"To-morrow morning," said my friend, "when you awake, the power will
be your own; and so, sir, I wish you a very good night."--"But, sir,"
said I, anxious to be better assured of the speedy fulfilment of the
wish of my heart, (for such indeed it was,) "may I have the honour of
knowing your name and address?"--"Ha, ha, ha!" said the old gentleman;
"_my_ name and address; ha, ha, ha! my name is pretty familiar to you,
young gentleman; and as for my address, I dare say you will find your
way to me some day or another, and so, once more, good night."--Saying
which, he descended the stairs and quitted the house, leaving me to
surmise who my extraordinary visiter could be. I never _knew_; but
I recollect, that after he was gone, I heard one of the old ladies
scolding a servant-girl for wasting so many matches in lighting the
candles, and making such a terrible smell of brimstone in the house.
I was now all anxiety to get to bed, not because I was sleepy, but
because it seemed to me as if going to bed would bring me nearer to
the time of getting up, when I should be master of the miraculous
power which had been promised me. I rang the bell; my servant was
still out; it was unusual for him to be absent at so late an hour. I
waited until the clock struck eleven, but he came not; and resolving
to reprimand him in the morning, I retired to rest. Contrary to my
expectation, and, as it seemed to me, to the ordinary course of
nature, considering the excitement under which I was labouring, I had
scarcely laid my head on my pillow before I dropped into a profound
slumber, from which I was only aroused by my servant's entrance to my
room. The instant I awoke, I sat up in bed, and began to reflect on
what had passed, and for a moment to doubt whether it had not been all
a dream. However, it was daylight; the period had arrived when the
proof of my newly acquired power might be made.--"Barton," said I to
my man, "why were you not at home last night?"--"I had to wait, sir,
nearly three hours," he replied, "for an answer to the letter which
you sent to Major Sheringham."--"That is not true," said I; and, to my
infinite surprise, I appeared to _recollect_ a series of occurrences,
of which I never had previously heard, and could have known nothing:
"you went to see your sweetheart, Betsy Collyer, at Camberwell, and
took her to a tea-garden, and gave her cakes and cider, and saw
her home again: you mean to do exactly the same thing on Sunday,
and to-morrow you mean to ask me for your quarter's wages, although
not due till Monday, in order to buy her a new shawl."--The man
stood aghast: it was all true. I was quite as much surprised as the
man.--"Sir," said Barton, who had served me for seven years without
having once been found fault with, "I see you think me unworthy your
confidence; you could not have known this, if you had not watched, and
followed, and overheard me and my sweetheart; my character will get
me through the world without being looked after. I can stay with you
no longer; you will please, sir, to provide yourself with another
servant."--"But Barton," said I, "I did not follow or watch you;
I--"--"I beg your pardon, sir," he replied; "it is not for _me_
to contradict; but you'll forgive me, sir, I would rather go; I
_must_ go."
At this moment I was on the very point of easing his mind, and
retaining my faithful servant by a disclosure of my power; but it was
yet too new to be parted with; so I affected an anger I did not feel,
and told him he might go where he pleased. I had, however, ascertained
that the old gentleman had not deceived me in his promises; and,
elated with the possession of my extraordinary faculty, I hurried the
operation of dressing, and before I had concluded it, my ardent friend
Sheringham was announced; he was waiting in the breakfast-room. At
the same moment, a note from the lovely Fanny Haywood was delivered
to me--from the divine girl who, in the midst of all my scientific
abstraction, could "chain my worldly feelings for a moment."
"Sheringham, my dear fellow," said I, as I advanced to welcome him,
"what makes you so early a visiter this morning?"--"An anxiety,"
replied Sheringham, "to tell you that my uncle, whose interest I
endeavoured to procure for you, in regard to the appointment for which
you expressed a desire, has been compelled to recommend a relation of
the marquess; this gives me real pain, but I thought it would be best
to put you out of suspense as soon as possible."--"Major Sheringham,"
said I, drawing myself up coldly, "if this matter concerns you so
deeply as you seem to imply that it does, might I ask why you so
readily agreed to your uncle's proposition or chimed in with his
suggestion, to bestow the appointment on this relation of the
marquess, in order that _you_ might, in return for it, obtain the
promotion for which you are so anxious?"--"My dear fellow," said
Sheringham, evidently confused, "I--I--never chimed in; my uncle
certainly pointed out the possibility to which you allude, but
_that_ was merely contingent upon what he could not refuse to
do."--"Sheringham," said I, "your uncle has already secured for you
the promotion, and you will be gazetted for the lieutenant-colonelcy
of your regiment on Tuesday. I am not to be told that you called at
the Horse-guards, in your way to your uncle's yesterday, to ascertain
the correctness of the report of the vacancy which you had received
from your friend Macgregor; or that _you_, elated by the prospect
before you, were the person, in fact, to suggest the arrangement
which has been made, and promise your uncle 'to smooth me over' for
the present."--"Sir," said Sheringham, "where you picked up this
intelligence I know not; but I must say, that such mistrust, after
years of undivided intimacy, is not becoming, or consistent with the
character which I hitherto supposed you to possess. When by sinister
means the man we look upon as a friend descends to be a spy upon our
actions, confidence is at an end, and the sooner our intercourse
ceases, the better. Without some such conduct, how could you become
possessed of the details upon which you have grounded your opinion
of my conduct?"--"I--," and here again was a temptation to confess
and fall; but I had not the courage to do it. "Suffice it, Major
Sheringham, to say, I knew it; and, moreover, I know, that when you
leave me, your present irritation will prompt you to go to your uncle
and check the disposition he feels at this moment to serve me."--"This
is too much, sir," said Sheringham; "this must be our last interview,
unless indeed your unguarded conduct towards me, and your intemperate
language concerning me, may render one more meeting necessary; and so,
sir, here ends our acquaintance."--Saying which, Sheringham, whose
friendship even to my enlightened eye was nearly as sincere as any
other man's, quitted my room, fully convinced of my meanness and
unworthiness; my heart sank within me when I heard the door close
upon him for the last time. I now possessed the power I had so long
desired, and in less than an hour had lost a valued friend and a
faithful servant. Nevertheless, Barton _had_ told me a falsehood, and
Sheringham _was_ gazetted on the Tuesday night.
* * * * *
I went into the Water-colour Exhibition at Charing-cross; there I
heard two artists complimenting each other, while their hearts were
bursting with mutual envy. There, too, I found a mild, modest-looking
lady, listening to the bewitching nothings of her husband's particular
friend; and I knew, as I saw her frown and abruptly turn away from him
with every appearance of real indignation, that she had at that very
moment mentally resolved to elope with him the following night. In
Harding's shop I found authors congregated "to laugh the sultry hours
away," each watching to catch his neighbour's weak point, and make
it subject matter of mirth in his evening's conversation. I saw a
viscount help his father out of his carriage with every mark of duty
and veneration, and knew that he was actually languishing for the
earldom and estates of the venerable parent of whose health he was
apparently taking so much care. At Howell and James's I saw more than
I could tell, if I had ten times the space afforded me that I have;
and I concluded my tour by dropping in at the National Gallery,
where the ladies and gentlemen seemed to prefer nature to art, and
were actively employed in looking at the pictures, and thinking of
themselves. Oh! it was a strange time then, when every man's heart was
open to me, and I could sit, and see, and hear, all that was going
on, and know the workings of the inmost feelings of my associates;
however, I must not detain the reader with reflections.
* * * * *
Clorinda, or the Necklace of Pearl, is an intensely interesting tale
by Lord Normanby, with a most effective illustration by Heath.
But the prose of the "Keepsake" is decidedly superior to the _poetry_,
notwithstanding the high names in the latter list. Mr. Moore's
contribution is, however, only sixteen lines. The poetical pieces
consist chiefly of fragments or "scraps"--among which those on Italy,
by Lord Morpeth; and three by Shelley, are very beautiful. Our
specimen is--