"No dates! no dates! I pray!" said Julia.
"Well, waive dates," added I, "and begin."
Julia then related, in her shy, quiet way, what I will communicate as briefly as possible.
Julia's real name was Storer. She was the daughter of the Honourable Mrs. Storer, who was one of the maids of honour to our present king's royal mother, and the sister of Lord Carysfort.
Julia received part of her education in France, and finished it at the palace of Hampton Court, where her mother sent her on a visit to the wife of Colonel Cotton, who was an officer in the 10th Dragoons.
Mrs. Cotton had a family of nine children, and very little fortune to support them. Julia had been, from her earliest youth, encouraging the most romantic passions which ever fired a youthful breast. With all this her heart, unlike mine, was as cold as her imagination was warm. What were parents, what were friends to her? What was anything on earth to love?
The first night Colonel Cotton danced with her she was mad! In four months more she was pregnant. In nine months more, having concealed her situation, she was seized with the pangs of labour, while in the act of paying her respects to Her Majesty in court! And all was consternation in the beau château de Hampton!
Mrs. Cotton, instead of sending for the accoucheur, with extreme propriety, though somewhat mal-apropos, loaded poor Julia with abuse!
"Have yet a little mercy," said Julia, "and send for assistance."
"Never, never, you monster! you wretch! will I so disgrace your family," exclaimed Mrs. Cotton.
Poor Julia's sufferings were short, but dreadfully severe. In about five hours, unassisted, she became the mother of a fine boy.
Julia could not attempt to describe the rage and fury either of her mother or brother. It was harsh, it was shocking, even as applied to the most hardened sinner, in such a state of mental and bodily suffering. Julia was, with her infant, by her noble relatives hurried into the country, almost at the risk of her life, and Colonel Cotton was called out by young Storer, Julia's brother, and, I believe, wounded.
From her retirement, Julia had contrived to write to Colonel Cotton, by means of Colonel Thomas, to declare to him that, if they were to meet no more, she would immediately destroy herself. In short, Cotton was raving mad for Julia, and Julia was wild for Cotton—le moyen de les séparer?
A very retired cottage near town was hired by Cotton for Julia, who inherited a small fortune over which her parents had no control; and on that she had supported herself in the closest retirement for more than eight years, when I accidentally became acquainted with her. Cotton was dismissed from his regiment by his royal commander.
I never saw such romantic people, after nine years and five children!
"Julia! adored Julia!" so he would write to her, "if you love but as I do, we shall, to-morrow at eight in the evening, enjoy another hour of perfect bliss! Julia! angel Julia! my certain death would be the consequence of your inconstancy, &c. &c."
Julia used to show me these rhapsodies from Cotton, at which I always laughed heartily, and thus I used to put her in a passion continually.
At the opera I learned to be a complete flirt; for there I saw Argyle incessantly with Lady W——, and there it became incumbent on me either to laugh or cry. I let him see me flirt and look tender on Lord Burghersh one night on purpose, and the next day, when we three graces met him in the park, I placed in his hand a letter, which he was hastily concealing in his pocket with a look of gratified vanity, believing no doubt that it was one of my soft effusions on the beauty of his eyes.
"For the post," said I, nodding as we were turning to leave him, and we all three burst into a loud laugh together.
The letter was addressed to Lord Burghersh, merely to tell him to join us at Amy's after the next opera.
The next opera was unusually brilliant. Amy's box was close to ours, and almost as soon as we were seated she entered, dressed in the foreign style, which became her, accompanied by Counts Woronzow, Beckendorff and Orloff. Beckendorf was half mad for her and wanted to marry her with his left hand.
"Why not with the right?" said Amy.
"I dare not," answered Beckendorff, "without the consent of the Emperor of Russia."
Amy had desired him to go to Russia and obtain this consent from the Emperor more than a month before; but still he lingered!
Our box was soon so crowded that I was obliged to turn one out as fast as a new face appeared. Julia and Fanny left me, to pay a visit to the "enemy," as Luttrell used to call Amy. Observing me for an instant alone, the Duke of Devonshire came into my box, believing that he did me honour.
"Duke," said I, "you cut me in Piccadilly to-day."
"Don't you know," said thickhead, "don't you know, Belle Harriette, that I am blind as well as deaf, and a little absent too?"
"My good young man," said I, out of all patience, "allez donc à l'hôpital des invalides: for really, if God has made you blind and deaf, you must be absolutely insufferable when you presume to be absent too. The least you can do, as a blind, deaf man, is surely to pay attention to those who address you."
"I never heard anything half so severe as la belle Harriette," drawled out the duke.
Luttrell now peeped his nose into my box, and said, dragging in his better half, half-brother I mean, fat Nugent, "A vacancy for two! How happens this? You'll lose your character, Harriette."
"I'm growing stupid, from sympathy, I suppose," I observed, glancing at his grace, who, being as deaf as a post, poor fellow, bowed to me for the supposed compliment.
"You sup with Amy, I hope?" said I to Luttrell. "And you?" turning to Nugent.
"There's a princess in the way," replied Nugent, alluding to the late Queen.
"Nonsense," said Luttrell, "Her Royal Highness has allowed me to be off."
"You can take liberties with her," Nugent remarked. "You great wits can do what you please. She would take it very ill of me; besides, I wish Amy would send some of those dirty Russians away. Count Orloff is the greatest beast in nature."
Lord Alvanly now entered my box.
"Place pour un," said I, taking hold of the back of the Duke of Devonshire's chair.
"I am going," said his grace; "but seriously, Harriette, I want to accomplish dining alone some evening, on purpose to pay you a visit."
"There will be no harm in that," said I.
"None! None!" answered Luttrell, who took my allusion.
Alvanly brought me a tall, well-dressed foreigner, whom he was waiting to present to me as "his friend."
"That won't do, Lord Alvanly," said I; "really, that is no introduction, and less recommendation. Name your friend, or away with him."
"Ma foi, madame," said the foreigner, "un nom ne fait rien du tout. Vous me voyez là, madame, honnête homme, de cinq pieds et neuf pouces."
"Madame est persuadé de vos cinq pieds, mais elle n'est pas si sure de vos neuf pouces," Alvanly observed.
"Adieu, ma belle Harriette," said the duke, at last taking my hint and rising to depart.
Julia and Fanny now returned: the latter as usual was delighted to meet Alvanly.
"Do you come from the 'enemy'?" Luttrell inquired of them.
"Yes," replied Fanny, laughing.
"My dear Fanny," said Luttrell, in his comical, earnest, methodistical manner, "my dear Fanny, this will never do!"
"What won't do?" inquired Fanny.
"These Russians, my dear."
"She has got a little Portuguese, besides the Russians, coming to her to-night," said I; "the Count Palmella."
"The ambassador?" Nugent asked.
"God bless my soul!" said Luttrell, looking up to the ceiling with such a face! Tom Sheridan would have liked to have copied it, when he played the methodist in a tub, at Mrs. Beaumont's masquerade.
"They are only all brought up upon trial," I observed; "she will cut the rest as soon as she has fixed on one of them."
"Yes; but you see, coming after these Cossacks is the devil!" lisped Alvanly, with his usual comical expression. "God bless your soul, we have no chance after these fellows."
"There is Argyle looking at you, from Lady W——'s box," Nugent said.
The remark put me out of humour, although I did observe that, though he sat in her ladyship's box, he was thinking most of me. Nevertheless it was abominably provoking.
Lord Frederick Bentinck next paid me his usual visit.
"Everybody is talking about you," said his lordship. "Two men, downstairs, have been laying a bet that you are Lady Tavistock. Mrs. Orby Hunter says you are the handsomest woman in the house."
Poor Julia, all this time, did not receive the slightest compliment or attention from anybody. At last she kissed her hand to some one in a neighbouring box.
"Whom are you bowing to?" I inquired.
"An old flame of mine, who was violently in love with me when I was a girl at Hampton Court," whispered Julia. "I have never seen him since I knew Cotton."
"What is his name?" I asked.
"George Brummell," answered Julia.
I had never, at that time, heard of George Brummell.
"Do you know a Mr. George Brummell?" said I to Lord Alvanly.
Before his lordship could answer my question, Brummell entered the box; and, addressing himself to Julia, expressed his surprise, joy and astonishment at meeting with her.
Julia was now all smiles and sweetness. Just before Brummell's arrival she was growing a little sulky. Indeed she had reason, for in vain did we cry her up and puff her off, as Lord Carysfort's niece, or as an accomplished, elegant, charming creature, daughter of a maid of honour: she did not take. The men were so rude as often to suffer her to follow us by herself, without offering their arms to conduct her to the carriage. She was, in fact, so reserved, so shy, and so short-sighted, that, not being very young, nobody would be at the trouble of finding out what she was.
In the round room we held separate levées. Amy always fixed herself near enough to me to see what I was about, and try to charm away some of my admirers. Heaven knows Fanny and I had plenty to spare her, for they did so flock about us they scarcely left us breathing room. Argyle looked as if he wanted to join us, but was afraid of Lady W——.
"Are you not going home, pretty?" he would say to me, between his teeth, passing close to my ear.
"Do speak louder, marquis," I answered, provoked that he should be afraid of any woman but myself. "I am not going home these three hours. I am going first to Amy's party."
Lorne looked, not sulky, nor cross, as Fred Lamb would have done; but smiled beautifully, and said: "At three, then, may I go to you?"
"Yes," answered I, putting my hand into his, and again I contrived to forget Lady W——.
There was all the world at Amy's, and not half room enough for them. Some were in the passage and some in the parlour, and in the drawing-room one could scarcely breathe. At the top of it, Amy sat coquetting with her tall Russians. The poor Count Palmella stood gazing on her at an humble distance.
The little delicate, weak, gentlemanlike Portuguese was no match for the three Cossacks. I do not believe he got in a single word the whole evening; but once, when Amy remarked that she should go the next evening to see the tragedy of Omeo.
"What tragedy is that, pray?" drawled out the Honourable John William Ward, starting from a fit of the dismals, just as if some one had gone behind him and, with a flapper, reminded him that he was at a party, and ought to faire l'aimable aux dames.
"You may laugh at me as much as you please," answered Amy, "and I must have patience and bear it, ight or ong; for I cannot pronounce the letter r."
"How very odd!" I remarked. "Why, you could pronounce it well enough at home!" I really did not mean this to tease her; for I thought, perhaps, lisping might grow upon us as we got older; but I soon guessed it was all sham, by the gathering storm on Amy's countenance. The struggle between the wish to show off effeminate softness to her lovers, and her ardent desire to knock me down, I could see by an arch glance at me, from Fanny's laughing eye and a shrug of her shoulder, was understood by that sister as well as by myself. Fanny's glance was the slyest thing in nature, and was given in perfect fear and trembling.
"Harriette's correctness may be, I am sorry to say,"—and she paused to endeavour to twist her upper lip, trembling with fury, into the shape and form of what might be most pure and innocent in virtuous indignation!
Count Beckendorff eyed me with a look of pity and noble contempt, and then fixed his eyes with rapture on his angel's face!
Joking apart he was a monstrous fool, that same Count Beckendorff, in the shape of a very handsome young Cossack.
"Where's the treaty of peace?" said Nugent, dreading a rupture, which should deaden half the spirit of the little pleasant suppers he wished to give us at his own rooms in the Albany. "No infringement, we beg, ladies. We have the treaty, under your pretty hands and seals."
"Peace be to France, if France, in peace, permit it!" said I, holding out my hand to Amy in burlesque majesty.
Amy could not, for the life of her, laugh with the rest; because she saw that they thought me pleasant. She, however, put out her hand hastily, to have done with what was bringing me into notice: and, that the subject might be entirely changed, and I as much forgotten, she must waltz that instant with Beckendorff.
"Sydenham!" said Amy, to one of her new admirers, who, being flute-mad and a beautiful flute-player was always ready.
"The flute does not mark the time enough for waltzing," said he, taking it out of a drawer; "but I shall be happy to accompany Harriette's waltz on the pianoforte, because she always plays in good time."
"Do not play, Harriette," said Amy; for fear it should strike any one that I played well; "if I had wished her to be troubled I should have asked her myself. The flute is quite enough;" and she began twirling her tall Cossack round the room. He appeared charmed to obey her commands and sport his really graceful waltzing.
"I do not think it a trouble, in the least," I observed, opening the instrument, without malice or vanity. I was never vain of music; and, at that early age, so much envy never entered my head. I hated playing too; but fancied that I was civil, in catching up the air and accompanying Colonel Sydenham.
"Harriette puts me out," said Amy, stopping, and she refused to stand up again, in spite of all Sydenham could say about my very excellent ear for music.
"Madame a donc le projet d'aller à Drury-Lane, demain?" said the Count Palmella at last, having been waiting, with his mouth open, ever since Amy mentioned Omeo, for an opportunity of following up the subject.
Amy darted her bright black eyes upon him, as though she had said, "Ah! te voilà! d'où viens tu?" but without answering him or perhaps understanding what he said.
"Si madame me permettera," continued the count, "j'aurai l'honneur de lui engager une loge."
"Oui s'il vous plait, je vous en serai obligé," said Amy, though in somewhat worse French.
The celebrated beau, George Brummell, who had been presented to Amy by Julia in the round room at the opera, now entered and put poor Julia in high spirits. Brummell, as Julia always declared, was, when in the 10th Dragoons, a very handsome young man. However that might have been, nobody could have mistaken him for anything like handsome at the moment she presented him to us. Julia assured me that he had, by some accident, broken the bridge of his nose, and which said broken bridge had lost him a lady and her fortune of twenty thousand pounds. This, from the extreme flatness of it, his nose, I mean, not the fortune, appeared probable.
He was extremely fair, and the expression of his countenance far from disagreeable. His person too was rather good; nor could anybody find fault with the taste of all those who for years had made it a rule to copy the cut of Brummell's coat, the shape of his hat, or the tie of his neckcloth: for all this was in the very best possible style.
"No perfumes," Brummell used to say, "but very fine linen, plenty of it, and country washing."
"If John Bull turns round to look after you, you are not well dressed: but either too stiff, too tight, or too fashionable."
"Do not ride in ladies' gloves; particularly with leather breeches."
In short, his maxims on dress were excellent. Besides this, he was neither uneducated nor deficient. He possessed also a sort of quaint, dry humour, not amounting to anything like wit; indeed, he said nothing which would bear repetition; but his affected manners and little absurdities amused for the moment. Then it became the fashion to court Brummell's society, which was enough to make many seek it who cared not for it; and many more wished to be well with him through fear, for all knew him to be cold, heartless, and satirical.
It appeared plain and evident to me that his attention to Julia was no longer the effect of love. Piqued at the idea of having been refused marriage by a woman with whom Cotton had so easily succeeded, sans cérémonie, he determined in his own mind soon to be even with his late brother officer.
And pray, madam, the reader may ask; how came you to be thus early acquainted with George Brummell's inmost soul?
A mere guess. I will tell you why.
Brummell talked to Julia while he looked at me; and as soon as he could manage it with decency, he contrived to place himself by my side.
"What do you think of Colonel Cotton?" said he, when I mentioned Julia.
"A very fine dark man," I answered, "though not at all to my taste, for I never admire dark men."
"No man in England stinks like Cotton," said Brummell.
"Ah! ah!" thought I, "me voilà au fait!"
"A little Eau de Portugal would do no harm in that quarter, at all events," I remarked laughing, while alluding to his dislike of perfumery.
Amy gave us merely a tray-supper in one corner of the drawing-room, with plenty of champagne and claret. Brummell, in his zeal for cold chicken, soon appeared to forget everybody in the room. A loud discordant laugh from the Honourable John Ward, who was addressing something to Luttrell at the other end of the table, led me to understand that he had just, in his own opinion, said a very good thing; yet I saw his corner of the room full of serious faces.
"Do you keep a valet, sir?" said I.
"I believe I have a rascal of that kind at home," said the learned, ugly scion of nobility, with disgusting affectation.
"Then," I retorted, "do, in God's name, bring him next Saturday to stand behind your chair."
"For what, I pray?"
"Merely to laugh at your jokes," I rejoined. "It is such hard work for you, sir, who have both to cut the jokes and to laugh at them too!"
"Do pray show him up, there's a dear creature, whenever you have an opportunity," whispered Brummell in my ear, with his mouth full of chicken.
"Is he not an odious little monster of ill-nature, take him altogether?" I asked.
"And look at that tie?" said Brummell, shrugging up his shoulders and fixing his eyes on Ward's neck-cloth.
Ward was so frightened at this commencement of hostilities from me, that he immediately began to pay his court to me, and engaged me to take a drive with him the next morning in his curricle.
"Go with him," whispered Brummell in my ear. "Keep on terms with him, on purpose to laugh at him." And then he turned round to Fanny, to ask her who her man of that morning was.
"You allude to the gentleman I was riding with in the park?" answered Fanny.
"I know who he is," said Alvanly. "Fanny is a very nice girl, and I wish she would not encourage such people. Upon my word it is quite shocking."
"Whom did you ride with to-day, Fanny?" I inquired.
"A d——n sugar baker," said Alvanly.
"I rode out to-day," replied Fanny, reddening, "with a very respectable man of large fortune."
"Oh yes!" said Alvanly, "there is a good deal of money to be got in the sugar line."
"Why do not you article yourself then to a baker of it," I observed, "and so pay some of your debts?"
This was followed by a laugh, which Alvanly joined in with great good humour.
"What is his name?" inquired Luttrell.
"Mr. John Mitchel," answered Fanny. "He received his education at a public school, with Lord Alvanly."
"I do not recollect Mitchel," retorted Alvanly; "but I believe there were a good many grocers admitted at that time."
Fanny liked Lord Alvanly of all things, and knew very little of Mr. Mitchel, except that he professed to be her very ardent admirer; yet her defence of the absent was ever made with all the warmth and energy her shyness would permit.
"Now, gentlemen," said Fanny, "have the goodness to listen to the facts as they really are."
Everybody was silent; for everybody delighted to hear Fanny talk.
"That little fat gentleman there," looking at Lord Alvanly, "whom you all suppose a mere idle, lazy man of genius, I am told studies bon mots all night in his bed." (A laugh.) "Further, I have been led to understand, that being much lower down in the class than Mitchel, though of the same age, his lordship in the year eighteen hundred and something or other was chosen, raised, and selected, for his civil behaviour, to the situation of prime and first fag to Mr. Mitchel, in which said department, his lordship distinguished himself much, by the very high polish he put upon Mr. J. Mitchel's boots and shoes."
There was not a word of truth in this story, the mere creation of Fanny's brain; yet still there was a probability about it, as they had been at school together, and which, added to Fanny's very pleasing, odd mode of expression, set the whole room in a roar of laughter. Alvanly was just as much amused as the rest; for Fanny's humour had no real severity in it at any time.
"But, Fanny, you will make a point of cutting this grocer, I hope?" observed Brummell, as soon as the laugh had a little subsided.
"Do pray, Fanny," said I, "cut your Mitchels. I vote for cutting all the grocers and valets who intrude themselves into good society."
"My father was a very superior valet," Brummell quickly observed, "and kept his place all his life, and that is more than Palmerston will do," he continued, observing Lord Palmerston, who was in the act of making his bow to Amy, having just looked in on her from Lady Castlereagh's.
"I don't want any of Lady Castlereagh's men," said Amy. "Let all those who prefer her Saturday-night to mine, stay with her."
"Who on earth," said Luttrell, with his usual earnestness—"who on earth would think of Lady Castlereagh when they might be here?"
"Why Brummell went there for an hour before he came here," said Alvanly.
"Mr. Brummell had better go and pass a second hour with her ladyship," retorted Amy, "for we are really too full here."
"I am going for one," I said, putting on my shawl; for I began to think it would not do to neglect Argyle altogether. I made use of one of the Russian's carriages, to which Brummell handed me.
"To Argyle House, I suppose?" said Brummell, and then whispered in my ear, "You will be Duchess of Argyle, Harriette."
I found Argyle at his door, with his key, a little impatient. I asked him why he did not go to Amy's.
"I don't know your sister," answered his grace, "and I dislike what I have seen of her. She makes so many advances to me!"
I defended my sister as warmly as though she had really treated me with kindness, and felt at that time seriously angry with the duke for abusing her.
The next morning from my window I saw Amy drive up to my door, in the Count Palmella's barouche. "She wants me to write a copy of a letter for some of her men," thought I, well knowing that affection never brought Amy to visit me.
"Are you alone?" asked Amy, bouncing into the room.
"Then tell that count, downstairs, he may go home," addressing my servant.
"Poor little man!" I remarked, "how terribly rude! I could not be rude to such a very timid, gentlemanly man as that!"
"Oh, he makes me sick," said Amy, "and I am come to consult you as to what I had better do. I like liberty best. If I put myself under the protection of anybody, I shall not be allowed to give parties and sit up all night; but then I have my desk full of long bills, without receipts!"
"I thought you were to marry Beckendorff and go to Russia," I observed.
"Oh true, I have come to tell you about Beckendorff. He is off for Russia this morning, to try to obtain the consent of the Emperor and that of his his own family. There was no harm in sending him there you know; for I can easily change my mind when he comes back, if anything which I like better occurs. He wished George to be his aide-de-camp; but George would not go."
"Is not Beckendorff a general in the service of the Emperor?" I asked.
"Yes, yes! but never mind Beckendorff," answered Amy impatiently. "I want two hundred pounds directly. It spoils all one's independence and one's consequence, to ask Englishmen for money. Palmella wishes to have me altogether under his protection. He is rich; but—but I like Colonel Sydenham best."
"Sydenham has no money," said I. "Palmella seems disposed to do a great deal for you and he is very gentlemanlike; therefore, if a man you must have, my voice is for Palmella!"
"Well," said Amy, "I cannot stop! I do not much care. Palmella makes me sick too. It cannot be helped. You write me a copy directly, to say I consent to enter into the arrangement, as he calls it, which he proposed; namely, two hundred pounds a month paid in advance, and the use of his horses and carriage." This letter was soon despatched to his Excellency Palmella; and Amy shortly afterwards took her leave.
The next day as I was returning home from my solitary walk, reflections, the most despondingly melancholy, crowded on my mind. I thought of the youth I was passing away in passions wild and ungovernable, and, though ever ready to sacrifice more than life for those I have loved, with real genuine warmth and tenderness of heart, yet I had perhaps deserved that none should hereafter remember me with affection; for my actions had been regulated by the impulse and feelings of that heart alone, void of any other principle than what it had dictated. I was roused by a sudden tap on the shoulder from the coarse, red, ungloved hand of my old friend, Lord Frederick Bentinck.
"My lord, I was just going to drown myself, therefore pray do not leave me here alone."
"I must," said his lordship, panting, "for I have a great deal to do. I ought to be at the Horse Guards at this moment."
"Nonsense! But if you really can do anything, I wish to heaven you would put on a pair of gloves."
"I only wish," answered his lordship, speaking loud, in a good-natured passion, "I only wish that you were compelled to listen to the sort of things I am obliged to attend to daily. Everybody wants promotion. No man will be satisfied with an answer. For my part, I have got into a way of writing my letters as soon as I have stated all that is to be said. I hate talking, many people expose themselves in that way, so, adio!"
It occurred to me as soon as his lordship had left me how unfortunate for his taciturn disposition was the meeting of Sir Murray Maxwell's friends, which took place some time ago, to commemorate that highly respected gentleman's broken pate. The noble lord was chosen steward of the feast and, whatever might be the exposure, either in the way or lack of intellect, Lord Frederick must inevitably come forward with a maiden-speech. The said discourse however would, no doubt, have redounded to the credit and glory of his lordship's able attorney, in spite of the many restrictions he had received not to put in any break-teeth long words; but, alas! his lordship was not aware of the defect of a memory which had never been so exerted, and, at the very critical moment, after he had risen to address the attentive assembly, he discovered with dismay that he had forgotten every word of his speech. What was to be done? He resolved to address them in detached sentences, delivered in a voice of thunder; such as, "my principles, gentlemen—likewise—observe—my friends—but I therefore—being, as I say—a man of few words, gentlemen." The intervals being filled up with much gesticulation, everybody advanced their heads and redoubled their attention, to try to hear what could not be heard. Those who were at a distance said "we are too far off," and those immediately next to him thought themselves too near, or suspected the wine had taken an unusual effect, owing to the heated atmosphere of the crowded apartment. All resolved to secure better situations on the next meeting, that they might profit by so fine and affecting a discourse.
The season for Argyle's departure from London for the North was now drawing very near. He often spoke of it with regret, and sometimes he talked about my accompanying him.
"Not I, indeed!" was my answer; for I was an unsettled sort of being; and nothing but the whole heart of the man I loved could settle me.
Lorne had fascinated me and was the first man for whom I had felt the least passion; but his age made him fitter to be my father than my friend and companion: and then this Lady W——! How could I fix my affections on a man whom I knew to be attached still to another woman! Indeed, even his inconstancy to Lady W—— often disgusted me.
"You will not accompany me to Scotland then?" said the duke.
"No!"
"Cela, donc, est décidé."
"Oui."
I was getting into debt, as well as my sister Amy, when it so came to pass, as I have since heard say, that the—immortal!
No; that's common; a very outlandish distinction, fitter for a lady in a balloon.
The terrific! that will do better. I have seen his grace in his cotton nightcap. Well then; the terrific Duke of Wellington! the wonder of the world! Having six feet from the tail to the head, and—but there is a certain technicality in the expressions of the gentleman at Exeter Change, when he has occasion to show off a wild beast, which it would be vanity in me to presume to imitate; so leaving out his dimensions, &c. &c., it was even the Duke of Wellington, whose laurels, like those of the giant in The Vicar of Wakefield, had been hardly earned by the sweat of his little dwarf's brows, and the loss of their little legs, arms and eyes; who, feeling himself amorously given—it was in summer—one sultry evening, ordered his coachman to set him down at the White Horse Cellar in Piccadilly, whence he sallied forth on foot to No. 2 or 3 in Berkeley Street, and rapped hastily at the door, which was immediately opened by the tawdry, well-rouged housekeeper of Mrs. Porter, who, with a significant nod of recognition, led him into her mistress's boudoir and then hurried away, simpering, to acquaint the good Mrs. Porter with the arrival of one of her oldest customers.
Mrs. Porter, on entering her boudoir, bowed low; but she had bowed lower still to his grace, who had paid but shabbily for the last bonne fortune she had contrived to procure him.
"Is it not charming weather?" said Mrs. Porter, by way of managing business with something like decency.
"There is a beautiful girl just come out," said his grace, without answering her question, "a very fine creature; they call her Harriette, and——"
"My lord," exclaimed Mrs. Porter, interrupting him; "I have had three applications this very month for the girl they call Harriette, and I have already introduced myself to her."
This was a fact, which happened while I was in Somers-town, and which I have forgotten to relate.
"It was," continued Mrs. Porter, "at the very earnest request of General Walpole. She is the wildest creature I ever saw. She did not affect modesty, nor appear in the least offended at my intrusion. Her first question was 'Is your man handsome?' I answered, frankly, that the general was more than sixty years of age; at which account she laughed heartily; and then, seeming to recollect herself, she said she really was over head and ears in debt; and therefore must muster up courage to receive one visit from her antiquated admirer at my house."
"Well?" interrupted Wellington, half jealous, half disgusted.
"Well, my lord," continued Mrs. Porter, "the appointment was made for eight o'clock on the following evening, at which hour the old general was punctual and fidgeted about the room over this, my lord, for more than three-quarters of an hour. At last he rung the bell violently. I answered it; and he told me in a fury he would not thus be trifled with. I was beginning very earnest protestations when we heard a loud rap at the street door, and immediately afterwards my housekeeper entered, to inform me that a lady whose face was covered with a thick black veil, had just arrived in a hackney-coach, and she had shown her into the best room."
"She came then?" inquired Wellington, impatiently, and blowing his nose.
"You shall hear, my lord," continued Mrs. Porter. "The old general, in a state of perfect ecstasy, took me by the hand, and begged me to pardon his testy humour, assuring me that he had been for more than a year following Harriette, and therefore that this disappointment had been too much for his stock of patience.
"I led the way to the room, where we expected to find Harriette. The black veil did not surprise us. She was too young to be expected to enter my house void of shame. Judge our astonishment, my lord, when the incognita, throwing back her veil with much affectation, discovered a wrinkled face, which had weathered at least sixty summers, aye and winters, too!"
"'The Lord defend me!' said I.
"'Who the devil are you?' said the general.
"'A charming creature,' replied the hag, 'if you did but know me. A widow, too, dear general, very much at your disposal; for my dear good man has been dead these thirty years.'
"'You are a set of——'
"The general was interrupted by his fair incognita, with—'Here is gallantry! here is treatment of the soft sex! No, Mr. General, not the worst of your insinuations shall ever make me think the less of myself!'
"The general, at this moment, beginning to feel a little ashamed, and completely furious, contrived to gain the street, declaring that he would never enter my vile house again. His fair one insisted on following him; and all I could say or do would not prevent her. I know not what became of them both."
"My good woman," said Wellington, without making any remarks on her story, "my time is precious. One hundred guineas are yours, and as much Harriette's, if you can induce her to give me the meeting."
"My dear lord," said Mrs. Porter, quite subdued, "what would I not do to serve you! I will pay Harriette a visit early to-morrow morning; although my lord, to tell you the truth, I was never half so afraid of any woman in my life. She is so wild, and appears so perfectly independent, and so careless of her own interests and welfare, that I really do not know what is likely to move her."
"Nonsense!" said Wellington, "it is very well known that the Marquis of Lorne is her lover."
"Lord Lorne may have gained Harriette's heart," said Mrs. Porter, just as if she understood the game of hearts! "However," added she, "I will not give up the business till I have had an interview with Harriette."
"And make haste about it," said Wellington taking up his hat, "I shall call for your answer in two days. In the meantime, if you have anything like good news to communicate, address a line to Thomas's Hotel, Berkeley-square."
These two respectable friends now took leave of each other, as we will of the subject, pour le moment, au moins.
I rather think it must have been on the very day the above scene took place that Fanny, Julia, and myself dined together at my house, and Amy unasked joined us after dinner; because she had nothing better to do.
"You are welcome," said I to Amy, "so that you bring me no men; but men I will not admit."
"Why not?" Amy inquired.
"Why? because I am not a coquette like you, and it fatigues me to death to be eternally making the agreeable to a set of men who might be all buried and nobody would miss them. Besides, I have seen such a man!"
"What manner of man have you seen?" asked Fanny.
"A very god!" retorted I.
"Who is he?" inquired Amy.
"I do not know," was my answer.
"What is his name?"
"I cannot tell."
"Where did you see him?"
"In Sloane Street, riding on horseback, and followed by a large dog."
"What a simpleton you are," observed Amy.
"I never made myself so ridiculous about any man yet," I observed, "as you have done about that frightful, pale, William Ponsonby."
"Oh, he is indeed a most adorable heavenly creature," rejoined Amy, turning up her eyes in a fit of heroics.
"Good gracious! how can people be so blind," exclaimed I. "Why he has not a single point of beauty about him."
"And what," I continued, "have you done with Palmella?"
"Oh!" replied Amy, in some little confusion, "I have never seen him since."
"Did you send the letter I wrote for you?"
"Yes," answered Amy.
"And did he send you the two hundred pounds?"
"Directly," rejoined Amy, "with a letter full of professions of the deepest gratitude."
"And where is that poor dear little man now?" inquired I.
"God knows!" replied Amy. "I have been denied to him ever since. Sydenham has been telling me that I am too beautiful, and it would really be too great a sacrifice for me to throw myself away on Palmella."
"Did Sydenham say your returning the two hundred pounds would be too great a sacrifice also?"
"No! but I have spent it."
It was now growing late, and we separated.
The next morning my servant informed me that a lady desired to speak a word to me. Her name was Porter.
"You are come to scold me for sending my old nurse to console the general?" said I, when I entered the room where she was waiting.
"Not at all, my dear, wild young lady," answered Mrs. Porter; "but I am now come to inform you that you have made the conquest of a very fine, noble, unexceptionable man."
"Delightful," said I. "Who is he?"
"I dare not tell you his name," interrupted Mrs. Porter, "but you may rest assured that he is a man of fashion and rank."
"It will not do!" reiterated I, striking my head. "Tell your friend that I have no money, that I do not know how to take care of myself, and Argyle takes no care of me. Tell him that nobody wants a real steady friend more than I do; but I cannot meet a stranger as a lover. Tell him all this, if he is really handsome that is to say (for the stranger I had twice met riding down Sloane Street, accompanied by his large dog, had lately run often in my head), and let me know what he says to-morrow."
Mrs. Porter acquiesced, and hearing a loud rap at my door, she hastily took her leave.
This was Fanny. At his own earnest request, she had brought me the son of the rich Freeling, secretary to the General Post Office; saying, "Mr. Freeling will allow me no rest, till I have made him known to you."
The young man was civil and humble, and kept a proper distance; and was rather a bore. In point of fact, at least in my humble opinion, there is no endurable medium between men of the very highest fashion and honest tradesmen, to those who have once acquired a taste and habit of living with any high-bred people. Young Freeling was a gentleman, as far as grammar and eating with his fork went; and Fanny proposed our going to Covent Garden together that evening. She wanted to show little Fanny, for by that appellation we distinguished her eldest daughter, the Harlequin farce, before she returned to school.
"What is the play?" said I.
"Julius Cæsar," answered Freeling.
I was pleased beyond measure at the idea of seeing this play.
I had been at but three plays in my life, all comedies. I shall never forget the delight I experienced in witnessing that fine scene between Brutus and Cassius where they quarrel, performed by John Kemble and Charles Young! Were I to live to the age of a hundred I should not forget John Kemble's energetic delivery of those beautiful lines, so finely expressive of virtuous indignation, so rich in eloquence, in force and in nerve. In short I, like Mark Antony, being no scholar, can only speak right on, and know not how to praise the poet as he merits. Yet few perhaps among the most learned have, in their hearts, done more honour to some of the natural beauties of Shakespeare than I have. I just now alluded to this passage,
What, shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world
But for supporting robbers; shall we now,
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes?
And sell the mighty share of our large honours,
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus?
Neither was Young's excellent performance of Cassius lost upon me. The feeling manner in which he expressed these lines brought more tears into my eyes than any love scene, however pathetic, could have done:
I that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.
I am not sitting down here to write a book of quotations; but I could not help offering my mite of praise to the memory of that great actor whose likeness I shall never behold again on earth: and such was the impression Kemble made on me, that methinks I hear his accent in my ear, and the very tone of that voice, which made my heart thrill so long ago, while he was thus taking leave of Cassius:
And whether we shall meet again I know not;
Therefore our everlasting farewell take.
For ever, and for ever, farewell Cassius!
If we do meet again, why we shall smile;
If not, why then this parting was well made.
I begged to be excused remaining to see the Harlequin farce, as it would have been impossible for me to have witnessed such an exhibition after Julius Cæsar, and I was allowed to drive home alone, for I insisted on not robbing Fanny of the protection of our worthy general postman.
The next morning I received another visit from Mrs. Porter, who informed me that she had just had an interview with my new lover and had reported to him all I had desired her to say.
"Since you object to meet a stranger," continued Mrs. Porter, "his grace desires me to say, he hopes you can keep a secret, and to inform you, that it is the Duke of Wellington who so anxiously desires to make your acquaintance."
"I have heard of his grace often," said I, in a tone of deep disappointment: for I had been indulging a kind of hope about the stranger with the great Newfoundland dog, with whose appearance I had been so unusually struck as to have sought for him every day, and I thought of him every hour.
"His grace," Mrs. Porter proceeded, "only entreats to be allowed to make your acquaintance. His situation, you know, prevents the possibility of his getting regularly introduced to you."
"It will never do," said I, shaking my head.
"Be assured," said Mrs. Porter, "he is a remarkably fine-looking man, and, if you are afraid of my house, promise to receive him in your own, at any hour when he may be certain to find you alone."
"Well," thought I, with a sigh; "I suppose he must come. I do not understand economy, and am frightened to death at debts. Argyle is going to Scotland; and I shall want a steady sort of friend of some kind, in case a bailiff should get hold of me."
"What shall I say to his grace?" Mrs. Porter inquired, growing impatient.
"Well, then," said I, "since it must be so, tell his grace that I will receive him to-morrow at three; but mind, only as a common acquaintance!"
Away winged Wellington's Mercury, as an old woman wings it at sixty, and most punctual to my appointment, at three on the following day, Wellington made his appearance. He bowed first, then said:
"How do you do?" Then thanked me for having given him permission to call on me; and then wanted to take hold of my hand.
"Really," said I, withdrawing my hand, "for such a renowned hero, you have very little to say for yourself."
"Beautiful creature!" uttered Wellington, "where is Lorne?"
"Good gracious!" said I, out of all patience at his stupidity; "what come you here for, duke?"
"Beautiful eye, yours!" explained Wellington.
"Aye man! they are greater conquerors than ever Wellington shall be; but, to be serious, I understood you came here to try to make yourself agreeable?"
"What child! do you think that I have nothing better to do than to make speeches to please ladies?" said Wellington.
"Après avoir dépeuplé la terre vous devez faire tout pour la repeupler," I replied.
"You should see me where I shine," Wellington observed, laughing.
"Where's that, in Gods name?"
"In a field of battle," answered the hero.
"Battez vous, donc, et qu'un autre me fasse la cour!" said I.
But love scenes, or even love quarrels, seldom tend to amuse the reader, so, to be brief, what was a mere man, even though it were the handsome Duke of Argyle, to a Wellington!
Argyle grew jealous of Wellington's frequent visits, and hiding himself in his native woods wrote me the following very pathetic letter.
"I am not quite sure whether I do, or do not love you—I am afraid I did too much;—but, as long as you find pleasure in the society of another, and a hero too, I am well contented to be a mere common mortal, a monkey, or what you will. I too have my heroines waiting for me in all the woods about here. Here are the wood-cutter's daughter and the gardener's maid always waiting for my gracious presence, and to which of them I shall throw the handkerchief I know not. How then can I remain constant to your inconstant charms? I could have been a little romantic about you it is true; but I always take people as I find them, et j'ai ici beau jeu. Adieu.
"I am very fond of you still, for all this.
"ARGYLE."
This was my answer:
"Indeed as you are as yet the only man who has ever had the least influence over me, therefore I entreat you do not forget me! I wish I were the woodcutter's daughter awaiting your gracious presence, in the woods for days! weeks! months! so that at last you would reward me with the benevolent smile of peace and forgiveness, or that illumined, beautiful expression of more ardent feeling such as I have often inspired and shall remember for ever, come what may; and whether your fancy changes or mine. You say you take people as you find them; therefore you must and you shall love me still, with all my imperfections on my foolish head, and that, dearly.
"HARRIETTE."
Wellington was now my constant visitor—a most unentertaining one, Heaven knows! and, in the evenings, when he wore his broad red ribbon, he looked very like a rat-catcher.
"Do you know," said I to him one day, "do you know the world talk about hanging you?"
"Eh?" said Wellington.
"They say you will be hanged, in spite of all your brother Wellesley can say in your defence."
"Ha!" said Wellington, very seriously, "what paper do you read?"
"It is the common talk of the day," I replied.
"They must not work me in such another campaign," Wellington said, smiling, "or my weight will never hang me."
"Why you look a little like the apothecary in Romeo already," I said.
In my walks Brummell often joined me, and I now walked oftener than usual: indeed whenever I could make anybody walk with me; because I wanted to meet the man with his Newfoundland dog, who was not the sort of man either that generally strikes the fancy of a very young female; for he was neither young nor at all gaily drest. No doubt he was very handsome; but it was that pale expressive beauty, which oftener steals upon us by degrees, after having become acquainted, than strikes us at first sight.
I had of late frequently met him, and he always turned his head back after he had passed me; but whether he admired, or had indeed observed me, or whether he only looked back after his large dog, was what puzzled and tormented me. "Better to have been merely observed by that fine noble-looking being, than adored by all the men on earth besides," thought I, being now at the very tip-top of my heroics.
Dean Swift mentions having seen, in the grand academy of Lagado, an ingenious architect, who had contrived a new method of building houses, by beginning at the roof and working downwards to the foundation; and which he justified by the like practice of those two prudent insects the bee and the spider. The operation of my love then was after the model of this architect. The airy foundation on which I built my castles caused them ever to descend. Once in my life, when I raised my air-built fabric unusually high, it fell with such a dead weight on my heart, that the very vital spark of existence was nearly destroyed. I have never enjoyed one hour's health since. Now, however, I look on all my past bitter suffering, caused by this same love, which many treat as a plaything and a child, and which I believe to be one of the most arbitrary, ungovernable passions in nature, as a wild dream, remembered by me merely as I recollect three days of delirium, by which I was afflicted after the scarlet fever, with the idea of rats and mice running over my head, and which thus kept me in a frenzy, from the mere working of a disordered brain.
Characters and feelings, unnaturally stretched on the sentimental bed of torture, must return with violence to their natural tone and dimensions, says a celebrated French writer. The idol of romantic passion, in some unlucky moment of common sense or common life, is discovered to be the last thing their worshippers would wish the idol to be found—a mere human being! with passions, and infirmities, and wants, utterly unprovided for by the statutes of romance. Soon, we find too, a certain falling off in our own powers of human life, a subjection to common accidents, to ill health, and to indigence, which sicklies o'er the rich colouring of passion with the pale cast of humanity.
But to proceed—if, in my frequent walks about Sloane Street and Hyde Park, I failed to meet the stranger, whose whole appearance had so affected my imagination, I was sure to see George Brummell, whose foolish professions of love I could not repeat, for I scarcely heard them. One day, just as I was going to sit down to dinner with Fanny and Amy, who was passing the evening with her, I felt a kind of presentiment come over me, that, if I went into Hyde Park at that moment, I should meet this stranger. It was past six o'clock. I had never seen him but at that hour. They both declared that I was mad, and Lord Alvanly calling on Fanny at that moment, they retailed my folly to his lordship.
"I dare say he is some dog-fancier, or whipper-in, or something of the sort," said Alvanly. "God bless my soul! I thought you had more sense. What does Argyle say to all this?"
Lord Lowther now entered the room.
"How very rude you all are," said Fanny. "I have told you frequently that this is my dinner-hour, and you never attend to it!"
"It is those d-mn grocers, the Mitchels," said Alvanly, "who have taught you to dine at these hours! Who the d—-l dines at six? why I am only just out of bed!"
Lord Lowther made many civil apologies. He wanted to have the pleasure of engaging us three to dine with him on the following day, to meet the Marquis of Hertford, then Lord Yarmouth; a Mr. Graham, the son of Sir James Graham, Bart.; Street, the editor of the Courier newspaper; and J.W. Croker, M.P. of the Admiralty.
We accepted the invitation, and Lord Lowther, after begging us not to be later than half-past seven, took his leave.
Alvanly accompanied me as far as Hyde Park, laughing at me and my man and his dog all the way. The park was now entirely empty—nothing like a hero, nor even a dog to be seen.
"I must now wish you good morning," said Alvanly. "I am not going to be groom," he added in my ear.
I shook hands with him, without at all understanding what he meant, and walked down towards that side of the river where I had once or twice seen the stranger coaxing his dog to swim by throwing stones into the water.
If I could but once see him walking with any man I had ever met before, then at least I should have a chance of learning his name. I continued to wander up and down the river for nearly an hour. As I was returning home disappointed as usual, I met an elderly gentleman, whose name I forget, though we had often seen each other in society. He stopped to converse with me on common subjects for a few minutes and, just as he had taken his leave, and was slowly walking his horse away, a very clean, aged woman came up to me and begged assistance. Her manners were unlike these of a common beggar. She smiled on me, and looked as if she would have been nearly as much pleased by a few kind words as with money.
I always liked very old people when they were clean and appeared respectable, and I was unusually interested by this woman's demeanour. I eagerly searched my reticule. Alas! it was empty. I turned a wistful eye towards the old gentleman who had left me. His prim seat on horseback struck me altogether as too formidable. "If I knew him a little better," thought I, hesitating, as I saw him stop to speak to his groom. He turned his harsh-looking countenance at that moment towards me. "It will never do," thought I, and then I expressed my sincere regret to the poor old woman that I had nothing to give her.
"Never mind," replied the good old creature, smiling very kindly on me, "never mind, my dear young lady. Many, I bless God, are more in want than I am."
"Wait here a minute," said I.
My desire to assist her now overcoming my repugnance, I ran as fast as I possibly could after the old gentleman, who was disappearing, and quite out of breath, and in the deepest confusion told him I had forgotten my purse, and had occasion for half a crown, which I hoped he would lend me.
"Certainly, with pleasure," said the old gentleman, drawing out his purse and presenting me with what I had asked for.
I made him many confused apologies; and turning hastily towards some trees, which led by rather a shorter road to where I had left the old woman, I came immediately in close contact with the stranger, whose person had been concealed by two large elms and who might have been observing me for some time. I scarcely dared encourage the flattering idea. It made me wild; and yet, why should such a noble, fashionable-looking man have pulled up his horse, between two trees, where there was nothing else to be seen?
After all, I was only encouraging the most absurd vanity, contrary to common sense. Might he not be watching his dog? Did he ever look at me? I know not! After passing days and days in looking for him, his sudden appearance caused such a tremulousness to come over me that I wanted courage, once, to raise my eyes to his face; so that I rather felt than knew I was near him, whom now I passed as quickly as my extreme agitation would permit, and soon came up with the old woman, and presenting the half-crown and my card desired her to call and see me.
The poor old nervous creature shed tears of gratitude, called me a dear, sweet young lady, assured me that she had kept a respectable inn for thirty years at Glasgow, which from her language I was inclined to believe, and then took her leave.
I now ventured to turn my head back, believing myself at a safe distance from the stranger. He had quitted his hiding-place, and was slowly walking his very fine horse towards me. "There he is," thought I. "No one is near us, and yet, in another minute or two he will have passed me, and be perhaps lost to me for ever." I began to muster all the energies of my character, generally fertile in resources, to consider of a remedy for this coming evil. "If any man could be bribed to follow him slyly!" thought I, hastily looking about me. The stranger drew nearer. Alas! he will have passed me for ever perhaps in another instant. Surely I might have said, with King Richard,
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
since, without one, who could follow the stranger? I heard the sound of his horse's feet close behind me. "I will fix my eyes upon his face this time, to ascertain if he looks at me," said I to myself with a sudden effort of desperate resolution; which I put in practice the next moment. I thought our eyes met, and that the stranger blushed; but his were so immediately withdrawn from my face, that I went home, still in doubt whether he had or had not taken sufficient notice of me even to know me again by sight.
I related this adventure to Fanny on my return. She gave me some dinner, and advised me, with friendly seriousness, not to make such a fool of myself about a man I had never spoken to, and who after all might turn out to be vulgar, or ill-mannered, or of bad character.
"True," answered I, "and I shall be glad to learn that this man is either of those, for vulgarity will make me heart-whole again in an instant. In short, at any rate, I look for my cure in a future knowledge of this man's character. Nothing is perfect under the sun; and rank, talents, wit, beauty, character, manners, all must combine in that human being who shall ever make me die of a broken heart. Therefore I am safe."
"I had not an idea that you were such a simpleton, or half so sentimental," retorted Fanny. "I wonder if I should admire the man!"
"We will try and meet him together," I replied; "but enough of a subject which begins to make me melancholy—as though he were my fate! How many fine, elegant-looking young men have I not met about the streets and at the opera, without their making the slightest impression on me. And what do I know of this man beyond mere beauty of countenance! yet I think, if I could but touch with my hand the horse he rode, or the dog he seems so fond of, I should be half wild with joy."
"What incredible nonsense, my dear Harriette," said Fanny.
"But true, upon my word," I replied, "and I cannot help myself."
Fanny shook her head at me, and I left her, to dream of the stranger.
By a little before eight on the following evening, the party I have before mentioned all sat down to dinner at Lord Lowther's in Pall Mall. Lord Yarmouth was at the bottom of the table, opposite to Lord Lowther; Amy, on Lowther's right hand, Fanny at his left; Street, the editor, was her neighbour; and I sat next to Croker. Poor Julia had not been invited. Lord Hertford, who at his own table is always particularly entertaining, was a little out of sorts here, which generally happened to him when he dined with Lowther, who gave a very bad dinner.
Lord Hertford very candidly owns that he dislikes a bad dinner; and I had heard him own it so often to Lord Lowther, that I was surprised his lordship invited him at all, unless he had thought proper to have provided a good one.
The claret, Lowther said, he wanted Lord Hertford's opinion about, having just provided himself with a large quantity of it, in consequence of its quality having been strongly recommended to him.
Our first glass had scarcely gone round, when Lord Hertford said, in his usual, loud, odd voice, addressing Lowther, "You asked me for my opinion, and I will give it you; your claret is not worth a d—n."
Poor Lowther looked a little annoyed.
Croker fought on his side. "I must differ in opinion with you, Lord Hertford," said he, in his starched pragmatical manner. "I think the claret excellent."
"With all my heart," said Hertford, in a tone and manner of the most perfect indifference.
"How is your poetical doctor?" Lowther asked me; alluding to my physician, Doctor Nevinson, who, during a serious illness in which he had attended me, had been kind enough to sing my praise in his best rhymes.
I was very earnest in my commendations of that gentleman, believing myself under some obligations to him.
"These doctors are lucky fellows," Croker observed, affectedly.
"Not always," said I. "I have here a few lines, poor old Eliot of the Audit Office made at my house this morning, on Dr. Nevinson's hard case;" and I put into his hand a small bit of paper which was in my reticule.
"What flirtation is going on there, pray, between you two?" inquired Street, who observed me.
"Nothing," I replied, "but a few bad rhymes about Dr. Nevinson."
"Read! read!" exclaimed they all.
Between Lord Lowther's scanty courses there was ever room for reflection, even to madness.
Mr. Secretary Croker read, as follows:
THE PHYSICIAN'S PRAYER TO ÆOLUS.
God of the winds, oh! grant my prayer,
And end this solemn frolic;
Or, when I next attend the fair,
Defend them from the cholic.
But if thy brother of the bow
To physic bind me fast,
Grant that the old from me may go,
For cure, to Dr. Last!
Release me from the dry concern
Of listening to their moaning,
And from your votary ever turn
Old dames with cholic groaning!
For patients, oh, to me impart
The gay, the young, the witty;
Such as may interest the heart.
This prayer, oh grant, in pity!
"Allow me to look at them," said Street, as soon as Croker had finished reading.
"I think Eliot clever," said Hertford. "What has become of him?"
"Oh," replied Amy, "I believe he is going to die he has grown so very dull and heavy. Do you know, I told him a very interesting story one day last week, and he did not at all listen to it; and before I had finished repeating it a second time he fell fast asleep."
"Poor fellow!" said Street: he could not stand the second edition.
Mr. Graham sat on my left hand, and was as attentive to me as possible. Graham was a beauty; a very Apollo in form, with handsome features, particularly his teeth and eyes; sensible too, and well educated.
"I brought you two together, because I knew you would fall in love with each other," said Lowther.