A few weeks previous to the holidays, "the old Queen" gave a
magnificent _fête_ at Frogmore, when, to form a prominent feature in
the day's amusements, her favourites, the Etonians, were invited to
play a cricket-match, for which a beautiful space of lawn had already
been most good-naturedly prepared.
I think the first approach to royalty must ever be most interesting to
boys, at least it was deeply so to me on this day; for when I observed
the wide-swelling lawns, the broad groves, and glassy lakes of this
little paradise; the Queen, with the princesses and royal suite, as
they glided over the turf in a train of pony-carriages, lined and
shining with the richest satins; the splendid and gaudy clusters of
marquees, glittering in all the pride of Tippoo's eastern
magnificence, from whom they had been rifled, with their bright
crescents blazing in the sunbeams--I found all the lovely and dearly
remembered fancies, conjured before my infant imagination by the
nursery tale, at once placed in delightful reality before me.
Towards the evening, I had rambled, considerably fatigued with the
restless pleasures of the day, into the most secluded parts of the
shrubberies, and was resting on a seat, listening to the notes of a
bugle band in the distance, when they were interrupted by the steps of
some one passing quickly along the gravel walk towards me, and the
next moment I saw a girl approaching the gate in front of me. I
instantly rose and opened it for her; but as she passed, the little
girl, after a slight hesitation, inquired with an expression of some
anxiety if I had seen her father, Sir George Curzon.
"I do not know your father by sight," I answered, "and fear you will
hardly meet with him here; for I have been more than half an hour on
this seat, and have seen no one at all."
"I declare," she sighed, "I do not know how I shall find him, and I am
quite tired, too! But will you, if you please, tell me the way towards
the palace--I should be much obliged to you?"
"As well as I can," I answered; "but would it not be better that I ran
and inquired for your father, and brought him here, for then, in the
meanwhile, as you are tired, you can rest yourself on this bench?"
"You are very good-natured," replied Miss Curzon, as she sat down;
"but if you will only wait until I have rested for a minute, perhaps
you will go with me towards the palace, for I don't like being here
quite alone."
I now perceived that the poor little girl had been crying.
"But why are you here by yourself?" she added, the next moment; "have
you lost your way too? But sit down, there is room for both." And she
looked up so kindly, while her beautiful little hand, contrasting with
the rough bench, pressed it to enforce her request.
How happy was I to obey her, and yet how painfully confused! In a
word, I was out of my element, this being my very first rencontre with
one of the softer sex; for which reason, though so many years have
since passed away, I cannot help reciting and recollecting it as an
occurrence of yesterday.
"Are you not an Eton boy?" demanded Miss Curzon.
"Yes; but I have been one only for a few months."
"Papa says that Frederic shall be sent to Eton, by and bye," she
replied, rather abstractedly.
"Perhaps, then," I answered, "I shall know him--at least, I hope I
may."
"Oh, it will be a long while before he joins you, for he is quite
little yet; and then, you know, he must be your fag, instead of your
friend."
"I shall never fag a brother of yours," I answered.
"May I ask you some questions about this horrid fagging?" demanded
Miss Curzon, and turning towards me.
"Of course," said I; "as many as you please."
"Have you got what they call a master?"
"Certainly; every lower boy must have one."
"What do you do for him?"
"Lay his breakfast and tea-things every day, and make his toast."
"Anything else?"
"Whatever he chooses."
"And if you did not choose to do it?"
"I should get a good thrashing; or, in other words, Miss Curzon, get a
good licking."
After a brief silence, she resumed her questions.
"As you have been so short a time at Eton, I suppose you have not yet
been punished?"
"O yes, many times. I got a capital flogging yesterday."
"Will you tell me what you were flogged for?"
"For eating in church."
"And what could make you do that?"
"I had been fagging all the morning, Miss Curzon; and having no time
for breakfast, I went into church with my rolls in my pocket, and one
of the masters saw me eating them."
"You have quite frightened me for poor little Frederic!"
"Perhaps he will be more fortunate," I replied; "so I must even wish,
as you said just now, that he may indeed be my fag, for then he can
breakfast with me every morning."
"I declare I will ask papa to place him under your care if you will
let me?"
"You cannot know, Miss Curzon, how obliged I feel to you for thinking
that I would take care of your brother; and depend upon it, I will."
"Yes," said the little lady, looking stedfastly in my face, "I feel
quite certain you would. But," she added, as her own brightened with a
smile, "you must now fulfil your first promise to me, and find my
father, for I am so tired, I must rest here a little longer."
"Very well," I replied; "but how I should like to talk with you here
all night! Do not go away until I return."
I now hurried away in search of her father, who, after many inquiries,
was pointed out to me by Chrichton, though in a very inaccessible
position; for he was standing with other important personages, among
whom I could discern the Duke, by the side of her Majesty's
poney-phaeton.
"Do, Chrichton," I begged--"do go up to Sir George Curzon for me; you
are more used to that sort of thing than I."
All my eloquence being thrown away upon him, and on that instant
thinking of my little lady in the grove, I walked towards the group
with my hat in my hand, without further hesitation.
"If you please, Sir George Curzon, there is a young lady in the
shrubberies who wants you."
"I think, young sir," replied Sir George, "you must make a mistake."
"No, sir. She has lost you, she says; it is Miss Curzon."
"Dear me! I thought she had been all this while with her aunt. Where
is she?"
"A little beyond that temple on the hill, there," I replied, pointing
with my hat.
"You need hardly go all that way yourself," said the Duke, observing
Sir George about to follow me; "the boy can show her here very well."
"Yes, Sir George," added her Majesty; "let the little boy run and
bring her."
"Well, then, my little gentleman," asked Sir George, "may I ask you to
do so?"
"Oh, yes, Sir," I replied, and I was off on my way towards her in a
moment.
"I have found your father. Miss Curzon," said I on my return, "and he
has asked me to lead you to him. I hope I have not been long."
"I am sorry you should have had so much trouble," she answered, as she
took my arm; "but we must now make haste, for it is getting quite
late, and I know papa wishes to go part of the way home to-night."
"Do you live far from here, then?" I rather pointedly inquired.
"Oh, yes--I don't know how many miles--all the way down in Cheshire;
we took this place in our road from town."
"Well, then, Miss Curzon," I said, as we approached her father, "I
wonder if ever we shall meet again! You cannot think how I hope we
may; but now good bye, and----"
"You need not leave me quite yet," she replied, interrupting me; "come
a little further with me--what were you going to say?"
"Though I may never see you more, nobody will ever be so glad to hear
that you are happy as I; for I would sooner see you so than any person
I know."
"Thank you, thank you," she replied, rather earnestly, "and I hope we
shall be able--indeed, I am certain I shall see you again somewhere--I
will not," she added, as we approached the circle, "I will not, if you
please, keep your arm before them. Good bye, then; I shall hear of
you, at all events, from my brother."
She then left me, while I reluctantly directed my steps towards the
college, which now appeared unwelcome and obtrusive. She was so
different to everything I had hitherto experienced!--so gentle and
kind--so unassuming, and yet so lovely--and now to be torn away and
severed from such a person! That night I attempted to console myself
in the following effusion; and as they are the first and last lines of
which I was ever guilty, shall be here inserted; for though the
versification is by no means faultless, they were true to my feelings
at the time:--
When 'midst the deepest gloom of night,
While all is still and lone,
A heavenly meteor flashes bright,
But floats away as soon;
Does not the bosom of the moor
Seem doubly dark and drear,
Frowning still sterner than before
Did that false light appear!
So, lady, have you crossed my way,
Brighter than cloudless morn--
So o'er this heart thy piercing ray.
Gleamed--and thou art gone!