened to be in the way." 
 
 " My father told me at breakfast," said 
 Jane, " that he was here yesterday evening; 
 and that he could not get rid of him, which 
 accounted for his not coming up stairs to 
 me. 
 
 " It is very likely, Miss," said Smylar ; 
 " there was somebody I know with the colo- 
 nel, and I dare say it might be Sir George. 
 I know coffee was ordered up stairs, and then 
 when the colonel heard that you were gone 
 to bed, it was countermanded, and the colonel 
 7 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 183 
 
 remained with the gentleman, whoever he 
 was, till late." 
 
 " And what have I to do with Sir George 
 Grindle ?" said Jane. " Why was it neces- 
 sary to send for me to do the honours of a 
 man's party ? which this would have been, 
 unless two ladies had been specially invited 
 to break the charm." 
 
 " Why, that," said Smylar, " is more than 
 I can tell. The colonel directed me to write 
 two notes in your name, one to Lady Gramm, 
 and the other to Miss Pheezle, and they are 
 coming. / think it possible that the colonel 
 might have heard something from Mrs. Amers- 
 ham's, which made him hurry you away." 
 
 " What could he hear ?" said Jane. " Mrs. 
 Amersham has been a mother and a sister to 
 me — nobody can feel a sincerer regard or 
 affection for one who is not actually a rela- 
 tion, than she has for me, and has manifested 
 upon every occasion." 
 
 " That's very true, Miss Jane," shaking her 
 curls significantly ; " but might not there be 
 somebody there who — I don't mean to say 
 — because I can know nothing but what I 
 hear—" 
 
184 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " Somebody there !" said Jane, " what do 
 you mean ?" 
 
 " Somebody," said Smylar, " who might 
 perhaps have shown some very particular 
 attention to — " 
 
 " I really do not understand what you are 
 talking of," said Jane, getting angry — as well 
 she might. 
 
 " I mean nothing, Miss Jane," said Smylar ; 
 " only the colonel is very particular, and 
 when there is a large party in a country- 
 house some of the people will talk and make 
 their remarks." 
 
 " And who," said Jane, reddening like 
 fire, " who has made any remarks about me f 
 and if they have, how did you happen to hear 
 of them?" 
 
 " Don't be angry, Miss Jane," said Smylar ; 
 " recollect I was not always what I am." 
 
 This remark set Jane's innocent thoughts 
 flying about oddly. 
 
 " — And I have friends who hear things 
 and see things, and know things; and if I 
 ventured to ask or say any thing, it was all 
 entirely for your good; than which, rely 
 upon it, I have no other object. I did hear 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 185 
 
 — perhaps the colonel may have heard — not 
 that / know that — for how should I ? — that 
 there was one person who naturally enough 
 devoted his attentions most particularly to 
 you. Now mind, Miss Jane — do not betray 
 the confidence with which I speak, and pray 
 do not say one syllable of this to the colonel. 
 I know nothing more." 
 
 " — But I know much more," said Jane ; 
 " that there is not one vestige of truth in 
 any story of the kind — that no one person 
 was more attentive to me there than another 
 — that they are all alike indifferent to me ; 
 and that if my father has been led upon any 
 such misrepresentation to drag me from 
 what is more of a home to me than this 
 house, I have been treated most cruelly 
 and unjustly." 
 
 Smylar had gained her first point ; she had 
 elicited from the lips of the indignant daugh- 
 ter the declaration which she had promised 
 the suspicious father to obtain. The sup- 
 posings and imaginings of Miss Harris, under 
 the influence of kind treatment, were to a 
 certain extent satisfactory, but the avowal of 
 Jane herself was conclusive. 
 
186 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " Dont be angry, my dear Miss Jane," 
 again said the artful minx. " I think your 
 ready compliance with the colonel's wish that 
 you should come home was one cause of his 
 good nature last night, and if you can manage 
 indirectly to make him understand — not for 
 the world letting him know that / have said 
 a syllable about the matter — that any notion 
 he may have got hold of, that your affections 
 have been engaged by any body at Mrs. 
 Amersham's is utterly groundless, I think 
 he will be perfectly happy, and your return 
 to your charming friends will no longer be 
 impeded or delayed." 
 
 A thundering peal at the house-door, here, 
 as it were, opportunely terminated the dia- 
 logue, and Smylar glided through the back 
 drawing-room, begging Miss Jane, if it should 
 be the colonel, not even to hint that she had 
 spoken a word to her on the subject. 
 
 Jane, as the door closed upon the depart- 
 ing housekeeper, was lost in amazement. 
 What could the hint — the question — the re- 
 port mean ? Was Miles Blackmore the man 
 alluded to? — had he himself written or spoken 
 on the subject ? did he really and seriously 
 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 187 
 
 admire her? — did he fancy his affections re- 
 turned ? But if he did, he would be the last 
 man to allude to his own feelings, or what 
 he might have supposed to be hers. Surely 
 Mrs. Amersham could not have so far be- 
 trayed her as to apprize her father of the 
 particularity of Miles's manner towards her, 
 of which we know she herself was not alto- 
 gether unconscious ? That was impossible. 
 She never would have taken such a step 
 without her knowledge. And now, when 
 she was prepared to believe that her father 
 had been somehow and in some degree ap- 
 prised of that which in point of fact had 
 never seriously existed, what was she to do 
 if questioned. To denounce Miles Black- 
 more violently and seriously, was to forfeit 
 his esteem and friendship, which she valued, 
 and lose the charm of his society and con- 
 versation, which she appreciated and enjoyed. 
 To admit her real feelings towards him would 
 be to excite, in a mind like that of her father, 
 a conviction of the existence of that which 
 in truth existed not. 
 
 Little did poor Jane believe or think that 
 at that moment her father had no suspicions, 
 
188 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 no fears, or the slightest possible knowledge 
 of Mr. Miles Blackmore, except those which 
 Mrs. Smylar had herself afforded him, and that 
 the scene in which she had just now so well 
 performed was merely got up to satisfy him, 
 as she had promised to do, that there was 
 nothing like a prior attachment in the way 
 of obstacle to the base bargain which he was 
 about to make, and which Mrs. Smylar, for 
 reasons not even yet quite obvious to the 
 reader, was most particularly anxious he 
 should drive to a conclusion. 
 
 While this part of the play was acting, it 
 is perhaps right that the reader should be 
 told that another portion of the extraordinary 
 performance was in progress (sabbath day as 
 it was), in another part of the metropolis, or 
 rather its suburbs, and which ought here to 
 be mentioned, together with some of the 
 facts that led to it, and the circumstances 
 connected with it. 
 
 This was the day on which (conscien- 
 tiously, as he said) Mr. George Grindle pro- 
 posed to loosen the ties which had for nearly 
 three years bound him to the young and 
 tender mother of his infant child. It was 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 189 
 
 on this day of sanctity and peace that this 
 accomplished youth, the future husband of 
 Miss Jane Bruff, was to prepare the gentle 
 mind of the lovely Ellen for that separation, 
 which if abruptly proposed, or proposed upon 
 the ground of his marriage with another, 
 would have broken her heart — killed her on 
 the spot. It was on this day that the amiable 
 George Grindle was to begin his course of 
 abandoning her — to a certain extent — by re- 
 presenting to her the increase of his embar- 
 rassments and difficulties, and the necessity 
 of making some alteration in the mode of 
 what he familiarly called " carrying on." 
 
 " My dear girl, you look as if you had 
 been crying," said George, as he entered the 
 drawing-room of the villa in which his Ellen 
 was established, and in which he found her 
 nursing her darling boy, endeavouring to 
 attract his attention to the book which lay 
 upon the table by her side, from which book 
 alone she derived hope and consolation. 
 
 " No, not crying, George," said Ellen, " at 
 least not tears of sorrow ; but when I press 
 this darling little fellow to my heart, and 
 
]90 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 read this sacred book of promise, I cannot 
 but feel deeply — " 
 
 " You are an uncommon good girl, Nell," 
 said Mr. George Grindle, " but I don't like 
 weeping — it's out of my way — besides, I say 
 never cry till there's reason for it — perhaps 
 we shall both have to cry in earnest soon." 
 
 " What," said Ellen, " has any thing hap- 
 pened to distress you — to annoy you ? — tell 
 me, George. You look flurried — I am sure 
 something has happened." 
 
 " Why," said George, " ring the bell and 
 send off Tiney, and I'll tell you what I have 
 to say — it is a bit of a bore — but I suppose 
 it will all turn out for the best in the end." 
 
 Poor Ellen, who had become familiarized 
 with the variations of George's countenance, 
 acted upon as it had been during the last two 
 or three years by fluctuations of luck, as it 
 is called — rather perhaps differences in suc- 
 cess — was quite convinced that some misfor- 
 tune had occurred even more important than 
 those which he was in the habit ordinarily of 
 encountering. She did not trust herself to 
 ring for the child's maid to take him away, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 191 
 
 nor did she wish — so closely did she watch 
 and so tenderly attend to every turn of her 
 beloved George's mind and feelings — to risk 
 any annoyance to him, by the affectionate 
 struggle which would most probably take 
 place between her and her dear child upon 
 their sudden and abrupt separation. 
 
 " I'll take him myself," said Ellen. " Won't 
 you kiss dear papa ?" added she, holding her 
 precious burden towards its father. The in- 
 fant, vexed at being thus carried off, refused 
 his usual endearment, and hid his face in his 
 mother's bosom. 
 
 " Naughty child," said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh never mind," said George, in a tone of 
 harshness which he had never before adopted : 
 " carry him off — I hate squalling." 
 
 Had a skilful artist been in the room to 
 have caught the expression of Ellen's coun- 
 tenance, as she glanced her tearful eye to 
 that of George, he might have traced in its 
 momentary gleam not only the anguish of a 
 wounded mother's sweetest, best of feelings, 
 but the conviction that her first suspicion 
 that something dreadful had happened, was 
 but too just. She hurried away. No cry 
 
192 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 was heard — the baby wept, but his sobs were 
 stifled by his mother's care — the mother wept, 
 but her tears dropped silently. 
 
 To say that George was not affected as 
 well as agitated by the task he had under- 
 taken to perform, would be to do him injus- 
 tice. No heart can be so hard — no mind so 
 depraved — as to sever ties like those by which 
 these two had now for nearly three years been 
 bound, without grief, and pain. The child, 
 which in his gay and playful hours George 
 had ridiculed, when speaking to his father of 
 it, as " a pledge," was a pledge. He felt the 
 hold and claim it had upon him ; and who 
 knows that, when he seemed peevishly to 
 desire its removal from the room, his motive 
 might not have been to put out of sight an 
 object which he could not behold without 
 feeling — if he had any feeling — ten thousand 
 additional difficulties in the execution of the 
 design he had projected ? 
 
 When Ellen left him alone, George threw 
 himself upon a sofa, and gazed round the 
 little drawing-room, the scene of many happy 
 hours, embellished too by the pencil of his 
 young and accomplished victim, and a pang 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 193 
 
 of regret struck through his heart — let us 
 hope, not unmixed with repentance. A 
 thousand thoughts — perhaps too much cha- 
 racterized by selfishness, — passed across his 
 imagination, and fickle and flighty as he was, 
 the idea of giving up one whose affection and 
 fidelity he never doubted, and which had 
 never been questioned even by those who, 
 in these days of liberal friendship, might not 
 have abstained from putting them to the test, 
 — agitated and excited him much more than 
 he fancied it would. He knew enough of the 
 character and principles of Ellen, to be sure 
 that when they did part — the last of all 
 events she even could dream of — the separa- 
 tion must be final ; there could be no quali- 
 fication, no medium, no sharing of his affec- 
 tion ; and this truth he felt so deeply that he 
 was driven to a course of proceeding for which 
 his most admiring friends themselves could 
 scarcely be prepared. 
 
 While Ellen was absent (and her absence 
 was protracted in order that she might be 
 enabled to dry the tears which the sharpness of 
 his words and the strange expression of his 
 countenance had caused) her page brought 
 
 vol. I. & 
 
194 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 in and placed upon the table, luncheon : — 
 his favourite little plat was there ; there was 
 the wine he liked, and beside it stood the 
 twin cups, from which ever since they had 
 thus lived and loved, they had drunk and 
 pledged each other. Her little dog came 
 frisking into the room, and barking for joy to 
 see its master, jumped upon his lap, as was 
 its custom. George felt a cold chill come 
 over him as he lifted the affectionate favou- 
 rite from its wonted rest, and placed it on 
 the carpet, as if dreading even to hear the 
 instinctive and familiar evidence of its recog- 
 nition. 
 
 How strangely are we constituted — how 
 inexplicable the feelings and associations by 
 which we are actuated ! — even this heartless 
 man — and how heartless nobody at the mo- 
 ment of which we are now treating knew — 
 felt a touch of nature which neither his own 
 exigencies, the dissipations of society, and the 
 absence of any deep soul-fraught sentiment, 
 could check or control. At this moment, 
 Ellen — and oh ! do not — do not judge her 
 harshly yet — returned to him ; her look was 
 of tender devotion and affectionate sweetness, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 195 
 
 but dimmed and subdued by the conviction 
 that bad tidings were at hand. 
 
 " George, dearest George," said she, seating 
 herself opposite to him, " I know something 
 bad has happened. You have been losing 
 again. Why, why will you play ? you always 
 lose — dearest George, you are careless, 
 thoughtless, every body takes advantage of 
 you." 
 
 " No, no," said George, " my dear girl, I 
 am not so soft as that ; besides, what advan- 
 tage can be taken of a man at a game which 
 nothing but dead cheating can make foul ? 
 and—" 
 
 Here his voice failed him, inasmuch as he 
 knew how soon it would be necessary to un- 
 deceive her as to the real cause of his agita- 
 tion. 
 
 " Come, George," said she, drawing her 
 chair to the table ; " I told them to get your 
 luncheon to-day in time, because you said 
 you should be here punctually." 
 
 " None, Ellen, none," said George ; " give 
 me some wine — I'm not peckish in the least, 
 old woman." 
 
 These little efforts to maintain the " gay," 
 k2 
 
196 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 by little bits of permissible slang, scarcely 
 sufficed to calm Ellen's apprehensions. 
 
 "Only think, George," said Ellen, giving 
 him his wine, and sipping hers, " you will 
 hardly believe it — I have taught our dear 
 little Tiney to say, ' Come home soon, papa,' 
 —I have—" 
 
 " Poor Tiney," said George, swallowing his 
 drink; "ha! ha!" 
 
 " Now, I think," said Ellen, " when I make 
 him say that himself to you, you will perhaps 
 take good advice from so grave a counsellor — 
 moreover he has cut another tooth, and oh ! 
 George, every day he gets more like you." 
 
 " I hope," said George, " for his own sake, 
 that he will not grow up like me ; for Ellen 
 — rely upon it — give me some more wine — 
 rely upon it — I'm not slap up — no — old 
 lady." 
 
 She gave him the wine he asked for — she 
 heard his self-depreciation declared in the 
 language he was jocosely accustomed to use; 
 and although she would have been more 
 delighted by finding him express some deeper 
 interest in their boy, she rallied him upon the 
 announcement of his own demerits. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 197 
 
 " Let him be what you are now," said 
 Ellen, " when time shall have made you what 
 I know you will be hereafter, and I shall be 
 satisfied as to his following in your steps." 
 
 "Hereafter!" muttered George, replacing 
 the cup from which he had drunk upon the 
 table ; " Ellen, that's the word — you have hit 
 it — there is no hereafter for us." 
 
 "George, George!" said Ellen solemnly, 
 placing her hand instinctively upon the holy 
 book in which she had been reading when he 
 arrived, and which still lay on the table. 
 
 " I don't mean that" said George, who 
 began to feel the effects of the wine, of which 
 he had taken, according to the " golden rule" 
 of his peculiar class of dandyism (class B), a 
 very considerable quantity ; " I don't mean 
 that, Ellen — only — only — " 
 
 — " Only what, dearest ?" anxiously asked 
 Ellen. 
 
 " I'm stumped — done — finished — " 
 " What do you mean ?" said Ellen, who 
 saw, through all this affected off-handishness, 
 something really sufficient to justify her ear- 
 lier apprehensions. " What do you mean ?" 
 K 3 
 
198 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " I mean," said he, "I mean — give me — 
 give me some more wine, old woman." 
 
 " George, you have had wine enough," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " Old lady, that's not new," said George ; 
 " give me some more, that I may tell you all 
 — when I am happy I need no wine, but I 
 can't speak in sober sadness." 
 
 " Well," said Ellen ; " but tell me," and 
 this she said while helping him reluctantly 
 to another draught, " tell me what is the 
 extent of your loss — what has so completely 
 overcome you — I never saw you so much 
 affected before." 
 
 " And seldom will see me so again," mut- 
 tered the now half intoxicated man. 
 
 " What — how — speak to me, George — 
 you are ill," said Ellen. 
 
 " Hush, hush, old lady !" almost stam- 
 mered the affianced to the yet unseen Miss 
 Jane Bruff ; " don't cry — don't cry — I can't 
 stand crying — hear me, my pretty Nell — I 
 haven't a shilling left upon earth — and out 
 of this, as the Irishman says, we must go — 
 eh, Nelly ? that's pretty plain." 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 199 
 
 H It is, George," said she, lifting to heaven 
 a pair of eyes which might have " called an 
 angel down ;" — " but—" and she caught his 
 hand in hers, " to me it is nothing — with you 
 and our darling boy what matters it where 
 we go ? — all your difficulties must eventually 
 be overcome, and if they are not, keep your 
 rank and station — be prudent — be entirely 
 what my heart wishes you to be, and hide 
 me in some humbler place than this, to 
 which you will come when the lights of the 
 gay world are out ; and there will I work 
 from morning till night to support myself 
 and our child, and even perhaps be useful to 
 you" 
 
 " Nelly, dearest," said George, " you are a 
 jewel — a regular trump." 
 
 " You know," continued she, seeing that 
 his agitation was somewhat abated, " you 
 know I can draw well and profitably. It is 
 not as if it were music I was to teach, so 
 that I must, either by going out to give 
 lessons, carry your name professionally, or 
 assume another — I can make whatever talent 
 I have for drawing, available in the humblest 
 dwelling; and as for all this sweet pretty 
 k 4 
 
200 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 place, believe me, dearest George, its chiefest 
 attraction is, that I think you like it." 
 
 " In addition to all my other bothers," 
 said George, who, sobered again by the ear- 
 nestness of the sweet girl's devotion, and 
 being more and more convinced than ever, 
 that any proposition tending to a separation 
 would be fatal to her — "in addition to all 
 my other bothers, I begin to think that my 
 father has got scent of our affair — he threw 
 out some hints the day before yesterday, and 
 I know the governor — you don't — but he is 
 the sort of chap that never makes allowances 
 — except small ones in the tin line — but 
 none for little extravagances — give me a 
 little more wine, Nelly, and don't cry." 
 
 Ellen's eyes were riveted on the face of 
 her beloved — she scarcely heard what he 
 said, but what she did hear, she believed. 
 
 " Wine, Nelly, wine," again said he. 
 
 " Dear George," said Ellen, " why drink 
 in this manner ? you never did so before." 
 
 " No matter, old woman," said George ; 
 " I'm thirsty, and I like it, by way of a 
 change." 
 
 " But tell me, dearest," said Ellen, " what 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 201 
 
 do you propose? — what do you wish me to 
 do? — say, and your word is law." 
 
 " Why," replied the amiable young gen- 
 tleman, " I was thinking that in order to get 
 rid of this peering, prying governor of mine, 
 who, if he once takes a thing into his head, 
 will never rest till he has sifted it to the 
 bottom, if you were to go for six months or 
 so, to your mother at Versailles, till I manage 
 so as to prevent his poking about — for he is 
 just the chap, bad as he is himself, to cut me 
 off with a shilling — inasmuch, Nelly, as our 
 lands are neither broad nor extensive." 
 
 " Go !" said Ellen, " tell me where to go — 
 tell me how to act, so that it shall be for 
 your good or advantage, and your wish shall 
 be obeyed. My mother, as you call her, is, 
 as you know, my mother-in-law ; and as you 
 therefore know, I am not tied to her by the 
 affections which bind — ought to bind — and 
 do bind all children, except very bad ones, 
 to their parents ; but only show me, my dear 
 George, that it will be for your benefit — 
 that it will either protect you from the anger 
 of your father or improve your finances, that 
 I should go to her for the next half — aye, 
 k5 
 
202 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 dearest, the next whole year, tearing and 
 wounding to my heart as it must be — I will 
 go — go all over the world with you to secure 
 my own happiness— all over the world with- 
 out you, to ensure yours." 
 
 " Why, Nelly," said George, " that is un- 
 common kind ; and I'm sure no fellow living 
 can be more grateful than I am — only you 
 see when things go cross, one oughtn't to 
 feel so deeply — and I give you my honour, 
 that all I hope is, if you do what I ask, you 
 won't care so much about me ; for upon my 
 life I don't deserve half so much goodness." 
 
 " What you may think your deserts are, 
 George," said Ellen, " or what the rest of 
 the world may think, my faith in you is as 
 unbounded as my affection. The sacrifices I 
 have made are proofs of that; but try me 
 further, and you will find me ready to afford 
 you more." 
 
 " Why," said George — affected, it is true, 
 but with a manner that, to a young and en- 
 thusiastic mind like Ellen's was but too 
 visibly disappointing — " as to that, Nelly, 
 what I now suggest is for the good of us all 
 — it would upset all my schemes for our 
 
 3 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 203 
 
 future comfort, and all that kind of thing, if 
 my father was to find out our history — the 
 only sacrifice at present, is our short separa- 
 tion and the journey." 
 
 " But," said Ellen, " you will go with me, 
 George ? — I came with you — and never will 
 the happiness of that journey be forgotten — 
 do not send me back alone to revisit the 
 places rendered dear to me by your society." 
 
 " Why," said George, " you see — I think 
 that if I am ' absent without leave,' it may 
 have a queer look— eh? they may talk — 
 some of my friends who are in our secret — 
 there mayn't after all be any necessity for 
 the move — if I can assure myself that we 
 are safe where we are, why then you know, 
 dearest, there will be no occasion to go." 
 
 That is to say, as the reader will naturally 
 understand, that if Miss Jane Bruff should 
 "run restive," and not marry according to 
 order, things might continue as usual until 
 some more favourable result should again 
 render the change inevitable. What would 
 the devoted Ellen have felt, had she been 
 aware of the nature of the contingency ? 
 
 " Or," continued the exemplary young 
 e6 
 
204 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 man, " if the worst comes to the worst, Jack 
 Ashford will be going to Paris in a week or 
 ten days, and will be too happy to escort you 
 and your child and maid ; he is one of my 
 oldest friends, and, moreover, you know him." 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, " I do — you have brought 
 him here to dine and — " 
 
 " Come, come, old lady," said George, " you 
 admire him exceedingly — as indeed every 
 body who knows him, must — and he admires 
 you ; he is handsome, rich, and amiable ; not 
 over-wise, nor likely to illuminate the river 
 Thames with his intellect, but uncommon 
 good-natured." 
 
 " I want nobody to admire me" said Ellen, 
 " nor can I admit any admiration of him ; 
 but if for your good the journey is to be 
 undertaken, I would rather trust to the care 
 and protection of strangers, than to a friendly 
 association with Mr. Ashford." 
 
 " Well," said George, " you shall have your 
 own way ; whatever you like to be done shall 
 be done ; and if I can screw out four or five 
 days, I will go with you — only don't make 
 up your mind to that." 
 
 "I will wait patiently your commands," 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 205 
 
 answered Ellen ; " I have no wish but to 
 fulfil them — only do not force upon me the 
 society of one whom I know only through 
 you — and whom— apart from you — I never 
 wish to see again." 
 
 " Well, don't be cross, old lady," said 
 George ; "as I have said before, I don't 
 know that any of this will come to pass, but 
 I thought it right to give you a little notice. 
 Come, let us look at the garden and the birds, 
 and see if the boy is in a better humour, for 
 I must be off soon." 
 
 " Where do you dine to-day, George ? — 
 here ?" asked Ellen. 
 
 " No. To-day," said George, " I dine with 
 the governor." 
 
 " And to-morrow ? " 
 
 " The governor again." 
 
 "How exceedingly dutiful you have be- 
 come," said Ellen. 
 
 " I tell you," said the gentleman, " I am 
 obliged to keep close to him, to lull his sus- 
 picions — he is uncommon cunning, and it's 
 hard work to keep a secret in a world like 
 this ; so come along — let us take our stroll." 
 
 Ellen went to fetch her shawl and bonnet ; 
 
206 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 George swallowed another glass, or rather 
 cup, of wine ; for in the conduct of the heart- 
 less business in which he was engaged, his 
 hands were chilled, while his forehead burned, 
 and his tongue clove to his mouth. His 
 devoted Ellen returned, leading her beautiful 
 infant ; but he fancied that he again saw a 
 tear standing in her eye, which pained him 
 exceedingly ; not perhaps so much because it 
 was an evidence of her love and sorrow for 
 his threatened absence during the two follow- 
 ing days, as because he apprehended that she 
 might begin to suspect prematurely his real 
 object and intentions. 
 
 The garden scene was but a brief one. 
 George's manner, not improved by what to 
 him was an excess in drinking at that period 
 of the day, rendered his remarks and obser- 
 vations abrupt and wholly of a different cha- 
 racter from those to which Ellen had been 
 accustomed. Tiney, whom he had at least 
 affected to love, was snubbed for trying to ask 
 papa questions, and little Fan, the pet spaniel, 
 the twisting and curling of whose ears formed 
 very important parts of George's amusements 
 while lolling on the sofa after dinner, in the 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 207 
 
 happy days of his real affection for her mis- 
 tress, received a most un courteous repulse 
 from the "gallant gay Lothario's" foot, be- 
 cause the pretty little animal could not quite 
 so easily forget its attachments as the beloved 
 of Ellen. 
 
 Well, he went ; and before stepping into 
 his cab he kissed Ellen on the cheek, and the 
 child on the forehead, and then vaulted as it 
 were into his " watchbox on wheels," and was 
 out of sight in a minute. 
 
 Upon a woman situated as Ellen was, the 
 slightest change of manner in the man she 
 loves, acts as powerfully as the least variation 
 of temperature does upon the mercury in the 
 barometer : — if that woman is a mother, how 
 much more sensibly is the alteration felt when 
 it affects her child ! Ellen, whose reliance 
 upon George was as yet firm and strong — 
 whose confidence in his honour, truth, and 
 affection, was up to this moment unshaken — 
 could not conceal from herself the dread that 
 what he, in order perhaps to calm her fears 
 and soothe her apprehensions, had said of the 
 possibility of his father's discovery of their 
 
208 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 intimacy, was merely a politic or compas- 
 sionate preparation for the announcement of 
 the fact. That George could ever voluntarily 
 desert, abandon, or repudiate her, and of him- 
 self seek to sever the bonds by which they 
 were united, never entered her head. Still 
 she felt conscious of an alteration — aye, a 
 bitter alteration too — in his conduct ; and 
 when she turned from the gate at which she 
 had witnessed his departure, she caught her 
 bright-eyed infant in her arms, and pressing 
 him to her heart, whispered over his white 
 forehead, " Heaven at least will bless you, 
 my child." 
 
 " Well, governor," said Mr. George Grindle, 
 as he jumped from his cab, and entered his 
 worthy father's library, some fifteen minutes 
 after this separation, " I have broken ground 
 — -just made a move — given the young woman 
 a sort of civil notice to quit — nothing harsh 
 or that kind of thing — because it 'an't in my 
 nature — besides you see if we don't nail this 
 Agamemnon filly, it's no good casting Nelly 
 adrift : inasmuch as although we can carry 
 on the war cheaper in France than here, still 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 209 
 
 you know one must have a sort of retreat, 
 eh, governor ? so it's no kind of use whatever 
 to go upon the changing order." 
 
 " Prudent fellow !" said Sir George ; 
 " sharp, quick, and clear-sighted. By your 
 own account of the affair I think you are 
 rather more entangled than I thought. But, 
 still we must manage all that. The colonel, 
 the bluff BrufF, has been here this morning, 
 talking over matters. He is exceedingly 
 anxious — bites like a pike." 
 
 " Why he does seem sharp-set," said George. 
 " I thought you told me you were to call there 
 last night." 
 
 " So I did," said Sir George. 
 
 " See the fair article herself," asked the 
 son. 
 
 " No," replied the father, " she was ill — or 
 tired — or would not see me, or something of 
 that sort — so we had our coffee, and a little 
 of that, to you, detestable mixture, brandy- 
 and-water, and I came away — lateish." 
 
 " Well, but I say, governor," said George, 
 " he seems so hot upon this match, are you 
 quite sure that he has no particular object in 
 starting Miss Jenny — nothing suspicious — no 
 
210 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 prior attachment, eh? — no delicate mystifi- 
 cation ?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said the worthy baronet ; 
 " from all I hear she is perfection — " 
 
 " — Ah," interrupted George, " as I told 
 you the other day, you have only got her 
 father's character of her. But now — how 
 does the house look ? Quiet — what you call 
 — as if every thing was good and regular, 
 and all that sort of thing ?" 
 
 " Nothing could be in better form," said 
 Sir George ; " the colonel evidently likes his 
 grog, and so, George, do I, sometimes. I 
 very distinctly explained to him the history 
 of your affair and connexion with your fair 
 friend ; and after all that he had told me of 
 his early vagaries, I could have no scruple in 
 doing so, nor any doubt as to the way he 
 would take the history, or the light in which 
 he would view it." 
 
 " You told the history as I gave it you f " 
 said the excellent son. 
 
 " How the deuce else should I tell it ?" 
 asked the exemplary parent ; " I never heard 
 the particulars except from yourself." 
 
 " And every thing looks steady and 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 2 1 1 
 
 respectable," said George, who seemed un- 
 able to divest himself of the notion that 
 the extreme eagerness of the gallant colonel 
 to conclude the treaty so very speedily must 
 arise from something " more than meets 
 the eye." 
 
 " I never saw any thing more quiet, right, 
 and proper, in my life," said the baronet, 
 thinking it absolutely necessary on his part 
 to sink the incident of Mrs. Smylar and the 
 white jar of sugarcandy, as his equally sin- 
 cere and ingenuous son felt it essential to 
 deceive the confiding Ellen, in whose ejection 
 and repudiation alone the father and the son 
 seemed to agree. 
 
 During the protracted morning visit of 
 the gallant and disagreeable colonel to Sir 
 George, which lasted from eleven o'clock 
 (when, as he said, every body who happened 
 to be in town being in church, they could 
 have it all to themselves) till one, he had 
 completely satisfied the baronet of the solid 
 advantages derivable to his son from his mar- 
 riage with Jane, to which over his glass of 
 what poor good Dr. M'Gopus — whose me- 
 
212 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 mory will ever be dear to us — used to call 
 the " mahogany mixture," he had on the 
 preceding evening somewhat loosely though 
 largely referred ; and Sir George was just 
 beginning to enter into details connected with 
 the business, when unexpectedly, and cer- 
 tainly most unwished-for, Frank Grindle 
 made his appearance. 
 
 The moment he entered the room, not only 
 did the conversation cease, but the manner of 
 the two j^revious occupants suddenly changed, 
 and the tone of their voices subsided into 
 what they fancied he would consider a Sun- 
 day tone. 
 
 " Well, Frank," said Sir George, " where 
 do you come from ?" 
 
 " From a place to which I suppose, my 
 dear father, you don't think one ought to go 
 — church." 
 
 " That's not fair, Frank," said Sir George ; 
 " why you should say so, I don't exactly 
 understand — to-day — " 
 
 " Oh !" interrupted Frank, " don't sup- 
 pose I am come here to preach — it is not my 
 vocation. I really came simply to ask what 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 213 
 
 time we are to go to dinner at your new 
 friend's to-morrow, — Colonel what do you 
 call him— Gruff— " 
 
 — " Bruff," said the baronet ; and then 
 casting a glance at George, which was no- 
 ticed and answered, " do you really mean 
 to go ?" 
 
 " I promised you and George to go,*' said 
 Frank, " and it is an axiom of mine never 
 to break a promise once made, however 
 trifling the obligation, even though it does 
 not involve that, which in this case I should 
 consider a breach of duty." 
 
 "As for the duty, my dear Frank," said 
 Sir George, " pray don't let it rest upon that ; 
 if you think it a bore, don't go — we can make 
 your excuses." 
 
 " I think nothing a bore," said Frank : " I 
 am an exceedingly humble person in the 
 world, and always gratified by any little 
 attention paid me ; and certainly not less 
 so, when I feel conscious that it is for the 
 sake of those with whom I am connected — 
 all I asked for, was, because I have engaged 
 myself to see some curious electrical experi- 
 
214 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 merits made at four, and wished to know when 
 we were expected." 
 
 " Seven, I conclude," said Sir George, " at 
 this time of the year." 
 
 " For eight, I presume," said the elder 
 son ; " one of the elastic sevens, which one 
 may stretch out, till that great horrid red 
 sun is quite gone out of sight." 
 
 " Well," said Frank, " I shall be in wait- 
 ing here at seven ;" and then, perfectly con- 
 scious, as he could scarcely ever fail to be, 
 that he was de trop, he again retired. 
 
 " I wish now," said Sir George, as the door 
 closed, " I wish, George, you had made up 
 your mind to go ivith me, and without him 
 to-morrow, to this place. There's no answer- 
 ing for tastes ; and although you carry every 
 thing before you in the world, yet de gustibus 
 ?ion 9 and a girl like this Jane Bruff might 
 cotton to a quiet, steady, and what they call an 
 accomplished man, in preference to a fellow 
 like you." 
 
 " If she would," said George, " having seen 
 a certain degree of life, and a certain portion 
 of society, she might have him if she liked — 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 215 
 
 because the taste which would be so gratified 
 must inevitably be incompatible with mine ; 
 and, although of course the * stumpy' is the 
 thing, one might as well — if possible — be 
 d? accord with one's wife. I confess the fellow 
 is good-looking, and as you say, though he is 
 your son, accomplished — but that's nothing 
 — every body is accomplished nowadays, more 
 or less ; and as for looks, governor, I'm all 
 for Sheridan's maxim, that the handsome 
 man has only six weeks' start of the ugly 
 one, and in a three months' race, he'll make 
 it up in the end." 
 
 " I quite agree with you there," said Sir 
 George ; " but neither do I admit that you 
 are in the secondary position in the present 
 instance, nor expect nor fear that three 
 months, or as many weeks, will elapse before 
 the affair under discussion is settled— all I 
 mean to say is, that, as matters have turned 
 out, I wish you had not selected Frank to 
 be of the party." 
 
 " Never mind, governor," said George : 
 " if the gallant grenadier will only fork out 
 respectably, and I may say, liberally, and in 
 a masculine manner, you may leave the rest 
 
216 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 to me. I have never vet seen the female 
 woman, as our friend M'Killumquite says, 
 that I could not conquer. I think Miss 
 Jenny Bruff is not likely to be a splendid 
 exception to my general rule." 
 
 And in this sort of dialogue did these 
 exemplary people indulge until they sepa- 
 rated, the father to dine in one place, the son 
 in another— thus exemplifying the charming 
 sincerity of the junior to his fond and sor- 
 rowing Ellen ; the senior having with equal 
 frankness and absence of all reservation, given 
 his description of the state and nature and 
 character of Colonel BrufF's establishment, 
 which he had practically ascertained the pre- 
 ceding evening. Colonel Bruff himself, on 
 his return from Sir George, with the flourish- 
 ing knock at the door which drove Mrs. 
 Smylar from her conference with Jane, ex- 
 cused himself to his daughter for his non- 
 attendance with her in his proper pew at 
 Marylebone church, by explaining that he 
 had gone to hear a popular divine preach a 
 charity sermon at St. George's, Hanover- 
 square. 
 
 Speaking of divines, that which Arch- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 217 
 
 bishop Tillotson says, may, without profane- 
 ness, be quoted as applicable to this crisis of 
 our story : — " Sincerity," says the prelate, 
 " is like travelling on a plain beaten road, 
 which, after all, commonly brings a man 
 sooner to his journey's end than by byways, 
 in which men often lose themselves." 
 
 What the reader may think of the various 
 specimens of sincerity which the develop- 
 ment of the few family secrets which have 
 already come to light in this narrative, has 
 brought to his notice, we cannot venture to 
 surmise ; but lest his patience should be tired, 
 we will give him a short breathing time, 
 until, in the next chapter, he may begin to 
 judge of the results of such amiable and 
 praiseworthy proceedings. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
218 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Little worth recording occurred during the 
 early part of the day 
 
 " Big with the fate of Grindle and of Jane ;" 
 
 nor, as the evening approached, was Jane's 
 serenity so much disturbed as she had antici- 
 pated ; for her father had purposely abstained 
 from pressing the subject of the dinner and 
 visit of the Grindle family in his brief morn- 
 ing conversation ; contenting himself with 
 merely throwing out general axioms and 
 hypothetical observations, touching the ad- 
 vantages derivable to a young woman from 
 making a suitable match at an early period 
 of life, and the virtue of filial obedience when 
 any fair opportunity occurred of attaining 
 so desirable an object. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 219 
 
 Time wore on; the dinner-hour arrived, 
 and so did the guests : and, perhaps, as it 
 is the reader's object to ascertain the effect 
 produced by the events of the visitation 
 upon Jane, the best way to attain that end 
 is to let him read the letter which she wrote 
 to her friend Emma on the subject, the 
 next morning. 
 
 •' Harley-street, Tuesday. 
 
 " Dearest Emma, 
 
 " This packet will surprise, and perhaps 
 alarm you, for although events have occurred 
 since I wrote to you on Saturday to super- 
 sede the interest of that communication, as it 
 was written I enclose it, in order that you 
 may judge of the value of my anticipations 
 aiid apprehensions. 
 
 " The day of introduction is passed — my 
 father had been loud and long in his praises 
 of Sir George Grindle and his family — the 
 baronet and his two sons were presented to 
 me — but so very indistinct has been my 
 father's pronunciation of a preference on his 
 part, that up to this moment I am not at all 
 certain whether he destines me to be the 
 wife of the senior or one of the juniors. 
 l2 
 
220 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 " Sir George is an exceedingly agreeable 
 person — I should say about fifty-three or 
 fifty-four years old. He has seen much of 
 the world, and describes what he has seen 
 with talent and vivacity, and in the art and 
 mystery of anecdotizing is equal — I will not 
 say superior — to Mr. Miles Blackmore him- 
 self. His manners are particularly pleasing, 
 and his temper appears equally good. He 
 was remarkably kind and civil, and seemed 
 very much interested in every thing I said. 
 He appears particularly fond of music, and 
 is evidently a man of taste and general ac- 
 complishment. 
 
 " Exactly the reverse of all this, is his 
 elder son ; who, with scarcely a single 
 redeeming quality, is one of the most odious 
 coxcombs I ever met with. Over-dressed, 
 over-ringleted, over-chained, and over-stud- 
 ded, his radiant waistcoat seemed to be the 
 pride of his heart — calculated at once to 
 dazzle and to conquer. His conversation, if 
 his talk can be dignified with the name, is 
 of the most frivolous character ; made up 
 of what I presume he thinks fashionable 
 ' slang' — there is no other word for it — ap- 
 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 221 
 
 plied in nearly the same terms to every sub- 
 ject started, and every object named ; and 
 what struck me as extremely disagreeable, 
 not to say painful, were the familiarity and 
 indifference, amounting almost to insolence 
 and contempt, with which he treated his 
 father, during the whole of the evening — a 
 bad return, in my mind, for the affection 
 which it is evident Sir George entertains for 
 him, 
 
 " I think the effect produced upon me by 
 this silly person's manners was heightened by 
 the contrast they afforded to those to which 
 I have been latterly accustomed. Certainly 
 I never saw any young man, by no means ill- 
 looking, so utterly disagreeable to me. 
 
 " His brother, or rather half-brother, is of 
 a totally different class. Exceedingly hand- 
 some, with remarkably expressive eyes, and 
 a very intelligent countenance, he appears 
 reserved, without any outward shyness, and 
 seems to be exceedingly well-informed, with- 
 out a shadow of pedantry. He spoke little, 
 but he spoke well, and would perhaps have 
 said more, had not his father, retaliating 
 l3 
 
222 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 as I thought, upon his second son for the 
 offences of the elder one, constantly inter- 
 rupted him, and, to use Mr. Amersham's 
 phrase, ' pooh-poohed him down.' But 
 although they might, and even did between 
 them, contrive to stop his talking, it was 
 beyond their power to restrain the eloquence 
 of his eyes. I could not help watching his 
 looks when the heir of the house was rallying 
 his father upon his weak points, making him 
 the main object of his amusement. Sir 
 George evidently did not like it, but seemed 
 determined to be pleased, and bore it as phi- 
 losophically as possible. But Francis (so is 
 the younger one named) evidently felt deeply, 
 and appeared even vexed that I should be 
 placed as I was, with the parent on one side 
 of me, and the hopeful child on the other ; 
 and annoyed that I should, so early in our 
 acquaintance, be permitted to see how 
 strangely their family matters were conduct- 
 ed ; or, to use one of the young gentleman's 
 own expressions, ' how the governor and lie 
 carried on the war.' Whatever his feelings 
 might be, I cannot presume to understand, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 223 
 
 but it is quite clear that they are ' a house 
 divided,' not more in feeling and affection 
 than in character and manner. 
 
 " I had but little opportunity of speaking 
 with Mr. Francis ; but I cannot help feeling 
 interested about him. He has evidently read 
 much — during the course of the evening his 
 father called him — half playfully I admit — 
 6 a bookworm — and a preacher — and a but- 
 terfly hunter — and a giraffe-feeder — and a 
 sentimentalist — and a methodist — and a mis- 
 anthrope' — and several other things; and I 
 thought he appealed to me to pity the perse- 
 cution he was subjected to, while George was 
 trumpeted forth to the world by his sire as 
 the paragon of perfection. 
 
 " The conversation and character of Lady 
 Gramm seemed particularly to attract the 
 elder son ; and, for the purpose, I presume, 
 of what he called * showing her up,' he de- 
 voted himself for nearly half-an-hour, to lis- 
 tening to some of her little anecdotes of 
 herself, set off to the best advantage by the 
 incidental introduction of the names and 
 titles of half the peerage : and it was during 
 this period, in spite of the assiduous efforts 
 l4 
 
224 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 of the solicitous Miss Pheezle to secure his 
 attention, that I snatched a little of Mr. 
 Francis Grin die's society. Our entretien was 
 but brief, for my father, who was sitting 
 talking on a distant sofa with Sir George, 
 evidently about me, after we had spoken toge- 
 ther some few minutes, came hastily across 
 the room, and desired — or rather ordered me 
 — ' to sing something directly,' in a tone, the 
 harshness of which struck me more painfully 
 and forcibly, because, up to that moment, 
 he had treated me with a kindness and consi- 
 deration wholly unlike any thing I remem- 
 bered to have seen in him in society, and 
 more especially when any strangers were 
 here. 
 
 " But now begins my mystery. These 
 people have come and are gone, and I am 
 yet unaware of the particular object of their 
 visit. It is evident that my father means 
 me to marry one of them — it is equally 
 evident that the youngest of the three is not 
 the one. The choice, or rather the fate, 
 then, lies between the eldest and the second. 
 If my father — which I pray to heaven he 
 never may — should force me to marry — and 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 225 
 
 that I had the alternative offered me in this 
 very case, I would in an instant decide in 
 favour of Sir George; but perhaps I may 
 yet be spared the misery of forcing my own 
 inclinations, or incurring my father's anger. 
 And such anger, such bitter anger, as it 
 would be ! 
 
 " A party has been made to Greenwich 
 for to-morrow, than which, as you and I have 
 before agreed, nothing can be more odious ; 
 but Lady Gramm is to be chaperon, and of 
 course I could not dissent. 
 
 " One circumstance seems curious. My 
 usually communicative friend, Mrs. Smylar, 
 has kept more away from me than she gene- 
 rally has hitherto done. Her manner too 
 is different — more restrained. She seems to- 
 day exceedingly thoughtful; all she said to 
 me this morning was to ask me * how I liked 
 papa's new friends ?' And when I answered 
 'that I liked them very well,' she smiled: 
 but I did not like the expression of her coun- 
 tenance. Nor was it like one of her ' com- 
 mon-place' gleams of suavity. It strikes me 
 that something more than ordinary is on her 
 mind — what, of course I cannot divine 
 l 5 
 
226 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 "Two of the three new friends have just 
 called — you may guess which were the two. 
 They were not admitted, as I had given an 
 excluding order, for which I have no doubt 
 I shall be duly scolded ; but, as I knew that 
 in the ordinary course of events they wouJd 
 present themselves to-day, I took the precau- 
 tion to guard myself against invasion, which, 
 as a lone damsel, I thought it right to do. 
 
 " Here, for the moment, matters rest ; but, 
 my dear Emma, I fear the pause will be but 
 brief. To-day my father dines at home, and 
 alone with me. I anticipate the precise 
 period when the disclosure of his designs 
 concerning me will be made, and accordingly 
 shall live in dread and apprehension till the 
 time arrives. Pray write to me, and comfort 
 and soothe me if you can. Tell me all about 
 yourselves, for I love to hear of the comforts 
 and pleasures which I may not enjoy, and 
 remember me to all those whom you think 
 may wish to be remembered. 
 
 " Ever yours, dear Emma, affectionately, 
 " Jane Bruff." 
 
 This was the view taken by the gentle 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 227 
 
 Jane of the occurrences of the preceding 
 evening. The reader must draw his own con- 
 clusions. What the impression made upon 
 the visiting trio might have been, it is also 
 essential to know: — with totally different 
 objects, tastes, and principles, they separately 
 and severally thought the gentle Jane per- 
 fecion. 
 
 Mr. George admitted that she was " worth 
 looking after," and that a man might " make 
 it out uncommon comfortable with her, if 
 the stumpy would suit." Sir George began 
 to think, and that seriously too, that with 
 a mind and qualities like hers, she would be 
 just the person to carry out George's pro- 
 position — that the father should marry for 
 the good of the family, without troubling the 
 son with the bore of matrimony. The un- 
 disguised pleasure with which she had listened 
 to his agreeable conversation, and the unaf- 
 fected attention she had paid him, which it 
 was clear to the well-schooled baronet she 
 denied to George, gave this turn to his 
 thoughts; and pretty well sure that, as far 
 as the colonel went, whether Jane attained 
 the rank of a baronet's lady by marrying a 
 l6 
 
228 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 baronet or a baronet's heir, he meditated re- 
 arguing the case with his son, — convinced 
 that Jane would eventually accept him, and 
 equally sure that while he should be success- 
 ful in this matter, George would be trium- 
 phant in any other. 
 
 Good natured and ingenuousness of manner 
 in a charming girl, have a surprising effect 
 upon middle-aged gentlemen, who are so 
 universally forgetful of the gradual but cer- 
 tain progress of time, that they fancy them- 
 selves loved when they are only liked, and 
 attribute to their fair and youthful com- 
 panions, (much in accordance with Mrs. 
 Smylar's theory of Platonism), what Moore 
 call's " the sunshine of love ;" when, after all, 
 it is merely the "moonlight of friendship:" 
 — to be sure it does, however, at times, beam 
 so brightly, that a man neither vain nor a 
 fool, may without much difficulty be led to 
 mistake the one for the other. 
 
 How different, how totally and entirely dif- 
 ferent from sentiments like these were the 
 sentiments of Frank. He had gazed on the 
 sweet child of nature with purity of thought 
 and holiness of feeling. As she has told 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 229 
 
 Emma, he spoke but little ; and when he 
 did speak it was only to incur some reproof 
 or ridicule from his worldly relations. He 
 knew too well the object of the family visit, 
 and his eyes rested with a look of pity and 
 anxiety upon the intended victim — for such 
 he was convinced, if they carried their point, 
 she would be ; and amongst his other griefs 
 was one that he had been induced to accom- 
 pany his father and brother to witness the 
 beginning of a pursuit, the miserable end of 
 which he could not, with his principles, fail 
 to anticipate, but to interfere with the suc- 
 cess of which, would be to betray and per- 
 haps endanger his nearest relations. 
 
 To continue his acquaintance with Jane, 
 Frank was convinced would be to cause his 
 unhappiness ; if, as he might hope to do, he 
 should gain her affections, he would distress 
 the other members of his family; if she rejected 
 his addresses after a lengthened association 
 with her had ripened his admiration into 
 love, his own misery was certain. His course 
 was plain — he decided never to repeat his 
 visit — never to see Jane Bruff again — or if 
 again, not till she had decided upon what 
 
230 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 might be called " the main question" as re- 
 garded George ; for Frank's imagination, in 
 its wildest flight, had not suggested the pos- 
 sibility of his father's "being in the field," 
 as George would have said " sire against son" 
 in such a race. 
 
 Probably no resolution could better have 
 pleased either of the oddly-situated parties 
 than that at which Frank had arrived. One 
 question naturally suggests itself to those 
 who know what the power of sympathy is, 
 and what the qualities of the heart and mind 
 of man are, when under such influence as 
 our sweet Jane had in four short hours ob- 
 tained over those of Frank. Will he keep 
 it? For an answer to that question the 
 reader must wait a little ; recollecting, how- 
 ever, that he has already taken the initiative 
 by not calling in Harley-street, and by having 
 ordered his servant to make preparations for 
 starting for Leamington the next morning. 
 
 It should be further noticed, that he ab- 
 sented himself from the family breakfast- 
 table from an unwillingness to hear the 
 remarks which were sure to be made on the 
 events of the preceding evening, or to incur 
 3 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 231 
 
 the suspiciou of being a spy on the parties 
 concerned, in an affair against which he dared 
 not remonstrate. 
 
 " That young woman will come to corn, 
 governor," said George, " without much 
 shaking of the sieve." 
 
 " I'm not so sure of that," said the ba- 
 ronet. 
 
 " I'll back the caster in, in two days," said 
 George. 
 
 " She's a charming creature," said the ba- 
 ronet, in a tone that startled his son. 
 
 " So Master Frank thinks," said George. 
 " He made his play pretty early in the run." 
 
 " Frank — psha," said the baronet. " Frank 
 isn't a man to win her, even if he thought of 
 it. No — conversation gay, lively, and ra- 
 tional, with a slight dash of satire, and here 
 and there a whisper of scandal, is the sort 
 of thing to hit these gentle, quiet, country- 
 bred girls." 
 
 " You seemed to be trying it yourself 
 last night, governor," said the exemplary 
 son ; " I was obliged now and then just to 
 pull you up a bit." 
 
 " No — no," said Sir George, " not the 
 
232 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 least of that — all I mean to say is, that wo- 
 men love by contraries — the gentle, retiring, 
 fair, and timid young creature, is caught by 
 the rattle of a bright genius and a good 
 talker ; while the gay, voluble, high-spirited 
 lady rejoices in finding her lover beaten into 
 submission, admiration, and silence." 
 
 " I'm no great genius," said George, " but 
 I have eyes in my head ; and if that young 
 creechur's name isn't Grindle before a month's 
 over my head, mine isn't." 
 
 " I wouldn't bet against that," said Sir 
 George ; " but I should recommend you to 
 be sharp and active — mind your hits, and 
 don't throw away a chance — for by Jove she 
 is a trump." 
 
 " The queen," said George, " hearts being 
 the suit ; and although diamonds are more 
 in my line at present, I can't say that I per- 
 ceive any reason against honouring her with 
 my attentions. I was wound up to see a sort 
 of half-genteel dowdy — a pill to be taken for 
 a consumptive fortune, which could only be 
 swallowed if well gilt — on the contrary, 
 quite the reverse — she's uncommon nice — 
 just the thing to show the world; and I 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 233 
 
 believe all that she says is right and proper, 
 and shows learning — much of which, you 
 know, I don't profess to understand ; her 
 singing, too, is all in proper form, and her 
 playing and every thing else in the world in 
 a concatenation accordingly — so tomorrow, 
 at Greenwich, I begin the campaign." 
 
 " Always considering," said the exemplary 
 parent, " whether you can give her an undi- 
 vided heart — the affections of such a girl 
 ought not to be trifled with." 
 
 If Sir George Grindle had addressed his 
 son and heir in Hebrew or Cingalese, he 
 could not have astonished him more than 
 he did by the utterance of this opinion. 
 
 " Why, governor," exclaimed the wonder- 
 ing youth, " turned sentimental all in a mi- 
 nute — four-and-twenty hours ago your tone 
 was much as usual upon such matters ; but 
 now we come to the girl's affections, and 
 her qualities, and her — eh ? governor — " 
 
 " Four-and-twenty hours ago, George," said 
 the baronet, " I had not seen her — I never 
 could have supposed that such a coarse, un- 
 couth father could have such a daughter, 
 especially knowing as I did, how early in life 
 
234 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 she lost her mother. One talks on these 
 matters as matters of business as regards 
 fortune, settlements, jointures, and all that, 
 heartlessly enough ; but the case is greatly- 
 altered when we see in the object of what — 
 as in this case — was at first a mere financial 
 speculation, any thing so perfectly charming 
 as Miss Bruff." 
 
 " By Jove," said George, " I felt a little 
 afraid of Frank in the way of rival ; but he 
 is nothing by comparison with you. Take 
 her, governor — win her and wear her — the 
 cash will come into the family all the same, 
 and I shall have no trouble one way or the 
 other about it." 
 
 " Do not suppose me so foolish as to think 
 of such a thing," said Sir George, " nor fancy 
 that if I know so little of myself as to make 
 such a proposal, she would accept it. All I 
 mean to say is, that Jane Bruff is a prize — a 
 prize which, if won, will secure the happiness 
 of the man who possesses it — and that is 
 all I mean to say." 
 
 And so it was all he meant to say — but 
 thoughts are not to be commanded — fancy 
 is not to be controlled : and during the brief 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 235 
 
 silence which followed the worthy baronet's 
 speech, his thoughis were occupied with the 
 contemplation of the joy and comfort which 
 a marriage with such a charming creature 
 would ensure; while those of George were 
 engrossed with the recollection of the felicity 
 he had enjoyed in the society of his devoted 
 Ellen, whose fate, if he married, was irrevoc- 
 ably sealed. Thus the natural feeling of the 
 father's heart was a desire to marry Jane, 
 although he knew he could not win her ; 
 while that in the son's, was an anxiety not 
 to marry her, although he was perfectly satis- 
 fied in his own mind, that she would sink 
 into his arms on his first declaration. 
 
 Poor Jane was wholly unconscious of the 
 effect she had produced upon three persons 
 in one family, although it was most assuredly 
 not the first time she had so unwittingly suc- 
 ceeded. The absence of Frank from break- 
 fast proved exceedingly agreeable to Sir 
 George and his son ; but it was scarcely 
 possible for the elder gentleman of the 
 two to secure himself, by all his available 
 arts, from the scrutinizing gaze of the 
 younger one, who, to use an expression of 
 
236 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 his own, " was up to a thing or two in that 
 line." 
 
 We know of the visit paid by Sir George 
 and his heir to Harley-street ; we know of 
 the determination of Frank to avoid the 
 wretchedness which he foresaw must result 
 to him from the improvement of his acquaint- 
 ance with Jane ; but as yet we do not know 
 how or in what manner that determination 
 was treated. 
 
 In Regent-street there is a vast establish- 
 ment, known at least by name, to half the 
 husbands and fathers at the West-end of the 
 town, where every necessary of life, from a 
 ring, a bracelet, or a necklace, down to a 
 cottage-bonnet, or a jupe-bouffante, may be 
 purchased on the most reasonable terms — if 
 not of price, at least of time for payment. 
 To this emporium Miss Bruff directed her 
 course, drawn thither in the ancient carriage 
 of her sire, by "Sugar and Salt," driven 
 by a gloveless coachman with plush shorts 
 and white cotton-stockings ; the footman be- 
 hind being to match. Just as this exceed- 
 ingly-imperfect equipage drew gently up to 
 the door of Messrs. Howell and James, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 237 
 
 " Sugar and Salt," having in their composi- 
 tion none of that spirit of tearaway prancing 
 which frightens the humbler pedestrians on 
 the trottoir, and occasionally covers them 
 with certain portions of the Macadam black- 
 pudding which in wet weather is so easily 
 made and so universally taken in the great 
 thoroughfares of the metropolis, Mr. Frank 
 Grindle happened to be passing down the 
 street. A graceful bow and a gentle smile 
 from dear Jane, naturally and inevitably 
 checked his progress towards the University 
 Club, whither he was proceeding, and planted 
 him at the coach-door. 
 
 " I hope," said Jane, after the usual salu- 
 tations peculiar to English society, " I hope 
 we shall see you to-morrow at our white-bait 
 party." 
 
 " Why," said Frank, who felt himself in 
 the act of committing the unheard-of crime 
 of blushing, " I — think I must go to Lea- 
 mington in the morning — I am exceedingly 
 sorry — but — " 
 
 " I see how it is," said Jane, " you don't 
 like us ; but I assure you when you know 
 
238 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 more of my dear father, and get used to his 
 manner, which I am aware is to strangers 
 brusque and odd, you will think better of us. 
 Try us once more — I conclude that Sir 
 George and your brother mean to keep their 
 promise." 
 
 " Oh," said Frank, " you may rely upon 
 them ; but — I have a duty to perform ; a sick 
 friend writes to entreat me to go to him, 
 and—" 
 
 — " That alters the case," said Jane ; " but 
 now really is he so very ill that one day's 
 delay is important? — if not, do come with 
 us. I assure you, my amiable friend Miss 
 Pheezle will break her sensitive heart if you 
 are not of the party." 
 
 " Dear lady," said Frank, " her heart must 
 be exceedingly tender and susceptible if it 
 breaks on my account after one meeting with 
 her. I—" 
 
 "Well," said Jane, "I would advise you 
 not to be cruel. Besides, papa I know will 
 be vexed, and I shall be seriously angry. 
 Not that, if Miss Pheezle's charms fail of 
 attracting you, it is likely the fear of my 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 239 
 
 anger should compel your presence — so, you 
 must do what I believe all men are deter- 
 mined to do — just as you please." 
 
 The dialogue here ended, and Frank handed 
 the fair Jane from the carriage to the door of 
 the emporium, and proceeded on his track. 
 Jane looked sweetly — she spoke kindly — he 
 had certainly promised to be of the party — 
 but then he had made up his mind to break 
 off at once an acquaintance, of the perils of 
 which to his peace of mind he was even more 
 satisfied now than he had been the night 
 before — he had ordered his horses — to be 
 sure they could be countermanded — perhaps 
 Colonel Bruff might be offended if he staid 
 away, and break off with the whole family ; 
 besides it would be entertaining to see Miss 
 Pheezle's airs and graces, and hear Lady 
 Gramm's histories of the peerage, which she 
 had at her fingers' ends, with all the little 
 scandals therewith connected. 
 
 Besides, perhaps his father might attribute 
 his absence to sulkiness or disinclination to 
 join the circle in which he was destined to 
 hold a secondary place ; and so he doubted, 
 and weighed, and calculated, till the recollec- 
 
240 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 tion of Jane's last smile flashed across his 
 mind, and involuntarily stamping on the 
 pavement, he exclaimed — not mentally but 
 audibly — " I will go with them." 
 
 "Do, Frank," said a voice close to his 
 shoulder, as he was pushing open the door of 
 his miniature club-house. Startled by the 
 sound, he saw at his elbow one of his friends, 
 who had overheard the determination ; " but 
 you needn't tell the whole town your inten- 
 tion." 
 
 Frank felt perfectly satisfied that in the 
 excitement of the moment, he had " named 
 no name," and that his friend, who was a bit 
 of a wag, had not accidentally gained posses- 
 sion of what, short as had been his acquaint- 
 ance with the young lady, he already began 
 to consider a secret. 
 
 Frank's sentiments towards women were 
 certainly the reverse of those entertained by 
 his half-brother George. He felt the unaf- 
 fected kindness of Miss Bruff as she intended 
 he should feel it. He admired her beauty — 
 he reverenced her mind and manner, and was 
 charmed with her accomplishments. From 
 a sense of honour and duty to his brother 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 241 
 
 and father he had resolved to shun her 
 society, lest in time he might fall a victim to 
 the qualities which he so highly esteemed ; 
 but the earnestness of her invitation to the 
 next day's party had an effect upon him en- 
 tirely different from that which it would have 
 produced upon George. George would have 
 set her down as an easy victim to his wonder- 
 ful powers of fascination ; nay, the chances 
 are that she would, before the day was over, 
 have filled the principal character in one of 
 the little " Memoirs of his own Times," which 
 he was in the habit of delivering, viva voce, 
 to his friends at Crocky's. Frank was ex- 
 ceedingly gratified by her good-nature, and as 
 we, as well as his friend in the street, know 
 the result of his deliberations upon the sub- 
 ject, it may be fairly surmised that her 
 friendly manner charmed him out of his pro- 
 jected journey; but as to the notion that 
 such a being as Jane Bruff could do what is 
 called " falling in love at first sight," it never 
 entered his head. 
 
 Jane returned home after her drive, and 
 dressed for dinner, having enquired of her 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 maid if she had heard Mrs. Smylar say whe- 
 ther any body dined with her father. To 
 her grief and dismay she found it was as she 
 had anticipated, to be a tete-a-tete. She 
 knew that it was wholly out of the question 
 that the evening could pass over without the 
 colonel's touching upon the subject nearest 
 his heart, and as that subject was unques- 
 tionably the last which she desired to discuss, 
 she began to regret that she had not engaged 
 Miss Pheezle to come and destroy the purely 
 domestic character of the evening. It was, 
 however, now too late ; her father had ac- 
 tually arrived at home, and dinner would be 
 ready in less than half an hour. 
 
 One thing may strike the reader as curious 
 in this little history — we mean the peaceful 
 neutrality of Smylar. After all her promises 
 to the colonel to urge upon Jane the merits, 
 personal and mental, of Mr. George Grindle 
 — whatever representations she might have 
 periodically made to the colonel as to what 
 she was doing in that behoof — it is certain 
 that she never opened her lips to Jane upon 
 the subject. Never, indeed, in any of the 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 243 
 
 very brief conversations which she had with 
 her, had she even hinted at the particular 
 object of the colonel's solicitude, nor per- 
 mitted herself to seem to know that a matri- 
 monial alliance for her young lady, with any 
 member of the Grindle family, was even 
 contemplated. 
 
 It may be confidently relied upon, that a 
 lady like Mrs. Smylar never " runs cunning" 
 without some exceedingly good — or, as the 
 moralist would say — bad reason for what she 
 does. She had promised her patron to adopt 
 a particular line of conduct, tending to what 
 they agreed was an important and desirable 
 result. She had not fulfilled that promise. 
 In turning all the family affairs over in her 
 mind she thought she had ascertained a 
 shorter and surer road to the goal of her 
 ambition, and therefore considered it quite 
 justifiable to deceive the father, in order, if 
 possible, eventually to destroy the daughter. 
 Mrs. Smylar was, in truth, a " nice woman," 
 as the reader probably already anticipates. 
 Still, not only her conduct, but her motives, 
 must for the present remain concealed. 
 m 2 
 
244 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 The reader already knows so much of the 
 designs of the Fathers implicated in this 
 history, and of the feelings of the Sons, 
 that it would probably tire him to go through 
 the dialogue which passed between Jane and 
 the colonel after their exceedingly dull din- 
 ner. The great point gained by her by the 
 candid development of papa, was the ascer- 
 taining that George — to her the odious 
 George — was the aspirant — backed, favoured, 
 and urged upon her by authority. 
 
 " He's a fine young man, Jenny," said the 
 colonel. 
 
 « Yerjjine indeed," said Jane. 
 
 " Handsome ?" said the colonel. 
 
 " He thinks so," said Miss Bruff. " But 
 surely, my dear papa, no countenance can be 
 handsome without something like intellectual 
 intelligence ?" 
 
 " That'll do," said Bruff, " you want 
 to run him down — you don't like him — 
 eh?" 
 
 " Why, really," said Jane, " considering 
 that I never saw him till yesterday, my likings 
 or dislikings cannot be supposed to be very 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 245 
 
 strong. I think Sir George a remarkably 
 agreeable person." 
 
 " Oh ! Sir George !" said the colonel. 
 " Well — so he is — remarkably agreeable ; 
 but — not quite so suitable an age for you" 
 
 " I am not so sure of that" said Jane, 
 wishing, if possible, to render less serious 
 the appeal which the paternity was making, 
 "he is an accomplished gentleman — full of 
 anecdote — gay — lively, and even loveable." 
 
 " That'll do," said Bruff. " If you have 
 that sort of feeling towards him, it is all one 
 to me — so as I see you settled and titled. 
 I like a title — it would sound well — and I 
 should feel myself relieved of a heavy respon- 
 sibility." 
 
 " But," said Jane, " assure yourself that, 
 as far as I am concerned, your responsibility 
 is exceedingly small. I am perfectly happy 
 as I am. I have friends who love me, and 
 who respect and esteem you. And as for my 
 ever listening to the addresses or proposals of 
 a human being, without your previous sanc- 
 tion and knowledge, I would die first." 
 
 " Ah ! that's all very well," said the colo 
 M 3 
 
246 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 nel ; " but I don't know — girls are girls — 
 and there are crowds and flocks of fellows at 
 the Amershams' ; some without sixpence in 
 their pockets, and some with a great many 
 thousand pounds out of their pockets, all 
 hovering and gallivanting." 
 
 " Father," said Jane, the tears mounting 
 to her beaming eyes, " have you no faith in 
 your child ? have you no confidence in her ? 
 Do you think me so base — so lost to every 
 sense of shame, so dead to every tie of duty, 
 as to permit the slightest approach to what 
 you apprehend, without instantly acquainting 
 you with the circumstance? No, father — 
 no — nothing of the nature which you seem 
 unjustly to suspect me of, exists. I have no 
 predilection — I have no attachment — no pre- 
 ference, except in the ordinary course of 
 society ; in which, most certainly, one very 
 much prefers some persons to others with 
 whom we are associated." 
 
 " That'll do," said Bruff. " I don't want to 
 make you cry — only — it does seem exceed- 
 ingly strange to me, who have known the 
 world for a long time, and have been more 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 247 
 
 than forty years in the army, that a girl 
 should speak contemptuously of such a capi- 
 tal fellow as George Grindle, who dined with 
 us yesterday." 
 
 " I do not speak contemptuously of him," 
 said Jane, " nor should I have spoken at all 
 of him if you had not urged the subject 
 upon me. He is the acquaintance of a day. 
 I have no reason to dislike him more than 
 I dislike any other visiter at your house 
 whom I don't particularly know. I certainly 
 prefer the manner and conversation of his 
 father, and certainly think the second son, 
 Mr. Francis Grindle, infinitely more agree- 
 able than his elder brother. I met him at 
 the door of Howell's and James's to-day, 
 when I was going to buy a few little things 
 I wanted." 
 
 " Did you speak to him ?" said Bruff. 
 
 " Why, I couldn't well avoid that," said 
 Jane, " for when the carriage stopped, and I 
 bowed to him, he spoke to me" 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff. " So 
 you prefer him to his elder brother ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Jane, " I do. I think 
 m4 
 
248 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 him more intellectual — clever — more sen- 
 sible." 
 
 " Ah," said Bruff, sipping his wine, " and 
 what did you say to him V 
 
 " I said to him," said Jane, " that I hoped 
 he would not forget his engagement at 
 Greenwich to-morrow, and told him I should 
 be exceedingly angry if he didn't come to 
 amuse Miss Pheezle." 
 
 " Oh !" said Bruff, " to amuse Miss Pheezle 
 — that was it ? — " 
 
 " Yes, papa," said Jane, " that was it ; but 
 I neither intended to conceal from him when 
 I said so, nor from you, when I tell you the 
 history, that I meant him to understand that 
 I should be very glad if he joined our party ; 
 for I think him exceedingly agreeable, and a 
 great acquisition in an excursion, the intrin- 
 sic agremens of which I confess myself en- 
 tirely incapable of appreciating." 
 
 " That'll do, Jenny," said Bruff; " you have 
 fallen in love with the wrong man, that's all." 
 
 " Love !" said Jane, " why should I love 
 any of them, in a day's — not a day's — but a 
 few hours' acquaintance? Really, my dear 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 249 
 
 father, you do not justly appreciate the cha- 
 racter and feelings of young women. I can 
 easily imagine that Mr. George Grindle has 
 established in his mind a theory and princi- 
 ple upon the subject of * lady-killing,' which 
 he exhibits in his looks, and wishes to illus- 
 trate by his manner. But, however capti- 
 vating he may fancy himself, or you may 
 consider him to be, I really think it requires 
 a little longer time than one short evening 
 to win a heart, however charming the gen- 
 tleman, and however susceptible the lady." 
 
 " I am not talking of him" said Bruff, 
 somewhat angrily ; " I am talking of the 
 other— Mr. Frank." 
 
 " As I have already said, he is a more 
 likeable person," replied Jane ; " only don't 
 accuse me, my dear papa, of having fallen in 
 love with him, because I urged his going with 
 us to a fish dinner at Greenwich. Recollect, 
 you did the same thing yourself with respect 
 to Lady Gramm and Miss Pheezle." 
 
 " Psha !" said Bruff, " I asked them merely 
 as a matter of course to come and play pro- 
 priety — chaperon and companion, just to 
 M 5 
 
250 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 make it easy and comfortable for you, and 
 all that." 
 
 " With you, father," said Jane, " I needed 
 no chaperon — no companion ; but I confess I 
 am glad they are going, for they must — 
 especially the dowager — engross a certain 
 degree of the attention and conversation, and 
 that will give me a better opportunity of con- 
 sidering the qualities and qualifications of 
 your new friends." 
 
 That there is consciousness about guilt, in 
 however so great or small degree it exists, 
 which incapacitates the culprit from the full 
 exercise of his powers, mental or corporeal, 
 there can be no question. Just at this period 
 of their dialogue, the gallant and exceedingly 
 disagreeable Colonel Bruff would have given 
 the world to enquire of his daughter whether 
 Mrs. Smylar had spoken to her on the sub- 
 ject of Mr. George Grindle, as she had pro- 
 mised to do, before the new thought had 
 entered her head, to which we have already 
 made some allusion; but no — brave as he 
 was in the field — boring as he was in society 
 — callous as he was to reproof, and insensible 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 251 
 
 as he was to the ridicule which was so fre- 
 quently heaped upon him, he had not suffi- 
 cient courage even to force the name of his 
 influential housekeeper from between his lips 
 in a tete-a-tete with his own child. 
 
 After the positive agreement between him 
 and Smylar, that she should zealously advo- 
 cate the cause of George, it struck the colo- 
 nel as remarkably strange that his daughter 
 should be at all at a loss to know which of 
 the party was destined to be her husband ; and 
 he began, for the first time in his life, to sus- 
 pect that Smylar had, somehow or for some 
 reason, deceived him. He hemmed, and 
 ha'd, and endeavoured to pluck up a spirit to 
 inquire of Jane whether she had spoken to 
 her on the subject ; but a mingled feeling of 
 respect for his child — (the smallest portion 
 of the admixture), a dread of conveying a 
 stronger idea to her mind of the house- 
 keeper's influence than yet existed in it, and 
 a conviction that if the said housekeeper had 
 deceived him, he dared not exhibit his anger 
 at her defection to any great extent, kept 
 him quiet ; save and except that he indulged 
 M 6 
 
252 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 in a sort of mumbling, muttering noise in 
 the way of soliloquy, which at last increased 
 to sounds so audible, that Jane begged him 
 to ring the bell for lights upstairs, lest she 
 should overhear that, with which she was 
 quite sure he never could mean to trust her. 
 
 Jane, when she reached the drawing-room, 
 threw herself upon the sofa in a state of 
 great uneasiness. On a less well-regulated 
 mind, the prospect before her would have 
 had unquestionably a more violent effect. 
 She had told her father that her heart was 
 disengaged, and that she had no predilection, 
 and had formed no attachment. That this 
 was true, nobody who knew Jane Bruff, and 
 knew that she had said so, could doubt. 
 But, as she has already said in these pages, 
 it is a dreadful alternative when a girl is 
 denied the power of remaining unmarried, 
 and drawn into the positive misery of marry- 
 ing somebody she neither does, nor — as she 
 feels — ever can love. 
 
 There is no doubt but that constant asso- 
 ciation, juxtaposition, and a periodical parti- 
 cipation in the same pursuits and amuse- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 253 
 
 ments, tend so wonderfully to soften asperi- 
 ties, overcome prejudices, and excite sympa- 
 thies, that a man so odious to a young lady 
 as to be admitted by her to the honour of an 
 introduction merely that she may have the 
 satisfaction of cutting him the next day, may 
 in the course of time melt the hard heart of 
 the scornful fair, and convert her smile of 
 contempt into a tear of affection ; but Jane 
 felt that in Mr. George Grindle there was 
 nothing redeeming — no talent to justify his 
 vanity — no genius to qualify his absurdity; 
 and she satisfied herself that " neither time nor 
 trouble" could render him endurable; — and 
 yet — so it is — he was the idol of poor Ellen. 
 But stay one moment — when Ellen first 
 knew George, and George first knew Ellen, 
 he was altogether a different person from 
 what he was at the period of which we are 
 now writing. He was travelling abroad when 
 he met her ; he was then young, handsome, 
 gay, and ingenuous ; he saw the innocent 
 creature living happily in the bosom of her 
 family — he admired — loved her — she reci- 
 procated his affection — he loved her then, as 
 
254 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 fondly and tenderly as she still loved him. 
 But when he returned to England, he was 
 swept into the vortex of that society which, 
 blaze and wearied of the common routine of 
 amusements and pleasures, and charmed only 
 by a ceaseless change of pursuits, treat with 
 contempt and scorn the very notion of senti- 
 ment or feeling ; and which, upon admitting 
 — be it remembered into its second class — 
 Mr. George Grindle, exhibited its solicitude 
 for his worldly welfare by ridiculing his ex- 
 pressions of regard and affection for his once- 
 beloved Ellen, and manifested its excessive 
 friendship by volunteering in more than one 
 or two instances the task of consoling the 
 " Didone Abbandonata," at whom and whose 
 despondency on account of George's absence, 
 the enlightened community was pleased in 
 George's presence to laugh and be merry. 
 
 Ellen, poor Ellen, saw this progressive, and 
 rapidly-progressing alteration in his manner 
 towards her. The interview, meant at one 
 time by him to be the last — which has already 
 been noticed, too deeply stamped upon her 
 mind, the sad, the killing truth. Not for 
 7 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 255 
 
 one moment during the night of that day 
 did she close her eyes ; her infant slept with 
 her, and she clasped it in her arms as the 
 only link that bound her George to her ; and 
 when, as the morning dawned, the baby lisped 
 its father's name, which she had anxiously 
 taught it to repeat, a flood of tears relieved 
 her almost breaking heart. This, be it recol- 
 lected, was the morning of the day on which 
 George first saw, first knew Miss BrufF, and 
 first entered her father's house. 
 
 It must be evident to the reader that the 
 " case," as the phrase goes, of George and 
 Ellen was not a common one. Neither her 
 conduct nor conversation indicated levity of 
 manner, or laxity of principle ; in the culti- 
 vation of the talents she possessed, and in 
 the exercise of the accomplishments she had 
 acquired, all the time she could spare from 
 the instruction or amusement of her boy was 
 occupied, save when the object of her first 
 and only love was with her; during which 
 hours, to her of happiness, the influence she 
 hoped, and till very lately believed, she had 
 over him, was exerted in all gentleness and 
 
256 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 sweetness to win him from the ways which 
 she, secluded as she was, felt fully aware led 
 to destruction. For some time he never 
 failed to communicate to her his losses at 
 play. Then it was she urged him to desist 
 — nay, to the very last, as we have already 
 seen, she did not relax in her advice and 
 entreaties on that point, little imagining how 
 the being by whom all her anxiety was caused, 
 intended to rescue himself from the dangers 
 and relieve himself from the difficulties with 
 which he found himself so seriously threat- 
 ened. 
 
 In this position of affairs we will leave the 
 various personages of our history for the pre- 
 sent. Much may turn on the events of the 
 morrow. A fish-dinner at Greenwich has, 
 before now, tended considerably to accelerate 
 the proceedings of a love affair, and Colo- 
 nel Bruff's party may conduce to the for- 
 warding the business of matrimony in which 
 he and his friend are so busily engaged. In 
 what direction the impetus may be given, the 
 reader is for the present left to conjecture. 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 257 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The reader probably imagines from the 
 manner in which the last chapter concludes, 
 that he is to be forthwith, and immediately 
 transported to the Ship, or the Crown and 
 Sceptre, or some other such popular hostelry 
 at Greenwich. But no — different is to be 
 his fate, and somewhat deferred the fete of 
 others ; for as it seems, it will be necessary, 
 before we lodge our party in one of the 
 strong-smelling, bright- shining greenhouses 
 — conservatories nobody could call them — 
 which overhang the mud of those regions, to 
 say a word or two of our friends the Amer- 
 shams, and perhaps of other persons con- 
 nected with our history. 
 
 One of the peculiarities of woman appears 
 
258 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 to be a passion for match -making. Wholly 
 disinterested as women almost universally 
 are, touching worldly matters, one never sees 
 a woman wholly uninterested in a flirtation, 
 or what may be more properly called, a tendre, 
 which happens to be — or that she thinks is 
 — in progress under her own roof. Mrs. 
 Amersham, who was full of all the best feel- 
 ings of human nature, and really attached 
 to Jane, could not endure the occurrence of 
 any thing which might or could interfere 
 with what she had resolved in her own mind 
 was an existing mutual affection between her 
 and Miles Blackmore. No — she had deter- 
 mined that Miles Blackmore was desperately 
 in love with Jane Bruff, and that Jane Bruff 
 perfectly and entirely reciprocated his tender 
 feelings. 
 
 It should first be understood — as it most 
 probably is — that an affection for one, or even 
 two members of a family, does not necessarily 
 imply a general liking of all the others. Mrs. 
 Amersham was, as we know, the devoted 
 friend of Jane ; but Mrs. Amersham's senti- 
 ments as regarded the gallant and disagreeable 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 259 
 
 colonel, were of a character so diametrically 
 opposite to those which she entertained to- 
 wards his daughter, that she felt it right, 
 not only because she thought she was acting 
 in conformity with Jane's own views and 
 wishes, but because, prejudiced as she was 
 against Bruff, she was sure that no man of 
 his selection, could possibly be a suitable 
 match for his charming daughter — to do all 
 she could to cherish and improve, and warm 
 into active life, the affection which she was 
 resolved to believe, and perhaps did believe, 
 existed between her two friends. 
 
 It has frequently been remarked, that the 
 surest way of bringing about an attachment 
 of this sort, is the constantly talking of it ; 
 not upon the black-pudding principle of the 
 Reverend Sterne, but because the constant 
 association of two names leads on the part 
 of their owners to an association of ideas, 
 whence eventually arise feelings, and a ques- 
 tion of either or both of the parties, as to 
 why it should not be so, or why it should ; 
 which latter, as tending rather to increase 
 the difficulty, seems better calculated to am- 
 
260 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 plify the anxiety and encourage the disqui- 
 sition. 
 
 We know — at least we think we know — 
 that Jane Bruff is not in love with Miles 
 Blackmore; indeed she has said as much. 
 But then there are people in the world who 
 are sufficiently base and low-minded to give 
 that as a strong and cogent reason for believ- 
 ing that she is. They, be they whom they 
 may, know nothing of Jane. Duplicity and 
 deception are strangers to her heart. When 
 her father first touched upon the point, he 
 might have been assured of a plain, candid 
 answer, without invoking the aid of Mrs. 
 Smylar or her curapoa. 
 
 That being ascertained, the next question 
 to be asked is, what was the state of Mr. 
 Blackmore's feelings towards Jane ? 
 
 We have seen clearly enough that he was 
 much and deeply interested in all she said and 
 did — that he followed her at the Amershams' 
 like her shadow — that while she listened with 
 pleasure to his agreeable conversation, he 
 devoted himself to her; and although there 
 seemed no earthly reason why, if he felt the 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 261 
 
 preference which that devotion indicated, he 
 should not own it, still something appeared 
 constantly hanging over him — to damp his 
 ardour — to check his enthusiasm ; and the 
 fine bright sunny hours which he occasionally 
 enjoyed in her society, were uniformly chilled 
 and clouded at some period of the day or 
 evening ; he then became distrait, and seemed 
 to fly from the happiness he had been court- 
 ing, and became absorbed in thought, and 
 even in grief. 
 
 These were signs and symptoms exceed- 
 ingly well calculated to illustrate Mrs. Amer- 
 sham's theory, but which still were quite 
 inexplicable; because she felt assured that 
 if he had done that which she was in daily 
 expectation of his doing, — propose to Jane, 
 — he would be accepted by her, and not, as 
 she thought (looking worldlily at the affair), 
 be refused by the colonel. What could he 
 expect for his daughter more than a gentle- 
 man of good fortune, good character, and of 
 quite as good a family as her own? Dear 
 Emma was almost angry to find these two 
 negatives holding off from the one affirma- 
 
262 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 tive. She thought it would be such a nice 
 match, (for she was not either foppish or 
 fantastical enough to call it a bon parti,) and 
 the j were such a charming couple — and so on 
 — as women will talk who believe, and very 
 properly, that ladies and gentlemen are only 
 sent into the world to " come together." 
 
 Another great point made by Mrs. Amer- 
 sham w r as, the wretched dulness of poor Miles 
 Blackmore after Jane's departure. He spoke 
 seldom — absented himself much — pursued his 
 fishing with unremitting ardour, taking no 
 one with him — leaving the drawing-room 
 early for bed — smiling rarely, and singing 
 not at all. Of all these symptoms, so quickly 
 exhibited after Jane's departure, Emma made 
 a catalogue raisonne, with which she intended 
 to produce an effect upon her young and 
 affectionate friend's heart; but the move- 
 ments of the gallant and disagreeable colonel 
 were so prompt and rapid, that the details of 
 the change which had taken place during the 
 last eight-and-forty hours, could not reach 
 the fair object of her anxiety before the ex- 
 pedition to Greenwich, which was so wonder- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 263 
 
 fully to accelerate the progress of the Grindle 
 affair. 
 
 It was in vain that Mrs. Amersham endea- 
 voured to beguile Miles Blackmore into a 
 dialogue touching the merits, and beauties, 
 and virtues of Jane Bruff. She was full of 
 the subject, and knew quite enough of human 
 nature to know that however shy the true 
 lover may be of mentioning the name of his 
 beloved, nothing charms, entertains, or en- 
 chants him half so much as hearing her 
 talked of, or talking of her himself if any 
 body else begins the subject. Not so Miles 
 Blackmore — the moment she was spoken of, 
 it seemed as if some discordant chord had 
 been stricken, and he either varied the topic 
 on the instant, or quitted the room, or changed 
 his companion, " as the case might be." 
 
 That there are secrets in all families, 
 nobody can doubt ; and Mrs. Amersham 
 began to think that there must be some 
 secret reason for the extraordinary conduct 
 of the gallant, gay Miles Blackmore towards 
 her fair friend, inasmuch as it was impossible 
 for the most casual and superficial observer 
 
264 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 not to perceive that he was deeply interested 
 in her fate, and perfectly conscious of her 
 merits, her virtues, and her beauty ; and yet 
 how was she to account for his disinclination 
 to rescue her from a fate which she dreaded, 
 by making a proposal which he must be cer- 
 tain would not be refused by either the young 
 lady or her father. 
 
 In vain did the anxious Emma puzzle her- 
 self to imagine where lay the hindrance : — 
 as for touching on the point again, or indeed 
 in time to rescue Jane from the impending 
 infliction of a husband whom she could not 
 love, she gave up all hope. Indeed, upon the 
 last occasion of her artfully bringing her con- 
 versation with Miles Blackmore, in the most 
 artless manner, to bear upon the qualities of 
 the absent fair one, the abruptness with 
 which he broke off the dialogue amounted — 
 so unlike his usual manner — almost to 
 rudeness. 
 
 This settled the matter, and when she 
 next wrote to Jane, she did not mention 
 Blackmore ; quite sure that Jane, knowing 
 not only her wishes, but up to that period 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 265 
 
 her belief of the existence of a mutual affec- 
 tion between them, would perfectly under- 
 stand and appreciate the sudden disappearance 
 of the name from her friend's letter. 
 
 Wrong indeed were Mrs. Amersham's 
 speculations as regarded the conduct of 
 Miles Blackmore — conduct which she attri- 
 buted either to coldness of feeling, or wanton 
 trifling, or to a self-love, perhaps still more 
 base than those, but which had its origin in 
 thoughts, in doubts and fears, of which no 
 man living, save himself, could even have 
 dreamed the existence. 
 
 For the present, then, it seems we must 
 leave this divided pair to their destinies, and 
 Mrs. Amersham to her disappointment, which 
 as we already know was great, and return 
 from the sylvan shades of the Amershams' 
 villa, to the empty, dusty, dry, and dreary 
 London, in order that we may accompany 
 unseen, the gay party to Greenwich ; upon 
 the results of which, as the " heads" thought, 
 so much would depend. 
 
 Jane had, as we know, expressed a strong 
 dislike to this sort of expedition, and with a 
 
 VOL. 2 N 
 
266 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 full recollection of the striking attributes of 
 mud, and sunshine, and savoury smells, which 
 are the most unsavoury in the world, anti- 
 cipated neither pleasure, nor even amusement, 
 from the excursion. 
 
 What are called the middling classes, enjoy 
 a day to Greenwich in full perfection. They 
 go early — they visit the hospital — they range 
 the park — they flirt and they laugh, and are 
 happy, and generally conclude the sports of 
 the trip, by rolling down the hill immediately 
 in front of the observatory — they dine at an 
 hour when their appetites are ready for their 
 dinners — they select the particular day when 
 the tide of our majestic river serves to bear 
 upwards on its bosom the noble craft with 
 which it is covered — and they conclude their 
 festivities with a decent tea, and a little 
 something afterwards, which carries them 
 well into the dusk, and so home, id snug, 
 sociable, loving, and comfortable. 
 
 In this way the memory of the days of 
 the first Edward is well celebrated ; and 
 although the domain did pass into the hands 
 of the uncle of Henry VI. the visiters do 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 267 
 
 not reproach themselves with having dined 
 with Duke Humphrey, but rejoice in the 
 evening over a slight cold collation in Lon- 
 don, in memory of the pleasant hours they 
 have passed. 
 
 And it is a noble sight to see nearly three 
 thousand veterans, who in the days of Eng- 
 land's triumphs, and when she had a navy 
 that swept the seas, risked their lives and 
 lost their limbs in maintaining the then un- 
 tarnished honour of her flag. There they 
 are, enjoying peace and plenty, comfortably 
 housed, admirably fed, well and characteristi- 
 cally clothed ; — taste their food, visit their 
 berths, and judge for yourself. This gratifies 
 the true-hearted Englishman in a visit to 
 Greenwich ; and this, so closely connected 
 as it cannot fail to be with the prosperity 
 of our mercantile navy, doubly gladdens the 
 heart when, as we have just said, the up-tide 
 bears upon its silver-surface the untold mil- 
 lions of wealth which are to maintain our 
 superiority over all the nations of the earth 
 — small though we be. It is this, and things 
 like this, that give an interest to Greenwich, 
 n 2 
 
268 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 where one sees the veteran sailors, green in 
 old age, planted like venerable willows — not 
 weeping ones — drawing their nourishment 
 from the banks of that element which in 
 earlier days had been the field of their 
 glory. 
 
 Jane, who had as it may be called scienti- 
 fically, or perhaps it should be said, histo- 
 rically, visited this interesting place, felt all 
 due regard for its claims upon the antiqua- 
 rian and the philanthropist, but beyond that 
 her taste certainly did not run in the line 
 of glaring suns and shadeless windows, the 
 strong odour of fish-frying, nor the sports of 
 mud-scrambles, in which certain lively crea- 
 tures in a large party had once endeavoured 
 to interest her. Upon the present occasion, 
 however, she was doomed to a totally diffe- 
 rent kind of perversion of taste, and one for 
 which she was, with all her earlier predilec- 
 tions, not entirely prepared. 
 
 The Greenwich affair was completely under 
 the nominal control of papa ; but then papa, 
 who was not in the slightest degree aufait, took 
 advice as to his proceedings from Sir George 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 269 
 
 Grindle, who in his turn took advice from his 
 all-accomplished son and heir; so that in the 
 end Bruff, full of liberality as to " founding 
 the feast," came at last to supplicate his 
 intended son-in-law to raise upon that valua- 
 ble foundation the feast itself, which, upon 
 the express understanding of entire irrespon- 
 sibility, George undertook to do ; and accord- 
 ingly sent off a tiger with a note to the land- 
 lord of the — I forgot which of the taverns — 
 the recollection might seem invidious to the 
 master of the house, and exceedingly dis- 
 agreeable to some of the visiters — to order 
 " a dinner," for which the colonel was ex- 
 ceedingly indebted to Mr. Grindle, as he 
 afterwards was to the tavern-keeper. 
 
 The carriages were ordered at seven. Jane 
 thought to herself that it sounded late as the 
 starting-time for a locale whence the view 
 among other things is considered attractive. 
 However, to her all things were equally 
 agreeable under existing circumstances ; and 
 therefore, when she found herself, her father, 
 Lady Gramm, and Miss Pheezle seated in 
 the family-coach in the dusk of the evening, 
 n3 
 
270 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 at twenty minutes after seven, commencing 
 a journey to Greenwich, she contented her- 
 self with wondering why, if the play in 
 which she was to take so prominent a part, 
 was to be acted, it was necessary to carry the 
 performers out in the dusk of the evening to 
 a distance from London, for the representa- 
 tion at what might be considered almost a 
 provincial theatre. 
 
 Sir George, and, to his no small mortifica- 
 tion, his two sons, proceeded direct in his 
 carriage to the place of rendezvous, starting 
 rather later than the colonel and his party, 
 because George could not contrive to get 
 home from his morning pursuits until seven. 
 
 The trajet to Greenwich is, to be sure, any 
 thing but picturesque or inviting. Long 
 rows of shabby houses edging a dusty road 
 are diversified only by taps and turnpikes, or 
 an exciting bridge over one railroad, afford- 
 ing the gratifying view of another ; so that 
 the tavern and the dinner, and the re-union, 
 form, in fact, the sugar after the physic. To 
 be sure, on the present occasion, the dusky 
 shades of evening had begun to throw into 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 271 
 
 indistinctness the surrounding objects, and 
 when the parties met in the dinner-room 
 (which, in order to render the fashionable 
 absurdity of late hours in such a locality 
 more palpably obvious, contained one huge 
 window balconied for the sake of the view), 
 it had reached such a point of obscurity that 
 the only object discernible upon the black 
 mass of water before the house, was the light 
 in the bow of a steam-boat, which, in its un- 
 dulations on the top of the tide, looked much 
 like the lantern of one of the drunken watch- 
 men of the olden time, when reeling along 
 the streets to his box. 
 
 The colonel was chilly — Lady Gramm felt 
 sick at the smell of the river — the candles, 
 which were now lighted, would not bear the 
 roughness of the breeze. The windows were 
 accordingly closed, and in order to exhibit, 
 to the tavernkeeper's great delight and satis- 
 faction, a tawdry piece of crimson stuff, 
 trimmed with broad yellow worsted, the cur- 
 tains were drawn, and dinner ordered forth- 
 with. So much, as far as it yet had gone, 
 for the Greenwich excursion, with which, as 
 N 4 
 
272 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 it seemed to Jane, who disliked even the true 
 genuine sun-shining, mud-breathing affair, as 
 done in other days, Greenwich had nothing 
 on earth or water to do ; and that if it had 
 not been for the name of the thing, they 
 might with equal reason have assembled at 
 Ellis's hotel, the London tavern, or, if " on 
 rurality bent," at that new object of attrac- 
 tion and fashionable patronage, the grand 
 caravansary at the Euston-square station of 
 the Birmingham railroad, where the gourmand 
 and the gourmet may be satisfied to their 
 heart's content. 
 
 The dinner made its appearance. To 
 George the construction of the banquet ap- 
 peared a matter of great interest, since its 
 arrangement had been left to his taste and 
 judgment. To Colonel Bruff it afforded mat- 
 ter for surprise — to the ladies, except Lady 
 Gramm — who had amongst her friends assi- 
 duously earned the sobriquet of Lady Cram 
 it afforded no particular satisfaction. Turtle 
 began it — green fat, embodying a very disa- 
 greeable recollection of a cold in one's head, 
 in a separate dish — then came the train of 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 273 
 
 blue-coated, white-waistcoated, black-shorted 
 worthies, with a string of dishes, whose co- 
 vers, as has elsewhere been remarked, glit- 
 tered like so many cuirasses on a field of 
 battle. Turbot and salmon leading — which 
 had no business to be there — and then water- 
 soutchy of perch (all wrong there) — salmon 
 (still worse) — flounders and soles. Eels, 
 ruled by the Lord Mayor not to be fish — 
 fried, stewed, boiled, spitchcocked ; and then 
 whitebait, the very last of the season, and 
 then six entrees. The eternal boiled fowls 
 and the tongue in the middle, like Macheaih 
 between Polly and Lucy ; and then a haunch 
 of venison, which you might " nose i' the 
 lobby," after which, ducklings at one end, 
 quails at the other, with a small dish of orto- 
 lans, done just one turn too much, as George 
 Grindle oracularly pronounced ; and then a 
 profusion of secondary patisserie, followed by 
 a dessert of choice fruit, evidently from 
 Gravesend or its vicinity. Wines of various 
 sorts enlivened the conversation, which was 
 but of one sort ; for, during the lengthened 
 exhibition of this equivocal luxury, nothing 
 
274 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 was talked of, nothing discussed, but the 
 relative merits, or, as George insisted upon 
 it, demerits of the different dishes ; the utter 
 failure of one attempt, and the commendable 
 comparative respectability to a certain degree 
 in another. 
 
 One only thing happened during the 
 repast, calculated to make any body smile, 
 when Sir George, while discussing the uni- 
 versally-discussed Greenwich question, as to 
 the real nature and character of whitebait, 
 and arguing as to their not being the young 
 fry of shad, or any other fish, but a distinct 
 class of themselves, upon the ground that 
 they had been frequently found with roes in 
 them, said to the colonel, who didn't much 
 care what they were, so as they suffered 
 themselves to be bathed in lemon-juice, and 
 popped by half-dozens at a time into his 
 capacious mouth, " It is said they are migra- 
 tory." 
 
 " No such thing — no such thing," said the 
 colonel, " they are sprats !" 
 
 George Grindle opened his eyes very wide 
 at this dictum. Francis looked towards Jane, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 275 
 
 who did not laugh, and Sir George looked 
 towards Lady Gramm and Miss Pheezle, 
 who did. 
 
 It is the commonest possible remark, that 
 when a party is made for the purpose, eorpres, 
 of being agreeable, it invariably turns out 
 the dullest imaginable. At the period of the 
 afternoon to which we now refer, the colonel, 
 who knew that he should pay for the feast, 
 and had therefore resolved to have at the 
 very least the lion's share of it, had eaten 
 himself into a state of stupidity. Before 
 him, and in that state (because the excess of 
 eating had been, as he considered, judiciously 
 and constitutionally qualified by a propor- 
 tionate modicum of champagne, &c), Jane 
 did not dare to venture a remark for fear of 
 being snubbed ; and Sir George, who was 
 unquestionably the most agreeable personage 
 present, felt that any little observation of 
 his, would subject him to a " show up" from 
 George, who had been specially appointed by 
 the colonel, Jonkanoo for the evening, whose 
 conversational powers and fascinating quali- 
 ties he was most anxious should be dis- 
 N 6 
 
276 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 played and developed to their best possible 
 advantage. 
 
 That the presence of Francis acted as a 
 wet blanket upon his father and brother, no- 
 body who knew the family could doubt, nor 
 was it at all an agreeable feature of the 
 evening, that the said Francis was Jane's 
 right-hand neighbour at dinner, as George 
 was her left-hand one. It is true he spoke 
 little, but his good sense induced him gently 
 to check and endeavour to turn the current 
 of conversation, when it seemed to him run- 
 ning rather faster or more roughly than 
 seemed quite meet, and more especially to 
 moderate the tone of irony and ridicule which 
 his brother's language invariably assumed 
 while sparring as it were with his new old 
 friends, Lady Gramm and Miss Pheezle. 
 
 Lady Gramm's great quality was a perfect 
 and unquestionable knowledge of every body 
 existing — of the " nobodies," she knew no- 
 thing. But of every body who was, as she 
 considered, any body, every particular, histo- 
 rical, biographical, and anecdotical, were at 
 her command ; observing, however, by the 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 277 
 
 way, that she never, by any chance, was cor- 
 rect in any of her details. 
 
 Miss Pheezle was a lady still young in her 
 own conceit, who, some thirty years ago — 
 when every fool did not write a book — had 
 perpetrated a romance called "The Knight 
 of the Green Cross," with poetry interspersed, 
 whence upon all occasions she quoted with a 
 parental fondness, which for a spinster, never 
 likely to be unspinstered, afforded the most 
 gratifying evidence of maternal affection for 
 her literary offspring. 
 
 Out of these materials George and his 
 father could have made much, in the way of 
 amusement, and George had done his best 
 with my lady in Harley-street the first and 
 last time he met her; but Francis marred 
 the sport. Lady Gramm did not object to a 
 little — not a very little champagne — and 
 then she became agreeable, in the way of 
 being laughed at. Miss Pheezle, who affected 
 great abstinence because her doctor had 
 warned her of the consequences of indulgence, 
 kept her constant companion in check, so 
 that it was absolutely necessary where they 
 
278 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 were well known and thoroughly appreciated, 
 to draw off Miss Pheezle to a distant sofa, 
 and induce her in all sobriety to quote her 
 own " Knight of the Green Cross," before it 
 was possible to get the dear roundabout Lady 
 Gramm to make herself perfectly absurd at 
 the other end of the room. 
 
 Upon the occasion of the Greenwich affair, 
 after the gourmands had stupified themselves 
 with the quantities of things they had eaten, 
 the affair became exceedingly dull — the dis- 
 tant shouts of drunken revelry in some other 
 parts of the house — the ringing of bells — the 
 clattering of dirty plates outside the door, 
 added to the smell of tobacco in all its various 
 grades and qualities — the candles burning 
 into the sockets with finger-long wicks — Sir 
 George sitting with his fishy-looking eyes 
 fixed on Jane's fair face — the colonel with 
 his chin on his chest, nobbing and dobbing 
 his great empty head downwards — Lady 
 Gramm exchanging looks with her toady 
 Pheezle — George greatly bored, and Francis 
 still more annoyed at the sufferings which 
 the " forbidden" fair one was enduring, ren- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 279 
 
 dered the whole concern a dead failure, or as 
 the phrase goes, " a flat shine." 
 
 At last Miss Pheezle, who fancied herself 
 fifteen at fifty-six, put on one of her best 
 Gorgon grins, and darting a killing look at 
 George, said, 
 
 " You have travelled a good deal, Mr. 
 Grindle?" 
 
 " An uncommon sight, ma'am," said George; 
 " I have been going over the ground for more 
 than three years." 
 
 " Have you been in Greece ? — that classic 
 land," said Miss Pheezle. 
 
 "I flatter myself I ha\e," replied the tra- 
 velled beau. 
 
 " You have seen Athens then ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," said George. 
 
 " What delightful recollections it must 
 have awakened in your mind !" 
 
 " Not exactly recollections," answered 
 George — "pass the wine, governor — because 
 I never was there before. I recollect the 
 road uncommon well, and as for Athens, I 
 delight in it ; there's a fellow out there, can 
 do a cutlet as well as Ude himself, and as for 
 
'280 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 a rump-steak — for any body who eats them 
 — he'd beat the best cockney out-and-out. 
 Over at Thebes we had a table d'hote of four- 
 and-twenty — all English but three — every 
 thing our own way." 
 
 "But I was speaking of the antiquities — 
 the associations — the — " 
 
 "Oh!" said George, "ah — about the anti- 
 quities I don't know much — of course, the 
 pyramids in Egypt and all those sort of things 
 are uncommon droll to look at; but the 
 associations — I can't say — I told my friend 
 Charley Rollicker, as capital a fellow as ever 
 handled ribbons, that if he would start a good 
 team of four, across the isthmus from Cairo 
 to Suez, he'd beat any association going." 
 
 " Is that Charles Rollicker any relation to 
 the Muntingtons?" said the important Lady 
 Gramm. 
 
 "I don't know any thing of his birth, 
 parentage, or education, but he is a remark- 
 able nice fellow," said George. 
 
 "That's he," said Lady Gramm; "his 
 mother was a first cousin of Lady Mackdod- 
 dles, who married a Colonel Stobbs, and he 
 3 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 281 
 
 died, and then she married again, a second 
 cousin of my father-in-law's great-uncle ; it is 
 the same — a dark, short, thickset man." 
 
 " On the contrary," said George ; " tall, 
 fair, and handsome." 
 
 " Ah ! never mind," said Lady Gramm ; 
 " it is the one I mean — it must be — there is 
 no other." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Pheezle, " those mistakes 
 in complexion will happen — as I say in my 
 1 Knight of the Green Cross.' 
 
 ' The night was dark, no moon was there, 
 Whether her knight was dark or fair, 
 How could Eugenia know ? — ' " 
 
 "That'll do— that'll do," said the colonel, 
 awaking in a slight degree from his slumber ; 
 " I have heard that before." 
 
 " I am too much flattered," said Miss 
 Pheezle, who thought every body had read 
 her " Knight of the Green Cross." 
 
 " We had some uncommon good fun," said 
 George, " at Florence, or somewhere — it was 
 Florence, I think, because I recollect we 
 had an uncommon good soup — we went to 
 
282 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 vespers before dinner, or as it was there 
 voted supper, and filled the benitier half full 
 of ink — an old trick, I admit — so that the 
 devout disciples having bobbed their curte- 
 sies, and done all that they thought decent, 
 went to prayers with their faces as black 
 as that of the man in the play who smothers 
 his wife." 
 
 " Have you published your travels, Mr. 
 Grindle?" said Miss Pheezle. 
 
 " No," said George ; " but I am in treaty 
 just now with one of the best of the printing 
 people. It's a bore not to have published 
 something — every body publishes now — and 
 I have a young friend who sketches uncom- 
 mon — or rather finishes up my views — I just 
 give a sort of outline of the thing, city, or 
 village, or temple, or whatever it is, and then 
 in the foreground, if it is land, he puts in a 
 lot of cows and horses, or camels and drome- 
 daries, or ploughs, and people, and things in 
 fancy dresses ; and if it is to be water, he 
 makes a lot of waves, and has in a great boat 
 — uncommon picturesque — with a bit of 
 wreck swimming, and a few wild ducks flying 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 283 
 
 about, and that sort of thing, which sets it 
 off; and if he likes a mountain or two in 
 the background, for what he calls ' effect,' 
 why, however flat the country is, of course I 
 let him poke them in, for these painters will 
 have their way." 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Grindle," said Lady Gramm, 
 " when you were at Florence, did you 
 meet a relation of mine, Lord Slimbury? 
 — his mother's first cousin married my 
 sister's father-in-law — he was born in the 
 year 1785, and had three children; the 
 second was drowned at Geneva, and the 
 eldest was killed by a fall from his horse 
 afterwards — a very fine young man ; the 
 third—" 
 
 " / know him" said Sir George, rallying 
 from a slumber, which naturally enough 
 seemed to oppress the whole party, " and a 
 deuced good fellow he is." 
 
 " I really don't know any thing about 
 him," said Lady Gramm; " he has disobliged 
 his family by a very improvident marriage, 
 and, what is called colloquially, gone to the 
 dogs." 
 
284 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 "Dogs," said Miss Pheezle; " do you 
 recollect, Lady Gramm dear, what I say, 
 
 ' Where is the knight — o'er moors and bogs, 
 He hunts to-day — look to his dogs.' " 
 
 " / am serious," said Lady Gramm ; " he 
 has behaved exceedingly ill." 
 
 " Oh !" said Sir George, who felt that he 
 had struck a discordant chord — and then 
 came a pause. 
 
 And what had been going on as regarded 
 the two silent ones of this party ? — Francis, 
 who at dinner sat next Jane, had, in the 
 course of some new arrangement when the 
 dessert was put down, moved so far round 
 from her as to be, in point of fact, nearly 
 opposite to her. For Francis to have spoken 
 to Jane, would have been a crime in the eyes 
 of the high contracting powers. Even to 
 have joined in the conversation, and to have 
 expressed his opinion of the nature and cha- 
 racter of George's narratives, if, as it inevita- 
 bly would have clone, it opposed them, would 
 have been not only high treason as related to 
 his father and brother, but wholly contrary to 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 285 
 
 the rule of conduct which he had laid down 
 for himself when he joined the party. But 
 eyes — what say they ? — could Francis pre- 
 vent his eyes glancing — ay — more than 
 glancing — resting upon the sweet placid 
 countenance of the gentle Jane, while George 
 was going on with hundreds of absurdities, 
 platitudes, and ignorances, of which we have 
 only quoted one or two ? Could Jane, who 
 saw precisely how Francis was affected by 
 the flippant absurdities of his brother — the 
 completely-spoiled child of the secondary 
 circle in which he moved — feel unconscious 
 of the interest which the quiet but intellec- 
 tual young man took in her fate? It must 
 be owned that the elders had put themselves 
 hors de combat, and that the gallantry of the 
 baronet had for once given way to gastro- 
 nomy ; so that in the end, as any body who 
 knows the world would have guessed, the 
 party had much better have staid at home, 
 and our friend Colonel Bruff kept his seven- 
 teen pounds nine shillings and elevenpence, 
 waiters not included, in his pocket. 
 
 But worse came of it than this. Coffee at 
 
286 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 length was ordered in another room, to which 
 the gentle Jane and her friends retired. Here 
 the night having closed in, but the moon 
 having risen and the wind having fallen, the 
 windows were, by Jane's desire, opened, and 
 the transition from a climate redolent of an 
 eaten dinner, constituted as theirs had been, 
 to the fresh air blowing from the river, 
 tempted the heroine of the day into the 
 balcony. Lady Gramm declined, and Miss 
 Pheezle quoted from herself, 
 
 " Close up the shutters, lie down in your nest, 
 For keen blows the night-wind on Adela's breast." 
 
 Jane, however, did not heed this warning, — 
 she leaned over the railing of the balcony 
 and gazed on the moon — on which those 
 whom she loved afar off might be gazing 
 too. The sound of the voices of those leav- 
 ing perhaps for ever their native home, was 
 borne on the breeze — the distant tinkling of 
 the ships' bells striking the hour — fast fleet- 
 ing, for those on the eve of their departure — 
 the hoarse cry of the sailor conning his ship 
 — the dash of the water under her bows — 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 287 
 
 the thousand effects so different from those 
 produced upon her mind in the hot closed 
 room in which she had been for two or 
 three hours pent, and the one crowning 
 feeling of disinclination, not to say disgust, 
 towards the man whom she now was con- 
 vinced was destined to be her husband, all 
 came full upon her mind — her bosom heaved 
 and her breath faltered — tears came to her 
 relief — she hid her face, chilled as it was by 
 the night air, in her hand — nor did she 
 awake from the painful, yet almost pleasur- 
 ably painful revery, until warned of the im- 
 prudence of exposing herself to the night 
 air, by Mr. Francis Grindle, who had first 
 left the dinner-room, and, why he scarcely 
 knew, had proceeded to the balcony where 
 Jane happened to be. 
 
 How strong the resolution of man, where 
 woman is concerned, may be — what the 
 firmness of his resolves, or what the extent 
 of his philosophy, it is useless here to ques- 
 tion or discuss. Certain it is that Miss Jane 
 Bruff was infinitely more pleased by the 
 gentle, diffident, yet earnest solicitude of 
 
288 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 Mr. Francis Grindle for her health, than she 
 had been with any part of his brother's 
 display during dinner ; for although George 
 was resolved to marry her, the unsentimen- 
 tality of his character, and his utter disbelief 
 in the best qualities of women, led him to 
 imagine that Jane would — as she might 
 indeed have done — look upon any serious 
 attack upon her heart as an unnatural ab- 
 surdity after so short an acquaintance ; and 
 therefore he determined to captivate her by 
 what he considered a flourish of his own, 
 and an attempt to " show up" the other 
 two ladies. 
 
 The attempt certainly was a failure. Jane 
 saw no wit in his conversation ; nor did she, 
 although perfectly awake to the foibles of 
 Lady Gramm and Miss Pheezle, consider his 
 manner to them, who were her friends, at all 
 complimentary to herself. In short, she had 
 made up her mind. 
 
 Five minutes at the most — no, not more 
 than four — passed in the balcony before the 
 return of Jane and Francis into the room — 
 the other men were still absent. What he 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 289 
 
 said to her, or she to him, of course nobody 
 can tell ; but we know quite enough of her 
 to know that nothing could have passed 
 between them but the ordinary exchange of 
 commonplace observations. What then ? the 
 simplest remark — a mere question — a plain 
 answer — ten words about nothing, may, un- 
 der circumstances like those in which Jane 
 was placed, do more than all the studied 
 eloquence of years. There is a sympathy — 
 a something indescribable and inexplicable — 
 which outstrips the test of time. No matter 
 — whatever did pass in those few minutes 
 settled a very important question in our 
 history. 
 
 Let it not be imagined that this infers 
 a love at (nearly) first sight feeling in Jane, 
 in favour of Frank — not a bit of it — all the 
 effect produced by whatever happened, was 
 to settle the question of love at first sight 
 for his half-brother ; and yet in all that passed 
 not one word did Francis speak to the dis- 
 paragement of George — nor did he even 
 mention his name. That Jane had been un- 
 comfortable — unhappy during dinner, Francis 
 
 vol. i. 
 
290 FATHERS AXD SOXS. 
 
 had seen. Jane had seen that he saw she 
 was so — that was all — his coming into the 
 balcony then was enough, without saying a 
 word about it. Practical attentions, respect- 
 fully offered, beat all the wordy eloquence 
 in the world — especially if the young lady 
 is melancholy, and the moon happens to 
 shine a little. 
 
 In spite of George's dandyism, and his 
 consequent abhorrent abstemiousness from 
 wine, upon the present occasion, partly with 
 the design of swelling old Bruff's bill, and 
 perhaps from recollections of former orgies, 
 w ? hich were succeeded by sundry destructive 
 proceedings on the return to London, the 
 pink of perfection far outdid his usual out- 
 doings, and became, to use a colloquial ex- 
 pression, uncommonly bosky ; an odd pro- 
 ceeding for a young gentleman on his pro- 
 motion ; but for which, besides the motives 
 just ascribed to him, a cause might be found 
 in the thoughts and recollections, which could 
 not fail to haunt his mind, of home — " the 
 home, sweet home," of other days. It was 
 evident that he cared no more for Jane than 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 291 
 
 he did for Lady Gramm or Miss Pheezle ; he 
 knew nothing of her character or disposition ; 
 and although he had naturally enough praised 
 her the day before, and joined, or rather 
 rivalled his father in eulogiums upon her, 
 he thought it wise to endeavour to astonish 
 " her weak mind" by displaying the weak- 
 ness of his own. This was a dead failure, 
 and when he came somewhat seriously into 
 the drawing-room — or literally the withdraw- 
 ing-room — looking palish, and smelling most 
 awfully of the cigars which he, together with 
 his respectable parent and the gallant and 
 disagreeable colonel, had thought proper to 
 smoke, much to the damage of the colonel's 
 propriety, Jane could scarcely muster up a 
 smile of ordinary civility, to greet him, or 
 affect a frown of playful reproachfulness for 
 his not making his appearance earlier. 
 
 After the arrival of the beaux, old and 
 young, sundry waiters made their appearance, 
 bearing salvers, whereon were placed cups 
 containing a bitter infusion of soot and water, 
 imbibed by a large proportion of the British 
 population as coffee, softened in its flavour 
 0.2 
 
292 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 by another admixture of chalk and water, 
 administered as cream. To this succeeded 
 a hot decoction of birch-twigs and sloe-leaves, 
 dignified with the name of tea ; all of which 
 were eventually qualified — or, as the colonel 
 called it, " settled " — by some exceedingly 
 bad noyeau mixed with gin, cased in basket 
 armour, and called maraschino. 
 
 By this time it was half-past ten o'clock, 
 and in spite of the strained efforts of every 
 one of the party to make matters lively, the 
 unanimous feeling which existed — but which 
 no one ventured to express — was a desire 
 to get away and get home. Sir George in 
 vain endeavoured to keep up the ball, and 
 even proceeded to the dangerous expedient 
 of rallying Frank on his dulness. The reply 
 was merely the expression of an unconscious- 
 ness of any particular "stupidity" on the 
 occasion, and George's observation upon the 
 parental snub went only to impress upon the 
 mind of Jane that the company then and 
 there assembled were not considered by his 
 " learned brother" sufficiently " blue" or " deep 
 read" (and he sported that joke as a new one 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 293 
 
 of his own) to excite any interest in his mind, 
 or induce him to favour them with any of 
 his observations. 
 
 To Jane it appeared, as indeed was the 
 fact, that with the exception of herself and 
 Frank, the ladies and gentlemen of the coterie 
 had miscalculated the strength of the cham- 
 pagne, of the " cup," and of the various other 
 liquids which they had swallowed. Lady 
 Gramm had fallen into a doze, and Miss 
 Pheezle had walked out into the balcony 
 to look at the moon. Nobody walked out 
 after her, and she remained in meditation for 
 some time. When she returned to her friends, 
 she seemed as if the fresh air had been ex- 
 ceedingly serviceable to her. 
 
 At length came the departure. Then there 
 was an attempt at a new arrangement of the 
 passengers. The colonel and Sir George, 
 whose candour as to the object of the party 
 increased as the " hot and rebellious liquors" 
 which they had sw T allowed, progressively took 
 effect, insisted upon George's going in the 
 colonel's carriage with Jane and her father, 
 while Lady Gramm, the chaperon, and Miss 
 o 3 
 
294 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 Pheezle, were to be buttoned up with Sir 
 George and Frank ; and so, in the end, it 
 was settled ; but with a sort of boisterous- 
 ness and fuss which attracted the attention 
 of, and provided amusement for, a group of 
 well-dressed smokers who were lounging 
 round the door of the tavern. To Jane the 
 change was odious; but she knew quite 
 enough of her father, especially as he then 
 was, to offer the slightest objection to it ; 
 although certainly nothing could well be 
 more painful than an association with the 
 man whom she now too plainly discovered 
 was intended to be her husband, and the 
 parent who was resolved that he should be 
 so ; never forgetting the exceeding coarse- 
 ness of the colonel's language when he chose 
 to be playful, and the violence of his temper 
 when he thought fit to be angry, and the 
 fact that both the said lover and the afore- 
 said parent were scarcely conscious of what 
 they were saying, or perhaps doing. 
 
 Then, think of the effort which Jane felt 
 she had to make in keeping up a conversa- 
 tion calculated to ward off any allusion to 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 295 
 
 the matter nearest her father's heart. She 
 affected good spirits, and as they passed the 
 walls of the noble establishment which dig- 
 nifies the surrounding dirt, she launched out 
 into a high eulogium upon the "pietas an- 
 gusta" of Queen Mary, and continued un- 
 interruptedly to descant upon her virtues and 
 charity till a peculiar noise to which, " in the 
 afternoon," she was not altogether unaccus- 
 tomed, announced to her that her respectable 
 and gallant sire was — to use a strong expres- 
 sion — fast asleep. 
 
 To wake him would be to rouse the lion, 
 or rather to disturb the bear ; yet she felt by 
 no means pleased at being thus entirely left 
 to the mercy of the protestations and decla- 
 rations of George Grindle, by the soft, or 
 rather noisy, slumbers of the gallant officer. 
 The word love from his lips would be death 
 to her, even though she was conscious that 
 she was doomed, sooner or later, to hear it. 
 She had seen in his manner, and discovered 
 by his conversation during the day, that her 
 companion held himself invincible in the art 
 and mystery of lady-killing — nay, that he felt 
 
296 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 satisfied that she herself had already fallen a 
 victim to his fascinations she had reason to, 
 believe. She could not be blind — or, even if 
 blind, deaf — to the reasons why he had been 
 transported from his father's carriage to hers ; 
 it was evidently to afford him an opportunity 
 of what the saints call " improving the occa- 
 sion," or as he would himself have said, 
 " making his play." 
 
 Having therefore exhausted the hospital, 
 Jane, who could not avoid remarking the 
 fixed look of devotion of her opposite neigh- 
 bour, began upon the universal topic of rail- 
 roads — their speed — their danger — their ad- 
 vantages — the change they would work in 
 society ; — to all of which George seemed to 
 listen with the deepest attention, without 
 even venturing a reply. Jane felt reassured ; 
 two miles had now been travelled, and the 
 advances which she had dreaded had not been 
 made — the infant passion had not been even 
 whispered — her ear was still unprofaned — her 
 hand was yet unpressed. 
 
 What strange creatures women are — the 
 best, the wisest ! Nobody but a woman per- 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 297 
 
 haps will believe, that with all her dread of 
 the siege — with all her disinclination to the 
 parley, and with her firm determination as to 
 the surrender, this fair and gentle " soldier's 
 daughter" was rather disappointed — disap- 
 pointed in the female sense of the word — at 
 the perfect quietude of the dragon with whom 
 she had been packed up. Such implicit 
 deference to all she said — such a total absence 
 of all remark — piqued her into the belief 
 that the dandy who pretended to her love, 
 did not consider her worthy of his notice. 
 After another observation upon trains, and 
 trams, and trucks, &c, she again looked at 
 him for a dissenting or assenting observation, 
 when she found, certainly to her surprise, 
 that the ever-graceful George, the admired 
 of all beholders, was, like her excellent 
 parent at her side, in a state of blessed som- 
 nolency. 
 
 Then it was, that Jane first seriously insti- 
 tuted in her mind a comparison between her 
 opposite companion and his absent half- 
 brother. True it was that Frank had found 
 very few opportunities during the day of en- 
 
293 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 joying any thing like conversation with Jane ; 
 nor, knowing his views and resolutions touch- 
 ing her, and her position in his family, would 
 he have availed himself of any opportunities 
 which might have presented themselves ; and 
 true it is that the course Jane would have 
 preferred to pursue, would have been to think 
 nothing about either of them. But when the 
 contrast was actually forced upon her — when 
 she recollected the intellectual qualities of 
 Frank — his gentle and submissive approach 
 to the balcony — the assiduous, yet, on his 
 part, natural and unaffected solicitude which 
 he expressed touching the effect of the night 
 air on her thinly-clad frame — the genuine 
 anxiety to fetch her shawl, which implied as 
 she thought an equal anxiety to prolong her 
 stay where she was — the few observations 
 which he made — his evident dislike of his 
 brother's treatment of the " other two ladies;" 
 in fact, his wholly unconscious development 
 of the respect and admiration which he felt 
 for Miss Jane Bruff, (made too in spite of 
 himself,) had— yes, had interested the said 
 Miss Jane Bruff in his favour— barring always, 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 299 
 
 as I have before said, any absurdity about 
 love at first sight, or rather second sight — 
 as was the case in the affair under discussion. 
 
 The carriage rolled its onward course, and 
 neither Agamemnon nor Adonis came to 
 themselves. The first blush of returning 
 consciousness burst upon them when Sugar 
 and Salt abruptly stopped at the colonel's 
 door in Harley-street, a proceeding on their 
 parts which brought the head of the gallant 
 warrior in contact with his daughter's sinister 
 cheek, and almost threw the slumbering suitor 
 opposite, involuntarily into the arms of his 
 destined bride. 
 
 " That'll do— that'll do," said Bruff, as he 
 valiantly exalted his head to the perpendicu- 
 lar, after the bump. 
 
 " Permit me," said George, stepping out of 
 the carnage and offering his hand to Jane ; 
 " uncommon slow — eh ? where — the — what 
 is — the steamboat gone ? " 
 
 Jane just touched the proffered arm, and 
 lightly bounded into the house. 
 
 " Come, governor," said George, who was 
 
300 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 entirely mystified as to his position and his 
 companions ; " where are you f " 
 
 " Here, here," said the colonel ; " but where 
 are the ladies — eh — what?" 
 
 Whereupon Sir George's servant stepped 
 up to the door, and hinted that his master 
 and the ladies were close behind, drawn up 
 in Sir George's carriage to the trottoir. 
 
 " Ah ! that'll do," said the colonel ; " now 
 — eh — now we will all be snug — eh — here 
 you — draw off — before the other carriage — 
 come — here." At which period the gallant 
 officer felt it necessary to have recourse to 
 the iron railings of his area to support himself 
 with security. 
 
 Up drove the carriage, and great and many 
 were the persuasions which Colonel Bruff 
 endeavoured to articulate, to induce its in- 
 habitants to renew the pleasures of the day ; 
 but George declaring that he must be off, 
 and preferred walking, his worthy father un- 
 dertook to set Lady Gramm and her poetical 
 friend down, and Frank remaining where he 
 was, the party separated, after perhaps the 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 301 
 
 most unsatisfactory expedition — except that 
 of Walcheren — that ever was undertaken. 
 
 Of course George drifted down to Crock- 
 ford's, where he consoled himself in the 
 morning-room, doing duty for the evening 
 ones at that season, and gave a description of 
 the Greenwich affair, which would have re- 
 mained unquestioned, had not his exemplary 
 parent arrived about three-quarters of an 
 hour later, to qualify the exaggerations of his 
 incautious heir, and pronounce it to the four 
 or five London-bound stragglers who were 
 present, " an uncommon pleasant day." 
 
 That somehow it had been, as the reader 
 must plainly perceive, a dead failure, there 
 could be no manner of doubt, and when 
 morning came, both Sir George and his son 
 — that is, his elder son — were perfectly d'ac- 
 cord on the subject. Then they repented 
 and hesitated as to what was next to be 
 done. For neither had Jane exhibited the 
 slightest preference, nor shown the slightest 
 attention to our hero ; nor had our hero 
 done any thing in the way of ingratiating 
 himself with Jane. In fact, upon a recon- 
 
 vol. i. p 
 
302 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 sideration of the proceedings, they mutually 
 reproached each other with having, they 
 scarcely knew why, exhibited a coup manque. 
 Jane, on their arrival at home, hastened 
 towards her room, tremblingly alive to the 
 usual readiness of Lady Gramm and her 
 literary shadow, to accept any invitation 
 under any circumstances, and join a little 
 " sociability" at any hour of the night, know- 
 ing, with the colonel in his then state, what 
 the scene would inevitably be. She paused 
 on the staircase, to satisfy herself of the 
 results of his efforts to make up a little 
 " snuggery," and never did the sweetest tones 
 of Grisi or Persiani sound more harmoniously 
 in her ear, than did the roll and rattle of 
 the wheels which bore away the threatened 
 visitors. She continued her course upwards, 
 and immediately surrendered herself to the 
 petits soi?is of Miss Harris, so as to prevent 
 any further discussion with papa, whose 
 activity of mind and body were certainly not 
 improved by his Greenwich discipline, and 
 who, without even requiring the presence of 
 Jane, wound up his evening with a glass of 
 
FATHERS AND SONS. 303 
 
 something comfortable, administered in the 
 back dining-room by the hand of Mrs. Smy- 
 lar — with whom it is just probable he might 
 have discussed the events of the day, not 
 excluding from his calculations the exceed- 
 ingly unprofitable outlay of his seventeen 
 pounds nine shillings and eleven pence. 
 
 Whatever might have been the nature and 
 character of the colonel's parley with the 
 housekeeper, or whatever the declarations 
 which, in the then peculiarly candid state of 
 what he called his mind, he might have made 
 upon the occasion, it is certain that from this 
 very evening (or morning as it was, before 
 they parted), that amiable and respectable 
 personage began to play a part with " Jane " 
 (as she called her), in which she had never 
 appeared before, and which contrasted itself 
 strangely and strongly with the course of 
 conduct which she had up to that period 
 pursued. " When the wine is in, the wit is 
 out ;" — so says the proverb ; and with some 
 men the wit is never out till the wine is in. 
 But the colonel's wit was of a different sort 
 from that, and something came out, during 
 p 2 
 
304 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 his cosey tete-a-tete with Mrs. Smylar, that 
 had better have been kept in; for, as the 
 reader will probably hereafter see, whatever 
 it was that he did say, it was upon that hint 
 she afterwards spake. 
 
 END OF VOL. I 
 
 Gilbert & Rivington, Printers, St. John's Square, London.