Whilst awaiting the hour of her rendezvous with the Prince, Delia,

pensive and agitated, was walking in the park, when she came suddenly

upon Florival, who seemed as much discomposed as herself. In spite of

her newly-born ideas of grandeur, she felt a pain at her heart. With a

forced smile, and in a tone of reproach and irony, she greeted her

former lover.

"A pleasant journey to you, Colonel Florival," she said.

"I may wish you the same," replied Florival; "for doubtless you will

soon set out for the principality of Hanau!"

"Before long, no doubt."

"You admit it, then?"

"Where is the harm? The wife must follow her husband--a princess must

reign in her dominions."

"Princess! What do you mean? Wife! In what ridiculous promises have they

induced you to confide?"

Florival's offensive doubts were dissipated by the formal explanation

which Delia took malicious pleasure in giving him. A touching scene

ensued; the lovers, who had both gone astray for a moment, felt their

former flame burn all the more ardently for its partial and temporary

extinction. Pardon was mutually asked and granted, and ambitious dreams

fled before a burst of affection.

"You shall see whether I love you or not," said Florival to Delia.

"Yonder comes Baron Pippinstir; I will take him into the summer-house; a

closet is there, where you can hide yourself to hear what passes, and

then you shall decide my fate."

Delia went into the summer-house, and hid herself in the closet. There

she overheard the following conversation:--

"What have you to say to me, Colonel?" asked the Baron.

"I wish to speak to your Excellency of an affair that deeply concerns

you."

"I am all attention; but I beg you to be brief; I am expected

elsewhere."

"So am I."

"I must go to the prime minister, to return him this draught of a

commercial treaty, which I cannot accept."

"And I must go to the rendezvous given me in this letter."

"The Baroness's writing!"

"Yes, Baron. Your wife has done me the honour to write to me. We set out

together to-night; the Baroness is waiting for me in a post-chaise."

"And it is to me you dare acknowledge this abominable project?"

"I am less generous than you think. You cannot but be aware that, owing

to an irregularity in your marriage-contract, nothing would be easier

than to get it annulled. This we will have done; we then obtain a

divorce, and I marry the Baroness. You will, of course, have to hand me

over her dowry--a million of florins--composing, if I do not mistake,

your entire fortune."

The Baron, more dead than alive, sank into an arm-chair. He was struck

speechless.

"We might, perhaps, make some arrangement, Baron," continued Florival.

"I am not particularly bent upon becoming your wife's second husband."

"Ah, sir!" cried the ambassador, "you restore me to life!"

"Yes, but I will not restore you the Baroness, except on certain

conditions."

"Speak! What do you demand?"

"First, that treaty of commerce, which you must sign just as Count

Lipandorf has drawn it up."

"I consent to do so."

"That is not all; you shall take my place at the rendezvous, get into

the post-chaise, and run away with your wife; but first you must sit

down at this table and write a letter, in due diplomatic form, to Prince

Maximilian, informing him that, finding it impossible to accept his

stipulations, you are compelled to decline, in your sovereign's name,

the honour of his august alliance."

"But, Colonel, remember that my instructions----"

"Very well, fulfil them exactly; be a dutiful ambassador and a miserable

husband, ruined, without wife and without dowry. You will never have

such another chance, Baron! A pretty wife and a million of florins do

not fall to a man's lot twice in his life. But I must take my leave of

you. I am keeping the Baroness waiting."

"I will go to her.... Give me paper, a pen, and be so good as to

dictate. I am so agitated----"

The Baron really was in a dreadful fluster. The letter written, and the

treaty signed, Florival told his Excellency where he would find the

post-chaise.

"One thing more you must promise me," said the young man, "and that is,

that you will behave like a gentleman to your wife, and not scold her

over-much. Remember the flaw in the contract. She may find somebody else

in whose favour to cancel the document. Suitors will not be wanting."

"What need of a promise?" replied the poor Baron. "You know very well

that my wife does what she likes with me. I shall have to explain my

conduct, and ask her pardon."

Pippinstir departed. Delia left her hiding-place, and held out her hand

to Florival.

"You have behaved well," she said.

"That is more than the Baroness will say."

"She deserves the lesson. It is your turn to go into the closet and

listen; the Prince will be here directly."

"I hear his footsteps." And Florival was quickly concealed.

"Charming Countess!" said the prince on entering. "I come to know my

fate."

"What does your Highness mean?" said Delia, pretending not to understand

him.

"How can you ask? Has not the Grand Duke spoken to you?"

"No, your Highness."

"Nor the prime minister?"

"Not a word. When I received your letter, I was on the point of asking

you for a private interview. I have a favour--a service--to implore of

your Highness."

"It is granted before it is asked. I place my whole influence and power

at your feet, charming Countess."

"A thousand thanks, illustrious prince. You have already shown me so

much kindness, that I venture to ask you to make a communication to my

brother, the Grand Duke, which I dare not make myself. I want you to

inform him that I have been for three months privately married to Count

Reinsberg."

"Good heavens!" cried Maximilian, falling into the arm-chair in which

Pippinstir had recently reclined. On recovering from the shock, the

prince rose again to his feet.

"'Tis well, madam," he said, in a faint voice. "'Tis well!"

And he left the summer-house.

After reading Baron Pippinstir's letter, Prince Maximilian fell

a-thinking. It was not the Grand Duke's fault if the Countess

of Rosenthal did not ascend the throne of Hanau. There was an

insurmountable obstacle. Then the precipitate departure of the

ambassador of Saxe-Tolpelhausen was an affront which demanded instant

vengeance. And the Grand Duke Leopold was a most estimable sovereign,

skilful, energetic, and blessed with wise councillors; the Princess

Wilhelmina liked him, and thought nothing could compare, for

pleasantness, with his lively court, where all the men were amiable,

and all the women charming. These various motives duly weighed, the

Prince made up his mind, and next day was signed the marriage-contract

of the Grand Duke of Niesenstein and the Princess Wilhelmina of Hanau.

Three days later the marriage itself was celebrated.

The play was played out.

The actors had performed their parts with wit, intelligence, and a noble

disinterestedness. They took their leave of the Grand Duke, leaving him

with a rich and pretty wife, a powerful brother-in-law, a serviceable

alliance, and a commercial treaty which could not fail to replenish his

treasury.

Embassies, special missions, banishment, were alleged to the Grand

Duchess as the causes of their departure. Then an amnesty was published

on the occasion of the marriage; the gates of the fortress of

Zwingenberg opened, and the former courtiers resumed their respective

posts.

The reviving fortunes of the Grand Duke were a sure guarantee of their

fidelity.

THE OLD GENTLEMAN'S TEETOTUM.

[_MAGA._ AUGUST 1829.]

At the foot of the long range of the Mendip hills, standeth a village,

which, for obvious reasons, we shall conceal the precise locality of, by

bestowing thereon the appellation of Stockwell. It lieth in a nook, or

indentation, of the mountain; and its population may be said, in more

than one sense of the word, to be extremely dense, being confined within

narrow limits by rocky and sterile ground, and a brawling stream, which

ever and anon assumes the aspect of an impetuous river, and then

dwindles away into a plaything for the little boys to hop over. The

principal trade of the Stockwellites is in coals, which certain of the

industrious operative natives sedulously employ themselves in extracting

from our mother earth, while others are engaged in conveying the "black

diamonds" to various adjacent towns, in carts of sundry shapes and

dimensions. The horses engaged in this traffic are of the Rosinante

species, and, too often, literally raw-boned; insomuch, that it is

sometimes a grievous sight to see them tugging, and a woful thing to

hear their masters swearing, when mounting a steep ascent with one of

the aforesaid loads.

Wherever a civilised people dwell, there must be trade; and,

consequently, Stockwell hath its various artisans, who ply, each in his

vocation, to supply the wants of others; and, moreover, it hath its inn,

or public house, a place of no small importance, having for its sign a

swinging creaking board, whereon is emblazoned the effigy of a roaring,

red, and rampant Lion. High towering above the said Lion, are the

branches of a solitary elm, the foot of which is encircled by a seat,

especially convenient for those guests whose taste it is to "blow a

cloud" in the open air; and it is of two individuals, who were much

given thereon to enjoy their "_otium cum dignitate_," that we are about

to speak.

George Syms had long enjoyed a monopoly in the shoemaking and cobbling

line (though latterly two oppositionists had started against him), and

Peter Brown was a man well to do in the world, being "the man wot" shod

the raw-boned horses before mentioned, "him and his father, and

grandfather," as the parish-clerk said, "for time immemorial." These two

worthies were regaling themselves, as was their wonted custom, each with

his pint, upon a small table, which was placed, for their accommodation,

before the said bench. It was a fine evening in the last autumn; and we

could say a great deal about the beautiful tints which the beams of the

setting sun shed upon the hills' side, and undulating distant outline,

and how the clouds appeared of a fiery red, and, anon, of a pale yellow,

had we leisure for description; but neither George Syms nor Peter Brown

heeded these matters, and our present business is with them.

They had discussed all the village news--the last half of the last pipe

had been puffed in silence, and they were reduced to the dilemma wherein

many a brace of intimate friends have found themselves--they had nothing

to talk about. Each had observed three times that it was very hot, and

each had responded three times--"Yes, it is." They were at a perfect

stand-still--they shook out the ashes from their pipes, and yawned

simultaneously. They felt that indulgence, however grateful, is apt to

cloy, even under the elm-tree, and the red rampant lion. But, as Doctor

Watts says,

"Satan finds some mischief still,

For idle hands to do,"

and they agreed to have "another pint," which Sally, who was ever ready

at their bidding, brought forthwith, and then they endeavoured to rally;

but the effort was vain--the thread of conversation was broken, and they

could not connect it, and so they sipped and yawned, till Peter Brown

observed, "It is getting dark."--"Ay," replied George Syms.

At this moment an elderly stranger, of a shabby-genteel appearance,

approached the Lion, and inquired the road to an adjoining village.

"You are late, sir," said George Syms.--"Yes," replied the stranger,

"I am;" and he threw himself on the bench, and took off his hat, and

wiped his forehead, and observed, that it was very sultry, and he was

quite tired.--"This is a good house," said Peter Brown; "and if you

are not obliged to go on, I wouldn't if I were you."--"It makes

little difference to me," replied the stranger; "and so, as I find

myself in good company, here goes!" and he began to call about him,

notwithstanding his shabby appearance, with the air of one who has money

in his pocket to pay his way.--"Three make good company," observed Peter

Brown.--"Ay, ay," said the stranger. "Holla there! bring me another

pint! This walk has made me confoundedly thirsty. You may as well make

it a pot--and be quick!"

Messrs Brown and Syms were greatly pleased with this additional guest

at their symposium; and the trio sat and talked of the wind, and the

weather, and the roads, and the coal trade, and drank and smoked to

their hearts' content, till again time began to hang heavy, and then the

stranger asked the two friends, if ever they played at teetotum.--"Play

at what?" asked Peter Brown.--"Play at what?" inquired George Syms.--"At

tee-to-tum," replied the stranger, gravely taking a pair of spectacles

from one pocket of his waistcoat, and the machine in question from the

other. "It is an excellent game, I assure you. Rare sport, my masters!"

and he forthwith began to spin his teetotum upon the table, to the no

small diversion of George Syms and Peter Brown, who opined that the

potent ale of the ramping Red Lion had done its office. "Only see how

the little fellow runs about!" cried the stranger, in apparent ecstasy.

"Holla, there! Bring a lantern! There he goes, round and round--and now

he's asleep--and now he begins to reel--wiggle waggle--down he tumbles!

What colour, for a shilling?"--"I don't understand the game," said Peter

Brown.--"Nor I, neither," quoth George Syms; "but it seems easy enough

to learn."--"Oh, ho!" said the stranger; "you think so, do you? But,

let me tell you, that there's a great deal more in it than you imagine.

There he is, you see, with as many sides as a modern politician, and as

many colours as an Algerine. Come, let us have a game! This is the way!"

and he again set the teetotum in motion, and capered about in exceeding

glee.--"He, he, he!" uttered George Syms; and "Ha, ha, ha!" exclaimed

Peter Brown; and, being wonderfully tickled with the oddity of the

thing, they were easily persuaded by the stranger just to take a game

together for five minutes, while he stood by as umpire, with a

stop-watch in his hand.

Nothing can be much easier than spinning a teetotum, yet our two

Stockwellites could scarcely manage the thing for laughing; but the

stranger stood by, with spectacles on nose, looking alternately at his

watch and the table, with as much serious interest as though he had been

witnessing, and was bound to furnish, a report of a prize-fight, or a

debate in the House of Commons.

When precisely five minutes had elapsed, although it was Peter Brown's

spin, and the teetotum was yet going its rounds, and George Syms had

called out yellow, the old gentleman demurely took it from the table and

put it in his pocket; and then, returning his watch to his fob, walked

away into the Red Lion, without saying so much as good-night. The two

friends looked at each other in surprise, and then indulged in a very

loud and hearty fit of laughter; and then paid their reckoning, and went

away, exceedingly merry, which they would not have been, had they

understood properly what they had been doing.

In the meanwhile the stranger had entered the house, and began to be

"very funny" with Mrs Philpot, the landlady of the Red Lion, and Sally,

the purveyor of beer to the guests thereof; and he found it not very

difficult to persuade them likewise to take a game at teetotum for five

minutes, which he terminated in the same unceremonious way as that under

the tree, and then desired to be shown the room wherein he was to sleep.

Mrs Philpot immediately, contrary to her usual custom, jumped up with

great alacrity, lighted a candle, and conducted her guest to his

apartment; while Sally, contrary to _her_ usual custom, reclined herself

in her mistress's great arm-chair, yawned three or four times, and then

exclaimed, "Heigho! it's getting very late! I wish my husband would come

home!"

Now, although we have a very mean opinion of those who cannot keep a

secret of importance, we are not fond of useless mysteries, and

therefore think proper to tell the reader that the teetotum in question

had the peculiar property of causing those who played therewith to lose

all remembrance of their former character, and to adopt that of their

antagonists in the game. During the process of spinning, the personal

identity of the two players was completely changed. Now, on the evening

of this memorable day, Jacob Philpot, the landlord of the rampant Red

Lion, had spent a few convivial hours with mine host of the Blue Boar,

a house on the road-side, about two miles from Stockwell; and the two

publicans had discussed the ale, grog, and tobacco in the manner

customary with Britons, whose insignia are roaring rampant red lions,

green dragons, blue boars, &c. Therefore, when Jacob came home, he began

to call about him, with the air of one who purposeth that his arrival

shall be no secret; and very agreeably surprised was he when Mrs Philpot

ran out from the house, and assisted him to dismount, for Jacob was

somewhat rotund; and yet more did he marvel when, instead of haranguing

him in a loud voice (as she had whilom done on similar occasions,

greatly to his discomfiture), she good-humouredly said that she would

lead his nag to the stable, and then go and call Philip the ostler.

"Humph!" said the host of the Lion, leaning with his back against

the door-post, "after a calm comes a storm. She'll make up for this

presently, I'll warrant." But Mrs Philpot put up the horse, and called

Philip, and then returned in peace and quietness, and attempted to pass

into the house, without uttering a word to her lord and master.

"What's the matter with you, my dear?" asked Jacob Philpot; "a'n't you

well?"--"Yes, sir," replied Mrs Philpot, "very well, I thank you. But

pray take away your leg, and let me go into the house."--"But didn't you

think I was very late?" asked Jacob.--"Oh! I don't know," replied Mrs

Philpot; "when gentlemen get together, they don't think how time goes."

Poor Jacob was quite delighted, and, as it was dusk, and by no means, as

he conceived, a scandalous proceeding, he forthwith put one arm round

Mrs Philpot's neck, and stole a kiss, whereat she said, "Oh dear me! how

could you think of doing such a thing?" and immediately squeezed herself

past him, and ran into the house, where Sally sat, in the arm-chair

before mentioned, with a handkerchief over her head, pretending to be

asleep.

"Come, my dear," said Jacob to his wife, "I'm glad to see you in such

good-humour. You shall make me a glass of rum and water, and take some

of it yourself."--"I must go into the back kitchen for some water,

then," replied his wife, and away she ran, and Jacob followed her,

marvelling still more at her unusual alacrity. "My dear," quoth he, "I

am sorry to give you so much trouble," and again he put his arm round

her neck. "La, sir!" she cried, "if you don't let me go, I'll call out,

I declare."--"He, he--ha, ha!" said Jacob; "call out! that's a good one,

however! a man's wife calling out because her husband's a-going to kiss

her!"--"What do you mean?" asked Mrs Philpot; "I'm sure it's a shame to

use a poor girl so!"--"A poor girl!" exclaimed the landlord, "ahem! was

once, mayhap."--"I don't value your insinivations _that_," said Mrs

Philpot, snapping her fingers; "I wonder what you take me for!"--"So

ho!" thought her spouse, "she's come to herself now; I thought it was

all a sham; but I'll coax her a bit;" so he fell in with her apparent

whim, and called her a good girl; but still she resisted his advances,

and asked him what he took her for. "Take you for!" cried Jacob, "why,

for my own dear Sally to be sure, so don't make any more fuss."--"I have

a great mind to run out of the house," said she, "and never enter it

any more."

This threat gave no sort of alarm to Jacob, but it somewhat tickled his

fancy, and he indulged himself in a very hearty laugh, at the end of

which he good-humouredly told her to go to bed, and he would follow her

presently, as soon as he had looked after his horse, and pulled off his

boots. This proposition was no sooner made, than the good man's ears

were suddenly grasped from behind, and his head was shaken and twisted

about, as though it had been the purpose of the assailant to wrench it

from his shoulders. Mrs Philpot instantly made her escape from the

kitchen, leaving her spouse in the hands of the enraged Sally, who,

under the influence of the teetotum delusion, was firmly persuaded that

she was justly inflicting wholesome discipline upon her husband, whom

she had, as she conceived, caught in the act of making love to the maid.

Sally was active and strong, and Jacob Philpot was, as before hinted,

somewhat obese, and, withal, not in excellent "wind;" consequently it

was some time ere he could disengage himself; and then he stood panting

and blowing, and utterly lost in astonishment, while Sally saluted him

with divers appellations, which it would not be seemly here to set down.

When Jacob did find his tongue, however, he answered her much in the

same style; and added, that he had a great mind to lay a stick about

her back. "What! strike a woman! Eh--would you, you coward?" and

immediately she darted forward, and, as she termed it, put her mark upon

him with her nails, whereby his rubicund countenance was greatly

disfigured, and his patience entirely exhausted: but Sally was too

nimble, and made her escape up-stairs. So the landlord of the Red Lion,

having got rid of the two mad or drunken women, very philosophically

resolved to sit down for half an hour by himself, to think over the

business, while he took his "night-cap." He had scarcely brewed the

ingredients, when he was roused by a rap at the window; and, in answer

to his inquiry of "who's there?" he recognised the voice of his

neighbour, George Syms, and, of course, immediately admitted him; for

George was a good customer, and, consequently, welcome at all hours. "My

good friend," said Syms, "I daresay you are surprised to see me here at

this time of night; but I can't get into my own house. My wife is drunk,

I believe."--"And so is mine," quoth the landlord; "so, sit you down and

make yourself comfortable. Hang me if I think I'll go to bed to-night!"

"No more will I," said Syms; "I've got a job to do early in the morning,

and then I shall be ready for it." So the two friends sat down, and had

scarcely begun to enjoy themselves, when another rap was heard at the

window, and mine host recognised the voice of Peter Brown, who came

with the same complaint against his wife, and was easily persuaded to

join the party, each declaring that the women must have contrived to

meet, during their absence from home, and all get fuddled together.

Matters went on pleasantly enough for some time, while they continued to

rail against the women; but, when that subject was exhausted, George

Syms, the shoemaker, began to talk about shoeing horses; and Peter

Brown, the blacksmith, averred that he could make a pair of jockey boots

with any man for fifty miles round. The host of the rampant Red Lion

considered these things at first as a sort of joke, which he had no

doubt, from such good customers, was exceedingly good, though he could

not exactly comprehend it; but when Peter Brown answered to the name of

George Syms, and George Syms responded to that of Peter Brown, he was

somewhat more bewildered, and could not help thinking that his guests

had drunk quite enough. He, however, satisfied himself with the

reflection that that was no business of his, and that "a man must live

by his trade." With the exception of these apparent occasional cross

purposes, conversation went on as well as could be expected under

existing circumstances; and the three unfortunate husbands sat and

talked, and drank, and smoked, till tired nature cried, "Hold, enough!"

In the meanwhile, Mrs George Syms, who had been much scandalised at the

appearance of Peter Brown beneath her bedroom window, whereinto he

vehemently solicited admittance, altogether in the most public and

unblushing manner; she, poor soul! lay for an hour much disturbed in her

mind, and pondering on the extreme impropriety of Mr Brown's conduct,

and its probable consequences. She then began to wonder where her own

goodman could be staying so late; and after much tossing and tumbling to

and fro, being withal a woman of a warm imagination, she discerned in

her mind's eye divers scenes which might probably be then acting, and in

which George Syms appeared to be taking a part that did not at all meet

her approbation. Accordingly she arose, and throwing her garments about

her with a degree of elegant negligence for which the ladies of

Stockwell have long been celebrated, she incontinently went to the house

of Peter Brown, at whose bedroom window she perceived a head. With the

intuitive knowledge of costume possessed by ladies in general, she

instantly, through the murky night, discovered that the cap on the said

head was of the female gender; and therefore boldly went up thereunto

and said, "Mrs Brown, have you seen anything of my husband?"--"What!"

exclaimed Mrs Brown, "haven't _you_ seen him? Well, I'd have you see

after him pretty quickly, for he was here, just where you stand now,

more than two hours ago, talking all manner of nonsense to me, and

calling me his dear Betsy, so that I was quite ashamed of him! But,

howsomever, you needn't be uneasy about me, for you know I wouldn't do

anything improper on no account. But have you seen anything of my

Peter?"--"I _believe_ I have," replied Mrs Syms, and immediately related

the scandalous conduct of the smith beneath her window; and then the two

ladies agreed to sally forth in search of their two "worthless,

good-for-nothing, drunken husbands."

Now it is a custom with those who get their living by carrying coal,

when they are about to convey it to any considerable distance, to

commence their journey at such an hour as to reach the first turnpike a

little after midnight, that they may be enabled to go out and return

home within the twenty-four hours, and thus save the expense of the

toll, which they would otherwise have to pay twice. This is the secret

of those apparently lazy fellows whom the Bath ladies and dandies

sometimes view with horror and surprise, sleeping in the day-time, in,

on, or under carts, benches, or waggons. It hath been our lot, when in

the city of waters, to hear certain of these theoretical "political

economists" remark somewhat harshly on this mode of taking a siesta. We

should recommend them henceforth to attend to the advice of Peter

Pindar, and--

"Mind what they read in godly books,

And not take people by their looks;"

for they would not be pleased to be judged in that manner themselves;

and the poor fellows in question have generally been travelling all

night, not in a mail-coach, but walking over rough roads, and assisting

their weary and overworked cavalry up and down a succession of steep

hills.

In consequence of this practice, the two forsaken matrons encountered

Moses Brown, a first cousin of Peter's, who had just despatched his

waggoner on a commercial enterprise of the description just alluded to.

Moses had heard voices as he passed the Lion; and being somewhat of a

curious turn, had discovered, partly by listening, and partly by the aid

of certain cracks, holes, and ill-fitting joints in the shutters, who

the gentlemen were whose goodwill and pleasure it was "to vex the dull

ear of night" with their untimely mirth. Moses, moreover, was a meek

man, and professed to be extremely sorry for the two good women who had

two such roaring, rattling blades for their husbands: for, by this time,

the bacchanalians, having exhausted their conversational powers, had

commenced a series of songs. So, under his guidance, the ladies

reconnoitred the drunken trio through the cracks, holes, and ill-fitting

joints aforesaid.

Poor George Syms was by this time regularly "done up," and dozing in his

chair; but Peter Brown, the smith, was still in his glory, and singing

in no small voice a certain song, which was by no means fitting to be

chanted in the ear of his spouse. As for Jacob Philpot, the landlord, he

sat erect in his chair with the dogged resolution of a man who feels

that he is at his post, and is determined to be "no starter." At this

moment Sally made her appearance in the room, in the same sort of

dishabille as that worn by the ladies at the window, and commenced a

very unceremonious harangue to George Syms and Peter Brown, telling them

that they ought to be ashamed of themselves not to have been at home

hours ago; "as for this fellow," said she, giving poor Philpot a

tremendous box on the ear, "I'll make him remember it, I'll warrant."

Jacob hereupon arose in great wrath; but ere he could ascertain

precisely the exact centre of gravity, Sally settled his position by

another cuff, which made his eyes twinkle, and sent him reeling back

into his seat. Seeing these things, the ladies without began, as

fox-hunters say, to "give tongue," and vociferously demanded admittance;

whereupon Mrs Philpot put her head out from a window above, and told

them that she would be down and let them in in a minute, and that it was

a great pity gentlemen should ever get too much beer: and then she

popped in her head, and in less than the stipulated time, ran down

stairs and opened the street door; and so the wives were admitted to

their delinquent husbands; but meek Moses Brown went his way, having a

wife at home, and having no desire to abide the storm which he saw was

coming.

Peter Brown was, as we said before, in high feather; and therefore, when

he saw Mrs Syms, whom he (acting under the teetotum delusion) mistook

for the wife of his own particular bosom, he gaily accosted her, "Ah,

old girl!--Is it you? What! you've come to your senses, eh? slept it

off, I suppose. Well, well; never mind! Forgive and forget, I say. I

never saw you so before, I will say _that_ for you, however. So give us

a buss, old girl! and let us go home;" and without ceremony he began to

suit the action to the word, whereupon the real Mrs Brown flew to Mrs

Syms' assistance, and by hanging round Peter's neck, enabled her friend

to escape. Mrs Syms, immediately she was released, began to shake up her

drowsy George, who, immediately he opened his eyes, scarcely knowing

where he was, marvelled much to find himself thus handled by, as he

supposed, his neighbour's wife; but with the maudlin cunning of a

drunken man, he thought it was an excellent joke, and therefore threw

his arms round her, and began to hug her with a wondrous and unusual

degree of fondness, whereby the poor woman was much affected, and called

him her dear George, and said she knew it was not his fault, but "all

along of that brute," pointing to Peter Brown, that he had drunk himself

into such a state. "Come along, my dear," she concluded, "let us go and

leave him--I don't care if I never see him any more."

The exasperation of Peter Brown, at seeing and hearing, as he imagined,

his own wife act and speak in this shameful manner before his face, may

be "more easily imagined than described;" but his genuine wife, who

belonged, as he conceived, to the drunken man, hung so close about his

neck that he found it impossible to escape. George Syms, however, was

utterly unable to rise, and sat, with an idiot-like simper upon his

face, as if giving himself up to a pleasing delusion, while his wife was

patting, and coaxing, and wheedling him in every way, to induce him to

get upon his legs and try to go home. At length, as he vacantly stared

about, he caught a glimpse of Mrs Brown, whom, to save repetition, we

may as well call his teetotum wife, hanging about his neighbour's neck.

This sight effectually roused him, and before Mrs Syms was aware of his

intention, he started up and ran furiously at Peter Brown, who received

him much in the manner that might be expected, with a salutation in

"the bread-basket," which sent him reeling on the floor. As a matter of

course, Mrs Syms took the part of her fallen husband, and put her mark

upon Mr Peter Brown; and, as a matter of course, Mrs Peter Brown took

the part of her spouse, and commenced an attack on Mrs Syms.

In the meanwhile Sally had not been idle. After chastening Jacob Philpot

to her heart's content, she, with the assistance of Mrs Philpot and

Philip the hostler, who was much astonished to hear her "order the

mistress about," conveyed him up-stairs, where he was deposited, as he

was, upon a spare bed, to "take his chance," as she said, "and sleep

off his drunken fit." Sally then returned to the scene of strife, and

desired the "company" to go about their business, for she should not

allow anything more to be "called for" that night. Having said this with

an air of authority, she left the room; and though Mrs Syms and Mrs

Brown were greatly surprised thereat, they said nothing, inasmuch as

they were somewhat ashamed of their own appearance, and had matters of

more importance than Sally's eccentricity to think of, as Mrs Syms had

been cruelly wounded in her new shawl, which she had imprudently thrown

over her shoulders; and the left side of the lace on Mrs Brown's cap had

been torn away in the recent conflict. Mrs Philpot, enacting her part

as the teetotum Sally of the night, besought the ladies to go home,

and leave the gentlemen to sleep where they were--_i.e._ upon the

floor--till the morning: for Peter Brown, notwithstanding the noise

he had made, was as incapable of standing as the quieter George Syms.

So the women dragged them into separate corners of the room, placed

pillows under their heads, and threw a blanket over each, and then left

them to repose. The two disconsolate wives each forthwith departed to

her own lonely pillow, leaving Mrs Philpot particularly puzzled at the

deference with which they had treated her, by calling her "Madam," as

if she was mistress of the house.

Leaving them all to their slumbers, we must now say a word or two

about the teetotum, the properties of which were to change people's

characters, spinning the mind of one man or woman into the body of

another. The duration of the delusion, caused by this droll game of

the old gentleman's, depended upon the length of time spent in the

diversion; and five minutes was the specific period for causing it

to last till the next sunrise or sunset _after_ the change had been

effected. Therefore, when the morning came, Mrs Philpot and Sally, and

Peter Brown and George Syms, all came to their senses. The two latter

went quietly home, with aching heads and very confused recollections of

the preceding evening; and shortly after their departure Mrs Philpot

awoke in great astonishment at finding herself in the garret; and Sally

was equally surprised, and much alarmed, at finding herself in her

mistress's room, from which she hastened in quick time, leaving all

things in due order.

The elderly stranger made his appearance soon after, and appeared to

have brushed up his shabby-genteel clothes, for he really looked much

more respectable than on the preceding evening. He ordered his

breakfast, and sat down thereto very quietly, and asked for the

newspaper, and pulled out his spectacles, and began to con the politics

of the day much at his ease, no one having the least suspicion that he

and his teetotum had been the cause of all the uproar at the Red Lion.

In due time the landlord made his appearance, with sundry marks of

violence upon his jolly countenance, and, after due obeisance made to

his respectable-looking guest, took the liberty of telling his spouse

that he should insist upon her sending Sally away, for that he had never

been so mauled since he was born; but Mrs Philpot told him that he ought

to be ashamed of himself, and she was very glad the girl had spirit

enough to protect herself, and that she wouldn't part with her on any

account. She then referred to what had passed in the back kitchen,

taking to herself the credit of having inflicted that punishment which

had been administered by the hands of Sally.

Jacob Philpot was now more than ever convinced that his wife had been

paying her respects to a huge stone bottle of rum which stood in the

closet; and he "made bold" to tell her his thoughts, whereat Mrs Philpot

thought fit to put herself into a tremendous passion, although she could

not help fearing that, perhaps, she might have taken a drop too much of

something, for she was unable, in any other manner, to account for

having slept in the garret.

The elderly stranger now took upon himself to recommend mutual

forgiveness, and stated that it was really quite pardonable for any one

to take a little too much of such very excellent ale as that at the Red

Lion. "For my own part," said he, "I don't know whether I didn't get a

trifle beyond the mark myself last night. But I hope, madam, I did not

annoy you."

"Oh dear, no, not at all, sir," replied Mrs Philpot, whose good-humour

was restored at this compliment paid to the good cheer of the Lion; "you

were exceedingly pleasant, I assure you--just enough to make you funny:

we had a hearty laugh about the teetotum, you know."--"Ah!" said the

stranger, "I guess how it was then. I always introduce the teetotum when

I want to be merry."

Jacob Philpot expressed a wish to understand the game, and after

spinning it two or three times, proposed to take his chance, for five

minutes, with the stranger; but the latter, laughing heartily, would by

no means agree with the proposition, and declared that it would be

downright cheating, as he was an overmatch for any beginner. "However,"

he continued, "as soon as any of your neighbours come in, I'll put you

in the way of it, and we'll have some of your ale now, just to pass the

time. It will do neither of us any harm after last night's affair, and I

want to have some talk with you about the coal trade."

They accordingly sat down together, and the stranger displayed

considerable knowledge in the science of mining; and Jacob was so much

delighted with his companion, that an hour or two slipped away, as he

said, "in no time;" and then there was heard the sound of a horse's feet

at the door, and a somewhat authoritative hillo!

"It is our parson," said Jacob, starting up, and he ran to the door to

inquire what might be his reverence's pleasure. "Good morning," said the

Reverend Mr Stanhope. "I'm going over to dine with our club at the Old

Boar, and I want you just to cast your eye on those fellows in my home

close; you can see them out of your parlour window."--"Yes, to be sure,

sir," replied Jacob.--"Hem!" quoth Mr Stanhope, "have you anybody

indoors?"--"Yes, sir, we have," replied Jacob, "a strange gentleman, who

seems to know a pretty deal about mining and them sort of things. I

think he's some great person in disguise; he seems regularly

edicated--up to everything," "Eh, ah! a great person in disguise!"

exclaimed Mr Stanhope. "I'll just step in a minute. It seems as if there

was a shower coming over, and I'm in no hurry, and it is not worth while

to get wet through for the sake of a few minutes." So he alighted from

his horse, soliloquising to himself, "Perhaps the Lord Chancellor! Who

knows? However, I shall take care to show my principles;" and

straightway he went into the house, and was most respectfully saluted by

the elderly stranger; and they entered into a conversation upon the

standing English topics of weather, wind, crops, and the coal trade;

and Mr Stanhope contrived to introduce therein sundry unkind things

against the Pope and all his followers; and avowed himself a stanch

"church-and-king" man, and spake enthusiastically of our "glorious

constitution," and lauded divers individuals then in power, but more

particularly those who studied the true interests of the Church, by

seeking out and preferring men of merit and talent to fill vacant

benefices. The stranger thereat smiled significantly, as though he

could, if he felt disposed, say something to the purpose; and Mr

Stanhope felt more inclined than ever to think the landlord might have

conjectured very near the truth, and, consequently, redoubled his

efforts to make the agreeable, professing his regret at being obliged

to dine out that day, &c. The stranger politely thanked him for his

consideration, and stated that he was never at a loss for employment,

and that he was then rambling, for a few days, to relax his mind from

the fatigues of an overwhelming mass of important business, to which his

duty compelled him to attend early and late. "Perhaps," he continued,

"you will smile when I tell you that I am now engaged in a series of

experiments relative to the power of the centrifugal force, and its

capacity of overcoming various degrees of friction." (Here he produced

the teetotum.) "You perceive the different surfaces of the under edge of

this little thing. The outside, you see, is all of ivory, but indented

in various ways; and yet I have not been able to decide whether the

roughest or smoothest more frequently arrest its motions. The colours,

of course, are merely indications. Here is my register," and he produced

a book, wherein divers abstruse mathematical calculations were apparent.

"I always prefer other people to spin it, as then I obtain a variety of

impelling power. Perhaps you will do me the favour just to twirl it

round a few times alternately with the landlord? Two make a fairer

experiment than one. Just for five minutes. I'll not trouble you a

moment longer, I promise you."--"Hem!" thought Mr Stanhope.

"Learned men, now and then,

Have very strange vagaries!"

However, he commenced spinning the teetotum, turn and turn with Jacob

Philpot, who was highly delighted both with the drollery of the thing,

and the honour of playing with the parson of the parish, and laughed

most immoderately, while the stranger stood by, looking at his

stop-watch as demurely as on the preceding evening, until the five

minutes had expired; and then, in the middle of the Rev. Mr Stanhope's

spin, he took up the little toy and put it into his pocket.

Jacob Philpot immediately arose, and shook the stranger warmly by the

hand, and told him that he should be happy to see him whenever he came

that way again; and then nodding to Mr Stanhope and the landlady, went

out at the front door, mounted the horse that stood there, and rode

away. "Where's the fellow going?" cried Mrs Philpot; "Hillo! Jacob, I

say!"--"Well, mother," said the Reverend Mr Stanhope, "what's the matter

now?" but Mrs Philpot had reached the front of the house, and continued

to shout "Hillo! hillo, come back, I tell you!"--"That woman is always

doing some strange thing or other," observed Mr Stanhope to the

stranger. "What on earth can possess her to go calling after the parson

in that manner?"--"I declare he's rode off with Squire Jones's horse,"

cried Mrs Philpot, re-entering the house. "To be sure he has," said Mr

Stanhope; "he borrowed it on purpose to go to the Old Boar."--"Did he?"

exclaimed the landlady; "and without telling me a word about it! But

I'll Old Boar him, I promise you!"--"Don't make such a fool of yourself,

mother," said the parson; "it can't signify twopence to you where he

goes."--"Can't it?" rejoined Mrs Philpot. "I'll tell you what, your

worship----"--"Don't worship me, woman," exclaimed the teetotum landlord

parson; "worship! what nonsense now! Why, you've been taking your drops

again this morning, I think. Worship, indeed! To be sure, I did once,

like a fool, promise to worship _you_; but if my time was to come over

again, I know what----But, never mind now--don't you see it's twelve

o'clock? Come, quick, let us have what there is to eat, and then we'll

have a comfortable pipe under the tree. What say you, sir?"--"With all

my heart," replied the elderly stranger. Mrs Philpot could make nothing

of the parson's speech about worshipping her; but the order for

something to eat was very distinct; and though she felt much surprised

thereat, as well as at the proposed smoking under the tree, she,

nevertheless, was much gratified that so unusual an order should be

given on that particular day, as she had a somewhat better dinner than

usual, namely, a leg of mutton upon the spit. Therefore she bustled

about with exceeding goodwill, and Sally spread a clean cloth upon the

table in the little parlour for the parson and the strange old

gentleman; and when the mutton was placed upon the table, the latter

hoped they should have the pleasure of Mrs Philpot's company; but she

looked somewhat doubtfully till the parson said, "Come, come, mother,

don't make a bother about it; sit down, can't you, when the gentleman

bids you." Therefore she smoothed her apron and made one at the

dinner-table, and conducted herself with so much precision that the

teetotum parson looked upon her with considerable surprise, while she

regarded him with no less, inasmuch as he talked in a very unclerical

manner; and, among other strange things, swore that his wife was as

"drunk as blazes" the night before, and winked at her, and behaved

altogether in a style very unbecoming a minister in his own parish.

At one o'clock there was a great sensation caused in the village of

Stockwell, by the appearance of their reverend pastor and the elderly

stranger, sitting on the bench which went round the tree, which stood

before the sign of the roaring rampant Red Lion, each with a long pipe

in his mouth, blowing clouds, which would not have disgraced the most

inveterate smoker of the "black diamond" fraternity, and ever and anon

moistening their clay with "heavy wet," from tankards placed upon a

small table, which Mrs Philpot had provided for their accommodation. The

little boys and girls first approached within a respectful distance, and

then ran away giggling to tell their companions; and they told their

mothers, who came and peeped likewise; and many were diverted, and many

were scandalised at the sight: yet the parson seemed to care for none

of these things, but cracked his joke, and sipped his ale, and smoked

his pipe, with as much easy nonchalance as if he had been in his own

arm-chair at the rectory. Yet it must be confessed that now and then

there was a sort of equivocal remark made by him, as though he had some

faint recollection of his former profession, although he evinced not the

smallest sense of shame at the change which had been wrought in him.

Indeed this trifling imperfection in the change of identity appears to

have attended such transformations in general, and might have arisen

from the individual bodies retaining their own clothes (for the mere

fashion of dress hath a great influence on some minds), or, perhaps,

because a profession or trade, with the habits thereof, cannot be

entirely shaken off, nor a new one perfectly learned, by spinning a

teetotum for five minutes. The time had now arrived when George Syms,

the shoemaker, and Peter Brown, the blacksmith, were accustomed to take

their "pint and pipe after dinner," and greatly were they surprised to

see their places so occupied; and not a little was their astonishment

increased, when the parson lifted up his voice, and ordered Sally to

bring out a couple of chairs, and then shook them both warmly by the

hand, and welcomed them by the affectionate appellation of "My

hearties!" He then winked, and in an under-tone began to sing--

"Though I'm tied to a crusty old woman,

Much given to scolding and jealousy,

I know that the case is too common,

And so I will ogle each girl I see.

Tol de rol, lol, &c.

"Come, my lads!" he resumed, "sit you down, and clap half a yard of

clay into your mouths." The two worthy artisans looked at each other

significantly, or rather insignificantly, for they knew not what to

think, and did as they were bid. "Come, why don't you talk?" said the

teetotum parson landlord, after a short silence. "You're as dull as a

couple of tom-cats with their ears cut off--talk, man, talk--there's no

doing nothing without talking." This last part of his speech seemed more

particularly addressed to Peter Brown, who, albeit a man of a sound

head, and well skilled in such matters as appertained unto iron and the

coal trade, had not been much in the habit of mixing with the clergy:

therefore he felt, for a moment, as he said, "non-plushed;" but

fortunately he recollected the Catholic question, about which most

people were then talking, and which everybody professed to understand.

Therefore, he forthwith introduced the subject; and being well aware of

the parson's bias, and having, moreover, been told that he had written

a pamphlet; therefore (though, to do Peter Brown justice, he was not

accustomed to read such publications) he scrupled not to give his

opinion very freely, and concluded by taking up his pint and drinking a

very unchristianlike malediction against the Pope. George Syms followed

on the same side, and concluded in the same manner, adding thereunto,

"Your good healths, gemmen."--"What a pack of nonsense!" exclaimed the

parson. "I should like to know what harm the Pope can do us! I tell you

what, my lads, it's all my eye and Betty Martin. Live and let live, I

say. So long as I can get a good living, I don't care the toss of a

halfpenny who's uppermost. For my part, I'd as soon live at the sign of

the Mitre as the Lion, or mount the cardinal's hat for that matter, if I

thought I could get anything by it. Look at home, say I. The Pope's an

old woman, and so are they that are afraid of him." The elderly stranger

here seemed highly delighted, and cried "Bravo!" and clapped the speaker

on the back, and said, "That's your sort! Go it, my hearty!" But Peter

Brown, who was one of the sturdy English old-fashioned school, and did

not approve of hot and cold being blown out of the same mouth, took the

liberty of telling the parson, in a very unceremonious way, that he

seemed to have changed his opinions very suddenly. "Not I," said the

other; "I was always of the same way of thinking."--"Then words have no

meaning," observed George Syms, angrily, "for I heard you myself. You

talked as loud about the wickedness of 'mancipation as ever I heard a

man in my life, no longer ago than last Sunday."--"Then I must have been

drunk--that's all I can say about the business," replied the other,

coolly; and he began to fill his pipe with the utmost nonchalance, as

though it was a matter of course. Such apparently scandalous conduct

was, however, too much for the unsophisticated George Syms and Peter

Brown, who simultaneously threw down their reckoning, and, much to their

credit, left the turncoat reprobate parson to the company of the elderly

gentleman.

If we were to relate half the whimsical consequences of the teetotum

tricks of this strange personage, we might fill volumes; but as it is

not our intention to allow the detail to swell even into one, we must

hastily sketch the proceedings of poor Jacob Philpot after he left the

Red Lion to dine with sundry of the gentry and clergy at the Old Boar,

in his new capacity of an ecclesiastic, in the outward form of a

somewhat negligently-dressed landlord. He was accosted on the road by

divers of his coal-carrying neighbours with a degree of familiarity

which was exceedingly mortifying to his feelings. One told him to be

home in time to take part of a gallon of ale that he had won of

neighbour Smith; a second reminded him that to-morrow was club-night at

the Nag's Head; and a third asked him where he had stolen his horse. At

length he arrived, much out of humour, at the Old Boar, an inn of a very

different description from the Red Lion, being a posting-house of no

inconsiderable magnitude, wherein that day was to be holden the

symposium of certain grandees of the adjacent country, as before hinted.

The landlord, who happened to be standing at the door, was somewhat

surprised at the formal manner with which Jacob Philpot greeted him and

gave his horse into the charge of the hostler; but as he knew him only

by sight, and had many things to attend to, he went his way without

making any remark, and thus, unwittingly, increased the irritation of

Jacob's new teetotum sensitive feelings. "Are any of the gentlemen come

yet?" asked Jacob, haughtily, of one of the waiters. "What gentlemen?"

quoth the waiter. "_Any_ of them," said Jacob--"Mr Wiggins, Doctor

White, or Captain Pole?" At this moment a carriage drove up to the door,

and the bells all began ringing, and the waiters ran to see who had

arrived, and Jacob Philpot was left unheeded. "This is very strange

conduct!" observed he; "I never met with such incivility in my life! One

would think I was a dog!" Scarcely had this soliloquy terminated, when a

lady, who had alighted from the carriage (leaving the gentleman who came

with her to give some orders about the luggage), entered the inn, and

was greatly surprised to find her delicate hand seized by the horny

grasp of the landlord of the Red Lion, who addressed her as "Dear Mrs

Wilkins," and vowed he was quite delighted at the unexpected pleasure

of seeing her, and hoped the worthy rector was well, and all the dear

little darlings. Mrs Wilkins disengaged her hand as quickly as

possible, and made her escape into a room, the door of which was held

open for her admittance by the waiter; and then the worthy rector made

his appearance, followed by one of the "little darlings," whom Jacob

Philpot, in the joy of his heart at finding himself once more among

friends, snatched up in his arms, and thereby produced a bellowing which

instantly brought the alarmed mother from her retreat. "What is that

frightful man doing with the child?" she cried, and Jacob, who could

scarcely believe his ears, was immediately deprived of his burden, while

his particular friend, the worthy rector, looked upon him with a cold

and vacant stare, and then retired into his room with his wife and the

little darling, and Jacob was once more left to his own cogitations.

"I see it!" he exclaimed, after a short pause, "I see it! This is the

reward of rectitude of principle! This is the reward of undeviating and

inflexible firmness of purpose! He has read my unanswerable pamphlet! I

always thought there was a laxity of principle about him!" So Jacob

forthwith walked into the open air to cool himself, and strolled round

the garden of the inn, and meditated upon divers important subjects; and

thus he passed his time till the hour of dinner, though he could not but

keep occasionally wondering that some of his friends did not come down

to meet him, since they must have seen him walking in the garden. His

patience, however, was at length exhausted, and his appetite was

exceedingly clamorous, partly, perhaps, because his _outward_ man had

been used to dine at the plebeian hour of noon, while his inward man

made a point of never taking anything more than a biscuit and a glass of

wine between breakfast and five o'clock; and even that little modicum

had been omitted on this fatal day, in consequence of the incivility of

the people of the inn. "The dinner hour was five _precisely_," said he,

looking at his watch, "and now it is half-past--but I'll wait a _little_

longer. It's a bad plan to hurry them. It puts the cook out of humour,

and then all goes wrong." Therefore he waited a little longer; that is

to say, till the calls of absolute hunger became quite ungovernable, and

then he went into the house, where the odour of delicate viands was

quite provoking; so he followed the guidance of his nose and arrived

in the large dining-room, where he found, to his great surprise and

mortification, that the company were assembled, and the work of

destruction had been going on for some time, as the second course had

just been placed on the table. Jacob felt that the neglect with which he

had been treated was "enough to make a parson swear;" and perhaps he

would have sworn, but that he had no time to spare; and therefore, as

all the seats at the upper end of the table were engaged, he deposited

himself on a vacant chair about the centre, between two gentlemen with

whom he had no acquaintance, and, spreading his napkin in his lap,

demanded of a waiter what fish had gone out. The man replied only by a

stare and a smile--a line of conduct which was by no means surprising,

seeing that the most stylish part of Philpot's dress was, without

dispute, the napkin aforesaid. For the rest, it was unlike the garb of

the strange gentleman, inasmuch as that, though possibly entitled to the

epithet shabby, it could not be termed genteel. "What's the fellow

gaping at?" cried Jacob, in an angry voice; "go and tell your master

that I want to speak to him directly. I don't understand such treatment.

Tell him to come immediately! Do you hear?"

The loud tone in which this was spoken aroused the attention of the

company; and most of them cast a look of inquiry, first at the speaker

and then round the table, as if to discern by whom the strange gentleman

in the scarlet-and-yellow plush waistcoat and the dirty shirt might be

patronised; but there were others who recognised the landlord of the Red

Lion at Stockwell. The whole, however, were somewhat startled when he

addressed them as follows:--"Really, gentlemen, I must say that a joke

may be carried too far; and if it was not for my cloth" (here he handled

the napkin), "I declare I don't know how I might act. I have been

walking in the garden for these two hours, and you _must_ have seen me.

And now you stare at me as if you didn't know me! Really, gentlemen, it

is too bad! I love a joke as well as any man, and can take one too; but,

as I said before, a joke _may_ be carried too far."--"I think so too,"

said the landlord of the Old Boar, tapping him on the shoulder; "so come

along, and don't make a fool of yourself here."--"Fellow!" cried Jacob,

rising in great wrath, "go your ways! Be off, I tell you! Mr Chairman,

we have known each other now for a good many years, and you must be

convinced that I can take a joke as well as any man; but human nature

can endure this no longer. Mr Wiggins! Captain Pole! my good friend

Doctor White! I appeal to you!" Here the gentlemen named looked

especially astounded. "What! can it be possible that you have _all_

agreed to cut me! Oh, no! I will not believe that political differences

of opinion can run _quite_ so high. Come--let us have no more of this

nonsense!"--"No, no, we've had quite enough of it," said the landlord of

the Old Boar, pulling the chair from beneath the last speaker, who was

consequently obliged again to be upon his legs, while there came, from

various parts of the table, cries of "Chair! chair! Turn him

out!"--"Man!" roared the teetotum parsonified landlord of the Red Lion,

to the landlord of the Old Boar--"Man! you shall repent of this! If it

wasn't for my cloth, I'd soon----."--"Come, give me the cloth!" said

the other, snatching away the napkin, which Jacob had buttoned in his

waistcoat, and thereby causing that garment to fly open and expose more

of dirty linen and skin than is usually sported at a dinner-party. Poor

Philpot's rage had now reached its acme, and he again appealed to the

chairman by name. "Colonel Martin!" said he, "can you sit by and see me

used thus? I am sure _you_ will not pretend that you don't know

me!"--"Not I," replied the chairman; "I know you well enough, and a

confounded impudent fellow you are. I'll tell you what, my lad, next

time you apply for a licence, you shall hear of this." The landlord of

the Old Boar was withal a kind-hearted man; and as he well knew that the

loss of its licence would be ruin to the rampant Red Lion and all

concerned therewith, he was determined that poor Philpot should be saved

from destruction in spite of his teeth; therefore, without further

ceremony, he, being a muscular man, laid violent hands upon the said

Jacob, and, with the assistance of his waiters, conveyed him out of the

room, in despite of much struggling, and sundry interjections concerning

his "cloth." When they had deposited him safely in an arm-chair in "the

bar," the landlady, who had frequently seen him before in his proper

character--that of a civil man--who "knew his place" in society, very

kindly offered him a cup of tea; and the landlord asked how he could

think of making such a fool of himself; and the waiter, whom he had

accosted on first entering the house, vouched for his not having had

anything to eat or drink; whereupon they spoke of the remains of a

turbot which had just come down-stairs, and a haunch of venison that was

to follow. It is a sad thing to have a mind and body that are no match

for each other. Jacob's outward man would have been highly gratified at

the exhibition of these things, but the spirit of the parson was too

mighty within, and spurned every offer, and the body was compelled to

obey. So the horse that was borrowed of the squire was ordered out, and

Jacob Philpot mounted and rode on his way in excessive irritation,

growling vehemently at the insult and indignity which had been committed

against the "cloth" in general, and his own person in particular.

"The sun sunk beneath the horizon," as novelists say, when Jacob Philpot

entered the village of Stockwell, and, as if waking from a dream, he

suddenly started, and was much surprised to find himself on horseback;

for the last thing that he recollected was going up-stairs at his own

house, and composing himself for a nap, that he might be ready to join

neighbour Scroggins and Dick Smith, when they came in the evening to

drink the gallon of ale lost by the latter. "And, my eyes!" said he, "if

I haven't got the squire's horse that the parson borrowed this morning.

Well--it's very odd! however, the ride has done me a deal of good, for I

feel as if I hadn't had anything all day, and yet I did pretty well too

at the leg of mutton at dinner." Mrs Philpot received her lord and

nominal master in no very gracious mood, and said she should like to

know where he had been riding. "That's more than I can tell you,"

replied Jacob; "however, I know I'm as hungry as a greyhound, though I

never made a better dinner in my life."--"More shame for you," said Mrs

Philpot; "I wish the Old Boar was a thousand miles off."--"What's the

woman talking about?" quoth Jacob. "Eh! what! at it again, I suppose,"

and he pointed to the closet containing the rum bottle. "Hush!" cried

Mrs Philpot, "here's the parson coming down-stairs!"--"The parson!"

exclaimed Jacob; "what's he been doing up-stairs, I should like to

know?"--"He has been to take a nap on mistress's bed," said Sally. "The

dickens he has! This is a pretty story," quoth Jacob. "How could I help

it?" asked Mrs Philpot; "you should stay at home and look after your own

business, and not go ramshackling about the country. You shan't hear the

last of the Old Boar just yet, I promise you." To avoid the threatened

storm, and satisfy the calls of hunger, Jacob made off to the larder,

and commenced an attack upon the leg of mutton.

At this moment the Reverend Mr Stanhope opened the little door at the

foot of the stairs. On waking, and finding himself upon a bed, he had

concluded that he must have fainted in consequence of the agitation of

mind produced by the gross insults which he had suffered, or perhaps

from the effects of hunger. Great, therefore, was his surprise to find

himself at the Red Lion in his own parish; and the first questions he

asked of Mrs Philpot were how and when he had been brought there. "La,

sir!" said the landlady, "you went up-stairs of your own accord, after

you were tired of smoking under the tree."--"Smoking under the tree,

woman!" exclaimed Mr Stanhope; "what are you talking about? Do you

recollect whom you are speaking to?" "Ay, marry, do I," replied the

sensitive Mrs Philpot; "and you told Sally to call you when Scroggins

and Smith came for their gallon of ale, as you meant to join the party."

The Reverend Mr Stanhope straightway took up his hat, put it upon his

head, and stalked with indignant dignity out of the house, opining that

the poor woman was in her cups; and meditated, as he walked home, on the

extraordinary affairs of the day. But his troubles were not yet ended,

for the report of his public jollification had reached his own

household; and John, his trusty man-servant, had been despatched to the

Red Lion, and had ascertained that his master was really gone to bed in

a state very unfit for a clergyman to be seen in. Some remarkably

goodnatured friends had been to condole with Mrs Stanhope upon the

extraordinary proceedings of her goodman, and to say how much they

were shocked, and what a pity it was, and wondering what the bishop

would think of it, and divers other equally amiable and consolatory

reflections and notes of admiration. Now Mrs Stanhope, though she had

much of the "milk of human kindness" in her composition, had withal a

sufficient portion of "tartaric acid" mingled therewith. Therefore, when

her beer-drinking husband made his appearance, he found her in a state

of effervescence. "Mary," said he, "I am extremely fatigued. I have been

exposed to-day to a series of insults, such as I could not have imagined

it possible for any one to offer me."--"Nor anybody else," replied Mrs

Stanhope; "but you are rightly served, and I am glad of it. Who could

have supposed that you, the minister of a parish!--Faugh! how filthily

you smell of tobacco! I vow I cannot endure to be in the room with you!"

and she arose and left the divine to himself, in exceeding great

perplexity. However, being a man who loved to do all things in order,

he remembered that he had not dined, so he rang the bell and gave the

needful instructions, thinking it best to satisfy nature first, and

_then_ endeavour to ascertain the cause of his beloved Mary's acidity.

His appetite was gone, but that he attributed to having fasted too long,

a practice very unusual with him; however, he picked a bit here and

there, and then indulged himself with a bottle of his oldest port, which

he had about half consumed, and somewhat recovered his spirits, ere his

dear Mary made her reappearance, and told him that she was perfectly

astonished at his conduct. And well might she say so, for _now_, the

wine, which he had been drinking with unusual rapidity, thinking, good

easy man, that he had taken nothing all day, began to have a very

visible effect upon a body already saturated with strong ale. He

declared that he cared not a fig for the good opinion of any gentleman

in the county, that he would always act and speak according to his

principles, and filled a bumper to the health of the Lord Chancellor,

and drank sundry more exceedingly loyal toasts, and told his astonished

spouse, that he should not be surprised if he was very soon to be made a

Dean or a Bishop; and as for the people at the Old Boar, he saw through

their conduct--it was all envy, which doth "merit as its shade pursue."

The good lady justly deemed it folly to waste her oratory upon a man in

such a state, and reserved her powers for the next morning; and Mr

Stanhope reeled to bed that night in a condition which, to do him

justice, he had never before exhibited under his own roof.

The next morning, Mrs Stanhope and her daughter Sophy, a promising young

lady about ten years old, of the hoyden class, were at breakfast, when

the elderly stranger called at the rectory, and expressed great concern

on being told that Mr S. was somewhat indisposed, and had not yet made

his appearance. He said that his business was of very little importance,

and merely concerned some geological inquiries which he was prosecuting

in the vicinity; but Mrs Stanhope, who had the names of all the ologies

by heart, and loved occasionally to talk thereof, persuaded him to wait

a short time, little dreaming of the consequence; for the wily old

gentleman began to romp with Miss Sophy, and, after a while, produced

his teetotum, and, in short, so contrived it, that the mother and

daughter played together therewith for five minutes. He then politely

took his leave, promising to call again; and Mrs Stanhope bobbed him a

curtsy, and Sophia assured him that Mr S. would be extremely happy to

afford him every assistance in his scientific researches. When the

worthy divine at length made his appearance in the breakfast parlour,

strangely puzzled as to the extreme feverishness and languor which

oppressed him, he found Sophy sitting gravely in an arm-chair, reading a

treatise on craniology. It was a pleasant thing for him to see her read

anything, but he could not help expressing his surprise by observing,

"I should think that book a little above your comprehension, my

dear."--"Indeed! sir," was the reply; and the little girl laid down the

volume, and sat erect in her chair, and thus continued: "I should think,

Mr Nicodemus Stanhope, that after the specimen of good sense and

propriety of conduct, which you were pleased to exhibit yesterday, it

scarcely becomes _you_ to pretend to estimate the _comprehension_ of

others." "My dear," said the astonished divine, "this is very strange

language! You forget whom you are speaking to!"--"Not at all," replied

the child. "I know _my_ place, if you don't know yours, and am

determined to speak my mind." If anything could add to the Reverend Mr

Nicodemus Stanhope's surprise, it was the sound of his wife's voice in

the garden, calling to his man John to stand out of the way, or she

should run over him. Poor John, who was tying up some of her favourite

flowers, got out of her way accordingly in quick time, and the next

moment his mistress rushed by, trundling a hoop, hallooing and laughing,

and highly enjoying his apparent dismay. Throughout that day, it may be

imagined that the reverend gentleman's philosophy was sorely tried; but

we are compelled, by want of room, to leave the particulars of his

botheration to the reader's imagination.

We are sorry to say that these were not the only metamorphoses which the

mischievous old gentleman wrought in the village of Stockwell. There was

a game of teetotum played between a sergeant of dragoons, who had

retired upon his well-earned pension, and a baker, who happened

likewise to be the renter of a small patch of land adjoining the

village. The veteran, with that indistinctness of character before

mentioned, shouldered the peel, and took it to the field, and used it

for loading and spreading manure, so that it was never afterwards fit

for any but dirty work. Then, just to show that he was not afraid of

anybody, he cut a gap in the hedge of a small field of wheat which had

just been reaped, and was standing in sheaves, and thereby gave

admittance to a neighbouring bull, who amused himself greatly by tossing

the said sheaves; but more particularly those which were set apart as

tithes, against which he appeared to have a particular spite, throwing

them high into the air, and then bellowing and treading them under foot.

But--we must come to a close. Suffice it to say, that the village of

Stockwell was long in a state of confusion in consequence of these

games; for the mischief which was done during the period of delusion,

ended not, like the delusion itself, with the rising or setting of the

sun.

Having now related as many particulars of these strange occurrences as

our limits will permit, we have merely to state the effect which they

produced upon ourselves. Whenever we have since beheld servants aping

the conduct of their masters or mistresses, tradesmen wasting their time

and money at taverns, clergymen forgetful of the dignity and sacred

character of their profession, publicans imagining themselves fit for

preachers, children calling their parents to account for their conduct,

matrons acting the hoyden, and other incongruities--whenever we witness

these and the like occurrences, we conclude that the actors therein have

been playing a game with the Old Gentleman's Teetotum.

"Woe to us when we lose the watery wall!"

[_MAGA._ SEPTEMBER 1823.]

If e'er that dreadful hour should come--but God avert the day!--

When England's glorious flag must bend, and yield old Ocean's sway;

When foreign ships shall o'er that deep, where she is empress, lord;

When the cross of red from boltsprit-head is hewn by foreign sword;

When foreign foot her quarterdeck with proud stride treads along;

When her peaceful ships meet haughty check from hail of foreign

tongue;--

One prayer, one only prayer is mine--that, ere is seen that sight,

Ere there be warning of that woe, I may be whelmed in night!

If ever other prince than ours wield sceptre o'er that main,

Where Howard, Blake, and Frobisher, the Armada smote of Spain;

Where Blake, in Cromwell's iron sway, swept tempest-like the seas,

From North to South, from East to West, resistless as the breeze;

Where Russell bent great Louis' power, which bent before to none,

And crushed his arm of naval strength, and dimmed his Rising Sun--

One prayer, one only prayer is mine--that, ere is seen that sight,

Ere there be warning of that woe, I may be whelmed in night!

If ever other keel than ours triumphant plough that brine,

Where Rodney met the Count de Grasse, and broke the Frenchman's line,

Where Howe, upon the first of June, met the Jacobins in fight,

And with Old England's loud huzzas broke down their godless might;

Where Jervis at St Vincent's felled the Spaniards' lofty tiers,

Where Duncan won at Camperdown, and Exmouth at Algiers--

One prayer, one only prayer, is mine--that, ere is seen that sight,

Ere there be warning of that woe, I may be whelmed in night!

But oh! what agony it were, when we should think on thee,

The flower of all the Admirals that ever trod the sea!

I shall not name thy honoured name--but if the white-cliffed Isle

Which reared the Lion of the deep, the Hero of the Nile,

Him who, 'neath Copenhagen's self, o'erthrew the faithless Dane,

Who died at glorious Trafalgar, o'er-vanquished France and Spain,

Should yield her power, one prayer is mine--that, ere is seen that

sight,

Ere there be warning of that woe, I may be whelmed in night!

MY COLLEGE FRIENDS.

CHARLES RUSSELL, THE GENTLEMAN-COMMONER.

[_MAGA._ AUGUST 1846.]

CHAPTER I.

"Have you any idea who that fresh gentleman-commoner is?" said I to

Savile, who was sitting next to me at dinner, one day soon after the

beginning of term. We had not usually in the college above three or four

of that privileged class, so that any addition to their table attracted

more attention than the arrival of the vulgar herd of freshmen to fill

up the vacancies at our own. Unless one of them had choked himself with

his mutton, or taken some equally decided mode of making himself an

object of public interest, scarcely any man of "old standing" would have

even inquired his name.

"Is he one of our men?" said Savile, as he scrutinised the party in

question. "I thought he had been a stranger dining with some of them.

Murray, you know the history of every man who comes up, I believe--who

is he?"

"His name is Russell," replied the authority referred to; "Charles

Wynderbie Russell; his father's a banker in the city: Russell and Smith,

you know, ---- Street."

"Ay, I dare say," said Savile; "one of your rich tradesmen; they always

come up as gentlemen-commoners, to show that they have lots of money: it

makes me wonder how any man of decent family ever condescends to put on

a silk gown." Savile was the younger son of a poor baronet, thirteenth

in descent, and affected considerable contempt for any other kind of

distinction.

"Oh!" continued Murray, "this man is by no means of a bad family: his

father comes of one of the oldest houses in Dorsetshire, and his mother,

you know, is one of the Wynderbies of Wynderbie Court--a niece of Lord

De Staveley's."

"_I_ know!" said Savile; "nay, I never heard of Wynderbie Court in my

life; but I dare say _you_ know, which is quite sufficient. Really,

Murray, you might make a good speculation by publishing a genealogical

list of the undergraduate members of the university--birth, parentage,

family connections, governors' present incomes, probable expectations,

&c. &c. It would sell capitally among the tradesmen--they'd know exactly

when it was safe to give credit. You could call it _A Guide to Duns_."

"Or a _History of the_ Un-_landed Gentry_," suggested I.

"Well, he is a very gentlemanlike-looking fellow, that Mr Russell,

banker or not," said Savile, as the unconscious subject of our

conversation left the hall; "I wonder who knows him?"

The same question might have been asked a week--a month after this

conversation, without eliciting any very satisfactory answer. With the

exception of Murray's genealogical information--the correctness of which

was never doubted for a moment, though how or where he obtained this and

similar pieces of history, was a point on which he kept up an amusing

mystery--Russell was a man of whom no one appeared to know anything at

all. The other gentlemen-commoners had, I believe, all called upon him,

as a matter of courtesy to one of their own limited mess; but in almost

every case it had merely amounted to an exchange of cards. He was either

out of his rooms, or "sporting oak;" and "Mr C. W. Russell," on a bit of

pasteboard, had invariably appeared in the note-box of the party for

whom the honour was intended, on their return from their afternoon's

walk or ride. Invitations to two or three wine-parties had followed, and

been civilly declined. It was at one of these meetings that he again

became the subject of conversation. We were a large party, at a man of

the name of Tichborne's rooms, when some one mentioned having met "the

Hermit," as they called him, taking a solitary walk about three miles

out of Oxford the day before.

"Oh, you mean Russell," said Tichborne: "well, I was going to tell you,

I called on him again this morning, and found him in his rooms. In fact,

I almost followed him in after lecture; for I confess I had some little

curiosity to find out what he was made of!"

"And did you find out?"--"What sort of a fellow is he?" asked

half-a-dozen voices at once; for, to say the truth, the curiosity which

Tichborne had just confessed had been pretty generally felt, even among

those who usually affected a dignified disregard of all matters

concerning the nature and habits of freshmen.

"I sat with him for about twenty minutes; indeed, I should have staid

longer, for I rather liked the lad; but he seemed anxious to get rid of

me. I can't make him out at all, though. I wanted him to come here

to-night, but he positively would not, though he didn't pretend to have

any other engagement: he said he never, or seldom, drank wine."

"Not drink wine!" interrupted Savile. "I always said he was some low

fellow!"

"I have known some low fellows drink their skins full of wine, though;

especially at other men's expense," said Tichborne, who was evidently

not pleased with the remark; "and Russell is _not_ a low fellow by any

means."

"Well, well," replied Savile, whose good-humour was imperturbable--"if

you say so, there's an end of it: all I mean to say is, I can't conceive

any man not drinking wine, unless for the simple reason that he prefers

brandy-and-water, and that I _do_ call low. However, you'll excuse my

helping myself to another glass of this particularly good claret,

Tichborne, though it is at your expense: indeed, the only use of you

gentlemen-commoners, that I am aware of, is to give us a taste of the

senior common-room wine now and then. They do manage to get it good

there, certainly. I wish they would give out a few dozens as prizes at

collections; it would do us a great deal more good than a Russia-leather

book with the college arms on it. I don't know that I shouldn't take to

reading in that case."

"Drink a dozen of it, old fellow, if you can," said Tichborne. "But

really I am sorry we couldn't get Russell here this evening; I think he

would be rather an acquisition, if he could be drawn out. As to his not

drinking wine, that's a matter of taste; and he is not very likely to

corrupt the good old principles of the college on that point. But he

must please himself."

"What does he do with himself?" said one of the party--"read?"

"Why he didn't _talk_ about reading, as most of our literary freshmen

do, which might perhaps lead one to suppose he really was something of a

scholar; still, I doubt if he is what you call a reading man; I know he

belongs to the Thucydides lecture, and I have never seen him there but

once."

"Ah!" said Savile, with a sigh, "that's another privilege of yours I had

forgotten, which is rather enviable; you can cut lectures when you like,

without getting a thundering imposition. Where does this man Russell

live?"

"He has taken those large rooms that Sykes used to have, and fitted up

in such style; they were vacant, you remember, the last two terms; I had

some thought of moving into them myself, but they were confoundedly

expensive, and I didn't think it worth while. They cost Sykes I don't

know how much, in painting and papering, and are full of all sorts of

couches, and easy-chairs, and so forth. And this man seems to have got

two or three good paintings into them; and, altogether, they are now the

best rooms in college, by far."

"Does he mean to hunt?" asked another.

"No, I fancy not," replied our host: "though he spoke as if he knew

something about it; but he said he had no horses in Oxford."

"Nor anywhere else, I'll be bound; he's a precious slow coach, you may

depend upon it." And with this decisive remark, Mr Russell and his

affairs were dismissed for the time.

A year passed away, and still, at the end of that time--(a long time it

seemed in those days)--Russell was as much a stranger in college as

ever. He had begun to be regarded as a rather mysterious person. Hardly

two men in the college agreed in their estimate of his character. Some

said he was a natural son--the acknowledged heir to a large fortune, but

too proud to mix in society, under the consciousness of a dishonoured

birth. But this suspicion was indignantly refuted by Murray, as much on

behalf of his own genealogical accuracy, as for Russell's legitimacy--he

was undoubtedly the true and lawful son and heir of Mr Russell the

banker, of ---- Street. Others said he was poor; but his father was

reputed to be the most wealthy partner in a wealthy firm, and was known

to have a considerable estate in the west of England. There were not

wanting those who said he was "eccentric"--in the largest sense of the

term. Yet his manners and conduct, as far as they came within notice,

were correct, regular, and gentlemanly beyond criticism. There was

nothing about him which could fairly incur even the minor charge of

being odd. He dressed well, though very plainly; would converse freely

enough, upon any subject, with the few men who, from sitting at the

sametable, or attending the same lectures, had formed a doubtful

sort of acquaintance with him; and always showed great good sense, a

considerable knowledge of the world, and a courtesy, and at the same

time perfect dignity of manner, which effectually prevented any attempt

to penetrate, by jest or direct question, the reserve in which he had

chosen to enclose himself. All invitations he steadily refused; even to

the extent of sending an excuse to the deans' and tutors' breakfast

parties, to their ineffable disgust. Whether he read hard, or not, was

equally a secret. He was regular in his attendance at chapel, and

particularly attentive to the service; a fact which by no means tended

to lower him in men's estimation, though in those days more remarkable

than, happily, it would be now. At lectures, indeed, he was not equally

exemplary, either as to attendance or behaviour; he was often absent

when asked a question, and not always accurate when he replied; and

occasionally declined translating a passage which came to his turn, on

the ground of not having read it. Yet his scholarship, if not always

strictly accurate, had a degree of elegance which betokened both talent

and reading; and his taste was evidently naturally good, and classical

literature a subject of interest to him. Altogether, it rather piqued

the vanity of those who saw most of him, that he would give them no

opportunity of seeing more; and many affected to sneer at him, as a

"_muff_," who would have been exceedingly flattered by his personal

acquaintance. Only one associate did Charles Russell appear to have in

the university; and this was a little greenish-haired man in a scholar's

gown, a perfect contrast to himself in appearance, whose name or college

no man knew, though some professed to recognise him as a Bible-clerk of

one of the smallest and most obscure of the halls.

Attempts were made to pump out of his scout some information as to how

Russell passed his time: for, with the exception of a daily walk,

sometimes with the companion above mentioned, but much oftener alone,

and his having been seen once or twice in a skiff on the river, he

appeared rarely to quit his own rooms. Scouts are usually pretty

communicative of all they know--and sometimes a great deal more--about

the affairs of their many masters; and they are not inclined in general

to hold a very high opinion of those among "their gentlemen" who, like

Russell, are behindhand in the matter of wine and supper-parties--their

own perquisites suffering thereby. But Job Allen was a scout of a

thousand. His honesty and integrity made him quite the _rara avis_ of

his class--_i.e._, a _white_ swan amongst a flock of black ones. Though

really, since I have left the university, and been condemned to

house-keeping, and have seen the peculation and perquisite-hunting

existing pretty nearly in the same proportion amongst ordinary

servants--and the higher you go in society the worse it seems to

be--without a tittle of the activity and cleverness displayed by a good

college scout, who provides supper and etceteras for an extemporary

party of twenty or so at an hour's notice, without starting a difficulty

or giving vent to a grumble, or neglecting any one of his other

multifarious duties (further than perhaps borrowing for the service of

the said supper some hard-reading freshman's whole stock of knives, and

leaving him to spread his nocturnal bread and butter with his fingers);

since I have been led to compare this with the fuss and fidget caused in

a "well-regulated family" among one's own lazy vagabonds, by having an

extra horse to clean, or by a couple of friends arriving unexpectedly

to dinner, when they all stare at you as if you were expecting

impossibilities, I have pretty well come to the conclusion, that

college servants, like hedgehogs, are a grossly calumniated race of

animals--wrongfully accused of getting their living by picking and

stealing, whereas they are in fact rather more honest than the average

of their neighbours. It is to be hoped that, like the hedgehogs, they

enjoy a compensation in having too thick skins to be over-sensitive. At

all events, Job Allen was an honest fellow. He had been known to

expostulate with some of his more reckless masters upon the absurdities

of their goings-on; and had more than once had a commons of bread flung

at his head, when taking the opportunity of symptoms of repentance, in

an evident disrelish for breakfast, to hint at the slow but inevitable

approach of "degree-day." Cold chickens from the evening's supper-party

had made a miraculous reappearance at next morning's lunch or

breakfast; half-consumed bottles of port seemed, under his auspices, to

lead charmed lives. No wonder, then, there was very little information

about the private affairs of Russell to be got out of Job Allen. He had

but a very poor talent for gossip, and none at all for invention. "Mr

Russell's a very nice, quiet sort of gentleman, sir, and keeps his-self

pretty much to his-self." This was Job's account of him; and, to curious

inquirers, it was provoking both for its meagreness and its truth.

"Who's his friend in the rusty gown, Job?"--"I thinks, sir, his name's

Smith." "Is Mr Russell going up for a class, Job?"--"I can't say indeed,

sir." "Does he read hard?"--"Not over-hard, I think, sir." "Does he sit

up late, Job?"--"Not over-late, sir." If there was anything to tell, it

was evident Job would neither commit himself nor his master.

Russell's conduct was certainly uncommon. If he had been the son of a

poor man, dependent for his future livelihood on his own exertions,

eking out the scanty allowance ill-spared by his friends by the help

of a scholarship or exhibition, and avoiding society as leading to

necessary expense, his position would have been understood, and even,

in spite of the prejudices of youthful extravagance, commended. Or

if he had been a hard-reading man from choice--or a stupid man--or

a "saint"--no one would have troubled themselves about him or his

proceedings. But Russell was a gentleman-commoner, and a man who had

evidently seen something of the world; a rich man, and apparently by no

means of the character fitted for a recluse. He had dined once with

the principal, and the two or three men who had met him there were

considerably surprised at the easy gracefulness of his manners, and his

information upon many points usually beyond the range of undergraduates:

at his own table in hall, too, he never affected any reserve, although,

perhaps from a consciousness of having virtually declined any intimacy

with his companions, he seldom originated any conversation. It might

have been assumed, indeed, that he despised the society into which he

was thrown, but that his bearing, so far from being haughty, or even

cold, was occasionally marked by apparent dejection. There was also,

at times, a breaking out as it were of the natural spirits of youth,

checked almost abruptly; and once or twice he had betrayed an interest

in, and a knowledge of, field-sports and ordinary amusements, which for

the moment made his hearers fancy, as Tichborne said, that he was

"coming out." But if, as at first often happened, such conversations

led to a proposal for a gallop with the harriers, or a ride the next

afternoon, or a match at billiards, or even an invitation to a quiet

breakfast-party--the refusal, though always courteous--and sometimes it

was fancied unwilling--was always decided. And living day by day within

reach of that close companionship which similarity of age, pursuits, and

tastes, strengthened by daily intercourse, was cementing all around him,

Charles Russell, in his twentieth year, in a position to choose his own

society, and qualified to shine in it, seemed to have deliberately

adopted the life of a recluse.

There were some, indeed, who accounted for his behaviour on the ground

of stinginess; and it was an opinion somewhat strengthened by one or

two trifling facts. When the subscription-list for the college boat

was handed to him, he put his name down for the minimum of one guinea,

though Charley White, our secretary, with the happy union of impudence

and "soft sawder" for which he was remarkable, delicately drew his

attention to the fact, that no other gentleman-commoner had given less

than five. Still it was not very intelligible that a man who wished to

save his pocket, should choose to pay double fees for the privilege of

wearing a velvet cap and silk gown, and rent the most expensive set of

rooms in the college.

It happened that I returned one night somewhat late from a friend's

rooms out of college, and had the satisfaction to find that my scout, in

an unusually careful mood, had shut my outer "oak," which had a spring

lock, of which I never by any chance carried the key. It was too late to

send for the rascal to open it, and I was just planning the possibility

of effecting an entrance at the window by means of the porter's ladder,

when the light in Russell's room caught my eye, and I remembered that,

in the days of their former occupant, our keys used to correspond, very

much to our mutual convenience. It was no very great intrusion, even

towards one in the morning, to ask a man to lend you his door key, when

the alternative seemed to be spending the night in the quadrangle: so I

walked up his staircase, knocked, was admitted, and stated my business

with all proper apologies. The key was produced most graciously, and

down I went again--unluckily two steps at a time. My foot slipped, and

one grand rattle brought me to the bottom: not head first, but feet

first, which possibly is not quite so dangerous, but any gentleman who

has tried it will agree with me that it is sufficiently unpleasant. I

was dreadfully shaken; and when I tried to get up, found it no easy

matter. Russell, I suppose, heard the fall, for he was by my side by the

time I had collected my ideas. I felt as if I had skinned myself at

slight intervals all down one side; but the worst of it was a sprained

ankle. How we got up-stairs again I have no recollection; but when a

glass of brandy had brought me to a little, I found myself in an

easy-chair, with my foot on a stool, shivering and shaking like a wet

puppy. I staid there a fortnight (not in the chair, reader, but in the

rooms); and so it was I became intimately acquainted with Charles

Russell. His kindness and attention to me were excessive; I wished of

course to be moved to my own rooms at once, but he would not hear of it;

and as I found every wriggle and twist which I gave quite sufficiently

painful, I acceded to my surgeon's advice to remain where I was.

It was not a very pleasant mode of introduction for either party.

Very few men's acquaintance is worth the pains of bumping all the

way down-stairs and spraining an ankle for: and for a gentleman who

voluntarily confines himself to his own apartment and avoids society, to

have another party chummed in upon him perforce, day and night, sitting

in an arm-chair, with a suppressed groan occasionally, and an abominable

smell of hartshorn--is, to say the least of it, not the happiest mode of

hinting to him the evils of solitude. Whether it was that the one of us,

compelled thus against his will to play the host, was anxious to show

he was no churl by nature, and the other, feeling himself necessarily

in a great degree an intruder and a bore, put forth more zealously any

redeeming social qualities he might possess; be this as it might, within

that fortnight Russell and I became sincere friends.

I found him, as I had expected, a most agreeable and gentlemanlike

companion, clever and well informed, and with a higher tone and more

settled principles than are common to his age and position. But strongly

contrasted with his usually cheerful manner, were sudden intervals of

abstraction approaching to gloominess. In him, it was evidently not the

result of caprice, far less of anything approaching to affectation. I

watched him closely, partly from interest, partly because I had little

else to do, and became convinced that there was some latent cause of

grief or anxiety at work. Once in particular, after the receipt of some

letters (they were always opened hurriedly, and apparently with a

painful interest), he was so visibly discomposed and depressed in

spirits, that I ventured to express a hope that they had contained no

distressing intelligence. Russell seemed embarrassed at having betrayed

any unusual emotion, and answered in the negative; adding, that "he knew

he was subject to the blues occasionally"--and I felt I could say no

more. But I suppose I did not look convinced; for catching my eyes fixed

on him soon afterwards, he shook my hand and said, "Something _has_

vexed me--I cannot tell you what; but I won't think about it again now."

One evening, towards the close of my imprisonment, after a long and

pleasant talk over our usual sober wind-up of a cup of coffee, some

recent publication, tasteful, but rather expensive, was mentioned, which

Russell expressed a wish to see. I put the natural question to a man in

his position who could appreciate the book, and to whom a few pounds

were no consideration--why did he not order it? He coloured slightly,

and after a moment's hesitation hurriedly replied, "Because I cannot

afford it." I felt a little awkwardness as to what to say next; for the

style of everything round me betrayed a lavish disregard of expense, and

yet the remark did not at all bear the tone of a jest. Probably Russell

understood what was passing in my mind; for presently, without looking

at me, he went on: "Yes, you may well think it a pitiful economy to

grudge five guineas for a book like that, and indulge one's-self in such

pompous mummery as we have here;" and he pushed down with his foot a

massive and beautiful silver coffee-pot, engraved with half-a-dozen

quarterings of arms, which, in spite of a remonstrance from me, had been

blackening before the fire to keep its contents warm. "Never mind it,"

he continued, as I in vain put out my hand to save it from falling--"it

won't be damaged; it will fetch just as much per ounce; and I really

cannot afford to buy an inferior article." Russell's behaviour up to

this moment had been rational enough, but at the moment a suspicion

crossed my mind that "eccentricity," as applied to his case, might

possibly, as in some other cases, be merely an euphonism for something

worse. However, I picked up the coffee-pot, and said nothing. "You must

think me very strange, Hawthorne; I quite forgot myself at the moment;

but if you choose to be trusted with a secret, which will be no secret

long, I will tell you what will perhaps surprise you with regard to my

own position, though I really have no right to trouble you with my

confidences." I disclaimed any wish to assume the right of inquiring

into private matters, but at the same time expressed, as I sincerely

felt, an interest in what was evidently a weight on my companion's mind.

"Well, to say the truth," continued Russell, "I think it will be a

relief to me to tell you how I stand. I know that I have often felt of

late that I am acting a daily lie here, to all the men about me;

passing, doubtless, for a rich man, when in truth, for aught I know, I

and all my family are beggars at this moment." He stopped, walked to the

window, and returned. "I am surrounded here by luxuries which have

little right within a college's walls; I occupy a distinctive position

which you and others are supposed not to be able to afford; I never can

mix with any of you, without, as it were, carrying with me everywhere

the superscription written--'This is a rich man.' And yet, with all this

outward show, I may be a debtor to your charity for my bread to-morrow.

You are astonished, Hawthorne; of course you are. I am not thus playing

the hypocrite willingly, believe me. Had I only my own comfort, and my

own feelings to consult, I would take my name off the college books

to-morrow. How I bear the life I lead, I scarcely know."

"But tell me," said I, "as you have told me so much, what is the secret

of all this?"

"I will; I was going to explain. My only motive for concealment, my only

reason for even wishing you to keep my counsel, is, because the

character and prospects of others are concerned. My father, as I dare

say you are aware, is pretty well known as the head of the firm of

Russell and Smith: he passes for a rich man, of course; he _was_ a rich

man, I believe, once; and I, his only son and heir--brought up as I was

to look upon money as a plaything--I was sent to college of course as a

gentleman-commoner. I knew nothing, as a lad, of my father's affairs:

there were fools enough to tell me he was rich, and that I had nothing

to do but to spend his money--and I did spend it--ay, too much of

it--yet not so much, perhaps, as I might. Not since I came here,

Hawthorne; oh no!--not since I found out that it was neither his nor

mine to spend--I have not been so bad as that, thank God. And if ever

man could atone, by suffering, for the thoughtlessness and extravagance

of early days, I have well-nigh paid my penalty in full already. I told

you, I entered here as a gentleman-commoner; my father came down to

Oxford with me, chose my rooms, sent down this furniture and these

paintings from town--thank Heaven, I never knew what they cost--ordered

a couple of hunters and a groom for me--those I stopped from coming

down--and, in fact, made every preparation for me to commence my career

with credit as the heir-apparent to a large fortune. Some suspicions

that all was not right had crossed my mind before: certain conversations

between my father and cold-looking men of business, not meant for my

ear, and very imperfectly understood--for it appeared to be my father's

object to keep me totally ignorant of all the mysteries of banking--an

increasing tendency on his part to grumble over petty expenses which

implied ready payment, with an ostentatious profusion in show and

entertainments--many slight circumstances put together had given me a

sort of vague alarm at times, which I shook off, as often as it

recurred, like a disagreeable dream. A week after I entered college, a

letter from my only sister opened my eyes to the truth. What I had

feared was a temporary embarrassment--a disagreeable necessity for

retrenchment, or, at the worst, a stoppage of payment, and a respectable

bankruptcy, which would injure no one but the creditors. What she spoke

of was absolute ruin, poverty, and, what was worse, disgrace. It came

upon me very suddenly--but I bore it. I am not going to enter into

particulars about family matters to you, Hawthorne--you would not wish

it, I know; let me only say, my sister Mary is an angel, and my father

a weak-minded man--I will hope, not intentionally a dishonest one. But I

have learnt enough to know that there are embarrassments from which he

can never extricate himself with honour, and that every month, every

week, that he persists in maintaining a useless struggle will only add

misery to misery in the end. How long it may go on no one can say--but

the end must come. My own first impulse was, of course, to leave this

place at once, and so, at all events, to avoid additional expenses: but

my father would not hear of it. I went to him, told him what I knew,

though not how I had heard it, and drew from him a sort of confession

that he had made some unfortunate speculations. But 'only let us keep up

appearances'--those were his words--a little while, and all would be

right again, he assured me. I made no pretence of believing him; but,

Hawthorne, when he offered to go on his knees to me--and I his only

son--and promised to retrench in every possible method that would not

betray his motives, if I would but remain at college to take my

degree--'to keep up appearances'--what could I do?"

"Plainly," said I, "you did right: I do not see that you had any

alternative. Nor have you any right to throw away your future prospects.

Your father's unfortunate embarrassments are no disgrace to you."

"So said my sister. I knew her advice must be right, and I consented to

remain here. _You_ know I lead no life of self-indulgence; and the

necessary expenses, even as a gentleman-commoner, are less than you

would suppose, unless you had tried matters as closely as I have."

"And with your talents--" said I.

"My talents! I am conscious of but one talent at present: the faculty of

feeling acutely the miserable position into which I have been forced.

No, if you mean that I am to gain any sort of distinction by hard

reading, it is simply what I cannot do. Depend upon it, Hawthorne, a man

must have a mind tolerably at ease to put forth any mental exertion to

good purpose. If this crash were once over, and I were reduced to my

proper level in society--which will, I suppose, be pretty nearly that of

a pauper--_then_ I think I could work for my bread either with head or

hands: but in this wretchedly false position, here I sit bitterly, day

after day, with books open before me perhaps, but with no heart to read,

and no memory but for one thing. You know my secret now, Hawthorne, and

it has been truly a relief to me to unburden my mind to some one here. I

am very much alone, indeed; and it is not at all my nature to be

solitary: if you will come and see me sometimes, now that you know all,

it will be a real kindness. It is no great pleasure, I assure you," he

continued, smiling, "to be called odd, and selfish, and stingy, by

those of one's own age, as I feel I must be called; but it is much

better than to lead the life I might lead--spending money which is not

mine, and accustoming myself to luxuries, when I may soon have to depend

on charity even for necessaries. For my own comfort, it might be better,

as I said before, that the crisis came at once: still, if I remain here

until I am qualified for some profession, by which I may one day be able

to support my sister--that is the hope I feed on--why, then, this sort

of existence may be endured."

Russell had at least no reason to complain of having disclosed his mind

to a careless listener. I was moved almost to tears at his story: but,

stronger than all other feelings, was admiration of his principles and

character. I felt that some of us had almost done him irreverence in

venturing to discuss him so lightly as we had often done. How little we

know the hearts of others, and how readily we prate about "seeing

through" a man, when in truth what we see is but a surface, and the

image conveyed to our mind from it but the reflection of ourselves!

My intimacy with Russell, so strangely commenced, had thus rapidly and

unexpectedly taken the character of that close connection which exists

between those who have one secret and engrossing interest confined to

themselves alone. We were now more constantly together, perhaps, than

any two men in college: and many were the jokes I had to endure in

consequence. Very few of my old companions had ventured to carry their

attentions to me, while laid up in Russell's rooms, beyond an occasional

call at the door to know how I was going on; and when I got back to

my old quarters, and had refused one or two invitations on the plea

of having Russell coming to spend a quiet evening with me, their

astonishment and disgust were expressed pretty unequivocally, and

they affected to call us "the exclusives." However, Russell was a man

who, if he made few friends, gave no excuse for enemies; and, in

time, my intimacy with him, and occasional withdrawals from general

college society in consequence, came to be regarded as a pardonable

weakness--unaccountable, but past all help--a subject on which the

would-be wisest of my friends shook their heads and said nothing.

I think this new connection was of advantage to both parties. To

myself it certainly was. I date the small gleams of good sense and

sobermindedness which broke in upon my character at that critical period

of life, solely from my intercourse with Charles Russell. He, on the

other hand, had suffered greatly from the want of that sympathy and

support which the strongest mind at times stands as much in need of as

the weakest, and which in his peculiar position could only be purchased

by an unreserved confidence. From any premeditated explanation he would

have shrunk; nor would he ever, as he himself confessed, have made the

avowal he did to me, had it not escaped him by a momentary impulse. But,

having made it, he seemed a happier man. His reading, which before had

been desultory and interrupted, was now taken up in earnest: and idly

inclined as I was myself, I became, with the pseudo sort of generosity

not uncommon at that age, so much more anxious for his future success

than my own, that, in order to encourage him, I used to go to his rooms

to read with him, and we had many a hard morning's work together.

We were very seldom interrupted by visitors: almost the only one was

that unknown and unprepossessing friend of Russell's who has been

mentioned before--his own contradictory in almost every respect. Very

uncouth and dirty-looking he was, and stuttered terribly--rather, it

seemed, from diffidence than from any natural defect. He showed some

surprise on the first two or three occasions in which he encountered me,

and made an immediate attempt to back out of the room again: and though

Russell invariably recalled him, and showed an evident anxiety to treat

him with every consideration, he never appeared at his ease for a

moment, and made his escape as soon as possible. Russell always fixed

a time for seeing him again--usually the next day; and there was

evidently some object in these interviews, into which, as it was no

concern of mine, I never inquired particularly, as I had already been

intrusted with a confidence rather unusual as the result of a few weeks'

acquaintance; and on the subject of his friend--"poor Smith," as he

called him--Russell did not seem disposed to be communicative.

Time wore on, and brought round the Christmas vacation. I thought it due

to myself, as all young men do, to get up to town for a week or two if

possible; and being lucky enough to have an old aunt occupying a very

dark house, much too large for her, and who, being rather a prosy

personage, a little deaf, and very opinionated, and therefore not a

special object of attraction to her relations (her property was merely

a life-interest), was very glad to get any one to come and see her--I

determined to pay a visit, in which the score of obligations would

be pretty equally balanced on both sides. On the one hand, the

_tete-a-tete_ dinners with the old lady, and her constant catechising

about Oxford, were a decided bore to me; while it required some

forbearance on her part to endure an inmate who constantly rushed into

the drawing-room without wiping his boots, who had no taste for old

china, and against whom the dear dog Petto had an unaccountable but

decided antipathy. (Poor dog! I fear he was ungrateful: I used to devil

sponge biscuit internally for him after dinner, kept a snuff-box more

for his use than my own, and prolonged his life, I feel confident, at

least twelve months from apoplexy, by pulling hairs out of his tail with

a pair of tweezers whenever he went to sleep.) On the other hand, my

aunt had good wine, and I used to praise it; which was agreeable to both

parties. She got me pleasant invitations, and was enabled herself to

make her appearance in society with a live nephew in her suite, who in

her eyes (I confess, reader, old aunts are partial) was a very eligible

young man. So my visit, on the whole, was mutually agreeable and

advantageous. I had my mornings to myself, gratifying the dowager

occasionally by a drive with her in the afternoon; and we had sufficient

engagements for our evenings to make each other's sole society rather an

unusual infliction. It is astonishing how much such an arrangement tends

to keep people the best friends in the world.

I had attended my respectable relation one evening (or rather she had

attended me, for I believe she went more for my sake than her own) to

a large evening party, which was a ball in everything but the name.

Nearly all in the rooms were strangers to me; but I had plenty of

introductions, and the night wore on pleasantly enough. I saw a dozen

pretty faces I had never seen before, and was scarcely likely to see

again--the proportion of ugly ones I forbear to mention--and was

prepared to bear the meeting and the parting with equal philosophy, when

the sight of one very familiar face brought different scenes to my mind.

Standing within half-a-dozen steps of me, and in close conversation with

a lady, of whom I could see little besides a cluster of dark curls, was

Ormiston, one of our college tutors, and one of the most universally

popular men in Oxford. It would be wrong to say I was surprised to

see him there or anywhere else, for his roll of acquaintance was most

extensive, embracing all ranks and degrees; but I was very glad to see

him, and made an almost involuntary dart forward in his direction. He

saw me, smiled, and put out his hand, but did not seem inclined to enter

into any conversation. I was turning away, when a sudden movement gave

me a full view of the face of the lady to whom he had been talking. It

was a countenance of that pale, clear, intellectual beauty, with a shade

of sadness about the mouth, which one so seldom sees but in a picture,

but which, when seen, haunts the imagination and the memory rather

than excites passionate admiration. The eyes met mine, and, quite by

accident, for the thoughts were evidently pre-occupied, retained for

some moments the same fixed gaze with which I almost as unconsciously

was regarding them. There was something in the features which seemed

not altogether unknown to me; and I was beginning to speculate on the

possibility of any small heroine of my boyish admiration having shot up

into such sweet womanhood--such changes soon occur--when the eyes became

conscious, and the head was rapidly turned away. I lost her a moment

afterwards in the crowd, and although I watched the whole of the time

we remained, with an interest that amused myself, I could not see her

again. She must have left the party early.

So strong became the impression on my mind that it was a face I had

known before, and so fruitless and tantalising were my efforts to give

it "a local habitation and a name"--that I determined at last to

question my aunt upon the subject, though quite aware of the imputation

that would follow. The worst of it was, I had so few tangible marks and

tokens by which to identify my interesting unknown. However, at

breakfast next morning, I opened ground at once, in answer to my

hostess's remark that the rooms had been very full.

"Yes, they were: I wanted very much, my dear aunt, to have asked you the

names of all the people; but you really were so much engaged, I had no

opportunity."

"Ah! if you had come and sat by me, I could have told you all about

them; but there were some very odd people there, too."

"There was one rather interesting-looking girl I did not see dancing

much--tallish, with pearl earrings."

"Where was she sitting? how was she dressed?"

I had only seen her standing; I never noticed--I hardly think I could

have seen--even the colour of her dress.

"Not know how she was dressed? My dear Frank, how strange!"

"All young ladies dress alike now, aunt; there's really not much

distinction; they seemed all black and white to me."

"Certainly the balls don't look half so gay as they used to do: a little

colour gives cheerfulness, I think." (The good old lady herself had worn

crimson satin and a suite of chrysolites--if her theory were correct,

she was enough to have spread a glow over the whole company.) "But let

me see;--tall, with pearls, you say; dark hair and eyes?"

"Yes."

"You must mean Lucy Fielding."

"Nonsense, my dear ma'am--I beg a thousand pardons; but I was introduced

to Miss Fielding, and danced with her--she squints."

"My dear Frank, don't say such a thing!--she will have half the

Strathinnis property when she comes of age. But let me see again. Had

she a white rose in her hair?"

"She had, I think; or something like it."

"It might have been Lord Dunham's youngest daughter, who has just come

out--she was there for an hour or so?"

"No, no, aunt: I know her by sight too--a pale gawky thing, with an arm

and hand like a prize-fighter's--oh no!"

"Upon my word, my dear nephew, you young men give yourselves abominable

airs: I call her a very fine young woman, and I have no doubt she will

marry well, though she hasn't much fortune. Was it Miss Cassilis,

then?--white tulle over satin, looped with roses, with gold sprigs"----

"And freckles to match: why, she's as old as"----; I felt myself on

dangerous ground, and filled up the hiatus, I fear not very happily, by

looking full at my aunt.

"Not so very old, indeed, my dear: she refused a very good offer last

season: she cannot possibly be above"----

"Oh! spare the particulars, pray, my dear ma'am; but you could not have

seen the girl I mean: I don't think she staid after supper: I looked

everywhere for her to ask who she was, but she must have been gone."