Wharton, entered the parlour. They found the Doctor walking to and
fro, with his arms folded across his breast, and evidently absorbed in
thought. Their appearance roused him from his reverie: he advanced, very
earnestly shook hands with both of them, and asked pardon for his
want of urbanity; as an excuse for which, he protested, with ludicrous
solemnity, that he scarcely knew whether he was walking on his head or
his heels. “My pupil, too,” he continued, looking at young Wharton,
but addressing the attorney, “I regret to perceive, still clothes his
countenance in the frowns of displeasure.”
“Isabel is occupied in privately conferring somewhere with our new
friend, I presume,” said George.
“No, child--not at all,” replied the Doctor, with affected calmness;
“she is gone to her room: one of her old attacks of head-ache has
occurred, and we may not expect to sec her again for the remainder of
the evening. The gentleman of colour had departed before my return to
the parlour.”
“It would have been as well, I think, if you had not quitted it,” said
young Wharton, angrily: “I remember the time when you made Miss Plympton
a close prisoner, and would suffer none but the inmates of your
own house to speak to her, in order that she should not hold any
communication with a young gentleman of respectable family who was well
known in the neighbourhood: now, you leave her with a stranger of the
most suspicious appearance, who boldly tells you that he has private
business with her, which she refuses to hear even in your presence! But
of course, Miss Plympton acquainted you with the purport of his visit.”
“No, George, I declare she did not,” said the Doctor, with great
humility.
“What, sir! did she refuse when you insisted?”
“I did not insist,” replied Doctor Plympton; “I did not insist, for
she told me beforehand that she would answer no questions till the
morning,--or something to that effect.”
“You astonish me!”
“I confess that I was staggered myself:--but what could I do? She has
grown out of her girlhood like a dream; and for the first time in her
life, to my apprehension, my child stood as a woman before me. Her look,
her tone, her posture, and, above all, the expression of her eye-brow,
reminded me so strongly, on a sudden, of her majestic mother, that all
my energies were suspended: the dead seemed to be raised from the grave,
and I was awed before her. But a truce to this; it will not occur again.
I was taken by surprise; and, by-the-by, George, on reflection, I feel
compelled to observe, that it is impossible that I should submit to the
dictatorial air which you thought fit to assume a few moments since.
Remember, sir, who you are, and what I am; or rather, perhaps, what I
was; for truly, I feel that I am not the man I recollect myself to have
been:--that, however, is no excuse for you.”
“On the contrary, sir,” said George, affectionately taking the old man's
hand, “it adds to my offence.”
“You do not mean to convey, that you are conscious of any visible
symptoms of my being unequal to my former self--do you?”
“By no means, sir; but--”
“Well, well! once more, enough of this. Let us think of our respectable
guest, to whom I owe a thousand apologies, and order supper. Let us
postpone all that's unpleasant until the morning; when, I have no doubt,
this affair will prove to be a little farce, at which we shall all
heartily laugh. The gentleman of colour is, doubtless, an itinerant
vender of some of those numberless absurdities for the toilet or
the work-box, which run away with a great portion of every girl's
pocket-money. The idea did not strike me before, but I am almost
persuaded that I am correct in my supposition; and doubtless, Isabel,
piqued at your warmth,--which really almost electrified me,--determined
to punish you, by affecting to be serious and making a mystery of the
affair. Retaliate, George, by sleeping soundly to-night, and looking
blithe and debonair, as the young Apollo newly sprung from his celestial
couch, to-morrow morning.”
In spite of the Doctor's occasional attempts to infuse some portion of
gaiety into the conversation that ensued, a deep gloom reigned in his
little parlour during the remainder of the evening. Very shortly after
the removal of the cloth from the supper-table, the old attorney, much
to the satisfaction of the Doctor and George, retired to his bed-room,
and they immediately followed his example.
Isabel appeared at the breakfast-table the next morning; but her usual
gaiety had vanished: she looked pale and thoughtful, and when addressed,
she replied only in monosyllables. George Wharton was sullen, and the
Doctor could not avoid betraying his uneasiness: he several times made
such observations as he thought would infallibly force Isabel into an
elucidation of the mysteries of the preceding evening; but she was proof
against them all, and maintained an obstinate silence on the subject.
Under the pretence of shewing the beauties of his pleasure-ground,
Doctor Plympton drew the attorney, who was breakfasting with the most
perfect professional _non-chalance_, from his chocolate and egg, to one
of the windows; and there briefly, but pathetically, laid open the state
of his mind. “I declare,” said he, “I am nearly deprived of my reasoning
faculties with amazement, at the conduct of Bell and the son of your
respected client. So complete a metamorphosis has never occurred since
the cessation of miracles. Each of them is an altered being, sir; they
are the antipodes of what they were; and I assure you, it alarms,--it
unnerves me. George, who used to be as bland as Zephyr, and obedient
as a gentle child, either sits morose, or blusters, as you saw him last
night, like a bully. And Bell, who indulged almost to an excess in
the innocent gaieties of girlhood, is turned into marble: no one would
believe, to look at her now, that she had ever smiled. She has lost her
laugh, which used to pour gladness into my old heart, and is quite as
dignified and almost as silent as some old Greek statue. How do you
account for this?”
“Sir,” replied Burdock, whose chocolate was cooling; “make yourself
quite easy: such changes are no novelties to me; they must be attributed
to the business of the day:--the execution of a deed of settlement, in
contemplation of a speedy marriage, is an awful event to those who have
never gone through the ceremony before. I have witnessed hysterics at
a pure love-match, even when it was seasoned with money in profusion on
both sides.”
The attorney now strode back to his seat, and began his capital story
relative to the great cause of Dukes and Driver. The Doctor reluctantly
returned to the table, and seemed to listen to his guest; but his mind
was occupied on a different subject; and when the cloth was removed,
and the attorney's tale concluded, he was scarcely conscious that he had
breakfasted, and knew no more of the merits of the case, than Beaufidel,
who sat on a footstool, looking ruefully at his mistress, and evidently
disappointed at not having been favoured with his usual portion of
smiles and toast.
Immediately after breakfast, Burdock produced, from the recesses of
his bag, the marriage settlement, and in a clear and distinct manner,
proceeded to read over its contents,--occasionally pausing to translate
its technical provisoes into common sense, and enjoining the young
people boldly to mention any objections that might strike them to the
language of the deed, so as to afford him an opportunity of explaining
them away as they occurred. In the course of a couple of hours, he had
gone through the drudgery of perusing half-a-dozen skins of parchment;
and the gardener and Patty were called in to witness the execution of
the deed by the young couple, and Doctor Plympton and Adam Burdock as
trustees to the settlement.
It was a moment of interest:--George and the Doctor advanced to lead
Isabel to the table; she started from her chair as they approached,
hurried towards the deed, and snatched the pen which the attorney
gallantly offered for her use. He guided her hand to the seal, against
which she was to set her name; but the pen rested motionless on the
parchment. After a moment's pause, the attorney looked up: Isabel's
face, which had previously been exceedingly pale, was now of a deep
crimson; her lips quivered; her eyes were fixed, apparently, upon some
object that had appeared at the door of the room; and relinquishing her
hold of the pen, she faintly articulated, “Forgive me, George,--Father,
forgive me,--but I cannot do it!”
Following the direction of her eyes, Burdock turned round while Isabel
was speaking, and, to his surprise, beheld the Little Black Porter, who
stood bowing and grinning at the door.
George Wharton said a few words to encourage Isabel, and supported
her with his arm; and her father, with clasped hands, repeated, in a
sorrowful tone, “Cannot do it!”
“No,--no,” said Isabel; “never, father,--never;--while he lives and
loves me.”
“He, child! Whom mean you?” exclaimed the old man.
“Godfrey Fairfax,” replied Isabel, tremulously.
Her head dropped on her shoulder as she spoke; but though she was
evidently fainting, George withdrew his hand from her waist, with an
exclamation of deep disgust; and she would have sunk on the floor,
had not the Little Black Porter, who had been gradually advancing, now
sprung suddenly forward, and, pushing young Wharton aside, received her
in his arms. The attention of George and the Doctor had been so rivetted
on Isabel, that they were not aware of Devallé's presence until this
moment. George no sooner beheld him, than he rushed out of the room; the
astonished Doctor staggered to a chair; and the two servants, instead
of assisting their mistress, stood motionless spectators of the scene.
Burdock alone seemed to retain perfect possession of his senses: he
requested the gardener to fetch the usual restoratives, and gently
reproached Patty for her neglect.
While Patty, who now became very alert and clamorous, relieved the
Little Black Porter from the burthen which he willingly supported,
the attorney suggested to Doctor Plympton, the propriety of obtaining
possession of a letter, the end of which was peeping out of Isabel's
bosom, before she recovered; but the Doctor sat, heedless of his remark,
gazing at his pale and inanimate child. Burdock, therefore, without loss
of time, moved cautiously towards Isabel, and without being detected
even by the waiting-maid, drew the letter forth. At that instant Isabel
opened her eyes, and gradually recovered her senses. She intimated that
she was perfectly aware of what Burdock had done; and, after requesting
that the letter might be handed to her father, with the assistance of
Patty she retired from the room.
The Little Black Porter was following Isabel and Patty as closely as
possible, and had already placed one foot outside the door, when Doctor
Plympton peremptorily ordered him to come back. Devallé returned, bowing
very obsequiously; and when he had arrived within a pace or two of the
Doctor's chair, with a strange mixture of humility and impudence, he
inquired what were the honoured gentleman's commands.
The Doctor had entirely laid aside his usual suavity of deportment,
and, in a loud voice, accompanied with violent gesticulation, he thus
addressed the ever-smiling object of his wrath:--“Thou fell destroyer of
my peace!--what art thou? Art thou Incubus, Succubus, or my evil spirit?
Who sent thee? In what does thy influence over my child consist? Why
am I tortured by thy visitation?--Speak--explain to me--unfold thy
secret--or I shall forget my character, and do I know not what.”
“Pray be moderate, my dear friend,” said Burdock, interposing his person
between the Doctor and Devallé.
“Ay, ay,--that is wisely said,--pray be moderate, my dear friend,”
repeated Devallé; “we are all like the chaff which we blow away with the
breath of our own nostrils. Be calm--be calm: let us be rational, and
shew our greatest attribute. A man that is a slave to passion, is worse
than a negro in a plantation:--he's a wild beast. I don't wish to be
rude, for life is short; and more than one great man has been cut off
by a cucumber: but I must observe, that a passionate gentleman is very
likely to make holes in his manners.--What says our legal friend? Caesar
Devallé will feel honoured in being permitted utterly to abandon himself
to the good gentleman's opinion. Arbitration against argument always
has my humble voice: and if a man wishes to get well through the world,
civility is the best horse he can ride.”
“If your observations are addressed to me,” said the attorney, “they are
unwelcome. Restrict your discourse to plain answers to such questions as
I shall put to you. Now attend did you deliver this letter last night to
Miss Plympton?”
“Why does the gentleman ask?”
“I suspect you did.”
“Avow or deny it, sirrah! at once,” exclaimed the Doctor.
“Oh, pardon me, there,” replied Devallé; “we are all men: the cat
expects to be used after its kind; and if a man is to be treated like a
dog, he may as well bark, and wear a tail at once. I can bear a blow as
well as most people, from a blackguard; but, with gentlemen, I expect
a certain behaviour. Resentment is found in the breast of a camel; and
there is no doubt but that man is endowed with feelings:--if not, why do
we marry?”
“Well, my good friend,” said the attorney, changing his manner entirely
from that which he had adopted in his first category, “perhaps you may
be right: we will not dispute the points you have raised; but you must
allow that Doctor Plympton has some excuse for being warm. Appearances
are strong; but I doubt not you will, as an honest man, unequivocally
answer us, and clear them up.”
“Oh, sir,” replied Devallé, “I am yours devotedly: ask me no questions;
for I do not like to have what I know tugged out of my conscience by
an attorney, like jaw-teeth with nippers, or corks from a bottle by a
twisting screw; for I have a large family, and am more than fifty years
old. I will tell you frankly, that I did give Miss that letter: I was
sent on a special mission with it to her from Demerara. I went out in
the same ship with Mr. Godfrey Fairfax: on landing, we found that his
father had just died, and left him heir to all; then, as flesh is grass,
he sent me back at once with orders--if Miss was not married--to give
her his _billet-doux_. That's the truth: I confess it freely, for it's
useless to deny it; and our heads will lie low enough a hundred years
hence. Perhaps you will not take it uncivil in me to say, that you would
have found all that I have said, and more, in fewer words, if, instead
of calling me sirrah, and so forth, you had perused Mr. Godfrey's
letter. Excuse me, but the philosopher could not read the stars
until somebody told him to buy a telescope. I am for civility, mutual
improvement, and freedom all over the world. And now, gentlemen, I hope
you will permit me to retire. I must find my wife and family: I have
not made a single inquiry for them yet; though they occupy all my waking
thoughts, and are the dramatis personae of my little dreams. I humbly
withdraw, but shall soon be in the neighbourhood again,--for locomotion
is salubrious; and, if this present match with Miss be not strangled, I
hope to have the honour of seeing you in church, in order, humble as I
am, to forbid the banns. You would not smile, perhaps, if it occurred to
your recollection, as it does to mine, that lions have been emancipated
by mice, and more than one hero has been choked by a horsebean. It is
for these reasons, I apprehend, judging from analogy,--a doctrine
I reverence,--that cattle pasturing on a common or warren, abhor
rabbit-burrows, and we, ourselves, detest and exterminate scorpions
and wasps.--Gentlemen, your most humble and very devoted servant, Cæsar
Devallé.”
With his usual multitude of obeisances, the Little Black Porter now left
Doctor Plympton and the attorney to peruse the love-letter of Godfrey
Fairfax to Isabel. It abounded with professions of the most passionate
attachment; the deepest regret was expressed at the writer's present
inability to return to England; but he vowed to fly to Isabel, on the
wings of love, early in the ensuing summer, if she still considered his
hand worthy of her acceptance. He stated, that he was unable to solve
the mystery of her escape from the trunk: he feared that something
unpleasant had happened, but clearly exonerated his fond, confiding
Isabel from having borne any share in the base plot which had evidently
been played off against him.
These allusions to the affair of the trunk, were beyond Doctor
Plympton's comprehension; Burdock, however, obtained a tolerably dear
insight to the circumstances from Isabel, Patty, George Wharton, and
Cæsar Devallé, at an interview which he subsequently had with the Little
Black Porter in Fumival's Inn. When he communicated the result of his
investigations on the subject to the Doctor, that worthy personage
protested that he should pass the residue of his life in mere amazement.
George Wharton quitted Doctor Plympton's house, without seeing Isabel
again, on the eventful morning when the pen was placed in her hand to
execute the marriage settlement; and, with the full approbation of his
father's attorney, he sailed, by the first ship, to his native land.
Isabel prevailed upon the Doctor to write to Godfrey Fairfax, inviting
him to fulfil his promise of paying them a visit. She also wrote to
Godfrey herself, by the same packet: but the fickle young man had
changed his mind before the letters reached him; and six years after the
departure of George Wharton from England, Adam Burdock was employed to
draw a marriage settlement between the still blooming coquette, Isabel
Plympton, and her early admirer, Charles Perry, who for the preceding
fifteen months had been a widower. The Little Black Porter did not think
proper to return to Demerara again; and he was seen in a very decent
wig, by the side of the gallery clock, when Mr. Wilberforce last spoke
against slavery, in the House of Commons.
[Illustration: 399]
THE DESSERT.
[Illustration: 400]
INTRODUCTION.
At a table of three courses, the guests have a right to expect some
sort of a dessert; it is the necessary consequence of a certain order
of dinners; and, if the host be unable to bedeck the board with choice
rarities, he must, at any rate, be provided with a nut, an olive, and,
for late sitters, a devilled gizzard. No man is permitted to offend
form, or to infringe upon the privileges of diners-out, in this
particular. If he cannot furnish what he fain would, he must offer what
he can;--it being, properly enough no doubt, conventionally voted sheer
cruelty, to give a man nothing to eat after he has had his fill of
the best of everything. If no pineapple be present, an apology is
peremptorily expected, and something must be selected to take the
important character which it usually sustains in the festal afterpiece,
“for that night only.” Mrs. Dousterbattle, my late much lamented friend,
considered the tragedy train of Mrs. Siddons, as the _bonne bouche_ of
her Queen Katherine; and there are many estimable people, who regard
the range of dishes at a dinner-table, as merely composing a dull vista,
through which they can look forward to the fine prospect of fruit and
ices at its termination. However good the by-gone courses may have
been,--whatever may be the disposition of the host, whether “civil as an
orange,” or sourer than a lemon, they sturdily maintain,--and, it must
be confessed, with some propriety,--that every man should be
treated according to his _dessert_. It occasionally happens, that,
notwithstanding his zeal, the founder of the feast caters so unluckily,
that some of his friends travel from Dan to Beersheba, among his dishes,
and find all barren. A guest so situated, is justified in supposing
that there will be, at least, one oasis in the _desert_, to afford him
refreshment.
Impressed with the force of his own arguments, the purveyor of the
preceding courses has attempted an epilogue to his entertainment; in
which, he trusts that he has not presumed too much on the usual leniency
of after-dinner criticism; and that none of his guests are of the
delightful class of censors, who flourish a flail to demolish a
cobweb,--who indulge in proving, by very elaborate and profound
arguments, that there is but little substance in “trifles light as air;”
or who occasionally go so far, in fits of ultra fastidiousness, as to
cross an author's _t,_ and dot an _i_ for him.
[Illustration: 401]
THE DEAF POSTILION.
In the month of January, 1804, Joey Duddle, a well-known postilion on
the North Road, caught a cold, through sleeping without his night-cap;
deafness was, eventually, the consequence; and, as it will presently
appear, a young fortune-hunter lost twenty thousand pounds, and a
handsome wife, through Joey Duddle's indiscretion, in omitting, on one
fatal occasion, to wear his sixpenny woollen night-cap.
Joey did not discontinue driving, after his misfortune; his eyes and
his spurs were, generally speaking, of more utility in his monotonous
avocation, than his ears. His stage was, invariably, nine miles up the
road, or “a short fifteen” down towards Gretna; and he had repeated his
two rides so often, that he could have gone over the ground blindfold.
People in chaises are rarely given to talking with their postilions:
Joey knew, by experience, what were the two or three important questions
in posting, and the usual times and places when and where they were
asked; and he was always prepared with the proper answers. At those
parts of the road, where objects of interest to strangers occurred,
Joey faced about on his saddle, and if he perceived the eyes of his
passengers fixed upon him, their lips in motion, and their fingers
pointing towards a gentleman's seat, a fertile valley, a beautiful
stream, or a fine wood, he naturally enough presumed that they were in
the act of inquiring what the seat, the valley, the stream, or the
wood was called; and he replied according to the fact. The noise of
the wheels was a very good excuse for such trifling blunders as Joey
occasionally made; and whenever he found himself progressing towards a
dilemma, he very dexterously contrived, by means of a sly poke with
his spur, to make his hand-horse evidently require the whole of his
attention. At the journey's end, when the gentleman he had driven
produced a purse, Joey, without looking at his lips, knew that he was
asking a question, to which it was his duty to reply “Thirteen and
sixpence,” or “Two-and-twenty shillings,” according as the job had been,
“the short up,” or “the long down.” If any more questions were asked,
Joey suddenly recollected something that demanded his immediate
attention; begged pardon, promised to be back in a moment, and
disappeared, never to return. The natural expression of his features
indicated a remarkably taciturn disposition; almost every one with whom
he came in contact, was deterred, by his physiognomy, from asking him
any but necessary questions; and as he was experienced enough to
answer, or cunning enough to evade these, when he thought fit, but few
travellers ever discovered that Joey Duddle was deaf. So blind is man
in some cases, even to his bodily defects, that Joey, judging from his
general success in giving correct replies to the queries propounded to
him, almost doubted his own infirmity; and never would admit that he was
above one point beyond “a little hard of hearing.”
On the first of June, in the year 1806, about nine o'clock in the
morning, a chaise and four was perceived approaching towards the inn
kept by Joey's master, at a first-rate Gretna-green gallop. As it dashed
up to the door, the post-boys vociferated the usual call for two pair of
horses in a hurry: but, unfortunately, the innkeeper had only Joey and
his tits at home; and as the four horses which brought the chaise from
the last posting-house, had already done a double job that day, the lads
would not ride them on, through so heavy a stage as “the long down.”