With fame and fortune on the cast,
He never rose a winner,
And learned to know himself, at last,
“A miserable sinner.”
Bell.
It was about ten days or a fortnight after the great Kennyfeck dinner,
when all the gossip about its pretension, dulness, and bad taste had
died away, and the worthy guests so bored by the festivity began to
wonder “when they would give another,” that a gentleman sat at breakfast
in one of those large, dingy-looking, low-ceilinged apartments which are
the choice abodes of the viceregal staff in the Castle of Dublin. The
tawdry and time-discolored gildings, the worn and faded silk hangings,
the portraits of bygone state councillors and commanders-in-chief,
grievously riddled by rapier-points and pistol-shots, were not without
an emblematic meaning of the past glories of that seat of Government,
now so sadly fallen from its once high and palmy state.
Although still a young man, the present occupant of the chamber appeared
middle-aged, so much had dissipation and excess done the work of time on
his constitution. A jaded, wearied look, a sleepy, indolent expression
of the eye, certain hard lines about the angles of the mouth, betokened
one who played a high game with life, and rarely arose a winner.
Although his whole appearance bespoke birth and blood rather than
intellect or ability, there was enough in his high and squarely shaped
head, his deep dark eye, and his firm, sharply cut mouth, to augur that
incapacity could not be reckoned among the causes of any failures he
incurred in his career. He was, in every respect, the _beau idéal_
of that strange solecism in our social code, “the younger son.” His
brother, the Duke of Derwent, had eighty thousand a year. _He_ had
exactly three hundred. His Grace owned three houses, which might well
be called palaces, besides a grouse lodge in the Highlands, a yachting
station at Cowes, and a villa at Hyères in France. My Lord was but too
happy to be the possessor of the three cobwebbed chambers of a viceregal
aide-decamp, and enjoy the pay of his troop without joining his
regiment.
Yet these two men were reared exactly alike! As much habituated to
every requirement and luxury of wealth as his elder brother, the younger
suddenly discovered that, once beyond the shadow of his father's house,
all his worldly resources were something more than what the cook, and
something less than the valet, received. He had been taught one valuable
lesson, however, which was, that as the State loves a rich aristocracy,
it burdens itself with the maintenance of all those who might prove a
drain on its resources, and that it is ever careful to provide for the
Lord Georges and Lord Charleses of its noble houses. To this provision
he believed he had a legal claim,--at all events, he knew it to be a
right uncontested by those less highly born.
The system which excludes men from the career of commerce, in
compensation opens the billiard-room, the whist-table, and the
betting-ring; and many a high capacity has been exercised in such
spheres as these, whose resources might have won honor and distinction
in very different fields of enterprise. Whether Lord Charles Frobisher
knew this, and felt that there was better in him, or whether his
successes were below his hopes, certain is it, he was a depressed,
dejected man, who lounged through life in a languid indolence, caring
for nothing, not even himself.
There was some story of an unfortunate attachment, some love affair with
a very beautiful but portionless cousin, who married a marquis, to which
many ascribed the prevailing melancholy of his character; but they who
remembered him as a schoolboy said he was always shy and reserved,
and saw nothing strange in his bearing as a man. The breakfast-table,
covered with all that could stimulate appetite, and yet withal untasted,
was not a bad emblem of one who, with many a gift to win an upward way,
yet lived on in all the tawdry insignificance of a court aide-de-camp.
A very weak glass of claret and water, with a piece of dry toast, formed
his meal; and even these stood on the corner of a writing-table, at
which he sat, rising sometimes to look out of the window, or pace the
room with slow, uncertain steps. Before him lay an unfinished letter,
which, to judge from the slow progress it made, and the frequent
interruptions to its course, seemed to occasion some difficulty in the
composition; and yet the same epistle began “My dear Sydney,” and was
addressed to his brother. Here it is:--
My dear Sydney,--I suppose, from not hearing from you some
weeks back, that my last, which I addressed to the
Clarendon, has never reached you, nor is it of any
consequence. It would be too late now to ask you about
Scott's horses. Cobham told us how you stood yourself, and
that was enough to guide the poor devils here with their
ponies and fifties. We all got a squeeze on the “mare.” I
hear you won seven thousand besides the stakes. I hope the
report may be true. Is Raucus in training for the Spring
Meeting, or not? If so, let me have some trifle on him in
your own book.
I perceive you voted on Brougham's amendment against our
people; I conclude you were right, but it will make them
very stubborn with me about the exchange. N------has
already remarked upon what he calls the “intolerable
independence of some noble lords.” I wish I knew the clew to
your proceeding: are you at liberty to give it? I did not
answer the question in your last letter.--Of course I am
tired of Ireland; but as the alternatives are a “compound
in Calcutta, or the Government House, Quebec,” I may as well
remain where I am. I don't know that a staff-officer, like
Madeira, improves by a sea-voyage.
You say nothing of Georgina, so that I hope her chest is
better, and that Nice may not be necessary. I believe, if
climate were needed, you would find Lisbon, or rather
Cintra, better than any part of Italy, and possessed of one
great advantage,--few of our rambling countrymen. N------
commended your haunch so highly, and took such pains to
record his praises, that I suspect he looks for a repetition
of the favor. If you _are_ shooting bucks, perhaps you would
send him a quarter.
Two sentences, half finished and erased, here showed that the writer
experienced a difficulty in continuing. Indeed, his flurried manner as
he resumed the letter proved it. At last he went on:--
I hate asking favors, my dear Sydney, but there is one
which, if not positively repugnant to you to grant, will
much oblige me. There is a young millionnaire here, a Mr.
Cashel, wishes to be a member of your Yacht Club; and as I
have given a promise to make interest in his behalf with
you, it would be conferring a great obligation on me were I
to make the request successfully. So far as I can learn,
there is no reason against his admission, and, as regards
property, many reasons in his favor. If you can do this for
me, then, you will render me a considerable service.
Of course I do not intend to fix any acquaintanceship upon
you, nor in any other way, save the bean in the ballot-box,
and a civil word in proposing, inflict you with what Rigby
calls “Protective Duties.” I should have been spaced in
giving you this trouble but for Tom Linton, who, with his
accustomed good nature at other men's cost, suggested the
step to Cashel, and told him, besides, that my brother was
vice-admiral of the yacht fleet.
If Emily wants a match for the chestnut pony, I know of one
here perfect in every respect, and to be had very cheap. Let
me know about this soon, and also the club matter, as I have
promised to visit Cashel at his country-house; and in case
of refusal on your part, this would be unpleasant Thanks for
your invitation for Christmas, which I cannot accept of.
Hope and Eversham are both on leave, so that I must remain
here. N------continues to ask you here; but my advice is,
as it has ever been, not to come. The climate detestable,--
the houses dull and dirty; no shooting, nor any hunting,--
at least with such horses as you are accustomed to ride.
I am glad you took my counsel about the mortgage. There is
no property here worth seventeen years' purchase, in the
present aspect of politics. Love to Jane and the girls, and
believe me ever yours,
Charles Frobisher.
The task completed, he turned to the morning papers, which, with a
mass of tradesmen's bills, notes, and cards of invitation, littered the
table. He had not read long, when a deep-drawn yawn from the further end
of the room aroused him, and Frobisher arose and walked towards a sofa,
on which was stretched a man somewhat about the middle of life, but
whose bright eye and fresh complexion showed little touch of time. His
dress, slightly disordered, was a dinner costume, and rather inclined
towards over-particularity; at least, the jewelled buttons of his vest
and shirt evinced a taste for display that seemed not ill to consort
with the easy effrontery of his look.
Taking his watch from his pocket, he held it to his ear, saying, “There
is an accomplishment, Charley, I 've never been able to acquire,--to
wind my watch at supper-time. What hour is it?”
“Two,” said the other, laconically.
“By Jove! how I must have slept Have you been to bed?”
“Of course. But, I 'd swear, with less success than you have had on that
old sofa. I scarcely closed my eyes for ten minutes together.”
“That downy sleep only comes of a good conscience and a heart at ease
with itself,” said the other. “You young gentlemen, who lead bad lives,
know very little about the balmy repose of the tranquil mind.”
“Have you forgotten that you were to ride out with Lady Cecilia this
morning?” said Frobisher, abruptly.
“Not a bit of it. I even dreamed we were cantering together along the
sands, where I was amusing her ladyship with some choice _morceaux_ of
scandal from that set in society she professes to hold in such horror
that she will not receive them at court, but for whose daily sayings and
doings she has the keenest zest.”
“Foster is gone with her,” rejoined Lord Charles, “and I suspect she is
just as well pleased. Before this he has told her everything about our
late sitting, and the play, and the rest of it!”
“Of course he has; and she is dying to ask Mr. Softly, the young
chaplain's advice, whether rooting us all out would not be a 'good
work.'”
“Since when have you become so squeamish about card-playing, Mr.
Linton?”
“I? Not in the least! I 'm only afraid that some of my friends may
turn to be so when they hear of my successes. You know what happened to
Wycherley when he got that knack of always turning up a king? Some one
asked Buxton what was to be done about it. 'Is it certain?' said he.
'Perfectly certain; we have seen him do it a hundred times!' 'Then back
him,' said old Ruxton; 'that's my advice to you.'” As he said this
he drew a chair towards the table and proceeded to fill out a cup of
chocolate. “Where do you get these anchovies, Charley? Burke has got
some, but not half the size.”
“They are ordered for the household. Lawson can tell you all about
'em,” said the other, carelessly. “But, I say, what bets did you book on
Laplander?”
“Took him against the field for seven hundred even.”
“A bad bet, then,--I call it a very bad bet.”
“So should I, if I did n't know Erebus is dead lame.”
“I've seen a horse run to win with a contracted heel before now,” said
Lord Charles, with a most knowing look.
“So have I; but not on stony ground. No, no, you may depend upon it.”
“I don't want to depend upon it,” said the other, snappishly. “I shall
not venture five pounds on the race. I remember once something of an
implicit reliance on a piece of information of the kind.”
“Well! you know how that happened. I gave Hilyard's valet fifty pounds
to get a peep at his master's betting-book, and the fellow told Hilyard,
who immediately made up a book express, and let us all in for a smart
sum. I am sure I was the heaviest loser in the affair.”
“So you ought, too. The contrivance was a very rascally one, and
deserved its penalty.”
“The expression is not parliamentary, my Lord,” said Linton, with a
slight flushing of the cheek, “and so I must call you to order.”
“Is Turcoman to run?” asked Lord Charles, negligently.
“No. I have persuaded Cashel to buy him, and he has taken him out of
training.”
“Well, you really go very straightforward in your work, Linton. I must
say you are as plucky a rogue as I 've ever heard of. Pray, now, how do
you manage to keep up your influence over that youth? He always appears
to me to be a rash-headed, wilful kind of fellow there would be no
guiding.”
“Simply, by always keeping him in occupation. There are people like
spavined horses, and one must always get them warm in their work, and
they never show the blemish. Now, I have been eternally alongside of
Cashel. One day buying horses,--another, pictures,--another time it
was furniture, carriages, saddlery,--till we have filled that great old
house of the ex-Chancellor's with an assemblage of objects, living and
inanimate, it would take a month to chronicle.”
“Some kind friend may open his eye to all this one of these days, Master
Linton; and then--”
“By that time,” said Linton, “his clairvoyance will be too late. Like
many a man I 've known, he 'll be a capital judge of claret when his
cellar has been emptied.”
“You were a large winner last night, Linton?”
“Twelve hundred and fifty. It might have been double the amount, but I
've taken a hint from Splasher's Physiology. He says nothing encourages
a plethora like small bleedings. And you, Charley; what did _you_ do?”
“Sixty pounds!” replied he, shortly. “I never venture out of my depth.”
“And you mean to infer that I do, my Lord,” said Linton, trying to
smile, while evidently piqued by the remark. “Well, I plead guilty to
the charge. I have a notion in my head that seven feet of water drowns
a man just as effectually as seven hundred fathoms in the blue Atlantic.
Now _you_ know, as well as I, that neither of us could afford to lose
sixty pounds thrice running; so let us not talk of venturing out of
our depth, which, I take it, would be to paddle in very shallow water
indeed.”
For an instant it seemed as if Lord Charles would have given an angry
reply to this sally; but, as hastily checking the emotion, he walked to
the window, and appeared to be lost in thought, while Linton continued
his breakfast with all the zest of a hungry man.
“I'll give up play altogether,” said Frobisher. “That I've resolved
upon. This will go abroad, rely upon it Some of the papers will get
hold of it, and we shall see some startling paragraphs about 'Recent
Discoveries in the Vice-regal Household,'--'Nefarious System of High
Play at the Castle,' and so on. Now it 's all very well for you,
who neither care who 's in or out, or hold any appointment here; but
remember, there are others--myself for instance--who have no fancy for
this kind of publicity.”
“In the first place,” interrupted Linton, “there is no danger; and in
the second, if there were, it's right well remunerated. Your appointment
here, with all its contingent advantages, of which, not to excite your
blushes, we shall say nothing, is some three or four hundred a year.
Now, a lucky evening and courage to back the luck--a quality, by the
way, I never yet found in one Englishman in a hundred--is worth this
twice or thrice told. Besides, remember, that this wild bull of the
prairies has come of himself into our hunting-grounds. If _we_ don't
harpoon him, somebody else will. A beast of such fat on the haunches is
not going to escape scot free; and lastly, by falling into good hands,
he shall have the advantage of being cut up artistically, and not mauled
and mangled by the rude fingers of the ignorant Faith, as for myself, I
think I richly merit all the spoils I shall obtain!”
“As how, pray?” asked Lord Charles, languidly.
“In the first place, to speak of the present, I have ridden out with
him, sat beside him on the box of his drag; he is seen with me in
public, and has been heard to call me 'Linton' on the ride at Dycer's.
My tradespeople have become his tradespeople. The tailor who reserved
his master stroke of genius for me now shares his favors with him. In
fact, Charley, we are one. Secondly, as regards the future, see from
what perils I shall rescue him. He shall not marry Livy Kennyfeck;
he shall not go into Parliament for the Liberal interest, nor for any
interest, if I can help it; he shall not muddle away a fine fortune in
fattening Durham bulls and Berkshire boars; neither shall he excel in
rearing mangel-wurzel or beet-root. I 'll teach him to have a soul above
subsoiling, and a spirit above green crops. He shall not fall into the
hands of Downie Meek, and barter his birthright for a Whig baronetcy;
neither shall he be the victim of right honorable artifices, and marry a
Lady Juliana or Cecilia. In fine, I 'll secure him from public meetings
and agricultural societies, twaddling dinners, horticultural breakfasts,
the Irish Academy, and Mrs. White.”
“These are great deservings indeed,” said Lord Charles, affectedly.
“So they are,” said the other; “nor do I believe there is another man
about town could pilot the channel but myself. It is only reasonable,
then, if I save the craft, that I should claim the salvage. Now, the
next point is, will you be one of the crew? I'll take you with pleasure,
but there's no impressment All I ask is secrecy, whether you say yea or
nay.”
“Let me hear what the service is to be like.”
“Well, we shall first of all cruise; confound metaphors,--let us talk
plainly. Cashel has given me a _carte blanche_ to fill his house with
guests and good things. The company and the _cuisine_ are both to be
among my attributions, and I intend that we should do the thing right
royally. Selection and exclusiveness are, of course, out of the
question. There are so many cock-tails to run,--there can be no
disqualification. Our savage friend, in fact, insists on asking
everybody he sees, and we are lucky if we escape the infantry and the
junior bar. Here's the list,--a goodly catalogue truly, and such a
_macédoine_ of incongruities has been rarely assembled, even at old
Kennyfeck's dinner-table.”
“Why, I see few others than the people we met there t' other day.”
“Not many; but please to remember that even a country house has limits,
and that some of the guests, at least, must have separate rooms. To be
serious, Charley, I have misused the King's press damnably; we have such
a party as few have ever witnessed. There are the Kilgoffs, the Whites,
the Hamiltons, along with the Clan Kennyfeck, the Ridleys, and Mathew
Hannigan, Esquire, of Bally-Hanni-gan, the new Member of Parliament for
Dunrone, and the last convert to the soothing doctrines of Downie Meek.”
“Is Downie coming?” lisped the aide-de-camp.
“Ay, and his daughter, too. He wrote one of his velvety epistles,
setting forth the prayer of his petition in favor of 'a little girl yet
only in the nursery.'”
“Yes, yes; I know all that. Well, I 'm not sorry. I like Jemmy. She is
a confounded deal better than her father, and is a capital weight to put
on a young horse, and a very neat hand too. Who next? Not the Dean, I
hope.”
“No; we divided on the Dean, and carried his exclusion by a large
majority. Mrs. Kennyfeck was, I believe, alone in the lobby.”
“Glad of that! No one can expect an Irish visit in the country without
rain, and he 's an awful fellow to be caged with, when out-o'-door work
is impracticable.”
“Then there are the Latrobes and the Heatherbys; in fact, the whole
set, with a Polish fellow, of course a Count,--Deuroominski; a literary
tourist, brought by Mrs. White, called Howie; and a small little dark
man one used to see two seasons ago, that sings the melodies and tells
Irish legends,--I forget the name.”
“Promiscuous and varied, certainly; and what is the order of the course?
Are there to be games, rural sports, fireworks, soaped pigs, and other
like intellectualities?”
“Precisely; a kind of coming-of-age thing on a grand scale. I have
engaged Somerton's _chef_; he has just left his place. Gunter sends
over one of his people; and Dubos, of the Cadran Bleu, is to forward two
hampers per week from Paris. Hicksley is also to provide all requisites
for private theatricals. In fact, nearly everything has been attended
to, save the horse department; I wish you 'd take that under your
protectorate; we shall want any number of screws for saddle and harness,
with drags, breaks, and machines of all kinds, to drive about in. Do,
pray, be master of the horse.”
“Thanks; but I hate and detest trouble of all kinds. So far as selling
you two of my own,--a wall-eye and a bone-spavin included,--I consent.”
“Agreed. Everything in your stable carries a sidesaddle; that I know, so
name your figure.”
“A hundred; they 'd bring close on fifty at Dycer's any day; so I am not
exorbitant, as these are election times.”
“There 's the ticket, then,” said Linton, taking out a check-book and
filling up a leaf for the sum, which he tore out and presented to Lord
Charles.
“What! has he really so far installed you as to--” “As to give blank
checks,” said the other, holding up the book in evidence, where “Roland
Cashel” was written on a vast number of pages. “I never knew the
glorious sense of generosity before, Charley. I have heard a great deal
about liberal sentiments, and all that kind o' thing; but now, for the
first time, do I feel the real enjoyment of indulgence. To understand
this liberty aright, however, a man must have a squeeze,--such a squeeze
as I have experienced myself once or twice in life; and then, my boy,
as the song says,”--here, with a bold rattling air, he sang to a popular
melody,--
“When of luck you 've no card up,
And feel yourself 'hard up,'
And cannot imagine a method to win;
When 'friends' take to shy you,
And Jews to deny you,
How pleasant to dip in another man's tin!
“Not seeking or craving
Some pettyful saving,
You draw as you like upon Drummond or Gwynne,
And, while pleasure pursuing
You know there 's no ruing
The cost that comes out of another man's tin.
“Eh, Charley! that's the toast we 'Chevaliers Modernes' should drink
before the health of the royal family.”
“The royal family!” sneered Frobisher; “I never observed that loyalty
was a very remarkable trait in your character.”
“The greater injustice yours, then,” said Linton. “I conceived a very
early attachment to monarchy, on learning the importance of the king at
écarte.”
“I should have thought the knave had more of your sympathy,” said the
other.
“Inasmuch as he follows the queen, I suppose,” said Linton,
good-humoredly, laughing. “But come, don't look so grave, old fellow;
had I been a political _intrigant_, and devoted these goodly talents of
mine to small state rogueries in committees and adjourned debates, I'd
have been somebody in these dull times of aspiring mediocrity; but as my
ambitions have never soared beyond the possession of what may carry
on the war of life, irrespective of its graver honors, you
moralists--Heaven bless the mark!--rather regard me distrustfully.
Now, let me tell you a secret, and it's one worth the knowing. There's
nothing so fatal to a man's success in life as 'a little character;'
a really great one may dispense with every kind of ability and
acquirement. Get your name once up in our English public, and you
may talk, preach, and write the most rank nonsense with a very long
impunity; but a little character, like a small swimming bladder, only
buoys you up long enough to reach deep water and be drowned. To journey
the road of life with this is to 'carry weight' Take my advice,--I
give it in all sincerity; you are as poor a man as myself; there are
thousands of luxuries you can afford yourself, but this is too costly
an indulgence for a small fortune. Your 'little character' is a kind of
cankering conscience, not strong enough to keep you out of wickedness,
but sufficiently active to make you miserable afterwards. An everlasting
suggester of small scruples, it leaves a man no time for anything but
petty expedients and devices, and you hang suspended all your life
between desire and denial, without the comfort of the one or the credit
of the other.”
“Is the sermon over?” said Lord Charles, rather affectedly than really
feeling tired of the “tirade,” “or are you only rehearsing the homily
before you preach it to Roland Cashel?”
“Quite wrong there, my Lord,” said Linton, with the same imperturbable
temper. “Cashel is rich enough to afford himself any caprice, even a
good name, if he like it You and I take ours as we do railway tickets,
any number that's given us!” And with this speech, delivered in an air
of perfect quietude, but still emphatically slow, he settled his hat on
before the glass, arranged his whiskers, and walked away.
Lord Charles, for a second, seemed disposed to make an angry reply, but,
correcting the impulse, he walked to the window in silence. “I have half
a mind to spoil your game, my worthy friend,” muttered he, as the other
passed across the court-yard; “one word to Cashel would do it To be sure
it is exploding the mine with one's own hand to the fusee; that's to be
thought of.” And, so saying, he lay down on the sofa to ruminate.