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diff --git a/8826-h/8826-h.htm b/8826-h/8826-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8bbec5f --- /dev/null +++ b/8826-h/8826-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20776 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tales and Novels, Volume I, by Maria Edgeworth</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +pre {font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tales And Novels, Volume 1 (of 10), by Maria Edgeworth</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Tales And Novels, Volume 1 (of 10)<br /> +Moral Tales</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Maria Edgeworth</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 13, 2003 [eBook #8826]<br /> +[Most recently updated: February 6, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Anne Folland, Jonathan Ingram, Mary Meehan, David Widger and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES AND NOVELS, VOLUME 1 (OF 10) ***</div> + + <h1> + TALES AND NOVELS, + </h1> + <h4> + VOLUME I (of X) + </h4> + <h3> + MORAL TALES + </h3> + + <h2 class="no-break"> + By Maria Edgeworth + </h2> + + <hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + It has been somewhere said by Johnson, that merely to invent a story is no + small effort of the human understanding. How much more difficult is it to + construct stories suited to the early years of youth, and, at the same + time, conformable to the complicate relations of modern society—fictions, + that shall display examples of virtue, without initiating the young reader + into the ways of vice—narratives, written in a style level to his + capacity, without tedious detail, or vulgar idiom! The author, sensible of + these difficulties, solicits indulgence for such errors as have escaped + her vigilance. + </p> + <p> + In a former work the author has endeavoured to add something to the + increasing stock of innocent amusement and early instruction, which the + laudable exertions of some excellent modern writers provide for the rising + generation; and, in the present, an attempt is made to provide for young + people, of a more advanced age, a few Tales, that shall neither dissipate + the attention, nor inflame the imagination. + </p> + <p> + In a work upon education, which the public has been pleased to notice, we + have endeavoured to show that, under proper management, amusement and + instruction may accompany each other through many paths of literature; + whilst, at the same time, we have disclaimed and reprehended all attempts + to teach in play. Steady, untired attention is what alone produces + excellence. Sir Isaac Newton, with as much truth as modesty, attributed to + this faculty those discoveries in science, which brought the heavens + within the grasp of man, and weighed the earth in a balance. To inure the + mind to athletic vigour is one of the chief objects of good education; and + we have found, as far as our limited experience has extended, that short + and active exertions, interspersed with frequent agreeable relaxation, + form the mind to strength and endurance, better than long-continued feeble + study. + </p> + <p> + Hippocrates, in describing the robust temperament, tells us that the <i>athletae</i> + prepare themselves for the <i>gymnasium</i> by strong exertion, which they + continued till they felt fatigue; they then reposed till they felt + returning strength and aptitude for labour: and thus, by alternate + exercise and indulgence, their limbs acquire the firmest tone of health + and vigour. We have found, that those who have tasted with the keenest + relish the beauties of Berquin, Day, or Barbauld, pursue a demonstration + of Euclid, or a logical deduction, with as much eagerness, and with more + rational curiosity, than is usually shown by students who are nourished + with the hardest fare, and chained to unceasing labour. + </p> + <p> + “Forester” is the picture of an eccentric character—a young man who + scorns the common forms and dependencies of civilized society; and who, + full of visionary schemes of benevolence and happiness, might, by improper + management, or unlucky circumstances, have become a fanatic and a + criminal. + </p> + <p> + The scene of “The Knapsack” is laid in Sweden, to produce variety; and to + show that the rich and poor, the young and old, in all countries, are + mutually serviceable to each other; and to portray some of those virtues + which are peculiarly amiable in the character of a soldier. + </p> + <p> + “Angelina” is a female Forester. The nonsense of <i>sentimentality</i> is + here aimed at with the shafts of ridicule, instead of being combated by + serious argument. With the romantic eccentricities of Angelina are + contrasted faults of a more common and despicable sort. Miss Burrage is + the picture of a young lady who meanly flatters persons of rank; and who, + after she has smuggled herself into good company, is ashamed to + acknowledge her former friends, to whom she was bound by the strongest + ties of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Panache” is a sketch of the necessary consequences of + imprudently trusting the happiness of a daughter to the care of those who + can teach nothing but accomplishments. + </p> + <p> + “The Prussian Vase” is a lesson against imprudence, and on exercise of + judgment, and an eulogium upon our inestimable trial by jury. This tale is + designed principally for young gentlemen who are intended for the bar. + </p> + <p> + “The Good Governess” is a lesson to teach the art of giving lessons. + </p> + <p> + In “The Good Aunt,” the advantages which a judicious early education + confers upon those who are intended for public seminaries are pointed out. + It is a common error to suppose that, let a boy be what he may, when sent + to Eton, Westminster, Harrow, or any great school, he will be moulded into + proper form by the fortuitous pressure of numbers; that emulation will + necessarily excite, example lead, and opposition polish him. But these are + vain hopes: the solid advantages which may be attained in these large + nurseries of youth must be, in a great measure, secured by previous + domestic instruction. + </p> + <p> + These Tales have been written to illustrate the opinions delivered in + “Practical Education.” As their truth has appeared to me to be confirmed + by increasing experience, I sat down with pleasure to write this preface + for my daughter. It is hoped that the following stories will afford + agreeable relaxation from severer studies, and that they will be thought—what + they profess to be—<i>Moral</i> Tales. + </p> + <h3> + R.L. EDGEWORTH + </h3> + + <hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> FORESTER </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE PRUSSIAN VASE </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE GOOD AUNT </a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ANGELINA; OR, L’AMIE INCONNUE. </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> MADEMOISELLE PANACHE. </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE KNAPSACK </a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + FORESTER + </h2> + <p> + Forester was the son of an English gentleman, who had paid some attention + to his education, but who had some singularities of opinion, which + probably influenced him in his conduct toward his children. + </p> + <p> + Young Forester was frank, brave, and generous, but he had been taught to + dislike politeness so much, that the common forms of society appeared to + him either odious or ridiculous; his sincerity was seldom restrained by + any attention to the feelings of others. His love of independence was + carried to such an extreme, that he was inclined to prefer the life of + Robinson Crusoe in his desert island, to that of any individual in + cultivated society. His attention had been early fixed upon the follies + and vices of the higher classes of people; and his contempt for selfish + indolence was so strongly associated with the name of gentleman, that he + was disposed to choose his friends and companions from amongst his + inferiors: the inequality between the rich and the poor shocked him; his + temper was enthusiastic as well as benevolent; and he ardently wished to + be a man, and to be at liberty to act for himself, that he might reform + society, or at least his own neighbourhood. When he was about nineteen + years old, his father died, and young Forester was sent to Edinburgh, to + Dr. Campbell, the gentleman whom his father had appointed his guardian. In + the choice of his mode of travelling his disposition appeared. The + stage-coach and a carrier set out nearly at the same time from Penrith. + Forester, proud of bringing his principles immediately into action, put + himself under the protection of the carrier, and congratulated himself + upon his freedom from prejudice. He arrived at Edinburgh in all the glory + of independence, and he desired the carrier to set him down at Dr. + Campbell’s door. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor is not at home,” said the footman, who opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “He <i>is</i> at home,” exclaimed Forester with indignation; “I see him at + the window.” + </p> + <p> + “My master is just going to dinner, and can’t see any body now,” said the + footman; “but if you will call again at six o’clock, maybe he may see you, + my good lad.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Forester—let me in,” said Forester, pushing-forwards. + </p> + <p> + “Forester!—Mr. Forester!” said the footman; “the young gentleman + that was expected in the coach to-day?” Without deigning to give the + footman any explanation, Forester took his own portmanteau from the + carrier; and Dr. Campbell came down-stairs just when the footman was + officiously struggling with the young gentleman for his burden. Dr. + Campbell received his pupil very kindly; but Forester would not be + prevailed upon to rub his shoes sufficiently upon the mat at the bottom of + the stairs, or to change his disordered dress before he made his + appearance in the drawing-room. He entered with dirty shoes, a threadbare + coat, and hair that looked as if it never had been combed; and he was much + surprised by the effect which his singular appearance produced upon the + risible muscles of some of the company. + </p> + <p> + “I have done nothing to be ashamed of,” said he to himself; but, + notwithstanding all his efforts to be and to appear at ease, he was + constrained and abashed. A young laird, Mr. Archibald Mackenzie, seemed to + enjoy his confusion with malignant, half-suppressed merriment, in which + Dr. Campbell’s son was too good-natured, and too well-bred, to + participate. Henry Campbell was three or four years older than Forester, + and <i>though</i> he looked like a gentleman, Forester could not help + being pleased with the manner in which he drew him into conversation. The + secret magic of politeness relieved him insensibly from the torment of + false shame. + </p> + <p> + “It is a pity this lad was bred up a gentleman,” said Forester to himself, + “for he seems to have some sense and goodness.” + </p> + <p> + Dinner was announced, and Forester was provoked at being interrupted in an + argument concerning carts and coaches, which he had begun with Henry + Campbell. Not that Forester was averse to eating, for he was at this + instant ravenously hungry: but eating in company he always found equally + repugnant to his habits and his principles. A table covered with a clean + table-cloth; dishes in nice order; plates, knives, and forks, laid at + regular distances, appeared to our young Diogenes absurd superfluities, + and he was ready to exclaim, “How many things I do not want!” Sitting down + to dinner, eating, drinking, and behaving like other people, appeared to + him difficult and disagreeable ceremonies. He did not perceive that custom + had rendered all these things perfectly easy to every one else in company; + and as soon as he had devoured his food his own way, he moralized in + silence upon the good sense of Sancho Panza, who preferred eating an egg + behind the door to feasting in public; and he recollected his favourite + traveller Le Vaillant’s{1} enthusiastic account of his charming Hottentot + dinners, and of the disgust that he afterwards felt, on the comparison of + European etiquette and African <i>simplicity</i>. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Le Vaillant’s Travels in Africa, vol. i. p. 114.} + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, the ceremony of dinner is over,” said Forester to Henry + Campbell, as soon as they rose from table. + </p> + <p> + All these things, which seemed mere matter of course in society, appeared + to Forester strange ceremonies. In the evening there were cards for those + who liked cards, and there was conversation for those who liked + conversation. Forester liked neither; he preferred playing with a cat; and + he sat all night apart from the company in a corner of a sofa. He took it + for granted that the conversation could not be worth his attention, + because he heard Lady Catherine Mackenzie’s voice amongst others; he had + conceived a dislike, or rather a contempt for this lady, because she + showed much of the pride of birth and rank in her manners. Henry Campbell + did not think it necessary to punish himself for her ladyship’s faults, by + withdrawing from entertaining conversation; he knew that his father had + the art of managing the frivolous subjects started in general company, so + as to make them lead to amusement and instruction; and this Forester would + probably have discovered this evening, had he not followed his own + thoughts, instead of listening to the observations of others. Lady + Catherine, it is true, began with a silly history of her hereditary + antipathy for pickled cucumbers; and she was rather tiresome in tracing + the genealogy of this antipathy through several generations of her + ancestry; but Dr. Campbell said “that he had heard, from an ingenious + gentleman of her ladyship’s family, that her ladyship’s grandfather, and + several of his friends, nearly lost their lives by pickled cucumbers;” and + thence the doctor took occasion to relate several curious circumstances + concerning the effects of different poisons. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Campbell, who plainly saw both the defects and the excellent qualities + of his young ward, hoped that, by playful raillery, and by well-timed + reasoning, he might mix a sufficient portion of good sense with Forester’s + enthusiasm, might induce him gradually to sympathize in the pleasures of + cultivated society, and might convince him that virtue is not confined to + any particular class of men; that education, in the enlarged sense of the + word, creates the difference between individuals more than riches or + poverty. He foresaw that Forester would form a friendship with his son, + and that this attachment would cure him of his prejudices against <i>gentlemen</i>, + and would prevent him from indulging his taste for vulgar company. Henry + Campbell had more useful energy, though less apparent enthusiasm, than his + new companion: he was always employed; he was really independent, because + he had learned how to support himself either by the labours of his head or + of his hands; but his independence did not render him unsociable; he was + always ready to sympathize with the pleasures of his friends, and + therefore he was beloved: following his father’s example, he did all the + good in his power to those who were in distress; but he did not imagine + that he could reform every abuse in society, or that he could instantly + new-model the universe. Forester became, in a few days, fond of + conversing, or rather of holding long arguments, with Henry; but his + dislike to the young laird, Archibald Mackenzie, hourly increased. + Archibald and his mother, Lady Catherine Mackenzie, were relations to Mrs. + Campbell, and they were now upon a visit at her house. Lady Catherine, a + shrewd woman, fond of precedence, and fully sensible of the importance + that wealth can bestow, had sedulously inculcated into the mind of her son + all the maxims of worldly wisdom which she had collected in her + intercourse with society; she had inspired him with family pride, but at + the same time had taught him to pay obsequious court to his superiors in + rank or fortune: the art of rising in the world, she knew, did not + entirely depend upon virtue or ability; she was consequently more + solicitous about her son’s manners than his morals, and was more anxious + that he should form high connexions, than that he should apply to the + severe studies of a profession. Archibald was nearly what might be + expected from his education, alternately supple to his superiors, and + insolent to his inferiors: to insinuate himself into the favour of young + men of rank and fortune, he affected to admire extravagance; but his + secret maxims of parsimony operated even in the midst of dissipation. + Meanness and pride usually go together. It is not to be supposed that + young Forester had such quick penetration, that he could discover the + whole of the artful Archibald’s character in the course of a few days’ + acquaintance; but he disliked him for good reasons, because he was a + laird, because he had laughed at his first entrée, and because he was + learning to dance. + </p> + <h3> + THE SKELETON. + </h3> + <p> + About a week after our hero’s arrival at Dr. Campbell’s, the doctor was + exhibiting some chemical experiments, with which Henry hoped that his + young friend would be entertained; but Forester had scarcely been five + minutes in the laboratory, before Mackenzie, who was lounging about the + room, sneeringly took notice of a large hole in his shoe. “It is easily + mended,” said the independent youth; and he immediately left the + laboratory, and went to a cobbler’s, who lived in a narrow lane, at the + back of Dr. Campbell’s house. Forester had, from his bed-chamber window, + seen this cobbler at work early every morning; he admired his industry, + and longed to be acquainted with him. The good-humoured familiarity of + Forester’s manner pleased the cobbler, who was likewise diverted by the + eagerness of <i>the young gentleman</i> to mend his own shoe. After + spending some hours at the cobbler’s stall, the shoe was actually mended, + and Forester thought that his morning’s work was worthy of admiration. In + a court (or, as such places are called in Edinburgh, a close) near the + cobbler’s, he saw some boys playing at ball: he joined them; and, whilst + they were playing, a dancing-master with his hair powdered, and who seemed + afraid of spattering his clean stockings, passed through the court, and + interrupted the ball players for a few seconds. The boys, as soon as the + man was out of hearing, declared that he passed through <i>their</i> court + regularly twice a day, and that he always kicked their marbles out of the + ring. Without staying to weigh this evidence scrupulously, Forester + received it with avidity, and believed all that had been asserted was + true, because the accused was a dancing-master; from his education he had + conceived an antipathy to dancing-masters, especially to such as wore silk + stockings, and had their heads well powdered. Easily fired at the idea of + any injustice, and eager to redress the grievances of <i>the poor,</i> + Forester immediately concerted with these boys a scheme to deliver them + from what he called the insolence of the dancing-master, and promised that + he would compel him to go round by another street. + </p> + <p> + In his zeal for the liberty of his new companions, our hero did not + consider that he was infringing upon the liberties of a man who had never + done him any injury, and over whom he had no right to exercise any + control. + </p> + <p> + Upon his return to Dr. Campbell’s, Forester heard the sound of a violin; + and he found that his enemy, M. Pasgrave, the dancing-master, was + attending Archibald Mackenzie: he learnt, that he was engaged to give + another lesson the next evening; and the plans of the confederates in the + ball-alley were arranged accordingly. In Dr. Campbell’s room Forester + remembered to have seen a skeleton in a glass case; he seized upon it, + carried it down to his companions, and placed it in a niche in the wall, + on the landing-place of a flight of stone stairs down which the + dancing-master was obliged to go. A butcher’s son (one of Forester’s new + companions) he instructed to stand at a certain hour behind the skeleton, + with two rushlights, which he was to hold up to the eye-holes in the + skull. + </p> + <p> + The dancing-master’s steps were heard approaching at the expected hour; + and the boys stood in ambush to enjoy the diversion of the sight. It was a + dark night; the fiery eyes of the skeleton glared suddenly upon the + dancing-master, who was so terrified at the spectacle, and in such haste + to escape, that his foot slipped, and he fell down the stone steps: his + ankle was sprained by the fall, and he was brought to Dr. Campbell’s. + Forester was shocked at this tragical end of his intended comedy. The poor + man was laid upon a bed, and he writhed with pain. Forester, with vehement + expressions of concern, explained to Dr. Campbell the cause of this + accident, and he was much touched by the dancing-master’s good nature, + who, between every twinge of pain, assured him that he should soon be + well, and endeavoured to avert Dr. Campbell’s displeasure. Forester sat + beside the bed, reproaching himself bitterly; and he was yet more sensible + of his folly, when he heard, that the boys, whose part he had hastily + taken, had frequently amused themselves with playing mischievous tricks + upon this inoffensive man, who declared, that he had never purposely + kicked their marbles out of the ring, but had always implored them to make + way for him with all the civility in his power. + </p> + <p> + Forester resolved, that before he ever again attempted to do justice, he + would, at least, hear both sides of the question. + </p> + <h3> + THE ALARM. + </h3> + <p> + Forester would willingly have sat up all night with M. Pasgrave, to foment + his ankle from time to time, and, if possible, to assuage the pain: but + the man would not suffer him to sit up, and about twelve o’clock he + retired to rest. He had scarcely fallen asleep, when his door opened, and + Archibald Mackenzie roused him, by demanding, in a peremptory tone, how he + could sleep when the whole family were frightened out of their wits by his + pranks? + </p> + <p> + “Is the dancing-master worse? What’s the matter?” exclaimed Forester in + great terror. + </p> + <p> + Archihald replied, that he was not talking or thinking about the + dancing-master, and desired Forester to make haste and dress himself, and + that he would then soon hear what was the matter. + </p> + <p> + Forester dressed himself as fast as he could, and followed Archibald + through a long passage, which led to a back staircase. “Do you hear the + noise?” said Archibald. + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” said Forester. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’ll hear it plain enough presently,” said Archibald: “follow me + down-stairs.” + </p> + <p> + He followed, and was surprised, when he got into the hall, to find all the + family assembled. Lady Catherine had been awakened by a noise, which she + at first imagined to be the screaming of an infant. Her bedchamber was on + the ground floor, and adjoining to Dr. Campbell’s laboratory, from which + the noise seemed to proceed. She awakened her son Archibald and Mrs. + Campbell; and, when she recovered her senses a little, she listened to Dr. + Campbell, who assured her, that what her ladyship thought was the + screaming of an infant was the noise of a cat: the screams of this cat + were terrible; and, when the light approached the door of the laboratory, + the animal flew at the door with so much fury, that nobody could venture + to open it. Every body looked at Forester, as if they suspected that he + had confined the cat, or that he was in some way or other the cause of the + disturbance. The cat, which, from his having constantly fed and played + with it, had grown extremely fond of him, used to follow him often from + room to room; and he now recollected, that it followed him the preceding + evening into the laboratory, when he went to replace the skeleton. He had + not observed whether it came out of the room again, nor could he now + conceive the cause of its yelling in this horrible manner. The animal + seemed to be mad with pain. Dr. Campbell asked his son whether all the + presses were locked. Henry said he was sure they were all locked. It was + his business to lock them every evening; and he was so exact, that nobody + doubted his accuracy. + </p> + <p> + Archibald Mackenzie, who all this time knew, or at least suspected the + truth, held himself in cunning silence. The preceding evening he, for want + of something to do, had strolled into the laboratory, and, with the pure + curiosity of idleness, peeped into the presses, and took the stoppers out + of several of the bottles. Dr. Campbell happened to come in, and + carelessly asked him if he had been looking in the presses; to which + question Archibald, though with scarcely any motive for telling a + falsehood, immediately replied in the negative. As the doctor turned his + head, Archibald put aside a bottle, which he had just before taken out of + the press; and, fearing that the noise of replacing the glass stopper + would betray him, he slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. How much + useless cunning! All this transaction was now fully present to Archibald’s + memory: and he was well convinced that Henry had not seen the bottle when + he afterwards went to lock the presses; that the cat had thrown it down; + and that this was the cause of all the yelling that disturbed the house. + Archibald, however, kept his lips fast closed; he had told one falsehood; + he dreaded to have it discovered; and he hoped the blame of the whole + affair would rest upon Forester. At length the animal flew with diminished + fury at the door; its screams became feebler and feebler, till, at last, + they totally ceased. There was silence: Dr. Campbell opened the door: the + cat was seen stretched upon the ground, apparently lifeless. As Forester + looked nearer at the poor animal, he saw a twitching motion in one of its + hind legs; Dr. Campbell said, that it was the convulsion of death. + Forester was just going to lift up his cat, when his friend Henry stopped + his hand, telling him, that he would burn himself, if he touched it. The + hair and flesh of the cat on one side were burnt away, quite to the bone. + Henry pointed to the broken bottle, which, he said, had contained + vitriolic acid. + </p> + <p> + Henry in vain attempted to discover by whom the bottle of vitriolic acid + had been taken out of its place. Suspicion naturally fell upon Forester, + who, by his own account, was the last person in the room before the + presses had been locked for the night. Forester, in warm terms, asserted, + that he knew nothing of the matter. Dr. Campbell coolly observed, that + Forester ought not to be surprised at being suspected upon this occasion; + because every body had the greatest reason to suspect the person, whom + they had detected in one <i>practical joke,</i> of planning another. + </p> + <p> + “Joke!” said Forester, looking down upon his lifeless favourite; “do you + think me capable of such cruelty? Do you doubt my truth?” exclaimed + Forester, haughtily. “You are unjust. Turn me out of your house this + instant. I do not desire your protection, if I have forfeited your + esteem.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to bed for to-night in my house,” said Dr. Campbell; “moderate your + enthusiasm, and reflect coolly upon what has passed.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Campbell, as Forester indignantly withdrew, said, with a benevolent + smile, as he looked after him, “He wants nothing but a little common + sense. Henry, you must give him a little of yours.” + </p> + <p> + In the morning, Forester first went to inquire how the dancing-master had + slept, and then knocked impatiently at Dr. Campbell’s door. + </p> + <p> + “My father is not awake,” said Henry; but Forester marched directly up to + the side of the bed, and, drawing back the curtain with no gentle hand, + cried, with a loud voice, “Dr. Campbell, I am come to beg your pardon. I + was angry when I said you were unjust.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was asleep when you begged my pardon,” said Dr. Campbell, rubbing + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The dancing-master’s ankle is a great deal better; and I have buried the + poor cat,” pursued Forester: “and I hope now, doctor, you’ll at least tell + me, that you do not really suspect me of any hand in her death.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray let me go to sleep,” said Dr. Campbell, “and <i>time</i> your + explanations a little better.” + </p> + <h3> + THE GERANIUM. + </h3> + <p> + The dancing-master gradually recovered from his sprain; and Forester spent + all his pocket-money in buying a new violin for him, as his had been + broken in his fall; his watch had likewise been broken against the stone + steps. Though Forester looked upon a watch as a useless bauble, yet he + determined to get this mended; and his friend Henry went with him for this + purpose to a watchmaker’s. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Henry Campbell and Forester were consulting with the watchmaker + upon the internal state of the bruised watch, Archibald Mackenzie, who + followed them <i>for a lounge</i>, was looking over some new watches, and + ardently wished for the finest that he saw. As he was playing with this + fine watch, the watchmaker begged that he would take care not to break it. + </p> + <p> + Archibald, in the insolent tone in which he was used to speak to a <i>tradesman</i>, + replied, that if he did break it, he hoped he was able to pay for it. The + watchmaker civilly answered, “he had no doubt of that, but that the watch + was not his property; it was Sir Philip Gosling’s, who would call for it, + he expected, in a quarter of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + At the name of Sir Philip Gosling, Archibald quickly changed his tone: he + had a great ambition to be of Sir Philip’s acquaintance, for Sir Philip + was a young man who was to have a large fortune when he should come of + age, and who, in the meantime, spent as much of it as possible, with great + <i>spirit</i> and little judgment. He had been sent to Edinburgh for his + education; and he spent his time in training horses, laying bets, parading + in the public walks, and ridiculing, or, in his own phrase, <i>quizzing</i> + every sensible young man, who applied to literature or science. Sir + Philip, whenever he frequented any of the professor’s classes, took care + to make it evident to every body present, that he did not come there to + learn, and that he looked down with contempt upon all who were <i>obliged</i> + to study; he was the first always to make any disturbance in the classes, + or, in his elegant language, <i>to make a row</i>. + </p> + <p> + This was the youth of whose acquaintance Archibald Mackenzie was + ambitious. He stayed in the shop, in hopes that Sir Philip would arrive: + he was not disappointed; Sir Philip came, and, with address which Lady + Catherine would perhaps have admired, Archibald entered into conversation + with the young baronet, if conversation that might be called, which + consisted of a species of fashionable dialect, devoid of sense, and + destitute of any pretence to wit. To Forester this dialect was absolutely + unintelligible: after he had listened to it with sober contempt for a few + minutes, he pulled Henry away, saying, “Come, don’t let us waste our time + here; let us go to the brewery that you promised to show me.” + </p> + <p> + Henry did not immediately yield to the rough pull of his indignant friend, + for at this instant the door of a little back parlour behind the + watchmaker’s shop opened slowly, and a girl of about seven years old + appeared, carrying, with difficulty, a flower-pot, in which there was a + fine large geranium in full flower. Henry, who saw that the child was + scarcely able to carry it, took it out of her hands, and asked her, “Where + she would like to have it put?” + </p> + <p> + “Here, for to-day!” said the little girl, sorrowfully; “but to-morrow it + goes away for ever.” + </p> + <p> + The little girl was sorry to part with this geranium, because “she had + watched it all the winter,” and said, “that she was very fond of it; but + that she was willing to part with it, though it was just come into flower, + because the apothecary had told her, that it was the cause of her + grandmother’s having been taken ill. Her grandmother lodged,” she said, + “in <i>that</i> little room, and the room was very close, and she was + taken ill in the night—so ill, that she could hardly speak or stir; + and when the apothecary came, he said,” continued the little girl, “it was + no wonder any body was ill, who slept in such a little close room, with + such a great geranium in it, <i>to poison the air</i>. So my geranium must + go!” concluded she with a sigh: “but, as it is for grandmother, I shall + never think of it again.” + </p> + <p> + Henry Campbell and Forester were both struck with the modest simplicity of + this child’s countenance and manner, and they were pleased with the + unaffected generosity with which she gave up her favourite geranium. + Forester noted this down in his mind as a fresh instance in favour of his + <i>exclusive</i> good opinion of the poor. This little girl looked poor, + though she was decently dressed; she was so thin, that her little + cheek-bones could plainly be seen; her face had not the round, rosy beauty + of cheerful health: she was pale and sallow, and she looked in patient + misery. Moved with compassion, Forester regretted that he had no money to + give where it might have been so well bestowed. He was always <i>extravagant</i> + in his generosity; he would often give five guineas where five shillings + would have been enough, and by these means he reduced himself to the + necessity sometimes of refusing assistance to deserving objects. On his + journey from his father’s house to Edinburgh, he lavished, in + undistinguishing charity, a considerable sum of money; and all that he had + remaining of this money he spent in purchasing the new violin for M. + Pasgrave. Dr. Campbell absolutely refused to advance his ward any money + till his next quarterly allowance should become due. Henry, who always + perceived quickly what passed in the minds of others, guessed at + Forester’s thoughts by his countenance, and forebore to produce his own + money, though he had it just ready in his hand: he knew that he could call + again at the watchmaker’s, and give what he pleased, without ostentation. + </p> + <p> + Upon questioning the little girl further, concerning her grandmother’s + illness, Henry discovered, that the old woman had sat up late at night + knitting, and that, feeling herself extremely cold, she got a pan of + charcoal into her room; that, soon afterwards, she felt uncommonly drowsy; + and when her little grand-daughter spoke to her, and asked her why she did + not come to bed, she made no answer: a few minutes after this, she dropped + from her chair. The child was extremely frightened, and though she felt it + very difficult to rouse herself, she said, she got up as fast as she + could, opened the door, and called to the watchmaker’s wife, who luckily + had been at work late, and was now raking the kitchen fire. With her + assistance the old woman was brought into the air, and presently returned + to her senses: the pan of charcoal had been taken away before the + apothecary came in the morning; as he was in a great hurry when he called, + he made but few inquiries, and consequently condemned the geranium without + sufficient evidence. As he left the house, he carelessly said, “My wife + would like that geranium, I think.” And the poor old woman, who had but a + very small fee to offer, was eager to give any thing that seemed to please + the <i>doctor</i>. + </p> + <p> + Forester, when he heard this story, burst into a contemptuous exclamation + against the meanness of this and of all other apothecaries. Henry informed + the little girl, that the charcoal had been the cause of her grandmother’s + illness, and advised them never, upon any account, to keep a pan of + charcoal again in her bedchamber; he told her, that many people had been + killed by this practice. “Then,” cried the little girl, joyfully, “if it + was the charcoal, and not the geranium, that made grandmother ill, I may + keep my beautiful geranium:” and she ran immediately to gather some of the + flowers, which she offered to Henry and to Forester. Forester, who was + still absorbed in the contemplation of the apothecary’s meanness, took the + flowers, without perceiving that he took them, and pulled them to pieces + as he went on thinking. Henry, when the little girl held the geraniums up + to him, observed, that the back of her hand was bruised and black; he + asked her how she had hurt herself, and she replied innocently, “that she + had not hurt <i>herself</i>, but that her schoolmistress was a very <i>strict</i> + woman.” Forester, roused from his reverie, desired to hear what the little + girl meant by a <i>strict</i> woman, and she explained herself more fully: + she said, that, as a favour, her grandmother had obtained leave from some + great lady to send her to a charity school: that she went there every day + to learn to read and work, but that the mistress of the charity school + used her scholars very severely, and often kept them for hours, after they + had done their own <i>tasks</i>, to spin for her; and that she beat them + if they did not spin as much as she expected. The little girl’s + grandmother then said, that she knew all this, but that she did not dare + to complain, because the schoolmistress was under the patronage of some of + “the grandest ladies in Edinburgh,” and that, as she could not afford to + pay for her little lass’s schooling, she was forced to have her taught as + well as she could <i>for nothing</i>. + </p> + <p> + Forester, fired with indignation at this history of injustice, resolved, + at all events, to stand forth immediately in the child’s defence; but, + without staying to consider how the wrong could be redressed, he thought + only of the quickest, or, as he said, the most manly means of doing the + business: he declared, that if the little girl would show him the way to + the school, he would go that instant and speak to the woman in the midst + of all her scholars. Henry in vain represented that this would not be a + prudent mode of proceeding. + </p> + <p> + Forester disdained prudence, and, trusting securely to the power of his + own eloquence, he set out with the child, who seemed rather afraid to come + to open war with her tyrant. Henry was obliged to return home to his + father, who had usually business for him to do about this time. The little + girl had stayed at home on account of her grandmother’s illness, but all + the other scholars were hard at work, spinning in a close room, when + Forester arrived. + </p> + <p> + He marched directly into the schoolroom. The wheels stopped at once on his + appearance, and the schoolmistress, a raw-boned, intrepid-looking woman + eyed him with amazement: he broke silence in the following words:— + </p> + <p> + “Vile woman, your injustice is come to light! How can you dare to + tyrannize over these poor children? Is it because they are poor? Take my + advice, children, resist this tyrant, put by your wheels, and spin for her + no more.” + </p> + <p> + The children did not move, and the schoolmistress poured out a torrent of + abuse in broad Scotch, which, to the English ear of Forester, was + unintelligible. At length she made him comprehend her principal questions—Who + he was? and by whose authority he interfered between her and her scholars? + “By nobody’s authority,” was Forester’s answer; “I want no authority to + speak in the cause of injured innocence.” No sooner had the woman heard + these words, than she called to her husband, who was writing in an + adjoining room: without further ceremony, they both seized upon our hero, + and turned him out of the house. + </p> + <p> + The woman revenged herself without mercy upon the little girl whom + Forester had attempted to defend, and dismissed her, with advice never + more to complain of being obliged to spin for her mistress. + </p> + <p> + Mortified by the ill success of his enterprise, Forester returned home, + attributing the failure of his eloquence chiefly to his ignorance of the + Scotch dialect. + </p> + <h3> + THE CANARY BIRD + </h3> + <p> + At his return, Forester heard, that all Dr. Campbell’s family were going + that evening to visit a gentleman who had an excellent cabinet of + minerals. He had some desire to see the fossils; but when he came to the + gentleman’s house, he soon found himself disturbed at the praises bestowed + by some ladies in company upon a little canary bird, which belonged to the + mistress of the house. He began to kick his feet together, to hang first + one arm and then the other over the back of his chair, with the obvious + expression of impatience and contempt in his countenance. Henry Campbell, + in the meantime, said, without any embarrassment, just what he thought + about the bird. Archibald Mackenzie, with artificial admiration, said a + vast deal more than he thought, in hopes of effectually recommending + himself to the lady of the house. The lady told him the history of three + birds, which had successively inhabited the cage before the present + occupier. “They all died,” continued she, “in a most <i>extraordinary</i> + manner, one after another, in a short space of time, in convulsions.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t listen,” whispered Forester, pulling Henry away from the crowd who + surrounded the bird-cage; “how can you listen, like that polite hypocrite, + to this foolish woman’s history of her <i>extraordinary</i> favourites? + Come down-stairs with me, I want to tell you my adventure with the + schoolmistress; we can take a turn in the hall, and come back before the + cabinet of minerals is opened, and before these women have finished the + ceremony of tea. Come.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll come presently,” said Henry; “I really want to hear this.” + </p> + <p> + Henry Campbell was not listening to the history of the lady’s favourite + birds like a polite hypocrite, but like a good-natured sensible person; + the circumstances recalled to his memory the conversation that we formerly + mentioned, which began about pickled cucumbers, and ended with Dr. + Campbell’s giving an account of the effects of some poisons. In + consequence of this conversation, Henry’s attention had been turned to the + subject, and he had read several essays, which had informed him of many + curious facts. He recollected, in particular, to have met with the + account{2} of a bird that had been poisoned, and whose case bore a strong + resemblance to the present. He begged leave to examine the cage, in order + to discover whether there were any lead about it, with which the birds + could have poisoned themselves. No lead was to be found: he next examined + whether there were any white or green paint about it; he inquired whence + the water came which the birds had drunk; and he examined the trough which + held their seeds. The lady, whilst he was pursuing these inquiries, said + she was sure that the birds could not have died either for want of air or + exercise, for that she often left the cage open on purpose, that they + might fly about the room. Henry immediately looked round the room, and at + length he observed in an inkstand, which stood upon a writing table, a + number of wafers, which were many of them chipped round the edges; upon + sweeping out the bird-cage, he found a few very small bits of wafer mixed + with the seeds and dust; he was now persuaded that the birds had eaten the + wafers, and that they had been poisoned by the red lead which they + contained; he was confirmed in this opinion, by being told, that the + wafers had lately been missed very frequently, and it had been imagined + that they had been used by the servants. Henry begged the lady would try + an experiment, which might probably save the life of her new favourite; + the lady, though she had never before tried an experiment, was easily + prevailed upon. She promised Henry that she would lock up the wafers; and + he prophesied that her bird would not, like his predecessors, come to an + untimely end. Archibald Mackenzie was vexed to observe, that knowledge had + in this instance <i>succeeded</i> better, even with a lady, than flattery. + As for Forester, he would certainly have admired his friend Henry’s + ingenuity, if he had been attending to what had passed; but he had taken a + book, and had seated himself in an arm-chair, which had been placed on + purpose for an old gentleman in company, and was deep in the history of a + man who had been cast away, some hundred years ago, upon a desert island. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Falconer, on the Poison of Lead and Copper.} + </p> + <p> + He condescended, however, to put down his book when the fossils were + produced: and, as if he had just awakened from a dream, rubbed his eyes, + stretched himself, and joined the rest of the company. The malicious + Archibald, who observed that Forester had seated himself, through absence + of mind, in a place which prevented some of the ladies from seeing the + fossils, instantly made a parade of his own politeness, to contrast + himself advantageously with the rude negligence of his companion; but + Archibald’s politeness was always particularly directed to the persons in + company whom he thought of the most importance. “You can’t see there,” + said Forester, suddenly rousing himself, and observing that Dr. Campbell’s + daughter, Miss Flora Campbell, was standing behind him; “had you not + better sit down in this chair? I don’t want it, because I can see over + your head; sit down.” Archibald smiled at Forester’s simplicity, in paying + his awkward compliment to the young lady, who had, according to his mode + of estimating, the least pretensions to notice of any one present. Flora + Campbell was neither rich nor beautiful, but she had a happy mixture in + her manners of Scottish sprightliness and English reserve. She had an + eager desire to improve herself, whilst a nice sense of propriety taught + her never to intrude upon general notice, or to recede from conversation + with airs of counterfeit humility. Forester admired her abilities, because + he imagined that he was the only person who had ever discovered them; as + to her manners, he never observed these, but even whilst he ridiculed + politeness he was anxious to find out what she thought polite. After he + had told her all that he knew concerning the fossils, as they were + produced from the cabinet—and he was far from ignorant—he at + length perceived that she knew full as much of natural history as he did, + and he was surprised that a young lady should know so much, and should not + be conceited. Flora, however, soon sunk many degrees in his opinion; for, + after the cabinet of mineralogy was shut, some of the company talked of a + ball, which was to be given in a few days, and Flora, with innocent + gaiety, said to Forester, “Have you learnt to dance a Scotch reel since + you came to Scotland?” “<i>I!</i>” cried Forester with contempt; “do you + think it the height of human perfection to dance a Scotch reel?—then + that fine young laird, Mr. Archibald Mackenzie, will suit you much better + than I shall.” And Forester returned to his arm-chair and his desert + island. + </p> + <h3> + THE KEY. + </h3> + <p> + It was unfortunate that Forester retired from company in such abrupt + displeasure at Flora Campbell’s question, for had he borne the idea of a + Scotch reel more like a philosopher, he would have heard of something + interesting relative to the intended ball, if any thing relative to a ball + could be interesting to him. It was a charity-ball, for the benefit of the + mistress of the very charity-school{3} to which the little girl with the + bruised hand belonged. “Do you know,” said Henry to Forester, when they + returned home, “that I have great hopes we shall be able to get justice + done to the poor children? I hope the tyrannical schoolmistress may yet be + punished. The lady, with whom we drank tea yesterday is one of the + patronesses of the charity-school.” + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: There is no charity-school of this description in Edinburgh; + this cannot, therefore, be mistaken for private satire.} + </p> + <p> + “Lady patronesses!” cried Forester; “we need not expect justice from a + lady patroness, depend upon it, especially at a ball; her head will be + full of feathers, or some such things. I prophesy you will not succeed + better than I have.” + </p> + <p> + The desponding prophecies of Forester did not deter Henry from pursuing a + scheme which he had formed. The lady, who was the mistress of the canary + bird, came in a few days to visit his mother, and she told him that his + experiment had succeeded, that she had regularly locked up the wafers, and + that her favourite bird was in perfect health. “And what fee, doctor,” + said she, smiling, “shall I give you for saving his life?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you in a few minutes,” replied Henry; and in a few minutes + the little girl and her geranium were sent for, and appeared. Henry told + the lady all the circumstances of her story with so much feeling, and at + the same time with so much propriety, that she became interested in the + cause: she declared that she would do every thing in her power to prevail + upon the other ladies to examine into the conduct of the schoolmistress, + and to have her dismissed immediately, if it should appear that she had + behaved improperly. + </p> + <p> + Forester, who was present at this declaration, was much astonished, that a + lady, whom he had seen caressing a canary-bird, could speak with so much + decision and good sense. Henry obtained his fee: he asked and received + permission to place the geranium in the middle of the supper-table at the + ball; and he begged that the lady would take an opportunity, at supper, to + mention the circumstances which he had related to her; but this she + declined, and politely said, that she was sure Henry would tell the story + much better than she could. + </p> + <p> + “Come out and walk with me,” said Forester to Henry, as soon as the lady + was gone. Henry frequently left his occupations with great good-nature, to + accompany our hero in his rambles, and he usually followed the subjects of + conversation which Forester started. He saw, by the gravity of his + countenance, that he had something of importance revolving in his mind. + After he had proceeded in silence for some time along the walk, under the + high rock called Arthur’s Seat, he suddenly stopped, and, turning to + Henry, exclaimed, “I esteem you; do not make me despise you!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I never shall,” said Henry, a little surprised by his friend’s + manner; “what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Leave balls, and lady patronesses, and petty artifices, and supple + address, to such people as Archibald Mackenzie,” pursued Forester, with + enthusiasm: + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Who noble ends by noble means pursues—“<br /> +“Will scorn canary birds, and <i>cobble shoes</i>,”<br /> +</p> + + <p class="noindent"> + replied Henry, laughing; “I see no meanness in my conduct: I do not know + what it is you disapprove.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not approve,” said Forester, “of your having recourse to <i>mean + address</i> to obtain justice.” + </p> + <p> + Henry requested to know what his severe friend meant by <i>address</i>; + but this was not easily explained. Forester, in his definition of <i>mean + address</i>, included all that attention to the feelings of others, all + those honest arts of pleasing, which make society agreeable. Henry + endeavoured to convince him, that it was possible for a person to wish to + please, nay, even to succeed in that wish, without being insincere. Their + argument and their walk continued, till Henry, who, though very active, + was not quite so robust as his friend, was completely tired, especially as + he perceived that Forester’s opinions remained unshaken. + </p> + <p> + “How effeminate you <i>gentlemen</i> are!” cried Forester: “see what it is + to be brought up in the lap of luxury. Why, I am not at all tired; I could + walk a dozen miles further, without being in the least fatigued!” + </p> + <p> + Henry thought it a very good thing to be able to walk a number of miles + without being fatigued, but he did not consider it as the highest + perfection of human nature. In his friend’s present mood, nothing less + could content him, and Forester went on to demonstrate to the weary Henry, + that all fortitude, all courage, and all the manly virtues, were + inseparably connected with <i>pedestrian indefatigability</i>. Henry, with + good-natured presence of mind, which perhaps his friend would have called + <i>mean address</i>, diverted our hero’s rising indignation by proposing + that they should both go and look at the large brewery which was in their + way home, and with which Forester would, he thought, be entertained. + </p> + <p> + The brewery fortunately turned the course of Forester’s thoughts, and, + instead of quarrelling with his friend for being tired, he condescended to + postpone all further debate. Forester had, from his childhood, a habit of + twirling a key, whenever he was thinking intently: the key had been + produced, and had been twirling upon its accustomed thumb during the + argument upon address; and it was still in Forester’s hand when they went + into the brewery. As he looked and listened, the key was essential to his + power of attending; at length, as he stopped to view a large brewing vat, + the key unluckily slipped from his thumb, and fell to the bottom of the + vat: it was so deep, that the tinkling sound of the key, as it touched the + bottom, was scarcely heard. A young man who belonged to the brewery + immediately descended by a ladder into the vat, to get the key, but + scarcely had he reached the bottom, when he fell down senseless. Henry + Campbell was speaking to one of the clerks of the brewery when this + accident happened: a man came running to them with the news, “The vat has + not been cleaned; it’s full of bad air.” “Draw him up, let down a hook and + cords for him instantly, or he’s a dead man,” cried Henry, and he + instantly ran to the place. What was his terror, when he beheld Forester + descending the ladder! He called to him to stop; he assured him that the + man could be saved without his hazarding his life: but Forester persisted; + he had one end of a cord in his hand, which he said he could fasten in an + instant round the man’s body. There was a skylight nearly over the vat, so + that the light fell directly upon the bottom. + </p> + <p> + Henry saw his friend reach the last step of the ladder. As Forester + stooped to put the rope round the shoulders of the man, who lay insensible + at the bottom of the vat, a sudden air of idiocy came over his animated + countenance; his limbs seemed no longer to obey his will; his arms + dropped, and he fell insensible. + </p> + <p> + The spectators, who were looking down from above, were so much terrified, + that they could not decide to do any thing; some cried, “It’s all over + with him! Why would he go down?” Others ran to procure a hook—others + called to him to take up the rope again, if he possibly could: but + Forester could not hear or understand them, Henry Campbell was the only + person who, in this scene of danger and confusion, had sufficient presence + of mind to be of service. + </p> + <p> + Near the large vat, into which Forester had descended, there was a cistern + of cold water. Henry seized a bucket, which was floating in the cistern, + filled it with water, and emptied the water into the vat, dashing it + against the sides, to disperse the water, and to displace the mephitic + air{4}, He called to the people, who surrounded him, for assistance; the + water expelled the air; and, when it was safe to descend, Henry instantly + went down the ladder himself, and fastened the cord round Forester, who + was quite helpless. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 4: Carbonic acid gas.} + </p> + <p> + “Draw him up!” said Henry, They drew him up. Henry fastened another cord + round the body of the other man, who lay at the bottom of the vessel, and + he was taken up in the same manner. Forester soon returned to his senses, + when he was carried into the air; it was with more difficulty that the + other man, whose animation had been longer suspended, was recovered; at + length, however, by proper application, his lungs played freely, he + stretched himself, looked round upon the people who were about him with an + air of astonishment, and was some time before he could recollect what had + happened to him. Forester, as soon as he had recovered the use of his + understanding, was in extreme anxiety to know whether the poor man, who + went down for his key, had been saved. His gratitude to Henry, when he + heard all that had passed, was expressed in the most enthusiastic manner. + </p> + <p> + “I acted like a madman, and you like a man of sense,” said Forester. “You + always know how to do good: I do mischief, whenever I attempt to do good. + But now, don’t expect, Henry, that I should give up any of my opinions to + you, because you have saved my life. I shall always argue with you just as + I did before. Remember, I despise <i>address</i>, I don’t yield a single + point to you. Gratitude shall never make me a sycophant.” + </p> + <h3> + THE FLOWERPOT. + </h3> + <p> + Eager to prove that he was not a sycophant, Forester, when he returned + home with his friend Henry, took every possible occasion to contradict + him, with even more than his customary rigidity; nay, he went further + still, to vindicate his sincerity. + </p> + <p> + Flora Campbell had never entirely recovered our hero’s esteem, since she + had unwittingly expressed her love for Scotch reels; but she was happily + unconscious of the crime she had committed, and was wholly intent upon + pleasing her father and mother, her brother Henry, and herself. She had a + constant flow of good spirits, and the charming domestic talent of making + every trifle a source of amusement to herself and others: she was + sprightly, without being frivolous; and the uniform sweetness of her + temper showed, that she was not in the least in want of flattery, or + dissipation, to support her gaiety. But Forester, as the friend of her + brother, thought it incumbent upon him to discover faults in her which no + one else could discover, and to assist in her education, though she was + only one year younger than himself. She had amused herself, the morning + that Forester and her brother were at the brewery, with painting a + pasteboard covering for the flower-pot which held the poor little girl’s + geranium. Flora had heard from her brother of his intention to place it in + the middle of the supper-table, at the ball; and she flattered herself, + that he would like to see it ornamented by her hands at his return. She + produced it after dinner. Henry thanked her, and her father and mother + were pleased to see her eagerness to oblige her brother. The cynical + Forester alone refused his sympathy. He looked at the flower-pot with + marked disdain. Archibald, who delighted to contrast himself with the + unpolished Forester, and who remarked that Flora and her brother were both + somewhat surprised at his unsociable silence, slyly said, “There’s + something in this flower-pot Miss Campbell, which does not suit Mr. + Forester’s correct taste; I wish he would allow us to profit by his + criticisms.” + </p> + <p> + Forester vouchsafed not a reply. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you like it, Forester?” said Henry. + </p> + <p> + “No, he does not like it,” said Flora, smiling; “don’t force him to say + that he does.” + </p> + <p> + “Force me to say I like what I don’t like!” repeated Forester; “no, I defy + any body to do that.” + </p> + <p> + “But why,” said Dr. Campbell, laughing, “why such a waste of energy and + magnanimity about a trifle? If you were upon your trial for life or death, + Mr. Forester, you could not look more resolutely guarded—more as if + you had ‘worked up each corporal agent’ to the terrible feat!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Forester, who bore the laugh that was raised against him with + the air of a martyr, “I can bear even your ridicule in the cause of + truth.” The laugh continued at the solemnity with which he pronounced + these words. “I think,” pursued Forester, “that those who do not respect + truth in trifles, will never respect it in matters of consequence.” + </p> + <p> + Archibald Mackenzie laughed more loudly, and with affectation, at this + speech: Henry and Dr. Campbell’s laughter instantly ceased. + </p> + <p> + “Do not mistake us,” said Dr. Campbell; “we did not laugh at your + principles, we only laughed at your manner.” + </p> + <p> + “And are not principles of rather more consequence than manners?” + </p> + <p> + “Of infinitely more consequence,” said Dr. Campbell: “but why, to + excellent principles, may we not add agreeable manners? Why should not + truth be amiable, as well as respectable? You, who have such enlarged + views for the good of the whole human race, are, I make no doubt, desirous + that your fellow-creatures should love truth, as well as you love it + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I wish they did,” said Forester. + </p> + <p> + “And have your observations upon the feelings of others, and upon your + own, led you to conclude, that we are most apt to like those things which + always give us pain? And do you, upon this principle, wish to make truth + as painful as possible, in order to increase our love for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to make truth painful,” said Forester; “but, at the same + time, it is not my fault if people can’t bear pain. I think people who + can’t bear pain, both of body and mind, cannot be good for any thing; for, + in the first place, they will always,” said Forester, glancing his eye at + Flora and her flower-pot,—“they will always prefer flattery to + truth, as all weak people do.” + </p> + <p> + At this sarcastic reflection, which seemed to be aimed at the sex, Lady + Catherine, Mrs. Campbell, and all the ladies present, except Flora, began + to speak at once in their own vindication. + </p> + <p> + As soon as there was any prospect of peace, Dr. Campbell resumed his + argument in the calmest voice imaginable. + </p> + <p> + “But, Mr. Forester, without troubling ourselves for the present with the + affairs of the ladies, or of weak people, may I ask what degree of + unnecessary pain you think it the duty of a strong person, a moral Samson, + to bear?” + </p> + <p> + “Unnecessary pain! I do not think it is any body’s duty to bear <i>unnecessary</i> + pain.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor to make others bear it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nor to make others bear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we need argue no further. I congratulate you, Mr. Forester, upon + your becoming so soon a proselyte to politeness.” + </p> + <p> + “To politeness!” said Forester, starting back. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my good sir; real politeness only teaches us to save others from <i>unnecessary + pain</i>; and <i>this</i> you have just allowed to be your wish.—And + now for the grand affair of Flora’s flower-pot. You are not bound by + politeness to tell any falsehoods; weak as she is, and a woman, I hope she + can bear to hear the painful truth upon such an important occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Forester, who at last suffered his features to relax into a + smile, “the truth then is, that I don’t know whether the flower-pot be + pretty or ugly, but I was determined not to say it was pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “But why,” said Henry, “did you look so heroically severe about the + matter?” + </p> + <p> + “The reason I looked grave,” said Forester, “was, because I was afraid + your sister Flora would be spoiled by all the foolish compliments that + were paid to her and her flower-pot.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very considerate; and Flora, I am sure, is much obliged to you,” + said Dr. Campbell, smiling, “for being so clear-sighted to the dangers of + female vanity. You would not then, with a safe conscience, trust the + completion of her education to her mother, or to myself?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure, sir,” said Forester, who now, for the first time, seemed + sensible that he had not spoken with perfect propriety, “I would not + interfere impertinently for the world. You are the best judges; only I + thought parents were apt to be partial. Henry has saved my life, and I am + interested for every thing that belongs to him. So I hope, if I said any + thing rude, you will attribute it to a good motive. I wish the flower-pot + had never made its appearance, for it has made me appear very + impertinent.” + </p> + <p> + Flora laughed with so much good humour at this odd method of expressing + his contrition, that even Forester acknowledged the influence of engaging + manners and sweetness of temper. He lifted up the flower-pot, so as + completely to screen his face, and, whilst he appeared to be examining it, + he said, in a low voice, to Henry, “She is above the foibles of her sex.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Forester, take care!” cried Flora. + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” said Forester, starting. + </p> + <p> + “It is too late now,” said Flora. + </p> + <p> + And it was too late. Forester, in his awkward manner of lifting the + flower-pot and its painted case, had put his thumbs into the mould, with + which the flower-pot had been newly filled. It was quite soft and wet. + Flora, when she called to him, saw the two black thumbs just ready to + stamp themselves upon her work, and her warning only accelerated its fate; + for, the instant she spoke, the thumbs closed upon the painted covering, + and Forester was the last to perceive the mischief that he had done. + </p> + <p> + There was no possibility of effacing the stains, nor was there time to + repair the damage, for the ball was to commence in a few hours, and Flora + was obliged to send her disfigured work, without having had the + satisfaction of hearing the ejaculation which Forester pronounced in her + praise behind the flower-pot. + </p> + <h3> + THE BALL. + </h3> + <p> + Henry seized the moment when Forester was softened by the mixed effect of + Dr. Campbell’s raillery and Flora’s good humour, to persuade him, that it + would be perfectly consistent with sound philosophy to dress himself for a + ball, nay, even to dance a country-dance. The word <i>reel</i>, to which + Forester had taken a dislike, Henry prudently forbore to mention; and + Flora, observing, and artfully imitating her brother’s prudence, + substituted the word <i>hays</i> instead of <i>reels</i> in her + conversation. When all the party were ready to go to the ball, and the + carriages at the door, Forester was in Dr. Campbell’s study, reading the + natural history of the elephant. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Henry, who had been searching for him all over the house, “we + are waiting for you; I’m glad to see you dressed—come!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would leave me behind,” said Forester, who seemed to have + relapsed into his former unsociable humour, from having been left half an + hour in his beloved solitude; nor would Henry probably have prevailed, if + he had not pointed to the print of the elephant{5}. “That mighty animal, + you see, is so docile, that he lets himself be guided by a young boy,” + said Henry; “and so must you.” + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 5: Cabinet of Quadrupeds.} + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he pulled Forester gently, who thought he could not show less + docility than his favourite animal. When they entered the ball-room, + Archibald Mackenzie asked Flora to dance, whilst Forester was considering + where he should put his hat. “Are you going to dance without me? I thought + I had asked you to dance with me. I intended it all the time we were + coming in the coach.” + </p> + <p> + Flora thanked him for his kind intentions; whilst Archibald, with a look + of triumph, hurried his partner away, and the dance began. Forester saw + this transaction in the most serious light, and it afforded him subject + for meditation till at least half a dozen country-dances had been + finished. In vain the Berwick Jockey, the Highland Laddie, and the Flowers + of Edinburgh, were played; “they suited not the gloomy habit” of his soul. + He fixed himself behind a pillar, proof against music, mirth, and + sympathy: he looked upon the dancers with a cynical eye. At length he + found an amusement that gratified his present splenetic humour; he applied + both his hands to his ears, effectually to stop out the sound of the + music, that he might enjoy the ridiculous spectacle of a number of people + capering about, without any apparent motive. Forester’s attitude caught + the attention of some of the company; indeed, it was strikingly awkward. + His elbows stuck out from his ears, and his head was sunk beneath his + shoulders. Archibald Mackenzie was delighted beyond measure at his figure, + and pointed him out to his acquaintance with all possible expedition. The + laugh and the whisper circulated with rapidity. Henry, who was dancing, + did not perceive what was going on till his partner said to him, “Pray, + who is that strange mortal?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” cried Henry: “will you excuse me for one instant?” And he ran + up to Forester, and roused him from his singular attitude. “He is,” + continued Henry, as he returned to his partner, “an excellent young man, + and he has superior abilities; we must not quarrel with him for trifles.” + </p> + <p> + With what different eyes different people behold the same objects! Whilst + Forester had been stopping his ears, Dr. Campbell, who had more of the + nature of the laughing than of the weeping philosopher, had found much + benevolent pleasure in contemplating the festive scene. Not that any folly + or ridicule escaped his keen penetration; but he saw every thing with an + indulgent eye, and, if he laughed, laughed in such a manner, that even + those who were the objects of his pleasantry could scarcely have forborne + to sympathize in his mirth. Folly, he thought, could be as effectually + corrected by the tickling of a feather, as by the lash of the satirist. + When Lady Margaret M’Gregor, and Lady Mary Macintosh, for instance, had + almost forced their unhappy partners into a quarrel to support their + respective claims to precedency, Dr. Campbell, who was appealed to as the + relation of both the furious fair ones, decided the difference + expeditiously, and much to the amusement of the company, by observing, + that, as the pretensions of each of the ladies were incontrovertible, and + precisely balanced, there was but one possible method of adjusting their + precedency—by their age. He was convinced, he said, that the + youngest lady would with pleasure yield precedency to the elder. The + contest was now, which should stand the lowest, instead of which should + stand the highest, in the dance: and when the proofs of seniority could + not be settled, the fair ones drew lots for their places, and submitted + that to chance which could not be determined by prudence. + </p> + <p> + Forester stood beside Dr. Campbell whilst all this passed, and wasted a + considerable portion of virtuous indignation upon the occasion. “And look + at that absurd creature!” exclaimed Forester, pointing out to Dr. Campbell + a girl who was footing and pounding for fame at a prodigious rate. Dr. + Campbell turned from the pounding lady to observe his own daughter Flora, + and a smile of delight came over his countenance: for “<i>parents are apt + to be partial</i>”—especially those who have such daughters as + Flora. Her light figure and graceful agility attracted the attention even + of many impartial spectators; but she was not intent upon admiration: she + seemed to be dancing in the gaiety of her heart; and that was a species of + gaiety in which every one sympathized, because it was natural, and of + which every one approved, because it was innocent. There was a certain + delicacy mixed with her sportive humour, which seemed to govern, without + restraining, the tide of her spirits. Her father’s eye was following her + as she danced to a lively Scotch tune, when Forester pulled Dr. Campbell’s + cane, on which he was leaning, and exclaimed, “Doctor, I’ve just thought + of an excellent plan for a tragedy!” + </p> + <p> + “A tragedy!” repeated Dr. Campbell, with unfeigned surprise; “are you sure + you don’t mean a comedy?” + </p> + <p> + Forester persisted that he meant a tragedy, and was proceeding to open the + plot. “Don’t force me to your tragedy now,” said Dr. Campbell, “or it will + infallibly be condemned. I cannot say that I have my <i>buskin</i> on! and + I advise you to take yours off. Look, is that the tragic muse?” + </p> + <p> + Forester was astonished to find, that so great a man as Dr. Campbell had + so little the power of abstraction; and he retired to muse upon the + opening of his tragedy in a recess under the music gallery. But here he + was not suffered long to remain undisturbed; for, near this spot, Sir + Philip Gosling presently stationed himself; Archibald Mackenzie, who left + off dancing as soon as Sir Philip entered the room, came to the + half-intoxicated baronet; and they, with some other young men, worthy of + their acquaintance, began so loud a contest concerning the number of + bottles of claret which a man might, could, or should drink at a sitting, + that even Forester’s powers of abstraction failed, and his tragic muse + took her flight. + </p> + <p> + “Supper! Supper! thank God!” exclaimed Sir Philip, as supper was now + announced. “I’d never set my foot in a ballroom,” added he, with several + suitable oaths, “if it were not for the supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that a rational being?” cried Forester to Dr. Campbell, after Sir + Philip had passed them. + </p> + <p> + “Speak a little lower,” said Dr. Campbell, “or he will infallibly prove + his title to rationality by shooting you, or by making you shoot him, + through the head.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir,” said Forester, holding Dr. Campbell fast, whilst all the rest + of the company were going down to supper, “how can you bear such a number + of foolish, disagreeable people with patience?” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have me do?” said Dr. Campbell. “Would you have me get up + and preach in the middle of a ball-room? Is it not as well, since we are + here, to amuse ourselves with whatever can afford us any amusement, and to + keep in good humour with all the world, especially with ourselves?—and + had we not better follow the crowd to supper?” + </p> + <p> + Forester went down-stairs; but, as he crossed an antechamber, which led to + the supper-room, he exclaimed, “If I were a legislator, I would prohibit + balls.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you were a legislator,” said Dr. Campbell, pointing to a + tea-kettle, which was on the fire in the antechamber, and from the spout + of which a grey cloud of vapour issued—“if you were a legislator, + would not you have stoppers wedged tight into the spouts of all + tea-kettles in your dominions?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said Forester; “they would burst.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you think that folly would not burst, and do more mischief than a + tea-kettle in the explosion, if you confined it so tight?” + </p> + <p> + Forester would willingly have stayed in the antechamber, to begin a + critical dissection of this allusion; but Dr. Campbell carried him + forwards into the supper-room. Flora had kept a seat for her father; and + Henry met them at the door. + </p> + <p> + “I was just coming to see for you, sir,” said he to his father. “Flora + began to think you were lost.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Dr. Campbell, “I was only detained by a would-be Cato, who + wanted me to quarrel with the whole world, instead of eating my supper. + What would you advise me to eat, Flora?” said he, seating himself beside + her. + </p> + <p> + “Some of this trifle, papa;” and as she lightly removed the flowers with + which it was ornamented, her father said, “Yes, give me some trifle, + Flora. Some characters are like that trifle—flowers and light froth + at the top, and solid, good sweetmeat, beneath.” + </p> + <p> + Forester immediately stretched out his plate for some trifle. “But I don’t + see any use in the flowers, sir,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Nor any beauty,” said Dr. Campbell. + </p> + <p> + Forester picked the <i>troublesome</i> flowers out of his trifle, and ate + a quantity of it sufficient for a Stoic. Towards the end of the supper, he + took some notice of Henry, who had made several ineffectual efforts to + amuse him by such slight strokes of wit as seemed to suit the time and + place. Time and place were never taken into Forester’s consideration: he + was secretly displeased with his friend Henry for having danced all the + evening instead of sitting still; and he looked at Henry’s partner with a + scrutinizing eye. “So,” said he, at last, “I observe I have not been + thought worthy of your conversation to-night: this is what <i>gentlemen, + polite gentlemen</i>, who dance <i>reels</i>, call friendship!” + </p> + <p> + “If I had thought that you would have taken it ill I should dance reels,” + said Henry, laughing, “I would have made the sacrifice of a reel at the + altar of friendship; but we don’t come to a ball to make sacrifices to + friendship, but to divert ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “If we can,” said Forester, sarcastically: here he was prevented from + reproaching his friend any longer, for a party of gentlemen began to sing + catches, at the desire of the rest of the company. + </p> + <p> + Forester was now intent upon criticising the nonsensical words that were + sung; and he was composing an essay upon the power of the ancient bards, + and the effect of national music, when Flora’s voice interrupted him: + “Brother,” said she, “I have won my wager.” The wager was, that Forester + would not during supper observe the geranium that was placed in the middle + of the table. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the company were satisfied, both with their supper and their + songs, Henry, whose mind was always <i>present</i>, seized the moment when + there was silence to turn the attention of the company towards the object + upon which his own thoughts were intent. The lady-patroness, the mistress + of the canary-bird, had performed her promise: she had spoken to several + of her acquaintance concerning the tyrannical schoolmistress; and now, + fixing the attention of the company upon the geranium, she appealed to + Henry Campbell, and begged him to explain its history. A number of eager + eyes turned upon him instantly; and Forester felt, that if he had been + called upon in such a manner he could not have uttered a syllable. He now + felt the great advantage of being able to speak, without hesitation or + embarrassment, before numbers. When Henry related the poor little girl’s + story, his language and manner were so unaffected and agreeable, that he + interested every one who heard him in his cause. A subscription was + immediately raised; every body was eager to contribute something to the + child, who had been so ready, for her old grandmother’s sake, to part with + her favourite geranium. The lady who superintended the charity-school + agreed to breakfast the next morning at Dr. Campbell’s, and to go from his + house to the school precisely at the hour when the schoolmistress usually + set her unfortunate scholars to their extra task of spinning. + </p> + <p> + Forester was astonished at all this; he did not consider that negligence + and inhumanity are widely different. The lady-patronesses had, perhaps, + been rather negligent in contenting themselves with seeing the + charity-children <i>show well</i> in procession to Church, and they had + not sufficiently inquired into the conduct of the schoolmistress; but, as + soon as the facts were properly stated, the ladies were eager to exert + themselves, and candidly acknowledged that they had been to blame in + trusting so much to the reports of the superficial visitors, who had + always declared that the school was going on perfectly well. + </p> + <p> + “More people who are in the wrong,” said Dr. Campbell to Forester, “would + be corrected, if some people who are in the right had a little candour and + patience joined to their other virtues.” + </p> + <p> + As the company rose from the supper-table, several young ladies gathered + round the geranium to admire Flora’s pretty flower-pot. The black stains, + however, struck every eye. Forester was standing by rather embarrassed. + Flora, with her usual good-nature, refrained from all explanation, though + the exclamations of “How was that done?”—“Who could have done that?” + were frequently repeated. + </p> + <p> + “It was an accident,” said Flora; and, to change the conversation, she + praised the beauty of the geranium; she gathered one of the fragrant + leaves, but, as she was going to put it amongst the flowers in her bosom, + she observed she had dropped her moss-rose. It was a rarity at this time + of year: it was a rose which Henry Camphell had raised in a conservatory + of his own construction. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my brother’s beautiful rose!” exclaimed Flora. + </p> + <p> + Forester, who had been much pleased by her good-nature about the stains on + the flower-pot, now, contrary to his habits, sympathized with her concern + for the loss of her brother’s moss-rose. He even exerted himself so far as + to search under the benches and under the supper-table. He was fortunate + enough to find it; and eager to restore the prize, he with more than his + usual gallantry, but not with less than his customary awkwardness, crept + from under the table, and, stretching half his body over a bench, pushed + his arm between two young ladies into the midst of the group which + surrounded Flora. As his arm extended his wrist appeared, and at the sight + of that wrist all the young ladies shrank back, with unequivocal tokens of + disgust. They whispered—they tittered; and many expressive looks + were lost upon our hero, who still resolutely held out the hand upon which + every eye was fixed. “Here’s your rose! Is not this the rose?” said he, + still advancing the dreaded hand to Flora, whose hesitation and blushes + surprised him. Mackenzie burst into a loud laugh; and in a whisper, which + all the ladies could hear, told Forester, that “Miss Campbell was afraid + to take the rose out of his hands, lest she should catch from him what he + had caught from the carter who had brought him to Edinburgh, or from some + of his companions at the cobbler’s.” + </p> + <p> + Forester flung the rose he knew not where, sprung over the bench, rushed + between Flora and another lady, made towards the door in a straight line, + pushing every thing before him, till a passage was made for him by the + astonished crowd, who stood out of his way as if he had been a mad dog. + </p> + <p> + “Forester!” cried Henry and Dr. Campbell, who were standing upon the steps + before the door, speaking about the carriages, “what’s the matter? where + are you going? The carriage is coming to the door.” + </p> + <p> + “I had rather walk—don’t speak to me,” said Forester; “I’ve been + insulted: I am in a passion, but I can command myself. I did not knock him + down. Pray let me pass!” + </p> + <p> + Our hero broke from Dr. Campbell and Henry with the strength of an enraged + animal from his keepers; and he must have found his way home by instinct, + for he ran on without considering how he went. He snatched the light from + the servant who opened the door at Dr. Campbell’s—hurried to his own + apartment—locked, double-locked, and bolted the door—flung + himself into a chair, and, taking breath, exclaimed, “Thank God! I’ve done + no mischief. Thank God! I didn’t knock him down. Thank God! he is out of + my sight, and I am cool now—quite cool: let me recollect it all.” + </p> + <p> + Upon the coolest recollection, Forester could not reconcile his pride to + his present circumstances. “Archibald spoke the truth—why am I + angry? why <i>was</i> I angry, I mean!” He reasoned much with himself upon + the nature of true and false shame: he represented to himself that the + disorder which disfigured his hands was thought shameful only because it + was <i>vulgar</i>; that what was vulgar was not therefore immoral; that + the young tittering ladies who shrunk back from him were not supreme + judges of right and wrong; that he ought to despise their opinions, and he + despised them with all his might for two or three hours, as he walked up + and down his room with unremitting energy. At length our peripatetic + philosopher threw himself upon his bed, determined that his repose should + not be disturbed by such trifles: he had by this time worked himself up to + such a pitch of magnanimity, that he thought he could with composure meet + the disapproving eyes of millions of his fellow-creatures; but he was + alone when he formed this erroneous estimate of the strength of the human + mind. Wearied with passion and reason, he fell asleep, dreamed that he was + continually presenting flowers, which nobody would accept; awakened at the + imaginary repetition of Archibald’s laugh, composed himself again to + sleep, and dreamed that he was in a glover’s shop, trying on gloves, and + that, amongst a hundred pair which he pulled on, he could not find one + that would fit him. Just as he tore the last pair in his hurry, he + awakened, shook off his foolish dream, saw the sun rising between two + chimneys many feet below his windows, recollected that in a short time he + should be summoned to breakfast, that all the lady-patronesses were to be + at this breakfast, that he could not breakfast in gloves, that Archibald + would perhaps again laugh, and Flora perhaps again shrink back. He + reproached himself for his weakness in foreseeing and dreading this scene: + his aversion to lady-patronesses and to balls was never at a more + formidable height; he sighed for liberty and independence, which he + persuaded himself were not to be had in his present situation. In one of + his long walks he remembered to have seen, at some miles’ distance from + the town of Edinburgh, a gardener and his boy, who were singing at their + work. These men appeared to Forester to be yet happier than the cobbler, + who formerly was the object of his admiration; and he was persuaded that + he should be much happier at the gardener’s cottage than he could ever be + at Dr. Campbell’s house. + </p> + <p> + “I am not fit,” said he to himself, “to live amongst <i>idle gentlemen</i> + and <i>ladies</i>; I should be happy if I were a useful member of society; + a gardener is a useful member of society, and I will be a gardener, and + live with gardeners.” + </p> + <p> + Forester threw off the clothes which he had worn the preceding night at + the fatal ball, dressed himself in his old coat, tied up a small bundle of + linen, and took the road to the gardener’s. + </p> + <h3> + BREAKFAST. + </h3> + <p> + When Henry found that Forester was not in his room in the morning, he + concluded that he had rambled out towards Salisbury Craigs, whither he + talked the preceding day of going to botanize. + </p> + <p> + “I am surprised,” said Dr. Campbell, “that the young gentleman is out so + early, for I have a notion that he has not had much sleep since we parted, + unless he walks in his sleep, for he has been walking over my poor head + half the night.” + </p> + <p> + Breakfast went on—no Forester appeared. Lady Catherine began to fear + that he had broken his neck upon Salisbury Craigs, and related all the + falls she had ever had, or had ever been near having, in carriages, on + horseback, or otherwise. She then entered into the geography of Salisbury + Craigs, and began to dispute upon the probability of his having fallen to + the east or to the west. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lady Catherine,” said Dr. Campbell, “we are not sure that he has + been upon Salisbury Craigs; whether he has fallen to the east or to the + west, we cannot, therefore, conveniently settle.” + </p> + <p> + But Lady Catherine, whose prudential imagination travelled fast, went on + to inquire of Dr. Campbell, to whom the great Forester estate would go in + case of any accident having happened or happening to the young gentleman + before he should come of age. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Campbell was preparing to give her ladyship satisfaction upon this + point, when a servant put a letter into his hands. Henry looked in great + anxiety. Dr. Campbell glanced his eye over the letter, put it into his + pocket, and desired the servant to show the person who brought the letter + into his study. + </p> + <p> + “It’s only a little boy,” said Archibald; “I saw him as I passed through + the hall.” + </p> + <p> + “Cannot a little boy go into my study?” said Dr. Campbell, coolly. + </p> + <p> + Archibald’s curiosity was strongly excited, and he slipped out of the room + a few minutes afterward, resolved to speak to the boy, and to discover the + purpose of his embassy. But Dr. Campbell was behind him before he was + aware of his approach, and just as Archibald began to cross-examine the + boy in these words, “So you came from a young man who is about my size?” + Dr. Campbell put both his hands upon his shoulders, saying, “He came from + a young man who does not in the least resemble you, believe me, Mr. + Archibald Mackenzie.” + </p> + <p> + Archibald started, turned round, and was so abashed by the civilly + contemptuous look with which Dr. Campbell pronounced these words, that he + retired from the study without even attempting any of his usual + equivocating apologies for his intrusion. Dr. Campbell now read Forester’s + letter. It was as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “Dear Sir, + </p> + <p> + “Though I have quitted your house thus abruptly, I am not insensible of + your kindness. For the step I have taken, I can offer no apology merely to + my guardian; but you have treated me, Dr. Campbell, as your friend, and I + shall lay my whole soul open to you. + </p> + <p> + “Notwithstanding your kindness,—notwithstanding the friendship of + your son Henry, whose excellent qualities I know how to value,—I + most ingenuously own to you that I have been far from happy in your house. + I feel that I cannot be at ease in the vortex of dissipation; and the more + I see of the higher ranks of society, the more I regret that I was <i>born + a gentleman</i>. Neither my birth nor my fortune shall, however, restrain + me from pursuing that line of life which, I am persuaded, leads to virtue + and tranquillity. Let those who have no virtuous indignation obey the + voice of fashion, and at her commands let her slaves eat the bread of + idleness till it palls upon the sense! I reproach myself with having + yielded, as I have done of late, my opinions to the persuasions of + friendship; my mind has become enervated, and I must fly from the fatal + contagion. Thank Heaven, I have yet the power to fly: I have yet + sufficient force to break my chains. I am not yet reduced to the mental + degeneracy of the base monarch, who hugged his fetters because they were + of gold. + </p> + <p> + “I am conscious of powers that fit me for something better than to waste + my existence in a ball-room; and I will not sacrifice my liberty to the + absurd ceremonies of daily dissipation. I, that have been the + laughing-stock of the mean and frivolous, have yet sufficient manly pride, + unextinguished in my breast, to assert my claim to your esteem: to assert, + that I never have committed, or shall designedly commit, any action + unworthy of the friend of your son. + </p> + <p> + “I do not write to Henry, lest I should any way involve him in my + misfortunes: he is formed to shine in the <i>polite</i> world, and his + connexion with me might tarnish the lustre of his character in the eyes of + the ‘<i>nice-judging fair</i>.’ I hope, however, that he will not utterly + discard me from his heart, though I cannot dance a reel. I beg that he + will break open the lock of the trunk that is in my room, and take out of + it my Goldsmith’s Animated Nature, which he seemed to like. + </p> + <p> + “In my table-drawer there are my Martyn’s Letters on Botany, in which you + will find a number of plants that I have dried for Flora—<i>Miss</i> + Flora Campbell, I should say. After what passed last night, I can scarcely + <i>hope</i> they will be accepted. I would rather have them burned than + refused; therefore please to burn them, and say nothing more upon the + subject. Dear sir, do not judge harshly of me; I have had a severe + conflict with myself before I could resolve to leave you. But I would + rather that you should judge of me with severity than that you should + extend to me the same species of indulgence with which you last night + viewed the half-intoxicated baronet. + </p> + <p> + “I can bear any thing but contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Yours, &c. + </p> + <p> + “P.S. I trust that you will not question the bearer; he knows where I am; + I therefore put you on your guard. I mean to earn my own bread as a + gardener; I have always preferred the agricultural to the commercial + system.” + </p> + <p> + To this letter, in which the mixture of sense and extravagance did not + much surprise Dr. Campbell, he returned the following answer:— + </p> + <p> + “My dear cobbler, gardener, orator, or by whatever other name you choose + to be addressed, I am too old to be surprised at any thing, otherwise I + might have been rather surprised at some things in your eloquent letter. + You tell me that you have the power to fly, and that you do not hug your + chains, though they are of gold! Are you an alderman, or Daedalus? or are + these only figures of speech? You inform me, that you cannot live in the + vortex of dissipation, or eat the bread of idleness, and that you are + determined to be a gardener. These things seem to have no necessary + connexion with each other. Why you should reproach yourself so bitterly + for having spent one evening of your life in a ball-room, which I suppose + is what you allude to when you speak of a vortex of dissipation, I am at a + loss to discover. And why you cannot, with so much honest pride yet + unextinguished in your breast, find any occupation more worthy of your + talents, and as useful to society, as that of a gardener, I own, puzzles + me a little. Consider these things coolly; return to dinner, and we will + compare at our leisure the advantages of the mercantile and the + agricultural system. I forbear to question your messenger, as you desire; + and I shall not show your letter to Henry till after we have dined. I hope + by that time you will insist upon my burning it; which, at your request, I + shall do with pleasure, although it contains several good sentences. As I + am not yet sure you have <i>departed this life</i>, I shall not enter upon + my office of executor; I shall not break open the lock of your trunk (of + which I hope you will some time, when your mind is less exalted, find the + key), nor shall I stir in the difficult case of Flora’s legacy. When next + you write your will, let me, for the sake of your executor, advise you to + be more precise in your directions; for what can be done if you order him + to give and burn the same thing in the same sentence? As you have, amongst + your other misfortunes, the misfortune to be born heir to five or six + thousand a year, you should learn a little how to manage your own affairs, + lest you should, amongst your <i>poor</i> or <i>rich</i> companions, meet + with some who are not quite so honest as yourself. + </p> + <p> + “If, instead of returning to dine with us, you should persist in your + gardening scheme, I shall have less esteem for your good sense, but I + shall forbear to reproach you. I shall leave you to learn by your own + experience, if it be not in my power to give you the advantages of mine + gratis. But, at the same time, I shall discover where you are, and shall + inform myself exactly of all your proceedings. This, as your guardian, is + my duty. I should further warn you, that I shall not, whilst you choose to + live in a rank below your own, supply you with your customary yearly + allowance. Two hundred guineas a year would be an extravagant allowance in + your present circumstances. I do not mention money with any idea of + influencing your generous mind by mercenary motives; but it is necessary + that you should not deceive yourself by inadequate experiments: you cannot + be rich and poor at the same time. I gave you the day before yesterday + five ten-pound notes for your last quarterly allowance; I suppose you have + taken these with you, therefore you cannot be in any immediate distress + for money. I am sorry, I own, that you are so well provided, because a man + who has fifty guineas in his pocket-book cannot distinctly feel what it is + to be compelled to earn his own bread. + </p> + <p> + “Do not, my dear ward, think me harsh; my friendship for you gives me + courage to inflict present pain, with a view to your future advantage. You + must not expect to see any thing of your friend Henry until you return to + us. I shall, as his father and your guardian, request that he will trust + implicitly to my prudence upon this occasion; that he will make no + inquiries concerning you; and that he will abstain from all connexion with + you whilst you absent yourself from your friends. You cannot live amongst + the vulgar (by the vulgar I mean the ill-educated, the ignorant, those who + have neither noble sentiments nor agreeable manners), and at the same time + enjoy the pleasures of cultivated society. I shall wait, not without + anxiety, till your choice be decided. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me to be + </p> + <p> + “Your sincere friend and guardian, + </p> + <h3> + “H. CAMPBELL.” + </h3> + <p> + As soon as Dr. Campbell had despatched this letter, he returned to the + company. The ladies, after breakfast, proceeded to the charity-school; but + Henry was so anxious to learn what was become of his friend Forester, that + he could scarcely enjoy the effects of his own benevolent exertions. It + was with difficulty, such as he had never before experienced, that Dr. + Campbell obtained from him the promise to suspend all intercourse with + Forester. Henry’s first impulse, when he read the letter, which his father + now found it prudent to show him, was to search for his friend instantly. + “I am sure,” said he, “I shall be able to find him out; and if I can but + see him, and speak to him, I know I could prevail upon him to return to + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Dr. Campbell, “perhaps you might persuade him to return; but + that is not the object: unless his understanding be convinced, what should + we gain?” + </p> + <p> + “It should be convinced. I <i>could</i> convince him,” cried Henry. + </p> + <p> + “I have, my dear son,” said Dr. Campbell, smiling, “the highest opinion of + your logic and eloquence; but are your reasoning powers stronger to-day + than they were yesterday? Have you any new arguments to produce? I thought + you had exhausted your whole store without effect.” + </p> + <p> + Henry paused. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me,” continued his father, lowering his voice, “I am not + insensible to your friend’s good, and, I will say, <i>great</i> qualities; + I do not leave him to suffer evils, without feeling as much perhaps as you + can do; but I am convinced, that the solidity of his character, and the + happiness of his whole life, will depend upon the impression that is now + made upon his mind by <i>realities</i>. He will see society as it is. He + has abilities and generosity of mind which will make him a first-rate + character, if his friends do not spoil him out of false kindness.” + </p> + <p> + Henry, at these words, held out his hand to his father, and gave him the + promise which he desired. + </p> + <p> + “But,” added he, “I still have hopes from your letter—I should not + be surprised to see Forester at dinner to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I should,” said Dr. Campbell. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Campbell, alas! was right. Henry looked eagerly towards the door every + time it opened, when they were at dinner: but he was continually + disappointed. Flora, whose gaiety usually enlivened the evenings, and + agreeably relieved her father and brother after their morning studies, was + now silent. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Lady Catherine’s volubility overpowered even the philosophy of Dr. + Campbell, she wondered—she never ceased wondering—that Mr. + Forester did not appear, and that the doctor and Mrs. Campbell, and Henry + and Flora, were not more alarmed. She proposed sending twenty different + messengers after him. She was now convinced, that he had not fallen from + Salisbury Craigs, because Dr. Campbell assured her ladyship, that he had a + letter from him in his pocket, and that he was safe; but she thought that + there was imminent danger of his enlisting in a frolic, or, perhaps, + marrying some cobbler’s daughter in a pet. She turned to Archibald + Mackenzie, and exclaimed, “He was at a cobbler’s; it could not be merely + to mend his shoes. What sort of a lassy is the cobbler’s daughter? or has + the cobbler a daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “She is hump-backed, luckily,” said Dr. Campbell, coolly. + </p> + <p> + “That does not signify,” said Lady Catherine; “I’m convinced she is at the + bottom of the whole mystery; for I once heard Mr. Forester say—and + I’m sure you must recollect it, Flora, my dear, for he looked at you at + the time—I once heard him say, that personal beauty was no merit, + and that ugly people ought to be liked—or some such thing—out + of humanity. Now, out of humanity, with his odd notions, it’s ten to one, + Dr. Campbell, he marries this cobbler’s hump-backed daughter. I’m sure, if + I were his guardian, I could not rest an instant with such a thought in my + head.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” said Dr. Campbell, quietly; and in spite of her ladyship’s + astonishment, remonstrances, and conjectures, he maintained his resolute + composure. + </p> + <h3> + THE GARDENER. + </h3> + <p> + The gardener who had struck Forester’s fancy, was a square, thick, + obstinate-eyed, hard-working, ignorant, elderly man, whose soul was intent + upon his petty daily gains, and whose honesty was of that “coarse-spun, + vulgar sort{6},” which alone can be expected from men of uncultivated + minds. Mr. M’Evoy, for that was the gardener’s name, was both good-natured + and selfish; his views and ideas all centered in his own family; and his + affection was accumulated and reserved for two individuals, his son and + his daughter. The son was not so industrious as the father; he was + ambitious of seeing something of the world, and he consorted with all the + young ‘prentices in Edinburgh, who would condescend to forget that he was + a country boy, and to remember that he expected, when his father should + die, <i>to be rich</i>. Mr. M’Evoy’s daughter was an ugly, cross-looking + girl, who spent all the money that she could either earn or save upon + ribands and fine gowns, with which she fancied she could supply all the + defects of her person. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 6: Mrs. Barbauld’a Essay on the Inconsistency of Human + Expectations.} + </p> + <p> + This powerful motive for her economy operated incessantly upon her mind, + and she squeezed all that could possibly be squeezed for her private use + from the frugal household. The boy, whose place Forester thought himself + so fortunate to supply, had left the gardener, because he could not bear + to work and be scolded without eating or drinking. + </p> + <p> + The gardener willingly complied with our hero’s first request; he gave him + a spade, and he set him to work. Forester dug with all the energy of an + enthusiast, and dined like a philosopher upon long kail; but long kail did + not charm him so much the second day as it had done the first; and the + third day it was yet less to his taste; besides, he began to notice the + difference between oaten and wheaten bread. He, however, recollected that + Cyrus lived, when he was a lad, upon water-cresses—the black broth + of the Spartans he likewise remembered, and he would not complain. He + thought, that he should soon accustom himself to his scanty, homely fare. + A number of the disagreeable circumstances of poverty he had not estimated + when he entered upon his new way of life; and though at Dr. Campbell’s + table he had often said to himself, “I could do very well without all + these things,” yet, till he had actually tried the experiment, he had not + <i>clear</i> ideas upon the subject. He missed a number of little + pleasures and conveniences, which he had scarcely noticed, whilst they had + every day presented themselves as matters of course. The occupation of + digging was laborious, but it afforded no exercise to his mind, and he + felt most severely the want of Henry’s agreeable conversation; he had no + one to whom he could now talk of the water-cresses of Cyrus, or the black + broth of the Spartans; he had no one with whom he could dispute concerning + the Stoic or the Epicurean doctrines, the mercantile or the agricultural + system. Many objections to the agricultural system, which had escaped him, + occurred now to his mind; and his compassion for the worms, whom he was + obliged to cut in pieces continually with his spade, acted every hour more + forcibly upon his benevolent heart. He once attempted to explain his + feelings for the worms to the gardener, who stared at him with all the + insolence of ignorance, and bade him mind his work, with a tone of + authority which ill suited Forester’s feelings and love of independence. + </p> + <p> + “Is ignorance thus to command knowledge? Is reason thus to be silenced by + boorish stupidity?” said Forester to himself, as he recollected the + patience and candour with which Dr. Campbell and Henry used to converse + with him. He began to think, that in cultivated society he had enjoyed + more liberty of mind, more freedom of opinion, than he could taste in the + company of an illiterate gardener. The gardener’s son, though his name was + Colin, had no Arcadian simplicity, nothing which could please the classic + taste of Forester, or which could recall to his mind the Eclogues of + Virgil, or the golden age; the Gentle Shepherd, or the Ayrshire Ploughman. + Colin’s favourite holiday’s diversion was playing at <i>goff</i>; this + game, which is played with a bat loaded with lead, and with a ball, which + is harder than a cricket-ball, requires much strength and dexterity. + Forester used, sometimes, to accompany the gardener’s son to the <i>Links</i>,{7} + where numbers of people, of different descriptions are frequently seen + practising this diversion. Our hero was ambitious of excelling at the game + of <i>goff</i>; and, as he was not particularly adroit, he exposed + himself, in his first attempts, to the derision of the spectators, and he + likewise received several severe blows. Colin laughed at him without + mercy; and Forester could not help comparing the rude expressions of his + new companion’s untutored vanity with the unassuming manners and + unaffected modesty of Henry Campbell. Forester soon took an aversion to + the game of <i>goff</i>, and recollected Scotch reels with less contempt. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 7: A lea or common near Edinburgh.} + </p> + <p> + One evening, after having finished his task of digging (for digging was + now become a task), he was going to take a walk to Duddingstone lake, when + Colin, who was at the same instant setting out for the Links, roughly + insisted upon Forester’s accompanying him. Our hero, who was never much + disposed to yield to the taste of others, positively refused the + gardener’s son, with some imprudent expressions of contempt. From this + moment Colin became his enemy, and, by a thousand malicious devices, + contrived to show his vulgar hatred. + </p> + <p> + Forester now, to his great surprise, discovered that hatred could exist in + a cottage. Female vanity, he likewise presently perceived, was not + confined to the precincts of a ball-room; he found that Miss M’Evoy spent + every leisure moment in the contemplation of her own coarse image in a + fractured looking-glass. He once ventured to express his dislike of a + many-coloured plaid in which Miss M’Evoy had arrayed herself <i>for a + dance</i>; and the fury of her looks, and the loud-toned vulgarity of her + conceit, were strongly contrasted with the recollection of Flora + Campbell’s gentle manners and sweetness of temper. The painted flower-pot + was present to his imagination, and he turned from the lady who stood + before him with an air of disgust, which he had neither the wish nor the + power to conceal. The consequences of offending this high-spirited damsel + our hero had not sufficiently considered: the brother and sister, who + seldom agreed in any thing else, now agreed, though from different + motives, in an eager desire to torment Forester. Whenever he entered the + cottage, either to rest himself, or to partake of those “savoury messes, + which the <i>neat-handed</i> Phillis dresses,” he was received with sullen + silence, or with taunting reproach. The old gardener, stupid as he was, + Forester thought an agreeable companion, compared with his insolent son + and his vixen daughter. The happiest hours of the day, to our hero, were + those which he spent at his work; his affections, repressed and + disappointed, became a source of misery to him. + </p> + <p> + “Is there nothing in this world to which I can attach myself?” said + Forester, as he one day leaned upon his spade in a melancholy mood. “Must + I spend my life in the midst of absurd altercations? Is it for this that I + have a heart and an understanding? No one here comprehends one word I say—I + am an object of contempt and hatred, whilst my soul is formed for the most + benevolent feelings, and capable of the most extensive views. And of what + service am I to my fellow-creatures? Even this stupid gardener, even a + common labourer, is as useful to society as I am. Compared with Henry + Campbell, what am I? Oh, Henry!—Flora!—could you see me at + this instant, you would pity me.” + </p> + <p> + But the fear of being an object of pity wakened Forester’s pride; and + though he felt that he was unhappy, he could not bear to acknowledge that + he had mistaken the road to happiness. His imaginary picture of rural + felicity was not, to be sure, realized; but he resolved to bear his + disappointment with fortitude, to fulfil his engagements with his master, + the gardener, and then to seek some other more eligible situation. In the + meantime, his benevolence tried to expand itself upon the only individual + in this family who treated him tolerably well: he grew fond of the old + gardener, because there was nothing else near him to which he could attach + himself, not even a dog or a cat. The old man, whose temper was not quite + so enthusiastical as Forester’s, looked upon him as an industrious simple + young man, above the usual class of servants, and rather wished to keep + him in his service, because he gave him less than the current wages. + Forester, after his late reflections upon digging, began to think, that, + by applying his understanding to the business of gardening, he might + perhaps make some discoveries, which should excite his master’s + everlasting gratitude, and immortalize his own name. He pledged a shirt + and a pair of stockings at a poor bookseller’s stall, for some volumes + upon gardening; and these, in spite of the ridicule of Colin and Miss + M’Evoy, he studied usually at his meals. He at length met with an account + of some experiments upon fruit-trees, which he thought would infallibly + make the gardener’s fortune. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not tell me,” said Forester to the gardener, “that cherries were + sometimes sold very high in Edinburgh?” + </p> + <p> + “Five a penny,” said the gardener; and he wished, from the bottom of his + heart, that he had a thousand cherry-trees, but he possessed only one. + </p> + <p> + He was considerably alarmed, when Forester proposed to him, as the certain + means of making his fortune, to strip the bark off this cherry-tree, + assuring him, that a similar experiment had been tried and had succeeded; + that his cherry-tree would bear twice as many cherries, if he would only + strip the bark from it. “Let me try one branch for an experiment—I + <i>will try</i> one branch!” + </p> + <p> + But the gardener peremptorily forbade all experiments, and, shutting + Forester’s book, bade him leave such nonsense, and mind his business. + </p> + <p> + Provoked by this instance of tyrannical ignorance, Forester forgot his + character of a <i>servant boy</i>, and at length called his master an + obstinate fool. + </p> + <p> + No sooner were these words uttered, than the gardener emptied the remains + of his watering-pot coolly in Forester’s face, and, first paying him his + wages, dismissed him from his service. + </p> + <p> + Miss M’Evoy, who was at work, seated at the door, made room most joyfully + for Forester to pass, and observed, that she had long since prophesied he + would not <i>do</i> for them. + </p> + <p> + Forester was now convinced, that it was impossible to reform a positive + old gardener, to make him try new experiments upon cherry-trees, or to + interest him for the progress of science. He deplored the perversity of + human nature, and he began, when he reflected upon the characters of Miss + M’Evoy and her brother, to believe, that they were beings distinct from + the rest of their species; he was, at all events, glad to have parted with + such odious companions. On his road to Edinburgh he had time for various + reflections. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty shillings, then, with hard bodily labour, I have earned for one + month’s service!” said Forester to himself. “Well, I will keep to my + resolution. I will live upon the money I earn, and upon that alone; I will + not have recourse to my bank notes till the last extremity.” He took out + his pocket-book, however, and looked at them, to see that they were safe. + “How wretched,” thought he, “must be that being, who is obliged to + purchase, in his utmost need, the assistance of his fellow-creatures with + such vile trash as this! I have been unfortunate in my first experiment; + but all men are not like this selfish gardener and his brutal son, + incapable of disinterested friendship.” + </p> + <p> + Here Forester was interrupted in his meditations by a young man, who + accosted him with—“Sir, if I don’t mistake, I believe I have a key + of yours.” + </p> + <p> + Forester looked up at the young man’s face, and recollected him to be the + person who had nearly lost his life in descending for his key into the + brewing-vat. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you again, sir,” continued the brewer’s clerk, “by your twirling + those scissors upon your finger, just as you were doing that day at the + brewery.” + </p> + <p> + Forester was not conscious, till this moment, that he had a pair of + scissors in his hand: whilst the gardener was paying him his wages, to + relieve his <i>mauvaise honte</i>, our hero took up Miss M’Evoy’s + scissors, which lay upon the table, and twirled them upon his fingers, as + he used to do with a key. He was rather ashamed to perceive, that he had + not yet cured himself of such a silly habit. “I thought the lesson I got + at the brewery,” said he, “would have cured me for ever of this foolish + trick; but the diminutive chains of habit{8}, as somebody says, are + scarcely ever heavy enough to be felt, till they are too strong to be + broken.” + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 8: Dr. Johnson’s Vision of Theodore.} + </p> + <p> + “<i>Sir!</i>” said the astonished clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon,” said our hero, who now perceived by his + countenance that his observation on the peculiar nature of the chains of + habit was utterly unintelligible to him; “pray, sir, can you tell me what + o’clock it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Half after four—I am—sir,” said the clerk, producing his + watch, with the air of a man who thought a watch a matter of some + importance. “Hum! He can’t be a gentleman; he has no watch!” argued he + with himself; and he looked at Forester’s rough apparel with astonishment. + Forester had turned back, that he might return Miss M’Evoy her scissors. + The brewer’s clerk was going in the same direction to collect some money + for his master. As they walked on, the young man talked to our hero with + good-nature, but with a species of familiarity, which was strikingly + different from the respectful manner in which he formerly addressed + Forester, when he had seen him in a better coat, and in the company of a + young gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “You have left Dr. Campbell’s, then?” said he, looking with curiosity. + Forester replied, that he had left Dr. Campbell’s, because he preferred + earning his own bread to living an idle life among gentlemen and ladies. + </p> + <p> + The clerk, at this speech, looked earnestly in Forester’s face, and began + to suspect that he was deranged in his mind. + </p> + <p> + As the gravity of our hero’s looks, and the sobriety of his demeanour, did + not give any strong indications of insanity, the clerk, after a few + minutes’ consideration, inclined to believe, that Forester concealed the + truth from him; that probably he was some dependant of Dr. Campbell’s + family; that he had displeased his friends, and had been discarded in + disgrace. He was confirmed in these suppositions by Forester’s telling + him, that he had just left the service of a gardener; that he did not know + where to find a lodging for the night; and that he was in want of some + employment, by which he might support himself independently. + </p> + <p> + The clerk, who remembered with gratitude the intrepidity with which + Forester had hazarded his life to save him the morning that he was at the + brewery, and who had also some compassion for a young gentleman reduced to + poverty, told him that if he could write a good hand, knew any thing of + accounts, and could get a character for <i>punctuality</i> (meaning to + include honesty in this word) from any creditable people, he did not doubt + that his master, who had large concerns, might find employment for him as + an under-clerk. Forester’s pride was not agreeably soothed by the manner + of this proposal, but he was glad to hear of a <i>situation</i>, to use + the clerk’s genteel expression; and he moreover thought, that he should + now have an opportunity of comparing the commercial and agricultural + systems. + </p> + <p> + The clerk hinted, that he supposed Forester would choose to “make himself + smart,” before he called to offer himself at the brewery, and advised him + to call about six, as by that time in the evening his master was generally + at leisure. + </p> + <p> + A dinner at a public-house (for our hero did not know where else to dine), + and the further expense of a new pair of shoes, and some other articles of + dress, almost exhausted his month’s wages: he was very unwilling to make + any of these purchases, but the clerk assured him, that they were + indispensable; and, indeed, at last, his appearance was scarcely upon a + par with that of his friendly adviser. + </p> + <h3> + THE BET. + </h3> + <p> + Before we follow Forester to the brewery, we must request the attention of + our readers to the history of a bet of Mr. Archibald Mackenzie’s. + </p> + <p> + We have already noticed the rise and progress of this young gentleman’s + acquaintance with Sir Philip Gosling. Archibald, + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Whose ev’ry frolic had some end in view,<br /> +Ne’er played the fool, but played the rascal too,”<br /> —Anonymous +</p> + + <p class="noindent"> + cultivated assiduously the friendship of this weak, dissipated, vain young + baronet, in hopes that he might, in process of time, make some advantage + of his folly. Sir Philip had an unfortunately high opinion of his own + judgment; an opinion which he sometimes found it difficult to inculcate + upon the minds of others, till he hit upon the compendious method of + laying high wagers in support of all his assertions. Few people chose to + venture a hundred guineas upon the turn of a straw. Sir Philip, in all + such contests, came off victorious; and he plumed himself much upon the + success of his purse. Archibald affected the greatest deference for Sir + Philip’s judgment; and, as he observed that the baronet piqued himself + upon his skill as a jockey, he flattered him indefatigably upon this + subject. He accompanied Sir Philip continually in his long visits to the + livery-stables; and he made himself familiarly acquainted with the keeper + of the livery-stables, and even with the hostlers. So low can interested + pride descend! All this pains Archibald took, and more, for a very small + object. He had set his fancy upon Sawney, one of his friend’s horses; and + he had no doubt, but that he should either induce Sir Philip to make him a + present of this horse, or that he should jockey him out of it, by some + well-timed bet. + </p> + <p> + In counting upon the baronet’s generosity, Archibald was mistaken. Sir + Philip had that species of <i>good-nature</i> which can lend, but not that + which can give. He offered to lend the horse to Archibald most willingly; + but the idea of giving it was far distant from his imagination. Archibald, + who at length despaired of his friend’s generosity, had recourse to his + other scheme of the wager. After having judiciously lost a few guineas to + Sir Philip in wagers, to confirm him in his extravagant opinion of his own + judgment, Archibald, one evening, when the fumes of wine and vanity, + operating together, had somewhat exalted the man of judgment’s + imagination, urged him, by artful, hesitating contradiction, to assert the + most incredible things of one of his horses, to whom he had given the name + of Favourite. Archibald knew, from the <i>best authority</i>—from + the master of the livery-stables, who was an experienced jockey—that + Favourite was by no means a match for Sawney; he therefore waited quietly + till Sir Philip Gosling laid a very considerable wager upon the head of + his “Favourite.” Archibald immediately declared, he could not, in + conscience—that he could not, for the honour of Scotland, give up + his friend Sawney. + </p> + <p> + “Sawney!” cried Sir Philip; “I’ll bet fifty guineas, that Favourite beats + him hollow at a walk, trot, or gallop, whichever you please.” + </p> + <p> + Archibald artfully affected to be startled at this defiance, and, + seemingly desirous to draw back, pleaded his inability to measure purses + with such a rich man as Sir Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my boy,” replied Sir Philip, “that excuse shan’t stand you in stead. + You have a pretty little pony there, that Lady Catherine has just given + you; if you won’t lay me fifty guineas, will you risk your pony against my + judgment?” + </p> + <p> + Archibald had now brought his friend exactly to the point at which he had + been long aiming. Sir Philip staked his handsome horse Sawney against + Archibald’s sorry pony, upon this wager, that Favourite should, at the + first trials, beat Sawney at a walk, a trot, and a gallop. + </p> + <p> + Warmed with wine, and confident in his own judgment, the weak baronet + insisted upon having the bet immediately decided. The gentlemen ordered + out their horses, and the wager was to be determined upon the sands of + Leith. + </p> + <p> + Sir Philip Gosling, to his utter astonishment, found himself for once + mistaken in his judgment. The treacherous Archibald coolly suffered him to + exhale his passion in unavailing oaths, and at length rejoiced to hear him + consoling himself with the boast, that this was the first wager upon + horse-flesh that he had ever lost in his life. The master of the + livery-stables stared with well-affected incredulity, when Sir Philip, + upon his return from the sands of Leith, informed him, that Favourite had + been beat hollow by Sawney; and Archibald, by his additional testimony, + could scarcely convince him of the fact, till he put two guineas into his + hand, when he recommended <i>his</i> new horse Sawney to his particular + care. Sir Philip, who was not gifted with quick observation, did not take + notice of this last convincing argument. Whilst this passed, he was + talking eagerly to the hostler, who confirmed him in his opinion, which he + still repeated as loud as ever, “that Favourite ought to have won.” This + point Archibald prudently avoided to contest; and he thus succeeded in + duping and flattering his friend at once. + </p> + <p> + “Sawney for ever!” cried Archibald, as soon as Sir Philip had left the + stables. “Sawney for ever!” repeated the hostler, and reminded Mackenzie, + that he had promised him half a guinea. Archibald had no money in his + pocket; but he assured the hostler, that he would remember him the next + day. The next day, however, Archibald, who was expert in parsimonious + expedients, considered that he had better delay giving the hostler his + half-guinea, till it had been earned by his care of Sawney. + </p> + <p> + It is the usual error of cunning people to take it for granted, that + others are fools. This hostler happened to be a match for our young laird + in cunning, and, as soon as he perceived that it was Archibald’s intention + to cheat him of the interest of his half-guinea, he determined to revenge + himself in his <i>care</i> of Sawney. We shall hereafter see the success + of his devices. + </p> + <h3> + THE SADDLE AND BRIDLE. + </h3> + <p> + Scarcely had Archibald Mackenzie been two days in possession of the + long-wished-for object of his mean soul, when he became dissatisfied with + his own saddle and bridle, which certainly did not, as Sir Philip + observed, suit his new horse. The struggles in Archibald’s mind, betwixt + his taste for expense and his habits of saving, were often rather painful + to him. He had received from Lady Catherine a ten-guinea note, when he + first came to Dr. Campbell’s; and he had withstood many temptations to + change it. One morning (the day that he had accompanied Henry and Forester + to the watchmaker’s) he was so strongly charmed by the sight of a + watch-chain and seals, that he actually took his bank-note out of his + scrutoire at his return home, put it into his pocket, when he dressed for + dinner, and resolved to call that evening at the watchmaker’s to indulge + his fancy, by purchasing the watch-chain, and to gratify his family pride, + by getting his coat of arms splendidly engraven upon the seal. He called + at the watchmaker’s, in company with Sir Philip Gosling, but he could not + agree with him respecting the price of the chain and seals; and Archibald + consoled himself with the reflection, that his bank-note would still + remain. He held the note in his hand, whilst he higgled about the price of + the watch-chain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, d—n the expense!” cried Sir Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I mind ten guineas as little as any man,” said Archibald, thrusting + the bank-note, in imitation of the baronet, with affected carelessness, + into his waistcoat-pocket. He was engaged that night to go to the play + with Sir Philip, and he was much hurried in dressing. His servant observed + that his waistcoat was stained, and looked out another for him. + </p> + <p> + Now this man sometimes took the liberty of wearing his master’s clothes; + and, when Archibald went to the play, the servant dressed himself in the + stained waistcoat, to appear at a ball, which was given that night in the + neighbourhood, by some “gentleman’s gentleman.” The waistcoat was rather + too tight for the servant: he tore it, and instead of sending it to the + washerwoman’s, to have the stain washed out, as his master had desired, he + was now obliged to send it to the tailor’s to have it mended. + </p> + <p> + Archibald’s sudden wish for a new saddle and bridle for Sawney could not + be gratified without changing the bank-note; and, forgetting that he had + left it in the pocket of his waistcoat the night that he went to the play, + he searched for it in the scrutoire, in which he was accustomed to keep + his treasures. He was greatly disturbed, when the note was not to be found + in the scrutoire; he searched over and over again; not a pigeon-hole, not + a drawer, remained to be examined. He tried to recollect when he had last + seen it, and at length remembered, that he put it into his + waistcoat-pocket, when he went to the watchmaker’s; that he had taken it + out to look at, whilst he was in the shop; but whether he had brought it + home safely or not he could not precisely ascertain. His doubts upon this + subject, however, he cautiously concealed, resolved, if possible, to make + somebody or other answerable for his loss. He summoned his servant, told + him that he had left a ten-guinea bank-note in his waistcoat-pocket the + night that he went to the play, and that, as the waistcoat was given into + his charge, he must be answerable for the note. The servant boldly + protested, that he neither could nor would be at the loss of a note which + he had never seen. + </p> + <p> + Archibald now softened his tone; for he saw, that he had no chance of + bullying the servant. “I desired you to send it to the washerwoman’s,” + said he. + </p> + <p> + “And so I did, sir,” said the man. + </p> + <p> + This was true, but not the whole truth. He had previously sent the + waistcoat to the tailor’s to have the rent repaired, which it received the + night he wore it at the ball. These circumstances the servant thought + proper to suppress; and he was very ready to agree with his master in + accusing the poor washerwoman of having stolen the note. The washerwoman + was extremely industrious, and perfectly honest; she had a large family, + that depended upon her labour, and upon her character, for support. She + was astonished and shocked at the charge that was brought against her, and + declared, that if she were able, she would rather pay the whole money at + once, than suffer any suspicion to go abroad against her. Archibald + rejoiced to find her in this disposition; and he assured her, that the + only method to avoid disgrace, a lawsuit, and ruin, was instantly to pay, + or to promise to pay, the money. It was out of her power to pay it; and + she would not promise what she knew she could not perform. + </p> + <p> + Archibald redoubled his threats; the servant stood by his master. The poor + woman burst into tears; but she steadily declared that she was innocent; + and no promise could be extorted from her, even in the midst of her + terror. Though she had horrible, perhaps not absolutely visionary, ideas + of the dangers of a lawsuit, yet she had some confidence in the certainty + that justice was on her side. Archibald said, that she might <i>talk</i> + about justice as much as she pleased, but that she must prepare to submit + to <i>the law</i>. The woman trembled at the sound of these words; but, + though ignorant, she was no fool, and she had a friend in Dr. Campbell’s + family, to whom she resolved to apply in her distress. Henry Campbell had + visited her little boy when he was ill, and had made him some small + present; and, though she did not mean to encroach upon Henry’s + good-nature, she thought, that he had so much <i>learning</i>, that he + certainly could, without its costing her any thing, put her in the right + way to avoid the <i>law</i>, with which she had been threatened by + Archibald Mackenzie and his servant. + </p> + <p> + Henry heard the story with indignation, such as Forester would have felt + in similar circumstances; but prudence tempered his enthusiastic feelings; + and prudence renders us able to assist others, whilst enthusiasm + frequently defeats its own purposes, and injures those whom it wildly + attempts to serve. Henry, knowing the character of Archibald, governed + himself accordingly; he made no appeal to his feelings; for he saw that + the person must be deficient in humanity, who could have threatened a + defenceless woman with such severity; he did not speak of justice to the + tyrannical laird, but spoke of <i>law</i>. He told Archibald, that being + thoroughly convinced of the woman’s innocence, he had drawn up a statement + of her case, which she, in compliance with his advice, was ready to lay + before an advocate, naming the first counsel in Edinburgh. + </p> + <p> + The young laird repeated, with a mixture of apprehension and suspicion, + “Drawn up a case! No; you can’t know how to draw up cases; you are not a + lawyer—you only say this to bully me.” + </p> + <p> + Henry replied, that he was no lawyer; that he could, notwithstanding, + state plain facts in such a manner, he hoped, as to make a case + intelligible to any sensible lawyer; that he meant to show what he had + written to his father. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll show it to me, first, won’t you?” said Archibald, who wished to + gain time for consideration. + </p> + <p> + Henry put the paper, which he had drawn up, into his hands, and waited + with a determined countenance beside him, whilst he perused the case. + Archibald saw that Henry had abilities and steadiness to go through with + the business; the facts were so plainly and forcibly stated, that his + hopes even from law began to falter. He therefore talked about humanity—said, + he pitied the poor woman; could not bear to think of distressing her; but + that, at the same time, he had urgent occasion for money; that, if he + could even recover five guineas of it, it would be something. He added, + that he had debts, which he could not, in honour, delay to discharge. + </p> + <p> + Now Henry had five guineas, which he had reserved for the purchase of some + additions to his cabinet of mineralogy, and he offered to lend this money + to Archibald, to pay <i>the debts that he could not, in honour, delay to + discharge</i>, upon express condition, that he should say nothing more to + the poor woman concerning the bank-note. + </p> + <p> + To this condition Archibald most willingly acceded; and as Henry, with + generous alacrity, counted the five guineas into his hand, this mean, + incorrigible being said to himself, “What fools these bookish young men + are, after all! Though he can draw up cases so finely, I’ve taken him in + at last; and I wish it were ten guineas instead of five!” + </p> + <p> + Fatigued with the recital of the various petty artifices of this + avaricious and dissipated young laird, we shall now relieve ourselves, by + turning from the history of meanness to that of enthusiasm. The faults of + Forester we hope and wish to see corrected; but who can be interested for + the selfish Archibald Mackenzie? + </p> + <h3> + FORESTER, A CLERK. + </h3> + <p> + We left Forester when he was just going to offer himself as clerk to a + brewer. The brewer was a prudent man; and he sent one of his porters with + a letter to Dr. Campbell, to inform him that a young lad, whom he had + formerly seen in company with Mr. Henry Campbell, and who, he understood, + was the doctor’s ward, had applied to him, and that he should be very + happy to take him into his service, if his friends approved of it, and + could properly recommend him. In consequence of Dr. Campbell’s answer to + the brewer’s letter, Forester, who knew nothing of the application to his + friends, obtained the vacant clerkship. He did not, however, long continue + in his new <i>situation</i>. At first he felt happy, when he found himself + relieved from the vulgar petulance of Miss M’Evoy and her brother Colin: + in comparison with their rude ill-humours, the clerks who were his + companions appeared patterns of civility. By hard experience, Forester was + taught to know, that obliging manners in our companions add something to + the happiness of our lives. “My mind to me a kingdom is,” was once his + common answer to all that his friend Henry could urge in favour of the + pleasures of society; but he began now to suspect, that separated from + social intercourse, his mind, however enlarged, would afford him but a + dreary kingdom. + </p> + <p> + He flattered himself, that he could make a friend of the clerk who had + found his key: this young man’s name was Richardson; he was good-natured, + but ignorant; and neither his education nor his abilities distinguished + him from any other clerk in similar circumstances. Forester invited him to + walk to Arthur’s Seat, after the <i>monotonous</i> business of the day was + over, but the clerk preferred walking on holidays in Prince’s-street; and, + after several ineffectual attempts to engage him in moral and metaphysical + arguments, our hero discovered the depth of his companion’s ignorance with + astonishment. Once, when he found that two of the clerks, to whom he had + been talking of Cicero and Pliny, did not know any thing of these + celebrated personages, he said, with a sigh, + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,<br /> + Rich with the spoils of time, did ne’er unroll;<br /> +Chill penury repressed their noble rage,<br /> + And froze the genial current of their soul.”<br /> +</p> + + <p> + The word <i>penury</i>, in this stanza, the clerks at least understood, + and it excited their “noble rage;” they hinted, that it ill became a + person, who did not dress nearly as well as themselves, to give himself + such airs, and to taunt his betters with poverty; they said that they + supposed, because he was an Englishman, as they perceived by his accent, + he thought he might insult Scotchmen as he pleased. It was vain for him to + attempt any explanation; their pride and their prejudices combined against + him: and, though their dislike to him was not so outrageous as that of the + gardener, gentle Colin, yet it was quite sufficient to make him uneasy in + his situation. Richardson was as steady as could reasonably be expected; + but he showed so little desire to have “<i>the ample page, rich with the + spoils of time</i>,” unrolled to him, that he excited our young scholar’s + contempt. No friendships can be more unequal than those between ignorance + and knowledge. We pass over the journal of our hero’s hours, which were + spent in casting up and verifying accounts; this occupation, at length he + decided, must be extremely injurious to the human understanding: “All the + higher faculties of my soul,” said he to himself, “are absolutely useless + at this work, and I am reduced to a mere machine.” But there were many + other circumstances in the <i>mercantile system</i>, which Forester had + not foreseen, and which shocked him extremely. The continual attention to + petty gain, the little artifices which a tradesman thinks himself + justifiable in practising upon his customers, could not be endured by his + ingenuous mind. One morning the brewery was in an uncommon bustle; the + clerks were all in motion. Richardson told Forester that they expected a + visit in a few hours from the gauger and the supervisor, and that they + were preparing for their reception. When the nature of these preparations + was explained to Forester; when he was made to understand that the + business and duty of a brewer’s clerk was to assist his master in evading + certain clauses in certain acts of parliament; when he found, that to + trick a gauger was thought an excellent joke, he stood in silent moral + astonishment. He knew about as much of the revenue laws as the clerks did + of Cicero and Pliny; but his sturdy principles of integrity could not bend + to any of the arguments, founded on expediency, which were brought by his + companions in their own and their master’s justification. He declared that + he must speak to his master upon the subject immediately. His master was + as busy as he could possibly be; and, when Forester insisted upon seeing + him, he desired that he would speak as quickly as he could, for that he + expected the supervisor every instant. Our hero declared, that he could + not, consistently with his principles, assist in evading the laws of his + country. The brewer stared, and then laughed; assured him that he had as + great a respect for the laws as other people; that he did nothing but what + every person in his situation was obliged to do in their own defence. + Forester resolutely persisted in his determination against all clandestine + practices. The brewer cut the matter short, by saying, he had not time to + argue; but that he did not choose to keep a clerk who was not in his + interests; that he supposed the next thing would be, to betray him to his + supervisor. + </p> + <p> + “I am no traitor!” exclaimed Forester; “I will not stay another instant + with a master who suspects me.” + </p> + <p> + The brewer suffered him to depart without reluctance; but what exasperated + Forester the most was the composure of his friend Richardson during this + scene, who did not even offer to shake hands with him, when he saw him + going out of the house: for Richardson had a good place, and did not + choose to quarrel with his master, for a person whom he now verily + believed to be, as he had originally suspected, insane. + </p> + <p> + “This is the world!—this is friendship!” said Forester to himself. + </p> + <p> + His generous and enthusiastic imagination supplied him with eloquent + invectives against human nature, even while he ardently desired to serve + his fellow-creatures. He wandered through the streets of Edinburgh, + indulging himself alternately in misanthropic reflections and benevolent + projects. One instant, he resolved to study the laws, that he might reform + the revenue laws; the next moment, he recollected his own passion for a + desert island, and he regretted that he could not be shipwrecked in + Edinburgh. + </p> + <p> + The sound of a squeaking fiddle roused Forester from his reverie; he + looked up, and saw a thin, pale man fiddling to a set of dancing dogs, + that he was exhibiting upon the flags, for the amusement of a crowd of + men, women, and children. It was a deplorable spectacle; the dogs appeared + so wretched, in the midst of the merriment of the spectators, that + Forester’s compassion was moved, and he exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “Enough, enough!—They are quite tired; here are some halfpence!” + </p> + <p> + The showman took the halfpence; but several fresh spectators were yet to + see the sight; and though the exhausted animals were but little inclined + to perform their antic feats, their master twitched the rope, that was + fastened round their necks, so violently, that they were compelled to + renew their melancholy dance. + </p> + <p> + Forester darted forward, stopped the fiddler’s hand, and began an + expostulation, not one word of which was understood by the person to whom + it was addressed. A stout lad, who was very impatient at this interruption + of his diversion, began to abuse Forester, and presently from words he + proceeded to blows. + </p> + <p> + Forester, though a better orator, was by no means so able a boxer as his + opponent. The battle was obstinately fought on both sides; but, at length, + our young Quixote received what has no name in heroic language, but in the + vulgar tongue is called a black eye; and, covered with blood and bruises, + he was carried by some humane passenger into a neighbouring house. It was + a printer and bookseller’s shop. The bookseller treated him with humanity; + and, after advising him not to be so hastily engaged to be the champion of + dancing dogs, inquired who he was, and whether he had any friends in + Edinburgh, to whom he could send. + </p> + <p> + This printer, from having been accustomed to converse with a variety of + people, was a good judge of the language of gentlemen; and, though there + was nothing else in Forester’s manners which could have betrayed him, he + spoke in such good language, that the bookseller was certain that he had + received a liberal education. + </p> + <p> + Our hero declined telling his history; but the printer was so well pleased + with his conversation, that he readily agreed to give him employment; and, + as soon as he recovered from his bruises, Forester was eager to learn the + art of printing. + </p> + <p> + “The art of printing,” said he, “has emancipated mankind, and printers + ought to be considered as the most respectable benefactors of the human + race.” + </p> + <p> + Always warm in his admiration of every new phantom that struck his + imagination, he was now persuaded that printers’ devils were angels, and + that he should be supremely blessed in a printer’s office. + </p> + <p> + “What employment so noble!” said he, as he first took the composing-stick + in his hand; “what employment so noble, as that of disseminating knowledge + over the universe!” + </p> + <h3> + FORESTER, A PRINTER. + </h3> + <p> + It was some time before our hero acquired dexterity in his new trade: his + companions formed, with amazing celerity, whole sentences, while he was + searching for letters, which perpetually dropped from his awkward hands: + but he was ashamed of his former versatility, and he resolved to be steady + to his present way of life. His situation, at this printer’s, was far + better suited to him than that which he had quitted, with so much disgust, + at the brewer’s. He rose early, and, by great industry, overcame all the + difficulties which at first so much alarmed him. He soon became the most + useful journeyman in the office. His diligence and good behaviour + recommended him to his master’s employers. Whenever any work was brought, + Forester was sent for. This occasioned him to be much in the shop, where + he heard the conversation of many ingenious men who frequented it; and he + spent his evenings in reading. His understanding had been of late + uncultivated; but the fresh seeds that were now profusely scattered upon + the vigorous soil took root, and flourished. + </p> + <p> + Forester was just at that time of life when opinions are valued for being + <i>new</i>: he heard varieties of the most contradictory assertions in + morals, in science, in politics. It is a great advantage to a young man to + hear opposite arguments, to hear all that can be said upon every subject. + </p> + <p> + Forester no longer obstinately adhered to the set of notions which he had + acquired from his education; he heard many, whom he could not think his + inferiors in abilities, debating questions which he formerly imagined + scarcely admitted of philosophic doubt. His mind became more humble; but + his confidence in his own powers, after having compared himself with + numbers, if less arrogant, was more secure and rational: he no longer + considered a man as a fool the moment he differed with him in opinion; but + he was still a little inclined to estimate the abilities of authors by the + party to which they belonged. This failing was increased, rather than + diminished, by the company which he now kept. + </p> + <p> + Amongst the young students who frequented Mr.——‘s, the + bookseller, was Mr. Thomas ——, who, from his habit of <i>blurting</i> + out strange opinions in conversation, acquired the name of Tom Random. His + head was confused between politics and poetry; his arguments were + paradoxical, his diction florid, and his gesture something between the + spouting action of a player, and the threatening action of a pugilist. + </p> + <p> + Forester was caught by the oratory of this genius from the first day he + heard him speak. + </p> + <p> + Tom Random asserted, that “this great globe, and all that it inhabits,” + must inevitably be doomed to destruction, unless certain ideas of his own, + in the government of the world, were immediately adopted by universal + acclamation. + </p> + <p> + It was not approbation, it was not esteem, which Forester felt for his new + friend it was for the first week blind, enthusiastic admiration—every + thing that he had seen or heard before appeared to him trite and obsolete; + every person who spoke temperate common sense he heard with indifference + or contempt; and all who were not zealots in literature, or in politics, + he considered as persons whose understandings were so narrow, or whose + hearts were so depraved, as to render them “unfit to hear themselves + convinced.” + </p> + <p> + Those who read and converse have a double chance of correcting their + errors. + </p> + <p> + Forester most fortunately, about this time, happened to meet with a book + which in some degree counteracted the inflammatory effects of Random’s + conversation, and which had a happy tendency to sober his enthusiasm, + without lessening his propensity to useful exertions: this book was the + Life of Dr. Franklin. + </p> + <p> + The idea that this great man began by being a <i>printer</i> interested + our hero in his history; and whilst he followed him, step by step, through + his instructive narrative, Forester sympathized in his feelings, and + observed how necessary the smaller virtues of order, economy, industry, + and patience were to Franklin’s great character and splendid success. He + began to hope that it would be possible to do good to his + fellow-creatures, without overturning all existing institutions. + </p> + <p> + About this time another fortunate coincidence happened in Forester’s + education. One evening his friend, Tom Random, who was printing a + pamphlet, came, with a party of his companions, into Mr.——, + the bookseller’s shop, enraged at the decision of a prize in a literary + society to which they belonged. + </p> + <p> + All the young partisans who surrounded Mr. Random loudly declared that he + had been treated with the most flagrant injustice; and the author himself + was too angry to affect any modesty upon the occasion. + </p> + <p> + “Would you believe it?” said he to Forester—“my essay has not been + thought worthy of the prize! The medal has been given to the most + wretched, tame, commonplace performance you ever saw. Every thing in this + world is done by corruption, by party, by secret influence!” + </p> + <p> + At every pause the irritated author wiped his forehead, and Forester + sympathized in his feelings. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the author’s exclamations, a messenger came with the + manuscript of the prize essay, and with the orders of the society to have + a certain number of copies printed off with all possible expedition. + </p> + <p> + Random snatched up the manuscript, and, with all the fury of criticism, + began to read aloud some of the passages which he disliked. + </p> + <p> + Though it was marred in the reading, Forester could not agree with his + angry friend in condemning the performance. It appeared to him excellent + writing and excellent sense. + </p> + <p> + “Print it—print it then, as fast as you can—that is your + business—that’s what you are paid for. Every one for himself,” cried + Random, insolently throwing the manuscript at Forester; and, as he flung + out of the shop with his companions, he added, with a contemptuous laugh, + “A printer’s devil setting up for a critic! He may be a capital judge of + pica and brevier, perhaps—but let not the compositor go beyond his + stick.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this the man,” said Forester, “whom I have heard so eloquent in the + praise of candour and liberality? Is this the man who talks of universal + toleration and freedom of opinion, and who yet cannot bear that any one + should differ from him in criticising a sentence? Is this the man who + would have equality amongst all his fellow-creatures, and who calls a + compositor a printer’s devil? Is this the man who cants about the <i>pre-eminence + of mind</i> and the <i>perfections of intellect</i>, and yet now takes + advantage of his rank, of his <i>supporters</i>, of the cry of his + partisans, to bear down the voice of reason?—‘Let not the compositor + go beyond his composing-stick!’—And why not? Why should not he be a + judge of writing?” At this reflection, Forester eagerly took up the + manuscript, which had been flung at his feet. All his indignant feelings + instantly changed into delightful exultation—he saw the hand—he + read the name of Henry Campbell. The title of the manuscript was, “<i>An + Essay on the best Method of reforming Abuses</i>.” This was the subject + proposed by the society; and Henry had written upon the question with so + much moderation, and yet with such unequivocal decision had shown himself + the friend of rational liberty, that all the members of the society who + were not borne away by their prejudices were unanimous in their preference + of this performance. + </p> + <p> + Random’s declamation only inflamed the minds of his own partisans. Good + judges of writing exclaimed, as they read it, “This is all very fine; but + what would this man be at? His violence hurts the cause he wishes to + support.” + </p> + <p> + Forester read Henry Campbell’s essay with all the avidity of friendship; + he read it again and again—his generous soul was incapable of envy; + and whilst he admired, he was convinced by the force of reason. + </p> + <p> + His master desired that he would set about the essay early in the morning; + but his eagerness for his friend Henry’s fame was such, that he sat up + above half the night hard at work at it. He was indefatigable the next day + at the business; and as all hands were employed on the essay, it was + finished that evening. + </p> + <p> + Forester rubbed his hands with delight, when he had set the name of Henry + Campbell in the title-page—but an instant afterwards he sighed + bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “I am only a printer,” said he to himself. “These just arguments, these + noble ideas, will instruct and charm hundreds of my fellow-creatures: no + one will ever ask, ‘Who set the types?’” + </p> + <p> + His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Tom Random and two of + his partisans: he was extremely displeased to find that the printers had + not been going on with his pamphlet; his personal disappointments seemed + to increase the acrimony of his zeal for the public good: he declaimed + upon politics—upon the necessity for the immediate publication of + his sentiments, for the salvation of the state. His action was suited to + his words: violent and blind to consequences, with one sudden kick, + designed to express his contempt for the opposite party, this political + Alnaschar unfortunately overturned the form which contained the types for + the newspaper of the next day, which was just going to the press—a + newspaper in which he had written splendid paragraphs. + </p> + <p> + Forester, happily for his philosophy, recollected the account which + Franklin, in his history of his own life, gives of the patience with which + he once bore a similar accident. The printers, with secret imprecations + against oratory, or at least against those orators who think that action + is every thing, set to work again to repair the mischief. + </p> + <p> + Forester, much fatigued, at length congratulated himself upon having + finished his hard day’s work, when a man from the shop came to inquire + whether three hundred cards, which had been ordered the week before to be + printed off, were finished. The man to whom the order was given had + forgotten it, and he was going home: he decidedly answered, “No; the cards + can’t be done till to-morrow: we have left work for this night, thank + God.” + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman says he must have them,” expostulated the messenger. + </p> + <p> + “He <i>must</i> not, he cannot have them. I would not print a card for his + majesty at this time of night,” replied the sullen workman, throwing his + hat upon his head, in token of departure. + </p> + <p> + “What are these cards?” said Forester. + </p> + <p> + “Only a dancing-master’s cards for his ball,” said the printer’s + journeyman. “I’ll not work beyond my time for any dancing-master that + wears a head.” + </p> + <p> + The messenger then said, that he was desired to ask for the manuscript + card. + </p> + <p> + This card was hunted for all over the room; and, at last, Forester found + it under a heap of refuse papers: his eye was caught with the name of his + old friend, Monsieur Pasgrave, the dancing-master, whom he had formerly + frightened by the skeleton with the fiery eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I will print the cards for him myself; I am not at all tired,” cried + Forester, who was determined to make some little amends for the injury + which he had formerly done to the poor dancing-master. He resolved to + print the cards for nothing, and he stayed up very late to finish them. + His companions all left him, for they were in a great hurry to see, what + in Edinburgh is a rare sight, the town illuminated. + </p> + <p> + These illuminations were upon account of some great naval victory. + </p> + <p> + Forester, steady to Monsieur Pasgrave’s cards, did what no other workman + would have done; he finished for him, on this night of public joy, his + three hundred cards. Every now and then, as he was quietly at work, he + heard the loud huzzas in the street: his waning candle sunk in the socket, + as he had just packed up his work. + </p> + <p> + By the direction at the bottom of the cards, he learned where M. Pasgrave + lodged, and, as he was going out to look at the illuminations, he resolved + to leave them himself at the dancing-master’s house. + </p> + <h3> + THE ILLUMINATIONS. + </h3> + <p> + The illuminations were really beautiful. He went up to the Castle, whence + he saw a great part of the Old Town, and all Prince’s-street, lighted up + in the most splendid manner. He crossed the Earth-mound into + Prince’s-street. Walking down Prince’s-street, he saw a crowd of people + gathered before the large illuminated window of a confectioner’s shop. As + he approached nearer, he distinctly heard the voice of Tom Random, who was + haranguing the mob. The device and motto which the confectioner displayed + in his window displeased this gentleman, who, beside his public-spirited + abhorrence of all men of a party opposite to his own, had likewise private + cause of dislike to this confectioner, who had refused him his daughter in + marriage. + </p> + <p> + It was part of Random’s new system of political justice to revenge his own + quarrels. + </p> + <p> + The mob, who are continually, without knowing it, made the instruments of + private malice, when they think they are acting in a public cause, readily + joined in Tom Random’s cry of “Down with the motto! Down with the motto!” + </p> + <p> + Forester, who, by his lesson from the dancing dogs, had learned a little + prudence, and who had just printed Henry Campbell’s Essay on the best + Means of reforming Abuses, did not mix with the rabble, but joined in the + entreaties of some peaceable passengers, who prayed that the poor man’s + windows might be spared. The windows were, notwithstanding, demolished + with a terrible crash, and the crowd, then alarmed at the mischief they + had done, began to disperse. The constables, who had been sent for, + appeared. Tom Random was taken into custody. Forester was pursuing his way + to the dancing-master’s, when one of the officers of justice exclaimed, + “Stop!—stop him!—he’s one of ‘em: he’s a great friend of Mr. + Random: I’ve seen him often parading arm in arm in High-street with him.” + </p> + <p> + This, alas! was too true: the constables seized Forester, and put him, + with Tom Random, and the ringleader of the riot, into a place of + confinement for the night. + </p> + <p> + Poor Forester, who was punished for the faults of his former friend and + present enemy, had, during this long night, leisure for much wholesome + reflection upon the danger of forming imprudent intimacies. He resolved + never to walk again in High-street arm in arm with such a man as Tom + Random. + </p> + <p> + The constables were rather hasty in the conclusion they drew from this + presumptive evidence. + </p> + <p> + Our hero, who felt the disgrace of his situation, was not a little + astonished at Tom Random’s consoling himself with drinking instead of + philosophy. The sight of this enthusiast, when he had completely + intoxicated himself, was a disgusting but useful spectacle to our + indignant hero. Forester was shocked at the union of gross vice and rigid + pretensions to virtue: he could scarcely believe that the reeling, + stammering idiot whom he now beheld was the same being from whose lips he + had heard declamations upon the <i>omnipotence of intellect</i>—from + whose pen he had seen projects for the government of empires. + </p> + <p> + The dancing-master, who, in the midst of the illuminations, had regretted + that his cards could not be printed, went early in the morning to inquire + about them at the printer’s. + </p> + <p> + The printer had learnt that one of his boys was taken up amongst the + rioters: he was sorry to find that Forester had gotten himself into such a + scrape: but he was a very cautious snug man, and he did not choose to + interfere: he left him quietly to be dealt with according to law. + </p> + <p> + The dancing-master, however, was interested in finding him out, because he + was informed that Forester had sat up almost all night to print his cards, + and that he had them now in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + M. Pasgrave at length gained admittance to him in his confinement: the + officers of justice were taking him and Random before Mr. W——, + a magistrate, with whom informations had been lodged by the confectioner, + who had suffered in his windows. + </p> + <p> + Pasgrave, when he beheld Forester, was surprised to such a degree, that he + could scarcely finish his bow, or express his astonishment, either in + French or English. “Eh, monsieur! mon Dieu! bon Dieu! I beg ten million + pardons—I am come to search for a printer who has my cards in his + pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Here are your cards,” said Forester: “let me speak a few words to you.” + He took M. Pasgrave aside. “I perceive,” said he, “that you have + discovered who I am. Though in the service of a printer, I have still as + much the feelings and principles of a gentleman as I had when you saw me + in Dr. Campbell’s house. I have particular reasons for being anxious to + remain undiscovered by Dr. Campbell, or any of his family: you may depend + upon it that my reasons are not dishonourable. I request that you will + not, upon any account, betray me to that family. I am going before a + magistrate, and am accused of being concerned in a riot, which I did every + thing in my power to prevent.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! monsieur,” interrupted the dancing-master, “but you see de grand + inconvenience of concealing your <i>rank</i> and name. You, who are comme + il faut, are confounded with the mob: permit me at least to follow you to + Mr. W——, the magistrate: I have de honneur to teach les + demoiselles his daughters to dance; dey are to be at my ball—dey + take one half dozen tickets. I must call dere wid my cards; and I shall, + if you will give me leave, accompany you now, and mention dat I know you + to be un homme comme il faut, above being guilty of an unbecoming action. + I flatter myself I have some interest wid de ladies of de family, and dat + dey will do me de favour to speak to monsieur leur cher père sur votre + compte.” + </p> + <p> + Forester thanked the good-natured dancing-master, but he proudly said, + that he should trust to his own innocence for his defence. + </p> + <p> + M. Pasgrave, who had seen something more of the world than our hero, and + who was interested for him, because he had once made him a present of an + excellent violin, and because he had sat up half the night to print the + ball cards, resolved not to leave him entirely to his innocence for a + defence: he followed Forester to Mr. W——‘s. The magistrate was + a slow, pompous man, by no means a good physiognomist, much less a good + judge of character. He was proud of his authority, and glad to display the + small portion of legal knowledge which he possessed. As soon as he was + informed that some young men were brought before him, who had been engaged + the preceding night in a <i>riot</i>, he put on all his magisterial + terrors, and assured the confectioner, who had a private audience of him, + that he should have justice, and that the person or persons concerned in + breaking his window or windows should be punished with the utmost severity + that the law would allow. Contrary to the humane spirit of the British + law, which supposes every man to be innocent till it is proved that he is + guilty, this harsh magistrate presumed that every man who was brought + before him was guilty till he was proved to be innocent. Forester’s + appearance was not in his favour: he had been up all night; his hair was + dishevelled; his linen was neither fine nor white; his shoes were + thick-soled and dirty; his coat was that in which he had been at work at + the printer’s the preceding day; it was in several places daubed with + printers’ ink; and his unwashed hands bespoke his trade. Of all these + circumstances the slow circumspect eye of the magistrate took cognizance + one by one. Forester observed the effect which this survey produced upon + his judge; and he felt that appearances were against him, and that + appearances are sometimes of consequence. After having estimated his + poverty by these external symptoms, the magistrate looked, for the first + time, in his face, and pronounced that he had one of the worst + countenances he ever beheld. This judgment once pronounced, he proceeded + to justify, by wresting to the prisoner’s disadvantage every circumstance + that appeared. Forester’s having been frequently seen in Tom Random’s + company was certainly against him: the confectioner perpetually repeated + that they were constant companions; that they were intimate friends; that + they were continually walking together every Sunday; and that they often + had come arm in arm into his shop, talking politics; that he believed + Forester to be of the same way of thinking with Mr. Random; and that he + saw him close behind him, at the moment the stones were thrown that broke + the windows. It appeared that Mr. Random was at that time active in + encouraging the mob. To oppose the angry confectioner’s conjectural + evidence, the lad who threw the stone, and who was now produced, declared + that Forester held back his arm, and said, “My good lad, don’t break this + man’s windows: go home quietly; here’s a shilling for you.” The person who + gave this honest testimony, in whom there was a strange mixture of the + love of mischief and the spirit of generosity, was the very lad who fought + with Forester, and beat him, about the dancing dogs. He whispered to + Forester, “Do you remember me? I hope you don’t bear malice.” The + magistrate, who heard this whisper, immediately construed it to the + prisoner’s disadvantage. “Then, sir,” said he, addressing himself to our + hero, “this gentleman, I understand, claims acquaintance with you; his + acquaintance really does you honour, and speaks, strongly in favour of + your character. If I mistake not, this is the lad whom I sent to the + Tolbooth, some little time ago, for a misdemeanour; and he is not, I + apprehend, a stranger to the stocks.” + </p> + <p> + Forester commanded his temper as well as he was able, and observed, that + whatever might be the character of the young man who had spoken in his + favour, his evidence would, perhaps, be thought to deserve some credit, + when the circumstances of his acquaintance with the witness were known. He + then related the adventure of the dancing dogs, and remarked, that the + testimony of an enemy came with double force in his favour. The language + and manner in which Forester spoke surprised all who were present; but the + history of the dancing dogs appeared so ludicrous and so improbable, that + the magistrate decidedly pronounced it to be “a fabrication, a story + invented to conceal the palpable collusion of the witnesses.” Yet, though + he one moment declared that he did not believe the story, he the next + inferred from it, that Forester was disposed to riot and sedition, since + he was ready to fight with a vagabond in the streets for the sake of a + parcel of dancing dogs. + </p> + <p> + M. Pasgrave, in the meantime, had, with great good-nature, been + representing Forester in the best light he possibly could to the young + ladies, the magistrate’s daughters. One of them sent to beg to speak to + their father. M. Pasgrave judiciously dwelt upon his assurances of + Forester’s being a gentleman: he told Mr. W—— that he had met + him in one of the best families in Edinburgh; that he knew he had some + private reasons for concealing that he was a gentleman: “perhaps the young + gentleman was reduced to temporary distress,” he said; but whatever might + be these reasons, M. Pasgrave vouched for his having very respectable + friends and connexions. The magistrate wished to know the family in which + M. Pasgrave had met Forester; but he was, according to his promise, + impenetrable on this subject. His representations had, however, the + desired effect upon Mr. W——: when he returned to the + examination of our hero, his opinion of his countenance somewhat varied; + he despatched his other business; bailed Tom Random on high sureties; and, + when Forester was the only person that remained, he turned to him with + great solemnity; bade him sit down; informed him that he knew him to be a + gentleman; that he was greatly concerned that a person like him, who had + respectable friends and connexions, should involve himself in such a + disagreeable affair; that it was a matter of grief and surprise to him, to + see a young gentleman in such apparel; that he earnestly recommended to + him to accommodate matters with his friends; and, above all things, to + avoid the company of seditious persons. Much good advice, but in a + dictatorial tone, and in cold, pompous language, he bestowed upon the + prisoner, and at length dismissed him. “How different,” said Forester to + himself, “is this man’s method of giving advice from Dr. Campbell’s!” + </p> + <p> + This lesson strongly impressed, however, upon our hero’s mind the belief, + that external appearance, dress, manners, and the company we keep, are the + usual circumstances by which the world judge of character and conduct. + When he was dismissed from Mr. W——‘s august presence, the + first thing he did was to inquire for Pasgrave: he was giving the + magistrate’s daughters a lesson, and could not be interrupted; but + Forester left a note for him, requesting to see him at ten o’clock the + next day, at Mr. ——, the bookseller’s. New mortifications + awaited our hero: on his return to his master’s, he was very coldly + received; Mr. —— let him know, in unqualified terms, that he + did not like to employ any one in his work who got into quarrels at night + in the public streets. Forester’s former favour with his master, his + industry and talents, were not considered without envy by the rest of the + journeymen printers; and they took advantage of his absence to + misrepresent him to the bookseller: however, when Forester came to relate + his own story, his master was convinced that he was not to blame; that he + had worked extremely hard the preceding day; and that, far from having + been concerned in a riot, he had done every thing in his power to prevent + mischief. He desired to see the essay, which was printed with so much + expedition: it was in the hands of the corrector of the press. The sheets + were sent for, and the bookseller was in admiration at the extraordinary + correctness with which it was printed; the corrector of the press scarcely + had occasion to alter a word, a letter, or a stop. There was a quotation + in the manuscript from Juvenal. Henry Campbell had, by mistake, omitted to + name the satire and line, and the author from which it was taken, though + he had left a blank in which they were to be inserted. The corrector of + the press, though a literary gentleman, was at a stand. Forester + immediately knew where to look for the passage in the original author: he + found it, and inserted the book and line in their proper place. His master + did not suffer this to pass unobserved; he hinted to him, that it was a + pity a young man of his abilities and knowledge should waste his time in + the mere technical drudgery of printing. “I should be glad now,” continued + the bookseller, “to employ you as a corrector of the press, and to advance + you, according to your merits, in the world; <i>but</i>,” glancing his eye + at Forester’s dress, “you must give me leave to say, that some attention + to outward appearance is necessary in our business. Gentlemen call here, + as you well know, continually, and I like to have the people about me make + a creditable appearance. You have earned money since you have been with me—surely + you can afford yourself a decent suit of clothes and a cleaner shirt. I + beg your pardon for speaking so freely; but I really have a regard for + you, and wish to see you get forward in life.” + </p> + <h3> + FORESTER, A CORRECTOR OF THE PRESS. + </h3> + <p> + Forester had not, since he left Dr. Campbell’s, been often spoken to in a + tone of friendship. The bookseller’s well-meant frank remonstrance made + its just impression; and he resolved to make the necessary additions to + his wardrobe; nay, he even went to a hair-dresser, to have his hair cut + and brought into decent order. His companions, the printers, had not been + sparing in their remarks upon the meanness of his former apparel, and + Forester pleased himself with anticipating the respect they would feel for + him, when he should appear in better clothes. “Can such trifles,” said he + to himself, “make such a change in the opinion of my fellow-creatures? And + why should I fight with the world for trifles? My real merit is neither + increased nor diminished by the dress I may happen to wear; but I see, + that unless I waste all my life in combating the prejudices of superficial + observers, I should avoid all those pecuiliarities in my external + appearance which prevent whatever good qualities I have from obtaining + their just respect.” He was surprised at the blindness of his companions, + who could not discover his merit through the roughness of his manners and + the disadvantages of his dress; but he determined to shine out upon them + in the superior dress and character of a corrector of the press. He went + to a tailor’s, and bespoke a suit of clothes. He bought new linen; and our + readers will perhaps hear with surprise, that he actually began to + consider very seriously whether he should not take a few lessons in + dancing. He had learned to dance formerly, and was not naturally either + inactive or awkward: but his contempt for the art prevented him, for some + years, from practising it; and he had nearly forgotten his wonted agility. + Henry Campbell once, when Forester was declaiming against dancing, told + him, that if he had learned to dance, and excelled in the art, his + contempt for the trifling accomplishment would have more effect upon the + minds of others, because it could not be mistaken for envy. This remark + made a deep impression upon our hero, especially as he observed that his + friend Henry was not in the least vain of his personal graces, and had + cultivated his understanding, though he could dance a Scotch reel. Scotch + reels were associated in Forester’s imagination with Flora Campbell; and + in balancing the arguments for and against learning to dance, the + recollection of Archibald Mackenzie’s triumphant look, when he led her + away as his partner at the famous ball, had more influence perhaps upon + Forester’s mind than his pride and philosophy apprehended. He began to + have some confused design of returning, at some distant period, to his + friends; and he had hopes that he should appear in a more amiable light to + Flora, after he had perfected himself in an accomplishment which he + fancied she admired prodigiously. His esteem for that lady was rather + diminished by this belief; but still a sufficient quantity remained to + excite in him a strong ambition to please. The agony he felt the night he + left the ball-room was such, that he could not even now recollect the + circumstances without confusion and anguish of mind. His hands were now + such as could appear without gloves; and he resolved to commence the + education of his feet. + </p> + <p> + M. Pasgrave called upon him, in consequence of the message which he left + at the magistrate’s: his original design in sending for the dancing-master + was to offer him some acknowledgment for his obliging conduct. “M. + Pasgrave,” said he, “you have behaved towards me like a man of honour; you + have kept my secret; I am convinced that you will continue to keep it + inviolate.” As he spoke, he produced a ten-guinea bank-note, for at length + he had prevailed upon himself to have recourse to his pocket-book, which, + till this day, had remained unopened. Pasgrave stared at the sight of the + note, and withdrew his hand at first, when it was offered; but he yielded + at length, when Forester assured him that he was not in any distress, and + that he could perfectly well afford to indulge his feelings of gratitude. + “Nay,” continued Forester, who, if he had not always practised the maxims + of politeness, notwithstanding possessed that generosity of mind and good + sense on which real politeness must depend—“you shall not be under + any obligation to me, M. Pasgrave: I am just going to ask a favour from + you. You must teach me to dance.” “Wid de utmost pleasure,” exclaimed the + delighted dancing-master; and the hours of his attendance were soon + settled. Whatever Forester attempted, he pursued with energy. M. Pasgrave, + after giving him a few lessons, prophesied that he would do him infinite + credit; and Forester felt a secret pride in the idea that he should + surprise his friends, some time or other, with his new accomplishment. + </p> + <p> + He continued in the bookseller’s service, correcting the press for him, + much to his satisfaction; and the change in his personal appearance + pleased his master, as it showed attention to his advice. Our hero, from + time to time, exercised his talents in writing; and, as he inserted his + compositions under a fictitious signature, in his master’s newspaper, he + had an opportunity of hearing the most unprejudiced opinions of a variety + of critics, who often came to read the papers at their house. He stated, + in short essays, some of those arguments concerning the advantages and + disadvantages of politeness, luxury, the love of society, misanthropy, + &c., which had formerly passed between him and Henry Campbell; and he + listened to the remarks that were made upon each side of the question. How + it happened, we know not; but after he had taken lessons for about six + weeks from M. Pasgrave, he became extremely solicitous to have a solution + of all his Stoical doubts, and to furnish himself with the best possible + arguments in favour of civilized society. He could not bear the idea that + he yielded his opinions to any thing less than strict demonstration: he + drew up a list of queries, which concluded with the following question:—“What + should be the distinguishing characteristics of the higher classes of + people in society?” This query was answered in one of the public papers, a + few days after it appeared in Mr. ——‘s paper, and the answer + was signed <i>H.C., a Friend to Society</i>. Even without these initials, + Forester would easily have discovered it to be Henry Campbell’s writing; + and several strokes seemed to be so particularly addressed to him, that he + could not avoid thinking Henry had discovered the querist. The impression + which arguments make upon the mind varies with time and change of + situation. Those arguments in favour of subordination in society, in + favour of agreeable manners, and attention to the feelings of others in + the small as well as in the great concerns of life, which our hero had + heard with indifference from Dr. Campbell and Henry in conversation, + struck him, when he saw them in a printed essay, with all the force of + conviction; and he wondered how it had happened that he never before + perceived them to be conclusive. + </p> + <p> + He put the newspaper, which contained this essay, in his pocket; and, + after he had finished his day’s work, and had taken his evening lesson + from M. Pasgrave, he went out with an intention of going to a favourite + spot upon Arthur’s Seat, to read the essay again at his leisure. + </p> + <p> + But he was stopped at the turn from the North Bridge, into High-street, by + a scavenger’s cart. The scavenger, with his broom which had just swept the + High-street, was clearing away a heap of mud. Two gentlemen on horseback, + who were riding like postilions, came up during this operation—Sir + Philip Gosling and Archibald Mackenzie. Forester had his back towards + them, and he never looked round, because he was too intent upon his own + thoughts. Archibald was mounted upon Sawney, the horse which he had so <i>fairly</i> + won from his friend Sir Philip. The half-guinea which had been promised to + the hostler had not yet been paid; and the hostler, determined to revenge + himself upon Archibald, invented an ingenious method of gratifying his + resentment. He taught Sawney to rear and plunge whenever his legs were + touched by the broom with which the stables were swept. When Sawney was + perfectly well trained to this trick, the cunning hostler communicated his + design, and related his cause of complaint against Archibald, to a + scavenger, who was well known at the livery stables. The scavenger entered + into his friend the hostler’s feeling, and promised to use his broom in + his cause, whenever a convenient and public opportunity should offer. The + hour of retribution was now arrived: the scavenger saw his young gentleman + in full glory, mounted upon Sawney; he kept his eye upon him, whilst, in + company with the baronet, he came over the North Bridge: there was a stop, + from the meeting of carts and carriages. The instant Archibald came within + reach of the broom, the scavenger slightly touched Sawney’s legs; Sawney + plunged and reared, and reared and plunged. The scavenger stood grinning + at the sight. Forester attempted to seize the horse’s bridle; but Sawney, + who seemed determined upon the point, succeeded. When Forester snatched at + his bridle, he reared, then plunged; and Archibald Mackenzie was fairly + lodged in the scavenger’s cart. Whilst the well-dressed laird floundered + in the mud, Forester gave the horse to the servant, who had now ridden up; + and, satisfied that Mackenzie had received no material injury, inquired no + further. He turned to assist a poor washerwoman, who was lifting a large + basket of clean linen into her house, to get it out of the way of the + cart. As soon as he had helped her to lift the basket into her passage, he + was retiring, when he heard a voice at the back-door, which was at the + other end of the passage. It was the voice of a child; and he listened, + for he thought he had heard it before. “The door is locked,” said the + washerwoman. “I know who it is that is knocking; it is only a little girl + who is coming for a cap which I have there in the basket.” The door was + unlocked, and Forester saw the little girl to whom the fine geranium + belonged. What a number of ideas she recalled to his mind! She looked at + him, and hesitated, courtesied, then turned away, as if she was afraid she + was mistaken, and asked the washerwoman if she had plaited her + grandmother’s cap. The woman searched in her basket, and produced the cap + nicely plaited. The little girl, in the meantime, considered Forester with + anxious attention. “I believe,” said she, timidly, “you are, or you are + very like, the gentleman who was so good as to—” “Yes,” interrupted + Forester, “I know what you mean. I am the man who went with you to try to + obtain justice from your tyrannical schoolmistress: I did not do you any + good. Have you seen—have you heard any thing of—?” Such a + variety of recollections pressed upon Forester’s heart, that he could not + pronounce the name of Henry Campbell; and he changed his question. “Is + your old grandmother recovered?” + </p> + <p> + “She is quite well, thank you, sir; and she is grown young again, since + you saw her: perhaps you don’t know how good Mr. Henry and the young lady + have been to us. We don’t live now in that little, close, dark room at the + watchmaker’s. We are as happy, sir, as the day is long.” “But what of + Henry? what of—?” “Oh, sir! but if you are not very busy, or in a + great hurry—it is but a little way off—if you <i>could</i> + come and look at our new house—I don’t mean <i>our</i> house, for it + is not ours; but we take care of it, and we have two little rooms to + ourselves; and Mr. Henry and Miss Flora very often come to see us. I wish + you could come to see how nice our rooms are! The house is not far off, + only at the back of the Meadows.” “Go, show me the way—I’ll follow + you,” said Forester, after he had satisfied himself that there was no + danger of his meeting any of Dr. Campbell’s family. + </p> + <h3> + THE MEADOWS. + </h3> + <p> + Our hero accompanied the little girl with eager, benevolent curiosity. + “There,” said she, when they came to the Meadows, “do you see that white + house, with the paling before it?” “But that cannot be your house!” “No, + no, sir: Dr. Campbell and several gentlemen have the large room, and they + come there twice a-week to teach something to a great many children. + Grandmother can explain all that better to you, sir, than I can; but all I + know is, that it is our business to keep the room aired and swept, and to + take care of the glass things which you’ll see; and you shall see how + clean it is: it was <i>I</i> swept it this morning.” + </p> + <p> + They had now reached the gate which was in the paling before the house. + The old woman came to the door, clean, neat, and cheerful; she recollected + to have seen Forester in company with Henry Campbell at the watchmaker’s; + and this was sufficient to make him a welcome guest. “God bless the + family, and all that belongs to them, for ever and ever!” said the woman. + “This way, sir.” “Oh, don’t look into our little rooms yet: look at the + great room first, if you please, sir,” said the child. + </p> + <p> + There was a large table in the middle of this long room, and several glass + retorts, and other chemical vessels, were ranged upon shelves; wooden + benches were placed on each side of the table. The grandmother, to whom + the little girl had referred for a clear explanation, could not, however, + tell Forester very exactly the use of the retorts; but she informed him + that many of the manufacturers in Edinburgh sent their sons hither twice + a-week; and Dr. Campbell, and Mr. Henry Campbell, and some other + gentlemen, came by turns to instruct them. Forester recollected now that + he once heard Henry talking to his father about a scheme for teaching the + children of the manufacturers of Edinburgh some knowledge of chemistry, + such as they might afterwards apply advantageously to the arts and + every-day business of life. + </p> + <p> + “I have formed projects, but what good have I ever actually done to my + fellow-creatures?” said Forester to himself. With melancholy steps he + walked to examine every thing in the room. “Dr. Campbell sits in this + arm-chair, does not he? And where does Henry sit?” The old woman placed + the chairs for him as they usually were placed. Upon one of the shelves + there was a slate, which, as it had been written upon, the little girl had + put by very carefully; there were some calculations upon the weight of + different gases, and the figures Forester knew to be Henry’s: he looked at + every thing that was Henry’s with pleasure. “Because I used to be so rough + in my manner to him,” said Forester to himself, “I dare say that he thinks + I have no feeling, and I suppose he has forgotten me by this time: I + deserve, indeed, to be forgotten by every body! How could I leave such + friends!” On the other side of the slate poor Forester saw his own name + written several times over, in his friend’s hand-writing, and he read two + lines of his own poetry, which he remembered to have repeated to Henry the + day that they walked to Arthur’s Seat. Forester felt much pleasure from + this little proof of his friend’s affection. “Now won’t you look at our + nice rooms?” said the child, who had waited with some patience till he had + done pondering upon the slate. + </p> + <p> + The little rooms were well arranged, and their neatness was not now as + much lost upon our hero as it would have been some time before. The old + woman and her grand-daughter, with all the pride of gratitude, exhibited + to him several little presents of furniture which they had received from + Dr. Campbell’s family. “Mr. Henry gave me this! Miss Flora gave me that!” + was frequently repeated. The little girl opened the door of her own room. + On a clean white deal bracket, which “<i>Mr. Henry lad put up with his own + hands</i>,” stood the well-known geranium in its painted flower-pot. + Forester saw nothing else in the room, and it was in vain that both the + old woman and her grand-daughter talked to him at once; he heard not a + word that was said to him. The flowers were all gone, and the brown + calyces of the geranium flowers reminded him of the length of time which + had elapsed since he had first seen them. “I am sorry there are no flowers + to offer you,” said the little girl, observing Forester’s melancholy look; + “but I thought you did not like geraniums; for I remember when I gave you + a fine flower in the watchmaker’s shop you pulled it to pieces, and threw + it on the ground.” “I should not do so now,” said Forester. The black + marks on the painted flower-pot had been entirely effaced: be turned away, + endeavoured to conceal his emotion, and took leave of the place as soon as + the grateful inhabitants would suffer him to depart. The reflection that + he had wasted his time, that he had never done any good to any human + being, that he had lost opportunities of making both himself and others + happy, pressed upon his mind; but his Stoical pride still resisted the + thought of returning to Dr. Campbell’s. “It will be imagined that I yield + my opinions from meanness of spirit,” said he to himself. “Dr. Campbell + certainly has no further regard or esteem for me; neither he nor Henry + have troubled themselves about my fate: they are doing good to more + deserving objects; they are intent upon literary pursuits, and have not + time to bestow a thought upon me. And Flora, I suppose, is as gay as she + is good. I alone am unhappy,—a wanderer,—an outcast,—a + useless being.” + </p> + <p> + Forester, whilst he was looking at the geranium, or soon afterwards, + missed his handkerchief; the old woman and her grand-daughter searched for + it all over the house, but in vain: he then thought he must have left it + at the washerwoman’s, where he met the little girl; he called to inquire + for it, upon his return to Edinburgh. When he returned to this woman’s + house for his handkerchief, he found her sitting upon a low stool, in her + laundry, weeping bitterly; her children stood round her. Forester inquired + into the cause of her distress, and she told him that a few minutes after + he left her, the young gentleman who had been thrown from his horse into + the scavenger’s cart was brought into her house, whilst his servant went + home for another suit of clothes for him. “I did not at first guess that I + had ever seen the young gentleman before,” continued she; “but when the + mud was cleared from his face I knew him to be Mr. Archibald Mackenzie. I + am sure I wish I had never seen his face then or at any time. He was in a + very bad humour after his tumble, and he began again to threaten me about + a ten-guinea bank-note, which he and his servant declare they sent in his + waistcoat pocket to be washed: I’m sure I never saw it. Mr. Henry Campbell + quieted him about it for awhile; but just now he began again with me, and + he says he has spoken to a lawyer, and that he will make me pay the whole + note; and he swore at me as if I had been the worst creature in the world; + and, God knows, I work hard for my children, and never wronged any one in + my days!” + </p> + <p> + Forester, who forgot all his own melancholy reflections as soon as he + could assist any one who was in distress, bade the poor woman dry her + tears, and assured her that she had nothing to fear; for he would + instantly go to Dr. Campbell, and get him to speak to Mackenzie. “If it is + necessary,” said he, “I’ll pay the money myself.” She clasped her hands + joyfully as he spoke, and all her children joined in an exclamation of + delight. “I’ll go to Dr. Campbell’s this instant,” said our hero, whose + pride now yielded to the desire of doing justice to this injured woman; he + totally forgot himself, and thought only of her: “I’ll go to Dr. + Campbell’s, and I will speak to Mr. Mackenzie immediately.” + </p> + <h3> + A SUMMONS + </h3> + <p> + Whilst Forester was walking through the streets, with that energy which + the hope of serving his fellow-creatures always excited in his generous + mind, he even forgot a scheme which he had, in spite of his Stoical pride + and his dread of being thought to give up his opinions from meanness, + resolved in his imagination. He had formed the design of returning to his + friends an altered being in his external appearance: he had ordered a + fashionable suit of clothes, which were now ready. He had laid aside the + dress and manners of a gentleman from the opinion that they were degrading + to the character of a man: as soon as this prejudice had been conquered, + he began to think he might resume them. Many were the pleasing + anticipations in which he indulged himself: the looks of each of his + friends, the generous approving eye of Henry, the benevolent countenance + of Dr. Campbell, the arch smile of Flora, were all painted by his fancy; + and he invented every circumstance that was likely to happen—every + word that would probably be said by each individual. We are sure that our + readers will give our enthusiastic hero credit for his forgetting these + pleasing reveries—for his forgetting himself, nay, even Flora + Campbell—when humanity and justice called upon him for exertion. + </p> + <p> + When he found himself in George’s-square, within sight of Dr. Campbell’s + house, his heart beat violently, and he suddenly stopped to recollect + himself. He had scarcely stood a few instants, when a hard, stout-looking + man came up to him, and asked him if his name were Forester: he started, + and answered, “Yes, sir, what is your business with me?” The stranger + replied by producing a paper, and desiring him to read it. The paper, + which was half printed, half written, began with these words:—“You + are hereby required to appear before me—” + </p> + <p> + “What is all this?” exclaimed our hero. “It is a summons,” replied the + stranger: “I am a constable, and you will please to come with me before + Mr. W——. This is not the first time you have been before him, + I am told.” To this last insolent taunt Forester made no reply, but in a + firm tone said that he was conscious of no crime, but that he was ready to + follow the constable, and to appear before Mr. W——, or any + other magistrate, who wished to inquire into his conduct. Though he + summoned all his fortitude, and spoke with composure, he was much + astonished by this proceeding; he could not help reflecting, that an + individual in society who has friends, an established character, and a <i>home</i>, + is in a more desirable situation than an unconnected being, who has no one + to answer for his conduct,—no one to rejoice in his success, or to + sympathize in his misfortunes. “Ah, Dr. Campbell! happy father! in the + midst of your own family, you have forgotten your imprudent ward!” said + Forester to himself, while his mind revolted from seeking his friend’s + assistance in this discreditable situation. “You do not know how near he + is to you! you do not know that he was just returning to you! you do not + see that he is, at this moment, perhaps, on the brink of disgrace!” + </p> + <h3> + THE BANK-NOTES. + </h3> + <p> + Forester was mistaken in his idea that Dr. Campbell had forgotten him; but + we shall not yet explain further upon this subject; we only throw out this + hint, that our readers may not totally change their good opinion of the + doctor. We must now beg their attention to the continuation of the history + of Archibald Mackenzie’s bank-note. + </p> + <p> + Lady Catherine Mackenzie one day observed that the colours were changed in + one spot on the right-hand pocket of her son’s waistcoat. “My dear + Archibald,” said she, “what has happened to your smart waistcoat? What is + that terrible spot?” “Really, ma’am, I don’t know,” said Archibald, with + his usual soft voice and deceitful smile. Henry Campbell observed that it + seemed as if the colours had been discharged by some acid. “Did you wear + that waistcoat, Mr. Mackenzie,” said he, “the night the large bottle of + vitriolic acid was broken—the night that poor Forester’s cat was + killed: don’t you remember?” “Oh, I did not at first recollect; I cannot + possibly remember, indeed,—it is so long ago,—what waistcoat I + wore on that particular night.” The extreme embarrassment in Archibald’s + manner surprised Henry. “I really don’t perceive your <i>drift</i>,” + continued Mackenzie: “what made you ask the question so earnestly?” He was + relieved when Henry answered, that he only wished to know whether it was + probable that it was stained with vitriolic acid; “because,” said he, “I + think <i>that</i> is the pocket in which you said you left your ten-guinea + note; then, perhaps, the note may have been stained.” “Perhaps so,” + replied Mackenzie dryly. “And if it were, you could identify the note: you + have forgotten the number; but if the note has been stained with vitriolic + acid, we should certainly be able to know it again: the acid would have + changed the colour of the ink.” Mackenzie eagerly seized this idea; and + immediately, in pursuance of Henry’s advice, went to several of the + principal bankers in Edinburgh, and requested that if a note, stained in + such a manner, should be presented to them, they would stop payment of it + till Mackenzie should examine it. Some time elapsed, and nothing was heard + of the note. Mackenzie gave up all hopes of recovering it; and in + proportion as these hopes diminished, his old desire of making the poor + washerwoman answerable for his loss increased. We have just heard this + woman’s account of his behaviour to her, when he came into her house to be + refitted, after his tumble from Sawney into the scavenger’s cart. All his + promises to Henry he thought proper to disregard: promises appeared to him + mere matters of convenience; and the idea of “<i>taking in</i>” such a + young man as Henry Campbell was to him an excellent joke. He resolved to + keep the five guineas quietly which Henry lent him; and, at the same time, + to frighten this innocent industrious woman into paying him the value of + his bank-note. + </p> + <p> + Upon Mackenzie’s return to Dr. Campbell’s, after his fall from Sawney, the + first thing he heard was that his note was found; that it had been stopped + at the bank of Scotland; and that one of the clerks of the bank, who + brought it for his examination, had been some time waiting for his return + from riding. When the note was produced, Henry saw that two or three of + the words which had been written in ink, the name of the person to whom it + was payable, and the date of the month and year, were so pale as to be + scarcely visible; and that there was a round hole through one corner of + the paper. This round hole puzzled Henry, but he had no doubt that the ink + had been thus nearly obliterated by vitriolic acid. He poured a few drops, + diluted with water, upon some printing, and the ink was quickly turned to + nearly the same pale colour as that in Mackenzie’s note. The note was + easily traced, as it had not passed through many hands—our readers + will be sorry to hear it—to M. Pasgrave, the dancing-master. + Mackenzie and the clerk went directly to his house, found him at home, and + without much preface, informed him of their business. The dancing-master + trembled from head to foot, and, though innocent, exhibited all the signs + of guilt; he had not the slightest knowledge of business, and the manner + and language of the banker’s clerk who accompanied Mackenzie terrified him + beyond measure, because he did not comprehend one word in ten that he said + about checks, entries, and day-books; and he was nearly a quarter of an + hour before he could recover sufficient presence of mind to consider from + whom he received the note. At length, after going over, in an + unintelligible manner, all the puzzled accounts of monies received and + paid which he kept in his head, he declared that he clearly recollected to + have received the ten-guinea note at Mr. Macpherson’s, the tailor; that he + went a few weeks ago to settle his year’s account with him; and that in + change for a twenty-pound note, he received that which the banker’s clerk + now produced. To Mackenzie it was perfectly indifferent who was found + guilty, so that he could recover his money. “Settle it as you will amongst + you,” said he, “the money must be refunded, or I must have you all before + a magistrate directly.” Pasgrave, in great perturbation, set out for Mr. + Macpherson’s, showed him the note, and reminded him of the day when he + paid his account. “If you received the note from us, sir,” said the + master-tailor, very calmly, “it must be entered in our books, for we keep + regular accounts.” The tailor’s foreman, who knew much more of the affair + than his master, appealed, with assumed security, to the entry in the + books. By this entry it appeared that M. Pasgrave settled his account the + 17th of October; that he paid the balance by a twenty-pound note, and that + he received in change a ten-guinea note on Sir William Forbes’s bank. “You + see, sir,” said the tailor, “this cannot possibly be Mr. Mackenzie’s; for + his note is on the bank of Scotland. Our entry is as full as possible; and + I am ready to produce my books, and to abide by them, in any court of + justice in the world.” M. Pasgrave was totally at a loss; he could only + repeat, that he remembered to have received Mackenzie’s note from one of + the tailor’s men, who brought it to him from an inner room. The foreman + boldly asserted, that he brought the change exactly as his master gave it + to him, and that he knew nothing more of the matter. But, in fact, he knew + a great deal more: he had found the note in the pocket of Mackenzie’s + waistcoat, which his servant had left to be mended, after he had torn it + furtively, as has been already related. When his master called him into + the inner room, to give him the change for Pasgrave, he observed that + there was a ten-guinea note wrapped up with some halfpence; and he thought + that it would be a prudent thing to substitute Mackenzie’s note, which he + had by him, in the place of this. He accordingly gave Pasgrave Mackenzie’s + note, and thrust the note which he had received from his master into a + corner of his trunk, where he usually kept little windfalls, that came to + him by the negligence of customers—toothpick-cases, loose silver, + odd gloves, &c., all which he knew how to dispose of. But this + bank-note was a higher prize than usual, and he was afraid to pass it till + all inquiry had blown over. He knew his master’s regularity; and he + thought that if the note was stopped afterwards at any of the banks, it + could never be traced further than to M. Pasgrave. He was rejoiced to see + that this poor man was in such trepidation of mind that he could not, in + the least, use his understanding; and he saw, with much satisfaction, that + his master, who was a positive man, and proud of the accuracy of his + books, was growing red in the face in their defence. Mackenzie, in the + meantime, who had switched his boots with great impatience during their + debate, interfered at last with, “Come, gentlemen, we can’t stand here all + day to hear you give one another the lie. One of you, it’s plain, must + shell out your corianders; but, as you can’t settle which, we must put you + to your oath, I see.” “Mr. W——‘s is not far off, and I am + ready to go before him with my books this instant,” said the fiery + master-tailor. “My books were never called in question since I was in + trade till this instant; and nobody but a French dancing-master, who + understands no more of debtor and creditor than my goose, would stand out + against such an entry as this.” To Mr. W——‘s the tailor, his + foreman, the dancing-master, the banker’s clerk, and Mackenzie, repaired. + Pasgrave turned paler than ever dancer turned before; and gave himself, + his character, and his wife and children, all up for lost, when he heard + that he was to be put upon his oath. He drew back when Mr. W—— + held the book to him, and demanded whether he would swear to the person + from whom he received the note. He said he could not swear; but to the + best of his belief—en conscience—en honneur—foi + d’honnête homme—he was convinced he received it from Mr. + Macpherson’s foreman. The foreman, who, from one step in villany, found + himself hurried on to another and another, now scrupled not to declare + that he was ready to take his oath that he delivered the note and change, + just as his master gave it to him, to M. Pasgrave. The magistrate turned + to the paler, conscientious, incapacitated dancing-master, and in a severe + tone said—“Appearances are strangely against you, M. Pasgrave. + Here’s a young gentleman has lost a bank-note—it is stopped at the + bank of Scotland—it is traced home to you—you say you got it + from Mr. Macpherson or his foreman—his books are produced—the + entry in them is clearly against you; for it states that the note given to + you in change was one of Sir William Forbes’s bank; and this which I hold + now in my hand is of the Bank of Scotland. Please now to tell how this + note of the Bank of Scotland, which has been proved to be the property of + Mr. Mackenzie, came into your possession? From whom did you receive it? or + how did you come by it? I am not surprised that you decline taking an oath + upon this occasion.” “Ah, monsieur, ayez pitié de moi!” cried the + innocent, but terrified man, throwing himself upon one knee, in an + attitude, which, on the stage, would have produced a sublime effect—“Ah, + monsieur, ayez pitié de moi! I have no more dan de child no sense in + affairs.” Mackenzie interrupted him with a brutal laugh. The more humane + banker’s clerk was moved by the simplicity of this avowed ignorance of + business. He went up to the distracted dancer, and said, “It is not to be + expected that every body should understand business as <i>we</i> do, sir: + if you are innocent, only give yourself time to recollect; and though it’s + unfortunate that you never keep any regular accounts, maybe we shall be + able to make out this affair of the entry. If Mr. W—— will + give me leave to take this pen and ink, and if you will try to recollect + all the persons from whom you have received money lately—” “Ah, mon + Dieu! dat is impossible.” Then he began to name the quarterly and + half-yearly payments that he had received from his various pupils. “Did + any of them lately give you a ten-guinea note?” “Ah, oui, je me rappelle—un + jeune monsieur—un certain monsieur, qui ne veut pas que—qui + est là incognito—who I would not betray for the world; for he has + behave wid de most parfaite générosité to me.” “But did he give you a + ten-guinea bank-note? that is all we want to know,” said the magistrate. + “Mais—oui—yes.” “About what time?” said the clerk. It was + about the beginning of October: and this was so near the time when he + settled accounts with Mr. Macpherson, the tailor, that he even himself + began to believe it possible that he had mistaken one note for the other. + “When the young gentleman gave you the note,” said the banker’s clerk, + “surely you must have looked at it—you must have observed these + remarkable stains?” Pasgrave replied, that he did look at it, he supposed; + that he saw it was a ten-guinea note; it might be stained, it might not be + stained; he could not pretend to be certain about it. He repeated his + assurances that he was ignorant of business, and of every thing in this + world but dancing. “Pour la danse, je m’y connois—pour les affaires, + je n’en sais rien, moi.” He, with his usual simplicity, added, that if Mr. + W—— would give him leave, he would go to the young gentleman, + his friend, and learn from him exactly the number of the note which he had + given him; that he was sure he could recollect his own note immediately. + Mackenzie, who thought that this was merely pretence, in order to escape, + told him that he could not be suffered to go out upon his parole. “But,” + said Mr. W——, “tell us the name of this young gentleman who + has so much generosity, and who lives incognito. I don’t like gentlemen + who live incognito. I think I had a young man here before me, about two + months ago, charged with breaking a confectioner’s windows in a riot, the + night of the great illuminations—Hey? don’t I remember some such + thing? And you, M. Pasgrave, if I mistake not, interested yourself + mightily about this young man, and told me and my daughters, sir, that he + was a young gentleman incognito. I begin to see through this affair. + Perhaps this is the same young gentleman from whom you received the note. + And pray what value did you give for it?” Pasgrave, whose fear of + betraying Forester now increased his confusion, stammered, and first said + the note was a present, but afterwards added, “I have been giving de young + person lessons in dancing for des six week.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, we must summon this young person,” said Mr. W——. + “Tell us his name, if you please,” said Mackenzie; “I have some suspicion + that I know your gentleman incognito.” “You need not trouble him,” said + the magistrate; “I know the name already, and I know where the bird is to + be found: his name, if he has not changed it since he was last in this + room, is Forester.” “Forester!” exclaimed Mackenzie; “I thought so! I + always thought how he would turn out. I wonder what his friends, the + Campbells, will have to say for him now!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. W——‘s pen stopped. “His friends, the Campbells—humph! + So the Campbells are his friends, are they?” repeated he. “They <i>were</i> + his friends,” answered Mackenzie; “but Mr. Forester thought proper, nobody + knows why, to run away from them, some months ago; the only reason I could + ever learn was that he did not like to live amongst gentlemen: and he has + been living ever since incognito, amongst blackguards, and we see the + fruits of it.” Mackenzie eagerly handed the summons, as soon as it was + signed, to a constable; and Mr. W—— directed the constable to + Mr. ——‘s, the bookseller, adding, “Book-sellers and printers + are dangerous persons.” The constable, who had seen Forester the night + that he was confined with Tom Random, knew his face and person; and we + have told our readers that he met Forester in George’s-square, going to + Dr. Campbell’s, to vindicate the innocence of the poor washerwoman. + </p> + <p> + The tailor’s foreman was not a little alarmed when the summons was sent + for our hero; he dreaded that the voice of truth should be heard, and he + skulked behind the rest of the company. What astonishment did Forester + feel when he entered the room, and saw the group that surrounded the + justice’s table!—Archibald Mackenzie, with an insulting sneer on his + lips—Pasgrave, with eyes fixed upon him in despair—Mr. + Macpherson, the tailor, pointing to an entry in his book—his foreman + shrinking from notice—the banker’s clerk, with benevolent scepticism + in his countenance—and the justice, with a portentous scowl upon his + brow. + </p> + <p> + “Come forward, Mr. Forester,” said the magistrate, as our hero made a + sudden pause of astonishment; “come forward, sir!” Forester advanced with + calm intrepidity. “You are better dressed than when I had the honour of + seeing you here some time ago, sir. Are you a printer still, or a + gentleman? Your dress certainly bespeaks a change in your condition.” “I + am sure I should hardly know Mr. Forester again, he has grown such a beau—comparatively + speaking, I mean,” said Mackenzie. “But certainly, M. Pasgrave, you must + have made some mistake; I don’t know how to believe my senses! Is this the + young gentleman to whom you alluded? do you know him—?” “Give me + leave, Mr. Mackenzie,” interrupted the justice: “I shall examine this + young incognito myself. I think I know how to come at the truth. Will you + do me the favour, sir, to inform me whether you recollect any thing of a + ten-guinea bank-note which you gave or paid, some time in last October, to + this gentleman?” pointing to M. Pasgrave. “I do,” replied Forester, in a + distinct, unembarrassed voice, “perfectly well remember giving M. Pasgrave + a ten-guinea bank-note.” “Ah, monsieur, je ne suis pas un ingrat. Ne + pensez pas que—” “Oh, M. Pasgrave,” interrupted Mackenzie, “this is + no time for compliments and fine speeches: for God’s sake, let us get to + the bottom of this affair without further ceremony!” “Sir,” said the + banker’s clerk, “all we want to know is the number of your note, and the + firm of the house. Was your note one of Sir William Forbes’s, or of the + Bank of Scotland?” Forester was silent. “I do not recollect,” said he, + after some pause. “You don’t recollect, sir,” said the justice, “is + something like an evasive answer. You must have a vast number of + bank-notes then, we must presume, if you cannot recollect to what bank + your ten-guinea note belonged.” Forester did not understand this logic; + but he simply repeated his assertion. “Pray, sir,” said the tailor, who + could no longer restrain his impatience—“Pray, sir,” said the + magistrate, in a solemn manner, “be silent. I shall find out the truth. + So, Mr. Forester, you cannot possibly recollect the house of your note? + You will tell us next, I dare say, that you cannot possibly recollect how + you came by it.” “Sir,” said Forester, “if it is necessary, I can readily + tell you how I came by it.” “It is very necessary, sir, for your own + credit.” “I received it from Dr. Campbell.” “Dr. Campbell!” repeated the + magistrate, changing his tone. “And I have some idea that the doctor gave + me a list of the numbers of that and four other notes, with which I + fortunately have not parted.” “Some idea means nothing in a court of + justice, sir; if you have any such paper, you can do us the favour to + produce it.” Now this list was locked up in the trunk, of which the key + was dropped into the brewing-vat. Richardson, the clerk, had returned the + key to him; but, such is the force of habit, he had not cured himself of + the foolish trick of twirling it upon his thumb; and about two months ago + he dropped it in one of his walks to Arthur’s Seat. He long searched for + it amongst the rocky fragments, but at last gave it up—he little + imagined of how much consequence it might be to him. Dr. Campbell had once + refused to break open the lock, and he felt very unwilling to apply to him + in his present circumstances. However, he wrote a few lines to Henry + Campbell; but, as soon as he had written them, his pride again revolted + from the thoughts of supplicating the assistance of his friend in such a + disgraceful situation. “If you don’t choose to write,” said the officious + malevolence of Archibald, “I can, however, speak; I’ll desire Dr. Campbell + to open your trunk, and search for the paper.” He left the room before + Forester could make any further opposition. + </p> + <p> + “I have answered, I hope, both distinctly and respectfully, all the + questions that you have asked me,” said Forester, turning to Mr. W——. + “I hope you will no longer keep me in the dark. Of what am I suspected?” + “I will tell you, sir,” replied the deliberate, unfeeling magistrate; “you + are suspected of having, I will not say <i>stolen</i>, but you are more + than suspected of having come unfairly by a certain ten-guinea bank-note, + which the young gentleman who has just left the room lost a few months + ago.” Forester, as this speech was slowly pronounced, sat down, folded his + arms, and appeared totally insensible—quite unconscious that he was + in the presence of a magistrate, or that any human being was observing + him. “Ah, mon cher monsieur, pardonnez!” cried Pasgrave, bursting into + tears. “N’en parlons plus,” added he, turning to the magistrate. “Je + payerai tout ce qu’il faut. I will pay de ten guineas. I will satisfy + every body. I cannot never forgive myself if I bring him into any + disgrace.” “Disgrace!” exclaimed Forester, starting up, and repeating the + word in a tone which made every person in the room, not excepting the + phlegmatic magistrate, start and look up to him, with a sudden feeling of + inferiority. His ardent eye spoke the language of his soul. No words could + express his emotion. The master-tailor dropped his day-book. “Constable—call + a constable!” cried the justice. “Sir, you forget in whose presence you + are—you think, I suppose, that your friends, the Campbells, will + bear you out. Sir, I would have you to know that all the Campbells in + Scotland can’t bail you for a felony. Sir, philosophers should know these + things. If you cannot clear yourself to my entire satisfaction, Mr. + Forester, I shall commit you—in one word—to gaol: yes—look + as you please, sir—to gaol. And if the doctor and his son, and all + his family, come up to bail you, I shall, <i>meo periculo</i>, refuse + their bail. The law, sir, is no respecter of persons. So none of your + rhodomontades, young gentleman, in my presence; but step into this closet, + if you please; and, I advise you, bring your mind into a becoming + temperament, whilst I go to dinner. Gentlemen,” continued he to Macpherson + and Pasgrave, “you’ll be so good to wait here in this apartment. + Constable, look to your prisoner,” pointing to the door of the closet. + “John, let me know when Dr. Campbell arrives; and tell them to send up + dinner directly,” said the justice to his butler. + </p> + <p> + Whilst he dines, we must leave the tailor complaining that he was wasting + precious time; the foreman in the panic of guilt; and the good-natured + dancing-master half distracted betwixt his fears and his ignorance. He + looked from time to time through the key-hole of the closet in which + Forester was confined, and exclaimed, “Grand Dieu! comme il a l’air noble + à cet instant! Ah! lui coupable! he go to gaol! it is impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see how that will be presently,” said the foreman, who had + hitherto preserved absolute silence. “I abide by my books,” said the + master-tailor; “and I wish Dr. Campbell would make haste. <i>I have lost a + day!</i>” + </p> + <p> + In spite of the tailor’s imperial exclamation, he was obliged to wait some + time longer. When Mackenzie arrived at Dr. Campbell’s, Henry was not at + home: he was gone to the house at the back of the meadows, to prepare some + chemical experiments for the next day’s lecture. Mackenzie, however, found + Dr. Campbell at home in his study; and, in a soft hypocritical voice, + lamented that he was obliged to communicate some disagreeable + circumstances relating to young Mr. Forester. “You do not, I presume, know + where that unfortunate, misguided youth is at present—at this + moment, I mean.” “I do not know where he is at this moment,” said Dr. + Campbell, calmly; “but I know where he has been for some time—at Mr. + ——‘s, the bookseller. I have had my eye upon him ever since he + left this house. I have traced him from place to place. Though I have said + little about him, Mr. Mackenzie, I have a great regard for my unfortunate + ward.” “I am sorry for it, sir,” said Mackenzie: “I fear I must wound your + feelings the more deeply.” “What is the matter? pray speak at once,” cried + Dr. Campbell, who now forgot all his usual calmness. “Where is Forester?” + “He is at this moment before Mr. W——, the magistrate, sir, + charged with—but, I own, I cannot believe him guilty—” + “Charged with what? For God’s sake, speak plainly, Mr. Mackenzie!” “Then, + in one word, sir, my lost bank-note is traced home to Mr. Forester. M. + Pasgrave says he received it from him.” “Surely, sir,” said Dr. Campbell, + with indignation, “you would not insinuate that Forester has stolen your + bank-note?” “I insinuate nothing, doctor,” said Archibald; “but, I fear, + the thing is too plainly proved. My bank-note has certain stains, by which + it has been identified. All that I know is, that Mr. W—— says + he can take no bail; and that he must commit Mr. Forester to gaol, unless + he can clear himself. He says, that a few days before he left your house, + you paid him his quarterly allowance of fifty guineas, in five ten-guinea + bank-notes.” “He says true—I did so,” said Dr. Campbell eagerly. + “And he says that you gave them to him wrapped in a piece of paper, on + which the numbers of the notes were written.” “I remember it distinctly: I + desired him to take care of that paper.” “He is not famous for taking + care, you know, sir, of any thing. He says, he believes he threw it into + his trunk; but he has lost the key of the trunk, I understand.” “No + matter; we can break it open this instant, and search for the paper,” + cried Dr. Campbell, who was now extremely alarmed for his ward. Mackenzie + stood by without offering any assistance, whilst Dr. Campbell broke open + the trunk, and searched it with the greatest anxiety. It was in terrible + disorder. The coat and waistcoat which Forester wore at the ball were + crammed in at the top; and underneath appeared unfolded linen, books, + boots, maps, shoes, cravats, fossils, and heaps of little rumpled bits of + paper, in which the fossils had once been contained. Dr. Campbell opened + every one of these. The paper he wanted was not amongst them. He took + every thing out of the box, shook and searched all the pockets of the + coat, in which Forester used, before his reformation, to keep hoards of + strange papers. No list of bank-notes appeared. At length, Dr. Campbell + espied the white corner of a paper-mark in a volume of Goldsmith’s + Animated Nature, He pulled out this mark, and to his great joy, he found + it to be the very paper he wanted. “So it’s found, is it?” said Mackenzie, + disappointed; whilst Dr. Campbell seized his hat, left every thing upon + the floor, and was very near locking the door of the room upon Mackenzie. + “Don’t lock me in here, doctor—I am going back with you to Mr. W——‘s” + said Arcibald. “Won’t you stay? dinner’s going up—Mr. W—— + was going this dinner when I came away.” Without listening to him, Dr. + Campbell just let him out, locked the door, and hurried away to his poor + ward. + </p> + <p> + “I have let things go to far,” said he to himself. “As long as Forester’s + credit was not in danger, as long as he was unknown, it was very well; but + now his character is at stake; he may pay too dear for his experience.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Campbell,” said the pompous magistrate, who hated philosophers, + rising from table as Dr. Campbell entered, “do not speak to me of bailing + this ward of yours—it is impossible, sir; I know my duty.” “I am not + come to offer bail for my ward,” said Dr. Campbell, “but to prove his + innocence.” “We must hope the best,” said Mr. W——; and, having + forced the doctor to pledge him in a bumper of port, “Now I am ready to + proceed again to the examination of all parties concerned.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Campbell was now shown into the room where Mr. Macpherson, his foreman + and Pasgrave, were waiting. “Ah, monsieur, Dieu merci, vous voila!” + exclaimed Pasgrave. “You may go,” said Mr. W—— to the + constable: “but wait below stairs.” He unlocked the closet-door. Forester, + at the sight of Dr. Campbell, covered his face with his hands; but, an + instant afterwards, advanced with intrepidity. “You cannot, I am sure, + believe me to be guilty of any meanness, Dr. Campbell,” said he. + “Imprudent I have been, and I suffer for my folly.” “Guilty!” cried Dr. + Campbell; “no: I could almost as soon suspect my own son of such an + action. But my belief is nothing to the purpose. We must <i>prove</i> your + innocence.” “Ah, oui, monsieur—and mine too; for I am innocent, I + can assure you,” cried M. Pasgrave. + </p> + <p> + “The whole business, sir,” said the banker’s clerk, who had, by this time, + returned to hear the termination of the affair—“the whole thing can + be settled in two minutes, by a gentleman like you, who understands + business. Mr. Forester cannot recollect the number or the firm of a + ten-guinea bank-note which he gave to M. Pasgrave. M. Pasgrave cannot + recollect either; and he is in doubt whether he received this stained + note, which Mr. Mackenzie lost, from Mr. Forester or from Mr. Macpherson, + the tailor.” “There can be no doubt about me,” said Macpherson. “Dr. + Campbell, will you be so good to look at the entry? I acknowledge, I gave + M. Pasgrave a ten-guinea note; but here’s the number of it, 177, of + Forbes’s bank. Mr. Mackenzie’s note, you see, is of the bank of Scotland; + and the stains upon it are so remarkable, that, if I had ever seen it + before, I should certainly remember it. I’ll take my oath I never saw it + before.” “Sir,” said Forester eagerly to Dr. Campbell, “you gave me five + ten-guinea notes: here are four of them in this pocket-book; the fifth I + gave to M. Pasgrave. Can you tell me the number of that note?” “I can,” + said Dr. Campbell, producing the paper which he found in Goldsmith’s + Animated Nature. “I had the precaution to write down the numbers of all + your notes myself: here they are.” Forester opened his pocket-book: his + four remaining notes were compared, and perfectly agreed with the numbers + in the list. The fifth, the number of the note which he gave to Pasgrave, + was 1260, of the New Bank. “One of your ten-guinea notes,” said Dr. + Campbell to Pasgrave, “you paid into the bank of Scotland; and this + gentleman,” pointing to the banker’s clerk, “stopped it this morning. Now + you have had another ten-guinea note; what became of that?” Pasgrave, who + understood Dr. Campbell’s plain method of questioning him, answered + immediately, “I did give the other to my hair-dresser, not long ago, who + lives in —— street.” Dr. Campbell instantly went himself to + the hair-dresser, found that he had the note still in his possession, + brought him to Mr. W——‘s, and, when the note was examined, it + was found to be 1260 of the New Bank, which exactly corresponded with the + entry in the list of notes which Dr. Campbell had produced. + </p> + <p> + “Then all is right,” said Dr. Campbell. “Ah, oui!—Ah, non!” + exclaimed Pasgrave. “What will become of me?” “Compose yourself, my good + sir,” said Dr. Campbell. “You had but two ten-guinea notes, you are sure + of that?” “But two—but two: I will swear but two.” “You are now + certain which of these two notes you had from my ward. The other, you say, + you received from ——” “From dis gentleman, I will swear,” + cried Pasgrave, pulling the tailor’s foreman forwards. “I can swear now I + am in no embarras: I am sure I did get de oder note from dis gentleman.” + The master-tailor was astonished to see all the pallid marks of guilt in + his foreman’s countenance. “Did you change the note that I gave you in the + inner room?” said Mr. Macpherson. The foreman, as soon as he could command + his voice, denied the charge; and persisted in it that he gave the note + and change, which his master wrapped up, exactly as it was, to the + dancing-master. Dr. Campbell proposed that the tailor’s shop, and the + foreman’s room, should be searched. Mr. W—— sent proper people + to Mr. Macpherson’s; and whilst they are searching his house, we may + inquire what has become of Henry Campbell. + </p> + <h3> + THE CATASTROPHE. + </h3> + <p> + Henry Campbell, the last time we heard of him, was at the house at the + back of the meadows. When he went into the large room to his chemical + experiments, the little girl, who was proud of having arranged it neatly, + ran on before him, and showed him the places where all his things were + put. “The writing and the figures are not rubbed off your slate—there + it is, sir,” said she, pointing to a high shelf. “But whose handkerchief + is this?” said Henry, taking up a handkerchief which was under the slate. + “Gracious! that must be the good gentleman’s handkerchief; he missed it + just as he was going out of the house. He thought he had left it at the + washerwoman’s, where I met him; and he’s gone back to look for it there. + I’ll run with it to the washerwoman’s,—maybe she knows where to find + him.” “But you have not told me who he is. Whom do you mean by the good + gentleman?” “The good gentleman, sir, that I saw with you at the + watchmaker’s, the day that you helped me to carry the great geranium out + of my grandmother’s room.” “Do you mean that Forester has been here?” + exclaimed Henry. “I never heard his name, sir; but I mean that the + gentleman has been here, whom I call the good gentleman, because it was he + who went with me to my cross schoolmistress, to try to persuade her to use + me well. She beat me, to be sure, after he was gone, for what he had said; + but I’m not the less obliged to him, because he did every thing as he + thought for the best. And so I’ll run with his handkerchief to the + woman’s, who will give it safe to him.” + </p> + <p> + Henry recollected his promise to his father. It required all his power + over himself to forbear questioning the child, and endeavouring to find + out something more of his friend. He determined to mention the + circumstance to his father, and to Flora, as soon as he returned home. He + was always impatient to tell any thing to his sister that interested + himself or his friends; for Flora’s gaiety was not of that unfeeling sort + which seeks merely for amusement, and which, unmixed with sympathy for + others, may divert in a companion, but disgusts in a friend. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Henry was reflecting upon the manner in which he might most + expeditiously arrange his chemical experiments and return home, the little + girl came running back, with a face of great distress. As soon as she had + breath to speak, she told Henry that when she went to the washerwoman’s + with the handkerchief, she was told a sad piece of news; that Mr. Forester + had been taken up, and carried before Mr. W——, the magistrate. + “We don’t know what he has done: I’m sure I don’t think he can have done + any thing wrong.” Henry no sooner heard these words than he left all his + retorts, rushed out of the house, hurried home to his father, and learned + from Flora, with great surprise, that his father had already been sent + for, and was gone to Mr. W——‘s. She did not know the + circumstances that Mackenzie related to Dr. Campbell, but she told him + that her father seemed much alarmed; that she met him crossing the hall, + and that he could not stop to speak to her. Henry proceeded directly to + Mr. W——‘s, and he arrived there just as the people returned + from the search of the tailor’s house. His opinion of Forester’s innocence + was so strong, that when he entered the room, he instantly walked up to + him, and embraced him, with a species of frank confidence in his manner + which, to Forester, was more expressive than any thing that he could have + said. The whole affair was quickly explained to him; and the people who + had been sent to Mr. Macpherson’s now came up-stairs to Mr. W——, + and produced a ten-guinea bank-note, which was found in the foreman’s box. + Upon examination, this note was discovered to be the very note which Mr. + Macpherson sent with the change to Pasgrave. It was No. 177, of Sir + William Forbes’s bank, as mentioned in the circumstantial entry in the + day-book. The joy of the poor dancing-master at this complete proof of his + innocence was rapturous and voluble. Secure of the sympathy of Forester, + Henry, and Dr. Campbell, he looked at them by turns, whilst he + congratulated himself upon this “<i>éclaircissement</i>,” and assured the + banker’s clerk that he would in future keep accounts. We are impatient to + get rid of the guilty foreman: he stood a horrible image of despair. He + was committed to gaol; and was carried away by the constables, without + being pitied by any person present. Every body, however, was shocked. + Mackenzie broke silence first, by exclaiming, “Well, now, I presume, Mr. W——, + I may take possession of my bank-note again.” He took up all the notes + which lay upon the table to search amongst them for his own. “Mine, you + know, is stained,” said Archibald. “But it is very singular,” said Henry + Campbell, who was looking over his shoulder, “that here are two stained + notes. That which was found in the foreman’s box is stained in one corner, + exactly as yours was stained, Mr. Mackenzie.” Macpherson, the tailor, now + stooped to examine it. “Is this No. 177, the note that I sent in change, + by my foreman, to M. Pasgrave? I’ll take my oath it was not stained in + that manner when I took it out of my desk. It was a new and quite clean + note: it must have been stained since.” “And it must have been stained + with vitriolic acid,” continued Henry. “Ay, there’s cunning for you,” + cried Archibald. “The foreman, I suppose, stained it, that it might not be + known again.” “Have you any vitriolic acid in your house?” pursued Henry, + addressing himself to the master-tailor. “Not I, indeed, sir; we have + nothing to do with such things. They’d be very dangerous to us.” “Pray,” + said Henry, “will you give me leave, Mr. W——, to ask the + person who searched the foreman’s box a few questions?” “Certainly sir,” + said Mr. W——; “though, I protest, I cannot see what you are + driving at.” Henry inquired what was found in the box with the bank-note. + The man who searched it enumerated a variety of things. “None of these,” + said Henry, “could have stained the note: are you sure that there was + nothing else?” “Nothing in the world; nothing but an old glass stopper, I + believe.” “I wish I could see that stopper,” said Henry. “This note was + rolled round it,” said the man: “but I threw it into the box again. I’ll + go and fetch it, sir, if you have any curiosity to see it.” “Curiosity to + see an old stopper? No!” cried Archibald Mackenzie, with a forced laugh; + “what good would that do us? We have been kept here long enough. I move + that we go home to our dinners.” But Dr. Campbell, who saw that Henry had + some particular reason for wishing to see this glass stopper, seconded his + son. The man went for it; and when he brought it into the room, Henry + Campbell looked at it very carefully, and then decidedly said, fixing his + eyes upon Archibald Mackenzie, who in vain struggled to keep his + countenance from changing. “This glass stopper, Mr. Mackenzie, is the + stopper of my father’s vitriolic acid bottle, that was broken the night + the cat was killed. This stopper has stained both the bank-notes. And it + must have been in the pocket of your waistcoat.” “My pocket!” interrupted + Archibald: “how should it come into my pocket? It never was in <i>my</i> + pocket, sir.” Henry pointed to the stain on his waistcoat. He wore the + very waistcoat in question. “Sir,” said Archibald, “I don’t know what you + mean by pointing at my waistcoat. It is stained, it is true, and very + likely by vitriolic acid; but, as I have been so often in the doctor’s + laboratory, when your chemical experiments have been going on, is it not + very natural to suppose that a drop of one of the acids might have fallen + on my clothes? I have seen your waistcoats stained, I am sure. Really, Mr. + Campbell, you are unfriendly, uncharitable; your partiality for Mr. + Forester should not blind you, surely. I know you want to exculpate him + from having any hand in the death of that cat: but that should not, my + dear sir, make you forget what is due to justice. You should not, permit + me to say, endeavour to criminate an innocent person.” “This is all very + fine,” said Henry; “and you may prove your innocence to me at once, Mr. + Mackenzie, if you think proper, by showing that the waistcoat was really, + as you assert, stained by a drop of vitriolic acid falling upon the + outside of it. Will you show us the inside of the pocket?” Mackenzie, who + was now in too much confusion to know distinctly what Henry meant to + prove, turned the pocket inside out, and repeated, “That stopper was never + in my pocket, I’ll swear.” “Don’t swear to that, for God’s sake,” said + Henry. “Consider what you are saying. You see that there is a hole burnt + in this pocket. Now if a drop of acid had fallen, as you said, upon the + outside of the waistcoat, it must have been more burnt on the outside than + on the inside.” “I don’t know—I can’t pretend to be positive,” said + Archibald; “but what signifies all this rout about the stopper?” “It + signifies a great deal to me,” said Dr. Campbell, turning away from + Mackenzie with contempt, and addressing himself to his ward, who met his + approving eye with proud delight—“it signifies a great deal to me. + Forgive me, Mr. Forester, for having doubted your word for a moment.” + Forester held his guardian’s hand, without being able for some instants to + reply. “You are coming home with us, Forester?” said Henry. “No,” said Dr. + Campbell, smiling; “you must not ask him to come home with us to-night. We + have a little dance at our house to-night. Lady Catherine Mackenzie wished + to take leave of her Edinburgh friends. She goes from us to-morrow. We + must not expect to see Forester at a ball; but to-morrow morning—” + “I see,” said Forester, smiling, “you have no faith in my reformation. + Well, I have affairs to settle with my master, the printer. I must go + home, and take leave of him. He has been a good master to me; and I must + go and finish my task of correcting. Adieu.” He abruptly left Dr. Campbell + and Henry, and went to the bookseller’s, to inform him of all that had + passed, and to thank him for his kindness. “You will be at a loss + to-morrow for a corrector of the press,” said he. “I am determined you + shall not suffer for my vagaries. Send home the proof-sheets of the work + in hand to me, at Dr. Campbell’s, and I will return them to you punctually + corrected. Employ me till you have provided yourself with another, I will + not say a better hand. I do not imagine,” continued Forester, “that I can + pay you for your kindness to me by presents; indeed, I know you are in + such circumstances that you disdain money. But I hope you will accept of a + small mark of my regard—a complete font of new types.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst Forester’s generous heart expanded with joy at the thoughts of + returning once more to his friends, we are sorry to leave him, to finish + the history of Archibald Mackenzie. He sneaked home after Dr. Campbell and + Henry, whose silent contempt he well understood. Dr. Campbell related all + that had passed to Lady Catherine. Her ladyship showed herself more + apprehensive that her son’s meanness should be made known to the world, + than indignation or sorrow for his conduct. Archibald, whilst he was + dressing for the ball, began to revolve in his mind certain words which + his mother had said to him <i>about his having received the lie direct + from Henry Campbell—his not having the spirit of a gentleman.</i> + “She certainly meant,” said he to himself, “that I ought to fight him. + It’s the only way I can come off, as he spoke so plainly before Mr. W——, + and all those people: the banker’s clerk too was by; and, as my mother + says, it will be talked of. I’ll get Sir Philip Gosling to go with my + message. I think I’ve heard Dr. Campbell say, he disapproved of duels. + Perhaps Henry won’t fight. Has Sir Philip Gosling sent to say, whether he + would be with us at the ball to-night?” said Archibald to the servant who + was dressing his hair. “No, sir,” replied the servant: “Sir Philip’s man + has not been here: but Major O’Shannon has been here twice since you were + away, to see you. He said he had some message to deliver from Sir Philip + to you.” “To me! message to me!” repeated Archibald, turning pale. + Archibald knew Major O’Shannon, who had of late insinuated himself into + Sir Philip Gosling’s favour, had a particular dislike to him, and had + successfully bullied him upon one or two occasions. Archibald had that + civil cowardice, which made him excessively afraid of the opinion of the + world; and Major O’Shannon, a gamester, who was jealous of his influence + over the rich dupe, Sir Philip, determined to entangle him in a quarrel. + The major knocked at the door a third time before Archibald was dressed; + and when he was told that he was dressing, and could not see any one, he + sent up the following note:— + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “SIR,<br /> + “The last time I met you at the livery-stables, in company with my friend, Sir Philip Gosling, I had the honour of telling you my mind, in terms +sufficiently explicit, concerning a transaction, which cannot have escaped +your memory. My friend, Sir Philip, declares you never hinted that the +pony was spavined. I don’t pretend to be so good a jockey as you, but +you’ll excuse my again saying, I can’t consider your conduct as that of a gentleman. Sir Philip is of my mind; and if you resent my interference, I +am ready to give you the satisfaction of a gentleman. If not, you will do +well to leave Edinburgh along with your mother to-morrow morning; for +Edinburgh is no place for cowards, as long as one has the honour of living +in it, who calls himself (by courtesy) + </p> + <p class="right"> + “Your humble servant,<br /> + “CORNELIUS O’SHANNON. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “P.S. Sir Philip is at your service, after your settling with me.” + </p> + <p> + Archibald, oppressed with the sense of his own meanness, and somewhat + alarmed at the idea of fighting three duels, to retrieve his credit, + thought it best to submit, without struggle, in the first instance, to + that public disgrace which he had merited. He wrote a shabby apology to + Major O’Shannon and Sir Philip, concluding with saying, that rather than + lose a friend he so much valued as Sir Philip Gosling, he was willing to + forget all that had passed, and even to take back the pony, and to return + Sawney, if the matter could, by this means, be adjusted to his + satisfaction. He then went to his mother, and talked to her, in a high + style, of his desperate intentions with respect to Henry Campbell. “Either + he or I must fall, before we quit the ground,” said the artful Archibald—well + knowing that Lady Catherine’s maternal tenderness would be awakened by + these ideas. Other ideas were also awakened in the prudent mother’s mind. + Dr. Campbell was nearly related to a general officer, from whom she looked + for promotion for her son. She repented, upon reflection, of what she had + hastily said concerning <i>the lie direct, and the spirit of a gentleman</i>; + and she softened down her pride, and talked of her dislike to breaking up + old family friendships. Thence she digressed into hints of the advantages + that might accrue from cultivating Dr. Campbell’s good opinion; admitted + that Henry was strangely prejudiced in favour of his rough friend + Forester; but observed that Mr. Forester, after all, though singular, was + a young man of merit, and at the head of a very considerable estate. + “Archibald,” said she, “we must make allowances, and conciliate matters—unless + you make this young gentleman your friend, you can never hope to be on an + eligible footing with his guardian. His guardian, you see, is glad to get + him back again, and, I dare say, has his reasons. I never saw him, and I + know him well, in such spirits in my life as he was when he came back to + us to announce the probability of his ward’s return to-morrow morning. The + doctor, I dare say, has good reasons for what he does; and I understand + his ward is reconciled to the idea of living in the world, and enjoying + his fine fortune like other people. So I hope you and he, and of course + you and the doctor, and Henry Campbell, will be very good friends. I shall + leave you at Edinburgh for a few months, till we get our commission; and I + shall beg the doctor to introduce you to his friend and relation, General + D——. If he can do nothing for you, you may look towards the + Church. I trust to your prudence, not to think of Flora Campbell, though I + leave you in the house with her; for you can’t afford, Archibald, to marry + a girl with so small a fortune; and, you may be sure, her friends have + other views for her. Pray let me hear no more of duels and quarrels. And + let us go down into the ball-room; for Miss Campbell has been dressed and + down-stairs this half hour; and I would not have you inattentive—that + might displease as much as the other extreme. In short, I may safely leave + you to your own discretion.” Lady Catherine, after this prudent + exhortation, entered the ball-room, where all the company soon after + assembled. Seated in gay ranges, the well-dressed belles were eager for + the dancing to commence. Lady Catherine stood by Dr. Campbell; and as soon + as the ball began, when the music played, and she saw every one absorbed + in themselves, or in their partners, she addressed herself to the doctor + on the subject which was next her heart, or rather next her imagination. + “The general is to be with you shortly, I understand,” said she. Dr. + Campbell coldly answered in the affirmative. “To be candid with you, + doctor, if you’ll sit down, I want to have a little chat with you about my + Archibald. He is not every thing I could wish, and I see you are + displeased with him about this foolish business that has just happened. + For my own part, I think him to blame; but we must pardon, we must make + allowances for the errors of youth; and I need not, to a man of your + humanity, observe what a cruel thing it is to prejudice the world against + a young man, by telling little anecdotes to his disadvantage. Relations + must surely uphold one another; and I am convinced you will speak of + Archibald with candour and friendship.” “With candour and with truth,” + replied Dr. Campbell. “I cannot pretend to feel friendship merely on the + score of relationship.” + </p> + <p> + The proud blood mounted into Lady Catherine’s face, and she replied, “Some + consideration of one’s own relations, I think, is not unbecoming. + Archibald, I should have thought, had as strong a claim upon Dr. + Campbell’s friendship as the son of an utter stranger to the family. Old + Mr. Forester had a monstrous fortune, ‘tis true; but his wife, who was no + grand affair, I believe—a merchant’s daughter, I’m told—brought + him the greatest part of it; and yet, without any natural connexion + between the families, or any thing very desirable, setting fortune out of + the question, you accept the guardianship of this young man, and prefer + him, I plainly see, to my Archibald. I candidly ask you the question, and + answer me candidly.” + </p> + <p> + “As you have explicitly asked the question, I will answer your ladyship + candidly. I do prefer my ward to your son. I have avoided drawing + comparisons between your son and Forester; and I now wish to avoid + speaking of Mr. Archibald Mackenzie, because I have little hope of being + of service to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Lady Catherine, softening her tone, “you know you have it in + your power to be of the greatest service to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I have done all I could,” said Dr. Campbell, with a sigh; “but habits of—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I’m not talking of habits,” interrupted Lady Catherine. “I’ll + make him alter his habits. We shall soon turn him into what you like: he’s + very quick; and you must not expect every young man to be just cut out + upon the pattern of our dear Henry. I don’t want to trouble you to alter + his habits, or to teach him chemistry, or any of those things. But you + can, you know, without all that, do him an essential service.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” said Dr. Campbell. + </p> + <p> + “Why how? I don’t know you this evening, you are so dry. Ken you not what + I mean? Speak three words for him to your friend, the general.” + </p> + <p> + “Your ladyship must excuse me,” said Dr. Campbell. + </p> + <p> + Lady Catherine was stunned by this distinct refusal. She urged Dr. + Campbell to explain the cause of his dislike to her son. + </p> + <p> + “There is a poor washerwoman now below stairs,” replied Dr. Campbell, “who + can explain to you more than I wish to explain; and a story about a horse + of Sir Philip Gosling was told to me the other day, by one of the + baronet’s friends, which I should be glad Mr. Archibald Mackenzie could + contradict effectually.” + </p> + <p> + “Archibald, come here,” said Lady Catherine: “before the next dance + begins, I must speak to you. What is this about a horse of Sir Philip + Gosling?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma’am!” said Archibald, with great astonishment. At this instant one of + Dr. Campbell’s servants came into the room, and gave two notes to + Archibald, which, he said, two gentlemen had just left, and desired him to + deliver to Mr. Mackenzie whilst he was in the ball-room, if possible. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?—What are they, child?” cried Lady Catherine. “I will + see them.” Her ladyship snatched the notes, read, and when she saw that + her son, in the grossest terms, was called a coward, for refusing the + challenges of two such fashionable men as Sir Philip Gosling and Major + O’Shannon, all her hopes of him were at an end. “Our family is disgraced + for ever!” she exclaimed; and then, perceiving that she had uttered this + unguarded sentence loud enough for several of the company to hear, she + endeavoured to laugh, and fell into violent hysterics. She was carried out + of the ball-room. A whisper now ran round the room of—“What’s the + matter with Lady Catherine Mackenzie?” It was at an unfortunate moment + that she was carried out, for all the dancers had just seated themselves, + after a brisk country dance; and the eyes of all the young and old were + upon her ladyship as she made her exit. A young man, a friend of Major + O’Shannon, who was present, whispered the secret to his partner; she, of + course, to her next neighbour. Archibald saw that the contents of the + notes were made public; and he quitted the apartment, “to inquire how his + mother did.” + </p> + <p> + The buzz of scandal was general for some moments; but a new object soon + engrossed the attention of the company. “Pray,” said a young lady, who was + looping up Flora Campbell’s gown, “who is this gentleman, who is just + coming into the room?” Flora looked up, and saw a well-dressed stranger + entering the room, who had much the appearance of a gentleman. He + certainly resembled a person she had seen before; but she could scarcely + believe that her eyes did not deceive her. Therefore she hesitatingly + replied to the young lady’s question, “I don’t know—I am not sure.” + But she, an instant afterwards, saw her brother Henry and her father + advance so eagerly to meet the stranger, that her doubts vanished; and, as + he now directed his steps towards the spot where she was standing, she + corrected her first answer to her companion’s question, and said, “Yes, I + fancy—it certainly is—Mr. Forester.” Forester, with an open + countenance, slightly tinged with the blush of ingenuous shame, approached + her, as if he was afraid she had not forgotten some things which he wished + to be forgotten; and yet as if he was conscious that he was not wholly + unworthy of her esteem. “Amongst other prejudices of which I have cured + myself,” said he to Dr. Campbell, “since we parted, I have cured myself of + my foolish antipathy to Scotch reels.” + </p> + <p> + “That I can scarcely believe,” said Dr. Campbell, with an incredulous + smile. + </p> + <p> + “I will convince you of it,” said Forester, “if you will promise to forget + all my other follies.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>All!</i>” said Dr. Campbell. “Convince me first; and then it will be + time enough to make such a desperate promise.” + </p> + <p> + Flora was rather surprised when our once cynical hero begged the favour of + her hand, and led her to dance a reel. M. Pasgrave would have been in + ecstasy if he had seen his pupil’s performance. + </p> + <p> + “And now, my dear Forester,” said Dr. Campbell, as his ward returned to + claim his promise of a general amnesty, “if you do not turn out a coxcomb, + if you do not ‘mistake reverse of wrong for right,’ you will infallibly be + a very great man. Give me a pupil who can cure himself of any one foible, + and I have hope of him. What hope must I not have of him who has cured + himself of so many!” + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + THE PRUSSIAN VASE + </h2> + <p> + Frederick the Second, king of Prussia, after his conquest of Saxony, + transported, it is said{1}, by force, several manufacturers from Dresden + to Berlin, where he was very desirous of establishing the manufacture of + china. These unfortunate people, separated from their friends, their home, + and their native country, were compelled to continue their labours for the + profit and for the glory of their conqueror. Amongst the number of those + sufferers was Sophia Mansfeld. She was young, handsome, and possessed + considerable talents. Several pieces of porcelain of her design and + modelling were shown to Frederick, when he visited the manufactory at + Meissen, in Saxony; and their taste and workmanship appeared to him so + exquisite, that he determined to transport the artist to his capital. But + from the time of her arrival at Berlin, Sophia Mansfeld’s genius seemed to + forsake her. It was her business to sketch designs, and to paint them on + the porcelain; but either she could not or would not execute these with + her former elegance: the figures were awkward and spiritless, and it was + in vain that the overseer of the works attempted to rouse her to exertion; + she would sit for hours, with her pencil in her hand, in a sort of + reverie. It was melancholy to see her. The overseer had compassion upon + her; but his compassion was not so great as his dread of the king’s + displeasure; and he at length declared, that the next time Frederick + visited the works, he must complain of her obstinate idleness. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Vide Wraxall’g Memoirs of the Court of Berlin.} + </p> + <p> + The monarch was expected in a few days; for, in the midst, of his various + occupations, Frederick, who was at this time extremely intent upon the + establishment of the porcelain manufactory at Berlin, found leisure + frequently to inspect it in person. The king, however, was prevented from + coming at the appointed hour by a review at Potzdam. His majesty had + formed the singular project of embodying, and training to the science of + arms, the Jews in his dominions{2}. They were rather awkward in learning + the manual exercise; and the Jewish review, though it afforded infinite + amusement to the spectators, put Frederick so much out of humour, that, as + soon as it was over, he rode to his palace of Sans Souci, and shut himself + up for the remainder of the morning. The preceding evening an English + traveller, who had passed some time at Paris with the Count de Lauragais, + in trying experiments upon porcelain clays, and who had received much + instruction on this subject from Mr. Wedgewood, of Etruria, had been + presented to the king, and his majesty had invited him to be present at a + trial of some new process of importance, which was to be made this morning + at his manufactory. The English traveller, who was more intent upon his + countryman Mr. Wedgewood’s fame than upon the martial manoeuvres of the + Jews, proceeded, as soon as the review was finished, to exhibit his + English specimens to a party of gentlemen, who had appointed to meet him + at the china-works at Berlin. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Wraxall’s Memoirs of the Court of Berlin, &c.} + </p> + <p> + Of this party, was a youth of the name of Augustus Laniska, who was at + this time scarcely seventeen years old. He was a Pole by birth—a + Prussian by education. He had been bred up at the military school at + Potzdam, and being distinguished by Frederick as a boy of high spirit and + capacity, he was early inspired with enthusiastic admiration of this + monarch. His admiration, however, was neither blind nor servile. He saw + Frederick’s faults as well as his great qualities; and he often expressed + himself with more openness and warmth upon this subject than prudence + could justify. He had conversed with unusual freedom about Frederick’s + character with our English traveller; and whilst he was zealous to display + every proof of the king’s greatness of mind, he was sometimes forced to + acknowledge that “there are disadvantages in living under the power of a + despotic sovereign.” + </p> + <p> + “A despotic sovereign! You will not then call your Frederick a despot?” + whispered the English traveller to the young Pole, as they entered the + china-works at Berlin. “This is a promising manufactory, no doubt,” + continued he; “and Dresden china will probably soon be called Berlin + china, by which the world in general will certainly be much benefited. But + in the meantime look around you, and read your monarch’s history in the + eyes of those prisoners of war—for such I must call these + expatriated manufacturers.” + </p> + <p> + There were, indeed, many countenances in which great dejection was + visible. “Look at that picture of melancholy,” resumed the Englishman, + pointing to the figure of Sophia Mansfeld—“observe even now, whilst + the overseer is standing near her, how reluctantly she works! ‘Tis the way + with all slaves. Our English manufacturers (I wish you could see them) + work in quite another manner—for they are free—” + </p> + <p> + “And are free men, or free women, never ill?” said Laniska; “or do you + Englishmen blame your king, whenever any of his subjects turn pale?—The + woman at whom you are now looking is evidently ill. I will inquire from + the overseer what is the matter with her.” + </p> + <p> + Laniska then turned to the overseer, and asked him in German several + questions, to which he received answers that he did not translate to the + English traveller; he was unwilling that any thing unfavourable to the + cause of his sovereign should appear; and, returning to his companion, he + changed the conversation. When all the company were occupied round the + furnaces, attending to the Englishman’s experiments, Laniska went back to + the apartment where Sophia Mansfeld was at work. “My good girl,” said he + to her, “what is the matter with you? The overseer tells me, that since + you came here you have done nothing that is worth looking at; yet this + charming piece (pointing to a bowl of her painting, which had been brought + from Saxony) is of your design, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” replied Sophia, “I painted it—to my sorrow. If the king + had never seen or liked it, I should now be—” The recollection of + her home, which at this instant rushed full upon her mind, overpowered + her, and she paused. + </p> + <p> + “You would now be in Saxony,” resumed Laniska; “but forget Saxony, and you + will be happy at Berlin.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot forget Saxony, sir,” answered the young woman, with modest + firmness; “I cannot forget a father and mother whom I love, who are old + and infirm, and who depended on me for their support. I cannot forget + every thing—every body that I have ever loved: I wish I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” whispered a Prussian workman, who stood by—“sir, she has a + lover in Saxony, to whom she was just going to be married, when she was + carried off from her cottage, and brought hither.” + </p> + <p> + “Cannot her lover follow her?” said Laniska. + </p> + <p> + “He is in Berlin, in concealment,” replied the workman, in a whisper; “you + won’t betray him, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” said Laniska; “I never betrayed any one, and I never shall—much + less the unfortunate. But why is her lover in concealment?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it is the king’s pleasure,” replied the Prussian, “that she + should no longer consider him as her lover. You know, sir, several of + these Saxon women have been compelled, since their arrival at Berlin, to + marry Prussians. Sophia Mansfeld has fallen to the lot of a Prussian + soldier, who swears that if she delays another month to marry him, he will + complain to the king of her obstinacy. Our overseer, too, threatens to + complain of her idleness. She is ruined if she go on in this way: we tell + her so, but she seems to have lost all sense; for she sits as she does + now, like one stupified, half the day, let us say what we will to her. We + pity her; but the king knows best: the king must be obeyed.” + </p> + <p> + “Slave!” exclaimed Laniska, bursting into a sudden transport of + indignation, “slave! you are fit to live only under a tyrant. The king + knows best! the king must be obeyed! What! when his commands are contrary + to reason, to justice, to humanity?” Laniska stopped short, but not before + the high tone of his voice, and the boldness of the words he uttered, had + astonished and dismayed all present,—all except Sophia Mansfeld: her + whole countenance became suddenly illuminated; she started up, rushed + forwards, threw herself at the feet of Laniska, and exclaimed, “Save me! + you can save me! you have courage; and you are a powerful lord, and you + can speak to the king. Save me from this detested marriage!” + </p> + <p> + The party of gentlemen who had been in the next chamber now entered the + room, curious to know what had drawn thither such a crowd of workmen. On + seeing them enter, Sophia, recollecting herself, rose, and returned to her + work quietly; whilst Laniska, much agitated, seized hold of the + Englishman’s arm, and hurried out of the manufactory. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, you are right,” cried he, “Frederick is a tyrant! But how + can I save his victim?” + </p> + <p> + “Not by violence, my Augustus; not by violence!” replied a young man of + the name of Albert, who followed Laniska, anxious to restrain the + impetuosity of his friend’s temper, with which he was well acquainted. “By + imprudence,” said he, “you will but expose yourself to danger; you will + save, you will serve no one.” + </p> + <p> + “Tame prudence will neither save nor serve any one, however it may prevent + its possessor from exposing <i>himself</i> to danger,” retorted Laniska, + casting upon Albert a look of contemptuous reproach. “Prudence be your + virtue,—courage mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they incompatible?” said Albert, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “I know not,” replied Laniska; “but this I know, that I am in no humour to + reason that point, or any other, according to all those cursed forms of + logic, which, I believe, you love better than any thing else.” + </p> + <p> + “Not better than I love you, as I prove by allowing you to curse them as + much and as often as you think proper,” replied Albert, with a smile, + which could not, however, force one from his angry friend. + </p> + <p> + “You are right to practise logic and rhetoric,” resumed Laniska, “as much + and as often as you can, since in your profession you are to make your + bread by your tongue and your pen. I am a soldier, or soon to be a + soldier, and have other arms and other feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not dispute the superiority of your arms,” replied Albert; “I will + only beg of you to remember, that mine will be at your service whenever + you want or wish for them.” + </p> + <p> + This temperate and friendly reply entirely calmed Laniska. “What would + become of Augustus Laniska,” said he, giving Albert his hand, “if he had + not such a friend as you are? My mother may well say this, as she does ten + times a-day; but now take it in your sober manner, what can we do for this + poor woman? for something must be done.” + </p> + <p> + After some consideration, Albert and Laniska determined to draw up a + petition for Sophia, and to present it to the king, who was known to pay + ready and minute attention to every application made to him in writing, + even by the meanest of his subjects. The petition was presented, and an + answer anxiously expected. Frederick, when at Potzdam, often honoured the + Countess Laniska with a visit. She was a woman of considerable information + and literature, acquirements not common amongst the Polish or Prussian + ladies; and the king distinguished the countess by his approbation, in + order to excite some emulation amongst his female subjects. She held a + sort of <i>conversazione</i> at her house, which was frequented by all + foreigners of distinction, and especially by some of the French literati, + who were at this time at Frederick’s court. + </p> + <p> + One evening—it was a few days after Sophia Mansfeld’s petition had + been presented—the king was at the Countess Laniska’s, and the + company were conversing upon some literary subject, when Frederick, who + had been unusually silent, suddenly turned to the English traveller, who + was one of the company, and asked him whether his countryman, Mr. + Wedgewood, had not made a beautiful imitation of the Barberini, or + Portland Vase? + </p> + <p> + The Englishman replied, that the imitation was so exquisite, as scarcely + to be known by the best judges from the original: and he went on, with + much eagerness, to give a description of the vase, that he might + afterward, for the honour of his country, repeat some lines written upon + the subject by an English poet{3}. Frederick was himself a poet, and a + judge of poetry; he listened to the lines with attention; and, as soon as + the Englishman had finished speaking, he exclaimed, “I will write a + description of the Prussian vase myself.” + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: Darwin.—See his description of the Barberini vase in + the Botanic Garden. We hope our readers will pardon this anachronism.} + </p> + <p> + “The Prussian Vase!” said the English traveller: “I hope I may have the + honour of seeing it before I leave Berlin.” + </p> + <p> + “If you prolong your stay another month, your curiosity will probably be + gratified,” replied Frederick. “The Prussian Vase is not yet in being; but + I have this day determined to offer a reward, that I know will produce a + vase worthy of Prussia. Those who have the command of motives, and know + their power, have also the command of all that the arts, or what is called + a <i>genius</i> for the arts, can produce. The human mind, and human + fingers, are much the same in Italy, in England, and in Prussia. Then, why + should not we have a Prussian as as well as a Wedgewood’s or a Barberini + Vase? We shall see. I do not understand <i>mon métier de roi</i>, if I + cannot call forth talents where I know them to exist. There is,” continued + the king, fixing his eyes full upon Laniska, “there is, in my porcelain + manufactory at Berlin, a woman of considerable talents, who is extremely + anxious to return, along with some lovers of hers, to Saxony. Like all + other <i>prisoners of war</i>, she must purchase her liberty from the + conqueror; and if she cannot pay her ransom in gold, let her pay it by her + talents. I do not give premiums to idleness or obstinacy. <i>The king must + be obeyed, whether he knows how to command or not: let all the world, who + are able to judge, decide.</i>” Frederick, as soon as he had finished this + speech, which he pronounced in a peremptory tone, left the room; and + Laniska’s friend, who perceived that the imprudent words he had uttered in + Berlin had reached the king’s ear, gave the young man up for lost. To + their surprise, however, the king took no further notice of what had + happened, but received Laniska the next day at Sans Souci with all his + usual kindness. Laniska, who was of an open, generous temper, was touched + by this conduct; and, throwing himself at Frederick’s feet, he exclaimed:— + </p> + <p> + “My king! forgive me, if in a moment of indignation I called you a <i>tyrant</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend, you are yet a child, and I let children and fools speak of me + as they please,” replied Frederick. “When you are an older man, you will + judge more wisely, or, at least, you will speak with more discretion + within twenty miles of a <i>tyrant’s</i> palace. Here is my answer to your + Sophia Mansfeld’s petition,” added he, giving Laniska the paper, which + Albert had drawn up; at the bottom of which was written, in the king’s own + hand, these words:— + </p> + <p> + “I will permit the artist who shall produce, before this day month, the + most beautiful vase of Berlin china, to marry or not to marry, whomsoever + he or she shall think proper, and to return to Saxony with all imaginable + expedition. If the successful artist choose to remain at Berlin, I will + add a reward of 500 crowns. The artist’s name shall be inscribed on the + vase, which shall be called the Prussian Vase.” No sooner had Sophia + Mansfeld read these words, than she seemed animated with new life and + energy. She was likely to have many competitors; for, the moment the + king’s intentions were made known in the manufactory, all hands and heads + were at work. Some were excited by the hope of regaining their liberty; + others stimulated by the mention of 500 crowns; and some were fired with + ambition to have their name inscribed on the Prussian Vase. But none had + so strong a motive for exertion as Sophia. She was indefatigable. The + competitors consulted the persons whom they believed to have the best + taste in Berlin and Potzdam. Sophia’s designs were shown, as soon as they + were sketched, to the Countess Laniska, whose advice was of material use + to her. + </p> + <p> + At length, the day which was to decide her fate arrived. The vases were + all ranged, by the king’s order, in his gallery of paintings at Sans + Souci; and in the evening, when Frederick had finished the business of the + day, he went thither to examine them. Laniska and some others were + permitted to accompany him: no one spoke, whilst Frederick was comparing + the works of the different competitors. + </p> + <p> + “Let this be the Prussian Vase,” said the king. It was Sophia Mansfeld’s. + Laniska just stayed to show her name, which was written underneath the + foot of the vase, and then he hurried away to communicate the happy news + to Sophia, who was waiting, with her lover, at the house of the Countess + Laniska, in Potzdam, impatient to hear her fate. She heard it with + inexpressible joy; and Laniska’s generous heart sympathized in her + happiness. It was settled that she should the next morning be married to + her lover, and return with him to her father and mother in Saxony. The + happy couple were just taking leave of the young count and his mother, + when they were alarmed by the sound of many voices on the great staircase. + Some persons seemed to be disputing with the countess’s servants for + admittance. Laniska went out to inquire into the cause of the disturbance. + The hall was filled with soldiers. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the young Count Laniska?” said an officer to him, the moment he + appeared. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> the young Count Laniska,” replied he, in a firm tone. “What + do you want with me? and why this disturbance in my mother’s house at this + unseasonable hour?” + </p> + <p> + “We come here by the king’s orders,” replied the soldier. “Is not there in + this house a woman of the name of Sophia Mansfeld?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Laniska: “what do you want with her?” + </p> + <p> + “She must come with us; and you are our prisoner, count,” replied the + soldier. + </p> + <p> + It was in vain to ask for further explanation. The soldiers could give + none; they knew nothing, but that their orders were to convey Sophia + Mansfeld immediately to Meissen in Saxony, and to lodge Count Laniska in + the castle of Spandau, a state prison. + </p> + <p> + “I must know my crime before I submit to punishment,” cried Laniska, in a + passionate voice; but he restrained the natural violence of his temper, on + seeing his mother appear, and, at her request, yielded himself up a + prisoner without resistance, and without a murmur. “I depend on your + innocence, my son, and on the justice of the king,” said the countess; and + she took leave of him without shedding a tear. The next day, even before + the king arrived at Potzdam, she went to the palace, determined to wait + there till she could see him, that she might hear from his own lips the + cause of her son’s imprisonment. She waited a considerable time—for, + without alighting from horseback, Frederick proceeded to the parade, where + he was occupied for some hours; at length he alighted, and the first + person he saw, on entering his palace, was the Countess Laniska. + </p> + <p> + “I am willing to believe, madam,” said he, “that you have no share in your + son’s folly and ingratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “My son is, I hope, incapable of ingratitude, sir,” answered the countess, + with an air of placid dignity. “I am well aware that he may have been + guilty of great imprudence.” + </p> + <p> + “At six o’clock this evening let me see you, madam,” replied the king, “at + Sans Souci, in the gallery of paintings, and you shall know of what your + son is accused.” + </p> + <p> + At the appointed hour she was in the gallery of paintings at Sans Souci. + No one was there. She waited quietly for some time, then walked up and + down the gallery with extreme impatience and agitation; at last, she heard + the king’s voice and his step; the door opened, and Frederick appeared. It + was an awful moment to the mother of Laniska. She stood in silent + expectation. + </p> + <p> + “I see, madam,” said the king, after fixing his penetrating eye for some + moments on her countenance, “I see that you are, as I believe you to be, + wholly ignorant of your son’s folly.” As he spoke, Frederick put his hand + upon the vase made by Sophia Mansfeld, which was placed on a small stand + in the middle of the gallery. The countess, absorbed by her own + reflections, had not noticed it. + </p> + <p> + “You have seen this vase before,” said the king; “and you have probably + seen the lines which are inscribed on the foot of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the countess, “they are my son’s writing.” + </p> + <p> + “And they are written by his own hand,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “They are. The poor Saxon woman who draws so admirably cannot write; and + my son wrote the inscription for her.” + </p> + <p> + “The lines are in a high strain of <i>panegyric</i>,” said the king; and + he laid a severe emphasis on the word <i>panegyric</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever may be my son’s faults,” said the countess, “your majesty cannot + suspect him of being a base flatterer. Scarcely a month has elapsed since + his unguarded openness exposed him to your displeasure. Your majesty’s + magnanimity, in pardoning his imprudent expressions, convinced him at once + of his error in having used them; and, in the fit of enthusiasm with which + your kindness upon that occasion inspired him, he, who is by no means a + poet by profession, composed the two lines of <i>panegyric</i> which seem + to have given your majesty offence, but which I should never have + conceived could be the cause of his imprisonment.” + </p> + <p> + “You plead like a mother, madam,” said the king; “but you reason like a + woman. Have I ever said that your son was imprisoned for having written + two lines of flattery? No, madam: I know how to smile both at flattery and + satire, when they are undisguised; but there is a degree of baseness which + I cannot so easily pardon. Be patient, madam; I will listen to all you can + say in your son’s defence, when you have read this inscription. But, + before you read it, understand that I was upon the point of sending this + vase to Paris. I had actually given orders to the man who was packing up + that case (pointing to a half-packed case of porcelain) to put up the + Prussian Vase as a present for a Prussian <i>bel esprit</i> of your + acquaintance. The man showed me the inscription at the bottom of the vase. + I read the flattering lines with pleasure, and thought them—as + people usually think flattering lines made on themselves—excellent. + I was even fool enough immediately to consider how I could reward the + author, when my friend, the packer, interrupted the course of my thoughts, + by observing, with some exclamation of astonishment, that the blue colour + of the vase came off in one spot, where he had been rubbing it. I looked, + and saw that part of the inscription at the bottom of the vase had been + covered over with blue paint. At first sight, I read the words, ‘On the + character of Frederick the Great;’ the blue paint had concealed the next + word, which is now, madam, sufficiently legible.” The word to which the + king pointed was—<i>tyrant</i>. “Those flattering lines, madam, you + comprehend, were written—‘On the character of Frederick, the great + <i>tyrant</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + “I shall spare you, madam, all the reflections I have made on this + occasion. <i>Tyrant</i> as I am, I shall not punish the innocent mother + for the follies of her son. I shall be at your house, along with the rest + of your friends, on Tuesday evening.” + </p> + <p> + The unhappy mother of Laniska withdrew from the presence of the king, + without attempting any reply. Her son’s conduct admitted, she thought, of + no apology, if it were really true that he had written the words to which + his name was signed. Of this she doubted; but her consternation was at + first so great, that she had not the power to think. A general belief + remained in her mind of her son’s innocence; but then a number of his + imprudent words and actions came across her memory; the inscription was, + apparently, in his own hand-writing. The conversation which had passed in + the porcelain manufactory at Berlin corroborated the idea expressed in + this inscription. The countess, on her return home, related the + circumstances, with as much composure as she could, to Albert, who was + waiting to hear the result of her interview with the king. Albert heard + her relation with astonishment; he could not believe in his friend’s + guilt, though he saw no means of proving his innocence. He did not, + however, waste his time in idle conjectures, or more idle lamentations: he + went immediately to the man who was employed to pack up the vase; and, + after questioning him with great care, he went to Berlin to the porcelain + manufactory, and inquired whether any persons were present when Laniska + wrote the inscription for Sophia Mansfeld. After Albert had collected all + the information that could be obtained, his persuasion of Laniska’s + innocence was confirmed. + </p> + <p> + On Tuesday Frederick had promised to come to the countess’s <i>conversazione</i>. + The company, previous to his majesty’s arrival, were all assembled round + the sofa, on which she was seated, and they were eagerly talking over + Laniska’s affair. “What a blessing it is,” cried the English traveller, + “to live in a country where no man can be imprisoned without knowing of + what he is accused! What a blessing it is to live under a government where + no man can be condemned without trial, and where his trial must be carried + on in open day, in the face of his country, his peers, his equals!”—The + Englishman was in the midst of a warm eulogium upon the British mode of + trial by jury, when Frederick entered the room, as it was his custom, + without being announced: and the company were so intently listening to our + traveller, they did not perceive that the king was one of his auditors. + “Would to Heaven,” cried the Countess Laniska, when the Englishman paused—“would + to Heaven my son could have the advantage of such a trial!” + </p> + <p> + “And would to Heaven,” exclaimed Albert, “that I might plead his cause!” + </p> + <p> + “On one condition,” said Frederick; and, at the sound of his voice, every + one started—“on one condition, young man, your prayer shall be + granted. You shall plead your friend’s cause, upon condition that, if you + do not convince his judges of his innocence, you shall share his + punishment. His punishment will be a twelvemonth’s imprisonment in the + castle of Spandau; and yours the same, if you fail to establish your cause + and his. Next to the folly of being imprudent ourselves, that of choosing + imprudent friends is the most dangerous. Laniska shall be tried by his + equals; and, since <i>twelve</i> is the golden, harmonic, divine number, + for which justice has a blind predilection, let him have twelve judges, + and call them, if you please, a jury. But I will name my counsel, and you + counsel for Laniska. You know the conditions—do you accept of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, sire!” cried Albert, joyfully. “You will permit me to have + access to the prisoner in the castle of Spandau?” + </p> + <p> + “That is a new condition; but I grant it. The governor shall have orders + to admit you to see and converse with his prisoner for two hours; but if, + after that conversation, your opinion of your friend should change, you + will not blame me if I hold you to your word.” + </p> + <p> + Albert declared that he desired no more: and the Countess Laniska, and all + who were present, joined in praising Frederick’s clemency and Albert’s + generosity. The imprisonment of Laniska had been much talked of, not only + in public companies at Potzdam and at Berlin, but, what affected Frederick + much more nearly, it had become the subject of conversation amongst the + literati in his own palace at Sans Souci. An English traveller, of some + reputation in the literary world, also knew the circumstances, and was + interested in the fate of the young count. Frederick seems to have had a + strong desire to be represented in an amiable point of view by writers + who, he believed, could transmit his fame to posterity. Careless of what + might be <i>said</i> of him, he was anxious that nothing should be <i>printed</i> + derogatory to his reputation. Whether the desire to give to foreigners a + striking proof of his magnanimity, or whether his regard for the young + count, and his friendship for his mother, were his motives in granting to + Laniska this <i>trial by jury</i>, cannot and need not be determined. + Unmixed virtue is not to be expected from kings more than from common men. + </p> + <p> + After his visit to the prisoner in the castle of Spandau, Albert felt no + inclination to recede from the agreement into which he had entered; but + Laniska was much alarmed when he was told of what had passed. “Oh, my + generous friend!” exclaimed the young count, “why did you accept of the + conditions offered to you by the king? You may—I am sure you do—believe + in my innocence; but you will never be able to prove it. You will soon be + involved in my disgrace.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall think it no disgrace,” replied Albert, “to be the fellow-prisoner + of an innocent friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not you remember,” said Laniska, “that, as we were returning from + Berlin, after my unlucky visit to the porcelain manufactory, you promised + me, that whenever I should be in want of your weapons, they should be at + my service? I little thought that I should so soon be in such need of + them. Farewell—I pray for their success.” + </p> + <p> + On the day appointed for the trial of Laniska, crowds of people of all + ranks flocked to hear the proceedings. A spacious building in Potzdam, + intended for a barrack, was, upon this occasion, converted into a hall of + justice; a temporary gallery was erected for the accommodation of the + audience; and a platform was raised in the centre of the hall, where the + judge’s chair was placed: on the right hand of his chair a space was + railed in for the reception of the twelve young gentlemen, who were to act + as jurors; on the left another space was railed in for spectators. In the + front there was a large table, on each side of which were benches for the + counsel and witnesses: those for the crown on the right hand; those for + the prisoner on the left. Every thing had, by the king’s orders, been + prepared in this manner, according to the English custom. + </p> + <p> + The Countess Laniska now entered the court, with a few friends, who had + not yet forsaken her. They took their seats at the lower end of the + gallery; and as every eye turned upon the mother, who waited to hear the + trial of her son, an awful silence prevailed. This lasted but for a few + moments; it was succeeded by a general whispering amongst the crowds, both + in the hall and in the gallery. Each individual gave his opinion + concerning the event of the trial: some declared that the circumstances + which must appear against Laniska were so strong, that it was madness in + Albert to undertake his defence; others expressed great admiration of + Albert’s intrepid confidence in himself and his friend. Many studied the + countenance of the king, to discover what his wishes might be; and a + thousand idle conjectures were formed from his most insignificant + movements. + </p> + <p> + At length, the temporary judge having taken his seat, twelve young + gentlemen were chosen, from the most respectable families in Potzdam, to + act as jurors. The prisoner was summoned to answer to the charges brought + against him, in the name of Frederick the Second, king of Prussia. Laniska + appeared, guarded by two officers: he walked up to the steps of the + platform with an air of dignity, which seemed expressive of conscious + innocence; but his countenance betrayed involuntary marks of emotion, too + strong for him to command, when, on raising his eyes, he beheld his friend + Albert, who stood full in his view. Albert maintained an immovable + composure of countenance. The prisoner was now asked whether he had any + objections to make to any of the twelve persons who had been selected to + judge his cause. He made none. They proceeded to take an oath, “that, in + their decision, they would suffer no motives to influence them but a sense + of truth and justice.” The judge then rose, and addressing himself to the + jury, said:— + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, + </p> + <p> + “You are here, by the king’s order, to form your opinions concerning the + guilt or innocence of the prisoner, commonly known by the name of Count + Augustus Laniska. You will learn the nature and circumstances of the + accusation against him from Mr. Warendorff, the gentleman on my right + hand, who in this cause has the honour of being counsel for his majesty. + You will hear from the gentleman on my left, Albert Altenburg, all that + can be said in defence of the prisoner, for whom he voluntarily offers + himself as counsel. After having listened to the arguments that may be + adduced, and to the witnesses that shall be examined on each side, you + are, gentlemen, according to the tenour of the oath which has just been + administered to you, to decide, without regard to any consideration but + truth and justice. Your opinion is to be delivered to me by the eldest + amongst you, and it is to be expressed in one or other of these phrases—<i>guilty</i> + or <i>not guilty</i>. + </p> + <p> + “When I shall have heard your decision, I am, in his majesty’s name, to + pronounce sentence accordingly. If the prisoner be judged by you <i>not + guilty</i>, I am to announce to him that he is thenceforward at liberty, + and that no stain affixes to his honour from the accusation that has been + preferred against him, or from his late imprisonment, or from this public + trial. If, on the contrary, your judgment shall be, that the prisoner is + <i>guilty</i>, I am to remand him to the castle of Spandau, where he is to + remain confined for twelve months from this day. To the same punishment I + am also to condemn Albert Altenburg, if he fail to establish in your minds + the innocence of the Count Laniska. It is upon this condition that he is + permitted to plead the cause of his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, you are called upon to give impartial attention in this cause, + by your duty to your king and to your country.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as the judge, after making this short address to the jury, had + seated himself, Mr. Warendorff, counsel for the crown, rose, and spoke in + the following manner:— + </p> + <p> + “My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, + </p> + <p> + “It is with inexpressible concern that I find myself called upon to plead + in this cause. To be the accuser of any man is an invidious task: to be + the accuser of such a man as I once thought—as you perhaps still + think—the young Count Laniska must, to a person of generous + feelings, be in a high degree difficult and distressing. I do not pretend + to more generosity or delicacy of sentiment than others; but I beg any of + you, gentlemen, to imagine yourselves for a moment in my place, and to + conceive what must be my sensations as a man, and as an advocate. I am not + ignorant how popular the name of Augustus Laniska is, both in Berlin and + Potzdam. I am not ignorant that the young count has been in the habit of + living amongst you, gentlemen, on terms of familiarity, friendship, and + confidence; nor can I doubt that the graceful, manly manner, and open + deportment, for which he is so eminently distinguished, must have strongly + prepossessed you in his favour. I am not ignorant that I have to plead + against him before his friends, in the presence of his mother—a + mother respected even in a higher degree than her son is beloved; + respected for her feminine virtues—for her more than feminine + endowments; who, had she no other claim upon your hearts, must, by the + unfortunate situation in which she now appears, command your sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “You must all of you feel, likewise, strongly prepossessed in favour of + that noble-minded youth, who has undertaken to defend the prisoner’s + cause, at the hazard of sharing his punishment. I respect the general + character of Albert Altenburg; I admire his abilities; I applaud him, for + standing forward in defence of his friend; I pity him, because he has a + friend, for whom, I fear, even he will find it impossible to establish any + plausible defence. But the idea that he is acting handsomely, and that he + has the sympathy of numbers in his favour, will doubtless support the + young advocate in his arduous task. He appears in this court in the + striking character of counsel, disinterested counsel, for his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, I also appear in this court as counsel, disinterested counsel + for a friend. Yes, gentlemen, I am permitted to call Frederick the Great + <i>my friend</i>. He is not, as other great monarchs have been, ambitious + to raise himself above the sphere of humanity; he does not desire to be + addressed in the fulsome strains either of courtly or of poetical + adulation: he wishes not to be worshipped as a god, but to be respected as + a man{4}. It is his desire to have friends that shall be faithful, or + subjects that shall be obedient. Happy his obedient subjects—they + are secure of his protection: happy, thrice happy, his faithful friends—they + are honoured with his favour and his confidence. It was in the power of + the prisoner now before you to have been in this enviable class. You all + of you know that the Countess Laniska, his mother, has for years been + honoured by the friendship of her sovereign; even the conduct of her son + has not been able to shake his confidence in her. A Pole by birth, + Augustus Laniska was educated amongst the first of the Prussian nobility, + at the military academy at Potzdam, that nursery of heroes. From such an + education—from the son of such a mother—honourable sentiments + and honourable conduct were to be expected. Most confidently were they + expected by his king, who distinguished the young count, as you all know, + even in his boyish days. The count is said to be of a temper naturally + impetuous: the errors into which such a temper too publicly betrayed him + were pardoned by the indulgence of his king. I am compelled to recall one + recent instance of the truth of these assertions, as it is immediately + connected with the present cause.” + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 4: Æschylus.} + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Warendorff related all that had passed at the porcelain + manufactory at Berlin, and the king’s subsequent conduct towards Count + Laniska. On the magnanimity of his majesty, the eloquent counsel + expatiated for a considerable time; but the applauses with which this part + of his oration was received by a party in the gallery, who were seated + near the king, were so loud, as almost to drown the voice of the orator, + and effectually to distract the attention of those employed to take down + his words. When he could again be heard distinctly, he resumed as follows: + </p> + <p> + “I am not surprised at these testimonies of admiration which burst from + the warm hearts of his majesty’s subjects; I am only surprised that a + heart could be found in his dominions on whom such magnanimity could make + no impression. I am shocked, I am grieved, when I find such a heart in the + person of Count Laniska. Can it be believed that, in the course of one + short month after this generous pardon, that young nobleman proved himself + the basest of traitors—a traitor to the king, who was his friend and + benefactor? Daring no longer openly to attack, he attempted secretly to + wound the fame of his sovereign. You all of you know what a degree of + liberty, even licence, Frederick the Great permits to that species of + satirical wit with which the populace delight to ridicule their rulers. At + this instant there are various anonymous pasquinades on the garden-gates + at Sans Souci, which would have provoked the resentment—the fatal + resentment—of any other monarch upon earth. It cannot be doubted + that the authors of these things could easily be discovered, if the king + condescended to make any inquiries concerning them: it cannot be doubted + that the king has power to punish the offenders: yet they remain + untouched, perhaps unknown. Our sovereign is not capable of feeling the + petty emotions of vulgar spleen or resentment; but he could not be + insensible to the treacherous ingratitude of one, whom he imagined to have + been attached to him by every tie of kindness and of duty. That the Count + Laniska should choose the instant when the king was showing him unusual + favour, to make that favour an instrument of his base malice, is scarcely + credible. Yet, Prussians, incredible as it sounds to us, it is true. Here + are my proofs: here are my witnesses.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Warendorff, at this instant, uncovered the Prussian Vase, and then + pointed to a Jew, and to the master of the porcelain manufactory, who + stood beside him, ready to give their evidence. We omit that part of Mr. + Warendorff’s speech which contained the facts that have been already + related. The Prussian Vase was handed to the jury: the verses in praise of + Frederick the Great were read, and the word <i>tyrant</i> was seen, + afterward, with the utmost surprise. In the midst of the general + indignation, Mr. Warendorff called upon the Jew to come forward and give + his evidence. This Jew was an old man, and there was something remarkable + in his looks. His head was still; his neck was stiff; but his eyes moved + with incessant celerity from side to side, and he seemed uneasy at not + being able to see what was passing behind him: there was a certain + firmness in his attitude, but his voice trembled when he attempted to + speak. All these circumstances prepossessed Laniska’s friends against the + Jew the moment he appeared; and it was justly observed, that his having + the misfortune to be a Jew was sufficient to prejudice many of the + populace against him, even before a word he uttered reached their ears. + But impartial spectators judged that the poor man was only terrified at + being called upon to speak in so large an assembly. Solomon (for that was + the name of the Jew), after having taken an oath upon the Talmud that he + would speak nothing but the truth, made the following answers to the + questions put to him by Mr. Warendorff:— + </p> + <p> + <i>Mr. Warendorff</i>.—“Did you ever see this vase before?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Solomon</i>.—“Yes.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mr. Warendorff</i>.—“Where? when? Tell all you know about it to + the gentlemen of the jury.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Solomon</i>.—“The first time I saw that vase was in the gallery + of paintings, at the king’s palace of Sans Souci; to the best of my + recollection, it was on the night of the first day of the month, about ten + o’clock, or, perhaps, it might be eleven: I wish to be exact; but I cannot + be certain as to the hour precisely.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mr. Warendorff</i>.—“The exact hour is not of any consequence: + proceed. Tell us how you came to see this vase. Take your time to speak. + We are in no hurry: the truth will appear sooner or later.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Solomon</i>.—“His majesty himself put the vase into my hands, and + commanded me to pack it up, with some other china, which he was going to + send as a present to a gentleman at Paris. I am something of a judge of + china myself, being used to selling small pieces of it up and down the + town and country. So I was struck with the first sight of this beautiful + vase; I looked at it very carefully, and wiped away, with my handkerchief, + the dust which had settled on the white figures: here is the very + handkerchief. I wiped the vase all over; but, when I came to rub the + bottom, I stopped to read the verses <i>on the character of Frederick the + Great</i>; and having read these, I rubbed the white letters quite clean: + the ground on which they were written was blue. I found that some of the + blue colour came off upon my handkerchief, which surprised me a good deal. + Upon examining further, I perceived that the colour came off only in one + spot, of about an inch long, and half an inch broad. The king was at this + time standing with his back to me, looking at a new picture which had just + been hung up in the gallery; but hearing me make an exclamation (‘<i>Father + Abraham!</i>’ I believe it was that I said), his majesty turned round. + ‘What is the matter with you, Solomon? You look wondrous wise,’ his + majesty was pleased to say. ‘Why do you call on Father Abraham at this + time of day? Do you expect that he will help you to pack up that china—hey, + Solomon, my friend?’ I had no power to answer this question, for by this + time, to my utter astonishment, I had discovered that, on the spot where I + had rubbed off the blue paint, there was a word written—the word was + <i>tyrant</i>. ‘<i>On the character of Frederick, the great tyrant!</i>’ + Said I to myself—‘what can this mean?’ The king snatched the vase + from my hands, read what I had read, saw the paint which had been rubbed + off upon my handkerchief, and without saying one word left the gallery. + This is all I know about the matter.” + </p> + <p> + The Jew bowed to the court, and Mr. Warendorff told him that, having + closed his evidence, he might depart. But Albert rose to desire that the + judge would order him to remain in court, as he purposed to examine, or, + according to the English term, to <i>cross-examine</i> him further, at a + proper time. The judge ordered the Jew to remain in court. The next + witness called, on the part of the crown, was the master of the porcelain + manufactory of Berlin; to whom Mr. Warendorff put the following questions:— + </p> + <p> + <i>Q</i>.—“Have you seen the verses which are inscribed on the foot + of this vase?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Answer</i>.—“Yes, I have.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Q</i>.—“Do you recollect what words are written over the verses?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Answer</i>.—“I do: the words are—‘On the character of + Frederick, the great tyrant.’” + </p> + <p> + <i>Q</i>.—“Do you know by whom those words and these verses were + written?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Answer</i>.—“I believe that they were written by Count Augustus + Laniska.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Q</i>.—“How do you know? or why do you believe it?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Answer</i>.—“I was present when Sophia Mansfeld, the woman by + whom the vase was designed, told the count that she did not know how to + write, and that she would be obliged to him if he would write the + inscription himself on it. The vase at this time had not been put into the + furnace. It was in what we call biscuit. The Count Laniska took a proper + tool, and said that he would write the inscription as she desired. I saw + him writing on the bottom of the vase for some minutes. I heard him + afterward call to one of the workmen, and desire that he would put the + vase into the furnace: the workman accordingly carried it into the next + room to the furnace, as I believe.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Q</i>.—“Did you see the inscription on the vase after it was + taken out of the furnace? and was the word ‘tyrant’ then on it?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Answer</i>.—“I did not see the vase immediately upon its being + taken out of the furnace; but I saw it about an hour afterward. At that + time I read the inscription: the word ‘tyrant’ was not then visible on the + vase; the place where it now appears was blue. I carried it myself, along + with some others, to the king’s palace at Sans Souci. The night of the + first day of this month his majesty sent for me, and showed me the word <i>tyrant</i> + on the vase: I had never seen it there till then. It could not have been + written after the china was baked: it must have been written whilst the + biscuit was soft; and it must have been covered over with the blue paint + after the vase was taken out of the furnace. I believe the word was + written by Count Laniska, because I saw nobody else write upon the vase + but him; because the word exactly resembles the handwriting of the rest of + the inscription; and because I, upon a former occasion, heard the count + make use of that very word in speaking of Frederick the Great.” + </p> + <p> + Here the master of the porcelain manufactory finished speaking, and was + going, with Mr. Warendorff’s permission, to retire; but Albert signified + his intention to cross-examine him also, and the judge commanded that he + should remain in court. The two next witnesses who were produced and + examined were the workman who carried the vase to the furnace, and the man + whose business it was to put the biscuit into the furnace. Neither of + these witnesses could write or read. The workman deposed, that he carried + the Prussian Vase, as he was desired, to the furnace; that no one touched + it on the way thither. The man whose business it was to put the biscuit + into the furnace swore that he put it along with several other vases into + the furnace; that he attended the fire, and that no one touched any of + them till they were baked and taken out by him. Here the evidence for the + prosecution closed. Mr. Warendorff observed, that he should forbear to + expatiate further upon the conduct of the prisoner; that he had been + ordered by his sovereign to speak of him with all possible moderation; + that he earnestly hoped the defence that should be made for Count Laniska + might be satisfactory; and that the mode of trial which had been granted + to him by the king was a sufficient proof of the clemency of his majesty, + and of his earnest desire to allow the prisoner every possible means of + re-establishing his character in the eyes of the public. Albert now rose. + The Count Laniska, who had appeared unmoved during Mr. Warendorff’s + oration, changed countenance the moment Albert rose in his defence; the + Countess Laniska leaned forward over the rails of the gallery in + breathless anxiety: there was no sound heard in the whole gallery, except + the jingling of the chain of the king’s sword, with which he was playing. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not attempt, gentlemen,” said Albert, “to move your sympathy by a + pathetic description of my own feelings <i>as a man, and as an advocate</i>. + Whatever mine may be, it is my wish and my duty to repress them. I have + need of that calm possession of my understanding, which will be necessary + to convince yours of the innocence of my friend. To convince is my object. + If it were in my power, I should, upon the present occasion, disdain to + persuade. I should think it equally incompatible with my own honour and + that of the Count Laniska. With these sentiments, I refrain, Prussians, + from all eulogium upon the magnanimity of your king. Praises from a + traitor, or from the advocate of a traitor, must be unworthy of a great + monarch, or of a generous people. If the prisoner before you shall be + proved to be no traitor, he will doubtless have opportunities of + expressing by actions, better than I can by words, his gratitude to his + sovereign, for having allowed him this public trial by his equals—men + who are able to discern and to assert the truth. It cannot have escaped + their observation, that no positive evidence whatever has yet been + produced against the prisoner. No one has yet been heard to swear that he + <i>saw</i> Count Laniska write the word <i>tyrant</i> upon this vase. The + first witness, Solomon the Jew, has informed us of what our senses could + not leave us room to doubt, that the word is actually engraved upon the + porcelain: further, he has told us that it was covered over with blue + paint, which he rubbed off with his handkerchief. All this may be true; + but the wisdom of Solomon, united to that of Baron Warendorff, has failed + to point out to us any certain connexion between this blue paint, this + handkerchief, and the supposed guilt of the Count Laniska. The master of + the porcelain manufactory came next, and I apprehended that, as being a + more respectable witness than the Jew, it was reserved for him to supply + this link in the chain of evidence. But this respectable witness simply + swore, that he heard a woman say she could not write or read; that she + asked Count Laniska to write an inscription upon a vase for her; that, in + consequence of this request, the count wrote something upon the vase, he + does not pretend to know what; but he believes that the word <i>tyrant</i> + must have been one of the words then written by the count, because he saw + no one else write on the vase; because the hand-writing of that word + resembles the rest of the inscription; and because the count, in his + hearing, had, upon a former occasion, made use of the same expression in + speaking of the king. I recapitulate this evidence, to show that it is in + no part <i>positive</i>: that it all rests upon circumstances. In order to + demonstrate to you that the word in question could not have been written + by any person but Laniska, two witnesses are produced—the workman + who carried the vase to the furnace, and he who put it into the fire. The + one has positively sworn that no person touched the vase on the way to the + furnace. The other as positively swears that no one meddled with the vase + after it was put into the furnace. + </p> + <p> + “It is granted that the word could not have been engraved after the + biscuit was baked. The witness, however, has not sworn, or asserted, that + there was no interval of time between his receiving the vase and his + putting it into the fire. What became of it during this interval? How long + did it last? Will the witness swear that no one touched it during this + interval? + </p> + <p> + “These are questions which I shall put to him presently. I hope I have + established my first assertion, that you have no <i>positive</i> evidence + of the prisoner’s guilt. + </p> + <p> + “You well know, gentlemen, that where positive evidence of any supposed + fact cannot be produced, our judgments must be decided by the balance of + <i>probabilities</i>; and it is for this reason that the study of + probabilities, and the power of comparing them, has, in a late celebrated + essay, been called <i>the Science of Judges</i>.{5} To you, judges of my + friend, all the probabilities of his supposed guilt have been stated. + Weigh and compare them with those which I shall produce in favour of his + innocence. His education, his character, his understanding, are all in his + favour. The Count Laniska must be much below the common standard of human + virtue and capacity, if, without any assignable motive, he could have + committed an action at once so base and so absurd as this of which he is + accused. His temper is naturally or habitually open and impetuous, even to + extreme imprudence. An instance of this imprudence, and of the manner in + which it was pardoned by the king, has been stated to you. Is it probable + that the same man should be both ingenuous and mean? Is it probable that + the generosity with which he was treated made no impression upon his + heart? His heart must, upon this supposition, be selfish and unfeeling. + Look up, gentlemen, towards that gallery—look at that anxious + mother! those eager friends! Could Laniska’s fate excite such anxiety, if + he were selfish and unfeeling? Impossible! But, suppose him destitute of + every generous sentiment, you cannot imagine Count Laniska to be a fool. + You have been lately reminded that he was early distinguished for his + abilities by a monarch, whose penetration we cannot doubt. He was high in + the favour of his sovereign: just entering upon life—a military + life; his hopes of distinction resting entirely upon the good opinion of + his general and his king: all these fair expectations he sacrifices—for + what? for the pleasure—but it could be no pleasure—for the + folly of writing a single word. Unless the Count Laniska be supposed to + have been possessed with an insane desire of writing the word <i>tyrant</i>, + how can we account for his writing it upon this vase? Did he wish to + convey to France the idea, that Frederick the Great is a tyrant? A man of + common sense could surely have found, at least, safer methods of doing so + than by engraving it as his opinion upon a vase which he knew was to pass + through the hands of the sovereign whom he purposed thus treacherously to + insult. The extreme improbability that any man in the situation, with the + character, habits, and capacity of Count Laniska, should have acted in + this manner amounts, in my judgment, almost to a <i>moral impossibility</i>. + I knew nothing more, gentlemen, of this cause, when I first offered to + defend Laniska at the hazard of my liberty: it was not merely from the + enthusiasm of friendship that I made this offer; it was from the sober + conviction of my understanding, founded upon the accurate calculation of + moral probabilities. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 5: Voltaire—Essai sur les Probabilités en fait de + Justice.} + </p> + <p> + “It has been my good fortune, gentlemen, in the course of the inquiries + which I have since made, to obtain further confirmation of my opinion. + Without attempting any of that species of oratory which may be necessary + to cover falsehood, but which would encumber instead of adorning truth, I + shall now, in the simplest manner in my power, lay the evidence before the + court.” + </p> + <p> + The first witness Albert called was the workman who carried the vase to + the man at the furnace. Upon his cross-examination, he said that he did + not deliver the vase into the hands of the man at the furnace, but that he + put it, along with several other pieces, upon a tray, on a table, which + stood near the furnace. + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“You are certain that you put it upon a tray?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Quite certain.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“What reason have you for remembering that + circumstance particularly?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“I remember it, because I at first set this vase + upon the ledge of the tray, and it was nearly falling. I was frightened at + that accident, which makes me particularly remember the thing. I made room + upon the tray for the vase, and left it quite safe upon the tray: I am + positive of it.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“That is all I want with you, my good friend.” + </p> + <p> + The next witness called was the man whose business it was to put the vases + into the furnace. + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Did you see the witness who was last examined put + this vase upon a tray when he left it under your care?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“I did.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“You are certain that he put it <i>upon the tray?</i> + What reason have you to remember that circumstance particularly?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“I remember it, because I heard the witness cry out, + ‘There, William, I had like to have thrown down this cursed vase; but, + look you here, I’ve left it quite safe upon the tray.’ Upon this, I turned + and looked, and saw that vase standing upon the tray, safe, with some + others.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Do you recollect any thing else that passed?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Only that the witness told me I must put it—the + vase, I mean—into the furnace directly; and I answered to that, ‘All + in good time; the furnace is not ready yet; it will go in along with the + rest.’” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Then you did not put it into the furnace immediately + after it was left with you?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“No, I did not—but that was not my fault—I + could not; the furnace was not hot enough.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“How long do you think it was, from the time it was + left upon the tray, till you put it into the furnace?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“I don’t know—I can’t be positive: it might be + a quarter of an hour, or twenty minutes; or it might be half an hour. I + cannot be positive, sir; I cannot be positive.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“You need not be positive. Nobody wants you to be + positive. Nobody wants to entrap you, my good friend. During this quarter + of an hour, or twenty minutes, or half an hour, that you speak of, did you + ever lose sight of this vase?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“To be sure I did. I did not stand watching it all + the while. Why should I? It was safe enough.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Do you recollect where you found the vase when you + took it to put it into the furnace?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Yes: it was standing as it might be here, in the + middle of the table.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Do you recollect whether it was standing <i>upon</i> + the tray or not?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“It was not <i>upon</i> the tray, as I recollect: + no, I’m sure it was not, for I carried to the furnace first the tray and + all that was on it, and then I remember, I came back for this, which was + standing, as I said before, as it might be here, in the middle of the + table.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Was any body, except yourself, at the furnace, or in + the room, from the time that this vase was brought to you, till you put it + into the furnace?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Not as I remember. It was our dinner-time. All the + men, except myself, were gone to dinner: I stayed to mind the furnace.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“It was you, then, that took this vase off the tray, + was it?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“No, it was not. I never took it off the tray. I + told you it was not upon the tray with the others; I told you it was upon + the table, as it might be here.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Yes, when you were going to put it into the furnace, + you said that you saw it standing in the middle of the table; but you + recollect that you saw the workman who brought it put it upon the tray. + You told us you remembered that circumstance perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Yes, so I do.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“The vase could not have got off the tray of itself. + You did not take it off. How came it off, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“I don’t know. I can’t tell. Somebody, to be sure, + must have taken it off. I was minding the furnace. My back was to the + door. I don’t recollect seeing any body come in; but many might have come + in and out, without my heeding them.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Take your own time, my good friend. Recollect + yourself; perhaps you may remember.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Oh, yes, now you put me upon recollecting, I do + remember that Solomon the Jew came in, and asked me where Sophia Mansfeld + was; and it certainly must have been he who took the vase off the tray; + for now I recollect, as I looked round once from the furnace, I saw him + with it in his hand; he was looking at the bottom of it, as I remember: he + said, here are some fine verses, or some such thing; but I was minding the + furnace. That’s all I know about the matter.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“That is enough.” + </p> + <p> + The next witness who came forward was the husband of Sophia Mansfeld.—He + deposed, that on the 29th of April, the day on which the Prussian Vase was + finished, as stated by the former evidence, and sent to be put into the + furnace, he met Sophia Mansfeld in the street: she was going home to + dinner. He asked to see the vase: she said that it was, she believed, put + into the furnace, and that he could not then see it; that she was sorry he + had not come sooner, for that he could have written the inscription on it + for her, and that would have spared her the shame of telling Count Laniska + that she could not read or write. She added, that the count had written + all that was wanting for her. The witness, being impatient to see the + vase, went as fast as he could to the manufactory, in hopes of getting a + sight of it before it was put into the furnace. He met Solomon the Jew at + the door of the manufactory, who told him that he was too late, that all + the vases were in the furnace; he had just seen them put in. The Jew, as + the witness now recollects, though it did not strike him at the time, was + eager to prevent him from going into the furnace-room. Solomon took him by + the arm, and walked with him up the street, talking to him of some money + which he was to remit to Meissen, to Sophia Mansfeld’s father and mother. + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i> asked the witness on whose account this money was to be + remitted by the Jew to Meissen. + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“The money was to be remitted on Sophia Mansfeld’s + account.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Did she borrow it from the Jew?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“No; the Jew owed it to her for work done by her. + She had the art of painting on glass. She had painted some glasses for a + large magic lantern, and several small pictures on glass. She did these + things at the hours when she was not obliged to be at the manufactory. She + rose very early in the morning and worked hard. She sold her work to the + Jew upon condition that he would remit the price agreed upon to her father + and mother, who were old, and depended on her for support.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Was the money punctually remitted to her father and + mother by the Jew?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Not a farthing of it was remitted by him, as Sophia + discovered since her return to Meissen.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Did you ever hear this Jew say any thing about + Sophia Mansfeld’s returning to Saxony?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Yes; I once heard the Jew say that he hoped she + never would leave Berlin, because she was of great use to him. He advised + me to settle in Berlin. This passed about six weeks ago. About a week + before the prize was decided by the king, I met the Jew, and told him + Sophia had good hopes of getting back to Saxony. He looked very much + vexed, and said, ‘She is not sure of that.’” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“Did you ever hear this Jew speak of Count Laniska?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Yes, about two months ago I saw him in the street + when I was speaking to Solomon, and I asked the Jew who he was. He + answered, ‘He is the Count Laniska—a man that I hate, and on whom I + will be revenged some time or other.’ I asked why he hated the count. The + Jew replied, ‘Because the Christian dog has made the corps of Jews his + laughing-stock. This day, when my son was going through his manual + exercise before the king, Count Laniska was holding his sides with + laughter. I’ll be revenged upon him some time or other.’” + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert</i>.—“I have no occasion, sir, to trouble you with any + farther questions.” + </p> + <p> + The next witness who appeared was a druggist of Berlin. He deposed, that, + on the 30th of April, Solomon the Jew came to his shop and asked for blue + paints; that, after trying the colours very carefully upon the back of a + letter, which he took out of his pocket, he bought a small quantity of a + shade of blue, which the witness produced in court. + </p> + <p> + Albert ordered that the paint should be handed to the gentlemen of the + jury, that they might compare it with the blue ground of the Prussian + Vase. With this it was found, upon comparison, to match exactly. + </p> + <p> + <i>Albert to the druggist</i>.—“Do you know what became of the paper + upon which you say the Jew tried your colours?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Witness</i>.—“Yes; here it is. I found it under the counter, + after the Jew went away, and I kept it to return to him, as I saw there + was an account on the other side of the paper, which I imagined he might + want. He never happened to call at my shop afterwards, and I forgot that I + had such a paper, till you, sir, called upon me about a week ago, to make + inquiry on this subject. You desired me to keep the paper carefully, and + not to let any one know that it was in my possession, till the day on + which the trial of Count Laniska was to come on. I have complied with your + request, and here is the paper.” + </p> + <p> + The paper was handed to the jury; and one of the shades of blue exactly + matched that of the ground of the Prussian Vase. Albert now called upon + the Jew to produce, once more, the handkerchief with which he had rubbed + off the paint. The chain of evidence was now complete, for the blue on the + handkerchief was precisely the same as the colours on the paper and on the + vase. After the jury had satisfied themselves of this resemblance, Albert + begged that they would read what was written upon the paper. The first + thing that struck their eyes was the word <i>tyrant</i> frequently + repeated, as if by some one who had been practising to write different + hands. One of these words was an exact resemblance of the word <i>tyrant</i> + on the Prussian Vase; and Albert pointed out a circumstance, which had + till now escaped attention, that the letter <i>r</i>, in this word, was + made differently from all the <i>ars</i> in the rest of the inscription. + The writing of the Count Laniska had, in every other respect, been + successfully imitated. + </p> + <p> + After Albert had shown these things to the jury, he here closed the + evidence in favour of the prisoner, observing, that the length of time + which the trial had lasted seemed to have somewhat fatigued both the judge + and jury; and, knowing that it was now their usual hour of dinner, he + prudently forbore to make a long speech upon the evidence which had been + laid before them in favour of his friend: he left it to their own + understandings to determine the balance of probabilities between the + honour of Count Laniska and the honesty of Solomon the Jew. + </p> + <p> + The judge, in a manner which would have done honour even to the English + bench, summed up the evidence on both sides, and gave a distinct and + impressive charge to the jury, who, without leaving the court, gave a + verdict in favour of the prisoner. Loud acclamations filled the hall. In + the midst of these acclamations, the word—“Silence!” was pronounced + by that voice which never failed to command instantaneous obedience in + Prussia. All eyes turned upon the monarch. + </p> + <p> + “This court is now dissolved,” said his majesty. “My judgment confirms the + verdict of the jury. Count Laniska, I took your sword from you too + hastily. Accept of mine in its stead.” And as he pronounced these words, + Frederick ungirded his sword, and presented it to the young count. “As for + you, sir,” continued the king, addressing himself to Albert, “you want no + <i>sword</i> for the defence of your friends. Your arms are superior to + ours. Let me engage them in my service; and, trust me, I shall not leave + them long unemployed, or unrewarded.” + </p> + <p> + There was but one person present to whom this speech seemed to give no + satisfaction. This person was Solomon the Jew, who stood apart, waiting in + black silence to learn his own fate. He was sentenced, not to a year’s + imprisonment in the castle of Spandau, but to sweep the streets of Potzdam + (including the court in front of Count Laniska’s palace) for a + twelvemonth. + </p> + <p> + After having heard this sentence, which was universally approved of, the + spectators began to retire. + </p> + <p> + The king dined—it is always important to know where great men dine—Frederick + the Great dined this day at the Countess Laniska’s, in company with her + son, his friend Albert, and the English traveller. After dinner, the king + withdrew to attend parade; and it was observed that he wore the Count + Laniska’s sword. + </p> + <p> + “You will allow,” said the countess to the English traveller, “that our + king is a great man; for none but great men can bear to acknowledge that + they have been mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “You will allow, madam,” replied the Englishman, “that it was our English + trial by jury which convinced the king of his mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “And you applaud him for granting that trial,” said Albert. + </p> + <p> + “To a certain degree I do,” said the Englishman, from whom it was + difficult to extort praise of a despotic king—“to a certain degree, + I do; but you will observe, that this trial by jury, which is a matter of + favour to you Prussians, is a matter of right to us Englishmen. Much as I + admire your king of Prussia, I admire our English constitution more.” + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + THE GOOD AUNT + </h2> + <p> + Charles Howard was left an orphan when he was very young. His father had + dissipated a large fortune, and lost his life in a duel, about some <i>debt + of honour</i>, which had been contracted at the gaming-table. Without + fortune and without friends, this poor boy would probably have lived and + died in wretchedness, but for the humanity of his good aunt, Mrs. Frances + Howard. This lady possessed a considerable fortune, which, in the opinion + of some of her acquaintance, was her highest merit: others respected her + as the branch of an ancient family: some courted her acquaintance because + she was visited by the best company in town: and many were ambitious of + being introduced to her, because they were sure of meeting at her house + several of those distinguished literary characters who throw a radiance + upon all who can contrive to get within the circle of their glories. Some + few, some very few of Mrs. Howard’s acquaintance, admired her for her real + worth, and merited the name of friends. + </p> + <p> + She was a young and cheerful woman when she first undertook the education + of her little nephew. She had the courage to resist the allurements of + dissipation, or all that by her sex are usually thought allurements. She + had the courage to apply herself seriously to the cultivation of her + understanding: she educated herself, that she might be able to fulfil the + important duty of educating a child. Hers was not the foolish fondness of + a foolish aunt; she loved her nephew, and she wished to educate him, so + that her affection might increase, instead of diminishing, as he grew up. + By associating early pleasure with reading, little Charles soon became + fond of it: he was never forced to read books which he did not understand; + his aunt used, when he was very young, to read aloud to him any thing + entertaining that she met with; and whenever she perceived by his eye that + his attention was not fixed, she stopped. When he was able to read + fluently to himself, she selected for him passages from books, which she + thought would excite his curiosity to know <i>more</i>; and she was not in + a hurry to cram him with knowledge, but rather anxious to prevent his + growing appetite for literature from being early satiated. She always + encouraged him to talk to her freely about what he read, and to tell her + when he did not like any of the books which she gave him. She conversed + with him with so much kindness and cheerfulness; she was so quick at + perceiving his latent meaning; and she was so gentle and patient when she + reasoned with him, that he loved to talk to her better than to any body + else; nor could little Charles ever thoroughly enjoy any pleasure without + her sympathy. + </p> + <p> + The conversation of the sensible, well-informed people who visited Mrs. + Howard contributed to form her nephew’s taste. A child may learn as much + from conversation as from books—not so many historic facts, but as + much instruction. Greek and Latin were the grand difficulties. Mrs. Howard + did not understand Greek and Latin; nor did she, though a woman, set too + high or too low a value upon the learned languages. She was convinced that + a man might be a great scholar without being a man of sense; she was also + persuaded that a man of sense might be a good scholar. She knew that, + whatever abilities her nephew might possess, he could not be upon a + footing with other men in the world, without possessing that species of + knowledge which is universally expected from gentlemen, as an essential + proof of their having received a liberal education; nor did she attempt to + undervalue the pleasures of classic taste merely because she was not + qualified to enjoy them: she was convinced, by the testimony of men of + candour and judgment, that a classical taste is a source of real + enjoyment, and she wished her nephew’s literary pleasures to have as + extensive a range as possible. + </p> + <p> + To instruct her nephew in the learned languages, she engaged a good + scholar and a man of sense: his name—for a man is nothing without a + name—was Russell{1}. Little Charles did not at first relish Latin; + he used sometimes to come from his Latin lessons with a very dull, + stupified face, which gradually brightened into intelligence, after he had + talked for a few minutes with his aunt. Mrs. Howard, though pleased to + perceive that he was fond of her, had not the weakness to sacrifice his + permanent advantage to her transient gratification. One evening Charles + came running up-stairs to his aunt, who was at tea; several people + happened to be present. “I have done with Mr. Russell, and my Latin, + ma’am, thank goodness—now may I have the elephant and the camel, or + the bear and her cubs, that you marked for me last night?” + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: RUSSELL.—This name is chosen for that of a good tutor, + because it was the name of Mr. Edgeworth’s tutor, at Oxford: Mr. Russell + was also tutor to the late Mr. Day. Both by Mr. Day and Mr. Edgeworth he + was respected, esteemed, and beloved, in no common degree.} + </p> + <p> + The company laughed at this speech of Charles: and a silly lady—for + even Mrs. Howard could not make all her acquaintance wise—a silly + lady whispered to Charles, “I’ve a notion, if you’d tell the truth, now, + that you like the bear and her cubs a great deal better than you do Latin + and Mr. Russell.” + </p> + <p> + “I like the bear a great deal better than I do Latin, to be sure,” said + the boy; “but as for Mr. Russell—why, I think,” added he, encouraged + by the lady’s smiles, “I think I like the bear better than Mr. Russell.” + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed affectedly at this sally. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” continued Charles, fancying that every person present was + delighted with his wit, “I am sure, at any rate, I like the learned pig + fifty times better than Mr. Russell!” + </p> + <p> + The judicious lady burst into a second fit of laughter. Mrs. Howard looked + very grave. Charles broke from the lady’s caresses, and going up to his + aunt, timidly looking up in her face, said, “Am I a fool?” + </p> + <p> + “You are but a child,” said Mrs. Howard; and, turning away from him, she + desired the servant, who waited at tea, to let Mr. Russell know that she + desired the <i>honour</i> of his company. Mrs. Holloway—for that was + the silly lady’s name—at the words, “honour of his company,” resumed + her gravity, but looked round to see what the rest of the company thought. + </p> + <p> + “Give me leave, Mr. Russell,” said Mrs. Howard, as soon as he came into + the room, “to introduce you to a gentleman, for whose works I know you + have a great esteem.” The gentleman was a celebrated traveller, just + returned from abroad, whose conversation was as much admired as his + writings. + </p> + <p> + The conversation now took a literary turn. The traveller being polite, as + well as entertaining, drew out Mr. Russell’s knowledge and abilities. + Charles now looked up to his tutor with respect. Children have sufficient + penetration to discover the opinions of others by their countenance and + manner, and their sympathy is quickly influenced by the example of those + around them. Mrs. Howard led the traveller to speak of what he had seen in + different countries—of natural history—of the beaver, and the + moose-deer, and the humming-bird, that is scarcely larger than a bumble + bee; and the mocking-bird, that can imitate the notes of all other birds. + Charles <i>niched</i> himself into a corner of the sofa upon which the + gentlemen were sitting, and grew very attentive. He was rather surprised + to perceive that his tutor was as much entertained with the conversation + as he was himself. + </p> + <p> + “Pray, sir,” said Mrs. Howard to the traveller, “is it true that the + humming-bird is a passionate little animal? Is the story told by the + author of the Farmer’s Letters true?” + </p> + <p> + “What story?” said Charles, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Of a humming-bird that flew into a fury with a flower, and tore it to + pieces, because it could not get the honey out of it all at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ma’am,” said little Charles, peeping over his tutor’s shoulders, + “will you show me that? Have you got the book, <i>dear</i> aunt?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Mr. Russell’s book,” said his aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Your book!” cried Charles: “what, and do you know all about animals, and + those sorts of entertaining things, as well as Latin? And can you tell me, + then, what I want very much to know, how they catch the humming-bird?” + </p> + <p> + “They shoot it.” + </p> + <p> + “Shoot it! but what a large hole they must make in its body and beautiful + feathers! I thought you said its whole body was no bigger than a bee—a + humble bee.” + </p> + <p> + “They make no hole in its body—they shoot it without ruffling even + its feathers.” + </p> + <p> + “How, how?” cried Charles, fastening upon his tutor, whom he now regarded + no longer as a mere man of Latin. + </p> + <p> + “They charge the gun with water,” said Mr. Russell, “and the poor little + humming-bird is stunned by the discharge.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation next turned upon the entertaining chapter on instinct, in + Dr. Darwin’s Zoonomia. Charles did not understand all that was said, for + the gentlemen did not address themselves to him. He never listened to what + he did not understand: but he was very quick at hearing whatever was + within the limits of his comprehension. He heard of the tailor-bird, that + uses its long bill as a needle, to sew the dead and the living leaf + together, of which it makes its light nest, lined with feathers and + gossamer: of the fish called the ‘old soldier,’ that looks out for the + empty shell of some dead animal, and fits this armour upon himself: of the + Jamaica spider, that makes himself a house under ground, with a door and + hinges, which door the spider and all the members of his family take care + to shut after them, whenever they go in and out. + </p> + <p> + Little Charles, as he sat eagerly attentive in his corner of the sofa, + heard of the trumpet of the common gnat{2}, and of its proboscis, which + serves at once for an awl, a saw, and a pump. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: St. Pierre, Études de la Nature.} + </p> + <p> + “Are there any more such things,” exclaimed Charles, “in these books?” + </p> + <p> + “A great many,” said Mr. Russell. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll read them all,” cried Charles, starting up—“may I? may not I, + aunt?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Mr. Russell,” replied his aunt: “he who is obliged to give you the + pain of learning what is tiresome, should have the pleasure of rewarding + you with entertaining books. Whenever he asks me for Dr. Darwin and St. + Pierre, you shall have them. We are both of one mind. We know that + learning Latin is not the most amusing occupation in the world, but still + it must be learned.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Charles modestly, “you don’t understand Latin, aunt, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Howard, “but I am a woman, and it is not thought necessary + that a woman should understand Latin; nor can I explain to you, at your + age, why it is expected that a gentleman should; but here are several + gentlemen present—ask them whether it be not necessary that a + gentleman should.” + </p> + <p> + Charles gathered all the opinions, and especially that of the entertaining + traveller. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holloway, the silly lady, during that part of the conversation from + which she might have acquired some knowledge, had retired to the further + end of the room to a game at trictrac with an obsequious chaplain. Her + game being finished, she came up to hear what the crowd round the sofa + could be talking about; and hearing Charles ask the opinions of the + gentlemen about the necessity of learning Latin, she nodded sagaciously at + Mrs. Howard, and, by way of making up for former errors, said to Charles, + in the most authoritative tone,— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can assure you, Mr. Charles, I am quite of the gentlemen’s + opinion, and so is every body—and this is a point upon which I have + some right to speak; for my Augustus, who is only a year and seven months + older than you are, sir, is one of the best scholars of his age, I am + told, in England. But then, to be sure, it was flogged into him well at + first, at a public school, which, I understand, is the best way of making + good scholars.” + </p> + <p> + “And the best way of making boys love literature?” said Mrs. Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly,” said Mrs. Holloway, who mistook Mrs. Howard’s tone + of inquiry for a tone of assertion, a tone more familiar to her—“certainly, + ma’am, I knew you would come round to my notions at last. I’m sure my + Augustus must be fond of his Latin, for never in the vacations did I ever + catch him with any English book in his hand!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy!” said Charles, with unfeigned compassion, “And when, my dear + Mrs. Howard,” continued Mrs. Holloway, laying her hand upon Mrs. Howard’s + arm, with a yet untasted pinch of snuff between her fingers, “when will + you send Mr. Charles to school?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, aunt, don’t send me away from you—Oh, sir! Mr. Russell, try me—I + will do my very, <i>very</i> best, without having it flogged into me, to + learn Latin—only try me.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear sir, I really beg your pardon,” said Mrs. Holloway to Mr. Russell; + “I absolutely only meant to support Mrs. Howard’s opinion for the sweet + boy’s good; and I thought I saw you go out of the room, or somebody else + went out, whilst I was at trictrac. But I’m convinced a private tutor may + do wonders at the same time; and if my Augustus prejudiced me in favour of + public education, you’ll excuse a mother’s partiality. Besides, I make it + a rule never to interfere in the education of my boys. Mr. Holloway is + answerable for them; and if he prefer public schools to a private tutor, + you must be sensible, sir, it would be very wrong in me to set my poor + judgment in opposition to Mr. Holloway’s opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Russell bowed; for, when a lady claims a gentleman’s assent to a + series of inconsistent propositions, what answer can he make but—a + bow? Mrs. Holloway’s carriage was now at the door, and, without troubling + herself any further about the comparative merits of public and private + education, she departed. + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Howard was left alone with her nephew, she seized the moment, + while his mind was yet warm, to make a lasting impression. Charles, + instead of going to Buffon’s account of the elephant, which he was very + impatient to read, sat down resolutely to his Latin lesson. Mrs. Howard + looked over his shoulder, and when he saw her smile of approbation, he + said, “Then you won’t send me away from you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless you oblige me to do so,” said his aunt: “I love to have you + with me, and I will try for one year whether you have energy enough to + learn what is disagreeable to you, without—” + </p> + <p> + “Without its being flogged into me,” said Charles: “you shall see.” + </p> + <p> + This boy had a great deal of energy and application. The Latin lessons + were learned very perfectly; and as he did not spend above an hour a day + at them, he was not disgusted with application. His general taste for + literature, and his fund of knowledge, increased rapidly from year to + year, and the activity of his mind promised continual improvement. His + attachment to Mrs. Howard increased as he grew up, for she never claimed + any gratitude from her pupil, or exacted from him any of those little + observances, which women sometimes consider as essential proofs of + affection. She knew that these minute attentions are particularly irksome + to boys, and that they are by no means the natural expressions of their + feelings. She had sufficient strength of mind to be secure in the + possession of those qualities which merit esteem and love, and to believe + that the child whom she had educated had a heart and understanding that + must feel and appreciate her value. + </p> + <p> + When Charles Howard was about thirteen, an event happened which changed + his prospects in life. Mrs. Howard’s large fortune was principally derived + from an estate in the West Indies, which had been left to her by her + grandfather. She did not particularly wish to be the proprietor of slaves; + and from the time that she came to the management of her own affairs, she + had been desirous to sell her West India property. Her agent represented + to her that this could not be done without considerable loss. From year to + year the business was delayed, till at length a gentleman, who had a + plantation adjoining to hers, offered to purchase her estate. She was + neither one of those ladies who, jealous of their free will, would rather + <i>act for themselves</i>, that is to say, follow their own whims in + matters of business, than consult men who possess the requisite + information; nor was she so ignorant of business, or so indolent, as to be + at the mercy of any designing agent or attorney. After consulting proper + persons, and after exerting a just proportion of her own judgment, she + concluded her bargain with the West Indian. Her plantation was sold to + him, and all her property was shipped for her on board <i>The Lively Peggy</i>. + Mr. Alderman Holloway, husband to the silly Mrs. Holloway, was one of the + trustees appointed by her grandfather’s will. The alderman, who was + supposed to be very knowing in all worldly concerns, sanctioned the affair + with his approbation. The lady was at this time rich; and Alderman + Holloway applauded her humanity in having stipulated for the liberty and + <i>provision grounds</i> of some old negroes upon her plantation; he even + suggested to his son Augustus, that this would make a very pretty, proper + subject for a copy of verses, to be addressed to Mrs. Howard. The verses + were written in elegant Latin; and the young gentleman was proceeding with + some difficulty in his English translation of them, when they were + suppressed by parental authority. The alderman changed his opinion as to + the propriety of the argument of this poem: the reasons which worked upon + his mind were never distinctly expressed; they may, however, be deduced + from the perusal of the following letter:— + </p> + <p class="center"> + “TO MRS. FRANCES HOWARD. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “DEAR MADAM, + </p> + <p> + “Sorry am I to be under the disagreeable necessity of communicating to you + thus abruptly, the melancholy news of the loss of ‘The Lively Peggy,’ with + your valuable consignment on board, viz. sundry puncheons of rum, and + hogsheads of sugar, in which commodities (as usual) your agent received + the purchase-money of your late fine West India estate. I must not, + however reluctantly, omit to mention the casket of your grandmother’s + jewels, which I now regret was sent by this opportunity. ‘Tis an + additional loss—some thousands, I apprehend. + </p> + <p> + “The captain of the vessel I have just seen, who was set on shore, on the + 15th ultimo, on the coast of Wales: his mate mutinied, and, in conspiracy + with the crew, have run away with the vessel. + </p> + <p> + “I have only to add, that Mrs. Holloway and my daughter Angelina sincerely + unite with me in compliments and condolence; and I shall be happy if I can + be of any service in the settlement of your affairs. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs Holloway desires me to say, she would do herself the honour of + waiting upon you to-morrow, but is setting out for Margate. + </p> + <p> + “I am, dear madam, + </p> + <p> + “Your most obedient and humble servant, + </p> + <p> + “A. T. Holloway. + </p> + <p> + “P.S. Your agent is much to blame for neglecting to insure.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Howard, as soon as she had perused this epistle, gave it to her + nephew, who was reading in the room with her when she received it. He + showed more emotion on reading it than she had done. The coldness of the + alderman’s letter seemed to strike the boy more than the loss of a fortune—“And + this is a friend!” he exclaimed with indignation. + </p> + <p> + “No, my love,” said Mrs. Howard, with a calm smile, “I never thought Mr. + Holloway any thing more than a common acquaintance: I hope—I am sure + I have chosen <i>my friends</i> better.” + </p> + <p> + Charles fixed an eager, inquiring eye upon his aunt, which seemed to say, + “Did you mean to call me one of your friends?” and then he grew very + thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Charles,” said the aunt, after nearly a quarter of an hour’s + silence, “may I know what you have been thinking of all this time?” + </p> + <p> + “Thinking of, ma’am!” said Charles, starting from his reverie—“of a + great many things—of all you have done for me—of—of what + I could do—I don’t mean now; for I know I am a child, and can do + nothing—I don’t mean <i>nothing</i>.—I shall soon be a man, + and then I can be a physician, or a lawyer, or something.—Mr. + Russell told me the other day, that if I applied myself, I might be + whatever I pleased. What would <i>you</i> wish me to be, ma’am?—because + that’s what I will be—if I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I wish you to be what you are.” + </p> + <p> + “O madam,” said Charles, with a look of great mortification, “but that’s + nothing. Won’t you make me of some use to you?—But I beg your + pardon, I know you can’t think about me just now. Good night,” said he, + and hurried out of the room. + </p> + <p> + The news of the loss of the Lively Peggy, with all the particulars + mentioned in Alderman Holloway’s letter, appeared in the next day’s + newspapers, and in the succeeding paper appeared an advertisement of Mrs. + Howard’s house in Portman-square, of her plate, china, furniture, books, + &c.—She had never in affluence disdained economy. She had no + debts; not a single tradesman was a sufferer by her loss. She had always + lived within her annual income; and though her generous disposition had + prevented her from hoarding money, she had a small sum in the funds, which + she had prudently reserved for any unforeseen exigence. She had also a few + diamonds, which had been her mother’s, which Mr. Carat, the jeweller, who + had new set them, was very willing to purchase. He waited upon Mrs. + Howard, in Portman-square, to complete the bargain. + </p> + <p> + The want of sensibility which Charles showed when his aunt was parting + with her jewels to Mr. Carat, would have infallibly ruined him in the + opinion of most ladies. He took the trinkets up, one by one, without + ceremony, and examined them, asking his aunt and the jeweller questions + about the use and value of diamonds—about the working of the mines + of Golconda—about the shining of diamonds in the dark, observed by + the children of Cogi Hassan, the rope-maker, in the Arabian Tales—about + the experiment of Francis the First upon <i>melting</i> of diamonds and + rubies. Mr. Carat was a Jew, and, though extremely cunning, profoundly + ignorant. + </p> + <p> + “Dat king wash very grand fool, beg his majesty’s pardon,” said the Jew, + with a shrewd smile; “but kings know better nowadays. Heaven bless dere + majesties.” + </p> + <p> + Charles had a great mind to vindicate the philosophic fame of Francis the + First, but a new idea suddenly started into his head. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest aunt,” cried he, stopping her hand as she was giving her + diamond ear-rings to Mr. Carat—“stay, my dearest aunt, one instant, + till I have seen whether this is a good day for selling diamonds.” + </p> + <p> + “O my dear young gentleman, no day in de Jewish calendar more proper for + de purchase,” said the Jew. + </p> + <p> + “For the purchase! yes,” said Charles; “but for the sale?” + </p> + <p> + “My love,” said his aunt, “surely you are not so foolish as to think there + are lucky and unlucky days.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t mean any thing about lucky and unlucky days,” said Charles, + running up to consult the barometer; “but what I mean is not foolish + indeed: in some book I’ve read that the dealers in diamonds buy them when + the air is light, and sell them when it is heavy, if they can; because + their scales are so nice that they vary with the change in the atmosphere. + Perhaps I may not remember exactly the words, but that’s the sense, I + know. I’ll look for the words; I know whereabout to find them.” He jumped + upon a chair, to get down the book. + </p> + <p> + “But, Master Charles,” said the Jew, with a show of deference, “I will not + pretend to make a bargain with you—I see you know a great deal more + than I of these traffics.” + </p> + <p> + To this flattery Charles made no answer, but continued looking for the + passage he wanted in his book. Whilst he was turning over the leaves, a + gentleman, a friend of Mrs. Howard, who had promised her to meet Mr. + Carat, came in. He was the gentleman formerly mentioned by the name of <i>the + traveller</i>: he was a good judge of diamonds, and, what is better, he + was a good judge of the human heart and understanding. He was much pleased + with Charles’s ready recollection of the little knowledge he possessed, + with his eagerness to make that knowledge of use to his aunt, and more + with his perfect simplicity and integrity; for Charles, after a moment’s + thought, turned to the Jew and said,— + </p> + <p> + “But the day that is good for my aunt must be bad for you. The buyers and + sellers should each have fair play. Mr. Carat, your weights should be + diamonds, and then the changes in the weight of the air would not signify + one way or the other.{3}” + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: This observation was literally made by a boy of ten years of + age.} + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carat smiled at this speech, but, suppressing his contempt for the + young gentleman, only observed, that he should most certainly follow Mr. + Charles’s advice, whenever he <i>wash</i> rich enough to have diamonds for + weights. + </p> + <p> + The traveller drew from his pocket a small book, took a pen, and wrote in + the title-page of it, <i>For one who will make a good use of it</i>; and, + with Mrs. Howard’s permission, he gave the book to her nephew. + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe,” said the gentleman, “that there is at present another + copy in England: I have just got this from France by a private hand.” + </p> + <p> + The sale of his aunt’s books appeared to Charles a much more serious + affair than the parting with her diamonds. He understood something of the + value of books, and he took a sorrowful leave of many which he had read, + and of many more which he had intended to read. Mrs. Howard selected a few + for her own use, and she allowed her nephew to select as many for himself + as she had done. He observed that there was a beautiful edition of Shakspeare, + which he knew his aunt liked particularly, but which she did not keep, + reserving instead of it Smith’s Wealth of Nations, which would in a few + years, she said, be very useful to him. He immediately offered his + favourite Etudes de la Nature to redeem the Shakspeare; but Mrs. Howard + would not accept of it, because she justly observed, that she could read + Shakspeare <i>almost</i> as well without its being in such a beautiful + binding. Her readiness to part with all the luxuries to which she had been + for many years accustomed, and the freedom and openness with which she + spoke of all her affairs to her nephew, made a great impression upon his + mind. + </p> + <p> + Those are mistaken who think that young people cannot be interested in + such things: if no mystery be made of the technical parts of business, + young people easily learn them, and they early take an interest in the + affairs of their parents, instead of learning to separate their own views + from those of their friends. Charles, young as he was, at this time, was + employed by his aunt frequently to copy, and sometimes to write, letters + of business for her. He drew out a careful inventory of all the furniture + before it was disposed of; he took lists of all the books and papers: and + at this work, however tiresome, he was indefatigable, because he was + encouraged by the hope of being useful. This ambition had been early + excited in his mind. + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Howard had settled her affairs, she took a small neat house near + Westminster school{4}, for the purpose of a boarding-house for some of the + Westminster boys. This plan she preferred, because it secured an + independent means of support, and at the same time enabled her, in some + measure, to assist in her nephew’s education, and to enjoy his company. + She was no longer able to afford a sufficient salary to a well-informed + private tutor; therefore she determined to send Charles to Westminster + school; and, as he would board with her, she hoped to unite by this + scheme, as much as possible, the advantages of a private and of a public + education. Mr. Russell desired still to have the care of Mrs. Howard’s + nephew; he determined to offer himself as a tutor at Westminster school; + and, as his acquirements were well known to the literary world, he was + received with eagerness. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 4: See the account of Mrs. C. Ponten, in Gibbon’s Life.} + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” said Mrs. Howard to her nephew, when he first went to + Westminster, “I shall not trouble you with a long chapter of advice: do + you remember that answer of the oracle, which seemed to strike you so much + the other day, when you were reading the life of Cicero?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Charles, “I recollect it—I shall never forget it. When + Cicero asked how he should arrive at the height of glory, the oracle + answered, ‘By making his own genius, and not the opinion of the people, + the guide of his life.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mrs. Howard, smiling, “if I were your oracle, and you were to + put the same question to me, I think I should make you nearly the same + answer; except that I should change the word genius into good sense; and, + instead of <i>the people</i>, I should say <i>the world</i>, which, in + general, I think, means all the <i>silly people</i> of one’s acquaintance. + Farewell: now go to the Westminster world.” + </p> + <p> + Westminster was quite a new world to young Howard. The bustle and noise at + first astonished his senses, and almost confounded his understanding; but + he soon grew accustomed to the din, and familiarized to the sight of + numbers. At first, he thought himself much inferior to all his companions, + because practice had given them the power of doing many things with ease, + which to him appeared difficult, merely because he had not been used to + them. In all their games and plays, either of address or force, he found + himself foiled. In a readiness of repartee, and a certain ease and + volubility of conversation, he perceived his deficiency; and though he + frequently was conscious that his ideas were more just, and his arguments + better, than those of his companions, yet he could not at first bring out + his ideas to advantage, or manage his arguments so as to stand his ground + against the mixed raillery and sophistry of his school fellows. He had not + yet the tone of his new society, and he was as much at a loss as a + traveller in a foreign country, before he understands the language of a + people who are vociferating round about him. As fast, however, as he + learned to translate the language of his companions into his own, he + discovered that there was not so much meaning in their expressions as he + had been inclined to imagine whilst they had remained unintelligible: but + he was good-humoured and good-natured, so that, upon the whole, he was + much liked; and even his inferiority, in many little trials of skill, was, + perhaps, in his favour. He laughed with those that laughed at him, let + them triumph in his awkwardness, but still persisted in new trials, till + at last, to the great surprise of the spectators, he succeeded. + </p> + <p> + The art of boxing cost him more than all the rest; but as he was neither + deficient in courage of mind nor activity of body, he did not despair of + acquiring the <i>necessary</i> skill in this noble science—necessary, + we say, for Charles had not been a week at Westminster before he was made + sensible of the necessity of practising this art in his own defence. He + had yet a stronger motive; he found it necessary for the defence of one + who looked up to him for protection. + </p> + <p> + There was at this time at Westminster, a little boy of the name of Oliver, + a Creole, lively, intelligent, open-hearted, and affectionate in the + extreme, but rather passionate in his temper, and adverse to application. + His <i>literary</i> education had been strangely neglected before he came + to school, so that his ignorance of the common rudiments of spelling, + reading, grammar, and arithmetic, made him the laughing-stock of the + school. The poor boy felt inexpressible shame and anguish; his cheek + burned with blushes, when every day, in the public class, he was ridiculed + and disgraced; but his dark complexion, perhaps, prevented those blushes + from being noticed by his companions, otherwise they certainly would have + suppressed, or would have endeavoured to repress, some of their insulting + peals of laughter. He suffered no complaint or tear to escape him in + public; but his book was sometimes blistered with the tears that fell when + nobody saw them: what was worse than all the rest he found insurmountable + difficulties, at every step, in his grammar. He was unwilling to apply to + any of his more learned companions for explanations or assistance. He + began to sink into despair of his own abilities, and to imagine that he + must for ever remain, what indeed he was every day called, a dunce. He was + usually flogged three times a week. Day after day brought no relief, + either to his bodily or mental sufferings: at length his honest pride + yielded, and he applied to one of the elder scholars for help. The boy to + whom he applied was Augustus Holloway, Alderman Holloway’s son, who was + acknowledged to be one of the best Latin scholars at Westminster. He + readily helped Oliver in his exercises, but he made him pay most severely + for this assistance, by the most tyrannical usage; and, in all his + tyranny, he thought himself fully justifiable, because little Oliver, + beside his other misfortunes, had the misfortune to be a fag. + </p> + <p> + There may be—though many schoolboys will, perhaps, think it scarcely + possible—there may be, in the compass of the civilised world, some + persons so barbarously ignorant as not to know what is meant by the term + fag. To these it may be necessary to explain, that at some English schools + it is the custom, that all little boys, when they first go to school, + should be under the dominion of the elder boys. These little boys are + called fags, and are forced to wait upon and obey their master-companions. + Their duties vary in different schools. I have heard of its being + customary in some places, to make use of a fag regularly in the depth of + winter instead of a warming-pan, and to send the shivering urchin through + ten or twenty beds successively to take off the chill of cold for their + luxurious masters. They are expected, in most schools, to run of all the + elder boys’ errands, to be ready at their call, and to do all their high + behests. They must never complain of being tired, or their complaints + will, at least, never be regarded, because, as the etymology of the word + implies, it is their business to be tired. The substantive <i>fag</i> is + not to be found in Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary; but the verb to fag is there + a verb neuter, from fatigo, Latin, and is there explained to mean, “to + grow weary, to faint with weariness.” This is all the satisfaction we can, + after the most diligent research, afford the curious and learned reader + upon the subject of <i>fags</i> in general. + </p> + <p> + In particular, Mr. Augustus Holloway took great delight in teasing his + fag, little Oliver. One day it happened that young Howard and Holloway + were playing at nine-pins together, and little Oliver was within a few + yards of them, sitting under a tree, with a book upon his knees, anxiously + trying to make out his lesson. Holloway, whenever the nine-pins were + thrown down, called to Oliver, and made him come from his book and set + them up again: this he repeatedly did, in spite of Howard’s remonstrances, + who always offered to set up the nine-pins, and who said it teased the + poor little fellow to call him every minute from what he was about. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Holloway, “I know it teases him—that I see plain enough, + by his running so fast back to his <i>form</i>, like a hare—there he + is, <i>squatting</i> again: halloo! halloo! come, start again here,” cried + Holloway; “you have not done yet: bring me the bowl, halloo!” + </p> + <p> + Howard did not at all enjoy the diversion of hunting the poor boy about in + this manner, and he said, with some indignation, + </p> + <p> + “How is it possible, Holloway, that the boy can get his lesson, if you + interrupt him every instant?” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! what signifies his foolish lesson?” + </p> + <p> + “It signifies a great deal to him,” replied Howard: “you know what he + suffered this morning because he had not learned it.” + </p> + <p> + “Suffered! why, what did he suffer?” said Holloway, upon whose memory the + sufferings of others made no very deep impression. “Oh, ay, true—you + mean he was flogged: more shame for him!—why did not he mind and get + his lesson better?” + </p> + <p> + “I had not time to understand it rightly,” said Oliver, with a deep sigh; + “and I don’t think I shall have time to-day either.” + </p> + <p> + “More shame for you,” repeated Holloway: “I’ll lay any bet on earth, I get + all you have to get in three minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you, to be sure,” said Oliver, in a tone of great humiliation; “but + then you know what a difference there is between you and me.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway misunderstood him; and, thinking he meant to allude to the + difference in their age, instead of the difference of their abilities, + answered sharply, + </p> + <p> + “When I was your age, do you think I was such a dunce as you are, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that I am sure you never were,” said Oliver; “but perhaps you had + some good father or mother, or somebody, who taught you a little before + you came to school.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t remember any thing about that,” replied Holloway; “I don’t know + who was so good as to teach me, but I know I was so good as to learn fast + enough, which is a goodness, I’ve a notion, some folks will never have to + boast of—so trot, and fetch the bowl for me, do you hear, and set up + the nine-pins. You’ve sense enough to do that, have not you? and as for + your lesson, I’ll drive that into your head by and by, if I can,” added + he, rapping with his knuckles upon the little boy’s head. + </p> + <p> + “As to my lesson,” said the boy, putting aside his head from the insulting + knuckles, “I had rather try and make it out by myself, if I can.” + </p> + <p> + “If you can!” repeated Holloway, sneering; “but we all know you can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Why can’t he, Holloway?” exclaimed Howard, with a raised voice, for he + was no longer master of his indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Why can’t he?” repeated Holloway, looking round upon Howard, with a + mixture of surprise and insolence. “You must answer that question + yourself, Howard: I say he can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “And I say he can, and he shall,” replied Howard; “and he <i>shall</i> + have time to learn: he’s willing, and, I’ll answer for it, able to learn; + and he shall not be called a dunce; and he shall have time; and he shall + have justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall! shall! shall!” retorted Holloway, vociferating with a passion of a + different sort from Howard’s. “Pray, sir, who allowed you to say shall to + me? and how dare you to talk in this <i>here</i> style to me about + justice?—and what business have you, I should be glad to know, to + interfere between me and my fag? What right have you to him, or his time + either? And if I choose to call him a dunce forty times a day, what then? + he is a dunce, and he will be a dunce to the end of his days, I say, and + who is there thinks proper to contradict me?” + </p> + <p> + “I,” said Howard, firmly; “and I’ll do more than contradict you—I’ll + prove that you are mistaken. Oliver, bring your book to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oliver, stir at your peril!” cried Holloway, clinching his fist with a + menacing gesture: “nobody shall give any help to my fag but myself, sir,” + added he to Howard. + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to help him, I am only going to prove to him that he may + do it without your help,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + The little boy sprang forward, at these words, for his book; but his + tormentor caught hold of him, and pulling him back, said, “He’s my fag! do + you recollect, sir, he’s my fag?” + </p> + <p> + “Fag or no fag,” cried Howard, “you shall not make a slave of him.” + </p> + <p> + “I will! I shall! I will!” cried Holloway, worked up to the height of + tyrannical fury: “I will make a slave of him, if I choose it—a + negro-slave, if I please!” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of negro-slave, the little Creole burst into tears. Howard + sprang forward to free him from his tyrant’s grasp: Holloway struck Howard + a furious blow, which made him stagger backwards. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Holloway, “learn to stand your ground, and fight, before you + meddle with me, I advise you.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway was an experienced pugilist, and he knew that Howard was not; but + before his defiance had escaped his lips, he felt his blow returned, and a + battle ensued. Howard fought with all his <i>soul</i>; but the <i>body</i> + has something to do, as well as the soul, in the art of boxing, and his + body was not yet a match for his adversary’s. After receiving more blows + than Holloway, perhaps, could have borne, Howard was brought to the + ground. + </p> + <p> + “Beg my pardon, and promise never to interfere between me and my fag any + more,” said Holloway, standing over him triumphant: “ask my pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said the fallen hero: “I’ll fight you again, in the same cause, + whenever you please; I can’t have a better;” and he struggled to rise. + </p> + <p> + Several boys had, by this time, gathered round the combatants, and many + admired the fortitude and spirit of the vanquished, though it is extremely + difficult to boys, if not to men, to sympathize with the beaten. Every + body called out that Howard had had enough for that night; and though he + was willing to have renewed the battle, his adversary was withheld by the + omnipotence of public opinion. As to the cause of the combat, some few + inquired into its merits, but many more were content with seeing the fray, + and with hearing, vaguely, that it began about Howard’s having interfered + with Holloway’s fag in an impertinent manner. + </p> + <p> + Howard’s face was so much disfigured, and his clothes were so much stained + with blood, that he did not wish to present himself such a deplorable + spectacle before his aunt; besides, no man likes to be seen, especially by + a woman, immediately after he has been beaten; therefore, he went directly + to bed as soon as he got home, but desired that one of his companions, who + boarded at Mrs. Howard’s, would, if his aunt inquired for him at supper, + tell her “that he had been beaten in a boxing match, but hoped to be more + expert after another lesson or two.” This lady did not show her tenderness + to her nephew by wailing over his disaster: on the contrary, she was + pleased to hear that he had fought in so good a cause. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, as soon as Howard went to school, he saw little Oliver + watching eagerly for him. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Howard—Charles,” said he, catching hold of him, “I’ve one word + to say: let him call me dunce, or slave, or negro, or what he will, don’t + you mind any more about me—I can’t bear to see it,” said the + affectionate child: “I’d rather have the blows myself, only I know I could + not bear them as you did.” + </p> + <p> + Oliver turned aside his head, and Howard, in a playful voice, said, “Why, + my little Oliver, I did not think you were such a coward: you must not + make a coward of me.” + </p> + <p> + No sooner did the boys go out to play in the evening, than Howard called + to Oliver, in Holloway’s hearing, and said, “If you want any assistance + from me, remember, I’m ready.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be ready, but you are not able,” cried Holloway, “to give him any + assistance—therefore, you’d better be quiet: remember last night.” + </p> + <p> + “I do remember it perfectly,” said Howard, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “And do you want any more?—Come, then, I’ll tell you what, I’ll box + with you every day, if you please, and when you have conquered me, you + shall have my fag all to yourself, if you please; but, till then, you + shall have nothing to do with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I take you at your word,” said Howard, and a second battle began. As we + do not delight in fields of battle, or hope to excel, like Homer, in + describing variety of wounds, we shall content ourselves with relating, + that after five pitched battles, in which Oliver’s champion received + bruises of all shapes and sizes, and of every shade of black, blue, green, + and yellow, his unconquered spirit still maintained the justice of his + cause, and with as firm a voice as at first he challenged his constantly + victorious antagonist to a sixth combat. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you had learned by this time,” said the successful pugilist, + “that Augustus Holloway is not to be conquered by one of <i>woman breed</i>.” + To this taunt Howard made no reply; but whether it urged him to superior + exertion, or whether the dear-bought experience of the five preceding days + had taught him all the caution that experience only can teach, we cannot + determine; but, to the surprise of all the spectators, and to the lively + joy of Oliver, the redoubted Holloway was brought, after an obstinate + struggle, fairly to the ground. Every body sympathized with the generous + victor, who immediately assisted his fallen adversary to rise, and offered + his hand in token of reconciliation. Augustus Holloway, stunned by his + fall, and more by his defeat, returned from the field of battle as fast as + the crowd would let him, who stopped him continually with their + impertinent astonishment and curiosity; for though the boasted + unconquerable hero had pretty evidently received a black eye, not one + person would believe it without looking close in his face; and many would + not trust the information of their own senses, but pressed to hear the + news confirmed by the reluctant lips of the unfortunate Augustus. In the + meantime, little Oliver, a fag no longer, exulting in his liberty, clapped + his joyful hands, sang, and capered round his deliverer.—“And now,” + said he, fixing his grateful, affectionate eyes upon Howard, “you will + suffer no more for me; and if you’ll let me, I’ll be your fag. Do, will + you? pray let me! I’ll run of your errands before you can say one, two, + three, and away: only whistle for me,” said he, whistling, “and I’ll hear + you, wherever I am. If you only hold up your finger when you want me, I’m + sure I shall see it; and I’ll always set up your nine-pins, and fly for + your ball, let me be doing what I will. May I be your fag?” + </p> + <p> + “Be my <i>friend</i>!” said Howard, taking Oliver in his arms, with + emotion which prevented him from articulating any other words. The word + friend went to the little Creole’s heart, and he clung to Howard in + silence. To complete his happiness, little Oliver this day obtained + permission to board at Mrs. Howard’s, so that he was now constantly to be + with his protector. Howard’s friendship was not merely the sudden + enthusiasm of a moment; it was the steady persevering choice of a manly + mind, not the caprice of a school-boy. Regularly, every evening, Oliver + brought his books to his friend, who never was too busy to attend to him. + Oliver was delighted to find that he understood Howard’s manner of + explaining: his own opinion of himself rose with the opinion which he saw + his instructor had of his abilities. He was convinced that he was not + doomed to be a dunce for life; his ambition was rekindled; his industry + was encouraged by hope, and rewarded by success. He no longer expected + daily punishment, and that worst of all punishments, disgrace. His heart + was light, his spirits rose, his countenance brightened with intelligence, + and resumed its natural vivacity: to his masters and his companions he + appeared a new creature. “What has inspired you?” said one of his masters + to him one day, surprised at the rapid development of his understanding—“what + has inspired you?” + </p> + <p> + “My good genius,” said the little boy, pointing to Howard. Howard had some + merit in giving up a good deal of his time to Oliver, because he knew the + value of time, and he had not quite so much as he wished for himself. The + day was always too short for him; every moment was employed; his active + mind went from one thing to another as if it did not know the possibility + of idleness, and as if he had no idea of any recreation but in a change of + employment. Not that he was always poring over books, but his mind was + active, let him be about what he would; and, as his exertions were always + voluntary, there was not that opposition in his opinion between the ideas + of play and work, which exists so strongly in the imaginations of those + school-boys who are driven to their tasks by fear, and who escape from + them to that delicious exercise of their free-will which they call play. + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Constraint, that sweetens liberty,” +</p> + + <p class="noindent"> + often gives a false value to its charms, or rather a false idea to its + nature. Idleness, ennui, noise, mischief, riot, and a nameless train of + mistaken notions of pleasure, are often classed, in a young man’s mind, + under the general head of <i>liberty</i>. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Augustus Holloway, who is necessarily recalled to our notice, when we + want to personify an ill-educated young man, was, in the strictest sense + of the word, a school-boy—a clever school-boy—a good scholar—a + good historian: he wrote a good hand—read with fluency—declaimed + at a public exhibition of Westminster orators with no bad grace and + emphasis, and had always extempore words, if not extempore sense, at + command. But still he was but a school-boy. His father thought him a man, + and more than a man. Alderman Holloway prophesied to his friends that his + son Augustus would be one of the first orators in England. He was in a + hurry to have him ready to enter college, and had a borough secure for him + at the proper age. The proper age, he regretted, that parliament had fixed + to twenty-one; for the alderman was impatient to introduce his young + statesman to the house, especially as he saw honours, perhaps a title, in + the distant perspective of his son’s advancement. + </p> + <p> + Whilst this vision occupied the father’s imagination, a vision of another + sort played upon the juvenile fancy of his son—a vision of a gig; + for, though Augustus was but a school-boy, he had very manly ideas—if + those ideas be manly which most young men have. Lord Rawson, the son of + the Earl of Marryborough, had lately appeared to Augustus in a gig. The + young Lord Rawson had lately been a school-boy at Westminster like + Augustus: he was now master of himself and three horses at College. + Alderman Holloway had lent the Earl of Marryborough certain monies, the + interest of which the earl scrupulously paid in civility. The alderman + valued himself upon being a shrewd man; he looked to one of the earl’s + boroughs as a security for his principal, and, from long-sighted political + motives, encouraged an intimacy between the young nobleman and his son. It + was one of those useful friendships, one of those fortunate connexions, + which some parents consider as the peculiar advantage of a public school. + Lord Rawson’s example already powerfully operated upon his young friend’s + mind, and this intimacy was most likely to have a decisive influence upon + the future destiny of Augustus. Augustus was the son of an alderman. Lord + Rawson was two years older than Holloway—had left school—had + been at college—had driven both a curricle and a barouche, and had + gone through all the gradations of coachmanship—was a man, and had + <i>seen the world</i>. How many things to excite the ambition of a + schoolboy! Augustus was impatient for the moment when he might “be what he + admired.” The drudgery of Westminster, the confinement, the ignominious + appellation of <i>a boy</i>, were all insupportable to this <i>young man</i>. + He had obtained from his father a promise, that he should leave school in + a few months; but these months appeared to him an age. It was rather a + misfortune to Holloway that he was so far advanced in his Latin and Greek + studies, for he had the less to do at school; his school business quickly + despatched, his time hung upon his hands. He never thought of literature + as an amusement for his leisure hours; he had no idea of improving himself + further in general science and knowledge. He was told that his education + was <i>nearly</i> at an end; he believed it was <i>quite</i> finished, and + he was glad of it, and glad it was so well over. In the idle time that + hung upon his hands, during this intermediate state at Westminster, he + heartily regretted that he could not commence his manly career by learning + to <i>drive</i>—to drive a curricle. Lord Rawson had carried him + down to the country, the last summer vacation, in his <i>dog-cart</i>, + driven <i>randem-tandem</i>. The reins had touched his fingers. The whip + had been committed to his hand, and he longed for a repetition of these + pleasures. From the windows of the house in Westminster, where he boarded, + Holloway at every idle moment lolled, to enjoy a view of every carriage, + and of every coachman that passed. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Supine, Mr. Holloway’s tutor, used, at these leisure moments, to + employ himself with practising upon the German flute, and was not sorry to + be relieved from his pupil’s conversation. Sometimes it was provoking to + the amateur in music to be interrupted by the exclamations of his pupil; + but he kept his eyes steadily upon his music-book, and contented himself + with recommending a difficult passage, when Mr. Holloway’s raptures about + horses, and coachmanship, and driving well in hand, offended his musical + ear. Mr. Supine was, both from nature and fashion, indolent; the trouble + of reproving or of guiding his pupil was too much for him; besides, he was + sensible that the task of watching, contradicting, and thwarting a young + gentleman, at Mr. Holloway’s time of life, would have been productive of + the most disagreeable scenes of altercation, and could possibly have no + effect upon the gentleman’s character, which he presumed was perfectly + well formed at this time. Mr. and Mrs. Holloway were well satisfied with + his improvements. Mr. Supine was on the best terms imaginable with the + whole family, and thought it his business to keep himself <i>well</i> with + his pupil; especially as he had some secret hope that, through Mr. + Holloway’s interest with Lord Rawson, and through Lord Rawson’s influence + with a young nobleman, who was just going abroad, he might be invited as a + travelling companion in a tour upon the continent. His taste for music and + painting had almost raised him to the rank of a connoisseur: an amateur he + modestly professed himself, and he was frequently stretched, in elegant + ease, upon a sofa, already in reverie in Italy, whilst his pupil was + conversing out of the window, in no very elegant dialect, with the driver + of a stagecoach in the neighbourhood. Young Holloway was almost as + familiar with this coachman as with his father’s groom, who, during his + visits at home, supplied the place of Mr. Supine, in advancing his + education. The stage-coachman so effectually wrought upon the ambition of + Augustus, that his desire to learn <i>to drive</i> became uncontrollable. + The coachman, partly by entreaties, and partly by the mute eloquence of a + crown, was prevailed upon to promise, that, if Holloway could manage it + without his tutor’s knowledge, he should ascend to the honours of the box, + and at least have the satisfaction of <i>seeing some good driving</i>. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Supine was soon invited to a private concert, at which Mrs. Holloway + was expected, and at which her daughter, Miss Angelina Holloway, was + engaged to perform. Mr. Supine’s judicious applause of this young lady’s + execution was one of his greatest recommendations to the whole family, at + least to the female part of it; he could not, therefore, decline an + invitation to this concert. Holloway complained of a sore throat, and + desired to be excused from accompanying his tutor, adding, with his usual + politeness, that “music was the greatest bore in nature, and especially + Angelina’s music.” For the night of the concert Holloway had arranged his + plan with the stage-coachman. Mr. Supine dressed, and then practised upon + the German flute, till towards nine o’clock in the evening. Holloway heard + the stage-coach rattling through the street, whilst his tutor was yet in + the middle of a long concerto: the coachman was to stop at the + public-house, about ten doors off, to take up parcels and passengers, and + there he was to wait for Holloway; but he had given him notice that he + could not wait many minutes. + </p> + <p> + “You may practise the rest without book, in the chair, as you are going to + —— street, <i>quite at your ease</i>, Mr. Supine,” said + Holloway to his tutor. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, so I can, and I’ll adopt your idea, for it’s quite a novel thing, + and may take, if the fellows will only carry one steady. Good night: I’ll + mention your sore throat <i>properly</i> to Mrs. Holloway.” + </p> + <p> + No sooner were the tutor and his German flute safely raised upon the + chairmen’s shoulders, than his pupil recovered from his sore throat, ran + down to the place where the stage was waiting, seized the stage-coachman’s + down-stretched hand, sprang up, and seated himself triumphantly upon the + coach-box. + </p> + <p> + “Never saw a cleverer fellow,” said the coachman: “now we are off.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me the reins, then,” said Holloway. + </p> + <p> + “Not till we are out o’town,” said the coachman: “when we get off the + stones, we’ll see a little of your driving.” + </p> + <p> + When they got on the turnpike road, Holloway impatiently seized the reins, + and was as much gratified by this coachman’s praises of his driving as + ever he had been by the applauses he had received for his Latin verses. A + taste for vulgar praise is the most dangerous taste a young man can have; + it not only leads him into vulgar company, but it puts him entirely in the + power of his companions, whoever they may happen to be. Augustus Holloway, + seated beside a coachman, became, to all intents and purposes, a coachman + himself; he caught, and gloried in catching, all his companion’s slang, + and with his language caught all his ideas. The coachman talked with + rapture of some young gentleman’s horses which he had lately seen; and + said that, if he was a gentleman, there was nothing he should pride + himself so much upon as his horses. Holloway, as he was a gentleman, + determined to have the finest horses that could be had for money, as soon + as he should become his own master. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” continued the coachman, “if I was a gentleman born, I’d never + be shabby in the matters of wages and perquisites to them that be to look + after my horses, seeing that horses can’t be properly looked after for + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” agreed the young gentleman:—“my friend, lord + Rawson, I know, has a prodigious smart groom, and so will I, all in good + time.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure,” said the coachman; “but it was not in regard to grooms I was + meaning, so much as in regard to a coachman, which, I take it, is one of + the first persons to be considered in a really grand family, seeing how + great a trust is placed in him—(mind, sir, if you please, the turn + at the corner, it’s rather sharp)—seeing how great a trust is placed + in him, as I was observing, a good coachman is worth his weight in gold.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway had not leisure to weigh the solidity of this observation, for + the conversation was now interrupted by the sound of a postchaise, which + drove rapidly by. + </p> + <p> + “The job and four!” exclaimed the coachman, with as many oaths “as the + occasion required.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you let it pass us?” And with enthusiasm which forgot all + ceremony, he snatched the whip from his young companion, and, seizing the + reins, drove at a furious rate. One of the chaise postilions luckily + dropped his whip. They passed the job and four; and the coachman, having + redeemed his honour, resigned once more the reins to Holloway, upon his + promising not to let the job and four get a head of them. The postilions + were not without ambition: the men called to each other, and to their + horses; the horses caught some portion of their masters’ spirit, and began + to gain upon the coach. The passengers in the coach put out their heads, + and female voices screamed in vain. All these terrors increased the sport; + till at length, at a narrow part of the road, the rival coachman and + postilions hazarded every thing for precedency. Holloway was desperate in + proportion to his ignorance. The coachman attempted to snatch the reins, + but, missing his grasp, he shortened those of the off-hand horse, and drew + them the wrong way: the coach ran upon a bank, and was overturned. + Holloway was dismayed and silent; the coachman poured forth a torrent of + abuse, sparing neither friend nor foe; the complaints of the female + passengers were so incoherent, and their fears operated so much upon their + imagination, that in the first moments of confusion, each asserted that + she had broken either an arm or a leg, or fractured her skull. + </p> + <p> + The moon, which had shone bright in the beginning of the evening, was now + under a cloud, and the darkness increased the impatience of the various + complainers; at length a lantern was brought from the turnpike-house, + which was near the spot where the accident happened. As soon as the light + came, the ladies looked at each other, and after they had satisfied + themselves that no material injury had been done to their clothes, and + that their faces were in no way disfigured, they began to recover from + their terrors, and were brought to allow that all their limbs were in good + preservation, and that they had been too hasty in declaring that their + skulls were fractured. Holloway laughed loudly at all this, and joined in + all the wit of the coachman upon the occasion. The coach was lifted up; + the passengers got in; the coachman and Holloway mounted the box, when, + just as they were setting off, the coachman heard a voice crying to him to + stop. He listened, and the voice, which seemed to be that of a person in + great pain, again called for assistance. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the mulatto woman,” said the coachman: “we forgot her in the bustle. + Lend me hold of the lantern, and stand at the horses’ heads, whilst I see + after her,” added the coachman, addressing himself to the man who had come + from the turnpike-house. + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t stir for a <i>mulatto</i>, I promise you,” said Holloway, + brutally: “she was on the top of the coach, wasn’t she? She must have had + a fine hoist!” + </p> + <p> + The poor woman was found to be much hurt: she had been thrown from the top + of the coach into a ditch, which had stones at the bottom of it. She had + not been able to make herself heard by any body, whilst the ladies’ loud + complaints continued; nor had she been able long to call for any + assistance, for she had been stunned by her fall, and had not recovered + her senses for many minutes. She was not able to stand; but when the + coachman held her up, she put her hand to her head, and, in broken + English, said she felt too ill to travel farther that night. + </p> + <p> + “You shall have an inside place, if you’ll pluck up your heart; and you’ll + find yourself better with the motion of the coach.” + </p> + <p> + “What, is she hurt—the mulatto woman?—I say, coachy, make + haste,” cried Holloway; “I want to be off.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” said the coachman; “but we are not likely to be off yet: here’s + this here poor woman can’t stand, and is all over bruises, and won’t get + into the inside of the coach, though I offered her a place.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway, who imagined that the sufferings of all who were not so rich as + himself could be <i>bought off</i> for money, pulled out a handful of + silver, and leaning from the coach-box, held it towards the fainting + woman:—“Here’s a shilling for every bruise at least, my good woman:”—but + the woman did not hear him, for she was very faint. The coachman was + forced to carry her to the turnpike-house, where he left her, telling the + people of the house that a return chaise would call for her in an hour’s + time, and would carry her either to the next stage, or back to town, + whichever she pleased. Holloway’s diversion for the rest of the night was + spoiled, not because he had too much sympathy with the poor woman that was + hurt, but because he had been delayed so long by the accident, that he + lost the pleasure of driving into the town of ——. He had + intended to have gone the whole stage, and to have returned in the job and + four. This scheme had been arranged before he set out by his friend the + coachman; but the postilions in the job and four having won the race, and + made the best of their way, had now returned, and met the coach about two + miles from the turnpike-house. “So,” said Holloway, “I must descend, and + get home before Mr. Supine wakens from his first sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway called at the turnpike-house, to inquire after the mulatto; or, + rather, one of the postilions stopped as he had been desired by the + coachman, to take her up to town, if she was able to go that night. + </p> + <p> + The postilion, after he had spoken to the woman, came to the chaise-door, + and told Holloway “that he could hardly understand what she said, she + talked such outlandish English; and that he could not make out where she + wanted to be carried to.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask the name of some of her friends in town,” cried Holloway, “and don’t + let her keep us here all night.” + </p> + <p> + “She has no friends, as I can find,” replied the postilion, “nor + acquaintance neither.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, whom does she belong to, then?” + </p> + <p> + “She belongs to nobody—she’s quite a stranger in these parts, and + doesn’t know no more than a child where to go in all London; she only + knows the Christian name of an old gardener, where she lodged, she says.” + </p> + <p> + “What would she have us to do with her, then?” said Holloway. “Drive on, + for I shall be late.” + </p> + <p> + The postilion, more humane than Holloway, exclaimed, “No, master, no!—it’s + a sin to leave her upon the road this ways, though she’s no Christian, as + we are, poor copper-coloured soul! I was once a stranger myself in <i>Lon’on</i>, + without a six-pence to bless myself; so I know what it is, master.” + </p> + <p> + The good-natured postilion returned to the mulatto woman. “Mistress,” said + he, “I’d fain see ye safe home, if you could but think of the t’other name + of that gardener that you mentioned lodging with; because there be so many + Pauls in London town, that I should never find your Paul, as you don’t + know neither the name of his street—But I’ll tell ye now all the + streets I’m acquainted with, and that’s a many: do you stop me, mistress, + when I come to the right; for you’re sadly bruised, and I won’t see ye + left this ways on the road.” + </p> + <p> + He then named several streets: the mulatto woman stopped him at one name, + which she recollected to be the name of the street in which the gardener + lived. The woman at the turnpike-house, as soon as she heard the street in + which he lived named, said she knew this gardener; that he had a large + garden about a mile off, and that he came from London early almost every + morning with his cart, for garden-stuff for the market: she advised the + mulatto woman to stay where she was that night, and to send to ask the + gardener to come on to the turnpike-house for her in the morning. The + postilion promised to go to the gardener’s “by the first break of day.” + The woman raised her head to bless him; and the impatient Holloway loudly + called to him to return to his horses, swearing that he would not give him + one farthing for himself if he did not. + </p> + <p> + The anxiety which Holloway felt to escape detection kept him in pain; but + Holloway never measured or estimated his pleasures and his pains; + therefore he never discovered that, even upon the most selfish + calculation, he had paid too dear for the pleasure of sitting upon a + coach-box for one hour. + </p> + <p> + It was two o’clock in the morning before the chaise arrived in town, when + he was set down at the house at which the stage-coach put up, walked home, + got in at his bedchamber window—his bedchamber was upon the + ground-floor. Mr. Supine was fast asleep, and his pupil triumphed in his + successful <i>frolic</i>. Whilst Holloway, in his dreams, was driving + again, and again overturning stage-coaches, young Howard, in his less + manly dreams, saw Dr. B., the head master of Westminster school, advancing + towards him, at a public examination, with a prize medal in his hand, + which turned, Howard thought, as he looked upon it, first into the face of + his aunt, smiling upon him; then into a striking likeness of his tutor, + Mr. Russell, who also smiled upon him; and then changed into the head of + little Oliver, whose eyes seemed to sparkle with joy. Just at the instant, + Howard awoke, and, opening his eyes, saw Oliver’s face close to him, + laughing heartily. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” exclaimed Oliver, “you seized my head with both your hands when I + came to waken you: what could you be dreaming of, Charles?” + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed I took you for a medal, and I was right glad to have hold of + you,” said Howard, laughing; “but I shall not get my medal by dreaming + about it. What o’clock is it? I shall be ready in half a second.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Oliver, “I wont tell you what o’clock it is till you’re + dressed: make haste; I have been up this half hour, and I’ve got every + thing ready, and I’ve carried the little table, and all your books, and + the pen and ink, and all the things, out to our seat; and the sun shines + upon it, and every thing looks cheerful, and you’ll have a full hour to + work, for it’s only half after five.” + </p> + <p> + At the back of Mrs. Howard’s house there was a little garden; at the end + of the garden was a sort of root-house, which Oliver had cleaned out, and + which he dignified by the title of <i>the seat</i>. There were some pots + of geraniums and myrtles kept in it, with Mrs. Howard’s permission, by a + gardener, who lived next door to her, and who frequently came to work in + her garden. Oliver watered the geraniums, and picked off the dead leaves, + whilst Howard was writing at the little table which had been prepared for + him. Howard had at this time two grand works in hand, on which he was + enthusiastically intent: he was translating the little French book which + the traveller had given to him; and he was writing <i>an essay for a prize</i>. + The young gentlemen at Westminster were engaged in writing essays for a + periodical paper; and Dr. B. had promised to give a prize medal as the + reward for that essay, which he, and a jury of critics, to be chosen from + among the boys themselves, should pronounce to be the best composition. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t talk to you, I won’t interrupt you,” said Oliver to Howard; “but + only answer me one question: what is your essay about?” + </p> + <p> + Howard put his finger upon his lips, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you I did not look, though I longed to peep at it this morning + before you were up. Pray, Charles, do you think <i>I</i> shall ever be + able to write essays?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure,” said Howard; “why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Oliver, with a sigh, “because I’ve no genius, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Howard, “have not you found out that you could do a great many + things that you thought you could not do?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, thank you for that: but then you know, those are the sort of things + which can be done without genius.” + </p> + <p> + “And what <i>are</i> the things,” replied Howard, “which cannot be done + without genius?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a great, <i>great</i> many, I believe,” said Oliver: “you know + Holloway said so.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are not forced to believe it, because Holloway said so, are we? + Besides, a <i>great many things</i> may mean any thing, buckling your + shoes, or putting on your hat, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + Oliver laughed at this, and said, “These, to be sure, are not the sort of + things that can’t be done without genius.” + </p> + <p> + “What are the sort of things?” repeated Howard. “Let us, now I’ve the pen + in my hand, make a list of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Take a longer bit of paper.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, the list will not be so very long as you think it will. What + shall I put first?—make haste, for I’m in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—writing, then—writing, I am sure, requires genius.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I never could write, and I’ve often tried and tried to write + something, but I never could; because I’ve no genius for it.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you try to write?” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Why, letters,” said Oliver: “my uncle, and my aunt, and my two cousins, + desired I would write to them regularly once a fortnight; but I never can + make out a letter, and I’m always sorry when letter-writing day comes; and + if I sit thinking and thinking for ever so long I can find nothing to say. + I used always to beg <i>a beginning</i> from somebody; but then, when I’ve + got over the beginning, that’s only three or four lines; and if I stretch + it out ever so much, it won’t make a whole letter; and what can I put in + the middle? There’s nothing but that <i>I am well, and hope they are all + well</i>; or else, <i>that I am learning Latin, as you desired, dear + uncle, and am forward in my English</i>. The end I can manage well enough, + because there’s duty and love to send to every body; and about <i>the post + is just going out, and believe me to be, in haste, your dutiful and + affectionate nephew</i>. But then,” continued little Oliver, “this is all + nonsense, I know, and I’m ashamed to write such bad letters. Now your pen + goes on, scratch, scratch, scratch, the moment you sit down to it; and you + can write three pages of a nice, long, good letter, whilst I am writing ‘<i>My + dear uncle John</i>,’ and that’s what I call having a genius for writing. + I wonder how you came by it: could you write good letters when you were of + my age?” + </p> + <p> + “I never wrote any letters at your age,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how happy you must have been! But then, if you never learned, how + comes it that you can write them now? How can you always find something to + say?” + </p> + <p> + “I never write but when I have something to say; and you know, when you + had something to say last post about Easter holidays, your pen, Oliver, + went scratch, scratch, scratch, as fast as any body’s.” + </p> + <p> + “So it did,” cried Oliver; “but then the thing is, I’m forced to write + when I’ve nothing about the holidays to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Forced?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, because I’m afraid my uncle and cousins should be angry if I didn’t + write.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I’m much obliged,” said Howard, “to my dear aunt, who never + forced me to write: she always said, ‘Never write, Charles, but when you + like it;’ and I never did. When I had any thing to say, that is, any thing + to describe, or any reasons to give upon any subject, or any questions to + ask, which I very much wished to have answered, then, you know, I could + easily write, because I had nothing to do but to write down just the words + which I should have said, if I had been speaking.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought writing was quite a different thing from speaking, because, + in writing, there must be sentences, and long sentences, and fine + sentences, such as there are in books.” + </p> + <p> + “In <i>some</i> books,” said Howard; “but not in all.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” continued Oliver, “one person’s speaking is quite different + from another person’s speaking. Now I believe I make use of a great number + of odd words, and vulgar expressions, and bad English, which I learned + from being with the servants, I believe, at home. You have never talked to + servants, Charles, I dare say, for you have not one of their words.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Charles, “never; and my aunt took a great deal of pains to + prevent me from hearing any of their conversation; therefore it was + impossible that I should catch—” + </p> + <p> + Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of old Paul, the + gardener. + </p> + <p> + “So, Paul,” cried little Oliver, “I’ve been doing your work for you this + morning; I’ve watered all the geraniums, and put the Indian corn in the + sun; what kept you so late in your bed this fine morning, Paul?—fie, + Paul!” + </p> + <p> + “You would not say fie, master,” replied Paul, “if you knew how early I + had been out of my bed, this morning: I was abroad afore sunrise, so I + was, master.” + </p> + <p> + “And why didn’t you come to work then, Paul? You shall not have the + watering-pot till you tell me: don’t look so grave about it; you know you + must smile when I please, Paul.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t smile, just now, master,” said old Paul; but he smiled, and then + told Oliver, that “the reason he could not smile was, that he was a little + sick at heart, with just coming from the sight of a poor soul who had been + sadly bruised by a fall from the top of the stage, which was overturned + last night. She was left all night at the <i>pike</i>, and as she had no + other friends, she sent for me by a return chay-boy, and I went for her, + and brought her home in my covered cart, to my good woman, which she + liked, with good reason, better ten to one than the stage. And she’s + terribly black and blue, and does not seem quite right in her head, to my + fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish we could do something for her,” said Howard. “As soon as Mr. + Russell is up, I’ll ask him to go with us to see her. We will call as we + go by to school this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But, master,” said the gardener, “I should warn ye beforehand, that + mayhap you mayn’t pity her so much, for she’s rather past her best days; + and bad must have been her best, for she’s swarthy, and not like one of + this country: she comes from over the seas, and they call her a—a—not + quite a negro.” + </p> + <p> + “A mulatto!—I like her the better,” cried Oliver; “for my nurse was + a mulatto. I’ll go and waken Mr. Russell this instant, for I’m sure he’ll + not be angry.” He ran away to Mr. Russell, who was not angry at being + awakened, but dressed himself <i>almost</i> as expeditiously as Oliver + wished, and set out immediately with his pupils, delighted to be the + companion of their benevolent schemes, instead of being the object of + their fear and hatred. Tutors may inspire affection, even though they have + the misfortune to be obliged to teach Greek and Latin.{5} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 5: Vide Dr. Johnson’s assertions to the contrary, in Mrs. + Piozzi’s Anecdotes.} + </p> + <p> + When the boys arrived at the gardener’s, they found the poor mulatto woman + lying upon a bed, in a small close room, which was so full of smoke, when + they came in, that they could hardly breathe: the little window, that let + in but a glimmering light, could not, without difficulty, be opened. The + poor woman made but few complaints; she appeared to be most concerned at + the thoughts of being a burden to the good old gardener and his wife. She + said that she had not been long in England; that she came to London in + hopes of finding a family who had been very kind to her in her youth; but + that, after inquiry at the house where they formerly lived, she could hear + nothing of them. After a great deal of trouble, she discovered that a West + India gentleman, who had known her abroad, was now at Bath; but she had + spent the last farthing of her money, and she was, therefore, unable to + undertake the journey. She had brought over with her, she said, some + foreign seeds of flowers, which her young mistress used to be fond of when + she was a child, which she had kept till hunger obliged her to offer them + to a gardener for a loaf of bread. The gardener to whom she offered them + was old Paul, who took compassion upon her distress, lodged her for a + week, and at last paid for an outside place for her upon the Bath coach. + There was such an air of truth and simplicity in this woman, that Mr. + Russell, more experienced than his pupils, believed her story, at once, as + implicitly as they did. “Oh,” exclaimed little Oliver, “I have but this + half-crown for her: I wish Holloway had but paid me my half-guinea; I’ll + ask him for it again to-day; and will you come with us here again, this + evening, Mr. Russell, that I may bring it then?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Russell and Howard hired the room for a fortnight in which the mulatto + woman was now lying, and paid old Paul, the gardener, for it, promising, + at the same time, to supply her with food. The gardener’s wife, at the + poor woman’s earnest request, promised that, as soon as she was able to + sit up, she would get her some coarse plain work to do. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Oliver, “how can she see to work in this smoke? I’m sure it + makes my eyes water so that I can hardly bear it, though I have been in it + scarcely ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” exclaimed Howard, turning to Mr. Russell, “that this chimney + could be cured of smoking.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well-a-day,” said the gardener, “we must put up with it as it is, for + I’ve had doctors to it, at one time or another, that have cost me a power + of money; but, after all, it’s as bad as ever, and my good dame never + lights a fire in it this fine spring weather; howsomever, she (pointing to + the mulatto woman) is so chilly, coming from a country that, by all + accounts, is a hot-house, compared with ours, that she can’t sleep o’ + nights, or live o’ days without a small matter of fire, which she’s + welcome to, though, you see, it almost fills the house with smoke.” + </p> + <p> + Howard, during the gardener’s speech, had been trying to recollect where + it was that he had lately seen some essay upon smoky chimneys; and he + suddenly exclaimed, “It was in Dr. Franklin’s works—was it not, Mr. + Russell?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Mr. Russell, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “That essay upon smoky chimneys which I said I would skip over, the other + day, because I had nothing to do with it, and I thought I should not + understand. Don’t you remember telling me, sir, that I had better not skip + it, because it might, some time or other, be useful to me? I wish I could + get the book now; I would take pains to understand it, because, perhaps, I + might find out how this poor man’s chimney might be cured of smoking. As + for his window, I know how that can be easily mended, because I once + watched a man who was hanging some windows for my aunt—I’ll get some + sash line.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you recollect what o’clock it is, my good friend?” said Mr. Russell, + holding out his watch to Howard. “We cannot wait till you are perfect + master of the theory of smoky chimneys, and the practice of hanging + windows; it is time that we should be gone.” Mr. Russell spoke this with + an air of raillery, as he usually did, when he was particularly pleased. + </p> + <p> + As they were going away, Oliver earnestly repeated his request, that Mr. + Russell would come again in the evening, that he might have an opportunity + of giving the poor woman his half-guinea. Mr. Russell promised him that he + would; but he at the same time added, “All charity, my dear Oliver, does + not consist in giving money: it is easy for a man to put his hand in his + pocket, and take out a few shillings, to give any person in distress.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” said Oliver, “I was able to do more! what can I do? I’ll think + of something. Howard, will you think of something that I can do? But I + must see about my Latin lesson first, for I had not time to look it over + this morning, before I came out.” + </p> + <p> + When they got back, the business of the day, for some hours, suspended all + thoughts of the mulatto woman; but, in the first interval of leisure, + Oliver went in search of Mr. Holloway, to ask for his half-guinea. + Holloway had a crowd of his companions round him, whom he seemed to be + entertaining with some very diverting story, for they were laughing + violently when little Oliver first came up to them; but they no sooner + perceived him than all their merriment suddenly ceased. Holloway first + lowered his voice into a whisper, and then observing that Oliver still + stood his ground, he asked him, in his usual peremptory tone, what might + be his business? Oliver drew him aside, and asked him to pay him <i>the</i> + half-guinea. “<i>The</i> half-guinea?” repeated Holloway: “man, you talk + of <i>the</i> half-guinea as if there was but one half-guinea in the + world: you shall have <i>the</i> half-guinea, for I hate to be dunned—Stay, + I believe I have no <i>half</i>-a-guinea about me: you can’t give me two + half-guineas for a guinea, can ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Me!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, you must wait till I can get change.” + </p> + <p> + “Must I wait? but I really want it for a particular reason, this evening: + I wish you could give it me now—you know you promised; but I don’t + like putting people in mind of their promises, and I would not ask you + about the money, only that I really want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Want it!—nonsense: what can you want money for, such a little chap + as you? I’ll lay you any wager, your <i>particular</i> reason, if the + truth was told, is, that you can’t resist the tart-woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>can</i> resist the tart-woman,” cried Oliver proudly; “I have a much + better use for my money: but I don’t want to boast, neither; only, + Holloway, do give me the half-guinea: shall I run and ask somebody to give + you two half-guineas for a guinea?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I’ll not be dunned into paying you. If you had not asked me for + it, I should have given it you to-night: but since you could not trust to + my honour, you’ll please to wait till to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But I did trust to your honour for a whole month.” + </p> + <p> + “A month!—a great while, indeed; then trust to it a day longer; and + if you ask me for the money to-morrow, you shan’t have it till the next + day. I’ll teach you not to be such a little dun: nobody, that has any + spirit, can bear to be dunned, particularly for such small sums. I thought + you had been above such meanness, or, I promise you, I should never have + borrowed your half-guinea,” added Holloway; and he left his unfortunate + creditor to reflect upon the new ideas of <i>meanness</i> and <i>spirit</i>, + which had been thus artfully thrown out. + </p> + <p> + Oliver was roused from his reflections by his friend Howard. “Mr. Russell + is ready to go with us to the gardener’s again,” said Howard: “have you a + mind to come?” + </p> + <p> + “A great mind; but I am ashamed, for I’ve not got my half-guinea which I + lent.” Here his newly acquired fear of meanness checked Oliver, and + without complaining of his creditor’s want of punctuality, he added, “but + I should like to see the poor woman though, for all that.” + </p> + <p> + They set out, but stopped in their way at a bookseller’s, where Howard + inquired for that essay of Dr. Franklin on smoky chimneys, which he was + impatient to see. This bookseller was well acquainted with Mr. Russell. + Howard had promised to give the bookseller the translation of the little + French book which we formerly mentioned; and the bookseller, on his part, + was very obliging in furnishing Howard with any books he wanted. + </p> + <p> + Howard was deep in the essay on smoky chimneys, and examining the + references in the print belonging to it, whilst Mr. Russell was looking + over the prints in the Encyclopedia, with little Oliver. They were all so + intent upon what they were about, that they did not perceive the entrance + of Holloway and Mr. Supine. Mr. Supine called in merely to see what Mr. + Russell could be looking at, with so much appearance of interest. The + indolent are always curious, though they will not always exert themselves, + even to gratify their curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Only the Encyclopaedia prints,” said Supine, looking over Mr. Russell’s + shoulder: “I thought you had got something new.” + </p> + <p> + “Only smoky chimneys,” exclaimed Holloway, looking over Howard’s shoulder: + “what upon earth, Howard, can you find so entertaining in smoky chimneys? + Are you turned chimney-doctor, or chimney-sweeper? This will be an + excellent thing for Lord Rawson, won’t it, Mr. Supine? We’ll tell it to + him on Thursday; it will be a good joke for us, for half the day. Pray, + doctor Charles Howard,” continued the wit, with mock solemnity, “do you go + up the chimneys yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Howard took this raillery with so much good-humour, that Holloway looked + quite disappointed; and Mr. Supine, in a careless tone, cried, “I take it, + reading such things as these will scarcely improve your style, sir—will + they, think ye, Mr. Russell?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure,” replied Mr. Russell, “that Mr. Howard’s <i>first</i> + object in reading is to improve his style; but,” added he, turning to the + title-page, and pointing to Franklin’s name, “you, perhaps, did not know—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dr. Franklin’s works,” interrupted Supine: “I did not see the name + before—to be sure I must bow down to <i>that</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Having thus easily satisfied Mr. Supine’s critical scruples by the + authority of a name, Mr. Russell rose to depart, as he perceived that + there was no chance of getting rid of the idlers. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do with yourself, Russell?” said Mr. Supine; “we’ll + walk with you, if you are for walking, this fine evening; only don’t let’s + walk like penny postmen.” + </p> + <p> + “But he’s in a hurry,” said Oliver; “he’s going to see a poor woman.” + </p> + <p> + “A <i>poor</i> woman!” said Supine; “down this close lane too!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let’s see all that’s to be seen,” whispered Holloway; “ten to one we + shall get some diversion out of it: Russell’s a quiz worth studying, and + Howard’s his ditto.” + </p> + <p> + They came to the gardener’s house. Holloway’s high spirits suddenly + subsided when he beheld the figure of the mulatto woman. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” said Oliver, observing that he started; “why did you + start so?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell Howard I want to speak one word with him, this instant, in the + street; bid him come out to me,” whispered Holloway; and he hastily + retreated before the poor woman saw his face. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” cried Holloway, “I sent for you to tell you a great secret.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry for it,” said Charles; “for I hate secrets.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can keep a secret, man, can’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “If it were necessary, I hope I could; but I’d rather not hear—” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh, nonsense,” interrupted Holloway, “you must hear it; I’ll trust to + your honour; and, besides, I have not a moment to stand shilly shally: + I’ve got a promise from my father to let me go down, this Easter, with + Lord Rawson, to Marryborough, in his dog-cart, <i>randem-tandem</i>, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know it, indeed,” said Charles; “but what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, you see, I must be upon my good behaviour; and you would not + do such an ill-natured trick as to betray me?” + </p> + <p> + “Betray you! I don’t know what you mean,” said Howard, astonished. + </p> + <p> + Holloway now briefly told him his stage-coach adventure, and concluded by + saying, he was afraid that the mulatto woman should recollect either his + face or voice, and should <i>blow him</i>. + </p> + <p> + “And what,” said Howard, shocked at the selfishness which Holloway showed—“and + what do you want me to do? why do you tell me all this?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Holloway, “I thought if you heard what the woman said, + when she saw me, you would have got it all out of her to be sure; + therefore I thought it best to trust you with my secret, and so put you + upon honour with me. All I ask of you is, to hold your tongue about my—my—my—frolic, + and just make some excuse for my not going into the room again where the + mulatto woman is: you may tell Supine, if he asks what’s become of me, + that I’m gone to the music-shop, to get some new music for him: that will + keep him quiet. Good by.” + </p> + <p> + When Howard returned to the room where the mulatto woman lay, he expected + to be questioned by Mr. Supine about Holloway’s sudden departure; but this + gentleman was not in the habit of paying great attention to his pupil’s + motions. He took it for granted that Holloway had escaped, because he did + not wish to be called upon for a charitable subscription. From the same + fear, Mr. Supine affected unusual absence of mind whilst Mr. Russell + talked to the mulatto woman, and at length, professing himself unable to + endure any longer the smell of smoke, he pushed his way into the street. + “Mr. Holloway, I suppose,” said he, “has taken himself home, very wisely, + and I shall follow him: we make it a rule, I think, to miss one another; + but to keep a young man in leading-strings would be a great bore. We’re + upon the best footing in the world together: as to the rest—” + </p> + <p> + New difficulties awaited Holloway. He got home some time before Mr. + Supine, and found his friend, the stage-coachman, waiting for him with a + rueful face. + </p> + <p> + “Master,” said he, “here’s a sad job: there was a parcel lost last night, + in the confusion of the overturn of the coach; and I must make it good; + for it’s booked, and it’s booked to the value of five guineas, for it was + a gold muslin gown that a lady was very particular about; and, master, I + won’t peach if you’ll pay: but as for losing my place, or making up five + guineas afore Saturday, it’s what I can’t take upon me to do.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway was much dismayed at this news; he now began to think he should + pay too dear for his frolic. The coachman persisted in his demand. Mr. + Supine appeared at the corner of the street; and his pupil was forced to + get rid immediately of the coachman, by a promise, that the money should + be ready on Saturday. When Holloway made this promise, he was not master + of two guineas in the world; how to procure the whole sum was now the + question. Alderman Holloway, with the hope of exciting in his son’s mind a + love for literature, made it a practice to reward him with solid gold, + whenever he brought home any certificate of his scholarship. Holloway had + lately received five guineas from his father, for an approved copy of + Latin verses; and the alderman had promised to give him five guineas more + if he brought home the medal which was to be the reward for the best essay + in the periodical paper, which the Westminster boys were now writing. + Holloway, though he could write elegant Latin verses, had not any great + facility in English composition; he, consequently, according to the usual + practice of little minds, undervalued a talent which he did not possess. + He had ridiculed the scheme of writing an English essay, and had loudly + declared, that he did not think it worth his while to write English. His + opinion was, however, somewhat changed by his father’s promised reward; + and the stage-coachman’s impatience for his money now impelled Holloway to + exertion. He began to write his essay late on Friday evening—the + medal was to be given on Saturday morning—so that there could not be + much time for revisal and corrections. Corrections he affected to disdain, + and piqued himself upon the rapidity with which he wrote. “Howard,” said + he, when they met to deliver in their compositions, “you have been three + weeks writing your essay; I ran mine off in three hours and a quarter.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Holloway had not considered, that what is written with ease is not + always read with ease. His essay was written with such a careless + superfluity of words, and such a lack of ideas appeared in the + performance, that the judges unanimously threw it aside, as unworthy of + their notice. “Gentlemen,” cried Dr. B., coming forward among the anxious + crowd of expectants, “which of you owns this motto?— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Hear it, ye Senates, hear this truth sublime,<br /> +He who allows oppression shares the crime{6}.’” +</p> + + <p> + {Footnote 6: Botanic Garden, vol. ii.} + </p> + <p> + “It’s his!—it’s his!—it’s his!” exclaimed little Oliver, + clapping his hands—“it’s Howard’s, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. B., pleased with this grateful little boy’s honest joy, put the medal + into his hands, without speaking, and Oliver ran with it to his friend. + “Only,” said he, “only let me be by, when you show it to your aunt.” + </p> + <p> + How much the pleasure of success is increased by the sympathy of our + friends! The triumph of a school-boy over his competitors is sometimes + despicable; but Howard’s joy was not of this selfish and puerile sort. All + the good passions had stimulated him to exertion, and he was rewarded by + his own generous feelings. He would not have exchanged the delight which + he saw in his little friend Oliver’s face, the approving smile of his + aunt, and the proud satisfaction Mr. Russell expressed at the sight of his + medal, for all the solid gold which Alderman Holloway deemed the highest + reward of literature. + </p> + <p> + Alderman Holloway was filled with indignation when he heard from Mr. + Supine that his son’s essay had been rejected with contempt. The young + gentleman was also much surprised at the decision of the judges; and his + tutor, by way of pleasing his pupil’s friends, hesitated not to hint, that + there “certainly was great injustice done to Mr. Augustus Holloway’s + talents.” The subject was canvassed at a turtle dinner at the alderman’s. + “There shall not be injustice done to my Augustus,” said the irritated + father, wisely encouraging his Augustus in all his mean feelings. “Never + mind ‘em all, my boy; you have a father, you may thank Heaven, who <i>can</i> + judge for himself, and <i>will</i>: you shall not be the loser by Dr. B.‘s + or doctor any body’s injustice; I’ll make it up to you, my boy; in the + meantime, join us in a bumper of port. Here’s to Dr. B.‘s better judgment; + wishing him health and happiness these Easter holidays, and <i>a new pair + of spectacles</i>,—hey, Mr. Supine?” + </p> + <p> + This well-chosen toast was drunk with much applause and laughter by the + company. The alderman insisted upon having his Augustus’s essay produced + in the evening. Holloway had now ample satisfaction, for the whole company + were unanimous in their plaudits, after Mr. Supine had read two or three + sentences: the alderman, to confirm his own critical judgment, drew out + his purse, and counting out ten bright guineas, presented them, with a + look of high self-satisfaction, to his son. “Here, Augustus, my boy,” said + he; “I promised you five guineas if you brought me home the prize medal; + but I now present you with ten, to make you the amends you so richly + deserve, for not having got their medal. Thank God, I am able to afford + it; and I hope,” added the alderman, looking round, and laughing, “I hope + I’m as good a patron of the <i>belles lettres</i> as the head doctor of + Westminster himself.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway’s eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of the glittering bribe. He + began some speech in reply, in which he compared his father to Maecenas; + but being entangled in a sentence, in which the nominative case had been + too long separated from the verb, he was compelled to pause abruptly. + Nevertheless, the alderman rubbed his hands with exultation; and “Hear + him! hear him!—hear your member!” was vociferated by all the friends + of the young orator. “Well, really,” concluded his mother to the ladies, + who were complimenting her upon her son’s performance, “it was not a bad + speech, considering he had nothing to say!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Rawson, who was one of the company, now congratulated his friend in a + whisper—“You’ve made a good job of it to-day, Augustus,” said he: + “solid pudding’s better than empty praise. We’re going,” continued his + lordship to the alderman, “to try my new horses this evening;” and he + pulled Augustus with him out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “There they go,” said the prudent father, delighted with his own son’s + being the chosen friend of a nobleman—“there they go, arm in arm, a + couple of rare ones: we shall have fine work with them, I foresee, when + Augustus gets to college—but young men of spirit must not be curbed + like common boys—we must make allowances—I have been young + myself,—hey, Mr. Supine?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir,” said the obsequious tutor; “and you still have all the + sprightliness of youth; and my ideas of education square completely with + yours.” + </p> + <p> + According to Alderman Holloway’s ideas of education, the holy days were + always to be made a season of complete idleness and dissipation, to + relieve his son from his school studies. It was his great delight to + contrast the pleasures of home with the hardships of school, and to make + his son compare the indulgence of a father with the severity of a + schoolmaster. How he could expect an education to succeed which he + sedulously endeavoured to counteract, it may be difficult for any rational + person to conceive. + </p> + <p> + After Lord Rawson and Holloway had enjoyed the pleasures of driving the + new horses, <i>tandem</i>, in a dog-cart, and had conversed about dogs and + horses till they had nothing left to say to each other, his lordship + proposed stepping in to Mr. Carat, the jeweller’s shop, to look at some + new watches: his lordship said he was tired of his own, for he had had it + six months. Mr. Carat was not in the way when they first went in. One of + the young men who attended in the shop said, “that his master was + extremely busy, in settling some accounts with a captain of a ship, who + was to leave England in a few days.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t tell me of settling accounts,” cried Lord Ramon—“I hate the + sound of settling accounts: run and tell Mr. Carat that Lord Rawson is + here, and must speak to him this instant, for I’m in a desperate hurry.” + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour elapsed before the impatient lord could be obeyed; + during this time, his lordship and Holloway rummaged over every thing in + the shop. A pretty bauble to hang to his watch caught his lordship’s + fancy. His lordship happened to have no money in his pocket. “Holloway,” + said he, “my good fellow, you’ve ten guineas in your pocket, I know; do + lend me them here.” Holloway, rather proud of his riches, lent his ten + guineas to his noble friend with alacrity; but a few minutes afterward + recollected that he should want five of them that very night, to pay the + poor stage-coachman. His recollection came too late, for after Lord Rawson + had paid three or four guineas for his trinket, he let the remainder of + the money down with an absent nonchalance, into his pocket. “We’ll settle—I’ll + pay you, Holloway, to-morrow morning, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway, from false shame, replied, “Oh, very well.” And at this instant + Mr. Carat entered the shop, bowing and apologizing to his lordship for + having been busy. + </p> + <p> + “I’m always, to be sure, in a very great hurry,” cried Lord Rawson; “I + never have a minute that I can call my own. All I wanted though, just now, + was to tell you, that I could not settle any thing—you understand—till + we come back from Marryborough. I go down there to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The Jew bowed with unlimited acquiescence, assuring his lordship that he + should ever wait his perfect convenience. As he spoke, he glanced an + inquiring eye upon Holloway. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Holloway, the eldest, the only son of Alderman Holloway—rich as + a Jew! and he’ll soon leave Westminster,” whispered Lord Rawson to the + Jew. “Holloway,” continued he, turning to his friend, “give me leave to + introduce Mr. Carat to you. You may,” added his lordship, lowering his + voice, “find this Jew a useful friend some time or other, my lad. He’s my + man in all money jobs.” + </p> + <p> + The Jew and the school-boy seemed equally flattered and pleased by this + introduction; they were quickly upon familiar terms with one another; and + Mr. Carat, who was willing that such an acquaintance should begin in the + most advantageous and agreeable manner on his part, took the young + gentleman, with an air of mystery and confidence, into a little room + behind the shop; there he produced a box full of old-fashioned secondhand + trinkets, and, without giving Holloway time to examine them, said that he + was going to make a lottery of these things. “If I had any young favourite + friends,” continued the wily Jew, “I should give them a little whisper in + the ear, and bid them try their fortune; they never will have a finer + opportunity.” He then presented a hand-bill, drawn up in a style which + even Messrs. Goodluck and Co. need not have disdained to admire. The youth + was charmed with the composition. The Jew made him a present of a couple + of tickets for himself, and gave him a dozen more, to distribute amongst + his companions at Westminster. Holloway readily undertook to distribute + the tickets upon condition that he might have a list of the prizes in the + lottery. “If they don’t see a list of the prizes,” said he, “not a soul + will put in.” + </p> + <p> + The Jew took a pen immediately, and drew up a captivating list of prizes. + </p> + <p> + Holloway promised to copy it, because Mr. Carat said his hand must not + appear in the business, and it must be conducted with the strictest + secrecy; because “the law,” added the Jew, “has a little jealousy of these + sort of things—government likes none but licensed lotteries, young + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “The law! I don’t care what the law likes,” replied the school-boy; “if I + break the law, I hope I’m rich enough to pay the forfeit, or my father + will pay for me, which is better still.” + </p> + <p> + To this doctrine the Jew readily assented, and they parted, mutually + satisfied with each other. + </p> + <p> + It was agreed that Lord Rawson should drive his friend to Marryborough the + next Tuesday, and that he should return on Wednesday, with Holloway, to + Westminster, on purpose that he might meet Mr. Carat there, who was then + to deliver the prizes. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll lay you a bet,” cried Lord Rawson, as he left the Jew’s, “that + you’ll have a prize yourself. Now are you not obliged to me for + introducing you to Carat?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that I am,” replied Holloway; “it’s easier to put into the lottery + than to write Latin verses and English essays. I’ll puzzle and bore myself + no more with those things, I promise my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Who does, after they’ve once left school, I want to know?” said his noble + friend. “I’m sure I’ve forgot all I ever learned from Latin and Greek + fellows; you know they tell just for nothing when one gets into the world. + I make it a principle never to talk of books, for nobody does, you know, + that has any thing else to talk of. None but quizzes and quozzes ever came + out with any thing of that sort. Now, how they’d stare at Marryborough, + Holloway, if you were to begin sporting some of your Horace and Virgil!” + </p> + <p> + The dashing, yet bashful school-boy, with much emotion, swore that he + cared as little for Horace and Virgil as his lordship did. Holloway was + really an excellent scholar, but he began to be heartily ashamed of it in + his lordship’s company, and prudently resolved to adopt the principles he + had just heard; to forget as fast as possible all he had learned: never to + talk of books; and to conceal both his knowledge and his abilities, lest + <i>they should stare at him at Maryborough</i>. + </p> + <p> + The lottery tickets were easily disposed of amongst the young gentlemen at + Westminster. As young men can seldom calculate, they are always ready to + trust to their individual good fortune, and they are, consequently, ever + ready to put into any species of lottery. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” cried little Oliver, showing a lottery ticket to Howard; + “look what Holloway has just offered to give me, instead of half-a-guinea, + which he owes me. I told him I would just run and ask your advice. Shall I + accept of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I would advise you not,” answered Howard; “you are sure of your + half-guinea, and you have only a chance of getting any thing in the + lottery.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but then I’ve a chance of such a number of fine things! You have not + seen the list of prizes. Do you know there’s a watch amongst them? Now, + suppose my ticket should come up a prize, and that I should get a watch + for my half-guinea!—a real watch!—a watch that would go!—a + watch that I should wind up myself every night! O Charles! would not that + be a good bargain for my half-guinea? I’m sure you have not read the list + of prizes, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I have not,” said Howard: “have you seen the list of blanks?” + </p> + <p> + “Of blanks! No,” said Oliver, with a changed countenance; “I never thought + of the blanks.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet in most lotteries there are many more blanks than prizes, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there? Well, but I hope I shall not have a blank,” said Oliver. + </p> + <p> + “So every body hopes, but some people must be disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the little boy, pausing—“but then some people must win, + and I have as good a chance as another, have not I?” + </p> + <p> + “And do you know what the chance against your winning is? Once I had a + great mind, as you have now, Oliver, to put into a lottery. It was just + after my aunt lost all her fortune, and I thought that if I were to get + the twenty thousand pound prize, I could give it to her.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give my watch (if I get it, I mean) to somebody. I’ll give it to the + mulatto woman, because she is poor. No; I’ll give it to you, because you + are the best, and I love you the best, and I am more obliged to you than + to any body in the world, for you have taught me more; and you have taught + me as I was never taught before, without laughing at, or scolding, or + frightening, or calling me blockhead or dunce; and you have made me think + a great deal better of myself; and I am always happy when I’m with you; + and I’m quite another creature since you came to school. I hope you’ll + never leave school whilst I am here,” cried Oliver. + </p> + <p> + “But you have quite forgot the lottery,” said Howard, smiling, and much + touched by his little friend’s simplicity and enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the lottery! ay,” said Oliver, “you were telling me something about + yourself; do go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I once thought, as you do now, that it would be a charming thing to put + into a lottery.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and did you win?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you lose?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “How then?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not put into the lottery, for I was convinced that it was a foolish + way of spending money.” + </p> + <p> + “If you think it’s foolish or wrong,” said Oliver, “I’ll have nothing to + do with this lottery.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to govern you by my opinion,” said Howard; “but if you have + patience to attend to all the reasons that convinced me, you will be able + to judge, and form an opinion for yourself. You know I must leave school + some time or other, and then—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t talk of that, but tell me all the reasons, quick.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell them so very quickly,” said Howard, laughing: “when we go + home this evening I’ll ask my aunt to look for the passage in Smith’s + Wealth of Nations, which she showed me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” interrupted Oliver, with a sigh, “<i>Smith’s Wealth</i> of what? + That’s a book, I’m sure, I shall never be able to understand; is it not + that great large book that Mr. Russell reads?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But I shall never understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “Because it’s a large book?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Oliver, smiling, “but because I suppose it’s very difficult to + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Not what I’ve read of it: but I have only read passages here and there. + That passage about lotteries, I think, you would understand, because it is + so plainly written.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll read it, then,” said Oliver, “and try; and in the meantime I’ll go + and tell Holloway that I had rather not put into the lottery, till I know + whether it’s right or not.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway flew into a violent passion with little Oliver when he went to + return his lottery ticket. He abused and ridiculed Howard for his + interference, and succeeded so well in raising a popular cry, that the + moment Howard appeared on the playground, a general hiss, succeeded by a + deep groan, was heard.—Howard recollected the oracle’s answer to + Cicero, and was not dismayed by the voice of the multitude. Holloway threw + down half-a-guinea, to pay Oliver, and muttered to himself, “I’ll make you + remember this, Mr. Oliver.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give this half-guinea to the mulatto woman, and that’s much better + than putting it into a lottery, Charles,” said the little boy; and, as + soon as the business of the day was done, Oliver, Howard, and Mr. Russell, + took their usual evening’s walk towards the gardener’s house. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, come in,” cried old Paul, “come in! God bless you all! I don’t know + which is the best of you. I’ve been looking out of my door this quarter of + an hour for ye,” said he, as soon as he saw them; “and I don’t know when + I’ve been idle a quarter of an hour afore. But I’ve put on my best coat, + though it’s not Sunday, and wife has treated her to a dish of tea, and + she’s up and dressed—the mulatto woman, I mean—and quite + hearty again. Walk in, walk in; it will do your hearts good to see her; + she’s so grateful too, though she can’t speak good English, which is her + only fault, poor soul; but we can’t be born what we like, or she would + have been as good an Englishman as the best of us. Walk in, walk in.—And + the chimney does not smoke, master, no more than I do; and the window + opens too; and the paper’s up, and looks beautiful. God bless ye, God + bless ye—walk in.” Old Paul, whilst he spoke, had stopped the way + into the room; but at length he recollected that they could not walk in + whilst he stood in the door-way, and he let them pass. + </p> + <p> + The little room was no longer the smoky, dismal, miserable place which it + was formerly. It was neatly papered; it was swept clean; there was a + cheerful fire, which burnt quite clearly: the mulatto woman was cleanly + dressed, and, rising from her work, she clasped her hands together with an + emotion of joyful gratitude, which said more than any words could have + expressed. + </p> + <p> + This room was not papered, nor was the chimney cured of smoking, nor was + the woman clad in new clothes, by magic. It was all done by human means—by + the industry and abilities of a benevolent boy. + </p> + <p> + The translation of the little French book, which Howard had completed, + procured him the means of doing good. The book-seller to whom he offered + it was both an honest man, and a good judge of literary productions. Mr. + Russell’s name also operated in his pupil’s favour, and Howard received + ten guineas for his translation. + </p> + <p> + Oliver was impatient for an opportunity to give his half-guinea, which he + had held in his hand, till it was quite warm. “Let me look at that pretty + thimble of yours,” said he, going up to the mulatto woman, who had now + taken up her work again; and, as he playfully pulled off the thimble, he + slipped his half-guinea into her hand; then he stopped her thanks, by + running on to a hundred questions about her thimble. “What a strange + thimble! How came you by such a thimble? Was it given to you? Did you buy + it? What’s the use of this screw round the inside of the rim of it? Do + look at it, Charles!” + </p> + <p> + The thimble was, indeed, remarkable; and it seemed extraordinary that such + a one should belong to a poor woman, who had lately been in great + distress. + </p> + <p> + “It is gold,” said Mr. Russell, examining it, “and very old gold.” + </p> + <p> + The mulatto woman sighed; and as she put the thimble upon her finger + again, said, that she did not know whether it was gold or not; but she had + a great value for it; that she had had it a great many years; that it had + been given to her by the best friend she had ever had. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about that best friend,” said Oliver; “I like to hear about best + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “She was a very good friend indeed; though she was but young, scarcely + bigger than yourself, at the time she gave me this thimble: she was my + young mistress; I came all the way from Jamaica on purpose to find her + out, and in hopes to live with her in my elder days.” + </p> + <p> + “Jamaica!” cried Howard; “Jamaica!” cried Oliver, in the same breath; + “what was her name?” + </p> + <p> + “Frances Howard.” + </p> + <p> + “My aunt,” exclaimed Howard. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll run and tell her; I’ll run and bring her here, this instant!” said + Oliver. But Mr. Russell caught hold of him, and detained him, whilst they + further questioned the woman. Her answers were perfectly consistent and + satisfactory. She said, that her mistress’s estate in Jamaica had been + sold just before she left the island; that some of the old slaves had been + set at liberty, by orders, which came, she understood, in her mistress’s + last letter; and that, amongst the rest, she had been freed: that she had + heard say that her good mistress had desired the agent to give her also + some little <i>provision ground</i>, upon the plantation, but that this + had never been done; and that she had sold all the clothes and little + things she possessed, to raise money to pay for her passage to England, + hoping to find her mistress in London. She added, that the agent had given + her a direction to her mistress; but that she had, in vain, applied at at + the house, and at every house in the same street. “Show us the direction, + if you have it,” said Mr. Russell. The woman said she had kept it very + carefully; but now it was almost worn out. The direction was, however, + still legible upon the ragged bit of paper which she produced—<i>To + Mrs. Frances Howard, Portman Square, London</i>. The instant Mr. Russell + was satisfied, he was as expeditious as Oliver himself; they all three + went home immediately to Mrs. Howard: she had, some time before, been + confined to her room by a severe toothache. + </p> + <p> + “You promised me, aunt,” said her nephew, “that as soon as you were well + enough, you would go to old Paul’s with us, to see our poor woman; can you + go this evening?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh do! do, pray; I’m sure you won’t catch cold,” said Oliver; “for we + have a very particular reason for wishing you to go.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a sedan chair at the door,” said Mr. Russell, “if you are + afraid, madam, of catching cold.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not rich enough to go out in sedan chairs,” interrupted Mrs. Howard, + “nor prudent enough, I am afraid, to stay at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! thank you,” said Oliver, who had her clogs ready in his hands; “now + you’ll see something that will surprise you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then take care you don’t tell me what it is, before I see it,” said Mrs. + Howard. + </p> + <p> + Oliver, with some difficulty, held his tongue during the walk, and + contented himself with working off his superfluous animation, by jumping + over every obstacle in his way. + </p> + <p> + The meeting between the poor mulatto woman and her mistress was as full of + joy and surprise as little Oliver had expected; and this is saying a great + deal, for where much is expected, there is usually much disappointment; + and very sympathetic people are often angry with others, for not being as + much astonished, or as much delighted, as they think the occasion + requires. + </p> + <p> + The day which Mr. Augustus Holloway imagined would bring him such complete + felicity—the day on which Lord Rawson had promised to call for him + in his dog-cart, and to drive him down <i>randem-tandem</i>, to + Marryborough—was now arrived. His lordship, in his dog-cart, was at + the door; and Holloway, in high spirits, was just going to get into the + carriage, when some one pulled his coat, and begged to speak a few words + with him. It was the stage-coachman, who was absolutely in distress for + the value of the lost parcel, which Holloway had promised him should be + punctually paid: but Holloway, now that his excursion to Marryborough was + perfectly secure, thought but very little of the poor coachman’s + difficulties; and though he had the money, which he had raised by the + lottery tickets, in his pocket, he determined to keep that for his + amusements during the Easter holidays. “You must wait till I come back + from Marryborough; I can’t possibly speak to you now; I can’t possibly, + you see, keep Lord Rawson waiting. Why didn’t you call sooner? I am not at + all convinced that any parcel was lost.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll show you the books—it’s book’d, sir,” said the man, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, this is not a time to talk of booking. I’ll be with you in an + instant, my lord,” cried Holloway to Lord Rawson, who was all impatience + to <i>be off</i>. But the coachman would not quit his hold. “I’m sorry to + come to that, master,” said he: “as long as we were both upon honour + together, it was very well; but, if you break squares with me, being a + gentleman, and rich, you can’t take it ill, I being a poor man and my + place and all at stake, if I take the shortest way to get my own: I must + go to Dr. B. for justice, if you won’t give it me without my peaching,” + said the coachman. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see you again to-morrow morning,” said Holloway, alarmed: “we come + up to town again to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow won’t do,” said the coachman; “I shall lose my place and my + bread to-day. I know how to trust to young gentlemen’s to-morrows.” + </p> + <p> + A volley of oaths from Lord Rawson again summoned his companion. At this + instant, Mr. Russell, young Howard, and little Oliver, came up the street, + and were passing on to Mrs. Howard’s, when Holloway stopped Howard, who + was the last of the party. “For Heaven’s sake,” said he, in a whisper, “do + settle for me with this confounded coachman! I know you are rich; your + bookseller told me so; pay five guineas for me to him, and you shall have + them again to-morrow, there’s a good fellow. Lord Rawson’s waiting; good + by.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, stay,” said Howard, who was not so easily to be drawn into + difficulties by a moment’s weakness, or by the want of a moment’s presence + of mind: “I know nothing of this business; I have other uses for my money; + I cannot pay five guineas for you, Holloway.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let it alone,” cried Holloway, with a brutal execration; and he + forcibly broke from the coachman, shook hands with his tutor, Mr. Supine, + who was talking to Lord Rawson about the varnish of his gig, jumped into + the carriage, and was whirled away from all reflection in a moment, by his + noble companion. + </p> + <p> + The poor coachman entreated Howard to stay one instant, to hear him. He + explained the business to him, and reproached himself bitterly for his + folly. “I’m sure I thought,” said he, “I was sure of a gentleman’s honour; + and young gentlemen ought to be above not paying handsome for their + frolics, if they must have frolics; and a frolic’s one thing, and cheating + a poor man like me is another; and he had liked to have killed a poor + mulatto woman, too, by the overturn of the coach, which was all his + doings.” + </p> + <p> + “The woman is got very well, and is very well off now,” interrupted + Howard; “you need say nothing about that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but my money, I must say about <i>that</i>,” said the coachman. + Here Howard observed, that Mr. Supine had remained at the door in a + lounging attitude, and was quite near enough to overhear their + conversation. Howard, therefore, to avoid exciting his attention by any + mysterious whispers, walked away from the coachman; but in vain; he + followed: “I’ll peach,” said he; “I must in my own defence.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay till to-morrow morning,” said Howard: “perhaps you’ll be paid then.” + </p> + <p> + The coachman, who was a good-natured fellow, said, “Well, I don’t like + making mischief among young gentlemen; I will wait till to-morrow, but not + a day more, master, if you’d go down on your knees to me.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Supine, whose curiosity was fully awake, called to the coachman the + moment Howard was out of hearing, and tried, by various questions, to draw + the secret from him. The words, “<i>overturn of the coach—mulatto + woman</i>,” and the sentence, which the irritated coachman had pronounced + in a raised voice, that “<i>young gentlemen should be above not paying + handsome for their frolics</i>,” had reached Mr. Supine’s attentive ear, + before Howard had been aware that the tutor was a listener. Nothing more + could Mr. Supine draw, however, from the coachman, who now felt himself <i>upon + honour</i>, having promised Howard not to <i>peach</i> till the next + morning. Difficulties stimulated Mr. Supine’s curiosity; but he remained + for the present satisfied in the persuasion that he had discovered <i>a + fine frolic</i> of the immaculate Mr. Charles Howard; his own pupil he did + not suspect upon this occasion. Holloway’s whisperings with the coachman + had ended the moment Mr. Supine appeared at the door, and the tutor had in + the same moment been so struck with the beautiful varnish of Lord Rawson’s + dog-cart, that his pupil might have whispered longer, without rousing his + attention. Mr. Supine was further confirmed in his mistake about Howard, + from the recollection of the mulatto woman, whom he had seen at the + gardener’s: he knew that she had been hurt by a fall from a stage-coach. + He saw Howard much interested about her. All this he joined with what he + had just overheard about <i>a frolic</i>, and he was rejoiced at the idea + of implicating in this business Mr. Russell, whom he disliked. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Supine, having got rid of his pupil, went immediately to Alderman + Holloway’s, where he had a general invitation to dinner. Mrs. Holloway + approved of her son’s tutor, full as much for his love of gossiping, as + for his musical talents: Mr. Supine constantly supplied her with news and + anecdotes; upon the present occasion, he thought that his story, however + imperfect, would be eagerly received, because it concerned Howard. + </p> + <p> + Since the affair of the prize essay, and the medal, Mrs. Holloway had + taken a dislike to young Howard, whom she considered as the enemy of her + dear Augustus. No sooner had she heard Mr. Supine’s blundering + information, than, without any farther examination, she took the whole for + granted: eager to repeat the anecdote to Mrs. Howard, she instantly wrote + a note to her, saying that she would drink tea with her that evening. + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Holloway, attended by Mr. Supine, went, in the evening, to Mrs. + Howard’s, they found with her Mrs. B., the lady of Dr. B., the master of + Westminster School. + </p> + <p> + “Is not this an odd rencontre?” whispered Mrs. Holloway to Mr. Supine, as + she drew him to a recessed window, commodious for gossiping: “I shall be + called a tell-tale, I know, at Westminster; but I shall tell our story, + notwithstanding. I would keep any other boy’s secret; but Howard is such a + saint: and I hate saints.” + </p> + <p> + A knock at the door interrupted Mrs. Holloway; she looked out of the + window. “Oh, here he comes, up the steps,” continued she, “after his sober + evening promenade, and <i>his</i> Mr. Russell with—and, I declare, + the mulatto woman with him. Now for it!” + </p> + <p> + Howard entered the room, went up to his aunt, and said, in a low voice,— + </p> + <p> + “Ma’am, poor Cuba is come; she is rather tired with walking, and she is + gone to rest herself in the front parlour.” + </p> + <p> + “Her lameness, though,” pursued little Oliver, who followed Howard into + the room, “is almost well. I just asked her how high she thought the coach + was from which she was—” + </p> + <p> + A look from Howard made Oliver stop short; for though he did not + understand the full meaning of it, he saw it was designed to silence him. + Howard was afraid of betraying Holloway’s secret to Mr. Supine or to Mrs. + Holloway: his aunt sent him out of the room with some message to Cuba, + which gave Mrs. Holloway an opportunity of opening her business. + </p> + <p> + “Pray,” said she, “might I presume to ask—for I perceive the young + gentleman has some secret to keep from me, which he may have good reasons + for—may I, just to satisfy my own mind, presume to ask whether, as + her name leads one to guess, your Cuba, Mrs. Howard, is a mulatto woman?” + </p> + <p> + Surprised by the manner of the question, Mrs. Howard coldly replied, “Yes, + madam—a mulatto woman.” + </p> + <p> + “And she is lame, I think, sir, you mentioned?” persisted the curious + lady, turning to little Oliver. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she’s a little lame still; but she will soon be quite well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! then, her lameness came, I presume, from an accident, sir, and not + from her birth?” + </p> + <p> + “From an accident, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! an accident—a fall—a fall from a coach—from a + stage-coach, perhaps,” continued Mrs. Holloway, smiling significantly at + Mr. Supine: “you take me for a conjuror, young gentleman, I see by your + astonishment,” continued she to Oliver; “but a little bird told me the + whole story; and I see Mrs. Howard knows how to keep a secret as well as + myself.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Howard looked for an explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Mrs. Holloway, “you know best, Mrs. Howard; but as we’re all + <i>out of school</i> now, I shall not be afraid to mention such a little + affair, even before the doctor’s lady; for, to be sure, she would never + let it reach the doctor’s ears.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, ma’am,” said Mrs. Howard, “you puzzle me a little; I wish you + would explain yourself: I don’t know what it is that you would not have + reach the doctor’s ears.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t?—well, then, your nephew must have been very clever, to + have kept you in the dark; mustn’t he, Mr. Supine?” + </p> + <p> + “I always, you know, thought the young gentleman very <i>clever</i>, + ma’am,” said Mr. Supine, with a malicious emphasis. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Howard’s colour now rose, and with a mixture of indignation and + anxiety she pressed both Mr. Supine and Mrs. Holloway to be explicit. “I + hate mysteries!” said she. Mrs. Holloway still hung back, saying it was a + tender point; and hinting, that it would lessen her esteem and confidence + in one most dear to her, to hear the whole truth. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Howard, ma’am?” exclaimed little Oliver: “oh, speak! speak! + it’s impossible Charles Howard can have done any thing wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Go for him, my dear,” said Mrs. Howard, resuming her composure; “let him + be present. I hate mysteries.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Mrs. Howard,” whispered Mrs. Holloway, “you don’t consider; + you’ll get your nephew into a shocking scrape; the story will infallibly + go from Mrs. B. to Dr. B. You are warm, and don’t consider consequences.” + </p> + <p> + “Charles,” said Mrs. Howard to her nephew, the moment he appeared, “from + the time you were five years old, till this instant, I have never known + you tell a falsehood; I should, therefore, be very absurd, as well as very + unjust, if I were to doubt your integrity. Tell me—have you got into + any difficulties? I would rather hear of them from yourself, than from any + body else. Is there any mystery about overturning a stage-coach, that you + know of, and that you have concealed from me?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a mystery, ma’am, about overturning a stage-coach,” replied + Howard, in a firm tone of voice; “but when I assure you that it is no + mystery of mine—nothing in which I have myself any concern—I + am sure that you will believe me, my dear aunt, and that you will press me + no further.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word further, not a frown further,” said his aunt, with a smile of + entire confidence; in which Mr. Russell joined, but which appeared + incomprehensible to Mr. Supine. + </p> + <p> + “Very satisfactory indeed!” said that gentleman, leaning back in the + chair; “I never heard any thing more satisfactory to my mind!” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly satisfactory, upon my word!” echoed Mrs. Holloway; but no + looks, no inuendoes, could now disturb Mrs. Howard’s security, or + disconcert the resolute simplicity which appeared in her nephew’s + countenance. Mrs. Holloway, internally devoured by curiosity, was + compelled to submit in silence. This restraint soon became so irksome to + her, that she shortened her visit as much as she decently could. + </p> + <p> + In crossing the passage, to go to her carriage, she caught a glimpse of + the mulatto woman, who was going into a parlour. Resolute, at all hazards, + to satisfy herself, Mrs. Holloway called to the retreating Cuba—began + by asking some civil questions about her health; then spoke of the + accident she had lately met with; and, in short, by a skilful + cross-examination, drew her whole story from her. The gratitude with which + the poor woman spoke of Howard’s humanity was by no means pleasing to Mr. + Supine. + </p> + <p> + “Then it was not he who overturned the coach?” said Mrs. Holloway. + </p> + <p> + The woman eagerly replied, “Oh no, madam!” and proceeded to draw, as well + as she could, a description of the youth who had been mounted upon the + coach-box: she had seen him only by the light of the moon, and afterwards + by the light of a lantern; but she recollected his figure so well, and + described him so accurately, that Mr. Supine knew the picture instantly, + and Mrs. Holloway whispered to him, “Can it be Augustus?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Holloway!—Impossible!—I suppose—” + </p> + <p> + But the woman interrupted him by saying that she recollected to have heard + the young gentleman called by that name by the coachman. + </p> + <p> + The mother and the tutor were nearly alike confounded by this discovery. + Mrs. Holloway got into her carriage, and, in their way home, Mr. Supine + represented, that he should be ruined for ever with the alderman, if this + transaction came to his knowledge; that, in fact, it was a mere boyish + frolic; but that the alderman might not consider it in that light, and + would, perhaps, make Mr. Augustus feel his serious displeasure. The + foolish mother, out of mistaken good-nature, at length promised to be + silent upon the subject. But, before he slept, Alderman Holloway heard the + whole story. The footman, who had attended the carriage, was at the door + when Mrs. Holloway was speaking to the mulatto woman, and had listened to + every word that was said. This footman was in the habit of telling his + master, when he attended him at night, all the news which he had been able + to collect in the day. Mr. Supine was no favourite of his; because, + whenever the tutor came to the house, he gave a great deal of trouble, + being too indolent to do any thing for himself, and yet not sufficiently + rich, or sufficiently generous, to pay the usual premiums for the active + civility of servants. This footman was not sorry to have an opportunity of + repeating any story that might injure Mr. Supine with his master. Alderman + Holloway heard it under the promise of concealing the name of the person + who had given him the information, and resolved to discover the truth of + the affair the next day, when he was to visit his son at Westminster. + </p> + <p> + But we must now return to Mrs. Howard’s. We mentioned that Mrs. B. spent + the evening with her. Dr. B., soon after Mrs. Holloway went away, called + to take his lady home: he had been engaged to spend the evening at a card + assembly; but, as he was a man who liked agreeable conversation better + than cards, he had made his escape from a rout, to spend half an hour with + Mrs. Howard and Mr. Russell. The doctor was a man of various literature; + able to appreciate others, he was not insensible to the pleasure of seeing + himself appreciated. Half an hour passes quickly in agreeable + conversation: the doctor got into an argument, concerning the propriety of + the distinction made by some late metaphysical writers, between + imagination and fancy. Thence he was led to some critical remarks upon + Warton’s beautiful Ode to Fancy; then to the never-ending debate upon + original genius; including also the doctrine of hereditary temper and + dispositions, which the doctor warmly supported, and which Mrs. Howard + coolly questioned. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of their conversation, they were suddenly interrupted by a + groan. They all looked round to see whence it came. It came from little + Oliver: he was sitting at a little table at the farther end of the room, + reading so intently in a large book that he saw nothing else: a long + unsnuffed candle, with a perilous fiery summit to its black wick, stood + before him, and his left arm embraced a thick china jar, against which he + leaned his head. There was, by common consent, a general silence in the + room, whilst every one looked at Oliver, as at a picture. Mrs. Howard + moved gently round behind his chair, to see what he was reading: the + doctor followed her. It was the account of the execution of two rebel + Koromantyn negroes, related in Edwards’s History of the West Indies{7}. To + try whether it would interrupt Oliver’s deep attention, Mrs. Howard leaned + over him, and snuffed his dim candle; but the light was lost upon him—he + did not feel the obligation. Dr. B. then put his hand upon the jar, which + he pulled from Oliver’s embrace. “Be quiet! I must finish this!” cried + Oliver, still holding fast the jar, and keeping his eyes upon the book. + The doctor gave a second pull at the jar, and the little boy made an + impatient push with his elbow; then casting his eye upon the large hand + which pulled the jar, he looked up, surprised, in the doctor’s face. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 7: Vol. ii. p. 57, second edition.} + </p> + <p> + The nice china jar, which Oliver had held so sturdily, was very precious + to him. His uncle had just sent him two jars of fine West India + sweetmeats. One of these he had shared with his companions: the other he + had kept, to give to Mrs. Howard, who had once said, in his hearing, that + she was fond of West India sweetmeats. She accepted Oliver’s little + present. Children sometimes feel as much pleasure in giving away + sweetmeats as in eating them; and Mrs. Howard too well understood the art + of education, even in trifles, to deny to grateful and generous feelings + their natural and necessary exercise. A child can show gratitude and + generosity only in trifles. + </p> + <p> + “Are these all the sweetmeats that you have left, Oliver?” said Mrs. + Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—all.” + </p> + <p> + “Was not Rousseau wrong, Dr. B.,” said Mrs. Howard, “when he asserted, + that no child ever gives away <i>his last mouthful</i> of any thing good?” + </p> + <p> + “Of any thing <i>good</i>!” said the doctor, laughing; “when I have tasted + these sweetmeats, I shall be a better judge.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall taste them this minute, then,” said Mrs. Howard; and she rang + for a plate, whilst the doctor, to little Oliver’s great amusement, + exhibited various pretended signs of impatience, as Mrs. Howard + deliberately untied the cover of the jar. One cover after another she + slowly took off; at length the last transparent cover was lifted up: the + doctor peeped in; but lo! instead of sweetmeats there appeared nothing but + paper. One crumpled roll of paper after another Mrs. Howard pulled out; + still no sweetmeats. The jar was entirely stuffed with paper, to the very + bottom. Oliver was silent with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “The sides of the jar are quite clean,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “But the inside of the paper that covered it is stained with sweetmeats,” + said Dr. B. + </p> + <p> + “There must have been sweetmeats in it lately,” said Mrs. Howard, “because + the jar smells so strongly of them.” + </p> + <p> + Amongst the pieces of crumpled paper which had been pulled out of the jar, + Dr. B. espied one, on which there appeared some writing: he looked it + over. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! What have we here? What’s this? What can this he about a lottery?—tickets, + price half a guinea—prizes-gold watch!—silver ditto—chased + tooth-pick case—buckles—knee-buckles. What is all this?—April + 10th, 1797—the drawing to begin—prizes to be delivered at + Westminster school, by Aaron Carat, jeweller? Hey, young gentlemen,” cried + Dr. B., looking at Oliver and Charles, “do you know any thing of this + lottery?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no concern in it, sir, I assure you,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Nor I, thank goodness—I mean, thank you, Charles,” exclaimed + Oliver; “for you hindered me from putting into the lottery: how very lucky + I was to take your advice!” + </p> + <p> + “How very wise, you should say, Oliver,” said Dr. B. “I must inquire into + this business; I must find out who ordered these things from Mr. Aaron + Carat. There shall be no lotteries, no gaming at Westminster school, + whilst I have power to prevent it. To-morrow morning I’ll inquire into + this affair; and to-morrow morning we shall also know, my little fellow, + what became of your sweetmeats.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind <i>that</i>,” cried the good-natured Oliver; “don’t say + any thing, pray, sir, about my sweetmeats: I don’t mind about them; I know + already—I guess now, who took them; therefore you need not ask; I + dare say it was only meant for a joke.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. B. made no reply; but folded up the paper which he had been reading, + put it into his pocket, and soon after took his leave. + </p> + <p> + Lord Rawson was one of those young men who measure their own merit and + felicity by the number of miles which their horses can go in a day; he + undertook to drive his friend up from Marryborough to Westminster, a + distance of forty miles, in five hours. The arrival of his lordship’s gig + was a signal, for which several people were in waiting at Westminster + school. The stage-coachman was impatiently waiting to demand his money + from Holloway. Mr. Carat, the jeweller, was arrived, and eager to settle + with Mr. Holloway about the lottery: he had brought the prizes in a small + case, to be delivered, upon receiving from Holloway the money for all the + tickets of which he had disposed. Dr. B. was waiting for the arrival of + Mr. Holloway, as he had determined to collect all his pupils together, and + to examine into the lottery business. Little Oliver was also watching for + Holloway, to prevent mischief, and to assure him of forgiveness about the + sweetmeats. + </p> + <p> + Lord Rawson’s dog-cart arrived. Holloway saw the stage-coachman as he + alighted, and, abruptly turning from him, shook hands with little Oliver, + saying, “You look as if you had been waiting for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Oliver: “but I can’t say what I want to say before every + body.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll wait upon you presently,” said Holloway, escaping from the coachman. + As he crossed the hall, he descried Mr. Carat, and a crowd of boys + surrounding him, crying, “Mr. Carat’s come—he has brought the + prizes!—he has brought the prizes! he’ll show them all as soon as + you’ve settled with him.” Holloway called to the Jew; but little Oliver + insisted upon being heard first. + </p> + <p> + “You must hear me: I have something to say to you about the prizes—about + the lottery.” + </p> + <p> + The words arrested Holloway’s attention: he followed Oliver; heard with + surprise and consternation the history of the paper which had been found + in the jar, by Dr. B. “I’ve done for myself, now, faith!” he exclaimed; “I + suppose the doctor knows all about the hand <i>I</i> have in the lottery.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Oliver, “he does not.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, <i>you</i> must have known it; and did not he question you and + Howard?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but when we told him that we had nothing to do with it, he did not + press us farther.” + </p> + <p> + “You are really a noble little fellow,” exclaimed Holloway, “to bear me no + malice for the many ill turns I have done you: this last has fallen upon + myself, as ill-luck would have it: but before we go any farther—your + sweetmeats are safe in the press, in my room; I didn’t mean to steal them; + only to plague you, child:—but you have your revenge now.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want any revenge, indeed,” said Oliver, “for I’m never happy when + I’ve quarrelled with any body: and even when people quarrel with me, I + don’t feel quite sure that I’m in the right, which makes me uncomfortable; + and, besides, I don’t want to find out that they are quite in the wrong; + and that makes me uncomfortable the other way. After all, quarrelling and + bearing malice are very disagreeable things, somehow or other. Don’t you, + when you have made it up with people, and shaken hands, Holloway—don’t + you feel quite light, and ready to jump again? So shake hands, if you are + not above shaking hands with such a little boy as I am; and I shall never + think again about the sweetmeats, or old <i>fag</i> times.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway could not help feeling touched. “Here’s my hand,” cried he, “I’m + sorry I’ve tormented you so often; I’ll never plague you any more. But now—I + don’t know what upon earth to do. Where’s Charles Howard? If he can’t help + me, I’m undone. I have got into more scrapes than I can get out of, I + know. I wish I could see Howard.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll run and bring him to you; he’s the best person at knowing what + should be done—at least for me, I know—that ever I saw.” + </p> + <p> + Holloway abruptly began, as soon as Howard came up to him: “Howard,” said + he, “you know this plaguy lottery business—but you don’t know half + yet: here’s Carat come to be paid for his tickets; and here’s that dunning + stage-coachman sticks close to me for his five guineas; and not one + farthing have I upon earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a farthing! but you don’t mean that you have not the money for Mr. + Carat?” + </p> + <p> + “But I <i>do</i> though.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you cannot have spent it since yesterday morning?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but I have lost half and lent half; and the half that I have lent is + gone for ever, I am afraid, as much as that which I lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom did you lend the money to? How did you lose it?” + </p> + <p> + “I lost part to Sir John O’Shannon, last night, at billiards—more + fool I to play, only because I wanted to cut a figure amongst those fine + people at Marryborough. I wonder my father lets me go there; I know I + sha’n’t go back there this Easter, unless Lord Rawson makes me an apology, + I can tell him. I’ve as good a right to be upon my high horse as he has; + for though his father’s an earl, my father’s a great deal richer, I know; + and has lent him a great deal of money, too, and that’s the only reason + he’s civil to us; but I can tell him—” + </p> + <p> + Here Howard brought the angry Holloway from his high horse, by asking what + all this had to do with Mr. Carat, who was waiting to be paid? + </p> + <p> + “Why, don’t I explain to you,” said Holloway, “that I lent <i>him</i>—Lord + Rawson, I mean—all the money I had left yesterday, and I couldn’t + get it out of him again, though I told him my distress about the + stage-coachman? Did you ever know any thing so selfish? Did you ever know + any thing so shabby, so shameful? And then to make me his butt, as he did + last night at supper, because there were two or three dashing young men + by; I think more of <i>that</i> than all the rest. Do you know, he asked + me to eat custard with my apple-pie, just to point me out for an + alderman’s son; and when I only differed from him about Captain + Shouldham’s puppy’s ears, Lord Rawson said, to be sure, I must know about + dog’s ears, just to put me in mind that I was a school-boy; but I’ll never + go to Marryborough any more, unless he begs my pardon. I’ve no notion of + being a humble friend; but it does not signify being in a passion about it + now,” continued Holloway. “What I want you, Howard, to do for me is, just + to think; for I can’t think at present, I’m in such a hurry, with all + these things coming across me at once. What can I do to find money for the + stage-coachman and for Mr. Carat? Why both together come to fifteen + guineas. And what can I do about Dr. B.? And, do you know, my father is + coming here this very morning. How shall I manage? He’d never forgive me: + at least he’d not give me any money for I don’t know how long, if these + things were to come out. What would you advise me to do?” + </p> + <p> + Howard, with his usual honest policy, advised Holloway at once to tell all + the circumstances to his father. Holloway was at first much alarmed at + this proposal, and insisted upon it that this method would not <i>do at + all</i> with the alderman, though it might do very well with such a woman + as Mrs. Howard. At length, however, overcome, partly by the arguments, and + partly by the persuasion of his new adviser, Holloway determined upon his + confession. + </p> + <p> + Alderman Holloway arrived, and was beginning to talk to Dr. B. of his + son’s proficiency in his studies, when the young gentleman made his + appearance, with a countenance extremely embarrassed and agitated. The + sight of Dr. B. deprived Holloway of courage to speak. The doctor fixed + his penetrating eye upon the pale culprit, who immediately stopped short + in the middle of the room, stammering out, “I came to speak, sir—I + had something to say to my father, sir—I came, if you please, to + speak to my father, sir.” To Holloway’s utter astonishment, Dr. B.‘s + countenance and manner suddenly changed at these words; all his severity + vanished; and, with a look and voice the most encouraging, he led the + abashed youth towards his father. + </p> + <p> + “You came to speak to your father, sir? Speak to him then without fear, + without reserve: you will certainly find in a father your most indulgent + friend. I’ll leave you together.” + </p> + <p> + This opening of the case by Dr. B. was of equal advantage both to the + father and to the son. Alderman Holloway, though without literature, was + not without understanding: his affection for his son made him quickly + comprehend the good sense of the doctor’s hint. The alderman was not <i>surprised</i> + by the story of the overturn of the stage-coach, because he had heard it + before from his footman. But the lottery transaction with the Jew—and, + above all, with the loss and loan of so much money to his friend, Lord + Rawson—struck him with some astonishment; yet he commanded his + temper, which was naturally violent; and, after a constrained silence, he + begged his son to summon Mr. Supine. “At least,” cried the alderman, “I’ve + a right to be in a passion with that careless, indolent, dilettanti puppy, + whom I’ve been paying all this while for taking such care of you. I wish I + had hold of his German flute at this instant. You are very right, + Augustus, to come like a man, and tell me all these things; and now I must + tell you, that some of them I had heard of before. I wish I had that Jew, + that Mr. Carat of yours, here! and that stage-coachman, who had the + impertinence to take you out with him at night. But it’s all Mr. Supine’s + fault—and mine, for not choosing a better tutor for you. As to Lord + Rawson, I can’t blame you either much for that, for I encouraged the + connexion, I must own. I’m glad you have quarrelled with him, however; and + pray look out for a better friend as fast as possible. You were very right + to tell me all these things; on that consideration, and that only, I’ll + lend my hand to getting you out of these scrapes.” + </p> + <p> + “For that,” cried Holloway, “I may thank Howard, then; for he advised and + urged me to tell you all this at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Call him; let me thank him,” said the alderman; “he’s an excellent young + man then—call him.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. B. now entered the room with little Oliver. + </p> + <p> + When Holloway returned with Howard, he beheld the stage-coachman standing + silent on one side of his father; Mr. Carat, the Jew, on the other side, + jabbering an unintelligible vindication of himself; whilst Dr. B. was + contemplating the box of lottery prizes, which lay open upon the table. + Mr. Supine, leaning against the chimney-piece, appeared in the attitude of + an Antinous in despair. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my little friend,” said Dr. B. to Oliver, “you did not put into the + lottery, I understand. Choose from amongst these things whatever you + please. It is better to trust to prudence than fortune, you see. Mr. + Howard, I know that I am rewarding you, at this instant, in the manner you + best like, and best deserve.” + </p> + <p> + There was a large old-fashioned chased gold toothpick-case, on which + Oliver immediately fixed his eye. After examining it very carefully, he + drew the doctor aside, and, after some consultation, Oliver left the room + hastily; whilst the alderman, with all the eloquence of which he was + master, expressed his gratitude to Howard for the advice which he had + given his son. “Cultivate this young gentleman’s friendship,” added he, + turning to Holloway: “he has not a title; but even <i>I</i>, Augustus, am + now ready to acknowledge he is worth twenty Lord Rawsons. Had he a title, + he would grace it; and that’s as much as I can say for any man.” + </p> + <p> + The Jew, all this time, stood in the greatest trepidation; he trembled + lest the alderman should have him taken up and committed to gaol for his + illegal, unlicensed lottery. He poured forth as many protestations as his + knowledge of the English language could afford of the purity of his + intentions; and, to demonstrate his disinterestedness, began to display + the trinkets in his prize-box, with a panegyric upon each. Dr. B. + interrupted him, by paying for the toothpick-case, which he had bought for + Oliver. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Carat,” said the doctor, “you will please to return, in the + first place, the money you have received for your <i>illegal</i> lottery + tickets.” + </p> + <p> + The word <i>illegal</i>, pronounced in a tremendous tone, operated + instantaneously upon the Jew; his hand, which had closed upon Holloway’s + guineas, opened; he laid the money down upon the table, but mechanically + seized his box of trinkets, which he seemed to fear would be the next + seized, as forfeits. No persons are so apprehensive of injustice and fraud + as those who are themselves dishonest. Mr. Carat, bowing repeatedly to + Alderman Holloway, shuffled toward the door, asking if he might now + depart; when the door opened with such a force, as almost to push the + retreating Jew upon his face. + </p> + <p> + Little Oliver, out of breath, burst into the room, whispered a few words + to Dr. B. and Alderman Holloway, who answered, “He may come in;” and a + tall, stout man, an officer from Bow-street, immediately entered. “There’s + your man, sir,” said the alderman, pointing to the Jew; “there is Mr. + Carat.” The man instantly seized Mr. Carat, producing a warrant from + Justice—for apprehending the Jew upon suspicion of his having in his + possession certain valuable jewels, the property of Mrs. Frances Howard. + </p> + <p> + Oliver was eager to explain. “Do you know, Howard,” said he, “how all this + came about? Do you know your aunt’s gone to Bow-street, and has taken the + mulatto woman with her, and Mr. Russell is gone with her? and she thinks—and + <i>I</i> think—she’ll certainly have her jewels, her grandmother’s + jewels, that were left in Jamaica.” + </p> + <p> + “How? but how?” exclaimed Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Oliver, “by the toothpick-case. The reason I chose that + toothpick-case out of the Jew’s box was, because it came into my head, the + minute I saw it, that the mulatto woman’s curious thimble—you + remember her thimble, Howard—would just fit one end of it. I ran + home and tried it, and the thimble screwed on as nicely as possible; and + the chasing, as Mr. Russell said, and the colour of the gold, matched + exactly. Oh! Mrs. Howard was so surprised when we showed it to her—so + astonished to see this toothpick-case in England; for it had been left, + she said, with all her grandmother’s diamonds and <i>things</i>, in + Jamaica.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” interrupted Howard; “I remember my aunt told us, when you asked her + about Cuba’s thimble, that she gave it to Cuba when she was a child, and + that it belonged to some old trinket.—Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, where was I?—Oh, then, as soon as she saw the toothpick-case, + she asked how it had been found; and I told her all about the lottery and + Mr. Carat; then she and Mr. Russell consulted, and away they went, with + Cuba, in a coach; and all the rest you know; and I wish I could hear the + end of it!” + </p> + <p> + “And so you shall, my good little fellow; we’ll all go together to hear + the Jew’s examination: you shall go with me in my coach to Bow-street,” + said Alderman Holloway. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of their bustle, the poor stage-coachman, who had waited with + uncommon patience in the hope that Alderman Holloway would at last + recollect him, pressed forward, and petitioned to be paid his five guineas + for the lost parcel.—“I have lost my place already,” said he, “and + the little goods I have will be seized this day, for the value of that + unlucky parcel, master.” + </p> + <p> + The alderman put his hand slowly into his purse; but just when he had + pulled out five guineas, a servant came into the room, to inform Dr. B. + that a sailor was waiting in the hall, who desired to speak, directly, + about something of consequence, to the stage-coachman. + </p> + <p> + Dr. B., who imagined that the sailor might have something to do with the + business in question, ordered that he might be shown into the room. + </p> + <p> + “I wants one Gregory Giles, a stage-coachman, if such a one be here + amongst ye, gentlefolks, and nobody else,” cried the sailor, producing a + parcel, wrapped up in brown paper. + </p> + <p> + “It’s my very parcel!” exclaimed the stage-coachman. “I am Gregory Giles! + God bless your honest heart!—Where did ye find it?—Give it + me!” + </p> + <p> + The sailor said he had found it in a dry ditch on the Bath road, a little + beyond the first turnpike, going out of town; that he had inquired at the + turnpike-house; had heard that the stage had been overturned a few days + before, and that a parcel had been lost, about which the coachman had been + in great trouble; that he had gone directly to the inn where the coach put + up; had traced the coachman from place to place; and was heartily glad he + had found him at last. + </p> + <p> + “Thank’ee, with all my heart,” said the coachman, “for all the trouble + you’ve been at; and here’s the crown reward that I offered for it, and my + thanks into the bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said the honest sailor, pushing back the money; “I won’t take + any thing from a poor fellow like myself: put your silver into your + pocket: I hear you lost your place already by that parcel. There was a + great talk at the turnpike-house about your losing your place, for giving + some young gentleman a lift.—Put up your money.” + </p> + <p> + All present were eager in rewarding the honest sailor. + </p> + <p> + A hackney-coach was now come to the door for Mr. Carat, and every body + hurried off as fast as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Where are they all steering to?” said the sailor. The stage-coachman told + him all that he had heard of the matter. “I’ll be in their wake, then,” + cried the sailor; “I shall like to see the Jew upon his court-martial; I + was choused once by a Jew myself.” He got to Bow-street as soon as they + did. + </p> + <p> + The first thing Howard learned was, that the jewels, which had been all + found at Mr. Carat’s, precisely answered the description which his aunt + had given of them. The Jew was in the utmost consternation: finding that + the jewels were positively sworn to, he declared, upon his examination, + that he had bought them from a captain of a ship; that he had paid the + full value for them; and that, at the time he purchased them, he had no + suspicion of their having been fraudulently obtained. This defence + appearing evidently evasive, the magistrates who examined Mr. Carat + informed him, that, unless he could produce the person from whom he had + bought the jewels, he must be committed to Newgate for receiving stolen + goods. Terrified at this sentence, the Jew, though he had at first + asserted that he knew nothing of the captain from whom he had received the + diamonds, now acknowledged that he actually lodged at his house. + </p> + <p> + “Hah!” exclaimed Holloway: “I remember, the day that I and Lord Rawson + called at your house, you were settling accounts, your foreman told us, + with a captain of a ship, who was to leave England in a few days: it’s + well he’s not off.” + </p> + <p> + An officer was immediately sent to Mr. Carat’s in quest of this captain; + but there were great apprehensions that he might have escaped at the first + alarm of the search for the jewels. Fortunately, however, he had not been + able to get off, as two constables had been stationed at Mr. Carat’s + house. The officer from Bow-street found him in his own bed-chamber, + rummaging a portmanteau for some papers, which he wanted to burn. His + papers were seized, and carried along with him before the magistrate. + </p> + <p> + Alderman Holloway knew the captain the moment he was brought into the + room, though his dress and whole appearance were very different from what + they had been when he had waited upon the alderman some months before this + time, with a dismal, plausible story of his own poverty and misfortunes. + He had then told him that his mate and he had had a quarrel, upon the + voyage from Jamaica; that the mate knew what a valuable cargo he had on + board; that just when they got in sight of land, the crew rose upon him; + the mate seized him, and by force put him into a boat, and set him ashore. + </p> + <p> + The discovery of the jewels at Mr. Carat’s at once overturned the + captain’s whole story: cunning people often insert something in their + narration to make it better, which ultimately tends to convict them of + falsehood. The captain having now no other resource, and having the + horrors of imprisonment, and the certainty of condemnation upon a public + trial, full before him, threw himself, as the only chance that remained + for him, upon Mrs. Howard’s mercy; confessed that all that he had told her + before was false; that his mate and he had acted in concert; that the + rising of the crew against him had been contrived between them; that he + had received the jewels, when he was set ashore, for his immediate share + of the booty; and that the mate had run the ship off to Charlestown, to + sell her cargo. According to agreement, the captain added, he was to have + had a share in the cargo; but the mate had <i>cheated him</i> of that; he + had never heard from him, or of him, he would take his oath, from the day + he was set ashore, and knew nothing of him or the cargo. + </p> + <p> + “Avast, friend, by your leave,” cried the honest sailor who had found the + stage-coachman’s parcel—“avast, friend, by your leave,” said he, + elbowing his way between Alderman Holloway and his next neighbour, and + getting clear into the middle of the circle—“I know more of this + matter, <i>my lord</i>, or please your worship, which is much the same + thing, than any body here; and I’m glad on’t, mistress,” continued the + tar, pulling a quid of tobacco out of his mouth, and addressing himself to + Mrs. Howard: then turning to the captain, “Wasn’t <i>she</i> the <i>Lively + Peggy</i>, pray?—it’s no use tacking. Wasn’t your mate one John + Matthews, pray? Captain, your face tells truth, in spite of your teeth.” + </p> + <p> + The captain instantly grew pale, and trembled: on which the sailor turned + abruptly from him, and went on with his story. “Mistress,” said he, + “though I’m a loser by it, no matter. The Lively Peggy and her cargo are + safe and sound in Plymouth, at this very time being, and we have her mate + in limbo, curse him. We made a prize of him, coming from America, for he + was under French colours, and a fine prize we thought we’d made. But her + cargo belongs to a British subject; and there’s an end to our prize money: + no matter for that. There was an ugly look with Matthews from the first; + and I found, the day we took her, something odd in the look of her stern. + The rascals had done their best to paint over her name; but <i>I</i>, + though no great scholar, made a shift to spell the Lively Peggy through it + all. We have the mate in limbo at Plymouth: but it’s all come out, without + any more to do; and, mistress, I’ll get you her bill of lading in a trice, + and I give ye joy with all my heart.” + </p> + <p> + Alderman Holloway, a man used to business, would not indulge himself in a + single compliment upon this occasion, till he had cautiously searched the + captain’s papers. The bill of lading which had been sent with the Lively + Peggy from Jamaica, was found amongst them; it was an exact list, + corresponding precisely with that which Mrs. Howard’s agent had sent her + by post, of the consignment shipped after the sale of her plantation. The + alderman, satisfied, after counting the puncheons of rum and hogsheads of + sugar, turned to Mrs. Howard, and shook hands with her, with a face of + mercantile congratulation, declaring that “she was now as good a woman as + ever she had been, and need never desire to be better.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Oliver,” cried Howard, “this is all owing to you: <i>you</i> + discovered—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no!” interrupted Oliver, precipitately: “all that I did was + accident; all that you did was not accident. You first made me love you, + by teaching me that I was not a blockhead, and by freeing me from—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>A tyrant</i>, you were going to say,” cried Holloway, colouring + deeply; “and, if you had, you’d have said the truth. I thought; Howard, <i>afterwards</i>, + that you were a brave fellow for taking his part, I confess. But, Oliver, + I thought you had forgiven me for all these things.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgiven! Oh yes, to be sure,” cried little Oliver; “I wasn’t thinking of + myself, or you either; I was only thinking of Howard’s good nature; and + then,” continued he, “Howard was just as good to the mulatto woman as he + was to me—wasn’t he, Cuba?” + </p> + <p> + “That he was!” replied the poor woman; and, looking at Mrs. Howard, added, + “Massa’s <i>heart</i> as good as hers.” + </p> + <p> + “And his <i>head’s</i> as good as his heart, which makes it all better + still,” continued Oliver, with enthusiasm. “Mr. Russell, you know how hard + he worked at that translation, to earn money to support poor Cuba, and to + paper the room, and to pay the bricklayer <i>for</i> the smoky chimney: + these things were not done by accident, were they? though it was by + accident that I happened to observe Cuba’s curious thimble.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some people,” interrupted Mr. Russell, “who, by accident, never + observe any thing. We will not allow you, Oliver, to call your quick habit + of observation accident; your excellent capacity will—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>My</i> excellent capacity,” repeated Oliver, with unfeigned surprise: + “why, you know, I get by rote slower than any body in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “You may,” said Dr. B., “notwithstanding, have an excellent capacity: much + may be learned without books; much more with books, Oliver; but, for your + comfort, you need not learn them by rote.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad of it, heartily,” cried Oliver; “but this put something out of + my head that I was in a great hurry to say—O, one other thing about + <i>accident</i>. It was not <i>accident</i>, but it was Howard’s sense, in + persuading me not to put into the lottery, that was the very cause of Dr. + B.‘s giving me the choice of all the things in the Jew’s box—was it + not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Oliver, we are ready to allow all you want us to perceive, in one + word, that your friend Howard <i>has not been educated by accident</i>,” + said Dr. B., looking at Mrs. Howard. + </p> + <p> + The Jew and the captain of the Lively Peggy were now left in the hands of + the law. The sailor was properly rewarded. Mr. Russell was engaged to + superintend the education of Holloway. He succeeded, and was presented by + the alderman with a living in Surrey. Mr. Supine never visited Italy, and + did not meet with any consolation but in his German flute. Howard + continued eager to improve himself; nor did he imagine that, the moment he + left school, and parted from his tutor, his education was finished, and + that his books were, “like past misfortunes,” good for nothing but to be + forgotten. His love for literature he found one of the first pleasures of + his life; nor did he, after he came into the possession of a large + fortune, find that his habits of constant occupation lessened his + enjoyments, for he was never known to yawn at a window upon a rainy + morning! + </p> + <p> + Little Oliver’s understanding rapidly improved; his affection for his + friend Howard increased as he grew up, for he always remembered that + Howard was the first person who discovered that he was not a dunce. Mrs. + Howard had the calm satisfaction of seeing an education well finished, + which she had well begun; and she enjoyed, in her nephew’s friendship, + esteem, and unconstrained gratitude, all the rewards which her good sense, + firmness, and benevolence had so well deserved. + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + ANGELINA; OR, L’AMIE INCONNUE. + </h2> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + “But, my dear Lady Di., indeed you should not let this affair prey so + continually upon your spirits,” said Miss Burrage, in the condoling tone + of a humble companion—“you really have almost fretted yourself into + a nervous fever. I was in hopes that change of air, and change of scene, + would have done every thing for you, or I never would have consented to + your leaving London; for you know your ladyship’s always better in London + than any where else. And I’m sure your ladyship has thought and talked of + nothing but this sad affair since you came to Clifton.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess,” said Lady Diana Chillingworth, “I deserve the reproaches of + my friends for giving way to my sensibility, as I do, upon this occasion: + but I own I cannot help it.—Oh, what will the world say! What will + the world say!—The world will lay all the blame upon <i>me</i>; yet + I’m sure I’m the last, the very last person that ought to be blamed.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly,” replied Miss Burrage, “nobody can blame your ladyship; and + nobody will, I am persuaded. The blame will all be thrown, where it ought + to be, upon the young lady herself.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could but be convinced of that,” said her ladyship, in a tone of + great feeling; “such a young creature, scarcely sixteen, to take such a + step!—I am sure I wish to Heaven her father had never made me her + guardian. I confess, I was most exceedingly imprudent, out of regard to + her family, to take under my protection such a self-willed, unaccountable, + romantic girl. Indeed, my dear,” continued Lady Diana Chillingworth, + turning to her sister, Lady Frances Somerset, “it was you that misled me. + You remember you used to tell me, that Anne Warwick had such great + abilities!”— + </p> + <p> + “That I thought it a pity they had not been well directed,” said Lady + Frances. + </p> + <p> + “And such generosity of temper, and such warm affections!” said Lady Di.— + </p> + <p> + “That I regretted their not having been properly cultivated.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess, Miss Warwick was never a great favourite of mine,” said Miss + Barrage; “but now that she has lost her best friend—” + </p> + <p> + “She is likely to find a great number of enemies,” said Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “She has been her own enemy, poor girl! I am sure I pity her,” replied + Miss Burrage; “but, at the same time, I must say, that ever since she came + to my Lady Di. Chillingworth’s, she has had good advice enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Too much, perhaps; which is worse than too little,” thought Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “Advice!” repeated Lady Di. Chillingworth: “why, as to that, my + conscience, I own, acquits me there; for, to be sure, no young person, of + her age, or of any age, had ever more advice, or more good advice, than + Miss Warwick had from me; I thought it my duty to advise her, and advise + her I did from morning till night, as Miss Burrage very well knows, and + will do me the justice, I hope, to say in all companies.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>That</i> I shall certainly make it a principle to do,” said Miss + Burrage. “I am sure it would surprise and grieve you, Lady Frances, to + hear the sort of foolish, imprudent things that Miss. Warwick, with all + her abilities, used to say. I recollect—” + </p> + <p> + “Very possibly,” replied Lady Frances; “but why should we trouble + ourselves to recollect all the foolish, imprudent things which this poor + girl may have said?—This unfortunate elopement is a sufficient proof + of her folly and imprudence. With whom did she go off?” + </p> + <p> + “With nobody,” cried Lady Diana—“there’s the wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “With nobody!—Incredible.—She had certainly some admirer, some + lover, and she was afraid, I suppose, to mention the business to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No such thing, my dear: there is no love at all in the case: indeed, for + my part, I cannot in the least comprehend Miss Warwick, nor ever could. + She used, every now and then, to begin and talk to me some nonsense about + her hatred of the forms of the world, and her love of liberty, and I know + not what; and then she had some female correspondent, to whom she used to + write folio sheets, twice a week, I believe; but I could never see any of + these letters. Indeed, in town, you know, I could not possibly have + leisure for such things; but Miss Burrage, I fancy, has one of the + letters, if you have any curiosity to see it. Miss Burrage can tell you a + great deal more of the whole business than I can; for you know, in London, + engaged as I always was, with scarcely a moment ever to myself, how could + I attend to all Anne Warwick’s oddities? I protest I know nothing of the + matter, but that, one morning, Miss Warwick was nowhere to be found, and + my maid brought me a letter, of one word of which I could not make sense: + the letter was found on the young lady’s dressing-table, according to the + usual custom of eloping heroines. Miss Burrage, do show Lady Frances the + letters—you have them somewhere; and tell my sister all you know of + the matter, for I declare, I’m quite tired of it; besides, I shall be + wanted at the card-table.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Diana Chillingworth went to calm her sensibility at the card-table; + and Lady Frances turned to Miss Burrage, for further information. + </p> + <p> + “All I know,” said Miss Burrage, “is, that one night I saw Miss Warwick + putting a lock of frightful hair into a locket, and I asked her whose it + was.—‘My amiable Araminta’s,’ said Miss Warwick, ‘Is she pretty?’ + said I. ‘I have never seen her,’ said Miss Warwick; ‘but I will show you a + charming picture of her mind!’—and she put this long letter into my + hand. I’ll leave it with your ladyship, if you please; it is a good, or + rather a bad hour’s work to read it.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Araminta!</i>” exclaimed Lady Frances, looking at the signature of the + letter—“this is only a nom de guerre, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven knows!” answered Miss Burrage; “but Miss Warwick always signed her + epistles Angelina, and her <i>unknown friend’s</i> were always signed + Araminta. I do suspect that Araminta, whoever she is, was the instigator + of this elopement.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” said Lady Frances, examining the post-mark of the letter, “I + wish that we could find out where Araminta lives; we might then, perhaps, + recover this poor Miss Warwick, before the affair is talked of in the + world—before her reputation is injured.” + </p> + <p> + “It would certainly be a most desirable thing,” said Miss Burrage; “but + Miss Warwick has such odd notions, that I question whether she will ever + behave like other people; and, for my part, I cannot blame Lady Diana + Chillingworth for giving her up. She is one of those young ladies whom it + is scarcely possible to manage by common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly true,” said Lady Frances, “that young women of Miss + Warwick’s superior abilities require something more than <i>common</i> + sense to direct them properly. Young ladies who think of nothing but + dress, public amusements, and forming what they call high connexions, are + undoubtedly most easily managed, by the fear of what the world will say of + them; but Miss Warwick appeared to me to have higher ideas of excellence; + and I therefore regret that she should be totally given up by her + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “It is Miss Warwick who has given up her friends,” said Miss Burrage, with + a mixture of embarrassment and sarcasm in her manner; “it is Miss Warwick + who has given up her friends; not Miss Warwick’s friends who have given up + Miss Warwick.” + </p> + <p> + The letter from the “amiable Araminta,” which Miss Burrage left for the + pervsal of Lady Frances Somerset, contained three folio sheets, of which, + it is hoped, the following abridgment will be sufficiently ample to + satisfy the curiosity even of those who are lovers of long letters:— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Angelina! our hearts are formed for that higher species of + friendship, of which common souls are inadequate to form an idea, however + their fashionable puerile lips may, in the intellectual inanity of their + conversation, profane the term. Yes, my Angelina, you are right—every + fibre of my frame, every energy of my intellect, tells me so. I read your + letter by moonlight! The air balmy and pure as my Angelina’s thoughts! The + river silently meandering!—The rocks!—The woods!—Nature + in all her majesty. Sublime confidante! Sympathizing with my supreme + felicity. And shall I confess to you, friend of my soul! that I could not + refuse myself the pleasure of reading to my Orlando some of those passages + in your last, which evince so powerfully the superiority of that + understanding, which, if I mistake not strangely, is formed to combat, in + all its Proteus forms, the system of social slavery? With what + soul-rending eloquence does my Angelina describe the solitariness, the <i>isolation</i> + of the heart she experiences in a crowded metropolis! With what emphatic + energy of inborn independence does she exclaim against the family phalanx + of her aristocratic persecutors!—Surely—surely she will not be + intimidated from ‘the settled purpose of her soul’ by the phantom-fear of + worldly censure!—The garnish-tinselled wand of fashion has waved in + vain in the illuminated halls of folly-painted pleasure; my Angelina’s + eyes have withstood, yes, without a blink, the dazzling enchantment.—And + will she—no, I cannot, I will not think so for an instant—will + she now submit her understanding, spell-bound, to the soporific charm of + nonsensical words, uttered in an awful tone by that potent enchantress, <i>Prejudice</i>?—The + declamation, the remonstrances of self-elected judges of right and wrong, + should be treated with deserved contempt by superior minds, who claim the + privilege of thinking and acting for themselves. The words <i>ward</i> and + <i>guardian</i> appal my Angelina! but what are legal technical + formalities, what are human institutions, to the view of shackle-scorning + Reason! Oppressed, degraded, enslaved, must our unfortunate sex for ever + submit to sacrifice their rights, their pleasures, their <i>will</i>, at + the altar of public opinion; whilst the shouts of interested priests, and + idle spectators, raise the senseless enthusiasm of the self-devoted + victim, or drown her cries in the truth-extorting moment of agonizing + nature!—You will not perfectly understand, perhaps, to what these + last exclamations of your Araminta allude:—But, chosen friend of my + heart!—when we meet—and oh, let that be quickly!—my + cottage longs for the arrival of my unsophisticated Angelina!—when + we meet you shall know all—your Araminta, too, has had her sorrows—Enough + of this!—But her Orlando has a heart, pure as the infantine god of + love could, in his most perfect mood, delight at once to wound, and own—joined + to an understanding—shall I say it?—worthy to judge of your + Araminta’s—And will not my sober-minded Angelina prefer, to all that + palaces can afford, such society in a cottage?—I shall reserve for + my next the description of a cottage, which I have in my eye, within view + of—; but I will not anticipate.—Adieu, my amiable Angelina.—I + enclose, as you desire, a lock of my hair.—Ever, unalterably, your + affectionate, though almost heart-broken, + </p> + <p class="right"> + “ARAMINTA. + </p> + <p> + “April, 1800.—<i>Angelina Bower!</i> + </p> + <p> + “So let me christen my cottage!” + </p> + <p> + What effect this letter may have on <i>sober-minded</i> readers in general + can easily be guessed; but Miss Warwick, who was little deserving of this + epithet, was so charmed with the sound of it, that it made her totally to + forget to judge of her amiable Araminta’s mode of reasoning. + “Garnish-tinselled wands”—“shackle-scorning Reason”—“isolation + of the heart”—“soul-rending eloquence”—with “rocks and woods, + and a meandering river—balmy air—moonlight—Orlando—energy + of intellect—a cottage—and a heart-broken friend,” made, when + all mixed together, strange confusion in Angelina’s imagination. She + neglected to observe, that her Araminta was in the course of two pages—“almost + heart-broken”—and in the possession of—“supreme felicity.”—Yet + Miss Warwick, though she judged so like a simpleton, was a young woman of + considerable abilities: her want of what the world calls common sense + arose from certain mistakes in her education.—She had passed her + childhood with a father and mother, who cultivated her literary taste, but + who neglected to cultivate her judgment: her reading was confined to works + of imagination; and the conversation which she heard was not calculated to + give her any knowledge of realities. Her parents died when she was about + fourteen, and she then went to reside with Lady Diana Chillingworth, a + lady who placed her whole happiness in living in a certain circle of high + company in London. Miss Warwick saw the follies of the society with which + she now mixed; she felt insupportable ennui from the want of books and + conversation suited to her taste; she heard with impatience Lady Diana’s + dogmatical advice; observed, with disgust, the meanness of her companion, + Miss Burrage, and felt with triumph the superiority of her own abilities. + It was in this situation of her mind that Miss Warwick happened, at a + circulating library, to meet with a new novel, called “The Woman of + Genius.”—The character of Araminta, the heroine, charmed her beyond + measure; and having been informed, by the preface, that the story was + founded on facts in the life of the authoress herself, she longed to + become acquainted with her; and addressed a letter to “The Woman of + Genius,” at her publisher’s. The letter was answered in a highly + flattering, and consequently, very agreeable style, and the correspondence + continued for nearly two years; till, at length, Miss W. formed a strong + desire to see her <i>unknown friend</i>. The ridicule with which Miss + Burrage treated every thing, and every idea, that was not sanctioned by + fashion, and her total want of any taste for literature, were continually + contrasted in Miss Warwick’s mind, with the picture she had formed of her + Araminta.—Miss Burrage, who dreaded, though certainly without + reason, that she might be supplanted in the good graces of Lady Diana, + endeavoured by every petty means in her power, to disgust her young rival + with the situation in which she was placed. She succeeded beyond her + hopes. Miss Warwick determined to accept of her <i>unknown friend’s</i> + invitation to Angelina Bower—a charming romantic cottage in South + Wales, where, according to Araminta’s description, she might pass her + halcyon days in tranquil, elegant retirement. It was not difficult for our + heroine, though unused to deception, to conceal her project from Lady + Diana Chillingworth, who was much more observant of the appearance of her + protégée in public, than interested about what passed in her mind in + private. Miss Warwick quitted her ladyship’s house without the least + difficulty, and the following is the letter which our heroine left upon + her dressing-table. Under all the emphatic words, according to the custom + of some letter-writers, were drawn emphatic lines. + </p> + <p> + “Averse as I am to every thing that may have the appearance of a + clandestine transaction, I have, however, found myself under the necessity + of leaving your ladyship’s house, without imparting to you my intentions. + Confidence and sympathy go hand in hand, nor can either be <i>commanded</i> + by the voice of authority. Your ladyship’s opinions and mine, upon <i>all</i> + subjects, differ so <i>essentially</i>, that I could never hope for your + approbation, either of my <i>sentiments</i> or my conduct. It is my <i>unalterable + determination</i> to <i>act</i> and <i>think</i> upon every occasion for + myself; though I am well aware, that they who start out of the common + track, either in words or action, are exposed to the ridicule and + persecution of vulgar or illiberal minds. They who venture to carry the <i>first</i> + torch into <i>unexplored</i> or <i>unfrequented</i> passages in the mine + of truth are exposed to the most imminent danger. Rich, however, are the + treasures of the place, and cowardly the soul that hesitates! But I forget + myself. + </p> + <p> + “It may be necessary to inform your ladyship, that, disgusted with the + frivolity of what is called fashionable life, and <i>unable</i> to <i>live</i> + without the higher pleasures of friendship, I have chosen for my asylum + the humble, tranquil cottage of a female friend, whose tastes, whose + principles have long been known to me: whose <i>genius</i> I admire! whose + <i>virtues</i> I revere! whose example I <i>emulate!</i> + </p> + <p> + “Though I do not condescend to use the fulsome language of <i>a mean + dependant</i>, I am not forgetful of the kindness I have received from + your ladyship. It has not been without a <i>painful</i> struggle that I + have broken my bonds asunder—the bonds of what is <i>falsely</i> + called <i>duty: spontaneous</i> gratitude ever will have full, <i>indisputable, + undisputed</i> power over the <i>heart</i> and <i>understanding</i> of + </p> + <p class="right"> + “ANNE-ANGELINA WARWICK. + </p> + <p> + “P.S. It will be in vain to attempt to discover the place of my retreat. + All I ask is to be left in peace, to enjoy, in my retirement, <i>perfect + felicity</i>.” + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Full of her hopes of finding “perfect felicity” in her retreat at Angelina + Bower, exulting in the idea of the courage and magnanimity with which she + had escaped from her “aristocratic persecutors,” our heroine pursued her + journey to South Wales. + </p> + <p> + She had the misfortune—and it is a great misfortune to a young lady + of her way of thinking—to meet with no difficulties or adventures, + nothing interesting upon her journey. She arrived, with inglorious safety, + at Cardiffe. The inn at Cardiffe was kept by a landlady of the name of + Hoel. “Not high-born Hoel. Alas!” said Angelina to herself, when the name + was screamed in her hearing by a waiter, as she walked into the inn. + “Vocal no more to high-born Hoel’s harp, or soft Llewellynn’s lay!” A + harper was sitting in the passage, and he tuned his harp to catch her + attention as she passed. “A harp!—O play for me some plaintive air!” + The harper followed her into a small parlour. + </p> + <p> + “How delightful!” said Miss Warwick, who, in common with other heroines, + had the habit of talking to herself; or, to use more dignified terms, who + had the habit of indulging in soliloquy:—“how delightful to taste at + last the air of Wales. But ‘tis a pity ‘tis not North instead of South + Wales, and Conway instead of Cardiffe Castle.” + </p> + <p> + The harper, after he had finished playing a melancholy air, exclaimed, + “That was but a melancholy ditty, miss—we’ll try a merrier.” And he + began— + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Of a noble race was Shenkin.” + </p> + + <p> + “No more,” cried Angelina, stopping her ears; “no more, barbarous man!—you + break the illusion.” + </p> + <p> + “Break the what?” said the harper to himself; “I thought, miss, that tune + would surely please you; for it is a favourite one in these parts.” + </p> + <p> + “A favourite with Welsh squires, perhaps,” said our heroine; “but, + unfortunately, <i>I</i> am not a Welsh squire, and have no taste for your + ‘Bumper Squire Jones.’” + </p> + <p> + The man tuned his harp sullenly. “I’m sorry for it, miss,” said he: + “more’s the pity, I can’t please you better!” + </p> + <p> + Angelina cast upon him a look of contempt. “He no way fills my idea of a bard!—an ancient and immortal bard!—He has no soul—fingers + without a soul!—No ‘master’s hand,’ or ‘prophet’s fire!’—No + ‘deep sorrows!’—No ‘sable garb of woe!’—No loose beard, or + hoary hair, ‘streaming like a meteor to the troubled air!’—‘No + haggard eyes!’—Heigho!”—“It is time for me to be going,” said + the harper, who began to think, by the young lady’s looks and manners, + that she was not in her right understanding. “It is time for me to be + going; the gentlemen above in the Dolphin will be ready for me.” + </p> + <p> + “A mere modern harper! He is not even blind,” Angelina said to herself, as + he examined the shilling which she gave him. “Begone, for Heaven’s sake!” + added she, aloud, as he left the room;—and “leave me, leave me to + repose.” She threw up the sash, to taste the evening air; but scarcely had + she begun to repeat a sonnet to her Araminta—scarcely had she + repeated the first two lines— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Hail, far-famed, fairest, unknown friend,<br /> +Our sacred silent sympathy of soul,” +</p> + + <p class="noindent"> + when a little ragged Welsh boy, who was playing with his companions, in a + field at the back of Cardifie Inn, espied her, gave the signal to his + playfellows, and immediately they all came running up to the window at + which Angelina was standing, and with one loud shrill chorus of “Gi’ me + ha’penny!—Gi’ me ha’penny!—Gi’ me one ha’penny!” interrupted + the sonnet, Angelina threw out some money to the boys, though she was + provoked by their interruption: her donation was, in the true spirit of a + heroine, much greater than the occasion required and the consequence was, + that these urchins, by spreading the fame of her generosity through the + town of Cardiffe, collected a Lilliputian mob of petitioners, who assailed + Angelina with fresh vehemence. Not a moment’s peace, not a moment for + poetry or reverie would they allow her: so that she was impatient for her + chaise to come to the door. Her Araminta’s cottage was but six miles + distant from Cardiffe; and to speak in due sentimental language, every + moment that delayed her long-expected interview with her beloved unknown + friend, appeared to her an age. + </p> + <p> + “And what would you be pleased to have for supper, ma’am?” said the + landlady. “We have fine Tenby oysters, ma’am; and, if you’d like a Welsh + rabbit—” + </p> + <p> + “Tenby oysters!—Welsh rabbits!” repeated Angelina, in a disdainful + tone. “Oh, detain me not in this cruel manner!—I want no Tenby + oysters, I want no Welsh rabbits; only let me be gone—I am all + impatience to see a dear friend. Oh, if you have any feeling, any + humanity, detain me not!” cried she, clasping her hands. + </p> + <p> + Miss Warwick had an ungovernable propensity to make a display of + sensibility; a fine theatrical scene upon every occasion; a propensity + which she had acquired from novel-reading. It was never more unluckily + displayed than in the present instance; for her audience and spectators, + consisting of the landlady, a waiter, and a Welsh boy, who just entered + the room with a knife-tray in his hand, were all more inclined to burst + into rude laughter than to join in gentle sympathy. The chaise did not + come to the door one moment sooner than it would have done without this + pathetic wringing of the hands. As soon as Angelina drove from the door, + the landlady’s curiosity broke forth— + </p> + <p> + “Pray tell me, Hugh Humphries,” said Mrs. Hoel, turning to the postilion, + who drove Angelina from Newport, “pray, now, does not this seem strange, + that such a young lady as this should be travelling about in such + wonderful haste? I believe, by her flighty airs, she is upon no good + errand—and I would have her to know, at any rate, that she might + have done better than to sneer, in that way, at Mrs. Hoel of Cardiffe, and + her Tenby oysters, and her Welsh rabbit. Oh, I’ll make her repent her <i>pe</i>haviour + to Mrs. Hoel, of Cardiffe. ‘Not high-born Hoel,’ forsooth! How does she + know that, I should be glad to hear? The Hoels are as high born, I’ll + venture to say, as my young miss herself, I’ve a notion! and would scorn, + moreover, to have a runaway lady for a relation of theirs. Oh, she shall + learn to repent her disrespects to Mrs. Hoel, of Cardiffe. I <i>pe</i>lieve + she shall soon meet herself in the public newspapers—her eyes, and + her nose, and her hair, and her inches, and her description at full length + she shall see—and her friends shall see it too—and maybe they + shall thank, and maybe they shall reward handsomely Mrs. Hoel, of + Cardiffe.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst the angry Welsh landlady was thus forming projects of revenge for + the contempt with which she imagined that her high birth and her Tenby + oysters had been treated, Angelina pursued her journey towards the cottage + of her unknown friend, forming charming pictures, in her imagination, of + the manner in which her amiable Araminta would start, and weep, and faint, + perhaps with joy and surprise, at the sight of her Angelina. It was a fine + moonlight night—an unlucky circumstance; for the by-road which led + to Angelina Bower was so narrow and bad, that if the night had been dark, + our heroine must infallibly have been overturned, and this overturn would + have been a delightful incident in the history of her journey; but Fate + ordered it otherwise. Miss Warwick had nothing to lament, but that her + delicious reveries were interrupted, for several miles, by the Welsh + postilion’s expostulations with his horses. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!” exclaimed she, “cannot the man hold his tongue? His + uncouth vociferations distract me! So fine a scene, so placid the + moonlight—but there is always something that is not in perfect + unison with one’s feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss, if you please, you must light here, and walk for a matter of a + quarter of a mile, for I can’t drive up to the house door, because there + is no carriage-road down the lane; but if you be pleased, I’ll go on + before you—my horses will stand quite quiet here—and I’ll + knock the folks up for you, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Folks!—Oh, don’t talk to me of knocking folks up,” cried Angelina, + springing out of the carriage “stay with your horses, man, I beseech you. + You shall be summoned when you are wanted—I choose to walk up to the + cottage alone.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please, miss,” said the postilion; “only <i>hur</i> had better + take care of the dogs.” + </p> + <p> + This last piece of sage counsel was lost upon our heroine; she heard it + not—she was “rapt into future times.” + </p> + <p> + “By moonlight will be our first interview—just as I had pictured to + myself—but can this be the cottage?—It does not look quite so + romantic as I expected—but ‘tis the dwelling of my Araminta—Happy, + thrice happy moment!—Now for our secret signal—I am to sing + the first, and my unknown friend the second part of the same air.” + </p> + <p> + Angelina then began to sing the following stanza— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“O waly waly up the bank,<br /> +And waly waly down the brae,<br /> +And waly waly yon burn side,<br /> +Where I and my love were wont to gae.” +</p> + + <p> + She sung and paused, in expectation of hearing the second part from her + amiable Araminta—but no voice was heard. + </p> + <p> + “All is hushed,” said Angelina—“ever tranquil be her slumbers! Yet I + must waken her—her surprise and joy at seeing me thus will be so + great!—by moonlight too!” + </p> + <p> + She knocked at the cottage window—still no answer. + </p> + <p> + “All silent as night!” said she— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,<br /> +And not a cloud o’ercasts the solemn scene.’” +</p> + + <p> + Angelina, as she repeated these lines, stood with her back to the cottage + window: the window opened, and a Welsh servant girl put out her head; her + night-cap, if cap it might be called which shape had none, was half off, + her black hair streamed over her shoulders, and her face was the face of + vulgar, superstitious amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ‘tis our old ghost of Nelly Gwynn, all in white, walking and saying + her prayers backwards—I heard ‘em quite plain, as I hope to + breathe,” said the terrified girl to herself; and, shutting the window + with a trembling hand, she hastened to waken an old woman, who slept in + the same room with her.—Angelina, whose patience was by this time + exhausted, went to the door of the cottage, and shook it with all her + force.—It rattled loud, and a shrill scream was heard from within. + </p> + <p> + “A scream!” cried Angelina; “Oh, my Araminta!—All is hushed again.”—Then + raising her voice, she called as loudly as she could at the window—“My + Araminta! my unknown friend! be not alarmed, ‘tis your Angelina.” + </p> + <p> + The door opened slowly and softly, and a slip-shod beldam peeped out, + leaning upon a stick; the head of Betty Williams appeared over the + shoulder of this sibyl; Angelina was standing, in a pensive attitude, + listening at the cottage window. At this instant the postilion, who was + tired of waiting, came whistling up the lane; he carried a trunk on his + back, and a bag in his hand. As soon as the old woman saw him, she held up + her stick, exclaiming— + </p> + <p> + “A man! a man!—a ropper and murterer!—Cot suve us! and keep + the door fast polted.”—They shut the door instantly. + </p> + <p> + “What is all this?” said Angelina, with dignified composure. + </p> + <p> + “A couple of fools, I take it, miss, who are afraid and in tred of + roppers,” said the postilion; “put I’ll make ‘em come out, I’ll be pound, + plockheads.”—So saying, he went to the door of Angelina Bower, and + thundered and kicked at it, speaking all the time very volubly in Welsh. + In about a quarter of an hour he made them comprehend that Angelina was a + young lady come to visit their mistress: then they came forth curtsying. + </p> + <p> + “My name’s Betty Williams,” said the girl, who was tying a clean cap under + her chin. “Welcome to Llanwaetur, miss!—pe pleased to excuse our + keeping hur waiting, and polting the toor, and taking hur for a ghost and + a ropper—put we know who you are now—the young lady from + London, that we have been told to expect.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then, I have been expected; all’s right—and my Araminta, where + is she? where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Welcome to Llanwaetur, welcome to Llanwaetur, and Cot pless hur pretty + face,” said the old woman, who followed Betty Williams out of the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “Hur’s my grandmother, miss,” said Betty. + </p> + <p> + “Very likely—but let me see my Araminta,” cried Angelina: “cruel + woman! where is she, I say?” + </p> + <p> + “Cot pless hur!—Cot pless hur pretty face,” repeated the old woman, + curtsying. + </p> + <p> + “My grandmother’s as deaf as a post, miss—don’t mind her; she can’t + tell Inglis well, put I can:—who would you pe pleased to have?” + </p> + <p> + “In plain English, then—the lady who lives in this cottage.” + </p> + <p> + “Our Miss Hodges?” + </p> + <p> + This odious name of Hodges provoked Angelina, who was so used to call her + friend Araminta, that she had almost forgotten her real name. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, miss,” continued Betty Williams, “Miss Hodges has gone to Pristol for + a few days.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone! how unlucky! my Araminta gone!” + </p> + <p> + “Put Miss Hodges will pe pack on Tuesday—Miss Hodges did not expect + hur till Thursday—put her ped is very well aired—pe pleased to + walk in, and light hur a candle, and get hur a nightcap.” + </p> + <p> + “Heigho! must I sleep again without seeing my Araminta!—Well, but I + shall sleep in a cottage for the first time in my life— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed.’” +</p> + + <p> + At this moment, Angelina, forgetting to stoop, hit herself a violent blow + as she was entering Angelina Bower—the roof of which, indeed, “was + too low for so lofty a head.”—A headache came on, which kept her + awake the greatest part of the night. In the morning she set about to + explore the cottage; it was nothing like the species of elegant + retirement, of which she had drawn such a charming picture in her + imagination. It consisted of three small bedchambers, which were more like + what she had been used to call closets; a parlour, the walls of which + were, in many places, stained with damp; and a kitchen which smoked. The + scanty, moth-eaten furniture of the rooms was very different from the + luxury and elegance to which Angelina had been accustomed in the + apartments of Lady Diana Chillingworth. Coarse and ill-dressed was the + food which Betty Williams with great bustle and awkwardness served up to + her guest; but Angelina was no epicure. The first dinner which she ate on + wooden trenchers delighted her; the second, third, fourth, and fifth, + appeared less and less delectable; so that by the time she had boarded one + week at her cottage, she was completely convinced that + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied,<br /> +And water from the spring,” +</p> + + <p class="noindent"> + though delightful to Goldsmith’s Hermit, are not quite so satisfactory in + actual practice as in poetic theory; at least to a young lady who had been + habituated to all the luxuries of fashionable life. It was in vain that + our heroine repeated + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Man wants but little here below:”<br /> +</p> + + <p class="noindent"> + she found that even the want of double refined sugar, of green tea, and + Mocha coffee, was sensibly felt. Hour after hour, and day after day, + passed with Angelina, in anxious expectation of her Araminta’s return + home. Her time hung heavy upon her hands, for she had no companion with + whom she could converse; and one odd volume of Rousseau’s Eloise, and a + few well-thumbed German plays, were the only books which she could find in + the house. There was, according to Betty Williams’s report, “a vast sight + of books in a press, along with some table-cloths,” but Miss Hodges had + the key of this press in her pocket. Deprived of the pleasures both of + reading and conversation, Angelina endeavoured to amuse herself by + contemplating the beauties of nature. There were some wild, solitary walks + in the neighbourhood of Angelina Bower; but though our heroine was + delighted with these, she wanted, in her rambles, some kindred soul, to + whom she might exclaim—“How charming is solitude{1}!”—The day + after her arrival in Wales, she wrote a long letter to Araminta, which + Betty Williams undertook to send by a careful lad, a particular friend of + her own, who would deliver it, without fail, into Miss Hodges’s own hands, + and who would engage to bring an answer by three o’clock the next day. The + careful lad did not return till four days afterward, and he then could + give no account of his mission, except that he had left the letter at + Bristol, with a particular friend of his own, who would deliver it, + without fail, into Miss Hodges’s own hands, if he could meet with her. The + post seems to be the last expedient which a heroine ever thinks of for the + conveyance of her letters; so that, if we were to judge from the annals of + romance, we should infallibly conclude there was no such thing as a + post-office in England. On the sixth day of her abode at this comfortless + cottage, the possibility of sending a letter to her friend by the post + occurred to Angelina, and she actually discovered that there was a + post-office at Cardiffe. Before she could receive an answer to this + epistle, a circumstance happened, which made her determine to abandon her + present retreat. One evening she rambled out to a considerable distance + from the cottage, and it was long after sunset ere she recollected that it + would be necessary to return homewards before it grew dark. She mistook + her way at last, and following a sheep-path, down the steep side of a + mountain, she came to a point, at which she, apparently, could neither + advance nor recede. A stout Welsh farmer who was counting his sheep in a + field, at the top of the mountain, happened to look down its steep side in + search of one of his flock that was missing: the farmer saw something + white at a distance below him, but there was a mist—it was dusk in + the evening—and whether it were a woman, or a sheep, he could not he + certain. In the hope that Angelina was his lost sheep, he went to her + assistance, and though, upon a nearer view, he was disappointed, in + finding that she was a woman, yet he had the humanity to hold out his + stick to her, and he helped her up by it, with some difficulty. One of her + slippers fell off as she scrambled up the hill—there was no + recovering it; her other slipper, which was of the thinnest kid leather, + was cut through by the stones; her silk stockings were soon stained with + the blood of her tender feet; and it was with real gratitude that she + accepted the farmer’s offer, to let her pass the night at his farmhouse, + which was within view. Angelina Bower was, according to his computation, + about four miles distant, as well, he said, as he could judge of the place + she meant by her description: she had unluckily forgotten that the common + name of it was Llanwaetur. At the farmer’s house, she was, at first, + hospitably received, by a tight-looking woman; but she had not been many + minutes seated, before she found herself the object of much curiosity and + suspicion. In one corner of the room, at a small round table, with a jug + of ale before him, sat a man, who looked like the picture of a Welsh + squire: a candle had just been lighted for his worship, for he was a + magistrate, and a great man, in those parts, for he could read the + newspaper, and his company was, therefore, always welcome to the farmer, + who loved to hear the news, and the reader was paid for his trouble with + good ale, which he loved even better than literature. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Voltaire.} + </p> + <p> + “What news, Mr. Evans?” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “What news?” repeated Mr. Evans, looking up from his paper, with a + sarcastic smile. “Why, news that might not be altogether so agreeable to + the whole of this good company; so ‘tis best to keep it to ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Every thing’s agreeable to me, I’m sure,” said the farmer—“every + thing’s agreeable to me in the way of news.” + </p> + <p> + “And to me, not excepting politics, which you gentlemen always think so + polite,” said the farmer’s wife, “to keep to yourselves; but, you + recollect, I was used to politics when I lived with my uncle at Cardiffe; + not having, though a farmer’s wife, always lived in the country, as you + see, ma’am—nor being quite illiterate.—Well, Mr. Evans, let us + have it. What news of the fleets?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Evans made no reply, but pointed out a passage in the newspaper to the + farmer, who leant over his shoulder, in vain endeavouring to spell and put + it together: his smart wife, whose curiosity was at least equal to her + husband’s, ran immediately to peep at the wonderful paragraph, and she + read aloud the beginning of an advertisement:— + </p> + <p> + “Suspected to have strayed, or eloped, from her friends or relations, a + young lady, seemingly not more than sixteen years of age, dressed in + white, with a straw hat: blue eyes, light hair.” + </p> + <p> + Angelina coloured so deeply whilst this was reading, and the description + so exactly suited with her appearance, that the farmer’s wife stopped + short; the farmer fixed his eyes upon her; and Mr. Evans cleared his + throat several times with much significance.—A general silence + ensued; at last the three heads nodded to one another across the round + table; the farmer whistled and walked out of the room; his wife fidgeted + at a buffet, in which she began to arrange some cups and saucers; and, + after a few minutes, she followed her husband. Angelina took up the + newspaper, to read the remainder of the advertisement. She could not doubt + that it was meant for her, when she saw that it was dated the very day of + her arrival at the inn at Cardiffe, and signed by the landlady of the inn, + Mrs. Hoel. Mr. Evans swallowed the remainder of his ale, and then + addressed Angelina in these words:— + </p> + <p> + “Young lady, it is plain to see you know when the cap fits: now, if you’ll + take my advice, you’ll not make the match you have in your eye; for, + though a lord’s son, he is a great gambler. I dined with one that has + dined with him not long ago. My son, who has a living near Bristol, knows + a great deal—more about you than you’d think; and ‘tis my advice to + you, which I wouldn’t be at the trouble of giving, if you were not as + pretty as you are, to go back to your relations; for he’ll never marry + you, and marriage to be sure is your object. I have no more to say, but + only this—I shall think it my duty, as a magistrate, to let your + friends know as soon as possible where you are, coming under my cognizance + as you do; for a vagabond, in the eye of the law, is a person—” + </p> + <p> + Angelina had not patience to listen to any more of this speech; she + interrupted Mr. Evans with a look of indignation, assured him that he was + perfectly unintelligible to her, and walked out of the room with great + dignity. Her dignity made no impression upon the farmer or his wife, who + now repented having offered her a night’s lodging in their house: in the + morning they were as eager to get rid of her as she was impatient to + depart. Mr. Evans insisted upon seeing her safe home, evidently for the + purpose of discovering precisely where she lived. Angelina saw that she + could no longer remain undisturbed in her retreat, and determined to set + out immediately in quest of her unknown friend at Bristol.—Betty + Williams, who had a strong desire to have a jaunt to Bristol, a town which + she had never seen but once in her life, offered to attend Miss Warwick, + assuring her that she perfectly well knew the house where Miss Hodges + always lodged. Her offer was accepted; and what adventures our heroine met + with in Bristol, and what difficulties she encountered before she + discovered her Araminta, will be seen in the next chapter. + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + Angelina went by water from Cardiffe to Bristol; the water was rather + rough, and, as she was unused to the motion of a vessel, she was both + frightened and sick. She spent some hours very disagreeably, and without + even the sense of acting like a heroine, to support her spirits. It was + late in the evening before she arrived at the end of her voyage: she was + landed on the quay at Bristol. No hackney-coach was to be had, and she was + obliged to walk to the Bush. To find herself in the midst of a bustling, + vulgar crowd, by whom she was unknown, but not unnoticed, was new to Miss + Warwick. Whilst she was with Lady Diana Chillingworth, she had always been + used to see crowds make way for her; she was now surprised to feel herself + jostled in the streets by passengers, who were all full of their own + affairs, hurrying different ways, in pursuit of objects which probably + seemed to them as important as the search for an unknown friend appeared + to Angelina. + </p> + <p> + Betty Williams’s friend’s friend, the careful lad, who was to deliver the + letter to Miss Hodges, was a waiter at the Bush. Upon inquiry, it was + found that he had totally forgotten his promise: Angelina’s letter was, + after much search, found in a bottle-drainer, so much stained with port + wine, that it was illegible. The man answered with the most provoking + nonchalance, when Angelina reproached him for his carelessness—“That, + indeed, no such person as Miss Hodges was to be found: that nobody he + could meet with had ever heard the name.” They who are extremely + enthusiastic suffer continually from the total indifference of others to + their feelings; and young people can scarcely conceive the extent of this + indifference until they have seen something of the world. Seeing the world + does not <i>always</i> mean seeing a certain set of company in London. + </p> + <p> + Angelina, the morning after her arrival at the Bush, took a hackney-coach, + and left the care of directing the coachman to Betty Williams, who + professed to have a perfect knowledge of Bristol. Betty desired the man to + drive to the drawbridge; and, at the sound of the word drawbridge, various + associations of ideas with the drawbridges of ancient times were called up + in Miss Warwick’s imagination. How different was the reality from her + castles in the air! She was roused from her reverie by the voices of Betty + Williams and the coachman. + </p> + <p> + “Where <i>will</i> I drive ye to, I ask you?” said the coachman, who was + an Irishman: “<i>Will</i> I stand all day upon the drawbridge stopping the + passage?” + </p> + <p> + “Trive on a step, and I will get out and see apout me,” said Betty: “I + know the look of the house, as well as I know any thing.” + </p> + <p> + Betty got out of the coach, and walked up and down the street, looking at + the houses like one bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “Bad luck to you! for a Welsh woman as you are,” exclaimed the coachman, + jumping down from the box, “will I lave the young lady standing in the + streets all day alone for you to be making a fool this way of us both?—Sorrow + take me now! If I do—” + </p> + <p> + “Pless us, pe not in a pet or a pucker, or how shall I recollect any body + or any thing.—Cood! Cood!—Stand you there while I just say + over my alphabet: a, p, c, t, e, f, g, h, i, k, l, m, n, o, b.—It + was some name which begins with <i>p</i>, and ends with a <i>t</i>, I + pelieve.” + </p> + <p> + “Here’s a pretty direction, upon my troth; some name which begins with a + <i>p</i>, and ends with a <i>t</i>,” cried the coachman; and after he had + uttered half a score of Hibernian execrations upon the Welsh woman’s + folly, he with much good nature went along with her to read the names on + the street doors.—“Here’s a name now that’s the very thing for you—here’s + Pushit now.—Was the name Pushit?—Ricollict yourself, my good + girl, was that your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Pushit!—Oh, yes, I am sure, and pelieve it was Pushit—Mrs. + Pushit’s house, Pristol, where our Miss Hodges lodges alway.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Pushit—but this is quite another man; I tell you this is Sir + John—Faith now we are in luck,” continued the coachman—“here’s + another p just at hand; here’s Mrs. Puffit; sure she begins with a p, and + ends with a t, and is a milliner into the bargain? so sure enough I’ll + engage the young lady lodges here.—Puffit—Hey?—Ricollict + now, and don’t be looking as if you’d just been pulled out of your sleep, + and had never been in a Christian town before now.” + </p> + <p> + “Pless us, Cot pless us!” said the Welsh girl, who was quite overpowered + by the Irishman’s flow of words—and she was on the point of having + recourse, in her own defence, to her native tongue, in which she could + have matched either male or female in fluency; but, to Angelina’s great + relief, the dialogue between the coachman and Betty Williams ceased. The + coachman drew up to Mrs. Puffit’s; but, as there was a handsome carriage + at the door, Miss Warwick was obliged to wait in her hackney-coach some + time longer. The handsome carriage belonged to Lady Frances Somerset.—By + one of those extraordinary coincidences which sometimes occur in real + life, but which are scarcely believed to be natural when they are related + in books, Miss Warwick happened to come to this shop at the very moment + when the persons she most wished to avoid were there. Whilst the dialogue + between Betty Williams and the hackney-coachman was passing, Lady Diana + Chillingworth and Miss Burrage were seated in Mrs. Puffit’s shop: Lady + Diana was extremely busy bargaining with the milliner; for, though rich, + and a woman of quality, her ladyship piqued herself upon making the + cheapest bargains in the world. + </p> + <p> + “Your la’ship did not look at this eight and twenty shilling lace,” said + Mrs. Puffit; “‘tis positively the cheapest thing your la’ship ever saw. + Jessie! the laces in the little blue band-box. Quick! for my Ladi Di.—Quick!” + </p> + <p> + “But it is out of my power to stay to look at any thing more now,” said + Lady Diana; “and yet,” whispered she to Miss Burrage, “when one does go + out a shopping, one certainly likes to bring home a bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; but Bristol’s not the place for bargains,” said Miss Burrage; + “you will find nothing tolerable, I assure you, my dear Lady Di., at + Bristol.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, my dear,” said her ladyship, “were you ever at Bristol before? How + comes it that I never heard that you were at Bristol before? Where were + you, child?” + </p> + <p> + “At the Wells, at the Wells, ma’am,” replied Miss Burrage, and she turned + pale and red in the space of a few seconds; but Lady Diana, who was very + near-sighted, was holding her head so close to the blue band-box full of + lace, that she could not see the changes in her companion’s countenance. + The fact was, that Miss Burrage was born and bred in Bristol, where she + had several relations, who were not in high life, and by whom she + consequently dreaded to be claimed. When she first met Lady Diana + Chillingworth at Buxton, she had passed herself upon her for one of the + Burrages of Dorsetshire, and she knew that, if her ladyship was to + discover the truth, she would cast her off with horror. For this reason, + she had done every thing in her power to prevent Lady Di. from coming to + Clifton; and for this reason she now endeavoured to persuade her that + nothing tolerable could be met with at Bristol. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, Lady Di., you will be late at Lady Mary’s,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Look at this lace, child, and give me your opinion—eight and twenty + shillings, Mrs. Puffit, did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Eight and twenty, my lady—and I lose by every yard I sell at that + price. Ma’am, you see,” said Mrs. Puffit, appealing to Miss Burrage, “‘tis + real Valenciennes, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “I see ‘tis horrid dear,” said Miss Burrage: then in a whisper to Lady Di. + she added, “at Miss Trentham’s at the Wells, your ladyship will meet with + such bargains!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Puffit put her lace upon the alabaster neck of the large doll which + stood in the middle of her shop. “Only look, my lady—only see, + ma’am, how beautiful becoming ‘tis to the neck, and sets off a dress too, + you know, ma’am. And (turning to Miss Burrage) eight and twenty, you know, + ma’am, is really nothing for any lace you’d wear; but more particularly + for real Valenciennes, which can scarce be had <i>real</i>, for love or + money, since the French Revolution. Real Valenciennes!—and will wear + and wash, and wash and wear—not that your ladyship minds that—for + ever and ever,—and is such a bargain, and so becoming to the neck, + especially to ladies of your la’ship’s complexion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I protest, I believe, Burrage, I don’t know what to say, my dear—hey?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m told,” whispered Miss Burrage, “that Miss Trentham’s to have a lace + raffle at the Wells next week.” + </p> + <p> + “A raffle?” cried Lady Di., turning her back immediately upon the doll and + the lace. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” cried Mrs. Puffit, “instead of eight say seven and twenty + shillings, Miss Burrage, for old acquaintance sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Old acquaintance!” exclaimed Miss Burrage: “la! Mrs. Puffit, I don’t + remember ever being twice in your shop all the time I was at the Wells + before.” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am,” replied Mrs. Puffit, with a malicious smile—“but when + you <i>was</i> living on Saint Augustin’s Back.” + </p> + <p> + “Saint Augustin’s Back, my dear!” exclaimed Lady Diana Chillingworth, with + a look of horror and amazement. + </p> + <p> + Miss Burrage, laying down a bank-note on the counter, made a quick and + expressive sign to the milliner to hold her tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mrs. Puffit,” cried she, “you certainly mistake me for some other + strange person. Lady Di., now I look at it with my glass, this lace <i>is</i> + very fine, I must agree with you, and not dear, by any means, for real + Valenciennes: cut me off three yards of this lace—I protest there’s + no withstanding it, Lady Di.” + </p> + <p> + “Three yards at eight and twenty—here, Jesse,” said Mrs. Puffit. “I + beg your pardon, ma’am, for my mistake; I supposed it was some other lady + of the same name; there are so many Burrages. <i>Only</i> three yards did + you say, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, I don’t care if you give me four. I’m of the Burrages of + Dorsetshire.” + </p> + <p> + “A very good family, those Burrages of Dorsetshire, as any in England,” + said Lady Di.—“and put up twelve yards of this for me, Mrs. Puffit.” + </p> + <p> + “Twelve at eight and twenty—yes, my lady—very much obliged to + your ladyship—much obliged to you, Miss Burrage. Here, Jesse, this + to my Lady Di. Chillingworth’s carriage.” Jesse called at the shop-door, + in a shrill voice, to a black servant of Lady Frances Somerset—“Mr. + Hector, Mr. Hector! Sir, pray put this parcel into the carriage for Lady + Diana Chillingworth.” + </p> + <p> + Angelina, who was waiting in her hackney-coach, started; she could + scarcely believe that she heard the name rightly:—but, an instant + afterwards, the voice of Lady Diana struck her ear, and she sunk back in + great agitation. However, neither Miss Burrage nor Lady Di. saw her; they + got into their carriage, and drove away. + </p> + <p> + Angelina was so much alarmed, that she could scarcely believe that the + danger was past when she saw the carriage at the furthest end of the + street. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you be pleased to ‘light, ma’am?” said Jesse. + </p> + <p> + “We don’t bring things to the door.” + </p> + <p> + “Who have we here?” cried Mrs. Puffit; “who have we here?” + </p> + <p> + “Only some folks out of a hack, that was kept waiting, and couldn’t draw + up whilst my Lady Di.‘s carriage was at the door,” said Jesse. + </p> + <p> + “A good pretty girl, the foremost,” said Mrs. Puffit. “But, in the name of + wonder, what’s that odd fish coming behind her?” + </p> + <p> + “A queer-looking pair, in good truth!” said Jesse. + </p> + <p> + Angelina seated herself, and gave a deep sigh. “Ribands, if you please, + ma’am,” said she to Mrs. Puffit. “I must,” thought she, “ask for something + before I ask for my Araminta.” + </p> + <p> + “Ribands—yes, ma’am—what sort? Keep an eye upon the glass,” + whispered the milliner to her shop girl, as she stooped behind the counter + for a drawer of ribands—“keep an eye on the glass, Jesse—a + girl of the town, I take it. What colour, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “Blue—‘cerulean blue.’ Here, child,” said Angelina, turning to Betty + Williams, “here’s a riband for you.” + </p> + <p> + Betty Williams did not hear, for Betty was fascinated by the eyes of the + great doll, opposite to which she stood fixed. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, what a fine lady! and how hur stares at Betty Williams!” thought + she: “I wish hur would take her eyes off me.” + </p> + <p> + “Betty! Betty Williams!—a riband for you,” cried Angelina, in a + louder tone. + </p> + <p> + Betty started—“Miss!—a riband!” She ran forward, and, in + pushing by the doll, threw it backward: Mrs. Puffit caught it in her arms, + and Betty, stopping short, curtsied, and said to the doll—“Peg + pardon, miss—peg pardon, miss—tit I hurt you?—peg + pardon. Pless us! ‘tis a toll, and no woman, I teclare.” + </p> + <p> + The milliner and Jesse now burst into uncontrollable, and, as Angelina + feared, “unextinguishable laughter.” Nothing is so distressing to a + sentimental heroine as ridicule: Miss Warwick perceived that she had her + share of that which Betty Williams excited; and she who imagined herself + to be capable of “combating, in all its Proteus forms, the system of + social slavery,” was unable to withstand the laughter of a milliner and + her ‘prentice. + </p> + <p> + “Do you please to want any thing else, ma’am?” said Mrs. Puffit, in a + saucy tone—“Rouge, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to know, madam,” said Angelina, “whether a lady of the name of + Hodges does not lodge here?” + </p> + <p> + “A lady of the name of Hodges!—no, ma’am—I’m very particular + about lodgers—no such lady ever lodged with me.—Jesse! to the + door—quick!—Lady Mary Tasselton’s carriage.” + </p> + <p> + Angelina hastily rose and departed. Whilst Jesse ran to the door, and + whilst Mrs. Puffit’s attention was fixed upon Lady Mary Tasselton’s + carriage, Betty Williams twitched from off the doll’s shoulders the + remainder of the piece of Valenciennes lace which had been left there. + “Since hur’s only wood, I’ll make free,” said she to herself, and she + carried off the lace unobserved. + </p> + <p> + Angelina’s impatience to find her Araminta was increased, by the dread of + meeting Lady Di. Chillingworth in every carriage that passed, and in every + shop where she might call. At the next house at which the coachman + stopped, the words, <i>Dinah Plait, relict of Jonas Plait, cheesemonger</i>, + were written in large letters over the shop-door. Angelina thought she was + in no danger of meeting her ladyship here, and she alighted. There was no + one in the shop but a child of seven years old; he could not understand + well what Angelina or Betty said, but he ran to call his aunt. Dinah Plait + was at dinner; and when the child opened the door of the parlour, there + came forth such a savoury smell, that Betty Williams, who was extremely + hungry, could not forbear putting her head in, to see what was upon the + table. + </p> + <p> + “Pless hur! heggs and pacon and toasted cheese—Cot pless hur!” + exclaimed Betty. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Dinah,” said the child, “here are two women in some great distress, + they told me—and astray and hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “In some great distress, and astray and hungry?—then let them in + here, child, this minute.” + </p> + <p> + There was seated at a small table, in a perfectly neat parlour, a quaker, + whose benevolent countenance charmed Angelina the moment she entered the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon this intrusion,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Friend, thou art welcome,” said Dinah Plait, and her looks said so more + expressively than her words. An elderly man rose, and leaving the + cork-screw in the half-drawn cork of a bottle of cider, he set a chair for + Angelina, and withdrew to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Be seated, and eat, for verily thou seemest to be hungry,” said Mrs. + Plait to Betty Williams, who instantly obeyed, and began to eat like one + that had been half famished. + </p> + <p> + “And now, friend, thy business, thy distress—what is it?” said + Dinah, turning to Angelina: “so young to have sorrows.” + </p> + <p> + “I had best take myself away,” said the elderly gentleman, who stood at + the window—“I had best take myself away, for miss may not like to + speak before me—though she might, for that matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is the gentleman going?” said Miss Warwick; “I have but one short + question to ask, and I have nothing to say that need—” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say, young lady, you can have nothing to say that you need be + ashamed of, only people in distress don’t like so well to speak before + third folks, I <i>guess</i>—though, to say the truth, I have never + known, by my own experience, what it was to be in much distress since I + came into the world—but I hope I am not the more hard-hearted for + that—for I can guess, I say, pretty well, how those in distress feel + when they come to speak. Do as you would be done by is my maxim till I can + find a better—so I take myself away, leaving my better part behind + me, if it will be of any service to you, madam.” + </p> + <p> + As he passed by Miss Warwick, he dropped his purse into her lap, and he + was gone before she could recover from her surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Sir!—madam!” cried she, rising hastily, “here has been some strange + mistake—I am not a beggar—I am much, very much obliged to you, + but—” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, keep it, friend, keep it,” said Dinah Plait, pressing the purse upon + Angelina; “John Barker is as rich as a Jew, and as generous as a prince. + Keep it, friend, and you’ll oblige both him and me—‘tis dangerous in + this world for one so young and so pretty as you are to be in <i>great + distress</i>; so be not proud.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not proud,” said Miss Warwick, drawing her purse from her pocket; + “but my distress is not of a pecuniary nature—Convince yourself—I + am in distress only for a friend, <i>an unknown</i> friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Touched in her brain, I doubt,” thought Dinah. + </p> + <p> + “Coot ale!” exclaimed Betty Williams—“Coot heggs and pacon.” + </p> + <p> + “Does a lady of the name of Araminta—Miss Hodges, I mean—lodge + here?” said Miss Warwick. + </p> + <p> + “Friend, I do not let lodgings; and I know of no such person as Miss + Hodges.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I swear hur name, the coachman told me, did begin with a p, and end + with a t,” cried Betty Williams, “or I would never have let him knock at + hur toor.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Araminta! my Araminta!” exclaimed Angelina, turning up her eyes + towards heaven—“when, oh when shall I find thee? I am the most + unfortunate person upon earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Had not hur petter eat a hegg, and a pit of pacon? here’s one pit left,” + said Betty: “hur must be hungry, for ‘tis two o’clock past, and we + preakfasted at nine—hur must be hungry;” and Betty pressed her <i>to + try the pacon</i>; but Angelina put it away, or, in the proper style, + motioned the bacon from her. + </p> + <p> + “I am in no want of food,” cried she, rising: “happy they who have no + conception of any but corporeal sufferings. Farewell, madam!—may the + sensibility, of which your countenance is so strongly expressive, never be + a source of misery to you!”—and with that depth of sigh which suited + the close of such a speech, Angelina withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “If I could but have felt her pulse,” said Dinah Plait to herself, “I + could have prescribed something that, maybe, would have done her good, + poor distracted thing! Now it was well done of John Barker to leave this + purse for her—but how is this?—poor thing! she’s not fit to be + trusted with money—here she has left her own purse full of guineas.” + </p> + <p> + Dinah ran immediately to the house-door, in hopes of being able to catch + Angelina; but the coach had turned down into another street, and was out + of sight. Mrs. Plait sent for her constant counsellor, John Barker, to + deliberate on the means of returning the purse. It should be mentioned, to + the credit of Dinah’s benevolence, that, at the moment when she was + interrupted by the entrance of Betty Williams and Angelina, she was + hearing the most flattering things from a person who was not disagreeable + to her: her friend, John Barker, was a rich hosier, who had retired from + business; and who, without any ostentation, had a great deal of real + feeling and generosity. But the fastidious taste of <i>fine</i>, or + sentimental readers, will probably be disgusted by our talking of the + feelings and generosity of a hosier and a cheesemonger’s widow. It belongs + to a certain class of people to indulge in the luxury of sentiment: we + shall follow our heroine, therefore, who, both from her birth and + education, is properly qualified to have—“exquisite feelings.” + </p> + <p> + The next house at which Angelina stopped, to search for her amiable + Araminta, was at Mrs. Porett’s academy for young ladies. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am, Miss Hodges is here—Pray walk into this room, and you + shall see the young lady immediately.” Angelina burst into the room + instantly, exclaiming— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Araminta! have I found you at last?” + </p> + <p> + She stopped short, a little confounded at finding herself in a large room + full of young ladies, who were dancing reels, and who all stood still at + one and the same instant, and fixed their eyes upon her, struck with + astonishment at her theatrical entrée and exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hodges!” said Mrs. Porett—and a little girl of seven years old + came forward:—“Here, ma’am,” said Mrs. Porett to Angelina, “here is + Miss Hodges.” + </p> + <p> + “Not <i>my</i> Miss Hodges! not my Araminta! alas!” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am,” said the little girl; “I am only Letty Hodges.” + </p> + <p> + Several of her companions now began to titter. + </p> + <p> + “These girls,” said Angelina to herself, “take me for a fool;” and, + turning to Mrs. Porett, she apologized for the trouble she had given, in + language as little romantic as she could condescend to use. + </p> + <p> + “Tid you bid me, miss, wait in the coach, or the passage?” cried Betty + Williams, forcing her way in at the door, so as almost to push down the + dancing-master, who stood with his back to it. Betty stared round, and + dropped curtsy after curtsy, whilst the young ladies laughed and + whispered, and whispered and laughed; and the words, odd—vulgar—strange—who + is she?—what is she?—reached Miss Warwick. + </p> + <p> + “This Welsh girl,” thought she, “is my torment. Wherever I go she makes me + share the ridicule of her folly.” + </p> + <p> + Clara Hope, one of the young ladies, saw and pitied Angelina’s confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Gif over, an ye have any gude nature—gif over your whispering and + laughing,” said Clara to her companions: “ken ye not ye make her so + bashful, she’d fain hide her face wi’ her twa hands.” + </p> + <p> + But it was in vain that the good-natured Clara Hope remonstrated: her + companions could not forbear tittering, as Betty Williams, upon Miss + Warwick’s laying the blame of the mistake on her, replied in a strong + Welsh accent—“I will swear almost the name was Porett or Plait, + where our Miss Hodges tid always lodge in Pristol. Porett, or Plait, or + Puffit, or some of her names that pekin with a p and ent with at.” + </p> + <p> + Angelina, quite <i>overpowered</i>, shrunk back, as Betty bawled out her + vindication, and she was yet more confused, when Monsieur Richelet, the + dancing-master, at this unlucky instant, came up to her, and with an + elegant bow, said, “It is not difficult to see by her air, that + mademoiselle dances superiorly. Mademoiselle vould she do me de plaisir—de + honneur to dance one minuet?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if she would but dance!” whispered some of the group of young ladies. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir,” said Miss Warwick. + </p> + <p> + “Not a minuet?—den a minuet de la cour, a cotillon, or contredanse, + or reel; vatever mademoiselle please vill do us honneur.” + </p> + <p> + Angelina, with a mixture of impatience and confusion, repeated, “Excuse + me, sir—I am going—I interrupt—I beg I may not + interrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “A coot morrow to you all, creat and small,” said Betty Williams, + curtsying awkwardly at the door as she went out before Miss Warwick. + </p> + <p> + The young ladies were now diverted so much beyond the bounds of decorum, + that Mrs. Porett was obliged to call them to order. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Araminta, what scenes have I gone through! to what derision have I + exposed myself for your sake!” said our heroine to herself. + </p> + <p> + Just as she was leaving the dancing-room, she was stopped short by Betty + Williams, who, with a face of terror, exclaimed, “‘Tis a poy in the hall, + that I tare not pass for my lifes; he has a pasket full of pees in his + hand, and I cannot apide pees, ever since one tay when I was a chilt, and + was stung on the nose by a pee. The poy in the hall has a pasketful of + pees, ma’am,” said Betty, with an imploring accent, to Mrs. Porett. + </p> + <p> + “A basketful of bees!” said Mrs. Porett, laughing: “Oh, you are mistaken: + I know what the boy has in his basket—they are only flowers; they + are not bees: you may safely go by them.” + </p> + <p> + “Put I saw pees with my own eyes,” persisted Betty. + </p> + <p> + “Only a basketful of the bee orchis, which I commissioned a little boy to + bring from St. Vincent’s rocks for my young botanists,” said Mrs. Porett + to Angelina: “you know the flower is so like a bee, that at first sight + you might easily mistake it.” Mrs. Porett, to convince Betty Williams that + she had no cause for fear, went on before her into the hall; but Betty + still hung back, crying— + </p> + <p> + “It is a pasket full of pees! I saw the pees with my own eyes.” + </p> + <p> + The noise she made excited the curiosity of the young ladies in the + dancing-room: they looked out to see what was the matter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ‘tis the wee-wee French prisoner boy, with the bee orchises for us—there, + I see him standing in the hall,” cried Clara Hope, and instantly she ran, + followed by several of her companions, into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “You see that they are not bees,” said Mrs. Porett to Betty Williams, as + she took several of the flowers in her hand. Betty, half convinced, yet + half afraid, moved a few steps into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “You have no cause for dread,” said Clara Hope; “poor boy, he has nought + in his basket that can hurt any body.” + </p> + <p> + Betty Williams’s heavy foot was now set upon the train of Clara’s gown, + and, as the young lady sprang forwards, her gown, which was of thin + muslin, was torn so as to excite the commiseration of all her young + companions. + </p> + <p> + “What a terrible rent! and her best gown!” said they. “Poor Clara Hope!” + </p> + <p> + “Pless us! peg pardon, miss!” cried the awkward, terrified Betty; “peg + pardon, miss!” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon’s granted,” said Clara; and whilst her companions stretched out + her train, deploring the length and breadth of her misfortune, she went on + speaking to the little French boy. “Poor wee boy! ‘tis a sad thing to be + in a strange country, far away from one’s ane ane kin and happy hame—poor + wee thing,” said she, slipping some money into his hand. + </p> + <p> + “What a heavenly countenance!” thought Angelina, as she looked at Clara + Hope: “Oh, that my Araminta may resemble her!” + </p> + <p> + “Plait il—take vat you vant—tank you,” said the little boy, + offering to Clara Hope his basket of flowers, and a small box of trinkets, + which he held in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s a many pretty toys—who’ll buy?” cried Clara, turning to her + companions. + </p> + <p> + The young ladies crowded round the box and the basket. + </p> + <p> + “Is he in distress?” said Angelina; “perhaps I can be of some use to him!” + and she put her hand into her pocket, to feel for her purse. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a very honest, industrious little boy,” said Mrs. Porett, “and he + supports his parents by his active ingenuity.” + </p> + <p> + “And, Louis, is your father sick still?” continued Clara Hope to the poor + boy. + </p> + <p> + “Bien malade! bien malade! very sick! very sick!” said he. The unaffected + language of real feeling and benevolence is easily understood, and is + never ridiculous; even in the broken English of little Louis, and the + broad Scotch tone of Clara, it was both intelligible and agreeable. + </p> + <p> + Angelina had been for some time past feeling in her pocket for her purse. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis gone—certainly gone!” she exclaimed: “I’ve lost it! lost my + purse! Betty, do you know any thing of it? I had it at Mrs. Plait’s!—What + shall I do for this poor little fellow?—This trinket is of gold!” + said she, taking from her neck a locket—“Here, my little fellow, I + have no money to give you, take this—nay, you must, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Tanks! tanks! bread for my poor fader! joy! joy!—too much joy! too + much!” + </p> + <p> + “You see you were wrong to laugh at her,” whispered Clara Hope to her + companions: “I liked her lukes from the first.” + </p> + <p> + Natural feeling, at this moment, so entirely occupied and satisfied + Angelina, that she forgot her sensibility for her unknown friend; and it + was not till one of the children observed the lock of hair in her locket + that she recollected her accustomed cant of—“<i>Oh, my Araminta! my + amiable Araminta!</i> could I part with that hair, more precious than + gold?” + </p> + <p> + “Pless us!” said Betty; “put, if she has lost her purse, who shall pay for + the coach, and what will become of our tinners?” + </p> + <p> + Angelina silenced Betty Williams with peremptory dignity. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porett, who was a good and sensible woman, and who had been + interested for our heroine, by her good-nature to the little French boy, + followed Miss Warwick as she left the room. “Let me detain you but for a + few minutes,” said she, opening the door of a little study. “You have + nothing to fear from any impertinent curiosity on my part; but, perhaps, I + may be of some assistance to you.”—Miss Warwick could not refuse to + be detained a few minutes by so friendly a voice. + </p> + <p> + “Madam, you have mentioned the name of Araminta several times since you + came into this house,” said Mrs. Porett, with something of embarrassment + in her manner, for she was afraid of appearing impertinent. “I know, or at + least I knew, a lady who writes under that name, and whose real name is + Hodges.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a thousand, thousand thanks!” cried Angelina: “tell me, where can I + find her?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you acquainted with her? You seem to be a stranger, young lady, in + Bristol. Are you acquainted with Miss Hodges’s <i>whole</i> history?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, her <i>whole</i> history; every feeling of her soul; every thought + of her mind!” cried Angelina, with enthusiasm. “We have corresponded for + two years past.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porett smiled. “It is not always possible,” said she, “to judge of + ladies by their letters. I am not inclined to believe <i>above half</i> + what the world says, according to Lord Chesterfield’s allowance for + scandalous stories; but it may be necessary to warn you, as you seem very + young, that—” + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” cried Angelina, “young as I am, I know that superior genius and + virtue are the inevitable objects of scandal. It is in vain to detain me + further.” + </p> + <p> + “I am truly sorry for it,” said Mrs. Porett; “but, perhaps, you will allow + me to tell you, that—” + </p> + <p> + “No, not a word; not a word more will I hear,” cried our heroine; and she + hurried out of the house, and threw herself into the coach. Mrs. Porett + contrived, however, to make Betty Williams hear, that the most probable + means of gaining any intelligence of Miss Hodges, would be to inquire for + her at the shop of Mr. Beatson, who was her printer. To Mr. Beatson’s they + drove—though Betty professed that she was half unwilling to inquire + for Miss Hodges from any one whose name did not begin with a p, and end + with a t. + </p> + <p> + “What a pity it is,” said Mrs. Porett, when she returned to her pupils—“what + a pity it is that this young lady’s friends should permit her to go about + in a hackney-coach, with such a strange, vulgar servant girl as that! She + is too young to know how quickly, and often how severely, the world judges + by appearances. Miss Hope, now we talk of appearances, you forget that + your gown is torn, and you do not know, perhaps, that your friend, Lady + Frances Somerset—” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Frances Somerset!” cried Clara Hope—“I love to hear her very + name.” + </p> + <p> + “For which reason you interrupt me the moment I mention it—I have a + great mind not to tell you—that Lady Frances Somerset has invited + you to go to the play with her to-night:—‘The Merchant of Venice, + and the Adopted Child.’” + </p> + <p> + “Gude-natured Lady Frances Somerset, I’m sure an’ if Clara Hope had been + your adopted child twenty times over, you could not have been more kind to + her <i>nor</i> you have been.—No, not had she been your are + countrywoman, and of your are clan—and all for the same reasons that + make some neglect and look down upon her—because Clara is not meikle + rich, and is far away from her ane ane friends.—Gude Lady Frances + Somerset! Clara Hope luves you in her heart, and she’s as blythe wi’ the + thought o’ ganging to see you as if she were going to dear Inverary.” + </p> + <p> + It is a pity, for the sake of our story, that Miss Warwick did not stay a + few minutes longer at Mrs. Porett’s, that she might have heard this + eulogium on Lady Frances Somerset, and might have, a second time in one + day, discovered that she was on the very brink of meeting with the persons + she most dreaded to see; but, however temptingly romantic such an incident + would have been, we must, according to our duty as faithful historians, + deliver a plain unvarnished tale. + </p> + <p> + Miss Warwick arrived at Mr. Beatson’s, and as soon as she had pronounced + the name of Hodges, the printer called to his devil for a parcel of + advertisements, which he put into her hand; they were proposals for + printing by subscription a new novel—“The Sorrows of Araminta.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Araminta! my amiable Araminta! have I found you at last?—<i>The + Sorrows of Araminta, a novel, in nine volumes</i>—Oh, charming!—<i>together + with a tragedy on the same plan</i>—Delightful!—<i>Subscriptions + received at Joseph Beatson’s, printer and bookseller; and by Rachael + Hodges</i>—Odious name!—<i>at Mrs. Bertrand’s</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bartrand!</i>—There now <i>you</i>, do ye hear that? the lady + lives at Mrs. Bartrand’s: how will you make out now that Bartrand begins + with a p, and ends with a t, now?” said the hackney-coachman to Betty, who + was standing at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Pertrant! why,” cried Betty, “what would you have?” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! O silence!” said Miss Warwick; and she continued reading—“<i>Subscriptions + received at Mrs. Bertrand’s</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Pertrant, you hear, plockhead, you Irishman!” cried Betty Williams. + </p> + <p> + “Bartrand—you have no ears, Welshwoman as you are!” retorted Terence + O’Grady. + </p> + <p> + “Subscription two guineas, for the Sorrows of Araminta,” continued our + heroine; but, looking up, she saw Betty Williams and the hackney-coachman + making menacing faces and gestures at one another. + </p> + <p> + “Fight it out in the passage, for Heaven’s sake!” said Angelina; “if you + must fight, fight out of my sight.” + </p> + <p> + “For shame, before the young lady!” said Mr. Beatson, holding the + hackney-coachman: “have done disputing so loud.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve done, but she is wrong,” cried Terence. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve done, put he is wrong,” said Betty. + </p> + <p> + Terence was so much provoked by the Welshwoman, that he declared he would + not carry her a step further in his coach—that his <i>beasts</i> + were tired, and that he must be paid his fare, for that he neither could + nor would wait any longer. Betty Williams was desired by Angelina to pay + him. She hesitated; but after being assured by Miss Warwick that the debt + should be punctually discharged in a few hours, she acknowledged that she + had silver enough “in a little box at the bottom of her pocket;” and, + after much fumbling, she pulled out a snuff-box, which, she said, had been + given to her by her “creat crandmother.”—Whilst she was paying the + coachman, the printer’s devil observed one end of a piece of lace hanging + out of her pocket; she had, by accident, pulled it out along with the + snuff-box. + </p> + <p> + “And was this your great grandmother’s too?” said the printer’s devil, + taking hold of the lace. + </p> + <p> + Betty started. Angelina was busy, making inquiries from the printer, and + she did not see or hear what was passing close to her: the coachman was + intent upon the examination of his shillings. Betty, with great assurance, + reproved the printer’s devil for touching such lace with his plack + fingers. + </p> + <p> + “‘Twas not my Grandmother’s—‘tis the young lady’s,” said she: “let + it pe, pray—look how you have placked it, and marked it, with plack + fingers.” + </p> + <p> + She put the stolen lace hastily into her pocket, and immediately went out, + as Miss Warwick desired, to call another coach. + </p> + <p> + Before we follow our heroine to Mrs. Bertrand’s, we must beg leave to go, + and, if we can, to transport our readers with us, to Lady Frances + Somerset’s house, at Clifton. + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + “Well, how I am to get up this hill again, Heaven knows!” said Lady Diana + Chillingworth, who had been prevailed upon to walk down Clifton Hill to + the Wells. “Heigho! that sister of mine, Lady Frances, walks, and talks, + and laughs, and admires the beauties of nature till I’m half dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, indeed, Lady Frances Somerset, I must allow,” said Miss Burrage, “is + not the fittest companion in the world for a person of your ladyship’s + nerves; but then it is to be hoped that the glass of water which you have + just taken fresh at the pump will be of service, provided the racketing to + Bristol to the play don’t counteract it, and undo all again.” + </p> + <p> + “How I dread going into that Bristol playhouse!” said Miss Burrage to + herself—“some of my precious relations may be there to claim me. My + aunt Dinah—God bless her for a starched quaker—wouldn’t be + seen at a play, I’m sure—so she’s safe;—but the odious + sugar-baker’s daughters might be there, dizened out; and between the acts, + their great tall figures might rise in judgment against me—spy me + out—stare and curtsy—pop—pop—pop at me without + mercy, or bawl out across the benches, ‘Cousin Burrage! Cousin Burrage!’ + And Lady Diana Chillingworth to hear it!—oh, I should sink into the + earth.” + </p> + <p> + “What amusement,” continued Miss Burrage, addressing herself to Lady Di., + “what amusement Lady Frances Somerset can find at a Bristol playhouse, and + at this time of the year too, is to me really unaccountable.” + </p> + <p> + “I do suppose,” replied Lady Diana, “that my sister goes only to please + that child—(Clara Hope, I think they call her)—not to please + me, I’m sure;—but what is she doing all this time in the pump-room? + does she know we are waiting for her?—oh, here she comes.—Frances, + I am half dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Half dead, my dear! well, here is something to bring you to life again,” + said Lady Frances: “I do believe I have found out Miss Warwick.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure, my dear, <i>that</i> does not revive me—I’ve been almost + plagued to death with her already,” said Lady Diana. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no living in this world without plagues of some sort or other—but + the pleasure of doing good makes one forget them all: here, look at this + advertisement, my dear,” said Lady Frances: “a gentleman, whom I have just + met with in the pump-room, was reading it in the newspaper when I came in, + and a whole knot of scandal-mongers were settling who it could possibly + be. One snug little man, a Welsh curate, I believe, was certain it was the + bar-maid of an inn at Bath, who is said to have inveigled a young nobleman + into matrimony. I left the Welshman in the midst of a long story, about + his father and a young lady, who lost her shoe on the Welsh mountains, and + I ran away with the paper to bring it to you.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Diana received the paper with an air of reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “Was not I very fortunate to meet with it?” said Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “I protest I see no good fortune in the business, from beginning to end.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, because you are not come to the end yet—look—‘tis from + Mrs. Hoel, of the inn at Cardiffe, and by the date, she must have been + there last week.” + </p> + <p> + “Who—Mrs. Hoel?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Warwick, my dear—I beg pardon for my pronoun—but do read + this—eyes—hair—complexion—age—size—it + certainly must be Miss Warwick.” + </p> + <p> + “And what then?” said Lady Di, with provoking coldness, walking on towards + home. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, my dear, you know we can go to Cardiffe to-morrow morning, + find the poor girl, and, before any body knows any thing of the matter, + before her reputation is hurt, or you blamed, before any harm can happen, + convince the girl of her folly and imprudence, and bring her back to you + and common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “To common sense, and welcome, if you can; but not to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to you!—Nay; but, my dear, what will become of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay; but, my dear Frances, what will the world say?” + </p> + <p> + “Of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Of me.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Di., shall I tell you what the world would say?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Lady Frances, I’ll tell <i>you</i> what the world would say—that + Lady Diana Chillingworth’s house was an asylum for runaways.” + </p> + <p> + “An asylum for nonsense!—I beg your pardon, sister—but it + always provokes me to see a person afraid to do what they think right, + because, truly, ‘the world will say it is wrong.’ What signifies the + uneasiness we may suffer from the idle blame or tittle-tattle of the day, + compared with the happiness of a young girl’s whole life, which is at + stake?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lady Frances, that is spoken like yourself—I love you in my + heart—that’s right! that’s right!” thought Clara Hope. + </p> + <p> + Lady Diana fell back a few paces, that she might consult one whose advice + she always found agreeable to her own opinions. + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion,” whispered Miss Burrage to Lady Diana, “you are right, + quite right, to have nothing more to do with the <i>happiness</i> of a + young lady who has taken such a step.” + </p> + <p> + They were just leaving St. Vincent’s parade, when they heard the sound of + music upon the walk by the river side, and they saw a little boy there, + seated at the foot of a tree, playing on the guitar, and singing— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> + “J’ai quitté mon pays et mes amis,<br /> + Pour jouer de la guitare,<br /> + Qui va clin, clin, qui va clin, clin,<br /> + Qui va clin, clin, clin, clin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! my wee wee friend,” said Clara Hope, “are you here?—I was just + thinking of you, just wishing for you. By gude luck, have you the weeny + locket about you that the young lady gave you this morning?—the + weeny locket, my bonny boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Plait-il?” said little Louis. + </p> + <p> + “He <i>don’t</i> understand one word,” said Miss Burrage, laughing + sarcastically, “he don’t understand one word of all your <i>bonnys</i>, + and <i>wee wees</i> and <i>weenies</i>, Miss Hope; he, unfortunately, + don’t understand broad Scotch, and maybe he mayn’t be so great a + proficient as you are in <i>boarding-school</i> French; but I’ll try if he + can understand <i>me</i>, if you’ll tell me what you want.” + </p> + <p> + “Such a trinket as this,” said Clara, showing a locket which hung from her + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Ah oui—yes, I comprehend now,” cried the boy, taking from his + coat-pocket a small case of trinkets—“la voilà!—here is vat de + young lady did give me—good young lady!” said Louis, and he produced + the locket. + </p> + <p> + “I declare,” exclaimed Miss Burrage, catching hold of it, “‘tis Miss + Warwick’s locket! I’m sure of it—here’s the motto—I’ve read + it, and laughed at it twenty times—L’Amie Inconnue.” + </p> + <p> + “When I heard you all talking just now about that description of the young + lady in the newspaper, I cude not but fancy,” said Clara Hope, “that the + lady whom I saw this morning must be Miss Warwick.” + </p> + <p> + “Saw—where?” cried Lady Frances, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “At Bristol—at our academy—at Mrs. Porett’s,” said Clara; “but + mark me, she is not there now—I do not ken where she may be now.” + </p> + <p> + “Moi je sais!—I do know de demoiselle did stop in a coach at one + house; I was in de street—I can show you de house.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you so, my good little fellow? then let us begone directly,” said + Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll excuse me, sister,” said Lady Di. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse you!—<i>I</i> will, but <i>the world</i> will not. You’ll be + abused, sister, shockingly abused.” + </p> + <p> + This assertion made more impression upon Lady Di. Chillingworth than could + have been made either by argument or entreaty. + </p> + <p> + “One really does not know how to act—people take so much notice of + every thing that is said and done by persons of a certain rank: if you + think that I shall be so much abused—I absolutely do not know what + to say.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought,” interposed Miss Burrage, “that Lady Frances was going to + take you to the play to-night, Miss Hope?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never heed the play—never heed the play, or Clara Hope—never + heed taking me to the play: Lady Frances is going to do a better thing.—Come + on, my bonny boy,” said she to the little French boy, who was following + them. + </p> + <p> + We must now return to our heroine, whom we left on her way to Mrs. + Bertrand’s. Mrs. Bertrand kept a large confectionary and fruit shop in + Bristol. + </p> + <p> + “Please to walk through this way, ma’am—Miss Hodges is above stairs—she + shall be apprized directly—Jenny! run up stairs,” said Mrs. Bertrand + to her maid—“run up stairs, and tell Miss Hodges here’s a young lady + wants to see her in a great hurry—You’d best sit down, ma’am,” + continued Mrs. Bertrand to Angelina, “till the girl has been up with the + message.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Araminta! how my heart beats!” exclaimed Miss Warwick. + </p> + <p> + “How my mouth waters!” cried Betty Williams, looking round at the fruit + and confectionaries. + </p> + <p> + “Would you, ma’am, be pleased,” said Mrs. Bertrand, “to take a glass of + ice this warm evening? cream-ice, or water-ice, ma’am? pine-apple or + strawberry ice?” As she spoke, Mrs. Bertrand held a salver, covered with + ices, toward Miss Warwick: but, apparently, she thought that it was not + consistent with the delicacy of friendship to think of eating or drinking + when she was thus upon the eve of her first interview with her Araminta. + Betty Williams, who was of a different <i>nature</i> from our heroine, saw + the salver recede with excessive surprise and regret; she stretched out + her hand after it, and seized a glass of raspberry-ice; but no sooner had + she tasted it than she made a frightful face, and let the glass fall, + exclaiming— + </p> + <p> + “Pless us! ‘tis not as good as cooseherry fool.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bertrand next offered her a cheesecake, which Betty ate voraciously. + </p> + <p> + “She’s actually a female Sancho Panza!” thought Angelina: her own more + striking resemblance to the female Quixote never occurred to our heroine—so + blind are we to our own failings. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the young lady?” whispered the mistress of the fruit shop to Betty + Williams, whilst Miss Warwick was walking—we should say <i>pacing</i>—up + and down the room, in <i>anxious solicitude, and evident agitation</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Hur’s a young lady,” replied Betty, stopping to take a mouthful of + cheesecake between every member of her sentence, “a young lady—that + has—lost hur—” + </p> + <p> + “Her heart—so I thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Hur purse!” said Betty, with an accent, which showed that she thought + this the more serious loss of the two. + </p> + <p> + “Her purse!—that’s bad indeed:—you pay for your own cheesecake + and raspberry-ice, and for the glass that you broke,” said Mrs. Bertrand. + </p> + <p> + “Put hur has a great deal of money in hur trunk, I pelieve, at + Llanwaetur,” said Betty. + </p> + <p> + “Surely Miss Hodges does not know I am here,” cried Miss Warwick—“her + Angelina!” + </p> + <p> + “Ma’am, she’ll be down immediately, I do suppose,” said Mrs. Bertrand. + “What was it you pleased called for—angelica, ma’am, did you say? At + present we are quite out, I’m ashamed to say, of angelica, ma’am—Well, + child,” continued Mrs. Bertrand to her maid, who was at this moment seen + passing by the back door of the shop in great haste. + </p> + <p> + “Ma’am—anan,” said the maid, turning back her cap from off her ear. + </p> + <p> + “Anan! deaf doll! didn’t you hear me tell you to tell Miss Hodges a lady + wanted to speak to her in a great hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “No, mam,” replied the girl, who spoke in the broad Somersetshire dialect: + “I heard you zay, <i>up to Miss Hodges</i>; zoo I thought it was the + bottle o’brandy, and zoo I took alung with the tea-kettle—but I’ll + go up again now, and zay miss bes in a hurry, az she zays.” + </p> + <p> + “Brandy!” repeated Miss Warwick, on whom the word seemed to make a great + impression. + </p> + <p> + “Pranty, ay, pranty,” repeated Betty Williams—“our Miss Hodges + always takes pranty in her teas at Llanwaetur.” + </p> + <p> + “Brandy!—then she can’t be my Araminta.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the very same, and no other; you are quite right, ma’am,” said Mrs. + Bertrand, “if you mean the same that is publishing the novel, ma’am,—‘The + Sorrows of Araminta’—for the reason I know so much about it is, that + I take in the subscriptions, and distributed the <i>pur</i>posals.” + </p> + <p> + Angelina had scarcely time to believe or disbelieve what she heard, before + the maid returned, with “Mam, Mizz Hodges haz hur best love to you, mizz—and + please to walk up—There be two steps; please to have a care, or + you’ll break your neck.” + </p> + <p> + Before we introduce Angelina to her “unknown friend,” we must relate the + conversation which was actually passing between the amiable Araminta and + her Orlando, whilst Miss Warwick was waiting in the fruit shop. Our + readers will be so good as to picture to themselves a woman, with a face + and figure which seemed to have been intended for a man, with a voice and + gesture capable of setting even man, “imperial man,” at defiance—such + was Araminta. She was, at this time, sitting cross-legged in an arm-chair + at a tea-table, on which, beside the tea equipage, was a medley of things + of which no prudent tongue or pen would undertake to give a correct + inventory. At the feet of this fair lady, kneeling on one knee, was a + thin, subdued, simple-looking quaker, of the name of Nathaniel Gazabo. + </p> + <p> + “But now, Natty,” said Miss Hodges, in a voice more masculine than her + looks, “you understand the conditions—If I give you my hand, and + make you my husband, it is upon condition that you never contradict any of + my opinions: do you promise me that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yea, verily,” replied Nat. + </p> + <p> + “And you promise to leave me entirely at liberty to act, as well as to + think, in all things as my own independent understanding shall suggest?” + </p> + <p> + “Yea, verily,” was the man’s response. + </p> + <p> + “And you will be guided by me in all things?” + </p> + <p> + “Yea, verily.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will love and admire me all your life, as much as you do now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yea, verily.” + </p> + <p> + “Swear,” said the unconscionable woman. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, verily,” replied the meekest of men, “I cannot swear, my Rachel, + being a quaker; but I will affirm.” + </p> + <p> + “Swear, swear,” cried the lady, in an imperious tone, “or I will never be + your Araminta.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear,” said Nat Gazabo, in a timid voice. + </p> + <p> + “Then, Natty, I consent to be Mrs. Hodges Gazabo. Only remember always to + call me your dear Araminta.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Araminta! thus,” said he, embracing her, “thus let me thank thee, + my dear Araminta!” + </p> + <p> + It was in the midst of these thanks that the maid interrupted the + well-matched pair, with the news that a young lady was below, who was in a + great hurry to see Miss Hodges. + </p> + <p> + “Let her come,” said Miss Hodges; “I suppose it is only one of the Miss + Carvers—Don’t stir, Nat; it will vex her to see you kneeling to me—don’t + stir, I say—” + </p> + <p> + “Where is she? Where is my Araminta?” cried Miss Warwick, as the maid was + trying to open the outer passage-door for her, which had a bad lock. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, get up, Natty; and get some fresh water in the tea-kettle—quick!” + cried Miss Hodges, and she began to clear away some of the varieties of + literature, &c., which lay scattered about the room. Nat, in obedience + to her commands, was making his exit with all possible speed, when + Angelina entered, exclaiming— + </p> + <p> + “My amiable Araminta!—My unknown friend!” + </p> + <p> + “My Angelina!—My charming Angelina!” cried Miss Hodges. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hodges was not the sort of person our heroine expected to see;—and + to conceal the panic, with which the first sight of her unknown friend + struck her disappointed imagination, she turned back to listen to the + apologies which Nat Gazabo was pouring forth about his awkwardness and the + tea-kettle. + </p> + <p> + “Turn, Angelina, ever dear!” cried Miss Hodges, with the tone and action + of a bad actress who is rehearsing an embrace—“Turn, Angelina, ever + dear!—thus, thus let us meet, to part no more.” + </p> + <p> + “But her voice is so loud,” said Angelina to herself, “and her looks so + vulgar, and there is such a smell of brandy!—How unlike the elegant + delicacy I had expected in my unknown friend!” Miss Warwick involuntarily + shrunk from the stifling embrace. + </p> + <p> + “You are overpowered, my Angelina—lean on me,” said her Araminta. + </p> + <p> + Nat Gazabo re-entered with the tea-kettle— + </p> + <p> + “Here’s <i>boiling</i> water, and we’ll have fresh tea in a trice—the + young lady’s over-tired, seemingly—Here’s a chair, miss, here’s a + chair,” cried Nat. Miss Warwick <i>sunk</i> upon the chair: Miss Hodges + seated herself beside her, continuing to address her in a theatrical tone. + </p> + <p> + “This moment is bliss unutterable! my kind, my noble-minded Angelina, thus + to leave all your friends for your Araminta!”—Suddenly changing her + voice—“Set the tea-kettle, Nat!” + </p> + <p> + “Who is this Nat, I wonder?” thought Miss Warwick. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and tell me,” said Miss Hodges, whose attention was awkwardly + divided between the ceremonies of making tea and making speeches—“and + tell me, my Angelina—That’s water enough, Nat—and tell me, my + Angelina, how did you find me out?” + </p> + <p> + “With some difficulty, indeed, <i>my Araminta</i>.” Miss Warwick could + hardly pronounce the words. + </p> + <p> + “So kind, so noble-minded,” continued Miss Hodges—“and did you + receive my last letter—three sheets?—And how did you contrive—Stoop + the kettle, <i>do</i>, Nat.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this odious Nat! how I wish she would send him away!” thought Miss + Warwick. + </p> + <p> + “And tell me, my Araminta—my Angelina I mean—how did you + contrive your elopement—and how did you escape from the eye of your + aristocratic Argus—how did you escape from all your unfeeling + persecutors?—Tell me, tell me all your adventures, my Angelina!—Butter + the toast, Nat,” said Miss Hodges who was cutting bread and butter, which + she did not do with the celebrated grace of Charlotte, in the Sorrows of + Werter. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you all, my Araminta,” whispered Miss Warwick, “when we are by + ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind Nat,” whispered Miss Hodges. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t you tell him,” rejoined Miss Warwick, “that he need not wait any + longer?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Wait</i>, my dear! why, what do you take him for?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, is not he your footman?” whispered Angelina. + </p> + <p> + “My footman!—Nat!” exclaimed Miss Hodges, bursting out a laughing, + “my Angelina took you for my footman.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! what is he?” said Angelina, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Verily,” said Nat Gazabo, with a sort of bashful simple laugh, “verily, I + am the humblest of her servants.” + </p> + <p> + “And does my Angelina—spare my delicacy,” said Miss Hodges—“does + my Angelina not remember, in any of my long letters, the name of—Orlando!—There + he stands.” + </p> + <p> + “Orlando!—Is this gentleman your Orlando, of whom I have heard so + much?” + </p> + <p> + “He! he! he!” simpered Nat. “I am Orlando, of whom you have heard so much; + and she—(pointing to Miss Hodges)—she is, to-morrow morning, + God willing, to be Mistress Hodges Gazabo.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hodges Gazabo, my Araminta!” said Angelina, with astonishment, which + she could not suppress. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Angelina: so end ‘The Sorrows of Araminta’—Another cup?—do + I make the tea too sweet?” said Miss Hodges, whilst Nat handed the bread + and butter to the ladies officiously. + </p> + <p> + “The man looks like a fool,” thought Miss Warwick. + </p> + <p> + “Set down the bread and butter, and be quiet, Nat—Then, as soon as + the wedding is over, we fly, my Angelina, to our charming cottage in + Wales:—there may we bid defiance to the storms of fate— + </p> + <p class="poem"> + “‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot.’” + </p> + <p> + “That,” said Angelina, “‘is the blameless vestal’s lot:’—but you + forget that you are to be married, my Araminta; and you forget that, in + your letter of three folio sheets, you said not one word to me of this + intended marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my dear, blame me not for a want of confidence, that my heart + disclaims,” said Miss Hodges: “from the context of my letters, you must + have suspected the progress my Orlando had made in my affections; but, + indeed, I should not have brought myself to decide apparently so + precipitately, had it not been for the opposition, the persecution of my + friends—I was determined to show them that I know, and can assert, + my right to think and act, upon all occasions, for myself.” + </p> + <p> + Longer, much longer, Miss Hodges, spoke in the most peremptory voice; but + whilst she was declaiming on her favourite topic, her Angelina was + “revolving in her altered mind” the strange things which she had seen and + heard in the course of the last half-hour; every thing appeared to her in + a new light; when she compared the conversation and conduct of Miss Hodges + with the sentimental letters of her Araminta; when she compared Orlando in + description to Orlando in reality, she could scarcely believe her senses: + accustomed as she had been to elegance of manners, the vulgarity and + awkwardness of Miss Hodges shocked and disgusted her beyond measure. The + disorder, and—for the words must be said—slatternly dirty + appearance of her Araminta’s dress, and of every thing in her apartment, + were such as would have made a hell of heaven; and the idea of spending + her life in a cottage with Mrs. Hodges Gazabo and Nat overwhelmed our + heroine with the double fear of wretchedness and ridicule. + </p> + <p> + “Another cup of tea, my Angelina?” said Miss Hodges, when she had finished + her tirade against her persecutors, that is to say, her friends, “another + cup, my Angelina?—do, after your journey and fatigue, take another + cup.” + </p> + <p> + “No more, I thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then reach me that tragedy, Nat—you know—” + </p> + <p> + “Your own tragedy, is it, my dear?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Nat, now! you never can keep a secret,” said Miss Hodges. “I wanted + to have surprised my Angelina.” + </p> + <p> + “I am surprised!” thought Angelina—“oh, how much surprised!” + </p> + <p> + “I have a motto for our cottage here somewhere,” said Miss Hodges, turning + over the leaves of her tragedy—“but I’ll keep that till to-morrow—since + to-morrow’s the day sacred to love and friendship.” + </p> + <p> + Nat, by way of showing his joy in a becoming manner, rubbed his hands, and + hummed a tune. His mistress frowned, and bit her lips; but the signals + were lost upon him, and he sung out, in an exulting tone— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> + “When the lads of the village so merrily, ah!<br /> + Sound their tabours, I’ll hand thee along.” + </p> + + <p> + “Fool! Dolt! Idiot!” cried his Araminta, rising furious—“out of my + sight!” Then, sinking down upon the chair, she burst into tears, and threw + herself into the arms of her pale, astonished Angelina. “Oh, my Angelina!” + she exclaimed, “I am the most ill-matched! most unfortunate! most wretched + of women!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be <i>frighted</i>, miss,” said Nat; “she’ll come <i>to</i> again + presently—‘tis only <i>her way</i>.” As he spoke, he poured out a + bumper of brandy, and kneeling, presented it to his mistress. “‘Tis the + only thing in life does her good,” continued he, “in this sort of fits.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens, what a scene!” said Miss Warwick to herself—“and the woman + so heavy, I can scarce support her weight—and is this <i>my unknown + friend?</i>” + </p> + <p> + How long Miss Hodges would willingly have continued to sob upon Miss + Warwick’s shoulder, or how long that shoulder could possibly have + sustained her weight, is a mixed problem in physics and metaphysics, which + must for ever remain unsolved: but suddenly a loud scream was heard. Miss + Hodges started up—the door was thrown open, and Betty Williams + rushed in, crying loudly—“Oh, shave me! shave me! for the love of + Cot, shave me, miss!” and, pushing by the swain, who held the unfinished + glass of brandy in his hand, she threw herself on her knees at the feet of + Angelina. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious me!” exclaimed Nat, “whatever you are, you need not push one + so.” + </p> + <p> + “What now, Betty Williams? is the wench mad or drunk?” cried Miss Hodges. + </p> + <p> + “We are to have a mad scene next, I suppose,” said Miss Warwick, calmly—“I + am prepared for every thing, after what I have seen.” + </p> + <p> + Betty Williams continued crying bitterly, and wringing her hands—“Oh, + shave me this once, miss! ‘tis the first thing of the kind I ever tid, + inteet, inteet! Oh, shave me this once—I tid not know it was worth + so much as a shilling, and that I could be hanged, inteet—and I—” + </p> + <p> + Here Betty was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Puffit, the milliner, + the printer’s devil, and a stern-looking man, to whom Mrs. Puffit, as she + came in, said, pointing to Betty Williams and Miss Warwick, “There they + are—do your duty, Mr. Constable: I’ll swear to my lace.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ll swear to my black thumbs,” said the printer’s devil. + </p> + <p> + “I saw the lace hanging out of her pocket, and there’s the marks of my + fingers upon it, Mr. Constable.” + </p> + <p> + “Fellow!” cried Miss Hodges, taking the constable by the arm, “this is my + apartment, into which no minion of the law has a right to enter; for, in + England, every man’s house is his castle.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that as well as you do, <i>madam!</i>” said the constable; “but I + make it a principle to do nothing without a warrant: here’s my warrant.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shave me! the lace is hers inteet!” cried Betty Williams, pointing to + Miss Warwick. “Oh, miss is my mistress inteet—” + </p> + <p> + “Come, mistress or miss, then, you’ll be pleased to come along with me,” + said the constable, seizing hold of Angelina—“like mistress, like + maid.” + </p> + <p> + “Villain! unfeeling villain! oh, unhand my Angelina, or I shall die! I + shall die!” exclaimed Araminta, falling into the arms of Nat Gazabo, who + immediately held the replenished glass of brandy to her lips—“Oh, my + Angelina, my Angelina!” + </p> + <p> + Struck with horror at her situation, Miss Warwick shrunk from the grasp of + the constable, and leaned motionless on the back of a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my angel, as they call you, I think—the lady there has brandy + enough, if you want spirits—all the fits and faintings in + Christendom won’t serve you now. I’m used to the tricks o’ the trade.—The + law must take its course; and if you can’t walk, I must carry you.” + </p> + <p> + “Touch me at your peril! I am innocent,” said Angelina. + </p> + <p> + “Innocent—innocence itself! pure, spotless, injured innocence!” + cried Miss Hodges. “I shall die! I shall die! I shall die on the spot! + barbarous, barbarous villain!” + </p> + <p> + Whilst Miss Hodges spoke, the ready Nat poured out a fresh glass of that + restorative, which he always had ready for cases of life and death; and + she screamed and sipped, and sipped and screamed, as the constable took up + Angelina in his arms, and carried her towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Innocence,” said the man, “you shall see whom you shall see.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Puffit opened the door; and, to the utter astonishment of every body + present, Lady Diana Chillingworth entered the room, followed by Lady + Frances Somerset and Mrs. Bertrand. The constable set down Angelina. Miss + Hodges set down the glass of brandy. Mrs. Puffit curtsied. Betty Williams + stretched out her arms to Lady Diana, crying, “Shave me! shave me this + once!” Miss Warwick hid her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Only my Valenciennes lace, that has been found in that girl’s pocket, and—” + said Mrs. Puffit. + </p> + <p> + Lady Diana Chillingworth turned away with indescribable haughtiness, and, + addressing herself to her sister, said, “Lady Frances Somerset, you would + not, I presume, have Lady Diana Chillingworth lend her countenance to such + a scene as this—I hope, sister, that you are satisfied now.” As she + said these words, her ladyship walked out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Never was further from being satisfied in my life,” said Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “If you look at this, my lady,” said the constable, holding out the lace, + “you’ll soon be satisfied as to what sort of a young lady <i>that</i> is.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you mistake the young lady,” said Mrs. Bertrand, and she whispered to + the constable. “Come away: you may be sure you’ll be satisfied—we + shall all be satisfied, handsomely, all in good time. Don’t let the <i>delinquency</i> + there on her knees,” added she aloud, pointing to Betty Williams—“don’t + let the <i>delinquency</i> there on her knees escape.” + </p> + <p> + “Come along, mistress,” said the constable, pulling up Betty Williams from + her knees. “But I say the law must have its course, if I am not + satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am confident,” said Mrs. Puffit, the milliner, “we shall all be + satisfied, no doubt; but Lady Di. Chillingworth knows my Valenciennes + lace, and Miss Burrage too, for they did me this morning the honour—” + </p> + <p> + “Will you do me the favour,” interrupted Lady Frances Somerset, “to leave + us, good Mrs. Puffit, for the present? Here is some mistake—the less + noise we make about it the better. You shall be satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, your ladyship—I’m sure, I’m confident—I shan’t utter + another syllable—nor never would have articulated a syllable about + the lace (though Valenciennes, and worth thirty guineas, if it is worth a + farthing), had I had the least intimacy or suspicion the young lady was + your la’ship’s protégée. I shan’t, at any rate, utter another syllable.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Puffit, having glibly run off this speech, left the room, and carried + in her train the constable and Betty Williams, the printer’s devil, and + Mrs. Bertrand, the woman of the house. + </p> + <p> + Miss Warwick, whose confusion during this whole scene was excessive, stood + without power to speak or move. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, they are gone!” said Lady Frances; and she went to Angelina, + and taking her hands gently from before her face, said, in a soothing + tone, “Miss Warwick, your friend, Lady Frances Somerset, you cannot think + that she suspects—” + </p> + <p> + “La, dear, no!” cried Nat Gazabo, who had now sufficiently recovered from + his fright and amazement to be able to speak: “Dear heart! who could go + for to suspect such a thing? but they made such a bustle and noise, they + quite flabbergasted me, so <i>many</i> on them in this small room. Please + to sit down, my lady.—Is there any thing I can do?” + </p> + <p> + “If you could have the goodness, sir, to leave us for a few minutes,” said + Lady Frances, in a polite, persuasive manner—“you could have the + goodness, sir, to leave us for a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Nat, who was not <i>always</i> spoken to by so gentle a voice, smiled, + bowed, and was retiring, when Miss Hodges came forward with an air of + defiance: “Aristocratic insolence!” exclaimed she: “Stop, Nat—stir + not a foot, at your peril, at the word of command of any of the privileged + orders upon earth—stir not a foot, at your peril, at the behest of + any titled <i>She</i> in the universe!—Madam, or my lady—or by + whatever other name more high, more low, you choose to be addressed—this + is my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Very probably, madam,” said Lady Frances, with an easy calmness, which + provoked Miss Hodges to a louder tone of indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Stir not a foot, at your peril, Nat,” cried she. “I will defend him, I + say, madam, against every shadow, every penumbra of aristocratic + insolence.” + </p> + <p> + “As you and he think proper, madam,” replied Lady Frances. “‘Tis easy to + defend the gentleman against shadows.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Hodges marched up and down the room with her arms folded. Nat stood + stock still. + </p> + <p> + “The woman,” whispered Lady Frances to Miss Warwick, “is either mad or + drunk—or both; at all events we shall be better in another room.” As + she spoke, she drew Miss Warwick’s arm within hers.—“Will you allow + aristocratic insolence to pass by you, sir?” said she to Nat Gazabo, who + stood like a statue in the doorway—he edged himself aside. + </p> + <p> + “And is this your independence of soul, my Angelina?” cried Araminta, + setting her back to the door, so as effectually to prevent her from + passing—“and is this your independence of soul, my Angelina—thus, + thus tamely to submit, to resign yourself again to your unfeeling, proud, + prejudiced, intellect-lacking persecutors?” + </p> + <p> + “This lady is my <i>friend</i>, madam,” said Angelina, in as firm and + tranquil a tone as she could command, for she was quite terrified by her + Araminta’s violence. + </p> + <p> + “Take your choice, my dear; stay or follow me, as you think best,” said + Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “Your friend!” pursued the oratorical lady, detaining Miss Warwick with a + heavy hand: “Do you feel the force of the word? <i>Can</i> you feel it, as + I once thought you could? Your friend! am not <i>I</i> your friend, your + best friend, my Angelina? your own Araminta, your amiable Araminta, your + <i>unknown friend?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “My <i>unknown</i> friend, indeed!” said Angelina. Miss Hodges let go her + struggling hand, and Miss Warwick that instant followed Lady Frances, who, + having effected her retreat, had by this time gained the staircase. + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” cried Miss Hodges; “then never will I see or speak to her more. + Thus I whistle her off, and let her down the wind to prey at fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Gracious heart! what quarrels,” said Nat, “and doings, the night before + our wedding-day!” + </p> + <p> + We leave this well-matched pair to their happy prospects of conjugal union + and equality. + </p> + <p> + Lady Frances, who perceived that Miss Warwick was scarcely able to support + herself, led her to a sofa, which she luckily saw through the half-open + door of a drawing-room, at the head of the staircase. + </p> + <p> + “To be taken for a thief!—Oh, to what have I exposed myself!” said + Miss Warwick. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, my dear, now we are in a room where we need not fear + interruption—sit down, and don’t tremble like an aspen leaf,” said + Lady Frances Somerset, who saw that at this moment, reproaches would have + been equally unnecessary and cruel. + </p> + <p> + Unused to be treated with judicious kindness, Angelina’s heart was deeply + touched by it, and she opened her whole mind to Lady Frances, with the + frankness of a young person conscious of her own folly, not desirous to + apologize or extenuate, but anxious to regain the esteem of a friend. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, my dear, it was, as you say, rather foolish to set out in + quest of an <i>unknown friend</i>,” said Lady Frances, after listening to + the confessions of Angelina. “And why, after all, was it necessary to have + an elopement?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, madam, I am sensible of my folly—I had long formed a project of + living in a cottage in Wales—and Miss Burrage described Wales to me + as a terrestrial paradise.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Burrage! then why did she not go to paradise along with you?” said + Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—she was was so much attached to Lady Di. + Chillingworth, she said, she could never think of leaving her: she charged + me never to mention the cottage scheme to Lady Di., who would only laugh + at it. Indeed, Lady Di. was almost always out whilst we were in London, or + dressing, or at cards, and I could seldom speak to her, especially about + cottages; and I wished for a friend, to whom I could open my whole heart, + and whom I could love and esteem, and who should have the same tastes and + notions with myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry that last condition is part of your definition of a friend,” + said Lady Frances, smiling; “for I will not swear that my notions are the + same as yours, but yet I think you would have found me as good a friend as + this Araminta of yours. Was it necessary to perfect felicity to have an <i>unknown + friend</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there was my mistake,” said Miss Warwick. “I had read Araminta’s + writings, and they speak so charmingly of friendship and felicity, that I + thought + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Those best can paint them who can feel them most.’” +</p> + + <p> + “No uncommon mistake,” said Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “But I am fully sensible of my folly,” said Angelina. + </p> + <p> + “Then there is no occasion to say any more about it at present—to-morrow, + as you like romances, we’ll read Arabella, or the Female Quixote; and you + shall tell me which, of all your acquaintance, the heroine resembles most. + And in the mean time, as you seem to have satisfied your curiosity about + your <i>unknown friend</i>, will you come home with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, madam,” said Angelina, with emotion, “your goodness—” + </p> + <p> + “But we have not time to talk of my goodness yet—stay—let me + see—yes, it will be best that it should be known that you are with + us as soon as possible—for there is a thing, my dear, of which, + perhaps, you are not fully sensible—of which you are too young to be + fully sensible—that, to people who have nothing to do or to say, + scandal is a necessary luxury of life; and that, by such a step as you + have taken, you have given room enough for scandal-mongers to make you and + your friends completely miserable.” + </p> + <p> + Angelina burst into tears—though a sentimental lady, she had not yet + acquired the art of <i>bursting into tears</i> upon every trifling + occasion. Hers were tears of real feeling. Lady Frances was glad to see + that she had made a sufficient impression upon her mind; but she assured + Angelina that she did not intend to torment her with useless lectures and + reproaches. Lady Frances Somerset understood the art of giving advice + rather better than Lady Diana Chillingworth. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> do not mean, my dear,” said Lady Frances, “to make you miserable + for life—but I mean to make an impression upon you that may make you + prudent and happy for life. So don’t cry till you make your eyes so red as + not to be fit to be seen at the play to-night, where they must—positively—be + seen.” + </p> + <p> + “But Lady Diana is below,” said Miss Warwick: “I am ashamed and afraid to + see her again.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be difficult, but I hope not impossible, to convince my sister,” + said Lady Frances, “that you clearly understand that you have been a + simpleton; but that a simpleton of sixteen is more an object of mercy than + a simpleton of sixty—so my verdict is—Guilty;—but + recommended to mercy.” + </p> + <p> + By this mercy Angelina was more touched than she could have been by the + most severe reproaches. + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + Whilst the preceding conversation was passing, Lady Diana Chillingworth + was in Mrs. Bertrand’s fruit-shop, occupied with her smelling-bottle and + Miss Burrage. Clara Hope was there also, and Mrs. Puffit, the milliner, + and Mrs. Bertrand, who was assuring her ladyship that not a word of the + affair about the young lady and the lace should go out of her house. + </p> + <p> + “Your la’ship need not be in the least uneasy,” said Mrs. Bertrand, “for I + have satisfied the constable, and satisfied every body; and the constable + allows Miss Warwick’s name was not mentioned in the warrant; and as to the + servant girl, she’s gone before the magistrate, who, of course, will send + her to the house of correction; but that will no ways implicate the young + lady, and nothing shall transpire from this house detrimental to the young + lady, who is under your la’ship’s protection. And I’ll tell your la’ship + how Mrs. Puffit and I have settled to tell the story: with your ladyship’s + approbation, I shall say—” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, if you please,” said her ladyship, with more than her usual + haughtiness. “The young lady to whom you allude is under Lady Frances + Somerset’s protection, not mine; and whatever you do or say, I beg that in + this affair the name of Lady Diana Chillingworth may not be used.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her back upon the disconcerted milliner as she finished this + speech, and walked to the furthest end of the long room, followed by the + constant flatterer of all her humours, Miss Burrage. + </p> + <p> + The milliner and Mrs. Bertrand now began to console themselves for the + mortification they had received from her ladyship’s pride, and for the + insolent forgetfulness of her companion, by abusing them both in a low + voice. Mrs. Bertrand began with, “Her ladyship’s so touchy and so proud; + she’s as high as the moon, and higher.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all the Chillingworths, by all accounts, are so,” said Mrs. Puffit; + “but then, to be sure, they have a right to be so if any body has, for + they certainly are real high-horn people. But I can’t tolerate to see some + people, that aren’t no ways born nor entitled to it, give themselves such + airs as some people do. Now, there’s that Miss Burrage, that pretends not + to know me, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “And me, ma’am,—just the same: such provoking assurance—I that + knew her from this high.” + </p> + <p> + “On St. Augustin’s Back, you know,” said Mrs. Puffit. + </p> + <p> + “On St. Augustin’s Back, you know,” echoed Mrs. Bertrand. + </p> + <p> + “So I told her this morning, ma’am,” said Mrs. Puffit. + </p> + <p> + “And so I told her this evening, ma’am, when the three Miss Herrings came + in to give me a call in their way to the play; girls that she used to walk + with, ma’am, for ever and ever in the green, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and that she was always glad to drink tea with, ma’am, when asked, + you know,” said Mrs. Puffit. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ma’am,” pursued Mrs. Bertrand, “here she had the impudence to + pretend not to know them. She takes up her glass—my Lady Di. herself + couldn’t have done it better, and squeezes up her ugly face this way, + pretending to be near-sighted, though she can see as well as you or I + can.” + </p> + <p> + “Such airs! <i>she</i> near-sighted!” said Mrs. Puffit: “what will the + world come to!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wish her pride may have a fall,” resumed the provoked milliner, as + soon as she had breath. “I dare to say now she wouldn’t know her own + relations if she was to meet them; I’d lay any wager she would not + vouchsafe a curtsy to that good old John Barker, the friend of her father, + you know, who gave up to this Miss Burrage I don’t know how many hundreds + of pounds, that were due to him, or else miss wouldn’t have had a farthing + in the world; yet now, I’ll be bound, she’d forget this as well as St. + Augustin’s Back, and wouldn’t know John Barker from Abraham; and I don’t + doubt that she’d pull out her glass at her aunt Dinah, because she is a + cheesemonger’s widow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” said Mrs. Bertrand, “she couldn’t have the baseness to be + near-sighted to good Dinah Plait, that bred her up, and was all in all to + her.” + </p> + <p> + Just as Mrs. Bertrand finished speaking, into the fruit-shop walked the + very persons of whom she had been talking—Dinah Plait and Mr. + Barker. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Dinah Plait, I declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Bertrand. + </p> + <p> + “I never was so glad to see you, Mrs. Plait and Mr. Barker, in all my + days,” said Mrs. Puffit. + </p> + <p> + “Why you should be so particularly glad to see me, Mrs. Puffit, I don’t + know,” said Mr. Barker, laughing; “but I’m not surprised Dinah Plait + should be a welcome guest wherever she goes, especially with a purse full + of guineas in her hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Friend Bertrand,” said Dinah Plait, producing a purse which she held + under her cloak, “I am come to restore this purse to its rightful owner: + after a great deal of trouble, John Barker (who never thinks it a trouble + to do good) hath traced her to your house.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a young lady here, to be sure,” said Mrs. Bertrand, “but you + can’t see her just at present, for she is talking on <i>petticlar</i> + business with my Lady Frances Somerset above stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Tis well,” said Dinah Plait: “I would willingly restore this purse, not + to the young creature herself, but to some of her friends,—for I + fear she is not quite in a right state of mind. If I could see any of the + young lady’s friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Burrage,” cried Mrs. Bertrand, in a tone of voice so loud that she + could not avoid hearing it, “are not you one of the young lady’s friends?” + </p> + <p> + “What young lady’s friend?” replied Miss Burrage, without stirring from + her seat. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Burrage, here’s a purse for a young lady,” said Mrs. Puffit. + </p> + <p> + “A purse for whom? Where?” said Miss Burrage, at last deigning to rise, + and come out of her recess. + </p> + <p> + “There, ma’am,” said the milliner. “Now for her glass!” whispered Mrs. + Puffit to Mrs. Bertrand. And, exactly as it had been predicted, Miss + Burrage eyed her aunt Dinah through her glass, pretending not to know her. + “The purse is not mine,” said she, coolly: “I know nothing of it—nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Hetty!” exclaimed her aunt; but as Miss Burrage still eyed her through + her glass with unmoved invincible assurance, Dinah thought that, however + strong the resemblance, she was mistaken. “No, it can’t be Hetty. I beg + pardon, madam,” said she, “but I took you for—Did not I hear you say + the name of Burrage, friend Puffit?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Burrage; one of the Burrages of Dorsetshire,” said the milliner, + with malicious archness. + </p> + <p> + “One of the Burrages of Dorsetshire: I beg pardon. But did you ever see + such a likeness, friend Barker, to my poor niece, Hetty Burrage?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Burrage, who overheard these words, immediately turned her back upon + her aunt. “A grotesque statue of starch,—one of your quakers, I + think, they call themselves: Bristol is full of such primitive figures,” + said Miss Burrage to Clara Hope, and she walked back to the recess and to + Lady Di. + </p> + <p> + “So like, voice and all, to my poor Hester,” said Dinah Plait, and she + wiped the tears from her eyes. “Though Hetty has neglected me so of late, + I have a tenderness for her; we cannot but have some for our own + relations.” + </p> + <p> + “Grotesque or not, ‘tis a statue that seems to have a heart, and a gude + one,” said Clara Hope. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we could say the same of every body,” said Mrs. Bertrand. + </p> + <p> + All this time, old Mr. Barker, leaning on his cane, had been silent: + “Burrage of Dorsetshire!” said he; “I’ll soon see whether she be or no; + for Hetty has a wart on her chin that I cannot forget, let her forget whom + and what she pleases.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Barker, who was a plain-spoken, determined man, followed the young + lady to the recess; and, after looking her full in the face, exclaimed in + a loud voice, “Here’s the wart!—‘tis Hetty!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!—wart!—man!—Lady Di.!” cried Miss Burrage, in + accents of the utmost distress and vexation. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Barker, regardless of her frowns and struggles, would by no means + relinquish her hand; but leading, or rather pulling her forwards, he went + on with barbarous steadiness: “Dinah,” said he, “‘tis your own niece. + Hetty, ‘tis your own aunt, that bred you up! What, struggle—Burrage + of Dorsetshire!” + </p> + <p> + “There certainly,” said Lady Diana Chillingworth, in a solemn tone, “is a + conspiracy, this night, against my poor nerves. These people, amongst + them, will infallibly surprise me to death. What is the matter now?—why + do you drag the young lady, sir? She came here with <i>me</i>, sir,—with + Lady Diana Chillingworth; and, consequently, she is not a person to be + insulted.” + </p> + <p> + “Insult her!” said Mr. Barker, whose sturdy simplicity was not to be + baffled or disconcerted either by the cunning of Miss Burrage, or by the + imposing manner and awful name of Lady Diana Chillingworth. “Insult her! + why, ‘tis she insults us; she won’t know us.” + </p> + <p> + “How should Miss Burrage know you, sir, or any body here?” said Lady + Diana, looking round, as if upon beings of a species different from her + own. + </p> + <p> + “How should she know her own aunt that bred her up?” said the invincible + John Barker, “and me who have had her on my knee a hundred times, giving + her barley-sugar till she was sick?” + </p> + <p> + “Sick! I am sure you make me sick,” said Lady Diana. “Sir, that young lady + is one of the Burrages of Dorsetshire, as good a family as any in + England.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said John Barker, replying in a solemnity of tone equal to her + ladyship’s, “that young lady is one of the Burrages of Bristol, + drysalters; niece to Dinah Plait, who is widow to a man, who was, in his + time, as honest a cheesemonger as any in England.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Burrage!—My God!—don’t you speak!” cried Lady Diana, in + a voice of terror. + </p> + <p> + “The young lady is bashful, my lady, among strangers,” said Mrs. Bertrand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hester Burrage, is this kind of thee?” said Dinah Plait, with in + accent of mixed sorrow and affection; “but thou art my niece, and I + forgive thee.” + </p> + <p> + “A cheesemonger’s niece!” cried Lady Diana, with horror; “how have I been + deceived! But this is the consequence of making acquaintance at Buxton, + and those watering-places: I’ve done with her, however. Lord bless me! + here comes my sister, Lady Frances! Good heavens! my dear,” continued her + ladyship, going to meet her sister, and drawing her into the recess at the + farthest end of the room, “here are more misfortunes—misfortunes + without end. What will the world say? Here’s this Miss Burrage,—take + no more notice of her, sister; she’s an impostor; who do you think she + turns out to be? Daughter to a drysalter, niece to a cheesemonger! Only + conceive!—a person that has been going about with <i>me</i> every + where!—What will the world say?” + </p> + <p> + “That it is very imprudent to have <i>unknown friends</i>, my dear,” + replied Lady Frances. “The best thing you can possibly do is to say + nothing about the matter, and to receive this penitent ward of yours + without reproaches; for if you talk of her <i>unknown friends</i>, the + world will certainly talk of yours.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Diana drew back with haughtiness when her sister offered to put Miss + Warwick’s hands into hers; but she condescended to say, after an apparent + struggle with herself, “I am happy to hear, Miss Warwick, that you have + returned to your senses. Lady Frances takes you under her protection, I + understand; at which, for all our sakes, I rejoice; and I have only one + piece of advice, Miss Warwick, to give you—” + </p> + <p> + “Keep it till after the play, my dear Diana,” whispered Lady Frances; “it + will have more effect.” + </p> + <p> + “The play!—Bless me!” said Lady Diana, “why, you have contrived to + make Miss Warwick fit to be seen, I protest. But, after all I have gone + through to-night, how can I appear in public? My dear, this Miss Burrage’s + business has given me such a shock,—such nervous affections!” + </p> + <p> + “Nervous affections!—Some people, I do believe, have none but + nervous affections,” thought Lady Frances. + </p> + <p> + “Permit me,” said Mrs. Dinah Plait, coming up to Lady Frances, and + presenting Miss Warwick’s purse—“permit me, as thou seemest to be a + friend to this young lady, to restore to thee her purse, which she left by + mistake at my house this forenoon. I hope she is better, poor thing!” + </p> + <p> + “She <i>is</i> better, and I thank you for her, madam,” said Lady Frances, + who was struck with the obliging manner and benevolent countenance of + Dinah Plait, and who did not think herself contaminated by standing in the + same room with the widow of a cheesemonger. + </p> + <p> + “Let me thank you myself, madam,” said Angelina; “I am perfectly in my + senses <i>now</i>, I can assure you; and I shall never forget the kindness + which you and this benevolent gentleman showed me when you thought I was + in real distress.” + </p> + <p> + “Some people are more grateful than other people,” said Mrs. Puffit, + looking at Miss Burrage, who in mortified, sullen silence, followed the + aunt and the benefactor of whom she was ashamed, and who had reason to be + ashamed of her. + </p> + <p> + We do not imagine that our readers can be much interested for a young lady + who was such a compound of pride and meanness; we shall therefore only + add, that her future life was spent on St. Augustin’s Back, where she made + herself at once as ridiculous and as unhappy as she deserved to be. + </p> + <p> + As for our heroine, under the friendly and judicious care of Lady Frances + Somerset, she acquired that which is more useful to the possessor than + genius—good sense. Instead of rambling over the world in search of + an <i>unknown friend</i>, she attached herself to those of whose worth she + received proofs more convincing than a letter of three folio sheets, + stuffed with sentimental nonsense. In short, we have now, in the name of + Angelina Warwick, the pleasure to assure all those whom it may concern, + that it is possible for a young lady of sixteen to cure herself of the + affectation of sensibility, and the folly of romance. + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS + </h2> + <p> + Among the sufferers during the bloody reign of Robespierre, was Mad. de + Rosier, a lady of good family, excellent understanding, and most amiable + character. Her husband, and her only son, a promising young man of about + fourteen, were dragged to the horrid prison of the Conciergerie, and their + names, soon afterward, appeared in the list of those who fell a sacrifice + to the tyrant’s cruelty. By the assistance of a faithful domestic, Mad. de + Rosier, who was destined to be the next victim, escaped from France, and + took refuge in England—England!—that generous country, which, + in favour of the unfortunate, forgets her national prejudices, and to + whom, in their utmost need, even her “<i>natural enemies</i>” fly for + protection. English travellers have sometimes been accused of forgetting + the civilities which they receive in foreign countries; but their conduct + towards the French emigrants has sufficiently demonstrated the injustice + of this reproach. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier had reason to be pleased by the delicacy of several + families of distinction in London, who offered her their services under + the name of gratitude; but she was incapable of encroaching upon the + kindness of her friends. Misfortune had not extinguished the energy of her + mind, and she still possessed the power of maintaining herself honourably + by her own exertions. Her character and her abilities being well known, + she easily procured recommendations as a preceptress. Many ladies + anxiously desired to engage such a governess for their children, but Mrs. + Harcourt had the good fortune to obtain the preference. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt was a widow, who had been a very fine woman, and continued + to be a very fine lady; she had good abilities, but, as she lived in a + constant round of dissipation, she had not time to cultivate her + understanding, or to attend to the education of her family; and she had + satisfied her conscience by procuring for her daughters a fashionable + governess and expensive masters. The governess whose place Mad. de Rosier + was now to supply, had quitted her pupils, to go abroad with a lady of + quality, and Mrs. Harcourt knew enough of the world to bear her loss + without emotion;—she, however, stayed at home one whole evening, to + receive Mad. de Rosier, and to introduce her to her pupils. Mrs. Harcourt + had three daughters and a son—Isabella, Matilda, Favoretta, and + Herbert. Isabella was about fourteen; her countenance was intelligent, but + rather too expressive of confidence in her own capacity, for she had, from + her infancy, been taught to believe that she was a genius. Her memory had + been too much cultivated; she had learned languages with facility, and had + been taught to set a very high value upon her knowledge of history and + chronology. Her temper had been hurt by flattery, yet she was capable of + feeling all the generous passions. + </p> + <p> + Matilda was a year younger than Isabella; she was handsome, but her + countenance, at first view, gave the idea of hopeless indolence; she did + not learn the French and Italian irregular verbs by rote as expeditiously + as her sister, and her impatient preceptress pronounced, with an + irrevocable nod, that Miss Matilda was <i>no</i> genius. The phrase was + quickly caught by her masters, so that Matilda, undervalued even by her + sister, lost all confidence in herself, and with the hope of success, lost + the wish for exertion. Her attention gradually turned to dress and + personal accomplishments; not that she was vain of her beauty, but she had + more hopes of pleasing by the graces of her person than of her mind. The + timid, anxious blush, which Mad. De Rosier observed to vary in Matilda’s + countenance, when she spoke to those for whom she felt affection, + convinced this lady that, if Matilda were <i>no</i> genius, it must have + been the fault of her education. On sensibility, all that is called + genius, perhaps, originally depends: those who are capable of feeling a + strong degree of pain and pleasure may surely be excited to great and + persevering exertion, by calling the proper motives into action. + </p> + <p> + Favoretta, the youngest daughter, was about six years old. At this age, + the habits that constitute character are not formed, and it is, therefore, + absurd to speak of the character of a child six years old. Favoretta had + been, from her birth, the plaything of her mother and of her mother’s + waiting-maid. She was always produced, when Mrs. Harcourt had company, to + be admired and caressed by the fashionable circle; her ringlets and her + lively nonsense were the never-failing means of attracting attention from + visitors. In the drawing-room, Favoretta, consequently, was happy, always + in high spirits, and the picture of good humour; but, change the scene, + and Favoretta no longer appeared the same person: when alone, she was idle + and spiritless; when with her maid or with her brother and sisters, + pettish and capricious. Her usual play-fellow was Herbert, but their plays + regularly ended in quarrels—quarrels in which both parties were + commonly in the wrong, though the whole of the blame necessarily fell upon + Herbert, for Herbert was neither caressing nor caressed. Mrs. Grace, the + waiting-maid, pronounced him to be the plague of her life, and prophesied + evil of him, because, as she averred, if she combed his hair a hundred + times a day, it would never be fit to be seen; besides this, she declared + “there was no managing to keep him out of mischief,” and he was so + “thick-headed at his book,” that Mrs. Grace, on whom the task of teaching + him his alphabet had, during the negligent reign of the late governess, + devolved, affirmed that he never would learn to read like any other young + gentleman. Whether the zeal of Mrs. Grace for his literary progress were + of service to his understanding, may be doubted; there could be no doubt + of its effect upon his temper; a sullen gloom overspread Herbert’s + countenance, whenever the shrill call of “Come and say your task, Master + Herbert!” was heard; and the continual use of the imperative mood—“Let + that alone, <i>do</i>, Master Herbert!”—“Don’t make a racket, Master + Herbert!”—“Do hold your tongue and sit still where I bid you, Master + Herbert!” operated so powerfully upon this young gentleman, that, at eight + years old, he partly fulfilled his tormentor’s prophecies, for he became a + little surly rebel, who took pleasure in doing exactly the contrary to + every thing that he was desired to do, and who took pride in opposing his + powers of endurance to the force of punishment. His situation was scarcely + more agreeable in the drawing-room than in the nursery, for his mother + usually announced him to the company by the appropriate appellation of <i>Roughhead</i>; + and Herbert <i>Roughhead</i> being assailed, at his entrance into the + room, by a variety of petty reproaches and maternal witticisms upon his + uncouth appearance, became bashful and awkward, averse from <i>polite</i> + society, and prone to the less fastidious company of servants in the + stable and the kitchen. Mrs. Harcourt absolutely forbade his intercourse + with the postilions, though she did not think it necessary to be so strict + in her injunctions as to the butler and footman; because, argued she, + “children will get to the servants when one’s from home, and it is best + that they should be with such of them as one can trust. Now Stephen is + quite a person one can entirely depend upon, and he has been so long in + the family, the children are quite used to him, and safe with him.” + </p> + <p> + How many mothers have a Stephen, on whom they can entirely depend! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt, with politeness, which in this instance supplied the place + of good sense, invested Mad. de Rosier with full powers, as the + preceptress of her children, except as to their religious education; she + stipulated that Catholic tenets should not be instilled into them. To this + Mad. de Rosier replied—“that children usually follow the religion of + their parents, and that proselytes seldom do honour to their conversion; + that were she, on the other hand, to attempt to promote her pupils’ belief + in the religion of their country, her utmost powers could add nothing to + the force of public religious instruction, and to the arguments of those + books which are necessarily put into the hands of every well-educated + person.” + </p> + <p> + With these opinions, Mad. de Rosier readily promised to abstain from all + direct or indirect interference in the religious instruction of her + pupils. Mrs. Harcourt then introduced her to them as “a friend, in whom + she had entire confidence, and whom she hoped and believed they would make + it their study to please.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst the ceremonies of the introduction were going on, Herbert kept + himself aloof, and, with his whip suspended over the stick on which he was + riding, eyed Mad. de Rosier with no friendly aspect: however, when she + held out her hand to him, and when he heard the encouraging tone of her + voice, he approached, held his whip fast in his right hand, but very + cordially gave the lady his left to shake. + </p> + <p> + “Are you to be my governess?” said he: “you won’t give me very long tasks, + will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Favoretta, my dear, what has detained you so long?” cried Mrs. Harcourt, + as the door opened, and as Favoretta, with her hair in nice order, was + ushered into the room by Mrs. Grace. The little girl ran up to Mad. de + Rosier, and, with the most caressing freedom, cried,— + </p> + <p> + “Will you love me? I have not my red shoes on to-day!” + </p> + <p> + Whilst Mad. de Rosier assured Favoretta that the want of the red shoes + would not diminish her merit, Matilda whispered to Isabella—“Mourning + is very becoming to her, though she is not fair;” and Isabella, with a + look of absence, replied—“But she speaks English amazingly well for + a French woman.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier did speak English remarkably well; she had spent some years + in England, in her early youth, and, perhaps, the effect of her + conversation was heightened by an air of foreign novelty. As she was not + hackneyed in the common language of conversation, her ideas were expressed + in select and accurate terms, so that her thoughts appeared original, as + well as just. + </p> + <p> + Isabella, who was fond of talents, and yet fonder of novelty, was charmed, + the first evening, with her new friend, more especially as she perceived + that her abilities had not escaped Mad. de Rosier. She displayed all her + little treasures of literature, but was surprised to observe that, though + every shining thing she said was taken notice of, nothing dazzled the eyes + of her judge; gradually her desire to talk subsided, and she felt some + curiosity to hear. She experienced the new pleasure of conversing with a + person whom she perceived to be her superior in understanding, and whose + superiority she could admire, without any mixture of envy. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said she, pausing, one day, after having successfully enumerated + the dates of the reigns of all the English kings, “I suppose you have + something in French, like our Gray’s Memoria Technica, or else you never + could have such a prodigious quantity of dates in your head. Had you as + much knowledge of chronology and history, when you were of my age, as—as—” + </p> + <p> + “As you have?” said Mad. de Rosier: “I do not know whether I had at your + age, but I can assure you that I have not now.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” replied Isabella, with an incredulous smile, “but you only say that + from modesty.” + </p> + <p> + “From vanity, more likely.” + </p> + <p> + “Vanity! impossible—you don’t understand me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, but you do not understand <i>me</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “A person,” cried Isabella, “can’t, surely, be vain—what we, in + English, call vain—of <i>not</i> remembering any thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it, then, impossible that a person should be what you, in English, + call vain, of <i>not</i> remembering what is useless? I dare say you can + tell me the name of that wise man who prayed for the art of forgetting.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, I don’t know his name; I never heard of him before: was he a + Grecian, or a Roman, or an Englishman? can’t you recollect his name? what + does it begin with?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish either for your sake or my own, to remember the name; let + us content ourselves with the wise man’s sense, whether he were a Grecian, + a Roman, or an Englishman: even the first letter of his name might be left + among the useless things—might it not?” + </p> + <p> + “But,” replied Isabella, a little piqued, “I do not know what you call + useless.” + </p> + <p> + “Those of which you can make no use,” said Mad. de Rosier, with + simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean, though, all the names, and dates, and kings, and Roman + emperors, and all the remarkable events that I have learned by heart?” + </p> + <p> + “It is useful, I allow,” replied Mad. de Rosier, “to know by heart the + names of the English kings and Roman emperors, and to remember the dates + of their reigns, otherwise we should be obliged, whenever we wanted them, + to search in the books in which they are to be found, and that wastes + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Wastes time—yes; but what’s worse,” said Isabella, “a person looks + so awkward and foolish in company, who does not know these things—things + that every body knows.” + </p> + <p> + “And that every body is supposed to know,” added Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + “<i>That</i> never struck me before,” said Isabella, ingenuously; “I only + remembered these things to repeat in conversation.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mad. de Rosier, pleased to observe that her pupil had caught an idea + that was new to her, dropped the conversation, and left Isabella to apply + what had passed. Active and ingenious young people should have much left + to their own intelligent exertions, and to their own candour. + </p> + <p> + Matilda, the second daughter, was at first pleased with Mad. de Rosier, + because she looked well in mourning; and afterwards she became interested + for her, from hearing the history of her misfortunes, of which Mad. de + Rosier, one evening, gave her a simple, pathetic account. Matilda was + particularly touched by the account of the early death of this lady’s + beautiful and accomplished daughter; she dwelt upon every circumstance, + and, with anxious curiosity, asked a variety of questions. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can form a perfect idea of her now,” said Matilda, after she + had inquired concerning the colour of her hair, of her eyes, her + complexion, her height, her voice, her manners, and her dress—“I + think I have a perfect idea of her now!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” said Mad. de Rosier, with a sigh, “you cannot form a perfect idea + of my Rosalie from any of these things; she was handsome and graceful; but + it was not her person—it was her mind,” said the mother, with a + faltering voice: her voice had, till this instant, been steady and + composed. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon—I will ask you no more questions,” said Matilda. + </p> + <p> + “My love,” said Mad. de Rosier, “ask me as many as you please—I like + to think of <i>her</i>—I may now speak of her without vanity—her + character would have pleased you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure it would,” said Matilda: “do you think she would have liked me + or Isabella the best?” + </p> + <p> + “She would have liked each of you for your different good qualities, I + think: she would not have made her love an object of competition, or the + cause of jealousy between two sisters; she could make herself sufficiently + beloved, without stooping to any such mean arts. She had two friends who + loved her tenderly; they knew that she was perfectly sincere, and that she + would not flatter either of them—you know <i>that</i> is only + childish affection which is without esteem. Rosalie was esteemed <i>autant + qu’aimée</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “How I should have liked such a friend! but I am afraid she would have + been so much my superior, she would have despised me—Isabella would + have had all her conversation, because she knows so much, and I know + nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “If you know that you know nothing,” said Mad. de Rosier, with an + encouraging smile, “you know as much as the wisest of men. When the oracle + pronounced Socrates to be the wisest of men, he explained it by observing, + ‘that he knew himself to be ignorant, whilst other men,’ said he, + ‘believing that they know every thing, are not likely to improve.’” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think I am likely to improve?” said Matilda, with a look of + doubtful hope. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Mad. de Rosier: “if you exert yourself, you may be any + thing you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Not any thing I please, for I should please to be as clever, and as good, + and as amiable, and as estimable, too, as your Rosalie—but that’s + impossible. Tell me, however, what she was at my age—and what sort + of things she used to do and say—and what books she read—and + how she employed herself from morning till night.” + </p> + <p> + “That must be for to-morrow,” said Mad. de Rosier; “I must now show + Herbert the book of prints that he wanted to see.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time that Herbert had ever asked to look into a book. + Mad. de Rosier had taken him entirely out of the hands of Mrs. Grace, and + finding that his painful associations with the sight of the syllables in + his dog’s-eared spelling-book could not immediately be conquered, she + prudently resolved to cultivate his powers of attention upon other + subjects, and not to return to syllabic difficulties, until the young + gentleman should have forgotten his literary misfortunes, and acquired + sufficient energy and patience to ensure success. + </p> + <p> + “It is of little consequence,” said she, “whether the boy read a year + sooner or later; but it is of great consequence that he should love + literature.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Mrs. Harcourt, to whom this observation was addressed; + “I am sure you will manage all those things properly—I leave him + entirely to you—Grace quite gives him up: if he read by the time we + must think of sending him to school I shall be satisfied—only keep + him out of my way,” added she, laughing, “when he is stammering over that + unfortunate spelling-book, for I don’t pretend to be gifted with the + patience of Job.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any objection,” said Mad. de Rosier, “to my buying for him some + new toys?” + </p> + <p> + “None in the world—buy any thing you will—do any thing you + please—I give you carte blanche,” said Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + After Mad. de Rosier had been some time at Mrs. Harcourt’s, and had + carefully studied the characters, or, more properly speaking, the habits + of all her pupils, she took them with her one morning to a large toy-shop, + or rather warehouse for toys, which had been lately opened, under the + direction of an ingenious gentleman, who had employed proper workmen to + execute rational toys for the rising generation. + </p> + <p> + When Herbert entered “the rational toy-shop,” he looked all around, and, + with an air of disappointment, exclaimed, “Why, I see neither whips nor + horses! nor phaetons, nor coaches!”—“Nor dressed dolls!” said + Favoretta, in a reproachful tone—“nor baby houses!”—“Nor + soldiers—nor a drum!” continued Herbert.—“I am sure I never + saw such a toy-shop,” said Favoretta; “I expected the finest things that + ever were seen, because it was such a new <i>great</i> shop, and here are + nothing but vulgar-looking things—great carts and wheel-barrows, and + things fit for orange-women’s daughters, I think.” + </p> + <p> + This sally of wit was not admired as much as it would have been by + Favoretta’s flatterers in her mother’s drawing-room:—her brother + seized upon the very cart which she had abused, and dragging it about the + room, with noisy joy, declared he had found out that it was better than a + coach and six that would hold nothing; and he was even satisfied without + horses, because he reflected that he could be the best horse himself; and + that wooden horses, after all, cannot gallop, and they never mind if you + whip them ever so much: “you must drag them along all the time, though you + make <i>believe</i>,” said Herbert, “that they draw the coach of + themselves; if one gives them the least push, they tumble down on their + sides, and one must turn back, for ever and ever, to set them up upon + their wooden legs again. I don’t like make-believe horses; I had rather be + both man and horse for myself.” Then, whipping himself, he galloped away, + pleased with his centaur character. + </p> + <p> + When the little boy in Sacontala is offered for a plaything “<i>a peacock + of earthenware, painted with rich colours</i>,” he answers, “<i>I shall + like the peacock if it can run and fly—not else</i>.” The Indian + drama of Sacontala was written many centuries ago. Notwithstanding it has + so long been observed, that children dislike useless, motionless + playthings, it is but of late that more rational toys have been devised + for their amusements. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Herbert’s cart rolled on, Favoretta viewed it with scornful eyes; + but at length, cured by the neglect of the spectators of this fit of + disdain, she condescended to be pleased, and spied a few things worthy of + her notice. Bilboquets, battledores, and shuttlecocks, she acknowledged + were no bad things—“And pray,” said she, “what are those pretty + little baskets, Mad. de Rosier? And those others, which look as if they + were but just begun? And what are those strings, that look like mamma’s + bell cords?—and is that a thing for making laces, such as Grace + laces me with? And what are those cabinets with little drawers for?” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier had taken notice of these little cabinets—they were + for young mineralogists; she was also tempted by a botanical apparatus; + but as her pupils were not immediately going into the country, where + flowers could be procured, she was forced to content herself with such + things as could afford them employment in town. The making of baskets, of + bell-ropes, and of cords for window-curtains, were occupations in which, + she thought, they might successfully employ themselves. The materials for + these little manufactures were here ready prepared; and only such + difficulties were left as children love to conquer. The materials for the + baskets, and a little magnifying glass, which Favoretta wished to have, + were just packed up in a basket, which was to serve for a model, when + Herbert’s voice was heard at the other end of the shop: he was exclaiming + in an impatient tone, “I must and I will eat them, I say.” He had crept + under the counter, and, unperceived by the busy shopman, had dragged out + of a pigeon-hole, near the ground, a parcel, wrapped up in brown paper: he + had seated himself upon the ground, with his back to the company, and, + with patience worthy of a better object, at length untied the difficult + knot, pulled off the string, and opened the parcel. Within the brown paper + there appeared a number of little packets, curiously folded in paper of a + light brown. Herbert opened one of these, and finding that it contained a + number of little round things which looked like comfits, he raised the + paper to his mouth, which opened wide to receive them. The shopman + stopping his arm, assured him that they were “<i>not good to eat</i>;” but + Herbert replied in the angry tone, which caught Mad. de Rosier’s ear. + “They are the seeds of radishes, my dear,” said she: “if they be sown in + the ground, they will become radishes; then they will be fit to eat, but + not till then. Taste them now, and try.” He willingly obeyed; but put the + seeds very quickly out of his mouth, when he found that they were not + sweet. He then said “that he wished he might have them, that he might sow + them in the little garden behind his mother’s house, that they might be + fit to eat some time or other.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier bought the radish-seeds, and ordered a little spade, a hoe, + and a watering-pot, to be sent home for him. Herbert’s face brightened + with joy: he was surprised to find that any of his requests were granted, + because Grace had regularly reproved him for being troublesome whenever he + asked for any thing; hence he had learned to have recourse to force or + fraud to obtain his objects. He ventured now to hold Mad. De Rosier by the + gown: “Stay a little longer,” said he; “I want to look at every thing:” + his curiosity dilated with his hopes. When Mad. de Rosier complied with + his request to “stay a little longer,” he had even the politeness to push + a stool towards her, saying, “You’d better sit down; you will be tired of + standing, as some people say they are;—but I’m not one of them. Tell + ‘em to give me down that wonderful thing, that I may see what it is, will + you?” + </p> + <p> + The wonderful thing which had caught Herbert’s attention was a dry + printing press. Mad. de Rosier was glad to procure this little machine for + Herbert, for she hoped that the new associations of pleasure which he + would form with the types in the little compositor’s stick, would efface + the painful remembrance of his early difficulties with the syllables in + the spelling-book. She also purchased a box of models of common furniture, + which were made to take to pieces, and to be put together again, and on + which the names of all the parts were printed. A number of other useful + toys tempted her, but she determined not to be too profuse: she did not + wish to purchase the love of her little pupils by presents; her object was + to provide them with independent occupations; to create a taste for + industry, without the dangerous excitation of continual variety. + </p> + <p> + Isabella was delighted with the idea of filling up a small biographical + chart, which resembled Priestley’s; she was impatient also to draw the map + of the world upon a small silk balloon, which could be filled with common + air, or folded up flat at pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Matilda, after much hesitation, said she had decided in her mind, just as + they were going out of the shop. She chose a small loom for weaving riband + and tape, which Isabella admired, because she remembered to have seen it + described in “Townsend’s Travels:” but, before the man could put up the + loom for Matilda, she begged to have a little machine for drawing in + perspective, because the person who showed it assured her that it required + <i>no sort of genius</i> to draw perfectly well in perspective with this + instrument. + </p> + <p> + In their way home, Mad. de Rosier stopped the carriage at a circulating + library. “Are you going to ask for the novel we were talking of + yesterday?” cried Matilda. + </p> + <p> + “A novel!” said Isabella, contemptuously: “no, I dare say Mad. de Rosier + is not a novel-reader.” + </p> + <p> + “Zeluco, sir, if you please,” said Mad. de Rosier. “You see, Isabella, + notwithstanding the danger of forfeiting your good opinion, I have dared + to ask for a novel.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I always understood, I am sure,” replied Isabella, disdainfully, + “that none but trifling, silly people were novel-readers.” + </p> + <p> + “Were readers of trifling, silly novels, perhaps you mean,” answered Mad. + de Rosier, with temper; “but I flatter myself you will not find Zeluco + either trifling or silly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not Zeluco, to be sure,” said Isabella, recollecting herself; “for + now I remember Mr. Gibbon, the great historian, mentions Zeluco in one of + his letters; he says it is the best philosophical romance of the age. I + particularly remember <i>that</i>, because somebody had been talking of + Zeluco the very day I was reading that letter; and I asked my governess to + get it for me, but she said it was a novel—however, Mr. Gibbon calls + it a philosophical romance.” + </p> + <p> + “The name,” said Mad. de Rosier, “will not make such difference to <i>us</i>; + but I agree with you in thinking, that as people who cannot judge for + themselves are apt to be misled by names, it would be advantageous to + invent some new name for philosophical novels, that they may no longer be + contraband goods—that they may not be confounded with the trifling, + silly productions, for which you have so just a disdain.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, ma’am, will you ask,” cried Herbert, as the carriage stopped at his + mother’s door—“will you ask whether the man has brought home my + spade and the watering-pot? I know you don’t like that I should go to the + servants for what I want; but I’m in a great hurry for the spade, because + I want to dig the bed for my radishes before night: I’ve got my seeds safe + in my hand.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier, much pleased by this instance of obedience in her + impatient pupil, instantly inquired for what he wanted, to convince him + that it was possible he could have his wishes gratified by a person who + was not an inhabitant of the stable or the kitchen. Isabella might have + registered it in her list of remarkable events, that Herbert, this day, + was not seen with the butler, the footman, or the coachman. Mad. de + Rosier, who was aware of the force of habit, and who thought that no evil + could be greater than that of hazarding the integrity of her little + pupils, did not exact from them any promise of abstaining from the company + of the servants, with whom they had been accustomed to converse; but she + had provided the children with occupations, that they might not be + tempted, by idleness, to seek for improper companions; and, by interesting + herself with unaffected good-nature in their amusements, she endeavoured + to give them a taste for the sympathy of their superiors in knowledge, + instead of a desire for the flattery of inferiors. She arranged their + occupations in such a manner, that, without watching them every instant, + she might know what they were doing, and where they were; and she showed + so much readiness to procure for them any thing that was reasonable, that + they found it the shortest method to address their petitions to her in the + first instance. Children will necessarily delight in the company of those + who make them happy; Mad. de Rosier knew how to make her pupils contented, + by exciting them to employments in which they felt that they were + successful. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma! mamma! dear mamma!” cried Favoretta, running into the hall, and + stopping Mrs. Harcourt, who was dressed, and going out to dinner, “do come + into the parlour, to look at my basket, my beautiful basket, that I am + making <i>all</i> myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And <i>do</i>, mother, or some of ye, come out into the garden, and see + the bed that I’ve dug, with my own hands, for my radishes—I’m as hot + as fire, I know,” said Herbert, pushing his hat back from his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t come near me with the watering-pot in your hand,” said Mrs. + Harcourt, shrinking back, and looking at Herbert’s hands, which were not + as white as her own. + </p> + <p> + “The carriage is but just come to the door, ma’am,” said Isabella, who + next appeared in the hall; “I only want you for one instant, to show you + something that is to hang up in your dressing-room, when I have finished + it, mamma; it is really beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t keep me long,” said Mrs. Harcourt, “for, indeed, I am too + late already.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! indeed you will not be too late, mamma—only look at my + basket,” said Favoretta, gently pulling her mother by the hand into the + parlour.—Isabella pointed to her silk globe, which was suspended in + the window, and, taking up her camel-hair pencil, cried, “Only look, + ma’am, how nicely I have traced the Rhine, the Po, the Elbe, and the + Danube; you see I have not finished Europe; it will be quite another + looking thing, when Asia, Africa, and America are done, and when the + colours are quite dry.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Isabella, pray let her look at my basket,” cried the eager + Favoretta, holding up the scarcely begun basket—“I will do a row, to + show you how it is done;” and the little girl, with busy fingers, began to + weave. The ingenious and delicate appearance of the work, and the happy + countenance of the little workwoman, fixed the mother’s pleased attention, + and she, for a moment, forgot that her carriage was waiting. + </p> + <p> + “The carriage is at the door, ma’am,” said the footman. + </p> + <p> + “I must be gone!” cried Mrs. Harcourt, starting from her reverie. “What am + I doing here? I ought to have been away this half-hour—Matilda!—why + is not she amongst you?” + </p> + <p> + Matilda, apart from the busy company, was reading with so much + earnestness, that her mother called twice before she looked up. + </p> + <p> + “How happy you all look,” continued Mrs. Harcourt; “and I am going to one + of those terrible <i>great</i> dinners—I shan’t eat one morsel; then + cards all night, which I hate as much as you do, Isabella—pity me, + Mad. de Rosier!—Good bye, happy creatures!”—and with some real + and some affected reluctance, Mrs. Harcourt departed. + </p> + <p> + It is easy to make children happy, for one evening, with new toys and new + employments; but the difficulty is to continue the pleasure of occupation + after it has lost its novelty: the power of habit may well supply the + place of the charm of novelty. Mad. de Rosier exerted herself, for some + weeks, to invent occupations for her pupils, that she might induce in + their minds a love for industry; and when they had tasted the pleasure, + and formed the habit of doing <i>something</i>, she now and then suffered + them to experience the misery of having nothing to do. The state of <i>ennui</i>, + when contrasted with that of pleasurable mental or bodily activity, + becomes odious and insupportable to children. + </p> + <p> + Our readers must have remarked that Herbert, when he seized upon the + radish-seeds in the rational toy-shop, had not then learned just notions + of the nature of property. Mad. de Rosier did not, like Mrs. Grace, repeat + ineffectually, fifty times a day—“Master Herbert, don’t touch that!” + “Master Herbert, for shame!” “Let that alone, sir!” “Master Herbert, how + dare you, sir!” but she prudently began by putting forbidden goods + entirely out of his reach: thus she, at least, prevented the necessity for + perpetual, irritating prohibitions, and diminished with the temptation the + desire to disobey; she gave him some things for his <i>own</i> use, and + scrupulously refrained from encroaching upon his property: Isabella and + Matilda followed her example, in this respect, and thus practically + explained to Herbert the meaning of the words <i>mine</i> and <i>yours</i>. + He was extremely desirous of going with Mad. de Rosier to different shops, + but she coolly answered his entreaties by observing, “that she could not + venture to take him into any one’s house, till she was sure that he would + not meddle with what was not his own.” Herbert now felt the inconvenience + of his lawless habits: to enjoy the pleasures, he perceived that it was + necessary to submit to the duties of society; and he began to respect “<i>the + rights of things and persons</i>{1}.” When his new sense of right and + wrong had been sufficiently exercised at home, Mad. de Rosier ventured to + expose him to more dangerous trials abroad; she took him to a carpenter’s + workshop, and though the saw, the hammer, the chisel, the plane, and the + vice, assailed him in various forms of temptation, his powers of + forbearance came off victorious. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Blackstone} + </p> + <p> + “To <i>bear</i> and <i>forbear</i>” has been said to be the sum of manly + virtue: the virtue of forbearance in childhood must always be measured by + the pupil’s disposition to activity: a vivacious boy must often have + occasion to forbear more, in a quarter of an hour, than a dull, indolent + child in a quarter of a year. + </p> + <p> + “May I touch this?”—“May I meddle with that?” were questions which + our prudent hero now failed not to ask, before he meddled with the + property of others, and he found his advantage in this mode of proceeding. + He observed that his governess was, in this respect, as scrupulous as she + required that he should be, and he consequently believed in the truth and + <i>general</i> utility of her precepts. + </p> + <p> + The coachmaker’s, the cooper’s, the turner’s, the cabinet-maker’s, even + the black ironmonger’s and noisy tinman’s shop, afforded entertainment for + many a morning; a trifling gratuity often purchased much instruction, and + Mad. de Rosier always examined the countenance of the workman before she + suffered her little pupils to attack him with questions. The eager + curiosity of children is generally rather agreeable than tormenting to + tradesmen, who are not too busy to be benevolent; and the care which + Herbert took not to be troublesome pleased those to whom he addressed + himself. He was delighted, at the upholsterer’s, to observe that his + little models of furniture had taught him how several things were <i>put + together</i>, and he soon learned the workmen’s names for his ideas. He + readily understood the use of all that he saw, when he went to a + bookbinder’s, and to a printing-office, because, in his own printing and + bookbinder’s press, he had seen similar contrivances in miniature. + </p> + <p> + Prints, as well as models, were used to enlarge his ideas of visible + objects. Mad. de Rosier borrowed the Dictionnaire des Arts et des Métiers, + Buffon, and several books, which contained good prints of animals, + machines, and architecture; these provided amusement on rainy days. At + first she found it difficult to fix the attention of the boisterous + Herbert and the capricious Favoretta. Before they had half examined one + print, they wanted to turn over the leaf to see another; but this + desultory, impatient curiosity she endeavoured to cure by steadily showing + only one or two prints for each day’s amusement. Herbert, who could but + just spell words of one syllable, could not read what was written at the + bottom of the prints, and he was sometimes ashamed of applying to + Favoretta for assistance;—the names that were printed upon his + little models of furniture he at length learned to make out. The <i>press + was obliged to stand still</i> when Favoretta, or his friend, Mad. de + Rosier, were not at hand, to tell him, letter by letter, how to spell the + words that he wanted to print. He, one evening, went up to Mad. de Rosier, + and, with a resolute face, said, “I must learn to read.” + </p> + <p> + “If any body will be so good as to teach you, I suppose you mean,” said + she, smiling{2}. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Vide Rousseau.} + </p> + <p> + “Will <i>you</i> be so good?” said he: “perhaps you could teach me, though + Grace says ‘tis very difficult; I’ll do my best.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll do <i>my</i> best too,” said Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + The consequences of these good resolutions were surprising to Mrs. Grace. + Master Herbert was quite changed, she observed; and she wondered why he + would never read when she took so much pains with him for an hour every + day to hear him his task. “Madame de What d’ye call her,” added Mrs. + Grace, “need not boast much of the hand she has had in the business: for + I’ve been by at odd times, and watched her ways, whilst I have been + dressing Miss Favoretta, and she has been hearing you your task, Master + Herbert.” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t call it my task—I hate that word.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know what she calls it; for I don’t pretend to be a French + governess, for my part; but I can read English, Master Herbert, as well as + another; and it’s strange if I could not teach my mother tongue better + than an emigrant. What I say is, that she never takes much pains one way + or the other; for by the clock in mistress’s dressing-room, I minuted her + twice, and she was five minutes at one time, and not above seven the + other. Easy earning money for governesses, nowadays. No tasks!—no, + not she!—Nothing all day long but play—play—play, + laughing and running, and walking, and going to see all the shops and + sights, and going out in the coach to bring home radishes and + tongue-grass, to be sure—and every thing in the house is to be as + she pleases, to be sure. I am sure my mistress is too good to her, only + because she was born a lady, they say. Do, pray, Master Herbert, stand + still, whilst I comb your hair, unless that’s against your new governess’s + commandments.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll comb my own hair, Grace,” said Herbert, manfully. “I don’t like one + word you have been saying; though I don’t mind any thing you, or any body + else, can say against <i>my friend</i>. She is my friend—and she has + taught me to read, I say, without bouncing me about, and shaking me, and + Master Herbert<i>ing</i> me for ever. And what harm did it do the coach to + bring home my radishes? My radishes are come up, and she shall have some + of them. And I like the sights and shops she shows me;—but she does + not like that I should talk to you; therefore, I’ll say no more; but good + morning to you, Grace.” + </p> + <p> + Herbert, red with generous passion, rushed out of the room, and Grace, + pale with malicious rage, turned towards the other door that opened into + Mrs. Harcourt’s bedchamber, for Mad. de Rosier, at this moment, appeared.—“I + thought I heard a great noise?”—“It was only Master Herbert, ma’am, + that <i>won’t never</i> stand still to have his hair combed—and says + he’ll comb it for himself—I am sure I wish he would.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier saw, by the embarrassed manner and stifled choler of Mrs. + Grace, that the whole truth of the business had not been told, and she + repented her indiscretion in having left Herbert with her even for a few + minutes. She forbore, however, to question Herbert, who maintained a <i>dignified</i> + silence upon the subject; and the same species of silence would also + become the historian upon this occasion, were it not necessary that the + character of an intriguing lady’s maid should, for the sake both of + parents and children, be fully delineated. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grace, offended by Mad. de Rosier’s success in teaching her former + pupil to read; jealous of this lady’s favour with her mistress and with + the young ladies; irritated by the bold defiance of the indignant champion + who had stood forth in his <i>friend’s</i> defence, formed a <i>secret</i> + resolution to obtain revenge. This she imparted, the very same day, to her + confidant, Mrs. Rebecca. Mrs. Rebecca was the favourite maid of Mrs. + Fanshaw, an acquaintance of Mrs. Harcourt. Grace invited Mrs. Rebecca to + drink tea with her. As soon as the preliminary ceremonies of the tea-table + had been adjusted, she proceeded to state her grievances. + </p> + <p> + “In former times, as nobody knows better than you, Mrs. Rebecca, I had my + mistress’s ear, and was all in all in the house, with her and the young + ladies, and the old governess; and it was I that was to teach Master + Herbert to read; and Miss Favoretta was almost constantly from morning to + night, except when she was called for by company, with me, and a sweet + little well-dressed creature always, you know, she was.” + </p> + <p> + “A sweet little creature, indeed, ma’am, and I was wondering, before you + spoke, not to see her in your room, as usual, to-night,” replied Mrs. + Rebecca. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mrs. Rebecca, you need not wonder at that, or any thing else that’s + wonderful, in our present government above stairs, I’ll assure you; for we + have a new French governess, and new measures. Do you know, ma’am, the + coach is ordered to go about at all hours, whenever she pleases <i>for to</i> + take the young ladies out, and she is quite like my mistress. But no one + can bear two mistresses, you know, Mrs. Rebecca; wherefore, I’m come to a + resolution, in short, that either she or I shall quit the house, and we + shall presently see which of us it must be. Mrs. Harcourt, at the upshot + of all things, must be conscious, at the bottom of her heart, that, if she + is the elegantest dresser about town, it’s not all her own merit.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true indeed, Mrs. Grace,” replied her complaisant friend; “and what + sums of money her millinery might cost her, if she had no one clever at + making up things at home! You are blamed by many, let me tell you, for + doing so much as you do. Mrs. Private, the milliner, I know from the best + authority, is not your friend: now, for my part, I think it is no bad + thing to have friends <i>abroad</i>, if one comes to any difficulties at + home. Indeed, my dear, your attachment to Mrs. Harcourt quite blinds you—but, + to be sure, you know your own affairs best.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I am not for changing when I am well,” replied Grace: “Mrs. Harcourt + is abroad a great deal, and hers is, all things considered, a very + eligible house. Now, what I build my hopes upon, my dear Mrs. Rebecca, is + this—that ladies, like some people who have been beauties, and come + to <i>make themselves up</i>, and wear pearl powder, and false auburn + hair, and twenty things that are not to be advertised, you know, don’t + like quarrelling with those that are in the secret—and ladies who + have never made a <i>rout</i> about governesses and <i>edication</i>, till + lately, and now, perhaps, only for fashion’s sake, would upon a pinch—don’t + you think—rather part with a French governess, when there are so + many, than with a favourite maid who knows her ways, <i>and has</i> a good + taste in dress, which so few can boast?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, surely! surely!” said Mrs. Rebecca; and having tasted Mrs. Grace’s + crême-de-noyau, it was decided that war should be declared against <i>the + governess</i>. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier, happily unconscious of the machinations of her enemies, + and even unsuspicious of having any, was, during this important + conference, employed in reading Marmontel’s Silvain, with Isabella and + Matilda. They were extremely interested in this little play; and Mrs. + Harcourt, who came into the room whilst they were reading, actually sat + down on the sofa beside Isabella, and, putting her arm round her + daughter’s waist, said—“Go on, love; let me have a share in some of + your pleasures—lately, whenever I see you, you all look the picture + of happiness—Go on, pray, Mad. de Rosier.” + </p> + <p> + “It was I who was reading, mamma,” said Isabella, pointing to the place + over Mad. de Rosier’s shoulder— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +Une femme douce et sage<br /> +A toujours tant d’avantage!<br /> +Elle a pour elle en partage<br /> +L’agrément, et la raison.’” +</p> + + <p> + “Isabella,” said Mrs. Harcourt, from whom a scarcely audible sigh had + escaped—“Isabella really reads French almost as well as she does + English.” + </p> + <p> + “I am improved very much since I have heard Mad. de Rosier read,” said + Isabella. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t doubt <i>that</i>, in the least; you are, all of you, much + improved, I think, in every thing;—I am sure I feel very much + obliged to Mad. de Rosier.” + </p> + <p> + Matilda looked pleased by this speech of her mother, and affectionately + said, “I am glad, mamma, you like her as well as we do—Oh, I forgot + that Mad, de Rosier was by—but it is not flattery, however.” + </p> + <p> + “You see you have won all their hearts”—<i>from me</i>, Mrs. + Harcourt was near saying, but she paused, and, with a faint laugh, added—“yet + you see I am not jealous. Matilda! read those lines that your sister has + just read; I want to hear them again.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt sent for her work, and spent the evening at home. Mad. de + Rosier, without effort or affectation, dissipated the slight feeling of + jealousy which she observed in the mother’s mind, and directed towards her + the attention of her children, without disclaiming, however, the praise + that was justly her due. She was aware that she could not increase her + pupils’ real affection for their mother, by urging them to sentimental + hypocrisy. + </p> + <p> + Whether Mrs. Harcourt understood her conduct this evening, she could not + discover—for politeness does not always speak the unqualified + language of the heart—but she trusted to the effect of time, on + which persons of integrity may always securely rely for their reward. Mrs. + Harcourt gradually discovered that, as she became more interested in the + occupations and amusements of her children, they became more and more + grateful for her sympathy; she consequently grew fonder of domestic life, + and of the person who had introduced its pleasures into her family. + </p> + <p> + That we may not be accused of attributing any miraculous power to our + French governess, we shall explain the natural means by which she improved + her pupils. + </p> + <p> + We have already pointed out how she discouraged, in Isabella, the vain + desire to load her memory with historical and chronological facts, merely + for the purpose of ostentation. She gradually excited her to read books of + reasoning, and began with those in which reasoning and amusement are + mixed. She also endeavoured to cultivate her imagination, by giving her a + few well-chosen passages to read, from the best English, French, and + Italian poets. It was an easier task to direct the activity of Isabella’s + mind, than to excite Matilda’s dormant powers. Mad. de Rosier patiently + waited till she discovered something which seemed to please Matilda more + than usual. The first book that she appeared to like particularly was, + “Les Conversations d’Emilie:” one passage she read with great delight + aloud; and Mad. de Rosier, who perceived by the manner of reading it that + she completely understood the elegance of the French, begged her to try if + she could translate it into English: it was not more than half a page. + Matilda was not terrified at the length of such an undertaking: she + succeeded, and the praises that were bestowed upon her translation excited + in her mind some portion of ambition. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier took the greatest care in conversing with Matilda, to make + her feel her own powers: whenever she used good arguments, they were + immediately attended to; and when Matilda perceived that a prodigious + memory was not essential to success, she was inspired with courage to + converse unreservedly. + </p> + <p> + An accident pointed out to Mad. de Rosier another resource in Matilda’s + education. One day Herbert called his sister Matilda to look at an ant, + which was trying to crawl up a stick; he seemed scarcely able to carry his + large white load in his little forceps, and he frequently fell back, when + he had just reached the top of the stick. Mad. de Rosier, who knew how + much of the art of instruction depends upon seizing the proper moments to + introduce new ideas, asked Herbert whether he had ever heard of the poor + snail, who, like this ant, slipped back continually, as he was + endeavouring to climb a wall twenty feet high. + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of that snail; pray tell me the story,” cried Herbert. + </p> + <p> + “It is not a story—it is a question in arithmetic,” replied Mad. de + Rosier. “This snail was to crawl up a wall twenty feet high; he crawled up + five feet every day, and slipped back again four feet every night: in how + many days did he reach the top of the wall?” + </p> + <p> + “I love questions in arithmetic,” exclaimed Matilda, “when they are not + too difficult!” and immediately she whispered to Mad. de Rosier the answer + to this easy question. + </p> + <p> + Her exclamation was not lost;—Mad. de Rosier determined to cultivate + her talents for arithmetic. Without fatiguing Matilda’s attention by long + exercises in the common rules, she gave her questions which obliged her to + <i>think</i>, and which excited her to reason and to invent; she gradually + explained to her pupil the relations of numbers, and gave her rather more + clear ideas of the nature and use of the common rules of arithmetic than + she had acquired from her writing-master, who had taught them only in a + technical manner. Matilda’s confidence in herself was thus increased. When + she had answered a difficult question, she could not doubt that she had + succeeded; this was not a matter that admitted of the uncertainty which + alarms timid tempers. Mad. de Rosier began by asking her young + arithmetician questions only when they were by themselves—but by and + by she appealed to her before the rest of the family. Matilda coloured at + first, and looked as if she knew nothing of the business; but a distinct + answer was given at last, and Isabella’s opinions of her sister’s + abilities rose with amazing rapidity, when she heard that Matilda + understood decimal fractions. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my dear Matilda,” said Mad. de Rosier, “since you understand what + even Isabella thinks difficult, you will, I hope, have sufficient + confidence in yourself to attempt things which Isabella does not think + difficult.” + </p> + <p> + Matilda shook her head—“I am not Isabella yet,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Isabella, with generous, sincere warmth; “but you are much + superior to Isabella: I am certain that I could not answer those difficult + questions, though you think me so quick—and, when once you have + learned any thing, you never forget it; the ideas are not superficial,” + continued Isabella, turning to Mad. de Rosier; “they have depth, like the + pins in mosaic work.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier smiled at this allusion, and, encouraged by her smile, + Isabella’s active imagination immediately produced another simile. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know my sister’s abilities till lately—till you drew them + out, Mad. de Rosier, like your drawing upon the screen in sympathetic + inks;—when you first produced it, I looked, and said there was + nothing; and when I looked again, after you had held it to the fire for a + few moments, beautiful colours and figures appeared.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier, without using any artifice, succeeded in making Isabella + and Matilda friends, instead of rivals, by placing them, as much as + possible, in situations in which they could mutually sympathize, and by + discouraging all painful competition. + </p> + <p> + With Herbert and Favoretta she pursued a similar plan. She scarcely ever + left them alone together, that she might not run the hazard of their + quarrelling in her absence. At this age children have not sufficient + command of their tempers—they do not understand the nature of + society and of justice: the less they are left together, when they are of + unequal strength, and <i>when they have not any employments in which they + are mutually interested</i>, the better. Favoretta and Herbert’s petty, + but loud and violent disputes, had nearly ceased since these precautions + had been regularly attended to. As they had a great deal of amusement in + the few hours which they spent together, they grew fond of each other’s + company: when Herbert was out in his little garden, he was impatient for + the time when Favoretta was to come to visit his works; and Favoretta had + equal pleasure in exhibiting to her brother her various manufactures. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier used to hear them read in Mrs. Barbauld’s excellent little + books, and in “Evenings at Home;” she generally told them some interesting + story when they had finished reading, and they regularly seated + themselves, side by side, on the carpet, opposite to her. + </p> + <p> + One day Herbert established himself in what he called his “<i>happy corner</i>,” + Favoretta placed herself close beside him, and Mad. de Rosier read to them + that part of Sandford and Merton in which Squire Chace is represented + beating Harry Sandford unmercifully because he refused to tell which way + the hare was gone. Mad. de Rosier observed that this story made a great + impression upon Herbert, and she thought it a good opportunity, whilst his + mind was warm, to point out the difference between resolution and + obstinacy. Herbert had been formerly disposed to obstinacy; but this + defect in his temper never broke out towards Mad. de Rosier, because she + carefully avoided urging him to do those things to which she knew him to + be adverse; and she frequently desired him to do what she knew would be + agreeable to him: she thought it best to suffer him gradually to forget + his former bad habits and false associations, before she made any trial of + his obedience; then she endeavoured to give him new habits, by placing him + in new situations. She now resolved to address herself to his + understanding, which she perceived had opened to reason. + </p> + <p> + He exclaimed with admiration, upon hearing the account of Harry Sandford’s + fortitude, “That’s right!—that’s right!—I am glad Harry did + not tell that cruel Squire Chace which way the hare was gone. I like Harry + for bearing to be beaten, <i>rather than speak a word when he did not + choose it</i>. I love Harry, don’t you?” said he, appealing to Mad. de + Rosier. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I like him very much,” said Mad. de Rosier: “but not for the reason + that you have just given.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Herbert, starting up: “why, ma’am, don’t you like Harry for + saving the poor hare? don’t you admire him for bearing all the hard blows, + and for saying, when the man asked him afterward why he didn’t tell which + way the hare was gone, ‘Because I don’t choose to betray the + unfortunate?’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t you love him for that?” said Favoretta, rising from her seat; + “I think Herbert himself would have given just such an answer, only not in + such good words. I wonder, Mad. de Rosier, you don’t like that answer!” + </p> + <p> + “I have never said that I did not like that answer,” said Mad. de Rosier, + as soon as she was permitted to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Then you <i>do</i> like it? then you do like Harry?” exclaimed Herbert + and Favoretta, both at once. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I like that answer, Herbert; I like your friend Harry for saying + that he did not choose to betray the unfortunate. You did not do <i>him</i> + justice or yourself, when you said just now that you liked Harry because + he bore to be beaten rather than speak a word when he did not <i>choose it</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Herbert looked puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” continued Mad. de Rosier, “that, before I can determine whether + I like and admire any body for persisting in doing or in not doing any + thing, I must hear their reasons for their resolution. ‘I don’t choose + it,’ is no reason; I must hear their reasons for choosing or not choosing + it before I can judge.” + </p> + <p> + “And I have told you the reason Harry gave for not choosing to speak when + he was asked, and you said it was a good one; and you like him for his + courage, don’t you?” said Herbert. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mad. de Rosier; “those who are resolute, when they have good + reasons for their resolution, I admire; those who persist merely because + <i>they choose it</i>, and who cannot, or will not, tell why they choose + it, I despise.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, so do I!” said Favoretta: “you know, brother, whenever you say you + don’t choose it, I am always angry, and ask you why.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you were not <i>always</i> angry,” said Mad. de Rosier, “perhaps + <i>sometimes</i> your brother would tell you why.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that I should,” said Herbert; “I always have a good reason to give + Favoretta, though I don’t always choose to give it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Mad. de Rosier, “you cannot always expect your sister to + admire the justice of your decisions.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Herbert; “but when I don’t give her a reason, ‘tis generally + because it is not worth while. There can be no great wisdom, you know, in + resolutions about trifles: such as, whether she should be my horse or I + her horse, or whether I should water my radishes before breakfast or + after.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, you are right: there can be no great wisdom in resolutions + about such trifles, therefore wise people never are obstinate about + trifles.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” cried Herbert, after a pause, “they used, before you came, + to say that I was obstinate; but with you I have never been so, because + you know how to manage me; you manage me a great deal more <i>cunningly</i> + than Grace used to do.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not manage you more <i>cunningly</i> than Grace used to do, if I + could,” replied Mad. de Rosier; “for then I should manage you worse than + she did. It is no pleasure to me to govern you; I had much rather that you + should use your reason to govern yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Herbert pulled down his waistcoat, and, drawing up his head, looked with + conscious dignity at Favoretta. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” continued Mad. de Rosier, “that there are two ways of + governing people—by reason and by force. Those who have no reason, + or who do not use it, must be governed by force.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not one of those,” said Herbert; “for I hate force.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must also love reason,” said Mad. de Rosier, “if you would not be + <i>one of those</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so I do, when I hear it from <i>you</i>,” replied Herbert, bluntly; + “for you give me reasons that I can understand, when you ask me to do or + not to do any thing: I wish people would always do so.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Herbert,” said Mad. de Rosier, “you must sometimes be contented to + do as you are desired, even when I do not think it proper to give you my + reasons;—you will, hereafter, find that I have good ones.” + </p> + <p> + “I have found that already in a great many things,” said Herbert; + “especially about the caterpillar.” + </p> + <p> + “What about the caterpillar?” said Favoretta. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you remember,” said Herbert, “the day that I was going to tread + upon what I thought was a little bit of black stick, and <i>she</i> + desired me not to do it, and I did not, and afterwards I found out that it + was a caterpillar;—ever since that day I have been more ready, you + know,” continued he, turning to Mad. de Rosier, “to believe that you might + be in the right, and to do as you bid me—you don’t think me + obstinate, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + “No! no!—do you hear that, Favoretta?” cried Herbert joyfully: + “Grace used to say I was as obstinate as a mule, and she used to call me + an ass, too: but even poor asses are not obstinate when they are well + treated. Where is the ass, in the Cabinet of Quadrupeds, Favoretta, which + we were looking at the other day? Oh, let me read the account to you, Mad. + de Rosier. It is towards the middle of the book, Favoretta; let me look, I + can find it in a minute. It is not long—may I read it to you?” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier consented, and Herbert read as follows:—“Much has + been said of the stupid and stubborn disposition of the ass, but we are + greatly inclined to suspect that the aspersion is ill-founded: whatever + bad qualities of this kind he may sometimes possess, they do not appear to + be the consequences of any natural defect in his constitution or temper, + but arise from the manner used in training him, and the bad treatment he + receives. We are the rather led to this assertion, from having lately seen + one which experiences a very different kind of treatment from his master + than is the fate of the generality of asses. The humane owner of this + individual is an old man, whose employment is the selling of vegetables, + which he conveys from door to door on the back of his ass. He is + constantly baiting the poor creature with handfuls of hay, pieces of + bread, or greens, which he procures in his progress. It is with pleasure + we relate, for we have often curiously observed the old man’s demeanour + towards his ass, that he seldom carries any instrument of incitement with + him, nor did we ever see him lift his hand to drive it on. + </p> + <p> + “Upon our observing to him that he seemed to be very kind to his ass, and + inquiring whether he were apt to be stubborn, how long he had had him, + &c., he replied, ‘Ah, master, it is no use to be cruel, and as for + stubbornness, I cannot complain, for he is ready to do any thing, and will + go any where; I bred him myself, and have had him these two years: he is + sometimes skittish and playful, and once ran away from me: you will hardly + believe it, but there were more than fifty people after him to stop him, + and they were not able to effect it, yet he turned back of himself, and + never stopped till he run his head kindly into my breast.’ + </p> + <p> + “The countenance of this individual is open, lively, and cheerful; his + pace nimble and regular; and the only inducement used to make him increase + his speed is that of calling him by name, which he readily obeys.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not an ass,” said Herbert, laughing, as he finished this sentence, + “but I think Mad. de Rosier is very like the good old man, and I always + obey whenever she speaks to me. By the by,” continued Herbert, who now + seemed eager to recollect something by which he could show his readiness + to obey—“by the by, Grace told me that my mother desired I should go + to her, and have my hair combed every day; now I don’t like it, but I will + do it, because mamma desires it, and I will go this instant; will you come + and see how still I can stand? I will show you that I am not obstinate.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier followed the little hero, to witness his triumph <i>over + himself</i>. Grace happened to be with her mistress who was dressing. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, I am come to do as you bid me,” cried Herbert, walking stoutly + into the room: “Grace, here’s the comb;” and he turned to her the tangled + locks at the back of his head. She pulled unmercifully, but he stood + without moving a muscle of his countenance. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt, who saw in her looking-glass what was passing, turned + round, and said, “Gently, gently, Grace; indeed, Grace, you do pull that + poor boy’s hair as if you thought that his head had no feeling; I am sure, + if you were to pull my hair in that manner, I could not bear it so well.” + </p> + <p> + “Your hair!—Oh, dear ma’am, that’s quite another thing—but + Master Herbert’s is always in such a tangle, there’s no such thing as + managing it.” Again Mrs. Grace gave a desperate pull: Herbert bore it, + looked up at Mad. de Rosier, and said, “Now, that was resolution, not + obstinacy, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Here is your little obedient and patient boy,” said Mad. de Rosier, + leading Herbert to his mother, “who deserves to be rewarded with a kiss + from you.” + </p> + <p> + “That he shall have,” said Mrs. Harcourt; “but why does Grace pull your + hair so hard? and are not you almost able to comb your own hair?” + </p> + <p> + “Able! that I am. Oh, mother, I wish I might do it for myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And has Mad. de Rosier any objection to it?” said Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + “None in the least,” said Mad. de Rosier; “on the contrary, I wish that he + should do every thing that he can do for himself; but he told me that it + was your desire that he should apply to Mrs. Grace, and I was pleased to + see his ready obedience to your wishes: you may be very certain that, even + in the slightest trifles, as well as in matters of consequence, it is <i>our</i> + wish, as much as it is our duty, to do exactly as you desire.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear madame,” said Mrs. Harcourt, laying her hand upon Mad. de + Rosier’s, with an expression of real kindness, mixed with her habitual + politeness, “I am sensible of your goodness, but you know that in the + slightest trifles, as well as in matters of consequence, I leave every + thing implicitly to your better judgment: as to this business between + Herbert and Grace, I don’t understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother—” said Herbert. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said Grace, pushing forward, but not very well knowing what she + intended to say, “if you recollect, you desired me to comb Master + Herbert’s hair, ma’am, and I told Master Herbert so, ma’am, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not recollect any thing about it, indeed, Grace.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, ma’am! don’t you recollect the last day there was company, and + Master Herbert came to the top of the stairs, and you was looking at the + <i>organ’s</i> lamp, I said, ‘Dear! Master Herbert’s hair’s as rough as a + porcupine’s;’ and you said directly, ma’am, if you recollect, ‘I wish you + would make that boy’s hair fit to be seen;’ those <i>was</i> your very + words, ma’am, and I thought you meant always, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “You mistook me, Grace,” said Mrs. Harcourt, smiling at her maid’s eager + volubility: “in future, you understand, that Herbert is to be entire + master of his own hair.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, mother,” said Herbert. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my dear Herbert, thank Mad. de Rosier: I only speak in her name. You + understand, <i>I am sure</i>, Grace, now,” said Mrs. Harcourt, calling to + her maid, who seemed to be in haste to quit the room—“you, I hope, + understand, Grace, that Mad. de Rosier and I are always of one mind about + the children; therefore you need never be puzzled by contradictory orders—hers + are to be obeyed.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt was so much pleased when she looked at Herbert, as she + concluded this sentence, to see an expression of great affection and + gratitude, that she stooped instantly to kiss him. + </p> + <p> + “Another kiss! two kisses to-day from my mother, and one of her own + accord!” exclaimed Herbert joyfully, running out of the room to tell the + news to Favoretta. + </p> + <p> + “That boy has a heart,” said Mrs. Harcourt, with some emotion; “you have + found it out for me, Mad. de Rosier, and I thank you.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier seized the propitious moment to present a card of + invitation, which Herbert, with much labour, had printed with his little + printing-press. + </p> + <p> + “What have we here?” said Mrs. Harcourt, and she read aloud— + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Herbert Harcourt’s love to his dear mother, and, if she be not + engaged this evening, he should be exceedingly glad of her company, to + meet Isabella, Matilda, Favoretta, and Mad. de Rosier, who have promised + to sup with him upon his own radishes to-night. They are all very + impatient for <i>your</i> answer.’” + </p> + <p> + “My answer they shall have in an instant,” said Mrs. Harcourt:—“why, + Mad. de Rosier, this is the boy who could neither read nor spell six + months ago. Will you be my messenger?” added she, putting a card into Mad. + de Rosier’s hand, which she had written with rapidity:— + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Harcourt’s love to her dear little Herbert; if she had a hundred + other invitations, she would accept of his.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me!” said Mrs. Grace, when she found the feathers, which she had + placed with so much skill in her mistress’s hair, lying upon the table + half an hour afterward—“why, I thought my mistress was going out!” + </p> + <p> + Grace’s surprise deprived her even of the power of exclamation, when she + learned that her mistress stayed at home to sup with Master Herbert upon + radishes. At night she listened with malignant curiosity, as she sat at + work in her mistress’s dressing-room, to the frequent bursts of laughter, + and to the happy little voices of the festive company who were at supper + in an adjoining apartment. + </p> + <p> + “This will never do!” thought Grace; but presently the laughter ceased, + and listening attentively, she heard the voice of one of <i>the young + ladies</i> reading. “Oh ho!” thought Grace, “if it comes to reading, + Master Herbert will soon be asleep.”—But though it had <i>come to + reading</i>, Herbert was, at this instant, broad awake. + </p> + <p> + At supper, when the radishes were distributed, Favoretta was very + impatient to taste them; the first which she tasted was <i>hot</i>, she + said, and she did not quite like it. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hot</i>!” cried Herbert, who criticized her language, in return for + her criticism upon his radishes, “I don’t think you can call a radish <i>hot</i>—it + is cold, I think: I know what is meant by tasting sweet, or sour, or + bitter.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” interrupted Favoretta, “what is the name for the taste of this + radish which bites my tongue?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pungent</i>,” said Isabella, and she eagerly produced a quotation in + support of her epithet— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘And <i>pungent</i> radish biting infant’s tongue.’” +</p> + + <p> + “I know for once,” said Matilda, smiling, “where you met with that line, I + believe: is it not in Shenstone’s Schoolmistress, in the description of + the old woman’s neat little garden?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I should like to hear about that old woman’s neat little garden,” + cried Herbert. + </p> + <p> + “And so should I,” said Mrs. Harcourt and Mad. de Rosier. Isabella quickly + produced the book after supper, and read the poem. + </p> + <p> + Herbert and Favoretta liked the old woman and her garden, and they were + much interested for the little boy, who was whipped for having been gazing + at the pictures on the horn-book, instead of learning his lesson; but, to + Isabella’s great mortification, they did not understand above half of what + she read—the old English expressions puzzled them. + </p> + <p> + “You would not be surprised at this, my dear Isabella,” said Mad. de + Rosier, “if you had made as many experiments upon children as I have. It + is quite a new language to them; and what you have just been reading is + scarcely intelligible to me, though you compliment me so much upon my + knowledge of the English language.” Mad. de Rosier took the book, and + pointed to several words which she had not understood—such as + “eftsoons,” “<i>Dan</i> Phoebus,” and “<i>ne</i> and <i>y</i>,” which had + made many lines incomprehensible. + </p> + <p> + Herbert, when he heard Mad. de Rosier confess her ignorance, began to take + courage, and came forward with his confessions. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Gingerbread y rare</i>,” he thought, was some particular kind of + gingerbread; and “<i>Apples with cabbage net y covered o’er</i>” presented + no delightful image to his mind, because, as he said, he did not know what + the word <i>netycovered</i> could mean. + </p> + <p> + These mistakes occasioned some laughter; but as Herbert perceived that he + was no longer thought stupid, he took all the laughter with good humour, + and he determined to follow, in future, Mad. de Rosier’s example, in + pointing out the words which were puzzling. + </p> + <p> + Grace was astonished, at the conclusion of the evening, to find Master + Herbert in such high spirits. The next day she heard sounds of woe, sounds + agreeable to her wishes—Favoretta crying upon the stairs. It had + been a rainy morning: Favoretta and Herbert had been disappointed in not + being able to walk out; and after having been amused the preceding + evening, they were less disposed to bear disappointment, and less inclined + to employ themselves than usual. Favoretta had finished her little basket, + and her mother had promised that it should appear at the dessert; but it + wanted some hours of dinner-time; and between the making and the + performance of a promise, how long the time appears to an impatient child! + how many events happen which may change the mind of the promiser! + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier had lent Favoretta and Herbert, for their amusement, the + first number of “The Cabinet of Quadrupeds,” in which there are beautiful + prints; but, unfortunately, some dispute arose between the children. + Favoretta thought her brother looked too long at the hunchbacked camel; he + accused her of turning over leaves before she had half seen the prints; + but she listened not to his just reproaches, for she had caught a glimpse + of the royal tiger springing upon Mr. Munro, and she could no longer + restrain her impatience. Each party began to pull at the book; and the + camel and the royal tiger were both in imminent danger of being torn in + pieces, when Mad. de Rosier interfered, parted the combatants, and sent + them into separate rooms, as it was her custom to do, whenever they could + not agree together. + </p> + <p> + Grace, the moment she heard Favoretta crying, went up to the room where + she was, and made her tiptoe approaches, addressing Favoretta in a tone of + compassion, which, to a child’s unpractised ear, might appear, perhaps, + the natural voice of sympathy. The sobbing child hid her face in Grace’s + lap; and when she had told her complaint against Mad. de Rosier, Grace + comforted her for the loss of the royal tiger by the present of a + queen-cake. Grace did not dare to stay long in the room, lest Mad. de + Rosier should detect her; she therefore left the little girl, with a + strict charge “not to say a word of the queen-cake to her governess.” + </p> + <p> + Favoretta kept the queen-cake, that she might divide it with Herbert; for + she now recollected that she had been most to blame in the dispute about + the prints. Herbert absolutely refused, however, to have any share of the + cake, and he strongly urged his sister to return it to Grace. + </p> + <p> + Herbert had, <i>formerly</i>, to use his own expression, been accused of + being fond of eating, and so, perhaps, he was; but since he had acquired + other pleasures, those of affection and employment, his love of eating had + diminished so much, that he had eaten only one of his own radishes, + because he felt more pleasure in distributing the rest to his mother and + sisters. + </p> + <p> + It was with some difficulty that he prevailed upon Favoretta to restore + the queen-cake: the arguments that he used we shall not detail, but he + concluded with promising, that, if Favoretta would return the cake, he + would ask Mad. de Rosier, the next time they passed by the pastrycook’s + shop, to give them some queen-cakes—“and I dare say she will give us + some, for she is much more <i>really</i> good-natured than Grace.” + </p> + <p> + Favoretta, with this hope of a future queen-cake, in addition to all her + brother’s arguments, at last determined to return Grace’s present—“Herbert + says I had better give it you back again,” said she, “because Mad. de + Rosier does not know it.” + </p> + <p> + Grace was somewhat surprised by the effect of Herbert’s oratory, and she + saw that she must change her ground. The next day, when the children were + walking with Mad. de Rosier by a pastrycook’s shop, Herbert, with an + honest countenance, asked Mad. de Rosier to give Favoretta and him a + queen-cake. She complied, for she was glad to find that he always asked + frankly for what he wanted; and yet that he bore refusals with good + humour. + </p> + <p> + Just as Herbert was going to eat his queen-cake, he heard the sound of + music in the street; he went to the door, and saw a poor man who was + playing on the dulcimer—a little boy was with him, who looked + extremely thin and hungry—he asked Herbert for some halfpence. + </p> + <p> + “I have no money of my own,” said Herbert, “but I can give you this, which + is my own.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier held his hand back, which he had just stretched out to + offer his queen-cake; she advised him to exchange it for something more + substantial; she told him that he might have two buns for one queen-cake. + He immediately changed it for two buns, and gave them to the little boy, + who thanked him heartily. The man who was playing on the dulcimer asked + where Herbert lived, and promised to stop at his door to play a tune for + him, which he seemed to like particularly. + </p> + <p> + Convinced by the affair of the queen-cake that Herbert’s influence was a + matter of some consequence in the family, Mrs. Grace began to repent that + she had made him her enemy, and she resolved, upon the first convenient + occasion, to make him overtures of peace—overtures which, she had no + doubt, would be readily accepted. + </p> + <p> + One morning she heard him sighing and groaning, as she thought, over some + difficult sum, which Mad. de Rosier had set for him; he cast up one row + aloud several times, but could not bring the total twice to the same + thing. When he took his sum to Mad. de Rosier, who was dressing, he was + kept waiting a few minutes at the door, because Favoretta was not dressed. + The young gentleman became a little impatient, and when he gained + admittance his sum was wrong. + </p> + <p> + “Then I cannot make it right,” said Herbert, passionately. + </p> + <p> + “Try,” said Mad. de Rosier; “go into that closet by yourself, and try once + more, and perhaps you will find that you <i>can</i> make it right.” + </p> + <p> + Herbert knelt down in the closet, though rather unwillingly, to this + provoking sum. + </p> + <p> + “Master Herbert, my dear,” said Mrs. Grace, following him, “will you be so + good as to go for Miss Favoretta’s scissors, if you please, which she lent + you yesterday?—she wants ‘em, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Herbert, surprised by the unusually good-natured tone of this request, ran + for the scissors, and at his return, found that his difficult sum had been + cast up in his absence; the total was written at the bottom of it, and he + read these words, which he knew to be Mrs. Grace’s writing—“Rub out + my <i>figurs</i>, and write them in your own.” Herbert immediately rubbed + out Mrs. Grace’s figures with indignation, and determined to do the sum + for himself. He carried it to Mad. de Rosier—it was wrong: Grace + stared, and when she saw Herbert patiently stand beside Mad. de Rosier and + repeat his efforts, she gave up all idea of obtaining any influence over + him. + </p> + <p> + “Mad. de Rosier,” said she to herself, “has bewitched ‘em all; I think + it’s odd one can’t find out her art!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grace seemed to think that she could catch the knack of educating + children, as she had surreptitiously learnt, from a fashionable + hairdresser, the art of dressing hair. Ever since Mrs. Harcourt had spoken + in such a decided manner respecting Mad. de Rosier, her maid had artfully + maintained the greatest appearance of respect for that lady, in her + mistress’s presence, and had even been scrupulous, to a troublesome + extreme, in obeying <i>the governess’s orders</i>; and by a studied show + of attachment to Mrs. Harcourt, and much alacrity at her toilette, she + had, as she flattered herself, secured a fresh portion of favour. + </p> + <p> + One morning Mrs. Harcourt found, when she awoke, that she had a headache, + and a slight feverish complaint. She had caught cold the night before in + coming out of a warm assembly-room. Mrs. Grace affected to be much alarmed + at her mistress’s indisposition, and urged her to send immediately for Dr. + X——. To this Mrs. Harcourt half consented, and a messenger was + sent for him. In the meantime Mrs. Harcourt, who had been used to be much + attended to in her slight indispositions, expressed some surprise that + Mad. de Rosier, or some of her children, when they heard that she was ill, + had not come to see her. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Isabella? where is Matilda? or Favoretta? what is become of them + all? do they know I am ill, Grace?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear! yes, ma’am; but they’re all gone out in the coach, with Mad. de + Rosier.” + </p> + <p> + “All?” said Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + “All, I believe, ma’am,” said Grace; “though, indeed, I can’t pretend to + be sure, since I make it my business not to scrutinize, and to know as + little as possible of what’s going on in the house, lest I should seem to + be too particular.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Mad. de Rosier leave any message for me before she went out?” + </p> + <p> + “Not with me, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + Here the prevaricating waiting-maid told barely the truth in words: Mad. + de Rosier had left a message with the footman in Grace’s hearing. + </p> + <p> + “I hope, ma’am,” continued Grace, “you weren’t disturbed with the noise in + the house early this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “What noise?—I heard no noise,” said Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + “No noise! dear ma’am, I’m as glad as can possibly be of that, at any + rate; but to be sure there was a great racket. I was really afraid, ma’am, + it would do no good to your poor head.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the matter?” said Mrs. Harcourt, drawing back the curtain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! nothing, ma’am, that need alarm you—only music and dancing.” + </p> + <p> + “Music and dancing so early in the morning!—Do, Grace, say all you + have to say at once, for you keep me in suspense, which, I am sure, is not + good for my head.” + </p> + <p> + “La, ma’am, I was so afraid it would make you angry, ma’am—that was + what made me so backward in mentioning it; but, to be sure, Mad. de + Rosier, and the young ladies, and Master Herbert, I suppose, thought you + couldn’t hear, because it was in the back parlour, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear what? what was in the back parlour?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a dulcimer man, ma’am, playing for the young ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell them I was ill, Grace?” + </p> + <p> + It was the second time Mrs. Harcourt had asked this question. Grace was + gratified by this symptom. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, ma’am,” she replied, “I did make bold to tell Master Herbert, + that I was afraid you would hear him jumping and making such an uproar up + and down the stairs; but to be sure, I did not say a word to the young + ladies—as Mad. de Rosier was by, I thought she knew best.” + </p> + <p> + A gentle knock at the door interrupted Mrs. Grace’s charitable + animadversions. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me, if it isn’t the young ladies! I’m sure I thought they were gone + out in the coach.” + </p> + <p> + As Isabella and Matilda came up to the side of their mother’s bed, she + said, in a languid voice— + </p> + <p> + “I hope, Matilda, my dear, you did not stay at home on my account—Is + Isabella there? What book has she in her hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Zeluco, mamma—I thought, perhaps, you would like to hear some more + of it—you liked what I read to you the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “But you forget that I have a terrible headache—Pray don’t let me + detain either of you, if you have any thing to do for Mad. de Rosier.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing in the world, mamma,” said Matilda; “she is gone to take Herbert + and Favoretta to Exeter Change.” + </p> + <p> + No farther explanation could take place, for, at this instant, Mrs. Grace + introduced Dr. X——. Now Dr. X—— was not one of + those complaisant physicians who flatter ladies that they are very ill + when they have any desire to excite tender alarm. + </p> + <p> + After satisfying himself that his patient was not quite so ill as Mrs. + Grace had affected to believe, Dr. X—— insensibly led from + medical inquiries to general conversation: he had much playful wit and + knowledge of the human heart, mixed with a variety of information, so that + he could with happy facility amuse and interest nervous patients, who were + beyond the power of the solemn apothecary. + </p> + <p> + The doctor drew the young ladies into conversation by rallying Isabella + upon her simplicity in reading a novel openly in her mother’s presence; he + observed that she did not follow the example of the famous Serena, in “The + Triumphs of Temper.” “Zeluco!” he exclaimed, in an ironical tone of + disdain: “why not the charming ‘Sorrows of Werter,’ or some of our + fashionable hobgoblin romances?” + </p> + <p> + Isabella undertook the defence of her book with much enthusiasm—and + either her cause, or her defence, was so much to Dr. X.——‘s + taste, that he gradually gave up his feigned attack. + </p> + <p> + After the argument was over, and every body, not excepting Mrs. Harcourt, + who had almost forgotten her headache, was pleased with the vanquished + doctor, he drew from his pocket-book three or four small cards; they were + tickets of admittance to Lady N——‘s French reading parties. + </p> + <p> + Lady N—— was an elderly lady, whose rank made literature + fashionable amongst many, who aspired to the honour of being noticed by + her. She was esteemed such an excellent judge of manners, abilities, and + character, that her approbation was anxiously courted, more especially by + mothers who were just introducing their daughters into the world. She was + fond of encouraging youthful merit; but she was nice, some thought + fastidious, in the choice of her young acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt had been very desirous that Isabella and Matilda should be + early distinguished by a person, whose approving voice was of so much + consequence in fashionable as well as in literary society; and she was + highly flattered by Dr. X——‘s prophecy, that Isabella would be + a great favourite of this “nice judging” lady—“Provided,” added he, + turning to Isabella, “you have the prudence not to be always, as you have + been this morning, victorious in argument.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Mrs. Harcourt—after the doctor had taken his leave—“I + think I am much better—ring for Grace, and I will get up.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma,” said Matilda, “if you will give me leave, I will give my ticket + for the reading party to Mad. de Rosier, because, I am sure, it is an + entertainment she will like particularly—and, you know, she confines + herself so much with us—” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish her to confine herself <i>so</i> much, my dear, I am sure,” + said Mrs. Harcourt, coldly, for, at this instant, Grace’s representations + of the morning’s music and dancing, and some remains of her former + jealousy of Mad. de Rosier’s influence over her children’s affections, + operated upon her mind. Pride prevented her from explaining herself + further to Isabella or Matilda—and though they saw that she was + displeased, they had no idea of the reason. As she was dressing, Mrs. + Harcourt conversed with them about the books they were reading. Matilda + was reading Hogarth’s Analysis of Beauty; and she gave a distinct account + of his theory. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt, when she perceived her daughter’s rapid improvement, felt a + mixture of joy and sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “My dears,” said she, “you will all of you be much superior to your mother—but + girls were educated, in my days, quite in a different style from what they + are now.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there were no Mad. de Rosiers then,” said Matilda, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a woman was your mother, mamma?” said Isabella, “my + grandmother, mamma?” + </p> + <p> + “She—she was a very good woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Was she sensible?” said Isabella. + </p> + <p> + “Matilda, my dear,” said Mrs. Harcourt, “I wish you would see if Mad. de + Rosier has returned—I should be very glad to speak with her, for one + moment, if she be not engaged.” + </p> + <p> + Under the veil of politeness, Mrs. Harcourt concealed her real feelings, + and declaring to Mad. de Rosier that she did not feel in spirits, or + sufficiently well, to go out that evening, she requested that Mad. de + Rosier would go, in her stead, to a dinner, where she knew her company + would be particularly acceptable.—“You will trust me, will you, with + your pupils for one evening?” added Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + The tone and manner in which she pronounced these words revealed the real + state of her mind to Mad. de Rosier, who immediately complied with her + wishes. + </p> + <p> + Conscious of this lady’s quick penetration, Mrs. Harcourt was abashed by + this ready compliance, and she blamed herself for feelings which she could + not suppress. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry that you were not at home this morning,” she continued, in a + hurried manner—“you would have been delighted with Dr. X——; + he is one of the most entertaining men I am acquainted with—and you + would have been vastly proud of your pupil there,” pointing to Isabella; + “I assure you, she pleased me extremely.” + </p> + <p> + In the evening, after Mad. de Rosier’s departure, Mrs. Harcourt was not + quite so happy as she had expected. They who have only seen children in + picturesque situations, are not aware how much the duration of this + domestic happiness depends upon those who have the care of them. People + who, with the greatest abilities and the most anxious affection, are + unexperienced in education, should not be surprised or mortified if their + first attempts be not attended with success. Mrs. Harcourt thought that + she was doing what was very useful in hearing Herbert read; he read with + tolerable fluency, but he stopped at the end of almost every sentence to + weigh the exact sense of the words. In this habit he had been indulged, or + rather encouraged, by his preceptress; but his simple questions, and his + desire to have every word precisely explained, were far from amusing to + one who was little accustomed to the difficulties and misapprehensions of + a young reader. + </p> + <p> + Herbert was reading a passage, which Mad. de Rosier had marked for him, in + Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. With her explanations, it might have been + intelligible to him. Herbert read the account of Cyrus’s judgment upon the + two boys, who had quarrelled about their great and little coats, much to + his mother’s satisfaction, because he had understood every word of it, + except the word <i>constituted</i>. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Constituted judge</i>—what does that mean, mamma?” + </p> + <p> + “Made a judge, my dear: go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw a judge once, mamma, in a great wig—had Cyrus a wig, when he + was con—const!—made a judge?” + </p> + <p> + Isabella and Mrs. Harcourt laughed at this question; and they endeavoured + to explain the difference between a Persian and an English judge. + </p> + <p> + Herbert with some difficulty separated the ideas, which he had so firmly + associated, of a judge and a great wig; and when he had, or thought he + had, an abstract notion of a judge, he obeyed his mother’s repeated + injunctions of “Go on—go on.” He went on, after observing that what + came next was not marked by Mad. de Rosier for him to read. + </p> + <p> + Cyrus’s mother says to him: <i>“Child, the same things are not accounted + just with your grandfather here, and yonder in Persia.”</i> At this + sentence Herbert made a dead stop; and, after pondering for some time, + said, “I don’t understand what Cyrus’s mother meant—what does she + mean by <i>accounted just</i>?—<i>Accounted</i>, Matilda, I thought + meant only about casting up sums?” + </p> + <p> + “It has another meaning, my dear,” Matilda mildly began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, spare me!” exclaimed Mrs. Harcourt; “do not let me + hear all the meanings of all the words in the English language. Herbert + may look for the words that he does not understand, in the dictionary, + when he has done reading. Go on, now, pray; for,” added she, looking at + her watch, “you have been half an hour reading half a page: this would + tire the patience of Job.” + </p> + <p> + Herbert, perceiving that his mother was displeased, began in the same + instant to be frightened; he hurried on as fast as he could, without + understanding one word more of what he was reading; his precipitation was + worse than his slowness: he stumbled over the words, missed syllables, + missed lines, made the most incomprehensible nonsense of the whole; till, + at length, Mrs. Harcourt shut the book in despair, and soon afterward + despatched Herbert, who was also in despair, to bed. At this catastrophe, + Favoretta looked very grave, and a general gloom seemed to overspread the + company. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt was mortified at the silence that prevailed, and made + several ineffectual attempts to revive the freedom and gaiety of + conversation:—“Ah!” said she to herself, “I knew it would be so;—they + cannot be happy without Mad. de Rosier.” + </p> + <p> + Isabella had taken up a book. “Cannot you read for our entertainment, + Isabella, my dear, as well as for your own?” said her mother: “I assure + you, I am as much interested always in what you read to me, as Mad. de + Rosier herself can be.” + </p> + <p> + “I was just looking, mamma, for some lines, that we read the other day, + which Mad. de Rosier said she was sure you would like. Can you find them, + Matilda? You know Mad. de Rosier said that mamma would like them, because + she has been at the opera.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been at a great many operas,” said Mrs. Harcourt, dryly; “but I + like other things as well as operas—and I cannot precisely guess + what you mean by <i>the</i> opera—has it no name?” + </p> + <p> + “Medea and Jason, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “The <i>ballet</i> of Medea and Jason. It’s a very fine thing, certainly; + but one has seen it so often. Read on, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Isabella then read a passage, which, notwithstanding Mrs. Harcourt’s + inclination to be displeased, captivated her ear, and seized her + imagination. + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Slow out of earth, before the festive crowds,<br /> +On wheels of fire, amid a night of clouds,<br /> +Drawn by fierce fiends, arose a magic car,<br /> +Received the queen, and, hov’ring, flamed in air.<br /> +As with raised hands the suppliant traitors kneel,<br /> +And fear the vengeance they deserved to feel;<br /> +“Thrice, with parch’d lips, her guiltless babes she press’d,<br /> +And thrice she clasp’d them to her tortured breast.<br /> +Awhile with white uplifted eyes she stood,<br /> +Then plunged her trembling poniards in their blood.<br /> +Go, kiss your sire! go, share the bridal mirth!<br /> +She cried, and hurl’d their quiv’ring limbs on earth.<br /> +Rebellowing thunders rock the marble tow’rs,<br /> +And red-tongucd lightnings shoot their arrowy show’rs:<br /> +Earth yawns!—the crashing ruin sinks!—o’er all<br /> +Death with black hands extends his mighty pall.” +</p> + + <p> + “They are admirable lines, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + “I knew, mamma, you would like them,” said Isabella; “and I’m sure I wish + I had seen the ballet too.” + </p> + <p> + “You were never at an opera,” said Mrs. Harcourt, after Isabella had + finished reading; “should you, either of you, or both, like to go with me + to-night to the opera?” + </p> + <p> + “To-night, ma’am!” cried Isabella, in a voice of joy. + </p> + <p> + “To-night, mamma!” cried Matilda, timidly; “but you were not well this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am very well, now, my love; at least quite well enough to go out + with you—let me give you some pleasure. Ring for Grace, my dear + Matilda,” added Mrs. Harcourt, looking at her watch, “and do not let us be + sentimental, for we have not a moment to lose—we must prevail upon + Grace to be as quick as lightning in her operations.” + </p> + <p> + Grace was well disposed to be quick—she was delighted with what she + called <i>the change of measures</i>;—she repeated continually, in + the midst of their hurried toilette— + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am so glad, young ladies, you’re going out with your <i>mamma</i>, + at last—I never saw my mistress look so well as she does to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Triumphant, and feeling herself to be a person of consequence, Grace was + indefatigably busy, and Mrs. Harcourt thought that her talkative zeal was + the overflowing of an honest heart. + </p> + <p> + After Mrs. Harcourt, with Isabella and Matilda, were gone to the opera, + Favoretta, who had been sent to bed by her mother, because she was in the + way when they were dressing, called to Grace to beg that she would close + the shutters in her room, for the moon shone upon her bed, and she could + not go to sleep. + </p> + <p> + “I wish mamma would have let me sit up a little longer,” said Favoretta, + “for I am not at all sleepy.” + </p> + <p> + “You always go to bed a great deal earlier, you know, miss,” said Grace, + “when your governess is at home; I would let you get up, and come down to + tea with me, for I’m just going to take my late dish of tea, to rest + myself, only I dare not let you, because—” + </p> + <p> + “Because what?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, miss, you remember how you served me about the queen-cake.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do not want you to give me any queen-cake; I only want to get up + for a little while,” said Favoretta. + </p> + <p> + “Then get up,” said Grace: “but don’t make a noise, to waken Master + Herbert.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think,” said Favoretta, “that Herbert would think it wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I don’t think at all about what he thinks,” said Mrs. Grace, + tossing back her head, as she adjusted her dress at the glass; “and, if + you think so much about it, you’d better lie down again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I can’t lie down again,” said Favoretta; “I have got my shoes on—stay + for me, Grace—I’m just ready.” + </p> + <p> + Grace, who was pleased with an opportunity of indulging this little girl, + and who flattered herself that she should regain her former power over + Favoretta’s undistinguishing affections, waited for her most willingly. + Grace drank her <i>late</i> dish of tea in her mistress’s dressing-room, + and did every thing in her power to humour “her sweet Favoretta.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw’s maid, was summoned; she lived in the next + street. She was quite overjoyed, she said, at entering the room, to see + Miss Favoretta—it was an age since she had a sight or a glimpse of + her. + </p> + <p> + We pass over the edifying conversation of those two ladies—Miss + Favoretta was kept awake, and in such high spirits by flattery, that she + did not perceive how late it was—she begged to stay up a little + longer, and a little longer. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Rebecca joined in these entreaties, and Mrs. Grace could not refuse + them; especially as she knew that the coach would not go for Mad. de + Rosier till after her mistress’s return from the opera. + </p> + <p> + The coachman had made this arrangement for his own convenience, and had + placed it entirely to the account of his horses. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grace depended, rather imprudently, upon the coachman’s arrangement; + for Mad. de Rosier, finding that the coach did not call for her at the + hour she had appointed, sent for a chair, and returned home, whilst Grace, + Mrs. Rebecca, and Favoretta, were yet in Mrs. Harcourt’s dressing-room. + </p> + <p> + Favoretta was making a great noise, so that they did not hear the knock at + the door. + </p> + <p> + One of the housemaids apprised Mrs. Grace of Mad. de Rosier’s arrival. + “She’s getting out of her chair, Mrs. Grace, in the hall.” + </p> + <p> + Grace started up, put Favoretta into a little closet, and charged her not + to make the least noise <i>for her life</i>.—Then, with a candle in + her hand, and a treacherous smile upon her countenance, she sallied forth + to the head of the stairs, to light Mad. de Rosier.—“Dear ma’am! my + mistress will be <i>so</i> sorry the coach didn’t go for you in time;—she + found herself better after you went—and the two young ladies are + gone with her to the opera.” + </p> + <p> + “And where are Herbert and Favoretta?” + </p> + <p> + “In bed, ma’am, and asleep, hours ago.—Shall I light you, ma’am, + this way, to your room?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mad. de Rosier; “I have a letter to write: and I’ll wait in + Mrs. Harcourt’s dressing-room till she comes home.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, ma’am. Mrs. Rebecca, it’s only Mad. de Rosier.—Mad. de + Rosier, it’s only Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw’s maid, ma’am, who’s here very + often when my mistress is at home, and just stepped out to look at the + young ladies’ drawings, which my mistress gave me leave to show her the + first time she drank tea with me, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier, who thought all this did not concern her in the least, + listened to it with cold indifference, and sat down to write her letter. + </p> + <p> + Grace fidgeted about the room, as long as she could find any pretence for + moving any thing into or out of its place; and, at length, in no small + degree of anxiety for the prisoner she had left in the closet, quitted the + dressing-room. + </p> + <p> + As Mad. de Rosier was writing, she once or twice thought that she heard + some noise in the closet; she listened, but all was silent; and she + continued to write, till Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda, came home. + </p> + <p> + Isabella was in high spirits, and began to talk, with considerable + volubility, to Mad. de Rosier about the opera. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt was full of apologies about the coach; and Matilda rather + anxious to discover what it was that had made a change in her mother’s + manner towards Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + Grace, glad to see that they were all intent upon their own affairs, + lighted their candles expeditiously, and stood waiting, in hopes that they + would immediately leave the room, and that she should be able to release + her prisoner. + </p> + <p> + Favoretta usually slept in a little closet within Mrs. Grace’s room, so + that she foresaw no difficulty in getting her to bed. + </p> + <p> + “I heard!—did not <i>you</i> hear a noise, Isabella?” said Matilda. + </p> + <p> + “A noise!—No; where?” said Isabella, and went on talking alternately + to her mother and Mad. de Rosier, whom she held fast, though they seemed + somewhat inclined to retire to rest. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said Matilda, “I did hear a noise in that closet.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, Miss Matilda,” cried Grace, getting between Matilda and the + closet, “it’s nothing in life but a mouse.” + </p> + <p> + “A mouse, where?” said Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere, ma’am,” said Grace; “only Miss Matilda was hearing noises, and I + said they must be mice.” + </p> + <p> + “There, mamma! there! that was not a mouse, surely!” said Matilda. “It was + a noise louder, certainly, than any mouse could make.” + </p> + <p> + “Grace is frightened,” said Isabella, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Grace, indeed, looked pale and terribly frightened. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier took a candle, and walked directly to the closet. + </p> + <p> + “Ring for the men,” said Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + Matilda held back Mad. de Rosier; and Isabella, whose head was now just + recovered from the opera, rang the bell with considerable energy. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Miss Isabella, don’t ring so;—dear ma’am, don’t be frightened, + and I’ll tell you the whole truth, ma’am,” said Grace to her mistress; + “it’s nothing in the world to frighten any body—it’s only Miss + Favoretta, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Favoretta!” exclaimed every body at once, except Mad. de Rosier, who + instantly opened the closet door, but no Favoretta appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Favoretta is not here,” said Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’m undone!” exclaimed Grace; “she must have got out upon the + leads.” The leads were, at this place, narrow, and very dangerous. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t scream, or the child is lost,” said Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt sank down into an arm-chair. Mad. de Rosier stopped + Isabella, who pressed into the closet. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t speak, Isabella—Grace, go into the closet—call + Favoretta—hear me, quietly,” said Mad. de Rosier, steadily, for Mrs. + Grace was in such confusion of mind, that she was going to call upon the + child, without waiting to hear what was said to her.—“Hear me,” said + Mad. de Rosier, “or <i>you are</i> undone—go into the closet without + making any bustle—call Favoretta, gently; she will not be + frightened, when she hears only your voice.” + </p> + <p> + Grace did as she was ordered, and returned from the closet in a few + instants, with Favoretta. Grace instantly began an exculpatory speech, but + Mrs. Harcourt, though still trembling, had sufficient firmness to say, + “Leave us, Grace, and let me hear the truth from the child.” + </p> + <p> + Grace left the room. Favoretta related exactly what had happened, and said + that when she heard all their voices in the dressing-room, and when she + heard Matilda say there’s a noise, she was afraid of being discovered in + the closet, and had crept out through a little door, with which she was + well acquainted, that opened upon the leads. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt now broke forth into indignant exclamations against Grace. + Mad. de Rosier gently pacified her, and hinted that it would be but just + to give her a fair hearing in the morning. + </p> + <p> + “You are always yourself! always excellent!” cried Mrs. Harcourt; “you + have saved my child—we none of us had any presence of mind, but + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, mamma, I <i>did</i> ring the bell, however,” said Isabella. + </p> + <p> + With much difficulty those who had so much to say, submitted to Mad. de + Rosier’s entreaty of “Let us talk of it in the morning.” She was afraid + that Favoretta, who was present, would not draw any salutary moral from + what might be said in the first emotions of joy for her safety. Mad. de + Rosier undressed the little girl herself, and took care that she should + not be treated as a heroine just escaped from imminent danger. + </p> + <p> + The morning came, and Mrs. Grace listened, with anxious ear, for the first + sound of her mistress’s bell—but no bell rang; and, when she heard + Mrs. Harcourt walking in her bedchamber, Grace augured ill of her own + fate, and foreboded the decline and fall of her empire. + </p> + <p> + “If my mistress can get up and dress herself without me, it’s all over + with me,” said Grace; “but I’ll make one trial.” Then she knocked with her + most obliging knock at her mistress’s door, and presented herself with a + Magdalen face—“Can I do any thing for you, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, I thank you, Grace. Send Isabella and Matilda.” + </p> + <p> + Isabella and Matilda came, but Mrs. Harcourt finished dressing herself in + silence, and then said— + </p> + <p> + “Come with me, my dear girls, to Mad. de Rosier’s room. I believe I had + better ask her the question that I was going to ask you. Is she up?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but not dressed,” said Matilda; “for we have been reading to her.” + </p> + <p> + “And talking to her,” added Isabella; “which, you know, hinders people + very much, mamma, when they are dressing.” + </p> + <p> + At Mad. de Rosier’s door they found Herbert, with his slate in his hand, + and his sum ready cast up. + </p> + <p> + “May I bring this little man in with me?” said Mrs. Harcourt to Mad. de + Rosier—“Herbert, shake hands with me,” continued his mother: “I + believe I was a little impatient with you and your Cyrus last night; but + you must not expect that every body should be as good to you as this lady + has been;” leading him up to Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + “Set this gentleman’s heart at ease, will you?” continued she, presenting + the slate, upon which his sum was written, to Mad. de Rosier. “He looks + the picture, or rather the reality, of honesty and good humour this + morning, I think. I am sure that he has not done any thing that he is + ashamed of.” + </p> + <p> + Little Herbert’s countenance glowed with pleasure at receiving such praise + from his mother; but he soon checked his pride, for he discovered + Favoretta, upon whom every eye had turned, as Mrs. Harcourt concluded her + speech. + </p> + <p> + Favoretta was sitting in the furthest corner of the room, and she turned + her face to the wall when Herbert looked at her; but Herbert saw that she + was in disgrace. “Your sum is quite right, Herbert,” said Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + “Herbert, take your slate,” said Matilda; and the young gentleman had at + length the politeness to relieve her outstretched arm. + </p> + <p> + “Send him out of the way,” whispered Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + “Go out of the room, Herbert, my dear,” said Mad. de Rosier, who never + made use of artifices upon any occasion to get rid of children—“go + out of the room, Herbert, my dear: for we want to talk about something + which we do not wish that you should hear.” + </p> + <p> + Herbert, though he was anxious to know what could be the matter with + Favoretta, instantly withdrew, saying, “Will you call me again when you’ve + done talking?” + </p> + <p> + “We can speak French,” added Mad. de Rosier, looking at Favoretta, “since + we cannot trust that little girl in a room by herself; we must speak in a + language which she does not understand, when we have any thing to say that + we do not choose she should hear.” + </p> + <p> + “After all this preparation,” said Mrs. Harcourt, in French, “my little + mouse will make you laugh; it will not surprise or frighten you, Matilda, + quite so much as the mouse of last night. You must know that I have been + much disturbed by certain noises.” + </p> + <p> + “More noises!” said Matilda, drawing closer, to listen. + </p> + <p> + “More noises!” said Mrs. Harcourt, laughing; “but the noises which + disturbed my repose were not heard in the dead of the night, just as the + clock struck twelve—the charming hour for being frightened out of + one’s wits, Matilda: my noises were heard in broad daylight, about the time + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘When lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake.‘ +</p> + + <p class="noindent"> + Was not there music and dancing here, early yesterday morning, when I had + the headache, Isabella?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mamma,” said Isabella: “Herbert’s dulcimer-boy was here! We call him + Herbert’s dulcimer-boy, because Herbert gave him two buns the other day;—the + boy and his father came from gratitude, to play a tune for Herbert, and we + all ran and asked Mad. de Rosier to let him in.” + </p> + <p> + “We did not know you had the headache, mamma,” said Matilda, “till after + they had played several tunes, and we heard Grace saying something to + Herbert about racketing upon the stairs—he only ran up stairs once + for my music-book; and the moment Grace spoke to him, he came to us, and + said that you were not well; then Mad. de Rosier stopped the dulcimer, and + we all left off dancing, and we were very sorry Grace had not told us + sooner that you were ill: at that time it was ten—nearly eleven + o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Grace strangely misrepresented all this,” said Mrs. Harcourt: “as she + gave her advice so late, I am sorry she gave it at all; she prevented you + and Isabella from the pleasure of going out with Mad. de Rosier.” + </p> + <p> + “We prevented ourselves—Grace did not prevent us, I assure you, + mamma,” said Isabella, eagerly: “we wished to stay at home with you—Herbert + and Favoretta were only going to see the royal tiger.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you did not stay at home by Mad. de Rosier’s desire.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, madam,” said Mad. de Rosier, who had not appeared in any + haste to justify herself; “your children always show you affection by + their own desire, never by mine: your penetration would certainly discover + the difference between attentions prompted by a governess, and those which + are shown by artless affection.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear madam, say no more,” said Mrs. Harcourt, holding out her hand: + “you are a real friend.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier now went to call Herbert, but on opening the door, Mrs. + Grace fell forward upon her face into the room; she had been kneeling with + her head close to the key-hole of the door; and, probably, the sound of + her own name, and a few sentences now and then spoken in English, had so + fixed her attention, that she did not prepare in time for her retreat. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, Grace, and walk in, if you please,” said Mrs. Harcourt, with much + calmness; “we have not the least objection to your hearing our + conversation.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, ma’am,” said Grace, as soon as she had recovered her feet, “I’m + above listening to any body’s conversations, except that when one hears + one’s own name, and knows that one has enemies, it is but natural to + listen in one’s own defence.” + </p> + <p> + “And is that all you can do, Grace, in your own defence?” said Mrs. + Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not all I can <i>say</i>, ma’am,” replied Grace, pushed to + extremities; and still with a secret hope that her mistress, <i>upon a + pinch, would not part with a favourite maid</i>: “I see I’m of no further + use in the family, neither to young or old—and new comers have put + me quite out of favour, and have your ear to themselves—so, if you + please, ma’am, I had better look out for another situation.” + </p> + <p> + “If you please, Grace,” said Mrs. Harcourt. + </p> + <p> + “I will leave the house this instant, if you think proper, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “If you think proper, Grace,” said her mistress, with immovable + philosophy. + </p> + <p> + Grace burst into tears: “I never thought it would come to this, Mrs. + Harcourt—<i>I</i>, that have lived so long such a favourite!—but + I don’t blame you, madam; you have been the best and kindest of mistresses + to me; and, whatever becomes of me, to my dying words, I shall always give + you and the dear young ladies the best of characters.” + </p> + <p> + “The character we may give <i>you</i>, Grace, is of rather more + consequence.” + </p> + <p> + “Every thing that I say and do,” interrupted the sobbing Grace, “is <i>vilified</i> + and misinterpreted by those who wish me ill. I—” + </p> + <p> + “You have desired to leave me, Grace; and my desire is that you should + leave me,” said Mrs. Harcourt, with firmness. “Mad. de Rosier and I + strictly forbade you to interfere with any of the children in our absence; + you have thought proper to disregard these orders; and were you to stay + longer in my house, I perceive that you would teach my children first to + disobey, and afterward to deceive me.” + </p> + <p> + Grace, little prepared for this calm decision, now in a frightened, humble + tone, began to make promises of reformation; but her promises and + apologies were vain; she was compelled to depart, and every body was glad + to have done with her. + </p> + <p> + Favoretta, young as she was, had already learned from this cunning + waiting-maid habits of deceit which could not be suddenly changed. Mad. de + Rosier attempted her cure, by making her feel, in the first place, the + inconveniences and the disgrace of not being trusted. Favoretta was + ashamed to perceive that she was the only person in the house who was + watched: and she was heartily glad when, by degrees, she had opportunities + allowed her of obtaining a character for truth, and all the pleasures and + all the advantages of confidence. + </p> + <p> + Things went on much better after the gnome-like influence of Mrs Grace had + ceased; but we must now hasten to introduce our readers to Mrs. Fanshaw. + Mrs. Fanshaw was a card-playing lady, who had been educated at a time when + it was not thought necessary for women to have any knowledge, or any taste + for literature. As she advanced in life, she continually recurred to the + maxims as well as to the fashions of her youth; and the improvements in + modern female education she treated as dangerous innovations. She had + placed her daughter at a boarding-school in London, the expense of which + was its chief recommendation; and she saw her regularly at the Christmas + and Midsummer holidays. At length, when Miss Fanshaw was about sixteen, + her prudent mother began to think that it was time to take her from + school, and to introduce her into the world. Miss Fanshaw had learned to + speak French passably, to read a <i>little</i> Italian, to draw <i>a + little</i>, to play tolerably well upon the piano-forte, and to dance as + well as many other young ladies. She had been sedulously taught a + sovereign contempt of whatever was called <i>vulgar</i> at the school + where she was educated; but, as she was profoundly ignorant of every thing + but the routine of that school, she had no precise idea of propriety; she + only knew what was thought vulgar or genteel at Suxberry House; and the + authority of Mrs. Suxberry (for that was the name of her schoolmistress) + she quoted as incontrovertible upon all occasions. Without reflecting upon + what was wrong or right, she decided with pert vivacity on all subjects; + and firmly believed that no one could know or could learn any thing who + had not been educated precisely as she had been. She considered her mother + as an inferior personage, destitute of genteel accomplishments: her mother + considered her as a model of perfection, that could only have been + rendered thus thoroughly accomplished by <i>the most expensive masters</i>—her + only fear was, that her dear Jane should be rather too <i>learned</i>. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt, with Isabella and Matilda, paid Mrs. Fanshaw a visit, as + soon as they heard that her daughter was come home. + </p> + <p> + Miss Fanshaw, an erect stiffened figure, made her entrée; and it was + impossible not to perceive that her whole soul was intent upon her manner + of holding her head and placing her elbows, as she came into the room. Her + person had undergone all the ordinary and extraordinary tortures of + back-boards, collars, stocks, dumbbells, &c. She looked at Isabella + and Matilda with some surprise and contempt during the first ten minutes + after her entrance; for they were neither of them seated in the exact + posture which she had been instructed to think the only position in which + a <i>young lady</i> should sit in company. Isabella got up to look at a + drawing; Miss Fanshaw watched every step she took, and settled it in her + own mind that Miss Harcourt did not walk as if she had ever been at + Suxberry House. Matilda endeavoured to engage the figure that sat beside + her in conversation; but the figure had no conversation, and the utmost + that Matilda could obtain was a few monosyllables pronounced with affected + gravity; for at Suxberry House this young lady had been taught to maintain + an invincible silence when produced to strangers; but she made herself + amends for this constraint, the moment she was with her companions, by a + tittering, gossiping species of communication, which scarcely deserves the + name of conversation. + </p> + <p> + Whilst the silent Miss Fanshaw sat so as to do her dancing-master strict + justice, Mrs. Fanshaw was stating to Mrs. Harcourt the enormous expense to + which she had gone in her daughter’s education. Though firm to her + original doctrine, that women had no occasion for learning—in which + word of reproach she included all literature—she nevertheless had + been convinced, by the unanimous voice of fashion, that accomplishments + were <i>most desirable for young ladies</i>—desirable, merely + because they were fashionable; she did not, in the least, consider them as + sources of independent occupation. + </p> + <p> + Isabella was struck with sudden admiration at the sight of a head of + Jupiter which Miss Fanshaw had just finished, and Mrs. Harcourt borrowed + it for her to copy; though Miss Fanshaw was secretly but decidedly of + opinion, that no one who had not learned from the drawing-master at + Suxberry House could copy this head of Jupiter with any chance of success. + </p> + <p> + There was a pretty little netting-box upon the table which caught + Matilda’s eye, and she asked the silent figure what it was made of. The + silent figure turned its head mechanically, but could give no information + upon the subject. Mrs. Fanshaw, however, said that she had bought the box + at the Repository for ingenious works, and that the reason she chose it + was because Lady N—— had recommended it to her. + </p> + <p> + “It is some kind of new manufacture, her ladyship tells me, invented by + some poor little boy that she patronizes; her ladyship can tell you more + of the matter, Miss Matilda, than I can,” concluded Mrs. Fanshaw; and, + producing her netting, she asked Mrs. Harcourt, “if she had not been + vastly notable to have got forward so fast with her work.” + </p> + <p> + The remainder of the visit was spent in recounting her losses at the + card-table, and in exhortation to Mrs. Harcourt to send Miss Isabella and + Matilda to finish their education at Suxberry House. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt was somewhat alarmed by the idea that her daughters would + not be equal to Miss Fanshaw in accomplishments but, fortunately for Mad. + de Rosier and herself, she was soon induced to change her opinion by + farther opportunities of comparison. + </p> + <p> + In a few days her visit was returned. Mrs. Harcourt happened to mention + the globe that Isabella was painting: Miss Fanshaw begged to see it, and + she went into Mrs. Harcourt’s dressing-room, where it hung. The moment she + found herself with Isabella and Matilda, <i>out of company</i>, the silent + figure became talkative. The charm seemed to be broken, or rather + reversed, and she began to chatter with pert incessant rapidity. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me,” said she, casting a scornful glance at Matilda’s globe, “this + is vastly pretty, but we’ve no such thing at Suxberry House. I wonder Mrs. + Harcourt didn’t send both of you to Suxberry House—every body sends + their daughters, who can afford it, now, to Suxberry House; but, to be + sure, it’s very expensive—we had all silver forks, and every thing + in the highest style, and Mrs. Suxberry keeps a coach. I assure you she’s + not at all like a schoolmistress, and she thinks it very rude and vulgar + of any body to call her a schoolmistress. Won’t you ask your mamma to send + you, if it’s only for the name of it, for one year, to Suxberry House?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Matilda; “we are so happy under the care of Mad. de Rosier.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, dear me! I forgot—mamma told me <i>you’d got</i> a new French + governess lately—our French teacher, at Suxberry House, was so + strict, and so cross, if one made a mistake in the tenses: it’s very well + for you your governess is not cross—does she give you very hard + exercises?—let me look at your exercise book, and I’ll tell you + whether it’s the right one—I mean <i>that</i> we used to have at + Suxberry House.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Fanshaw snatched up a book, in which she saw a paper, which she took + for a French exercise. + </p> + <p> + “Come, show it me, and I’ll correct the faults for you, before your + governess sees it, and she’ll be so surprised!” + </p> + <p> + “Mad. de Rosier has seen it,” said Matilda;—but Miss Fanshaw, in a + romping manner, pulled the paper out of her hands. It was the translation + of a part of “Les Conversations d’Emilie,” which we formerly mentioned. + </p> + <p> + “La!” said Miss Fanshaw, “we had no such book as this at Suxberry House.” + </p> + <p> + Matilda’s translation she was surprised to find correct. + </p> + <p> + “And do you write themes?” said she—“We always wrote themes once + every week, at Suxberry House, which I used to hate of all things, for I + never could find any thing to say—it made me hate writing, I know;—but + that’s all over now; thank goodness, I’ve done with themes, and French + letters, and exercises, and translations, and all those plaguing things; + and now I’ve left school for ever, I may do just as I please—that’s + the best of going to school; it’s over some time or other, and there’s an + end of it; but you that have a governess and masters at home, you go on + for ever and ever, and you have no holidays either; and you have no + out-of-school hours; you are kept <i>hard at it</i> from morning till + night: now I should hate that of all things. At Suxberry House, when we + had got our task done, and finished with the writing-master and the + drawing-master, and when we had practised for the music-master, and <i>all + that</i>, we might be as idle as we pleased, and do what we liked out of + school-hours—you know that was very pleasant: I assure you, you’d + like being at Suxberry House amazingly.” + </p> + <p> + Isabella and Matilda, to whom it did not appear the most delightful of all + things to be idle, nor the most desirable thing in the world to have their + education finished, and then to lay aside all thoughts of farther + improvement, could not assent to Miss Fanshaw’s concluding assertion. They + declared that they did not feel any want of holidays; at which Miss + Fanshaw stared: they said that they had no tasks, and that they liked to + be employed rather better than to be idle; at which Miss Fanshaw laughed, + and sarcastically said, “You need not talk to me as if your governess were + by, for I’m not a tell-tale—I shan’t repeat what you say.” + </p> + <p> + Isabella and Matilda, who had not two methods of talking, looked rather + displeased at this ill-bred speech. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Miss Fanshaw, “I hope you aren’t affronted <i>now</i> at what + I said; when we are by ourselves, you know, one says just what comes into + one’s head. Whose handsome coach is this, pray, with a coronet?” continued + she, looking out of the window: “I declare it is stopping at your door; do + let us go down. I’m never afraid of going into the room when there’s + company, for we were taught to go into a room at Suxberry House; and Mrs. + Suxberry says it’s very vulgar to be ashamed, and I assure you it’s all + custom. I used to colour, as Miss Matilda does, every minute; but I got + over it before I had been long at Suxberry House.” + </p> + <p> + Isabella, who had just been reading “A Father’s Legacy to his Daughters,” + recollected at this instant Dr. Gregory’s opinion, “that when a girl + ceases to blush, she has lost the most powerful charm of beauty.” She had + not, however, time to <i>quote</i> this in Matilda’s defence; for Miss + Fanshaw ran down stairs, and Isabella recollected, before she overtook + her, that it would not be polite to remind her of her early loss of + charms. + </p> + <p> + Lady N—— was in the coach which had excited Miss Fanshaw’s + admiration; and this young lady had a glorious opportunity of showing the + graces that she had been taught at so much expense, for the room was full + of company. Several morning visitors had called upon Mrs. Harcourt, and + they formed a pretty large circle, which Miss Fanshaw viewed upon her + entrance with a sort of studied assurance. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fanshaw watched Lady N——‘s eye as her daughter came into + the room; but Lady N—— did not appear to be much struck with + the second-hand graces of Suxberry House; her eye passed over Miss + Fanshaw, in search of something less affected and more interesting. + </p> + <p> + Miss Fanshaw had now resumed her <i>company face</i> and attitude; she sat + in prudent silence, whilst Lady N—— addressed her conversation + to Isabella and Matilda, whose thoughts did not seem to be totally + engrossed by their own persons. + </p> + <p> + Dr. X—— had prepared this lady to think favourably of Mad. de + Rosier’s pupils, by the account which he had given her of Isabella’s + remarks upon Zeluco. + </p> + <p> + A person of good sense, who has an encouraging countenance, can easily + draw out the abilities of young people, and from their manner of + listening, as well as from their manner of speaking, can soon form a + judgment of their temper and understanding. + </p> + <p> + Miss Fanshaw, instead of attending with a desire to improve herself from + sensible conversation, sat with a look as absent as that of an unskilful + actress, whilst the other performers are engaged in their parts. + </p> + <p> + There was a small book-case, in a recess, at the farthest end of the room, + and upon a little table there were some books, which Isabella and Matilda + had been reading with Mad. de Rosier. Mrs. Fanshaw looked towards the + table, with a sarcastic smile, and said— + </p> + <p> + “You are great readers, young ladies, I see: may we know what are your + studies?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Fanshaw, to show how well she could walk, crossed the room, and took + up one of the books. + </p> + <p> + “‘Alison upon Taste’—that’s a pretty book, I dare say—but la! + what’s this, Miss Isabella? ‘A Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments’—dear + me! that must be a curious performance—by a smith! a common smith!” + </p> + <p> + Isabella, good-naturedly, stopped her from farther absurd exclamations by + turning to the title-page of the book and showing her the words <i>“Adam + Smith.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>A</i> stands for <i>Adam!</i> very true—I thought it was <i>a</i> + smith,” said Miss Fanshaw. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” said her mother, who had quickness enough to perceive + that her daughter had made some mistake, by the countenances of the + company, but who had not sufficient erudition to know what the mistake + could be—“well, my dear, and suppose it was <i>a</i> smith, there’s + nothing extraordinary in that—nothing extraordinary in a smith’s + writing a book nowadays,—why not a common blacksmith, as well as a + common ploughman?—I was asked, I know, not long ago, to subscribe <i>to</i> + the poems of a common ploughman.” + </p> + <p> + “The Ayrshire ploughman?” said Lady N——. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they called him so, as I recollect, and I really had a mind to put + my name down, for I think I saw your ladyship’s amongst the subscribers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they are beautiful poems,” said Lady N——. + </p> + <p> + “So I understand—there are some vastly pretty things in his + collection—but one hears of so many good things coming out every + day,” said Mrs. Fanshaw, in a plaintive voice. “In these days, I think, + every body writes—” + </p> + <p> + “And reads,” said Lady N——. + </p> + <p> + “And reads,” said Mrs. Fanshaw. “We have learned ladies now, wherever one + goes, who tell one they never play at cards—I am sure they are very + bad company. Jane,” said she, turning to her daughter, “I hope you won’t + take it into your head to turn out a reading lady!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, no!” said Miss Fanshaw: “we had not much time for reading at + Suxberry House, we were so busy with our masters;—we had a charming + English master though, to teach us elocution, because it’s so fashionable + now to read loud well. Mrs. Harcourt, <i>isn’t it odd</i> to read English + books to a French governess?” continued this young lady, whose constrained + taciturnity now gave way to a strong desire to show herself off before + Lady N——. She had observed that Isabella and Matilda had been + listened to with approbation, and she imagined that, when she spoke, she + should certainly eclipse them. Mrs. Harcourt replied to her observation, + that Mad. de Rosier not only read and spoke English remarkably well, but + that she had also a general knowledge of English literature. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! here are some French books,” said Miss Fanshaw, taking down one out + of the book-case—“‘Journal Étranger’—dear me! are you + translating <i>of</i> this, Miss Isabella?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Harcourt; “Madame de Rosier brought it down stairs + yesterday, to show us an essay of Hume’s on the study of history, which is + particularly addressed to women; and Mad. de Rosier says that it is not to + be found in several of the late editions of Hume’s Essays—she + thought it singular that it should be preserved in a French translation.” + </p> + <p> + “There is,” said Isabella, “an entertaining account in that essay of a + lady who asked Hume to lend her some novels! He lent her Plutarch’s Lives, + which she thought very amusing, till she found out that they were true. As + soon as she came to the names of Caesar and Alexander, she returned the + books.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fanshaw was surprised that Lady N—— begged to look at + this essay; and was much disappointed to observe that the graceful manner + in which Miss Fanshaw presented the book to her ladyship escaped notice. + </p> + <p> + “Pray, Miss Matilda, is that a drawing?” said Mrs. Fanshaw, in hopes of + leading to a more favourable subject. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear me! do pray favour us with a sight of it!” cried Miss Fanshaw, + and she eagerly unrolled the paper, though Matilda assured her that it was + not a drawing. + </p> + <p> + It was Hogarth’s print of a country dance, which was prefixed to his + “Analysis of Beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the <i>oddest</i> thing!” exclaimed Miss Fanshaw, who thought every + thing <i>odd</i> or <i>strange</i> which she had not seen at Suxberry + house. Without staying to observe the innumerable strokes of humour and of + original genius in the print, she ran on—“La! its hardly worth any + one’s while, surely, to draw such a set of vulgar figures—one hates + low humour.” Then, in a hurry to show her taste for dress, she observed + that “people, formerly, must have had no taste at all;—one can + hardly believe such things were ever worn.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fanshaw, touched by this reflection upon the taste of former times, + though she seldom presumed to oppose any of her daughter’s opinions, could + not here refrain from saying a few words in defence of sacks, long waists, + and whalebone stays, and she pointed to a row of stays in the margin of + one of these prints of Hogarth. + </p> + <p> + Miss Fanshaw, who did not consider that, with those who have a taste for + propriety in manners, she could not gain any thing by a triumph over her + mother, laughed in a disdainful manner at her mother’s “<i>partiality for + stays</i>,” and <i>wondered</i> how any body could think long waists + becoming. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, any body who knows any thing of drawing, or has any taste for an + antique figure, must acknowledge the present fashion to be most graceful.” + She appealed to Isabella and Matilda. + </p> + <p> + They were so much struck with the impropriety of her manner towards her + mother, that they did not immediately answer; Matilda at length said, “It + is natural to like what we have been early used to;” and, from unaffected + gentleness, eager to prevent Miss Fanshaw from further exposing her + ignorance, she rolled up the print; and Lady N——, smiling at + Mrs. Harcourt, said, “I never saw a print more <i>gracefully</i> rolled up + in my life.” Miss Fanshaw immediately rolled up another of the prints, but + no applause ensued. + </p> + <p> + At the next pause in the conversation, Mrs. Fanshaw and her daughter took + their leave, seemingly dissatisfied with their visit. + </p> + <p> + Matilda, just after Mrs. Fanshaw left the room, recollected her pretty + netting-box, and asked Lady N—— whether she knew any thing of + the little boy by whom it was made. + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship gave such an interesting account of him, that Matilda + determined to have her share in relieving his distress. + </p> + <p> + Matilda’s benevolence was formerly rather passive than active; but from + Mad. de Rosier she had learned that sensibility should not be suffered to + evaporate in sighs, or in sentimental speeches. She had also learnt that + economy is necessary to generosity; and she consequently sometimes denied + herself the gratification of her own tastes, that she might be able to + assist those who were in distress. + </p> + <p> + She had lately seen a beautiful print{3} of the king of France taking + leave of his family; and, as Mad. de Rosier was struck with it, she wished + to have bought it for her; but she now considered that a guinea, which was + the price of the print, might be better bestowed on this poor, little, + ingenious, industrious boy; so she begged her mother to send to the + repository for one of his boxes. The servants were all busy, and Matilda + did not receive her box till the next morning. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: By Egginton.} + </p> + <p> + Herbert was reading to Mad. de Rosier when the servant brought the box + into the room. Favoretta got up to look at it, and immediately Herbert’s + eye glanced from his book: in spite of all his endeavours to command his + attention, he heard the exclamations of “Beautiful!—How smooth!—like + tortoise-shell!—What can it be made of?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Herbert, shut the book,” said Mad. de Rosier, “if your head be in + that box. Never read one moment after you have ceased to attend.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my fault,” said Matilda; “I will put the box out of the way till he + has finished reading.” + </p> + <p> + When Herbert had recalled his wandering thoughts, and had fixed his mind + upon what he was about, Mad. de Rosier put her hand upon the book—he + started—“Now let us see the <i>beautiful</i> box,” said she. + </p> + <p> + After it had passed through Favoretta and Herbert’s impatient hands, + Matilda, who had scarcely looked at it herself, took it to the window, to + give it a sober examination. “It is not made of paper, or pasteboard, and + it is not the colour of tortoise-shell,” said Matilda: “I never saw any + thing like it before; I wonder what it can be made of?” + </p> + <p> + Herbert, at this question, unperceived by Matilda, who was examining the + box very earnestly, seized the lid, which was lying upon the table, and + ran out of the room; he returned in a few minutes, and presented the lid + to Matilda. “I can tell you one thing, Matilda,” said he, with an + important face—“it is an animal—an animal substance, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Herbert,” cried Matilda, “what have you been doing?—you have + blackened the corner of the box.” + </p> + <p> + “Only the least bit in the world,” said Herbert, “to try an experiment. I + only put one corner to the candle that Isabella had lighted to seal her + letter.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Herbert, how could you burn your sister’s box?” expostulated + Madame de Rosier: “I thought you did not love mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “Mischief!—no, indeed; I thought you would be pleased that I + remembered how to distinguish animal from vegetable substances. You know, + the day that my hair was on fire, you told me how to do that; and Matilda + wanted to know what the box was made of; so I tried.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Matilda, good-naturedly, “you have not done me much harm.” + </p> + <p> + “But another time,” said Mad. de Rosier, “don’t burn a box that costs a + guinea to try an experiment; and, above all things, never, upon any + account, take what is not your own.” + </p> + <p> + The corner of the lid that had been held to the candle was a little + warped, so that the lid did not slide into its groove as easily as it did + before. Herbert was disposed to use force upon the occasion; but Matilda + with difficulty rescued her box by an argument which fortunately reached + his understanding in time enough to stop his hand. + </p> + <p> + “It was the heat of the candle that warped it,” said she: “let us dip it + into boiling water, which cannot be made <i>too</i> hot, and that will, + perhaps, bring it back to its shape.” + </p> + <p> + The lid of the box was dipped into boiling-water, and restored to its + shape. Matilda, as she was wiping it dry, observed that some yellow paint, + or varnish, came off, and in one spot, on the inside of the lid, she + discovered something like writing. + </p> + <p> + “Who will lend me a magnifying glass?” + </p> + <p> + Favoretta produced hers. + </p> + <p> + “I have kept it,” said she, “a great, <i>great</i> while, ever since we + were at the Rational Toy-shop.” + </p> + <p> + “Mad. de Rosier, do look at this!” exclaimed Matilda—“here are + letters quite plain!—I have found the name, I do believe, of the boy + who made the box!” and she spelled, letter by letter, as she looked + through the magnifying glass, the words Henri-Montmorenci. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier started up; and Matilda, surprised at her sudden emotion, + put the box and magnifying glass into her hand. Madame de Rosier’s hand + trembled so much that she could not fix the glass. + </p> + <p> + “Je ne vois rien—lisez—vite!—ma chère amie—un mot + de plus!” said she, putting the glass again into Matilda’s hand, and + leaning over her shoulder with a look of agonizing expectation. + </p> + <p> + The word <i>de</i> was all Matilda could make out—Isabella tried—it + was in vain—no other letters were visible. + </p> + <p> + “<i>De</i> what?—<i>de</i> Rosier!—it must be! my son is + alive!” said the mother. + </p> + <p> + Henri-Montmorenci was the name of Mad. de Rosier’s son; but when she + reflected for an instant that this might also be the name of some other + person, her transport of joy was checked, and seemed to be converted into + despair. + </p> + <p> + Her first emotions over, the habitual firmness of her mind returned. She + sent directly to the repository—no news of the boy could there be + obtained. Lady N—— was gone, for a few days, to Windsor; so no + intelligence could be had from her. Mrs. Harcourt was out—no + carriage at home—but Mad. de Rosier set out immediately, and walked + to Golden-square, near which place she knew that a number of French + emigrants resided. She stopped first at a bookseller’s shop; she described + the person of her son, and inquired if any such person had been seen in + that neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + The bookseller was making out a bill for one of his customers, but struck + with Mad. de Rosier’s anxiety, and perceiving that she was a foreigner by + her accent, he put down his pen, and begged her to repeat, once more, the + description of her son. He tried to recollect whether he had seen such a + person—but he had not. He, however, with true English good-nature, + told her that she had an excellent chance of finding him in this part of + the town, if he were in London—he was sorry that his shopman was + from home, or he would have sent him with her through the streets near the + square, where he knew the emigrants chiefly lodged;—he gave her in + writing a list of the names of these streets, and stood at his door to + watch and speed her on her way. + </p> + <p> + She called at the neighbouring shops—she walked down several narrow + streets, inquiring at every house, where she thought that there was any + chance of success, in vain. At one a slip-shod maid-servant came to the + door, who stared at seeing a well-dressed lady, and who was so bewildered, + that she could not, for some time, answer any questions; at another house + the master was out; at another, the master was at dinner. As it got + towards four o’clock, Mad. de Rosier found it more difficult to obtain + civil answers to her inquiries, for almost all the tradesmen were at + dinner, and when they came to the door, looked out of humour, at being + interrupted, and disappointed at not meeting with a customer. She walked + on, her mind still indefatigable:—she heard a clock in the + neighbourhood strike five—her strength was not equal to the energy + of her mind—and the repeated answers of, “We know of no such person”—“No + such boy lives here, ma’am,” made her at length despair of success. + </p> + <p> + One street upon her list remained unsearched—it was narrow, dark, + and dirty;—she stopped for a moment at the corner, but a porter, + heavily laden, with a sudden “By your leave, ma’am!” pushed forwards, and + she was forced into the doorway of a small ironmonger’s shop. The master + of the shop, who was weighing some iron goods, let the scale go up, and, + after a look of surprise, said— + </p> + <p> + “You’ve lost your way, madam, I presume—be pleased to rest yourself—it + is but a dark place;” and wiping a stool, on which some locks had been + lying, he left Mad. de Rosier, who was, indeed, exhausted with fatigue, to + rest herself, whilst, without any officious civility, after calling his + wife from a back shop, to give the lady a glass of water, he went on + weighing his iron and whistling. + </p> + <p> + The woman, as soon as Mad. de Rosier had drunk the water, inquired if she + should send for a coach for her, or could do any thing to serve her. + </p> + <p> + The extreme good-nature of the tone in which this was spoken seemed to + revive Mad. de Rosier; she told her that she was searching for an only + son, whom she had for nearly two years believed to be dead: she showed the + paper on which his name was written: the woman could not read—her + husband read the name, but he shook his head—“he knew of no lad who + answered to the description.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst they were speaking, a little boy came into the shop with a bit of + small iron wire in his hand, and, twitching the skirt of the ironmonger’s + coat to attract his attention, asked if he had any such wire as that in + his shop. When the ironmonger went to get down a roll of wire, the little + boy had a full view of Mad. de Rosier. Though she was naturally disposed + to take notice of children, yet now she was so intent upon her own + thoughts that she did not observe him till he had bowed several times just + opposite to her. + </p> + <p> + “Are you bowing to me, my good boy?” said she—“you mistake me for + somebody else; I don’t know you;” and she looked down again upon the + paper, on which she had written the name of her son. + </p> + <p> + “But, indeed, ma’am, I know <i>you</i>,” said the little boy: “aren’t you + the lady that was with the good-natured young gentleman, who met me going + out of the pastry-cook’s shop, and gave me the two buns?” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier now looked in his face; the shop was so dark that she could + not distinguish his features, but she recollected his voice, and knew him + to be the little boy belonging to the dulcimer man. + </p> + <p> + “Father would have come again to your house,” said the boy, who did not + perceive her inattention—“Father would have come to your house + again, to play the tune the young gentleman fancied so much, but our + dulcimer is broken.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? I am sorry for it,” said Mad. de Rosier. “But can you tell me,” + continued she to the ironmonger, “whether any emigrants lodge in the + street to the left of your house?” The master of the shop tried to + recollect: she again repeated the name and description of her son. + </p> + <p> + “I know a young French lad of that make,” said the little dulcimer boy. + </p> + <p> + “Do you?—Where is he? Where does he lodge?” cried Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + “I am not speaking as to his name, for I never heard his name,” said the + little boy; “but I’ll tell you how I came to know him. One day lately—” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Rosier interrupted him with questions concerning the figure, + height, age, eyes, of the French lad. + </p> + <p> + The little dulcimer boy, by his answers, sometimes made her doubt, and + sometimes made her certain, that he was her son. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said she, “where he lodges; I must see him immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “I am just come from him, and I’m going back to him with the wire; I’ll + show the way with pleasure; he is the best-natured lad in the world; he is + mending my dulcimer; he deserves to be a great gentleman, and I thought he + was not what he seemed,” continued the little boy, as he walked on, + scarcely able to keep before Mad. de Rosier. + </p> + <p> + “This way, ma’am—this way—he lives in the corner house, + turning into Golden-square.” It was a stationer’s. + </p> + <p> + “I have called at this house already,” said Mad. de Rosier; but she + recollected that it was when the family were at dinner, and that a stupid + maid had not understood her questions. She was unable to speak, through + extreme agitation, when she came to the shop: the little dulcimer boy + walked straight forward, and gently drew back the short curtain that hung + before a glass door, opening into a back parlour. Mad. de Rosier sprang + forward to the door, looked through the glass, and was alarmed to see a + young man taller than her son; he was at work; his back was towards her. + </p> + <p> + When he heard the noise of some one trying to open the door, he turned and + saw his mother’s face! The tools dropped from his hands, and the dulcimer + boy was the only person present who had strength enough to open the door. + </p> + <p> + How sudden! how powerful is the effect of joy! The mother, restored to her + son, in a moment felt herself invigorated—and, forgetful of her + fatigue, she felt herself another being. When she was left alone with her + son, she looked round his little workshop with a mixture of pain and + pleasure. She saw one of his unfinished boxes on the window-seat, which + served him for a work-bench; his tools were upon the floor. “These have + been my support,” said her son, taking them up: “how much am I obliged to + my dear father for teaching me early how to use them!” + </p> + <p> + “Your father!” said Mad. de Rosier—“I wish he could have lived to be + rewarded as I am! But tell me your history, from the moment you were taken + from me to prison: it is nearly two years ago,—how did you escape? + how have you supported yourself since? Sit down, and speak again, that I + may be sure that I hear your voice.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall hear my voice, then, my dear mother,” said her son, “for at + least half an hour, if that will not tire you. I have a long story to tell + you. In the first place, you know that I was taken to prison; three months + I spent in the Conciergerie, expecting every day to be ordered out to the + guillotine. The gaoler’s son, a boy about my own age, who was sometimes + employed to bring me food, seemed to look upon me with compassion; I had + several opportunities of obliging him: his father often gave him long + returns of the names of the prisoners, and various accounts, to copy into + a large book; the young gentleman did not like this work; he was much + fonder of exercising as a soldier with some boys in the neighbourhood, who + were learning the national exercise; he frequently employed me to copy his + lists for him, and this I performed to his satisfaction: but what + completely won his heart was my mending the lock of his fusil. One evening + he came to me in a new uniform, and in high spirits; he was just made a + captain, by the unanimous voice of his corps; and he talked of <i>his</i> + men, and <i>his</i> orders, with prodigious fluency; he then played <i>his</i> + march upon his drum, and insisted upon teaching it to me; he was much + pleased with my performance, and, suddenly embracing me, he exclaimed, ‘I + have thought of an excellent thing for you; stay till I have arranged the + plan in my head, and you shall see if I am not a great general.’ The next + evening he did not come to me till it was nearly dusk; he was in his new + uniform; but out of a bag which he brought in his hand, in which he used + to carry his father’s papers, he produced his old uniform, rolled up into + a surprisingly small compass. ‘I have arranged every thing,’ said he; ‘put + on this old uniform of mine—we are just of a size—by this + light, nobody will perceive any difference: take my drum and march out of + the prison slowly; beat my march on the drum as you go out; turn to the + left, down to the Place de ——, where I exercise my men. You’ll + meet with one of my soldiers there, ready to forward your escape.’ I + hesitated; for I feared that I should endanger my young general; but he + assured me that he had taken his precautions so ‘<i>admirably</i>,’ that + even after my escape should be discovered, no suspicion would fall upon + him. ‘But, if you delay,’ cried he, ‘we are both of us undone.’ I + hesitated not a moment longer, and never did I change my clothes so + expeditiously in my life: I obeyed my little captain exactly, marched out + of the prison slowly, playing deliberately the march which I had been + taught; turned to the left, according to orders, and saw my punctual guide + waiting for me on the Place de ——, just by the broken statue + of Henry the Fourth. + </p> + <p> + “‘Follow me, fellow-citizen,’ said he, in a low voice; ‘we are not all + Robespierres.’” + </p> + <p> + Most joyfully I followed him. We walked on, in silence, till at length we + came to a narrow street, where the crowd was so great that I thought we + should both of us have been squeezed to death. I saw the guillotine at a + distance, and I felt sick. + </p> + <p> + “‘Come on,’ said my guide, who kept fast hold of me; and he turned sharp + into a yard, where I heard the noise of carts, and the voices of + muleteers. ‘This man,’ said he, leading me up to a muleteer, who seemed to + be just ready to depart, ‘is my father; trust yourself to him.’ + </p> + <p> + “I had nobody else to trust myself to. I got into the muleteer’s covered + cart; he began a loud song; we proceeded through the square where the + crowd were assembled. The enthusiasm of the moment occupied them so + entirely, that we were fortunately disregarded. We got out of Paris + safely: I will not tire you with all my terrors and escapes. I, at length, + got on board a neutral vessel, and landed at Bristol. Escaped from prison, + and the fear of the guillotine, I thought myself happy; but my happiness + was not very lasting. I began to apprehend that I should be starved to + death; I had not eaten for many hours. I wandered through the bustling + streets of Bristol, where every body I met seemed to be full of their own + business, and brushed by me without seeing me. I was weak, and I sat down + upon a stone by the door of a public-house. + </p> + <p> + “A woman was twirling a mop at the door. I wiped away the drops with which + I was sprinkled by this operation. I was too weak to be angry; but a + hairdresser, who was passing by, and who had a nicely powdered wig poised + upon his hand, was furiously enraged, because a few drops of the shower + which had sprinkled me reached the wig. He expressed his anger half in + French and half in English; but at last I observed to him in French, that + the wig was still ‘<i>bien poudrée</i>’—this calmed his rage; and he + remarked that I also had been <i>horribly</i> drenched by the shower. I + assured him that this was a trifle in comparison with my other sufferings. + </p> + <p> + “He begged to hear my misfortunes, because I spoke French; and as I + followed him to the place where he was going with the wig, I told him that + I had not eaten for many hours; that I was a stranger in Bristol, and had + no means of earning any food. He advised me to go to a tavern, which he + pointed out to me—‘The Rummer;’—he told me a circumstance, + which convinced me of the humanity of the master of the house.{4} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 4: During Christmas week it is the custom in Bristol to keep a + cheap ordinary in taverns: the master of the Rummer observed a stranger, + meanly dressed, who constantly frequented the public table. It was + suspected that he carried away some of the provision, and a waiter at + length communicated his suspicions to the master of the house. He watched + the stranger, and actually detected him putting a large mince-pie into his + pocket. Instead of publicly exposing him, the landlord, who judged from + the stranger’s manner that he was not an ordinary pilferer, called the man + aside as he was going away, and charged him with the fact, demanding of + him what could tempt him to such meanness. The poor man immediately + acknowledged that he had for several days carried off precisely what he + would have eaten himself for his starving wife, but he had eaten nothing. + The humane, considerate landlord gently reproved him for his conduct, and + soon found means to have him usefully and profitably employed.} + </p> + <p> + “I resolved to apply to this benevolent man. When I first went into his + kitchen, I saw his cook, a man with a very important face, serving out a + large turtle. Several people were waiting with covered dishes, for turtle + soup and turtle, which had been bespoken in different parts of the city. + The dishes, as fast as they were filled, continually passed by me, + tantalizing me by their savoury odours. I sat down upon a stool near the + fire—I saw food within my reach that honesty forbade me to touch, + though I was starving: how easy is it to the rich to be honest! I was at + this time so weak, that my ideas began to be confused—my head grew + dizzy—I felt the heat of the kitchen fire extremely disagreeable to + me. I do not know what happened afterward; but when I came to myself, I + found that I was leaning against some one who supported me near an open + window: it was the master of the house. I do not know why I was ashamed to + ask him for food; his humanity, however, prevented me. He first gave me a + small basin of broth, and afterwards a little bit of bread, assuring me, + with infinite good nature, that he gave me food in such small quantities, + because he was afraid that it would hurt me to satisfy my hunger at once—a + worthy, humane physician, he said, had told him, that persons in my + situation should be treated in this manner. I thanked him for his + kindness, adding, that I did not mean to encroach upon his hospitality. He + pressed me to stay at his house for some days, but I could not think of + being a burden to him, when I had strength enough to maintain myself. + </p> + <p> + “In the window of the little parlour, where I ate my broth, I saw a novel, + which had been left there by the landlord’s daughter, and in the beginning + of this book was pasted a direction to the circulating library in Bristol. + I was in hopes that I might earn my bread as a scribe. The landlord of the + Rummer told me that he was acquainted with the master of the library, and + that I might easily procure employment from him on reasonable terms. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. S——, for that was the name of the master of the library, + received me with an air of encouraging benevolence, and finding that I + could read and write English tolerably well, he gave me a manuscript to + copy, which he was preparing for the press. I worked hard, and made, as I + fancied, a beautiful copy; but the printers complained of my upright + French hand, which they could not easily decipher:—I began to + new-model my writing, to please the taste of my employers; and as I had + sufficient motives to make me take pains, I at last succeeded. I found it + a great advantage to be able to read and write the English language + fluently; and when my employers perceived my education had not been + neglected, and that I had some knowledge of literature, their confidence + in my abilities increased. I hope you will not think me vain if I add, + that I could perceive my manners were advantageous to me. I was known to + be a gentleman’s son; and even those who set but little value upon <i>manners</i> + seemed to be influenced by them, without perceiving it. But, without + pronouncing my own eulogium, let me content myself with telling you my + history. + </p> + <p> + “I used often, in carrying my day’s work to the printer’s, to pass through + a part of the town of Bristol which has been allotted to poor emigrants, + and there I saw a variety of little ingenious toys, which were sold at a + high price, or at a price which appeared to me to be high. I began to + consider that I might earn money by invention, as well as by mere manual + labour; but before I gave up any part of my time to my new schemes, I + regularly wrote as much each day as was sufficient to maintain me. Now it + was that I felt the advantage of having been taught, when I was a boy, the + use of carpenters’ tools, and some degree of mechanical dexterity. I made + several clumsy toys, and I tried various unsuccessful experiments, but I + was not discouraged. One day I heard a dispute near me about some trinket—a + toothpick-case, I believe—which was thought by the purchaser to be + too highly priced; the man who made it repeatedly said, in recommendation + of the toy—‘Why, sir, you could not know it from tortoise-shell.’ + </p> + <p> + “I, at this instant, recollected to have seen, at the Rummer, a great heap + of broken shells, which the cook had thrown aside, as if they were of no + value. Upon inquiry, I found that there was part of the inside shell which + was thought to be useless—it occurred to me that I might possibly + make it useful. The good-natured landlord ordered that all this part of + the shells should be carefully collected and given to me. I tried to + polish it for many hours in vain. I was often tempted to abandon my + project—there was a want of <i>finish</i>, as the workmen call it, + in my manufacture, which made me despair of its being saleable. I will not + weary you with a history of all my unsuccessful processes; it was + fortunate for me, my dear mother, that I remembered one of the principles + which you taught me when I was a child, that it is not <i>genius</i>, but + perseverance, which brings things to perfection. I persevered, and though + I did not bring my manufacture to <i>perfection</i>, I actually succeeded + so far as to make a very neat-looking box out of my refuse shells. I + offered it for sale—it was liked: I made several more, and they were + quickly sold for me, most advantageously, by my good friend, Mr. S——. + He advised me to make them in the shape of netting-boxes; I did so, and + their sale extended rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “Some benevolent lady, about this time, raised a subscription for me; but + as I had now an easy means of supporting myself, and as I every day beheld + numbers of my countrymen, nearly in the condition in which I was when I + first went to the Rummer, I thought it was not fit to accept of the + charitable assistance, which could be so much better bestowed upon others. + Mr. S—— told me, that the lady who raised the contribution, so + far from being offended, was pleased by my conduct in declining her + bounty, and she undertook to dispose of as many of my netting-boxes as I + could finish. She was one of the patronesses of a repository in London, + which has lately been opened, called the ‘Repository for Ingenious Works.’ + When she left Bristol, she desired Mr. S—— to send my boxes + thither. + </p> + <p> + “My little manufacture continued to prosper—by practice I grew more + and more expert, and I had no longer any fears that I should not be able + to maintain myself. It was fortunate for me that I was obliged to be + constantly employed: whenever I was not actually at hard work, whenever I + had leisure for reflection, I was unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “A friend of Mr. S——, who was going to London, offered to take + me with him—I had some curiosity to see this celebrated metropolis, + and I had hopes of meeting with some of my friends amongst the emigrants + in this city—amongst all the emigrants at Bristol there was not one + person with whom I had been acquainted in France. + </p> + <p> + “Impelled by these hopes, I quitted Bristol, and arrived a few weeks ago + in London. Mr. S—— gave me a direction to a cabinet-maker in + Leicester Fields, and I was able to pay for a decent lodging, for I was + now master of what appeared to me a large sum of money—seven + guineas. + </p> + <p> + “Some time after I came to town, as I was returning from a visit to an + emigrant, with whom I had become acquainted, I was stopped at the corner + of a street by a crowd of people—<i>a mob</i>, as I have been taught + to call it, since I came to England—who had gathered round a blind + man, a little boy, and a virago of a woman, who stood upon the steps + before a print-shop door. The woman accused the boy of being a thief. The + boy protested that he was innocent, and his ingenuous countenance spoke + strongly in his favour. He belonged to the blind man, who, as soon as he + could make himself heard, complained bitterly of the damage which had been + done to his dulcimer. The mob, in their first fury, had broken it. I was + interested for the man but more for the boy. Perhaps, said I to myself, he + has neither father nor mother! + </p> + <p> + “When the woman, who was standing yet furious at the shop-door, had no + more words for utterance, the little boy was suffered to speak in his own + defence. He said, that, as he was passing by the open window of the + print-shop, he put his hand in to give part of a bun which he was eating + to a little dog, who was sitting on the counter, near the window; and who + looked thin and miserable, as if he was half-starved. ‘But,’ continued the + little boy, ‘when I put the bun to the dog’s mouth, he did not eat it; I + gave him a little push to make him mind me, and he fell out of the window + into my hands; and then I found that it was not a real dog, but only the + picture of a dog, painted upon pasteboard. The mistress of the shop saw + the dog in my hand, and snatched it away, and accused me of being a thief; + so then, with the noise she made, the chairmen, who were near the door, + came up, and the mob gathered, and our dulcimer was broken, and I’m very + sorry for it.’ The mistress of the print-shop observed, in a loud and + contemptuous tone, ‘that all this must be a lie, for that <i>such a one as</i> + he could not have buns to give away to dogs!’—Here the blind man + vindicated his boy, by assuring us that ‘he came honestly by the bun—that + two buns had been given to him about an hour before this time by a young + gentleman, who met him as he was coming out of a pastry-cook’s shop.’ When + the mob heard this explanation, they were sorry for the mischief they had + done to the blind man’s dulcimer; and, after examining it with expressions + of sorrow, they quietly dispersed. I thought that I could perhaps mend the + dulcimer, and I offered my services; they were gladly accepted, and I + desired the man to leave it at the cabinet-maker’s, in Leicester Fields, + where I lodged. In the meantime the little boy, whilst I had been + examining the dulcimer, had been wiping the dirt from off the pasteboard + dog, which, during the fray, had fallen into the street—‘Is it not + like a real dog?’ said the boy, ‘Was it not enough to deceive any body?’ + </p> + <p> + “It was, indeed, extremely like a <i>real</i> dog—like my dog, + Caesar, whom I had taken care of from the time I was five years old, and + whom I was obliged to leave at our house in Paris, when I was dragged to + prison. The more I looked at this pasteboard image, the more I was + convinced that the picture must have been drawn from the life. Every + streak, every spot, every shade of its brown coat I remembered. Its + extreme thinness was the only circumstance in which the picture was unlike + my Caesar. I inquired from the scolding woman of the shop how she came by + this picture—‘Honestly,’ was her laconic answer; but when I asked + whether it were to be sold, and when I paid its price, the lady changed + her tone; no longer considering me as the partisan of the little boy, + against whom she was enraged, but rather looking upon me as a customer, + who had paid too much for her goods, she condescended to inform me that + the dog was painted by one of the <i>poor</i> French emigrants, who lived + in her neighbourhood. She directed me to the house, and I discovered the + man to be my father’s old servant Michael. He was overjoyed at the sight + of me; he was infirm, and unequal to any laborious employment; he had + supported himself with great difficulty by painting toys, and various + figures of men, women, and animals, upon pasteboard. He showed me two + excellent figures of French poissardes, and also a good cat, of his doing;—but + my Caesar was the best of his works. + </p> + <p> + “My lodgings at the cabinet-maker’s were too small to accommodate Michael; + and yet I wished to have him with me, for he seemed so infirm as to want + assistance. I consequently left my cabinet-maker, and took lodgings with + this stationer; he and his wife are quiet people, and I hope poor Michael + has been happier since he came to me; he has, however, been for some days + confined to his bed, and I have been so busy, that I have not been able to + stir from home. To-day the poor little boy called for his dulcimer; I must + own that I found it a more difficult job to mend it than I had expected. I + could not match the wire, and I sent the boy out to an ironmonger’s a few + hours ago. How little did I expect to see him return with—my + mother!” + </p> + <p> + We shall not attempt to describe the alternate emotions of joy and sorrow + which quickly succeeded each other in Mad. de Rosier’s heart, while she + listened to her son’s little history. Impatient to communicate her + happiness to her friends, she took leave hastily of her beloved son, + promising to call for him early the next day. “Settle all your business + to-night,” said she, “and I will introduce you to <i>my</i> friends + to-morrow. <i>My</i> friends, I say proudly—for I have made friends + since I came to England; and England, amongst other commodities excellent + in their kind, produces incomparable friends—friends in adversity. + <i>We</i> know their value. Adieu: settle all your affairs here + expeditiously.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no affairs, no business, my dear mother,” interrupted Henry, + “except to mend the dulcimer, as I promised, and that I’ll finish + directly. Adieu, till to-morrow morning! What a delightful sound!” + </p> + <p> + With all the alacrity of benevolence he returned to his work, and his + mother returned to Mrs. Harcourt’s. It was nearly eight o’clock before she + arrived at home. Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda, met her with + inquiring eyes. + </p> + <p> + “She smiles,” said Matilda; and Herbert, with a higher jump than he had + ever been known to make before, exclaimed, “She has found her son!—I + am sure of it!—I knew she would find him.” + </p> + <p> + “Let her sit down,” said Matilda, in a gentle voice. + </p> + <p> + Isabella brought her an excellent dish of coffee; and Mrs. Harcourt, with + kind reproaches, asked why she had not brought her son <i>home</i> with + her. She rang the bell with as much vivacity as she spoke, ordered her + coach to be sent instantly to Golden-square, and wrote an order, as she + called it, for his coming <i>immediately</i> to her, quitting all + dulcimers and dulcimer boys, under pain of his mother’s displeasure. + “Here, Mad. de Rosier,” said she, with peremptory playfulness, + “countersign my order, that I may be sure of my prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + Scarcely were the note and carriage despatched, before Herbert and + Favoretta stationed themselves at the window, that they might be ready to + give the first intelligence. Their notions of time and distance were not + very accurate upon this occasion; for before the carriage had been out of + sight ten minutes, they expected it to return; and they exclaimed, at the + sight of every coach that appeared at the end of the street, “Here’s the + carriage!—Here he is!” But the carriages rolled by continually, and + convinced them of their mistakes. + </p> + <p> + Herbert complained of the dull light of the lamps, though the street was + remarkably well lighted; and he next quarrelled with the glare of the + flambeaux, which footmen brandished behind carriages that were unknown to + him. At length a flambeau appeared with which he did not quarrel. Herbert, + as its light shone upon the footman, looked with an eager eye, then put + his finger upon his own lips, and held his other hand forcibly before + Favoretta’s mouth, for now he was certain. The coach stopped at the door—Mad. + de Rosier ran down stairs—Mrs. Harcourt and all the family followed + her—Herbert was at the coach door before Henri de Rosier could leap + out, and he seized his hand with the familiarity of an old acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + The sympathy of all her joyful pupils, the animated kindness with which + Mrs. Harcourt received her son, touched Mad. de Rosier with the most + exquisite pleasure. The happiness that we are conscious of having deserved + is doubly grateful to the heart. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt did not confine her attentions within the narrow limits of + politeness—with generous eagerness she exerted herself to show her + gratitude to the excellent governess of her children. She applied to the + gentleman who was at the head of the academy for the education of the sons + of French emigrants, and recommended Henri de Rosier to him in the + strongest terms. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Lady N——, who had been warmly interested in + Mad. de Rosier’s favour, and more by what she had seen of her pupils, + wrote to her brother, who was at Paris, to request that he would make + every possible inquiry concerning the property of the late Comte de + Rosier. The answer to her letter informed her that Mad. de Rosier’s + property was restored to her and to her son by the new government of + France. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Harcourt, who now foresaw the probability of Mad. de Rosier’s return + to France, could not avoid feeling regret at the thoughts of parting with + a friend to whom her whole family was sincerely attached. The plan of + education which had been traced out remained yet unfinished, and she + feared, she said, that Isabella and Matilda might feel the want of their + accomplished preceptress. But these fears were the best omens for her + future success: a sensible mother, in whom the desire to educate her + family has once been excited, and who turns the energy of her mind to this + interesting subject, seizes upon every useful idea, every practical + principle, with avidity, and she may trust securely to her own persevering + cares. Whatever a mother learns for the sake of her children, she never + forgets. + </p> + <p> + The rapid improvement of Mrs. Harcourt’s understanding since she had + applied herself to literature, was her reward, and her excitement to fresh + application. Isabella and Matilda were now of an age to be her companions, + and her taste for domestic life was confirmed every day by the sweet + experience of its pleasures. + </p> + <p> + “You have taught me your value, and now you are going to leave me,” said + she to Mad. de Rosier. “I quarrelled with the Duke de la Rochefoucault for + his asserting, that in the misfortunes of our best friends there is always + something that is not disagreeable to us; but I am afraid I must stand + convicted of selfishness, for in the good fortune of my best friend there + is something that I cannot feel to be perfectly agreeable.” + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + MADEMOISELLE PANACHE. + </h2> + <h3> + SECOND PART{1} + </h3> + <p> + {Footnote 1: The first part is in the Parent’s Assistant, vol. iv.} + </p> + <p> + The tendency of any particular mode of education is not always perceived, + before it is too late to change the habits or the character of the pupil. + To superficial observers, children of nearly the same age often seem much + alike in manners and disposition, who, in a few years afterward, appear in + every respect strikingly different. We have given our readers some idea of + the manner in which Mrs. Temple educated her daughters, and some notion of + the mode in which Lady Augusta was managed by Mlle. Panache; the + difference between the characters of Helen and Lady Augusta, though + visible even at the early age of twelve or thirteen to an intelligent + mother, was scarcely noticed by common acquaintance, who contented + themselves with the usual phrases, as equally applicable to both the young + ladies. “Upon my word, Lady Augusta and Miss Helen Temple are both of them + very fine girls, and very highly accomplished, and vastly well educated, + as I understand. I really cannot tell which to prefer. Lady Augusta, to be + sure, is rather the taller of the two, and her manners are certainly more + womanly and fashioned than Miss Helen’s; but then, Miss Helen Temple has + something of simplicity about her that some people think very engaging. + For my part, I don’t pretend to judge—girls alter so; there’s no + telling at twelve years old what they may turn out at sixteen.” + </p> + <p> + From twelve to sixteen, Lady Augusta continued under the direction of + Mlle. Panache; whilst her mother, content with her daughter’s progress in + external accomplishments, paid no attention to the cultivation of her + temper or her understanding. Lady S—— lived much in what is + called the world; was fond of company, and fonder of cards, sentimentally + anxious to be thought a good mother, but indolently willing to leave her + daughter wholly to the care of a French governess, whose character she had + never taken the trouble to investigate. Not that Lady S—— + could be ignorant that, however well qualified to teach the true French + pronunciation, she could not be a perfectly eligible companion for her + daughter as she grew up: her ladyship intended to part with the governess + when Lady Augusta was fifteen; but from day to day, and from year to year, + this was put off: sometimes Lady S—— thought it a pity to + dismiss mademoiselle, because “she was the best creature in the world;” + sometimes she rested content with the idea, that six months more or less + could not signify; till at length <i>family reasons</i> obliged her to + postpone mademoiselle’s dismission: part of the money intended for the + payment of the governess’s salary had been unfortunately lost by the + mother at the card-table. Lady Augusta consequently continued under the + auspices of Mlle. Panache till her ladyship was eighteen, and till her + education was supposed to be entirely completed. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Mlle. Panache endeavoured, by all the vulgar arts of + flattery, to ingratiate herself with her pupil, in hopes that from a + governess she might become a <i>companion</i>. The summer months seemed + unusually long to the impatient young lady, whose imagination daily + anticipated the glories of her next winter’s campaign. Towards the end of + July, however, a reinforcement of visitors came to her mother’s, and the + present began to engage some attention, as well as the future. Amongst + these visitors was Lord George ——, a young nobleman, near + twenty-one, who was heir to a very considerable fortune. We mention his + fortune <i>first</i>, because it was his <i>first</i> merit, even in his + own opinion. Cold, silent, selfish, supercilious, and silly, there + appeared nothing in him to engage the affections, or to strike the fancy + of a fair lady; but Lady Augusta’s fancy was not fixed upon his lordship’s + character or manners, and much that might have disgusted consequently + escaped her observation. Her mother had not considered the matter very + attentively; but she thought that this young nobleman might be no bad + match for her Augusta, and she trusted that her daughter’s charms would + make their due impression on his heart. Some weeks passed away in + fashionable negligence of the lady on his part, and alternate pique and + coquetry on hers, whilst, during these operations, her confidante and + governess was too much occupied with her own manoeuvres to attend to those + of her pupil. Lord George had with him upon this visit a Mr. Dashwood, who + was engaged to accompany him upon his travels, and who had had the honour + of being his lordship’s tutor. At the name of a <i>tutor</i>, let no one + picture to himself a gloomy pedant; or yet a man whose knowledge, virtue, + and benevolence, would command the respect, or win the affections, of + youth. Mr. Dashwood could not be mistaken for a pedant, unless a coxcomb + be a sort of pedant. Dashwood pretended neither to win affection nor to + command respect; but he was, as his pupil emphatically swore, “the best + fellow in the world.” Upon this best fellow in the world, Mlle. Panache + fixed her sagacious hopes; she began to think that it would be infinitely + better to be the wife of the gallant Mr. Dashwood, than the humble + companion or the slighted governess of the capricious Lady Augusta. Having + thus far opened the views and characters of these various personages, we + shall now give our readers an opportunity of judging of them by their + words and actions. + </p> + <p> + “You go with us, my lord, to the archery-meeting this evening?” said Lady + S——, as she rose from breakfast—his lordship gave a + negligent assent. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed Mlle. Panache, turning eagerly to Dashwood, “have you seen + <i>de uniforme?—C’est charmant</i>; and I have no small hand in it.” + </p> + <p> + Dashwood paid the expected compliment to her taste. “Ah! <i>non</i>,” said + she, “you are too good, too flattering; but you must tell me your judgment + without flattery! <i>Vous êtes homme de goût</i>, though an Englishman—you + see I have got no <i>préjugés</i>.” Dashwood bowed. “<i>Allons!</i>” said + she, starting up with vast gaiety: “we have got no time to lose. I have de + <i>rubans</i> to put to de bow; I must go and attend my Diane.” + </p> + <p> + “Attend her Diane!” repeated Dashwood, the moment the door was shut, and + he was left alone with Lord George. “Attend her Diane! a very proper + attendant.” Lord George was wholly indifferent to propriety or impropriety + upon this, as upon all other subjects. “What are we to do with ourselves, + I wonder, this morning!” said he, with his customary yawn; and he walked + towards the window. The labour of finding employment for his lordship + always devolved upon his companion. “I thought, my lord,” said Dashwood, + “you talked yesterday of going upon the water; the river is very smooth, + and I hope we shall have a fine day.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so too; but over the hill yonder it looks confounded black, hey? + Well, at any rate we may go down and make some of them get ready to go + with us. I’ll take my black Tom—he’s a handy fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you take black Tom,” said Dashwood, laughing, “we must not expect + to have the ladies of our party; for you know mademoiselle has an + unconquerable <i>antipaty</i>, as she calls it, to a negro.” + </p> + <p> + Lord George declared that, for this very reason, he would order black Tom + down to the water-side, and that he should enjoy her affectation, or her + terror, whichever it was, of all things. “I suppose,” said he, “she’ll + scream as loud as Lady Augusta screamed at a frog the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll lay you a wager I spoil your sport, my lord; I’ll lay you a guinea I + get mademoiselle into the boat without a single scream,” said Dashwood. + </p> + <p> + “Done!” said Lord George. “Two to one she screams.” + </p> + <p> + “Done!” said Dashwood; and he hoped that, by proposing this bet, he had + provided his pupil with an object for the whole morning. But Lord George + was not so easily roused immediately after breakfast. “It looks terribly + like rain,” said he, going back and forward irresolutely between the door + and the window. “Do you think it will rain, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; I’m sure it will not rain.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t lay two to one of that, however: look at this great cloud + that’s coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it will blow over.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that,” said Lord George, shaking his head with great + solemnity. “Which way is the wind?” opening the window. “Well, I believe + it may hold up, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly—I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll call black Tom, hey?—though I think one grows tired of + going upon the water,” muttered his lordship, as he left the room. + “Couldn’t one find something better?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing better,” thought Dashwood, “but to hang yourself, my lord, which, + I’ll be bound, you’ll do before you are forty, for want of something + better. But that’s not my affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s mademoiselle?” cried Lady Augusta, entering hastily, with a bow + and arrow in her hand: “I’ve lost my quiver: where’s mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word I don’t know,” said Dashwood, assuming an air of interest. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know, Mr. Dashwood!” said Lady Augusta, sarcastically; “that’s + rather extraordinary. I make it a rule, whenever I want mademoiselle, to + ask where you are, and I never found myself disappointed before.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, madam, you should ever be disappointed,” said Dashwood, + laughing. “Is this your ladyship’s <i>own</i> taste?” added he, taking the + painted bow out of her hand. “It’s uncommonly pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty or not, Lord George did not think it worth while to look at it + last night. His lordship will go through the world mighty easily, don’t + you think so, Mr. Dashwood?” Dashwood attempted an apology for his pupil, + but in such a sort, as if he did not mean it to be accepted, and then, + returning the bow to her ladyship’s hand, paused, sighed, and observed, + that, upon the whole, it was happy for his lordship that he possessed so + much nonchalance. “Persons of a different cast,” continued he, “cannot, as + your ladyship justly observes, expect to pass through life so easily.” + This speech was pronounced in a tone so different from Dashwood’s usual + careless gaiety, that Lady Augusta could not help being struck with it; + and by her vanity, it was interpreted precisely as the gentleman wished. + Rank and fortune were her serious objects, but she had no objection to + amusing herself with romance. The idea of seeing the gay, witty Mr. + Dashwood metamorphosed, by the power of her charms, into a despairing, + sighing swain, played upon her imagination, and she heard his first sigh + with a look which plainly showed how well she understood its meaning. + </p> + <p> + “Why now, was there ever any thing so provoking!” cried Lord George, + swinging himself into the room. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter, my lord?” said Dashwood. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don’t you see, it’s raining as hard as it can rain?” replied his + lordship, with the true pathos of a man whose happiness is dependent upon + the weather. His scheme of going upon the water being now impracticable, + he lounged about the room all the rest of the morning, supporting that + miserable kind of existence, which idle gentlemen are doomed to support, + they know not how, upon a rainy day. Neither Lady Augusta nor her mother, + in calculating the advantages and disadvantages of an alliance with his + lordship, ever once considered his habits of listless idleness as any + objection in a companion for life. + </p> + <p> + After dinner the day cleared up—the ladies were dressed in their + archery uniform—the carriages came to the door, and Lord George was + happy in the prospect of driving his new phaeton. Dashwood handed the + ladies to their coach; for his lordship was too much engaged in + confabulation with his groom, on the merits of his off-leader, to pay + attention to any thing else upon earth. + </p> + <p> + His phaeton was presently out of sight, for he gloried in driving as fast + as possible; and, to reward his exertions, he had the satisfaction of + hearing two strangers, as he passed them, say—“Ha! upon my word, + those horses go well!” A postilion at a turnpike gate, moreover, exclaimed + to a farmer, who stood with his mouth wide open—“There goes Lord + George! he cuts as fine a figure on the road as e’er a man in England.” + Such was the style of praise of which this young nobleman was silly enough + to be vain. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been in these three quarters of an hour!” cried he, exultingly, as + Lady S—— got out of her coach. + </p> + <p> + “There has been no shooting yet though, I hope?” said Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, ma’am,” replied Dashwood; “but the ladies are all upon the green—a + crowd of fair competitors; but I’d bet a thousand pounds upon your + ladyship’s arrows. Make way there—make way,” cried the man of + gallantry, in an imperious tone, to some poor people, who crowded round + the carriage; and talking and laughing loud, he pushed forward, making as + much bustle in seating the ladies as they could have wished. Being seated, + they began to bow and nod to their acquaintance. “There’s Mrs. Temple and + her daughters,” said Lady S——. + </p> + <p> + “Where, ma’am?” said Lady Augusta: “I’m sure I did not expect to meet them + here. Where are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Just opposite to us. Pray, Mr. Dashwood, who is that gentleman in brown, + who is talking to Miss Helen Temple?” “Upon my word I don’t know, madam; + he bowed just now to Lord George.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he?” said Lady Augusta. “I wonder who he is!” + </p> + <p> + Lord George soon satisfied her curiosity, for, coming up to them, he said + negligently, “Dashwood, there’s young Mountague yonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! is that young Mountague? Well, is his father dead? What has he done + with that old quiz?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him yourself,” said Lord George sullenly: “I asked him just now, and + he looked as black as November.” + </p> + <p> + “He was so fond of his father—it is quite a bore,” said Dashwood. “I + think he’ll be <i>a quiz</i> himself in due time.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lord George; “he knows better than that too in some things. He + has a monstrous fine horse with him here; and that’s a good pretty girl + that he’s going to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he going to be married to Miss Helen Temple?” said Lady S——. + “Who is he, pray? I hope a suitable match.” + </p> + <p> + “That I can’t tell, for I don’t know what she <i>has</i>,” replied Lord + George. “But Mountague can afford to do as he pleases—very good + family—fine fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; old quiz made an excellent nurse to his estate,” observed Dashwood; + “he owes him some gratitude for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not he very young to settle in the world?” said Lady S——. + </p> + <p> + “Young—yes—only a year older than I am,” said Lord George; + “but I knew he’d never be quiet till he got himself <i>noosed</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he’ll be at the ball to-night,” said Lady Augusta, “and then we + shall see something of him, perhaps. It’s an age since we’ve seen the Miss + Temples any where. I wonder whether there’s any thing more than report, my + lord, in this conquest of Miss Helen Temple? Had you the thing from good + authority?” + </p> + <p> + “Authority!” said Lord George; “I don’t recollect my authority, faith!—somebody + said so to me, I think. It’s nothing to me, at any rate.” Lady Augusta’s + curiosity, however, was not quite so easily satisfied as his lordship’s; + she was resolved to study Mr. Mountague thoroughly at the ball; and her + habitual disposition to coquetry, joined to a dislike of poor Helen, which + originated whilst they were children, made her form a strong desire to + rival Helen in the admiration of this young gentleman of—“very good + family and fine fortune.” Her ladyship was just falling into a reverie + upon this subject, when she was summoned to join the archeresses. + </p> + <p> + The prize was a silver arrow. The ladies were impatient to begin—the + green was cleared. Some of the spectators took their seats on benches + under the trees, whilst a party of gentlemen stood by, to supply the + ladies with arrows. Three ladies shot, but widely from the mark; a fourth + tried her skill, but no applause ensued; a fifth came forward, a striking + figure, elegantly dressed, who, after a prelude of very becoming + diffidence, drew her bow, and took aim in the most graceful attitude + imaginable. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that beautiful creature?” exclaimed Mr. Mountague, with + enthusiasm; and as the arrow flew from the bow, he started up, wishing it + success. + </p> + <p> + “The nearest, by six inches, that has been shot yet,” cried Dashwood. + “Here, sir! here!” said he to Mr. Mountague, who went up to examine the + target, “this is Lady Augusta S——‘s arrow, within the second + circle, almost put out the bull’s eye!” The clamour of applause at length + subsiding, several other arrows were shot, but none came near to Lady + Augusta’s, and the prize was unanimously acknowledged to be hers. + </p> + <p> + The silver arrow was placed on high over the mark, and several gentlemen + tried to reach it in vain: Mr. Mountague sprung from the ground with great + activity, brought down the arrow, and presented it, with an air of + gallantry, to the fair victor. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Helen,” said Emma to her sister, in a low voice, “you are not + well.” + </p> + <p> + “I!” replied Helen, turning quickly: “why! can you think me so mean as to—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, hush! you don’t consider how loud you are speaking.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I?” said Helen, alarmed, and lowering her tone; “but then, why did you + say I was not well?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you looked so pale.” + </p> + <p> + “Pale! I’m sure I don’t look pale,” said Helen—“do I?” + </p> + <p> + “Not now, indeed,” said Emma, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Was not it an excellent shot?” said Mr. Mountague, returning to them; + “but you were not near enough to see it; do come and look at it.” Mrs. + Temple rose and followed him.—“I can’t say,” continued he, “that I + particularly admire lady archeresses; but this really is a surprising + shot.” + </p> + <p> + “It really is a surprising shot,” said Helen, looking at it quite at ease. + But a moment afterwards she observed that Mr. Mountague’s eyes were not + intent upon the <i>surprising shot</i>, but were eagerly turned to another + side of the green, where, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, + stood a beautiful figure, playing with a silver arrow, totally + unconscious, as he imagined, either of her own charms or his admiration.—“Are + you acquainted with Lady Augusta?” said Mr. Mountague. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Temple. “Are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet; but I have met her mother often in town—a silly, + card-playing woman. I hope her daughter is as little like her in her mind + as in her person.” Here Mr. Mountague paused, for they had walked up quite + close to the seemingly unconscious beauty.—“Oh, Mrs. Temple!” said + she, starting, and then recovering herself, with an innocent smile—“is + it you? I beg ten thousand pardons,” and, offering a hand to Helen and + Emma, seemed delighted to see them. Helen involuntarily drew back her + hand, with as much coldness as she could without being absolutely rude. + </p> + <p> + It was now late in the evening, and as the ball was to begin at ten, the + ladies called for their carriages, that they might drive to their + lodgings, in an adjacent town, to change their dress. In the crowd, Helen + happened to be pretty close behind Lady S——, so close, that + she could not avoid hearing her conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Dear ma’am!” an elderly lady in black was saying to her, “I can assure + you, your ladyship has been misinformed. I assure you, it is no such + thing. He’s a relation of the family—he has paid a long visit in + this country, but then it is a parting visit to his uncle: he sets out + immediately for Italy, I’m told. I assure you, your ladyship has been + misinformed; he and his uncle are often at Mrs. Temple’s; but depend upon + it he has no thoughts of Miss Helen.” + </p> + <p> + These words struck Helen to the heart: she walked on, leaning upon her + sister’s arm, who fortunately happened to know where she was going. Emma + helped her sister to recollect that it was necessary to get into the + carriage when the step was let down. The carriage presently stopped with + them at the inn, and they were shown to their rooms. Helen sat down, the + moment she got up stairs, without thinking of dressing; and her mother’s + hair was half finished, when she turned round and said, “Why, Helen, my + dear! you certainly will not be ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Shan’t I, ma’am?” said Helen, starting up. “Is there any occasion that we + should dress any more?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my dear,” said Mrs. Temple, laughing, “look in the glass at your + hair; it has been blown all over your face by the wind.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a great deal of useless trouble,” said Helen, as she began the + duties of the toilette. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Helen, this is a sudden fit of laziness,” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, mamma; I’m not lazy. But I really don’t think it signifies. + Nobody will take notice how I am dressed, I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + “A sudden fit of humility, then?” said Mrs. Temple, still laughing. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am; but you have often told us how little it signifies. When the + ball is over, every thing about it is forgotten in a few hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a sudden fit of philosophy, Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, mother,” said Helen, sighing; “I’m sure I don’t pretend to + any philosophy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, a sudden fit of caprice, Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, ma’am!” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, ma’am!” said Mrs. Temple, still rallying her.—Why, + Helen, my dear, you have answered ‘No, indeed, ma’am,’ to every thing I’ve + said this half hour.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, mother,” said Helen; “but I assure you, ma’am,” continued + she, in a hurried manner, “if you would only give me leave to explain—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” said Mrs. Temple, “this is no time for explanations: make + haste and dress yourself, and follow me down to tea.” Mr. Mountague was + engaged to drink tea with Mrs. Temple. + </p> + <p> + How many reflections sometimes pass rapidly in the mind in the course of a + few minutes! + </p> + <p> + “I am weak, ridiculous, and unjust,” said Helen to herself. “Because Lady + Augusta won a silver arrow, am I vexed? Why should I be displeased with + Mr. Mountague’s admiring her? I will appear no more like a fool; and + Heaven forbid I should become envious.” + </p> + <p> + As this last thought took possession of her mind, she finished dressing + herself, and went with Emma down to tea. The well-wrought-up dignity with + which Helen entered the parlour was, however, thrown away upon this + occasion; for opposite to her mother at the tea-table there appeared, + instead of Mr. Mountague, only an empty chair, and an empty teacup and + saucer, with a spoon in it. He was gone to the ball; and when Mrs. Temple + and her daughters arrived there, they found him at the bottom of the + country dance, talking in high spirits to his partner, Lady Augusta, who, + in the course of the evening, cast many looks of triumph upon Helen. But + Helen kept to her resolution of commanding her own mind, and maintained an + easy serenity of manner, which the consciousness of superior temper never + fails to bestow. Towards the end of the night, she danced one dance with + Mr. Mountague, and as he was leading her to her place, Lady Augusta, and + two or three of her companions, came up, all seemingly stifling a laugh. + “What is the matter?” said Helen. “Why, my dear creature,” said Lady + Augusta, who still apparently laboured under a violent inclination to + laugh, and whispering to Helen, but so loud that she could distinctly be + overheard—“you must certainly be in love.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam!” said Helen, colouring, and much distressed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you certainly must,” pursued Lady Augusta, rudely; for ladies of + quality can be as rude, sometimes ruder, than other people. “Must not she, + Lady Di.,” appealing to one of her companions, and laughing affectedly—“must + not she be either in love, or out of her senses? Pray, Miss Temple, put + out your foot.” Helen put out her foot. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, that’s the black one—well, the other.” Now the other was white. + The ill-bred raillery commenced. Helen, though somewhat abashed, smiled + with great good humour, and walked on towards her seat. “What is the + matter, my dear?” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, madam,” answered Mr. Mountague, “but that Miss Helen Temple’s + shoes are odd, and her temper—even.” These few words, which might + pass in a ball-room, were accompanied with a look of approbation, which + made her ample amends for the pain she had felt. He then sat down by Mrs. + Temple, and, without immediately adverting to any one, spoke with + indignation of coquetry, and lamented that so many beautiful girls should + be spoiled by affectation. + </p> + <p> + “If they be spoiled, should they bear all the blame?” said Mrs. Temple. + “If young women were not deceived into a belief that affectation pleases, + they would scarcely trouble themselves to practise it so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Deceived!” said Mr. Mountague—“but is any body deceived by a + person’s saying, ‘I have the honour to be, madam, your obedient, humble + servant?’ Besides, as to pleasing—what do we mean? pleasing for a + moment, for a day, or for life?” + </p> + <p> + “Pleasing for a moment,” said Helen, smiling, “is of some consequence; + for, if we take care of the moments, the years will take care of + themselves, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Pleasing for <i>one</i> moment, though,” said Mr. Mountague, “is very + different, as you must perceive, from pleasing <i>every</i> moment.” + </p> + <p> + Here the country dance suddenly stopped, and three or four couple were + thrown into confusion. The gentlemen were stooping down, as if looking for + something on the floor. “Oh, I beg, I insist upon it; you can’t think how + much you distress me!” cried a voice which sounded like Lady Augusta’s. + Mr. Mountague immediately went to see what was the matter. “It is only my + bracelet,” said she, turning to him. “Don’t, pray don’t trouble yourself,” + cried she, as he stooped to assist in collecting the scattered pearls, + which she received with grace in the whitest hand imaginable. “Nay, now I + must insist upon it,” said she to Mr. Mountague, as he stooped again—“you + shall not plague yourself any longer.” And in her anxiety to prevent him + from plaguing himself any longer, she laid upon his arm the white hand, + which he had an instant before so much admired. Whether all Mr. + Mountague’s sober contempt of coquetry was, at this moment, the prevalent + feeling in his mind, we cannot presume to determine; we must only remark, + that the remainder of the evening was devoted to Lady Augusta; he sat + beside her at supper, and paid her a thousand compliments, which Helen in + vain endeavoured to persuade herself meant nothing more than—“I am, + madam, your obedient, humble servant.” + </p> + <p> + “It is half after two,” said Mrs. Temple, when she rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “Half after two!” said Mr. Mountague, as he handed Mrs. Temple to her + carriage—“bless me! can it be so late?” + </p> + <p> + All the way home Emma and Mrs. Temple were obliged to support the + conversation; for Helen was so extremely entertained with watching the + clouds passing over the moon, that nothing else could engage her + attention. + </p> + <p> + The gossiping old lady’s information respecting Mr. Mountague was as + accurate as the information of gossips usually is found to be. Mr. + Mountague, notwithstanding her opinion and sagacity, <i>had thoughts of + Miss Helen Temple</i>. During some months which he had spent at his + uncle’s, who lived very near Mrs. Temple, he had had opportunities of + studying Helen’s character and temper, which he found perfectly well + suited to his own; but he had never yet declared his attachment to her. + Things were in this undecided situation, when he saw, and was struck with + the beauty of Lady Augusta ——, at this archery-ball. Lord + George —— introduced him to Lady S——; and, in + consequence of a pressing invitation he received from her ladyship, he + went to spend a few days at S—— Hall. + </p> + <p> + “So Mr. Mountague is going to spend a week at S—— Hall, I + find,” said Mrs. Temple, as she and her daughters were sitting at work the + morning after the archery-ball. To this simple observation of Mrs. Temple + a silence, which seemed as if it never would be broken, ensued. + </p> + <p> + “Helen, my dear!” said Mrs. Temple, in a soft voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ma’am!” said Helen, starting. + </p> + <p> + “You need not start so, my dear; I am not going to say any thing very + tremendous. When you and your sister were children, if you remember, I + often used to tell you that I looked forward, with pleasure, to the time + when I should live with you as friends and equals. That time is come; and + I hope, now that your own reason is sufficiently matured to be the guide + of your conduct, that you do not think I any longer desire you to be + governed by my <i>will</i>. Indeed,” continued she, “I consider you as my + equals in every respect but in <i>age</i>; and I wish to make that + inequality useful to you, by giving you, as far as I can, that advantage, + which only <i>age</i> can give—experience.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, dear mother,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “But you must be sensible,” said Mrs. Temple, in a graver tone, “that it + will depend upon yourselves, in a great measure, whether I <i>can</i> be + so much your friend as I shall wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother,” said Helen, “<i>be</i> my friend! I shall never have a + better; and, indeed, I want a friend,” added she, the tears starting from + her eyes. “You’ll think me very silly, very vain. He never gave me any + reason, I’m sure, to think so; but I did fancy that Mr. Mountague liked + me.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” said Mrs. Temple, taking her daughter’s hand, “without being very + silly or very vain, may not one sometimes be mistaken? Then you thought + you had won Mr. Mountague’s heart? But what did you think about your own? + Take care you don’t make another mistake (smiling). Perhaps you thought he + never could win yours?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought much about that,” replied Helen, “till yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “And to-day,” said Mrs. Temple—“what do you think about it to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Helen, “don’t you think, mother, that Mr. Mountague has a + great many good qualities?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; a great many good qualities, a great many advantages, and, amongst + them, the power of pleasing you.” + </p> + <p> + “He would not think <i>that</i> any advantage,” said Helen; “therefore I + should be sorry that he had it.” + </p> + <p> + “And so should I,” said Mrs. Temple, “be very sorry that my daughter’s + happiness should be out of her own power.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the uncertainty that torments me,” resumed Helen, after a pause. + “One moment I fancy that he prefers <i>me</i>, the next moment I am + certain he prefers another. Yesterday, when we were coming away from the + green, I heard Mrs. Hargrave say to Lady S—— but why, mother, + should I take up your time with these minute circumstances? I ought not to + think any more about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ought not!” repeated Mrs. Temple; “my dear, it is a matter of prudence, + rather than duty. By speaking to your mother with so much openness, you + secure her esteem and affection; and, amongst the goods of this life, you + will find the esteem and affection of a mother worth having,” concluded + Mrs. Temple, with a smile; and Helen parted from her mother with a feeling + of gratitude, which may securely be expected from an ingenuous + well-educated daughter, who is treated with similar kindness. + </p> + <p> + No one was ready for breakfast the morning that Mr. Mountague arrived at S—— + Hall, and he spent an hour alone in the breakfast-room. At length the + silence was interrupted by a shrill female voice, which, as it approached + nearer, he perceived to be the voice of a foreigner half suffocated with + ineffectual desire to make her anger intelligible. He could only + distinguish the words—“I ring, ring, ring, ay, twenty time, and + nobody mind my bell nor me, no more dan noting at all.” With a violent + push, the breakfast-room door flew open, and Mlle. Panache, little + expecting to find any body there, entered, volubly repeating—“Dey + let me ring, ring, ring!” Surprised at the sight of a gentleman, and a + young gentleman, she repented having been so loud in her anger. However, + upon the second reconnoitring glance at Mr. Mountague, she felt much in + doubt how to behave towards him. Mademoiselle boasted often of the + well-bred instinct, by which she could immediately distinguish “<i>un + homme comme il faut</i>” from any other; yet sometimes, like Falstaff’s, + her instinct was fallacious. Recollecting that Lady S—— had + sent for an apothecary, she took it into her head that Mr. Mountague was + this apothecary. “Miladi is not visible yet, sir,” said she; “does she + know you are here?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not, ma’am; for I should be very sorry she were to be disturbed, + after sitting up so late last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dat will do her no harm, for I gave her, <i>pardonnez</i>, some + excellent white wine whey out of my own head last night, when she got into + her bed. I hope you don’t make no objection to white wine whey, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I!—not in the least, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m glad you don’t disapprove of what I’ve done! You attend many + family in dis country, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Madam!” said Mr. Mountague, taking an instant’s time to consider what she + could mean by <i>attend</i>. + </p> + <p> + “You <i>visit</i> many family in dis country, sir?” persisted + mademoiselle. + </p> + <p> + “Very few, ma’am; I am a stranger in this part of the world, except at + Mrs. Temple’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Temple, ah, <i>oui</i>! I know her very well; she has two fine + daughters—I mean when dey have seen more of de world. It’s a great + pity, too, dey have never had de advantage of a native, to teach de good + pronunciation <i>de la langue Francaise</i>. Madame Temple will repent + herself of dat when it is too late, as I tell her always. But, sir, you + have been at her house. I am sorry we did not hear none of de family had + been indisposed.” + </p> + <p> + “They are all now perfectly well, ma’am,” replied Mr. Mountague, “except, + indeed, that Mrs. Temple had a slight cold last week.” + </p> + <p> + “But she is re-establish by your <i>advise</i>, I suppose? and she—did + she recommend you to miladi?” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam,” said Mr. Mountague, not a little puzzled by mademoiselle’s + phraseology: “Lord George —— did me the honour to introduce me + to Lady S——.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Milord George! are you a long time acquainted wid milord?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am, I have known Lord George many years.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, many year!—you be de family physician, <i>apparemment</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “The family physician! Oh no, ma’am!” said Mr. Mountague, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” said mademoiselle, “but dat is being too modest. Many take <i>de + titre</i> of physician, I’ll engage, wid less pretensions. And,” added + she, looking graciously, “<i>absolument</i>, I will not have you call + yourself de family <i>apothicaire</i>.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Lord George came in, and shook his family apothecary by the + hand, with an air of familiarity which astounded mademoiselle. “<i>Qu’est + ce que c’est</i>?” whispered she to Dashwood, who followed his lordship: + “is not dis his <i>apothicaire</i>?” Dashwood, at this question, burst + into a loud laugh. “Mr. Mountague,” cried he, “have you been prescribing + for mademoiselle? she asks if you are not an apothecary.” + </p> + <p> + Immediately Lord George, who was fond of a joke, especially where there + was a chance of throwing ridicule upon any body superior to him in + abilities, joined most heartily in Dashwood’s mirth; repeating the story, + as “an excellent thing,” to every one, as they came down to breakfast; + especially to Lady Augusta, whom he congratulated, the moment she entered + the room, upon her having danced the preceding evening with an apothecary. + “Here he is!” said he, pointing to Mr. Mountague. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ma chère amie! mon coeur!</i> tink of my mistaking your Mr. Mountague + for such a sort of person! If you had only told me, sir, dat you were + Miladi Augusta’s partner last night, it would have saved me de necessity + of making ten million apologies for my stupidity, dat could not find it + out. <i>Ma chère amie! Mon coeur!</i> Miladi Augusta, will you make my + excuse?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ma chère amie! mon coeur!</i>” repeated Mr. Mountague to himself: “is + it possible that this woman can be an intimate friend of Lady Augusta?” + What was his surprise, when he discovered that Mlle. Panache had been her + ladyship’s governess! He fell into a melancholy reverie for some moments. + “So she has been educated by a vulgar, silly, conceited French governess!” + said he to himself; “but that is her misfortune, not her fault. She is + very young, and a man of sense might make her what he pleased.” When Mr. + Mountague recovered from his reverie, he heard the company, as they seated + themselves at the breakfast-table, begin to talk over the last night’s + ball. “You did not tire yourself last night with dancing, my lord,” said + Dashwood. + </p> + <p> + “No; I hate dancing,” replied Lord George: “I wish the ladies would take + to dancing with one another; I think that would be an excellent scheme.” + An aunt of his lordship, who was present, took great offence at this + suggestion of her nephew. She had been used to the deference paid in + former times to the sex; and she said she could not bear to see women give + up their proper places in society. “Really, George,” added she, turning to + her nephew, “I wish you would not talk in this manner. The young men now + give themselves the strangest airs. Lady S——, I will expose + him; do you know, last night, he was lolling at his full length upon a + bench in the ball-room, while three young handsome ladies were standing + opposite to him, tired to death.” + </p> + <p> + “They could not be more tired than I was, I am sure, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you had not been dancing, and they had.” + </p> + <p> + “Had they, ma’am? that was not my fault. I did not ask ‘em to dance, and I + don’t see it was my business to ask ‘em to sit down. I did not know who + they were, at any rate,” concluded his lordship, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “You knew they were women, and as such entitled to your respect.” + </p> + <p> + Lord George gave a sneering smile, looked at Dashwood, and pulled up his + boot. + </p> + <p> + “Another thing—you were in the house three weeks with Miss Earl last + summer; you met her yesterday evening, and you thought proper not to take + the least notice of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss, Earl, ma’am; was she there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, close to you, and you never even bowed to her.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not see her, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Earl spoke to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t hear her, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you of it at the moment.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t understand you, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, ma’am,” interposed Dashwood, “as to Miss Earl, if she meant that + my lord should bow to her, she should have curtsied first to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Curtsied first to him!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s the rule—that’s the thing now. The ladies are always to + speak first.” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing more to say, if that be the case. Lady Augusta, what say + you to all this?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that it’s shocking to be sure!” said Lady Augusta, “if one thinks of + it; so the only way is not to think about it.” + </p> + <p> + “An excellent bon-mot!” exclaimed Dashwood. “It’s <i>thinking</i> that + spoils conversation, and every thing else.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” added Lady Augusta, who observed that her bon-mot was not so much + admired by all the company as by Dashwood, “I really only mean, that one + must do as other people do.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Assurément</i>,” said mademoiselle; “not dat I approve of the want of + gallantry in our gentlemen, neider. But, I tink, Mademoiselle Earl is as + stiff as de poker, and I don’t approve of dat, neider—<i>Je n’aime + pas les prudes, moi</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “But, without prudery, may not there be dignity of manners?” said the old + lady, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Dignité!</i>—Oh, I don’t say noting against <i>dignité</i>, + neider; not but I tink de English reserve is <i>de trop</i>. I tink a lady + of a certain rank has always good <i>principes</i> enough, to be sure, and + as to the rest <i>qu’importe?</i>—dat’s my notions.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mountague looked with anxiety at Lady Augusta, to see what she thought + of her governess’s notions; but all that he could judge from her + countenance was that she did not think at all. “Well, she has time enough + before her to learn to think,” said he to himself. “I am glad she did not + assent to mademoiselle’s <i>notions</i>, at least. I hope she has learnt + nothing from her but ‘<i>the true French pronunciation</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + No sooner was breakfast finished than Lord George —— gave his + customary morning yawn, and walked as usual to the window. “Come,” said + Dashwood, in his free manner—“come, mademoiselle, you must come down + with us to the water-side, and Lady Augusta, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” whispered Lord George to Dashwood, “and let’s settle our wager about + mademoiselle and my blackamore—don’t think I’ll let you off that.” + </p> + <p> + “Off!—I’m ready to double the bet, my lord,” said Dashwood aloud, + and in the same moment turned to mademoiselle with some high-flown + compliment about the beauty of her complexion, and the dangers of going + without a veil on a hot sunny day. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Dashwood, when you’ve persuaded mademoiselle to take the veil, + we’ll set out, if you please,” said Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mountague, who kept his attention continually upon Lady Augusta, was + delighted to see that she waited for the elderly lady, who, at breakfast, + had said so much in favour of dignity of manners. Mr. Mountague did not, + at this moment, consider that this elderly lady was Lord George’s aunt, + and that the attention paid to her by Lady Augusta might possibly proceed + from motives of policy, not from choice. Young men of open tempers and + generous dispositions are easily deceived by coquettes, because they + cannot stoop to invent the meanness of their artifices. As Mr. Mountague + walked down to the river, Lady Augusta contrived to entertain him so + completely, that Helen Temple never once came into his mind; though he had + sense enough to perceive his danger, he had not sufficient <i>courage</i> + to avoid it: it sometimes requires courage to fly from danger. From this + agreeable <i>tête-à-tête</i> he was roused, however, by the voice of Mlle. + Panache, who, in an affected agony, was struggling to get away from + Dashwood, who held both her hands—“No! no!—<i>Non! non!</i> I + will not—I will not, I tell you, I will not.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay,” said Dashwood; “but I have sworn to get you into the boat.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! into de boat <i>à la bonne heure</i>; but not wid dat vilain black.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, persuade Lord George to send back his man; and you’ll + acknowledge, my lord, in that case it’s a drawn bet,” said Dashwood. + </p> + <p> + “I! not I. I’ll acknowledge nothing,” replied his lordship; and he swore + his black Tom should not be sent away: “he’s a capital boatman, and I + can’t do without him.” + </p> + <p> + “Den I won’t stir,” said mademoiselle, passionately, to Dashwood. + </p> + <p> + “Then I must carry you, must I?” cried Dashwood, laughing; and + immediately, to Mr. Mountague’s amazement, a romping scene ensued between + this tutor and governess, which ended in Dashwood’s carrying mademoiselle + in his arms into the boat, amidst the secret derision of two footmen, and + the undisguised laughter of black Tom, who were spectators of the scene. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mountague trembled at the thoughts of receiving a wife from the hands + of a Mlle. Panache; but, turning his eye upon Lady Augusta, he thought she + blushed, and this blush at once saved her, in his opinion, and increased + his indignation against her governess. Mademoiselle being now alarmed, and + provoked by the laughter of the servants, the dry sarcastic manner of Lord + George, the cool air of Mr. Mountague, and the downcast looks of her + pupil, suddenly turned to Dashwood, and in a high angry tone assured him, + “that she had never seen nobody have so much assurance;” and she demanded, + furiously—“how he could ever tink to take such liberties wid her? + Only tell me how you could dare to tink of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I confess I did not <i>think</i> as I ought to have done, mademoiselle,” + replied Dashwood, looking an apology to Lady Augusta, which, however, he + took great care mademoiselle should not observe. “But your bet, my lord, + if you please,” added he, attempting to turn it off in a joke: “there was + no scream—my bet’s fairly won.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, sir, dis won’t do: it’s no good joke, I promise you. <i>Ma + chère amie, mon coeur</i>,” cried mademoiselle to Lady Augusta—“<i>viens</i>—come, + let us go—Don’t touch that,” pursued she, roughly, to black Tom, who + was going to draw away the plank that led to the shore. “I will go home + dis minute, and speak to Miladi S——. <i>Viens! viens, ma chère + amie!</i>”—and she darted out of the boat, whilst Dashwood followed, + in vain attempting to stop her. She prudently, however, took the longest + way through the park, that she might have a full opportunity of <i>listening + to reason</i>, as Dashwood called it; and before she reached home, she was + perfectly convinced of the expediency of moderate measures. “Let the thing + rest where it is,” said Dashwood: “it’s a joke, and there’s an end of it; + but if you take it in earnest, you know the story might not tell so well, + even if you told it, and there would never be an end of it.” All this, + followed by a profusion of compliments, ratified a peace, which the moment + he had made, he laughed at himself for having taken so much trouble to + effect; whilst mademoiselle rested in the blessed persuasion that Dashwood + was desperately in love with her; nay, so little knowledge had she of the + human heart as to believe that the scene which had just passed was a proof + of his passion. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder where’s Miladi Augusta? I thought she was wid me all this time,” + said she. + </p> + <p> + “She’s coming; don’t you see her at the end of the grove with Mr. + Mountague? We have walked fast,” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she can’t never walk so fast as me; I tink I am as young as she is.” + </p> + <p> + Dashwood assented, at the same time pondering upon the consequences of the + attachment which he saw rising in Mr. Mountague’s mind for Lady Augusta. + If a man of sense were to gain an influence over her, Dashwood feared that + all his hopes would be destroyed, and he resolved to use all his power + over mademoiselle to prejudice her, and by her means to prejudice her + pupil against this gentleman. Mademoiselle’s having begun by taking him + for an <i>apothicaire</i>, was a circumstance much in favour of Dashwood’s + views, because she felt herself pledged to justify, or at least to + persist, in her opinion, that he did not look like <i>un homme comme il + faut</i>. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time Mr. Mountague was walking slowly towards them with Lady + Augusta, who found it necessary to walk as slowly as possible, because of + the heat. He had been reflecting very soberly upon her ladyship’s late + blush, which, according to his interpretation, said, as plainly as a blush + could say, all that the most refined sense and delicacy could dictate. Yet + such is, upon some occasions, the inconsistency of the human mind, that he + by no means felt <i>sure</i> that the lady had blushed at all. Her colour + was, perhaps, a shade higher than usual; but then it was hot weather, and + she had been walking. The doubt, however, Mr. Mountague thought proper to + suppress; and the reality of the blush, once thoroughly established in his + imagination, formed the foundation of several ingenious theories of moral + sentiment, and some truly logical deductions. A passionate admirer of + grace and beauty, he could not help wishing that he might find Lady + Augusta’s temper and understanding equal to her personal accomplishments. + When we are very anxious to discover perfections in any character, we + generally succeed, or fancy that we succeed. Mr. Mountague quickly + discovered many amiable and interesting qualities in this fair lady, and, + though he perceived some defects, he excused them to himself with the most + philosophic ingenuity. + </p> + <p> + “Affectation,” the judicious Locke observes, “has always the laudable aim + of pleasing:” upon this principle Mr. Mountague could not reasonably think + of it with severity. “From the desire of pleasing,” argued he, “proceeds + not only all that is amiable, but much of what is most estimable in the + female sex. This desire leads to affectation and coquetry, to folly and + vice, only when it is extended to unworthy objects. The moment a woman’s + wish to please becomes discriminative, the moment she feels any attachment + to a man superior to the vulgar herd, she not only ceases to be a + coquette, but she exerts herself to excel in every thing that he approves, + and, from her versatility of manners, she has the happy power of adapting + herself to his taste, and of becoming all that his most sanguine wishes + could desire.” The proofs of this discriminative taste, and the first + symptoms of this salutary attachment to a man superior to the vulgar herd, + Mr. Mountague thought he discerned very plainly in Lady Augusta, nor did + he ever forget that she was but eighteen. “She is so very young,” said he + to himself, “that it is but reasonable I should constantly consider what + she may become, rather than what she is.” To do him justice, we shall + observe, that her ladyship at this time, with all the address of which so + young a lady was capable, did every thing in her power to confirm Mr. + Mountague in his favourable sentiments of her. + </p> + <p> + Waiting for some circumstance to decide his mind, he was at length + determined by the generous enthusiasm, amiable simplicity, and candid good + sense which Lady Augusta showed in speaking of a favourite friend of hers, + of whom he could not approve. This friend, Lady Diana, was one of the rude + ladies who had laughed with so much ill-nature at Helen’s white and black + shoes at the archery ball. She was a dashing, rich, extravagant, + fashionable widow, affecting bold horsemanlike manners, too often + “touching the brink of all we hate,” without exciting any passions allied + to love. Her look was almost an oath—her language was suitable to + her looks—she swore and dressed to the height of the fashion—she + could drive four horses in hand—was a desperate huntress—and + so loud in the praises of her dogs and horses, that she intimidated even + sportsmen and jockeys. She talked so much of her favourite horse <i>Spanker</i>, + that she acquired amongst a particular set of gentlemen the appellation of + my Lady Di Spanker. Lady Augusta perceived that the soft affectations + remarkable in her own manners were in agreeable contrast in the company of + this masculine dame; she therefore cultivated her acquaintance, and Lady S—— + could make no objection to a woman who was well received every where; she + was rather flattered to see her daughter taken notice of by this dashing + belle; consequently, Lady Di. Spanker, for by that name we also shall call + her, frequently rode over from Cheltenham, which was some miles distant + from S—— Hall. One morning she called upon Lady Augusta, and + insisted upon her coming out to try her favourite horse. All the gentlemen + went down immediately to assist in putting her ladyship on horseback: this + was quite unnecessary, for Lady Diana took that office upon herself. Lady + Augusta was all timidity, and was played off to great advantage by the + rough raillery of her friend. At length she conquered her fears so much as + to seat herself upon the side-saddle; her riding mistress gathered up the + reins for her, and fixed them properly in her timid hands; then armed her + with her whip, exhorting her, “for God’s sake, not to be such a coward!” + Scarcely was the word <i>coward</i> pronounced, when Lady Augusta, by some + unguarded motion of her whip, gave offence to her high-mettled steed, + which instantly began to rear: there was no danger, for Mr. Mountague + caught hold of the reins, and Lady Augusta was dismounted in perfect + safety. “How now, Spanker!” exclaimed Lady Di., in a voice calculated to + strike terror into the nerves of a horse—“how now, Spanker!” and + mounting him with masculine boldness of gesture—“I’ll teach you, + sir, who’s your mistress,” continued she; “I’ll make you pay for these + tricks!” Spanker reared again, and Lady Di. gave him what she called “a + complete dressing!” In vain Lady Augusta screamed; in vain the spectators + entreated the angry amazon to spare the whip; she persisted in beating + Spanker till she fairly mastered him. When he was perfectly subdued, she + dismounted with the same carelessness with which she had mounted; and, + giving the horse to her groom, pushed back her hat, and looked round for + applause. Lord George, roused to a degree of admiration, which he had + never before been heard to express for any thing female, swore that, in + all his life, he had never seen any thing better done; and Lady Di. + Spanker received his congratulations with a loud laugh, and a hearty shake + of the hand. “Walk him about, Jack,” added she, turning to the groom, who + held her horse; “walk him about, for he’s all in a lather; and when he’s + cool, bring him up here again. And then, my dear child,” said she to Lady + Augusta, “you shall give him a fair trial.” + </p> + <p> + “I!—Oh! never, never!” cried Lady Augusta, shrinking back with a + faint shriek: “this is a trial to which you must not put my friendship. I + must insist upon leaving Spanker to your management; I would not venture + upon him again for the universe.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you talk so like a child—so like a woman?” cried her + friend. + </p> + <p> + “I confess, I am a very woman,” said Lady Augusta, with a sigh: “and I + fear I shall never be otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Fear</i>!” repeated Mr. Mountague, to whom even the affectation of + feminine softness and timidity appeared at this instant charming, from the + contrast with the masculine intrepidity and disgusting coarseness of Lady + Diana Spanker’s manners. The tone in which he pronounced the single word + <i>fear</i> was sufficient to betray his feelings towards both the ladies. + Lady Di. gave him a look of sovereign contempt. “All I know and can tell + you,” cried she, “is, that fear should never get a-horseback.” Lord George + burst into one of his loud laughs. “But as to the rest, <i>fear</i> may be + a confounded good thing in its proper place; but they say it’s catching; + so I must run away from you, child,” said she to Lady Augusta. “Jack, + bring up Spanker. I’ve twenty miles to ride before dinner. I’ve no time to + lose,” pulling out her watch: “faith, I’ve fooled away an hour here; + Spanker must make it up for me. God bless you all! Good bye!” and she + mounted her horse, and galloped off full speed. + </p> + <p> + “God bless ye! good bye to ye, Lady Di. Spanker,” cried Dashwood, the + moment she was out of hearing. “Heaven preserve us from amazons!” Lord + George did not say, <i>Amen</i>. On the contrary, he declared she was a + fine dashing woman, and seemed to have a great deal of blood about her. + Mr. Mountague watched Lady Augusta’s countenance in silence, and was much + pleased to observe that she did not assent to his lordship’s encomium. + “She has good sense enough to perceive the faults of her new friend, and + now her eyes are open she will no longer make a favourite companion, I + hope, of this odious woman,” thought he. “I am afraid, I am sadly afraid + you are right,” said Lady Augusta, going up to the elderly lady, whom we + formerly mentioned, who had seen all that had passed from the open windows + of the drawing-room. “I own I <i>do</i> see something of what you told me + the other day you disliked so much in my friend, Lady Di.;” and Lady + Augusta gave the candid sigh of expiring friendship as she uttered these + words. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” cried Dashwood, “that this spanking horsewoman has + frightened us all out of our senses? I vow to Heaven, I never was so much + terrified in my life as when I saw you, Lady Augusta, upon that vicious + animal.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure,” said Lady Augusta, “it was very silly of me to venture; I + almost broke my neck, out of <i>pure friendship</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well it is no worse,” said the elderly lady: “if a fall from a + horse was the worst evil to be expected from a friendship with a woman of + this sort, it would be nothing very terrible.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta, with an appearance of ingenuous candour, sighed again, and + replied—“It is so difficult to see any imperfections in those one + loves! Forgive me, if I spoke with too much warmth, madam, the other day, + in vindication of my friend. I own I ought to have paid more deference to + your judgment and knowledge of the world, so much superior to my own; but + certainly I must confess, the impropriety of her amazonian manners, as Mr. + Dashwood calls them, never struck my partial eyes till this morning. Nor + could I, nor would I, believe half the world said of her; indeed, even + now, I am persuaded she is, in the main, quite irreproachable; but I feel + the truth of what you said to me, madam, that young women cannot be too + careful in the choice of their female friends; that we are judged of by + our companions; how unfairly one must be judged of sometimes!” concluded + her ladyship, with a look of pensive reflection. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mountague never thought her half so beautiful as at this instant. “How + <i>mind</i> embellishes beauty!” thought he; “and what quality of the mind + more amiable than candour!—All that was wanting to her character was + reflection; and could one expect so much reflection as this from a girl of + eighteen, who had been educated by a Mlle. Panache?” Our readers will + observe that this gentleman now reasoned like a madman, but not like a + fool; his deductions from the appearances before him were admirable; but + these appearances were false. He had not observed that Lady Augusta’s eyes + were open to the defects of her amazonian friend, in the very moment that + Lord George —— was roused to admiration by this horseman + belle. Mr. Mountague did not perceive that the candid reflections + addressed to his lordship’s aunt were the immediate consequence of female + jealousy. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, at breakfast, Lord George was summoned three times + before he made his appearance: at length he burst in, with a piece of news + he had just heard from his groom—“That Lady Di. Spanker, in riding + home full gallop the preceding day, had been thrown from her horse by an + old woman. Faith, I couldn’t believe the thing,” added Lord George, with a + loud laugh; “for she certainly sits a horse better than any woman in + England; but my groom had the whole story from the grand-daughter of the + old woman who was run over.” + </p> + <p> + “Run over!” exclaimed Lady Augusta; “was the poor woman run over?—was + she hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “Hurt! yes, she was hurt, I fancy,” said Lord George. “I never heard of + any body’s being run over without being hurt. The girl has a petition that + will come up to us just now, I suppose. I saw her in the back yard as I + came in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! let us see the poor child,” said Lady Augusta: “do let us have her + called to this window.” The window opened down to the ground, and, as soon + as the little girl appeared with the petition in her hand, Lady Augusta + threw open the sash, and received it from her timid hand with a smile, + which to Mr. Mountague seemed expressive of sweet and graceful + benevolence. Lady Augusta read the petition with much feeling, and her + lover thought her voice never before sounded so melodious. She wrote her + name eagerly at the head of a subscription. The money she gave was rather + more than the occasion required; but, thought Mr. Mountague, + </p> + +<p class="poem"> +“If the generous spirit flow<br /> +Beyond where prudence fears to go<br /> +Those errors are of nobler kind,<br /> +Than virtues of a narrow mind{2}.” +</p> + + <p> + {Footnote 2: Soame Jenyns.} + </p> + <p> + By a series of petty artifices Lady Augusta contrived to make herself + appear most engaging and amiable to this artless young man: but the moment + of success was to her the moment of danger. She was little aware, that + when a man of sense began to think seriously of her as a wife, he would + require very different qualities from those which please in public + assemblies. Her ladyship fell into a mistake not uncommon in her sex; she + thought that “Love blinds when once he wounds the swain{3}.” Coquettes + have sometimes penetration sufficient to see what will please their + different admirers: but even those who have that versatility of manners, + which can be all things to all men, forget that it is possible to support + an assumed character only for a time; the moment the immediate motive for + dissimulation diminishes, the power of habit acts, and the real + disposition and manners appear. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: Collius’s Eclogues.} + </p> + <p> + When Lady Augusta thought herself sure of her captive, and consequently + when the power of habit was beginning to act with all its wonted force, + she was walking out with him in a shrubbery near the house, and + mademoiselle, with Mr. Dashwood, who generally was the gallant partner of + her walks, accompanied them. Mademoiselle stopped to gather some fine + carnations; near the carnations was a rose-tree. Mr. Mountague, as three + of those roses, one of them in full blow, one half blown, and another a + pretty bud, caught his eye, recollected a passage in Berkeley’s romance of + <i>Gaudentio di Lucca</i>. “Did you ever happen to meet with Gaudentio di + Lucca? do you recollect the story of Berilla, Lady Augusta?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “No; I have never heard of Berilla: what is the story?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had the book,” said Mr. Mountague; “I cannot do it justice, but + I will borrow it for you from Miss Helen Temple. I lent it to her some + time ago; I dare say she has finished reading it.” + </p> + <p> + At these words, Lady Augusta’s desire to have Gaudentio di Lucca suddenly + increased; and she expressed vast curiosity to know the story of Berilla. + “And pray what put you in mind of this book just now?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “These roses. In Berkeley’s Utopia, which he calls Mezzorania—(every + philosopher, you know, Mr. Dashwood, must have a Utopia, under whatever + name he pleases to call it)—in Mezzorania, Lady Augusta, gentlemen + did not, as amongst us, make declarations of love by artificial words, but + by natural flowers{4}. The lover in the beginning of his attachment + declared it to his mistress by the offer of an opening bud; if she felt + favourably inclined towards him, she accepted and wore the bud. When time + had increased his affection—for in Mezzorania it is supposed that + time increases affection for those that deserve it—the lover + presented a half-blown flower; and, after this also was graciously + accepted, he came, we may suppose not very long afterwards, with a + full-blown flower, the emblem of mature affection. The ladies who accepted + these full-blown flowers, and wore them, were looked upon amongst the + simple Mezzoranians as engaged for life; nor did the gentlemen, when they + offered their flowers, make one single protestation or vow of eternal + love, yet they were believed, and deserved, it is said, to be believed.” + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 4: Gaudentio di Lucca, p. 202.} + </p> + <p> + “<i>Qu’est ce que c’est? Qu’est ce que c’est?</i>” repeated mademoiselle + several times to Dashwood, whilst Mr. Mountague was speaking: she did not + understand English sufficiently to comprehend him, and Dashwood was + obliged to make the thing intelligible to her in French. Whilst he was + occupied with her, Mr. Mountague gathered three roses, a bud, a half-blown + and a full-blown rose, and playfully presented them to Lady Augusta for + her choice.—“I’m dying to see this Gaudentio di Lucca; you’ll get + the book for me to-morrow from Miss Helen Temple, will you?” said Lady + Augusta, as she with a coquettish smile took the rose-bud, and put it into + her bosom. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon!</i>” cried mademoiselle, stooping to pick up the full-blown rose, + which Mr. Mountague threw away carelessly. “<i>Bon!</i> but it is great + pity dis should be thrown away.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not thrown away upon Mlle. Panache!” said Dashwood. + </p> + <p> + “Dat maybe,” said mademoiselle; “but I observe, wid all your fine + compliment, you let me stoop to pick it up for myself—<i>á + l’Anglaise!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “<i>A la Française</i>, then,” said Dashwood, laughing, “permit me to put + it into your nosegay.” + </p> + <p> + “Dat is more dan you deserve,” replied mademoiselle.—“<i>Eh! non, + non</i>. I can accommodate it, I tell you, to my own taste best.” She + settled and resettled the flower: but suddenly she stopped, uttered a + piercing shriek, plucked the full-blown rose from her bosom, and threw it + upon the ground with a theatrical look of horror. A black earwig now + appeared creeping out of the rose; it was running away, but mademoiselle + pursued, set her foot upon it, and crushed it to death. “Oh! I hope to + Heaven, Mr. Mountague, there are none of these vile creatures in the bud + you’ve given me!” exclaimed Lady Augusta. She looked at her bud as she + spoke, and espied upon one of the leaves a small green caterpillar: with a + look scarcely less theatrical than mademoiselle’s, she tore off the leaf + and flung it from her; then, from habitual imitation of her governess, she + set her foot upon the harmless caterpillar, and crushed it in a moment. + </p> + <p> + In the same moment Lady Augusta’s whole person seemed metamorphosed to the + eyes of her lover. She ceased to be beautiful: he seemed to see her + countenance distorted by malevolence; he saw in her gestures disgusting + cruelty; and all the graces vanished. + </p> + <p> + When Lady Augusta was a girl of twelve years old, she saw Mlle. Panache + crush a spider to death without emotion: the lesson on humanity was not + lost upon her. From imitation, she learned her governess’s foolish terror + of insects; and from example, she was also taught that species of cruelty, + by which at eighteen she disgusted a man of humanity who was in love with + her. Mr. Mountague said not one word upon the occasion. They walked on. A + few minutes after the caterpillar had been crushed, Lady Augusta + exclaimed, “Why, mademoiselle, what have you done with Fanfan? I thought + my dog was with us: for Heaven’s sake, where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is run, he is run on,” replied mademoiselle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’ll be lost! he’ll run down the avenue, quite out upon the turnpike + road.—Fanfan! Fanfan!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t alarm, don’t distress yourself,” cried Dashwood: “if your ladyship + will permit me, I’ll see for Fanfan instantly, and bring her back to you, + if she is to be found in the universe.” + </p> + <p> + “O Lord! don’t trouble yourself; I only spoke to mademoiselle, who + regularly loses Fanfan when she takes him out with her.” Dashwood set out + in search of the dog; and Lady Augusta, overcome with affectation, + professed herself unable to walk one yard further, and sank down upon a + seat under a tree, in a very graceful, languid attitude. Mr. Mountague + stood silent beside her. Mademoiselle went on with a voluble defence of + her conduct towards Fanfan, which lasted till Dashwood reappeared, + hurrying towards them with the dog in his arms—“<i>Ah, la voilà! + chère</i> Fanfan!” exclaimed mademoiselle. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I really am excessively obliged to Mr. Dashwood, I must say,” + cried Lady Augusta, looking reproachfully at Mr. Mountague. + </p> + <p> + Dashwood now approached with panting, breathless eagerness, announcing a + terrible misfortune, that Fanfan had got a thorn or something in his + fore-foot. Lady Augusta received Fanfan upon her lap, with expressions of + the most tender condolence; and Dashwood knelt down at her feet to + sympathize in her sorrow, and to examine the dog’s paw. Mademoiselle + produced a needle to extract the thorn. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we had a magnifying-glass,” said Dashwood, looking with strained + solicitude at the wound. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you insensible monster! positively you shan’t touch Fanfan,” cried + Lady Augusta, guarding her lapdog from Mr. Mountague, who stooped now, for + the first time, to see what was the matter. “Don’t touch him, I say; I + would not trust him to you for the universe; I know you hate lapdogs. + You’ll kill him—you’ll kill him.” + </p> + <p> + “I kill him! Oh no,” said Mr. Mountague; “I would not even kill a + caterpillar.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta coloured at these words; but she recovered herself when + Dashwood laughed, and asked Mr. Mountague how long it was since he had + turned brahmin; and how long since he had professed to like caterpillars + and earwigs. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon Dieu!</i>—earwig!” interrupted mademoiselle: “is it possible + that monsieur or any body dat has sense, can like <i>dose</i> earwig?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not remember,” answered Mr. Mountague, calmly, “ever to have + professed any <i>liking</i> for earwigs.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, <i>pity</i>; you profess pity for them,” said Mr. Dashwood, “and + pity, you know, is ‘akin to love.’—Pray, did your ladyship ever hear + of the man who had a pet toad?”{5} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 5: Vide Smellie’s Natural History, vol. ii.} + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the odious wretch!” cried Lady Augusta, affectedly; “but how could + the man bring himself to like a toad?” + </p> + <p> + “He began by <i>pitying</i> him, I suppose,” said Dashwood. “For my part, + I own I must consider that man to be in a most enviable situation whose + heart is sufficiently at ease to sympathize with the insect creation.” + </p> + <p> + “Or with the brute creation,” said Mr. Mountague, smiling and looking at + Fanfan, whose paw Dashwood was at this instant nursing with infinite + tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, gentlemen, let us have no more of this, for Heaven’s sake!” said Lady + Augusta, interposing, with affected anxiety, as if she imagined a quarrel + would ensue. “Poor dear Fanfan, you would not have any body quarrel about + you, would you, Fanfan?” She rose as she spoke, and, delivering the dog to + Dashwood to be carried home, she walked towards the house, with an air of + marked displeasure towards Mr. Mountague. + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship’s displeasure did not affect him as she expected. Her image—her + gesture stamping upon the caterpillar, recurred to her lover’s mind many + times in the course of the evening; and in the silence of the night, and + whenever the idea of her came into his mind, it was attended with this + picture of active cruelty. + </p> + <p> + “Has your ladyship,” said Mr. Mountague, addressing himself to Lady S——, + “any commands for Mrs. Temple? I am going to ride over to see her this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + Lady S—— said that she would trouble him with a card for Mrs. + Temple; a card of invitation for the ensuing week. “And pray don’t forget + my kindest remembrances,” cried Lady Augusta, “especially to Miss Helen + Temple; and if she should have entirely finished the book we were talking + of, I shall be glad to see it.” + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Mountague arrived at Mrs. Temple’s, he was shown into the usual + sitting-room: the servant told him that none of the ladies were at home, + but that they would soon return, he believed, from their walk, as they + were gone only to a cottage at about half a mile’s distance. + </p> + <p> + The room in which he had passed so many agreeable hours awakened in his + mind a number of dormant associations—work, books, drawing, writing! + he saw every thing had been going forward just as usual in his absence. + All the domestic occupations, thought he, which make <i>home</i> + delightful, are here: I see nothing of these at S—— Hall. Upon + the table, near a neat work-basket, which he knew to be Helen’s, lay an + open book; it was Gaudentio di Lucca. Mr. Mountague recollected the bud he + had given to Lady Augusta, and he began to whistle, but not for want of + thought. A music-book on the desk of the piano-forte caught his eye; it + was open at a favourite lesson of his, which he remembered to have heard + Helen play the last evening he was in her company. Helen was no great + proficient in music; but she played agreeably enough to please her + friends, and she was not ambitious of exhibiting her accomplishments. Lady + Augusta, on the contrary, seemed never to consider her accomplishments as + occupations, but as the means of attracting admiration. To interrupt the + comparison, which Mr. Mountague was beginning to enter into between her + ladyship and Helen, he thought the best thing he could do was to walk to + meet Mrs. Temple; wisely considering, that putting the body in motion + sometimes stops the current of the mind. He had at least observed, that + his schoolfellow, Lord George ——, seemed to find this a + specific against thought; and for once he was willing to imitate his + lordship’s example, and to hurry about from place to place, without being + in a hurry. He rang the bell, inquired in haste which way the ladies were + gone, and walked after them, like a man who had the business of the nation + upon his hands; yet he slackened his pace when he came near the cottage + where he knew that he was to meet Mrs. Temple and her daughters. When he + entered the cottage, the first object that he saw was Helen, sitting by + the side of a decrepit old woman, who was resting her head upon a crutch, + and who seemed to be in pain. This was the poor woman who had been ridden + over by Lady Di. Spanker. A farmer who lived near Mrs. Temple, and who was + coming homewards at the time the accident happened, had the humanity to + carry the wretched woman to this cottage, which was occupied by one of + Mrs. Temple’s tenants. As soon as the news reached her, she sent for a + surgeon, and went with her daughters to give that species of consolation + which the rich and happy can so well bestow upon the poor and Miserable—the + consolation not of gold, but of sympathy. + </p> + <p> + There was no affectation, no ostentation of sensibility, Mr. Mountague + observed, in this cottage scene; the ease and simplicity of Helen’s manner + never appeared to him more amiable. He recollected Lady Augusta’s + picturesque attitude, when she was speaking to this old woman’s + grand-daughter; but there was something in what he now beheld that gave + him more the idea of nature and reality: he heard, he saw, that much had + actually been <i>done</i> to relieve distress, and done when there were no + spectators to applaud or admire. Slight circumstances show whether the + mind be intent upon self or not. An awkward servant girl brushed by Helen + whilst she was speaking to the old woman, and with a great black kettle, + which she was going to set upon the fire, blackened Helen’s white dress, + in a manner which no lady intent upon her personal appearance could have + borne with patience. Mr. Mountague saw the black streaks before Helen + perceived them, and when the maid was reproved for her carelessness, + Helen’s good-natured smile assured her “that there was no great harm + done.” + </p> + <p> + When they returned home, Mr. Mountague found that Helen conversed with him + with all her own ingenuous freedom, but there was something more of + softness and dignity, and less of sprightliness, than formerly in her + manner. Even this happened to be agreeable to him, for it was in contrast + with the constant appearance of effort and artificial brilliancy + conspicuous in the manners of Lady Augusta. The constant round of cards + and company, the noise and bustle at S—— Hall, made it more + like town than country life, and he had often observed that, in the + intervals between dressing, and visiting, and gallantry, his fair mistress + was frequently subject to <i>ennui</i>. He recollected that, in the many + domestic hours he had spent at Mrs. Temple’s, he had never beheld this + French demon, who makes the votaries of dissipation and idleness his + victims. What advantage has a man, in judging of female character, who can + see a woman in the midst of her own family, “who can read her history” in + the eyes of those who know her most intimately, who can see her conduct as + a daughter and a sister, and in the most important relations of life can + form a certain judgment from what she has been, of what she is likely to + be? But how can a man judge what sort of wife he may probably expect in a + lady, whom he meets with only at public places, or whom he never sees even + at her own house, without all the advantages or disadvantages of <i>stage + decoration</i>? A man who marries a showy, entertaining coquette, and + expects that she will make him a charming companion for life, commits as + absurd a blunder as that of the famous nobleman, who, delighted with the + wit and humour of Punch at a puppet-show, bought Punch, and ordered him to + be sent home for his private amusement. + </p> + <p> + Whether all or any of these reflections occurred to Mr. Mountague during + his morning visit at Mrs. Temple’s we cannot pretend to say; but his + silence and absence seemed to show that his thoughts were busily engaged. + Never did Helen appear to him so amiable as she did this morning, when the + dignity, delicacy, and simplicity of her manners were contrasted in his + imagination with the caprice and coquetry of his new mistress. He felt a + secret idea that he was beloved, and a sober certainty that Helen had a + heart capable of sincere and permanent affection, joined to a cultivated + understanding and reasonable principles, which would wear through life, + and ensure happiness, with power superior to the magic of passion. + </p> + <p> + It was with some difficulty that he asked Helen for Gaudentio di Lucca, + and with yet greater difficulty that he took leave of her. As he was + riding towards S—— Hall, “revolving in his altered mind the + various turns of fate below,” he was suddenly roused from his meditations + by the sight of a phaeton overturned in the middle of the road, another + phaeton and four empty, and a group of people gathered near a bank by the + road-side. Mr. Mountague rode up as fast as possible to the scene of + action: the overturned phaeton was Lord George’s, the other Lady Di. + Spanker’s; the group of people was composed of several servants, Lord + George, Lady Di., and mademoiselle, all surrounding a fainting fair one, + who was no other than Lady Augusta herself. Lord George was shaking his + own arms, legs, and head, to make himself sure of their safety. Lady Di. + eagerly told the whole story to Mr. Mountague, that Lord George had been + running races with her, and by his confounded bad driving had overturned + himself and Lady Augusta. “Poor thing, she’s not hurt at all, luckily; but + she’s terrified to death, as usual, and she has been going from one + fainting fit to another.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon Dieu!</i>” interrupted mademoiselle; “but what will Miladi S—— + say to us? I wish Miladi Augusta would come to her senses.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta opened her beautiful eyes, and, just come sufficiently to her + senses to observe who was looking at her, she put aside mademoiselle’s + smelling-bottle, and, in a soft voice, begged to have her own salts. + Mademoiselle felt in one of her ladyship’s pockets for the salts in vain: + Lady Di. plunged her hand into her other pocket, and pulled out, in the + first place, a book, which she threw upon the bank, and then came out the + salts. In due time the lady was happily restored to the full use of her + senses, and was put into her mother’s coach, which had been sent for to + convey her home. The carriages drove away, and Mr. Mountague was just + mounting his horse, when he saw the book which had been pulled out of Lady + Augusta’s pocket, and which, by mistake, was left where it had been thrown + upon the grass. What was his astonishment, when upon opening it, he saw + one of the very worst books in the French language; a book which never + could have been found in the possession of any woman of delicacy—of + decency. Her lover stood for some minutes in silent amazement, disgust, + and, we may add, terror. + </p> + <p> + These feelings had by no means subsided in his mind, when, upon his + entering the drawing-room at S—— Hall, he was accosted by + Mlle. Panache, who, with no small degree of alarm in her countenance, + inquired whether he knew any thing of the book which had been left upon + the road. No one was in the room but the governess and her pupil. Mr. + Mountague produced the book, and Lady Augusta received it with a deep + blush. + </p> + <p> + “Put a good face upon the matter at least,” whispered her governess in + French. + </p> + <p> + “I can assure you,” said her ladyship, “I don’t know what’s in this book; + I never opened it; I got it this morning at the circulating library at + Cheltenham: I put it into my pocket in a hurry—pray what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “If you have not opened it,” said Mr. Mountague, laying his hand upon the + book; “I may hope that you never will—but this is the <i>second</i> + volume.” + </p> + <p> + “May be so,” said Lady Augusta; “I suppose, in my hurry, I mistook—” + </p> + <p> + “She never had the first, I can promise you,” cried mademoiselle. + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said Lady Augusta. The assertions had not the power to convince; + they were pronounced with much vehemence, but not with the simplicity of + truth. Mr. Mountague was determined to have the point cleared up; and he + immediately offered to ride back to Cheltenham, and return the second + volume. At this proposal, Lady Augusta, who foresaw that her falsehood + would be detected, turned pale; but mademoiselle, with a laugh of + effrontery, which she thought was putting a good face upon the matter, + exclaimed, + </p> + <p> + “Eh! listen to me—you may spare yourself de trouble of your ride,” + said she, “for the truth is, I have de first volume. <i>Mon Dieu!</i> I + have not committed murder—do not look so shock—what signify + what I read at my age?” + </p> + <p> + “But Lady Augusta, your pupil!” said Mr. Mountague. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you she has never read one word of it; and, after all, is she + child now? When she was, Miladi S—— was very particular, and + I, of consequence and of course, in de choice of her books; but now, <i>oder + affaire</i>, she is at liberty, and my maxim is—<i>Tout est sain aux + sains</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mountague’s indignation was now strongly raised against this odious + governess, and he looked upon her pupil with an eye of compassion. “So + early, so young, tainted by the pernicious maxims of a worthless woman!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, <i>donc</i>, what signify your silence and your salts?” cried + mademoiselle, turning to her. + </p> + <p> + “If I could be spared this scene at present,” said Lady Augusta, faintly—“I + really am not well. We had better talk over this business some other time, + Mr. Mountague:” to this he acceded, and the lady gained more by her salts + and silence than her governess did by her garrulous effrontery. + </p> + <p> + When she talked over the business with Mr. Mountague, she threw all the + blame upon mademoiselle, and she appeared extremely shocked and alarmed at + the idea that she had lessened herself by her <i>folly</i>, as she called + it, in the esteem of a man of superior sense and taste. It was perhaps + possible that, at this moment of her life, her character might have taken + a new turn, that she might really have been awakened to higher views and + nobler sentiments than any she had ever yet known; but the baleful + influence of her constant attendant and conductress prevailed against her + <i>better self</i>. Mademoiselle continually represented to her, that she + did not know or exert the whole of her power over Mr. Mountague; and she + excited her to caprice and coquetry. The fate of trifling characters is + generally decided by trifles: we must beg leave to relate the important + history of a turban. + </p> + <p> + Mlle. Panache, who piqued herself much upon her skill as a milliner, made + up a certain turban for Lady Augusta, which Dashwood admired extremely, + but which Mr. Mountague had the misfortune not to think perfectly + beautiful. Vexed that he should dare to differ from her in taste, Lady + Augusta could not rest without endeavouring to make him give up his + opinion: he thought that it was not worth while to dispute about a trifle; + and though he could not absolutely say that it was pretty, he condescended + so far as to allow that it might perhaps be pretty, if it were put on + differently. + </p> + <p> + “This is the way I always wear it—every body wears it so—and I + shall not alter it,” said Lady Augusta, who was quite out of temper. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mountague looked grave: the want of temper was an evil which he + dreaded beyond measure in a companion for life. Smiles and dimples usually + adorned Lady Augusta’s face; but these were artificial smiles: now + passions, which one should scarcely imagine such a trifle could excite, + darkened her brow, and entirely altered the air of her whole person, so as + to make it absolutely disagreeable to her admirer. Lord George, who was + standing by, and who felt delighted with such scenes, winked at Dashwood, + and, with more energy than he usually expressed upon any subject, now + pronounced that, in his humble opinion, the turban was quite the thing, + and could not be better put on. Lady Augusta turned a triumphant, + insulting eye upon Mr. Mountague: he was silent—his silence she took + as a token of submission—in fact, it was an expression of contempt. + The next day, at dinner, her ladyship appeared in the same turban, put on + sedulously in the same manner. Lord George seated himself beside her; and + as she observed that he paid her unusual attention, she fancied that at + length his icy heart would thaw. Always more intent upon making cages{6}, + Lady Augusta bent her mind upon captivating a new admirer. Mr. Mountague + she saw was displeased, but she now really felt and showed herself + indifferent to his opinion. How variable, how wretched, is the life of a + coquette! The next day Lord George’s heart froze again as hard as ever, + and Lady Augusta lightened upon the impassive ice in vain. She was + mortified beyond measure, for her grand object was conquest. That she + might triumph over poor Helen, she had taken pains to attract Mr. + Mountague. Dashwood, though far beneath her ladyship in fortune and in + station, she deemed worth winning, as a man of wit and gallantry. Lord + George, to be sure, had little wit, and less gallantry; but he was Lord + George, and that was saying enough. In short, Lady Augusta exacted tribute + to her vanity without any discrimination, and she valued her treasures by + number, and not by weight. A man of sense is mortified to see himself + confounded with the stupid and the worthless. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 6: Swift} + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mountague, after having loved like a madman, felt it not in the least + incumbent upon him to love like a fool; he had imprudently declared + himself an admirer of Lady Augusta, but he now resolved never to unite + himself to her without some more reasonable prospect of happiness. Every + day some petty cause of disagreement arose between them, whilst + mademoiselle, by her silly and impertinent interference, made matters + worse. Mademoiselle had early expressed her strong abhorrence of prudes; + her pupil seemed to have caught the same abhorrence; she saw that Mr. + Mountague was alarmed by her spirit of coquetry, yet still it continued in + full force. For instance, she would continually go out with Lord George in + his phaeton, though she declared, every time he handed her in, “that she + was certain he would break her neck.” She would receive verses from + Dashwood, and keep them embalmed in her pocket-book, though she allowed + that she thought them “sad stuff.” + </p> + <p> + However, in these verses something more was meant than met the ear. He + began with addressing a poem to her ladyship, called The Turban, which her + silly mother extolled with eagerness, and seemed to think by no means + inferior to the Rape of the Lock. Lady Augusta wrote a few lines in answer + to the Turban—reply produced reply—nonsense, nonsense—till + Dashwood now and then forgot his poetical character. Lady Augusta forgave + it; he, of course, forgot himself again into a lover in prose. For some + time the sonnets were shown to Lady S——, but at length some + were received, which it was thought as well not to show to any body. In + short, between fancy, flattery, poetry, passion, jest, and earnest, Lady + Augusta was drawn on till she hardly knew where she was; but Dashwood knew + perfectly well where he was, and resolved to keep his ground resolutely. + </p> + <p> + When encouraged by the lady’s coquetry, he first formed his plans; he + imagined that a promise of a wedding-present would easily secure her + governess: but this was a slight mistake; avarice happened not to be the + ruling, or, at least at this time, the reigning passion of mademoiselle’s + mind; and quickly perceiving his error, he paid assiduous court to her + vanity. She firmly believed that she had captivated him, and was totally + blind to his real designs. The grand difficulty with Dashwood was, not to + persuade her of his passion, but to prevent her from believing him too + soon; and he thought it expedient to delay completing his conquest of the + governess till he had gained an equally powerful influence over her pupil. + One evening, Dashwood, passing through a sheltered walk, heard Lady + Augusta and Mr. Mountague talking very loudly and eagerly: they passed + through the grove so quickly that he could catch only the words “phaeton—imprudence.” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw! jealousy—nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “Reasonable woman for a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh, no such thing.” + </p> + <p> + “My unalterable resolution,” were the concluding words of Mr. Mountague, + in a calm but decided voice; and, “As you please, sir! I’ve no notion of + giving up my will in every thing,” the concluding words of Lady Augusta + pronounced in a pettish tone, as she broke from him; yet pausing for a + moment, Dashwood, to his great surprise and concern, heard her in a softer + tone add a <i>but</i>, which showed she was not quite willing to break + from Mr. Mountague for ever. Dashwood was alarmed beyond measure; but the + lady did not long continue in this frame of mind, for, upon going into her + dressing-room to rest herself, she found her governess at the glass. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon Dieu!</i>” exclaimed mademoiselle, turning round: “Miladi told me + you was gone out—<i>mais qu’est ce que c’est? vous voilà pâle</i>—you + are as white—<i>blanc comme mon linge</i>,” cried she, with + emphasis, at the same time touching a handkerchief, which was so far from + white, that her pupil could not help bursting out into a laugh at the + unfortunate illustration. “<i>Pauvre petite! tenez</i>,” continued + mademoiselle, running up to her with salts, apprehensive that she was + going into fits. + </p> + <p> + “I am not ill, thank you,” said Lady Augusta, taking the smelling bottle. + </p> + <p> + “But don’t tell me dat,” said mademoiselle: “I saw you walking out of de + window wid dat man, and I know dis is some new <i>démêlé</i> wid him. + Come, <i>point de secret, mon enfant</i>. Has not he being giving you one + good lecture?” + </p> + <p> + “Lecture!” said Lady Augusta, rising with becoming spirit: “no, + mademoiselle, I am not to be lectured by any body.” + </p> + <p> + “No, to be sure; dat is what I say, and, <i>surtout</i>, not by a lover. + <i>Quel homme!</i> why I would not have him to pay his court to me for all + de world. Why, <i>pauvre petite</i>, he has made you look ten years older + ever since he began to fall in love wid you. Dis what you call a lover in + England? <i>Bon</i>, why, I know noting of de matter, if he be one bit in + love wid you, <i>mon enfant</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that, he certainly is in love with me: whatever other faults he + has, I must do him that justice.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Justice!</i> Oh, let him have justice, <i>de tout mon caeur</i>; but I + say, if he be a man in love, he is de oddest man in love I ever happen to + see; he eat, drink, sleep, talk, laugh, <i>se possede tout comme un autre. + Bon Dieu!</i> I would not give noting at all <i>myself</i> for such a sort + of a lover. <i>Mon enfant</i>, dis is not de way I would wish to see you + loved; dis is not de way no man ought for to dare for to love you.” + </p> + <p> + “And how ought I to be loved?” asked Lady Augusta, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “<i>La belle question!</i> Eh! don’t every body, de stupidest person in de + world, know how dey ought to be love? <i>Mais passionnément, éperdument</i>—dere + is a—a <i>je ne sais quoi</i> dat infailliblement distinguish de + true lover from de false.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Lady Augusta, “you really don’t think that Mr. Mountague + loves me?” + </p> + <p> + “Tink!” replied mademoiselle, “I don’t tink about it; but have not I said + enough? Open your eyes; make your own <i>comparaisons</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Before Lady Augusta had made her comparisons, a knock at the door from her + maid came to let her know that Lord George was waiting. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! milord George! I won’t keep you den: <i>va t’en</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “But now, do you know, it was only because I just said that I was going + out with Lord George that Mr. Mountague made all this rout.” + </p> + <p> + “Den let him make his rout; <i>qu’importe? Miladi votre chère mère</i> + make no objections. <i>Quelle impertinence!</i> If he was milord duc he + could not give himself no more airs. <i>Va, man enfant</i>—Dis a + lover! <i>Quel homme, quel tyran!</i> and den, of course, when he grows to + be a husband, he will be worserer and worserer, and badderer and badderer, + when he grows to be your husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Lady Augusta, snatching up her gloves hastily, “my husband he + shall never be, I am determined. So now I’ll give him his <i>coup de grace</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon!</i>” said mademoiselle, following her pupil, “and I must not miss + to be by, for I shall love to see dat man mortify.” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>are</i> going then?” said Mr. Mountague, gravely, as she passed. + </p> + <p> + “Going, going, going, gone!” cried Lady Augusta, who, tripping carelessly + by, gave her hand to the sulky lord; then springing into the phaeton, said + as usual—“I know, my lord, you’ll break my neck;” at the same time + casting a look at Mr. Mountague, which seemed to say—“I hope you’ll + break <i>your heart</i>, at least.” + </p> + <p> + When she returned from her airing, the first glance at Mr. Mountague’s + countenance convinced her that her power was at an end. She was not the + only person who observed this. Dashwood, under his air of thoughtless + gaiety, watched all that passed with the utmost vigilance, and he knew how + to avail himself of every circumstance that could be turned to his own + advantage. He well knew that a lady’s ear is never so happily prepared for + the voice of flattery as after having been forced to hear that of + sincerity. Dashwood contrived to meet Lady Augusta, just after she had + been mortified by her late admirer’s total recovery of his liberty, and, + seizing well his moment, pressed his suit with gallant ardour. As he + exhibited all those signs of passion which her governess would have deemed + unequivocal, the young lady thought herself justified in not absolutely + driving him to despair. + </p> + <p> + Where was Lady S—— all this time! Where?—at the + card-table, playing very judiciously at whist. With an indolent security, + which will be thought incredible by those who have not seen similar + instances of folly in great families, she let every thing pass before her + eyes without seeing it. Confident that her daughter, after having gone + through the usual routine, would meet with some suitable establishment, + that the settlements would then be the father’s business, the choice of + the jewels hers, she left her dear Augusta, in the meantime, to conduct + herself; or, what was ten times worse, to be conducted by Mlle. Panache. + Thus to the habitual indolence, or temporary convenience of parents, are + the peace and reputation of a family secretly sacrificed. And we may + observe, that those who take the least precaution to prevent imprudence in + their children are most enraged and implacable when the evil becomes + irremediable. + </p> + <p> + In losing Mr. Mountague’s heart, Lady Augusta’s vanity felt a double pang, + from the apprehension that Helen would probably recover her captive. + Acting merely from the impulse of the moment, her ladyship was perfectly a + child in her conduct; she seldom knew her own mind two hours together, and + really did not foresee the consequences of any one of her actions. Half a + dozen incompatible wishes filled her heart, or, rather, her imagination. + The most immediate object of vanity had always the greatest power over + her; and upon this habit of mind Dashwood calculated with security. + </p> + <p> + In the pride of conquest, her ladyship had rejoiced at her mother’s + inviting Mrs. Temple and her daughters to an entertainment at S—— + Hall, where she flattered herself that Mr. Mountague would appear as her + declared admirer. The day, alas! came; but things had taken a new turn, + and Lady Augusta was as impatient that the visit should be finished, as + she had been eager to have the invitation sent. Lady S—— was + not precisely informed of all that was going on in her own house, as we + have observed; and she was, therefore, a little surprised at the look of + vexation with which her daughter heard that she had pressed Mrs. Temple to + stay all night. “My dear,” said Lady S——, “you know you can + sleep in mademoiselle’s room for this one night, and Miss Helen Temple + will have yours. One should be civil to people, especially when one sees + them but seldom.” Lady Augusta was much out of humour with her mother’s + ill-timed civility; but there was no remedy. In the hurry of moving her + things at night, Lady Augusta left in her dressing table drawer a letter + of Dashwood’s—a letter which she would not have had seen by Miss + Helen Temple for any consideration. Our readers may imagine what her + ladyship’s consternation must have been, when, the next morning, Helen put + the letter into her hand, saying, “There’s a paper you left in your + dressing-table, Lady Augusta.” The ingenuous countenance of Helen, as she + spoke, might have convinced any one but Lady Augusta that she was + incapable of having opened this paper; but her ladyship judged otherwise: + she had no doubt that every syllable of the letter had been seen, and that + her secret would quickly be divulged. The company had not yet assembled at + breakfast. She retired precipitately to her own room, to consider what + could possibly be done in this emergency. She at length resolved to apply + to Mr. Mountague for assistance; for she had seen enough of him to feel + assured that he was a man of honour, and that she might safely trust him. + When she heard him go down stairs to breakfast, she followed, and + contrived to give him a note, which he read with no small degree of + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “How to apologize for myself I know not, nor have I one moment’s time to + deliberate. Believe me, I feel my sensibility and delicacy severely + wounded; but an ill-fated, uncontrollable passion must plead my excuse. I + candidly own that my conduct must appear to you in a strange light; but + spare me, I beseech you, all reproaches, and pardon my weakness, for on + your generosity and honour must I rely, in this moment of distress. + </p> + <p> + “A letter of mine—a fatal letter from Dashwood—has fallen into + the hands of Miss Helen Temple. All that I hold most dear is at her mercy. + I am fully persuaded that, were she to promise to keep my secret, nothing + on earth would tempt her to betray me; but I know she has so much the + habit of speaking of every thing to her mother, that I am in torture till + this promise is obtained. Your influence I must depend upon. Speak to her, + I conjure you, the moment breakfast is over; and assure yourself of my + unalterable gratitude. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “AUGUSTA ——.” + </p> + <p> + The moment breakfast was over, Mr. Mountague followed Helen into the + library; a portfolio, full of prints, lay open on the table, and as he + turned them over, he stopped at a print of Alexander putting his seal to + the lips of Hephaestion, whom he detected reading a letter over his + shoulder. Helen, as he looked at the print, said she admired the delicacy + of Alexander’s reproof to his friend; but observed, that it was scarcely + probable the seal should bind Hephsestion’s lips. + </p> + <p> + “How so?” said Mr. Mountague, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Helen, “if honour could not restrain his curiosity, it + would hardly secure his secrecy.” + </p> + <p> + “Charming girl!” exclaimed Mr. Mountague, with enthusiasm. Helen, struck + with surprise, and a variety of emotions, coloured deeply. “I beg your + pardon,” said Mr. Mountague, changing his tone, “for being so abrupt. You + found a letter of Lady Augusta’s last night. She is in great, I am sure + needless, anxiety about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Needless, indeed; I did not think it necessary to assure Lady Augusta, + when I returned her letter, that I had not read it. I gave it her because + I thought she would not like to have an open letter left where it might + fall into the hands of servants. As she has mentioned this subject to you, + I hope, sir, you will persuade her of the truth; you seem to be fully + convinced of it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am, indeed, fully convinced of your integrity, of the generosity, the + simplicity of your mind. May I ask whether you formed any conjecture, + whether you know whom that letter was from?” + </p> + <p> + Helen, with an ingenuous look, replied—“Yes, sir, I did form a + conjecture—I thought it was from you.” + </p> + <p> + “From me!” exclaimed Mr. Mountague. “I must undeceive you there: the + letter was not mine. I am eager,” continued he, smiling, “to undeceive + you. I wish I might flatter myself this explanation could ever be half as + interesting to you as it is to me. That letter was not mine, and I can + never, in future, be on any other terms with Lady Augusta than those of a + common acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + Here they were interrupted by the sudden entrance of mademoiselle, + followed by Dashwood, to whom she was talking with great earnestness. Mr. + Mountague, when he had collected his thoughts sufficiently to think of + Lady Augusta, wrote the following answer to her letter:— + </p> + <p> + “Your ladyship may be perfectly at ease with respect to your note. Miss + Helen Temple has not read it, nor has she, I am convinced, the slightest + suspicion of its contents or its author. I beg leave to assure your + ladyship, that I am sensible of the honour of your confidence, and that + you shall never have any reason to repent of having trusted in my + discretion. Yet permit me, even at the hazard of appearing impertinent, at + the still greater hazard of incurring your displeasure, to express my most + earnest hope that nothing will tempt you to form a connexion, which I am + persuaded would prove fatal to the happiness of your future life. I am, + with much respect, Your ladyship’s obedient servant, F. MOUNTAGUE.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta read this answer to her note with the greatest eagerness: the + first time she ran her eye over it, joy, to find her secret yet + undiscovered, suspended every other feeling; but, upon a second perusal, + her ladyship felt extremely displeased by the cold civility of the style, + and somewhat alarmed at the concluding paragraph. With no esteem, and + little affection for Dashwood, she had suffered herself to imagine that + her passion for him was <i>uncontrollable</i>. + </p> + <p> + What degree of felicity she was likely to enjoy with a man destitute + equally of fortune and principle, she had never attempted to calculate; + but there was something awful in the words—“I earnestly hope that + nothing will tempt you to form a connexion which would prove fatal to your + future happiness.” Whilst she was pondering upon these words, Dashwood met + her in the park, where she was walking alone. “Why so grave?” exclaimed + he, with anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “I am only thinking—that—I am afraid—I think this is a + silly business: I wish, Mr. Dashwood, you wouldn’t think any more of it, + and give me back my letters.” + </p> + <p> + Dashwood vehemently swore that her letters were dearer to him than life, + and that the “last pang should tear them from his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “But, if we go on with all this,” resumed Lady Augusta, “it will at least + break my mother’s heart, and mademoiselle’s into the bargain; besides, I + don’t half believe you; I really—” + </p> + <p> + “I really, what?” cried he, pouring forth protestations of passion, which + put Mr. Mountague’s letter entirely out of her head. + </p> + <p> + A number of small motives sometimes decide the mind in the most important + actions of our lives; and faults are often attributed to passion which + arise from folly. The pleasure of duping her governess, the fear of + witnessing Helen’s triumph over her lover’s recovered affections, and the + idea of the bustle and éclat of an elopement, all mixed together, went + under the general denomination of love!—Cupid is often blamed for + deeds in which he has no share. + </p> + <p> + “But,” resumed Lady Augusta, after making the last pause of expiring + prudence, “what shall we do about mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor mademoiselle!” cried Dashwood, leaning back against a tree to + support himself, whilst he laughed violently—“what do you think she + is about at this instant?—packing up her clothes in a band-box.” + </p> + <p> + “Packing up her clothes in a band-box!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; she verily believes that I am dying with impatience to carry her off + to Scotland, and at four o’clock to-morrow morning she trips down stairs + out of the garden-door, of which she keeps the key, flies across the park, + scales the gate, gains the village, and takes refuge with her good friend, + Miss Lacy, the milliner, where she is to wait for me. Now, in the mean + time, the moment the coast is clear, I fly to you, my <i>real</i> angel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, upon my word,” said Lady Augusta, so faintly, that Dashwood went + on exactly in the same tone. + </p> + <p> + “I fly to you, my angel, and we shall be half way on our trip to Scotland + before mademoiselle’s patience is half exhausted, and before <i>Miladi</i> + S—— is quite awake.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta could not forbear smiling at this idea; and thus, by an <i>unlucky</i> + stroke of humour, was the grand event of her life decided. + </p> + <p> + Marmontel’s well-known story, called <i>Heureusement</i>, is certainly not + a moral tale: to counteract its effects, he should have written <i>Malheureusement</i>, + if he could. + </p> + <p> + Nothing happened to disconcert the measures of Lady Augusta and Dashwood. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Lady S—— came down, according to her usual + custom, late to breakfast. Mrs. Temple, Helen, Emma, Lord George, Mr. + Mountague, &c., were assembled. “Has not mademoiselle made breakfast + for us yet?” said Lady S——. She sat down, and expected every + moment to see Mlle. Panache and her daughter make their appearance; but + she waited in vain. Neither mademoiselle, Lady Augusta, nor Dashwood, were + any where to be found. Every body round the breakfast-table looked at each + other in silence, waiting the event. “They are out walking, I suppose,” + said Lady S——, which supposition contented her for the first + five minutes; but then she exclaimed, “It’s very strange they don’t come + back!” + </p> + <p> + “Very strange—I mean rather strange,” said Lord George, helping + himself, as he spoke, to his usual quantity of butter, and then drumming + upon the table; whilst Mr. Mountague, all the time, looked down, and + preserved a profound silence. + </p> + <p> + At length the door opened, and Mlle. Panache, in a riding habit, made her + appearance. “<i>Bon jour, miladi! Bon jour!</i>” said she, looking round + at the silent party, with a half terrified, half astonished countenance. “<i>Je + vous demande mille pardons—Qu’est ce que c’est?</i> I have only been + to take a walk dis morning into de village to de milliner’s. She has + disappointed me of my tings, dat kept me waiting; but I am come back in + time for breakfast, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “But where is my daughter?” cried Lady S——, roused at last + from her natural indolence—“where is Lady Augusta?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon Dieu!</i> Miladi, I don’t know. <i>Bon Dieu!</i> in her bed, I + suppose. <i>Bon Dieu!</i>” exclaimed she a third time, and turned as pale + as ashes. “But where den is Mr. Dashwood?” At this instant a note, + directed to mademoiselle, was brought into the room: the servant said that + Lady Augusta’s maid had just found it upon her lady’s toilette—mademoiselle + tore open the note. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me to my mother—<i>you</i> can best plead my excuse. + </p> + <p> + “You will not see me again till I am + </p> + <p> + ‘Augusta Dashwood.’” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ah scélérat! Ah scélérat! Il m’a trahi!</i>” screamed mademoiselle: + she threw down the note, and sunk upon the sofa in real hysterics; whilst + Lady S——, seeing in one and the same moment her own folly and + her daughter’s ruin, fixed her eyes upon the words “Augusta Dashwood,” and + fainted. Mr. Mountague led Lord George out of the room with him, whilst + Mrs. Temple, Helen, and her sister, ran to the assistance of the unhappy + mother and the detected governess. + </p> + <p> + As soon as mademoiselle had recovered tolerable <i>composure</i>, she + recollected that she had betrayed too violent emotion on this occasion. “<i>Il + m’a trahi</i>,” were words, however, that she could not recall; it was in + vain she attempted to fabricate some apology for herself. No apology could + avail: and whilst Lady S——, in silent anguish, wept for her + own and her daughter’s folly, the governess, in loud and gross terms, + abused Dashwood, and reproached her pupil with having shown duplicity, + ingratitude, and a <i>bad heart</i>. + </p> + <p> + “A bad education!” exclaimed Lady S——, with a voice of mingled + anger and sorrow. “Leave the room, mademoiselle; leave my house. How could + I choose such a governess for my daughter! Yet, indeed,” added her + ladyship, turning to Mrs. Temple, “she was well recommended to me, and how + could I foresee all this?” + </p> + <p> + To such an appeal, at such a time, there was no reply to be made: it is + cruel to point out errors to those who feel that they are irreparable; but + it is benevolent to point them out to others, who have yet their choice to + make. + </p> + + <hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + THE KNAPSACK {1} + </h2> + <p> + {Footnote 1: In the Travels of M. Beanjolin into Sweden, he mentions + having, in the year 1790, met carriages laden with the knapsacks of + Swedish soldiers, who had fallen in battle in Finland. These carriages + were escorted by peasants, who were relieved at every stage, and thus the + property of the deceased was conveyed from one extremity of the kingdom to + the other, and faithfully restored to their relations. The Swedish + peasants are so remarkably honest, that scarcely any thing is ever lost in + these convoys of numerous and ill-secured packages.} + </p> + <h3> + <i>DRAMATIS PERSONAE</i> + </h3> + <p> + COUNT HELMAAR, <i>a Swedish Nobleman</i>. CHRISTIERN, <i>a Swedish Soldier</i>. + ALEFTSON, <i>Count Helmaar’s Fool</i>. THOMAS, <i>a Footman</i>. + </p> + <p> + ELEONORA, <i>a Swedish Lady, beloved by Count Helmaar</i>. CHRISTINA, <i>Sister + to Helmaar</i>. ULRICA, <i>an old Housekeeper</i>. CATHERINE, <i>Wife to + Christiern</i>. + </p> + <p> + KATE <i>and</i> ULRIC, <i>the Son and Daughter of Catherine—they are + six and seven years old</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Serjeant, and a Troop of Soldiers, a Train of Dancers, a Page, + Peasants, &c</i>. + </p> + <h3> + ACT I. + </h3> + <p> + SCENE—<i>A cottage in Sweden</i>.—CATHERINE, <i>a young and + handsome woman, is sitting at her spinning wheel.—A little Boy and + Girl, of six and seven years of age, are seated on the ground eating their + dinner</i>. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE <i>sings, while she is spinning</i>. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + Haste from the wars, oh, haste to me,<br /> + The wife that fondly waits for thee;<br /> + Long are the years, and long each day,<br /> + While my loved soldier’s far away.<br /> + Haste from the wars, &c.<br /> + <br /> + Lone ev’ry field, and lone the bow’r;<br /> + Pleasant to me nor sun nor show’r:<br /> + The snows are gone, the flow’rs are gay—<br /> + Why is my life of life away?<br /> + Haste from the wars, &c. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. When will father come home? + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. When will he come, mother? when? To-day? to-morrow? + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. No, not to-day, nor to-morrow, but soon, I hope, very soon; + for they say the wars are over. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. I am glad of that, and when father comes home, I’ll + give him some of my flowers. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy (who is still eating)</i>. And I’ll give him some of my + bread and cheese, which he’ll like better than flowers, if he is as hungry + as I am, and that to be sure he will be, after coming such a long, long + journey. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Long, long journey! how long?—how far is father + off, mother?—where is he? + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. I know, he is in—in—in—in—in + Finland? how far off, mother? + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. A great many miles, my dear; I don’t know how many. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. Is it not two miles to the great house, mother, where + we go to sell our faggots? + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Yes, about two miles—and now you had best set out + towards the great house, and ask Mrs. Ulrica, the housekeeper, to pay you + the little bill she owes you for faggots—there’s good children; and + when you have been paid for your faggots, you can call at the baker’s, in + the village, and bring home some bread for to-morrow (<i>patting the + little boy’s head</i>)—you that love bread and cheese so much must + work hard to get it. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. Yes, so I will work hard, then I shall have enough for + myself and father too, when he comes. Come along—come (<i>to his + sister</i>)—and, as we come home through the forest, I’ll show you + where we can get plenty of sticks for to-morrow, and we’ll help one + another. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl sings</i>. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + That’s the best way,<br /> + At work and at play,<br /> + To help one another—I heard mother say—<br /> + To help one another—I heard mother say— + </p> + <p> + {<i>The children go off, singing these words</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath. (alone</i>.) Dear, good children, how happy their father will be + to see them, when he comes back!—(<i>She begins to eat the remains + of the dinner, which the children have left</i>.) The little rogue was so + hungry, he has not left me much; but he would have left me all, if he had + thought that I wanted it: he shall have a <i>good large bowl</i> of milk + for supper. It was but last night he skimmed the cream off his milk for + me, because he thought I liked it. Heigho!—God knows how long they + may have milk to skim—as long as I can work they shall never want; + but I’m not so strong as I used to be; but then I shall get strong, and + all will be well, when my husband comes back (<i>a drum beats at a + distance</i>). Hark! a drum!—some news from abroad, perhaps—nearer + and nearer (<i>she sinks upon a chair</i>)—why cannot I run to see—to + ask (<i>the drum beats louder and louder</i>)—fool that I am! they + will be gone! they will be all gone! (<i>she starts up</i>.) + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exit hastily</i>.} + </p> + <p> + SCENE <i>changes to a high road, leading to a village.—A party of + ragged, tired soldiers, marching slowly. Serjeant ranges them</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj</i>. Keep on, my brave fellows, keep on, we have not a great way + further to go:—keep on, my brave fellows, keep on, through yonder + village. (<i>The drum beats</i>.) + </p> + <p> + {<i>Soldiers exeunt</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj</i>. (<i>alone</i>.) Poor fellows, my heart bleeds to see them! + the sad remains, these, of as fine a regiment as ever handled a musket. + Ah! I’ve seen them march quite another guess sort of way, when they + marched, and I amongst them, to face the enemy—heads up—step + firm—thus it was—quick time—march!—(<i>he marches + proudly</i>)—My poor fellows, how they lag now (<i>looking after + them</i>)—ay, ay, there they go, slower and slower; they don’t like + going through the village; nor I neither; for, at every village we pass + through, out come the women and children, running after us, and crying, + “Where’s my father?—What’s become of my husband?”—Stout fellow + as I am, and a Serjeant too, that ought to know better, and set the others + an example, I can’t stand these questions. + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter</i> CATHERINE, <i>breathless</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. I—I—I’ve overtaken him at last. Sir—Mr. + Serjeant, one word! What news from Finland? + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj</i>. The best—the war’s over. Peace is proclaimed. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath. (clasping her hands joyfully</i>.) Peace! happy sound!—Peace! + The war’s over!—Peace!—And the regiment of Helmaar—(<i>The + Serjeant appears impatient to get away</i>)—Only one word, good + serjeant: when will the regiment of Helmaar be back? + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj</i>. All that remain of it will be home next week. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Next week?—But, all that <i>remain</i>, did you say?—Then + many have been killed? + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj</i>. Many, many—too many. Some honest peasants are bringing + home the knapsacks of those who have fallen in battle. ‘Tis fair that what + little they had should come home to their families. Now, I pray you, let + me pass on. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. One word more: tell me, do you know, in the regiment of + Helmaar, one Christiern Aleftson? + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj, (with eagerness</i>.) Christiern Aleftson! as brave a fellow, and + as good as ever lived, if it be the same that I knew. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. As brave a fellow, and as good as ever lived! Oh, that’s he! + he is my husband—where is he? where is he? + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj, (aside</i>.) She wrings my heart!—(<i>Aloud</i>)—He + was— + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. <i>Was!</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj</i>. He is, I hope, safe. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. You <i>hope!</i>—don’t look away—I must see your + face: tell me all you know. + </p> + <p> + <i>Serj</i>. I know nothing for certain. When the peasants come with the + knapsacks, you will hear all from them. Pray you, let me follow my men; + they are already at a great distance. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exit Serj. followed by Catherine</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. I will not detain you an instant—only one word more— + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exit</i>.} + </p> + <p> + SCENE.—<i>An apartment in Count Helmaar’s Castle.—A train of + dancers.—After they have danced for some time, </i> + </p> + <p> + Enter a Page. + </p> + <p> + <i>Page</i>. Ladies! I have waited, according to your commands, till Count + Helmaar appeared in the ante-chamber—he is there now, along with the + ladies Christina and Eleonora. + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Dancer</i>. Now is our time—Count Helmaar shall hear our song + to welcome him home. + </p> + <p> + <i>2nd Dancer</i>. None was ever more welcome. + </p> + <p> + <i>3rd Dancer</i>. But stay till I have breath to sing. + </p> + <p class="center"> + SONG. + </p> + <p class="center"> + I. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + Welcome, Helmaar, welcome home;<br /> + In crowds your happy neighbours come,<br /> + To hail with joy the cheerful morn,<br /> + That sees their Helmaar’s safe return. + </p> + <p class="center"> + II. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + No hollow heart, no borrow’d face.<br /> + Shall ever Helmaar’s hall disgrace:<br /> + Slaves alone on tyrants wait;<br /> + Friends surround the good and great.<br /> + <br /> + Welcome Helmaar, &c. + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter</i> ELEONORA, CHRISTINA, <i>and</i> COUNT HELMAAR. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. Thanks, my friends, for this kind welcome. + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Dancer (looking at a black fillet on Helmaar’s head</i>). He has + been wounded. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. Yes—severely wounded. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. And had it not been for the fidelity of the soldier who + carried me from the field of battle, I should never have seen you more, my + friends, nor you, my charming Eleonora. (<i>A noise of one singing behind + the scenes</i>.)—What disturbance is that without? + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. Tis only Aleftson, the fool:—in your absence, + brother, he has been the cause of great diversion in the castle:—I + love to play upon him, it keeps him in tune;—you can’t think how + much good it does him. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. And how much good it does you, sister:—from your + childhood you had always a lively wit, and loved to exercise it; but do + you waste it upon fools? + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. I’m sometimes inclined to think this Aleftson is more + knave than fool. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. By your leave, Lady Christina, he is no knave, or I am much + mistaken. To my knowledge, he has carried his whole salary, and all the + little presents he has received from us, to his brother’s wife and + children. I have seen him chuck his money, thus, at those poor children, + when they have been at their plays, and then run away, lest their mother + should make them give it back. + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter</i> ALEFTSON, <i>the fool, in a fool’s coat, fool’s cap and + bells, singing</i>. + </p> + <p class="center"> + I. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + There’s the courtier, who watches the nod of the great;<br /> + Who thinks much of his pension, and nought of the state:<br /> + When for ribands and titles his honour he sells—<br /> + What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells? + </p> + <p class="center"> + II. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + There’s the gamester, who stakes on the turn of a die<br /> + His house and his acres, the devil knows why:<br /> + His acres he loses, his forests he sells—<br /> + What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells? + </p> + <p class="center"> + III. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + There’s the student so crabbed and wonderful wise,<br /> + With his plus and his minus, his x’s and y’s:<br /> + Pale at midnight he pores o’er his magical spells—<br /> + What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells? + </p> + <p class="center"> + IV. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + The lover, who’s ogling, and rhyming, and sighing,<br /> + Who’s musing, and pining, and whining, and dying:<br /> + When a thousand of lies ev’ry minute he tells—<br /> + What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells? + </p> + <p class="center"> + V. + </p> + <p class="poem"> + There’s the lady so fine, with her airs and her graces,<br /> + With a face like an angel’s—if angels have faces:<br /> + She marries, and Hymen the vision dispels—<br /> + What’s her husband, my friends, but a fool without bells? + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina, Eleonora, Helmaar, &c</i>.—Bravo! bravissimo!—excellent + fool!—Encore. + </p> + <p> + {<i>The fool folds his arms, and begins to cry bitterly</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. What now, Aleftson? I never saw you sad before—What’s + the matter?—Speak. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Fool sobs, but gives no answer</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Helm</i>. Why do you weep so bitterly? + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. Because I am a fool. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helm</i>. Many should weep, if that were cause sufficient. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. But, Aleftson, you have all your life, till now, been a + merry fool. + </p> + <p> + <i>Fool</i>. Because always, till now, I was a fool, but now I am grown + wise: and ‘tis difficult, to all but you, lady, to be merry and wise. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. A pretty compliment; ‘tis a pity it was paid by a fool. + </p> + <p> + <i>Fool</i>. Who else should pay compliments, lady, or who else believe + them? + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. Nay, I thought it was the privilege of a fool to speak + the truth without offence. + </p> + <p> + <i>Fool</i>. Fool as you take me to be, I’m not fool enough yet to speak + truth to a lady, and think to do it without offence. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. Why, you have said a hundred severe things to <i>me</i> + within this week, and have I ever been angry with you? + </p> + <p> + <i>Fool</i>. Never; for, out of the whole hundred, not one was true. But + have a care, lady—fool as I am, you’d be glad to stop a fool’s mouth + with your white hand this instant, rather than let him tell the truth of + you. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i> (<i>laughing, and all the other ladies, except Eleonora, + exclaim</i>)—Speak on, good fool; speak on— + </p> + <p> + <i>Helm</i>. I am much mistaken, or the lady Eleonora fears not to hear + the truth from either wise men or fools—Speak on. + </p> + <p> + <i>Fool</i>. One day, not long ago, when there came news that our count + there was killed in Finland—I, being a fool, was lying laughing, and + thinking of nothing at all, on the floor, in the west drawing-room, + looking at the count’s picture—In comes the Lady Eleonora, all in + tears. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. (stopping his mouth.) Oh! tell any thing but <i>that</i>, + good fool. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i> (<i>kneels and kisses her hand</i>). Speak on, excellent + fool. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina and ladies</i>. Speak on, excellent fool—In came the + Lady Eleonora, all in tears. + </p> + <p> + <i>Fool</i>. In comes the Lady Eleonora, all in tears—(<i>pauses and + looks round</i>). Why now, what makes you all so curious about these + tears?—Tears are but salt water, let them come from what eyes they + will—my tears are as good as hers—in came John Aleftson, all + in tears, just now, and nobody kneels to me—nobody kisses my hands—nobody + cares half a straw for my tears—(<i>folds his arms and looks + melancholy</i>). I am not one of those—I know the cause of my tears + too well. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helm</i>. Perhaps they were caused by my unexpected return—hey? + </p> + <p> + <i>Fool</i> (<i>scornfully</i>). No—I am not such a fool as that + comes to. Don’t I know that, when you are at home, the poor may hold up + their heads, and no journeyman-gentleman of an agent dares then to go + about plaguing those who live in cottages? No, no,—I am not such a + fool as to cry because Count Helmaar is come back; but the truth is, I + cried because I am tired and ashamed of wearing this thing—(<i>throwing + down his fool’s cap upon the floor, changes his tone entirely</i>)—<i>I!</i>—who + am brother to the man who saved Count Helmaar’s life—I to wear a + fool’s cap and bells—Oh shame! shame! + </p> + <p> + {<i>The ladies look at one another with signs of astonishment.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i> (<i>aside</i>). A lucid interval—poor fool!—I + will torment him no more—he has feeling—‘twere better he had + none. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. Hush!—hear him! + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. (<i>throwing himself at the counts feet</i>). Noble count, I + have submitted to be thought a fool; I have worn this fool’s cap in your + absence, that I might indulge my humour, and enjoy the liberty of speaking + my mind freely to the people of all conditions. Now that you are returned, + I have no need of such a disguise—I may now speak the truth without + fear, and without a cap and bells.—I resign my salary, and give back + the ensign of my office—(<i>presents the fool’s cap</i>). + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exit</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. He might well say, that none but fools should pay + compliments—this is the best compliment that has been paid you, + brother. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. And observe, he has resigned his salary. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helm</i>. From this moment let it be doubled:—he made an + excellent use of money when he was a fool—may he make half as good a + use of it now he is a wise man. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. Amen—and now I hope we are to have some more + dancing. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exeunt</i>.} + </p> + <h3> + ACT II. + </h3> + <p> + SCENE—<i>By moonlight—a forest—a castle illuminated at a + distance.—A group of peasants seated on the ground, each with a + knapsack beside him.—One peasant lies stretched on the ground</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Peasant</i>. Why, what I say is, that the wheel of the cart being + broken, and the horse dead lame, and Charles there in that plight—(<i>points + to the sleeping peasant</i>)—it is a folly to think of getting on + further this evening. + </p> + <p> + <i>2nd Peasant</i>. And what I say is, it’s folly to sleep here, seeing I + know the country, and am certain sure we have not above one mile at + furthest to go, before we get to the end of our journey. + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Peasant</i> (<i>pointing to the sleeper</i>). He can’t walk a mile—he’s + done for—dog tired— + </p> + <p> + <i>3rd Peasant</i>. Are you <i>certain</i> sure we have only one mile + further to go? + </p> + <p> + <i>2nd Peasant</i>. Certain sure— + </p> + <p> + <i>All, except the sleeper and the 1st Peasant</i>. Oh, let us go on, + then, and we can carry the knapsacks on our backs for this one mile. + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Peasant</i>. You must carry him, then, knapsack and all. + </p> + <p> + <i>All together</i>. So we will. + </p> + <p> + <i>2nd Peasant</i>. But first, do you see, let’s waken him; for a sleeping + man’s twice as heavy as one that’s awake—Hollo, friend! waken! + waken!—(<i>he shakes the sleeper, who snores loudly</i>)—Good + Lord, he snores loud enough to waken all the birds in the wood. + </p> + <p> + {<i>All the peasants shout in the sleeper’s ear, and he starts up, shaking + himself.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Am I awake?—(<i>stretching</i>.) + </p> + <p> + <i>2nd Peasant</i>. No, not yet, man—Why, don’t you know where you + are? Ay; here’s the moon—and these be trees; and—I be a man, + and what do you call this? (<i>holding up a knapsack</i>.) + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. A knapsack, I say, to be sure:—I’m as broad awake as + the best of you. + </p> + <p> + <i>2nd Peasant</i>. Come on, then; we’ve a great way further to go before + you sleep again. + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. A great way further! further to-night!—No, no. + </p> + <p> + <i>2nd Peasant</i>. Yes, yes; we settled it all while you were fast asleep—You + are to be carried, you and your knapsack. + </p> + <p> + {<i>They prepare to carry him</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i> (<i>starting up, and struggling with them</i>). I’ve legs + to walk—I won’t be carried!—I, a Swede, and be carried!—No! + No!— + </p> + <p> + <i>All together</i>. Yes! Yes! + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. No! No!—(<i>he struggles for his knapsack, which + comes untied in the struggle, and all the things fall out</i>.)—There, + this comes of playing the fool. + </p> + <p> + {<i>They help him to pick up the things, and exclaim,</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>All</i>. There’s no harm done—(<i>throwing the knapsack over his + shoulder</i>). + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. I’m the first to march, after all. + </p> + <p> + <i>Peasants</i>. Ay, in your sleep! + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exeunt, laughing.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter</i> CATHERINE’S <i>two little Children</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. I am sure I heard some voices this way—suppose + it was the fairies! + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. It was only the rustling of the leaves. There are no + such things as fairies; but if there were any such, we have no need to + fear them. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy sings</i>. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +I. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Nor elves, nor fays, nor magic charm,<br /> +Have pow’r, or will, to work us harm;<br /> +For those who dare the truth to tell,<br /> +Fays, elves, and fairies, wish them well. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +For us they spread their dainty fare,<br /> +For us they scent the midnight air;<br /> +For us their glow-worm lamps they light,<br /> +For us their music cheers the night. +</p> + + <p> + <i>Little Girl sings</i>. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +I. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ye fays and fairies, hasten here,<br /> +Robed in glittering gossamere;<br /> +With tapers bright, and music sweet,<br /> +And frolic dance, and twinkling feet. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And, little Mable, let us view<br /> +Your acorn goblets fill’d with dew;<br /> +Nor warn us hence till we have seen<br /> +The nut-shell chariot of your queen: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +III. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In which on nights of yore she sat,<br /> +Driven by her gray-coated gnat;<br /> +With spider spokes and cobweb traces,<br /> +And horses fit for fairy races. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +IV. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And bid us join your revel ring,<br /> +And see you dance, and hear you sing:<br /> +Your fairy dainties let us taste,<br /> +And speed us home with fairy haste. +</p> + + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. If there were really fairies, and if they would give me + my wish, I know what I should ask. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl.</i> And so do I—I would ask them to send father home + before I could count ten. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. And I would ask to hear his general say to him, in the + face of the whole army, “This is a brave man!” And father should hold up + his head as I do now, and march thus by the side of his general. + </p> + <p> + {<i>As the little Boy marches, he stumbles</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Oh! take care!—come, let us march home:—but + stay, I have not found my faggot. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. Never mind your faggot; it was not here you left it. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Yes, it was somewhere here, I’m sure, and I must find + it, to carry it home to mother, to make a blaze for her before she goes to + bed. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. But she will wonder what keeps us up so late. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. But we shall tell her what kept us. Look under those + trees, will you, whilst I look here, for my faggot.—When we get + home, I shall say, “Mother, do you know there is great news?—there’s + a great many, many candles in the windows of the great house, and dancing + and music in the great house, because the master’s come home, and the + housekeeper had not time to pay us, and we waited and waited with our + faggots; at last the butler—” + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. Heyday!—What have we here?—a purse, a + purse, a heavy purse. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Whose can it be? let us carry it home to mother. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. No, no; it can’t be mother’s: mother has no purse full + of money. It must belong to somebody at the great house. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Ay, very likely to dame Ulrica, the housekeeper, for + she has more purses and money than any body else in the world. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. Come, let us run back with it to her,—mother + would tell us to do so, I’m sure, if she was here. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. But I’m afraid the housekeeper won’t see us to-night. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. Oh, yes; but I’ll beg, and pray, and push, till I get + into her room. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Yes; but don’t push me, or I shall knock my head + against the trees. Give me your hand, brother.—Oh, my faggot! I + shall never find you. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exeunt</i>.} + </p> + <p> + SCENE—Catherine’s <i>Cottage</i>. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE, <i>spinning, sings</i>. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +I. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Turn swift, my wheel, my busy wheel,<br /> +And leave my heart no time to feel;<br /> +Companion of my widow’d hour,<br /> +My only friend, my only dow’r. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thy lengthening thread I love to see,<br /> +Thy whirring sound is dear to me:<br /> +Oh, swiftly turn by night and day,<br /> +And toil for him that’s far away. +</p> + + <p> + <i>Catherine</i>. Hark! here come the children. No, ‘twas only the wind. + What can keep these children so late?—but it is a fine moonlight + night—they’ll have brave appetites for their supper when they come + back—but I wonder they don’t come home.—Heigho! since their + father has been gone, I am grown a coward—(<i>a knock at the door + heard</i>)—Come in!—Why does every knock at the door startle + me in this way? + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter</i> CHARLES, <i>with a knapsack on his back</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Mistress! mayhap you did not expect to see a stranger at + this time o’ night, as I guess by the looks of ye—but I’m only a + poor fellow, that has been a-foot a great many hours. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Then, pray ye, rest yourself, and such fare as we have you’re + welcome to. + </p> + <p> + {<i>She sets milk, &c., on a table. Charles throws himself into a + chair, and flings his knapsack behind him</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. ‘Tis a choice thing to rest one’s self:—I say, + mistress, you must know, I, and some more of us peasants, have come a + many, many leagues since break of day. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Indeed, you may well be tired—and where do you come + from?—Did you meet, on your road, any soldiers coming back from + Finland? + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles (eats and speaks</i>). Not the soldiers themselves, I can’t say + as I did; but we are them that are bringing home the knapsacks of the poor + fellows that have lost their lives in the wars in Finland. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath.</i> (during this speech of Charles, leans on the back of a chair. + <i>Aside</i>) Now I shall know my fate. + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles (eating and speaking)</i>. My comrades are gone on to the + village beyond with their knapsacks, to get them owned by the families of + them to whom they belonged, as it stands to reason and right. Pray, + mistress, as you know the folks here-abouts, could you tell me whose + knapsack this is, here, behind me? (<i>looking up at Catherine</i>.)—Oons, + but how pale she looks! (<i>aside</i>). Here, sit ye down, do. (<i>Aside</i>) + Why, I would not have said a word if I had thought on it—to be sure + she has a lover now, that has been killed in the wars. (<i>Aloud</i>) Take + a sup of the cold milk, mistress. + </p> + <p> + <i>Catherine (goes fearfully towards the knapsack</i>). ‘Tis his! ‘tis my + husband’s! + </p> + <p> + {<i>She sinks down on a chair, and hides her face with her hands</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Poor soul! poor soul!—(<i>he pauses</i>.) But now it + is not clear to me that you may not be mistaken, mistress:—these + knapsacks be all so much alike, I’m sure I could not, for the soul of me, + tell one from t’other—it is by what’s in the inside only one can + tell for certain. (<i>Charles opens the knapsack, pulls out a waistcoat, + carries it towards Catherine, and holds it before her face</i>.)—Look + ye here, now; don’t give way to sorrow while there’s hope left—Mayhap, + mistress—look at this now, can’t ye, mistress? + </p> + <p> + {<i>Catherine timidly moves her hands from before her face, sees the + waistcoat, gives a faint scream, and falls back in a swoon. The peasant + runs to support her.—At this instant the back door of the cottage + opens, and</i> ALEFTSON <i>enters</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. Catherine! + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Poor soul!—there, raise her head—give her air—she + fell into this swoon at the sight of yonder knapsack—her husband’s—he’s + dead. Poor creature!—‘twas my luck to bring the bad news—what + shall we do for her?—I’m no better than a fool, when I see a body + this way. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. (<i>sprinkling water on her face</i>.) She’ll be as well as + ever she was, you’ll see, presently—leave her to me! + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. There! she gave a sigh—she’s coming to her senses. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Catherine raises herself</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. What has been the matter?—(<i>She starts at the sight + of Aleftson</i>.)—My husband!—no—‘tis Aleftson—what + makes you look so like him?—you don’t look like yourself. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft. (aside to the peasant</i>.) Take that waistcoat out of the way. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. (<i>looking round, sees the knapsack</i>.) What’s there?—Oh, + I recollect it all now.—(<i>To Aleftson</i>) Look there! look there! + your brother! your brother’s dead! Poor fool, you have no feeling. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. I wish I had none. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Oh, my husband!—shall I never, never see you more—never + more hear your voice—never more see my children in their father’s + arms? + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. (<i>takes up the waistcoat, on which her eyes are fixed</i>.) + But we are not sure this is Christiern’s. + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles (snatching it from him</i>). Don’t show it to her again, man!—you’ll + drive her mad. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft. (aside</i>.) Let me alone; I know what I’m about. (<i>Aloud</i>) + ‘Tis certainly like a waistcoat I once saw him wear; but perhaps— + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. It is his—it is his—too well I know it—my + own work—I gave it to him the very day he went away to the wars—he + told me he would wear it again the day of his coming home—but he’ll + never come home again. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. How can you be <i>sure</i> of that? + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. How!—why, am not I sure, too sure?—hey!—what + do you mean?—he smiles!—have you heard any thing?—do you + know any thing?—but he can know nothing—he can tell me nothing—he + has no sense. (<i>She turns to the peasant</i>.) Where did you get this + knapsack?—did you see— + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. He saw nothing—he knows nothing—he can tell you + nothing:—listen to me, Catherine—see, I have thrown aside the + dress of a fool—you know I had my senses once—I have them now + as clear as ever I had in my life—ay, you may well be surprised—but + I will surprise you more—Count Helmaar’s come home. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Count Helmaar!—impossible! + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Count Helmaar!—he was killed in the last battle, in + Finland. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. I tell ye, he was not killed in any battle—he is safe + at home—I have just seen him. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Seen him!—but why do I listen to him, poor fool! he + knows not what he says—and yet, if the count be really alive— + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Is the count really alive? I’d give my best cow to see + him. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. Come with me, then, and in one quarter of an hour you <i>shall</i> + see him. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath. (clasping her hands</i>.) Then there <i>is</i> hope for me—Tell + me, is there any news? + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. There is. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Of my husband? + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. Yes—ask me no more—you must hear the rest from + Count Helmaar himself—he has sent for you. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath. (springs forward</i>.) This instant let me go, let me hear—(<i>she + stops short at the sight of the waistcoat, which lies in her passage</i>).—But + what shall I hear?—there can be no good news for me—this + speaks too plainly. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Aleftson pulls her arm between his, and leads her away</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Nay, master, take me, as you promised, along with you—I + won’t be left behind—I’m wide awake now—I must have a sight of + Count Helmaar in his own castle—why, they’ll make much of me in + every cottage on my road home, when I can swear to ‘em I’ve seen Count + Helmaar alive, in his own castle, face to face—God bless him, he’s + <i>the poor man’s friend</i>. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exeunt</i>.} + </p> + <p> + SCENE—<i>The housekeeper’s room in Count</i> HELMAAR’S <i>Castle</i>. + </p> + <p> + ULRICA <i>and</i> CHRISTIERN. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTIERN <i>is drawing on his boots</i>.—<i>Mrs</i>. ULRICA <i>is + sitting at a tea-table making coffee</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Well, well; I’ll say no more: if you can’t stay + to-night, you can’t—but I had laid it all out in my head so + cleverly, that you should stay, and take a good night’s rest here, in the + castle; then, in the morning, you’ll find yourself as fresh as a lark. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. Oh! I am not at all tired. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Not tired! don’t tell me that, now, for I know that + you <i>are</i> tired, and can’t help being tired, say what you will—Drink + this dish of coffee, at any rate—(<i>he drinks coffee</i>). + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. But the thoughts of seeing my Catherine and my little + ones— + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Very true, very true; but in one word, I want to see + the happy meeting, for such things are a treat to me, and don’t come every + day, you know; and now, in the morning, I could go along with you to the + cottage, but you must be sensible I could not be spared out this night, on + no account or possibility. + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter Footman</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman</i>. Ma’am, the cook is hunting high and low for the + brandy-cherries. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica.</i> Lord bless me! are not they there before those eyes of + yours?—But I can’t blame nobody for being out of their wits a little + with joy such a night as this. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exit Footman</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. Never man was better beloved in the regiment than Count + Helmaar. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Ay! ay! so he is every where, and so he deserves to + be. Is your coffee good? sweeten to your taste, and don’t spare sugar, nor + don’t spare any thing that this house affords; for, to be sure, you + deserve it all—nothing can be too good for him that saved my + master’s life. So now that we are comfortable and quiet over our dish of + coffee, pray be so very good as to tell me the whole story of my master’s + escape, and of the horse being killed under him, and of your carrying him + off on your shoulders; for I’ve only heard it by bits and scraps, as one + may say; I’ve seen only the bill of fare, ha! ha! ha!—so now pray + set out all the good things for me, in due order, garnished and all; and, + before you begin, taste these cakes—they are my own making. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern (aside)</i>. ‘Tis the one-and-twentieth time I’ve told the + story to-day; but no matter. (<i>Aloud</i>) Why, then, madam, the long and + the short of the story is— + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Oh, pray, let it be the <i>long</i>, not the <i>short</i> + of the story, if you please: a story can never be too long for my taste, + when it concerns my master—‘tis, as one may say, fine spun sugar, + the longer the finer, and the more I relish it—but I interrupt you, + and you eat none of my cake—pray go on—(<i>A call behind the + scenes of Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica!</i>)—Coming!—coming!—patience. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. Why, then, madam, we were, as it might be, here—just + please to look; I’ve drawn the field of battle for you here, with coffee, + on the table—and you shall be the enemy. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. I!—no—I’ll not be the enemy—my + master’s enemy! + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. Well, I’ll be the enemy. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. You!—Oh no, you sha’n’t be the enemy. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. Well, then, let the cake be the enemy. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. The cake—my cake!—no, indeed. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. Well, let the candle be the enemy. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Well, let the candle be the enemy; and where was my + master, and where are you—I don’t understand—what is all this + great slop? + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. Why, ma’am, the field of battle; and let the coffee-pot + be my master: here comes the enemy— + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter Footman</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman</i>. Mrs. Ulrica, more refreshments wanting for the dancers + above. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. More refreshments!—more!—bless my heart, + ‘tis an <i>un</i>possibility they can have swallowed down all I laid out, + not an hour ago, in the confectionary room. + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman</i>. Confectionary room! Oh, I never thought of looking there. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Look ye there, now!—why, where did you think of + looking, then?—in the stable, or the cockloft, hey?—{<i>Exit + Footman</i>.}—But I can’t scold on such a night as this: their poor + heads are all turned with joy; and my own’s scarce in a more proper<i>er</i> + condition—Well, I beg your pardon—pray go on—the + coffee-pot is my master, and the candle’s the enemy. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. So, ma’am, here comes the enemy full drive, upon Count + Helmaar. + </p> + <p> + {<i>A call without of Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica!</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica!—can’t you do without + Mrs. Ulrica one instant but you must call, call—(<i>Mrs. Ulrica! + Mrs. Ulrica!</i>)—Mercy on us, what do you want? I <i>must</i> go + for one instant. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. And I <i>must</i> bid ye a good night. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Nay, nay, nay,—(<i>eagerly</i>)—you won’t + go—I’ll be back. + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter Footman</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman</i> Ma’am! Mrs. Ulrica! the key of the blue press. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. The key of the blue press—I had it in my hand + just now—I gave it—I—(<i>looks amongst a bunch of keys, + and then all round the room</i>)—I know nothing at all about it, I + tell you—I must drink my tea, and I will—{<i>Exit Footman</i>}. + ‘Tis a sin to scold on such a night as this, if one could help it—Well, + Mr. Christiern, so the coffee-pot’s my master. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i>. And the sugar-basin—why here’s a key in the + sugar-basin. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Lord bless me! ‘tis the very key, the key of the blue + press—why dear me—(<i>feels in her pocket</i>)—and here + are the sugar tongs in my pocket, I protest—where was my poor head? + Hers, Thomas! Thomas! here’s the key; take it, and don’t say a word for + your life, if you can help it; you need not come in, I say—(<i>she + holds the door—the footman pushes in</i>). + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman</i>. But, ma’am, I have something particular to say. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Why, you’ve always something particular to say—is + it any thing about my master? + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman</i>. No, but about your purse, ma’am. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. What of my purse? + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman</i>. Here’s your little godson, ma’am, is here, who has found + it. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i> (<i>aside</i>). Hold your foolish tongue, can’t you?—don’t + mention my little godson, for your life. + </p> + <p> + {<i>The little boy creeps in under the footman’s arm; his sister Kate + follows him. Mrs. Ulrica lifts up her hands and eyes, with signs of + impatience</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i> (<i>aside</i>). Now I had settled in my head that their + father should not see them till to-morrow morning. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Who is that strange man? + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. He has made me forget all I had to say. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i> (<i>aside</i>). What charming children! + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i> (<i>asid</i>). He does not know them to be his—they + don’t know him to be their father. (<i>Aloud</i>) Well, children, what + brings you here at this time of night? + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. What I was going to say was—(<i>the little boy + looks at the stranger between every two or three words, and Christiern + looks at him</i>)—what I was going to say was— + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Ha! ha! ha!—he forgets that we found this purse + in the forest as we were going home. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. And we thought that it might be yours. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Why should you think it was mine? + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. Because nobody else could have so much money in one + purse; so we brought it to you—here it is. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. ‘Tis none of my purse. (<i>Aside</i>) Oh! he’ll + certainly find out that they are his children—(<i>she stands between + the children and Christiern</i>). ‘Tis none of my purse; but you are good, + honest little dears, and I’ll be hanged if I won’t carry you both up to my + master himself, this very minute, and tell the story of your honesty + before all the company. + </p> + <p> + {<i>She pushes the children towards the door. Ulric looks back.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Boy</i>. He has a soldier’s coat on—let me ask him if he + is a soldier. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. No—what’s that to you? + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Girl</i>. Let me ask him if he knows any thing about father. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i> (<i>puts her hand before the little girl’s mouth</i>). + Hold your little foolish tongue, I say—what’s that to you? + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exeunt, Mrs. Ulrica pushing forward the children.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter, at the opposite door,</i> THOMAS, <i>the footman.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman.</i> Sir, would you please to come into our servants’-hall, + only for one instant: there’s one wants to speak a word to you. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern.</i> Oh, I cannot stay another moment: I must go home: who + is it? + </p> + <p> + <i>Footman</i>. ‘Tis a poor man who has brought in two carts full of my + master’s baggage; and my master begs you’ll be so very good as to see that + the things are all right, as you know ‘em, and no one else here does. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern (with impatience).</i> How provoking!—a full hour’s + work:—I sha’n’t get home this night, I see that:—I wish the + man and the baggage were in the Gulf of Finland. {<i>Exeunt.</i>} + </p> + <p> + SCENE—<i>The apartment where the</i> COUNT, ELEONORA, CHRISTINA, <i>&c., + were dancing.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter Mrs.</i> ULRICA, <i>eading the two children.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina.</i> Ha! Mrs. Ulrica, and her little godson. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica.</i> My lady, I beg pardon for presuming to interrupt; but + I was so proud of my little godson and his sister, though not my + goddaughter, that I couldn’t but bring them up, through the very midst of + the company, to my master, to praise them according to their deserts; for + nobody can praise those that deserve it so well as my master—to my + fancy. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleonora</i> (<i>aside</i>). Nor to mine. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Here’s a purse, sir, which this little boy and girl of + mine found in the woods as they were going home; and, like honest + children, as they are, they came back with it directly to me, thinking + that it was mine. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. Shake hands, my honest little fellow—this is just + what I should have expected from a godson of Mrs. Ulrica, and a son of— + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica (aside to the Count</i>). Oh, Lord bless you, sir, don’t + tell him—My lady—(<i>to Christina</i>)—would you take + the children out of hearing? + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. (<i>to the children</i>). Come with us, my dears. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exeunt ladies and children.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Don’t, sir, pray, tell the children any thing about + their father: they don’t know that their father’s here, though they’ve + just seen him; and I’ve been striving all I can to keep the secret, and to + keep the father here all night, that I may have the pleasure of seeing the + meeting of father and mother and children at their own cottage to-morrow. + I would not miss the sight of their meeting for fifty pounds; and yet I + shall not see it after all—for Christiern will go, all I can say or + do. Lord bless me! I forgot to bolt him in when I came up with the + children—the bird’s flown, for certain—(<i>going in a great + hurry</i>). + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. Good Mrs. Ulrica, you need not be alarmed; your prisoner + is very safe, I can assure you, though you forgot to bolt him in: I have + given him an employment that will detain him a full hour, for I design to + have the pleasure of restoring my deliverer myself to his family. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Oh! that will be delightful!—Then you’ll keep + him here all night!—but that will vex him terribly; and of all the + days and nights of the year, one wouldn’t have any body vexed this day or + night, more especially the man, who, as I may say, is the cause of all our + illuminations, and rejoicings, and dancings—no, no, happen what + will, we must not have him vexed. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. He shall not be vexed, I promise you; and, if it be + necessary to keep your heart from breaking, my good Mrs. Ulrica, I’ll tell + you a secret, which I had intended, I own, to have kept from you one half + hour longer. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. A secret! dear sir, half an hour’s a great while, to + keep a secret from one when it’s about one’s friends: pray, if it be + proper—but you are the best judge—I should be very glad to + hear just a little hint of the matter, to prepare me. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. Then prepare in a few minutes to see the happy meeting + between Christiern and his family: I have sent to his cottage for his + wife, to desire that she would come hither immediately. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Oh! a thousand thanks to you, sir; but I’m afraid the + messenger will let the cat out of the bag. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. The man I have sent can keep a secret—Which way did + the Lady Eleonora go?—Are those peasants in the hall? {<i>Exit + Count.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i> (<i>following</i>). She went towards the west + drawing-room, I think, sir.—Yes, sir, the peasants are at supper in + the hall. (<i>Aside</i>) Bless me! I wonder what messenger he sent, for I + don’t know many—men I mean—fit to be trusted with a secret. {<i>Exit</i>.} + </p> + <p> + SCENE—<i>An apartment in Count</i> HELMAAR’S <i>Castle</i>.—ELEONORA.—CHRISTINA.—<i>Little</i> + KATE <i>and</i> ULRIC <i>asleep on the floor</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. Poor creatures! they were quite tired by sitting up so late: + is their mother come yet? + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina.</i> Not yet; but she will soon be here, for my brother told + Aleftson to make all possible haste. Do you know where my brother is?—he + is not among the dancers. I expected to have found him sighing at the Lady + Eleonora’s feet. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. He is much better employed than in sighing at any body’s + feet; he is gone down into the great hall, to see and reward some poor + peasants who have brought home the knapsacks of those unfortunate soldiers + who fell in the last battle:—your good Mrs. Ulrica found out that + these peasants were in the village near us—she sent for them, got a + plentiful supper ready, and the count is now speaking to them. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. And can you forgive my ungallant brother for thinking of + vulgar boors, when he ought to be intent on nothing but your bright eyes?—then + all I can say is, you are both of you just fit for one another: every <i>fool</i>, + indeed, saw that long ago. + </p> + <p> + {<i>A cry behind the scenes of “Long line Count Helmaar! Long live the + good count! long live the poor man’s friend!</i>”} + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina (joins the cry</i>). Long live Count Helmaar!—join me, + Eleonora—long live the good count! long live the poor man’s friend! + </p> + <p> + {<i>The little children waken, start up, and stretch themselves</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. There, you have wakened these poor children. + </p> + <p> + <i>Ulric</i>. What’s the matter? I dreamed father was shaking hands with + me. + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter Mrs</i>. ULRICA. + </p> + <p> + <i>Little Kate</i>. Mrs. Ulrica! where am I? I thought I was in my little + bed at home—I was dreaming about a purse, I believe. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Was it about this purse you were dreaming?—(<i>shows + the purse which the children found in the wood</i>)—Come, take it + into your little hands, and waken and rouse yourselves, for you must come + and give this purse back to the rightful owner; I’ve found him out for you—(<i>Aside + to Christina and Eleonora</i>). And now, ladies, if you please to go up + into the gallery, you’ll see something worth looking at. + </p> + <p> + {<i>Exeunt</i>.} + </p> + <p> + SCENE—<i>A hall in Count</i> HELMAAR’S <i>Castle.—Peasants + rising from supper in the back scene</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Peasant</i>. Here’s a health to the poor man’s friend; and may + every poor man, every poor honest man—and there are none other in + Sweden—find as good a friend as Count Helmaar. + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter</i> CHARLES, <i>eagerly</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Count Helmaar! is he here? + </p> + <p> + <i>Omnes</i>. Heyday! Charles, the sleeper, broad awake! or is he walking + in his sleep? + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i>. Where’s Count Helmaar, I say?—I’d walk in my sleep, + or any way, to get a sight of him. + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Peasant</i>. Hush! stand back!—here’s some of the quality + coming, who are not thinking of you. + </p> + <p> + {<i>The peasants all retire to the back scene. Count</i> HELMAAR, + CHRISTINA, <i>and</i> ELEONORA, <i>appear, looking from a gallery. Enter</i> + ALEFTSON <i>and</i> CATHERINE <i>at one door, Mrs.</i> ULRICA <i>at the + opposite door, with</i> CHRISTIERN, <i>followed by the two children.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath.</i> (<i>springs forward</i>.) Christiern! my husband! alive!—is + it a dream? + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern</i> (<i>embracing her</i>). Your own Christiern, dearest + Catherine. + </p> + <p> + {<i>The children clap their hands, and run to their father.</i>} + </p> + <p> + <i>Ulric.</i> Why, I thought he was my father; only he did not shake hands + with me. + </p> + <p> + <i>Kate.</i> And Mrs. Ulrica hid me hold my tongue. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern.</i> My Ulric! my little Kate! + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica.</i> Ay, my little Kate, you may speak now as much as you + will.—(<i>Their father kisses them eagerly.</i>)—Ay, kiss + them, kiss them; they are as good children as ever were born—and as + honest: Kate, show him the purse, and ask him if it be his. + </p> + <p> + <i>Kate.</i> Is it yours, father?—(<i>holds up the purse</i>). + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern.</i> ‘Tis mine; ‘twas in my knapsack; but how it came here, + Heaven knows. + </p> + <p> + <i>Ulric.</i> We found it in the wood, father, as we were going home, just + at the foot of a tree. + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i> (<i>comes forward</i>). Why, mayhap, now I recollect, I + might have dropped it there—more shame for me, or rather more shame + for them—(<i>looking back at his companions</i>)—that were + playing the fool with me, and tumbled out all the things on the ground. + Master, I hope there’s no harm done: we poor peasant fellows have brought + home all the other knapsacks safe and sound to the relations of them that + died; and yours came by mistake, it seems. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christiern.</i> It’s a very lucky mistake; for I wouldn’t have lost a + waistcoat which there is in that knapsack for all the waistcoats in + Sweden. My Catherine, ‘twas that which you gave me the day before I went + abroad—do you remember it? + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles.</i> Ay, that she does; it had like to have been the death of + her—for she thought you must be dead for certain when he saw it + brought home without you—but I knew he was not ead, mistress—did + not I tell you, mistress, not to give way to sorrow while there was hope + left? + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. O joy! joy!—too much joy! + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. Now are you sorry you came with me when I bade you?—but + I’m a fool!—I’m a fool! + </p> + <p> + <i>Ulric</i>. But where’s the cap and coat you used to wear? + </p> + <p> + <i>Kate</i>. You are quite another man, uncle. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aleft</i>. The same man, niece, only in another coat. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica (laughing)</i>. How they stare!——Well, + Christiern, you are not angry with my master and me for keeping you now?—but + angry or not, I don’t care, for I wouldn’t have missed seeing this meeting + for any thing in the whole world. + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter Count</i> HELMAAR, ELEONOKA, <i>and</i> CHRISTINA. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. Nor I. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleon</i>. Nor I. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. Nor I. + </p> + <p> + <i>The Peasants</i>. Nor any of us + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar (to little Ulric)</i>. My honest little boy, is that the purse + which you found in the wood? + </p> + <p> + <i>Ulric</i>. Yes, and it’s my own father’s. + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. And how much money is there in it? + </p> + <p> + {<i>The child opens the purse, and spreads the money on the floor</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Ulric (to Mrs. Ulrica)</i>. Count you, for I can’t count so much. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica (counts)</i>. Eight ducats, five rixdollars, and let me see + how many—sixteen carolines{2}:—‘twould have been pity, + Catherine, to have lost all this treasure, which Christiern has saved for + you. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: A rixdollar is 4s. 6d. sterling; two rixdollars are equal in + value to a ducat; a caroline is 1s. 2d.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Helmaar</i>. Catherine, I beg that all the money in this purse may be + given to these honest peasants. (<i>To Kate</i>) Here, take it to them, my + little modest girl. As for you and your children, Catherine, you may + depend upon it that I will not neglect to make you easy in the world: your + own good conduct, and the excellent manner in which you have brought up + these children, would incline me to serve you, even if your husband had + not saved my life. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. Christiern, my dear husband, and did <i>you</i> save Count + Helmaar’s life? + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Ulrica</i>. Ay, that he did. + </p> + <p> + <i>Cath</i>. (<i>embracing him</i>.) I am the happiest wife, and—(<i>turning + to kiss her children</i>)—the happiest mother upon earth. + </p> + <p> + <i>Charles</i> (<i>staring up in Count Helmaar’s face</i>). God bless him! + I’ve seen him face to face at last; and now I wish in my heart I could see + his wife. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christina</i>. And so do I most sincerely: my dear brother, who has + been all his life labouring for the happiness of others, should now surely + think of making himself happy. + </p> + <p> + <i>Eleonora</i> (<i>giving her hand to Helmaar</i>). No, leave that to me, + for I shall think of nothing else all my life. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES AND NOVELS, VOLUME 1 (OF 10) ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 8826-h.htm or 8826-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/8/8/2/8826/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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