I threw the book down at this passage, beginning to feel very much ashamed of myself; I rang my bell, and sent to my bookseller for the "History of Mahomet," hoping that most prolific prophet would put me in the way of obeying his commands in case, after duly studying his laws, I were disposed to turn Turk.
I seriously determined to choose my own religion, instead of following blindly that which happened to be my father's. If this determination be sinful, I must still think it ever has been, and ever will be the sin of all intelligent minds. The uneducated child, or the rudest clown who earns his hard fare by the sweat of his brow, and whistles as he returns home for want of thought, will give the same answers, when you ask why they say their prayers, namely, "Because the parson says I ought." Will it not occur to them that accident has had much to do with their being Christians, or Jews, or Turks? Will not they be aware of the force of early impressions, good or bad, and, if but to impress on their mind the wisdom and justice, as well as the superiority of the religion they were born in, will they not compare it steadily with that of the greater part of the creation? It may be answered that all religions are good, and we have but to act up to our belief of what is right, which is all that justice can require of us: yet will the ardent mind, while suffering under the various ills which flesh is heir to, be led to doubt and to search eagerly into the reason why a just God, who is our father, has created us for so much misery.
I pondered a whole night on these expressive words of Lord Byron, in his "Childe Harold":
Our life is a false nature, 'tis not in
The harmony of things—this hard decree,
This uneradicable taint of sin,
This boundless Upas, this all blasting tree,
Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches
The skies, which rain their plagues on me like dew,
Disease, death, bondage—all the woes we see not, which
throbs through
The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new.
Yet, let us ponder boldly—'tis a base
Abandonment of reason, to resign
Our right of thought—our last and only place
Of refuge; this at least, shall still be mine:
Though, from our birth, the faculty divine
Is charmed and tortured—cabin'd, cribb'd, confined,
And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine
Too brightly, in the unprepared mind,
The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the blind.
However all my time, and all my pondering, and all my skill, only confirmed me the more steadily in this opinion—that I know nothing about it.
I had long been sentimentally in love with Lord Byron, and some years previous to the publication of the last canto of "Childe Harold," I had written to him to solicit the honour of his acquaintance.
"If, my lord," said I, in my letter, "to have been cold and indifferent to every other modern poet, while I have passed whole nights in studying your productions with the eagerness of one who has discovered a new source of enjoyment as surprising as it was delightful, deserves gratitude from the vanity of an author, or the gallantry of a gentleman, you will honour me with a little of your friendship."
Would you believe, reader, this eloquent epistle obtained me no answer during three long days? I was furious, and wrote again to tell him that he was a mere pedant; that my common sense was a match for his fine rhymes; that the best of us poor weak mortals—and I acknowledged him to be at the head of the list—must still be ignorant, subject to sickness, ill-temper, and various errors in judgment, therefore was there little excuse for his impertinence, in presuming to find fault with the whole world, as he had done in his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," at an age when his natural judgment could not be matured. It was vulgar, and showed the littleness which some want of philanthropy towards our poor fellow creatures always must evince. Was he really so superior, and would he crush the poor worms which dared not aspire to his perfections? Or was he but a mere upstart man, of extraordinary genius, without strength of mind to know what he would be at? Could he not, at least, have declined the honour I wanted to confer on him, civilly?
This eloquent letter ended simply thus, after assuring him that it was now much too late to make my acquaintance, as I had changed my mind and no longer desired it the least in the world—like the fox and the grapes—
"you be hang'd!
"HARRIETTE WILSON."
This, to a favourite, was tolerably severe; but when I take a liking to a person I must and will be something to them; so if they will not like me I always make it my business and peculiar care that they shall dislike and quarrel with me. Let me once get them into a quarrel and I am sure of them.
The next day I received the following answer from Lord Byron, dated Albany, Piccadilly.
"If my silence has hurt 'your pride or your feelings,' to use your own expressions, I am very sorry for it; be assured that such effect was far from my intention. Business, and some little bustle attendant on changing my residence, prevented me from thanking you for your letter as soon as I ought to have done. If my thanks do not displease you now, pray accept them. I could not feel otherwise than obliged by the desire of a stranger to make my acquaintance.
"I am not unacquainted with your name or your beauty, and I have heard much of your talents; but I am not the person whom you would like, either as a lover or a friend. I did not, and do not 'suspect you,' to use your own words once more, of any design of making love to me. I know myself well enough to acquit any one, who does not know me, and still more those who do, from any such intention. I am not of a nature to be loved, and so far, luckily for myself, I have no wish to be so. In saying this, I do not mean to affect any particular stoicism, and may possibly, at one time or other, have been liable to those follies for which you sarcastically tell me I have now no time: but these, and everything else, are to me at present objects of indifference; and this is a good deal to say, at six-and-twenty. You tell me that you wished to know me better; because you liked my writing. I think you must be aware that a writer is in general very different from his productions, and always disappoints those who expect to find in him qualities more agreeable than those of others; I shall certainly not be lessened in my vanity as a scribbler, by the reflection that a work of mine has given you pleasure; and, to preserve the impression in its favour, I will not risk your good opinion by inflicting my acquaintance upon you.
"Very truly your obliged servant.
"B."
This was very dry; but, I had not aspired to Lord Byron's love and I did not despair of making his acquaintance. I am indeed surprised that I never fell in love with his lordship; but, certain it is, that, though I would have given anything to have been his most humble friend and servant, his beauty was of a nature never to inspire me with warmer sentiments.
There was nothing whatever voluptuous in the character of it; it was wholly intellectual: and as such I honoured it; but give me for my lover an indolent being who, while he possesses talents and genius to do anything he pleases, pleases himself most and best in pleasing me! Au reste, I admire and look up to heroes, but indolent men make the best lovers.
I was a long while before I could convince Lord Byron that as a lover he would never have suited me; and really did not excite any passion in my breast; but, from the moment I had succeeded, his lordship threw off all reserve and wrote and spoke to me with the confidence of easy friendship and good-will, as though he had been delighted to find a woman capable of friendship, to whose vanity it was not at all necessary to administer by saying soft things to her.
On the Thursday which was to be big with the fate of Livius's farce, I took a party of friends to Mr. Elliston's private box. Drury Lane was crowded. Livius had at least eight people in the small box allotted to him by the manager. He paid me a flying visit and seemed as much agitated as though he were about to be tried for high treason. I proposed changing boxes with him, to accommodate his friends. He was highly delighted, and the exchange was made, much, I believe, to the annoyance of Mr. Elliston, though I knew not why it grieved him.
Livius's piece commenced almost as soon as we were quietly seated again. He was certainly much indebted to the exertions of all the very excellent performers who played in it, particularly Elliston and Harley. The piece went off with spirit. I never saw a poor man tremble as Livius did during the first act. "Who would write for the stage?" thought I. Livius was all over the house at once; both before and behind the scenes. He could not rest anywhere.
"Do sit down," said I, handing him a chair. "Let the public be hanged! What great crime would there be if your little piece happened not to be to their taste?"
"Oh, fancy," said Livius, "the agitation of coming thus before the public for the first time!"
"Fiddlestick!" said I.
He was now growing a little more tranquil, while Elliston was charming away his fears, as well as the ennui of the audience. It was at that part where he expresses his rapture at the beauty and loveliness of his valet's wife, while the unfortunate husband, so well represented by Harley, stands in an agony behind his master's chair, not daring to acknowledge his marriage for fear of losing his place.
The piece to be performed next was The Coronation. A man in the pit, at that moment when Elliston ought to have been most pathetic, mounted the boards which were erected down the middle of the pit, I suppose to obtain a better view.
"You must not stand there, sir," vociferated Elliston to the man, in a loud angry voice, in the midst of his love-speech, to the utter dismay of poor Livius, who absolutely gasped for breath.
Sams, who was Livius's publisher, was in my box, and ventured to hiss, which example was followed by a faint vibration from the pit. The valet's wife looked rather silly at being thus cut by her admiring swain. Elliston came forward, as though ashamed of his impetuosity, and, gracefully bowing, addressed the audience somewhat to this effect:
"As manager and proprietor of this theatre, I must request and desire that none of you gentlemen mount those boards," and then, with all the impudence of the most perfect nonchalance, he turned round to his neglected fair one, and resumed his vows of love from where he had left off.
"Elliston is very drunk," said poor Livius, looking as pale as a ghost with dread of what might follow.
"Not so very drunk yet, neither," said I, "since he has to play again, in The Coronation to-night."
"Oh!" said Livius, shaking his head mournfully, "Elliston always plays the king most naturally when he is most drunk."
"I have no doubt," answered I, "that Elliston plays his part best when he has been drinking, since he is always so excessively stupid and dull when sober. Except this trifling interruption, your little piece has gone off without a single accident or blunder; so be calm, man!"
Livius told me that he was about to bring out a young lady of infinite talent as a singer. "She is in my private box, and Elliston has promised to hear her best song, from the pit, after the audience have left the house to-night."
I asked if I might remain to hear her.
"Certainly," said Livius, "and for that purpose I will conduct you to a private pit-box. The young lady is to sing on the stage."
Livius's piece was announced for the next night, amidst loud plaudits.
We may guess that Livius naturally had a vast number of his own friends among the audience. It was in fact a very trifling production, and yet it was dramatic. However I never heard of it after it had run its allotted time, though I think I have seen many worse things last longer.
I thought that I too perhaps might find amusement in writing something from the French for the stage—so I, some days afterwards, fixed upon Moliere's comedy of the Malade Imaginaire, which I hastily transformed into an English three-act piece.
But I forgot to mention what became of Livius's protégée.
After the audience had left the theatre, Livius handed me downstairs to a pit-box, saying, "I must now leave you to attend my poor, timid, young friend." The lamps and candles were all extinguished, when Elliston threw himself along the benches in the pit. Soon afterwards Livius came upon the stage, now lighted by a single lamp, conducting a very ill-favoured young lady in a shawl. She began to sing very scientifically, but her voice was not pleasing. Study had done much for her, while nature had been a niggard.
Elliston appeared to be going to sleep, as soon as he had heard the first verse of a most barbarously long song; but, accidentally observing me, he climbed up to my box from the pit, making a noise, which altogether discouraged the poor young lady by this rude inattention to her melody.
"Why do not you play harlequin?" said I.
"I am too old," he replied: and then asked me how the farce went off.
"Famously," I replied. "I see you know how to profit by my advice, and you made fewer faces. But you took a great liberty with the public, when you began scolding the audience, instead of minding what you were engaged in," I observed to him.
"What business had that man to stick himself up there?" Elliston asked.
"From sympathy! He was looking at a mountebank!"
During the whole of this time, the poor young lady was exerting herself by the light of her solitary lamp, à pure perte!
"It is really unmanly," I observed, "to be so unfeelingly inattentive to a beginner, and one of the fair sex."
"Oh!" whispered Elliston, "Livius wants to father all his old sweethearts on me, I believe. I do not allude to this lady," said he, laughing, "it would be a libel on herself, and on mankind, to doubt her respectability; but then she cannot sing, and what is worse, he is going to bring me up three or four more next week."
Oh, mon Dieu! it has just occurred to me, that to have told this story of Elliston and Livius, in due time, it ought not to have come in these eight years at soonest; and I must now go back with my Memoirs; but what does it signify to my readers, the story will do as well, and amuse as much now, as later on; and if this book meets due encouragement, I may write something afterwards, with infinitely more regularity.
"It is all settled," said Fanny to me, on the night before Mr. Dick's dinner-party, "and I am to be Mrs. Parker."
"I hope you will be happy," said I; "but I wish you were married."
"Why should poor Parker marry a woman with a ready-made family?" asked Fanny.
I declined offering an opinion, fearing to do harm.
Fanny was four years my senior, and possessed perhaps a larger portion of what is called common sense than myself. Au reste, the thing was settled between her and Parker, who were to proceed together to Portsmouth, where Colonel Parker's regiment was stationed, after they had passed a fortnight at Brighton.
"Suppose we make a party, and hire a house for you and Julia and me?"
"The very thing I wish," said Fanny; "for London is growing very stupid. We meet no one but the Hon. Colonel Collyer and Lord Petersham about the streets."
"Oh, yes," said I, "we also see Lady Heathcote and Lady Ann Wyndham."
"And that makes it worse still," added Fanny, "for I really believe neither of those good ladies has missed Hyde Park or the Opera, one single night for the last twenty years, or changed the colour of their chariot blinds; Heathcote, rosy red! and the gentle Ann's interesting yellow! How very tired I am of seeing these women!"
Julia called on me before Fanny had left, and our little excursion to Brighton was fixed for the following week.
When we had settled this important affair, my servant informed me that a lady requested to offer herself in the place of Miss Hawkes, my late dame de compagnie, who had just left me to be married to her cousin. I desired him to show her upstairs. She came tripping into the room with the step of a child. She wore short petticoats, and a small French bonnet stuck at the top of her head. I should imagine her age to have been about forty: indeed she owned to six-and-twenty.
"Who will recommend you, pray, madam?"
"The Countess Palmella, wife of the Portuguese Ambassador, in South Audley Street; I have been educating her children."
I asked if the countess's had been her first situation.
She replied in the affirmative.
"What were you doing before that, pray, ma'am?"
"Why," said the lady, with much affectation, "you see I was daily, nay hourly, expecting to get settled in life. I had a small property and I went to Bath. Several of my friends had found charming husbands at Bath. However, time slipped away madam, and by some strange fatality or other I exhausted my little resources, and did not manage to get settled in life: that is the truth of it."
It stuck me that this curious woman with the odd bonnet, would amuse me as well as any other lion, pour le moment, and being acquainted with Amy's poor beau the Count Palmella, I told her she might come to me the following day.
She seemed absolutely enraptured, as though mine had been an atmosphere which would rain men upon her, and our bargain was concluded. She was a straight, tall, long-backed lath of a woman, with a remarkably long face, small twinkling eyes, fine hair, and a bad skin, in spite of the white paint she used to beautify it. So much for Miss Eliza Higgins.
The next evening found us all quite rayonnante, waiting for our dinner in Mr. Dick's elegant drawing-room.
"We will certainly not wait for Mr. Ward," said Dick, looking at his watch.
"To be sure not, who the devil waits for men?" exclaimed Lord Alvanly.
There was a thundering rap at the door, and then entered the Honourable Mr. Ward, looking for all the world like a tobacconist. He was followed by his servant to the very door of the drawing-room. He hoped he had kept nobody waiting.
"To be sure not," said Alvanly, "who the devil would wait for you?"
"I would, all my life, and with all imaginable patience," I observed.
"Ha! ha!" said Ward, growing pale, while he affected to be amused.
"But, my excellent friend Dick," said Ward, "I must send back a note by my servant, who is waiting for it."
"Why," said Dick, "the servants are going to serve the dinner immediately, and I should rather prefer your going into my dressing-room to write your note."
"I thank you," said Ward, with much asperity, "I thank you all the same; but I prefer having the paper here, with your permission. With your permission, mind, Dick!"
"You may ring, if you please," said Dick carelessly, and then, I believe, retired for the express purpose of desiring his footman not to answer the bell. This I only surmise, from his remarking to me in an undertone afterwards, that Ward gave more trouble than all the rest of the party put together, and he was delighted that the footman did not attend his summons.
Mr. Dick handed me down to dinner. Lord Hertford took care of Amy, Alvanly was ever Fanny's most obedient humble servant, and Ward held out his finger to Mrs. Armstrong; because Amy was better provided for Luttrell was, as usual unless some one bored or offended him, the life and spirit of the whole party, when Ward would let him alone; but he was often interrupted by that learned gentleman's bawling from the top to the bottom of a large table, his Latin bon mots, at which he himself, solus, laughed always most vociferously. He frequently addressed himself to our favourite Luttrell, not being so sure of any other man's Greek and Latin.
"What a misfortune for you," said I to Luttrell, "that the little figure at the top of the table has faith in your classical knowledge," and then, addressing myself to Ward, "Friend," said I, "we, at this end of the table, have all forgotten our Latin."
"Dick!" said Ward, whom I had put out of humour, "there would be no harm in ordering a few coals. I'm starved."
"Why, really," answered Dick, "the fire cannot be better, nor will that grate hold any more coals."
"That's your opinion, not mine;" and Ward affected to laugh, as though he had said something witty.
I praised the very unaffected character of Lord Robert Manners to Nugent, who sat next to me.
"Ah!" squeaked out the reptile Ward, "stand up for Bob Manners, for I know he stands up for you."
"Is that meant for a joke, or a matter of fact?" asked I.
"Fact! Fact! Bob, as your friend no doubt, stands up for you, whom he must so often hear abused."
"What! a mighty member of the senate fighting me, a silly woman, with my own weapons, seriously, and in sober anger, as though I were one of the lords of the creation and a commoner? Then, indeed, I must ask pardon of the honourable member, whom I must have sorely aggrieved. You say my little spitfire, that Lord Robert often hears me abused. All I answer is, look you at the breadth of his shoulders, before you presume to join the hue-and-cry against me in his presence. You would not like a horsepond: n'est-ce pas?"
"Keep them to it, keep up the war between them; it is so amusing. Harriette is the only match for Ward I ever met with," whispered Luttrell to my neighbour, his half-brother, Nugent.
"Does anybody mean to go to Elliston's masquerade?" asked Dick.
"Certainly," said Mrs. Armstrong. "It is to be a most brilliant thing, and the stage will exhibit all the decorations of Aladdin's Lamp, and I know not what besides; no dominoes, and a most comfortable, excellent supper."
"I dare not go," said Alvanly. "I am always afraid of getting into a row, at these sort of places and having to fight."
"Apropos of fighting," said I. "Your lordship, if I remember, was formerly in the Guards, I think? Why did you leave that regiment?"
"Why, I was afraid of being shot," said Alvanly, very quietly.
"But were you not also afraid of being called a coward?" I asked.
"I was in two engagements, and distinguished myself in each," Alvanly replied.
"How, pray?" said the stiff John Mills, of the Guards, whom, though I believe he had served in Spain with Alvanly, I did not think worth a place in my Memoirs.
"I do not mean to say that I ever volunteered anything," said Alvanly, pulling up the collar of his shirt; "but, at the same time, I never ran away, you know. They did not reward me for my services as I expected. However, I am quite contented to have retired on half-pay. God bless your soul," continued his lordship, addressing himself to me, "you have no idea what it is! Come on, my brave fellows. This is fine fun, my lads. You are obliged to find courage for yourself and your men too! I mentioned to two or three officers at the time of action, that, if it should please God to see me safe out of that, I would give the enemy leave to cut off my head, if I did not sell out of the army or retire on half-pay the moment I arrived in England. The fact is, I have had the same antipathy to the idea of fighting from a child, and I never should have gone into the Guards at all, if I had imagined they would have left London."
"Alvanly, shall I have the pleasure of drinking wine with you?" asked Lord Hertford, from the top of the table.
Alvanly assented of course.
"Madeira?" asked Dick, handing Alvanly the bottle.
"No; champagne, if you please. I can get madeira at home," said Alvanly.
We women then entered the drawing-room, to which Mr. Dick conducted us himself.
Poor Julia scarcely spoke a single word the whole evening; indeed we had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to be of our party. She declared she could not endure to meet Amy, who had been making love to Mildmay merely because Julia adored him. Mildmay had paid due attention to Amy's ogling, had basked in the sunshine of her smiles for nearly a fortnight, and then, just as she was growing tender, had cut her dead. Amy, seized with an unusual fit of frankness, showed me Sir Henry's last letter, in which he begged to be excused coming to her pour le moment: he was particularly engaged for the whole of next week.
"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" said I, after reading this very impertinent letter, addressed to a fine woman who had done him too much honour. "How can you all encourage this cold-blooded heartless creature? Do pray let me write your answer directly, and you shall copy it. It will set poor Julia's mind at rest, and keep up, more or less, the dignity of the sex!"
"I wish you would," answered Amy, "for I hate him; but, as to Julia, it's nonsense her sticking up for Mildmay, he only laughs at the idea."
Julia began to shed tears at Amy's coarse remarks, and I wrote as follows, which Amy copied, and delivered into my hands to be forwarded to the gay baronet the next morning.
"MY DEAR SIR HARRY,—I have ten thousand apologies to make to you, for being the most careless creature on earth! Your letter of this morning was brought to me just as I was writing to that angel Ponsonby; and, before I could read the first line of your effusion, my servant brought me two more notes; so, in my bustle and confusion, I am afraid yours must have been the piece of paper I took up to light my taper with; for, though I desired my maid to make strict search after it before I went out, she informed me in the evening that it was not to be found. No matter, I give you credit for having said an infinity of soft things, and wish it were in my power de vous rendre les pareilles. Not that but I entertain a severe esteem for you; to prove which, were I not about to leave town for Brighton, I should entreat you to continue your visits; but I am so unlucky as to have my time taken up entirely just now. On my return, I hope to be more fortunate, and if so, I shall certainly do myself the pleasure of sending you a card. In the meantime Sir Harry will, I hope, believe me, like all the rest of my sex, deeply impressed with his merits,
"and most truly and faithfully his servant,
"AMY SYDENHAM."
Julia recovered her spirits as soon as this letter was in my possession, signed and sealed, for she knew Mildmay too well to imagine he would forgive any one who wounded his self-love.
"You will be surprised to hear that I have left your sister Sophia at home," said Julia.
We asked Julia about Lord Deerhurst; and she told us that Sophia felt herself so neglected and uncomfortable, and disgusted with her lodging, that she had entreated Julia to take her as a boarder, and to which she had that morning consented.
Amy asked Julia why she did not bring Sophia with her.
"In the first place," answered Julia, "I have passed my word to your mother that Sophia shall not go out except to walk with my own children; and, in the second she was not invited."
The gentlemen joined us soon afterwards.
The first thing Alvanly did was to break one of Mr. Dick's looking-glasses, while playing some trick or other with a stick.
Dick grew sulky and declared that, since the honour of his lordship's company was to be so expensive, he must decline it.
Alvanly said he was really sorry; but could not insult Mr. Dick by buying him another.
Dick assured him he was not touchy.
"Oh, yes," said Alvanly, "you will give yourself a good character of course; but I shall not impose upon your goodness by doing anything half so rude."
As soon as we had taken our tea and coffee, we all went to the King's Theatre; but before Lord Hertford parted with us, he invited the females of this party to dinner.
We declared that we were going to Brighton and had no time.
"Name your own day," said Lord Hertford; "to-morrow if you please; but come you must."
"It shall be to-morrow, then," said Amy, replying for us all.
"What a fine thing it is to be an elder sister," said I. I thought Amy could never have recovered her temper.
Lord Hertford, before he left us, politely offered to send a carriage for my sisters.
I found the Duke of Leinster in my box.
"I am glad you have no men with you," said His Grace, with something like agitation of manner; "for I want to speak to you. Do you know, my friend, of whom I spoke to you, is come up from Oxford on purpose to try to get introduced. I know he must return to college to-night, and I am, I confess, rather anxious that he should be disappointed."
"Nonsense," said Julia. "Who is it pray?"
"The Marquis of Worcester," replied His Grace.
"Is he handsome?" I inquired.
"Not a bit of it," said the duke.
"What is he like?" Fanny asked.
"I do not know anybody he is like, upon my honour, unless it be his father. He is a long, thin, pale fellow, with straight hair."
"You need not be alarmed," said I, "I shall not be presented to your friend if I can help it. I always tell everybody I know, not to bring men here without first coming to ask my permission."
"I know you do," said Leinster; "since this is the answer Lord Worcester has received from several of your friends to whom he applied."
"There he is!" continued Leinster, leaning towards the pit. "Do not you observe a very tall young fellow in silk stockings, looking steadfastly up at this box. Upon my honour he won't wear trousers or curl his hair; because he heard that you dislike it."
"It is very flattering," said I, eagerly looking out for him with my opera-glass, an example which was followed by Julia and Fanny.
The young marquis was at that time too bashful to stand the artillery of three pair of fine eyes at once, and turned away from our eager gaze; but not till I had satisfied myself that he would not do for me one bit better than his uncle, Lord G. L. Gower: and, in the next five minutes, I had forgotten his existence.
Lord Frederick Bentinck now came and asked me when I meant to keep my promise of accompanying him to Vauxhall.
"Oh, we shall never get to Brighton," said Fanny, who doted on donkey-riding. "Harriette will keep us in town all the summer, as she did last year."
"Summer!" interposed George Brummell, entering in a furred great coat. "You do not mistake this for summer, do you? A little more of your summer will just finish me," pulling up his fur collar.
"Upon my honour, I think it very hot," said Leinster. "It must be hot, you know, because it is August."
"I never know the difference, for my part," Fred Bentinck observed. "The only thing that ever makes me cold is putting on a great coat; but then I have always a great deal to do, and that keeps me warm. Once for all madam, will you go to Vauxhall on Monday night? If you will I will put off my sister and accompany you."
I assented, in spite of everything Fanny and Julia could say to prevent me; for Fred Bentinck always made me merry.
"What is Lord Molyneux doing with Mrs. Fitzroy Stanhope?" said I, looking towards that lady's box, where she sat tête-à-tête with his lordship.
"How fond you are of scandal!" observed Fred Bentinck.
"Oh Lord, no," answered I, "on the contrary, I admire her taste. Who would not cut the very best swaggering Stanhope for a Molyneux?"
"Where do you expect to go to, Harriette?" said Bentinck, for at least the twentieth time since I had known him.
"To Amy's to-night, to Lord Hertford's to-morrow, and to Vauxhall on Monday," I replied.
"And then to Brighton, I hope," continued Fanny.
"We must see Elliston's masquerade first," said I.
"A very respectable exhibition, indeed," observed Bentinck.
"Oh! I never unmask, and nobody will find me out; but I've a natural turn for masquerading, and go I must."
King Allen put his long nose into the box, and his nose only. "Is Amy at home to-night?"
Fanny answered in the affirmative; adding, "But she is in her own box. Why do not you go to her to inquire?"
"Lord Lowther and some nasty Russians are with her," answered Allen.
"A ce soir, then," I said, kissing my hand to him, which was as much as to say, do not come in. He was kind enough to understand my hint.
Lord Molyneux shortly took his seat by my side, and I rated him about Mrs. Fitzroy.
"Remember Monday," said Fred Bentinck, as he left the box to make room for Mr. Napier and Colonel Parker, followed by the young Lord William Russell.
Lord Molyneux seemed to take pleasure in chatting with me, without desiring a nearer intimacy; and I was always very glad to see and laugh with his lordship. When he left me, Lord William began to whisper and stammer out something about the folly he was guilty of in coming to me as he did, and encouraging hopes which he knew would end in disappointment.
"You do not know any such thing," returned I.
"What have I," continued Lord William, "to recommend myself to your notice? A poor little wretch without either fortune or wit."
I told him that he was well-looking, high-bred, and high-born. I felt really desirous to encourage the most humble, little gentleman-like being I ever met with.
Just as Parker and Napier had left the box, Lord Deerhurst entered it, accompanied by a tall young man, and Lord William then took his leave, from the mere dread of intruding. "I do not often introduce gentlemen to ladies," said his lordship, "and perhaps I am taking a liberty now; yet I hope you can have no objection to my making you known to the Marquis of Worcester."
I bowed rather formally; because I had before desired Deerhurst not to bring people to me without my permission. However the young marquis blushed so deeply, and looked so humble, that it was impossible to treat him with incivility; but, having taken one good look at my conquest, and thus convinced myself that I should never love him, I conversed indifferently on common subjects, as people do who happen to meet in a stage-coach, where time present is all they have to care about. Deerhurst was lively and pleasant, the marquis scarcely spoke; but the little he did find courage to utter, was certainly said with good taste and in a gentlemanly manner.
Leinster was infinitely bored and annoyed, though he tried to conceal it.
"What do you think of him?" asked Leinster, whispering in my ear.
"I will tell you to-morrow," I replied; and, the better to enable myself to do this, I examined the person of the young marquis for the second time. It promised to be very good, and his air and manners were distinguished; but he was extremely pale and rather thin; nevertheless, there was something fine and good about his countenance, though he was certainly not handsome.
Deerhurst invited the Duke of Leinster to go into the pit with him.
Leinster hesitated.
I understood him. "Do not be afraid," said I, in his ear. "Of course, having already engaged you to take me to my carriage, I shall neither change my mind nor break my word."
Leinster gratefully grasped my hand, but fixed his eyes on Worcester, still hesitating. Not that it was His Grace's nature to break his ducal heart for any woman, and still less perhaps for me; but a man's schoolfellow pushing himself forwards, and trying to cut him out where he had formed high expectations, is always a bore, even to the coldest man alive.
"Of course my sister Amy will be happy to see Lord Worcester to-night," said I aloud, in answer to what I read in Leinster's countenance.
Lord Worcester bowed, and looked rather confused than pleased.
"Do come, my lord," said Fanny, who liked what she had seen of his lordship extremely.
To Leinster's joy and our astonishment, Lord Worcester said he must really decline my very polite offer, grateful as he felt for it.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Deerhurst. "What a very odd fellow you are! I really cannot make you out. I give you my honour, Harriette," continued his lordship, "that, not an hour ago, he declared he would give half his existence to sit near you and talk to you for an hour, and now you invite him to pass the evening in your society, he appears to be frightened to death at the idea!"
"You are all alike; a set of cruel wicked deceivers," said I, carelessly, being really indifferent as to the impression it made on Lord Worcester, who, in his eagerness to exculpate himself from this charge of caprice, blushed deeply and evinced considerable agitation.
"No indeed, I beg, I do entreat that you will not, you must not imagine this. I have a particular reason for not going to your sister's; but it would be impertinent in a stranger like me to take up your time by an explanation: only pray acquit me. Do not send me away so very unhappy; for you must know, I am sure you must, that the indifference of which you accuse me would be impossible, quite impossible, to any man."
"What is the matter with you, young gentleman?" said I, looking at him with much curiosity, "and why do you lay such a stress on trifles light as air?"
"To you, perhaps," observed Worcester, trying to laugh, from a fear of seeming ridiculous.
"There is a pretty race-horse little head for you!" said Deerhurst, touching my hair.
"I never saw such beautiful hair," Worcester remarked timidly.
"Put your fingers into it," said Deerhurst. "Harriette does not mind how you tumble her hair about."
"I should richly deserve to be turned out of the box were I to do anything so very impertinent," interrupted his lordship.
"Oh, no," said I, leaning the back of my little head towards Worcester, "anybody may pull my hair about. I like it, and I am no prude."
Worcester ventured to touch my hair in fear and trembling, and the touch seemed to affect him like electricity. Without vanity, and in very truth, let him deny it if he can, I never saw a boy or a man more madly, wildly, and romantically in love with any daughter of Eve in my whole life.
"Come with me," said Deerhurst to Leinster.
"Remember your promise," Leinster whispered to me, as he unwillingly followed his lordship.
"May I," said Lord Worcester eagerly, as though he dreaded an interruption, "may I, on my return to town, venture to pay my respects?"
"Certainly," answered I, "if I am in town; but we are going to Brighton."
True love is ever thus respectful, and fearful to offend. Worcester, with much modesty, conversed on subjects unconnected with himself or his desires, apparently taking deep interest in my health, which, I assured him, had long been very delicate.
Just before the curtain dropped, Worcester seemed again eager to say something on his refusal to accompany me to Amy's.
"Leinster is coming to take you to your carriage, I know," said he, "and I wish——"
"What do you wish?"
"That you would permit me to explain something to you, and promise not to call me a conceited coxcomb."
"Yes! I'll answer for her," said Fanny, "so out with it, my lord. Why be afraid of that great black-eyed sister of mine, as if she were of so much consequence?"
"Well then," continued Worcester, blushing deeply, "Lord Deerhurst told me that your sister treated you unkindly, and that you never allowed your favourites to visit her. Upon my honour, I would rather never see you again, than pay my court to anybody who has behaved ill to you."
Before I could reply Leinster came hurrying and bustling into the box as the curtain dropped.
"You return to Oxford to-night, I believe?" said His Grace to Worcester, who replied that he must start at six in the morning.
I advised him to take a few hours rest first.
"That will be quite impossible," Worcester answered in a low voice.
The young marquis's pale face certainly did grow paler, as he looked wistfully after Leinster, whose arm I had taken.
First love is all powerful in the head and heart of such an ardent character as Worcester's; and there really was an air of truth about him, which not a little affected me for the moment; therefore, turning back to address him, after I had drawn my arm away from Leinster,—"Perhaps," said I, in a low, laughing voice, "perhaps, Lord Worcester, it may be vain and silly in me to believe that you are disposed to like me; but, as I do almost fancy so, I am come to wish you a good night, and to assure you that I shall remember your taking up my quarrels against my unkind sister, with the gratitude I always feel towards those who are charitable enough to think favourably of me."
Worcester began to look too happy.
"But do not mistake me," I continued, "for I am not one bit in love with you."
Worcester looked humble again.
"In fact," said I, laughing, "my love-days are over. I have loved nothing lately."
"Not the Duke of Leinster?" inquired his lordship, whose anxiety to ascertain this had overcome his fears of seeming impertinent.
"No, indeed," I rejoined, and Worcester's countenance brightened, till he became almost handsome.
Leinster approached us with a look of extreme impatience.
"Good night, my lord," said I, waving my hand, as I joined His Grace. Worcester bowed low and hastened out of sight.
"If Leinster were not my friend," said Worcester to a gentleman who afterwards repeated it to me, pointing to Leinster and myself, as we stood in the round room waiting for His Grace's carriage; "if that young man were not my friend, I would make him walk over my dead body before he should take Harriette out of this house."
Oh, this love! this love!
Amy's rooms were not full. It was her last party for that season. There was nobody in town, so, faute de mieux, since Mildmay had cut her, she was making up to a Mr. Boultby, a black, little, ugly dragoon, whom she declared was exactly to her taste.
"Come to Brighton," said Amy to her hero.
He assured her that, if his regiment had not been stationed there, he would have joined her, since he felt that he could not live out of her smiles.
"How can you strive to make fools of people?" said I.
"What do you mean?" inquired Amy fiercely.
"Why, seriously, Mr. Boultby," continued I, "take my word, she has no fancy for you."
Mr. Boultby's vanity would not permit him to take my word, so I left him to the enjoyment of it.
Parker and Fanny appeared to be very happy together, and sincerely attached to each other. No husband could show more respect towards any wife.
Leinster was very dull, though too proud to complain.
"Confess," said I to His Grace, as soon as I could get him into one corner of the room, "confess that you are annoyed and unhappy about Lord Worcester."
"I do think," said Leinster, "though I do not pretend to have any claim on you whatever, that Worcester, as my friend, had no right to intrude himself into your society to-night."
"Never mind, don't bore me with your jealousy; I abhor it," said I, "I must and will be free, as free as the air, to do whatever I like. I always told you so, and never professed to be in love with you. However, I still like you as well as I like anybody else, and, as to Lord Worcester, what shall I see of him, while he is at Oxford, and I at Brighton, to which place I did not invite him."
"I do not see why Worcester thought proper to blush as he did to-night, and pretend to be so over modest, while he was doing such a cool, impudent thing," muttered Leinster.
"Dear me, how tiresome," said I, yawning. "I should almost have forgotten all about Lord Worcester by this time, if you had made yourself agreeable."
The evening finished heavily for me. I was bored with Leinster, who never had anything on earth to recommend him to my notice, save that excellent temper, which I now saw ruffled for the first time since I had known him: and Amy, who, it must be acknowledged was in the habit of saying droll things, was this night wholly taken up and amused with that stupid, ugly Boultby! I therefore returned early, and Leinster put me down at my own door.
The next day I proposed to my new dame de compagnie, Miss Eliza Higgins, to dress herself quickly, in order to accompany me into the park.
"How do you do? how do you do?" said Lord Fife, as he joined us near Cumberland Gate. "Who is your friend?" he continued, appearing to eye Miss Higgins with looks of admiration, much to my astonishment. "Am I not to be introduced to your friend?"
"Et pourquoi pas?" said I, naming Miss Higgins, with whom he conversed, as though her acquaintance had been the thing on earth most devoutly to be wished.
"What a funny little bonnet you have got on!" said his lordship to my companion, interrupting himself in the middle of a long story from the North.
After Lord Fife had left us, Miss Eliza Higgins could speak of nothing else.
"Charming man, ma'am, the Earl of Fife! I have heard much of him; but never had the honour to be presented to him before. That is a man now, a poor weak female would find it very difficult to resist. His Lordship is so condescending! so polite!"
When we were tired of walking in the park, I drove to the house of a married sister of mine, whose name we will call Paragon, since she was the very paragon of mothers, having drawn up a new, patent system of education for her children, better than Jean Jacques Rousseau's, and unlike everybody's else.
Her family consists of two boys and two girls. The eldest daughter was then nearly seven years of age: her son and heir had scarcely attained his fifth year. "They shall never go to school," said my sister Paragon, "nor will I suffer them to be left one instant to the care of nurses or servants, to learn bad grammar and worse morals. Neither shall they be told of such things as thieves or murderers; much less shall they hear anything about falsehood and deceit. They shall never obtain what they want by tears nor rudeness after the age of two; and it shall depend on the politeness and humility of their deportment, whether they have any dinner or not; and nothing shall be called indecent which is natural, either in words or deeds. So much for the minds of my children; and, with regard to their bodily health, I shall make them swallow one of Anderson's Scot's Aperient Pills every night of their blessed lives! et il n'y aura rien à craindre!"
Sister Paragon was very pretty. She had the sweetest, most lovely eyes I ever beheld: and not because they were large, or of the finest hazel colour; I allude to their character and expression; now flashing with indignation, now soft, and yet so bright that one might almost see one's own reflected in them. Paragon's little nose too was very pretty, even when red and frost-bitten; and she had a beautiful mole on her clear brown cheek. She did not at all resemble either a paragon or a prude; and yet I am the only one of all our family who am not afraid of her wit or her virtue. She married a gentleman of good family and connections, though poor; and, when she did this, she almost broke the tender heart of the reverend Orange patriot, Sir Harcourt Lees, baronet, of Irish notoriety, who had often proposed to her on his knees, and on his—seat, and with his whole heart! "He was a good little fellow," Paragon would often say, "but his face was so like a knocker!"
C'est bien dommage!
Paragon's husband was not in London when I called on her. She was sitting with four of the most lovely children I ever beheld at one time. Her eldest daughter was almost as beautiful as our mother, whose equal I never saw nor shall see on earth. She had her mother's eye, her grandmother's nose, and her nice little aunt Harriette's curly brown hair. Then she was so graceful, and spoke such good French!
"Mary!" said Paragon to her daughter, as soon as she had shaken hands with me, and inquired after my health, "Mary, come away from the window directly. Fie! for shame! Do not you see those two men at the corner of the street are tipsy? Is that a proper sight to attract a young's lady's attention?"
Little Mary was in high spirits. She talked of love! and said she knew, very well, that everybody fell in love, and that she was in love, too, herself.
"With whom, pray?" asked Paragon.
"With my brother John," answered little Mary; and next she asked her mother, when she might marry him, declaring that she could not wait much longer.
"To bed! to bed!" said mamma. "You must all go to bed directly."
"Already?" I asked. "Why it is not six o'clock yet."
"No matter. I am tired to death of them, and they are always asleep before seven."
In less than five minutes the children were all running about stark naked as they were born, laughing, romping, and playing with each other. Little Sophia, who was not yet two years of age, did nothing but run after her beautiful brother Henry, a dear, little, laughing boy, who was about to celebrate his fourth birthday. Little Sophia, bred in the school of nature, handled her brother rather oddly, I thought.
Paragon then put them to bed, gave them a Scotchman, in the shape of a pill, and all was still as the grave!
"Good night, my dear Paragon," said I. "Lord Hertford dines at eight, and I shall not be ready."
"I saw you at the opera, last night," Paragon remarked, "and truly it was an unfair monopoly, to keep two such fine young men as Lord Worcester and the Duke of Leinster to yourself. I admire the latter of all things; so you may send Leinster to me, if you prefer Lord Worcester."
"How wicked!" said I. "If ever you, with such a beautiful young family, were to go astray, you must despair of forgiveness."
"Very fine talking," answered Paragon. "So you would score off your own sins, by a little cut-and-dried advice which costs you nothing."
Her son and heir interrupted her at this moment, by such hard breathing as almost amounted to a snore.
"That boy has caught cold!" observed mamma, and she awoke him to administer an extra Scotchman.
"Good-bye, good-bye," said I, running downstairs; and when I got home, I had only ten minutes left pour faire ma toilette. As to Miss Eliza Higgins, Lord Fife's compliments had so subdued her, that she could not afford me the least assistance.
"A charming man, the Earl of Fife!" she was repeating, for at least the fiftieth time, when a note was put into my hand bearing the noble earl's arms, and my footman at that moment informed me that my carriage was at the door.
"Any answer for Lord Fife, ma'am?" asked my servant.
I hastily read the note, which contained his lordship's request to pass the evening with me and my lovely companion. I did not show this to Miss Higgins on that occasion, because it seemed so very outré and unhoped for that I feared it might from the mere surprise have caused sudden death.
"My compliments only," said I; "tell his lordship I am very sorry, but I cannot write, because I am this instant getting into my carriage to dine with Lord Hertford:" and so saying I followed my servant downstairs.
Lord Hertford had not invited one person to meet us; but his excellent dinner, good wine, and very intelligent conversation, kept us alive till a very late hour. I mean no compliment to Lord Hertford, for he has acted very rudely to me of late; but he is a man possessing more general knowledge than any one I know. His lordship appears to be au fait on every subject one can possibly imagine. Talk to him of drawing or horse-riding, painting or cock-fighting; rhyming, cooking or fencing; profligacy or morals; religion of whatever creed; languages living or dead; claret or burgundy; champagne or black-strap; furnishing houses or riding hobbies; the flavour of venison or breeding poll-parrots; and you might swear that he had served his apprenticeship to every one of them.
After dinner he showed us miniatures by the most celebrated artists, of at least half a hundred lovely women, black, brown, fair, and even carroty, for the amateur's sympathetic bonne bouche. These were all beautifully executed: and no one with any knowledge of painting could hear him expatiate on their various merits, without feeling that he was qualified to preside at the Royal Academy itself! The light, the shade, the harmony of colours, the vice of English painters, the striking characters of Dutch artists—Ma foi! No such thing as foisting sham Vandykes, or copies from Rubens, on Lord Hertford, as I believe is done, or as I am sure might be done, on the Duke of Devonshire: and yet His Grace, I rather fancy, must be in the habit of sending advertisements to the newspapers relative to his taste in vertu and love of the arts. If not, how comes it that everybody hears of Devonshire pictures of his own choosing, while Lord Hertford's most correct judgment never graces those diurnal columns. His lordship does not buy them, either by so much a hundred or so much a foot; but if the town did not talk about Devonshire's pictures, Devonshire's fortune, and Devonshire's parties, he would be a blank in the creation. Once indeed he was slandered with bastardy; but that passed off quietly, as it ought to do; for who would have made it their pastime to beget such a lump of unintelligible matter. Though surely that's enough for a duke, were it even a Wellington. Not that a man is to blame for being stupid, be he duke or tinker; but then Devonshire is so incorrigibly affected and stingy withal! I remember his calling on me and pretending to make love to me; and, with an air of condescension and protection, asking me in what way he could serve me. For my part I am always inclined to judge of others by my own heart; I therefore took him at his word, believing that a man of such princely fortune would not, unasked, proffer his services to anybody to whom he was not disposed to send a few hundreds when they should require it. Being some time afterwards in such a predicament, and having promised to apply to him, I sent to him for a hundred guineas. His Grace begged to be excused sending so large a sum, at the same time assuring me that a part of it was at my service.
Oh, what a fine thing is the patronage of mighty dukes!
Apropos. I must not be ungrateful. The most noble, I ought to say the most gracious, the Duke of Devonshire once sent me two presents! The one, in a parcel, wrapped up in fine paper and sealed with the Devonshire arms.
"A parcel, madam!" said my footman, "and the Duke of Devonshire's servant waits while you acknowledge the receipt of it."
The parcel contained a very ugly, old, red pocket-handkerchief! His Grace, in the note which accompanied this most magnificent donation, acknowledged that it was hideous; but then, he assured me, it was the self-same which he had worn on his breast when he made it serve for an under-waistcoat, on the occasion of his visit to me the day before. This however was not all. In the warmth of his heart he sent me a ring too! I think it must have been bought at Lord Deerhurst's jewellers, and yet perhaps it was gold, instead of brass; but such a mere wire, that it could not weigh a shilling's-worth. Still, had it been of brass, and the gift of a friend who loved me, I should have worn it as long as it had lasted; but, being that of the Duke of Devonshire, who cared nothing about me, I sent it him back, to punish his vanity, in supposing that trifles light as air could be prized by me, because they came from him. As to his ugly, old, red pocket-handkerchief, I gave it to my footman, and told the donor that I had done so.
But, to proceed.
Lord Hertford showed us a vast collection of gold and silver coins, portraits, drawings, curious snuff-boxes and watches. He had long been desirous that Amy, Fanny, and myself should sit to Lawrence, for a large family-picture, to be placed in his collection.
Though the tea and coffee, like our dinner, were exquisite, Hertford made a good-natured complaint to his French commander-in-chief about the cream.
"Really," said his lordship, addressing us in English, "for a man who keeps a cow, it is a great shame to be served with such bad cream!"
"I knew not," said I, "that you were the man who kept a cow. Pray where is she?"
"In Hyde Park," he replied, "just opposite my windows."
Lord Hertford then proposed to show us a small detached building, which he had taken pains to fit up in a very luxurious style of elegance. A small, low gate, of which he always kept the key, opened into Park Lane, and a little, narrow flight of stairs, covered with crimson cloth, conducted to this retirement. It consisted of a dressing-room, a small sitting-room, and a bed-chamber. Over the elegant French bed was a fine picture of a sleeping Venus. There were a great many other pictures, and their subjects, though certainly warm and voluptuous, were yet too classical and graceful to merit the appellation of indecent. He directed our attention to the convenience of opening the door himself to any fair lady who would honour him with a visit incognita, after his servants should have prepared a most delicious supper and retired to rest. He told us many curious anecdotes of the advantage he derived from his character for discretion.
"I never tell of any woman. No power on earth should induce me to name a single female, worthy to be called woman, by whom I have been favoured. In the first place; because I am not tired of variety and wish to succeed again: in the second, I think it dishonourable."
He told us a story of a lady of family, well known in the fashionable world, whose intrigue with a young dragoon he had discovered by the merest and most unlooked-for accident. "I accused her of the fact," continued his lordship, "and refused to promise secrecy till she had made me as happy as she had made the young dragoon."
"Was this honourable?" I asked.
"Perhaps not," answered Hertford; "but I could not help it."
We did not leave Lord Hertford till near two o'clock, when he kindly set us all down himself in his own carriage.
The next morning, before I had finished my breakfast, a great, big, stupid Irishman was announced, by name Dominick Brown, with whom I had a slight acquaintance. He brought with him, for the purpose of being presented to me, the Marquis of Sligo. They sat talking on indifferent subjects for about an hour, and then drove off in his lordship's curricle. Next came a note from Lord Fife, requesting permission to drink tea with me and my charming friend. "Who would have thought it?" said I to myself, laughing. "Here am I playing second fiddle to Miss Eliza Higgins for the amusement of her most charming man, the Earl of Fife!" I wrote on the back of his note:
"Going to Vauxhall; but you may come to-morrow evening at nine."
I thought that Miss Eliza Higgins would have fainted when I told her that Lord Fife was coming to us.
"Oh dear, ma'am, what would you advise me to wear? If you would not think it a liberty, and would lend me the pattern of your sweet blue cap, I would sit up all night to complete one like it."
"All this energy about drinking tea with a rake of a Scotchman,—whom you know would not marry an angel,—and pretend to tell me that you are une grande vertu?" said I.
"Certainly," answered Miss Eliza Higgins, reddening.
"Fiddlestick!" was my sublime ejaculation.
Miss Eliza Higgins burst into tears.
"Nay," I continued, "this fit of heroics to me is ridiculous. I ask nothing of you but plain dealing. The fact is this, I am not curious but frank. Lord Fife wants to make your acquaintance, and it is not my wish to spoil any woman's preferment in whatever line of life, whether good or bad: so, guessing from all the raptures you have expressed at the idea of this rake's attachment, that the governess of the young countess Palmella is no better than she should be, I have agreed to receive his lordship; but, since these tears of virtuous indignation have convinced me of the injustice I did you, heaven forbid that I should be the means of bringing Lord Fife and a vestal together, for fear of consequences!" I then quietly opened my writing-desk and began framing an excuse lordship.
"Surely you are not putting off the Earl of Fife?" said Miss Eliza Higgins, in breathless agitation.
"I think it wrong to introduce such a gay man to an innocent woman," was my answer.
Miss Higgins entreated and begged in vain.
"Well then," said Miss Higgins, "I confess that I once——"
"Once what?" I asked.
"I had a slip—a—yes—a slip!" And she held her handkerchief to her eyes.
"What do you call a slip? Do you mean a petticoat or an intrigue!"
"Oh, fie! fie!" said Miss Eliza Higgins. "Intrigue is such a shocking word, and conveys a more determined idea of loose morals than a mere accidental slip."
I still persisted in sending the excuse, declaring that, since hers had been only an accidental slip, she might recover it.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" said Miss Higgins, as my hand was extended to the bell, "what poor weak creatures we are! I quite forgot the General!"
"General who?"
"Why, General—, but you will be secret?"
"As the grave, of course."
"Did you ever hear of General Mackenzie?" said Miss Eliza Higgins, spreading her hand across her forehead.
"He was Fred Lamb's General in Yorkshire?" I answered.
"The same, madam, a fascinating man! and this is my excuse."
"True," said I, "and I remember all the servant maids and Yorkshire milkwomen confessed his power."
"Most true!" said Miss Eliza Higgins, with a deep sigh.
"What then, you have forgotten the Earl of Fife already?"
"Oh, his lordship is quite another thing," said Miss Higgins, brightening.
"And another thing is what you wish for?"
"Oh fie, ma'am! indeed you are too severe. These little accidents do and must happen, from mere inexperience and the weakness of our nature. I know several women, who have made most excellent wives after a slip or two, which I assure you madam often serves to fortify our virtue afterwards."
"Well, then," said I, resuming my pen, "lest the gay Lord Fife should break through the formidable bulwark of virtue which has been already fortified by two intrigues, I shall most positively send him an excuse."
"I entreat, I implore, ma'am, do not refuse my first request. Who knows what may turn up?" In short never was Brougham himself more eloquent! Not even on that memorable day when he was employed by Lord Charles Bentinck to show just cause why Lady Abdy ought to have cuckolded Sir William as she did. She ultimately prevailed; and all-conquering Fife was expected with rapture.
Before dinner I went to call on Julia, by whom I had been sent for. Extreme anxiety had brought on a fausse couche; but Julia, being as well as could be expected, hoped still to be able to join us at Brighton, if not to accompany us there. My sister Sophia was sitting by her bedside, looking very pretty, and much happier than when she was with Lord Deerhurst.
Fanny called on Julia, whose house she had changed for one in Hertford-street, Mayfair, on her acquaintance with Colonel Parker, whose name at his particular request she had now taken.
"My dear Fanny," said I, "what am I to do with your boy George? We shall never make a scholar of him, and he declares that he will not be a sailor."
"Flog him! Flog him!" said Amy, who overheard what I was saying, as she entered the room accompanied by a man in powder. "I flog my boy Campbell every hour in the day."
I never saw such a man in all my life as her powdered swain. "I too am for flogging," said he, "since, such as you see me here before you, I am become by mere dint of birch."
"Dieu nous en preserve!" said I, hurrying into my carriage. Having reached home too early for dinner, I sat down to consider the plan of a book in the style of the Spectator, a kind of picnic, where every wiseacre might contribute his mite of knowledge at so much a head, provided he and she would sign their real names to the paper.