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SCENES AT BRIGHTON 
 
 OR, 
 
 ''HOW MUCHr 
 
 % Satirical Nobd. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 By INNES HOOLE, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE, ^t. 
 
 " Satire should, tike a polish'd razor keen. 
 Cut with an edge that's scarcely telt or seen- 
 Minc is an oyster-knife." 
 
 I must have liberty 
 Witbal, as large a charter as the \\ind. 
 To blow on whom I please : for so fools have. 
 And they that are most galled with my folly, 
 Tliey moa must l«Mgh. SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 And Horace quits a while the town for Brighton. 
 
 Horace in London^ 
 
 VOL. L 
 LONDON: 
 
 TRINTED FOR 
 
 A. K. NEWMAN AND CO. LE ADENIIA LL>STR EET 
 
 1821. 
 
V. 1 
 
 " No, Til not say a word about it ; 
 hej^e it is. In publishing it, I have ap- 
 pealed to the world, and to the world I 
 leave it; it micst speak for itself 
 
 Sterne, 
 
 r 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON 
 
 CHAPTEU I. 
 
 ** Gie me a lass wi' a lump o' lanri, 
 
 And we for life simll gJinb: the^ither; 
 Tho' daft or wise, I'll ne\er demr'nri, 
 
 Or black or fair, it makes na whether; 
 I'm aff wi' wit, and beauty will fade, 
 
 And blood alone is no worth a shilling; 
 But she that's rich, her market's made, 
 
 For ilka charm about her is killing/' 
 
 "I CANNOT make out which the 
 devil it is of tliose girls that has the 
 money !" exclaimed sir Archibald Mur- 
 ray, looking from the club-room window, 
 as the three INIiss Templemores, accom- 
 panied by their mother, passed up the 
 B 2 Steine 
 
4 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Steine before him. " That one of them 
 has sufficient," he continued, still anx- 
 iously peering after them, " to make a 
 man monsus comfortable, is as certain as 
 
 " That we shall lose the game !" groan- 
 ed out a surly old gentleman, banging 
 down his card, at the same time, on the 
 table, with such force that every body 
 felt the shock. 
 
 Bursts of this sort however were no- 
 thing extraordinary, and sir Archibald 
 continued — " I really should like to 
 know which it is;" his voice assuming 
 a tone of suppliant inquiry as he spoke, 
 " for that one has enough to make her 
 pretty well w^orth one's while, is a most 
 decided thing, depend on it Come, 
 Stanley, if you do not know which it is, 
 cannot you give a guess ? come, say one, 
 for a frolic." 
 
 " Not I," coolly returned his friend, 
 who was nevertheless straining his neck 
 with equal avidity out of that side of 
 
 the 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 5 
 
 the window at which he stood. — 
 ^'EnoughV repeating his words ; " what 
 do you mean by enough f Enough in- 
 deed ! Why, man, people's ideas of 
 enough are upon such a different scale, 
 that you fail even in exciting me to take 
 a turn up the Steine to see what sort of 
 cattle they may be." 
 
 " They put their drapery on pretty 
 neatly, however," said captain Auckland, 
 who fancied himself quite a connoisseur 
 in the sort of thing. " The two hats 
 sit remarkably well ; and the beaver 
 bonnet and feathers, if I might be allow- 
 ed a voice, I should back the bonnet for 
 the fortune. Those feathers did not cost 
 a trifle." 
 
 " She does not stand upon trifles," 
 idly observed the honourable Mr. Legge 
 n-om the card-table ; " windy weather, 
 I see, will not suit her market." 
 
 " It is so provoking their all dressing 
 
 the same," again observed sir Archibald, 
 
 who seemed to get " deeper and deeper 
 
 B 3 stiU" 
 
6 SCENES AT BUIGHTON'. 
 
 stiir in perplexity, every time the ladies 
 in question passed the window ; " I hate 
 to see people who evince no more of 
 taste than a charity child ; they ought to 
 make some distinctions." 
 
 *^They ought to make some distinc- 
 tion,^" re-echoed Stanley, who continued 
 as alert on his post by the side panes, as 
 his friend sir Archibald was on the other 
 — *^ they ought indeed, as you say, to 
 make some distinction. The way they 
 do the thing must either be cursed eco- 
 nomy on one side, or cruel hard manage- 
 ment on the other. The economy how- 
 ever we will not quarrel with ; it will 
 put another horse or two in the stable — 
 give one an extra bottle of champaign e, 
 and allow one to keep " 
 
 " Not make any distinctions !" scream- 
 ed out captain Auckland, who till now 
 had been thunderstruck by the assertion ; 
 " not make any distinctions ! Why what 
 do you call those feathers ? why there is 
 money in the very turn of them !" 
 
 « There 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. ? 
 
 " There is money somewliere, and that 
 is enough for me," said sir Archibald, 
 worn to the last thread of impatience to 
 make the (to him) essential discovery. 
 — " There is money somewhere," put- 
 ting on his gloves as he spoke — " there 
 is money, I say, somewhere, that is, I 
 believe, certain. — -Come, Stanley, come, 
 and let us shew ourselves ; w^e are doing 
 nothing here. — Come, there is money, I 
 am positive, somewhere." 
 
 " By the living God, sir, they have 
 not a sixpence among them !" exclaimed 
 the master of the ceremonies, pompously 
 peering over his spectacles at sir Archi- 
 bald ; " they have not, I give you my 
 honour, they have not sixpence among 
 them. I know, to a certainty, they ne- 
 ver eat any thing else but mutton-chops 
 for dinner ; and their drink, sir, is toast 
 and water." 
 
 " Mutton ! mutton ! nothing but mut- 
 ton !'* said Stanley, in an aneciea lune ui' 
 
 B 4 disgust, 
 
9 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 disgust, " why, I shall expect to hear 
 them all cry ba-a-ah in a minute." 
 
 " The wool you see is beginning to 
 grow," observed captain Auckland, al- 
 luding to the Austrian trimming of their 
 pelisses. 
 
 " Black sheep after all," said JNIr. 
 Legge from the card-table. 
 
 " If you will take my word for it, the 
 outside one nearest here is the one," ex- 
 claimed captain Auckland, with ecstacy 
 in the tone, and his eyes vividly follow- 
 ing her sts he spoke. " I tell you, you 
 may take my word for it. Now attend. 
 The two other pelisses, I have just dis- 
 covered, are of kerseymere, Salisbury 
 flannel, linsey-woolsey, or some such 
 stuff; while hers in the bonnet — mind, 
 the bonnet — did not' I say the bonnet ? 
 — yes, hers in the bonnet is of the best 
 superfine lady's cloth." 
 
 " Hush ! you know not whatyr*" Aai.!" 
 exelaimea ©tanley and sir Archibald in a 
 
 whisper. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 9 
 
 whisper. " Unless your father is a 
 peer of the reahn, do not, out of kind- 
 ness to us, venture on publishing such a 
 discovery. It is well for you," look- 
 ing round and perceiving the M. C. had 
 departed — " it is well for you that that 
 man is gone ; he would have settled 
 your parentage in a minute, by the living 
 God, sirT imitating the M. C. as he 
 spoke — " by the living God, sir, his fa- 
 ther is a tailor ! he stands on no repairs, 
 but deals out your honours with as much 
 dexterity as Jonas the wonderful conju- 
 rer does his cards. This man's father is 
 a baker, that a linen-draper; and posi- 
 tively there is one woman here, respect- 
 able enough in her way, whose sire, he ac- 
 tually asserts, was a watchman! I wonder 
 his bones can rest in peace under such 
 a mortifying discovery to his survivors. 
 Think of his taking to his rounds again 
 on earth, just to plague his wanton pub- 
 lisher; night'ivork would be no exertion 
 to him. I can fancy I see him now — • 
 B 5 not 
 
10 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Dot in all the majesty of Hamlet's father 
 — armed from head to foot, but from 
 top to toe — tout-a-fait the watchman — 
 candle and lanthorn, rattle, great-coat, 
 
 and staff " 
 
 " Come, come, in Heaven's name fi- 
 nish your picture 1" interrupted sir Ar- 
 chibald, looking^^ at his watch ; " I must 
 say your friend would be of use here to 
 cny the hour — it is past four ! Come, 
 let us get our horses. Those people have 
 left the Steine, therefore let us be off. 
 What do you say to a gallop on the 
 downs ? We dine, you know, at West- 
 brook's, and we shall not enjoy his good 
 c4ieer, unless, as is Brown-stoiifs method, 
 we first go out appetising. Westbrook 
 gives the best feeds of any man in 
 Brighton ; even Steinbach (who is as de« 
 ckled an epicure as any German I ever 
 knew) allowed the day he dined there, 
 that 3Ir, Westbrook kept ver coot dish'' 
 
 Every body,, who. is any body,, must 
 
 know 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 11 
 
 know the club- room at Brighton. Per- 
 haps it would be as well for them if they 
 did not ; for many who have reduced 
 their characters and their estates at the 
 same period, have lived to curse this 
 temple of fortune, and to wish, when too 
 late, that their haheo had been deheo. 
 The ladies even are no strangers to its 
 vicinity to the Steine. It is not good 
 taste to look up to it, but they know the 
 window to be constantly thronged with 
 young men, which reminds them to set 
 themselves up, and to turn out their 
 toes, as they pass to and fro before it. 
 
 The Miss Templemores were ignorant 
 of its very existence, and of the scrutiny 
 they had endured within its walls ; but 
 they needed not this spur to perfection ; 
 for being but newly arrived in Brighton, 
 they had set themselves up, and turned 
 out their toes, from the moment they 
 left their own mansion. 
 
 B 6 "Mrs.. 
 
12 SCENES AT BRIGHTON". 
 
 " Mrs. Templetnore and family — 
 Grand Parade.' How much am I to put 
 mamma?" asked her eldest daughter, 
 who, from writing the best hand, had 
 been selected to put down their names 
 in the M. C.'s book. 
 
 " A guinea, my dear girl — a guinea 
 is quite sufficient," whispered Mrs. Tem- 
 plemore ; " nobody thinks of giving 
 more." 
 
 Her daughter, without saying any 
 thing, pointed to the sums before her. — 
 
 " Lord , two pounds two" — " lord 
 
 and family, two pounds two." 
 
 Mrs. Templemore paused a moment, 
 then said, in a decided tone — " No, Ce- 
 cil, no ; I will not do any such thing ; 
 we are not lords, you know. One pound 
 one will do very well for us» Why do 
 you hesitate ?" 
 
 " I would rather give the other pound 
 myself r said Cecil, colouring as she 
 spoke ; " I would rather give any thing 
 out of my own pocket, than not look 
 
 Uke 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 13 
 
 like other people ; I know, IMaiy, you 
 will give me ten shillings towards it." 
 
 "Anything sooner than see the paltry 
 one pound one. You cannot give less 
 than that, mamma ; and it looks so pal- 
 try and poor to give no more than you 
 are obliged." 
 
 Mary had spoken to the purpose. 
 
 " Put down what you like," said 
 Mrs. Templemore, in a tone, which, 
 though any thing but satisfactory to a 
 person who did not know her, was per- 
 fectly so to her daughters. They knew 
 its every variation ; and the result of the 
 present was, that she preferred their 
 judgment to her own. She had taken 
 the arm of her youngest daughter, and 
 was walking out of the library. The 
 two others followed. 
 
 " I wish mamma would always let us 
 do as we like, without so much demur; 
 
 it 
 
14 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 it grnerally comes to that at last ; and 
 you know what we do always turns out 
 well; therefore I think our judgment 
 might be depended on." 
 
 " We never shall though, w^hile we 
 have no money," returned Cecil, wdth a 
 sigh. " ISIoney is the cause of all our 
 disputes ; and while it continues only to 
 come out of mamma's pocket, it never 
 will be any otherwise. Why there is Les- 
 lie might have put down four pounds — 
 five pounds^ — what she w^ould, and mam- 
 ma would have never thought any thing 
 about it. What a pity it is, Mary, we 
 had not all had such godmothers as hers ! 
 I would not have minded what had been 
 her name^ — Simkins, Jacob, Jobson — oh, 
 sixty thousand pounds would have made 
 any thing sound sweet ! Leslie, to be 
 sure, is a most plain appellation ; but 
 
 " What's Leslie ? It is nor hand, nor foo^ 
 Nor ann^ nor face, nor an^ other part/' 
 
 and,. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 15 
 
 and, notwithstanding her name, I posi- 
 tively think she will take." 
 
 " I have no fears of the sort," said 
 IVIary, with renev^ed confidence in her- 
 self, from having just met the gaze of a 
 "whole bevy of officers. " Those men ne- 
 ver once looked near her; and whatever 
 you may say, I never can think her 
 handsome." 
 
 " You have got my card-case, Cecil," 
 said ISIrs. Templemore, applying to her 
 eldest daughter. " We must call on Mrs. 
 Westbrookthis morning; somebody,you 
 know, told us it was the fashion of the 
 place to make the first visit ; but Leslie 
 and I have just been praying that we 
 may not find her at home." 
 
 Cecil gave the card- case, hoping at the 
 same time there would be no necessity 
 for its use. 
 
 " I cannot make out this new sister of 
 ours," observed INIary, w^alking slower, 
 that she might not be heard by any one 
 but Cecil ; " such an odd wish, you know% 
 
 to 
 
16 SCENES AT BRIGHTON*. 
 
 to hope that Mrs. Westbrook might not 
 be at home, when she knows as well as 
 we do what delightful parties she gives. 
 I believe she often says things she does 
 not mean, just to please mamma." 
 
 " If that is the case, she will hav^ 
 enough to do," rejoined Cecil, at the mo- 
 ment they stopped at JMrs. Westbrook's 
 door. " She does not know the vastness 
 of the undertaking, for I really believe 
 mamma does not like the same thing two 
 days running." 
 
 Mrs. Westbrook was at home, and 
 they were ushered into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 CHAP- 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In pleasure's dream, or sorrow's hour, 
 
 In crowded ball, or lonely bower, 
 
 The business of my life shall be, 
 
 For ever to remember thee ! 
 
 And though that heart be dead to mine, 
 
 Since love is life, and wakes not thine, 
 
 I'll take thy image, as the form 
 
 Of something I should long to warm, 
 
 Which, though it yield no answering thrill. 
 
 Is not less dear, less lovely still ! 
 
 I'll take it wheresoe'er I stray, 
 
 The bright, cold burthen of my way ! 
 
 To keep this semblance fresh in bloom, 
 
 My heart shull be its glowing tomb, 
 
 And Love shall lend his sweetest care. 
 
 With memory to embalm it there. 
 
 Thomas Moo be. 
 
 " Who are the Teraplemore's ?" was tlip 
 ^ucotiuii 111 agnation at Brighton. That 
 
 they had money was certain, from the 
 
 style in which they lived ; the difficulty 
 
 was. 
 
18 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 was, which to attach it to. Some talked 
 of a lottery-ticket ; others of an heiress ; 
 and there were many who scrupled not 
 to say, that any body could get money 
 if they liked it. ICvery one however was 
 ready to visit them. Something better 
 was expected at their hands than the 
 usual routine of bread-and-butter balls; 
 and so that it did not fall to their share, 
 they cared little who paid the piper. 
 
 This point decided upon, there was 
 yet another, neither so easily nor so sa- 
 tisfactorily to be arranged — the young 
 ladies' pretensions to beauty. Many 
 were the discussions the subject gave rise 
 to ; but the conclusions were nominally 
 the same — the women could see nothing 
 in them ; the men pronounced them ex- 
 quisite ! 
 
 The xioall'Jlowers were nut ^^^^x.^^ 
 from thorns on the occasion. Not that 
 they felt any necessity for exertion or^ 
 
 the 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 19 
 
 the part of their daughters ; they were 
 perfectly equal to the pulling down 
 the young people : but when folks pre- 
 tended to say that the mother was yet 
 a fine woman, and that she might be 
 married again as soon as her daughters, 
 it was their place to be at the pains of 
 persuading the world, that they certainly 
 knew nothinof about it. But to return 
 to the party at Mrs. Westbrook's. 
 
 " What a nonentity that woman is !" 
 said Mrs. Templemore, as they descend- 
 ed the steps of the door ; "I never could 
 bear her at Bath, and I think now she 
 is become more stupid than ever. What 
 evening is it she has asked us for ? She 
 drawls out her words so, I cannot attend 
 to half she says." 
 
 " You always want to find people so 
 clever, mamma," saia L^ecn, t^^ „i.o«, 
 
 the question was addressed, and who 
 
 had not yet lost the smile of delight 
 
 the 
 
20 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 the invite had planted on her counte- 
 nance ; " I am sure she is very friendly 
 to us, and that is much better. What 
 could be more so than her asking us for 
 this evening ? I felt a presentiment of 
 it when I went in." 
 
 *' I wish you had just given me a hint 
 of it then," said Mary, with a smile, 
 " that I might have gone home and pre- 
 pared myself; I have yet nothing exact- 
 ly in a state to put on : there is ail the 
 lace to tack on to my frock — to put tlie 
 sandals into my shoes, and it is now 
 nearly six o'clock." 
 
 " Let Hester do it while we are at 
 dinner," said Cecil, in a hasty whisper. 
 
 " Oh no," returned Mary, with a de- 
 sponding shake of the head ; " 1 do not 
 think that will do. Mamma, you know, 
 believes the house is all goin^ to rao> 
 «*«a , wiii If we give her but one stitch to 
 do, as if the linen could take up all her 
 spare time ! I did not mind when we 
 
 had 
 
SCENES AT BUIGHTOK. 21 
 
 had not a man-servant, but now I think 
 we nriight expect a little help. I wonder 
 what Leslie would do if she was us ?" 
 
 " Badly indeed, I believe," said Cecil, 
 looking towards her, with a shrug. 
 " Why the other morning, when I was 
 in her room, I watched her, and posi- 
 tively Moreton not only dressed her hair, 
 but actually stuck the pin for her in the 
 front of her sash ! — By-the-bye, could 
 not Moreton put the lace on for you ?" 
 
 " She might trim my shoes," said 
 Mary, delightedly catching at the idea ; 
 " but on second thoughts, my lace is in 
 so many pieces, and wants so much ma- 
 nagement and contrivance, that I be- 
 lieve I must make shift to put it on my- 
 self." 
 
 Although all Brighton were in the 
 dark about it, my readers must, no 
 doubt, ere this, have discovered Leslie 
 Templemore to be the heiress. 
 
 The 
 
22 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 The circumstances attending it, were 
 they properly narrated, or, as Shake- 
 speare has it, " graced with decent hor- 
 ror," would, in themselves, form suffi- 
 cient matter for a long and not uninte- 
 resting story ; but I prefer the giving 
 them in as concise terms as possible. 
 
 Mr. Templemore was the only son of 
 a man of good fortune, but of most ex- 
 travagant habits. His estates were not 
 entailed ; and Horace, while enjoying all 
 the proud luxury of to-day, had no 
 bright prospect for the morrow. Yet 
 his father's heart, though loving him as 
 such a son deserved to be loved, was per- 
 fectly at rest on the subject If money 
 would make him happy, its attainment 
 was in his power ; if youth and beauty 
 must be its attendants, they waited but 
 to be his own. 
 
 Constance Leslie, his young and beau- 
 tiful ward, with parental delight he saw 
 
 lived 
 
SCENKS AT BRIGHTON". 23 
 
 lived but for his son ; he saw it in the 
 timid fondness of her look when Horace 
 addressed her ; he saw it in the suppress- 
 ed misery, the anxious fear, when he was 
 irresistibly drawn to the side of another. 
 That other was the daughter of the vil- 
 lage curate — lovely in her lowliness, and 
 preferred amidst her poverty ! 
 
 Sophistry was vain. Of what avail to 
 Constance were her boasted thousands ? 
 no shield could save her from impending 
 woe. — Horace married, and her peace 
 was wrecked for ever ! Hatred for awhile 
 usurped the place of love ; and on his 
 quitting his father's house for a hum- 
 ble one more suited to his finances, in 
 the neighbourhood, she formed the reso- 
 lution of never seeing him more. 
 
 Worn down with sorrow and self- 
 upbraidings, her wretched guardian sunk 
 into the grave. His house was to be 
 sold — the scene of all her hopes and 
 
 fears 
 
24t SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 fears — her pleasures and her paias ! She 
 could not bear that it should go into 
 the hands of another, and she became its 
 purchaser. 
 
 Again she was in the same place with 
 her first, her only, her last love — her 
 hate, her detestation ! No overtures on 
 either side were made towards a meet- 
 ing ; and a chance one was her chief stu- 
 dy to avoid. Horace still continued to 
 inhabit the same cottage; and she heard, 
 with the bitter smile of satisfaction, that 
 on the final arrangement of his father's 
 affairs, three hundred a-year was all he 
 had to live on. Yet still he was happy 
 — happy with her he loved ! whilst she 
 
 ^^Oh, what is the empty pageantry 
 
 of this world's wealth ? Can it sooth, 
 or cheat of one sad sigh the breaking 
 heart ? — Can it dry the tear of vain re- 
 proach ? — Can it still the sob that 
 breathes of desolation ? She saw that in 
 poverty he was happy— she had seen him 
 
 in 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 25 
 
 m his garden, surrounded by his chil- 
 dren — ^three blooming girls. She drew 
 down the blinds of the carriage; the 
 four gallant horses passed swiftly on. 
 
 ^' We shall never again be friends," 
 said Horace, with a sigh, following the 
 carriage with his eyes as he spoke. He 
 looked at his children, brushed the curls 
 from off their snowy foreheads, imprint- 
 ed a kiss on the youngest, that sat on his 
 knee, and softly murmured as he rested 
 his own on her sunny cheek — " Alas ! 
 we shall never be friends !" 
 
 On reaching her home, poor Con- 
 stance was taken in a state of insensibi- 
 lity from the carriage. It is true, she 
 had drawn down the blinds, but it was 
 only to conceal her care-worn face, her 
 bitter tears, from the sight of him she 
 loved. Through the crevices she had 
 seen him — seen his children ! She exa- 
 mined her heart — there w^as no hatred 
 
 VOL. I. c there ; 
 
26 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 there; she felt nothing but the souts 
 sickness — rejected love. 
 
 His children from the moment were 
 dear to her ; she longed to embrace them 
 -^ta trace in them a resemblance to their 
 father — to teach them at least to love 
 her. Yet how was this possible ? Had 
 she not, in a moment of feverish impe- 
 tuosity, cast her own doom? had she 
 not, in a moment of agony and delirium, 
 avowed her love to him whose faith was 
 plighted to their mother ? No ; it could 
 not be; she could never know them. 
 She had herself planted an impenetrable 
 barrier between them : he could not 
 even respect her now; and though she 
 had been hurried on by feelings that, at 
 least to her own heart, carried their ex- 
 cuses with them, what was this to him ? 
 was he to be bribed into love? was 
 he to barter a fond heart for the empty 
 trappings of wealth ? Alas ! no ; and 
 poor Constance felt the fallacy of gold. 
 
 To 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 27 
 
 To meet his children, when unaccom- 
 panied by tlieir attendant, now became 
 her dearest wish ; and with this view the 
 whole of her mornings were passed in 
 straying from one lane to another. 
 Sometimes she saw them with their fa- 
 ther at a distance, and then she would 
 haste in an opposite direction, as fast as 
 her trembling limbs w^ould support her 
 — sometimes she met them fondly link- 
 ed, hand in hand, with their mother ; 
 and then she would proudly pass them, 
 hating this enviable parent — hating her- 
 self, yet still yearning heart and soul af- 
 ter the children. 
 
 Chance at length befriended her; un- 
 expectedly she met them, and alone. It 
 was in a field not far from their own hum- 
 ble dwelling ; the chimneys peeped from 
 the trees that surrounded it, and she 
 could hear tlieir faithful house- dog bark as 
 the traveller passed by ; it was with her a 
 c a favourite 
 
^8 . SCENES AT BHIGHTOK. 
 
 favourite spot ; it was here she felt that he 
 was near her, though lost to her for ever. 
 
 The ground was her own, and from 
 that cause, fearless of interruptions, she 
 had ordered a rustic seat to be built. 
 ^t this spot she first met his children, 
 yet hpw they had entered the field she 
 was at a loss to guess, for the park-rail- 
 ing entirely skirted it. She approached 
 them slowly, fearful of alarming them ; 
 but so intently were they engaged, that 
 they saw her not, until she was near 
 enough to detain them, had her appear- 
 ance scared them away. 
 
 Their occupation was sticking roses, 
 wfldflowers, and rushes, through the 
 apertures of the rustic seat ; w hilst bits 
 of stick, broken china, and pieces of 
 brick, strewed the ground before it. It 
 seemed that they had long taken up 
 their habitation there: the seat was 
 
 nearly 
 
SOENES AT BtllGHTOl^. 29 
 
 nearly hung round with flowers, and 
 they must have worked like ants, to have 
 accomplished it with their little hands 
 in the course of the morning. 
 
 " Here are some more flowers for 
 you," said Constance, in her softest tone ; 
 and taking the nosegay from her girdle, 
 she threw it on the bench. 
 
 The eldest for a moment turned and 
 regarded her; and Constance was dread- 
 ing the result of her scrutiny, when the 
 second, who had caught up the flowers, 
 applied to her sister to know w hich was 
 the best place to put them in. A dis- 
 pute here arose as to their disposal ; and 
 Constance, not on sure grounds enough 
 herself to venture at remonstrance, threw 
 herself on the grass by the side of the 
 youngest. 
 
 The little thing was digging a hole 
 
 with a stick, and Constance, with the 
 
 e 3 wish 
 
so SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 wish of making herself agreeable, took 
 up another, and began to dig with it. 
 Nowise disturbed, the child continued 
 to work with all its might, sometimes 
 staring at her strange companion, but 
 oftener fixing her eyes intently on the 
 hole. 
 
 Constance soon relaxed her labours. 
 The little creature before her was the 
 exact image of its father, and to sit and 
 gaze upon those well-known looks, was 
 the first happiness she had known for 
 years. Oh ! how she longed to press her 
 to her beating heart, to kiss the soft 
 rosy down upon her cheek, to touch 
 the bright ringlets that played upon her 
 neck, and to hear her pronounce the 
 name of father ! and yet she dared not 
 venture ; for there was more of suffer- 
 ance than satisfaction in the glances the 
 child every now and then threw towards 
 her; and she often turned, with anxiety, to 
 ascertain that her sisters were still near her. 
 
 " This 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. SI 
 
 ** This holly-oak shall go in the mid- 
 tile," said one, in a more determined tone 
 of voice than she had before thought 
 proper to make use of, at the same time 
 snatching from the little clenched hands 
 of the other a magnolia, the gift of 
 Constance : " it shall go in the middle — 
 that is its place — ought it not to go in 
 the middle?" 
 
 This appeal was addressed to Con- 
 stance, and the other stood in a sulky- 
 mood, awaiting her decision. The situa- 
 tion was a difficult one to acquit herself 
 well in; she wished to make friends, 
 and the agreeing with one at the expence 
 of the other was not at all the way to 
 bring it about. After a short debate 
 within herself, she said — " Suppose you 
 give the flower to your little sister ; let 
 me put it into her hat," taking up an 
 old brown beaver one as she spoke, at 
 the same time receiving the magnolia 
 from the little angry girl before her. 
 c 4 " And 
 
32 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 " And I think," she continued, delight- 
 ed to see the peace restored, and hoping 
 to turn their thoughts from their late 
 dispute — *' I think that you can spare a 
 few more to decorate your own with," 
 
 Her lap was soon filled with all sorts 
 of flowers, and the three old brown 
 beaver hats. She had made herself use- 
 ful, and as they all crowded around her, 
 she no longer feared a dismissal. — ^^ And 
 what is your name ?" she asked, putting^ 
 on the head of the eldest its gaily- decked 
 covering, bending still more beneatli 
 its weight of flowers than when in its 
 original plainness. 
 
 " Cecil Templemore," returned the 
 child, adjusting, with all the precision of 
 a birthday belle, her May-day-looking 
 chapeau. 
 
 " Cecil Templemore T' repeated Con- 
 stance — for there was bliss in the very 
 sound — and she fondly kissed the rosy^ 
 lips that pronounced a name so beloved* 
 
 — " And 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 3S 
 
 ~^* And what is yours ?" she asked, 
 applying to the Httlefat thing that hung, 
 on her sister's shoulder. 
 
 "Mary Templemore." And Mary 
 received her brimless crown, with her 
 flowers par necessite pinned over it, 
 and her kiss at the same time, 
 
 " And now tell me yours ?" continued 
 Constance,^ fondly taking the youngest 
 in her arms: " beautifulUttle treasure, 
 tell me your name ?" 
 
 "She cannot talk," said the two others, 
 speaking both at the same time — " she 
 cannot talk, but her name is Leslie." 
 
 " Leslie r repeated Constance, scarce- 
 ly believing the evidence of her senses — 
 "Leslie ! what could induce him ?" 
 
 The children did not seem much to 
 like the novel expression of her looks, 
 and they were walking off hand-in-hand, 
 when Constance perceived their inten- 
 tion. Nothing however could persuade 
 G 5 them; 
 
34 SCENES AT BHIGHTOK. 
 
 them to stop, as they said they must go 
 home to their mother. 
 
 "And to yowY father also !" said Con- 
 stance, disappointed that they had not, 
 of themselves, mentioned his name. 
 
 They stared at her for a moment, then, 
 with the same careless expression of 
 countenance, both repeated together — 
 " He is dead !" 
 
 Constance scarcely attended to them,- 
 for she was again, and perhaps for the 
 last time, straining the little Leslie to 
 her heart. — " And now," she said, " you 
 will go home to your father ;" and again 
 she kissed her darling Leslie. 
 
 " He is dead !" they again both repeat- 
 ed, lifting up to her their beautiful large 
 eyes : there was not a tear in them, yet 
 they repeated once more — " He is 
 dead !" 
 
 Although Constance credited not what 
 they said, her heart nevertheless sunk 
 
 within 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 35 
 
 within her. — " And when did he die ?" 
 she asked, her voice failing her as she 
 spoke the word, and quite ashamed of 
 the weakness that occasioned it. 
 
 " Was it yesterday or to-day ?" asked 
 the eldest, turning to her sister, and 
 stealing a flower from her hat at the same 
 time. 
 
 " The bell is a-ringing for him," said 
 Mary, assuming a piteous tone. 
 
 "And black men came," said Cecil, 
 taking off her own hat, and placing her 
 sister's flower in it ; " and Jane was so 
 busy to-day, we all got out through the 
 palings." 
 
 At this moment the bell did toll, and 
 Constance fell down senseless at their 
 feet. 
 
 The violence of the shock produced a 
 long and dangerous illness; but Con- 
 stance at length recovered- — recovered 
 to adopt the little Leslie, and to love 
 c 6 her 
 
36 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 her with a tenderness only inferior to 
 that she had felt towards her father. 
 
 Mrs. Templemore was easily persuad- 
 ed to part with her. With three chil- 
 dren, and only three hundred a-year to 
 support them on, the getting rid of one 
 was no difficult task to reconcile herself 
 to. The child, she was sure, would be 
 well taken care of; and she felt the in- 
 justice it would be, to allow her own 
 feelings to interfere with that which was 
 evidently for her daughter's advantage. 
 
 From this time she saw nothing of the 
 little Leslie ; for though she had parted 
 with her in the idea that they were often to 
 meet, she soon after quitted her cottage ; 
 and the removal to another part of the 
 country entirely precluded her from the 
 indulgence. 
 
 An occasional letter at Christmas, ac- 
 companied by a present to her sisters, 
 
 was 
 
SCENES AT BHIGHTOK. 57 
 
 v>^s all the connexion that exsisted be-* 
 tween the families; and when, at the 
 death of her kind friend — her dear protec- 
 tress — Leslie, at the end of her mourning, 
 was once more to return to her mother's 
 roof, it was as though she were thrown 
 entirely among strangers.. 
 
 A mother's heart however cannot long 
 remain so to a daughter, and Leslie bid 
 fair soon to possess an equal portion of 
 it with her sisters : indeed, she brought 
 her welcome with her ; for though yet 
 in her minority, through the munificence 
 of her sainted benefactress, her allow- 
 ances were such, that Mrs. Templemore 
 most sensibly felt their advantage. 
 
 There are few people who have a car- 
 riage and servants at their disposal, 
 without the attendant drawbacks of 
 having to pay for them: but this was 
 not the case with Mrs. Templemore; 
 though nominally Leslie's, the carriage 
 
 was. 
 
SH SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 was, in every other respect, her own ; 
 the servants under her command ; and, 
 what was better than all, though the 
 money passed through her hands, Les- 
 lie's guardians cleared every thing. 
 
 Until now she had resided in a retired 
 village in Wiltshire, educating her 
 children to the best of her abilities — 
 that was, attending to them one month 
 with scholastic rigour; the next, letting 
 learning take its chance. 
 
 We all know what this chance must 
 come to : the Miss Templemores could 
 play on the harp (a present from their 
 sister), because they liked it ; could make 
 out the interesting parts of a French 
 novel, because they liked it ; could play 
 on the pianoforte, because they liked it; 
 but they did not like history ; they did 
 not like geography ; they did not like 
 arithmetic; in short, they did not like a 
 great many things necessary towards 
 
 the 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 39 
 
 the perfecting that polite monster — 
 education. In drawing, they had a na- 
 tural taste, which, from pencils being 
 denied them in their youth, owing to 
 their eoopence, they took particular plea- 
 sure in cultivating. They sang with 
 sweetness and taste, which made up for 
 the want of science : but, indeed, they 
 were such handsome, and, when they 
 pleased it, such agreeable girls, that the 
 little world they moved in gave them 
 credit for any thing they chose to lay 
 claim to. 
 
 This little world at length became 
 too small for their enlarging desires, 
 Bath was within a day's journey, and 
 to Bath, by dint of tears, smiles, 
 crossness, and coaxing, they finally pre- 
 vailed on their mother to go. 
 
 In six months they returned again to 
 their own home — the same, in every 
 respect, notwithstanding their expecta- 
 tions. 
 
40* SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 tions, as when they left it; the purse 
 only had suffered change. Here they 
 must remain, until the purse should 
 be again replenished, by the savings of 
 many years, ennui and "single blessed- 
 ness" staring them in the face. To be 
 sure, Bath had done little towards re- 
 moving the latter of these miseries ; but 
 then they had staid so short a time ! 
 and hope taught them to believe, that 
 twelve months would do what six had- 
 failed.to accomplish.. 
 
 At this juncture poor Leslie lost her 
 friend, and the current of their affairs 
 was changed. The contents of the will 
 were soon made known to them : every 
 thing was left to Leslie; but Leslie was 
 to live with them, and to pay handsomely 
 for her board. The world again opened 
 before them ; Bath again was the haven 
 of their hopes ; and again the Miss Tem- 
 plemores could speculate on the future. 
 Forming brilliant prognostics and ef- 
 fective, , 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 41 
 
 fective ball-dresses, they passed their 
 six months mourning : at the end of 
 this time, Leslie was to join them ; and 
 when sea-air was recommended for her 
 health, they readily gave up the idea of 
 Bath for Brighton. 
 
 CHAP^ 
 
42 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " This is the day for toeing it and heeling k ; 
 All are promenading it from high to low; 
 Run, neighbours, run ! all is quadrilling it ; 
 Order and sobriety are dos-a-dos /" 
 
 ** Should you want advice from law, you'll nothing gain 
 
 by asking it ; 
 Your lawyer's not at home ; he is busy pas de hasquing 
 
 it — 
 Should you wish to lose a tooth, and go to nail for 
 
 drawing it, 
 Can't possibly attend you — the dentist's queue du 
 
 " I woisiDER what will be the result of 
 this campaign," said Cecil Templemore,. 
 seating herself at her toilet-table, and ad- 
 dressing Mary, who was still labouring 
 away at her lace by the side of the fire. 
 " If it produces more," she continued, 
 holding alternately on her head a white 
 
 wreath 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 43 
 
 wreath of flowers and a pink, to fln ally- 
 ascertain which was the most becoming 
 — " if it produces more, I say — I am 
 certain — yes, quite certain, it never can 
 be so pleasant as the one we had at Bath." 
 
 " Why not ?" said Mary, rather out 
 of sorts from the gathering thread hav- 
 ing broken of her lace — " why not ? for 
 I am sure we did not get much good 
 from that, whatever it might have been." 
 
 " Good r repeated Cecil, silenced for 
 a moment by the unlooked-for, sobering 
 reflection ; " but I am not talking of 
 good, Mary," she continued, " I am talk- 
 ing of pleasure ; and I am certain we 
 never shall see here the dear old faces we 
 knew so well at Bath." 
 
 " I hate old faces and old lace," re- 
 turned Mary, making good the edge 
 with fine thread. " I never shall get 
 this done in any time to look decent. 
 What shall I do ?" 
 
 " Why give it me, and I will work at 
 it while you do your hair," said Cecil, 
 
 taking 
 
44 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 taking it as she spoke ; " when that i& 
 dressed, you will not be so nervous, and 
 then you can finish it with ease," 
 
 Mary's temper was soon as smooth as 
 her hair^ 
 
 **Oh, do you not remember," said Ce- 
 cil, working away at the same time as fast 
 as Mary's oft-directed eyes could wish^ 
 ** do you not remember^ Mary, when we 
 first went out at Bkth, what exquisite 
 ideas we had of felicity ? To be seen, we 
 thought, was to be admired ; and to be 
 admired, was to be married." 
 
 " And do you not remember," asked 
 Mary, who could talk away as fast as her 
 sister, ** can you ever forget, Cecil, the 
 master of the ceremonies' grand ball ? it 
 was almost the first we were ever at; 
 and how we got on so well, considering 
 the little pains ever bestowed on our 
 dancing, is a thing I cannot make out." 
 
 " I must say," rejoined Cecil, delight- 
 ing, 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 45 
 
 mg in the retrospect—" I must say, I 
 acquitted myself to any thing but my 
 satisfaction." 
 
 " And yet you got on tolerably." 
 
 " Rather say intolerably, my dear 
 ]\Iary ; but major Carteret was so good- 
 tempered, so perfectly good-tempered, 
 that instead of being vexed with my 
 blunders when I did any thing wrong, 
 he pushed and pulled me about, till 
 I found myself in my proper place 
 again." 
 
 " And then the little idea we had of 
 etiquette,'" continued Mary, "when we 
 used to expect, and felt disappointed if 
 strangers did not ask us to dance with 
 them, never dreaming of the necessity of 
 an introduction, you know." 
 
 " And I really almost wonder," said 
 r Cecil, " when I recollect the pains we 
 used to take to shew them such an ad- 
 vance would in nowise be objection- 
 able, that tkey really had not done so. 
 
 Why, 
 
46 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Why, I declare that I have, as innocent- 
 ly as possible, flirted with a person I 
 have not known through a whole even- 
 ing ; and though, to be sure, I have ex- 
 pected that in the end my hand would 
 be either asked for the dance, or for ma- 
 trimony, yet nevertheless the being look- 
 ed at was quite satisfaction enough for 
 me. Oh, Mary, how the world refines 
 away one's pleasures ! Now I would not 
 give a soii^ if the best man in the room 
 was to devote his time to staring his eyes 
 out at me — that is, if there it was to end." 
 " It does indeed !" said Mary, echoing 
 her sister's sigh, " Ignorance may lead 
 One into follies ; but ignorance is another 
 term for happiness, after all. Shall we 
 ever again experience the bliss the bare 
 expectation of a ball used to bestow ? 
 and then when the night came, how ri- 
 gorously we used to set about dressing 
 ourselves! and how we used to talk of it 
 beforehand ! and how we used to plan 
 
 what 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. ^7 
 
 ivhat new bits of our hair we would 
 bring down and curl for the occasion !" 
 
 " Oh, how well indeed I remember it!" 
 said Cecil, laughing the liearVs laugh 
 at its very recollection — " how well I 
 remember about the hair !" 
 
 " And then you know," again pro- 
 ceeded Mary, " in about half-an-hour 
 at farthest the new curls were sure to 
 shew themselves. I think I can see 
 them now, the hyacinthine clusters, and 
 the straight ends staring out beneath. 
 We certainly had no idea then of ma- 
 naging our heads. Why, I remember 
 it has often happened, that after having 
 bestowed two hours or more upon their 
 dressing out^ the very first jump we 
 have taken in the dance has prostrated 
 all our combs, black pins, and flowers, at 
 our feet, leaving our hair to dangle at 
 liberty, rrwrmaid fashion, upon our 
 shoulders." 
 
 " And no doubt," said Cecil, " when 
 we carelessly put it up again, we looked 
 
 much 
 
48 SCENES AT BRIGHTON* 
 
 much better than after all those ill-direct- 
 ed pains, pulling out one's curls hair by 
 hair ; and, after all, how mortified I have 
 felt, when I have recollected how much 
 better I have appeared in my every -day 
 style, than in my pains-taken holiday 
 * quirks and turns /' How different they 
 look now !" she said, peeping over her 
 sister's shoulder, and reflecting in one 
 glass two of the prettiest heads in Brigh- 
 ton — *^ How different they look now !" 
 they both repeated together, viewing 
 with delight the lovely, the smiling faces 
 before them. " I think we shall do; 
 and my lace does not look bad," said 
 Mary, at the moment the servant enter- 
 ed to announce that the carriage was 
 waiting. 
 
 There was always yet a great deal to 
 do when the Miss Templemores consi- 
 dered themselves dressed. There were 
 not only gloves to find, but to pick out 
 which was the cleanest pair ; there were 
 
 not 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 49 
 
 not only smelling-bottles to find, but to 
 fill each said smelling-bottle with per- 
 fume ; their gold chains were to be wash- 
 ed with soap-suds — their fan-sticks to be 
 tied together with string — their artificial 
 nosegays to be mixed with real gerani- 
 um leaves; and everybody in the house 
 to be questioned as to where might most 
 probably be their cloaks ? 
 
 No one, however, on entering Mrs. 
 Westbrook's drawing-room, would have 
 dreamt of any thing of the sort ; indeed 
 there was so much fashionable collected- 
 ness about them, dignified superiority, 
 and consciousness of loveliness, that to 
 have assimilated them with any portion 
 of domestic drudgery, would have been 
 little better than profanation. 
 
 There existed between the three sis- 
 ters what the world terms a strong fa- 
 mily likeness, that is to say, when Les- 
 lie's countenance was animated; but 
 
 VOL. I. D her 
 
so SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 her cheeks so often were quite pale, her 
 mind so evidently abstracted, that her 
 sisters, who never failed to put their eyes, 
 nose, and mouth to the most becoming 
 school, bid fair to get the start of her, and 
 to carry off the palm of beauty ; or,tospeak 
 in military metaphor, what Leslie lost by 
 sometimes standing at ease, they gained 
 by being always attention. Yet Leslie 
 could better afford to be pale, to be ab- 
 stracted, than they could. Her features 
 were better formed, her eyes of softer ex- 
 pression, and she had hair of that descrip- 
 tion and colour, which, from being a shade 
 darker than their own, they had even con- 
 descended to envy. Eut the world are 
 better pleased with rosy cheeks and 
 sparkling eyes, than with this epicurean 
 style of beauty ; and though I^eslie most 
 insidiously would have woimd round 
 their hearts, they preferred letting them 
 be taken through surprise by her sisters. 
 
 ^* I wonder if it is to be a kick-up to- 
 night?** 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 51 
 
 night?" asked sir Archibald Murray, 
 who, with his friend Stanley, was lolling 
 his elbows among the tea-cnps on Mrs. 
 Westbrook's chimneypiece ; "the room 
 is getting so monstrous full, that I think 
 they will soon have the charity to turn 
 some of us into another — not that I want 
 to mend my pace, for I am as tired as a 
 dog, but it is the only means one has of 
 getting introduced to strange girls — I 
 like to get some one to talk to." Stan- 
 ley smiled. " Now I see you think I 
 am after the needful," continued sir 
 Archibald, nodding his head to that part 
 of the apartment the Miss Templemores 
 occupied. " Not that ? then what the 
 devil is it that pleases you so much ? 
 Are we to be wedged here all night? is 
 that the fun?" 
 
 " Oh God, no !" said Stanley, endea- 
 vouring to conquer his risibility ; " ne- 
 ver was such a thing known in Brigh- 
 ton ! Why the girls here are called 
 jumpers. I met Tom Shelton the ether 
 D 2 day 
 
 UN'VERSfTY Off 
 
52 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 day in town ; if you want a jumping 
 wdfe, says he, go to Brighton for her; 
 they hop about there like shrimps." 
 
 The " notes of a fiddle" were now 
 heard at a distance; and, at his particu- 
 lar request, sir Archibald Murray led the 
 eldest Miss Templemore down to the 
 dancing-room. 
 
 " Let me introduce you to a partner," 
 s^id Mrs, Westbrook, approaching Stan- 
 ley, who was still continuing to laugh at 
 something his friend had said. "Come," 
 she continued, tapping his arm with her 
 fan as she spoke, " come, I see you are 
 quizzing, and I must positively put you 
 in employ, for the better security of my 
 friends." 
 
 There is a degree of horror attached 
 to the idea of a chance partner — the risk 
 is terrible — not only the blind, and the 
 deaf, and the halt, may be awarded to 
 
 you ; 
 
SCENES AT BEIGHTON. 53 
 
 you ; but you may literally be called on 
 to wear out your own legs in the service 
 of a damsel on her last legs. 
 
 Stanley shuddered at the very thought, 
 and, in a voice scarcely audible, began 
 — " Thank you if I dance Mrs. 
 
 Westbrook 1 should like— that is 
 
 j> 
 
 " It is for Miss Mary Templemore I 
 want you," said Mrs. Westbrook, an- 
 noyed at his frigidity. There was ma- 
 gic in the name, and in a moment he 
 found himself with his fair partner, op- 
 posite her sister and his friend in the 
 quadrille. 
 
 The Miss Templemores, by dint of 
 infinite practice and quick perceptions, 
 had rendered themselves perfect mistres- 
 ses in the polite art of dancing. They 
 could now perform the pii^ouette, contre- 
 terns, pas de basque y pas de grace, a mer- 
 veille ; in short, no pas now of any de- 
 D 3 scription 
 
54 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 scription came amiss to them. Their 
 partners got on as well as could be ex- 
 pected. A sensible man certainly is oivt 
 of his sphere when we see him racking 
 his body and his brains to dove-tail 
 into a dos a dos, or queue de chat^^ 
 when we see him straining at a caper 
 with as much pertinacity as he would use 
 to the solving of a problem in Euclid; 
 and yet men, and men of condition 
 too, delight in thus exhibiting them- 
 selves. You will see them, with infinite 
 self-satisfaction, perform the feat of the 
 cavalier sezd. At first they advance 
 v/ith timidity ; the retreat gives them 
 confidence; then, like old posthorses 
 warmed in their harness, they finally 
 dash about backwards and forwards^ 
 jump up on one side, come down on 
 the other, tie up their legs in a knot, 
 ravish them asunder again, and, like 
 mad dervises, continue to leap and to 
 spin about, till both breath and measure 
 are exhausted. 
 
 " What 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 55 
 
 ** What pleasant partners we have 
 got!" said Mary, taking advantage of 
 their momentary absence, in search of 
 lemonade, to commune a little with 
 her sister ; " mine is really delightful ! 
 he is telling me all about the people in 
 Brighton ; but though it is vastly en- 
 tertaining, I must say I would not come 
 under his lash for something. What 
 does yours say ?" 
 
 " Nothing as yet to the purpose," re- 
 turned Cecil, with a visible air of discon- 
 tent ; "he is the most stupid man I ever 
 met with ! He has asked me three times 
 how long I have been in Brighton? and 
 from the brilliant specimen I have alrea- 
 dy had, I have little hopes but the next 
 question will be to the same purpose. 
 But he is a baronet !" she continued, in 
 a more sprightly tone ; " therefore I do 
 not mind much." 
 
 The fact was, poor sir Archibald^ 
 
 though the most troublesome man in 
 
 1) 4 the 
 
56 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 the world with his tongue in the society 
 of men, was nevertheless, as Stanley ex- 
 pressedit,as mute as an oyster when under 
 the influence of that of the other sex. 
 This accounts for his friend's laughter ; 
 but sir Archibald was so tenacious upon 
 the subject, that though he once allowed 
 that the presence of a modest woman 
 seemed to throw a w^^ blanket ove7^ Mm^ 
 no one else cared to sport with him on 
 the subject. 
 
 " You will soon know all the Brigli- 
 ton characters,*' said Stanley, asjockeyinff 
 sir Archibald, he threw himself into the 
 seat between the sisters. " Believe me 
 it is a most amusing study ; and there is 
 Clanmaurice, a fund within himself, dy- 
 ing to be introduced, though off for Ire. 
 land to-morrow. Will you allow me ?^ 
 They bowed. " Colonel Clanmaurice — 
 the Miss Templemores." 
 
 Mary indeed, through the aid of Mr. 
 
 Stanley, 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 57 
 
 Stanley, had become acquainted with the 
 character of every body in the room ; and 
 though it was after a manner in which 
 they would have been sorry to have re- 
 cognised themselves, it was nevertheless 
 a correct picture. But the world do not 
 value themselves on their every, day face ; 
 and any bye-sketch that may be taken 
 of it, is therefore considered a personal 
 injustice. It is a common observation, 
 " but then I was at home, and it was not 
 fair to judge of me;" and when the com- 
 pany compleocion is so much more to be 
 preferred than the one for home consump* 
 tion, is it not ill-tempered of the limner 
 to bestow his talents on the latter ? 
 
 Thus however it w^as with Stanley. He 
 had got them in their every-day garb — 
 nay, even in their very nightcaps ; but they 
 did not look pretty in them ; and though, 
 like another Apelles, Stanley loved 
 their contemplation, it is not for us to 
 D 5 sport 
 
5g SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 sport with the follies of our fellow-citi- 
 zens. 
 
 " How beautifully your sister dances !" 
 exclaimed colonel Clanmaurice, address- 
 ing himself to Cecil, who was still inde- 
 fatigably endeavouring to hit on some- 
 thing that might suit the comprehension 
 of the baronet. Finding it, however, 
 vain, and pronouncing him to herself " a 
 melancholy fool without his belles," she 
 gladly attended to Clanmaurice. He 
 repeated his observation in terms of even 
 stronger admiration. Cecil looked to- 
 wards Mary. She was quietly seated by 
 her side. She then looked towards Clan- 
 maurice, and following the direction of 
 his eyes, her own fell on Leslie. An 
 officer, in full uniform, stood by her side 
 — " She does not know the value of her 
 partner," said Cecil to herself, as she 
 watched the apathetic manner in which 
 Leslie replied to his apparently-animated 
 
 conversation. 
 
SCENES AT BHIGHTONi 59 
 
 eonversation. " How odd it must seem 
 to him to be taken so little notice of:" 
 continuing her mental soliloquy ; " it is 
 very thoughtless of Leslie really ; for if 
 she would endeavour to please him, he 
 might then wish to be introduced to us." 
 
 Maiy had now caught sight of the blue 
 and gold, which, ever attractive in her 
 eyes, was now doubly enhanced by the 
 jewel it contained. The form before her 
 was indeed one of nature's best works ! 
 
 " With wit to make an ill shape i^ood. 
 And shape to win grace, e'en though he had no wit." 
 
 " But who would not look well in such 
 a dress ?" she thought, turning with less 
 interest than before to attend to the con- 
 versation of Stanley ; while Cecil felt 
 that silence even might be borne from 
 lips that had mustachios on the top of 
 them. 
 
 Notwithstanding the shock of seeing. 
 D 6 Leslie 
 
60 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Leslie so much better provided with a 
 partner than themselves, the evening 
 went off much to the Miss Templemores' 
 satisfaction. They had not only danced 
 a great deal, but danced with every body 
 they desired; and though Cecil had 
 thrust herself forward when Mrs. West- 
 brook brought up to them the tall hand- 
 some officer, yet Mary's dancing with 
 three little stumpy ones, that came in 
 afterwards, prevented all heart burnings, 
 by setting quantity against quality. 
 
 Mrs. Templemore even allowed the 
 evening had passed agreeably. She had 
 played at whist, and had won ; and in 
 being introduced to families of distinc- 
 tion by their particular request, gained 
 a confidence in herself she had till now 
 been a stranger to. 
 
 Reared in obscurity, there was a timi- 
 dity about her, her daughters in vain 
 sought to dispel. Indeed she never 
 
 seemed 
 
SCENES AT BUIGHTON. 61 
 
 seemed to lose sight of the responsibility 
 of being, to use her own words, answer- 
 able fm* every thing ; and though she 
 laughed with them when they ridiculed 
 her, listened when they reasoned with 
 her, she was still as bad as ever w^hen 
 called upon for exertion. How they had 
 ever prevailed on her to go to Bath, 
 was still an enigma to themselves. To 
 be sure they had trouble enough when 
 they were there ; but house-rent was 
 dear, things were most exorbitant, and 
 it was but too true that none but her- 
 self knew the responsibility of being an- 
 swerable Jbr every thing. 
 
 The Miss Templemores hailed with 
 delight the change that had visibly taken 
 place in their mamma's constitution since 
 Leslie's residence under their roof At 
 first they regarded their sister with a 
 jealous eye, for they were well aware of 
 the many advantages she possessed over 
 them ; but as soon as they ceased to fear 
 
 that 
 
62 SCENES AT BRIGHTON* 
 
 that she would betray her learning at 
 every word,> the good company she had 
 kept at every st€p, and the fortune she 
 was possessed of in every thing that she 
 put on, they were reconciled to her so- 
 ciety, and began to love her for the good 
 she had bestowed upon them.. 
 
 Nothing indeed could be so different 
 as the Mrs. Templemore of the Cottage 
 in the Lane, SLud the Mrs. Templemore 
 of the Grand Parade. There was now 
 an easy dignity about her, a fashionable 
 importance, that surprised as much as 
 it pleased her anxious daughters ; and. 
 though occasionally at home, the nervous 
 irritability of responsihleness would 
 suddenly break out, abroad she was- 
 every tiling they could possibly desire. 
 
 Such is the difference of a heart at rest, 
 and a heart tormented by the shadows 
 of poverty. With the acquisition of 
 worldly wealth, they saw she had receiv- 
 ed 
 
SCENES AT BEIGHTOT. €J 
 
 ed a stock of heavenly happiness tliey 
 never could be too thankful for. To be 
 sure it was but temporary ; but Leslie 
 was so young, and they, without much 
 flattery, so very beautiful, that they cer- 
 tainly must be married before any change 
 would again take place in their mother's 
 circumstances. Thus argued our two 
 pretty philosophers, as they sat trimming 
 their petticoats for the evening. 
 
 CHAP- 
 
6* SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 CHAPTER rV. 
 
 ■»^*^.t^^-*****-»-r.»^ 
 
 There Envy shews her sullen mien, 
 
 With changeful colour, grinning smiles of hate- 
 There malice stabs, with rage serene, 
 
 In deadly silence, treacherous friendship wait. 
 
 Marriot; 
 
 They, against nature, for applauses strain, 
 Distort themselves, and give all others pain. 
 
 Stilungfleet. 
 
 It would have been surprising to those 
 who did not know the common run of 
 the Brighton visiting, how the Temple- 
 mores, who came there as strangers, so 
 soon got into society. Indeed it was 
 not a little so to themselves. They, to 
 be sure, knew that their family was re- 
 spectable ; but why the world, who could 
 not go on such sure grounds, should take 
 
 it 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 6S 
 
 it for granted, was to them a thing inex- 
 plicable. 
 
 The set they moved in was unexcep- 
 tionable; every body in that set paid 
 them peculiar attention; they seemed 
 but to exist in their presence ; and the 
 only wonder was, how they had so long 
 continued to live without them. 
 
 The fact was, Mrs. Templemore was 
 considered a woman of large property. 
 She lived in a certain style, and the 
 arithmeticians of Brighton knew she 
 must have recourse to pounds, shillings,, 
 and pence, to keep it afloat. She had 
 her carriage ; the young ladies their sad- 
 dle-horses ; and though they neither ex- 
 pected a drive in her carriage, or a ride 
 on her daughters' horses, yet these thingvS 
 were claims upon their consideration 
 they could not consent to look over. 
 
 With these ideas, her door was throng- 
 ed 
 
66 SCENES AT BTIIGHTGN, 
 
 ed every morning with visitors, anxious 
 to get in to look about them ; for every 
 evening she had sufficient cards of " at 
 home" to turn even stronger heads than 
 her daughters ; and though not a word 
 by herself was said about money, they 
 were so kind as to pronounce that they 
 knew to a certainty, that all three of 
 the Miss Templemores were heiresses^ 
 
 This, however, was only the effusion 
 of the female part of the community, for 
 the men were too dearly interested in it 
 to go upon any thing but sure grounds. 
 That one had the stuff was very generally 
 believed ; the only question was— ** Which 
 had it?" and "How much?" and though 
 nothing satisfactory appeared to them in 
 ansv/er, attentions they seemed to agree 
 could, even in a state of uncertainty, do 
 no harm ; and although they might flirt 
 to please themselves, they were not 
 obliged to please the young ladies by 
 marriage unless the pill was gilded^ 
 
 With. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 6^7 
 
 With this all the pride of Brighton 
 flocked to the Templemore standard. 
 They might have danced all night, and 
 in the morning have still found legs for 
 their service. In short, they had the 
 ribbons in their own hands ; and if the 
 gentlemen ever did intend to kick them- 
 selves out of harness, there was no ap- 
 pearance of restiveness in their natures 
 at present to warrant the suspicion. But 
 gold is known by the touchstone, and 
 the touchstone of man is gold ! The 
 animals were yet to be tried, and the 
 !Miss Templemores lived in clover. 
 
 There may be those among my readers 
 who know no more about Brighton than 
 the man in the moon, perhaps indeed 
 not so much; for though enjoying an 
 elevated station, this gentleman doe-s 
 sometimes, by dint of his candle and laT>. 
 tern, condescend to look down upon 
 lis. Should my friends think it folly 
 to be wise on the subject^ they have 
 
 my 
 
€8 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 my permission to skip and go on. Are 
 they willing to lose their blissful igno- 
 rance at a cheap rate, attendez. 
 
 Brighton, or Brighthelmstone, as it 
 was formerly called, is situated in the 
 county of Sussex. I do not state this to 
 shew my own erudition, but as we are 
 not all born geographists,^ it may not be 
 an unnecessary piece of intelligence. It 
 was once, like Hastings, a miserable fish- 
 ing town; now the *^ queen of watering- 
 places." 
 
 The houses^ generally speaking, are 
 more convenient than handsome, irregu- 
 larly built, and of such slight materials, 
 that it is not an uncommon circumstance 
 their tumbling themselves down before 
 the artisans have finished building them 
 up. 
 
 In the year 1699, more than a hundred 
 huts were swallowed by the sea. Such 
 
 a circum- 
 
SCENES AT BUIGHTON. 69 
 
 a circumstance would be no bad thing 
 in these days ; for so voraciously are the 
 builders set to work, that unless some 
 such blessing overtakes them, the place 
 stands a fair chance of swallowing itself. 
 The cliff indeed holds out strong hopes 
 of the sort ; for while, like the articles of 
 an auction, it is constantly going, going, 
 going, going, no doubt, in the space of a 
 short time, it will be — gone. 
 
 Like every other watering-place that 
 beskirts this dear little island, the search 
 after health and longevity acts as an apo- 
 logy for all sorts of idleness, and some- 
 times social imposture. It is here the 
 voluptuary washes the cobwebs from the 
 interstices of his flaccid anatomy ; the 
 swag-bellied denizen, the rancid adhesion 
 of old cheese, Irish butter, junk, assa- 
 fcetida, tallow, mundungus, and train 
 oil ; the dame of fashion, rouge, wrinkles, 
 and rotundity; the delectable dandy, 
 false teeth, false tete, and false mustachios. 
 
 The 
 
70 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 The bathing machines, even for the 
 ladies, have no awning or covering, as at 
 Weymouth, Southampton, and Scarbo- 
 rough ; consequently they are severely 
 inspected by the aid of telescopes, not 
 only as they confusedly ascend from the 
 sea, but as they kick and sprawl, and 
 flounder about its muddy margin, like 
 so many Naiads in flannel night-gowns. 
 
 The shore is so disastrously imperfect, 
 that those beginners who paddle in, are 
 injured by the shocking repulsion of the 
 juices to the brain ; and those who are 
 enabled to plunge in, and swim beyond 
 the surge, it is somewhat less than an 
 even bet that many never return again ; 
 not that the loss of lives in this congre- 
 gated mart of folly would be any disad- 
 vantage to the survivers. 
 
 There are lodgings of all descriptions 
 and fitness, from twenty pounds per 
 week on the cliffs, to twenty-pence per 
 
 night 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 71 
 
 night in a cock-loft, in which the keepers, 
 like the keepers of mad-houses, have but 
 one common point in view — to bleed 
 the parties sufficiently. 
 
 There are carriages and caravans of 
 all shapes and dimensions, from a coach- 
 and-four to a fish-cart. In these you 
 may move as a king, as a criminal, or a 
 crab; that is, forwards, backwards, or 
 laterally. 
 
 There are four circulating libraries ex- 
 tant, replete with all the flimsy produc- 
 tions of the day. This kind of recreation 
 is termed light reading, perhaps from 
 the certain effect it has on my young 
 countrywomen of making them lighU 
 headed. 
 
 There is a parish-church, w^here the 
 canaille go to pray ; but as that is on a 
 hill, and the gentry find it troublesome, 
 they were amicably accommodated with 
 
 a chapel 
 
72 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 a chapel or two in the town. Here the 
 lambs of fashion are constant in theit at- 
 tendance, where, separate from \he parish 
 mutton, they parry the assaults of the de- 
 vil behind their fans, study attitudes, 
 quiz the clergyman, and are allowed to 
 go to heaven their own way. 
 
 Tlie boarding-houses are numerous, 
 and generally filled with, what they 
 term themselves, very genteel company. 
 The ladies take pains to be as lady-like 
 as convenient ; and the gentlemen make 
 a point of putting on their Sunday silk 
 stockings every day. The approaches 
 to the head of the table are by seniority. 
 If a two-pounder, or gourmand, should 
 happen to mingle in the circle, the pur- 
 veyor endeavours to get rid of him by 
 persuading him the air is too sharp for 
 his lungs ; if that fails, he is in danger of 
 being advertised, described, and pounded, 
 as a stray cormorant, who will be sent to 
 his parish on paying his expences. 
 
 The 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 73 
 
 The coast is, like many of its visitors, 
 bold, saucy, intrusive, and dangerous. 
 The country also may claim a simihtude, 
 for it is rude; dull, unproductive, and 
 uncultivated. 
 
 Mais arretez, monsieur VAuteur ; we 
 have all friends occasionally in Brighton- 
 friends whose minds are more or less of 
 the correct, possessing more or less of obli- 
 quity, and are more or less subtle and su- 
 perficial. We cannot bear then to read 
 your book, if you take a pleasure in mal- 
 treating them. To all lenity is necessary ; 
 and though a naturally-right mind will 
 perceive and represent things in their 
 true point of light, yet it often stands in 
 need of a curb, to prevent it from mix- 
 ing the true streams with the fictitious 
 hues of fancy; it wants to be guarded 
 against the seduction of its own senses, 
 the misprision of its own wit. — The 
 reproof is just; but if I am to he das/i- 
 edand snubbed about in this way, I shall 
 not be able to get on at alL 
 
 VOL. I. E CHAP- 
 
74 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 CHAPTER \ 
 
 Dream after dream ensues, 
 
 And still they dream that they shall still succeed. 
 
 And still are disappointed. Cowper. 
 
 And labour only was to kill the time, 
 And labour sore it was, and weary woe. 
 
 Cnstle of Indolence, 
 
 " lie came piping, dancing, tapping, fignatting, and 
 noisy clapping, and vvith Lydian grimaces/' 
 
 All Brighton were alive, for the master 
 of the ceremonies had advertised his first 
 ball; and as it was expected to be the 
 gayest thing of the sort that would take 
 place that season, nothing else could be 
 talked about. The beauty and fashion : 
 w^re all to be there amalgamated toge- 
 ther, and the men were on the very tiptoe 
 of expectation. To some it was unexpect- 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 75 
 
 €d, therefore not the less pleasant ; but the 
 curious observers had long anticipated 
 its approach — anticipated it in the com- 
 pliments to their own charming looks, 
 the attentive inquiries after their friends 
 — anticipated it in all the scrapings, 
 crawlings, dodgings, doffings, dippings^ 
 ^ndi fishings of the arbiter deliciaru7n, or 
 M. C. 
 
 With the arrival of their tickets, the 
 trouble of the Miss Templemores began ; 
 where it would end, was not so obvious ; 
 though their mother ventured to pre- 
 dict, that such extravagant notions as 
 theirs would lead even a Croesus, in 
 time, to his county jail. They did not 
 care — she could not expect they would 
 go in dresses every body had seen a 
 thousand times, and new ones they po- 
 sitively must have. 
 
 Nothing more was to be said ; Mrs. 
 E 2 Templemore 
 
V6 SCENES AT BUIGHTOK. 
 
 Templemore made them a yearly allow- 
 ance, and if they chose to barter necessi- 
 ties for superfluities, she knew of old 
 that it was not in her power to turn 
 them. The question was, what they 
 should have ? but here were so many 
 incongruous things to be brought toge- 
 ther, that decision was no easy matter. 
 There was no end to their consultations : 
 this hour they laughed — the next, al- 
 most cried ; for what was pretty, they 
 found was not cheap ; and that which 
 was cheap, not pretty. 
 
 Their mother, from having heard no- 
 thing else for many days, at last became 
 interested in the subject, and every 
 thing went on well. They could now, 
 tlK)ugh they had certainly not put much 
 constraint on themselves before, talk open- 
 ly ; they could bring down their dresses 
 for public inspection, proffer this, reject 
 that, attempt the accommodation of an 
 
 old 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 77 
 
 old dress over a new satin slip — the ad- 
 justment of the old slip under a new 
 
 gauze dress. 
 
 " What would you advise, Leslie ?'* 
 asked Cecil one morning, getting more 
 confounded and perplexed, as the time 
 for decision became shorter. " I am 
 sure you must have something very 
 pretty to wear yourself, or you never 
 would be so quiet and contented about 
 it." Leslie raised her eyes slowly from 
 the book she was perusing, and her sister 
 repeated the question. 
 
 " Advise 1" she returned, looking 
 round the room, and seeming, for the 
 first time, to perceive its affinity to a 
 slop-shop — " advise, dear Cecil ! I ad- 
 vise ! You would not ask me if you knew 
 the little idea I have of the subject. 
 iVIorton often declares, and I believe she 
 ^is right, that I hardly know a lace robe 
 from a linsey-woolsey one; but you are 
 E 3 not 
 
78 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 not going to throw all these tliings^ 
 away ?" 
 
 Her sisters stared at her for a moment, 
 and then laughed so heartily at tlie in- 
 nocence of the supposition, that they 
 could not readily reply to it. 
 
 . Leslie, in fact, knew neither the value 
 of money, or the importance of dress. 
 With women indeed the knowledge of 
 the one constitutes the other, but Leslie 
 was ignorant of both: from infancy,, 
 both purse and wardrobe had been filled 
 by her kind friend and protectress : by 
 her, wants were anticipated ere tliey were 
 formed— hopes realized in the moment 
 of their birth. Since her death, she had 
 thought of little but her loss : it is true,^ 
 the time for mourning was expired, but 
 her heart still grieved, and in private, 
 tears chased each other down her cheeks, 
 as busy memory brought too forcibly to 
 
 her 
 
SCENIIS AT BRIGHTON. 79 
 
 her recollection days of happiness gone 
 for ever. 
 
 But Leslie, on entering her mother's 
 house, hushed up these feelings of re- 
 gret ; for she had that quick perception 
 about her — that tact, which taught lier 
 to believe, that murmurings of grief 
 would blend but ill with the new affec- 
 tions she was entering on. Her heart 
 indeed sprang towards her new relatives ; 
 but though there was comfort in the 
 kiss she could impress on her own mo- 
 ther's cheek — solace in the affection she 
 cherished towards her sisters, her bright- 
 est joy was buried in the grave of her 
 benefactress. 
 
 Sorrowing as she did, there was a 
 quiet taciturnity about her, that ill ac- 
 corded with their cheerful dispositions. 
 It is true, they loved her sincerely ; but 
 there are various sorts of love ; and while 
 receiving from them all the attentions 
 E 4 dictated 
 
80 SCENES AT BKIGHTON. 
 
 difetated by aifection, Leslie yet felt it 
 was of a distinct character from that 
 they entertained towards each other. 
 Far from uttering complaints, Leslie 
 only felt she was a stranger to them ; but 
 the warmth of a fond heart was chilled — 
 thrown back upon itself, as it pondered 
 on the insignificance of its claims. With 
 her sisters indeed she had not one 
 thought in common; reared, as it were, 
 in each other's arms, their minds had 
 become so entwined together, that any 
 approaches towards sociability seemed a 
 stepping out of their own concerns — an 
 advance more intended as a compliment 
 to her than any satisfaction to them- 
 selves. 
 
 Under this impression^ Leslie grateful- 
 ly received, but never sought their atten- 
 tion : yet, in spite of her better rcason, 
 an envious feeling would creep about 
 her heart, as she listened to their mutual 
 and merry laugli ; and when she saw 
 
 them 
 
SCRNES AT BRIGHTON. 81 
 
 them banging on eacli other's arm, as 
 they entered or quitted the room toge- 
 ther, she would sigh to herself and say — 
 " I never can become a Cecil to Mary, 
 or a Mary to Cecil." Yet these reflec- 
 tions, with nothing ostensible to complain 
 of, only tended to vex her; they shewed 
 an ungrateful spirit for the little kind- 
 nesses she was every hour receiving from 
 them — an encroaching one for desiring 
 more than it was in their power to give. 
 
 There was only one clue that would 
 have accounted for every thing, and this 
 poor Leslie was fated never to arrive at. 
 I have before said she knew not the 
 value of money ; therefore she dreamt 
 not, that in the eyes of her family she 
 was considered a distinct being from 
 themselves. Ignorant of the cause, the 
 effect sensibly concerned her. Uncon- 
 scious that wealth throws a halo round 
 the person denying the approach, tender 
 familiarity was all she longed for. She 
 e5 hated 
 
82 SCENES AT BRIGHTOK. 
 
 hated to be helped before her sisters at 
 dinner — to be asked, when they were not, 
 at what time the carriage should be or- 
 dered — whither she would like to go — 
 and, above all, whether she would like 
 they should go out or stay at home in 
 the evening ? In a word, she could have 
 answered them— she liked nothing but 
 what they liked — desired nothing but 
 what they desired. 
 
 Yet this facility on her part to be 
 pleased did not aid in the bringing it 
 about : condescension enforces considera- 
 tion, and poor Leslie found herself more 
 considered than ever. 
 
 Sensible minds are never best adapted 
 to assist themselves ; a fool will scramble 
 out of a trouble, while your sapient body 
 but plunges deeper in. So it was v/ith 
 Leslie ; she felt the evil, but hopeless of 
 a remedy, bad became worse; she retired 
 within herself, and the distance between 
 
 them 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 83 
 
 them was rendered greater than ever. 
 As they seated themselves at one end 
 of the room with their work, she, with a 
 book, withdrew to the other ; they envy- 
 ing her the dehghts of leisure, she them 
 their powers of employment. 
 
 Ignorant of both the art and the use- 
 fulness of work, Leslie, with curiosity, 
 would watch their progress, wonder at 
 the pertinacity of their pursuit, and wlien 
 she has seen them puzzling for an hour 
 over a little scrap of muslin, she has wish, 
 ed she could herself receive pleasure on so 
 slender a foundation. That they should 
 work for amusement surprised her; for 
 any thing else, still more so. Indeed the 
 necessity of the act never struck upon 
 her comprehension ; and while she saw 
 them every evening come out in what ap- 
 peared to her an entire new suit, it 
 would have been difficult to have per- 
 suaded her to the fact. Unskilled in 
 the various powers of the needle, she 
 E 6 could 
 
84 SCENES AT BRIGHTOK. 
 
 could not trace its ramifications in these 
 displays. With no ideas herself, or in- 
 terest on the subject, she could not dis- 
 cover that the elegantly-trimmed satin 
 robe of last night, stripped of its orna- 
 ment, was now playing the subordinate 
 part of a slip ; that the flounce that had 
 once appertained to a pink dress was 
 sometimes translated to a blue ; or that 
 bodies met skirts, and skirts met bodies, 
 without one particle of previous homo- 
 geny. All this Leslie never once sur- 
 mised, and still less, that it was the 
 fruits of the morning's occupation ; but 
 sharper eyes than hers might have been 
 puzzled, for it was scarcely possible to 
 trace in these piece-meal contrapositions 
 — never in a great state of forwardness, 
 for they were only finished the moment 
 before they were put on — the elegant 
 habiliments of the evening. 
 
 Jn time however the most amusive 
 things will fail ; Leslie ceased to watch 
 
 her 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. &5 
 
 her sisters, and books became her only 
 resource : she had indeed no other com- 
 panion ; for morning visitors were rarely 
 admitted, and Mrs. Templemore had 
 been so accustomed to attend to every do- 
 mestic concern, in the little life of econo- 
 my she had before existed in, that though 
 now unnecessary, her heels were true 
 to their office, and she seldom joined 
 their morning's coterie. 
 
 With nothing to chase them from her 
 mind, mournfully sad were Leslie's ru- 
 minations. The loss of her friend, her 
 more than parent, was the first sorrow 
 she had know^n, and her heart cherished, 
 rather than sought to subdue, the gloom 
 it had imprinted there. Often would 
 she have recourse to her book to hide 
 the starting tear; and when she has 
 hastily retired to her own room, it was 
 to hush the convulsive sob that threat- 
 ened to betray her. Her grief however 
 was in safe keeping ; for her sisters wer€ 
 
 too 
 
86 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 too much engaged in their own mun- 
 dane affairs, to follow her thoughts to 
 the grave of her friend. That she was 
 unhappy, and in BrigJiton, v/ould have 
 been difficult to persuade tliem ; that 
 she should so long regret one who had 
 left so much cause for rejoicing, equal- 
 ly incredible. It is true, they did not, 
 as they termed it, understand her ; 
 but every deviation from their own wild 
 course, they put down to the score of ex- 
 cessive education — every inattention to 
 the concerns that enchanted them, an 
 excusable affectation in the possessor of 
 sixty thousand pounds. The present 
 circumstance however levelled all dis- 
 tinctions; they w^ere yet unprovided 
 with a dress, and it only wanted one 
 night and two days to the ball. 
 
 The novelty of her situation delighted 
 Leslie ; she was called on for advice by 
 her elegant sisters ; and though well 
 aware of her total incompetency to the 
 
 task, 
 
SCENES AT BUrGHTOK. 87 
 
 task, she nevertheless felt all the satis- 
 faction that accrued from so confidential 
 an instalment. Accordingly she began 
 to talk largely of silver gauzes, lama 
 muslins, Brussels lace, blond net and 
 roses; and she might just as well have 
 talked of diamond coronets, 'pearl neck- 
 laces, ruhy crosses, and amethyst solita- 
 ries. This was indeed all lost time, and 
 Leslie finding none of her bright ideas 
 would take effect, at length proposed 
 that Morton should bring down her 
 wardrobe for their inspection. This 
 looked like business, and a Iiasty ring 
 was given for Morton ; but, alas ! Morton 
 was out, and in this dilemma, Leslie, 
 fearing to sink into her former insigni- 
 ficance, again began to rack her brains 
 for wherewitlial to fix on. But again 
 nothing would present itself but gold 
 gauzes, silver muslins, embroidered 
 blonds, and fancy wreaths of flowers ; all 
 as far from her sisters' reach, as is Indus 
 
 from 
 
88 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 from the pole^ and from the pole all the 
 way back again to Indus. 
 
 But though destitute of the requisite 
 notions, on the subject, Leslie's heart was 
 too much the seat of good temper, to be 
 damped by the failure of its first onset ; 
 and she was still ringing the changes on 
 her princely assortment of attire, when 
 the thought came across her, that though 
 her wardrobe could not come to her sis- 
 ters, there was no reason why her sisters 
 might not go to her wardrobe. The 
 overture w^as most thankfully received; 
 and with a kiss for the kindness of the 
 thought, they left her and hastened to 
 her apartment. 
 
 Oh, what a glorious sight awaited 
 tliem ! this was indeed what a wardrobe 
 ought to be ! and they took a little time 
 in wondering why Leslie, with such a 
 number of things, should have gone out 
 
 two. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 89 
 
 two evenings following in the same 
 dress. They had not however here 
 time to solve it ; and the bed, the floor, 
 the chairs, and the tables, were soon strew^- 
 ed with objects fit for their choice. 
 
 " I do not wonder at Leslie's grand 
 ideas, do you, Cecil ?" said ]\Iary, hold- 
 ing up a superb lace dress : " I thought 
 at first she w^as sporting^/z^ just to quiz 
 us ; but I am sure now she was in ear- 
 nest. Only fancy us in gold lama dresses, 
 how beautiful we should look !" 
 
 " This lace one would content me," 
 replied Cecil, sighing from the bottom 
 of her heart, and putting it before her as 
 she spoke: " what a pity it is that Leslie 
 is so little !" 
 
 " Or what a pity it is that Cecil is so 
 big," said Mary, laughingly echoing her 
 sister's sigh. " Oh, Cecil ! you might as 
 well think to thrust the Irish giant into 
 it, as those broad shoulders of thine ; you 
 had better not — you will only tear it^ 
 
 and 
 
90 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 and then Mrs. Morton will be about 
 our house." 
 
 " 1 would not care for a hundred Mrs. 
 Mortons if I thought it would fit me," 
 returned Cecil, putting it by with a look 
 of regret. " But it is all the same to 
 me," she continued, after a moment's 
 consideration, " for I would rather wear 
 that old dyed brown crape of mine, than 
 by borrowing this, subject myself to that 
 fine lady's animadversions. I do not 
 think I like Morton." 
 
 " I like her very well," carelessly re- 
 plied Mary, who had begun an attack 
 upon another chest of drawers — " I like 
 her very well, as to that; but I am sure 
 she must cheat Leslie, for I know to a 
 certainty she takes care of all her money, 
 buys her clothes, and pays all her bills ; 
 therefore do you not think she must now 
 and then help herself to a little? It 
 stands to reason. But look here, Cecil ; 
 here are silk stockings sufficient to last 
 an Indian voyage ! Oh, what luxury ! 
 
 Some 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 91 
 
 Some new, and those that are not, no 
 doubt all mended ready to put on." 
 
 " It is these things," said Cecil, count- 
 ing them up and down in rows as they 
 lay — " it is these things that make me 
 longfor money — ari<jh old liusband — any 
 thing so as it brings but money ! How 
 delightful to be spared the necessity in 
 the morning of balancing which it is to 
 be — silk or cotton f and then when you 
 have resolved on venturing your last 
 clean pair of silk, from the expectation of 
 seeing some one you wish to look well 
 before, hearing mamma give that hateful 
 order after breakfast, ' not at home to 
 any body ;" and it looks so foolish to go 
 and take them off again " 
 
 *' It is a folly then I am but too often 
 subject to,' returned Mary, displaying 
 as she spoke her beautifully-turned ancle, 
 bearing the disgraceful appendage of a 
 cotton covering upon it ; " it cannot be 
 helped, situated as we are ; and indeed if 
 we begin to grow discontented, here is 
 
 food 
 
92 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 food sufficient to break our hearts.— 
 Look here !" and she pointed to a quan- 
 tity of new white kid gloves ; " there is 
 at least a dozen pair ! and here are four 
 more, quite as good as new; she will 
 never get to the end of them, depend 
 upon it !" 
 
 " Depend upon it she will though," 
 rertoted Cecil, in an uncomfortable kind 
 of tone, that betokened something of the 
 sickness at her heart—" depend upon it 
 she will, for she never spares them. She 
 puts them on the moment she is dressed, 
 and never takes them off till she begins 
 to be undressed again. I never think of 
 putting on mine till the servant knocks 
 at the door ; if I do, I am sure, in the 
 letting down or pulling up the carriage 
 glasses, to split them across the thumb, 
 and then they are done for." 
 
 " Until you come to the end of your 
 stock," interrupted Mary, "for then you 
 know, dear Cecil, tear or no tear^ man of 
 war fashiorij you sometimes are obliged 
 
 ta 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 9^ 
 
 to begin over again. I often think you 
 are extravagant." Cecil cast an expres- 
 sive look of comparison around. Mary 
 understood its meaning, and in reply said 
 — "But then, Cecil, think how widely dif- 
 ferent the means !" She w^ould have per- 
 haps moralized for an hour, v^^hich, much 
 to Cecil's discomfiture, she had some- 
 times a knack of doing, had not a box of 
 fans diverted her attention. — " Here is 
 an amber one, a gauze one, two ivory 
 ones, and positively an ebony, and a 
 black crape one !" displaying them as she 
 proceeded before the eyes of her sister. 
 " What, in the name of fortune, can she 
 want with two mourning fans ?" 
 
 " Heaven knows !" returned Cecil, 
 who had enumerated them up to half a 
 dozen. " But I am not surprised at their 
 number," she continued, with something 
 like impatience turning them all into their 
 resting-place again ; " there is nothing 
 so very miraculous in their number, 
 Mary, when you consider that she never 
 
 feels 
 
94 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 feels the necessity of letting her partners 
 take them away without a struggle, from 
 the fear that they may surmise your^o- 
 verty, but not your will, dictates the 
 prudery of a refusal. What a foolish 
 whim it is in men ! I declare that those 
 who have performed the gallant office 
 by me, I have not cared if they had never 
 dreamt of me again, pretending all the 
 time I was gratified by the compliment ; 
 they, with equal duplicity, giving me 
 to understand, they could not exist with- 
 out the solace of a souvenir — weakness 
 dictating the one, vanity the other; for, no 
 doubt, my fans have been ostentatiously 
 displayed on the breakfast-table of my 
 beaux the next morning, to idle compa- 
 nions, who have not given me credit for 
 so innocent a motive for my compliance 
 as fears of detected poverty." 
 
 " That was just the way my beautiful 
 French fan went," said Mary, in a tone 
 between a laugh and a whine. " I de- 
 clare I think I should have cried, had not 
 
 Miss 
 
15CENES AT BRIGHTON. Q5 
 
 Miss Delaware seen Mr. Langley take it, 
 and you know how handsome she used 
 to think him, and how she used always 
 to place herself before him when she 
 knew the quadrilles were going to begin. 
 I do not think he ever danced with her 
 more than twice, with her odious long- 
 ringlets. I wonder how she made them 
 curl so well ?" 
 
 At this moment Leslie entered ; and 
 her sisters, without appearing to observe 
 her, shut up a few of the drawers before 
 they turned to address her. She found 
 them as far as ever from decision ; indeed 
 they had passed their time more to their 
 tastes, though not so profitably as at- 
 tention to this one point might have 
 proved- 
 
 Leslie looked for a moment round 
 her, and then made her way across 
 the floor, treading indiscriminately on 
 the articles strewed over it, to a silver 
 
 gauze 
 
§6 SCENE!^ AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 gauze that hung on a chair at the far- 
 ther end of the apartment. — " This then 
 is the one you have selected ?" she said, 
 'taking it from its resting-place, and re- 
 moving from its bosom a faded nosegay 
 that v^^as fastened there. She kissed it 
 as she placed it aside; and observing 
 her sisters smile, she continued — " You 
 see I have had my fits of sentiment. 
 This dress was made for the first ball I 
 was ever at, in which I was in love with 
 all my partners successively ; and as I 
 have never worn it since, this miserable 
 relic still exists to remind me of my 
 folly." Mary and Cecil looked curious, 
 for they suspected more than Leslie had 
 confessed ; and an intelligent glance pass- 
 ed between them as they remarked, that 
 instead of throwing it away, she placed 
 it carefully in a toilet-box. Again 
 she addressed them—-" If you really 
 should like," she said, measuring as she 
 spoke the dress she held against the fi- 
 gure of Mary — " if you really should 
 
 like 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 97 
 
 like dresses of this des'cription, I think" — 
 There was a timidity in her manner that 
 shewed she was fearful of offending, and 
 a pale blush mantled on her cheek — " I 
 think I could furnish the materials. Tiie 
 bodies will look well of any thing else, 
 and I know I have sufficient for the rest." 
 
 Her sisters were in raptures. Mor- 
 ton was to make them ; and tliough they 
 knew not the extent of their obligation, 
 for Leslie's dress fell a sacrifice, nothing 
 could exceed their gratitude. 
 
 The expected night at length arrived ; 
 the silver dresses fitted a merveille ; and 
 the Miss Templemores, brilliant in beau- 
 ty, buoyant with hope, and with flutter- 
 ing hearts, entered the New Ship Assem- 
 bly-rooms. 
 
 Mr. Forward was in high feather ; 
 the company were coming in thicker and 
 faster, and nothing could exceed his 
 
 VOL. I. F amiability. 
 
98 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 amiability. Now he would lay his lily- 
 white finger on his lily-white cheek, 
 and smirk and squeeze up to 2i somebody ; 
 then he would raise his grey eyes over 
 his gold-rimmed glasses, arrange the 
 collar of his sky-blue under- waistcoat, 
 and familiarly nod to a Tiobody. Indeed 
 he generally contrived to make his cere- 
 monies square with the local condition of 
 his multitude — that is to say, to some 
 he was all in all; to others, not at all. 
 He had an odd way of talking to those 
 that would listen to him, of his own mi- 
 litary career, and the noble connexions of 
 his mmtie, rather out of place certainly; 
 for those who lent a willing ear, had 
 merely an eye to a good partner for their 
 daughters ; and those who pretended to 
 believe him, only did it with the inten- 
 tion of coming on him some day for the 
 same forbearance towards themselves. 
 All persons who are conscious of their 
 insufficiency in personal merit, seize 
 every possible opportunity of prating 
 
 and 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 99 
 
 and vaunting about their antiquity of 
 blood, and magnificence of consanguini- 
 ty ; and whetlier the account be true or 
 otherwise, the attempt is justifiable; as 
 those who have not dignity to support 
 their own reputation, should assuredly 
 rely upon those w^ho can, in some way 
 or another, do it for them. But to re- 
 turn. 
 
 It was soon known in tlie room that 
 the Templemore party had entered, and 
 sir Archibald JNIurray and Mr. Stanley 
 immediately made their way towards 
 them. Their progress through the crowed 
 however for a moment was arrested by 
 Auckland. He came open-mouthed, 
 eyes starting from his head, and began 
 to talk so fast, that, for the purpose it 
 answered, he might just as well have 
 held his tongue. The drift, however, 
 of his harangue was this, that, God 
 forgive him ! but the Miss Templemore, 
 whom he had fixed on for the fortune, 
 F 2 he 
 
100 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 he now found could not be worth a doit ; 
 for while her sisters were dressed up 
 like kings and queens, she was positive- 
 ly as plain as a pikestaff! 
 
 " Go it then !" said Murray, pushing 
 on by the side of his friend ; " we shall 
 do it, Jack, depend on it ! * one or both 
 of us, the time is come,' as Shakespeare 
 says. Beauty and fortune combined ! 
 lucky dogs ! are not we ? The game is 
 in our own hands, by Heaven ! Let us 
 be devilish agreeable to-night ; we took 
 uncommon at Westbrook's ! but let us 
 be devilish varmint to-night, I say." 
 
 " 'Tis not in raprtf^ls to command success, 
 
 But w fc'll do more, Sempronius — we'll deserve it ;* 
 
 and with this quotation of Stanley, they 
 w^ere in the vicinity of the ladies. 
 
 Mary's eyes sparkled as she watched 
 their approach; and a rosy smile dim- 
 pled round her mouth, when accepting 
 Mr. Stanley's welcome hand for the first 
 
 quadrille. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. lOT 
 
 quadrille. Not so with Cecil: she no 
 sooner perceived the advance of the ene- 
 ;;??/, than her pleasurable anticipations re- 
 ceived a damper time only could mollify. 
 The philosophic reflection, however, 
 came to her aid, that as she must dance 
 one quadrille with him, the sooner it was 
 over the better; and she turned to re- 
 ceive the noble baronet with more suavi- 
 ty than she herself had believed possible. 
 
 It was indeed but too evident to Cecil, 
 and her mother also had made the re- 
 mark, that sir Archibald's attentions cer- 
 tainly meant something. But Cecil, 
 though she would have been loth to 
 have rejected the positive good that 
 might be the result of them, would yet 
 most willingly have dispensed with at- 
 tentions, considered by her in no other 
 light than attendant evils on what the 
 world considers a good match. Such is 
 the perversion of the human heart ; and 
 Cecil, without one grain of partiality to- 
 F 3 wards 
 
102 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 wards " the man,^' would have made no 
 scruple of linking her fate to his, if, 
 as she expressed herself in private to her 
 sister, she could just he married to him, 
 and have done with it. 
 
 It is such arrangements as these that 
 bring matrimony into disrepute. It is 
 those who tie themselves up in the 
 noose for the adventitious good it may 
 hold out, that raise the clamour against 
 its insufficiency. But every body knows 
 all this, and Cecil among the number; 
 yet the knowledge had no influence over 
 her actions, and she continued to put up 
 vv^ith sir Archibald's little endeavours, 
 merely from the hope that it would lead 
 in the end to rank, fortune, and liberty. 
 
 Whether, however, it was her silver 
 dress made her hope for better things, 
 or that sir Archibald had given her a 
 surfeit of himself in the morning, but 
 Cecil was never less inclined to make the 
 
 amiable 
 
SCENES AT BTIIGHTON. 103 
 
 amiable to him as on this, Mr. Forward's 
 grand night. It is true she accepted 
 him for her partner, but that done, she 
 left the rest to him, pacifying her scru- 
 ples with the reflection, that he could 
 not always expect she would be at the 
 trouble of wearing herself out in finding 
 subjects for him just to say, " yes" and 
 
 Sir Archibald was soon awake to his 
 quandary, and equally sensible of his in- 
 capacity of averting it. What to do he 
 did not know. Perhaps she did not like 
 talking ; and then he would while away 
 the time by pulling up his shirt-collar, 
 pinching his neckcloth, and settling his 
 wristbands. But he soon found out the 
 fallacy of this argument ; for though 
 mute to him, IMiss Templemore had a 
 lively sally for every one else who ad- 
 dressed her. Oh, how he cursed his 
 natural infirmity, his ill-timed modesty, 
 his devilish folly ! What w^as there in 
 F 4 the 
 
104 SCENES AT BRIGHTON'. 
 
 the shape of a petticoat that it should so 
 cruel! J tongue-tie him? Was he not 
 the mouth of the company among the 
 good jolly fellows he associated with ? 
 and then so completely to lose the power 
 when it would best serve his purpose ! It 
 was barbarous, and he repeated "devil 
 take me !" to himself a thousand times. 
 But the devil is an obstinate animal, and 
 sometimes refuses to do as he is bid ; and 
 poor sir Archibald was still continuing to 
 stand mum cJiance by his partner, when 
 she suddenly turned upon him to know 
 the name of the person that Leslie 
 was dancing with. She had never ob- 
 served him till now, and she thought 
 she had never in her life seen any thing 
 half so distingue as the person in ques- 
 tion before her. 
 
 Although sir Archibald liked not its 
 purport, the demand reanimated his 
 drooping courage. Here was an opening 
 for him to talk, and to talk he believed 
 
 was 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 105 
 
 was the high turnpike-road to fortune ; 
 therefore calling to his countenance its 
 most insinuating address, he faced round, 
 and suddenly pronounced the word 
 « Steinbach." 
 
 Cecil could not resist a smile ; and as 
 it was the first the baronet had seen 
 her indulge in that night, he valued it 
 accordingly. With timid people break- 
 ing the ice seems every thing, and 
 sir Archibald instinctively feeling his 
 hopes hung by a thread, sought to put 'em 
 along by following up the conversation ; 
 and he was just about to dash away at 
 something, when Cecil (for he thought 
 it quite enough for one person to talk at 
 a time) spared him the trouble at present, 
 by inquiring whether Mr. Steinbach was 
 not a German ? The yes followed na- 
 turally enough ; yet though with any of 
 his own gender he could have launched 
 out for hours on the " curious cut of the 
 fellow's English," not one word more 
 y 5 did 
 
106 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 did he vouchsafe to the deeply-interest- 
 ed Cecil. At this moment the qua- 
 drille concluded ; and taking his arm, 
 she led the way towards her sister and 
 her handsome partner. Stanley and 
 Mary also joined their party, and Cecil 
 now had as much talking as she could 
 possibly desire. 
 
 " How do you get on ?" asked Stan- 
 ley of his friend, taking advantage of 
 Steinbach's introduction to the ladies. 
 " Make sure of the right, I say, before 
 you pop the question ;" and there was a 
 chuckle in his voice as he spoke that 
 struck to the heart of sir Archibald. 
 
 " You do not mean to say I have got 
 the wrongT' he retorted hastily, look- 
 ing alternately from Cecil to Mary, and 
 from Mary to Cecil. " You must shew 
 me pretty sure grounds, my friend, be- 
 fore I flinch an inch ; not that I have 
 made much way to-night," he continued, 
 in something of a tremulous voice. 
 
 " Somehow 
 
SCENES AT BUIGHTON. 107 
 
 ** Somehow I am not in force ; I am not 
 up to the thing at all; but there is 
 plenty of time before me, and I do not 
 see any body more likely to walk over 
 the course." 
 
 " What do you say to Steinbach?" 
 " Why, the fellow cannot speak Eng- 
 lish !" 
 
 " But then the language of the eyes 1" 
 and Stanley looked towards the hand- 
 some foreigner. 
 
 It happened at the moment that his 
 of the darkest blue were speaking most 
 eloquently, and to Cecil their discourse 
 was directed. Sir Archibald shook him- 
 self; and when he the next moment saw 
 him lead her to the dance, he inwardly 
 levelled his nouns at the German, and 
 began to wonder what business such fel- 
 lows as that had in any body's country 
 but their own. 
 
 Cecil, in the society of the interesting 
 . r F 6 stranger, 
 
108 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 stranger, found ample recomperuje for Tier 
 former uncomfortable lot ; not indeed 
 that he conversed much more than sir 
 Archibald, but there was a soul in his 
 silence the baronet's taciturnity could 
 not lay claim to ; the one was the silence 
 o^ nothing to say ; the other, that which 
 says every thing; and Cecil acknow- 
 ledged to herself, that if there was such 
 a thing upon earth as love at first sight, 
 her destiny was fixed for life. From that 
 moment every thing but Steinbach 
 faded from her eyes. She could now 
 hear the jingle of a spur behind her, and 
 fail to look round at its possessor ; and 
 her sisters might have danced with 
 twelve lancers at a time, without creat- 
 ing one envious emotion in her breast, 
 so that the handsome Steinbach but fell 
 to her share. 
 
 Mary all this time was passing the 
 hours very much to her satisfaction. She 
 bad danced a quadrille with Stanley — 
 
 she 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON". lOJ 
 
 she had paraded the room with Stanley ; 
 and when she declined dancing any 
 more for the present, lie very content- 
 edly placed himself on the sofa between 
 herself and her mother. It was delight- 
 ful to her to hear him talk ; for besides 
 having a sharp neat way of pronouncing 
 his words, that would almost have ren- 
 dered the most trivial discourse agreeable, 
 it gave him the power of displaying a 
 set of teeth of such perfect beauty, that 
 the eye dwelt enraptured on their daz^ 
 zling perfection till the conclusion of his 
 speech, when again they were hid from 
 the view. But Stanley talked so much, 
 that, as the old proverb has it, he did 
 not hide his candle under a bushel ; 
 indeed you never saw Stanley, but you 
 were sure to see his teeth also ; while 
 the medium through which you viewed 
 them, left you not in ignorance that 
 they also knew the art of biting, 
 
 " Do look at that fellow," he said, 
 pointing out to Mary a young man af- 
 fectedly 
 
fectedly leaning against one of the pillars 
 at the door; " did you ever see so con- 
 summate a coxcomb ? Just observe his 
 broad back, and the knowing way in 
 which he thinks he squares out his el- 
 bows — his sleepy inexpressive eyes, and 
 his little insignificant mongrel of a nose; 
 and with all this he thinks himself hand- 
 some ! Now do not such fellows deserve 
 to be burnt ? Yes, positively sells a shop 
 he had left him in the country, buys a 
 commission with the money, retires on 
 half-pay, and then puts himself up to be 
 taken by the best bidder." 
 
 " And do you suspect he will ever bet- 
 ter his fortune?" 
 
 Stanley looked at her a moment, and 
 then replied — " Not unless Miss Temple- 
 more condescends to take pity upon 
 him." Mary did not see what possible 
 good she could ever do him ; but she for- 
 bore to express the thought, and Stanley 
 proceeded — " They call him ' Tom-tit,' 
 * Water wag-tail,' ' Cock-a too,' or some 
 such feathery appellation. Why, I know 
 
 not. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. Ill 
 
 not, unless it is, that he flies and perches 
 upon every woman of fortune he can con- 
 trive to be introduced to. He made his 
 first flight in London, but he was some- 
 how too heavy on the wing ; and when 
 he found he could not get off there, he 
 condescended to proceed to coast-work. 
 But he continues ' to strain his little 
 throat,' I believe, to as little purpose as 
 ever ; for though he waltzes with the 
 goldfinches till he is as pale in the face as 
 a swan, coos to them like a dove, till he 
 is as black and as hoarse as a raven, I yet 
 think master Cock -robin will never fea- 
 ther his nest ; he will addle his egg, de- 
 pend upon it." 
 
 " Who are those ladies ?" asked Maiy, 
 pointing to three women who stood be- 
 fore them, dressed in piquet muslins and 
 poodle crops; " we meet them every 
 where, which accounts, I suppose, for 
 their haggard looks and neglected attire 
 — raking certainly does not mend the 
 appearance." 
 
 " Oh, 
 
112 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 " Oh, faith !" repeated Stanley, " it 
 neither makes nor mars the Miss Old- 
 boys. I have known them these ten 
 years, and I see but little difference the 
 run of the pave has done to them. The 
 eldest always looked old, cunning, and 
 dirty ; the second, lovesick, languishing, 
 and larkish; the third, I confess, is the 
 best of the set; the fourth, rude, ram- 
 pant, and raw-boned ; and the fifth ties 
 up her head in a turban. The fact is, of 
 the two youngest I know but little ; in- 
 deed they are, though you would not 
 suspect it, new-comers out ; for the old 
 stagers, their sisters, contrived, by the aid 
 of school-hoy-cut hair, and frocks open 
 behind, to keep them young as long as 
 they possibly could ; and under these re- 
 strictions, the poor girls were actually 
 confined to their mother's house, till they 
 were old enough to expect houses of 
 their own to be confined in." The la- 
 dies looked serious, and Stanley, sup- 
 pressing a smile, continued^" But, after 
 
 all 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON, US 
 
 all these manoeuvres, the evil could not 
 be averted ; the old ones did not get off, 
 and the young ones, tired of delay, even- 
 tually, with radical rebellion, took to 
 curling their hair, sewing up their frocks, 
 and came into company at an age when 
 other girls are thinking of retiring from 
 it, for the purpose of transacting domes- 
 tic duties in the characters of wives and 
 mothers. Thus the town is now bur- 
 dened with the five Miss Oldboys ; and 
 a burden it really is, when you consider 
 they all * dote on dancing," mimicking 
 them as he spoke. ^'Ergo partners must 
 be procured for them. — By-the-bye, we 
 poor fellows are sometimes , sadly put 
 ' upon in that way ; if we cannot procure 
 the precise partner we prefer, we become 
 careless — roam about the room ; and the 
 mistress of the revels is sure, in that un- 
 protected state, to pounce upon you for 
 some unattractive fair one, who lying 
 perdue in a corner, too late for your pre- 
 servation, bursts upon you in all her ug- 
 liness 
 
114. SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 liness, smirking and smiling, and look- 
 ing so pleased that she has got a partner 
 at last." 
 
 " Who is that your sister seems so 
 pleased with ?" asked Mrs. Templemore, 
 in a whisper to Mary, the moment Stan- 
 ley ceased talking. 
 
 " Captain Hillsborough, mamma," an- 
 swered Mary, who had herself been 
 watching the manly expression of his 
 handsome countenance. " I think he is 
 by far the finest man in the regiment." 
 
 " It is not Leslie I am alluding to," 
 returned Mrs. Templemore, in a tone of 
 ill-concealed displeasure ; " I know cap- 
 tain Hillsborough as well as you do — I 
 mean the person that Miss Cecil is pa- 
 rading about with ?" 
 
 Mary did not know she had also been 
 introduced to him, but his name she had 
 forgotten ; it was Brittleback, Miccle- 
 thwack, or something equally uncom- 
 mon. 
 
 *' Steinbac/i, you mean," said Stan- 
 ley^ 
 
SCENES AT BUIGHTON. 115 
 
 ley, who had heard the last part of their 
 discourse. ** He is a major Steinbach, 
 of the German Legion — an uncommon 
 clever fellov/ I take it, if one could but 
 understand him." 
 
 " He is an acquaintance of yours 
 then ?" said Mrs. Templemore, partly 
 satisfied by the supposition. 
 
 " Oh dear, no," returned Stanley, de- 
 lighted to put a spoke in so fine a fellow's 
 wheel. " I scarcely know the man from 
 Adam. This is his first winter in 
 Brighton ; and whether he is major or 
 drum-major, a purveyor of sour-crout, 
 or a cousin-german to a Dutch prince, 
 is to me equally undefinable. He may 
 be a chevalier d'industrie for ought I 
 know." 
 
 " Then he is a person nobody knows ?" 
 said Mrs. Templemore, in a tone that 
 Mary but too well knew the import of, 
 and she replied — " I should not think 
 that, mamma, for he was introduced to 
 
 Leslie by the countess St. " 
 
 Although 
 
116 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Although Mrs Templemore's scru- 
 ples were allayed by this explanation, 
 she was vexed that Leslie had introduced 
 him to Cecil. It was but too evident 
 that her prepossessions were few in fa- 
 vour of the baronet ; and Mrs. Temple- 
 more saw, with all a mother's anxiety, 
 that the attentions of such a magnifi- 
 cent being as Steinbach could not but 
 conduce to increase the evil. Indeed 
 Mrs. Templemore was constrained to 
 confess, that if Cecil proceeded to com- 
 parisons, the worthy baronet was dish- 
 ed; not that the lady made use of this 
 expressive epithet, but I must be ex- 
 cused its use, from not having her 
 powers of finding another. Yet of what 
 weight were personal recommendations 
 in one scale, when the worldly ones of a 
 good match were in the other? Mrs. 
 Templemore answered, "none." But 
 Mrs. Templemore had passed the hey- 
 day of youth, and saw not with the same 
 eyes as her infatuated daughter, who de- 
 clared 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 117 
 
 clared she never should again be able to 
 look with any patience on the little fat 
 figure of sir Archibald, since she had 
 once seen him by the side of the grace- 
 ful Steinbach. 
 
 But the world, unfortunately for its 
 inhabitants, is always on the move ; and 
 when we are best contented with its po- 
 sition, not all our entreaties will prevail 
 on it to stand still and be quiet. A new 
 set of quadrilles was forming, and Miss 
 Templemore, Mary, and Leslie, were 
 thanklessly compelled to suit themselves 
 again, out of the new partners that pre- 
 sented themselves, giving up their for- 
 mer ones with pain, and taking to the 
 others without pleasure. 
 
 1 have indeed often been tempted to 
 wonder to myself, in what can consist 
 the great happiness of going to a ball. 
 Perhaps my lady readers may wonder, 
 with equal pertinacity, what business a 
 
 dirty 
 
IIB SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 dirty vagabond of an author has to try 
 the experiment. Thus called on to de- 
 fend myself, I must explain — that I am 
 not dirty, neither am I by any means the 
 scrub they take me for. I spin not my 
 brain from an attic in Grub-street, but 
 live, breathe, and move in the same cir- 
 cle with themselves; and though in the 
 morning the cacoethes scribendi is strong 
 upon me, the being honoured with their 
 fair hands in the evening is the highest 
 reward I ambition. Yes, my fair read- 
 ers, I can cut a caper with the same dex- 
 terity that I can a pen ; turn a pirouette 
 with more velocity than I can a sentence; 
 and though I say it, that certainly should 
 not, mount my red roan with the same 
 agility that I do my Pegasus, and to 
 much better purpose; for while the 
 muses do sometimes turn their backs 
 upon me, the graces^ I must say, always 
 welcome my approach. Oh, how 1 listen 
 to the little nothings, that, like eaves 
 from a penthouse, drop from the dear 
 
 little 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 119 
 
 little dravvlers' mouths when they conde- 
 scend to converse with me, little dream- 
 ing, pretty angels ! that it is all to be 
 registered in a sheet of foolscap next 
 morning ! Then when your thirteen to 
 the 6^02^7^ Misses begin, ye gods! how 
 my memory and attention are obliged 
 to skip after them ! But, after all, they 
 generally cheat me of my pennyworth — 
 that is to say, I have let out my ears for 
 the hour, and get nothing in return for 
 my pains. Your sporters cool are the ones 
 for an author's economy ; indeed so ne- 
 cessary are they to my penmanshipic 
 arrangements, that almost instinctively 
 I begin to know them at a glance, and 
 seldom or ever now fall foul of your 
 sharp-shooting W ill-of- the- Whispers. 
 
 First, I remark the general lassitude, 
 studied negligence of dress and air, ric- 
 ketty saunter, and listless twirl of the 
 fan ; then, when sitting, the careless 
 loll is the favourite attitude, and the 
 
 nearer 
 
120 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 nearer the resemblance can be brought 
 to sleep, the better both actor and author 
 are pleased. Then, when addressing 
 you, the head rolls backward and for- 
 ward, the eyebrows are elevated, and the 
 mouth lets the words fall through it 
 wdthout taking the trouble of discom- 
 posing itself Oh, " the drawl," as it is 
 called, was an excellent institution for 
 the bookmakers, whose province it is to 
 *' catch the manners living as they rise." 
 You may positively learn a speech by 
 rote, before the speaker has got to the 
 end of it — mind, I say by rote, not by 
 heart; and take a hint, my fair assist- 
 ants, disinterestedly given: give over 
 your lisping and lounging, for we au- 
 thors, whom alone it suits, can repay you 
 with nothing but a copy of our works, 
 neatly bound in boards, little worthy 
 your acceptance, and nothing in the scale 
 of what manners, devoid of affectation, 
 might produce you. 
 
 ** Ungenerous 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 121 
 
 ^* Ungenerous monster !" you will say, 
 ^' to sting the hand that cherishes you !" 
 Then, if you ^e poetical, you will reflect 
 that 
 
 " Roses grow not on a nettle ;" 
 if you are clever, " Borpua? ov am a xa^aw," 
 
 and for the future 'ware authors. 
 
 But to return to the query of in what 
 consists the pleasure of frequenting pub- 
 lic places? Did ever a ball yet turn 
 out quite to the heart's satisfaction? 
 For myself, I can safely say no ; for the 
 three Miss Templemores, in the same 
 monosyllable; and I think also for the 
 generality of my readers. And yet while 
 the phantom, pleasure, flies our grasp, 
 how madly we pursue ! reconciling our- 
 selves by the hope, if we fail in overtak- 
 ing it to-night, of the much better chance 
 we have thereby to-morrow. 
 
 Thus it was with Cecil and Mary 
 VOL. I. G Templemore. / 
 
123 SCENES AT BRIGHTON'. 
 
 Templemore. The present failed in its 
 promised content, and they had only to 
 look on with anxious anticipations to 
 the future. Not but what they had ex- 
 perienced at Mr. Forward's ball their in- 
 termittent moments of delight ; but so 
 strongly were they contrasted by the 
 dull and insipid ones which followed, 
 that the pleasing recollections of one 
 were overcome by the more weighty 
 considerations of the other. 
 
 Cecil indeed could not but confess 
 that she had played her cards badly; 
 that she had done sufficient to dismiss 
 one lover, without exactly being able to 
 congratulate herself on having secured 
 another. But Steinbach in any shape 
 was better than sir Archibald in no 
 shape ; and when she reflected on their 
 distinct characters of being, the one so 
 transcendently handsome, the other so 
 odiously ugly, she could hardly allow 
 herself blame for the hasty part she had 
 
 acted. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 123 
 
 acted. The difficulty was hmv to repre- 
 sent it to her mother; for but too well 
 aware of her hopes in regard to sir Ar- 
 chibald, she had little expectation of ever 
 reconciling her to the usurpation of 
 Steinbach. He had indeed created a 
 complete houleversement in her before- 
 worldly opinions; she felt she could never 
 love any body but himself; and it was 
 " all for love, and the world well lost," 
 with poor Cecil Templemore. Yet not- 
 withstanding love reconciles us to a great 
 many things, it could not exactly chase 
 away from its victim the sight of her 
 follies. She was conscious she had been 
 premature in blowing out one fiarae, 
 while the wisdom of adding fuel to the 
 other was yet to be tried ; and she almost 
 began to repent the inconsiderateness of 
 the act, of having availed herself of his 
 musical powers to ask him to the house 
 the next morning. 
 
 Poor Mary's conscience was also a lit- 
 G 2 tie 
 
124! SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 tie on the fret ; and though her mind 
 was assailed with less tormenting reflec- 
 tions than those that harassed her sister's 
 repose, she was not perfectly exempt 
 from remorse. Under these circumstan- 
 ces the sisters were silent and reserved 
 when they retired for the night. The 
 complaint of being fatigued left them at 
 liberty to ponder ; and, without one in- 
 terchange of sentiment, they settled 
 themselves to rest. 
 
 The creaking of their beds, however, 
 betrayed them to each other; and not- 
 withstanding their talked-of fatigue, at 
 four o'clock in the morning they were as 
 wide awake as they had been at the 
 hour of two. Rendered communicative 
 by this natural discovery, every thing 
 was soon discussed between them ; and 
 Cecil had soon to bear the sorrows of 
 Mary, and Mary to sooth the vexations 
 of Cecik Yet though they talked for 
 an hour, little to the point was arranged 
 
 betweeii 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 125 
 
 between them ; for their conversation, 
 after the first disclosure, degenerated 
 into a mere thinking aloud, and the task 
 of decision was averted. In this statt 
 daylight broke in upon them ; and warn- 
 ed of the little time they had for recruit 
 ing themselves, they again wished each 
 other a good-night, and again sunk into 
 their pillows ; Cecil, far as ever from 
 having discovered how to smooth the 
 path of Steinbach, and Mary wondering 
 v/hether Stanley would like her as well 
 when he found out she had not got a 
 fortune. It was the first time that JMary 
 had been guilty of duplicity; and al- 
 though in her heart the cause almost jus- 
 tified the effect, the uprightness of her 
 soul shrunk from the shadow of deceit 
 her preference for Stanley had led her 
 into. It is true, she had not systemati- 
 cally sought to deceive him ; but with 
 the young practitioner there are no gra- 
 dations in sin ; and JNIary, in counte- 
 nancing the belief that she herself was 
 g3 the 
 
126 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 the favourite of fortune, earned dearly 
 the attentions her weakness, her false- 
 ness, secured to her. But of what value 
 were devotions purchased by double- 
 dealing ? Yet fallacious, unsatisfactory 
 as they were, Mary sighed over the ne- 
 cessity of dispelling them. 
 
 Cecil however saw not her sister's 
 conduct in the derogatory light that she 
 herself appeared to view it in. She had 
 done nothing towards creating opinions 
 that Stanley seemed himself to have been 
 at the trouble of manufacturing ; and 
 surely it was a pardonable weakness in 
 herself, and a kindness towards him, the 
 not immediately destroying them by the 
 confession that she was, alas ! "not worth 
 forty ducats in the world."^ — "You really 
 think of this too seriously," continued 
 Cecil, with a view to strengthen her ar- 
 gument ; " and Leslie herself, I am sure, 
 would be of my opinion. The horses are 
 yours, and so is the carriage ; for has not 
 
 she 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 127 
 
 she begged us to consider them so a 
 thousand times ? therefore, as far as that 
 goes, your sin is not so deadly as you 
 have imagined.'* 
 
 At this poor Mary recovered her spi- 
 rits; and though it was a weak argu- 
 ment her sister had used, she was ready 
 to avail herself of it as far as' it went. In- 
 deed she had not exactly said the horses 
 were hers ; and as a quietus to her con- 
 science, she resolved, the next time that 
 Stanley awarded them to her, she would 
 stoutly stand up and disclaim them. 
 
 G 4 CHAP- 
 
128 SCENES AT BRIGHTOIT. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 What, art mad?' A man may see how this world goes- 
 with, no e^'es." 
 
 Oh, matter and impertinency mix'd I 
 
 Reason in madness! King Lear.. 
 
 " She is become so lavisli of her presence, 
 That being daily swallow'd by men's eye=5.. 
 They surfeit at the sight." 
 
 Epicureans in bliss have allowed that 
 " a pleasure delayed is a pleasure lost ;" 
 while the misanthropic philosopher is 
 constrained to confess, that an evil hour 
 put off is but an evil hour still to come. 
 These are the inconsistencies that " flesh 
 is heir to;" and CecilTemplemore, after 
 spinning out her time in walking from 
 one room to another, running up and 
 down stairs, pretending to look for things 
 
 she 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 129 
 
 she did not want, and to want things 
 she did not look for, at last found herself 
 opposite to her mother at the breakfast- 
 table. 
 
 A glance would have told her the state 
 of affairs, the frame of mind she had to 
 deal with, the reasonableness or fallacy of 
 her fears ; yet this glance she dared not 
 take. In this dilemma her only re- 
 source was to fly to bread and butter ; 
 and with no appetite in the world for the 
 undertaking, she began to pile it upon 
 the plate before her. Ham was added 
 to that, egg to that; and when it was all 
 got there, the difficulty was how to get 
 it away again. She had heard of chop- 
 ped hay, but never tasted it before ; she 
 had read of throats swelling and refusing 
 their office, but never felt it till now. 
 As soon however as Mrs. Templemore 
 spoke, she found her apprehensions for 
 the present were groundless ; and though 
 she could not hope to escape without the 
 G 5 riot-act 
 
130 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 riot-act being read to her, she believed 
 herself safe for the present, and the pick- 
 ling rod was disrobed of half its terrors, 
 by being put oiF till the future. 
 
 She could now raise her eyes, and 
 converse as confidentially as her sisters ; 
 and though she took care to avoid all 
 allusions that might rouse the slumber-^ 
 ing lion in her mother's breast, she fully 
 participated in the enjoyment of a family 
 breakfast after a ball. 
 
 Yet the sigh would still spring and be 
 coughed away, the thought turn, until 
 checked, towards Steinbach; and she 
 w^as ruminating on the best means of 
 breaking his intended visit to her mother, 
 when his name was casually mentioned 
 by Leslie. Cecil's limbs straightened 
 as though in a state of atrophy ; and she 
 breathlessly avt^ited to see if it created 
 any explosion of her mother's well- 
 guessed sentiments in regard to him. 
 
 Indeed 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 131 
 
 Indeed Mary had disclosed to ber 
 Mrs. Templemore's minute inquiries 
 concerning him; and Cecil was not best 
 pleased with Stanley for the unkind 
 manner in which he bad replied to them. 
 It was cruel, unjust, and unhospi table ; 
 and the thing declared itself to be envy, 
 hatred, and malice. Steinbach a sou?'- 
 crout man! Steinbach a drum-mqjo?\' was 
 profanation ; and the mention of his pos- 
 sible affinity to princely blood could not 
 make amends, or even qualify the asper- 
 sion. But these thoughts were all put 
 to flight by the agony of the present 
 moment; and Cecil could not venture 
 to raise her eyes from her tea-cup, till 
 she had ascertained, by the tone of her 
 mother's voice, the thermometrical state 
 of her temper. Instead however of its 
 being tempestuous as the urn, it was 
 cool and calm as the cream-jug; and 
 Cecil, in auguring better times from it, 
 recovered much of her usual state of 
 spirits. 
 
 G 6 From 
 
132 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 From one subjeet she now flew to 
 another, with all her wonted cheerful- 
 ness ; laughed at JNIiss such a-one's dress, 
 
 ^liss C 's kicking mode of dancing, 
 
 the Otranto plume in this person's head, 
 the whole garden of flowers stuck on 
 anotlier; and she concluded with won- 
 dering how the pretty ^liss Ij 
 
 could dance at least four quadrilles with 
 the old monster she did, when she herself 
 heard a nice little lancer beseeching her 
 for an hour to stand up with him. 
 
 This was Mrs. Templemore's moment 
 to begin; and in a manner that Cecil 
 knew boded no good, she laid down the 
 pa]H'r which, till now, she had been read- 
 inir, and lixino' her eves on her tremblin}X 
 daughter's countenance, said — " You 
 have ot\en laughed at yourself, Cecil, 
 for feeling, when a child, surprise that 
 people who were old enough to do as 
 they liked, sliould prefer a good 
 wholesome bun in a pastry-cook's shop, 
 
 to 
 
SCENES AT BKIGHTOX. 13ff 
 
 to the raspberry and custard tarts tliat 
 everywhere greeted your own longing 
 eyes. I need not explain my allegory ; 
 and believe me, when you are as old, 
 and as wise, as the lady you are talking 
 of, your wonder will cease, that the laced 
 jacket was rejected for a black coat with 
 seven thousand a- year in the pocket, 
 which she certainly v/ill have ; for he was 
 so flattered by her attention, that I 
 heard him request a private interview 
 this morning, when no doubt his hand 
 will be offered." 
 
 " I hate parsons," said Cecil, with a 
 sickness at heart she was loth to ac- 
 knowledge even to herself — " I always did 
 hate parsons — I would as soon marry a 
 chimney-sweep; the dress is about the 
 same, and his shrieking ' sut, ho !' pre- 
 feraWe, any day in the week, to a sermon 
 — nothing should tempt me to marry a 
 parson !" 
 
 *•' You will never marry any body," 
 returned Mrs. Templemore, " if you al- 
 ways 
 
134 SCENES AT BUIGHTON. 
 
 ways conduct yourself with the folly you 
 did last night." 
 
 Cecil shook herself as the possible 
 truth struck upon her; and scarcely 
 knowing what she said, she asked, with a 
 boldness meant to scare the reply — 
 " And who would you have me marry, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " Sir Archibald Murray !" returned 
 Mrs. Templemore, in a quiet determined 
 arrangement of voice — *' I had hoped, I 
 must say, to see that brought about; 
 but your behaviour of last night has left 
 little expectation of the sort: and let 
 me tell you, I think you would do 
 better to encourage an attachment where 
 success would do you credit, than con- 
 descend to flirt with a stranger, who has 
 nothing to recommend him to your no- 
 tice but his face — a face, that let it have 
 whatsoever it will to charm you, can 
 never recompence you for the real ad- 
 vantage you are throwing away in sir 
 Archibald." 
 
 Sir 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 135 
 
 " Sir Archibald, mamma, is the last 
 man I should think of," answered Cecil, 
 with a view to excuse the ne^^lect she 
 had too evidently shewn him ; " he has 
 not one recommendation to make amends 
 for his stupidity ;" and again she repeated, 
 " he is indeed, mamma, the last man I 
 should think of." 
 
 Mrs. Templemore did not immediate- 
 ly reply, but seeing Cecil again about to 
 speak, observed — " I don't see what rea- 
 son a girl like you, without money, has 
 to be particular; what objection do you 
 make to the man ? some nonsensical 
 reason I dare say ; but take my word 
 for it, he will make you a better husband 
 than most men." 
 
 " Why, he is a slug, mamma, a per- 
 fect slug," returned Cecil, in an affected 
 tone of disgust. 
 
 Mrs. Templemore hardly knew whe- 
 ther to be angry, or to indulge in the 
 smile the epithet created. 
 
 Leslie 
 
136 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Leslie and Mary could not refrain; 
 and to check a merriment that threat- 
 ened to destroy the effect of her dis- 
 course, she said, in an assumed tone of 
 solemnity — " I am at a loss to understand 
 what you mean by that term." 
 
 Cecil now was laughing as provoking- 
 ly as her sisters ; but she quieted herself 
 a moment, and, in a grave tone, replied 
 — " It is a great fat thing that crawls 
 about, and has neither eyes, nose, or 
 mouth, for any body." 
 
 This was too much for any one to sup* 
 port, and Mrs. Templemore seeing the: 
 cause went against her, left the room,, 
 and the contest ended. 
 
 Cecil's heart bounded in her bosom, 
 when a gentle rap-tap at the door an- 
 nounced the arrival of Steinbach. She had 
 not found fortitude sufficient to explain 
 hisintendedvisit to her mother, and his re- 
 ception therefore still remained doubtful. 
 
 She 
 
SCENES AT BHIGHTON. 137 
 
 She was relieved however from a weight 
 of anxiety by seeing Stanley follow him 
 into the room ; and she forgave him all 
 his ill temper, when she saw that the 
 friendly attention of her mother to one 
 was partly extended towards the other. 
 
 It was now Mary's turn to feel unset- 
 tled and uncomfortable. Stanley im- 
 mediately placed himself by her side^ 
 and for the first time his attentions 
 were irksome. But Stanley had too 
 much of what women consider a win- 
 ning waify for them long to remain so ; 
 and Mary soon ceased to consider that 
 they were only offered at the shrine of 
 Plutus. 
 
 IVlrs. Templemore, although she join- 
 ed in the joyous discourses of Stanley ,^ 
 did not fail to keep watch upon Stein- 
 bach ; but while one moment the majesty 
 of his person, the fine form of his face, 
 placed her on thorns for the peace of her 
 
 daughter. 
 
1S8 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 daughter, the guttered sound of his 
 voice, when he spoke, and his ludicrous 
 mode of pronouncing his words, effec- 
 tually destroyed the apprehension ; and 
 in concluding him to possess both bane 
 and antidote to a susceptible mind, she 
 dismissed all her fears of his power over 
 the heart of her daughter. 
 
 Sir Archibald had his sharc in this 
 revolution of opinion so fatal to himself: 
 he had joined the party, and when Mrs. 
 Templemore perceived the little shock 
 his attentions had received, in the last 
 night's dereliction of her daughter, she 
 was willing to confess that her fears had 
 magnified the case, and that Cecil was 
 not so reprehensible as she had lately 
 imagined. Softened in her sentiments 
 towards the German, she could now turn 
 and converse with him — inundate him 
 with questions as to his own country, 
 and the length of stay he intended to 
 make in this. 
 
 But 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 139 
 
 But poor Steinbach, whatever he 
 might be in his native language, was 
 any thing but au-fait at the English 
 and they would have been but a stupid 
 party at best, but for the uncommon 
 powers of Stanley. 
 
 To Cecil however the time flew away on 
 love's brightest pinion. With Steinbach 
 on one side, she bore with sir Archibald 
 on the other ; and though aware of the 
 necessity of keeping up appearances to 
 her mother, she often contrived, when 
 she saw her engaged, to neglect the one, 
 for the satisfaction of attending wholly 
 and solely to the other. 
 
 But there was too much policy in 
 keeping the peace to do any thing out- 
 rageous to disturb it ; and though sir 
 Archibald swore to himself he hated 
 Steinbach like the devil, he had never- 
 theless no reasonable grounds to establish 
 it on. But lovers, like madmen, are an un- 
 reasonable 
 
140 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 reasonable sort of animals; and to follow 
 the whimsies of the one might be to 
 engender the malady of the other. Yet 
 it wants not the follies of my book to 
 turn the world into fit subjects for strait 
 waistcoats — I speak not on the large 
 scale — my world is Brighton I Brighton ! 
 which, like Rome of old, sends as many 
 madmen into the world as there had 
 need be. 
 
 Some author has observed, that it i& 
 easier to act like a fool than to support 
 the part of a lunatic ; meaning, I sup- 
 pose, that the latter required the assists 
 ance of that part of anatomy called a 
 head, to render it in any ways palatable. 
 He should have paid us a visit in Brigh- 
 ton ; for I think we manage the thing 
 here with as little of that essential as 
 most people. 
 
 What can you call, but madness, the 
 married ladies visit to the barrack-room? 
 
 what 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 141 
 
 wliat more deserves the name than the 
 young ladies repose after dancing ? not 
 like the females of old, starchly seated 
 by the side of their mothers ; but, to the 
 annoyance of the mistress on one flight, 
 to the housemaids on the other, all along 
 on the stairs, side hy side xvith their 
 partners : yes, there they lay, like the 
 animals in Noah's ark, two by two, two 
 by two, two by two, male and female, 
 female and male, reposing tlieir weary 
 limbs, till the music rouses them to the 
 attack again, -when, after dislocating 
 their joints, and making their skins the 
 same hue as the famous red lion in Brent- 
 ford, they betake themselves again to 
 their couches, tliere to lay out the time, 
 till the spirit, again moving within them, 
 again leads them forth to the ball-room. 
 And what is this but mania? Tell me, 
 would females in their senses ever play 
 up these fancies in public — would mo- 
 thers who had judgment " look on, and 
 would not take their part ?" Oh, 'tis 
 madness — madness all ! What but this 
 
 said 
 
142 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 said ingredient can induce the pretty 
 JSIiss Dashaway to dress up her head like 
 a nun — a pretty nun, truly — truly ! wear- 
 ing the form upon her head, while there 
 is such disorder in her wit ! ' Can the force 
 of honesty translate beauty into its like- 
 ness T — oh, no ! then * get thee to a nun- 
 nery, go !" 
 
 We have amongst us various sorts of 
 mania ; some that infests the head, some 
 that infests the heart. I have often been 
 tempted to wonder, that our manifold 
 dousings and dippings do not remove 
 the infirmity, instead of increasing the 
 disorder ; but, hydrophobia fashion, I 
 am tempted to believe it is the sight of 
 saltwater that brings the dormant frenzy 
 on ; and, ye gods ! how the poor vic- 
 tims do tear about when under its mar- 
 vellous influence ! round the Steine, 
 back again — on one side of St, James's- 
 street to the other — up the Marine- 
 Parade, down the West Cliff, then 
 round and round Robin Hood's Barn, 
 
 till 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON". 143 
 
 till they find themselves in the same 
 place from which they started, " shaking 
 their chains, and laughing in the sun," 
 as though they thought it pleasure. 
 Indeed, there is a cunning in their ways 
 that is most taking to the unwary ; and 
 many a sober cit has almost wished him- 
 self insane, to run his lengths at pleasure. 
 But the counterfeit cannot pass muster 
 with the genuine ; neither must your 
 madmen of a hundred a-year vie in 
 pranks with the derange of a thousand. 
 
 The topping madman loses much un- 
 less he is systematic; therefore a few 
 hints may not be ill bestowed, or 
 augment the lunacy they level at. 
 
 Young and inexperienced madmen 
 must confederate witli several of their 
 mess as moon-touched as themselves, and 
 bounce into the theatre during the per- 
 formance, in a state of assumed intoxi- 
 cation, and be sure to disturb the au- 
 dience 
 
144 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 dience in the most interesting part of 
 the drama. By this manoeuvre, if dex- 
 terously managed, they will gain two im- 
 portant points — the credit of having con- 
 sumed more wine than their income will 
 afford, and an opportunity of displaying 
 their contempt of good manners, without 
 any hazard of personal danger. This be- 
 haviour will be totally out of character, 
 if any of the party give signs of sanity, 
 or are tenacious of the comfort of their 
 neighbours. 
 
 All mad members of the tribes of Israel 
 must neither mention lottery- tickets, 
 omnium, bonus, scrip, navy nor exche- 
 quer bills ; they must pay their trades- 
 men on Saturday, laugh at the paschal, 
 eat swine, and sink the schnogo. 
 
 Then the madman who keeps a car- 
 riage, be it of whatever description it 
 will, so as it does go on wheels, is privi- 
 leged to murder all those mad compa- 
 triots 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 1 45 
 
 triots who choose to play the part on foot; 
 that is to say, as there are no prescribed 
 roads on the gently-sloping downs, they 
 may indulge themselves in driving over 
 an old woman, a walking philosopher, 
 or a melancholy quiz, with impunity. 
 Should any of the unfortunates die, a 
 genteel jury may not only cover their 
 lives, but protect them even from the in- 
 conveniences of a deodand ; and if, on 
 examining the corpse, it should prove to 
 be a viad creditof^ of the party, it will 
 render the frolic immortal. 
 
 All those disciples of Luna, who sleep, 
 masticate, or sojourn at the Hotel, Castle, 
 or Ship taverns, must take especial care 
 to make the profits of the waiters greater 
 than those of their masters, which, it 
 must be admitted, is no easy matter. 
 The reason of this apparently-prodigal 
 measure is, that all importance in this 
 bedlamited place is the produce of re- 
 flection; and he to whom the waiters 
 
 A^OL. I. H are 
 
14G SCENES AT BHIGHTON". 
 
 are most '* coming, sir," is considered 
 one of the right sort among the var- 
 mint 
 
 In the mode of communicating their 
 desires, my friends of the loose screw 
 must punctually adhere to the following 
 progressive statement. If a duke (and 
 dukes condescend sometimes to play 
 mad, as well as their less noble brethren), 
 lie must address that portion of the com- 
 munity, whom it is habitual to call his 
 inferiors, by the style and title of honest 
 man, or honest woman-, if a marquis, 
 earl, or viscount, baron, or bishop, by the 
 unornamented term of man ox woman; 
 if a baronet, knight, civilian, physician, 
 or any of that multitudinous order 
 v/hich are denominated small genti^^ 
 they must use the plain eyixhei friend ; 
 but this; must be marked by a strong 
 eojphasis, and accompanied with a cer- 
 tain talismanic and disdainful toss of the 
 head, lest the poor credulous toads might 
 
 imagine 
 
SCENES AT BIIIGHTOK. 147 
 
 imagine the parties really were in their 
 senses. 
 
 Then those married men who are 
 wrong in the upper story (do not mis- 
 understand me, it means nothing but a 
 Jlash term for mania), must exhibit a 
 public contempt for their wives, in pro- 
 portion to their rank in life, or what is 
 termed quality ; as it would be a species 
 of petty treason for a touched trader to 
 be as r.egligent of his rib as a gone patri- 
 cian, who, in various instances, may be 
 considered as elevated far above duty, 
 thought, and character. None, indeed, 
 of any condition si'.perior to the 7nad 
 mob, must exhibit symptoms of conjugal 
 fondness, as that would imply a provision 
 of brains and sentiment they would be 
 sorry their heads should lay claim to. 
 Whenever the names of their wives oc- 
 cur in dialogue, they must affect deaf- 
 ness, to avoid a participation in the col- 
 loquy, as a declaration of any interest in 
 H 2 their 
 
148 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 their favour might excite, not only the 
 wonder of their wives, the sneers of the 
 cecisbei, but doubts as to the fact of their 
 own imhecilitij. 
 
 All brain-bothered bachelors must 
 consider moon-stricken maids as their 
 destined resource for diversion; they 
 may flirt with them, dance with them, 
 assume the thousand nameless attentions 
 which madness prompts, languish their 
 eyes at them, pant with passion, utter 
 half-finished sentences, and sudden emo- 
 tions, then honourably assert they never 
 spoke a word of love. Let them do it 
 stoutly, and never fear ; indeed I would 
 advise them to swear it, did I think it 
 at all essential ; but believe me, what- 
 ever the fact, the mad masculine carries 
 the day, for women's vows go for nothing 
 in the scale of public opinion. 
 
 Women, indeed, who put themselves 
 up to public view, are not so much re- 
 spected 
 
SCENES AT BEIGHTON. 149 
 
 spected as they might be. Like hirehngs 
 on a stage, we fancy we are licensed to 
 discuss their conduct at our pleasure 
 hiss when the fancy thinks fit, and ap- 
 plaud with no juster discrimination to 
 their merit ; killing them with kindness 
 this moment, and bringing them to their 
 senses with neglect another. Yet how 
 can we expect a pretty face to hide itself 
 for ever in a wood ? how can we ima- 
 gine that a plain one will not at last 
 come and try its luck at Brighton, that 
 emporium of the world — that garden in 
 which men grow as thick, as Falstaff 
 says, " as thick as blackberries !" — ay, 
 and as useless too — dainty to the sight, 
 yet disappointment to the taste, bram- 
 bles and thorns falling to her share whose- 
 vitiated taste prompts to approach them. 
 Yet, Lord have mercy on us ! how we 
 are followed, petted and patted, notwith- 
 standing our hedge-pig natures, and 
 "laptin another Elysium," by the daugh- 
 ters of folly and fashion ! The fact is, we 
 H 3 are 
 
150 SCENES AT BRIGHTON'. 
 
 are spoiled — your humble author among 
 the number, yet humble alone in this ca- 
 pacity. See me at other times, and you 
 would little know your quill-driver, for 
 I can do the cool dip of the head (ycleped 
 a bow) to the most beautiful among you 
 a merveille. Yes, I can say — " I will 
 come if I can,'' to the most animated 
 invite that is going — can ask the best 
 v/oman in the room to dance with me, 
 by a mere stick out of the elbow, and a 
 " will you stand up?" — can talk of a 
 magnanimous bore, a Gothic idea, a hea- 
 thenish propensitij, Vandalish hours, 
 and a7itediluvian usages, with all the 
 cool blood imaginable; and can put along 
 the pr ads, kill characters, blast reputa- 
 tions, handle a cue, eat ice, dress know- 
 ing, make my friends wait dinner, take 
 the long odds, and play the devil with 
 any body. 
 
 Such is the arrogance of our amour 
 propre — such the fruits of a want of dis- 
 cipline 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 151 
 
 eipline in the fair sex, which, like mo- 
 thers who spoil their children, only hurl 
 back upon tliemselves the evil they seek 
 to avoid — loss of love, loss of respect, 
 and, what is worse to them, loss of at- 
 tention ! Fallaciously blinded into a 
 supposition that " love begets love," 
 they love you at a glance, endeavour to 
 earn your respect, by humouring your 
 follies, and to command your attention, 
 by giving you their own. Yet though 
 no doubt eminently deserving of every 
 thing we have to bestow, 1 wdll candidly 
 confess to my readers, they go not the 
 way to attain it. Men are most obsti- 
 nate mortals ; and the rugged road, 
 smoothed by their own endeavours, is 
 preferable to them than the one strewed 
 wdth roses by the hands of the fair. 
 
 What can more exemplify this asser- 
 tion than the peaceful way in which wo- 
 men are now allowed to pass their days ? 
 No runaway marriages, but where Plu- 
 H 4 tus 
 
152 SCENES AT BRIGHTOX. 
 
 tus harnesses the horses — no distracted 
 fathers, outwitted duennas, nonsuited 
 intendants, are now to be heard of. 
 " First come, first served," is the order 
 of the day, and all the time poor Cupid 
 sleeps quietly in the pocket. 
 
 Women indeed were never so fully in 
 request as when you would think they 
 took the worst means of obtaining it. I 
 allude to the reign of our grandmothers, 
 whose starched manners subdued the stiff 
 pokers their suitors, till they bent like 
 an osier before them. When down, an 
 enemy is easily overcome ; the ladies, I 
 suppose, took advantage of their weak- 
 ness, and marriage was the order of the 
 day. 
 
 I am constrained to confess, that Cupid 
 is perhaps never more a Cupid than when 
 he is " steeped in starch ;" and when the 
 ladies hands were never received but on 
 the silk-lined flaps of their lovers coats, 
 
 tliey 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 153 
 
 they were doubly valued through the 
 form they enacted. 
 
 In these days, all form is levelled to 
 the ground, and the caution and reserve 
 in which the fair were once accustomed 
 to entrench themselves, alone fills the 
 pages of story. All the defences that 
 prudery (known then by the term of 
 propriety) had erected, are now de- 
 generated and gone. The females of 
 our time scorn such barriers, throw 
 their whalebone aside, trust to their own 
 strength, and boldly meet us on the 
 plain. Alas ! when there, they have no 
 unruly spirits to cope with ; unlike their 
 predecessors, who '*made the giants first, 
 and then they slew them," they have 
 created no lovers wherewithal to combat 
 with. Here is no pull-devil pull-baker 
 w^ork ; the striving is all on one side, 
 and the ladies discover that man is no 
 animal dangerous to approach, no mon- 
 ster whom it should be their chief study 
 H 5. to 
 
154 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 to avoid. With this they follow ever 
 close upon his heels, and whither he goes, 
 there they fearlessly pursue, dispelling 
 the mist of ignorance and prejudice, and 
 boldly assert they are only following 
 the purposes for which nature intended 
 them. 
 
 3fais ''un sot n' est pas toujour s aussi 
 sot qu'on le pense T and the youthful 
 and unwary part of the community that 
 my fair philosoplters attack, are perhaps 
 not quite so dense-pated as they are 
 supposed. It is indeed surprising to see 
 how soon the most stupid among us are 
 alive to the manoeuvres of the enemy ; 
 and you w^ill hear the stupidest lips de- 
 clare, formed apparently merely for the 
 purpose of whistling, that "unless he had 
 been cursedly sharp, take in was the 
 word with Miss Thingamy:" and a pretty 
 take-in truly! indeed no more striking 
 proof can be adduced of the degeneracy 
 of the days, than that a man sans every 
 
 thing 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 155 
 
 thing but cash, should be sought aft^r 
 openly by women of sense, whose success 
 but subjects them to the ridicule and 
 derision of the reflecting part of man- 
 kind. And yet actions of this sort have 
 multiplied of late years as fast, if not 
 faster, than bankruptcies; and while 
 they serve to shew how much less bu- 
 siness is done now-a-days than in the 
 time of our grandmothers, they afford 
 us the hope that before it shall quite 
 stand still, the young ladies of the day 
 will condescend to put the cart hefoi^e the 
 horse, and turn themselves the courters 
 instead of the courted. 
 
 But I fear I am creating enemies, 
 where. Heaven knov/s, I desire to make 
 friends; and though I cannot eat my 
 xicords, as some authors are obliged to 
 do, or starve, I will quit the subject, of- 
 fering my best wishes for the success of 
 an undertaking I cannot but condemn, 
 and which, no doubt, were I to write 
 H 6 against 
 
156 SeENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 against it for a year, would continue to 
 be prosecuted by the fair, " en depit de 
 tovct le monde, et de tout obstacle:' 
 
 CHAP. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 157 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Learning in the hand of some is a sceptre; in that of 
 others, a fool's bauble. Fuller's Proverbs. 
 
 What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
 Your Latin names for horns an' stools. 
 If honest nature made you fools, 
 
 What say your grammars ? 
 Ye*d better ta'en up spades and shools, 
 
 Or knapping hammers. 
 A set of dull conceited hashes 
 Confuse their brains in college classes; 
 They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 
 
 Plain truth to speak. Burns. 
 
 That a dragoon delights in arms, 
 And thoughtless of mamma's alarms, 
 Sports h gh-heel'd boots and whiskers. 
 
 Horace in London, 
 
 The present era has been termed " the 
 age of reason/' and philosophers assert 
 that the world is making most rapid 
 
 strides 
 
158 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 strides towards that desirable point, per- 
 fectibility . If indeed to do without sleep 
 is an essential step, our fashionists bid fair 
 shortly to reach the goal; but while, like 
 the works of their watches, in winding 
 up one wheel they unwind another, I 
 apprehend the aspiring to longevity to 
 be rather beyond their mark, and that 
 which they may gain in one respect, they 
 most assuredly lose in another. 
 
 Saturday night, however, in Brighton, 
 has a distinct character in its arrange- 
 ments from any other ; and on this every 
 body, if they please, may be in bed by 
 twelve o'clock. There are no balls and 
 suppers, nor scarcely a hop on the carpet ; 
 cards are the order of the night, and stu- 
 pidity reigns around. 
 
 Indeed there are a set of beings who 
 gladly avail themselves of the bishop's 
 decree f and give their parties on this 
 night, in preference to any other, not 
 
 from 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 159 
 
 from the benign motive of creating a 
 resource for the destitute, but the com- 
 fortable consolatory reflection, that all will 
 he over at twelve. Indeed it is much easier 
 to get your friends into your house than 
 it is ever to get them out again; and 
 many a yawning mistress has wished that 
 to-morrow were Sunday, that she might 
 drop her green curtain at pleasure. But 
 unless under- a little religious awe, dic- 
 tation to your friends is impracticable. 
 It is true you may let out your fires, 
 but your card-players protest they are 
 comfortably warm, and your hint is, alas ! 
 disregarded. Nothing indeed will move 
 your determined whist-players ; and it 
 is these dilemmas that have made some 
 people cautious, and have confined their 
 parties to Saturday night. 
 
 Mrs. Basbleue was among the num- 
 ber, but her caution was perfectly un- 
 necessary ; for though talking Italian 
 may be a fine thing for those who can do 
 
 it, 
 
160 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 it, it is a magnanimous bore to the mul- 
 titude. The Miss Templemores pre- 
 pared for the soirde, with little hopes of 
 reward for their trouble; for Stanley, 
 though invited, had declared off, unless 
 he had nothing better to do; sir Ar- 
 chibald was as well lost as found ; and 
 Steinbaeh was quite in the dark about 
 the matter. 
 
 " I wonder who we shall meet to- 
 night?" said Mary, in a tone that be^ 
 tokened no pleasurable anticipations in 
 reply ; " no doubt the halt, the deaf, and 
 the blind — a French compte, an Italian 
 prince^ and a tame lancer- " 
 
 " Who, though docile he seem," in- 
 terrupted Cecil, " will hit us all off 
 at the mess table to-morrow, and a 
 rare field he will have for his talents. 
 But he will not catch me talking to him, 
 I can tell him ; I hate to be packed up 
 in the way Mrs. Basbleue does the thing, 
 taking the Italian herself, giving the 
 
 Frenchmani 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 161 
 
 Frenchman her sister, * and you, young 
 ladies, must entertain the lancer.' I ne- 
 ver feel more stupid in my life than 
 when thus called on for exertion ; yet 
 I believe she thinks she has done her 
 duty sufficiently when she has made up 
 her agreeable arrangement — six ladies, 
 all setting at one laced jacket ! Alas, 
 poor jacket ! what art thou among so 
 many?" 
 
 ISIary however was a bit of a philo- 
 sopher, and she soon persuaded her sister, 
 that at any rate one was better than none 
 — " And we are not ever sure of that," 
 she continued, in alarm at the very sup- 
 position. " I am sure the one we met 
 there last will never venture the thing 
 again ; and if he is a friend to the corps, 
 he will keep them out of the same pre- 
 dicament. Soldiers always put me in 
 mind of sheep : they ever seem restless, 
 unless a few of their flock are with them. 
 But what makes you look so sad, Cecil ? 
 if one swallow will not make a summer 
 
 to 
 
l6S SCENES AT BIlIGHTO>r. 
 
 to you, I am sorry I cannot prognosti- 
 cate a few more." 
 
 " It is not that,'' replied Cecil, blush- 
 ing at the inference she had made that 
 there was something which depressed 
 her. " I am not dull, Mary; lam only 
 wondering whether poor Steinbach will 
 be of the party." 
 
 Mary smiled archly at her sister, as she 
 said — " Is that all? — a mere trifle. I 
 thought you knew to a certainty that 
 Steinbach was not to be there. But de- 
 pend on it, if Mrs. Basbleue can scrape 
 together two words of German, she will 
 have him as the vehicle for a shew-ojfr 
 therefore nil desperandum, dear Cecil; 
 it shall have its German to look at — 
 talking, I believe, is out of the question ; 
 but 
 
 * Love leads you to his eyes, where you o'eilook 
 Love's stories, written in Love's richeht book." 
 
 "You seem to have taken it into 
 your head, Mary," returned Cecil, rather 
 
 annoyed- 
 
 ■^^ 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 163 
 
 annoyed at her sister's reflection — " you 
 seem to consider that major Steinbach 
 has nothing to say for himself. I grant 
 you his tongue does not run so fast as 
 Stanley's, neither is he so au-fait at cut- 
 ting up all those who are worth the 
 trouble of dissecting ; but he can talk, 
 Mary, and his tones are, to my ears, 
 ' sweet and musical as bright Apollo's 
 lute, strung with his hair,' while the 
 sentiments are such, that * I fear the 
 lovely wiles will steal my heart away.*' 
 She tried to sing the last quotation, but 
 there was a flatness in her tone, that 
 made her sister almost sorry she had 
 called on her for the defence of her fa- 
 vourite's powers ; and she replied, with 
 the hope of making some amends — " Oh, 
 Cecil, you take me too much to the let- 
 ter of what I say ; I have heard major 
 Steinbach talk as well as yourself." 
 
 " And v/hat did he say ?" asked Cecil, 
 with a quickness IMary was little pre- 
 pared to reply to. 
 
 " Say r 
 
164 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 " Say !" she repeated, tormenting her 
 memory for something he really had said 
 — " say ! why Stanley asked him if it 
 was true that the Germans always pro- 
 nounced the C as a G ? and he repUed 
 " Mary laughed as she proceed- 
 ed. 
 
 " What did he reply ?" asked Cecil, 
 laughing herself, without knowing what 
 it was at. 
 
 " He said," continued Mary, steady- 
 ing her countenance as well as she could 
 — " he said nobody but the gommon 
 people made the mistake." 
 
 Cecil declared it was a good story 
 made by the mischief of Stanley ; and 
 Mary positively asserted she had heard 
 Steinbach herself pronounce it ; and in 
 this discussion they were interrupted by 
 the notice that it was time to attend Mrs. 
 Basbleue's. 
 
 The carriage soon conveyed the la- 
 dies 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 165 
 
 dies to ]\Irs. Basbleue's " cottage"' I put 
 it in inverted commas and Italics, be- 
 cause I should never think myself of 
 calling it so ; but she does, although 
 ranged in a row along with its red-brick 
 brethren, which to me is all-sufficient ; 
 and again I repeat, that Mrs. Temple- 
 more and her daughters arrived in safe- 
 ty at the " cottage" of Mrs. Basbleue, 
 where, without many carriages to cut 
 into, flies to run over, or stairs to ascend, 
 they were shortly ushered into the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 Here let me invoke the powers of pa- 
 negyric rather than satire, to aid me in 
 my account of one, whose pride and 
 whose pleasure it is to collect, appropri- 
 ate, and diffuse the valuable results of 
 her studies. Refinement and elegance, 
 science and sublimity, every where breathe 
 around, and improve existence into feli- 
 city, by rendering the mind conscious of 
 its highest energies. Indeed no one can 
 
 pass 
 
166 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 pass through Mrs. Basbleue's rooms, 
 without enjoying a degree of pleasure, 
 which is considerably heightened by the 
 reflection that her love of the arts and 
 sciences is founded on early and intimate 
 acquaintance, real sensibility, and exten- 
 sive knowledge, that is, so she herself 
 expresses it ; and as we are obliged to 
 take half of the world upon trust, Mrs. 
 Basbleue has little to apprehend from 
 the careless community. But to return. 
 Walk through her rooms, I say, and no- 
 thing obtrusive annoys you ; for while 
 Euripides peeps out of a workbag, and 
 Metastasio from the pillows of the sofa, 
 the attempt at concealment inclines you 
 to the belief, that they are not mere arti- 
 cles of spurious ambition, but are retain- 
 ed for higher and better reasons than 
 because they help to look clever. 
 
 Yet, oh ! what a world we live in ! 
 and *' who would fardles bear," when 
 he who aims at knowing much, must 
 
 generally 
 
SCENES AT BUIGHTON. 167 
 
 generally be content with pleasing few ? 
 But this was not the case with Mrs. 
 Basbleue. All sense and sensibility, lan- 
 guages and languishments, profundity 
 and prettinesses, no one could resist 
 her on this the evening of her soiree. 
 
 The apartments were nearly filled 
 when the Templemores entered; and 
 sure enough, as Mary had predicted, 
 there were collected both French and 
 Italian, the savans of both sexes, a de- 
 cent sprinkling of the halt, and the deaf, 
 and the blind ; and though last, not least 
 in the young ladies opinion, there was 
 the tame lancer. 
 
 JNIrs. Basbleue and her sister made 
 through the crowd to receive them ; the 
 one all elegance and French pills ; the 
 other, all good temper and sticking- 
 plaster. But as yet I have said nothing 
 of Mrs. Mouche, not from disrespect or 
 fbrgetfulness ; for though I believe she 
 
 does 
 
168 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 does not run after the muses at the same 
 ratio as her sister, Mrs. Basbleue, yet she 
 nevertheless fills up as great a space in 
 the world, and claims an equal attention 
 from me. 
 
 Novels and greenhouse plants are her 
 delight, and she turns over the leaves of 
 both with an infatuation surprising to 
 the superior powers of her sister, who, 
 engaged in philosophical investigations, 
 mathematical demonstrations, and in 
 picking up all the '' confracti mundi ru- 
 dera^ looks with an eye of disdain on 
 every one " who consumes in idleness 
 the fi-uits of the earth, and contributes 
 nothing to the benefit of the community." 
 
 But Mrs. Mouche has not this mode- 
 rate opinion of herself It is true, as she 
 expresses it, she cannot talk 'talian ; but 
 la belle langue Fi^an^aise is ever at the 
 tip of her tongue ; and while she can tell 
 you of what they were doing in Paris 
 
 when 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 169 
 
 when she was there — of her amans, sou- 
 pirans, esperans, and charlatans — of 
 Tahna, Gardel, and Vestris — of Amand, 
 Clotilde, and Lavigne — of emigrants 
 restored, and parvenus debased — hump 
 up her back, shrug up her shoulders, 
 tread in French shoes, and hoist a French 
 frill — she is not the nonentity she is taken 
 for. 
 
 But her sister is kinder behind her 
 back than she is before her face; and 
 when she talks so sentimentally of her 
 affection for her plants, and her love of 
 romance, you expect to see a little slim 
 creature enter, with a basket of roses in 
 one hand, a love-ditty in the other — a 
 creature, of mould divine, 
 
 " In heav'n yclep'tl Euphrosj^ne, 
 And by men heart-easing Mirth." 
 
 But there is no necessity for our al- 
 ways having our expectations fulfilled ; 
 and Mrs. Mouche is not a bit the worse 
 
 VOL. I. I in 
 
170 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 in Other people's eyes, because she sur- 
 passes the standard of perfection that 
 we have erected in ours. A skeleton in 
 the closet is bad enough, but a skeleton 
 in petticoats gives us a taste of mortality, 
 " bitter to swallow, and hard of diges- 
 tion." Mrs. Basbleue, however, and her 
 sister, have no reason to quarrel with 
 their feeder, who, whatever he may do 
 towards practising the reducing system 
 himself, pets them up as plump as par- 
 tridges, or, as they themselves would ex- 
 press it, enables them to combine the 
 corpus solidum of the ancients with all 
 the delie of the French. 
 
 Cottage fashion, the rooms were so 
 small, that Mrs. Templemore and her 
 daughters remained, par necessite, in 
 the space they had first occupied, yawn- 
 ing and gaping, and scarcely knowing 
 how to support the ennui that assailed 
 them, when Mrs. Mouche, much to 
 their hopes of relief, approached them. 
 
 But 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 171 
 
 But she could not stay a moment ; she 
 had come on an embassy from her sister, 
 to lead Mrs. Templemore to the card- 
 table ; and nodding good-temperedly to 
 the young ladies, and telling them she 
 should go presently and fetch the lancer 
 to amuse them, she began to walk off 
 with their mother. 
 
 But walking off, in the present state 
 of affairs, was no easy matter ; and in 
 the first essay, Mrs. Mouche walked 07i 
 to the vital pkrt of a friend's toe. The 
 hasty snatch of the foot, the involuntary 
 push with the hands, the agony and dis- 
 tortion of the countenance, now colour- 
 ing with anger, then turning to the 
 whitening hue of sickness, she inwardly 
 breathed "o — h!" and the softly-mut- 
 tered " oh 'rat you !" all proclaimed to 
 Mrs. Mouche the mischief she had com- 
 mitted. But this was not the time for 
 consolatory condolence ; and with giving 
 the names of a few chiropedists en passant, 
 I 2 she 
 
172 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 she still continued to wedge her way 
 through the crowd to the card-table, 
 leaving, for a moment, a clear gangway 
 for Mrs. Templemore to follow after her. 
 At length they reached the desired post; 
 Mrs. Templemore gladly availed herself 
 of the seat that was offered her, and with 
 the party that was now completely made 
 up, she prepared to draw for a partner. 
 
 " What are we to do with all these 
 gimcracks?" said a surly old man, 
 pointing, with his great brown hand, to 
 a little basket of flowers, affectedly placed 
 in the middle of the green-baized table. 
 " What is to become of all these, pray?" 
 he continued, pushing them about, as he 
 spoke, from one side of the table to the 
 other — -" they cc>ntain a hint, I see, 
 ma'am, that might not be lost upon 
 some of us : a little honesty is no bad 
 thing at a card-table, be it in whatever 
 shape it will. Thrift too, I see, and 
 loose-strife ! oh ! the devil, take them 
 
 away. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 173 
 
 away — we have enough of that at every 
 game of cards — take them away !" 
 
 " Quelle grossierete /" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Basbleue, in a whisper, and raising her 
 shoulders and her eyes at the same time 
 in token of her exquisite horror, and 
 imploring the commiseration of the 
 French compte, who stood opposite her. 
 
 Monsieur le compte looked his pity, 
 returned the shrug of the shoulders, 
 spread the palms of his hands, and re- 
 peating the words, " ahy hah /" prepared 
 to take his seat, with some apprehension, 
 by the side of the eater of ros bif. 
 
 "Veil now, how sewere you are upon 
 us!" said Mrs. Mouche, looking good- 
 temperedly, first at the old gentleman, 
 and then at the disarranged basket of 
 flow^ers — " Veil, I suppose I must take 
 rtiem away : vot do you think of them» 
 mosshew ?" turning to the compte, who, 
 with all the neatness of a Frenchman, 
 was shuffling the cards ; " don't ve, I 
 I 3 say, 
 
174 SCENES AT BEIGHTON. 
 
 say, mosshew compte, always have them 
 so in France ?" 
 
 Monsieur le compte gave a compas- 
 sionate shrug, drew his chair a little 
 farther from the " great John beast" by 
 his side, gazed gallantly under the lids 
 of the anticipating Mrs. Mouche, and 
 softly whispered — " Ah^ madaine ! les 
 Anglaises ne savent pasjouir parmi les 
 rose^ r 
 
 It was not the first time Mrs. Mou- 
 che's flower-basket had elicited this 
 remark ; but she looked as pleased as if 
 she had never before heard it, and le 
 compte seemed to think it was the 
 smartest thing he had ever said in his 
 life, or was ever said before him. 
 
 ** I shall play the part of a' sleeping- 
 beauty in a minute," said Cecil, in a 
 tone between a smile and a gape, " unless 
 3ome prince comes to my relief, and 
 
 prevents 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 175 
 
 prevents the fit from coming on : what 
 shall we do, Mary, to put an end to our 
 misery ? this ' sapient insanity' is des- 
 troying me by inches. Leslie, are you 
 not as tired of this stupid evening as we 
 are ? and since mamma has found a seat 
 at the card-table, there is little hope of 
 escape for us these three hours," 
 
 " Mrs. Basbleue has asked you ' to try 
 the instrument' twenty times," observed 
 Mary; " w^hy do you not take her at her 
 word, and sit down and amuse yourself?" 
 
 " I could play nothing but the Dead 
 March in Saul," said Cecil, in a melan- 
 choly voice — ** I never was so hipped in 
 my life, and, like Meagrim in the play of 
 Blue Devils, I am only sorry I did not 
 hang myself yesterday." 
 
 " Boy, what sign is it when a man of 
 great spirit grows melancholy?" Mary 
 laughed archly as she made the quota- 
 tion; and Cecil, turning away to hide 
 the blush that uncalled for sprung to her 
 cheek, saw, with delight, Stanley and 
 I 4 Steinbach 
 
176 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Steinbach enter the room together. 
 Animation now lighted up the eye, be- 
 fore so steady, and so nearly closed ; a 
 sweet smile played round her rosy 
 mouth, and an air of new-found delight 
 was visible over her beautiful counte- 
 nance. The gentlemen were soon by 
 their side, and the " houghe are you ?" 
 of Steinbach, repaid her for a world of 
 woe. 
 
 Poets may rave as they please about 
 " mutual love," "born at first sight," 
 and all the rest of poetical fiction ; but 
 unless one of the party condescend to 
 volunteer a little on trial, take my word 
 for it, the other would rarely think any 
 thing about it. 
 
 The Germans however are generally 
 acknowledged to be a phlegmatic race; 
 and if Steinbach did not come on as 
 much as Cecil, with all her little insinu- 
 ating encouragement, could expect, she 
 
 was 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 177 
 
 was willing to believe it was the fault of 
 her major's constitution, not her defi- 
 ciency in perfection. She had heard of 
 his countryman, who, visiting France? 
 set about learning to he droll by jump- 
 ing over the tables and chairs ; and she 
 thought it not impossible that love 
 might be taught in England, by a little 
 of the persevering powers of a British 
 Cupid. 
 
 Mary never wanted any of these pri- 
 vate reflections to reconcile her to the 
 society of Stanley ; every thing told her 
 he loved her ; and if her hopes and in- 
 clinations were leading her astray, and 
 deceiving her as to its acme, she was 
 pretty well sure the passion was en train 
 to reach the point she desired, and her heart 
 was at rest on the subject. To be sure, 
 she knew but little of his private affairs, 
 his rent-roll, or his pedigree; but he 
 could not be poor with three horses in 
 his stable, and he dressed too well not 
 I 5 to 
 
178 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 to be a man of good birth as well as of 
 vrai fashion. 
 
 Eloquence has been said to be the 
 gift of the gods ; and indeed, to judge 
 from its wonderful powers over the hu» 
 man mind, we might well believe it to 
 be of origin divine. In every age its 
 influence has been felt and acknowledg- 
 ed ; but no one so completely as Mary 
 Templemore was ever the slave of its 
 power. 
 
 Stanley indeed could have made her 
 believe him to be any thing that best 
 suited his purpose, from the Great Mogul 
 in Tartary to the musical match-man of 
 Brighton. He was indeed of a descrip- 
 tion most apt to take with women — of 
 solid, yet brilliant understanding, and 
 possessing such inexhaustible powers of 
 pleasing, that it seemed impossible ever 
 to arrive at the end of them. In this 
 perhaps existed his principal charm, for 
 
 the 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 179 
 
 the human soul, formed for progressive 
 improvement, can be ill satisfied with 
 any thing of which it perceives the boun- 
 dary. 
 
 The homage of such a man could not 
 but be flattering to Mary ; she saw that 
 his society was sought after, and his ap- 
 propriating his attentions to herself was 
 a complimentary tribute of distinction 
 to her vanity, it had never so openly 
 received before. 
 
 There is, I believe, no surer road to 
 the heart of a woman than through 
 this quicksandy territorial ; and I would 
 prescribe to my buttei-fly readers, who 
 wish to put themselves in the path to 
 preferment with the wily sex, never to 
 take the trouble of making use of any 
 other — that is to say, never to put them- 
 selves to the expence of making them- 
 selves agreeable, but to reserve all their 
 powers towards persuading the fair ob- 
 I 6 ject 
 
180 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 ject that she is surpassingly so. There is 
 indeed no necessity of making appeal to 
 any one sense, passion, or feeling, but 
 this, so propitiatory to their wishes. 
 With this you may do or say any thing 
 you please, make a sort of sandwich, a 
 slice of severity between two slices of 
 flattery ; and if the mustard is ever so 
 poignant, the buttered envelope conveys 
 it down the swallow. 
 
 Yorick tells us of a beggar in Paris, 
 whom he observed never asked charity 
 of the men, and was never refused it by 
 the women, to each of whom that passed 
 he invariably said — " Nature has been 
 bountiful in beauty to you; in return, let 
 your charity be bountiful to the poor." 
 
 Vanity is indeed the main spring of 
 action, and flattery the oil that keeps it 
 from rust — flattery, that false coin, as 
 Rochefoucault says, which would have 
 no currency, but for our vanity. 
 
 Stanley 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 181 
 
 Stanley, without apparently possessing 
 the talent in the least, was master of it 
 in a most pre-eminent degree ; conver- 
 sant upon all, he would assiduously suit 
 his subject to the taste of his hearer, 
 and " coax, wheedle, and flatter," till he 
 seated himself in the heart of hearts. 
 
 Mary was a speculation well worth his 
 powers. He knew that she was rich — 
 that is, he often took the trouble of tell- 
 ing himself so, and the how much signi- 
 fied little to him. Indeed the small- 
 est donation is thankfully received by 
 men who support themselves by the aid 
 of the public ; not that this was exactly 
 the case with Stanley, but " the gover- 
 nor,''' as he termed his father, was alive, 
 and in the habit of taking a long time to 
 reflect before he came down with the 
 stuff. Yes, that Mary had the moneys 
 was to him pretty certain ; and could he 
 but once securely take it in hand, he 
 thought how nicely he would " put 'em 
 
 along," 
 
182 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 along," until he came into the possession 
 of his own. With this, Mary was to 
 him the metal of attraction, and her sis* 
 ters were entirely neglected. To be sure, 
 he would look at Cecil, and think what 
 a glorious prize she would have been, 
 had fortune but smiled on her as pro- 
 pitiously as it had on her sister ; and he 
 would look at the sweet turn of Leslie's 
 eye — watch for the rare smile, till it 
 played on her cheek — wonder what sort 
 of a being she was — examine her simple 
 attire, and almost begin to dream about 
 " love and a cottage." 
 
 This however was only the chimera 
 of the moment ; for Mary and money 
 wei-e much better than Leslie and love; 
 and as he could not afford to play 
 
 " Sentiinentaiibui luchryrnce loar 'eiii, 
 And pathos and butlius deliy,ljtful to sec," 
 
 he put his romance into one pocket ; and 
 to counterbalance whatever quahas it 
 
 might 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 188 
 
 might create, prepared to secure the cash 
 for the other. With this he had once 
 more put himself into *' Lob's pond," 
 by coming to Mrs. Basbleue*s soiree, 
 swearing all the time it was an insidious 
 mode of committing^fo de se, and that 
 he never should live to reap the reward 
 of his labours. But Mary, smiling before 
 him, soon erased from his mind all recol- 
 lections of the society in which he found 
 her ; and so that he could only contrive to 
 keep Mrs. Basbleue at bay, and her sister 
 to the French tongue, instead of the vul- 
 gar one she for a delassement indulged 
 in, he thought things might turn out 
 better than he had expected. Indeed 
 Stanley, like a lion in his toils, was be- 
 ginning to struggle in a net of his own 
 fabrication ; that is, the originality of 
 Mary was really interesting him, w^hen 
 he tliought he was only paying tribute 
 to the fortune he had persuaded himself 
 into the belief that she really was pos- 
 sessed of 
 
 Unused 
 
l84 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Unused to the world, there was a Tiai- 
 vete in her manners she never failed to 
 make the most of; and as this was- the 
 charm that was mastering the heart of 
 Stanley, there was but little promise of 
 his ever escaping her power. He hated 
 girls who could only talk of hallSi the 
 dimensions of the room, and whether he 
 knew Mr. Such-a-one ? and who, when 
 they had arrived at the end of their que- 
 ries, were also at the end of their tether. 
 Mary, indeed, to one who had run 
 through the whole list of going-out 
 Misses, came under the class of a God- 
 send; not that she said much, but what 
 little she did say was matter that he had 
 not heard twenty times before. She did 
 not, when first introduced, ask him if he 
 hathedf when they first danced together, 
 whether he liked waltzing ? she did not 
 tell him the room was horridly warm, 
 or that the night was insufferably cold ; 
 in short, she did not tell him what other 
 girls were repeating every minute ; and 
 
 what 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 185 
 
 what was better than all, she did not as- 
 sume on her money. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when 
 lie seated himself by her side at Mrs. 
 Basbleue's, disseminating a glory of 
 pleasure around, and, like Falstaff, the 
 hero of mirth, " not only witty himself, 
 but the cause of it in others." 
 
 Poor Mary's voice faltered with de- 
 light, as she expressed her surprise at 
 seeing him ; and how Steinbach had 
 manoeuvred himself into the melange, 
 was a matter of surprise to Cecil. Stan- 
 ley however explained that he had met 
 him in the course of his rounds; and 
 knowing Mrs. Mouche's affection for 
 exotics, he had ventured on transplant- 
 ing him into her circle. 
 
 " As for myself," he continued, slyly 
 raising his eyes as he spoke, till they en- 
 countered the soft ones of Mary — " as 
 to myself, I know not what brings me 
 
 here ; 
 
186 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 here; I ought to be in a hundred 
 other places. I have promised myself 
 
 to Mrs. G , Mrs. L , and to lady 
 
 T ; but the fever of indecision, and 
 
 the vacillation between inclination and 
 duty, has eventually set me down at 
 Mrs. Basbleue's, for where the treasure 
 is, there will the heart be also." The 
 latter was said in a murmur, but it flew 
 straight to the destination for which 
 it was intended, and the rising blush 
 proclaimed that it was felt and under- 
 stood. " But, in the name of Socrates 
 and Zeno,*' he continued, " who are all 
 these strange-looking people ? Say, are 
 they spirits of health, or poets damned ? 
 I'll speak to them — call them bores, 
 bookworms, and printers' devils" 
 
 " Look at that very little man in 
 black, with the hooked nose and strag- 
 gling hair," observed Mary ; ^* does he 
 not answer the description to a letter ?" 
 
 ** Letter ! he is a man of letters !** re- 
 turned Stanley, " an enlightened philo- 
 sopher ! 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 187 
 
 sopher ! a profound cosmogonist ! a 
 metaphysical orator ! and a profound 
 nuisance to every body who comes in 
 contact with him." 
 
 " With the exception of Mrs. Bas- 
 bleue," said Mary, pointing towards her 
 as she spoke ; " she is indefatigably again 
 threading the mazes of the crowd, and 
 see at last she reaches the desired post." 
 
 '' Postr repeated Stanley, "post! 
 Miss Templemore is somewhat severe." 
 Mary declared her innocence as to any 
 latent meaning of the sort, and Stanley 
 continued — " But tell me, what have 
 you been doing with yourselves the for- 
 mer part of the evening? All work 
 and no play does not improve the intel- 
 lect. What is to be our recreation?" 
 
 " In truth, I believe nothing but the 
 blessed sound of philosophers' names, 
 marshalled in metaphysical phalanx." 
 
 Stanley stared ; for his eyes resting 
 on Leslie as he made the inquiry, her 
 
 liquid 
 
188 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 liquid accents had formed the reply. 
 There was a silence for a moment, and 
 Stanley was again about to address him- 
 self to Leslie, when Mrs. Mouche was 
 seen making towards them. 
 
 " Veil now," she began, " how bad you 
 young ladies use my lander ! I declare 
 he was had here on purpose for you smart 
 girls to flirt with, and you have never 
 taken so much as any notice of him. He 
 is thought the best match in the regiment. 
 I thought vonce he'd a had a friend of 
 mine ; he did perpose to her ; but some- 
 how it's all off now. I asked him just 
 now a Voreille, which he likes best on 
 you three sisters, and which do you 
 think he says ?" 
 
 "Which?" asked Cecil and Mary, 
 with quickness, and for the moment ne- 
 glecting both Stanley and Steinbach, for 
 the satisfaction of gaining a new con- 
 quest Like the nurse in Romeo and 
 Juliet, Mrs. Mouche stood up between 
 
 them. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 189 
 
 them, assuming importance for the first 
 time in her life, and keeping her inqui- 
 rers on the tenter-hooks of expectation. 
 
 " Which, my dear Mrs. Mouche ?" 
 said Cecil, hanging on her with all the 
 winning entreaty of a Juliet. " Nay, 
 now do tell me, for I am dying to know 
 which it is." 
 
 " Say either, and I'll stay the circum- 
 stance," repeated Mary, in the words of 
 Shakespeare, the similitude of the scene 
 striking on her lively imagination — 
 
 " Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance; 
 Let me be satisfied ; is't good or bad ?" 
 
 " And have you no desire to know ?" 
 asked Stanley, observing that Leslie had 
 retreated behind her sisters, and appa- 
 rently took no interest in the scene; 
 " will you not condescend to pick up the 
 apple, if by chance it should lay at your 
 feet?" 
 
 Leslie cast a look expressive of ad- 
 miration 
 
J90 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 miration towards her sisters. Stanley 
 perfectly understood its meaning ; it 
 seemed to say that it would be a chance 
 indeed, and he was vexed with himself 
 that he had made use of the word. She 
 retreated still further a few paces be- 
 hind the party, and Stanley could not 
 but confess, that though her sisters cer- 
 tainly bore off the palm of beauty, there 
 was something irresistibly attractive in 
 the retiring manners of Leslie. 
 
 Under the auspices of Mrs. Mouche, 
 the lancer now made his approach. The 
 young ladies were all amiability, and 
 he made an ornamental addition to 
 their coterre. I say ornamental, because, 
 though the Miss Templemores were per- 
 fectly well satisfied in taking the trea- 
 sure for the sake of the casket, I must 
 be allowed to peep through the casket 
 for the sake of the treasure. Objects, 
 however, which at a distance appear stu- 
 pendous and magnanimous, become in- 
 significant and trifling when we contem- 
 plate 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 191 
 
 plate the minutise of which they are 
 composed. The first conceptions that 
 arise in the mind on beholding a warrior, 
 are undoubtedly grand. The mystery 
 of tactics, the science of war, the bold 
 masterly inventions of art, blended with 
 the enthusiasm of literature, are qualifi- 
 cations that we involuntarily give him 
 credit for ; but on a nearer approach we 
 discover that these are alone the produc- 
 tion of our own misconstructions ; that 
 the object so great in the perspective, 
 sinks on acquaintance into an every-day 
 sort of a person, employed in the pursuit 
 of trifles, and degenerating far below the 
 standard of perfection we had consider- 
 ately raised him to : it is indeed a be- 
 ing that bears no resemblance to the one 
 imagination had tinctured with the sub- 
 lime ; and we become ashamed of the 
 distance enthusiasm had transported us, 
 gradually consent to confess our error, 
 and the mind, disengaged of its former 
 delusion, wonders how it could have 
 
 been 
 
192 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 been so misled by such vague, such de- 
 ceitful ideas. 
 
 In these enlightened times, the cares 
 for the body indeed supersede those that 
 were once formed for the greatness of 
 the soul ; and our men of arms contrive 
 now-a-days to attain glory by more com- 
 pendious methods, than when the bub- 
 ble reputation was only to be found in 
 the cannon's mouth. It is true, they 
 carve their way to reputation and re- 
 nown, but it is in cutting out theii* 
 own coat-collars on the counters of their 
 tailors' shops; and while their whole 
 prowess is bestowed on finding means to 
 kill the enemy , they have no more valiant 
 antagonists to deal with, than an old 
 man with a scythe and an hourglass. 
 
 Self preservation however is the law 
 of nature ; and I believe most truly that 
 unless they did the old gentleman's busi- 
 ness for him, he would, by doing theirs, 
 
 suffer 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 193 
 
 suffer us to lose more heroes in a day than 
 fell on the renowned plain of Waterloo. 
 But yet it is a hard service, and many 
 a man would be apt to give in, by mak- 
 ing " his quietus with a bare bodkin," 
 but from the never-failing resource — 
 dress — an innocent amusement, com- 
 mencing in the time of Adam. Never, 
 however, were such pains bestowed on a 
 fig-leaf, as are now on the outward and 
 visible signs ; never armour adjusted with 
 more precision in the time of Ajax, than 
 is now the inward and spiritual grace. 
 Stays indeed make the man, want of 
 them the fellow ; while no man is now 
 considered any thing but half a man, 
 until the other half is added by padding. 
 These ligatures also have their advan- 
 tages in reconciling some men to their 
 lot ; that is, should they fail in procuring 
 a repast to-day, they take up another 
 reef to-morrow ; and when pinched and 
 laced about, till they resemble more a 
 wasp than a man, the effect reconciles 
 VOL. I. K them 
 
l^^" SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 them to the cause. It is much cheaper 
 besides to pad the hning of the coat, 
 tlian it is to stuff the — what shall I call 
 it? At Eton we knew it by the name 
 of the bread-basket; but I question 
 whether some of my heroes of the pave 
 will even recognise it by that comfort- 
 able appellation. But it is vulgar to talk 
 of those articles in a genteel novel ; and 
 though the unseemly thing is ever before 
 them, my readers, I fear, will not forgive 
 me for obtruding it upon their notice. 
 
 In introducing to them, however, the 
 tame lancer, I am guilty of no error of 
 the sort ; indeed he had nothing about 
 him of the description, and the only 
 wonder was, how his body and his legs 
 ever contrived to hang together. The 
 crimson sash indeed almost cut him in 
 two ; a rash expedient, for unless, like a 
 snake, the concomitant parts took a 
 fancy to adhere again together, in case 
 of an accident, the king might lose a va- 
 luable 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 1^5 
 
 luable soldier — a hero truly of the first 
 water ! his sword keener than his wit ; 
 his lance longer than his head ; " jesting 
 at scars who never felt a wound;" and in 
 his own opinion, ^' the sinew and the 
 forehand of an host !" 
 
 Whatever were the pleasures arising 
 from his own cogitations, captain Love- 
 lace seemed very well disposed to barter 
 them for the satisfaction of talking to 
 the Miss Templemores. He had indeed 
 been for a long time vsilent, not caring to 
 come in contact with the cognoscenti, 
 nor the dilettante, nor with any of the 
 men of virtu that surrounded him. He 
 hated all such stuff as conchology, geo- 
 logy, philology, zoology, mineralogy, and 
 tautology ; he swore he would not be at 
 the trouble of rubbing up his Greek for 
 any body; so, like the pent-up provi- 
 sions of Munchausen's horn, his lucu- 
 brations now poured forth on his fair 
 hearers with the same surprising velocity 
 K 2 _" Crucify 
 
196 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 — " Crucify me, I say," he began, after 
 the first salutations had passed — " cru- 
 cify me, I say, if I know what we are all 
 had here for ! It is as bad as going to 
 church, and that is slow work enough, 
 and what I can tell you I am no glutton 
 at. You should have seen the bold 
 Waxy and me there last Sunday ! got an 
 uncommon good seat up in the dress 
 boxes, as Tom had it. Good name, is 
 not it? Gad, I believe the fellow had 
 never been there before ! for he looked 
 about him as pleased as Punch. ' A 
 sight of pretty women in the pit /' says 
 he ; ' I shall just come here every Sunday 
 for a lark.' Tom is a devilish cool fel- 
 low ! — Heavy Bristol indeed ! he is no 
 more a heavy Bristol than I am." This 
 was not saying much for his friend, but 
 such as captain Lovelace was, the ladies 
 seemed very well indined to put up with 
 him. " I should hke to know the fun 
 of all this set-out !" he continued, look- 
 ing round him as he spoke, and eventu- 
 ally 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 197 
 
 ally resting his eye on Mrs. Basbleue 
 and her sister. A smile passed over his 
 face ; and turning to Stanley, he observ- 
 ed — " A nice pair of prads to go in a 
 curricle — a rare match ! — have a queer 
 cut as a tandem. I came just now down 
 from the barracks in no time — made 
 them go as hard as they could split — 
 rammed them along, and I was not a 
 minute about it. I should have turned 
 their heads the other way, I think, if I 
 had known what I had been coming to. 
 Look at that rum old fellow up in the 
 corner, trying to make the clever; and 
 look at the one by his side, patiently 
 waiting till the spirit of genius moves 
 within him " 
 
 " Like a rusty old conductor, waiting 
 for a flash of lightning," interrupted 
 Stanley. 
 
 " Uncommon good idea that !" conti- 
 nued the captain—" uncommon good ! 
 uncommon ! but upon my soul all this 
 is a regular bore — a complete take-in ; I 
 K 3 cannot 
 
198 SC]RNES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 cannot bear it much longer, and there is 
 UQ possibility of making an escape. The 
 only chance was through the space be- 
 tween thie card-tables ; and as it is now 
 completely occupied by the portly figure 
 of Mrs, Mpuche, here one must stay till 
 school breaks up." 
 
 " That is, unless you stoop to conquei^y 
 said Stanley, " and get out in the same 
 manner that ships used to get through 
 the colossjal figure at Rhodes." 
 
 The smile that irresistibly arose at the 
 idea was checked by the approach of 
 Mrs, Basbleue, who came, as usual, mere- 
 ly to request some one of the young la- 
 dies to do her the honour of " trying the 
 instrument ;" ^nd by getting out of the 
 vicinity of her hovime d' affair es, to h^ve 
 the opportunity of issuing her orders 
 aloud. She wished the tray of ice3 con- 
 veyed to at particular spot of the apart- 
 ment ; but vain was each reiterated com- 
 mx^nd, though neatly reported in her 
 
 best 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 199 
 
 best French to the ear of her self-willed 
 lacquey. A quaint slirug, and a cool 
 survey of the crowd, were the first tokens 
 of mutiny she received, and the orders 
 were again issued with all the collected- 
 ness she could muster. 
 
 " Ilfaut du genie pour y parvenir /" 
 retorted monsieur le domestique, with a 
 calmness that far outdid the assumed 
 sangfroid of his mistress. Pantomimic 
 signs, and telegraphic grimace, joined to 
 an almost unintelligible tongue, next suc- 
 ceeded, but all to no effect; for whether 
 monsieur w^as deaf, sick, sulky, or sa- 
 vage, ]Mrs. Basbleue might, with the 
 same advantage, have beckoned the 
 winds to her service. 
 
 At this moment the card-table broke 
 up ; and leaving the combatants to ad- 
 just matters at leisure, the Miss Temple- 
 mores and their mother quitted the scene, 
 heartily tired of the din of letters, and de- 
 K 4> daring,. 
 
200 
 
 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 daring, as I have often done before them 
 with equal alaciity, that nothing should 
 again induce them to surrender them- 
 selves to the misery of passing another 
 soirde at Mrs. Basbleue's. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 201 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In manners vain. 
 In conversation frivolous, and in dress 
 Kxtrenie, at once rapacious and profuse. 
 
 COV^PEB. 
 
 Volumes of report 
 Run with their false and most contrarious guests 
 Upon thy doings. Shakespeare. 
 
 For he hath wit to make an ill siiape good, 
 And shape to win grace, e'en tho' he had no wit. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 " You will never make any thing of sir 
 Archibald Murray, Cecil, if you give up 
 so much of your time to Steinbach," 
 said Mrs. Templemore one morning to 
 her daughter, interrupting her in the 
 midst of a German song, that she was 
 endeavouring to learn the words of. 
 K 5 " You 
 
5IOa SeE>^£S AT BlilGHTON. 
 
 " You seem forming but a bad business 
 of it ; and take my word for it, if you 
 continue in the same way as you have 
 begun, you will never make any thing 
 of him." 
 
 " I do not wish to make any thing of 
 him," carelessly returned Cecil, conti- 
 nuing her song, with a hoarseness of 
 voice it had been till this moment a 
 stranger to. 
 
 Mrs. Templemore was silenced. 
 
 " I think you are acting very foolish- 
 ly, Cecil," she again began, the instant 
 the song was concluded, " very weakly 
 indeed ; and I am sure you cannot have 
 considered the mutability of your pre- 
 sent situation in life, and the precarious 
 chance you have of i^curing to yourself 
 another. Figuratively speaking, I^es- 
 lie may marry to-morrow, and then you 
 know we have nothing to do but tp pack 
 upoureb^ttl^e^ and agaiubetakeourselves^ 
 
 to 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 203 
 
 to the vegetating mode of existence we 
 have but so lately escaped from." 
 
 " You are always thinking of unplea- 
 sant things, mamma," said Mary, for- 
 getting that she had retreated to a corner, 
 in hopes of escaping a share of the lec- 
 ture she saw was impending over them. 
 
 " Rather say probable ones," returned 
 Mrs. Templemore, with an earnestness 
 that made both her daughters quiver with 
 apprehension. " I think there is every 
 likelihood of Leslie's marrying soon; 
 and I therefore warn you young ladies, 
 that it would be a profitable service to 
 attend to the old saying, and to set 
 about making your hay while the sun 
 shines." 
 
 " Why should you suppose, mamma, 
 that Leslie will go off before us ?" asked 
 Mary, in a tone which betokened that 
 if she had ascertained the whole cause 
 for apprehension, their fears had been 
 wantonly raised. Mrs. Templemore did 
 not immediately reply, and she continu- 
 
 K ft €(l 
 
204 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 ed in a voice of recovered assurity — 
 " We do not think that Leslie will mar- 
 ry before us ; for we take good care that 
 nobody shall know from us that her 
 fortune is larger than ours ; and that is, 
 I think, the only advantage she has to 
 ensure her success." 
 
 " I do not think she will ever marry 
 at all," said Cecil, with abrupt assump- 
 tion ; " she is not the kind of girl to 
 boast of her money, and without that 
 auxiliary, there is little about her to take ; 
 retired mannert; do not please in such a 
 bustling place as Brighton." 
 
 Mrs. Templemore shook her head in 
 a distrustful manner, and it was evident 
 to her daughters that her sentiments on 
 the subject were directly contrary to 
 those which they had adopted. 
 
 " What a pity it is," at length said 
 Mrs. Templemore, with a sigh, " that 
 one cannot put old heads upon young 
 
 shoulders 1 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 205 
 
 shoulders! not that it would improve 
 the appearance," she added, with a smile, 
 " but it would enable them to see things 
 in their proper point of view, instead of 
 giving them that visionary interpretation, 
 which either makes up for the dispro- 
 portion of the object, or, as in the pre- 
 sent instance, brings them down to a 
 station they were never meant to oc- 
 cupy. You are indeed, my dear girls, 
 forming opinions both detrimental to 
 your own interests, and unjust to the 
 claims of Leslie, who, though we seem, 
 by common consent, to conceal from the 
 world the rare reward she has in store 
 for their discernment, will be selected, 
 take my word for it, in preference to 
 either you or your sister." Here there 
 was a pause for some moments, for Cecil 
 and Mary were too much astonished at 
 their mother's prediction, to find words 
 that might interrupt it ; and Mrs. Tem- 
 plemore, taking the advantage, continued 
 — " Do not imagine I say all this to 
 
 influence 
 
206 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 influence your acceptation, Cecil, of 
 the offer that sir Archibald may even- 
 tually be induced to make you. Matri- 
 tnony, without a proper proportion of 
 love, is the last step I should wish you 
 to take ; but at the same time I advise 
 you, with the warmth of a mother, to 
 weigh the circumstance well in your own 
 mind, before you consent to dismiss it 
 for ever." 
 
 " I do not think there is much danger 
 at present of my being put to the test," 
 said Cecil, wishing to take the blame 
 from herself by putting it on the other 
 party. " Sir Archibald may, by tacking 
 himself on to my side, beat the trouble 
 of persuading the world that he loves 
 me ; but unless he forces it on my com- 
 prehension by less equivocal measures, 
 I think I am justified in not excluding 
 others from my notice." 
 
 " Certainly not," returned Mrs. Tern- 
 plemore, who was perfectly inclined to 
 hear reason. " But, Cecily you know as 
 
SCEKES AT BBIGHTON. 207 
 
 well as I do, that there are various paths 
 to pursue, and Steinbach seems to have 
 gained an ascendancy over yours, I should 
 be very sorry to see him take advantage 
 of. But he is not a marrying man," she 
 continued, with somewhat of a lighten- 
 ed brow ; " it is evident that he is not a 
 marrying man, therefore on his side of 
 the argument I have little cause for ap- 
 prehension ; and should you, my dear 
 girl, choose to play the part of a lovesick 
 maid, instead of that of a sensible wo- 
 man, it will not be for the want of pro- 
 per advice from those who have your in- 
 terest as dearly at heart as they have 
 their own." 
 
 A tear stood upon poor Cecil's cheek, 
 as her mother concluded her exhorta- 
 tion ; and, in a tone of deep contrition, 
 she inquired into the principal charges 
 that were to be preferred against her; 
 for what she had done to occasion her- 
 
 mother's, 
 
^08 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 mother's disquietude, she declared she 
 was at a loss to account for. 
 
 Mrs. Templemore smiled ironically 
 as her daughter made the demand ; and 
 on being strenuously urged to reply, she 
 said — " It is scarcely necessary for me to 
 tell you, Cecil, in what you do wrong. 
 You may, it is true, think it has escaped 
 my observation ; but ask your own heart, 
 and tliere is a little inward monitor that 
 will speak to you more to the purpose 
 than any thing I can tell you. Yet I 
 sadly fear, that until the cause is eradi- 
 cated, the mischief will still arise; there- 
 fore, my dear child, if in the commu- 
 nion with your own heart, you should 
 find his image too fondly impressed there, 
 pray set about giving it its discharge, 
 and do not take his arm; smile upon 
 him, dance with him, or sing with him, 
 till you can do it in the same indifferent 
 manner in which you conduct yourself 
 towards others." 
 
 Cecil, 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 209 
 
 Cecil, however, was just as sceptical 
 as to the justice of the complaint alledg- 
 ed against her, as she had been before it 
 was pronounced ; for though it was true 
 that she did feel more pleasure in dan- 
 cing and singing, talking and walking, 
 with Stein bach, than with any other of 
 the young men of her acquaintance, she 
 was unwilling to believe that her coun- 
 tenance had proved a too faithful index 
 to the mind, and had unwittingly to 
 herself betrayed the secret from her. 
 
 Mary had been all this time ponder- 
 ing over her mother's prophetic words 
 in regard to Leslie ; and on the first ces- 
 sation of hostilities between Mrs. Tem- 
 more and Cecil, she inquired how long 
 she had considered Leslie so very hand- 
 some? 
 
 " If you think I alluded to beauty," 
 returned Mrs. Templemore, " when I 
 adverted to Leslie, you are much de- 
 ceived. A pretty face may catch a heart, 
 
 Mary, 
 
210 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 Mary, but it never can retain one. Les- 
 lie, if I mistake not, has surer powers of 
 charming — powers that she is herself un- 
 conscious of the possession of, but which 
 strike with double force, from the sim- 
 plicity that directs them, the un design- 
 ing innocence with which they ate used. 
 Look at the difference of her appearance 
 in public and your own! Yourselves 
 armed at all points for conquest, she con- 
 tenting herself with the plainest dress 
 she can select ; and while you lay your- 
 selves open for the indiscriminate adula- 
 tion of your partners, you will see her 
 retiring within herself, charming by the 
 unobtrusiveness of her charms, and pleas- 
 ing all by the rare power she has found 
 of pleasing." f 
 
 " She may be more accomplished than 
 we are, mamma, but I am sure she does 
 not avail herself of it," said Mary, think- 
 ing she had at last hit on the quality 
 that had so dazzled her mother's percep- 
 tion ; " she never sings when she is ask- 
 ed— 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 211 
 
 ed — has never opened her portfolio since 
 she has been here ; her drawing-box is, 
 I beUeve, only made to look at ; and if 
 this is the way to earn a husband, I must 
 say she is doing it at a very easy rate. 
 As to French, one would not suppose she 
 knew a word about it, for she positive- 
 ly, at Mrs. Basbleue's, asked for water in 
 English from a French servant, you know ! 
 I am sure that looked very ignorant, for 
 every body knows the French for water ; 
 and Cecil and I took particular care to 
 say all we could to the servant, that we 
 might get the credit of having a Httle 
 knowledge, and to do away the impres- 
 sion that had been left by the deficiency 
 of Leslie." 
 
 " Leslie never lays herself out for ad- 
 miration," said Mrs. Templemore, with 
 a pointed emphasis on the last word; 
 '* she never lays herself out for what, I 
 much fear, will be the rock yourself and 
 your sister will split upon " 
 
 " But at present we arrive at our point, 
 
 mamma," 
 
£12 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 mamma," interrupted both the sisters at 
 once, " for I am sure we are admired 
 more than any girls in Brighton, while 
 
 Leslie " 
 
 " Is scarcely known," said Mrs, Tem- 
 plemore, stopping them in the midst of 
 their speech, " and never will be, till 
 something occurs to excite her. She is, 
 I plainly perceive, though she conceals 
 it as well as she can, still suffering for 
 the loss of her friend — a circumstance 
 not to be wondered at, and only to be 
 chased away by the acquisition of an- 
 other. This other, however, to be efB- 
 cient, must come in the shape of a lover, 
 not a concealed one, but a declared one ; 
 no easy point to arrive at, for she con- 
 jures up so nice a ' sweetbriary fence' 
 around her, that it will be some little 
 difficulty for the modern men of fashion, 
 so used to the open common field, to take 
 a spring over it ; but when once there, 
 ' alas ! poor cricket, thou art taken !' and 
 it will be no easy matter to get back 
 
 again. 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 213 
 
 again. I dare say you will scarcely be- 
 lieve me when I tell you, that Leslie 
 sings better than any body I ever heard in 
 private life. I once heard Mrs. Billing- 
 ton with your dear father; it was dur- 
 ing the month we passed in London 
 after we were married ; and as I listened 
 to Leslie on the stairs the other day, 
 with my eyes shut, it reminded me of 
 the evening I sat by your dear father's 
 side. She was singing a melancholy 
 song, I believe, for some of her notes 
 went to my heart — not that I heard the 
 words, but her tones reminded me of 
 Mrs. Billington, and I looked round for 
 your father. It was very foolish of me, 
 but I cried like a child on not finding 
 him near me, and was obliged to go into 
 my own chamber to hush my sobs, and 
 to hide the ugly faces I made. When I 
 recovered, Leslie had ceased singing; 
 and I have never mentioned the subject, 
 for I am sure, were I to hear her again, 
 
 I should 
 
214 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 I should only again make myself ridicu- 
 lous in the same manner." 
 
 Cecil and Mary looked at each other 
 in astonishment ; for though they knew 
 that their sister's younger days had been 
 wholly passed in study, yet they could 
 not believe that a girl who could sing 
 with the skill their mother had describ- 
 ed, should have the forbearance suffici- 
 ent to keep such a talent to herself. 
 Why she should do it, was as difficult to 
 comprehend as the fact, and they were lost 
 in a reverie of conjecture, when their 
 mother again addressed them. 
 
 " I thought one evening that captain 
 Hillsborough was gaining an ascendancy 
 over the dear girl's heart, but she looked 
 so pleased when the dance was ended, 
 and so relieved in being once more at 
 my side, that my suspicions were lulled 
 on the occasion; and it must be some 
 
 redoubtable 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 215 
 
 redoubtable hero, I believe, to whom it 
 is reserved to win the day, and to teach 
 her that talents were given for better 
 purposes than to keep closely locked up 
 to yourself." 
 
 " Lord Mountvillars is a hero," said 
 Mary, "that, if report speaks true, will 
 just answer the purpose. All Brighton 
 are in ecstacies about him; nothing is 
 like the sensation he has created ; and, 
 no doubt, as he is only to be seen to be 
 admired, Leslie will succumb at a glance, 
 and, like a phoenix in the flame, we shall 
 see her rise brighter from the fire that 
 consumes her." 
 
 " Who are you talking of?" asked 
 Mrs. Templemore, who, in following up 
 her own reflections, had lost the thread 
 of their discourse. 
 
 " Of lord Mountvillars, mamma," again 
 returned Mary, " the wonder and per- 
 fection of the day, the paragon of the 
 age, a monster of 'perfection, we are all 
 prepared to fall in love with ! — rich, no 
 
 doubt. 
 
216 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 dqubt, as he has just succeeded to his fa- 
 ther's title, and beautiful as our most 
 vivid hopes can paint him !" 
 
 " Where is he staying ?" 
 
 " At the York Hotel, which is almost 
 filled with his servants. He has car- 
 riages for every day in the week, and 
 we are also told that we are to meet him 
 to-night at lady O'Shannon's." 
 
 "As mamma does not approve of ma- 
 jor Steinbach," said Cecil, in a tone be- 
 tween jesting and earnest, when again 
 they were left by themselves, " I intend 
 to set my cap at his redoubtable lord- 
 ship. Indeed it was very lavish of you 
 to so generously appropriate him to Les- 
 lie, when I should think that even you 
 might prefer him to that rone Stanley, 
 who, by-the-bye, must be a mighty fa- 
 vourite with mamma, or you would not 
 have escaped your share in the lecture 
 to-day." 
 
 Mary indeed was equally surprised 
 
 with 
 
SCENES AT BHIGHTON. 217 
 
 with her sister at the exemption ; and 
 she began to fear she had perhaps fan- 
 cied attentions, that existed in nothing 
 beyond her own active imagination. 
 
 But Mrs. Templemore was a mixture 
 of inconsistencies ; and while she knew 
 as Httle of Stanley's concerns as she did 
 of poor Steinbach's, the pleasure she felt 
 in the society of one, blinded her to the 
 conviction that he laboured under the 
 same disadvantages as those she repre- 
 hended in the other. 
 
 There is indeed no saying so true, as 
 that " one man may steal a horse, v/hile 
 another must not look over the hedge," 
 and Stanley, in the same measure, might 
 have been " wooed and married and a* " 
 to one daughter, while Steinbaeh was 
 even denied the cat's privilege of looking 
 at the other. 
 
 But Stanley, though acting with suf- 
 VOL. I. L ticient 
 
218 SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 ficient openness to justify the suspicions 
 of a mother, at the same time was too 
 cautious — too circumspect, to give con- 
 fidence or satisfaction to the bosom of 
 the daughter; for while the constancy 
 of his attentions gave rise to the belief 
 one moment that she was dear to him, 
 the consideration of the next proved to 
 her, that she had nothing but those aU 
 tentions to establish the supposition on. 
 
 Unsettled and unsatisfied by the re- 
 flection, Mary began to feel that she 
 %vas but playing a second to the unpro- 
 fitable part her sister Cecil had entered 
 on : for while Stanley remained silent as 
 to the nature of his intentions, she could 
 not but fear they were merely of a cha- 
 racter to help to pass away the present 
 hour, without having any particle of 
 connexion in his thoughts with those of 
 the future. If he loved her, why did he 
 not tell her so? If he was only tamper- 
 ing with her prospects and her peace, 
 
 she 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. ^19 
 
 she thought, on the conviction, she 
 could as easily teach her heart to hate 
 him, as she had experienced facility be- 
 fore in helping to establish those tender 
 sentiments there, his duplicity had been 
 at the pains of creating. But Mary- 
 knew not the disposition she had to deal 
 with, dreamed not that first love pos- 
 sesses that powerful charm over the 
 heart, that few have ever the power of 
 eradicating. One by one she would go 
 over, in recollection, the hours she had 
 passed in his society — think over the 
 thousand things he had said, and sicken at 
 the sorrowful discovery, that though her 
 whole soul was alive to the many fancied 
 proofs of his affection, she had not re- 
 ceived one word to carry conviction to 
 the heart — that though she had expe- 
 rienced from him the thousand nameless 
 attentions that fondness prompts, she 
 had at the same time not one reasonable 
 clause to stamp them with sincerity, or 
 to shew that he meant more than the 
 L 2 authorized 
 
220 SCENES AT BRIGHTON, 
 
 authorized flirtation of the moment. 
 Such were the fruits of her mother's 
 lecture — such the result of a catechism 
 it had tempted her to enter upon : she 
 felt mortified that Stanley should consi- 
 der her weak enough to become the 
 plaything of an hour, and she resolved 
 to be more cautious in receiving his de- 
 voirs for the future. 
 
 Sancho Panza has said, that when one 
 door shuts, another opens; and as 
 Stanley faded before the discriminating 
 perception of Mary, lord Mountvillars 
 rose upon the scene — dazzling with his 
 vaunted fascinations, and creating a 
 brighter perspective for one deprived of 
 her pot of pears, than any she might 
 have expected. Such indeed are the 
 vacillations of the human heart; and 
 Mary, while she believed she was mak- 
 ing a sacrifice at the altar of prudence, 
 was in fact a blinded victim on the shrine 
 of ambition, waging war between the 
 
 head 
 
SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 221 
 
 head and the heart, and seeking to place 
 a coronet on one, to chase away the 
 pangs mflicted on the other. How to 
 captivate lord Mountvillars, now became 
 her favourite thought— a glorious enter- 
 prise ! for she was entering a field where 
 many were there before her — all anxious 
 to please — each hoping for success, the 
 attempt, but 7iot the deedy confounding 
 them. To signalize herself among the 
 many, was a service deserving her pow- 
 ers ; and whether she should walk in the 
 morning, and run the chance of meeting 
 him, or burst on him at once in the full 
 splendour of ball attire at lady O'Shan- 
 non's in the evening, was the first diffi- 
 cult alternative that presented itself It 
 was however a delicate point soon con- 
 cluded on; not from conviction, as to 
 the wisdom of the decision, but from the 
 necessity of the circumstances that urged 
 it. Cecil was bent on walking i and 
 dreading to be the loser by her refine- 
 xnent of arrangement, Mary prepared 
 
 herself 
 
S122I SCENES AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 herself to accompany her^ fearing she 
 might lose an advantage by staying at 
 home, yet hoping they might not meet 
 lord Mountvillars till the evening. 
 
 END OF VOL. L 
 
 Printed by J. Darling, Leadenhall-Street, London.