_Containing some Specimens of Heroism._
The evening now approached, in which the scene sir William Twyford had
with so much pains prepared, was to be acted. An imperfect rumour had
spread that something extraordinary was to pass in the public room. Miss
Prim was of opinion that a duel would be fought. "I shall be frightened
out of my wits," said she. "But I must go, for one loves any thing new,
and I believe there is nothing in it that a modest woman may not see."
Miss Gawky thought it would be a boxing match. "Bless us, my dear lord
Martin could stand no chance with that great lubberly macaroni." But Miss
Griskin, with a look of more than common sagacity, assured the ladies that
she had penetrated to the very bottom of the matter. "Mr. Prettyman and
lord Martin have ordered two large rounds of beef to be set upon the table
at supper, and they mean to lay about them for a wager."
In this manner every one made her own conjecture, which she preferred to
that of all the rest. Curiosity was wrought up to the highest pitch, and
the uncertainty that prevailed upon the subject, rendered the affair still
more interesting. The rooms were early filled with an uncommon number of
spectators. About nine o'clock Mr. Prettyman entered, but instead of
exerting himself with his usual vivacity, he retired to one corner of the
room, and sat in a sheepish and melancholy posture. Not long after, sir
William Twyford and lord Martin came in, arm in arm.
The peer strutted immediately to the upper end of the room. Delia stood
near him. "My lovely girl," said he, with an air of vulgar familiarity, "I
am rejoiced to see you. I hope I shall one day prove myself worthy of your
favour."
While this passed Mr. Prettyman was by no means in an enviable condition.
From the operation of fear and vexation he perspired very profusely.
Vanity, as we have said, might almost be termed his ruling passion, and he
would never have sacrificed it so publicly to any consideration less
immediate than that of personal safety. Ardently did he long to have the
terrible scene concluded. But he had neither strength nor spirits to
advance a step, or even to rise from his seat.
Sir William Twyford now came up to him, and took hold of his hand. "My
dear friend," said he, "be not dispirited. It is no more than a flea-bite,
and it will be over in a moment. You will acquire the friendship of the
first personage in the county, and far from losing any thing in the public
esteem, you will be more respected than ever." "_Morbleu_," cried the
beau, "my shoulders ake for it already. But, _mon très cher & très
excellent ami_, do not desert me, and remind the peer of the generosity
you talked of."
Sir William now raised him from his seat, and led him to the middle of the
room. Lord Martin, with a stately air, advanced a few steps. In spite
however of all the heroism he could assume, as the important affair drew
towards a crisis, he began to tremble. Mr. Prettyman fell upon his knees,
and sir William put a cane into his hand. But in this posture the beau
remained still somewhat taller than his antagonist. "Most worthy lord,"
cried he in a tremulous voice, "I am truly sorry for the misunderstanding
that has happened, and I am filled with the most ardent"----While he was
yet speaking he advanced the cane in the attitude of presenting it.
"Villain," said lord Martin, who between fear and rage could no longer
contain himself, and snatched it from his hand. But he could scarcely
reach beyond the shoulder of his enemy, and blinded with emotion and
exertion, instead of directing his blows as he ought to have done, he
struck him two or three very severe strokes on the head and face. The beau
bore it as long as he could. But at length bellowing out, "_Mon Dîeu, je
suis meurtriè_, I am beaten to a jelly," he rose from his knees. His
antagonist being between him and the door, he fairly threw him upon his
back, and flying out of the room he stopped not till he arrived at the
inn, where, ordering his phaeton and six, he ascended without a moment's
pause, and drove off for London.
In the mean time, every thing in the public room was in confusion and
disorder. Sir William flew to support the discomfited hero, who had
received a grievous contusion in his shoulder. Miss Griskin giggled, the
other ladies screamed, and Miss Languish, as usual, fainted away. "Bless
me," cried Miss Fletcher, "it is the queerest affair"--"By my troth," said
Miss Gawky, "it is vastly fine." "But not half so fine," cried Miss
Griskin, "as the buttocks of beef."
By this time lord Martin had raised himself in a sitting posture and
uttered a deep groan. "Best of friends," said he, pressing the hand of sir
William, "tell me truly, am I victorious, or am I defeated?" "Oh
_victoria_!" cried sir William; "never heed a slight skin wound that
you received in the combat." His lordship stood up. "Damnation, pox
confound it!" said he, a little recovering himself, "what is become of the
rascal? I have not given him half what he deserved. But, ladies," added he
flourishing his cane, "it is my maxim, as I am strong to be merciful."
Saying this, he advanced towards Delia, and, with a flourish of importance
and conceit, laid the weapon, which he had so roundly employed, at her
feet. "Loveliest of women," said he, "to your shrine I devote myself. Upon
your altar, I lay the insignia of my prowess. Deign, gentlest of thy sex,
to accept thus publicly of those sighs which I have long poured forth upon
thy account."
Delia, though the native modesty of her character caused her whole face to
be suffused with blushes at having the eyes of the whole company thus
turned upon her, regarded the peer with a look of ineffable disdain, and
turned from him in silence.
Such were the transactions of an evening, which will doubtless long be
remembered by such as had the good fortune to be spectators. The natural
impertinence and insolence of lord Martin were swelled by the event to ten
times their natural pitch. He crowed like a cock, and cackled like a
goose. The vulgar of the other sex, who are constantly the admirers of
success, however unmerited, and conceit, however unfounded, thought his
lordship the greatest man in the world. The inequality of his legs was
removed by the proof he had exhibited of his prowess. The inequality of
his shoulders was hid under a rent-roll of ten thousand a year. And the
narrowness of his intellects, the optics of these connoisseurs were not
calculated to discern.
The peer, as we have already hinted, was the suitor most favoured by the
father of our heroine. The principal passion of the old gentleman was the
love of money. But at the same time he was not absolutely incapable of
relishing the inferior charms of a venerable title and a splendid
reputation. Perceiving that his client continually rose in the public
opinion, he was more eager than ever to have the match concluded. Lord
Martin, though his organs were not formed to delight in beauty at the
first hand, was yet tickled with the conceit of carrying off so fair a
prize from the midst of a thousand gaping expectants.
It will naturally be imagined that the situation of Delia at this moment
was by no means an enviable one. She was caught in the snares of love. And
the more she struggled to get free, she was only the more limed and
entangled. The recollection of the hopelessness of her love by no means
sufficed to destroy it. The recollection of her former carelessness and
gaiety was not able to restore her to present ease. In vain she summoned
pride and maiden dignity to support her. In vain she formed resolutions,
which were broken as soon as made. Every where she was haunted by the
image of her dear unknown. Her nights were sleepless and uneasy. The fire
and brightness of her eyes were tarnished. _She pined in green and
yellow melancholy._
The more dear were the ideal image that accompanied her, the more did she
execrate and detest her persecutor. "No," cried she, "I will never be his.
Never shall the sacred tie, which should only unite congenial spirits, be
violated by two souls, distant as the poles, jarring as contending
elements. My father may kill me. Alas, of what value is life to me! It is
a long scene of unvaried misfortune. It is a dreary vista of despair. He
may kill me, but never, never shall he force me to a deed my soul abhors."