Full many a lady
I have eyed with best regard, and many a time
The harmony of their tongues hath unto bondage
Drawn my too diligent eyes.
But you, oh! you,
So perfect and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best.
--Shakspeare.
Thou wilt easily conceive, my dear reader, who hast been in my confidence
throughout the whole of this history, and whom, though as yet thou hast
cause to esteem me but lightly, I already love as my familiar and my
friend--thou wilt easily conceive my surprise at meeting so unexpectedly
with my old hero of the gambling house. I felt indeed perfectly stunned
at the shock of so singular a change in his circumstances since I had
last met him. My thoughts reverted immediately to that scene, and to the
mysterious connection between Tyrrell and Glanville. How would the latter
receive the intelligence of his enemy's good fortune? was his vengeance
yet satisfied, or through what means could it now find vent?
A thousand thoughts similar to these occupied and distracted my attention
till morning, when I summoned Bedos into the room to read me to sleep. He
opened a play of Monsieur Delavigne's, and at the beginning of the second
scene I was in the land of dreams.
I woke about two o'clock; dressed, sipped my chocolate, and was on the
point of arranging my hat to the best advantage, when I received the
following note:
"My Dear Pelham,
"Me tibi commendo. I heard this morning, at your hotel, that you were
here; my heart was a house of joy at the intelligence. I called upon you
two hours ago; but, like Antony, 'you revel long o' nights.' Ah, that I
could add with Shakspeare, that you were 'notwithstanding up.' I have
just come from Paris, that umbilicus terrae, and my adventures since I
saw you, for your private satisfaction, 'because I love you, I will let
you know;' but you must satisfy me with a meeting. Till you do, 'the
mighty gods defend you!'
"Vincent."
The hotel from which Vincent dated this epistle, was in the same street
as my own caravansera, and to this hotel I immediately set off. I found
my friend sitting before a huge folio, which he in vain endeavoured to
persuade me that he seriously intended to read. We greeted each other
with the greatest cordiality.
"But how," said Vincent, after the first warmth of welcome had subsided,
"how shall I congratulate you upon your new honours? I was not prepared
to find you grown from a roue into a senator.
"'In gathering votes you were not slack,
Now stand as tightly by your tack,
Ne'er show your lug an' fidge your back,
An' hum an' haw;
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack
Before them a'.'
"So saith Burns; advice which, being interpreted, meaneth, that you must
astonish the rats of St. Stephen's."
"Alas!" said I, "all one's clap-traps in that house must be baited."
"Nay, but a rat bites at any cheese, from Gloucester to Parmasan, and you
can easily scrape up a bit of some sort. Talking of the House, do you
see, by the paper, that the civic senator, Alderman W--, is at
Cheltenham?"
"I was not aware of it. I suppose he's cramming speeches and turtle for
the next season."
"How wonderfully," said Vincent, "your city dignities unloose the tongue:
directly a man has been a mayor, he thinks himself qualified for a Tully
at least. Faith, Venables asked me one day, what was the Latin for
spouting? and I told him, 'hippomanes, or a raging humour in mayors.'"
After I had paid, through the medium of my risible muscles, due homage to
this witticism of Vincent's, he shut up his folio, called for his hat,
and we sauntered down into the street. As we passed by one of the
libraries, a whole mob of the dandies of the last night were lounging
about the benches placed before the shop windows.
"Pray, Vincent," said I, "remark those worthies, and especially that tall
meagre youth in the blue frock-coat, and the buff waistcoat; he is Mr.
Ritson, the De Rous (viz. the finished gentleman) of the place."
"I see him," answered Vincent: "he seems a most happy mixture of native
coarseness and artificial decoration. He puts me in mind of the picture
of the great ox set in a gilt frame."
"Or a made dish in Bloomsbury-square, garnished with cut carrots, by way
of adornment," said I.
"Or a flannel petticoat, with a fine crape over it," added Vincent.
"Well, well, these imitators are, after all, not worse than the
originals. When do you go up to town?"
"Not till my senatorial duties require me."
"Do you stay here till then?"
"As it pleases the gods. But, good Heavens! Vincent, what a beautiful
girl!"
Vincent turned. "O Dea certe," murmured he, and stopped.
The object of our exclamations was standing by a corner shop, apparently
waiting for some one within. Her face, at the moment I first saw her, was
turned full towards me. Never had I seen any countenance half so lovely.
She was apparently about twenty; her hair was of the richest chesnut, and
a golden light played through its darkness, as if a sunbeam had been
caught in those luxuriant tresses, and was striving in vain to escape.
Her eyes were of a light hazel, large, deep, and shaded into softness (to
use a modern expression) by long and very dark lashes. Her complexion
alone would have rendered her beautiful, it was so clear--so pure; the
blood blushed beneath it, like roses under a clear stream; if, in order
to justify my simile, roses would have the complacency to grow in such a
situation. Her nose was of that fine and accurate mould that one so
seldom sees, except in the Grecian statues, which unites the clearest and
most decided outline with the most feminine delicacy and softness; and
the short curved arch which descended from thence to her mouth, was so
fine--so airily and exquisitely formed, that it seemed as if Love himself
had modelled the bridge which led to his most beautiful and fragrant
island. On the right side of the mouth was one dimple, which corresponded
so exactly with every smile and movement of those rosy lips, that you
might have sworn the shadow of each passed there; it was like the rapid
changes of an April heaven reflected upon a valley. She was somewhat, but
not much, taller that the ordinary height; and her figure, which united
all the first freshness and youth of the girl with the more luxuriant
graces of the woman, was rounded and finished so justly, so minutely,
that the eye could glance over the whole, without discovering the least
harshness or unevenness, or atom, to be added or subtracted. But over all
these was a light, a glow, a pervading spirit, of which it is impossible
to convey the faintest idea. You should have seen her by the side of a
shaded fountain on a summer's day. You should have watched her amidst
music and flowers, and she might have seemed to you like the fairy that
presided over both. So much for poetical description.
"What think you of her, Vincent?" said I.
"I say, with Theocritus, in his epithalamium of Helen--"
"Say no such thing," said I: "I will not have her presence profaned by
any helps from your memory."
At that moment the girl turned round abruptly, and re-entered the shop,
at the door of which she had been standing. It was a small perfumer's
shop. "Thank Heaven," said I, "that she does use perfumes. What scents
can she now be hesitating between?--the gentle bouquet du roi, the
cooling esprit de Portugal, the mingled treasures des mellifleurs, the
less distinct but agreeably adulterated miel, the sweet May-recalling
esprit des violets, or the--"
"Omnis copia narium," said Vincent: "let us enter; I want some eau de
Cologne."
I desired no second invitation: we marched into the shop. My Armida was
leaning on the arm of an old lady. She blushed deeply when she saw us
enter; and, as ill-luck would have it, the old lady concluded her
purchases the moment after, and they withdrew.
"'Who had thought this clime had held
A deity so unparallel'd!'"
justly observed my companion.
I made no reply. All the remainder of that day I was absent and reserved;
and Vincent, perceiving that I no longer laughed at his jokes, nor smiled
at his quotations, told me I was sadly changed for the worse, and
pretended an engagement, to rid himself of an auditor so obtuse.